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1000 First Pages 



			  	 		 
A Selection of first pages from the 1000 most popular Project Gutenberg 
text files as of May 4th 2021. 

Reference index included at the back.

github.com/justinkraus/1000/































					


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PG #: 84
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/84



I am by birth a Genevese, and my family is one of the most
distinguished of that republic. My ancestors had been for many years
counsellors and syndics, and my father had filled several public
situations with honour and reputation. He was respected by all who
knew him for his integrity and indefatigable attention to public
business. He passed his younger days perpetually occupied by the
affairs of his country; a variety of circumstances had prevented his
marrying early, nor was it until the decline of life that he became a
husband and the father of a family.

As the circumstances of his marriage illustrate his character, I cannot
refrain from relating them. One of his most intimate friends was a
merchant who, from a flourishing state, fell, through numerous
mischances, into poverty. This man, whose name was Beaufort, was of a
proud and unbending disposition and could not bear to live in poverty
and oblivion in the same country where he had formerly been
distinguished for his rank and magnificence. Having paid his debts,
therefore, in the most honourable manner, he retreated with his
daughter to the town of Lucerne, where he lived unknown and in
wretchedness. My father loved Beaufort with the truest friendship and
was deeply grieved by his retreat in these unfortunate circumstances.
He bitterly deplored the false pride which led his friend to a conduct
so little worthy of the affection that united them. He lost no time in
endeavouring to seek him out, with the hope of persuading him to begin
the world again through his credit and assistance.

Beaufort had taken effectual measures to conceal himself, and it was ten
months before my father discovered his abode. Overjoyed at this discovery,
he hastened to the house, which was situated in a mean street near the
Reuss. But when he entered, misery and despair alone welcomed him. Beaufort
had saved but a very small sum of money from the wreck of his fortunes, but
it was sufficient to provide him with sustenance for some months, and in
the meantime he hoped to procure some respectable employment in a
merchant’s house. The interval was, consequently, spent in inaction;
his grief only became more deep and rankling when he had leisure for
reflection, and at length it took so fast hold of his mind that at the end
of three months he lay on a bed of sickness, incapable of any exertion.

His daughter attended him with the greatest tenderness, but she saw
with despair that their little fund was rapidly decreasing and that
there was no other prospect of support. But Caroline Beaufort
possessed a mind of an uncommon mould, and her courage rose to support
her in her adversity. She procured plain work; she plaited straw and
by various means contrived to earn a pittance scarcely sufficient to
support life.

Several months passed in this manner. Her father grew worse; her time
was more entirely occupied in attending him; her means of subsistence
decreased; and in the tenth month her father died in her arms, leaving
her an orphan and a beggar. This last blow overcame her, and she knelt
by Beaufort’s coffin weeping bitterly, when my father entered the
chamber. He came like a protecting spirit to the poor girl, who
committed herself to his care; and after the interment of his friend he
conducted her to Geneva and placed her under the protection of a
relation. Two years after this event Caroline became his wife.

There was a considerable difference between the ages of my parents, but
this circumstance seemed to unite them only closer in bonds of devoted
affection. There was a sense of justice in my father’s upright mind
which rendered it necessary that he should approve highly to love
strongly. Perhaps during former years he had suffered from the
late-discovered unworthiness of one beloved and so was disposed to set
a greater value on tried worth. There was a show of gratitude and
worship in his attachment to my mother, differing wholly from the
doting fondness of age, for it was inspired by reverence for her
virtues and a desire to be the means of, in some degree, recompensing
her for the sorrows she had endured, but which gave inexpressible grace
to his behaviour to her. Everything was made to yield to her wishes
and her convenience. He strove to shelter her, as a fair exotic is
sheltered by the gardener, from every rougher wind and to surround her
with all that could tend to excite pleasurable emotion in her soft and
benevolent mind. Her health, and even the tranquillity of her hitherto
constant spirit, had been shaken by what she had gone through. During
the two years that had elapsed previous to their marriage my father had
gradually relinquished all his public functions; and immediately after
their union they sought the pleasant climate of Italy, and the change
of scene and interest attendant on a tour through that land of wonders,
as a restorative for her weakened frame.

From Italy they visited Germany and France. I, their eldest child, was born
at Naples, and as an infant 
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PG #: 1342
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1342

      Chapter 1

      It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in
      possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

      However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be
      on his first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well
      fixed in the minds of the surrounding families, that he is
      considered the rightful property of some one or other of their
      daughters.

      “My dear Mr. Bennet,” said his lady to him one day, “have you
      heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?”

      Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.

      “But it is,” returned she; “for Mrs. Long has just been here, and
      she told me all about it.”

      Mr. Bennet made no answer.

      “Do you not want to know who has taken it?” cried his wife
      impatiently.

      “_You_ want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.”

      This was invitation enough.

      “Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that Netherfield is
      taken by a young man of large fortune from the north of England;
      that he came down on Monday in a chaise and four to see the
      place, and was so much delighted with it, that he agreed with Mr.
      Morris immediately; that he is to take possession before
      Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to be in the house by
      the end of next week.”

      “What is his name?”

      “Bingley.”

      “Is he married or single?”

      “Oh! Single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune;
      four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!”

      “How so? How can it affect them?”

      “My dear Mr. Bennet,” replied his wife, “how can you be so
      tiresome! You must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of
      them.”

      “Is that his design in settling here?”

      “Design! Nonsense, how can you talk so! But it is very likely
      that he _may_ fall in love with one of them, and therefore you
      must visit him as soon as he comes.”

      “I see no occasion for that. You and the girls may go, or you may
      send them by themselves, which perhaps will be still better, for
      as you are as handsome as any of them, Mr. Bingley may like you
      the best of the party.”

      “My dear, you flatter me. I certainly _have_ had my share of
      beauty, but I do not pretend to be anything extraordinary now.
      When a woman has five grown-up daughters, she ought to give over
      thinking of her own beauty.”

      “In such cases, a woman has not often much beauty to think of.”

      “But, my dear, you must indeed go and see Mr. Bingley when he
      comes into the neighbourhood.”

      “It is more than I engage for, I assure you.”

      “But consider your daughters. Only think what an establishment it
      would be for one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are
      determined to go, merely on that account, for in general, you
      know, they visit no newcomers. Indeed you must go, for it will be
      impossible for _us_ to visit him if you do not.”

      “You are over-scrupulous, surely. I dare say Mr. Bingley will be
      very glad to see you; and I will send a few lines by you to
      assure him of my hearty consent to his marrying whichever he
      chooses of the girls; though I must throw in a good word for my
      little Lizzy.”

      “I desire you will do no such thing. Lizzy is not a bit better
      than the others; and I am sure she is not half so handsome as
      Jane, nor half so good-humoured as Lydia. But you are always
      giving _her_ the preference.”

      “They have none of them much to recommend them,” replied he;
      “they are all silly and ignorant like other girls; but Lizzy has
      something more of quickness than her sisters.”

      “Mr. Bennet, how can you abuse your own children in such a way?
      You take delight in vexing me. You have no compassion for my poor
      nerves.”

      “You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves.
      They are my old friends. I have heard you mention them with
      consideration these last twenty years at least.”

      “Ah, you do not know what I suffer.”

      “But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men
      of four thousand a year come into the neighbourhood.”

      “It will be no use to us, if twenty such should come, since you
      will not visit them.”

      “Depend upon it, my dear, that when there are twenty, I will
      visit them all.”

      Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour,
      reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three-and-twenty
      years had been insufficient to make his wife understand his
      character. _Her_ mind was less difficult to develop. She was a
      woman of mean understanding, little information, and uncertain
      temper. When she was discontented, she fancied herself nervous.
      The business of her life was to get her daughters married; its
      sola
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PG #: 64317
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64317

recent puppies of an indeterminate breed.

“What kind are they?” asked Mrs. Wilson eagerly, as he came to the
taxi-window.

“All kinds. What kind do you want, lady?”

“I’d like to get one of those police dogs; I don’t suppose you got
that kind?”

The man peered doubtfully into the basket, plunged in his hand and
drew one up, wriggling, by the back of the neck.

“That’s no police dog,” said Tom.

“No, it’s not exactly a police dog,” said the man with disappointment
in his voice. “It’s more of an Airedale.” He passed his hand over the
brown washrag of a back. “Look at that coat. Some coat. That’s a dog
that’ll never bother you with catching cold.”

“I think it’s cute,” said Mrs. Wilson enthusiastically. “How much is
it?”

“That dog?” He looked at it admiringly. “That dog will cost you ten
dollars.”

The Airedale—undoubtedly there was an Airedale concerned in it
somewhere, though its feet were startlingly white—changed hands and
settled down into Mrs. Wilson’s lap, where she fondled the
weatherproof coat with rapture.

“Is it a boy or a girl?” she asked delicately.

“That dog? That dog’s a boy.”

“It’s a bitch,” said Tom decisively. “Here’s your money. Go and buy
ten more dogs with it.”

We drove over to Fifth Avenue, warm and soft, almost pastoral, on the
summer Sunday afternoon. I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a great
flock of white sheep turn the corner.

“Hold on,” I said, “I have to leave you here.”

“No you don’t,” interposed Tom quickly. “Myrtle’ll be hurt if you
don’t come up to the apartment. Won’t you, Myrtle?”

“Come on,” she urged. “I’ll telephone my sister Catherine. She’s said
to be very beautiful by people who ought to know.”

“Well, I’d like to, but—”

We went on, cutting back again over the Park toward the West Hundreds.
At 158th Street the cab stopped at one slice in a long white cake of
apartment-houses. Throwing a regal homecoming glance around the
neighbourhood, Mrs. Wilson gathered up her dog and her other
purchases, and went haughtily in.

“I’m going to have the McKees come up,” she announced as we rose in
the elevator. “And, of course, I got to call up my sister, too.”

The apartment was on the top floor—a small living-room, a small
dining-room, a small bedroom, and a bath. The living-room was crowded
to the doors with a set of tapestried furniture entirely too large for
it, so that to move about was to stumble continually over scenes of
ladies swinging in the gardens of Versailles. The only picture was an
over-enlarged photograph, apparently a hen sitting on a blurred rock.
Looked at from a distance, however, the hen resolved itself into a
bonnet, and the countenance of a stout old lady beamed down into the
room. Several old copies of Town Tattle lay on the table together with
a copy of Simon Called Peter, and some of the small scandal magazines
of Broadway. Mrs. Wilson was first concerned with the dog. A reluctant
elevator boy went for a box full of straw and some milk, to which he
added on his own initiative a tin of large, hard dog biscuits—one of
which decomposed apathetically in the saucer of milk all
afternoon. Meanwhile Tom brought out a bottle of whisky from a locked
bureau door.

I have been drunk just twice in my life, and the second time was that
afternoon; so everything that happened has a dim, hazy cast over it,
although until after eight o’clock the apartment was full of cheerful
sun. Sitting on Tom’s lap Mrs. Wilson called up several people on the
telephone; then there were no cigarettes, and I went out to buy some
at the drugstore on the corner. When I came back they had both
disappeared, so I sat down discreetly in the living-room and read a
chapter of Simon Called Peter—either it was terrible stuff or the
whisky distorted things, because it didn’t make any sense to me.

Just as Tom and Myrtle (after the first drink Mrs. Wilson and I called
each other by our first names) reappeared, company commenced to arrive
at the apartment door.

The sister, Catherine, was a slender, worldly girl of about thirty,
with a solid, sticky bob of red hair, and a complexion powdered milky
white. Her eyebrows had been plucked and then drawn on again at a more
rakish angle, but the efforts of nature toward the restoration of the
old alignment gave a blurred air to her face. When she moved about
there was an incessant clicking as innumerable pottery bracelets
jingled up and down upon her arms. She came in with such a proprietary
haste, and looked around so possessively at the furniture that I
wondered if she lived here. But when I asked her she laughed
immoderately, repeated my question aloud, and told me she lived with a
girl friend at a hotel.

Mr. McKee was a pale, feminine man from the flat below. He had just
shaved, for there was a white spot of lather on his cheekbone, and he
was most respectful in his greeting to everyone in the room. He
informed me that he was in the “artistic game,” and I gathered later
that he was a photographer and had made the dim enlargement of
Mrs. Wilson
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PG #: 98
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/98

The Period


It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of
wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it
was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the
season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of
despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were
all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way--in
short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its
noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for
evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.

There were a king with a large jaw and a queen with a plain face, on the
throne of England; there were a king with a large jaw and a queen with
a fair face, on the throne of France. In both countries it was clearer
than crystal to the lords of the State preserves of loaves and fishes,
that things in general were settled for ever.

It was the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five.
Spiritual revelations were conceded to England at that favoured period,
as at this. Mrs. Southcott had recently attained her five-and-twentieth
blessed birthday, of whom a prophetic private in the Life Guards had
heralded the sublime appearance by announcing that arrangements were
made for the swallowing up of London and Westminster. Even the Cock-lane
ghost had been laid only a round dozen of years, after rapping out its
messages, as the spirits of this very year last past (supernaturally
deficient in originality) rapped out theirs. Mere messages in the
earthly order of events had lately come to the English Crown and People,
from a congress of British subjects in America: which, strange
to relate, have proved more important to the human race than any
communications yet received through any of the chickens of the Cock-lane
brood.

France, less favoured on the whole as to matters spiritual than her
sister of the shield and trident, rolled with exceeding smoothness down
hill, making paper money and spending it. Under the guidance of her
Christian pastors, she entertained herself, besides, with such humane
achievements as sentencing a youth to have his hands cut off, his tongue
torn out with pincers, and his body burned alive, because he had not
kneeled down in the rain to do honour to a dirty procession of monks
which passed within his view, at a distance of some fifty or sixty
yards. It is likely enough that, rooted in the woods of France and
Norway, there were growing trees, when that sufferer was put to death,
already marked by the Woodman, Fate, to come down and be sawn into
boards, to make a certain movable framework with a sack and a knife in
it, terrible in history. It is likely enough that in the rough outhouses
of some tillers of the heavy lands adjacent to Paris, there were
sheltered from the weather that very day, rude carts, bespattered with
rustic mire, snuffed about by pigs, and roosted in by poultry, which
the Farmer, Death, had already set apart to be his tumbrils of
the Revolution. But that Woodman and that Farmer, though they work
unceasingly, work silently, and no one heard them as they went about
with muffled tread: the rather, forasmuch as to entertain any suspicion
that they were awake, was to be atheistical and traitorous.

In England, there was scarcely an amount of order and protection to
justify much national boasting. Daring burglaries by armed men, and
highway robberies, took place in the capital itself every night;
families were publicly cautioned not to go out of town without removing
their furniture to upholsterers’ warehouses for security; the highwayman
in the dark was a City tradesman in the light, and, being recognised and
challenged by his fellow-tradesman whom he stopped in his character of
“the Captain,” gallantly shot him through the head and rode away; the
mail was waylaid by seven robbers, and the guard shot three dead, and
then got shot dead himself by the other four, “in consequence of the
failure of his ammunition:” after which the mail was robbed in peace;
that magnificent potentate, the Lord Mayor of London, was made to stand
and deliver on Turnham Green, by one highwayman, who despoiled the
illustrious creature in sight of all his retinue; prisoners in London
gaols fought battles with their turnkeys, and the majesty of the law
fired blunderbusses in among them, loaded with rounds of shot and ball;
thieves snipped off diamond crosses from the necks of noble lords at
Court drawing-rooms; musketeers went into St. Giles’s, to search
for contraband goods, and the mob fired on the musketeers, and the
musketeers fired on the mob, and nobody thought any of these occurrences
much out of the common way. In the midst of them, the hangman, ever busy
and ever worse than useless, was in constant requisition; now, stringing
up long rows of miscellaneous criminals; now, hanging a housebreaker on
Saturday who had been taken on Tuesday; now, burning people in the
hand
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PG #: 11
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/11

Down the Rabbit-Hole


Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the
bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had peeped into
the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or
conversations in it, “and what is the use of a book,” thought Alice
“without pictures or conversations?”

So she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the
hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of
making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and
picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran
close by her.

There was nothing so _very_ remarkable in that; nor did Alice think it
so _very_ much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, “Oh
dear! Oh dear! I shall be late!” (when she thought it over afterwards,
it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this, but at the
time it all seemed quite natural); but when the Rabbit actually _took a
watch out of its waistcoat-pocket_, and looked at it, and then hurried
on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she
had never before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a
watch to take out of it, and burning with curiosity, she ran across the
field after it, and fortunately was just in time to see it pop down a
large rabbit-hole under the hedge.

In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how
in the world she was to get out again.

The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then
dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think
about stopping herself before she found herself falling down a very
deep well.

Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had
plenty of time as she went down to look about her and to wonder what
was going to happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out
what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything; then she
looked at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with
cupboards and book-shelves; here and there she saw maps and pictures
hung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she
passed; it was labelled “ORANGE MARMALADE”, but to her great
disappointment it was empty: she did not like to drop the jar for fear
of killing somebody underneath, so managed to put it into one of the
cupboards as she fell past it.

“Well!” thought Alice to herself, “after such a fall as this, I shall
think nothing of tumbling down stairs! How brave they’ll all think me
at home! Why, I wouldn’t say anything about it, even if I fell off the
top of the house!” (Which was very likely true.)

Down, down, down. Would the fall _never_ come to an end? “I wonder how
many miles I’ve fallen by this time?” she said aloud. “I must be
getting somewhere near the centre of the earth. Let me see: that would
be four thousand miles down, I think—” (for, you see, Alice had learnt
several things of this sort in her lessons in the schoolroom, and
though this was not a _very_ good opportunity for showing off her
knowledge, as there was no one to listen to her, still it was good
practice to say it over) “—yes, that’s about the right distance—but
then I wonder what Latitude or Longitude I’ve got to?” (Alice had no
idea what Latitude was, or Longitude either, but thought they were nice
grand words to say.)

Presently she began again. “I wonder if I shall fall right _through_
the earth! How funny it’ll seem to come out among the people that walk
with their heads downward! The Antipathies, I think—” (she was rather
glad there _was_ no one listening, this time, as it didn’t sound at all
the right word) “—but I shall have to ask them what the name of the
country is, you know. Please, Ma’am, is this New Zealand or Australia?”
(and she tried to curtsey as she spoke—fancy _curtseying_ as you’re
falling through the air! Do you think you could manage it?) “And what
an ignorant little girl she’ll think me for asking! No, it’ll never do
to ask: perhaps I shall see it written up somewhere.”

Down, down, down. There was nothing else to do, so Alice soon began
talking again. “Dinah’ll miss me very much to-night, I should think!”
(Dinah was the cat.) “I hope they’ll remember her saucer of milk at
tea-time. Dinah my dear! I wish you were down here with me! There are
no mice in the air, I’m afraid, but you might catch a bat, and that’s
very like a mouse, you know. But do cats eat bats, I wonder?” And here
Alice began to get rather sleepy, and went on saying to herself, in a
dreamy sort of way, “Do cats eat bats? Do cats eat bats?” and
sometimes, “Do bats eat cats?” for, you see, as she couldn’t answer
either question, it didn’t much matter which way she put it. She felt
that she was dozing off, and had just begun to dream that she was
walking hand in hand with Dinah, and saying to her very earnestly,
“Now, Dinah, tell me the truth: did you ever eat a bat?” when suddenly,
thump! thump! down she came upon a heap of st
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PG #: 2542
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2542

ACT I


_[SCENE.—A room furnished comfortably and tastefully, but not
extravagantly. At the back, a door to the right leads to the
entrance-hall, another to the left leads to Helmer’s study. Between the
doors stands a piano. In the middle of the left-hand wall is a door,
and beyond it a window. Near the window are a round table, arm-chairs
and a small sofa. In the right-hand wall, at the farther end, another
door; and on the same side, nearer the footlights, a stove, two easy
chairs and a rocking-chair; between the stove and the door, a small
table. Engravings on the walls; a cabinet with china and other small
objects; a small book-case with well-bound books. The floors are
carpeted, and a fire burns in the stove. It is winter._

_A bell rings in the hall; shortly afterwards the door is heard to
open. Enter NORA, humming a tune and in high spirits. She is in outdoor
dress and carries a number of parcels; these she lays on the table to
the right. She leaves the outer door open after her, and through it is
seen a PORTER who is carrying a Christmas Tree and a basket, which he
gives to the MAID who has opened the door.]_

NORA.
Hide the Christmas Tree carefully, Helen. Be sure the children do not
see it until this evening, when it is dressed. _[To the PORTER, taking
out her purse.]_ How much?

PORTER.
Sixpence.

NORA.
There is a shilling. No, keep the change. _[The PORTER thanks her, and
goes out. NORA shuts the door. She is laughing to herself, as she takes
off her hat and coat. She takes a packet of macaroons from her pocket
and eats one or two; then goes cautiously to her husband’s door and
listens.]_ Yes, he is in. _[Still humming, she goes to the table on the
right.]_

HELMER.
_[calls out from his room]_. Is that my little lark twittering out
there?

NORA.
_[busy opening some of the parcels]_. Yes, it is!

HELMER.
Is it my little squirrel bustling about?

NORA.
Yes!

HELMER.
When did my squirrel come home?

NORA.
Just now. _[Puts the bag of macaroons into her pocket and wipes her
mouth.]_ Come in here, Torvald, and see what I have bought.

HELMER.
Don’t disturb me. _[A little later, he opens the door and looks into
the room, pen in hand.]_ Bought, did you say? All these things? Has my
little spendthrift been wasting money again?

NORA.
Yes but, Torvald, this year we really can let ourselves go a little.
This is the first Christmas that we have not needed to economise.

HELMER.
Still, you know, we can’t spend money recklessly.

NORA.
Yes, Torvald, we may be a wee bit more reckless now, mayn’t we? Just a
tiny wee bit! You are going to have a big salary and earn lots and lots
of money.

HELMER.
Yes, after the New Year; but then it will be a whole quarter before the
salary is due.

NORA.
Pooh! we can borrow until then.

HELMER.
Nora! _[Goes up to her and takes her playfully by the ear.]_ The same
little featherhead! Suppose, now, that I borrowed fifty pounds today,
and you spent it all in the Christmas week, and then on New Year’s Eve
a slate fell on my head and killed me, and—

NORA.
_[putting her hands over his mouth]_. Oh! don’t say such horrid things.

HELMER.
Still, suppose that happened,—what then?

NORA.
If that were to happen, I don’t suppose I should care whether I owed
money or not.

HELMER.
Yes, but what about the people who had lent it?

NORA.
They? Who would bother about them? I should not know who they were.

HELMER.
That is like a woman! But seriously, Nora, you know what I think about
that. No debt, no borrowing. There can be no freedom or beauty about a
home life that depends on borrowing and debt. We two have kept bravely
on the straight road so far, and we will go on the same way for the
short time longer that there need be any struggle.

NORA.
_[moving towards the stove]_. As you please, Torvald.

HELMER.
_[following her]_. Come, come, my little skylark must not droop her
wings. What is this! Is my little squirrel out of temper? _[Taking out
his purse.]_ Nora, what do you think I have got here?

NORA.
_[turning round quickly]_. Money!

HELMER.
There you are. _[Gives her some money.]_ Do you think I don’t know what
a lot is wanted for housekeeping at Christmas-time?

NORA.
_[counting]_. Ten shillings—a pound—two pounds! Thank you, thank you,
Torvald; that will keep me going for a long time.

HELMER.
Indeed it must.

NORA.
Yes, yes, it will. But come here and let me show you what I have
bought. And all so cheap! Look, here is a new suit for Ivar, and a
sword; and a horse and a trumpet for Bob; and a doll and dolly’s
bedstead for Emmy,—they are very plain, but anyway she will soon break
them in pieces. And here are dress-lengths and handkerchiefs for the
maids; old Anne ought really to have something better.

HELMER.
And what is in this parcel?

NORA.
_[crying out]_. No, no! you mustn’t see that until this evening.

HELMER.
Very well. But now tell me, you extravagant little person, what would
you like for yourself?

NORA.
For myself? Oh, I am sure I don’t want anything.

HELMER.
Yes, but you m
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PG #: 844
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/844

FIRST ACT


SCENE

Morning-room in Algernon’s flat in Half-Moon Street. The room is
luxuriously and artistically furnished. The sound of a piano is heard
in the adjoining room.

[Lane is arranging afternoon tea on the table, and after the music has
ceased, Algernon enters.]

ALGERNON.
Did you hear what I was playing, Lane?

LANE.
I didn’t think it polite to listen, sir.

ALGERNON.
I’m sorry for that, for your sake. I don’t play accurately—any one can
play accurately—but I play with wonderful expression. As far as the
piano is concerned, sentiment is my forte. I keep science for Life.

LANE.
Yes, sir.

ALGERNON.
And, speaking of the science of Life, have you got the cucumber
sandwiches cut for Lady Bracknell?

LANE.
Yes, sir. [Hands them on a salver.]

ALGERNON.
[Inspects them, takes two, and sits down on the sofa.] Oh! . . . by the
way, Lane, I see from your book that on Thursday night, when Lord
Shoreman and Mr. Worthing were dining with me, eight bottles of
champagne are entered as having been consumed.

LANE.
Yes, sir; eight bottles and a pint.

ALGERNON.
Why is it that at a bachelor’s establishment the servants invariably
drink the champagne? I ask merely for information.

LANE.
I attribute it to the superior quality of the wine, sir. I have often
observed that in married households the champagne is rarely of a
first-rate brand.

ALGERNON.
Good heavens! Is marriage so demoralising as that?

LANE.
I believe it _is_ a very pleasant state, sir. I have had very little
experience of it myself up to the present. I have only been married
once. That was in consequence of a misunderstanding between myself and
a young person.

ALGERNON.
[Languidly_._] I don’t know that I am much interested in your family
life, Lane.

LANE.
No, sir; it is not a very interesting subject. I never think of it
myself.

ALGERNON.
Very natural, I am sure. That will do, Lane, thank you.

LANE.
Thank you, sir. [Lane goes out.]

ALGERNON.
Lane’s views on marriage seem somewhat lax. Really, if the lower orders
don’t set us a good example, what on earth is the use of them? They
seem, as a class, to have absolutely no sense of moral responsibility.

[Enter Lane.]

LANE.
Mr. Ernest Worthing.

[Enter Jack.]

[Lane goes out_._]

ALGERNON.
How are you, my dear Ernest? What brings you up to town?

JACK.
Oh, pleasure, pleasure! What else should bring one anywhere? Eating as
usual, I see, Algy!

ALGERNON.
[Stiffly_._] I believe it is customary in good society to take some
slight refreshment at five o’clock. Where have you been since last
Thursday?

JACK.
[Sitting down on the sofa.] In the country.

ALGERNON.
What on earth do you do there?

JACK.
[Pulling off his gloves_._] When one is in town one amuses oneself.
When one is in the country one amuses other people. It is excessively
boring.

ALGERNON.
And who are the people you amuse?

JACK.
[Airily_._] Oh, neighbours, neighbours.

ALGERNON.
Got nice neighbours in your part of Shropshire?

JACK.
Perfectly horrid! Never speak to one of them.

ALGERNON.
How immensely you must amuse them! [Goes over and takes sandwich.] By
the way, Shropshire is your county, is it not?

JACK.
Eh? Shropshire? Yes, of course. Hallo! Why all these cups? Why cucumber
sandwiches? Why such reckless extravagance in one so young? Who is
coming to tea?

ALGERNON.
Oh! merely Aunt Augusta and Gwendolen.

JACK.
How perfectly delightful!

ALGERNON.
Yes, that is all very well; but I am afraid Aunt Augusta won’t quite
approve of your being here.

JACK.
May I ask why?

ALGERNON.
My dear fellow, the way you flirt with Gwendolen is perfectly
disgraceful. It is almost as bad as the way Gwendolen flirts with you.

JACK.
I am in love with Gwendolen. I have come up to town expressly to
propose to her.

ALGERNON.
I thought you had come up for pleasure? . . . I call that business.

JACK.
How utterly unromantic you are!

ALGERNON.
I really don’t see anything romantic in proposing. It is very romantic
to be in love. But there is nothing romantic about a definite proposal.
Why, one may be accepted. One usually is, I believe. Then the
excitement is all over. The very essence of romance is uncertainty. If
ever I get married, I’ll certainly try to forget the fact.

JACK.
I have no doubt about that, dear Algy. The Divorce Court was specially
invented for people whose memories are so curiously constituted.

ALGERNON.
Oh! there is no use speculating on that subject. Divorces are made in
Heaven—[Jack puts out his hand to take a sandwich. Algernon at once
interferes.] Please don’t touch the cucumber sandwiches. They are
ordered specially for Aunt Augusta. [Takes one and eats it.]

JACK.
Well, you have been eating them all the time.

ALGERNON.
That is quite a different matter. She is my aunt. [Takes plate from
below.] Have some bread and butter. The bread and butter is for
Gwendolen. Gwendolen is devoted to bread and butter.

JACK.
[Advancing to table and helping himself.] And very good bread and
butter it is too.

ALGERNON.
Well, my dear fellow, you need 
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PG #: 174
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/174



The studio was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light
summer wind stirred amidst the trees of the garden, there came through
the open door the heavy scent of the lilac, or the more delicate
perfume of the pink-flowering thorn.

From the corner of the divan of Persian saddle-bags on which he was
lying, smoking, as was his custom, innumerable cigarettes, Lord Henry
Wotton could just catch the gleam of the honey-sweet and honey-coloured
blossoms of a laburnum, whose tremulous branches seemed hardly able to
bear the burden of a beauty so flamelike as theirs; and now and then
the fantastic shadows of birds in flight flitted across the long
tussore-silk curtains that were stretched in front of the huge window,
producing a kind of momentary Japanese effect, and making him think of
those pallid, jade-faced painters of Tokyo who, through the medium of
an art that is necessarily immobile, seek to convey the sense of
swiftness and motion. The sullen murmur of the bees shouldering their
way through the long unmown grass, or circling with monotonous
insistence round the dusty gilt horns of the straggling woodbine,
seemed to make the stillness more oppressive. The dim roar of London
was like the bourdon note of a distant organ.

In the centre of the room, clamped to an upright easel, stood the
full-length portrait of a young man of extraordinary personal beauty,
and in front of it, some little distance away, was sitting the artist
himself, Basil Hallward, whose sudden disappearance some years ago
caused, at the time, such public excitement and gave rise to so many
strange conjectures.

As the painter looked at the gracious and comely form he had so
skilfully mirrored in his art, a smile of pleasure passed across his
face, and seemed about to linger there. But he suddenly started up, and
closing his eyes, placed his fingers upon the lids, as though he sought
to imprison within his brain some curious dream from which he feared he
might awake.

“It is your best work, Basil, the best thing you have ever done,” said
Lord Henry languidly. “You must certainly send it next year to the
Grosvenor. The Academy is too large and too vulgar. Whenever I have
gone there, there have been either so many people that I have not been
able to see the pictures, which was dreadful, or so many pictures that
I have not been able to see the people, which was worse. The Grosvenor
is really the only place.”

“I don’t think I shall send it anywhere,” he answered, tossing his head
back in that odd way that used to make his friends laugh at him at
Oxford. “No, I won’t send it anywhere.”

Lord Henry elevated his eyebrows and looked at him in amazement through
the thin blue wreaths of smoke that curled up in such fanciful whorls
from his heavy, opium-tainted cigarette. “Not send it anywhere? My dear
fellow, why? Have you any reason? What odd chaps you painters are! You
do anything in the world to gain a reputation. As soon as you have one,
you seem to want to throw it away. It is silly of you, for there is
only one thing in the world worse than being talked about, and that is
not being talked about. A portrait like this would set you far above
all the young men in England, and make the old men quite jealous, if
old men are ever capable of any emotion.”

“I know you will laugh at me,” he replied, “but I really can’t exhibit
it. I have put too much of myself into it.”

Lord Henry stretched himself out on the divan and laughed.

“Yes, I knew you would; but it is quite true, all the same.”

“Too much of yourself in it! Upon my word, Basil, I didn’t know you
were so vain; and I really can’t see any resemblance between you, with
your rugged strong face and your coal-black hair, and this young
Adonis, who looks as if he was made out of ivory and rose-leaves. Why,
my dear Basil, he is a Narcissus, and you—well, of course you have an
intellectual expression and all that. But beauty, real beauty, ends
where an intellectual expression begins. Intellect is in itself a mode
of exaggeration, and destroys the harmony of any face. The moment one
sits down to think, one becomes all nose, or all forehead, or something
horrid. Look at the successful men in any of the learned professions.
How perfectly hideous they are! Except, of course, in the Church. But
then in the Church they don’t think. A bishop keeps on saying at the
age of eighty what he was told to say when he was a boy of eighteen,
and as a natural consequence he always looks absolutely delightful.
Your mysterious young friend, whose name you have never told me, but
whose picture really fascinates me, never thinks. I feel quite sure of
that. He is some brainless beautiful creature who should be always here
in winter when we have no flowers to look at, and always here in summer
when we want something to chill our intelligence. Don’t flatter
yourself, Basil: you are not in the least like him.”

“You don’t understand me, Harry,” answered the artist. “Of course I am
not like him. I know that perfec
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PG #: 1080
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1080

A Modest Proposal

For preventing the children of poor people in Ireland,
from being a burden on their parents or country,
and for making them beneficial to the publick.

by Dr. Jonathan Swift

1729




It is a melancholy object to those, who walk through this great town,
or travel in the country, when they see the streets, the roads, and
cabbin-doors crowded with beggars of the female sex, followed by three,
four, or six children, all in rags, and importuning every passenger for
an alms. These mothers, instead of being able to work for their honest
livelihood, are forced to employ all their time in stroling to beg
sustenance for their helpless infants who, as they grow up, either turn
thieves for want of work, or leave their dear native country, to fight
for the Pretender in Spain, or sell themselves to the Barbadoes.

I think it is agreed by all parties, that this prodigious number of
children in the arms, or on the backs, or at the heels of their
mothers, and frequently of their fathers, is in the present deplorable
state of the kingdom, a very great additional grievance; and therefore
whoever could find out a fair, cheap and easy method of making these
children sound and useful members of the commonwealth, would deserve so
well of the publick, as to have his statue set up for a preserver of
the nation.

But my intention is very far from being confined to provide only for
the children of professed beggars: it is of a much greater extent, and
shall take in the whole number of infants at a certain age, who are
born of parents in effect as little able to support them, as those who
demand our charity in the streets.

As to my own part, having turned my thoughts for many years upon this
important subject, and maturely weighed the several schemes of our
projectors, I have always found them grossly mistaken in their
computation. It is true, a child just dropt from its dam, may be
supported by her milk, for a solar year, with little other nourishment:
at most not above the value of two shillings, which the mother may
certainly get, or the value in scraps, by her lawful occupation of
begging; and it is exactly at one year old that I propose to provide
for them in such a manner, as, instead of being a charge upon their
parents, or the parish, or wanting food and raiment for the rest of
their lives, they shall, on the contrary, contribute to the feeding,
and partly to the clothing of many thousands.

There is likewise another great advantage in my scheme, that it will
prevent those voluntary abortions, and that horrid practice of women
murdering their bastard children, alas! too frequent among us,
sacrificing the poor innocent babes, I doubt, more to avoid the expence
than the shame, which would move tears and pity in the most savage and
inhuman breast.

The number of souls in this kingdom being usually reckoned one million
and a half, of these I calculate there may be about two hundred
thousand couple, whose wives are breeders; from which number I subtract
thirty thousand couple, who are able to maintain their own children,
(although I apprehend there cannot be so many under the present
distresses of the kingdom) but this being granted, there will remain a
hundred and seventy thousand breeders. I again subtract fifty thousand,
for those women who miscarry, or whose children die by accident or
disease within the year. There only remain a hundred and twenty
thousand children of poor parents annually born. The question therefore
is, How this number shall be reared and provided for? which, as I have
already said, under the present situation of affairs, is utterly
impossible by all the methods hitherto proposed. For we can neither
employ them in handicraft or agriculture; they neither build houses, (I
mean in the country) nor cultivate land: they can very seldom pick up a
livelihood by stealing till they arrive at six years old; except where
they are of towardly parts, although I confess they learn the rudiments
much earlier; during which time they can however be properly looked
upon only as probationers; as I have been informed by a principal
gentleman in the county of Cavan, who protested to me, that he never
knew above one or two instances under the age of six, even in a part of
the kingdom so renowned for the quickest proficiency in that art.

I am assured by our merchants, that a boy or a girl, before twelve
years old, is no saleable commodity, and even when they come to this
age, they will not yield above three pounds, or three pounds and half a
crown at most, on the exchange; which cannot turn to account either to
the parents or kingdom, the charge of nutriments and rags having been
at least four times that value.

I shall now therefore humbly propose my own thoughts, which I hope will
not be liable to the least objection.

I have been assured by a very knowing American of my acquaintance in
London, that a young healthy child well nursed, is, at a year old, a
most delicious nourishing and wholesome food, whether
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PG #: 5200
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5200



One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found
himself transformed in his bed into a horrible vermin. He lay on his
armour-like back, and if he lifted his head a little he could see his
brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff sections.
The bedding was hardly able to cover it and seemed ready to slide off
any moment. His many legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the
rest of him, waved about helplessly as he looked.

“What’s happened to me?” he thought. It wasn’t a dream. His room, a
proper human room although a little too small, lay peacefully between
its four familiar walls. A collection of textile samples lay spread out
on the table—Samsa was a travelling salesman—and above it there hung a
picture that he had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine and
housed in a nice, gilded frame. It showed a lady fitted out with a fur
hat and fur boa who sat upright, raising a heavy fur muff that covered
the whole of her lower arm towards the viewer.

Gregor then turned to look out the window at the dull weather. Drops of
rain could be heard hitting the pane, which made him feel quite sad.
“How about if I sleep a little bit longer and forget all this
nonsense”, he thought, but that was something he was unable to do
because he was used to sleeping on his right, and in his present state
couldn’t get into that position. However hard he threw himself onto his
right, he always rolled back to where he was. He must have tried it a
hundred times, shut his eyes so that he wouldn’t have to look at the
floundering legs, and only stopped when he began to feel a mild, dull
pain there that he had never felt before.

“Oh, God”, he thought, “what a strenuous career it is that I’ve chosen!
Travelling day in and day out. Doing business like this takes much more
effort than doing your own business at home, and on top of that there’s
the curse of travelling, worries about making train connections, bad
and irregular food, contact with different people all the time so that
you can never get to know anyone or become friendly with them. It can
all go to Hell!” He felt a slight itch up on his belly; pushed himself
slowly up on his back towards the headboard so that he could lift his
head better; found where the itch was, and saw that it was covered with
lots of little white spots which he didn’t know what to make of; and
when he tried to feel the place with one of his legs he drew it quickly
back because as soon as he touched it he was overcome by a cold
shudder.

He slid back into his former position. “Getting up early all the time”,
he thought, “it makes you stupid. You’ve got to get enough sleep. Other
travelling salesmen live a life of luxury. For instance, whenever I go
back to the guest house during the morning to copy out the contract,
these gentlemen are always still sitting there eating their breakfasts.
I ought to just try that with my boss; I’d get kicked out on the spot.
But who knows, maybe that would be the best thing for me. If I didn’t
have my parents to think about I’d have given in my notice a long time
ago, I’d have gone up to the boss and told him just what I think, tell
him everything I would, let him know just what I feel. He’d fall right
off his desk! And it’s a funny sort of business to be sitting up there
at your desk, talking down at your subordinates from up there,
especially when you have to go right up close because the boss is hard
of hearing. Well, there’s still some hope; once I’ve got the money
together to pay off my parents’ debt to him—another five or six years I
suppose—that’s definitely what I’ll do. That’s when I’ll make the big
change. First of all though, I’ve got to get up, my train leaves at
five.”

And he looked over at the alarm clock, ticking on the chest of drawers.
“God in Heaven!” he thought. It was half past six and the hands were
quietly moving forwards, it was even later than half past, more like
quarter to seven. Had the alarm clock not rung? He could see from the
bed that it had been set for four o’clock as it should have been; it
certainly must have rung. Yes, but was it possible to quietly sleep
through that furniture-rattling noise? True, he had not slept
peacefully, but probably all the more deeply because of that. What
should he do now? The next train went at seven; if he were to catch
that he would have to rush like mad and the collection of samples was
still not packed, and he did not at all feel particularly fresh and
lively. And even if he did catch the train he would not avoid his
boss’s anger as the office assistant would have been there to see the
five o’clock train go, he would have put in his report about Gregor’s
not being there a long time ago. The office assistant was the boss’s
man, spineless, and with no understanding. What about if he reported
sick? But that would be extremely strained and suspicious as in five
years of service Gregor had never once yet been ill. His boss would
certainly come round with the doctor f
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PG #: 1661
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1661


To Sherlock Holmes she is always _the_ woman. I have seldom heard him
mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and
predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any emotion
akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly,
were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He
was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that
the world has seen, but as a lover he would have placed himself in a
false position. He never spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe
and a sneer. They were admirable things for the observer—excellent for
drawing the veil from men’s motives and actions. But for the trained
reasoner to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely
adjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which might
throw a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a sensitive
instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not
be more disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his. And
yet there was but one woman to him, and that woman was the late Irene
Adler, of dubious and questionable memory.

I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us away
from each other. My own complete happiness, and the home-centred
interests which rise up around the man who first finds himself master
of his own establishment, were sufficient to absorb all my attention,
while Holmes, who loathed every form of society with his whole Bohemian
soul, remained in our lodgings in Baker Street, buried among his old
books, and alternating from week to week between cocaine and ambition,
the drowsiness of the drug, and the fierce energy of his own keen
nature. He was still, as ever, deeply attracted by the study of crime,
and occupied his immense faculties and extraordinary powers of
observation in following out those clues, and clearing up those
mysteries which had been abandoned as hopeless by the official police.
From time to time I heard some vague account of his doings: of his
summons to Odessa in the case of the Trepoff murder, of his clearing up
of the singular tragedy of the Atkinson brothers at Trincomalee, and
finally of the mission which he had accomplished so delicately and
successfully for the reigning family of Holland. Beyond these signs of
his activity, however, which I merely shared with all the readers of
the daily press, I knew little of my former friend and companion.

One night—it was on the twentieth of March, 1888—I was returning from a
journey to a patient (for I had now returned to civil practice), when
my way led me through Baker Street. As I passed the well-remembered
door, which must always be associated in my mind with my wooing, and
with the dark incidents of the Study in Scarlet, I was seized with a
keen desire to see Holmes again, and to know how he was employing his
extraordinary powers. His rooms were brilliantly lit, and, even as I
looked up, I saw his tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouette
against the blind. He was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his
head sunk upon his chest and his hands clasped behind him. To me, who
knew his every mood and habit, his attitude and manner told their own
story. He was at work again. He had risen out of his drug-created
dreams and was hot upon the scent of some new problem. I rang the bell
and was shown up to the chamber which had formerly been in part my own.

His manner was not effusive. It seldom was; but he was glad, I think,
to see me. With hardly a word spoken, but with a kindly eye, he waved
me to an armchair, threw across his case of cigars, and indicated a
spirit case and a gasogene in the corner. Then he stood before the fire
and looked me over in his singular introspective fashion.

“Wedlock suits you,” he remarked. “I think, Watson, that you have put
on seven and a half pounds since I saw you.”

“Seven!” I answered.

“Indeed, I should have thought a little more. Just a trifle more, I
fancy, Watson. And in practice again, I observe. You did not tell me
that you intended to go into harness.”

“Then, how do you know?”

“I see it, I deduce it. How do I know that you have been getting
yourself very wet lately, and that you have a most clumsy and careless
servant girl?”

“My dear Holmes,” said I, “this is too much. You would certainly have
been burned, had you lived a few centuries ago. It is true that I had a
country walk on Thursday and came home in a dreadful mess, but as I
have changed my clothes I can’t imagine how you deduce it. As to Mary
Jane, she is incorrigible, and my wife has given her notice, but there,
again, I fail to see how you work it out.”

He chuckled to himself and rubbed his long, nervous hands together.

“It is simplicity itself,” said he; “my eyes tell me that on the inside
of your left shoe, just where the firelight strikes it, the leather is
scored by six almost parallel cuts. Obviously they have been caused by
someone who has very carelessly scraped round the edges of 
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https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2701


Call me Ishmael. Some years ago—never mind how long precisely—having
little or no money in my purse, and nothing particular to interest me
on shore, I thought I would sail about a little and see the watery part
of the world. It is a way I have of driving off the spleen and
regulating the circulation. Whenever I find myself growing grim about
the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever
I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and
bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever
my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral
principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and
methodically knocking people’s hats off—then, I account it high time to
get to sea as soon as I can. This is my substitute for pistol and ball.
With a philosophical flourish Cato throws himself upon his sword; I
quietly take to the ship. There is nothing surprising in this. If they
but knew it, almost all men in their degree, some time or other,
cherish very nearly the same feelings towards the ocean with me.

There now is your insular city of the Manhattoes, belted round by
wharves as Indian isles by coral reefs—commerce surrounds it with her
surf. Right and left, the streets take you waterward. Its extreme
downtown is the battery, where that noble mole is washed by waves, and
cooled by breezes, which a few hours previous were out of sight of
land. Look at the crowds of water-gazers there.

Circumambulate the city of a dreamy Sabbath afternoon. Go from Corlears
Hook to Coenties Slip, and from thence, by Whitehall, northward. What
do you see?—Posted like silent sentinels all around the town, stand
thousands upon thousands of mortal men fixed in ocean reveries. Some
leaning against the spiles; some seated upon the pier-heads; some
looking over the bulwarks of ships from China; some high aloft in the
rigging, as if striving to get a still better seaward peep. But these
are all landsmen; of week days pent up in lath and plaster—tied to
counters, nailed to benches, clinched to desks. How then is this? Are
the green fields gone? What do they here?

But look! here come more crowds, pacing straight for the water, and
seemingly bound for a dive. Strange! Nothing will content them but the
extremest limit of the land; loitering under the shady lee of yonder
warehouses will not suffice. No. They must get just as nigh the water
as they possibly can without falling in. And there they stand—miles of
them—leagues. Inlanders all, they come from lanes and alleys, streets
and avenues—north, east, south, and west. Yet here they all unite. Tell
me, does the magnetic virtue of the needles of the compasses of all
those ships attract them thither?

Once more. Say you are in the country; in some high land of lakes. Take
almost any path you please, and ten to one it carries you down in a
dale, and leaves you there by a pool in the stream. There is magic in
it. Let the most absent-minded of men be plunged in his deepest
reveries—stand that man on his legs, set his feet a-going, and he will
infallibly lead you to water, if water there be in all that region.
Should you ever be athirst in the great American desert, try this
experiment, if your caravan happen to be supplied with a metaphysical
professor. Yes, as every one knows, meditation and water are wedded for
ever.

But here is an artist. He desires to paint you the dreamiest, shadiest,
quietest, most enchanting bit of romantic landscape in all the valley
of the Saco. What is the chief element he employs? There stand his
trees, each with a hollow trunk, as if a hermit and a crucifix were
within; and here sleeps his meadow, and there sleep his cattle; and up
from yonder cottage goes a sleepy smoke. Deep into distant woodlands
winds a mazy way, reaching to overlapping spurs of mountains bathed in
their hill-side blue. But though the picture lies thus tranced, and
though this pine-tree shakes down its sighs like leaves upon this
shepherd’s head, yet all were vain, unless the shepherd’s eye were
fixed upon the magic stream before him. Go visit the Prairies in June,
when for scores on scores of miles you wade knee-deep among
Tiger-lilies—what is the one charm wanting?—Water—there is not a drop
of water there! Were Niagara but a cataract of sand, would you travel
your thousand miles to see it? Why did the poor poet of Tennessee, upon
suddenly receiving two handfuls of silver, deliberate whether to buy
him a coat, which he sadly needed, or invest his money in a pedestrian
trip to Rockaway Beach? Why is almost every robust healthy boy with a
robust healthy soul in him, at some time or other crazy to go to sea?
Why upon your first voyage as a passenger, did you yourself feel such a
mystical vibration, when first told that you and your ship were now out
of sight of land? Why did the old Persians hold the sea holy? Why did
the Greeks give it a separate deity, and own brother of Jove? Surely
all this is not wit
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PG #: 1260
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_The Illustrations_
_in this Volume are the copyright of_
SERVICE & PATON, _London_

TO
W. M. THACKERAY, ESQ.,

This Work
IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED

BY
THE AUTHOR




PREFACE


A preface to the first edition of “Jane Eyre” being unnecessary, I gave
none: this second edition demands a few words both of acknowledgment
and miscellaneous remark.

My thanks are due in three quarters.

To the Public, for the indulgent ear it has inclined to a plain tale
with few pretensions.

To the Press, for the fair field its honest suffrage has opened to an
obscure aspirant.

To my Publishers, for the aid their tact, their energy, their practical
sense and frank liberality have afforded an unknown and unrecommended
Author.

The Press and the Public are but vague personifications for me, and I
must thank them in vague terms; but my Publishers are definite: so are
certain generous critics who have encouraged me as only large-hearted
and high-minded men know how to encourage a struggling stranger; to
them, _i.e._, to my Publishers and the select Reviewers, I say
cordially, Gentlemen, I thank you from my heart.

Having thus acknowledged what I owe those who have aided and approved
me, I turn to another class; a small one, so far as I know, but not,
therefore, to be overlooked. I mean the timorous or carping few who
doubt the tendency of such books as “Jane Eyre:” in whose eyes whatever
is unusual is wrong; whose ears detect in each protest against
bigotry—that parent of crime—an insult to piety, that regent of God on
earth. I would suggest to such doubters certain obvious distinctions; I
would remind them of certain simple truths.

Conventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness is not religion. To
attack the first is not to assail the last. To pluck the mask from the
face of the Pharisee, is not to lift an impious hand to the Crown of
Thorns.

These things and deeds are diametrically opposed: they are as distinct
as is vice from virtue. Men too often confound them: they should not be
confounded: appearance should not be mistaken for truth; narrow human
doctrines, that only tend to elate and magnify a few, should not be
substituted for the world-redeeming creed of Christ. There is—I repeat
it—a difference; and it is a good, and not a bad action to mark broadly
and clearly the line of separation between them.

The world may not like to see these ideas dissevered, for it has been
accustomed to blend them; finding it convenient to make external show
pass for sterling worth—to let white-washed walls vouch for clean
shrines. It may hate him who dares to scrutinise and expose—to rase the
gilding, and show base metal under it—to penetrate the sepulchre, and
reveal charnel relics: but hate as it will, it is indebted to him.

Ahab did not like Micaiah, because he never prophesied good concerning
him, but evil; probably he liked the sycophant son of Chenaanah
better; yet might Ahab have escaped a bloody death, had he but stopped
his ears to flattery, and opened them to faithful counsel.

There is a man in our own days whose words are not framed to tickle
delicate ears: who, to my thinking, comes before the great ones of
society, much as the son of Imlah came before the throned Kings of
Judah and Israel; and who speaks truth as deep, with a power as
prophet-like and as vital—a mien as dauntless and as daring. Is the
satirist of “Vanity Fair” admired in high places? I cannot tell; but I
think if some of those amongst whom he hurls the Greek fire of his
sarcasm, and over whom he flashes the levin-brand of his denunciation,
were to take his warnings in time—they or their seed might yet escape a
fatal Rimoth-Gilead.

Why have I alluded to this man? I have alluded to him, Reader, because
I think I see in him an intellect profounder and more unique than his
contemporaries have yet recognised; because I regard him as the first
social regenerator of the day—as the very master of that working corps
who would restore to rectitude the warped system of things; because I
think no commentator on his writings has yet found the comparison that
suits him, the terms which rightly characterise his talent. They say he
is like Fielding: they talk of his wit, humour, comic powers. He
resembles Fielding as an eagle does a vulture: Fielding could stoop on
carrion, but Thackeray never does. His wit is bright, his humour
attractive, but both bear the same relation to his serious genius that
the mere lambent sheet-lightning playing under the edge of the
summer-cloud does to the electric death-spark hid in its womb. Finally,
I have alluded to Mr. Thackeray, because to him—if he will accept the
tribute of a total stranger—I have dedicated this second edition of
“JANE EYRE.”

CURRER BELL.

_December_ 21_st_, 1847.




NOTE TO THE THIRD EDITION


I avail myself of the opportunity which a third edition of “Jane Eyre”
affords me, of again addressing a word to the Public, to explain that
my claim to the title of novelist rests on this one work alone. If,
therefore, the
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The Yellow Wallpaper

By Charlotte Perkins Gilman


It is very seldom that mere ordinary people like John and myself secure
ancestral halls for the summer.

A colonial mansion, a hereditary estate, I would say a haunted house,
and reach the height of romantic felicity—but that would be asking too
much of fate!

Still I will proudly declare that there is something queer about it.

Else, why should it be let so cheaply? And why have stood so long
untenanted?

John laughs at me, of course, but one expects that in marriage.

John is practical in the extreme. He has no patience with faith, an
intense horror of superstition, and he scoffs openly at any talk of
things not to be felt and seen and put down in figures.

John is a physician, and perhaps—(I would not say it to a living soul,
of course, but this is dead paper and a great relief to my
mind)—perhaps that is one reason I do not get well faster.

You see, he does not believe I am sick!

And what can one do?

If a physician of high standing, and one’s own husband, assures friends
and relatives that there is really nothing the matter with one but
temporary nervous depression—a slight hysterical tendency—what is one
to do?

My brother is also a physician, and also of high standing, and he says
the same thing.

So I take phosphates or phosphites—whichever it is, and tonics, and
journeys, and air, and exercise, and am absolutely forbidden to “work”
until I am well again.

Personally, I disagree with their ideas.

Personally, I believe that congenial work, with excitement and change,
would do me good.

But what is one to do?

I did write for a while in spite of them; but it does exhaust me a good
deal—having to be so sly about it, or else meet with heavy opposition.

I sometimes fancy that in my condition if I had less opposition and
more society and stimulus—but John says the very worst thing I can do
is to think about my condition, and I confess it always makes me feel
bad.

So I will let it alone and talk about the house.

The most beautiful place! It is quite alone, standing well back from
the road, quite three miles from the village. It makes me think of
English places that you read about, for there are hedges and walls and
gates that lock, and lots of separate little houses for the gardeners
and people.

There is a delicious garden! I never saw such a garden—large and shady,
full of box-bordered paths, and lined with long grape-covered arbors
with seats under them.

There were greenhouses, too, but they are all broken now.

There was some legal trouble, I believe, something about the heirs and
co-heirs; anyhow, the place has been empty for years.

That spoils my ghostliness, I am afraid; but I don’t care—there is
something strange about the house—I can feel it.

I even said so to John one moonlight evening, but he said what I felt
was a draught, and shut the window.

I get unreasonably angry with John sometimes. I’m sure I never used to
be so sensitive. I think it is due to this nervous condition.

But John says if I feel so I shall neglect proper self-control; so I
take pains to control myself,—before him, at least,—and that makes me
very tired.

I don’t like our room a bit. I wanted one downstairs that opened on the
piazza and had roses all over the window, and such pretty old-fashioned
chintz hangings! but John would not hear of it.

He said there was only one window and not room for two beds, and no
near room for him if he took another.

He is very careful and loving, and hardly lets me stir without special
direction.

I have a schedule prescription for each hour in the day; he takes all
care from me, and so I feel basely ungrateful not to value it more.

He said we came here solely on my account, that I was to have perfect
rest and all the air I could get. “Your exercise depends on your
strength, my dear,” said he, “and your food somewhat on your appetite;
but air you can absorb all the time.” So we took the nursery, at the
top of the house.

It is a big, airy room, the whole floor nearly, with windows that look
all ways, and air and sunshine galore. It was nursery first and then
playground and gymnasium, I should judge; for the windows are barred
for little children, and there are rings and things in the walls.

The paint and paper look as if a boys’ school had used it. It is
stripped off—the paper—in great patches all around the head of my bed,
about as far as I can reach, and in a great place on the other side of
the room low down. I never saw a worse paper in my life.

One of those sprawling flamboyant patterns committing every artistic
sin.

It is dull enough to confuse the eye in following, pronounced enough to
constantly irritate, and provoke study, and when you follow the lame,
uncertain curves for a little distance they suddenly commit
suicide—plunge off at outrageous angles, destroy themselves in
unheard-of contradictions.

The color is repellant, almost revolting; a smouldering, unclean
yellow, strangely faded by the slow-turning sunlight.


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You don't know about me without you have read a book by the name of The
Adventures of Tom Sawyer; but that ain't no matter. That book was made
by Mr. Mark Twain, and he told the truth, mainly. There was things
which he stretched, but mainly he told the truth. That is nothing. I
never seen anybody but lied one time or another, without it was Aunt
Polly, or the widow, or maybe Mary. Aunt Polly--Tom's Aunt Polly, she
is--and Mary, and the Widow Douglas is all told about in that book, which
is mostly a true book, with some stretchers, as I said before.

Now the way that the book winds up is this: Tom and me found the money
that the robbers hid in the cave, and it made us rich. We got six
thousand dollars apiece--all gold. It was an awful sight of money when
it was piled up. Well, Judge Thatcher he took it and put it out
at interest, and it fetched us a dollar a day apiece all the year
round--more than a body could tell what to do with. The Widow Douglas
she took me for her son, and allowed she would sivilize me; but it was
rough living in the house all the time, considering how dismal regular
and decent the widow was in all her ways; and so when I couldn't stand
it no longer I lit out. I got into my old rags and my sugar-hogshead
again, and was free and satisfied. But Tom Sawyer he hunted me up and
said he was going to start a band of robbers, and I might join if I
would go back to the widow and be respectable. So I went back.

The widow she cried over me, and called me a poor lost lamb, and she
called me a lot of other names, too, but she never meant no harm by
it. She put me in them new clothes again, and I couldn't do nothing but
sweat and sweat, and feel all cramped up. Well, then, the old thing
commenced again. The widow rung a bell for supper, and you had to come
to time. When you got to the table you couldn't go right to eating, but
you had to wait for the widow to tuck down her head and grumble a little
over the victuals, though there warn't really anything the matter with
them,--that is, nothing only everything was cooked by itself. In a
barrel of odds and ends it is different; things get mixed up, and the
juice kind of swaps around, and the things go better.

After supper she got out her book and learned me about Moses and the
Bulrushers, and I was in a sweat to find out all about him; but by and
by she let it out that Moses had been dead a considerable long time; so
then I didn't care no more about him, because I don't take no stock in
dead people.

Pretty soon I wanted to smoke, and asked the widow to let me. But she
wouldn't. She said it was a mean practice and wasn't clean, and I must
try to not do it any more. That is just the way with some people. They
get down on a thing when they don't know nothing about it. Here she was
a-bothering about Moses, which was no kin to her, and no use to anybody,
being gone, you see, yet finding a power of fault with me for doing a
thing that had some good in it. And she took snuff, too; of course that
was all right, because she done it herself.

Her sister, Miss Watson, a tolerable slim old maid, with goggles on,
had just come to live with her, and took a set at me now with a
spelling-book. She worked me middling hard for about an hour, and then
the widow made her ease up. I couldn't stood it much longer. Then for
an hour it was deadly dull, and I was fidgety. Miss Watson would say,
“Don't put your feet up there, Huckleberry;” and “Don't scrunch up
like that, Huckleberry--set up straight;” and pretty soon she would
say, “Don't gap and stretch like that, Huckleberry--why don't you try to
behave?” Then she told me all about the bad place, and I said I wished
I was there. She got mad then, but I didn't mean no harm. All I wanted
was to go somewheres; all I wanted was a change, I warn't particular.
She said it was wicked to say what I said; said she wouldn't say it for
the whole world; she was going to live so as to go to the good place.
Well, I couldn't see no advantage in going where she was going, so I
made up my mind I wouldn't try for it. But I never said so, because it
would only make trouble, and wouldn't do no good.

Now she had got a start, and she went on and told me all about the good
place. She said all a body would have to do there was to go around all
day long with a harp and sing, forever and ever. So I didn't think
much of it. But I never said so. I asked her if she reckoned Tom Sawyer
would go there, and she said not by a considerable sight. I was glad
about that, because I wanted him and me to be together.

Miss Watson she kept pecking at me, and it got tiresome and lonesome.
By and by they fetched the niggers in and had prayers, and then
everybody was off to bed. I went up to my room with a piece of candle,
and put it on the table. Then I set down in a chair by the window and
tried to think of something cheerful, but it warn't no use. I felt
so lonesome I most wished I was dead. The stars were shining, and the
leaves rustled in the woods ever so 
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The Nellie, a cruising yawl, swung to her anchor without a flutter of
the sails, and was at rest. The flood had made, the wind was nearly
calm, and being bound down the river, the only thing for it was to come
to and wait for the turn of the tide.

The sea-reach of the Thames stretched before us like the beginning of
an interminable waterway. In the offing the sea and the sky were welded
together without a joint, and in the luminous space the tanned sails of
the barges drifting up with the tide seemed to stand still in red
clusters of canvas sharply peaked, with gleams of varnished sprits. A
haze rested on the low shores that ran out to sea in vanishing
flatness. The air was dark above Gravesend, and farther back still
seemed condensed into a mournful gloom, brooding motionless over the
biggest, and the greatest, town on earth.

The Director of Companies was our captain and our host. We four
affectionately watched his back as he stood in the bows looking to
seaward. On the whole river there was nothing that looked half so
nautical. He resembled a pilot, which to a seaman is trustworthiness
personified. It was difficult to realize his work was not out there in
the luminous estuary, but behind him, within the brooding gloom.

Between us there was, as I have already said somewhere, the bond of the
sea. Besides holding our hearts together through long periods of
separation, it had the effect of making us tolerant of each other’s
yarns—and even convictions. The Lawyer—the best of old fellows—had,
because of his many years and many virtues, the only cushion on deck,
and was lying on the only rug. The Accountant had brought out already a
box of dominoes, and was toying architecturally with the bones. Marlow
sat cross-legged right aft, leaning against the mizzen-mast. He had
sunken cheeks, a yellow complexion, a straight back, an ascetic aspect,
and, with his arms dropped, the palms of hands outwards, resembled an
idol. The director, satisfied the anchor had good hold, made his way
aft and sat down amongst us. We exchanged a few words lazily.
Afterwards there was silence on board the yacht. For some reason or
other we did not begin that game of dominoes. We felt meditative, and
fit for nothing but placid staring. The day was ending in a serenity of
still and exquisite brilliance. The water shone pacifically; the sky,
without a speck, was a benign immensity of unstained light; the very
mist on the Essex marsh was like a gauzy and radiant fabric, hung from
the wooded rises inland, and draping the low shores in diaphanous
folds. Only the gloom to the west, brooding over the upper reaches,
became more sombre every minute, as if angered by the approach of the
sun.

And at last, in its curved and imperceptible fall, the sun sank low,
and from glowing white changed to a dull red without rays and without
heat, as if about to go out suddenly, stricken to death by the touch of
that gloom brooding over a crowd of men.

Forthwith a change came over the waters, and the serenity became less
brilliant but more profound. The old river in its broad reach rested
unruffled at the decline of day, after ages of good service done to the
race that peopled its banks, spread out in the tranquil dignity of a
waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth. We looked at the
venerable stream not in the vivid flush of a short day that comes and
departs for ever, but in the august light of abiding memories. And
indeed nothing is easier for a man who has, as the phrase goes,
“followed the sea” with reverence and affection, than to evoke the
great spirit of the past upon the lower reaches of the Thames. The
tidal current runs to and fro in its unceasing service, crowded with
memories of men and ships it had borne to the rest of home or to the
battles of the sea. It had known and served all the men of whom the
nation is proud, from Sir Francis Drake to Sir John Franklin, knights
all, titled and untitled—the great knights-errant of the sea. It had
borne all the ships whose names are like jewels flashing in the night
of time, from the _Golden Hind_ returning with her rotund flanks full
of treasure, to be visited by the Queen’s Highness and thus pass out of
the gigantic tale, to the _Erebus_ and _Terror_, bound on other
conquests—and that never returned. It had known the ships and the men.
They had sailed from Deptford, from Greenwich, from Erith—the
adventurers and the settlers; kings’ ships and the ships of men on
’Change; captains, admirals, the dark “interlopers” of the Eastern
trade, and the commissioned “generals” of East India fleets. Hunters
for gold or pursuers of fame, they all had gone out on that stream,
bearing the sword, and often the torch, messengers of the might within
the land, bearers of a spark from the sacred fire. What greatness had
not floated on the ebb of that river into the mystery of an unknown
earth!... The dreams of men, the seed of commonwealths, the germs of
empires.

The sun set; the dusk fell on the stream, and 
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PG #: 26184
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Etext of Simple Sabotage Field Manual
Office of Strategic Services


SIMPLE SABOTAGE FIELD MANUAL
Strategic Services
(Provisional)
Prepared under direction of The Director of Strategic Services
OSS REPRODUCTION BRANCH
SIMPLE SABOTAGE FIELD MANUAL
Strategic Services
(Provisional)
STRATEGIC SERVICES FIELD MANUAL No. 3

Office of Strategic Services

Washington, D. C.

17 January 1944

This Simple Sabotage Field Manual Strategic Services (Provisional) is
published for the information and guidance of all concerned and will be
used as the basic doctrine for Strategic Services training for this
subject.

The contents of this Manual should be carefully controlled and should
not be allowed to come into unauthorized hands.

The instructions may be placed in separate pamphlets or leaflets
according to categories of operations but should be distributed with
care and not broadly. They should be used as a basis of radio broadcasts
only for local and special cases and as directed by the theater
commander.

AR 380-5, pertaining to handling of secret documents, will be complied
with in the handling of this Manual.

William J. Donovan

CONTENTS
1. INTRODUCTION
2. POSSIBLE EFFECTS
3. MOTIVATING THE SABOTEUR
4. TOOLS, TARGETS, AND TIMING
5. SPECIFIC SUGGESTIONS FOR SIMPLE SABOTAGE


1. INTRODUCTION

The purpose of this paper is to characterize simple sabotage, to outline
its possible effects, and to present suggestions for inciting and
executing it.

Sabotage varies from highly technical coup de main acts that require
detailed planning and the use of specially-trained operatives, to
innumerable simple acts which the ordinary individual citizen-saboteur
can perform. This paper is primarily concerned with the latter type.
Simple sabotage does not require specially prepared tools or equipment;
it is executed by an ordinary citizen who may or may not act
individually and without the necessity for active connection with an
organized group; and it is carried out in such a way as to involve a
minimum danger of injury, detection, and reprisal.

Where destruction is involved, the weapons of the citizen-saboteur are
salt, nails, candles, pebbles, thread, or any other materials he might
normally be expected to possess as a householder or as a worker in his
particular occupation. His arsenal is the kitchen shelf, the trash pile,
his own usual kit of tools and supplies. The targets of his sabotage are
usually objects to which he has normal and inconspicuous access in
everyday life.

A second type of simple sabotage requires no destructive tools
whatsoever and produces physical damage, if any, by highly indirect
means. It is based on universal opportunities to make faulty decisions,
to adopt a noncooperative attitude, and to induce others to follow suit.
Making a faulty decision may be simply a matter of placing tools in one
spot instead of another. A non-cooperative attitude may involve nothing
more than creating an unpleasant situation among one's fellow workers,
engaging in bickerings, or displaying surliness and stupidity.

This type of activity, sometimes referred to as the "human element," is
frequently responsible for accidents, delays, and general obstruction
even under normal conditions. The potential saboteur should discover
what types of faulty decisions and the operations are normally found in
this kind of work and should then devise his sabotage so as to enlarge
that "margin for error."

2. POSSIBLE EFFECTS

Acts of simple sabotage are occurring throughout Europe. An effort
should be made to add to their efficiency, lessen their detectability,
and increase their number. Acts of simple sabotage, multiplied by
thousands of citizen-saboteurs, can be an effective weapon against the
enemy.  Slashing tires, draining fuel tanks, starting fires, starting
arguments, acting stupidly, short-circuiting electric systems, abrading
machine parts will waste materials, manpower, and time. Occurring on a
wide scale, simple sabotage will be a constant and tangible drag on the
war effort of the enemy.

Simple sabotage may also have secondary results of more or less value.
Widespread practice of simple sabotage will harass and demoralize enemy
administrators and police. Further, success may embolden the
citizen-saboteur eventually to find colleagues who can assist him in
sabotage of greater dimensions. Finally, the very practice of simple
sabotage by natives in enemy or occupied territory may make these
individuals identify themselves actively with the United Nations war
effort, and encourage them to assist openly in periods of Allied
invasion and occupation.

3. MOTIVATING THE SABOTEUR

To incite the citizen to the active practice of simple sabotage and to
keep him practicing that sabotage over sustained periods is a special
problem.

Simple sabotage is often an act which the citizen performs according to
his own initiative and inclination. Acts of destruction do not bring him
any personal gain and may be completely foreign to his habitually
conse
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The Strange Case Of Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Hyde

by Robert Louis Stevenson


Contents


 STORY OF THE DOOR

 SEARCH FOR MR. HYDE

 DR. JEKYLL WAS QUITE AT EASE

 THE CAREW MURDER CASE

 INCIDENT OF THE LETTER

 INCIDENT OF DR. LANYON

 INCIDENT AT THE WINDOW

 THE LAST NIGHT

 DR. LANYON’S NARRATIVE

 HENRY JEKYLL’S FULL STATEMENT OF THE CASE


STORY OF THE DOOR

Mr. Utterson the lawyer was a man of a rugged countenance that was
never lighted by a smile; cold, scanty and embarrassed in discourse;
backward in sentiment; lean, long, dusty, dreary and yet somehow
lovable. At friendly meetings, and when the wine was to his taste,
something eminently human beaconed from his eye; something indeed which
never found its way into his talk, but which spoke not only in these
silent symbols of the after-dinner face, but more often and loudly in
the acts of his life. He was austere with himself; drank gin when he
was alone, to mortify a taste for vintages; and though he enjoyed the
theatre, had not crossed the doors of one for twenty years. But he had
an approved tolerance for others; sometimes wondering, almost with
envy, at the high pressure of spirits involved in their misdeeds; and
in any extremity inclined to help rather than to reprove. “I incline to
Cain’s heresy,” he used to say quaintly: “I let my brother go to the
devil in his own way.” In this character, it was frequently his fortune
to be the last reputable acquaintance and the last good influence in
the lives of downgoing men. And to such as these, so long as they came
about his chambers, he never marked a shade of change in his demeanour.

No doubt the feat was easy to Mr. Utterson; for he was undemonstrative
at the best, and even his friendship seemed to be founded in a similar
catholicity of good-nature. It is the mark of a modest man to accept
his friendly circle ready-made from the hands of opportunity; and that
was the lawyer’s way. His friends were those of his own blood or those
whom he had known the longest; his affections, like ivy, were the
growth of time, they implied no aptness in the object. Hence, no doubt
the bond that united him to Mr. Richard Enfield, his distant kinsman,
the well-known man about town. It was a nut to crack for many, what
these two could see in each other, or what subject they could find in
common. It was reported by those who encountered them in their Sunday
walks, that they said nothing, looked singularly dull and would hail
with obvious relief the appearance of a friend. For all that, the two
men put the greatest store by these excursions, counted them the chief
jewel of each week, and not only set aside occasions of pleasure, but
even resisted the calls of business, that they might enjoy them
uninterrupted.

It chanced on one of these rambles that their way led them down a
by-street in a busy quarter of London. The street was small and what is
called quiet, but it drove a thriving trade on the weekdays. The
inhabitants were all doing well, it seemed and all emulously hoping to
do better still, and laying out the surplus of their grains in
coquetry; so that the shop fronts stood along that thoroughfare with an
air of invitation, like rows of smiling saleswomen. Even on Sunday,
when it veiled its more florid charms and lay comparatively empty of
passage, the street shone out in contrast to its dingy neighbourhood,
like a fire in a forest; and with its freshly painted shutters,
well-polished brasses, and general cleanliness and gaiety of note,
instantly caught and pleased the eye of the passenger.

Two doors from one corner, on the left hand going east the line was
broken by the entry of a court; and just at that point a certain
sinister block of building thrust forward its gable on the street. It
was two storeys high; showed no window, nothing but a door on the lower
storey and a blind forehead of discoloured wall on the upper; and bore
in every feature, the marks of prolonged and sordid negligence. The
door, which was equipped with neither bell nor knocker, was blistered
and distained. Tramps slouched into the recess and struck matches on
the panels; children kept shop upon the steps; the schoolboy had tried
his knife on the mouldings; and for close on a generation, no one had
appeared to drive away these random visitors or to repair their
ravages.

Mr. Enfield and the lawyer were on the other side of the by-street; but
when they came abreast of the entry, the former lifted up his cane and
pointed.

“Did you ever remark that door?” he asked; and when his companion had
replied in the affirmative, “It is connected in my mind,” added he,
“with a very odd story.”

“Indeed?” said Mr. Utterson, with a slight change of voice, “and what
was that?”

“Well, it was this way,” returned Mr. Enfield: “I was coming home from
some place at the end of the world, about three o’clock of a black
winter morning, and my way lay through a part of town where there was
literally nothing to be seen but lamps. Street after street and all the
folks as
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JONATHAN HARKER'S JOURNAL

(_Kept in shorthand._)


_3 May. Bistritz._--Left Munich at 8:35 P. M., on 1st May, arriving at
Vienna early next morning; should have arrived at 6:46, but train was an
hour late. Buda-Pesth seems a wonderful place, from the glimpse which I
got of it from the train and the little I could walk through the
streets. I feared to go very far from the station, as we had arrived
late and would start as near the correct time as possible. The
impression I had was that we were leaving the West and entering the
East; the most western of splendid bridges over the Danube, which is
here of noble width and depth, took us among the traditions of Turkish
rule.

We left in pretty good time, and came after nightfall to Klausenburgh.
Here I stopped for the night at the Hotel Royale. I had for dinner, or
rather supper, a chicken done up some way with red pepper, which was
very good but thirsty. (_Mem._, get recipe for Mina.) I asked the
waiter, and he said it was called "paprika hendl," and that, as it was a
national dish, I should be able to get it anywhere along the
Carpathians. I found my smattering of German very useful here; indeed, I
don't know how I should be able to get on without it.

Having had some time at my disposal when in London, I had visited the
British Museum, and made search among the books and maps in the library
regarding Transylvania; it had struck me that some foreknowledge of the
country could hardly fail to have some importance in dealing with a
nobleman of that country. I find that the district he named is in the
extreme east of the country, just on the borders of three states,
Transylvania, Moldavia and Bukovina, in the midst of the Carpathian
mountains; one of the wildest and least known portions of Europe. I was
not able to light on any map or work giving the exact locality of the
Castle Dracula, as there are no maps of this country as yet to compare
with our own Ordnance Survey maps; but I found that Bistritz, the post
town named by Count Dracula, is a fairly well-known place. I shall enter
here some of my notes, as they may refresh my memory when I talk over my
travels with Mina.

In the population of Transylvania there are four distinct nationalities:
Saxons in the South, and mixed with them the Wallachs, who are the
descendants of the Dacians; Magyars in the West, and Szekelys in the
East and North. I am going among the latter, who claim to be descended
from Attila and the Huns. This may be so, for when the Magyars conquered
the country in the eleventh century they found the Huns settled in it. I
read that every known superstition in the world is gathered into the
horseshoe of the Carpathians, as if it were the centre of some sort of
imaginative whirlpool; if so my stay may be very interesting. (_Mem._, I
must ask the Count all about them.)

I did not sleep well, though my bed was comfortable enough, for I had
all sorts of queer dreams. There was a dog howling all night under my
window, which may have had something to do with it; or it may have been
the paprika, for I had to drink up all the water in my carafe, and was
still thirsty. Towards morning I slept and was wakened by the continuous
knocking at my door, so I guess I must have been sleeping soundly then.
I had for breakfast more paprika, and a sort of porridge of maize flour
which they said was "mamaliga," and egg-plant stuffed with forcemeat, a
very excellent dish, which they call "impletata." (_Mem._, get recipe
for this also.) I had to hurry breakfast, for the train started a little
before eight, or rather it ought to have done so, for after rushing to
the station at 7:30 I had to sit in the carriage for more than an hour
before we began to move. It seems to me that the further east you go the
more unpunctual are the trains. What ought they to be in China?

All day long we seemed to dawdle through a country which was full of
beauty of every kind. Sometimes we saw little towns or castles on the
top of steep hills such as we see in old missals; sometimes we ran by
rivers and streams which seemed from the wide stony margin on each side
of them to be subject to great floods. It takes a lot of water, and
running strong, to sweep the outside edge of a river clear. At every
station there were groups of people, sometimes crowds, and in all sorts
of attire. Some of them were just like the peasants at home or those I
saw coming through France and Germany, with short jackets and round hats
and home-made trousers; but others were very picturesque. The women
looked pretty, except when you got near them, but they were very clumsy
about the waist. They had all full white sleeves of some kind or other,
and most of them had big belts with a lot of strips of something
fluttering from them like the dresses in a ballet, but of course there
were petticoats under them. The strangest figures we saw were the
Slovaks, who were more barbarian than the rest, with their big cow-boy
hats, great baggy dirty-white trousers, white linen sh
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XVIII. A FLOOD OF SUNSHINE                       245

XIX. THE CHILD AT THE BROOK-SIDE                 253

XX. THE MINISTER IN A MAZE                       264

XXI. THE NEW ENGLAND HOLIDAY                     277

XXII. THE PROCESSION                             288

XXIII. THE REVELATION OF THE SCARLET LETTER      302

XXIV. CONCLUSION                                 315

[Illustration]




                        LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.

_Drawn by_ MARY HALLOCK FOOTE _and Engraved by_ A. V. S. ANTHONY. _The
              ornamental head-pieces are by_ L. S. IPSEN.


                                                      PAGE

THE CUSTOM-HOUSE                                         1

THE PRISON DOOR                                         49

VIGNETTE,—WILD ROSE                                     51

THE GOSSIPS                                             57

“STANDING ON THE MISERABLE EMINENCE”                    65

“SHE WAS LED BACK TO PRISON”                            78

“THE EYES OF THE WRINKLED SCHOLAR GLOWED”               87

THE LONESOME DWELLING                                   93

LONELY FOOTSTEPS                                        99

VIGNETTE                                               104

A TOUCH OF PEARL’S BABY-HAND                           113

VIGNETTE                                               118

THE GOVERNOR’S BREASTPLATE                             125

“LOOK THOU TO IT! I WILL NOT LOSE THE CHILD!”          135

THE MINISTER AND LEECH                                 148

THE LEECH AND HIS PATIENT                              165

THE VIRGINS OF THE CHURCH                              172

“THEY STOOD IN THE NOON OF THAT STRANGE SPLENDOR”      185

HESTER IN THE HOUSE OF MOURNING                        195

MANDRAKE                                               211

“HE GATHERED HERBS HERE AND THERE”                     213

PEARL ON THE SEA-SHORE                                 217

“WILT THOU YET FORGIVE ME?”                            237

A GLEAM OF SUNSHINE                                    249

THE CHILD AT THE BROOK-SIDE                            257

CHILLINGWORTH,—“SMILE WITH A SINISTER MEANING”         287

NEW ENGLAND WORTHIES                                   289

“SHALL WE NOT MEET AGAIN?”                             311

HESTER’S RETURN                                        320




                           THE CUSTOM-HOUSE.

[Illustration: The Custom-House]




                           THE CUSTOM-HOUSE.

                 INTRODUCTORY TO “THE SCARLET LETTER.”


It is a little remarkable, that—though disinclined to talk overmuch
of myself and my affairs at the fireside, and to my personal
friends—an autobiographical impulse should twice in my life have
taken possession of me, in addressing the public. The first time was
three or four years since, when I favored the reader—inexcusably, and
for no earthly reason, that either the indulgent reader or the
intrusive author could imagine—with a description of my way of life
in the deep quietude of an Old Manse. And now—because, beyond my
deserts, I was happy enough to find a listener or two on the former
occasion—I again seize the public by the button, and talk of my three
years’ experience in a Custom-House. The example of the famous
“P. P., Clerk of this Parish,” was never more faithfully followed. The
truth seems to be, however, that, when he casts his leaves forth upon
the wind, the author addresses, not the many who will fling aside his
volume, or never take it up, but the few who will understand him,
better than most of his schoolmates or lifemates. Some authors,
indeed, do far more than this, and indulge themselves in such
confidential depths of revelation as could fittingly be addressed,
only and exclusively, to the one heart and mind of perfect sympathy;
as if the printed book, thrown at large on the wide world, were
certain to find out the divided segment of the writer’s own nature,
and complete his circle of existence by bringing him into communion
with it. It is scarcely decorous, however, to speak all, even where we
speak impersonally. But, as thoughts are frozen and utterance
benumbed, unless the speaker stand in some true relation with his
audience, it may be pardonable to imagine that a friend, a kind and
apprehensive, though not the closest friend, is listening to our talk;
and then, a native reserve being thawed by this genial consciousness,
we may prate of the circumstances that lie around us, and even of
ourself, but still keep the inmost Me behind its veil. To this extent,
and within these limits, an author, methinks, may be autobiographical,
without violating either the reader’s rights or his own.

It will be seen, likewise, that this Custom-House sketch has a certain
propriety, of a kind always recognized in literature, as explaining
how a large portion of the following pages came into my possession,
and as offering proofs of the authenticity of a narrative therein
contained. This, i
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ANTHEM

      by Ayn Rand


        CONTENTS

         PART ONE

         PART TWO

         PART THREE

         PART FOUR

         PART FIVE

         PART SIX

         PART SEVEN

         PART EIGHT

         PART NINE

         PART TEN

         PART ELEVEN

         PART TWELVE




      PART ONE

      It is a sin to write this. It is a sin to think words no others
      think and to put them down upon a paper no others are to see. It
      is base and evil. It is as if we were speaking alone to no ears
      but our own. And we know well that there is no transgression
      blacker than to do or think alone. We have broken the laws. The
      laws say that men may not write unless the Council of Vocations
      bid them so. May we be forgiven!

      But this is not the only sin upon us. We have committed a greater
      crime, and for this crime there is no name. What punishment
      awaits us if it be discovered we know not, for no such crime has
      come in the memory of men and there are no laws to provide for
      it.

      It is dark here. The flame of the candle stands still in the air.
      Nothing moves in this tunnel save our hand on the paper. We are
      alone here under the earth. It is a fearful word, alone. The laws
      say that none among men may be alone, ever and at any time, for
      this is the great transgression and the root of all evil. But we
      have broken many laws. And now there is nothing here save our one
      body, and it is strange to see only two legs stretched on the
      ground, and on the wall before us the shadow of our one head.

      The walls are cracked and water runs upon them in thin threads
      without sound, black and glistening as blood. We stole the candle
      from the larder of the Home of the Street Sweepers. We shall be
      sentenced to ten years in the Palace of Corrective Detention if
      it be discovered. But this matters not. It matters only that the
      light is precious and we should not waste it to write when we
      need it for that work which is our crime. Nothing matters save
      the work, our secret, our evil, our precious work. Still, we must
      also write, for—may the Council have mercy upon us!—we wish to
      speak for once to no ears but our own.

      Our name is Equality 7-2521, as it is written on the iron
      bracelet which all men wear on their left wrists with their names
      upon it. We are twenty-one years old. We are six feet tall, and
      this is a burden, for there are not many men who are six feet
      tall. Ever have the Teachers and the Leaders pointed to us and
      frowned and said:

      “There is evil in your bones, Equality 7-2521, for your body has
      grown beyond the bodies of your brothers.” But we cannot change
      our bones nor our body.

      We were born with a curse. It has always driven us to thoughts
      which are forbidden. It has always given us wishes which men may
      not wish. We know that we are evil, but there is no will in us
      and no power to resist it. This is our wonder and our secret
      fear, that we know and do not resist.

      We strive to be like all our brother men, for all men must be
      alike. Over the portals of the Palace of the World Council, there
      are words cut in the marble, which we repeat to ourselves
      whenever we are tempted:

  “WE ARE ONE IN ALL AND ALL IN ONE.
  THERE ARE NO MEN BUT ONLY THE GREAT _WE_,
  ONE, INDIVISIBLE AND FOREVER.”

      We repeat this to ourselves, but it helps us not.

      These words were cut long ago. There is green mould in the
      grooves of the letters and yellow streaks on the marble, which
      come from more years than men could count. And these words are
      the truth, for they are written on the Palace of the World
      Council, and the World Council is the body of all truth. Thus has
      it been ever since the Great Rebirth, and farther back than that
      no memory can reach.

      But we must never speak of the times before the Great Rebirth,
      else we are sentenced to three years in the Palace of Corrective
      Detention. It is only the Old Ones who whisper about it in the
      evenings, in the Home of the Useless. They whisper many strange
      things, of the towers which rose to the sky, in those
      Unmentionable Times, and of the wagons which moved without
      horses, and of the lights which burned without flame. But those
      times were evil. And those times passed away, when men saw the
      Great Truth which is this: that all men are one and that there is
      no will save the will of all men together.

      All men are good and wise. It is only we, Equality 7-2521, we
      alone who were born with a curse. For we are not like our
      brothers. And as we look back upon our life, we see that it has
      ever been thus and that it has brought us step by step to our
      last, supreme transgression, our crime of crimes hidden 
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Mr. Sherlock Holmes

      Mr. Sherlock Holmes, who was usually very late in the mornings,
      save upon those not infrequent occasions when he was up all
      night, was seated at the breakfast table. I stood upon the
      hearth-rug and picked up the stick which our visitor had left
      behind him the night before. It was a fine, thick piece of wood,
      bulbous-headed, of the sort which is known as a “Penang lawyer.”
      Just under the head was a broad silver band nearly an inch
      across. “To James Mortimer, M.R.C.S., from his friends of the
      C.C.H.,” was engraved upon it, with the date “1884.” It was just
      such a stick as the old-fashioned family practitioner used to
      carry—dignified, solid, and reassuring.

      “Well, Watson, what do you make of it?”

      Holmes was sitting with his back to me, and I had given him no
      sign of my occupation.

      “How did you know what I was doing? I believe you have eyes in
      the back of your head.”

      “I have, at least, a well-polished, silver-plated coffee-pot in
      front of me,” said he. “But, tell me, Watson, what do you make of
      our visitor’s stick? Since we have been so unfortunate as to miss
      him and have no notion of his errand, this accidental souvenir
      becomes of importance. Let me hear you reconstruct the man by an
      examination of it.”

      “I think,” said I, following as far as I could the methods of my
      companion, “that Dr. Mortimer is a successful, elderly medical
      man, well-esteemed since those who know him give him this mark of
      their appreciation.”

      “Good!” said Holmes. “Excellent!”

      “I think also that the probability is in favour of his being a
      country practitioner who does a great deal of his visiting on
      foot.”

      “Why so?”

      “Because this stick, though originally a very handsome one has
      been so knocked about that I can hardly imagine a town
      practitioner carrying it. The thick-iron ferrule is worn down, so
      it is evident that he has done a great amount of walking with
      it.”

      “Perfectly sound!” said Holmes.

      “And then again, there is the ‘friends of the C.C.H.’ I should
      guess that to be the Something Hunt, the local hunt to whose
      members he has possibly given some surgical assistance, and which
      has made him a small presentation in return.”

      “Really, Watson, you excel yourself,” said Holmes, pushing back
      his chair and lighting a cigarette. “I am bound to say that in
      all the accounts which you have been so good as to give of my own
      small achievements you have habitually underrated your own
      abilities. It may be that you are not yourself luminous, but you
      are a conductor of light. Some people without possessing genius
      have a remarkable power of stimulating it. I confess, my dear
      fellow, that I am very much in your debt.”

      He had never said as much before, and I must admit that his words
      gave me keen pleasure, for I had often been piqued by his
      indifference to my admiration and to the attempts which I had
      made to give publicity to his methods. I was proud, too, to think
      that I had so far mastered his system as to apply it in a way
      which earned his approval. He now took the stick from my hands
      and examined it for a few minutes with his naked eyes. Then with
      an expression of interest he laid down his cigarette, and
      carrying the cane to the window, he looked over it again with a
      convex lens.

      “Interesting, though elementary,” said he as he returned to his
      favourite corner of the settee. “There are certainly one or two
      indications upon the stick. It gives us the basis for several
      deductions.”

      “Has anything escaped me?” I asked with some self-importance. “I
      trust that there is nothing of consequence which I have
      overlooked?”

      “I am afraid, my dear Watson, that most of your conclusions were
      erroneous. When I said that you stimulated me I meant, to be
      frank, that in noting your fallacies I was occasionally guided
      towards the truth. Not that you are entirely wrong in this
      instance. The man is certainly a country practitioner. And he
      walks a good deal.”

      “Then I was right.”

      “To that extent.”

      “But that was all.”

      “No, no, my dear Watson, not all—by no means all. I would
      suggest, for example, that a presentation to a doctor is more
      likely to come from a hospital than from a hunt, and that when
      the initials ‘C.C.’ are placed before that hospital the words
      ‘Charing Cross’ very naturally suggest themselves.”

      “You may be right.”

      “The probability lies in that direction. And if we take this as a
      working hypothesis we have a fresh basis from which to start our
      construction of this unknown visitor.”

      “Well, then, supposing that ‘C.C.H.’ doe
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A CHRISTMAS CAROL

IN PROSE
BEING
A Ghost Story of Christmas

by Charles Dickens



PREFACE

I HAVE endeavoured in this Ghostly little book,
to raise the Ghost of an Idea, which shall not put my
readers out of humour with themselves, with each other,
with the season, or with me.  May it haunt their houses
pleasantly, and no one wish to lay it.

Their faithful Friend and Servant,
                                   C. D.
December, 1843.



CONTENTS

Stave   I: Marley's Ghost
Stave  II: The First of the Three Spirits
Stave III: The Second of the Three Spirits
Stave  IV: The Last of the Spirits
Stave   V: The End of It



STAVE I:  MARLEY'S GHOST

MARLEY was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt
whatever about that. The register of his burial was
signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker,
and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it: and
Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change, for anything he
chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as dead as a
door-nail.

Mind! I don't mean to say that I know, of my
own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about
a door-nail. I might have been inclined, myself, to
regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery
in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors
is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands
shall not disturb it, or the Country's done for. You
will therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that
Marley was as dead as a door-nail.

Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did.
How could it be otherwise? Scrooge and he were
partners for I don't know how many years. Scrooge
was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole
assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend, and
sole mourner. And even Scrooge was not so dreadfully
cut up by the sad event, but that he was an excellent
man of business on the very day of the funeral,
and solemnised it with an undoubted bargain.

The mention of Marley's funeral brings me back to
the point I started from. There is no doubt that Marley
was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or
nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going
to relate. If we were not perfectly convinced that
Hamlet's Father died before the play began, there
would be nothing more remarkable in his taking a
stroll at night, in an easterly wind, upon his own ramparts,
than there would be in any other middle-aged
gentleman rashly turning out after dark in a breezy
spot--say Saint Paul's Churchyard for instance--
literally to astonish his son's weak mind.

Scrooge never painted out Old Marley's name.
There it stood, years afterwards, above the warehouse
door: Scrooge and Marley. The firm was known as
Scrooge and Marley. Sometimes people new to the
business called Scrooge Scrooge, and sometimes Marley,
but he answered to both names. It was all the
same to him.

Oh! But he was a tight-fisted hand at the grind-stone,
Scrooge! a squeezing, wrenching, grasping, scraping,
clutching, covetous, old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint,
from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire;
secret, and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The
cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed
nose, shrivelled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his
eyes red, his thin lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his
grating voice. A frosty rime was on his head, and on his
eyebrows, and his wiry chin. He carried his own low
temperature always about with him; he iced his office in
the dog-days; and didn't thaw it one degree at Christmas.

External heat and cold had little influence on
Scrooge. No warmth could warm, no wintry weather
chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than he,
no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no
pelting rain less open to entreaty. Foul weather didn't
know where to have him. The heaviest rain, and
snow, and hail, and sleet, could boast of the advantage
over him in only one respect. They often "came down"
handsomely, and Scrooge never did.

Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with
gladsome looks, "My dear Scrooge, how are you?
When will you come to see me?" No beggars implored
him to bestow a trifle, no children asked him
what it was o'clock, no man or woman ever once in all
his life inquired the way to such and such a place, of
Scrooge. Even the blind men's dogs appeared to
know him; and when they saw him coming on, would
tug their owners into doorways and up courts; and
then would wag their tails as though they said, "No
eye at all is better than an evil eye, dark master!"

But what did Scrooge care! It was the very thing
he liked. To edge his way along the crowded paths
of life, warning all human sympathy to keep its distance,
was what the knowing ones call "nuts" to Scrooge.

Once upon a time--of all the good days in the year,
on Christmas Eve--old Scrooge sat busy in his
counting-house. It was cold, bleak, biting weather: foggy
withal: and he could hear the people in the court outside,
go wheezing up and down, beating their hands
upon their breasts, and stamping their feet upon the
pavement st
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My father’s family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, my
infant tongue could make of both names nothing longer or more explicit
than Pip. So, I called myself Pip, and came to be called Pip.

I give Pirrip as my father’s family name, on the authority of his
tombstone and my sister,—Mrs. Joe Gargery, who married the blacksmith.
As I never saw my father or my mother, and never saw any likeness of
either of them (for their days were long before the days of
photographs), my first fancies regarding what they were like were
unreasonably derived from their tombstones. The shape of the letters on
my father’s, gave me an odd idea that he was a square, stout, dark man,
with curly black hair. From the character and turn of the inscription,
“_Also Georgiana Wife of the Above_,” I drew a childish conclusion that
my mother was freckled and sickly. To five little stone lozenges, each
about a foot and a half long, which were arranged in a neat row beside
their grave, and were sacred to the memory of five little brothers of
mine,—who gave up trying to get a living, exceedingly early in that
universal struggle,—I am indebted for a belief I religiously
entertained that they had all been born on their backs with their hands
in their trousers-pockets, and had never taken them out in this state
of existence.

Ours was the marsh country, down by the river, within, as the river
wound, twenty miles of the sea. My first most vivid and broad
impression of the identity of things seems to me to have been gained on
a memorable raw afternoon towards evening. At such a time I found out
for certain that this bleak place overgrown with nettles was the
churchyard; and that Philip Pirrip, late of this parish, and also
Georgiana wife of the above, were dead and buried; and that Alexander,
Bartholomew, Abraham, Tobias, and Roger, infant children of the
aforesaid, were also dead and buried; and that the dark flat wilderness
beyond the churchyard, intersected with dikes and mounds and gates,
with scattered cattle feeding on it, was the marshes; and that the low
leaden line beyond was the river; and that the distant savage lair from
which the wind was rushing was the sea; and that the small bundle of
shivers growing afraid of it all and beginning to cry, was Pip.

“Hold your noise!” cried a terrible voice, as a man started up from
among the graves at the side of the church porch. “Keep still, you
little devil, or I’ll cut your throat!”

A fearful man, all in coarse grey, with a great iron on his leg. A man
with no hat, and with broken shoes, and with an old rag tied round his
head. A man who had been soaked in water, and smothered in mud, and
lamed by stones, and cut by flints, and stung by nettles, and torn by
briars; who limped, and shivered, and glared, and growled; and whose
teeth chattered in his head as he seized me by the chin.

“Oh! Don’t cut my throat, sir,” I pleaded in terror. “Pray don’t do it,
sir.”

“Tell us your name!” said the man. “Quick!”

“Pip, sir.”

“Once more,” said the man, staring at me. “Give it mouth!”

“Pip. Pip, sir.”

“Show us where you live,” said the man. “Pint out the place!”

I pointed to where our village lay, on the flat in-shore among the
alder-trees and pollards, a mile or more from the church.

The man, after looking at me for a moment, turned me upside down, and
emptied my pockets. There was nothing in them but a piece of bread.
When the church came to itself,—for he was so sudden and strong that he
made it go head over heels before me, and I saw the steeple under my
feet,—when the church came to itself, I say, I was seated on a high
tombstone, trembling while he ate the bread ravenously.

[Illustration]

“You young dog,” said the man, licking his lips, “what fat cheeks you
ha’ got.”

I believe they were fat, though I was at that time undersized for my
years, and not strong.

“Darn me if I couldn’t eat ’em,” said the man, with a threatening shake
of his head, “and if I han’t half a mind to’t!”

I earnestly expressed my hope that he wouldn’t, and held tighter to the
tombstone on which he had put me; partly, to keep myself upon it;
partly, to keep myself from crying.

“Now lookee here!” said the man. “Where’s your mother?”

“There, sir!” said I.

He started, made a short run, and stopped and looked over his shoulder.

“There, sir!” I timidly explained. “Also Georgiana. That’s my mother.”

“Oh!” said he, coming back. “And is that your father alonger your
mother?”

“Yes, sir,” said I; “him too; late of this parish.”

“Ha!” he muttered then, considering. “Who d’ye live with,—supposin’
you’re kindly let to live, which I han’t made up my mind about?”

“My sister, sir,—Mrs. Joe Gargery,—wife of Joe Gargery, the blacksmith,
sir.”

“Blacksmith, eh?” said he. And looked down at his leg.

After darkly looking at his leg and me several times, he came closer to
my tombstone, took me by both arms, and tilted me back as far as he
could hold me; so that his eyes looked most powerfully down into mine,
and mine l
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“TOM!”

No answer.

“TOM!”

No answer.

“What’s gone with that boy, I wonder? You TOM!”

No answer.

The old lady pulled her spectacles down and looked over them about the
room; then she put them up and looked out under them. She seldom or
never looked _through_ them for so small a thing as a boy; they were
her state pair, the pride of her heart, and were built for “style,” not
service—she could have seen through a pair of stove-lids just as well.
She looked perplexed for a moment, and then said, not fiercely, but
still loud enough for the furniture to hear:

“Well, I lay if I get hold of you I’ll—”

She did not finish, for by this time she was bending down and punching
under the bed with the broom, and so she needed breath to punctuate the
punches with. She resurrected nothing but the cat.

“I never did see the beat of that boy!”

She went to the open door and stood in it and looked out among the
tomato vines and “jimpson” weeds that constituted the garden. No Tom. So
she lifted up her voice at an angle calculated for distance and shouted:

“Y-o-u-u TOM!”

There was a slight noise behind her and she turned just in time to seize
a small boy by the slack of his roundabout and arrest his flight.

“There! I might ’a’ thought of that closet. What you been doing in
there?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing! Look at your hands. And look at your mouth. What _is_ that
truck?”

“I don’t know, aunt.”

“Well, I know. It’s jam—that’s what it is. Forty times I’ve said if you
didn’t let that jam alone I’d skin you. Hand me that switch.”

The switch hovered in the air—the peril was desperate—

“My! Look behind you, aunt!”

The old lady whirled round, and snatched her skirts out of danger.
The lad fled on the instant, scrambled up the high board-fence, and
disappeared over it.

His aunt Polly stood surprised a moment, and then broke into a gentle
laugh.

“Hang the boy, can’t I never learn anything? Ain’t he played me tricks
enough like that for me to be looking out for him by this time? But old
fools is the biggest fools there is. Can’t learn an old dog new tricks,
as the saying is. But my goodness, he never plays them alike, two days,
and how is a body to know what’s coming? He ’pears to know just how long
he can torment me before I get my dander up, and he knows if he can make
out to put me off for a minute or make me laugh, it’s all down again and
I can’t hit him a lick. I ain’t doing my duty by that boy, and that’s
the Lord’s truth, goodness knows. Spare the rod and spile the child,
as the Good Book says. I’m a laying up sin and suffering for us both,
I know. He’s full of the Old Scratch, but laws-a-me! he’s my own
dead sister’s boy, poor thing, and I ain’t got the heart to lash him,
somehow. Every time I let him off, my conscience does hurt me so, and
every time I hit him my old heart most breaks. Well-a-well, man that is
born of woman is of few days and full of trouble, as the Scripture
says, and I reckon it’s so. He’ll play hookey this evening, * and [*
Southwestern for “afternoon”] I’ll just be obleeged to make him work,
tomorrow, to punish him. It’s mighty hard to make him work Saturdays,
when all the boys is having holiday, but he hates work more than he
hates anything else, and I’ve _got_ to do some of my duty by him, or
I’ll be the ruination of the child.”

Tom did play hookey, and he had a very good time. He got back home
barely in season to help Jim, the small colored boy, saw next-day’s wood
and split the kindlings before supper—at least he was there in time
to tell his adventures to Jim while Jim did three-fourths of the work.
Tom’s younger brother (or rather half-brother) Sid was already through
with his part of the work (picking up chips), for he was a quiet boy,
and had no adventurous, trouble-some ways.

While Tom was eating his supper, and stealing sugar as opportunity
offered, Aunt Polly asked him questions that were full of guile, and
very deep—for she wanted to trap him into damaging revealments. Like
many other simple-hearted souls, it was her pet vanity to believe she
was endowed with a talent for dark and mysterious diplomacy, and she
loved to contemplate her most transparent devices as marvels of low
cunning. Said she:

“Tom, it was middling warm in school, warn’t it?”

“Yes’m.”

“Powerful warm, warn’t it?”

“Yes’m.”

“Didn’t you want to go in a-swimming, Tom?”

A bit of a scare shot through Tom—a touch of uncomfortable suspicion. He
searched Aunt Polly’s face, but it told him nothing. So he said:

“No’m—well, not very much.”

The old lady reached out her hand and felt Tom’s shirt, and said:

“But you ain’t too warm now, though.” And it flattered her to reflect
that she had discovered that the shirt was dry without anybody knowing
that that was what she had in her mind. But in spite of her, Tom knew
where the wind lay, now. So he forestalled what might be the next move:

“Some of us pumped on our heads—mine’s damp yet. See?”

Aunt Polly was vexed to think she had overlooked that bit of
circumstantial evid
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A green and yellow parrot, which hung in a cage outside the door, kept
repeating over and over:

“_Allez vous-en! Allez vous-en! Sapristi!_ That’s all right!”

He could speak a little Spanish, and also a language which nobody
understood, unless it was the mocking-bird that hung on the other side
of the door, whistling his fluty notes out upon the breeze with
maddening persistence.

Mr. Pontellier, unable to read his newspaper with any degree of
comfort, arose with an expression and an exclamation of disgust.

He walked down the gallery and across the narrow “bridges” which
connected the Lebrun cottages one with the other. He had been seated
before the door of the main house. The parrot and the mocking-bird were
the property of Madame Lebrun, and they had the right to make all the
noise they wished. Mr. Pontellier had the privilege of quitting their
society when they ceased to be entertaining.

He stopped before the door of his own cottage, which was the fourth one
from the main building and next to the last. Seating himself in a
wicker rocker which was there, he once more applied himself to the task
of reading the newspaper. The day was Sunday; the paper was a day old.
The Sunday papers had not yet reached Grand Isle. He was already
acquainted with the market reports, and he glanced restlessly over the
editorials and bits of news which he had not had time to read before
quitting New Orleans the day before.

Mr. Pontellier wore eye-glasses. He was a man of forty, of medium
height and rather slender build; he stooped a little. His hair was
brown and straight, parted on one side. His beard was neatly and
closely trimmed.

Once in a while he withdrew his glance from the newspaper and looked
about him. There was more noise than ever over at the house. The main
building was called “the house,” to distinguish it from the cottages.
The chattering and whistling birds were still at it. Two young girls,
the Farival twins, were playing a duet from “Zampa” upon the piano.
Madame Lebrun was bustling in and out, giving orders in a high key to a
yard-boy whenever she got inside the house, and directions in an
equally high voice to a dining-room servant whenever she got outside.
She was a fresh, pretty woman, clad always in white with elbow sleeves.
Her starched skirts crinkled as she came and went. Farther down, before
one of the cottages, a lady in black was walking demurely up and down,
telling her beads. A good many persons of the _pension_ had gone over
to the _Chênière Caminada_ in Beaudelet’s lugger to hear mass. Some
young people were out under the water-oaks playing croquet. Mr.
Pontellier’s two children were there—sturdy little fellows of four and
five. A quadroon nurse followed them about with a faraway, meditative
air.

Mr. Pontellier finally lit a cigar and began to smoke, letting the
paper drag idly from his hand. He fixed his gaze upon a white sunshade
that was advancing at snail’s pace from the beach. He could see it
plainly between the gaunt trunks of the water-oaks and across the
stretch of yellow camomile. The gulf looked far away, melting hazily
into the blue of the horizon. The sunshade continued to approach
slowly. Beneath its pink-lined shelter were his wife, Mrs. Pontellier,
and young Robert Lebrun. When they reached the cottage, the two seated
themselves with some appearance of fatigue upon the upper step of the
porch, facing each other, each leaning against a supporting post.

“What folly! to bathe at such an hour in such heat!” exclaimed Mr.
Pontellier. He himself had taken a plunge at daylight. That was why the
morning seemed long to him.

“You are burnt beyond recognition,” he added, looking at his wife as
one looks at a valuable piece of personal property which has suffered
some damage. She held up her hands, strong, shapely hands, and surveyed
them critically, drawing up her fawn sleeves above the wrists. Looking
at them reminded her of her rings, which she had given to her husband
before leaving for the beach. She silently reached out to him, and he,
understanding, took the rings from his vest pocket and dropped them
into her open palm. She slipped them upon her fingers; then clasping
her knees, she looked across at Robert and began to laugh. The rings
sparkled upon her fingers. He sent back an answering smile.

“What is it?” asked Pontellier, looking lazily and amused from one to
the other. It was some utter nonsense; some adventure out there in the
water, and they both tried to relate it at once. It did not seem half
so amusing when told. They realized this, and so did Mr. Pontellier. He
yawned and stretched himself. Then he got up, saying he had half a mind
to go over to Klein’s hotel and play a game of billiards.

“Come go along, Lebrun,” he proposed to Robert. But Robert admitted
quite frankly that he preferred to stay where he was and talk to Mrs.
Pontellier.

“Well, send him about his business when he bores you, Edna,” instructed
her husband as he prepared to leave.

“Here, take the u
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HOW MANY KINDS OF PRINCIPALITIES THERE ARE, AND BY WHAT MEANS THEY ARE
ACQUIRED


All states, all powers, that have held and hold rule over men have been
and are either republics or principalities.

Principalities are either hereditary, in which the family has been long
established; or they are new.

The new are either entirely new, as was Milan to Francesco Sforza, or
they are, as it were, members annexed to the hereditary state of the
prince who has acquired them, as was the kingdom of Naples to that of
the King of Spain.

Such dominions thus acquired are either accustomed to live under a
prince, or to live in freedom; and are acquired either by the arms of
the prince himself, or of others, or else by fortune or by ability.




CONCERNING HEREDITARY PRINCIPALITIES


I will leave out all discussion on republics, inasmuch as in another
place I have written of them at length, and will address myself only to
principalities. In doing so I will keep to the order indicated above,
and discuss how such principalities are to be ruled and preserved.

I say at once there are fewer difficulties in holding hereditary
states, and those long accustomed to the family of their prince, than
new ones; for it is sufficient only not to transgress the customs of
his ancestors, and to deal prudently with circumstances as they arise,
for a prince of average powers to maintain himself in his state, unless
he be deprived of it by some extraordinary and excessive force; and if
he should be so deprived of it, whenever anything sinister happens to
the usurper, he will regain it.

We have in Italy, for example, the Duke of Ferrara, who could not have
withstood the attacks of the Venetians in ’84, nor those of Pope Julius
in ’10, unless he had been long established in his dominions. For the
hereditary prince has less cause and less necessity to offend; hence it
happens that he will be more loved; and unless extraordinary vices
cause him to be hated, it is reasonable to expect that his subjects
will be naturally well disposed towards him; and in the antiquity and
duration of his rule the memories and motives that make for change are
lost, for one change always leaves the toothing for another.




CONCERNING MIXED PRINCIPALITIES


But the difficulties occur in a new principality. And firstly, if it be
not entirely new, but is, as it were, a member of a state which, taken
collectively, may be called composite, the changes arise chiefly from
an inherent difficulty which there is in all new principalities; for
men change their rulers willingly, hoping to better themselves, and
this hope induces them to take up arms against him who rules: wherein
they are deceived, because they afterwards find by experience they have
gone from bad to worse. This follows also on another natural and common
necessity, which always causes a new prince to burden those who have
submitted to him with his soldiery and with infinite other hardships
which he must put upon his new acquisition.

In this way you have enemies in all those whom you have injured in
seizing that principality, and you are not able to keep those friends
who put you there because of your not being able to satisfy them in the
way they expected, and you cannot take strong measures against them,
feeling bound to them. For, although one may be very strong in armed
forces, yet in entering a province one has always need of the goodwill
of the natives.

For these reasons Louis the Twelfth, King of France, quickly occupied
Milan, and as quickly lost it; and to turn him out the first time it
only needed Lodovico’s own forces; because those who had opened the
gates to him, finding themselves deceived in their hopes of future
benefit, would not endure the ill-treatment of the new prince. It is
very true that, after acquiring rebellious provinces a second time,
they are not so lightly lost afterwards, because the prince, with
little reluctance, takes the opportunity of the rebellion to punish the
delinquents, to clear out the suspects, and to strengthen himself in
the weakest places. Thus to cause France to lose Milan the first time
it was enough for the Duke Lodovico[1] to raise insurrections on the
borders; but to cause him to lose it a second time it was necessary to
bring the whole world against him, and that his armies should be
defeated and driven out of Italy; which followed from the causes above
mentioned.

 [1] Duke Lodovico was Lodovico Moro, a son of Francesco Sforza, who
 married Beatrice d’Este. He ruled over Milan from 1494 to 1500, and
 died in 1510.

Nevertheless Milan was taken from France both the first and the second
time. The general reasons for the first have been discussed; it remains
to name those for the second, and to see what resources he had, and
what any one in his situation would have had for maintaining himself
more securely in his acquisition than did the King of France.

Now I say that those dominions which, when acquired, are added to an
ancient state by him who acquires the
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WALDEN




and



ON THE DUTY OF CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE



by Henry David Thoreau


cover


Contents


 WALDEN

 Economy
 Where I Lived, and What I Lived For
 Reading
 Sounds
 Solitude
 Visitors
 The Bean-Field
 The Village
 The Ponds
 Baker Farm
 Higher Laws
 Brute Neighbors
 House-Warming
 Former Inhabitants and Winter Visitors
 Winter Animals
 The Pond in Winter
 Spring
 Conclusion

 ON THE DUTY OF CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE



WALDEN

Economy

When I wrote the following pages, or rather the bulk of them, I lived
alone, in the woods, a mile from any neighbor, in a house which I had
built myself, on the shore of Walden Pond, in Concord, Massachusetts,
and earned my living by the labor of my hands only. I lived there two
years and two months. At present I am a sojourner in civilized life
again.

I should not obtrude my affairs so much on the notice of my readers if
very particular inquiries had not been made by my townsmen concerning
my mode of life, which some would call impertinent, though they do not
appear to me at all impertinent, but, considering the circumstances,
very natural and pertinent. Some have asked what I got to eat; if I did
not feel lonesome; if I was not afraid; and the like. Others have been
curious to learn what portion of my income I devoted to charitable
purposes; and some, who have large families, how many poor children I
maintained. I will therefore ask those of my readers who feel no
particular interest in me to pardon me if I undertake to answer some of
these questions in this book. In most books, the _I_, or first person,
is omitted; in this it will be retained; that, in respect to egotism,
is the main difference. We commonly do not remember that it is, after
all, always the first person that is speaking. I should not talk so
much about myself if there were anybody else whom I knew as well.
Unfortunately, I am confined to this theme by the narrowness of my
experience. Moreover, I, on my side, require of every writer, first or
last, a simple and sincere account of his own life, and not merely what
he has heard of other men’s lives; some such account as he would send
to his kindred from a distant land; for if he has lived sincerely, it
must have been in a distant land to me. Perhaps these pages are more
particularly addressed to poor students. As for the rest of my readers,
they will accept such portions as apply to them. I trust that none will
stretch the seams in putting on the coat, for it may do good service to
him whom it fits.

I would fain say something, not so much concerning the Chinese and
Sandwich Islanders as you who read these pages, who are said to live in
New England; something about your condition, especially your outward
condition or circumstances in this world, in this town, what it is,
whether it is necessary that it be as bad as it is, whether it cannot
be improved as well as not. I have travelled a good deal in Concord;
and everywhere, in shops, and offices, and fields, the inhabitants have
appeared to me to be doing penance in a thousand remarkable ways. What
I have heard of Brahmins sitting exposed to four fires and looking in
the face of the sun; or hanging suspended, with their heads downward,
over flames; or looking at the heavens over their shoulders “until it
becomes impossible for them to resume their natural position, while
from the twist of the neck nothing but liquids can pass into the
stomach;” or dwelling, chained for life, at the foot of a tree; or
measuring with their bodies, like caterpillars, the breadth of vast
empires; or standing on one leg on the tops of pillars,—even these
forms of conscious penance are hardly more incredible and astonishing
than the scenes which I daily witness. The twelve labors of Hercules
were trifling in comparison with those which my neighbors have
undertaken; for they were only twelve, and had an end; but I could
never see that these men slew or captured any monster or finished any
labor. They have no friend Iolas to burn with a hot iron the root of
the hydra’s head, but as soon as one head is crushed, two spring up.

I see young men, my townsmen, whose misfortune it is to have inherited
farms, houses, barns, cattle, and farming tools; for these are more
easily acquired than got rid of. Better if they had been born in the
open pasture and suckled by a wolf, that they might have seen with
clearer eyes what field they were called to labor in. Who made them
serfs of the soil? Why should they eat their sixty acres, when man is
condemned to eat only his peck of dirt? Why should they begin digging
their graves as soon as they are born? They have got to live a man’s
life, pushing all these things before them, and get on as well as they
can. How many a poor immortal soul have I met well nigh crushed and
smothered under its load, creeping down the road of life, pushing
before it a barn seventy-five feet by forty, its Augean stables never
cleansed, and one hundred acres of land, tillage, mowing, pasture, and
wood-lot! The portionless, w
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IX.   Of the Sons of Master and Man
X.    Of the Faith of the Fathers
XI.   Of the Passing of the First-Born
XII.  Of Alexander Crummell
XIV.  Of the Sorrow Songs
 The Afterthought

To
Burghardt and Yolande
The Lost and the Found




The Forethought


Herein lie buried many things which if read with patience may show the
strange meaning of being black here at the dawning of the Twentieth
Century. This meaning is not without interest to you, Gentle Reader;
for the problem of the Twentieth Century is the problem of the color
line. I pray you, then, receive my little book in all charity, studying
my words with me, forgiving mistake and foible for sake of the faith
and passion that is in me, and seeking the grain of truth hidden there.

I have sought here to sketch, in vague, uncertain outline, the
spiritual world in which ten thousand thousand Americans live and
strive. First, in two chapters I have tried to show what Emancipation
meant to them, and what was its aftermath. In a third chapter I have
pointed out the slow rise of personal leadership, and criticized
candidly the leader who bears the chief burden of his race to-day.
Then, in two other chapters I have sketched in swift outline the two
worlds within and without the Veil, and thus have come to the central
problem of training men for life. Venturing now into deeper detail, I
have in two chapters studied the struggles of the massed millions of
the black peasantry, and in another have sought to make clear the
present relations of the sons of master and man. Leaving, then, the
white world, I have stepped within the Veil, raising it that you may
view faintly its deeper recesses,—the meaning of its religion, the
passion of its human sorrow, and the struggle of its greater souls. All
this I have ended with a tale twice told but seldom written, and a
chapter of song.

Some of these thoughts of mine have seen the light before in other
guise. For kindly consenting to their republication here, in altered
and extended form, I must thank the publishers of the Atlantic Monthly,
The World’s Work, the Dial, The New World, and the Annals of the
American Academy of Political and Social Science. Before each chapter,
as now printed, stands a bar of the Sorrow Songs,—some echo of haunting
melody from the only American music which welled up from black souls in
the dark past. And, finally, need I add that I who speak here am bone
of the bone and flesh of the flesh of them that live within the Veil?

W.E.B Du B.


Atlanta, Ga., Feb. 1, 1903.




Of Our Spiritual Strivings

O water, voice of my heart, crying in the sand,
    All night long crying with a mournful cry,
As I lie and listen, and cannot understand
        The voice of my heart in my side or the voice of the sea,
    O water, crying for rest, is it I, is it I?
        All night long the water is crying to me.


Unresting water, there shall never be rest
    Till the last moon droop and the last tide fail,
And the fire of the end begin to burn in the west;
        And the heart shall be weary and wonder and cry like the sea,
    All life long crying without avail,
        As the water all night long is crying to me.

ARTHUR SYMONS.

[Illustration]


Between me and the other world there is ever an unasked question:
unasked by some through feelings of delicacy; by others through the
difficulty of rightly framing it. All, nevertheless, flutter round it.
They approach me in a half-hesitant sort of way, eye me curiously or
compassionately, and then, instead of saying directly, How does it feel
to be a problem? they say, I know an excellent colored man in my town;
or, I fought at Mechanicsville; or, Do not these Southern outrages make
your blood boil? At these I smile, or am interested, or reduce the
boiling to a simmer, as the occasion may require. To the real question,
How does it feel to be a problem? I answer seldom a word.

And yet, being a problem is a strange experience,—peculiar even for one
who has never been anything else, save perhaps in babyhood and in
Europe. It is in the early days of rollicking boyhood that the
revelation first bursts upon one, all in a day, as it were. I remember
well when the shadow swept across me. I was a little thing, away up in
the hills of New England, where the dark Housatonic winds between
Hoosac and Taghkanic to the sea. In a wee wooden schoolhouse, something
put it into the boys’ and girls’ heads to buy gorgeous
visiting-cards—ten cents a package—and exchange. The exchange was
merry, till one girl, a tall newcomer, refused my card,—refused it
peremptorily, with a glance. Then it dawned upon me with a certain
suddenness that I was different from the others; or like, mayhap, in
heart and life and longing, but shut out from their world by a vast
veil. I had thereafter no desire to tear down that veil, to creep
through; I held all beyond it in common contempt, and lived above it in
a region of blue sky and great wandering shadows. That sky was bluest
when I could beat my mates at exa
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PETER BREAKS THROUGH


All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow
up, and the way Wendy knew was this. One day when she was two years old
she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran
with it to her mother. I suppose she must have looked rather
delightful, for Mrs. Darling put her hand to her heart and cried, “Oh,
why can’t you remain like this for ever!” This was all that passed
between them on the subject, but henceforth Wendy knew that she must
grow up. You always know after you are two. Two is the beginning of the
end.

Of course they lived at 14, and until Wendy came her mother was the
chief one. She was a lovely lady, with a romantic mind and such a sweet
mocking mouth. Her romantic mind was like the tiny boxes, one within
the other, that come from the puzzling East, however many you discover
there is always one more; and her sweet mocking mouth had one kiss on
it that Wendy could never get, though there it was, perfectly
conspicuous in the right-hand corner.

The way Mr. Darling won her was this: the many gentlemen who had been
boys when she was a girl discovered simultaneously that they loved her,
and they all ran to her house to propose to her except Mr. Darling, who
took a cab and nipped in first, and so he got her. He got all of her,
except the innermost box and the kiss. He never knew about the box, and
in time he gave up trying for the kiss. Wendy thought Napoleon could
have got it, but I can picture him trying, and then going off in a
passion, slamming the door.

Mr. Darling used to boast to Wendy that her mother not only loved him
but respected him. He was one of those deep ones who know about stocks
and shares. Of course no one really knows, but he quite seemed to know,
and he often said stocks were up and shares were down in a way that
would have made any woman respect him.

Mrs. Darling was married in white, and at first she kept the books
perfectly, almost gleefully, as if it were a game, not so much as a
Brussels sprout was missing; but by and by whole cauliflowers dropped
out, and instead of them there were pictures of babies without faces.
She drew them when she should have been totting up. They were Mrs.
Darling’s guesses.

Wendy came first, then John, then Michael.

For a week or two after Wendy came it was doubtful whether they would
be able to keep her, as she was another mouth to feed. Mr. Darling was
frightfully proud of her, but he was very honourable, and he sat on the
edge of Mrs. Darling’s bed, holding her hand and calculating expenses,
while she looked at him imploringly. She wanted to risk it, come what
might, but that was not his way; his way was with a pencil and a piece
of paper, and if she confused him with suggestions he had to begin at
the beginning again.

“Now don’t interrupt,” he would beg of her.

“I have one pound seventeen here, and two and six at the office; I can
cut off my coffee at the office, say ten shillings, making two nine and
six, with your eighteen and three makes three nine seven, with five
naught naught in my cheque-book makes eight nine seven—who is that
moving?—eight nine seven, dot and carry seven—don’t speak, my own—and
the pound you lent to that man who came to the door—quiet, child—dot
and carry child—there, you’ve done it!—did I say nine nine seven? yes,
I said nine nine seven; the question is, can we try it for a year on
nine nine seven?”

“Of course we can, George,” she cried. But she was prejudiced in
Wendy’s favour, and he was really the grander character of the two.

“Remember mumps,” he warned her almost threateningly, and off he went
again. “Mumps one pound, that is what I have put down, but I daresay it
will be more like thirty shillings—don’t speak—measles one five, German
measles half a guinea, makes two fifteen six—don’t waggle your
finger—whooping-cough, say fifteen shillings”—and so on it went, and it
added up differently each time; but at last Wendy just got through,
with mumps reduced to twelve six, and the two kinds of measles treated
as one.

There was the same excitement over John, and Michael had even a
narrower squeak; but both were kept, and soon, you might have seen the
three of them going in a row to Miss Fulsom’s Kindergarten school,
accompanied by their nurse.

Mrs. Darling loved to have everything just so, and Mr. Darling had a
passion for being exactly like his neighbours; so, of course, they had
a nurse. As they were poor, owing to the amount of milk the children
drank, this nurse was a prim Newfoundland dog, called Nana, who had
belonged to no one in particular until the Darlings engaged her. She
had always thought children important, however, and the Darlings had
become acquainted with her in Kensington Gardens, where she spent most
of her spare time peeping into perambulators, and was much hated by
careless nursemaids, whom she followed to their homes and complained of
to their mistresses. She proved to be quite a treasure of a nurse. How
thorough she was at bath-
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PG #: 158
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/158



Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home
and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of
existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very
little to distress or vex her.

She was the youngest of the two daughters of a most affectionate,
indulgent father; and had, in consequence of her sister's marriage, been
mistress of his house from a very early period. Her mother had died
too long ago for her to have more than an indistinct remembrance of
her caresses; and her place had been supplied by an excellent woman as
governess, who had fallen little short of a mother in affection.

Sixteen years had Miss Taylor been in Mr. Woodhouse's family, less as a
governess than a friend, very fond of both daughters, but particularly
of Emma. Between _them_ it was more the intimacy of sisters. Even before
Miss Taylor had ceased to hold the nominal office of governess, the
mildness of her temper had hardly allowed her to impose any restraint;
and the shadow of authority being now long passed away, they had been
living together as friend and friend very mutually attached, and Emma
doing just what she liked; highly esteeming Miss Taylor's judgment, but
directed chiefly by her own.

The real evils, indeed, of Emma's situation were the power of having
rather too much her own way, and a disposition to think a little too
well of herself; these were the disadvantages which threatened alloy to
her many enjoyments. The danger, however, was at present so unperceived,
that they did not by any means rank as misfortunes with her.

Sorrow came--a gentle sorrow--but not at all in the shape of any
disagreeable consciousness.--Miss Taylor married. It was Miss Taylor's
loss which first brought grief. It was on the wedding-day of this
beloved friend that Emma first sat in mournful thought of any
continuance. The wedding over, and the bride-people gone, her father and
herself were left to dine together, with no prospect of a third to cheer
a long evening. Her father composed himself to sleep after dinner, as
usual, and she had then only to sit and think of what she had lost.

The event had every promise of happiness for her friend. Mr. Weston
was a man of unexceptionable character, easy fortune, suitable age, and
pleasant manners; and there was some satisfaction in considering
with what self-denying, generous friendship she had always wished and
promoted the match; but it was a black morning's work for her. The want
of Miss Taylor would be felt every hour of every day. She recalled her
past kindness--the kindness, the affection of sixteen years--how she had
taught and how she had played with her from five years old--how she had
devoted all her powers to attach and amuse her in health--and how
nursed her through the various illnesses of childhood. A large debt of
gratitude was owing here; but the intercourse of the last seven
years, the equal footing and perfect unreserve which had soon followed
Isabella's marriage, on their being left to each other, was yet a
dearer, tenderer recollection. She had been a friend and companion such
as few possessed: intelligent, well-informed, useful, gentle, knowing
all the ways of the family, interested in all its concerns, and
peculiarly interested in herself, in every pleasure, every scheme of
hers--one to whom she could speak every thought as it arose, and who had
such an affection for her as could never find fault.

How was she to bear the change?--It was true that her friend was going
only half a mile from them; but Emma was aware that great must be the
difference between a Mrs. Weston, only half a mile from them, and a Miss
Taylor in the house; and with all her advantages, natural and domestic,
she was now in great danger of suffering from intellectual solitude. She
dearly loved her father, but he was no companion for her. He could not
meet her in conversation, rational or playful.

The evil of the actual disparity in their ages (and Mr. Woodhouse had
not married early) was much increased by his constitution and habits;
for having been a valetudinarian all his life, without activity of
mind or body, he was a much older man in ways than in years; and though
everywhere beloved for the friendliness of his heart and his amiable
temper, his talents could not have recommended him at any time.

Her sister, though comparatively but little removed by matrimony, being
settled in London, only sixteen miles off, was much beyond her daily
reach; and many a long October and November evening must be struggled
through at Hartfield, before Christmas brought the next visit from
Isabella and her husband, and their little children, to fill the house,
and give her pleasant society again.

Highbury, the large and populous village, almost amounting to a town,
to which Hartfield, in spite of its separate lawn, and shrubberies, and
name, did really belong, afforded her no equals. The Woodhouses
were first in consequence there. All looked up to them. She had ma
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PG #: 55
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/55

Chicago, April, 1900.



The Wonderful Wizard of Oz




The Cyclone


Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with Uncle
Henry, who was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was the farmer’s wife. Their
house was small, for the lumber to build it had to be carried by wagon
many miles. There were four walls, a floor and a roof, which made one
room; and this room contained a rusty looking cookstove, a cupboard for
the dishes, a table, three or four chairs, and the beds. Uncle Henry
and Aunt Em had a big bed in one corner, and Dorothy a little bed in
another corner. There was no garret at all, and no cellar—except a
small hole dug in the ground, called a cyclone cellar, where the family
could go in case one of those great whirlwinds arose, mighty enough to
crush any building in its path. It was reached by a trap door in the
middle of the floor, from which a ladder led down into the small, dark
hole.

When Dorothy stood in the doorway and looked around, she could see
nothing but the great gray prairie on every side. Not a tree nor a
house broke the broad sweep of flat country that reached to the edge of
the sky in all directions. The sun had baked the plowed land into a
gray mass, with little cracks running through it. Even the grass was
not green, for the sun had burned the tops of the long blades until
they were the same gray color to be seen everywhere. Once the house had
been painted, but the sun blistered the paint and the rains washed it
away, and now the house was as dull and gray as everything else.

When Aunt Em came there to live she was a young, pretty wife. The sun
and wind had changed her, too. They had taken the sparkle from her eyes
and left them a sober gray; they had taken the red from her cheeks and
lips, and they were gray also. She was thin and gaunt, and never smiled
now. When Dorothy, who was an orphan, first came to her, Aunt Em had
been so startled by the child’s laughter that she would scream and
press her hand upon her heart whenever Dorothy’s merry voice reached
her ears; and she still looked at the little girl with wonder that she
could find anything to laugh at.

Uncle Henry never laughed. He worked hard from morning till night and
did not know what joy was. He was gray also, from his long beard to his
rough boots, and he looked stern and solemn, and rarely spoke.

It was Toto that made Dorothy laugh, and saved her from growing as gray
as her other surroundings. Toto was not gray; he was a little black
dog, with long silky hair and small black eyes that twinkled merrily on
either side of his funny, wee nose. Toto played all day long, and
Dorothy played with him, and loved him dearly.

Today, however, they were not playing. Uncle Henry sat upon the
doorstep and looked anxiously at the sky, which was even grayer than
usual. Dorothy stood in the door with Toto in her arms, and looked at
the sky too. Aunt Em was washing the dishes.

From the far north they heard a low wail of the wind, and Uncle Henry
and Dorothy could see where the long grass bowed in waves before the
coming storm. There now came a sharp whistling in the air from the
south, and as they turned their eyes that way they saw ripples in the
grass coming from that direction also.

Suddenly Uncle Henry stood up.

“There’s a cyclone coming, Em,” he called to his wife. “I’ll go look
after the stock.” Then he ran toward the sheds where the cows and
horses were kept.

Aunt Em dropped her work and came to the door. One glance told her of
the danger close at hand.

“Quick, Dorothy!” she screamed. “Run for the cellar!”

Toto jumped out of Dorothy’s arms and hid under the bed, and the girl
started to get him. Aunt Em, badly frightened, threw open the trap door
in the floor and climbed down the ladder into the small, dark hole.
Dorothy caught Toto at last and started to follow her aunt. When she
was halfway across the room there came a great shriek from the wind,
and the house shook so hard that she lost her footing and sat down
suddenly upon the floor.

Then a strange thing happened.

The house whirled around two or three times and rose slowly through the
air. Dorothy felt as if she were going up in a balloon.

The north and south winds met where the house stood, and made it the
exact center of the cyclone. In the middle of a cyclone the air is
generally still, but the great pressure of the wind on every side of
the house raised it up higher and higher, until it was at the very top
of the cyclone; and there it remained and was carried miles and miles
away as easily as you could carry a feather.

It was very dark, and the wind howled horribly around her, but Dorothy
found she was riding quite easily. After the first few whirls around,
and one other time when the house tipped badly, she felt as if she were
being rocked gently, like a baby in a cradle.

Toto did not like it. He ran about the room, now here, now there,
barking loudly; but Dorothy sat quite still on the floor and waited to
see what would happen.

Once Toto got too n
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PG #: 2591
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2591

FAIRY TALES

By The Brothers Grimm



PREPARER’S NOTE

     The text is based on translations from
     the Grimms’ Kinder und Hausmarchen by
     Edgar Taylor and Marian Edwardes.




CONTENTS:

     THE GOLDEN BIRD
     HANS IN LUCK
     JORINDA AND JORINDEL
     THE TRAVELLING MUSICIANS
     OLD SULTAN
     THE STRAW, THE COAL, AND THE BEAN
     BRIAR ROSE
     THE DOG AND THE SPARROW
     THE TWELVE DANCING PRINCESSES
     THE FISHERMAN AND HIS WIFE
     THE WILLOW-WREN AND THE BEAR
     THE FROG-PRINCE
     CAT AND MOUSE IN PARTNERSHIP
     THE GOOSE-GIRL
     THE ADVENTURES OF CHANTICLEER AND PARTLET
       1. HOW THEY WENT TO THE MOUNTAINS TO EAT NUTS
       2. HOW CHANTICLEER AND PARTLET WENT TO VISIT MR KORBES
     RAPUNZEL
     FUNDEVOGEL
     THE VALIANT LITTLE TAILOR
     HANSEL AND GRETEL
     THE MOUSE, THE BIRD, AND THE SAUSAGE
     MOTHER HOLLE
     LITTLE RED-CAP [LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD]
     THE ROBBER BRIDEGROOM
     TOM THUMB
     RUMPELSTILTSKIN
     CLEVER GRETEL
     THE OLD MAN AND HIS GRANDSON
     THE LITTLE PEASANT
     FREDERICK AND CATHERINE
     SWEETHEART ROLAND
     SNOWDROP
     THE PINK
     CLEVER ELSIE
     THE MISER IN THE BUSH
     ASHPUTTEL
     THE WHITE SNAKE
     THE WOLF AND THE SEVEN LITTLE KIDS
     THE QUEEN BEE
     THE ELVES AND THE SHOEMAKER
     THE JUNIPER-TREE
     the juniper-tree.
     THE TURNIP
     CLEVER HANS
     THE THREE LANGUAGES
     THE FOX AND THE CAT
     THE FOUR CLEVER BROTHERS
     LILY AND THE LION
     THE FOX AND THE HORSE
     THE BLUE LIGHT
     THE RAVEN
     THE GOLDEN GOOSE
     THE WATER OF LIFE
     THE TWELVE HUNTSMEN
     THE KING OF THE GOLDEN MOUNTAIN
     DOCTOR KNOWALL
     THE SEVEN RAVENS
     THE WEDDING OF MRS FOX
     FIRST STORY
     SECOND STORY
     THE SALAD
     THE STORY OF THE YOUTH WHO WENT FORTH TO LEARN WHAT FEAR WAS
     KING GRISLY-BEARD
     IRON HANS
     CAT-SKIN
     SNOW-WHITE AND ROSE-RED




THE BROTHERS GRIMM FAIRY TALES




THE GOLDEN BIRD

A certain king had a beautiful garden, and in the garden stood a tree
which bore golden apples. These apples were always counted, and about
the time when they began to grow ripe it was found that every night one
of them was gone. The king became very angry at this, and ordered the
gardener to keep watch all night under the tree. The gardener set his
eldest son to watch; but about twelve o’clock he fell asleep, and in
the morning another of the apples was missing. Then the second son was
ordered to watch; and at midnight he too fell asleep, and in the morning
another apple was gone. Then the third son offered to keep watch; but
the gardener at first would not let him, for fear some harm should come
to him: however, at last he consented, and the young man laid himself
under the tree to watch. As the clock struck twelve he heard a rustling
noise in the air, and a bird came flying that was of pure gold; and as
it was snapping at one of the apples with its beak, the gardener’s son
jumped up and shot an arrow at it. But the arrow did the bird no harm;
only it dropped a golden feather from its tail, and then flew away.
The golden feather was brought to the king in the morning, and all the
council was called together. Everyone agreed that it was worth more than
all the wealth of the kingdom: but the king said, ‘One feather is of no
use to me, I must have the whole bird.’

Then the gardener’s eldest son set out and thought to find the golden
bird very easily; and when he had gone but a little way, he came to a
wood, and by the side of the wood he saw a fox sitting; so he took his
bow and made ready to shoot at it. Then the fox said, ‘Do not shoot me,
for I will give you good counsel; I know what your business is, and
that you want to find the golden bird. You will reach a village in the
evening; and when you get there, you will see two inns opposite to each
other, one of which is very pleasant and beautiful to look at: go not in
there, but rest for the night in the other, though it may appear to you
to be very poor and mean.’ But the son thought to himself, ‘What can
such a beast as this know about the matter?’ So he shot his arrow at
the fox; but he missed it, and it set up its tail above its back and
ran into the wood. Then he went his way, and in the evening came to
the village where the two inns were; and in one of these were people
singing, and dancing, and feasting; but the other looked very dirty,
and poor. ‘I should be very silly,’ said he, ‘if I went to that shabby
house, and left this charming place’; so he went into the smart house,
and ate and drank at his ease, and forgot the bird, and his country too.

Time passed on; and as the eldest son did not come back, and no tidings
were heard of him, the second son set out, and the same thing happened
to him. He met the fox, who gave him the good advice: but when he came
to the two inns, his eldest brother was standing at the window where
the merrymaking was, and called to him to come in; and he could not
withstand 
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PG #: 2600
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2600


“Well, Prince, so Genoa and Lucca are now just family estates of the
Buonapartes. But I warn you, if you don’t tell me that this means war,
if you still try to defend the infamies and horrors perpetrated by that
Antichrist—I really believe he is Antichrist—I will have nothing
more to do with you and you are no longer my friend, no longer my
‘faithful slave,’ as you call yourself! But how do you do? I see I
have frightened you—sit down and tell me all the news.”

It was in July, 1805, and the speaker was the well-known Anna Pávlovna
Schérer, maid of honor and favorite of the Empress Márya Fëdorovna.
With these words she greeted Prince Vasíli Kurágin, a man of high
rank and importance, who was the first to arrive at her reception. Anna
Pávlovna had had a cough for some days. She was, as she said, suffering
from la grippe; grippe being then a new word in St. Petersburg, used
only by the elite.

All her invitations without exception, written in French, and delivered
by a scarlet-liveried footman that morning, ran as follows:

“If you have nothing better to do, Count (or Prince), and if the
prospect of spending an evening with a poor invalid is not too terrible,
I shall be very charmed to see you tonight between 7 and 10—Annette
Schérer.”

“Heavens! what a virulent attack!” replied the prince, not in the
least disconcerted by this reception. He had just entered, wearing an
embroidered court uniform, knee breeches, and shoes, and had stars on
his breast and a serene expression on his flat face. He spoke in that
refined French in which our grandfathers not only spoke but thought, and
with the gentle, patronizing intonation natural to a man of importance
who had grown old in society and at court. He went up to Anna Pávlovna,
kissed her hand, presenting to her his bald, scented, and shining head,
and complacently seated himself on the sofa.

“First of all, dear friend, tell me how you are. Set your friend’s
mind at rest,” said he without altering his tone, beneath the
politeness and affected sympathy of which indifference and even irony
could be discerned.

“Can one be well while suffering morally? Can one be calm in times
like these if one has any feeling?” said Anna Pávlovna. “You are
staying the whole evening, I hope?”

“And the fete at the English ambassador’s? Today is Wednesday. I
must put in an appearance there,” said the prince. “My daughter is
coming for me to take me there.”

“I thought today’s fete had been canceled. I confess all these
festivities and fireworks are becoming wearisome.”

“If they had known that you wished it, the entertainment would have
been put off,” said the prince, who, like a wound-up clock, by force
of habit said things he did not even wish to be believed.

“Don’t tease! Well, and what has been decided about Novosíltsev’s
dispatch? You know everything.”

“What can one say about it?” replied the prince in a cold, listless
tone. “What has been decided? They have decided that Buonaparte has
burnt his boats, and I believe that we are ready to burn ours.”

Prince Vasíli always spoke languidly, like an actor repeating a stale
part. Anna Pávlovna Schérer on the contrary, despite her forty years,
overflowed with animation and impulsiveness. To be an enthusiast had
become her social vocation and, sometimes even when she did not
feel like it, she became enthusiastic in order not to disappoint the
expectations of those who knew her. The subdued smile which, though it
did not suit her faded features, always played round her lips expressed,
as in a spoiled child, a continual consciousness of her charming defect,
which she neither wished, nor could, nor considered it necessary, to
correct.

In the midst of a conversation on political matters Anna Pávlovna burst
out:

“Oh, don’t speak to me of Austria. Perhaps I don’t understand
things, but Austria never has wished, and does not wish, for war. She
is betraying us! Russia alone must save Europe. Our gracious sovereign
recognizes his high vocation and will be true to it. That is the one
thing I have faith in! Our good and wonderful sovereign has to perform
the noblest role on earth, and he is so virtuous and noble that God will
not forsake him. He will fulfill his vocation and crush the hydra of
revolution, which has become more terrible than ever in the person of
this murderer and villain! We alone must avenge the blood of the just
one.... Whom, I ask you, can we rely on?... England with her commercial
spirit will not and cannot understand the Emperor Alexander’s
loftiness of soul. She has refused to evacuate Malta. She wanted to
find, and still seeks, some secret motive in our actions. What answer
did Novosíltsev get? None. The English have not understood and cannot
understand the self-abnegation of our Emperor who wants nothing for
himself, but only desires the good of mankind. And what have they
promised? Nothing! And what little they have promised they will not
perform! Prussia has always declared that Buonaparte is invincible, and
that all Eu
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PG #: 57775
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OUVRAGES DU MÊME AUTEUR


  DANS LA BIBLIOTHÈQUE-CHARPENTIER
  à 3 fr. 50 le volume.

  Sébastien Roch.                                             1 vol.

  DANS LA PETITE BIBLIOTHÈQUE-CHARPENTIER
  à 4 fr. le volume.

  Contes de la Chaumière, avec 2 eaux-fortes de Raffaëlli.    1 vol.

Paris.--L. MARETHEUX, imprimeur, 1, rue Cassette.




Aux Prêtres, aux Soldats, aux Juges,

aux Hommes,

qui éduquent, dirigent, gouvernent les hommes,

je dédie

ces pages de Meurtre et de Sang.

O. M.




FRONTISPICE


Quelques amis se trouvaient, un soir, réunis chez un de nos plus
célèbres écrivains. Ayant copieusement dîné, ils disputaient sur le
meurtre, à propos de je ne sais plus quoi, à propos de rien, sans doute.
Il n'y avait là que des hommes; des moralistes, des poètes, des
philosophes, des médecins, tous gens pouvant causer librement, au gré de
leur fantaisie, de leurs manies, de leurs paradoxes, sans crainte de
voir, tout d'un coup, apparaître ces effarements et ces terreurs que la
moindre idée un peu hardie amène sur le visage bouleversé des
notaires.--Je dis notaires comme je pourrais dire avocats ou portiers,
non par dédain, certes, mais pour préciser un état moyen de la mentalité
française.

Avec un calme d'âme aussi parfait que s'il se fût agi d'exprimer une
opinion sur les mérites du cigare qu'il fumait, un membre de l'Académie
des sciences morales et politiques dit:

--Ma foi!... je crois bien que le meurtre est la plus grande
préoccupation humaine, et que tous nos actes dérivent de lui...

On s'attendait à une longue théorie. Il se tut.

--Évidemment!... prononça un savant darwinien... Et vous émettez là, mon
cher, une de ces vérités éternelles, comme en découvrait tous les jours
le légendaire M. de La Palisse... puisque le meurtre est la base même de
nos institutions sociales, par conséquent la nécessité la plus
impérieuse de la vie civilisée... S'il n'y avait plus de meurtre, il n'y
aurait plus de gouvernements d'aucune sorte, par ce fait admirable que
le crime en général, le meurtre en particulier sont, non seulement leur
excuse, mais leur unique raison d'être... Nous vivrions alors en pleine
anarchie, ce qui ne peut se concevoir... Aussi, loin de chercher à
détruire le meurtre, est-il indispensable de le cultiver avec
intelligence et persévérance... Et je ne connais pas de meilleur moyen
de culture que les lois.

Quelqu'un s'étant récrié:

--Voyons! demanda le savant. Sommes-nous entre nous et parlons-nous sans
hypocrisie?

--Je vous en prie!... acquiesça le maître de la maison... Profitons
largement de la seule occasion où il nous soit permis d'exprimer nos
idées intimes, puisque moi, dans mes livres, et vous, à votre cours,
nous ne pouvons offrir au public que des mensonges.

Le savant se tassa davantage sur les coussins de son fauteuil, allongea
ses jambes qui, d'avoir été trop longtemps croisées l'une sur l'autre,
s'étaient engourdies et, la tête renversée, les bras pendants, le ventre
caressé par une digestion heureuse, lança au plafond des ronds de fumée:

--D'ailleurs, reprit-il, le meurtre se cultive suffisamment de
lui-même... À proprement dire, il n'est pas le résultat de telle ou
telle passion, ni la forme pathologique de la dégénérescence. C'est un
instinct vital qui est en nous... qui est dans tous les êtres organisés
et les domine, comme l'instinct génésique... Et c'est tellement vrai
que, la plupart du temps, ces deux instincts se combinent si bien l'un
par l'autre, se confondent si totalement l'un dans l'autre, qu'ils ne
font, en quelque sorte, qu'un seul et même instinct, et qu'on ne sait
plus lequel des deux nous pousse à donner la vie et lequel à la
reprendre, lequel est le meurtre et lequel est l'amour. J'ai reçu les
confidences d'un honorable assassin qui tuait les femmes, non pour les
voler, mais pour les violer. Son sport était que le spasme de plaisir de
l'un concordât exactement avec le spasme de mort de l'autre: «Dans ces
moments-là, me disait-il, je me figurais que j'étais un Dieu et que je
créais le monde!»

--Ah! s'écria le célèbre écrivain... Si vous allez chercher vos exemples
chez les professionnels de l'assassinat!

Doucement, le savant répliqua:

--C'est que nous sommes tous, plus ou moins, des assassins... Tous, nous
avons éprouvé cérébralement, à des degrés moindres, je veux le croire,
des sensations analogues... Le besoin inné du meurtre, on le refrène, on
en atténue la violence physique, en lui donnant des exutoires légaux:
l'industrie, le commerce colonial, la guerre, la chasse,
l'antisémitisme... parce qu'il est dangereux de s'y livrer sans
modération, en dehors des lois, et que les satisfactions morales qu'on
en tire ne valent pas, après tout, qu'on s'expose aux ordinaires
conséquences de cet acte, l'emprisonnement... les colloques avec les
juges, toujours fatigants et sans intérêt scientifique... finalement la
guillotine...

--Vous exagérez, interrompit le premier interlocuteur... Il n'y a que
les meurtriers sans élégance, sans esprit, les brutes impul
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PG #: 23
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Narrative
of the
Life
of
FREDERICK DOUGLASS

AN
AMERICAN SLAVE.
WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.

BOSTON

 PUBLISHED AT THE ANTI-SLAVERY OFFICE,
 NO. 25 CORNHILL
 1845

ENTERED, ACCORDING TO ACT OF CONGRESS,
 IN THE YEAR 1845
 BY FREDERICK DOUGLASS,
 IN THE CLERK’S OFFICE OF THE DISTRICT COURT
OF MASSACHUSETTS.

Note from the original file: This electronic book is being released at
this time to honor the birthday of Martin Luther King Jr. [Born January
15, 1929] [Officially celebrated January 20, 1992]


Contents

  PREFACE 
  LETTER FROM WENDELL PHILLIPS, ESQ. 
  FREDERICK DOUGLASS. 
  CHAPTER I 
  CHAPTER II 
  CHAPTER III 
  CHAPTER IV 
  CHAPTER V 
  CHAPTER VI 
  CHAPTER VII 
  CHAPTER VIII 
  CHAPTER IX 
  CHAPTER X 
  CHAPTER XI 
  APPENDIX 
  A PARODY 




 PREFACE


In the month of August, 1841, I attended an anti-slavery convention in
Nantucket, at which it was my happiness to become acquainted with
_Frederick Douglass_, the writer of the following Narrative. He was a
stranger to nearly every member of that body; but, having recently made
his escape from the southern prison-house of bondage, and feeling his
curiosity excited to ascertain the principles and measures of the
abolitionists,—of whom he had heard a somewhat vague description while
he was a slave,—he was induced to give his attendance, on the occasion
alluded to, though at that time a resident in New Bedford.

Fortunate, most fortunate occurrence!—fortunate for the millions of his
manacled brethren, yet panting for deliverance from their awful
thraldom!—fortunate for the cause of negro emancipation, and of
universal liberty!—fortunate for the land of his birth, which he has
already done so much to save and bless!—fortunate for a large circle of
friends and acquaintances, whose sympathy and affection he has strongly
secured by the many sufferings he has endured, by his virtuous traits
of character, by his ever-abiding remembrance of those who are in
bonds, as being bound with them!—fortunate for the multitudes, in
various parts of our republic, whose minds he has enlightened on the
subject of slavery, and who have been melted to tears by his pathos, or
roused to virtuous indignation by his stirring eloquence against the
enslavers of men!—fortunate for himself, as it at once brought him into
the field of public usefulness, “gave the world assurance of a MAN,”
quickened the slumbering energies of his soul, and consecrated him to
the great work of breaking the rod of the oppressor, and letting the
oppressed go free!

I shall never forget his first speech at the convention—the
extraordinary emotion it excited in my own mind—the powerful impression
it created upon a crowded auditory, completely taken by surprise—the
applause which followed from the beginning to the end of his felicitous
remarks. I think I never hated slavery so intensely as at that moment;
certainly, my perception of the enormous outrage which is inflicted by
it, on the godlike nature of its victims, was rendered far more clear
than ever. There stood one, in physical proportion and stature
commanding and exact—in intellect richly endowed—in natural eloquence a
prodigy—in soul manifestly “created but a little lower than the
angels”—yet a slave, ay, a fugitive slave,—trembling for his safety,
hardly daring to believe that on the American soil, a single white
person could be found who would befriend him at all hazards, for the
love of God and humanity! Capable of high attainments as an
intellectual and moral being—needing nothing but a comparatively small
amount of cultivation to make him an ornament to society and a blessing
to his race—by the law of the land, by the voice of the people, by the
terms of the slave code, he was only a piece of property, a beast of
burden, a chattel personal, nevertheless!

A beloved friend from New Bedford prevailed on Mr. DOUGLASS  to address
the convention. He came forward to the platform with a hesitancy and
embarrassment, necessarily the attendants of a sensitive mind in such a
novel position. After apologizing for his ignorance, and reminding the
audience that slavery was a poor school for the human intellect and
heart, he proceeded to narrate some of the facts in his own history as
a slave, and in the course of his speech gave utterance to many noble
thoughts and thrilling reflections. As soon as he had taken his seat,
filled with hope and admiration, I rose, and declared that PATRICK
HENRY, of revolutionary fame, never made a speech more eloquent in the
cause of liberty, than the one we had just listened to from the lips of
that hunted fugitive. So I believed at that time—such is my belief now.
I reminded the audience of the peril which surrounded this
self-emancipated young man at the North,—even in Massachusetts, on the
soil of the Pilgrim Fathers, among the descendants of revolutionary
sires; and I appealed to them, whether they would ever allow him to be
carried back into slavery,—law or no law, constitution or no
constitution. The response was unan
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[Illustration]




Ulysses


by James Joyce


Contents

 — I —

 [ 1 ]
 [ 2 ]
 [ 3 ]

 — II —

 [ 4 ]
 [ 5 ]
 [ 6 ]
 [ 7 ]
 [ 8 ]
 [ 9 ]
 [ 10 ]
 [ 11 ]
 [ 12 ]
 [ 13 ]
 [ 14 ]
 [ 15 ]

 — III —

 [ 16 ]
 [ 17 ]
 [ 18 ]




— I —


[ 1 ]

Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of
lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed. A yellow
dressinggown, ungirdled, was sustained gently behind him on the mild
morning air. He held the bowl aloft and intoned:

—_Introibo ad altare Dei_.

Halted, he peered down the dark winding stairs and called out coarsely:

—Come up, Kinch! Come up, you fearful jesuit!

Solemnly he came forward and mounted the round gunrest. He faced about
and blessed gravely thrice the tower, the surrounding land and the
awaking mountains. Then, catching sight of Stephen Dedalus, he bent
towards him and made rapid crosses in the air, gurgling in his throat
and shaking his head. Stephen Dedalus, displeased and sleepy, leaned
his arms on the top of the staircase and looked coldly at the shaking
gurgling face that blessed him, equine in its length, and at the light
untonsured hair, grained and hued like pale oak.

Buck Mulligan peeped an instant under the mirror and then covered the
bowl smartly.

—Back to barracks! he said sternly.

He added in a preacher’s tone:

—For this, O dearly beloved, is the genuine Christine: body and soul
and blood and ouns. Slow music, please. Shut your eyes, gents. One
moment. A little trouble about those white corpuscles. Silence, all.

He peered sideways up and gave a long slow whistle of call, then paused
awhile in rapt attention, his even white teeth glistening here and
there with gold points. Chrysostomos. Two strong shrill whistles
answered through the calm.

—Thanks, old chap, he cried briskly. That will do nicely. Switch off
the current, will you?

He skipped off the gunrest and looked gravely at his watcher, gathering
about his legs the loose folds of his gown. The plump shadowed face and
sullen oval jowl recalled a prelate, patron of arts in the middle ages.
A pleasant smile broke quietly over his lips.

—The mockery of it! he said gaily. Your absurd name, an ancient Greek!

He pointed his finger in friendly jest and went over to the parapet,
laughing to himself. Stephen Dedalus stepped up, followed him wearily
halfway and sat down on the edge of the gunrest, watching him still as
he propped his mirror on the parapet, dipped the brush in the bowl and
lathered cheeks and neck.

Buck Mulligan’s gay voice went on.

—My name is absurd too: Malachi Mulligan, two dactyls. But it has a
Hellenic ring, hasn’t it? Tripping and sunny like the buck himself. We
must go to Athens. Will you come if I can get the aunt to fork out
twenty quid?

He laid the brush aside and, laughing with delight, cried:

—Will he come? The jejune jesuit!

Ceasing, he began to shave with care.

—Tell me, Mulligan, Stephen said quietly.

—Yes, my love?

—How long is Haines going to stay in this tower?

Buck Mulligan showed a shaven cheek over his right shoulder.

—God, isn’t he dreadful? he said frankly. A ponderous Saxon. He thinks
you’re not a gentleman. God, these bloody English! Bursting with money
and indigestion. Because he comes from Oxford. You know, Dedalus, you
have the real Oxford manner. He can’t make you out. O, my name for you
is the best: Kinch, the knife-blade.

He shaved warily over his chin.

—He was raving all night about a black panther, Stephen said. Where is
his guncase?

—A woful lunatic! Mulligan said. Were you in a funk?

—I was, Stephen said with energy and growing fear. Out here in the dark
with a man I don’t know raving and moaning to himself about shooting a
black panther. You saved men from drowning. I’m not a hero, however. If
he stays on here I am off.

Buck Mulligan frowned at the lather on his razorblade. He hopped down
from his perch and began to search his trouser pockets hastily.

—Scutter! he cried thickly.

He came over to the gunrest and, thrusting a hand into Stephen’s upper
pocket, said:

—Lend us a loan of your noserag to wipe my razor.

Stephen suffered him to pull out and hold up on show by its corner a
dirty crumpled handkerchief. Buck Mulligan wiped the razorblade neatly.
Then, gazing over the handkerchief, he said:

—The bard’s noserag! A new art colour for our Irish poets: snotgreen.
You can almost taste it, can’t you?

He mounted to the parapet again and gazed out over Dublin bay, his fair
oakpale hair stirring slightly.

—God! he said quietly. Isn’t the sea what Algy calls it: a great sweet
mother? The snotgreen sea. The scrotumtightening sea. _Epi oinopa
ponton_. Ah, Dedalus, the Greeks! I must teach you. You must read them
in the original. _Thalatta! Thalatta!_ She is our great sweet mother.
Come and look.

Stephen stood up and went over to the parapet. Leaning on it he looked
down on the water and on the mailboat clearing the harbourmouth of
Kingstown.

—Our mighty mother! Buck Mulligan said.

He turned abruptl
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cover




DUBLINERS

by James Joyce


Contents

 The Sisters
 An Encounter
 Araby
 Eveline
 After the Race
 Two Gallants
 The Boarding House
 A Little Cloud
 Counterparts
 Clay
 A Painful Case
 Ivy Day in the Committee Room
 A Mother
 Grace
 The Dead




THE SISTERS


There was no hope for him this time: it was the third stroke. Night
after night I had passed the house (it was vacation time) and studied
the lighted square of window: and night after night I had found it
lighted in the same way, faintly and evenly. If he was dead, I thought,
I would see the reflection of candles on the darkened blind for I knew
that two candles must be set at the head of a corpse. He had often said
to me: “I am not long for this world,” and I had thought his words
idle. Now I knew they were true. Every night as I gazed up at the
window I said softly to myself the word paralysis. It had always
sounded strangely in my ears, like the word gnomon in the Euclid and
the word simony in the Catechism. But now it sounded to me like the
name of some maleficent and sinful being. It filled me with fear, and
yet I longed to be nearer to it and to look upon its deadly work.

Old Cotter was sitting at the fire, smoking, when I came downstairs to
supper. While my aunt was ladling out my stirabout he said, as if
returning to some former remark of his:

“No, I wouldn’t say he was exactly ... but there was something queer
... there was something uncanny about him. I’ll tell you my
opinion....”

He began to puff at his pipe, no doubt arranging his opinion in his
mind. Tiresome old fool! When we knew him first he used to be rather
interesting, talking of faints and worms; but I soon grew tired of him
and his endless stories about the distillery.

“I have my own theory about it,” he said. “I think it was one of those
... peculiar cases.... But it’s hard to say....”

He began to puff again at his pipe without giving us his theory. My
uncle saw me staring and said to me:

“Well, so your old friend is gone, you’ll be sorry to hear.”

“Who?” said I.

“Father Flynn.”

“Is he dead?”

“Mr Cotter here has just told us. He was passing by the house.”

I knew that I was under observation so I continued eating as if the
news had not interested me. My uncle explained to old Cotter.

“The youngster and he were great friends. The old chap taught him a
great deal, mind you; and they say he had a great wish for him.”

“God have mercy on his soul,” said my aunt piously.

Old Cotter looked at me for a while. I felt that his little beady black
eyes were examining me but I would not satisfy him by looking up from
my plate. He returned to his pipe and finally spat rudely into the
grate.

“I wouldn’t like children of mine,” he said, “to have too much to say
to a man like that.”

“How do you mean, Mr Cotter?” asked my aunt.

“What I mean is,” said old Cotter, “it’s bad for children. My idea is:
let a young lad run about and play with young lads of his own age and
not be.... Am I right, Jack?”

“That’s my principle, too,” said my uncle. “Let him learn to box his
corner. That’s what I’m always saying to that Rosicrucian there: take
exercise. Why, when I was a nipper every morning of my life I had a
cold bath, winter and summer. And that’s what stands to me now.
Education is all very fine and large.... Mr Cotter might take a pick of
that leg mutton,” he added to my aunt.

“No, no, not for me,” said old Cotter.

My aunt brought the dish from the safe and put it on the table.

“But why do you think it’s not good for children, Mr Cotter?” she
asked.

“It’s bad for children,” said old Cotter, “because their minds are so
impressionable. When children see things like that, you know, it has an
effect....”

I crammed my mouth with stirabout for fear I might give utterance to my
anger. Tiresome old red-nosed imbecile!

It was late when I fell asleep. Though I was angry with old Cotter for
alluding to me as a child, I puzzled my head to extract meaning from
his unfinished sentences. In the dark of my room I imagined that I saw
again the heavy grey face of the paralytic. I drew the blankets over my
head and tried to think of Christmas. But the grey face still followed
me. It murmured; and I understood that it desired to confess something.
I felt my soul receding into some pleasant and vicious region; and
there again I found it waiting for me. It began to confess to me in a
murmuring voice and I wondered why it smiled continually and why the
lips were so moist with spittle. But then I remembered that it had died
of paralysis and I felt that I too was smiling feebly as if to absolve
the simoniac of his sin.

The next morning after breakfast I went down to look at the little
house in Great Britain Street. It was an unassuming shop, registered
under the vague name of _Drapery_. The drapery consisted mainly of
children’s bootees and umbrellas; and on ordinary days a notice used to
hang in the window, saying: _Umbrellas Re-covered_. No notice was
visible now for the shutters were up. A crap
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The Old Sea-dog at the Admiral Benbow


SQUIRE TRELAWNEY, Dr. Livesey, and the rest of these gentlemen having
asked me to write down the whole particulars about Treasure Island, from
the beginning to the end, keeping nothing back but the bearings of the
island, and that only because there is still treasure not yet lifted, I
take up my pen in the year of grace 17__ and go back to the time when
my father kept the Admiral Benbow inn and the brown old seaman with the
sabre cut first took up his lodging under our roof.

I remember him as if it were yesterday, as he came plodding to the
inn door, his sea-chest following behind him in a hand-barrow--a
tall, strong, heavy, nut-brown man, his tarry pigtail falling over the
shoulder of his soiled blue coat, his hands ragged and scarred, with
black, broken nails, and the sabre cut across one cheek, a dirty, livid
white. I remember him looking round the cove and whistling to himself
as he did so, and then breaking out in that old sea-song that he sang so
often afterwards:

          “Fifteen men on the dead man’s chest--
             Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum!”

in the high, old tottering voice that seemed to have been tuned and
broken at the capstan bars. Then he rapped on the door with a bit of
stick like a handspike that he carried, and when my father appeared,
called roughly for a glass of rum. This, when it was brought to him,
he drank slowly, like a connoisseur, lingering on the taste and still
looking about him at the cliffs and up at our signboard.

“This is a handy cove,” says he at length; “and a pleasant sittyated
grog-shop. Much company, mate?”

My father told him no, very little company, the more was the pity.

“Well, then,” said he, “this is the berth for me. Here you, matey,” he
cried to the man who trundled the barrow; “bring up alongside and help
up my chest. I’ll stay here a bit,” he continued. “I’m a plain man; rum
and bacon and eggs is what I want, and that head up there for to watch
ships off. What you mought call me? You mought call me captain. Oh, I
see what you’re at--there”; and he threw down three or four gold pieces
on the threshold. “You can tell me when I’ve worked through that,” says
he, looking as fierce as a commander.

And indeed bad as his clothes were and coarsely as he spoke, he had none
of the appearance of a man who sailed before the mast, but seemed like
a mate or skipper accustomed to be obeyed or to strike. The man who came
with the barrow told us the mail had set him down the morning before at
the Royal George, that he had inquired what inns there were along the
coast, and hearing ours well spoken of, I suppose, and described as
lonely, had chosen it from the others for his place of residence. And
that was all we could learn of our guest.

He was a very silent man by custom. All day he hung round the cove or
upon the cliffs with a brass telescope; all evening he sat in a corner
of the parlour next the fire and drank rum and water very strong. Mostly
he would not speak when spoken to, only look up sudden and fierce and
blow through his nose like a fog-horn; and we and the people who came
about our house soon learned to let him be. Every day when he came back
from his stroll he would ask if any seafaring men had gone by along the
road. At first we thought it was the want of company of his own kind
that made him ask this question, but at last we began to see he was
desirous to avoid them. When a seaman did put up at the Admiral Benbow
(as now and then some did, making by the coast road for Bristol) he
would look in at him through the curtained door before he entered the
parlour; and he was always sure to be as silent as a mouse when any such
was present. For me, at least, there was no secret about the matter, for
I was, in a way, a sharer in his alarms. He had taken me aside one day
and promised me a silver fourpenny on the first of every month if I
would only keep my “weather-eye open for a seafaring man with one leg”
 and let him know the moment he appeared. Often enough when the first
of the month came round and I applied to him for my wage, he would only
blow through his nose at me and stare me down, but before the week was
out he was sure to think better of it, bring me my four-penny piece, and
repeat his orders to look out for “the seafaring man with one leg.”

How that personage haunted my dreams, I need scarcely tell you. On
stormy nights, when the wind shook the four corners of the house and
the surf roared along the cove and up the cliffs, I would see him in a
thousand forms, and with a thousand diabolical expressions. Now the leg
would be cut off at the knee, now at the hip; now he was a monstrous
kind of a creature who had never had but the one leg, and that in the
middle of his body. To see him leap and run and pursue me over hedge and
ditch was the worst of nightmares. And altogether I paid pretty dear for
my monthly fourpenny piece, in the shape of these abominable fancies.

But though I was so terrified by the
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: In the printed version of this text, all
apostrophes for contractions such as “can’t”, “wouldn’t” and “he’d”
were omitted, to read as “cant”, “wouldnt”, and “hed”. This etext
edition restores the omitted apostrophes.




PYGMALION

BERNARD SHAW

1912




PREFACE TO PYGMALION.

A Professor of Phonetics.

As will be seen later on, Pygmalion needs, not a preface, but a sequel,
which I have supplied in its due place. The English have no respect for
their language, and will not teach their children to speak it. They
spell it so abominably that no man can teach himself what it sounds
like. It is impossible for an Englishman to open his mouth without
making some other Englishman hate or despise him. German and Spanish
are accessible to foreigners: English is not accessible even to
Englishmen. The reformer England needs today is an energetic phonetic
enthusiast: that is why I have made such a one the hero of a popular
play. There have been heroes of that kind crying in the wilderness for
many years past. When I became interested in the subject towards the
end of the eighteen-seventies, Melville Bell was dead; but Alexander J.
Ellis was still a living patriarch, with an impressive head always
covered by a velvet skull cap, for which he would apologize to public
meetings in a very courtly manner. He and Tito Pagliardini, another
phonetic veteran, were men whom it was impossible to dislike. Henry
Sweet, then a young man, lacked their sweetness of character: he was
about as conciliatory to conventional mortals as Ibsen or Samuel
Butler. His great ability as a phonetician (he was, I think, the best
of them all at his job) would have entitled him to high official
recognition, and perhaps enabled him to popularize his subject, but for
his Satanic contempt for all academic dignitaries and persons in
general who thought more of Greek than of phonetics. Once, in the days
when the Imperial Institute rose in South Kensington, and Joseph
Chamberlain was booming the Empire, I induced the editor of a leading
monthly review to commission an article from Sweet on the imperial
importance of his subject. When it arrived, it contained nothing but a
savagely derisive attack on a professor of language and literature
whose chair Sweet regarded as proper to a phonetic expert only. The
article, being libelous, had to be returned as impossible; and I had to
renounce my dream of dragging its author into the limelight. When I met
him afterwards, for the first time for many years, I found to my
astonishment that he, who had been a quite tolerably presentable young
man, had actually managed by sheer scorn to alter his personal
appearance until he had become a sort of walking repudiation of Oxford
and all its traditions. It must have been largely in his own despite
that he was squeezed into something called a Readership of phonetics
there. The future of phonetics rests probably with his pupils, who all
swore by him; but nothing could bring the man himself into any sort of
compliance with the university, to which he nevertheless clung by
divine right in an intensely Oxonian way. I daresay his papers, if he
has left any, include some satires that may be published without too
destructive results fifty years hence. He was, I believe, not in the
least an ill-natured man: very much the opposite, I should say; but he
would not suffer fools gladly.

Those who knew him will recognize in my third act the allusion to the
patent Shorthand in which he used to write postcards, and which may be
acquired from a four and six-penny manual published by the Clarendon
Press. The postcards which Mrs. Higgins describes are such as I have
received from Sweet. I would decipher a sound which a cockney would
represent by zerr, and a Frenchman by seu, and then write demanding
with some heat what on earth it meant. Sweet, with boundless contempt
for my stupidity, would reply that it not only meant but obviously was
the word Result, as no other Word containing that sound, and capable of
making sense with the context, existed in any language spoken on earth.
That less expert mortals should require fuller indications was beyond
Sweet’s patience. Therefore, though the whole point of his “Current
Shorthand” is that it can express every sound in the language
perfectly, vowels as well as consonants, and that your hand has to make
no stroke except the easy and current ones with which you write m, n,
and u, l, p, and q, scribbling them at whatever angle comes easiest to
you, his unfortunate determination to make this remarkable and quite
legible script serve also as a Shorthand reduced it in his own practice
to the most inscrutable of cryptograms. His true objective was the
provision of a full, accurate, legible script for our noble but
ill-dressed language; but he was led past that by his contempt for the
popular Pitman system of Shorthand, which he called the Pitfall system.
The triumph of Pitman was a triumph of business organization: there was
a weekly paper 
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PLAYING PILGRIMS

"Christmas won't be Christmas without any presents," grumbled Jo, lying
on the rug.

"It's so dreadful to be poor!" sighed Meg, looking down at her old
dress.

"I don't think it's fair for some girls to have plenty of pretty
things, and other girls nothing at all," added little Amy, with an
injured sniff.

"We've got Father and Mother, and each other," said Beth contentedly
from her corner.

The four young faces on which the firelight shone brightened at the
cheerful words, but darkened again as Jo said sadly, "We haven't got
Father, and shall not have him for a long time." She didn't say
"perhaps never," but each silently added it, thinking of Father far
away, where the fighting was.

Nobody spoke for a minute; then Meg said in an altered tone, "You know
the reason Mother proposed not having any presents this Christmas was
because it is going to be a hard winter for everyone; and she thinks we
ought not to spend money for pleasure, when our men are suffering so in
the army.  We can't do much, but we can make our little sacrifices, and
ought to do it gladly.  But I am afraid I don't," and Meg shook her
head, as she thought regretfully of all the pretty things she wanted.

"But I don't think the little we should spend would do any good.  We've
each got a dollar, and the army wouldn't be much helped by our giving
that.  I agree not to expect anything from Mother or you, but I do want
to buy _Undine and Sintran_ for myself.  I've wanted it so long," said
Jo, who was a bookworm.

"I planned to spend mine in new music," said Beth, with a little sigh,
which no one heard but the hearth brush and kettle-holder.

"I shall get a nice box of Faber's drawing pencils; I really need
them," said Amy decidedly.

"Mother didn't say anything about our money, and she won't wish us to
give up everything.  Let's each buy what we want, and have a little
fun; I'm sure we work hard enough to earn it," cried Jo, examining the
heels of her shoes in a gentlemanly manner.

"I know I do--teaching those tiresome children nearly all day, when I'm
longing to enjoy myself at home," began Meg, in the complaining tone
again.

"You don't have half such a hard time as I do," said Jo. "How would you
like to be shut up for hours with a nervous, fussy old lady, who keeps
you trotting, is never satisfied, and worries you till you're ready to
fly out the window or cry?"

"It's naughty to fret, but I do think washing dishes and keeping things
tidy is the worst work in the world.  It makes me cross, and my hands
get so stiff, I can't practice well at all." And Beth looked at her
rough hands with a sigh that any one could hear that time.

"I don't believe any of you suffer as I do," cried Amy, "for you don't
have to go to school with impertinent girls, who plague you if you
don't know your lessons, and laugh at your dresses, and label your
father if he isn't rich, and insult you when your nose isn't nice."

"If you mean libel, I'd say so, and not talk about labels, as if Papa
was a pickle bottle," advised Jo, laughing.

"I know what I mean, and you needn't be statirical about it. It's
proper to use good words, and improve your vocabilary," returned Amy,
with dignity.

"Don't peck at one another, children.  Don't you wish we had the money
Papa lost when we were little, Jo?  Dear me! How happy and good we'd
be, if we had no worries!" said Meg, who could remember better times.

"You said the other day you thought we were a deal happier than the
King children, for they were fighting and fretting all the time, in
spite of their money."

"So I did, Beth.  Well, I think we are.  For though we do have to work,
we make fun of ourselves, and are a pretty jolly set, as Jo would say."

"Jo does use such slang words!" observed Amy, with a reproving look at
the long figure stretched on the rug.

Jo immediately sat up, put her hands in her pockets, and began to
whistle.

"Don't, Jo.  It's so boyish!"

"That's why I do it."

"I detest rude, unladylike girls!"

"I hate affected, niminy-piminy chits!"

"Birds in their little nests agree," sang Beth, the peacemaker, with
such a funny face that both sharp voices softened to a laugh, and the
"pecking" ended for that time.

"Really, girls, you are both to be blamed," said Meg, beginning to
lecture in her elder-sisterly fashion. "You are old enough to leave off
boyish tricks, and to behave better, Josephine.  It didn't matter so
much when you were a little girl, but now you are so tall, and turn up
your hair, you should remember that you are a young lady."

"I'm not!   And if turning up my hair makes me one, I'll wear it in two
tails till I'm twenty," cried Jo, pulling off her net, and shaking down
a chestnut mane.  "I hate to think I've got to grow up, and be Miss
March, and wear long gowns, and look as prim as a China Aster!  It's
bad enough to be a girl, anyway, when I like boy's games and work and
manners!  I can't get over my disappointment in not being a boy.  And
it's worse than ever now, for I'm d
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1801—I have just returned from a visit to my landlord—the solitary
neighbour that I shall be troubled with. This is certainly a beautiful
country! In all England, I do not believe that I could have fixed on a
situation so completely removed from the stir of society. A perfect
misanthropist’s Heaven—and Mr. Heathcliff and I are such a suitable
pair to divide the desolation between us. A capital fellow! He little
imagined how my heart warmed towards him when I beheld his black eyes
withdraw so suspiciously under their brows, as I rode up, and when his
fingers sheltered themselves, with a jealous resolution, still further
in his waistcoat, as I announced my name.

“Mr. Heathcliff?” I said.

A nod was the answer.

“Mr. Lockwood, your new tenant, sir. I do myself the honour of calling
as soon as possible after my arrival, to express the hope that I have
not inconvenienced you by my perseverance in soliciting the occupation
of Thrushcross Grange: I heard yesterday you had had some thoughts—”

“Thrushcross Grange is my own, sir,” he interrupted, wincing. “I should
not allow any one to inconvenience me, if I could hinder it—walk in!”

The “walk in” was uttered with closed teeth, and expressed the
sentiment, “Go to the Deuce!” even the gate over which he leant
manifested no sympathising movement to the words; and I think that
circumstance determined me to accept the invitation: I felt interested
in a man who seemed more exaggeratedly reserved than myself.

When he saw my horse’s breast fairly pushing the barrier, he did put
out his hand to unchain it, and then sullenly preceded me up the
causeway, calling, as we entered the court,—“Joseph, take Mr.
Lockwood’s horse; and bring up some wine.”

“Here we have the whole establishment of domestics, I suppose,” was the
reflection suggested by this compound order. “No wonder the grass grows
up between the flags, and cattle are the only hedge-cutters.”

Joseph was an elderly, nay, an old man, very old, perhaps, though hale
and sinewy. “The Lord help us!” he soliloquised in an undertone of
peevish displeasure, while relieving me of my horse: looking, meantime,
in my face so sourly that I charitably conjectured he must have need of
divine aid to digest his dinner, and his pious ejaculation had no
reference to my unexpected advent.

Wuthering Heights is the name of Mr. Heathcliff’s dwelling. “Wuthering”
being a significant provincial adjective, descriptive of the
atmospheric tumult to which its station is exposed in stormy weather.
Pure, bracing ventilation they must have up there at all times, indeed:
one may guess the power of the north wind, blowing over the edge, by
the excessive slant of a few stunted firs at the end of the house; and
by a range of gaunt thorns all stretching their limbs one way, as if
craving alms of the sun. Happily, the architect had foresight to build
it strong: the narrow windows are deeply set in the wall, and the
corners defended with large jutting stones.

Before passing the threshold, I paused to admire a quantity of
grotesque carving lavished over the front, and especially about the
principal door; above which, among a wilderness of crumbling griffins
and shameless little boys, I detected the date “1500,” and the name
“Hareton Earnshaw.” I would have made a few comments, and requested a
short history of the place from the surly owner; but his attitude at
the door appeared to demand my speedy entrance, or complete departure,
and I had no desire to aggravate his impatience previous to inspecting
the penetralium.

One stop brought us into the family sitting-room, without any
introductory lobby or passage: they call it here “the house”
pre-eminently. It includes kitchen and parlour, generally; but I
believe at Wuthering Heights the kitchen is forced to retreat
altogether into another quarter: at least I distinguished a chatter of
tongues, and a clatter of culinary utensils, deep within; and I
observed no signs of roasting, boiling, or baking, about the huge
fireplace; nor any glitter of copper saucepans and tin cullenders on
the walls. One end, indeed, reflected splendidly both light and heat
from ranks of immense pewter dishes, interspersed with silver jugs and
tankards, towering row after row, on a vast oak dresser, to the very
roof. The latter had never been under-drawn: its entire anatomy lay
bare to an inquiring eye, except where a frame of wood laden with
oatcakes and clusters of legs of beef, mutton, and ham, concealed it.
Above the chimney were sundry villainous old guns, and a couple of
horse-pistols: and, by way of ornament, three gaudily-painted canisters
disposed along its ledge. The floor was of smooth, white stone; the
chairs, high-backed, primitive structures, painted green: one or two
heavy black ones lurking in the shade. In an arch under the dresser
reposed a huge, liver-coloured bitch pointer, surrounded by a swarm of
squealing puppies; and other dogs haunted other recesses.

The apartment and furniture would have been nothing ex
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|MRS. Rachel Lynde lived just where the Avonlea main road dipped down
into a little hollow, fringed with alders and ladies’ eardrops and
traversed by a brook that had its source away back in the woods of the
old Cuthbert place; it was reputed to be an intricate, headlong brook
in its earlier course through those woods, with dark secrets of pool
and cascade; but by the time it reached Lynde’s Hollow it was a quiet,
well-conducted little stream, for not even a brook could run past Mrs.
Rachel Lynde’s door without due regard for decency and decorum; it
probably was conscious that Mrs. Rachel was sitting at her window,
keeping a sharp eye on everything that passed, from brooks and children
up, and that if she noticed anything odd or out of place she would never
rest until she had ferreted out the whys and wherefores thereof.

There are plenty of people in Avonlea and out of it, who can attend
closely to their neighbor’s business by dint of neglecting their own;
but Mrs. Rachel Lynde was one of those capable creatures who can manage
their own concerns and those of other folks into the bargain. She was a
notable housewife; her work was always done and well done; she “ran” the
Sewing Circle, helped run the Sunday-school, and was the strongest prop
of the Church Aid Society and Foreign Missions Auxiliary. Yet with all
this Mrs. Rachel found abundant time to sit for hours at her kitchen
window, knitting “cotton warp” quilts--she had knitted sixteen of them,
as Avonlea housekeepers were wont to tell in awed voices--and keeping
a sharp eye on the main road that crossed the hollow and wound up
the steep red hill beyond. Since Avonlea occupied a little triangular
peninsula jutting out into the Gulf of St. Lawrence with water on two
sides of it, anybody who went out of it or into it had to pass over that
hill road and so run the unseen gauntlet of Mrs. Rachel’s all-seeing
eye.

She was sitting there one afternoon in early June. The sun was coming in
at the window warm and bright; the orchard on the slope below the house
was in a bridal flush of pinky-white bloom, hummed over by a myriad of
bees. Thomas Lynde--a meek little man whom Avonlea people called “Rachel
Lynde’s husband”--was sowing his late turnip seed on the hill field
beyond the barn; and Matthew Cuthbert ought to have been sowing his on
the big red brook field away over by Green Gables. Mrs. Rachel knew
that he ought because she had heard him tell Peter Morrison the evening
before in William J. Blair’s store over at Carmody that he meant to sow
his turnip seed the next afternoon. Peter had asked him, of course, for
Matthew Cuthbert had never been known to volunteer information about
anything in his whole life.

And yet here was Matthew Cuthbert, at half-past three on the afternoon
of a busy day, placidly driving over the hollow and up the hill;
moreover, he wore a white collar and his best suit of clothes, which was
plain proof that he was going out of Avonlea; and he had the buggy
and the sorrel mare, which betokened that he was going a considerable
distance. Now, where was Matthew Cuthbert going and why was he going
there?

Had it been any other man in Avonlea, Mrs. Rachel, deftly putting this
and that together, might have given a pretty good guess as to both
questions. But Matthew so rarely went from home that it must be
something pressing and unusual which was taking him; he was the shyest
man alive and hated to have to go among strangers or to any place where
he might have to talk. Matthew, dressed up with a white collar and
driving in a buggy, was something that didn’t happen often. Mrs. Rachel,
ponder as she might, could make nothing of it and her afternoon’s
enjoyment was spoiled.

“I’ll just step over to Green Gables after tea and find out from Marilla
where he’s gone and why,” the worthy woman finally concluded. “He
doesn’t generally go to town this time of year and he _never_ visits; if
he’d run out of turnip seed he wouldn’t dress up and take the buggy to
go for more; he wasn’t driving fast enough to be going for a doctor.
Yet something must have happened since last night to start him off. I’m
clean puzzled, that’s what, and I won’t know a minute’s peace of mind or
conscience until I know what has taken Matthew Cuthbert out of Avonlea
today.”

Accordingly after tea Mrs. Rachel set out; she had not far to go; the
big, rambling, orchard-embowered house where the Cuthberts lived was a
scant quarter of a mile up the road from Lynde’s Hollow. To be sure, the
long lane made it a good deal further. Matthew Cuthbert’s father, as
shy and silent as his son after him, had got as far away as he possibly
could from his fellow men without actually retreating into the woods
when he founded his homestead. Green Gables was built at the furthest
edge of his cleared land and there it was to this day, barely visible
from the main road along which all the other Avonlea houses were so
sociably situated. Mrs. Rachel Lynde did not call living in such a place
_living_ at
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“Old longings nomadic leap,
Chafing at custom’s chain;
Again from its brumal sleep
Wakens the ferine strain.”


Buck did not read the newspapers, or he would have known that trouble
was brewing, not alone for himself, but for every tide-water dog,
strong of muscle and with warm, long hair, from Puget Sound to San
Diego. Because men, groping in the Arctic darkness, had found a yellow
metal, and because steamship and transportation companies were booming
the find, thousands of men were rushing into the Northland. These men
wanted dogs, and the dogs they wanted were heavy dogs, with strong
muscles by which to toil, and furry coats to protect them from the
frost.

Buck lived at a big house in the sun-kissed Santa Clara Valley. Judge
Miller’s place, it was called. It stood back from the road, half hidden
among the trees, through which glimpses could be caught of the wide
cool veranda that ran around its four sides. The house was approached
by gravelled driveways which wound about through wide-spreading lawns
and under the interlacing boughs of tall poplars. At the rear things
were on even a more spacious scale than at the front. There were great
stables, where a dozen grooms and boys held forth, rows of vine-clad
servants’ cottages, an endless and orderly array of outhouses, long
grape arbors, green pastures, orchards, and berry patches. Then there
was the pumping plant for the artesian well, and the big cement tank
where Judge Miller’s boys took their morning plunge and kept cool in
the hot afternoon.

And over this great demesne Buck ruled. Here he was born, and here he
had lived the four years of his life. It was true, there were other
dogs, There could not but be other dogs on so vast a place, but they
did not count. They came and went, resided in the populous kennels, or
lived obscurely in the recesses of the house after the fashion of
Toots, the Japanese pug, or Ysabel, the Mexican hairless,—strange
creatures that rarely put nose out of doors or set foot to ground. On
the other hand, there were the fox terriers, a score of them at least,
who yelped fearful promises at Toots and Ysabel looking out of the
windows at them and protected by a legion of housemaids armed with
brooms and mops.

But Buck was neither house-dog nor kennel-dog. The whole realm was his.
He plunged into the swimming tank or went hunting with the Judge’s
sons; he escorted Mollie and Alice, the Judge’s daughters, on long
twilight or early morning rambles; on wintry nights he lay at the
Judge’s feet before the roaring library fire; he carried the Judge’s
grandsons on his back, or rolled them in the grass, and guarded their
footsteps through wild adventures down to the fountain in the stable
yard, and even beyond, where the paddocks were, and the berry patches.
Among the terriers he stalked imperiously, and Toots and Ysabel he
utterly ignored, for he was king,—king over all creeping, crawling,
flying things of Judge Miller’s place, humans included.

His father, Elmo, a huge St. Bernard, had been the Judge’s inseparable
companion, and Buck bid fair to follow in the way of his father. He was
not so large,—he weighed only one hundred and forty pounds,—for his
mother, Shep, had been a Scotch shepherd dog. Nevertheless, one hundred
and forty pounds, to which was added the dignity that comes of good
living and universal respect, enabled him to carry himself in right
royal fashion. During the four years since his puppyhood he had lived
the life of a sated aristocrat; he had a fine pride in himself, was
even a trifle egotistical, as country gentlemen sometimes become
because of their insular situation. But he had saved himself by not
becoming a mere pampered house-dog. Hunting and kindred outdoor
delights had kept down the fat and hardened his muscles; and to him, as
to the cold-tubbing races, the love of water had been a tonic and a
health preserver.

And this was the manner of dog Buck was in the fall of 1897, when the
Klondike strike dragged men from all the world into the frozen North.
But Buck did not read the newspapers, and he did not know that Manuel,
one of the gardener’s helpers, was an undesirable acquaintance. Manuel
had one besetting sin. He loved to play Chinese lottery. Also, in his
gambling, he had one besetting weakness—faith in a system; and this
made his damnation certain. For to play a system requires money, while
the wages of a gardener’s helper do not lap over the needs of a wife
and numerous progeny.

The Judge was at a meeting of the Raisin Growers’ Association, and the
boys were busy organizing an athletic club, on the memorable night of
Manuel’s treachery. No one saw him and Buck go off through the orchard
on what Buck imagined was merely a stroll. And with the exception of a
solitary man, no one saw them arrive at the little flag station known
as College Park. This man talked with Manuel, and money chinked between
them.

“You might wrap up the goods before you deliver ’m,” the stranger said
gruffly, and Manuel doubled a 
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cover




The Odyssey

by Homer

rendered into English prose for the use of those who cannot read the
original

Contents

 PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION
 PREFACE TO SECOND EDITION
 THE ODYSSEY
 BOOK I.
 BOOK II.
 BOOK III.
 BOOK IV.
 BOOK V.
 BOOK VI.
 BOOK VII.
 BOOK VIII.
 BOOK IX.
 BOOK X.
 BOOK XI.
 BOOK XII.
 BOOK XIII.
 BOOK XIV.
 BOOK XV.
 BOOK XVI.
 BOOK XVII.
 BOOK XVIII.
 BOOK XIX.
 BOOK XX.
 BOOK XXI.
 BOOK XXII.
 BOOK XXIII.
 BOOK XXIV.
 FOOTNOTES:


AL PROFESSORE
CAV. BIAGIO INGROIA,
PREZIOSO ALLEATO
L’AUTORE RICONOSCENTE.




PREFACE TO FIRST EDITION


This translation is intended to supplement a work entitled “The
Authoress of the Odyssey”, which I published in 1897. I could not give
the whole “Odyssey” in that book without making it unwieldy, I
therefore epitomised my translation, which was already completed and
which I now publish in full.

I shall not here argue the two main points dealt with in the work just
mentioned; I have nothing either to add to, or to withdraw from, what I
have there written. The points in question are:

(1) that the “Odyssey” was written entirely at, and drawn entirely
from, the place now called Trapani on the West Coast of Sicily, alike
as regards the Phaeacian and the Ithaca scenes; while the voyages of
Ulysses, when once he is within easy reach of Sicily, solve themselves
into a periplus of the island, practically from Trapani back to
Trapani, via the Lipari islands, the Straits of Messina, and the island
of Pantellaria.

(2) That the poem was entirely written by a very young woman, who lived
at the place now called Trapani, and introduced herself into her work
under the name of Nausicaa.

The main arguments on which I base the first of these somewhat
startling contentions, have been prominently and repeatedly before the
English and Italian public ever since they appeared (without rejoinder)
in the “Athenaeum” for January 30 and February 20, 1892. Both
contentions were urged (also without rejoinder) in the Johnian “Eagle”
for the Lent and October terms of the same year. Nothing to which I
should reply has reached me from any quarter, and knowing how anxiously
I have endeavoured to learn the existence of any flaws in my argument,
I begin to feel some confidence that, did such flaws exist, I should
have heard, at any rate about some of them, before now. Without,
therefore, for a moment pretending to think that scholars generally
acquiesce in my conclusions, I shall act as thinking them little likely
so to gainsay me as that it will be incumbent upon me to reply, and
shall confine myself to translating the “Odyssey” for English readers,
with such notes as I think will be found useful. Among these I would
especially call attention to one on xxii. 465-473 which Lord Grimthorpe
has kindly allowed me to make public.

I have repeated several of the illustrations used in “The Authoress of
the Odyssey”, and have added two which I hope may bring the outer court
of Ulysses’ house more vividly before the reader. I should like to
explain that the presence of a man and a dog in one illustration is
accidental, and was not observed by me till I developed the negative.
In an appendix I have also reprinted the paragraphs explanatory of the
plan of Ulysses’ house, together with the plan itself. The reader is
recommended to study this plan with some attention.

In the preface to my translation of the “Iliad” I have given my views
as to the main principles by which a translator should be guided, and
need not repeat them here, beyond pointing out that the initial liberty
of translating poetry into prose involves the continual taking of more
or less liberty throughout the translation; for much that is right in
poetry is wrong in prose, and the exigencies of readable prose are the
first things to be considered in a prose translation. That the reader,
however, may see how far I have departed from strict construe, I will
print here Messrs. Butcher and Lang’s translation of the sixty lines or
so of the “Odyssey.” Their translation runs:

Tell me, Muse, of that man, so ready at need, who wandered far and
wide, after he had sacked the sacred citadel of Troy, and many were the
men whose towns he saw and whose mind he learnt, yea, and many the woes
he suffered in his heart on the deep, striving to win his own life and
the return of his company. Nay, but even so he saved not his company,
though he desired it sore. For through the blindness of their own
hearts they perished, fools, who devoured the oxen of Helios Hyperion:
but the god took from them their day of returning. Of these things,
goddess, daughter of Zeus, whencesoever thou hast heard thereof,
declare thou even unto us.

    Now all the rest, as many as fled from sheer destruction, were at
    home, and had escaped both war and sea, but Odysseus only, craving
    for his wife and for his homeward path, the lady nymph Calypso
    held, that fair goddess, in her hollow caves, longing to have him
    for her
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THE PROPHET

By Kahlil Gibran

New York: Alfred A. Knopf

1923

_The Twelve Illustrations In This Volume
Are Reproduced From Original Drawings By
The Author_


“His power came from some great reservoir
of spiritual life else it could not have
been so universal and so potent, but the
majesty and beauty of the language with
which he clothed it were all his own?”

--Claude Bragdon


THE BOOKS OF KAHLIL GIBRAN

The Madman. 1918 Twenty Drawings. 1919
The Forerunner. 1920 The Prophet. 1923
Sand and Foam. 1926 Jesus the Son of
Man. 1928 The Forth Gods. 1931 The
Wanderer. 1932 The Garden of the Prophet
1933 Prose Poems. 1934 Nymphs of the
Valley. 1948




CONTENTS

          The Coming of the Ship.......7
          On Love.....................15
          On Marriage.................19
          On Children.................21
          On Giving...................23
          On Eating and Drinking......27
          On Work.....................31
          On Joy and Sorrow...........33
          On Houses...................37
          On Clothes..................41
          On Buying and Selling.......43
          On Crime and Punishment.....45
          On Laws.....................51
          On Freedom..................55
          On Reason and Passion.......57
          On Pain.....................60
          On Self-Knowledge...........62
          On Teaching.................64
          On Friendship...............66
          On Talking..................68
          On Time.....................70
          On Good and Evil............72
          On Prayer...................76
          On Pleasure.................79
          On Beauty...................83
          On Religion.................87
          On Death....................90
          The Farewell................92




THE PROPHET

|Almustafa, the{7} chosen and the
beloved, who was a dawn unto his own
day, had waited twelve years in the city
of Orphalese for his ship that was to
return and bear him back to the isle of
his birth.

And in the twelfth year, on the seventh
day of Ielool, the month of reaping, he
climbed the hill without the city walls
and looked seaward; and he beheld his
ship coming with the mist.

Then the gates of his heart were flung
open, and his joy flew far over the sea.
And he closed his eyes and prayed in the
silences of his soul.

*****

But as he descended the hill, a sadness
came upon him, and he thought in his
heart:

How shall I go in peace and without
sorrow? Nay, not without a wound in the
spirit shall I leave this city. {8}Long
were the days of pain I have spent
within its walls, and long were the
nights of aloneness; and who can depart
from his pain and his aloneness without
regret?

Too many fragments of the spirit have I
scattered in these streets, and too many
are the children of my longing that walk
naked among these hills, and I cannot
withdraw from them without a burden and
an ache.

It is not a garment I cast off this
day, but a skin that I tear with my own
hands.

Nor is it a thought I leave behind me,
but a heart made sweet with hunger and
with thirst.

*****

Yet I cannot tarry longer.

The sea that calls all things unto her
calls me, and I must embark.

For to stay, though the hours burn in
the night, is to freeze and crystallize
and be bound in a mould.

Fain would I take with me all that is
here. But how shall I?

A voice cannot carry the tongue and
{9}the lips that gave it wings. Alone
must it seek the ether.

And alone and without his nest shall the
eagle fly across the sun.

*****

Now when he reached the foot of the
hill, he turned again towards the sea,
and he saw his ship approaching the
harbour, and upon her prow the mariners,
the men of his own land.

And his soul cried out to them, and he
said:

Sons of my ancient mother, you riders of
the tides,

How often have you sailed in my dreams.
And now you come in my awakening, which
is my deeper dream.

Ready am I to go, and my eagerness with
sails full set awaits the wind.

Only another breath will I breathe in
this still air, only another loving look
cast backward,

And then I shall stand among you, a
seafarer among seafarers. {10}And you,
vast sea, sleepless mother,

Who alone are peace and freedom to the
river and the stream,

Only another winding will this stream
make, only another murmur in this glade,

And then shall I come to you, a
boundless drop to a boundless ocean.

*****

And as he walked he saw from afar men
and women leaving their fields and their
vineyards and hastening towards the city
gates.

And he heard their voices calling his
name, and shouting from field to field
telling one another of the coming of his
ship.

And he said to himself:

Shall the day of parting be the day of
gathering?

An
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IN the year 1878 I took my degree of Doctor of Medicine of the
University of London, and proceeded to Netley to go through the course
prescribed for surgeons in the army. Having completed my studies there,
I was duly attached to the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers as Assistant
Surgeon. The regiment was stationed in India at the time, and before
I could join it, the second Afghan war had broken out. On landing at
Bombay, I learned that my corps had advanced through the passes, and
was already deep in the enemy’s country. I followed, however, with many
other officers who were in the same situation as myself, and succeeded
in reaching Candahar in safety, where I found my regiment, and at once
entered upon my new duties.

The campaign brought honours and promotion to many, but for me it had
nothing but misfortune and disaster. I was removed from my brigade and
attached to the Berkshires, with whom I served at the fatal battle of
Maiwand. There I was struck on the shoulder by a Jezail bullet, which
shattered the bone and grazed the subclavian artery. I should have
fallen into the hands of the murderous Ghazis had it not been for the
devotion and courage shown by Murray, my orderly, who threw me across a
pack-horse, and succeeded in bringing me safely to the British lines.

Worn with pain, and weak from the prolonged hardships which I had
undergone, I was removed, with a great train of wounded sufferers, to
the base hospital at Peshawar. Here I rallied, and had already improved
so far as to be able to walk about the wards, and even to bask a little
upon the verandah, when I was struck down by enteric fever, that curse
of our Indian possessions. For months my life was despaired of, and
when at last I came to myself and became convalescent, I was so weak and
emaciated that a medical board determined that not a day should be lost
in sending me back to England. I was dispatched, accordingly, in the
troopship “Orontes,” and landed a month later on Portsmouth jetty, with
my health irretrievably ruined, but with permission from a paternal
government to spend the next nine months in attempting to improve it.

I had neither kith nor kin in England, and was therefore as free as
air--or as free as an income of eleven shillings and sixpence a day will
permit a man to be. Under such circumstances, I naturally gravitated to
London, that great cesspool into which all the loungers and idlers of
the Empire are irresistibly drained. There I stayed for some time at
a private hotel in the Strand, leading a comfortless, meaningless
existence, and spending such money as I had, considerably more freely
than I ought. So alarming did the state of my finances become, that
I soon realized that I must either leave the metropolis and rusticate
somewhere in the country, or that I must make a complete alteration in
my style of living. Choosing the latter alternative, I began by making
up my mind to leave the hotel, and to take up my quarters in some less
pretentious and less expensive domicile.

On the very day that I had come to this conclusion, I was standing at
the Criterion Bar, when some one tapped me on the shoulder, and turning
round I recognized young Stamford, who had been a dresser under me at
Barts. The sight of a friendly face in the great wilderness of London is
a pleasant thing indeed to a lonely man. In old days Stamford had never
been a particular crony of mine, but now I hailed him with enthusiasm,
and he, in his turn, appeared to be delighted to see me. In the
exuberance of my joy, I asked him to lunch with me at the Holborn, and
we started off together in a hansom.

“Whatever have you been doing with yourself, Watson?” he asked in
undisguised wonder, as we rattled through the crowded London streets.
“You are as thin as a lath and as brown as a nut.”

I gave him a short sketch of my adventures, and had hardly concluded it
by the time that we reached our destination.

“Poor devil!” he said, commiseratingly, after he had listened to my
misfortunes. “What are you up to now?”

“Looking for lodgings.” [3] I answered. “Trying to solve the problem
as to whether it is possible to get comfortable rooms at a reasonable
price.”

“That’s a strange thing,” remarked my companion; “you are the second man
to-day that has used that expression to me.”

“And who was the first?” I asked.

“A fellow who is working at the chemical laboratory up at the hospital.
He was bemoaning himself this morning because he could not get someone
to go halves with him in some nice rooms which he had found, and which
were too much for his purse.”

“By Jove!” I cried, “if he really wants someone to share the rooms and
the expense, I am the very man for him. I should prefer having a partner
to being alone.”

Young Stamford looked rather strangely at me over his wine-glass. “You
don’t know Sherlock Holmes yet,” he said; “perhaps you would not care
for him as a constant companion.”

“Why, what is there against him?”

“Oh, I didn’t say there was anything against him. 
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SIDDHARTHA

An Indian Tale

by Hermann Hesse





FIRST PART

To Romain Rolland, my dear friend




THE SON OF THE BRAHMAN

In the shade of the house, in the sunshine of the riverbank near the
boats, in the shade of the Sal-wood forest, in the shade of the fig tree
is where Siddhartha grew up, the handsome son of the Brahman, the young
falcon, together with his friend Govinda, son of a Brahman.  The sun
tanned his light shoulders by the banks of the river when bathing,
performing the sacred ablutions, the sacred offerings.  In the mango
grove, shade poured into his black eyes, when playing as a boy, when
his mother sang, when the sacred offerings were made, when his father,
the scholar, taught him, when the wise men talked.  For a long time,
Siddhartha had been partaking in the discussions of the wise men,
practising debate with Govinda, practising with Govinda the art of
reflection, the service of meditation.  He already knew how to speak the
Om silently, the word of words, to speak it silently into himself while
inhaling, to speak it silently out of himself while exhaling, with all
the concentration of his soul, the forehead surrounded by the glow of
the clear-thinking spirit.  He already knew to feel Atman in the depths
of his being, indestructible, one with the universe.

Joy leapt in his father's heart for his son who was quick to learn,
thirsty for knowledge; he saw him growing up to become great wise man
and priest, a prince among the Brahmans.

Bliss leapt in his mother's breast when she saw him, when she saw him
walking, when she saw him sit down and get up, Siddhartha, strong,
handsome, he who was walking on slender legs, greeting her with perfect
respect.

Love touched the hearts of the Brahmans' young daughters when
Siddhartha walked through the lanes of the town with the luminous
forehead, with the eye of a king, with his slim hips.

But more than all the others he was loved by Govinda, his friend, the
son of a Brahman.  He loved Siddhartha's eye and sweet voice, he loved
his walk and the perfect decency of his movements, he loved everything
Siddhartha did and said and what he loved most was his spirit, his
transcendent, fiery thoughts, his ardent will, his high calling.
Govinda knew: he would not become a common Brahman, not a lazy official
in charge of offerings; not a greedy merchant with magic spells; not a
vain, vacuous speaker; not a mean, deceitful priest; and also not a
decent, stupid sheep in the herd of the many.  No, and he, Govinda, as
well did not want to become one of those, not one of those tens of
thousands of Brahmans.  He wanted to follow Siddhartha, the beloved,
the splendid.  And in days to come, when Siddhartha would become a god,
when he would join the glorious, then Govinda wanted to follow him as
his friend, his companion, his servant, his spear-carrier, his shadow.

Siddhartha was thus loved by everyone.  He was a source of joy for
everybody, he was a delight for them all.

But he, Siddhartha, was not a source of joy for himself, he found no
delight in himself.  Walking the rosy paths of the fig tree garden,
sitting in the bluish shade of the grove of contemplation, washing his
limbs daily in the bath of repentance, sacrificing in the dim shade of
the mango forest, his gestures of perfect decency, everyone's love and
joy, he still lacked all joy in his heart.  Dreams and restless thoughts
came into his mind, flowing from the water of the river, sparkling from
the stars of the night, melting from the beams of the sun, dreams came
to him and a restlessness of the soul, fuming from the sacrifices,
breathing forth from the verses of the Rig-Veda, being infused into him,
drop by drop, from the teachings of the old Brahmans.

Siddhartha had started to nurse discontent in himself, he had started
to feel that the love of his father and the love of his mother, and also
the love of his friend, Govinda, would not bring him joy for ever and
ever, would not nurse him, feed him, satisfy him.  He had started to
suspect that his venerable father and his other teachers, that the wise
Brahmans had already revealed to him the most and best of their wisdom,
that they had already filled his expecting vessel with their richness,
and the vessel was not full, the spirit was not content, the soul was
not calm, the heart was not satisfied.  The ablutions were good, but
they were water, they did not wash off the sin, they did not heal the
spirit's thirst, they did not relieve the fear in his heart.  The
sacrifices and the invocation of the gods were excellent--but was that
all?  Did the sacrifices give a happy fortune?  And what about the gods?
Was it really Prajapati who had created the world?  Was it not the
Atman, He, the only one, the singular one?  Were the gods not creations,
created like me and you, subject to time, mortal?  Was it therefore
good, was it right, was it meaningful and the highest occupation to make
offerings to the gods?  For whom else were offerings to be made, who
else was
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In Which the Reader Is Introduced to a Man of Humanity


Late in the afternoon of a chilly day in February, two gentlemen were
sitting alone over their wine, in a well-furnished dining parlor, in
the town of P——, in Kentucky. There were no servants present, and the
gentlemen, with chairs closely approaching, seemed to be discussing
some subject with great earnestness.

For convenience sake, we have said, hitherto, two _gentlemen_. One of
the parties, however, when critically examined, did not seem, strictly
speaking, to come under the species. He was a short, thick-set man,
with coarse, commonplace features, and that swaggering air of
pretension which marks a low man who is trying to elbow his way upward
in the world. He was much over-dressed, in a gaudy vest of many colors,
a blue neckerchief, bedropped gayly with yellow spots, and arranged
with a flaunting tie, quite in keeping with the general air of the man.
His hands, large and coarse, were plentifully bedecked with rings; and
he wore a heavy gold watch-chain, with a bundle of seals of portentous
size, and a great variety of colors, attached to it,—which, in the
ardor of conversation, he was in the habit of flourishing and jingling
with evident satisfaction. His conversation was in free and easy
defiance of Murray’s Grammar,[1] and was garnished at convenient
intervals with various profane expressions, which not even the desire
to be graphic in our account shall induce us to transcribe.

 [1] English Grammar (1795), by Lindley Murray (1745-1826), the most
 authoritative American grammarian of his day.


His companion, Mr. Shelby, had the appearance of a gentleman; and the
arrangements of the house, and the general air of the housekeeping,
indicated easy, and even opulent circumstances. As we before stated,
the two were in the midst of an earnest conversation.

“That is the way I should arrange the matter,” said Mr. Shelby.

“I can’t make trade that way—I positively can’t, Mr. Shelby,” said the
other, holding up a glass of wine between his eye and the light.

“Why, the fact is, Haley, Tom is an uncommon fellow; he is certainly
worth that sum anywhere,—steady, honest, capable, manages my whole farm
like a clock.”

“You mean honest, as niggers go,” said Haley, helping himself to a
glass of brandy.

“No; I mean, really, Tom is a good, steady, sensible, pious fellow. He
got religion at a camp-meeting, four years ago; and I believe he really
_did_ get it. I’ve trusted him, since then, with everything I
have,—money, house, horses,—and let him come and go round the country;
and I always found him true and square in everything.”

“Some folks don’t believe there is pious niggers Shelby,” said Haley,
with a candid flourish of his hand, “but _I do_. I had a fellow, now,
in this yer last lot I took to Orleans—‘t was as good as a meetin, now,
really, to hear that critter pray; and he was quite gentle and quiet
like. He fetched me a good sum, too, for I bought him cheap of a man
that was ’bliged to sell out; so I realized six hundred on him. Yes, I
consider religion a valeyable thing in a nigger, when it’s the genuine
article, and no mistake.”

“Well, Tom’s got the real article, if ever a fellow had,” rejoined the
other. “Why, last fall, I let him go to Cincinnati alone, to do
business for me, and bring home five hundred dollars. ‘Tom,’ says I to
him, ‘I trust you, because I think you’re a Christian—I know you
wouldn’t cheat.’ Tom comes back, sure enough; I knew he would. Some low
fellows, they say, said to him—Tom, why don’t you make tracks for
Canada?’ ’Ah, master trusted me, and I couldn’t,’—they told me about
it. I am sorry to part with Tom, I must say. You ought to let him cover
the whole balance of the debt; and you would, Haley, if you had any
conscience.”

“Well, I’ve got just as much conscience as any man in business can
afford to keep,—just a little, you know, to swear by, as ’t were,” said
the trader, jocularly; “and, then, I’m ready to do anything in reason
to ’blige friends; but this yer, you see, is a leetle too hard on a
fellow—a leetle too hard.” The trader sighed contemplatively, and
poured out some more brandy.

“Well, then, Haley, how will you trade?” said Mr. Shelby, after an
uneasy interval of silence.

“Well, haven’t you a boy or gal that you could throw in with Tom?”

“Hum!—none that I could well spare; to tell the truth, it’s only hard
necessity makes me willing to sell at all. I don’t like parting with
any of my hands, that’s a fact.”

Here the door opened, and a small quadroon boy, between four and five
years of age, entered the room. There was something in his appearance
remarkably beautiful and engaging. His black hair, fine as floss silk,
hung in glossy curls about his round, dimpled face, while a pair of
large dark eyes, full of fire and softness, looked out from beneath the
rich, long lashes, as he peered curiously into the apartment. A gay
robe of scarlet and yellow plaid, carefully made and neatly fitted, set
off to advantage the dark
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pleasure of going ashore, and nothing else.”

“Dantès,” said the shipowner, turning towards the young man, “come this
way!”

“In a moment, sir,” answered Dantès, “and I’m with you.” Then calling
to the crew, he said, “Let go!”

The anchor was instantly dropped, and the chain ran rattling through
the port-hole. Dantès continued at his post in spite of the presence of
the pilot, until this manœuvre was completed, and then he added,
“Half-mast the colors, and square the yards!”

“You see,” said Danglars, “he fancies himself captain already, upon my
word.”

“And so, in fact, he is,” said the owner.

“Except your signature and your partner’s, M. Morrel.”

“And why should he not have this?” asked the owner; “he is young, it is
true, but he seems to me a thorough seaman, and of full experience.”

A cloud passed over Danglars’ brow.

“Your pardon, M. Morrel,” said Dantès, approaching, “the vessel now
rides at anchor, and I am at your service. You hailed me, I think?”

Danglars retreated a step or two. “I wished to inquire why you stopped
at the Island of Elba?”

“I do not know, sir; it was to fulfil the last instructions of Captain
Leclere, who, when dying, gave me a packet for Marshal Bertrand.”

“Then did you see him, Edmond?”

“Who?”

“The marshal.”

“Yes.”

Morrel looked around him, and then, drawing Dantès on one side, he said
suddenly—

“And how is the emperor?”

“Very well, as far as I could judge from the sight of him.”

“You saw the emperor, then?”

“He entered the marshal’s apartment while I was there.”

“And you spoke to him?”

“Why, it was he who spoke to me, sir,” said Dantès, with a smile.

“And what did he say to you?”

“Asked me questions about the vessel, the time she left Marseilles, the
course she had taken, and what was her cargo. I believe, if she had not
been laden, and I had been her master, he would have bought her. But I
told him I was only mate, and that she belonged to the firm of Morrel &
Son. ‘Ah, yes,’ he said, ‘I know them. The Morrels have been shipowners
from father to son; and there was a Morrel who served in the same
regiment with me when I was in garrison at Valence.’”

“_Pardieu!_ and that is true!” cried the owner, greatly delighted. “And
that was Policar Morrel, my uncle, who was afterwards a captain.
Dantès, you must tell my uncle that the emperor remembered him, and you
will see it will bring tears into the old soldier’s eyes. Come, come,”
continued he, patting Edmond’s shoulder kindly, “you did very right,
Dantès, to follow Captain Leclere’s instructions, and touch at Elba,
although if it were known that you had conveyed a packet to the
marshal, and had conversed with the emperor, it might bring you into
trouble.”

0027m



“How could that bring me into trouble, sir?” asked Dantès; “for I did
not even know of what I was the bearer; and the emperor merely made
such inquiries as he would of the first comer. But, pardon me, here are
the health officers and the customs inspectors coming alongside.” And
the young man went to the gangway. As he departed, Danglars approached,
and said,—

“Well, it appears that he has given you satisfactory reasons for his
landing at Porto-Ferrajo?”

“Yes, most satisfactory, my dear Danglars.”

“Well, so much the better,” said the supercargo; “for it is not
pleasant to think that a comrade has not done his duty.”

“Dantès has done his,” replied the owner, “and that is not saying much.
It was Captain Leclere who gave orders for this delay.”

“Talking of Captain Leclere, has not Dantès given you a letter from
him?”

“To me?—no—was there one?”

“I believe that, besides the packet, Captain Leclere confided a letter
to his care.”

“Of what packet are you speaking, Danglars?”

“Why, that which Dantès left at Porto-Ferrajo.”

“How do you know he had a packet to leave at Porto-Ferrajo?”

Danglars turned very red.

“I was passing close to the door of the captain’s cabin, which was half
open, and I saw him give the packet and letter to Dantès.”

“He did not speak to me of it,” replied the shipowner; “but if there be
any letter he will give it to me.”

Danglars reflected for a moment. “Then, M. Morrel, I beg of you,” said
he, “not to say a word to Dantès on the subject. I may have been
mistaken.”

At this moment the young man returned; Danglars withdrew.

“Well, my dear Dantès, are you now free?” inquired the owner.

“Yes, sir.”

“You have not been long detained.”

“No. I gave the custom-house officers a copy of our bill of lading; and
as to the other papers, they sent a man off with the pilot, to whom I
gave them.”

“Then you have nothing more to do here?”

“No—everything is all right now.”

“Then you can come and dine with me?”

“I really must ask you to excuse me, M. Morrel. My first visit is due
to my father, though I am not the less grateful for the honor you have
done me.”

0029m



“Right, Dantès, quite right. I always knew you were a good son.”

“And,” inquired Dantès, with some hesitation, “do you know how my
father is?”

“Well, I believe, my dear Ed
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PG #: 6130
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Contents

INTRODUCTION.
POPE’S PREFACE TO THE ILIAD OF HOMER
BOOK I.
BOOK II.
BOOK III.
BOOK IV.
BOOK V.
BOOK VI.
BOOK VII.
BOOK VIII.
BOOK IX.
BOOK X.
BOOK XI.
BOOK XII.
BOOK XIII.
BOOK XIV.
BOOK XV.
BOOK XVI.
BOOK XVII.
BOOK XVIII.
BOOK XIX.
BOOK XX.
BOOK XXI.
BOOK XXII.
BOOK XXIII.
BOOK XXIV.
CONCLUDING NOTE.


Illustrations

HOMER INVOKING THE MUSE.
MARS.
MINERVA REPRESSING THE FURY OF ACHILLES.
THE DEPARTURE OF BRISEIS FROM THE TENT OF ACHILLES.
THETIS CALLING BRIAREUS TO THE ASSISTANCE OF JUPITER.
THETIS ENTREATING JUPITER TO HONOUR ACHILLES.
VULCAN.
JUPITER.
THE APOTHEOSIS OF HOMER.
JUPITER SENDING THE EVIL DREAM TO AGAMEMNON.
NEPTUNE.
VENUS, DISGUISED, INVITING HELEN TO THE CHAMBER OF PARIS.
VENUS PRESENTING HELEN TO PARIS.
VENUS.
Map, titled “Graeciae Antiquae”.
THE COUNCIL OF THE GODS.
Map of the Plain of Troy.
VENUS, WOUNDED IN THE HAND, CONDUCTED BY IRIS TO MARS.
OTUS AND EPHIALTES HOLDING MARS CAPTIVE.
DIOMED CASTING HIS SPEAR AT MARS.
JUNO.
HECTOR CHIDING PARIS.
THE MEETING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE.
BOWS AND BOW CASE.
IRIS.
HECTOR AND AJAX SEPARATED BY THE HERALDS.
GREEK AMPHORA—WINE VESSELS.
JUNO AND MINERVA GOING TO ASSIST THE GREEKS.
THE HOURS TAKING THE HORSES FROM JUNO’S CAR.
THE SHIELD OF ACHILLES.
PLUTO.
THE EMBASSY TO ACHILLES.
GREEK GALLEY.
PROSERPINE.
ACHILLES.
DIOMED AND ULYSSES RETURNING WITH THE SPOILS OF RHESUS.
THE DESCENT OF DISCORD.
HERCULES.
POLYDAMAS ADVISING HECTOR.
GREEK ALTAR.
NEPTUNE RISING FROM THE SEA.
GREEK EARRINGS.
SLEEP ESCAPING FROM THE WRATH OF JUPITER.
GREEK SHIELD.
BACCHUS.
AJAX DEFENDING THE GREEK SHIPS.
CASTOR AND POLLUX.
Buckles.
DIANA.
SLEEP AND DEATH CONVEYING THE BODY OF SARPEDON TO LYCIA.
ÆSCULAPIUS.
FIGHT FOR THE BODY OF PATROCLUS.
VULCAN FROM AN ANTIQUE GEM.
THETIS ORDERING THE NEREIDS TO DESCEND INTO THE SEA.
JUNO COMMANDING THE SUN TO SET.
TRIPOD.
THETIS AND EURYNOME RECEIVING THE INFANT VULCAN.
VULCAN AND CHARIS RECEIVING THETIS.
THETIS BRINGING THE ARMOUR TO ACHILLES.
HERCULES.
THE GODS DESCENDING TO BATTLE.
CENTAUR.
ACHILLES CONTENDING WITH THE RIVERS.
THE BATH.
ANDROMACHE FAINTING ON THE WALL.
THE FUNERAL PILE OF PATROCLUS.
CERES.
HECTOR’S BODY AT THE CAR OF ACHILLES.
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS.
IRIS ADVISES PRIAM TO OBTAIN THE BODY OF HECTOR.
FUNERAL OF HECTOR.




INTRODUCTION.

Scepticism is as much the result of knowledge, as knowledge is of
scepticism. To be content with what we at present know, is, for the
most part, to shut our ears against conviction; since, from the very
gradual character of our education, we must continually forget, and
emancipate ourselves from, knowledge previously acquired; we must set
aside old notions and embrace fresh ones; and, as we learn, we must be
daily unlearning something which it has cost us no small labour and
anxiety to acquire.

And this difficulty attaches itself more closely to an age in which
progress has gained a strong ascendency over prejudice, and in which
persons and things are, day by day, finding their real level, in lieu
of their conventional value. The same principles which have swept away
traditional abuses, and which are making rapid havoc among the revenues
of sinecurists, and stripping the thin, tawdry veil from attractive
superstitions, are working as actively in literature as in society. The
credulity of one writer, or the partiality of another, finds as
powerful a touchstone and as wholesome a chastisement in the healthy
scepticism of a temperate class of antagonists, as the dreams of
conservatism, or the impostures of pluralist sinecures in the Church.
History and tradition, whether of ancient or comparatively recent
times, are subjected to very different handling from that which the
indulgence or credulity of former ages could allow. Mere statements are
jealously watched, and the motives of the writer form as important an
ingredient in the analysis of his history, as the facts he records.
Probability is a powerful and troublesome test; and it is by this
troublesome standard that a large portion of historical evidence is
sifted. Consistency is no less pertinacious and exacting in its
demands. In brief, to write a history, we must know more than mere
facts. Human nature, viewed under an induction of extended experience,
is the best help to the criticism of human history. Historical
characters can only be estimated by the standard which human
experience, whether actual or traditionary, has furnished. To form
correct views of individuals we must regard them as forming parts of a
great whole—we must measure them by their relation to the mass of
beings by whom they are surrounded, and, in contemplating the incidents
in their lives or condition which tradition has handed down to us, we
must rather consider the general bearing of the whole narrative, than
the respective probability of its details.

It is unfortunate for us, that, of some of the greatest men, we know
least, and talk most. Homer, Socrates, and Shakespere1 have, perhaps,
contributed more to the intellectual enlightenment of mankin
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https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/902

Transcribed from the 1910 David Nutt edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org.  Second proof by Paul Redmond.

                          [Picture: Book cover]

                       [Picture: The Happy Prince]





                             The Happy Prince
                             And Other Tales


                                    BY
                               OSCAR WILDE

                              ILLUSTRATED BY
                       WALTER CRANE AND JACOMB HOOD

                                * * * * *

                            SEVENTH IMPRESSION

                                * * * * *

                                  LONDON
                       DAVID NUTT, 57–59 LONG ACRE
                                   1910

                                * * * * *

_First Edition_         _May_ 1888
_Second Impression_     _January_ 1889
_Third Impression_      _February_ 1902
_Fourth Impression_     _September_ 1905
_Fifth Impression_      _February_ 1907
_Sixth Impression_      _March_ 1908
_Seventh Impression_    _March_ 1910

                                * * * * *

                                   _TO_
                             _CARLOS BLACKER_

                                * * * * *

                [Picture: Decorative graphic of children]




Contents.

                                        Page
The Happy Prince                           1
The Nightingale and the Rose              25
The Selfish Giant                         43
The Devoted Friend                        57
The Remarkable Rocket                     87




The Happy Prince.


             [Picture: Woman opening window and seeing bird]

HIGH above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy
Prince.  He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes
he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his
sword-hilt.

He was very much admired indeed.  “He is as beautiful as a weathercock,”
remarked one of the Town Councillors who wished to gain a reputation for
having artistic tastes; “only not quite so useful,” he added, fearing
lest people should think him unpractical, which he really was not.

“Why can’t you be like the Happy Prince?” asked a sensible mother of her
little boy who was crying for the moon.  “The Happy Prince never dreams
of crying for anything.”

“I am glad there is some one in the world who is quite happy,” muttered a
disappointed man as he gazed at the wonderful statue.

“He looks just like an angel,” said the Charity Children as they came out
of the cathedral in their bright scarlet cloaks and their clean white
pinafores.

“How do you know?” said the Mathematical Master, “you have never seen
one.”

“Ah! but we have, in our dreams,” answered the children; and the
Mathematical Master frowned and looked very severe, for he did not
approve of children dreaming.

One night there flew over the city a little Swallow.  His friends had
gone away to Egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed behind, for he was
in love with the most beautiful Reed.  He had met her early in the spring
as he was flying down the river after a big yellow moth, and had been so
attracted by her slender waist that he had stopped to talk to her.

“Shall I love you?” said the Swallow, who liked to come to the point at
once, and the Reed made him a low bow.  So he flew round and round her,
touching the water with his wings, and making silver ripples.  This was
his courtship, and it lasted all through the summer.

“It is a ridiculous attachment,” twittered the other Swallows; “she has
no money, and far too many relations”; and indeed the river was quite
full of Reeds.  Then, when the autumn came they all flew away.

After they had gone he felt lonely, and began to tire of his lady-love.
“She has no conversation,” he said, “and I am afraid that she is a
coquette, for she is always flirting with the wind.”  And certainly,
whenever the wind blew, the Reed made the most graceful curtseys.  “I
admit that she is domestic,” he continued, “but I love travelling, and my
wife, consequently, should love travelling also.”

“Will you come away with me?” he said finally to her; but the Reed shook
her head, she was so attached to her home.

“You have been trifling with me,” he cried.  “I am off to the Pyramids.
Good-bye!” and he flew away.

All day long he flew, and at night-time he arrived at the city.  “Where
shall I put up?” he said; “I hope the town has made preparations.”

Then he saw the statue on the tall column.

“I will put up there,” he cried; “it is a fine position, with plenty of
fresh air.”  So he alighted just between the feet of the Happy Prince.

“I have a golden bedroom,” he said softly to himself as he looked round,
and he prepared to go to sleep; but just as he was putting his head under
his wing a large drop of water fell on him.  “What a curious thing!” he
cried; “there is not a single cloud in the sky, the stars are quite clear
and bright, and yet it is raining.  The climat
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PG #: 1497
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THE REPUBLIC

By Plato


Translated by Benjamin Jowett


Note: The Republic by Plato, Jowett, etext #150




INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS.

The Republic of Plato is the longest of his works with the exception
of the Laws, and is certainly the greatest of them. There are nearer
approaches to modern metaphysics in the Philebus and in the Sophist; the
Politicus or Statesman is more ideal; the form and institutions of
the State are more clearly drawn out in the Laws; as works of art, the
Symposium and the Protagoras are of higher excellence. But no other
Dialogue of Plato has the same largeness of view and the same perfection
of style; no other shows an equal knowledge of the world, or contains
more of those thoughts which are new as well as old, and not of one age
only but of all. Nowhere in Plato is there a deeper irony or a greater
wealth of humour or imagery, or more dramatic power. Nor in any other of
his writings is the attempt made to interweave life and speculation, or
to connect politics with philosophy. The Republic is the centre around
which the other Dialogues may be grouped; here philosophy reaches the
highest point (cp, especially in Books V, VI, VII) to which ancient
thinkers ever attained. Plato among the Greeks, like Bacon among the
moderns, was the first who conceived a method of knowledge, although
neither of them always distinguished the bare outline or form from
the substance of truth; and both of them had to be content with an
abstraction of science which was not yet realized. He was the greatest
metaphysical genius whom the world has seen; and in him, more than in
any other ancient thinker, the germs of future knowledge are contained.
The sciences of logic and psychology, which have supplied so many
instruments of thought to after-ages, are based upon the analyses
of Socrates and Plato. The principles of definition, the law of
contradiction, the fallacy of arguing in a circle, the distinction
between the essence and accidents of a thing or notion, between means
and ends, between causes and conditions; also the division of the mind
into the rational, concupiscent, and irascible elements, or of pleasures
and desires into necessary and unnecessary--these and other great
forms of thought are all of them to be found in the Republic, and were
probably first invented by Plato. The greatest of all logical truths,
and the one of which writers on philosophy are most apt to lose sight,
the difference between words and things, has been most strenuously
insisted on by him (cp. Rep.; Polit.; Cratyl. 435, 436 ff), although he
has not always avoided the confusion of them in his own writings (e.g.
Rep.). But he does not bind up truth in logical formulae,--logic is
still veiled in metaphysics; and the science which he imagines to
'contemplate all truth and all existence' is very unlike the doctrine of
the syllogism which Aristotle claims to have discovered (Soph. Elenchi,
33. 18).

Neither must we forget that the Republic is but the third part of a
still larger design which was to have included an ideal history of
Athens, as well as a political and physical philosophy. The fragment of
the Critias has given birth to a world-famous fiction, second only in
importance to the tale of Troy and the legend of Arthur; and is said as
a fact to have inspired some of the early navigators of the sixteenth
century. This mythical tale, of which the subject was a history of the
wars of the Athenians against the Island of Atlantis, is supposed to be
founded upon an unfinished poem of Solon, to which it would have stood
in the same relation as the writings of the logographers to the poems of
Homer. It would have told of a struggle for Liberty (cp. Tim. 25 C), intended
to represent the conflict of Persia and Hellas. We may judge from the
noble commencement of the Timaeus, from the fragment of the Critias
itself, and from the third book of the Laws, in what manner Plato would
have treated this high argument. We can only guess why the great design
was abandoned; perhaps because Plato became sensible of some incongruity
in a fictitious history, or because he had lost his interest in it, or
because advancing years forbade the completion of it; and we may please
ourselves with the fancy that had this imaginary narrative ever been
finished, we should have found Plato himself sympathising with the
struggle for Hellenic independence (cp. Laws  iii. 698 ff.), singing a
hymn of triumph over Marathon and Salamis, perhaps making the reflection
of Herodotus (v. 78) where he contemplates the growth of the Athenian
empire--'How brave a thing is freedom of speech, which has made the
Athenians so far exceed every other state of Hellas in greatness!' or,
more probably, attributing the victory to the ancient good order of
Athens and to the favor of Apollo and Athene (cp. Introd. to Critias).

Again, Plato may be regarded as the 'captain' ('arhchegoz') or leader
of a goodly band of followers; for in the Republic is to be found the
original of Cice
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The author gives some account of himself and family. His first
inducements to travel. He is shipwrecked, and swims for his life, gets
safe on shore in the country of Lilliput; is made a prisoner, and
carried up the country.


My father had a small estate in Nottinghamshire; I was the third of
five sons. He sent me to Emanuel College in Cambridge at fourteen years
old, where I resided three years, and applied myself close to my
studies; but the charge of maintaining me, although I had a very scanty
allowance, being too great for a narrow fortune, I was bound apprentice
to Mr. James Bates, an eminent surgeon in London, with whom I continued
four years. My father now and then sending me small sums of money, I
laid them out in learning navigation, and other parts of the
mathematics, useful to those who intend to travel, as I always believed
it would be, some time or other, my fortune to do. When I left Mr.
Bates, I went down to my father: where, by the assistance of him and my
uncle John, and some other relations, I got forty pounds, and a promise
of thirty pounds a year to maintain me at Leyden: there I studied
physic two years and seven months, knowing it would be useful in long
voyages.

Soon after my return from Leyden, I was recommended by my good master,
Mr. Bates, to be surgeon to the Swallow, Captain Abraham Pannel,
commander; with whom I continued three years and a half, making a
voyage or two into the Levant, and some other parts. When I came back I
resolved to settle in London; to which Mr. Bates, my master, encouraged
me, and by him I was recommended to several patients. I took part of a
small house in the Old Jewry; and being advised to alter my condition,
I married Mrs. Mary Burton, second daughter to Mr. Edmund Burton,
hosier, in Newgate-street, with whom I received four hundred pounds for
a portion.

But my good master Bates dying in two years after, and I having few
friends, my business began to fail; for my conscience would not suffer
me to imitate the bad practice of too many among my brethren. Having
therefore consulted with my wife, and some of my acquaintance, I
determined to go again to sea. I was surgeon successively in two ships,
and made several voyages, for six years, to the East and West Indies,
by which I got some addition to my fortune. My hours of leisure I spent
in reading the best authors, ancient and modern, being always provided
with a good number of books; and when I was ashore, in observing the
manners and dispositions of the people, as well as learning their
language; wherein I had a great facility, by the strength of my memory.

The last of these voyages not proving very fortunate, I grew weary of
the sea, and intended to stay at home with my wife and family. I
removed from the Old Jewry to Fetter Lane, and from thence to Wapping,
hoping to get business among the sailors; but it would not turn to
account. After three years expectation that things would mend, I
accepted an advantageous offer from Captain William Prichard, master of
the Antelope, who was making a voyage to the South Sea. We set sail
from Bristol, May 4, 1699, and our voyage was at first very prosperous.

It would not be proper, for some reasons, to trouble the reader with
the particulars of our adventures in those seas; let it suffice to
inform him, that in our passage from thence to the East Indies, we were
driven by a violent storm to the north-west of Van Diemen’s Land. By an
observation, we found ourselves in the latitude of 30 degrees 2 minutes
south. Twelve of our crew were dead by immoderate labour and ill food;
the rest were in a very weak condition. On the 5th of November, which
was the beginning of summer in those parts, the weather being very
hazy, the seamen spied a rock within half a cable’s length of the ship;
but the wind was so strong, that we were driven directly upon it, and
immediately split. Six of the crew, of whom I was one, having let down
the boat into the sea, made a shift to get clear of the ship and the
rock. We rowed, by my computation, about three leagues, till we were
able to work no longer, being already spent with labour while we were
in the ship. We therefore trusted ourselves to the mercy of the waves,
and in about half an hour the boat was overset by a sudden flurry from
the north. What became of my companions in the boat, as well as of
those who escaped on the rock, or were left in the vessel, I cannot
tell; but conclude they were all lost. For my own part, I swam as
fortune directed me, and was pushed forward by wind and tide. I often
let my legs drop, and could feel no bottom; but when I was almost gone,
and able to struggle no longer, I found myself within my depth; and by
this time the storm was much abated. The declivity was so small, that I
walked near a mile before I got to the shore, which I conjectured was
about eight o’clock in the evening. I then advanced forward near half a
mile, but could not discover any sign of houses or inhabitants; at
least I was in so we
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PG #: 16328
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THE LIFE AND DEATH OF SCYLD.


{The famous race of Spear-Danes.}

          Lo! the Spear-Danes' glory through splendid achievements
          The folk-kings' former fame we have heard of,
          How princes displayed then their prowess-in-battle.

{Scyld, their mighty king, in honor of whom they are often called
Scyldings. He is the great-grandfather of Hrothgar, so prominent in the
poem.}

          Oft Scyld the Scefing from scathers in numbers
        5 From many a people their mead-benches tore.
          Since first he found him friendless and wretched,
          The earl had had terror: comfort he got for it,
          Waxed 'neath the welkin, world-honor gained,
          Till all his neighbors o'er sea were compelled to
       10 Bow to his bidding and bring him their tribute:
          An excellent atheling! After was borne him

{A son is born to him, who receives the name of Beowulf--a name afterwards
made so famous by the hero of the poem.}

          A son and heir, young in his dwelling,
          Whom God-Father sent to solace the people.
          He had marked the misery malice had caused them,
       15 [1]That reaved of their rulers they wretched had erstwhile[2]
          Long been afflicted. The Lord, in requital,
          Wielder of Glory, with world-honor blessed him.
          Famed was Beowulf, far spread the glory
          Of Scyld's great son in the lands of the Danemen.

[2]

{The ideal Teutonic king lavishes gifts on his vassals.}

       20 So the carle that is young, by kindnesses rendered
          The friends of his father, with fees in abundance
          Must be able to earn that when age approacheth
          Eager companions aid him requitingly,
          When war assaults him serve him as liegemen:
       25 By praise-worthy actions must honor be got
          'Mong all of the races. At the hour that was fated

{Scyld dies at the hour appointed by Fate.}

          Scyld then departed to the All-Father's keeping
          Warlike to wend him; away then they bare him
          To the flood of the current, his fond-loving comrades,
       30 As himself he had bidden, while the friend of the Scyldings
          Word-sway wielded, and the well-lovèd land-prince
          Long did rule them.[3] The ring-stemmèd vessel,
          Bark of the atheling, lay there at anchor,
          Icy in glimmer and eager for sailing;

{By his own request, his body is laid on a vessel and wafted seaward.}

       35 The belovèd leader laid they down there,
          Giver of rings, on the breast of the vessel,
          The famed by the mainmast. A many of jewels,
          Of fretted embossings, from far-lands brought over,
          Was placed near at hand then; and heard I not ever
       40 That a folk ever furnished a float more superbly
          With weapons of warfare, weeds for the battle,
          Bills and burnies; on his bosom sparkled
          Many a jewel that with him must travel
          On the flush of the flood afar on the current.
       45 And favors no fewer they furnished him soothly,
          Excellent folk-gems, than others had given him

{He leaves Daneland on the breast of a bark.}

          Who when first he was born outward did send him
          Lone on the main, the merest of infants:
          And a gold-fashioned standard they stretched under heaven
[3]    50 High o'er his head, let the holm-currents bear him,
          Seaward consigned him: sad was their spirit,
          Their mood very mournful. Men are not able

{No one knows whither the boat drifted.}

          Soothly to tell us, they in halls who reside,[4]
          Heroes under heaven, to what haven he hied.

    [1] For the 'Þæt' of verse 15, Sievers suggests 'Þá' (= which). If
    this be accepted, the sentence 'He had ... afflicted' will read: _He_
    (_i.e._ God) _had perceived the malice-caused sorrow which they,
    lordless, had formerly long endured_.

    [2] For 'aldor-léase' (15) Gr. suggested 'aldor-ceare': _He perceived
    their distress, that they formerly had suffered life-sorrow a long
    while_.

    [3] A very difficult passage. 'Áhte' (31) has no object. H. supplies
    'geweald' from the context; and our translation is based upon this
    assumption, though it is far from satisfactory. Kl. suggests
    'lændagas' for 'lange': _And the beloved land-prince enjoyed (had) his
    transitory days (i.e. lived)_. B. suggests a dislocation; but this is
    a dangerous doctrine, pushed rather far by that eminent scholar.

    [4] The reading of the H.-So. text has been quite closely followed;
    but some eminent scholars read 'séle-rædenne' for 'sele-rædende.' If
    that be adopted, the passage will read: _Men cannot tell us, indeed,
    the order of Fate, etc._ 'Sele-rædende' has two things to support it:
    (1) v. 1347; (2) it affords a parallel to 'men' in v. 50.





SCYLD'S SUCCESSORS.--HROTHGAR'S GREAT MEAD-HALL.


{Beowulf succeeds his father Scyld}

          In t
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On an exceptionally hot evening early in July a young man came out of
the garret in which he lodged in S. Place and walked slowly, as though
in hesitation, towards K. bridge.

He had successfully avoided meeting his landlady on the staircase. His
garret was under the roof of a high, five-storied house and was more
like a cupboard than a room. The landlady who provided him with garret,
dinners, and attendance, lived on the floor below, and every time
he went out he was obliged to pass her kitchen, the door of which
invariably stood open. And each time he passed, the young man had a
sick, frightened feeling, which made him scowl and feel ashamed. He was
hopelessly in debt to his landlady, and was afraid of meeting her.

This was not because he was cowardly and abject, quite the contrary; but
for some time past he had been in an overstrained irritable condition,
verging on hypochondria. He had become so completely absorbed in
himself, and isolated from his fellows that he dreaded meeting, not
only his landlady, but anyone at all. He was crushed by poverty, but the
anxieties of his position had of late ceased to weigh upon him. He had
given up attending to matters of practical importance; he had lost all
desire to do so. Nothing that any landlady could do had a real terror
for him. But to be stopped on the stairs, to be forced to listen to her
trivial, irrelevant gossip, to pestering demands for payment, threats
and complaints, and to rack his brains for excuses, to prevaricate, to
lie--no, rather than that, he would creep down the stairs like a cat and
slip out unseen.

This evening, however, on coming out into the street, he became acutely
aware of his fears.

“I want to attempt a thing _like that_ and am frightened by these
trifles,” he thought, with an odd smile. “Hm... yes, all is in a man’s
hands and he lets it all slip from cowardice, that’s an axiom. It would
be interesting to know what it is men are most afraid of. Taking a new
step, uttering a new word is what they fear most.... But I am talking
too much. It’s because I chatter that I do nothing. Or perhaps it is
that I chatter because I do nothing. I’ve learned to chatter this
last month, lying for days together in my den thinking... of Jack the
Giant-killer. Why am I going there now? Am I capable of _that_? Is
_that_ serious? It is not serious at all. It’s simply a fantasy to amuse
myself; a plaything! Yes, maybe it is a plaything.”

The heat in the street was terrible: and the airlessness, the bustle
and the plaster, scaffolding, bricks, and dust all about him, and that
special Petersburg stench, so familiar to all who are unable to get out
of town in summer--all worked painfully upon the young man’s already
overwrought nerves. The insufferable stench from the pot-houses, which
are particularly numerous in that part of the town, and the drunken men
whom he met continually, although it was a working day, completed
the revolting misery of the picture. An expression of the profoundest
disgust gleamed for a moment in the young man’s refined face. He was,
by the way, exceptionally handsome, above the average in height, slim,
well-built, with beautiful dark eyes and dark brown hair. Soon he sank
into deep thought, or more accurately speaking into a complete blankness
of mind; he walked along not observing what was about him and not caring
to observe it. From time to time, he would mutter something, from the
habit of talking to himself, to which he had just confessed. At these
moments he would become conscious that his ideas were sometimes in a
tangle and that he was very weak; for two days he had scarcely tasted
food.

He was so badly dressed that even a man accustomed to shabbiness would
have been ashamed to be seen in the street in such rags. In that quarter
of the town, however, scarcely any shortcoming in dress would have
created surprise. Owing to the proximity of the Hay Market, the number
of establishments of bad character, the preponderance of the trading
and working class population crowded in these streets and alleys in the
heart of Petersburg, types so various were to be seen in the streets
that no figure, however queer, would have caused surprise. But there was
such accumulated bitterness and contempt in the young man’s heart, that,
in spite of all the fastidiousness of youth, he minded his rags least
of all in the street. It was a different matter when he met with
acquaintances or with former fellow students, whom, indeed, he disliked
meeting at any time. And yet when a drunken man who, for some unknown
reason, was being taken somewhere in a huge waggon dragged by a heavy
dray horse, suddenly shouted at him as he drove past: “Hey there, German
hatter” bawling at the top of his voice and pointing at him--the young
man stopped suddenly and clutched tremulously at his hat. It was a tall
round hat from Zimmerman’s, but completely worn out, rusty with age, all
torn and bespattered, brimless and bent on one side in a most unseemly
fashion. Not sh
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PG #: 996
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/996

CONCLUDED AND FINISHED THE TERRIFIC BATTLE BETWEEN THE GALLANT BISCAYAN
AND THE VALIANT MANCHEGAN 

PLEASANT DISCOURSE THAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS SQUIRE SANCHO
PANZA 

CHAPTER XI OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE
WITH CERTAIN GOATHERDS 

CHAPTER XII OF WHAT A
GOATHERD RELATED TO THOSE WITH DON QUIXOTE 

CHAPTER
XIII IN WHICH IS ENDED THE STORY OF THE SHEPHERDESS MARCELA, WITH
OTHER INCIDENTS 

INSERTED THE DESPAIRING VERSES OF THE DEAD SHEPHERD, TOGETHER WITH OTHER
INCIDENTS NOT LOOKED FOR 

IS RELATED THE UNFORTUNATE ADVENTURE THAT DON QUIXOTE FELL IN WITH WHEN HE
FELL OUT WITH CERTAIN HEARTLESS YANGUESANS 

CHAPTER
XVI OF WHAT HAPPENED TO THE INGENIOUS GENTLEMAN IN THE INN WHICH HE
TOOK TO BE A CASTLE 

ARE CONTAINED THE INNUMERABLE TROUBLES WHICH THE BRAVE DON QUIXOTE AND HIS
GOOD SQUIRE SANCHO PANZA ENDURED IN THE INN, WHICH TO HIS MISFORTUNE HE
TOOK TO BE A CASTLE 

IS RELATED THE DISCOURSE SANCHO PANZA HELD WITH HIS MASTER, DON QUIXOTE,
AND OTHER ADVENTURES WORTH RELATING 

OF THE SHREWD DISCOURSE WHICH SANCHO HELD WITH HIS MASTER, AND OF THE
ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL HIM WITH A DEAD BODY, TOGETHER WITH OTHER NOTABLE
OCCURRENCES 

UNHEARD-OF ADVENTURE WHICH WAS ACHIEVED BY THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE OF LA
MANCHA WITH LESS PERIL THAN ANY EVER ACHIEVED BY ANY FAMOUS KNIGHT IN THE
WORLD 

EXALTED ADVENTURE AND RICH PRIZE OF MAMBRINO’S HELMET, TOGETHER WITH OTHER
THINGS THAT HAPPENED TO OUR INVINCIBLE KNIGHT 

CHAPTER
XXII OF THE FREEDOM DON QUIXOTE CONFERRED ON SEVERAL UNFORTUNATES WHO
AGAINST THEIR WILL WERE BEING CARRIED WHERE THEY HAD NO WISH TO GO 

MORENA, WHICH WAS ONE OF THE RAREST ADVENTURES RELATED IN THIS VERACIOUS
HISTORY 

CHAPTER XXIV IN WHICH IS CONTINUED
THE ADVENTURE OF THE SIERRA MORENA 

CHAPTER XXV
WHICH TREATS OF THE STRANGE THINGS THAT HAPPENED TO THE STOUT KNIGHT OF LA
MANCHA IN THE SIERRA MORENA, AND OF HIS IMITATION OF THE PENANCE OF
BELTENEBROS 

CONTINUED THE REFINEMENTS WHEREWITH DON QUIXOTE PLAYED THE PART OF A LOVER
IN THE SIERRA MORENA 

THE CURATE AND THE BARBER PROCEEDED WITH THEIR SCHEME; TOGETHER WITH OTHER
MATTERS WORTHY OF RECORD IN THIS GREAT HISTORY 

CHAPTER
XXVIII WHICH TREATS OF THE STRANGE AND DELIGHTFUL ADVENTURE THAT
BEFELL THE CURATE AND THE BARBER IN THE SAME SIERRA 

ADOPTED TO EXTRICATE OUR LOVE-STRICKEN KNIGHT FROM THE SEVERE PENANCE HE
HAD IMPOSED UPON HIMSELF 

TREATS OF ADDRESS DISPLAYED BY THE FAIR DOROTHEA, WITH OTHER MATTERS
PLEASANT AND AMUSING 

DELECTABLE DISCUSSION BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND SANCHO PANZA, HIS SQUIRE,
TOGETHER WITH OTHER INCIDENTS 

CHAPTER XXXII
WHICH TREATS OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE’S PARTY AT THE INN 

CHAPTER XXXIII IN WHICH IS RELATED THE NOVEL OF “THE
ILL-ADVISED CURIOSITY” 

CHAPTER XXXIV IN
WHICH IS CONTINUED THE NOVEL OF “THE ILL-ADVISED CURIOSITY” 

CHAPTER XXXV WHICH TREATS OF THE HEROIC AND PRODIGIOUS
BATTLE DON QUIXOTE HAD WITH CERTAIN SKINS OF RED WINE, AND BRINGS THE
NOVEL OF “THE ILL-ADVISED CURIOSITY” TO A CLOSE 

CHAPTER
XXXVI WHICH TREATS OF MORE CURIOUS INCIDENTS THAT OCCURRED AT THE INN


CHAPTER XXXVII IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE
STORY OF THE FAMOUS PRINCESS MICOMICONA, WITH OTHER DROLL ADVENTURES 

CHAPTER XXXVIII WHICH TREATS OF THE CURIOUS DISCOURSE DON
QUIXOTE DELIVERED ON ARMS AND LETTERS 

CHAPTER
XXXIX WHEREIN THE CAPTIVE RELATES HIS LIFE AND ADVENTURES 

CHAPTER XL IN WHICH THE STORY OF THE CAPTIVE IS CONTINUED


CHAPTER XLI IN WHICH THE CAPTIVE STILL
CONTINUES HIS ADVENTURES 

CHAPTER XLII WHICH
TREATS OF WHAT FURTHER TOOK PLACE IN THE INN, AND OF SEVERAL OTHER THINGS
WORTH KNOWING 

RELATED THE PLEASANT STORY OF THE MULETEER, TOGETHER WITH OTHER STRANGE
THINGS THAT CAME TO PASS IN THE INN 

CHAPTER XLIV
IN WHICH ARE CONTINUED THE UNHEARD-OF ADVENTURES OF THE INN 

CHAPTER XLV IN WHICH THE DOUBTFUL QUESTION OF MAMBRINO’S
HELMET AND THE PACK-SADDLE IS FINALLY SETTLED, WITH OTHER ADVENTURES THAT
OCCURRED IN TRUTH AND EARNEST 

OF THE END OF THE NOTABLE ADVENTURE OF THE OFFICERS OF THE HOLY
BROTHERHOOD; AND OF THE GREAT FEROCITY OF OUR WORTHY KNIGHT, DON QUIXOTE


DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA WAS CARRIED AWAY ENCHANTED, TOGETHER WITH OTHER
REMARKABLE INCIDENTS 

THE CANON PURSUES THE SUBJECT OF THE BOOKS OF CHIVALRY, WITH OTHER MATTERS
WORTHY OF HIS WIT 

OF THE SHREWD CONVERSATION WHICH SANCHO PANZA HELD WITH HIS MASTER DON
QUIXOTE 

CHAPTER L OF THE SHREWD CONTROVERSY
WHICH DON QUIXOTE AND THE CANON HELD, TOGETHER WITH OTHER INCIDENTS 

CHAPTER LI WHICH DEALS WITH WHAT THE GOATHERD TOLD THOSE
WHO WERE CARRYING OFF DON QUIXOTE 

CHAPTER LII
OF THE QUARREL THAT DON QUIXOTE HAD WITH THE GOATHERD, TOGETHER WITH THE
RARE ADVENTURE OF THE PENITENTS, WHICH WITH AN EXPENDITURE OF SWEAT HE
BROUGHT TO A HAPPY CONCLUSION 



CONTENTS VOLUME II



THE BARBER HAD WITH DON QUIXOTE ABOUT HIS MALADY 

CHAPTER
II WHICH TREATS OF THE NOTABLE ALTERCATION WHICH SANCHO PANZA HAD WITH
DON QUIXOTE’S NIECE, AND HOUSEKEEPER, TOGETHER WITH OTHER
DROLLMATTERS 

CONVERSATION THAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE, SANCHO PANZA, AND THE
BACHELOR
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THE EVE OF THE WAR.

No one would have believed in the last years of the nineteenth century
that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences
greater than man’s and yet as mortal as his own; that as men busied
themselves about their various concerns they were scrutinised and
studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might
scrutinise the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of
water. With infinite complacency men went to and fro over this globe
about their little affairs, serene in their assurance of their empire
over matter. It is possible that the infusoria under the microscope do
the same. No one gave a thought to the older worlds of space as sources
of human danger, or thought of them only to dismiss the idea of life
upon them as impossible or improbable. It is curious to recall some of
the mental habits of those departed days. At most terrestrial men
fancied there might be other men upon Mars, perhaps inferior to
themselves and ready to welcome a missionary enterprise. Yet across the
gulf of space, minds that are to our minds as ours are to those of the
beasts that perish, intellects vast and cool and unsympathetic,
regarded this earth with envious eyes, and slowly and surely drew their
plans against us. And early in the twentieth century came the great
disillusionment.

The planet Mars, I scarcely need remind the reader, revolves about the
sun at a mean distance of 140,000,000 miles, and the light and heat it
receives from the sun is barely half of that received by this world. It
must be, if the nebular hypothesis has any truth, older than our world;
and long before this earth ceased to be molten, life upon its surface
must have begun its course. The fact that it is scarcely one seventh of
the volume of the earth must have accelerated its cooling to the
temperature at which life could begin. It has air and water and all
that is necessary for the support of animated existence.

Yet so vain is man, and so blinded by his vanity, that no writer, up to
the very end of the nineteenth century, expressed any idea that
intelligent life might have developed there far, or indeed at all,
beyond its earthly level. Nor was it generally understood that since
Mars is older than our earth, with scarcely a quarter of the
superficial area and remoter from the sun, it necessarily follows that
it is not only more distant from time’s beginning but nearer its end.

The secular cooling that must someday overtake our planet has already
gone far indeed with our neighbour. Its physical condition is still
largely a mystery, but we know now that even in its equatorial region
the midday temperature barely approaches that of our coldest winter.
Its air is much more attenuated than ours, its oceans have shrunk until
they cover but a third of its surface, and as its slow seasons change
huge snowcaps gather and melt about either pole and periodically
inundate its temperate zones. That last stage of exhaustion, which to
us is still incredibly remote, has become a present-day problem for the
inhabitants of Mars. The immediate pressure of necessity has brightened
their intellects, enlarged their powers, and hardened their hearts. And
looking across space with instruments, and intelligences such as we
have scarcely dreamed of, they see, at its nearest distance only
35,000,000 of miles sunward of them, a morning star of hope, our own
warmer planet, green with vegetation and grey with water, with a cloudy
atmosphere eloquent of fertility, with glimpses through its drifting
cloud wisps of broad stretches of populous country and narrow,
navy-crowded seas.

And we men, the creatures who inhabit this earth, must be to them at
least as alien and lowly as are the monkeys and lemurs to us. The
intellectual side of man already admits that life is an incessant
struggle for existence, and it would seem that this too is the belief
of the minds upon Mars. Their world is far gone in its cooling and this
world is still crowded with life, but crowded only with what they
regard as inferior animals. To carry warfare sunward is, indeed, their
only escape from the destruction that, generation after generation,
creeps upon them.

And before we judge of them too harshly we must remember what ruthless
and utter destruction our own species has wrought, not only upon
animals, such as the vanished bison and the dodo, but upon its inferior
races. The Tasmanians, in spite of their human likeness, were entirely
swept out of existence in a war of extermination waged by European
immigrants, in the space of fifty years. Are we such apostles of mercy
as to complain if the Martians warred in the same spirit?

The Martians seem to have calculated their descent with amazing
subtlety—their mathematical learning is evidently far in excess of
ours—and to have carried out their preparations with a well-nigh
perfect unanimity. Had our instruments permitted it, we might have seen
the gathering trouble far back in the ninetee
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CONTENTS OF VOLUME 1.
     Preface
     The Life of Montaigne
     The Letters of Montaigne



PREFACE.

The present publication is intended to supply a recognised deficiency in
our literature--a library edition of the Essays of Montaigne.  This great
French writer deserves to be regarded as a classic, not only in the land
of his birth, but in all countries and in all literatures.  His Essays,
which are at once the most celebrated and the most permanent of his
productions, form a magazine out of which such minds as those of Bacon
and Shakespeare did not disdain to help themselves; and, indeed, as
Hallam observes, the Frenchman’s literary importance largely results from
the share which his mind had in influencing other minds, coeval and
subsequent.  But, at the same time, estimating the value and rank of the
essayist, we are not to leave out of the account the drawbacks and the
circumstances of the period: the imperfect state of education, the
comparative scarcity of books, and the limited opportunities of
intellectual intercourse.  Montaigne freely borrowed of others, and he
has found men willing to borrow of him as freely.  We need not wonder at
the reputation which he with seeming facility achieved.  He was, without
being aware of it, the leader of a new school in letters and morals.  His
book was different from all others which were at that date in the world.
It diverted the ancient currents of thought into new channels.  It told
its readers, with unexampled frankness, what its writer’s opinion was
about men and things, and threw what must have been a strange kind of new
light on many matters but darkly understood.  Above all, the essayist
uncased himself, and made his intellectual and physical organism public
property.  He took the world into his confidence on all subjects.  His
essays were a sort of literary anatomy, where we get a diagnosis of the
writer’s mind, made by himself at different levels and under a large
variety of operating influences.

Of all egotists, Montaigne, if not the greatest, was the most
fascinating, because, perhaps, he was the least affected and most
truthful.  What he did, and what he had professed to do, was to dissect
his mind, and show us, as best he could, how it was made, and what
relation it bore to external objects.  He investigated his mental
structure as a schoolboy pulls his watch to pieces, to examine the
mechanism of the works; and the result, accompanied by illustrations
abounding with originality and force, he delivered to his fellow-men in a
book.

Eloquence, rhetorical effect, poetry, were alike remote from his design.
He did not write from necessity, scarcely perhaps for fame.  But he
desired to leave France, nay, and the world, something to be remembered
by, something which should tell what kind of a man he was--what he felt,
thought, suffered--and he succeeded immeasurably, I apprehend, beyond his
expectations.

It was reasonable enough that Montaigne should expect for his work a
certain share of celebrity in Gascony, and even, as time went on,
throughout France; but it is scarcely probable that he foresaw how his
renown was to become world-wide; how he was to occupy an almost unique
position as a man of letters and a moralist; how the Essays would be
read, in all the principal languages of Europe, by millions of
intelligent human beings, who never heard of Perigord or the League, and
who are in doubt, if they are questioned, whether the author lived in the
sixteenth or the eighteenth century.  This is true fame.  A man of genius
belongs to no period and no country.  He speaks the language of nature,
which is always everywhere the same.

The text of these volumes is taken from the first edition of Cotton’s
version, printed in 3 vols.  8vo, 1685-6, and republished in 1693, 1700,
1711, 1738, and 1743, in the same number of volumes and the same size.
In the earliest impression the errors of the press are corrected merely
as far as page 240 of the first volume, and all the editions follow one
another.  That of 1685-6 was the only one which the translator lived to
see.  He died in 1687, leaving behind him an interesting and little-known
collection of poems, which appeared posthumously, 8vo, 1689.

It was considered imperative to correct Cotton’s translation by a careful
collation with the ‘variorum’ edition of the original, Paris, 1854,
4 vols.  8vo or 12mo, and parallel passages from Florin’s earlier
undertaking have occasionally been inserted at the foot of the page.  A
Life of the Author and all his recovered Letters, sixteen in number, have
also been given; but, as regards the correspondence, it can scarcely be
doubted that it is in a purely fragmentary state.  To do more than
furnish a sketch of the leading incidents in Montaigne’s life seemed, in
the presence of Bayle St. John’s charming and able biography, an attempt
as difficult as it was useless.

The besetting sin of both Montaigne’s translators seems to have been a
propensity for reducing his langu
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THERE IS NO ONE LEFT


When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle
everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen.
It was true, too. She had a little thin face and a little thin body,
thin light hair and a sour expression. Her hair was yellow, and her
face was yellow because she had been born in India and had always been
ill in one way or another. Her father had held a position under the
English Government and had always been busy and ill himself, and her
mother had been a great beauty who cared only to go to parties and
amuse herself with gay people. She had not wanted a little girl at all,
and when Mary was born she handed her over to the care of an Ayah, who
was made to understand that if she wished to please the Mem Sahib she
must keep the child out of sight as much as possible. So when she was a
sickly, fretful, ugly little baby she was kept out of the way, and when
she became a sickly, fretful, toddling thing she was kept out of the
way also. She never remembered seeing familiarly anything but the dark
faces of her Ayah and the other native servants, and as they always
obeyed her and gave her her own way in everything, because the Mem
Sahib would be angry if she was disturbed by her crying, by the time
she was six years old she was as tyrannical and selfish a little pig as
ever lived. The young English governess who came to teach her to read
and write disliked her so much that she gave up her place in three
months, and when other governesses came to try to fill it they always
went away in a shorter time than the first one. So if Mary had not
chosen to really want to know how to read books she would never have
learned her letters at all.

One frightfully hot morning, when she was about nine years old, she
awakened feeling very cross, and she became crosser still when she saw
that the servant who stood by her bedside was not her Ayah.

“Why did you come?” she said to the strange woman. “I will not let you
stay. Send my Ayah to me.”

The woman looked frightened, but she only stammered that the Ayah could
not come and when Mary threw herself into a passion and beat and kicked
her, she looked only more frightened and repeated that it was not
possible for the Ayah to come to Missie Sahib.

There was something mysterious in the air that morning. Nothing was
done in its regular order and several of the native servants seemed
missing, while those whom Mary saw slunk or hurried about with ashy and
scared faces. But no one would tell her anything and her Ayah did not
come. She was actually left alone as the morning went on, and at last
she wandered out into the garden and began to play by herself under a
tree near the veranda. She pretended that she was making a flower-bed,
and she stuck big scarlet hibiscus blossoms into little heaps of earth,
all the time growing more and more angry and muttering to herself the
things she would say and the names she would call Saidie when she
returned.

“Pig! Pig! Daughter of Pigs!” she said, because to call a native a pig
is the worst insult of all.

She was grinding her teeth and saying this over and over again when she
heard her mother come out on the veranda with someone. She was with a
fair young man and they stood talking together in low strange voices.
Mary knew the fair young man who looked like a boy. She had heard that
he was a very young officer who had just come from England. The child
stared at him, but she stared most at her mother. She always did this
when she had a chance to see her, because the Mem Sahib—Mary used to
call her that oftener than anything else—was such a tall, slim, pretty
person and wore such lovely clothes. Her hair was like curly silk and
she had a delicate little nose which seemed to be disdaining things,
and she had large laughing eyes. All her clothes were thin and
floating, and Mary said they were “full of lace.” They looked fuller of
lace than ever this morning, but her eyes were not laughing at all.
They were large and scared and lifted imploringly to the fair boy
officer’s face.

“Is it so very bad? Oh, is it?” Mary heard her say.

“Awfully,” the young man answered in a trembling voice. “Awfully, Mrs.
Lennox. You ought to have gone to the hills two weeks ago.”

The Mem Sahib wrung her hands.

“Oh, I know I ought!” she cried. “I only stayed to go to that silly
dinner party. What a fool I was!”

At that very moment such a loud sound of wailing broke out from the
servants’ quarters that she clutched the young man’s arm, and Mary
stood shivering from head to foot. The wailing grew wilder and wilder.
“What is it? What is it?” Mrs. Lennox gasped.

“Someone has died,” answered the boy officer. “You did not say it had
broken out among your servants.”

“I did not know!” the Mem Sahib cried. “Come with me! Come with me!”
and she turned and ran into the house.

After that appalling things happened, and the mysteriousness of the
morning was explained to Mary. The cholera had broken out in its most
f
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In 1815, M. Charles-François-Bienvenu Myriel was Bishop of D—— He was
an old man of about seventy-five years of age; he had occupied the see
of D—— since 1806.

Although this detail has no connection whatever with the real substance
of what we are about to relate, it will not be superfluous, if merely
for the sake of exactness in all points, to mention here the various
rumors and remarks which had been in circulation about him from the
very moment when he arrived in the diocese. True or false, that which
is said of men often occupies as important a place in their lives, and
above all in their destinies, as that which they do. M. Myriel was the
son of a councillor of the Parliament of Aix; hence he belonged to the
nobility of the bar. It was said that his father, destining him to be
the heir of his own post, had married him at a very early age, eighteen
or twenty, in accordance with a custom which is rather widely prevalent
in parliamentary families. In spite of this marriage, however, it was
said that Charles Myriel created a great deal of talk. He was well
formed, though rather short in stature, elegant, graceful, intelligent;
the whole of the first portion of his life had been devoted to the
world and to gallantry.

The Revolution came; events succeeded each other with precipitation;
the parliamentary families, decimated, pursued, hunted down, were
dispersed. M. Charles Myriel emigrated to Italy at the very beginning
of the Revolution. There his wife died of a malady of the chest, from
which she had long suffered. He had no children. What took place next
in the fate of M. Myriel? The ruin of the French society of the olden
days, the fall of his own family, the tragic spectacles of ’93, which
were, perhaps, even more alarming to the emigrants who viewed them from
a distance, with the magnifying powers of terror,—did these cause the
ideas of renunciation and solitude to germinate in him? Was he, in the
midst of these distractions, these affections which absorbed his life,
suddenly smitten with one of those mysterious and terrible blows which
sometimes overwhelm, by striking to his heart, a man whom public
catastrophes would not shake, by striking at his existence and his
fortune? No one could have told: all that was known was, that when he
returned from Italy he was a priest.

In 1804, M. Myriel was the Curé of B—— [Brignolles]. He was already
advanced in years, and lived in a very retired manner.

About the epoch of the coronation, some petty affair connected with his
curacy—just what, is not precisely known—took him to Paris. Among other
powerful persons to whom he went to solicit aid for his parishioners
was M. le Cardinal Fesch. One day, when the Emperor had come to visit
his uncle, the worthy Curé, who was waiting in the anteroom, found
himself present when His Majesty passed. Napoleon, on finding himself
observed with a certain curiosity by this old man, turned round and
said abruptly:—

“Who is this good man who is staring at me?”


“Sire,” said M. Myriel, “you are looking at a good man, and I at a
great man. Each of us can profit by it.”


That very evening, the Emperor asked the Cardinal the name of the Curé,
and some time afterwards M. Myriel was utterly astonished to learn that
he had been appointed Bishop of D——

What truth was there, after all, in the stories which were invented as
to the early portion of M. Myriel’s life? No one knew. Very few
families had been acquainted with the Myriel family before the
Revolution.

where there are many mouths which talk, and very few heads which think.
He was obliged to undergo it although he was a bishop, and because he
was a bishop. But after all, the rumors with which his name was
connected were rumors only,—noise, sayings, words; less than
words—_palabres_, as the energetic language of the South expresses it.

However that may be, after nine years of episcopal power and of
residence in D——, all the stories and subjects of conversation which
engross petty towns and petty people at the outset had fallen into
profound oblivion. No one would have dared to mention them; no one
would have dared to recall them.

Mademoiselle Baptistine, who was his sister, and ten years his junior.

Their only domestic was a female servant of the same age as
Mademoiselle Baptistine, and named Madame Magloire, who, after having
been _the servant of M. le Curé_, now assumed the double title of maid
to Mademoiselle and housekeeper to Monseigneur.

Mademoiselle Baptistine was a long, pale, thin, gentle creature; she
realized the ideal expressed by the word “respectable”; for it seems
that a woman must needs be a mother in order to be venerable. She had
never been pretty; her whole life, which had been nothing but a
succession of holy deeds, had finally conferred upon her a sort of
pallor and transparency; and as she advanced in years she had acquired
what may be called the beauty of goodness. What had been leanness in
her youth had become transparency in her maturity; and this d
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Transcriber’s Note:

Superscript text is preceded by a caret symbol, e.g. ^4.

Symbols in the printed text have been represented by characters which
may not display correctly in all fonts.

Italics are indicated by _underscores_, and bold text by ~tildes~. Small
capitals have been converted to upper case.




[Illustration: A CADGER’S MAP OF A BEGGING DISTRICT.

EXPLANATION OF THE HIEROGLYPHICS.

☓ ~No good~; too poor, and know too much.

◠+ ~Stop~,—if you have what they want, they will buy. They are pretty
“_fly_” (knowing).

⊃— ~Go in this direction~, it is better than the other road. Nothing
that way.

◇ ~Bone~ (good). Safe for a “cold tatur,” if for nothing else. “_Cheese
your patter_” (don’t talk much) here.

▽ ~Cooper’d~ (spoilt) by too many tramps calling there.

□ ~Gammy~ (unfavourable), likely to have you taken up. Mind the dog.

⦿ ~Flummuxed~ (dangerous), sure of a month in “_quod_,” prison.

⊕ ~Religious~, but tidy on the whole. ]




  THE
  SLANG DICTIONARY

  ETYMOLOGICAL
  HISTORICAL AND ANECDOTAL

  [Illustration: “THE WEDGE” AND THE “WOODEN SPOON.”]

  A NEW IMPRESSION

  LONDON
  CHATTO & WINDUS
  1913




PREFACE.


Slang, like everything else, changes much in the course of time; and
though but fifteen years have elapsed since this Dictionary was first
introduced to the public, alterations have since then been many and
frequent in the subject of which it treats. The first issue of a work of
this kind is, too, ever beset with difficulties, and the compiler was
always aware that, though under the circumstances of its production the
book was an undoubted success, it necessarily lacked many of the
elements which would make that success lasting, and cause the “Slang
Dictionary” to be regarded as an authority and a work of reference not
merely among the uneducated, but among people of cultivated tastes and
inquiring minds. For though the vulgar use of the word Slang applies to
those words only which are used by the dangerous classes and the lowest
grades of society, the term has in reality, and should have—as every
one who has ever studied the subject knows—a much wider significance.
Bearing this in mind, the original publisher of this Dictionary lost no
opportunity of obtaining information of a useful kind, which could
hardly find place in any other book of reference, with the intention of
eventually bringing out an entirely new edition, in which all former
errors should be corrected and all fresh meanings and new words find a
place. His intention always was to give those words which are familiar
to all conversant with our colloquialisms and locutions, but which have
hitherto been connected with an unwritten tongue, a local habitation,
and to produce a book which, in its way, would be as useful to students
of philology, as well as to lovers of human nature in all its phases,
as any standard work in the English language. The squeamishness which
tries to ignore the existence of slang fails signally, for not only in
the streets and the prisons, but at the bar, on the bench, in the
pulpit, and in the Houses of Parliament, does slang make itself heard,
and, as the shortest and safest means to an end, understood too.

My predecessor, the original compiler, did not live to see his wish
become an actual fact; and, failing him, it devolved upon me to
undertake the task of revision and addition. How far this has been
accomplished, the curious reader who is possessed of a copy of each
edition can best judge for himself by comparing any couple of pages he
may select. Of my own share in the work I wish to say nothing, as I have
mainly benefited by the labours of others; but I may say that, when I
undertook the position of editor of what, with the smallest possible
stretch of fancy, may now be called a new book, I had no idea that the
alteration would be nearly so large or so manifest. However, as the work
is now done, it will best speak for itself, and, as good wine needs no
bush, I will leave it, in all hope of their tenderness, to those readers
who are best qualified to say how the task has been consummated.

In conclusion, it is but fair for me to thank, as strongly as weak words
will permit, those gentlemen who have in various ways assisted me. To
two of them, who are well known in the world of literature, and who have
not only aided me with advice, but have placed many new words and
etymologies at my service, I am under particular obligation. With this I
beg to subscribe myself, the reader’s most obedient servant,

        The Editor.

    _December 20, 1873._

    NOTE.—The reader will bear in mind that this is a Dictionary of
    _modern_ Slang,—a list of colloquial words and phrases in _present_
    use,—whether of ancient or modern formation. Whenever _Ancient_ is
    appended to a word, it means that the expression was in respectable
    use in or previous to the reign of Queen Elizabeth. _Old_ or _Old
    English_, affixed to a word, signifies that it was in general use as
    a proper expressio
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THE JUNGLE BOOK

By Rudyard Kipling



Contents

     Mowgli’s Brothers
     Hunting-Song of the Seeonee Pack
     Kaa’s Hunting
     Road-Song of the Bandar-Log
     “Tiger! Tiger!”
      Mowgli’s Song
     The White Seal
     Lukannon
     “Rikki-Tikki-Tavi”
      Darzee’s Chant
     Toomai of the Elephants
     Shiv and the Grasshopper
     Her Majesty’s Servants
     Parade Song of the Camp Animals




Mowgli’s Brothers

     Now Rann the Kite brings home the night
        That Mang the Bat sets free--
     The herds are shut in byre and hut
        For loosed till dawn are we.
     This is the hour of pride and power,
        Talon and tush and claw.
     Oh, hear the call!--Good hunting all
        That keep the Jungle Law!
     Night-Song in the Jungle

It was seven o’clock of a very warm evening in the Seeonee hills when
Father Wolf woke up from his day’s rest, scratched himself, yawned, and
spread out his paws one after the other to get rid of the sleepy feeling
in their tips. Mother Wolf lay with her big gray nose dropped across her
four tumbling, squealing cubs, and the moon shone into the mouth of the
cave where they all lived. “Augrh!” said Father Wolf. “It is time to
hunt again.” He was going to spring down hill when a little shadow with
a bushy tail crossed the threshold and whined: “Good luck go with you, O
Chief of the Wolves. And good luck and strong white teeth go with noble
children that they may never forget the hungry in this world.”

It was the jackal--Tabaqui, the Dish-licker--and the wolves of India
despise Tabaqui because he runs about making mischief, and telling
tales, and eating rags and pieces of leather from the village
rubbish-heaps. But they are afraid of him too, because Tabaqui, more
than anyone else in the jungle, is apt to go mad, and then he forgets
that he was ever afraid of anyone, and runs through the forest biting
everything in his way. Even the tiger runs and hides when little Tabaqui
goes mad, for madness is the most disgraceful thing that can overtake
a wild creature. We call it hydrophobia, but they call it dewanee--the
madness--and run.

“Enter, then, and look,” said Father Wolf stiffly, “but there is no food
here.”

“For a wolf, no,” said Tabaqui, “but for so mean a person as myself a
dry bone is a good feast. Who are we, the Gidur-log [the jackal people],
to pick and choose?” He scuttled to the back of the cave, where he
found the bone of a buck with some meat on it, and sat cracking the end
merrily.

“All thanks for this good meal,” he said, licking his lips. “How
beautiful are the noble children! How large are their eyes! And so young
too! Indeed, indeed, I might have remembered that the children of kings
are men from the beginning.”

Now, Tabaqui knew as well as anyone else that there is nothing so
unlucky as to compliment children to their faces. It pleased him to see
Mother and Father Wolf look uncomfortable.

Tabaqui sat still, rejoicing in the mischief that he had made, and then
he said spitefully:

“Shere Khan, the Big One, has shifted his hunting grounds. He will hunt
among these hills for the next moon, so he has told me.”

Shere Khan was the tiger who lived near the Waingunga River, twenty
miles away.

“He has no right!” Father Wolf began angrily--“By the Law of the Jungle
he has no right to change his quarters without due warning. He will
frighten every head of game within ten miles, and I--I have to kill for
two, these days.”

“His mother did not call him Lungri [the Lame One] for nothing,” said
Mother Wolf quietly. “He has been lame in one foot from his birth. That
is why he has only killed cattle. Now the villagers of the Waingunga are
angry with him, and he has come here to make our villagers angry.
They will scour the jungle for him when he is far away, and we and our
children must run when the grass is set alight. Indeed, we are very
grateful to Shere Khan!”

“Shall I tell him of your gratitude?” said Tabaqui.

“Out!” snapped Father Wolf. “Out and hunt with thy master. Thou hast
done harm enough for one night.”

“I go,” said Tabaqui quietly. “Ye can hear Shere Khan below in the
thickets. I might have saved myself the message.”

Father Wolf listened, and below in the valley that ran down to a little
river he heard the dry, angry, snarly, singsong whine of a tiger who has
caught nothing and does not care if all the jungle knows it.

“The fool!” said Father Wolf. “To begin a night’s work with that noise!
Does he think that our buck are like his fat Waingunga bullocks?”

“H’sh. It is neither bullock nor buck he hunts to-night,” said Mother
Wolf. “It is Man.”

The whine had changed to a sort of humming purr that seemed to come
from every quarter of the compass. It was the noise that bewilders
woodcutters and gypsies sleeping in the open, and makes them run
sometimes into the very mouth of the tiger.

“Man!” said Father Wolf, showing all his white teeth. “Faugh! Are there
not enough beetles and frogs in the tanks that he must eat Man, and on
our g
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PROLOGUE

_Upon a paper attached to the Narrative which follows, Doctor Hesselius
has written a rather elaborate note, which he accompanies with a
reference to his Essay on the strange subject which the MS. illuminates.

This mysterious subject he treats, in that Essay, with his usual
learning and acumen, and with remarkable directness and condensation. It
will form but one volume of the series of that extraordinary man's
collected papers.

As I publish the case, in this volume, simply to interest the "laity," I
shall forestall the intelligent lady, who relates it, in nothing; and
after due consideration, I have determined, therefore, to abstain from
presenting any précis of the learned Doctor's reasoning, or extract from
his statement on a subject which he describes as "involving, not
improbably, some of the profoundest arcana of our dual existence, and
its intermediates."

I was anxious on discovering this paper, to reopen the correspondence
commenced by Doctor Hesselius, so many years before, with a person so
clever and careful as his informant seems to have been. Much to my
regret, however, I found that she had died in the interval.

She, probably, could have added little to the Narrative _which she
communicates in the following pages, with, so far as I can pronounce,
such conscientious particularity_.




_An Early Fright_

In Styria, we, though by no means magnificent people, inhabit a castle,
or schloss. A small income, in that part of the world, goes a great way.
Eight or nine hundred a year does wonders. Scantily enough ours would
have answered among wealthy people at home. My father is English, and I
bear an English name, although I never saw England. But here, in this
lonely and primitive place, where everything is so marvelously cheap, I
really don't see how ever so much more money would at all materially add
to our comforts, or even luxuries.

My father was in the Austrian service, and retired upon a pension and
his patrimony, and purchased this feudal residence, and the small estate
on which it stands, a bargain.

Nothing can be more picturesque or solitary. It stands on a slight
eminence in a forest. The road, very old and narrow, passes in front of
its drawbridge, never raised in my time, and its moat, stocked with
perch, and sailed over by many swans, and floating on its surface white
fleets of water lilies.

Over all this the schloss shows its many-windowed front; its towers,
and its Gothic chapel.

The forest opens in an irregular and very picturesque glade before its
gate, and at the right a steep Gothic bridge carries the road over a
stream that winds in deep shadow through the wood. I have said that this
is a very lonely place. Judge whether I say truth. Looking from the hall
door towards the road, the forest in which our castle stands extends
fifteen miles to the right, and twelve to the left. The nearest
inhabited village is about seven of your English miles to the left. The
nearest inhabited schloss of any historic associations, is that of old
General Spielsdorf, nearly twenty miles away to the right.

I have said "the nearest _inhabited_ village," because there is, only
three miles westward, that is to say in the direction of General
Spielsdorf's schloss, a ruined village, with its quaint little church,
now roofless, in the aisle of which are the moldering tombs of the proud
family of Karnstein, now extinct, who once owned the equally desolate
chateau which, in the thick of the forest, overlooks the silent ruins
of the town.

Respecting the cause of the desertion of this striking and melancholy
spot, there is a legend which I shall relate to you another time.

I must tell you now, how very small is the party who constitute the
inhabitants of our castle. I don't include servants, or those dependents
who occupy rooms in the buildings attached to the schloss. Listen, and
wonder! My father, who is the kindest man on earth, but growing old; and
I, at the date of my story, only nineteen. Eight years have passed
since then.

I and my father constituted the family at the schloss. My mother, a
Styrian lady, died in my infancy, but I had a good-natured governess,
who had been with me from, I might almost say, my infancy. I could not
remember the time when her fat, benignant face was not a familiar
picture in my memory.

This was Madame Perrodon, a native of Berne, whose care and good nature
now in part supplied to me the loss of my mother, whom I do not even
remember, so early I lost her. She made a third at our little dinner
party. There was a fourth, Mademoiselle De Lafontaine, a lady such as
you term, I believe, a "finishing governess." She spoke French and
German, Madame Perrodon French and broken English, to which my father
and I added English, which, partly to prevent its becoming a lost
language among us, and partly from patriotic motives, we spoke every
day. The consequence was a Babel, at which strangers used to laugh, and
which I shall make no attempt to reproduce in this narrat
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PG #: 161
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/161



The family of Dashwood had long been settled in Sussex. Their estate
was large, and their residence was at Norland Park, in the centre of
their property, where, for many generations, they had lived in so
respectable a manner as to engage the general good opinion of their
surrounding acquaintance. The late owner of this estate was a single
man, who lived to a very advanced age, and who for many years of his
life, had a constant companion and housekeeper in his sister. But her
death, which happened ten years before his own, produced a great
alteration in his home; for to supply her loss, he invited and received
into his house the family of his nephew Mr. Henry Dashwood, the legal
inheritor of the Norland estate, and the person to whom he intended to
bequeath it. In the society of his nephew and niece, and their
children, the old Gentleman’s days were comfortably spent. His
attachment to them all increased. The constant attention of Mr. and
Mrs. Henry Dashwood to his wishes, which proceeded not merely from
interest, but from goodness of heart, gave him every degree of solid
comfort which his age could receive; and the cheerfulness of the
children added a relish to his existence.

By a former marriage, Mr. Henry Dashwood had one son: by his present
lady, three daughters. The son, a steady respectable young man, was
amply provided for by the fortune of his mother, which had been large,
and half of which devolved on him on his coming of age. By his own
marriage, likewise, which happened soon afterwards, he added to his
wealth. To him therefore the succession to the Norland estate was not
so really important as to his sisters; for their fortune, independent
of what might arise to them from their father’s inheriting that
property, could be but small. Their mother had nothing, and their
father only seven thousand pounds in his own disposal; for the
remaining moiety of his first wife’s fortune was also secured to her
child, and he had only a life-interest in it.

The old gentleman died: his will was read, and like almost every other
will, gave as much disappointment as pleasure. He was neither so
unjust, nor so ungrateful, as to leave his estate from his nephew;—but
he left it to him on such terms as destroyed half the value of the
bequest. Mr. Dashwood had wished for it more for the sake of his wife
and daughters than for himself or his son;—but to his son, and his
son’s son, a child of four years old, it was secured, in such a way, as
to leave to himself no power of providing for those who were most dear
to him, and who most needed a provision by any charge on the estate, or
by any sale of its valuable woods. The whole was tied up for the
benefit of this child, who, in occasional visits with his father and
mother at Norland, had so far gained on the affections of his uncle, by
such attractions as are by no means unusual in children of two or three
years old; an imperfect articulation, an earnest desire of having his
own way, many cunning tricks, and a great deal of noise, as to outweigh
all the value of all the attention which, for years, he had received
from his niece and her daughters. He meant not to be unkind, however,
and, as a mark of his affection for the three girls, he left them a
thousand pounds a-piece.

Mr. Dashwood’s disappointment was, at first, severe; but his temper was
cheerful and sanguine; and he might reasonably hope to live many years,
and by living economically, lay by a considerable sum from the produce
of an estate already large, and capable of almost immediate
improvement. But the fortune, which had been so tardy in coming, was
his only one twelvemonth. He survived his uncle no longer; and ten
thousand pounds, including the late legacies, was all that remained for
his widow and daughters.

His son was sent for as soon as his danger was known, and to him Mr.
Dashwood recommended, with all the strength and urgency which illness
could command, the interest of his mother-in-law and sisters.

Mr. John Dashwood had not the strong feelings of the rest of the
family; but he was affected by a recommendation of such a nature at
such a time, and he promised to do every thing in his power to make
them comfortable. His father was rendered easy by such an assurance,
and Mr. John Dashwood had then leisure to consider how much there might
prudently be in his power to do for them.

He was not an ill-disposed young man, unless to be rather cold hearted
and rather selfish is to be ill-disposed: but he was, in general, well
respected; for he conducted himself with propriety in the discharge of
his ordinary duties. Had he married a more amiable woman, he might have
been made still more respectable than he was:—he might even have been
made amiable himself; for he was very young when he married, and very
fond of his wife. But Mrs. John Dashwood was a strong caricature of
himself;—more narrow-minded and selfish.

When he gave his promise to his father, he meditated within himself to
increase the fortunes of his 
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PG #: 3207
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3207



LEVIATHAN OR THE MATTER, FORME, & POWER OF A COMMON-WEALTH
ECCLESIASTICAL AND CIVILL

Thomas Hobbes of Malmesbury


Printed for Andrew Crooke, at the Green Dragon in St. Paul’s Churchyard,



TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES ON THE E-TEXT:

This E-text was prepared from the Pelican Classics edition of Leviathan,
which in turn was prepared from the first edition. I have tried to
follow as closely as possible the original, and to give the flavour of
the text that Hobbes himself proof-read, but the following differences
were unavoidable.

Hobbes used capitals and italics very extensively, for emphasis, for
proper names, for quotations, and sometimes, it seems, just because.

The original has very extensive margin notes, which are used to show
where he introduces the definitions of words and concepts, to give in
short the subject that a paragraph or section is dealing with, and to
give references to his quotations, largely but not exclusively biblical.
To some degree, these margin notes seem to have been intended to serve
in place of an index, the original having none. They are all in italics.

He also used italics for words in other languages than English, and
there are a number of Greek words, in the Greek alphabet, in the text.

To deal with these within the limits of plain vanilla ASCII, I have done
the following in this E-text.

I have restricted my use of full capitalization to those places where
Hobbes used it, except in the chapter headings, which I have fully
capitalized, where Hobbes used a mixture of full capitalization and
italics.

Where it is clear that the italics are to indicate the text is quoting,
I have introduced quotation marks. Within quotation marks I have
retained the capitalization that Hobbes used.

Where italics seem to be used for emphasis, or for proper names, or just
because, I have capitalized the initial letter of the words. This has
the disadvantage that they are not then distinguished from those that
Hobbes capitalized in plain text, but the extent of his italics would
make the text very ugly if I was to use an underscore or slash.

Where the margin notes are either to introduce the paragraph subject,
or to show where he introduces word definitions, I have included them as
headers to the paragraph, again with all words having initial capitals,
and on a shortened line.

For margin references to quotes, I have included them in the text,
in brackets immediately next to the quotation. Where Hobbes included
references in the main text, I have left them as he put them, except to
change his square brackets to round.

For the Greek alphabet, I have simply substituted the nearest ordinary
letters that I can, and I have used initial capitals for foreign
language words.

Neither Thomas Hobbes nor his typesetters seem to have had many
inhibitions about spelling and punctuation. I have tried to reproduce
both exactly, with the exception of the introduction of quotation marks.

In preparing the text, I have found that it has much more meaning if
I read it with sub-vocalization, or aloud, rather than trying to read
silently. Hobbes’ use of emphasis and his eccentric punctuation and
construction seem then to work.



TO MY MOST HONOR’D FRIEND Mr. FRANCIS GODOLPHIN of GODOLPHIN


HONOR’D SIR.

Your most worthy Brother Mr SIDNEY GODOLPHIN, when he lived, was pleas’d
to think my studies something, and otherwise to oblige me, as you know,
with reall testimonies of his good opinion, great in themselves, and the
greater for the worthinesse of his person. For there is not any vertue
that disposeth a man, either to the service of God, or to the service
of his Country, to Civill Society, or private Friendship, that did not
manifestly appear in his conversation, not as acquired by necessity,
or affected upon occasion, but inhaerent, and shining in a generous
constitution of his nature. Therefore in honour and gratitude to him,
and with devotion to your selfe, I humbly Dedicate unto you this my
discourse of Common-wealth. I know not how the world will receive it,
nor how it may reflect on those that shall seem to favour it. For in a
way beset with those that contend on one side for too great Liberty, and
on the other side for too much Authority, ’tis hard to passe between the
points of both unwounded. But yet, me thinks, the endeavour to advance
the Civill Power, should not be by the Civill Power condemned; nor
private men, by reprehending it, declare they think that Power too
great. Besides, I speak not of the men, but (in the Abstract) of the
Seat of Power, (like to those simple and unpartiall creatures in the
Roman Capitol, that with their noyse defended those within it, not
because they were they, but there) offending none, I think, but those
without, or such within (if there be any such) as favour them. That
which perhaps may most offend, are certain Texts of Holy Scripture,
alledged by me to other purpose than ordinarily they use to be by
others. But I have done it with due submission, and also (in order to
m
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PG #: 19942
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        Pangloss, Martin, etc.                                 154

  XXIX. How Candide found Cunegonde and
        the Old Woman again                                    159

   XXX. The Conclusion                                         161


[Illustration: VOLTAIRE'S CANDIDE]




CANDIDE





HOW CANDIDE WAS BROUGHT UP IN A MAGNIFICENT CASTLE, AND HOW HE WAS
EXPELLED THENCE.


In a castle of Westphalia, belonging to the Baron of
Thunder-ten-Tronckh, lived a youth, whom nature had endowed with the
most gentle manners. His countenance was a true picture of his soul. He
combined a true judgment with simplicity of spirit, which was the
reason, I apprehend, of his being called Candide. The old servants of
the family suspected him to have been the son of the Baron's sister, by
a good, honest gentleman of the neighborhood, whom that young lady would
never marry because he had been able to prove only seventy-one
quarterings, the rest of his genealogical tree having been lost through
the injuries of time.

The Baron was one of the most powerful lords in Westphalia, for his
castle had not only a gate, but windows. His great hall, even, was hung
with tapestry. All the dogs of his farm-yards formed a pack of hounds at
need; his grooms were his huntsmen; and the curate of the village was
his grand almoner. They called him "My Lord," and laughed at all his
stories.

The Baron's lady weighed about three hundred and fifty pounds, and was
therefore a person of great consideration, and she did the honours of
the house with a dignity that commanded still greater respect. Her
daughter Cunegonde was seventeen years of age, fresh-coloured, comely,
plump, and desirable. The Baron's son seemed to be in every respect
worthy of his father. The Preceptor Pangloss[1] was the oracle of the
family, and little Candide heard his lessons with all the good faith of
his age and character.

Pangloss was professor of metaphysico-theologico-cosmolo-nigology. He
proved admirably that there is no effect without a cause, and that, in
this best of all possible worlds, the Baron's castle was the most
magnificent of castles, and his lady the best of all possible
Baronesses.

"It is demonstrable," said he, "that things cannot be otherwise than as
they are; for all being created for an end, all is necessarily for the
best end. Observe, that the nose has been formed to bear
spectacles--thus we have spectacles. Legs are visibly designed for
stockings--and we have stockings. Stones were made to be hewn, and to
construct castles--therefore my lord has a magnificent castle; for the
greatest baron in the province ought to be the best lodged. Pigs were
made to be eaten--therefore we eat pork all the year round. Consequently
they who assert that all is well have said a foolish thing, they should
have said all is for the best."

Candide listened attentively and believed innocently; for he thought
Miss Cunegonde extremely beautiful, though he never had the courage to
tell her so. He concluded that after the happiness of being born of
Baron of Thunder-ten-Tronckh, the second degree of happiness was to be
Miss Cunegonde, the third that of seeing her every day, and the fourth
that of hearing Master Pangloss, the greatest philosopher of the whole
province, and consequently of the whole world.

One day Cunegonde, while walking near the castle, in a little wood which
they called a park, saw between the bushes, Dr. Pangloss giving a lesson
in experimental natural philosophy to her mother's chamber-maid, a
little brown wench, very pretty and very docile. As Miss Cunegonde had a
great disposition for the sciences, she breathlessly observed the
repeated experiments of which she was a witness; she clearly perceived
the force of the Doctor's reasons, the effects, and the causes; she
turned back greatly flurried, quite pensive, and filled with the desire
to be learned; dreaming that she might well be a _sufficient reason_ for
young Candide, and he for her.

She met Candide on reaching the castle and blushed; Candide blushed
also; she wished him good morrow in a faltering tone, and Candide spoke
to her without knowing what he said. The next day after dinner, as they
went from table, Cunegonde and Candide found themselves behind a screen;
Cunegonde let fall her handkerchief, Candide picked it up, she took him
innocently by the hand, the youth as innocently kissed the young lady's
hand with particular vivacity, sensibility, and grace; their lips met,
their eyes sparkled, their knees trembled, their hands strayed. Baron
Thunder-ten-Tronckh passed near the screen and beholding this cause and
effect chased Candide from the castle with great kicks on the backside;
Cunegonde fainted away; she was boxed on the ears by the Baroness, as
soon as she came to herself; and all was consternation in this most
magnificent and most agreeable of all possible castles.





WHAT BECAME OF CANDIDE AMONG THE BULGARIANS.


Candide, driven from terrestrial paradise, walked a long while without
kno
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PG #: 43453
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43453

A PICKLE FOR THE KNOWING ONES,

BY LORD TIMOTHY DEXTER,

WITH AN

Introductory Preface,

BY A DISTINGUISHED CITIZEN OF "OULD NEWBERRY."

FOURTH EDITION.

  NEWBURYPORT:
  BLANCHARD & SARGENT.
  1848.


[Illustration: Lord Dexter and his Dog.]




PREFACE.


Timothy Dexter, the author of the following curious and unique production,
entitled "_A Pickle for the Knowing Ones_," which is here re-printed
verbatim et spellatim from the original edition, was born in Malden,
January 22, 1747. Having served an apprenticeship with a leather dresser,
he commenced business in Newburyport shortly after he was one and
twenty, and being industrious and economical, he soon found himself
in good circumstances. In the year 1770 he married, and receiving a
considerable amount of money with his wife, he was thus put in possession
of a moderate fortune. In 1776 he had for one of his apprentices the
no less eccentric, and afterwards the no less noted Jonathan Plumer,
jun., "travelling preacher, physician and poet," as he was accustomed
to style himself, and of whom we shall hereafter speak. In addition to
his regular business of selling leather breeches, gloves "soutabel for
wimen's ware," &c. he engaged in commercial speculations, and in various
kinds of business, and was unusually successful. He traded with merchants
and speculators in the then Province of Maine, was engaged to some extent
in the West India trade. He also purchased a large amount of what were
called State securities, which were eventually redeemed at prices far
exceeding their original cost. Some of his speculations in whalebone
and warming pans are mentioned by himself on page 23 of this work. Thus
in various ways he added to his property, and in a few years he became
a wealthy man. With wealth came the desire of distinction, and as his
vanity was inordinate he spared no expence in obtaining the notoriety he
sought. In the first place he purchased an elegant house in High Street,
Newburyport, and embellished it in his peculiar way. Minarets surmounted
with golden balls were placed on the roof, a large gilt eagle was placed
on the top, and a great variety of other ornaments. In front of his house
and land he caused to be erected between forty and fifty wooden statues,
full length and larger than life. The principal arch stood directly in
front of his door, and on this stood the figures of Washington, Adams
and Jefferson. There were also the statues of William Pitt, Franklin,
Bonaparte, George IV, Lord Nelson, Gen. Morgan, Cornplanter, an Indian
Chief, Jack Tar, Traveling Preacher, Maternal Affection, Two Grenadiers,
Four Lions and one Lamb, and conspicuous among them were two images of
Dexter himself, one of which held a label with the inscription "_I am the
first in the East, the first in the West, and the greatest philosopher
in the Western world_." In order that the interior of his house should
correspond with the exterior, the most costly furniture was imported from
France, and the walls hung with paintings, brought from Holland and other
parts of Europe. A library was also provided, but how large or valuable
we are not able to say. An elegant coach with a span of beautiful cream
colored horses was procured, on which was painted his coat of arms,
with the baronial supporters, after the manner of the English nobility.
With this equipage he took the title of Lord Dexter, because, as he said,
it was "the voice of the people at Large." He was sometimes called
the Marquis of Newburyport. Having completed the embelishments of his
house and gardens, Lord Dexter busied himself in receiving the visits of
the crowds, who were drawn by curiosity to his house. His gardens were
thrown open to their inspection, and he was liberal to all. The fame of
his hospitality attracted as many visitors as the fame of his images. To
gratify his vanity he selected in imitation of European princes, a poet
laureate. This was no other than his former apprentice, Jonathan Plumer,
jun., a native of Newbury. They had once been associated as master and
apprentice, but now stood in the relation of patron and poet. From the
auto-biography of Plumer a very curious and scarce production of 244
pages, the following extract is taken, which may serve to give some idea
of the versatility of his genius.--"I had," says he, "some practice as
a physician, and earned something with my pen, but for several years
was obliged chiefly to follow various kinds of business accounted
less honorable, viz: Farming, repeating select passages from authors,
selling halibut, sawing wood, selling books and ballads in the streets,
serving as post boy, filling beds with straw and wheeling them to the
owners thereof, collecting rags, &c." He had previously served one or two
campaigns as a soldier, and on his return from the wars he taught school
for some time in New Hampshire. The ballads, which he hawked about, were
generally his own composition. Every horrid accident, bloody murder, a
shipwreck, or any other dreadful c
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PG #: 730
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/730

Oliver Twist

OR
THE PARISH BOY’S PROGRESS

by Charles Dickens


Contents

I        TREATS OF THE PLACE WHERE OLIVER TWIST WAS BORN AND OF THE
         CIRCUMSTANCES ATTENDING HIS BIRTH
II       TREATS OF OLIVER TWIST’S GROWTH, EDUCATION, AND BOARD
III      RELATES HOW OLIVER TWIST WAS VERY NEAR GETTING A PLACE WHICH
         WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN A SINECURE
IV       OLIVER, BEING OFFERED ANOTHER PLACE, MAKES HIS FIRST ENTRY
         INTO PUBLIC LIFE
V        OLIVER MINGLES WITH NEW ASSOCIATES. GOING TO A FUNERAL FOR THE
         FIRST TIME, HE FORMS AN UNFAVOURABLE NOTION OF HIS MASTER’S
         BUSINESS
VI       OLIVER, BEING GOADED BY THE TAUNTS OF NOAH, ROUSES INTO
         ACTION, AND RATHER ASTONISHES HIM
VII      OLIVER CONTINUES REFRACTORY
VIII     OLIVER WALKS TO LONDON. HE ENCOUNTERS ON THE ROAD A STRANGE
         SORT OF YOUNG GENTLEMAN
IX       CONTAINING FURTHER PARTICULARS CONCERNING THE PLEASANT OLD
         GENTLEMAN, AND HIS HOPEFUL PUPILS
X        OLIVER BECOMES BETTER ACQUAINTED WITH THE CHARACTERS OF HIS
         NEW ASSOCIATES; AND PURCHASES EXPERIENCE AT A HIGH PRICE.
         BEING A SHORT, BUT VERY IMPORTANT CHAPTER, IN THIS HISTORY
XI       TREATS OF MR. FANG THE POLICE MAGISTRATE; AND FURNISHES A
         SLIGHT SPECIMEN OF HIS MODE OF ADMINISTERING JUSTICE
XII      IN WHICH OLIVER IS TAKEN BETTER CARE OF THAN HE EVER WAS
         BEFORE. AND IN WHICH THE NARRATIVE REVERTS TO THE MERRY OLD
         GENTLEMAN AND HIS YOUTHFUL FRIENDS.
XIII     SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCES ARE INTRODUCED TO THE INTELLIGENT
         READER, CONNECTED WITH WHOM VARIOUS PLEASANT MATTERS ARE
         RELATED, APPERTAINING TO THIS HISTORY
XIV      COMPRISING FURTHER PARTICULARS OF OLIVER’S STAY AT MR.
         BROWNLOW’S, WITH THE REMARKABLE PREDICTION WHICH ONE MR.
         GRIMWIG UTTERED CONCERNING HIM, WHEN HE WENT OUT ON AN ERRAND
XV       SHOWING HOW VERY FOND OF OLIVER TWIST, THE MERRY OLD JEW AND
         MISS NANCY WERE
XVI      RELATES WHAT BECAME OF OLIVER TWIST, AFTER HE HAD BEEN CLAIMED
         BY NANCY
XVII     OLIVER’S DESTINY CONTINUING UNPROPITIOUS, BRINGS A GREAT MAN
         TO LONDON TO INJURE HIS REPUTATION
XVIII    HOW OLIVER PASSED HIS TIME IN THE IMPROVING SOCIETY OF HIS
         REPUTABLE FRIENDS
XIX      IN WHICH A NOTABLE PLAN IS DISCUSSED AND DETERMINED ON
XX       WHEREIN OLIVER IS DELIVERED OVER TO MR. WILLIAM SIKES
XXI      THE EXPEDITION
XXII     THE BURGLARY
XXIII    WHICH CONTAINS THE SUBSTANCE OF A PLEASANT CONVERSATION
         BETWEEN MR. BUMBLE AND A LADY; AND SHOWS THAT EVEN A BEADLE
         MAY BE SUSCEPTIBLE ON SOME POINTS
XXIV     TREATS ON A VERY POOR SUBJECT. BUT IS A SHORT ONE, AND MAY BE
         FOUND OF IMPORTANCE IN THIS HISTORY
XXV      WHEREIN THIS HISTORY REVERTS TO MR. FAGIN AND COMPANY
XXVI     IN WHICH A MYSTERIOUS CHARACTER APPEARS UPON THE SCENE; AND
         MANY THINGS, INSEPARABLE FROM THIS HISTORY, ARE DONE AND
         PERFORMED
XXVII    ATONES FOR THE UNPOLITENESS OF A FORMER CHAPTER; WHICH
         DESERTED A LADY, MOST UNCEREMONIOUSLY
XXVIII   LOOKS AFTER OLIVER, AND PROCEEDS WITH HIS ADVENTURES
XXIX     HAS AN INTRODUCTORY ACCOUNT OF THE INMATES OF THE HOUSE, TO
         WHICH OLIVER RESORTED
XXX      RELATES WHAT OLIVER’S NEW VISITORS THOUGHT OF HIM
XXXI     INVOLVES A CRITICAL POSITION
XXXII    OF THE HAPPY LIFE OLIVER BEGAN TO LEAD WITH HIS KIND FRIENDS
XXXIII   WHEREIN THE HAPPINESS OF OLIVER AND HIS FRIENDS, EXPERIENCES A
         SUDDEN CHECK
XXXIV    CONTAINS SOME INTRODUCTORY PARTICULARS RELATIVE TO A YOUNG
         GENTLEMAN WHO NOW ARRIVES UPON THE SCENE; AND A NEW ADVENTURE
         WHICH HAPPENED TO OLIVER
XXXV     CONTAINING THE UNSATISFACTORY RESULT OF OLIVER’S ADVENTURE;
         AND A CONVERSATION OF SOME IMPORTANCE BETWEEN HARRY MAYLIE AND
         ROSE
XXXVI    IS A VERY SHORT ONE, AND MAY APPEAR OF NO GREAT IMPORTANCE IN
         ITS PLACE, BUT IT SHOULD BE READ NOTWITHSTANDING, AS A SEQUEL
         TO THE LAST, AND A KEY TO ONE THAT WILL FOLLOW WHEN ITS TIME
         ARRIVES
XXXVII   IN WHICH THE READER MAY PERCEIVE A CONTRAST, NOT UNCOMMON IN
         MATRIMONIAL CASES
XXXVIII  CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT OF WHAT PASSED BETWEEN MR. AND MRS.
         BUMBLE, AND MR. MONKS, AT THEIR NOCTURNAL INTERVIEW
XXXIX    INTRODUCES SOME RESPECTABLE CHARACTERS WITH WHOM THE READER IS
         ALREADY ACQUAINTED, AND SHOWS HOW MONKS AND THE JEW LAID THEIR
         WORTHY HEADS TOGETHER
XL       A STRANGE INTERVIEW, WHICH IS A SEQUEL TO THE LAST CHAMBER
XLI      CONTAINING FRESH DISCOVERIES, AND SHOWING THAT SUPRISES, LIKE
         MISFORTUNES, SELDOM COME ALONE
XLII     AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE OF OLIVER’S, EXHIBITING DECIDED MARKS OF
         GENIUS, BECOMES A PUBLIC CHARACTER IN THE METROPOLIS
XLIII    WHEREIN IS SHOWN HOW THE ARTFUL DODGER GOT INTO TROUBLE
XLIV     THE TIME ARRIVES FOR NANCY TO REDEEM HER PLEDGE TO ROSE
         MAYLIE. SHE FAILS.
XLV      NOAH CLAYPOLE IS EMPLOYED BY FAGIN ON A SECRET MISSION
XLVI     THE APPOINTMENT KEPT
XLVII 
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PG #: 27827
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/27827


BEING THE INDEX TO OR CONTENTS OF THE WORK.


     Chapter II. Observations on the three worldly attainments of
                    Virtue, Wealth and Love.

        "   III. On the study of the Sixty-four Arts.

        "    IV. On the Arrangements of a House, and Household Furniture;
                    and about the Daily Life of a Citizen, his
                    Companions, Amusements, &c.

        "     V. About classes of Women fit and unfit for Congress with
                    the Citizen, and of Friends, and Messengers.


PART II.

ON SEXUAL UNION.

     Chapter I. Kinds of Union according to Dimensions, Force of Desire,
                   and Time; and on the different kinds of Love.

        "   II. Of the Embrace.

        "  III. On Kissing.

        "   IV. On Pressing or Marking with the Nails.

        "    V. On Biting, and the ways of Love to be employed with
                   regard to Women of different countries.

        "   VI. On the various ways of Lying Down, and the different
                   kinds of Congress.

        "  VII. On the various ways of Striking, and of the Sounds
                   appropriate to them.

        " VIII. About females acting the part of Males.

        "   IX. On holding the Lingam in the Mouth.

        "    X. How to begin and how to end the Congress. Different
                   kinds of Congress, and Love Quarrels.


PART III.

ABOUT THE ACQUISITION OF A WIFE.

     Chapter I. Observations on Betrothal and Marriage.

        "   II. About creating Confidence in the Girl.

        "  III. Courtship, and the manifestations of the feelings by
                   outward signs and deeds.

        "   IV. On things to be done only by the Man, and the
                   acquisition of the Girl thereby. Also what to be done
                   by a Girl to gain over a Man and subject him to her.

        "    V. On the different Forms of Marriage.


PART IV.

ABOUT A WIFE.

     Chapter I. On the manner of living of a virtuous Woman, and of her
                   behaviour during the absence of her Husband.

        "   II. On the conduct of the eldest Wife towards the other
                   Wives of her husband, and of the younger Wife towards
                   the elder ones. Also on the conduct of a Virgin Widow
                   re-married; of a Wife disliked by her Husband; of the
                   Women in the King's Harem; and of a Husband who has
                   more than one Wife.


PART V.

ABOUT THE WIVES OF OTHER PEOPLE.

     Chapter I. On the Characteristics of Men and Women, and the reason
                   why Women reject the Addresses of Men. About Men who
                   have Success with Women, and about Women who are
                   easily gained over.

        "   II. About making Acquaintance with the Woman, and of the
                   efforts to gain her over.

        "  III. Examination of the State of a Woman's mind.

        "   IV. The business of a Go-between.

        "    V. On the Love of Persons in authority with the Wives of
                   other People.

        "   VI. About the Women of the Royal Harem, and of the keeping
                   of one's own Wife.


PART VI.

ABOUT COURTESANS.

     Chapter I. Of the Causes of a Courtesan resorting to Men; of the
                   means of Attaching to herself the Man desired, and
                   the kind of Man that it is desirable to be acquainted
                   with.

        "   II. Of a Courtesan living with a Man as his Wife.

        "  III. Of the means of getting Money; of the Signs of a Lover
                   who is beginning to be weary, and of the way to get
                   rid of him.

        "   IV. About a Re-union with a former Lover.

        "    V. Of different kinds of Gain.

        "   VI. Of Gains and Losses, attendant Gains and Losses, and
                   Doubts; and lastly, the different kinds of
                   Courtesans.


PART VII.

ON THE MEANS OF ATTRACTING OTHERS TO ONE'S SELF.

     Chapter I. On Personal Adornment, subjugating the hearts of others,
                   and of tonic medicines.

        "   II. Of the Means of exciting Desire, and of the ways of
                   enlarging the Lingam. Miscellaneous Experiments and
                   Receipts.




PART I.





ON THE ACQUISITION OF DHARMA, ARTHA AND KAMA.


Man, the period of whose life is one hundred years, should practise
Dharma, Artha, and Kama at different times and in such a manner that
they may harmonize together and not clash in any way. He should acquire
learning in his childhood, in his youth and middle age he should attend
to Artha and Kama, and in his old age he should perform Dharma, and thus
seek to gain Moksha, _i.e._, release from further transmigration. Or, on
account of the uncertainty of life, he may practise them at times when
they are enjoined to be practised. But one thing is to be noted, he
should lead the life 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 100
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/100

And on it have bestow’d more contrite tears
Than from it issued forced drops of blood.
Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay,
Who twice a day their wither’d hands hold up
Toward heaven, to pardon blood; and I have built
Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests
Sing still for Richard’s soul. More will I do;
Though all that I can do is nothing worth,
Since that my penitence comes after all,
Imploring pardon.

 Enter Gloucester.

GLOUCESTER.
My liege!

KING HENRY.
My brother Gloucester’s voice? Ay;
I know thy errand, I will go with thee.
The day, my friends, and all things stay for me.

 [_Exeunt._]

SCENE II. The French camp.

 Enter the Dauphin, Orleans, Rambures and others.

ORLEANS.
The sun doth gild our armour; up, my lords!

DAUPHIN.
_Monte à cheval!_ My horse, _varlet! laquais_, ha!

ORLEANS.
O brave spirit!

DAUPHIN.
_Via, les eaux et terre!_

ORLEANS.
_Rien puis? L’air et feu?_

DAUPHIN.
_Cieux_, cousin Orleans.

 Enter Constable.

Now, my Lord Constable!

CONSTABLE.
Hark, how our steeds for present service neigh!

DAUPHIN.
Mount them, and make incision in their hides,
That their hot blood may spin in English eyes,
And dout them with superfluous courage, ha!

RAMBURES.
What, will you have them weep our horses’ blood?
How shall we, then, behold their natural tears?

 Enter a Messenger.

MESSENGER.
The English are embattl’d, you French peers.

CONSTABLE.
To horse, you gallant princes! straight to horse!
Do but behold yon poor and starved band,
And your fair show shall suck away their souls,
Leaving them but the shales and husks of men.
There is not work enough for all our hands;
Scarce blood enough in all their sickly veins
To give each naked curtle-axe a stain,
That our French gallants shall today draw out,
And sheathe for lack of sport. Let us but blow on them,
The vapour of our valour will o’erturn them.
’Tis positive ’gainst all exceptions, lords,
That our superfluous lackeys and our peasants,
Who in unnecessary action swarm
About our squares of battle, were enough
To purge this field of such a hilding foe,
Though we upon this mountain’s basis by
Took stand for idle speculation,
But that our honours must not. What’s to say?
A very little little let us do,
And all is done. Then let the trumpets sound
The tucket sonance and the note to mount;
For our approach shall so much dare the field
That England shall crouch down in fear and yield.

 Enter Grandpré.

GRANDPRÉ.
Why do you stay so long, my lords of France?
Yond island carrions, desperate of their bones,
Ill-favouredly become the morning field.
Their ragged curtains poorly are let loose,
And our air shakes them passing scornfully.
Big Mars seems bankrupt in their beggar’d host,
And faintly through a rusty beaver peeps;
The horsemen sit like fixed candlesticks
With torch-staves in their hand; and their poor jades
Lob down their heads, drooping the hides and hips,
The gum down-roping from their pale-dead eyes,
And in their pale dull mouths the gimmal bit
Lies foul with chew’d grass, still, and motionless;
And their executors, the knavish crows,
Fly o’er them, all impatient for their hour.
Description cannot suit itself in words
To demonstrate the life of such a battle,
In life so lifeless as it shows itself.

CONSTABLE.
They have said their prayers, and they stay for death.

DAUPHIN.
Shall we go send them dinners and fresh suits
And give their fasting horses provender,
And after fight with them?

CONSTABLE.
I stay but for my guard; on to the field!
I will the banner from a trumpet take,
And use it for my haste. Come, come, away!
The sun is high, and we outwear the day.

 [_Exeunt._]

SCENE III. The English camp.

 Enter Gloucester, Bedford, Exeter, Erpingham, with all his host:
 Salisbury and Westmorland.

GLOUCESTER.
Where is the King?

BEDFORD.
The King himself is rode to view their battle.

WESTMORLAND.
Of fighting men they have full three-score thousand.

EXETER.
There’s five to one; besides, they all are fresh.

SALISBURY.
God’s arm strike with us! ’tis a fearful odds.
God be wi’ you, princes all; I’ll to my charge.
If we no more meet till we meet in heaven,
Then, joyfully, my noble Lord of Bedford,
My dear Lord Gloucester, and my good Lord Exeter,
And my kind kinsman, warriors all, adieu!

BEDFORD.
Farewell, good Salisbury, and good luck go with thee!

EXETER.
Farewell, kind lord; fight valiantly today!
And yet I do thee wrong to mind thee of it,
For thou art fram’d of the firm truth of valour.

 [_Exit Salisbury._]

BEDFORD.
He is as full of valour as of kindness,
Princely in both.

 Enter the King.

WESTMORLAND.
O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men in England
That do no work today!

KING.
What’s he that wishes so?
My cousin Westmorland? No, my fair cousin.
If we are mark’d to die, we are enough
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.
God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 5131
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5131


   Oh, thou, in Hellas deemed of heavenly birth,
   Muse, formed or fabled at the minstrel's will!
   Since shamed full oft by later lyres on earth,
   Mine dares not call thee from thy sacred hill:
   Yet there I've wandered by thy vaunted rill;
   Yes! sighed o'er Delphi's long-deserted shrine
   Where, save that feeble fountain, all is still;
   Nor mote my shell awake the weary Nine
To grace so plain a tale--this lowly lay of mine.


   Whilome in Albion's isle there dwelt a youth,
   Who ne in virtue's ways did take delight;
   But spent his days in riot most uncouth,
   And vexed with mirth the drowsy ear of Night.
   Ah, me! in sooth he was a shameless wight,
   Sore given to revel and ungodly glee;
   Few earthly things found favour in his sight
   Save concubines and carnal companie,
And flaunting wassailers of high and low degree.


   Childe Harold was he hight:--but whence his name
   And lineage long, it suits me not to say;
   Suffice it, that perchance they were of fame,
   And had been glorious in another day:
   But one sad losel soils a name for aye,
   However mighty in the olden time;
   Nor all that heralds rake from coffined clay,
   Nor florid prose, nor honeyed lines of rhyme,
Can blazon evil deeds, or consecrate a crime.


   Childe Harold basked him in the noontide sun,
   Disporting there like any other fly,
   Nor deemed before his little day was done
   One blast might chill him into misery.
   But long ere scarce a third of his passed by,
   Worse than adversity the Childe befell;
   He felt the fulness of satiety:
   Then loathed he in his native land to dwell,
Which seemed to him more lone than eremite's sad cell.


   For he through Sin's long labyrinth had run,
   Nor made atonement when he did amiss,
   Had sighed to many, though he loved but one,
   And that loved one, alas, could ne'er be his.
   Ah, happy she! to 'scape from him whose kiss
   Had been pollution unto aught so chaste;
   Who soon had left her charms for vulgar bliss,
   And spoiled her goodly lands to gild his waste,
Nor calm domestic peace had ever deigned to taste.


   And now Childe Harold was sore sick at heart,
   And from his fellow bacchanals would flee;
   'Tis said, at times the sullen tear would start,
   But pride congealed the drop within his e'e:
   Apart he stalked in joyless reverie,
   And from his native land resolved to go,
   And visit scorching climes beyond the sea;
   With pleasure drugged, he almost longed for woe,
And e'en for change of scene would seek the shades below.


   The Childe departed from his father's hall;
   It was a vast and venerable pile;
   So old, it seemed only not to fall,
   Yet strength was pillared in each massy aisle.
   Monastic dome! condemned to uses vile!
   Where superstition once had made her den,
   Now Paphian girls were known to sing and smile;
   And monks might deem their time was come agen,
If ancient tales say true, nor wrong these holy men.


   Yet ofttimes in his maddest mirthful mood,
   Strange pangs would flash along Childe Harold's brow,
   As if the memory of some deadly feud
   Or disappointed passion lurked below:
   But this none knew, nor haply cared to know;
   For his was not that open, artless soul
   That feels relief by bidding sorrow flow;
   Nor sought he friend to counsel or condole,
Whate'er this grief mote be, which he could not control.


   And none did love him:  though to hall and bower
   He gathered revellers from far and near,
   He knew them flatterers of the festal hour;
   The heartless parasites of present cheer.
   Yea, none did love him--not his lemans dear--
   But pomp and power alone are woman's care,
   And where these are light Eros finds a feere;
   Maidens, like moths, are ever caught by glare,
And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair.


   Childe Harold had a mother--not forgot,
   Though parting from that mother he did shun;
   A sister whom he loved, but saw her not
   Before his weary pilgrimage begun:
   If friends he had, he bade adieu to none.
   Yet deem not thence his breast a breast of steel;
   Ye, who have known what 'tis to dote upon
   A few dear objects, will in sadness feel
Such partings break the heart they fondly hope to heal.


   His house, his home, his heritage, his lands,
   The laughing dames in whom he did delight,
   Whose large blue eyes, fair locks, and snowy hands,
   Might shake the saintship of an anchorite,
   And long had fed his youthful appetite;
   His goblets brimmed with every costly wine,
   And all that mote to luxury invite,
   Without a sigh he left to cross the brine,
And traverse Paynim shores, and pass earth's central line.


   The sails were filled, and fair the light winds blew
   As glad to waft him from his native home;
   And fast the white rocks faded from his view,
   And soon were lost in circumambient foam;
   And then, it may be, of his wish to roam
   Repented he, but in his bosom slept
   The silent thought, nor from his lips did com
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 972
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/972




CAABA, n.  A large stone presented by the archangel Gabriel to the
patriarch Abraham, and preserved at Mecca.  The patriarch had perhaps
asked the archangel for bread.

CABBAGE, n.  A familiar kitchen-garden vegetable about as large and
wise as a man's head.

The cabbage is so called from Cabagius, a prince who on ascending
the throne issued a decree appointing a High Council of Empire
consisting of the members of his predecessor's Ministry and the
cabbages in the royal garden.  When any of his Majesty's measures of
state policy miscarried conspicuously it was gravely announced that
several members of the High Council had been beheaded, and his
murmuring subjects were appeased.

CALAMITY, n.  A more than commonly plain and unmistakable reminder
that the affairs of this life are not of our own ordering.  Calamities
are of two kinds:  misfortune to ourselves, and good fortune to
others.

CALLOUS, adj.  Gifted with great fortitude to bear the evils
afflicting another.

When Zeno was told that one of his enemies was no more he was
observed to be deeply moved.  "What!" said one of his disciples, "you
weep at the death of an enemy?"  "Ah, 'tis true," replied the great
Stoic; "but you should see me smile at the death of a friend."

CALUMNUS, n.  A graduate of the School for Scandal.

CAMEL, n.  A quadruped (the _Splaypes humpidorsus_) of great value to
the show business.  There are two kinds of camels--the camel proper
and the camel improper.  It is the latter that is always exhibited.

CANNIBAL, n.  A gastronome of the old school who preserves the simple
tastes and adheres to the natural diet of the pre-pork period.

CANNON, n.  An instrument employed in the rectification of national
boundaries.

CANONICALS, n.  The motley worm by Jesters of the Court of Heaven.

CAPITAL, n.  The seat of misgovernment.  That which provides the fire,
the pot, the dinner, the table and the knife and fork for the
anarchist; the part of the repast that himself supplies is the
disgrace before meat.  _Capital Punishment_, a penalty regarding the
justice and expediency of which many worthy persons--including all
the assassins--entertain grave misgivings.

CARMELITE, n.  A mendicant friar of the order of Mount Carmel.

  As Death was a-rising out one day,
  Across Mount Camel he took his way,
      Where he met a mendicant monk,
      Some three or four quarters drunk,
  With a holy leer and a pious grin,
  Ragged and fat and as saucy as sin,
      Who held out his hands and cried:
  "Give, give in Charity's name, I pray.
  Give in the name of the Church.  O give,
  Give that her holy sons may live!"
      And Death replied,
      Smiling long and wide:
      "I'll give, holy father, I'll give thee--a ride."

      With a rattle and bang
      Of his bones, he sprang
  From his famous Pale Horse, with his spear;
      By the neck and the foot
      Seized the fellow, and put
  Him astride with his face to the rear.

  The Monarch laughed loud with a sound that fell
  Like clods on the coffin's sounding shell:
  "Ho, ho!  A beggar on horseback, they say,
      Will ride to the devil!"--and _thump_
      Fell the flat of his dart on the rump
  Of the charger, which galloped away.

  Faster and faster and faster it flew,
  Till the rocks and the flocks and the trees that grew
  By the road were dim and blended and blue
      To the wild, wild eyes
      Of the rider--in size
      Resembling a couple of blackberry pies.
  Death laughed again, as a tomb might laugh
      At a burial service spoiled,
      And the mourners' intentions foiled
      By the body erecting
      Its head and objecting
  To further proceedings in its behalf.

  Many a year and many a day
  Have passed since these events away.
  The monk has long been a dusty corse,
  And Death has never recovered his horse.
      For the friar got hold of its tail,
      And steered it within the pale
  Of the monastery gray,
  Where the beast was stabled and fed
  With barley and oil and bread
  Till fatter it grew than the fattest friar,
  And so in due course was appointed Prior.

G.J.


CARNIVOROUS, adj.  Addicted to the cruelty of devouring the timorous
vegetarian, his heirs and assigns.

CARTESIAN, adj.  Relating to Descartes, a famous philosopher, author
of the celebrated dictum, _Cogito ergo sum_--whereby he was pleased
to suppose he demonstrated the reality of human existence.  The dictum
might be improved, however, thus:  _Cogito cogito ergo cogito sum_--
"I think that I think, therefore I think that I am;" as close an
approach to certainty as any philosopher has yet made.

CAT, n.  A soft, indestructible automaton provided by nature to be
kicked when things go wrong in the domestic circle.

  This is a dog,
      This is a cat.
  This is a frog,
      This is a rat.
  Run, dog, mew, cat.
  Jump, frog, gnaw, rat.

Elevenson


CAVILER, n.  A critic of our own work.

CEMETERY, n.  An isolated suburban spot where mourners match lies,
poets write at a target and stone-cutt
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 1934
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1934

EXPERIENCE***


Transcribed from the 1901 R. Brimley Johnson edition by David Price,
email ccx074@pglaf.org

          [Picture: Image of Blake’s original page of The Tyger]





                            SONGS OF INNOCENCE
                                   AND
                           SONGS OF EXPERIENCE


                             BY WILLIAM BLAKE

                 [Picture: The Astolaf Press, Guildford]

                       LONDON: R. BRIMLEY JOHNSON.
                         GUILDFORD: A. C. CURTIS.

                                 MDCCCCI.




CONTENTS

             SONGS OF INNOCENCE

                                         Page
Introduction                                1
The Shepherd                                3
The Echoing Green                           4
The Lamb                                    6
The Little Black Boy                        7
The Blossom                                 9
The Chimney-Sweeper                        10
The Little Boy Lost                        12
The Little Boy Pound                       13
Laughing Song                              14
A Cradle Song                              15
The Divine Image                           17
Holy Thursday                              19
Night                                      20
Spring                                     23
Nurse’s Song                               25
Infant Joy                                 26
A Dream                                    27
On Another’s Sorrow                        29

             SONGS OF EXPERIENCE

Introduction                               33
Earth’s Answer                             35
The Clod and the Pebble                    37
Holy Thursday                              38
The Little Girl Lost                       39
The Little Girl Found                      42
The Chimney-Sweeper                        45
Nurse’s Song                               46
The Sick Rose                              47
The Fly                                    48
The Angel                                  50
The Tiger                                  51
My Pretty Rose-Tree                        53
Ah, Sunflower                              54
The Lily                                   55
The Garden of Love                         56
The Little Vagabond                        57
London                                     58
The Human Abstract                         59
Infant Sorrow                              61
A Poison Tree                              62
A Little Boy Lost                          63
A Little Girl Lost                         65
A Divine Image                             67
A Cradle Song                              68
The Schoolboy                              69
To Tirzah                                  71
The Voice of the Ancient Bard              72




SONGS OF INNOCENCE


INTRODUCTION


Piping down the valleys wild,
   Piping songs of pleasant glee,
On a cloud I saw a child,
   And he laughing said to me:

‘Pipe a song about a Lamb!’
   So I piped with merry cheer.
‘Piper, pipe that song again.’
   So I piped: he wept to hear.

‘Drop thy pipe, thy happy pipe;
   Sing thy songs of happy cheer!’
So I sung the same again,
   While he wept with joy to hear.

‘Piper, sit thee down and write
   In a book, that all may read.’
So he vanished from my sight;
   And I plucked a hollow reed,

And I made a rural pen,
   And I stained the water clear,
And I wrote my happy songs
   Every child may joy to hear.



THE SHEPHERD


How sweet is the shepherd’s sweet lot!
From the morn to the evening he strays;
He shall follow his sheep all the day,
And his tongue shall be fillèd with praise.

For he hears the lambs’ innocent call,
And he hears the ewes’ tender reply;
He is watchful while they are in peace,
For they know when their shepherd is nigh.



THE ECHOING GREEN


The sun does arise,
And make happy the skies;
The merry bells ring
To welcome the Spring;
The skylark and thrush,
The birds of the bush,
Sing louder around
To the bells’ cheerful sound;
While our sports shall be seen
On the echoing green.

Old John, with white hair,
Does laugh away care,
Sitting under the oak,
Among the old folk.
They laugh at our play,
And soon they all say,
‘Such, such were the joys
When we all—girls and boys—
In our youth-time were seen
On the echoing green.’

Till the little ones, weary,
No more can be merry:
The sun does descend,
And our sports have an end.
Round the laps of their mothers
Many sisters and brothers,
Like birds in their nest,
Are ready for rest,
And sport no more seen
On the darkening green.



THE LAMB


   Little lamb, who made thee?
   Does thou know who made thee,
Gave thee life, and bid thee feed
By the stream and o’er the mead;
Gave thee clothing of delight,
Softest clothing, woolly, bright;
Gave thee such a tender voice,
Making all the vales rejoice?
   Little lamb, who made thee?
   Does thou know who made thee?

   Little lamb, I’ll tell thee;
   Little lamb, I
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 35
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35

The Time Machine

An Invention

by H. G. Wells


CONTENTS

 I Introduction
 II The Machine
 III The Time Traveller Returns
 IV Time Travelling
 V In the Golden Age
 VI The Sunset of Mankind
 VII A Sudden Shock
 VIII Explanation
 IX The Morlocks
 X When Night Came
 XI The Palace of Green Porcelain
 XII In the Darkness
 XIII The Trap of the White Sphinx
 XIV The Further Vision
 XV The Time Traveller’s Return
 XVI After the Story
 Epilogue




 I.
 Introduction


The Time Traveller (for so it will be convenient to speak of him) was
expounding a recondite matter to us. His pale grey eyes shone and
twinkled, and his usually pale face was flushed and animated. The fire
burnt brightly, and the soft radiance of the incandescent lights in the
lilies of silver caught the bubbles that flashed and passed in our
glasses. Our chairs, being his patents, embraced and caressed us rather
than submitted to be sat upon, and there was that luxurious
after-dinner atmosphere, when thought runs gracefully free of the
trammels of precision. And he put it to us in this way—marking the
points with a lean forefinger—as we sat and lazily admired his
earnestness over this new paradox (as we thought it) and his fecundity.

“You must follow me carefully. I shall have to controvert one or two
ideas that are almost universally accepted. The geometry, for instance,
they taught you at school is founded on a misconception.”

“Is not that rather a large thing to expect us to begin upon?” said
Filby, an argumentative person with red hair.

“I do not mean to ask you to accept anything without reasonable ground
for it. You will soon admit as much as I need from you. You know of
course that a mathematical line, a line of thickness _nil_, has no real
existence. They taught you that? Neither has a mathematical plane.
These things are mere abstractions.”

“That is all right,” said the Psychologist.

“Nor, having only length, breadth, and thickness, can a cube have a
real existence.”

“There I object,” said Filby. “Of course a solid body may exist. All
real things—”

“So most people think. But wait a moment. Can an _instantaneous_ cube
exist?”

“Don’t follow you,” said Filby.

“Can a cube that does not last for any time at all, have a real
existence?”

Filby became pensive. “Clearly,” the Time Traveller proceeded, “any
real body must have extension in _four_ directions: it must have
Length, Breadth, Thickness, and—Duration. But through a natural
infirmity of the flesh, which I will explain to you in a moment, we
incline to overlook this fact. There are really four dimensions, three
which we call the three planes of Space, and a fourth, Time. There is,
however, a tendency to draw an unreal distinction between the former
three dimensions and the latter, because it happens that our
consciousness moves intermittently in one direction along the latter
from the beginning to the end of our lives.”

“That,” said a very young man, making spasmodic efforts to relight his
cigar over the lamp; “that . . . very clear indeed.”

“Now, it is very remarkable that this is so extensively overlooked,”
continued the Time Traveller, with a slight accession of cheerfulness.
“Really this is what is meant by the Fourth Dimension, though some
people who talk about the Fourth Dimension do not know they mean it. It
is only another way of looking at Time. _There is no difference between
Time and any of the three dimensions of Space except that our
consciousness moves along it_. But some foolish people have got hold of
the wrong side of that idea. You have all heard what they have to say
about this Fourth Dimension?”

“_I_ have not,” said the Provincial Mayor.

“It is simply this. That Space, as our mathematicians have it, is
spoken of as having three dimensions, which one may call Length,
Breadth, and Thickness, and is always definable by reference to three
planes, each at right angles to the others. But some philosophical
people have been asking why _three_ dimensions particularly—why not
another direction at right angles to the other three?—and have even
tried to construct a Four-Dimensional geometry. Professor Simon Newcomb
was expounding this to the New York Mathematical Society only a month
or so ago. You know how on a flat surface, which has only two
dimensions, we can represent a figure of a three-dimensional solid, and
similarly they think that by models of three dimensions they could
represent one of four—if they could master the perspective of the
thing. See?”

“I think so,” murmured the Provincial Mayor; and, knitting his brows,
he lapsed into an introspective state, his lips moving as one who
repeats mystic words. “Yes, I think I see it now,” he said after some
time, brightening in a quite transitory manner.

“Well, I do not mind telling you I have been at work upon this geometry
of Four Dimensions for some time. Some of my results are curious. For
instance, here is a portrait of a man at eight years old, another at
fifteen, another at seventeen, another at twenty-thre
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end I was obliged to be satisfied with the Piazza Barberini, after I had
exerted myself in vain to find an anti-Christian quarter. I fear that
on one occasion, to avoid bad smells as much as possible, I actually
inquired at the Palazzo del Quirinale whether they could not provide a
quiet room for a philosopher. In a chamber high above the Piazza just
mentioned, from which one obtained a general view of Rome and could
hear the fountains plashing far below, the loneliest of all songs
was composed--‘The Night-Song’. About this time I was obsessed by an
unspeakably sad melody, the refrain of which I recognised in the words,
‘dead through immortality.’”

We remained somewhat too long in Rome that spring, and what with the
effect of the increasing heat and the discouraging circumstances already
described, my brother resolved not to write any more, or in any case,
not to proceed with “Zarathustra”, although I offered to relieve him
of all trouble in connection with the proofs and the publisher. When,
however, we returned to Switzerland towards the end of June, and he
found himself once more in the familiar and exhilarating air of the
mountains, all his joyous creative powers revived, and in a note to me
announcing the dispatch of some manuscript, he wrote as follows: “I have
engaged a place here for three months: forsooth, I am the greatest fool
to allow my courage to be sapped from me by the climate of Italy. Now
and again I am troubled by the thought: WHAT NEXT? My ‘future’ is the
darkest thing in the world to me, but as there still remains a great
deal for me to do, I suppose I ought rather to think of doing this than
of my future, and leave the rest to THEE and the gods.”

The second part of “Zarathustra” was written between the 26th of June
and the 6th July. “This summer, finding myself once more in the sacred
place where the first thought of ‘Zarathustra’ flashed across my mind,
I conceived the second part. Ten days sufficed. Neither for the second,
the first, nor the third part, have I required a day longer.”

He often used to speak of the ecstatic mood in which he wrote
“Zarathustra”; how in his walks over hill and dale the ideas would crowd
into his mind, and how he would note them down hastily in a note-book
from which he would transcribe them on his return, sometimes working
till midnight. He says in a letter to me: “You can have no idea of the
vehemence of such composition,” and in “Ecce Homo” (autumn 1888) he
describes as follows with passionate enthusiasm the incomparable mood in
which he created Zarathustra:--

“--Has any one at the end of the nineteenth century any distinct notion
of what poets of a stronger age understood by the word inspiration? If
not, I will describe it. If one had the smallest vestige of superstition
in one, it would hardly be possible to set aside completely the idea
that one is the mere incarnation, mouthpiece or medium of an almighty
power. The idea of revelation in the sense that something becomes
suddenly visible and audible with indescribable certainty and accuracy,
which profoundly convulses and upsets one--describes simply the matter
of fact. One hears--one does not seek; one takes--one does not ask
who gives: a thought suddenly flashes up like lightning, it comes with
necessity, unhesitatingly--I have never had any choice in the matter.
There is an ecstasy such that the immense strain of it is sometimes
relaxed by a flood of tears, along with which one’s steps either rush
or involuntarily lag, alternately. There is the feeling that one is
completely out of hand, with the very distinct consciousness of an
endless number of fine thrills and quiverings to the very toes;--there
is a depth of happiness in which the painfullest and gloomiest do not
operate as antitheses, but as conditioned, as demanded in the sense of
necessary shades of colour in such an overflow of light. There is an
instinct for rhythmic relations which embraces wide areas of forms
(length, the need of a wide-embracing rhythm, is almost the measure of
the force of an inspiration, a sort of counterpart to its pressure and
tension). Everything happens quite involuntarily, as if in a tempestuous
outburst of freedom, of absoluteness, of power and divinity. The
involuntariness of the figures and similes is the most remarkable
thing; one loses all perception of what constitutes the figure and
what constitutes the simile; everything seems to present itself as
the readiest, the correctest and the simplest means of expression.
It actually seems, to use one of Zarathustra’s own phrases, as if all
things came unto one, and would fain be similes: ‘Here do all things
come caressingly to thy talk and flatter thee, for they want to ride
upon thy back. On every simile dost thou here ride to every truth. Here
fly open unto thee all being’s words and word-cabinets; here all being
wanteth to become words, here all becoming wanteth to learn of thee how
to talk.’ This is MY experience of inspiration. I do not doubt but that

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PG #: 1001
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1001

The Divine Comedy

of Dante Alighieri

Translated by
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
INFERNO


Contents

Canto I. The Dark Forest. The Hill of Difficulty. The Panther, the Lion, and the Wolf. Virgil.
Canto II. The Descent. Dante’s Protest and Virgil’s Appeal. The Intercession of the Three Ladies Benedight.
Canto III. The Gate of Hell. The Inefficient or Indifferent. Pope Celestine V. The Shores of Acheron. Charon. The Earthquake and the Swoon.
Canto IV. The First Circle, Limbo: Virtuous Pagans and the Unbaptized. The Four Poets, Homer, Horace, Ovid, and Lucan. The Noble Castle of Philosophy.
Canto V. The Second Circle: The Wanton. Minos. The Infernal Hurricane. Francesca da Rimini.
Canto VI. The Third Circle: The Gluttonous. Cerberus. The Eternal Rain. Ciacco. Florence.
Canto VII. The Fourth Circle: The Avaricious and the Prodigal. Plutus. Fortune and her Wheel. The Fifth Circle: The Irascible and the Sullen. Styx.
Canto VIII. Phlegyas. Philippo Argenti. The Gate of the City of Dis.
Canto IX. The Furies and Medusa. The Angel. The City of Dis. The Sixth Circle: Heresiarchs.
Canto X. Farinata and Cavalcante de’ Cavalcanti. Discourse on the Knowledge of the Damned.
Canto XI. The Broken Rocks. Pope Anastasius. General Description of the Inferno and its Divisions.
Canto XII. The Minotaur. The Seventh Circle: The Violent. The River Phlegethon. The Violent against their Neighbours. The Centaurs. Tyrants.
Canto XIII. The Wood of Thorns. The Harpies. The Violent against themselves. Suicides. Pier della Vigna. Lano and Jacopo da Sant’ Andrea.
Canto XIV. The Sand Waste and the Rain of Fire. The Violent against God. Capaneus. The Statue of Time, and the Four Infernal Rivers.
Canto XV. The Violent against Nature. Brunetto Latini.
Canto XVI. Guidoguerra, Aldobrandi, and Rusticucci. Cataract of the River of Blood.
Canto XVII. Geryon. The Violent against Art. Usurers. Descent into the Abyss of Malebolge.
Canto XVIII. The Eighth Circle, Malebolge: The Fraudulent and the Malicious. The First Bolgia: Seducers and Panders. Venedico Caccianimico. Jason. The Second Bolgia: Flatterers. Allessio Interminelli. Thais.
Canto XIX. The Third Bolgia: Simoniacs. Pope Nicholas III. Dante’s Reproof of corrupt Prelates.
Canto XX. The Fourth Bolgia: Soothsayers. Amphiaraus, Tiresias, Aruns, Manto, Eryphylus, Michael Scott, Guido Bonatti, and Asdente. Virgil reproaches Dante’s Pity. Mantua’s Foundation.
Canto XXI. The Fifth Bolgia: Peculators. The Elder of Santa Zita. Malacoda and other Devils.
Canto XXII. Ciampolo, Friar Gomita, and Michael Zanche. The Malabranche quarrel.
Canto XXIII. Escape from the Malabranche. The Sixth Bolgia: Hypocrites. Catalano and Loderingo. Caiaphas.
Canto XXIV. The Seventh Bolgia: Thieves. Vanni Fucci. Serpents.
Canto XXV. Vanni Fucci’s Punishment. Agnello Brunelleschi, Buoso degli Abati, Puccio Sciancato, Cianfa de’ Donati, and Guercio Cavalcanti.
Canto XXVI. The Eighth Bolgia: Evil Counsellors. Ulysses and Diomed. Ulysses’ Last Voyage.
Canto XXVII. Guido da Montefeltro. His deception by Pope Boniface VIII.
Canto XXVIII. The Ninth Bolgia: Schismatics. Mahomet and Ali. Pier da Medicina, Curio, Mosca, and Bertrand de Born.
Canto XXIX. Geri del Bello. The Tenth Bolgia: Alchemists. Griffolino d’ Arezzo and Capocchino.
Canto XXX. Other Falsifiers or Forgers. Gianni Schicchi, Myrrha, Adam of Brescia, Potiphar’s Wife, and Sinon of Troy.
Canto XXXI. The Giants, Nimrod, Ephialtes, and Antaeus. Descent to Cocytus.
Canto XXXII. The Ninth Circle: Traitors. The Frozen Lake of Cocytus. First Division, Caina: Traitors to their Kindred. Camicion de’ Pazzi. Second Division, Antenora: Traitors to their Country. Dante questions Bocca degli Abati. Buoso da Duera.
Canto XXXIII. Count Ugolino and the Archbishop Ruggieri. The Death of Count Ugolino’s Sons. Third Division of the Ninth Circle, Ptolomaea: Traitors to their Friends. Friar Alberigo, Branco d’ Oria.
Canto XXXIV. Fourth Division of the Ninth Circle, the Judecca: Traitors to their Lords and Benefactors. Lucifer, Judas Iscariot, Brutus, and Cassius. The Chasm of Lethe. The Ascent.




Inferno: Canto I


Midway upon the journey of our life
    I found myself within a forest dark,
    For the straightforward pathway had been lost.

Ah me! how hard a thing it is to say
    What was this forest savage, rough, and stern,
    Which in the very thought renews the fear.

So bitter is it, death is little more;
    But of the good to treat, which there I found,
    Speak will I of the other things I saw there.

I cannot well repeat how there I entered,
    So full was I of slumber at the moment
    In which I had abandoned the true way.

But after I had reached a mountain’s foot,
    At that point where the valley terminated,
    Which had with consternation pierced my heart,

Upward I looked, and I beheld its shoulders,
    Vested already with that planet’s rays
    Which leadeth others right by every road.

Then was the fear a little quieted
    That in my heart’s lake had endured throughou
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PG #: 35899
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Following our usual custom of facing squarely the most difficult and
delicate questions relating to the Philippines, without weighing the
consequences that our frankness may bring upon us, we shall in the
present article treat of their future.

In order to read the destiny of a people, it is necessary to open
the book of its past, and this, for the Philippines, may be reduced
in general terms to what follows.

Scarcely had they been attached to the Spanish crown than they had to
sustain with their blood and the efforts of their sons the wars and
ambitions of conquest of the Spanish people, and in these struggles,
in that terrible crisis when a people changes its form of government,
its laws, usages, customs, religion and beliefs the Philippines were
depopulated, impoverished and retarded--caught in their metamorphosis,
without confidence in their past, without faith in their present and
with no fond hope for the years to come. The former rulers who had
merely endeavored to secure the fear and submission of their subjects,
habituated by them to servitude, fell like leaves from a dead tree, and
the people, who had no love for them nor knew what liberty was, easily
changed masters, perhaps hoping to gain something by the innovation.

Then began a new era for the Filipinos. They gradually lost their
ancient traditions, their recollections--they forgot their writings,
their songs, their poetry, their laws, in order to learn by heart
other doctrines, which they did not understand, other ethics,
other tastes, different from those inspired in their race by their
climate and their way of thinking. Then there was a falling-off,
they were lowered in their own eyes, they became ashamed of what was
distinctively their own, in order to admire and praise what was foreign
and incomprehensible: their spirit was broken and they acquiesced.

Thus years and centuries rolled on. Religious shows, rites that
caught the eye, songs, lights, images arrayed with gold, worship in
a strange language, legends, miracles and sermons, hypnotized the
already naturally superstitious spirit of the country, but did not
succeed in destroying it altogether, in spite of the whole system
afterwards developed and operated with unyielding tenacity.

When the ethical abasement of the inhabitants had reached this stage,
when they had become disheartened and disgusted with themselves,
an effort was made to add the final stroke for reducing so many
dormant wills and intellects to nothingness, in order to make of
the individual a sort of toiler, a brute, a beast of burden, and to
develop a race without mind or heart. Then the end sought was revealed,
it was taken for granted, the race was insulted, an effort was made
to deny it every virtue, every human characteristic, and there were
even writers and priests who pushed the movement still further by
trying to deny to the natives of the country not only capacity for
virtue but also even the tendency to vice.

Then this which they had thought would be death was sure
salvation. Some dying persons are restored to health by a heroic
remedy.

So great endurance reached its climax with the insults, and the
lethargic spirit woke to life. His sensitiveness, the chief trait of
the native, was touched, and while he had had the forbearance to suffer
and die under a foreign flag, he had it not when they whom he served
repaid his sacrifices with insults and jests. Then he began to study
himself and to realize his misfortune. Those who had not expected this
result, like all despotic masters, regarded as a wrong every complaint,
every protest, and punished it with death, endeavoring thus to stifle
every cry of sorrow with blood, and they made mistake after mistake.

The spirit of the people was not thereby cowed, and even though it had
been awakened in only a few hearts, its flame nevertheless was surely
and consumingly propagated, thanks to abuses and the stupid endeavors
of certain classes to stifle noble and generous sentiments. Thus when
a flame catches a garment, fear and confusion propagate it more and
more, and each shake, each blow, is a blast from the bellows to fan
it into life.

Undoubtedly during all this time there were not lacking generous and
noble spirits among the dominant race that tried to struggle for the
rights of humanity and justice, or sordid and cowardly ones among
the dominated that aided the debasement of their own country. But
both were exceptions and we are speaking in general terms.

Such is an outline of their past. We know their present. Now, what
will their future be?

Will the Philippine Islands continue to be a Spanish colony, and if
so, what kind of colony? Will they become a province of Spain, with
or without autonomy? And to reach this stage, what kind of sacrifices
will have to be made?

Will they be separated from the mother country to live independently,
to fall into the hands of other nations, or to ally themselves with
neighboring powers?

It is impossible to reply to these que
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PG #: 4363
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1. The Will to Truth, which is to tempt us to many a hazardous
enterprise, the famous Truthfulness of which all philosophers have
hitherto spoken with respect, what questions has this Will to Truth not
laid before us! What strange, perplexing, questionable questions! It is
already a long story; yet it seems as if it were hardly commenced. Is
it any wonder if we at last grow distrustful, lose patience, and turn
impatiently away? That this Sphinx teaches us at last to ask questions
ourselves? WHO is it really that puts questions to us here? WHAT really
is this "Will to Truth" in us? In fact we made a long halt at the
question as to the origin of this Will--until at last we came to an
absolute standstill before a yet more fundamental question. We inquired
about the VALUE of this Will. Granted that we want the truth: WHY NOT
RATHER untruth? And uncertainty? Even ignorance? The problem of the
value of truth presented itself before us--or was it we who presented
ourselves before the problem? Which of us is the Oedipus here? Which
the Sphinx? It would seem to be a rendezvous of questions and notes of
interrogation. And could it be believed that it at last seems to us as
if the problem had never been propounded before, as if we were the first
to discern it, get a sight of it, and RISK RAISING it? For there is risk
in raising it, perhaps there is no greater risk.

2. "HOW COULD anything originate out of its opposite? For example, truth
out of error? or the Will to Truth out of the will to deception? or the
generous deed out of selfishness? or the pure sun-bright vision of the
wise man out of covetousness? Such genesis is impossible; whoever dreams
of it is a fool, nay, worse than a fool; things of the highest
value must have a different origin, an origin of THEIR own--in this
transitory, seductive, illusory, paltry world, in this turmoil of
delusion and cupidity, they cannot have their source. But rather in
the lap of Being, in the intransitory, in the concealed God, in the
'Thing-in-itself--THERE must be their source, and nowhere else!"--This
mode of reasoning discloses the typical prejudice by which
metaphysicians of all times can be recognized, this mode of valuation
is at the back of all their logical procedure; through this "belief" of
theirs, they exert themselves for their "knowledge," for something that
is in the end solemnly christened "the Truth." The fundamental belief of
metaphysicians is THE BELIEF IN ANTITHESES OF VALUES. It never occurred
even to the wariest of them to doubt here on the very threshold (where
doubt, however, was most necessary); though they had made a solemn
vow, "DE OMNIBUS DUBITANDUM." For it may be doubted, firstly, whether
antitheses exist at all; and secondly, whether the popular valuations
and antitheses of value upon which metaphysicians have set their
seal, are not perhaps merely superficial estimates, merely provisional
perspectives, besides being probably made from some corner, perhaps from
below--"frog perspectives," as it were, to borrow an expression current
among painters. In spite of all the value which may belong to the true,
the positive, and the unselfish, it might be possible that a higher
and more fundamental value for life generally should be assigned to
pretence, to the will to delusion, to selfishness, and cupidity. It
might even be possible that WHAT constitutes the value of those good and
respected things, consists precisely in their being insidiously
related, knotted, and crocheted to these evil and apparently opposed
things--perhaps even in being essentially identical with them. Perhaps!
But who wishes to concern himself with such dangerous "Perhapses"!
For that investigation one must await the advent of a new order of
philosophers, such as will have other tastes and inclinations, the
reverse of those hitherto prevalent--philosophers of the dangerous
"Perhaps" in every sense of the term. And to speak in all seriousness, I
see such new philosophers beginning to appear.

3. Having kept a sharp eye on philosophers, and having read between
their lines long enough, I now say to myself that the greater part of
conscious thinking must be counted among the instinctive functions, and
it is so even in the case of philosophical thinking; one has here to
learn anew, as one learned anew about heredity and "innateness." As
little as the act of birth comes into consideration in the whole process
and procedure of heredity, just as little is "being-conscious" OPPOSED
to the instinctive in any decisive sense; the greater part of the
conscious thinking of a philosopher is secretly influenced by his
instincts, and forced into definite channels. And behind all logic and
its seeming sovereignty of movement, there are valuations, or to speak
more plainly, physiological demands, for the maintenance of a definite
mode of life For example, that the certain is worth more than the
uncertain, that illusion is less valuable than "truth" such valuations,
in spite of their regulative impo
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PG #: 863
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I had arrived at Styles on the 5th of July. I come now to the events of
the 16th and 17th of that month. For the convenience of the reader I
will recapitulate the incidents of those days in as exact a manner as
possible. They were elicited subsequently at the trial by a process of
long and tedious cross-examinations.

I received a letter from Evelyn Howard a couple of days after her
departure, telling me she was working as a nurse at the big hospital in
Middlingham, a manufacturing town some fifteen miles away, and begging
me to let her know if Mrs. Inglethorp should show any wish to be
reconciled.

The only fly in the ointment of my peaceful days was Mrs. Cavendish’s
extraordinary, and, for my part, unaccountable preference for the
society of Dr. Bauerstein. What she saw in the man I cannot imagine,
but she was always asking him up to the house, and often went off for
long expeditions with him. I must confess that I was quite unable to
see his attraction.

The 16th of July fell on a Monday. It was a day of turmoil. The famous
bazaar had taken place on Saturday, and an entertainment, in connection
with the same charity, at which Mrs. Inglethorp was to recite a War
poem, was to be held that night. We were all busy during the morning
arranging and decorating the Hall in the village where it was to take
place. We had a late luncheon and spent the afternoon resting in the
garden. I noticed that John’s manner was somewhat unusual. He seemed
very excited and restless.

After tea, Mrs. Inglethorp went to lie down to rest before her efforts
in the evening and I challenged Mary Cavendish to a single at tennis.

About a quarter to seven, Mrs. Inglethorp called us that we should be
late as supper was early that night. We had rather a scramble to get
ready in time; and before the meal was over the motor was waiting at
the door.

The entertainment was a great success, Mrs. Inglethorp’s recitation
receiving tremendous applause. There were also some tableaux in which
Cynthia took part. She did not return with us, having been asked to a
supper party, and to remain the night with some friends who had been
acting with her in the tableaux.

The following morning, Mrs. Inglethorp stayed in bed to breakfast, as
she was rather overtired; but she appeared in her briskest mood about
12.30, and swept Lawrence and myself off to a luncheon party.

“Such a charming invitation from Mrs. Rolleston. Lady Tadminster’s
sister, you know. The Rollestons came over with the Conqueror—one of
our oldest families.”

Mary had excused herself on the plea of an engagement with Dr.
Bauerstein.

We had a pleasant luncheon, and as we drove away Lawrence suggested
that we should return by Tadminster, which was barely a mile out of our
way, and pay a visit to Cynthia in her dispensary. Mrs. Inglethorp
replied that this was an excellent idea, but as she had several letters
to write she would drop us there, and we could come back with Cynthia
in the pony-trap.

We were detained under suspicion by the hospital porter, until Cynthia
appeared to vouch for us, looking very cool and sweet in her long white
overall. She took us up to her sanctum, and introduced us to her fellow
dispenser, a rather awe-inspiring individual, whom Cynthia cheerily
addressed as “Nibs.”

“What a lot of bottles!” I exclaimed, as my eye travelled round the
small room. “Do you really know what’s in them all?”

“Say something original,” groaned Cynthia. “Every single person who
comes up here says that. We are really thinking of bestowing a prize on
the first individual who does _not_ say: ‘What a lot of bottles!’ And I
know the next thing you’re going to say is: ‘How many people have you
poisoned?’”

I pleaded guilty with a laugh.

“If you people only knew how fatally easy it is to poison someone by
mistake, you wouldn’t joke about it. Come on, let’s have tea. We’ve got
all sorts of secret stories in that cupboard. No, Lawrence—that’s the
poison cupboard. The big cupboard—that’s right.”

We had a very cheery tea, and assisted Cynthia to wash up afterwards.
We had just put away the last tea-spoon when a knock came at the door.
The countenances of Cynthia and Nibs were suddenly petrified into a
stern and forbidding expression.

“Come in,” said Cynthia, in a sharp professional tone.

A young and rather scared looking nurse appeared with a bottle which
she proffered to Nibs, who waved her towards Cynthia with the somewhat
enigmatical remark:

“_I_’m not really here to-day.”

Cynthia took the bottle and examined it with the severity of a judge.

“This should have been sent up this morning.”

“Sister is very sorry. She forgot.”

“Sister should read the rules outside the door.”

I gathered from the little nurse’s expression that there was not the
least likelihood of her having the hardihood to retail this message to
the dreaded “Sister”.

“So now it can’t be done until to-morrow,” finished Cynthia.

“Don’t you think you could possibly let us have it to-night?”

“Well,” said Cynthia graciously,
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Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its
own way.

Everything was in confusion in the Oblonskys’ house. The wife had
discovered that the husband was carrying on an intrigue with a French
girl, who had been a governess in their family, and she had announced
to her husband that she could not go on living in the same house with
him. This position of affairs had now lasted three days, and not only
the husband and wife themselves, but all the members of their family
and household, were painfully conscious of it. Every person in the
house felt that there was no sense in their living together, and that
the stray people brought together by chance in any inn had more in
common with one another than they, the members of the family and
household of the Oblonskys. The wife did not leave her own room, the
husband had not been at home for three days. The children ran wild all
over the house; the English governess quarreled with the housekeeper,
and wrote to a friend asking her to look out for a new situation for
her; the man-cook had walked off the day before just at dinner time;
the kitchen-maid, and the coachman had given warning.

Three days after the quarrel, Prince Stepan Arkadyevitch
Oblonsky—Stiva, as he was called in the fashionable world—woke up at
his usual hour, that is, at eight o’clock in the morning, not in his
wife’s bedroom, but on the leather-covered sofa in his study. He turned
over his stout, well-cared-for person on the springy sofa, as though he
would sink into a long sleep again; he vigorously embraced the pillow
on the other side and buried his face in it; but all at once he jumped
up, sat up on the sofa, and opened his eyes.

“Yes, yes, how was it now?” he thought, going over his dream. “Now, how
was it? To be sure! Alabin was giving a dinner at Darmstadt; no, not
Darmstadt, but something American. Yes, but then, Darmstadt was in
America. Yes, Alabin was giving a dinner on glass tables, and the
tables sang, _Il mio tesoro_—not _Il mio tesoro_ though, but something
better, and there were some sort of little decanters on the table, and
they were women, too,” he remembered.

Stepan Arkadyevitch’s eyes twinkled gaily, and he pondered with a
smile. “Yes, it was nice, very nice. There was a great deal more that
was delightful, only there’s no putting it into words, or even
expressing it in one’s thoughts awake.” And noticing a gleam of light
peeping in beside one of the serge curtains, he cheerfully dropped his
feet over the edge of the sofa, and felt about with them for his
slippers, a present on his last birthday, worked for him by his wife on
gold-colored morocco. And, as he had done every day for the last nine
years, he stretched out his hand, without getting up, towards the place
where his dressing-gown always hung in his bedroom. And thereupon he
suddenly remembered that he was not sleeping in his wife’s room, but in
his study, and why: the smile vanished from his face, he knitted his
brows.

“Ah, ah, ah! Oo!...” he muttered, recalling everything that had
happened. And again every detail of his quarrel with his wife was
present to his imagination, all the hopelessness of his position, and
worst of all, his own fault.

“Yes, she won’t forgive me, and she can’t forgive me. And the most
awful thing about it is that it’s all my fault—all my fault, though I’m
not to blame. That’s the point of the whole situation,” he reflected.
“Oh, oh, oh!” he kept repeating in despair, as he remembered the
acutely painful sensations caused him by this quarrel.

Most unpleasant of all was the first minute when, on coming, happy and
good-humored, from the theater, with a huge pear in his hand for his
wife, he had not found his wife in the drawing-room, to his surprise
had not found her in the study either, and saw her at last in her
bedroom with the unlucky letter that revealed everything in her hand.

She, his Dolly, forever fussing and worrying over household details,
and limited in her ideas, as he considered, was sitting perfectly still
with the letter in her hand, looking at him with an expression of
horror, despair, and indignation.

“What’s this? this?” she asked, pointing to the letter.

And at this recollection, Stepan Arkadyevitch, as is so often the case,
was not so much annoyed at the fact itself as at the way in which he
had met his wife’s words.

There happened to him at that instant what does happen to people when
they are unexpectedly caught in something very disgraceful. He did not
succeed in adapting his face to the position in which he was placed
towards his wife by the discovery of his fault. Instead of being hurt,
denying, defending himself, begging forgiveness, instead of remaining
indifferent even—anything would have been better than what he did
do—his face utterly involuntarily (reflex spinal action, reflected
Stepan Arkadyevitch, who was fond of physiology)—utterly involuntarily
assumed its habitual, good-humored, and therefore idiotic smile.

This idiotic smile he
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Sir Walter Elliot, of Kellynch Hall, in Somersetshire, was a man who,
for his own amusement, never took up any book but the Baronetage; there
he found occupation for an idle hour, and consolation in a distressed
one; there his faculties were roused into admiration and respect, by
contemplating the limited remnant of the earliest patents; there any
unwelcome sensations, arising from domestic affairs changed naturally
into pity and contempt as he turned over the almost endless creations
of the last century; and there, if every other leaf were powerless, he
could read his own history with an interest which never failed.  This
was the page at which the favourite volume always opened:

           "ELLIOT OF KELLYNCH HALL.

"Walter Elliot, born March 1, 1760, married, July 15, 1784, Elizabeth,
daughter of James Stevenson, Esq. of South Park, in the county of
Gloucester, by which lady (who died 1800) he has issue Elizabeth, born
June 1, 1785; Anne, born August 9, 1787; a still-born son, November 5,
1789; Mary, born November 20, 1791."

Precisely such had the paragraph originally stood from the printer's
hands; but Sir Walter had improved it by adding, for the information of
himself and his family, these words, after the date of Mary's birth--
"Married, December 16, 1810, Charles, son and heir of Charles Musgrove,
Esq. of Uppercross, in the county of Somerset," and by inserting most
accurately the day of the month on which he had lost his wife.

Then followed the history and rise of the ancient and respectable
family, in the usual terms; how it had been first settled in Cheshire;
how mentioned in Dugdale, serving the office of high sheriff,
representing a borough in three successive parliaments, exertions of
loyalty, and dignity of baronet, in the first year of Charles II, with
all the Marys and Elizabeths they had married; forming altogether two
handsome duodecimo pages, and concluding with the arms and
motto:--"Principal seat, Kellynch Hall, in the county of Somerset," and
Sir Walter's handwriting again in this finale:--

"Heir presumptive, William Walter Elliot, Esq., great grandson of the
second Sir Walter."

Vanity was the beginning and the end of Sir Walter Elliot's character;
vanity of person and of situation.  He had been remarkably handsome in
his youth; and, at fifty-four, was still a very fine man.  Few women
could think more of their personal appearance than he did, nor could
the valet of any new made lord be more delighted with the place he held
in society.  He considered the blessing of beauty as inferior only to
the blessing of a baronetcy; and the Sir Walter Elliot, who united
these gifts, was the constant object of his warmest respect and
devotion.

His good looks and his rank had one fair claim on his attachment; since
to them he must have owed a wife of very superior character to any
thing deserved by his own.  Lady Elliot had been an excellent woman,
sensible and amiable; whose judgement and conduct, if they might be
pardoned the youthful infatuation which made her Lady Elliot, had never
required indulgence afterwards.--She had humoured, or softened, or
concealed his failings, and promoted his real respectability for
seventeen years; and though not the very happiest being in the world
herself, had found enough in her duties, her friends, and her children,
to attach her to life, and make it no matter of indifference to her
when she was called on to quit them.--Three girls, the two eldest
sixteen and fourteen, was an awful legacy for a mother to bequeath, an
awful charge rather, to confide to the authority and guidance of a
conceited, silly father.  She had, however, one very intimate friend, a
sensible, deserving woman, who had been brought, by strong attachment
to herself, to settle close by her, in the village of Kellynch; and on
her kindness and advice, Lady Elliot mainly relied for the best help
and maintenance of the good principles and instruction which she had
been anxiously giving her daughters.

This friend, and Sir Walter, did not marry, whatever might have been
anticipated on that head by their acquaintance.  Thirteen years had
passed away since Lady Elliot's death, and they were still near
neighbours and intimate friends, and one remained a widower, the other
a widow.

That Lady Russell, of steady age and character, and extremely well
provided for, should have no thought of a second marriage, needs no
apology to the public, which is rather apt to be unreasonably
discontented when a woman does marry again, than when she does not; but
Sir Walter's continuing in singleness requires explanation.  Be it
known then, that Sir Walter, like a good father, (having met with one
or two private disappointments in very unreasonable applications),
prided himself on remaining single for his dear daughters' sake.  For
one daughter, his eldest, he would really have given up any thing,
which he had not been very much tempted to do.  Elizabeth had
succeeded, at sixteen, to all that was possible, of her
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Ang sabing Noli me Tangere ay wikang latin. M~ga wika sa Evangelio ni
San Lúcas. Ang cahulugán sa wikang tagalog ay Huwag acong salan~gin nino
man. Tinatawag din namáng Noli me Tangere ang masamang bukol na
nacamamatay na Cancer cung pamagatán n~g m~ga pantás na mangagamot.



_Sa han~gad na ang m~ga librong NOLI ME TANGERE at FILIBUSTERISMO, na
kinatha n~g Dr. Jose Rizal ay maunáwa at málasapang magaling n~g
catagalugan, ang m~ga doo'y sinasabing nagpapakilala n~g tunay nating
calayaan at n~g dapat nating gawiin, at nacapagpapaálab, namán n~g
nin~gas n~g ating puso sa pag-ibig sa kinamulatang lupa, minatapat cong
ipalimbag ang isinawikang tagalog na m~ga librong yaon, sa dahilang sa
bilang na sampòng millong (sampong libong libo) filipino, humiguit
cumulang, ay walang dalawampong libo ang tunay na nacatatalos n~g wicang
castila na guinamit sa m~ga kinathang yaón._

_Cung pakinaban~gan n~g aking m~ga calahi itong wagás cong adhica,
walang cahulilip na towa ang aking tatamuhin, sa pagca't cahit
babahagya'y nacapaglicod acó sa Inang-Bayan._

_Maynila, unang araw n~g Junio n~g taong isang libo siyam na raan at
siyam._


Saturnina Rizal ni Hidalgo,

ó

NENENG RIZAL.




=NOLI ME TANGERE=

Catha sa wicang castila ni

=Dr. José Rizal=

at isinatagalog ni

=Pascual H. Poblete=




=SA AKING TINUBUANG LUPA=[1]

Nátatalà sa "historia"[2] n~g m~ga pagdaralità n~g sangcataohan ang
isáng "cáncer"[3] na lubháng nápacasamâ, na bahagyâ na lámang másalang
ay humáhapdi't napupucaw na roon ang lubháng makikirót na sakít. Gayón
din naman, cailán mang inibig cong icáw ay tawáguin sa guitnâ n~g m~ga
bágong "civilización"[4], sa han~gad co cung minsang caulayawin co ang
sa iyo'y pag-aalaala, at cung minsan nama'y n~g isumag co icáw sa m~ga
ibáng lupaín, sa towî na'y napakikita sa akin ang iyong larawang írog na
may tagláy n~g gayón ding cáncer sa pamamayan.

Palibhasa'y nais co ang iyong cagalin~gang siyáng cagalin~gan co rin
namán, at sa aking paghanap n~g lalong mabuting paraang sa iyo'y
paggamót, gágawin co sa iyo ang guinágawà n~g m~ga tao sa úna sa
canilang m~ga may sakít: caniláng itinátanghal ang m~ga may sakít na
iyan sa m~ga baitang n~g sambahan, at n~g bawa't manggaling sa pagtawag
sa Dios ay sa canilá'y ihatol ang isáng cagamutan.

At sa ganitóng adhica'y pagsisicapan cong sipîing waláng anó mang
pacundan~gan ang iyong tunay na calagayan, tatalicwasín co ang isáng
bahagui n~g cumot na nacatátakip sa sakít, na anó pa't sa pagsúyò sa
catotohanan ay iháhandog co ang lahát, sampô n~g pagmamahál sa sariling
dan~gál, sa pagcá't palibhasa'y anác mo'y tagláy co rin namán ang iyong
m~ga caculan~gán at m~ga carupucán n~g púsò.

Ang Cumatha.

Europa, 1886.


TALABABA:

[1] _A mi pátria_, ang sabi sa "original" na wicang castilà. Ang sabing
"pátria" ay waláng catumbas sa wícà natin cung dî: ang tinubuang lupà,
ang tinubuan bayan, ang kinaguisnang bayan, ang kinamulatang bayan, at
iba pa. N~guni't ang sinasabing bayan ò lupà rito'y saclaw ang boong
Sangcapuluang Filipinas, hindî ang lupang Naic ó bayang Malabon ó
lalawigang Tayabas, cung di ang capisanan n~g lahat n~g bayan, n~g lahat
n~g lalawigan sa boong Sangcapuluang ito, casama ang m~ga bundóc, gubat,
ilog, dagat at iba pa.--P.H.P.

[2] "Casaysayan n~g ano mang nangyayari." Ipinan~gun~gusap na "istoria";
sa pagka't sa wicang castila'y hindî isinasama ang h sa pagbasa--P.H.P.

[3] Ang cáncer ay masamáng "bùcol" ó bagâ, na hindî maisatagalog na
"bagâ" ó búcol, sa pagca't ibang iba sa m~ga sakit na itó. Caraniwang
napagagaling ang "bagâ" ó búcol, datapowa't ang "cáncer" ay hindî.
Bawa't dapuan n~g "cáncer" ay namamatay. Wala pang lunas na natatagpuan
ang m~ga pantás na manggagamot upang mapagalíng ang "cáncer", na cung
pamagatá'y "carcinoma." May nagsasabing napagagaling ang "carcinoma" sa
pamamag-itan n~g paglapláp sa búcol, cung panahóng bagong litáw, na
walang ano mang itítira, datapuwa't palibhasa'y hindî nararamdaman n~g
may sakít n~g carcinoma na siya'y mayroon nito, cung dî cung malubha na,
iyan ang cadahilana't walâ n~g magawâ ang m~ga cirujano. Ang caraniwang
dinadapuan n~g cáncer, carcinoma, ay ang m~ga taong bayan at hindi ang
taga bukid; at lalong madalas sa babae cay sa lalakí. Sa suso ó sa
bahay-bata madalás dumápò cung sa babae. Ang sakít na "cancer" ay
tinatawag na "Noli me tangere," na ang cahuluga'y "Howag acong salan~gín
nino man;" sapagca't cung laplapin at hindi macuhang maalís na lahat at
may matirang cahi't gagahanip man lamang ay nananag-ulî at lalong
lumalacas ang paglaganap, tulad sa inuulbusang halaman, damó ó cahoy na
lalong lumálacas ang paglagô, at pagcacagayo'y lalong nadadalî ang
pagcamatay n~g may sakit.--P.H.P.

[4] Tinatawag na civilización ang caliwanagan n~g isip dahîl sa
pag-aaral n~g m~ga bago't bagong dunong. Nagpasimula ang tinatawag na
"civilización moderna," ó bagong civilización, n~g icalabinglimang
siglo, at nacatulong na totoo na bagay na ito ang pagcátuclas n~g
limbagan.--P.H.P.




=NOLI ME TANGERE=


=I.=

=ISANG PAGCACAPISAN.
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Whether I shall turn out to be the hero of my own life, or whether that
station will be held by anybody else, these pages must show. To begin my
life with the beginning of my life, I record that I was born (as I have
been informed and believe) on a Friday, at twelve o’clock at night.
It was remarked that the clock began to strike, and I began to cry,
simultaneously.

In consideration of the day and hour of my birth, it was declared by
the nurse, and by some sage women in the neighbourhood who had taken a
lively interest in me several months before there was any possibility
of our becoming personally acquainted, first, that I was destined to be
unlucky in life; and secondly, that I was privileged to see ghosts and
spirits; both these gifts inevitably attaching, as they believed, to
all unlucky infants of either gender, born towards the small hours on a
Friday night.

I need say nothing here, on the first head, because nothing can show
better than my history whether that prediction was verified or falsified
by the result. On the second branch of the question, I will only remark,
that unless I ran through that part of my inheritance while I was still
a baby, I have not come into it yet. But I do not at all complain of
having been kept out of this property; and if anybody else should be in
the present enjoyment of it, he is heartily welcome to keep it.

I was born with a caul, which was advertised for sale, in the
newspapers, at the low price of fifteen guineas. Whether sea-going
people were short of money about that time, or were short of faith and
preferred cork jackets, I don’t know; all I know is, that there was but
one solitary bidding, and that was from an attorney connected with the
bill-broking business, who offered two pounds in cash, and the balance
in sherry, but declined to be guaranteed from drowning on any higher
bargain. Consequently the advertisement was withdrawn at a dead
loss--for as to sherry, my poor dear mother’s own sherry was in the
market then--and ten years afterwards, the caul was put up in a raffle
down in our part of the country, to fifty members at half-a-crown a
head, the winner to spend five shillings. I was present myself, and I
remember to have felt quite uncomfortable and confused, at a part of
myself being disposed of in that way. The caul was won, I recollect, by
an old lady with a hand-basket, who, very reluctantly, produced from it
the stipulated five shillings, all in halfpence, and twopence halfpenny
short--as it took an immense time and a great waste of arithmetic, to
endeavour without any effect to prove to her. It is a fact which will
be long remembered as remarkable down there, that she was never drowned,
but died triumphantly in bed, at ninety-two. I have understood that it
was, to the last, her proudest boast, that she never had been on the
water in her life, except upon a bridge; and that over her tea (to which
she was extremely partial) she, to the last, expressed her indignation
at the impiety of mariners and others, who had the presumption to go
‘meandering’ about the world. It was in vain to represent to her
that some conveniences, tea perhaps included, resulted from this
objectionable practice. She always returned, with greater emphasis and
with an instinctive knowledge of the strength of her objection, ‘Let us
have no meandering.’

Not to meander myself, at present, I will go back to my birth.

I was born at Blunderstone, in Suffolk, or ‘there by’, as they say in
Scotland. I was a posthumous child. My father’s eyes had closed upon
the light of this world six months, when mine opened on it. There is
something strange to me, even now, in the reflection that he never saw
me; and something stranger yet in the shadowy remembrance that I have
of my first childish associations with his white grave-stone in the
churchyard, and of the indefinable compassion I used to feel for it
lying out alone there in the dark night, when our little parlour
was warm and bright with fire and candle, and the doors of our house
were--almost cruelly, it seemed to me sometimes--bolted and locked
against it.

An aunt of my father’s, and consequently a great-aunt of mine, of whom
I shall have more to relate by and by, was the principal magnate of our
family. Miss Trotwood, or Miss Betsey, as my poor mother always called
her, when she sufficiently overcame her dread of this formidable
personage to mention her at all (which was seldom), had been married
to a husband younger than herself, who was very handsome, except in the
sense of the homely adage, ‘handsome is, that handsome does’--for he
was strongly suspected of having beaten Miss Betsey, and even of having
once, on a disputed question of supplies, made some hasty but determined
arrangements to throw her out of a two pair of stairs’ window. These
evidences of an incompatibility of temper induced Miss Betsey to pay him
off, and effect a separation by mutual consent. He went to India with
his capital, and there, according to a wild le
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The Romance of Lust


 (1873)


 A classic Victorian erotic novel


 1892 edition


 by Anonymous




 Contents

VOLUME I

VOLUME II

VOLUME III

VOLUME IV



VOLUME I.


CONTENTS


The Novice—Mrs. Benson—Mary—Mrs. Benson’s Correspondence with Mrs.
Egerton—Miss Evelyn—Eliza

There were three of us—Mary, Eliza, and myself. I was approaching
fifteen, Mary was about a year younger, and Eliza between twelve and
thirteen years of age. Mamma treated us all as children, and was blind
to the fact that I was no longer what I had been. Although not tall for
my age, nor outwardly presenting a manly appearance, my passions were
awakening, and the distinctive feature of my sex, although in repose it
looked magnificent enough, was very sufficiently developed when under
the influence of feminine excitement.

As yet, I had absolutely no knowledge of the uses of the different
organs of sex. My sisters and I all slept in the same room. They
together in one bed, I alone in another. When no one was present, we had
often mutually examined the different formations of our sexes.

We had discovered that mutual handlings gave a certain amount of
pleasing sensation; and, latterly, my eldest sister had discovered that
the hooding and unhooding of my doodle, as she called it, instantly
caused it to swell up and stiffen as hard as a piece of wood. My feeling
of her little pinky slit gave rise in her to nice sensations, but on the
slightest attempt to insert even my finger, the pain was too great. We
had made so little progress in the _attouchements_ that not the
slightest inkling of what could be done in that way dawned upon us. I
had begun to develop a slight growth of moss-like curls round the root
of my cock; and then, to our surprise, Mary began to show a similar
tendency. As yet, Eliza was as bald as her hand, but both were prettily
formed, with wonderfully full and fat mounts of Venus. We were perfectly
innocent of guile and quite habituated to let each other look at all our
naked bodies without the slightest hesitation; and when playing in the
garden, if one wanted to relieve the pressure on the bladder, we all
squatted down together, and crossed waters, each trying who could piddle
fastest. Notwithstanding these symptoms of passion when excited, in a
state of calm I might have passed for a boy of ten or eleven.

My father had left us but moderately provided for, and mamma, wishing to
live comfortably, preferred giving me lessons along with my sisters at
home to sending me to school; but her health beginning to fail, she
inserted an advertisement in the _Times_ for a governess. Out of a large
number of applicants, a young lady, of the name of Evelyn, was selected.
Some ten days afterwards she arrived, and became one of the family.

We did not see much of her the first evening, but after breakfast the
following morning, mamma accompanied her to what was considered our
schoolroom, and said, “Now, my dears, I place you under Miss Evelyn’s
care; you must obey her in all things; she will teach you your lessons,
as I am unable to do so any longer.” Then, turning to our new governess,
“I fear you will find them somewhat spoiled, and unruly; but there is a
horse, and Susan will make you excellent birch rods whenever you require
them. If you spare their bottoms when they deserve whipping, you will
seriously offend me.” As mamma said this, I observed Miss Evelyn’s eyes
appeared to dilate with a sort of joy, and I felt certain that, severely
as mamma had often whipped us, if we should now deserve it, Miss Evelyn
would administer it much more severely. She looked amiability itself,
and was truly beautiful in face and person, twenty-two years of age,
full and finely formed, and dressed always with the most studied
neatness. She was, in truth, a seductive creature. She made an
instantaneous impression on my senses. There was, however, somewhat of a
sternness of expression, and a dignity of carriage, which caused at once
to fear and respect her. Of course, at first, all went smoothly enough,
and seeing that mamma treated me precisely as she did my sisters, I came
to be regarded as quite a child by Miss Evelyn. She found that she had
to sleep in the same room with my sisters and myself. I fancied that on
the first night Miss Evelyn did not approve of this arrangement, but
gradually became familiarized with it, and seemed to think no more about
it.

When bedtime came, we all kissed mamma and retired early, as usual. Miss
Evelyn followed some hours later. When she came in, she carefully locked
the door, then looked at me to see if I was asleep. Why, I know not, but
I was instinctively prompted to feign sleep. I did so successfully,
notwithstanding the passing of the candle before my eyes. So she at once
commenced undressing. When her back was turned, I opened my eyes, and
greedily devoured her naked charms as they were gradually exhibited
before me. The moment she turned round, I was again as if asleep. I have
said that my passions had begun to d
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I was born in the year 1632, in the city of York, of a good family,
though not of that country, my father being a foreigner of Bremen, who
settled first at Hull. He got a good estate by merchandise, and leaving
off his trade, lived afterwards at York, from whence he had married my
mother, whose relations were named Robinson, a very good family in that
country, and from whom I was called Robinson Kreutznaer; but, by the
usual corruption of words in England, we are now called—nay we call
ourselves and write our name—Crusoe; and so my companions always called
me.

I had two elder brothers, one of whom was lieutenant-colonel to an
English regiment of foot in Flanders, formerly commanded by the famous
Colonel Lockhart, and was killed at the battle near Dunkirk against the
Spaniards. What became of my second brother I never knew, any more than
my father or mother knew what became of me.

Being the third son of the family and not bred to any trade, my head
began to be filled very early with rambling thoughts. My father, who
was very ancient, had given me a competent share of learning, as far as
house-education and a country free school generally go, and designed me
for the law; but I would be satisfied with nothing but going to sea;
and my inclination to this led me so strongly against the will, nay,
the commands of my father, and against all the entreaties and
persuasions of my mother and other friends, that there seemed to be
something fatal in that propensity of nature, tending directly to the
life of misery which was to befall me.

My father, a wise and grave man, gave me serious and excellent counsel
against what he foresaw was my design. He called me one morning into
his chamber, where he was confined by the gout, and expostulated very
warmly with me upon this subject. He asked me what reasons, more than a
mere wandering inclination, I had for leaving father’s house and my
native country, where I might be well introduced, and had a prospect of
raising my fortune by application and industry, with a life of ease and
pleasure. He told me it was men of desperate fortunes on one hand, or
of aspiring, superior fortunes on the other, who went abroad upon
adventures, to rise by enterprise, and make themselves famous in
undertakings of a nature out of the common road; that these things were
all either too far above me or too far below me; that mine was the
middle state, or what might be called the upper station of low life,
which he had found, by long experience, was the best state in the
world, the most suited to human happiness, not exposed to the miseries
and hardships, the labour and sufferings of the mechanic part of
mankind, and not embarrassed with the pride, luxury, ambition, and envy
of the upper part of mankind. He told me I might judge of the happiness
of this state by this one thing—viz. that this was the state of life
which all other people envied; that kings have frequently lamented the
miserable consequence of being born to great things, and wished they
had been placed in the middle of the two extremes, between the mean and
the great; that the wise man gave his testimony to this, as the
standard of felicity, when he prayed to have neither poverty nor
riches.

He bade me observe it, and I should always find that the calamities of
life were shared among the upper and lower part of mankind, but that
the middle station had the fewest disasters, and was not exposed to so
many vicissitudes as the higher or lower part of mankind; nay, they
were not subjected to so many distempers and uneasinesses, either of
body or mind, as those were who, by vicious living, luxury, and
extravagances on the one hand, or by hard labour, want of necessaries,
and mean or insufficient diet on the other hand, bring distemper upon
themselves by the natural consequences of their way of living; that the
middle station of life was calculated for all kind of virtue and all
kind of enjoyments; that peace and plenty were the handmaids of a
middle fortune; that temperance, moderation, quietness, health,
society, all agreeable diversions, and all desirable pleasures, were
the blessings attending the middle station of life; that this way men
went silently and smoothly through the world, and comfortably out of
it, not embarrassed with the labours of the hands or of the head, not
sold to a life of slavery for daily bread, nor harassed with perplexed
circumstances, which rob the soul of peace and the body of rest, nor
enraged with the passion of envy, or the secret burning lust of
ambition for great things; but, in easy circumstances, sliding gently
through the world, and sensibly tasting the sweets of living, without
the bitter; feeling that they are happy, and learning by every day’s
experience to know it more sensibly.

After this he pressed me earnestly, and in the most affectionate
manner, not to play the young man, nor to precipitate myself into
miseries which nature, and the station of life I was born in, seemed to
have provided again
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It was after Bourbaki's defeat in the east of France. The army, broken
up, decimated, and worn out, had been obliged to retreat into
Switzerland after that terrible campaign, and it was only its short
duration that saved a hundred and fifty thousand men from certain death.
Hunger, the terrible cold, forced marches in the snow without boots,
over bad mountain roads, had caused us 'francs-tireurs', especially, the
greatest suffering, for we were without tents, and almost without food,
always in the van when we were marching toward Belfort, and in the rear
when returning by the Jura. Of our little band that had numbered twelve
hundred men on the first of January, there remained only twenty-two
pale, thin, ragged wretches, when we at length succeeded in reaching
Swiss territory.

There we were safe, and could rest. Everybody knows what sympathy was
shown to the unfortunate French army, and how well it was cared for. We
all gained fresh life, and those who had been rich and happy before the
war declared that they had never experienced a greater feeling of
comfort than they did then. Just think. We actually had something to eat
every day, and could sleep every night.

Meanwhile, the war continued in the east of France, which had been
excluded from the armistice. Besancon still kept the enemy in check, and
the latter had their revenge by ravaging Franche Comte. Sometimes we
heard that they had approached quite close to the frontier, and we saw
Swiss troops, who were to form a line of observation between us and
them, set out on their march.

That pained us in the end, and, as we regained health and strength, the
longing to fight took possession of us. It was disgraceful and
irritating to know that within two or three leagues of us the Germans
were victorious and insolent, to feel that we were protected by our
captivity, and to feel that on that account we were powerless against
them.

One day our captain took five or six of us aside, and spoke to us about
it, long and furiously. He was a fine fellow, that captain. He had been
a sublieutenant in the Zouaves, was tall and thin and as hard as steel,
and during the whole campaign he had cut out their work for the Germans.
He fretted in inactivity, and could not accustom himself to the idea of
being a prisoner and of doing nothing.

“Confound it!” he said to us, “does it not pain you to know that there
is a number of uhlans within two hours of us? Does it not almost drive
you mad to know that those beggarly wretches are walking about as
masters in our mountains, when six determined men might kill a whole
spitful any day? I cannot endure it any longer, and I must go there.”

“But how can you manage it, captain?”

“How? It is not very difficult! Just as if we had not done a thing or
two within the last six months, and got out of woods that were guarded
by very different men from the Swiss. The day that you wish to cross
over into France, I will undertake to get you there.”

“That may be; but what shall we do in France without any arms?”

“Without arms? We will get them over yonder, by Jove!”

“You are forgetting the treaty,” another soldier said; “we shall run the
risk of doing the Swiss an injury, if Manteuffel learns that they have
allowed prisoners to return to France.”

“Come,” said the captain, “those are all bad reasons. I mean to go and
kill some Prussians; that is all I care about. If you do not wish to do
as I do, well and good; only say so at once. I can quite well go by
myself; I do not require anybody's company.”

Naturally we all protested, and, as it was quite impossible to make the
captain alter his mind, we felt obliged to promise to go with him. We
liked him too much to leave him in the lurch, as he never failed us in
any extremity; and so the expedition was decided on.


The captain had a plan of his own, that he had been cogitating over for
some time. A man in that part of the country whom he knew was going to
lend him a cart and six suits of peasants' clothes. We could hide under
some straw at the bottom of the wagon, which would be loaded with
Gruyere cheese, which he was supposed to be going to sell in France. The
captain told the sentinels that he was taking two friends with him to
protect his goods, in case any one should try to rob him, which did not
seem an extraordinary precaution. A Swiss officer seemed to look at the
wagon in a knowing manner, but that was in order to impress his
soldiers. In a word, neither officers nor men could make it out.

“Get up,” the captain said to the horses, as he cracked his whip, while
our three men quietly smoked their pipes. I was half suffocated in my
box, which only admitted the air through those holes in front, and at
the same time I was nearly frozen, for it was terribly cold.

“Get up,” the captain said again, and the wagon loaded with Gruyere
cheese entered France.

The Prussian lines were very badly guarded, as the enemy trusted to the
watchfulness of the Swiss. The sergeant spoke North German, while our
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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THE DIVINE COMEDY


THE VISION

OF

HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE

BY

DANTE ALIGHIERI






PARADISE

Complete



TRANSLATED BY

THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A.



PARADISE



LIST OF CANTOS
Canto 1
Canto 2
Canto 3
Canto 4
Canto 5
Canto 6
Canto 7
Canto 8
Canto 9
Canto 10
Canto 11
Canto 12
Canto 13
Canto 14
Canto 15
Canto 16
Canto 17
Canto 18
Canto 19
Canto 20
Canto 21
Canto 22
Canto 23
Canto 24
Canto 25
Canto 26
Canto 27
Canto 28
Canto 29
Canto 30
Canto 31
Canto 32
Canto 33




CANTO I

His glory, by whose might all things are mov'd,
Pierces the universe, and in one part
Sheds more resplendence, elsewhere less.  In heav'n,
That largeliest of his light partakes, was I,
Witness of things, which to relate again
Surpasseth power of him who comes from thence;
For that, so near approaching its desire
Our intellect is to such depth absorb'd,
That memory cannot follow.  Nathless all,
That in my thoughts I of that sacred realm
Could store, shall now be matter of my song.

Benign Apollo! this last labour aid,
And make me such a vessel of thy worth,
As thy own laurel claims of me belov'd.
Thus far hath one of steep Parnassus' brows
Suffic'd me; henceforth there is need of both
For my remaining enterprise Do thou
Enter into my bosom, and there breathe
So, as when Marsyas by thy hand was dragg'd
Forth from his limbs unsheath'd.  O power divine!
If thou to me of shine impart so much,
That of that happy realm the shadow'd form
Trac'd in my thoughts I may set forth to view,
Thou shalt behold me of thy favour'd tree
Come to the foot, and crown myself with leaves;
For to that honour thou, and my high theme
Will fit me.  If but seldom, mighty Sire!
To grace his triumph gathers thence a wreath
Caesar or bard (more shame for human wills
Deprav'd) joy to the Delphic god must spring
From the Pierian foliage, when one breast
Is with such thirst inspir'd.  From a small spark
Great flame hath risen: after me perchance
Others with better voice may pray, and gain
From the Cirrhaean city answer kind.

Through diver passages, the world's bright lamp
Rises to mortals, but through that which joins
Four circles with the threefold cross, in best
Course, and in happiest constellation set
He comes, and to the worldly wax best gives
Its temper and impression.  Morning there,
Here eve was by almost such passage made;
And whiteness had o'erspread that hemisphere,
Blackness the other part; when to the left
I saw Beatrice turn'd, and on the sun
Gazing, as never eagle fix'd his ken.
As from the first a second beam is wont
To issue, and reflected upwards rise,
E'en as a pilgrim bent on his return,
So of her act, that through the eyesight pass'd
Into my fancy, mine was form'd; and straight,
Beyond our mortal wont, I fix'd mine eyes
Upon the sun.  Much is allowed us there,
That here exceeds our pow'r; thanks to the place
Made for the dwelling of the human kind

I suffer'd it not long, and yet so long
That I beheld it bick'ring sparks around,
As iron that comes boiling from the fire.
And suddenly upon the day appear'd
A day new-ris'n, as he, who hath the power,
Had with another sun bedeck'd the sky.

Her eyes fast fix'd on the eternal wheels,
Beatrice stood unmov'd; and I with ken
Fix'd upon her, from upward gaze remov'd
At her aspect, such inwardly became
As Glaucus, when he tasted of the herb,
That made him peer among the ocean gods;
Words may not tell of that transhuman change:
And therefore let the example serve, though weak,
For those whom grace hath better proof in store

If I were only what thou didst create,
Then newly, Love! by whom the heav'n is rul'd,
Thou know'st, who by thy light didst bear me up.
Whenas the wheel which thou dost ever guide,
Desired Spirit! with its harmony
Temper'd of thee and measur'd, charm'd mine ear,
Then seem'd to me so much of heav'n to blaze
With the sun's flame, that rain or flood ne'er made
A lake so broad.  The newness of the sound,
And that great light, inflam'd me with desire,
Keener than e'er was felt, to know their cause.

Whence she who saw me, clearly as myself,
To calm my troubled mind, before I ask'd,
Open'd her lips, and gracious thus began:
"With false imagination thou thyself
Mak'st dull, so that thou seest not the thing,
Which thou hadst seen, had that been shaken off.
Thou art not on the earth as thou believ'st;
For light'ning scap'd from its own proper place
Ne'er ran, as thou hast hither now return'd."

Although divested of my first-rais'd doubt,
By those brief words, accompanied with smiles,
Yet in new doubt was I entangled more,
And said: "Already satisfied, I rest
From admiration deep, but now admire
How I above those lighter bodies rise."

Whence, after utt'rance of a piteous sigh,
She tow'rds me bent her eyes, with such a look,
As on her frenzied child a mother casts;
Then thus began: "Among themselves all things
Have order; and from hence the form, which makes
The universe resemble God.  In this
The higher creatures see the printed steps
Of that eternal worth, which is the end
Whither the line is
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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Proofreading Team.










THE

INTERESTING NARRATIVE

OF

THE LIFE

OF

OLAUDAH EQUIANO,

OR

GUSTAVUS VASSA,

THE AFRICAN.

_WRITTEN BY HIMSELF._


     _Behold, God is my salvation; I will trust and not be
         afraid, for the Lord Jehovah is my strength and my
         song; he also is become my salvation.
     And in that shall ye say, Praise the Lord, call upon his
     name, declare his doings among the people. Isaiah xii. 2, 4._



LONDON:

Printed for and sold by the Author, No. 10, Union-Street,
Middlesex Hospital


Sold also by Mr. Johnson, St. Paul's Church-Yard; Mr.
     Murray, Fleet-Street; Messrs. Robson and Clark, Bond-Street;
     Mr. Davis, opposite Gray's Inn, Holborn; Messrs. Shepperson
     and Reynolds, and Mr. Jackson, Oxford Street; Mr.
     Lackington, Chiswell-Street; Mr. Mathews, Strand; Mr.
     Murray, Prince's-Street, Soho; Mess. Taylor and Co. South
     Arch, Royal Exchange; Mr. Button, Newington-Causeway; Mr.
     Parsons, Paternoster-Row; and may be had of all the
     Booksellers in Town and Country.

[Entered at Stationer's Hall.]




[Illustration: Olaudah Equiano or GUSTAVUS VASSA, _the African_]




To the Lords Spiritual and Temporal, and the Commons of the
Parliament of Great Britain.


_My Lords and Gentlemen_,

Permit me, with the greatest deference and respect, to lay at your
feet the following genuine Narrative; the chief design of which is to
excite in your august assemblies a sense of compassion for the
miseries which the Slave-Trade has entailed on my unfortunate
countrymen. By the horrors of that trade was I first torn away from
all the tender connexions that were naturally dear to my heart; but
these, through the mysterious ways of Providence, I ought to regard as
infinitely more than compensated by the introduction I have thence
obtained to the knowledge of the Christian religion, and of a nation
which, by its liberal sentiments, its humanity, the glorious freedom
of its government, and its proficiency in arts and sciences, has
exalted the dignity of human nature.

I am sensible I ought to entreat your pardon for addressing to you a
work so wholly devoid of literary merit; but, as the production of an
unlettered African, who is actuated by the hope of becoming an
instrument towards the relief of his suffering countrymen, I trust
that _such a man_, pleading in _such a cause_, will be acquitted of
boldness and presumption.

May the God of heaven inspire your hearts with peculiar benevolence on
that important day when the question of Abolition is to be discussed,
when thousands, in consequence of your Determination, are to look for
Happiness or Misery!

                                       I am,
                             My Lords and Gentlemen,
                                       Your most obedient,
                               And devoted humble Servant,
                                       Olaudah Equiano,
                                             or
                                        Gustavus Vassa.

     Union-Street, Mary-le-bone,
     March 24, 1789.




LIST of SUBSCRIBERS.


     His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales.
     His Royal Highness the Duke of York.


     A

     The Right Hon. the Earl of Ailesbury
     Admiral Affleck
     Mr. William Abington, 2 copies
     Mr. John Abraham
     James Adair, Esq.
     Reverend Mr. Aldridge
     Mr. John Almon
     Mrs. Arnot
     Mr. Joseph Armitage
     Mr. Joseph Ashpinshaw
     Mr. Samuel Atkins
     Mr. John Atwood
     Mr. Thomas Atwood
     Mr. Ashwell
     J.C. Ashworth, Esq.


     B

     His Grace the Duke of Bedford
     Her Grace the Duchess of Buccleugh
     The Right Rev. the Lord Bishop of Bangor
     The Right Hon. Lord Belgrave
     The Rev. Doctor Baker
     Mrs. Baker
     Matthew Baillie, M.D.
     Mrs. Baillie
     Miss Baillie
     Miss J. Baillie
     David Barclay, Esq.
     Mr. Robert Barrett
     Mr. William Barrett
     Mr. John Barnes
     Mr. John Basnett
     Mr. Bateman
     Mrs. Baynes, 2 copies
     Mr. Thomas Bellamy
     Mr. J. Benjafield
     Mr. William Bennett
     Mr. Bensley
     Mr. Samuel Benson
     Mrs. Benton
     Reverend Mr. Bentley
     Mr. Thomas Bently
     Sir John Berney, Bart.
     Alexander Blair, Esq.
     James Bocock, Esq.
     Mrs. Bond
     Miss Bond
     Mrs. Borckhardt
     Mrs. E. Bouverie
     ---- Brand, Esq.
     Mr. Martin Brander
     F.J. Brown, Esq. M.P. 2 copies
     W. Buttall, Esq.
     Mr. Buxton
     Mr. R.L.B.
     Mr. Thomas Burton, 6 copies
     Mr. W. Button


     C

     The Right Hon. Lord Cathcart
     The Right Hon. H.S. Conway
     Lady Almiria Carpenter
     James Carr, Esq.
     Charles Carter, Esq.
     Mr. James Chalmers
     Captain John Clarkson, of the Royal Navy
     The Rev. Mr. Thomas Clarkson, 2 copies
     Mr. R. Clay
     Mr. William Clout
     Mr. George Club
     Mr. John Cobb
     Miss Calwell
     Mr. Thomas Cooper
     Richard Cosway, Esq.
     Mr. James Coxe
     Mr. J.C.
    
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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Plays by

Susan Glaspell


TRIFLES

THE OUTSIDE

THE VERGE

INHERITORS




TRIFLES


First performed by the Provincetown Players at the Wharf Theatre,
Provincetown, Mass., August 8, 1916.


GEORGE HENDERSON (County Attorney)

HENRY PETERS (Sheriff)

LEWIS HALE, A neighboring farmer

MRS PETERS

MRS HALE


SCENE: _The kitchen is the now abandoned farmhouse of_ JOHN WRIGHT, _a
gloomy kitchen, and left without having been put in order--unwashed pans
under the sink, a loaf of bread outside the bread-box, a dish-towel on
the table--other signs of incompleted work. At the rear the outer door
opens and the_ SHERIFF _comes in followed by the_ COUNTY ATTORNEY _and_
HALE. _The_ SHERIFF _and_ HALE _are men in middle life, the_ COUNTY
ATTORNEY _is a young man; all are much bundled up and go at once to the
stove. They are followed by the two women--the_ SHERIFF_'s wife first;
she is a slight wiry woman, a thin nervous face_. MRS HALE _is larger
and would ordinarily be called more comfortable looking, but she is
disturbed now and looks fearfully about as she enters. The women have
come in slowly, and stand close together near the door_.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: (_rubbing his hands_) This feels good. Come up to the
fire, ladies.

MRS PETERS: (_after taking a step forward_) I'm not--cold.

SHERIFF: (_unbuttoning his overcoat and stepping away from the stove as
if to mark the beginning of official business_) Now, Mr Hale, before we
move things about, you explain to Mr Henderson just what you saw when
you came here yesterday morning.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: By the way, has anything been moved? Are things just as
you left them yesterday?

SHERIFF: (_looking about_) It's just the same. When it dropped below
zero last night I thought I'd better send Frank out this morning to make
a fire for us--no use getting pneumonia with a big case on, but I told
him not to touch anything except the stove--and you know Frank.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: Somebody should have been left here yesterday.

SHERIFF: Oh--yesterday. When I had to send Frank to Morris Center for
that man who went crazy--I want you to know I had my hands full
yesterday. I knew you could get back from Omaha by today and as long as
I went over everything here myself--

COUNTY ATTORNEY: Well, Mr Hale, tell just what happened when you came
here yesterday morning.

HALE: Harry and I had started to town with a load of potatoes. We came
along the road from my place and as I got here I said, I'm going to see
if I can't get John Wright to go in with me on a party telephone.' I
spoke to Wright about it once before and he put me off, saying folks
talked too much anyway, and all he asked was peace and quiet--I guess
you know about how much he talked himself; but I thought maybe if I went
to the house and talked about it before his wife, though I said to Harry
that I didn't know as what his wife wanted made much difference to
John--

COUNTY ATTORNEY: Let's talk about that later, Mr Hale. I do want to talk
about that, but tell now just what happened when you got to the house.

HALE: I didn't hear or see anything; I knocked at the door, and still it
was all quiet inside. I knew they must be up, it was past eight o'clock.
So I knocked again, and I thought I heard somebody say, 'Come in.' I
wasn't sure, I'm not sure yet, but I opened the door--this door
(_indicating the door by which the two women are still standing_) and
there in that rocker--(_pointing to it_) sat Mrs Wright.

(_They all look at the rocker_.)

COUNTY ATTORNEY: What--was she doing?

HALE: She was rockin' back and forth. She had her apron in her hand and
was kind of--pleating it.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: And how did she--look?

HALE: Well, she looked queer.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: How do you mean--queer?

HALE: Well, as if she didn't know what she was going to do next. And
kind of done up.

COUNTY ATTORNEY: How did she seem to feel about your coming?

HALE: Why, I don't think she minded--one way or other. She didn't pay
much attention. I said, 'How do, Mrs Wright it's cold, ain't it?' And
she said, 'Is it?'--and went on kind of pleating at her apron. Well, I
was surprised; she didn't ask me to come up to the stove, or to set
down, but just sat there, not even looking at me, so I said, 'I want to
see John.' And then she--laughed. I guess you would call it a laugh. I
thought of Harry and the team outside, so I said a little sharp: 'Can't
I see John?' 'No', she says, kind o' dull like. 'Ain't he home?' says I.
'Yes', says she, 'he's home'. 'Then why can't I see him?' I asked her,
out of patience. ''Cause he's dead', says she. _'Dead_?' says I. She
just nodded her head, not getting a bit excited, but rockin' back and
forth. 'Why--where is he?' says I, not knowing what to say. She just
pointed upstairs--like that (_himself pointing to the room above_) I got
up, with the idea of going up there. I walked from there to here--then I
says, 'Why, what did he die of?' 'He died of a rope round his neck',
says she, and just went on pleatin' at 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 7370
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/7370

SECOND TREATISE OF GOVERNMENT by JOHN LOCKE

Digitized by Dave Gowan <dgowan@tfn.net>. John Locke's "Second Treatise of Government"
was published in 1690. The complete unabridged text has been republished
several times in edited commentaries. This text is recovered entire from
the paperback book, "John Locke Second Treatise of Government", Edited,
with an Introduction, By C.B. McPherson, Hackett Publishing Company,
Indianapolis and Cambridge, 1980. None of the McPherson edition is
included in the Etext below; only the original words contained in the
1690 Locke text is included. The 1690 edition text is free of copyright.

       *       *       *       *       *


TWO TREATISES OF GOVERNMENT


BY IOHN LOCKE


SALUS POPULI SUPREMA LEX ESTO

LONDON PRINTED MDCLXXXVIII

REPRINTED, THE SIXTH TIME, BY A. MILLAR, H. WOODFALL, 1. WHISTON AND B.
WHITE, 1. RIVINGTON, L. DAVIS AND C. REYMERS, R. BALDWIN, HAWES CLARKE
AND COLLINS; W. IOHNSTON, W. OWEN, 1. RICHARDSON, S. CROWDER, T.
LONGMAN, B. LAW, C. RIVINGTON, E. DILLY, R. WITHY, C. AND R. WARE, S.
BAKER, T. PAYNE, A. SHUCKBURGH, 1. HINXMAN

MDCCLXIII

TWO TREATISES OF GOVERNMENT. IN THE FORMER THE FALSE PRINCIPLES AND
FOUNDATION OF SIR ROBERT FILMER AND HIS FOLLOWERS ARE DETECTED AND
OVERTHROWN. THE LATTER IS AN ESSAY CONCERNING THE TRUE ORIGINAL EXTENT
AND END OF CIVIL GOVERNMENT.


1764 EDITOR'S NOTE The present Edition of this Book has not only been
collated with the first three Editions, which were published during the
Author's Life, but also has the Advantage of his last Corrections and
Improvements, from a Copy delivered by him to Mr. Peter Coste,
communicated to the Editor, and now lodged in Christ College, Cambridge.




PREFACE

Reader, thou hast here the beginning and end of a discourse concerning
government; what fate has otherwise disposed of the papers that should
have filled up the middle, and were more than all the rest, it is not
worth while to tell thee. These, which remain, I hope are sufficient to
establish the throne of our great restorer, our present King William; to
make good his title, in the consent of the people, which being the only
one of all lawful governments, he has more fully and clearly, than any
prince in Christendom; and to justify to the world the people of
England, whose love of their just and natural rights, with their
resolution to preserve them, saved the nation when it was on the very
brink of slavery and ruin. If these papers have that evidence, I flatter
myself is to be found in them, there will be no great miss of those
which are lost, and my reader may be satisfied without them: for I
imagine, I shall have neither the time, nor inclination to repeat my
pains, and fill up the wanting part of my answer, by tracing Sir Robert
again, through all the windings and obscurities, which are to be met
with in the several branches of his wonderful system. The king, and body
of the nation, have since so thoroughly confuted his Hypothesis, that I
suppose no body hereafter will have either the confidence to appear
against our common safety, and be again an advocate for slavery; or the
weakness to be deceived with contradictions dressed up in a popular
stile, and well-turned periods: for if any one will be at the pains,
himself, in those parts, which are here untouched, to strip Sir Robert's
discourses of the flourish of doubtful expressions, and endeavour to
reduce his words to direct, positive, intelligible propositions, and
then compare them one with another, he will quickly be satisfied, there
was never so much glib nonsense put together in well-sounding English.
If he think it not worth while to examine his works all thro', let him
make an experiment in that part, where he treats of usurpation; and let
him try, whether he can, with all his skill, make Sir Robert
intelligible, and consistent with himself, or common sense. I should not
speak so plainly of a gentleman, long since past answering, had not the
pulpit, of late years, publicly owned his doctrine, and made it the
current divinity of the times. It is necessary those men, who taking on
them to be teachers, have so dangerously misled others, should be openly
shewed of what authority this their Patriarch is, whom they have so
blindly followed, that so they may either retract what upon so ill
grounds they have vented, and cannot be maintained; or else justify
those principles which they preached up for gospel; though they had no
better an author than an English courtier: for I should not have writ
against Sir Robert, or taken the pains to shew his mistakes,
inconsistencies, and want of (what he so much boasts of, and pretends
wholly to build on) scripture-proofs, were there not men amongst us,
who, by crying up his books, and espousing his doctrine, save me from
the reproach of writing against a dead adversary. They have been so
zealous in this point, that, if I have done him any wrong, I cannot hope
they should spare me. I wish, where they have done the truth and the
public wron
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 61
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Transcribed by Allen Lutins with assistance from Jim Tarzia.








MANIFESTO OF THE COMMUNIST PARTY

[From the English edition of 1888, edited by Friedrich Engels]


A spectre is haunting Europe--the spectre of Communism.
All the Powers of old Europe have entered into a holy alliance to
exorcise this spectre: Pope and Czar, Metternich and Guizot,
French Radicals and German police-spies.

Where is the party in opposition that has not been decried as
Communistic by its opponents in power?  Where is the Opposition
that has not hurled back the branding reproach of Communism,
against the more advanced opposition parties, as well as against
its reactionary adversaries?

Two things result from this fact.

I.  Communism is already acknowledged by all European Powers
to be itself a Power.

II.  It is high time that Communists should openly, in the
face of the whole world, publish their views, their aims, their
tendencies, and meet this nursery tale of the Spectre of
Communism with a Manifesto of the party itself.

To this end, Communists of various nationalities have
assembled in London, and sketched the following Manifesto, to be
published in the English, French, German, Italian, Flemish and
Danish languages.



I.  BOURGEOIS AND PROLETARIANS

The history of all hitherto existing societies is the history
of class struggles.

Freeman and slave, patrician and plebeian, lord and serf,
guild-master and journeyman, in a word, oppressor and oppressed,
stood in constant opposition to one another, carried on an
uninterrupted, now hidden, now open fight, a fight that each time
ended, either in a revolutionary re-constitution of society at
large, or in the common ruin of the contending classes.

In the earlier epochs of history, we find almost everywhere a
complicated arrangement of society into various orders, a
manifold gradation of social rank.  In ancient Rome we have
patricians, knights, plebeians, slaves; in the Middle Ages,
feudal lords, vassals, guild-masters, journeymen, apprentices,
serfs; in almost all of these classes, again, subordinate
gradations.

The modern bourgeois society that has sprouted from the ruins
of feudal society has not done away with class antagonisms.  It
has but established new classes, new conditions of oppression,
new forms of struggle in place of the old ones.  Our epoch, the
epoch of the bourgeoisie, possesses, however, this distinctive
feature: it has simplified the class antagonisms. Society as a
whole is more and more splitting up into two great hostile camps,
into two great classes, directly facing each other: Bourgeoisie
and Proletariat.

From the serfs of the Middle Ages sprang the chartered burghers
of the earliest towns.  From these burgesses the first elements
of the bourgeoisie were developed.

The discovery of America, the rounding of the Cape, opened up
fresh ground for the rising bourgeoisie. The East-Indian and
Chinese markets, the colonisation of America, trade with
the colonies, the increase in the means of exchange and in
commodities generally, gave to commerce, to navigation, to
industry, an impulse never before known, and thereby, to the
revolutionary element in the tottering feudal society, a rapid
development.

The feudal system of industry, under which industrial production
was monopolised by closed guilds, now no longer sufficed for the
growing wants of the new markets.  The manufacturing system took
its place.  The guild-masters were pushed on one side by the
manufacturing middle class; division of labour between the
different corporate guilds vanished in the face of division of
labour in each single workshop.

Meantime the markets kept ever growing, the demand ever rising.
Even manufacture no longer sufficed.  Thereupon, steam and
machinery revolutionised industrial production.  The place of
manufacture was taken by the giant, Modern Industry, the place of
the industrial middle class, by industrial millionaires, the
leaders of whole industrial armies, the modern bourgeois.

Modern industry has established the world-market, for which the
discovery of America paved the way.  This market has given an
immense development to commerce, to navigation, to communication
by land.  This development has, in its time, reacted on the
extension of industry; and in proportion as industry, commerce,
navigation, railways extended, in the same proportion the
bourgeoisie developed, increased its capital, and pushed into the
background  every class handed down from the Middle Ages.

We see, therefore, how the modern bourgeoisie is itself the
product of a long course of development, of a series of
revolutions in the modes of production and of exchange.

Each step in the development of the bourgeoisie was accompanied
by a corresponding political advance of that class.  An
oppressed class under the sway of the feudal nobility, an
armed and self-governing association in the mediaeval commune;
here independent urban republic (as in Italy and Germany),
there taxable "third estate" of the m
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PG #: 3296
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THE CONFESSIONS OF SAINT AUGUSTINE

By Saint Augustine

Bishop of Hippo

Translated by E. B. Pusey (Edward Bouverie)


AD 401




BOOK I


Great art Thou, O Lord, and greatly to be praised; great is Thy power,
and Thy wisdom infinite. And Thee would man praise; man, but a particle
of Thy creation; man, that bears about him his mortality, the witness of
his sin, the witness that Thou resistest the proud: yet would man praise
Thee; he, but a particle of Thy creation. Thou awakest us to delight in
Thy praise; for Thou madest us for Thyself, and our heart is restless,
until it repose in Thee. Grant me, Lord, to know and understand which is
first, to call on Thee or to praise Thee? and, again, to know Thee or
to call on Thee? for who can call on Thee, not knowing Thee? for he that
knoweth Thee not, may call on Thee as other than Thou art. Or, is it
rather, that we call on Thee that we may know Thee? but how shall they
call on Him in whom they have not believed? or how shall they believe
without a preacher? and they that seek the Lord shall praise Him: for
they that seek shall find Him, and they that find shall praise Him.
I will seek Thee, Lord, by calling on Thee; and will call on Thee,
believing in Thee; for to us hast Thou been preached. My faith, Lord,
shall call on Thee, which Thou hast given me, wherewith Thou hast
inspired me, through the Incarnation of Thy Son, through the ministry of
the Preacher.

And how shall I call upon my God, my God and Lord, since, when I call
for Him, I shall be calling Him to myself? and what room is there within
me, whither my God can come into me? whither can God come into me, God
who made heaven and earth? is there, indeed, O Lord my God, aught in me
that can contain Thee? do then heaven and earth, which Thou hast made,
and wherein Thou hast made me, contain Thee? or, because nothing which
exists could exist without Thee, doth therefore whatever exists contain
Thee? Since, then, I too exist, why do I seek that Thou shouldest enter
into me, who were not, wert Thou not in me? Why? because I am not gone
down in hell, and yet Thou art there also. For if I go down into hell,
Thou art there. I could not be then, O my God, could not be at all,
wert Thou not in me; or, rather, unless I were in Thee, of whom are all
things, by whom are all things, in whom are all things? Even so, Lord,
even so. Whither do I call Thee, since I am in Thee? or whence canst
Thou enter into me? for whither can I go beyond heaven and earth, that
thence my God should come into me, who hath said, I fill the heaven and
the earth.

Do the heaven and earth then contain Thee, since Thou fillest them? or
dost Thou fill them and yet overflow, since they do not contain Thee?
And whither, when the heaven and the earth are filled, pourest Thou
forth the remainder of Thyself? or hast Thou no need that aught contain
Thee, who containest all things, since what Thou fillest Thou fillest
by containing it? for the vessels which Thou fillest uphold Thee not,
since, though they were broken, Thou wert not poured out. And when Thou
art poured out on us, Thou art not cast down, but Thou upliftest us;
Thou art not dissipated, but Thou gatherest us. But Thou who fillest
all things, fillest Thou them with Thy whole self? or, since all things
cannot contain Thee wholly, do they contain part of Thee? and all at
once the same part? or each its own part, the greater more, the smaller
less? And is, then one part of Thee greater, another less? or, art Thou
wholly every where, while nothing contains Thee wholly?

What art Thou then, my God? what, but the Lord God? For who is Lord
but the Lord? or who is God save our God? Most highest, most good, most
potent, most omnipotent; most merciful, yet most just; most hidden,
yet most present; most beautiful, yet most strong, stable, yet
incomprehensible; unchangeable, yet all-changing; never new, never old;
all-renewing, and bringing age upon the proud, and they know it not;
ever working, ever at rest; still gathering, yet nothing lacking;
supporting, filling, and overspreading; creating, nourishing, and
maturing; seeking, yet having all things. Thou lovest, without passion;
art jealous, without anxiety; repentest, yet grievest not; art angry,
yet serene; changest Thy works, Thy purpose unchanged; receivest again
what Thou findest, yet didst never lose; never in need, yet rejoicing
in gains; never covetous, yet exacting usury. Thou receivest over and
above, that Thou mayest owe; and who hath aught that is not Thine? Thou
payest debts, owing nothing; remittest debts, losing nothing. And what
had I now said, my God, my life, my holy joy? or what saith any man when
he speaks of Thee? Yet woe to him that speaketh not, since mute are even
the most eloquent.

Oh! that I might repose on Thee! Oh! that Thou wouldest enter into my
heart, and inebriate it, that I may forget my ills, and embrace Thee,
my sole good! What art Thou to me? In Thy pity, teach me to utter it.
Or what am I to Thee that Thou deman
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It was four o’clock when the ceremony was over and the carriages began
to arrive. There had been a crowd following all the way, owing to the
exuberance of Marija Berczynskas. The occasion rested heavily upon
Marija’s broad shoulders—it was her task to see that all things went in
due form, and after the best home traditions; and, flying wildly hither
and thither, bowling every one out of the way, and scolding and
exhorting all day with her tremendous voice, Marija was too eager to
see that others conformed to the proprieties to consider them herself.
She had left the church last of all, and, desiring to arrive first at
the hall, had issued orders to the coachman to drive faster. When that
personage had developed a will of his own in the matter, Marija had
flung up the window of the carriage, and, leaning out, proceeded to
tell him her opinion of him, first in Lithuanian, which he did not
understand, and then in Polish, which he did. Having the advantage of
her in altitude, the driver had stood his ground and even ventured to
attempt to speak; and the result had been a furious altercation, which,
continuing all the way down Ashland Avenue, had added a new swarm of
urchins to the cortege at each side street for half a mile.

This was unfortunate, for already there was a throng before the door.
The music had started up, and half a block away you could hear the dull
“broom, broom” of a cello, with the squeaking of two fiddles which vied
with each other in intricate and altitudinous gymnastics. Seeing the
throng, Marija abandoned precipitately the debate concerning the
ancestors of her coachman, and, springing from the moving carriage,
plunged in and proceeded to clear a way to the hall. Once within, she
turned and began to push the other way, roaring, meantime, “_Eik! Eik!
Uzdaryk-duris!_” in tones which made the orchestral uproar sound like
fairy music.

“Z. Graiczunas, Pasilinksminimams darzas. Vynas. Sznapsas. Wines and
Liquors. Union Headquarters”—that was the way the signs ran. The
reader, who perhaps has never held much converse in the language of
far-off Lithuania, will be glad of the explanation that the place was
the rear room of a saloon in that part of Chicago known as “back of the
yards.” This information is definite and suited to the matter of fact;
but how pitifully inadequate it would have seemed to one who understood
that it was also the supreme hour of ecstasy in the life of one of
God’s gentlest creatures, the scene of the wedding feast and the
joy-transfiguration of little Ona Lukoszaite!

She stood in the doorway, shepherded by Cousin Marija, breathless from
pushing through the crowd, and in her happiness painful to look upon.
There was a light of wonder in her eyes and her lids trembled, and her
otherwise wan little face was flushed. She wore a muslin dress,
conspicuously white, and a stiff little veil coming to her shoulders.
There were five pink paper roses twisted in the veil, and eleven bright
green rose leaves. There were new white cotton gloves upon her hands,
and as she stood staring about her she twisted them together
feverishly. It was almost too much for her—you could see the pain of
too great emotion in her face, and all the tremor of her form. She was
so young—not quite sixteen—and small for her age, a mere child; and she
had just been married—and married to Jurgis,[1] of all men, to Jurgis
Rudkus, he with the white flower in the buttonhole of his new black
suit, he with the mighty shoulders and the giant hands.

 [1] Pronounced _Yoorghis_


Ona was blue-eyed and fair, while Jurgis had great black eyes with
beetling brows, and thick black hair that curled in waves about his
ears—in short, they were one of those incongruous and impossible
married couples with which Mother Nature so often wills to confound all
prophets, before and after. Jurgis could take up a
two-hundred-and-fifty-pound quarter of beef and carry it into a car
without a stagger, or even a thought; and now he stood in a far corner,
frightened as a hunted animal, and obliged to moisten his lips with his
tongue each time before he could answer the congratulations of his
friends.

Gradually there was effected a separation between the spectators and
the guests—a separation at least sufficiently complete for working
purposes. There was no time during the festivities which ensued when
there were not groups of onlookers in the doorways and the corners; and
if any one of these onlookers came sufficiently close, or looked
sufficiently hungry, a chair was offered him, and he was invited to the
feast. It was one of the laws of the _veselija_ that no one goes
hungry; and, while a rule made in the forests of Lithuania is hard to
apply in the stockyards district of Chicago, with its quarter of a
million inhabitants, still they did their best, and the children who
ran in from the street, and even the dogs, went out again happier. A
charming informality was one of the characteristics of this
celebration. The men wore their hats, 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW


by Washington Irving





FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF THE LATE DIEDRICH KNICKERBOCKER.


        A pleasing land of drowsy head it was,
          Of dreams that wave before the half-shut eye;
        And of gay castles in the clouds that pass,
          Forever flushing round a summer sky.
                                         CASTLE OF INDOLENCE.


In the bosom of one of those spacious coves which indent the eastern
shore of the Hudson, at that broad expansion of the river denominated
by the ancient Dutch navigators the Tappan Zee, and where they always
prudently shortened sail and implored the protection of St. Nicholas
when they crossed, there lies a small market town or rural port, which
by some is called Greensburgh, but which is more generally and properly
known by the name of Tarry Town. This name was given, we are told, in
former days, by the good housewives of the adjacent country, from the
inveterate propensity of their husbands to linger about the village
tavern on market days. Be that as it may, I do not vouch for the fact,
but merely advert to it, for the sake of being precise and authentic.
Not far from this village, perhaps about two miles, there is a little
valley or rather lap of land among high hills, which is one of the
quietest places in the whole world. A small brook glides through it,
with just murmur enough to lull one to repose; and the occasional
whistle of a quail or tapping of a woodpecker is almost the only sound
that ever breaks in upon the uniform tranquillity.

I recollect that, when a stripling, my first exploit in
squirrel-shooting was in a grove of tall walnut-trees that shades one
side of the valley. I had wandered into it at noontime, when all nature
is peculiarly quiet, and was startled by the roar of my own gun, as it
broke the Sabbath stillness around and was prolonged and reverberated
by the angry echoes. If ever I should wish for a retreat whither I might
steal from the world and its distractions, and dream quietly away the
remnant of a troubled life, I know of none more promising than this
little valley.

From the listless repose of the place, and the peculiar character of its
inhabitants, who are descendants from the original Dutch settlers, this
sequestered glen has long been known by the name of SLEEPY HOLLOW, and
its rustic lads are called the Sleepy Hollow Boys throughout all the
neighboring country. A drowsy, dreamy influence seems to hang over the
land, and to pervade the very atmosphere. Some say that the place
was bewitched by a High German doctor, during the early days of the
settlement; others, that an old Indian chief, the prophet or wizard of
his tribe, held his powwows there before the country was discovered by
Master Hendrick Hudson. Certain it is, the place still continues under
the sway of some witching power, that holds a spell over the minds of
the good people, causing them to walk in a continual reverie. They are
given to all kinds of marvellous beliefs, are subject to trances and
visions, and frequently see strange sights, and hear music and voices in
the air. The whole neighborhood abounds with local tales, haunted spots,
and twilight superstitions; stars shoot and meteors glare oftener across
the valley than in any other part of the country, and the nightmare,
with her whole ninefold, seems to make it the favorite scene of her
gambols.

The dominant spirit, however, that haunts this enchanted region, and
seems to be commander-in-chief of all the powers of the air, is the
apparition of a figure on horseback, without a head. It is said by some
to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper, whose head had been carried away
by a cannon-ball, in some nameless battle during the Revolutionary War,
and who is ever and anon seen by the country folk hurrying along in
the gloom of night, as if on the wings of the wind. His haunts are not
confined to the valley, but extend at times to the adjacent roads, and
especially to the vicinity of a church at no great distance. Indeed,
certain of the most authentic historians of those parts, who have been
careful in collecting and collating the floating facts concerning this
spectre, allege that the body of the trooper having been buried in the
churchyard, the ghost rides forth to the scene of battle in nightly
quest of his head, and that the rushing speed with which he sometimes
passes along the Hollow, like a midnight blast, is owing to his being
belated, and in a hurry to get back to the churchyard before daybreak.

Such is the general purport of this legendary superstition, which has
furnished materials for many a wild story in that region of shadows; and
the spectre is known at all the country firesides, by the name of the
Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow.

It is remarkable that the visionary propensity I have mentioned is not
confined to the native inhabitants of the valley, but is unconsciously
imbibed by every one who resides there for a time. However wide awake
they may have been be
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[Illustration]

THE TALE OF

PETER RABBIT

BY

BEATRIX POTTER

[Illustration]

FREDERICK WARNE




FREDERICK WARNE

First published 1902

Frederick Warne & Co., 1902

Printed and bound in Great Britain by William Clowes Limited, Beccles
and London




[Illustration]

[Illustration]


Once upon a time there were four little Rabbits, and their names
were--

          Flopsy,
       Mopsy,
   Cotton-tail,
and Peter.

They lived with their Mother in a sand-bank, underneath the root of a
very big fir-tree.

'Now my dears,' said old Mrs. Rabbit one morning, 'you may go into
the fields or down the lane, but don't go into Mr. McGregor's garden:
your Father had an accident there; he was put in a pie by Mrs.
McGregor.'

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

'Now run along, and don't get into mischief. I am going out.'

Then old Mrs. Rabbit took a basket and her umbrella, and went through
the wood to the baker's. She bought a loaf of brown bread and five
currant buns.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Flopsy, Mopsy, and Cottontail, who were good little bunnies, went
down the lane to gather blackberries:

But Peter, who was very naughty, ran straight away to Mr. McGregor's
garden, and squeezed under the gate!

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

First he ate some lettuces and some French beans; and then he ate
some radishes;

And then, feeling rather sick, he went to look for some parsley.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

But round the end of a cucumber frame, whom should he meet but Mr.
McGregor!

Mr. McGregor was on his hands and knees planting out young cabbages,
but he jumped up and ran after Peter, waving a rake and calling out,
'Stop thief!'

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Peter was most dreadfully frightened; he rushed all over the garden,
for he had forgotten the way back to the gate.

He lost one of his shoes among the cabbages, and the other shoe
amongst the potatoes.

After losing them, he ran on four legs and went faster, so that I
think he might have got away altogether if he had not unfortunately
run into a gooseberry net, and got caught by the large buttons on his
jacket. It was a blue jacket with brass buttons, quite new.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Peter gave himself up for lost, and shed big tears; but his sobs were
overheard by some friendly sparrows, who flew to him in great
excitement, and implored him to exert himself.

Mr. McGregor came up with a sieve, which he intended to pop upon the
top of Peter; but Peter wriggled out just in time, leaving his jacket
behind him.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

And rushed into the tool-shed, and jumped into a can. It would have
been a beautiful thing to hide in, if it had not had so much water in it.

Mr. McGregor was quite sure that Peter was somewhere in the
tool-shed, perhaps hidden underneath a flower-pot. He began to turn
them over carefully, looking under each.

Presently Peter sneezed--'Kertyschoo!' Mr. McGregor was after him in
no time.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

And tried to put his foot upon Peter, who jumped out of a window,
upsetting three plants. The window was too small for Mr. McGregor, and
he was tired of running after Peter. He went back to his work.

Peter sat down to rest; he was out of breath and trembling with
fright, and he had not the least idea which way to go. Also he was
very damp with sitting in that can.

After a time he began to wander about, going lippity--lippity--not
very fast, and looking all round.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

He found a door in a wall; but it was locked, and there was no room
for a fat little rabbit to squeeze underneath.

An old mouse was running in and out over the stone doorstep, carrying
peas and beans to her family in the wood. Peter asked her the way to
the gate, but she had such a large pea in her mouth that she could not
answer. She only shook her head at him. Peter began to cry.

Then he tried to find his way straight across the garden, but he
became more and more puzzled. Presently, he came to a pond where Mr.
McGregor filled his water-cans. A white cat was staring at some
gold-fish, she sat very, very still, but now and then the tip of her
tail twitched as if it were alive. Peter thought it best to go away
without speaking to her; he had heard about cats from his cousin,
little Benjamin Bunny.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

He went back towards the tool-shed, but suddenly, quite close to him,
he heard the noise of a hoe--scr-r-ritch, scratch, scratch, scritch.
Peter scuttered underneath the bushes. But presently, as nothing
happened, he came out, and climbed upon a wheelbarrow and peeped over.
The first thing he saw was Mr. McGregor hoeing onions. His back was
turned towards Peter, and beyond him was the gate!

Peter got down very quietly off the wheelbarrow; and started running
as fast as he could go, along a straight walk behind some
black-currant bushes.

Mr. McGregor caught sight of him at the corner, but Peter did not
care. He slipped underneath the gate, and was safe at last in the w
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DON JUAN

By Lord Byron

[Illustration: Frontispiece]

[Illustration: Titlepage]

[Illustration: Dedication]


[Note: Stanza and Line numbers have not been included.]




DEDICATION

     Bob Southey! You're a poet, poet laureate,
       And representative of all the race.
     Although 'tis true that you turned out a Tory at
       Last, yours has lately been a common case.
     And now my epic renegade, what are ye at
       With all the lakers, in and out of place?
     A nest of tuneful persons, to my eye
     Like four and twenty blackbirds in a pye,

     Which pye being opened they began to sing'
       (This old song and new simile holds good),
     'A dainty dish to set before the King'
       Or Regent, who admires such kind of food.
     And Coleridge too has lately taken wing,
       But like a hawk encumbered with his hood,
     Explaining metaphysics to the nation.
     I wish he would explain his explanation.

     You, Bob, are rather insolent, you know,
       At being disappointed in your wish
     To supersede all warblers here below,
       And be the only blackbird in the dish.
     And then you overstrain yourself, or so,
       And tumble downward like the flying fish
     Gasping on deck, because you soar too high,
     Bob, And fall for lack of moisture quite a dry Bob.

     And Wordsworth in a rather long Excursion
       (I think the quarto holds five hundred pages)
     Has given a sample from the vasty version
       Of his new system to perplex the sages.
     'Tis poetry, at least by his assertion,
       And may appear so when the Dog Star rages,
     And he who understands it would be able
     To add a story to the tower of Babel.

     You gentlemen, by dint of long seclusion
       From better company, have kept your own
     At Keswick, and through still continued fusion
       Of one another's minds at last have grown
     To deem, as a most logical conclusion,
       That poesy has wreaths for you alone.
     There is a narrowness in such a notion,
     Which makes me wish you'd change your lakes for ocean.

     I would not imitate the petty thought,
       Nor coin my self-love to so base a vice,
     For all the glory your conversion brought,
       Since gold alone should not have been its price.
     You have your salary; was't for that you wrought?
       And Wordsworth has his place in the Excise.
     You're shabby fellows--true--but poets still
     And duly seated on the immortal hill.

     Your bays may hide the baldness of your brows,
       Perhaps some virtuous blushes; let them go.
     To you I envy neither fruit nor boughs,
       And for the fame you would engross below,
     The field is universal and allows
       Scope to all such as feel the inherent glow.
     Scott, Rogers, Campbell, Moore, and Crabbe will try
     'Gainst you the question with posterity.

     For me, who, wandering with pedestrian Muses,
       Contend not with you on the winged' steed,
     I wish your fate may yield ye, when she chooses,
       The fame you envy and the skill you need.
     And recollect a poet nothing loses
       In giving to his brethren their full meed
     Of merit, and complaint of present days
     Is not the certain path to future praise.

     He that reserves his laurels for posterity
       (Who does not often claim the bright reversion)
     Has generally no great crop to spare it, he
       Being only injured by his own assertion.
     And although here and there some glorious rarity
       Arise like Titan from the sea's immersion,
     The major part of such appellants go
     To--God knows where--for no one else can know.

     If fallen in evil days on evil tongues,
       Milton appealed to the avenger, Time,
     If Time, the avenger, execrates his wrongs
       And makes the word Miltonic mean sublime,
     He deigned not to belie his soul in songs,
       Nor turn his very talent to a crime.
     He did not loathe the sire to laud the son,
     But closed the tyrant-hater he begun.

     Think'st thou, could he, the blind old man, arise
       Like Samuel from the grave to freeze once more
     The blood of monarchs with his prophecies,
        Or be alive again--again all hoar
     With time and trials, and those helpless eyes
       And heartless daughters--worn and pale and poor,
     Would he adore a sultan? He obey
     The intellectual eunuch Castlereagh?

     Cold-blooded, smooth-faced, placid miscreant!
       Dabbling its sleek young hands in Erin's gore,
     And thus for wider carnage taught to pant,
       Transferred to gorge upon a sister shore,
     The vulgarest tool that tyranny could want,
       With just enough of talent and no more,
     To lengthen fetters by another fixed
     And offer poison long already mixed.

     An orator of such set trash of phrase,
       Ineffably, legitimately vile,
     That even its grossest flatterers dare not praise,
       Nor foes--all nations--condescend to smile.
     Not even
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THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF DOCTOR FAUSTUS

By Christopher Marlowe

From The Quarto of 1604

Edited by The Rev. Alexander Dyce





THE TRAGICALL HISTORY OF D. FAUSTUS.  AS IT HATH BENE ACTED
BY THE RIGHT HONORABLE THE EARLE OF NOTTINGHAM HIS SERUANTS.
WRITTEN BY CH. MARL.

In reprinting this edition, I have here and there amended the text
by means of the later 4tos,--1616, 1624, 1631.--Of 4to 1663, which
contains various comparatively modern alterations and additions,
I have made no use.




DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

     THE POPE.
     CARDINAL OF LORRAIN.
     THE EMPEROR OF GERMANY.
     DUKE OF VANHOLT.
     FAUSTUS.
     VALDES,    ] friends to FAUSTUS.
     CORNELIUS, ]
     WAGNER, servant to FAUSTUS.
     Clown.
     ROBIN.
     RALPH.
     Vintner.
     Horse-courser.
     A Knight.
     An Old Man.
     Scholars, Friars, and Attendants.

     DUCHESS OF VANHOLT

     LUCIFER.
     BELZEBUB.
     MEPHISTOPHILIS.
     Good Angel.
     Evil Angel.
     The Seven Deadly Sins.
     Devils.
     Spirits in the shapes of ALEXANDER THE GREAT, of his Paramour
          and of HELEN.

     Chorus.





THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF DOCTOR FAUSTUS

FROM THE QUARTO OF 1604.


          Enter CHORUS.

     CHORUS. Not marching now in fields of Thrasymene,
     Where Mars did mate[1] the Carthaginians;
     Nor sporting in the dalliance of love,
     In courts of kings where state is overturn'd;
     Nor in the pomp of proud audacious deeds,
     Intends our Muse to vaunt[2] her[3] heavenly verse:
     Only this, gentlemen,--we must perform
     The form of Faustus' fortunes, good or bad:
     To patient judgments we appeal our plaud,
     And speak for Faustus in his infancy.
     Now is he born, his parents base of stock,
     In Germany, within a town call'd Rhodes:
     Of riper years, to Wertenberg he went,
     Whereas[4] his kinsmen chiefly brought him up.
     So soon he profits in divinity,
     The fruitful plot of scholarism grac'd,
     That shortly he was grac'd with doctor's name,
     Excelling all whose sweet delight disputes
     In heavenly matters of theology;
     Till swoln with cunning,[5] of a self-conceit,
     His waxen wings did mount above his reach,
     And, melting, heavens conspir'd his overthrow;
     For, falling to a devilish exercise,
     And glutted now[6] with learning's golden gifts,
     He surfeits upon cursed necromancy;
     Nothing so sweet as magic is to him,
     Which he prefers before his chiefest bliss:
     And this the man that in his study sits.
          [Exit.]

          FAUSTUS discovered in his study.[7]

     FAUSTUS. Settle thy studies, Faustus, and begin
     To sound the depth of that thou wilt profess:
     Having commenc'd, be a divine in shew,
     Yet level at the end of every art,
     And live and die in Aristotle's works.
     Sweet Analytics, 'tis thou[8] hast ravish'd me!
     Bene disserere est finis logices.
     Is, to dispute well, logic's chiefest end?
     Affords this art no greater miracle?
     Then read no more; thou hast attain'd that[9] end:
     A greater subject fitteth Faustus' wit:
     Bid Economy[10] farewell, and[11] Galen come,
     Seeing, Ubi desinit philosophus, ibi incipit medicus:
     Be a physician, Faustus; heap up gold,
     And be eterniz'd for some wondrous cure:
     Summum bonum medicinae sanitas,
     The end of physic is our body's health.
     Why, Faustus, hast thou not attain'd that end?
     Is not thy common talk found aphorisms?
     Are not thy bills hung up as monuments,
     Whereby whole cities have escap'd the plague,
     And thousand desperate maladies been eas'd?
     Yet art thou still but Faustus, and a man.
     Couldst[12] thou make men[13] to live eternally,
     Or, being dead, raise them to life again,
     Then this profession were to be esteem'd.
     Physic, farewell!  Where is Justinian?

          [Reads.]
     Si una eademque res legatur[14] duobus, alter rem,
     alter valorem rei, &c.

     A pretty case of paltry legacies!

          [Reads.]
     Exhoereditare filium non potest pater, nisi, &c.[15]

     Such is the subject of the institute,
     And universal body of the law:[16]
     This[17] study fits a mercenary drudge,
     Who aims at nothing but external trash;
     Too servile[18] and illiberal for me.
     When all is done, divinity is best:
     Jerome's Bible, Faustus; view it well.

          [Reads.]
     Stipendium peccati mors est.
                                   Ha!
                                        Stipendium, &c.

     The reward of sin is death:  that's hard.

          [Reads.]
     Si peccasse negamus, fallimur, et nulla est in nobis veritas;

     If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and
     there's no truth in us.  Why, then, belike we must sin, and so
     consequently die:
     Ay, we must die an everlasting death.
     What doctrine call you this, Che sera, sera,[19]
     What will be, shall be?  Divinity, adieu!
     These metaphysics of 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 42324
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42324



I am by birth a Genevese; and my family is one of the most distinguished
of that republic. My ancestors had been for many years counsellors and
syndics; and my father had filled several public situations with honour
and reputation. He was respected by all who knew him, for his integrity
and indefatigable attention to public business. He passed his younger
days perpetually occupied by the affairs of his country; a variety of
circumstances had prevented his marrying early, nor was it until the
decline of life that he became a husband and the father of a family.

As the circumstances of his marriage illustrate his character, I cannot
refrain from relating them. One of his most intimate friends was a
merchant, who, from a flourishing state, fell, through numerous
mischances, into poverty. This man, whose name was Beaufort, was of a
proud and unbending disposition, and could not bear to live in poverty
and oblivion in the same country where he had formerly been
distinguished for his rank and magnificence. Having paid his debts,
therefore, in the most honourable manner, he retreated with his daughter
to the town of Lucerne, where he lived unknown and in wretchedness. My
father loved Beaufort with the truest friendship, and was deeply grieved
by his retreat in these unfortunate circumstances. He bitterly deplored
the false pride which led his friend to a conduct so little worthy of
the affection that united them. He lost no time in endeavouring to seek
him out, with the hope of persuading him to begin the world again
through his credit and assistance.

Beaufort had taken effectual measures to conceal himself; and it was ten
months before my father discovered his abode. Overjoyed at this
discovery, he hastened to the house, which was situated in a mean
street, near the Reuss. But when he entered, misery and despair alone
welcomed him. Beaufort had saved but a very small sum of money from the
wreck of his fortunes; but it was sufficient to provide him with
sustenance for some months, and in the mean time he hoped to procure
some respectable employment in a merchant's house. The interval was,
consequently, spent in inaction; his grief only became more deep and
rankling, when he had leisure for reflection; and at length it took so
fast hold of his mind, that at the end of three months he lay on a bed
of sickness, incapable of any exertion.

His daughter attended him with the greatest tenderness; but she saw with
despair that their little fund was rapidly decreasing, and that there
was no other prospect of support. But Caroline Beaufort possessed a mind
of an uncommon mould; and her courage rose to support her in her
adversity. She procured plain work; she plaited straw; and by various
means contrived to earn a pittance scarcely sufficient to support life.

Several months passed in this manner. Her father grew worse; her time
was more entirely occupied in attending him; her means of subsistence
decreased; and in the tenth month her father died in her arms, leaving
her an orphan and a beggar. This last blow overcame her; and she knelt
by Beaufort's coffin, weeping bitterly, when my father entered the
chamber. He came like a protecting spirit to the poor girl, who
committed herself to his care; and after the interment of his friend, he
conducted her to Geneva, and placed her under the protection of a
relation. Two years after this event Caroline became his wife.

There was a considerable difference between the ages of my parents, but
this circumstance seemed to unite them only closer in bonds of devoted
affection. There was a sense of justice in my father's upright mind,
which rendered it necessary that he should approve highly to love
strongly. Perhaps during former years he had suffered from the
late-discovered unworthiness of one beloved, and so was disposed to set
a greater value on tried worth. There was a show of gratitude and
worship in his attachment to my mother, differing wholly from the
doating fondness of age, for it was inspired by reverence for her
virtues, and a desire to be the means of, in some degree, recompensing
her for the sorrows she had endured, but which gave inexpressible grace
to his behaviour to her. Every thing was made to yield to her wishes and
her convenience. He strove to shelter her, as a fair exotic is sheltered
by the gardener, from every rougher wind, and to surround her with all
that could tend to excite pleasurable emotion in her soft and benevolent
mind. Her health, and even the tranquillity of her hitherto constant
spirit, had been shaken by what she had gone through. During the two
years that had elapsed previous to their marriage my father had
gradually relinquished all his public functions; and immediately after
their union they sought the pleasant climate of Italy, and the change of
scene and interest attendant on a tour through that land of wonders, as
a restorative for her weakened frame.

From Italy they visited Germany and France. I, their eldest child, was
born at Naples
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 209
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/209


I remember the whole beginning as a succession of flights and drops, a
little seesaw of the right throbs and the wrong. After rising, in town,
to meet his appeal, I had at all events a couple of very bad days—found
myself doubtful again, felt indeed sure I had made a mistake. In this
state of mind I spent the long hours of bumping, swinging coach that
carried me to the stopping place at which I was to be met by a vehicle
from the house. This convenience, I was told, had been ordered, and I
found, toward the close of the June afternoon, a commodious fly in
waiting for me. Driving at that hour, on a lovely day, through a
country to which the summer sweetness seemed to offer me a friendly
welcome, my fortitude mounted afresh and, as we turned into the avenue,
encountered a reprieve that was probably but a proof of the point to
which it had sunk. I suppose I had expected, or had dreaded, something
so melancholy that what greeted me was a good surprise. I remember as a
most pleasant impression the broad, clear front, its open windows and
fresh curtains and the pair of maids looking out; I remember the lawn
and the bright flowers and the crunch of my wheels on the gravel and
the clustered treetops over which the rooks circled and cawed in the
golden sky. The scene had a greatness that made it a different affair
from my own scant home, and there immediately appeared at the door,
with a little girl in her hand, a civil person who dropped me as decent
a curtsy as if I had been the mistress or a distinguished visitor. I
had received in Harley Street a narrower notion of the place, and that,
as I recalled it, made me think the proprietor still more of a
gentleman, suggested that what I was to enjoy might be something beyond
his promise.

I had no drop again till the next day, for I was carried triumphantly
through the following hours by my introduction to the younger of my
pupils. The little girl who accompanied Mrs. Grose appeared to me on
the spot a creature so charming as to make it a great fortune to have
to do with her. She was the most beautiful child I had ever seen, and I
afterward wondered that my employer had not told me more of her. I
slept little that night—I was too much excited; and this astonished me,
too, I recollect, remained with me, adding to my sense of the
liberality with which I was treated. The large, impressive room, one of
the best in the house, the great state bed, as I almost felt it, the
full, figured draperies, the long glasses in which, for the first time,
I could see myself from head to foot, all struck me—like the
extraordinary charm of my small charge—as so many things thrown in. It
was thrown in as well, from the first moment, that I should get on with
Mrs. Grose in a relation over which, on my way, in the coach, I fear I
had rather brooded. The only thing indeed that in this early outlook
might have made me shrink again was the clear circumstance of her being
so glad to see me. I perceived within half an hour that she was so
glad—stout, simple, plain, clean, wholesome woman—as to be positively
on her guard against showing it too much. I wondered even then a little
why she should wish not to show it, and that, with reflection, with
suspicion, might of course have made me uneasy.

But it was a comfort that there could be no uneasiness in a connection
with anything so beatific as the radiant image of my little girl, the
vision of whose angelic beauty had probably more than anything else to
do with the restlessness that, before morning, made me several times
rise and wander about my room to take in the whole picture and
prospect; to watch, from my open window, the faint summer dawn, to look
at such portions of the rest of the house as I could catch, and to
listen, while, in the fading dusk, the first birds began to twitter,
for the possible recurrence of a sound or two, less natural and not
without, but within, that I had fancied I heard. There had been a
moment when I believed I recognized, faint and far, the cry of a child;
there had been another when I found myself just consciously starting as
at the passage, before my door, of a light footstep. But these fancies
were not marked enough not to be thrown off, and it is only in the
light, or the gloom, I should rather say, of other and subsequent
matters that they now come back to me. To watch, teach, “form” little
Flora would too evidently be the making of a happy and useful life. It
had been agreed between us downstairs that after this first occasion I
should have her as a matter of course at night, her small white bed
being already arranged, to that end, in my room. What I had undertaken
was the whole care of her, and she had remained, just this last time,
with Mrs. Grose only as an effect of our consideration for my
inevitable strangeness and her natural timidity. In spite of this
timidity—which the child herself, in the oddest way in the world, had
been perfectly frank and brave about, allowing it, without a sign of
uncomfortable c
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 22120
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/22120


1. Harl. 7334; denoted here by HL. By Tyrwhitt called ‘C.’ A MS of the
B-type (see below). Printed in full for the Chaucer Society, 1885. Collated
throughout.

    A MS. of great importance, but difficult to understand or describe. For
    the greater clearness, I shall roughly describe the MSS. as being of
    the A-type, the B-type, the C-type, and the D-type (really a second
    C-type). Of the A-type, the best example is the Ellesmere MS.; of the
    B-type, the best example is the Harleian MS. 7334; of the C-type, the
    Corpus and Lansdowne MSS.; the D-type is that exhibited by Caxton and
    Thynne in the early printed editions. They may be called the
    ‘Ellesmere,’ ‘Harleian,’ ‘Corpus,’ and ‘Caxton’ types respectively.
    These types differ as to the arrangement of the Tales, and even MSS. of
    a similar type differ slightly, in this respect, among themselves. They
    also frequently differ as to certain characteristic readings, although
    many of the variations of reading are peculiar to one or two MSS. only.

    MS. Hl. contains the best copy of the Tale of Gamelyn, for which see p.
    645; this Tale is not found in MSS. of the A-type. Moreover, Group G
    here precedes Group C and a large part of Group B, whereas in the
    Ellesmere MS. it follows them. In the Monk’s Tale, the lines numbered B
    3565-3652 (containing the Tales called the ‘modern instances’)
    immediately follow B 3564 (as in this edition), whereas in the
    Ellesmere MS. these lines come at the end of the Tale.

    The ‘various readings’ of this MS. are often peculiar, and it is
    difficult to appraise them. I take them to be of two kinds: (i)
    readings which are better than those of the Six-text, and should
    certainly be preferred, such as _halfe_ in A 8, _cloysterlees_ in A
    179, _a_ (not _a ful_) in A 196, and the like; and (2) readings due to
    a terrible blundering on the part of the scribe, such as _fleyng_ for
    _flikeringe_ in A 1962, _greene_ for _kene_ in A 1966, and the like. It
    is, in fact, a most dangerous MS. to trust to, unless constantly
    corrected by others, and is not at all fitted to be taken as the
    _basis_ of a text. For further remarks, see the description of Wright’s
    printed edition at p. xvi.

    As regards age, this MS. is one of the oldest; and it is beautifully
    written. Its chief defect is the loss of eight leaves, so that ll.
    617-1223 in Group F are missing. It also misses several lines in
    various places; as A 2013-8, 2958, 3721-2, 4355, 4358, 4375-6, 4415-22;
    B 417, 1186-90, 1355, 1376-9, 1995, 3213-20, 4136-7, 4479-80; C 299,
    300, 305-6, 478-9; D 575-584, 605-612, 619-626, 717-720; E 2356-7; F
    1455-6, 1493-8; G 155, 210-216; besides some lines in Melibee and the
    Persones Tale. Moreover, it has nine spurious lines, D 2004 _b_, _c_,
    2012 _b_, _c_, 2037 _b_, _c_ 2048 _b_, _c_, F 592. These imperfections
    furnish an additional reason for not founding a text upon this MS.

2. Harl. 7335; by Tyrwhitt called ‘A.’ Of the B-type. Very imperfect,
especially at the end. A few lines are printed in the Six-text edition to
fill up gaps in various MSS., viz. E 1646-7, F 1-8, 1423-4, 1433-4, G 158,
213-4, 326-337, 432-3, 484. Collated so far.

[ix] 3. Harl. 7333; by Tyrwhitt called ‘E.’ Of the D-type. One of Shirley’s
MSS. Some lines are printed in the Six-text edition, viz. B 4233-8, E
1213-44, F 1147-8, 1567-8, G 156-9, 213-4, 326-337, 432. It also contains
some of the Minor Poems; see the description of MS. ‘Harl.’ in the
Introduction to those poems in vol. i.[1]

4. Harl. 1758, denoted by HARL. at p. 645; by Tyrwhitt called ‘F.’ In
Urry’s list, i. Of the D-type, but containing Gamelyn. Many lines are
printed in the Six-text, including the whole of ‘Gamelyn.’ It is freely
used to fill up gaps, as B 1-9, 2096-2108, 3049-78, 4112, 4114, 4581-4636,
&c.

5. Harl. 1239; in Tyrwhitt, ‘I.’ In Urry’s list, ii. Imperfect both at
beginning and end.

6. Royal 18 C II; denoted by RL.; in Tyrwhitt, ‘B.’ In Urry, vii. Of the
D-type, but containing Gamelyn. Used to fill up gaps in the Six-text; e.g.
in B 1163-1190 (Shipman’s Prologue, called in this MS. the Squire’s
Prologue), 2109-73, 3961-80, E 65, 73, 81, 143, G 1337-40, I 472-511. The
whole of ‘Gamelyn’ is also printed from this MS. in the Six-text.

7. Royal 17 D xv; in Tyrwhitt, ‘D.’ In Urry, viii. Of the D-type, but
containing Gamelyn. Used to fill up gaps in the Six-text; e.g. in B
2328-61, 3961-80, 4112, 4114, 4233-8, 4637-51, D 609-612, 619-626, 717-720,
E 1213-44, F 1423-4, 1433-4, H 47-52; and in the Tale of Gamelyn.

8. Sloane 1685; denoted by SL. In Tyrwhitt, ‘G.’ In Urry, iii. Of the
D-type, but containing Gamelyn. In two handwritings, one later than the
other. Imperfect; has no Sir Thopas, Melibee, Manciple, or Parson. Very
frequently quoted in the Six-text, to fill up rather large gaps in the
Cambridge MS.; e.g. A 754-964, 3829-90, 4365-4422, &c. Gamelyn is printed
from this MS
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 6133
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6133



It was a strange ending to a voyage that had commenced in a most
auspicious manner. The transatlantic steamship ‘La Provence’ was a swift
and comfortable vessel, under the command of a most affable man. The
passengers constituted a select and delightful society. The charm of
new acquaintances and improvised amusements served to make the time pass
agreeably. We enjoyed the pleasant sensation of being separated from
the world, living, as it were, upon an unknown island, and consequently
obliged to be sociable with each other.

Have you ever stopped to consider how much originality and spontaneity
emanate from these various individuals who, on the preceding evening,
did not even know each other, and who are now, for several days,
condemned to lead a life of extreme intimacy, jointly defying the anger
of the ocean, the terrible onslaught of the waves, the violence of the
tempest and the agonizing monotony of the calm and sleepy water? Such
a life becomes a sort of tragic existence, with its storms and its
grandeurs, its monotony and its diversity; and that is why, perhaps,
we embark upon that short voyage with mingled feelings of pleasure and
fear.

But, during the past few years, a new sensation had been added to the
life of the transatlantic traveler. The little floating island is now
attached to the world from which it was once quite free. A bond united
them, even in the very heart of the watery wastes of the Atlantic. That
bond is the wireless telegraph, by means of which we receive news in
the most mysterious manner. We know full well that the message is not
transported by the medium of a hollow wire. No, the mystery is even more
inexplicable, more romantic, and we must have recourse to the wings of
the air in order to explain this new miracle. During the first day of
the voyage, we felt that we were being followed, escorted, preceded
even, by that distant voice, which, from time to time, whispered to one
of us a few words from the receding world. Two friends spoke to me. Ten,
twenty others sent gay or somber words of parting to other passengers.

On the second day, at a distance of five hundred miles from the French
coast, in the midst of a violent storm, we received the following
message by means of the wireless telegraph:

“Arsène Lupin is on your vessel, first cabin, blonde hair, wound right
fore-arm, traveling alone under name of R........”

At that moment, a terrible flash of lightning rent the stormy skies.
The electric waves were interrupted. The remainder of the dispatch never
reached us. Of the name under which Arsène Lupin was concealing himself,
we knew only the initial.

If the news had been of some other character, I have no doubt that the
secret would have been carefully guarded by the telegraphic operator as
well as by the officers of the vessel. But it was one of those events
calculated to escape from the most rigorous discretion. The same day, no
one knew how, the incident became a matter of current gossip and every
passenger was aware that the famous Arsène Lupin was hiding in our
midst.

Arsène Lupin in our midst! the irresponsible burglar whose exploits
had been narrated in all the newspapers during the past few months! the
mysterious individual with whom Ganimard, our shrewdest detective,
had been engaged in an implacable conflict amidst interesting and
picturesque surroundings. Arsène Lupin, the eccentric gentleman who
operates only in the châteaux and salons, and who, one night, entered
the residence of Baron Schormann, but emerged empty-handed, leaving,
however, his card on which he had scribbled these words: “Arsène Lupin,
gentleman-burglar, will return when the furniture is genuine.” Arsène
Lupin, the man of a thousand disguises: in turn a chauffer, detective,
bookmaker, Russian physician, Spanish bull-fighter, commercial traveler,
robust youth, or decrepit old man.

Then consider this startling situation: Arsène Lupin was wandering about
within the limited bounds of a transatlantic steamer; in that very small
corner of the world, in that dining saloon, in that smoking room, in
that music room! Arsène Lupin was, perhaps, this gentleman.... or that
one.... my neighbor at the table.... the sharer of my stateroom....

“And this condition of affairs will last for five days!” exclaimed Miss
Nelly Underdown, next morning. “It is unbearable! I hope he will be
arrested.”

Then, addressing me, she added:

“And you, Monsieur d’Andrézy, you are on intimate terms with the
captain; surely you know something?”

I should have been delighted had I possessed any information that would
interest Miss Nelly. She was one of those magnificent creatures who
inevitably attract attention in every assembly. Wealth and beauty form
an irresistible combination, and Nelly possessed both.

Educated in Paris under the care of a French mother, she was now going
to visit her father, the millionaire Underdown of Chicago. She was
accompanied by one of her friends, Lady Jerland.

At first, I had decided to open a 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 4517
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/4517



The village lay under two feet of snow, with drifts at the windy
corners. In a sky of iron the points of the Dipper hung like icicles
and Orion flashed his cold fires. The moon had set, but the night was
so transparent that the white house-fronts between the elms looked gray
against the snow, clumps of bushes made black stains on it, and the
basement windows of the church sent shafts of yellow light far across
the endless undulations.

Young Ethan Frome walked at a quick pace along the deserted street, past
the bank and Michael Eady's new brick store and Lawyer Varnum's house
with the two black Norway spruces at the gate. Opposite the Varnum gate,
where the road fell away toward the Corbury valley, the church reared
its slim white steeple and narrow peristyle. As the young man walked
toward it the upper windows drew a black arcade along the side wall of
the building, but from the lower openings, on the side where the ground
sloped steeply down to the Corbury road, the light shot its long bars,
illuminating many fresh furrows in the track leading to the basement
door, and showing, under an adjoining shed, a line of sleighs with
heavily blanketed horses.

The night was perfectly still, and the air so dry and pure that it gave
little sensation of cold. The effect produced on Frome was rather of
a complete absence of atmosphere, as though nothing less tenuous than
ether intervened between the white earth under his feet and the metallic
dome overhead. “It's like being in an exhausted receiver,” he
thought. Four or five years earlier he had taken a year's course at a
technological college at Worcester, and dabbled in the laboratory with
a friendly professor of physics; and the images supplied by that
experience still cropped up, at unexpected moments, through the totally
different associations of thought in which he had since been living. His
father's death, and the misfortunes following it, had put a premature
end to Ethan's studies; but though they had not gone far enough to be
of much practical use they had fed his fancy and made him aware of huge
cloudy meanings behind the daily face of things.

As he strode along through the snow the sense of such meanings glowed in
his brain and mingled with the bodily flush produced by his sharp tramp.
At the end of the village he paused before the darkened front of the
church. He stood there a moment, breathing quickly, and looking up and
down the street, in which not another figure moved. The pitch of
the Corbury road, below lawyer Varnum's spruces, was the favourite
coasting-ground of Starkfield, and on clear evenings the church corner
rang till late with the shouts of the coasters; but to-night not a sled
darkened the whiteness of the long declivity. The hush of midnight lay
on the village, and all its waking life was gathered behind the church
windows, from which strains of dance-music flowed with the broad bands
of yellow light.

The young man, skirting the side of the building, went down the slope
toward the basement door. To keep out of range of the revealing rays
from within he made a circuit through the untrodden snow and gradually
approached the farther angle of the basement wall. Thence, still hugging
the shadow, he edged his way cautiously forward to the nearest window,
holding back his straight spare body and craning his neck till he got a
glimpse of the room.

Seen thus, from the pure and frosty darkness in which he stood, it
seemed to be seething in a mist of heat. The metal reflectors of the
gas-jets sent crude waves of light against the whitewashed walls, and
the iron flanks of the stove at the end of the hall looked as though
they were heaving with volcanic fires. The floor was thronged with
girls and young men. Down the side wall facing the window stood a row of
kitchen chairs from which the older women had just risen. By this time
the music had stopped, and the musicians--a fiddler, and the young lady
who played the harmonium on Sundays--were hastily refreshing themselves
at one corner of the supper-table which aligned its devastated
pie-dishes and ice-cream saucers on the platform at the end of the hall.
The guests were preparing to leave, and the tide had already set toward
the passage where coats and wraps were hung, when a young man with a
sprightly foot and a shock of black hair shot into the middle of
the floor and clapped his hands. The signal took instant effect.
The musicians hurried to their instruments, the dancers--some already
half-muffled for departure--fell into line down each side of the room,
the older spectators slipped back to their chairs, and the lively young
man, after diving about here and there in the throng, drew forth a girl
who had already wound a cherry-coloured “fascinator” about her head,
and, leading her up to the end of the floor, whirled her down its length
to the bounding tune of a Virginia reel.

Frome's heart was beating fast. He had been straining for a glimpse
of the dark head under the cherry-coloured scarf and 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 600
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/600


I am a sick man....  I am a spiteful man.  I am an unattractive man.  I
believe my liver is diseased.  However, I know nothing at all about my
disease, and do not know for certain what ails me.  I don't consult a
doctor for it, and never have, though I have a respect for medicine and
doctors. Besides, I am extremely superstitious, sufficiently so to
respect medicine, anyway (I am well-educated enough not to be
superstitious, but I am superstitious).  No, I refuse to consult a
doctor from spite.  That you probably will not understand.  Well, I
understand it, though.  Of course, I can't explain who it is precisely
that I am mortifying in this case by my spite: I am perfectly well
aware that I cannot "pay out" the doctors by not consulting them; I
know better than anyone that by all this I am only injuring myself and
no one else.  But still, if I don't consult a doctor it is from spite.
My liver is bad, well--let it get worse!

I have been going on like that for a long time--twenty years.  Now I am
forty.  I used to be in the government service, but am no longer.  I
was a spiteful official.  I was rude and took pleasure in being so.  I
did not take bribes, you see, so I was bound to find a recompense in
that, at least.  (A poor jest, but I will not scratch it out.  I wrote
it thinking it would sound very witty; but now that I have seen myself
that I only wanted to show off in a despicable way, I will not scratch
it out on purpose!)

When petitioners used to come for information to the table at which I
sat, I used to grind my teeth at them, and felt intense enjoyment when
I succeeded in making anybody unhappy.  I almost did succeed.  For the
most part they were all timid people--of course, they were petitioners.
But of the uppish ones there was one officer in particular I could not
endure.  He simply would not be humble, and clanked his sword in a
disgusting way.  I carried on a feud with him for eighteen months over
that sword.  At last I got the better of him.  He left off clanking it.
That happened in my youth, though.

But do you know, gentlemen, what was the chief point about my spite?
Why, the whole point, the real sting of it lay in the fact that
continually, even in the moment of the acutest spleen, I was inwardly
conscious with shame that I was not only not a spiteful but not even an
embittered man, that I was simply scaring sparrows at random and
amusing myself by it.  I might foam at the mouth, but bring me a doll
to play with, give me a cup of tea with sugar in it, and maybe I should
be appeased.  I might even be genuinely touched, though probably I
should grind my teeth at myself afterwards and lie awake at night with
shame for months after.  That was my way.

I was lying when I said just now that I was a spiteful official.  I was
lying from spite.  I was simply amusing myself with the petitioners and
with the officer, and in reality I never could become spiteful.  I was
conscious every moment in myself of many, very many elements absolutely
opposite to that.  I felt them positively swarming in me, these
opposite elements. I knew that they had been swarming in me all my life
and craving some outlet from me, but I would not let them, would not
let them, purposely would not let them come out.  They tormented me
till I was ashamed: they drove me to convulsions and--sickened me, at
last, how they sickened me!  Now, are not you fancying, gentlemen, that
I am expressing remorse for something now, that I am asking your
forgiveness for something?  I am sure you are fancying that ...
However, I assure you I do not care if you are....

It was not only that I could not become spiteful, I did not know how to
become anything; neither spiteful nor kind, neither a rascal nor an
honest man, neither a hero nor an insect.  Now, I am living out my life
in my corner, taunting myself with the spiteful and useless consolation
that an intelligent man cannot become anything seriously, and it is
only the fool who becomes anything.  Yes, a man in the nineteenth
century must and morally ought to be pre-eminently a characterless
creature; a man of character, an active man is pre-eminently a limited
creature.  That is my conviction of forty years.  I am forty years old
now, and you know forty years is a whole lifetime; you know it is
extreme old age.  To live longer than forty years is bad manners, is
vulgar, immoral.  Who does live beyond forty?  Answer that, sincerely
and honestly I will tell you who do: fools and worthless fellows.  I
tell all old men that to their face, all these venerable old men, all
these silver-haired and reverend seniors!  I tell the whole world that
to its face!  I have a right to say so, for I shall go on living to
sixty myself.  To seventy!  To eighty! ...  Stay, let me take breath
...

You imagine no doubt, gentlemen, that I want to amuse you.  You are
mistaken in that, too.  I am by no means such a mirthful person as you
imagine, or as you may imagine; however, irritated by all this babble
(and 
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THE ONE THING NEEDFUL


‘NOW, what I want is, Facts.  Teach these boys and girls nothing but
Facts.  Facts alone are wanted in life.  Plant nothing else, and root out
everything else.  You can only form the minds of reasoning animals upon
Facts: nothing else will ever be of any service to them.  This is the
principle on which I bring up my own children, and this is the principle
on which I bring up these children.  Stick to Facts, sir!’

The scene was a plain, bare, monotonous vault of a school-room, and the
speaker’s square forefinger emphasized his observations by underscoring
every sentence with a line on the schoolmaster’s sleeve.  The emphasis
was helped by the speaker’s square wall of a forehead, which had his
eyebrows for its base, while his eyes found commodious cellarage in two
dark caves, overshadowed by the wall.  The emphasis was helped by the
speaker’s mouth, which was wide, thin, and hard set.  The emphasis was
helped by the speaker’s voice, which was inflexible, dry, and
dictatorial.  The emphasis was helped by the speaker’s hair, which
bristled on the skirts of his bald head, a plantation of firs to keep the
wind from its shining surface, all covered with knobs, like the crust of
a plum pie, as if the head had scarcely warehouse-room for the hard facts
stored inside.  The speaker’s obstinate carriage, square coat, square
legs, square shoulders,—nay, his very neckcloth, trained to take him by
the throat with an unaccommodating grasp, like a stubborn fact, as it
was,—all helped the emphasis.

‘In this life, we want nothing but Facts, sir; nothing but Facts!’

The speaker, and the schoolmaster, and the third grown person present,
all backed a little, and swept with their eyes the inclined plane of
little vessels then and there arranged in order, ready to have imperial
gallons of facts poured into them until they were full to the brim.



MURDERING THE INNOCENTS


THOMAS GRADGRIND, sir.  A man of realities.  A man of facts and
calculations.  A man who proceeds upon the principle that two and two are
four, and nothing over, and who is not to be talked into allowing for
anything over.  Thomas Gradgrind, sir—peremptorily Thomas—Thomas
Gradgrind.  With a rule and a pair of scales, and the multiplication
table always in his pocket, sir, ready to weigh and measure any parcel of
human nature, and tell you exactly what it comes to.  It is a mere
question of figures, a case of simple arithmetic.  You might hope to get
some other nonsensical belief into the head of George Gradgrind, or
Augustus Gradgrind, or John Gradgrind, or Joseph Gradgrind (all
supposititious, non-existent persons), but into the head of Thomas
Gradgrind—no, sir!

In such terms Mr. Gradgrind always mentally introduced himself, whether
to his private circle of acquaintance, or to the public in general.  In
such terms, no doubt, substituting the words ‘boys and girls,’ for ‘sir,’
Thomas Gradgrind now presented Thomas Gradgrind to the little pitchers
before him, who were to be filled so full of facts.

Indeed, as he eagerly sparkled at them from the cellarage before
mentioned, he seemed a kind of cannon loaded to the muzzle with facts,
and prepared to blow them clean out of the regions of childhood at one
discharge.  He seemed a galvanizing apparatus, too, charged with a grim
mechanical substitute for the tender young imaginations that were to be
stormed away.

‘Girl number twenty,’ said Mr. Gradgrind, squarely pointing with his
square forefinger, ‘I don’t know that girl.  Who is that girl?’

‘Sissy Jupe, sir,’ explained number twenty, blushing, standing up, and
curtseying.

‘Sissy is not a name,’ said Mr. Gradgrind.  ‘Don’t call yourself Sissy.
Call yourself Cecilia.’

‘It’s father as calls me Sissy, sir,’ returned the young girl in a
trembling voice, and with another curtsey.

‘Then he has no business to do it,’ said Mr. Gradgrind.  ‘Tell him he
mustn’t.  Cecilia Jupe.  Let me see.  What is your father?’

‘He belongs to the horse-riding, if you please, sir.’

Mr. Gradgrind frowned, and waved off the objectionable calling with his
hand.

‘We don’t want to know anything about that, here.  You mustn’t tell us
about that, here.  Your father breaks horses, don’t he?’

‘If you please, sir, when they can get any to break, they do break horses
in the ring, sir.’

‘You mustn’t tell us about the ring, here.  Very well, then.  Describe
your father as a horsebreaker.  He doctors sick horses, I dare say?’

‘Oh yes, sir.’

‘Very well, then.  He is a veterinary surgeon, a farrier, and
horsebreaker.  Give me your definition of a horse.’

(Sissy Jupe thrown into the greatest alarm by this demand.)

‘Girl number twenty unable to define a horse!’ said Mr. Gradgrind, for
the general behoof of all the little pitchers.  ‘Girl number twenty
possessed of no facts, in reference to one of the commonest of animals!
Some boy’s definition of a horse.  Bitzer, yours.’

The square finger, moving here and there, lighted suddenly on Bitzer,
perhaps because he chanced t
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John Stuart Mill was born on 20th May 1806. He was a delicate child, and
the extraordinary education designed by his father was not calculated to
develop and improve his physical powers. "I never was a boy," he says;
"never played cricket." His exercise was taken in the form of walks with
his father, during which the elder Mill lectured his son and examined
him on his work. It is idle to speculate on the possible results of a
different treatment. Mill remained delicate throughout his life, but was
endowed with that intense mental energy which is so often combined with
physical weakness. His youth was sacrificed to an idea; he was designed
by his father to carry on his work; the individuality of the boy was
unimportant. A visit to the south of France at the age of fourteen, in
company with the family of General Sir Samuel Bentham, was not without
its influence. It was a glimpse of another atmosphere, though the
studious habits of his home life were maintained. Moreover, he derived
from it his interest in foreign politics, which remained one of his
characteristics to the end of his life. In 1823 he was appointed junior
clerk in the Examiners' Office at the India House.

Mill's first essays were written in the _Traveller_ about a year before
he entered the India House. From that time forward his literary work was
uninterrupted save by attacks of illness. His industry was stupendous.
He wrote articles on an infinite variety of subjects, political,
metaphysical, philosophic, religious, poetical. He discovered Tennyson
for his generation, he influenced the writing of Carlyle's _French
Revolution_ as well as its success. And all the while he was engaged in
studying and preparing for his more ambitious works, while he rose step
by step at the India Office. His _Essays on Unsettled Questions in
Political Economy_ were written in 1831, although they did not appear
until thirteen years later. His _System of Logic_, the design of which
was even then fashioning itself in his brain, took thirteen years to
complete, and was actually published before the _Political Economy_. In
1844 appeared the article on Michelet, which its author anticipated
would cause some discussion, but which did not create the sensation he
expected. Next year there were the "Claims of Labour" and "Guizot," and
in 1847 his articles on Irish affairs in the _Morning Chronicle_. These
years were very much influenced by his friendship and correspondence
with Comte, a curious comradeship between men of such different
temperament. In 1848 Mill published his _Political Economy_, to which he
had given his serious study since the completion of his _Logic_. His
articles and reviews, though they involved a good deal of work--as, for
instance, the re-perusal of the _Iliad_ and the _Odyssey_ in the
original before reviewing Grote's _Greece_--were recreation to the
student. The year 1856 saw him head of the Examiners' Office in the
India House, and another two years brought the end of his official work,
owing to the transfer of India to the Crown. In the same year his wife
died. _Liberty_ was published shortly after, as well as the _Thoughts on
Parliamentary Reform_, and no year passed without Mill making important
contributions on the political, philosophical, and ethical questions of
the day.

Seven years after the death of his wife, Mill was invited to contest
Westminster. His feeling on the conduct of elections made him refuse to
take any personal action in the matter, and he gave the frankest
expression to his political views, but nevertheless he was elected by a
large majority. He was not a conventional success in the House; as a
speaker he lacked magnetism. But his influence was widely felt. "For the
sake of the House of Commons at large," said Mr. Gladstone, "I rejoiced
in his advent and deplored his disappearance. He did us all good." After
only three years in Parliament, he was defeated at the next General
Election by Mr. W. H. Smith. He retired to Avignon, to the pleasant
little house where the happiest years of his life had been spent in the
companionship of his wife, and continued his disinterested labours. He
completed his edition of his father's _Analysis of the Mind_, and also
produced, in addition to less important work, _The Subjection of Women_,
in which he had the active co-operation of his step-daughter. A book on
Socialism was under consideration, but, like an earlier study of
Sociology, it never was written. He died in 1873, his last years being
spent peacefully in the pleasant society of his step-daughter, from
whose tender care and earnest intellectual sympathy he caught maybe a
far-off reflection of the light which had irradiated his spiritual life.



The circumstances under which John Stuart Mill wrote his _Liberty_ are
largely connected with the influence which Mrs. Taylor wielded over his
career. The dedication is well known. It contains the most extraordinary
panegyric on a woman that any philosopher has ever penned. "Were I but
ca
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No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy would have
supposed her born to be an heroine. Her situation in life, the
character of her father and mother, her own person and disposition,
were all equally against her. Her father was a clergyman, without being
neglected, or poor, and a very respectable man, though his name was
Richard—and he had never been handsome. He had a considerable
independence besides two good livings—and he was not in the least
addicted to locking up his daughters. Her mother was a woman of useful
plain sense, with a good temper, and, what is more remarkable, with a
good constitution. She had three sons before Catherine was born; and
instead of dying in bringing the latter into the world, as anybody
might expect, she still lived on—lived to have six children more—to see
them growing up around her, and to enjoy excellent health herself. A
family of ten children will be always called a fine family, where there
are heads and arms and legs enough for the number; but the Morlands had
little other right to the word, for they were in general very plain,
and Catherine, for many years of her life, as plain as any. She had a
thin awkward figure, a sallow skin without colour, dark lank hair, and
strong features—so much for her person; and not less unpropitious for
heroism seemed her mind. She was fond of all boy’s plays, and greatly
preferred cricket not merely to dolls, but to the more heroic
enjoyments of infancy, nursing a dormouse, feeding a canary-bird, or
watering a rose-bush. Indeed she had no taste for a garden; and if she
gathered flowers at all, it was chiefly for the pleasure of mischief—at
least so it was conjectured from her always preferring those which she
was forbidden to take. Such were her propensities—her abilities were
quite as extraordinary. She never could learn or understand anything
before she was taught; and sometimes not even then, for she was often
inattentive, and occasionally stupid. Her mother was three months in
teaching her only to repeat the “Beggar’s Petition”; and after all, her
next sister, Sally, could say it better than she did. Not that
Catherine was always stupid—by no means; she learnt the fable of “The
Hare and Many Friends” as quickly as any girl in England. Her mother
wished her to learn music; and Catherine was sure she should like it,
for she was very fond of tinkling the keys of the old forlorn spinnet;
so, at eight years old she began. She learnt a year, and could not bear
it; and Mrs. Morland, who did not insist on her daughters being
accomplished in spite of incapacity or distaste, allowed her to leave
off. The day which dismissed the music-master was one of the happiest
of Catherine’s life. Her taste for drawing was not superior; though
whenever she could obtain the outside of a letter from her mother or
seize upon any other odd piece of paper, she did what she could in that
way, by drawing houses and trees, hens and chickens, all very much like
one another. Writing and accounts she was taught by her father; French
by her mother: her proficiency in either was not remarkable, and she
shirked her lessons in both whenever she could. What a strange,
unaccountable character!—for with all these symptoms of profligacy at
ten years old, she had neither a bad heart nor a bad temper, was seldom
stubborn, scarcely ever quarrelsome, and very kind to the little ones,
with few interruptions of tyranny; she was moreover noisy and wild,
hated confinement and cleanliness, and loved nothing so well in the
world as rolling down the green slope at the back of the house.

Such was Catherine Morland at ten. At fifteen, appearances were
mending; she began to curl her hair and long for balls; her complexion
improved, her features were softened by plumpness and colour, her eyes
gained more animation, and her figure more consequence. Her love of
dirt gave way to an inclination for finery, and she grew clean as she
grew smart; she had now the pleasure of sometimes hearing her father
and mother remark on her personal improvement. “Catherine grows quite a
good-looking girl—she is almost pretty today,” were words which caught
her ears now and then; and how welcome were the sounds! To look
_almost_ pretty is an acquisition of higher delight to a girl who has
been looking plain the first fifteen years of her life than a beauty
from her cradle can ever receive.

Mrs. Morland was a very good woman, and wished to see her children
everything they ought to be; but her time was so much occupied in
lying-in and teaching the little ones, that her elder daughters were
inevitably left to shift for themselves; and it was not very wonderful
that Catherine, who had by nature nothing heroic about her, should
prefer cricket, baseball, riding on horseback, and running about the
country at the age of fourteen, to books—or at least books of
information—for, provided that nothing like useful knowledge could be
gained from them, provided they were all story and no reflection, she
h
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Preface By The Author

Reader be assured this narrative is no fiction. I am aware that some of my
adventures may seem incredible; but they are, nevertheless, strictly true.
I have not exaggerated the wrongs inflicted by Slavery; on the contrary, my
descriptions fall far short of the facts. I have concealed the names of
places, and given persons fictitious names. I had no motive for secrecy on
my own account, but I deemed it kind and considerate towards others to
pursue this course.

I wish I were more competent to the task I have undertaken. But I trust my
readers will excuse deficiencies in consideration of circumstances. I was
born and reared in Slavery; and I remained in a Slave State twenty-seven
years. Since I have been at the North, it has been necessary for me to work
diligently for my own support, and the education of my children. This has
not left me much leisure to make up for the loss of early opportunities to
improve myself; and it has compelled me to write these pages at irregular
intervals, whenever I could snatch an hour from household duties.

When I first arrived in Philadelphia, Bishop Paine advised me to publish a
sketch of my life, but I told him I was altogether incompetent to such an
undertaking. Though I have improved my mind somewhat since that time, I
still remain of the same opinion; but I trust my motives will excuse what
might otherwise seem presumptuous. I have not written my experiences in
order to attract attention to myself; on the contrary, it would have been
more pleasant to me to have been silent about my own history. Neither do I
care to excite sympathy for my own sufferings. But I do earnestly desire to
arouse the women of the North to a realizing sense of the condition of two
millions of women at the South, still in bondage, suffering what I
suffered, and most of them far worse. I want to add my testimony to that of
abler pens to convince the people of the Free States what Slavery really
is. Only by experience can any one realize how deep, and dark, and foul is
that pit of abominations. May the blessing of God rest on this imperfect
effort in behalf of my persecuted people!

--_Linda Brent_



Introduction By The Editor


The author of the following autobiography is personally known to me, and
her conversation and manners inspire me with confidence. During the last
seventeen years, she has lived the greater part of the time with a
distinguished family in New York, and has so deported herself as to be
highly esteemed by them. This fact is sufficient, without further
credentials of her character. I believe those who know her will not be
disposed to doubt her veracity, though some incidents in her story are more
romantic than fiction.

At her request, I have revised her manuscript; but such changes as I have
made have been mainly for purposes of condensation and orderly arrangement.
I have not added any thing to the incidents, or changed the import of her
very pertinent remarks. With trifling exceptions, both the ideas and the
language are her own. I pruned excrescences a little, but otherwise I had
no reason for changing her lively and dramatic way of telling her own
story. The names of both persons and places are known to me; but for good
reasons I suppress them.

It will naturally excite surprise that a woman reared in Slavery should be
able to write so well. But circumstances will explain this. In the first
place, nature endowed her with quick perceptions. Secondly, the mistress,
with whom she lived till she was twelve years old, was a kind, considerate
friend, who taught her to read and spell. Thirdly, she was placed in
favorable circumstances after she came to the North; having frequent
intercourse with intelligent persons, who felt a friendly interest in her
welfare, and were disposed to give her opportunities for self-improvement.

I am well aware that many will accuse me of indecorum for presenting these
pages to the public; for the experiences of this intelligent and
much-injured woman belong to a class which some call delicate subjects, and
others indelicate. This peculiar phase of Slavery has generally been kept
veiled; but the public ought to be made acquainted with its monstrous
features, and I willingly take the responsibility of presenting them with
the veil withdrawn. I do this for the sake of my sisters in bondage, who
are suffering wrongs so foul, that our ears are too delicate to listen to
them. I do it with the hope of arousing conscientious and reflecting women
at the North to a sense of their duty in the exertion of moral influence on
the question of Slavery, on all possible occasions. I do it with the hope
that every man who reads this narrative will swear solemnly before God
that, so far as he has power to prevent it, no fugitive from Slavery shall
ever be sent back to suffer in that loathsome den of corruption and
cruelty.

--_L. Maria Child_



Contents


Childhood

The New Master And Mistress

The Slaves' New Year's Day

The Slave Who Dared T
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2_B_R_0_2_B

           By
    Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.


Transcriber note: This etext was produced from Worlds of If, January 1962.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S. copyright on
this publication was renewed.




Got a problem? Just pick up the phone.
It solved them all--and all the same way!


     2
     B
     R
     0
     2
     B


by KURT VONNEGUT, JR.




Everything was perfectly swell.

There were no prisons, no slums, no insane asylums, no cripples, no
poverty, no wars.

All diseases were conquered. So was old age.

Death, barring accidents, was an adventure for volunteers.

The population of the United States was stabilized at forty-million
souls.

One bright morning in the Chicago Lying-in Hospital, a man named Edward
K. Wehling, Jr., waited for his wife to give birth. He was the only man
waiting. Not many people were born a day any more.

Wehling was fifty-six, a mere stripling in a population whose average
age was one hundred and twenty-nine.

X-rays had revealed that his wife was going to have triplets. The
children would be his first.

Young Wehling was hunched in his chair, his head in his hand. He was so
rumpled, so still and colorless as to be virtually invisible. His
camouflage was perfect, since the waiting room had a disorderly and
demoralized air, too. Chairs and ashtrays had been moved away from the
walls. The floor was paved with spattered dropcloths.

The room was being redecorated. It was being redecorated as a memorial
to a man who had volunteered to die.

A sardonic old man, about two hundred years old, sat on a stepladder,
painting a mural he did not like. Back in the days when people aged
visibly, his age would have been guessed at thirty-five or so. Aging had
touched him that much before the cure for aging was found.

The mural he was working on depicted a very neat garden. Men and women
in white, doctors and nurses, turned the soil, planted seedlings,
sprayed bugs, spread fertilizer.

Men and women in purple uniforms pulled up weeds, cut down plants that
were old and sickly, raked leaves, carried refuse to trash-burners.

Never, never, never--not even in medieval Holland nor old Japan--had a
garden been more formal, been better tended. Every plant had all the
loam, light, water, air and nourishment it could use.

A hospital orderly came down the corridor, singing under his breath a
popular song:

     If you don't like my kisses, honey,
     Here's what I will do:
     I'll go see a girl in purple,
     Kiss this sad world toodle-oo.
     If you don't want my lovin',
     Why should I take up all this space?
     I'll get off this old planet,
     Let some sweet baby have my place.

The orderly looked in at the mural and the muralist. "Looks so real,"
he said, "I can practically imagine I'm standing in the middle of it."

"What makes you think you're not in it?" said the painter. He gave a
satiric smile. "It's called 'The Happy Garden of Life,' you know."

"That's good of Dr. Hitz," said the orderly.

       *       *       *       *       *

He was referring to one of the male figures in white, whose head was a
portrait of Dr. Benjamin Hitz, the hospital's Chief Obstetrician. Hitz
was a blindingly handsome man.

"Lot of faces still to fill in," said the orderly. He meant that the
faces of many of the figures in the mural were still blank. All blanks
were to be filled with portraits of important people on either the
hospital staff or from the Chicago Office of the Federal Bureau of
Termination.

"Must be nice to be able to make pictures that look like something,"
said the orderly.

The painter's face curdled with scorn. "You think I'm proud of this
daub?" he said. "You think this is my idea of what life really looks
like?"

"What's your idea of what life looks like?" said the orderly.

The painter gestured at a foul dropcloth. "There's a good picture of
it," he said. "Frame that, and you'll have a picture a damn sight more
honest than this one."

"You're a gloomy old duck, aren't you?" said the orderly.

"Is that a crime?" said the painter.

The orderly shrugged. "If you don't like it here, Grandpa--" he said,
and he finished the thought with the trick telephone number that people
who didn't want to live any more were supposed to call. The zero in the
telephone number he pronounced "naught."

The number was: "2 B R 0 2 B."

It was the telephone number of an institution whose fanciful sobriquets
included: "Automat," "Birdland," "Cannery," "Catbox," "De-louser,"
"Easy-go," "Good-by, Mother," "Happy Hooligan," "Kiss-me-quick," "Lucky
Pierre," "Sheepdip," "Waring Blendor," "Weep-no-more" and "Why Worry?"

"To be or not to be" was the telephone number of the municipal gas
chambers of the Federal Bureau of Termination.

       *       *       *       *       *

The painter thumbed his nose at the orderly. "When I decide it's time to
go," he said, "it won't be at the Sheepdip."

"A do-it-yourselfer, eh?" said the orderly. "Messy business, Grandpa.
Why don't y
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The Works of Edgar Allan Poe

by Edgar Allan Poe

The Raven Edition

VOLUME II.


Contents

 THE PURLOINED LETTER
 THE THOUSAND-AND-SECOND TALE OF SCHEHERAZADE
 A DESCENT INTO THE MAELSTROM.
 VON KEMPELEN AND HIS DISCOVERY
 MESMERIC REVELATION
 THE FACTS IN THE CASE OF M. VALDEMAR
 THE BLACK CAT.
 THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER
 SILENCE—A FABLE
 THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH.
 THE CASK OF AMONTILLADO.
 THE IMP OF THE PERVERSE
 THE ISLAND OF THE FAY
 THE ASSIGNATION
 THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM
 THE PREMATURE BURIAL
 THE DOMAIN OF ARNHEIM
 LANDOR’S COTTAGE
 WILLIAM WILSO
 THE TELL-TALE HEART.
 BERENICE
 ELEONORA
 NOTES TO THE SECOND VOLUME

[Redactor’s Note—Some endnotes are by Poe and some were added by
Griswold. In this volume the notes are at the end.]




THE PURLOINED LETTER


Nil sapientiæ odiosius acumine nimio.—_Seneca_.

      At Paris, just after dark one gusty evening in the autumn of 18-,
      I was enjoying the twofold luxury of meditation and a meerschaum,
      in company with my friend C. Auguste Dupin, in his little back
      library, or book-closet, _au troisième_, No. 33, _Rue Dunôt,
      Faubourg St. Germain_. For one hour at least we had maintained a
      profound silence; while each, to any casual observer, might have
      seemed intently and exclusively occupied with the curling eddies
      of smoke that oppressed the atmosphere of the chamber. For
      myself, however, I was mentally discussing certain topics which
      had formed matter for conversation between us at an earlier
      period of the evening; I mean the affair of the Rue Morgue, and
      the mystery attending the murder of Marie Rogêt. I looked upon
      it, therefore, as something of a coincidence, when the door of
      our apartment was thrown open and admitted our old acquaintance,
      Monsieur G——, the Prefect of the Parisian police.

      We gave him a hearty welcome; for there was nearly half as much
      of the entertaining as of the contemptible about the man, and we
      had not seen him for several years. We had been sitting in the
      dark, and Dupin now arose for the purpose of lighting a lamp, but
      sat down again, without doing so, upon G.‘s saying that he had
      called to consult us, or rather to ask the opinion of my friend,
      about some official business which had occasioned a great deal of
      trouble.

      “If it is any point requiring reflection,” observed Dupin, as he
      forebore to enkindle the wick, “we shall examine it to better
      purpose in the dark.”

      “That is another of your odd notions,” said the Prefect, who had
      a fashion of calling every thing “odd” that was beyond his
      comprehension, and thus lived amid an absolute legion of
      “oddities.”

      “Very true,” said Dupin, as he supplied his visitor with a pipe,
      and rolled towards him a comfortable chair.

      “And what is the difficulty now?” I asked. “Nothing more in the
      assassination way, I hope?”

      “Oh no; nothing of that nature. The fact is, the business is very
      simple indeed, and I make no doubt that we can manage it
      sufficiently well ourselves; but then I thought Dupin would like
      to hear the details of it, because it is so excessively odd.”

      “Simple and odd,” said Dupin.

      “Why, yes; and not exactly that, either. The fact is, we have all
      been a good deal puzzled because the affair is so simple, and yet
      baffles us altogether.”

      “Perhaps it is the very simplicity of the thing which puts you at
      fault,” said my friend.

      “What nonsense you do talk!” replied the Prefect, laughing
      heartily.

      “Perhaps the mystery is a little too plain,” said Dupin.

      “Oh, good heavens! who ever heard of such an idea?”

      “A little too self-evident.”

      “Ha! ha! ha—ha! ha! ha!—ho! ho! ho!” roared our visitor,
      profoundly amused, “oh, Dupin, you will be the death of me yet!”

      “And what, after all, is the matter on hand?” I asked.

      “Why, I will tell you,” replied the Prefect, as he gave a long,
      steady and contemplative puff, and settled himself in his chair.
      “I will tell you in a few words; but, before I begin, let me
      caution you that this is an affair demanding the greatest
      secrecy, and that I should most probably lose the position I now
      hold, were it known that I confided it to any one.”

      “Proceed,” said I.

      “Or not,” said Dupin.

      “Well, then; I have received personal information, from a very
      high quarter, that a certain document of the last importance has
      been purloined from the royal apartments. The individual who
      purloined it is known; this beyond a doubt; he was seen to take
      it. It is known, also, that it still remains in his possession.”

      “How is this known?” asked Dupin.

      “It is clearly inferred,” replied the Prefect, “from the nature
      of the document, and from the non-appearance of certain resu
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The Old Testament of the King James Version of the Bible
The First Book of Moses: Called Genesis
The Second Book of Moses: Called Exodus
The Third Book of Moses: Called Leviticus
The Fourth Book of Moses: Called Numbers
The Fifth Book of Moses: Called Deuteronomy
The Book of Joshua
The Book of Judges
The Book of Ruth
The First Book of Samuel
The Second Book of Samuel
The First Book of the Kings
The Second Book of the Kings
The First Book of the Chronicles
The Second Book of the Chronicles
Ezra
The Book of Nehemiah
The Book of Esther
The Book of Job
The Book of Psalms
The Proverbs
Ecclesiastes
The Song of Solomon
The Book of the Prophet Isaiah
The Book of the Prophet Jeremiah
The Lamentations of Jeremiah
The Book of the Prophet Ezekiel
The Book of Daniel
Hosea
Joel
Amos
Obadiah
Jonah
Micah
Nahum
Habakkuk
Zephaniah
Haggai
Zechariah
Malachi

The New Testament of the King James Bible
The Gospel According to Saint Matthew
The Gospel According to Saint Mark
The Gospel According to Saint Luke
The Gospel According to Saint John
The Acts of the Apostles
The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Romans
The First Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Corinthians
The Second Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Corinthians
The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Galatians
The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Ephesians
The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Philippians
The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Colossians
The First Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Thessalonians
The Second Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Thessalonians
The First Epistle of Paul the Apostle to Timothy
The Second Epistle of Paul the Apostle to Timothy
The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to Titus
The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to Philemon
The Epistle of Paul the Apostle to the Hebrews
The General Epistle of James
The First Epistle General of Peter
The Second General Epistle of Peter
The First Epistle General of John
The Second Epistle General of John
The Third Epistle General of John
The General Epistle of Jude
The Revelation of Saint John the Divine




The Old Testament of the King James Version of the Bible




The First Book of Moses:  Called Genesis


1:1 In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth.

1:2 And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon
the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the
waters.

1:3 And God said, Let there be light: and there was light.

1:4 And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light
from the darkness.

1:5 And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night.
And the evening and the morning were the first day.

1:6 And God said, Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters,
and let it divide the waters from the waters.

1:7 And God made the firmament, and divided the waters which were
under the firmament from the waters which were above the firmament:
and it was so.

1:8 And God called the firmament Heaven. And the evening and the
morning were the second day.

1:9 And God said, Let the waters under the heaven be gathered together
unto one place, and let the dry land appear: and it was so.

1:10 And God called the dry land Earth; and the gathering together of
the waters called he Seas: and God saw that it was good.

1:11 And God said, Let the earth bring forth grass, the herb yielding
seed, and the fruit tree yielding fruit after his kind, whose seed is
in itself, upon the earth: and it was so.

1:12 And the earth brought forth grass, and herb yielding seed after
his kind, and the tree yielding fruit, whose seed was in itself, after
his kind: and God saw that it was good.

1:13 And the evening and the morning were the third day.

1:14 And God said, Let there be lights in the firmament of the heaven
to divide the day from the night; and let them be for signs, and for
seasons, and for days, and years: 1:15 And let them be for lights in
the firmament of the heaven to give light upon the earth: and it was
so.

1:16 And God made two great lights; the greater light to rule the day,
and the lesser light to rule the night: he made the stars also.

1:17 And God set them in the firmament of the heaven to give light
upon the earth, 1:18 And to rule over the day and over the night, and
to divide the light from the darkness: and God saw that it was good.

1:19 And the evening and the morning were the fourth day.

1:20 And God said, Let the waters bring forth abundantly the moving
creature that hath life, and fowl that may fly above the earth in the
open firmament of heaven.

1:21 And God created great whales, and every living creature that
moveth, which the waters brought forth abundantly, after their kind,
and every winged fowl after his kind: and God saw that it was good.

1:22 And God blessed them, saying, Be fruitful, and multiply, and fill
the waters in the seas, and let fowl multiply in the earth.

1:23 And the evening and the morning were the fifth day.

1:24 And God said, Let the earth bring forth the living creature after
his kind, c
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This book aims to give in brief space the principal requirements of
plain English style. It aims to lighten the task of instructor and
student by concentrating attention (in Chapters II and III) on a few
essentials, the rules of usage and principles of composition most
commonly violated. In accordance with this plan it lays down three rules
for the use of the comma, instead of a score or more, and one for the
use of the semicolon, in the belief that these four rules provide for
all the internal punctuation that is required by nineteen sentences out
of twenty. Similarly, it gives in Chapter III only those principles of
the paragraph and the sentence which are of the widest application. The
book thus covers only a small portion of the field of English style. The
experience of its writer has been that once past the essentials,
students profit most by individual instruction based on the problems of
their own work, and that each instructor has his own body of theory,
which he may prefer to that offered by any textbook.

The numbers of the sections may be used as references in correcting
manuscript.

The writer's colleagues in the Department of English in Cornell
University have greatly helped him in the preparation of his manuscript.
Mr. George McLane Wood has kindly consented to the inclusion under
Rule 10 of some material from his _Suggestions to Authors_.

The following books are recommended for reference or further study: in
connection with Chapters II and IV, F. Howard Collins, _Author and
Printer_ (Henry Frowde); Chicago University Press, _Manual of Style_;
T. L. De Vinne, _Correct Composition_ (The Century Company); Horace
Hart, _Rules for Compositors and Printers_ (Oxford University Press);
George McLane Wood, _Extracts from the Style-Book of the Government
Printing Office_ (United States Geological Survey); in connection with
Chapters III and V, _The King's English_ (Oxford University Press); Sir
Arthur Quiller-Couch, _The Art of Writing_ (Putnam), especially the
chapter, Interlude on Jargon; George McLane Wood, _Suggestions to
Authors_ (United States Geological Survey); John Lesslie Hall, _English
Usage_ (Scott, Foresman and Co.); James P. Kelley, _Workmanship in
Words_ (Little, Brown and Co.). In these will be found full discussions
of many points here briefly treated and an abundant store of
illustrations to supplement those given in this book.

It is an old observation that the best writers sometimes disregard the
rules of rhetoric. When they do so, however, the reader will usually
find in the sentence some compensating merit, attained at the cost of
the violation. Unless he is certain of doing as well, he will probably
do best to follow the rules. After he has learned, by their guidance, to
write plain English adequate for everyday uses, let him look, for the
secrets of style, to the study of the masters of literature.






1. Form the possessive singular of nouns by adding 's.

Follow this rule whatever the final consonant. Thus write,

  Charles's friend

  Burns's poems

  the witch's malice

This is the usage of the United States Government Printing Office and of
the Oxford University Press.

Exceptions are the possessive of ancient proper names in _-es_ and
_-is_, the possessive _Jesus'_, and such forms as _for conscience'
sake_, _for righteousness' sake_. But such forms as _Achilles' heel_,
_Moses' laws_, _Isis' temple_ are commonly replaced by

  the heel of Achilles

  the laws of Moses

  the temple of Isis

The pronominal possessives _hers_, _its_, _theirs_, _yours_, and
_oneself_ have no apostrophe.


2. In a series of three or more terms with a single conjunction, use a
comma after each term except the last.

Thus write,

  red, white, and blue

  gold, silver, or copper

  He opened the letter, read it, and made a note of its contents.

This is also the usage of the Government Printing Office and of the
Oxford University Press.

In the names of business firms the last comma is omitted, as,

  Brown, Shipley & Co.


3. Enclose parenthetic expressions between commas.

  The best way to see a country, unless you are pressed for time, is to
  travel on foot.

This rule is difficult to apply; it is frequently hard to decide whether
a single word, such as _however_, or a brief phrase, is or is not
parenthetic. If the interruption to the flow of the sentence is but
slight, the writer may safely omit the commas. But whether the
interruption be slight or considerable, he must never insert one comma
and omit the other. Such punctuation as

  Marjorie's husband, Colonel Nelson paid us a visit yesterday,

or

  My brother you will be pleased to hear, is now in perfect health,

is indefensible.

If a parenthetic expression is preceded by a conjunction, place the
first comma before the conjunction, not after it.

  He saw us coming, and unaware that we had learned of his treachery,
  greeted us with a smile.

Always to be regarded as parenthetic and to be enclosed between commas
(or, at the end o
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Copyright, 1916,

BY
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY


June, 1922


THE QUINN & BODEN CO. PRESS
RAHWAY, N. J.




CONTENTS



                                                             PAGE
Introduction                                                  vii

The Autobiography

      I. Ancestry and Early Life in Boston                      3
     II. Beginning Life as a Printer                           21
    III. Arrival in Philadelphia                               41
     IV. First Visit to Boston                                 55
      V. Early Friends in Philadelphia                         69
     VI. First Visit to London                                 77
    VII. Beginning Business in Philadelphia                    99
   VIII. Business Success and First Public Service            126
     IX. Plan for Attaining Moral Perfection                  146
      X. _Poor Richard's Almanac_ and Other Activities        169
     XI. Interest in Public Affairs                           188
    XII. Defense of the Province                              201
   XIII. Public Services and Duties                           217
    XIV. Albany Plan of Union                                 241
     XV. Quarrels with the Proprietary Governors              246
    XVI. Braddock's Expedition                                253
   XVII. Franklin's Defense of the Frontier                   274
  XVIII. Scientific Experiments                               289
    XIX. Agent of Pennsylvania in London                      296

Appendix

         Electrical Kite                                      327
         The Way to Wealth                                    331
         The Whistle                                          336
         A Letter to Samuel Mather                            34O

Bibliography                                                  343




ILLUSTRATIONS

Franklin at the Court of Louis XVI                 _Frontispiece_

  "He was therefore, feasted and invited to all the court
  parties. At these he sometimes met the old Duchess of
  Bourbon, who, being a chess player of about his force,
  they very generally played together. Happening once to
  put her king into prize, the Doctor took it. 'Ah,' says
  she, 'we do not take kings so.' 'We do in America,'
  said the Doctor."--Thomas Jefferson.


                                                             PAGE
Portrait of Franklin                                          vii

Pages 1 and 4 of _The Pennsylvania Gazette_, Number
  XL, the first number after Franklin took control            xxi

First page of _The New England Courant_ of December
  4-11, 1721                                                   33

"I was employed to carry the papers thro' the streets
  to the customers"                                            36

"She, standing at the door, saw me, and thought I
  made, as I certainly did, a most awkward, ridiculous
  appearance"                                                  48

"I took to working at press"                                   88

"I see him still at work when I go home from club"            120

Two pages from _Poor Richard's Almanac_ for 1736              171

"I regularly took my turn of duty there as a common
  soldier"                                                    204

"In the evening, hearing a great noise among them,
  the commissioners walk'd out to see what was the
  matter"                                                     224

"Our axes ... were immediately set to work to
  cut down trees"                                             278

"We now appeared very wide, and so far from each
  other in our opinions as to discourage all hope
  of agreement"                                               318

"You will find it stream out plentifully from the key
  on the approach of your knuckle"                            328

Father Abraham in his study                                   330

The end papers show, at the front, the Franklin arms and
  the Franklin seal; at the back, the medal given by the
  Boston public schools from the fund left by Franklin for
  that purpose as provided in the following extract from his
  will:


  "I was born in Boston, New England, and owe my first
  instructions in literature to the free grammar-schools
  established there. I therefore give one hundred pounds
  sterling to my executors, to be by them ... paid over to
  the managers or directors of the free schools in my native
  town of Boston, to be by them ... put out to interest, and
  so continued at interest forever, which interest annually
  shall be laid out in silver medals, and given as honorary
  rewards annually by the directors of the said free schools
  belonging to the said town, in such manner as to the
  discretion of the selectmen of the said town shall seem
  meet."

[Illustration: B. Franklin From an engraving by J. Thomson from the
original picture by J. A. Duplessis]

[Illustration: B. Franklin's signature]


I
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In the ancient city of London, on a certain autumn day in the second
quarter of the sixteenth century, a boy was born to a poor family of the
name of Canty, who did not want him.  On the same day another English
child was born to a rich family of the name of Tudor, who did want him.
All England wanted him too.  England had so longed for him, and hoped
for him, and prayed God for him, that, now that he was really come, the
people went nearly mad for joy.  Mere acquaintances hugged and kissed
each other and cried. Everybody took a holiday, and high and low, rich
and poor, feasted and danced and sang, and got very mellow; and they
kept this up for days and nights together.  By day, London was a sight
to see, with gay banners waving from every balcony and housetop, and
splendid pageants marching along.  By night, it was again a sight
to see, with its great bonfires at every corner, and its troops of
revellers making merry around them.  There was no talk in all England
but of the new baby, Edward Tudor, Prince of Wales, who lay lapped in
silks and satins, unconscious of all this fuss, and not knowing that
great lords and ladies were tending him and watching over him--and not
caring, either.  But there was no talk about the other baby, Tom Canty,
lapped in his poor rags, except among the family of paupers whom he had
just come to trouble with his presence.





Let us skip a number of years.

London was fifteen hundred years old, and was a great town--for that
day. It had a hundred thousand inhabitants--some think double as many.
 The streets were very narrow, and crooked, and dirty, especially in the
part where Tom Canty lived, which was not far from London Bridge.  The
houses were of wood, with the second story projecting over the first,
and the third sticking its elbows out beyond the second.  The higher
the houses grew, the broader they grew.  They were skeletons of strong
criss-cross beams, with solid material between, coated with plaster.
 The beams were painted red or blue or black, according to the owner’s
taste, and this gave the houses a very picturesque look.  The windows
were small, glazed with little diamond-shaped panes, and they opened
outward, on hinges, like doors.

The house which Tom’s father lived in was up a foul little pocket called
Offal Court, out of Pudding Lane.  It was small, decayed, and rickety,
but it was packed full of wretchedly poor families. Canty’s tribe
occupied a room on the third floor.  The mother and father had a sort of
bedstead in the corner; but Tom, his grandmother, and his two sisters,
Bet and Nan, were not restricted--they had all the floor to themselves,
and might sleep where they chose.  There were the remains of a blanket
or two, and some bundles of ancient and dirty straw, but these could not
rightly be called beds, for they were not organised; they were kicked
into a general pile, mornings, and selections made from the mass at
night, for service.

Bet and Nan were fifteen years old--twins.  They were good-hearted
girls, unclean, clothed in rags, and profoundly ignorant.  Their mother
was like them.  But the father and the grandmother were a couple of
fiends.  They got drunk whenever they could; then they fought each other
or anybody else who came in the way; they cursed and swore always, drunk
or sober; John Canty was a thief, and his mother a beggar.  They made
beggars of the children, but failed to make thieves of them.  Among,
but not of, the dreadful rabble that inhabited the house, was a good old
priest whom the King had turned out of house and home with a pension of
a few farthings, and he used to get the children aside and teach them
right ways secretly. Father Andrew also taught Tom a little Latin, and
how to read and write; and would have done the same with the girls,
but they were afraid of the jeers of their friends, who could not have
endured such a queer accomplishment in them.

All Offal Court was just such another hive as Canty’s house.
Drunkenness, riot and brawling were the order, there, every night and
nearly all night long.  Broken heads were as common as hunger in that
place.  Yet little Tom was not unhappy.  He had a hard time of it, but
did not know it.  It was the sort of time that all the Offal Court boys
had, therefore he supposed it was the correct and comfortable thing.
 When he came home empty-handed at night, he knew his father would
curse him and thrash him first, and that when he was done the awful
grandmother would do it all over again and improve on it; and that away
in the night his starving mother would slip to him stealthily with any
miserable scrap or crust she had been able to save for him by going
hungry herself, notwithstanding she was often caught in that sort of
treason and soundly beaten for it by her husband.

No, Tom’s life went along well enough, especially in summer.  He only
begged just enough to save himself, for the laws against mendicancy were
stringent, and the penalties heavy; so he put in a good deal of his t
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Is there any knowledge in the world which is so certain that no
reasonable man could doubt it? This question, which at first sight might
not seem difficult, is really one of the most difficult that can
be asked. When we have realized the obstacles in the way of a
straightforward and confident answer, we shall be well launched on the
study of philosophy--for philosophy is merely the attempt to answer
such ultimate questions, not carelessly and dogmatically, as we do in
ordinary life and even in the sciences, but critically, after exploring
all that makes such questions puzzling, and after realizing all the
vagueness and confusion that underlie our ordinary ideas.

In daily life, we assume as certain many things which, on a closer
scrutiny, are found to be so full of apparent contradictions that only a
great amount of thought enables us to know what it is that we really may
believe. In the search for certainty, it is natural to begin with our
present experiences, and in some sense, no doubt, knowledge is to be
derived from them. But any statement as to what it is that our immediate
experiences make us know is very likely to be wrong. It seems to me that
I am now sitting in a chair, at a table of a certain shape, on which I
see sheets of paper with writing or print. By turning my head I see out
of the window buildings and clouds and the sun. I believe that the sun
is about ninety-three million miles from the earth; that it is a hot
globe many times bigger than the earth; that, owing to the earth's
rotation, it rises every morning, and will continue to do so for an
indefinite time in the future. I believe that, if any other normal
person comes into my room, he will see the same chairs and tables and
books and papers as I see, and that the table which I see is the same as
the table which I feel pressing against my arm. All this seems to be
so evident as to be hardly worth stating, except in answer to a man who
doubts whether I know anything. Yet all this may be reasonably doubted,
and all of it requires much careful discussion before we can be sure
that we have stated it in a form that is wholly true.

To make our difficulties plain, let us concentrate attention on the
table. To the eye it is oblong, brown and shiny, to the touch it is
smooth and cool and hard; when I tap it, it gives out a wooden sound.
Any one else who sees and feels and hears the table will agree with this
description, so that it might seem as if no difficulty would arise;
but as soon as we try to be more precise our troubles begin. Although
I believe that the table is 'really' of the same colour all over, the
parts that reflect the light look much brighter than the other parts,
and some parts look white because of reflected light. I know that, if
I move, the parts that reflect the light will be different, so that the
apparent distribution of colours on the table will change. It follows
that if several people are looking at the table at the same moment, no
two of them will see exactly the same distribution of colours, because
no two can see it from exactly the same point of view, and any change in
the point of view makes some change in the way the light is reflected.

For most practical purposes these differences are unimportant, but to
the painter they are all-important: the painter has to unlearn the habit
of thinking that things seem to have the colour which common sense says
they 'really' have, and to learn the habit of seeing things as they
appear. Here we have already the beginning of one of the distinctions
that cause most trouble in philosophy--the distinction between
'appearance' and 'reality', between what things seem to be and what they
are. The painter wants to know what things seem to be, the practical man
and the philosopher want to know what they are; but the philosopher's
wish to know this is stronger than the practical man's, and is more
troubled by knowledge as to the difficulties of answering the question.

To return to the table. It is evident from what we have found, that
there is no colour which pre-eminently appears to be _the_ colour of the
table, or even of any one particular part of the table--it appears to
be of different colours from different points of view, and there is
no reason for regarding some of these as more really its colour than
others. And we know that even from a given point of view the colour will
seem different by artificial light, or to a colour-blind man, or to a
man wearing blue spectacles, while in the dark there will be no colour
at all, though to touch and hearing the table will be unchanged. This
colour is not something which is inherent in the table, but something
depending upon the table and the spectator and the way the light falls
on the table. When, in ordinary life, we speak of _the_ colour of the
table, we only mean the sort of colour which it will seem to have to a
normal spectator from an ordinary point of view under usual conditions
of light. But the other colours which appear u
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refrain from all anger and passion. From the fame and memory of him that
begot me I have learned both shamefastness and manlike behaviour. Of my
mother I have learned to be religious, and bountiful; and to forbear,
not only to do, but to intend any evil; to content myself with a spare
diet, and to fly all such excess as is incidental to great wealth. Of my
great-grandfather, both to frequent public schools and auditories, and
to get me good and able teachers at home; and that I ought not to think
much, if upon such occasions, I were at excessive charges.

the two great factions of the coursers in the circus, called Prasini,
and Veneti: nor in the amphitheatre partially to favour any of the
gladiators, or fencers, as either the Parmularii, or the Secutores.
Moreover, to endure labour; nor to need many things; when I have
anything to do, to do it myself rather than by others; not to meddle
with many businesses; and not easily to admit of any slander.

to believe those things, which are commonly spoken, by such as take upon
them to work wonders, and by sorcerers, or prestidigitators, and
impostors; concerning the power of charms, and their driving out of
demons, or evil spirits; and the like. Not to keep quails for the game;
nor to be mad after such things. Not to be offended with other men's
liberty of speech, and to apply myself unto philosophy. Him also I must
thank, that ever I heard first Bacchius, then Tandasis and Marcianus,
and that I did write dialogues in my youth; and that I took liking to
the philosophers' little couch and skins, and such other things, which
by the Grecian discipline are proper to those who profess philosophy.

that my life wanted some redress and cure. And then, that I did not
fall into the ambition of ordinary sophists, either to write tracts
concerning the common theorems, or to exhort men unto virtue and the
study of philosophy by public orations; as also that I never by way of
ostentation did affect to show myself an active able man, for any kind
of bodily exercises. And that I gave over the study of rhetoric and
poetry, and of elegant neat language. That I did not use to walk about
the house in my long robe, nor to do any such things. Moreover I learned
of him to write letters without any affectation, or curiosity; such as
that was, which by him was written to my mother from Sinuessa: and to be
easy and ready to be reconciled, and well pleased again with them that
had offended me, as soon as any of them would be content to seek unto
me again. To read with diligence; not to rest satisfied with a light and
superficial knowledge, nor quickly to assent to things commonly spoken
of: whom also I must thank that ever I lighted upon Epictetus his
_Hypomnemata_, or moral commentaries and common-factions: which also he
gave me of his own.

to regard anything at all, though never so little, but right and reason:
and always, whether in the sharpest pains, or after the loss of a child,
or in long diseases, to be still the same man; who also was a present
and visible example unto me, that it was possible for the same man to
be both vehement and remiss: a man not subject to be vexed, and offended
with the incapacity of his scholars and auditors in his lectures and
expositions; and a true pattern of a man who of all his good gifts
and faculties, least esteemed in himself, that his excellent skill and
ability to teach and persuade others the common theorems and maxims of
the Stoic philosophy. Of him also I learned how to receive favours and
kindnesses (as commonly they are accounted:) from friends, so that I
might not become obnoxious unto them, for them, nor more yielding upon
occasion, than in right I ought; and yet so that I should not pass them
neither, as an unsensible and unthankful man.

paternal affection; and a purpose to live according to nature: to be
grave without affectation: to observe carefully the several dispositions
of my friends, not to be offended with idiots, nor unseasonably to set
upon those that are carried with the vulgar opinions, with the theorems,
and tenets of philosophers: his conversation being an example how a man
might accommodate himself to all men and companies; so that though his
company were sweeter and more pleasing than any flatterer's cogging and
fawning; yet was it at the same time most respected and reverenced: who
also had a proper happiness and faculty, rationally and methodically to
find out, and set in order all necessary determinations and instructions
for a man's life. A man without ever the least appearance of anger, or
any other passion; able at the same time most exactly to observe the
Stoic _Apathia_, or unpassionateness, and yet to be most tender-hearted:
ever of good credit; and yet almost without any noise, or rumour: very
learned, and yet making little show.

reproachfully to reprehend any man for a barbarism, or a solecism, or
any false pronunciation, but dextrously by way of answer, or testimony,
or confirmation of the same matter (tak
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 61085
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/61085

in our time




  the author _wood-cut from portrait by_ henry strater




  in our time

  _by_

  ernest hemingway

        A Girl in Chicago: Tell us about
        the French women, Hank. What are
        they like?

        Bill Smith: How old are the French
        women, Hank?

  paris:

  _printed at the_ three mountains press _and for sale
  at_ shakespeare & company, _in the rue de l’odéon;_
  _london:_ william jackson, _took's court, cursitor street, chancery lane._

  1924




  to
  robert mᶜalmon and william bird
  _publishers of the city of paris_
  and to
  captain eric edward dorman-smith, m.c.,
  _of his majesty’s fifth fusiliers_
  this book
  is respectfully dedicated




  _of_ 170 _copies_
  _printed on_
  rives _hand-made paper_
  _this is number_




  in our time




  chapter 1


Everybody was drunk. The whole battery was drunk going along the road
in the dark. We were going to the Champagne. The lieutenant kept
riding his horse out into the fields and saying to him, “I’m drunk, I
tell you, mon vieux. Oh, I am so soused.” We went along the road all
night in the dark and the adjutant kept riding up alongside my
kitchen and saying, “You must put it out. It is dangerous. It will be
observed.” We were fifty kilometers from the front but the adjutant
worried about the fire in my kitchen. It was funny going along that
road. That was when I was a kitchen corporal.




  chapter 2


The first matador got the horn through his sword hand and the crowd
hooted him out. The second matador slipped and the bull caught him
through the belly and he hung on to the horn with one hand and held
the other tight against the place, and the bull rammed him wham
against the wall and the horn came out, and he lay in the sand, and
then got up like crazy drunk and tried to slug the men carrying him
away and yelled for his sword but he fainted. The kid came out and
had to kill five bulls because you can’t have more than three
matadors, and the last bull he was so tired he couldn’t get the sword
in. He couldn’t hardly lift his arm. He tried five times and the
crowd was quiet because it was a good bull and it looked like him or
the bull and then he finally made it. He sat down in the sand and
puked and they held a cape over him while the crowd hollered and
threw things down into the bull ring.




  chapter 3


Minarets stuck up in the rain out of Adrianople across the mud flats.
The carts were jammed for thirty miles along the Karagatch road.
Water buffalo and cattle were hauling carts through the mud. No end
and no beginning. Just carts loaded with everything they owned. The
old men and women, soaked through, walked along keeping the cattle
moving. The Maritza was running yellow almost up to the bridge. Carts
were jammed solid on the bridge with camels bobbing along through
them. Greek cavalry herded along the procession. Women and kids were
in the carts crouched with mattresses, mirrors, sewing machines,
bundles. There was a woman having a kid with a young girl holding a
blanket over her and crying. Scared sick looking at it. It rained all
through the evacuation.




  chapter 4


We were in a garden at Mons. Young Buckley came in with his patrol
from across the river. The first German I saw climbed up over the
garden wall. We waited till he got one leg over and then potted him.
He had so much equipment on and looked awfully surprised and fell
down into the garden. Then three more came over further down the
wall. We shot them. They all came just like that.




  chapter 5


It was a frightfully hot day. We’d jammed an absolutely perfect
barricade across the bridge. It was simply priceless. A big old
wrought iron grating from the front of a house. Too heavy to lift and
you could shoot through it and they would have to climb over it. It
was absolutely topping. They tried to get over it, and we potted them
from forty yards. They rushed it, and officers came out alone and
worked on it. It was an absolutely perfect obstacle. Their officers
were very fine. We were frightfully put out when we heard the flank
had gone, and we had to fall back.




  chapter 6


They shot the six cabinet ministers at half-past six in the morning
against the wall of a hospital. There were pools of water in the
courtyard. There were wet dead leaves on the paving of the courtyard.
It rained hard. All the shutters of the hospital were nailed shut.
One of the ministers was sick with typhoid. Two soldiers carried him
downstairs and out into the rain. They tried to hold him up against
the wall but he sat down in a puddle of water. The other five stood
very quietly against the wall. Finally the officer told the soldiers
it was no good trying to make him stand up. When they fired the first
volley he was sitting down in the water with his head on his knees.




  chapter 7


Nick sat against the wall of the church where they had dragged him to
be clear of machine gun fire in the street. Both legs stuck out
awkwardly. He had been hit in the spine.
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 145
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/145


Since I can do no good because a woman,
Reach constantly at something that is near it.
                    —_The Maid’s Tragedy:_ BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.


Miss Brooke had that kind of beauty which seems to be thrown into
relief by poor dress. Her hand and wrist were so finely formed that she
could wear sleeves not less bare of style than those in which the
Blessed Virgin appeared to Italian painters; and her profile as well as
her stature and bearing seemed to gain the more dignity from her plain
garments, which by the side of provincial fashion gave her the
impressiveness of a fine quotation from the Bible,—or from one of our
elder poets,—in a paragraph of to-day’s newspaper. She was usually
spoken of as being remarkably clever, but with the addition that her
sister Celia had more common-sense. Nevertheless, Celia wore scarcely
more trimmings; and it was only to close observers that her dress
differed from her sister’s, and had a shade of coquetry in its
arrangements; for Miss Brooke’s plain dressing was due to mixed
conditions, in most of which her sister shared. The pride of being
ladies had something to do with it: the Brooke connections, though not
exactly aristocratic, were unquestionably “good:” if you inquired
backward for a generation or two, you would not find any yard-measuring
or parcel-tying forefathers—anything lower than an admiral or a
clergyman; and there was even an ancestor discernible as a Puritan
gentleman who served under Cromwell, but afterwards conformed, and
managed to come out of all political troubles as the proprietor of a
respectable family estate. Young women of such birth, living in a quiet
country-house, and attending a village church hardly larger than a
parlor, naturally regarded frippery as the ambition of a huckster’s
daughter. Then there was well-bred economy, which in those days made
show in dress the first item to be deducted from, when any margin was
required for expenses more distinctive of rank. Such reasons would have
been enough to account for plain dress, quite apart from religious
feeling; but in Miss Brooke’s case, religion alone would have
determined it; and Celia mildly acquiesced in all her sister’s
sentiments, only infusing them with that common-sense which is able to
accept momentous doctrines without any eccentric agitation. Dorothea
knew many passages of Pascal’s Pensees and of Jeremy Taylor by heart;
and to her the destinies of mankind, seen by the light of Christianity,
made the solicitudes of feminine fashion appear an occupation for
Bedlam. She could not reconcile the anxieties of a spiritual life
involving eternal consequences, with a keen interest in gimp and
artificial protrusions of drapery. Her mind was theoretic, and yearned
by its nature after some lofty conception of the world which might
frankly include the parish of Tipton and her own rule of conduct there;
she was enamoured of intensity and greatness, and rash in embracing
whatever seemed to her to have those aspects; likely to seek martyrdom,
to make retractations, and then to incur martyrdom after all in a
quarter where she had not sought it. Certainly such elements in the
character of a marriageable girl tended to interfere with her lot, and
hinder it from being decided according to custom, by good looks,
vanity, and merely canine affection. With all this, she, the elder of
the sisters, was not yet twenty, and they had both been educated, since
they were about twelve years old and had lost their parents, on plans
at once narrow and promiscuous, first in an English family and
afterwards in a Swiss family at Lausanne, their bachelor uncle and
guardian trying in this way to remedy the disadvantages of their
orphaned condition.

It was hardly a year since they had come to live at Tipton Grange with
their uncle, a man nearly sixty, of acquiescent temper, miscellaneous
opinions, and uncertain vote. He had travelled in his younger years,
and was held in this part of the county to have contracted a too
rambling habit of mind. Mr. Brooke’s conclusions were as difficult to
predict as the weather: it was only safe to say that he would act with
benevolent intentions, and that he would spend as little money as
possible in carrying them out. For the most glutinously indefinite
minds enclose some hard grains of habit; and a man has been seen lax
about all his own interests except the retention of his snuff-box,
concerning which he was watchful, suspicious, and greedy of clutch.

In Mr. Brooke the hereditary strain of Puritan energy was clearly in
abeyance; but in his niece Dorothea it glowed alike through faults and
virtues, turning sometimes into impatience of her uncle’s talk or his
way of “letting things be” on his estate, and making her long all the
more for the time when she would be of age and have some command of
money for generous schemes. She was regarded as an heiress; for not
only had the sisters seven hundred a-year each from their parents, but
if Dorothea married and had a son, that son 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 4217
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/4217



Once upon a time and a very good time it was there was a moocow coming
down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the road
met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo....

His father told him that story: his father looked at him through a
glass: he had a hairy face.

He was baby tuckoo. The moocow came down the road where Betty Byrne
lived: she sold lemon platt.

    O, the wild rose blossoms
    On the little green place.


He sang that song. That was his song.

    O, the green wothe botheth.


When you wet the bed, first it is warm then it gets cold. His mother
put on the oilsheet. That had the queer smell.

His mother had a nicer smell than his father. She played on the piano
the sailor’s hornpipe for him to dance. He danced:

    Tralala lala,
    Tralala tralaladdy,
    Tralala lala,
    Tralala lala.


Uncle Charles and Dante clapped. They were older than his father and
mother but uncle Charles was older than Dante.

Dante had two brushes in her press. The brush with the maroon velvet
back was for Michael Davitt and the brush with the green velvet back
was for Parnell. Dante gave him a cachou every time he brought her a
piece of tissue paper.

The Vances lived in number seven. They had a different father and
mother. They were Eileen’s father and mother. When they were grown up
he was going to marry Eileen. He hid under the table. His mother said:

—O, Stephen will apologise.

Dante said:

—O, if not, the eagles will come and pull out his eyes.—

    Pull out his eyes,
    Apologise,
    Apologise,
    Pull out his eyes.
    Apologise,
    Pull out his eyes,
    Pull out his eyes,
    Apologise.


The wide playgrounds were swarming with boys. All were shouting and the
prefects urged them on with strong cries. The evening air was pale and
chilly and after every charge and thud of the footballers the greasy
leather orb flew like a heavy bird through the grey light. He kept on
the fringe of his line, out of sight of his prefect, out of the reach
of the rude feet, feigning to run now and then. He felt his body small
and weak amid the throng of the players and his eyes were weak and
watery. Rody Kickham was not like that: he would be captain of the
third line all the fellows said.

Rody Kickham was a decent fellow but Nasty Roche was a stink. Rody
Kickham had greaves in his number and a hamper in the refectory. Nasty
Roche had big hands. He called the Friday pudding dog-in-the-blanket.
And one day he had asked:

—What is your name?

Stephen had answered: Stephen Dedalus.

Then Nasty Roche had said:

—What kind of a name is that?

And when Stephen had not been able to answer Nasty Roche had asked:

—What is your father?

Stephen had answered:

—A gentleman.

Then Nasty Roche had asked:

—Is he a magistrate?

He crept about from point to point on the fringe of his line, making
little runs now and then. But his hands were bluish with cold. He kept
his hands in the side pockets of his belted grey suit. That was a belt
round his pocket. And belt was also to give a fellow a belt. One day a
fellow said to Cantwell:

—I’d give you such a belt in a second.

Cantwell had answered:

—Go and fight your match. Give Cecil Thunder a belt. I’d like to see
you. He’d give you a toe in the rump for yourself.

That was not a nice expression. His mother had told him not to speak
with the rough boys in the college. Nice mother! The first day in the
hall of the castle when she had said goodbye she had put up her veil
double to her nose to kiss him: and her nose and eyes were red. But he
had pretended not to see that she was going to cry. She was a nice
mother but she was not so nice when she cried. And his father had given
him two five-shilling pieces for pocket money. And his father had told
him if he wanted anything to write home to him and, whatever he did,
never to peach on a fellow. Then at the door of the castle the rector
had shaken hands with his father and mother, his soutane fluttering in
the breeze, and the car had driven off with his father and mother on
it. They had cried to him from the car, waving their hands:

—Goodbye, Stephen, goodbye!

—Goodbye, Stephen, goodbye!

He was caught in the whirl of a scrimmage and, fearful of the flashing
eyes and muddy boots, bent down to look through the legs. The fellows
were struggling and groaning and their legs were rubbing and kicking
and stamping. Then Jack Lawton’s yellow boots dodged out the ball and
all the other boots and legs ran after. He ran after them a little way
and then stopped. It was useless to run on. Soon they would be going
home for the holidays. After supper in the study hall he would change
the number pasted up inside his desk from seventyseven to seventysix.

It would be better to be in the study hall than out there in the cold.
The sky was pale and cold but there were lights in the castle. He
wondered from which window Hamilton Rowan had thrown his hat on the
haha and had there been flowerbeds at that time under the windows. One
day w
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 1524
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1524

THE TRAGEDY OF HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK

by William Shakespeare


Contents

ACT I
Scene I. Elsinore. A platform before the Castle.
Scene II. Elsinore. A room of state in the Castle
Scene III. A room in Polonius’s house.
Scene IV. The platform.
Scene V. A more remote part of the Castle.

ACT II
Scene I. A room in Polonius’s house.
Scene II. A room in the Castle.

ACT III
Scene I. A room in the Castle.
Scene II. A hall in the Castle.
Scene III. A room in the Castle.
Scene IV. Another room in the Castle.

ACT IV
Scene I. A room in the Castle.
Scene II. Another room in the Castle.
Scene III. Another room in the Castle.
Scene IV. A plain in Denmark.
Scene V. Elsinore. A room in the Castle.
Scene VI. Another room in the Castle.
Scene VII. Another room in the Castle.

ACT V
Scene I. A churchyard.
Scene II. A hall in the Castle.


Dramatis Personæ

HAMLET, Prince of Denmark.
CLAUDIUS, King of Denmark, Hamlet’s uncle.
The GHOST of the late king, Hamlet’s father.
GERTRUDE, the Queen, Hamlet’s mother, now wife of Claudius.
POLONIUS, Lord Chamberlain.
LAERTES, Son to Polonius.
OPHELIA, Daughter to Polonius.
HORATIO, Friend to Hamlet.
FORTINBRAS, Prince of Norway.
VOLTEMAND, Courtier.
CORNELIUS, Courtier.
ROSENCRANTZ, Courtier.
GUILDENSTERN, Courtier.
MARCELLUS, Officer.
BARNARDO, Officer.
FRANCISCO, a Soldier
OSRIC, Courtier.
REYNALDO, Servant to Polonius.
Players.
A Gentleman, Courtier.
A Priest.
Two Clowns, Grave-diggers.
A Captain.
English Ambassadors.
Lords, Ladies, Officers, Soldiers, Sailors, Messengers, and Attendants.

SCENE. Elsinore.



ACT I

SCENE I. Elsinore. A platform before the Castle.

 Enter Francisco and Barnardo, two sentinels.

BARNARDO. Who’s there?

FRANCISCO. Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself.

BARNARDO. Long live the King!

FRANCISCO. Barnardo?

BARNARDO. He.

FRANCISCO. You come most carefully upon your hour.

BARNARDO. ’Tis now struck twelve. Get thee to bed, Francisco.

FRANCISCO. For this relief much thanks. ’Tis bitter cold, And I am sick
at heart.

BARNARDO. Have you had quiet guard?

FRANCISCO. Not a mouse stirring.

BARNARDO. Well, good night. If you do meet Horatio and Marcellus, The
rivals of my watch, bid them make haste.

 Enter Horatio and Marcellus.

FRANCISCO. I think I hear them. Stand, ho! Who is there?

HORATIO. Friends to this ground.

MARCELLUS. And liegemen to the Dane.

FRANCISCO. Give you good night.

MARCELLUS. O, farewell, honest soldier, who hath reliev’d you?

FRANCISCO. Barnardo has my place. Give you good-night.

 [_Exit._]

MARCELLUS. Holla, Barnardo!

BARNARDO. Say, what, is Horatio there?

HORATIO. A piece of him.

BARNARDO. Welcome, Horatio. Welcome, good Marcellus.

MARCELLUS. What, has this thing appear’d again tonight?

BARNARDO. I have seen nothing.

MARCELLUS. Horatio says ’tis but our fantasy, And will not let belief
take hold of him Touching this dreaded sight, twice seen of us.
Therefore I have entreated him along With us to watch the minutes of
this night, That if again this apparition come He may approve our eyes
and speak to it.

HORATIO. Tush, tush, ’twill not appear.

BARNARDO. Sit down awhile, And let us once again assail your ears, That
are so fortified against our story, What we two nights have seen.

HORATIO. Well, sit we down, And let us hear Barnardo speak of this.

BARNARDO. Last night of all, When yond same star that’s westward from
the pole, Had made his course t’illume that part of heaven Where now it
burns, Marcellus and myself, The bell then beating one—

MARCELLUS. Peace, break thee off. Look where it comes again.

 Enter Ghost.

BARNARDO. In the same figure, like the King that’s dead.

MARCELLUS. Thou art a scholar; speak to it, Horatio.

BARNARDO. Looks it not like the King? Mark it, Horatio.

HORATIO. Most like. It harrows me with fear and wonder.

BARNARDO It would be spoke to.

MARCELLUS. Question it, Horatio.

HORATIO. What art thou that usurp’st this time of night, Together with
that fair and warlike form In which the majesty of buried Denmark Did
sometimes march? By heaven I charge thee speak.

MARCELLUS. It is offended.

BARNARDO. See, it stalks away.

HORATIO. Stay! speak, speak! I charge thee speak!

 [_Exit Ghost._]

MARCELLUS. ’Tis gone, and will not answer.

BARNARDO. How now, Horatio! You tremble and look pale. Is not this
something more than fantasy? What think you on’t?

HORATIO. Before my God, I might not this believe Without the sensible
and true avouch Of mine own eyes.

MARCELLUS. Is it not like the King?

HORATIO. As thou art to thyself: Such was the very armour he had on
When he th’ambitious Norway combated; So frown’d he once, when in an
angry parle He smote the sledded Polacks on the ice. ’Tis strange.

MARCELLUS. Thus twice before, and jump at this dead hour, With martial
stalk hath he gone by our watch.

HORATIO. In what particular thought to work I know not; But in the
gross and scope of my opinion, This bodes some strange eruption to our
state.

MARCELLUS. Good now, sit down, and tell me, he that kn
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 2097
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2097

IV.	 The Story of the Bald-Headed Man
V.	 The Tragedy of Pondicherry Lodge
VI.	 Sherlock Holmes Gives a Demonstration
VII. The Episode of the Barrel
VIII. The Baker Street Irregulars
IX.	 A Break in the Chain
X.	 The End of the Islander
XI.	 The Great Agra Treasure



The Science of Deduction

Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantel-piece and
his hypodermic syringe from its neat morocco case. With his long,
white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back
his left shirt-cuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully
upon the sinewy forearm and wrist all dotted and scarred with
innumerable puncture-marks. Finally he thrust the sharp point home,
pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined
arm-chair with a long sigh of satisfaction.

Three times a day for many months I had witnessed this performance, but
custom had not reconciled my mind to it. On the contrary, from day to
day I had become more irritable at the sight, and my conscience swelled
nightly within me at the thought that I had lacked the courage to
protest. Again and again I had registered a vow that I should deliver
my soul upon the subject, but there was that in the cool, nonchalant
air of my companion which made him the last man with whom one would
care to take anything approaching to a liberty. His great powers, his
masterly manner, and the experience which I had had of his many
extraordinary qualities, all made me diffident and backward in crossing
him.

Yet upon that afternoon, whether it was the Beaune which I had taken
with my lunch, or the additional exasperation produced by the extreme
deliberation of his manner, I suddenly felt that I could hold out no
longer.

“Which is it to-day?” I asked,—“morphine or cocaine?”

He raised his eyes languidly from the old black-letter volume which he
had opened. “It is cocaine,” he said,—“a seven-per-cent. solution.
Would you care to try it?”

“No, indeed,” I answered, brusquely. “My constitution has not got over
the Afghan campaign yet. I cannot afford to throw any extra strain upon
it.”

He smiled at my vehemence. “Perhaps you are right, Watson,” he said. “I
suppose that its influence is physically a bad one. I find it, however,
so transcendently stimulating and clarifying to the mind that its
secondary action is a matter of small moment.”

“But consider!” I said, earnestly. “Count the cost! Your brain may, as
you say, be roused and excited, but it is a pathological and morbid
process, which involves increased tissue-change and may at last leave a
permanent weakness. You know, too, what a black reaction comes upon
you. Surely the game is hardly worth the candle. Why should you, for a
mere passing pleasure, risk the loss of those great powers with which
you have been endowed? Remember that I speak not only as one comrade to
another, but as a medical man to one for whose constitution he is to
some extent answerable.”

He did not seem offended. On the contrary, he put his finger-tips
together and leaned his elbows on the arms of his chair, like one who
has a relish for conversation.

“My mind,” he said, “rebels at stagnation. Give me problems, give me
work, give me the most abstruse cryptogram or the most intricate
analysis, and I am in my own proper atmosphere. I can dispense then
with artificial stimulants. But I abhor the dull routine of existence.
I crave for mental exaltation. That is why I have chosen my own
particular profession,—or rather created it, for I am the only one in
the world.”

“The only unofficial detective?” I said, raising my eyebrows.

“The only unofficial consulting detective,” he answered. “I am the last
and highest court of appeal in detection. When Gregson or Lestrade or
Athelney Jones are out of their depths—which, by the way, is their
normal state—the matter is laid before me. I examine the data, as an
expert, and pronounce a specialist’s opinion. I claim no credit in such
cases. My name figures in no newspaper. The work itself, the pleasure
of finding a field for my peculiar powers, is my highest reward. But
you have yourself had some experience of my methods of work in the
Jefferson Hope case.”

“Yes, indeed,” said I, cordially. “I was never so struck by anything in
my life. I even embodied it in a small brochure with the somewhat
fantastic title of ‘A Study in Scarlet.’”

He shook his head sadly. “I glanced over it,” said he. “Honestly, I
cannot congratulate you upon it. Detection is, or ought to be, an exact
science, and should be treated in the same cold and unemotional manner.
You have attempted to tinge it with romanticism, which produces much
the same effect as if you worked a love-story or an elopement into the
fifth proposition of Euclid.”

“But the romance was there,” I remonstrated. “I could not tamper with
the facts.”

“Some facts should be suppressed, or at least a just sense of
proportion should be observed in treating them. The only point in the
case which deserved mention was the curious
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Looking-Glass house


One thing was certain, that the _white_ kitten had had nothing to do
with it:—it was the black kitten’s fault entirely. For the white kitten
had been having its face washed by the old cat for the last quarter of
an hour (and bearing it pretty well, considering); so you see that it
_couldn’t_ have had any hand in the mischief.

The way Dinah washed her children’s faces was this: first she held the
poor thing down by its ear with one paw, and then with the other paw
she rubbed its face all over, the wrong way, beginning at the nose: and
just now, as I said, she was hard at work on the white kitten, which
was lying quite still and trying to purr—no doubt feeling that it was
all meant for its good.

But the black kitten had been finished with earlier in the afternoon,
and so, while Alice was sitting curled up in a corner of the great
arm-chair, half talking to herself and half asleep, the kitten had been
having a grand game of romps with the ball of worsted Alice had been
trying to wind up, and had been rolling it up and down till it had all
come undone again; and there it was, spread over the hearth-rug, all
knots and tangles, with the kitten running after its own tail in the
middle.

“Oh, you wicked little thing!” cried Alice, catching up the kitten, and
giving it a little kiss to make it understand that it was in disgrace.
“Really, Dinah ought to have taught you better manners! You _ought_,
Dinah, you know you ought!” she added, looking reproachfully at the old
cat, and speaking in as cross a voice as she could manage—and then she
scrambled back into the arm-chair, taking the kitten and the worsted
with her, and began winding up the ball again. But she didn’t get on
very fast, as she was talking all the time, sometimes to the kitten,
and sometimes to herself. Kitty sat very demurely on her knee,
pretending to watch the progress of the winding, and now and then
putting out one paw and gently touching the ball, as if it would be
glad to help, if it might.

“Do you know what to-morrow is, Kitty?” Alice began. “You’d have
guessed if you’d been up in the window with me—only Dinah was making
you tidy, so you couldn’t. I was watching the boys getting in sticks
for the bonfire—and it wants plenty of sticks, Kitty! Only it got so
cold, and it snowed so, they had to leave off. Never mind, Kitty, we’ll
go and see the bonfire to-morrow.” Here Alice wound two or three turns
of the worsted round the kitten’s neck, just to see how it would look:
this led to a scramble, in which the ball rolled down upon the floor,
and yards and yards of it got unwound again.

“Do you know, I was so angry, Kitty,” Alice went on as soon as they
were comfortably settled again, “when I saw all the mischief you had
been doing, I was very nearly opening the window, and putting you out
into the snow! And you’d have deserved it, you little mischievous
darling! What have you got to say for yourself? Now don’t interrupt
me!” she went on, holding up one finger. “I’m going to tell you all
your faults. Number one: you squeaked twice while Dinah was washing
your face this morning. Now you can’t deny it, Kitty: I heard you!
What’s that you say?” (pretending that the kitten was speaking.) “Her
paw went into your eye? Well, that’s _your_ fault, for keeping your
eyes open—if you’d shut them tight up, it wouldn’t have happened. Now
don’t make any more excuses, but listen! Number two: you pulled
Snowdrop away by the tail just as I had put down the saucer of milk
before her! What, you were thirsty, were you? How do you know she
wasn’t thirsty too? Now for number three: you unwound every bit of the
worsted while I wasn’t looking!

“That’s three faults, Kitty, and you’ve not been punished for any of
them yet. You know I’m saving up all your punishments for Wednesday
week—Suppose they had saved up all _my_ punishments!” she went on,
talking more to herself than the kitten. “What _would_ they do at the
end of a year? I should be sent to prison, I suppose, when the day
came. Or—let me see—suppose each punishment was to be going without a
dinner: then, when the miserable day came, I should have to go without
fifty dinners at once! Well, I shouldn’t mind _that_ much! I’d far
rather go without them than eat them!

“Do you hear the snow against the window-panes, Kitty? How nice and
soft it sounds! Just as if some one was kissing the window all over
outside. I wonder if the snow _loves_ the trees and fields, that it
kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with
a white quilt; and perhaps it says, ‘Go to sleep, darlings, till the
summer comes again.’ And when they wake up in the summer, Kitty, they
dress themselves all in green, and dance about—whenever the wind
blows—oh, that’s very pretty!” cried Alice, dropping the ball of
worsted to clap her hands. “And I do so _wish_ it was true! I’m sure
the woods look sleepy in the autumn, when the leaves are getting brown.

“Kitty, can you play chess? Now, don’t smile, my dear, I’m a
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IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG AND PASSEPARTOUT ACCEPT EACH OTHER,
THE ONE AS MASTER, THE OTHER AS MAN


Mr. Phileas Fogg lived, in 1872, at No. 7, Saville Row, Burlington
Gardens, the house in which Sheridan died in 1814.  He was one of the
most noticeable members of the Reform Club, though he seemed always to
avoid attracting attention; an enigmatical personage, about whom little
was known, except that he was a polished man of the world.  People said
that he resembled Byron--at least that his head was Byronic; but he was
a bearded, tranquil Byron, who might live on a thousand years without
growing old.

Certainly an Englishman, it was more doubtful whether Phileas Fogg was
a Londoner.  He was never seen on 'Change, nor at the Bank, nor in the
counting-rooms of the "City"; no ships ever came into London docks of
which he was the owner; he had no public employment; he had never been
entered at any of the Inns of Court, either at the Temple, or Lincoln's
Inn, or Gray's Inn; nor had his voice ever resounded in the Court of
Chancery, or in the Exchequer, or the Queen's Bench, or the
Ecclesiastical Courts.  He certainly was not a manufacturer; nor was he
a merchant or a gentleman farmer.  His name was strange to the
scientific and learned societies, and he never was known to take part
in the sage deliberations of the Royal Institution or the London
Institution, the Artisan's Association, or the Institution of Arts and
Sciences.  He belonged, in fact, to none of the numerous societies
which swarm in the English capital, from the Harmonic to that of the
Entomologists, founded mainly for the purpose of abolishing pernicious
insects.

Phileas Fogg was a member of the Reform, and that was all.

The way in which he got admission to this exclusive club was simple
enough.

He was recommended by the Barings, with whom he had an open credit.
His cheques were regularly paid at sight from his account current,
which was always flush.

Was Phileas Fogg rich?  Undoubtedly.  But those who knew him best could
not imagine how he had made his fortune, and Mr. Fogg was the last
person to whom to apply for the information.  He was not lavish, nor,
on the contrary, avaricious; for, whenever he knew that money was
needed for a noble, useful, or benevolent purpose, he supplied it
quietly and sometimes anonymously.  He was, in short, the least
communicative of men.  He talked very little, and seemed all the more
mysterious for his taciturn manner.  His daily habits were quite open
to observation; but whatever he did was so exactly the same thing that
he had always done before, that the wits of the curious were fairly
puzzled.

Had he travelled?  It was likely, for no one seemed to know the world
more familiarly; there was no spot so secluded that he did not appear
to have an intimate acquaintance with it.  He often corrected, with a
few clear words, the thousand conjectures advanced by members of the
club as to lost and unheard-of travellers, pointing out the true
probabilities, and seeming as if gifted with a sort of second sight, so
often did events justify his predictions.  He must have travelled
everywhere, at least in the spirit.

It was at least certain that Phileas Fogg had not absented himself from
London for many years.  Those who were honoured by a better
acquaintance with him than the rest, declared that nobody could pretend
to have ever seen him anywhere else.  His sole pastimes were reading
the papers and playing whist.  He often won at this game, which, as a
silent one, harmonised with his nature; but his winnings never went
into his purse, being reserved as a fund for his charities.  Mr. Fogg
played, not to win, but for the sake of playing.  The game was in his
eyes a contest, a struggle with a difficulty, yet a motionless,
unwearying struggle, congenial to his tastes.

Phileas Fogg was not known to have either wife or children, which may
happen to the most honest people; either relatives or near friends,
which is certainly more unusual.  He lived alone in his house in
Saville Row, whither none penetrated.  A single domestic sufficed to
serve him.  He breakfasted and dined at the club, at hours
mathematically fixed, in the same room, at the same table, never taking
his meals with other members, much less bringing a guest with him; and
went home at exactly midnight, only to retire at once to bed.  He never
used the cosy chambers which the Reform provides for its favoured
members.  He passed ten hours out of the twenty-four in Saville Row,
either in sleeping or making his toilet.  When he chose to take a walk
it was with a regular step in the entrance hall with its mosaic
flooring, or in the circular gallery with its dome supported by twenty
red porphyry Ionic columns, and illumined by blue painted windows.
When he breakfasted or dined all the resources of the club--its
kitchens and pantries, its buttery and dairy--aided to crowd his table
with their most succulent stores; he was served by the gravest waiters,
in dress coats, and 
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The cold passed reluctantly from the earth, and the retiring fogs
revealed an army stretched out on the hills, resting.  As the landscape
changed from brown to green, the army awakened, and began to tremble
with eagerness at the noise of rumors.  It cast its eyes upon the
roads, which were growing from long troughs of liquid mud to proper
thoroughfares.  A river, amber-tinted in the shadow of its banks,
purled at the army's feet; and at night, when the stream had become of
a sorrowful blackness, one could see across it the red, eyelike gleam
of hostile camp-fires set in the low brows of distant hills.

Once a certain tall soldier developed virtues and went resolutely to
wash a shirt.  He came flying back from a brook waving his garment
bannerlike.  He was swelled with a tale he had heard from a reliable
friend, who had heard it from a truthful cavalryman, who had heard it
from his trustworthy brother, one of the orderlies at division
headquarters.  He adopted the important air of a herald in red and gold.

"We're goin' t' move t'morrah--sure," he said pompously to a group in
the company street.  "We're goin' 'way up the river, cut across, an'
come around in behint 'em."

To his attentive audience he drew a loud and elaborate plan of a very
brilliant campaign.  When he had finished, the blue-clothed men
scattered into small arguing groups between the rows of squat brown
huts.  A negro teamster who had been dancing upon a cracker box with
the hilarious encouragement of twoscore soldiers was deserted.  He sat
mournfully down.  Smoke drifted lazily from a multitude of quaint
chimneys.

"It's a lie!  that's all it is--a thunderin' lie!" said another private
loudly.  His smooth face was flushed, and his hands were thrust sulkily
into his trouser's pockets.  He took the matter as an affront to him.
"I don't believe the derned old army's ever going to move.  We're set.
I've got ready to move eight times in the last two weeks, and we ain't
moved yet."

The tall soldier felt called upon to defend the truth of a rumor he
himself had introduced.  He and the loud one came near to fighting over
it.

A corporal began to swear before the assemblage.  He had just put a
costly board floor in his house, he said.  During the early spring he
had refrained from adding extensively to the comfort of his environment
because he had felt that the army might start on the march at any
moment.  Of late, however, he had been impressed that they were in a
sort of eternal camp.

Many of the men engaged in a spirited debate.  One outlined in a
peculiarly lucid manner all the plans of the commanding general.  He
was opposed by men who advocated that there were other plans of
campaign.  They clamored at each other, numbers making futile bids for
the popular attention.  Meanwhile, the soldier who had fetched the
rumor bustled about with much importance.  He was continually assailed
by questions.

"What's up, Jim?"

"Th'army's goin' t' move."

"Ah, what yeh talkin' about?  How yeh know it is?"

"Well, yeh kin b'lieve me er not, jest as yeh like.  I don't care a
hang."

There was much food for thought in the manner in which he replied.  He
came near to convincing them by disdaining to produce proofs.  They
grew much excited over it.

There was a youthful private who listened with eager ears to the words
of the tall soldier and to the varied comments of his comrades.  After
receiving a fill of discussions concerning marches and attacks, he went
to his hut and crawled through an intricate hole that served it as a
door.  He wished to be alone with some new thoughts that had lately
come to him.

He lay down on a wide bunk that stretched across the end of the room.
In the other end, cracker boxes were made to serve as furniture.  They
were grouped about the fireplace.  A picture from an illustrated weekly
was upon the log walls, and three rifles were paralleled on pegs.
Equipments hung on handy projections, and some tin dishes lay upon a
small pile of firewood.  A folded tent was serving as a roof.  The
sunlight, without, beating upon it, made it glow a light yellow shade.
A small window shot an oblique square of whiter light upon the
cluttered floor.  The smoke from the fire at times neglected the clay
chimney and wreathed into the room, and this flimsy chimney of clay and
sticks made endless threats to set ablaze the whole establishment.

The youth was in a little trance of astonishment.  So they were at last
going to fight.  On the morrow, perhaps, there would be a battle, and
he would be in it.  For a time he was obliged to labor to make himself
believe.  He could not accept with assurance an omen that he was about
to mingle in one of those great affairs of the earth.

He had, of course, dreamed of battles all his life--of vague and bloody
conflicts that had thrilled him with their sweep and fire.  In visions
he had seen himself in many struggles.  He had imagined peoples secure
in the shadow of his eagle-eyed prowess.  But awake he had regarded
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AN OCCURRENCE AT OWL CREEK BRIDGE


by

Ambrose Bierce

THE MILLENNIUM FULCRUM EDITION, 1988



A man stood upon a railroad bridge in northern Alabama, looking down
into the swift water twenty feet below.  The man's hands were behind
his back, the wrists bound with a cord.  A rope closely encircled his
neck.  It was attached to a stout cross-timber above his head and the
slack fell to the level of his knees.  Some loose boards laid upon the
ties supporting the rails of the railway supplied a footing for him
and his executioners--two private soldiers of the Federal army,
directed by a sergeant who in civil life may have been a deputy
sheriff.  At a short remove upon the same temporary platform was an
officer in the uniform of his rank, armed.  He was a captain.  A
sentinel at each end of the bridge stood with his rifle in the
position known as "support," that is to say, vertical in front of the
left shoulder, the hammer resting on the forearm thrown straight
across the chest--a formal and unnatural position, enforcing an erect
carriage of the body.  It did not appear to be the duty of these two
men to know what was occurring at the center of the bridge; they
merely blockaded the two ends of the foot planking that traversed it.

Beyond one of the sentinels nobody was in sight; the railroad ran
straight away into a forest for a hundred yards, then, curving, was
lost to view.  Doubtless there was an outpost farther along.  The
other bank of the stream was open ground--a gentle slope topped with
a stockade of vertical tree trunks, loopholed for rifles, with a
single embrasure through which protruded the muzzle of a brass cannon
commanding the bridge.  Midway up the slope between the bridge and
fort were the spectators--a single company of infantry in line, at
"parade rest," the butts of their rifles on the ground, the barrels
inclining slightly backward against the right shoulder, the hands
crossed upon the stock. A lieutenant stood at the right of the line,
the point of his sword upon the ground, his left hand resting upon his
right.  Excepting the group of four at the center of the bridge, not a
man moved.  The company faced the bridge, staring stonily, motionless.
The sentinels, facing the banks of the stream, might have been statues
to adorn the bridge.  The captain stood with folded arms, silent,
observing the work of his subordinates, but making no sign. Death is a
dignitary who when he comes announced is to be received with formal
manifestations of respect, even by those most familiar with him.  In
the code of military etiquette silence and fixity are forms of
deference.

The man who was engaged in being hanged was apparently about
thirty-five years of age.  He was a civilian, if one might judge from
his habit, which was that of a planter.  His features were good--a
straight nose, firm mouth, broad forehead, from which his long, dark
hair was combed straight back, falling behind his ears to the collar
of his well fitting frock coat.  He wore a moustache and pointed
beard, but no whiskers; his eyes were large and dark gray, and had a
kindly expression which one would hardly have expected in one whose
neck was in the hemp.  Evidently this was no vulgar assassin.  The
liberal military code makes provision for hanging many kinds of
persons, and gentlemen are not excluded.

The preparations being complete, the two private soldiers stepped
aside and each drew away the plank upon which he had been standing.
The sergeant turned to the captain, saluted and placed himself
immediately behind that officer, who in turn moved apart one pace.
These movements left the condemned man and the sergeant standing on
the two ends of the same plank, which spanned three of the cross-ties
of the bridge.  The end upon which the civilian stood almost, but not
quite, reached a fourth.  This plank had been held in place by the
weight of the captain; it was now held by that of the sergeant.  At a
signal from the former the latter would step aside, the plank would
tilt and the condemned man go down between two ties.  The arrangement
commended itself to his judgement as simple and effective.  His face
had not been covered nor his eyes bandaged.  He looked a moment at his
"unsteadfast footing," then let his gaze wander to the swirling water
of the stream racing madly beneath his feet. A piece of dancing
driftwood caught his attention and his eyes followed it down the
current.  How slowly it appeared to move!  What a sluggish stream!

He closed his eyes in order to fix his last thoughts upon his wife and
children.  The water, touched to gold by the early sun, the brooding
mists under the banks at some distance down the stream, the fort, the
soldiers, the piece of drift--all had distracted him.  And now he
became conscious of a new disturbance.  Striking through the thought
of his dear ones was sound which he could neither ignore nor
understand, a sharp, distinct, metallic percussion like the stroke of
a blacksmith's hammer upon the anvil; 
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Respecting the sub-title, to which allusion was made above, I may add
that it was appended at the last moment, after reading the final
proofs, as being the estimate left in a candid mind of the heroine’s
character—an estimate that nobody would be likely to dispute. It was
disputed more than anything else in the book. _Melius fuerat non
scibere._ But there it stands.

The novel was first published complete, in three volumes, in November,

T.H.

_March_ 1912.


Phase the First:

The Maiden



On an evening in the latter part of May a middle-aged man was walking
homeward from Shaston to the village of Marlott, in the adjoining Vale
of Blakemore, or Blackmoor. The pair of legs that carried him were
rickety, and there was a bias in his gait which inclined him somewhat
to the left of a straight line. He occasionally gave a smart nod, as if
in confirmation of some opinion, though he was not thinking of anything
in particular. An empty egg-basket was slung upon his arm, the nap of
his hat was ruffled, a patch being quite worn away at its brim where
his thumb came in taking it off. Presently he was met by an elderly
parson astride on a gray mare, who, as he rode, hummed a wandering
tune.

“Good night t’ee,” said the man with the basket.

“Good night, Sir John,” said the parson.

The pedestrian, after another pace or two, halted, and turned round.

“Now, sir, begging your pardon; we met last market-day on this road
about this time, and I said ‘Good night,’ and you made reply ‘_Good
night, Sir John_,’ as now.”

“I did,” said the parson.

“And once before that—near a month ago.”

“I may have.”

“Then what might your meaning be in calling me ‘Sir John’ these
different times, when I be plain Jack Durbeyfield, the haggler?”

The parson rode a step or two nearer.

“It was only my whim,” he said; and, after a moment’s hesitation: “It
was on account of a discovery I made some little time ago, whilst I was
hunting up pedigrees for the new county history. I am Parson Tringham,
the antiquary, of Stagfoot Lane. Don’t you really know, Durbeyfield,
that you are the lineal representative of the ancient and knightly
family of the d’Urbervilles, who derive their descent from Sir Pagan
d’Urberville, that renowned knight who came from Normandy with William
the Conqueror, as appears by Battle Abbey Roll?”

“Never heard it before, sir!”

“Well it’s true. Throw up your chin a moment, so that I may catch the
profile of your face better. Yes, that’s the d’Urberville nose and
chin—a little debased. Your ancestor was one of the twelve knights who
assisted the Lord of Estremavilla in Normandy in his conquest of
Glamorganshire. Branches of your family held manors over all this part
of England; their names appear in the Pipe Rolls in the time of King
Stephen. In the reign of King John one of them was rich enough to give
a manor to the Knights Hospitallers; and in Edward the Second’s time
your forefather Brian was summoned to Westminster to attend the great
Council there. You declined a little in Oliver Cromwell’s time, but to
no serious extent, and in Charles the Second’s reign you were made
Knights of the Royal Oak for your loyalty. Aye, there have been
generations of Sir Johns among you, and if knighthood were hereditary,
like a baronetcy, as it practically was in old times, when men were
knighted from father to son, you would be Sir John now.”

“Ye don’t say so!”

“In short,” concluded the parson, decisively smacking his leg with his
switch, “there’s hardly such another family in England.”

“Daze my eyes, and isn’t there?” said Durbeyfield. “And here have I
been knocking about, year after year, from pillar to post, as if I was
no more than the commonest feller in the parish.... And how long hev
this news about me been knowed, Pa’son Tringham?”

The clergyman explained that, as far as he was aware, it had quite died
out of knowledge, and could hardly be said to be known at all. His own
investigations had begun on a day in the preceding spring when, having
been engaged in tracing the vicissitudes of the d’Urberville family, he
had observed Durbeyfield’s name on his waggon, and had thereupon been
led to make inquiries about his father and grandfather till he had no
doubt on the subject.

“At first I resolved not to disturb you with such a useless piece of
information,” said he. “However, our impulses are too strong for our
judgement sometimes. I thought you might perhaps know something of it
all the while.”

“Well, I have heard once or twice, ’tis true, that my family had seen
better days afore they came to Blackmoor. But I took no notice o’t,
thinking it to mean that we had once kept two horses where we now keep
only one. I’ve got a wold silver spoon, and a wold graven seal at home,
too; but, Lord, what’s a spoon and seal?... And to think that I and
these noble d’Urbervilles were one flesh all the time. ’Twas said that
my gr’t-granfer had secrets, and didn’t care to talk of where he came
from.... And where do we raise our smoke, now, parson, i
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Gutenberg










                  The Philippine Islands, 1493–1898

   Explorations by early navigators, descriptions of the islands and
   their peoples, their history and records of the catholic missions,
    as related in contemporaneous books and manuscripts, showing the
   political, economic, commercial and religious conditions of those
   islands from their earliest relations with European nations to the
                    close of the nineteenth century,

                       Volume XXXIII, 1519–1522



 Edited and annotated by Emma Helen Blair and James Alexander Robertson
  with historical introduction and additional notes by Edward Gaylord
                                Bourne.


                      The Arthur H. Clark Company
                            Cleveland, Ohio
                                 MCMVI










CONTENTS OF VOLUME XXXIII


    Preface                                                           11

    Primo viaggio intorno al mondo (to be concluded). Antonio
    Pigafetta. Italian text with English translation.
    MS. ca. 1525, of events of 1519–1522                              26

    Notes                                                            273

    Bibliographical Data                                             367






ILLUSTRATIONS


    Magalhães’s ship “Victoria;” photographic reproduction
    of cut facing p. 102 of Henry Stevens’s Johann Schoner
    (edited by C. H. Coote, London, 1888): from the copy in
    Lenox Library. (Probably the ideal conception of some
    early artist, and perhaps of the type of the “Victoria.”
    Its source is not mentioned in the above book.)         Frontispiece

    Pigafetta’s Chart of the Straits of Magellan                      86
    Pigafetta’s Charts of the Unfortunate Isles and the Ladrones      92
    Pigafetta’s Chart of the islands of Samar, etc.                  102
    Pigafetta’s Chart of the islands of Bohol, etc.                  112
    Pigafetta’s Chart of the islands of Cebú, Mactan, and Bohol      136
    Pigafetta’s Charts of the islands of Panglao and Cagayan Sulu    202
    Pigafetta’s Charts of the islands of Paragua and Borneo          210
    Pigafetta’s Charts of the islands of Mindanao and of Jolo, etc.  230
    Pigafetta’s Chart of the islands of Sarangani, etc.              238
    Pigafetta’s Chart of the islands of Sanguir, etc.                242
    Pigafetta’s Chart of the islands of Paghinzara, etc.             246
    Pigafetta’s Chart of the islands of Ternate, etc.                250
    Map showing discoveries of Magalhães; photographic facsimile
    from Mappamundo (Goa, 1571) of Fernão Vas Dourado, a MS.
    hydrographical atlas preserved in Archivo Nacional da Torre
    do Tombo, Lisbon                                            270, 271







PREFACE


In this and the succeeding volume, we present various documents
(notably the Relation of Antonio Pigafetta) which could not be obtained
in season for publication in regular chronological order, and which it
has seemed advisable to insert as addenda at this point.



With the present volume is begun the publication of Antonio
Pigafetta’s relation of the first circumnavigation of the world—the
greatest single achievement in all the history of sea exploration and
discovery. Written by a participant of the expedition, Pigafetta’s
relation has a greater value than any other narrative of the voyage.
Its great value and the fact that it has never been adequately
presented to the English-speaking public have induced the editors to
insert this relation in the present series both in the original Italian
(rigidly adhering to and preserving all the peculiarities of the
original manuscript) and in English translation. This relation is
especially valuable for its descriptions of the various peoples,
countries, and products, of Oriental seas, and for its vocabularies, as
well as for its account of the first circumnavigation. From its very
nature, the relation has called for an unusual amount of annotation,
which has been drawn freely from various sources: chiefly Mosto’s
annotations in his publication of Pigafetta’s relation in Part V,
volume iii, of the Raccolta di documenti e studi, published by the
Royal Columbian Commission of the fourth centenary of the discovery of
America under the auspices of the Minister of Public Instruction (Roma,
1894); Navarrete’s Col. de viages, iv (Madrid, 1837); various
publications of the Hakluyt Society; and F. H. H. Guillemard’s Life
of Ferdinand Magellan (New York, 1891). The publication of the original
Italian and the English, page for page, renders it necessary to place
the annotations at the end of the volume instead of in footnote as
hitherto. The various charts of the Italian manuscript are all
presented in facsimile in the course of the work. In order that the
various peculiarities of the manuscript might be preserved, it has been
necessary to specially design and cast certain characters that ap
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Text file produced by Tokuya Matsumoto

HTML file produced by David Widger

[Illustration]




A Journal of the Plague Year

by Daniel Defoe


      being Observations or Memorials
      of the most remarkable occurrences,
      as well public as_ private, which happened in London
      during the last great visitation in 1665.
       Written by a CITIZEN who continued
      all the while in London_.
      Never made publick before


      It was about the beginning of September, 1664, that I, among the
      rest of my neighbours, heard in ordinary discourse that the
      plague was returned again in Holland; for it had been very
      violent there, and particularly at Amsterdam and Rotterdam, in
      the year 1663, whither, they say, it was brought, some said from
      Italy, others from the Levant, among some goods which were
      brought home by their Turkey fleet; others said it was brought
      from Candia; others from Cyprus. It mattered not from whence it
      came; but all agreed it was come into Holland again.

      We had no such thing as printed newspapers in those days to
      spread rumours and reports of things, and to improve them by the
      invention of men, as I have lived to see practised since. But
      such things as these were gathered from the letters of merchants
      and others who corresponded abroad, and from them was handed
      about by word of mouth only; so that things did not spread
      instantly over the whole nation, as they do now. But it seems
      that the Government had a true account of it, and several
      councils were held about ways to prevent its coming over; but all
      was kept very private. Hence it was that this rumour died off
      again, and people began to forget it as a thing we were very
      little concerned in, and that we hoped was not true; till the
      latter end of November or the beginning of December 1664 when two
      men, said to be Frenchmen, died of the plague in Long Acre, or
      rather at the upper end of Drury Lane. The family they were in
      endeavoured to conceal it as much as possible, but as it had
      gotten some vent in the discourse of the neighbourhood, the
      Secretaries of State got knowledge of it; and concerning
      themselves to inquire about it, in order to be certain of the
      truth, two physicians and a surgeon were ordered to go to the
      house and make inspection. This they did; and finding evident
      tokens of the sickness upon both the bodies that were dead, they
      gave their opinions publicly that they died of the plague.
      Whereupon it was given in to the parish clerk, and he also
      returned them to the Hall; and it was printed in the weekly bill
      of mortality in the usual manner, thus—

     Plague, 2. Parishes infected, 1.


      The people showed a great concern at this, and began to be
      alarmed all over the town, and the more, because in the last week
      in December 1664 another man died in the same house, and of the
      same distemper. And then we were easy again for about six weeks,
      when none having died with any marks of infection, it was said
      the distemper was gone; but after that, I think it was about the
      12th of February, another died in another house, but in the same
      parish and in the same manner.

      This turned the people’s eyes pretty much towards that end of the
      town, and the weekly bills showing an increase of burials in St
      Giles’s parish more than usual, it began to be suspected that the
      plague was among the people at that end of the town, and that
      many had died of it, though they had taken care to keep it as
      much from the knowledge of the public as possible. This possessed
      the heads of the people very much, and few cared to go through
      Drury Lane, or the other streets suspected, unless they had
      extraordinary business that obliged them to it

      This increase of the bills stood thus: the usual number of
      burials in a week, in the parishes of St Giles-in-the-Fields and
      St Andrew’s, Holborn, were from twelve to seventeen or nineteen
      each, few more or less; but from the time that the plague first
      began in St Giles’s parish, it was observed that the ordinary
      burials increased in number considerably. For example:—

From December 27 to January 3  { St Giles’s      16
     ”                              { St Andrew’s     17

     ”     January 3  ”    ”    10  { St Giles’s      12
     ”                              { St Andrew’s     25

     ”     January 10 ”    ”    17  { St Giles’s      18
     ”                              { St Andrew’s     28

     ”     January 17 ”    ”    24  { St Giles’s      23
     ”                              { St Andrew’s     16

     ”     January 24 ”    ”    31  { St Giles’s      24
     ”                              { St Andrew’s     15

     ”     January 30 ” February 7  { St Giles’s      21

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Three invalids.—Sufferings of George and Harris.—A victim to one hundred
and seven fatal maladies.—Useful prescriptions.—Cure for liver complaint
in children.—We agree that we are overworked, and need rest.—A week on
the rolling deep?—George suggests the River.—Montmorency lodges an
objection.—Original motion carried by majority of three to one.

There were four of us—George, and William Samuel Harris, and myself, and
Montmorency.  We were sitting in my room, smoking, and talking about how
bad we were—bad from a medical point of view I mean, of course.

We were all feeling seedy, and we were getting quite nervous about it.
Harris said he felt such extraordinary fits of giddiness come over him at
times, that he hardly knew what he was doing; and then George said that
_he_ had fits of giddiness too, and hardly knew what _he_ was doing.
With me, it was my liver that was out of order.  I knew it was my liver
that was out of order, because I had just been reading a patent
liver-pill circular, in which were detailed the various symptoms by which
a man could tell when his liver was out of order.  I had them all.

It is a most extraordinary thing, but I never read a patent medicine
advertisement without being impelled to the conclusion that I am
suffering from the particular disease therein dealt with in its most
virulent form.  The diagnosis seems in every case to correspond exactly
with all the sensations that I have ever felt.

[Picture: Man reading book] I remember going to the British Museum one
day to read up the treatment for some slight ailment of which I had a
touch—hay fever, I fancy it was.  I got down the book, and read all I
came to read; and then, in an unthinking moment, I idly turned the
leaves, and began to indolently study diseases, generally.  I forget
which was the first distemper I plunged into—some fearful, devastating
scourge, I know—and, before I had glanced half down the list of
“premonitory symptoms,” it was borne in upon me that I had fairly got it.

I sat for awhile, frozen with horror; and then, in the listlessness of
despair, I again turned over the pages.  I came to typhoid fever—read the
symptoms—discovered that I had typhoid fever, must have had it for months
without knowing it—wondered what else I had got; turned up St. Vitus’s
Dance—found, as I expected, that I had that too,—began to get interested
in my case, and determined to sift it to the bottom, and so started
alphabetically—read up ague, and learnt that I was sickening for it, and
that the acute stage would commence in about another fortnight.  Bright’s
disease, I was relieved to find, I had only in a modified form, and, so
far as that was concerned, I might live for years.  Cholera I had, with
severe complications; and diphtheria I seemed to have been born with.  I
plodded conscientiously through the twenty-six letters, and the only
malady I could conclude I had not got was housemaid’s knee.

I felt rather hurt about this at first; it seemed somehow to be a sort of
slight.  Why hadn’t I got housemaid’s knee?  Why this invidious
reservation?  After a while, however, less grasping feelings prevailed.
I reflected that I had every other known malady in the pharmacology, and
I grew less selfish, and determined to do without housemaid’s knee.
Gout, in its most malignant stage, it would appear, had seized me without
my being aware of it; and zymosis I had evidently been suffering with
from boyhood.  There were no more diseases after zymosis, so I concluded
there was nothing else the matter with me.

I sat and pondered.  I thought what an interesting case I must be from a
medical point of view, what an acquisition I should be to a class!
Students would have no need to “walk the hospitals,” if they had me.  I
was a hospital in myself.  All they need do would be to walk round me,
and, after that, take their diploma.

Then I wondered how long I had to live.  I tried to examine myself.  I
felt my pulse.  I could not at first feel any pulse at all.  Then, all of
a sudden, it seemed to start off.  I pulled out my watch and timed it.  I
made it a hundred and forty-seven to the minute.  I tried to feel my
heart.  I could not feel my heart.  It had stopped beating.  I have since
been induced to come to the opinion that it must have been there all the
time, and must have been beating, but I cannot account for it.  I patted
myself all over my front, from what I call my waist up to my head, and I
went a bit round each side, and a little way up the back.  But I could
not feel or hear anything.  I tried to look at my tongue.  I stuck it out
as far as ever it would go, and I shut one eye, and tried to examine it
with the other.  I could only see the tip, and the only thing that I
could gain from that was to feel more certain than before that I had
scarlet fever.

[Picture: Man with walking stick] I had walked into that reading-room a
happy, healthy man.  I crawled out a decrepit wreck.

I went to my medical man.  He is an old chum of mine, and 
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PG #: 10676
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10676


ON THE UPPER DECK


    Sic itur ad astra.


One morning in December the steamer _Tabo_ was laboriously ascending
the tortuous course of the Pasig, carrying a large crowd of passengers
toward the province of La Laguna. She was a heavily built steamer,
almost round, like the _tabú_ from which she derived her name,
quite dirty in spite of her pretensions to whiteness, majestic and
grave from her leisurely motion. Altogether, she was held in great
affection in that region, perhaps from her Tagalog name, or from the
fact that she bore the characteristic impress of things in the country,
representing something like a triumph over progress, a steamer that was
not a steamer at all, an organism, stolid, imperfect yet unimpeachable,
which, when it wished to pose as being rankly progressive, proudly
contented itself with putting on a fresh coat of paint. Indeed, the
happy steamer was genuinely Filipino! If a person were only reasonably
considerate, she might even have been taken for the Ship of State,
constructed, as she had been, under the inspection of _Reverendos_
and _Ilustrísimos_....

Bathed in the sunlight of a morning that made the waters of the river
sparkle and the breezes rustle in the bending bamboo on its banks,
there she goes with her white silhouette throwing out great clouds
of smoke--the Ship of State, so the joke runs, also has the vice of
smoking! The whistle shrieks at every moment, hoarse and commanding
like a tyrant who would rule by shouting, so that no one on board
can hear his own thoughts. She menaces everything she meets: now she
looks as though she would grind to bits the _salambaw_, insecure
fishing apparatus which in their movements resemble skeletons of
giants saluting an antediluvian tortoise; now she speeds straight
toward the clumps of bamboo or against the amphibian structures,
_karihan_, or wayside lunch-stands, which, amid _gumamelas_ and other
flowers, look like indecisive bathers who with their feet already in
the water cannot bring themselves to make the final plunge; at times,
following a sort of channel marked out in the river by tree-trunks,
she moves along with a satisfied air, except when a sudden shock
disturbs the passengers and throws them off their balance, all the
result of a collision with a sand-bar which no one dreamed was there.

Moreover, if the comparison with the Ship of State is not yet complete,
note the arrangement of the passengers. On the lower deck appear brown
faces and black heads, types of Indians, [1] Chinese, and mestizos,
wedged in between bales of merchandise and boxes, while there on the
upper deck, beneath an awning that protects them from the sun, are
seated in comfortable chairs a few passengers dressed in the fashion of
Europeans, friars, and government clerks, each with his _puro_ cigar,
and gazing at the landscape apparently without heeding the efforts
of the captain and the sailors to overcome the obstacles in the river.

The captain was a man of kindly aspect, well along in years, an old
sailor who in his youth had plunged into far vaster seas, but who now
in his age had to exercise much greater attention, care, and vigilance
to avoid dangers of a trivial character. And they were the same for
each day: the same sand-bars, the same hulk of unwieldy steamer wedged
into the same curves, like a corpulent dame in a jammed throng. So,
at each moment, the good man had to stop, to back up, to go forward at
half speed, sending--now to port, now to starboard--the five sailors
equipped with long bamboo poles to give force to the turn the rudder
had suggested. He was like a veteran who, after leading men through
hazardous campaigns, had in his age become the tutor of a capricious,
disobedient, and lazy boy.

Doña Victorina, the only lady seated in the European group, could say
whether the _Tabo_ was not lazy, disobedient, and capricious--Doña
Victorina, who, nervous as ever, was hurling invectives against the
cascos, bankas, rafts of coconuts, the Indians paddling about, and
even the washerwomen and bathers, who fretted her with their mirth and
chatter. Yes, the _Tabo_ would move along very well if there were no
Indians in the river, no Indians in the country, yes, if there were
not a single Indian in the world--regardless of the fact that the
helmsmen were Indians, the sailors Indians, Indians the engineers,
Indians ninety-nine per cent, of the passengers, and she herself also
an Indian if the rouge were scratched off and her pretentious gown
removed. That morning Doña Victorina was more irritated than usual
because the members of the group took very little notice of her,
reason for which was not lacking; for just consider--there could be
found three friars, convinced that the world would move backwards the
very day they should take a single step to the right; an indefatigable
Don Custodio who was sleeping peacefully, satisfied with his projects;
a prolific writer like Ben-Zayb (anagram of Ibañez), who believed that
the people of Manila thought beca
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buyang-ang a {1} wide open. Buyang-ang nga pultahan, Wide open door.
{2} for s.t. to be open to view in a brazen or ungainly way. Ang
nangalígù nagbuyang-ang (nagpabuyang-ang) sa ílang láwas, The bathers
are exposing their bodies. Ayaw buyang-ánga (pabuyang-ánga,
ibuyang-ang) ímung balunan, Don’t let everyone see your lunch box.

buyangyang = aguyangyang_2.

buyasyas a dressed sloppily in such a way that s.t. is exposed. v [A13]
be sloppily covered so that s.t. is exposed. Nagbuyasyas lang siya nga
natúlug. Kítà ang páa, She didn’t cover herself well when she slept.
You could see her thigh. Buyasyas lang ang ímung púlu, Your shirt is
half-open.

buybuy v [AN; b5] count favors one has done to s.o. Gibuybuy ku níya sa
íyang gihátag nákù, He kept mentioning the things he had given me.
n action of counting favors. paN- = buybuy, n. -an(→) a tending to
count favors.

buyinggit = bulinggit.

buykutíyu n boycott. v [A; b(1)] boycott.

*buylas hi-, hiN- v [C3; c3] pass by and miss seeing each other. Huwata
lang siya kay maghibuylas (maghimuylas) unyà mu sa dā́n, Just wait for
him here because you might miss seeing each other on the way.

buylu n momentum. v {1} [A2] gain momentum, accelerate. Mibuylu ang
dyip sa pagsubída, The jeep accelerated on the upgrade. {2} [A12] move
with freedom and ease. Dì ta makabuylu sa mga tígum nga purmal, We
cannot move with ease in formal gatherings. tina- see tinabuylu.

buylug v [A; b7] speed, rush forward. Mibuylug ang túbig pagkagubà sa
liptung, The water gushed out when the dam broke. Buylúgi (pabuylúgi)
arun makaapas ta níla, Give it more speed so we can catch up with them.
n fast, onrushing forward speed. v [C2; c3] do s.t. together in a
group. Sígi silang magbuylug bísan ása paìngun, They are always
together, wherever they go. hi-/ha- v [B126] be included in s.o.’s
misfortunes. Ang tibuuk níyang bánay nahibuylug sa kadáut, His whole
family suffered from the misfortune. ta- see tabuylug.

*buyna_1 — mánu n {1} first sale of the day, thought to stimulate
further sales. The price is usually reduced to push the buyna mánu sale
through. Sígi lang, hay buyna mánu ni, All right, I accept your offer,
since this is the first sale of the day. {2} a person who buys the
first sale. Napalit nákug barátu kay buyna mánu man ku, I managed to
get it cheap because I was the first customer. nutsi — see nutsi.

buynas a lucky, fortunate. v [A123S; a12] be lucky. Mangabir ku, básig
buynásun, I’ll take a try. Perhaps I’ll be lucky. — díyas, nutsis Good
day, night, said to people who are thought to be Spanish-speaking, di-
= buynas.

buynu {1} particle conceding a situation: ‘well’. Buynu, ug dì ka, ay
na lang, Well, if you don’t want to, you don’t have to. {2} particle
terminating a conversation: ‘well, all right now’. Buynu, mau na lang
tu. Dad-a dinhi ugmà, Well, that’s all. Bring it here tomorrow. Buynu,
sanggía ang mais ugmà, All right. Harvest the corn tomorrow.
{2} particle in a story preceding a summary of the situation. Buynu,
kay nakapangasáwa sa prinsísa, siyay nahímung manunúnud, All right,
since he married the princess, he became the heir to the throne.

buyprind n boy friend.

buysit n bad luck that is permanently associated with a person or
thing. Kanang ímung nawung mau rag mauy nagdala sa buysit, Your face
brings bad luck with it. a having bad luck associated with it. Buysit
kining baláya. Pirming kamatyan, This house brings us bad luck. Lots of
people have died here. interjection Buysit! Gikuútan ku, Damned! S.o.
picked my pocket. v [B12] be constantly beset by bad luck. Nabuysit
ákung panágat human nákù mapatay ang íhung putì, My fishing was beset
by misfortune after I killed the white shark.

buyu, buyù v [A; a12] win over, entice s.o. to do s.t. Buyuhun ta ka
pagtrabáhu sa ámù, I’ll entice you to work for us. Ayaw pabuyu sa íyang
mga sáad, Don’t let yourself be hooked by his promises. n enticement.

búyù n betel pepper, a cultivated and wild vine, the leaves of which
are used together with búnga_2 as a chew: Piper betle.

búyud v [B12; a12] be, become dizzy. Nabúyud siya tungud sa kagútum, He
is dizzy from hunger.

buy-ud v [A; b6] be prostate and motionless, with arms parallel to the
body. Minatay ang nagbuy-ud sa asíras, A corpse lying on the sidewalk.

buyug_1 n {1} k.o. solitary bluish-black wasp common near the house,
nesting in the soil. {2} k.o. solitary bee, colored black with reddish
overtones. -un n feather coloration of cocks which is black with
reddish overtones.

buyug_2 v [A23P; c] leave or depart instantly, in a hurry. Dílì maáyung
mubuyug ug lakaw nga way pananghid, It’s not good to leave instantly
without permission. Ayawg ibuyug ug dágan ang búla ni Dyunyur, Don’t
run away with Junior’s ball.

búyuk_1 v [A; b6] cook cereals by pouring into water boiled beforehand
(the manner of cooking corn grits or large quantities of rice which
otherwise would take long to cook). Buyúka paglung-ag ang mais, Cook
the grits by throwing them into boiling water. -an(→) n pot w
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  I hear America singing, the varied carols I hear,
  Those of mechanics, each one singing his as it should be blithe and strong,
  The carpenter singing his as he measures his plank or beam,
  The mason singing his as he makes ready for work, or leaves off work,
  The boatman singing what belongs to him in his boat, the deckhand
      singing on the steamboat deck,
  The shoemaker singing as he sits on his bench, the hatter singing as
      he stands,
  The wood-cutter’s song, the ploughboy’s on his way in the morning,
      or at noon intermission or at sundown,
  The delicious singing of the mother, or of the young wife at work,
      or of the girl sewing or washing,
  Each singing what belongs to him or her and to none else,
  The day what belongs to the day--at night the party of young
      fellows, robust, friendly,
  Singing with open mouths their strong melodious songs.




What Place Is Besieged?

  What place is besieged, and vainly tries to raise the siege?
  Lo, I send to that place a commander, swift, brave, immortal,
  And with him horse and foot, and parks of artillery,
  And artillery-men, the deadliest that ever fired gun.




Still Though the One I Sing

  Still though the one I sing,
  (One, yet of contradictions made,) I dedicate to Nationality,
  I leave in him revolt, (O latent right of insurrection! O
      quenchless, indispensable fire!)




Shut Not Your Doors

  Shut not your doors to me proud libraries,
  For that which was lacking on all your well-fill’d shelves, yet
      needed most, I bring,
  Forth from the war emerging, a book I have made,
  The words of my book nothing, the drift of it every thing,
  A book separate, not link’d with the rest nor felt by the intellect,
  But you ye untold latencies will thrill to every page.




Poets to Come

  Poets to come! orators, singers, musicians to come!
  Not to-day is to justify me and answer what I am for,
  But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than
      before known,
  Arouse! for you must justify me.

  I myself but write one or two indicative words for the future,
  I but advance a moment only to wheel and hurry back in the darkness.

  I am a man who, sauntering along without fully stopping, turns a
      casual look upon you and then averts his face,
  Leaving it to you to prove and define it,
  Expecting the main things from you.




To You

  Stranger, if you passing meet me and desire to speak to me, why
      should you not speak to me?
  And why should I not speak to you?




Thou Reader

  Thou reader throbbest life and pride and love the same as I,
  Therefore for thee the following chants.




BOOK II


Starting from Paumanok

       1
  Starting from fish-shape Paumanok where I was born,
  Well-begotten, and rais’d by a perfect mother,
  After roaming many lands, lover of populous pavements,
  Dweller in Mannahatta my city, or on southern savannas,
  Or a soldier camp’d or carrying my knapsack and gun, or a miner
      in California,
  Or rude in my home in Dakota’s woods, my diet meat, my drink from
      the spring,
  Or withdrawn to muse and meditate in some deep recess,
  Far from the clank of crowds intervals passing rapt and happy,
  Aware of the fresh free giver the flowing Missouri, aware of
      mighty Niagara,
  Aware of the buffalo herds grazing the plains, the hirsute and
      strong-breasted bull,
  Of earth, rocks, Fifth-month flowers experienced, stars, rain, snow,
      my amaze,
  Having studied the mocking-bird’s tones and the flight of the
      mountain-hawk,
  And heard at dawn the unrivall’d one, the hermit thrush from the
      swamp-cedars,
  Solitary, singing in the West, I strike up for a New World.

       2
  Victory, union, faith, identity, time,
  The indissoluble compacts, riches, mystery,
  Eternal progress, the kosmos, and the modern reports.
  This then is life,
  Here is what has come to the surface after so many throes and convulsions.

  How curious! how real!
  Underfoot the divine soil, overhead the sun.

  See revolving the globe,
  The ancestor-continents away group’d together,
  The present and future continents north and south, with the isthmus
      between.

  See, vast trackless spaces,
  As in a dream they change, they swiftly fill,
  Countless masses debouch upon them,
  They are now cover’d with the foremost people, arts, institutions, known.

  See, projected through time,
  For me an audience interminable.

  With firm and regular step they wend, they never stop,
  Successions of men, Americanos, a hundred millions,
  One generation playing its part and passing on,
  Another generation playing its part and passing on in its turn,
  With faces turn’d sideways or backward towards me to listen,
  With eyes retrospective towards me.

       3
  Americanos! conquerors! marches humanitarian!
  Foremost! century marches! Libertad! masses!
  For you a programme of chants.

  Chants of the prairies,
  Chants of the long-running Mississippi, and
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PG #: 28054
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Fyodor Pavlovitch Karamazov


Alexey Fyodorovitch Karamazov was the third son of Fyodor Pavlovitch
Karamazov, a land owner well known in our district in his own day, and
still remembered among us owing to his gloomy and tragic death, which
happened thirteen years ago, and which I shall describe in its proper
place. For the present I will only say that this “landowner”—for so we
used to call him, although he hardly spent a day of his life on his own
estate—was a strange type, yet one pretty frequently to be met with, a
type abject and vicious and at the same time senseless. But he was one
of those senseless persons who are very well capable of looking after
their worldly affairs, and, apparently, after nothing else. Fyodor
Pavlovitch, for instance, began with next to nothing; his estate was of
the smallest; he ran to dine at other men’s tables, and fastened on
them as a toady, yet at his death it appeared that he had a hundred
thousand roubles in hard cash. At the same time, he was all his life
one of the most senseless, fantastical fellows in the whole district. I
repeat, it was not stupidity—the majority of these fantastical fellows
are shrewd and intelligent enough—but just senselessness, and a
peculiar national form of it.

He was married twice, and had three sons, the eldest, Dmitri, by his
first wife, and two, Ivan and Alexey, by his second. Fyodor
Pavlovitch’s first wife, Adelaïda Ivanovna, belonged to a fairly rich
and distinguished noble family, also landowners in our district, the
Miüsovs. How it came to pass that an heiress, who was also a beauty,
and moreover one of those vigorous, intelligent girls, so common in
this generation, but sometimes also to be found in the last, could have
married such a worthless, puny weakling, as we all called him, I won’t
attempt to explain. I knew a young lady of the last “romantic”
generation who after some years of an enigmatic passion for a
gentleman, whom she might quite easily have married at any moment,
invented insuperable obstacles to their union, and ended by throwing
herself one stormy night into a rather deep and rapid river from a high
bank, almost a precipice, and so perished, entirely to satisfy her own
caprice, and to be like Shakespeare’s Ophelia. Indeed, if this
precipice, a chosen and favorite spot of hers, had been less
picturesque, if there had been a prosaic flat bank in its place, most
likely the suicide would never have taken place. This is a fact, and
probably there have been not a few similar instances in the last two or
three generations. Adelaïda Ivanovna Miüsov’s action was similarly, no
doubt, an echo of other people’s ideas, and was due to the irritation
caused by lack of mental freedom. She wanted, perhaps, to show her
feminine independence, to override class distinctions and the despotism
of her family. And a pliable imagination persuaded her, we must
suppose, for a brief moment, that Fyodor Pavlovitch, in spite of his
parasitic position, was one of the bold and ironical spirits of that
progressive epoch, though he was, in fact, an ill‐natured buffoon and
nothing more. What gave the marriage piquancy was that it was preceded
by an elopement, and this greatly captivated Adelaïda Ivanovna’s fancy.
Fyodor Pavlovitch’s position at the time made him specially eager for
any such enterprise, for he was passionately anxious to make a career
in one way or another. To attach himself to a good family and obtain a
dowry was an alluring prospect. As for mutual love it did not exist
apparently, either in the bride or in him, in spite of Adelaïda
Ivanovna’s beauty. This was, perhaps, a unique case of the kind in the
life of Fyodor Pavlovitch, who was always of a voluptuous temper, and
ready to run after any petticoat on the slightest encouragement. She
seems to have been the only woman who made no particular appeal to his
senses.

Immediately after the elopement Adelaïda Ivanovna discerned in a flash
that she had no feeling for her husband but contempt. The marriage
accordingly showed itself in its true colors with extraordinary
rapidity. Although the family accepted the event pretty quickly and
apportioned the runaway bride her dowry, the husband and wife began to
lead a most disorderly life, and there were everlasting scenes between
them. It was said that the young wife showed incomparably more
generosity and dignity than Fyodor Pavlovitch, who, as is now known,
got hold of all her money up to twenty‐five thousand roubles as soon as
she received it, so that those thousands were lost to her for ever. The
little village and the rather fine town house which formed part of her
dowry he did his utmost for a long time to transfer to his name, by
means of some deed of conveyance. He would probably have succeeded,
merely from her moral fatigue and desire to get rid of him, and from
the contempt and loathing he aroused by his persistent and shameless
importunity. But, fortunately, Adelaïda Ivanovna’s family intervened
and circumvented his greediness. It 
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PG #: 1251
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Igraine his wife, and of their departing suddenly again.

It befell in the days of Uther Pendragon, when he was king of all
England, and so reigned, that there was a mighty duke in Cornwall that
held war against him long time. And the duke was called the Duke of
Tintagil. And so by means King Uther sent for this duke, charging him
to bring his wife with him, for she was called a fair lady, and a
passing wise, and her name was called Igraine.

So when the duke and his wife were come unto the king, by the means of
great lords they were accorded both. The king liked and loved this lady
well, and he made them great cheer out of measure, and desired to have
lain by her. But she was a passing good woman, and would not assent
unto the king. And then she told the duke her husband, and said, I
suppose that we were sent for that I should be dishonoured; wherefore,
husband, I counsel you, that we depart from hence suddenly, that we may
ride all night unto our own castle. And in like wise as she said so
they departed, that neither the king nor none of his council were ware
of their departing. All so soon as King Uther knew of their departing
so suddenly, he was wonderly wroth. Then he called to him his privy
council, and told them of the sudden departing of the duke and his
wife.

Then they advised the king to send for the duke and his wife by a great
charge; and if he will not come at your summons, then may ye do your
best, then have ye cause to make mighty war upon him. So that was done,
and the messengers had their answers; and that was this shortly, that
neither he nor his wife would not come at him.

Then was the king wonderly wroth. And then the king sent him plain word
again, and bade him be ready and stuff him and garnish him, for within
forty days he would fetch him out of the biggest castle that he hath.

When the duke had this warning, anon he went and furnished and
garnished two strong castles of his, of the which the one hight
Tintagil, and the other castle hight Terrabil. So his wife Dame Igraine
he put in the castle of Tintagil, and himself he put in the castle of
Terrabil, the which had many issues and posterns out. Then in all haste
came Uther with a great host, and laid a siege about the castle of
Terrabil. And there he pight many pavilions, and there was great war
made on both parties, and much people slain. Then for pure anger and
for great love of fair Igraine the king Uther fell sick. So came to the
king Uther Sir Ulfius, a noble knight, and asked the king why he was
sick. I shall tell thee, said the king, I am sick for anger and for
love of fair Igraine, that I may not be whole. Well, my lord, said Sir
Ulfius, I shall seek Merlin, and he shall do you remedy, that your
heart shall be pleased. So Ulfius departed, and by adventure he met
Merlin in a beggar’s array, and there Merlin asked Ulfius whom he
sought. And he said he had little ado to tell him. Well, said Merlin, I
know whom thou seekest, for thou seekest Merlin; therefore seek no
farther, for I am he; and if King Uther will well reward me, and be
sworn unto me to fulfil my desire, that shall be his honour and profit
more than mine; for I shall cause him to have all his desire. All this
will I undertake, said Ulfius, that there shall be nothing reasonable
but thou shalt have thy desire. Well, said Merlin, he shall have his
intent and desire. And therefore, said Merlin, ride on your way, for I
will not be long behind.



how by the mean of Merlin he lay by the duchess and gat Arthur.

Then Ulfius was glad, and rode on more than a pace till that he came to
King Uther Pendragon, and told him he had met with Merlin. Where is he?
said the king. Sir, said Ulfius, he will not dwell long. Therewithal
Ulfius was ware where Merlin stood at the porch of the pavilion’s door.
And then Merlin was bound to come to the king. When King Uther saw him,
he said he was welcome. Sir, said Merlin, I know all your heart every
deal; so ye will be sworn unto me as ye be a true king anointed, to
fulfil my desire, ye shall have your desire. Then the king was sworn
upon the Four Evangelists. Sir, said Merlin, this is my desire: the
first night that ye shall lie by Igraine ye shall get a child on her,
and when that is born, that it shall be delivered to me for to nourish
there as I will have it; for it shall be your worship, and the child’s
avail, as mickle as the child is worth. I will well, said the king, as
thou wilt have it. Now make you ready, said Merlin, this night ye shall
lie with Igraine in the castle of Tintagil; and ye shall be like the
duke her husband, Ulfius shall be like Sir Brastias, a knight of the
duke’s, and I will be like a knight that hight Sir Jordanus, a knight
of the duke’s. But wait ye make not many questions with her nor her
men, but say ye are diseased, and so hie you to bed, and rise not on
the morn till I come to you, for the castle of Tintagil is but ten
miles hence; so this was done as they devised. But the duke of Tintagil
espied how the 
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PG #: 51233
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51233

The Marching Morons

                          By C. M. KORNBLUTH

                       Illustrated by DON SIBLEY

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
                  Galaxy Science Fiction April 1951.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]




           In the country of the blind, the one-eyed man, of
          course, is king. But how about a live wire, a smart
          businessman, in a civilization of 100% pure chumps?


Some things had not changed. A potter's wheel was still a potter's
wheel and clay was still clay. Efim Hawkins had built his shop near
Goose Lake, which had a narrow band of good fat clay and a narrow beach
of white sand. He fired three bottle-nosed kilns with willow charcoal
from the wood lot. The wood lot was also useful for long walks while
the kilns were cooling; if he let himself stay within sight of them,
he would open them prematurely, impatient to see how some new shape or
glaze had come through the fire, and--_ping!_--the new shape or glaze
would be good for nothing but the shard pile back of his slip tanks.

A business conference was in full swing in his shop, a modest cube
of brick, tile-roofed, as the Chicago-Los Angeles "rocket" thundered
overhead--very noisy, very swept-back, very fiery jets, shaped as
sleekly swift-looking as an airborne barracuda.

The buyer from Marshall Fields was turning over a black-glazed one
liter carafe, nodding approval with his massive, handsome head. "This
is real pretty," he told Hawkins and his own secretary, Gomez-Laplace.
"This has got lots of what ya call real est'etic principles. Yeah, it
is real pretty."

"How much?" the secretary asked the potter.

"Seven-fifty each in dozen lots," said Hawkins. "I ran up fifteen dozen
last month."

"They are real est'etic," repeated the buyer from Fields. "I will take
them all."

"I don't think we can do that, doctor," said the secretary. "They'd
cost us $1,350. That would leave only $532 in our quarter's budget.
And we still have to run down to East Liverpool to pick up some cheap
dinner sets."

"Dinner sets?" asked the buyer, his big face full of wonder.

"Dinner sets. The department's been out of them for two months now. Mr.
Garvy-Seabright got pretty nasty about it yesterday. Remember?"

"Garvy-Seabright, that meat-headed bluenose," the buyer said
contemptuously. "He don't know nothin' about est'etics. Why for don't
he lemme run my own department?" His eye fell on a stray copy of
_Whambozambo Comix_ and he sat down with it. An occasional deep chuckle
or grunt of surprise escaped him as he turned the pages.

Uninterrupted, the potter and the buyer's secretary quickly closed a
deal for two dozen of the liter carafes. "I wish we could take more,"
said the secretary, "but you heard what I told him. We've had to
turn away customers for ordinary dinnerware because he shot the last
quarter's budget on some Mexican piggy banks some equally enthusiastic
importer stuck him with. The fifth floor is packed solid with them."

"I'll bet they look mighty est'etic."

"They're painted with purple cacti."

       *       *       *       *       *

The potter shuddered and caressed the glaze of the sample carafe.

The buyer looked up and rumbled, "Ain't you dummies through yakkin'
yet? What good's a seckertary for if'n he don't take the burden of
_de_-tail off'n my back, harh?"

"We're all through, doctor. Are you ready to go?"

The buyer grunted peevishly, dropped _Whambozambo Comix_ on the floor
and led the way out of the building and down the log corduroy road to
the highway. His car was waiting on the concrete. It was, like all
contemporary cars, too low-slung to get over the logs. He climbed down
into the car and started the motor with a tremendous sparkle and roar.

"Gomez-Laplace," called out the potter under cover of the noise, "did
anything come of the radiation program they were working on the last
time I was on duty at the Pole?"

"The same old fallacy," said the secretary gloomily. "It stopped us on
mutation, it stopped us on culling, it stopped us on segregation, and
now it's stopped us on hypnosis."

"Well, I'm scheduled back to the grind in nine days. Time for another
firing right now. I've got a new luster to try...."

"I'll miss you. I shall be 'vacationing'--running the drafting room of
the New Century Engineering Corporation in Denver. They're going to put
up a two hundred-story office building, and naturally somebody's got to
be on hand."

"Naturally," said Hawkins with a sour smile.

There was an ear-piercingly sweet blast as the buyer leaned on the horn
button. Also, a yard-tall jet of what looked like flame spurted up from
the car's radiator cap; the car's power plant was a gas turbine, and
had no radiator.

"I'm coming, doctor," said the secretary dispiritedly. He climbed down
into the car and it whooshed off with much flame and noise.

The potter, depressed, wandered back up th
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PG #: 1064
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1064

The Masque of the Red Death

by Edgar Allan Poe


The “Red Death” had long devastated the country. No pestilence had
ever been so fatal, or so hideous. Blood was its Avatar and its seal—the
redness and the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and sudden dizziness,
and then profuse bleeding at the pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains
upon the body and especially upon the face of the victim, were the pest ban
which shut him out from the aid and from the sympathy of his fellow-men. And
the whole seizure, progress and termination of the disease, were the incidents
of half an hour.

But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless and sagacious. When his
dominions were half depopulated, he summoned to his presence a thousand hale
and light-hearted friends from among the knights and dames of his court, and
with these retired to the deep seclusion of one of his castellated abbeys. This
was an extensive and magnificent structure, the creation of the prince’s
own eccentric yet august taste. A strong and lofty wall girdled it in. This
wall had gates of iron. The courtiers, having entered, brought furnaces and
massy hammers and welded the bolts. They resolved to leave means neither of
ingress nor egress to the sudden impulses of despair or of frenzy from within.
The abbey was amply provisioned. With such precautions the courtiers might bid
defiance to contagion. The external world could take care of itself. In the
meantime it was folly to grieve, or to think. The prince had provided all the
appliances of pleasure. There were buffoons, there were improvisatori, there
were ballet-dancers, there were musicians, there was Beauty, there was wine.
All these and security were within. Without was the “Red Death”.

It was towards the close of the fifth or sixth month of his seclusion, and
while the pestilence raged most furiously abroad, that the Prince Prospero
entertained his thousand friends at a masked ball of the most unusual
magnificence.

It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade. But first let me tell of the rooms
in which it was held. These were seven—an imperial suite. In many
palaces, however, such suites form a long and straight vista, while the folding
doors slide back nearly to the walls on either hand, so that the view of the
whole extent is scarcely impeded. Here the case was very different, as might
have been expected from the duke’s love of the _bizarre_. The
apartments were so irregularly disposed that the vision embraced but little
more than one at a time. There was a sharp turn at every twenty or thirty
yards, and at each turn a novel effect. To the right and left, in the middle of
each wall, a tall and narrow Gothic window looked out upon a closed corridor
which pursued the windings of the suite. These windows were of stained glass
whose colour varied in accordance with the prevailing hue of the decorations of
the chamber into which it opened. That at the eastern extremity was hung, for
example in blue—and vividly blue were its windows. The second chamber was
purple in its ornaments and tapestries, and here the panes were purple. The
third was green throughout, and so were the casements. The fourth was furnished
and lighted with orange—the fifth with white—the sixth with violet.
The seventh apartment was closely shrouded in black velvet tapestries that hung
all over the ceiling and down the walls, falling in heavy folds upon a carpet
of the same material and hue. But in this chamber only, the colour of the
windows failed to correspond with the decorations. The panes here were
scarlet—a deep blood colour. Now in no one of the seven apartments was
there any lamp or candelabrum, amid the profusion of golden ornaments that lay
scattered to and fro or depended from the roof. There was no light of any kind
emanating from lamp or candle within the suite of chambers. But in the
corridors that followed the suite, there stood, opposite to each window, a
heavy tripod, bearing a brazier of fire, that projected its rays through the
tinted glass and so glaringly illumined the room. And thus were produced a
multitude of gaudy and fantastic appearances. But in the western or black
chamber the effect of the fire-light that streamed upon the dark hangings
through the blood-tinted panes, was ghastly in the extreme, and produced so
wild a look upon the countenances of those who entered, that there were few of
the company bold enough to set foot within its precincts at all.

It was in this apartment, also, that there stood against the western wall, a
gigantic clock of ebony. Its pendulum swung to and fro with a dull, heavy,
monotonous clang; and when the minute-hand made the circuit of the face, and
the hour was to be stricken, there came from the brazen lungs of the clock a
sound which was clear and loud and deep and exceedingly musical, but of so
peculiar a note and emphasis that, at each lapse of an hour, the musicians of
the orchestra were constrained to pause, momentarily, in their performance, to
harken to th
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PG #: 2848
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2848

Them To Mount Sinai; But Not Till They Had Suffered Much In Their
Journey.

CHAPTER 2. How The Amalekites And The Neighbouring Nations, Made War
With The Hebrews And Were Beaten And Lost A Great Part Of Their Army.

CHAPTER 3. That Moses Kindly Received-His Father-In-Law, Jethro, When He
Came To Him To Mount Sinai.

CHAPTER 4. How Raguel Suggested To Moses To Set His People In Order,
Under Their Rulers Of Thousands, And Rulers Of Hundreds, Who Lived
Without Order Before; And How Moses Complied In All Things With His
Father-In-Law's Admonition.

CHAPTER 5. How Moses Ascended Up To Mount Sinai, And Received Laws From
God, And Delivered Them To The Hebrews.

CHAPTER 6. Concerning The Tabernacle Which Moses Built In The Wilderness
For The Honor Of God And Which Seemed To Be A Temple.

CHAPTER 7. Concerning The Garments Of The Priests, And Of The High
Priest.

CHAPTER 8. Of The Priesthood Of Aaron.

CHAPTER 9. The Manner Of Our Offering Sacrifices.

CHAPTER 10. Concerning The Festivals; And How Each Day Of Such Festival
Is To Be Observed.

CHAPTER 11. Of The Purifications.

CHAPTER 12. Several Laws.

CHAPTER 13. Moses Removed From Mount Sinai, And Conducted The People To
The Borders Of The Canaanites.

CHAPTER 14. How Moses Sent Some Persons To Search Out The Land Of The
Canaanites, And The Largeness Of Their Cities; And Further That When
Those Who Were Sent Were Returned, After Forty Days And Reported That
They Should Not Be A Match For Them, And Extolled The Strength Of The
Canaanites The Multitude Were Disturbed And Fell Into Despair; And Were
Resolved To Stone Moses, And To Return Back Again Into Egypt, And Serve
The Egyptians.

Angry And That They Should Continue In The Wilderness For Forty Years
And Not, During That Time, Either Return Into Egypt Or Take Possession
Of Canaan.

FOOTNOTES:

BOOK IV. Containing The Interval Of Thirty-Eight Years.—From The
Rejection Of That Generation To The Death Of Moses.

CHAPTER 1. Fight Of The Hebrews With The Canaanites Without The Consent
Of Moses; And Their Defeat.

CHAPTER 2. The Sedition Of Corah And Of The Multitude Against Moses, And
Against His Brother, Concerning The Priesthood.

CHAPTER 3. How Those That Stirred Up This Sedition Were Destroyed,
According To The Will Of God; And How Aaron, Moses's Brother Both He And
His Posterity, Retained The Priesthood.

CHAPTER 4. What Happened To The Hebrews During Thirty-Eight Years In The
Wilderness.

CHAPTER 5. How Moses Conquered Sihon And Og Kings Of The Amorites, And
Destroyed Their Whole Army And Then Divided Their Land By Lot To Two
Tribes And A Half Of The Hebrews.

CHAPTER 6. Concerning Balaam The Prophet And What Kind Of Man He Was.

CHAPTER 7. How The Hebrews Fought With The Midianites, And Overcame
Them.

CHAPTER 8. The Polity Settled By Moses; And How He Disappeared From
Among Mankind.

FOOTNOTES:

BOOK V. Containing The Interval Of Four Hundred And Seventy-Six
Years.—From The Death Of Moses To The Death Of Eli.

Canaanites, And Overcame Them, And Destroyed Them, And Divided Their
Land By Lot To The Tribes Of Israel.

Israelites Transgressed The Laws Of Their Country, And Experienced Great
Afflictions; And When There Was A Sedition Arisen, The Tribe Of Benjamin
Was Destroyed Excepting Only Six Hundred Men.

Served The Assyrians; And How God Delivered Them By Othniel, Who Ruled
Over Them Forty Years.

Then Delivered From Slavery By One Ehud Who Retained The Dominion Eighty
Years.

Twenty Years; After Which They Were Delivered By Barak And Deborah, Who
Ruled Over Them For Forty Years.

Israelites And Beat Them, And Afflicted Their Country For Seven Years,
How They Were Delivered By Gideon, Who Ruled Over The Multitude For
Forty Years.

CHAPTER 7. That The Judges Who Succeeded Gideon Made War With The
Adjoining Nations For A Long Time.

CHAPTER 8. Concerning The Fortitude Of Samson, And What Mischiefs He
Brought Upon The Philistines.

CHAPTER 9. How Under Eli's Government Of The Israelites Booz Married
Ruth, From Whom Came Obed The Grandfather Of David.

CHAPTER 10. Concerning The Birth Of Samuel; And How He Foretold The
Calamity That Befell The Sons Of Eli.

CHAPTER 11. Herein Is Declared What Befell The Sons Of Eli, The Ark, And
The People And How Eli Himself Died Miserably.

FOOTNOTES

BOOK VI. Containing The Interval Of Thirty-Two Years.—From The Death Of
Eli To The Death Of Saul.

Their Land, By The Wrath Of Go On Account Of Their Having Carried The
Ark Away Captive; And After What Manner They Sent It Back To The
Hebrews.

Hebrews' Victory Under The Conduct Of Samuel The Prophet, Who Was Their
General.

Not Take Care Of The Public Affairs Intrusted Them To His Sons; And How
Upon The Evil Administration Of The Government By Them The Multitude
Were So Angry, That They Required To Have A King To Govern Them,
Although Samuel Was Much Displeased Thereat.

CHAPTER 4. The Appointment Of A King Over The Israelites, Whose Name Was
Saul; And This By The Command Of God.

CHAPTER 5. Saul's Expedition Against The Nation O
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PG #: 1513
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1513

THE TRAGEDY OF ROMEO AND JULIET



by William Shakespeare


Contents

THE PROLOGUE.

ACT I
Scene I. A public place.
Scene II. A Street.
Scene III. Room in Capulet’s House.
Scene IV. A Street.
Scene V. A Hall in Capulet’s House.


ACT II
CHORUS.
Scene I. An open place adjoining Capulet’s Garden.
Scene II. Capulet’s Garden.
Scene III. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.
Scene IV. A Street.
Scene V. Capulet’s Garden.
Scene VI. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.


ACT III
Scene I. A public Place.
Scene II. A Room in Capulet’s House.
Scene III. Friar Lawrence’s cell.
Scene IV. A Room in Capulet’s House.
Scene V. An open Gallery to Juliet’s Chamber, overlooking the Garden.


ACT IV
Scene I. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.
Scene II. Hall in Capulet’s House.
Scene III. Juliet’s Chamber.
Scene IV. Hall in Capulet’s House.
Scene V. Juliet’s Chamber; Juliet on the bed.


ACT V
Scene I. Mantua. A Street.
Scene II. Friar Lawrence’s Cell.
Scene III. A churchyard; in it a Monument belonging to the Capulets.




 Dramatis Personæ

ESCALUS, Prince of Verona.
MERCUTIO, kinsman to the Prince, and friend to Romeo.
PARIS, a young Nobleman, kinsman to the Prince.
Page to Paris.

MONTAGUE, head of a Veronese family at feud with the Capulets.
LADY MONTAGUE, wife to Montague.
ROMEO, son to Montague.
BENVOLIO, nephew to Montague, and friend to Romeo.
ABRAM, servant to Montague.
BALTHASAR, servant to Romeo.

CAPULET, head of a Veronese family at feud with the Montagues.
LADY CAPULET, wife to Capulet.
JULIET, daughter to Capulet.
TYBALT, nephew to Lady Capulet.
CAPULET’S COUSIN, an old man.
NURSE to Juliet.
PETER, servant to Juliet’s Nurse.
SAMPSON, servant to Capulet.
GREGORY, servant to Capulet.
Servants.

FRIAR LAWRENCE, a Franciscan.
FRIAR JOHN, of the same Order.
An Apothecary.
CHORUS.
Three Musicians.
An Officer.
Citizens of Verona; several Men and Women, relations to both houses;
Maskers, Guards, Watchmen and Attendants.

SCENE. During the greater part of the Play in Verona; once, in the
Fifth Act, at Mantua.


THE PROLOGUE

 Enter Chorus.

CHORUS.
Two households, both alike in dignity,
In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life;
Whose misadventur’d piteous overthrows
Doth with their death bury their parents’ strife.
The fearful passage of their death-mark’d love,
And the continuance of their parents’ rage,
Which, but their children’s end, nought could remove,
Is now the two hours’ traffic of our stage;
The which, if you with patient ears attend,
What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.

 [_Exit._]



ACT I

SCENE I. A public place.

 Enter Sampson and Gregory armed with swords and bucklers.

SAMPSON.
Gregory, on my word, we’ll not carry coals.

GREGORY.
No, for then we should be colliers.

SAMPSON.
I mean, if we be in choler, we’ll draw.

GREGORY.
Ay, while you live, draw your neck out o’ the collar.

SAMPSON.
I strike quickly, being moved.

GREGORY.
But thou art not quickly moved to strike.

SAMPSON.
A dog of the house of Montague moves me.

GREGORY.
To move is to stir; and to be valiant is to stand: therefore, if thou
art moved, thou runn’st away.

SAMPSON.
A dog of that house shall move me to stand.
I will take the wall of any man or maid of Montague’s.

GREGORY.
That shows thee a weak slave, for the weakest goes to the wall.

SAMPSON.
True, and therefore women, being the weaker vessels, are ever thrust to
the wall: therefore I will push Montague’s men from the wall, and
thrust his maids to the wall.

GREGORY.
The quarrel is between our masters and us their men.

SAMPSON.
’Tis all one, I will show myself a tyrant: when I have fought with the
men I will be civil with the maids, I will cut off their heads.

GREGORY.
The heads of the maids?

SAMPSON.
Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads; take it in what sense
thou wilt.

GREGORY.
They must take it in sense that feel it.

SAMPSON.
Me they shall feel while I am able to stand: and ’tis known I am a
pretty piece of flesh.

GREGORY.
’Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst been poor John.
Draw thy tool; here comes of the house of Montagues.

 Enter Abram and Balthasar.

SAMPSON.
My naked weapon is out: quarrel, I will back thee.

GREGORY.
How? Turn thy back and run?

SAMPSON.
Fear me not.

GREGORY.
No, marry; I fear thee!

SAMPSON.
Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.

GREGORY.
I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list.

SAMPSON.
Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them, which is disgrace to
them if they bear it.

ABRAM.
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

SAMPSON.
I do bite my thumb, sir.

ABRAM.
Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

SAMPSON.
Is the law of our side if I say ay?

GREGORY.
No.

SAMPSON.
No sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my thumb, sir.

GREGORY.
Do you quarrel, sir?

ABRAM.
Quarrel, sir? No, sir.

SAMPSON.
But if you do, sir, am for yo
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CYRANO DE BERGERAC


A Play in Five Acts

by

Edmond Rostand

Translated from the French by Gladys Thomas and Mary F. Guillemard



The Characters
CYRANO DE BERGERAC
CHRISTIAN DE NEUVILLETTE
COUNT DE GUICHE
RAGUENEAU
LE BRET
CARBON DE CASTEL-JALOUX
THE CADETS
LIGNIERE
DE VALVERT
A MARQUIS
SECOND MARQUIS
THIRD MARQUIS
MONTFLEURY
BELLEROSE
JODELET
CUIGY
BRISSAILLE
THE DOORKEEPER
A LACKEY
A SECOND LACKEY
A BORE
A MUSKETEER
ANOTHER
A SPANISH OFFICER
A PORTER
A BURGHER
HIS SON
A PICKPOCKET
A SPECTATOR
A GUARDSMAN
BERTRAND THE FIFER
A MONK
TWO MUSICIANS
THE POETS
THE PASTRY COOKS
ROXANE
SISTER MARTHA
LISE
THE BUFFET-GIRL
MOTHER MARGUERITE
THE DUENNA
SISTER CLAIRE
AN ACTRESS
THE PAGES
THE SHOP-GIRL

The crowd, troopers, burghers (male and female), marquises, musketeers,
pickpockets, pastry-cooks, poets, Gascons cadets, actors (male and female),
violinists, pages, children, soldiers, Spaniards, spectators (male and
female), precieuses, nuns, etc.



Act I.

A Representation at the Hotel de Bourgogne.

The hall of the Hotel de Bourgogne, in 1640.  A sort of tennis-court arranged
and decorated for a theatrical performance.

The hall is oblong and seen obliquely, so that one of its sides forms the back
of the right foreground, and meeting the left background makes an angle with
the stage, which is partly visible.

On both sides of the stage are benches.  The curtain is composed of two
tapestries which can be drawn aside.  Above a harlequin's mantle are the royal
arms.  There are broad steps from the stage to the hall; on either side of
these steps are the places for the violinists.  Footlights.

Two rows, one over the other, of side galleries:  the highest divided into
boxes.  No seats in the pit of the hall, which is the real stage of the
theater; at the back of the pit, i.e., on the right foreground, some benches
forming steps, and underneath, a staircase which leads to the upper seats.  An
improvised buffet ornamented with little lusters, vases, glasses, plates of
tarts, cakes, bottles, etc.

The entrance to the theater is in the center of the background, under the
gallery of the boxes.  A large door, half open to let in the spectators.  On
the panels of this door, in different corners, and over the buffet, red
placards bearing the words, 'La Clorise.'

At the rising of the curtain the hall is in semi-darkness, and still empty.
The lusters are lowered in the middle of the pit ready to be lighted.



Scene 1.I.

The public, arriving by degrees.  Troopers, burghers, lackeys, pages, a
pickpocket, the doorkeeper, etc., followed by the marquises.  Cuigy,
Brissaille, the buffet-girl, the violinists, etc.

(A confusion of loud voices is heard outside the door.  A trooper enters
hastily.)

THE DOORKEEPER (following him):
  Hollo!  You there!  Your money!

THE TROOPER:
  I enter gratis.

THE DOORKEEPER:
  Why?

THE TROOPER:
  Why?  I am of the King's Household Cavalry, 'faith!

THE DOORKEEPER (to another trooper who enters):
  And you?

SECOND TROOPER:
  I pay nothing.

THE DOORKEEPER:
  How so?

SECOND TROOPER:
  I am a musketeer.

FIRST TROOPER (to the second):
  The play will not begin till two.  The pit is empty.  Come, a bout with the
foils to pass the time.

(They fence with the foils they have brought.)

A LACKEY (entering):
  Pst. . .Flanquin. . .!

ANOTHER (already there):
  Champagne?. . .

THE FIRST (showing him cards and dice which he takes from his doublet):
  See, here be cards and dice.
(He seats himself on the floor):
  Let's play.

THE SECOND (doing the same):
  Good; I am with you, villain!

FIRST LACKEY (taking from his pocket a candle-end, which he lights, and sticks
on the floor):
  I made free to provide myself with light at my master's expense!

A GUARDSMAN (to a shop-girl who advances):
  'Twas prettily done to come before the lights were lit!

(He takes her round the waist.)

ONE OF THE FENCERS (receiving a thrust):
  A hit!

ONE OF THE CARD-PLAYERS:
  Clubs!

THE GUARDSMAN (following the girl):
  A kiss!

THE SHOP-GIRL (struggling to free herself):
  They're looking!

THE GUARDSMAN (drawing her to a dark corner):
  No fear!  No one can see!

A MAN (sitting on the ground with others, who have brought their provisions):
  By coming early, one can eat in comfort.

A BURGHER (conducting his son):
  Let us sit here, son.

A CARD-PLAYER:
  Triple ace!

A MAN (taking a bottle from under his cloak,
and also seating himself on the floor):
  A tippler may well quaff his Burgundy
(he drinks):
  in the Burgundy Hotel!

THE BURGHER (to his son):
  'Faith!  A man might think he had fallen in a bad house here!
(He points with his cane to the drunkard):
  What with topers!
(One of the fencers in breaking off, jostles him):
  brawlers!
(He stumbles into the midst of the card-players):
  gamblers!

THE GUARDSMAN (behind him, still teasing the shop-girl):
  Come, one kiss!

THE BURGHER (hurriedly pulling his son away):
  By all the holies!  And this, my boy, is the theater where they played
Rotrou erewhile.

THE YOUN
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  Old King Cole
  Was a merry old soul,
  And a merry old soul was he;
  He called for his pipe,
  And he called for his bowl,
  And he called for his fiddlers three.
  Every fiddler, he had a fiddle,
  And a very fine fiddle had he;
  Twee tweedle dee, tweedle dee, went the fiddlers.
  Oh, there's none so rare,
  As can compare
  With King Cole and his fiddlers three!

    [The traditional Nursery Rhymes of England commence with a
    legendary satire on King Cole, who reigned in Britain, as the
    old chroniclers inform us, in the third century after Christ.
    According to Robert of Gloucester, he was the father of
    St. Helena, and if so, Butler must be wrong in ascribing an
    obscure origin to the celebrated mother of Constantine. King
    Cole was a brave and popular man in his day, and ascended
    the throne of Britain on the death of Asclepiod, amidst
    the acclamations of the people, or, as Robert of Gloucester
    expresses himself, the "fole was tho of this lond y-paid wel
    y-nou." At Colchester there is a large earthwork, supposed to
    have been a Roman amphitheatre, which goes popularly by
    the name of "King Cole's kitchen." According to Jeffrey of
    Monmouth, King Cole's daughter was well skilled in music, but
    we unfortunately have no evidence to show that her father was
    attached to that science, further than what is contained in
    the foregoing lines, which are of doubtful antiquity. The
    following version of the song is of the seventeenth century,
    the one given above being probably a modernization:--

      Good King Cole,
      He call'd for his bowl,
      And he call'd for fidlers three:
      And there was fiddle fiddle,
      And twice fiddle fiddle,
      For 'twas my lady's birth-day;
      Therefore we keep holiday,
      And come to be merry.]



  When good king Arthur ruled this land,
    He was a goodly king;
  He stole three pecks of barley-meal,
    To make a bag-pudding.

  A bag-pudding the king did make,
    And stuff'd it well with plums:
  And in it put great lumps of fat,
    As big as my two thumbs.

  The king and queen did eat thereof,
    And noblemen beside;
  And what they could not eat that night,
    The queen next morning fried.



    [The following song relating to Robin Hood, the celebrated
    outlaw, is well known at Worksop, in Nottinghamshire, where it
    constitutes one of the nursery series.]

  Robin Hood, Robin Hood,
  Is in the mickle wood!
  Little John, Little John,
  He to the town is gone.

  Robin Hood, Robin Hood,
    Is telling his beads,
  All in the green wood,
    Among the green weeds.

  Little John, Little John,
    If he comes no more,
  Robin Hood, Robin Hood,
    He will fret full sore!



    [The following lines were obtained in Oxfordshire. The story
    to which it alludes is related by Matthew Paris.]

  One moonshiny night
  As I sat high,
  Waiting for one
  To come by;
  The boughs did bend,
  My heart did ache
  To see what hole the fox did make.



    [The following perhaps refers to Joanna of Castile, who
    visited the court of Henry the Seventh, in the year 1506.]

  I had a little nut tree, nothing would it bear
  But a silver nutmeg and a golden pear;
  The king of Spain's daughter came to visit me,
  And all was because of my little nut tree.
  I skipp'd over water, I danced over sea,
  And all the birds in the air couldn't catch me.



    [From a MS. in the old Royal Library, in the British Museum,
    the exact reference to which is mislaid. It is written, if I
    recollect rightly, in a hand of the time of Henry VIII, in an
    older manuscript.]

  We make no spare
  Of John Hunkes' mare;
  And now I
  Think she will die;
  He thought it good
  To put her in the wood,
  To seek where she might ly dry;
  If the mare should chance to fale,
  Then the crownes would for her sale.



    [From MS. Sloane, 1489, fol. 19, written in the time of
    Charles I.]

  The king of France, and four thousand men,
  They drew their swords, and put them up again.



    [In a tract, called 'Pigges Corantoe, or Newes from the
    North,' 4to Lond. 1642, p. 3, this is called "Old Tarlton's
    Song." It is perhaps a parody on the popular epigram of "Jack
    and Jill." I do not know the period of the battle to which it
    appears to allude, but Tarlton died in the year 1588, so that
    the rhyme must be earlier.]

  The king of France went up the hill,
    With twenty thousand men;
  The king of France came down the hill,
    And ne'er went up again.



  The king of France, with twenty thousand men,
  Went up the hill, and then came down again;
  The king of Spain, with twenty thousand more,
  Climb'd the same hill the French had climb'd before.



    [Another version. The nurse sings the first line, and repeats
    it, time after time, until the expectant little one asks, what
    next? Then comes the climax.]

  The king of France, the king of France, with forty thousand men,
  Oh, they 
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1. Renewal of Life by Transmission. The most notable distinction between
living and inanimate things is that the former maintain themselves by
renewal. A stone when struck resists. If its resistance is greater than
the force of the blow struck, it remains outwardly unchanged. Otherwise,
it is shattered into smaller bits. Never does the stone attempt to react
in such a way that it may maintain itself against the blow, much less so
as to render the blow a contributing factor to its own continued action.
While the living thing may easily be crushed by superior force, it none
the less tries to turn the energies which act upon it into means of its
own further existence. If it cannot do so, it does not just split into
smaller pieces (at least in the higher forms of life), but loses its
identity as a living thing.

As long as it endures, it struggles to use surrounding energies in its
own behalf. It uses light, air, moisture, and the material of soil. To
say that it uses them is to say that it turns them into means of its own
conservation. As long as it is growing, the energy it expends in thus
turning the environment to account is more than compensated for by
the return it gets: it grows. Understanding the word "control" in this
sense, it may be said that a living being is one that subjugates
and controls for its own continued activity the energies that would
otherwise use it up. Life is a self-renewing process through action upon
the environment.

In all the higher forms this process cannot be kept up indefinitely.
After a while they succumb; they die. The creature is not equal to the
task of indefinite self-renewal. But continuity of the life process
is not dependent upon the prolongation of the existence of any one
individual. Reproduction of other forms of life goes on in continuous
sequence. And though, as the geological record shows, not merely
individuals but also species die out, the life process continues in
increasingly complex forms. As some species die out, forms better
adapted to utilize the obstacles against which they struggled in vain
come into being. Continuity of life means continual readaptation of the
environment to the needs of living organisms.

We have been speaking of life in its lowest terms--as a physical thing.
But we use the word "Life" to denote the whole range of experience,
individual and racial. When we see a book called the Life of Lincoln
we do not expect to find within its covers a treatise on physiology.
We look for an account of social antecedents; a description of early
surroundings, of the conditions and occupation of the family; of the
chief episodes in the development of character; of signal struggles and
achievements; of the individual's hopes, tastes, joys and sufferings. In
precisely similar fashion we speak of the life of a savage tribe, of
the Athenian people, of the American nation. "Life" covers customs,
institutions, beliefs, victories and defeats, recreations and
occupations.

We employ the word "experience" in the same pregnant sense. And to it,
as well as to life in the bare physiological sense, the principle
of continuity through renewal applies. With the renewal of physical
existence goes, in the case of human beings, the recreation of beliefs,
ideals, hopes, happiness, misery, and practices. The continuity of any
experience, through renewing of the social group, is a literal fact.
Education, in its broadest sense, is the means of this social continuity
of life. Every one of the constituent elements of a social group, in a
modern city as in a savage tribe, is born immature, helpless, without
language, beliefs, ideas, or social standards. Each individual, each
unit who is the carrier of the life-experience of his group, in time
passes away. Yet the life of the group goes on.

The primary ineluctable facts of the birth and death of each one of
the constituent members in a social group determine the necessity of
education. On one hand, there is the contrast between the immaturity of
the new-born members of the group--its future sole representatives--and
the maturity of the adult members who possess the knowledge and customs
of the group. On the other hand, there is the necessity that these
immature members be not merely physically preserved in adequate numbers,
but that they be initiated into the interests, purposes, information,
skill, and practices of the mature members: otherwise the group will
cease its characteristic life. Even in a savage tribe, the achievements
of adults are far beyond what the immature members would be capable of
if left to themselves. With the growth of civilization, the gap between
the original capacities of the immature and the standards and customs of
the elders increases. Mere physical growing up, mere mastery of the bare
necessities of subsistence will not suffice to reproduce the life of
the group. Deliberate effort and the taking of thoughtful pains are
required. Beings who are born not only unaware of, but quite indifferent
to, 
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We were in class when the head-master came in, followed by a “new
fellow,” not wearing the school uniform, and a school servant carrying a
large desk. Those who had been asleep woke up, and every one rose as if
just surprised at his work.

The head-master made a sign to us to sit down. Then, turning to the
class-master, he said to him in a low voice--

“Monsieur Roger, here is a pupil whom I recommend to your care; he’ll be
in the second. If his work and conduct are satisfactory, he will go into
one of the upper classes, as becomes his age.”

The “new fellow,” standing in the corner behind the door so that he
could hardly be seen, was a country lad of about fifteen, and taller
than any of us. His hair was cut square on his forehead like a village
chorister’s; he looked reliable, but very ill at ease. Although he was
not broad-shouldered, his short school jacket of green cloth with black
buttons must have been tight about the arm-holes, and showed at the
opening of the cuffs red wrists accustomed to being bare. His legs, in
blue stockings, looked out from beneath yellow trousers, drawn tight by
braces, He wore stout, ill-cleaned, hob-nailed boots.

We began repeating the lesson. He listened with all his ears, as
attentive as if at a sermon, not daring even to cross his legs or lean
on his elbow; and when at two o’clock the bell rang, the master was
obliged to tell him to fall into line with the rest of us.

When we came back to work, we were in the habit of throwing our caps on
the ground so as to have our hands more free; we used from the door to
toss them under the form, so that they hit against the wall and made a
lot of dust: it was “the thing.”

But, whether he had not noticed the trick, or did not dare to attempt
it, the “new fellow,” was still holding his cap on his knees even after
prayers were over. It was one of those head-gears of composite order, in
which we can find traces of the bearskin, shako, billycock hat, sealskin
cap, and cotton night-cap; one of those poor things, in fine, whose
dumb ugliness has depths of expression, like an imbecile’s face. Oval,
stiffened with whalebone, it began with three round knobs; then came in
succession lozenges of velvet and rabbit-skin separated by a red band;
after that a sort of bag that ended in a cardboard polygon covered with
complicated braiding, from which hung, at the end of a long thin cord,
small twisted gold threads in the manner of a tassel. The cap was new;
its peak shone.

“Rise,” said the master.

He stood up; his cap fell. The whole class began to laugh. He stooped to
pick it up. A neighbor knocked it down again with his elbow; he picked
it up once more.

“Get rid of your helmet,” said the master, who was a bit of a wag.

There was a burst of laughter from the boys, which so thoroughly put the
poor lad out of countenance that he did not know whether to keep his cap
in his hand, leave it on the ground, or put it on his head. He sat down
again and placed it on his knee.

“Rise,” repeated the master, “and tell me your name.”

The new boy articulated in a stammering voice an unintelligible name.

“Again!”

The same sputtering of syllables was heard, drowned by the tittering of
the class.

“Louder!” cried the master; “louder!”

The “new fellow” then took a supreme resolution, opened an inordinately
large mouth, and shouted at the top of his voice as if calling someone
in the word “Charbovari.”

A hubbub broke out, rose in crescendo with bursts of shrill voices (they
yelled, barked, stamped, repeated “Charbovari! Charbovari”), then died
away into single notes, growing quieter only with great difficulty, and
now and again suddenly recommencing along the line of a form whence rose
here and there, like a damp cracker going off, a stifled laugh.

However, amid a rain of impositions, order was gradually re-established
in the class; and the master having succeeded in catching the name of
“Charles Bovary,” having had it dictated to him, spelt out, and re-read,
at once ordered the poor devil to go and sit down on the punishment form
at the foot of the master’s desk. He got up, but before going hesitated.

“What are you looking for?” asked the master.

“My c-a-p,” timidly said the “new fellow,” casting troubled looks round
him.

“Five hundred lines for all the class!” shouted in a furious voice
stopped, like the _Quos ego_[1], a fresh outburst. “Silence!” continued
the master indignantly, wiping his brow with his handkerchief, which he
had just taken from his cap. “As to you, ‘new boy,’ you will conjugate
‘_ridiculus sum_’[2] twenty times.”

[1] A quotation from the Aeneid signifying a threat.

[2] I am ridiculous.

Then, in a gentler tone, “Come, you’ll find your cap again; it hasn’t
been stolen.”

Quiet was restored. Heads bent over desks, and the “new fellow” remained
for two hours in an exemplary attitude, although from time to time some
paper pellet flipped from the tip of a pen came bang in his face. But he
wiped his face with one hand and continued m
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    "We travel rapidly in these historical sketches. The reader
    flies in his express train in a few minutes through a couple
    of centuries. The centuries pass more slowly to those to
    whom the years are doled out day by day. Institutions grow
    and beneficently develop themselves, making their way into
    the hearts of generations which are shorter-lived than they,
    attracting love and respect, and winning loyal obedience;
    and then as gradually forfeiting by their shortcomings
    the allegiance which had been honorably gained in worthier
    periods. We see wealth and greatness; we see corruption and
    vice; and one seems to follow so close upon the other, that we
    fancy they must have always co-existed. We look more steadily,
    and we perceive long periods of time, in which there is first
    a growth and then a decay, like what we perceive in a tree
    of the forest."

    FROUDE, _Annals of an English Abbey_.


Monasticism's record in the Philippines presents no new general fact
to the eye of history. The attempt to eliminate the eternal feminine
from her natural and normal sphere in the scheme of things there met
with the same certain and signal disaster that awaits every perversion
of human activity. Beginning with a band of zealous, earnest men,
sincere in their convictions, to whom the cause was all and their
personalities nothing, it there, as elsewhere, passed through its
usual cycle of usefulness, stagnation, corruption, and degeneration.

To the unselfish and heroic efforts of the early friars Spain
in large measure owed her dominion over the Philippine Islands
and the Filipinos a marked advance on the road to civilization and
nationality. In fact, after the dreams of sudden wealth from gold and
spices had faded, the islands were retained chiefly as a missionary
conquest and a stepping-stone to the broader fields of Asia, with
Manila as a depot for the Oriental trade. The records of those early
years are filled with tales of courage and heroism worthy of Spain's
proudest years, as the missionary fathers labored with unflagging
zeal in disinterested endeavor for the spread of the Faith and the
betterment of the condition of the Malays among whom they found
themselves. They won the confidence of the native peoples, gathered
them into settlements and villages, led them into the ways of peace,
and became their protectors, guides, and counselors.

In those times the cross and the sword went hand in hand, but in the
Philippines the latter was rarely needed or used. The lightness and
vivacity of the Spanish character, with its strain of Orientalism,
its fertility of resource in meeting new conditions, its adaptability
in dealing with the dwellers in warmer lands, all played their part in
this as in the other conquests. Only on occasions when some stubborn
resistance was met with, as in Manila and the surrounding country,
where the most advanced of the native peoples dwelt and where some of
the forms and beliefs of Islam had been established, was it necessary
to resort to violence to destroy the native leaders and replace them
with the missionary fathers. A few sallies by young Salcedo, the Cortez
of the Philippine conquest, with a company of the splendid infantry,
which was at that time the admiration and despair of martial Europe,
soon effectively exorcised any idea of resistance that even the boldest
and most intransigent of the native leaders might have entertained.

For the most part, no great persuasion was needed to turn a simple,
imaginative, fatalistic people from a few vague animistic deities
to the systematic iconology and the elaborate ritual of the Spanish
Church. An obscure _Bathala_ or a dim _Malyari_ was easily superseded
by or transformed into a clearly defined _Diós_, and in the case of
any especially tenacious "demon," he could without much difficulty
be merged into a Christian saint or devil. There was no organized
priesthood to be overcome, the primitive religious observances
consisting almost entirely of occasional orgies presided over by
an old woman, who filled the priestly offices of interpreter for
the unseen powers and chief eater at the sacrificial feast. With
their unflagging zeal, their organization, their elaborate forms
and ceremonies, the missionaries were enabled to win the confidence
of the natives, especially as the greater part of them learned the
local language and identified their lives with the communities under
their care. Accordingly, the people took kindly to their new teachers
and rulers, so that in less than a generation Spanish authority was
generally recognized in the settled portions of the Philippines,
and in the succeeding years the missionaries gradually extended this
area by forming settlements from among the wilder peoples, whom they
persuaded to abandon the more objectionable features of their old
roving, often predatory, life and to group themselves into towns and
villages "under the bell."

The tactics employed in the c
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     The Extent And Military Force Of The Empire In The Age Of
     The Antonines.

Chapter I: The Extent Of The Empire In The Age Of The Antonines.—Part II.

Chapter I: The Extent Of The Empire In The Age Of The Antonines.—Part III.

Chapter II: The Internal Prosperity In The Age Of The Antonines.—Part I.

     Of The Union And Internal Prosperity Of The Roman Empire, In
     The Age Of The Antonines.

Chapter II: The Internal Prosperity In The Age Of The Antonines.—Part II.

Chapter II: The Internal Prosperity In The Age Of The Antonines.—Part III.

Chapter II: The Internal Prosperity In The Age Of The Antonines. Part IV.

Chapter III: The Constitution In The Age Of The Antonines.—Part I.

     Of The Constitution Of The Roman Empire, In The Age Of The
     Antonines.

Chapter III: The Constitution In The Age Of The Antonines.—Part II.

Chapter IV: The Cruelty, Follies And Murder Of Commodus.—Part I.

     The Cruelty, Follies, And Murder Of Commodus—Election Of
     Pertinax—His Attempts To Reform The State—His
     Assassination By The Pr¾torian Guards.

Chapter IV: The Cruelty, Follies And Murder Of Commodus.—Part II.

Chapter V: Sale Of The Empire To Didius Julianus.—Part I.

     Public Sale Of The Empire To Didius Julianus By The
     Pr¾torian GuardsÑClodius Albinus In Britain, Pescennius
     Niger In Syria, And Septimius Severus In Pannonia, Declare
     Against The Murderers Of Pertinax—Civil Wars And Victory Of
     Severus Over His Three Rivals—Relaxation Of Discipline—New
     Maxims Of Government.

Chapter V: Sale Of The Empire To Didius Julianus.—Part II.

Chapter VI: Death Of Severus, Tyranny Of Caracalla, Usurpation Of Macrinus.—Part I.

     The Death Of Severus.—Tyranny Of Caracalla.—Usurpation
     Of Macrinus.—Follies Of Elagabalus.—Virtues Of Alexander
     Severus.—Licentiousness Of The Army.—General State Of
     The Roman Finances.

Chapter VI: Death Of Severus, Tyranny Of Caracalla, Usurpation Of Macrinus.—Part II.

Chapter VI: Death Of Severus, Tyranny Of Caracalla, Usurpation Of Macrinus.—Part III.

Chapter VI: Death Of Severus, Tyranny Of Caracalla, Usurpation Of Macrinus.—Part IV.

Chapter VII: Tyranny Of Maximin, Rebellion, Civil Wars, Death Of Maximin.—Part I.

     The Elevation And Tyranny Of Maximin.—Rebellion In Africa
     And Italy, Under The Authority Of The Senate.—Civil Wars
     And Seditions.—Violent Deaths Of Maximin And His Son, Of
     Maximus And Balbinus, And Of The Three Gordians.—
     Usurpation And Secular Games Of Philip.

Chapter VII: Tyranny Of Maximin, Rebellion, Civil Wars, Death Of Maximin.—Part II.

Chapter VII: Tyranny Of Maximin, Rebellion, Civil Wars, Death Of Maximin.—Part III.

Chapter VIII: State Of Persion And Restoration Of The Monarchy.—Part I.

     Of The State Of Persia After The Restoration Of The Monarchy
     By Artaxerxes.

Chapter VIII: State Of Persion And Restoration Of The Monarchy.—Part II.

Chapter IX: State Of Germany Until The Barbarians.—Part I.

     The State Of Germany Till The Invasion Of The Barbarians In
     The Time Of The Emperor Decius.

Chapter IX: State Of Germany Until The Barbarians.—Part II.

Chapter IX: State Of Germany Until The Barbarians.—Part III.

Chapter X: Emperors Decius, Gallus, ®milianus, Valerian And Gallienus—Part I.

     The Emperors Decius, Gallus, ®milianus, Valerian, And
     Gallienus.—The General Irruption Of The Barbarians.—The
     Thirty Tyrants.

Chapter X: Emperors Decius, Gallus, ®milianus, Valerian And Gallienus.—Part II.

Chapter X: Emperors Decius, Gallus, ®milianus, Valerian And Gallienus.—Part III.

Chapter X: Emperors Decius, Gallus, ®milianus, Valerian And Gallienus.—Part IV.

Chapter XI: Reign Of Claudius, Defeat Of The Goths.—Part I.

     Reign Of Claudius.—Defeat Of The Goths.—Victories,
     Triumph, And Death Of Aurelian.

Chapter XI: Reign Of Claudius, Defeat Of The Goths.—Part II.

Chapter XI: Reign Of Claudius, Defeat Of The Goths.—Part III.

Chapter XII: Reigns Of Tacitus, Probus, Carus And His Sons.—Part I.

     Conduct Of The Army And Senate After The Death Of Aurelian.
     —Reigns Of Tacitus, Probus, Carus, And His Sons.

Chapter XII: Reigns Of Tacitus, Probus, Carus And His Sons.—Part II.

Chapter XII: Reigns Of Tacitus, Probus, Carus And His Sons.—Part III.

Chapter XIII: Reign Of Diocletian And His Three Associates.—Part I.

     The Reign Of Diocletian And His Three Associates, Maximian,
     Galerius, And Constantius.—General Reestablishment Of
     Order And Tranquillity.—The Persian War, Victory, And
     Triumph.—The New Form Of Administration.—Abdication And
     Retirement Of Diocletian And Maximian.

Chapter XIII: Reign Of Diocletian And His Three Associates.—Part II.

Chapter XIII: Reign Of Diocletian And His Three Associates.—Part III.

Chapter XIII: Reign Of Diocletian And His Three Associates.—Part IV.

Chapter XIV: Six Emperors At The Same Time, Reunion Of The Empire.—Part I.

     Troubles After The Abdication Of Diocletian.—Death Of
     Cons
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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“But with regard to the material world, we can at least go so far as
this—we can perceive that events are brought about not by insulated
interpositions of Divine power, exerted in each particular case, but by the
establishment of general laws.”

W. WHEWELL: _Bridgewater Treatise_.

“To conclude, therefore, let no man out of a weak conceit of sobriety, or
an ill-applied moderation, think or maintain, that a man can search too far or
be too well studied in the book of God’s word, or in the book of
God’s works; divinity or philosophy; but rather let men endeavour an
endless progress or proficience in both.”

BACON: _Advancement of Learning_.

_Down, Bromley, Kent,
    October_, 1_st_, 1859.


Contents

 INTRODUCTION.
 1. VARIATION UNDER DOMESTICATION.
 2. VARIATION UNDER NATURE.
 3. STRUGGLE FOR EXISTENCE.
 4. NATURAL SELECTION.
 5. LAWS OF VARIATION.
 6. DIFFICULTIES ON THEORY.
 7. INSTINCT.
 8. HYBRIDISM.
 9. ON THE IMPERFECTION OF THE GEOLOGICAL RECORD.
 10. ON THE GEOLOGICAL SUCCESSION OF ORGANIC BEINGS.
 11. GEOGRAPHICAL DISTRIBUTION.
 12. GEOGRAPHICAL DISTRIBUTION—_continued_.
 13. MUTUAL AFFINITIES OF ORGANIC BEINGS: MORPHOLOGY:
 14. RECAPITULATION AND CONCLUSION.
 INDEX

DETEAILED CONTENTS. ON THE ORIGIN OF SPECIES.

INTRODUCTION.





  Causes of Variability.
  Effects of Habit.
  Correlation of Growth.
  Inheritance.
  Character of Domestic Varieties.
  Difficulty of distinguishing between Varieties and Species.
  Origin of Domestic Varieties from one or more Species.
  Domestic Pigeons, their Differences and Origin.
  Principle of Selection anciently followed, its Effects.
  Methodical and Unconscious Selection.
  Unknown Origin of our Domestic Productions.
  Circumstances favourable to Man’s power of Selection.


  Variability.
  Individual Differences.
  Doubtful species.
  Wide ranging, much diffused, and common species vary most.
  Species of the larger genera in any country vary more than the
  species of the smaller genera.
  Many of the species of the larger genera resemble varieties in being
  very closely, but unequally, related to each other, and in having
  restricted ranges.


  Bears on natural selection.
  The term used in a wide sense.
  Geometrical powers of increase.
  Rapid increase of naturalised animals and plants.
  Nature of the checks to increase.
  Competition universal.
  Effects of climate.
  Protection from the number of individuals.
  Complex relations of all animals and plants throughout nature.
  Struggle for life most severe between individuals and varieties of
  the same species; often severe between species of the same genus.
  The relation of organism to organism the most important of all
  relations.


  Natural Selection: its power compared with man’s selection, its power
  on characters of trifling importance, its power at all ages and on
  both sexes.
  Sexual Selection.
  On the generality of intercrosses between individuals of the same
  species.
  Circumstances favourable and unfavourable to Natural Selection,
  namely, intercrossing, isolation, number of individuals.
  Slow action.
  Extinction caused by Natural Selection.
  Divergence of Character, related to the diversity of inhabitants of
  any small area, and to naturalisation.
  Action of Natural Selection, through Divergence of Character and
  Extinction, on the descendants from a common parent.
  Explains the Grouping of all organic beings.


  Effects of external conditions.
  Use and disuse, combined with natural selection; organs of flight and
  of vision.
  Acclimatisation.
  Correlation of growth.
  Compensation and economy of growth.
  False correlations.
  Multiple, rudimentary, and lowly organised structures variable.
  Parts developed in an unusual manner are highly variable: specific
  characters more variable than generic: secondary sexual characters
  variable.
  Species of the same genus vary in an analogous manner.
  Reversions to long-lost characters.
  Summary.


  Difficulties on the theory of descent with modification.
  Transitions.
  Absence or rarity of transitional varieties.
  Transitions in habits of life.
  Diversified habits in the same species.
  Species with habits widely different from those of their allies.
  Organs of extreme perfection.
  Means of transition.
  Cases of difficulty.
  Natura non facit saltum.
  Organs of small importance.
  Organs not in all cases absolutely perfect.
  The law of Unity of Type and of the Conditions of Existence embraced
  by the theory of Natural Selection.


  Instincts comparable with habits, but different in their origin.
  Instincts graduated.
  Aphides and ants.
  Instincts variable.
  Domestic instincts, their origin.
  Natural instincts of the cuckoo, ostrich, and parasitic bees.
  Slave-making ants.
  Hive-bee, its cell-making instinct.
  Difficulties on the theory of the Natural Selection of instincts.
  Neuter or sterile insects.
  Summary.


  Distinction between the sterility of first crosses and of hybrids.
  Sterility vari
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 32572
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/32572

Hans Andersen's Fairy Tales

Second Series


_Edited by_ J. H. Stickney


Illustrated by Edna F. Hart

          Ginn and Company
          Boston--New York--Chicago--London




          COPYRIGHT, 1915, BY GINN AND COMPANY

          ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

          315.2

          The Athenæum Press

          GINN AND COMPANY · PROPRIETORS
          · BOSTON · U.S.A.




PREFACE


THE present volume is the second of the selected stories from Hans
Andersen. Together the books include what, out of a larger number, are
the best for children's use. The story-telling activity of this
inimitable genius covered a period of more than forty years. Besides
these shorter juvenile tales, there are a few which deserve to survive.
"The Ice Maiden" is a standard, if not a classic, and "The Sandhills of
Jutland" was pronounced by Ruskin the most perfect story that he knew.

It adds a charm to the little stories of these two volumes to know that
the genial author traveled widely for a man of his time and everywhere
was urged to tell the tales himself. This he did with equal charm in the
kitchens of the humble and in the courts and palaces of nobles.

As was said in the preface to the first volume, wherever there are
children to read, the stories of Hans Christian Andersen will be read
and loved.




CONTENTS


                                                  PAGE
          THE FLAX                                   3
          THE DAISY                                 12
          THE PEA BLOSSOM                           21
          THE STORKS                                29
          THE WILD SWANS                            39
          THE LAST DREAM OF THE OLD OAK             71
          THE PORTUGUESE DUCK                       84
          THE SNOW MAN                              96
          THE FARMYARD COCK AND THE WEATHERCOCK    107
          THE RED SHOES                            112
          THE LITTLE MERMAID                       124
          BUCKWHEAT                                170
          WHAT HAPPENED TO THE THISTLE             174
          THE PEN AND THE INKSTAND                 183
          THE TEAPOT                               188
          SOUP FROM A SAUSAGE SKEWER               192
          WHAT THE GOODMAN DOES IS ALWAYS RIGHT    220
          THE OLD STREET LAMP                      232
          THE SHEPHERDESS AND THE CHIMNEY SWEEP    246
          THE DROP OF WATER                        256
          THE SWINEHERD                            260
          THE METAL PIG                            269
          THE FLYING TRUNK                         290
          THE BUTTERFLY                            303
          THE GOBLIN AND THE HUCKSTER              309
          EVERYTHING IN ITS RIGHT PLACE            317
          THE REAL PRINCESS                        333
          THE EMPEROR'S NEW CLOTHES                336
          GREAT CLAUS AND LITTLE CLAUS             345
          NOTES                                    367




HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES

[Illustration: They wanted to seen the paper burn....]




[Illustration]




HANS ANDERSEN'S FAIRY TALES




THE FLAX


THE flax was in full bloom; it had pretty little blue flowers, as
delicate as the wings of a moth. The sun shone on it and the showers
watered it; and this was as good for the flax as it is for little
children to be washed and then kissed by their mothers. They look much
prettier for it, and so did the flax.

"People say that I look exceedingly well," said the flax, "and that I am
so fine and long that I shall make a beautiful piece of linen. How
fortunate I am! It makes me so happy to know that something can be made
of me. How the sunshine cheers me, and how sweet and refreshing is the
rain! My happiness overpowers me; no one in the world can feel happier
than I."

"Ah, yes, no doubt," said the fern, "but you do not know the world yet
as well as I do, for my sticks are knotty"; and then it sang quite
mournfully:

          "Snip, snap, snurre,
           Basse lurre.
           The song is ended."

"No, it is not ended," said the flax. "To-morrow the sun will shine or
the rain descend. I feel that I am growing. I feel that I am in full
blossom. I am the happiest of all creatures, for I may some day come to
something."

Well, one day some people came, who took hold of the flax and pulled it
up by the roots, which was very painful. Then it was laid in water, as
if it were to be drowned, and after that placed near a fire, as if it
were to be roasted. All this was very shocking.

"We cannot expect to be happy always," said the flax. "By experiencing
evil as well as good we become wise." And certainly there was plenty of
evil in store for the flax. It was steeped, and roasted, and broken,
and combed; indeed, it scarcely knew what was done to it. At last it was
put on the spinning wheel. "Whir, whir," went the wheel, so quickly that
the flax could not collect its thoughts.

"Well, I have been very
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The study of the _Faerie Queene_ should be preceded by a review of the
great age in which it was written. An intimate relation exists between the
history of the English nation and the works of English authors. This close
connection between purely external events and literary masterpieces is
especially marked in a study of the Elizabethan Age. To understand the
marvelous outburst of song, the incomparable drama, and the stately prose
of this period, one must enter deeply into the political, social, and
religious life of the times.

The _Faerie Queene_ was the product of certain definite conditions which
existed in England toward the close of the sixteenth century. The first of
these national conditions was the movement known as the _revival of
chivalry_; the second was the _spirit of nationality_ fostered by the
English Reformation; and the third was that phase of the English
Renaissance commonly called the _revival of learning_.

The closing decade of Queen Elizabeth's reign was marked by a strong
reaction toward romanticism. The feudal system with its many imperfections
had become a memory, and had been idealized by the people. The nation felt
pride in its new aristocracy, sprung largely from the middle class, and
based rather on worth than ancestry. The bitterness of the Wars of the
Roses was forgotten, and was succeeded by an era of reconciliation and good
feeling. England was united in a heroic queen whom all sects, ranks, and
parties idolized. The whole country exulting in its new sense of freedom
and power became a fairyland of youth, springtime, and romantic
achievement.

Wise and gallant courtiers, like Sidney, Leicester, and Raleigh, gathered
about the queen, and formed a new chivalry devoted to deeds of adventure
and exploits of mind in her honor. The spirit of the old sea-kings lived
again in Drake and his bold buccaneers, who swept the proud Spaniards from
the seas. With the defeat of the Invincible Armada, the greatest naval
expedition of modern times, the fear of Spanish and Catholic domination
rolled away. The whole land was saturated with an unexpressed poetry, and
the imagination of young and old was so fired with patriotism and noble
endeavor that nothing seemed impossible. Add to this intense delight in
life, with all its mystery, beauty, and power, the keen zest for learning
which filled the air that men breathed, and it is easy to understand that
the time was ripe for a new and brilliant epoch in literature. First among
the poetic geniuses of the Elizabethan period came Edmund Spenser with his
_Faerie Queene_, the allegory of an ideal chivalry.

This poem is one of the fruits of that intellectual awakening which first
fertilized Italian thought in the twelfth century, and, slowly spreading
over Europe, made its way into England in the fifteenth century. The mighty
impulse of this New Learning culminated during the reign of the Virgin
Queen in a profound quickening of the national consciousness, and in
arousing an intense curiosity to know and to imitate the rich treasures of
the classics and romance. Its first phase was the _classical revival_. The
tyrannous authority of ecclesiasticism had long since been broken; a
general reaction from Christian asceticism had set in; and by the side of
the ceremonies of the church had been introduced a semi-pagan religion of
art--the worship of moral and sensuous beauty. Illiteracy was no longer the
style at court. Elizabeth herself set the example in the study of Greek.
Books and manuscripts were eagerly sought after, Scholars became conversant
with Homer, Plato, Aristotle, and the great tragic poets Sophocles,
Euripides, and Æschylus; and translations for the many of Vergil, Ovid,
Plautus, Terence, and Seneca poured forth from the printing-presses of
London. The English mind was strongly tempered by the idealistic philosophy
of Plato and Aristotle, and the influence of Latin tragedy and comedy was
strongly felt by the early English drama.

Along with this classical culture came a higher appreciation of the _beauty
of mediævalism_. The romantic tendency of the age fostered the study of the
great epics of chivalry, Ariosto's _Orlando Furioso_ and Tasso's _Jerusalem
Delivered_, and of the cycles of French romance. From the Italian poets
especially Spenser borrowed freely. Ariosto's fresh naturalness and magic
machinery influenced him most strongly, but he was indebted to the
semi-classical Tasso for whole scenes. On the whole, therefore, Spenser's
literary affinities were more with the Gothic than the classical.

Spenser was also the spokesman of his time on religious questions. The
violent controversies of the Reformation period were over. Having turned
from the beliefs of ages with passionate rejection, the English people had
achieved religious freedom, and were strongly rooted in Protestantism,
which took on a distinctly national aspect. That Calvinism was at that time
the popular and aristocratic form of Protestantism is evident from
references i
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PG #: 1023
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   *Transcriber's note. This referred to a specific page in
    the printed book. In this Project Gutenberg edition the
    pertinent information is in Chapter XXX, paragraph 90.

   ** Another case, very clearly described by a dentist,
    occurred at the town of Columbus, in the United States
    of America, quite recently. The subject was a German who
    kept a liquor-shop and was an inveterate drunkard.





In Chancery


London. Michaelmas term lately over, and the Lord Chancellor sitting
in Lincoln's Inn Hall. Implacable November weather. As much mud in
the streets as if the waters had but newly retired from the face of
the earth, and it would not be wonderful to meet a Megalosaurus,
forty feet long or so, waddling like an elephantine lizard up Holborn
Hill. Smoke lowering down from chimney-pots, making a soft black
drizzle, with flakes of soot in it as big as full-grown
snowflakes--gone into mourning, one might imagine, for the death of
the sun. Dogs, undistinguishable in mire. Horses, scarcely better;
splashed to their very blinkers. Foot passengers, jostling one
another's umbrellas in a general infection of ill temper, and losing
their foot-hold at street-corners, where tens of thousands of other
foot passengers have been slipping and sliding since the day broke
(if this day ever broke), adding new deposits to the crust upon crust
of mud, sticking at those points tenaciously to the pavement, and
accumulating at compound interest.

Fog everywhere. Fog up the river, where it flows among green aits and
meadows; fog down the river, where it rolls defiled among the tiers
of shipping and the waterside pollutions of a great (and dirty) city.
Fog on the Essex marshes, fog on the Kentish heights. Fog creeping
into the cabooses of collier-brigs; fog lying out on the yards and
hovering in the rigging of great ships; fog drooping on the gunwales
of barges and small boats. Fog in the eyes and throats of ancient
Greenwich pensioners, wheezing by the firesides of their wards; fog
in the stem and bowl of the afternoon pipe of the wrathful skipper,
down in his close cabin; fog cruelly pinching the toes and fingers of
his shivering little 'prentice boy on deck. Chance people on the
bridges peeping over the parapets into a nether sky of fog, with fog
all round them, as if they were up in a balloon and hanging in the
misty clouds.

Gas looming through the fog in divers places in the streets, much as
the sun may, from the spongey fields, be seen to loom by husbandman
and ploughboy. Most of the shops lighted two hours before their
time--as the gas seems to know, for it has a haggard and unwilling
look.

The raw afternoon is rawest, and the dense fog is densest, and the
muddy streets are muddiest near that leaden-headed old obstruction,
appropriate ornament for the threshold of a leaden-headed old
corporation, Temple Bar. And hard by Temple Bar, in Lincoln's Inn
Hall, at the very heart of the fog, sits the Lord High Chancellor in
his High Court of Chancery.

Never can there come fog too thick, never can there come mud and mire
too deep, to assort with the groping and floundering condition which
this High Court of Chancery, most pestilent of hoary sinners, holds
this day in the sight of heaven and earth.

On such an afternoon, if ever, the Lord High Chancellor ought to be
sitting here--as here he is--with a foggy glory round his head,
softly fenced in with crimson cloth and curtains, addressed by a
large advocate with great whiskers, a little voice, and an
interminable brief, and outwardly directing his contemplation to the
lantern in the roof, where he can see nothing but fog. On such an
afternoon some score of members of the High Court of Chancery bar
ought to be--as here they are--mistily engaged in one of the ten
thousand stages of an endless cause, tripping one another up on
slippery precedents, groping knee-deep in technicalities, running
their goat-hair and horsehair warded heads against walls of words and
making a pretence of equity with serious faces, as players might. On
such an afternoon the various solicitors in the cause, some two or
three of whom have inherited it from their fathers, who made a
fortune by it, ought to be--as are they not?--ranged in a line, in a
long matted well (but you might look in vain for truth at the bottom
of it) between the registrar's red table and the silk gowns, with
bills, cross-bills, answers, rejoinders, injunctions, affidavits,
issues, references to masters, masters' reports, mountains of costly
nonsense, piled before them. Well may the court be dim, with wasting
candles here and there; well may the fog hang heavy in it, as if it
would never get out; well may the stained-glass windows lose their
colour and admit no light of day into the place; well may the
uninitiated from the streets, who peep in through the glass panes in
the door, be deterred from entrance by its owlish aspect and by the
drawl, languidly echoing to the roof from the padded dais where the
Lord High Chance
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 2000
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El ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha



por Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra





El ingenioso hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha


  
Tasa

  
Testimonio de las erratas

  
El Rey

  
Al Duque de Béjar

  
Prólogo

  
Al libro de don Quijote de la Mancha



Que trata de la condición y ejercicio del famoso
hidalgo don Quijote de la Mancha

Que trata de la primera salida que de su tierra hizo
el ingenioso don Quijote

Donde se cuenta la graciosa manera que tuvo don
Quijote en armarse caballero

De lo que le sucedió a nuestro caballero cuando salió
de la venta

Donde se prosigue la narración de la desgracia de
nuestro caballero

Del donoso y grande escrutinio que el cura y el
barbero hicieron en la librería de nuestro ingenioso hidalgo

De la segunda salida de nuestro buen caballero don
Quijote de la Mancha

Del buen suceso que el valeroso don Quijote tuvo en
la espantable y jamás imaginada aventura de los molinos de viento, con
otros sucesos dignos de felice recordación

Donde se concluye y da fin a la estupenda batalla que
el gallardo vizcaíno y el valiente manchego tuvieron

De lo que más le avino a don Quijote con el vizcaíno, y
del peligro en que se vio con una turba de yangüeses

De lo que le sucedió a don Quijote con unos
cabreros

De lo que contó un cabrero a los que estaban con don
Quijote

Donde se da fin al cuento de la pastora Marcela, con
otros sucesos

Donde se ponen los versos desesperados del difunto
pastor, con otros no esperados sucesos

Donde se cuenta la desgraciada aventura que se topó
don Quijote en topar con unos desalmados yangüeses

De lo que le sucedió al ingenioso hidalgo en la venta
que él imaginaba ser castillo

Donde se prosiguen los innumerables trabajos que el
bravo don Quijote y su buen escudero Sancho Panza pasaron en la venta
que, por su mal, pensó que era castillo

Donde se cuentan las razones que pasó Sancho Panza
con su señor Don Quijote, con otras aventuras dignas de ser
contadas

De las discretas razones que Sancho pasaba con su
amo, y de la aventura que le sucedió con un cuerpo muerto, con otros
acontecimientos famosos

De la jamás vista ni oída aventura que con más poco
peligro fue acabada de famoso caballero en el mundo, como la que acabó
el valeroso don Quijote de la Mancha

Que trata de la alta aventura y rica ganancia del
yelmo de Mambrino, con otras cosas sucedidas a nuestro invencible
caballero

De la libertad que dio don Quijote a muchos
desdichados que, mal de su grado, los llevaban donde no quisieran
ir

De lo que le aconteció al famoso don Quijote en
Sierra Morena, que fue una de las más raras aventuras que en esta
verdadera historia se cuentan

Donde se prosigue la aventura de la Sierra
Morena

Que trata de las estrañas cosas que en Sierra Morena
sucedieron al valiente caballero de la Mancha, y de la imitación que
hizo a la penitencia de Beltenebros

Donde se prosiguen las finezas que de enamorado hizo
don Quijote en Sierra Morena

De cómo salieron con su intención el cura y el
barbero, con otras cosas dignas de que se cuenten en esta grande
historia

Que trata de la nueva y agradable aventura que al
cura y barbero sucedió en la mesma sierra

Que trata de la discreción de la hermosa Dorotea,
con otras cosas de mucho gusto y pasatiempo

Que trata del gracioso artificio y orden que se tuvo
en sacar a nuestro enamorado caballero de la asperísima penitencia en
que se había puesto

De los sabrosos razonamientos que pasaron entre don
Quijote y Sancho Panza, su escudero, con otros sucesos

Que trata de lo que sucedió en la venta a toda la
cuadrilla de don Quijote

Donde se cuenta la novela del Curioso
impertinente

Donde se prosigue la novela del Curioso
impertinente

Donde se da fin a la novela del Curioso
impertinente

Que trata de la brava y descomunal batalla que don
Quijote tuvo con unos cueros de vino tinto, con otros raros sucesos
que en la venta le sucedieron

Que prosigue la historia de la famosa infanta
Micomicona, con otras graciosas aventuras

Que trata del curioso discurso que hizo don
Quijote de las armas y las letras

Donde el cautivo cuenta su vida y sucesos

Donde se prosigue la historia del cautivo

Donde todavía prosigue el cautivo su suceso

Que trata de lo que más sucedió en la venta y de
otras muchas cosas dignas de saberse

Donde se cuenta la agradable historia del mozo de
mulas, con otros estraños acaecimientos en la venta sucedidos]

Donde se prosiguen los inauditos sucesos de la
venta

Donde se acaba de averiguar la duda del yelmo de
Mambrino y de la albarda, y otras aventuras sucedidas, con toda
verdad

De la notable aventura de los cuadrilleros, y la
gran ferocidad de nuestro buen caballero don Quijote

Del estraño modo con que fue encantado don Quijote
de la Mancha, con otros famosos sucesos

Donde prosigue el canónigo la materia de los
libros de caballerías, con otras cosas dignas de su ingenio

Donde se trata del discreto coloquio que Sancho
Panza tuvo con su señor don Quijote

De las discretas altercaciones que don Quijote y el
c
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theoretical conservatism which, in the aggregate, is the safest reliance
of the State. So we have found them, in practice, the true protectors
of the purity of the ballot, without which all free government will
degenerate into absolutism.

In the future of the Republic, we must encounter many difficult and
dangerous situations, but the principles established in the Constitution
and the check upon hasty or inconsiderate legislation, and upon
executive action, and the supreme arbitrament of the courts, will be
found sufficient for the safety of personal rights, and for the safety
of the government, and the prophetic outlook of M. De Tocqueville will
be fully realized through the influence of Democracy in America. Each
succeeding generation of Americans will find in the pure and impartial
reflections of De Tocqueville a new source of pride in our institutions
of government, and sound reasons for patriotic effort to preserve
them and to inculcate their teachings. They have mastered the power of
monarchical rule in the American Hemisphere, freeing religion from all
shackles, and will spread, by a quiet but resistless influence,
through the islands of the seas to other lands, where the appeals of
De Tocqueville for human rights and liberties have already inspired the
souls of the people.




Hon. John T. Morgan

Special Introduction By Hon. John J. Ingalls

Nearly two-thirds of a century has elapsed since the appearance of
"Democracy in America," by Alexis Charles Henri Clerel de Tocqueville, a
French nobleman, born at Paris, July 29, 1805.

Bred to the law, he exhibited an early predilection for philosophy and
political economy, and at twenty-two was appointed judge-auditor at the
tribunal of Versailles.

In 1831, commissioned ostensibly to investigate the penitentiary system
of the United States, he visited this country, with his friend, Gustave
de Beaumont, travelling extensively through those parts of the Republic
then subdued to settlement, studying the methods of local, State, and
national administration, and observing the manners and habits, the daily
life, the business, the industries and occupations of the people.

"Democracy in America," the first of four volumes upon "American
Institutions and their Influence," was published in 1835. It was
received at once by the scholars and thinkers of Europe as a profound,
impartial, and entertaining exposition of the principles of popular,
representative self-government.

Napoleon, "The mighty somnambulist of a vanished dream," had abolished
feudalism and absolutism, made monarchs and dynasties obsolete, and
substituted for the divine right of kings the sovereignty of the people.

Although by birth and sympathies an aristocrat, M. de Tocqueville
saw that the reign of tradition and privilege at last was ended. He
perceived that civilization, after many bloody centuries, had entered a
new epoch. He beheld, and deplored, the excesses that had attended the
genesis of the democratic spirit in France, and while he loved liberty,
he detested the crimes that had been committed in its name. Belonging
neither to the class which regarded the social revolution as an
innovation to be resisted, nor to that which considered political
equality the universal panacea for the evils of humanity, he resolved
by personal observation of the results of democracy in the New World
to ascertain its natural consequences, and to learn what the nations of
Europe had to hope or fear from its final supremacy.

That a youth of twenty-six should entertain a design so broad and bold
implies singular intellectual intrepidity. He had neither model
nor precedent. The vastness and novelty of the undertaking increase
admiration for the remarkable ability with which the task was performed.

Were literary excellence the sole claim of "Democracy in America" to
distinction, the splendor of its composition alone would entitle it to
high place among the masterpieces of the century. The first chapter,
upon the exterior form of North America, as the theatre upon which the
great drama is to be enacted, for graphic and picturesque description
of the physical characteristics of the continent is not surpassed
in literature: nor is there any subdivision of the work in which the
severest philosophy is not invested with the grace of poetry, and the
driest statistics with the charm of romance. Western emigration seemed
commonplace and prosaic till M. de Tocqueville said, "This gradual and
continuous progress of the European race toward the Rocky Mountains has
the solemnity of a providential event; it is like a deluge of men rising
unabatedly, and daily driven onward by the hand of God!"

The mind of M. de Tocqueville had the candor of the photographic camera.
It recorded impressions with the impartiality of nature. The image was
sometimes distorted, and the perspective was not always true, but he
was neither a panegyrist, nor an advocate, nor a critic. He observed
American phenomena as illustrations, not as proof nor a
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[Illustration: Geo. W. Matsell]




                               VOCABULUM;
                                  OR,
                          THE ROGUE'S LEXICON.


               COMPILED FROM THE MOST AUTHENTIC SOURCES.


                                   BY
                           GEORGE W. MATSELL,
              SPECIAL JUSTICE, CHIEF OF POLICE, ETC., ETC.


                               NEW-YORK:
                  PUBLISHED BY GEORGE W. MATSELL & CO.
              PROPRIETORS OF THE NATIONAL POLICE GAZETTE.
                            No. 3 Tryon Row.




      ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by

                        GEORGE W. MATSELL & CO.,

       in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United
             States for the Southern District of New-York.




                                PREFACE.


When a young man enters upon the business of life, he may have some
indefinite idea of what he intends to follow out to the close thereof;
but he soon finds himself surrounded by circumstances which control his
actions and business pursuits, and lead him into channels of thought and
industry that had not previously entered into his philosophy. At least I
have found it to be so, and I have no doubt others have had a similar
experience. To become a lexicographer, certainly never entered into my
calculation, or even found a place in the castle-building of my younger
days; and if a kind friend had suggested to me that I was destined to
fill such a position in life, I would simply have regarded him as a fit
subject for the care of the authorities. This improbable event has now
taken place; and I present myself to the world as the compiler of a
language used in all parts of the world, and yet understood connectedly
but by few persons.

The rogue fraternity have a language peculiarly their own, which is
understood and spoken by them no matter what their dialect, or the
nation where they were reared. Many of their words and phrases, owing to
their comprehensive meaning, have come into general use, so that a
Vocabulum or Rogue's Lexicon, has become a necessity to the general
reader, but more especially to those who read police intelligence.

Occupying the position of a Special Justice, and Chief of the Police of
the great Metropolis of New-York, where thieves and others of a like
character from all parts of the world congregate, and realizing the
necessity of possessing a positive knowledge of every thing connected
with the class of individuals with whom it was my duty to deal, I was
naturally led to study their peculiar language, believing that it would
enable me to converse with them more at ease, and thus acquire a
knowledge of their character, besides obtaining from them information
that would assist me in the position I occupied, and consequently be of
great service to the public. To accomplish this task was no mean
undertaking, as I found that it required years of diligent labor to hunt
up the various authorities, and these when found proved only partially
available, as much of the language in present use was unwritten, and
could only be obtained by personal study among first-class thieves who
had been taught it in their youth. The difficulties surrounding it, did
not deter me from following out my resolution, and by closely pursuing
it, I had opened up to me a fountain of knowledge that I could not have
obtained if I had not possessed a clear understanding of this peculiar
dialect. Experience has since demonstrated to me that any man engaged in
police business can not excel without understanding the rogues'
language, in the study of which they will find this Lexicon of
invaluable service.

It is not, however, to policemen alone that this book will be of
service, as these cant words and phrases are being interwoven with our
language and many of them are becoming recognized Anglicisms. It is not
unusual to see them in the messages of presidents and governors--to hear
them enunciated at the bar and from the pulpit, and thus they have come
to be acknowledged as appropriately expressive of particular ideas; so
that while they are in common use among the footpads that infest the
land, the _élite_ of the Fifth Avenue pay homage to their worth, by
frequently using them to express thoughts, that could not, otherwise,
find a fitting representative. The vocabulary of the rogue is not of
recent date; although it is mainly made up of arbitrary or technical
words and phrases, while others are of a purely classical origin. It is
a language of great antiquity, and may be dated back to the earliest
days of the roving gipsy bands, that infested Europe, from whom the
greater portion of it has been derived. It might more properly be termed
the Romany or Gipsy language, adapted to the use of modern rogues in all
parts of the world, and in which the etymologist will find words drawn
from every known language. Some of these words are peculiarly national,
but as a general thing the languag
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For months the great pleasure excursion to Europe and the Holy Land was
chatted about in the newspapers everywhere in America and discussed at
countless firesides.  It was a novelty in the way of excursions--its like
had not been thought of before, and it compelled that interest which
attractive novelties always command.  It was to be a picnic on a gigantic
scale.  The participants in it, instead of freighting an ungainly steam
ferry--boat with youth and beauty and pies and doughnuts, and paddling up
some obscure creek to disembark upon a grassy lawn and wear themselves
out with a long summer day's laborious frolicking under the impression
that it was fun, were to sail away in a great steamship with flags flying
and cannon pealing, and take a royal holiday beyond the broad ocean in
many a strange clime and in many a land renowned in history! They were to
sail for months over the breezy Atlantic and the sunny Mediterranean;
they were to scamper about the decks by day, filling the ship with shouts
and laughter--or read novels and poetry in the shade of the smokestacks,
or watch for the jelly-fish and the nautilus over the side, and the
shark, the whale, and other strange monsters of the deep; and at night
they were to dance in the open air, on the upper deck, in the midst of a
ballroom that stretched from horizon to horizon, and was domed by the
bending heavens and lighted by no meaner lamps than the stars and the
magnificent moon--dance, and promenade, and smoke, and sing, and make
love, and search the skies for constellations that never associate with
the “Big Dipper” they were so tired of; and they were to see the ships of
twenty navies--the customs and costumes of twenty curious peoples--the
great cities of half a world--they were to hob-nob with nobility and hold
friendly converse with kings and princes, grand moguls, and the anointed
lords of mighty empires! It was a brave conception; it was the offspring
of a most ingenious brain.  It was well advertised, but it hardly needed
it: the bold originality, the extraordinary character, the seductive
nature, and the vastness of the enterprise provoked comment everywhere
and advertised it in every household in the land.  Who could read the
program of the excursion without longing to make one of the party?  I will
insert it here.  It is almost as good as a map.  As a text for this book,
nothing could be better:

                   EXCURSION TO THE HOLY LAND, EGYPT,
      THE CRIMEA, GREECE, AND INTERMEDIATE POINTS OF INTEREST.
                     BROOKLYN, February 1st, 1867

       The undersigned will make an excursion as above during the coming
     season, and begs to submit to you the following programme:

       A first-class steamer, to be under his own command, and capable of
     accommodating at least one hundred and fifty cabin passengers, will
     be selected, in which will be taken a select company, numbering not
     more than   three-fourths of the ship's capacity.  There is good
     reason to believe that this company can be easily made up in this
     immediate vicinity, of mutual friends and acquaintances.

       The steamer will be provided with every necessary comfort,
     including library and musical instruments.

       An experienced physician will be on board.

       Leaving New York about June 1st, a middle and pleasant route will
     be taken across the Atlantic, and passing through the group of
     Azores, St. Michael will be reached in about ten days.  A day or two
     will be spent here, enjoying the fruit and wild scenery of these
     islands, and the voyage continued, and Gibraltar reached in three or
     four days.

       A day or two will be spent here in looking over the wonderful
     subterraneous fortifications, permission to visit these galleries
     being readily obtained.

       From Gibraltar, running along the coasts of Spain and France,
     Marseilles will be reached in three days.  Here ample time will be
     given not only to look over the city, which was founded six hundred
     years before the Christian era, and its artificial port, the finest
     of the kind in the Mediterranean, but to visit Paris during the
     Great Exhibition; and the beautiful city of Lyons, lying
     intermediate, from the heights of which, on a clear day, Mont Blanc
     and the Alps can be distinctly seen.  Passengers who may wish to
     extend the time at Paris can do so, and, passing down through
     Switzerland, rejoin the steamer at Genoa.

       From Marseilles to Genoa is a run of one night.  The excursionists
     will have an opportunity to look over this, the “magnificent city of
     palaces,” and visit the birthplace of Columbus, twelve miles off,
     over a beautiful road built by Napoleon I.  From this point,
     excursions may be made to Milan, Lakes Como and Maggiore, or to
     Milan, Verona (famous for its extraordinary fortifications), Padua,
     and Venice.  Or, if passengers desire to visit P
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THE ILIAD OF HOMER
    
      Rendered into English Prose for
 the use of those who cannot
 read
      the original

      by Samuel Butler
    



Contents

 BOOK I.
 BOOK II.
 BOOK III.
 BOOK IV.
 BOOK V.
 BOOK VI.
 BOOK VII
 BOOK VIII.
 BOOK IX.
 BOOK X.
 BOOK XI.
 BOOK XII.
 BOOK XIII.
 BOOK XIV.
 BOOK XV.
 BOOK XVI.
 BOOK XVII.
 BOOK XVIII.
 BOOK XIX.
 BOOK XX.
 BOOK XXI.
 BOOK XXII.
 BOOK XXIII.
 BOOK XXIV.




BOOK I.

      The quarrel between Agamemnon and Achilles—Achilles withdraws
      from the war, and sends his mother Thetis to ask Jove to help the
      Trojans—Scene between Jove and Juno on Olympus.

      Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that
      brought countless ills upon the Achaeans. Many a brave soul did
      it send hurrying down to Hades, and many a hero did it yield a
      prey to dogs and vultures, for so were the counsels of Jove
      fulfilled from the day on which the son of Atreus, king of men,
      and great Achilles, first fell out with one another.

      And which of the gods was it that set them on to quarrel? It was
      the son of Jove and Leto; for he was angry with the king and sent
      a pestilence upon the host to plague the people, because the son
      of Atreus had dishonoured Chryses his priest. Now Chryses had
      come to the ships of the Achaeans to free his daughter, and had
      brought with him a great ransom: moreover he bore in his hand the
      sceptre of Apollo wreathed with a suppliant’s wreath, and he
      besought the Achaeans, but most of all the two sons of Atreus,
      who were their chiefs.

      “Sons of Atreus,” he cried, “and all other Achaeans, may the gods
      who dwell in Olympus grant you to sack the city of Priam, and to
      reach your homes in safety; but free my daughter, and accept a
      ransom for her, in reverence to Apollo, son of Jove.”

      On this the rest of the Achaeans with one voice were for
      respecting the priest and taking the ransom that he offered; but
      not so Agamemnon, who spoke fiercely to him and sent him roughly
      away. “Old man,” said he, “let me not find you tarrying about our
      ships, nor yet coming hereafter. Your sceptre of the god and your
      wreath shall profit you nothing. I will not free her. She shall
      grow old in my house at Argos far from her own home, busying
      herself with her loom and visiting my couch; so go, and do not
      provoke me or it shall be the worse for you.”

      The old man feared him and obeyed. Not a word he spoke, but went
      by the shore of the sounding sea and prayed apart to King Apollo
      whom lovely Leto had borne. “Hear me,” he cried, “O god of the
      silver bow, that protectest Chryse and holy Cilla and rulest
      Tenedos with thy might, hear me oh thou of Sminthe. If I have
      ever decked your temple with garlands, or burned your thigh-bones
      in fat of bulls or goats, grant my prayer, and let your arrows
      avenge these my tears upon the Danaans.”

      Thus did he pray, and Apollo heard his prayer. He came down
      furious from the summits of Olympus, with his bow and his quiver
      upon his shoulder, and the arrows rattled on his back with the
      rage that trembled within him. He sat himself down away from the
      ships with a face as dark as night, and his silver bow rang death
      as he shot his arrow in the midst of them. First he smote their
      mules and their hounds, but presently he aimed his shafts at the
      people themselves, and all day long the pyres of the dead were
      burning.

      For nine whole days he shot his arrows among the people, but upon
      the tenth day Achilles called them in assembly—moved thereto by
      Juno, who saw the Achaeans in their death-throes and had
      compassion upon them. Then, when they were got together, he rose
      and spoke among them.

      “Son of Atreus,” said he, “I deem that we should now turn roving
      home if we would escape destruction, for we are being cut down by
      war and pestilence at once. Let us ask some priest or prophet, or
      some reader of dreams (for dreams, too, are of Jove) who can tell
      us why Phoebus Apollo is so angry, and say whether it is for some
      vow that we have broken, or hecatomb that we have not offered,
      and whether he will accept the savour of lambs and goats without
      blemish, so as to take away the plague from us.”

      With these words he sat down, and Calchas son of Thestor, wisest
      of augurs, who knew things past present and to come, rose to
      speak. He it was who had guided the Achaeans with their fleet to
      Ilius, through the prophesyings with which Phoebus Apollo had
      inspired him. With all sincerity and goodwill he addressed them
      thus:—

      “Achilles, loved of heaven, you bid me tell you about the anger
      of King Apollo, I will therefore do so; but consider first and
      swear that you will stand by
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POIROT INVESTIGATES




  BY THE SAME AUTHOR

  THE MYSTERIOUS AFFAIR AT STYLES

  THE SECRET ADVERSARY

  THE MURDER ON THE LINKS

  THE BODLEY HEAD




  POIROT INVESTIGATES

  BY AGATHA CHRISTIE




  LONDON

  JOHN LANE THE BODLEY HEAD LIMITED




  First published in Great Britain by
  John Lane Company, The Bodley Head Limited, 1924

  Copyright © 1924 Agatha Christie Limited




  CONTENTS


  I The Adventure of “The Western Star”

  II The Tragedy at Marsdon Manor

  III The Adventure of the Cheap Flat

  IV The Mystery of Hunter’s Lodge

  V The Million Dollar Bond Robbery

  VI The Adventure of the Egyptian Tomb

  VII Jewel Robbery at the _Grand Metropolitan_

  VIII The Kidnapped Prime Minister

  IX The Disappearance of Mr. Davenheim

  X The Adventure of the Italian Nobleman

  XI The Case of the Missing Will




  POIROT INVESTIGATES




  POIROT INVESTIGATES


  I


  The Adventure of “The Western Star”

I was standing at the window of Poirot’s rooms looking out idly on
the street below.

“That’s queer,” I ejaculated suddenly beneath my breath.

“What is, _mon ami_?” asked Poirot placidly, from the depths of
his comfortable chair.

“Deduce, Poirot, from the following facts! Here is a young lady,
richly dressed—fashionable hat, magnificent furs. She is coming
along slowly, looking up at the houses as she goes. Unknown to her,
she is being shadowed by three men and a middle-aged woman. They
have just been joined by an errand boy who points after the girl,
gesticulating as he does so. What drama is this being played? Is
the girl a crook, and are the shadowers detectives preparing to
arrest her? Or are _they_ the scoundrels, and are they plotting to
attack an innocent victim? What does the great detective say?”

“The great detective, _mon ami_, chooses, as ever, the simplest
course. He rises to see for himself.” And my friend joined me at
the window.

In a minute he gave vent to an amused chuckle.

“As usual, your facts are tinged with your incurable romanticism.
That is Miss Mary Marvell, the film star. She is being followed by
a bevy of admirers who have recognized her. And, _en passant_, my
dear Hastings, she is quite aware of the fact!”

I laughed.

“So all is explained! But you get no marks for that, Poirot. It
was a mere matter of recognition.”

“_En vérité!_ And how many times have you seen Mary Marvell on the
screen, _mon cher_?”

I thought.

“About a dozen times perhaps.”

“And I—once! Yet _I_ recognize her, and _you_ do not.”

“She looks so different,” I replied rather feebly.

“Ah! _Sacré_!” cried Poirot. “Is it that you expect her to promenade
herself in the streets of London in a cowboy hat, or with bare
feet, and a bunch of curls, as an Irish colleen? Always with you
it is the non-essentials! Remember the case of the dancer, Valerie
Saintclair.”

I shrugged my shoulders, slightly annoyed.

“But console yourself, _mon ami_,” said Poirot, calming down. “All
cannot be as Hercule Poirot! I know it well.”

“You really have the best opinion of yourself of anyone I ever
knew!” I cried, divided between amusement and annoyance.

“What will you? When one is unique, one knows it! And others share
that opinion—even, if I mistake not, Miss Mary Marvell.”

“What?”

“Without doubt. She is coming here.”

“How do you make that out?”

“Very simply. This street, it is not aristocratic, _mon ami_! In
it there is no fashionable doctor, no fashionable dentist—still
less is there a fashionable milliner! But there _is_ a fashionable
detective. _Oui_, my friend, it is true—I am become the mode, the
_dernier cri_! One says to another: ‘_Comment?_ You have lost your
gold pencil-case? You must go to the little Belgian. He is too
marvellous! Every one goes! _Courez!’_ And they arrive! In flocks,
_mon ami_! With problems of the most foolish!” A bell rang below.
“What did I tell you? That is Miss Marvell.”

As usual, Poirot was right. After a short interval, the American
film star was ushered in, and we rose to our feet.

Mary Marvell was undoubtedly one of the most popular actresses on
the screen. She had only lately arrived in England in company with
her husband, Gregory B. Rolf, also a film actor. Their marriage
had taken place about a year ago in the States and this was their
first visit to England. They had been given a great reception.
Every one was prepared to go mad over Mary Marvell, her wonderful
clothes, her furs, her jewels, above all one jewel, the great
diamond which had been nicknamed, to match its owner, “the Western
Star.” Much, true and untrue, had been written about this famous
stone which was reported to be insured for the enormous sum of
fifty thousand pounds.

All these details passed rapidly through my mind as I joined with
Poirot in greeting our fair client.

Miss Marvell was small and slender, very fair and girlish-looking,
with the wide innocent blue eyes of a child.

Poirot drew forward a chair for her, and she commenced talking at
once.

“You will probably think me very foolish, Monsi
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the mind is that of nature. Every day, the sun;[10] and, after sunset,
Night and her stars. Ever the winds blow; ever the grass grows. Every
day, men and women, conversing, beholding and beholden.[11] The scholar
must needs stand wistful and admiring before this great spectacle. He
must settle its value in his mind. What is nature to him? There is never
a beginning, there is never an end, to the inexplicable continuity of
this web of God, but always circular power returning into itself.[12]
Therein it resembles his own spirit, whose beginning, whose ending, he
never can find,--so entire, so boundless. Far too as her splendors
shine, system on system shooting like rays, upward, downward, without
center, without circumference,--in the mass and in the particle, Nature
hastens to render account of herself to the mind. Classification begins.
To the young mind everything is individual, stands by itself. By and by
it finds how to join two things and see in them one nature; then three,
then three thousand; and so, tyrannized over by its own unifying
instinct, it goes on tying things together, diminishing anomalies,
discovering roots running under ground whereby contrary and remote
things cohere and flower out from one stem. It presently learns that
since the dawn of history there has been a constant accumulation and
classifying of facts. But what is classification but the perceiving that
these objects are not chaotic, and are not foreign, but have a law which
is also a law of the human mind? The astronomer discovers that geometry,
a pure abstraction of the human mind, is the measure of planetary
motion. The chemist finds proportions and intelligible method throughout
matter; and science is nothing but the finding of analogy, identity, in
the most remote parts. The ambitious soul sits down before each
refractory fact; one after another reduces all strange constitutions,
all new powers, to their class and their law, and goes on forever to
animate the last fiber of organization, the outskirts of nature, by
insight.

Thus to him, to this school-boy under the bending dome of day, is
suggested that he and it proceed from one Root; one is leaf and one is
flower; relation, sympathy, stirring in every vein. And what is that
root? Is not that the soul of his soul?--A thought too bold?--A dream
too wild? Yet when this spiritual light shall have revealed the law of
more earthly natures,--when he has learned to worship the soul, and to
see that the natural philosophy that now is, is only the first
gropings of its gigantic hand,--he shall look forward to an
ever-expanding knowledge as to a becoming creator.[13] He shall see
that nature is the opposite of the soul, answering to it part for
part. One is seal and one is print. Its beauty is the beauty of his
own mind. Its laws are the laws of his own mind. Nature then becomes
to him the measure of his attainments. So much of nature as he is
ignorant of, so much of his own mind does he not yet possess. And, in
fine, the ancient precept, "Know thyself,"[14] and the modern precept,
"Study nature," become at last one maxim.

       *       *       *       *       *

mind of the Past,--in whatever form, whether of literature, of art, of
institutions, that mind is inscribed. Books are the best type of the
influence of the past, and perhaps we shall get at the truth,--learn
the amount of this influence more conveniently,--by considering their
value alone.

The theory of books is noble. The scholar of the first age received
into him the world around; brooded thereon; gave it the new
arrangement of his own mind, and uttered it again. It came into him
life; it went out from him truth. It came to him short-lived actions;
it went out from him immortal thoughts. It came to him business; it
went from him poetry. It was dead fact; now, it is quick thought. It
can stand, and it can go. It now endures, it now flies, it now
inspires.[15] Precisely in proportion to the depth of mind from which
it issued, so high does it soar, so long does it sing.

Or, I might say, it depends on how far the process had gone, of
transmuting life into truth. In proportion to the completeness of the
distillation, so will the purity and imperishableness of the product
be. But none is quite perfect. As no air-pump can by any means make a
perfect vacuum,[16] so neither can any artist entirely exclude the
conventional, the local, the perishable from his book, or write a book
of pure thought, that shall be as efficient, in all respects, to a
remote posterity, as to contemporaries, or rather to the second age.
Each age, it is found, must write its own books; or rather, each
generation for the next succeeding. The books of an older period will
not fit this.

Yet hence arises a grave mischief. The sacredness which attaches to
the act of creation, the act of thought, is instantly transferred to
the record. The poet chanting was felt to be a divine man. Henceforth
the chant is divine also. The writer was a just and wise spirit.
H
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To my brother
Captain Valentine Giles, R.G.
in the hope that
a work 2400 years old
may yet contain lessons worth consideration
by the soldier of today
this translation
is affectionately dedicated.



Contents


 Preface to the Project Gutenberg Etext
 Preface by Lionel Giles
 INTRODUCTION
 Sun Wu and his Book
 The Text of Sun Tzu
 The Commentators
 Appreciations of Sun Tzu
 Apologies for War
 Bibliography
 Chapter I. Laying plans
 Chapter II. Waging War
 Chapter III. Attack by Stratagem
 Chapter IV. Tactical Dispositions
 Chapter V. Energy
 Chapter VI. Weak Points and Strong
 Chapter VII Manœuvring
 Chapter VIII. Variation of Tactics
 Chapter IX. The Army on the March
 Chapter X. Terrain
 Chapter XI. The Nine Situations
 Chapter XII. The Attack by Fire
 Chapter XIII. The Use of Spies



Preface to the Project Gutenberg Etext

When Lionel Giles began his translation of Sun Tzu's _Art of War_, the
work was virtually unknown in Europe. Its introduction to Europe began
in 1782 when a French Jesuit Father living in China, Joseph Amiot,
acquired a copy of it, and translated it into French. It was not a good
translation because, according to Dr. Giles, "[I]t contains a great
deal that Sun Tzu did not write, and very little indeed of what he
did."

The first translation into English was published in 1905 in Tokyo by
Capt. E. F. Calthrop, R.F.A. However, this translation is, in the words
of Dr. Giles, "excessively bad." He goes further in this criticism: "It
is not merely a question of downright blunders, from which none can
hope to be wholly exempt. Omissions were frequent; hard passages were
willfully distorted or slurred over. Such offenses are less pardonable.
They would not be tolerated in any edition of a Latin or Greek classic,
and a similar standard of honesty ought to be insisted upon in
translations from Chinese." In 1908 a new edition of Capt. Calthrop's
translation was published in London. It was an improvement on the
first—omissions filled up and numerous mistakes corrected—but new
errors were created in the process. Dr. Giles, in justifying his
translation, wrote: "It was not undertaken out of any inflated estimate
of my own powers; but I could not help feeling that Sun Tzu deserved a
better fate than had befallen him, and I knew that, at any rate, I
could hardly fail to improve on the work of my predecessors."

Clearly, Dr. Giles' work established much of the groundwork for the
work of later translators who published their own editions. Of the
later editions of the _Art of War_ I have examined; two feature Giles'
edited translation and notes, the other two present the same basic
information from the ancient Chinese commentators found in the Giles
edition. Of these four, Giles' 1910 edition is the most scholarly and
presents the reader an incredible amount of information concerning Sun
Tzu's text, much more than any other translation.

The Giles' edition of the _Art of War_, as stated above, was a
scholarly work. Dr. Giles was a leading sinologue at the time and an
assistant in the Department of Oriental Printed Books and Manuscripts
in the British Museum. Apparently he wanted to produce a definitive
edition, superior to anything else that existed and perhaps something
that would become a standard translation. It was the best translation
available for 50 years. But apparently there was not much interest in
Sun Tzu in English-speaking countries since it took the start of the
Second World War to renew interest in his work. Several people
published unsatisfactory English translations of Sun Tzu. In 1944, Dr.
Giles' translation was edited and published in the United States in a
series of military science books. But it wasn't until 1963 that a good
English translation (by Samuel B. Griffith and still in print) was
published that was an equal to Giles' translation. While this
translation is more lucid than Dr. Giles' translation, it lacks his
copious notes that make his so interesting.

Dr. Giles produced a work primarily intended for scholars of the
Chinese civilization and language. It contains the Chinese text of Sun
Tzu, the English translation, and voluminous notes along with numerous
footnotes. Unfortunately, some of his notes and footnotes contain
Chinese characters; some are completely Chinese. Thus, a conversion to
a Latin alphabet etext was difficult. I did the conversion in complete
ignorance of Chinese (except for what I learned while doing the
conversion). Thus, I faced the difficult task of paraphrasing it while
retaining as much of the important text as I could. Every paraphrase
represents a loss; thus I did what I could to retain as much of the
text as possible. Because the 1910 text contains a Chinese concordance,
I was able to transliterate proper names, books, and the like at the
risk of making the text more obscure. However, the text, on the whole,
is quite satisfactory for the casual reader, a transformation made
possible by conversion to an etext. However, I come away from this task

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About thirty years ago Miss Maria Ward, of Huntingdon, with only seven
thousand pounds, had the good luck to captivate Sir Thomas Bertram, of
Mansfield Park, in the county of Northampton, and to be thereby raised
to the rank of a baronet’s lady, with all the comforts and consequences
of an handsome house and large income. All Huntingdon exclaimed on the
greatness of the match, and her uncle, the lawyer, himself, allowed her
to be at least three thousand pounds short of any equitable claim to
it. She had two sisters to be benefited by her elevation; and such of
their acquaintance as thought Miss Ward and Miss Frances quite as
handsome as Miss Maria, did not scruple to predict their marrying with
almost equal advantage. But there certainly are not so many men of
large fortune in the world as there are pretty women to deserve them.
Miss Ward, at the end of half a dozen years, found herself obliged to
be attached to the Rev. Mr. Norris, a friend of her brother-in-law,
with scarcely any private fortune, and Miss Frances fared yet worse.
Miss Ward’s match, indeed, when it came to the point, was not
contemptible: Sir Thomas being happily able to give his friend an
income in the living of Mansfield; and Mr. and Mrs. Norris began their
career of conjugal felicity with very little less than a thousand a
year. But Miss Frances married, in the common phrase, to disoblige her
family, and by fixing on a lieutenant of marines, without education,
fortune, or connexions, did it very thoroughly. She could hardly have
made a more untoward choice. Sir Thomas Bertram had interest, which,
from principle as well as pride—from a general wish of doing right, and
a desire of seeing all that were connected with him in situations of
respectability, he would have been glad to exert for the advantage of
Lady Bertram’s sister; but her husband’s profession was such as no
interest could reach; and before he had time to devise any other method
of assisting them, an absolute breach between the sisters had taken
place. It was the natural result of the conduct of each party, and such
as a very imprudent marriage almost always produces. To save herself
from useless remonstrance, Mrs. Price never wrote to her family on the
subject till actually married. Lady Bertram, who was a woman of very
tranquil feelings, and a temper remarkably easy and indolent, would
have contented herself with merely giving up her sister, and thinking
no more of the matter; but Mrs. Norris had a spirit of activity, which
could not be satisfied till she had written a long and angry letter to
Fanny, to point out the folly of her conduct, and threaten her with all
its possible ill consequences. Mrs. Price, in her turn, was injured and
angry; and an answer, which comprehended each sister in its bitterness,
and bestowed such very disrespectful reflections on the pride of Sir
Thomas as Mrs. Norris could not possibly keep to herself, put an end to
all intercourse between them for a considerable period.

Their homes were so distant, and the circles in which they moved so
distinct, as almost to preclude the means of ever hearing of each
other’s existence during the eleven following years, or, at least, to
make it very wonderful to Sir Thomas that Mrs. Norris should ever have
it in her power to tell them, as she now and then did, in an angry
voice, that Fanny had got another child. By the end of eleven years,
however, Mrs. Price could no longer afford to cherish pride or
resentment, or to lose one connexion that might possibly assist her. A
large and still increasing family, an husband disabled for active
service, but not the less equal to company and good liquor, and a very
small income to supply their wants, made her eager to regain the
friends she had so carelessly sacrificed; and she addressed Lady
Bertram in a letter which spoke so much contrition and despondence,
such a superfluity of children, and such a want of almost everything
else, as could not but dispose them all to a reconciliation. She was
preparing for her ninth lying-in; and after bewailing the circumstance,
and imploring their countenance as sponsors to the expected child, she
could not conceal how important she felt they might be to the future
maintenance of the eight already in being. Her eldest was a boy of ten
years old, a fine spirited fellow, who longed to be out in the world;
but what could she do? Was there any chance of his being hereafter
useful to Sir Thomas in the concerns of his West Indian property? No
situation would be beneath him; or what did Sir Thomas think of
Woolwich? or how could a boy be sent out to the East?

The letter was not unproductive. It re-established peace and kindness.
Sir Thomas sent friendly advice and professions, Lady Bertram
dispatched money and baby-linen, and Mrs. Norris wrote the letters.

Such were its immediate effects, and within a twelvemonth a more
important advantage to Mrs. Price resulted from it. Mrs. Norris was
often observing to the others that she could not g
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[Illustration: Alice in the Room of the Duchess.]


                       _THE "STORYLAND" SERIES_



                   ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND







                     SAM'L GABRIEL SONS & COMPANY

                               NEW YORK



                           Copyright, 1916,

                   by SAM'L GABRIEL SONS & COMPANY

                               NEW YORK




ALICE'S ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND

[Illustration]




I--DOWN THE RABBIT-HOLE


Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on the
bank, and of having nothing to do. Once or twice she had peeped into the
book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or conversations in
it, "and what is the use of a book," thought Alice, "without pictures or
conversations?"

So she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the
day made her feel very sleepy and stupid), whether the pleasure of
making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and
picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran
close by her.

There was nothing so very remarkable in that, nor did Alice think it so
very much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, "Oh dear! Oh
dear! I shall be too late!" But when the Rabbit actually took a watch
out of its waistcoat-pocket and looked at it and then hurried on, Alice
started to her feet, for it flashed across her mind that she had never
before seen a rabbit with either a waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take
out of it, and, burning with curiosity, she ran across the field after
it and was just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole, under
the hedge. In another moment, down went Alice after it!

[Illustration]

The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way and then
dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think
about stopping herself before she found herself falling down what seemed
to be a very deep well.

Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had
plenty of time, as she went down, to look about her. First, she tried to
make out what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything;
then she looked at the sides of the well and noticed that they were
filled with cupboards and book-shelves; here and there she saw maps and
pictures hung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as
she passed. It was labeled "ORANGE MARMALADE," but, to her great
disappointment, it was empty; she did not like to drop the jar, so
managed to put it into one of the cupboards as she fell past it.

Down, down, down! Would the fall never come to an end? There was nothing
else to do, so Alice soon began talking to herself. "Dinah'll miss me
very much to-night, I should think!" (Dinah was the cat.) "I hope
they'll remember her saucer of milk at tea-time. Dinah, my dear, I wish
you were down here with me!" Alice felt that she was dozing off, when
suddenly, thump! thump! down she came upon a heap of sticks and dry
leaves, and the fall was over.

Alice was not a bit hurt, and she jumped up in a moment. She looked up,
but it was all dark overhead; before her was another long passage and
the White Rabbit was still in sight, hurrying down it. There was not a
moment to be lost. Away went Alice like the wind and was just in time to
hear it say, as it turned a corner, "Oh, my ears and whiskers, how late
it's getting!" She was close behind it when she turned the corner, but
the Rabbit was no longer to be seen.

She found herself in a long, low hall, which was lit up by a row of
lamps hanging from the roof. There were doors all 'round the hall, but
they were all locked; and when Alice had been all the way down one side
and up the other, trying every door, she walked sadly down the middle,
wondering how she was ever to get out again.

Suddenly she came upon a little table, all made of solid glass. There
was nothing on it but a tiny golden key, and Alice's first idea was that
this might belong to one of the doors of the hall; but, alas! either the
locks were too large, or the key was too small, but, at any rate, it
would not open any of them. However, on the second time 'round, she came
upon a low curtain she had not noticed before, and behind it was a
little door about fifteen inches high. She tried the little golden key
in the lock, and to her great delight, it fitted!

[Illustration]

Alice opened the door and found that it led into a small passage, not
much larger than a rat-hole; she knelt down and looked along the passage
into the loveliest garden you ever saw. How she longed to get out of
that dark hall and wander about among those beds of bright flowers and
those cool fountains, but she could not even get her head through the
doorway. "Oh," said Alice, "how I wish I could shut up like a telescope!
I think I could, if I only knew how to begin."

Alice went back to the table, half hoping she might find another key on
it, or at any rate, a book of rules for shutting people up like
telescopes.
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THE EIGHTH STORY. _Ferondo, having swallowed a certain powder, is
entombed for dead and being taken forth of the sepulchre by the abbot,
who enjoyeth his wife the while, is put in prison and given to believe
that he is in purgatory; after which, being raised up again, he
reareth for his own a child begotten of the abbot on his wife_ 169

THE NINTH STORY. _Gillette de Narbonne recovereth the King of France
of a fistula and demandeth for her husband Bertrand de Roussillon, who
marrieth her against his will and betaketh him for despite to
Florence, where, he paying court to a young lady, Gillette, in the
person of the latter, lieth with him and hath by him two sons;
wherefore after, holding her dear, he entertaineth her for his wife_

THE TENTH STORY. _Alibech, turning hermit, is taught by Rustico, a
monk, to put the devil in hell, and being after brought away thence,
becometh Neerbale his wife_ 182


DAY THE FOURTH 189

THE FIRST STORY. _Tancred, Prince of Salerno, slayeth his daughter's
lover and sendeth her his heart in a bowl of gold; whereupon, pouring
poisoned water over it, she drinketh thereof and dieth_ 194

THE SECOND STORY. _Fra Alberto giveth a lady to believe that the angel
Gabriel is enamoured of her and in his shape lieth with her sundry
times; after which, for fear of her kinsmen, he casteth himself forth
of her window into the canal and taketh refuge in the house of a poor
man, who on the morrow carrieth him, in the guise of a wild man of the
woods, to the Piazza, where, being recognized, he is taken by his
brethren and put in prison_ 201

THE THIRD STORY. _Three young men love three sisters and flee with
them into Crete, where the eldest sister for jealousy slayeth her
lover. The second, yielding herself to the Duke of Crete, saveth her
sister from death, whereupon her own lover slayeth her and fleeth with
the eldest sister. Meanwhile the third lover and the youngest sister
are accused of the new murder and being taken, confess it; then, for
fear of death, they corrupt their keepers with money and flee to
Rhodes, where they die in poverty_ 208

THE FOURTH STORY. _Gerbino, against the plighted faith of his
grandfather, King Guglielmo of Sicily, attacketh a ship of the King of
Tunis, to carry off a daughter of his, who being put to death of those
on board, he slayeth these latter and is after himself beheaded_ 213

THE FIFTH STORY. _Lisabetta's brothers slay her lover, who appeareth
to her in a dream and showeth her where he is buried, whereupon she
privily disinterreth his head and setteth it in a pot of basil.
Thereover making moan a great while every day, her brothers take it
from her and she for grief dieth a little thereafterward_ 216

THE SIXTH STORY. _Andrevuola loveth Gabriotto and recounteth to him a
dream she hath had, whereupon he telleth her one of his own and
presently dieth suddenly in her arms. What while she and a waiting
woman of hers bear him to his own house, they are taken by the
officers of justice and carried before the provost, to whom she
discovereth how the case standeth. The provost would fain force her,
but she suffereth it not and her father, coming to hear of the matter,
procureth her to be set at liberty, she being found innocent;
whereupon, altogether refusing to abide longer in the world, she
becometh a nun_ 220

THE SEVENTH STORY. _Simona loveth Pasquino and they being together in
a garden, the latter rubbeth a leaf of sage against his teeth and
dieth. She, being taken and thinking to show the judge how her lover
died, rubbeth one of the same leaves against her teeth and dieth on
like wise_ 225

THE EIGHTH STORY. _Girolamo loveth Salvestra and being constrained by
his mother's prayers to go to Paris, returneth and findeth his
mistress married; whereupon he entereth her house by stealth and dieth
by her side; and he being carried to a church, Salvestra dieth beside
him_ 228

THE NINTH STORY. _Sir Guillaume de Roussillon giveth his wife to eat
the heart of Sir Guillaume de Guardestaing by him slain and loved of
her, which she after coming to know, casteth herself from a high
casement to the ground and dying, is buried with her lover_ 232

THE TENTH STORY. _A physician's wife putteth her lover for dead in a
chest, which two usurers carry off to their own house, gallant and
all. The latter, who is but drugged, cometh presently to himself and
being discovered, is taken for a thief; but the lady's maid avoucheth
to the seignory that she herself had put him into the chest stolen by
the two usurers, whereby he escapeth the gallows and the thieves are
amerced in certain monies_ 235


DAY THE FIFTH 243

THE FIRST STORY. _Cimon, loving, waxeth wise and carrieth off to sea
Iphigenia his mistress. Being cast into prison at Rhodes, he is
delivered thence by Lysimachus and in concert with him carrieth off
Iphigenia and Cassandra on their wedding-day, with whom the twain flee
into Crete, where the two ladies become their wives and whence they
are presently all four recalled ho
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_COPYRIGHTED_, 1889.

By SHIUKICHI SHIGEMI.




CONTENTS.



MY BIRTHPLACE--MY GRANDFATHER--TENJINSAN.


OLD-FASHIONED SCHOOL--MY SCHOOLMASTER--THE SCHOOL-HOUSE.


THE KITCHEN--DINNER--FOOD.


GAMES--NEW SCHOOL--IMITATING THE WEST--MORE ABOUT MY SCHOOLMASTER
--PUNISHMENTS AT SCHOOL.


BATHS--EVENINGS AT HOME--JAPANESE DANCING AND MUSIC.


AMATEUR ACTORS AND REAL ACTORS AND ACTRESSES--JAPANESE THEATRE.


WRESTLING--STORY-TELLERS--PICNIC AND PICNIC GROUNDS--AN OLD CASTLE
AND A TRADITION.


ANGLING--A PIOUS OLD LADY AND HER ADVENTURES.


THE YAITO--A WITCH-WOMAN--AUNT OTSUNÉ, MISS CHRYSANTHEMUM AND
MR. PROSPERITY.


NEW-YEAR'S DAY--THE MOCHI-MAKING--OLD-TIME OBSERVANCES.


KITE-FLYING--HOW I MADE MY KITE--MY UNCLE AND HIS RIG KITE
--OTHER NEW-YEAR GAMES--HOW WE END OUR NEW-YEAR HOLIDAYS.


OTHER JAPANESE HOLIDAYS--TANABATA AND INOKO, THE BOYS' DAYS
--THE SHINTOISTIC AND BUDDHISTIC ABLUTION MASS.


OUR PRIEST AND BOY-PRIEST--OUR DOG GEM--SHAKA'S BIRTHDAY.


THE FESTIVALS OF LOCAL DEITIES--SCHOOL AGAIN, AND SOME ACCOUNT
OF MY SCHOOL-FELLOWS--CONCLUSION.




PREFATORY LETTER.


PROF. HENRY W. FARNAM:

_Dear Sir:_--My motives in writing this jejune little volume are, as you
are aware, two:

1st. There seems to be no story told in this country of the Japanese
boy's life by a Japanese boy himself. The following rambling sketches
are incoherent and extremely meagre, I own; but you must remember that
they are a boy's talks. Give him encouragement, and he will tell you
more.

2d. The most important of my reasons is my desire to obtain the means to
prosecute the studies I have taken up in America. Circumstances have
obliged me to make my own way in this hard world. If I knew of a better
step I should not have resorted to an indiscreet juvenile publication--a
publication, moreover, of my own idle experiences, and in a language the
alphabet of which I learned but a few years ago.

To you my sincere acknowledgments are due for encouraging me to write
these pages. This kindness is but one of many, of which the public has
no knowledge.

                                        I am, sir,
                                          Yours very truly.
                                            SHIUKICHI SHIGEMI

  NEW HAVEN. CT., September, 1889.




A JAPANESE BOY.






I was born in a small seaport town called Imabari, which is situated on
the western coast of the island of Shikoku, the eastern of the two
islands lying south of Hondo. The Imabari harbor is a miserable ditch;
at low tide the mouth shows its shallow bottom, and one can wade across.
People go there for clam-digging. Two or three little streams empty
their waters into the harbor. A few junks and a number of boats are
always seen standing in this pool of salt-water. In the houses
surrounding it, mostly very old and ramshackle, are sold eatables and
provisions, fishes are bought from the boats, or shelter is given to
sailors.

When a junk comes in laden with rice, commission merchants get on board
and strike for bargains. The capacity of the vessel is measured by the
amount of rice it can carry. The grain merchant carries about him a
good-sized bamboo a few inches long, one end of which is sharpened and
the other closed, being cut just at a joint. He thrusts the pointed end
into bags of the rice. The bags are rice-straw, knitted together roughly
into the shape of barrels. Having taken out samples in the hollow inside
of the bamboo stick, the merchant first examines critically the physical
qualities of the grains on the palm of his hand, and then proceeds to
chew them in order to see how they taste. Years of practice enable him
to state, after such simple tests, precisely what section of the country
the article in question came from, although the captain of the vessel
may claim to have shipped it from a famous rice-producing province.

About the harbor are coolies waiting for work. They are strong, muscular
men, thinly clad, with easy straw sandals on. Putting a little cushion
on the left shoulder, a coolie rests the rice-bag upon it and walks away
from the ship to a store-house; his left hand passed around the burden
and his right holding a short, stout, beak-like, iron hook fastened in
the bag. In idle moments the coolies get together and indulge in tests
of strength, lifting heavy weights, etc.

At a short distance to the right from the entrance of the harbor is a
sanitarium. It is a huge, artificial cave, built of stone and mortar and
heated by burning wood-fires in the inside. After it is sufficiently
warmed the fire is extinguished, the smoke-escape shut, and the oven is
ready for use. Invalids flock in with wet mats, which they use in
sitting on the scalding rocky floor of the oven. Lifting the mat that
hangs like a curtain at the entrance, they plunge into the suffocating
hot air and remain there some time and emerge again into daylight,
fairly roasted and smothered. Then they speedily make for the sea and
bathe in it. This process of alternate heating an
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_The State of Greece from the earliest Times to the Commencement of the
Peloponnesian War_

Thucydides, an Athenian, wrote the history of the war between the
Peloponnesians and the Athenians, beginning at the moment that it broke
out, and believing that it would be a great war and more worthy of
relation than any that had preceded it. This belief was not without
its grounds. The preparations of both the combatants were in every
department in the last state of perfection; and he could see the rest of
the Hellenic race taking sides in the quarrel; those who delayed doing
so at once having it in contemplation. Indeed this was the greatest
movement yet known in history, not only of the Hellenes, but of a large
part of the barbarian world--I had almost said of mankind. For though
the events of remote antiquity, and even those that more immediately
preceded the war, could not from lapse of time be clearly ascertained,
yet the evidences which an inquiry carried as far back as was
practicable leads me to trust, all point to the conclusion that there
was nothing on a great scale, either in war or in other matters.

For instance, it is evident that the country now called Hellas had in
ancient times no settled population; on the contrary, migrations were of
frequent occurrence, the several tribes readily abandoning their homes
under the pressure of superior numbers. Without commerce, without
freedom of communication either by land or sea, cultivating no more
of their territory than the exigencies of life required, destitute of
capital, never planting their land (for they could not tell when an
invader might not come and take it all away, and when he did come
they had no walls to stop him), thinking that the necessities of daily
sustenance could be supplied at one place as well as another, they cared
little for shifting their habitation, and consequently neither built
large cities nor attained to any other form of greatness. The richest
soils were always most subject to this change of masters; such as the
district now called Thessaly, Boeotia, most of the Peloponnese, Arcadia
excepted, and the most fertile parts of the rest of Hellas. The goodness
of the land favoured the aggrandizement of particular individuals, and
thus created faction which proved a fertile source of ruin. It also
invited invasion. Accordingly Attica, from the poverty of its soil
enjoying from a very remote period freedom from faction, never changed
its inhabitants. And here is no inconsiderable exemplification of
my assertion that the migrations were the cause of there being no
correspondent growth in other parts. The most powerful victims of war or
faction from the rest of Hellas took refuge with the Athenians as a
safe retreat; and at an early period, becoming naturalized, swelled the
already large population of the city to such a height that Attica became
at last too small to hold them, and they had to send out colonies to
Ionia.

There is also another circumstance that contributes not a little to my
conviction of the weakness of ancient times. Before the Trojan war
there is no indication of any common action in Hellas, nor indeed of the
universal prevalence of the name; on the contrary, before the time of
Hellen, son of Deucalion, no such appellation existed, but the country
went by the names of the different tribes, in particular of the
Pelasgian. It was not till Hellen and his sons grew strong in Phthiotis,
and were invited as allies into the other cities, that one by one they
gradually acquired from the connection the name of Hellenes; though a
long time elapsed before that name could fasten itself upon all. The
best proof of this is furnished by Homer. Born long after the Trojan
War, he nowhere calls all of them by that name, nor indeed any of them
except the followers of Achilles from Phthiotis, who were the original
Hellenes: in his poems they are called Danaans, Argives, and Achaeans.
He does not even use the term barbarian, probably because the
Hellenes had not yet been marked off from the rest of the world by one
distinctive appellation. It appears therefore that the several Hellenic
communities, comprising not only those who first acquired the name,
city by city, as they came to understand each other, but also those who
assumed it afterwards as the name of the whole people, were before the
Trojan war prevented by their want of strength and the absence of mutual
intercourse from displaying any collective action.

Indeed, they could not unite for this expedition till they had gained
increased familiarity with the sea. And the first person known to us by
tradition as having established a navy is Minos. He made himself master
of what is now called the Hellenic sea, and ruled over the Cyclades,
into most of which he sent the first colonies, expelling the Carians
and appointing his own sons governors; and thus did his best to put down
piracy in those waters, a necessary step to secure the revenues for his
own use.

For in early times the H
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PG #: 3300
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OF THE DIVISION OF LABOUR.


    
      The greatest improvements in the productive powers of labour, and the
      greater part of the skill, dexterity, and judgment, with which it is
      anywhere directed, or applied, seem to have been the effects of the
      division of labour. The effects of the division of labour, in the general
      business of society, will be more easily understood, by considering in
      what manner it operates in some particular manufactures. It is commonly
      supposed to be carried furthest in some very trifling ones; not perhaps
      that it really is carried further in them than in others of more
      importance: but in those trifling manufactures which are destined to
      supply the small wants of but a small number of people, the whole number
      of workmen must necessarily be small; and those employed in every
      different branch of the work can often be collected into the same
      workhouse, and placed at once under the view of the spectator.
    
      In those great manufactures, on the contrary, which are destined to supply
      the great wants of the great body of the people, every different branch of
      the work employs so great a number of workmen, that it is impossible to
      collect them all into the same workhouse. We can seldom see more, at one
      time, than those employed in one single branch. Though in such
      manufactures, therefore, the work may really be divided into a much
      greater number of parts, than in those of a more trifling nature, the
      division is not near so obvious, and has accordingly been much less
      observed.
    
      To take an example, therefore, from a very trifling manufacture, but one
      in which the division of labour has been very often taken notice of, the
      trade of a pin-maker: a workman not educated to this business (which the
      division of labour has rendered a distinct trade), nor acquainted with the
      use of the machinery employed in it (to the invention of which the same
      division of labour has probably given occasion), could scarce, perhaps,
      with his utmost industry, make one pin in a day, and certainly could not
      make twenty. But in the way in which this business is now carried on, not
      only the whole work is a peculiar trade, but it is divided into a number
      of branches, of which the greater part are likewise peculiar trades. One
      man draws out the wire; another straights it; a third cuts it; a fourth
      points it; a fifth grinds it at the top for receiving the head; to make
      the head requires two or three distinct operations; to put it on is a
      peculiar business; to whiten the pins is another; it is even a trade by
      itself to put them into the paper; and the important business of making a
      pin is, in this manner, divided into about eighteen distinct operations,
      which, in some manufactories, are all performed by distinct hands, though
      in others the same man will sometimes perform two or three of them. I have
      seen a small manufactory of this kind, where ten men only were employed,
      and where some of them consequently performed two or three distinct
      operations. But though they were very poor, and therefore but
      indifferently accommodated with the necessary machinery, they could, when
      they exerted themselves, make among them about twelve pounds of pins in a
      day. There are in a pound upwards of four thousand pins of a middling
      size. Those ten persons, therefore, could make among them upwards of
      forty-eight thousand pins in a day. Each person, therefore, making a tenth
      part of forty-eight thousand pins, might be considered as making four
      thousand eight hundred pins in a day. But if they had all wrought
      separately and independently, and without any of them having been educated
      to this peculiar business, they certainly could not each of them have made
      twenty, perhaps not one pin in a day; that is, certainly, not the two
      hundred and fortieth, perhaps not the four thousand eight hundredth, part
      of what they are at present capable of performing, in consequence of a
      proper division and combination of their different operations.
    
      In every other art and manufacture, the effects of the division of labour
      are similar to what they are in this very trifling one, though, in many of
      them, the labour can neither be so much subdivided, nor reduced to so
      great a simplicity of operation. The division of labour, however, so far
      as it can be introduced, occasions, in every art, a proportionable
      increase of the productive powers of labour. The separation of different
      trades and employments from one another, seems to have taken place in
      consequence of this advantage. This separation, too, is generally carried
      furthest in those countries which enjoy the highest degree of industry 
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HEDDA GABLER

By Henrik Ibsen


Translated by Edmund Gosse and William Archer


Introduction by William Archer





INTRODUCTION.


From Munich, on June 29, 1890, Ibsen wrote to the Swedish poet, Count
Carl Soilsky: "Our intention has all along been to spend the summer in
the Tyrol again. But circumstances are against our doing so. I am at
present engaged upon a new dramatic work, which for several reasons has
made very slow progress, and I do not leave Munich until I can take with
me the completed first draft. There is little or no prospect of my being
able to complete it in July." Ibsen did not leave Munich at all that
season. On October 30 he wrote: "At present I am utterly engrossed in
a new play. Not one leisure hour have I had for several months." Three
weeks later (November 20) he wrote to his French translator, Count
Prozor: "My new play is finished; the manuscript went off to Copenhagen
the day before yesterday.... It produces a curious feeling of emptiness
to be thus suddenly separated from a work which has occupied one's time
and thoughts for several months, to the exclusion of all else. But it is
a good thing, too, to have done with it. The constant intercourse with
the fictitious personages was beginning to make me quite nervous." To
the same correspondent he wrote on December 4: "The title of the play is
_Hedda Gabler_. My intention in giving it this name was to indicate
that Hedda, as a personality, is to be regarded rather as her father's
daughter than as her husband's wife. It was not my desire to deal in
this play with so-called problems. What I principally wanted to do was
to depict human beings, human emotions, and human destinies, upon a
groundwork of certain of the social conditions and principles of the
present day."

So far we read the history of the play in the official
"Correspondence."(1) Some interesting glimpses into the poet's moods
during the period between the completion of _The Lady from the Sea_
and the publication of _Hedda Gabler_ are to be found in the series of
letters to Fraulein Emilie Bardach, of Vienna, published by Dr. George
Brandes.(2) This young lady Ibsen met at Gossensass in the Tyrol in
the autumn of 1889. The record of their brief friendship belongs to the
history of _The Master Builder_ rather than to that of _Hedda Gabler_,
but the allusions to his work in his letters to her during the winter of
1889 demand some examination.

So early as October 7, 1889, he writes to her: "A new poem begins to
dawn in me. I will execute it this winter, and try to transfer to it
the bright atmosphere of the summer. But I feel that it will end in
sadness--such is my nature." Was this "dawning" poem _Hedda Gabler_? Or
was it rather _The Master Builder_ that was germinating in his mind? Who
shall say? The latter hypothesis seems the more probable, for it is hard
to believe that at any stage in the incubation of _Hedda Gabler_ he can
have conceived it as even beginning in gaiety. A week later, however,
he appears to have made up his mind that the time had not come for the
poetic utilisation of his recent experiences. He writes on October 15:
"Here I sit as usual at my writing-table. Now I would fain work, but
am unable to. My fancy, indeed, is very active. But it always wanders
away ours. I cannot repress my summer memories--nor do I wish to. I live
through my experience again and again and yet again. To transmute it
all into a poem, I find, in the meantime, impossible." Clearly, then,
he felt that his imagination ought to have been engaged on some theme
having no relation to his summer experiences--the theme, no doubt, of
_Hedda Gabler_. In his next letter, dated October 29, he writes: "Do not
be troubled because I cannot, in the meantime, create (_dichten_). In
reality I am for ever creating, or, at any rate, dreaming of something
which, when in the fulness of time it ripens, will reveal itself as
a creation (_Dichtung_)." On November 19 he says: "I am very busily
occupied with preparations for my new poem. I sit almost the whole day
at my writing-table. Go out only in the evening for a little while." The
five following letters contain no allusion to the play; but on September
18, 1890, he wrote: "My wife and son are at present at Riva, on the Lake
of Garda, and will probably remain there until the middle of October,
or even longer. Thus I am quite alone here, and cannot get away. The new
play on which I am at present engaged will probably not be ready until
November, though I sit at my writing-table daily, and almost the whole
day long."

Here ends the history of _Hedda Gabler_, so far as the poet's
letters carry us. Its hard clear outlines, and perhaps somewhat bleak
atmosphere, seem to have resulted from a sort of reaction against the
sentimental "dreamery" begotten of his Gossensass experiences. He
sought refuge in the chill materialism of Hedda from the ardent
transcendentalism of Hilda, whom he already heard knocking at the door.
He was not yet in the mood to deal with 
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I scarcely know where to begin, though I sometimes facetiously place the
cause of it all to Charley Furuseth’s credit.  He kept a summer cottage
in Mill Valley, under the shadow of Mount Tamalpais, and never occupied
it except when he loafed through the winter months and read Nietzsche and
Schopenhauer to rest his brain.  When summer came on, he elected to sweat
out a hot and dusty existence in the city and to toil incessantly.  Had
it not been my custom to run up to see him every Saturday afternoon and
to stop over till Monday morning, this particular January Monday morning
would not have found me afloat on San Francisco Bay.

Not but that I was afloat in a safe craft, for the _Martinez_ was a new
ferry-steamer, making her fourth or fifth trip on the run between
Sausalito and San Francisco.  The danger lay in the heavy fog which
blanketed the bay, and of which, as a landsman, I had little
apprehension.  In fact, I remember the placid exaltation with which I
took up my position on the forward upper deck, directly beneath the
pilot-house, and allowed the mystery of the fog to lay hold of my
imagination.  A fresh breeze was blowing, and for a time I was alone in
the moist obscurity—yet not alone, for I was dimly conscious of the
presence of the pilot, and of what I took to be the captain, in the glass
house above my head.

I remember thinking how comfortable it was, this division of labour which
made it unnecessary for me to study fogs, winds, tides, and navigation,
in order to visit my friend who lived across an arm of the sea.  It was
good that men should be specialists, I mused.  The peculiar knowledge of
the pilot and captain sufficed for many thousands of people who knew no
more of the sea and navigation than I knew.  On the other hand, instead
of having to devote my energy to the learning of a multitude of things, I
concentrated it upon a few particular things, such as, for instance, the
analysis of Poe’s place in American literature—an essay of mine, by the
way, in the current _Atlantic_.  Coming aboard, as I passed through the
cabin, I had noticed with greedy eyes a stout gentleman reading the
_Atlantic_, which was open at my very essay.  And there it was again, the
division of labour, the special knowledge of the pilot and captain which
permitted the stout gentleman to read my special knowledge on Poe while
they carried him safely from Sausalito to San Francisco.

A red-faced man, slamming the cabin door behind him and stumping out on
the deck, interrupted my reflections, though I made a mental note of the
topic for use in a projected essay which I had thought of calling “The
Necessity for Freedom: A Plea for the Artist.”  The red-faced man shot a
glance up at the pilot-house, gazed around at the fog, stumped across the
deck and back (he evidently had artificial legs), and stood still by my
side, legs wide apart, and with an expression of keen enjoyment on his
face.  I was not wrong when I decided that his days had been spent on the
sea.

“It’s nasty weather like this here that turns heads grey before their
time,” he said, with a nod toward the pilot-house.

“I had not thought there was any particular strain,” I answered.  “It
seems as simple as A, B, C.  They know the direction by compass, the
distance, and the speed.  I should not call it anything more than
mathematical certainty.”

“Strain!” he snorted.  “Simple as A, B, C!  Mathematical certainty!”

He seemed to brace himself up and lean backward against the air as he
stared at me.  “How about this here tide that’s rushin’ out through the
Golden Gate?” he demanded, or bellowed, rather.  “How fast is she ebbin’?
What’s the drift, eh?  Listen to that, will you?  A bell-buoy, and we’re
a-top of it!  See ’em alterin’ the course!”

From out of the fog came the mournful tolling of a bell, and I could see
the pilot turning the wheel with great rapidity.  The bell, which had
seemed straight ahead, was now sounding from the side.  Our own whistle
was blowing hoarsely, and from time to time the sound of other whistles
came to us from out of the fog.

“That’s a ferry-boat of some sort,” the new-comer said, indicating a
whistle off to the right.  “And there!  D’ye hear that?  Blown by mouth.
Some scow schooner, most likely.  Better watch out, Mr. Schooner-man.
Ah, I thought so.  Now hell’s a poppin’ for somebody!”

The unseen ferry-boat was blowing blast after blast, and the mouth-blown
horn was tooting in terror-stricken fashion.

“And now they’re payin’ their respects to each other and tryin’ to get
clear,” the red-faced man went on, as the hurried whistling ceased.

His face was shining, his eyes flashing with excitement as he translated
into articulate language the speech of the horns and sirens.  “That’s a
steam-siren a-goin’ it over there to the left.  And you hear that fellow
with a frog in his throat—a steam schooner as near as I can judge,
crawlin’ in from the Heads against the tide.”

A shrill little whistle, piping as if gone mad, came from dire
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Dark spruce forest frowned on either side the frozen waterway.  The trees
had been stripped by a recent wind of their white covering of frost, and
they seemed to lean towards each other, black and ominous, in the fading
light.  A vast silence reigned over the land.  The land itself was a
desolation, lifeless, without movement, so lone and cold that the spirit
of it was not even that of sadness.  There was a hint in it of laughter,
but of a laughter more terrible than any sadness--a laughter that was
mirthless as the smile of the sphinx, a laughter cold as the frost and
partaking of the grimness of infallibility.  It was the masterful and
incommunicable wisdom of eternity laughing at the futility of life and
the effort of life.  It was the Wild, the savage, frozen-hearted
Northland Wild.

But there _was_ life, abroad in the land and defiant.  Down the frozen
waterway toiled a string of wolfish dogs.  Their bristly fur was rimed
with frost.  Their breath froze in the air as it left their mouths,
spouting forth in spumes of vapour that settled upon the hair of their
bodies and formed into crystals of frost.  Leather harness was on the
dogs, and leather traces attached them to a sled which dragged along
behind.  The sled was without runners.  It was made of stout birch-bark,
and its full surface rested on the snow.  The front end of the sled was
turned up, like a scroll, in order to force down and under the bore of
soft snow that surged like a wave before it.  On the sled, securely
lashed, was a long and narrow oblong box.  There were other things on the
sled--blankets, an axe, and a coffee-pot and frying-pan; but prominent,
occupying most of the space, was the long and narrow oblong box.

In advance of the dogs, on wide snowshoes, toiled a man.  At the rear of
the sled toiled a second man.  On the sled, in the box, lay a third man
whose toil was over,--a man whom the Wild had conquered and beaten down
until he would never move nor struggle again.  It is not the way of the
Wild to like movement.  Life is an offence to it, for life is movement;
and the Wild aims always to destroy movement.  It freezes the water to
prevent it running to the sea; it drives the sap out of the trees till
they are frozen to their mighty hearts; and most ferociously and terribly
of all does the Wild harry and crush into submission man--man who is the
most restless of life, ever in revolt against the dictum that all
movement must in the end come to the cessation of movement.

But at front and rear, unawed and indomitable, toiled the two men who
were not yet dead.  Their bodies were covered with fur and soft-tanned
leather.  Eyelashes and cheeks and lips were so coated with the crystals
from their frozen breath that their faces were not discernible.  This
gave them the seeming of ghostly masques, undertakers in a spectral world
at the funeral of some ghost.  But under it all they were men,
penetrating the land of desolation and mockery and silence, puny
adventurers bent on colossal adventure, pitting themselves against the
might of a world as remote and alien and pulseless as the abysses of
space.

They travelled on without speech, saving their breath for the work of
their bodies.  On every side was the silence, pressing upon them with a
tangible presence.  It affected their minds as the many atmospheres of
deep water affect the body of the diver.  It crushed them with the weight
of unending vastness and unalterable decree.  It crushed them into the
remotest recesses of their own minds, pressing out of them, like juices
from the grape, all the false ardours and exaltations and undue
self-values of the human soul, until they perceived themselves finite and
small, specks and motes, moving with weak cunning and little wisdom
amidst the play and inter-play of the great blind elements and forces.

An hour went by, and a second hour.  The pale light of the short sunless
day was beginning to fade, when a faint far cry arose on the still air.
It soared upward with a swift rush, till it reached its topmost note,
where it persisted, palpitant and tense, and then slowly died away.  It
might have been a lost soul wailing, had it not been invested with a
certain sad fierceness and hungry eagerness.  The front man turned his
head until his eyes met the eyes of the man behind.  And then, across the
narrow oblong box, each nodded to the other.

A second cry arose, piercing the silence with needle-like shrillness.
Both men located the sound.  It was to the rear, somewhere in the snow
expanse they had just traversed.  A third and answering cry arose, also
to the rear and to the left of the second cry.

"They're after us, Bill," said the man at the front.

His voice sounded hoarse and unreal, and he had spoken with apparent
effort.

"Meat is scarce," answered his comrade.  "I ain't seen a rabbit sign for
days."

Thereafter they spoke no more, though their ears were keen for the
hunting-cries that continued to rise behind them.

At the fall of darkness t
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PG #: 59603
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/59603

Copyright, 1923, by the author


  Published by
  Contact Publishing Co.




THREE STORIES


Up In Michigan

Out of Season

My Old Man


& TEN POEMS


Mitraigliatrice

Oklahoma

Oily Weather

Roosevelt

Captives

Champs d’Honneur

Riparto d’Assalto

Montparnasse

Along With Youth

Chapter Heading


ERNEST HEMINGWAY




This Book
Is For Hadley




CONTENTS


Three Stories


Up In Michigan
Out Of Season
My Old Man


Ten Poems


Mitraigliatrice
Oklahoma
Oily Weather
Roosevelt
Captives
Champs D’Honneur
Riparto D’Assalto
Montparnasse
Along With Youth
Chapter Heading




Five of these poems were
first printed in _Poetry_
A Magazine of Verse.




UP IN MICHIGAN


UP IN MICHIGAN


Jim Gilmore came to Hortons Bay from Canada. He bought the blacksmith
shop from old man Horton. Jim was short and dark with big mustaches
and big hands. He was a good horseshoer and did not look much like a
blacksmith even with his leather apron on. He lived upstairs above
the blacksmith shop and took his meals at A. J. Smith’s.

Liz Coates worked for Smith’s. Mrs. Smith, who was a very large clean
woman, said Liz Coates was the neatest girl she’d ever seen. Liz had
good legs and always wore clean gingham aprons and Jim noticed that
her hair was always neat behind. He liked her face because it was so
jolly but he never thought about her.

Liz liked Jim very much. She liked it the way he walked over from the
shop and often went to the kitchen door to watch for him to start
down the road. She liked it about his mustache. She liked it about
how white his teeth were when he smiled. She liked it very much that
he didn’t look like a blacksmith. She liked it how much A. J. Smith
and Mrs. Smith liked Jim. One day she found that she liked it the way
the hair was black on his arms and how white they were above the
tanned line when he washed up in the washbasin outside the house.
Liking that made her feel funny.

Hortons Bay, the town, was only five houses on the main road between
Boyne City and Charlevoix. There was the general store and postoffice
with a high false front and maybe a wagon hitched out in front,
Smith’s house, Stroud’s house, Fox’s house, Horton’s house and Van
Hoosen’s house. The houses were in a big grove of elm trees and the
road was very sandy. There was farming country and timber each way up
the road. Up the road a ways was the Methodist church and down the
road the other direction was the township school. The blacksmith shop
was painted red and faced the school.

A steep sandy road ran down the hill to the bay through the timber.
From Smith’s back door you could look out across the woods that ran
down to the lake and across the bay. It was very beautiful in the
spring and summer, the bay blue and bright and usually whitecaps on
the lake out beyond the point from the breeze blowing from Charlevoix
and Lake Michigan. From Smith’s back door Liz could see ore barges
way out in the lake going toward Boyne City. When she looked at them
they didn’t seem to be moving at all but if she went in and dried
some more dishes and then came out again they would be out of sight
beyond the point.

All the time now Liz was thinking about Jim Gilmore. He didn’t seem
to notice her much. He talked about the shop to A. J. Smith and about
the Republican Party and about James G. Blaine. In the evenings he
read the Toledo Blade and the Grand Rapids paper by the lamp in the
front room or went out spearing fish in the bay with a jacklight with
A. J. Smith. In the fall he and Smith and Charley Wyman took a wagon
and tent, grub, axes, their rifles and two dogs and went on a trip to
the pine plains beyond Vanderbilt deer hunting. Liz and Mrs. Smith
were cooking for four days for them before they started. Liz wanted
to make something special for Jim to take but she didn’t finally
because she was afraid to ask Mrs. Smith for the eggs and flour and
afraid if she bought them Mrs. Smith would catch her cooking. It
would have been all right with Mrs. Smith but Liz was afraid.

All the time Jim was gone on the deer hunting trip Liz thought about
him. It was awful while he was gone. She couldn’t sleep well from
thinking about him but she discovered it was fun to think about him
too. If she let herself go it was better. The night before they were
to come back she didn’t sleep at all, that is she didn’t think she
slept because it was all mixed up in a dream about not sleeping and
really not sleeping. When she saw the wagon coming down the road she
felt weak and sick sort of inside. She couldn’t wait till she saw Jim
and it seemed as though everything would be all right when he came.
The wagon stopped outside under the big elm and Mrs. Smith and Liz
went out. All the men had beards and there were three deer in the
back of the wagon, their thin legs sticking stiff over the edge of
the wagon box. Mrs. Smith kissed Alonzo and he hugged her. Jim said
“Hello Liz.” and grinned. Liz hadn’t known just what would happen
when Jim got back but she was sure it would be something.
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cover 



MACBETH

by William Shakespeare

Contents

ACT I
Scene I. An open Place.
Scene II. A Camp near Forres.
Scene III. A heath.
Scene IV. Forres. A Room in the Palace.
Scene V. Inverness. A Room in Macbeth’s Castle.
Scene VI. The same. Before the Castle.
Scene VII. The same. A Lobby in the Castle.


ACT II
Scene I. Inverness. Court within the Castle.
Scene II. The same.
Scene III. The same.
Scene IV. The same. Without the Castle.


ACT III
Scene I. Forres. A Room in the Palace.
Scene II. The same. Another Room in the Palace.
Scene III. The same. A Park or Lawn, with a gate leading to the Palace.
Scene IV. The same. A Room of state in the Palace.
Scene V. The heath.
Scene VI. Forres. A Room in the Palace.


ACT IV
Scene I. A dark Cave. In the middle, a Cauldron Boiling.
Scene II. Fife. A Room in Macduff’s Castle.
Scene III. England. Before the King’s Palace.


ACT V
Scene I. Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle.
Scene II. The Country near Dunsinane.
Scene III. Dunsinane. A Room in the Castle.
Scene IV. Country near Dunsinane: a Wood in view.
Scene V. Dunsinane. Within the castle.
Scene VI. The same. A Plain before the Castle.
Scene VII. The same. Another part of the Plain.
Scene VIII. The same. Another part of the field.



Dramatis Personæ

DUNCAN, King of Scotland.
MALCOLM, his Son.
DONALBAIN, his Son.
MACBETH, General in the King’s Army.
BANQUO, General in the King’s Army.
MACDUFF, Nobleman of Scotland.
LENNOX, Nobleman of Scotland.
ROSS, Nobleman of Scotland.
MENTEITH, Nobleman of Scotland.
ANGUS, Nobleman of Scotland.
CAITHNESS, Nobleman of Scotland.
FLEANCE, Son to Banquo.
SIWARD, Earl of Northumberland, General of the English Forces.
YOUNG SIWARD, his Son.
SEYTON, an Officer attending on Macbeth.
BOY, Son to Macduff.
An English Doctor.
A Scottish Doctor.
A Soldier.
A Porter.
An Old Man.

LADY MACBETH.
LADY MACDUFF.
Gentlewoman attending on Lady Macbeth.
HECATE, and three Witches.

Lords, Gentlemen, Officers, Soldiers, Murderers, Attendants and
Messengers.

The Ghost of Banquo and several other Apparitions.

SCENE: In the end of the Fourth Act, in England; through the rest of
the Play, in Scotland; and chiefly at Macbeth’s Castle.


ACT I

SCENE I. An open Place.

 Thunder and Lightning. Enter three Witches.

FIRST WITCH.
When shall we three meet again?
In thunder, lightning, or in rain?

SECOND WITCH.
When the hurlyburly’s done,
When the battle’s lost and won.

THIRD WITCH.
That will be ere the set of sun.

FIRST WITCH.
Where the place?

SECOND WITCH.
Upon the heath.

THIRD WITCH.
There to meet with Macbeth.

FIRST WITCH.
I come, Graymalkin!

SECOND WITCH.
Paddock calls.

THIRD WITCH.
Anon.

ALL.
Fair is foul, and foul is fair:
Hover through the fog and filthy air.

 [_Exeunt._]

SCENE II. A Camp near Forres.

 Alarum within. Enter King Duncan, Malcolm, Donalbain, Lennox, with
 Attendants, meeting a bleeding Captain.

DUNCAN.
What bloody man is that? He can report,
As seemeth by his plight, of the revolt
The newest state.

MALCOLM.
This is the sergeant
Who, like a good and hardy soldier, fought
’Gainst my captivity.—Hail, brave friend!
Say to the King the knowledge of the broil
As thou didst leave it.

SOLDIER.
Doubtful it stood;
As two spent swimmers that do cling together
And choke their art. The merciless Macdonwald
(Worthy to be a rebel, for to that
The multiplying villainies of nature
Do swarm upon him) from the Western Isles
Of kerns and gallowglasses is supplied;
And Fortune, on his damned quarrel smiling,
Show’d like a rebel’s whore. But all’s too weak;
For brave Macbeth (well he deserves that name),
Disdaining Fortune, with his brandish’d steel,
Which smok’d with bloody execution,
Like Valour’s minion, carv’d out his passage,
Till he fac’d the slave;
Which ne’er shook hands, nor bade farewell to him,
Till he unseam’d him from the nave to the chops,
And fix’d his head upon our battlements.

DUNCAN.
O valiant cousin! worthy gentleman!

SOLDIER.
As whence the sun ’gins his reflection
Shipwracking storms and direful thunders break,
So from that spring, whence comfort seem’d to come
Discomfort swells. Mark, King of Scotland, mark:
No sooner justice had, with valour arm’d,
Compell’d these skipping kerns to trust their heels,
But the Norweyan lord, surveying vantage,
With furbish’d arms and new supplies of men,
Began a fresh assault.

DUNCAN.
Dismay’d not this
Our captains, Macbeth and Banquo?

SOLDIER.
Yes;
As sparrows eagles, or the hare the lion.
If I say sooth, I must report they were
As cannons overcharg’d with double cracks;
So they
Doubly redoubled strokes upon the foe:
Except they meant to bathe in reeking wounds,
Or memorize another Golgotha,
I cannot tell—
But I am faint, my gashes cry for help.

DUNCAN.
So well thy words become thee as thy wounds:
They smack of honour both.—Go, get him surgeons.

 [_Exit Captain, attended._]

 Enter Ross and Angus.

Who comes here?

MALCOLM.
The worthy Thane of Ross.

LENNOX.
What a haste looks through his eyes! So should he look
That seems to speak thing
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 61221
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A PASSAGE TO INDIA

  BY

  E. M. FORSTER

  Author of “Howards End,” “A Room with a View,” etc.

  SECOND IMPRESSION

  LONDON
  EDWARD ARNOLD & CO.
  1924


  BY THE SAME WRITER:

  WHERE ANGELS FEAR TO TREAD
  THE LONGEST JOURNEY
  A ROOM WITH A VIEW
  HOWARDS END
  THE CELESTIAL OMNIBUS
  PHAROS AND PHARILLON

  _Made and Printed in Great Britain by_
  Butler & Tanner Ltd., _Frome and London_
  Copyright in U.S.A.

  TO
  SYED ROSS MASOOD
  AND TO THE SEVENTEEN YEARS OF OUR FRIENDSHIP




  A PASSAGE TO INDIA


  PART I: MOSQUE


  CHAPTER I


Except for the Marabar Caves—and they are twenty miles off—the city
of Chandrapore presents nothing extraordinary. Edged rather than
washed by the river Ganges, it trails for a couple of miles along
the bank, scarcely distinguishable from the rubbish it deposits so
freely. There are no bathing-steps on the river front, as the
Ganges happens not to be holy here; indeed there is no river front,
and bazaars shut out the wide and shifting panorama of the stream.
The streets are mean, the temples ineffective, and though a few
fine houses exist they are hidden away in gardens or down alleys
whose filth deters all but the invited guest. Chandrapore was never
large or beautiful, but two hundred years ago it lay on the road
between Upper India, then imperial, and the sea, and the fine
houses date from that period. The zest for decoration stopped in
the eighteenth century, nor was it ever democratic. There is no
painting and scarcely any carving in the bazaars. The very wood
seems made of mud, the inhabitants of mud moving. So abased, so
monotonous is everything that meets the eye, that when the Ganges
comes down it might be expected to wash the excrescence back into
the soil. Houses do fall, people are drowned and left rotting, but
the general outline of the town persists, swelling here, shrinking
there, like some low but indestructible form of life.

Inland, the prospect alters. There is an oval Maidan, and a long
sallow hospital. Houses belonging to Eurasians stand on the high
ground by the railway station. Beyond the railway—which runs
parallel to the river—the land sinks, then rises again rather
steeply. On the second rise is laid out the little civil station,
and viewed hence Chandrapore appears to be a totally different
place. It is a city of gardens. It is no city, but a forest sparsely
scattered with huts. It is a tropical pleasaunce washed by a noble
river. The toddy palms and neem trees and mangoes and pepul that
were hidden behind the bazaars now become visible and in their turn
hide the bazaars. They rise from the gardens where ancient tanks
nourish them, they burst out of stifling purlieus and unconsidered
temples. Seeking, light and air, and endowed with more strength
than man or his works, they soar above the lower deposit to greet
one another with branches and beckoning leaves, and to build a city
for the birds. Especially after the rains do they screen what
passes below, but at all times, even when scorched or leafless,
they glorify the city to the English people who inhabit the rise,
so that new-comers cannot believe it to be as meagre as it is
described, and have to be driven down to acquire disillusionment.
As for the civil station itself, it provokes no emotion. It charms
not, neither does it repel. It is sensibly planned, with a red-brick
club on its brow, and farther back a grocer’s and a cemetery, and
the bungalows are disposed along roads that intersect at right
angles. It has nothing hideous in it, and only the view is
beautiful; it shares nothing with the city except the overarching
sky.

The sky too has its changes, but they are less marked than those
of the vegetation and the river. Clouds map it up at times, but it
is normally a dome of blending tints, and the main tint blue. By
day the blue will pale down into white where it touches the white
of the land, after sunset it has a new circumference—orange,
melting upwards into tenderest purple. But the core of blue
persists, and so it is by night. Then the stars hang like lamps
from the immense vault. The distance between the vault and them is
as nothing to the distance behind them, and that farther distance,
though beyond colour, last freed itself from blue.

The sky settles everything—not only climates and seasons but when
the earth shall be beautiful. By herself she can do little—only
feeble outbursts of flowers. But when the sky chooses, glory can
rain into the Chandrapore bazaars or a benediction pass from
horizon to horizon. The sky can do this because it is so strong
and so enormous. Strength comes from the sun, infused in it daily,
size from the prostrate earth. No mountains infringe on the curve.
League after league the earth lies flat, heaves a little, is flat
again. Only in the south, where a group of fists and fingers are
thrust up through the soil, is the endless expanse interrupted.
These fists and fingers are the Marabar Hills, containing the
extraordinary caves.




  CHAPTER II


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"Ne raillons pas les fous; leur folie dure plus longtemps que
la nôtre.... Voila toute la différence."

Toward the end of the year 1920 the Government of the United States had
practically completed the programme, adopted during the last months of
President Winthrop's administration. The country was apparently tranquil.
Everybody knows how the Tariff and Labour questions were settled. The war
with Germany, incident on that country's seizure of the Samoan Islands,
had left no visible scars upon the republic, and the temporary occupation
of Norfolk by the invading army had been forgotten in the joy over
repeated naval victories, and the subsequent ridiculous plight of General
Von Gartenlaube's forces in the State of New Jersey. The Cuban and
Hawaiian investments had paid one hundred per cent and the territory of
Samoa was well worth its cost as a coaling station. The country was in a
superb state of defence. Every coast city had been well supplied with land
fortifications; the army under the parental eye of the General Staff,
organized according to the Prussian system, had been increased to 300,000
men, with a territorial reserve of a million; and six magnificent
squadrons of cruisers and battle-ships patrolled the six stations of the
navigable seas, leaving a steam reserve amply fitted to control home
waters. The gentlemen from the West had at last been constrained to
acknowledge that a college for the training of diplomats was as necessary
as law schools are for the training of barristers; consequently we were no
longer represented abroad by incompetent patriots. The nation was
prosperous; Chicago, for a moment paralyzed after a second great fire, had
risen from its ruins, white and imperial, and more beautiful than the white
city which had been built for its plaything in 1893. Everywhere good
architecture was replacing bad, and even in New York, a sudden craving for
decency had swept away a great portion of the existing horrors. Streets
had been widened, properly paved and lighted, trees had been planted,
squares laid out, elevated structures demolished and underground roads
built to replace them. The new government buildings and barracks were fine
bits of architecture, and the long system of stone quays which completely
surrounded the island had been turned into parks which proved a god-send
to the population. The subsidizing of the state theatre and state opera
brought its own reward. The United States National Academy of Design was
much like European institutions of the same kind. Nobody envied the
Secretary of Fine Arts, either his cabinet position or his portfolio. The
Secretary of Forestry and Game Preservation had a much easier time, thanks
to the new system of National Mounted Police. We had profited well by the
latest treaties with France and England; the exclusion of foreign-born
Jews as a measure of self-preservation, the settlement of the new
independent negro state of Suanee, the checking of immigration, the new
laws concerning naturalization, and the gradual centralization of power in
the executive all contributed to national calm and prosperity. When the
Government solved the Indian problem and squadrons of Indian cavalry
scouts in native costume were substituted for the pitiable organizations
tacked on to the tail of skeletonized regiments by a former Secretary of
War, the nation drew a long sigh of relief. When, after the colossal
Congress of Religions, bigotry and intolerance were laid in their graves
and kindness and charity began to draw warring sects together, many
thought the millennium had arrived, at least in the new world which after
all is a world by itself.

But self-preservation is the first law, and the United States had to look
on in helpless sorrow as Germany, Italy, Spain and Belgium writhed in the
throes of Anarchy, while Russia, watching from the Caucasus, stooped and
bound them one by one.

In the city of New York the summer of 1899 was signalized by the
dismantling of the Elevated Railroads. The summer of 1900 will live in
the memories of New York people for many a cycle; the Dodge Statue was
removed in that year. In the following winter began that agitation for
the repeal of the laws prohibiting suicide which bore its final fruit in
the month of April, 1920, when the first Government Lethal Chamber was
opened on Washington Square.

I had walked down that day from Dr. Archer's house on Madison Avenue,
where I had been as a mere formality. Ever since that fall from my horse,
four years before, I had been troubled at times with pains in the back of
my head and neck, but now for months they had been absent, and the doctor
sent me away that day saying there was nothing more to be cured in me. It
was hardly worth his fee to be told that; I knew it myself. Still I did
not grudge him the money. What I minded was the mistake which he made at
first. When they picked me up from the pavement where I lay unconscious,
and somebody had mercifully sent a bullet through my horse's head,
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But our study is not of interest merely for the science of religion. In
fact, every religion has one side by which it overlaps the circle of
properly religious ideas, and there, the study of religious phenomena
gives a means of renewing the problems which, up to the present, have
only been discussed among philosophers.

For a long time it has been known that the first systems of
representations with which men have pictured to themselves the world and
themselves were of religious origin. There is no religion that is not a
cosmology at the same time that it is a speculation upon divine things.
If philosophy and the sciences were born of religion, it is because
religion began by taking the place of the sciences and philosophy. But
it has been less frequently noticed that religion has not confined
itself to enriching the human intellect, formed beforehand, with a
certain number of ideas; it has contributed to forming the intellect
itself. Men owe to it not only a good part of the substance of their
knowledge, but also the form in which this knowledge has been
elaborated.

At the roots of all our judgments there are a certain number of
essential ideas which dominate all our intellectual life; they are what
philosophers since Aristotle have called the categories of the
understanding: ideas of time, space,[4] class, number, cause, substance,
personality, etc. They correspond to the most universal properties of
things. They are like the solid frame which encloses all thought; this
does not seem to be able to liberate itself from them without destroying
itself, for it seems that we cannot think of objects that are not in
time and space, which have no number, etc. Other ideas are contingent
and unsteady; we can conceive of their being unknown to a man, a society
or an epoch; but these others appear to be nearly inseparable from the
normal working of the intellect. They are like the framework of the
intelligence. Now when primitive religious beliefs are systematically
analysed, the principal categories are naturally found. They are born in
religion and of religion; they are a product of religious thought. This
is a statement that we are going to have occasion to make many times in
the course of this work.

This remark has some interest of itself already; but here is what gives
it its real importance.

The general conclusion of the book which the reader has before him is
that religion is something eminently social. Religious representations
are collective representations which express collective realities; the
rites are a manner of acting which take rise in the midst of the
assembled groups and which are destined to excite, maintain or recreate
certain mental states in these groups. So if the categories are of
religious origin, they ought to participate in this nature common to all
religious facts; they too should be social affairs and the product of
collective thought. At least--for in the actual condition of our
knowledge of these matters, one should be careful to avoid all radical
and exclusive statements--it is allowable to suppose that they are rich
in social elements.

Even at present, these can be imperfectly seen in some of them. For
example, try to represent what the notion of time would be without the
processes by which we divide it, measure it or express it with objective
signs, a time which is not a succession of years, months, weeks, days
and hours! This is something nearly unthinkable. We cannot conceive of
time, except on condition of distinguishing its different moments. Now
what is the origin of this differentiation? Undoubtedly, the states of
consciousness which we have already experienced can be reproduced in us
in the same order in which they passed in the first place; thus portions
of our past become present again, though being clearly distinguished
from the present. But howsoever important this distinction may be for
our private experience, it is far from being enough to constitute the
notion or category of time. This does not consist merely in a
commemoration, either partial or integral, of our past life. It is an
abstract and impersonal frame which surrounds, not only our individual
existence, but that of all humanity. It is like an endless chart, where
all duration is spread out before the mind, and upon which all possible
events can be located in relation to fixed and determined guide lines.
It is not _my time_ that is thus arranged; it is time in general, such
as it is objectively thought of by everybody in a single civilization.
That alone is enough to give us a hint that such an arrangement ought to
be collective. And in reality, observation proves that these
indispensable guide lines, in relation to which all things are
temporally located, are taken from social life. The divisions into days,
weeks, months, years, etc., correspond to the periodical recurrence of
rites, feasts, and public ceremonies.[5] A calendar expresses the
rhythm of the collective activities, while at the same time its
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ADVERTISEMENT.


It is the honourable characteristic of Poetry that its materials are to
be found in every subject which can interest the human mind. The
evidence of this fact is to be sought, not in the writings of Critics,
but in those of Poets themselves.

The majority of the following poems are to be considered as experiments.
They were written chiefly with a view to ascertain how far the language
of conversation in the middle and lower classes of society is adapted to
the purposes of poetic pleasure. Readers accustomed to the gaudiness and
inane phraseology of many modern writers, if they persist in reading
this book to its conclusion, will perhaps frequently have to struggle
with feelings of strangeness and aukwardness: they will look round for
poetry, and will be induced to enquire by what species of courtesy these
attempts can be permitted to assume that title. It is desirable that
such readers, for their own sakes, should not suffer the solitary word
Poetry, a word of very disputed meaning, to stand in the way of their
gratification; but that, while they are perusing this book, they should
ask themselves if it contains a natural delineation of human passions,
human characters, and human incidents; and if the answer be favourable
to the author's wishes, that they should consent to be pleased in spite
of that most dreadful enemy to our pleasures, our own pre-established
codes of decision.

Readers of superior judgment may disapprove of the style in which many
of these pieces are executed it must be expected that many lines and
phrases will not exactly suit their taste. It will perhaps appear to
them, that wishing to avoid the prevalent fault of the day, the author
has sometimes descended too low, and that many of his expressions are
too familiar, and not of sufficient dignity. It is apprehended, that the
more conversant the reader is with our elder writers, and with those in
modern times who have been the most successful in painting manners and
passions, the fewer complaints of this kind will he have to make.

An accurate taste in poetry, and in all the other arts, Sir Joshua
Reynolds has observed, is an acquired talent, which can only be produced
by severe thought, and a long continued intercourse with the best models
of composition. This is mentioned not with so ridiculous a purpose as to
prevent the most inexperienced reader from judging for himself; but
merely to temper the rashness of decision, and to suggest that if poetry
be a subject on which much time has not been bestowed, the judgment may
be erroneous, and that in many cases it necessarily will be so.

The tale of Goody Blake and Harry Gill is founded on a
well-authenticated fact which happened in Warwickshire. Of the other
poems in the collection, it may be proper to say that they are either
absolute inventions of the author, or facts which took place within his
personal observation or that of his friends. The poem of the Thorn, as
the reader will soon discover, is not supposed to be spoken in the
author's own person: the character of the loquacious narrator will
sufficiently shew itself in the course of the story. The Rime of the
Ancyent Marinere was professedly written in imitation of the _style_, as
well as of the spirit of the elder poets; but with a few exceptions, the
Author believes that the language adopted in it has been equally
intelligible for these three last centuries. The lines entitled
Expostulation and Reply, and those which follow, arose out of
conversation with a friend who was somewhat unreasonably attached to
modern books of moral philosophy.




CONTENTS.


  The Rime of the Ancyent Marinere

  The Foster-Mother's Tale

  Lines left upon a Seat in a Yew-tree which stands near the Lake
      of Esthwaite

  The Nightingale, a Conversational Poem

  The Female Vagrant

  Goody Blake and Harry Gill

  Lines written at a small distance from my House, and sent
      by my little Boy to the Person to whom they are addressed

  Simon Lee, the old Huntsman

  Anecdote for Fathers

  We are seven

  Lines written in early spring

  The Thorn

  The last of the Flock

  The Dungeon

  The Mad Mother

  The Idiot Boy

  Lines written near Richmond, upon the Thames, at Evening

  Expostulation and Reply

  The Tables turned; an Evening Scene, on the same subject

  Old Man travelling

  The Complaint of a forsaken Indian Woman

  The Convict

  Lines written a few miles above Tintern Abbey




THE RIME OF THE ANCYENT MARINERE,
IN SEVEN PARTS.


ARGUMENT.

How a Ship having passed the Line was driven by Storms to the cold
Country towards the South Pole; and how from thence she made her course
to the tropical Latitude of the Great Pacific Ocean; and of the strange
things that befell; and in what manner the Ancyent Marinere came back to
his own Country.



    It is an ancyent Marinere,
      And he stoppeth one of three:
    "By thy long grey beard and thy glittering eye
      "Now wherefore stoppest me?

    "The Bridegroom's 
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PG #: 13415
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IT was said that a new person had appeared on the sea-front: a lady with
a little dog. Dmitri Dmitritch Gurov, who had by then been a fortnight
at Yalta, and so was fairly at home there, had begun to take an interest
in new arrivals. Sitting in Verney's pavilion, he saw, walking on the
sea-front, a fair-haired young lady of medium height, wearing a _béret_;
a white Pomeranian dog was running behind her.

And afterwards he met her in the public gardens and in the square
several times a day. She was walking alone, always wearing the same
_béret_, and always with the same white dog; no one knew who she was,
and every one called her simply "the lady with the dog."

"If she is here alone without a husband or friends, it wouldn't be amiss
to make her acquaintance," Gurov reflected.

He was under forty, but he had a daughter already twelve years old, and
two sons at school. He had been married young, when he was a student in
his second year, and by now his wife seemed half as old again as he. She
was a tall, erect woman with dark eyebrows, staid and dignified, and, as
she said of herself, intellectual. She read a great deal, used phonetic
spelling, called her husband, not Dmitri, but Dimitri, and he secretly
considered her unintelligent, narrow, inelegant, was afraid of her, and
did not like to be at home. He had begun being unfaithful to her long
ago--had been unfaithful to her often, and, probably on that account,
almost always spoke ill of women, and when they were talked about in his
presence, used to call them "the lower race."

It seemed to him that he had been so schooled by bitter experience that
he might call them what he liked, and yet he could not get on for two
days together without "the lower race." In the society of men he was
bored and not himself, with them he was cold and uncommunicative; but
when he was in the company of women he felt free, and knew what to say
to them and how to behave; and he was at ease with them even when he was
silent. In his appearance, in his character, in his whole nature, there
was something attractive and elusive which allured women and disposed
them in his favour; he knew that, and some force seemed to draw him,
too, to them.

Experience often repeated, truly bitter experience, had taught him long
ago that with decent people, especially Moscow people--always slow to
move and irresolute--every intimacy, which at first so agreeably
diversifies life and appears a light and charming adventure, inevitably
grows into a regular problem of extreme intricacy, and in the long run
the situation becomes unbearable. But at every fresh meeting with an
interesting woman this experience seemed to slip out of his memory, and
he was eager for life, and everything seemed simple and amusing.

One evening he was dining in the gardens, and the lady in the _béret_
came up slowly to take the next table. Her expression, her gait, her
dress, and the way she did her hair told him that she was a lady, that
she was married, that she was in Yalta for the first time and alone, and
that she was dull there.... The stories told of the immorality in such
places as Yalta are to a great extent untrue; he despised them, and knew
that such stories were for the most part made up by persons who would
themselves have been glad to sin if they had been able; but when the
lady sat down at the next table three paces from him, he remembered
these tales of easy conquests, of trips to the mountains, and the
tempting thought of a swift, fleeting love affair, a romance with an
unknown woman, whose name he did not know, suddenly took possession of
him.

He beckoned coaxingly to the Pomeranian, and when the dog came up to him
he shook his finger at it. The Pomeranian growled: Gurov shook his
finger at it again.

The lady looked at him and at once dropped her eyes.

"He doesn't bite," she said, and blushed.

"May I give him a bone?" he asked; and when she nodded he asked
courteously, "Have you been long in Yalta?"

"Five days."

"And I have already dragged out a fortnight here."

There was a brief silence.

"Time goes fast, and yet it is so dull here!" she said, not looking at
him.

"That's only the fashion to say it is dull here. A provincial will live
in Belyov or Zhidra and not be dull, and when he comes here it's 'Oh,
the dulness! Oh, the dust!' One would think he came from Grenada."

She laughed. Then both continued eating in silence, like strangers, but
after dinner they walked side by side; and there sprang up between them
the light jesting conversation of people who are free and satisfied, to
whom it does not matter where they go or what they talk about. They
walked and talked of the strange light on the sea: the water was of a
soft warm lilac hue, and there was a golden streak from the moon upon
it. They talked of how sultry it was after a hot day. Gurov told her
that he came from Moscow, that he had taken his degree in Arts, but had
a post in a bank; that he had trained as an opera-singer, but had given
it up, 
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[Transcriber’s Note:

This text uses utf-8 (unicode) file encoding. If the apostrophes and
quotation marks in this paragraph appear as garbage, make sure your
text reader’s “character set” or “file encoding” is set to Unicode
(UTF-8). You may also need to change the default font. As a last
resort, use the ascii-7 version of the file instead.

The text of _The Tempest_ is from Volume I of the nine-volume 1863
Cambridge edition of Shakespeare. The Preface (e-text 23041) and the
other plays from this volume are each available as separate e-texts.

General Notes are in their original location at the end of the play.
Text-critical notes are grouped at the end of each Scene. All line
numbers are from the original text; line breaks in dialogue--including
prose passages--are unchanged. Brackets are also unchanged; to avoid
ambiguity, footnotes and linenotes are given without added brackets.
In the notes, numerals printed as subscripts are shown inline as
F1, F2, Q1....

Texts cited in the Notes are listed at the end of the e-text.]




  THE WORKS

  of

  WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE


  Edited by

  WILLIAM GEORGE CLARK, M.A.
  Fellow and Tutor of Trinity College, and Public Orator
  in the University of Cambridge;

  and JOHN GLOVER, M.A.
  Librarian Of Trinity College, Cambridge.


  _VOLUME I._


  Cambridge and London:
  MACMILLAN AND CO.
  1863.




THE TEMPEST.




DRAMATIS PERSONÆ[1].


  ALONSO, King of Naples.
  SEBASTIAN, his brother.
  PROSPERO, the right Duke of Milan.
  ANTONIO, his brother, the usurping Duke of Milan.
  FERDINAND, son to the King of Naples.
  GONZALO, an honest old Counsellor.
  ADRIAN, Lord
  FRANCISCO, „
  CALIBAN, a savage and deformed Slave.
  TRINCULO, a Jester.
  STEPHANO, a drunken Butler.
  Master of a Ship.
  Boatswain.
  Mariners.

  MIRANDA, daughter to Prospero.

  ARIEL, an airy Spirit.
  IRIS, presented by[2] Spirits.
  CERES,     „             „
  JUNO,      „             „
  Nymphs,    „             „
  Reapers,   „             „

  Other Spirits attending on Prospero[3].

SCENE--_A ship at sea[4]: an uninhabited island._


  Footnotes:

  1: DRAMATIS PERSONÆ] NAMES OF THE ACTORS F1 at the end of the Play.
  2: _presented by_] Edd.
  3: _Other ... Prospero_] Theobald.
  4: A ship at sea:] At sea: Capell.]




THE TEMPEST.




ACT I.


SCENE I. _On a ship at sea: a tempestuous noise of thunder
and lightning heard._

  _Enter _a Ship-Master_ and _a Boatswain_._

_Mast._ Boatswain!

_Boats._ Here, master: what cheer?

_Mast._ Good, speak to the mariners: fall to’t, yarely, or
we run ourselves aground: bestir, bestir.    [_Exit._

  _Enter _Mariners_._

_Boats._ Heigh, my hearts! cheerly, cheerly, my hearts!              5
yare, yare! Take in the topsail. Tend to the master’s
whistle. Blow, till thou burst thy wind, if room enough!

  _Enter ALONSO, SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, FERDINAND, GONZALO,
  and others._

_Alon._ Good boatswain, have care. Where’s the master?
Play the men.

_Boats._ I pray now, keep below.                                    10

_Ant._ Where is the master, boatswain?

_Boats._ Do you not hear him? You mar our labour:
keep your cabins: you do assist the storm.

_Gon._ Nay, good, be patient.

_Boats._ When the sea is. Hence! What cares these                   15
roarers for the name of king? To cabin: silence! trouble
us not.

_Gon._ Good, yet remember whom thou hast aboard.

_Boats._ None that I more love than myself. You are a
Counsellor; if you can command these elements to silence,           20
and work the peace of the present, we will not hand a rope
more; use your authority: if you cannot, give thanks you
have lived so long, and make yourself ready in your cabin
for the mischance of the hour, if it so hap. Cheerly, good
hearts! Out of our way, I say.    [_Exit._                          25

_Gon._ I have great comfort from this fellow: methinks
he hath no drowning mark upon him; his complexion is
perfect gallows. Stand fast, good Fate, to his hanging:
make the rope of his destiny our cable, for our own doth
little advantage. If he be not born to be hanged, our case          30
is miserable.    [_Exeunt._

  _Re-enter Boatswain._

_Boats._ Down with the topmast! yare! lower, lower!
Bring her to try with main-course. [_A cry within._] A
plague upon this howling! they are louder than the weather
or our office.                                                      35

  _Re-enter SEBASTIAN, ANTONIO, and GONZALO._

Yet again! what do you here? Shall we give o’er, and
drown? Have you a mind to sink?

_Seb._ A pox o’ your throat, you bawling, blasphemous,
incharitable dog!

_Boats._ Work you, then.                                            40

_Ant._ Hang, cur! hang, you whoreson, insolent noise-maker.
We are less afraid to be drowned than thou art.

_Gon._ I’ll warrant him for drowning; though the ship
were no stronger than a nutshell, and as leaky as an unstanched
wench.                                                              45

_Boats._ Lay her a-hold, a-hol
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THE STRANGE MAN’S ARRIVAL


The stranger came early in February, one wintry day, through a biting
wind and a driving snow, the last snowfall of the year, over the down,
walking from Bramblehurst railway station, and carrying a little black
portmanteau in his thickly gloved hand. He was wrapped up from head to
foot, and the brim of his soft felt hat hid every inch of his face but
the shiny tip of his nose; the snow had piled itself against his
shoulders and chest, and added a white crest to the burden he carried.
He staggered into the “Coach and Horses” more dead than alive, and
flung his portmanteau down. “A fire,” he cried, “in the name of human
charity! A room and a fire!” He stamped and shook the snow from off
himself in the bar, and followed Mrs. Hall into her guest parlour to
strike his bargain. And with that much introduction, that and a couple
of sovereigns flung upon the table, he took up his quarters in the inn.

Mrs. Hall lit the fire and left him there while she went to prepare him
a meal with her own hands. A guest to stop at Iping in the wintertime
was an unheard-of piece of luck, let alone a guest who was no
“haggler,” and she was resolved to show herself worthy of her good
fortune. As soon as the bacon was well under way, and Millie, her
lymphatic maid, had been brisked up a bit by a few deftly chosen
expressions of contempt, she carried the cloth, plates, and glasses
into the parlour and began to lay them with the utmost _éclat_.
Although the fire was burning up briskly, she was surprised to see that
her visitor still wore his hat and coat, standing with his back to her
and staring out of the window at the falling snow in the yard. His
gloved hands were clasped behind him, and he seemed to be lost in
thought. She noticed that the melting snow that still sprinkled his
shoulders dripped upon her carpet. “Can I take your hat and coat, sir?”
she said, “and give them a good dry in the kitchen?”

“No,” he said without turning.

She was not sure she had heard him, and was about to repeat her
question.

He turned his head and looked at her over his shoulder. “I prefer to
keep them on,” he said with emphasis, and she noticed that he wore big
blue spectacles with sidelights, and had a bush side-whisker over his
coat-collar that completely hid his cheeks and face.

“Very well, sir,” she said. “_As_ you like. In a bit the room will be
warmer.”

He made no answer, and had turned his face away from her again, and
Mrs. Hall, feeling that her conversational advances were ill-timed,
laid the rest of the table things in a quick staccato and whisked out
of the room. When she returned he was still standing there, like a man
of stone, his back hunched, his collar turned up, his dripping hat-brim
turned down, hiding his face and ears completely. She put down the eggs
and bacon with considerable emphasis, and called rather than said to
him, “Your lunch is served, sir.”

“Thank you,” he said at the same time, and did not stir until she was
closing the door. Then he swung round and approached the table with a
certain eager quickness.

As she went behind the bar to the kitchen she heard a sound repeated at
regular intervals. Chirk, chirk, chirk, it went, the sound of a spoon
being rapidly whisked round a basin. “That girl!” she said. “There! I
clean forgot it. It’s her being so long!” And while she herself
finished mixing the mustard, she gave Millie a few verbal stabs for her
excessive slowness. She had cooked the ham and eggs, laid the table,
and done everything, while Millie (help indeed!) had only succeeded in
delaying the mustard. And him a new guest and wanting to stay! Then she
filled the mustard pot, and, putting it with a certain stateliness upon
a gold and black tea-tray, carried it into the parlour.

She rapped and entered promptly. As she did so her visitor moved
quickly, so that she got but a glimpse of a white object disappearing
behind the table. It would seem he was picking something from the
floor. She rapped down the mustard pot on the table, and then she
noticed the overcoat and hat had been taken off and put over a chair in
front of the fire, and a pair of wet boots threatened rust to her steel
fender. She went to these things resolutely. “I suppose I may have them
to dry now,” she said in a voice that brooked no denial.

“Leave the hat,” said her visitor, in a muffled voice, and turning she
saw he had raised his head and was sitting and looking at her.

For a moment she stood gaping at him, too surprised to speak.

He held a white cloth—it was a serviette he had brought with him—over
the lower part of his face, so that his mouth and jaws were completely
hidden, and that was the reason of his muffled voice. But it was not
that which startled Mrs. Hall. It was the fact that all his forehead
above his blue glasses was covered by a white bandage, and that another
covered his ears, leaving not a scrap of his face exposed excepting
only his pink, peaked nose. It was bright, pink, and shiny just as it
h
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THE VISION

OF

HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE

BY

DANTE ALIGHIERI






PARADISE

Complete



TRANSLATED BY

THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A.



PARADISE



LIST OF CANTOS
Canto 1
Canto 2
Canto 3
Canto 4
Canto 5
Canto 6
Canto 7
Canto 8
Canto 9
Canto 10
Canto 11
Canto 12
Canto 13
Canto 14
Canto 15
Canto 16
Canto 17
Canto 18
Canto 19
Canto 20
Canto 21
Canto 22
Canto 23
Canto 24
Canto 25
Canto 26
Canto 27
Canto 28
Canto 29
Canto 30
Canto 31
Canto 32
Canto 33




CANTO I

His glory, by whose might all things are mov'd,
Pierces the universe, and in one part
Sheds more resplendence, elsewhere less.  In heav'n,
That largeliest of his light partakes, was I,
Witness of things, which to relate again
Surpasseth power of him who comes from thence;
For that, so near approaching its desire
Our intellect is to such depth absorb'd,
That memory cannot follow.  Nathless all,
That in my thoughts I of that sacred realm
Could store, shall now be matter of my song.

Benign Apollo! this last labour aid,
And make me such a vessel of thy worth,
As thy own laurel claims of me belov'd.
Thus far hath one of steep Parnassus' brows
Suffic'd me; henceforth there is need of both
For my remaining enterprise Do thou
Enter into my bosom, and there breathe
So, as when Marsyas by thy hand was dragg'd
Forth from his limbs unsheath'd.  O power divine!
If thou to me of shine impart so much,
That of that happy realm the shadow'd form
Trac'd in my thoughts I may set forth to view,
Thou shalt behold me of thy favour'd tree
Come to the foot, and crown myself with leaves;
For to that honour thou, and my high theme
Will fit me.  If but seldom, mighty Sire!
To grace his triumph gathers thence a wreath
Caesar or bard (more shame for human wills
Deprav'd) joy to the Delphic god must spring
From the Pierian foliage, when one breast
Is with such thirst inspir'd.  From a small spark
Great flame hath risen: after me perchance
Others with better voice may pray, and gain
From the Cirrhaean city answer kind.

Through diver passages, the world's bright lamp
Rises to mortals, but through that which joins
Four circles with the threefold cross, in best
Course, and in happiest constellation set
He comes, and to the worldly wax best gives
Its temper and impression.  Morning there,
Here eve was by almost such passage made;
And whiteness had o'erspread that hemisphere,
Blackness the other part; when to the left
I saw Beatrice turn'd, and on the sun
Gazing, as never eagle fix'd his ken.
As from the first a second beam is wont
To issue, and reflected upwards rise,
E'en as a pilgrim bent on his return,
So of her act, that through the eyesight pass'd
Into my fancy, mine was form'd; and straight,
Beyond our mortal wont, I fix'd mine eyes
Upon the sun.  Much is allowed us there,
That here exceeds our pow'r; thanks to the place
Made for the dwelling of the human kind

I suffer'd it not long, and yet so long
That I beheld it bick'ring sparks around,
As iron that comes boiling from the fire.
And suddenly upon the day appear'd
A day new-ris'n, as he, who hath the power,
Had with another sun bedeck'd the sky.

Her eyes fast fix'd on the eternal wheels,
Beatrice stood unmov'd; and I with ken
Fix'd upon her, from upward gaze remov'd
At her aspect, such inwardly became
As Glaucus, when he tasted of the herb,
That made him peer among the ocean gods;
Words may not tell of that transhuman change:
And therefore let the example serve, though weak,
For those whom grace hath better proof in store

If I were only what thou didst create,
Then newly, Love! by whom the heav'n is rul'd,
Thou know'st, who by thy light didst bear me up.
Whenas the wheel which thou dost ever guide,
Desired Spirit! with its harmony
Temper'd of thee and measur'd, charm'd mine ear,
Then seem'd to me so much of heav'n to blaze
With the sun's flame, that rain or flood ne'er made
A lake so broad.  The newness of the sound,
And that great light, inflam'd me with desire,
Keener than e'er was felt, to know their cause.

Whence she who saw me, clearly as myself,
To calm my troubled mind, before I ask'd,
Open'd her lips, and gracious thus began:
"With false imagination thou thyself
Mak'st dull, so that thou seest not the thing,
Which thou hadst seen, had that been shaken off.
Thou art not on the earth as thou believ'st;
For light'ning scap'd from its own proper place
Ne'er ran, as thou hast hither now return'd."

Although divested of my first-rais'd doubt,
By those brief words, accompanied with smiles,
Yet in new doubt was I entangled more,
And said: "Already satisfied, I rest
From admiration deep, but now admire
How I above those lighter bodies rise."

Whence, after utt'rance of a piteous sigh,
She tow'rds me bent her eyes, with such a look,
As on her frenzied child a mother casts;
Then thus began: "Among themselves all things
Have order; and from hence the form, which makes
The universe resemble God.  In this
The higher creatures see the printed steps
Of that eternal worth, which is the end
Whither the line is drawn.  All natures
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That all our knowledge begins with experience there can be no doubt.
For how is it possible that the faculty of cognition should be awakened
into exercise otherwise than by means of objects which affect our
senses, and partly of themselves produce representations, partly rouse
our powers of understanding into activity, to compare to connect, or to
separate these, and so to convert the raw material of our sensuous
impressions into a knowledge of objects, which is called experience? In
respect of time, therefore, no knowledge of ours is antecedent to
experience, but begins with it.

But, though all our knowledge begins with experience, it by no means
follows that all arises out of experience. For, on the contrary, it is
quite possible that our empirical knowledge is a compound of that which
we receive through impressions, and that which the faculty of cognition
supplies from itself (sensuous impressions giving merely the occasion),
an addition which we cannot distinguish from the original element given
by sense, till long practice has made us attentive to, and skilful in
separating it. It is, therefore, a question which requires close
investigation, and not to be answered at first sight, whether there
exists a knowledge altogether independent of experience, and even of
all sensuous impressions? Knowledge of this kind is called à priori, in
contradistinction to empirical knowledge, which has its sources à
posteriori, that is, in experience.

But the expression, “à priori,” is not as yet definite enough
adequately to indicate the whole meaning of the question above started.
For, in speaking of knowledge which has its sources in experience, we
are wont to say, that this or that may be known à priori, because we do
not derive this knowledge immediately from experience, but from a
general rule, which, however, we have itself borrowed from experience.
Thus, if a man undermined his house, we say, “he might know à priori
that it would have fallen;” that is, he needed not to have waited for
the experience that it did actually fall. But still, à priori, he could
not know even this much. For, that bodies are heavy, and, consequently,
that they fall when their supports are taken away, must have been known
to him previously, by means of experience.

By the term “knowledge à priori,” therefore, we shall in the sequel
understand, not such as is independent of this or that kind of
experience, but such as is absolutely so of all experience. Opposed to
this is empirical knowledge, or that which is possible only à
posteriori, that is, through experience. Knowledge à priori is either
pure or impure. Pure knowledge à priori is that with which no empirical
element is mixed up. For example, the proposition, “Every change has a
cause,” is a proposition à priori, but impure, because change is a
conception which can only be derived from experience.

Possession of Certain Cognitions “à priori”.

The question now is as to a criterion, by which we may securely
distinguish a pure from an empirical cognition. Experience no doubt
teaches us that this or that object is constituted in such and such a
manner, but not that it could not possibly exist otherwise. Now, in the
first place, if we have a proposition which contains the idea of
necessity in its very conception, it is priori. If, moreover, it is not
derived from any other proposition, unless from one equally involving
the idea of necessity, it is absolutely priori. Secondly, an empirical
judgement never exhibits strict and absolute, but only assumed and
comparative universality (by induction); therefore, the most we can say
is—so far as we have hitherto observed, there is no exception to this
or that rule. If, on the other hand, a judgement carries with it strict
and absolute universality, that is, admits of no possible exception, it
is not derived from experience, but is valid absolutely à priori.

Empirical universality is, therefore, only an arbitrary extension of
validity, from that which may be predicated of a proposition valid in
most cases, to that which is asserted of a proposition which holds good
in all; as, for example, in the affirmation, “All bodies are heavy.”
When, on the contrary, strict universality characterizes a judgement,
it necessarily indicates another peculiar source of knowledge, namely,
a faculty of cognition à priori. Necessity and strict universality,
therefore, are infallible tests for distinguishing pure from empirical
knowledge, and are inseparably connected with each other. But as in the
use of these criteria the empirical limitation is sometimes more easily
detected than the contingency of the judgement, or the unlimited
universality which we attach to a judgement is often a more convincing
proof than its necessity, it may be advisable to use the criteria
separately, each being by itself infallible.

Now, that in the sphere of human cognition we have judgements which are
necessary, and in the strictest sense universal, consequently pure à
priori, it wi
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PG #: 40686
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Dualism.

    Origin of Deism--Evolution from the far to the near--Illustrations
    from Witchcraft--The primitive Pantheism--The dawn of Dualism


The Genesis of Demons.

    Their good names euphemistic--Their mixed character--Illustrations:
    Beelzebub, Loki--Demon-germs--The knowledge of good and
    evil--Distinction between Demon and Devil



Degradation.

    The degradation of Deities--Indicated in names--Legends of
    their fall--Incidental signs of the divine origin of Demons and
    Devils



The Abgott.

    The ex-god--Deities demonised by conquest--Theological animosity--
    Illustration from the Avesta--Devil-worship an arrested Deism--
    Sheik Adi--Why Demons were painted ugly--Survivals of their beauty



Classification.

    The obstructions of man--The twelve chief classes--Modifications of
    particular forms for various functions--Theological Demons


Part II.



Hunger.

    Hunger-demons--Kephn--Miru--Kagura--Ráhu the Hindu sun-devourer--
    The earth monster at Pelsall--A Franconian custom--Sheitan as
    moon-devourer--Hindu offerings to the dead--Ghoul--Goblin--
    Vampyres--Leanness of demons--Old Scotch custom--The origin of
    sacrifices



Heat.

    Demons of fire--Agni--Asmodeus--Prometheus--Feast of fire--Moloch
    --Tophet--Genii of the lamp--Bel-fires--Hallowe'en--Negro
    superstitions--Chinese fire-god--Volcanic and incendiary demons--
    Mangaian fire-demon--Demons' fear of water



Cold.

    Descent of Ishtar into Hades--Bardism--Baldur--Herakles--Christ--
    Survivals of the Frost Giant in Slavonic and other countries--
    The Clavie--The Frozen Hell--The Northern abode of Demons--North
    side of churches



Elements.

    A Scottish Munasa--Rudra--Siva's lightning eye--The flaming
    sword--Limping Demons--Demons of the storm--Helios, Elias,
    Perun--Thor arrows--The Bob-tailed Dragon--Whirlwind--Japanese
    Thunder God--Christian survivals--Jinni--Inundations--Noah--Nik,
    Nicholas, Old Nick--Nixies--Hydras--Demons of the Danube--Tides
    --Survivals in Russia and England



Animals.

    Animal demons distinguished--Trivial sources of Mythology--
    Hedgehog--Fox--Transmigrations in Japan--Horses bewitched--
    Rats--Lions--Cats--The Dog--Goethe's horror of dogs--Superstitions
    of the Parsees, people of Travancore, and American Negroes, Red
    Indians, &c.--Cynocephaloi--The Wolf--Traditions of the Nez Perces
    --Fenris--Fables--The Boar--The Bear--Serpent--Every animal power
    to harm demonised--Horns



Enemies.

    Aryas, Dasyus,
    Nagas--Yakkhos--Lycians--Ethiopians--Hirpini--Polites--Sosipolis--
    Were-wolves--Goths and Scythians--Giants and Dwarfs--Berserkers--
    Britons--Iceland--Mimacs--Gog and Magog



Barrenness.

    Indian Famine and Sun-spots--Sun-worship--Demon of the Desert--The
    Sphinx--Egyptian Plagues described by Lepsius: Locusts, Hurricane,
    Flood, Mice, Flies--The Sheikh's ride--Abaddon--Set--Typhon--The
    Cain wind--Seth--Mirage--The Desert Eden--Azazel--Tawiscara and
    the Wild-rose



Obstacles.

    Mephistopheles on crags--Emerson on Monadnoc--Ruskin on Alpine
    peasants--Holy and unholy mountains--The Devil's Pulpit--
    Montagnards--Tarns--Tenjo--T'ai-shan--Apocatequil--Tyrolese
    legends--Rock ordeal--Scylla and Charybdis--Scottish giants--
    Pontifex--Devil's bridges--Le géant Yéous



Illusion.

    Maya--Natural Treacheries--Misleaders--Glamour--Lorelei--Chinese
    Mermaid--Transformations--Swan Maidens--Pigeon Maidens--The
    Seal-skin--Nudity--Teufelsee--Gohlitsee--Japanese Siren--Dropping
    Cave--Venusberg--Godiva--Will-o'-Wisp--Holy Fräulein--The Forsaken
    Merman--The Water-Man--Sea Phantom--Sunken Treasures--Suicide



Darkness.

    Shadows--Night Deities--Kobolds--Walpurgisnacht--Night as
    Abettor of Evil-doers--Nightmare--Dreams--Invisible Foes--Jacob
    and his Phantom--Nott--The Prince of Darkness--The Brood of
    Midnight--Second-Sight--Spectres of Souter Fell--The Moonshine
    Vampyre--Glamour--Glam and Grettir--A-Story of Dartmoor



Disease.

    The Plague Phantom--Devil-dances--Destroying Angels--Ahriman in
    Astrology--Saturn--Satan and Job--Set--The Fatal Seven--Yakseyo--
    The Singhalese Pretraya--Reeri--Maha Sohon--Morotoo--Luther on
    Disease-demons--Gopolu--Madan--Cattle-demon in Russia--Bihlweisen
    --The Plough



Death.

    The Vendetta of Death--Teoyaomiqui--Demon of Serpents--Death on
    the Pale Horse--Kali--War-gods--Satan as Death--Death-beds--
    Thanatos--Yama--Yimi--Towers of Silence--Alcestis--Herakles,
    Christ, and Death--Hell--Salt--Azraël--Death and the Cobbler--
    Dance of Death--Death as Foe and as Friend



Part III.



Decline of Demons.

    The Holy Tree of Travancore--The growth of Demons in India,
    and their decline--The Nepaul Iconoclast--Moral Man and unmoral
    Nature--Man's physical and mental migrations--Heine's 'Gods in
    Exile'--The Goban Saor--Master Smith--A Greek caricature of
    the 
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  INTRODUCTORY--ANCESTRY--THE NORTHUP FAMILY--BIRTH AND
  PARENTAGE--MINTUS NORTHUP--MARRIAGE WITH ANNE HAMPTON--GOOD
  RESOLUTIONS--CHAMPLAIN CANAL--RAFTING EXCURSION TO
  CANADA--FARMING--THE VIOLIN--COOKING--REMOVAL TO SARATOGA--PARKER AND
  PERRY--SLAVES AND SLAVERY--THE CHILDREN--THE BEGINNING OF SORROW.


Having been born a freeman, and for more than thirty years enjoyed
the blessings of liberty in a free State--and having at the end of
that time been kidnapped and sold into Slavery, where I remained,
until happily rescued in the month of January, 1853, after a bondage
of twelve years--it has been suggested that an account of my life and
fortunes would not be uninteresting to the public.

Since my return to liberty, I have not failed to perceive the
increasing interest throughout the Northern States, in regard to
the subject of Slavery. Works of fiction, professing to portray
its features in their more pleasing as well as more repugnant
aspects, have been circulated to an extent unprecedented, and, as I
understand, have created a fruitful topic of comment and discussion.

I can speak of Slavery only so far as it came under my own
observation--only so far as I have known and experienced it in my
own person. My object is, to give a candid and truthful statement of
facts: to repeat the story of my life, without exaggeration, leaving
it for others to determine, whether even the pages of fiction present
a picture of more cruel wrong or a severer bondage.

As far back as I have been able to ascertain, my ancestors on the
paternal side were slaves in Rhode Island. They belonged to a family
by the name of Northup, one of whom, removing to the State of
New-York, settled at Hoosic, in Rensselaer county. He brought with him
Mintus Northup, my father. On the death of this gentleman, which must
have occurred some fifty years ago, my father became free, having been
emancipated by a direction in his will.

Henry B. Northup, Esq., of Sandy Hill, a distinguished counselor at
law, and the man to whom, under Providence, I am indebted for my
present liberty, and my return to the society of my wife and children,
is a relative of the family in which my forefathers were thus held to
service, and from which they took the name I bear. To this fact may be
attributed the persevering interest he has taken in my behalf.

Sometime after my father's liberation, he removed to the town of
Minerva, Essex county, N. Y., where I was born, in the month of July,
1808. How long he remained in the latter place I have not the means
of definitely ascertaining. From thence he removed to Granville,
Washington county, near a place known as Slyborough, where, for some
years, he labored on the farm of Clark Northup, also a relative of his
old master; from thence he removed to the Alden farm, at Moss Street,
a short distance north of the village of Sandy Hill; and from thence
to the farm now owned by Russel Pratt, situated on the road leading
from Fort Edward to Argyle, where he continued to reside until his
death, which took place on the 22d day of November, 1829. He left a
widow and two children--myself, and Joseph, an elder brother. The
latter is still living in the county of Oswego, near the city of that
name; my mother died during the period of my captivity.

Though born a slave, and laboring under the disadvantages to which
my unfortunate race is subjected, my father was a man respected for
his industry and integrity, as many now living, who well remember
him, are ready to testify. His whole life was passed in the peaceful
pursuits of agriculture, never seeking employment in those more menial
positions, which seem to be especially allotted to the children of
Africa. Besides giving us an education surpassing that ordinarily
bestowed upon children in our condition, he acquired, by his diligence
and economy, a sufficient property qualification to entitle him to
the right of suffrage. He was accustomed to speak to us of his early
life; and although at all times cherishing the warmest emotions of
kindness, and even of affection towards the family, in whose house
he had been a bondsman, he nevertheless comprehended the system of
Slavery, and dwelt with sorrow on the degradation of his race. He
endeavored to imbue our minds with sentiments of morality, and to
teach us to place our trust and confidence in Him who regards the
humblest as well as the highest of his creatures. How often since
that time has the recollection of his paternal counsels occurred to
me, while lying in a slave hut in the distant and sickly regions of
Louisiana, smarting with the undeserved wounds which an inhuman master
had inflicted, and longing only for the grave which had covered him,
to shield me also from the lash of the oppressor. In the church-yard
at Sandy Hill, an humble stone marks the spot where he reposes, after
having worthily performed the duties appertaining to the lowly sphere
wherein God had appointed him to walk.

Up to this period I had been principally enga
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Fortunately, he had no opportunity to give the duke this proof of his
devotion, and the young woman and the handsome Musketeer entered the
Louvre by the wicket of the Echelle without any interference.

As for d’Artagnan, he immediately repaired to the cabaret of the
Pomme-de-Pin, where he found Porthos and Aramis awaiting him. Without
giving them any explanation of the alarm and inconvenience he had caused
them, he told them that he had terminated the affair alone in which he
had for a moment believed he should need their assistance.

Meanwhile, carried away as we are by our narrative, we must leave our
three friends to themselves, and follow the Duke of Buckingham and his
guide through the labyrinths of the Louvre.




12 GEORGE VILLIERS, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM


Mme. Bonacieux and the duke entered the Louvre without difficulty. Mme.
Bonacieux was known to belong to the queen; the duke wore the uniform of
the Musketeers of M. de Treville, who, as we have said, were that
evening on guard. Besides, Germain was in the interests of the queen;
and if anything should happen, Mme. Bonacieux would be accused of having
introduced her lover into the Louvre, that was all. She took the risk
upon herself. Her reputation would be lost, it is true; but of what
value in the world was the reputation of the little wife of a mercer?

Once within the interior of the court, the duke and the young woman
followed the wall for the space of about twenty-five steps. This space
passed, Mme. Bonacieux pushed a little servants’ door, open by day but
generally closed at night. The door yielded. Both entered, and found
themselves in darkness; but Mme. Bonacieux was acquainted with all the
turnings and windings of this part of the Louvre, appropriated for the
people of the household. She closed the door after her, took the duke by
the hand, and after a few experimental steps, grasped a balustrade, put
her foot upon the bottom step, and began to ascend the staircase. The
duke counted two stories. She then turned to the right, followed the
course of a long corridor, descended a flight, went a few steps farther,
introduced a key into a lock, opened a door, and pushed the duke into an
apartment lighted only by a lamp, saying, “Remain here, my Lord Duke;
someone will come.” She then went out by the same door, which she
locked, so that the duke found himself literally a prisoner.

Nevertheless, isolated as he was, we must say that the Duke of
Buckingham did not experience an instant of fear. One of the salient
points of his character was the search for adventures and a love of
romance. Brave, rash, and enterprising, this was not the first time he
had risked his life in such attempts. He had learned that the pretended
message from Anne of Austria, upon the faith of which he had come to
Paris, was a snare; but instead of regaining England, he had, abusing
the position in which he had been placed, declared to the queen that he
would not depart without seeing her. The queen had at first positively
refused; but at length became afraid that the duke, if exasperated,
would commit some folly. She had already decided upon seeing him and
urging his immediate departure, when, on the very evening of coming to
this decision, Mme. Bonacieux, who was charged with going to fetch the
duke and conducting him to the Louvre, was abducted. For two days no one
knew what had become of her, and everything remained in suspense; but
once free, and placed in communication with Laporte, matters resumed
their course, and she accomplished the perilous enterprise which, but
for her arrest, would have been executed three days earlier.

Buckingham, left alone, walked toward a mirror. His Musketeer’s uniform
became him marvelously.

At thirty-five, which was then his age, he passed, with just title, for
the handsomest gentleman and the most elegant cavalier of France or
England.

The favorite of two kings, immensely rich, all-powerful in a kingdom
which he disordered at his fancy and calmed again at his caprice, George
Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, had lived one of those fabulous existences
which survive, in the course of centuries, to astonish posterity.

Sure of himself, convinced of his own power, certain that the laws which
rule other men could not reach him, he went straight to the object he
aimed at, even were this object were so elevated and so dazzling that it
would have been madness for any other even to have contemplated it. It
was thus he had succeeded in approaching several times the beautiful and
proud Anne of Austria, and in making himself loved by dazzling her.

George Villiers placed himself before the glass, as we have said,
restored the undulations to his beautiful hair, which the weight of his
hat had disordered, twisted his mustache, and, his heart swelling with
joy, happy and proud at being near the moment he had so long sighed for,
he smiled upon himself with pride and hope.

At this moment a door concealed in the tapestry opened, and a woman
appeared. Bucki
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PG #: 271
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BLACK BEAUTY

The Autobiography of a Horse

by Anna Sewell [English Quaker -- 1820-1878.]



[Note: 'Black Beauty' was originally published in 1877. This etext was
transcribed from an American edition of 1911. Some small corrections
were made, after being confirmed against other sources.]




     To my dear and honored Mother,
     whose life, no less than her pen,
     has been devoted to the welfare of others,
     this little book is affectionately dedicated.




Contents


     Part I

     Chapter
     01      My Early Home
     02      The Hunt
     03      My Breaking In
     04      Birtwick Park
     05      A Fair Start
     06      Liberty
     07      Ginger
     08      Ginger's Story Continued
     09      Merrylegs
     10      A Talk in the Orchard
     11      Plain Speaking
     12      A Stormy Day
     13      The Devil's Trade Mark
     14      James Howard
     15      The Old Hostler
     16      The Fire
     17      John Manly's Talk
     18      Going for the Doctor
     19      Only Ignorance
     20      Joe Green
     21      The Parting


     Part II

     22      Earlshall
     23      A Strike for Liberty
     24      The Lady Anne, or a Runaway Horse
     25      Reuben Smith
     26      How it Ended
     27      Ruined and Going Downhill
     28      A Job Horse and His Drivers
     29      Cockneys
     30      A Thief
     31      A Humbug


     Part III

     32      A Horse Fair
     33      A London Cab Horse
     34      An Old War Horse
     35      Jerry Barker
     36      The Sunday Cab
     37      The Golden Rule
     38      Dolly and a Real Gentleman
     39      Seedy Sam
     40      Poor Ginger
     41      The Butcher
     42      The Election
     43      A Friend in Need
     44      Old Captain and His Successor
     45      Jerry's New Year


     Part IV

     46      Jakes and the Lady
     47      Hard Times
     48      Farmer Thoroughgood and His Grandson Willie
     49      My Last Home





Black Beauty




Part I




01 My Early Home


The first place that I can well remember was a large pleasant meadow
with a pond of clear water in it. Some shady trees leaned over it, and
rushes and water-lilies grew at the deep end. Over the hedge on one side
we looked into a plowed field, and on the other we looked over a gate
at our master's house, which stood by the roadside; at the top of the
meadow was a grove of fir trees, and at the bottom a running brook
overhung by a steep bank.

While I was young I lived upon my mother's milk, as I could not eat
grass. In the daytime I ran by her side, and at night I lay down close
by her. When it was hot we used to stand by the pond in the shade of the
trees, and when it was cold we had a nice warm shed near the grove.

As soon as I was old enough to eat grass my mother used to go out to
work in the daytime, and come back in the evening.

There were six young colts in the meadow besides me; they were older
than I was; some were nearly as large as grown-up horses. I used to run
with them, and had great fun; we used to gallop all together round and
round the field as hard as we could go. Sometimes we had rather rough
play, for they would frequently bite and kick as well as gallop.

One day, when there was a good deal of kicking, my mother whinnied to me
to come to her, and then she said:

“I wish you to pay attention to what I am going to say to you. The colts
who live here are very good colts, but they are cart-horse colts, and
of course they have not learned manners. You have been well-bred
and well-born; your father has a great name in these parts, and
your grandfather won the cup two years at the Newmarket races; your
grandmother had the sweetest temper of any horse I ever knew, and I
think you have never seen me kick or bite. I hope you will grow up
gentle and good, and never learn bad ways; do your work with a good
will, lift your feet up well when you trot, and never bite or kick even
in play.”

I have never forgotten my mother's advice; I knew she was a wise old
horse, and our master thought a great deal of her. Her name was Duchess,
but he often called her Pet.

Our master was a good, kind man. He gave us good food, good lodging, and
kind words; he spoke as kindly to us as he did to his little children.
We were all fond of him, and my mother loved him very much. When she saw
him at the gate she would neigh with joy, and trot up to him. He would
pat and stroke her and say, “Well, old Pet, and how is your little
Darkie?” I was a dull black, so he called me Darkie; then he would give
me a piece of bread, which was very good, and sometimes he brought a
carrot for my mother. All the horses would come to him, but I think we
were his favorites. My mother always took him to the town on a market
day in a light gig.

There was a plowboy, Dick, who sometimes came into our field to pluck
blackberries from the hedge. When he had eaten all he wanted he would
have what he called fun with the colts, throwing stones and 
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THERE IS NO ONE LEFT


When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle
everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. It
was true, too. She had a little thin face and a little thin body, thin
light hair and a sour expression. Her hair was yellow, and her face was
yellow because she had been born in India and had always been ill in one
way or another. Her father had held a position under the English
Government and had always been busy and ill himself, and her mother had
been a great beauty who cared only to go to parties and amuse herself
with gay people. She had not wanted a little girl at all, and when Mary
was born she handed her over to the care of an Ayah, who was made to
understand that if she wished to please the Mem Sahib she must keep the
child out of sight as much as possible. So when she was a sickly,
fretful, ugly little baby she was kept out of the way, and when she
became a sickly, fretful, toddling thing she was kept out of the way
also. She never remembered seeing familiarly anything but the dark faces
of her Ayah and the other native servants, and as they always obeyed her
and gave her her own way in everything, because the Mem Sahib would be
angry if she was disturbed by her crying, by the time she was six years
old she was as tyrannical and selfish a little pig as ever lived. The
young English governess who came to teach her to read and write disliked
her so much that she gave up her place in three months, and when other
governesses came to try to fill it they always went away in a shorter
time than the first one. So if Mary had not chosen to really want to
know how to read books she would never have learned her letters at all.

One frightfully hot morning, when she was about nine years old, she
awakened feeling very cross, and she became crosser still when she saw
that the servant who stood by her bedside was not her Ayah.

"Why did you come?" she said to the strange woman. "I will not let you
stay. Send my Ayah to me."

The woman looked frightened, but she only stammered that the Ayah could
not come and when Mary threw herself into a passion and beat and kicked
her, she looked only more frightened and repeated that it was not
possible for the Ayah to come to Missie Sahib.

There was something mysterious in the air that morning. Nothing was done
in its regular order and several of the native servants seemed missing,
while those whom Mary saw slunk or hurried about with ashy and scared
faces. But no one would tell her anything and her Ayah did not come. She
was actually left alone as the morning went on, and at last she wandered
out into the garden and began to play by herself under a tree near the
veranda. She pretended that she was making a flower-bed, and she stuck
big scarlet hibiscus blossoms into little heaps of earth, all the time
growing more and more angry and muttering to herself the things she
would say and the names she would call Saidie when she returned.

"Pig! Pig! Daughter of Pigs!" she said, because to call a native a pig
is the worst insult of all.

She was grinding her teeth and saying this over and over again when she
heard her mother come out on the veranda with some one. She was with a
fair young man and they stood talking together in low strange voices.
Mary knew the fair young man who looked like a boy. She had heard that
he was a very young officer who had just come from England. The child
stared at him, but she stared most at her mother. She always did this
when she had a chance to see her, because the Mem Sahib--Mary used to
call her that oftener than anything else--was such a tall, slim, pretty
person and wore such lovely clothes. Her hair was like curly silk and
she had a delicate little nose which seemed to be disdaining things, and
she had large laughing eyes. All her clothes were thin and floating, and
Mary said they were "full of lace." They looked fuller of lace than ever
this morning, but her eyes were not laughing at all. They were large and
scared and lifted imploringly to the fair boy officer's face.

"Is it so very bad? Oh, is it?" Mary heard her say.

"Awfully," the young man answered in a trembling voice. "Awfully, Mrs.
Lennox. You ought to have gone to the hills two weeks ago."

The Mem Sahib wrung her hands.

"Oh, I know I ought!" she cried. "I only stayed to go to that silly
dinner party. What a fool I was!"

At that very moment such a loud sound of wailing broke out from the
servants' quarters that she clutched the young man's arm, and Mary stood
shivering from head to foot. The wailing grew wilder and wilder.

"What is it? What is it?" Mrs. Lennox gasped.

"Some one has died," answered the boy officer. "You did not say it had
broken out among your servants."

"I did not know!" the Mem Sahib cried. "Come with me! Come with me!" and
she turned and ran into the house.

After that appalling things happened, and the mysteriousness of the
morning was explained to Mary. The cholera had broken out in its 
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PG #: 2781
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JUST SO STORIES

By Rudyard Kipling




TABLE OF CONTENTS:

     HOW THE WHALE GOT HIS THROAT
     HOW THE CAMEL GOT HIS HUMP
     HOW THE RHINOCEROS GOT HIS SKIN
     HOW THE LEOPARD GOT HIS SPOTS
     THE ELEPHANT’S CHILD
     THE SING-SONG OF OLD MAN KANGAROO
     THE BEGINNING OF THE ARMADILLOS
     HOW THE FIRST LETTER WAS WRITTEN
     HOW THE ALPHABET WAS MADE
     THE CRAB THAT PLAYED WITH THE SEA
     THE CAT THAT WALKED BY HIMSELF
     THE BUTTERFLY THAT STAMPED




HOW THE WHALE GOT HIS THROAT

IN the sea, once upon a time, O my Best Beloved, there was a Whale, and
he ate fishes. He ate the starfish and the garfish, and the crab and the
dab, and the plaice and the dace, and the skate and his mate, and the
mackereel and the pickereel, and the really truly twirly-whirly eel. All
the fishes he could find in all the sea he ate with his mouth--so! Till
at last there was only one small fish left in all the sea, and he was a
small ‘Stute Fish, and he swam a little behind the Whale’s right ear,
so as to be out of harm’s way. Then the Whale stood up on his tail and
said, ‘I’m hungry.’ And the small ‘Stute Fish said in a small ‘stute
voice, ‘Noble and generous Cetacean, have you ever tasted Man?’

‘No,’ said the Whale. ‘What is it like?’

‘Nice,’ said the small ‘Stute Fish. ‘Nice but nubbly.’

‘Then fetch me some,’ said the Whale, and he made the sea froth up with
his tail.

‘One at a time is enough,’ said the ‘Stute Fish. ‘If you swim to
latitude Fifty North, longitude Forty West (that is magic), you will
find, sitting _on_ a raft, _in_ the middle of the sea, with nothing on
but a pair of blue canvas breeches, a pair of suspenders (you must _not_
forget the suspenders, Best Beloved), and a jack-knife, one
ship-wrecked Mariner, who, it is only fair to tell you, is a man of
infinite-resource-and-sagacity.’

So the Whale swam and swam to latitude Fifty North, longitude Forty
West, as fast as he could swim, and _on_ a raft, _in_ the middle of the
sea, _with_ nothing to wear except a pair of blue canvas breeches, a
pair of suspenders (you must particularly remember the suspenders, Best
Beloved), _and_ a jack-knife, he found one single, solitary shipwrecked
Mariner, trailing his toes in the water. (He had his mummy’s leave to
paddle, or else he would never have done it, because he was a man of
infinite-resource-and-sagacity.)

Then the Whale opened his mouth back and back and back till it nearly
touched his tail, and he swallowed the shipwrecked Mariner, and the
raft he was sitting on, and his blue canvas breeches, and the suspenders
(which you _must_ not forget), _and_ the jack-knife--He swallowed them
all down into his warm, dark, inside cup-boards, and then he smacked his
lips--so, and turned round three times on his tail.

But as soon as the Mariner, who was a man of
infinite-resource-and-sagacity, found himself truly inside the Whale’s
warm, dark, inside cup-boards, he stumped and he jumped and he thumped
and he bumped, and he pranced and he danced, and he banged and he
clanged, and he hit and he bit, and he leaped and he creeped, and he
prowled and he howled, and he hopped and he dropped, and he cried and he
sighed, and he crawled and he bawled, and he stepped and he lepped, and
he danced hornpipes where he shouldn’t, and the Whale felt most unhappy
indeed. (_Have_ you forgotten the suspenders?)

So he said to the ‘Stute Fish, ‘This man is very nubbly, and besides he
is making me hiccough. What shall I do?’

‘Tell him to come out,’ said the ‘Stute Fish.

So the Whale called down his own throat to the shipwrecked Mariner,
‘Come out and behave yourself. I’ve got the hiccoughs.’

‘Nay, nay!’ said the Mariner. ‘Not so, but far otherwise. Take me to my
natal-shore and the white-cliffs-of-Albion, and I’ll think about it.’
And he began to dance more than ever.

 ‘You had better take him home,’ said the ‘Stute Fish to the Whale.
 ‘I ought to have warned you that he is a man of infinite-resource-and-sagacity.’

So the Whale swam and swam and swam, with both flippers and his tail,
as hard as he could for the hiccoughs; and at last he saw the Mariner’s
natal-shore and the white-cliffs-of-Albion, and he rushed half-way
up the beach, and opened his mouth wide and wide and wide, and said,
‘Change here for Winchester, Ashuelot, Nashua, Keene, and stations on
the _Fitch_burg Road;’ and just as he said ‘Fitch’ the Mariner walked
out of his mouth. But while the Whale had been swimming, the Mariner,
who was indeed a person of infinite-resource-and-sagacity, had taken his
jack-knife and cut up the raft into a little square grating all running
criss-cross, and he had tied it firm with his suspenders (_now_, you
know why you were not to forget the suspenders!), and he dragged that
grating good and tight into the Whale’s throat, and there it stuck! Then
he recited the following _Sloka_, which, as you have not heard it, I
will now proceed to relate--

  By means of a grating
  I have stopped your ating.

For the Mariner he was al
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PG #: 86
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CAMELOT

“Camelot--Camelot,” said I to myself.  “I don't seem to remember
hearing of it before.  Name of the asylum, likely.”

It was a soft, reposeful summer landscape, as lovely as a dream,
and as lonesome as Sunday.  The air was full of the smell of
flowers, and the buzzing of insects, and the twittering of birds,
and there were no people, no wagons, there was no stir of life,
nothing going on.  The road was mainly a winding path with hoof-prints
in it, and now and then a faint trace of wheels on either side in
the grass--wheels that apparently had a tire as broad as one's hand.

Presently a fair slip of a girl, about ten years old, with a cataract
of golden hair streaming down over her shoulders, came along.
Around her head she wore a hoop of flame-red poppies. It was as
sweet an outfit as ever I saw, what there was of it.  She walked
indolently along, with a mind at rest, its peace reflected in her
innocent face.  The circus man paid no attention to her; didn't
even seem to see her.  And she--she was no more startled at his
fantastic make-up than if she was used to his like every day of
her life.  She was going by as indifferently as she might have gone
by a couple of cows; but when she happened to notice me, _then_
there was a change!  Up went her hands, and she was turned to stone;
her mouth dropped open, her eyes stared wide and timorously, she
was the picture of astonished curiosity touched with fear.  And
there she stood gazing, in a sort of stupefied fascination, till
we turned a corner of the wood and were lost to her view.  That
she should be startled at me instead of at the other man, was too
many for me; I couldn't make head or tail of it.  And that she
should seem to consider me a spectacle, and totally overlook her
own merits in that respect, was another puzzling thing, and a
display of magnanimity, too, that was surprising in one so young.
There was food for thought here.  I moved along as one in a dream.

As we approached the town, signs of life began to appear.  At
intervals we passed a wretched cabin, with a thatched roof, and
about it small fields and garden patches in an indifferent state of
cultivation.  There were people, too; brawny men, with long, coarse,
uncombed hair that hung down over their faces and made them look
like animals.  They and the women, as a rule, wore a coarse
tow-linen robe that came well below the knee, and a rude sort of
sandal, and many wore an iron collar.  The small boys and girls
were always naked; but nobody seemed to know it.  All of these
people stared at me, talked about me, ran into the huts and fetched
out their families to gape at me; but nobody ever noticed that
other fellow, except to make him humble salutation and get no
response for their pains.

In the town were some substantial windowless houses of stone
scattered among a wilderness of thatched cabins; the streets were
mere crooked alleys, and unpaved; troops of dogs and nude children
played in the sun and made life and noise; hogs roamed and rooted
contentedly about, and one of them lay in a reeking wallow in
the middle of the main thoroughfare and suckled her family.
Presently there was a distant blare of military music; it came
nearer, still nearer, and soon a noble cavalcade wound into view,
glorious with plumed helmets and flashing mail and flaunting banners
and rich doublets and horse-cloths and gilded spearheads; and
through the muck and swine, and naked brats, and joyous dogs, and
shabby huts, it took its gallant way, and in its wake we followed.
Followed through one winding alley and then another,--and climbing,
always climbing--till at last we gained the breezy height where
the huge castle stood.  There was an exchange of bugle blasts;
then a parley from the walls, where men-at-arms, in hauberk and
morion, marched back and forth with halberd at shoulder under
flapping banners with the rude figure of a dragon displayed upon
them; and then the great gates were flung open, the drawbridge
was lowered, and the head of the cavalcade swept forward under
the frowning arches; and we, following, soon found ourselves in
a great paved court, with towers and turrets stretching up into
the blue air on all the four sides; and all about us the dismount
was going on, and much greeting and ceremony, and running to and
fro, and a gay display of moving and intermingling colors, and
an altogether pleasant stir and noise and confusion.




KING ARTHUR'S COURT

The moment I got a chance I slipped aside privately and touched
an ancient common looking man on the shoulder and said, in an
insinuating, confidential way:

“Friend, do me a kindness.  Do you belong to the asylum, or are
you just on a visit or something like that?”

He looked me over stupidly, and said:

“Marry, fair sir, me seemeth--”

“That will do,” I said; “I reckon you are a patient.”

I moved away, cogitating, and at the same time keeping an eye
out for any chance passenger in his right mind that might come
along and give me some light.  I j
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COMMON SENSE;

addressed to the

INHABITANTS

of

AMERICA,

On the following interesting

SUBJECTS

    Of the Origin and Design of Government in general,
    with concise Remarks on the English Constitution.
    Of Monarchy and Hereditary Succession
    Thoughts on the present State of American Affairs
    Of the present Ability of America, with some
    miscellaneous Reflections

A new edition, with several additions in the body of the work. To
which is added an appendix; together with an address to the people
called Quakers.

Man knows no Master save creating Heaven
Or those whom choice and common good ordain.

Thomson.

PHILADELPHIA

Printed and sold by W. & T. Bradford, February 14, 1776.

MDCCLXXVI



Common Sense
By Thomas Paine





INTRODUCTION.

Perhaps the sentiments contained in the following pages, are not yet
sufficiently fashionable to procure them general favor; a long habit
of not thinking a thing wrong, gives it a superficial appearance of
being right, and raises at first a formidable outcry in defense of
custom. But the tumult soon subsides. Time makes more converts than
reason.

As a long and violent abuse of power, is generally the Means of
calling the right of it in question (and in Matters too which might
never have been thought of, had not the Sufferers been aggravated
into the inquiry) and as the King of England hath undertaken in his
own Right, to support the Parliament in what he calls Theirs, and as
the good people of this country are grievously oppressed by the
combination, they have an undoubted privilege to inquire into the
pretensions of both, and equally to reject the usurpation of either.

In the following sheets, the author hath studiously avoided every
thing which is personal among ourselves. Compliments as well as
censure to individuals make no part thereof. The wise, and the
worthy, need not the triumph of a pamphlet; and those whose
sentiments are injudicious, or unfriendly, will cease of themselves
unless too much pains are bestowed upon their conversion.

The cause of America is in a great measure the cause of all mankind.
Many circumstances hath, and will arise, which are not local, but
universal, and through which the principles of all Lovers of Mankind
are affected, and in the Event of which, their Affections are
interested. The laying a Country desolate with Fire and Sword,
declaring War against the natural rights of all Mankind, and
extirpating the Defenders thereof from the Face of the Earth, is the
Concern of every Man to whom Nature hath given the Power of feeling;
of which Class, regardless of Party Censure, is the

AUTHOR

P.S. The Publication of this new Edition hath been delayed, with a
View of taking notice (had it been necessary) of any Attempt to
refute the Doctrine of Independance: As no Answer hath yet appeared,
it is now presumed that none will, the Time needful for getting such
a Performance ready for the Public being considerably past.

Who the Author of this Production is, is wholly unnecessary to the
Public, as the Object for Attention is the Doctrine itself, not the
Man. Yet it may not be unnecessary to say, That he is unconnected
with any Party, and under no sort of Influence public or private,
but the influence of reason and principle.

Philadelphia, February 14, 1776



OF THE ORIGIN AND DESIGN OF GOVERNMENT IN GENERAL,
WITH CONCISE REMARKS ON THE ENGLISH CONSTITUTION.

Some writers have so confounded society with government, as to leave
little or no distinction between them; whereas they are not only
different, but have different origins. Society is produced by our
wants, and government by our wickedness; the former promotes our
happiness positively by uniting our affections, the latter
negatively by restraining our vices. The one encourages intercourse,
the other creates distinctions. The first a patron, the last a
punisher.

Society in every state is a blessing, but government even in its
best state is but a necessary evil; in its worst state an
intolerable one; for when we suffer, or are exposed to the same
miseries by a government, which we might expect in a country without
government, our calamity is heightened by reflecting that we furnish
the means by which we suffer. Government, like dress, is the badge
of lost innocence; the palaces of kings are built on the ruins of
the bowers of paradise. For were the impulses of conscience clear,
uniform, and irresistibly obeyed, man would need no other lawgiver;
but that not being the case, he finds it necessary to surrender up a
part of his property to furnish means for the protection of the rest;
and this he is induced to do by the same prudence which in every
other case advises him out of two evils to choose the least.
Wherefore, security being the true design and end of government, it
unanswerably follows that whatever form thereof appears most likely
to ensure it to us, with the least expence and greatest benefit, is
preferable to all others.

In order to gain a clear and just idea of the 
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generously made available by The Internet Archive/Canadian
Libraries)









                               THE WORKS

                                  OF

                          AURELIUS AUGUSTINE,

                           BISHOP OF HIPPO.

                         _A NEW TRANSLATION._

                            =Edited by the=

                        REV. MARCUS DODS, M.A.


                                VOL. I.

                           THE CITY OF GOD,

                               VOLUME I.


                              EDINBURGH:
                   T. & T. CLARK, 38, GEORGE STREET.

                              MDCCCLXXI.




                      PRINTED BY MURRAY AND GIBB,

                                  FOR

                       T. & T. CLARK, EDINBURGH.

                LONDON,         HAMILTON, ADAMS, AND CO.
                DUBLIN,         JOHN ROBERTSON AND CO.
                NEW YORK,       C. SCRIBNER AND CO.




                                  THE

                             CITY OF GOD.

                          =Translated by the=

                        REV. MARCUS DODS, M.A.

                               VOLUME I.


                              EDINBURGH:
                   T. & T. CLARK, 38, GEORGE STREET.

                              MDCCCLXXI.


Of the following Work, Books IV. XVII. and XVIII. have been
translated by the Rev. GEORGE WILSON, Glenluce; Books V. VI. VII. and
VIII. by the Rev. J. J. SMITH.




                               CONTENTS.


                                BOOK I.

                                                               PAGE

  Augustine censures the pagans, who attributed the calamities of the
      world, and especially the sack of Rome by the Goths, to the
      Christian religion and its prohibition of the worship of the
      gods,                                                       1


                               BOOK II.

  A review of the calamities suffered by the Romans before the time
      of Christ, showing that their gods had plunged them into
      corruption and vice,                                       48


                               BOOK III.

  The external calamities of Rome,                               91


                               BOOK IV.

  That empire was given to Rome not by the gods, but by the One True
      God,                                                      135


                                BOOK V.

  Of fate, freewill, and God's prescience, and of the source of the
      virtues of the ancient Romans,                            177


                               BOOK VI.

  Of Varro's threefold division of theology, and of the inability of
      the gods to contribute anything to the happiness of the future
      life,                                                     228


                               BOOK VII.

  Of the "select gods" of the civil theology, and that eternal life
      is not obtained by worshipping them,                      258


                              BOOK VIII.

  Some account of the Socratic and Platonic philosophy, and a
      refutation of the doctrine of Apuleius that the demons should
      be worshipped as mediators between gods and men,          305


                               BOOK IX.

  Of those who allege a distinction among demons, some being good
      and others evil,                                          353

                                BOOK X.

  Porphyry's doctrine of redemption,                            382


                               BOOK XI.

  Augustine passes to the second part of the work, in which the
      origin, progress, and destinies of the earthly and heavenly
      cities are discussed.--Speculations regarding the creation of
      the world,                                                436


                               BOOK XII.

  Of the creation of angels and men, and of the origin of evil, 481


                              BOOK XIII.

  That death is penal, and had its origin in Adam's sin,        521




                           EDITOR'S PREFACE.


"Rome having been stormed and sacked by the Goths under Alaric
their king,[1] the worshippers of false gods, or pagans, as we
commonly call them, made an attempt to attribute this calamity to
the Christian religion, and began to blaspheme the true God with
even more than their wonted bitterness and acerbity. It was this
which kindled my zeal for the house of God, and prompted me to
undertake the defence of the city of God against the charges and
misrepresentations of its assailants. This work was in my hands for
several years, owing to the interruptions occasioned by many other
affairs which had a prior claim on my attention, and which I could
not defer. However, this great undertaking was at last completed in
twenty-two books. Of these, the first five refute those who fancy
that the polytheistic worship is necessary 
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The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his
little home. First with brooms, then with dusters; then on ladders and
steps and chairs, with a brush and a pail of whitewash; till he had dust
in his throat and eyes, and splashes of whitewash all over his black
fur, and an aching back and weary arms. Spring was moving in the air
above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his dark
and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing.
It was small wonder, then, that he suddenly flung down his brush on the
floor, said ‘Bother!’ and ‘O blow!’ and also ‘Hang spring-cleaning!’
and bolted out of the house without even waiting to put on his coat.
Something up above was calling him imperiously, and he made for
the steep little tunnel which answered in his case to the gravelled
carriage-drive owned by animals whose residences are nearer to the sun
and air. So he scraped and scratched and scrabbled and scrooged and
then he scrooged again and scrabbled and scratched and scraped, working
busily with his little paws and muttering to himself, ‘Up we go! Up we
go!’ till at last, pop! his snout came out into the sunlight, and he
found himself rolling in the warm grass of a great meadow.

‘This is fine!’ he said to himself. ‘This is better than whitewashing!’
The sunshine struck hot on his fur, soft breezes caressed his heated
brow, and after the seclusion of the cellarage he had lived in so long
the carol of happy birds fell on his dulled hearing almost like a shout.
Jumping off all his four legs at once, in the joy of living and the
delight of spring without its cleaning, he pursued his way across the
meadow till he reached the hedge on the further side.

‘Hold up!’ said an elderly rabbit at the gap. ‘Sixpence for the
privilege of passing by the private road!’ He was bowled over in an
instant by the impatient and contemptuous Mole, who trotted along the
side of the hedge chaffing the other rabbits as they peeped hurriedly
from their holes to see what the row was about. ‘Onion-sauce!
Onion-sauce!’ he remarked jeeringly, and was gone before they could
think of a thoroughly satisfactory reply. Then they all started
grumbling at each other. ‘How STUPID you are! Why didn’t you tell
him----’ ‘Well, why didn’t YOU say----’ ‘You might have reminded
him----’ and so on, in the usual way; but, of course, it was then much
too late, as is always the case.

It all seemed too good to be true. Hither and thither through the
meadows he rambled busily, along the hedgerows, across the
copses, finding everywhere birds building, flowers budding, leaves
thrusting--everything happy, and progressive, and occupied. And instead
of having an uneasy conscience pricking him and whispering ‘whitewash!’
he somehow could only feel how jolly it was to be the only idle dog
among all these busy citizens. After all, the best part of a holiday
is perhaps not so much to be resting yourself, as to see all the other
fellows busy working.

He thought his happiness was complete when, as he meandered aimlessly
along, suddenly he stood by the edge of a full-fed river. Never in
his life had he seen a river before--this sleek, sinuous, full-bodied
animal, chasing and chuckling, gripping things with a gurgle and
leaving them with a laugh, to fling itself on fresh playmates that shook
themselves free, and were caught and held again. All was a-shake and
a-shiver--glints and gleams and sparkles, rustle and swirl, chatter and
bubble. The Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascinated. By the side of
the river he trotted as one trots, when very small, by the side of a man
who holds one spell-bound by exciting stories; and when tired at
last, he sat on the bank, while the river still chattered on to him,
a babbling procession of the best stories in the world, sent from the
heart of the earth to be told at last to the insatiable sea.

As he sat on the grass and looked across the river, a dark hole in the
bank opposite, just above the water’s edge, caught his eye, and dreamily
he fell to considering what a nice snug dwelling-place it would make for
an animal with few wants and fond of a bijou riverside residence, above
flood level and remote from noise and dust. As he gazed, something
bright and small seemed to twinkle down in the heart of it, vanished,
then twinkled once more like a tiny star. But it could hardly be a star
in such an unlikely situation; and it was too glittering and small for a
glow-worm. Then, as he looked, it winked at him, and so declared itself
to be an eye; and a small face began gradually to grow up round it, like
a frame round a picture.

A brown little face, with whiskers.

A grave round face, with the same twinkle in its eye that had first
attracted his notice.

Small neat ears and thick silky hair.

It was the Water Rat!

Then the two animals stood and regarded each other cautiously.

‘Hullo, Mole!’ said the Water Rat.

‘Hullo, Rat!’ said the Mole.

‘Would you like to come over?’ enquired the
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BARTLEBY, THE SCRIVENER.

A STORY OF WALL-STREET.

I am a rather elderly man.  The nature of my avocations for the last
thirty years has brought me into more than ordinary contact with what
would seem an interesting and somewhat singular set of men, of whom as
yet nothing that I know of has ever been written:--I mean the
law-copyists or scriveners.  I have known very many of them,
professionally and privately, and if I pleased, could relate divers
histories, at which good-natured gentlemen might smile, and sentimental
souls might weep.  But I waive the biographies of all other scriveners
for a few passages in the life of Bartleby, who was a scrivener of the
strangest I ever saw or heard of.  While of other law-copyists I might
write the complete life, of Bartleby nothing of that sort can be done.
I believe that no materials exist for a full and satisfactory biography
of this man.  It is an irreparable loss to literature.  Bartleby was one
of those beings of whom nothing is ascertainable, except from the
original sources, and in his case those are very small.  What my own
astonished eyes saw of Bartleby, _that_ is all I know of him, except,
indeed, one vague report which will appear in the sequel.

Ere introducing the scrivener, as he first appeared to me, it is fit I
make some mention of myself, my _employees_, my business, my chambers,
and general surroundings; because some such description is indispensable
to an adequate understanding of the chief character about to be
presented.

Imprimis:  I am a man who, from his youth upwards, has been filled with
a profound conviction that the easiest way of life is the best.  Hence,
though I belong to a profession proverbially energetic and nervous, even
to turbulence, at times, yet nothing of that sort have I ever suffered
to invade my peace.  I am one of those unambitious lawyers who never
addresses a jury, or in any way draws down public applause; but in the
cool tranquility of a snug retreat, do a snug business among rich men's
bonds and mortgages and title-deeds.  All who know me, consider me an
eminently _safe_ man.  The late John Jacob Astor, a personage little
given to poetic enthusiasm, had no hesitation in pronouncing my first
grand point to be prudence; my next, method.  I do not speak it in
vanity, but simply record the fact, that I was not unemployed in my
profession by the late John Jacob Astor; a name which, I admit, I love
to repeat, for it hath a rounded and orbicular sound to it, and rings
like unto bullion.  I will freely add, that I was not insensible to the
late John Jacob Astor's good opinion.

Some time prior to the period at which this little history begins, my
avocations had been largely increased.  The good old office, now extinct
in the State of New York, of a Master in Chancery, had been conferred
upon me.  It was not a very arduous office, but very pleasantly
remunerative.  I seldom lose my temper; much more seldom indulge in
dangerous indignation at wrongs and outrages; but I must be permitted to
be rash here and declare, that I consider the sudden and violent
abrogation of the office of Master in Chancery, by the new Constitution,
as a--premature act; inasmuch as I had counted upon a life-lease of the
profits, whereas I only received those of a few short years.  But this
is by the way.

My chambers were up stairs at No.--Wall-street.  At one end they looked
upon the white wall of the interior of a spacious sky-light shaft,
penetrating the building from top to bottom.  This view might have been
considered rather tame than otherwise, deficient in what landscape
painters call "life."  But if so, the view from the other end of my
chambers offered, at least, a contrast, if nothing more.  In that
direction my windows commanded an unobstructed view of a lofty brick
wall, black by age and everlasting shade; which wall required no
spy-glass to bring out its lurking beauties, but for the benefit of all
near-sighted spectators, was pushed up to within ten feet of my window
panes.  Owing to the great height of the surrounding buildings, and my
chambers being on the second floor, the interval between this wall and
mine not a little resembled a huge square cistern.

At the period just preceding the advent of Bartleby, I had two persons
as copyists in my employment, and a promising lad as an office-boy.
First, Turkey; second, Nippers; third, Ginger Nut.  These may seem
names, the like of which are not usually found in the Directory.  In
truth they were nicknames, mutually conferred upon each other by my
three clerks, and were deemed expressive of their respective persons or
characters.  Turkey was a short, pursy Englishman of about my own age,
that is, somewhere not far from sixty.  In the morning, one might say,
his face was of a fine florid hue, but after twelve o'clock,
meridian--his dinner hour--it blazed like a grate full of Christmas
coals; and continued blazing--but, as it were, with a gradual wane--till
6 o'clock, P.M. or thereabouts, after w
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MEMOIRS

OF

EXTRAORDINARY POPULAR DELUSIONS

AND THE

MADNESS OF CROWDS.


BY CHARLES MACKAY, LL.D.

AUTHOR OF "EGERIA," "THE SALAMANDRINE," ETC.

ILLUSTRATED WITH NUMEROUS ENGRAVINGS.

VOL. I.


    N'en déplaise à ces fous nommés sages de Grèce,
    En ce monde il n'est point de parfaite sagesse;
    Tous les hommes sont fous, et malgré tous leurs soîns
    Ne diffèrent entre eux que du plus ou du moins.
                                        BOILEAU.


LONDON:

OFFICE OF THE NATIONAL ILLUSTRATED LIBRARY,

227 STRAND.





LONDON:

PRINTED BY ROBSON, LEVEY, AND FRANKLYN,

Great New Street, Fetter Lane.




CONTENTS.


THE MISSISSIPPI SCHEME.

John Law; his birth and youthful career--Duel between Law and
Wilson--Law's escape from the King's Bench--The "Land-bank"--Law's
gambling propensities on the continent, and acquaintance with the Duke
of Orleans--State of France after the reign of Louis XIV.--Paper money
instituted in that country by Law--Enthusiasm of the French people at
the Mississippi Scheme--Marshal Villars--Stratagems employed and
bribes given for an interview with Law--Great fluctuations in
Mississippi stock--Dreadful murders--Law created comptroller-general
of finances--Great sale for all kinds of ornaments in Paris--Financial
difficulties commence--Men sent out to work the mines on the
Mississippi, as a blind--Payment stopped at the bank--Law dismissed
from the ministry--Payments made in specie--Law and the Regent
satirised in song--Dreadful crisis of the Mississippi Scheme--Law,
almost a ruined man, flies to Venice--Death of the Regent--Law obliged
to resort again to gambling--His death at Venice


THE SOUTH-SEA BUBBLE.

Originated by Harley Earl of Oxford--Exchange Alley a scene of great
excitement--Mr. Walpole--Sir John Blunt--Great demand for
shares--Innumerable "Bubbles"--List of nefarious projects and
bubbles--Great rise in South-sea stock--Sudden fall--General meeting
of the directors--Fearful climax of the South-sea expedition--Its
effects on society--Uproar in the House of Commons--Escape of
Knight--Apprehension of Sir John Blunt--Recapture of Knight at
Tirlemont--His second escape--Persons connected with the scheme
examined--Their respective punishments--Concluding remarks


THE TULIPOMANIA.

Conrad Gesner--Tulips brought from Vienna to England--Rage for the
tulip among the Dutch--Its great value--Curious anecdote of a sailor
and a tulip--Regular marts for tulips--Tulips employed as a means of
speculation--Great depreciation in their value--End of the mania


THE ALCHYMISTS.

Introductory remarks--Pretended antiquity of the
art--Geber--Alfarabi--Avicenna--Albertus Magnus--Thomas
Aquinas--Artephius--Alain de Lisle--Arnold de Villeneuve--Pietro
d'Apone--Raymond Lulli--Roger Bacon--Pope John XXII.--Jean de
Meung--Nicholas Flamel--George Ripley--Basil Valentine--Bernard of
Trèves--Trithemius--The Maréchal de Rays--Jacques Coeur--Inferior
adepts--Progress of the infatuation during the sixteenth and
seventeenth centuries--Augurello--Cornelius
Agrippa--Paracelsus--George Agricola--Denys Zachaire--Dr. Dee and
Edward Kelly--The Cosmopolite--Sendivogius--The Rosicrucians--Michael
Mayer--Robert Fludd--Jacob Böhmen--John Heydon--Joseph Francis
Borri--Alchymical writers of the seventeenth century--Delisle--Albert
Aluys--Count de St. Germain--Cagliostro--Present state of the science


MODERN PROPHECIES.

Terror of the approaching day of judgment--A comet the signal of that
day--The prophecy of Whiston--The people of Leeds greatly alarmed at
that event--The plague in Milan--Fortune-tellers and
Astrologers--Prophecy concerning the overflow of the Thames--Mother
Shipton--Merlin--Heywood--Peter of Pontefract--Robert
Nixon--Almanac-makers


FORTUNE-TELLING.

Presumption and weakness of man--Union of Fortune-tellers and
Alchymists--Judicial astrology encouraged in England from the time of
Elizabeth to William and Mary--Lilly the astrologer consulted by the
House of Commons as to the cause of the Fire of London--Encouragement
of the art in France and Germany--Nostradamus--Basil of
Florence--Antiochus Tibertus--Kepler--Necromancy--Roger Bacon,
Albertus Magnus, Arnold Villeneuve--Geomancy--Augury--Divination: list
of various species of divination--Oneiro-criticism (interpretation of
dreams)--Omens


THE MAGNETISERS.

The influence of imagination in curing diseases--Mineral
magnetisers--Paracelsus--Kircher the Jesuit--Sebastian Wirdig--William
Maxwell--The Convulsionaries of St. Medard--Father Hell--Mesmer, the
founder of Animal Magnetism--D'Eslon, his disciple--M. de
Puysegur--Dr. Mainauduc's success in London--Holloway, Loutherbourg,
Mary Pratt, &c.--Perkins's "Metallic Tractors"--Decline of the science


INFLUENCE OF POLITICS AND RELIGION ON THE HAIR AND BEARD.

Early modes of wearing the hair and beard--Excommunication and
outlawry decreed against curls--Louis VII.'s submission thereto the
cause of the long wars between England and France--Charles V. of Spain
and his courtiers--Peter the Great--H
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REGIMENT--GENERAL LOGAN--MARCH TO MISSOURI--MOVEMENT AGAINST HARRIS AT
FLORIDA, MO.--GENERAL POPE IN COMMAND--STATIONED AT MEXICO, MO.

--JEFFERSON CITY--CAPE GIRARDEAU--GENERAL PRENTISS--SEIZURE OF PADUCAH
--HEADQUARTERS AT CAIRO.

CHAPTER XX. GENERAL FREMONT IN COMMAND--MOVEMENT AGAINST BELMONT--BATTLE
OF BELMONT--A NARROW ESCAPE--AFTER THE BATTLE.

CHAPTER XXI. GENERAL HALLECK IN COMMAND--COMMANDING THE DISTRICT OF
CAIRO--MOVEMENT ON FORT HENRY--CAPTURE OF FORT HENRY.

CHAPTER XXII. INVESTMENT OF FORT DONELSON--THE NAVAL OPERATIONS--ATTACK
OF THE ENEMY--ASSAULTING THE WORKS--SURRENDER OF THE FORT.

CHAPTER XXIII. PROMOTED MAJOR-GENERAL OF VOLUNTEERS--UNOCCUPIED
TERRITORY--ADVANCE UPON NASHVILLE--SITUATION OF THE TROOPS--CONFEDERATE
RETREAT--RELIEVED OF THE COMMAND--RESTORED TO THE COMMAND--GENERAL
SMITH.

CONFEDERATE ATTACK AT SHILOH--THE FIRST DAY'S FIGHT AT SHILOH--GENERAL
SHERMAN--CONDITION OF THE ARMY--CLOSE OF THE FIRST DAY'S FIGHT--THE
SECOND DAY'S FIGHT--RETREAT AND DEFEAT OF THE CONFEDERATES.

CONFEDERATES--INTRENCHMENTS AT SHILOH--GENERAL BUELL--GENERAL JOHNSTON
--REMARKS ON SHILOH.

CHAPTER XXVI. HALLECK ASSUMES COMMAND IN THE FIELD--THE ADVANCE UPON
CORINTH--OCCUPATION OF CORINTH--THE ARMY SEPARATED.

CHAPTER XXVII. HEADQUARTERS MOVED TO MEMPHIS--ON THE ROAD TO MEMPHIS
--ESCAPING JACKSON--COMPLAINTS AND REQUESTS--HALLECK APPOINTED
COMMANDER-IN-CHIEF--RETURN TO CORINTH--MOVEMENTS OF BRAGG--SURRENDER
OF CLARKSVILLE--THE ADVANCE UPON CHATTANOOGA--SHERIDAN COLONEL OF A
MICHIGAN REGIMENT.

CHAPTER XXVIII. ADVANCE OF VAN DORN AND PRICE--PRICE ENTERS IUKA--BATTLE
OF IUKA.

CHAPTER XXIX. VAN DORN'S MOVEMENTS--BATTLE OF CORINTH--COMMAND OF THE
DEPARTMENT OF THE TENNESSEE.

CHAPTER XXX. THE CAMPAIGN AGAINST VICKSBURG--EMPLOYING THE FREEDMEN
--OCCUPATION OF HOLLY SPRINGS--SHERMAN ORDERED TO MEMPHIS--SHERMAN'S
MOVEMENTS DOWN THE MISSISSIPPI--VAN DORN CAPTURES HOLLY SPRINGS
--COLLECTING FORAGE AND FOOD.

COMMAND--ASSUMING COMMAND AT YOUNG'S POINT--OPERATIONS ABOVE VICKSBURG
--FORTIFICATIONS ABOUT VICKSBURG--THE CANAL--LAKE PROVIDENCE--OPERATIONS
AT YAZOO PASS.

NORTHERN PRESS--RUNNING THE BATTERIES--LOSS OF THE INDIANOLA
--DISPOSITION OF THE TROOPS.

CHAPTER XXXIII. ATTACK ON GRAND GULF--OPERATIONS BELOW VICKSBURG.

CHAPTER XXXIV. CAPTURE OF PORT GIBSON--GRIERSON'S RAID--OCCUPATION OF
GRAND GULF--MOVEMENT UP THE BIG BLACK--BATTLE OF RAYMOND.

CHAPTER XXXV. MOVEMENT AGAINST JACKSON--FALL OF JACKSON--INTERCEPTING
THE ENEMY--BATTLE OF CHAMPION'S HILL.

CHAPTER XXXVI. BATTLE OF BLACK RIVER BRIDGE--CROSSING THE BIG BLACK
--INVESTMENT OF VICKSBURG--ASSAULTING THE WORKS.

CHAPTER XXXVII. SIEGE OF VICKSBURG.

CHAPTER XXXVIII. JOHNSTON'S MOVEMENTS--FORTIFICATIONS AT HAINES'S BLUFF
--EXPLOSION OF THE MINE--EXPLOSION OF THE SECOND MINE--PREPARING FOR THE
ASSAULT--THE FLAG OF TRUCE--MEETING WITH PEMBERTON--NEGOTIATIONS FOR
SURRENDER--ACCEPTING THE TERMS--SURRENDER OF VICKSBURG.

MOVEMENT UPON MOBILE--A PAINFUL ACCIDENT--ORDERED TO REPORT AT CAIRO.



Volume one begins:





ANCESTRY--BIRTH--BOYHOOD.

My family is American, and has been for generations, in all its
branches, direct and collateral.

Mathew Grant, the founder of the branch in America, of which I am a
descendant, reached Dorchester, Massachusetts, in May, 1630.  In 1635 he
moved to what is now Windsor, Connecticut, and was the surveyor for that
colony for more than forty years.  He was also, for many years of the
time, town clerk.  He was a married man when he arrived at Dorchester,
but his children were all born in this country.  His eldest son, Samuel,
took lands on the east side of the Connecticut River, opposite Windsor,
which have been held and occupied by descendants of his to this day.

I am of the eighth generation from Mathew Grant, and seventh from
Samuel.  Mathew Grant's first wife died a few years after their
settlement in Windsor, and he soon after married the widow Rockwell,
who, with her first husband, had been fellow-passengers with him and his
first wife, on the ship Mary and John, from Dorchester, England, in
1630.  Mrs. Rockwell had several children by her first marriage, and
others by her second.  By intermarriage, two or three generations later,
I am descended from both the wives of Mathew Grant.

In the fifth descending generation my great grandfather, Noah Grant, and
his younger brother, Solomon, held commissions in the English army, in
1756, in the war against the French and Indians.  Both were killed that
year.

My grandfather, also named Noah, was then but nine years old. At the
breaking out of the war of the Revolution, after the battles of Concord
and Lexington, he went with a Connecticut company to join the
Continental army, and was present at the battle of Bunker Hill.  He
served until the fall of Yorktown, or through the entire Revolutionary
war.  He must, however, have been on furlough part of the time--as I
believe most of the soldiers of that period were--for he married in
Connecticut during the war, had two children, and 
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intimate friend, in his time, of Swann's father, an excellent but an
eccentric man in whom the least little thing would, it seemed, often
check the flow of his spirits and divert the current of his thoughts.
Several times in the course of a year I would hear my grandfather tell
at table the story, which never varied, of the behaviour of M. Swann the
elder upon the death of his wife, by whose bedside he had watched
day and night. My grandfather, who had not seen him for a long time,
hastened to join him at the Swanns' family property on the outskirts of
Combray, and managed to entice him for a moment, weeping profusely, out
of the death-chamber, so that he should not be present when the body was
laid in its coffin. They took a turn or two in the park, where there was
a little sunshine. Suddenly M. Swann seized my grandfather by the arm
and cried, "Oh, my dear old friend, how fortunate we are to be walking
here together on such a charming day! Don't you see how pretty they are,
all these trees--my hawthorns, and my new pond, on which you have never
congratulated me? You look as glum as a night-cap. Don't you feel this
little breeze? Ah! whatever you may say, it's good to be alive all the
same, my dear Amédée!" And then, abruptly, the memory of his dead wife
returned to him, and probably thinking it too complicated to inquire
into how, at such a time, he could have allowed himself to be carried
away by an impulse of happiness, he confined himself to a gesture which
he habitually employed whenever any perplexing question came into his
mind: that is, he passed his hand across his forehead, dried his eyes,
and wiped his glasses. And he could never be consoled for the loss of
his wife, but used to say to my grandfather, during the two years for
which he survived her, "It's a funny thing, now; I very often think
of my poor wife, but I cannot think of her very much at any one time."
"Often, but a little at a time, like poor old Swann," became one of my
grandfather's favourite phrases, which he would apply to all kinds of
things. And I should have assumed that this father of Swann's had been
a monster if my grandfather, whom I regarded as a better judge than
myself, and whose word was my law and often led me in the long run to
pardon offences which I should have been inclined to condemn, had not
gone on to exclaim, "But, after all, he had a heart of gold."

For many years, albeit--and especially before his marriage--M. Swann
the younger came often to see them at Combray, my great-aunt and
grandparents never suspected that he had entirely ceased to live in the
kind of society which his family had frequented, or that, under the
sort of incognito which the name of Swann gave him among us, they were
harbouring--with the complete innocence of a family of honest innkeepers
who have in their midst some distinguished highwayman and never know
it--one of the smartest members of the Jockey Club, a particular friend
of the Comte de Paris and of the Prince of Wales, and one of the
men most sought after in the aristocratic world of the Faubourg
Saint-Germain.

Our utter ignorance of the brilliant part which Swann was playing in
the world of fashion was, of course, due in part to his own reserve and
discretion, but also to the fact that middle-class people in those days
took what was almost a Hindu view of society, which they held to consist
of sharply defined castes, so that everyone at his birth found himself
called to that station in life which his parents already occupied,
and nothing, except the chance of a brilliant career or of a 'good'
marriage, could extract you from that station or admit you to a superior
caste. M. Swann, the father, had been a stockbroker; and so 'young
Swann' found himself immured for life in a caste where one's fortune, as
in a list of taxpayers, varied between such and such limits of income.
We knew the people with whom his father had associated, and so we knew
his own associates, the people with whom he was 'in a position to mix.'
If he knew other people besides, those were youthful acquaintances on
whom the old friends of the family, like my relatives, shut their eyes
all the more good-naturedly that Swann himself, after he was left an
orphan, still came most faithfully to see us; but we would have been
ready to wager that the people outside our acquaintance whom Swann knew
were of the sort to whom he would not have dared to raise his hat, had
he met them while he was walking with ourselves. Had there been such a
thing as a determination to apply to Swann a social coefficient peculiar
to himself, as distinct from all the other sons of other stockbrokers in
his father's position, his coefficient would have been rather lower than
theirs, because, leading a very simple life, and having always had
a craze for 'antiques' and pictures, he now lived and piled up his
collections in an old house which my grandmother longed to visit,
but which stood on the Quai d'Orléans, a neighbourhood in which my
great-au
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The Ethics

(Ethica Ordine Geometrico Demonstrata)


by

Benedict de Spinoza




Translated from the Latin by R. H. M. Elwes




PART I. CONCERNING GOD.

DEFINITIONS.


I.  By that which is self--caused, I mean that of which the
essence involves existence, or that of which the nature is only
conceivable as existent.

II.  A thing is called finite after its kind, when it can be
limited by another thing of the same nature; for instance, a
body is called finite because we always conceive another greater
body.  So, also, a thought is limited by another thought, but a
body is not limited by thought, nor a thought by body.

III.  By substance, I mean that which is in itself, and is
conceived through itself: in other words, that of which a
conception can be formed independently of any other conception.

IV.  By attribute, I mean that which the intellect perceives as
constituting the essence of substance.

V.  By mode, I mean the modifications[1] of substance, or that
which exists in, and is conceived through, something other than
itself.

[1] "Affectiones"

VI.  By God, I mean a being absolutely infinite--that is, a
substance consisting in infinite attributes, of which each
expresses eternal and infinite essentiality.

Explanation--I say absolutely infinite, not infinite after its
kind: for, of a thing infinite only after its kind, infinite
attributes may be denied; but that which is absolutely infinite,
contains in its essence whatever expresses reality, and involves
no negation.

VII.  That thing is called free, which exists solely by the
necessity of its own nature, and of which the action is
determined by itself alone.  On the other hand, that thing is
necessary, or rather constrained, which is determined by
something external to itself to a fixed and definite method of
existence or action.

VIII.  By eternity, I mean existence itself, in so far as it is
conceived necessarily to follow solely from the definition of
that which is eternal.

Explanation--Existence of this kind is conceived as an eternal
truth, like the essence of a thing, and, therefore, cannot be
explained by means of continuance or time, though continuance may
be conceived without a beginning or end.


AXIOMS.

I.  Everything which exists, exists either in itself or in
something else.

II.  That which cannot be conceived through anything else must be
conceived through itself.

III.  From a given definite cause an effect necessarily follows;
and, on the other hand, if no definite cause be granted, it is
impossible that an effect can follow.

IV.  The knowledge of an effect depends on and involves the
knowledge of a cause.

V.  Things which have nothing in common cannot be understood, the
one by means of the other; the conception of one does not
involve the conception of the other.

VI.  A true idea must correspond with its ideate or object.

VII.  If a thing can be conceived as non--existing, its essence
does not involve existence.


PROPOSITIONS.

PROP. I.  Substance is by nature prior to its modifications.

Proof.--This is clear from Deff. iii. and v.

PROP. II.  Two substances, whose attributes are different, have
nothing in common.

Proof.--Also evident from Def. iii.  For each must exist in
itself, and be conceived through itself; in other words, the
conception of one does not imply the conception of the other.

PROP. III.  Things which have nothing in common cannot be one the
cause of the other.

Proof.--If they have nothing in common, it follows that one
cannot be apprehended by means of the other (Ax. v.), and,
therefore, one cannot be the cause of the other (Ax. iv.).
Q.E.D.

PROP. IV.  Two or more distinct things are distinguished one from
the other, either by the difference of the attributes of the
substances, or by the difference of their modifications.

Proof.--Everything which exists, exists either in itself or in
something else (Ax. i.),--that is (by Deff. iii. and v.), nothing
is granted in addition to the understanding, except substance and
its modifications.  Nothing is, therefore, given besides the
understanding, by which several things may be distinguished one
from the other, except the substances, or, in other words (see
Ax. iv.), their attributes and modifications.  Q.E.D.

PROP. V.  There cannot exist in the universe two or more
substances having the same nature or attribute.

Proof.--If several distinct substances be granted, they must
be distinguished one from the other, either by the difference of
their attributes, or by the difference of their modifications
(Prop. iv.).  If only by the difference of their attributes, it
will be granted that there cannot be more than one with an
identical attribute.  If by the difference of their
modifications--as substance is naturally prior to its
modifications (Prop. i.),--it follows that setting the
modifications aside, and considering substance in itself, that is
truly, (Deff. iii. and vi.), there cannot be conceived one
substance different from another,--that is (by Prop. iv.), th
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_A HAND-BOOK OF MYTHOLOGY._

       *       *       *       *       *

THE

MYTHS AND LEGENDS

OF

ANCIENT GREECE AND ROME.

BY

E. M. BERENS.

_ILLUSTRATED FROM ANTIQUE SCULPTURES._

[Illustration]

NEW YORK:

MAYNARD, MERRILL, & CO.,

43, 45 AND 47 EAST TENTH STREET.

       *       *       *       *       *


{i}

PREFACE.

       *       *       *       *       *

The want of an interesting work on Greek and Roman mythology, suitable for
the requirements of both boys and girls, has long been recognized by the
principals of our advanced schools. The study of the classics themselves,
even where the attainments of the pupil have rendered this feasible, has
not been found altogether successful in giving to the student a clear and
succinct idea of the religious beliefs of the ancients, and it has been
suggested that a work which would so deal with the subject as to render it
at once interesting and instructive would be hailed as a valuable
introduction to the study of classic authors, and would be found to assist
materially the labours of both master and pupil.

In endeavouring to supply this want I have sought to place before the
reader a lifelike picture of the deities of classical times as they were
conceived and worshipped by the ancients themselves, and thereby to awaken
in the minds of young students a desire to become more intimately
acquainted with the noble productions of classical antiquity.

It has been my aim to render the Legends, which form the second portion of
the work, a picture, as it were, of old Greek life; its customs, its
superstitions, and its princely hospitalities, for which reason they are
given at somewhat greater length than is usual in works of the kind.

In a chapter devoted to the purpose some interesting particulars have been
collected respecting the public worship of the ancient Greeks and Romans
(more especially of the former), to which is subjoined an account of their
principal festivals.

I may add that no pains have been spared in order that, without passing
over details the omission of which would have {ii} marred the completeness
of the work, not a single passage should be found which could possibly
offend the most scrupulous delicacy; and also that I have purposely treated
the subject with that reverence which I consider due to every religious
system, however erroneous.

It is hardly necessary to dwell upon the importance of the study of
Mythology: our poems, our novels, and even our daily journals teem with
classical allusions; nor can a visit to our art galleries and museums be
fully enjoyed without something more than a mere superficial knowledge of a
subject which has in all ages inspired painters, sculptors, and poets. It
therefore only remains for me to express a hope that my little work may
prove useful, not only to teachers and scholars, but also to a large class
of general readers, who, in whiling away a leisure hour, may derive some
pleasure and profit from its perusal.

E. M. BERENS.

       *       *       *       *       *


{iii}

CONTENTS.

  PART I.--MYTHS.
                                                    Page
  Introduction,                                       7

  FIRST DYNASTY.
  ORIGIN OF THE WORLD--
      URANUS AND GÆA (Coelus and Terra),  11

  SECOND DYNASTY.
      CRONUS (Saturn),                      14
      RHEA (Ops),                           18
      DIVISION OF THE WORLD,                19
      THEORIES AS TO THE ORIGIN OF MAN,     21

  THIRD DYNASTY.
  OLYMPIAN DIVINITIES--
      ZEUS (Jupiter),                       26
      HERA (Juno),                          38
      PALLAS-ATHENE (Minerva),              43
      THEMIS,                               48
      HESTIA (Vesta),                       48
      DEMETER (Ceres),                      50
      APHRODITE (Venus),                    58
      HELIOS (Sol),                         61
      EOS (Aurora),                         67
      PHOEBUS-APOLLO,                     68
      HECATE,                               85
      SELENE (Luna),                        86
      ARTEMIS (Diana),                      87
      HEPHÆSTUS (Vulcan),                   97
      POSEIDON (Neptune),                  101

  {iv}
  SEA DIVINITIES--
      OCEANUS,                             107
      NEREUS,                              108
      PROTEUS,                             108
      TRITON AND THE TRITONS,              109
      GLAUCUS,                             109
      THETIS,                              110
      THAUMAS, PHORCYS, AND CETO,          111
      LEUCOTHEA,                           111
      THE SIRENS,                          112
      ARES (Mars),                         112
      NIKE (Victoria),                     117
      HERMES (Mercury),                    117
      DIONYSUS (Bacchus or Liber),         124
      AÏDES (Pluto),                       130
      PLUTUS,                              137

  MINOR DIVINITIES--
      THE HARPIES,         
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_The difference between the mathematical and the intuitive mind._[1]--In
the one the principles are palpable, but removed from ordinary use; so
that for want of habit it is difficult to turn one's mind in that
direction: but if one turns it thither ever so little, one sees the
principles fully, and one must have a quite inaccurate mind who reasons
wrongly from principles so plain that it is almost impossible they
should escape notice.

But in the intuitive mind the principles are found in common use, and
are before the eyes of everybody. One has only to look, and no effort is
necessary; it is only a question of good eyesight, but it must be good,
for the principles are so subtle and so numerous, that it is almost
impossible but that some escape notice. Now the omission of one
principle leads to error; thus one must have very clear sight to see all
the principles, and in the next place an accurate mind not to draw false
deductions from known principles.

All mathematicians would then be intuitive if they had clear sight, for
they do not reason incorrectly from principles known to them; and
intuitive minds would be mathematical if they could turn their eyes to
the principles of mathematics to which they are unused.

The reason, therefore, that some intuitive minds are not mathematical is
that they cannot at all turn their attention to the principles of
mathematics. But the reason that mathematicians are not intuitive is
that they do not see what is before them, and that, accustomed to the
exact and plain principles of mathematics, and not reasoning till they
have well inspected and arranged their principles, they are lost in
matters of intuition where the principles do not allow of such
arrangement. They are scarcely seen; they are felt rather than seen;
there is the greatest difficulty in making them felt by those who do
not of themselves perceive them. These principles are so fine and so
numerous that a very delicate and very clear sense is needed to perceive
them, and to judge rightly and justly when they are perceived, without
for the most part being able to demonstrate them in order as in
mathematics; because the principles are not known to us in the same way,
and because it would be an endless matter to undertake it. We must see
the matter at once, at one glance, and not by a process of reasoning, at
least to a certain degree. And thus it is rare that mathematicians are
intuitive, and that men of intuition are mathematicians, because
mathematicians wish to treat matters of intuition mathematically, and
make themselves ridiculous, wishing to begin with definitions and then
with axioms, which is not the way to proceed in this kind of reasoning.
Not that the mind does not do so, but it does it tacitly, naturally, and
without technical rules; for the expression of it is beyond all men, and
only a few can feel it.

Intuitive minds, on the contrary, being thus accustomed to judge at a
single glance, are so astonished when they are presented with
propositions of which they understand nothing, and the way to which is
through definitions and axioms so sterile, and which they are not
accustomed to see thus in detail, that they are repelled and
disheartened.

But dull minds are never either intuitive or mathematical.

Mathematicians who are only mathematicians have exact minds, provided
all things are explained to them by means of definitions and axioms;
otherwise they are inaccurate and insufferable, for they are only right
when the principles are quite clear.

And men of intuition who are only intuitive cannot have the patience to
reach to first principles of things speculative and conceptual, which
they have never seen in the world, and which are altogether out of the
common.



There are different kinds of right understanding;[2] some have right
understanding in a certain order of things, and not in others, where
they go astray. Some draw conclusions well from a few premises, and this
displays an acute judgment.

Others draw conclusions well where there are many premises.

For example, the former easily learn hydrostatics, where the premises
are few, but the conclusions are so fine that only the greatest
acuteness can reach them.

And in spite of that these persons would perhaps not be great
mathematicians, because mathematics contain a great number of premises,
and there is perhaps a kind of intellect that can search with ease a few
premises to the bottom, and cannot in the least penetrate those matters
in which there are many premises.

There are then two kinds of intellect: the one able to penetrate acutely
and deeply into the conclusions of given premises, and this is the
precise intellect; the other able to comprehend a great number of
premises without confusing them, and this is the mathematical intellect.
The one has force and exactness, the other comprehension. Now the one
quality can exist without the other; the intellect can be strong and
narrow, and can also be comprehensive and weak.



Those who
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Memoirs Of Fanny Hill

by John Cleland


_A new and genuine edition from the original text (London, 1749)._

PARIS—ISIDORE LISEUX

 Of this Edition, privately printed, there are
350 numbered copies, of which this is number 111.




Contents


 LETTER THE FIRST
 LETTER THE SECOND


LETTER THE FIRST

Madam,

I sit down to give you an undeniable proof of my considering your
desires as indispensable orders. Ungracious then as the task may be, I
shall recall to view those scandalous stages of my life, out of which I
emerged, at length, to the enjoyment of every blessing in the power of
love, health and fortune to bestow; whilst yet in the flower of youth,
and not too late to employ the leisure afforded me by great ease and
affluence, to cultivate an understanding, naturally not a despicable
one, and which had, even amidst the whirl of loose pleasures I had been
tossed in, exerted more observation on the characters and manners of
the world than what is common to those of my unhappy profession, who,
looking on all though or reflection as their capital enemy, keep it at
as great a distance as they can, or destroy it without mercy.

Hating, as I mortally do, all long unnecessary prefaces, I shall give
you good quarter in this, and use no farther apology, than to prepare
you for seeing the loose part of my life, written with the same liberty
that I led it.

Truth! stark, naked truth, is the word; and I will not so much as take
the pains to bestow the strip of a gauze wrapper on it, but paint
situations such as they actually rose to me in nature, careless of
violating those laws of decency that were never made for such
unreserved intimacies as ours; and you have too much sense, too much
knowledge of the originals, to sniff prudishly and out of character at
the pictures of them. The greatest men, those of the first and most
leading taste, will not scruple adorning their private closets with
nudities, though, in compliance with vulgar prejudices, they may not
think them decent decorations of the staircase, or salon.

This, and enough, premised, I go souse into my personal history. My
maiden name was Frances Hill. I was born at a small village near
Liverpool, in Lancashire, of parents extremely poor, and, I piously
believe, extremely honest.

My father, who had received a maim on his limbs, that disabled him from
following the more laborious branches of country drudgery, got, by
making nets, a scanty subsistence, which was not much enlarged by my
mother’s keeping a little day-school for the girls in her neighborhood.
They had had several children; but none lived to any age except myself,
who had received from nature a constitution perfectly healthy.

My education, till past fourteen, was no better than very vulgar:
reading, or rather spelling, an illegible scrawl, and a little ordinary
plain work, composed the whole system of it; and then all my foundation
in virtue was no other than a total ignorance of vice, and the shy
timidity general to our sex, in the tender age of life, when objects
alarm or frighten more by their novelty than anything else. But then,
this is a fear too often cured at the expense of innocence, when Miss,
by degrees, begins no longer to look on a man as a creature of prey
that will eat her.

My poor mother had divided her time so entirely between her scholars
and her little domestic cares, that she had spared very little to my
instruction, having, from her own innocence from all ill, no hint or
thought of guarding me against any.

I was now entering on my fifteenth year, when the worst of ills befell
me in the loss of my fond, tender parents, who were both carried off by
the small-pox, within a few days of each other; my father dying first,
and thereby by hastening the death of my mother: so that I was now left
an unhappy friendless orphan (for my father’s coming to settle there,
was accidental, he being originally a Kentisrman). That cruel distemper
which had proved so fatal to them, had indeed seized me, but with such
mild and favourable symptoms, that I was presently out of danger, and
what then I did not know the value of, was entirely unmarked I skip
over here an account of the natural grief and affliction which I felt
on this melancholy occasion. A little time, and the giddiness of that
age, dissipated too soon my reflections on that irreparable loss; but
nothing contributed more to reconcile me to it, than the notions that
were immediately put into my head, of going to London, and looking out
for a service, in which I was promised all assistance and advice from
one Esther Davis, a young woman that had beer down to see her friends,
and who, after the stay of a few days, was returned to her place.

As I had now nobody left alive in the village, who had concern enough
about what should become of me, to start any objections to this scheme,
and the woman who took care of me after my parents’ death, rather
encouraged me to pursue it, I soon came to a resolution of making this
launch into the wide 
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Hautet and his clerk were sitting at a big round table. They looked up
as we entered. The commissary introduced us, and explained our
presence.

dark eyes, and a neatly cut grey beard, which he had a habit of
caressing as he talked. Standing by the mantelpiece was an elderly man,
with slightly stooping shoulders, who was introduced to us as Dr.
Durand.

“Most extraordinary,” remarked M. Hautet, as the commissary finished
speaking. “You have the letter here, monsieur?”

Poirot handed it to him, and the magistrate read it.

“H’m. He speaks of a secret. What a pity he was not more explicit. We
are much indebted to you, M. Poirot. I hope you will do us the honour
of assisting us in our investigations. Or are you obliged to return to
London?”

“M. le juge, I propose to remain. I did not arrive in time to prevent
my client’s death, but I feel myself bound in honour to discover the
assassin.”

The magistrate bowed.

“These sentiments do you honour. Also, without doubt, Madame Renauld
will wish to retain your services. We are expecting M. Giraud from the
Sûreté in Paris any moment, and I am sure that you and he will be able
to give each other mutual assistance in your investigations. In the
meantime, I hope that you will do me the honour to be present at my
interrogations, and I need hardly say that if there is any assistance
you require it is at your disposal.”

“I thank you, monsieur. You will comprehend that at present I am
completely in the dark. I know nothing whatever.”


“This morning, the old servant Françoise, on descending to start her
work, found the front door ajar. Feeling a momentary alarm as to
burglars, she looked into the dining-room, but seeing the silver was
safe she thought no more about it, concluding that her master had,
without doubt, risen early, and gone for a stroll.”

“Pardon, monsieur, for interrupting, but was that a common practice of
his?”

“No, it was not, but old Françoise has the common idea as regards the
English—that they are mad, and liable to do the most unaccountable
things at any moment! Going to call her mistress as usual, a younger
maid, Léonie, was horrified to discover her gagged and bound, and
almost at the same moment news was brought that M. Renauld’s body had
been discovered, stone dead, stabbed in the back.”

“Where?”

“That is one of the most extraordinary features of the case. M. Poirot,
the body was lying, face downwards, _in an open grave___.”

“What?”

“Yes. The pit was freshly dug—just a few yards outside the boundary of
the Villa grounds.”

“And he had been dead—how long?”

Dr. Durand answered this.

“I examined the body this morning at ten o’clock. Death must have taken
place at least seven, and possibly ten hours previously.”

“H’m, that fixes it at between midnight and 3 a.m.”

“Exactly, and Madame Renauld’s evidence places it at after 2 a.m. which
narrows the field still further. Death must have been instantaneous,
and naturally could not have been self-inflicted.”

Poirot nodded, and the commissary resumed:

“Madame Renauld was hastily freed from the cords that bound her by the
horrified servants. She was in a terrible condition of weakness, almost
unconscious from the pain of her bonds. It appears that two masked men
entered the bedroom, gagged and bound her, whilst forcibly abducting
her husband. This we know at second hand from the servants. On hearing
the tragic news, she fell at once into an alarming state of agitation.
On arrival, Dr. Durand immediately prescribed a sedative, and we have
not yet been able to question her. But without doubt she will awake
more calm, and be equal to bearing the strain of the interrogation.”

The commissary paused.

“And the inmates of the house, monsieur?”

“There is old Françoise, the housekeeper, she lived for many years with
the former owners of the Villa Geneviève. Then there are two young
girls, sisters, Denise and Léonie Oulard. Their home is in Merlinville,
and they come of the most respectable parents. Then there is the
chauffeur whom M. Renauld brought over from England with him, but he is
away on a holiday. Finally there are Madame Renauld and her son, M.
Jack Renauld. He, too, is away from home at present.”

Poirot bowed his head. M. Hautet spoke:

“Marchaud!”

The _sergent de ville___ appeared.

“Bring in the woman Françoise.”

The man saluted, and disappeared. In a moment or two, he returned,
escorting the frightened Françoise.

“You name is Françoise Arrichet?”

“Yes, monsieur.”

“You have been a long time in service at the Villa Geneviève?”

“Eleven years with Madame la Vicomtesse. Then when she sold the Villa
this spring, I consented to remain on with the English milor. Never did
I imagine—”

The magistrate cut her short.

“Without doubt, without doubt. Now, Françoise, in this matter of the
front door, whose business was it to fasten it at night?”

“Mine, monsieur. Always I saw to it myself.”

“And last night?”

“I fastened it as usual.”

“You are sure of that?”

“I swear it by the blessed saints, mons
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centuriones et magnitudine corporis et animo. |II| Is perfunctus
militia, per P. Cornelium Sullam praetorem in senatum introductus, petit
a Patribus, uti sibi quinque milia militum darentur: |III| se peritum et
hostis et regionum, brevi operae pretium facturum et, quibus artibus ad
id locorum nostri et duces et exercitus capti forent, iis adversus
inventorem usurum. |IV| Id non promissum magis stolide, quam stolide
creditum, tamquam eaedem militares et imperatoriae artes essent! |V|
Data pro quinque octo milia militum; pars dimidia cives, pars socii.
|VI| Et ipse aliquantum voluntariorum in itinere ex agris concivit, ac
prope duplicato exercitu in Lucanos pervenit, ubi Hannibal, nequiquam
secutus Claudium, substiterat. |VII|

       LIVY.

_A rash promise rashly believed._

Hannibali alia in his locis bene gerendae rei +fortuna oblata est. {I}
centuriones et magnitudine corporis et animo. {II} +Is+ perfunctus
militia, per P. Cornelium Sullam praetorem in senatum introductus, petit
a Patribus, [uti sibi quinque milia militum darentur]. {III} +Centenius
dixit+ _se peritum et hostis et regionum, brevi operae pretium facturum:
et, [quibus artibus ad id locorum nostri et duces et exercitus capti
forent], iis adversus inventorem usurum_. {IV} +Id+ non +promissum+
magis stolide, quam stolide +creditum+: [tamquam eaedem militares et
imperatoriae artes essent!] {V} +Data+ pro quinque octo +milia+ militum;
{VI} +pars+ dimidia cives, +pars+ socii. Et +ipse aliquantum+
voluntariorum in itinere ex agris +concivit+, ac prope duplicato
exercitu, in Lucanos +pervenit+, [ubi Hannibal, nequiquam secutus
Claudium, substiterat].

        LIVY.

DEMONSTRATION III.

  LIVY, xxv. 19.

_Read the passage through carefully._ As you read--

(i.) Make all the use you can of your previous knowledge of History,
Geography, and Antiquities.

Thus, +Hannibali+ suggests an episode in the Second Punic War.

  +M. Centenius+ is clearly the unfortunate subject of the episode.

  +in Lucanos ... substiterat+ helps to fix the date as later than
  +Cannae+, 216 B.C.

(ii.) Observe carefully all phrases that will require special care in
translating--_e.g._ +bene gerendae rei+--+inter primipili
centuriones+--+perfunctus militia+--+operae pretium+--+ad id locorum+.

You will now have a sufficient general idea of the form and general
sense of the passage, and may begin to translate sentence by sentence.

+I.+ +Hannibali alia in his locis bene gerendae rei fortuna oblata est.+

(i.) _Vocabulary._--

+oblata+, cf. _ob-lation_ = _an offering_ and _of-fer_.

(ii.) _Translation._--

+oblata est+ shows that the subject must be +fortuna+, with which +alia+
must agree, and +gerendae rei+ is dependent genitive. So you may at once
translate literally _Another fortune (chance) of carrying-on the matter
well in these parts was offered to Hannibal_. But you must not be
satisfied with this, for though literally correct it is neither good
History nor good English. So render: _In this district Hannibal had
another chance presented to him of achieving a success_.

Here notice especially the use of the word +res+,[12] a remarkable
example of the tendency of Roman writers to employ the ordinary and
simple vocabulary wherever possible _instead of inventing a new word_.
As a writer well says, ‘+Res+ is, so to say, a blank cheque, to be
filled up from the context to the requisite amount of meaning.’ Cf.
‘+Consilium erat quo fortuna rem daret, eo inclinare vires+,’ where
+res+ = _victory_.

    [Footnote 12: Cf. Introduction, p. 11.]  [[Introduction 13 (2)]]

+II.+ +M. Centenius fuit cognomine Paenula, insignis inter primipili
centuriones et magnitudine corporis et animo.+

(i.) _Vocabulary._--

+primipili+ = the chief centurion of the +triarii+ (the third, veteran
line of the legion), the +primipilus+, or +primus pilus+. So Livy vii.
41, ‘+primus centurio erat, quem nunc (centurionem) primi pili
appellant+.’

+cognomine+, _i.e._ +co-nomen+, a name _added_ to the +nomen+, a title,
epithet, _e.g._:

  +Publius+ = the distinctive +praenomen+.
  +Scipio+ = +nomen+, designating his +gens+.
  +Africanus+ = +cognomen+.

(ii.) _Translation._--The form of this sentence is quite simple. The
subject is +M. Centenius+, with which +insignis+ agrees. _There was a
certain M. Centenius, by surname Penula, distinguished among the
first-rank_ (or _chief_) _centurions_ (of the Triarii) _both for his
great bodily size and courage._

+III.+ +Is perfunctus militia, per P. Cornelium Sullam praetorem in
senatum introductus, petit a Patribus, uti sibi quinque milia militum
darentur.+

(i.) _Vocabulary._--

+perfunctus+, cf. _function_, and notice force of +per+ = discharge
_completely_.

(ii.) _Translation._--The principal verb is clearly +petit+, and +is+ is
the only possible subject (= +Centenius+), with which +introductus+
agrees. There is one subordinate clause, introduced by +ut+, telling us
the object of his request.

Translate, first literally, _He having discharged completely his
military
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 1754
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1754

THE SEA-GULL


by Anton Checkov



A Play In Four Acts




CHARACTERS

IRINA ABKADINA, an actress

CONSTANTINE TREPLIEFF, her son

PETER SORIN, her brother

NINA ZARIETCHNAYA, a young girl, the daughter of a rich landowner

ILIA SHAMRAEFF, the manager of SORIN’S estate

PAULINA, his wife

MASHA, their daughter

BORIS TRIGORIN, an author

EUGENE DORN, a doctor

SIMON MEDVIEDENKO, a schoolmaster

JACOB, a workman

A COOK

A MAIDSERVANT


_The scene is laid on SORIN’S estate. Two years elapse between the third
and fourth acts_.




THE SEA-GULL




ACT I

_The scene is laid in the park on SORIN’S estate. A broad avenue of
trees leads away from the audience toward a lake which lies lost in
the depths of the park. The avenue is obstructed by a rough stage,
temporarily erected for the performance of amateur theatricals, and
which screens the lake from view. There is a dense growth of bushes to
the left and right of the stage. A few chairs and a little table are
placed in front of the stage. The sun has just set. JACOB and some other
workmen are heard hammering and coughing on the stage behind the lowered
curtain_.

MASHA and MEDVIEDENKO come in from the left, returning from a walk.

MEDVIEDENKO. Why do you always wear mourning?

MASHA. I dress in black to match my life. I am unhappy.

MEDVIEDENKO. Why should you be unhappy? [Thinking it over] I don’t
understand it. You are healthy, and though your father is not rich, he
has a good competency. My life is far harder than yours. I only have
twenty-three roubles a month to live on, but I don’t wear mourning.
[They sit down].

MASHA. Happiness does not depend on riches; poor men are often happy.

MEDVIEDENKO. In theory, yes, but not in reality. Take my case, for
instance; my mother, my two sisters, my little brother and I must all
live somehow on my salary of twenty-three roubles a month. We have to
eat and drink, I take it. You wouldn’t have us go without tea and sugar,
would you? Or tobacco? Answer me that, if you can.

MASHA. [Looking in the direction of the stage] The play will soon begin.

MEDVIEDENKO. Yes, Nina Zarietchnaya is going to act in Treplieff’s play.
They love one another, and their two souls will unite to-night in the
effort to interpret the same idea by different means. There is no ground
on which your soul and mine can meet. I love you. Too restless and sad
to stay at home, I tramp here every day, six miles and back, to be met
only by your indifference. I am poor, my family is large, you can have
no inducement to marry a man who cannot even find sufficient food for
his own mouth.

MASHA. It is not that. [She takes snuff] I am touched by your affection,
but I cannot return it, that is all. [She offers him the snuff-box] Will
you take some?

MEDVIEDENKO. No, thank you. [A pause.]

MASHA. The air is sultry; a storm is brewing for to-night. You do
nothing but moralise or else talk about money. To you, poverty is the
greatest misfortune that can befall a man, but I think it is a thousand
times easier to go begging in rags than to--You wouldn’t understand
that, though.

SORIN leaning on a cane, and TREPLIEFF come in.

SORIN. For some reason, my boy, country life doesn’t suit me, and I am
sure I shall never get used to it. Last night I went to bed at ten and
woke at nine this morning, feeling as if, from oversleep, my brain had
stuck to my skull. [Laughing] And yet I accidentally dropped off to
sleep again after dinner, and feel utterly done up at this moment. It is
like a nightmare.

TREPLIEFF. There is no doubt that you should live in town. [He catches
sight of MASHA and MEDVIEDENKO] You shall be called when the play
begins, my friends, but you must not stay here now. Go away, please.

SORIN. Miss Masha, will you kindly ask your father to leave the dog
unchained? It howled so last night that my sister was unable to sleep.

MASHA. You must speak to my father yourself. Please excuse me; I can’t
do so. [To MEDVIEDENKO] Come, let us go.

MEDVIEDENKO. You will let us know when the play begins?

MASHA and MEDVIEDENKO go out.

SORIN. I foresee that that dog is going to howl all night again. It is
always this way in the country; I have never been able to live as I like
here. I come down for a month’s holiday, to rest and all, and am
plagued so by their nonsense that I long to escape after the first day.
[Laughing] I have always been glad to get away from this place, but I
have been retired now, and this was the only place I had to come to.
Willy-nilly, one must live somewhere.

JACOB. [To TREPLIEFF] We are going to take a swim, Mr. Constantine.

TREPLIEFF. Very well, but you must be back in ten minutes.

JACOB. We will, sir.

TREPLIEFF. [Looking at the stage] Just like a real theatre! See,
there we have the curtain, the foreground, the background, and all. No
artificial scenery is needed. The eye travels direct to the lake, and
rests on the horizon. The curtain will be raised as the moon rises at
half-past eight.

SORIN. Splendid!

TREPLIEFF. Of course the whole
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 1974
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1974


I propose to treat of Poetry in itself and of its various kinds, noting
the essential quality of each; to inquire into the structure of the plot
as requisite to a good poem; into the number and nature of the parts of
which a poem is composed; and similarly into whatever else falls within
the same inquiry. Following, then, the order of nature, let us begin
with the principles which come first.

Epic poetry and Tragedy, Comedy also and Dithyrambic: poetry, and the
music of the flute and of the lyre in most of their forms, are all in
their general conception modes of imitation. They differ, however, from
one: another in three respects,--the medium, the objects, the manner or
mode of imitation, being in each case distinct.

For as there are persons who, by conscious art or mere habit, imitate
and represent various objects through the medium of colour and form, or
again by the voice; so in the arts above mentioned, taken as a whole,
the imitation is produced by rhythm, language, or 'harmony,' either
singly or combined.

Thus in the music of the flute and of the lyre, 'harmony' and rhythm
alone are employed; also in other arts, such as that of the shepherd's
pipe, which are essentially similar to these. In dancing, rhythm alone
is used without 'harmony'; for even dancing imitates character, emotion,
and action, by rhythmical movement.

There is another art which imitates by means of language alone, and
that either in prose or verse--which, verse, again, may either combine
different metres or consist of but one kind--but this has hitherto been
without a name. For there is no common term we could apply to the mimes
of Sophron and Xenarchus and the Socratic dialogues on the one hand;
and, on the other, to poetic imitations in iambic, elegiac, or any
similar metre. People do, indeed, add the word 'maker' or 'poet' to
the name of the metre, and speak of elegiac poets, or epic (that is,
hexameter) poets, as if it were not the imitation that makes the poet,
but the verse that entitles them all indiscriminately to the name. Even
when a treatise on medicine or natural science is brought out in verse,
the name of poet is by custom given to the author; and yet Homer and
Empedocles have nothing in common but the metre, so that it would be
right to call the one poet, the other physicist rather than poet. On the
same principle, even if a writer in his poetic imitation were to combine
all metres, as Chaeremon did in his Centaur, which is a medley composed
of metres of all kinds, we should bring him too under the general term
poet. So much then for these distinctions.

There are, again, some arts which employ all the means above mentioned,
namely, rhythm, tune, and metre. Such are Dithyrambic and Nomic poetry,
and also Tragedy and Comedy; but between them the difference is, that in
the first two cases these means are all employed in combination, in the
latter, now one means is employed, now another.

Such, then, are the differences of the arts with respect to the medium
of imitation.





Since the objects of imitation are men in action, and these men must be
either of a higher or a lower type (for moral character mainly answers
to these divisions, goodness and badness being the distinguishing marks
of moral differences), it follows that we must represent men either as
better than in real life, or as worse, or as they are. It is the same
in painting. Polygnotus depicted men as nobler than they are, Pauson as
less noble, Dionysius drew them true to life.

Now it is evident that each of the modes of imitation above mentioned
will exhibit these differences, and become a distinct kind in imitating
objects that are thus distinct. Such diversities may be found even in
dancing, flute-playing, and lyre-playing. So again in language, whether
prose or verse unaccompanied by music. Homer, for example, makes men
better than they are; Cleophon as they are; Hegemon the Thasian, the
inventor of parodies, and Nicochares, the author of the Deiliad, worse
than they are. The same thing holds good of Dithyrambs and Nomes;
here too one may portray different types, as Timotheus and Philoxenus
differed in representing their Cyclopes. The same distinction marks
off Tragedy from Comedy; for Comedy aims at representing men as worse,
Tragedy as better than in actual life.





There is still a third difference--the manner in which each of these
objects may be imitated. For the medium being the same, and the objects
the same, the poet may imitate by narration--in which case he can either
take another personality as Homer does, or speak in his own person,
unchanged--or he may present all his characters as living and moving
before us.

These, then, as we said at the beginning, are the three differences
which distinguish artistic imitation,--the medium, the objects, and the
manner. So that from one point of view, Sophocles is an imitator of the
same kind as Homer--for both imitate higher types of character; from
another point of view, of the same kind as Ari
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 34206
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/34206


COMMENCING WITH THE FIRST NIGHT, AND ENDING WITH PART OF THE THIRD.

THE STORY OF THE MERCHANT AND THE JINNEE.


It has been related to me, O happy King, said Shahrazád, that there was
a certain merchant who had great wealth, and traded extensively with
surrounding countries; and one day he mounted his horse, and journeyed
to a neighbouring country to collect what was due to him, and, the heat
oppressing him, he sat under a tree, in a garden,[I_1] and put his
hand into his saddle-bag,[I_2] and ate a morsel of bread and a date
which were among his provisions. Having eaten the date, he threw aside
the stone,[I_3] and immediately there appeared before him an
'Efreet, of enormous height, who, holding a drawn sword in his hand,
approached him, and said, Rise, that I may kill thee, as thou hast
killed my son. The merchant asked him, How have I killed thy son? He
answered, When thou atest the date, and threwest aside the stone, it
struck my son upon the chest,[I_4] and, as fate had decreed against
him, he instantly died.[I_5]

[Illustration]

The merchant, on hearing these words,[I_6] exclaimed, Verily to God
we belong, and verily to Him we must return! There is no strength nor
power but in God, the High, the Great! If I killed him, I did it not
intentionally, but without knowing it; and I trust in thee that thou
wilt pardon me.--The Jinnee answered, Thy death is indispensable, as
thou hast killed my son:--and so saying, he dragged him, and threw him
on the ground, and raised his arm to strike him with the sword. The
merchant, upon this, wept bitterly, and said to the Jinnee, I commit my
affair unto God, for no one can avoid what He hath decreed:--and he
continued his lamentation, repeating the following verses:--

  Time consists of two days; this, bright; and that, gloomy: and life,
    of two moieties; this, safe; and that, fearful.
  Say to him who hath taunted us on account of misfortunes, Doth fortune
    oppose any but the eminent?
  Dost thou not observe that corpses float upon the sea, while
    the precious pearls remain in its furthest depths?
  When the hands of time play with us, misfortune is imparted to us by
    its protracted kiss.
  In the heaven are stars that cannot be numbered; but none is eclipsed
    save the sun and the moon.
  How many green and dry trees are on the earth; but none is assailed
    with stones save that which beareth fruit!
  Thou thoughtest well of the days when they went well with thee,
    and fearedst not the evil that destiny was bringing.

--When he had finished reciting these verses, the Jinnee said to him,
Spare thy words, for thy death is unavoidable.

Then said the merchant, Know, O 'Efreet, that I have debts to pay, and I
have much property, and children, and a wife, and I have pledges also in
my possession: let me, therefore, go back to my house, and give to every
one his due, and then I will return to thee: I bind myself by a vow and
covenant that I will return to thee, and thou shalt do what thou wilt;
and God is witness of what I say.--Upon this, the Jinnee accepted his
covenant, and liberated him; granting him a respite until the expiration
of the year.

The merchant, therefore, returned to his town, accomplished all that was
upon his mind to do, paid every one what he owed him, and informed his
wife and children of the event which had befallen him; upon hearing
which, they and all his family and women wept. He appointed a guardian
over his children, and remained with his family until the end of the
year; when he took his grave-clothes under his arm,[I_7] bade
farewell to his household and neighbours, and all his relations, and
went forth, in spite of himself; his family raising cries of
lamentation, and shrieking.[I_8]

He proceeded until he arrived at the garden before mentioned; and it was
the first day of the new year; and as he sat, weeping for the calamity
which he expected soon to befall him, a sheykh,[I_9] advanced in
years, approached him, leading a gazelle with a chain attached to its
neck. This sheykh saluted the merchant, wishing him a long life, and
said to him, What is the reason of thy sitting alone in this place,
seeing that it is a resort of the Jinn? The merchant therefore informed
him of what had befallen him with the 'Efreet, and of the cause of his
sitting there; at which the sheykh, the owner of the gazelle, was
astonished, and said, By Allah, O my brother, thy faithfulness is great,
and thy story is wonderful! if it were engraved upon the intellect, it
would be a lesson to him who would be admonished!--And he sat down by
his side, and said, By Allah, O my brother, I will not quit this place
until I see what will happen unto thee with this 'Efreet. So he sat
down, and conversed with him. And the merchant became almost senseless;
fear entered him, and terror, and violent grief, and excessive anxiety.
And as the owner of the gazelle sat by his side, lo, a second sheykh
approached them, with two black hounds, and inquired of them, after
s
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 146
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/146


Sara


Once on a dark winter's day, when the yellow fog hung so thick and
heavy in the streets of London that the lamps were lighted and the shop
windows blazed with gas as they do at night, an odd-looking little girl
sat in a cab with her father and was driven rather slowly through the
big thoroughfares.

She sat with her feet tucked under her, and leaned against her father,
who held her in his arm, as she stared out of the window at the passing
people with a queer old-fashioned thoughtfulness in her big eyes.

She was such a little girl that one did not expect to see such a look
on her small face.  It would have been an old look for a child of
twelve, and Sara Crewe was only seven.  The fact was, however, that she
was always dreaming and thinking odd things and could not herself
remember any time when she had not been thinking things about grown-up
people and the world they belonged to. She felt as if she had lived a
long, long time.

At this moment she was remembering the voyage she had just made from
Bombay with her father, Captain Crewe.  She was thinking of the big
ship, of the Lascars passing silently to and fro on it, of the children
playing about on the hot deck, and of some young officers' wives who
used to try to make her talk to them and laugh at the things she said.

Principally, she was thinking of what a queer thing it was that at one
time one was in India in the blazing sun, and then in the middle of the
ocean, and then driving in a strange vehicle through strange streets
where the day was as dark as the night.  She found this so puzzling
that she moved closer to her father.

"Papa," she said in a low, mysterious little voice which was almost a
whisper, "papa."

"What is it, darling?"  Captain Crewe answered, holding her closer and
looking down into her face.  "What is Sara thinking of?"

"Is this the place?"  Sara whispered, cuddling still closer to him. "Is
it, papa?"

"Yes, little Sara, it is.  We have reached it at last."  And though she
was only seven years old, she knew that he felt sad when he said it.

It seemed to her many years since he had begun to prepare her mind for
"the place," as she always called it.  Her mother had died when she was
born, so she had never known or missed her.  Her young, handsome, rich,
petting father seemed to be the only relation she had in the world.
They had always played together and been fond of each other.  She only
knew he was rich because she had heard people say so when they thought
she was not listening, and she had also heard them say that when she
grew up she would be rich, too.  She did not know all that being rich
meant.  She had always lived in a beautiful bungalow, and had been used
to seeing many servants who made salaams to her and called her "Missee
Sahib," and gave her her own way in everything.  She had had toys and
pets and an ayah who worshipped her, and she had gradually learned that
people who were rich had these things.  That, however, was all she knew
about it.

During her short life only one thing had troubled her, and that thing
was "the place" she was to be taken to some day.  The climate of India
was very bad for children, and as soon as possible they were sent away
from it--generally to England and to school. She had seen other
children go away, and had heard their fathers and mothers talk about
the letters they received from them. She had known that she would be
obliged to go also, and though sometimes her father's stories of the
voyage and the new country had attracted her, she had been troubled by
the thought that he could not stay with her.

"Couldn't you go to that place with me, papa?" she had asked when she
was five years old.  "Couldn't you go to school, too? I would help you
with your lessons."

"But you will not have to stay for a very long time, little Sara," he
had always said.  "You will go to a nice house where there will be a
lot of little girls, and you will play together, and I will send you
plenty of books, and you will grow so fast that it will seem scarcely a
year before you are big enough and clever enough to come back and take
care of papa."

She had liked to think of that.  To keep the house for her father; to
ride with him, and sit at the head of his table when he had dinner
parties; to talk to him and read his books--that would be what she
would like most in the world, and if one must go away to "the place" in
England to attain it, she must make up her mind to go. She did not care
very much for other little girls, but if she had plenty of books she
could console herself.  She liked books more than anything else, and
was, in fact, always inventing stories of beautiful things and telling
them to herself.  Sometimes she had told them to her father, and he had
liked them as much as she did.

"Well, papa," she said softly, "if we are here I suppose we must be
resigned."

He laughed at her old-fashioned speech and kissed her.  He was really
not at all resigned himself, though he knew he must keep that a s
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 47629
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/47629


SA CUBIERTA

                                          Sic itur ad astra.


Isáng umaga ng̃ Disiembre ay hiráp na sumasalung̃a sa palikólikông
linalakaran ng̃ ilog Pasig ang bapor Tabò, na may lulang maraming tao,
na tung̃o sa Lalaguna. Ang bapor ay may anyông bagól, halos bilóg
na warì’y tabò na siyáng pinanggaling̃an ng̃ kaniyang pang̃alan;
nápakarumí kahit na may nasà siyang magíng maputî, malumanay at warìng
nagmamalakí dahil sa kaniyang banayad na lakad. Gayon man, siya’y
kinagigiliwan sa dakong iyon, sanhî marahil sa pang̃alan niyang
tagalog ó dahil sa tagláy niya ang sadyâng ugalì ng̃ mg̃a bagay-bagay
ng̃ bayan, isáng warì’y tagumpáy na laban sa pagkakasulong, isáng
bapor na hindî tunay na bapor ang kabuòan, isáng sangkáp na hindî
nagbabago, hindî ayos ng̃unì’t hindî mapag-aalinlang̃anan, na, kung
ibig mag-anyông makabago ay nasisiyahan na ng̃ boong kalakhán sa
isáng pahid ng̃ pintura.

Na ang bapor na itó’y tunay na pilipino! Kauntìng pagpapaumanhín
lamang ang gamiti’t pagkakamanláng siya ang daóng ng̃ Pamahalàan,
na nayarì sa ilalim ng̃ pagsisiyasat ng̃ mg̃a _Reberendo_ at mg̃a
_Ilustrísimo_!

Balót ng̃ liwanag sa umaga, hayo na ang maputî niyang katawán (na
iniwawasiwas ang maitim na usok) na nagpapagaláw sa alon ng̃ ilog
at nagpapaawit sa hang̃in sa mg̃a maigkás na kawayang nasa sa
magkábilang pangpáng; may nagsasabing nag-uumusok din ang daóng ng̃
Pamahalàan!... Sa bawà’t sandalî’y tumítilî ang pasuit na paós at
mapagbalà na warì’y isáng manggagahís na ibig makapanaíg sa tulong
ng̃ sigáw, kayâ’t sa loób ng̃ bapor ay hindî magkarinigan, ang lahát
ng̃ mákatagpô’y pinagbabalàan; minsa’y warìng ibig durugin ang mg̃a
salambáw, (mg̃a yayat na kagamitán sa pang̃ing̃isdâ) na ang galáw
ay warìng kalansáy ng̃ _gigante_ na yumúyukô sa isáng pagóng na
nabuhay sa kapanahunang dako pa roon ng̃ pag-apaw ng̃ tubig sa boông
mundó; minsa’y tumátakbóng tung̃o sa mg̃a kakawayanán ó kayâ’y sa
mg̃a karihan, na napapalamutihan ng̃ gumamela at ibá pang bulaklák,
na warìng mg̃a magsisipaligòng nakalubóg na sa tubig ang mg̃a paa’y
ayaw pang maglublób... minsa’y sa pagsunód sa daáng itinuturò ng̃
iláng kawayang nakatirik sa ilog ay lumalakad ng̃ boông kasiyahang
loób ang bapor; ng̃unì’t ang isáng biglâng pagkakabagók ay kauntî
nang ikinabuwal ng̃ mg̃a sakáy; nápadumog sa isáng burak na mababaw
na hindî hinihinalà nino man......

At kung ang pagkakawangkî sa daóng ng̃ Pamahalàan ay hindî pa lubós,
ay tingnan ang pagkakalagáy ng̃ mg̃a lulan. Sa ilalim ng̃ _cubierta_
ay nang̃agdung̃aw ang mg̃a mukhâng kayumanggí at maiitim ng̃ mg̃a
taga rito, mg̃a insík at mestiso na nagkakasiksikang kasama ng̃ mg̃a
lulang kalakal at mg̃a kabán, samantalang sa itaás, sa ibabaw ng̃
_cubierta_ at sa lilim ng̃ isáng panambil na nagtatanggol sa kanilá
sa init ng̃ araw, ay nang̃akaupô sa maginhawang luklukan ang iláng
sakáy na suot taga Europa, mg̃a prayle at mg̃a kawaní, na humihitít
ng̃ malalakíng tabako, samantalàng tinátanáw ang mg̃a dinadaanan,
na hindî man nápupuna ang mg̃a pagsusumakit ng̃ kapitán na maiwasan
ang mg̃a balakid sa ilog.

Ang kapitán ay isáng ginoo na may magiliw na anyô, lubhâ ng̃ matandâ,
dating maglalayág na noong kabataàn niya ay namahalà sa lalòng
matuling daóng at sa lalòng malawak na karagatan at ng̃ayóng tumandâ’y
ginagamit ang lalòng malakíng pag-iisip, pagiing̃at at pagbabantáy
upáng maiwasan ang maliliít na kapang̃aniban.... At yaón dín ang
balakid sa araw araw, ang dati ring mabababaw na burak, ang dati ring
lakí ng̃ bapor na násasadsád sa mg̃a likô ring yaon, na warì’y isáng
matabâng babai sa gitnâ ng̃ siksikan ng̃ tao, kayâ’t ang mabaít na
kapitán ay humihintô sa bawà’t sandalî, umuurong, pinagkakalahatì
lamang ang tulin, pinagpapalipatlipat sa kaliwâ’t sa kanan ang limáng
marinerong may hawak na tikin upáng ipanibulos ang likông itinuturò
ng̃ timón. Warìng isáng matandâng kawal, na matapos mamunò sa mg̃a
tao sa isáng maligalig na himagsikan, ay nagíng taga pag-alagà, ng̃
tumandâ, ng̃ batàng masumpung̃in, matigás ang ulo at tamád.

At si aling Victorina na siyáng tang̃ìng babaing nakiupô sa lipon
ng̃ mg̃a europeo ay siyáng makapagsasabi kung ang bapor Tabò ay
tamád, masuwayin at masumpung̃in; si aling Victorina, na gaya ng̃
karaniwan ay napakamasindakin, ay nagtutung̃ayaw sa mg̃a kaskó,
bankâ, balsá ng̃ niyog, mg̃a indio na namamangkâ at sampûng mg̃a
naglalabá at nagsisipaligò na kinayayamután niya dahil sa pagkakatuwâ
at kaing̃ayan! Siya ng̃â namán, kung walâng mg̃a indio sa ilog at
sa bayan ay bubuti ang lakad ng̃ Tabò, oo! kung walâng isá mang
indio, sa mundó; hindî niya nápupunang ang mg̃a tumitimón ay pawàng
indio, indio ang mg̃a marinero, indio ang mg̃a makinista, indio
ang siyam na pù’t siyam sa bawà’t isáng daang sakáy at siyá man ay
india rin kung kakayurin ang kaniyang pulbós at huhubarán siya ng̃
ipinagmamalakíng _bata_. Nang umagang iyón ay lalò pang namumuhî si
aling Victorina dahil sa hindî siya pinapansín ng̃ mg̃a kalipon, at
dapat ng̃â namáng magkagayón, sapagkâ’t tignán ng̃â namán ninyó:
magkal
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PG #: 14591
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Den alten Musen die bestäubten Kronen
Nahmst Du, zu neuem Glanz, mit kühner Hand:
Du löst die Räthsel ältester Aeonen
Durch jüngeren Glauben, helleren Verstand,
Und machst, wo rege Menschengeister wohnen,
Die ganze Erde Dir zum Vaterland;
Und Deine Jünger sehn in Dir, verwundert,
Verkörpert schon das werdende Jahrhundert.



Was Du gesungen, Aller Lust und Klagen,
Des Lebens Wiedersprüche, neu vermählt,--
Die Harfe tausendstimmig frisch geschlagen,
Die Shakspeare einst, die einst Homer gewählt,--
Darf ich in fremde Klänge übertragen
Das Alles, wo so Mancher schon gefehlt?
Lass Deinen Geist in meiner Stimme klingen,
Und was Du sangst, lass mich es Dir nachsingen!_

B.T.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: =Dedication=]

Again ye come, ye hovering Forms! I find ye,
As early to my clouded sight ye shone!
Shall I attempt, this once, to seize and bind ye?
Still o'er my heart is that illusion thrown?
Ye crowd more near! Then, be the reign assigned ye,
And sway me from your misty, shadowy zone!
My bosom thrills, with youthful passion shaken,
From magic airs that round your march awaken.

Of joyous days ye bring the blissful vision;
The dear, familiar phantoms rise again,
And, like an old and half-extinct tradition,
First Love returns, with Friendship in his train.
Renewed is Pain: with mournful repetition
Life tracks his devious, labyrinthine chain,
And names the Good, whose cheating fortune tore them
From happy hours, and left me to deplore them.

They hear no longer these succeeding measures,
The souls, to whom my earliest songs I sang:

Dispersed the friendly troop, with all its pleasures,
And still, alas! the echoes first that rang!
I bring the unknown multitude my treasures;
Their very plaudits give my heart a pang,
And those beside, whose joy my Song so flattered,
If still they live, wide through the world are scattered.

And grasps me now a long-unwonted yearning
For that serene and solemn Spirit-Land:
My song, to faint Aeolian murmurs turning,
Sways like a harp-string by the breezes fanned.
I thrill and tremble; tear on tear is burning,
And the stern heart is tenderly unmanned.
What I possess, I see far distant lying,
And what I lost, grows real and undying.

[Illustration]

[Illustration: =Prelude at the Theatre=]



MANAGER    DRAMATIC POET    MERRY-ANDREW

MANAGER

You two, who oft a helping hand
Have lent, in need and tribulation.
Come, let me know your expectation
Of this, our enterprise, in German land!
I wish the crowd to feel itself well treated,
Especially since it lives and lets me live;
The posts are set, the booth of boards completed.
And each awaits the banquet I shall give.
Already there, with curious eyebrows raised,
They sit sedate, and hope to be amazed.
I know how one the People's taste may flatter,
Yet here a huge embarrassment I feel:
What they're accustomed to, is no great matter,
But then, alas! they've read an awful deal.
How shall we plan, that all be fresh and new,--
Important matter, yet attractive too?
For 'tis my pleasure-to behold them surging,
When to our booth the current sets apace,
And with tremendous, oft-repeated urging,
Squeeze onward through the narrow gate of grace:
By daylight even, they push and cram in
To reach the seller's box, a fighting host,
And as for bread, around a baker's door, in famine,
To get a ticket break their necks almost.
This miracle alone can work the Poet
On men so various: now, my friend, pray show it.


POET


Speak not to me of yonder motley masses,
Whom but to see, puts out the fire of Song!
Hide from my view the surging crowd that passes,
And in its whirlpool forces us along!
No, lead me where some heavenly silence glasses
The purer joys that round the Poet throng,--
Where Love and Friendship still divinely fashion
The bonds that bless, the wreaths that crown his passion!
Ah, every utterance from the depths of feeling
The timid lips have stammeringly expressed,--
Now failing, now, perchance, success revealing,--
Gulps the wild Moment in its greedy breast;
Or oft, reluctant years its warrant sealing,
Its perfect stature stands at last confessed!
What dazzles, for the Moment spends its spirit:
What's genuine, shall Posterity inherit.


MERRY-ANDREW


Posterity! Don't name the word to me!
If _I_ should choose to preach Posterity,
Where would you get contemporary fun?
That men _will_ have it, there's no blinking:
A fine young fellow's presence, to my thinking,
Is something worth, to every one.
Who genially his nature can outpour,
Takes from the People's moods no irritation;
The wider circle he acquires, the more
Securely works his inspiration.
Then pluck up heart, and give us sterling coin!
Let Fancy be with her attendants fitted,--
Sense, Reason, Sentiment, and Passion join,--
But have a care, lest Folly be omitted!

MANAGER

Chiefly, enough of incident prepare!
They come to look, and they prefer to stare.
Reel off a host of threads before their faces,
So that they gape in stupid wonder: then
By sheer diffuseness you have won their graces,
And are,
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 1946
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1. INTRODUCTION.


We propose to consider first the single elements of our subject, then
each branch or part, and, last of all, the whole, in all its
relations—therefore to advance from the simple to the complex. But it
is necessary for us to commence with a glance at the nature of the
whole, because it is particularly necessary that in the consideration
of any of the parts their relation to the whole should be kept
constantly in view.

2. DEFINITION.


We shall not enter into any of the abstruse definitions of War used by
publicists. We shall keep to the element of the thing itself, to a
duel. War is nothing but a duel on an extensive scale. If we would
conceive as a unit the countless number of duels which make up a War,
we shall do so best by supposing to ourselves two wrestlers. Each
strives by physical force to compel the other to submit to his will:
each endeavours to throw his adversary, and thus render him incapable
of further resistance.

_War therefore is an act of violence intended to compel our opponent to
fulfil our will._

Violence arms itself with the inventions of Art and Science in order to
contend against violence. Self-imposed restrictions, almost
imperceptible and hardly worth mentioning, termed usages of
International Law, accompany it without essentially impairing its
power. Violence, that is to say, physical force (for there is no moral
force without the conception of States and Law), is therefore the
_means;_ the compulsory submission of the enemy to our will is the
ultimate object. In order to attain this object fully, the enemy must
be disarmed, and disarmament becomes therefore the immediate _object_
of hostilities in theory. It takes the place of the final object, and
puts it aside as something we can eliminate from our calculations.

3. UTMOST USE OF FORCE.


Now, philanthropists may easily imagine there is a skilful method of
disarming and overcoming an enemy without great bloodshed, and that
this is the proper tendency of the Art of War. However plausible this
may appear, still it is an error which must be extirpated; for in such
dangerous things as War, the errors which proceed from a spirit of
benevolence are the worst. As the use of physical power to the utmost
extent by no means excludes the co-operation of the intelligence, it
follows that he who uses force unsparingly, without reference to the
bloodshed involved, must obtain a superiority if his adversary uses
less vigour in its application. The former then dictates the law to the
latter, and both proceed to extremities to which the only limitations
are those imposed by the amount of counter-acting force on each side.

This is the way in which the matter must be viewed and it is to no
purpose, it is even against one’s own interest, to turn away from the
consideration of the real nature of the affair because the horror of
its elements excites repugnance.

If the Wars of civilised people are less cruel and destructive than
those of savages, the difference arises from the social condition both
of States in themselves and in their relations to each other. Out of
this social condition and its relations War arises, and by it War is
subjected to conditions, is controlled and modified. But these things
do not belong to War itself; they are only given conditions; and to
introduce into the philosophy of War itself a principle of moderation
would be an absurdity.

Two motives lead men to War: instinctive hostility and hostile
intention. In our definition of War, we have chosen as its
characteristic the latter of these elements, because it is the most
general. It is impossible to conceive the passion of hatred of the
wildest description, bordering on mere instinct, without combining with
it the idea of a hostile intention. On the other hand, hostile
intentions may often exist without being accompanied by any, or at all
events by any extreme, hostility of feeling. Amongst savages views
emanating from the feelings, amongst civilised nations those emanating
from the understanding, have the predominance; but this difference
arises from attendant circumstances, existing institutions, &c., and,
therefore, is not to be found necessarily in all cases, although it
prevails in the majority. In short, even the most civilised nations may
burn with passionate hatred of each other.

We may see from this what a fallacy it would be to refer the War of a
civilised nation entirely to an intelligent act on the part of the
Government, and to imagine it as continually freeing itself more and
more from all feeling of passion in such a way that at last the
physical masses of combatants would no longer be required; in reality,
their mere relations would suffice—a kind of algebraic action.

Theory was beginning to drift in this direction until the facts of the
last War(*) taught it better. If War is an _act_ of force, it belongs
necessarily also to the feelings. If it does not originate in the
feelings, it _reacts_, more or less, upon them, and the extent 
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PG #: 41617
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THE ORIGIN OF ARMORY

Armory is that science of which the rules and the laws govern the use,
display, meaning, and knowledge of the pictured signs and emblems
appertaining to shield, helmet, or banner. Heraldry has a wider meaning,
for it comprises everything within the duties of a herald; and whilst
Armory undoubtedly is Heraldry, the regulation of ceremonials and matters
of pedigree, which are really also within the scope of Heraldry, most
decidedly are not Armory.

"Armory" relates only to the emblems and devices. "Armoury" relates to the
weapons themselves as weapons of warfare, or to the place used for the
storing of the weapons. But these distinctions of spelling are modern.

The word "Arms," like many other words in the English language, has several
meanings, and at the present day is used in several senses. It may mean the
weapons themselves; it may mean the limbs upon the human body. Even from
the heraldic point of view it may mean the entire achievement, but usually
it is employed in reference to the device upon the shield only.

Of the exact origin of arms and armory nothing whatever is definitely
known, and it becomes difficult to point to any particular period as the
period covering the origin of armory, for the very simple reason that it is
much more difficult to decide what is or is not to be admitted as armorial.
{2}

Until comparatively recently heraldic books referred armory indifferently
to the tribes of Israel, to the Greeks, to the Romans, to the Assyrians and
the Saxons; and we are equally familiar with the "Lion of Judah" and the
"Eagle of the Cæsars." In other directions we find the same sort of thing,
for it has ever been the practice of semi-civilised nations to bestow or to
assume the virtues and the names of animals and of deities as symbols of
honour. We scarcely need refer to the totems of the North American Indians
for proof of such a practice. They have reduced the subject almost to an
exact science; and there cannot be the shadow of a doubt that it is to this
semi-savage practice that armory is to be traced if its origin is to be
followed out to its logical and most remote beginning. Equally is it
certain that many recognised heraldic figures, and more particularly those
mythical creatures of which the armorial menagerie alone has now
cognisance, are due to the art of civilisations older than our own, and the
legends of those civilisations which have called these mythical creatures
into being.

The widest definition of armory would have it that any pictorial badge
which is used by an individual or a family with the meaning that it is a
badge indicative of that person or family, and adopted and repeatedly used
in that sense, is heraldic. If such be your definition, you may ransack the
Scriptures for the arms of the tribes of Israel, the writings of the Greek
and Roman poets for the decorations of the armour and the persons of their
heroes, mythical and actual, and you may annex numberless "heraldic"
instances from the art of Nineveh, of Babylon, and of Egypt. Your heraldry
is of the beginning and from the beginning. It _is_ fact, but is it
heraldry? The statement in the "Boke of St. Albans" that Christ was a
gentleman of coat armour is a fable, and due distinction must be had
between the fact and the fiction in this as in all other similar cases.

Mr. G. W. Eve, in his "Decorative Heraldry," alludes to and illustrates
many striking examples of figures of an embryonic type of heraldry, of
which the best are one from a Chaldean bas-relief 4000 B. C., the earliest
known device that can in any way be called heraldic, and another, a device
from a Byzantine silk of the tenth century. Mr. Eve certainly seems
inclined to follow the older heraldic writers in giving as wide an
interpretation as possible to the word heraldic, but it is significant that
none of these early instances which he gives appear to have any relation to
a shield, so that, even if it be conceded that the figures are heraldic,
they certainly cannot be said to be armorial. But doubtless the inclusion
of such instances is due to an attempt, conscious or unconscious, on the
part of the writers who have taken their stand on the side of great
antiquity to so frame the definition of armory that it shall include
everything heraldic, and due perhaps somewhat to the half unconscious {3}
reasoning that these mythical animals, and more especially the peculiarly
heraldic positions they are depicted in, which nowadays we only know as
part of armory, and which exist nowhere else within our knowledge save
within the charmed circle of heraldry, must be evidence of the great
antiquity of that science or art, call it which you will. But it is a false
deduction, due to a confusion of premise and conclusion. We find certain
figures at the present day purely heraldic--we find those figures fifty
centuries ago. It certainly seems a correct conclusion that, therefore,
heraldry must be of that age. But is not the real conclusion, that, o
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PG #: 8789
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8789

THE VISION

OF

HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE

BY

DANTE ALIGHIERI



TRANSLATED BY

THE REV. H. F. CARY, M.A.





HELL




Cantos 1 - 34



CANTO I


IN the midway of this our mortal life,
I found me in a gloomy wood, astray
Gone from the path direct: and e'en to tell
It were no easy task, how savage wild
That forest, how robust and rough its growth,
Which to remember only, my dismay
Renews, in bitterness not far from death.
Yet to discourse of what there good befell,
All else will I relate discover'd there.
How first I enter'd it I scarce can say,
Such sleepy dullness in that instant weigh'd
My senses down, when the true path I left,
But when a mountain's foot I reach'd, where clos'd
The valley, that had pierc'd my heart with dread,
I look'd aloft, and saw his shoulders broad
Already vested with that planet's beam,
Who leads all wanderers safe through every way.

Then was a little respite to the fear,
That in my heart's recesses deep had lain,
All of that night, so pitifully pass'd:
And as a man, with difficult short breath,
Forespent with toiling, 'scap'd from sea to shore,
Turns to the perilous wide waste, and stands
At gaze; e'en so my spirit, that yet fail'd
Struggling with terror, turn'd to view the straits,
That none hath pass'd and liv'd.  My weary frame
After short pause recomforted, again
I journey'd on over that lonely steep,

The hinder foot still firmer.  Scarce the ascent
Began, when, lo! a panther, nimble, light,
And cover'd with a speckled skin, appear'd,
Nor, when it saw me, vanish'd, rather strove
To check my onward going; that ofttimes
With purpose to retrace my steps I turn'd.

The hour was morning's prime, and on his way
Aloft the sun ascended with those stars,
That with him rose, when Love divine first mov'd
Those its fair works: so that with joyous hope
All things conspir'd to fill me, the gay skin
Of that swift animal, the matin dawn
And the sweet season.  Soon that joy was chas'd,
And by new dread succeeded, when in view
A lion came, 'gainst me, as it appear'd,

With his head held aloft and hunger-mad,
That e'en the air was fear-struck.  A she-wolf
Was at his heels, who in her leanness seem'd
Full of all wants, and many a land hath made
Disconsolate ere now.  She with such fear
O'erwhelmed me, at the sight of her appall'd,
That of the height all hope I lost.  As one,
Who with his gain elated, sees the time
When all unwares is gone, he inwardly
Mourns with heart-griping anguish; such was I,
Haunted by that fell beast, never at peace,
Who coming o'er against me, by degrees
Impell'd me where the sun in silence rests.

While to the lower space with backward step
I fell, my ken discern'd the form one of one,
Whose voice seem'd faint through long disuse of speech.
When him in that great desert I espied,
"Have mercy on me!" cried I out aloud,
"Spirit! or living man! what e'er thou be!"

He answer'd: "Now not man, man once I was,
And born of Lombard parents, Mantuana both
By country, when the power of Julius yet
Was scarcely firm.  At Rome my life was past
Beneath the mild Augustus, in the time
Of fabled deities and false.  A bard
Was I, and made Anchises' upright son
The subject of my song, who came from Troy,
When the flames prey'd on Ilium's haughty towers.
But thou, say wherefore to such perils past
Return'st thou?  wherefore not this pleasant mount
Ascendest, cause and source of all delight?"
"And art thou then that Virgil, that well-spring,
From which such copious floods of eloquence
Have issued?"  I with front abash'd replied.
"Glory and light of all the tuneful train!
May it avail me that I long with zeal
Have sought thy volume, and with love immense
Have conn'd it o'er.  My master thou and guide!
Thou he from whom alone I have deriv'd
That style, which for its beauty into fame
Exalts me.  See the beast, from whom I fled.
O save me from her, thou illustrious sage!"

"For every vein and pulse throughout my frame
She hath made tremble."  He, soon as he saw
That I was weeping, answer'd, "Thou must needs
Another way pursue, if thou wouldst 'scape
From out that savage wilderness.  This beast,
At whom thou criest, her way will suffer none
To pass, and no less hindrance makes than death:
So bad and so accursed in her kind,
That never sated is her ravenous will,
Still after food more craving than before.
To many an animal in wedlock vile
She fastens, and shall yet to many more,
Until that greyhound come, who shall destroy
Her with sharp pain.  He will not life support
By earth nor its base metals, but by love,
Wisdom, and virtue, and his land shall be
The land 'twixt either Feltro.  In his might
Shall safety to Italia's plains arise,
For whose fair realm, Camilla, virgin pure,
Nisus, Euryalus, and Turnus fell.
He with incessant chase through every town
Shall worry, until he to hell at length
Restore her, thence by envy first let loose.
I for thy profit pond'ring now devise,
That thou mayst follow me, and I thy guide
Will lead thee hence through an eternal space,
Where thou shalt hear desp
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PG #: 35123
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35123


  CONVERSATION                                                11


  DRESS                                                       21


  TRAVELING                                                   34


  HOW TO BEHAVE AT A HOTEL                                    40


  EVENING PARTIES--Etiquette for the Hostess                  44


  EVENING PARTIES--Etiquette for the Guest                    54


  VISITING--Etiquette for the Hostess                         60


  VISITING--Etiquette for the Guest                           66


  MORNING RECEPTIONS OR CALLS--Etiquette for the Hostess      76


  MORNING RECEPTIONS OR CALLS--Etiquette for the Caller       81


  DINNER COMPANY--Etiquette for the Hostess                   87


  DINNER COMPANY--Etiquette for the Guest                     97


  TABLE ETIQUETTE                                            105


  CONDUCT IN THE STREET                                      109


  LETTER WRITING                                             116


  POLITE DEPORTMENT AND GOOD HABITS                          142


  CONDUCT IN CHURCH                                          154


  BALL ROOM ETIQUETTE--For the Hostess                       158


  BALL ROOM ETIQUETTE--For the Guest                         166


  PLACES OF AMUSEMENT                                        172


  ACCOMPLISHMENTS                                            178


  SERVANTS                                                   232


  ON A YOUNG LADY'S CONDUCT WHEN CONTEMPLATING MARRIAGE      244


  BRIDAL ETIQUETTE                                           259


  HINTS ON HEALTH                                            264


  MISCELLANEOUS                                              283

RECEIPTS.

  FOR THE COMPLEXION, &c.                                    303




LADIES' BOOK OF ETIQUETTE.





CONVERSATION.


The art of conversation consists in the exercise of two fine qualities.
You must originate, and you must sympathize; you must possess at the
same time the habit of communicating and of listening attentively. The
union is rare but irresistible. None but an excessively ill-bred person
will allow her attention to wander from the person with whom she is
conversing; and especially she will never, while seeming to be entirely
attentive to her companion, answer a remark or question made to another
person, in another group. Unless the conversation be general among a
party of friends, confine your remarks and attention entirely to the
person with whom you are conversing. Steele says, "I would establish but
one great general rule in conversation, which is this--that people
should not talk to please themselves, but those who hear them. This
would make them consider whether what they speak be worth hearing;
whether there be either wit or sense in what they are about to say; and
whether it be adapted to the time when, the place where, and the person
to whom, it is spoken."

Be careful in conversation to avoid topics which may be supposed to have
any direct reference to events or circumstances which may be painful for
your companion to hear discussed; you may unintentionally start a
subject which annoys or troubles the friend with whom you may be
conversing; in that case, do not stop abruptly, when you perceive that
it causes pain, and, above all, do not make the matter worse by
apologizing; turn to another subject as soon as possible, and pay no
attention to the agitation your unfortunate remark may have excited.
Many persons will, for the sake of appearing witty or smart, wound the
feelings of another deeply; avoid this; it is not only ill-bred, but
cruel.

Remember that having all the talk sustained by one person is not
conversation; do not engross all the attention yourself, by refusing to
allow another person an opportunity to speak, and also avoid the other
extreme of total silence, or answering only in monosyllables.

If your companion relates an incident or tells a story, be very careful
not to interrupt her by questions, even if you do not clearly understand
her; wait until she has finished her relation, and then ask any
questions you may desire. There is nothing more annoying than to be so
interrupted. I have heard a story told to an impertinent listener, which
ran in this way:--

"I saw a fearful sight----"

"When?"

"I was about to tell you; last Monday, on the train----"

"What train?"

"The train from B----. We were near the bridge----"

"What bridge?"

"I will tell you all about it, if you will only let me speak. I was
coming from B----"

"Last Monday, did you say?"

and so on. The story was interrupted at every sentence, and the relator
condemned as a most tedious story-teller, when, had he been permitted to
go forward, he would have made the incident interesting and short.

Never interrupt any one who is speaking. It is very ill-bred. If you see
that a person to whom you wish to speak is being addressed by another
person, never speak until she has heard and replied; unti
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PG #: 2610
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2610

cover 


      NOTRE-DAME DE PARIS

      Also known as:

      _THE HUNCHBACK OF NOTRE DAME_

      By Victor Hugo

      Translated by Isabel F. Hapgood



      PREFACE.

      A few years ago, while visiting or, rather, rummaging about
      Notre-Dame, the author of this book found, in an obscure nook of
      one of the towers, the following word, engraved by hand upon the
      wall:—

       ἈΝÁΓΚΗ.

      These Greek capitals, black with age, and quite deeply graven in
      the stone, with I know not what signs peculiar to Gothic
      caligraphy imprinted upon their forms and upon their attitudes,
      as though with the purpose of revealing that it had been a hand
      of the Middle Ages which had inscribed them there, and especially
      the fatal and melancholy meaning contained in them, struck the
      author deeply.

      He questioned himself; he sought to divine who could have been
      that soul in torment which had not been willing to quit this
      world without leaving this stigma of crime or unhappiness upon
      the brow of the ancient church.

      Afterwards, the wall was whitewashed or scraped down, I know not
      which, and the inscription disappeared. For it is thus that
      people have been in the habit of proceeding with the marvellous
      churches of the Middle Ages for the last two hundred years.
      Mutilations come to them from every quarter, from within as well
      as from without. The priest whitewashes them, the archdeacon
      scrapes them down; then the populace arrives and demolishes them.

      Thus, with the exception of the fragile memory which the author
      of this book here consecrates to it, there remains to-day nothing
      whatever of the mysterious word engraved within the gloomy tower
      of Notre-Dame,—nothing of the destiny which it so sadly summed
      up. The man who wrote that word upon the wall disappeared from
      the midst of the generations of man many centuries ago; the word,
      in its turn, has been effaced from the wall of the church; the
      church will, perhaps, itself soon disappear from the face of the
      earth.

      It is upon this word that this book is founded.

      March, 1831.




        CONTENTS



         PREFACE.



         VOLUME I.

         BOOK FIRST.

         CHAPTER I. THE GRAND HALL.

         CHAPTER II. PIERRE GRINGOIRE.

         CHAPTER III. MONSIEUR THE CARDINAL.

         CHAPTER IV. MASTER JACQUES COPPENOLE.

         CHAPTER V. QUASIMODO.

         CHAPTER VI. ESMERALDA.



         BOOK SECOND.

         CHAPTER I. FROM CHARYBDIS TO SCYLLA.

         CHAPTER II. THE PLACE DE GRÈVE.

         CHAPTER III. KISSES FOR BLOWS.

         CHAPTER IV. THE INCONVENIENCES OF FOLLOWING A PRETTY WOMAN
         THROUGH THE STREETS IN THE EVENING.

         CHAPTER V. RESULT OF THE DANGERS.

         CHAPTER VI. THE BROKEN JUG.

         CHAPTER VII. A BRIDAL NIGHT.



         BOOK THIRD.

         CHAPTER I. NOTRE-DAME.

         CHAPTER II. A BIRD’S-EYE VIEW OF PARIS.



         BOOK FOURTH.

         CHAPTER I. GOOD SOULS.

         CHAPTER II. CLAUDE FROLLO.

         CHAPTER III. _IMMANIS PECORIS CUSTOS, IMMANIOR IPSE_.

         CHAPTER IV. THE DOG AND HIS MASTER.

         CHAPTER V. MORE ABOUT CLAUDE FROLLO.

         CHAPTER VI. UNPOPULARITY.



         BOOK FIFTH.

         CHAPTER I. _ABBAS BEATI MARTINI_.

         CHAPTER II. THIS WILL KILL THAT.



         BOOK SIXTH.

         CHAPTER I. AN IMPARTIAL GLANCE AT THE ANCIENT MAGISTRACY.

         CHAPTER II. THE RAT-HOLE.

         CHAPTER III. HISTORY OF A LEAVENED CAKE OF MAIZE.

         CHAPTER IV. A TEAR FOR A DROP OF WATER.

         CHAPTER V. END OF THE STORY OF THE CAKE.



         VOLUME II.

         BOOK SEVENTH.

         CHAPTER I. THE DANGER OF CONFIDING ONE’S SECRET TO A GOAT.

         CHAPTER II. A PRIEST AND A PHILOSOPHER ARE TWO DIFFERENT
         THINGS.

         CHAPTER III. THE BELLS.

         CHAPTER IV. ἈΝÁΓΚΗ.

         CHAPTER V. THE TWO MEN CLOTHED IN BLACK.

         CHAPTER VI. THE EFFECT WHICH SEVEN OATHS IN THE OPEN AIR CAN
         PRODUCE.

         CHAPTER VII. THE MYSTERIOUS MONK.

         CHAPTER VIII. THE UTILITY OF WINDOWS WHICH OPEN ON THE RIVER.



         BOOK EIGHTH.

         CHAPTER I. THE CROWN CHANGED INTO A DRY LEAF.

         CHAPTER II. CONTINUATION OF THE CROWN WHICH WAS CHANGED INTO A
         DRY LEAF.

         CHAPTER III. END OF THE CROWN WHICH WAS TURNED INTO A DRY
         LEAF.

         CHAPTER IV. _LASCIATE OGNI SPERANZA_—LEAVE ALL HOPE BEHIND, YE
         WHO ENTER HERE.

         CHAPTER V. THE MOTHER.

         CHAPTER VI. THREE HUMAN HEARTS DIFFERENTLY CONSTRUCTED.



         BOOK NINTH.

         CHAPTER I. DELIRIUM.

         CHAPTER II. HUNCHBACKED, ONE EYED, LAME.

         CHAPTER III. DEAF.

         CHAPTER IV. EARTHENWARE AND CRYSTAL.

         CHAPTER V. THE KEY TO THE RED DOOR.

         CHAPTER VI. CONTINUATION OF THE KEY TO THE RED DOOR.


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(Book v. 470 E). Many of his regulations are characteristically Spartan;
such as the prohibition of gold and silver, the common meals of the men,
the military training of the youth, the gymnastic exercises of the women.
The life of Sparta was the life of a camp (Laws ii. 666 E), enforced even
more rigidly in time of peace than in war; the citizens of Sparta, like
Plato's, were forbidden to trade--they were to be soldiers and not
shopkeepers. Nowhere else in Greece was the individual so completely
subjected to the State; the time when he was to marry, the education of
his children, the clothes which he was to wear, the food which he was to
eat, were all prescribed by law. Some of the best enactments in the
Republic, such as the reverence to be paid to parents and elders, and some
of the worst, such as the exposure of deformed children, are borrowed from
the practice of Sparta. The encouragement of friendships between men and
youths, or of men with one another, as affording incentives to bravery, is
also Spartan; in Sparta too a nearer approach was made than in any other
Greek State to equality of the sexes, and to community of property; and
while there was probably less of licentiousness in the sense of
immorality, the tie of marriage was regarded more lightly than in the rest
of Greece. The 'suprema lex' was the preservation of the family, and the
interest of the State. The coarse strength of a military government was
not favourable to purity and refinement; and the excessive strictness of
some regulations seems to have produced a reaction. Of all Hellenes the
Spartans were most accessible to bribery; several of the greatest of them
might be described in the words of Plato as having a 'fierce secret
longing after gold and silver.' Though not in the strict sense communists,
the principle of communism was maintained among them in their division of
lands, in their common meals, in their slaves, and in the free use of one
another's goods. Marriage was a public institution: and the women were
educated by the State, and sang and danced in public with the men.

{clxxi} Many traditions were preserved at Sparta of the severity with
which the magistrates had maintained the primitive rule of music and
poetry; as in the Republic of Plato, the new-fangled poet was to be
expelled. Hymns to the Gods, which are the only kind of music admitted
into the ideal State, were the only kind which was permitted at Sparta.
The Spartans, though an unpoetical race, were nevertheless lovers of
poetry; they had been stirred by the Elegiac strains of Tyrtaeus, they had
crowded around Hippias to hear his recitals of Homer; but in this they
resembled the citizens of the timocratic rather than of the ideal State
(548 E). The council of elder men also corresponds to the Spartan
_gerousia_; and the freedom with which they are permitted to judge about
matters of detail agrees with what we are told of that institution. Once
more, the military rule of not spoiling the dead or offering arms at the
temples; the moderation in the pursuit of enemies; the importance attached
to the physical well-being of the citizens; the use of warfare for the
sake of defence rather than of aggression--are features probably suggested
by the spirit and practice of Sparta.

To the Spartan type the ideal State reverts in the first decline; and the
character of the individual timocrat is borrowed from the Spartan citizen.
The love of Lacedaemon not only affected Plato and Xenophon, but was
shared by many undistinguished Athenians; there they seemed to find a
principle which was wanting in their own democracy. The [Greek:
eu)kosmi/a] of the Spartans attracted them, that is to say, not the
goodness of their laws, but the spirit of order and loyalty which
prevailed. Fascinated by the idea, citizens of Athens would imitate the
Lacedaemonians in their dress and manners; they were known to the
contemporaries of Plato as 'the persons who had their ears bruised,' like
the Roundheads of the Commonwealth. The love of another church or country
when seen at a distance only, the longing for an imaginary simplicity in
civilized times, the fond desire of a past which never has been, or of a
future which never will be,--these are aspirations of the human mind which
are often felt among ourselves. Such feelings meet with a response in the
Republic of Plato.

But there are other features of the Platonic Republic, as, for example,
the literary and philosophical education, and the grace {clxxii} and
beauty of life, which are the reverse of Spartan. Plato wishes to give his
citizens a taste of Athenian freedom as well as of Lacedaemonian
discipline. His individual genius is purely Athenian, although in theory
he is a lover of Sparta; and he is something more than either--he has also
a true Hellenic feeling. He is desirous of humanizing the wars of Hellenes
against one another; he acknowledges that the Delphian God is the grand
hereditary interpreter of all Hellas. The spirit of harmony and 
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AN ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE



A play in five acts



by



Henrik Ibsen



Translated by R. Farquharson Sharp


Contents


 ACT I
 ACT II
 ACT III
 ACT IV
 ACT V


DRAMATIS PERSONAE

  Dr. Thomas Stockmann, Medical Officer of the Municipal Baths.
  Mrs. Stockmann, his wife.
  Petra (their daughter) a teacher.
  Ejlif & Morten (their sons, aged 13 and 10 respectively).
  Peter Stockmann (the Doctor's elder brother), Mayor of the
  Town and Chief Constable, Chairman of the Baths' Committee, etc.
  Morten Kiil, a tanner (Mrs. Stockmann's adoptive father).
  Hovstad, editor of the "People's Messenger."
  Billing, sub-editor.
  Captain Horster.
  Aslaksen, a printer.

Men of various conditions and occupations, a few women, and a troop of
schoolboys—the audience at a public meeting.

The action takes place in a coastal town in southern Norway,

AN ENEMY OF THE PEOPLE

ACT I

(SCENE.—DR. STOCKMANN'S sitting-room. It is evening. The room is
plainly but neatly appointed and furnished. In the right-hand wall are
two doors; the farther leads out to the hall, the nearer to the
doctor's study. In the left-hand wall, opposite the door leading to the
hall, is a door leading to the other rooms occupied by the family. In
the middle of the same wall stands the stove, and, further forward, a
couch with a looking-glass hanging over it and an oval table in front
of it. On the table, a lighted lamp, with a lampshade. At the back of
the room, an open door leads to the dining-room. BILLING is seen
sitting at the dining table, on which a lamp is burning. He has a
napkin tucked under his chin, and MRS. STOCKMANN is standing by the
table handing him a large plate-full of roast beef. The other places at
the table are empty, and the table somewhat in disorder, evidently a
meal having recently been finished.)

Mrs. Stockmann. You see, if you come an hour late, Mr. Billing, you
have to put up with cold meat.

Billing (as he eats). It is uncommonly good, thank you—remarkably good.

Mrs. Stockmann. My husband makes such a point of having his meals
punctually, you know.

Billing. That doesn't affect me a bit. Indeed, I almost think I enjoy a
meal all the better when I can sit down and eat all by myself, and
undisturbed.

Mrs. Stockmann. Oh well, as long as you are enjoying it—. (Turns to
the hall door, listening.) I expect that is Mr. Hovstad coming too.

Billing. Very likely.

(PETER STOCKMANN comes in. He wears an overcoat and his official hat,
and carries a stick.)

Peter Stockmann. Good evening, Katherine.

Mrs. Stockmann (coming forward into the sitting-room). Ah, good
evening—is it you? How good of you to come up and see us!

Peter Stockmann. I happened to be passing, and so—(looks into the
dining-room). But you have company with you, I see.

Mrs. Stockmann (a little embarrassed). Oh, no—it was quite by chance
he came in. (Hurriedly.) Won't you come in and have something, too?

Peter Stockmann. I! No, thank you. Good gracious—hot meat at night!
Not with my digestion.

Mrs. Stockmann. Oh, but just once in a way—

Peter Stockmann. No, no, my dear lady; I stick to my tea and bread and
butter. It is much more wholesome in the long run—and a little more
economical, too.

Mrs. Stockmann (smiling). Now you mustn't think that Thomas and I are
spendthrifts.

Peter Stockmann. Not you, my dear; I would never think that of you.
(Points to the Doctor's study.) Is he not at home?

Mrs. Stockmann. No, he went out for a little turn after supper—he and
the boys.

Peter Stockmann. I doubt if that is a wise thing to do. (Listens.) I
fancy I hear him coming now.

Mrs. Stockmann. No, I don't think it is he. (A knock is heard at the
door.) Come in! (HOVSTAD comes in from the hall.) Oh, it is you, Mr.
Hovstad!

Hovstad. Yes, I hope you will forgive me, but I was delayed at the
printers. Good evening, Mr. Mayor.

Peter Stockmann (bowing a little distantly). Good evening. You have
come on business, no doubt.

Hovstad. Partly. It's about an article for the paper.

Peter Stockmann. So I imagined. I hear my brother has become a prolific
contributor to the "People's Messenger."

Hovstad. Yes, he is good enough to write in the "People's Messenger"
when he has any home truths to tell.

Mrs. Stockmann (to HOVSTAD). But won't you—? (Points to the
dining-room.)

Peter Stockmann. Quite so, quite so. I don't blame him in the least, as
a writer, for addressing himself to the quarters where he will find the
readiest sympathy. And, besides that, I personally have no reason to
bear any ill will to your paper, Mr. Hovstad.

Hovstad. I quite agree with you.

Peter Stockmann. Taking one thing with another, there is an excellent
spirit of toleration in the town—an admirable municipal spirit. And it
all springs from the fact of our having a great common interest to
unite us—an interest that is in an equally high degree the concern of
every right-minded citizen.

Hovstad. The Baths, yes.

Peter Stockmann. Exactly—-our fine, new, handsome Baths. Mark my
words, Mr. Hovstad—the Baths wi
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EDITOR'S NOTE.


In 1887, with the view of amplifying and completing certain new
doctrines which he had merely sketched in _Beyond Good and Evil_
(see especially aphorism 260), Nietzsche published _The Genealogy of
Morals_. This work is perhaps the least aphoristic, in form, of all
Nietzsche's productions. For analytical power, more especially in those
parts where Nietzsche examines the ascetic ideal, _The Genealogy of
Morals_ is unequalled by any other of his works; and, in the light
which it throws upon the attitude of the ecclesiast to the man of
resentment and misfortune, it is one of the most valuable contributions
to sacerdotal psychology.




CONTENTS.

FIRST ESSAY. "GOOD AND EVIL," "GOOD AND BAD"

SECOND ESSAY. "GUILT," "BAD CONSCIENCE," AND THE LIKE

THIRD ESSAY. WHAT IS THE MEANING OF ASCETIC IDEALS?

PEOPLES AND COUNTRIES. Translated by J. M. Kennedy




PREFACE.



We are unknown, we knowers, ourselves to ourselves: this has its own
good reason. We have never searched for ourselves--how should it then
come to pass, that we should ever _find_ ourselves? Rightly has it been
said: "Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also." _Our_
treasure is there, where stand the hives of our knowledge. It is to
those hives that we are always striving; as born creatures of flight,
and as the honey-gatherers of the spirit, we care really in our hearts
only for one thing--to bring something "home to the hive!"

As far as the rest of life with its so-called "experiences" is
concerned, which of us has even sufficient serious interest? or
sufficient time? In our dealings with such points of life, we are, I
fear, never properly to the point; to be precise, our heart is not
there, and certainly not our ear. Rather like one who, delighting
in a divine distraction, or sunken in the seas of his own soul, in
whose ear the clock has just thundered with all its force its twelve
strokes of noon, suddenly wakes up, and asks himself, "What has in
point of fact just struck?" so do we at times rub afterwards, as it
were, our puzzled ears, and ask in complete astonishment and complete
embarrassment, "Through what have we in point of fact just lived?"
further, "Who are we in point of fact?" and count, _after they have
struck_, as I have explained, all the twelve throbbing beats of the
clock of our experience, of our life, of our being--ah!--and count
wrong in the endeavour. Of necessity we remain strangers to ourselves,
we understand ourselves not, in ourselves we are bound to be mistaken,
for of us holds good to all eternity the motto, "Each one is the
farthest away from himself"--as far as ourselves are concerned we are
not "knowers."



My thoughts concerning the _genealogy_ of our moral prejudices--for
they constitute the issue in this polemic--have their first, bald,
and provisional expression in that collection of aphorisms entitled
_Human, all-too-Human, a Book for Free Minds_, the writing of which
was begun in Sorrento, during a winter which allowed me to gaze over
the broad and dangerous territory through which my mind had up to that
time wandered. This took place in the winter of 1876-77; the thoughts
themselves are older. They were in their substance already the same
thoughts which I take up again in the following treatises:--we hope
that they have derived benefit from the long interval, that they have
grown riper, clearer, stronger, more complete. The fact, however,
that I still cling to them even now, that in the meanwhile they have
always held faster by each other, have, in fact, grown out of their
original shape and into each other, all this strengthens in my mind the
joyous confidence that they must have been originally neither separate
disconnected capricious nor sporadic phenomena, but have sprung from
a common root, from a fundamental "_fiat_" of knowledge, whose empire
reached to the soul's depth, and that ever grew more definite in its
voice, and more definite in its demands. That is the only state of
affairs that is proper in the case of a philosopher.

We have no right to be "_disconnected_"; we must neither err
"disconnectedly" nor strike the truth "disconnectedly." Rather with
the necessity with which a tree bears its fruit, so do our thoughts,
our values, our Yes's and No's and If's and Whether's, grow connected
and interrelated, mutual witnesses of _one_ will, _one_ health, _one_
kingdom, _one_ sun--as to whether they are to _your_ taste, these
fruits of ours?--But what matters that to the trees? What matters that
to us, us the philosophers?



Owing to a scrupulosity peculiar to myself, which I confess
reluctantly,--it concerns indeed _morality_,--a scrupulosity, which
manifests itself in my life at such an early period, with so much
spontaneity, with so chronic a persistence and so keen an opposition
to environment, epoch, precedent, and ancestry that I should have
been almost entitled to style it my "_â priori_"--my curiosity and my
suspicion felt themselves betimes bound to halt at the 
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PART TWO

VIII. Medieval

IX. Lucy as a Work of Art

X. Cecil as a Humourist

XI. In Mrs. Vyse’s Well-Appointed Flat

XII. Twelfth Chapter

XIII. How Miss Bartlett’s Boiler Was So Tiresome

XIV. How Lucy Faced the External Situation Bravely

XV. The Disaster Within

XVI. Lying to George

XVII. Lying to Cecil

XVIII. Lying to Mr. Beebe, Mrs. Honeychurch, Freddy, and the Servants

XIX. Lying to Mr. Emerson

XX. The End of the Middle Ages




PART ONE




“The Signora had no business to do it,” said Miss Bartlett, “no business
at all. She promised us south rooms with a view close together, instead
of which here are north rooms, looking into a courtyard, and a long way
apart. Oh, Lucy!”

“And a Cockney, besides!” said Lucy, who had been further saddened by
the Signora’s unexpected accent. “It might be London.” She looked at the
two rows of English people who were sitting at the table; at the row
of white bottles of water and red bottles of wine that ran between the
English people; at the portraits of the late Queen and the late Poet
Laureate that hung behind the English people, heavily framed; at the
notice of the English church (Rev. Cuthbert Eager, M. A. Oxon.), that
was the only other decoration of the wall. “Charlotte, don’t you feel,
too, that we might be in London? I can hardly believe that all kinds of
other things are just outside. I suppose it is one’s being so tired.”

“This meat has surely been used for soup,” said Miss Bartlett, laying
down her fork.

“I want so to see the Arno. The rooms the Signora promised us in her
letter would have looked over the Arno. The Signora had no business to
do it at all. Oh, it is a shame!”

“Any nook does for me,” Miss Bartlett continued; “but it does seem hard
that you shouldn’t have a view.”

Lucy felt that she had been selfish. “Charlotte, you mustn’t spoil me:
of course, you must look over the Arno, too. I meant that. The first
vacant room in the front--” “You must have it,” said Miss Bartlett, part
of whose travelling expenses were paid by Lucy’s mother--a piece of
generosity to which she made many a tactful allusion.

“No, no. You must have it.”

“I insist on it. Your mother would never forgive me, Lucy.”

“She would never forgive me.”

The ladies’ voices grew animated, and--if the sad truth be owned--a
little peevish. They were tired, and under the guise of unselfishness
they wrangled. Some of their neighbours interchanged glances, and one
of them--one of the ill-bred people whom one does meet abroad--leant
forward over the table and actually intruded into their argument. He
said:

“I have a view, I have a view.”

Miss Bartlett was startled. Generally at a pension people looked them
over for a day or two before speaking, and often did not find out that
they would “do” till they had gone. She knew that the intruder was
ill-bred, even before she glanced at him. He was an old man, of heavy
build, with a fair, shaven face and large eyes. There was something
childish in those eyes, though it was not the childishness of senility.
What exactly it was Miss Bartlett did not stop to consider, for her
glance passed on to his clothes. These did not attract her. He was
probably trying to become acquainted with them before they got into the
swim. So she assumed a dazed expression when he spoke to her, and then
said: “A view? Oh, a view! How delightful a view is!”

“This is my son,” said the old man; “his name’s George. He has a view
too.”

“Ah,” said Miss Bartlett, repressing Lucy, who was about to speak.

“What I mean,” he continued, “is that you can have our rooms, and we’ll
have yours. We’ll change.”

The better class of tourist was shocked at this, and sympathized with
the new-comers. Miss Bartlett, in reply, opened her mouth as little
as possible, and said “Thank you very much indeed; that is out of the
question.”

“Why?” said the old man, with both fists on the table.

“Because it is quite out of the question, thank you.”

“You see, we don’t like to take--” began Lucy. Her cousin again
repressed her.

“But why?” he persisted. “Women like looking at a view; men don’t.” And
he thumped with his fists like a naughty child, and turned to his son,
saying, “George, persuade them!”

“It’s so obvious they should have the rooms,” said the son. “There’s
nothing else to say.”

He did not look at the ladies as he spoke, but his voice was perplexed
and sorrowful. Lucy, too, was perplexed; but she saw that they were in
for what is known as “quite a scene,” and she had an odd feeling that
whenever these ill-bred tourists spoke the contest widened and deepened
till it dealt, not with rooms and views, but with--well, with something
quite different, whose existence she had not realized before. Now the
old man attacked Miss Bartlett almost violently: Why should she not
change? What possible objection had she? They would clear out in half an
hour.

Miss Bartlett, though skilled in the delicacies of conversation, was
powerless in the presence of brutality. It was impossible to snub any
on
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[Transcriber's Note: This pamphlet was first published in 1895 but was
subsequently reprinted. It's not apparent if the curiosities in spelling
date back to the original or were introduced later; they have been
retained as found, and the reader is left to decide. Please verify with
another source before quoting this material.]


PREFACE

HON. FREDERICK DOUGLASS'S LETTER

DEAR MISS WELLS:

Let me give you thanks for your faithful paper on the lynch abomination
now generally practiced against colored people in the South. There has
been no word equal to it in convincing power. I have spoken, but my word
is feeble in comparison. You give us what you know and testify from actual
knowledge. You have dealt with the facts with cool, painstaking fidelity,
and left those naked and uncontradicted facts to speak for themselves.

Brave woman! you have done your people and mine a service which can
neither be weighed nor measured. If the American conscience were only half
alive, if the American church and clergy were only half Christianized, if
American moral sensibility were not hardened by persistent infliction of
outrage and crime against colored people, a scream of horror, shame, and
indignation would rise to Heaven wherever your pamphlet shall be read.

But alas! even crime has power to reproduce itself and create conditions
favorable to its own existence. It sometimes seems we are deserted by
earth and Heaven--yet we must still think, speak and work, and trust in
the power of a merciful God for final deliverance.

Very truly and gratefully yours,
FREDERICK DOUGLASS
Cedar Hill, Anacostia, D.C.




CONTENTS

CHAPTER 1
The Case Stated      57

CHAPTER 2
Lynch-Law Statistics      65

CHAPTER 3
Lynching Imbeciles      73

CHAPTER 4
Lynching of Innocent Men      84

CHAPTER 5
Lynched for Anything or Nothing      93

CHAPTER 6
History of Some Cases of Rape      108

CHAPTER 7
The Crusade Justified      121

CHAPTER 8
Miss Willard's Attitude      129

CHAPTER 9
Lynching Record for 1894      139

CHAPTER 10
The Remedy      147





THE CASE STATED


The student of American sociology will find the year 1894 marked by a
pronounced awakening of the public conscience to a system of anarchy and
outlawry which had grown during a series of ten years to be so common,
that scenes of unusual brutality failed to have any visible effect upon
the humane sentiments of the people of our land.

Beginning with the emancipation of the Negro, the inevitable result of
unbribled power exercised for two and a half centuries, by the white man
over the Negro, began to show itself in acts of conscienceless outlawry.
During the slave regime, the Southern white man owned the Negro body and
soul. It was to his interest to dwarf the soul and preserve the body.
Vested with unlimited power over his slave, to subject him to any and all
kinds of physical punishment, the white man was still restrained from such
punishment as tended to injure the slave by abating his physical powers
and thereby reducing his financial worth. While slaves were scourged
mercilessly, and in countless cases inhumanly treated in other respects,
still the white owner rarely permitted his anger to go so far as to take a
life, which would entail upon him a loss of several hundred dollars. The
slave was rarely killed, he was too valuable; it was easier and quite as
effective, for discipline or revenge, to sell him "Down South."

But Emancipation came and the vested interests of the white man in the
Negro's body were lost. The white man had no right to scourge the
emancipated Negro, still less has he a right to kill him. But the Southern
white people had been educated so long in that school of practice, in
which might makes right, that they disdained to draw strict lines of
action in dealing with the Negro. In slave times the Negro was kept
subservient and submissive by the frequency and severity of the scourging,
but, with freedom, a new system of intimidation came into vogue; the Negro
was not only whipped and scourged; he was killed.

Not all nor nearly all of the murders done by white men, during the past
thirty years in the South, have come to light, but the statistics as
gathered and preserved by white men, and which have not been questioned,
show that during these years more than ten thousand Negroes have been
killed in cold blood, without the formality of judicial trial and legal
execution. And yet, as evidence of the absolute impunity with which the
white man dares to kill a Negro, the same record shows that during all
these years, and for all these murders only three white men have been
tried, convicted, and executed. As no white man has been lynched for the
murder of colored people, these three executions are the only instances of
the death penalty being visited upon white men for murdering Negroes.

Naturally enough the commission of these crimes began to tell upon the
public conscience, and the Southern white man, as a tribute to the
nineteenth-century civilization, was in
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Als Gregor Samsa eines Morgens aus unruhigen Träumen erwachte, fand er
sich in seinem Bett zu einem ungeheueren Ungeziefer verwandelt. Er lag
auf seinem panzerartig harten Rücken und sah, wenn er den Kopf ein wenig
hob, seinen gewölbten, braunen, von bogenförmigen Versteifungen
geteilten Bauch, auf dessen Höhe sich die Bettdecke, zum gänzlichen
Niedergleiten bereit, kaum noch erhalten konnte. Seine vielen, im
Vergleich zu seinem sonstigen Umfang kläglich dünnen Beine flimmerten
ihm hilflos vor den Augen.

»Was ist mit mir geschehen?« dachte er. Es war kein Traum. Sein Zimmer,
ein richtiges, nur etwas zu kleines Menschenzimmer, lag ruhig zwischen
den vier wohlbekannten Wänden. Über dem Tisch, auf dem eine
auseinandergepackte Musterkollektion von Tuchwaren ausgebreitet war --
Samsa war Reisender --, hing das Bild, das er vor kurzem aus einer
illustrierten Zeitschrift ausgeschnitten und in einem hübschen,
vergoldeten Rahmen untergebracht hatte. Es stellte eine Dame dar, die,
mit einem Pelzhut und einer Pelzboa versehen, aufrecht dasaß und einen
schweren Pelzmuff, in dem ihr ganzer Unterarm verschwunden war, dem
Beschauer entgegenhob.

Gregors Blick richtete sich dann zum Fenster, und das trübe Wetter --
man hörte Regentropfen auf das Fensterblech aufschlagen -- machte ihn
ganz melancholisch. »Wie wäre es, wenn ich noch ein wenig
weiterschliefe und alle Narrheiten vergäße,« dachte er, aber das war
gänzlich undurchführbar, denn er war gewöhnt, auf der rechten Seite zu
schlafen, konnte sich aber in seinem gegenwärtigen Zustand nicht in
diese Lage bringen. Mit welcher Kraft er sich auch auf die rechte Seite
warf, immer wieder schaukelte er in die Rückenlage zurück. Er versuchte
es wohl hundertmal, schloß die Augen, um die zappelnden Beine nicht
sehen zu müssen, und ließ erst ab, als er in der Seite einen noch nie
gefühlten, leichten, dumpfen Schmerz zu fühlen begann.

»Ach Gott,« dachte er, »was für einen anstrengenden Beruf habe ich
gewählt! Tag aus, Tag ein auf der Reise. Die geschäftlichen Aufregungen
sind viel größer, als im eigentlichen Geschäft zu Hause, und außerdem
ist mir noch diese Plage des Reisens auferlegt, die Sorgen um die
Zuganschlüsse, das unregelmäßige, schlechte Essen, ein immer
wechselnder, nie andauernder, nie herzlich werdender menschlicher
Verkehr. Der Teufel soll das alles holen!« Er fühlte ein leichtes Jucken
oben auf dem Bauch; schob sich auf dem Rücken langsam näher zum
Bettpfosten, um den Kopf besser heben zu können; fand die juckende
Stelle, die mit lauter kleinen weißen Pünktchen besetzt war, die er
nicht zu beurteilen verstand; und wollte mit einem Bein die Stelle
betasten, zog es aber gleich zurück, denn bei der Berührung umwehten ihn
Kälteschauer.

Er glitt wieder in seine frühere Lage zurück. »Dies frühzeitige
Aufstehen«, dachte er, »macht einen ganz blödsinnig. Der Mensch muß
seinen Schlaf haben. Andere Reisende leben wie Haremsfrauen. Wenn ich
zum Beispiel im Laufe des Vormittags ins Gasthaus zurückgehe, um die
erlangten Aufträge zu überschreiben, sitzen diese Herren erst beim
Frühstück. Das sollte ich bei meinem Chef versuchen; ich würde auf der
Stelle hinausfliegen. Wer weiß übrigens, ob das nicht sehr gut für mich
wäre. Wenn ich mich nicht wegen meiner Eltern zurückhielte, ich hätte
längst gekündigt, ich wäre vor den Chef hingetreten und hätte ihm meine
Meinung von Grund des Herzens aus gesagt. Vom Pult hätte er fallen
müssen! Es ist auch eine sonderbare Art, sich auf das Pult zu setzen und
von der Höhe herab mit dem Angestellten zu reden, der überdies wegen der
Schwerhörigkeit des Chefs ganz nahe herantreten muß. Nun, die Hoffnung
ist noch nicht gänzlich aufgegeben, habe ich einmal das Geld beisammen,
um die Schuld der Eltern an ihn abzuzahlen -- es dürfte noch fünf bis
sechs Jahre dauern --, mache ich die Sache unbedingt. Dann wird der
große Schnitt gemacht. Vorläufig allerdings muß ich aufstehen, denn mein
Zug fährt um fünf.«

Und er sah zur Weckuhr hinüber, die auf dem Kasten tickte. »Himmlischer
Vater!« dachte er, Es war halb sieben Uhr, und die Zeiger gingen ruhig
vorwärts, es war sogar halb vorüber, es näherte sich schon dreiviertel.
Sollte der Wecker nicht geläutet haben? Man sah vom Bett aus, daß er auf
vier Uhr richtig eingestellt war; gewiß hatte er auch geläutet. Ja, aber
war es möglich, dieses möbelerschütternde Läuten ruhig zu verschlafen?
Nun, ruhig hatte er ja nicht geschlafen, aber wahrscheinlich desto
fester. Was aber sollte er jetzt tun? Der nächste Zug ging um sieben
Uhr; um den einzuholen, hätte er sich unsinnig beeilen müssen, und die
Kollektion war noch nicht eingepackt, und er selbst fühlte sich durchaus
nicht besonders frisch und beweglich. Und selbst wenn er den Zug
einholte, ein Donnerwetter des Chefs war nicht zu vermeiden, denn der
Geschäftsdiener hatte beim Fünfuhrzug gewartet und die Meldung von
seiner Versäumnis längst erstattet. Es war eine Kreatur des Chefs, ohne
Rückgrat und Verstand. Wie nun, wenn er sich krank meldete? Das wäre
aber äuße
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PG #: 159
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This etext was created by Judith Boss, of Omaha, Nebraska, from the
Garden City Publishing Company, 1896 edition, and first posted in
August, 1994. Minor corrections made by Andrew Sly in October, 2004.






THE ISLAND OF DOCTOR MOREAU

by
H. G. Wells





Contents

       INTRODUCTION
    I. IN THE DINGEY OF THE "LADY VAIN"
   II. THE MAN WHO WAS GOING NOWHERE
  III. THE STRANGE FACE
   IV. AT THE SCHOONER'S RAIL
    V. THE MAN WHO HAD NOWHERE TO GO
   VI. THE EVIL-LOOKING BOATMEN
  VII. THE LOCKED DOOR
 VIII. THE CRYING OF THE PUMA
   IX. THE THING IN THE FOREST
    X. THE CRYING OF THE MAN
   XI. THE HUNTING OF THE MAN
  XII. THE SAYERS OF THE LAW
 XIII. THE PARLEY
  XIV. DOCTOR MOREAU EXPLAINS
   XV. CONCERNING THE BEAST FOLK
  XVI. HOW THE BEAST FOLK TASTE BLOOD
 XVII. A CATASTROPHE
XVIII. THE FINDING OF MOREAU
  XIX. MONTGOMERY'S BANK HOLIDAY
   XX. ALONE WITH THE BEAST FOLK
  XXI. THE REVERSION OF THE BEAST FOLK
 XXII. THE MAN ALONE




INTRODUCTION.

ON February the First 1887, the Lady Vain was lost by collision
with a derelict when about the latitude 1 degree S. and longitude
107 degrees W.

On January the Fifth, 1888--that is eleven months and four days after--my
uncle, Edward Prendick, a private gentleman, who certainly went
aboard the Lady Vain at Callao, and who had been considered drowned,
was picked up in latitude 5 degrees 3' S. and longitude 101 degrees W.
in a small open boat of which the name was illegible, but which is
supposed to have belonged to the missing schooner Ipecacuanha.
He gave such a strange account of himself that he was supposed demented.
Subsequently he alleged that his mind was a blank from the moment
of his escape from the Lady Vain.  His case was discussed among
psychologists at the time as a curious instance of the lapse
of memory consequent upon physical and mental stress.
The following narrative was found among his papers by the undersigned,
his nephew and heir, but unaccompanied by any definite request
for publication.

The only island known to exist in the region in which my uncle was
picked up is Noble's Isle, a small volcanic islet and uninhabited.
It was visited in 1891 by H. M. S. Scorpion.  A party of sailors
then landed, but found nothing living thereon except certain curious
white moths, some hogs and rabbits, and some rather peculiar rats.
So that this narrative is without confirmation in its most
essential particular.  With that understood, there seems no harm
in putting this strange story before the public in accordance,
as I believe, with my uncle's intentions.  There is at least this
much in its behalf:  my uncle passed out of human knowledge about
latitude 5 degrees S. and longitude 105 degrees E., and reappeared
in the same part of the ocean after a space of eleven months.
In some way he must have lived during the interval.  And it seems that
a schooner called the Ipecacuanha with a drunken captain, John Davies,
did start from Africa with a puma and certain other animals aboard
in January, 1887, that the vessel was well known at several ports
in the South Pacific, and that it finally disappeared from those seas
(with a considerable amount of copra aboard), sailing to its unknown
fate from Bayna in December, 1887, a date that tallies entirely with my
uncle's story.

CHARLES EDWARD PRENDICK.

(The Story written by Edward Prendick.)




I.  IN THE DINGEY OF THE "LADY VAIN."


I DO not propose to add anything to what has already been written
concerning the loss of the "Lady Vain."  As everyone knows,
she collided with a derelict when ten days out from Callao.
The longboat, with seven of the crew, was picked up eighteen days after
by H. M. gunboat "Myrtle," and the story of their terrible privations
has become quite as well known as the far more horrible "Medusa" case.
But I have to add to the published story of the "Lady Vain"
another, possibly as horrible and far stranger.  It has hitherto
been supposed that the four men who were in the dingey perished,
but this is incorrect.  I have the best of evidence for this assertion:
I was one of the four men.

But in the first place I must state that there never were four men
in the dingey,--the number was three.  Constans, who was "seen
by the captain to jump into the gig,"{1} luckily for us and unluckily
for himself did not reach us.  He came down out of the tangle
of ropes under the stays of the smashed bowsprit, some small rope
caught his heel as he let go, and he hung for a moment head downward,
and then fell and struck a block or spar floating in the water.
We pulled towards him, but he never came up.

{1} Daily News, March 17, 1887.

I say luckily for us he did not reach us, and I might almost
say luckily for himself; for we had only a small beaker
of water and some soddened ship's biscuits with us, so sudden
had been the alarm, so unprepared the ship for any disaster.
We thought the people on the launch would be better provisioned
(though it seems they were not), and we tried to hail them.  They could
n
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maligned bon-vivants, quite naturally took great interest in the
preparation of food. He is said to have originated many dishes
himself; he collected much material on the subject and he endowed a
school for the teaching of cookery and for the promotion of culinary
ideas. This very statement by his critics places him high in our
esteem, as it shows him up as a scientist and educator. He spent his
vast fortune for food, as the stories go, and when he had only a
quarter million dollars left (a paltry sum today but a considerable
one in those days when gold was scarce and monetary standards in a
worse muddle than today) Apicius took his own life, fearing that he
might have to starve to death some day.

This story seems absurd on the face of it, yet Seneca and Martial tell
it (both with different tendencies) and Suidas, Albino and other
writers repeat it without critical analysis. These writers who are
unreliable in culinary matters anyway, claim that Apicius spent one
hundred million _sestertii_ on his appetite--_in gulam_. Finally when
the hour of accounting came he found that there were only ten million
_sestertii_ left, so he concluded that life was not worth living if
his gastronomic ideas could no longer be carried out in the accustomed
and approved style, and he took poison at a banquet especially
arranged for the occasion.

In the light of modern experience with psychology, with economics,
depressions, journalism, we focus on this and similar stories, and we
find them thoroughly unreliable. We cannot believe this one. It is too
melodramatic, too moralistic perhaps to suit our modern taste. The
underlying causes for the conduct, life and end of Apicius have not
been told. Of course, we have to accept the facts as reported. If only
a Petronius had written that story! What a story it might have been!
But there is only one Petronius in antiquity. His Trimalchio, former
slave, successful profiteer and food speculator, braggard and
drunkard, wife-beater--an upstart who arranged extravagant banquets
merely to show off, who, by the way, also arranged for his funeral at
his banquet (Apician fashion and, indeed, Petronian fashion! for
Petronius died in the same manner) and who peacefully "passed out"
soundly intoxicated--this man is a figure true to life as it was then,
as it is now and as it probably will continue to be. Last but not
least: Mrs. Trimalchio, the resolute lady who helped him "make his
pile"--these are human characters much more real, much more
trustworthy than anything and everything else ever depicted by any
ancient pen; they bring out so graphically the modernity of antiquity.
Without Petronius and Pompeii the antique world would forever remain
at an inexplicably remote distance to our modern conception of life.
With him, and with the dead city, the riddles of antiquity are cleared
up.


THE BOOK

Many dishes listed in Apicius are named for various celebrities who
flourished at a later date than the second Apicius. It is noteworthy,
however, that neither such close contemporaries as Heliogabalus and
Nero, notorious gluttons, nor Petronius, the arbiter of fashion of the
period, are among the persons thus honored. Vitellius, a later
glutton, is well represented in the book. It is fair to assume, then,
that the author or collector of our present Apicius lived long after
the second Apicius, or, at least, that the book was augmented by
persons posterior to M. Gabius A. The book in its present state was
probably completed about the latter part of the third century. It is
almost certain that many recipes were added to a much earlier edition.


PROBABLY OF GREEK PARENTAGE

We may as well add another to the many speculations by saying that it
is quite probable for our book to originate in a number of Greek
manuals or monographs on specialized subjects or departments of
cookery. Such special treatises are mentioned by Athenaeus (cf.
Humelbergius, quoted by Lister). The titles of each chapter (or book)
are in Greek, the text is full of Greek terminology. While
classification under the respective titles is not strictly adhered to
at all times, it is significant that certain subjects, that of fish
cookery, for instance, appear twice in the book, the same subject
showing treatment by widely different hands. Still more significant is
the absence in our book of such important departments as
desserts--_dulcia_--confections in which the ancients were experts.
Bakery, too, even the plainest kind, is conspicuously absent in the
Apician books. The latter two trades being particularly well
developed, were departmentalized to an astonishing degree in ancient
Greece and Rome. These indispensable books are simply wanting in our
book if it be but a collection of Greek monographs. Roman culture and
refinement of living, commencing about 200-250 years before our era
was under the complete rule of Hellas. Greek influence included
everybody from philosophers, artists, architects, actors, law-makers
to cooks.

"The conquered t
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MOSSES FROM AN OLD MANSE AND OTHER STORIES


by

Nathaniel Hawthorne




Contents


  The Birthmark
  Young Goodman Brown
  Rappaccini's Daughter
  Mrs. Bullfrog
  The Celestial Railroad
  The Procession of Life
  Feathertop: A Moralized Legend
  Egotism; or, The Bosom Serpent
  Drowne's Wooden Image
  Roger Malvin's Burial
  The Artist of the Beautiful




FROM MOSSES FROM AN OLD MANSE



THE BIRTHMARK

In the latter part of the last century there lived a man of science, an
eminent proficient in every branch of natural philosophy, who not long
before our story opens had made experience of a spiritual affinity more
attractive than any chemical one. He had left his laboratory to the
care of an assistant, cleared his fine countenance from the furnace
smoke, washed the stain of acids from his fingers, and persuaded a
beautiful woman to become his wife. In those days when the
comparatively recent discovery of electricity and other kindred
mysteries of Nature seemed to open paths into the region of miracle, it
was not unusual for the love of science to rival the love of woman in
its depth and absorbing energy. The higher intellect, the imagination,
the spirit, and even the heart might all find their congenial aliment
in pursuits which, as some of their ardent votaries believed, would
ascend from one step of powerful intelligence to another, until the
philosopher should lay his hand on the secret of creative force and
perhaps make new worlds for himself. We know not whether Aylmer
possessed this degree of faith in man's ultimate control over Nature.
He had devoted himself, however, too unreservedly to scientific studies
ever to be weaned from them by any second passion. His love for his
young wife might prove the stronger of the two; but it could only be by
intertwining itself with his love of science, and uniting the strength
of the latter to his own.

Such a union accordingly took place, and was attended with truly
remarkable consequences and a deeply impressive moral. One day, very
soon after their marriage, Aylmer sat gazing at his wife with a trouble
in his countenance that grew stronger until he spoke.

"Georgiana," said he, "has it never occurred to you that the mark upon
your cheek might be removed?"

"No, indeed," said she, smiling; but perceiving the seriousness of his
manner, she blushed deeply. "To tell you the truth it has been so often
called a charm that I was simple enough to imagine it might be so."

"Ah, upon another face perhaps it might," replied her husband; "but
never on yours. No, dearest Georgiana, you came so nearly perfect from
the hand of Nature that this slightest possible defect, which we
hesitate whether to term a defect or a beauty, shocks me, as being the
visible mark of earthly imperfection."

"Shocks you, my husband!" cried Georgiana, deeply hurt; at first
reddening with momentary anger, but then bursting into tears. "Then why
did you take me from my mother's side? You cannot love what shocks you!"

To explain this conversation it must be mentioned that in the centre of
Georgiana's left cheek there was a singular mark, deeply interwoven, as
it were, with the texture and substance of her face. In the usual state
of her complexion--a healthy though delicate bloom--the mark wore a
tint of deeper crimson, which imperfectly defined its shape amid the
surrounding rosiness. When she blushed it gradually became more
indistinct, and finally vanished amid the triumphant rush of blood that
bathed the whole cheek with its brilliant glow. But if any shifting
motion caused her to turn pale there was the mark again, a crimson
stain upon the snow, in what Aylmer sometimes deemed an almost fearful
distinctness. Its shape bore not a little similarity to the human hand,
though of the smallest pygmy size. Georgiana's lovers were wont to say
that some fairy at her birth hour had laid her tiny hand upon the
infant's cheek, and left this impress there in token of the magic
endowments that were to give her such sway over all hearts. Many a
desperate swain would have risked life for the privilege of pressing
his lips to the mysterious hand. It must not be concealed, however,
that the impression wrought by this fairy sign manual varied
exceedingly, according to the difference of temperament in the
beholders. Some fastidious persons--but they were exclusively of her
own sex--affirmed that the bloody hand, as they chose to call it, quite
destroyed the effect of Georgiana's beauty, and rendered her
countenance even hideous. But it would be as reasonable to say that one
of those small blue stains which sometimes occur in the purest statuary
marble would convert the Eve of Powers to a monster. Masculine
observers, if the birthmark did not heighten their admiration,
contented themselves with wishing it away, that the world might possess
one living specimen of ideal loveliness without the semblance of a
flaw. After his marriage,--for he thought little or nothing of the
matter before,--Aylmer discovered that this
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This book was TYPED in by Judy Boss


 PARADISE LOST

 A
POEM

Written in
TEN BOOKS

by John Milton




      Contents



               BOOK I

               BOOK II

               BOOK III

               BOOK IV

               BOOK V

               BOOK VI

               BOOK VII

               BOOK VIII

               BOOK IX

               BOOK X








  BOOK I.

Of Mans First Disobedience, and the Fruit
Of that Forbidden Tree, whose mortal tast
Brought Death into the World, and all our woe,
With loss of _Eden_, till one greater Man
Restore us, and regain the blissful Seat,
Sing Heav’nly Muse, that on the secret top
Of _Oreb_, or of _Sinai_, didst inspire
That Shepherd, who first taught the chosen Seed,
In the Beginning how the Heav’ns and Earth
Rose out of _Chaos_: Or if _Sion_ Hill
Delight thee more, and _Siloa’s_ Brook that flow’d
Fast by the Oracle of God; I thence
Invoke thy aid to my adventrous Song,
That with no middle flight intends to soar
Above th’ _Aonian_ Mount, while it pursues
Things unattempted yet in Prose or Rhime.
And chiefly Thou O Spirit, that dost prefer
Before all Temples th’ upright heart and pure,
Instruct me, for Thou know’st; Thou from the first
Wast present, and with mighty wings outspread
Dove-like satst brooding on the vast Abyss
And mad’st it pregnant: What in me is dark
Illumine, what is low raise and support;
That to the highth of this great Argument
I may assert th’ Eternal Providence,
And justifie the wayes of God to men.

Say first, for Heav’n hides nothing from thy view
Nor the deep Tract of Hell, say first what cause
Mov’d our Grand Parents in that happy State,
Favour’d of Heav’n so highly, to fall off
From their Creator, and transgress his Will
For one restraint, Lords of the World besides?
Who first seduc’d them to that fowl revolt?
Th’ infernal Serpent; he it was, whose guile
Stird up with Envy and Revenge, deceiv’d
The Mother of Mankinde, what time his Pride
Had cast him out from Heav’n, with all his Host
Of Rebel Angels, by whose aid aspiring
To set himself in Glory above his Peers,
He trusted to have equal’d the most High,
If he oppos’d; and with ambitious aim
Against the Throne and Monarchy of God
Rais’d impious War in Heav’n and Battel proud
With vain attempt.  Him the Almighty Power
Hurld headlong flaming from th’ Ethereal Skie
With hideous ruine and combustion down
To bottomless perdition, there to dwell
In Adamantine Chains and penal Fire,
Who durst defie th’ Omnipotent to Arms.
Nine times the Space that measures Day and Night
To mortal men, he with his horrid crew
Lay vanquisht, rowling in the fiery Gulfe
Confounded though immortal: But his doom
Reserv’d him to more wrath; for now the thought
Both of lost happiness and lasting pain
Torments him; round he throws his baleful eyes
That witness’d huge affliction and dismay
Mixt with obdurate pride and stedfast hate:
At once as far as Angels kenn he views
The dismal Situation waste and wilde,
A Dungeon horrible, on all sides round
As one great Furnace flam’d, yet from those flames
No light, but rather darkness visible
Serv’d only to discover sights of woe,
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace
And rest can never dwell, hope never comes
That comes to all; but torture without end
Still urges, and a fiery Deluge, fed
With ever-burning Sulphur unconsum’d:
Such place Eternal Justice had prepar’d
For those rebellious, here their Prison ordain’d
In utter darkness, and their portion set
As far remov’d from God and light of Heav’n
As from the Center thrice to th’ utmost Pole.
O how unlike the place from whence they fell!
There the companions of his fall, o’rewhelm’d
With Floods and Whirlwinds of tempestuous fire,
He soon discerns, and weltring by his side
One next himself in power, and next in crime,
Long after known in _Palestine_, and nam’d
_Beelzebub_.  To whom th’ Arch-Enemy,
And thence in Heav’n call’d Satan, with bold words
Breaking the horrid silence thus began.

If thou beest he; But O how fall’n! how chang’d
From him, who in the happy Realms of Light
Cloth’d with transcendent brightnes didst outshine
Myriads though bright: If he whom mutual league,
United thoughts and counsels, equal hope,
And hazard in the Glorious Enterprize,
Joynd with me once, now misery hath joynd
In equal ruin: into what Pit thou seest
From what highth fal’n, so much the stronger provd
He with his Thunder: and till then who knew
The force of those dire Arms? yet not for those
Nor what the Potent Victor in his rage
Can else inflict do I repent or change,
Though chang’d in outward lustre; that fixt mind
And high disdain, from sence of injur’d merit,
That with the mightiest rais’d me to contend,
And to the fierce contention brought along
Innumerable force of Spirits arm’d
That durst dislike his reign, and me preferring,
His utmost power with adverse power oppos’d
In dubious Battel on the Plains of Heav’n,
And shook his throne.  What though the field be lost?
All is not lost; the unconquerable Will,
And study of revenge, 
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Towards the end of November, during a thaw, at nine o’clock one morning,
a train on the Warsaw and Petersburg railway was approaching the latter
city at full speed. The morning was so damp and misty that it was only
with great difficulty that the day succeeded in breaking; and it was
impossible to distinguish anything more than a few yards away from the
carriage windows.

Some of the passengers by this particular train were returning from
abroad; but the third-class carriages were the best filled, chiefly with
insignificant persons of various occupations and degrees, picked up at
the different stations nearer town. All of them seemed weary, and
most of them had sleepy eyes and a shivering expression, while their
complexions generally appeared to have taken on the colour of the fog
outside.

When day dawned, two passengers in one of the third-class carriages
found themselves opposite each other. Both were young fellows, both
were rather poorly dressed, both had remarkable faces, and both were
evidently anxious to start a conversation. If they had but known why,
at this particular moment, they were both remarkable persons, they would
undoubtedly have wondered at the strange chance which had set them down
opposite to one another in a third-class carriage of the Warsaw Railway
Company.

One of them was a young fellow of about twenty-seven, not tall, with
black curling hair, and small, grey, fiery eyes. His nose was broad
and flat, and he had high cheek bones; his thin lips were constantly
compressed into an impudent, ironical--it might almost be called a
malicious--smile; but his forehead was high and well formed, and atoned
for a good deal of the ugliness of the lower part of his face. A special
feature of this physiognomy was its death-like pallor, which gave to
the whole man an indescribably emaciated appearance in spite of his hard
look, and at the same time a sort of passionate and suffering expression
which did not harmonize with his impudent, sarcastic smile and
keen, self-satisfied bearing. He wore a large fur--or rather
astrachan--overcoat, which had kept him warm all night, while his
neighbour had been obliged to bear the full severity of a Russian
November night entirely unprepared. His wide sleeveless mantle with a
large cape to it--the sort of cloak one sees upon travellers during the
winter months in Switzerland or North Italy--was by no means adapted to
the long cold journey through Russia, from Eydkuhnen to St. Petersburg.

The wearer of this cloak was a young fellow, also of about twenty-six or
twenty-seven years of age, slightly above the middle height, very fair,
with a thin, pointed and very light coloured beard; his eyes were large
and blue, and had an intent look about them, yet that heavy expression
which some people affirm to be a peculiarity as well as evidence, of an
epileptic subject. His face was decidedly a pleasant one for all that;
refined, but quite colourless, except for the circumstance that at this
moment it was blue with cold. He held a bundle made up of an old faded
silk handkerchief that apparently contained all his travelling wardrobe,
and wore thick shoes and gaiters, his whole appearance being very
un-Russian.

His black-haired neighbour inspected these peculiarities, having nothing
better to do, and at length remarked, with that rude enjoyment of the
discomforts of others which the common classes so often show:

“Cold?”

“Very,” said his neighbour, readily, “and this is a thaw, too. Fancy if
it had been a hard frost! I never thought it would be so cold in the old
country. I’ve grown quite out of the way of it.”

“What, been abroad, I suppose?”

“Yes, straight from Switzerland.”

“Wheugh! my goodness!” The black-haired young fellow whistled, and then
laughed.

The conversation proceeded. The readiness of the fair-haired young
man in the cloak to answer all his opposite neighbour’s questions
was surprising. He seemed to have no suspicion of any impertinence
or inappropriateness in the fact of such questions being put to him.
Replying to them, he made known to the inquirer that he certainly had
been long absent from Russia, more than four years; that he had been
sent abroad for his health; that he had suffered from some strange
nervous malady--a kind of epilepsy, with convulsive spasms. His
interlocutor burst out laughing several times at his answers; and
more than ever, when to the question, “whether he had been cured?” the
patient replied:

“No, they did not cure me.”

“Hey! that’s it! You stumped up your money for nothing, and we
believe in those fellows, here!” remarked the black-haired individual,
sarcastically.

“Gospel truth, sir, Gospel truth!” exclaimed another passenger, a
shabbily dressed man of about forty, who looked like a clerk, and
possessed a red nose and a very blotchy face. “Gospel truth! All they do
is to get hold of our good Russian money free, gratis, and for nothing.”

“Oh, but you’re quite wrong in my particular instance,” said the Swiss
patient, q
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Utopia

by Thomas More


Contents

 INTRODUCTION
 DISCOURSES OF RAPHAEL HYTHLODAY, OF THE BEST STATE OF A COMMONWEALTH
 OF THEIR TOWNS, PARTICULARLY OF AMAUROT
 OF THEIR MAGISTRATES
 OF THEIR TRADES, AND MANNER OF LIFE
 OF THEIR TRAFFIC
 OF THE TRAVELLING OF THE UTOPIANS
 OF THEIR SLAVES, AND OF THEIR MARRIAGES
 OF THEIR MILITARY DISCIPLINE
 OF THE RELIGIONS OF THE UTOPIANS




UTOPIA




INTRODUCTION


Sir Thomas More, son of Sir John More, a justice of the King’s Bench,
was born in 1478, in Milk Street, in the city of London. After his
earlier education at St. Anthony’s School, in Threadneedle Street, he
was placed, as a boy, in the household of Cardinal John Morton,
Archbishop of Canterbury and Lord Chancellor. It was not unusual for
persons of wealth or influence and sons of good families to be so
established together in a relation of patron and client. The youth wore
his patron’s livery, and added to his state. The patron used,
afterwards, his wealth or influence in helping his young client forward
in the world. Cardinal Morton had been in earlier days that Bishop of
Ely whom Richard III. sent to the Tower; was busy afterwards in
hostility to Richard; and was a chief adviser of Henry VII., who in
1486 made him Archbishop of Canterbury, and nine months afterwards Lord
Chancellor. Cardinal Morton—of talk at whose table there are
recollections in “Utopia”—delighted in the quick wit of young Thomas
More. He once said, “Whoever shall live to try it, shall see this child
here waiting at table prove a notable and rare man.”

At the age of about nineteen, Thomas More was sent to Canterbury
College, Oxford, by his patron, where he learnt Greek of the first men
who brought Greek studies from Italy to England—William Grocyn and
Thomas Linacre. Linacre, a physician, who afterwards took orders, was
also the founder of the College of Physicians. In 1499, More left
Oxford to study law in London, at Lincoln’s Inn, and in the next year
Archbishop Morton died.

More’s earnest character caused him while studying law to aim at the
subduing of the flesh, by wearing a hair shirt, taking a log for a
pillow, and whipping himself on Fridays. At the age of twenty-one he
entered Parliament, and soon after he had been called to the bar he was
made Under-Sheriff of London. In 1503 he opposed in the House of
Commons Henry VII.’s proposal for a subsidy on account of the marriage
portion of his daughter Margaret; and he opposed with so much energy
that the House refused to grant it. One went and told the king that a
beardless boy had disappointed all his expectations. During the last
years, therefore, of Henry VII. More was under the displeasure of the
king, and had thoughts of leaving the country.

Henry VII. died in April, 1509, when More’s age was a little over
thirty. In the first years of the reign of Henry VIII. he rose to large
practice in the law courts, where it is said he refused to plead in
cases which he thought unjust, and took no fees from widows, orphans,
or the poor. He would have preferred marrying the second daughter of
John Colt, of New Hall, in Essex, but chose her elder sister, that he
might not subject her to the discredit of being passed over.

In 1513 Thomas More, still Under-Sheriff of London, is said to have
written his “History of the Life and Death of King Edward V., and of
the Usurpation of Richard III.” The book, which seems to contain the
knowledge and opinions of More’s patron, Morton, was not printed until
1557, when its writer had been twenty-two years dead. It was then
printed from a MS. in More’s handwriting.

In the year 1515 Wolsey, Archbishop of York, was made Cardinal by Leo
X.; Henry VIII. made him Lord Chancellor, and from that year until 1523
the King and the Cardinal ruled England with absolute authority, and
called no parliament. In May of the year 1515 Thomas More—not knighted
yet—was joined in a commission to the Low Countries with Cuthbert
Tunstal and others to confer with the ambassadors of Charles V., then
only Archduke of Austria, upon a renewal of alliance. On that embassy
More, aged about thirty-seven, was absent from England for six months,
and while at Antwerp he established friendship with Peter Giles
(Latinised Ægidius), a scholarly and courteous young man, who was
secretary to the municipality of Antwerp.

Cuthbert Tunstal was a rising churchman, chancellor to the Archbishop
of Canterbury, who in that year (1515) was made Archdeacon of Chester,
and in May of the next year (1516) Master of the Rolls. In 1516 he was
sent again to the Low Countries, and More then went with him to
Brussels, where they were in close companionship with Erasmus.

More’s “Utopia” was written in Latin, and is in two parts, of which the
second, describing the place ([Greek text]—or Nusquama, as he called it
sometimes in his letters—“Nowhere”), was probably written towards the
close of 1515; the first part, introductory, early in 1516. The book
was first printed at Louvain, late in 1516, under the editor
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THE CHEAP LODGING-HOUSES.


When it comes to the question of numbers with this tramps' army,
another factor of serious portent has to be taken into account: the
cheap lodging-houses. In the caravanseries that line Chatham Street and
the Bowery, harboring nightly a population as large as that of many a
thriving town, a home-made article of tramp and thief is turned out
that is attracting the increasing attention of the police, and offers
a field for the missionary's labors beside which most others seem of
slight account. Within a year they have been stamped as nurseries of
crime by the chief of the Secret Police,[10] the sort of crime that
feeds especially on idleness and lies ready to the hand of fatal
opportunity. In the same strain one of the justices on the police court
bench sums up his long experience as a committing magistrate: "The
ten-cent lodging-houses more than counterbalance the good done by the
free reading-room, lectures, and all other agencies of reform. Such
lodging-houses have caused more destitution, more beggary and crime
than any other agency I know of." A very slight acquaintance with the
subject is sufficient to convince the observer that neither authority
overstates the fact. The two officials had reference, however, to two
different grades of lodging-houses. The cost of a night's lodging makes
the difference. There is a wider gap between the "hotel"--they are all
hotels--that charges a quarter and the one that furnishes a bed for a
dime than between the bridal suite and the every-day hall bedroom of
the ordinary hostelry.

[Footnote 10: Inspector Byrnes on Lodging-houses, in the North American
Review, September, 1889.]

The metropolis is to lots of people like a lighted candle to the moth.
It attracts them in swarms that come year after year with the vague
idea that they can get along here if anywhere; that something is bound
to turn up among so many. Nearly all are young men, unsettled in life,
many--most of them, perhaps--fresh from good homes, beyond a doubt
with honest hopes of getting a start in the city and making a way for
themselves. Few of them have much money to waste while looking around,
and the cheapness of the lodging offered is an object. Fewer still know
anything about the city and its pitfalls. They have come in search
of crowds, of "life," and they gravitate naturally to the Bowery,
the great democratic highway of the city, where the twenty-five-cent
lodging-houses take them in. In the alleged reading-rooms of these
great barracks, that often have accommodations, such as they are,
for two, three, and even four hundred guests, they encounter three
distinct classes of associates: the great mass adventurers like
themselves, waiting there for something to turn up; a much smaller
class of respectable clerks or mechanics, who, too poor or too lonely
to have a home of their own, live this way from year to year; and
lastly the thief in search of recruits for his trade. The sights the
young stranger sees, and the company he keeps, in the Bowery are not
of a kind to strengthen any moral principle he may have brought away
from home, and by the time his money is gone, with no work yet in
sight, and he goes down a step, a long step, to the fifteen-cent
lodging-house, he is ready for the tempter whom he finds waiting for
him there, reinforced by the contingent of ex-convicts returning from
the prisons after having served out their sentences for robbery or
theft. Then it is that the something he has been waiting for turns
up. The police returns have the record of it. "In nine cases out of
ten," says Inspector Byrnes, "he turns out a thief, or a burglar, if,
indeed, he does not sooner or later become a murderer." As a matter
of fact, some of the most atrocious of recent murders have been the
result of schemes of robbery hatched in these houses, and so frequent
and bold have become the depredations of the lodging-house thieves,
that the authorities have been compelled to make a public demand for
more effective laws that shall make them subject at all times to police
regulation.

Inspector Byrnes observes that in the last two or three years at
least four hundred young men have been arrested for petty crimes that
originated in the lodging-houses, and that in many cases it was their
first step in crime. He adds his testimony to the notorious fact that
three-fourths of the young men called on to plead to generally petty
offences in the courts are under twenty years of age, poorly clad, and
without means. The bearing of the remark is obvious. One of the, to the
police, well-known thieves who lived, when out of jail, at the Windsor,
a well-known lodging-house in the Bowery, went to Johnstown after the
flood and was shot and killed there while robbing the dead.

An idea of just how this particular scheme of corruption works, with
an extra touch of infamy thrown in, may be gathered from the story
of David Smith, the "New York Fagin," who was convicted and sent to
prison last year through t
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On a January evening of the early seventies, Christine Nilsson was
singing in Faust at the Academy of Music in New York.

Though there was already talk of the erection, in remote metropolitan
distances "above the Forties," of a new Opera House which should
compete in costliness and splendour with those of the great European
capitals, the world of fashion was still content to reassemble every
winter in the shabby red and gold boxes of the sociable old Academy.
Conservatives cherished it for being small and inconvenient, and thus
keeping out the "new people" whom New York was beginning to dread and
yet be drawn to; and the sentimental clung to it for its historic
associations, and the musical for its excellent acoustics, always so
problematic a quality in halls built for the hearing of music.

It was Madame Nilsson's first appearance that winter, and what the
daily press had already learned to describe as "an exceptionally
brilliant audience" had gathered to hear her, transported through the
slippery, snowy streets in private broughams, in the spacious family
landau, or in the humbler but more convenient "Brown coupe." To come to
the Opera in a Brown coupe was almost as honourable a way of arriving
as in one's own carriage; and departure by the same means had the
immense advantage of enabling one (with a playful allusion to
democratic principles) to scramble into the first Brown conveyance in
the line, instead of waiting till the cold-and-gin congested nose of
one's own coachman gleamed under the portico of the Academy.  It was
one of the great livery-stableman's most masterly intuitions to have
discovered that Americans want to get away from amusement even more
quickly than they want to get to it.

When Newland Archer opened the door at the back of the club box the
curtain had just gone up on the garden scene.  There was no reason why
the young man should not have come earlier, for he had dined at seven,
alone with his mother and sister, and had lingered afterward over a
cigar in the Gothic library with glazed black-walnut bookcases and
finial-topped chairs which was the only room in the house where Mrs.
Archer allowed smoking.  But, in the first place, New York was a
metropolis, and perfectly aware that in metropolises it was "not the
thing" to arrive early at the opera; and what was or was not "the
thing" played a part as important in Newland Archer's New York as the
inscrutable totem terrors that had ruled the destinies of his
forefathers thousands of years ago.

The second reason for his delay was a personal one.  He had dawdled
over his cigar because he was at heart a dilettante, and thinking over
a pleasure to come often gave him a subtler satisfaction than its
realisation.  This was especially the case when the pleasure was a
delicate one, as his pleasures mostly were; and on this occasion the
moment he looked forward to was so rare and exquisite in quality
that--well, if he had timed his arrival in accord with the prima
donna's stage-manager he could not have entered the Academy at a more
significant moment than just as she was singing:  "He loves me--he
loves me not--HE LOVES ME!--" and sprinkling the falling daisy petals
with notes as clear as dew.

She sang, of course, "M'ama!" and not "he loves me," since an
unalterable and unquestioned law of the musical world required that the
German text of French operas sung by Swedish artists should be
translated into Italian for the clearer understanding of
English-speaking audiences.  This seemed as natural to Newland Archer
as all the other conventions on which his life was moulded: such as the
duty of using two silver-backed brushes with his monogram in blue
enamel to part his hair, and of never appearing in society without a
flower (preferably a gardenia) in his buttonhole.

"M'ama ... non m'ama ..." the prima donna sang, and "M'ama!", with a
final burst of love triumphant, as she pressed the dishevelled daisy to
her lips and lifted her large eyes to the sophisticated countenance of
the little brown Faust-Capoul, who was vainly trying, in a tight purple
velvet doublet and plumed cap, to look as pure and true as his artless
victim.

Newland Archer, leaning against the wall at the back of the club box,
turned his eyes from the stage and scanned the opposite side of the
house.  Directly facing him was the box of old Mrs. Manson Mingott,
whose monstrous obesity had long since made it impossible for her to
attend the Opera, but who was always represented on fashionable nights
by some of the younger members of the family.  On this occasion, the
front of the box was filled by her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Lovell
Mingott, and her daughter, Mrs. Welland; and slightly withdrawn behind
these brocaded matrons sat a young girl in white with eyes ecstatically
fixed on the stagelovers.  As Madame Nilsson's "M'ama!" thrilled out
above the silent house (the boxes always stopped talking during the
Daisy Song) a warm pink mounted to the girl's cheek, mantled her brow
to the 
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Vergon and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.










THE RAPE OF THE LOCK


AND OTHER POEMS



BY

ALEXANDER POPE






EDITED

WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES

BY

THOMAS MARC PARROTT, PH.D.

PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH, PRINCETON UNIVERSITY



THIS EDITION PUBLISHED 1906




PREFACE

It has been the aim of the editor in preparing this little book to get
together sufficient material to afford a student in one of our high
schools or colleges adequate and typical specimens of the vigorous and
versatile genius of Alexander Pope. With this purpose he has included in
addition to 'The Rape of the Lock', the 'Essay on Criticism' as
furnishing the standard by which Pope himself expected his work to be
judged, the 'First Epistle' of the 'Essay on Man' as a characteristic
example of his didactic poetry, and the 'Epistle to Arbuthnot', both for
its exhibition of Pope's genius as a satirist and for the picture it
gives of the poet himself. To these are added the famous close of the
'Dunciad', the 'Ode to Solitude', a specimen of Pope's infrequent lyric
note, and the 'Epitaph on Gay'.

The first edition of 'The Rape of the Lock' has been given as an
appendix in order that the student may have the opportunity of comparing
the two forms of this poem, and of realizing the admirable art with
which Pope blended old and new in the version that is now the only one
known to the average reader. The text throughout is that of the Globe
Edition prepared by Professor A. W. Ward.

The editor can lay no claim to originality in the notes with which he
has attempted to explain and illustrate these poems. He is indebted at
every step to the labors of earlier editors, particularly to Elwin,
Courthope, Pattison, and Hales. If he has added anything of his own, it
has been in the way of defining certain words whose meaning or
connotation has changed since the time of Pope, and in paraphrasing
certain passages to bring out a meaning which has been partially
obscured by the poet's effort after brevity and concision.

In the general introduction the editor has aimed not so much to recite
the facts of Pope's life as to draw the portrait of a man whom he
believes to have been too often misunderstood and misrepresented. The
special introductions to the various poems are intended to acquaint the
student with the circumstances under which they were composed, to trace
their literary genesis and relationships, and, whenever necessary, to
give an outline of the train of thought which they embody.

In conclusion the editor would express the hope that his labors in the
preparation of this book may help, if only in some slight degree, to
stimulate the study of the work of a poet who, with all his limitations,
remains one of the abiding glories of English literature, and may
contribute not less to a proper appreciation of a man who with all his
faults was, on the evidence of those who knew him best, not only a great
poet, but a very human and lovable personality.

T. M. P.

'Princeton University', 'June' 4, 1906.





       *       *       *       *       *





CONTENTS


INTRODUCTION

THE RAPE OF THE LOCK

AN ESSAY ON CRITICISM

AN ESSAY ON MAN, EPISTLE I

AN EPISTLE TO DR ARBUTHNOT

ODE ON SOLITUDE

THE DESCENT OF DULLNESS [FROM THE 'Dunciad', BOOK IV]

EPITAPH ON GAY

NOTES

  THE RAPE OF THE LOCK

  AN ESSAY ON CRITICISM

  AN ESSAY ON MAN (EPISTLE I)

  AN EPISTLE TO DR ARBUTHNOT

  SELECTIONS

APPENDIX

  THE FIRST EDITION OF THE RAPE OF THE LOCK





       *       *       *       *       *





INTRODUCTION


Perhaps no other great poet in English Literature has been so
differently judged at different times as Alexander Pope. Accepted almost
on his first appearance as one of the leading poets of the day, he
rapidly became recognized as the foremost man of letters of his age. He
held this position throughout his life, and for over half a century
after his death his works were considered not only as masterpieces, but
as the finest models of poetry. With the change of poetic temper that
occurred at the beginning of the nineteenth century Pope's fame was
overshadowed. The romantic poets and critics even raised the question
whether Pope was a poet at all. And as his poetical fame diminished, the
harsh judgments of his personal character increased. It is almost
incredible with what exulting bitterness critics and editors of Pope
have tracked out and exposed his petty intrigues, exaggerated his
delinquencies, misrepresented his actions, attempted in short to blast
his character as a man.

Both as a man and as a poet Pope is sadly in need of a defender to-day.
And a defense is by no means impossible. The depreciation of Pope's
poetry springs, in the main, from an attempt to measure it by other
standards than those which he and his age recognized. The attacks upon
his character are due, in large measure, to a misunderstanding of the
spirit of the times in which he lived and to a forgetfulness of the
special circumstances of his own life. Tried in a fair 
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Arrest - Conversation with Mrs. Grubach - Then Miss Bürstner

        Someone must have been telling lies about Josef K., he knew he had
done nothing wrong but, one morning, he was arrested.  Every day at
eight in the morning he was brought his breakfast by  Mrs. Grubach's
cook - Mrs. Grubach was his landlady - but today she didn't come.  That
had never happened before.  K. waited a little while, looked from his
pillow at the old woman who lived opposite and who was watching him with
an inquisitiveness quite unusual for her, and finally, both hungry and
disconcerted, rang the bell.  There was immediately a knock at the door
and a man entered.  He had never seen the man in this house before.  He
was slim but firmly built, his clothes were black and close-fitting,
with many folds and pockets, buckles and buttons and a belt, all of
which gave the impression of being very practical but without making it
very clear what they were actually for.  "Who are you?" asked K.,
sitting half upright in his bed.  The man, however, ignored the question
as if his arrival simply had to be accepted, and merely replied, "You
rang?"  "Anna should have brought me my breakfast," said K.  He tried to
work out who the man actually was, first in silence, just through
observation and by thinking about it, but the man didn't stay still to
be looked at for very long.  Instead he went over to the door, opened it
slightly, and said to someone who was clearly standing immediately
behind it, "He wants Anna to bring him his breakfast."  There was a
little laughter in the neighbouring room, it was not clear from the
sound of it whether there were several people laughing.  The strange man
could not have learned anything from it that he hadn't known already,
but now he said to K., as if making his report "It is not possible."
"It would be the first time that's happened," said K., as he jumped out
of bed and quickly pulled on his trousers.  "I want to see who that is
in the next room, and why it is that Mrs. Grubach has let me be
disturbed in this way."  It immediately occurred to him that he needn't
have said this out loud, and that he must to some extent have
acknowledged their authority by doing so, but that didn't seem important
to him at the time.  That, at least, is how the stranger took it, as he
said, "Don't you think you'd better stay where you are?"  "I want
neither to stay here nor to be spoken to by you until you've introduced
yourself."  "I meant it for your own good," said the stranger and opened
the door, this time without being asked.  The next room, which K.
entered more slowly than he had intended, looked at first glance exactly
the same as it had the previous evening.  It was Mrs. Grubach's living
room, over-filled with furniture, tablecloths, porcelain and
photographs.  Perhaps there was a little more space in there than usual
today, but if so it was not immediately obvious, especially as the main
difference was the presence of a man sitting by the open window with a
book from which he now looked up.  "You should have stayed in your room!
Didn't Franz tell you?"  "And what is it you want, then?" said K.,
looking back and forth between this new acquaintance and the one named
Franz, who had remained in the doorway.  Through the open window he
noticed the old woman again, who had come close to the window opposite
so that she could continue to see everything.  She was showing an
inquisitiveness that really made it seem like she was going senile. "I
want to see Mrs. Grubach ...," said K., making a movement as if tearing
himself away from the two men - even though they were standing well away
from him - and wanted to go.  "No," said the man at the window, who
threw his book down on a coffee table and stood up.  "You can't go away
when you're under arrest."  "That's how it seems," said K.  "And why am
I under arrest?" he then asked.  "That's something we're not allowed to
tell you.  Go into your room and wait there.  Proceedings are underway
and you'll learn about everything all in good time.  It's not really
part of my job to be friendly towards you like this, but I hope no-one,
apart from Franz, will hear about it, and he's been more friendly
towards you than he should have been, under the rules, himself.  If you
carry on having as much good luck as you have been with your arresting
officers then you can reckon on things going well with you."  K. wanted
to sit down, but then he saw that, apart from the chair by the window,
there was nowhere anywhere in the room where he could sit.  "You'll get
the chance to see for yourself how true all this is," said Franz and
both men then walked up to K.  They were significantly bigger than him,
especially the second man, who frequently slapped him on the shoulder.
The two of them felt K.'s nightshirt, and said he would now have to wear
one that was of much lower quality, but that they would keep the
nightshirt along with his other underclothes and return them to him if
his case turned out well
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"SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER"

by Oliver Goldsmith



She Stoops To Conquer; Or, The Mistakes Of A Night.

A Comedy.


To Samuel Johnson, LL.D.


Dear Sir,--By inscribing this slight performance to you, I do not mean
so much to compliment you as myself.  It may do me some honour to
inform the public, that I have lived many years in intimacy with you.
It may serve the interests of mankind also to inform them, that the
greatest wit may be found in a character, without impairing the most
unaffected piety.

I have, particularly, reason to thank you for your partiality to this
performance.  The undertaking a comedy not merely sentimental was very
dangerous; and Mr. Colman, who saw this piece in its various stages,
always thought it so.  However, I ventured to trust it to the public;
and, though it was necessarily delayed till late in the season, I have
every reason to be grateful.

I am, dear Sir, your most sincere friend and admirer,

OLIVER GOLDSMITH.




PROLOGUE,

By David Garrick, Esq.


Enter MR. WOODWARD, dressed in black, and holding a handkerchief
to his eyes.

     Excuse me, sirs, I pray--I can't yet speak--
     I'm crying now--and have been all the week.
     "'Tis not alone this mourning suit," good masters:
     "I've that within"--for which there are no plasters!
     Pray, would you know the reason why I'm crying?
     The Comic Muse, long sick, is now a-dying!
     And if she goes, my tears will never stop;
     For as a player, I can't squeeze out one drop:
     I am undone, that's all--shall lose my bread--
     I'd rather, but that's nothing--lose my head.
     When the sweet maid is laid upon the bier,
     Shuter and I shall be chief mourners here.
     To her a mawkish drab of spurious breed,
     Who deals in sentimentals, will succeed!
     Poor Ned and I are dead to all intents;
     We can as soon speak Greek as sentiments!
     Both nervous grown, to keep our spirits up.
     We now and then take down a hearty cup.
     What shall we do?  If Comedy forsake us,
     They'll turn us out, and no one else will take us.
     But why can't I be moral?--Let me try--
     My heart thus pressing--fixed my face and eye--
     With a sententious look, that nothing means,
     (Faces are blocks in sentimental scenes)
     Thus I begin: "All is not gold that glitters,
     "Pleasure seems sweet, but proves a glass of bitters.
     "When Ignorance enters, Folly is at hand:
     "Learning is better far than house and land.
     "Let not your virtue trip; who trips may stumble,
     "And virtue is not virtue, if she tumble."

     I give it up--morals won't do for me;
     To make you laugh, I must play tragedy.
     One hope remains--hearing the maid was ill,
     A Doctor comes this night to show his skill.
     To cheer her heart, and give your muscles motion,
     He, in Five Draughts prepar'd, presents a potion:
     A kind of magic charm--for be assur'd,
     If you will swallow it, the maid is cur'd:
     But desperate the Doctor, and her case is,
     If you reject the dose, and make wry faces!
     This truth he boasts, will boast it while he lives,
     No poisonous drugs are mixed in what he gives.
     Should he succeed, you'll give him his degree;
     If not, within he will receive no fee!
     The College YOU, must his pretensions back,
     Pronounce him Regular, or dub him Quack.




DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

     MEN.

     SIR CHARLES MARLOW           Mr. Gardner.
     YOUNG MARLOW (His Son)       Mr. Lee Lewes.
     HARDCASTLE                   Mr. Shuter.
     HASTINGS                     Mr. Dubellamy.
     TONY LUMPKIN                 Mr. Quick.
     DIGGORY                      Mr. Saunders.

     WOMEN.

     MRS. HARDCASTLE              Mrs. Green.
     MISS HARDCASTLE              Mrs. Bulkley.
     MISS NEVILLE                 Mrs. Kniveton.
     MAID                         Miss Williams.

     LANDLORD, SERVANTS, Etc. Etc.




ACT THE FIRST.


SCENE--A Chamber in an old-fashioned House.


Enter MRS. HARDCASTLE and MR. HARDCASTLE.


MRS. HARDCASTLE.  I vow, Mr. Hardcastle, you're very particular.  Is
there a creature in the whole country but ourselves, that does not take
a trip to town now and then, to rub off the rust a little?  There's the
two Miss Hoggs, and our neighbour Mrs. Grigsby, go to take a month's
polishing every winter.

HARDCASTLE.  Ay, and bring back vanity and affectation to last them the
whole year.  I wonder why London cannot keep its own fools at home!  In
my time, the follies of the town crept slowly among us, but now they
travel faster than a stage-coach.  Its fopperies come down not only as
inside passengers, but in the very basket.

MRS. HARDCASTLE.  Ay, your times were fine times indeed; you have been
telling us of them for many a long year.  Here we live in an old
rumbling mansion, that looks for all the world like an inn, but that we
never see company.  Our best visitors are old Mrs. Oddfish, the
curate's wife, and little Cripplegate, the lame dancing-maste
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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Proofreading Team.





[Transcriber's Note: This book was first published in German in 1844,
and in English translation in 1848. This edition was not dated. Color
illustrations appear on every page, often "playing" with the text.]




STRUWWELPETER

MERRY STORIES AND FUNNY PICTURES

Heinrich Hoffman


Frederick Warne & Co., Inc. New York



STRUWWELPETER


Merry Stories and
Funny Pictures


    When the children have been good,
    That is, be it understood,
    Good at meal-times, good at play,
    Good all night and good all day--
    They shall have the pretty things
    Merry Christmas always brings.

    Naughty, romping girls and boys
    Tear their clothes and make a noise,
    Spoil their pinafores and frocks,
    And deserve no Christmas-box.
    Such as these shall never look
    At this pretty Picture-book.




Shock-headed Peter


    Just look at him! there he stands,
    With his nasty hair and hands.
    See! his nails are never cut;
    They are grimed as black as soot;
    And the sloven, I declare,
    Never once has combed his hair;
    Anything to me is sweeter
    Than to see Shock-headed Peter.




Cruel Frederick


    Here is cruel Frederick, see!
    A horrid wicked boy was he;
    He caught the flies, poor little things,
    And then tore off their tiny wings,
    He killed the birds, and broke the chairs,
    And threw the kitten down the stairs;
    And oh! far worse than all beside,
    He whipped his Mary, till she cried.

    The trough was full, and faithful Tray
    Came out to drink one sultry day;
    He wagged his tail, and wet his lip,
    When cruel Fred snatched up a whip,
    And whipped poor Tray till he was sore,
    And kicked and whipped him more and more:
    At this, good Tray grew very red,
    And growled, and bit him till he bled;
    Then you should only have been by,
    To see how Fred did scream and cry!

    So Frederick had to go to bed:
    His leg was very sore and red!
    The Doctor came, and shook his head,
    And made a very great to-do,
    And gave him nasty physic too.

    But good dog Tray is happy now;
    He has no time to say "Bow-wow!"
    He seats himself in Frederick's chair
    And laughs to see the nice things there:
    The soup he swallows, sup by sup--
    And eats the pies and puddings up.




The Dreadful Story of Harriet and the Matches


    It almost makes me cry to tell
    What foolish Harriet befell.
    Mamma and Nurse went out one day
    And left her all alone at play.
    Now, on the table close at hand,
    A box of matches chanced to stand;
    And kind Mamma and Nurse had told her,
    That, if she touched them, they would scold her.
    But Harriet said: "Oh, what a pity!
    For, when they burn, it is so pretty;
    They crackle so, and spit, and flame:
    Mamma, too, often does the same."

    The pussy-cats heard this,
    And they began to hiss,
    And stretch their claws,
    And raise their paws;
    "Me-ow," they said, "me-ow, me-o,
    You'll burn to death, if you do so."

    But Harriet would not take advice:
    She lit a match, it was so nice!
    It crackled so, it burned so clear--
    Exactly like the picture here.
    She jumped for joy and ran about
    And was too pleased to put it out.

    The Pussy-cats saw this
    And said: "Oh, naughty, naughty Miss!"
    And stretched their claws,
    And raised their paws:
    "'Tis very, very wrong, you know,
    Me-ow, me-o, me-ow, me-o,
    You will be burnt, if you do so."

    And see! oh, what dreadful thing!
    The fire has caught her apron-string;
    Her apron burns, her arms, her hair--
    She burns all over everywhere.

    Then how the pussy-cats did mew--
    What else, poor pussies, could they do?
    They screamed for help, 'twas all in vain!
    So then they said: "We'll scream again;
    Make haste, make haste, me-ow, me-o,
    She'll burn to death; we told her so."

    So she was burnt, with all her clothes,
    And arms, and hands, and eyes, and nose;
    Till she had nothing more to lose
    Except her little scarlet shoes;
    And nothing else but these was found
    Among her ashes on the ground.

    And when the good cats sat beside
    The smoking ashes, how they cried!
    "Me-ow, me-oo, me-ow, me-oo,
    What will Mamma and Nursey do?"
    Their tears ran down their cheeks so fast,
    They made a little pond at last.




The Story of the Inky Boys


    As he had often done before,
    The woolly-headed Black-a-moor
    One nice fine summer's day went out
    To see the shops, and walk about;
    And, as he found it hot, poor fellow,
    He took with him his green umbrella,
    Then Edward, little noisy wag,
    Ran out and laughed, and waved his flag;
    And William came in jacket trim,
    And brought his wooden hoop with him;
    And Arthur, too, snatched up his toys
    And joined the other naughty boys.
    So, one and all set up a roar,
    And laughed and hooted more and more,
    And kept on singing,--only think!-
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[Illustration] 




Arms and the Man

A Pleasant Play

by George Bernard Shaw

Contents

 INTRODUCTION
 ARMS AND THE MAN
 ACT I
 ACT II
 ACT III




INTRODUCTION


To the irreverent—and which of us will claim entire exemption from that
comfortable classification?—there is something very amusing in the
attitude of the orthodox criticism toward Bernard Shaw. He so obviously
disregards all the canons and unities and other things which every
well-bred dramatist is bound to respect that his work is really
unworthy of serious criticism (orthodox). Indeed he knows no more about
the _dramatic art_ than, according to his own story in “The Man of
Destiny,” Napoleon at Tavazzano knew of the _Art of War_. But both men
were successes each in his way—the latter won victories and the former
gained audiences, in the very teeth of the accepted theories of war and
the theatre. Shaw does not know that it is unpardonable sin to have his
characters make long speeches at one another, apparently thinking that
this embargo applies only to long speeches which consist mainly of
bombast and rhetoric. There never was an author who showed less
predilection for a specific medium by which to accomplish his results.
He recognized, early in his days, many things awry in the world and he
assumed the task of mundane reformation with a confident spirit. It
seems such a small job at twenty to set the times aright. He began as
an Essayist, but who reads essays now-a-days?—he then turned novelist
with no better success, for no one would read such preposterous stuff
as he chose to emit. He only succeeded in proving that absolutely
rational men and women—although he has created few of the latter—can be
most extremely disagreeable to our conventional way of thinking.

As a last resort, he turned to the stage, not that he cared for the
dramatic art, for no man seems to care less about “Art for Art’s sake,”
being in this a perfect foil to his brilliant compatriot and
contemporary, Wilde. He cast his theories in dramatic forms merely
because no other course except silence or physical revolt was open to
him. For a long time it seemed as if this resource too was doomed to
fail him. But finally he has attained a hearing and now attempts at
suppression merely serve to advertise their victim.

It will repay those who seek analogies in literature to compare Shaw
with Cervantes. After a life of heroic endeavor, disappointment,
slavery, and poverty, the author of “Don Quixote” gave the world a
serious work which caused to be laughed off the world’s stage forever
the final vestiges of decadent chivalry.

The institution had long been outgrown, but its vernacular continued to
be the speech and to express the thought “of the world and among the
vulgar,” as the quaint, old novelist puts it, just as to-day the novel
intended for the consumption of the unenlightened must deal with peers
and millionaires and be dressed in stilted language. Marvellously he
succeeded, but in a way he least intended. We have not yet, after so
many years, determined whether it is a work to laugh or cry over. “It
is our joyfullest modern book,” says Carlyle, while Landor thinks that
“readers who see nothing more than a burlesque in ‘Don Quixote’ have
but shallow appreciation of the work.”

Shaw in like manner comes upon the scene when many of our social usages
are outworn. He sees the fact, announces it, and we burst into guffaws.
The continuous laughter which greets Shaw’s plays arises from a real
contrast in the point of view of the dramatist and his audiences. When
Pinero or Jones describes a whimsical situation we never doubt for a
moment that the author’s point of view is our own and that the abnormal
predicament of his characters appeals to him in the same light as to
his audience. With Shaw this sense of community of feeling is wholly
lacking. He describes things as he sees them, and the house is in a
roar. Who is right? If we were really using our own senses and not
gazing through the glasses of convention and romance and make-believe,
should we see things as Shaw does?

Must it not cause Shaw to doubt his own or the public’s sanity to hear
audiences laughing boisterously over tragic situations? And yet, if
they did not come to laugh, they would not come at all. Mockery is the
price he must pay for a hearing. Or has he calculated to a nicety the
power of reaction? Does he seek to drive us to aspiration by the
portrayal of sordidness, to disinterestedness by the picture of
selfishness, to illusion by disillusionment? It is impossible to
believe that he is unconscious of the humor of his dramatic situations,
yet he stoically gives no sign. He even dares the charge, terrible in
proportion to its truth, which the most serious of us shrinks from—the
lack of a sense of humor. Men would rather have their integrity
impugned.

In “Arms and the Man” the subject which occupies the dramatist’s
attention is that survival of barbarity—militarism—which raises its
horrid head from time to time t
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PG #: 1280
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Cabanis, Flossie
Calhoun, Granville
Calhoun, Henry C.
Campbell, Calvin
Carman, Eugene
Cheney, Columbus
Childers, Elizabeth
Church, John M.
Churchill, Alfonso
Clapp, Homer
Clark, Nellie
Clute, Aner
Compton, Seth
Conant, Edith
Culbertson, E. C.


Davidson, Robert
Dement, Silas
Dixon, Joseph
Drummer, Frank
Drummer, Hare
Dunlap, Enoch
Dye, Shack

E

Ehrenhardt, Imanuel

F

Fallas, State’s Attorney
Fawcett, Clarence
Fluke, Willard
Foote, Searcy
Ford, Webster
Fraser, Benjamin
Fraser, Daisy
French, Charlie
Frickey, Ida

G

Garber, James
Gardner, Samuel
Garrick, Amelia
Godbey, Jacob
Goldman, Le Roy
Goode, William
Goodpasture, Jacob
Graham, Magrady
Gray, George
Green, Ami
Greene, Hamilton
Griffy, The Cooper
Gustine, Dorcas

H

Hainsfeather, Barney
Hamblin, Carl
Hatfield, Aaron
Hawkins, Elliott
Hawley, Jeduthan
Henry, Chase
Herndon, William H.
Heston, Roger
Higbie, Archibald
Hill, Doc
Hill, The
Hoheimer, Knowlt
Holden, Barry
Hookey, Sam
Howard, Jefferson
Hueffer, Cassius
Hummel, Oscar
Humphrey, Lydia
Hutchins, Lambert
Hyde, Ernest

J

Jack, Blind
James, Godwin
Jones, Fiddler
Jones, Franklin
Jones, “Indignation”
Jones, Minerva
Jones, William
Judge, The Circuit

K

Karr, Elmer
Keene, Jonas
Kessler, Bert
Kessler, Mrs.
Killion, Captain Orlando
Kincaid, Russell
King, Lyman
Knapp, Nancy
Konovaloff, Ippolit
Kritt, Dow


Layton, Henry


M’Cumber, Daniel
McDowell, Rutherford
McFarlane, Widow
McGee, Fletcher
McGee, Ollie
M’Grew, Jennie
M’Grew, Mickey
McGuire, Jack
McNeely, Mary
McNeely, Washington
Malloy, Father
Marsh, Zilpha
Marshal, The Town
Marshall, Herbert
Mason, Serepta
Matheny, Faith
Matlock, Davis
Matlock, Lucinda
Melveny, Abel
Merritt, Mrs.
Merritt, Tom
Metcalf, Willie
Meyers, Doctor
Meyers, Mrs.
Micure, Hamlet
Miles, J. Milton
Miller, Julia
Miner, Georgine Sand
Moir, Alfred

N

Newcomer, Professor

O

Osborne, Mabel
Otis, John Hancock

P

Pantier, Benjamin
Pantier, Mrs. Benjamin
Pantier, Reuben
Peet, Rev. Abner
Pennington, Willie
Penniwit, the Artist
Petit, the Poet
Phipps, Henry
Poague, Peleg
Pollard, Edmund
Potter, Cooney
Puckett, Lydia
Purkapile, Mrs.
Purkapile, Roscoe
Putt, Hod

R

Reece, Mrs. George
Rhodes, Ralph
Rhodes, Thomas
Richter, Gustav
Robbins, Hortense
Roberts, Rosie
Ross, Thomas, Jr.
Russian Sonia
Rutledge, Anne

S

Sayre, Johnnie
Scates, Hiram
Schirding, Albert
Schmidt, Felix
Scott, Julian
Sewall, Harlan
Sharp, Percival
Shaw, “Ace”
Shelley, Percy Bysshe
Shope, Tennessee Claflin
Sibley, Amos
Sibley, Mrs.
Simmons, Walter
Sissman, Dillard
Slack, Margaret Fuller
Smith, Louise
Soldiers, Many
Somers, Jonathan Swift
Somers, Judge
Sparks, Emily
Spooniad, The
Standard, W. Lloyd Garrison
Stewart, Lillian

T

Tanner, Robert Fulton
Taylor, Deacon
Theodore, The Poet
Throckmorton, Alexander
Tompkins, Josiah
Trainor, the Druggist
Trevelyan, Thomas
Trimble, George
Tripp, Henry
Tubbs, Hildrup
Turner, Francis
Tutt, Oaks

U

Unknown, The

W

Wasson, John
Weirauch, Adam
Weldy, “Butch”
Wertman, Elsa
Whedon, Editor
Whitney, Harmon
Wiley, Rev. Lemuel
Will, Arlo
William and Emily
Williams, Dora
Williams, Mrs.
Wilmans, Harry
Witt, Zenas

Y

Yee Bow

Z

Zoll, Perry




The Hill


_Where are Elmer, Herman, Bert, Tom and Charley,
The weak of will, the strong of arm, the clown, the boozer, the
fighter?
All, all are sleeping on the hill.

One passed in a fever,
One was burned in a mine,
One was killed in a brawl,
One died in a jail,
One fell from a bridge toiling for children and wife—
All, all are sleeping, sleeping, sleeping on the hill.

Where are Ella, Kate, Mag, Lizzie and Edith,
The tender heart, the simple soul, the loud, the proud, the happy one?—
All, all are sleeping on the hill.

One died in shameful child-birth,
One of a thwarted love,
One at the hands of a brute in a brothel,
One of a broken pride, in the search for heart’s desire;
One after life in far-away London and Paris
Was brought to her little space by Ella and Kate and Mag—
All, all are sleeping, sleeping, sleeping on the hill.

Where are Uncle Isaac and Aunt Emily,
And old Towny Kincaid and Sevigne Houghton,
And Major Walker who had talked
With venerable men of the revolution?—
All, all are sleeping on the hill.

They brought them dead sons from the war,
And daughters whom life had crushed,
And their children fatherless, crying—
All, all are sleeping, sleeping, sleeping on the hill.

Where is Old Fiddler Jones
Who played with life all his ninety years,
Braving the sleet with bared breast,
Drinking, rioting, thinking neither of wife nor kin,
Nor gold, nor love, nor heaven?
Lo! he babbles of the fish-frys of long ago,
Of the horse-races of long ago at Clary’s Grove,
Of what Abe Lincoln said
One time at Springfield._




Hod Putt


Here I lie close to the grave
Of Old Bill Piersol,
Who grew rich trading with the Indians, and who
Afterwards took the Bankrupt Law
And emerged from it richer than ever
Myself grown tired of toil and poverty
And beholding how Old Bill and others grew in wealth
Robbed a traveler one Night near Proctor’s Grove,
Killing him unwittingly 
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     How The City Jerusalem Was Taken, And The Temple Pillaged
     [By Antiochus Epiphanes]. As Also Concerning The Actions Of
     The Maccabees, Matthias And Judas; And Concerning The Death
     Of Judas.

1. At the same time that Antiochus, who was called Epiphanes, had a
quarrel with the sixth Ptolemy about his right to the whole country of
Syria, a great sedition fell among the men of power in Judea, and they
had a contention about obtaining the government; while each of those
that were of dignity could not endure to be subject to their equals.
However, Onias, one of the high priests, got the better, and cast the
sons of Tobias out of the city; who fled to Antiochus, and besought
him to make use of them for his leaders, and to make an expedition into
Judea. The king being thereto disposed beforehand, complied with them,
and came upon the Jews with a great army, and took their city by force,
and slew a great multitude of those that favored Ptolemy, and sent out
his soldiers to plunder them without mercy. He also spoiled the temple,
and put a stop to the constant practice of offering a daily sacrifice
of expiation for three years and six months. But Onias, the high
priest, fled to Ptolemy, and received a place from him in the Nomus of
Heliopolis, where he built a city resembling Jerusalem, and a temple
that was like its temple 1 concerning which we shall speak more in its
proper place hereafter.

2. Now Antiochus was not satisfied either with his unexpected taking
the city, or with its pillage, or with the great slaughter he had made
there; but being overcome with his violent passions, and remembering
what he had suffered during the siege, he compelled the Jews to dissolve
the laws of their country, and to keep their infants uncircumcised,
and to sacrifice swine's flesh upon the altar; against which they all
opposed themselves, and the most approved among them were put to death.
Bacchides also, who was sent to keep the fortresses, having these wicked
commands, joined to his own natural barbarity, indulged all sorts of the
extremest wickedness, and tormented the worthiest of the inhabitants,
man by man, and threatened their city every day with open destruction,
till at length he provoked the poor sufferers by the extremity of his
wicked doings to avenge themselves.

3. Accordingly Matthias, the son of Asamoneus, one of the priests who
lived in a village called Modin, armed himself, together with his
own family, which had five sons of his in it, and slew Bacchides with
daggers; and thereupon, out of the fear of the many garrisons [of the
enemy], he fled to the mountains; and so many of the people followed
him, that he was encouraged to come down from the mountains, and to give
battle to Antiochus's generals, when he beat them, and drove them out of
Judea. So he came to the government by this his success, and became
the prince of his own people by their own free consent, and then died,
leaving the government to Judas, his eldest son.

4. Now Judas, supposing that Antiochus would not lie still, gathered an
army out of his own countrymen, and was the first that made a league of
friendship with the Romans, and drove Epiphanes out of the country when
he had made a second expedition into it, and this by giving him a great
defeat there; and when he was warmed by this great success, he made an
assault upon the garrison that was in the city, for it had not been cut
off hitherto; so he ejected them out of the upper city, and drove the
soldiers into the lower, which part of the city was called the Citadel.
He then got the temple under his power, and cleansed the whole
place, and walled it round about, and made new vessels for sacred
ministrations, and brought them into the temple, because the former
vessels had been profaned. He also built another altar, and began to
offer the sacrifices; and when the city had already received its sacred
constitution again, Antiochus died; whose son Antiochus succeeded him in
the kingdom, and in his hatred to the Jews also.

5. So this Antiochus got together fifty thousand footmen, and five
thousand horsemen, and fourscore elephants, and marched through Judea
into the mountainous parts. He then took Bethsura, which was a small
city; but at a place called Bethzacharis, where the passage was narrow,
Judas met him with his army. However, before the forces joined battle,
Judas's brother Eleazar, seeing the very highest of the elephants
adorned with a large tower, and with military trappings of gold to guard
him, and supposing that Antiochus himself was upon him, he ran a great
way before his own army, and cutting his way through the enemy's troops,
he got up to the elephant; yet could he not reach him who seemed to be
the king, by reason of his being so high; but still he ran his weapon
into the belly of the beast, and brought him down upon himself, and was
crushed to death, having done no more than attempted great things, and
showed that he preferred glory before life. Now he that go
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[Transcriber's note: The Old-Tagalog characters used in this book are
represented by capital letters.]






                        DOCTRINA CHRISTIANA

             The First Book Printed in the Philippines.
              Manila, 1593. A Facsimile of the Copy in
                the Lessing J. Rosenwald Collection.
                  Library of Congress, Washington.
                     With an Introductory Essay
                         By Edwin Wolf 2nd




ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS


I want here to express my thanks and appreciation to Mr. Lessing
J. Rosenwald, through whose kindness this unique Doctrina was
presented to the Library of Congress and with whom the idea of this
publication originated. His interest and enthusiasm made possible
my work, and his friendly advice and encouragement have been both
valuable and heart-warming.

I also wish to thank others who have given me great assistance. They
are Dr. A.S.W. Rosenbach to whom I continually turned for advice,
Dr. Lawrence C. Wroth of the John Carter Brown Library and Dr. Leslie
W. Dunlap of the Library of Congress who very kindly read over my
manuscript and gave me the benefit of their suggestions and criticisms,
Mr. David C. Mearns and Miss Elsie Rackstraw of the Library of Congress
and Mrs. Ruth Lapham Butler of the Ayer Collection of the Newberry
Library who so freely and generously made available to me the great
collections of works on the Philippines in their libraries, Dr. John
H. Powell of the Free Library of Philadelphia who helped me find
reference books of the utmost importance, and the many librarians
who courteously answered written queries about early Philippine
material.                                 EDWIN WOLF 2ND.






DOCTRINA CHRISTIANA


The first book printed in the Philippines has been the object of a hunt
which has extended from Manila to Berlin, and from Italy to Chile,
for four hundred and fifty years. The patient research of scholars,
the scraps of evidence found in books and archives, the amazingly
accurate hypotheses of bibliographers who have sifted the material
so painstakingly gathered together, combine to make its history a
bookish detective story par excellence.

It is easy when a prisoner has been arrested and brought to the dock to
give details of his complexion, height, characteristics and identifying
marks, to fingerprint him and to photograph him, but how inadequate
was the description before his capture, how frequently did false scents
draw the pursuer off the right track! It is with this in mind that we
examine the subject of this investigation, remembering that it has not
been done before in detail. And, to complete the case, the book has
been photographed in its entirety and its facsimile herewith published.

In studying the Doctrina Christiana of 1593 there are four general
problems which we shall discuss. First, we shall give a physical
description of the book. Secondly, we shall trace chronologically the
bibliographical history of the Doctrina, that is, we shall record the
available evidence which shows that it was the first book printed in
the Philippines, and weigh the testimonies which state or imply to
the contrary. Thirdly, we shall try to establish the authorship of
the text, and lastly, we shall discuss the actual printing.

It hardly needs be told why so few of the incunabula of the Philippines
have survived. The paper on which they were printed was one of the most
destructible papers ever used in book production. The native worms and
insects thrived on it, and the heat and dampness took their slower but
equally certain toll. Add to these enemies the acts of providence of
which the Philippines have received more than their share--earthquake,
fire and flood--and the man-made devastations of war, combined with the
fact that there was no systematic attempt made in the Philippines to
preserve in archives and libraries the records of the past, and it
can well be understood why a scant handful of cradle-books have been
preserved. The two fires of 1603 alone, which burned the Dominican
convent in Manila to the ground and consumed the whole of Binondo just
outside the walls, must have played untold havoc upon the records of
the early missionaries. Perhaps the only copies of early Philippine
books which exist today, unchronided and forgotten, are those which
were sent to Europe in the 16th, 17th and 18th centuries, and may
now be lying uncatalogued in some library there.

One copy of this Doctrina was sent to Philip II by the Governor of
the Philippines in 1593; and in 1785 a Jesuit philologist, Hervas y
Panduro, printed Tagalog texts from a then extant copy. Yet, since
that time no example is recorded as having been seen by bibliographer
or historian. The provenance of the present one is but imperfectly
known. In the spring of 1946 William H. Schab, a New York dealer,
was in Paris, and heard through a friend of the existence of a 1593
Manila book. He expressed such incredul
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PG #: 58221
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NOTA DE TRANSCRIPCIÓN

  * En el texto, las cursivas se muestran entre _subrayados_ y las
    versalitas se han convertido a MAYÚSCULAS.

  * Los errores de imprenta han sido corregidos sin avisar.

  * Se ha respetado la ortografía del original —que difiere
    ligeramente de la actual—, normalizándola a la grafía de mayor
    frecuencia.

  * Se han añadido tildes a las mayúsculas que las necesitan.

  * Se han hecho los siguientes cambios:
    · Canto V, 388, p. 78: «vendabal» → «vendaval».
    · Canto XII, 397, p. 172: «vendabal» → «vendaval».
    · Índice de nombres propios, p. 371, voz _Neoptólemo_, «Hijo de
      Ulises» → «Hijo de Aquiles».

  * Algunas ilustraciones se han desplazado ligeramente, para evitar
    que interrumpieran un párrafo.




LA ODISEA




[Ilustración]




  HOMERO

  LA ODISEA

  VERSIÓN DIRECTA Y LITERAL DEL GRIEGO

  POR

  LUIS SEGALÁ Y ESTALELLA

  DOCTOR EN FILOSOFÍA Y LETRAS Y EN DERECHO
  CATEDRÁTICO DE LENGUA Y LITERATURA GRIEGAS DE LA UNIVERSIDAD DE BARCELONA
  ACADÉMICO ELECTO DE LA REAL DE BUENAS LETRAS
  MIEMBRO DE LA «ASSOCIATION POUR L’ENCOURAGEMENT DES ÉTUDES GRECQUES»
  É INDIVIDUO DE NÚMERO DE LA Βυζαντιολογικὴ Ἑταιρεία

  ILUSTRACIONES DE FLAXMAN Y DE WAL PAGET


  [Ilustración]


  BARCELONA
  MONTANER Y SIMÓN, EDITORES
  CALLE DE ARAGÓN, NÚM. 255
  1910




  ES PROPIEDAD




AL LECTOR


Así como la _Ilíada_ presenta la Grecia heroica en su lucha con
los habitantes de la Tróade, la _Odisea_ describe la época de paz,
de tranquilidad y de bienandanza que siguió á la terminación de
la guerra, relatando un drama doméstico y una serie de aventuras
fantásticas y maravillosas; y ambas epopeyas reunidas forman el
panorama más acabado, el eco más fiel de los primeros tiempos
históricos de la raza griega y contienen tales ejemplos de heroísmo,
de amor patrio, de fidelidad conyugal, de respeto á los ancianos,
de buen acogimiento al peregrino, de amistad, etc., que con razón
ha podido decirse que toda la poesía de Homero es un elogio de la
virtud, salvo lo puramente accesorio[1].

Ya notó Aristóteles[2] cuán sencillo es el asunto de la _Odisea_:
la vuelta de Ulises á su patria, después de peregrinar mucho tiempo
y de luchar con las tempestades á causa del odio que le profesa
Neptuno (esta larga ausencia del héroe motiva el viaje que hace
Telémaco á Pilos y á Esparta), y la venganza que toma de los que se
han establecido en su casa, pretenden casarse con Penélope é intentan
matar á Telémaco. Mas en la narración no sigue el poeta el orden
cronológico, como en la _Ilíada_, sino que _in medias res, non secus
ac notas, auditorem rapit_[3], poniendo en boca del protagonista
cuanto ocurriera desde que Ulises y los suyos se embarcaron en Troya
hasta que el héroe llegó á la isla de Calipso, que es precisamente la
parte más extraordinaria de sus aventuras.

Aunque la _Odisea_ se ha atribuído á Homero[4], como la _Ilíada_,
debe de ser algo posterior á juzgar por los caracteres que la
distinguen (concepción más elevada de la divinidad[5], mayor
parsimonia en el uso de las comparaciones[6], predominio de la
descripción sobre la acción[7], abundancia de nombres abstractos
en el lenguaje, etc.). Longino ó, por mejor decir, el autor del
tratado _De lo sublime_, echa de menos en la _Odisea_ el vigor, la
sublimidad, la profusión de afectos y pasiones, el nervio oratorio
y la multitud de imágenes de la _Ilíada_; de suerte, dice, que
puede compararse á Homero en la _Odisea_ con el sol en su ocaso, el
cual no tiene fuerza ni ardor en los rayos pero guarda todavía su
magnitud; y atribuye este poema á la vejez de Homero, porque los
grandes escritores y poetas, cuando les falta el vigor del ingenio
para lo patético, se dan á pintar las costumbres[8]. Pero, si mirada
la _Odisea_ á la luz del arte, resulta inferior á la _Ilíada_, lo
mismo en el trazado del plan que en la variedad de la obra: son tan
típicos, sin dejar de ser concretos y vivientes, los caracteres de
algunos de sus personajes, como el ingenioso y paciente Ulises,
la casta y discreta Penélope, y el fiel Eumeo; tan encantador el
viaje que nos describe por regiones fantásticas en las que aparecen
gigantes antropófagos, ciclopes, sirenas, escollos y monstruos
como Escila y Caribdis, almas de los muertos, etc.; tan graduada la
progresión del interés hasta que llega el desenlace no por previsto
menos conmovedor; y tantas y tales las escenas del poema; que á la
mayoría de los lectores les causa una impresión más agradable que la
propia _Ilíada_. Las frases del lenguaje usual que proceden de la
_Odisea_ y los elementos que la misma ha proporcionado al _folk-lore_
de las naciones modernas (la tela de Penélope, el suplicio de
Tántalo, Escila y Caribdis, el ciclope Polifemo, las Sirenas, etc.),
demuestran que ha sido siempre el más popular de los poemas homéricos.

De este libro inmortal, que es la segunda obra maestra de la épica
griega y que el Estagírita consideraba como el magnífico espejo de
la vida humana[9], se han publicado en Espa
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 2147
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2147

The Works of Edgar Allan Poe

by Edgar Allan Poe

The Raven Edition


Contents

 PREFACE
 LIFE OF POE
 DEATH OF POE
 THE UNPARALLELED ADVENTURES OF ONE HANS PFAALL
 THE GOLD-BUG
 FOUR BEASTS IN ONE—THE HOMO-CAMELEOPARD
 THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE
 THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET.(*1)
 THE BALLOON-HOAX
 MS. FOUND IN A BOTTLE
 THE OVAL PORTRAIT




EDGAR ALLAN POE
AN APPRECIATION

   Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
   Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
   Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
         Of “never—never more!”

      This stanza from “The Raven” was recommended by James Russell
      Lowell as an inscription upon the Baltimore monument which marks
      the resting place of Edgar Allan Poe, the most interesting and
      original figure in American letters. And, to signify that
      peculiar musical quality of Poe’s genius which inthralls every
      reader, Mr. Lowell suggested this additional verse, from the
      “Haunted Palace”:

   And all with pearl and ruby glowing
    Was the fair palace door,
   Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing,
    And sparkling ever more,
   A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
    Was but to sing,
   In voices of surpassing beauty,
    The wit and wisdom of their king.

      Born in poverty at Boston, January 19, 1809, dying under painful
      circumstances at Baltimore, October 7, 1849, his whole literary
      career of scarcely fifteen years a pitiful struggle for mere
      subsistence, his memory malignantly misrepresented by his
      earliest biographer, Griswold, how completely has truth at last
      routed falsehood and how magnificently has Poe come into his own.
      For “The Raven,” first published in 1845, and, within a few
      months, read, recited and parodied wherever the English language
      was spoken, the half-starved poet received $10! Less than a year
      later his brother poet, N. P. Willis, issued this touching appeal
      to the admirers of genius on behalf of the neglected author, his
      dying wife and her devoted mother, then living under very
      straitened circumstances in a little cottage at Fordham, N. Y.:

      “Here is one of the finest scholars, one of the most original men
      of genius, and one of the most industrious of the literary
      profession of our country, whose temporary suspension of labor,
      from bodily illness, drops him immediately to a level with the
      common objects of public charity. There is no intermediate
      stopping-place, no respectful shelter, where, with the delicacy
      due to genius and culture, he might secure aid, till, with
      returning health, he would resume his labors, and his unmortified
      sense of independence.”

      And this was the tribute paid by the American public to the
      master who had given to it such tales of conjuring charm, of
      witchery and mystery as “The Fall of the House of Usher” and
      “Ligeia”; such fascinating hoaxes as “The Unparalleled Adventure
      of Hans Pfaall,” “MSS. Found in a Bottle,” “A Descent Into a
      Maelstrom” and “The Balloon-Hoax”; such tales of conscience as
      “William Wilson,” “The Black Cat” and “The Tell-tale Heart,”
      wherein the retributions of remorse are portrayed with an awful
      fidelity; such tales of natural beauty as “The Island of the Fay”
      and “The Domain of Arnheim”; such marvellous studies in
      ratiocination as the “Gold-bug,” “The Murders in the Rue Morgue,”
      “The Purloined Letter” and “The Mystery of Marie Roget,” the
      latter, a recital of fact, demonstrating the author’s wonderful
      capability of correctly analyzing the mysteries of the human
      mind; such tales of illusion and banter as “The Premature Burial”
      and “The System of Dr. Tarr and Professor Fether”; such bits of
      extravaganza as “The Devil in the Belfry” and “The Angel of the
      Odd”; such tales of adventure as “The Narrative of Arthur Gordon
      Pym”; such papers of keen criticism and review as won for Poe the
      enthusiastic admiration of Charles Dickens, although they made
      him many enemies among the over-puffed minor American writers so
      mercilessly exposed by him; such poems of beauty and melody as
      “The Bells,” “The Haunted Palace,” “Tamerlane,” “The City in the
      Sea” and “The Raven.” What delight for the jaded senses of the
      reader is this enchanted domain of wonder-pieces! What an
      atmosphere of beauty, music, color! What resources of
      imagination, construction, analysis and absolute art! One might
      almost sympathize with Sarah Helen Whitman, who, confessing to a
      half faith in the old superstition of the significance of
      anagrams, found, in the transposed letters of Edgar Poe’s name,
      the words “a God-peer.” His mind, she says, was indeed a “Haunted
      Palace,” echoing to the footfalls of angels and demons.

      “No man,
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 38269
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/38269


THE PHILIPPINES AS A SUBJECT FOR HISTORICAL STUDY.


Purpose of this Book.--This book has been written for the young
men and young women of the Philippines. It is intended to introduce
them into the history of their own island country. The subject of
Philippine history is much broader and more splendid than the size
and character of this little book reveal. Many subjects have only
been briefly touched upon, and there are many sources of information,
old histories, letters and official documents, which the writer had
not time and opportunity to study in the preparation of this work. It
is not too soon, however, to present a history of the Philippines,
even though imperfectly written, to the Philippine people themselves;
and if this book serves to direct young men and young women to a study
of the history of their own island country, it will have fulfilled
its purpose.

The Development of the Philippines and of Japan.--In many ways the
next decade of the history of the Philippine Islands may resemble
the splendid development of the neighboring country of Japan. Both
countries have in past times been isolated more or less from the
life and thought of the modern world. Both are now open to the full
current of human affairs. Both countries promise to play an important
part in the politics and commerce of the Far East. Geographically,
the Philippines occupy the more central and influential position,
and the success of the institutions of the Philippines may react upon
the countries of southeastern Asia and Malaysia, to an extent that
we cannot appreciate or foresee, Japan, by reason of her larger
population, the greater industry of her people, a more orderly
social life, and devoted public spirit, is at the present time far
in the lead.

The Philippines.--But the Philippines possess certain advantages which,
in the course of some years, may tell strongly in her favor. There are
greater natural resources, a richer soil, and more tillable ground. The
population, while not large, is increasing rapidly, more rapidly, in
fact, than the population of Japan or of Java. And in the character of
her institutions the Philippines have certain advantages. The position
of woman, while so unfortunate in Japan, as in China and nearly all
eastern countries, in the Philippines is most fortunate, and is certain
to tell effectually upon the advancement of the race in competition
with other eastern civilizations. The fact that Christianity is the
established religion of the people makes possible a sympathy and
understanding between the Philippines and western countries.

Japan.--Yet there are many lessons which Japan can teach the
Philippines, and one of these is of the advantages and rewards
of fearless and thorough study. Fifty years ago, Japan, which had
rigorously excluded all intercourse with foreign nations, was forced to
open its doors by an American fleet under Commodore Perry. At that time
the Japanese knew nothing of western history, and had no knowledge of
modern science. Their contact with the Americans and other foreigners
revealed to them the inferiority of their knowledge. The leaders of
the country awoke to the necessity of a study of western countries
and their great progress, especially in government and in the sciences.

Japan had at her service a special class of people known as the
samurai, who, in the life of Old Japan, were the free soldiers of
the feudal nobility, and who were not only the fighters of Japan,
but the students and scholars as well. The young men of this samurai
class threw themselves earnestly and devotedly into the study of the
great fields of knowledge, which had previously been unknown to the
Japanese. At great sacrifice many of them went abroad to other lands,
in order to study in foreign universities. Numbers of them went to
the United States, frequently working as servants in college towns
in order to procure the means for the pursuit of their education.

The Japanese Government in every way began to adopt measures for
the transformation of the knowledge of the people. Schools were
opened, laboratories established, and great numbers of scientific
and historical books were translated into Japanese. A public school
system was organized, and finally a university was established. The
Government sent abroad many young men to study in almost every
branch of knowledge and to return to the service of the people. The
manufacturers of Japan studied and adopted western machinery and modern
methods of production. The government itself underwent revolution
and reorganization upon lines more liberal to the people and more
favorable to the national spirit of the country. The result has been
the transformation, in less than fifty years, of what was formerly
an isolated and ignorant country.

The Lesson for the Filipinos.--This is the great lesson which Japan
teaches the Philippines. If there is to be transformation here, with
a constant growth of knowledge and advancement, and an elevation of
the charact
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 38427
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/38427

The World As Will And Idea

                                    By

                           Arthur Schopenhauer

                      Translated From The German By

                           R. B. Haldane, M.A.

                                   And

                              J. Kemp, M.A.

                                 Vol. I.

                          Containing Four Books.

            “Ob nicht Natur zuletzt sich doch ergünde?”—GOETHE

                             Seventh Edition

                                  London

                    Kegan Paul, Trench, Trübner & Co.

                                   1909





CONTENTS


Translators’ Preface.
Preface To The First Edition.
Preface To The Second Edition.
First Book. The World As Idea.
   First Aspect. The Idea Subordinated To The Principle Of Sufficient
   Reason: The Object Of Experience And Science.
Second Book. The World As Will.
   First Aspect. The Objectification Of The Will.
Third Book. The World As Idea.
   Second Aspect. The Idea Independent Of The Principle Of Sufficient
   Reason: The Platonic Idea: The Object Of Art.
Fourth Book. The World As Will.
   Second Aspect. The Assertion And Denial Of The Will To Live, When
   Self-Consciousness Has Been Attained.
Footnotes






TRANSLATORS’ PREFACE.


The style of “Die Welt als Wille und Vorstellung” is sometimes loose and
involved, as is so often the case in German philosophical treatises. The
translation of the book has consequently been a matter of no little
difficulty. It was found that extensive alteration of the long and
occasionally involved sentences, however likely to prove conducive to a
satisfactory English style, tended not only to obliterate the form of the
original but even to imperil the meaning. Where a choice has had to be
made, the alternative of a somewhat slavish adherence to Schopenhauer’s
_ipsissima verba_ has accordingly been preferred to that of inaccuracy.
The result is a piece of work which leaves much to be desired, but which
has yet consistently sought to reproduce faithfully the spirit as well as
the letter of the original.

As regards the rendering of the technical terms about which there has been
so much controversy, the equivalents used have only been adopted after
careful consideration of their meaning in the theory of knowledge. For
example, “Vorstellung” has been rendered by “idea,” in preference to
“representation,” which is neither accurate, intelligible, nor elegant.
“Idee,” is translated by the same word, but spelled with a
capital,—“Idea.” Again, “Anschauung” has been rendered according to the
context, either by “perception” simply, or by “intuition or perception.”

Notwithstanding statements to the contrary in the text, the book is
probably quite intelligible in itself, apart from the treatise “On the
Fourfold Root of the Principle of Sufficient Reason.” It has, however,
been considered desirable to add an abstract of the latter work in an
appendix to the third volume of this translation.

R. B. H.

J. K.





PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.


I propose to point out here how this book must be read in order to be
thoroughly understood. By means of it I only intend to impart a single
thought. Yet, notwithstanding all my endeavours, I could find no shorter
way of imparting it than this whole book. I hold this thought to be that
which has very long been sought for under the name of philosophy, and the
discovery of which is therefore regarded by those who are familiar with
history as quite as impossible as the discovery of the philosopher’s
stone, although it was already said by Pliny: _Quam multa fieri non posse,
priusquam sint facta, judicantur?_ (Hist. nat. 7, 1.)

According as we consider the different aspects of this one thought which I
am about to impart, it exhibits itself as that which we call metaphysics,
that which we call ethics, and that which we call æsthetics; and certainly
it must be all this if it is what I have already acknowledged I take it to
be.

A _system of thought_ must always have an architectonic connection or
coherence, that is, a connection in which one part always supports the
other, though the latter does not support the former, in which ultimately
the foundation supports all the rest without being supported by it, and
the apex is supported without supporting. On the other hand, a _single
thought_, however comprehensive it may be, must preserve the most perfect
unity. If it admits of being broken up into parts to facilitate its
communication, the connection of these parts must yet be organic, _i.e._,
it must be a connection in which every part supports the whole just as
much as it is supported by it, a connection in which there is no first and
no last, in which the whole thought gains distinctness through every part,
and even the smallest part cannot be completely understood unless the
whole has already been grasped. A book, however, must always have a first
and a last line, and in this respect will always remain 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 14975
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14975

[Transcriber's Note: This pamphlet was first published in 1892 but was
subsequently reprinted. It's not apparent if the curiosities in spelling
date back to the original or were introduced later; they have been
retained as found, and the reader is left to decide. Please verify with
another source before quoting this material.]




Southern Horrors: Lynch Law in All Its Phases

1892, 1893, 1894

By Ida B. Wells-Barnett




PREFACE


The greater part of what is contained in these pages was published in the
_New York Age_ June 25, 1892, in explanation of the editorial which the
Memphis whites considered sufficiently infamous to justify the destruction
of my paper, the _Free Speech_.

Since the appearance of that statement, requests have come from all parts
of the country that "Exiled" (the name under which it then appeared) be
issued in pamphlet form. Some donations were made, but not enough for that
purpose. The noble effort of the ladies of New York and Brooklyn Oct. 5
have enabled me to comply with this request and give the world a true,
unvarnished account of the causes of lynch law in the South.

This statement is not a shield for the despoiler of virtue, nor altogether
a defense for the poor blind Afro-American Sampsons who suffer themselves
to be betrayed by white Delilahs. It is a contribution to truth, an array
of facts, the perusal of which it is hoped will stimulate this great
American Republic to demand that justice be done though the heavens fall.

It is with no pleasure I have dipped my hands in the corruption here
exposed. Somebody must show that the Afro-American race is more sinned
against than sinning, and it seems to have fallen upon me to do so. The
awful death-roll that Judge Lynch is calling every week is appalling, not
only because of the lives it takes, the rank cruelty and outrage to the
victims, but because of the prejudice it fosters and the stain it places
against the good name of a weak race.

The Afro-American is not a bestial race. If this work can contribute in
any way toward proving this, and at the same time arouse the conscience of
the American people to a demand for justice to every citizen, and
punishment by law for the lawless, I shall feel I have done my race a
service. Other considerations are of minor importance.

IDA B. WELLS
_New York City_, Oct. 26, 1892




To the Afro-American women of New York and Brooklyn, whose race love,
earnest zeal and unselfish effort at Lyric Hall, in the City of New York,
on the night of October 5, 1892--made possible its publication, this
pamphlet is gratefully dedicated by the author.




HON. FRED. DOUGLASS'S LETTER


_Dear Miss Wells:_

Let me give you thanks for your faithful paper on the lynch abomination
now generally practiced against colored people in the South. There has
been no word equal to it in convincing power. I have spoken, but my word
is feeble in comparison. You give us what you know and testify from actual
knowledge. You have dealt with the facts with cool, painstaking fidelity
and left those naked and uncontradicted facts to speak for themselves.

Brave woman! you have done your people and mine a service which can
neither be weighed nor measured. If American conscience were only half
alive, if the American church and clergy were only half christianized, if
American moral sensibility were not hardened by persistent infliction of
outrage and crime against colored people, a scream of horror, shame and
indignation would rise to Heaven wherever your pamphlet shall be read.

But alas! even crime has power to reproduce itself and create conditions
favorable to its own existence. It sometimes seems we are deserted by
earth and Heaven yet we must still think, speak and work, and trust in the
power of a merciful God for final deliverance.

Very truly and gratefully yours,
FREDERICK DOUGLASS
_Cedar Hill, Anacostia, D.C._, Oct. 25, 1892




1 _The_ OFFENSE


Wednesday evening May 24, 1892, the city of Memphis was filled with
excitement. Editorials in the daily papers of that date caused a meeting
to be held in the Cotton Exchange Building; a committee was sent for the
editors of the _Free Speech_ an Afro-American journal published in that
city, and the only reason the open threats of lynching that were made were
not carried out was because they could not be found. The cause of all this
commotion was the following editorial published in the _Free Speech_ May
21, 1892, the Saturday previous.

  Eight negroes lynched since last issue of the _Free Speech_ one at
  Little Rock, Ark., last Saturday morning where the citizens broke(?)
  into the penitentiary and got their man; three near Anniston, Ala., one
  near New Orleans; and three at Clarksville, Ga., the last three for
  killing a white man, and five on the same old racket--the new alarm
  about raping white women. The same programme of hanging, then shooting
  bullets into the lifeless bodies was carried out to the letter.

  Nobody in this section of the country believes the old
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 36098
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/36098

http://www.freeliterature.org (From images generously made
available by the Internet Archive)





THE FLOWERS OF EVIL

by

CHARLES BAUDELAIRE


TRANSLATED INTO

ENGLISH  VERSE


BY

CYRIL SCOTT


LONDON

ELKIN MATHEWS, VIGO STREET

M CM IX




DEDICATED TO ARTHUR SYMONS




  CONTENTS

  Benediction
  Echoes
  The Sick Muse
  The Venal Muse
  The Evil Monk
  The Enemy
  Ill-Luck
  Interior Life
  Man and the Sea
  Beauty
  The Ideal
  The Giantess
  Hymn to Beauty
  Exotic Perfume
  La Chevelure
  Sonnet XXVIII
  Posthumous Remorse
  The Balcony
  The Possessed One
  Semper Eadem
  All Entire
  Sonnet XLIII
  The Living Torch
  The Spiritual Dawn
  Evening Harmony
  Overcast Sky
  Invitation to a Journey
  "Causerie"
  Autumn Song
  Sisina
  To a Creolean Lady
  Moesta et Errabunda
  The Ghost
  Autumn Song
  Sadness of the Moon-Goddess
  Cats
  Owls
  Music
  The Joyous Defunct
  The Broken Bell
  Spleen
  Obsession
  Magnetic Horror
  The Lid
  Bertha's Eyes
  The Set of the Romantic Sun
  Meditation
  To a Passer-by
  Illusionary Love
  Mists and Rains
  The Wine of Lovers
  Condemned Women
  The Death of the Lovers
  The Death of the Poor




   Benediction


    When by the changeless Power of a Supreme Decree
    The poet issues forth upon this sorry sphere,
    His mother, horrified, and full of blasphemy,
    Uplifts her voice to God, who takes compassion on her.

   "Ah, why did I not bear a serpent's nest entire,
    Instead of bringing forth this hideous Child of Doom!
    Oh cursèd be that transient night of vain desire
    When I conceived my expiation in my womb!"

   "Yet since among all women thou hast chosen me
    To be the degradation of my jaded mate,
    And since I cannot like a love-leaf wantonly
    Consign this stunted monster to the glowing grate,"

   "I'll cause thine overwhelming hatred to rebound
    Upon the cursèd tool of thy most wicked spite.
    Forsooth, the branches of this wretched tree I'll wound
    And rob its pestilential blossoms of their might!"

    So thus, she giveth vent unto her foaming ire,
    And knowing not the changeless statutes of all times,
    Herself, amid the flames of hell, prepares the pyre;
    The consecrated penance of maternal crimes.

    Yet 'neath th' invisible shelter of an Angel's wing
    This sunlight-loving infant disinherited,
    Exhales from all he eats and drinks, and everything
    The ever sweet ambrosia and the nectar red.

    He trifles with the winds and with the clouds that glide,
    About the way unto the Cross, he loves to sing,
    The spirit on his pilgrimage; that faithful guide,
    Oft weeps to see him joyful like a bird of Spring.

    All those that he would cherish shrink from him with fear,
    And some that waxen bold by his tranquility,
    Endeavour hard some grievance from his heart to tear,
    And make on him the trial of their ferocity.

    Within the bread and wine outspread for his repast
    To mingle dust and dirty spittle they essay,
    And everything he touches, forth they slyly cast,
    Or scourge themselves, if e'er their feet betrod his way.

    His wife goes round proclaiming in the crowded quads--
   "Since he can find my body beauteous to behold,
    Why not perform the office of those ancient gods
    And like unto them, redeck myself with shining gold?"

   "I'll bathe myself with incense, spikenard and myrrh,
    With genuflexions, delicate viandes and wine,
    To see, in jest, if from a heart, that loves me dear,
    I cannot filch away the hommages divine."

   "And when of these impious jokes at length I tire,
    My frail but mighty hands, around his breast entwined,
    With nails, like harpies' nails, shall cunningly conspire
    The hidden path unto his feeble heart to find."

   "And like a youngling bird that trembles in its nest,
    I'll pluck his heart right out; within its own blood drowned,
    And finally to satiate my favourite beast,
    I'll throw it with intense disdain upon the ground!"

    Towards the Heavens where he sees the sacred grail
    The poet calmly stretches forth his pious arms,
    Whereon the lightenings from his lucid spirit veil
    The sight of the infuriated mob that swarms.

   "Oh blest be thou, Almighty who bestowest pain,
    Like some divine redress for our infirmities,
    And like the most refreshing and the purest rain,
    To sanctify the strong, for saintly ecstasies."

   "I know that for the poet thou wilt grant a chair,
    Among the Sainted Legion and the Blissful ones,
    That of the endless feast thou wilt accord his share
    To him, of Virtues, Dominations and of Thrones."

   "I know, that Sorrow is that nobleness alone,
    Which never may corrupted be by hell nor curse,
    I know, in order to enwreathe my mystic crown
    I must inspire the ages and the universe."

   "And yet the buried jewels of Palmyra old,
    The undiscovered metals and the pearly sea
    Of gems, that unto me you show could never hold
    Beside this
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PG #: 2527
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THE SORROWS OF YOUNG WERTHER

By J.W. von Goethe

Translated by R.D. Boylan

Edited by Nathen Haskell Dole

The Sorrows of Young Werther




PREFACE


I have carefully collected whatever I have been able to learn of the
story of poor Werther, and here present it to you, knowing that you
will thank me for it. To his spirit and character you cannot refuse your
admiration and love: to his fate you will not deny your tears.

And thou, good soul, who sufferest the same distress as he endured once,
draw comfort from his sorrows; and let this little book be thy friend,
if, owing to fortune or through thine own fault, thou canst not find a
dearer companion.




BOOK I

MAY 4.

How happy I am that I am gone! My dear friend, what a thing is the heart
of man! To leave you, from whom I have been inseparable, whom I love
so dearly, and yet to feel happy! I know you will forgive me. Have not
other attachments been specially appointed by fate to torment a head
like mine? Poor Leonora! and yet I was not to blame. Was it my fault,
that, whilst the peculiar charms of her sister afforded me an agreeable
entertainment, a passion for me was engendered in her feeble heart? And
yet am I wholly blameless? Did I not encourage her emotions? Did I not
feel charmed at those truly genuine expressions of nature, which, though
but little mirthful in reality, so often amused us? Did I not--but
oh! what is man, that he dares so to accuse himself? My dear friend I
promise you I will improve; I will no longer, as has ever been my habit,
continue to ruminate on every petty vexation which fortune may dispense;
I will enjoy the present, and the past shall be for me the past.
No doubt you are right, my best of friends, there would be far less
suffering amongst mankind, if men--and God knows why they are so
fashioned--did not employ their imaginations so assiduously in recalling
the memory of past sorrow, instead of bearing their present lot with
equanimity. Be kind enough to inform my mother that I shall attend to
her business to the best of my ability, and shall give her the earliest
information about it. I have seen my aunt, and find that she is very far
from being the disagreeable person our friends allege her to be. She is
a lively, cheerful woman, with the best of hearts. I explained to her my
mother's wrongs with regard to that part of her portion which has
been withheld from her. She told me the motives and reasons of her own
conduct, and the terms on which she is willing to give up the whole,
and to do more than we have asked. In short, I cannot write further upon
this subject at present; only assure my mother that all will go on well.
And I have again observed, my dear friend, in this trifling affair, that
misunderstandings and neglect occasion more mischief in the world than
even malice and wickedness. At all events, the two latter are of less
frequent occurrence.

In other respects I am very well off here. Solitude in this terrestrial
paradise is a genial balm to my mind, and the young spring cheers with
its bounteous promises my oftentimes misgiving heart. Every tree, every
bush, is full of flowers; and one might wish himself transformed into a
butterfly, to float about in this ocean of perfume, and find his whole
existence in it.

The town itself is disagreeable; but then, all around, you find an
inexpressible beauty of nature. This induced the late Count M to lay
out a garden on one of the sloping hills which here intersect each other
with the most charming variety, and form the most lovely valleys. The
garden is simple; and it is easy to perceive, even upon your first
entrance, that the plan was not designed by a scientific gardener, but
by a man who wished to give himself up here to the enjoyment of his own
sensitive heart. Many a tear have I already shed to the memory of its
departed master in a summer-house which is now reduced to ruins, but
was his favourite resort, and now is mine. I shall soon be master of the
place. The gardener has become attached to me within the last few days,
and he will lose nothing thereby.

MAY 10.

A wonderful serenity has taken possession of my entire soul, like these
sweet mornings of spring which I enjoy with my whole heart. I am alone,
and feel the charm of existence in this spot, which was created for the
bliss of souls like mine. I am so happy, my dear friend, so absorbed
in the exquisite sense of mere tranquil existence, that I neglect my
talents. I should be incapable of drawing a single stroke at the present
moment; and yet I feel that I never was a greater artist than now. When,
while the lovely valley teems with vapour around me, and the meridian
sun strikes the upper surface of the impenetrable foliage of my trees,
and but a few stray gleams steal into the inner sanctuary, I throw
myself down among the tall grass by the trickling stream; and, as I lie
close to the earth, a thousand unknown plants are noticed by me: when
I hear the buzz of the little world among the stalks, and grow famil
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PG #: 4507
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AS A MAN THINKETH


BY

JAMES ALLEN


Author of "From Passion to Peace"



  _Mind is the Master power that moulds and makes,
  And Man is Mind, and evermore he takes
  The tool of Thought, and, shaping what he wills,
  Brings forth a thousand joys, a thousand ills:--
  He thinks in secret, and it comes to pass:
  Environment is but his looking-glass._



Authorized Edition

New York





CONTENTS


THOUGHT AND CHARACTER

EFFECT OF THOUGHT ON CIRCUMSTANCES

EFFECT OF THOUGHT ON HEALTH AND THE BODY

THOUGHT AND PURPOSE

THE THOUGHT-FACTOR IN ACHIEVEMENT

VISIONS AND IDEALS

SERENITY






FOREWORD


THIS little volume (the result of meditation and experience) is not
intended as an exhaustive treatise on the much-written-upon subject
of the power of thought. It is suggestive rather than explanatory,
its object being to stimulate men and women to the discovery and
perception of the truth that--

"They themselves are makers of themselves."

by virtue of the thoughts, which they choose and encourage; that
mind is the master-weaver, both of the inner garment of character
and the outer garment of circumstance, and that, as they may have
hitherto woven in ignorance and pain they may now weave in
enlightenment and happiness.

JAMES ALLEN.

BROAD PARK AVENUE,

ILFRACOMBE,

ENGLAND





AS A MAN THINKETH




THOUGHT AND CHARACTER


THE aphorism, "As a man thinketh in his heart so is he," not only
embraces the whole of a man's being, but is so comprehensive as to
reach out to every condition and circumstance of his life. A man is
literally _what he thinks,_ his character being the complete sum of
all his thoughts.

As the plant springs from, and could not be without, the seed, so
every act of a man springs from the hidden seeds of thought, and
could not have appeared without them. This applies equally to those
acts called "spontaneous" and "unpremeditated" as to those, which
are deliberately executed.

Act is the blossom of thought, and joy and suffering are its fruits;
thus does a man garner in the sweet and bitter fruitage of his own
husbandry.

  "Thought in the mind hath made us, What we are
  By thought was wrought and built. If a man's mind
  Hath evil thoughts, pain comes on him as comes
  The wheel the ox behind....

  ..If one endure
  In purity of thought, joy follows him
  As his own shadow--sure."

Man is a growth by law, and not a creation by artifice, and cause
and effect is as absolute and undeviating in the hidden realm of
thought as in the world of visible and material things. A noble and
Godlike character is not a thing of favour or chance, but is the
natural result of continued effort in right thinking, the effect of
long-cherished association with Godlike thoughts. An ignoble and
bestial character, by the same process, is the result of the
continued harbouring of grovelling thoughts.

Man is made or unmade by himself; in the armoury of thought he
forges the weapons by which he destroys himself; he also fashions
the tools with which he builds for himself heavenly mansions of joy
and strength and peace. By the right choice and true application of
thought, man ascends to the Divine Perfection; by the abuse and
wrong application of thought, he descends below the level of the
beast. Between these two extremes are all the grades of character,
and man is their maker and master.

Of all the beautiful truths pertaining to the soul which have been
restored and brought to light in this age, none is more gladdening
or fruitful of divine promise and confidence than this--that man is
the master of thought, the moulder of character, and the maker and
shaper of condition, environment, and destiny.

As a being of Power, Intelligence, and Love, and the lord of his own
thoughts, man holds the key to every situation, and contains within
himself that transforming and regenerative agency by which he may
make himself what he wills.

Man is always the master, even in his weaker and most abandoned
state; but in his weakness and degradation he is the foolish master
who misgoverns his "household." When he begins to reflect upon his
condition, and to search diligently for the Law upon which his being
is established, he then becomes the wise master, directing his
energies with intelligence, and fashioning his thoughts to fruitful
issues. Such is the _conscious_ master, and man can only thus become
by discovering _within himself_ the laws of thought; which discovery
is totally a matter of application, self analysis, and experience.

Only by much searching and mining, are gold and diamonds obtained,
and man can find every truth connected with his being, if he will
dig deep into the mine of his soul; and that he is the maker of his
character, the moulder of his life, and the builder of his destiny,
he may unerringly prove, if he will watch, control, and alter his
thoughts, tracing their effects upon himself, upon others, and upon
his life and circumstances, linking cause and effect by patient
practice and investigation, and utiliz
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PG #: 13701
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The Philippine Islands, 1493-1898

explorations by early navigators, descriptions of the islands and
their peoples, their history and records of the catholic missions,
as related in contemporaneous books and manuscripts, showing the
political, economic, commercial and religious conditions of those
islands from their earliest relations with European nations to the
close of the nineteenth century

Volume VII, 1588-1591



Edited and annotated by Emma Helen Blair and James Alexander Robertson
with historical introduction and additional notes by Edward Gaylord
Bourne.




Contents of Volume VII



Preface ...   9
Documents of 1588

	Relation of the Philipinas Islands. Domingo de Salazar,
	and others; Manila, 1586-88 ...  29
	Letter to Felipe II. Santiago de Vera, and others;
	Manila, June 26 ...  52
	Letter to Felipe II. Domingo de Salazar; Manila,
	June 27 ...  64

Documents of 1589

	Excerpt from a letter from the viceroy of India. Manuel
	de Sousa Coutinho; Goa, April 3 ...  79
	Letter to Felipe II. Santiago de Vera; Manila, June
	13 ...	83
	Conspiracy against the Spaniards. Santiago de Vera,
	and others; Manila, May-July ...  95
	Letter to Felipe II. [Gaspar] de Ayala; Manila,
	July 15 ... 112
	Decree regarding commerce. Felipe II; San Lorenzo,
	August 9 ... 137
	Instructions to Gomez Perez Dasmariñas. Felipe II;
	San Lorenzo, August 9  ... 141
	Customs of the Tagalogs (two relations). Juan de
	Plasencia, O.S.F.; Manila, October 21 ... 173

Documents of 1590

	Letter from Portugal to Felipe II. [Lisboa?] ... 199
	Decree ordering a grant to Salazar. Felipe II; Madrid,
	April 12 ... 205
	Letter from members of the suppressed Audiencia to
	Felipe II. Santiago de Vera, and others; Manila,
	June 20 ... 208
	The Chinese and the Parián at Manila. Domingo de
	Salazar; Manila, June 24 ... 212
	Two letters to Felipe II. Domingo de Salazar; Manila,
	June 24 ... 239
	Decree regulating commerce. Felipe II; San Lorenzo,
	July 23 ... 262

The collection of tributes in the Filipinas Islands. Domingo de
Salazar, and others; Manila, 1591 ... 265
Bibliographical Data ... 319





Illustrations



	Autograph signature of Doctor Santiago de Vera; photographic
	facsimile from MS. in Archivo general de Indias, Sevilla ...
	61
	Autograph signature of Juan de Plasencia, O.S.F.; photographic
	facsimile from MS. in Archivo general de Indias, Sevilla
	... 187




Preface


Important events and changes occur during the four years included
in the scope of this volume. The Audiencia is suppressed, and in
its place is sent a royal governor; the instructions given to him
embody many of the reforms demanded by the people through their
envoy Sánchez. Extensive and dangerous conspiracies among the natives
against the Spaniards are discovered, and severely punished. Trade
between Nueva España and China is beginning, and seems to menace the
welfare of the Philippine colony. A large immigration of Chinese to
the islands has set in, and is already seriously affecting economic
interests there. The city of Manila, recently destroyed by fire, is
being rebuilt, this time mainly with brick and stone. As usual, there
is much friction between the ecclesiastical and secular authorities,
largely concerning the collection of tributes from the Indians;
the most prominent figure in these contentions is the aged but fiery
bishop, Salazar.

Shortly after the Jesuit Sánchez had gone to Spain as envoy of the
Philippine colonists, a document was prepared (December 31, 1586),
by order of the Manila cabildo, to be sent to him for use at the
Spanish court. As this was lost on the "Santa Ana," and as Bishop
Salazar regards the supply of missionaries in the islands as very
inadequate, he applies (June 3, 1588) to the cabildo for another copy
of such part of this document as relates to the religious needs of the
natives. This he sends (June 25) to the royal Council of the Indias,
with considerable additions regarding certain islands not mentioned
in the cabildo's memorial. This document gives much interesting
information, not only on religious matters, but on the social and
economic conditions of both Spaniards and natives in the islands. In
each island or province are enumerated the population, both native
and Spanish; the number of Spanish troops, also of encomiendas and
tributarios; the number of convents and their inmates; the religious
and ecclesiastics, not only those resident, but those needed among
the natives; the officials employed by the government; the Chinese
immigrants and their occupations; the articles for sale in the public
market; and the imports and exports at Manila. The writer relates many
things of interest regarding the natural resources and products of the
country, the mode of life of both Spaniards and natives, the means of
defense possessed by the colony, the Indians who are not as yet under
Spanish rule. All this affords a valuable and curiously interesting
picture of the colony and its life; but Salazar, in presenting it,
is mainly concerned
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“HASTE TO THE WEDDING.”

    “Wooed and married and a’.”


“Edith!” said Margaret, gently, “Edith!”

But as Margaret half suspected, Edith had fallen asleep. She lay curled
up on the sofa in the back drawing-room in Harley Street looking very
lovely in her white muslin and blue ribbons. If Titania had ever been
dressed in white muslin and blue ribbons, and had fallen asleep on a
crimson damask sofa in a back drawing-room, Edith might have been taken
for her. Margaret was struck afresh by her cousin’s beauty. They had
grown up together from childhood, and all along Edith had been remarked
upon by every one, except Margaret, for her prettiness; but Margaret had
never thought about it until the last few days, when the prospect of
soon losing her companion seemed to give force to every sweet quality
and charm which Edith possessed. They had been talking about wedding
dresses and wedding ceremonies; and Captain Lennox, and what he had told
Edith about her future life at Corfu, where his regiment was stationed;
and the difficulty of keeping a piano in good tune (a difficulty which
Edith seemed to consider as one of the most formidable that could befall
her in her married life), and what gowns she should want in the visits
to Scotland, which would immediately succeed her marriage; but the
whispered tone had latterly become more drowsy; and Margaret, after a
pause of a few minutes, found, as she fancied, that in spite of the buzz
in the next room, Edith had rolled herself up into a soft ball of muslin
and ribbon, and silken curls, and gone off into a peaceful little
after-dinner nap.

Margaret had been on the point of telling her cousin of some of the
plans and visions which she entertained as to her future life in the
country parsonage, where her father and mother lived; and where her
bright holidays had always been passed, though for the last ten years
her aunt Shaw’s house had been considered as her home. But in default of
a listener, she had to brood over the change in her life silently as
heretofore. It was a happy brooding, although tinged with regret at
being separated for an indefinite time from her gentle aunt and dear
cousin. As she thought of the delight of filling the important post of
only daughter in Helstone parsonage, pieces of the conversation out of
the next room came upon her ears. Her aunt Shaw was talking to the five
or six ladies who had been dining there, and whose husbands were still
in the dining-room. They were the familiar acquaintances of the house;
neighbours whom Mrs. Shaw called friends, because she happened to dine
with them more frequently than with any other people, and because if she
or Edith wanted anything from them, or they from her, they did not
scruple to make a call at each other’s houses before luncheon. These
ladies and their husbands were invited in their capacity of friends, to
eat a farewell dinner in honour of Edith’s approaching marriage. Edith
had rather objected to this arrangement, for Captain Lennox was expected
to arrive by a late train this very evening; but, although she was a
spoiled child, she was too careless and idle to have a very strong will
of her own, and gave way when she found that her mother had absolutely
ordered those extra delicacies of the season which are always supposed
to be efficacious against immoderate grief at farewell dinners. She
contented herself by leaning back in her chair, merely playing with the
food on her plate, and looking grave and absent; while all around her
were enjoying the mots of Mr. Grey, the gentleman who always took the
bottom of the table at Mrs. Shaw’s dinner parties, and asked Edith to
give them some music in the drawing-room. Mr. Grey was particularly
agreeable over this farewell dinner, and the gentlemen staid downstairs
longer than usual. It was very well they did--to judge from the
fragments of conversation which Margaret overheard.

“I suffered too much myself; not that I was not extremely happy with the
poor dear General, but still disparity of age is a drawback; one that I
was resolved Edith should not have to encounter. Of course, without any
maternal partiality, I foresaw that the dear child was likely to marry
early; indeed, I had often said that I was sure she would be married
before she was nineteen. I had quite prophetic feeling when Captain
Lennox”--and here the voice dropped into a whisper, but Margaret could
easily supply the blank. The course of true love in Edith’s case had run
remarkably smooth. Mrs. Shaw had given way to the presentiment, as she
expressed it; and had rather urged on the marriage, although it was
below the expectations which many of Edith’s acquaintances had formed
for her, a young and pretty heiress. But Mrs. Shaw said that her only
child should marry for love,--and sighed emphatically, as if love had
not been her motive for marrying the General. Mrs. Shaw enjoyed the
romance of the present engagement rather more than her daughter. Not but
that Edith was very thoroughly and prope
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An Irate Neighbor


A tall, slim girl, “half-past sixteen,” with serious gray eyes and hair
which her friends called auburn, had sat down on the broad red sandstone
doorstep of a Prince Edward Island farmhouse one ripe afternoon in
August, firmly resolved to construe so many lines of Virgil.

But an August afternoon, with blue hazes scarfing the harvest slopes,
little winds whispering elfishly in the poplars, and a dancing slendor
of red poppies outflaming against the dark coppice of young firs in a
corner of the cherry orchard, was fitter for dreams than dead languages.
The Virgil soon slipped unheeded to the ground, and Anne, her chin
propped on her clasped hands, and her eyes on the splendid mass of
fluffy clouds that were heaping up just over Mr. J. A. Harrison’s house
like a great white mountain, was far away in a delicious world where a
certain schoolteacher was doing a wonderful work, shaping the destinies
of future statesmen, and inspiring youthful minds and hearts with high
and lofty ambitions.

To be sure, if you came down to harsh facts . . . which, it must be
confessed, Anne seldom did until she had to . . . it did not seem likely
that there was much promising material for celebrities in Avonlea
school; but you could never tell what might happen if a teacher used
her influence for good. Anne had certain rose-tinted ideals of what a
teacher might accomplish if she only went the right way about it; and
she was in the midst of a delightful scene, forty years hence, with a
famous personage . . . just exactly what he was to be famous for was left
in convenient haziness, but Anne thought it would be rather nice to have
him a college president or a Canadian premier . . . bowing low over her
wrinkled hand and assuring her that it was she who had first kindled his
ambition, and that all his success in life was due to the lessons she
had instilled so long ago in Avonlea school. This pleasant vision was
shattered by a most unpleasant interruption.

A demure little Jersey cow came scuttling down the lane and five seconds
later Mr. Harrison arrived . . . if “arrived” be not too mild a term to
describe the manner of his irruption into the yard.

He bounced over the fence without waiting to open the gate, and angrily
confronted astonished Anne, who had risen to her feet and stood looking
at him in some bewilderment. Mr. Harrison was their new righthand
neighbor and she had never met him before, although she had seen him
once or twice.

In early April, before Anne had come home from Queen’s, Mr. Robert Bell,
whose farm adjoined the Cuthbert place on the west, had sold out and
moved to Charlottetown. His farm had been bought by a certain Mr. J. A.
Harrison, whose name, and the fact that he was a New Brunswick man, were
all that was known about him. But before he had been a month in Avonlea
he had won the reputation of being an odd person . . . “a crank,” Mrs.
Rachel Lynde said. Mrs. Rachel was an outspoken lady, as those of you
who may have already made her acquaintance will remember. Mr. Harrison
was certainly different from other people . . . and that is the essential
characteristic of a crank, as everybody knows.

In the first place he kept house for himself and had publicly stated
that he wanted no fools of women around his diggings. Feminine
Avonlea took its revenge by the gruesome tales it related about his
house-keeping and cooking. He had hired little John Henry Carter of
White Sands and John Henry started the stories. For one thing, there
was never any stated time for meals in the Harrison establishment. Mr.
Harrison “got a bite” when he felt hungry, and if John Henry were around
at the time, he came in for a share, but if he were not, he had to wait
until Mr. Harrison’s next hungry spell. John Henry mournfully averred
that he would have starved to death if it wasn’t that he got home on
Sundays and got a good filling up, and that his mother always gave him a
basket of “grub” to take back with him on Monday mornings.

As for washing dishes, Mr. Harrison never made any pretence of doing it
unless a rainy Sunday came. Then he went to work and washed them all at
once in the rainwater hogshead, and left them to drain dry.

Again, Mr. Harrison was “close.” When he was asked to subscribe to the
Rev. Mr. Allan’s salary he said he’d wait and see how many dollars’
worth of good he got out of his preaching first . . . he didn’t believe
in buying a pig in a poke. And when Mrs. Lynde went to ask for a
contribution to missions . . . and incidentally to see the inside of
the house . . . he told her there were more heathens among the old woman
gossips in Avonlea than anywhere else he knew of, and he’d cheerfully
contribute to a mission for Christianizing them if she’d undertake it.
Mrs. Rachel got herself away and said it was a mercy poor Mrs. Robert
Bell was safe in her grave, for it would have broken her heart to see
the state of her house in which she used to take so much pride.

“Why, she scrubbed the kitchen floo
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PG #: 128
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The Arabian Nights Entertainments,


Selected and Edited

by

Andrew Lang



after the edition of

Longmans, Green and Co, 1918 (1898)



Contents

  Preface
  The Arabian Nights
  The Story of the Merchant and the Genius
  The Story of the First Old Man and of the Hind
  The Story of the Second Old Man, and of the Two Black Dogs
  The Story of the Fisherman
  The Story of the Greek King and the Physician Douban
  The Story of the Husband and the Parrot
  The Story of the Vizir Who Was Punished
  The Story of the Young King of the Black Isles
  The Story of the Three Calenders, Sons of Kings,
    and of Five Ladies of Bagdad
  The Story of the First Calender, Son of a King
  The Story of the Envious Man and of Him Who Was Envied
  The Story of the Second Calendar, Son of a King
  The Story of the Third Calendar, Son of a King
  The Seven Voyages of Sindbad the Sailor
    First Voyage
    Second Voyage
    Third Voyage
    Fourth Voyage
    Fifth Voyage
    Sixth Voyage
    Seventh and Last Voyage
  The Little Hunchback
  The Story of the Barber's Fifth Brother
  The Story of the Barber's Sixth Brother
  The Adventures of Prince Camaralzaman and the Princess Badoura
  Noureddin and the Fair Persian
  Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp
  The Adventures of Haroun-al-Raschid, Caliph of Bagdad
  The Story of the Blind Baba-Abdalla
  The Story of Sidi-Nouman
  The Story of Ali Colia, Merchant of Bagdad
  The Enchanted Horse
  The Story of Two Sisters Who Were Jealous of Their Younger Sister




Preface


The stories in the Fairy Books have generally been such as old women in
country places tell to their grandchildren.  Nobody knows how old they
are, or who told them first.  The children of Ham, Shem and Japhet may
have listened to them in the Ark, on wet days.  Hector's little boy may
have heard them in Troy Town, for it is certain that Homer knew them,
and that some of them were written down in Egypt about the time of
Moses.

People in different countries tell them differently, but they are
always the same stories, really, whether among little Zulus, at the
Cape, or little Eskimo, near the North Pole.  The changes are only in
matters of manners and customs; such as wearing clothes or not, meeting
lions who talk in the warm countries, or talking bears in the cold
countries.  There are plenty of kings and queens in the fairy tales,
just because long ago there were plenty of kings in the country.  A
gentleman who would be a squire now was a kind of king in Scotland in
very old times, and the same in other places.  These old stories, never
forgotten, were taken down in writing in different ages, but mostly in
this century, in all sorts of languages.  These ancient stories are the
contents of the Fairy books.

Now "The Arabian Nights," some of which, but not nearly all, are given
in this volume, are only fairy tales of the East.  The people of Asia,
Arabia, and Persia told them in their own way, not for children, but
for grown-up people.  There were no novels then, nor any printed books,
of course; but there were people whose profession it was to amuse men
and women by telling tales.  They dressed the fairy stories up, and
made the characters good Mahommedans, living in Bagdad or India.  The
events were often supposed to happen in the reign of the great Caliph,
or ruler of the Faithful, Haroun al Raschid, who lived in Bagdad in
786-808 A.D. The vizir who accompanies the Caliph was also a real
person of the great family of the Barmecides.  He was put to death by
the Caliph in a very cruel way, nobody ever knew why.  The stories must
have been told in their present shape a good long while after the
Caliph died, when nobody knew very exactly what had really happened.
At last some storyteller thought of writing down the tales, and fixing
them into a kind of framework, as if they had all been narrated to a
cruel Sultan by his wife.  Probably the tales were written down about
the time when Edward I. was fighting Robert Bruce.  But changes were
made in them at different times, and a great deal that is very dull and
stupid was put in, and plenty of verses.  Neither the verses nor the
dull pieces are given in this book.

People in France and England knew almost nothing about "The Arabian
Nights" till the reigns of Queen Anne and George I., when they were
translated into French by Monsieur Galland.  Grown-up people were then
very fond of fairy tales, and they thought these Arab stories the best
that they had ever read.  They were delighted with Ghouls (who lived
among the tombs) and Geni, who seemed to be a kind of ogres, and with
Princesses who work magic spells, and with Peris, who are Arab fairies.
Sindbad had adventures which perhaps came out of the Odyssey of Homer;
in fact, all the East had contributed its wonders, and sent them to
Europe in one parcel.  Young men once made a noise at Monsieur
Galland's windows in the dead of night, and asked him to tell them one
of his marvellous tales.  Nobody talked of anything but dervis
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PG #: 14328
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14328





PREFACE.

The book called 'The Consolation of Philosophy' was throughout the
Middle Ages, and down to the beginnings of the modern epoch in the
sixteenth century, the scholar's familiar companion. Few books have
exercised a wider influence in their time. It has been translated into
every European tongue, and into English nearly a dozen times, from King
Alfred's paraphrase to the translations of Lord Preston, Causton,
Ridpath, and Duncan, in the eighteenth century. The belief that what
once pleased so widely must still have some charm is my excuse for
attempting the present translation. The great work of Boethius, with its
alternate prose and verse, skilfully fitted together like dialogue and
chorus in a Greek play, is unique in literature, and has a pathetic
interest from the time and circumstances of its composition. It ought
not to be forgotten. Those who can go to the original will find their
reward. There may be room also for a new translation in English after an
interval of close on a hundred years.

Some of the editions contain a reproduction of a bust purporting to
represent Boethius. Lord Preston's translation, for example, has such a
portrait, which it refers to an original in marble at Rome. This I have
been unable to trace, and suspect that it is apocryphal. The Hope
Collection at Oxford contains a completely different portrait in a
print, which gives no authority. I have ventured to use as a
frontispiece a reproduction from a plaster-cast in the Ashmolean Museum,
taken from an ivory diptych preserved in the Bibliotheca Quiriniana at
Brescia, which represents Narius Manlius Boethius, the father of the
philosopher. Portraiture of this period is so rare that it seemed that,
failing a likeness of the author himself, this authentic representation
of his father might have interest, as giving the consular dress and
insignia of the time, and also as illustrating the decadence of
contemporary art. The consul wears a richly-embroidered cloak; his right
hand holds a staff surmounted by the Roman eagle, his left the _mappa
circensis,_ or napkin used for starting the races in the circus; at his
feet are palms and bags of money--prizes for the victors in the games.
For permission to use this cast my thanks are due to the authorities of
the Ashmolean Museum, as also to Mr. T.W. Jackson, Curator of the Hope
Collection, who first called my attention to its existence.

I have to thank my brother, Mr. L. James, of Radley College, for much
valuable help and for correcting the proof-sheets of the translation.
The text used is that of Peiper, Leipsic, 1874.




PROEM.

Anicus Manlius Severinus Boethius lived in the last quarter of the fifth
century A.D., and the first quarter of the sixth. He was growing to
manhood, when Theodoric, the famous Ostrogoth, crossed the Alps and made
himself master of Italy. Boethius belonged to an ancient family, which
boasted a connection with the legendary glories of the Republic, and was
still among the foremost in wealth and dignity in the days of Rome's
abasement. His parents dying early, he was brought up by Symmachus, whom
the age agreed to regard as of almost saintly character, and afterwards
became his son-in-law. His varied gifts, aided by an excellent
education, won for him the reputation of the most accomplished man of
his time. He was orator, poet, musician, philosopher. It is his peculiar
distinction to have handed on to the Middle Ages the tradition of Greek
philosophy by his Latin translations of the works of Aristotle. Called
early to a public career, the highest honours of the State came to him
unsought. He was sole Consul in 510 A.D., and was ultimately raised by
Theodoric to the dignity of Magister Officiorum, or head of the whole
civil administration. He was no less happy in his domestic life, in the
virtues of his wife, Rusticiana, and the fair promise of his two sons,
Symmachus and Boethius; happy also in the society of a refined circle of
friends. Noble, wealthy, accomplished, universally esteemed for his
virtues, high in the favour of the Gothic King, he appeared to all men a
signal example of the union of merit and good fortune. His felicity
seemed to culminate in the year 522 A.D., when, by special and
extraordinary favour, his two sons, young as they were for so exalted an
honour, were created joint Consuls and rode to the senate-house
attended by a throng of senators, and the acclamations of the multitude.
Boethius himself, amid the general applause, delivered the public speech
in the King's honour usual on such occasions. Within a year he was a
solitary prisoner at Pavia, stripped of honours, wealth, and friends,
with death hanging over him, and a terror worse than death, in the fear
lest those dearest to him should be involved in the worst results of his
downfall. It is in this situation that the opening of the 'Consolation
of Philosophy' brings Boethius before us. He represents himself as
seated in his prison distraught with grief, indignant at the inj
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PG #: 26
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This is the February 1992 Project Gutenberg release of:

Paradise Lost by John Milton

The oldest etext known to Project Gutenberg (ca. 1964-1965)
(If you know of any older ones, please let us know.)


Introduction  (one page)

This etext was originally created in 1964-1965 according to Dr.
Joseph Raben of Queens College, NY, to whom it is attributed by
Project Gutenberg.  We had heard of this etext for years but it
was not until 1991 that we actually managed to track it down to
a specific location, and then it took months to convince people
to let us have a copy, then more months for them actually to do
the copying and get it to us.  Then another month to convert to
something we could massage with our favorite 486 in DOS.  After
that is was only a matter of days to get it into this shape you
will see below.  The original was, of course, in CAPS only, and
so were all the other etexts of the 60's and early 70's.  Don't
let anyone fool you into thinking any etext with both upper and
lower case is an original; all those original Project Gutenberg
etexts were also in upper case and were translated or rewritten
many times to get them into their current condition.  They have
been worked on by many people throughout the world.

In the course of our searches for Professor Raben and his etext
we were never able to determine where copies were or which of a
variety of editions he may have used as a source.  We did get a
little information here and there, but even after we received a
copy of the etext we were unwilling to release it without first
determining that it was in fact Public Domain and finding Raben
to verify this and get his permission.  Interested enough, in a
totally unrelated action to our searches for him, the professor
subscribed to the Project Gutenberg listserver and we happened,
by accident, to notice his name. (We don't really look at every
subscription request as the computers usually handle them.) The
etext was then properly identified, copyright analyzed, and the
current edition prepared.

To give you an estimation of the difference in the original and
what we have today:  the original was probably entered on cards
commonly known at the time as "IBM cards" (Do Not Fold, Spindle
or Mutilate) and probably took in excess of 100,000 of them.  A
single card could hold 80 characters (hence 80 characters is an
accepted standard for so many computer margins), and the entire
original edition we received in all caps was over 800,000 chars
in length, including line enumeration, symbols for caps and the
punctuation marks, etc., since they were not available keyboard
characters at the time (probably the keyboards operated at baud
rates of around 113, meaning the typists had to type slowly for
the keyboard to keep up).

This is the second version of Paradise Lost released by Project
Gutenberg.  The first was released as our October, 1991 etext.





Paradise Lost




Book I


Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste
Brought death into the World, and all our woe,
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat,
Sing, Heavenly Muse, that, on the secret top
Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire
That shepherd who first taught the chosen seed
In the beginning how the heavens and earth
Rose out of Chaos: or, if Sion hill
Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flowed
Fast by the oracle of God, I thence
Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song,
That with no middle flight intends to soar
Above th' Aonian mount, while it pursues
Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme.
And chiefly thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer
Before all temples th' upright heart and pure,
Instruct me, for thou know'st; thou from the first
Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread,
Dove-like sat'st brooding on the vast Abyss,
And mad'st it pregnant: what in me is dark
Illumine, what is low raise and support;
That, to the height of this great argument,
I may assert Eternal Providence,
And justify the ways of God to men.
  Say first--for Heaven hides nothing from thy view,
Nor the deep tract of Hell--say first what cause
Moved our grand parents, in that happy state,
Favoured of Heaven so highly, to fall off
From their Creator, and transgress his will
For one restraint, lords of the World besides.
Who first seduced them to that foul revolt?
  Th' infernal Serpent; he it was whose guile,
Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived
The mother of mankind, what time his pride
Had cast him out from Heaven, with all his host
Of rebel Angels, by whose aid, aspiring
To set himself in glory above his peers,
He trusted to have equalled the Most High,
If he opposed, and with ambitious aim
Against the throne and monarchy of God,
Raised impious war in Heaven and battle proud,
With vain attempt.  Him the Almighty Power
Hurled headlong flaming from th' ethereal sky,
With hideous ruin and combustion, down
To bottomless perdition, there to dwell
In adamantine chains and penal fire,
Who durst
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PG #: 21765
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/21765

[Transcriber’s Note:

  This e-text includes characters that will only display in UTF-8
  (Unicode) text readers, including many single words of Greek:

  If any of these characters do not display properly, or if the
  apostrophes and quotation marks in this paragraph appear as garbage,
  make sure your text reader’s “character set” or “file encoding” is set
  to Unicode (UTF-8). You may also need to change the default font. As a
  last resort, use the latin-1 version of the file instead.

  In the original text, words and phrases supplied by the translator
  were printed in _italics_. In this e-text they are shown in {braces}.
  Italics in the notes and commentary are shown conventionally with
  _lines_, boldface by =marks=.

  Line numbers from the original Latin poem were printed as headnotes
  on each page. For this e-text, only the line numbers of each complete
  “Fable” are given. Line numbers used in footnotes are retained from
  the original text; these, too, refer to the Latin poem and are
  independent of line divisions in the translation.

  Parts of this e-text use material from another edition of the Riley
  translation of the _Metamorphoses_: George Bell (London, 1893).
  Details are given at the end of the text, before the Errata. Each
  segment of the introductory material is individually identified.]




                      THE
             METAMORPHOSES OF OVID

              Vol. I--Books I-VII

LITERALLY TRANSLATED WITH NOTES AND EXPLANATIONS

                       by
              HENRY T. RILEY, M.A.

            With an Introduction by
               EDWARD BROOKS, JR.




        Copyright, 1899, By David McKay

                    Press Of
          Sherman & Co., Philadelphia




INTRODUCTION.

  [From Bell edition.]

The Metamorphoses of Ovid are a compendium of the Mythological
narratives of ancient Greece and Rome, so ingeniously framed, as to
embrace a large amount of information upon almost every subject
connected with the learning, traditions, manners, and customs of
antiquity, and have afforded a fertile field of investigation to the
learned of the civilized world. To present to the public a faithful
translation of a work, universally esteemed, not only for its varied
information, but as being the masterpiece of one of the greatest Poets
of ancient Rome, is the object of the present volume.

To render the work, which, from its nature and design, must, of
necessity, be replete with matter of obscure meaning, more inviting
to the scholar, and more intelligible to those who are unversed in
Classical literature, the translation is accompanied with Notes and
Explanations, which, it is believed, will be found to throw considerable
light upon the origin and meaning of some of the traditions of heathen
Mythology.

In the translation, the text of the Delphin edition has been generally
adopted; and no deviation has been made from it, except in a few
instances, where the reason for such a step is stated in the notes;
at the same time, the texts of Burmann and Gierig have throughout been
carefully consulted. The several editions vary materially in respect to
punctuation; the Translator has consequently used his own discretion in
adopting that which seemed to him the most fully to convey in each
passage the intended meaning of the writer.

The Metamorphoses of Ovid have been frequently translated into the
English language. On referring to Mr. Bohn’s excellent Catalogue of the
Greek and Latin Classics and their Translations, we find that the whole
of the work has been twice translated into English Prose, while five
translations in Verse are there enumerated. A prose version of the
Metamorphoses was published by Joseph Davidson, about the middle of
the last century, which professes to be “as near the original as the
different idioms of the Latin and English will allow;” and to be
“printed for the use of schools, as well as of private gentlemen.” A few
moments’ perusal of this work will satisfy the reader that it has not
the slightest pretension to be considered a literal translation, while,
by its departure from the strict letter of the author, it has gained
nothing in elegance of diction. It is accompanied by “critical,
historical, geographical, and classical notes in English, from the best
Commentators, both ancient and modern, beside a great number of notes,
entirely new;” but notwithstanding this announcement, these annotations
will be found to be but few in number, and, with some exceptions in the
early part of the volume, to throw very little light on the obscurities
of the text. A fifth edition of this translation was published so
recently as 1822, but without any improvement, beyond the furbishing up
of the old-fashioned language of the original preface. A far more
literal translation of the Metamorphoses is that by John Clarke, which
was first published about the year 1735, and had attained to a seventh
edition in 1779. Although this version may be pronounced very nearly to
ful
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Selden paused in surprise. In the afternoon rush of the Grand Central
Station his eyes had been refreshed by the sight of Miss Lily Bart.

It was a Monday in early September, and he was returning to his work from
a hurried dip into the country; but what was Miss Bart doing in town at
that season? If she had appeared to be catching a train, he might have
inferred that he had come on her in the act of transition between one and
another of the country-houses which disputed her presence after the close
of the Newport season; but her desultory air perplexed him. She stood
apart from the crowd, letting it drift by her to the platform or the
street, and wearing an air of irresolution which might, as he surmised,
be the mask of a very definite purpose. It struck him at once that she
was waiting for some one, but he hardly knew why the idea arrested him.
There was nothing new about Lily Bart, yet he could never see her without
a faint movement of interest: it was characteristic of her that she
always roused speculation, that her simplest acts seemed the result of
far-reaching intentions.

An impulse of curiosity made him turn out of his direct line to the door,
and stroll past her. He knew that if she did not wish to be seen she
would contrive to elude him; and it amused him to think of putting her
skill to the test.

"Mr. Selden--what good luck!"

She came forward smiling, eager almost, in her resolve to intercept him.
One or two persons, in brushing past them, lingered to look; for Miss
Bart was a figure to arrest even the suburban traveller rushing to his
last train.

Selden had never seen her more radiant. Her vivid head, relieved against
the dull tints of the crowd, made her more conspicuous than in a
ball-room, and under her dark hat and veil she regained the girlish
smoothness, the purity of tint, that she was beginning to lose after
eleven years of late hours and indefatigable dancing. Was it really
eleven years, Selden found himself wondering, and had she indeed reached
the nine-and-twentieth birthday with which her rivals credited her?

"What luck!" she repeated. "How nice of you to come to my rescue!"

He responded joyfully that to do so was his mission in life, and asked
what form the rescue was to take.

"Oh, almost any--even to sitting on a bench and talking to me.  One sits
out a cotillion--why not sit out a train? It isn't a bit hotter here than
in Mrs. Van Osburgh's conservatory--and some of the women are not a bit
uglier."  She broke off, laughing, to explain that she had come up to
town from Tuxedo, on her way to the Gus Trenors' at Bellomont, and had
missed the three-fifteen train to Rhinebeck.  "And there isn't another
till half-past five." She consulted the little jewelled watch among her
laces.  "Just two hours to wait. And I don't know what to do with myself.
My maid came up this morning to do some shopping for me, and was to go on
to Bellomont at one o'clock, and my aunt's house is closed, and I don't
know a soul in town." She glanced plaintively about the station. "It IS
hotter than Mrs. Van Osburgh's, after all. If you can spare the time, do
take me somewhere for a breath of air."

He declared himself entirely at her disposal: the adventure struck him as
diverting. As a spectator, he had always enjoyed Lily Bart; and his
course lay so far out of her orbit that it amused him to be drawn for a
moment into the sudden intimacy which her proposal implied.

"Shall we go over to Sherry's for a cup of tea?"

She smiled assentingly, and then made a slight grimace.

"So many people come up to town on a Monday--one is sure to meet a lot of
bores. I'm as old as the hills, of course, and it ought not to make any
difference; but if I'M old enough, you're not," she objected gaily.  "I'm
dying for tea--but isn't there a quieter place?"

He answered her smile, which rested on him vividly. Her discretions
interested him almost as much as her imprudences: he was so sure that
both were part of the same carefully-elaborated plan. In judging Miss
Bart, he had always made use of the "argument from design."

"The resources of New York are rather meagre," he said; "but I'll find a
hansom first, and then we'll invent something." He led her through the
throng of returning holiday-makers, past sallow-faced girls in
preposterous hats, and flat-chested women struggling with paper bundles
and palm-leaf fans. Was it possible that she belonged to the same race?
The dinginess, the crudity of this average section of womanhood made him
feel how highly specialized she was.

A rapid shower had cooled the air, and clouds still hung refreshingly
over the moist street.

"How delicious! Let us walk a little," she said as they emerged from the
station.

They turned into Madison Avenue and began to stroll northward. As she
moved beside him, with her long light step, Selden was conscious of
taking a luxurious pleasure in her nearness: in the modelling of her
little ear, the crisp upward wave of her hair--was it ever so slightly
brig
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PG #: 834
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IV.	 The Stockbroker’s Clerk
V.	 The “_Gloria Scott_”
VI.	 The Musgrave Ritual
VII. The Reigate Squires
VIII. The Crooked Man
IX.	 The Resident Patient
X.	 The Greek Interpreter
XI.	 The Naval Treaty
XII. The Final Problem


I. Silver Blaze

      I am afraid, Watson, that I shall have to go,” said Holmes, as we
      sat down together to our breakfast one morning.

      “Go! Where to?”

      “To Dartmoor; to King’s Pyland.”

      I was not surprised. Indeed, my only wonder was that he had not
      already been mixed up in this extraordinary case, which was the
      one topic of conversation through the length and breadth of
      England. For a whole day my companion had rambled about the room
      with his chin upon his chest and his brows knitted, charging and
      recharging his pipe with the strongest black tobacco, and
      absolutely deaf to any of my questions or remarks. Fresh editions
      of every paper had been sent up by our news agent, only to be
      glanced over and tossed down into a corner. Yet, silent as he
      was, I knew perfectly well what it was over which he was
      brooding. There was but one problem before the public which could
      challenge his powers of analysis, and that was the singular
      disappearance of the favourite for the Wessex Cup, and the tragic
      murder of its trainer. When, therefore, he suddenly announced his
      intention of setting out for the scene of the drama it was only
      what I had both expected and hoped for.

      “I should be most happy to go down with you if I should not be in
      the way,” said I.

      “My dear Watson, you would confer a great favour upon me by
      coming. And I think that your time will not be misspent, for
      there are points about the case which promise to make it an
      absolutely unique one. We have, I think, just time to catch our
      train at Paddington, and I will go further into the matter upon
      our journey. You would oblige me by bringing with you your very
      excellent field-glass.”

      And so it happened that an hour or so later I found myself in the
      corner of a first-class carriage flying along en route for
      Exeter, while Sherlock Holmes, with his sharp, eager face framed
      in his ear-flapped travelling-cap, dipped rapidly into the bundle
      of fresh papers which he had procured at Paddington. We had left
      Reading far behind us before he thrust the last one of them under
      the seat, and offered me his cigar-case.

      “We are going well,” said he, looking out the window and glancing
      at his watch. “Our rate at present is fifty-three and a half
      miles an hour.”

      “I have not observed the quarter-mile posts,” said I.

      “Nor have I. But the telegraph posts upon this line are sixty
      yards apart, and the calculation is a simple one. I presume that
      you have looked into this matter of the murder of John Straker
      and the disappearance of Silver Blaze?”

      “I have seen what the _Telegraph_ and the _Chronicle_ have to
      say.”

      “It is one of those cases where the art of the reasoner should be
      used rather for the sifting of details than for the acquiring of
      fresh evidence. The tragedy has been so uncommon, so complete and
      of such personal importance to so many people, that we are
      suffering from a plethora of surmise, conjecture, and hypothesis.
      The difficulty is to detach the framework of fact—of absolute
      undeniable fact—from the embellishments of theorists and
      reporters. Then, having established ourselves upon this sound
      basis, it is our duty to see what inferences may be drawn and
      what are the special points upon which the whole mystery turns.
      On Tuesday evening I received telegrams from both Colonel Ross,
      the owner of the horse, and from Inspector Gregory, who is
      looking after the case, inviting my co-operation.”

      “Tuesday evening!” I exclaimed. “And this is Thursday morning.
      Why didn’t you go down yesterday?”

      “Because I made a blunder, my dear Watson—which is, I am afraid,
      a more common occurrence than any one would think who only knew
      me through your memoirs. The fact is that I could not believe it
      possible that the most remarkable horse in England could long
      remain concealed, especially in so sparsely inhabited a place as
      the north of Dartmoor. From hour to hour yesterday I expected to
      hear that he had been found, and that his abductor was the
      murderer of John Straker. When, however, another morning had
      come, and I found that beyond the arrest of young Fitzroy Simpson
      nothing had been done, I felt that it was time for me to take
      action. Yet in some ways I feel that yesterday has not been
      wasted.”

      “You have formed a theory, then?”

      “At least I have got a grip of the essential facts of the case. I
      shall enumerate them to you, fo
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How it happened that Mastro Cherry, carpenter, found a piece of wood
that wept and laughed like a child.


Centuries ago there lived--

“A king!” my little readers will say immediately.

No, children, you are mistaken. Once upon a time there was a piece of
wood. It was not an expensive piece of wood. Far from it. Just a common
block of firewood, one of those thick, solid logs that are put on the
fire in winter to make cold rooms cozy and warm.

I do not know how this really happened, yet the fact remains that
one fine day this piece of wood found itself in the shop of an old
carpenter. His real name was Mastro Antonio, but everyone called him
Mastro Cherry, for the tip of his nose was so round and red and shiny
that it looked like a ripe cherry.

As soon as he saw that piece of wood, Mastro Cherry was filled with joy.
Rubbing his hands together happily, he mumbled half to himself:

“This has come in the nick of time. I shall use it to make the leg of a
table.”

He grasped the hatchet quickly to peel off the bark and shape the wood.
But as he was about to give it the first blow, he stood still with arm
uplifted, for he had heard a wee, little voice say in a beseeching tone:
“Please be careful! Do not hit me so hard!”

What a look of surprise shone on Mastro Cherry’s face! His funny face
became still funnier.

He turned frightened eyes about the room to find out where that wee,
little voice had come from and he saw no one! He looked under the
bench--no one! He peeped inside the closet--no one! He searched among
the shavings--no one! He opened the door to look up and down the
street--and still no one!

“Oh, I see!” he then said, laughing and scratching his Wig. “It can
easily be seen that I only thought I heard the tiny voice say the words!
Well, well--to work once more.”

He struck a most solemn blow upon the piece of wood.

“Oh, oh! You hurt!” cried the same far-away little voice.

Mastro Cherry grew dumb, his eyes popped out of his head, his mouth
opened wide, and his tongue hung down on his chin.

As soon as he regained the use of his senses, he said, trembling and
stuttering from fright:

“Where did that voice come from, when there is no one around? Might it
be that this piece of wood has learned to weep and cry like a child? I
can hardly believe it. Here it is--a piece of common firewood, good
only to burn in the stove, the same as any other. Yet--might someone be
hidden in it? If so, the worse for him. I’ll fix him!”

With these words, he grabbed the log with both hands and started to
knock it about unmercifully. He threw it to the floor, against the walls
of the room, and even up to the ceiling.

He listened for the tiny voice to moan and cry. He waited two
minutes--nothing; five minutes--nothing; ten minutes--nothing.

“Oh, I see,” he said, trying bravely to laugh and ruffling up his wig
with his hand. “It can easily be seen I only imagined I heard the tiny
voice! Well, well--to work once more!”

The poor fellow was scared half to death, so he tried to sing a gay song
in order to gain courage.

He set aside the hatchet and picked up the plane to make the wood smooth
and even, but as he drew it to and fro, he heard the same tiny voice.
This time it giggled as it spoke:

“Stop it! Oh, stop it! Ha, ha, ha! You tickle my stomach.”

This time poor Mastro Cherry fell as if shot. When he opened his eyes,
he found himself sitting on the floor.

His face had changed; fright had turned even the tip of his nose from
red to deepest purple.





Mastro Cherry gives the piece of wood to his friend Geppetto, who
takes it to make himself a Marionette that will dance, fence, and turn
somersaults.


In that very instant, a loud knock sounded on the door. “Come in,” said
the carpenter, not having an atom of strength left with which to stand
up.

At the words, the door opened and a dapper little old man came in.
His name was Geppetto, but to the boys of the neighborhood he was
Polendina,* on account of the wig he always wore which was just the
color of yellow corn.

     * Cornmeal mush

Geppetto had a very bad temper. Woe to the one who called him Polendina!
He became as wild as a beast and no one could soothe him.

“Good day, Mastro Antonio,” said Geppetto. “What are you doing on the
floor?”

“I am teaching the ants their A B C’s.”

“Good luck to you!”

“What brought you here, friend Geppetto?”

“My legs. And it may flatter you to know, Mastro Antonio, that I have
come to you to beg for a favor.”

“Here I am, at your service,” answered the carpenter, raising himself on
to his knees.

“This morning a fine idea came to me.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“I thought of making myself a beautiful wooden Marionette. It must be
wonderful, one that will be able to dance, fence, and turn somersaults.
With it I intend to go around the world, to earn my crust of bread and
cup of wine. What do you think of it?”

“Bravo, Polendina!” cried the same tiny voice which came from no one
knew where.

On hearing himself called Polendina, Mastro Geppe
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 164
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/164


A SHIFTING REEF

The year 1866 was signalised by a remarkable incident, a mysterious and
puzzling phenomenon, which doubtless no one has yet forgotten.  Not to
mention rumours which agitated the maritime population and excited the
public mind, even in the interior of continents, seafaring men were
particularly excited.  Merchants, common sailors, captains of vessels,
skippers, both of Europe and America, naval officers of all countries,
and the Governments of several States on the two continents, were
deeply interested in the matter.

For some time past vessels had been met by "an enormous thing," a long
object, spindle-shaped, occasionally phosphorescent, and infinitely
larger and more rapid in its movements than a whale.

The facts relating to this apparition (entered in various log-books)
agreed in most respects as to the shape of the object or creature in
question, the untiring rapidity of its movements, its surprising power
of locomotion, and the peculiar life with which it seemed endowed.  If
it was a whale, it surpassed in size all those hitherto classified in
science.  Taking into consideration the mean of observations made at
divers times--rejecting the timid estimate of those who assigned to
this object a length of two hundred feet, equally with the exaggerated
opinions which set it down as a mile in width and three in length--we
might fairly conclude that this mysterious being surpassed greatly all
dimensions admitted by the learned ones of the day, if it existed at
all.  And that it DID exist was an undeniable fact; and, with that
tendency which disposes the human mind in favour of the marvellous, we
can understand the excitement produced in the entire world by this
supernatural apparition.  As to classing it in the list of fables, the
idea was out of the question.

On the 20th of July, 1866, the steamer Governor Higginson, of the
Calcutta and Burnach Steam Navigation Company, had met this moving mass
five miles off the east coast of Australia.  Captain Baker thought at
first that he was in the presence of an unknown sandbank; he even
prepared to determine its exact position when two columns of water,
projected by the mysterious object, shot with a hissing noise a hundred
and fifty feet up into the air.  Now, unless the sandbank had been
submitted to the intermittent eruption of a geyser, the Governor
Higginson had to do neither more nor less than with an aquatic mammal,
unknown till then, which threw up from its blow-holes columns of water
mixed with air and vapour.

Similar facts were observed on the 23rd of July in the same year, in
the Pacific Ocean, by the Columbus, of the West India and Pacific Steam
Navigation Company.  But this extraordinary creature could transport
itself from one place to another with surprising velocity; as, in an
interval of three days, the Governor Higginson and the Columbus had
observed it at two different points of the chart, separated by a
distance of more than seven hundred nautical leagues.

Fifteen days later, two thousand miles farther off, the Helvetia, of
the Compagnie-Nationale, and the Shannon, of the Royal Mail Steamship
Company, sailing to windward in that portion of the Atlantic lying
between the United States and Europe, respectively signalled the
monster to each other in 42° 15' N. lat. and 60° 35' W. long.
In these simultaneous observations they thought themselves justified in
estimating the minimum length of the mammal at more than three hundred
and fifty feet, as the Shannon and Helvetia were of smaller dimensions
than it, though they measured three hundred feet over all.

Now the largest whales, those which frequent those parts of the sea
round the Aleutian, Kulammak, and Umgullich islands, have never
exceeded the length of sixty yards, if they attain that.

In every place of great resort the monster was the fashion.  They sang
of it in the cafes, ridiculed it in the papers, and represented it on
the stage.  All kinds of stories were circulated regarding it.  There
appeared in the papers caricatures of every gigantic and imaginary
creature, from the white whale, the terrible "Moby Dick" of sub-arctic
regions, to the immense kraken, whose tentacles could entangle a ship
of five hundred tons and hurry it into the abyss of the ocean.  The
legends of ancient times were even revived.

Then burst forth the unending argument between the believers and the
unbelievers in the societies of the wise and the scientific journals.
"The question of the monster" inflamed all minds.  Editors of
scientific journals, quarrelling with believers in the supernatural,
spilled seas of ink during this memorable campaign, some even drawing
blood; for from the sea-serpent they came to direct personalities.

During the first months of the year 1867 the question seemed buried,
never to revive, when new facts were brought before the public.  It was
then no longer a scientific problem to be solved, but a real danger
seriously to be avoided.  The question took quite another sha
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PG #: 24869
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/24869



De nouveau Rishyaçringa tint ce langage au Monarque: “Je vais célébrer un
autre sacrifice, afin que le ciel accorde à tes vœux les enfants que tu
souhaites.” Cela dit, cherchant le bonheur du roi et pour
l’accomplissement de son désir, le fils puissant de Vibhándaka se mit à
célébrer ce nouveau sacrifice.

Là auparavant, étaient venus déjà recevoir une part de l’ offrande les
Dieux, accompagnés des Gaudharvas, et les Siddhas avec les Mounis divins,
Brahma, le monarque des Souras, l’ immuable Śiva, et l’ auguste Náráyana,
et les quatre gardiens vigilants du monde, et les mères des Immortels, et
tous les Dieux, escortés des Yakshas, et le maître éminent du ciel, Indra,
qui se manifestait aux yeux, environné par l’ essaim des Maroutes. Alors
ce jeune anachorète avait supplié tous les Dieux, que le désir d’une part
dans l’ offrande avait conduits á l’ açwamédha, cette grande cérémonie de
ce roi magnanime; _et, dans ce moment, l’ époux de Śántá les conjurait
ainsi pour la seconde fois_: “Cet homme _en prières_, c’est le roi
Daçaratha, qui est privé de fils. Il est rempli d’ une foi vive; il s’est
infligé de pénibles austérités; il vous a déjà servi, divinités augustes,
le sacrifice d’un açwa-médha, et maintenant il s’étudie encore à vous
plaire avec ce nouveau sacrifice dans l’espérance que vous lui donnerez
les fils, où tendent ses désirs. Versez donc sur lui votre bienveillance
et daignez sourire à son vœu pour des fils. C’est pour lui que moi ici,
les mains jointes, je vous adresse à tous mes supplications: envoyez-lui
quatre fils, qui soient vantés dans les trois mondes!”

“Ouí! répondirent les Dieux au fils suppliant du rishi; tu mérites que
nous t’écoutions avec faveur, toi, brahme saint, et même, en premier lieu,
ce roi. Comme récompense de ces différents sacrifices, le monarque
obtendra cet objet le plus cher de ses désirs.”

Ayant aussi parlé et vu que le grand saint avait mis fin suivant les rites
à son _pieux_ sacrifice, les Dieux, Indra à leur tête, s’évanouissent dans
le vide des airs et se rendent vers l’ architecte des mondes, le souverain
des créatures, le donateur des biens, vers Brahma enfin, auquel tous, les
mains jointes, ils adressent les paroles suivantes: “O Brahma, un
rakshasa, nommé Râvana, tourne su mal les grâces, qu’il a reçues de toi.
Dans son orgueil, il nous opprime tous; il opprime avec nous les grands
anchorètes, qui se font un bonheur des macérations: car jadis, ayant su te
plaire, O Bhagavat, il a reçu de toi ce don incomparable. ‘Oui, as-tu dit,
exauçant le vœu du mauvais Génie; Dieu. Yaksha ou Démon ne pourra jamais
causer ta mort!’ Et nous, par qui ta parole est respectée, nous avons tout
supporté de ce roi des rakshasas, qui écrase de sa tyrannie les trois
mondes, ou il promène l’ injure impunément. Enorgueilli de ce don
victorieux, il opprime indignement les Dieux, les rishis, les Yakshas, les
Gandharvas, les Asouras et les enfants de Manou. Là ou se tient Râvana, la
peur empêche le soleil d’échauffer, le vent craint de souffler, et le feu
n’ose flamboyer. A son aspect, la guirlande même des grands flots tremble
au sein de la mer. Accablé par sa vigueur indomptable, Kouvéra défait lui
a cédé Lanká. Suave-nous donc, ô toi, qui reposes daus le bonheur absolu;
sauve-nous de Râvana, le fléau des mondes. Daigne, ô toi, qui souris aux
vœux du suppliant, daigne imaginer un expedient pour ôter la vie à ce
cruel Démon.” Les Dieux ayant ainsi dénoncé leurs maux à Brahma, il
réfléchit un instant et leur tint ce langage: “Bien, voici que j’ai
découvert un moyen pour tuer ce Génie scélérat. Que ni les Dieux, a-t-il
dit, ni les rishis, ni les Gandharvas ni les Yakshas, ni les rakshasas, ni
les Nágas même ne puissent me donner la mort! Soit lui ai-je répondu.
Mais, par dédain pour la force humaine, les hommes n’ont pas été compris
daus sa demande. C’est donc par la main d’ un homme, qu’il faut immoler ce
méchant.” Ainsi tombée de la bouche du créateur, cette parole salutaire
satisfit pleinement le roi des habitants du ciel et tous les Dieux avec
lui. Lá, dans ce même instant, survint le fortuné Visnou, revêtu d’ une
splendeur infinie; car c’était a lui, que Brahma avait pensé dans son âme
pour la mort du tyran. Celui-ci donc avec l’essaim des Immortels adresse à
Vishnou ces paroles: “Meurtrier de Madhou, comme tu aimes á tirer de
l’affliction les êtres malheureux, nous te supplions, nous qui sommes
plongés dans la tristesse, Divinité auguste, sois notre asyle!” “Dites!
reprit Vishnou; que dois-je faire?” “Ayant oui les paroles de l’ineffable,
tous les Dieux repondirent: Il est un roi nommé Daçaratha; il a embrassé
une très-duré pénitence; il a célébré même le sacrifice d’un açwa-medha,
parce qu’il n’a point de fils et qu’il veut en obtenir du ciel. Il est
inébranlable dans sa piété, il est vanté pour ses vertus; la justice est
son caractère, la verite est sa parole. Acquiesce donc à notre demande, ô
toi, Vishnou, et consens à naître comme son fils. Divisé en quatre
portions de toi-même
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 131
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Notes:

1. Legends: = Sidenotes [Bible reference] = Bible references

2. Sections are numbered for future reference.  These sections
have been chosen arbitrarily, i.e., {1}, {2}

3. This is 'Part 1', but is a complete work in itself.  Bunyan
wrote a sequel ('Part 2') some years after the first part, hence
the 'Parts'.




THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS

From This World To That Which Is To Come


by

John Bunyan




Part One

DELIVERED UNDER THE SIMILITUDE OF A DREAM BY JOHN BUNYAN


The Author's Apology for his Book


{1} When at the first I took my pen in hand
    Thus for to write, I did not understand
    That I at all should make a little book
    In such a mode; nay, I had undertook
    To make another; which, when almost done,
    Before I was aware, I this begun.

    And thus it was:  I, writing of the way
    And race of saints, in this our gospel day,
    Fell suddenly into an allegory
    About their journey, and the way to glory,
    In more than twenty things which I set down.
    This done, I twenty more had in my crown;
    And they again began to multiply,
    Like sparks that from the coals of fire do fly.

    Nay, then, thought I, if that you breed so fast,
    I'll put you by yourselves, lest you at last
    Should prove ad infinitum, and eat out
    The book that I already am about.

    Well, so I did; but yet I did not think
    To shew to all the world my pen and ink
    In such a mode; I only thought to make
    I knew not what; nor did I undertake
    Thereby to please my neighbour:  no, not I;
    I did it my own self to gratify.

{2} Neither did I but vacant seasons spend
    In this my scribble; nor did I intend
    But to divert myself in doing this
    From worser thoughts which make me do amiss.

    Thus, I set pen to paper with delight,
    And quickly had my thoughts in black and white.
    For, having now my method by the end,
    Still as I pulled, it came; and so I penned
    It down:  until it came at last to be,
    For length and breadth, the bigness which you see.

    Well, when I had thus put mine ends together,
    I shewed them others, that I might see whether
    They would condemn them, or them justify:
    And some said, Let them live; some, Let them die;
    Some said, JOHN, print it; others said, Not so;
    Some said, It might do good; others said, No.

    Now was I in a strait, and did not see
    Which was the best thing to be done by me:
    At last I thought, Since you are thus divided,
    I print it will, and so the case decided.

{3} For, thought I, some, I see, would have it done,
    Though others in that channel do not run:
    To prove, then, who advised for the best,
    Thus I thought fit to put it to the test.

    I further thought, if now I did deny
    Those that would have it, thus to gratify.
    I did not know but hinder them I might
    Of that which would to them be great delight.

    For those which were not for its coming forth,
    I said to them, Offend you I am loth,
    Yet, since your brethren pleased with it be,
    Forbear to judge till you do further see.

    If that thou wilt not read, let it alone;
    Some love the meat, some love to pick the bone.
    Yea, that I might them better palliate,
    I did too with them thus expostulate:--

{4} May I not write in such a style as this?
    In such a method, too, and yet not miss
    My end--thy good?  Why may it not be done?
    Dark clouds bring waters, when the bright bring none.
    Yea, dark or bright, if they their silver drops
    Cause to descend, the earth, by yielding crops,
    Gives praise to both, and carpeth not at either,
    But treasures up the fruit they yield together;
    Yea, so commixes both, that in her fruit
    None can distinguish this from that:  they suit
    Her well when hungry; but, if she be full,
    She spews out both, and makes their blessings null.

    You see the ways the fisherman doth take
    To catch the fish; what engines doth he make?
    Behold how he engageth all his wits;
    Also his snares, lines, angles, hooks, and nets;
    Yet fish there be, that neither hook, nor line,
    Nor snare, nor net, nor engine can make thine:
    They must be groped for, and be tickled too,
    Or they will not be catch'd, whate'er you do.

    How does the fowler seek to catch his game
    By divers means!  all which one cannot name:
    His guns, his nets, his lime-twigs, light, and bell:
    He creeps, he goes, he stands; yea, who can tell
    Of all his postures?  Yet there's none of these
    Will make him master of what fowls he please.
    Yea, he must pipe and whistle to catch this,
    Yet, if he does so, that bird he will miss.

    If that a pearl may in a toad's head dwell,
    And may be found too in an oyster-shell;
    If things that promise nothing do contain
    What better is than gold; who will disdain,
    That have an inkling of it, there to look,
    That they may find it?  Now, my little book,
    (Though void of all these paintings
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 60093
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60093

CANE


                              Jean Toomer

                           _With a Foreword
                                  by_
                              Waldo Frank

                          _Oracular.
                          Redolent of fermenting syrup,
                          Purple of the dusk,
                          Deep-rooted cane._

               [Illustration] LIVERIGHT
                                 NEW YORK

                 COPYRIGHT © 1923 BY BONI & LIVERIGHT
                         ® 1951 BY JEAN TOOMER

                               1.987654

                   STANDARD BOOK NUMBER: 87140-535-0
           LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOG CARD NUMBER: 23-12749

             MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

                         To my grandmother...




                               FOREWORD


Reading this book, I had the vision of a land, heretofore sunk in
the mists of muteness, suddenly rising up into the eminence of song.
Innumerable books have been written about the South; some good books
have been written in the South. This book _is_ the South. I do not
mean that _Cane_ covers the South or is the South’s full voice. Merely
this: a poet has arisen among our American youth who has known how to
turn the essences and materials of his Southland into the essences and
materials of literature. A poet has arisen in that land who writes, not
as a Southerner, not as a rebel against Southerners, not as a Negro,
not as apologist or priest or critic: who writes as a _poet_. The
fashioning of beauty is ever foremost in his inspiration: not forcedly
but simply, and because these ultimate aspects of his world are to him
more real than all its specific problems. He has made songs and lovely
stories of his land ... not of its yesterday, but of its immediate
life. And that has been enough.

How rare this is will be clear to those who have followed with
concern the struggle of the South toward literary expression, and the
particular trial of that portion of its folk whose skin is dark. The
gifted Negro has been too often thwarted from becoming a poet because
his world was forever forcing him to recollect that he was a Negro.
The artist must lose such lesser identities in the great well of life.
The English poet is not forever protesting and recalling that he is
English. It is so natural and easy for him to be English that he can
sing as a man. The French novelist is not forever noting: “This is
French.” It is so atmospheric for him to be French, that he can devote
himself to saying: “This is human.” This is an imperative condition for
the creating of deep art. The whole will and mind of the creator must
go below the surfaces of race. And this has been an almost impossible
condition for the American Negro to achieve, forced every moment of his
life into a specific and superficial plane of consciousness.

The first negative significance of _Cane_ is that this so natural
and restrictive state of mind is completely lacking. For Toomer,
the Southland is not a problem to be solved; it is a field of
loveliness to be sung: the Georgia Negro is not a downtrodden soul
to be uplifted; he is material for gorgeous painting: the segregated
self-conscious brown belt of Washington is not a topic to be discussed
and exposed; it is a subject of beauty and of drama, worthy of creation
in literary form.

It seems to me, therefore, that this is a first book in more ways
than one. It is a harbinger of the South’s literary maturity: of its
emergence from the obsession put upon its minds by the unending racial
crisis—an obsession from which writers have made their indirect escape
through sentimentalism, exoticism, polemic, “problem” fiction, and
moral melodrama. It marks the dawn of direct and unafraid creation.
And, as the initial work of a man of twenty-seven, it is the harbinger
of a literary force of whose incalculable future I believe no reader of
this book will be in doubt.

How typical is _Cane_ of the South’s still virgin soil and of its
pressing seeds! and the book’s chaos of verse, tale, drama, its
rhythmic rolling shift from lyrism to narrative, from mystery to
intimate pathos! But read the book through and you will see a
complex and significant form take substance from its chaos. Part One
is the primitive and evanescent black world of Georgia. Part Two is
the threshing and suffering brown world of Washington, lifted by
opportunity and contact into the anguish of self-conscious struggle.
Part Three is Georgia again ... the invasion into this black womb of
the ferment seed: the neurotic, educated, spiritually stirring Negro.
As a broad form this is superb, and the very looseness and unexpected
waves of the book’s parts make _Cane_ still more _South_, still more of
an æsthetic equivalent of the land.

What a land it is! What an Æschylean beauty to its fateful problem!
Those of you who love our South will find here some of your love. Those
of you who know it not will perhaps begin to underst
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 2232
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2232

THE DUCHESS OF MALFI

by John Webster




INTRODUCTORY NOTE

Of John Webster's life almost nothing is known.  The dates 1580-1625
given for his birth and death are conjectural inferences, about which
the best that can be said is that no known facts contradict them.

The first notice of Webster so far discovered shows that he was
collaborating in the production of plays for the theatrical manager,
Henslowe, in 1602, and of such collaboration he seems to have done
a considerable amount.  Four plays exist which he wrote alone,
"The White Devil," "The Duchess of Malfi," "The Devil's Law-Case,"
and "Appius and Virginia."

"The Duchess of Malfi" was published in 1623, but the date of writing
may have been as early as 1611.  It is based on a story in Painter's
"Palace of Pleasure," translated from the Italian novelist, Bandello;
and it is entirely possible that it has a foundation in fact.  In any
case, it portrays with a terrible vividness one side of the court
life of the Italian Renaissance; and its picture of the fierce quest
of pleasure, the recklessness of crime, and the worldliness of the
great princes of the Church finds only too ready corroboration in
the annals of the time.

Webster's tragedies come toward the close of the great series
of tragedies of blood and revenge, in which "The Spanish Tragedy"
and "Hamlet" are landmarks, but before decadence can fairly be said
to have set in.  He, indeed, loads his scene with horrors almost past
the point which modern taste can bear; but the intensity of his
dramatic situations, and his superb power of flashing in a single
line a light into the recesses of the human heart at the crises
of supreme emotion, redeems him from mere sensationalism, and places
his best things in the first rank of dramatic writing.




THE DUCHESS OF MALFI


Dramatis Personae:

FERDINAND [Duke of Calabria].
CARDINAL [his brother].
ANTONIO [BOLOGNA, Steward of the Household to the Duchess].
DELIO [his friend].
DANIEL DE BOSOLA [Gentleman of the Horse to the Duchess].
[CASTRUCCIO, an old Lord].
MARQUIS OF PESCARA.
[COUNT] MALATESTI.
RODERIGO, ]
SILVIO,   ] [Lords].
GRISOLAN, ]
DOCTOR.
The Several Madmen.

DUCHESS [OF MALFI].
CARIOLA [her woman].
[JULIA, Castruccio's wife, and] the Cardinal's mistress.
[Old Lady].

Ladies, Three Young Children, Two Pilgrims, Executioners,
Court Officers, and Attendants.



       ACT I


       SCENE I[1]

       [Enter] ANTONIO and DELIO

  DELIO.  You are welcome to your country, dear Antonio;
  You have been long in France, and you return
  A very formal Frenchman in your habit:
  How do you like the French court?

  ANTONIO.                          I admire it:
  In seeking to reduce both state and people
  To a fix'd order, their judicious king
  Begins at home; quits first his royal palace
  Of flattering sycophants, of dissolute
  And infamous persons,--which he sweetly terms
  His master's master-piece, the work of heaven;
  Considering duly that a prince's court
  Is like a common fountain, whence should flow
  Pure silver drops in general, but if 't chance
  Some curs'd example poison 't near the head,
  Death and diseases through the whole land spread.
  And what is 't makes this blessed government
  But a most provident council, who dare freely
  Inform him the corruption of the times?
  Though some o' the court hold it presumption
  To instruct princes what they ought to do,
  It is a noble duty to inform them
  What they ought to foresee.[2]--Here comes Bosola,
  The only court-gall; yet I observe his railing
  Is not for simple love of piety:
  Indeed, he rails at those things which he wants;
  Would be as lecherous, covetous, or proud,
  Bloody, or envious, as any man,
  If he had means to be so.--Here's the cardinal.

       [Enter CARDINAL and BOSOLA]

  BOSOLA.  I do haunt you still.

  CARDINAL.  So.

  BOSOLA.  I have done you better service than to be slighted thus.
  Miserable age, where only the reward of doing well is the doing
  of it!

  CARDINAL.  You enforce your merit too much.

  BOSOLA.  I fell into the galleys in your service:  where, for two
  years together, I wore two towels instead of a shirt, with a knot
  on the shoulder, after the fashion of a Roman mantle.  Slighted thus!
  I will thrive some way.  Black-birds fatten best in hard weather;
  why not I in these dog-days?

  CARDINAL.  Would you could become honest!

  BOSOLA.  With all your divinity do but direct me the way to it.
  I have known many travel far for it, and yet return as arrant knaves
  as they went forth, because they carried themselves always along with
  them.  [Exit CARDINAL.] Are you gone?  Some fellows, they say,
  are possessed with the devil, but this great fellow were able
  to possess the greatest devil, and make him worse.

  ANTONIO.  He hath denied thee some suit?

  BOSOLA.  He and his brother are like plum-trees that grow crooked
  over standing-pools; they are rich and o'erladen with fruit, but none
  but crows, pies, and caterpillars fe
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 25929
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/25929

Daemonologie

                          In Forme of a Dialogie

                        Diuided into three Bookes.

                               By James RX

                      Printed by Robert Walde-graue,

                 Printer to the Kings Majestie. An. 1597.

                          Cum Privilegio Regio.





CONTENTS


The Preface. To The Reader.
First Booke.
   Chap. I.
   Chap. II.
   Chap. III.
   Chap. IIII.
   Chap. V.
   Chap. VI.
   Chap. VII.
Seconde Booke.
   Chap. I.
   Chap. II.
   Chap. III.
   Chap. IIII.
   Chap. V.
   Chap. VI.
   Chap. VII.
Thirde Booke.
   Chap. I.
   Chap. II.
   Chap. III.
   Chap. IIII.
   Chap. V.
   Chap. VI.
Newes from Scotland.
   To the Reader.
   Discourse.






THE PREFACE. TO THE READER.


The fearefull aboundinge at this time in this countrie, of these
detestable slaues of the Deuill, the Witches or enchaunters, hath moved me
(beloued reader) to dispatch in post, this following treatise of mine, not
in any wise (as I protest) to serue for a shew of my learning & ingine,
but onely (mooued of conscience) to preasse thereby, so farre as I can, to
resolue the doubting harts of many; both that such assaultes of Sathan are
most certainly practized, & that the instrumentes thereof, merits most
severly to be punished: against the damnable opinions of two principally
in our age, wherof the one called SCOT an  Englishman, is not ashamed in
publike print to deny, that ther can be such a thing as Witch-craft: and
so mainteines the old error of the Sadducees, in denying of spirits. The
other called VVIERVS, a German Phisition, sets out a publick apologie for
al these craftes-folkes, whereby, procuring for their impunitie, he
plainely bewrayes himselfe to haue bene one of that profession. And for to
make this treatise the more pleasaunt and facill, I haue put it in forme
of a Dialogue, which I haue diuided into three bookes: The first speaking
of Magie in general, and Necromancie in special. The second of Sorcerie
and Witch-craft: and the thirde, conteines a discourse of all these kindes
of spirits, & Spectres that appeares & trobles persones: together with a
conclusion of the whol work. My intention in this labour, is only to proue
two things, as I haue alreadie said: the one, that such diuelish artes
haue bene and are. The other, what exact trial and seuere punishment they
merite: & therefore reason I, what kinde of things are possible to be
performed in these arts, & by what naturall causes they may be, not that I
touch every particular thing of the Deuils power, for that were infinite:
but onelie, to speak scholasticklie, (since this can not bee spoken in our
language) I reason vpon _genus_ leauing species, _and differentia_ to be
comprehended therein. As for example, speaking of the power of Magiciens,
in the first book & sixt Chapter: I say, that they can suddenly cause be
brought vnto them, all kindes of daintie disshes, by their familiar
spirit: Since as a thiefe he delightes to steale, and as a spirite, he can
subtillie & suddenlie inough transport the same. Now vnder this _genus_
may be comprehended al particulars, depending thereupon; Such as the
bringing Wine out of a Wall, (as we haue heard oft to haue bene practised]
and such others; which particulars, are sufficientlie proved by the
reasons of the general. And such like in the second booke of Witch-craft
in speciall, and fift Chap. I say and proue by diuerse arguments, that
Witches can, by the power of their Master, cure or cast on disseases: Now
by these same reasones, that proues their power by the Deuil of disseases
in generally is aswell proued their power in speciall: as of weakening the
nature of some men, to make them vnable for women: and making it to abound
in others, more then the ordinary course of nature would permit. And such
like in all other particular sicknesses; But one thing I will pray thee to
obserue in all these places, where I reason upon the deuils power, which
is the different ends & scopes, that God as the first cause, and the
Devill as his instrument and second cause shootes at in all these actiones
of the Deuil, (as Gods hang-man:) For where the deuilles intention in them
is euer to perish, either the soule or the body, or both of them, that he
is so permitted to deale with: God by the contrarie, drawes euer out of
that euill glorie to himselfe, either by the wracke of the wicked in his
justice, or by the tryall of the patient, and amendment of the faithfull,
being wakened vp with that rod of correction. Hauing thus declared vnto
thee then, my full intention in this Treatise, thou wilt easelie excuse, I
doubt not, aswel my pretermitting, to declare the whole particular rites
and secretes of these vnlawfull artes: as also their infinite and
wounderfull practises, as being neither of them pertinent to my purpose:
the reason whereof, is giuen in the hinder ende of the first Chapter of
the thirde booke: and who likes to be curious in these thinges, he may
reade, if he wil
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The first ray of light which illumines the gloom, and converts into a
dazzling brilliancy that obscurity in which the earlier history of the
public career of the immortal Pickwick would appear to be involved, is
derived from the perusal of the following entry in the Transactions of
the Pickwick Club, which the editor of these papers feels the highest
pleasure in laying before his readers, as a proof of the careful
attention, indefatigable assiduity, and nice discrimination, with which
his search among the multifarious documents confided to him has been
conducted.

‘May 12, 1827. Joseph Smiggers, Esq., P.V.P.M.P.C. [Perpetual Vice-
President--Member Pickwick Club], presiding. The following resolutions
unanimously agreed to:--

‘That this Association has heard read, with feelings of unmingled
satisfaction, and unqualified approval, the paper communicated by Samuel
Pickwick, Esq., G.C.M.P.C. [General Chairman--Member Pickwick Club],
entitled “Speculations on the Source of the Hampstead Ponds, with some
Observations on the Theory of Tittlebats;” and that this Association
does hereby return its warmest thanks to the said Samuel Pickwick, Esq.,
G.C.M.P.C., for the same.

‘That while this Association is deeply sensible of the advantages which
must accrue to the cause of science, from the production to which they
have just adverted--no less than from the unwearied researches of Samuel
Pickwick, Esq., G.C.M.P.C., in Hornsey, Highgate, Brixton, and
Camberwell--they cannot but entertain a lively sense of the inestimable
benefits which must inevitably result from carrying the speculations of
that learned man into a wider field, from extending his travels, and,
consequently, enlarging his sphere of observation, to the advancement of
knowledge, and the diffusion of learning.

‘That, with the view just mentioned, this Association has taken into its
serious consideration a proposal, emanating from the aforesaid, Samuel
Pickwick, Esq., G.C.M.P.C., and three other Pickwickians hereinafter
named, for forming a new branch of United Pickwickians, under the title
of The Corresponding Society of the Pickwick Club.

‘That the said proposal has received the sanction and approval of this
Association.

‘That the Corresponding Society of the Pickwick Club is therefore hereby
constituted; and that Samuel Pickwick, Esq., G.C.M.P.C., Tracy Tupman,
Esq., M.P.C., Augustus Snodgrass, Esq., M.P.C., and Nathaniel Winkle,
Esq., M.P.C., are hereby nominated and appointed members of the same;
and that they be requested to forward, from time to time, authenticated
accounts of their journeys and investigations, of their observations of
character and manners, and of the whole of their adventures, together
with all tales and papers to which local scenery or associations may
give rise, to the Pickwick Club, stationed in London.

‘That this Association cordially recognises the principle of every
member of the Corresponding Society defraying his own travelling
expenses; and that it sees no objection whatever to the members of the
said society pursuing their inquiries for any length of time they
please, upon the same terms.

‘That the members of the aforesaid Corresponding Society be, and are
hereby informed, that their proposal to pay the postage of their
letters, and the carriage of their parcels, has been deliberated upon by
this Association: that this Association considers such proposal worthy
of the great minds from which it emanated, and that it hereby signifies
its perfect acquiescence therein.’

A casual observer, adds the secretary, to whose notes we are indebted
for the following account--a casual observer might possibly have
remarked nothing extraordinary in the bald head, and circular
spectacles, which were intently turned towards his (the secretary’s)
face, during the reading of the above resolutions: to those who knew
that the gigantic brain of Pickwick was working beneath that forehead,
and that the beaming eyes of Pickwick were twinkling behind those
glasses, the sight was indeed an interesting one. There sat the man who
had traced to their source the mighty ponds of Hampstead, and agitated
the scientific world with his Theory of Tittlebats, as calm and unmoved
as the deep waters of the one on a frosty day, or as a solitary specimen
of the other in the inmost recesses of an earthen jar. And how much more
interesting did the spectacle become, when, starting into full life and
animation, as a simultaneous call for ‘Pickwick’ burst from his
followers, that illustrious man slowly mounted into the Windsor chair,
on which he had been previously seated, and addressed the club himself
had founded. What a study for an artist did that exciting scene present!
The eloquent Pickwick, with one hand gracefully concealed behind his
coat tails, and the other waving in air to assist his glowing
declamation; his elevated position revealing those tights and gaiters,
which, had they clothed an ordinary man, might have passed without
observation, but which, 
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[Sidenote: _Down the Rabbit-Hole_]

ALICE was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her
sister on the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had
peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no pictures or
conversations in it, "and what is the use of a book," thought Alice,
"without pictures or conversations?"

So she was considering in her own mind (as well as she could, for the
hot day made her feel very sleepy and stupid) whether the pleasure of
making a daisy-chain would be worth the trouble of getting up and
picking the daisies, when suddenly a White Rabbit with pink eyes ran
close by her.

There was nothing so _very_ remarkable in that; nor did Alice think it
so _very_ much out of the way to hear the Rabbit say to itself, "Oh
dear! Oh dear! I shall be too late!" (when she thought it over
afterwards, it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at this,
but at the time it all seemed quite natural); but when the Rabbit
actually _took a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket_, and looked at it,
and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it flashed across
her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit with either a
waistcoat-pocket, or a watch to take out of it, and burning with
curiosity, she ran across the field after it, and was just in time to
see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the hedge.

In another moment down went Alice after it, never once considering how
in the world she was to get out again.

The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and then
dipped suddenly down, so suddenly that Alice had not a moment to think
about stopping herself before she found herself falling down what seemed
to be a very deep well.

[Illustration]

Either the well was very deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had
plenty of time as she went down to look about her, and to wonder what
was going to happen next. First, she tried to look down and make out
what she was coming to, but it was too dark to see anything; then she
looked at the sides of the well and noticed that they were filled with
cupboards and book-shelves: here and there she saw maps and pictures
hung upon pegs. She took down a jar from one of the shelves as she
passed; it was labelled "ORANGE MARMALADE," but to her disappointment it
was empty; she did not like to drop the jar for fear of killing
somebody underneath, so managed to put it into one of the cupboards as
she fell past it.

"Well!" thought Alice to herself. "After such a fall as this, I shall
think nothing of tumbling down stairs! How brave they'll all think me at
home! Why, I wouldn't say anything about it, even if I fell off the top
of the house!" (Which was very likely true.)

Down, down, down. Would the fall _never_ come to an end? "I wonder how
many miles I've fallen by this time?" she said aloud. "I must be getting
somewhere near the centre of the earth. Let me see: that would be four
thousand miles down. I think--" (for, you see, Alice had learnt several
things of this sort in her lessons in the schoolroom, and though this
was not a _very_ good opportunity for showing off her knowledge, as
there was no one to listen to her, still it was good practice to say it
over) "--yes, that's about the right distance--but then I wonder what
Latitude or Longitude I've got to?" (Alice had no idea what Latitude
was, or Longitude either, but thought they were nice grand words to
say.)

Presently she began again. "I wonder if I shall fall right _through_ the
earth! How funny it'll seem to come out among the people that walk with
their heads downwards! The Antipathies, I think--" (she was rather glad
there _was_ no one listening, this time, as it didn't sound at all the
right word) "--but I shall have to ask them what the name of the country
is, you know. Please, Ma'am, is this New Zealand or Australia?" (and she
tried to curtsey as she spoke--fancy _curtseying_ as you're falling
through the air! Do you think you could manage it?) "And what an
ignorant little girl she'll think me! No, it'll never do to ask: perhaps
I shall see it written up somewhere."

Down, down, down. There was nothing else to do, so Alice soon began
talking again. "Dinah'll miss me very much to-night, I should think!"
(Dinah was the cat.) "I hope they'll remember her saucer of milk at
tea-time. Dinah, my dear, I wish you were down here with me! There are
no mice in the air, I'm afraid, but you might catch a bat, and that's
very like a mouse, you know. But do cats eat bats, I wonder?" And here
Alice began to get rather sleepy, and went on saying to herself, in a
dreamy sort of way, "Do cats eat bats? Do cats eat bats?" and sometimes,
"Do bats eat cats?" for, you see, as she couldn't answer either
question, it didn't much matter which way she put it. She felt that she
was dozing off, and had just begun to dream that she was walking hand in
hand with Dinah, and saying to her very earnestly, "Now, Dinah, tell me
the truth: did you ever eat a bat?" when suddenly, thump! thump!
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PAUNANG SALITA

Nang kalahatian ng 1906, na lumabas sa larangan ng Panitikang Tagalog
ang mahalagang aklat ng _"Kun sino ang kumatha ng Florante"_, ni
G. Hermenegildo Cruz, ay sinasabing may mga 106,000 nang salin ng
"Florante at Laura" ang naipalilimbag ng iba't iba; at sapul noon
hangga ngayon ay marami na ring taón ang nagsipagdaan, at sa loob ng
panahong iyan--lalo na nga't kung aalagataing siyang panahon ng
kaunlaran ng Panitikang Tagalog at ng kasiglahan sa pagbabasá at ng
pag-uumalab na lalo ng pagmamahal sa ating walang kahambing na
Makatang Francisco Baltazar--ay walang alinlangang sa datihang bilang
ng 106,000 ay di na rin kakaunti at di na iilang libo ang naparagdag
pa.

At sa harap ng kasiglahang iyan ay mapaghahalatang nagkaroon din ng
ibayong sigla ang nagsisipagpalimbag. Isa't isa ay gumagawa ng
kanikanyang kaya, upang mapalitaw na kalugodlugod ang "Florante at
Laura". Ngunit sa likod ng kasiglahang iyan at kapuripuring
pagpupunyagi ay kasakitsakit sabihing wari'y naipagwawalang bahala
kung minsan ng ilan yaong tagubiling:

     "Di co hinihinging pacamahalin mo tauana,t, dustain ang abang
     tula co gauin ang ibigui,t, alpa,i, na sa iyo ay houag mo lamang
     baguhin ang verso".

Naipagwawalang bahala? Walang alinlangan. Pinatutunayan ng mga
pangyayari. Nguni't maaari namang paniwalaang hindi sa atas ng
masamang hangad na "paalatin ang matatamis na tula" kundi bagkus pa
ngang sa magandang nais, na lalo pang mapatamis. Lalong mapasarap.
Lalong mapabuti. Lalong maitumpak. Gayon man, at maging gaano man
kabanalang ganyang nais, ay di rin maipagkakailang tunay na
pagwawalang bahala sa tagubilin at tunay na ipinagkakamit ng malubhang
kasalanan ni Sigesmundong dinadaliri ng dakilang Makata.

Kailangan ngang kung ano ang akda ng dakilang Makata ay siyang
papanatilihing buhay magpakailan man, walang munti mang pagbabago, sa
maging labis man o kulang, kahi't mali mang nakikita. Ni isang titik,
ni isang kuwit--maliban na nga lamang kung hindi maiwasan dahil sa
makapangyarihang atas ng panibagong alituntunin sa pagsulat.

Sinasabing ni saan man ay wala na ngayong matatagpuang isa mang salin
ng "Floranteng" limbag noong buhay pa si Balagtas, at may paniwalang
ang iniingatan ni Dr. Pardo de Tavera ay siyang matanda sa lahat nang
nakatago ngayon; nguni't sa kagandahang palad ay sumakamay namin ang
isang salin ng lumabas noong 1861, linimbag sa papel Tsina ng
"Imprenta de Ramirez y Giraudier", at sa kanyang takip na papel
katalan--takip na ilinagay lamang ng maingat na may-ari--ay nakatitik
ito: "Es propiedad de Don Jose Dioniso de Mendoza". Si Balagtas ay
namatay noong ika 20 ng Pebrero ng 1862, sa gulang na magpipitongpu't
apat na taón. Kaya, maliwanag, na buhay pa si Balagtas ng limbagin
nina Ramirez ang "Floranteng" sumakamay namin, at matanda pang di
hamak sa iniingatan ni Dr. Tavera, sapagka't ang kanya ay limbag
lamang noong 1870 ng "Imprenta de B. Gonzales Mora" sa Binundok. Siyam
na taón nga ang katandaan dito. At kung aalagataing buháy pa nga si
Balagtas noong 1861 ay walang alinlangang dahil sa pagpipitagan man
lamang sa noon pa ma'y itinuturing nang "Hari ng mga Manunula", ang
sumakamay namin ay di pa "napanghihimasukan ng kamay ni Sigesmundo",

Ang saling iyan ay wala na sa amin, pagka't hindi amin. Naipagparanya
lamang sa amin--dahil sa paglabas noong 1906 ng "kun sino ang kumatha
ng Florante"--ng noo'y nag-aaral pa sa "Escuela de Derecho" at ngayo'y
abogado Alfonso Mendoza, masugid na demokrata; at sa likod ng ilang
buwang pag-iingat at pagsipi namin ay pinagpilitang bawiin ng
nagpahiram, dahil sa minamahal daw mabutí ng kanyang ama, palibhasa'y
sa mga nuno pa nila minana. Isinauli rin nga namin, sa likod ng kung
makailang pagwawalawalaan.

At kamakailang maitanong namin uli sa abogado Mendoza ay ganito ang
isinagot:

--Aywan bagá kung saan na naroon. Tila sira na ang mga unang mukha.

Kaya, nang paroonan ni Epifanio ay aywan kung nakuha niya o hindi....

Si G. Epifanio de los Santos--ang dalubhasang istoriograpo, ang guro,
ang akademiko, ang sumakastila ng "Florante"--ay siyang tinutukoy.
Kami ang sa kanya ay nakapagpahiwatig, upang mapawi ang maling
paniwala, na "wala na ngayong Floranteng limbag nang buháy pa si
Baltazar." At dahil diyan ay walang salang nagdumaling paroon, upang
makuha--sa paano man--ang mahalagang hiyas ng Literaturang Tagalog na
pinakamamahal niya. Sakaling nakuha niya, kahi't na nga sira-sira, ay
dapat ipagpasalamat, sapagka't parang napalagay sa "kabang may pitong
susi"; nguni't kung hindi, at kung natuluyan na ngang nasira, ay tunay
na kahinahinayang.

Kahinahinayang! Tunay na kahinahinayang!...

Sakaling nasira na nga.

Nguni't gayon man ay may sukat na rin tayong dapat ikaaliw; ang siping
naingatan namin. Pagkakapag-ingat, na maituturing nating isa na ring
tunay na kapalaran, at siping walang munti mang pagbabago, palibhasa'y
pinag-ingatan naming ilagay pati ng kanyang maliliwanag na kamalian sa
limbagan at di dinagdagan, ni kinulangan, ng kahi't na ano.

A
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--Let us look each other in the face. We are Hyperboreans--we know well
enough how remote our place is. "Neither by land nor by water will you
find the road to the Hyperboreans": even Pindar,[1] in his day, knew
_that_ much about us. Beyond the North, beyond the ice, beyond
_death_--_our_ life, _our_ happiness.... We have discovered that
happiness; we know the way; we got our knowledge of it from thousands of
years in the labyrinth. Who _else_ has found it?--The man of today?--"I
don't know either the way out or the way in; I am whatever doesn't know
either the way out or the way in"--so sighs the man of today.... _This_
is the sort of modernity that made us ill,--we sickened on lazy peace,
cowardly compromise, the whole virtuous dirtiness of the modern Yea and
Nay. This tolerance and _largeur_ of the heart that "forgives"
everything because it "understands" everything is a sirocco to us.
Rather live amid the ice than among modern virtues and other such
south-winds!... We were brave enough; we spared neither ourselves nor
others; but we were a long time finding out _where_ to direct our
courage. We grew dismal; they called us fatalists. _Our_ fate--it was
the fulness, the tension, the _storing up_ of powers. We thirsted for
the lightnings and great deeds; we kept as far as possible from the
happiness of the weakling, from "resignation"... There was thunder in
our air; nature, as we embodied it, became overcast--_for we had not yet
found the way_. The formula of our happiness: a Yea, a Nay, a straight
line, a _goal_....

[1] _Cf._ the tenth Pythian ode. See also the fourth book of Herodotus.
The Hyperboreans were a mythical people beyond the Rhipaean mountains,
in the far North. They enjoyed unbroken happiness and perpetual youth.



What is good?--Whatever augments the feeling of power, the will to
power, power itself, in man.

What is evil?--Whatever springs from weakness.

What is happiness?--The feeling that power _increases_--that resistance
is overcome.

Not contentment, but more power; _not_ peace at any price, but war;
_not_ virtue, but efficiency (virtue in the Renaissance sense, _virtu_,
virtue free of moral acid).

The weak and the botched shall perish: first principle of _our_ charity.
And one should help them to it.

What is more harmful than any vice?--Practical sympathy for the botched
and the weak--Christianity....



The problem that I set here is not what shall replace mankind in the
order of living creatures (--man is an end--): but what type of man must
be _bred_, must be _willed_, as being the most valuable, the most worthy
of life, the most secure guarantee of the future.

This more valuable type has appeared often enough in the past: but
always as a happy accident, as an exception, never as deliberately
_willed_. Very often it has been precisely the most feared; hitherto it
has been almost _the_ terror of terrors;--and out of that terror the
contrary type has been willed, cultivated and _attained_: the domestic
animal, the herd animal, the sick brute-man--the Christian....



Mankind surely does _not_ represent an evolution toward a better or
stronger or higher level, as progress is now understood. This "progress"
is merely a modern idea, which is to say, a false idea. The European of
today, in his essential worth, falls far below the European of the
Renaissance; the process of evolution does _not_ necessarily mean
elevation, enhancement, strengthening.

True enough, it succeeds in isolated and individual cases in various
parts of the earth and under the most widely different cultures, and in
these cases a _higher_ type certainly manifests itself; something which,
compared to mankind in the mass, appears as a sort of superman. Such
happy strokes of high success have always been possible, and will remain
possible, perhaps, for all time to come. Even whole races, tribes and
nations may occasionally represent such lucky accidents.



We should not deck out and embellish Christianity: it has waged a war to
the death against this _higher_ type of man, it has put all the deepest
instincts of this type under its ban, it has developed its concept of
evil, of the Evil One himself, out of these instincts--the strong man as
the typical reprobate, the "outcast among men." Christianity has taken
the part of all the weak, the low, the botched; it has made an ideal out
of _antagonism_ to all the self-preservative instincts of sound life; it
has corrupted even the faculties of those natures that are
intellectually most vigorous, by representing the highest intellectual
values as sinful, as misleading, as full of temptation. The most
lamentable example: the corruption of Pascal, who believed that his
intellect had been destroyed by original sin, whereas it was actually
destroyed by Christianity!--



It is a painful and tragic spectacle that rises before me: I have drawn
back the curtain from the _rottenness_ of man. This word, in my mouth,
is at least free from one suspicion: that it involves a moral
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     Thus communed these; while to their lowly dome,
     The full-fed swine return'd with evening home;
     Compell'd, reluctant, to the several sties,
     With din obstreperous, and ungrateful cries.
     Pope's Odyssey


In that pleasant district of merry England which is watered by the
river Don, there extended in ancient times a large forest, covering
the greater part of the beautiful hills and valleys which lie between
Sheffield and the pleasant town of Doncaster. The remains of this
extensive wood are still to be seen at the noble seats of Wentworth, of
Warncliffe Park, and around Rotherham. Here haunted of yore the fabulous
Dragon of Wantley; here were fought many of the most desperate battles
during the Civil Wars of the Roses; and here also flourished in ancient
times those bands of gallant outlaws, whose deeds have been rendered so
popular in English song.

Such being our chief scene, the date of our story refers to a period
towards the end of the reign of Richard I., when his return from his
long captivity had become an event rather wished than hoped for by his
despairing subjects, who were in the meantime subjected to every species
of subordinate oppression. The nobles, whose power had become exorbitant
during the reign of Stephen, and whom the prudence of Henry the Second
had scarce reduced to some degree of subjection to the crown, had now
resumed their ancient license in its utmost extent; despising the feeble
interference of the English Council of State, fortifying their castles,
increasing the number of their dependants, reducing all around them to a
state of vassalage, and striving by every means in their power, to place
themselves each at the head of such forces as might enable him to make a
figure in the national convulsions which appeared to be impending.

The situation of the inferior gentry, or Franklins, as they were called,
who, by the law and spirit of the English constitution, were entitled
to hold themselves independent of feudal tyranny, became now unusually
precarious. If, as was most generally the case, they placed themselves
under the protection of any of the petty kings in their vicinity,
accepted of feudal offices in his household, or bound themselves by
mutual treaties of alliance and protection, to support him in his
enterprises, they might indeed purchase temporary repose; but it must
be with the sacrifice of that independence which was so dear to every
English bosom, and at the certain hazard of being involved as a party in
whatever rash expedition the ambition of their protector might lead him
to undertake. On the other hand, such and so multiplied were the means
of vexation and oppression possessed by the great Barons, that they
never wanted the pretext, and seldom the will, to harass and pursue,
even to the very edge of destruction, any of their less powerful
neighbours, who attempted to separate themselves from their authority,
and to trust for their protection, during the dangers of the times, to
their own inoffensive conduct, and to the laws of the land.

A circumstance which greatly tended to enhance the tyranny of the
nobility, and the sufferings of the inferior classes, arose from
the consequences of the Conquest by Duke William of Normandy. Four
generations had not sufficed to blend the hostile blood of the Normans
and Anglo-Saxons, or to unite, by common language and mutual interests,
two hostile races, one of which still felt the elation of triumph, while
the other groaned under all the consequences of defeat. The power had
been completely placed in the hands of the Norman nobility, by the event
of the battle of Hastings, and it had been used, as our histories assure
us, with no moderate hand. The whole race of Saxon princes and nobles
had been extirpated or disinherited, with few or no exceptions; nor were
the numbers great who possessed land in the country of their fathers,
even as proprietors of the second, or of yet inferior classes. The royal
policy had long been to weaken, by every means, legal or illegal, the
strength of a part of the population which was justly considered as
nourishing the most inveterate antipathy to their victor. All the
monarchs of the Norman race had shown the most marked predilection for
their Norman subjects; the laws of the chase, and many others equally
unknown to the milder and more free spirit of the Saxon constitution,
had been fixed upon the necks of the subjugated inhabitants, to add
weight, as it were, to the feudal chains with which they were loaded. At
court, and in the castles of the great nobles, where the pomp and state
of a court was emulated, Norman-French was the only language employed;
in courts of law, the pleadings and judgments were delivered in the same
tongue. In short, French was the language of honour, of chivalry, and
even of justice, while the far more manly and expressive Anglo-Saxon
was abandoned to the use of rustics and hinds, who knew no other. Still,
however, the necessary intercourse betwee
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THE WASTE LAND

      By T. S. Eliot





Contents
    
       I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD 
    
       II. A GAME OF CHESS 
    
       III. THE FIRE SERMON 
    
       IV. DEATH BY WATER 
    
       V. WHAT THE THUNDER SAID 
    
       NOTES ON “THE WASTE LAND” 




  “Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis
  vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent:
  Σίβυλλα τί θέλεις; respondebat illa: ἀποθανεῖν θέλω.”

         _For Ezra Pound
         il miglior fabbro_




      I. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD


  April is the cruellest month, breeding
  Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
  Memory and desire, stirring
  Dull roots with spring rain.
  Winter kept us warm, covering
  Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
  A little life with dried tubers.
  Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
  With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
  And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,                            10
  And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
  Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch.
  And when we were children, staying at the archduke’s,
  My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled,
  And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
  Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
  In the mountains, there you feel free.
  I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

  What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
  Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,                                  20
  You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
  A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
  And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
  And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
  There is shadow under this red rock,
  (Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
  And I will show you something different from either
  Your shadow at morning striding behind you
  Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
  I will show you fear in a handful of dust.                              30
       _Frisch weht der Wind
       Der Heimat zu
       Mein Irisch Kind,
       Wo weilest du?_
  “You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
  “They called me the hyacinth girl.”
  —Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
  Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
  Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
  Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,                                    40
  Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
  _Oed’ und leer das Meer_.

  Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,
  Had a bad cold, nevertheless
  Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,
  With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,
  Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,
  (Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)
  Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
  The lady of situations.                                                 50
  Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
  And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,
  Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
  Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
  The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.
  I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.
  Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,
  Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:
  One must be so careful these days.

  Unreal City,                                                            60
  Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
  A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
  I had not thought death had undone so many.
  Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
  And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
  Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
  To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
  With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
  There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying “Stetson!
  “You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!                            70
  “That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
  “Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
  “Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
  “Oh keep the Dog far hence, that’s friend to men,
  “Or with his nails he’ll dig it up again!
  “You! hypocrite lecteur!—mon semblable,—mon frère!”    




      II. A GAME OF CHESS


  The Chair she sat in, like a burnished throne,
  Glowed on the marble, where the glass
  Held up by standards wrought with fruited vines
  From which a golden Cupidon peeped out                                  80
  (Another hid his eyes behind his wing)
  Doubled the flames of sevenbranched candelabra
  Reflecting light upon the table as
  The glitter of her jewels rose to meet it,
  From satin cases poured in rich profusion.
  In vials of ivory and coloured glass
  Unstoppered, lurked her strange synthetic perfumes,
  Unguent, powdered, or liquid—troubled, confused
  And drowned the sense in odours; stirred by the air
  That freshened from the window, these ascended                          90
  In fattening the prolonged candle-flames,
  Flung their smoke into the laquearia,
  Stirring the pattern on the coff
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There was a card party at the rooms of Narumov of the Horse Guards.
The long winter night passed away imperceptibly, and it was five
o'clock in the morning before the company sat down to supper. Those
who had won, ate with a good appetite; the others sat staring absently
at their empty plates. When the champagne appeared, however, the
conversation became more animated, and all took a part in it.

"And how did you fare, Surin?" asked the host.

"Oh, I lost, as usual. I must confess that I am unlucky: I play
mirandole, I always keep cool, I never allow anything to put me out,
and yet I always lose!"

"And you did not once allow yourself to be tempted to back the red?...
Your firmness astonishes me."

"But what do you think of Hermann?" said one of the guests, pointing
to a young Engineer: "he has never had a card in his hand in his life,
he has never in his life laid a wager, and yet he sits here till five
o'clock in the morning watching our play."

"Play interests me very much," said Hermann: "but I am not in the
position to sacrifice the necessary in the hope of winning the
superfluous."

"Hermann is a German: he is economical--that is all!" observed Tomsky.
"But if there is one person that I cannot understand, it is my
grandmother, the Countess Anna Fedotovna."

"How so?" inquired the guests.

"I cannot understand," continued Tomsky, "how it is that my
grandmother does not punt."

"What is there remarkable about an old lady of eighty not punting?"
said Narumov.

"Then you do not know the reason why?"

"No, really; haven't the faintest idea."

"Oh! then listen. About sixty years ago, my grandmother went to Paris,
where she created quite a sensation. People used to run after her to
catch a glimpse of the 'Muscovite Venus.' Richelieu made love to her,
and my grandmother maintains that he almost blew out his brains in
consequence of her cruelty. At that time ladies used to play at faro.
On one occasion at the Court, she lost a very considerable sum to the
Duke of Orleans. On returning home, my grandmother removed the patches
from her face, took off her hoops, informed my grandfather of her loss
at the gaming-table, and ordered him to pay the money. My deceased
grandfather, as far as I remember, was a sort of house-steward to my
grandmother. He dreaded her like fire; but, on hearing of such a heavy
loss, he almost went out of his mind; he calculated the various sums
she had lost, and pointed out to her that in six months she had spent
half a million francs, that neither their Moscow nor Saratov estates
were in Paris, and finally refused point blank to pay the debt. My
grandmother gave him a box on the ear and slept by herself as a sign
of her displeasure. The next day she sent for her husband, hoping that
this domestic punishment had produced an effect upon him, but she
found him inflexible. For the first time in her life, she entered into
reasonings and explanations with him, thinking to be able to convince
him by pointing out to him that there are debts and debts, and that
there is a great difference between a Prince and a coachmaker. But it
was all in vain, my grandfather still remained obdurate. But the
matter did not rest there. My grandmother did not know what to do. She
had shortly before become acquainted with a very remarkable man. You
have heard of Count St. Germain, about whom so many marvellous stories
are told. You know that he represented himself as the Wandering Jew,
as the discoverer of the elixir of life, of the philosopher's stone,
and so forth. Some laughed at him as a charlatan; but Casanova, in his
memoirs, says that he was a spy. But be that as it may, St. Germain,
in spite of the mystery surrounding him, was a very fascinating
person, and was much sought after in the best circles of society. Even
to this day my grandmother retains an affectionate recollection of
him, and becomes quite angry if any one speaks disrespectfully of him.
My grandmother knew that St. Germain had large sums of money at his
disposal. She resolved to have recourse to him, and she wrote a letter
to him asking him to come to her without delay. The queer old man
immediately waited upon her and found her overwhelmed with grief. She
described to him in the blackest colours the barbarity of her husband,
and ended by declaring that her whole hope depended upon his
friendship and amiability.

"St. Germain reflected.

"'I could advance you the sum you want,' said he; 'but I know that you
would not rest easy until you had paid me back, and I should not like
to bring fresh troubles upon you. But there is another way of getting
out of your difficulty: you can win back your money.'

"'But, my dear Count,' replied my grandmother, 'I tell you that I
haven't any money left.'

"'Money is not necessary,' replied St. Germain: 'be pleased to listen
to me.'

"Then he revealed to her a secret, for which each of us would give a
good deal..."

The young officers listened with increased attention. Tomsky lit his
pipe, puffed away for a m
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McCarthy, Atlanta, Georgia and Tad Book, student, Pontifical North
American College, Rome






THE HOLY BIBLE




Translated from the Latin Vulgate


Diligently Compared with the Hebrew, Greek,
and Other Editions in Divers Languages


THE OLD TESTAMENT
First Published by the English College at Douay
A.D. 1609 & 1610

and

THE NEW TESTAMENT
First Published by the English College at Rheims
A.D. 1582


With Annotations


The Whole Revised and Diligently Compared with
the Latin Vulgate by Bishop Richard Challoner
A.D. 1749-1752



HISTORY


This e-text comes from multiple editions of Challoner's revised Douay-
Rheims Version of the Holy Bible.  In 1568 English exiles, many from
Oxford, established the English College of Douay (Douai/Doway), Flanders,
under William (later Cardinal) Allen.  In October, 1578, Gregory Martin
began the work of preparing an English translation of the Bible for
Catholic readers, the first such translation into Modern English.
Assisting were William Allen, Richard Bristow, Thomas Worthington, and
William Reynolds who revised, criticized, and corrected Dr. Martin's
work.  The college published the New Testament at Rheims (Reims/Rhemes),
France, in 1582 through John Fogny with a preface and explanatory notes,
authored chiefly by Bristol, Allen, and Worthington.  Later the Old
Testament was published at Douay in two parts (1609 and 1610) by Laurence
Kellam through the efforts of Dr. Worthington, then superior of the
seminary.  The translation had been prepared before the appearance of the
New Testament, but the publication was delayed due to financial
difficulties.  The religious and scholarly adherence to the Latin Vulgate
text led to the less elegant and idiomatic words and phrases often found
in the translation.  In some instances where no English word conveyed the
full meaning of the Latin, a Latin word was Anglicized and its meaning
defined in a glossary.  Although ridiculed by critics, many of these
words later found common usage in the English language.  Spellings of
proper names and the numbering of the Psalms are adopted from the Latin
Vulgate.

In 1749 Dr. Richard Challoner began a major revision of the Douay and
Rheims texts, the spellings and phrasing of which had become increasingly
archaic in the almost two centuries since the translations were first
produced.  He modernized the diction and introduced a more fluid style,
while faithfully maintaining the accuracy of Dr. Martin's texts.  This
revision became the 'de facto' standard text for English speaking
Catholics until the twentieth century.  It is still highly regarded by
many for its style, although it is now rarely used for liturgical
purposes.  The notes included in this electronic edition are generally
attributed to Bishop Challoner.





CONTENTS


The Old Testament

  Book of Genesis
  Book of Exodus
  Book of Leviticus
  Book of Numbers
  Book of Deuteronomy
  Book of Josue
  Book of Judges
  Book of Ruth
  First Book of Samuel, alias 1 Kings
  Second Book of Samuel, alias 2 Kings
  Third Book of Kings
  Fourth Book of Kings
  First Book of Paralipomenon
  Second Book of Paralipomenon
  First Book of Esdras
  Book of Nehemias, alias 2 Esdras
  Book of Tobias
  Book of Judith
  Book of Esther
  Book of Job
  Book of Psalms
  Book of Proverbs
  Ecclesiastes
  Solomon's Canticle of Canticles
  Book of Wisdom
  Ecclesiasticus
  Prophecy of Isaias
  Prophecy of Jeremias
  Lamentations of Jeremias
  Prophecy of Baruch
  Prophecy of Ezechiel
  Prophecy of Daniel
  Prophecy of Osee
  Prophecy of Joel
  Prophecy of Amos
  Prophecy of Abdias
  Prophecy of Jonas
  Prophecy of Micheas
  Prophecy of Nahum
  Prophecy of Habacuc
  Prophecy of Sophonias
  Prophecy of Aggeus
  Prophecy of Zacharias
  Prophecy of Malachias
  First Book of Machabees
  Second Book of Machabees


The New Testament

  Gospel According to St. Matthew
  Gospel According to St. Mark
  Gospel According to St. Luke
  Gospel According to St. John
  Acts of the Apostles
  Epistle of St. Paul to the Romans
  First Epistle of St. Paul to the Corinthians
  Second Epistle of St. Paul to the Corinthians
  Epistle of St. Paul to the Galatians
  Epistle of St. Paul to the Ephesians
  Epistle of St. Paul to the Philippians
  Epistle of St. Paul to the Colossians
  First Epistle of St. Paul to the Thessalonians
  Second Epistle of St. Paul to the Thessalonians
  First Epistle of St. Paul to Timothy
  Second Epistle of St. Paul to Timothy
  Epistle of St. Paul to Titus
  Epistle of St. Paul to Philemon
  Epistle of St. Paul to the Hebrews
  Catholic Epistle of St. James the Apostle
  First Epistle of St. Peter the Apostle
  Second Epistle of St. Peter the Apostle
  First Epistle of St. John the Apostle
  Second Epistle of St. John the Apostle
  Third Epistle of St. John the Apostle
  Catholic Epistle of St. Jude the Apostle
  Apocalypse of St. John the Apostle





THE BOOK OF GENESIS

This book is so called from its treating of the GENERATION, that is,
of the creation
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[Illustration: Morning Dress.

_Invented by M^{rs} Bell 26 Charlotte Street Bedford Square._

_Engraved for No. 72 of La Belle Assemblee 1^{st} July 1815_]




PRIDE & PREJUDICE.






It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession
of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.

However little known the feelings or views of such a man may be on his
first entering a neighbourhood, this truth is so well fixed in the minds
of the surrounding families, that he is considered as the rightful
property of some one or other of their daughters.

"My dear Mr. Bennet," said his lady to him one day, "have you heard that
Netherfield Park is let at last?"

Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.

"But it is," returned she; "for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she
told me all about it."

Mr. Bennet made no answer.

"Do not you want to know who has taken it?" cried his wife impatiently.

"_You_ want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it."

This was invitation enough.

"Why, my dear, you must know, Mrs. Long says that Netherfield is taken
by a young man of large fortune from the north of England; that he came
down on Monday in a chaise and four to see the place, and was so much
delighted with it that he agreed with Mr. Morris immediately; that he is
to take possession before Michaelmas, and some of his servants are to be
in the house by the end of next week."

"What is his name?"

"Bingley."

"Is he married or single?"

"Oh! single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune; four
or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!"

"How so? how can it affect them?"

"My dear Mr. Bennet," replied his wife, "how can you be so tiresome! You
must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them."

"Is that his design in settling here?"

"Design! nonsense, how can you talk so! But it is very likely that he
_may_ fall in love with one of them, and therefore you must visit him as
soon as he comes."

"I see no occasion for that. You and the girls may go, or you may send
them by themselves, which perhaps will be still better, for as you are
as handsome as any of them, Mr. Bingley might like you the best of the
party."

"My dear, you flatter me. I certainly _have_ had my share of beauty, but
I do not pretend to be any thing extraordinary now. When a woman has
five grown up daughters, she ought to give over thinking of her own
beauty."

"In such cases, a woman has not often much beauty to think of."

"But, my dear, you must indeed go and see Mr. Bingley when he comes into
the neighbourhood."

"It is more than I engage for, I assure you."

"But consider your daughters. Only think what an establishment it would
be for one of them. Sir William and Lady Lucas are determined to go,
merely on that account, for in general you know they visit no new
comers. Indeed you must go, for it will be impossible for _us_ to visit
him, if you do not."

"You are over scrupulous surely. I dare say Mr. Bingley will be very
glad to see you; and I will send a few lines by you to assure him of my
hearty consent to his marrying which ever he chuses of the girls; though
I must throw in a good word for my little Lizzy."

"I desire you will do no such thing. Lizzy is not a bit better than the
others; and I am sure she is not half so handsome as Jane, nor half so
good humoured as Lydia. But you are always giving _her_ the
preference."

"They have none of them much to recommend them," replied he; "they are
all silly and ignorant like other girls; but Lizzy has something more of
quickness than her sisters."

"Mr. Bennet, how can you abuse your own children in such a way? You take
delight in vexing me. You have no compassion on my poor nerves."

"You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves. They
are my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration
these twenty years at least."

"Ah! you do not know what I suffer."

"But I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men of four
thousand a year come into the neighbourhood."

"It will be no use to us, if twenty such should come since you will not
visit them."

"Depend upon it, my dear, that when there are twenty, I will visit them
all."

Mr. Bennet was so odd a mixture of quick parts, sarcastic humour,
reserve, and caprice, that the experience of three and twenty years had
been insufficient to make his wife understand his character. _Her_ mind
was less difficult to develope. She was a woman of mean understanding,
little information, and uncertain temper. When she was discontented she
fancied herself nervous. The business of her life was to get her
daughters married; its solace was visiting and news.






Mr. Bennet was among the earliest of those who waited on Mr. Bingley. He
had always intended to visit him, though to the last always assuring his
wife that he should not go; and till the evening after the visit was
paid, she had no knowledge of it. It was then disclosed in the following
manner. Observing his second daug
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Our share of night to bear,
Our share of morning,
Our blank in bliss to fill,
Our blank in scorning.

Here a star, and there a star,
Some lose their way.
Here a mist, and there a mist,
Afterwards -- day!






ROUGE ET NOIR.

Soul, wilt thou toss again?
By just such a hazard
Hundreds have lost, indeed,
But tens have won an all.

Angels' breathless ballot
Lingers to record thee;
Imps in eager caucus
Raffle for my soul.






ROUGE GAGNE.

'T is so much joy! 'T is so much joy!
If I should fail, what poverty!
And yet, as poor as I
Have ventured all upon a throw;
Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so
This side the victory!

Life is but life, and death but death!
Bliss is but bliss, and breath but breath!
And if, indeed, I fail,
At least to know the worst is sweet.
Defeat means nothing but defeat,
No drearier can prevail!

And if I gain, -- oh, gun at sea,
Oh, bells that in the steeples be,
At first repeat it slow!
For heaven is a different thing
Conjectured, and waked sudden in,
And might o'erwhelm me so!






Glee! The great storm is over!
Four have recovered the land;
Forty gone down together
Into the boiling sand.

Ring, for the scant salvation!
Toll, for the bonnie souls, --
Neighbor and friend and bridegroom,
Spinning upon the shoals!

How they will tell the shipwreck
When winter shakes the door,
Till the children ask, "But the forty?
Did they come back no more?"

Then a silence suffuses the story,
And a softness the teller's eye;
And the children no further question,
And only the waves reply.






If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.






ALMOST!

Within my reach!
I could have touched!
I might have chanced that way!
Soft sauntered through the village,
Sauntered as soft away!
So unsuspected violets
Within the fields lie low,
Too late for striving fingers
That passed, an hour ago.






A wounded deer leaps highest,
I've heard the hunter tell;
'T is but the ecstasy of death,
And then the brake is still.

The smitten rock that gushes,
The trampled steel that springs;
A cheek is always redder
Just where the hectic stings!

Mirth is the mail of anguish,
In which it cautions arm,
Lest anybody spy the blood
And "You're hurt" exclaim!






The heart asks pleasure first,
And then, excuse from pain;
And then, those little anodynes
That deaden suffering;

And then, to go to sleep;
And then, if it should be
The will of its Inquisitor,
The liberty to die.






IN A LIBRARY.

A precious, mouldering pleasure 't is
To meet an antique book,
In just the dress his century wore;
A privilege, I think,

His venerable hand to take,
And warming in our own,
A passage back, or two, to make
To times when he was young.

His quaint opinions to inspect,
His knowledge to unfold
On what concerns our mutual mind,
The literature of old;

What interested scholars most,
What competitions ran
When Plato was a certainty.
And Sophocles a man;

When Sappho was a living girl,
And Beatrice wore
The gown that Dante deified.
Facts, centuries before,

He traverses familiar,
As one should come to town
And tell you all your dreams were true;
He lived where dreams were sown.

His presence is enchantment,
You beg him not to go;
Old volumes shake their vellum heads
And tantalize, just so.






Much madness is divinest sense
To a discerning eye;
Much sense the starkest madness.
'T is the majority
In this, as all, prevails.
Assent, and you are sane;
Demur, -- you're straightway dangerous,
And handled with a chain.

I asked no other thing,
No other was denied.
I offered Being for it;
The mighty merchant smiled.

Brazil? He twirled a button,
Without a glance my way:
"But, madam, is there nothing else
That we can show to-day?"






EXCLUSION.

The soul selects her own society,
Then shuts the door;
On her divine majority
Obtrude no more.

Unmoved, she notes the chariot's pausing
At her low gate;
Unmoved, an emperor is kneeling
Upon her mat.

I've known her from an ample nation
Choose one;
Then close the valves of her attention
Like stone.






THE SECRET.

Some things that fly there be, --
Birds, hours, the bumble-bee:
Of these no elegy.

Some things that stay there be, --
Grief, hills, eternity:
Nor this behooveth me.

There are, that resting, rise.
Can I expound the skies?
How still the riddle lies!






THE LONELY HOUSE.

I know some lonely houses off the road
A robber 'd like the look of, --
Wooden barred,
And windows hanging low,
Inviting to
A portico,
Where two could creep:
One hand the tools,
The other peep
To make sure all's asleep.
Old-fashioned eyes,
Not easy to surprise!

How orderly the kitchen 'd look by night,
With just a clock, --
But they could gag the tick,
And mice won't bark;
And so the walls don't tell,
None will.

A pair of spectacles ajar just stir --
An almanac's aware.
Was it the mat winked,
Or a nervous star?
The moon slides down the stair
To see who's there.

There's plunder, -- 
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    Letter from Mr. Abel James.
    Publishes the first number of "Poor Richard's Almanac.
    Proposes a Plan of Union for the colonies
    Chief events in Franklin's life.

INTRODUCTORY NOTE

Benjamin Franklin was born in Milk Street, Boston, on January 6, 1706.
His father, Josiah Franklin, was a tallow chandler who married twice,
and of his seventeen children Benjamin was the youngest son. His
schooling ended at ten, and at twelve he was bound apprentice to his
brother James, a printer, who published the "New England Courant." To
this journal he became a contributor, and later was for a time its
nominal editor. But the brothers quarreled, and Benjamin ran away, going
first to New York, and thence to Philadelphia, where he arrived in
October, 1723. He soon obtained work as a printer, but after a few
months he was induced by Governor Keith to go to London, where, finding
Keith's promises empty, he again worked as a compositor till he was
brought back to Philadelphia by a merchant named Denman, who gave him a
position in his business. On Denman's death he returned to his former
trade, and shortly set up a printing house of his own from which he
published "The Pennsylvania Gazette," to which he contributed many
essays, and which he made a medium for agitating a variety of local
reforms. In 1732 he began to issue his famous "Poor Richard's Almanac"
for the enrichment of which he borrowed or composed those pithy
utterances of worldly wisdom which are the basis of a large part of his
popular reputation. In 1758, the year in which he ceased writing for the
Almanac, he printed in it "Father Abraham's Sermon," now regarded as the
most famous piece of literature produced in Colonial America.

Meantime Franklin was concerning himself more and more with public
affairs. He set forth a scheme for an Academy, which was taken up later
and finally developed into the University of Pennsylvania; and he
founded an "American Philosophical Society" for the purpose of enabling
scientific men to communicate their discoveries to one another. He
himself had already begun his electrical researches, which, with other
scientific inquiries, he carried on in the intervals of money-making and
politics to the end of his life. In 1748 he sold his business in order
to get leisure for study, having now acquired comparative wealth; and in
a few years he had made discoveries that gave him a reputation with the
learned throughout Europe. In politics he proved very able both as an
administrator and as a controversialist; but his record as an
office-holder is stained by the use he made of his position to advance
his relatives. His most notable service in home politics was his reform
of the postal system; but his fame as a statesman rests chiefly on his
services in connection with the relations of the Colonies with Great
Britain, and later with France. In 1757 he was sent to England to
protest against the influence of the Penns in the government of the
colony, and for five years he remained there, striving to enlighten the
people and the ministry of England as to Colonial conditions. On his
return to America he played an honorable part in the Paxton affair,
through which he lost his seat in the Assembly; but in 1764 he was again
despatched to England as agent for the colony, this time to petition the
King to resume the government from the hands of the proprietors. In
London he actively opposed the proposed Stamp Act, but lost the credit
for this and much of his popularity through his securing for a friend
the office of stamp agent in America. Even his effective work in helping
to obtain the repeal of the act left him still a suspect; but he
continued his efforts to present the case for the Colonies as the
troubles thickened toward the crisis of the Revolution. In 1767 he
crossed to France, where he was received with honor; but before his
return home in 1775 he lost his position as postmaster through his share
in divulging to Massachusetts the famous letter of Hutchinson and
Oliver. On his arrival in Philadelphia he was chosen a member of the
Continental Congress, and in 1777 he was despatched to France as
commissioner for the United States. Here he remained till 1785, the
favorite of French society; and with such success did he conduct the
affairs of his country that when he finally returned he received a place
only second to that of Washington as the champion of American
independence. He died on April 17, 1790.

The first five chapters of the Autobiography were composed in England in
1771, continued in 1784-5, and again in 1788, at which date he brought
it down to 1757. After a most extraordinary series of adventures, the
original form of the manuscript was finally printed by Mr. John Bigelow,
and is here reproduced in recognition of its value as a picture of one
of the most notable personalities of Colonial times, and of its
acknowledged rank as one of the great autobiographies of the world.




BENJAMIN FRANKLIN

HIS AUTOBIOGRA
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wanderer, that the place of her birth is uncertain; she supposed,
however, it was London, or Epping Forest:  at the latter place she
spent the first five years of her life.  In early youth she
exhibited traces of exquisite sensibility, soundness of
understanding, and decision of character; but her father being a
despot in his family, and her mother one of his subjects, Mary,
derived little benefit from their parental training.  She received
no literary instructions but such as were to be had in ordinary day
schools.  Before her sixteenth year she became acquainted with Mr.
Clare a clergyman, and Miss Frances Blood; the latter, two years
older than herself; who possessing good taste and some knowledge of
the fine arts, seems to have given the first impulse to the
formation of her character.  At the age of nineteen, she left her
parents, and resided with a Mrs. Dawson for two years; when she
returned to the parental roof to give attention to her mother,
whose ill health made her presence necessary.  On the death of her
mother, Mary bade a final adieu to her father's house, and became
the inmate of F. Blood; thus situated, their intimacy increased,
and a strong attachment was reciprocated.  In 1783 she commenced a
day school at Newington green, in conjunction with her friend, F.
Blood.  At this place she became acquainted with Dr. Price, to whom
she became strongly attached; the regard was mutual.

It is said that she became a teacher from motives of benevolence,
or rather philanthropy, and during the time she continued in the
profession, she gave proof of superior qualification for the
performance of its arduous and important duties.  Her friend and
coadjutor married and removed to Lisbon, in Portugal, where she
died of a pulmonary disease; the symptoms of which were visible
before her marriage.  So true was Mary's attachment to her, that
she entrusted her school to the care of others, for the purpose of
attending Frances in her closing scene.  She aided, as did Dr.
Young, in "Stealing Narcissa a grave."  Her mind was expanded by
this residence in a foreign country, and though clear of religious
bigotry before, she took some instructive lessons on the evils of
superstition, and intolerance.

On her return she found the school had suffered by her absence, and
having previously decided to apply herself to literature, she now
resolved to commence.  In 1787 she made, or received, proposals
from Johnson, a publisher in London, who was already acquainted
with her talents as an author.  During the three subsequent years,
she was actively engaged, more in translating, condensing, and
compiling, than in the production of original works.  At this time
she laboured under much depression of spirits, for the loss of her
friend; this rather increased, perhaps, by the publication of
"Mary, a novel," which was mostly composed of incidents and
reflections connected with their intimacy.

The pecuniary concerns of her father becoming embarrassed, Mary
practised a rigid economy in her expenditures, and with her savings
was enabled to procure her sisters and brothers situations, to
which without her aid, they could not have had access; her father
was sustained at length from her funds; she even found means to
take under her protection an orphan child.

She had acquired a facility in the arrangement and expression of
thoughts, in her avocation of translator, and compiler, which was
no doubt of great use to her afterward.  It was not long until she
had occasion for them.  The eminent Burke produced his celebrated
"Reflections on the Revolution in France."  Mary full of sentiments
of liberty, and indignant at what she thought subversive of it,
seized her pen and produced the first attack upon that famous work.
It succeeded well, for though intemperate and contemptuous, it was
vehemently and impetuously eloquent; and though Burke was beloved
by the enlightened friends of freedom, they were dissatisfied and
disgusted with what they deemed an outrage upon it.

It is said that Mary, had not wanted confidence in her own powers
before, but the reception this work met from the public, gave her
an opportunity of judging what those powers were, in the estimation
of others.  It was shortly after this, that she commenced the work
to which these remarks are prefixed.  What are its merits will be
decided in the judgment of each reader; suffice it to say she
appears to have stept forth boldly, and singly, in defence of that
half of the human race, which by the usages of all society, whether
savage or civilized, have been kept from attaining their proper
dignity--their equal rank as rational beings.  It would appear that
the disguise used in placing on woman the silken fetters which
bribed her into endurance, and even love of slavery, but increased
the opposition of our authoress:  she would have had more patience
with rude, brute coercion, than with that imposing gallantry,
which, while it affects to consider woman as the pride, and
ornament of c
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THE SATYRICON.  Heinsius and Scaliger derive the word from the Greek,
whence comes our English word satyr, but Casaubon, Dacier and Spanheim
derive it from the Latin ‘satura,’ a plate filled with different kinds
of food, and they refer to Porphyrion’s ‘multis et variis rebus hoc
carmen refertum est.’

The text, as we possess it, may be divided into three divisions: the
first and last relate the adventures of Encolpius and his companions, the
second, which is a digression, describes the Dinner of Trimalchio.  That
the work was originally divided into books, we had long known from
ancient glossaries, and we learn, from the title of the Traguriensian
manuscript, that the fragments therein contained are excerpts from the
fifteenth and sixteenth books.  An interpolation of Fulgentius (Paris
7975) attributes to Book Fourteen the scene related in Chapter 20 of the
work as we have it, and the glossary of St. Benedict Floriacensis cites
the passage ‘sed video te totum in illa haerere, quae Troiae halosin
ostendit (Chapter 89), as from Book Fifteen.  As there is no reason to
suppose that the chapters intervening between the end of the Cena
(Chapter 79) and Chapter 89 are out of place, it follows that this
passage may have belonged to Book Sixteen, or even Seventeen, but that it
could not have belonged to Book Fifteen.  From the interpolation of
Fulgentius we may hazard the opinion that the beginning of the fragments,
as we possess them (Chapters 1 to 26), form part of Book Fourteen.  The
Dinner of Trimalchio probably formed a complete book, fifteen, and the
continuation of the adventures of Encolpius down to his meeting with
Eumolpus (end of Chapter 140) Book Sixteen.  The discomfiture of Eumolpus
should have closed this book but not the entire work, as the exit of the
two principal characters is not fixed at the time our fragments come to
an end.  The original work, then, would probably have exceeded Tom Jones
in length.




THE AUTHOR.

a--“Not often,” says Studer (Rheinisches Museum, 1843), “has there been
so much dispute about the author, the times, the character and the
purpose of a writing of antiquity as about the fragments of the Satyricon
of Petronius.”  The discovery and publication of the Trau manuscript
brought about a literary controversy which has had few parallels, and
which has not entirely died out to this day, although the best
authorities ascribe the work to Caius Petronius, the Arbiter Elegantiarum
at the court of Nero.  “The question as to the date of the narrative of
the adventures of Encolpius and his boon companions must be regarded as
settled,” says Theodor Mommsen (Hermes, 1878); “this narrative is
unsurpassed in originality and mastery of treatment among the writings of
Roman literature.  Nor does anyone doubt the identity of its author and
the Arbiter Elegantiarum of Nero, whose end Tacitus relates.”

In any case, the author of this work, if it be the work of one brain,
must have been a profound psychologist, a master of realism, a
natural-born story teller, and a gentleman.


b--His principal object in writing the work was to amuse but, in amusing,
he also intended to pillory the aristocracy and his wit is as keen as the
point of a rapier; but, when we bear in mind the fact that he was an
ancient, we will find that his cynicism is not cruel, in him there is
none of the malignity of Aristophanes; there is rather the attitude of
the refined patrician who is always under the necessity of facing those
things which he holds most in contempt, the supreme artist who suffers
from the multitude of bill-boards, so to speak, who lashes the posters
but holds in pitying contempt those who know so little of true art that
they mistake those posters for the genuine article.  Niebuhr’s estimate
of his character is so just and free from prejudice, and proceeds from
a mind which, in itself, was so pure and wholesome, that I will quote it:

“All great dramatic poets are endowed with the power of creating beings
who seem to act and speak with perfect independence, so that the poet is
nothing more than the relator of what takes place.  When Goethe had
conceived Faust and Margarete, Mephistopheles and Wagner, they moved and
had their being without any exercise of his will.  But in the peculiar
power which Petronius exercises, in its application to every scene, to
every individual character, in everything, noble or mean, which he
undertakes, I know of but one who is fully equal to the Roman, and that
is Diderot.  Trimalchio and Agamemnon might have spoken for Petronius,
and the nephew Rameau and the parson Papin for Diderot, in every
condition and on every occasion inexhaustibly, out of their own nature;
just so the purest and noblest souls, whose kind was, after all, not
entirely extinct in their day.

“Diderot and a contemporary, related to him in spirit, Count Gaspar
Gozzi, are marked with the same cynicism which disfigures the Roman;
their age, like his, had become shameless.  But as the two former were in

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Remarkable.--Instead of Widening towards its Mouth, it grows
Narrower.--It Empties four hundred and six million Tons of Mud.--It
was First Seen in 1542.--It is Older than some Pages in European
History.--De Soto has the Pull.--Older than the Atlantic Coast.--Some
Half-breeds chip in.--La Salle Thinks he will Take a Hand.

also.--Some Indian Paintings are Seen on the Rocks.--“The Father of
Waters “does not Flow into the Pacific.--More History and Indians.
--Some Curious Performances--not Early English.--Natchez, or the Site of
it, is Approached.

Rafts.--We start on a Voyage.--I seek Information.--Some Music.--The
Trouble begins.--Tall Talk.--The Child of Calamity.--Ground and
lofty Tumbling.--The Wash-up.--Business and Statistics.--Mysterious
Band.--Thunder and Lightning.--The Captain speaks.--Allbright
weeps.--The Mystery settled.--Chaff.--I am Discovered.--Some Art-work
proposed.--I give an Account of Myself.--Released.

CHAPTER IV. The Boys' Ambition.--Village Scenes.--Steamboat Pictures.
--A Heavy Swell.--A Runaway.

CHAPTER V. A Traveller.--A Lively Talker.--A Wild-cat Victim

CHAPTER VI. Besieging the Pilot.--Taken along.--Spoiling a Nap.--Fishing
for a Plantation.--“Points” on the River.--A Gorgeous Pilot-house.

CHAPTER VII. River Inspectors.--Cottonwoods and Plum Point.--Hat-Island
Crossing.--Touch and Go.--It is a Go.--A Lightning Pilot

CHAPTER VIII. A Heavy-loaded Big Gun.--Sharp Sights in
Darkness.--Abandoned to his Fate.--Scraping the Banks.--Learn him or
Kill him.

CHAPTER IX. Shake the Reef.--Reason Dethroned.--The Face of the Water.
--A Bewitching Scene.-Romance and Beauty.

CHAPTER X. Putting on Airs.--Taken down a bit.--Learn it as it is.--The
River Rising.

CHAPTER XI. In thg Tract Business.--Effects of the Rise.--Plantations
gone.--A Measureless Sea.--A Somnambulist Pilot.--Supernatural
Piloting.--Nobody there.--All Saved.

CHAPTER XII. Low Water.--Yawl sounding.--Buoys and Lanterns.--Cubs and
Soundings.--The Boat Sunk.--Seeking the Wrecked.

CHAPTER XIII. A Pilot's Memory.--Wages soaring.--A Universal
Grasp.--Skill and Nerve.--Testing a “Cub.”--“Back her for Life.”--A Good
Lesson.

Demand.--A Whistler.--A cheap Trade.--Two-hundred-and-fifty-dollar
Speed.

and Wages.--Putting on Airs.--The Captains Weaken.--The Association
Laughs.--The Secret Sign.--An Admirable System.--Rough on Outsiders.
--A Tight Monopoly.--No Loophole.--The Railroads and the War.

CHAPTER XVI. All Aboard.--A Glorious Start.--Loaded to Win.--Bands and
Bugles.--Boats and Boats.--Racers and Racing.

CHAPTER XVII. Cut-offs.--Ditching and Shooting.--Mississippi Changes.--A
Wild Night.--Swearing and Guessing.--Stephen in Debt.--He Confuses his
Creditors.--He makes a New Deal.--Will Pay them Alphabetically.

you get them Shoes?--Pull her Down.--I want to kill Brown.--I try to run
her.--I am Complimented.

CHAPTER XIX. A Question of Veracity.--A Little Unpleasantness.--I have
an Audience with the Captain.--Mr. Brown Retires.

CHAPTER XX. I become a Passenger.--We hear the News.--A Thunderous
Crash.--They Stand to their Posts.--In the Blazing Sun.--A Grewsome
Spectacle.--His Hour has Struck.

CHAPTER XXI. I get my License.--The War Begins.--I become a
Jack-of-all-trades.

CHAPTER XXII. I try the Alias Business.--Region of Goatees--Boots begin
to Appear.--The River Man is Missing.--The Young Man is Discouraged.--
Specimen Water.--A Fine Quality of Smoke.--A Supreme Mistake.--We
Inspect the Town.--Desolation Way-traffic.--A Wood-yard.

CHAPTER XXIII. Old French Settlements.--We start for Memphis.--Young
Ladies and Russia-leather Bags.

CHAPTER XXIV. I receive some Information.--Alligator Boats.--Alligator
Talk.--She was a Rattler to go.--I am Found Out.

CHAPTER XXV. The Devil's Oven and Table.--A Bombshell falls.--No
Whitewash.--Thirty Years on the River.-Mississippi Uniforms.--Accidents
and Casualties.--Two hundred Wrecks.--A Loss to Literature.--Sunday-
Schools and Brick Masons.

Plain Story.--Wars and Feuds.--Darnell versus Watson.--A Gang and a
Woodpile.--Western Grammar.--River Changes.--New Madrid.--Floods and
Falls.

Trollope's Emotions.--Hon. Charles Augustus Murray's Sentiment.--Captain
Marryat's Sensations.--Alexander Mackay's Feelings.--Mr. Parkman
Reports

again.--Lights and Snag Boats.--Infinite Changes.--A Lawless
River.--Changes and Jetties.--Uncle Mumford Testifies.--Pegging
the River.--What the Government does.--The Commission.--Men and
Theories.--“Had them Bad.”--Jews and Prices.

Witnesses.--Stewart turns Traitor.--I Start a Rebellion.--I get a New
Suit of Clothes.--We Cover our Tracks.--Pluck and Capacity.--A Good
Samaritan City.--The Old and the New.

Went By a-Sparklin'.--Amenities of Life.--A World of Misinformation.--
Eloquence of Silence.--Striking a Snag.--Photographically Exact.--Plank
Side-walks.

Flexible English.--A Dying Man's Confession.--I am Bound and Gagged.
--I get Myself Free.--I Begin my Search.--The Man with one Thumb.
--Red Paint and White Paper.--He Dropped on his Knees.--Fright and
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This is written from memory, unfortunately. If I could have brought with
me the material I so carefully prepared, this would be a very different
story. Whole books full of notes, carefully copied records, firsthand
descriptions, and the pictures--that’s the worst loss. We had some
bird’s-eyes of the cities and parks; a lot of lovely views of streets,
of buildings, outside and in, and some of those gorgeous gardens, and,
most important of all, of the women themselves.

Nobody will ever believe how they looked. Descriptions aren’t any good
when it comes to women, and I never was good at descriptions anyhow. But
it’s got to be done somehow; the rest of the world needs to know about
that country.

I haven’t said where it was for fear some self-appointed missionaries,
or traders, or land-greedy expansionists, will take it upon themselves
to push in. They will not be wanted, I can tell them that, and will fare
worse than we did if they do find it.

It began this way. There were three of us, classmates and friends--Terry
O. Nicholson (we used to call him the Old Nick, with good reason), Jeff
Margrave, and I, Vandyck Jennings.

We had known each other years and years, and in spite of our differences
we had a good deal in common. All of us were interested in science.

Terry was rich enough to do as he pleased. His great aim was
exploration. He used to make all kinds of a row because there was
nothing left to explore now, only patchwork and filling in, he said. He
filled in well enough--he had a lot of talents--great on mechanics and
electricity. Had all kinds of boats and motorcars, and was one of the
best of our airmen.

We never could have done the thing at all without Terry.

Jeff Margrave was born to be a poet, a botanist--or both--but his folks
persuaded him to be a doctor instead. He was a good one, for his age,
but his real interest was in what he loved to call “the wonders of
science.”

As for me, sociology’s my major. You have to back that up with a lot of
other sciences, of course. I’m interested in them all.

Terry was strong on facts--geography and meteorology and those; Jeff
could beat him any time on biology, and I didn’t care what it was they
talked about, so long as it connected with human life, somehow. There
are few things that don’t.

We three had a chance to join a big scientific expedition. They needed
a doctor, and that gave Jeff an excuse for dropping his just opening
practice; they needed Terry’s experience, his machine, and his money;
and as for me, I got in through Terry’s influence.

The expedition was up among the thousand tributaries and enormous
hinterland of a great river, up where the maps had to be made, savage
dialects studied, and all manner of strange flora and fauna expected.

But this story is not about that expedition. That was only the merest
starter for ours.

My interest was first roused by talk among our guides. I’m quick at
languages, know a good many, and pick them up readily. What with that
and a really good interpreter we took with us, I made out quite a few
legends and folk myths of these scattered tribes.

And as we got farther and farther upstream, in a dark tangle of rivers,
lakes, morasses, and dense forests, with here and there an unexpected
long spur running out from the big mountains beyond, I noticed that more
and more of these savages had a story about a strange and terrible Woman
Land in the high distance.

“Up yonder,” “Over there,” “Way up”--was all the direction they could
offer, but their legends all agreed on the main point--that there was
this strange country where no men lived--only women and girl children.

None of them had ever seen it. It was dangerous, deadly, they said, for
any man to go there. But there were tales of long ago, when some brave
investigator had seen it--a Big Country, Big Houses, Plenty People--All
Women.

Had no one else gone? Yes--a good many--but they never came back. It was
no place for men--of that they seemed sure.

I told the boys about these stories, and they laughed at them. Naturally
I did myself. I knew the stuff that savage dreams are made of.

But when we had reached our farthest point, just the day before we all
had to turn around and start for home again, as the best of expeditions
must in time, we three made a discovery.

The main encampment was on a spit of land running out into the main
stream, or what we thought was the main stream. It had the same muddy
color we had been seeing for weeks past, the same taste.

I happened to speak of that river to our last guide, a rather superior
fellow with quick, bright eyes.

He told me that there was another river--“over there, short river, sweet
water, red and blue.”

I was interested in this and anxious to see if I had understood, so I
showed him a red and blue pencil I carried, and asked again.

Yes, he pointed to the river, and then to the southwestward.
“River--good water--red and blue.”

Terry was close by and interested in the fellow’s pointing.

“What does he say, 
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TO go into solitude, a man needs to retire as much from his chamber
as from society. I am not solitary whilst I read and write, though
nobody is with me. But if a man would be alone, let him look at the
stars. The rays that come from those heavenly worlds, will separate
between him and what he touches. One might think the atmosphere
was made transparent with this design, to give man, in the heavenly
bodies, the perpetual presence of the sublime. Seen in the streets of
cities, how great they are! If the stars should appear one night in a
thousand years, how would men believe and adore; and preserve for
many generations the remembrance of the city of God which had
been shown! But every night come out these envoys of beauty, and
light the universe with their admonishing smile.

The stars awaken a certain reverence, because though always present,
they are inaccessible; but all natural objects make a kindred
impression, when the mind is open to their influence. Nature never
wears a mean appearance. Neither does the wisest man extort her
secret, and lose his curiosity by finding out all her perfection. Nature
never became a toy to a wise spirit. The flowers, the animals, the
mountains, reflected the wisdom of his best hour, as much as they
had delighted the simplicity of his childhood.

When we speak of nature in this manner, we have a distinct but most
poetical sense in the mind. We mean the integrity of impression
made by manifold natural objects. It is this which distinguishes the
stick of timber of the wood-cutter, from the tree of the poet. The
charming landscape which I saw this morning, is indubitably made
up of some twenty or thirty farms. Miller owns this field, Locke that,
and Manning the woodland beyond. But none of them owns the
landscape. There is a property in the horizon which no man has but
he whose eye can integrate all the parts, that is, the poet. This is the
best part of these men's farms, yet to this their warranty-deeds give
no title.

To speak truly, few adult persons can see nature. Most persons do
not see the sun. At least they have a very superficial seeing. The sun
illuminates only the eye of the man, but shines into the eye and the
heart of the child. The lover of nature is he whose inward and
outward senses are still truly adjusted to each other; who has
retained the spirit of infancy even into the era of manhood. His
intercourse with heaven and earth, becomes part of his daily food. In
the presence of nature, a wild delight runs through the man, in spite
of real sorrows. Nature says,--he is my creature, and maugre all his
impertinent griefs, he shall be glad with me. Not the sun or the
summer alone, but every hour and season yields its tribute of delight;
for every hour and change corresponds to and authorizes a different
state of the mind, from breathless noon to grimmest midnight.
Nature is a setting that fits equally well a comic or a mourning piece.
In good health, the air is a cordial of incredible virtue. Crossing a
bare common, in snow puddles, at twilight, under a clouded sky,
without having in my thoughts any occurrence of special good
fortune, I have enjoyed a perfect exhilaration. I am glad to the brink
of fear. In the woods too, a man casts off his years, as the snake his
slough, and at what period soever of life, is always a child. In the
woods, is perpetual youth. Within these plantations of God, a
decorum and sanctity reign, a perennial festival is dressed, and the
guest sees not how he should tire of them in a thousand years. In the
woods, we return to reason and faith. There I feel that nothing can
befall me in life,--no disgrace, no calamity, (leaving me my eyes,)
which nature cannot repair. Standing on the bare ground,--my head
bathed by the blithe air, and uplifted into infinite space,--all mean
egotism vanishes. I become a transparent eye-ball; I am nothing; I
see all; the currents of the Universal Being circulate through me; I
am part or particle of God. The name of the nearest friend sounds
then foreign and accidental: to be brothers, to be acquaintances,
--master or servant, is then a trifle and a disturbance. I am the lover of
uncontained and immortal beauty. In the wilderness, I find
something more dear and connate than in streets or villages. In the
tranquil landscape, and especially in the distant line of the horizon,
man beholds somewhat as beautiful as his own nature.

The greatest delight which the fields and woods minister, is the
suggestion of an occult relation between man and the vegetable. I
am not alone and unacknowledged. They nod to me, and I to them.
The waving of the boughs in the storm, is new to me and old. It
takes me by surprise, and yet is not unknown. Its effect is like that of
a higher thought or a better emotion coming over me, when I
deemed I was thinking justly or doing right.

Yet it is certain that the power to produce this delight, does not
reside in nature, but in man, or in a harmony of both. It is necessary
to use these pleasu
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Transcribed from the 1913 Methuen & Co. edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org.  Note that later editions of De Profundis contained
more material.  The most complete editions are still in copyright in the
U.S.A.





DE PROFUNDIS


. . . Suffering is one very long moment.  We cannot divide it by seasons.
We can only record its moods, and chronicle their return.  With us time
itself does not progress.  It revolves.  It seems to circle round one
centre of pain.  The paralysing immobility of a life every circumstance
of which is regulated after an unchangeable pattern, so that we eat and
drink and lie down and pray, or kneel at least for prayer, according to
the inflexible laws of an iron formula: this immobile quality, that makes
each dreadful day in the very minutest detail like its brother, seems to
communicate itself to those external forces the very essence of whose
existence is ceaseless change.  Of seed-time or harvest, of the reapers
bending over the corn, or the grape gatherers threading through the
vines, of the grass in the orchard made white with broken blossoms or
strewn with fallen fruit: of these we know nothing and can know nothing.

For us there is only one season, the season of sorrow.  The very sun and
moon seem taken from us.  Outside, the day may be blue and gold, but the
light that creeps down through the thickly-muffled glass of the small
iron-barred window beneath which one sits is grey and niggard.  It is
always twilight in one's cell, as it is always twilight in one's heart.
And in the sphere of thought, no less than in the sphere of time, motion
is no more.  The thing that you personally have long ago forgotten, or
can easily forget, is happening to me now, and will happen to me again to-
morrow.  Remember this, and you will be able to understand a little of
why I am writing, and in this manner writing. . . .

A week later, I am transferred here.  Three more months go over and my
mother dies.  No one knew how deeply I loved and honoured her.  Her death
was terrible to me; but I, once a lord of language, have no words in
which to express my anguish and my shame.  She and my father had
bequeathed me a name they had made noble and honoured, not merely in
literature, art, archaeology, and science, but in the public history of
my own country, in its evolution as a nation.  I had disgraced that name
eternally.  I had made it a low by-word among low people.  I had dragged
it through the very mire.  I had given it to brutes that they might make
it brutal, and to fools that they might turn it into a synonym for folly.
What I suffered then, and still suffer, is not for pen to write or paper
to record.  My wife, always kind and gentle to me, rather than that I
should hear the news from indifferent lips, travelled, ill as she was,
all the way from Genoa to England to break to me herself the tidings of
so irreparable, so irremediable, a loss.  Messages of sympathy reached me
from all who had still affection for me.  Even people who had not known
me personally, hearing that a new sorrow had broken into my life, wrote
to ask that some expression of their condolence should be conveyed to me.
. . .

Three months go over.  The calendar of my daily conduct and labour that
hangs on the outside of my cell door, with my name and sentence written
upon it, tells me that it is May. . . .

Prosperity, pleasure and success, may be rough of grain and common in
fibre, but sorrow is the most sensitive of all created things.  There is
nothing that stirs in the whole world of thought to which sorrow does not
vibrate in terrible and exquisite pulsation.  The thin beaten-out leaf of
tremulous gold that chronicles the direction of forces the eye cannot see
is in comparison coarse.  It is a wound that bleeds when any hand but
that of love touches it, and even then must bleed again, though not in
pain.

Where there is sorrow there is holy ground.  Some day people will realise
what that means.  They will know nothing of life till they do,--and
natures like his can realise it.  When I was brought down from my prison
to the Court of Bankruptcy, between two policemen,--waited in the long
dreary corridor that, before the whole crowd, whom an action so sweet and
simple hushed into silence, he might gravely raise his hat to me, as,
handcuffed and with bowed head, I passed him by.  Men have gone to heaven
for smaller things than that.  It was in this spirit, and with this mode
of love, that the saints knelt down to wash the feet of the poor, or
stooped to kiss the leper on the cheek.  I have never said one single
word to him about what he did.  I do not know to the present moment
whether he is aware that I was even conscious of his action.  It is not a
thing for which one can render formal thanks in formal words.  I store it
in the treasure-house of my heart.  I keep it there as a secret debt that
I am glad to think I can never possibly repay.  It is embalmed and kept
sweet by the myrrh and cassia of many tears.  When w
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PG #: 65130
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WHY WOMEN CAN BECOME FRIGID


Some time ago a young husband sat in my office. His wife had come to
me for help for a frigidity problem, and after the first session he
had asked her if he might see me. I take that to be a good omen for a
relationship, generally, and I was not disappointed when I met him. He
told me very quickly that he did not care how long it might take for
his wife to get over her difficulty. “I’d stay with her even if she
didn’t,” he said in a low voice. “I don’t love her problem, but I love
her and I want you to know that I didn’t marry her for better only but
for worse as well.”

No matter how much a psychiatrist hears about love, its difficulties
and its triumphs, a statement like that always moves one, makes one
feel that tasks and difficulties have been somehow lightened. In short,
I liked him, and this moved me to ask him about himself. “That’s what I
came to tell you about,” he said. “There’s something I thought just may
be of some help.”

What he wanted to tell me was the amazing similarity between his
background and his wife’s, and as he talked on I could see some of
the reasons for his broad sympathy with her problem. They were both
children of farm people and had been reared in the strictest of Puritan
disciplines. They were both the oldest children, and each had had two
brothers and a sister. Their mothers had hated and feared sexuality
and had communicated quite freely to the children their feeling that
it was dirty and wicked. The fathers had been punitive on the one hand
and withdrawn on the other. This young man had broken away from home
as early as possible and so had his wife. They had come to the city,
gotten jobs in the same business, and here they had met.

I will take leave of our young husband now because the above facts
illustrate the question I want you to ask yourself. However, in case
some of my warmth toward him has come over to you, I can tell you that
his marriage had a most happy outcome. His wife, motivated strongly,
I am sure, by the sense of security his love gave her, was able to
resolve her frigidity and the other neurotic problems which invariably
accompany it.

But to the question: With almost identical backgrounds, why had the
wife developed a rather severe frigidity problem and the husband
remained perfectly normal sexually?

If you wish to extend that question you may ask yourself: Why is
frigidity so widespread among women and sexual impotency so rare among
men? We saw that under the adverse conditions caused by the Industrial
Revolution women could, by the millions, abandon sexual gratification,
convince the world and themselves that, biologically speaking, they
were asexual beings. There was never the faintest suspicion that man,
on the other hand, would or could abandon his sexual nature, no matter
how difficult the going became. Men might develop neuroses, they might
even take odd sexual directions, develop perversions, if their parents
were sufficiently neurotic. But abandon sexual gratification en masse,
they could not.

I think we now understand the answer to this problem, and I think
it will be helpful for you to learn what we know about it. You
will be able to see why the problem of frigidity is so basically
_psychological_ in nature, for one thing, and therefore why, when a
woman’s chief complaint is frigidity, we feel that if she really means
business she can get over it.

There are three major reasons why frigidity can develop in women. I am
going to treat two of them here and reserve one of them for the next
chapter.


_The Sexual Drive in Women_

A lovely actress I was treating for a rather severe frigidity problem
came for her regular hour one day and paused on the threshold of my
office. She appeared different--her face was softer, her motions
slower--she was elated, and I felt at once that she had experienced the
first reward for the hard work she had put upon her problem.

I was right and shall never forget her method of telling it. She had
on a lovely pink cape; its flowing lines and delicate color seemed to
express the very essence of the feminine. As she stood smiling at me
she unbuttoned the cape and with a beautiful gesture threw it on the
floor between us. “Thus we can cast it away,” she said. Then, stooping,
she picked it up. “And _thus_,” she said, “we can put it on again,”
and with a flourish she put it back on her shoulders. That hour was a
celebration of her new-found capacity.

Her histrionic gesture, expressive of so much happiness in her, was
not only graceful but was deeply symbolic of woman’s sexual nature. To
see why this is so, let us first turn our attention to the biological
meaning of the sexual drive.

You perhaps know that every animal is motivated by a profound
instinctual need to preserve his species. His nature has developed
those characteristics that ensure the ongoingness of his kind,
lemmings excepted, perhaps. We know that characteristics that _do_
ensure the species are, so to speak, more deeply ro
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PG #: 60
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PARIS: SEPTEMBER, 1792


A surging, seething, murmuring crowd of beings that are human only in
name, for to the eye and ear they seem naught but savage creatures,
animated by vile passions and by the lust of vengeance and of hate. The
hour, some little time before sunset, and the place, the West
Barricade, at the very spot where, a decade later, a proud tyrant
raised an undying monument to the nation’s glory and his own vanity.

During the greater part of the day the guillotine had been kept busy at
its ghastly work: all that France had boasted of in the past centuries,
of ancient names, and blue blood, had paid toll to her desire for
liberty and for fraternity. The carnage had only ceased at this late
hour of the day because there were other more interesting sights for
the people to witness, a little while before the final closing of the
barricades for the night.

And so the crowd rushed away from the Place de la Grève and made for
the various barricades in order to watch this interesting and amusing
sight.

It was to be seen every day, for those aristos were such fools! They
were traitors to the people of course, all of them, men, women, and
children, who happened to be descendants of the great men who since the
Crusades had made the glory of France: her old _noblesse_. Their
ancestors had oppressed the people, had crushed them under the scarlet
heels of their dainty buckled shoes, and now the people had become the
rulers of France and crushed their former masters—not beneath their
heel, for they went shoeless mostly in these days—but beneath a more
effectual weight, the knife of the guillotine.

And daily, hourly, the hideous instrument of torture claimed its many
victims—old men, young women, tiny children, even until the day when it
would finally demand the head of a King and of a beautiful young Queen.

But this was as it should be: were not the people now the rulers of
France? Every aristocrat was a traitor, as his ancestors had been
before him: for two hundred years now the people had sweated, and
toiled, and starved, to keep a lustful court in lavish extravagance;
now the descendants of those who had helped to make those courts
brilliant had to hide for their lives—to fly, if they wished to avoid
the tardy vengeance of the people.

And they did try to hide, and tried to fly: that was just the fun of
the whole thing. Every afternoon before the gates closed and the market
carts went out in procession by the various barricades, some fool of an
aristo endeavoured to evade the clutches of the Committee of Public
Safety. In various disguises, under various pretexts, they tried to
slip through the barriers which were so well guarded by citizen
soldiers of the Republic. Men in women’s clothes, women in male attire,
children disguised in beggars’ rags: there were some of all sorts:
_ci-devant_ counts, marquises, even dukes, who wanted to fly from
France, reach England or some other equally accursed country, and there
try to rouse foreign feeling against the glorious Revolution, or to
raise an army in order to liberate the wretched prisoners in the
Temple, who had once called themselves sovereigns of France.

But they were nearly always caught at the barricades. Sergeant Bibot
especially at the West Gate had a wonderful nose for scenting an aristo
in the most perfect disguise. Then, of course, the fun began. Bibot
would look at his prey as a cat looks upon the mouse, play with him,
sometimes for quite a quarter of an hour, pretend to be hoodwinked by
the disguise, by the wigs and other bits of theatrical make-up which
hid the identity of a _ci-devant_ noble marquise or count.

Oh! Bibot had a keen sense of humour, and it was well worth hanging
round that West Barricade, in order to see him catch an aristo in the
very act of trying to flee from the vengeance of the people.

Sometimes Bibot would let his prey actually out by the gates, allowing
him to think for the space of two minutes at least that he really had
escaped out of Paris, and might even manage to reach the coast of
England in safety, but Bibot would let the unfortunate wretch walk
about ten mètres towards the open country, then he would send two men
after him and bring him back, stripped of his disguise.

Oh! that was extremely funny, for as often as not the fugitive would
prove to be a woman, some proud marchioness, who looked terribly
comical when she found herself in Bibot’s clutches after all, and knew
that a summary trial would await her the next day and after that, the
fond embrace of Madame la Guillotine.

No wonder that on this fine afternoon in September the crowd round
Bibot’s gate was eager and excited. The lust of blood grows with its
satisfaction, there is no satiety: the crowd had seen a hundred noble
heads fall beneath the guillotine to-day, it wanted to make sure that
it would see another hundred fall on the morrow.

Bibot was sitting on an overturned and empty cask close by the gate of
the barricade; a small detachment of citoyen 
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PG #: 2946
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One may as well begin with Helen’s letters to her sister.


“Howards End,

“Tuesday.

“Dearest Meg,

“It isn’t going to be what we expected. It is old and little, and
altogether delightful--red brick. We can scarcely pack in as it is,
and the dear knows what will happen when Paul (younger son) arrives
to-morrow. From hall you go right or left into dining-room or
drawing-room. Hall itself is practically a room. You open another door
in it, and there are the stairs going up in a sort of tunnel to the
first-floor. Three bed-rooms in a row there, and three attics in a
row above. That isn’t all the house really, but it’s all that one
notices--nine windows as you look up from the front garden.

“Then there’s a very big wych-elm--to the left as you look up--leaning
a little over the house, and standing on the boundary between the garden
and meadow. I quite love that tree already. Also ordinary elms, oaks--no
nastier than ordinary oaks--pear-trees, apple-trees, and a vine. No
silver birches, though. However, I must get on to my host and hostess. I
only wanted to show that it isn’t the least what we expected. Why did
we settle that their house would be all gables and wiggles, and their
garden all gamboge-coloured paths? I believe simply because we associate
them with expensive hotels--Mrs. Wilcox trailing in beautiful dresses
down long corridors, Mr. Wilcox bullying porters, etc. We females are
that unjust.

“I shall be back Saturday; will let you know train later. They are as
angry as I am that you did not come too; really Tibby is too tiresome,
he starts a new mortal disease every month. How could he have got hay
fever in London? and even if he could, it seems hard that you should
give up a visit to hear a schoolboy sneeze. Tell him that Charles Wilcox
(the son who is here) has hay fever too, but he’s brave, and gets quite
cross when we inquire after it. Men like the Wilcoxes would do Tibby a
power of good. But you won’t agree, and I’d better change the subject.

“This long letter is because I’m writing before breakfast. Oh, the
beautiful vine leaves! The house is covered with a vine. I looked out
earlier, and Mrs. Wilcox was already in the garden. She evidently loves
it. No wonder she sometimes looks tired. She was watching the large
red poppies come out. Then she walked off the lawn to the meadow, whose
corner to the right I can just see. Trail, trail, went her long dress
over the sopping grass, and she came back with her hands full of the hay
that was cut yesterday--I suppose for rabbits or something, as she kept
on smelling it. The air here is delicious. Later on I heard the noise
of croquet balls, and looked out again, and it was Charles Wilcox
practising; they are keen on all games. Presently he started sneezing
and had to stop. Then I hear more clicketing, and it is Mr. Wilcox
practising, and then, ‘a-tissue, a-tissue’: he has to stop too. Then
Evie comes out, and does some calisthenic exercises on a machine that is
tacked on to a green-gage-tree--they put everything to use--and then
she says ‘a-tissue,’ and in she goes. And finally Mrs. Wilcox reappears,
trail, trail, still smelling hay and looking at the flowers. I inflict
all this on you because once you said that life is sometimes life and
sometimes only a drama, and one must learn to distinguish tother from
which, and up to now I have always put that down as ‘Meg’s clever
nonsense.’ But this morning, it really does seem not life but a play,
and it did amuse me enormously to watch the W’s. Now Mrs. Wilcox has
come in.

“I am going to wear [omission]. Last night Mrs. Wilcox wore an
[omission], and Evie [omission]. So it isn’t exactly a go-as-you-please
place, and if you shut your eyes it still seems the wiggly hotel that we
expected. Not if you open them. The dog-roses are too sweet. There is a
great hedge of them over the lawn--magnificently tall, so that they fall
down in garlands, and nice and thin at the bottom, so that you can see
ducks through it and a cow. These belong to the farm, which is the only
house near us. There goes the breakfast gong. Much love. Modified love
to Tibby. Love to Aunt Juley; how good of her to come and keep you
company, but what a bore. Burn this. Will write again Thursday.

“HELEN.”



“Howards End

“Friday

“Dearest Meg,

“I am having a glorious time. I like them all. Mrs. Wilcox, if quieter
than in Germany, is sweeter than ever, and I never saw anything like her
steady unselfishness, and the best of it is that the others do not take
advantage of her. They are the very happiest, jolliest family that you
can imagine. I do really feel that we are making friends. The fun of
it is that they think me a noodle, and say so--at least, Mr. Wilcox
does--and when that happens, and one doesn’t mind, it’s a pretty sure
test, isn’t it? He says the most horrid things about woman’s suffrage so
nicely, and when I said I believed in equality he just folded his arms
and gave me such a setting down as I’ve never had. Meg, shall we ever
lea
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PG #: 8117
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CONTENTS:

     * PART I
     * CHAPTER I. INTRODUCTORY
     * CHAPTER II. PRINCE HARRY. MATCHMAKING.
     * CHAPTER III. THE SINS OF OTHERS
     * CHAPTER IV. THE CRIPPLE
     * CHAPTER V. THE SUBTLE SERPENT

     * PART II
     * CHAPTER I. NIGHT
     * CHAPTER II. NIGHT (continued)
     * CHAPTER III. THE DUEL
     * CHAPTER IV. ALL IN EXPECTATION
     * CHAPTER V. ON THE EVE OF THE FETE
     * CHAPTER VI. PYOTR STEPANOVITCH IS BUSY
     * CHAPTER VII. A MEETING
     * CHAPTER VIII. IVAN THE TSAREVITCH
     * CHAPTER IX. A RAID AT STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH'S
     * CHAPTER X. FILIBUSTERS. A FATAL MORNING

     * PART III
     * CHAPTER I. THE FETE--FIRST PART
     * CHAPTER II. THE END OF THE FETE
     * CHAPTER III. A ROMANCE ENDED
     * CHAPTER IV. THE LAST RESOLUTION
     * CHAPTER V. A WANDERER
     * CHAPTER VI. A BUSY NIGHT
     * CHAPTER VII. STEPAN TROFIMOVITCH'S LAST WANDERING
     * CHAPTER VIII. CONCLUSION





     "Strike me dead, the track has vanished,
     Well, what now? We've lost the way,
     Demons have bewitched our horses,
     Led us in the wilds astray.

     "What a number! Whither drift they?
     What's the mournful dirge they sing?
     Do they hail a witch's marriage
     Or a goblin's burying?"

     A. Pushkin.


     "And there was one herd of many swine feeding on this
     mountain; and they besought him that he would suffer them to
     enter into them. And he suffered them.

     "Then went the devils out of the man and entered into the
     swine; and the herd ran violently down a steep place into
     the lake and were choked.

     "When they that fed them saw what was done, they fled, and
     went and told it in the city and in the country.

     "Then they went out to see what was done; and came to Jesus
     and found the man, out of whom the devils were departed,
     sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind;
     and they were afraid."

     Luke, ch. viii. 32-37.





PART I





SOME DETAILS OF THE BIOGRAPHY OF THAT HIGHLY RESPECTED GENTLEMAN STEPAN
TROFIMOVITCH VERHOVENSKY.



IN UNDERTAKING to describe the recent and strange incidents in our town,
till lately wrapped in uneventful obscurity, I find myself forced in
absence of literary skill to begin my story rather far back, that is
to say, with certain biographical details concerning that talented and
highly-esteemed gentleman, Stepan Trofimovitch Verhovensky. I trust that
these details may at least serve as an introduction, while my projected
story itself will come later.

I will say at once that Stepan Trofimovitch had always filled a
particular rôle among us, that of the progressive patriot, so to say,
and he was passionately fond of playing the part--so much so that I
really believe he could not have existed without it. Not that I would
put him on a level with an actor at a theatre, God forbid, for I really
have a respect for him. This may all have been the effect of habit, or
rather, more exactly of a generous propensity he had from his earliest
years for indulging in an agreeable day-dream in which he figured as
a picturesque public character. He fondly loved, for instance, his
position as a "persecuted" man and, so to speak, an "exile." There is a
sort of traditional glamour about those two little words that fascinated
him once for all and, exalting him gradually in his own opinion, raised
him in the course of years to a lofty pedestal very gratifying to
vanity. In an English satire of the last century, Gulliver, returning
from the land of the Lilliputians where the people were only three or
four inches high, had grown so accustomed to consider himself a giant
among them, that as he walked along the streets of London he could not
help crying out to carriages and passers-by to be careful and get out of
his way for fear he should crush them, imagining that they were little
and he was still a giant. He was laughed at and abused for it, and rough
coachmen even lashed at the giant with their whips. But was that just?
What may not be done by habit? Habit had brought Stepan Trofimovitch
almost to the same position, but in a more innocent and inoffensive
form, if one may use such expressions, for he was a most excellent man.

I am even inclined to suppose that towards the end he had been entirely
forgotten everywhere; but still it cannot be said that his name had
never been known. It is beyond question that he had at one time belonged
to a certain distinguished constellation of celebrated leaders of
the last generation, and at one time--though only for the briefest
moment--his name was pronounced by many hasty persons of that day almost
as though it were on a level with the names of Tchaadaev, of Byelinsky,
of Granovsky, and of Herzen, who had only just begun to write abroad.
But Stepan Trofimovitch's activity ceased almost at the moment it began,
owing, so to say, to a "vortex of combined circumstances." And would you
believe it? It turned out afterwards that there had been no "vortex" an
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The Shadow of Change


“Harvest is ended and summer is gone,” quoted Anne Shirley, gazing
across the shorn fields dreamily. She and Diana Barry had been picking
apples in the Green Gables orchard, but were now resting from their
labors in a sunny corner, where airy fleets of thistledown drifted by
on the wings of a wind that was still summer-sweet with the incense of
ferns in the Haunted Wood.

But everything in the landscape around them spoke of autumn. The sea was
roaring hollowly in the distance, the fields were bare and sere, scarfed
with golden rod, the brook valley below Green Gables overflowed
with asters of ethereal purple, and the Lake of Shining Waters was
blue--blue--blue; not the changeful blue of spring, nor the pale azure
of summer, but a clear, steadfast, serene blue, as if the water
were past all moods and tenses of emotion and had settled down to a
tranquility unbroken by fickle dreams.

“It has been a nice summer,” said Diana, twisting the new ring on her
left hand with a smile. “And Miss Lavendar’s wedding seemed to come as
a sort of crown to it. I suppose Mr. and Mrs. Irving are on the Pacific
coast now.”

“It seems to me they have been gone long enough to go around the world,”
 sighed Anne.

“I can’t believe it is only a week since they were married. Everything
has changed. Miss Lavendar and Mr. and Mrs. Allan gone--how lonely the
manse looks with the shutters all closed! I went past it last night, and
it made me feel as if everybody in it had died.”

“We’ll never get another minister as nice as Mr. Allan,” said Diana,
with gloomy conviction. “I suppose we’ll have all kinds of supplies this
winter, and half the Sundays no preaching at all. And you and Gilbert
gone--it will be awfully dull.”

“Fred will be here,” insinuated Anne slyly.

“When is Mrs. Lynde going to move up?” asked Diana, as if she had not
heard Anne’s remark.

“Tomorrow. I’m glad she’s coming--but it will be another change. Marilla
and I cleared everything out of the spare room yesterday. Do you know,
I hated to do it? Of course, it was silly--but it did seem as if we
were committing sacrilege. That old spare room has always seemed like
a shrine to me. When I was a child I thought it the most wonderful
apartment in the world. You remember what a consuming desire I had to
sleep in a spare room bed--but not the Green Gables spare room. Oh, no,
never there! It would have been too terrible--I couldn’t have slept a
wink from awe. I never WALKED through that room when Marilla sent me in
on an errand--no, indeed, I tiptoed through it and held my breath, as if
I were in church, and felt relieved when I got out of it. The pictures
of George Whitefield and the Duke of Wellington hung there, one on each
side of the mirror, and frowned so sternly at me all the time I was in,
especially if I dared peep in the mirror, which was the only one in the
house that didn’t twist my face a little. I always wondered how Marilla
dared houseclean that room. And now it’s not only cleaned but stripped
bare. George Whitefield and the Duke have been relegated to the upstairs
hall. ‘So passes the glory of this world,’” concluded Anne, with a
laugh in which there was a little note of regret. It is never pleasant
to have our old shrines desecrated, even when we have outgrown them.

“I’ll be so lonesome when you go,” moaned Diana for the hundredth time.
“And to think you go next week!”

“But we’re together still,” said Anne cheerily. “We mustn’t let next
week rob us of this week’s joy. I hate the thought of going myself--home
and I are such good friends. Talk of being lonesome! It’s I who should
groan. YOU’LL be here with any number of your old friends--AND Fred!
While I shall be alone among strangers, not knowing a soul!”

“EXCEPT Gilbert--AND Charlie Sloane,” said Diana, imitating Anne’s
italics and slyness.

“Charlie Sloane will be a great comfort, of course,” agreed Anne
sarcastically; whereupon both those irresponsible damsels laughed. Diana
knew exactly what Anne thought of Charlie Sloane; but, despite sundry
confidential talks, she did not know just what Anne thought of Gilbert
Blythe. To be sure, Anne herself did not know that.

“The boys may be boarding at the other end of Kingsport, for all I
know,” Anne went on. “I am glad I’m going to Redmond, and I am sure I
shall like it after a while. But for the first few weeks I know I won’t.
I shan’t even have the comfort of looking forward to the weekend visit
home, as I had when I went to Queen’s. Christmas will seem like a
thousand years away.”

“Everything is changing--or going to change,” said Diana sadly. “I have
a feeling that things will never be the same again, Anne.”

“We have come to a parting of the ways, I suppose,” said Anne
thoughtfully. “We had to come to it. Do you think, Diana, that being
grown-up is really as nice as we used to imagine it would be when we
were children?”

“I don’t know--there are SOME nice things about it,” answered Diana,
again caressing her ring with that little sm
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The institution of a leisure class is found in its best development at
the higher stages of the barbarian culture; as, for instance, in feudal
Europe or feudal Japan. In such communities the distinction between
classes is very rigorously observed; and the feature of most striking
economic significance in these class differences is the distinction
maintained between the employments proper to the several classes.
The upper classes are by custom exempt or excluded from industrial
occupations, and are reserved for certain employments to which a degree
of honour attaches. Chief among the honourable employments in any
feudal community is warfare; and priestly service is commonly second to
warfare. If the barbarian community is not notably warlike, the priestly
office may take the precedence, with that of the warrior second. But the
rule holds with but slight exceptions that, whether warriors or priests,
the upper classes are exempt from industrial employments, and this
exemption is the economic expression of their superior rank. Brahmin
India affords a fair illustration of the industrial exemption of both
these classes. In the communities belonging to the higher barbarian
culture there is a considerable differentiation of sub-classes within
what may be comprehensively called the leisure class; and there is a
corresponding differentiation of employments between these sub-classes.
The leisure class as a whole comprises the noble and the priestly
classes, together with much of their retinue. The occupations of the
class are correspondingly diversified; but they have the common economic
characteristic of being non-industrial. These non-industrial upper-class
occupations may be roughly comprised under government, warfare,
religious observances, and sports.

At an earlier, but not the earliest, stage of barbarism, the leisure
class is found in a less differentiated form. Neither the class
distinctions nor the distinctions between leisure-class occupations are
so minute and intricate. The Polynesian islanders generally show this
stage of the development in good form, with the exception that, owing
to the absence of large game, hunting does not hold the usual place of
honour in their scheme of life. The Icelandic community in the time of
the Sagas also affords a fair instance. In such a community there is
a rigorous distinction between classes and between the occupations
peculiar to each class. Manual labour, industry, whatever has to
do directly with the everyday work of getting a livelihood, is the
exclusive occupation of the inferior class. This inferior class includes
slaves and other dependents, and ordinarily also all the women. If there
are several grades of aristocracy, the women of high rank are commonly
exempt from industrial employment, or at least from the more vulgar
kinds of manual labour. The men of the upper classes are not only
exempt, but by prescriptive custom they are debarred, from all
industrial occupations. The range of employments open to them is rigidly
defined. As on the higher plane already spoken of, these employments are
government, warfare, religious observances, and sports. These four lines
of activity govern the scheme of life of the upper classes, and for
the highest rank--the kings or chieftains--these are the only kinds of
activity that custom or the common sense of the community will allow.
Indeed, where the scheme is well developed even sports are accounted
doubtfully legitimate for the members of the highest rank. To the lower
grades of the leisure class certain other employments are open, but they
are employments that are subsidiary to one or another of these typical
leisure-class occupations. Such are, for instance, the manufacture
and care of arms and accoutrements and of war canoes, the dressing
and handling of horses, dogs, and hawks, the preparation of sacred
apparatus, etc. The lower classes are excluded from these secondary
honourable employments, except from such as are plainly of an industrial
character and are only remotely related to the typical leisure-class
occupations.

If we go a step back of this exemplary barbarian culture, into the
lower stages of barbarism, we no longer find the leisure class in fully
developed form. But this lower barbarism shows the usages, motives,
and circumstances out of which the institution of a leisure class has
arisen, and indicates the steps of its early growth. Nomadic hunting
tribes in various parts of the world illustrate these more primitive
phases of the differentiation. Any one of the North American hunting
tribes may be taken as a convenient illustration. These tribes
can scarcely be said to have a defined leisure class. There is a
differentiation of function, and there is a distinction between classes
on the basis of this difference of function, but the exemption of the
superior class from work has not gone far enough to make the designation
"leisure class" altogether applicable. The tribes belonging on this
economic level have
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THE MEDEA
                                   OF
                                EURIPIDES


                  TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH RHYMING VERSE
                        WITH EXPLANATORY NOTES BY

                       GILBERT MURRAY, M.A., LL.D.

              SOMETIME PROFESSOR OF GREEK IN THE UNIVERSITY
                        OF GLASGOW; FELLOW OF NEW
                             COLLEGE, OXFORD


                         OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
                             AMERICAN BRANCH
                      NEW YORK: 35 WEST 32ND STREET
                                  1912




                           Copyright, 1906, by
                         OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS
                             AMERICAN BRANCH




                              INTRODUCTION


The _Medea_, in spite of its background of wonder and enchantment, is
not a romantic play but a tragedy of character and situation. It deals,
so to speak, not with the romance itself, but with the end of the
romance, a thing which is so terribly often the reverse of romantic. For
all but the very highest of romances are apt to have just one flaw
somewhere, and in the story of Jason and Medea the flaw was of a fatal
kind.

The wildness and beauty of the Argo legend run through all Greek
literature, from the mass of Corinthian lays older than our present
Iliad, which later writers vaguely associate with the name of Eumêlus,
to the Fourth Pythian Ode of Pindar and the beautiful Argonautica of
Apollonius Rhodius. Our poet knows the wildness and the beauty; but it
is not these qualities that he specially seeks. He takes them almost for
granted, and pierces through them to the sheer tragedy that lies below.

Jason, son of Aeson, King of Iôlcos, in Thessaly, began his life in
exile. His uncle Pelias had seized his father's kingdom, and Jason was
borne away to the mountains by night and given, wrapped in a purple
robe, to Chiron, the Centaur. When he reached manhood he came down to
Iôlcos to demand, as Pindar tells us, his ancestral honour, and stood in
the market-place, a world-famous figure, one-sandalled, with his
pard-skin, his two spears and his long hair, gentle and wild and
fearless, as the Wise Beast had reared him. Pelias, cowed but loath to
yield, promised to give up the kingdom if Jason would make his way to
the unknown land of Colchis and perform a double quest. First, if I read
Pindar aright, he must fetch back the soul of his kinsman Phrixus, who
had died there far from home; and, secondly, find the fleece of the
Golden Ram which Phrixus had sacrificed. Jason undertook the quest:
gathered the most daring heroes from all parts of Hellas; built the
first ship, Argo, and set to sea. After all manner of desperate
adventures he reached the land of Aiêtês, king of the Colchians, and
there hope failed him. By policy, by tact, by sheer courage he did all
that man could do. But Aiêtês was both hostile and treacherous. The
Argonauts were surrounded, and their destruction seemed only a question
of days when, suddenly, unasked, and by the mercy of Heaven, Aiêtês'
daughter, Mêdêa, an enchantress as well as a princess, fell in love with
Jason. She helped him through all his trials; slew for him her own
sleepless serpent, who guarded the fleece; deceived her father, and
secured both the fleece and the soul of Phrixus. At the last moment it
appeared that her brother, Absyrtus, was about to lay an ambush for
Jason. She invited Absyrtus to her room, stabbed him dead, and fled with
Jason over the seas. She had given up all, and expected in return a
perfect love.

And what of Jason? He could not possibly avoid taking Medea with him. He
probably rather loved her. She formed at the least a brilliant addition
to the glory of his enterprise. Not many heroes could produce a
barbarian princess ready to leave all and follow them in blind trust.
For of course, as every one knew without the telling in fifth-century
Athens, no legal marriage was possible between a Greek and a barbarian
from Colchis.

All through the voyage home, a world-wide baffled voyage by the Ister
and the Eridanus and the African Syrtes, Medea was still in her element,
and proved a constant help and counsellor to the Argonauts. When they
reached Jason's home, where Pelias was still king, things began to be
different. An ordered and law-abiding Greek state was scarcely the place
for the untamed Colchian. We only know the catastrophe. She saw with
smothered rage how Pelias hated Jason and was bent on keeping the
kingdom from him, and she determined to do her lover another act of
splendid service. Making the most of her fame as an enchantress, she
persuaded Pelias that he could, by a certain process, regain his youth.
He eagerly caught at the hope. His daughters tried the process upon him,
and Pelias died in agony. Surely Jason would be grateful now!

The real result was what it was sure to be in a civilised country. Medea
and her lover had to fly for their lives, and Jason was debarred for
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It was late; Councillor Knap, deeply occupied with the times of King
Hans, intended to go home, and malicious Fate managed matters so that
his feet, instead of finding their way to his own galoshes, slipped
into those of Fortune. Thus caparisoned the good man walked out of the
well-lighted rooms into East Street. By the magic power of the shoes he
was carried back to the times of King Hans; on which account his foot
very naturally sank in the mud and puddles of the street, there having
been in those days no pavement in Copenhagen.

“Well! This is too bad! How dirty it is here!” sighed the Councillor.
“As to a pavement, I can find no traces of one, and all the lamps, it
seems, have gone to sleep.”

The moon was not yet very high; it was besides rather foggy, so that
in the darkness all objects seemed mingled in chaotic confusion. At the
next corner hung a votive lamp before a Madonna, but the light it gave
was little better than none at all; indeed, he did not observe it before
he was exactly under it, and his eyes fell upon the bright colors of the
pictures which represented the well-known group of the Virgin and the
infant Jesus.

“That is probably a wax-work show,” thought he; “and the people delay
taking down their sign in hopes of a late visitor or two.”

A few persons in the costume of the time of King Hans passed quickly by
him.

“How strange they look! The good folks come probably from a masquerade!”

Suddenly was heard the sound of drums and fifes; the bright blaze of a
fire shot up from time to time, and its ruddy gleams seemed to contend
with the bluish light of the torches. The Councillor stood still, and
watched a most strange procession pass by. First came a dozen drummers,
who understood pretty well how to handle their instruments; then came
halberdiers, and some armed with cross-bows. The principal person in the
procession was a priest. Astonished at what he saw, the Councillor asked
what was the meaning of all this mummery, and who that man was.

“That's the Bishop of Zealand,” was the answer.

“Good Heavens! What has taken possession of the Bishop?” sighed the
Councillor, shaking his head. It certainly could not be the Bishop; even
though he was considered the most absent man in the whole kingdom, and
people told the drollest anecdotes about him. Reflecting on the matter,
and without looking right or left, the Councillor went through East
Street and across the Habro-Platz. The bridge leading to Palace Square
was not to be found; scarcely trusting his senses, the nocturnal
wanderer discovered a shallow piece of water, and here fell in with two
men who very comfortably were rocking to and fro in a boat.

“Does your honor want to cross the ferry to the Holme?” asked they.

“Across to the Holme!” said the Councillor, who knew nothing of the age
in which he at that moment was. “No, I am going to Christianshafen, to
Little Market Street.”

Both men stared at him in astonishment.

“Only just tell me where the bridge is,” said he. “It is really
unpardonable that there are no lamps here; and it is as dirty as if one
had to wade through a morass.”

The longer he spoke with the boatmen, the more unintelligible did their
language become to him.

“I don't understand your Bornholmish dialect,” said he at last, angrily,
and turning his back upon them. He was unable to find the bridge: there
was no railway either. “It is really disgraceful what a state this place
is in,” muttered he to himself. Never had his age, with which, however,
he was always grumbling, seemed so miserable as on this evening. “I'll
take a hackney-coach!” thought he. But where were the hackney-coaches?
Not one was to be seen.

“I must go back to the New Market; there, it is to be hoped, I
shall find some coaches; for if I don't, I shall never get safe to
Christianshafen.”

So off he went in the direction of East Street, and had nearly got to
the end of it when the moon shone forth.

“God bless me! What wooden scaffolding is that which they have set up
there?” cried he involuntarily, as he looked at East Gate, which, in
those days, was at the end of East Street.

He found, however, a little side-door open, and through this he went,
and stepped into our New Market of the present time. It was a huge
desolate plain; some wild bushes stood up here and there, while across
the field flowed a broad canal or river. Some wretched hovels for the
Dutch sailors, resembling great boxes, and after which the place was
named, lay about in confused disorder on the opposite bank.

“I either behold a fata morgana, or I am regularly tipsy,” whimpered out
the Councillor. “But what's this?”

He turned round anew, firmly convinced that he was seriously ill. He
gazed at the street formerly so well known to him, and now so strange in
appearance, and looked at the houses more attentively: most of them were
of wood, slightly put together; and many had a thatched roof.

“No--I am far from well,” sighed he; “and yet I drank only one glass of
punch; but I cannot su
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_Following Hard after God_

     My soul followeth hard after thee: thy right hand upholdeth
     me.--Psa. 63:8


Christian theology teaches the doctrine of prevenient grace, which
briefly stated means this, that before a man can seek God, God must
first have sought the man.

Before a sinful man can think a right thought of God, there must have
been a work of enlightenment done within him; imperfect it may be, but a
true work nonetheless, and the secret cause of all desiring and seeking
and praying which may follow.

We pursue God because, and only because, He has first put an urge within
us that spurs us to the pursuit. "No man can come to me," said our Lord,
"except the Father which hath sent me draw him," and it is by this very
prevenient _drawing_ that God takes from us every vestige of credit for
the act of coming. The impulse to pursue God originates with God, but
the outworking of that impulse is our following hard after Him; and all
the time we are pursuing Him we are already in His hand: "Thy right hand
upholdeth me."

In this divine "upholding" and human "following" there is no
contradiction. All is of God, for as von Hügel teaches, _God is always
previous_. In practice, however, (that is, where God's previous working
meets man's present response) man must pursue God. On our part there
must be positive reciprocation if this secret drawing of God is to
eventuate in identifiable experience of the Divine. In the warm language
of personal feeling this is stated in the Forty-second Psalm: "As the
hart panteth after the water brooks, so panteth my soul after thee, O
God. My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God: when shall I come
and appear before God?" This is deep calling unto deep, and the longing
heart will understand it.

The doctrine of justification by faith--a Biblical truth, and a blessed
relief from sterile legalism and unavailing self-effort--has in our time
fallen into evil company and been interpreted by many in such manner as
actually to bar men from the knowledge of God. The whole transaction of
religious conversion has been made mechanical and spiritless. Faith may
now be exercised without a jar to the moral life and without
embarrassment to the Adamic ego. Christ may be "received" without
creating any special love for Him in the soul of the receiver. The man
is "saved," but he is not hungry nor thirsty after God. In fact he is
specifically taught to be satisfied and encouraged to be content with
little.

The modern scientist has lost God amid the wonders of His world; we
Christians are in real danger of losing God amid the wonders of His
Word. We have almost forgotten that God is a Person and, as such, can be
cultivated as any person can. It is inherent in personality to be able
to know other personalities, but full knowledge of one personality by
another cannot be achieved in one encounter. It is only after long and
loving mental intercourse that the full possibilities of both can be
explored.

All social intercourse between human beings is a response of personality
to personality, grading upward from the most casual brush between man
and man to the fullest, most intimate communion of which the human soul
is capable. Religion, so far as it is genuine, is in essence the
response of created personalities to the Creating Personality, God.
"This is life eternal, that they might know thee the only true God, and
Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent."

God is a Person, and in the deep of His mighty nature He thinks, wills,
enjoys, feels, loves, desires and suffers as any other person may. In
making Himself known to us He stays by the familiar pattern of
personality. He communicates with us through the avenues of our minds,
our wills and our emotions. The continuous and unembarrassed
interchange of love and thought between God and the soul of the redeemed
man is the throbbing heart of New Testament religion.

This intercourse between God and the soul is known to us in conscious
personal awareness. It is personal: that is, it does not come through
the body of believers, as such, but is known to the individual, and to
the body through the individuals which compose it. And it is conscious:
that is, it does not stay below the threshold of consciousness and work
there unknown to the soul (as, for instance, infant baptism is thought
by some to do), but comes within the field of awareness where the man
can "know" it as he knows any other fact of experience.

You and I are in little (our sins excepted) what God is in large. Being
made in His image we have within us the capacity to know Him. In our
sins we lack only the power. The moment the Spirit has quickened us to
life in regeneration our whole being senses its kinship to God and leaps
up in joyous recognition. That is the heavenly birth without which we
cannot see the Kingdom of God. It is, however, not an end but an
inception, for now begins the glorious pursuit, the heart's happy
exploration of the infinite riches of the Godhead. That is whe
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49. _PP_: Piers the Plowman, glossary by Skeat, 1885, EETS (81).

50. _PP. Notes_: by Skeat, 1877, EETS (67).

51. _Prompt._: Promptorium Parvulorum, ed. Way, Camden Soc., 1865.

52. Ps.: (after French forms), see Apfelstedt.

53. _RD_: Richardson’s English Dictionary, 1867.

54. Roland: Chanson de Roland, ed. Gautier, 1881.

55. _S_: Specimens of Early English, Part I, ed. Morris, 1885. CP.

56. _S2_: Specimens of Early English, Part II, ed. Morris and Skeat,
1873. CP.

57. _S3_: Specimens of English Literature, ed. Skeat, 1879. CP.

58. _SB_: Sinonoma Bartholomei, 14th Cent. Glossary, ed. Mowat, 1882.
CP.

59. Schmid: Gesetze der Angelsachsen (glossar), 1858.

60. _SD_: Stratmann, Dict. of the Old English Language, 1878.

61. _Sh._: Shakespeare Lexicon, by Schmidt, 1875.

62. Sievers: Grammar of Old English, ed. A. S. Cook, 1885.

63. _SkD_: Skeat, Etymological Dict. of Eng. Lang., 1884. CP.

64. Skeat, English Words in Norman-French, 1882, Phil. Soc.

65. Skeat, Mœso-gothic Glossary, 1868.

66. _SPD_: Smythe Palmer, Dictionary of Folk-Etymology, 1882.

67. _Spenser_: Faery Queene, glossaries to Books I and II, 1887. CP.

68. Sweet: AS. Reader, 1884. CP.

69. Tatian: Evangelienbuch, ed. Sievers, 1872.

70. _TG_: Trench, Select Glossary, 1879.

71. _Trevisa_: version of Higden, Rolls’ Series (41).

72. _Voc._: Wright’s Vocabularies, ed. Wülcker, 1884.

73. VP: Vespasian Psalter, as printed in OET., see 45.

74. Vulg.: the Vulgate Version of the Bible.

75. _W_: Wycliffe, New Testament (Purvey’s revision), ed. Skeat, 1879.
CP.

76. _W2_: Wycliffe, Job, Psalms, &c. (revised by Hereford and Purvey),
ed. Skeat, 1881. CP.

77. _WA_: Wars of Alexander, ed. Skeat, 1887, EETS (Extra Series
xlvii).

78. Weigand: deutsches Wörterbuch, 1878.

79. Windisch: Glossary added to Old Irish Texts, 1882.

80. _WW_: Wright, The Bible Word-Book, 1884.

81. ZRP: Zeitschrift für romanische Philologie, ed. Gröber.




ABBREVIATIONS (Languages),

WITH REFERENCES TO AUTHORITIES.


AF: Anglo-French, see 64.

AS.: Anglo-Saxon, see 10, 31, 45, 62.

Church Lat.: Ecclesiastical Latin, see 24, 74.

Goth.: Gothic, see 23, 65.

Gr.: Greek, see 9, 19, 27.

Icel.: Icelandic, see 20.

It.: Italian, see 28.

Lat.: Latin.

Late Lat.: Post-classical Latin, of Latin origin, see 24, 72, 74.

Low Lat.: Latin derived from the later European languages, see 1, 14,
24, 51, 58.

ME.: Middle English.

North.E.: Northern English, see 4, 36.

OF.: Old French, see 3, 6, 17, 18, 22, 24, 30, 48, 54.

OHG.: Old High German, see 37, 46, 69, 78.

OIr.: Old Irish, see 19, 79.

OMerc.: Old Mercian, see 2 (Rushworth version), 45, 73.

ONorth.: Old Northumbrian, see 2.

OS.: Old Saxon, see 35.

OTeut.: Old Teutonic (as restored by scholars), see 27, 43.

Sp.: Spanish, see 41.




SYMBOLS.

In the etymological part three stops are used as symbols in connexion
with the cognate forms cited, namely the comma, the semi-colon, and the
colon. The comma is used to connect various spellings of a word, as
well as parallel forms cited from nearly connected languages; for
instance, s.v. daunger, the OF. forms are so connected. The semi-colon
between two forms denotes that the two forms are phonetically
equivalent, and that the preceding one is directly derived from, and is
historically connected with the one following this symbol; for
instance, s.v. bugle, the OF. _bugle_ is the phonetic equivalent of the
Lat. _buculum_, and is immediately derived therefrom. The colon between
two forms denotes that the two forms are phonetically equivalent, and
that the form following this symbol is an earlier, more primitive form
than the one preceding, without an immediate interborrowing between the
languages being asserted; for instance, s.v. demen, the Goth. _dómjan_
is an older form than the AS. _déman_, but _déman_ is not borrowed from
the Gothic. The abbreviation ‘cp.’ introduces other cognate forms, and
has the same value as the symbol + in Skeat’s Dictionaries.

The asterisk * at the beginning of a word denotes a theoretical form,
assumed (upon scientific principles) to have formerly existed. The sign
= is to be read ‘a translation of.’ ‘(_n_)’ after Prompt., Cath. and
other authorities refers to foot-notes or other notes citing the form
in question.




A CONCISE
DICTIONARY OF MIDDLE-ENGLISH.




A.


A-, _prefix_ (1), adding _intensity_ to the notion of the verb.—AS. _á_
for _ar-_, OHG. _ar-_, Goth. _us-_. For the quantity of the _á_ see
Sievers, 121. Cf. Or.

A-, _prefix_ (2), standing for A, _prep._, and for Icel. _á_; see On-
(1).

A-, _prefix_ (3), standing for Of, _prep._; see Of.

A-, _prefix_ (4), standing for AS. _and-_, against, in return,
toward.—AS. _and-_, _ond-_, _on-_ (proclitic). Cf. On- (2.)

A-, _prefix_ (5), standing for At, _prep._, and Icel. _at_, used with
the infin. See At- (1).

A-, _prefix_ (6), standing for AS. _ge-_; see Ȝe-.

A-, _prefix_ (7), standing for OF. _a-_ and Lat. _ad-_.

A-, _prefix_ (8), standing for OF. _a-_ and Lat. _ab-_.

A-, _prefix_ (9), 
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It was the last day of July.  The long hot summer was drawing to a
close; and we, the weary pilgrims of the London pavement, were
beginning to think of the cloud-shadows on the corn-fields, and the
autumn breezes on the sea-shore.

For my own poor part, the fading summer left me out of health, out of
spirits, and, if the truth must be told, out of money as well. During
the past year I had not managed my professional resources as carefully
as usual; and my extravagance now limited me to the prospect of
spending the autumn economically between my mother's cottage at
Hampstead and my own chambers in town.

The evening, I remember, was still and cloudy; the London air was at
its heaviest; the distant hum of the street-traffic was at its
faintest; the small pulse of the life within me, and the great heart of
the city around me, seemed to be sinking in unison, languidly and more
languidly, with the sinking sun.  I roused myself from the book which I
was dreaming over rather than reading, and left my chambers to meet the
cool night air in the suburbs.  It was one of the two evenings in every
week which I was accustomed to spend with my mother and my sister.  So
I turned my steps northward in the direction of Hampstead.

Events which I have yet to relate make it necessary to mention in this
place that my father had been dead some years at the period of which I
am now writing; and that my sister Sarah and I were the sole survivors
of a family of five children.  My father was a drawing-master before
me.  His exertions had made him highly successful in his profession;
and his affectionate anxiety to provide for the future of those who
were dependent on his labours had impelled him, from the time of his
marriage, to devote to the insuring of his life a much larger portion
of his income than most men consider it necessary to set aside for that
purpose.  Thanks to his admirable prudence and self-denial my mother
and sister were left, after his death, as independent of the world as
they had been during his lifetime.  I succeeded to his connection, and
had every reason to feel grateful for the prospect that awaited me at
my starting in life.

The quiet twilight was still trembling on the topmost ridges of the
heath; and the view of London below me had sunk into a black gulf in
the shadow of the cloudy night, when I stood before the gate of my
mother's cottage.  I had hardly rung the bell before the house door was
opened violently; my worthy Italian friend, Professor Pesca, appeared
in the servant's place; and darted out joyously to receive me, with a
shrill foreign parody on an English cheer.

On his own account, and, I must be allowed to add, on mine also, the
Professor merits the honour of a formal introduction. Accident has made
him the starting-point of the strange family story which it is the
purpose of these pages to unfold.

I had first become acquainted with my Italian friend by meeting him at
certain great houses where he taught his own language and I taught
drawing.  All I then knew of the history of his life was, that he had
once held a situation in the University of Padua; that he had left
Italy for political reasons (the nature of which he uniformly declined
to mention to any one); and that he had been for many years respectably
established in London as a teacher of languages.

Without being actually a dwarf--for he was perfectly well proportioned
from head to foot--Pesca was, I think, the smallest human being I ever
saw out of a show-room.  Remarkable anywhere, by his personal
appearance, he was still further distinguished among the rank and file
of mankind by the harmless eccentricity of his character.  The ruling
idea of his life appeared to be, that he was bound to show his
gratitude to the country which had afforded him an asylum and a means
of subsistence by doing his utmost to turn himself into an Englishman.
Not content with paying the nation in general the compliment of
invariably carrying an umbrella, and invariably wearing gaiters and a
white hat, the Professor further aspired to become an Englishman in his
habits and amusements, as well as in his personal appearance.  Finding
us distinguished, as a nation, by our love of athletic exercises, the
little man, in the innocence of his heart, devoted himself impromptu to
all our English sports and pastimes whenever he had the opportunity of
joining them; firmly persuaded that he could adopt our national
amusements of the field by an effort of will precisely as he had
adopted our national gaiters and our national white hat.

I had seen him risk his limbs blindly at a fox-hunt and in a
cricket-field; and soon afterwards I saw him risk his life, just as
blindly, in the sea at Brighton.

We had met there accidentally, and were bathing together.  If we had
been engaged in any exercise peculiar to my own nation I should, of
course, have looked after Pesca carefully; but as foreigners are
generally quite as well able to take care of themselves in the water as

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I FIRST HEARD OF Antonia on what seemed to me an interminable journey
across the great midland plain of North America. I was ten years
old then; I had lost both my father and mother within a year, and my
Virginia relatives were sending me out to my grandparents, who lived in
Nebraska. I travelled in the care of a mountain boy, Jake Marpole, one
of the ‘hands’ on my father’s old farm under the Blue Ridge, who was now
going West to work for my grandfather. Jake’s experience of the world
was not much wider than mine. He had never been in a railway train until
the morning when we set out together to try our fortunes in a new world.

We went all the way in day-coaches, becoming more sticky and grimy with
each stage of the journey. Jake bought everything the newsboys offered
him: candy, oranges, brass collar buttons, a watch-charm, and for me a
‘Life of Jesse James,’ which I remember as one of the most satisfactory
books I have ever read. Beyond Chicago we were under the protection of a
friendly passenger conductor, who knew all about the country to which
we were going and gave us a great deal of advice in exchange for our
confidence. He seemed to us an experienced and worldly man who had been
almost everywhere; in his conversation he threw out lightly the names
of distant states and cities. He wore the rings and pins and badges of
different fraternal orders to which he belonged. Even his cuff-buttons
were engraved with hieroglyphics, and he was more inscribed than an
Egyptian obelisk.

Once when he sat down to chat, he told us that in the immigrant car
ahead there was a family from ‘across the water’ whose destination was
the same as ours.

‘They can’t any of them speak English, except one little girl, and all
she can say is “We go Black Hawk, Nebraska.” She’s not much older than
you, twelve or thirteen, maybe, and she’s as bright as a new dollar.
Don’t you want to go ahead and see her, Jimmy? She’s got the pretty
brown eyes, too!’

This last remark made me bashful, and I shook my head and settled down
to ‘Jesse James.’ Jake nodded at me approvingly and said you were likely
to get diseases from foreigners.

I do not remember crossing the Missouri River, or anything about the
long day’s journey through Nebraska. Probably by that time I had crossed
so many rivers that I was dull to them. The only thing very noticeable
about Nebraska was that it was still, all day long, Nebraska.

I had been sleeping, curled up in a red plush seat, for a long while
when we reached Black Hawk. Jake roused me and took me by the hand. We
stumbled down from the train to a wooden siding, where men were running
about with lanterns. I couldn’t see any town, or even distant lights; we
were surrounded by utter darkness. The engine was panting heavily after
its long run. In the red glow from the fire-box, a group of people stood
huddled together on the platform, encumbered by bundles and boxes. I
knew this must be the immigrant family the conductor had told us about.
The woman wore a fringed shawl tied over her head, and she carried a
little tin trunk in her arms, hugging it as if it were a baby. There
was an old man, tall and stooped. Two half-grown boys and a girl stood
holding oilcloth bundles, and a little girl clung to her mother’s
skirts. Presently a man with a lantern approached them and began
to talk, shouting and exclaiming. I pricked up my ears, for it was
positively the first time I had ever heard a foreign tongue.

Another lantern came along. A bantering voice called out: ‘Hello, are
you Mr. Burden’s folks? If you are, it’s me you’re looking for. I’m
Otto Fuchs. I’m Mr. Burden’s hired man, and I’m to drive you out. Hello,
Jimmy, ain’t you scared to come so far west?’

I looked up with interest at the new face in the lantern-light. He might
have stepped out of the pages of ‘Jesse James.’ He wore a sombrero
hat, with a wide leather band and a bright buckle, and the ends of his
moustache were twisted up stiffly, like little horns. He looked lively
and ferocious, I thought, and as if he had a history. A long scar ran
across one cheek and drew the corner of his mouth up in a sinister curl.
The top of his left ear was gone, and his skin was brown as an Indian’s.
Surely this was the face of a desperado. As he walked about the platform
in his high-heeled boots, looking for our trunks, I saw that he was a
rather slight man, quick and wiry, and light on his feet. He told us we
had a long night drive ahead of us, and had better be on the hike. He
led us to a hitching-bar where two farm-wagons were tied, and I saw the
foreign family crowding into one of them. The other was for us. Jake got
on the front seat with Otto Fuchs, and I rode on the straw in the bottom
of the wagon-box, covered up with a buffalo hide. The immigrants rumbled
off into the empty darkness, and we followed them.

I tried to go to sleep, but the jolting made me bite my tongue, and I
soon began to ache all over. When the straw settled down, I had a hard
bed. Cautiously I 
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proper to prove this connexion and dependence of the one part upon the
other, than to destroy either of them. It has often been maintained in
the schools, that extension must be divisible, in infinitum, because
the system of mathematical points is absurd; and that system is absurd,
because a mathematical point is a non-entity, and consequently can never
by its conjunction with others form a real existence. This would
be perfectly decisive, were there no medium betwixt the infinite
divisibility of matter, and the non-entity of mathematical points. But
there is evidently a medium, viz. the bestowing a colour or solidity on
these points; and the absurdity of both the extremes is a demonstration
of the truth and reality of this medium. The system of physical points,
which is another medium, is too absurd to need a refutation. A real
extension, such as a physical point is supposed to be, can never exist
without parts, different from each other; and wherever objects are
different, they are distinguishable and separable by the imagination.

PENETRATION, if extension consisted of mathematical points. A simple and
indivisible atom, that touches another, must necessarily penetrate it;
for it is impossible it can touch it by its external parts, from the
very supposition of its perfect simplicity, which excludes all parts. It
must therefore touch it intimately, and in its whole essence, SECUNDUM
SE, TOTA, ET TOTALITER; which is the very definition of penetration.
But penetration is impossible: Mathematical points are of consequence
equally impossible.

I answer this objection by substituting a juster idea of penetration.
Suppose two bodies containing no void within their circumference, to
approach each other, and to unite in such a manner that the body, which
results from their union, is no more extended than either of them; it
is this we must mean when we talk of penetration. But it is evident this
penetration is nothing but the annihilation of one of these bodies, and
the preservation of the other, without our being able to distinguish
particularly which is preserved and which annihilated. Before the
approach we have the idea of two bodies. After it we have the idea
only of one. It is impossible for the mind to preserve any notion of
difference betwixt two bodies of the same nature existing in the same
place at the same time.

Taking then penetration in this sense, for the annihilation of one body
upon its approach to another, I ask any one, if he sees a necessity,
that a coloured or tangible point should be annihilated upon the
approach of another coloured or tangible point? On the contrary, does
he not evidently perceive, that from the union of these points there
results an object, which is compounded and divisible, and may be
distinguished into two parts, of which each preserves its existence
distinct and separate, notwithstanding its contiguity to the other? Let
him aid his fancy by conceiving these points to be of different colours,
the better to prevent their coalition and confusion. A blue and a red
point may surely lie contiguous without any penetration or annihilation.
For if they cannot, what possibly can become of them? Whether shall the
red or the blue be annihilated? Or if these colours unite into one, what
new colour will they produce by their union?

What chiefly gives rise to these objections, and at the same time
renders it so difficult to give a satisfactory answer to them, is the
natural infirmity and unsteadiness both of our imagination and senses,
when employed on such minute objects. Put a spot of ink upon paper, and
retire to such a distance, that the spot becomes altogether invisible;
you will find, that upon your return and nearer approach the spot
first becomes visible by short intervals; and afterwards becomes always
visible; and afterwards acquires only a new force in its colouring
without augmenting its bulk; and afterwards, when it has encreased to
such a degree as to be really extended, it is still difficult for
the imagination to break it into its component parts, because of the
uneasiness it finds in the conception of such a minute object as a
single point. This infirmity affects most of our reasonings on the
present subject, and makes it almost impossible to answer in an
intelligible manner, and in proper expressions, many questions which may
arise concerning it.

the indivisibility of the parts of extension: though at first sight that
science seems rather favourable to the present doctrine; and if it
be contrary in its DEMONSTRATIONS, it is perfectly conformable in its
definitions. My present business then must be to defend the definitions,
and refute the demonstrations.

A surface is DEFINed to be length and breadth without depth: A line
to be length without breadth or depth: A point to be what has neither
length, breadth nor depth. It is evident that all this is perfectly
unintelligible upon any other supposition than that of the composition
of extension by indivisible points or a
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I address these lines—written in India—to my relatives in England.

My object is to explain the motive which has induced me to refuse the
right hand of friendship to my cousin, John Herncastle. The reserve
which I have hitherto maintained in this matter has been misinterpreted
by members of my family whose good opinion I cannot consent to forfeit.
I request them to suspend their decision until they have read my
narrative. And I declare, on my word of honour, that what I am now
about to write is, strictly and literally, the truth.

The private difference between my cousin and me took its rise in a
great public event in which we were both concerned—the storming of
Seringapatam, under General Baird, on the 4th of May, 1799.

In order that the circumstances may be clearly understood, I must
revert for a moment to the period before the assault, and to the
stories current in our camp of the treasure in jewels and gold stored
up in the Palace of Seringapatam.


One of the wildest of these stories related to a Yellow Diamond—a
famous gem in the native annals of India.

The earliest known traditions describe the stone as having been set in
the forehead of the four-handed Indian god who typifies the Moon.
Partly from its peculiar colour, partly from a superstition which
represented it as feeling the influence of the deity whom it adorned,
and growing and lessening in lustre with the waxing and waning of the
moon, it first gained the name by which it continues to be known in
India to this day—the name of THE MOONSTONE. A similar superstition was
once prevalent, as I have heard, in ancient Greece and Rome; not
applying, however (as in India), to a diamond devoted to the service of
a god, but to a semi-transparent stone of the inferior order of gems,
supposed to be affected by the lunar influences—the moon, in this
latter case also, giving the name by which the stone is still known to
collectors in our own time.

The adventures of the Yellow Diamond begin with the eleventh century of
the Christian era.

At that date, the Mohammedan conqueror, Mahmoud of Ghizni, crossed
India; seized on the holy city of Somnauth; and stripped of its
treasures the famous temple, which had stood for centuries—the shrine
of Hindoo pilgrimage, and the wonder of the Eastern world.

Of all the deities worshipped in the temple, the moon-god alone escaped
the rapacity of the conquering Mohammedans. Preserved by three
Brahmins, the inviolate deity, bearing the Yellow Diamond in its
forehead, was removed by night, and was transported to the second of
the sacred cities of India—the city of Benares.

Here, in a new shrine—in a hall inlaid with precious stones, under a
roof supported by pillars of gold—the moon-god was set up and
worshipped. Here, on the night when the shrine was completed, Vishnu
the Preserver appeared to the three Brahmins in a dream.

The deity breathed the breath of his divinity on the Diamond in the
forehead of the god. And the Brahmins knelt and hid their faces in
their robes. The deity commanded that the Moonstone should be watched,
from that time forth, by three priests in turn, night and day, to the
end of the generations of men. And the Brahmins heard, and bowed before
his will. The deity predicted certain disaster to the presumptuous
mortal who laid hands on the sacred gem, and to all of his house and
name who received it after him. And the Brahmins caused the prophecy to
be written over the gates of the shrine in letters of gold.

One age followed another—and still, generation after generation, the
successors of the three Brahmins watched their priceless Moonstone,
night and day. One age followed another until the first years of the
eighteenth Christian century saw the reign of Aurungzebe, Emperor of
the Moguls. At his command havoc and rapine were let loose once more
among the temples of the worship of Brahmah. The shrine of the
four-handed god was polluted by the slaughter of sacred animals; the
images of the deities were broken in pieces; and the Moonstone was
seized by an officer of rank in the army of Aurungzebe.

Powerless to recover their lost treasure by open force, the three
guardian priests followed and watched it in disguise. The generations
succeeded each other; the warrior who had committed the sacrilege
perished miserably; the Moonstone passed (carrying its curse with it)
from one lawless Mohammedan hand to another; and still, through all
chances and changes, the successors of the three guardian priests kept
their watch, waiting the day when the will of Vishnu the Preserver
should restore to them their sacred gem. Time rolled on from the first
to the last years of the eighteenth Christian century. The Diamond fell
into the possession of Tippoo, Sultan of Seringapatam, who caused it to
be placed as an ornament in the handle of a dagger, and who commanded
it to be kept among the choicest treasures of his armoury. Even then—in
the palace of the Sultan himself—the three guardian priests still kept
their watch i
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cover



The Return of Sherlock Holmes



by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle



Contents


 The Adventure of the Empty House
 The Adventure of the Norwood Builder
 The Adventure of the Dancing Men
 The Adventure of the Solitary Cyclist
 The Adventure of the Priory School
 The Adventure of Black Peter.
 The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton
 The Adventure of the Six Napoleons
 The Adventure of the Three Students
 The Adventure of the Golden Pince-Nez
 The Adventure of the Missing Three-Quarter
 The Adventure of the Abbey Grange
 The Adventure of the Second Stain


THE ADVENTURE OF THE EMPTY HOUSE

      It was in the spring of the year 1894 that all London was
      interested, and the fashionable world dismayed, by the murder of
      the Honourable Ronald Adair under most unusual and inexplicable
      circumstances. The public has already learned those particulars
      of the crime which came out in the police investigation, but a
      good deal was suppressed upon that occasion, since the case for
      the prosecution was so overwhelmingly strong that it was not
      necessary to bring forward all the facts. Only now, at the end of
      nearly ten years, am I allowed to supply those missing links
      which make up the whole of that remarkable chain. The crime was
      of interest in itself, but that interest was as nothing to me
      compared to the inconceivable sequel, which afforded me the
      greatest shock and surprise of any event in my adventurous life.
      Even now, after this long interval, I find myself thrilling as I
      think of it, and feeling once more that sudden flood of joy,
      amazement, and incredulity which utterly submerged my mind. Let
      me say to that public, which has shown some interest in those
      glimpses which I have occasionally given them of the thoughts and
      actions of a very remarkable man, that they are not to blame me
      if I have not shared my knowledge with them, for I should have
      considered it my first duty to do so, had I not been barred by a
      positive prohibition from his own lips, which was only withdrawn
      upon the third of last month.

      It can be imagined that my close intimacy with Sherlock Holmes
      had interested me deeply in crime, and that after his
      disappearance I never failed to read with care the various
      problems which came before the public. And I even attempted, more
      than once, for my own private satisfaction, to employ his methods
      in their solution, though with indifferent success. There was
      none, however, which appealed to me like this tragedy of Ronald
      Adair. As I read the evidence at the inquest, which led up to a
      verdict of willful murder against some person or persons unknown,
      I realized more clearly than I had ever done the loss which the
      community had sustained by the death of Sherlock Holmes. There
      were points about this strange business which would, I was sure,
      have specially appealed to him, and the efforts of the police
      would have been supplemented, or more probably anticipated, by
      the trained observation and the alert mind of the first criminal
      agent in Europe. All day, as I drove upon my round, I turned over
      the case in my mind and found no explanation which appeared to me
      to be adequate. At the risk of telling a twice-told tale, I will
      recapitulate the facts as they were known to the public at the
      conclusion of the inquest.

      The Honourable Ronald Adair was the second son of the Earl of
      Maynooth, at that time governor of one of the Australian
      colonies. Adair’s mother had returned from Australia to undergo
      the operation for cataract, and she, her son Ronald, and her
      daughter Hilda were living together at 427, Park Lane. The youth
      moved in the best society—had, so far as was known, no enemies
      and no particular vices. He had been engaged to Miss Edith
      Woodley, of Carstairs, but the engagement had been broken off by
      mutual consent some months before, and there was no sign that it
      had left any very profound feeling behind it. For the rest, the
      man’s life moved in a narrow and conventional circle, for his
      habits were quiet and his nature unemotional. Yet it was upon
      this easy-going young aristocrat that death came, in most strange
      and unexpected form, between the hours of ten and eleven-twenty
      on the night of March 30, 1894.

      Ronald Adair was fond of cards—playing continually, but never for
      such stakes as would hurt him. He was a member of the Baldwin,
      the Cavendish, and the Bagatelle card clubs. It was shown that,
      after dinner on the day of his death, he had played a rubber of
      whist at the latter club. He had also played there in the
      afternoon. The evidence of those who had played with him—Mr.
      Murray, Sir John Hardy, and Colonel Moran—showed that the game
 
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One evening of late summer, before the nineteenth century had reached
one-third of its span, a young man and woman, the latter carrying a
child, were approaching the large village of Weydon-Priors, in Upper
Wessex, on foot. They were plainly but not ill clad, though the thick
hoar of dust which had accumulated on their shoes and garments from an
obviously long journey lent a disadvantageous shabbiness to their
appearance just now.

The man was of fine figure, swarthy, and stern in aspect; and he showed
in profile a facial angle so slightly inclined as to be almost
perpendicular. He wore a short jacket of brown corduroy, newer than the
remainder of his suit, which was a fustian waistcoat with white horn
buttons, breeches of the same, tanned leggings, and a straw hat
overlaid with black glazed canvas. At his back he carried by a looped
strap a rush basket, from which protruded at one end the crutch of a
hay-knife, a wimble for hay-bonds being also visible in the aperture.
His measured, springless walk was the walk of the skilled countryman as
distinct from the desultory shamble of the general labourer; while in
the turn and plant of each foot there was, further, a dogged and
cynical indifference personal to himself, showing its presence even in
the regularly interchanging fustian folds, now in the left leg, now in
the right, as he paced along.

What was really peculiar, however, in this couple’s progress, and would
have attracted the attention of any casual observer otherwise disposed
to overlook them, was the perfect silence they preserved. They walked
side by side in such a way as to suggest afar off the low, easy,
confidential chat of people full of reciprocity; but on closer view it
could be discerned that the man was reading, or pretending to read, a
ballad sheet which he kept before his eyes with some difficulty by the
hand that was passed through the basket strap. Whether this apparent
cause were the real cause, or whether it were an assumed one to escape
an intercourse that would have been irksome to him, nobody but himself
could have said precisely; but his taciturnity was unbroken, and the
woman enjoyed no society whatever from his presence. Virtually she
walked the highway alone, save for the child she bore. Sometimes the
man’s bent elbow almost touched her shoulder, for she kept as close to
his side as was possible without actual contact, but she seemed to have
no idea of taking his arm, nor he of offering it; and far from
exhibiting surprise at his ignoring silence she appeared to receive it
as a natural thing. If any word at all were uttered by the little
group, it was an occasional whisper of the woman to the child—a tiny
girl in short clothes and blue boots of knitted yarn—and the murmured
babble of the child in reply.

The chief—almost the only—attraction of the young woman’s face was its
mobility. When she looked down sideways to the girl she became pretty,
and even handsome, particularly that in the action her features caught
slantwise the rays of the strongly coloured sun, which made
transparencies of her eyelids and nostrils and set fire on her lips.
When she plodded on in the shade of the hedge, silently thinking, she
had the hard, half-apathetic expression of one who deems anything
possible at the hands of Time and Chance except, perhaps, fair play.
The first phase was the work of Nature, the second probably of
civilization.

That the man and woman were husband and wife, and the parents of the
girl in arms there could be little doubt. No other than such
relationship would have accounted for the atmosphere of stale
familiarity which the trio carried along with them like a nimbus as
they moved down the road.

The wife mostly kept her eyes fixed ahead, though with little
interest—the scene for that matter being one that might have been
matched at almost any spot in any county in England at this time of the
year; a road neither straight nor crooked, neither level nor hilly,
bordered by hedges, trees, and other vegetation, which had entered the
blackened-green stage of colour that the doomed leaves pass through on
their way to dingy, and yellow, and red. The grassy margin of the bank,
and the nearest hedgerow boughs, were powdered by the dust that had
been stirred over them by hasty vehicles, the same dust as it lay on
the road deadening their footfalls like a carpet; and this, with the
aforesaid total absence of conversation, allowed every extraneous sound
to be heard.

For a long time there was none, beyond the voice of a weak bird singing
a trite old evening song that might doubtless have been heard on the
hill at the same hour, and with the self-same trills, quavers, and
breves, at any sunset of that season for centuries untold. But as they
approached the village sundry distant shouts and rattles reached their
ears from some elevated spot in that direction, as yet screened from
view by foliage. When the outlying houses of Weydon-Priors could just
be described, the family group was met b
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NARRATIVE OF THE CAPTIVITY AND RESTORATION OF MRS. MARY ROWLANDSON

By Mrs. Mary Rowlandson



The sovereignty and goodness of GOD, together with the faithfulness
of his promises displayed, being a narrative of the captivity and
restoration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson, commended by her, to all that
desires to know the Lord's doings to, and dealings with her. Especially
to her dear children and relations. The second Addition [sic] Corrected
and amended. Written by her own hand for her private use, and now made
public at the earnest desire of some friends, and for the benefit of the
afflicted. Deut. 32.39. See now that I, even I am he, and there is no
god with me, I kill and I make alive, I wound and I heal, neither is
there any can deliver out of my hand.


On the tenth of February 1675, came the Indians with great numbers upon
Lancaster: their first coming was about sunrising; hearing the noise
of some guns, we looked out; several houses were burning, and the smoke
ascending to heaven. There were five persons taken in one house; the
father, and the mother and a sucking child, they knocked on the head;
the other two they took and carried away alive. There were two others,
who being out of their garrison upon some occasion were set upon;
one was knocked on the head, the other escaped; another there was who
running along was shot and wounded, and fell down; he begged of them his
life, promising them money (as they told me) but they would not hearken
to him but knocked him in head, and stripped him naked, and split open
his bowels. Another, seeing many of the Indians about his barn, ventured
and went out, but was quickly shot down. There were three others
belonging to the same garrison who were killed; the Indians getting up
upon the roof of the barn, had advantage to shoot down upon them over
their fortification. Thus these murderous wretches went on, burning, and
destroying before them.

At length they came and beset our own house, and quickly it was the
dolefulest day that ever mine eyes saw. The house stood upon the edge of
a hill; some of the Indians got behind the hill, others into the barn,
and others behind anything that could shelter them; from all which
places they shot against the house, so that the bullets seemed to fly
like hail; and quickly they wounded one man among us, then another,
and then a third. About two hours (according to my observation, in that
amazing time) they had been about the house before they prevailed to
fire it (which they did with flax and hemp, which they brought out of
the barn, and there being no defense about the house, only two flankers
at two opposite corners and one of them not finished); they fired it
once and one ventured out and quenched it, but they quickly fired it
again, and that took. Now is the dreadful hour come, that I have often
heard of (in time of war, as it was the case of others), but now mine
eyes see it. Some in our house were fighting for their lives, others
wallowing in their blood, the house on fire over our heads, and the
bloody heathen ready to knock us on the head, if we stirred out. Now
might we hear mothers and children crying out for themselves, and one
another, "Lord, what shall we do?" Then I took my children (and one of
my sisters', hers) to go forth and leave the house: but as soon as
we came to the door and appeared, the Indians shot so thick that the
bullets rattled against the house, as if one had taken an handful of
stones and threw them, so that we were fain to give back. We had six
stout dogs belonging to our garrison, but none of them would stir,
though another time, if any Indian had come to the door, they were ready
to fly upon him and tear him down. The Lord hereby would make us the
more acknowledge His hand, and to see that our help is always in Him.
But out we must go, the fire increasing, and coming along behind us,
roaring, and the Indians gaping before us with their guns, spears,
and hatchets to devour us. No sooner were we out of the house, but my
brother-in-law (being before wounded, in defending the house, in or near
the throat) fell down dead, whereat the Indians scornfully shouted, and
hallowed, and were presently upon him, stripping off his clothes, the
bullets flying thick, one went through my side, and the same (as would
seem) through the bowels and hand of my dear child in my arms. One of my
elder sisters' children, named William, had then his leg broken, which
the Indians perceiving, they knocked him on [his] head. Thus were we
butchered by those merciless heathen, standing amazed, with the blood
running down to our heels. My eldest sister being yet in the house, and
seeing those woeful sights, the infidels hauling mothers one way, and
children another, and some wallowing in their blood: and her elder son
telling her that her son William was dead, and myself was wounded, she
said, "And Lord, let me die with them," which was no sooner said, but
she was struck with a bullet, and fell down dead over the threshold. I
hope s
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THE

                               VAMPYRE;

                               A Tale.

                       By John William Polidori



                               LONDON

                 PRINTED FOR SHERWOOD, NEELY, AND JONES

                           PATERNOSTER ROW


                                1819

              [Entered at Stationers' Hall, March 27, 1819]

           Gillet, Printer, Crown Court, Fleet Street, London.







                         EXTRACT OF A LETTER

                             FROM GENEVA.
                            ______________

"I breathe freely in the neighbourhood of this lake; the ground upon
which I tread has been subdued from the earliest ages; the principal
objects which immediately strike my eye, bring to my recollection
scenes, in which man acted the hero and was the chief object of
interest. Not to look back to earlier times of battles and sieges,
here is the bust of Rousseau--here is a house with an inscription
denoting that the Genevan philosopher first drew breath under its
roof. A little out of the town is Ferney, the residence of Voltaire;
where that wonderful, though certainly in many respects contemptible,
character, received, like the hermits of old, the visits of pilgrims,
not only from his own nation, but from the farthest boundaries of
Europe. Here too is Bonnet's abode, and, a few steps beyond, the house
of that astonishing woman Madame de Stael: perhaps the first of her
sex, who has really proved its often claimed equality with, the nobler
man. We have before had women who have written interesting novels and
poems, in which their tact at observing drawing-room characters has
availed them; but never since the days of Heloise have those faculties
which are peculiar to man, been developed as the possible inheritance
of woman. Though even here, as in the case of Heloise, our sex have
not been backward in alledging the existence of an Abeilard in the
person of M. Schlegel as the inspirer of her works. But to proceed:
upon the same side of the lake, Gibbon, Bonnivard, Bradshaw, and
others mark, as it were, the stages for our progress; whilst upon the
other side there is one house, built by Diodati, the friend of Milton,
which has contained within its walls, for several months, that poet
whom we have so often read together, and who--if human passions remain
the same, and human feelings, like chords, on being swept by nature's
impulses shall vibrate as before--will be placed by posterity in the
first rank of our English Poets. You must have heard, or the Third
Canto of Childe Harold will have informed you, that Lord Byron resided
many months in this neighbourhood. I went with some friends a few days
ago, after having seen Ferney, to view this mansion. I trod the floors
with the same feelings of awe and respect as we did, together, those
of Shakespeare's dwelling at Stratford. I sat down in a chair of the
saloon, and satisfied myself that I was resting on what he had made
his constant seat. I found a servant there who had lived with him;
she, however, gave me but little information. She pointed out his
bed-chamber upon the same level as the saloon and dining-room, and
informed me that he retired to rest at three, got up at two, and
employed himself a long time over his toilette; that he never went to
sleep without a pair of pistols and a dagger by his side, and that he
never ate animal food. He apparently spent some part of every day upon
the lake in an English boat. There is a balcony from the saloon which
looks upon the lake and the mountain Jura; and I imagine, that it must
have been hence, he contemplated the storm so magnificently described
in the Third Canto; for you have from here a most extensive view of
all the points he has therein depicted. I can fancy him like the
scathed pine, whilst all around was sunk to repose, still waking to
observe, what gave but a weak image of the storms which had desolated
his own breast.

  The sky is changed!--and such a change; Oh, night!
  And storm and darkness, ye are wond'rous strong,
  Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light
  Of a dark eye in woman! Far along
  From peak to peak, the rattling crags among,
  Leaps the lire thunder! Not from one lone cloud,
  But every mountain now hath found a tongue,
  And Jura answers thro' her misty shroud,
  Back to the joyous Alps who call to her aloud!

  And this is in the night:--Most glorious night!
  Thou wer't not sent for slumber! let me be
  A sharer in thy far and fierce delight,--
  A portion of the tempest and of me!
  How the lit lake shines a phosphoric sea,
  And the big rain comet dancing to the earth!
  And now again 'tis black,--and now the glee
  Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain mirth,
  As if they did rejoice o'er a young; earthquake's birth,

  Now where the swift Rhine cleaves his way between
  Heights which appear, as lovers who have parted
  In haste, whose mining depths so intervene,
  That they can meet no more, tho' broken he
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WORLD OF THE MAD

                           By Poul Anderson

              Langdon had found immortality on the planet
         Tanith. Naturally he wanted his wife to share it--if
           he could prevent her from going insane first....

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                             February 1951
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


He walked slowly through the curling purple mists, feeling the ground
roll and quiver under his feet, hearing the deep-voiced rumble of
shifting strata far underground. There were voices in the fog, singing
in high unhuman tones, and no man had ever learned what it was that
sang--for could the wind utter sounds so elfishly sweet, almost words
that haunted you with half understanding of something you had forgotten
and needed desperately to remember?

A face floated through the swirling mist. It was not human, but it
was very beautiful, and it was blind. He looked away as it mouthed
voiceless murmurs at him.

Somewhere a crystal tree was chiming, a delicate pizzicato of
glass-like leaves vibrating against each other. The man listened to it
and to the low muttering of the earth, for those at least were real and
he was not at all sure whether the other things were there or not.

Even after two hundred years, he wasn't sure.

He went on through the mist. Flowers grew up around him, great fragile
laceries of shining crystalline petals that budded and bloomed and
died even as he walked by. Some of them reached hungrily for him, but
he sidestepped their groping mouths with the unthinking ease of long
habit.

Compasses didn't work on Tanith, and only a few men could even operate
a radio direction finder, but Langdon knew his way and walked steadily
ahead. His sense of direction kept rotating crazily; it insisted he was
going the wrong way, no, now the house lay over to the right--no, the
left, and a few paces straight up.... But by now he had compensated for
that; he didn't need eyes or kinesthetic sense to find his way home.

There was a new singing in the violet air. Langdon checked his stride
with a sudden eerie prickling along his spine. The mist eddied about
him, thick and blinding, but now the city was growing out of it; he saw
the towers and streets and thronging airways come raggedly into being.

Suddenly he stood in the middle of the city. It was complete this time,
not the few fragmentary glimpses he ordinarily had. The mist flowed
through the ghostly spires and pylons but somehow he could see anyway,
the city lay for kilometers around.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was not a human city. It lay under three hurtling moons, lit only by
their brilliant silver. But it lived, it pulsed with life about him;
the shining dwellers soared past and seemed to leave a trail of little
sparks luminous against the night. They were not men, the old folk of
Tanith, but they were beautiful.

There was no sound. Langdon stood in a well of silence while the city
lay around him, and he thought that perhaps he was the ghost, alone and
excommunicated on a world which lay beyond even the dreams of man.

But that was nonsense, he thought, angry with himself. It was simply
that temporal mirages transmitted only light, not sound. He was here,
now, alive, and the city was dust these many million years.

Two dwellers flew past him, male and female with arms linked, laughing
soundlessly into each other's golden eyes. The male's great glowing
wings brushed through Langdon's body. He stood briefly in a shower of
whirling light-motes--and they didn't heed him, they didn't know he was
there. They were only for each other, those two, and he was a ghost out
of an unreal and unthinkably remote future.

The mirage faded. Slowly, in bits and patches, it dissolved back into
the purple fog. He was alone again.

He shivered, and hastened his steps homeward.

The mist began to break, raggedly, as he came out of the forest. He
went by a lake of life with only a passing glance at the strangeness
of the new shapes that seethed and bubbled, rose out of its slime and
took shifting form and sank back into chemical disintegration. There
was always something new, grotesque and horrible and sometimes eerily
lovely, to be seen at such a place, but spontaneous generation was an
old story to Langdon by now. And Eileen was waiting.

He came out on the brow of a steep hill that slanted down into the
little cuplike valley where he had his dwelling. The hills were blue
around it, blue with grass that tomorrow might be gold or green or
gray, and the sky was currently blood-red. A grove of feather-like
trees hid the house, swaying where there was no wind and murmuring
to each other in their own language, and a few winged things hovered
darkly overhead. For a moment Langdon paused there, savoring the
richness of it. This was _his_ 
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was exemplary. We read in his life the following account of his inner need
of sacrifice:—


    “ ‘On this path,’ M. Vianney said, ‘it is only the first step that
    costs. There is in mortification a balm and a savor without which
    one cannot live when once one has made their acquaintance. There
    is but one way in which to give one’s self to God,—that is, to
    give one’s self entirely, and to keep nothing for one’s self. The
    little that one keeps is only good to double one and make one
    suffer.’ Accordingly he imposed it on himself that he should never
    smell a flower, never drink when parched with thirst, never drive
    away a fly, never show disgust before a repugnant object, never
    complain of anything that had to do with his personal comfort,
    never sit down, never lean upon his elbows when he was kneeling.
    The Curé of Ars was very sensitive to cold, but he would never
    take means to protect himself against it. During a very severe
    winter, one of his missionaries contrived a false floor to his
    confessional and placed a metal case of hot water beneath. The
    trick succeeded, and the Saint was deceived: ‘God is very good,’
    he said with emotion. ‘This year, through all the cold, my feet
    have always been warm.’ ”(178)


In this case the spontaneous impulse to make sacrifices for the pure love
of God was probably the uppermost conscious motive. We may class it, then,
under our head 3. Some authors think that the impulse to sacrifice is the
main religious phenomenon. It is a prominent, a universal phenomenon
certainly, and lies deeper than any special creed. Here, for instance, is
what seems to be a spontaneous example of it, simply expressing what
seemed right at the time between the individual and his Maker. Cotton
Mather, the New England Puritan divine, is generally reputed a rather
grotesque pedant; yet what is more touchingly simple than his relation of
what happened when his wife came to die?


    “When I saw to what a point of resignation I was now called of the
    Lord,” he says, “I resolved, with his help, therein to glorify
    him. So, two hours before my lovely consort expired, I kneeled by
    her bedside, and I took into my two hands a dear hand, the dearest
    in the world. With her thus in my hands, I solemnly and sincerely
    gave her up unto the Lord: and in token of my real _Resignation_,
    I gently put her out of my hands, and laid away a most lovely
    hand, resolving that I would never touch it more. This was the
    hardest, and perhaps the bravest action that ever I did. She ...
    told me that she signed and sealed my act of resignation. And
    though before that she called for me continually, she after this
    never asked for me any more.”(179)


Father Vianney’s asceticism taken in its totality was simply the result of
a permanent flood of high spiritual enthusiasm, longing to make proof of
itself. The Roman Church has, in its incomparable fashion, collected all
the motives towards asceticism together, and so codified them that any one
wishing to pursue Christian perfection may find a practical system mapped
out for him in any one of a number of ready‐made manuals.(180) The
dominant Church notion of perfection is of course the negative one of
avoidance of sin. Sin proceeds from concupiscence, and concupiscence from
our carnal passions and temptations, chief of which are pride, sensuality
in all its forms, and the loves of worldly excitement and possession. All
these sources of sin must be resisted; and discipline and austerities are
a most efficacious mode of meeting them. Hence there are always in these
books chapters on self‐mortification. But whenever a procedure is
codified, the more delicate spirit of it evaporates, and if we wish the
undiluted ascetic spirit,—the passion of self‐contempt wreaking itself on
the poor flesh, the divine irrationality of devotion making a sacrificial
gift of all it has (its sensibilities, namely) to the object of its
adoration,—we must go to autobiographies, or other individual documents.

Saint John of the Cross, a Spanish mystic who flourished—or rather who
existed, for there was little that suggested flourishing about him—in the
sixteenth century, will supply a passage suitable for our purpose.


    “First of all, carefully excite in yourself an habitual
    affectionate will in all things to imitate Jesus Christ. If
    anything agreeable offers itself to your senses, yet does not at
    the same time tend purely to the honor and glory of God, renounce
    it and separate yourself from it for the love of Christ, who all
    his life long had no other taste or wish than to do the will of
    his Father whom he called his meat and nourishment. For example,
    you take satisfaction in _hearing_ of things in which the glory of
    God bears no part. Deny yourself this satisfaction, mortify your
    wish to listen. You take pleasure in _seeing_ objects which do not
    raise your mind t
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Distributed Proofreaders











AN ENQUIRY CONCERNING HUMAN UNDERSTANDING.

BY DAVID HUME



Extracted from:
Enquiries Concerning the Human Understanding, and Concerning the
Principles of Morals, By David Hume.

Reprinted from The Posthumous Edition of 1777, and Edited with
Introduction, Comparative Tables of Contents, and Analytical Index
by L.A. Selby-Bigge, M.A., Late Fellow of University College, Oxford.

Second Edition, 1902






CONTENTS


  I.    Of the different Species of Philosophy
  II.   Of the Origin of Ideas
  III.  Of the Association of Ideas
  IV.   Sceptical Doubts concerning the Operations of the Understanding
  V.    Sceptical Solution of these Doubts
  VI.   Of Probability
  VII.  Of the Idea of necessary Connexion
  VIII. Of Liberty and Necessity
  IX.   Of the Reason of Animals
  X.    Of Miracles
  XI.   Of a particular Providence and of a future State
  XII.  Of the academical or sceptical Philosophy



  INDEX




SECTION I.

OF THE DIFFERENT SPECIES OF PHILOSOPHY.


1. Moral philosophy, or the science of human nature, may be treated
after two different manners; each of which has its peculiar merit, and
may contribute to the entertainment, instruction, and reformation of
mankind. The one considers man chiefly as born for action; and as
influenced in his measures by taste and sentiment; pursuing one object,
and avoiding another, according to the value which these objects seem to
possess, and according to the light in which they present themselves. As
virtue, of all objects, is allowed to be the most valuable, this species
of philosophers paint her in the most amiable colours; borrowing all
helps from poetry and eloquence, and treating their subject in an easy
and obvious manner, and such as is best fitted to please the
imagination, and engage the affections. They select the most striking
observations and instances from common life; place opposite characters
in a proper contrast; and alluring us into the paths of virtue by the
views of glory and happiness, direct our steps in these paths by the
soundest precepts and most illustrious examples. They make us _feel_ the
difference between vice and virtue; they excite and regulate our
sentiments; and so they can but bend our hearts to the love of probity
and true honour, they think, that they have fully attained the end of
all their labours.

2. The other species of philosophers consider man in the light of a
reasonable rather than an active being, and endeavour to form his
understanding more than cultivate his manners. They regard human nature
as a subject of speculation; and with a narrow scrutiny examine it, in
order to find those principles, which regulate our understanding, excite
our sentiments, and make us approve or blame any particular object,
action, or behaviour. They think it a reproach to all literature, that
philosophy should not yet have fixed, beyond controversy, the foundation
of morals, reasoning, and criticism; and should for ever talk of truth
and falsehood, vice and virtue, beauty and deformity, without being able
to determine the source of these distinctions. While they attempt this
arduous task, they are deterred by no difficulties; but proceeding from
particular instances to general principles, they still push on their
enquiries to principles more general, and rest not satisfied till they
arrive at those original principles, by which, in every science, all
human curiosity must be bounded. Though their speculations seem
abstract, and even unintelligible to common readers, they aim at the
approbation of the learned and the wise; and think themselves
sufficiently compensated for the labour of their whole lives, if they
can discover some hidden truths, which may contribute to the instruction
of posterity.

3. It is certain that the easy and obvious philosophy will always, with
the generality of mankind, have the preference above the accurate and
abstruse; and by many will be recommended, not only as more agreeable,
but more useful than the other. It enters more into common life; moulds
the heart and affections; and, by touching those principles which
actuate men, reforms their conduct, and brings them nearer to that model
of perfection which it describes. On the contrary, the abstruse
philosophy, being founded on a turn of mind, which cannot enter into
business and action, vanishes when the philosopher leaves the shade, and
comes into open day; nor can its principles easily retain any influence
over our conduct and behaviour. The feelings of our heart, the agitation
of our passions, the vehemence of our affections, dissipate all its
conclusions, and reduce the profound philosopher to a mere plebeian.

4. This also must be confessed, that the most durable, as well as
justest fame, has been acquired by the easy philosophy, and that
abstract reasoners seem hitherto to have enjoyed only a momentary
reputation, from the caprice or ignorance of their own age, but have not
been able to support their renown with more equit
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THE RIVER BANK


The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning
his little home. First with brooms, then with dusters; then on ladders
and steps and chairs, with a brush and a pail of whitewash; till he
had dust in his throat and eyes, and splashes of whitewash all over
his black fur, and an aching back and weary arms. Spring was moving in
the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even
his dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent
and longing. It was small wonder, then, that he suddenly flung down
his brush on the floor, said, "Bother!" and "O blow!" and also "Hang
spring-cleaning!" and bolted out of the house without even waiting to
put on his coat. Something up above was calling him imperiously, and
he made for the steep little tunnel which answered in his case to the
gravelled carriage-drive owned by animals whose residences are nearer
to the sun and air. So he scraped and scratched and scrabbled and
scrooged, and then he scrooged again and scrabbled and scratched and
scraped, working busily with his little paws and muttering to himself,
"Up we go! Up we go!" till at last, pop! his snout came out into the
sunlight and he found himself rolling in the warm grass of a great
meadow.

"This is fine!" he said to himself. "This is better than whitewashing!"
The sunshine struck hot on his fur, soft breezes caressed his heated
brow, and after the seclusion of the cellarage he had lived in so long
the carol of happy birds fell on his dulled hearing almost like a shout.
Jumping off all his four legs at once, in the joy of living and the
delight of spring without its cleaning, he pursued his way across the
meadow till he reached the hedge on the further side.

"Hold up!" said an elderly rabbit at the gap. "Sixpence for the
privilege of passing by the private road!" He was bowled over in an
instant by the impatient and contemptuous Mole, who trotted along the
side of the hedge chaffing the other rabbits as they peeped hurriedly
from their holes to see what the row was about. "Onion-sauce!
Onion-sauce!" he remarked jeeringly, and was gone before they could
think of a thoroughly satisfactory reply. Then they all started
grumbling at each other. "How _stupid_ you are! Why didn't you tell
him--" "Well, why didn't _you_ say--" "You might have reminded him--"
and so on, in the usual way; but, of course, it was then much too
late, as is always the case.

It all seemed too good to be true. Hither and thither through the meadows
he rambled busily, along the hedgerows, across the copses, finding
everywhere birds building, flowers budding, leaves thrusting--everything
happy, and progressive, and occupied. And instead of having an uneasy
conscience pricking him and whispering "whitewash!" he somehow could only
feel how jolly it was to be the only idle dog among all these busy
citizens. After all, the best part of a holiday is perhaps not so much
to be resting yourself, as to see all the other fellows busy working.

He thought his happiness was complete when, as he meandered aimlessly
along, suddenly he stood by the edge of a full-fed river. Never in his
life had he seen a river before--this sleek, sinuous, full-bodied
animal, chasing and chuckling, gripping things with a gurgle and
leaving them with a laugh, to fling itself on fresh playmates that
shook themselves free, and were caught and held again. All was a-shake
and a-shiver--glints and gleams and sparkles, rustle and swirl,
chatter and bubble. The Mole was bewitched, entranced, fascinated. By
the side of the river he trotted as one trots, when very small, by the
side of a man who holds one spellbound by exciting stories; and when
tired at last, he sat on the bank, while the river still chattered on
to him, a babbling procession of the best stories in the world, sent
from the heart of the earth to be told at last to the insatiable sea.

As he sat on the grass and looked across the river, a dark hole in the
bank opposite, just above the water's edge, caught his eye, and
dreamily he fell to considering what a nice, snug dwelling-place it
would make for an animal with few wants and fond of a bijou riverside
residence, above flood level and remote from noise and dust. As he
gazed, something bright and small seemed to twinkle down in the heart
of it, vanished, then twinkled once more like a tiny star. But it
could hardly be a star in such an unlikely situation; and it was too
glittering and small for a glow-worm. Then, as he looked, it winked at
him, and so declared itself to be an eye; and a small face began
gradually to grow up round it, like a frame round a picture.

A brown little face, with whiskers.

A grave round face, with the same twinkle in its eye that had first
attracted his notice.

Small neat ears and thick silky hair.

It was the Water Rat!

Then the two animals stood and regarded each other cautiously.

"Hullo, Mole!" said the Water Rat.

"Hullo, Rat!" said the Mole.

"Would you like to come ove
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CHILDREN'S HOUR WITH RED RIDING HOOD AND OTHER STORIES

EDITED BY WATTY PIPER

1922






LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD


There was once a sweet little maid who lived with her father and
mother in a pretty little cottage at the edge of the village. At the
further end of the wood was another pretty cottage and in it lived her
grandmother.

Everybody loved this little girl, her grandmother perhaps loved her
most of all and gave her a great many pretty things. Once she gave her
a red cloak with a hood which she always wore, so people called her
Little Red Riding Hood.

One morning Little Red Riding Hood's mother said, "Put on your things
and go to see your grandmother. She has been ill; take along this
basket for her. I have put in it eggs, butter and cake, and other
dainties."

It was a bright and sunny morning. Red Riding Hood was so happy that
at first she wanted to dance through the wood. All around her grew
pretty wild flowers which she loved so well and she stopped to pick a
bunch for her grandmother.

Little Red Riding Hood wandered from her path and was stooping to pick
a flower when from behind her a gruff voice said, "Good morning,
Little Red Riding Hood." Little Red Riding Hood turned around and saw
a great big wolf, but Little Red Riding Hood did not know what a
wicked beast the wolf was, so she was not afraid.

"What have you in that basket, Little Red Riding Hood?"

"Eggs and butter and cake, Mr. Wolf."

"Where are you going with them, Little Red Riding Hood?"

"I am going to my grandmother, who is ill, Mr. Wolf."

"Where does your grandmother live, Little Red Riding Hood?"

"Along that path, past the wild rose bushes, then through the gate at
the end of the wood, Mr. Wolf."

Then Mr. Wolf again said "Good morning" and set off, and Little Red
Riding Hood again went in search of wild flowers.

At last he reached the porch covered with flowers and knocked at the
door of the cottage.

"Who is there?" called the grandmother.

"Little Red Riding Hood," said the wicked wolf.

"Press the latch, open the door, and walk in," said the grandmother.

The wolf pressed the latch, and walked in where the grandmother lay in
bed. He made one jump at her, but she jumped out of bed into a closet.
Then the wolf put on the cap which she had dropped and crept under the
bedclothes.

In a short while Little Red Riding Hood knocked at the door, and
walked in, saying, "Good morning, Grandmother, I have brought you
eggs, butter and cake, and here is a bunch of flowers I gathered in
the wood." As she came nearer the bed she said, "What big ears you
have, Grandmother."

"All the better to hear you with, my dear."

"What big eyes you have, Grandmother."

"All the better to see you with, my dear."

"But, Grandmother, what a big nose you have."

"All the better to smell with, my dear."

"But, Grandmother, what a big mouth you have."

"All the better to eat you up with, my dear," he said as he sprang at
Little Red Riding Hood.

Just at that moment Little Red Riding Hood's father was passing the
cottage and heard her scream. He rushed in and with his axe chopped
off Mr. Wolf's head.

Everybody was happy that Little Red Riding Hood had escaped the wolf.
Then Little Red Riding Hood's father carried her home and they lived
happily ever after.




THE GOOSE-GIRL


There was once an old Queen who had a very beautiful daughter. The
time came when the maiden was to go into a distant country to be
married. The old Queen packed up everything suitable to a royal
outfit.

She also sent a Waiting-woman with her. When the hour of departure
came they bade each other a sorrowful farewell and set out for the
bridegroom's country.

When they had ridden for a time the Princess became very thirsty, and
said to the Waiting-woman, "Go down and fetch me some water in my cup
from the stream. I must have something to drink."

"If you are thirsty," said the Waiting-woman, "dismount yourself, lie
down by the water and drink. I don't choose to be your servant."

Being very thirsty, the Princess dismounted, and knelt by the flowing
water.

Now, when she was about to mount her horse again, the Waiting-woman
said, "By rights your horse belongs to me; this jade will do for you!"

The poor little Princess was obliged to give way. Then the
Waiting-woman, in a harsh voice, ordered her to take off her royal
robes, and to put on her own mean garments. Finally she forced her to
swear that she would not tell a person at the Court what had taken
place. Had she not taken the oath she would have been killed on the
spot.

There was great rejoicing when they arrived at the castle. The Prince
hurried towards them, and lifted the Waiting-woman from her horse,
thinking she was his bride. She was led upstairs, but the real
Princess had to stay below.

The old King looked out of the window and saw the delicate, pretty
little creature standing in the courtyard; so he asked the bride about
her companion.

"I picked her up on the way, and brought her with me for company. Give
the girl s
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Livraria Clássica Editora
de A. M. TEIXEIRA
20--PRAÇA DOS RESTAURADORES--20
*LISBOA*




CONVERSAÇÃO PRELIMINAR

(DA PRIMEIRA EDIÇÃO)



*Razão da obra*


A história dos diccionários da língua portuguesa, de par com alguns
deploráveis documentos de insciência, de leviandade e de mera exploração
mercantil, offerece á nossa admiração perduráveis monumentos de muito
saber, de laboriosas e inestimáveis investigações, de honestíssimo e
profícuo trabalho.

Está certamente na consciência de todos o altíssimo serviço, prestado ás
letras nacionaes por Bluteau, que, lutando com a carência de trabalhos
similares na sua pátria adoptiva, inaugurou brilhantemente a
lexicographia portuguesa; por Moraes e Silva, cuja obra foi,
relativamente aos fins do século XVIII, invejável título de glória;
pelos obscuros e illustradíssimos autores do primeiro e único volume do
_Diccionário_ da Academia Real das Sciências, esmagados ante-sazão pela
enormidade e pêso daquelle meritório emprehendimento; e ainda em tempos
mais próximos de nós, pela clara e sisuda intelligência, que se
reconhece na organização do _Diccionário Contemporâneo_.

Não menciono mais, porque só adduzo exemplos.

Infelizmente, todos que sabem lêr terão certamente observado que, sendo
cada diccionário geralmente vazado nos moldes dos diccionários que o
precederam, succedeu que a língua andou e os diccionários pararam.

E pararam, sem que ao menos tivessem conglobado em vocabulário a maior
parte dos thesoiros, disseminados nos nobiliários, nos cancioneiros, nas
chrónicas quinhentistas, em Gil Vicente, em Bernardim Ribeiro, em
Vieira, em Filinto...

Pararam, e a esphera da linguagem foi-se ampliando successivamente, não
só por effeito de numerosas derivações internas, senão também, e
principalmente, pela formação e diffusão da moderna technologia
scientífica, artística e industrial, pela permutação internacional de
muitas fórmulas, pela febre do neologismo, e pela necessidade de dar
nome a coisas e factos que nossos avós desconheceram.

Ora, desde que eu senti em mim o mofino sestro de cultor das letras,
preoccupou-me e dissaboreou-me sempre a falta de um vocabulário, que me
dirigisse no estudo dos mestres da língua, desde Fernão Lopes até
Camillo; na applicação de milhares de lusitanismos, conservados
amoravelmente pelo povo de todas as nossas províncias, mas desconhecidos
dos diccionaristas; na avaliação da nossa riquíssima technologia rural,
da technologia artística e scientífica; no conhecimento da fauna e da
flora do nosso ultramar e até do nosso próprio continente.

Abria os diccionários menos imperfeitos ou de melhor nomeada,--O
_Contemporâneo_, por exemplo,--e nem ao menos alli se me deparavam
vocábulos de uso corrente e vulgaríssimo, como _paulada_, _bruxedo_,
_deferimento_, _saliência_, _caudelaria_, _palheiro_, _plagiar_,
_plangente_, _granjear_, _prefaciar_, _desvirar_, _saguão_,
_agrupamento_, _propositado_, _promptificar-se_, _reconsiderar_,
_reproductor_, _ruço_, _têxtil_, _empanturrar_, _guerrilheiro_, etc.,
etc.

De centenares de vocábulos, com que Vieira, Filinto e Camillo
enriqueceram a sua língua, raramente se me deparava _um_ sequer nos
léxicos portugueses!

Da antiga e moderna technologia das artes e sciências rara notícia me
davam os lexicógraphos nacionaes.

Da linguagem popular, privativa desta ou daquella província, tratára um
ou outro literato, um ou outro folclorista; os diccionaristas, êsses não
desceram da esphera da linguagem erudita, restringida, ainda assim, á
quinta parte da linguagem dos eruditos.

Isto, quanto á pobreza de vocabulário. Quanto a erros de doutrina, aliás
communs aos melhores diccionários, não me podiam êlles surprehender,
visto como um diccionário, não obstante a maior autoridade e competência
do seu autor, é o trabalho literário mais susceptível de imperfeições, e
ocioso será o justificar esta these.

Por isso, embora o respeitável Moraes e outros distintos lexicógraphos
errem ao definir _licranço_, _pesebre_, _teiró_, _croca_, _pieira_,
_calambrá_, _rocló_, _lacrau_, _baceira_, _cerva_, _maniqueira_,
_corça_, _torneja_, _gallacrista_, etc.; embora registem palavras que
nunca existiram, como _igarvana_, _garna_, _fomo_, _fangapena_,
_marapinina_, _frondíbalo_, etc.; embora mandem lêr _adípe_, (que é
_ádipe_), _alcácel_, (que é _alcacél_), _caguí_, (que é _çagüí_, ou
_sagüí_), _mucuna_, (que é _mucuná_), _gombo_, (que é _gombô_), etc.;
embora perpetrem manifesto arbítrio e notáveis irregularidades em
prosódia, tornando ora paroxýtonas, ora proparoxýtonas, palavras de
formação similar, como _hydrocéle_, _epiplócela_, etc., etc., não era
por esse lado que mais facilmente se justificaria o accréscimo de mais
um diccionário a tantissimos que enxameiam o escasso mercado nacional;
mas, sim, pela assombrosa deficiência de vocábulos ou artigos,
imprescindíveis em qualquer inventário da língua nacional.

E, a êste propósito, não será ocioso memorar que muitos diccionaristas
conheceram e usaram, no decurso das suas obras, expr
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 33900
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/33900


  A. Stringed instruments                                            6
  B. Wind instruments:
     Wood-wind                                                      12
     Brass                                                          21
  C. Instruments of little sustaining power:
     Plucked strings                                                26
       Pizzicato                                                    27
       Harp                                                         27
     Percussion instruments producing determinate sounds, keyed
       instruments
       Kettle-drums                                                 29
       Piano and Celesta                                            30
       _Glockenspiel_, Bells, Xylophone                             32
     Percussion instruments producing indefinite sounds             32
     Comparison of resonance in orchestral groups, and combination
       of different tone qualities                                  33


  Melody in stringed instruments                                    36
  Grouping in unison                                                39
    Stringed instruments doubling in octaves                        40
    Melody in double octaves                                        44
    Doubling in three and four octaves                              45
    Melody in thirds and sixths                                     45
  Melody in the wood-wind                                           46
    Combination in unison                                           47
    Combination in octaves                                          49
    Doubling in two, three and four octaves                         51
    Melody in thirds and sixths                                     52
    Thirds and sixths together                                      53
  Melody in the brass                                               53
    Brass in unison, in octaves, thirds and sixths                  55
  Melody in different groups of instruments combined together       56
    A. Combination of wind and brass in unison                      56
    B. Combination of wind and brass in octaves                     57
    C. Combination of strings and wind                              58
    D. Combination of strings and brass                             61
    E. Combination of the three groups                              61


  General observations                                              63
    Number of harmonic parts--Duplication                           64
    Distribution of notes in chords                                 67
  String harmony                                                    69
  Wood-wind harmony                                                 71
    Four-part and three-part harmony                                72
    Harmony in several parts                                        76
    Duplication of timbres                                          77
    Remarks                                                         78
  Harmony in the brass                                              82
    Four-part writing                                               82
    Three-part writing                                              84
    Writing in several parts                                        84
    Duplication in the brass                                        85
  Harmony in combined groups                                        88
    A. Combination of wind and brass                                88
       1. In unison                                                 88
       2. Overlaying, crossing, enclosure of parts                  90
    B. Combination of strings and wind                              94
    C. Combination of the three groups                              95


  Different ways of orchestrating the same music                    97
  Full _Tutti_                                                     101
  _Tutti_ in the wind                                              103
  _Tutti pizzicato_                                                103
  _Tutti_ in one, two and three parts                              104
  _Soli_ in the strings                                            104
  Limits of orchestral range                                       106
  Transference of passages and phrases                             107
  Chords of different tone quality used alternately                108
  Amplification and elimination of tone qualities                  109
  Repetition of phrases, imitation, echo                           110
  _Sforzando-piano_ and _piano-sforzando_ chords                   111
  Method of emphasising certain notes and chords                   111
  _Crescendo_ and _diminuendo_                                     112
  Diverging and converging progressions                            113
  Tone quality as a harmonic force. Harmonic basis                 114
  Artificial effec
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 1429
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1429



Very early morning. The sun was not yet risen, and the whole of
Crescent Bay was hidden under a white sea-mist. The big bush-covered
hills at the back were smothered. You could not see where they ended
and the paddocks and bungalows began. The sandy road was gone and the
paddocks and bungalows the other side of it; there were no white dunes
covered with reddish grass beyond them; there was nothing to mark which
was beach and where was the sea. A heavy dew had fallen. The grass was
blue. Big drops hung on the bushes and just did not fall; the silvery,
fluffy toi-toi was limp on its long stalks, and all the marigolds and
the pinks in the bungalow gardens were bowed to the earth with wetness.
Drenched were the cold fuchsias, round pearls of dew lay on the flat
nasturtium leaves. It looked as though the sea had beaten up softly in
the darkness, as though one immense wave had come rippling,
rippling—how far? Perhaps if you had waked up in the middle of the
night you might have seen a big fish flicking in at the window and gone
again....

Ah-Aah! sounded the sleepy sea. And from the bush there came the sound
of little streams flowing, quickly, lightly, slipping between the
smooth stones, gushing into ferny basins and out again; and there was
the splashing of big drops on large leaves, and something else—what was
it?—a faint stirring and shaking, the snapping of a twig and then such
silence that it seemed some one was listening.

Round the corner of Crescent Bay, between the piled-up masses of broken
rock, a flock of sheep came pattering. They were huddled together, a
small, tossing, woolly mass, and their thin, stick-like legs trotted
along quickly as if the cold and the quiet had frightened them. Behind
them an old sheep-dog, his soaking paws covered with sand, ran along
with his nose to the ground, but carelessly, as if thinking of
something else. And then in the rocky gateway the shepherd himself
appeared. He was a lean, upright old man, in a frieze coat that was
covered with a web of tiny drops, velvet trousers tied under the knee,
and a wide-awake with a folded blue handkerchief round the brim. One
hand was crammed into his belt, the other grasped a beautifully smooth
yellow stick. And as he walked, taking his time, he kept up a very soft
light whistling, an airy, far-away fluting that sounded mournful and
tender. The old dog cut an ancient caper or two and then drew up sharp,
ashamed of his levity, and walked a few dignified paces by his master’s
side. The sheep ran forward in little pattering rushes; they began to
bleat, and ghostly flocks and herds answered them from under the sea.
“Baa! Baaa!” For a time they seemed to be always on the same piece of
ground. There ahead was stretched the sandy road with shallow puddles;
the same soaking bushes showed on either side and the same shadowy
palings. Then something immense came into view; an enormous
shock-haired giant with his arms stretched out. It was the big gum-tree
outside Mrs. Stubbs’ shop, and as they passed by there was a strong
whiff of eucalyptus. And now big spots of light gleamed in the mist.
The shepherd stopped whistling; he rubbed his red nose and wet beard on
his wet sleeve and, screwing up his eyes, glanced in the direction of
the sea. The sun was rising. It was marvellous how quickly the mist
thinned, sped away, dissolved from the shallow plain, rolled up from
the bush and was gone as if in a hurry to escape; big twists and curls
jostled and shouldered each other as the silvery beams broadened. The
far-away sky—a bright, pure blue—was reflected in the puddles, and the
drops, swimming along the telegraph poles, flashed into points of
light. Now the leaping, glittering sea was so bright it made one’s eyes
ache to look at it. The shepherd drew a pipe, the bowl as small as an
acorn, out of his breast pocket, fumbled for a chunk of speckled
tobacco, pared off a few shavings and stuffed the bowl. He was a grave,
fine-looking old man. As he lit up and the blue smoke wreathed his
head, the dog, watching, looked proud of him.

“Baa! Baaa!” The sheep spread out into a fan. They were just clear of
the summer colony before the first sleeper turned over and lifted a
drowsy head; their cry sounded in the dreams of little children... who
lifted their arms to drag down, to cuddle the darling little woolly
lambs of sleep. Then the first inhabitant appeared; it was the
Burnells’ cat Florrie, sitting on the gatepost, far too early as usual,
looking for their milk-girl. When she saw the old sheep-dog she sprang
up quickly, arched her back, drew in her tabby head, and seemed to give
a little fastidious shiver. “Ugh! What a coarse, revolting creature!”
said Florrie. But the old sheep-dog, not looking up, waggled past,
flinging out his legs from side to side. Only one of his ears twitched
to prove that he saw, and thought her a silly young female.

The breeze of morning lifted in the bush and the smell of leaves and
wet black earth mingled with the sharp smell of
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 1404
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1404


In the government of Britain the representatives of the people compose
one branch of the national legislature. Commerce has been for ages the
predominant pursuit of that country. Few nations, nevertheless, have
been more frequently engaged in war; and the wars in which that kingdom
has been engaged have, in numerous instances, proceeded from the people.

There have been, if I may so express it, almost as many popular as
royal wars. The cries of the nation and the importunities of their
representatives have, upon various occasions, dragged their monarchs
into war, or continued them in it, contrary to their inclinations, and
sometimes contrary to the real interests of the State. In that memorable
struggle for superiority between the rival houses of AUSTRIA and
BOURBON, which so long kept Europe in a flame, it is well known that the
antipathies of the English against the French, seconding the ambition,
or rather the avarice, of a favorite leader,(10) protracted the war
beyond the limits marked out by sound policy, and for a considerable
time in opposition to the views of the court.

The wars of these two last-mentioned nations have in a great measure
grown out of commercial considerations,--the desire of supplanting and
the fear of being supplanted, either in particular branches of traffic
or in the general advantages of trade and navigation, and sometimes even
the more culpable desire of sharing in the commerce of other nations
without their consent.

The last war but between Britain and Spain sprang from the attempts of
the British merchants to prosecute an illicit trade with the Spanish
main. These unjustifiable practices on their part produced severity on
the part of the Spaniards toward the subjects of Great Britain which
were not more justifiable, because they exceeded the bounds of a just
retaliation and were chargeable with inhumanity and cruelty. Many of
the English who were taken on the Spanish coast were sent to dig in the
mines of Potosi; and by the usual progress of a spirit of resentment,
the innocent were, after a while, confounded with the guilty in
indiscriminate punishment. The complaints of the merchants kindled a
violent flame throughout the nation, which soon after broke out in the
House of Commons, and was communicated from that body to the ministry.
Letters of reprisal were granted, and a war ensued, which in its
consequences overthrew all the alliances that but twenty years before
had been formed with sanguine expectations of the most beneficial
fruits.

From this summary of what has taken place in other countries, whose
situations have borne the nearest resemblance to our own, what reason
can we have to confide in those reveries which would seduce us into an
expectation of peace and cordiality between the members of the present
confederacy, in a state of separation? Have we not already seen enough
of the fallacy and extravagance of those idle theories which have amused
us with promises of an exemption from the imperfections, weaknesses and
evils incident to society in every shape? Is it not time to awake from
the deceitful dream of a golden age, and to adopt as a practical maxim
for the direction of our political conduct that we, as well as the
other inhabitants of the globe, are yet remote from the happy empire of
perfect wisdom and perfect virtue?

Let the point of extreme depression to which our national dignity and
credit have sunk, let the inconveniences felt everywhere from a lax and
ill administration of government, let the revolt of a part of the State
of North Carolina, the late menacing disturbances in Pennsylvania, and
the actual insurrections and rebellions in Massachusetts, declare--!

So far is the general sense of mankind from corresponding with the
tenets of those who endeavor to lull asleep our apprehensions of discord
and hostility between the States, in the event of disunion, that it has
from long observation of the progress of society become a sort of axiom
in politics, that vicinity or nearness of situation, constitutes nations
natural enemies. An intelligent writer expresses himself on this subject
to this effect: "NEIGHBORING NATIONS (says he) are naturally enemies
of each other unless their common weakness forces them to league in a
CONFEDERATE REPUBLIC, and their constitution prevents the differences
that neighborhood occasions, extinguishing that secret jealousy which
disposes all states to aggrandize themselves at the expense of their
neighbors."(11) This passage, at the same time, points out the EVIL and
suggests the REMEDY.

PUBLIUS

1. Aspasia, vide "Plutarch's Life of Pericles."

2. Ibid.

3. Ibid.

4. Ibid. Phidias was supposed to have stolen some public gold, with the
connivance of Pericles, for the embellishment of the statue of Minerva.

5. Worn by the popes.

6. Madame de Maintenon.

7. Duchess of Marlborough.

8. Madame de Pompadour.

9. The League of Cambray, comprehending the Emperor, the King of France,
the King of Aragon, and most of the Italia
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 3177
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3177

Prospective Adventures—Am Appointed Private Secretary Under Him—My
Contentment Complete—Packed in One Hour—Dreams and Visions—On the
Missouri River—A Bully Boat

Allowed—Farewell to Kid Gloves and Dress Coats—Armed to the Teeth—The
“Allen”—A Cheerful Weapon—Persuaded to Buy a Mule—Schedule of
Luxuries—We Leave the “States”—“Our Coach”—Mails for the Indians—Between
a Wink and an Earthquake—A Modern Sphynx and How She Entertained Us—A
Sociable Heifer

Properly—Sleeping Under Difficulties—A Jackass Rabbit Meditating, and on
Business—A Modern Gulliver—Sage-brush—Overcoats as an Article of
Diet—Sad Fate of a Camel—Warning to Experimenters

Driver a Great and Shining Dignitary—Strange Place for a
Frontyard—Accommodations—Double Portraits—An Heirloom—Our Worthy
Landlord—“Fixings and Things”—An Exile—Slumgullion—A Well Furnished
Table—The Landlord Astonished—Table Etiquette—Wild Mexican Mules—Stage-
coaching and Railroading

CHAPTER V. New Acquaintances—The Cayote—A Dog’s Experiences—A Disgusted
Dog—The Relatives of the Cayote—Meals Taken Away from Home

CHAPTER VI. The Division Superintendent—The Conductor—The Driver—One
Hundred and Fifty Miles’ Drive Without Sleep—Teaching a Subordinate—Our
Old Friend Jack and a Pilgrim—Ben Holliday Compared to Moses

Hunt—Assault by a Buffalo—Bemis’s Horse Goes Crazy—An Impromptu Circus—A
New Departure—Bemis Finds Refuge in a Tree—Escapes Finally by a
Wonderful Method

CHAPTER VIII. The Pony Express—Fifty Miles Without Stopping—“Here he
Comes”—Alkali Water—Riding an Avalanche—Indian Massacre

CHAPTER IX. Among the Indians—An Unfair Advantage—Laying on our Arms—A
Midnight Murder—Wrath of Outlaws—A Dangerous, yet Valuable Citizen

CHAPTER X. History of Slade—A Proposed Fist-fight—Encounter with
Jules—Paradise of Outlaws—Slade as Superintendent—As Executioner—A
Doomed Whisky Seller—A Prisoner—A Wife’s Bravery—An Ancient Enemy
Captured—Enjoying a Luxury—Hob-nobbing with Slade—Too Polite—A Happy
Escape

Judge—Arrest by the Vigilantes—Turn out of the Miners—Execution of
Slade—Lamentations of His Wife—Was Slade a Coward?

Mountains—Pure Saleratus—A Natural Ice-House—An Entire Inhabitant—In
Sight of “Eternal Snow”—The South Pass—The Parting Streams—An Unreliable
Letter Carrier—Meeting of Old Friends—A Spoiled Watermelon—Down the
Mountain- -A Scene of Desolation—Lost in the Dark—Unnecessary
Advice—U.S. Troops and Indians—Sublime Spectacle—Another Delusion
Dispelled—Among the Angels

Bemis—Salt Lake City—A Great Contrast—A Mormon Vagrant—Talk with a
Saint—A Visit to the “King”—A Happy Simile

Before Brigham Young, and How he Disposed of it—Polygamy Viewed from a
New Position

4—Hennery for Retired Wives—Children Need Marking—Cost of a Gift to No.
6—A Penny- whistle Gift and its Effects—Fathering the Foundlings—It
Resembled Him—The Family Bedstead

CHAPTER XVI. The Mormon Bible—Proofs of its Divinity—Plagiarism of its
Authors—Story of Nephi—Wonderful Battle—Kilkenny Cats Outdone

CHAPTER XVII. Three Sides to all Questions—Everything “A
Quarter”—Shriveled Up—Emigrants and White Shirts at a Discount—“Forty-
Niners”—Above Par—Real Happiness

CHAPTER XVIII. Alkali Desert—Romance of Crossing Dispelled—Alkali
Dust—Effect on the Mules—Universal Thanksgiving

CHAPTER XIX. The Digger Indians Compared with the Bushmen of
Africa—Food, Life and Characteristics—Cowardly Attack on a Stage Coach—A
Brave Driver—The Noble Red Man

Outlets—Greely’s Remarkable Ride—Hank Monk, the Renowned Driver—Fatal
Effects of “Corking” a Story—Bald-Headed Anecdote

Journey Ended—We are Introduced to Several Citizens—A Strange Rebuke—A
Washoe Zephyr at Play—Its Office Hours—Governor’s Palace—Government
Offices—Our French Landlady Bridget O’Flannigan—Shadow Secrets—Cause for
a Disturbance at Once—The Irish Brigade—Mrs. O’Flannigan’s Boarders—The
Surveying Expedition—Escape of the Tarantulas

Views—Trip on the Lake—Camping Out—Reinvigorating Climate—Clearing a
Tract of Land—Securing a Title—Outhouse and Fences

Waters—A Catastrophe—Fire! Fire!—A Magnificent Spectacle—Homeless
Again—We take to the Lake—A Storm—Return to Carson

Temptation—Advice Given Me Freely—I Buy the Mexican Plug—My First Ride—A
Good Bucker—I Loan the Plug—Experience of Borrowers—Attempts to
Sell—Expense of the Experiment—A Stranger Taken In

Them—Early History of the Territory—Silver Mines Discovered—The New
Territorial Government—A Foreign One and a Poor One—Its Funny Struggles
for Existence—No Credit, no Cash—Old Abe Currey Sustains it and its
Officers—Instructions and Vouchers—An Indian’s Endorsement—Toll-Gates

CHAPTER XXVI. The Silver Fever—State of the Market—Silver Bricks—Tales
Told—Off for the Humboldt Mines

CHAPTER XXVII. Our manner of going—Incidents of the Trip—A Warm but Too
Familiar a Bedfellow—Mr. Ballou Objects—Sunshine amid Clouds—Safely
Arrived

Prospecting Tour—My First Gold Mine—Pockets Filled With
Treasures—Filtering the News to My Companions—The Bubble Pricked—All Not
Gold That Glitters

With Sledge and Drill—A Hard Road to Travel—W
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 1155
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1155


“TOMMY, old thing!”

“Tuppence, old bean!”

The two young people greeted each other affectionately, and momentarily
blocked the Dover Street Tube exit in doing so. The adjective “old”
 was misleading. Their united ages would certainly not have totalled
forty-five.

“Not seen you for simply centuries,” continued the young man. “Where are
you off to? Come and chew a bun with me. We’re getting a bit unpopular
here--blocking the gangway as it were. Let’s get out of it.”

The girl assenting, they started walking down Dover Street towards
Piccadilly.

“Now then,” said Tommy, “where shall we go?”

The very faint anxiety which underlay his tone did not escape the astute
ears of Miss Prudence Cowley, known to her intimate friends for some
mysterious reason as “Tuppence.” She pounced at once.

“Tommy, you’re stony!”

“Not a bit of it,” declared Tommy unconvincingly. “Rolling in cash.”

“You always were a shocking liar,” said Tuppence severely, “though you
did once persuade Sister Greenbank that the doctor had ordered you beer
as a tonic, but forgotten to write it on the chart. Do you remember?”

Tommy chuckled.

“I should think I did! Wasn’t the old cat in a rage when she found
out? Not that she was a bad sort really, old Mother Greenbank! Good old
hospital--demobbed like everything else, I suppose?”

Tuppence sighed.

“Yes. You too?”

Tommy nodded.

“Two months ago.”

“Gratuity?” hinted Tuppence.

“Spent.”

“Oh, Tommy!”

“No, old thing, not in riotous dissipation. No such luck! The cost of
living--ordinary plain, or garden living nowadays is, I assure you, if
you do not know----”

“My dear child,” interrupted Tuppence, “there is nothing I do _not_ know
about the cost of living. Here we are at Lyons’, and we will each of us
pay for our own. That’s it!” And Tuppence led the way upstairs.

The place was full, and they wandered about looking for a table,
catching odds and ends of conversation as they did so.

“And--do you know, she sat down and _cried_ when I told her she couldn’t
have the flat after all.” “It was simply a _bargain_, my dear! Just like
the one Mabel Lewis brought from Paris----”

“Funny scraps one does overhear,” murmured Tommy. “I passed two Johnnies
in the street to-day talking about some one called Jane Finn. Did you
ever hear such a name?”

But at that moment two elderly ladies rose and collected parcels, and
Tuppence deftly ensconced herself in one of the vacant seats.

Tommy ordered tea and buns. Tuppence ordered tea and buttered toast.

“And mind the tea comes in separate teapots,” she added severely.

Tommy sat down opposite her. His bared head revealed a shock
of exquisitely slicked-back red hair. His face was pleasantly
ugly--nondescript, yet unmistakably the face of a gentleman and a
sportsman. His brown suit was well cut, but perilously near the end of
its tether.

They were an essentially modern-looking couple as they sat there.
Tuppence had no claim to beauty, but there was character and charm in
the elfin lines of her little face, with its determined chin and large,
wide-apart grey eyes that looked mistily out from under straight, black
brows. She wore a small bright green toque over her black bobbed hair,
and her extremely short and rather shabby skirt revealed a pair of
uncommonly dainty ankles. Her appearance presented a valiant attempt at
smartness.

The tea came at last, and Tuppence, rousing herself from a fit of
meditation, poured it out.

“Now then,” said Tommy, taking a large bite of bun, “let’s get
up-to-date. Remember, I haven’t seen you since that time in hospital in
1916.”

“Very well.” Tuppence helped herself liberally to buttered toast.
“Abridged biography of Miss Prudence Cowley, fifth daughter of
Archdeacon Cowley of Little Missendell, Suffolk. Miss Cowley left the
delights (and drudgeries) of her home life early in the war and came up
to London, where she entered an officers’ hospital. First month: Washed
up six hundred and forty-eight plates every day. Second month: Promoted
to drying aforesaid plates. Third month: Promoted to peeling potatoes.
Fourth month: Promoted to cutting bread and butter. Fifth month:
Promoted one floor up to duties of wardmaid with mop and pail. Sixth
month: Promoted to waiting at table. Seventh month: Pleasing appearance
and nice manners so striking that am promoted to waiting on the Sisters!
Eighth month: Slight check in career. Sister Bond ate Sister Westhaven’s
egg! Grand row! Wardmaid clearly to blame! Inattention in such important
matters cannot be too highly censured. Mop and pail again! How are the
mighty fallen! Ninth month: Promoted to sweeping out wards, where I
found a friend of my childhood in Lieutenant Thomas Beresford (bow,
Tommy!), whom I had not seen for five long years. The meeting was
affecting! Tenth month: Reproved by matron for visiting the pictures in
company with one of the patients, namely: the aforementioned Lieutenant
Thomas Beresford. Eleventh and twelfth months: Parlourmaid duties
resumed with entire success. At th
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 3186
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3186


It was in 1590--winter. Austria was far away from the world, and asleep;
it was still the Middle Ages in Austria, and promised to remain so
forever. Some even set it away back centuries upon centuries and said
that by the mental and spiritual clock it was still the Age of Belief
in Austria. But they meant it as a compliment, not a slur, and it was so
taken, and we were all proud of it. I remember it well, although I was
only a boy; and I remember, too, the pleasure it gave me.

Yes, Austria was far from the world, and asleep, and our village was in
the middle of that sleep, being in the middle of Austria. It drowsed in
peace in the deep privacy of a hilly and woodsy solitude where news from
the world hardly ever came to disturb its dreams, and was infinitely
content. At its front flowed the tranquil river, its surface painted
with cloud-forms and the reflections of drifting arks and stone-boats;
behind it rose the woody steeps to the base of the lofty precipice;
from the top of the precipice frowned a vast castle, its long stretch of
towers and bastions mailed in vines; beyond the river, a league to the
left, was a tumbled expanse of forest-clothed hills cloven by winding
gorges where the sun never penetrated; and to the right a precipice
overlooked the river, and between it and the hills just spoken of lay a
far-reaching plain dotted with little homesteads nested among orchards
and shade trees.

The whole region for leagues around was the hereditary property of a
prince, whose servants kept the castle always in perfect condition for
occupancy, but neither he nor his family came there oftener than once
in five years. When they came it was as if the lord of the world had
arrived, and had brought all the glories of its kingdoms along; and when
they went they left a calm behind which was like the deep sleep which
follows an orgy.

Eseldorf was a paradise for us boys. We were not overmuch pestered with
schooling. Mainly we were trained to be good Christians; to revere
the Virgin, the Church, and the saints above everything. Beyond these
matters we were not required to know much; and, in fact, not allowed
to. Knowledge was not good for the common people, and could make them
discontented with the lot which God had appointed for them, and God
would not endure discontentment with His plans. We had two priests. One
of them, Father Adolf, was a very zealous and strenuous priest, much
considered.

There may have been better priests, in some ways, than Father Adolf, but
there was never one in our commune who was held in more solemn and awful
respect. This was because he had absolutely no fear of the Devil. He was
the only Christian I have ever known of whom that could be truly said.
People stood in deep dread of him on that account; for they thought that
there must be something supernatural about him, else he could not be so
bold and so confident. All men speak in bitter disapproval of the Devil,
but they do it reverently, not flippantly; but Father Adolf's way was
very different; he called him by every name he could lay his tongue to,
and it made everyone shudder that heard him; and often he would
even speak of him scornfully and scoffingly; then the people crossed
themselves and went quickly out of his presence, fearing that something
fearful might happen.

Father Adolf had actually met Satan face to face more than once, and
defied him. This was known to be so. Father Adolf said it himself. He
never made any secret of it, but spoke it right out. And that he was
speaking true there was proof in at least one instance, for on that
occasion he quarreled with the enemy, and intrepidly threw his bottle at
him; and there, upon the wall of his study, was the ruddy splotch where
it struck and broke.

But it was Father Peter, the other priest, that we all loved best and
were sorriest for. Some people charged him with talking around in
conversation that God was all goodness and would find a way to save all
his poor human children. It was a horrible thing to say, but there was
never any absolute proof that Father Peter said it; and it was out of
character for him to say it, too, for he was always good and gentle and
truthful. He wasn't charged with saying it in the pulpit, where all the
congregation could hear and testify, but only outside, in talk; and it
is easy for enemies to manufacture that. Father Peter had an enemy and a
very powerful one, the astrologer who lived in a tumbled old tower up
the valley, and put in his nights studying the stars. Every one knew he
could foretell wars and famines, though that was not so hard, for there
was always a war, and generally a famine somewhere. But he could also
read any man's life through the stars in a big book he had, and find
lost property, and every one in the village except Father Peter stood in
awe of him. Even Father Adolf, who had defied the Devil, had a wholesome
respect for the astrologer when he came through our village wearing his
tall, pointed hat and his long, flowing 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 61963
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/61963

Michigan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images
made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)






EUGENE ZAMIATIN

WE

Authorized Translation from the Russian

  By
  GREGORY ZILBOORG

  New York
  E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
  681 FIFTH AVENUE


  Copyright, 1924
  By E. P. Dutton & Company

_All Rights Reserved_

Printed in the United States of America




FOREWORD


In submitting this book to the American public the translator has
this to say.

The artistic and psychological sides of the novel are hardly to
be discussed in a preface. Great as the art of a writer may be
and profound as his psychology may seem to one, the impression
is largely a matter of individual variations, and this side must
naturally be left to each individual's judgment and sensibilities.

There is, however, one side of the matter which deserves particular
mention and motivated emphasis.

It is perhaps for the first time in the history of the last few
decades that a Russian book, inspired by Russian life, written in
Russia and in the Russian language, should see its first light not
in Russia but abroad, and not in the language it was originally
written but translated into a foreign tongue. During the darkest
years of Russian history, in the 'forties, 'sixties, 'eighties and
'nineties of the last century, many Russian writers were forced by
oppression and reaction to live abroad and to write abroad, yet
their writings would reach Russia, as they were intended primarily
for the Russian reader and Russian life. Most of Turgeniev's novels
were written while he was in France, and with the exception of his
last short story which he dictated on his deathbed, all his novels
and stories were written in Russian. Hertzen, Kropotkin, and at one
time Dostoyevski, were similarly obliged to write while away from
their native land.

Here is a book written by an artist who lived and still lives in
Russia, and whose intimate love for Russia and her suffering is so
great that he finds it impossible to leave Russia even in these
days of stress and sorrow. But his book may not appear in the
country where it was written. It is a great tragedy--this spiritual
loneliness of the artist who cannot speak to his own people. In
bringing out this book in English, the author tries to address
himself to the world without having the opportunity of being heard
by his own people. This situation, however, is to a great extent
symbolic of the spiritual mission of Zamiatin, for no matter what
the language in which he originally writes, and no matter how
typically national his artistic perception and intuition, he is
essentially universal and his vision transcends the boundaries
of a purely national art. Moreover, is it not true that the more
genuinely national a man's art, and the more sincerely national his
personality, the more is he universal? Abraham Lincoln is more than
an American national figure, and I doubt if the appeal Lincoln's
personality makes would be universal as it is if he were not so
typically American. It is difficult to find personalities more
national than Tolstoi or Dostoyevski, and this is perhaps the reason
why they stand out as two of the most typically universal minds with
a universal appeal that the nineteenth century gave us.

Zamiatin is not so great as the men referred to above, but despite
his youth, he already proves to be the bearer of that quality of
greatness which characterizes a personality with a universal appeal.

_We_ is, as Zamiatin himself calls it, the most jocular and the
most earnest thing he has thus far written. It is a novel that
puts most poignantly and earnestly before every thoughtful reader
the most difficult problem that exists today in the civilized
world,--the problem of preservation of the independent original
creative personality. Our civilization today depends upon the
energetic movement of great masses of people. Wars, revolutions,
general strikes--all these phenomena involve great masses, large
groups, enormous mobs. Despite the fact that there is hardly a
corner in the world today where the average man does not make the
trite complaint, "What we need is leadership," the world today
seems for a time at least to have lost its capacity for producing
real leaders. For our great successes in mechanical civilization,
our exceptional efforts in efficiency, tend to bring into play
large numbers rather than great individualities. What under these
conditions is the lot of a creative individuality? What the tragedy
of an independent spirit under present conditions is, is pointed
out in an unique way in _We_. The problem of creative individuality
versus mob is today not a mere Russian problem. It is as poignant
under Bolshevist dictatorship as it is in Ford's factory.

Of course the sincere, honest and frank treatment of this problem
seems offensive to anyone who prefers to be a member of a mob or
keep this or that part of humanity in the state of a mob. 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 1112
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1112

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The Complete Works of William Shakespeare

The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet

The Library of the Future Complete Works of William Shakespeare
Library of the Future is a TradeMark (TM) of World Library Inc.






1595

THE TRAGEDY OF ROMEO AND JULIET

by William Shakespeare



Dramatis Personae

  Chorus.


  Escalus, Prince of Verona.

  Paris, a young Count, kinsman to the Prince.

  Montague, heads of two houses at variance with each other.

  Capulet, heads of two houses at variance with each other.

  An old Man, of the Capulet family.

  Romeo, son to Montague.

  Tybalt, nephew to Lady Capulet.

  Mercutio, kinsman to the Prince and friend to Romeo.

  Benvolio, nephew to Montague, and friend to Romeo

  Tybalt, nephew to Lady Capulet.

  Friar Laurence, Franciscan.

  Friar John, Franciscan.

  Balthasar, servant to Romeo.

  Abram, servant to Montague.

  Sampson, servant to Capulet.

  Gregory, servant to Capulet.

  Peter, servant to Juliet's nurse.

  An Apothecary.

  Three Musicians.

  An Officer.


  Lady Montague, wife to Montague.

  Lady Capulet, wife to Capulet.

  Juliet, daughter to Capulet.

  Nurse to Juliet.


  Citizens of Verona; Gentlemen and Gentlewomen of both houses;
    Maskers, Torchbearers, Pages, Guards, Watchmen, Servants, and
    Attendants.

                            SCENE.--Verona; Mantua.



                        THE PROLOGUE

                        Enter Chorus.


  Chor. Two households, both alike in dignity,
    In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,
    From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,
    Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean.
    From forth the fatal loins of these two foes
    A pair of star-cross'd lovers take their life;
    Whose misadventur'd piteous overthrows
    Doth with their death bury their parents' strife.
    The fearful passage of their death-mark'd love,
    And the continuance of their parents' rage,
    Which, but their children's end, naught could remove,
    Is now the two hours' traffic of our stage;
    The which if you with patient ears attend,
    What here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.
                                                         [Exit.]




ACT I. Scene I.
Verona. A public place.

Enter Sampson and Gregory (with swords and bucklers) of the house
of Capulet.


  Samp. Gregory, on my word, we'll not carry coals.

  Greg. No, for then we should be colliers.

  Samp. I mean, an we be in choler, we'll draw.

  Greg. Ay, while you live, draw your neck out of collar.

  Samp. I strike quickly, being moved.

  Greg. But thou art not quickly moved to strike.

  Samp. A dog of the house of Montague moves me.

  Greg. To move is to stir, and to be valiant is to stand.
    Therefore, if thou art moved, thou runn'st away.

  Samp. A dog of that house shall move me to stand. I will take
    the wall of any man or maid of Montague's.

  Greg. That shows thee a weak slave; for the weakest goes to the
    wall.

  Samp. 'Tis true; and therefore women, being the weaker vessels,
    are ever thrust to the wall. Therefore I will push Montague's men
    from the wall and thrust his maids to the wall.

  Greg. The quarrel is between our masters and us their men.

  Samp. 'Tis all one. I will show myself a tyrant. When I have
    fought with the men, I will be cruel with the maids- I will cut off
    their heads.

  Greg. The heads of the maids?

  Samp. Ay, the heads of the maids, or their maidenheads.
    Take it in what sense thou wilt.

  Greg. They must take it in sense that feel it.

  Samp. Me they shall feel while I am able to stand; and 'tis known I
    am a pretty piece of flesh.

  Greg. 'Tis well thou art not fish; if thou hadst, thou hadst
    been poor-John. Draw thy tool! Here comes two of the house of
    Montagues.

           Enter two other Servingmen [Abram and Balthasar].


  Samp. My naked weapon is out. Quarrel! I will back thee.

  Greg. How? turn thy back and run?

  Samp. Fear me not.

  Greg. No, marry. I fear thee!

  Samp. Let us take the law of our sides; let them begin.

  Greg. I will frown as I pass by, and let them take it as they list.

  Samp. Nay, as they dare. I will bite my thumb at them; which is
    disgrace to them, if they bear it.

  Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

  Samp. I do bite my thumb, sir.

  Abr. Do you bite your thumb at us, sir?

  Samp. [aside to Gregory] Is the law of our side if I say ay?

  Greg. [aside to Sampson] No.

  Samp. No, sir, I do not bite my thumb at you, sir; but I bite my
    thumb, sir.
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 48320
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48320


To Sherlock Holmes she is always _the_ woman. I have seldom heard
him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and
predominates the whole of her sex. It was not that he felt any emotion
akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly,
were abhorrent to his cold, precise, but admirably balanced mind. He
was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that
the world has seen; but, as a lover, he would have placed himself in a
false position. He never spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe
and a sneer. They were admirable things for the observer—excellent
for drawing the veil from men’s motives and actions. But for the
trained reasoner to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and
finely adjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which
might throw a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a sensitive
instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not
be more disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his. And
yet there was but one woman to him, and that woman was the late Irene
Adler, of dubious and questionable memory.

I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us away
from each other. My own complete happiness, and the home-centred
interests which rise up around the man who first finds himself master
of his own establishment, were sufficient to absorb all my attention;
while Holmes, who loathed every form of society with his whole
Bohemian soul, remained in our lodgings in Baker Street, buried among
his old books, and alternating from week to week between cocaine and
ambition, the drowsiness of the drug, and the fierce energy of his
own keen nature. He was still, as ever, deeply attracted by the study
of crime, and occupied his immense faculties and extraordinary powers
of observation in following out those clues, and clearing up those
mysteries, which had been abandoned as hopeless by the official police.
From time to time I heard some vague account of his doings: of his
summons to Odessa in the case of the Trepoff murder, of his clearing
up of the singular tragedy of the Atkinson brothers at Trincomalee,
and finally of the mission which he had accomplished so delicately and
successfully for the reigning family of Holland. Beyond these signs of
his activity, however, which I merely shared with all the readers of
the daily press, I knew little of my former friend and companion.

One night—it was on the 20th of March, 1888—I was returning from a
journey to a patient (for I had now returned to civil practice), when
my way led me through Baker Street. As I passed the well-remembered
door, which must always be associated in my mind with my wooing, and
with the dark incidents of the Study in Scarlet, I was seized with a
keen desire to see Holmes again, and to know how he was employing his
extraordinary powers. His rooms were brilliantly lit, and, even as I
looked up, I saw his tall, spare figure pass twice in a dark silhouette
against the blind. He was pacing the room swiftly, eagerly, with his
head sunk upon his chest and his hands clasped behind him. To me, who
knew his every mood and habit, his attitude and manner told their own
story. He was at work again. He had arisen out of his drug-created
dreams, and was hot upon the scent of some new problem. I rang the
bell, and was shown up to the chamber which had formerly been in part
my own.

His manner was not effusive. It seldom was; but he was glad, I think,
to see me. With hardly a word spoken, but with a kindly eye, he waved
me to an arm-chair, threw across his case of cigars, and indicated a
spirit case and a gasogene in the corner. Then he stood before the
fire, and looked me over in his singular introspective fashion.

“Wedlock suits you,” he remarked. “I think, Watson, that you have put
on seven and a half pounds since I saw you.”

“Seven!” I answered.

“Indeed, I should have thought a little more. Just a trifle more, I
fancy, Watson. And in practice again, I observe. You did not tell me
that you intended to go into harness.”

“Then, how do you know?”

“I see it, I deduce it. How do I know that you have been getting
yourself very wet lately, and that you have a most clumsy and careless
servant girl?”

“My dear Holmes,” said I, “this is too much. You would certainly have
been burned, had you lived a few centuries ago. It is true that I had
a country walk on Thursday and came home in a dreadful mess; but, as I
have changed my clothes, I can’t imagine how you deduce it. As to Mary
Jane, she is incorrigible, and my wife has given her notice; but there,
again, I fail to see how you work it out.”

He chuckled to himself and rubbed his long, nervous hands together.

“It is simplicity itself,” said he; “my eyes tell me that on the
inside of your left shoe, just where the firelight strikes it, the
leather is scored by six almost parallel cuts. Obviously they have
been caused by some one who has very carelessly scraped round the
ed
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 26654
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/26654


PETER BREAKS THROUGH                1



THE SHADOW                         17



COME AWAY, COME AWAY!              34



THE FLIGHT                         58



THE ISLAND COME TRUE               75



THE LITTLE HOUSE                   94



THE HOME UNDER THE GROUND         110



THE MERMAIDS' LAGOON              122



THE NEVER BIRD                    144



THE HAPPY HOME                    150



WENDY'S STORY                     162



THE CHILDREN ARE CARRIED OFF      176



DO YOU BELIEVE IN FAIRIES?        185



THE PIRATE SHIP                   201



'HOOK OR ME THIS TIME'            214



THE RETURN HOME                   232



WHEN WENDY GREW UP                248





PETER BREAKS THROUGH


All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow
up, and the way Wendy knew was this. One day when she was two years old
she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with
it to her mother. I suppose she must have looked rather delightful, for
Mrs. Darling put her hand to her heart and cried, 'Oh, why can't you
remain like this for ever!' This was all that passed between them on the
subject, but henceforth Wendy knew that she must grow up. You always
know after you are two. Two is the beginning of the end.

Of course they lived at 14, and until Wendy came her mother was the
chief one. She was a lovely lady, with a romantic mind and such a sweet
mocking mouth. Her romantic mind was like the tiny boxes, one within the
other, that come from the puzzling East, however many you discover there
is always one more; and her sweet mocking mouth had one kiss on it that
Wendy could never get, though there it was, perfectly conspicuous in the
right-hand corner.

The way Mr. Darling won her was this: the many gentlemen who had been
boys when she was a girl discovered simultaneously that they loved her,
and they all ran to her house to propose to her except Mr. Darling, who
took a cab and nipped in first, and so he got her. He got all of her,
except the innermost box and the kiss. He never knew about the box, and
in time he gave up trying for the kiss. Wendy thought Napoleon could
have got it, but I can picture him trying, and then going off in a
passion, slamming the door.

Mr. Darling used to boast to Wendy that her mother not only loved him
but respected him. He was one of those deep ones who know about stocks
and shares. Of course no one really knows, but he quite seemed to know,
and he often said stocks were up and shares were down in a way that
would have made any woman respect him.

Mrs. Darling was married in white, and at first she kept the books
perfectly, almost gleefully, as if it were a game, not so much as a
brussels sprout was missing; but by and by whole cauliflowers dropped
out, and instead of them there were pictures of babies without faces.
She drew them when she should have been totting up. They were Mrs.
Darling's guesses.

Wendy came first, then John, then Michael.

For a week or two after Wendy came it was doubtful whether they would be
able to keep her, as she was another mouth to feed. Mr. Darling was
frightfully proud of her, but he was very honourable, and he sat on the
edge of Mrs. Darling's bed, holding her hand and calculating expenses,
while she looked at him imploringly. She wanted to risk it, come what
might, but that was not his way; his way was with a pencil and a piece
of paper, and if she confused him with suggestions he had to begin at
the beginning again.

'Now don't interrupt,' he would beg of her. 'I have one pound seventeen
here, and two and six at the office; I can cut off my coffee at the
office, say ten shillings, making two nine and six, with your eighteen
and three makes three nine seven, with five naught naught in my
cheque-book makes eight nine seven,--who is that moving?--eight nine
seven, dot and carry seven--don't speak, my own--and the pound you lent
to that man who came to the door--quiet, child--dot and carry
child--there, you've done it!--did I say nine nine seven? yes, I said
nine nine seven; the question is, can we try it for a year on nine nine
seven?'

'Of course we can, George,' she cried. But she was prejudiced in Wendy's
favour, and he was really the grander character of the two.

'Remember mumps,' he warned her almost threateningly, and off he went
again. 'Mumps one pound, that is what I have put down, but I daresay it
will be more like thirty shillings--don't speak--measles one five,
German measles half a guinea, makes two fifteen six--don't waggle your
finger--whooping-cough, say fifteen shillings'--and so on it went, and
it added up differently each time; but at last Wendy just got through,
with mumps reduced to twelve six, and the two kinds of measles treated
as one.

There was the same excitement over John, and Michael had even a narrower
squeak; but both were kept, and soon you might have seen the three of
them going in a row to Miss Fulsom's Kindergarten school, accompanied by
their nurse.

Mrs. Darli
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 421
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/421


I SET OFF UPON MY JOURNEY TO THE HOUSE OF SHAWS

I will begin the story of my adventures with a certain morning early in
the month of June, the year of grace 1751, when I took the key for the
last time out of the door of my father’s house. The sun began to shine
upon the summit of the hills as I went down the road; and by the time
I had come as far as the manse, the blackbirds were whistling in the
garden lilacs, and the mist that hung around the valley in the time of
the dawn was beginning to arise and die away.

Mr. Campbell, the minister of Essendean, was waiting for me by the
garden gate, good man! He asked me if I had breakfasted; and hearing
that I lacked for nothing, he took my hand in both of his and clapped it
kindly under his arm.

“Well, Davie, lad,” said he, “I will go with you as far as the ford, to
set you on the way.” And we began to walk forward in silence.

“Are ye sorry to leave Essendean?” said he, after awhile.

“Why, sir,” said I, “if I knew where I was going, or what was likely
to become of me, I would tell you candidly. Essendean is a good place
indeed, and I have been very happy there; but then I have never been
anywhere else. My father and mother, since they are both dead, I shall
be no nearer to in Essendean than in the Kingdom of Hungary, and, to
speak truth, if I thought I had a chance to better myself where I was
going I would go with a good will.”

“Ay?” said Mr. Campbell. “Very well, Davie. Then it behoves me to tell
your fortune; or so far as I may. When your mother was gone, and your
father (the worthy, Christian man) began to sicken for his end, he gave
me in charge a certain letter, which he said was your inheritance. ‘So
soon,’ says he, ‘as I am gone, and the house is redd up and the gear
disposed of’ (all which, Davie, hath been done), ‘give my boy this
letter into his hand, and start him off to the house of Shaws, not far
from Cramond. That is the place I came from,’ he said, ‘and it’s where
it befits that my boy should return. He is a steady lad,’ your father
said, ‘and a canny goer; and I doubt not he will come safe, and be well
lived where he goes.’”

“The house of Shaws!” I cried. “What had my poor father to do with the
house of Shaws?”

“Nay,” said Mr. Campbell, “who can tell that for a surety? But the name
of that family, Davie, boy, is the name you bear--Balfours of Shaws:
an ancient, honest, reputable house, peradventure in these latter
days decayed. Your father, too, was a man of learning as befitted his
position; no man more plausibly conducted school; nor had he the manner
or the speech of a common dominie; but (as ye will yourself remember)
I took aye a pleasure to have him to the manse to meet the gentry; and
those of my own house, Campbell of Kilrennet, Campbell of Dunswire,
Campbell of Minch, and others, all well-kenned gentlemen, had pleasure
in his society. Lastly, to put all the elements of this affair before
you, here is the testamentary letter itself, superscrived by the own
hand of our departed brother.”

He gave me the letter, which was addressed in these words: “To the hands
of Ebenezer Balfour, Esquire, of Shaws, in his house of Shaws, these
will be delivered by my son, David Balfour.” My heart was beating hard
at this great prospect now suddenly opening before a lad of seventeen
years of age, the son of a poor country dominie in the Forest of
Ettrick.

“Mr. Campbell,” I stammered, “and if you were in my shoes, would you
go?”

“Of a surety,” said the minister, “that would I, and without pause.
A pretty lad like you should get to Cramond (which is near in by
Edinburgh) in two days of walk. If the worst came to the worst, and
your high relations (as I cannot but suppose them to be somewhat of your
blood) should put you to the door, ye can but walk the two days back
again and risp at the manse door. But I would rather hope that ye shall
be well received, as your poor father forecast for you, and for anything
that I ken come to be a great man in time. And here, Davie, laddie,” he
resumed, “it lies near upon my conscience to improve this parting, and
set you on the right guard against the dangers of the world.”

Here he cast about for a comfortable seat, lighted on a big boulder
under a birch by the trackside, sate down upon it with a very long,
serious upper lip, and the sun now shining in upon us between two peaks,
put his pocket-handkerchief over his cocked hat to shelter him. There,
then, with uplifted forefinger, he first put me on my guard against a
considerable number of heresies, to which I had no temptation, and urged
upon me to be instant in my prayers and reading of the Bible. That done,
he drew a picture of the great house that I was bound to, and how I
should conduct myself with its inhabitants.

“Be soople, Davie, in things immaterial,” said he. “Bear ye this in
mind, that, though gentle born, ye have had a country rearing. Dinnae
shame us, Davie, dinnae shame us! In yon great, muckle house, with all
these domestics, upper and under, sh
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DOMINO SUO MULTIS NOMINIBUS OBSERVANDO,

HANC SUAM

MELANCHOLIAE ANATOMEN,

JAM SEXTO REVISAM, D.D.

DEMOCRITUS JUNIOR.


ADVERTISEMENT TO THE LAST LONDON EDITION.

The work now restored to public notice has had an extraordinary fate.
At the time of its original publication it obtained a great celebrity,
which continued more than half a century. During that period few books
were more read, or more deservedly applauded. It was the delight of the
learned, the solace of the indolent, and the refuge of the uninformed.
It passed through at least eight editions, by which the bookseller, as
WOOD records, got an estate; and, notwithstanding the objection
sometimes opposed against it, of a quaint style, and too great an
accumulation of authorities, the fascination of its wit, fancy, and
sterling sense, have borne down all censures, and extorted praise from
the first Writers in the English language. The grave JOHNSON has
praised it in the warmest terms, and the ludicrous STERNE has
interwoven many parts of it into his own popular performance. MILTON
did not disdain to build two of his finest poems on it; and a host of
inferior writers have embellished their works with beauties not their
own, culled from a performance which they had not the justice even to
mention. Change of times, and the frivolity of fashion, suspended, in
some degree, that fame which had lasted near a century; and the
succeeding generation affected indifference towards an author, who at
length was only looked into by the plunderers of literature, the
poachers in obscure volumes. The plagiarisms of Tristram Shandy, so
successfully brought to light by DR. FERRIAR, at length drew the
attention of the public towards a writer, who, though then little
known, might, without impeachment of modesty, lay claim to every mark
of respect; and inquiry proved, beyond a doubt, that the calls of
justice had been little attended to by others, as well as the facetious
YORICK. WOOD observed, more than a century ago, that several authors
had unmercifully stolen matter from BURTON without any acknowledgment.
The time, however, at length arrived, when the merits of the Anatomy of
Melancholy were to receive their due praise. The book was again sought
for and read, and again it became an applauded performance. Its
excellencies once more stood confessed, in the increased price which
every copy offered for sale produced; and the increased demand pointed
out the necessity of a new edition. This is now presented to the public
in a manner not disgraceful to the memory of the author; and the
publisher relies with confidence, that so valuable a repository of
amusement and information will continue to hold the rank to which it
has been restored, firmly supported by its own merit, and safe from the
influence and blight of any future caprices of fashion. To open its
valuable mysteries to those who have not had the advantage of a
classical education, translations of the countless quotations from
ancient writers which occur in the work, are now for the first time
given, and obsolete orthography is in all instances modernized.
ACCOUNT OF THE AUTHOR.

Robert Burton was the son of Ralph Burton, of an ancient and genteel
family at Lindley, in Leicestershire, and was born there on the 8th of
February 1576. [1]He received the first rudiments of learning at the
free school of Sutton Coldfield, in Warwickshire [2]from whence he was,
at the age of seventeen, in the long vacation, 1593, sent to Brazen
Nose College, in the condition of a commoner, where he made
considerable progress in logic and philosophy. In 1599 he was elected
student of Christ Church, and, for form's sake, was put under the
tuition of Dr. John Bancroft, afterwards Bishop of Oxford. In 1614 he
was admitted to the reading of the Sentences, and on the 29th of
November, 1616, had the vicarage of St. Thomas, in the west suburb of
Oxford, conferred on him by the dean and canons of Christ Church,
which, with the rectory of Segrave, in Leicestershire, given to him in
the year 1636, by George, Lord Berkeley, he kept, to use the words of
the Oxford antiquary, with much ado to his dying day. He seems to have
been first beneficed at Walsby, in Lincolnshire, through the
munificence of his noble patroness, Frances, Countess Dowager of
Exeter, but resigned the same, as he tells us, for some special
reasons. At his vicarage he is remarked to have always given the
sacrament in wafers. Wood's character of him is, that he was an exact
mathematician, a curious calculator of nativities, a general read
scholar, a thorough-paced philologist, and one that understood the
surveying of lands well. As he was by many accounted a severe student,
a devourer of authors, a melancholy and humorous person; so by others,
who knew him well, a person of great honesty, plain dealing and
charity. I have heard some of the ancients of Christ Church often say,
that his company was very merry, facete, and juvenile; and no man in
his time did surpass him for his ready
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THE MAN IN THE BROWN SUIT




  BY THE SAME AUTHOR

  THE MYSTERIOUS AFFAIR AT STYLES

  THE SECRET ADVERSARY

  THE MURDER ON THE LINKS




  THE MAN IN THE BROWN SUIT
  by
  AGATHA CHRISTIE

  NEW YORK

  DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY

  1924





  Copyright, 1924,
  By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, Inc.

  PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. BY
  The Quinn & Boden Company
  BOOK MANUFACTURERS
  RAHWAY   NEW JERSEY




  To E. A. B.

  IN MEMORY OF A JOURNEY, SOME
  LION STORIES AND A REQUEST THAT
  I SHOULD SOME DAY WRITE THE
  “MYSTERY OF THE MILL HOUSE”



  THE MAN IN THE BROWN SUIT




  THE MAN IN THE BROWN SUIT


  PROLOGUE


Nadina, the Russian dancer who had taken Paris by storm, swayed to
the sound of the applause, bowed and bowed again. Her narrow black
eyes narrowed themselves still more, the long line of her scarlet
mouth curved faintly upwards. Enthusiastic Frenchmen continued to
beat the ground appreciatively as the curtain fell with a swish,
hiding the reds and blues and magentas of the bizarre _décors._ In
a swirl of blue and orange draperies the dancer left the stage. A
bearded gentleman received her enthusiastically in his arms. It
was the Manager.

“Magnificent, _petite,_ magnificent,” he cried. “To-night you have
surpassed yourself.” He kissed her gallantly on both cheeks in a
somewhat matter-of-fact manner.

Madame Nadina accepted the tribute with the ease of long habit and
passed on to her dressing-room, where bouquets were heaped
carelessly everywhere, marvellous garments of futuristic design
hung on pegs, and the air was hot and sweet with the scent of the
massed blossoms and with more sophisticated perfumes and essences.
Jeanne, the dresser, ministered to her mistress, talking incessantly
and pouring out a stream of fulsome compliment.

A knock at the door interrupted the flow. Jeanne went to answer
it, and returned with a card in her hand.

“Madame will receive?”

“Let me see.”

The dancer stretched out a languid hand, but at the sight of the
name on the card, “Count Sergius Paulovitch,” a sudden flicker of
interest came into her eyes.

“I will see him. The maize _peignoir,_ Jeanne, and quickly. And
when the Count comes you may go.”

_“Bien, Madame.”_

Jeanne brought the _peignoir,_ an exquisite wisp of corn-coloured
chiffon and ermine. Nadina slipped into it, and sat smiling to
herself, whilst one long white hand beat a slow tattoo on the glass
of the dressing-table.

The Count was prompt to avail himself of the privilege accorded to
him—a man of medium height, very slim, very elegant, very pale,
extraordinarily weary. In feature, little to take hold of, a man
difficult to recognize again if one left his mannerisms out of
account. He bowed over the dancer’s hand with exaggerated
courtliness.

“Madame, this is a pleasure indeed.”

So much Jeanne heard before she went out closing the door behind
her. Alone with her visitor, a subtle change came over Nadina’s
smile.

“Compatriots though we are, we will not speak Russian, I think,”
she observed.

“Since we neither of us know a word of the language, it might be
as well,” agreed her guest.

By common consent, they dropped into English, and nobody, now that
the Count’s mannerisms had dropped from him, could doubt that it
was his native language. He had, indeed, started life as a
quick-change music-hall artiste in London.

“You had a great success to-night,” he remarked. “I congratulate
you.”

“All the same,” said the woman, “I am disturbed. My position is
not what it was. The suspicions aroused during the War have never
died down. I am continually watched and spied upon.”

“But no charge of espionage was ever brought against you?”

“Our chief lays his plans too carefully for that.”

“Long life to the ‘Colonel,’” said the Count, smiling. “Amazing
news, is it not, that he means to retire? To retire! Just like a
doctor, or a butcher, or a plumber——”

“Or any other business man,” finished Nadina. “It should not
surprise us. That is what the ‘Colonel’ has always been—an excellent
man of business. He has organized crime as another man might
organize a boot factory. Without committing himself, he has planned
and directed a series of stupendous _coups,_ embracing every branch
of what we might call his ‘profession.’ Jewel robberies, forgery,
espionage (the latter very profitable in war-time), sabotage,
discreet assassination, there is hardly anything he has not touched.
Wisest of all, he knows when to stop. The game begins to be
dangerous? —he retires gracefully—with an enormous fortune!”

“H’m!” said the Count doubtfully. “It is rather—upsetting for all
of us. We are at a loose end, as it were.”

“But we are being paid off—on a most generous scale!” Something,
some undercurrent of mockery in her tone, made the man look at her
sharply. She was smiling to herself, and the quality of her smile
aroused his curiosity. But he proceeded diplomatically:

“Yes, the ‘Colonel’ has always been a generous paymaster. I
attribute much of his success to that—and to his invariable p
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Sir Gawayne

and

The Green Knight:


AN ALLITERATIVE ROMANCE-POEM,
(AB. 1360 A.D.)


BY THE AUTHOR OF
"EARLY ENGLISH ALLITERATIVE POEMS."


RE-EDITED FROM COTTON. MS. NERO, A.x., IN THE BRITISH MUSEUM,
BY
RICHARD MORRIS,
EDITOR OF HAMPOLE'S "PRICKE OF CONSCIENCE,"
"EARLY ENGLISH ALLITERATIVE POEMS," ETC.;
MEMBER OF THE COUNCIL OF THE PHILOLOGICAL SOCIETY.


SECOND EDITION, REVISED, 1869.

LONDON
MDCCCLXIV.

JOHN CHILDS AND SON, PRINTERS.


       *       *       *       *       *

PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.

In re-editing the present romance-poem I have been saved all labour of
transcription by using the very accurate text contained in Sir F. Madden's
"Syr Gawayne."

I have not only read his copy with the manuscript, but also the
proof-sheets as they came to hand, hoping by this means to give the reader
a text free from any errors of transcription.

The present edition differs from that of the earlier one in having the
contractions of the manuscript expanded and side-notes added to the text to
enable the reader to follow with some degree of ease the author's pleasant
narrative of Sir Gawayne's adventures.

The Glossary is taken from Sir F. Madden's "Syr Gawayne,"[1] to which, for
the better interpretation of the text, I have made several additions, and
have, moreover, glossed nearly all the words previously left unexplained.

For a description of the Manuscript, and particulars relating to the
authorship and dialect of the present work, the reader is referred to the
preface to Early English Alliterative Poems.

R.M.

  LONDON,
  December 22, 1864.

  [Footnote 1: Sir F. Madden has most generously placed at the disposal of
  the Early English Text Society any of his works which it may determine to
  re-edit.]

       *       *       *       *       *

INTRODUCTION.

No Knight of the Round Table has been so highly honoured by the old
Romance-writers as Sir Gawayne, the son of Loth, and nephew to the renowned
Arthur. They delighted to describe him as Gawayne the good, a man matchless
on mould, the most gracious that under God lived, the hardiest of hand, the
most fortunate in arms, and the most polite in hall, whose knowledge,
knighthood, kindly works, doings, doughtiness, and deeds of arms were known
in all lands.

When Arthur beheld the dead body of his kinsman lying on the ground bathed
in blood, he is said to have exclaimed, "O righteous God, this blood were
worthy to be preserved and enshrined in gold!" Our author, too, loves to
speak of his hero in similar terms of praise, calling him the knight
faultless in his five wits, void of every offence, and adorned with every
earthly virtue. He represents him as one whose trust was in the five
wounds, and in whom the five virtues which distinguished the true knight
were more firmly established than in any other on earth.

The author of the present story, who, as we know from his religious poems,
had an utter horror of moral impurity, could have chosen no better subject
for a romance in which amusement and moral instruction were to be combined.
In the following tale he shows how the true knight, though tempted sorely
not once alone, but twice, nay thrice, breaks not his vow of chastity, but
turns aside the tempter's shafts with the shield of purity and arm of
faith, and so passes scatheless through the perilous defile of trial and
opportunity seeming safe.

But while our author has borrowed many of the details of his story from the
"Roman de Perceval" by Chrestien de Troyes, he has made the narrative more
attractive by the introduction of several original and highly interesting
passages which throw light on the manners and amusements of our ancestors.

The following elaborate descriptions are well deserving of especial
notice:--

    I. The mode of completely arming a knight (ll. 568-589).

    II. The hunting and breaking the deer (ll. 1126-1359).

    III. The hunting and unlacing the wild boar (ll. 1412-1614).

    IV. A fox hunt (ll. 1675-1921).

The following is an outline of the story of Gawayne's adventures, more or
less in the words of the writer himself:--

    Arthur, the greatest of Britain's kings, holds the Christmas festival
    at Camelot, surrounded by the celebrated knights of the Round Table,
    noble lords, the most renowned under heaven, and ladies the loveliest
    that ever had life (ll. 37-57). This noble company celebrate the New
    Year by a religious service, by the bestowal of gifts, and the most
    joyous mirth. Lords and ladies take their seats at the table--Queen
    Guenever, the grey-eyed, gaily dressed, sits at the daïs, the high
    table, or table of state, where too sat Gawayne and Ywain together with
    other worthies of the Round Table (ll. 58-84, 107-115). Arthur, in mood
    as joyful as a child, his blood young and his brain wild, declares that
    he will not eat nor sit long at the table until some adventurous thing,
    some uncouth tale, some great marvel, or some encounter of arms has
    occurred to mark the 
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ON THE LOOK OUT


In these times of ours, though concerning the exact year there is no
need to be precise, a boat of dirty and disreputable appearance, with
two figures in it, floated on the Thames, between Southwark bridge which
is of iron, and London Bridge which is of stone, as an autumn evening
was closing in.

The figures in this boat were those of a strong man with ragged grizzled
hair and a sun-browned face, and a dark girl of nineteen or twenty,
sufficiently like him to be recognizable as his daughter. The girl
rowed, pulling a pair of sculls very easily; the man, with the
rudder-lines slack in his hands, and his hands loose in his waistband,
kept an eager look out. He had no net, hook, or line, and he could
not be a fisherman; his boat had no cushion for a sitter, no paint, no
inscription, no appliance beyond a rusty boathook and a coil of rope,
and he could not be a waterman; his boat was too crazy and too small
to take in cargo for delivery, and he could not be a lighterman or
river-carrier; there was no clue to what he looked for, but he looked
for something, with a most intent and searching gaze. The tide, which
had turned an hour before, was running down, and his eyes watched
every little race and eddy in its broad sweep, as the boat made slight
head-way against it, or drove stern foremost before it, according as he
directed his daughter by a movement of his head. She watched his face
as earnestly as he watched the river. But, in the intensity of her look
there was a touch of dread or horror.

Allied to the bottom of the river rather than the surface, by reason of
the slime and ooze with which it was covered, and its sodden state, this
boat and the two figures in it obviously were doing something that they
often did, and were seeking what they often sought. Half savage as the
man showed, with no covering on his matted head, with his brown arms
bare to between the elbow and the shoulder, with the loose knot of a
looser kerchief lying low on his bare breast in a wilderness of beard
and whisker, with such dress as he wore seeming to be made out of the
mud that begrimed his boat, still there was a business-like usage in his
steady gaze. So with every lithe action of the girl, with every turn of
her wrist, perhaps most of all with her look of dread or horror; they
were things of usage.

‘Keep her out, Lizzie. Tide runs strong here. Keep her well afore the
sweep of it.’

Trusting to the girl’s skill and making no use of the rudder, he eyed
the coming tide with an absorbed attention. So the girl eyed him. But,
it happened now, that a slant of light from the setting sun glanced into
the bottom of the boat, and, touching a rotten stain there which bore
some resemblance to the outline of a muffled human form, coloured it as
though with diluted blood. This caught the girl’s eye, and she shivered.

‘What ails you?’ said the man, immediately aware of it, though so intent
on the advancing waters; ‘I see nothing afloat.’

The red light was gone, the shudder was gone, and his gaze, which had
come back to the boat for a moment, travelled away again. Wheresoever
the strong tide met with an impediment, his gaze paused for an instant.
At every mooring-chain and rope, at every stationery boat or barge that
split the current into a broad-arrowhead, at the offsets from the piers
of Southwark Bridge, at the paddles of the river steamboats as they beat
the filthy water, at the floating logs of timber lashed together lying
off certain wharves, his shining eyes darted a hungry look. After a
darkening hour or so, suddenly the rudder-lines tightened in his hold,
and he steered hard towards the Surrey shore.

Always watching his face, the girl instantly answered to the action in
her sculling; presently the boat swung round, quivered as from a sudden
jerk, and the upper half of the man was stretched out over the stern.

The girl pulled the hood of a cloak she wore, over her head and over her
face, and, looking backward so that the front folds of this hood were
turned down the river, kept the boat in that direction going before the
tide. Until now, the boat had barely held her own, and had hovered about
one spot; but now, the banks changed swiftly, and the deepening shadows
and the kindling lights of London Bridge were passed, and the tiers of
shipping lay on either hand.

It was not until now that the upper half of the man came back into the
boat. His arms were wet and dirty, and he washed them over the side. In
his right hand he held something, and he washed that in the river too.
It was money. He chinked it once, and he blew upon it once, and he spat
upon it once,--‘for luck,’ he hoarsely said--before he put it in his
pocket.

‘Lizzie!’

The girl turned her face towards him with a start, and rowed in silence.
Her face was very pale. He was a hook-nosed man, and with that and his
bright eyes and his ruffled head, bore a certain likeness to a roused
bird of prey.

‘Take that thing off your face.’

She put it back.

‘Here! 
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THE AENEID


 by Virgil

 Translated by John Dryden

      Contents

               BOOK I

               BOOK II

               BOOK III

               BOOK IV

               BOOK V

               BOOK VI

               BOOK VII

               BOOK VIII

               BOOK IX

               BOOK X

               BOOK  XI

               BOOK XII




 BOOK I

 THE ARGUMENT.


      The Trojans, after a seven years’ voyage, set sail for Italy, but
      are overtaken by a dreadful storm, which Aeolus raises at the
      request of Juno. The tempest sinks one, and scatters the rest.
      Neptune drives off the winds, and calms the sea. Aeneas, with his
      own ship and six more, arrives safe at an African port. Venus
      complains to Jupiter of her son’s misfortunes. Jupiter comforts
      her, and sends Mercury to procure him a kind reception among the
      Carthaginians. Aeneas, going out to discover the country, meets
      his mother in the shape of a huntress, who conveys him in a cloud
      to Carthage, where he sees his friends whom he thought lost, and
      receives a kind entertainment from the queen. Dido, by device of
      Venus, begins to have a passion for him, and, after some
      discourse with him, desires the history of his adventures since
      the siege of Troy, which is the subject of the two following
      books.


      Arms, and the man I sing, who, forc’d by fate,
      And haughty Juno’s unrelenting hate,
      Expell’d and exil’d, left the Trojan shore.
      Long labours, both by sea and land, he bore,
      And in the doubtful war, before he won
      The Latian realm, and built the destin’d town;
      His banish’d gods restor’d to rites divine,
      And settled sure succession in his line,
      From whence the race of Alban fathers come,
      And the long glories of majestic Rome.
      O Muse! the causes and the crimes relate;
      What goddess was provok’d, and whence her hate;
      For what offence the Queen of Heav’n began
      To persecute so brave, so just a man;
      Involv’d his anxious life in endless cares,
      Expos’d to wants, and hurried into wars!
      Can heav’nly minds such high resentment show,
      Or exercise their spite in human woe?

      Against the Tiber’s mouth, but far away,
      An ancient town was seated on the sea;
      A Tyrian colony; the people made
      Stout for the war, and studious of their trade:
      Carthage the name; belov’d by Juno more
      Than her own Argos, or the Samian shore.
      Here stood her chariot; here, if Heav’n were kind,
      The seat of awful empire she design’d.
      Yet she had heard an ancient rumour fly,
      (Long cited by the people of the sky,)
      That times to come should see the Trojan race
      Her Carthage ruin, and her tow’rs deface;
      Nor thus confin’d, the yoke of sov’reign sway
      Should on the necks of all the nations lay.
      She ponder’d this, and fear’d it was in fate;
      Nor could forget the war she wag’d of late
      For conqu’ring Greece against the Trojan state.
      Besides, long causes working in her mind,
      And secret seeds of envy, lay behind;
      Deep graven in her heart the doom remain’d
      Of partial Paris, and her form disdain’d;
      The grace bestow’d on ravish’d Ganymed,
      Electra’s glories, and her injur’d bed.
      Each was a cause alone; and all combin’d
      To kindle vengeance in her haughty mind.
      For this, far distant from the Latian coast
      She drove the remnants of the Trojan host;
      And sev’n long years th’ unhappy wand’ring train
      Were toss’d by storms, and scatter’d thro’ the main.
      Such time, such toil, requir’d the Roman name,
      Such length of labour for so vast a frame.

      Now scarce the Trojan fleet, with sails and oars,
      Had left behind the fair Sicilian shores,
      Ent’ring with cheerful shouts the wat’ry reign,
      And plowing frothy furrows in the main;
      When, lab’ring still with endless discontent,
      The Queen of Heav’n did thus her fury vent:

      “Then am I vanquish’d? must I yield?” said she,
      “And must the Trojans reign in Italy?
      So Fate will have it, and Jove adds his force;
      Nor can my pow’r divert their happy course.
      Could angry Pallas, with revengeful spleen,
      The Grecian navy burn, and drown the men?
      She, for the fault of one offending foe,
      The bolts of Jove himself presum’d to throw:
      With whirlwinds from beneath she toss’d the ship,
      And bare expos’d the bosom of the deep;
      Then, as an eagle gripes the trembling game,
      The wretch, yet hissing with her father’s flame,
      She strongly seiz’d, and with a burning wound
      Transfix’d, and naked, on a rock she bound.
      But I, who walk in awful state above,
      The majesty of heav’n, the sister wife of Jove,
      For length of years my fruitless force employ
      Against the thin remains of ruin’d Troy!
      What nati
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Transcribed from the 1895 Methuen & Co. edition (_Comedies of William
Congreve_, _Volume_ 2) by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org





                           THE WAY OF THE WORLD
                                 A COMEDY


    _Audire est operæ pretium_, _procedere recte_
    _Qui mæchis non vultis_.—HOR. _Sat._ i. 2, 37.

    —_Metuat doti deprensa_.—_Ibid_.




TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
RALPH, EARL OF MOUNTAGUE, ETC.


MY LORD,—Whether the world will arraign me of vanity or not, that I have
presumed to dedicate this comedy to your lordship, I am yet in doubt;
though, it may be, it is some degree of vanity even to doubt of it.  One
who has at any time had the honour of your lordship’s conversation,
cannot be supposed to think very meanly of that which he would prefer to
your perusal.  Yet it were to incur the imputation of too much
sufficiency to pretend to such a merit as might abide the test of your
lordship’s censure.

Whatever value may be wanting to this play while yet it is mine, will be
sufficiently made up to it when it is once become your lordship’s; and it
is my security, that I cannot have overrated it more by my dedication
than your lordship will dignify it by your patronage.

That it succeeded on the stage was almost beyond my expectation; for but
little of it was prepared for that general taste which seems now to be
predominant in the palates of our audience.

Those characters which are meant to be ridiculed in most of our comedies
are of fools so gross, that in my humble opinion they should rather
disturb than divert the well-natured and reflecting part of an audience;
they are rather objects of charity than contempt, and instead of moving
our mirth, they ought very often to excite our compassion.

This reflection moved me to design some characters which should appear
ridiculous not so much through a natural folly (which is incorrigible,
and therefore not proper for the stage) as through an affected wit: a wit
which, at the same time that it is affected, is also false.  As there is
some difficulty in the formation of a character of this nature, so there
is some hazard which attends the progress of its success upon the stage:
for many come to a play so overcharged with criticism, that they very
often let fly their censure, when through their rashness they have
mistaken their aim.  This I had occasion lately to observe: for this play
had been acted two or three days before some of these hasty judges could
find the leisure to distinguish betwixt the character of a Witwoud and a
Truewit.

I must beg your lordship’s pardon for this digression from the true
course of this epistle; but that it may not seem altogether impertinent,
I beg that I may plead the occasion of it, in part of that excuse of
which I stand in need, for recommending this comedy to your protection.
It is only by the countenance of your lordship, and the _few_ so
qualified, that such who write with care and pains can hope to be
distinguished: for the prostituted name of poet promiscuously levels all
that bear it.

Terence, the most correct writer in the world, had a Scipio and a Lelius,
if not to assist him, at least to support him in his reputation.  And
notwithstanding his extraordinary merit, it may be their countenance was
not more than necessary.

The purity of his style, the delicacy of his turns, and the justness of
his characters, were all of them beauties which the greater part of his
audience were incapable of tasting.  Some of the coarsest strokes of
Plautus, so severely censured by Horace, were more likely to affect the
multitude; such, who come with expectation to laugh at the last act of a
play, and are better entertained with two or three unseasonable jests
than with the artful solution of the fable.

As Terence excelled in his performances, so had he great advantages to
encourage his undertakings, for he built most on the foundations of
Menander: his plots were generally modelled, and his characters ready
drawn to his hand.  He copied Menander; and Menander had no less light in
the formation of his characters from the observations of Theophrastus, of
whom he was a disciple; and Theophrastus, it is known, was not only the
disciple, but the immediate successor of Aristotle, the first and
greatest judge of poetry.  These were great models to design by; and the
further advantage which Terence possessed towards giving his plays the
due ornaments of purity of style, and justness of manners, was not less
considerable from the freedom of conversation which was permitted him
with Lelius and Scipio, two of the greatest and most polite men of his
age.  And, indeed, the privilege of such a conversation is the only
certain means of attaining to the perfection of dialogue.

If it has happened in any part of this comedy that I have gained a turn
of style or expression more correct, or at least more corrigible, than in
those which I have formerly written, I must, with equal pride and
gratitude, ascribe it to the honour of you
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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The Cask of Amontillado


by

Edgar Allan Poe



The thousand injuries of Fortunato I had borne as I best could, but
when he ventured upon insult, I vowed revenge.  You, who so well know
the nature of my soul, will not suppose, however, that I gave utterance
to a threat.  _At length_ I would be avenged; this was a point definitely
settled--but the very definitiveness with which it was resolved,
precluded the idea of risk.  I must not only punish, but punish with
impunity.  A wrong is unredressed when retribution overtakes its
redresser.  It is equally unredressed when the avenger fails to make
himself felt as such to him who has done the wrong.

It must be understood that neither by word nor deed had I given
Fortunato cause to doubt my good will.  I continued, as was my wont, to
smile in his face, and he did not perceive that my smile _now_ was at
the thought of his immolation.

He had a weak point--this Fortunato--although in other regards he was a
man to be respected and even feared.  He prided himself on his
connoisseurship in wine.  Few Italians have the true virtuoso spirit.
For the most part their enthusiasm is adopted to suit the time and
opportunity--to practise imposture upon the British and Austrian
_millionaires_.  In painting and gemmary, Fortunato, like his countrymen,
was a quack--but in the matter of old wines he was sincere.  In this
respect I did not differ from him materially: I was skillful in the
Italian vintages myself, and bought largely whenever I could.

It was about dusk, one evening during the supreme madness of the
carnival season, that I encountered my friend.  He accosted me with
excessive warmth, for he had been drinking much.  The man wore motley.
He had on a tight-fitting parti-striped dress, and his head was
surmounted by the conical cap and bells.  I was so pleased to see him,
that I thought I should never have done wringing his hand.

I said to him--"My dear Fortunato, you are luckily met.  How remarkably
well you are looking to-day!  But I have received a pipe of what passes
for Amontillado, and I have my doubts."

"How?" said he.  "Amontillado?  A pipe?  Impossible!  And in the middle
of the carnival!"

"I have my doubts," I replied; "and I was silly enough to pay the full
Amontillado price without consulting you in the matter. You were not to
be found, and I was fearful of losing a bargain."

"Amontillado!"

"I have my doubts."

"Amontillado!"

"And I must satisfy them."

"Amontillado!"

"As you are engaged, I am on my way to Luchesi.  If any one has a
critical turn, it is he.  He will tell me--"

"Luchesi cannot tell Amontillado from Sherry."

"And yet some fools will have it that his taste is a match for your
own."

"Come, let us go."

"Whither?"

"To your vaults."

"My friend, no; I will not impose upon your good nature.  I perceive
you have an engagement.  Luchesi--"

"I have no engagement;--come."

"My friend, no.  It is not the engagement, but the severe cold with
which I perceive you are afflicted.  The vaults are insufferably damp.
They are encrusted with nitre."

"Let us go, nevertheless.  The cold is merely nothing. Amontillado!
You have been imposed upon.  And as for Luchesi, he cannot distinguish
Sherry from Amontillado."

Thus speaking, Fortunato possessed himself of my arm. Putting on a mask
of black silk, and drawing a _roquelaire_ closely about my person, I
suffered him to hurry me to my palazzo.

There were no attendants at home; they had absconded to make merry in
honour of the time.  I had told them that I should not return until the
morning, and had given them explicit orders not to stir from the house.
These orders were sufficient, I well knew, to insure their immediate
disappearance, one and all, as soon as my back was turned.

I took from their sconces two flambeaux, and giving one to Fortunato,
bowed him through several suites of rooms to the archway that led into
the vaults.  I passed down a long and winding staircase, requesting him
to be cautious as he followed. We came at length to the foot of the
descent, and stood together on the damp ground of the catacombs of the
Montresors.

The gait of my friend was unsteady, and the bells upon his cap jingled
as he strode.

"The pipe," said he.

"It is farther on," said I; "but observe the white web-work which
gleams from these cavern walls."

He turned towards me, and looked into my eyes with two filmy orbs that
distilled the rheum of intoxication.

"Nitre?" he asked, at length.

"Nitre," I replied.  "How long have you had that cough?"

"Ugh! ugh! ugh!--ugh! ugh! ugh!--ugh! ugh! ugh!--ugh! ugh! ugh!--ugh!
ugh! ugh!"

My poor friend found it impossible to reply for many minutes.

"It is nothing," he said, at last.

"Come," I said, with decision, "we will go back; your health is
precious.  You are rich, respected, admired, beloved; you are happy, as
once I was.  You are a man to be missed.  For me it is no matter.  We
will go back; you will be ill, and I cannot be responsible.  Besides,
there is Luchesi
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1785

          FUNDAMENTAL PRINCIPLES OF THE METAPHYSIC OF MORALS

                           by Immanuel Kant

                translated by Thomas Kingsmill Abbott


PREFACE



Ancient Greek philosophy was divided into three sciences: physics,
ethics, and logic. This division is perfectly suitable to the nature
of the thing; and the only improvement that can be made in it is to
add the principle on which it is based, so that we may both satisfy
ourselves of its completeness, and also be able to determine correctly
the necessary subdivisions.

All rational knowledge is either material or formal: the former
considers some object, the latter is concerned only with the form of
the understanding and of the reason itself, and with the universal
laws of thought in general without distinction of its objects.
Formal philosophy is called logic. Material philosophy, however, which has
to do with determinate objects and the laws to which they are subject,
is again twofold; for these laws are either laws of nature or of
freedom. The science of the former is physics, that of the latter,
ethics; they are also called natural philosophy and moral philosophy
respectively.

Logic cannot have any empirical part; that is, a part in which the
universal and necessary laws of thought should rest on grounds taken
from experience; otherwise it would not be logic, i.e., a canon for
the understanding or the reason, valid for all thought, and capable of
demonstration. Natural and moral philosophy, on the contrary, can each
have their empirical part, since the former has to determine the
laws of nature as an object of experience; the latter the laws of
the human will, so far as it is affected by nature: the former,
however, being laws according to which everything does happen; the
latter, laws according to which everything ought to happen. Ethics,
however, must also consider the conditions under which what ought to
happen frequently does not.

We may call all philosophy empirical, so far as it is based on
grounds of experience: on the other hand, that which delivers its
doctrines from a priori principles alone we may call pure
philosophy. When the latter is merely formal it is logic; if it is
restricted to definite objects of the understanding it is metaphysic.

In this way there arises the idea of a twofold metaphysic- a
metaphysic of nature and a metaphysic of morals. Physics will thus
have an empirical and also a rational part. It is the same with
Ethics; but here the empirical part might have the special name of
practical anthropology, the name morality being appropriated to the
rational part.

All trades, arts, and handiworks have gained by division of
labour, namely, when, instead of one man doing everything, each
confines himself to a certain kind of work distinct from others in the
treatment it requires, so as to be able to perform it with greater
facility and in the greatest perfection. Where the different kinds
of work are not distinguished and divided, where everyone is a
jack-of-all-trades, there manufactures remain still in the greatest
barbarism. It might deserve to be considered whether pure philosophy
in all its parts does not require a man specially devoted to it, and
whether it would not be better for the whole business of science if
those who, to please the tastes of the public, are wont to blend the
rational and empirical elements together, mixed in all sorts of
proportions unknown to themselves, and who call themselves independent
thinkers, giving the name of minute philosophers to those who apply
themselves to the rational part only- if these, I say, were warned not
to carry on two employments together which differ widely in the
treatment they demand, for each of which perhaps a special talent is
required, and the combination of which in one person only produces
bunglers. But I only ask here whether the nature of science does not
require that we should always carefully separate the empirical from
the rational part, and prefix to Physics proper (or empirical physics)
a metaphysic of nature, and to practical anthropology a metaphysic
of morals, which must be carefully cleared of everything empirical, so
that we may know how much can be accomplished by pure reason in both
cases, and from what sources it draws this its a priori teaching,
and that whether the latter inquiry is conducted by all moralists
(whose name is legion), or only by some who feel a calling thereto.

As my concern here is with moral philosophy, I limit the question
suggested to this: Whether it is not of the utmost necessity to
construct a pure thing which is only empirical and which belongs to
anthropology? for that such a philosophy must be possible is evident
from the common idea of duty and of the moral laws. Everyone must
admit that if a law is to have moral force, i.e., to be the basis of
an obligation, it must carry with it absolute necessity; that, for
example, the precept, "Thou shalt not lie," is not valid for men
alone, as if other rat
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The Fall of the House of Usher


  Son coeur est un luth suspendu;
  Sitot qu'on le touche il resonne.
    DE BERANGER.



During the whole of a dull, dark, and soundless day in the
autumn of the year, when the clouds hung oppressively low in the
heavens, I had been passing alone, on horseback, through a
singularly dreary tract of country; and at length found myself,
as the shades of the evening drew on, within view of the
melancholy House of Usher.  I know not how it was--but, with the
first glimpse of the building, a sense of insufferable gloom
pervaded my spirit.  I say insufferable; for the feeling was
unrelieved by any of that half-pleasureable, because poetic,
sentiment, with which the mind usually receives even the sternest
natural images of the desolate or terrible.  I looked upon the
scene before me--upon the mere house, and the simple landscape
features of the domain--upon the bleak walls--upon the vacant
eye-like windows--upon a few rank sedges--and upon a few white
trunks of decayed trees--with an utter depression of soul which I
can compare to no earthly sensation more properly than to the
after-dream of the reveller upon opium--the bitter lapse into
everyday life--the hideous dropping off of the veil.  There was
an iciness, a sinking, a sickening of the heart--an unredeemed
dreariness of thought which no goading of the imagination could
torture into aught of the sublime.  What was it--I paused to
think--what was it that so unnerved me in the contemplation of
the House of Usher?  It was a mystery all insoluble; nor could I
grapple with the shadowy fancies that crowded upon me as I
pondered.  I was forced to fall back upon the unsatisfactory
conclusion, that while, beyond doubt, there are combinations
of very simple natural objects which have the power of thus
affecting us, still the analysis of this power lies among
considerations beyond our depth.  It was possible, I reflected,
that a mere different arrangement of the particulars of the
scene, of the details of the picture, would be sufficient to
modify, or perhaps to annihilate its capacity for sorrowful
impression; and, acting upon this idea, I reined my horse
to the precipitous brink of a black and lurid tarn that lay in
unruffled lustre by the dwelling, and gazed down--but with a
shudder even more thrilling than before--upon the remodelled and
inverted images of the grey sedge, and the ghastly tree-stems,
and the vacant and eye-like windows.

Nevertheless, in this mansion of gloom I now proposed to
myself a sojourn of some weeks.  Its proprietor, Roderick Usher,
had been one of my boon companions in boyhood; but many years had
elapsed since our last meeting.  A letter, however, had lately
reached me in a distant part of the country--a letter from
him--which, in its wildly importunate nature, had admitted of no
other than a personal reply.  The MS gave evidence of nervous
agitation.  The writer spoke of acute bodily illness--of a mental
disorder which oppressed him--and of an earnest desire to see me,
as his best, and indeed his only personal friend, with a view of
attempting, by the cheerfulness of my society, some alleviation
of his malady.  It was the manner in which all this, and much
more, was said--it was the apparent heart that went with his
request--which allowed me no room for hesitation; and I
accordingly obeyed forthwith what I still considered a very
singular summons.

Although, as boys, we had been even intimate associates, yet
I really knew little of my friend.  His reserve had been always
excessive and habitual.  I was aware, however, that his very
ancient family had been noted, time out of mind, for a peculiar
sensibility of temperament, displaying itself, through long ages,
in many works of exalted art, and manifested, of late, in
repeated deeds of munificent yet unobtrusive charity, as well as
in a passionate devotion to the intricacies, perhaps even more
than to the orthodox and easily recognisable beauties of musical
science.  I had learned, too, the very remarkable fact, that the
stem of the Usher race, all time-honoured as it was, had put
forth, at no period, any enduring branch; in other words, that
the entire family lay in the direct line of descent, and had
always, with very trifling and very temporary variation, so lain.
It was this deficiency, I considered, while running over in
thought the perfect keeping of the character of the premises with
the accredited character of the people, and while speculating
upon the possible influence which the one, in the long
lapse of centuries, might have exercised upon the other--it was
this deficiency, perhaps, of collateral issue, and the consequent
undeviating transmission, from sire to son, of the patrimony with
the name, which had, at length, so identified the two as to merge
the original title of the estate in the quaint and equivocal
appellation of the "House of Usher"--an appellation which seemed
to include, in the minds of the peasantry who used it, both the
family and t
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[advertisement]


EACH IN THREE VOLS., PRICE 10s. 6d.

  CHARLES KNIGHT'S SHAKSPERE.

  NAPIER'S HISTORY OF THE PENINSULAR WAR. With Maps and Plans.

  LONGFELLOW'S WORKS--Poems--Prose--Dante.

  BOSWELL'S LIFE OF JOHNSON. With Illustrations.

  MOTLEY'S RISE OF THE DUTCH REPUBLIC.

  BYRON'S POETICAL WORKS.





INTRODUCTION


When Richard Steele, in number 555 of his 'Spectator', signed its last
paper and named those who had most helped him

  'to keep up the spirit of so long and approved a performance,'

he gave chief honour to one who had on his page, as in his heart, no
name but Friend. This was

  'the gentleman of whose assistance I formerly boasted in the Preface
  and concluding Leaf of my 'Tatlers'. I am indeed much more proud of
  his long-continued Friendship, than I should be of the fame of being
  thought the author of any writings which he himself is capable of
  producing. I remember when I finished the 'Tender Husband', I told him
  there was nothing I so ardently wished, as that we might some time or
  other publish a work, written by us both, which should bear the name
  of THE MONUMENT, in Memory of our Friendship.'

Why he refers to such a wish, his next words show. The seven volumes of
the 'Spectator', then complete, were to his mind The Monument, and of
the Friendship it commemorates he wrote,

  'I heartily wish what I have done here were as honorary to that sacred
  name as learning, wit, and humanity render those pieces which I have
  taught the reader how to distinguish for his.'

So wrote Steele; and the 'Spectator' will bear witness how religiously
his friendship was returned. In number 453, when, paraphrasing David's
Hymn on Gratitude, the 'rising soul' of Addison surveyed the mercies of
his God, was it not Steele whom he felt near to him at the Mercy-seat as
he wrote

  Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliss
    Has made my cup run o'er,
  And in a kind and faithful Friend
    Has doubled all my store?

The _Spectator_, Steele-and-Addison's _Spectator_, is a monument
befitting the most memorable friendship in our history. Steele was its
projector, founder, editor, and he was writer of that part of it which
took the widest grasp upon the hearts of men. His sympathies were with
all England. Defoe and he, with eyes upon the future, were the truest
leaders of their time. It was the firm hand of his friend Steele that
helped Addison up to the place in literature which became him. It was
Steele who caused the nice critical taste which Addison might have spent
only in accordance with the fleeting fashions of his time, to be
inspired with all Addison's religious earnestness, and to be enlivened
with the free play of that sportive humour, delicately whimsical and
gaily wise, which made his conversation the delight of the few men with
whom he sat at ease. It was Steele who drew his friend towards the days
to come, and made his gifts the wealth of a whole people. Steele said in
one of the later numbers of his _Spectator_, No. 532, to which he
prefixed a motto that assigned to himself only the part of whetstone to
the wit of others,

  'I claim to myself the merit of having extorted excellent productions
  from a person of the greatest abilities, who would not have let them
  appear by any other means.'

There were those who argued that he was too careless of his own fame in
unselfish labour for the exaltation of his friend, and, no doubt, his
rare generosity of temper has been often misinterpreted. But for that
Addison is not answerable. And why should Steele have defined his own
merits? He knew his countrymen, and was in too genuine accord with the
spirit of a time then distant but now come, to doubt that, when he was
dead, his whole life's work would speak truth for him to posterity.

The friendship of which this work is the monument remained unbroken from
boyhood until death. Addison and Steele were schoolboys together at the
Charterhouse. Addison was a dean's son, and a private boarder; Steele,
fatherless, and a boy on the foundation. They were of like age. The
register of Steele's baptism, corroborated by the entry made on his
admission to the Charterhouse (which also implies that he was baptized
on the day of his birth) is March 12, 1671, Old Style; New Style, 1672.
Addison was born on May-day, 1672. Thus there was a difference of only
seven weeks.

Steele's father according to the register, also named Richard, was an
attorney in Dublin. Steele seems to draw from experience--although he is
not writing as of himself or bound to any truth of personal detail--when
in No. 181 of the 'Tatler' he speaks of his father as having died when
he was not quite five years of age, and of his mother as 'a very
beautiful woman, of a noble spirit.' The first Duke of Ormond is
referred to by Steele in his Dedication to the 'Lying Lover' as the
patron of his infancy; and it was by this nobleman that a place was
found for him, when in his thirteenth year, among the foundation boys at
the Charterho
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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      which includes the numerous and lovely original illustrations.
      See 31591-h.htm or 31591-h.zip:
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      Images of the original pages are available through
      Internet Archive. See
      http://www.archive.org/details/languageofflower00gree





LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS

ILLUSTRATED

BY

KATE GREENAWAY




LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

_Language of Flowers_

ILLUSTRATED BY

KATE GREENAWAY







Printed in Colours by
Edmund Evans

London: George Routledge and Sons

[Illustration]



Abecedary                             _Volatility._

Abatina                               _Fickleness._

Acacia                                _Friendship._

Acacia, Rose or White                 _Elegance._

Acacia, Yellow                        _Secret love._

Acanthus                              _The fine arts. Artifice._

Acalia                                _Temperance._

Achillea Millefolia                   _War._

Aconite (Wolfsbane)                   _Misanthropy._

Aconite, Crowfoot                     _Lustre._

Adonis, Flos                          _Painful recollections._

African Marigold                      _Vulgar minds._

Agnus Castus                          _Coldness. Indifference._

Agrimony                              _Thankfulness. Gratitude._

Almond (Common)                       _Stupidity. Indiscretion._

Almond (Flowering)                    _Hope._

Almond, Laurel                        _Perfidy_

Allspice                              _Compassion._

Aloe                                  _Grief. Religious superstition._

Althaea Frutex (Syrian Mallow)        _Persuasion._

Alyssum (Sweet)                       _Worth beyond beauty._

Amaranth (Globe)                      _Immortality. Unfading love._

Amaranth (Cockscomb)                  _Foppery. Affectation._

Amaryllis                             _Pride. Timidity. Splendid beauty._

Ambrosia                              _Love returned._

American Cowslip                      _Divine beauty._

American Elm                          _Patriotism._

American Linden                       _Matrimony._

American Starwort                     _Welcome to a stranger.
                                       Cheerfulness in old age._

Amethyst                              _Admiration._

Anemone (Zephyr Flower)               _Sickness. Expectation._

Anemone (Garden)                      _Forsaken._

Angelica                              _Inspiration._

Angrec                                _Royalty._

Apple                                 _Temptation._

Apple (Blossom)                       _Preference. Fame speaks him
                                       great and good._

Apple, Thorn                          _Deceitful charms._

Apocynum (Dog's Vane)                 _Deceit._

Arbor Vitæ                            _Unchanging Friendship. Live for me._

Arum (Wake Robin)                     _Ardour._

Ash-leaved Trumpet Flower             _Separation._

Ash Tree                              _Grandeur._

Aspen Tree                            _Lamentation._

Aster (China)                         _Variety. Afterthought._

Asphodel                              _My regrets follow you to the grave._

Auricula                              _Painting._

Auricula, Scarlet                     _Avarice._

Austurtium                            _Splendour._

Azalea                                _Temperance._

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Bachelor's Buttons                    _Celibacy._

Balm                                  _Sympathy._

Balm, Gentle                          _Pleasantry._

Balm of Gilead                        _Cure. Relief._

Balsam, Red                           _Touch me not. Impatient resolves._

Balsam, Yellow                        _Impatience._

Barberry                              _Sourness of temper._

Barberry Tree                         _Sharpness._

Basil                                 _Hatred._

Bay Leaf                              _I change but in death._

Bay (Rose) Rhododendron               _Danger. Beware._

Bay Tree                              _Glory._

Bay Wreath                            _Reward of merit._

Bearded Crepis                        _Protection._

Beech Tree                            _Prosperity._

Bee Orchis                            _Industry._

Bee Ophrys                            _Error._

Belladonna                            _Silence_

Bell Flower, Pyramidal                _Constancy._

Bell Flower (small white)             _Gratitude._

Belvedere                             _I declare against you._

Betony                                _Surprise._

Bilberry                              _Treachery._


------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 45109
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The Library of Liberal Arts
                     OSKAR PIEST, _General Editor_
                             [NUMBER EIGHT]


                               EPICTETUS
                            The Enchiridion




                            The Enchiridion
                                   By
                               EPICTETUS


                             Translated by
                          THOMAS W. HIGGINSON

                        With an Introduction by
                             ALBERT SALOMON
                        _Professor of Sociology
                    New School for Social Research_


                         THE LIBERAL ARTS PRESS
                                NEW YORK


                            COPYRIGHT, 1948
                      THE LIBERAL ARTS PRESS, INC.

                     First Edition, _October, 1948_
                               Reprinted
                    _December, 1950_; _August, 1954_
                    Second Edition, _November, 1955_

         Published at 153 West 72nd Street, New York 23, N. Y.
                Printed in the United States of America




                                CONTENTS


  Note on the Text                                                     6
  Introduction                                                         7
  Selected Bibliography                                               13
  The Enchiridion                                                     17




                            NOTE ON THE TEXT


The text of the second edition is a reprint of the first edition except
for a few minor corrections in style, punctuation, and spelling, which
have been revised to conform to current American usage.

The editorial staff of the publishers has added a few explanatory notes
which are set in brackets and marked “Ed.”

                                                                    O.P.




                              INTRODUCTION


The little book by Epictetus called _Enchiridion_ or “manual” has played
a disproportionately large role in the rise of modern attitudes and
modern philosophy. As soon as it had been translated into the vernacular
languages, it became a bestseller among independent intellectuals, among
anti-Christian thinkers, and among philosophers of a subjective cast.
Montaigne had a copy of the _Enchiridion_ among his books. Pascal
violently rejected the megalomaniac pride of the Stoic philosopher.
Frederick the Great carried the book with him on all campaigns. It was a
source of inspiration and encouragement to Anthony, Earl of Shaftesbury,
in the serious illness which ended only in his death; many pages of his
diaries contain passages copied from the _Enchiridion_. It has been
studied and widely quoted by Scottish philosophers like Francis
Hutcheson, Adam Smith, and Adam Ferguson who valued Stoic moral
philosophy for its reconciliation of social dependency and personal
independence.

That there was a rebirth of Stoicism in the centuries of rebirth which
marked the emergence of the modern age was not mere chance.
Philosophical, moral, and social conditions of the time united to cause
it. Roman Stoicism had been developed in times of despotism as a
philosophy of lonely and courageous souls who had recognized the
redeeming power of philosophical reason in all the moral and social
purposes of life. Philosophy as a way of life makes men free. It is the
last ditch stand of liberty in a world of servitude. Many elements in the
new age led to thought which had structural affinity with Roman Stoicism.
Modern times had created the independent thinker, the free intellectual
in a secular civilization. Modern times had destroyed medieval liberties
and had established the new despotism of the absolute state supported by
ecclesiastical authority. Modern philosophies continued the basic trend
in Stoicism in making the subjective consciousness the foundation of
philosophy. The Stoic emphasis on moral problems was also appealing in an
era of rapid transition when all the values which had previously been
taken for granted were questioned and reconsidered.

While it is interesting to observe how varied were the effects produced
by this small volume, this epitome of the Stoic system of moral
philosophy, these effects seem still more remarkable when we consider
that it was not intended to be a philosophical treatise on Stoicism for
students. It was, rather, to be a guide for the advanced student of
Stoicism to show him the best roads toward the goal of becoming a true
philosopher. Thus Epictetus and his _Enchiridion_ have a unique position
in Roman Stoicism. Seneca and Marcus Aurelius had selected Stoic
philosophy as the most adequate system for expressing their existential
problems of independence, solitude, and history. In this enterprise,
Seneca made tremendous strides toward the insights of social psychology
as a by-product of his consciousness of decadence (in this he was close
to Nietzsche), but he was not primaril
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PG #: 37106
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[Illustration: LITTLE WOMEN
                         MEG, JO, BETH, AND AMY
                           LOUISA M. ALCOTT]




                              LITTLE WOMEN.


[Illustration: "They all drew to the fire, mother in the big chair, with
Beth at her feet"
                                              (See page 9) FRONTISPIECE]




                              LITTLE WOMEN
                                   OR
                         Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy


                                   BY
                            LOUISA M. ALCOTT

            AUTHOR OF "LITTLE MEN," "AN OLD-FASHIONED GIRL"
                     "SPINNING-WHEEL STORIES," ETC.


         _With more than 200 illustrations by Frank T. Merrill
             and a picture of the Home of the Little Women
                         by Edmund H. Garrett_


                                 BOSTON
                     LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY




  Entered according to Act of Congress, in the years 1868 and 1869, by
                           LOUISA M. ALCOTT,
                      In the Clerk's office of the
            District Court of the District of Massachusetts.


                           _Copyright, 1880_,
                          BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT.

                           _Copyright, 1896_,
                         BY JOHN S. P. ALCOTT.


                                 BOSTON
                    ALFRED MUDGE & SON INC. PRINTERS




                         [Illustration: Preface]


              "_Go then, my little Book, and show to all
              That entertain and bid thee welcome shall,
              What thou dost keep close shut up in thy breast;
              And wish what thou dost show them may be blest
              To them for good, may make them choose to be
              Pilgrims better, by far, than thee or me.
              Tell them of Mercy; she is one
              Who early hath her pilgrimage begun.
              Yea, let young damsels learn of her to prize
              The world which is to come, and so be wise;
              For little tripping maids may follow God
              Along the ways which saintly feet have trod._"

                                     Adapted from JOHN BUNYAN.




                        [Illustration: Contents]


                              Part First.

            CHAPTER                                         PAGE

         I. PLAYING PILGRIMS                                   1

        II. A MERRY CHRISTMAS                                 15

       III. THE LAURENCE BOY                                  29

        IV. BURDENS                                           43

         V. BEING NEIGHBORLY                                  58

        VI. BETH FINDS THE PALACE BEAUTIFUL                   73

       VII. AMY'S VALLEY OF HUMILIATION                       82

      VIII. JO MEETS APOLLYON                                 91

        IX. MEG GOES TO VANITY FAIR                          104

         X. THE P. C. AND P. O.                              124

        XI. EXPERIMENTS                                      134

       XII. CAMP LAURENCE                                    147

      XIII. CASTLES IN THE AIR                               172

       XIV. SECRETS                                          184

        XV. A TELEGRAM                                       195

       XVI. LETTERS                                          206

      XVII. LITTLE FAITHFUL                                  216

     XVIII. DARK DAYS                                        225

       XIX. AMY'S WILL                                       234

        XX. CONFIDENTIAL                                     246

       XXI. LAURIE MAKES MISCHIEF, AND JO MAKES PEACE        254

      XXII. PLEASANT MEADOWS                                 269

     XXIII. AUNT MARCH SETTLES THE QUESTION                  277


                              Part Second.

      XXIV. GOSSIP                                           293

       XXV. THE FIRST WEDDING                                306

      XXVI. ARTISTIC ATTEMPTS                                313

     XXVII. LITERARY LESSONS                                 325

    XXVIII. DOMESTIC EXPERIENCES                             334

      XXIX. CALLS                                            350

       XXX. CONSEQUENCES                                     365

      XXXI. OUR FOREIGN CORRESPONDENT                        378

     XXXII. TENDER TROUBLES                                  389

    XXXIII. JO'S JOURNAL                                     403

     XXXIV. A FRIEND                                         418

      XXXV. HEARTACHE                                        435

     XXXVI. BETH'S SECRET                                    448

    XXXVII. NEW IMPRESSIONS                                  454

   XXXVIII. ON THE SHELF                                     466

     XXXIX. LAZY LAURENCE              
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_Utrecht_; in War Time there is no room for any, because all those of a
roving advent'rous Disposition find Employment in Privateers, so there is
no Opportunity for Pyrates; like our Mobs in London, when they come to any
Height, our Superiors order out the Train Bands, and when once they are
raised, the others are suppressed of Course; I take the Reason of it to be,
that the Mob go into the tame Army, and immediately from notorious Breakers
of the Peace, become, by being put into order, solemn Preservers of it. And
should our Legislators put some of the Pyrates into Authority, it would not
only lessen their Number, but, I imagine, set them upon the rest, and they
would be the likeliest People to find them out, according to the Proverb,
_set a Thief to catch a Thief._

To bring this about, there needs no other Encouragement, but to give all
the Effects taken aboard a Pyrate Vessel to the Captors; for in Case of
Plunder and Gain, they like it as well from Friends, as Enemies, but are
not fond, as Things are carry'd, _of ruining poor Fellowes_, say the
_Creoleans, with no Advantage to themselves._

The Multitude of Men and Vessels, employ'd this Way, in Time of War, in the
_West-Indies_, is another Reason, for the Number of Pyrates in a Time of
Peace: This cannot be supposed to be a Reflection on any of our _American_
Governments, much less on the King himself, by whose Authority such
Commissions are granted, because of the Reasonableness, and absolute
Necessity, there is for the doing of it; yet the Observation is just, for
so many idle People employing themselves in Privateers, for the sake of
Plunder and Riches, which they always spend as fast as they get, that when
the War is over, and they can have no farther Business in the Way of Life
they have been used to, they too readily engage in Acts of Pyracy, which
being but the same Practice without a Commission, they make very little
Distinction betwixt the Lawfulness of one, and the Unlawfulness of the
other.

I have not enquired so far back, as to know the Original of this Rover, but
I believe he and his Gang, were some Privateer's Men belonging to the
Island of _Jamaica_, in the preceeding War; his Story is but short, for his
Reign was so; an End having been put to his Adventures in good Time, when
he was growing strong and formidable. We find him Commander of a Pyrate
Sloop of eight Guns, and 80 Men, in the Month of _September_, 1716,
cruising off _Jamaica_, _Cuba_, _&c._ about which Time he took the
_Berkley_ Galley, Captain _Saunders_, and plundered him of 1000 _l._ in
Money, and afterwards met with a Sloop call'd the _King Solomon_, from whom
he took some Money, and Provisions, besides Goods, to a good Value.

They proceeded after this to the Port of _Cavena_, at the Island of _Cuba_,
and in their Way took two Sloops, which they plundered, and let go; and off
the Port fell in with a fine Galley, with 20 Guns, call'd the _John_ and
_Martha_, Captain _Wilson_, which they attacked under the pyratical
Black-Flag, and made themselves Masters of her. They put some of the Men
ashore, and others they detain'd, as they had done several Times, to
encrease their Company; but Captain _Martel_, charged Captain _Wilson_, to
advise his Owners, that their Ship would answer his Purpose exactly, by
taking one Deck down, and as for the Cargo, which consisted chiefly of
Logwood and Sugar, he would take Care it should be carry'd to a good
Market.

Having fitted up the aforesaid Ship, as they design'd, they mounted her
with 22 Guns, 100 Men, and left 25 Hands in the Sloop, and so proceeded to
Cruize off the _Leeward_ Islands, where they met with but too much Success.
After the taking of a Sloop and a Brigantine, they gave Chase to a stout
Ship, which they came up with, and, at Sight of the Pyrate's Flag, she
struck to the Robbers, being a Ship of 20 Guns, call'd the _Dolphin_, bound
for _Newfoundland_. Captain _Martel_ made the Men Prisoners, and carry'd
the Ship with him.

The middle of _December_ the Pyrates took another Galley in her Voyage home
from _Jamaica_, call'd the _Kent_, Captain _Lawton_, and shifted her
Provisions aboard their own Ship, and let her go, which obliged her to Sail
back to _Jamaica_ for a Supply for her Voyage. After this they met with a
small Ship and a Sloop, belonging to _Barbadoes_, out of both they took
Provisions, and then parted with them, having first taken out some of their
Hands, who were willing to be forced to go along with them. The _Greyhound_
Galley of _London_, Captain _Evans_, from _Guiney_ to _Jamaica_, was the
next that had the Misfortune to fall in their Way, which they did not
detain long, for as soon as they could get out all her Gold Dust,
Elephant's Teeth, and 40 Slaves, they sent her onwards upon her Voyage.
. . . . .

They concluded now, that 'twas high Time to get into Harbour and refit, as
well as to get Refreshments themselves, and wait an Opportunity to dispose
of their Cargo; therefore 'twas resolved to make the best o
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PG #: 31516
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This etext was produced from _Science Fiction Stories_ 1953.
    Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
    copyright on this publication was renewed.




    _A little whimsy, now and then, makes for good balance.
    Theoretically, you could find this type of humor anywhere. But
    only a topflight science-fictionist, we thought, could have
    written this story, in just this way...._




_The Eyes Have It_

by PHILIP K. DICK


It was quite by accident I discovered this incredible invasion of
Earth by lifeforms from another planet. As yet, I haven't done
anything about it; I can't think of anything to do. I wrote to the
Government, and they sent back a pamphlet on the repair and
maintenance of frame houses. Anyhow, the whole thing is known; I'm not
the first to discover it. Maybe it's even under control.

I was sitting in my easy-chair, idly turning the pages of a
paperbacked book someone had left on the bus, when I came across the
reference that first put me on the trail. For a moment I didn't
respond. It took some time for the full import to sink in. After I'd
comprehended, it seemed odd I hadn't noticed it right away.

The reference was clearly to a nonhuman species of incredible
properties, not indigenous to Earth. A species, I hasten to point out,
customarily masquerading as ordinary human beings. Their disguise,
however, became transparent in the face of the following observations
by the author. It was at once obvious the author knew everything. Knew
everything--and was taking it in his stride. The line (and I tremble
remembering it even now) read:

    _... his eyes slowly roved about the room._

Vague chills assailed me. I tried to picture the eyes. Did they roll
like dimes? The passage indicated not; they seemed to move through the
air, not over the surface. Rather rapidly, apparently. No one in the
story was surprised. That's what tipped me off. No sign of amazement
at such an outrageous thing. Later the matter was amplified.

    _... his eyes moved from person to person._

There it was in a nutshell. The eyes had clearly come apart from the
rest of him and were on their own. My heart pounded and my breath
choked in my windpipe. I had stumbled on an accidental mention of a
totally unfamiliar race. Obviously non-Terrestrial. Yet, to the
characters in the book, it was perfectly natural--which suggested they
belonged to the same species.

And the author? A slow suspicion burned in my mind. The author was
taking it rather _too easily_ in his stride. Evidently, he felt this
was quite a usual thing. He made absolutely no attempt to conceal this
knowledge. The story continued:

    _... presently his eyes fastened on Julia._

Julia, being a lady, had at least the breeding to feel indignant. She
is described as blushing and knitting her brows angrily. At this, I
sighed with relief. They weren't _all_ non-Terrestrials. The narrative
continues:

    _... slowly, calmly, his eyes examined every inch of her._

Great Scott! But here the girl turned and stomped off and the matter
ended. I lay back in my chair gasping with horror. My wife and family
regarded me in wonder.

"What's wrong, dear?" my wife asked.

I couldn't tell her. Knowledge like this was too much for the ordinary
run-of-the-mill person. I had to keep it to myself. "Nothing," I
gasped. I leaped up, snatched the book, and hurried out of the room.

       *       *       *       *       *

In the garage, I continued reading. There was more. Trembling, I read
the next revealing passage:

    _... he put his arm around Julia. Presently she asked him if
    he would remove his arm. He immediately did so, with a smile._

It's not said what was done with the arm after the fellow had removed
it. Maybe it was left standing upright in the corner. Maybe it was
thrown away. I don't care. In any case, the full meaning was there,
staring me right in the face.

Here was a race of creatures capable of removing portions of their
anatomy at will. Eyes, arms--and maybe more. Without batting an
eyelash. My knowledge of biology came in handy, at this point.
Obviously they were simple beings, uni-cellular, some sort of
primitive single-celled things. Beings no more developed than
starfish. Starfish can do the same thing, you know.

I read on. And came to this incredible revelation, tossed off coolly
by the author without the faintest tremor:

    _... outside the movie theater we split up. Part of us went
    inside, part over to the cafe for dinner._

Binary fission, obviously. Splitting in half and forming two entities.
Probably each lower half went to the cafe, it being farther, and the
upper halves to the movies. I read on, hands shaking. I had really
stumbled onto something here. My mind reeled as I made out this
passage:

    _... I'm afraid there's no doubt about it. Poor Bibney has
    lost his head again._

Which was followed by:

    _... and Bob says he has utterly no guts._

Yet Bibney got around as well as the next person. The 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 805
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/805

[Illustration]

      THIS SIDE OF PARADISE

      By F. Scott Fitzgerald


                          ... Well this side of Paradise!... There’s
                          little comfort in the wise. —Rupert Brooke.

                           Experience is the name so many people give
                           to their mistakes. —Oscar Wilde.
                                 To SIGOURNEY FAY


        CONTENTS

         BOOK ONE—The Romantic Egotist

         CHAPTER 1. Amory, Son of Beatrice
         CHAPTER 2. Spires and Gargoyles
         CHAPTER 3. The Egotist Considers
         CHAPTER 4. Narcissus Off Duty

         INTERLUDE

         BOOK TWO—The Education of a Personage

         CHAPTER 1. The Debutante
         CHAPTER 2. Experiments in Convalescence
         CHAPTER 3. Young Irony
         CHAPTER 4. The Supercilious Sacrifice
         CHAPTER 5. The Egotist Becomes a Personage





      BOOK ONE—The Romantic Egotist

      CHAPTER 1. Amory, Son of Beatrice


      Amory Blaine inherited from his mother every trait, except the
      stray inexpressible few, that made him worth while. His father,
      an ineffectual, inarticulate man with a taste for Byron and a
      habit of drowsing over the Encyclopedia Britannica, grew wealthy
      at thirty through the death of two elder brothers, successful
      Chicago brokers, and in the first flush of feeling that the world
      was his, went to Bar Harbor and met Beatrice O’Hara. In
      consequence, Stephen Blaine handed down to posterity his height
      of just under six feet and his tendency to waver at crucial
      moments, these two abstractions appearing in his son Amory. For
      many years he hovered in the background of his family’s life, an
      unassertive figure with a face half-obliterated by lifeless,
      silky hair, continually occupied in “taking care” of his wife,
      continually harassed by the idea that he didn’t and couldn’t
      understand her.

      But Beatrice Blaine! There was a woman! Early pictures taken on
      her father’s estate at Lake Geneva, Wisconsin, or in Rome at the
      Sacred Heart Convent—an educational extravagance that in her
      youth was only for the daughters of the exceptionally
      wealthy—showed the exquisite delicacy of her features, the
      consummate art and simplicity of her clothes. A brilliant
      education she had—her youth passed in renaissance glory, she was
      versed in the latest gossip of the Older Roman Families; known by
      name as a fabulously wealthy American girl to Cardinal Vitori and
      Queen Margherita and more subtle celebrities that one must have
      had some culture even to have heard of. She learned in England to
      prefer whiskey and soda to wine, and her small talk was broadened
      in two senses during a winter in Vienna. All in all Beatrice
      O’Hara absorbed the sort of education that will be quite
      impossible ever again; a tutelage measured by the number of
      things and people one could be contemptuous of and charming
      about; a culture rich in all arts and traditions, barren of all
      ideas, in the last of those days when the great gardener clipped
      the inferior roses to produce one perfect bud.

      In her less important moments she returned to America, met
      Stephen Blaine and married him—this almost entirely because she
      was a little bit weary, a little bit sad. Her only child was
      carried through a tiresome season and brought into the world on a
      spring day in ninety-six.

      When Amory was five he was already a delightful companion for
      her. He was an auburn-haired boy, with great, handsome eyes which
      he would grow up to in time, a facile imaginative mind and a
      taste for fancy dress. From his fourth to his tenth year he did
      the country with his mother in her father’s private car, from
      Coronado, where his mother became so bored that she had a nervous
      breakdown in a fashionable hotel, down to Mexico City, where she
      took a mild, almost epidemic consumption. This trouble pleased
      her, and later she made use of it as an intrinsic part of her
      atmosphere—especially after several astounding bracers.

      So, while more or less fortunate little rich boys were defying
      governesses on the beach at Newport, or being spanked or tutored
      or read to from “Do and Dare,” or “Frank on the Mississippi,”
      Amory was biting acquiescent bell-boys in the Waldorf, outgrowing
      a natural repugnance to chamber music and symphonies, and
      deriving a highly specialized education from his mother.

      “Amory.”

      “Yes, Beatrice.” (Such a quaint name for his mother; she
      encouraged it.)

      “Dear, don’t _think_ of getting out of bed yet. I’ve always
      suspected that early rising in early life makes one nervous.
      Clothilde is having your breakfast brought up.”

      “All right.”

      “I am feeling very old to-d
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PG #: 49513
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_Of Leaves of Herbs, or Trees._


1. OF leaves, choose only such as are green, and full of juice; pick
them carefully, and cast away such as are any way declining, for they
will putrify the rest: So shall one handful be worth ten of those you
buy at the physic herb shops.

2. Note what places they most delight to grow in, and gather them
there; for Betony that grows in the shade, is far better than that
which grows in the Sun, because it delights in the shade; so also such
herbs as delight to grow near the water, shall be gathered near it,
though happily you may find some of them upon dry ground: The Treatise
will inform you where every herb delights to grow.

3. The leaves of such herbs as run up to seed, are not so good when
they are in flower as before (some few excepted, the leaves of which
are seldom or never used) in such cases, if through ignorance they were
not known, or through negligence forgotten, you had better take the top
and the flowers, then the leaf.

4. Dry them well in the Sun, and not in the shade, as the saying of
physicians is; for if the sun draw away the virtues of the herb, it
must need do the like by hay, by the same rule, which the experience of
every country farmer will explode for a notable piece of nonsense.

5. Such as are artists in astrology, (and indeed none else are fit to
make physicians) such I advise; let the planet that governs the herb be
angular, and the stronger the better; if they can, in herbs of Saturn,
let Saturn be in the ascendant; in the herbs of Mars, let Mars be in
the mid heaven, for in those houses they delight; let the Moon apply to
them by good aspect, and let her not be in the houses of her enemies;
if you cannot well stay till she apply to them, let her apply to a
planet of the same triplicity; if you cannot wait that time neither,
let her be with a fixed star of their nature.

6. Having well dried them, put them up in brown paper, sewing the paper
up like a sack, and press them not too hard together, and keep them in
a dry place near the fire.

7. As for the duration of dried herbs, a just time cannot be given, let
authors prate their pleasure; for,

1st. Such as grow upon dry grounds will keep better than such as grow
on moist.

2dly, Such herbs as are full of juice, will not keep so long as such as
are drier.

3dly. Such herbs as are well dried, will keep longer than such as are
slack dried. Yet you may know when they are corrupted, by their loss of
colour, or smell, or both; and if they be corrupted, reason will tell
you that they must needs corrupt the bodies of those people that take
them.

4. Gather all leaves in the hour of that planet that governs them.





_Of Flowers._


1. THE flower, which is the beauty of the plant, and of none of the
least use in physick, grows yearly, and is to be gathered when it is in
its prime.

2. As for the time of gathering them, let the planetary hour, and the
planet they come of, be observed, as we shewed you in the foregoing
chapter: as for the time of the day, let it be when the sun shine upon
them, that so they may be dry; for, if you gather either flowers or
herbs when they are wet or dewy, they will not keep.

3. Dry them well in the sun, and keep them in papers near the fire, as
I shewed you in the foregoing chapter.

4. So long as they retain the colour and smell, they are good; either
of them being gone, so is the virtue also.





_Of Seeds._


1. THE seed is that part of the plant which is endowed with a vital
faculty to bring forth its like, and it contains potentially the whole
plant in it.

2. As for place, let them be gathered from the place where they delight
to grow.

3. Let them be full ripe when they are gathered; and forget not the
celestial harmony before mentioned, for I have found by experience that
their virtues are twice as great at such times as others: “There is an
appointed time for every thing under the sun.”

4. When you have gathered them, dry them a little, and but a little in
the sun, before you lay them up.

5. You need not be so careful of keeping them so near the fire, as
the other before-mentioned, because they are fuller of spirit, and
therefore not so subject to corrupt.

6. As for the time of their duration, it is palpable they will keep a
good many years; yet, they are best the first year, and this I make
appear by a good argument. They will grow sooner the first year they be
set, therefore then they are in their prime; and it is an easy matter
to renew them yearly.





_Of Roots._


1. OF roots, chuse such as are neither rotten nor worm-eaten, but
proper in their taste, colour, and smell; such as exceed neither in
softness nor hardness.

2. Give me leave to be a little critical against the vulgar received
opinion, which is, That the sap falls down into the roots in the
Autumn, and rises again in the Spring, as men go to bed at night, and
rise in the morning; and this idle talk of untruth is so grounded in
the heads, not only of the vulgar, but also of the learned, tha
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PG #: 62
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/62


ON THE ARIZONA HILLS


I am a very old man; how old I do not know.  Possibly I am a hundred,
possibly more; but I cannot tell because I have never aged as other
men, nor do I remember any childhood.  So far as I can recollect I have
always been a man, a man of about thirty.  I appear today as I did
forty years and more ago, and yet I feel that I cannot go on living
forever; that some day I shall die the real death from which there is
no resurrection.  I do not know why I should fear death, I who have
died twice and am still alive; but yet I have the same horror of it as
you who have never died, and it is because of this terror of death, I
believe, that I am so convinced of my mortality.

And because of this conviction I have determined to write down the
story of the interesting periods of my life and of my death.  I cannot
explain the phenomena; I can only set down here in the words of an
ordinary soldier of fortune a chronicle of the strange events that
befell me during the ten years that my dead body lay undiscovered in an
Arizona cave.

I have never told this story, nor shall mortal man see this manuscript
until after I have passed over for eternity.  I know that the average
human mind will not believe what it cannot grasp, and so I do not
purpose being pilloried by the public, the pulpit, and the press, and
held up as a colossal liar when I am but telling the simple truths
which some day science will substantiate.  Possibly the suggestions
which I gained upon Mars, and the knowledge which I can set down in
this chronicle, will aid in an earlier understanding of the mysteries
of our sister planet; mysteries to you, but no longer mysteries to me.

My name is John Carter; I am better known as Captain Jack Carter of
Virginia.  At the close of the Civil War I found myself possessed of
several hundred thousand dollars (Confederate) and a captain's
commission in the cavalry arm of an army which no longer existed; the
servant of a state which had vanished with the hopes of the South.
Masterless, penniless, and with my only means of livelihood, fighting,
gone, I determined to work my way to the southwest and attempt to
retrieve my fallen fortunes in a search for gold.

I spent nearly a year prospecting in company with another Confederate
officer, Captain James K. Powell of Richmond.  We were extremely
fortunate, for late in the winter of 1865, after many hardships and
privations, we located the most remarkable gold-bearing quartz vein
that our wildest dreams had ever pictured.  Powell, who was a mining
engineer by education, stated that we had uncovered over a million
dollars worth of ore in a trifle over three months.

As our equipment was crude in the extreme we decided that one of us
must return to civilization, purchase the necessary machinery and
return with a sufficient force of men properly to work the mine.

As Powell was familiar with the country, as well as with the mechanical
requirements of mining we determined that it would be best for him to
make the trip.  It was agreed that I was to hold down our claim against
the remote possibility of its being jumped by some wandering prospector.

On March 3, 1866, Powell and I packed his provisions on two of our
burros, and bidding me good-bye he mounted his horse, and started down
the mountainside toward the valley, across which led the first stage of
his journey.

The morning of Powell's departure was, like nearly all Arizona
mornings, clear and beautiful; I could see him and his little pack
animals picking their way down the mountainside toward the valley, and
all during the morning I would catch occasional glimpses of them as
they topped a hog back or came out upon a level plateau.  My last sight
of Powell was about three in the afternoon as he entered the shadows of
the range on the opposite side of the valley.

Some half hour later I happened to glance casually across the valley
and was much surprised to note three little dots in about the same
place I had last seen my friend and his two pack animals.  I am not
given to needless worrying, but the more I tried to convince myself
that all was well with Powell, and that the dots I had seen on his
trail were antelope or wild horses, the less I was able to assure
myself.

Since we had entered the territory we had not seen a hostile Indian,
and we had, therefore, become careless in the extreme, and were wont to
ridicule the stories we had heard of the great numbers of these vicious
marauders that were supposed to haunt the trails, taking their toll in
lives and torture of every white party which fell into their merciless
clutches.

Powell, I knew, was well armed and, further, an experienced Indian
fighter; but I too had lived and fought for years among the Sioux in
the North, and I knew that his chances were small against a party of
cunning trailing Apaches.  Finally I could endure the suspense no
longer, and, arming myself with my two Colt revolvers and a carbine, I
strapped two belts of cartridges about me 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 26659
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/26659





_Copyright, 1896_

BY WILLIAM JAMES


  First Edition. February, 1897,

  Reprinted, May, 1897, September, 1897,
  March, 1898, August, 1899, June, 1902,
  January, 1903, May, 1904, June, 1905,
  March, 1907, April, 1908,
  September, 1909, December, 1910,
  November, 1911, November, 1912




To

My Old Friend,

CHARLES SANDERS PEIRCE,

  To whose philosophic comradeship in old times
  and to whose writings in more recent years
  I owe more incitement and help than
  I can express or repay.




{vii}

PREFACE.

At most of our American Colleges there are Clubs formed by the students
devoted to particular branches of learning; and these clubs have the
laudable custom of inviting once or twice a year some maturer scholar
to address them, the occasion often being made a public one.  I have
from time to time accepted such invitations, and afterwards had my
discourse printed in one or other of the Reviews.  It has seemed to me
that these addresses might now be worthy of collection in a volume, as
they shed explanatory light upon each other, and taken together express
a tolerably definite philosophic attitude in a very untechnical way.

Were I obliged to give a short name to the attitude in question, I
should call it that of _radical empiricism_, in spite of the fact that
such brief nicknames are nowhere more misleading than in philosophy.  I
say 'empiricism,' because it is contented to regard its most assured
conclusions concerning matters of fact as hypotheses liable to
modification in the course of future experience; and I say 'radical,'
because it treats the doctrine of monism itself as an hypothesis, and,
{viii} unlike so much of the half-way empiricism that is current under
the name of positivism or agnosticism or scientific naturalism, it does
not dogmatically affirm monism as something with which all experience
has got to square.  The difference between monism and pluralism is
perhaps the most pregnant of all the differences in philosophy.  _Primâ
facie_ the world is a pluralism; as we find it, its unity seems to be
that of any collection; and our higher thinking consists chiefly of an
effort to redeem it from that first crude form.  Postulating more unity
than the first experiences yield, we also discover more.  But absolute
unity, in spite of brilliant dashes in its direction, still remains
undiscovered, still remains a _Grenzbegriff_.  "Ever not quite" must be
the rationalistic philosopher's last confession concerning it.  After
all that reason can do has been done, there still remains the opacity
of the finite facts as merely given, with most of their peculiarities
mutually unmediated and unexplained.  To the very last, there are the
various 'points of view' which the philosopher must distinguish in
discussing the world; and what is inwardly clear from one point remains
a bare externality and datum to the other.  The negative, the alogical,
is never wholly banished.  Something--"call it fate, chance, freedom,
spontaneity, the devil, what you will"--is still wrong and other and
outside and unincluded, from _your_ point of view, even though you be
the greatest of philosophers.  Something is always mere fact and
_givenness_; and there may be in the whole universe no one point of
view extant from which this would not be found to be the case.
"Reason," as a gifted writer says, "is {ix} but one item in the
mystery; and behind the proudest consciousness that ever reigned,
reason and wonder blushed face to face.  The inevitable stales, while
doubt and hope are sisters.  Not unfortunately the universe is
wild,--game-flavored as a hawk's wing.  Nature is miracle all; the same
returns not save to bring the different.  The slow round of the
engraver's lathe gains but the breadth of a hair, but the difference is
distributed back over the whole curve, never an instant true,--ever not
quite."[1]

This is pluralism, somewhat rhapsodically expressed.  He who takes for
his hypothesis the notion that it is the permanent form of the world is
what I call a radical empiricist.  For him the crudity of experience
remains an eternal element thereof.  There is no possible point of view
from which the world can appear an absolutely single fact.  Real
possibilities, real indeterminations, real beginnings, real ends, real
evil, real crises, catastrophes, and escapes, a real God, and a real
moral life, just as common-sense conceives these things, may remain in
empiricism as conceptions which that philosophy gives up the attempt
either to 'overcome' or to reinterpret in monistic form.

Many of my professionally trained _confrères_ will smile at the
irrationalism of this view, and at the artlessness of my essays in
point of technical form.  But they should be taken as illustrations of
the radically empiricist attitude rather than as argumentations for its
validity.  That admits meanwhile of {x} being argued in as technical a
shape as any one can desire, and possibly I may be spared to do later a
share of that work.  Meanwhile the
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PG #: 7986
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PLAYS BY ANTON CHEKHOV, SECOND SERIES

By Anton Chekhov

Translated, with an Introduction, by Julius West

[The First Series Plays have been previously published
by Project Gutenberg in etext numbers: 1753 through 1756]


CONTENTS

     INTRODUCTION
     ON THE HIGH ROAD
     THE PROPOSAL
     THE WEDDING
     THE BEAR
     A TRAGEDIAN IN SPITE OF HIMSELF
     THE ANNIVERSARY
     THE THREE SISTERS
     THE CHERRY ORCHARD




INTRODUCTION

The last few years have seen a large and generally unsystematic mass of
translations from the Russian flung at the heads and hearts of English
readers. The ready acceptance of Chekhov has been one of the few
successful features of this irresponsible output. He has been welcomed
by British critics with something like affection. Bernard Shaw has
several times remarked: “Every time I see a play by Chekhov, I want to
chuck all my own stuff into the fire.” Others, having no such valuable
property to sacrifice on the altar of Chekhov, have not hesitated
to place him side by side with Ibsen, and the other established
institutions of the new theatre. For these reasons it is pleasant to
be able to chronicle the fact that, by way of contrast with the casual
treatment normally handed out to Russian authors, the publishers are
issuing the complete dramatic works of this author. In 1912 they brought
out a volume containing four Chekhov plays, translated by Marian Fell.
All the dramatic works not included in her volume are to be found in the
present one. With the exception of Chekhov’s masterpiece, “The Cherry
Orchard” (translated by the late Mr. George Calderon in 1912), none of
these plays have been previously published in book form in England or
America.

It is not the business of a translator to attempt to outdo all others in
singing the praises of his raw material. This is a dangerous process and
may well lead, as it led Mr. Calderon, to drawing the reader’s
attention to points of beauty not to be found in the original. A few
bibliographical details are equally necessary, and permissible, and the
elementary principles of Chekhov criticism will also be found useful.

The very existence of “The High Road” (1884); probably the earliest
of its author’s plays, will be unsuspected by English readers. During
Chekhov’s lifetime it a sort of family legend, after his death it became
a family mystery. A copy was finally discovered only last year in the
Censor’s office, yielded up, and published. It had been sent in 1885
under the nom-de-plume “A. Chekhonte,” and it had failed to pass. The
Censor, of the time being had scrawled his opinion on the manuscript,
“a depressing and dirty piece,--cannot be licensed.” The name of the
gentleman who held this view--Kaiser von Kugelgen--gives another reason
for the educated Russian’s low opinion of German-sounding institutions.
Baron von Tuzenbach, the satisfactory person in “The Three Sisters,”
 it will be noted, finds it as well, while he is trying to secure the
favours of Irina, to declare that his German ancestry is fairly remote.
This is by way of parenthesis. “The High Road,” found after thirty
years, is a most interesting document to the lover of Chekhov. Every
play he wrote in later years was either a one-act farce or a four-act
drama. [Note: “The Swan Song” may occur as an exception. This, however,
is more of a Shakespeare recitation than anything else, and so neither
here nor there.]

In “The High Road” we see, in an embryonic form, the whole later method
of the plays--the deliberate contrast between two strong characters
(Bortsov and Merik in this case), the careful individualization of each
person in a fairly large group by way of an introduction to the main
theme, the concealment of the catastrophe, germ-wise, in the actual
character of the characters, and the of a distinctive group-atmosphere.
It need scarcely be stated that “The High Road” is not a “dirty” piece
according to Russian or to German standards; Chekhov was incapable of
writing a dirty play or story. For the rest, this piece differs from the
others in its presentation, not of Chekhov’s favourite middle-classes,
but of the moujik, nourishing, in a particularly stuffy atmosphere, an
intense mysticism and an equally intense thirst for vodka.

“The Proposal” (1889) and “The Bear” (1890) may be taken as good
examples of the sort of humour admired by the average Russian. The
latter play, in another translation, was put on as a curtain-raiser to a
cinematograph entertainment at a London theatre in 1914; and had quite a
pleasant reception from a thoroughly Philistine audience. The humour is
very nearly of the variety most popular over here, the psychology is a
shade subtler. The Russian novelist or dramatist takes to psychology as
some of his fellow-countrymen take to drink; in doing this he achieves
fame by showing us what we already know, and at the same time he kills
his own creative power. Chekhov just escaped the tragedy of suicide by
introspection, and was only enabled to do this
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PG #: 885
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/885

AN IDEAL HUSBAND


                                  A PLAY

                                    BY
                               OSCAR WILDE

                                * * * * *

                            METHUEN & CO. LTD.
                           36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
                                  LONDON

                                * * * * *

                _First Published_, _at 1s. net_, _in 1912_

                                * * * * *

_This book was First Published in 1893_

_First Published_ (_Second Edition_) _by      _February_           _1908_
   Methuen & Co._
_Third Edition_                               _October_            _1909_
_Fourth edition_                              _October_            _1910_
_Fifth Edition_                               _May_                _1912_

THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY


THE EARL OF CAVERSHAM, K.G.

VISCOUNT GORING, his Son

SIR ROBERT CHILTERN, Bart., Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs

VICOMTE DE NANJAC, Attaché at the French Embassy in London

MR. MONTFORD

MASON, Butler to Sir Robert Chiltern

PHIPPS, Lord Goring’s Servant

JAMES   }

HAROLD  } Footmen

LADY CHILTERN

LADY MARKBY

THE COUNTESS OF BASILDON

MRS. MARCHMONT

MISS MABEL CHILTERN, Sir Robert Chiltern’s Sister

MRS. CHEVELEY




THE SCENES OF THE PLAY


ACT I.  _The Octagon Room in Sir Robert Chiltern’s House in Grosvenor
Square_.

ACT II.  _Morning-room in Sir Robert Chiltern’s House_.

ACT III.  _The Library of Lord Goring’s House in Curzon Street_.

ACT IV.  _Same as Act II_.

TIME: _The Present_

PLACE: _London_.

     _The action of the play is completed within twenty-four hours_.




THEATRE ROYAL, HAYMARKET


                _Sole Lessee_: _Mr. Herbert Beerbohm Tree_

           _Managers_: _Mr. Lewis Waller and Mr. H. H. Morell_

                          _January_ 3_rd_, 1895

THE EARL OF CAVERSHAM       _Mr. Alfred Bishop_.
VISCOUNT GORING             _Mr. Charles H. Hawtrey_.
SIR ROBERT CHILTERN         _Mr. Lewis Waller_.
VICOMTE DE NANJAC           _Mr. Cosmo Stuart_.
MR. MONTFORD                _Mr. Harry Stanford_.
PHIPPS                      _Mr. C. H. Brookfield_.
MASON                       _Mr. H. Deane_.
JAMES                       _Mr. Charles Meyrick_.
HAROLD                      _Mr. Goodhart_.
LADY CHILTERN               _Miss Julia Neilson_.
LADY MARKBY                 _Miss Fanny Brough_.
COUNTESS OF BASILDON        _Miss Vane Featherston_.
MRS. MARCHMONT              _Miss Helen Forsyth_.
MISS MABEL CHILTERN         _Miss Maud Millet_.
MRS. CHEVELEY               _Miss Florence West_.




FIRST ACT


SCENE


_The octagon room at Sir Robert Chiltern’s house in Grosvenor Square_.

[_The room is brilliantly lighted and full of guests_.  _At the top of
the staircase stands_ LADY CHILTERN, _a woman of grave Greek beauty_,
_about twenty-seven years of age_.  _She receives the guests as they come
up_.  _Over the well of the staircase hangs a great chandelier with wax
lights_, _which illumine a large eighteenth-century French
tapestry—representing the Triumph of Love_, _from a design by
Boucher—that is stretched on the staircase wall_.  _On the right is the
entrance to the music-room_.  _The sound of a string quartette is faintly
heard_.  _The entrance on the left leads to other reception-rooms_.  MRS.
MARCHMONT _and_ LADY BASILDON, _two very pretty women_, _are seated
together on a Louis Seize sofa_.  _They are types of exquisite
fragility_.  _Their affectation of manner has a delicate charm_.
_Watteau would have loved to paint them_.]

MRS. MARCHMONT.  Going on to the Hartlocks’ to-night, Margaret?

LADY BASILDON.  I suppose so.  Are you?

MRS. MARCHMONT.  Yes.  Horribly tedious parties they give, don’t they?

LADY BASILDON.  Horribly tedious!  Never know why I go.  Never know why I
go anywhere.

MRS. MARCHMONT.  I come here to be educated.

LADY BASILDON.  Ah! I hate being educated!

MRS. MARCHMONT.  So do I.  It puts one almost on a level with the
commercial classes, doesn’t it?  But dear Gertrude Chiltern is always
telling me that I should have some serious purpose in life.  So I come
here to try to find one.

LADY BASILDON.  [_Looking round through her lorgnette_.]  I don’t see
anybody here to-night whom one could possibly call a serious purpose.
The man who took me in to dinner talked to me about his wife the whole
time.

MRS. MARCHMONT.  How very trivial of him!

LADY BASILDON.  Terribly trivial!  What did your man talk about?

MRS. MARCHMONT.  About myself.

LADY BASILDON.  [_Languidly_.]  And were you interested?

MRS. MARCHMONT.  [_Shaking her head_.]  Not in the smallest degree.

LADY BASILDON.  What martyrs we are, dear Margaret!

MRS. MARCHMONT.  [_Rising_.]  And how well it becomes us, Olivia!

[_They rise and go towards the music-room_.  _The_ VICOMTE DE NANJAC, _a
young attaché known for his neckties and his Anglomania_, _approaches
with a low bow_, _and enters into conversation_.]

MASON.  [_Announcing guests from the top of the stairca
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See Ormerod, ii. 404.

ARMS.--_Gules, on a bend engrailed argent, between two cinquefoils
or, three leopard's faces vert_. The more ancient coat, given in
King's Vale Royal, appears to have been, _Sable, three chargers or
dishes argent_.

Present Representative, Thomas Aldersey, Esq.




BASKERVYLE, (CALLED GLEGG,) OF OLD WITHINGTON.


[Illustration] Ormerod traces this family to Sir John Baskervyle,
grantee of a moiety of Old Withington from Robert de Camvyle in
1266, and that estate has ever since remained in the family. In 1758
John Baskervyle, Esq., the representative of the house of Old
Withington, having married the heiress of Glegg of Gayton, in this
county, assumed that name in lieu of his own.

See Ormerod, iii. 355; and for Glegg, ib. ii. 285.

ARMS.--_Argent, a chevron gules between three hurts_. This coat,
_the chevron charged with three fleurs-de-lis or_, was borne by
"Monsire de Baskervile;" see Sir Harris Nicolas's Roll of Arms temp.
E. III.

Present Representative, John Baskervyle Glegg, Esq.




BROOKE OF NORTON, BARONET 1662.


[Illustration] Adam Lord of Leighton, in the reign of Henry III., is
the first recorded ancestor of this family, who continued at
Leighton, the seat of the principal branch of the Brookes, until the
extinction of the elder male line, in or about the year 1632.
Richard Brooke, younger son of Thomas Brooke of Leighton, purchased
Norton from King Henry VIII. in the year 1545, which has remained
the residence of his heirs male.

Younger branches: Broke of Nacton in the county of Suffolk, Baronet
1813; descended from Sir Richard Brooke, Knight, Chief Baron of the
Exchequer, in the reign of Henry VIII., youngest son of Thomas
Brooke of Leighton, the ancestor of the Norton family. There was a
former baronetcy in this family, created 1661, extinct 1693. Brooke
of Mere in this county, sprung from Sir Peter Brooke, third son of
Thomas Brooke of Norton, established at Mere by purchase in 1632.

See Ormerod, i. 360, 500; and iii. 241; Collectanea Topographica et
Genealogica, i. 22; and Wotton's Baronetage, iii. 392.

ARMS.--_Or, a cross engrailed party per pale gules and sable_.

Present Representative, Sir Richard Brooke, 7th Baronet.




+Gentle.+


CLUTTON OF CHORLTON, IN THE PARISH OF MALPAS.


[Illustration] Ormerod gives no detailed pedigree, but states that
the Cluttons had been settled at Clutton, in the parish of Farndon,
in this county, as early as the 21st of Edward I, and that the manor
of the same place was held by this family in the time of Henry VI.
In the reign of Henry VIII., Roger, third son of Owen Clutton of
Courthyn, having married an heiress of Aldersey of Chorlton, became
seated there, and was the ancestor of the present family. From
Henry, elder brother of this Roger, were descended the Clutton
Brocks late of Pensax in Worcestershire, who were there established
in the seventeenth century.

See Ormerod, ii. 366, 410, and a pedigree of this family in Harleian
MS. 2119.

ARMS.--_Argent, a chevron ermine, cotised sable, between three
annulets gules_.

Present Representative, Thomas Charlton Clutton, Esq.




LECHE OF CARDEN.


[Illustration] The pedigree commences in the reign of Henry IV. with
John Leche, (said to be a younger brother of the house of Leche of
Chatsworth, in Derbyshire,) who married the heiress of Cawarthyn, or
Carden, and settled there about the year 1475. Some pedigrees,
however, seat the Leches at Carden as early as the twentieth of
Edward III.; and there is also a tradition that the family is
descended from the leche, or chirurgeon, of that monarch himself. It
is remarkable that Nolan has been the family christian name, with
one exception, during thirteen generations.

Younger branch, extinct in 1694, Leche of Mollington, in this
county.

See Harl. MS. 2119, 50, quoted by Ormerod, ii. 385.

ARMS.--_Ermine, on a chief indented gules three crowns or_.

Present Representative, John Hurleston Leche, Esq.




BARNSTON OF CHURTON, IN THE PARISH OF FARNDON.


[Illustration] The descent of this family is not proved beyond
Robert Barnston, of Churton, in the third year of Richard II. But
Hugh de Barnston was lord of a moiety of Barnston in the
twenty-first of Edward I. The pedigree was confirmed in the
Visitations of 1613 and 1663-4.

See Ormerod, ii. 408.

ARMS.--_Azure, a fess indented ermine between six cross-crosslets
fitchée or_. Thomas de Bernaston bore this coat, except that the
crosses were argent. See the Roll of Arms of the Reign of Edward

Present Representative, Roger Barnston, Esq.




ANTROBUS OF ANTROBUS, BARONET 1815.


[Illustration] This is an instance of an ancient family, which,
having gone down in the world, has recovered itself by means of
commercial pursuits, after centuries of comparative obscurity.
Antrobus was sold by Henry Antrobus in the reign of Henry IV., and
repurchased by Edmund Antrobus in 1808; he having proved himself a
descendant of Henry, youngest son of Henry Antrobus above mentioned.
Antrobus of Eaton Hall,
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I am by birth a Genevese; and my family is one of the most distinguished
of that republic. My ancestors had been for many years counsellors and
syndics; and my father had filled several public situations with honour
and reputation. He was respected by all who knew him for his integrity
and indefatigable attention to public business. He passed his younger
days perpetually occupied by the affairs of his country; and it was not
until the decline of life that he thought of marrying, and bestowing on
the state sons who might carry his virtues and his name down to
posterity.

As the circumstances of his marriage illustrate his character, I cannot
refrain from relating them. One of his most intimate friends was a
merchant, who, from a flourishing state, fell, through numerous
mischances, into poverty. This man, whose name was Beaufort, was of a
proud and unbending disposition, and could not bear to live in poverty
and oblivion in the same country where he had formerly been
distinguished for his rank and magnificence. Having paid his debts,
therefore, in the most honourable manner, he retreated with his daughter
to the town of Lucerne, where he lived unknown and in wretchedness. My
father loved Beaufort with the truest friendship, and was deeply grieved
by his retreat in these unfortunate circumstances. He grieved also for
the loss of his society, and resolved to seek him out and endeavour to
persuade him to begin the world again through his credit and assistance.

Beaufort had taken effectual measures to conceal himself; and it was ten
months before my father discovered his abode. Overjoyed at this
discovery, he hastened to the house, which was situated in a mean
street, near the Reuss. But when he entered, misery and despair alone
welcomed him. Beaufort had saved but a very small sum of money from the
wreck of his fortunes; but it was sufficient to provide him with
sustenance for some months, and in the mean time he hoped to procure
some respectable employment in a merchant’s house. The interval was
consequently spent in inaction; his grief only became more deep and
rankling, when he had leisure for reflection; and at length it took so
fast hold of his mind, that at the end of three months he lay on a bed
of sickness, incapable of any exertion.

His daughter attended him with the greatest tenderness; but she saw with
despair that their little fund was rapidly decreasing, and that there
was no other prospect of support. But Caroline Beaufort possessed a mind
of an uncommon mould; and her courage rose to support her in her
adversity. She procured plain work; she plaited straw; and by various
means contrived to earn a pittance scarcely sufficient to support life.

Several months passed in this manner. Her father grew worse; her time
was more entirely occupied in attending him; her means of subsistence
decreased; and in the tenth month her father died in her arms, leaving
her an orphan and a beggar. This last blow overcame her; and she knelt
by Beaufort’s coffin, weeping bitterly, when my father entered the
chamber. He came like a protecting spirit to the poor girl, who
committed herself to his care, and after the interment of his friend he
conducted her to Geneva, and placed her under the protection of a
relation. Two years after this event Caroline became his wife.

When my father became a husband and a parent, he found his time so
occupied by the duties of his new situation, that he relinquished many
of his public employments, and devoted himself to the education of his
children. Of these I was the eldest, and the destined successor to all
his labours and utility. No creature could have more tender parents than
mine. My improvement and health were their constant care, especially as
I remained for several years their only child. But before I continue my
narrative, I must record an incident which took place when I was four
years of age.

My father had a sister, whom he tenderly loved, and who had married
early in life an Italian gentleman. Soon after her marriage, she had
accompanied her husband into her native country, and for some years my
father had very little communication with her. About the time I
mentioned she died; and a few months afterwards he received a letter
from her husband, acquainting him with his intention of marrying an
Italian lady, and requesting my father to take charge of the infant
Elizabeth, the only child of his deceased sister. “It is my wish,” he
said, “that you should consider her as your own daughter, and educate
her thus. Her mother’s fortune is secured to her, the documents of which
I will commit to your keeping. Reflect upon this proposition; and decide
whether you would prefer educating your niece yourself to her being
brought up by a stepmother.”

My father did not hestitate, and immediately went to Italy, that he
might accompany the little Elizabeth to her future home. I have often
heard my mother say, that she was at that time the most beautiful child
she had ever seen, and she
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 2707
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2707

THE HISTORY OF HERODOTUS

By Herodotus

Translated into English by G. C. Macaulay


IN TWO VOLUMES

VOLUME I.


{e Herodotou diathesis en apasin epieikes, kai tois men agathois
sunedomene, tois de kakois sunalgousa}.—Dion. Halic.

{monos 'Erodotos 'Omerikhotatos egeneto}.—Longinus.



PREPARER'S NOTE

  This text was prepared from an edition dated 1890, published by
  MacMillan and Co., London and New York.

  Greek text has been transliterated and marked with brackets, as in
  the opening citation above.




PREFACE

If a new translation of Herodotus does not justify itself, it will
hardly be justified in a preface; therefore the question whether it was
needed may be left here without discussion. The aim of the translator
has been above all things faithfulness—faithfulness to the manner of
expression and to the structure of sentences, as well as to the meaning
of the Author. At the same time it is conceived that the freedom and
variety of Herodotus is not always best reproduced by such severe
consistency of rendering as is perhaps desirable in the case of the Epic
writers before and the philosophical writers after his time: nor again
must his simplicity of thought and occasional quaintness be reproduced
in the form of archaisms of language; and that not only because the
affectation of an archaic style would necessarily be offensive to the
reader, but also because in language Herodotus is not archaic. His style
is the "best canon of the Ionic speech," marked, however, not so much
by primitive purity as by eclectic variety. At the same time it is
characterised largely by the poetic diction of the Epic and Tragic
writers; and while the translator is free to employ all the resources of
modern English, so far as he has them at his command, he must carefully
retain this poetical colouring and by all means avoid the courtier
phrase by which the style of Herodotus has too often been made "more
noble." 331

As regards the text from which this translation has been made, it is
based upon that of Stein's critical edition (Berlin, 1869-1871), that
is to say the estimate there made of the comparative value of the
authorities has been on the whole accepted as a just one, rather than
that which depreciates the value of the Medicean MS. and of the class to
which it belongs. On the other hand the conjectural emendations proposed
by Stein have very seldom been adopted, and his text has been departed
from in a large number of other instances also, which will for the most
part be found recorded in the notes.

As it seemed that even after Stein's re-collation of the Medicean MS.
there were doubts felt by some scholars 332 as to the true reading in
some places of this MS., which is very generally acknowledged to be the
most important, I thought it right to examine it myself in all those
passages where questions about text arise which concern a translator,
that is in nearly five hundred places altogether; and the results, when
they are worth observing, are recorded in the notes. At the same time,
by the suggestion of Dr. Stein, I re-collated a large part of the third
book in the MS. which is commonly referred to as F (i.e. Florentinus),
called by Stein C, and I examined this MS. also in a certain number
of other places. It should be understood that wherever in the notes I
mention the reading of any particular MS. by name, I do so on my own
authority.

The notes have been confined to a tolerably small compass. Their purpose
is, first, in cases where the text is doubtful, to indicate the
reading adopted by the translator and any other which may seem to have
reasonable probability, but without discussion of the authorities;
secondly, where the rendering is not quite literal (and in other cases
where it seemed desirable), to quote the words of the original or to
give a more literal version; thirdly, to add an alternative version
in cases where there seems to be a doubt as to the true meaning; and
lastly, to give occasionally a short explanation, or a reference from
one passage of the author to another.

For the orthography of proper names reference may be made to the note
prefixed to the index. No consistent system has been adopted, and the
result will therefore be open to criticism in many details; but the aim
has been to avoid on the one hand the pedantry of seriously altering the
form of those names which are fairly established in the English language
of literature, as distinguished from that of scholarship, and on the
other hand the absurdity of looking to Latin rather than to Greek for
the orthography of the names which are not so established. There is no
intention to put forward any theory about pronunciation.

The index of proper names will, it is hoped, be found more complete
and accurate than those hitherto published. The best with which I was
acquainted I found to have so many errors and omissions 333 that I was
compelled to do the work again from the beginning. In a collection
of more than ten thousand references there mus
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cover




The Odyssey

by Homer

Translated by Alexander Pope


Contents

 INTRODUCTION.
 THE ODYSSEY OF HOMER
 BOOK I.
 BOOK II.
 BOOK III.
 BOOK IV.
 BOOK V.
 BOOK VI.
 BOOK VII.
 BOOK VIII.
 BOOK IX.
 BOOK X.
 BOOK XI.
 BOOK XII.
 BOOK XIII.
 BOOK XIV.
 BOOK XV.
 BOOK XVI.
 BOOK XVII.
 BOOK XVIII.
 BOOK XIX.
 BOOK XX.
 BOOK XXI.
 BOOK XXII.
 BOOK XXIII.
 BOOK XXIV.




INTRODUCTION.


Scepticism is as much the result of knowledge, as knowledge is of
scepticism. To be content with what we at present know, is, for the
most part, to shut our ears against conviction; since, from the very
gradual character of our education, we must continually forget, and
emancipate ourselves from, knowledge previously acquired; we must set
aside old notions and embrace fresh ones; and, as we learn, we must be
daily unlearning something which it has cost us no small labour and
anxiety to acquire.

And this difficulty attaches itself more closely to an age in which
progress has gained a strong ascendency over prejudice, and in which
persons and things are, day by day, finding their real level, in lieu
of their conventional value. The same principles which have swept away
traditional abuses, and which are making rapid havoc among the revenues
of sinecurists, and stripping the thin, tawdry veil from attractive
superstitions, are working as actively in literature as in society. The
credulity of one writer, or the partiality of another, finds as
powerful a touchstone and as wholesome a chastisement in the healthy
scepticism of a temperate class of antagonists, as the dreams of
conservatism, or the impostures of pluralist sinecures in the Church.
History and tradition, whether of ancient or comparatively recent
times, are subjected to very different handling from that which the
indulgence or credulity of former ages could allow. Mere statements are
jealously watched, and the motives of the writer form as important an
ingredient in the analysis or his history, as the facts he records.
Probability is a powerful and troublesome test; and it is by this
troublesome standard that a large portion of historical evidence is
sifted. Consistency is no less pertinacious and exacting in its
demands. In brief, to write a history, we must know more than mere
facts. Human nature, viewed under an introduction of extended
experience, is the best help to the criticism of human history.
Historical characters can only be estimated by the standard which human
experience, whether actual or traditionary, has furnished. To form
correct views of individuals we must regard them as forming parts of a
great whole—we must measure them by their relation to the mass of
beings by whom they are surrounded; and, in contemplating the incidents
in their lives or condition which tradition has handed down to us, we
must rather consider the general bearing of the whole narrative, than
the respective probability of its details.

It is unfortunate for us, that, of some of the greatest men, we know
least, and talk most. Homer, Socrates, and Shakespere have, perhaps,
contributed more to the intellectual enlightenment of mankind than any
other three writers who could be named, and yet the history of all
three has given rise to a boundless ocean of discussion, which has left
us little save the option of choosing which theory or theories we will
follow. The personality of Shakespere is, perhaps, the only thing in
which critics will allow us to believe without controversy; but upon
everything else, even down to the authorship of plays, there is more or
less of doubt and uncertainty. Of Socrates we know as little as the
contradictions of Plato and Xenophon will allow us to know. He was one
of the _dramatis personæ_ in two dramas as unlike in principles as in
style. He appears as the enunciator of opinions as different in their
tone as those of the writers who have handed them down. When we have
read Plato _or_ Xenophon, we think we know something of Socrates; when
we have fairly read and examined both, we feel convinced that we are
something worse than ignorant.

It has been an easy, and a popular expedient of late years, to deny the
personal or real existence of men and things whose life and condition
were too much for our belief. This system—which has often comforted the
religious sceptic, and substituted the consolations of Strauss for
those of the New Testament—has been of incalculable value to the
historical theorists of the last and present centuries. To question the
existence of Alexander the Great, would be a more excusable act, than
to believe in that of Romulus. To deny a fact related in Herodotus,
because it is inconsistent with a theory developed from an Assyrian
inscription which no two scholars read in the same way, is more
pardonable, than to believe in the good-natured old king whom the
elegant pen of Florian has idealized—_Numa Pompilius_.

Scepticism has attained 
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Motives to the present work--Reception of the Author's first
publication--Discipline of his taste at school--Effect of contemporary
writers on youthful minds--Bowles's Sonnets--Comparison between the
poets before and since Pope.


It has been my lot to have had my name introduced both in conversation,
and in print, more frequently than I find it easy to explain, whether
I consider the fewness, unimportance, and limited circulation of my
writings, or the retirement and distance, in which I have lived, both
from the literary and political world. Most often it has been connected
with some charge which I could not acknowledge, or some principle which
I had never entertained. Nevertheless, had I had no other motive
or incitement, the reader would not have been troubled with this
exculpation. What my additional purposes were, will be seen in the
following pages. It will be found, that the least of what I have written
concerns myself personally. I have used the narration chiefly for the
purpose of giving a continuity to the work, in part for the sake of
the miscellaneous reflections suggested to me by particular events, but
still more as introductory to a statement of my principles in Politics,
Religion, and Philosophy, and an application of the rules, deduced from
philosophical principles, to poetry and criticism. But of the objects,
which I proposed to myself, it was not the least important to effect,
as far as possible, a settlement of the long continued controversy
concerning the true nature of poetic diction; and at the same time to
define with the utmost impartiality the real poetic character of the
poet, by whose writings this controversy was first kindled, and has been
since fuelled and fanned.

In the spring of 1796, when I had but little passed the verge of
manhood, I published a small volume of juvenile poems. They were
received with a degree of favour, which, young as I was, I well know
was bestowed on them not so much for any positive merit, as because they
were considered buds of hope, and promises of better works to come. The
critics of that day, the most flattering, equally with the severest,
concurred in objecting to them obscurity, a general turgidness of
diction, and a profusion of new coined double epithets [1]. The first
is the fault which a writer is the least able to detect in his own
compositions: and my mind was not then sufficiently disciplined to
receive the authority of others, as a substitute for my own conviction.
Satisfied that the thoughts, such as they were, could not have been
expressed otherwise, or at least more perspicuously, I forgot to
inquire, whether the thoughts themselves did not demand a degree of
attention unsuitable to the nature and objects of poetry. This remark
however applies chiefly, though not exclusively, to the Religious
Musings. The remainder of the charge I admitted to its full extent,
and not without sincere acknowledgments both to my private and public
censors for their friendly admonitions. In the after editions, I pruned
the double epithets with no sparing hand, and used my best efforts to
tame the swell and glitter both of thought and diction; though in truth,
these parasite plants of youthful poetry had insinuated themselves into
my longer poems with such intricacy of union, that I was often obliged
to omit disentangling the weed, from the fear of snapping the flower.
From that period to the date of the present work I have published
nothing, with my name, which could by any possibility have come before
the board of anonymous criticism. Even the three or four poems, printed
with the works of a friend [2], as far as they were censured at all,
were charged with the same or similar defects, (though I am persuaded
not with equal justice),--with an excess of ornament, in addition to
strained and elaborate diction. I must be permitted to add, that,
even at the early period of my juvenile poems, I saw and admitted the
superiority of an austerer and more natural style, with an insight not
less clear, than I at present possess. My judgment was stronger than
were my powers of realizing its dictates; and the faults of my language,
though indeed partly owing to a wrong choice of subjects, and the desire
of giving a poetic colouring to abstract and metaphysical truths,
in which a new world then seemed to open upon me, did yet, in part
likewise, originate in unfeigned diffidence of my own comparative
talent.--During several years of my youth and early manhood, I
reverenced those who had re-introduced the manly simplicity of the
Greek, and of our own elder poets, with such enthusiasm as made the hope
seem presumptuous of writing successfully in the same style. Perhaps
a similar process has happened to others; but my earliest poems were
marked by an ease and simplicity, which I have studied, perhaps with
inferior success, to impress on my later compositions.

At school, (Christ's Hospital,) I enjoyed the inestimable advantage of
a very sensible, though at the same time
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THE GIFT OF THE MAGI

by O. Henry




One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it
was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the
grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned
with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing
implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven
cents. And the next day would be Christmas.

There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little
couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection
that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles
predominating.

While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first
stage to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8
per week. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had
that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad.

In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go,
and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring.
Also appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr.  James
Dillingham Young."

The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of
prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when
the income was shrunk to $20, though, they were thinking seriously of
contracting to a modest and unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James
Dillingham Young came home and reached his flat above he was called
"Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James Dillingham Young, already
introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good.

Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag.
She stood by the window and looked out dully at a gray cat walking a
gray fence in a gray backyard. Tomorrow would be Christmas Day, and she
had only $1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving
every penny she could for months, with this result.  Twenty dollars a
week doesn't go far. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated.
They always are. Only $1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a
happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something
fine and rare and sterling--something just a little bit near to being
worthy of the honor of being owned by Jim.

There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you
have seen a pierglass in an $8 flat. A very thin and very agile person
may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal
strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks.  Della, being
slender, had mastered the art.

Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass.  Her
eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its color within
twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its
full length.

Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which
they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been
his father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the
queen of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have
let her hair hang out the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her
Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all
his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his
watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from
envy.

So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her rippling and shining like
a cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself
almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and
quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or
two splashed on the worn red carpet.

On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl
of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she
fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.

Where she stopped the sign read: "Mme. Sofronie. Hair Goods of All
Kinds." One flight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting.
Madame, large, too white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."

"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.

"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at
the looks of it."

Down rippled the brown cascade.

"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.

"Give it to me quick," said Della.

Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed
metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.

She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else.
There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all
of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in
design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by
meretricious ornamentation--as all good things should do. It was even
worthy of The Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be
Jim's. It was like him. Quietness and value--the description applied to
both. Twenty-
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MY UNCLE MAKES A GREAT DISCOVERY


Looking back to all that has occurred to me since that eventful day, I
am scarcely able to believe in the reality of my adventures. They were
truly so wonderful that even now I am bewildered when I think of them.

My uncle was a German, having married my mother's sister, an
Englishwoman. Being very much attached to his fatherless nephew, he
invited me to study under him in his home in the fatherland. This home
was in a large town, and my uncle a professor of philosophy, chemistry,
geology, mineralogy, and many other ologies.

One day, after passing some hours in the laboratory--my uncle being
absent at the time--I suddenly felt the necessity of renovating the
tissues--<i>i.e.</i>, I was hungry, and was about to rouse up our old French
cook, when my uncle, Professor Von Hardwigg, suddenly opened the street
door, and came rushing upstairs.

Now Professor Hardwigg, my worthy uncle, is by no means a bad sort of
man; he is, however, choleric and original. To bear with him means to
obey; and scarcely had his heavy feet resounded within our joint
domicile than he shouted for me to attend upon him.

"Harry--Harry--Harry--"

I hastened to obey, but before I could reach his room, jumping three
steps at a time, he was stamping his right foot upon the landing.

"Harry!" he cried, in a frantic tone, "are you coming up?"

Now to tell the truth, at that moment I was far more interested in the
question as to what was to constitute our dinner than in any problem of
science; to me soup was more interesting than soda, an omelette more
tempting than arithmetic, and an artichoke of ten times more value than
any amount of asbestos.

But my uncle was not a man to be kept waiting; so adjourning therefore
all minor questions, I presented myself before him.

He was a very learned man. Now most persons in this category supply
themselves with information, as peddlers do with goods, for the benefit
of others, and lay up stores in order to diffuse them abroad for the
benefit of society in general. Not so my excellent uncle, Professor
Hardwigg; he studied, he consumed the midnight oil, he pored over heavy
tomes, and digested huge quartos and folios in order to keep the
knowledge acquired to himself.

There was a reason, and it may be regarded as a good one, why my uncle
objected to display his learning more than was absolutely necessary: he
stammered; and when intent upon explaining the phenomena of the heavens,
was apt to find himself at fault, and allude in such a vague way to sun,
moon, and stars that few were able to comprehend his meaning. To tell
the honest truth, when the right word would not come, it was generally
replaced by a very powerful adjective.

In connection with the sciences there are many almost unpronounceable
names--names very much resembling those of Welsh villages; and my uncle
being very fond of using them, his habit of stammering was not thereby
improved. In fact, there were periods in his discourse when he would
finally give up and swallow his discomfiture--in a glass of water.

As I said, my uncle, Professor Hardwigg, was a very learned man; and I
now add a most kind relative. I was bound to him by the double ties of
affection and interest. I took deep interest in all his doings, and
hoped some day to be almost as learned myself. It was a rare thing for
me to be absent from his lectures. Like him, I preferred mineralogy to
all the other sciences. My anxiety was to gain real <i>knowledge of the
earth</i>. Geology and mineralogy were to us the sole objects of life, and
in connection with these studies many a fair specimen of stone, chalk,
or metal did we break with our hammers.

Steel rods, loadstones, glass pipes, and bottles of various acids were
oftener before us than our meals. My uncle Hardwigg was once known to
classify six hundred different geological specimens by their weight,
hardness, fusibility, sound, taste, and smell.

He corresponded with all the great, learned, and scientific men of the
age. I was, therefore, in constant communication with, at all events the
letters of, Sir Humphry Davy, Captain Franklin, and other great men.

But before I state the subject on which my uncle wished to confer with
me, I must say a word about his personal appearance. Alas! my readers
will see a very different portrait of him at a future time, after he has
gone through the fearful adventures yet to be related.

My uncle was fifty years old; tall, thin, and wiry. Large spectacles
hid, to a certain extent, his vast, round, and goggle eyes, while his
nose was irreverently compared to a thin file. So much indeed did it
resemble that useful article, that a compass was said in his presence to
have made considerable N (Nasal) deviation.

The truth being told, however, the only article really attracted to my
uncle's nose was tobacco.

Another peculiarity of his was, that he always stepped a yard at a time,
clenched his fists as if he were going to hit you, and was, when in one
of his peculi
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(Images generously made available by the Internet Archive.)





[Illustration: THE WOMAN IN THE MOON]

[Illustration: TITLE PAGE]


SALOMÉ

A TRAGEDY IN ONE ACT:

TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF

OSCAR WILDE,

WITH SIXTEEN DRAWINGS BY AUBREY BEARDSLEY

LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD

NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY, MCMVII

[Illustration: COVER DESIGN]




    THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY.

    HEROD ANTIPAS, TETRARCH OF JUDÆA.
    JOKANAAN, THE PROPHET.
    THE YOUNG SYRIAN, CAPTAIN of the GUARD.
    TIGELLINUS, A YOUNG ROMAN.
    A CAPPADOCIAN.
    A NUBIAN.
    FIRST SOLDIER.
    SECOND SOLDIER.
    THE PAGE OF HERODIAS.
    JEWS, NAZARENES, ETC.
    A SLAVE.
    NAAMAN, THE EXECUTIONER.
    HERODIAS, WIFE OF THE TETRARCH.
    SALOMÉ, DAUGHTER OF HERODIAS.
    THE SLAVES OF SALOMÉ.




A NOTE ON "SALOMÉ."


"SALOMÉ" has made the author's name a household word wherever the
English language is not spoken. Few English plays have such a
peculiar history. Written in French in 1892 it was in full
rehearsal by Madame Bernhardt at the Palace Theatre when it was
prohibited by the Censor. Oscar Wilde immediately announced his
intention of changing his nationality, a characteristic jest,
which was only taken seriously, oddly enough, in Ireland. The
interference of the Censor has seldom been more popular or more
heartily endorsed by English critics. On its publication in book
form "Salomé" was greeted by a chorus of ridicule, and it may be
noted in passing that at least two of the more violent reviews
were from the pens of unsuccessful dramatists, while all those
whose French never went beyond Ollendorff were glad to find in
that venerable school classic an unsuspected asset in their
education--a handy missile with which to pelt "Salomé" and its
author. The correctness of the French was, of course, impugned,
although the scrip had been passed by a distinguished French
writer, to whom I have heard the whole work attributed. The
Times, while depreciating the drama, gave its author credit for
a _tour de force_, in being capable of writing a French play for
Madame Bernhardt, and this drew from him the following letter:--

     The Times, Thursday, March 2, 1893, p. 4.

      MR. OSCAR WILDE ON "SALOMÉ."

      To the Editor of The Times.

      Sir, My attention has been drawn to a review of
      "Salomé" which was published in your columns last
      week. The opinions of English critics on a French work
      of mine have, of course, little, if any, interest for
      me. I write simply to ask you to allow me to correct a
      misstatement that appears in the review in question.

      The fact that the greatest tragic actress of any stage
      now living saw in my play such beauty that she was
      anxious to produce it, to take herself the part of the
      heroine, to lend to the entire poem the glamour of her
      personality, and to my prose the music of her
      flute-like voice--this was naturally, and always will
      be, a source of pride and pleasure to me, and I look
      forward with delight to seeing Mme. Bernhardt present
      my play in Paris, that vivid centre of art, where
      religious dramas are often performed. But my play was
      in no sense of the words written for this great
      actress. I have never written a play for any actor or
      actress, nor shall I ever do so. Such work is for the
      artisan in literature--not for the artist.

      I remain, Sir, your obedient servant,

      OSCAR WILDE.



When "Salomé" was translated into English by Lord Alfred Douglas,
the illustrator, Aubrey Beardsley, shared some of the obloquy
heaped on Wilde. It is interesting that he should have found
inspiration for his finest work in a play he never admired and by
a writer he cordially disliked. The motives are, of course, made
to his hand, and never was there a more suitable material for
that odd tangent art in which there are no tactile values. The
amusing caricatures of Wilde which appear in the _Frontispiece_,
"Enter Herodias" and "The Eyes of Herod," are the only pieces of
vraisemblance in these exquisite designs. The colophon is a real
masterpiece and a witty criticism of the play as well.

On the production of "Salomé" by the New Stage Club in May,
1905,[1] the dramatic critics again expressed themselves
vehemently, vociferating their regrets that the play had been
dragged from its obscurity. The obscure drama, however, had
become for five years past part of the literature of Europe. It
is performed regularly or intermittently in Holland, Sweden,
Italy, France, and Russia, and it has been translated into every
European language, including the Czech. It forms part of the
repertoire of the German stage, where it is performed more often
than any play by any English writer except Shakespeare. Owing,
perhaps, to what I must call its _obscure_ popularity in the
continental theatres, Dr. Strauss was preparing his remarkable
opera at the very moment when there appeared the criticisms to
which I r
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THE INIMITABLE JEEVES





JEEVES EXERTS THE OLD CEREBELLUM


"'Morning, Jeeves," I said.

"Good morning, sir," said Jeeves. He put the good old cup of tea softly
on the table by my bed, and I took a refreshing sip. Just right, as
usual. Not too hot, not too sweet, not too weak, not too strong, not
too much milk, and not a drop spilled in the saucer. A most amazing
cove, Jeeves. So dashed competent in every respect. I've said it
before, and I'll say it again. I mean to say, take just one small
instance. Every other valet I've ever had used to barge into my room in
the morning while I was still asleep, causing much misery: but Jeeves
seems to know when I'm awake by a sort of telepathy. He always floats
in with the cup exactly two minutes after I come to life. Makes a deuce
of a lot of difference to a fellow's day.

"How's the weather, Jeeves?"

"Exceptionally clement, sir."

"Anything in the papers?"

"Some slight friction threatening in the Balkans, sir. Otherwise,
nothing."

"I say, Jeeves, a man I met at the club last night told me to put my
shirt on Privateer for the two o'clock race this afternoon. How about
it?"

"I should not advocate it, sir. The stable is not sanguine."

That was enough for me. Jeeves knows. How, I couldn't say, but he
knows. There was a time when I would laugh lightly, and go ahead, and
lose my little all against his advice, but not now.

"Talking of shirts," I said, "have those mauve ones I ordered arrived
yet?"

"Yes, sir. I sent them back."

"Sent them back?"

"Yes, sir. They would not have become you."

Well, I must say I'd thought fairly highly of those shirtings, but
I bowed to superior knowledge. Weak? I don't know. Most fellows, no
doubt, are all for having their valets confine their activities to
creasing trousers and what not without trying to run the home; but it's
different with Jeeves. Right from the first day he came to me, I have
looked on him as a sort of guide, philosopher, and friend.

"Mr. Little rang up on the telephone a few moments ago, sir. I informed
him that you were not yet awake."

"Did he leave a message?"

"No, sir. He mentioned that he had a matter of importance to discuss
with you, but confided no details."

"Oh, well, I expect I shall be seeing him at the club."

"No doubt, sir."

I wasn't what you might call in a fever of impatience. Bingo Little is
a chap I was at school with, and we see a lot of each other still. He's
the nephew of old Mortimer Little, who retired from business recently
with a goodish pile. (You've probably heard of Little's Liniment--It
Limbers Up the Legs.) Bingo biffs about London on a pretty comfortable
allowance given him by his uncle, and leads on the whole a fairly
unclouded life. It wasn't likely that anything which he described as
a matter of importance would turn out to be really so frightfully
important. I took it that he had discovered some new brand of cigarette
which he wanted me to try, or something like that, and didn't spoil my
breakfast by worrying.

After breakfast I lit a cigarette and went to the open window to
inspect the day. It certainly was one of the best and brightest.

"Jeeves," I said.

"Sir?" said Jeeves. He had been clearing away the breakfast things, but
at the sound of the young master's voice cheesed it courteously.

"You were absolutely right about the weather. It is a juicy morning."

"Decidedly, sir."

"Spring and all that."

"Yes, sir."

"In the spring, Jeeves, a livelier iris gleams upon the burnished dove."

"So I have been informed, sir."

"Right ho! Then bring me my whangee, my yellowest shoes, and the old
green Homburg. I'm going into the Park to do pastoral dances."

I don't know if you know that sort of feeling you get on these days
round about the end of April and the beginning of May, when the sky's
a light blue, with cotton-wool clouds, and there's a bit of a breeze
blowing from the west? Kind of uplifted feeling. Romantic, if you know
what I mean. I'm not much of a ladies' man, but on this particular
morning it seemed to me that what I really wanted was some charming
girl to buzz up and ask me to save her from assassins or something. So
that it was a bit of an anti-climax when I merely ran into young Bingo
Little, looking perfectly foul in a crimson satin tie decorated with
horseshoes.

"Hallo, Bertie," said Bingo.

"My God, man!" I gargled. "The cravat! The gent's neckwear! Why? For
what reason?"

"Oh, the tie?" He blushed. "I--er--I was given it."

He seemed embarrassed, so I dropped the subject. We toddled along a
bit, and sat down on a couple of chairs by the Serpentine.

"Jeeves tells me you want to talk to me about something," I said.

"Eh?" said Bingo, with a start. "Oh yes, yes. Yes."

I waited for him to unleash the topic of the day, but he didn't seem to
want to get going. Conversation languished. He stared straight ahead of
him in a glassy sort of manner.

"I say, Bertie," he said, after a pause of about an hour and a quarter.

"Hallo!"

"Do you like the name Mabel?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 16436
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/16436

Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net






                 [Illustration: When the shadows are long]



                                   POEMS

                          Every Child Should Know


                                 EDITED BY
                                Mary E. Burt

                               [Illustration]

                           THE WHAT-EVERY-CHILD-
                            SHOULD-KNOW-LIBRARY

                                Published by
                     DOUBLEDAY, DORAN & CO., INC., for
                        THE PARENTS' INSTITUTE, INC.
                   Publishers of "The Parents' Magazine"
                        9 EAST 40th STREET, NEW YORK



 COPYRIGHT. 1904, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES AT THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY,
 N.Y.




 ACKNOWLEDGMENTS TO PUBLISHERS AND AUTHORS


 It sometimes happens that there are people who do not know that authors
 are protected by copyright laws. A publisher once cited to me an
 instance of a teacher who innocently put forth a little volume of poems
 that she loved and admired, without asking permission of any one. Her
 annoyance was boundless when she found that she had no right to the
 poems.

 Special permission has been obtained for each copyrighted poem in this
 volume, and the right to publish has been purchased of the author or
 publisher, except in those cases where the author or the publisher has,
 for reasons of courtesy and friendship, given the permission.

 In addition to the business arrangements which have been made, we wish
 to extend our thanks and acknowledgments to those firms which have so
 kindly allowed us to use their material.

 To HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN & COMPANY, of Boston, we are indebted for
     the use of the following poems: From the copyrighted works of
     Longfellow--"The Arrow and the Song," "A Fragment of Hiawatha's
     Childhood," "The Skeleton in Armour," "The Wreck of the
     _Hesperus_," "The Ship of State," "The Psalm of Life," "The
     Village Blacksmith." From Whittier--"Barbara Frietchie" and "The
     _Three Bells_ of Glasgow." From Emerson--"The Problem." From
     Burroughs--"My Own Shall Come to Me." From Lowell--"The Finding of
     the Lyre," "The Shepherd of King Admetus," and a fragment of "The
     Vision of Sir Launfal," From Holmes--"The Chambered Nautilus" and
    "Old Ironsides." From James T. Fields--"The Captain's Daughter."
     From Bayard Taylor--"The Song in Camp," From Celia Thaxter--"The
     Sandpiper." From J.T. Trowbridge--"Farm-Yard Song." From Edith M.
     Thomas--"The God of Music" and Hermes' "Moly."

 To CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS we are indebted for the use of the
     following poems: From the copyrighted works of Eugene
     Field--"Wynken Blynken, and Nod," "Krinken," and "The Duel." From
     Robert Louis Stevenson--"My Shadow." From James Whitcomb Riley's
     poems--"Little Orphant Annie." From the poems of Sidney
     Lanier--"Barnacles" and "The Tournament." From "The Poems of
     Patriotism"--"Sheridan's Ride."

 We are further indebted to CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, as well as
     to MR. GEORGE W. CABLE, for "The New Arrival," taken from
    "The Cable Story Book," and to MRS. KATHERINE MILLER and
     _Scribner's Magazine_ for "Stevenson's Birthday."

 To J.B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY we are indebted for the use of
    "Sheridan's Ride," from the complete works of T. Buchanan Read.

 To HARPER & BROTHERS for the use of "Driving Home the Cows,"
     by Kate Putnam Osgood.

 To LITTLE, BROWN & COMPANY, of Boston, "How the Leaves Came
     Down," by Susan Coolidge.

 To the WHITAKER & RAY COMPANY, of San Francisco, "Columbus,"
     by Joaquin Miller, from his complete works published and
     copyrighted by that company.

 To D. APPLETON & COMPANY for "The Planting of the Apple-Tree"
     and "Robert of Lincoln," from the complete works of William Cullen
     Bryant; also for "Marco Bozzaris," from the works of Fitz-Greene
     Halleck.

 To the MACMILLAN COMPANY for "The Forsaken Merman," by Matthew
     Arnold, from the complete volume of his poems published by that
     company.

 To the HOWARD UNIVERSITY PRINT, Washington, D.C., for Jeremiah
     Rankin's little poem, "The Babie," from "Ingleside Rhaims."

 To the heirs of MARY EMILY BRADLEY for "A Chrysalis."

 To HENRY HOLCOMB BENNETT for "The Flag Goes By."




 PREFACE


 Is this another collection of stupid poems that children cannot use?
 Will they look hopelessly through this volume for poems that suit them?
 Will they say despairingly, "This is too long," and "That is too hard,"
 and "I don't like that because it is not interesting"?

 Are there three or four pleasing poems and are all the rest put in to
 fill up the book? Nay, verily! The poems in this collection are those
 that children love. With the exception of seven, they are short enough
 for children to commit to memory without wearying themselves or losi
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PG #: 398
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/398

live in the Cave of Treasures.


1 On the third day, God planted the garden in the east of the earth, on
the border of the world eastward, beyond which, towards the sun-rising,
one finds nothing but water, that encompasses the whole world, and
reaches to the borders of heaven.

2 And to the north of the garden there is a sea of water, clear and
pure to the taste, unlike anything else; so that, through the clearness
thereof, one may look into the depths of the earth.

3 And when a man washes himself in it, he becomes clean of the
cleanness thereof, and white of its whiteness--even if he were dark.

4 And God created that sea of his own good pleasure, for He knew what
would come of the man He would make; so that after he had left the
garden, on account of his transgression, men should be born in the
earth.  Among them are righteous ones who will die, whose souls God
would raise at the last day; when all of them will return to their
flesh, bathe in the water of that sea, and repent of their sins.

5 But when God made Adam go out of the garden, He did not place him on
the border of it northward.  This was so that he and Eve would not be
able to go near to the sea of water where they could wash themselves in
it, be cleansed from their sins, erase the transgression they had
committed, and be no longer reminded of it in the thought of their
punishment.

6 As to the southern side of the garden, God did not want Adam to live
there either; because, when the wind blew from the north, it would
bring him, on that southern side, the delicious smell of the trees of
the garden.

7 Wherefore God did not put Adam there.  This was so that he would not
be able to smell the sweet smell of those trees, forget his
transgression, and find consolation for what he had done by taking
delight in the smell of the trees and yet not be cleansed from his
transgression.

8 Again, also, because God is merciful and of great pity, and governs
all things in a way that He alone knows--He made our father Adam live
in the western border of the garden, because on that side the earth is
very broad.

9 And God commanded him to live there in a cave in a rock--the Cave of
Treasures below the garden.




His Word to encourage them.

1 But when our father Adam, and Eve, went out of the garden, they
walked the ground on their feet, not knowing they were walking.

2 And when they came to the opening of the gate of the garden, and saw
the broad earth spread before them, covered with stones large and
small, and with sand, they feared and trembled, and fell on their
faces, from the fear that came over them; and they were as dead.

3 Because--whereas until this time they had been in the garden land,
beautifully planted with all manner of trees--they now saw themselves,
in a strange land, which they knew not, and had never seen.

4 And because, when they were in the garden they were filled with the
grace of a bright nature, and they had not hearts turned toward earthly
things.

5 Therefore God had pity on them; and when He saw them fallen before
the gate of the garden, He sent His Word to our father, Adam and Eve,
and raised them from their fallen state.






1 God said to Adam, "I have ordained on this earth days and years, and
you and your descendants shall live and walk in them, until the days
and years are fulfilled; when I shall send the Word that created you,
and against which you have transgressed, the Word that made you come
out of the garden, and that raised you when you were fallen.

2 Yes, the Word that will again save you when the five and a half days
are fulfilled."

3 But when Adam heard these words from God, and of the great five and a
half days, he did not understand the meaning of them.

4 For Adam was thinking there would be only five and a half days for
him until the end of the world.

5 And Adam cried, and prayed to God to explain it to him.

6 Then God in his mercy for Adam who was made after His own image and
likeness, explained to him, that these were 5,000 and 500 years; and
how One would then come and save him and his descendants.

7 But before that, God had made this covenant with our father, Adam, in
the same terms, before he came out of the garden, when he was by the
tree where Eve took of the fruit and gave it to him to eat.

8 Because, when our father Adam came out of the garden, he passed by
that tree, and saw how God had changed the appearance of it into
another form, and how it shriveled.

9 And as Adam went to it he feared, trembled and fell down; but God in
His mercy lifted him up, and then made this covenant with him.

10 And again, when Adam was by the gate of the garden, and saw the
cherub with a sword of flashing fire in his hand, and the cherub grew
angry and frowned at him, both Adam and Eve became afraid of him, and
thought he meant to put them to death.  So they fell on their faces,
trembled with fear.

11 But he had pity on them, and showed them mercy; and turning from
them went up to heaven, and prayed to the Lord,
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PG #: 2892
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Finnian, the Abbott of Moville, went southwards and eastwards in great
haste. News had come to him in Donegal that there were yet people in his
own province who believed in gods that he did not approve of, and the
gods that we do not approve of are treated scurvily, even by saintly
men.

He was told of a powerful gentleman who observed neither Saint’s day nor
Sunday.

“A powerful person!” said Finnian.

“All that,” was the reply.

“We shall try this person’s power,” said Finnian.

“He is reputed to be a wise and hardy man,” said his informant.

“We shall test his wisdom and his hardihood.”

“He is,” that gossip whispered--“he is a magician.”

“I will magician him,” cried Finnian angrily. “Where does that man
live?”

He was informed, and he proceeded to that direction without delay.

In no great time he came to the stronghold of the gentleman who followed
ancient ways, and he demanded admittance in order that he might preach
and prove the new God, and exorcise and terrify and banish even the
memory of the old one; for to a god grown old Time is as ruthless as to
a beggarman grown old.

But the Ulster gentleman refused Finnian admittance. He barricaded
his house, he shuttered his windows, and in a gloom of indignation and
protest he continued the practices of ten thousand years, and would
not hearken to Finnian calling at the window or to Time knocking at his
door.

But of those adversaries it was the first he redoubted.

Finnian loomed on him as a portent and a terror; but he had no fear of
Time. Indeed he was the foster-brother of Time, and so disdainful of the
bitter god that he did not even disdain him; he leaped over the scythe,
he dodged under it, and the sole occasions on which Time laughs is when
he chances on Tuan, the son of Cairill, the son of Muredac Red-neck.




Now Finnian could not abide that any person should resist both the
Gospel and himself, and he proceeded to force the stronghold by peaceful
but powerful methods. He fasted on the gentleman, and he did so to such
purpose that he was admitted to the house; for to an hospitable heart
the idea that a stranger may expire on your doorstep from sheer famine
cannot be tolerated. The gentleman, however, did not give in without a
struggle: he thought that when Finnian had grown sufficiently hungry he
would lift the siege and take himself off to some place where he might
get food. But he did not know Finnian. The great abbot sat down on a
spot just beyond the door, and composed himself to all that might follow
from his action. He bent his gaze on the ground between his feet,
and entered into a meditation from which he would Only be released by
admission or death.

The first day passed quietly.

Often the gentleman would send a servitor to spy if that deserter of the
gods was still before his door, and each time the servant replied that
he was still there.

“He will be gone in the morning,” said the hopeful master.

On the morrow the state of siege continued, and through that day the
servants were sent many times to observe through spy-holes.

“Go,” he would say, “and find out if the worshipper of new gods has
taken himself away.”

But the servants returned each time with the same information.

“The new druid is still there,” they said.

All through that day no one could leave the stronghold. And the enforced
seclusion wrought on the minds of the servants, while the cessation
of all work banded them together in small groups that whispered and
discussed and disputed. Then these groups would disperse to peep through
the spy-hole at the patient, immobile figure seated before the door,
wrapped in a meditation that was timeless and unconcerned. They
took fright at the spectacle, and once or twice a woman screamed
hysterically, and was bundled away with a companion’s hand clapped on
her mouth, so that the ear of their master should not be affronted.

“He has his own troubles,” they said. “It is a combat of the gods that
is taking place.”

So much for the women; but the men also were uneasy. They prowled up and
down, tramping from the spy-hole to the kitchen, and from the kitchen
to the turreted roof. And from the roof they would look down on the
motionless figure below, and speculate on many things, including
the staunchness of man, the qualities of their master, and even the
possibility that the new gods might be as powerful as the old.
From these peepings and discussions they would return languid and
discouraged.

“If,” said one irritable guard, “if we buzzed a spear at the persistent
stranger, or if one slung at him with a jagged pebble!”

“What!” his master demanded wrathfully, “is a spear to be thrown at
an unarmed stranger? And from this house!” And he soundly cuffed that
indelicate servant.

“Be at peace all of you,” he said, “for hunger has a whip, and he will
drive the stranger away in the night.”

The household retired to wretched beds; but for the master of the house
there was no sleep. He marched his halls all night, going often to
the spy-ho
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PG #: 24022
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/24022

A CHRISTMAS CAROL

  [Illustration: _"How now?" said Scrooge, caustic and cold as ever.
  "What do you want with me?"_]


  A CHRISTMAS CAROL

  [Illustration]

  BY

  CHARLES DICKENS

  [Illustration]

  ILLUSTRATED BY ARTHUR RACKHAM

  [Illustration]

  J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY PHILADELPHIA AND NEW YORK

  FIRST PUBLISHED 1915

  REPRINTED 1923, 1927, 1932, 1933, 1934, 1935, 1947, 1948, 1952, 1958,
  1962, 1964, 1966, 1967, 1969, 1971, 1972, 1973

  ISBN: 0-397-00033-2

  PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN




  PREFACE

  I have endeavoured in this Ghostly little book to raise the Ghost of an
  Idea which shall not put my readers out of humour with themselves, with
  each other, with the season, or with me. May it haunt their house
  pleasantly, and no one wish to lay it.

  Their faithful Friend and Servant,

  C. D.

  _December, 1843._




  CHARACTERS

  Bob Cratchit, clerk to Ebenezer Scrooge.
  Peter Cratchit, a son of the preceding.
  Tim Cratchit ("Tiny Tim"), a cripple, youngest son of Bob Cratchit.
  Mr. Fezziwig, a kind-hearted, jovial old merchant.
  Fred, Scrooge's nephew.
  Ghost of Christmas Past, a phantom showing things past.
  Ghost of Christmas Present, a spirit of a kind, generous,
    and hearty nature.
  Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, an apparition showing the shadows
    of things which yet may happen.
  Ghost of Jacob Marley, a spectre of Scrooge's former partner in business.
  Joe, a marine-store dealer and receiver of stolen goods.
  Ebenezer Scrooge, a grasping, covetous old man, the surviving partner
    of the firm of Scrooge and Marley.
  Mr. Topper, a bachelor.
  Dick Wilkins, a fellow apprentice of Scrooge's.

  Belle, a comely matron, an old sweetheart of Scrooge's.
  Caroline, wife of one of Scrooge's debtors.
  Mrs. Cratchit, wife of Bob Cratchit.
  Belinda and Martha Cratchit, daughters of the preceding.

  Mrs. Dilber, a laundress.
  Fan, the sister of Scrooge.
  Mrs. Fezziwig, the worthy partner of Mr. Fezziwig.




  CONTENTS

  STAVE ONE—MARLEY'S GHOST                                             3
  STAVE TWO—THE FIRST OF THE THREE SPIRITS                            37
  STAVE THREE—THE SECOND OF THE THREE SPIRITS                         69
  STAVE FOUR—THE LAST OF THE SPIRITS                                 111
  STAVE FIVE—THE END OF IT                                           137


  LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

  _IN COLOUR_


  "How now?" said Scrooge, caustic
    and cold as ever. "What do you
    want with me?"                                           _Frontispiece_

  Bob Cratchit went down a slide on
    Cornhill, at the end of a lane of
    boys, twenty times, in honour of
    its being Christmas Eve                                           16

  Nobody under the bed; nobody in
    the closet; nobody in his dressing-gown,
    which was hanging up
    in a suspicious attitude against
    the wall                                                          20

  The air was filled with phantoms,
   wandering hither and thither in
    restless haste and moaning as
    they went                                                         32

  Then old Fezziwig stood out to
    dance with Mrs. Fezziwig                                          54

  A flushed and boisterous group                                      62

  Laden with Christmas toys and
    presents                                                          64

  The way he went after that plump
    sister in the lace tucker!                                       100

  "How are you?" said one.
    "How are you?" returned the other.
   "Well!" said the first. "Old
    Scratch has got his own at last,
    hey?"                                                            114

  "What do you call this?" said Joe.
    "Bed-curtains!" "Ah!" returned
    the woman, laughing....
    "Bed-curtains!"

  "You don't mean to say you took
    'em down, rings and all, with him
    lying there?" said Joe.

  "Yes, I do," replied the woman.
    "Why not?"                                                       120

  "It's I, your uncle Scrooge. I have
    come to dinner. Will you let
    me in, Fred?"                                                    144

  "Now, I'll tell you what, my friend,"
    said Scrooge. "I am not going
    to stand this sort of thing any
    longer."                                                         146

[Illustration]

_IN BLACK AND WHITE_


  Tailpiece                                                           vi
  Tailpiece to List of Coloured Illustrations                          x
  Tailpiece to List of Black and White Illustrations                  xi
  Heading to Stave One                                                 3
  They were portly gentlemen, pleasant to behold                      12
  On the wings of the wind                                         28-29
  Tailpiece to Stave One                                              34
  Heading to Stave Two                                   
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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a team of about twenty Project Gutenberg volunteers.
HTML version prepared by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.



cover 



A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM



by William Shakespeare



Contents



ACT I
Scene I.
Athens. A room in the Palace of Theseus
Scene II.
The Same. A Room in a Cottage

ACT II
Scene I.
A wood near Athens
Scene II.
Another part of the wood

ACT III
Scene I.
The Wood.
Scene II.
Another part of the wood

ACT IV
Scene I.
The Wood
Scene II.
Athens. A Room in Quince’s House

ACT V
Scene I.
Athens. An Apartment in the Palace of Theseus



Dramatis Personæ

THESEUS, Duke of Athens
HIPPOLYTA, Queen of the Amazons, bethrothed to Theseus
EGEUS, Father to Hermia
HERMIA, daughter to Egeus, in love with Lysander
HELENA, in love with Demetrius
LYSANDER, in love with Hermia
DEMETRIUS, in love with Hermia
PHILOSTRATE, Master of the Revels to Theseus

QUINCE, the Carpenter
SNUG, the Joiner
BOTTOM, the Weaver
FLUTE, the Bellows-mender
SNOUT, the Tinker
STARVELING, the Tailor

OBERON, King of the Fairies
TITANIA, Queen of the Fairies
PUCK, or ROBIN GOODFELLOW, a Fairy
PEASEBLOSSOM, Fairy
COBWEB, Fairy
MOTH, Fairy
MUSTARDSEED, Fairy

PYRAMUS, THISBE, WALL, MOONSHINE, LION; Characters in the Interlude
performed by the Clowns

Other Fairies attending their King and Queen
Attendants on Theseus and Hippolyta

SCENE: Athens, and a wood not far from it



ACT I

SCENE I. Athens. A room in the Palace of Theseus

 Enter Theseus, Hippolyta, Philostrate and Attendants.

THESEUS.
Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour
Draws on apace; four happy days bring in
Another moon; but oh, methinks, how slow
This old moon wanes! She lingers my desires,
Like to a step-dame or a dowager,
Long withering out a young man’s revenue.

HIPPOLYTA.
Four days will quickly steep themselves in night;
Four nights will quickly dream away the time;
And then the moon, like to a silver bow
New bent in heaven, shall behold the night
Of our solemnities.

THESEUS.
Go, Philostrate,
Stir up the Athenian youth to merriments;
Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth;
Turn melancholy forth to funerals;
The pale companion is not for our pomp.

 [_Exit Philostrate._]

Hippolyta, I woo’d thee with my sword,
And won thy love doing thee injuries;
But I will wed thee in another key,
With pomp, with triumph, and with revelling.

 Enter Egeus, Hermia, Lysander and Demetrius.

EGEUS.
Happy be Theseus, our renownèd Duke!

THESEUS.
Thanks, good Egeus. What’s the news with thee?

EGEUS.
Full of vexation come I, with complaint
Against my child, my daughter Hermia.
Stand forth, Demetrius. My noble lord,
This man hath my consent to marry her.
Stand forth, Lysander. And, my gracious Duke,
This man hath bewitch’d the bosom of my child.
Thou, thou, Lysander, thou hast given her rhymes,
And interchang’d love-tokens with my child.
Thou hast by moonlight at her window sung,
With feigning voice, verses of feigning love;
And stol’n the impression of her fantasy
With bracelets of thy hair, rings, gauds, conceits,
Knacks, trifles, nosegays, sweetmeats (messengers
Of strong prevailment in unharden’d youth)
With cunning hast thou filch’d my daughter’s heart,
Turn’d her obedience (which is due to me)
To stubborn harshness. And, my gracious Duke,
Be it so she will not here before your grace
Consent to marry with Demetrius,
I beg the ancient privilege of Athens:
As she is mine I may dispose of her;
Which shall be either to this gentleman
Or to her death, according to our law
Immediately provided in that case.

THESEUS.
What say you, Hermia? Be advis’d, fair maid.
To you your father should be as a god;
One that compos’d your beauties, yea, and one
To whom you are but as a form in wax
By him imprinted, and within his power
To leave the figure, or disfigure it.
Demetrius is a worthy gentleman.

HERMIA.
So is Lysander.

THESEUS.
In himself he is.
But in this kind, wanting your father’s voice,
The other must be held the worthier.

HERMIA.
I would my father look’d but with my eyes.

THESEUS.
Rather your eyes must with his judgment look.

HERMIA.
I do entreat your Grace to pardon me.
I know not by what power I am made bold,
Nor how it may concern my modesty
In such a presence here to plead my thoughts:
But I beseech your Grace that I may know
The worst that may befall me in this case,
If I refuse to wed Demetrius.

THESEUS.
Either to die the death, or to abjure
For ever the society of men.
Therefore, fair Hermia, question your desires,
Know of your youth, examine well your blood,
Whether, if you yield not to your father’s choice,
You can endure the livery of a nun,
For aye to be in shady cloister mew’d,
To live a barren sister all your life,
Chanting faint hymns to the cold fruitless moon.
Thrice-blessèd they that master so their blood
To undergo such maiden pilgrimage,
But earthlier happy is the rose distill’d
Than that which, withering on the virgin thorn,
Grows, lives, and dies, in single blessedness.

HERMIA.
So will I grow, so live, so die, my lord,
Ere I will yield my virgin patent up
Unto his
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and least read." But with the great revival of interest in political
philosophy there has come a desire for the better understanding of
Rousseau's work. He is again being studied more as a thinker and less
as an ally or an opponent; there is more eagerness to sift the true
from the false, and to seek in the _Social Contract_ the "principles of
political right," rather than the great revolutionary's _ipse dixit_
in favour of some view about circumstances which he could never have
contemplated.

The _Social Contract_, then, may be regarded either as a document
of the French Revolution, or as one of the greatest books dealing
with political philosophy. It is in the second capacity, as a work
of permanent value containing truth, that it finds a place among the
world's great books. It is in that capacity also that it will be
treated in this introduction. Taking it in this aspect, we have no less
need of historical insight than if we came to it as historians pure and
simple. To understand its value we must grasp its limitations; when
the questions it answers seem unnaturally put, we must not conclude
that they are meaningless; we must see if the answer still holds when
the question is put in a more up-to-date form.

First, then, we must always remember that Rousseau is writing in the
eighteenth century, and for the most part in France. Neither the French
monarchy nor the Genevese aristocracy loved outspoken criticism,
and Rousseau had always to be very careful what he said. This may
seem a curious statement to make about a man who suffered continual
persecution on account of his subversive doctrines; but, although
Rousseau was one of the most daring writers of his time, he was forced
continually to moderate his language and, as a rule, to confine himself
to generalisation instead of attacking particular abuses. Rousseau's
theory has often been decried as too abstract and metaphysical. This is
in many ways its great strength; but where it is excessively so, the
accident of time is to blame. In the eighteenth century it was, broadly
speaking, safe to generalise and unsafe to particularise. Scepticism
and discontent were the prevailing temper of the intellectual classes,
and a short-sighted despotism held that, as long as they were confined
to these, they would do little harm. Subversive doctrines were only
regarded as dangerous when they were so put as to appeal to the
masses; philosophy was regarded as impotent. The intellectuals of the
eighteenth century therefore generalised to their hearts' content, and
as a rule suffered little for their _lèse-majesté_: Voltaire is the
typical example of such generalisation. The spirit of the age favoured
such methods, and it was therefore natural for Rousseau to pursue
them. But his general remarks had such a way of bearing very obvious
particular applications, and were so obviously inspired by a particular
attitude towards the government of his day, that even philosophy became
in his hands unsafe, and he was attacked for what men read between
the lines of his works. It is owing to this faculty of giving his
generalisations content and actuality that Rousseau has become the
father of modern political philosophy. He uses the method of his time
only to transcend it; out of the abstract and general he creates the
concrete and universal.

Secondly, we must not forget that Rousseau's theories are to be studied
in a wider historical environment. If he is the first of modern
political theorists, he is also the last of a long line of Renaissance
theorists, who in turn inherit and transform the concepts of mediæval
thought. So many critics have spent so much wasted time in proving
that Rousseau was not original only because they began by identifying
originality with isolation: they studied first the _Social Contract_ by
itself, out of relation to earlier works, and then, having discovered
that these earlier works resembled it, decided that everything it had
to say was borrowed. Had they begun their study in a truly historical
spirit, they would have seen that Rousseau's importance lies just in
the new use he makes of old ideas, in the transition he makes from old
to new in the general conception of politics. No mere innovator could
have exercised such an influence or hit on so much truth. Theory makes
no great leaps; it proceeds to new concepts by the adjustment and
renovation of old ones. Just as theological writers on politics, from
Hooker to Bossuet, make use of Biblical terminology and ideas; just as
more modern writers, from Hegel to Herbert Spencer, make use of the
concept of evolution, Rousseau uses the ideas and terms of the Social
Contract theory. We should feel, throughout his work, his struggle to
free himself from what is lifeless and outworn in that theory, while
he develops out of it fruitful conceptions that go beyond its scope. A
too rigid literalism in the interpretation of Rousseau's thought may
easily reduce it to the possession of a merely "historical interest":
if
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The Shell and the Book. Qualities of Literature. Tests of Literature. The
Object in studying Literature. Importance of Literature. Summary of the
Subject. Bibliography.


Our First Poetry. "Beowulf." "Widsith." "Deor's Lament." "The Seafarer."
"The Fight at Finnsburgh." "Waldere." Anglo-Saxon Life. Our First Speech.
Christian Writers. Northumbrian Literature. Bede. Cædmon. Cynewulf. Decline
of Northumbrian Literature. Alfred. Summary. Bibliography. Questions.
Chronology.


The Normans. The Conquest. Literary Ideals of the Normans. Geoffrey of
Monmouth. Work of the French Writers. Layamon's "Brut." Metrical Romances.
The Pearl. Miscellaneous Literature of the Norman Period. Summary.
Bibliography. Questions. Chronology.


History of the Period. Five Writers of the Age. Chaucer. Langland. "Piers
Plowman." John Wyclif. John Mandeville. Summary. Bibliography. Questions.
Chronology.


Political Changes. Literature of the Revival. Wyatt and Surrey. Malory's
"Morte d'Arthur." Summary. Bibliography. Questions. Chronology.


Political Summary. Characteristics of the Elizabethan Age. The Non-Dramatic
Poets. Edmund Spenser. Minor Poets. Thomas Sackville. Philip Sidney. George
Chapman. Michael Drayton. The Origin of the Drama. The Religious Period of
the Drama. Miracle and Mystery Plays. The Moral Period of the Drama. The
Interludes. The Artistic Period of the Drama. Classical Influence upon the
Drama. Shakespeare's Predecessors in the Drama. Christopher Marlowe.
Shakespeare. Decline of the Drama. Shakespeare's Contemporaries and
Successors. Ben Jonson. Beaumont and Fletcher. John Webster. Thomas
Middleton. Thomas Heywood. Thomas Dekker. Massinger, Ford, Shirley. Prose
Writers. Francis Bacon. Richard Hooker. Sidney and Raleigh. John Foxe.
Camden and Knox. Hakluyt and Purchas. Thomas North. Summary. Bibliography.
Questions. Chronology.


The Puritan Movement. Changing Ideals. Literary Characteristics. The
Transition Poets. Samuel Daniel. The Song Writers. The Spenserian Poets.
The Metaphysical Poets. John Donne. George Herbert. The Cavalier Poets.
Thomas Carew. Robert Herrick. Suckling and Lovelace. John Milton. The Prose
Writers. John Bunyan. Robert Burton. Thomas Browne. Thomas Fuller. Jeremy
Taylor. Richard Baxter. Izaak Walton. Summary. Bibliography. Questions.
Chronology.


History of the Period. Literary Characteristics. John Dryden. Samuel
Butler. Hobbes and Locke. Evelyn and Pepys. Summary. Bibliography.
Questions. Chronology.


History of the Period. Literary Characteristics. The Classic Age. Alexander
Pope. Jonathan Swift. Joseph Addison. "The Tatler" and "The Spectator."
Samuel Johnson. Boswell's "Life of Johnson." Later Augustan Writers. Edmund
Burke. Edward Gibbon. The Revival of Romantic Poetry. Thomas Gray. Oliver
Goldsmith. William Cowper. Robert Burns. William Blake. The Minor Poets of
the Romantic Revival. James Thomson. William Collins. George Crabbe. James
Macpherson. Thomas Chatterton. Thomas Percy. The First English Novelists.
Meaning of the Novel. Precursors of the Novel. Discovery of the Modern
Novel. Daniel Defoe. Samuel Richardson. Henry Fielding. Smollett and
Sterne. Summary. Bibliography. Questions. Chronology.


Historical Summary. Literary Characteristics of the Age. The Poets of
Romanticism. William Wordsworth. Samuel Taylor Coleridge. Robert Southey.
Walter Scott. Byron. Percy Bysshe Shelley. John Keats. Prose Writers of the
Romantic Period. Charles Lamb. Thomas De Quincey. Jane Austen. Walter
Savage Landor. Summary. Bibliography. Questions. Chronology.


Historical Summary. Literary Characteristics. Poets of the Victorian Age.
Alfred Tennyson. Robert Browning. Minor Poets of the Victorian Age.
Elizabeth Barrett. Rossetti. Morris. Swinburne. Novelists of the Victorian
Age. Charles Dickens. William Makepeace Thackeray. George Eliot. Minor
Novelists of the Victorian Age. Charles Reade. Anthony Trollope. Charlotte
Brontë. Bulwer Lytton. Charles Kingsley. Mrs. Gaskell. Blackmore. Meredith.
Hardy. Stevenson. Essayists of the Victorian Age. Macaulay. Carlyle.
Ruskin. Matthew Arnold. Newman. The Spirit of Modern Literature. Summary.
Bibliography. Questions. Chronology.

GENERAL BIBLIOGRAPHY

INDEX

       *       *       *       *       *




INTRODUCTION--THE MEANING OF LITERATURE

    Hold the hye wey, and lat thy gost thee lede.
          Chaucer's _Truth_
      On, on, you noblest English, ...
      Follow your spirit.
            Shakespeare's _Henry V_


THE SHELL AND THE BOOK. A child and a man were one day walking on the
seashore when the child found a little shell and held it to his ear.
Suddenly he heard sounds,--strange, low, melodious sounds, as if the shell
were remembering and repeating to itself the murmurs of its ocean home. The
child's face filled with wonder as he listened. Here in the little shell,
apparently, was a voice from another world, and he listened with delight to
its mystery and music. Then came the man, explaining that the child heard
nothing strange; that the pearl
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_COPYRIGHT._

First Edition 1904.

Second Edition March 1905.

Reprinted August 1905, 1906, 1908, 1910, 1911, 1912, 1914, 1915, 1916,
1918, 1919.


GLASGOW: PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS BY ROBERT MACLEHOSE AND CO.
LTD.


TO MY STUDENTS




PREFACE


These lectures are based on a selection from materials used in teaching
at Liverpool, Glasgow, and Oxford; and I have for the most part
preserved the lecture form. The point of view taken in them is explained
in the Introduction. I should, of course, wish them to be read in their
order, and a knowledge of the first two is assumed in the remainder; but
readers who may prefer to enter at once on the discussion of the several
plays can do so by beginning at page 89.

Any one who writes on Shakespeare must owe much to his predecessors.
Where I was conscious of a particular obligation, I have acknowledged
it; but most of my reading of Shakespearean criticism was done many
years ago, and I can only hope that I have not often reproduced as my
own what belongs to another.

Many of the Notes will be of interest only to scholars, who may find, I
hope, something new in them.

I have quoted, as a rule, from the Globe edition, and have referred
always to its numeration of acts, scenes, and lines.

_November, 1904._

       *       *       *       *       *


NOTE TO SECOND AND SUBSEQUENT IMPRESSIONS

In these impressions I have confined myself to making some formal
improvements, correcting indubitable mistakes, and indicating here and
there my desire to modify or develop at some future time statements
which seem to me doubtful or open to misunderstanding. The changes,
where it seemed desirable, are shown by the inclusion of sentences in
square brackets.




CONTENTS


                                                              PAGE
INTRODUCTION                                                    1


LECTURE I.

THE SUBSTANCE OF SHAKESPEAREAN TRAGEDY                          5


LECTURE II.

CONSTRUCTION IN SHAKESPEARE'S TRAGEDIES                        40


LECTURE III.

SHAKESPEARE'S TRAGIC PERIOD--HAMLET                            79


LECTURE IV.

HAMLET                                                        129


LECTURE V.

OTHELLO                                                       175


LECTURE VI.

OTHELLO                                                       207


LECTURE VII.

KING LEAR                                                     243


LECTURE VIII.

KING LEAR                                                     280


LECTURE IX.

MACBETH                                                       331


LECTURE X.

MACBETH                                                       366


NOTE A. Events before the opening of the action in _Hamlet_   401

NOTE B. Where was Hamlet at the time of his father's death?   403

NOTE C. Hamlet's age                                          407

NOTE D. 'My tables--meet it is I set it down'                 409

NOTE E. The Ghost in the cellarage                            412

NOTE F. The Player's speech in _Hamlet_                       413

NOTE G. Hamlet's apology to Laertes                           420

NOTE H. The exchange of rapiers                               422

NOTE I. The duration of the action in
  _Othello_                                                   423

NOTE J. The 'additions' in the Folio text of _Othello_. The
  Pontic sea                                                  429

NOTE K. Othello's courtship                                   432

NOTE L. Othello in the Temptation scene                       434

NOTE M. Questions as to _Othello_, IV. i.                     435

NOTE N. Two passages in the last scene of _Othello_           437

NOTE O. Othello on Desdemona's last words                     438

NOTE P. Did Emilia suspect Iago?                              439

NOTE Q. Iago's suspicion regarding Cassio and Emilia          441

NOTE R. Reminiscences of _Othello_ in _King Lear_             441

NOTE S. _King Lear_ and _Timon of Athens_                     443

NOTE T. Did Shakespeare shorten _King Lear_?                  445

NOTE U. Movements of the _dramatis personæ_ in _King
  Lear_, II                                                   448

NOTE V. Suspected interpolations in _King Lear_               450

NOTE W. The staging of the scene of Lear's reunion with
  Cordelia                                                    453

NOTE X. The Battle in _King Lear_                             456

NOTE Y. Some difficult passages in _King Lear_                458

NOTE Z. Suspected interpolations in _Macbeth_                 466

NOTE AA. Has _Macbeth_ been abridged?                         467

NOTE BB. The date of _Macbeth_. Metrical Tests                470

NOTE CC. When was the murder of Duncan first plotted?         480

NOTE DD. Did Lady Macbeth really faint?                       484

NOTE EE. Duration of the action in _Macbeth_. Macbeth's age.
  'He has no children'                   
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They were not railway children to begin with. I don't suppose they had
ever thought about railways except as a means of getting to Maskelyne
and Cook's, the Pantomime, Zoological Gardens, and Madame Tussaud's.
They were just ordinary suburban children, and they lived with their
Father and Mother in an ordinary red-brick-fronted villa, with coloured
glass in the front door, a tiled passage that was called a hall, a
bath-room with hot and cold water, electric bells, French windows, and
a good deal of white paint, and 'every modern convenience', as the
house-agents say.

There were three of them. Roberta was the eldest. Of course, Mothers
never have favourites, but if their Mother HAD had a favourite, it might
have been Roberta. Next came Peter, who wished to be an Engineer when he
grew up; and the youngest was Phyllis, who meant extremely well.

Mother did not spend all her time in paying dull calls to dull ladies,
and sitting dully at home waiting for dull ladies to pay calls to her.
She was almost always there, ready to play with the children, and read
to them, and help them to do their home-lessons. Besides this she used
to write stories for them while they were at school, and read them
aloud after tea, and she always made up funny pieces of poetry for their
birthdays and for other great occasions, such as the christening of the
new kittens, or the refurnishing of the doll's house, or the time when
they were getting over the mumps.

These three lucky children always had everything they needed: pretty
clothes, good fires, a lovely nursery with heaps of toys, and a Mother
Goose wall-paper. They had a kind and merry nursemaid, and a dog who was
called James, and who was their very own. They also had a Father who was
just perfect--never cross, never unjust, and always ready for a game--at
least, if at any time he was NOT ready, he always had an excellent
reason for it, and explained the reason to the children so interestingly
and funnily that they felt sure he couldn't help himself.

You will think that they ought to have been very happy. And so they
were, but they did not know HOW happy till the pretty life in the Red
Villa was over and done with, and they had to live a very different life
indeed.

The dreadful change came quite suddenly.

Peter had a birthday--his tenth. Among his other presents was a model
engine more perfect than you could ever have dreamed of. The other
presents were full of charm, but the Engine was fuller of charm than any
of the others were.

Its charm lasted in its full perfection for exactly three days. Then,
owing either to Peter's inexperience or Phyllis's good intentions, which
had been rather pressing, or to some other cause, the Engine suddenly
went off with a bang. James was so frightened that he went out and did
not come back all day. All the Noah's Ark people who were in the tender
were broken to bits, but nothing else was hurt except the poor little
engine and the feelings of Peter. The others said he cried over it--but
of course boys of ten do not cry, however terrible the tragedies may be
which darken their lot. He said that his eyes were red because he had a
cold. This turned out to be true, though Peter did not know it was when
he said it, the next day he had to go to bed and stay there. Mother
began to be afraid that he might be sickening for measles, when suddenly
he sat up in bed and said:

“I hate gruel--I hate barley water--I hate bread and milk. I want to get
up and have something REAL to eat.”

“What would you like?” Mother asked.

“A pigeon-pie,” said Peter, eagerly, “a large pigeon-pie. A very large
one.”

So Mother asked the Cook to make a large pigeon-pie. The pie was made.
And when the pie was made, it was cooked. And when it was cooked, Peter
ate some of it. After that his cold was better. Mother made a piece of
poetry to amuse him while the pie was being made. It began by saying
what an unfortunate but worthy boy Peter was, then it went on:

      He had an engine that he loved
        With all his heart and soul,
      And if he had a wish on earth
        It was to keep it whole.

      One day--my friends, prepare your minds;
        I'm coming to the worst--
      Quite suddenly a screw went mad,
        And then the boiler burst!

      With gloomy face he picked it up
        And took it to his Mother,
      Though even he could not suppose
        That she could make another;

      For those who perished on the line
        He did not seem to care,
      His engine being more to him
        Than all the people there.

      And now you see the reason why
        Our Peter has been ill:
      He soothes his soul with pigeon-pie
        His gnawing grief to kill.

      He wraps himself in blankets warm
        And sleeps in bed till late,
      Determined thus to overcome
        His miserable fate.

      And if his eyes are rather red,
        His cold must just excuse it:
      Offer him pie; you may be sure
        He never will refuse it.

Fat
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fluviī multī. Rhēnus magnus et lātus fluvius Germāniae est. In silvīs
lātīs Germāniae sunt ferae multae. Multi Germānii in oppidīs magnis et
in vīcīs parvīs habitant et multī sunt agricolae bonī. Bella Germānōrum
sunt magna et clāra. Populus Germāniae bellum et proelia amat et saepe
cum finitimīs pugnat. Fluvius Rhēnus est fīnitimus oppidīs[1] multīs et
clārīs.

    [Footnote 1: Dative with «fīnitimus». (See §43.)]


LESSON XIII

SECOND DECLENSION (_Continued_)

  [Special Vocabulary]

  NOUNS
  «ager, agrī», m., _field_ (acre)
  «cōpia, -ae», f., _plenty, abundance_ (copious); plur., _troops,
     forces_
  «Cornēlius, Cornē´lī», m., _Cornelius_
  «lōrī´ca, -ae», f., _coat of mail, corselet_
  «praemium, praemī», n., _reward, prize_ (premium)
  «puer, puerī», m., _boy_ (puerile)
  «Rōma, -ae», f., _Rome_
  «scūtum, -ī», n., _shield_ (escutcheon)
  «vir, virī», m., _man, hero_ (virile)

  ADJECTIVES
  «legiōnārius, -a, -um»,[A] _legionary, belonging to the legion_.
     As a noun, «legiōnāriī, -ōrum», m., plur., _legionary soldiers_
  «līber, lībera, līberum», _free_ (liberty) As a noun. «līberī, -ōrum»,
     m., plur., _children_ (lit. _the freeborn_)
  «pulcher, pulchra, pulchrum», _pretty, beautiful_

  PREPOSITION
  «apud», _among_, with acc.

  CONJUNCTION
  «sed», _but_

    [Footnote A: The genitive singular masculine of adjectives in «-ius»
    ends in «-iī» and the vocative in «-ie»; not in «-ī», as in nouns.]

«91.» «Declension of Nouns in _-er_ and _-ir_.» In early Latin all the
masculine nouns of the second declension ended in «-os». This «-os»
later became «-us» in words like «servus», and was dropped entirely in
words with bases ending in «-r», like «puer», _boy_; «ager», _field_;
and «vir», _man_. These words are therefore declined as follows:

«92.» «puer», m., _boy_  «ager», m., _field_  «vir», m., _man_
         BASE «puer-»       BASE «agr-»          BASE «vir-»

          SINGULAR                                    TERMINATIONS
  _Nom._  puer               ager                 vir      ----
  _Gen._  puerī              agrī                 virī     -ī
  _Dat._  puerō              agrō                 virō     -ō
  _Acc._  puerum             agrum                virum    -um
  _Abl._  puerō              agrō                 virō     -ō

          PLURAL
  _Nom._  puerī              agrī                 virī     -ī
  _Gen._  puerōrum           agrōrum              virōrum  -ōrum
  _Dat._  puerīs             agrīs                virīs    -īs
  _Acc._  puerōs             agrōs                virōs    -ōs
  _Abl._  puerīs             agrīs                virīs    -īs

    _a._ The vocative case of these words is like the nominative,
    following the general rule (§74.a).

    _b._ The declension differs from that of «servus» only in the
    nominative and vocative singular.

    _c._ Note that in «puer» the «e» remains all the way through, while
    in «ager» it is present only in the nominative. In «puer» the «e»
    belongs to the base, but in «ager» (base «agr-») it does not, and
    was inserted in the nominative to make it easier to pronounce. Most
    words in «-er» are declined like «ager». _The genitive shows whether
    you are to follow_ «puer» _or_ «ager».

«93.» Masculine adjectives in «-er» of the second declension are
declined like nouns in «-er». A few of them are declined like «puer»,
but most of them like «ager». The feminine and neuter nominatives show
which form to follow, thus,

  MASC.    FEM.     NEUT.
  līber    lībera   līberum   (_free_)
     is like «puer»
  pulcher  pulchra  pulchrum  (_pretty_)
     is like «ager»

For the full declension in the three genders, see §469._b._ _c._

«94.» Decline together the words «vir līber», «terra lībera», «frūmentum
līberum», «puer pulcher», «puella pulchra», «oppidum pulchrum»

«95.» ITALIA[1]

First learn the special vocabulary, p. 286.

Magna est Italiae fāma, patriae Rōmānōrum, et clāra est Rōma, domina
orbis terrārum.[2] Tiberim,[3] fluvium Rōmānum, quis nōn laudat et
pulchrōs fluviō fīnitimōs agrōs? Altōs mūrōs, longa et dūra bella,
clārās victōriās quis nōn laudat? Pulchra est terra Italia. Agrī bonī
agricolīs praemia dant magna, et equī agricolārum cōpiam frūmentī ad
oppida et vīcōs portant. In agrīs populī Rōmānī labōrant multī servī.
Viae Italiae sunt longae et lātae. Fīnitima Italiae est īnsula Sicilia.

    [Footnote 1: In this selection note especially the emphasis as shown
    by the order of the words.]

    [Footnote 2: «orbis terrārum», _of the world_.]

    [Footnote 3: «Tiberim», _the Tiber_, accusative case.]

«96.» DIALOGUE

MARCUS AND CORNELIUS

  C. Ubi est, Mārce, fīlius tuus? Estne in pulchrā terrā Italiā?
  M. Nōn est, Cornēlī, in Italiā. Ad fluvium Rhēnum properat cum cōpiīs
    Rōmānīs quia est[4] fāma Novī bellī cum Germānīs. Līber Germāniae
    populus Rōmānōs Nōn amat.
  C. Estne fīlius tuus copiārum Rōmānārum lēgātus?
  M. Lēgātus nōn est, sed est apud legiōnāriōs.
  C. Quae[5] arma portat[6]?
  M
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DE MARCILLY.

Mr. _Tristram Shandy_’s compliments to Messrs. _Le Moyne, De Romigny_,
and _De Marcilly_; hopes they all rested well the night after so
tiresome a consultation.—He begs to know, whether after the ceremony of
marriage, and before that of consummation, the baptizing all the
HOMUNCULI at once, slapdash, by _injection_, would not be a shorter and
safer cut still; on condition, as above, That if the HOMUNCULI do well,
and come safe into the world after this, that each and every of them
shall be baptized again (_sous condition_)——And provided, in the second
place, That the thing can be done, which Mr. _Shandy_ apprehends it
may, _par le moyen d’une_ petite canulle, and _sans faire aucune tort
au pere._

 [1] The _Romish_ Rituals direct the baptizing of the child, in cases
 of danger, _before_ it is born;—but upon this proviso, That some part
 or other of the child’s body be seen by the baptizer:——But the Doctors
 of the _Sorbonne_, by a deliberation held amongst them, _April_ 10,
 1733,—have enlarged the powers of the midwives, by determining, That
 though no part of the child’s body should appear,—that baptism shall,
 nevertheless, be administered to it by injection,—_par le moyen d’une
 petite canulle_,—Anglicè _a squirt._—’Tis very strange that St.
 _Thomas Aquinas_, who had so good a mechanical head, both for tying
 and untying the knots of school-divinity,—should, after so much pains
 bestowed upon this,—give up the point at last, as a second _La chose
 impossible_,—“Infantes in maternis uteris existentes (quoth St.
 _Thomas!_) baptizari possunt _nullo modo._”—O _Thomas! Thomas!_

    If the reader has the curiosity to see the question upon baptism
    _by injection_, as presented to the Doctors of the _Sorbonne_, with
    their consultation thereupon, it is as follows.

 [2] Vide Deventer. Paris Edit. 4to, 1734, p. 366.

C H A P. XXI

——I WONDER what’s all that noise, and running backwards and forwards
for, above stairs, quoth my father, addressing himself, after an hour
and a half’s silence, to my uncle _Toby_,——who, you must know, was
sitting on the opposite side of the fire, smoaking his social pipe all
the time, in mute contemplation of a new pair of black plush-breeches
which he had got on:—What can they be doing, brother?—quoth my
father,—we can scarce hear ourselves talk.

I think, replied my uncle _Toby_, taking his pipe from his mouth, and
striking the head of it two or three times upon the nail of his left
thumb, as he began his sentence,——I think, says he:——But to enter
rightly into my uncle _Toby_’s sentiments upon this matter, you must be
made to enter first a little into his character, the out-lines of which
I shall just give you, and then the dialogue between him and my father
will go on as well again.

Pray what was that man’s name,—for I write in such a hurry, I have no
time to recollect or look for it,——who first made the observation,
“That there was great inconstancy in our air and climate?” Whoever he
was, ’twas a just and good observation in him.—But the corollary drawn
from it, namely, “That it is this which has furnished us with such a
variety of odd and whimsical characters;”—that was not his;—it was
found out by another man, at least a century and a half after him: Then
again,—that this copious store-house of original materials, is the true
and natural cause that our Comedies are so much better than those of
_France_, or any others that either have, or can be wrote upon the
Continent:——that discovery was not fully made till about the middle of
King _William_’s reign,—when the great _Dryden_, in writing one of his
long prefaces, (if I mistake not) most fortunately hit upon it. Indeed
toward the latter end of queen _Anne_, the great _Addison_ began to
patronize the notion, and more fully explained it to the world in one
or two of his Spectators;—but the discovery was not his.—Then, fourthly
and lastly, that this strange irregularity in our climate, producing so
strange an irregularity in our characters,——doth thereby, in some sort,
make us amends, by giving us somewhat to make us merry with when the
weather will not suffer us to go out of doors,—that observation is my
own;—and was struck out by me this very rainy day, _March_ 26, 1759,
and betwixt the hours of nine and ten in the morning.

Thus—thus, my fellow-labourers and associates in this great harvest of
our learning, now ripening before our eyes; thus it is, by slow steps
of casual increase, that our knowledge physical, metaphysical,
physiological, polemical, nautical, mathematical, ænigmatical,
technical, biographical, romantical, chemical, and obstetrical, with
fifty other branches of it, (most of ’em ending as these do, in _ical_)
have for these two last centuries and more, gradually been creeping
upwards towards that Ἀκμὴ of their perfections, from which, if we may
form a conjecture from the advances of these last seven years, we
cannot possibly be far off.

When that happens, it is to be hoped, it will put an 
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XXXIX.   BATTLE OF S. EGIDIO
XL.      THE ASCENSION OF CHRIST
XLI.     THE BAPTISM OF CHRIST
XLII.    PORTRAIT OF THE ARTIST'S DAUGHTER
XLIII.   MONTE SOLARO, CAPRI
XLIV.    PART OF THE "SURRENDER OF BREDA"
XLV.     VENUS, MERCURY, AND CUPID
XLVI.    OLYMPIA
XLVII.   L'EMBARQUEMENT POUR CYTHÈRE
XLVIII.  THE ANSIDEI MADONNA
XLIX.    FINDING OF THE BODY OF ST. MARK
L.       FROM A DRAWING BY HOLBEIN
LI.      SIR CHARLES DILKE
LII.     JOHN REDMOND, M.P.
LIII.    THE LADY AUDLEY
LIV.     STUDY ON BROWN PAPER
LV.      FROM A SILVER POINT DRAWING
LVI.     STUDY FOR TREE IN "THE BOAR HUNT"




LIST OF DIAGRAMS


I.        TYPES OF FIRST DRAWINGS BY CHILDREN
II.       SHOWING WHERE SQUARENESSES MAY BE LOOKED FOR
III.      A DEVICE FOR ENABLING STUDENTS TO OBSERVE APPEARANCES AS A
              FLAT SUBJECT
IV.       SHOWING THREE PRINCIPLES OF CONSTRUCTION USED IN OBSERVING
              MASSES, CURVES, AND POSITION OF POINTS
V.        PLAN OF CONE ILLUSTRATING PRINCIPLES OF LIGHT AND SHADE
VI.       ILLUSTRATING SOME POINTS CONNECTED WITH THE EYES
VII.      EGG AND DART MOULDING
VIII.     ILLUSTRATING VARIETY IN SYMMETRY
IX.       ILLUSTRATING VARIETY IN SYMMETRY
X.        ILLUSTRATING INFLUENCE OF HORIZONTAL LINES
XI.       ILLUSTRATING INFLUENCE OF VERTICAL LINES
XII.      ILLUSTRATING INFLUENCE OF THE RIGHT ANGLE
XIII.     LOVE AND DEATH
XIV.      ILLUSTRATING POWER OF CURVED LINES
XV.       THE BIRTH OF VENUS
XVI.      THE RAPE OF EUROPA
XVII.     BATTLE OF S. EGIDIO
XVIII.    SHOWING HOW LINES UNRELATED CAN BE BROUGHT INTO HARMONY
XIX.      SHOWING HOW LINES UNRELATED CAN BE BROUGHT INTO HARMONY
XX.       THE ARTIST'S DAUGHTER
XXI.      THE INFLUENCE ON THE FACE OF DIFFERENT WAYS OF DOING THE HAIR
XXII.     THE INFLUENCE ON THE FACE OF DIFFERENT WAYS OF DOING THE HAIR
XXIII.    EXAMPLES OF EARLY ITALIAN TREATMENT OF TREES
XXIV.     THE PRINCIPLE OF MASS OR TONE RHYTHM
XXV.      MASS OR TONE RHYTHM IN "ULYSSES DERIDING POLYPHEMUS"
XXVI.     EXAMPLE OF COROT'S SYSTEM OF MASS RHYTHM
XXVII.    ILLUSTRATING HOW INTEREST MAY BALANCE MASS
XXVIII.   PROPORTION

       *       *       *       *       *




THE PRACTICE AND SCIENCE OF DRAWING





INTRODUCTION


The best things in an artist's work are so much a matter of intuition,
that there is much to be said for the point of view that would
altogether discourage intellectual inquiry into artistic phenomena on
the part of the artist. Intuitions are shy things and apt to disappear
if looked into too closely. And there is undoubtedly a danger that too
much knowledge and training may supplant the natural intuitive feeling
of a student, leaving only a cold knowledge of the means of expression
in its place. For the artist, if he has the right stuff in him, has a
consciousness, in doing his best work, of something, as Ruskin has said,
"not in him but through him." He has been, as it were, but the agent
through which it has found expression.

Talent can be described as "that which we have," and Genius as "that
which has us." Now, although we may have little control over this power
that "has us," and although it may be as well to abandon oneself
unreservedly to its influence, there can be little doubt as to its being
the business of the artist to see to it that his talent be so developed,
that he may prove a fit instrument for the expression of whatever it
may be given him to express; while it must be left to his individual
temperament to decide how far it is advisable to pursue any intellectual
analysis of the elusive things that are the true matter of art.

Provided the student realises this, and that art training can only deal
with the perfecting of a means of expression and that the real matter of
art lies above this and is beyond the scope of teaching, he cannot have
too much of it. For although he must ever be a child before the
influence that moves him, if it is not with the knowledge of the grown
man that he takes off his coat and approaches the craft of painting or
drawing, he will be poorly equipped to make them a means of conveying to
others in adequate form the things he may wish to express. Great things
are only done in art when the creative instinct of the artist has a
well-organised executive faculty at its disposal.

       *       *       *       *       *

Of the two divisions into which the technical study of painting can be
divided, namely Form and Colour, we are concerned in this book with Form
alone. But before proceeding to our immediate subject something should
be said as to the nature of art generally, not with the ambition of
arriving at any final result in a short chapter, but merely in order to
give an idea of the point of view from which the following pages are
written, so that misunderstandings may be avoided.

The variety of definitions that exist justifies some inquiry. The
following are a few that come to mind:

     "Art is nature expressed through a personality."

But what of architecture? Or music? Then there is Morris's

     "Art is the
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 Awake! for Morning in the Bowl of Night
 Has flung the Stone that puts the Stars to Flight:
   And Lo! the Hunter of the East has caught
 The Sultan's Turret in a Noose of Light.



 Dreaming when Dawn's Left Hand was in the Sky
 I heard a Voice within the Tavern cry,
   "Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup
 Before Life's Liquor in its Cup be dry."



 And, as the Cock crew, those who stood before
 The Tavern shouted--"Open then the Door.
   You know how little while we have to stay,
 And, once departed, may return no more."



 Now the New Year reviving old Desires,
 The thoughtful Soul to Solitude retires,
   Where the WHITE HAND OF MOSES on the Bough
 Puts out, and Jesus from the Ground suspires.



 Iram indeed is gone with all its Rose,
 And Jamshyd's Sev'n-ring'd Cup where no one knows;
   But still the Vine her ancient Ruby yields,
 And still a Garden by the Water blows.



 And David's Lips are lock't; but in divine
 High piping Pelevi, with "Wine!  Wine!  Wine!
   Red Wine!"--the Nightingale cries to the Rose
 That yellow Cheek of hers to'incarnadine.



 Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
 The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
   The Bird of Time has but a little way
 To fly--and Lo! the Bird is on the Wing.



 And look--a thousand Blossoms with the Day
 Woke--and a thousand scatter'd into Clay:
   And this first Summer Month that brings the Rose
 Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away.



 But come with old Khayyam, and leave the Lot
 Of Kaikobad and Kaikhosru forgot:
   Let Rustum lay about him as he will,
 Or Hatim Tai cry Supper--heed them not.



 With me along some Strip of Herbage strown
 That just divides the desert from the sown,
   Where name of Slave and Sultan scarce is known,
 And pity Sultan Mahmud on his Throne.



 Here with a Loaf of Bread beneath the Bough,
 A Flask of Wine, a Book of Verse--and Thou
   Beside me singing in the Wilderness--
 And Wilderness is Paradise enow.



 "How sweet is mortal Sovranty!"--think some:
 Others--"How blest the Paradise to come!"
   Ah, take the Cash in hand and waive the Rest;
 Oh, the brave Music of a distant Drum!



 Look to the Rose that blows about us--"Lo,
 Laughing," she says, "into the World I blow:
   At once the silken Tassel of my Purse
 Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw."



 The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon
 Turns Ashes--or it prospers; and anon,
   Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face
 Lighting a little Hour or two--is gone.



 And those who husbanded the Golden Grain,
 And those who flung it to the Winds like Rain,
   Alike to no such aureate Earth are turn'd
 As, buried once, Men want dug up again.



 Think, in this batter'd Caravanserai
 Whose Doorways are alternate Night and Day,
   How Sultan after Sultan with his Pomp
 Abode his Hour or two, and went his way.



 They say the Lion and the Lizard keep
 The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep:
   And Bahram, that great Hunter--the Wild Ass
 Stamps o'er his Head, and he lies fast asleep.



 I sometimes think that never blows so red
 The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled;
   That every Hyacinth the Garden wears
 Dropt in its Lap from some once lovely Head.



 And this delightful Herb whose tender Green
 Fledges the River's Lip on which we lean--
   Ah, lean upon it lightly! for who knows
 From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen!



 Ah! my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears
 TO-DAY of past Regrets and future Fears-
   To-morrow?--Why, To-morrow I may be
 Myself with Yesterday's Sev'n Thousand Years.



 Lo! some we loved, the loveliest and the best
 That Time and Fate of all their Vintage prest,
   Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before,
 And one by one crept silently to Rest.



 And we, that now make merry in the Room
 They left, and Summer dresses in new Bloom,
   Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth
 Descend, ourselves to make a Couch--for whom?



 Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend,
 Before we too into the Dust Descend;
   Dust into Dust, and under Dust, to lie,
 Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer and--sans End!



 Alike for those who for TO-DAY prepare,
 And those that after a TO-MORROW stare,
   A Muezzin from the Tower of Darkness cries
 "Fools! your Reward is neither Here nor There."



 Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss'd
 Of the Two Worlds so learnedly, are thrust
   Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn
 Are scatter'd, and their Mouths are stopt with Dust.



 Oh, come with old Khayyam, and leave the Wise
 To talk; one thing is certain, that Life flies;
   One thing is certain, and the Rest is Lies;
 The Flower that once has blown for ever dies.



 Myself when young did eagerly frequent
 Doctor and Saint, and heard great Argument
   About it and about: but evermore
 Came out by the same Door as in I went.



 With them the Seed of Wisdom did I sow,
 And with my own hand labour'd it to grow:
   And this was all the Harvest that I reap'd--
 "I came like Water, and like W
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    _The time of my departure from Castile, and what further happened to
    me._


In the year 1514 I departed from Castile in the suite of Pedro Arias de
Avila, who had just then been appointed governor of Terra Firma. At sea
we had sometimes bad and sometimes good weather, until we arrived at
Nombre Dios, where the plague was raging: of this we lost many of our
men, and most of us got terrible sores on our legs, and were otherwise
ill. Soon after our arrival, dissensions arose between the governor and
a certain wealthy cavalier, named Vasco Nuñez de Balboa, who had brought
this province to subjection, and was married to one of the daughters of
Avila. As, however, suspicion had been excited against him, owing to a
plan he had formed of making a voyage to the South Sea at his own
expense, for which he required a considerable body of troops, his own
father-in-law deposed him and afterwards sentenced him to decapitation.

While we were spectators of all this, and saw, moreover, how other
soldiers rebelled against their superior officers, we learnt that the
island of Cuba had just been conquered, and that a nobleman of Quellar,
named Diego Velasquez, was appointed governor there. Upon this news some
of us met together, cavaliers and soldiers, all persons of quality who
had come with Pedro Arias de Avila, and asked his permission to proceed
to the island of Cuba: this he readily granted, not having sufficient
employment for so great a number of men as he had brought with him from
Spain. Neither was there any further conquest to be made in these parts;
all was in profound peace, so thoroughly had his son-in-law Balboa
subdued the country, besides which it was but small in extent and thinly
populated. As soon, therefore, as we had obtained leave, we embarked in
a good vessel and took our departure. Our voyage was most prosperous, so
that we speedily arrived at Cuba. The first thing we did was to pay our
respects to the governor, who received us with great kindness, and made
us a promise of the first Indians that might be discharged. Three years,
however, passed away since our first arrival in Terra Firma and stay at
Cuba, still living in the expectation of the Indians which had been
promised us, but in vain. During the whole of this time we had
accomplished nothing worthy of notice: we therefore, the 110 who had
come from Terra Firma, with some others of Cuba, who were also without
any Indians, met together to concert measures with a rich cavalier named
Francisco Hernandez de Cordoba, who, besides being a person of wealth,
possessed great numbers of Indians on the island. This gentleman we
chose for our captain; he was to lead us out on voyages for the
discovery of new countries, where we might find sufficient employment.

We purchased three vessels, two of which were of considerable burden;
the third was given us by the governor, Diego Velasquez, on condition
namely, that we should first invade the Guanajas islands, which lie
between Cuba and the Honduras, and bring him thence three cargoes of
Indians, whom he wanted for slaves; this he would consider as payment
for the vessel. We were, however, fully aware that it was an act of
injustice which Diego Velasquez thus required at our hands, and gave him
for answer: that neither God nor the king had commanded us to turn a
free people into slaves. When he learnt our determination, he confessed
that our project for the discovery of new countries was more
praiseworthy, and he furnished us with provisions for our voyage.

We had now three vessels and a sufficient supply of cassave bread, as it
is there made from the juca root. We also purchased some pigs, which
cost us three pesos a piece; for at that time there were neither cows
nor sheep on the island of Cuba: to this I must also add a scanty supply
of other provisions; while every soldier took with him some glass beads
for barter. We had three pilots; of whom the principal one, who had the
chief command of our vessels, was called Anton de Alaminos, a native of
Palos; the two others were, Camacho de Triana, and Juan Alvarez el
Manquillo of Huelva. In the same way we hired sailors, and furnished
ourselves with ropes, anchors, water-casks, and other necessaries for
our voyage, all at our own expense and personal risk.

After we had met together, in all 110, we departed for a harbour on the
north coast of Cuba, called by the natives Ajaruco. The distance from
this place to the town of San Christoval, then recently built, was
twenty-four miles; for the Havannah had then only been two years in our
possession. In order that our squadron might not want for anything
really useful, we engaged a priest at the town of San Christoval. His
name was Alonso Gonzalez, and by fair words and promises we persuaded
him to join us. We also appointed, in the name of his majesty, a
treasurer, called Beruardino Miguez, a native of Saint Domingo de la
Calzada. This was done in order that if it pleased God we should
discover any new countrie
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problem we have ever faced. It not only makes "a carpenter of a man; it
makes a man of a carpenter." In one sense, therefore, it is of greater
value than any other institution for the training of men and women that
we have, from Cambridge to Palo Alto. It is almost the only one of which
it may be said that it points the way to a new epoch in a large area of
our national life.

To work out the plan on paper, or at a distance--that is one thing. For
a white man to work it out--that too, is an easy thing. For a coloured
man to work it out in the South, where, in its constructive period,
he was necessarily misunderstood by his own people as well as by the
whites, and where he had to adjust it at every step to the strained race
relations--that is so very different and more difficult a thing that the
man who did it put the country under lasting obligations to him.

It was not and is not a mere educational task. Anybody could teach boys
trades and give them an elementary education. Such tasks have been done
since the beginning of civilization. But this task had to be done with
the rawest of raw material, done within the civilization of the dominant
race, and so done as not to run across race lines and social lines that
are the strongest forces in the community. It had to be done for the
benefit of the whole community. It had to be done, moreover, without
local help, in the face of the direst poverty, done by begging, and done
in spite of the ignorance of one race and the prejudice of the other.

No man living had a harder task, and a task that called for more wisdom
to do it right. The true measure of Mr. Washington's success is, then,
not his teaching the pupils of Tuskegee, nor even gaining the support of
philanthropic persons at a distance, but this--that every Southern white
man of character and of wisdom has been won to a cordial recognition
of the value of the work, even men who held and still hold to the
conviction that a mere book education for the Southern blacks under
present conditions is a positive evil. This is a demonstration of
the efficiency of the Hampton-Tuskegee idea that stands like the
demonstration of the value of democratic institutions themselves--a
demonstration made so clear in spite of the greatest odds that it is no
longer open to argument.

Consider the change that has come in twenty years in the discussion
of the Negro problem. Two or three decades ago social philosophers and
statisticians and well-meaning philanthropists were still talking and
writing about the deportation of the Negroes, or about their settlement
within some restricted area, or about their settling in all parts of the
Union, or about their decline through their neglect of their children,
or about their rapid multiplication till they should expel the whites
from the South--of every sort of nonsense under heaven. All this has
given place to the simple plan of an indefinite extension among the
neglected classes of both races of the Hampton-Tuskegee system of
training. The "problem" in one sense has disappeared. The future will
have for the South swift or slow development of its masses and of its
soil in proportion to the swift or slow development of this kind of
training. This change of view is a true measure of Mr. Washington's
work.

The literature of the Negro in America is colossal, from political
oratory through abolitionism to "Uncle Tom's Cabin" and "Cotton is
King"--a vast mass of books which many men have read to the waste of
good years (and I among them); but the only books that I have read a
second time or ever care again to read in the whole list (most of them
by tiresome and unbalanced "reformers") are "Uncle Remus" and "Up from
Slavery"; for these are the great literature of the subject. One has all
the best of the past, the other foreshadows a better future; and the
men who wrote them are the only men who have written of the subject with
that perfect frankness and perfect knowledge and perfect poise whose
other name is genius.

Mr. Washington has won a world-wide fame at an early age. His story
of his own life already has the distinction of translation into more
languages, I think, than any other American book; and I suppose that
he has as large a personal acquaintance among men of influence as any
private citizen now living.

His own teaching at Tuskegee is unique. He lectures to his advanced
students on the art of right living, not out of text-books, but
straight out of life. Then he sends them into the country to visit Negro
families. Such a student will come back with a minute report of the way
in which the family that he has seen lives, what their earnings are,
what they do well and what they do ill; and he will explain how they
might live better. He constructs a definite plan for the betterment
of that particular family out of the resources that they have. Such a
student, if he be bright, will profit more by an experience like this
than he could profit by all the books on sociology and economics th
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THE GRAND INQUISITOR


By

Feodor Dostoevsky

(Translation by H.P. Blavatsky)


[Dedicated by the Translator to those sceptics who clamour so
loudly, both in print and private letters--"Show us the
wonder-working 'Brothers,' let them come out publicly--and we will
believe in them!"]


[The following is an extract from M. Dostoevsky's celebrated
novel, The Brothers Karamazof, the last publication from the pen
of the great Russian novelist, who died a few months ago, just as
the concluding chapters appeared in print. Dostoevsky is
beginning to be recognized as one of the ablest and profoundest
among Russian writers. His characters are invariably typical
portraits drawn from various classes of Russian society,
strikingly life-like and realistic to the highest degree. The
following extract is a cutting satire on modern theology
generally and the Roman Catholic religion in particular. The idea
is that Christ revisits earth, coming to Spain at the period of
the Inquisition, and is at once arrested as a heretic by the
Grand Inquisitor. One of the three brothers of the story, Ivan, a
rank materialist and an atheist of the new school, is supposed to
throw this conception into the form of a poem, which he describes
to Alyosha--the youngest of the brothers, a young Christian
mystic brought up by a "saint" in a monastery--as follows:
(--Ed. Theosophist, Nov., 1881)]





"Quite impossible, as you see, to start without an introduction,"
laughed Ivan. "Well, then, I mean to place the event described in
the poem in the sixteenth century, an age--as you must have been
told at school--when it was the great fashion among poets to
make the denizens and powers of higher worlds descend on earth
and mix freely with mortals... In France all the notaries'
clerks, and the monks in the cloisters as well, used to give
grand performances, dramatic plays in which long scenes were
enacted by the Madonna, the angels, the saints, Christ, and even
by God Himself. In those days, everything was very artless and
primitive. An instance of it may be found in Victor Hugo's drama,
Notre Dame de Paris, where, at the Municipal Hall, a play called
Le Bon Jugement de la Tres-sainte et Gracièuse Vierge Marie, is
enacted in honour of Louis XI, in which the Virgin appears
personally to pronounce her 'good judgment.' In Moscow, during
the prepetrean period, performances of nearly the same character,
chosen especially from the Old Testament, were also in great
favour. Apart from such plays, the world was overflooded with
mystical writings, 'verses'--the heroes of which were always
selected from the ranks of angels, saints and other heavenly
citizens answering to the devotional purposes of the age. The
recluses of our monasteries, like the Roman Catholic monks,
passed their time in translating, copying, and even producing
original compositions upon such subjects, and that, remember,
during the Tarter period!... In this connection, I am reminded of
a poem compiled in a convent--a translation from the Greek, of
course--called, 'The Travels of the Mother of God among the
Damned,' with fitting illustrations and a boldness of conception
inferior nowise to that of Dante. The 'Mother of God' visits
hell, in company with the archangel Michael as her cicerone to
guide her through the legions of the 'damned.' She sees them all,
and is witness to their multifarious tortures. Among the many
other exceedingly remarkably varieties of torments--every
category of sinners having its own--there  is one especially
worthy of notice, namely a class of the 'damned' sentenced to
gradually sink in a burning lake of brimstone and fire. Those
whose sins cause them to sink so low that they no longer can rise
to the surface are for ever forgotten by God, i.e., they fade out
from the omniscient memory, says the poem--an expression, by the
way, of an extraordinary profundity of thought, when closely
analysed. The Virgin is terribly shocked, and falling down upon
her knees in tears before the throne of God, begs that all she
has seen in hell--all, all without exception, should have their
sentences remitted to them. Her dialogue with God is colossally
interesting. She supplicates, she will not leave Him. And when
God, pointing to the pierced hands and feet of her Son, cries,
'How can I forgive His executioners?' She then commands that all
the saints, martyrs, angels and archangels, should prostrate
themselves with her before the Immutable and Changeless One and
implore Him to change His wrath into mercy and--forgive them
all. The poem closes upon her obtaining from God a compromise, a
kind of yearly respite of tortures between Good Friday and
Trinity, a chorus of the 'damned' singing loud praises to God
from their 'bottomless pit,' thanking and telling Him:

  Thou art right, O Lord, very right,
  Thou hast condemned us justly.

"My poem is of the same character.

"In it, it is Christ who appears on the scene. True, He says
nothing, but only appears and passes out of sight. Fifteen
centu
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22. SAJOR ASEM.

Allerlei soort van groenten, als: boontjes, peultjes, kool,
katjang-pandjang, snijboontjes, 2 lepels fijngesneden uien, 4 sioong
bawang-poetih, 4 à 5 kemiries, 1 theelepel trassie, 2 theelepels zout,
een kwart vingerlengte laos (fijngesneden), 1 (of meer) lomboks,
tamarinde-water naar smaak.

    Bereiding:

De groenten worden fijngesneden en, met wat zout, bij elkander
gekookt. Vervolgens worden al de opgegeven specerijen fijngestampt. De
helft van het water der groenten wordt nu afgegoten en in het
overgebleven vocht, met de groenten, de fijngestampte specerijen
gedaan. Men voegt hierbij (naar smaak) twee of drie lepels
tamarinde-water en laat dit alles samen gaar worden.



23. SAJOR BAJEM OF SAJOR MENIR.

Bajem (spinazie), 2 fijngesneden uitjes, eenige schijfjes temoekoentji,
2 fijngesneden sioong bawang-poetih, 1 theelepel trassie, zout naar
smaak, santen.

    Bereiding:

De bajem kookt men af, de kruiden stampt men fijn. Giet vervolgens wat
water af van de gekookte bajem en voegt er ongeveer twee kopjes santen
benevens de fijngestampte kruiden bij en laat dit samen gaar koken.

Als bij deze sajor, tegelijk met de fijngestampte kruiden, twee lepels
rauwe gestampte rijst wordt gevoegd, noemt men deze sajor



24. SAJOR BÒBÒR.

Deze sajor wordt voornamelijk gebruikt voor zieken en kraamvrouwen.



25. SAJOR BAJEM DJAGOENG.

Dezelfde kruiden als van de sajor bòbòr, met bijvoeging van 4 of 5
kemiries, 1 lombok en jonge djagoengs. De kemiries en lombok moeten
met de andere kruiden worden fijngestampt.

Overigens dezelfde bereiding als van de sajor bajem.



26. SAJOR GADO-GADO OF DJANGANAN.

Allerlei soort van groenten, fijngesneden; de kruiden zijn: 1 lepel
ketoembar, 1/2 lepel djienten. 1 theelepel peper, eenige schijfjes
fijngesneden laos, eenige schijfjes fijngesneden kentjoor, 1 theelepel
trassie, 2 lepels fijngesneden uien, 2 theelepels fijngesneden
bawang-poetih, 5 gepofte kemiries, 1/4 geraspte klapper, 2 theelepels
zout. Santen-kentel van 1/2 klapper. Asem- of djeroek-water naar smaak.

    Bereiding:

De groenten worden eerst heel fijn gesneden en met wat zout gaar
gekookt. Vervolgens brade men afzonderlijk de fijngesneden uien,
bawang-poetih en laos, bruin, en voegt er daarna, de fijngesneden
lombok bij. De overige kruiden stampt men bij elkander fijn, braadt
ze afzonderlijk met den geraspten klapper, voegt hier de santen bij,
vervolgens de gekookte groenten en laat dit alles samen opkoken.

Ten laatste voegt men, vóór het opdienen, de gebraden uien en laos,
en eindelijk het asem- of djeroek-water bij.



27. SAJOR GOELÉÏ-BOONTJES.

Een bord vol boontjes, fijngesneden of heel gelaten naar verkiezing,
eenige kippenkluifjes of een bordje vol fijngesneden vleesch. Dikke
santen van één klapper, een handje vol fijngestampte rijst.

Kruiden: 2 volle lepels fijngesneden uien, 4 fijngesneden sioongs
bawang-poetih, 1/2 lepel djienten, 1 lepel ketoembar, een kwart
vingerlengte koenjit, 2 theelepels zout, 2 daon salam, een stuk
ineengedraaide seréh.

    Bereiding:

De kluifjes (de stukjes vleesch) worden even in water opgekookt, daarna
er uitgehaald en in dezen bouillon de boontjes bijna gaar gekookt.

De kruiden (behalve daon salam en seréh) worden met de rijst
fijngestampt en met de helft van de hoeveelheid santen, met
bijvoeging van de kluifjes (het vleesch), de daon salam en de seréh
opgekookt. Vervolgens voegt men hier de boontjes met de rest van de
santen bij en laat dit samen gaar koken.



28. SAJOR SAMBEL GÒDDÒK.

Allerlei soort van katjang, zooals katjang-pandjang, katjang djogo,
enz. 1 theekopje fijngesneden bliembing asem, 1 lepel vol fijngesneden
lombok-idjoe, 2 eetlepels gedroogde of versche garnalen.

Kruiden: 2 volle eetlepels fijngesneden uien, 1/2 eetlepel fijngesneden
bawang-poetih, 1 theelepel gesneden laos, 1 theelepel ketoembar, 4
stuks gebrande kemirie, een klein stukje (zooveel als in een theelepel
gaat) gebrande trassie, santen van een klapper, klapperolie en tempé,
zout naar smaak, 2 lepels fijngesneden lombok.

    Bereiding:

Men braadt in de klapperolie de fijngesneden uien en laos op, tot
dit bruin ziet. Daarna mengt men hier de twee lepels fijngesneden
lombok door.

Nu wordt de kemirie, ketoembar en trassie met wat zout fijngestampt,
met een paar lepels santen aangeroerd en dit door de gebraden kruiden
gedaan. Hierna wordt er nog meer santen aan dit mengsel toegevoegd
en doet men er bovendien de bliembing asem, garnalen en de zeer
fijngesneden katjang-soorten bij. Laat dit goed gaar koken, terwijl
men er nu en dan nog meer santen bijvoegt.

Wanneer men versche garnalen gebruikt, laat men de tempé achterwege.



29. SAJOR IKAN-PEDAH.

2 stuks ikan-pedah, 2 jonge djagoengs, 3 stuks lombok-idjoe, 1 tèrong,
10 stuks boontjes, gedroogde of versche garnalen (naar verkiezing)
een kopje vol.

Kruiden: 4 lepels fijngesneden uien, 4 fijngesneden sioongs
bawang-poetih, 4 kemiries, 2 lepels ajer-asem, santen, zout.

    Bereiding:

Men make de ikan-pedah schoon, neme 
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SOPHOCLES

                           OEDIPUS THE KING

                     Translation by F. Storr, BA
            Formerly Scholar of Trinity College, Cambridge
                    From the Loeb Library Edition
                       Originally published by
               Harvard University Press, Cambridge, MA
                                 and
                    William Heinemann Ltd, London

                       First published in 1912

                               *****

                               ARGUMENT

To Laius, King of Thebes, an oracle foretold that the child born to him
by his queen Jocasta would slay his father and wed his mother. So when
in time a son was born the infant's feet were riveted together and he
was left to die on Mount Cithaeron. But a shepherd found the babe and
tended him, and delivered him to another shepherd who took him to his
master, the King of Corinth. Polybus being childless adopted the boy,
who grew up believing that he was indeed the King's son. Afterwards
doubting his parentage he inquired of the Delphic god and heard himself
the word declared before to Laius. Wherefore he fled from what he
deemed his father's house and in his flight he encountered and
unwillingly slew his father Laius. Arriving at Thebes he answered the
riddle of the Sphinx and the grateful Thebans made their deliverer king.
So he reigned in the room of Laius, and espoused the widowed queen.
Children were born to them and Thebes prospered under his rule, but
again a grievous plague fell upon the city. Again the oracle was
consulted and it bade them purge themselves of blood-guiltiness. Oedipus
denounces the crime of which he is unaware, and undertakes to track out
the criminal. Step by step it is brought home to him that he is the man.
The closing scene reveals Jocasta slain by her own hand and Oedipus
blinded by his own act and praying for death or exile.

                              *****

                          DRAMATIS PERSONAE

                               Oedipus.

                         The Priest of Zeus.

                                Creon.

                       Chorus of Theban Elders.

                              Teiresias.

                               Jocasta.

                              Messenger.

                            Herd of Laius.

                          Second Messenger.

            Scene:  Thebes.  Before the Palace of Oedipus.

                              *****

                           OEDIPUS THE KING



Suppliants of all ages are seated round the altar at the palace doors,
at their head a PRIEST OF ZEUS.  To them enter OEDIPUS.

OEDIPUS
My children, latest born to Cadmus old,
Why sit ye here as suppliants, in your hands
Branches of olive filleted with wool?
What means this reek of incense everywhere,
And everywhere laments and litanies?
Children, it were not meet that I should learn
From others, and am hither come, myself,
I Oedipus, your world-renowned king.
Ho! aged sire, whose venerable locks
Proclaim thee spokesman of this company,
Explain your mood and purport.  Is it dread
Of ill that moves you or a boon ye crave?
My zeal in your behalf ye cannot doubt;
Ruthless indeed were I and obdurate
If such petitioners as you I spurned.

PRIEST
Yea, Oedipus, my sovereign lord and king,
Thou seest how both extremes of age besiege
Thy palace altars--fledglings hardly winged,
and greybeards bowed with years; priests, as am I
of Zeus, and these the flower of our youth.
Meanwhile, the common folk, with wreathed boughs
Crowd our two market-places, or before
Both shrines of Pallas congregate, or where
Ismenus gives his oracles by fire.
For, as thou seest thyself, our ship of State,
Sore buffeted, can no more lift her head,
Foundered beneath a weltering surge of blood.
A blight is on our harvest in the ear,
A blight upon the grazing flocks and herds,
A blight on wives in travail; and withal
Armed with his blazing torch the God of Plague
Hath swooped upon our city emptying
The house of Cadmus, and the murky realm
Of Pluto is full fed with groans and tears.
     Therefore, O King, here at thy hearth we sit,
I and these children; not as deeming thee
A new divinity, but the first of men;
First in the common accidents of life,
And first in visitations of the Gods.
Art thou not he who coming to the town
of Cadmus freed us from the tax we paid
To the fell songstress?  Nor hadst thou received
Prompting from us or been by others schooled;
No, by a god inspired (so all men deem,
And testify) didst thou renew our life.
And now, O Oedipus, our peerless king,
All we thy votaries beseech thee, find
Some succor, whether by a voice from heaven
Whispered, or haply known by human wit.
Tried counselors, methinks, are aptest found [1]
To furnish for the future pregnant rede.
Upraise, O chief of men, upraise our State!
Look to thy laurels! for thy zeal of yore
Our country's savior thou art justly hailed:
O never may we thus record thy reign:--
"He raised us up onl
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PG #: 20239
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THE EDUCATION OF THE ARCHITECT


1. The architect should be equipped with knowledge of many branches of
study and varied kinds of learning, for it is by his judgement that all
work done by the other arts is put to test. This knowledge is the child
of practice and theory. Practice is the continuous and regular exercise
of employment where manual work is done with any necessary material
according to the design of a drawing. Theory, on the other hand, is the
ability to demonstrate and explain the productions of dexterity on the
principles of proportion.

2. It follows, therefore, that architects who have aimed at acquiring
manual skill without scholarship have never been able to reach a
position of authority to correspond to their pains, while those who
relied only upon theories and scholarship were obviously hunting the
shadow, not the substance. But those who have a thorough knowledge of
both, like men armed at all points, have the sooner attained their
object and carried authority with them.

3. In all matters, but particularly in architecture, there are these two
points:--the thing signified, and that which gives it its significance.
That which is signified is the subject of which we may be speaking; and
that which gives significance is a demonstration on scientific
principles. It appears, then, that one who professes himself an
architect should be well versed in both directions. He ought, therefore,
to be both naturally gifted and amenable to instruction. Neither natural
ability without instruction nor instruction without natural ability can
make the perfect artist. Let him be educated, skilful with the pencil,
instructed in geometry, know much history, have followed the
philosophers with attention, understand music, have some knowledge of
medicine, know the opinions of the jurists, and be acquainted with
astronomy and the theory of the heavens.

4. The reasons for all this are as follows. An architect ought to be an
educated man so as to leave a more lasting remembrance in his treatises.
Secondly, he must have a knowledge of drawing so that he can readily
make sketches to show the appearance of the work which he proposes.
Geometry, also, is of much assistance in architecture, and in particular
it teaches us the use of the rule and compasses, by which especially we
acquire readiness in making plans for buildings in their grounds, and
rightly apply the square, the level, and the plummet. By means of
optics, again, the light in buildings can be drawn from fixed quarters
of the sky. It is true that it is by arithmetic that the total cost of
buildings is calculated and measurements are computed, but difficult
questions involving symmetry are solved by means of geometrical theories
and methods.

5. A wide knowledge of history is requisite because, among the
ornamental parts of an architect's design for a work, there are many the
underlying idea of whose employment he should be able to explain to
inquirers. For instance, suppose him to set up the marble statues of
women in long robes, called Caryatides, to take the place of columns,
with the mutules and coronas placed directly above their heads, he will
give the following explanation to his questioners. Caryae, a state in
Peloponnesus, sided with the Persian enemies against Greece; later the
Greeks, having gloriously won their freedom by victory in the war, made
common cause and declared war against the people of Caryae. They took
the town, killed the men, abandoned the State to desolation, and carried
off their wives into slavery, without permitting them, however, to lay
aside the long robes and other marks of their rank as married women, so
that they might be obliged not only to march in the triumph but to
appear forever after as a type of slavery, burdened with the weight of
their shame and so making atonement for their State. Hence, the
architects of the time designed for public buildings statues of these
women, placed so as to carry a load, in order that the sin and the
punishment of the people of Caryae might be known and handed down even
to posterity.

[Illustration: Photo. H. B. Warren CARYATIDES OF THE ERECHTHEUM AT
ATHENS]

[Illustration: CARYATIDES FROM THE TREASURY OF THE CNIDIANS AT DELPHI]

[Illustration: Photo. Anderson CARYATIDES NOW IN THE VILLA ALBANI AT
ROME]

[Illustration: CARYATIDES (From the edition of Vitruvius by Fra
Giocondo, Venice, 1511)]

6. Likewise the Lacedaemonians under the leadership of Pausanias, son of
Agesipolis, after conquering the Persian armies, infinite in number,
with a small force at the battle of Plataea, celebrated a glorious
triumph with the spoils and booty, and with the money obtained from the
sale thereof built the Persian Porch, to be a monument to the renown and
valour of the people and a trophy of victory for posterity. And there
they set effigies of the prisoners arrayed in barbarian costume and
holding up the roof, their pride punished by this deserved affront,
that enemies might tremble for fear of the e
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The Sociology of the Chinese


Racial Origin

In spite of much research and conjecture, the origin of the Chinese
people remains undetermined. We do not know who they were nor whence
they came. Such evidence as there is points to their immigration
from elsewhere; the Chinese themselves have a tradition of a Western
origin. The first picture we have of their actual history shows us, not
a people behaving as if long settled in a land which was their home and
that of their forefathers, but an alien race fighting with wild beasts,
clearing dense forests, and driving back the aboriginal inhabitants.

Setting aside several theories (including the one that the Chinese
are autochthonous and their civilization indigenous) now regarded
by the best authorities as untenable, the researches of sinologists
seem to indicate an origin (1) in early Akkadia; or (2) in Khotan,
the Tarim valley (generally what is now known as Eastern Turkestan),
or the K'un-lun Mountains (concerning which more presently). The
second hypothesis may relate only to a sojourn of longer or shorter
duration on the way from Akkadia to the ultimate settlement in China,
especially since the Khotan civilization has been shown to have
been imported from the Punjab in the third century B.C. The fact
that serious mistakes have been made regarding the identifications
of early Chinese rulers with Babylonian kings, and of the Chinese
_po-hsing_ (Cantonese _bak-sing_) 'people' with the Bak Sing or Bak
tribes, does not exclude the possibility of an Akkadian origin. But
in either case the immigration into China was probably gradual, and
may have taken the route from Western or Central Asia direct to the
banks of the Yellow River, or may possibly have followed that to the
south-east through Burma and then to the north-east through what is
now China--the settlement of the latter country having thus spread
from south-west to north-east, or in a north-easterly direction along
the Yangtzu River, and so north, instead of, as is generally supposed,
from north to south.


Southern Origin Improbable

But this latter route would present many difficulties; it would seem
to have been put forward merely as ancillary to the theory that the
Chinese originated in the Indo-Chinese peninsula. This theory is
based upon the assumptions that the ancient Chinese ideograms include
representations of tropical animals and plants; that the oldest and
purest forms of the language are found in the south; and that the
Chinese and the Indo-Chinese groups of languages are both tonal. But
all of these facts or alleged facts are as easily or better accounted
for by the supposition that the Chinese arrived from the north
or north-west in successive waves of migration, the later arrivals
pushing the earlier farther and farther toward the south, so that the
oldest and purest forms of Chinese would be found just where they are,
the tonal languages of the Indo-Chinese peninsula being in that case
regarded as the languages of the vanguard of the migration. Also, the
ideograms referred to represent animals and plants of the temperate
zone rather than of the tropics, but even if it could be shown, which
it cannot, that these animals and plants now belong exclusively to the
tropics, that would be no proof of the tropical origin of the Chinese,
for in the earliest times the climate of North China was much milder
than it is now, and animals such as tigers and elephants existed in the
dense jungles which are later found only in more southern latitudes.


Expansion of Races from North to South

The theory of a southern origin (to which a further serious objection
will be stated presently) implies a gradual infiltration of Chinese
immigrants through South or Mid-China (as above indicated) toward
the north, but there is little doubt that the movement of the races
has been from north to south and not _vice versa_. In what are now
the provinces of Western Kansu and Ssuch'uan there lived a people
related to the Chinese (as proved by the study of Indo-Chinese
comparative philology) who moved into the present territory of Tibet
and are known as Tibetans; in what is now the province of Yünnan were
the Shan or Ai-lao (modern Laos), who, forced by Mongol invasions,
emigrated to the peninsula in the south and became the Siamese; and in
Indo-China, not related to the Chinese, were the Annamese, Khmer, Mon,
Khasi, Colarains (whose remnants are dispersed over the hill tracts
of Central India), and other tribes, extending in prehistoric times
into Southern China, but subsequently driven back by the expansion
of the Chinese in that direction.


Arrival of the Chinese in China

Taking into consideration all the existing evidence, the objections to
all other theories of the origin of the Chinese seem to be greater
than any yet raised to the theory that immigrants from the Tarim
valley or beyond (_i.e._ from Elam or Akkadia, either direct or _via_
Eastern Turkestan) struck the banks of the Yellow River in their
eastward jour
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THE MARRIAGE OF HEAVEN
  AND HELL




  THE MARRIAGE OF
  HEAVEN AND HELL

  BY
  WILLIAM BLAKE


  [Illustration]


  BOSTON
  JOHN W. LUCE AND COMPANY
  1906




THE MARRIAGE OF HEAVEN AND HELL




THE ARGUMENT


    Rintrah roars and shakes his fires in the burden'd air,
    Hungry clouds swag on the deep.

    Once meek, and in a perilous path
    The just man kept his course along
    The Vale of Death.
    Roses are planted where thorns grow,
    And on the barren heath
    Sing the honey bees.

    Then the perilous path was planted,
    And a river and a spring
    On every cliff and tomb;
    And on the bleached bones
    Red clay brought forth:
    Till the villain left the paths of ease
    To walk in perilous paths, and drive
    The just man into barren climes.

    Now the sneaking serpent walks
    In mild humility;
    And the just man rages in the wilds
    Where lions roam.

    Rintrah roars and shakes his fires in the burden'd air,
    Hungry clouds swag on the deep.


As a new heaven is begun, and it is now thirty-three years since its
advent, the Eternal Hell revives. And lo! Swedenborg is the angel
sitting at the tomb: his writings are the linen clothes folded up. Now
is the dominion of Edom, and the return of Adam into Paradise.--See
Isaiah xxxiv. and xxxv. chap.

Without contraries is no progression. Attraction and repulsion, reason
and energy, love and hate, are necessary to human existence.

From these contraries spring what the religious call Good and Evil.
Good is the passive that obeys reason; Evil is the active springing
from Energy.

Good is heaven. Evil is hell.




THE VOICE OF THE DEVIL


All Bibles or sacred codes have been the cause of the following
errors:--

1. That man has two real existing principles, viz., a Body and a Soul.

2. That Energy, called Evil, is alone from the Body; and that Reason,
called Good, is alone from the Soul.

3. That God will torment man in Eternity for following his Energies.

But the following contraries to these are true:--

1. Man has no Body distinct from his Soul. For that called Body is a
portion of Soul discerned by the five senses, the chief inlets of Soul
in this age.

2. Energy is the only life, and is from the Body; and Reason is the
bound or outward circumference of Energy.

3. Energy is Eternal Delight.

Those who restrain desire, do so because theirs is weak enough to be
restrained; and the restrainer or reason usurps its place and governs
the unwilling.

And being restrained, it by degrees becomes passive, till it is only
the shadow of desire.

The history of this is written in Paradise Lost, and the Governor or
Reason is called Messiah.

And the original Archangel or possessor of the command of the heavenly
host is called the Devil, or Satan, and his children are called Sin and
Death.

But in the book of Job, Milton's Messiah is called Satan.

For this history has been adopted by both parties.

It indeed appeared to Reason as if desire was cast out, but the
Devil's account is, that the Messiah fell, and formed a heaven of what
he stole from the abyss.

This is shown in the Gospel, where he prays to the Father to send the
Comforter or desire that Reason may have ideas to build on, the Jehovah
of the Bible being no other than he who dwells in flaming fire. Know
that after Christ's death he became Jehovah.

But in Milton, the Father is Destiny, the Son a ratio of the five
senses, and the Holy Ghost vacuum!


_Note._--The reason Milton wrote in fetters when he wrote of Angels and
God, and at liberty when of Devils and Hell, is because he was a true
poet, and of the Devil's party without knowing it.




A MEMORABLE FANCY


As I was walking among the fires of Hell, delighted with the enjoyments
of Genius, which to Angels look like torment and insanity, I collected
some of their proverbs, thinking that as the sayings used in a nation
mark its character, so the proverbs of Hell show the nature of infernal
wisdom better than any description of buildings or garments.

When I came home, on the abyss of the five senses, where a flat-sided
steep frowns over the present world, I saw a mighty Devil folded in
black clouds hovering on the sides of the rock; with corroding fires
he wrote the following sentence now perceived by the minds of men, and
read by them on earth:--

    "How do you know but every bird
        that cuts the airy way
    Is an immense world of delight,
        closed by your senses five?"




PROVERBS OF HELL


In seed-time learn, in harvest teach, in winter enjoy.

Drive your cart and your plough over the bones of the dead.

The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom.

Prudence is a rich ugly old maid courted by Incapacity.

He who desires, but acts not, breeds pestilence.

The cut worm forgives the plough.

Dip him in the river who loves water.

A fool sees not the same tree that a wise man sees.

He whose face gives no light shall never become a star.

Eternity is in love with the productions of time.

The busy b
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      _Almighty Death_                       128

IX.   OF BEAUTY AND DEATH                    130
      _The Prayers of God_                   145

X.    THE COMET                              149
      _A Hymn to the Peoples_                161








_Credo_


I believe in God, who made of one blood all nations that on earth do
dwell. I believe that all men, black and brown and white, are brothers,
varying through time and opportunity, in form and gift and feature, but
differing in no essential particular, and alike in soul and the
possibility of infinite development.

Especially do I believe in the Negro Race: in the beauty of its genius,
the sweetness of its soul, and its strength in that meekness which shall
yet inherit this turbulent earth.

I believe in Pride of race and lineage and self: in pride of self so
deep as to scorn injustice to other selves; in pride of lineage so great
as to despise no man's father; in pride of race so chivalrous as neither
to offer bastardy to the weak nor beg wedlock of the strong, knowing
that men may be brothers in Christ, even though they be not
brothers-in-law.

I believe in Service--humble, reverent service, from the blackening of
boots to the whitening of souls; for Work is Heaven, Idleness Hell, and
Wage is the "Well done!" of the Master, who summoned all them that labor
and are heavy laden, making no distinction between the black, sweating
cotton hands of Georgia and the first families of Virginia, since all
distinction not based on deed is devilish and not divine.

I believe in the Devil and his angels, who wantonly work to narrow the
opportunity of struggling human beings, especially if they be black; who
spit in the faces of the fallen, strike them that cannot strike again,
believe the worst and work to prove it, hating the image which their
Maker stamped on a brother's soul.

I believe in the Prince of Peace. I believe that War is Murder. I
believe that armies and navies are at bottom the tinsel and braggadocio
of oppression and wrong, and I believe that the wicked conquest of
weaker and darker nations by nations whiter and stronger but foreshadows
the death of that strength.

I believe in Liberty for all men: the space to stretch their arms and
their souls, the right to breathe and the right to vote, the freedom to
choose their friends, enjoy the sunshine, and ride on the railroads,
uncursed by color; thinking, dreaming, working as they will in a kingdom
of beauty and love.

I believe in the Training of Children, black even as white; the leading
out of little souls into the green pastures and beside the still waters,
not for pelf or peace, but for life lit by some large vision of beauty
and goodness and truth; lest we forget, and the sons of the fathers,
like Esau, for mere meat barter their birthright in a mighty nation.

Finally, I believe in Patience--patience with the weakness of the Weak
and the strength of the Strong, the prejudice of the Ignorant and the
ignorance of the Blind; patience with the tardy triumph of Joy and the
mad chastening of Sorrow.





THE SHADOW OF YEARS


I was born by a golden river and in the shadow of two great hills, five
years after the Emancipation Proclamation. The house was quaint, with
clapboards running up and down, neatly trimmed, and there were five
rooms, a tiny porch, a rosy front yard, and unbelievably delicious
strawberries in the rear. A South Carolinian, lately come to the
Berkshire Hills, owned all this--tall, thin, and black, with golden
earrings, and given to religious trances. We were his transient tenants
for the time.

My own people were part of a great clan. Fully two hundred years before,
Tom Burghardt had come through the western pass from the Hudson with his
Dutch captor, "Coenraet Burghardt," sullen in his slavery and achieving
his freedom by volunteering for the Revolution at a time of sudden
alarm. His wife was a little, black, Bantu woman, who never became
reconciled to this strange land; she clasped her knees and rocked and
crooned:

    "Do bana coba--gene me, gene me!
    Ben d'nuli, ben d'le--"

Tom died about 1787, but of him came many sons, and one, Jack, who
helped in the War of 1812. Of Jack and his wife, Violet, was born a
mighty family, splendidly named: Harlow and Ira, Cloë, Lucinda, Maria,
and Othello! I dimly remember my grandfather, Othello,--or "Uncle
Tallow,"--a brown man, strong-voiced and redolent with tobacco, who sat
stiffly in a great high chair because his hip was broken. He was
probably a bit lazy and given to wassail. At any rate, grandmother had a
shrewish tongue and often berated him. This grandmother was Sarah--"Aunt
Sally"--a stern, tall, Dutch-African woman, beak-nosed, but
beautiful-eyed and golden-skinned. Ten or more children were theirs, of
whom the youngest was Mary, my mother.

Mother was dark shining bronze, with a tiny ripple in her black hair,
black-eyed, with a heavy, kind face. She gave one the impression of
infinite patience, but a curious determination was
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FIRST PRINCIPLES: ENDINGS, MIDDLE-GAME AND OPENINGS

The first thing a student should do, is to familiarise himself with the
power of the pieces. This can best be done by learning how to accomplish
quickly some of the simple mates.

1. SOME SIMPLE MATES

EXAMPLE 1.--The ending Rook and King against King.

_The principle is to drive the opposing King to the last line on any side
of the board_.

[Illustration] {4}

In this position the power of the Rook is demonstrated by the first move,
R - R 7, which immediately confines the Black King to the last rank, and
the mate is quickly accomplished by: 1 R - R 7, K - Kt 1; 2 K - Kt 2.

The combined action of King and Rook is needed to arrive at a position in
which mate can be forced. The general principle for a beginner to follow is
to

_keep his King as much as possible on the same rank, or, as in this case,
file, as the opposing King._

When, in this case, the King has been brought to the sixth rank, it is
better to place it, not on the same file, but on the one next to it towards
the centre.

2...K - B 1; 3 K - B 3, K - K 1; 4 K - K 4, K - Q 1; 5 K - Q 5, K - B 1;
6 K - Q 6.

Not K - B 6, because then the Black King will go back to Q 1 and it will
take much longer to mate. If now the King moves back to Q 1, R - R 8 mates
at once.

6...K - Kt 1; 7 R - Q B 7, K - R 1; 8 K - B 6, K - Kt 1; 9 K - Kt 6,
K - R 1; 10 R - B 8 mate.

It has taken exactly ten moves to mate from the original position. On move
5 Black could have played K - K 1, and, according to principle, White would
have continued 6 K - Q 6, K - B 1 (the Black King will ultimately be forced
to move in front of the White King and be mated by R - R 8); 7 K - K 6,
K - Kt 1; 8 K - B 6, K - R 1; 9 K - Kt 6, K - Kt 1; 10 R - R 8 mate. {5}

EXAMPLE 2.

[Illustration]

Since the Black King is in the centre of the board, the best way to proceed
is to advance your own King thus: 1 K - K 2, K - Q 4; 2 K - K 3. As the
Rook has not yet come into play, it is better to advance the King straight
into the centre of the board, not in front, but to one side of the other
King. Should now the Black King move to K 4, the Rook drives it back by
R - R 5 ch. On the other hand, if 2... K - B 5 instead, then also
3 R - R 5. If now 3... K - Kt 5, there follows 4 K - Q 3; but if instead
3... K - B 6; then 4 R - R 4, keeping the King confined to as few squares
as possible.

Now the ending may continue: 4...K - B 7; 5 R - B 4 ch, K - Kt 6;
6 K - Q 3, K - Kt 7; 7 R - Kt 4 ch, K - R 6; 8 K - B 3, K - R 7. It should
be noticed how often the White King has moved next to the Rook, not only to
defend it, but also to reduce the mobility of the opposing King. Now {6}
White mates in three moves thus: 9 R - R 4 ch, K - Kt 8; 10 R -  any square
on the Rook's file, forcing the Black King in front of the White, K - B 8;
11 R - R 1 mate. It has taken eleven moves to mate, and, under any
conditions, I believe it should be done in under twenty. While it may be
monotonous, it is worth while for the beginner to practice such things, as
it will teach him the proper handling of his pieces.

EXAMPLE 3.--Now we come to two Bishops and King against King.

[Illustration]

Since the Black King is in the corner, White can play 1 B - Q 3, K - Kt 2;
2 B - K Kt 5, K - B 2; 3 B - B 5, and already the Black King is confined to
a few squares. If the Black King, in the original position, had been in the
centre of the board, or away from the last row, White should have advanced
his King, and then, with the aid of his Bishops, restricted {7} the Black
King's movements to as few squares as possible.

We might now continue: 3...K - Kt 2; 4 K - B 2. In this ending the Black
King must not only be driven to the edge of the board, but he must also be
forced into a corner, and, before a mate can be given, the White King must
be brought to the sixth rank and, at the same time, in one of the last two
files; in this case either K R 6, K Kt 6, K B 7, K B 8, and as K R 6 and
K Kt 6 are the nearest squares, it is to either of these squares that the
King ought to go. 4...K - B 2; 5 K - Kt 3, K - Kt 2; 6 K - R 4, K - B 2;
7 K - R 5, K - Kt 2; 8 B - Kt 6, K - Kt 1; 9 K - R 6, K - B 1. White must
now mark time and move one of the Bishops, so as to force the Black King to
go back; 10 B - R 5, K - Kt 1; 11 B - K 7, K - R 1. Now the White Bishop
must take up a position from which it can give check next move along the
White diagonal, when the Black King moves back to Kt 1. 12 B - K Kt 4,
K - Kt 1; 13 B - K 6 ch, K - R 1; 14 B - B 6 mate.

It has taken fourteen moves to force the mate and, in any position, it
should be done in under thirty.

In all endings of this kind, care must be taken not to drift into a stale
mate.

In this particular ending one should remember that the King must not only
be driven to the edge of the board, but also into a corner. In all such
endings, however, it is immaterial whether the King is forced {8} on to the
last rank, or to an outside file, e.g. K R 5 or Q R 4
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THE CHILDREN OF ODIN
The Book of Northern Myths

By Padraic Colum

Illustrated by Willy Pogany


Master storyteller Padraic Colum's rich, musical voice captures all the
magic and majesty of the Norse sagas in his retellings of the adventures
of the gods and goddesses who lived in the Northern paradise of Asgard
before the dawn of history.

Here are the matchless tales of All-Father Odin, who crosses the Rainbow
Bridge to walk among men in Midgard and sacrifices his right eye to
drink from the Well of Wisdom; of Thor, whose mighty hammer defends
Asgard; of Loki, whose mischievous cunning leads him to treachery
against the gods; of giants, dragons, dwarfs and Valkyries; and of the
terrible last battle that destroyed their world.

These ancient stories from Northern Europe, which make up one of the
great myth cycles of Western civilization, spring to life in _The
Children of Odin_. This classic volume, first published in 1920 and
reissued in 1962, is now available for the first time in paperback,
illustrated with the original line drawings by Willy Pogany, to inspire
a new generation of readers.

       *       *       *       *       *

The late Padraic Colum was a poet, playwright, founder of the _Irish
Review_ and a leader of the Irish Renaissance, but he is perhaps best
known today for his outstanding books for children. He was awarded the
Regina Medal in 1961 for his "distinguished contribution to children's
literature," honoring works like _The Children's Homer_, _The Golden
Fleece_ (a Newbery Honor Book), _The Arabian Nights_, _The King of
Ireland's Son_ and _Roofs of Gold_.


       *       *       *       *       *




[Illustration]

THE CHILDREN OF ODIN

The Book of Northern Myths

by

PADRAIC COLUM

illustrated by
Willy Pogany

Collier Books
Macmillan Publishing Company
New York

Collier Macmillan Publishers
London




Copyright Macmillan Publishing Company, a division of
Macmillan, Inc., 1920; copyright renewed by
Padraic Colum and Macmillan Publishing Company 1948
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced
or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or
mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any
information storage and retrieval system, without
permission in writing from the Publisher.

Macmillan Publishing Company
866 Third Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10022
Collier Macmillan Canada, Inc.

_The Children of Odin_ is also published in a
hardcover edition by Macmillan Publishing Company.
First Collier Books edition 1984
Printed in the United States of America

10 9 8 7 6 5 4

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data
Colum, Padraic, 1881-1972.

The children of Odin.

Summary: A retelling of the Norse sagas about Odin,
Freya, Thor, Loki and the other gods and goddesses who
lived in Asgard before the dawn of history.

1. Mythology, Norse--Juvenile literature.
[1. Mythology, Norse] I. Pogany, Willy, 1882-1955, ill.
II. Title.

BL860.C63 1984b 293'.13 83-20368
ISBN 0-02-042100-1 (pbk.: alk. paper)




[Illustration]

CONTENTS


PART I _The Dwellers in Asgard_

1. Far Away and Long Ago                        3

2. The Building of the Wall                     6

3. Iduna and Her Apples: How Loki Put the
   Gods in Danger                              13

4. Sif's Golden Hair: How Loki Wrought
   Mischief in Asgard                          27

5. How Brock Brought Judgment on Loki          34

6. How Freya Gained Her Necklace and How
   Her Loved One Was Lost to Her               44

7. How Frey Won Gerda, the Giant Maiden,
   and How He Lost His Magic Sword             51

8. Heimdall and Little Hnossa: How All
   Things Came to Be                           62

9. The All-Father's Forebodings: How He
   Leaves Asgard                               69


PART II _Odin the Wanderer_

1. Odin Goes to Mimir's Well: His Sacrifice
   for Wisdom                                  77

2. Odin Faces an Evil Man                      82

3. Odin Wins for Men the Magic Mead            90

4. Odin Tells to Vidar, His Silent Son, the
   Secret of His Doings                        99

5. Thor and Loki in the Giants' City          102

6. How Thor and Loki Befooled Thrym the
   Giant                                      116

7. Ægir's Feast: How Thor Triumphed           124

8. The Dwarf's Hoard, and the Curse that
   It Brought                                 136


PART III _The Witch's Heart_

1. Foreboding in Asgard                       151

2. Loki the Betrayer                          155

3. Loki Against the Æsir                      164

4. The Valkyrie                               169

5. The Children of Loki                       174

6. Baldur's Doom                              180

7. Loki's Punishment                          193


PART IV _The Sword of the Volsungs and the
         Twilight of the Gods_

1. Sigurd's Youth                             199

2. The Sword Gram and the Dragon Fafnir       208

3. The Dragon's Blood                         215

4. The Story
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OEDIPUS

KING OF THEBES

BY

SOPHOCLES


TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH RHYMING VERSE

 WITH EXPLANATORY NOTES BY

GILBERT MURRAY

LL.D., D.LITT., F.B.A.

REGIUS PROFESSOR OF GREEK IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD


FOURTEENTH THOUSAND


 LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD.
 RUSKIN HOUSE 40 MUSEUM STREET, W.C.1



 _First published_      _February 1911_
 _Reprinted_            _January  1912_
     "                  _   "     1912_
     "                  _February 1912_
     "                  _July     1917_




PREFACE


If I have turned aside from Euripides for a moment and attempted a
translation of the great stage masterpiece of Sophocles, my excuse must
be the fascination of this play, which has thrown its spell on me as on
many other translators. Yet I may plead also that as a rule every
diligent student of these great works can add something to the
discoveries of his predecessors, and I think I have been able to bring
out a few new points in the old and much-studied _Oedipus_, chiefly
points connected with the dramatic technique and the religious
atmosphere.

Mythologists tell us that Oedipus was originally a daemon haunting Mount
Kithairon, and Jocasta a form of that Earth-Mother who, as Aeschylus
puts it, "bringeth all things to being, and when she hath reared them
receiveth again their seed into her body" (_Choephori_, 127: cf.
Crusius, _Beiträge z. Gr. Myth_, 21). That stage of the story lies very
far behind the consciousness of Sophocles. But there does cling about
both his hero and his heroine a great deal of very primitive atmosphere.
There are traces in Oedipus of the pre-hellenic Medicine King, the
_Basileus_ who is also a _Theos_, and can make rain or blue sky,
pestilence or fertility. This explains many things in the Priest's first
speech, in the attitude of the Chorus, and in Oedipus' own language
after the discovery. It partly explains the hostility of Apollo, who is
not a mere motiveless Destroyer but a true Olympian crushing his
Earth-born rival. And in the same way the peculiar royalty of Jocasta,
which makes Oedipus at times seem not the King but the Consort of the
Queen, brings her near to that class of consecrated queens described in
Dr. Frazer's _Lectures on the Kingship_, who are "honoured as no woman
now living on the earth."

The story itself, and the whole spirit in which Sophocles has treated
it, belong not to the fifth century but to that terrible and romantic
past from which the fifth century poets usually drew their material. The
atmosphere of brooding dread, the pollution, the curses; the "insane and
beastlike cruelty," as an ancient Greek commentator calls it, of
piercing the exposed child's feet in order to ensure its death and yet
avoid having actually murdered it (_Schol. Eur. Phoen._, 26); the whole
treatment of the parricide and incest, not as moral offences capable of
being rationally judged or even excused as unintentional, but as
monstrous and inhuman pollutions, the last limit of imaginable horror:
all these things take us back to dark regions of pre-classical and even
pre-homeric belief. We have no right to suppose that Sophocles thought
of the involuntary parricide and metrogamy as the people in his play do.
Indeed, considering the general tone of his contemporaries and friends,
we may safely assume that he did not. But at any rate he has allowed no
breath of later enlightenment to disturb the primaeval gloom of his
atmosphere.

Does this in any way make the tragedy insincere? I think not. We know
that people did feel and think about "pollution" in the way which
Sophocles represents; and if they so felt, then the tragedy was there.

       *       *       *       *       *

I think these considerations explain the remarkable absence from this
play of any criticism of life or any definite moral judgment. I know
that some commentators have found in it a "humble and unquestioning
piety," but I cannot help suspecting that what they saw was only a
reflection from their own pious and unquestioning minds. Man is indeed
shown as a "plaything of Gods," but of Gods strangely and
incomprehensibly malignant, whose ways there is no attempt to explain or
justify. The original story, indeed, may have had one of its roots in a
Theban "moral tale." Aelian (_Varia Historia_, 2, 7) tells us that the
exposure of a child was forbidden by Theban Law. The state of feeling
which produced this law, against the immensely strong conception of the
_patria potestas_, may also have produced a folklore story telling how a
boy once was exposed, in a peculiarly cruel way, by his wicked parents,
and how Heaven preserved him to take upon both of them a vengeance which
showed that the unnatural father had no longer a father's sanctity nor
the unnatural mother a mother's. But, as far as Sophocles is concerned,
if anything in the nature of a criticism of life has been admitted into
the play at all, it seems to be only a flash or two of tha
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“A child, more than all other gifts
That earth can offer to declining man,
Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts.”
—WORDSWORTH.

Contents

 PART ONE.
 CHAPTER I.
 CHAPTER II.
 CHAPTER III.
 CHAPTER IV.
 CHAPTER V.
 CHAPTER VI.
 CHAPTER VII.
 CHAPTER VIII.
 CHAPTER IX.
 CHAPTER X.
 CHAPTER XI.
 CHAPTER XII.
 CHAPTER XIII.
 CHAPTER XIV.
 CHAPTER XV.

 PART TWO.
 CHAPTER XVI.
 CHAPTER XVII.
 CHAPTER XVIII.
 CHAPTER XIX.
 CHAPTER XX.
 CHAPTER XI.
 CONCLUSION




PART I.



In the days when the spinning-wheels hummed busily in the
farmhouses—and even great ladies, clothed in silk and thread-lace, had
their toy spinning-wheels of polished oak—there might be seen in
districts far away among the lanes, or deep in the bosom of the hills,
certain pallid undersized men, who, by the side of the brawny
country-folk, looked like the remnants of a disinherited race. The
shepherd’s dog barked fiercely when one of these alien-looking men
appeared on the upland, dark against the early winter sunset; for what
dog likes a figure bent under a heavy bag?—and these pale men rarely
stirred abroad without that mysterious burden. The shepherd himself,
though he had good reason to believe that the bag held nothing but
flaxen thread, or else the long rolls of strong linen spun from that
thread, was not quite sure that this trade of weaving, indispensable
though it was, could be carried on entirely without the help of the
Evil One. In that far-off time superstition clung easily round every
person or thing that was at all unwonted, or even intermittent and
occasional merely, like the visits of the pedlar or the knife-grinder.
No one knew where wandering men had their homes or their origin; and
how was a man to be explained unless you at least knew somebody who
knew his father and mother? To the peasants of old times, the world
outside their own direct experience was a region of vagueness and
mystery: to their untravelled thought a state of wandering was a
conception as dim as the winter life of the swallows that came back
with the spring; and even a settler, if he came from distant parts,
hardly ever ceased to be viewed with a remnant of distrust, which would
have prevented any surprise if a long course of inoffensive conduct on
his part had ended in the commission of a crime; especially if he had
any reputation for knowledge, or showed any skill in handicraft. All
cleverness, whether in the rapid use of that difficult instrument the
tongue, or in some other art unfamiliar to villagers, was in itself
suspicious: honest folk, born and bred in a visible manner, were mostly
not overwise or clever—at least, not beyond such a matter as knowing
the signs of the weather; and the process by which rapidity and
dexterity of any kind were acquired was so wholly hidden, that they
partook of the nature of conjuring. In this way it came to pass that
those scattered linen-weavers—emigrants from the town into the
country—were to the last regarded as aliens by their rustic neighbours,
and usually contracted the eccentric habits which belong to a state of
loneliness.

In the early years of this century, such a linen-weaver, named Silas
Marner, worked at his vocation in a stone cottage that stood among the
nutty hedgerows near the village of Raveloe, and not far from the edge
of a deserted stone-pit. The questionable sound of Silas’s loom, so
unlike the natural cheerful trotting of the winnowing-machine, or the
simpler rhythm of the flail, had a half-fearful fascination for the
Raveloe boys, who would often leave off their nutting or birds’-nesting
to peep in at the window of the stone cottage, counterbalancing a
certain awe at the mysterious action of the loom, by a pleasant sense
of scornful superiority, drawn from the mockery of its alternating
noises, along with the bent, tread-mill attitude of the weaver. But
sometimes it happened that Marner, pausing to adjust an irregularity in
his thread, became aware of the small scoundrels, and, though chary of
his time, he liked their intrusion so ill that he would descend from
his loom, and, opening the door, would fix on them a gaze that was
always enough to make them take to their legs in terror. For how was it
possible to believe that those large brown protuberant eyes in Silas
Marner’s pale face really saw nothing very distinctly that was not
close to them, and not rather that their dreadful stare could dart
cramp, or rickets, or a wry mouth at any boy who happened to be in the
rear? They had, perhaps, heard their fathers and mothers hint that
Silas Marner could cure folks’ rheumatism if he had a mind, and add,
still more darkly, that if you could only speak the devil fair enough,
he might save you the cost of the doctor. Such strange lingering echoes
of the old demon-worship might perhaps even now be caught by the
diligent listener among the grey-haired peasantry; for the rude mind
with difficulty associates the ideas of power and benignity. A shadowy
conception of power that by much persuasi
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My father had a small estate in Nottinghamshire, and I was the third
of four sons. He sent me to Cambridge at fourteen years old, and after
studying there three years I was bound apprentice to Mr. Bates, a famous
surgeon in London. There, as my father now and then sent me small sums
of money, I spent them in learning navigation, and other arts useful to
those who travel, as I always believed it would be some time or other my
fortune to do.

Three years after my leaving him my good master, Mr. Bates, recommended
me as ship’s surgeon to the “Swallow,” on which I voyaged three years.
When I came back I settled in London, and, having taken part of a
small house, I married Miss Mary Burton, daughter of Mr. Edmund Burton,
hosier.

But my good master Bates died two years after; and as I had few friends
my business began to fail, and I determined to go again to sea. After
several voyages, I accepted an offer from Captain W. Pritchard, master
of the “Antelope,” who was making a voyage to the South Sea. We set sail
from Bristol, May 4, 1699; and our voyage at first was very prosperous.

But in our passage to the East Indies we were driven by a violent storm
to the north-west of Van Diemen’s Land. Twelve of our crew died from
hard labor and bad food, and the rest were in a very weak condition.
On the 5th of November, the weather being very hazy, the seamen spied
a rock within 120 yards of the ship; but the wind was so strong that we
were driven straight upon it, and immediately split. Six of the crew,
of whom I was one, letting down the boat, got clear of the ship, and we
rowed about three leagues, till we could work no longer. We therefore
trusted ourselves to the mercy of the waves; and in about half an hour
the boat was upset by a sudden squall. What became of my companions in
the boat, or those who escaped on the rock or were left in the vessel,
I cannot tell; but I conclude they were all lost. For my part, I swam as
fortune directed me, and was pushed forward by wind and tide; but when
I was able to struggle no longer I found myself within my depth. By this
time the storm was much abated. I reached the shore at last, about eight
o’clock in the evening, and advanced nearly half a mile inland, but
could not discover any sign of inhabitants. I was extremely tired, and
with the heat of the weather I found myself much inclined to sleep. I
lay down on the grass, which was very short and soft, and slept sounder
than ever I did in my life for about nine hours. When I woke, it was
just daylight. I attempted to rise, but could not; for as I happened to
be lying on my back, I found my arms and legs were fastened on each side
to the ground; and my hair, which was long and thick, tied down in the
same manner. I could only look upward. The sun began to grow hot, and
the light hurt my eyes. I heard a confused noise about me, but could
see nothing except the sky. In a little time I felt something alive
and moving on my left leg, which, advancing gently over my breast, came
almost up to my chin, when, bending my eyes downward, I perceived it to
be a human creature, not six inches high, with a bow and arrow in his
hands, and a quiver at his back. In the meantime I felt at least forty
more following the first. I was in the utmost astonishment, and roared
so loud that they all ran back in a fright; and some of them were
hurt with the falls they got by leaping from my sides upon the ground.
However, they soon returned, and one of them, who ventured so far as to
get a full sight of my face, lifted up his hands in admiration. I lay
all this while in great uneasiness; but at length, struggling to get
loose, I succeeded in breaking the strings that fastened my left arm
to the ground; and at the same time, with a violent pull that gave me
extreme pain, I a little loosened the strings that tied down my hair, so
that I was just able to turn my head about two inches. But the creatures
ran off a second time before I could seize them, whereupon there was a
great shout, and in an instant I felt above a hundred arrows discharged
on my left hand, which pricked me like so many needles. Moreover, they
shot another flight into the air, of which some fell on my face, which
I immediately covered with my left hand. When this shower of arrows
was over I groaned with grief and pain, and then, striving again to get
loose, they discharged another flight of arrows larger than the first,
and some of them tried to stab me with their spears; but by good luck
I had on a leather jacket, which they could not pierce. By this time
I thought it most prudent to lie still till night, when, my left
hand being already loose, I could easily free myself; and as for the
inhabitants, I thought I might be a match for the greatest army they
could bring against me if they were all of the same size as him I
saw. When the people observed that I was quiet they discharged no more
arrows, but by the noise I heard I knew that their number was increased;
and about four yards from m
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Picrochole their king, assaulted the shepherds of Gargantua unexpectedly
and on a sudden

Chapter 1.XXVII.--How a monk of Seville saved the close of the abbey from
being ransacked by the enemy

Chapter 1.XXVIII.--How Picrochole stormed and took by assault the rock
Clermond, and of Grangousier’s unwillingness and aversion from the
undertaking of war

Chapter 1.XXIX.--The tenour of the letter which Grangousier wrote to his
son Gargantua

Chapter 1.XXX.--How Ulric Gallet was sent unto Picrochole

Chapter 1.XXXI.--The speech made by Gallet to Picrochole

Chapter 1.XXXII.--How Grangousier, to buy peace, caused the cakes to be
restored

Chapter 1.XXXIII.--How some statesmen of Picrochole, by hairbrained
counsel, put him in extreme danger

Chapter 1.XXXIV.--How Gargantua left the city of Paris to succour his
country, and how Gymnast encountered with the enemy

Chapter 1.XXXV.--How Gymnast very souply and cunningly killed Captain
Tripet and others of Picrochole’s men

Chapter 1.XXXVI.--How Gargantua demolished the castle at the ford of Vede,
and how they passed the ford

Chapter 1.XXXVII.--How Gargantua, in combing his head, made the great
cannon-balls fall out of his hair

Chapter 1.XXXVIII.--How Gargantua did eat up six pilgrims in a salad

Chapter 1.XXXIX.--How the Monk was feasted by Gargantua, and of the jovial
discourse they had at supper

Chapter 1.XL.--Why monks are the outcasts of the world; and wherefore some
have bigger noses than others

Chapter 1.XLI.--How the Monk made Gargantua sleep, and of his hours and
breviaries

Chapter 1.XLII.--How the Monk encouraged his fellow-champions, and how he
hanged upon a tree

Chapter 1.XLIII.--How the scouts and fore-party of Picrochole were met with
by Gargantua, and how the Monk slew Captain Drawforth, and then was taken
prisoner by his enemies

Chapter 1.XLIV.--How the Monk rid himself of his keepers, and how
Picrochole’s forlorn hope was defeated

Chapter 1.XLV.--How the Monk carried along with him the Pilgrims, and of
the good words that Grangousier gave them

Chapter 1.XLVI.--How Grangousier did very kindly entertain Touchfaucet his
prisoner

Chapter 1.XLVII.--How Grangousier sent for his legions, and how Touchfaucet
slew Rashcalf, and was afterwards executed by the command of Picrochole

Chapter 1.XLVIII.--How Gargantua set upon Picrochole within the rock
Clermond, and utterly defeated the army of the said Picrochole

Chapter 1.XLIX.--How Picrochole in his flight fell into great misfortunes,
and what Gargantua did after the battle

Chapter 1.L.--Gargantua’s speech to the vanquished

Chapter 1.LI.--How the victorious Gargantuists were recompensed after the
battle

Chapter 1.LII.--How Gargantua caused to be built for the Monk the Abbey of
Theleme

Chapter 1.LIII.--How the abbey of the Thelemites was built and endowed

Chapter 1.LIV.--The inscription set upon the great gate of Theleme

Chapter 1.LV.--What manner of dwelling the Thelemites had

Chapter 1.LVI.--How the men and women of the religious order of Theleme
were apparelled

Chapter 1.LVII.--How the Thelemites were governed, and of their manner of
living

Chapter 1.LVIII.--A prophetical Riddle



THE SECOND BOOK.

For the Reader

Mr. Hugh Salel to Rabelais

The Author’s Prologue

Chapter 2.I.--Of the original and antiquity of the great Pantagruel

Chapter 2.II.--Of the nativity of the most dread and redoubted Pantagruel

Chapter 2.III.--Of the grief wherewith Gargantua was moved at the decease
of his wife Badebec

Chapter 2.IV.--Of the infancy of Pantagruel

Chapter 2.V.--Of the acts of the noble Pantagruel in his youthful age

Chapter 2.VI.--How Pantagruel met with a Limousin, who too affectedly did
counterfeit the French language

Chapter 2.VII.--How Pantagruel came to Paris, and of the choice books of
the Library of St. Victor

Chapter 2.VIII.--How Pantagruel, being at Paris, received letters from his
father Gargantua, and the copy of them

Chapter 2.IX.--How Pantagruel found Panurge, whom he loved all his lifetime

Chapter 2.X.--How Pantagruel judged so equitably of a controversy, which
was wonderfully obscure and difficult, that, by reason of his just decree
therein, he was reputed to have a most admirable judgment

Chapter 2.XI.--How the Lords of Kissbreech and Suckfist did plead before
Pantagruel without an attorney

Chapter 2.XII.--How the Lord of Suckfist pleaded before Pantagruel

Chapter 2.XIII.--How Pantagruel gave judgment upon the difference of the
two lords

Chapter 2.XIV.--How Panurge related the manner how he escaped out of the
hands of the Turks

Chapter 2.XV.--How Panurge showed a very new way to build the walls of
Paris

Chapter 2.XVI.--Of the qualities and conditions of Panurge

Chapter 2.XVII.--How Panurge gained the pardons, and married the old women,
and of the suit in law which he had at Paris

Chapter 2.XVIII.--How a great scholar of England would have argued against
Pantagruel, and was overcome by Panurge

Chapter 2.XIX.--How Panurge put to a nonplus the Englishman that argued by

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It was the evening on which MM. Debienne and Poligny, the managers of
the Opera, were giving a last gala performance to mark their
retirement.  Suddenly the dressing-room of La Sorelli, one of the
principal dancers, was invaded by half-a-dozen young ladies of the
ballet, who had come up from the stage after "dancing" Polyeucte.  They
rushed in amid great confusion, some giving vent to forced and
unnatural laughter, others to cries of terror.  Sorelli, who wished to
be alone for a moment to "run through" the speech which she was to make
to the resigning managers, looked around angrily at the mad and
tumultuous crowd.  It was little Jammes--the girl with the tip-tilted
nose, the forget-me-not eyes, the rose-red cheeks and the lily-white
neck and shoulders--who gave the explanation in a trembling voice:

"It's the ghost!"  And she locked the door.

Sorelli's dressing-room was fitted up with official, commonplace
elegance.  A pier-glass, a sofa, a dressing-table and a cupboard or two
provided the necessary furniture.  On the walls hung a few engravings,
relics of the mother, who had known the glories of the old Opera in the
Rue le Peletier; portraits of Vestris, Gardel, Dupont, Bigottini.  But
the room seemed a palace to the brats of the corps de ballet, who were
lodged in common dressing-rooms where they spent their time singing,
quarreling, smacking the dressers and hair-dressers and buying one
another glasses of cassis, beer, or even rhum, until the call-boy's
bell rang.

Sorelli was very superstitious.  She shuddered when she heard little
Jammes speak of the ghost, called her a "silly little fool" and then,
as she was the first to believe in ghosts in general, and the Opera
ghost in particular, at once asked for details:

"Have you seen him?"

"As plainly as I see you now!" said little Jammes, whose legs were
giving way beneath her, and she dropped with a moan into a chair.

Thereupon little Giry--the girl with eyes black as sloes, hair black as
ink, a swarthy complexion and a poor little skin stretched over poor
little bones--little Giry added:

"If that's the ghost, he's very ugly!"

"Oh, yes!" cried the chorus of ballet-girls.

And they all began to talk together.  The ghost had appeared to them in
the shape of a gentleman in dress-clothes, who had suddenly stood
before them in the passage, without their knowing where he came from.
He seemed to have come straight through the wall.

"Pooh!" said one of them, who had more or less kept her head.  "You see
the ghost everywhere!"

And it was true.  For several months, there had been nothing discussed
at the Opera but this ghost in dress-clothes who stalked about the
building, from top to bottom, like a shadow, who spoke to nobody, to
whom nobody dared speak and who vanished as soon as he was seen, no one
knowing how or where.  As became a real ghost, he made no noise in
walking.  People began by laughing and making fun of this specter
dressed like a man of fashion or an undertaker; but the ghost legend
soon swelled to enormous proportions among the corps de ballet.  All
the girls pretended to have met this supernatural being more or less
often.  And those who laughed the loudest were not the most at ease.
When he did not show himself, he betrayed his presence or his passing
by accident, comic or serious, for which the general superstition held
him responsible.  Had any one met with a fall, or suffered a practical
joke at the hands of one of the other girls, or lost a powderpuff, it
was at once the fault of the ghost, of the Opera ghost.

After all, who had seen him?  You meet so many men in dress-clothes at
the Opera who are not ghosts.  But this dress-suit had a peculiarity of
its own.  It covered a skeleton.  At least, so the ballet-girls said.
And, of course, it had a death's head.

Was all this serious?  The truth is that the idea of the skeleton came
from the description of the ghost given by Joseph Buquet, the chief
scene-shifter, who had really seen the ghost.  He had run up against
the ghost on the little staircase, by the footlights, which leads to
"the cellars."  He had seen him for a second--for the ghost had
fled--and to any one who cared to listen to him he said:

"He is extraordinarily thin and his dress-coat hangs on a skeleton
frame.  His eyes are so deep that you can hardly see the fixed pupils.
You just see two big black holes, as in a dead man's skull.  His skin,
which is stretched across his bones like a drumhead, is not white, but
a nasty yellow.  His nose is so little worth talking about that you
can't see it side-face; and THE ABSENCE of that nose is a horrible
thing TO LOOK AT.  All the hair he has is three or four long dark locks
on his forehead and behind his ears."

This chief scene-shifter was a serious, sober, steady man, very slow at
imagining things.  His words were received with interest and amazement;
and soon there were other people to say that they too had met a man in
dress-clothes with a death's head on his shoulders.  S
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PG #: 30017
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Transcriber's Note:

       Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the
       U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.


                          MY FATHER'S DRAGON



                               STORY BY

                         RUTH STILES GANNETT



                           ILLUSTRATIONS BY

                        RUTH CHRISMAN GANNETT





                     RANDOM HOUSE   .   NEW YORK





                 COPYRIGHT 1948 BY RANDOM HOUSE, INC.

       *       *       *       *       *




For My

FATHER

       *       *       *       *       *




CONTENTS


    1.  My Father Meets the Cat          9

    2.  My Father Runs Away             15

    3.  My Father Finds the Island      22

    4.  My Father Finds the River       31

    5.  My Father Meets Some Tigers     39

    6.  My Father Meets A Rhinoceros    48

    7.  My Father Meets A Lion          56

    8.  My Father Meets A Gorilla       63

    9.  My Father Makes A Bridge        73

   10.  My Father Finds the Dragon      79

       *       *       *       *       *




_Chapter One_

MY FATHER MEETS THE CAT


One cold rainy day when my father was a little boy, he met an old
alley cat on his street. The cat was very drippy and uncomfortable so
my father said, "Wouldn't you like to come home with me?"

This surprised the cat--she had never before met anyone who cared
about old alley cats--but she said, "I'd be very much obliged if I
could sit by a warm furnace, and perhaps have a saucer of milk."

"We have a very nice furnace to sit by," said my father, "and I'm sure
my mother has an extra saucer of milk."

[Illustration]

My father and the cat became good friends but my father's mother was
very upset about the cat. She hated cats, particularly ugly old alley
cats. "Elmer Elevator," she said to my father, "if you think I'm going
to give that cat a saucer of milk, you're very wrong. Once you start
feeding stray alley cats you might as well expect to feed every stray
in town, and I am _not_ going to do it!"

This made my father very sad, and he apologized to the cat because his
mother had been so rude. He told the cat to stay anyway, and that
somehow he would bring her a saucer of milk each day. My father fed
the cat for three weeks, but one day his mother found the cat's saucer
in the cellar and she was extremely angry. She whipped my father and
threw the cat out the door, but later on my father sneaked out and
found the cat. Together they went for a walk in the park and tried to
think of nice things to talk about. My father said, "When I grow up
I'm going to have an airplane. Wouldn't it be wonderful to fly just
anywhere you might think of!"

"Would you like to fly very, very much?" asked the cat.

"I certainly would. I'd do anything if I could fly."

[Illustration]

"Well," said the cat, "If you'd really like to fly that much, I think
I know of a sort of a way you might get to fly while you're still a
little boy."

"You mean you know where I could get an airplane?"

"Well, not exactly an airplane, but something even better. As you can
see, I'm an old cat now, but in my younger days I was quite a
traveler. My traveling days are over but last spring I took just one
more trip and sailed to the Island of Tangerina, stopping at the port
of Cranberry. Well, it just so happened that I missed the boat, and
while waiting for the next I thought I'd look around a bit. I was
particularly interested in a place called Wild Island, which we had
passed on our way to Tangerina. Wild Island and Tangerina are joined
together by a long string of rocks, but people never go to Wild Island
because it's mostly jungle and inhabited by very wild animals. So, I
decided to go across the rocks and explore it for myself. It certainly
is an interesting place, but I saw something there that made me want
to weep."

[Illustration]

[Illustration]




_Chapter Two_

MY FATHER RUNS AWAY


"Wild Island is practically cut in two by a very wide and muddy
river," continued the cat. "This river begins near one end of the
island and flows into the ocean at the other. Now the animals there
are very lazy, and they used to hate having to go all the way around
the beginning of this river to get to the other side of the island.
It made visiting inconvenient and mail deliveries slow, particularly
during the Christmas rush. Crocodiles could have carried passengers
and mail across the river, but crocodiles are very moody, and not the
least bit dependable, and are always looking for something to eat.
They don't care if the animals have to walk around the river, so
that's just what the animals did for many years."

"But what does all this have to do with airplanes?" asked my father,
who thought the cat was taking an awfully long time to explain.

"Be patient, Elmer," said the cat, and she went on with the story.
"One day about four months before I arrived on Wild Island a baby
dragon fell from a low-flying cloud onto the bank of the river. He was
too young to
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PG #: 23218
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THE RED ROOM

By H. G. Wells




“I can assure you,” said I, “that it will take a very tangible ghost to
frighten me.” And I stood up before the fire with my glass in my hand.

“It is your own choosing,” said the man with the withered arm, and glanced
at me askance.

“Eight-and-twenty years,” said I, “I have lived, and never a ghost have I
seen as yet.”

The old woman sat staring hard into the fire, her pale eyes wide open.
“Ay,” she broke in; “and eight-and-twenty years you have lived and never
seen the likes of this house, I reckon. There’s a many things to see, when
one’s still but eight-and-twenty.” She swayed her head slowly from side to
side. “A many things to see and sorrow for.”

I half suspected the old people were trying to enhance the spiritual
terrors of their house by their droning insistence. I put down my empty
glass on the table and looked about the room, and caught a glimpse of
myself, abbreviated and broadened to an impossible sturdiness, in the
queer old mirror at the end of the room. “Well,” I said, “if I see
anything to-night, I shall be so much the wiser. For I come to the
business with an open mind.”

“It’s your own choosing,” said the man with the withered arm once more.

I heard the faint sound of a stick and a shambling step on the flags in
the passage outside. The door creaked on its hinges as a second old man
entered, more bent, more wrinkled, more aged even than the first. He
supported himself by the help of a crutch, his eyes were covered by
a shade, and his lower lip, half averted, hung pale and pink from his
decaying yellow teeth. He made straight for an armchair on the opposite
side of the table, sat down clumsily, and began to cough. The man with
the withered hand gave the newcomer a short glance of positive dislike;
the old woman took no notice of his arrival, but remained with her eyes
fixed steadily on the fire.

“I said--it’s your own choosing,” said the man with the withered hand,
when the coughing had ceased for a while.

“It’s my own choosing,” I answered.

The man with the shade became aware of my presence for the first time,
and threw his head back for a moment, and sidewise, to see me. I caught
a momentary glimpse of his eyes, small and bright and inflamed. Then he
began to cough and splutter again.

“Why don’t you drink?” said the man with the withered arm, pushing the
beer toward him. The man with the shade poured out a glassful with a
shaking hand, that splashed half as much again on the deal table. A
monstrous shadow of him crouched upon the wall, and mocked his action
as he poured and drank. I must confess I had scarcely expected these
grotesque custodians. There is, to my mind, something inhuman in
senility, something crouching and atavistic; the human qualities seem
to drop from old people insensibly day by day. The three of them made me
feel uncomfortable with their gaunt silences, their bent carriage,
their evident unfriendliness to me and to one another. And that night,
perhaps, I was in the mood for uncomfortable impressions. I resolved to
get away from their vague fore-shadowings of the evil things upstairs.

“If,” said I, “you will show me to this haunted room of yours, I will
make myself comfortable there.”

The old man with the cough jerked his head back so suddenly that it
startled me, and shot another glance of his red eyes at me from out of
the darkness under the shade, but no one answered me. I waited a minute,
glancing from one to the other. The old woman stared like a dead body,
glaring into the fire with lack-lustre eyes.

“If,” I said, a little louder, “if you will show me to this haunted room
of yours, I will relieve you from the task of entertaining me.”

“There’s a candle on the slab outside the door,” said the man with the
withered hand, looking at my feet as he addressed me. “But if you go to
the Red Room to-night--”

“This night of all nights!” said the old woman, softly.

“--You go alone.”

“Very well,” I answered, shortly, “and which way do I go?”

“You go along the passage for a bit,” said he, nodding his head on his
shoulder at the door, “until you come to a spiral staircase; and on the
second landing is a door covered with green baize. Go through that, and
down the long corridor to the end, and the Red Room is on your left up
the steps.”

“Have I got that right?” I said, and repeated his directions.

He corrected me in one particular.

“And you are really going?” said the man with the shade, looking at me
again for the third time with that queer, unnatural tilting of the face.

“This night of all nights!” whispered the old woman.

“It is what I came for,” I said, and moved toward the door. As I did so,
the old man with the shade rose and staggered round the table, so as to
be closer to the others and to the fire. At the door I turned and
looked at them, and saw they were all close together, dark against the
firelight, staring at me over their shoulders, with an intent expression
on their ancient faces.

“Good-night,” I said, setti
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Chiswick Mall

While the present century was in its teens, and on one sunshiny morning
in June, there drove up to the great iron gate of Miss Pinkerton's
academy for young ladies, on Chiswick Mall, a large family coach, with
two fat horses in blazing harness, driven by a fat coachman in a
three-cornered hat and wig, at the rate of four miles an hour.  A black
servant, who reposed on the box beside the fat coachman, uncurled his
bandy legs as soon as the equipage drew up opposite Miss Pinkerton's
shining brass plate, and as he pulled the bell at least a score of
young heads were seen peering out of the narrow windows of the stately
old brick house.  Nay, the acute observer might have recognized the
little red nose of good-natured Miss Jemima Pinkerton herself, rising
over some geranium pots in the window of that lady's own drawing-room.

"It is Mrs. Sedley's coach, sister," said Miss Jemima. "Sambo, the
black servant, has just rung the bell; and the coachman has a new red
waistcoat."

"Have you completed all the necessary preparations incident to Miss
Sedley's departure, Miss Jemima?" asked Miss Pinkerton herself, that
majestic lady; the Semiramis of Hammersmith, the friend of Doctor
Johnson, the correspondent of Mrs. Chapone herself.

"The girls were up at four this morning, packing her trunks, sister,"
replied Miss Jemima; "we have made her a bow-pot."

"Say a bouquet, sister Jemima, 'tis more genteel."

"Well, a booky as big almost as a haystack; I have put up two bottles
of the gillyflower water for Mrs. Sedley, and the receipt for making
it, in Amelia's box."

"And I trust, Miss Jemima, you have made a copy of Miss Sedley's
account.  This is it, is it? Very good--ninety-three pounds, four
shillings.  Be kind enough to address it to John Sedley, Esquire, and
to seal this billet which I have written to his lady."

In Miss Jemima's eyes an autograph letter of her sister, Miss
Pinkerton, was an object of as deep veneration as would have been a
letter from a sovereign.  Only when her pupils quitted the
establishment, or when they were about to be married, and once, when
poor Miss Birch died of the scarlet fever, was Miss Pinkerton known to
write personally to the parents of her pupils; and it was Jemima's
opinion that if anything could console Mrs. Birch for her daughter's
loss, it would be that pious and eloquent composition in which Miss
Pinkerton announced the event.

In the present instance Miss Pinkerton's "billet" was to the following
effect:--

The Mall, Chiswick, June 15, 18

MADAM,--After her six years' residence at the Mall, I have the honour
and happiness of presenting Miss Amelia Sedley to her parents, as a
young lady not unworthy to occupy a fitting position in their polished
and refined circle.  Those virtues which characterize the young English
gentlewoman, those accomplishments which become her birth and station,
will not be found wanting in the amiable Miss Sedley, whose INDUSTRY
and OBEDIENCE have endeared her to her instructors, and whose
delightful sweetness of temper has charmed her AGED and her YOUTHFUL
companions.

In music, in dancing, in orthography, in every variety of embroidery
and needlework, she will be found to have realized her friends' fondest
wishes.  In geography there is still much to be desired; and a careful
and undeviating use of the backboard, for four hours daily during the
next three years, is recommended as necessary to the acquirement of
that dignified DEPORTMENT AND CARRIAGE, so requisite for every young
lady of FASHION.

In the principles of religion and morality, Miss Sedley will be found
worthy of an establishment which has been honoured by the presence of
THE GREAT LEXICOGRAPHER, and the patronage of the admirable Mrs.
Chapone.  In leaving the Mall, Miss Amelia carries with her the hearts
of her companions, and the affectionate regards of her mistress, who
has the honour to subscribe herself,

Madam, Your most obliged humble servant, BARBARA PINKERTON

P.S.--Miss Sharp accompanies Miss Sedley.  It is particularly requested
that Miss Sharp's stay in Russell Square may not exceed ten days.  The
family of distinction with whom she is engaged, desire to avail
themselves of her services as soon as possible.


This letter completed, Miss Pinkerton proceeded to write her own name,
and Miss Sedley's, in the fly-leaf of a Johnson's Dictionary--the
interesting work which she invariably presented to her scholars, on
their departure from the Mall.  On the cover was inserted a copy of
"Lines addressed to a young lady on quitting Miss Pinkerton's school,
at the Mall; by the late revered Doctor Samuel Johnson." In fact, the
Lexicographer's name was always on the lips of this majestic woman, and
a visit he had paid to her was the cause of her reputation and her
fortune.

Being commanded by her elder sister to get "the Dictionary" from the
cupboard, Miss Jemima had extracted two copies of the book from the
receptacle in question.  When Miss Pinkerton had finished the
inscript
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PG #: 15263
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PHILADELPHIA:

PORTER & COATES, Thou shall not deliver unto his master the servant that
has escaped from his master unto thee.--_Deut._ xxiii. 16.

Illustrated with 70 fine Engravings by Bensell, Schell and others, and
Portraits from Photographs from Life.

SOLD ONLY BY SUBSCRIPTION.

822, CHESTNUT STREET.

Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1871, by

W.M. STILL,

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.



[Illustration: W. Still]





PREFACE TO REVISED EDITION.


       *       *       *       *       *

Like millions of my race, my mother and father were born slaves, but
were not contented to live and die so. My father purchased himself in
early manhood by hard toil. Mother saw no way for herself and children
to escape the horrors of bondage but by flight. Bravely, with her four
little ones, with firm faith in God and an ardent desire to be free, she
forsook the prison-house, and succeeded, through the aid of my father,
to reach a free State. Here life had to be begun anew. The old familiar
slave names had to be changed, and others, for prudential reasons, had
to be found. This was not hard work. However, hardly months had passed
ere the keen scent of the slave-hunters had trailed them to where they
had fancied themselves secure. In those days all power was in the hands
of the oppressor, and the capture of a slave mother and her children was
attended with no great difficulty other than the crushing of freedom in
the breast of the victims. Without judge or jury, all were hurried back
to wear the yoke again. But back this mother was resolved never to stay.
She only wanted another opportunity to again strike for freedom. In a
few months after being carried back, with only two of her little ones,
she took her heart in her hand and her babes in her arms, and this trial
was a success. Freedom was gained, although not without the sad loss of
her two older children, whom she had to leave behind. Mother and father
were again reunited in freedom, while two of their little boys were in
slavery. What to do for them other than weep and pray, were questions
unanswerable. For over forty years the mother's heart never knew what it
was to be free from anxiety about her lost boys. But no tidings came in
answer to her many prayers, until one of them, to the great astonishment
of his relatives, turned up in Philadelphia, nearly fifty years of age,
seeking his long-lost parents. Being directed to the Anti-Slavery Office
for instructions as to the best plan to adopt to find out the
whereabouts of his parents, fortunately he fell into the hands of his
own brother, the writer, whom he had never heard of before, much less
seen or known. And here began revelations connected with this marvellous
coincidence, which influenced me, for years previous to Emancipation, to
preserve the matter found in the pages of this humble volume.

And in looking back now over these strange and eventful Providences, in
the light of the wonderful changes wrought by Emancipation, I am more
and more constrained to believe that the reasons, which years ago led me
to aid the bondman and preserve the records of his sufferings, are
to-day quite as potent in convincing me that the necessity of the times
requires this testimony.

And since the first advent of my book, wherever reviewed or read by
leading friends of freedom, the press, or the race more deeply
represented by it, the expressions of approval and encouragement have
been hearty and unanimous, and the thousands of volumes which have been
sold by me, on the subscription plan, with hardly any facilities for the
work, makes it obvious that it would, in the hands of a competent
publisher, have a wide circulation.

And here I may frankly state, that but for the hope I have always
cherished that this work would encourage the race in efforts for
self-elevation, its publication never would have been undertaken by me.

I believe no more strongly at this moment than I have believed ever
since the Proclamation of Emancipation was made by Abraham Lincoln, that
as a class, in this country, no small exertion will have to be put forth
before the blessings of freedom and knowledge can be fairly enjoyed by
this people; and until colored men manage by dint of hard acquisition to
enter the ranks of skilled industry, very little substantial respect
will be shown them, even with the ballot-box and musket in their hands.

Well-conducted shops and stores; lands acquired and good farms managed
in a manner to compete with any other; valuable books produced and
published on interesting and important subjects--these are some of the
fruits which the race are expected to exhibit from their newly gained
privileges.

If it is asked "how?" I answer, "through extraordinary determination and
endeavor," such as are demonstrated in hundreds of cases in the pages of
this book, in the struggles of men and women to obtain their freedom,
education and property.

These facts must never be lost sight of.


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CONTENTS:
[Based on the 2d Edition]

EPISTLE DEDICATORY TO THE EARL OF PEMBROKE

THE EPISTLE TO THE READER

INTRODUCTION


   BOOK I.  NEITHER PRINCIPLES NOR IDEAS ARE INNATE.

   I.      NO INNATE SPECULATIVE PRINCIPLES
   II.     NO INNATE PRACTICAL PRINCIPLES
   III.    OTHER CONSIDERATIONS CONCERNING INNATE PRINCIPLES, BOTH
           SPECULATIVE AND PRACTICAL



   BOOK II.  OF IDEAS.

   I.      OF IDEAS IN GENERAL, AND THEIR ORIGINAL
   II.     OF SIMPLE IDEAS
   III.    OF SIMPLE IDEAS OF SENSATION
   IV.     IDEA OF SOLIDITY
   V.      OF SIMPLE IDEAS OF DIVERS SENSES
   VI.     OF SIMPLE IDEAS OF REFLECTION ...
   VII.    OF SIMPLE IDEAS OF BOTH SENSATION AND REFLECTION
   VIII.   SOME FURTHER CONSIDERATIONS CONCERNING OUR SIMPLE
           IDEAS OF SENSATION
   IX.     OF PERCEPTION
   X.      OF RETENTION
   XI.     OF DISCERNING, AND OTHER OPERATIONS OF THE MIND
   XII.    OF COMPLEX IDEAS
   XIII.   OF SIMPLE MODES:--AND FIRST, OF THE SIMPLE MODES OF
           THE IDEA OF SPACE
   XIV.    IDEA OF DURATION AND ITS SIMPLE MODES
   XV.     IDEAS OF DURATION AND EXPANSION, CONSIDERED TOGETHER
   XVI.    IDEA OF NUMBER AND ITS SIMPLE MODES
   XVII.   OF THE IDEA OF INFINITY
   XVIII.  OF OTHER SIMPLE MODES
   XIX.    OF THE MODES OF THINKING
   XX.     OF MODES OF PLEASURE AND PAIN
   XXI.    OF THE IDEA OF POWER
   XXII.   OF MIXED MODES
   XXIII.  OF OUR COMPLEX IDEAS OF SUBSTANCES
   XXIV.   OF COLLECTIVE IDEAS OF SUBSTANCES
   XXV.    OF IDEAS OF RELATION
   XXVI.   OF IDEAS OF CAUSE AND EFFECT, AND OTHER RELATIONS
   XXVII.  OF IDEAS OF IDENTITY AND DIVERSITY
   XXVIII. OF IDEAS OF OTHER RELATIONS
   XXIX.   OF CLEAR AND OBSCURE, DISTINCT AND CONFUSED IDEAS
   XXX.    OF REAL AND FANTASTICAL IDEAS
   XXXI.   OF ADEQUATE AND INADEQUATE IDEAS
   XXXII.  OF TRUE AND FALSE IDEAS
   XXXIII. OF THE ASSOCIATION OF IDEAS


TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THOMAS, EARL OF PEMBROKE AND MONTGOMERY, BARON
HERBERT OF CARDIFF LORD ROSS, OF KENDAL, PAR, FITZHUGH, MARMION, ST.
QUINTIN, AND SHURLAND;

LORD PRESIDENT OF HIS MAJESTY’S MOST HONOURABLE PRIVY COUNCIL; AND LORD
LIEUTENANT OF THE COUNTY OF WILTS, AND OF SOUTH WALES.

MY LORD,

This Treatise, which is grown up under your lordship’s eye, and has
ventured into the world by your order, does now, by a natural kind of
right, come to your lordship for that protection which you several years
since promised it. It is not that I think any name, how great soever,
set at the beginning of a book, will be able to cover the faults that
are to be found in it. Things in print must stand and fall by their own
worth, or the reader’s fancy. But there being nothing more to be desired
for truth than a fair unprejudiced hearing, nobody is more likely to
procure me that than your lordship, who are allowed to have got so
intimate an acquaintance with her, in her more retired recesses. Your
lordship is known to have so far advanced your speculations in the most
abstract and general knowledge of things, beyond the ordinary reach or
common methods, that your allowance and approbation of the design of
this Treatise will at least preserve it from being condemned without
reading, and will prevail to have those parts a little weighed, which
might otherwise perhaps be thought to deserve no consideration, for
being somewhat out of the common road. The imputation of Novelty is a
terrible charge amongst those who judge of men’s heads, as they do of
their perukes, by the fashion, and can allow none to be right but the
received doctrines. Truth scarce ever yet carried it by vote anywhere
at its first appearance: new opinions are always suspected, and usually
opposed, without any other reason but because they are not already
common. But truth, like gold, is not the less so for being newly brought
out of the mine. It is trial and examination must give it price, and
not any antique fashion; and though it be not yet current by the public
stamp, yet it may, for all that, be as old as nature, and is certainly
not the less genuine. Your lordship can give great and convincing
instances of this, whenever you please to oblige the public with some
of those large and comprehensive discoveries you have made of truths
hitherto unknown, unless to some few, from whom your lordship has been
pleased not wholly to conceal them. This alone were a sufficient reason,
were there no other, why I should dedicate this Essay to your lordship;
and its having some little correspondence with some parts of that nobler
and vast system of the sciences your lordship has made so new, exact,
and instructive a draught of, I think it glory enough, if your lordship
permit me to boast, that here and there I have fallen into some thoughts
not wholly different from yours. If your lordship think fit that, by
your encouragement, this should appear in the world, I hope it may be a
reason, some time or other, to lead your lordship further; and you will
allow me to say, that you here give the world an earnest of something
that, if they ca
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 790
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/790

Transcribed from the 1917 Methuen & Co. Ltd edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org





                          LADY WINDERMERE’S FAN


                                  A PLAY
                            ABOUT A GOOD WOMAN

                                    BY

                               OSCAR WILDE

                                * * * * *

                            METHUEN & CO. LTD.
                           36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
                                  LONDON

                           _Sixteenth Edition_

_First Published_                                               _1893_
_First Issued by Methuen & Co. Ltd._ (_Limited Editions on      _1908_
Hand-made Paper and Japanese Vellum_) _February_
_Third Edition_ (_F’cap_ 8_vo_, 5_s._ _net_) _September_        _1909_
_Fourth Edition_ (5_s._ _net_) _June_                           _1910_
_Fifth Edition_ (_F’cap_ 8_vo_, 1_s._ _net_) _November 3rd_     _1911_
_Sixth Edition_ (1_s._ _net_) _November_                        _1911_
_Eighth Edition_ (1_s._ _net_) _1912_, _Ninth and Tenth
Editions_ (1_s._ _net_) _1913_, _Eleventh Edition_ (1_s._
_net_) _1914_, _Twelfth Edition_ (1_s._ _net_) _1915_,
_Thirteenth Edition_ (1_s._ _net_) _1916_, _Fourteenth and
Fifteenth Edition_ (1_s._ _net_) _1917_
_Sixteenth Edition_ (5_s._ _net_)                               _1917_

_The literary and dramatic rights of_ “_Lady Windermere’s Fan_” _belong
to Sir George Alexander_, _by arrangement with whom this play is included
in this edition_.  _The acting version_ (_Samuel French_) _does not
contain the complete text_.

                                * * * * *

                                    TO
                             THE DEAR MEMORY
                                    OF
                          ROBERT EARL OF LYTTON
                               IN AFFECTION
                                   AND
                                ADMIRATION

                                * * * * *




THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY


Lord Windermere

Lord Darlington

Lord Augustus Lorton

Mr. Dumby

Mr. Cecil Graham

Mr. Hopper

Parker, Butler

                                * * * * *

Lady Windermere

The Duchess of Berwick

Lady Agatha Carlisle

Lady Plymdale

Lady Stutfield

Lady Jedburgh

Mrs. Cowper-Cowper

Mrs. Erlynne

Rosalie, Maid




THE SCENES OF THE PLAY

ACT I.        _Morning-room in Lord Windermere’s
              house_.
ACT II.       _Drawing-room in Lord Windermere’s
              house_.
ACT III.      _Lord Darlington’s rooms_.
ACT IV.       _Same as Act I._
TIME:         _The Present_.
PLACE:        _London_.

_The action of the play takes place within twenty-four hours_, _beginning
on a Tuesday afternoon at five o’clock_, _and ending the next day at_
1.30 _p.m._




LONDON: ST. JAMES’S THEATRE


               _Lessee and Manager_: _Mr. George Alexander_
                         _February_ 22_nd_, 1892.

LORD WINDERMERE             _Mr. George Alexander_.
LORD DARLINGTON             _Mr. Nutcombe Gould_.
LORD AUGUSTUS LORTON        _Mr. H. H. Vincent_.
MR. CECIL GRAHAM            _Mr. Ben Webster_.
MR. DUMBY                   _Mr. Vane-Tempest_.
MR. HOPPER                  _Mr. Alfred Holles_.
PARKER (_Butler_)           _Mr. V. Sansbury_.
LADY WINDERMERE             _Miss Lily Hanbury_.
THE DUCHESS OF BERWICK      _Miss Fanny Coleman_.
LADY AGATHA CARLISLE        _Miss Laura Graves_.
LADY PLYMDALE               _Miss Granville_.
LADY JEDBURGH               _Miss B. Page_.
LADY STUTFIELD              _Miss Madge Girdlestone_.
MRS. COWPER-COWPER          _Miss A. de Winton_.
MRS. ERLYNNE                _Miss Marion Terry_.
ROSALIE (_Maid_)            _Miss Winifred Dolan_.




FIRST ACT


                                  SCENE

_Morning-room of Lord Windermere’s house in Carlton House Terrace_.
_Doors C. and R.  Bureau with books and papers R._  _Sofa with small
tea-table L._  _Window opening on to terrace L._  _Table R._

[LADY WINDERMERE _is at table R._, _arranging roses in a blue bowl_.]

[_Enter_ PARKER.]

PARKER.  Is your ladyship at home this afternoon?

LADY WINDERMERE.  Yes—who has called?

PARKER.  Lord Darlington, my lady.

LADY WINDERMERE.  [_Hesitates for a moment_.]  Show him up—and I’m at
home to any one who calls.

PARKER.  Yes, my lady.

                                                               [_Exit C._]

LADY WINDERMERE.  It’s best for me to see him before to-night.  I’m glad
he’s come.

[_Enter_ PARKER _C._]

PARKER.  Lord Darlington,

[_Enter_ LORD DARLINGTON _C._]

                                                          [_Exit_ PARKER.]

LORD DARLINGTON.  How do you do, Lady Windermere?

LADY WINDERMERE.  How do you do, Lord Darlington?  No, I can’t shake
hands with you.  My hands are all wet with these roses.  Aren’t they
lovely?  They came up from Selby this morning.

LORD DARLINGTON.  They are quite perfect.  [_Sees a fan lying on the
table_.]  And what a wonderful fan!  May I look at it?

LADY WINDERMER
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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Without, the night was cold and wet, but in the small parlour of Laburnam
Villa the blinds were drawn and the fire burned brightly.  Father and son
were at chess, the former, who possessed ideas about the game involving
radical changes, putting his king into such sharp and unnecessary perils
that it even provoked comment from the white-haired old lady knitting
placidly by the fire.

"Hark at the wind," said Mr. White, who, having seen a fatal mistake
after it was too late, was amiably desirous of preventing his son from
seeing it.

"I'm listening," said the latter, grimly surveying the board as he
stretched out his hand.  "Check."

"I should hardly think that he'd come to-night," said his father, with
his hand poised over the board.

"Mate," replied the son.

"That's the worst of living so far out," bawled Mr. White, with sudden
and unlooked-for violence; "of all the beastly, slushy, out-of-the-way
places to live in, this is the worst.  Pathway's a bog, and the road's a
torrent.  I don't know what people are thinking about.  I suppose because
only two houses in the road are let, they think it doesn't matter."

"Never mind, dear," said his wife, soothingly; "perhaps you'll win the
next one."

Mr. White looked up sharply, just in time to intercept a knowing glance
between mother and son.  The words died away on his lips, and he hid a
guilty grin in his thin grey beard.

"There he is," said Herbert White, as the gate banged to loudly and heavy
footsteps came toward the door.

The old man rose with hospitable haste, and opening the door, was heard
condoling with the new arrival.  The new arrival also condoled with
himself, so that Mrs. White said, "Tut, tut!"  and coughed gently as her
husband entered the room, followed by a tall, burly man, beady of eye and
rubicund of visage.

"Sergeant-Major Morris," he said, introducing him.

The sergeant-major shook hands, and taking the proffered seat by the
fire, watched contentedly while his host got out whiskey and tumblers and
stood a small copper kettle on the fire.

At the third glass his eyes got brighter, and he began to talk, the
little family circle regarding with eager interest this visitor from
distant parts, as he squared his broad shoulders in the chair and spoke
of wild scenes and doughty deeds; of wars and plagues and strange
peoples.

"Twenty-one years of it," said Mr. White, nodding at his wife and son.
"When he went away he was a slip of a youth in the warehouse.  Now look
at him."

"He don't look to have taken much harm," said Mrs. White, politely.

"I'd like to go to India myself," said the old man, "just to look round a
bit, you know."

"Better where you are," said the sergeant-major, shaking his head.  He
put down the empty glass, and sighing softly, shook it again.

"I should like to see those old temples and fakirs and jugglers," said
the old man.  "What was that you started telling me the other day about a
monkey's paw or something, Morris?"

"Nothing," said the soldier, hastily.  "Leastways nothing worth hearing."

"Monkey's paw?"  said Mrs. White, curiously.

"Well, it's just a bit of what you might call magic, perhaps," said the
sergeant-major, offhandedly.

His three listeners leaned forward eagerly.  The visitor absent-mindedly
put his empty glass to his lips and then set it down again.  His host
filled it for him.

"To look at," said the sergeant-major, fumbling in his pocket, "it's just
an ordinary little paw, dried to a mummy."

He took something out of his pocket and proffered it.  Mrs. White drew
back with a grimace, but her son, taking it, examined it curiously.

"And what is there special about it?"  inquired Mr. White as he took it
from his son, and having examined it, placed it upon the table.

"It had a spell put on it by an old fakir," said the sergeant-major,
"a very holy man.  He wanted to show that fate ruled people's lives, and
that those who interfered with it did so to their sorrow.  He put a spell
on it so that three separate men could each have three wishes from it."

His manner was so impressive that his hearers were conscious that their
light laughter jarred somewhat.

"Well, why don't you have three, sir?"  said Herbert White, cleverly.

The soldier regarded him in the way that middle age is wont to regard
presumptuous youth.  "I have," he said, quietly, and his blotchy face
whitened.

"And did you really have the three wishes granted?"  asked Mrs. White.

"I did," said the sergeant-major, and his glass tapped against his strong
teeth.

"And has anybody else wished?"  persisted the old lady.

"The first man had his three wishes.  Yes," was the reply; "I don't know
what the first two were, but the third was for death.  That's how I got
the paw."

His tones were so grave that a hush fell upon the group.

"If you've had your three wishes, it's no good to you now, then, Morris,"
said the old man at last.  "What do you keep it for?"

The soldier shook his head.  "Fancy, I suppose," he said, slowly.  "I did
have some idea of
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 21
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/21

AESOP’S FABLES

By Aesop

Translated by George Fyler Townsend




The Wolf And The Lamb

WOLF, meeting with a Lamb astray from the fold, resolved not to lay
violent hands on him, but to find some plea to justify to the Lamb the
Wolf’s right to eat him. He thus addressed him: “Sirrah, last year you
grossly insulted me.” “Indeed,” bleated the Lamb in a mournful tone
of voice, “I was not then born.” Then said the Wolf, “You feed in my
pasture.” “No, good sir,” replied the Lamb, “I have not yet tasted
grass.” Again said the Wolf, “You drink of my well.” “No,” exclaimed the
Lamb, “I never yet drank water, for as yet my mother’s milk is both food
and drink to me.” Upon which the Wolf seized him and ate him up, saying,
“Well! I won’t remain supperless, even though you refute every one of my
imputations.” The tyrant will always find a pretext for his tyranny.




The Bat And The Weasels

A BAT who fell upon the ground and was caught by a Weasel pleaded to be
spared his life. The Weasel refused, saying that he was by nature the
enemy of all birds. The Bat assured him that he was not a bird, but a
mouse, and thus was set free. Shortly afterwards the Bat again fell to
the ground and was caught by another Weasel, whom he likewise entreated
not to eat him. The Weasel said that he had a special hostility to
mice. The Bat assured him that he was not a mouse, but a bat, and thus a
second time escaped.

It is wise to turn circumstances to good account.




The Ass And The Grasshopper

AN ASS having heard some Grasshoppers chirping, was highly enchanted;
and, desiring to possess the same charms of melody, demanded what sort
of food they lived on to give them such beautiful voices. They replied,
“The dew.” The Ass resolved that he would live only upon dew, and in a
short time died of hunger.




The Lion And The Mouse

A LION was awakened from sleep by a Mouse running over his face. Rising
up angrily, he caught him and was about to kill him, when the Mouse
piteously entreated, saying: “If you would only spare my life, I would
be sure to repay your kindness.” The Lion laughed and let him go. It
happened shortly after this that the Lion was caught by some hunters,
who bound him by strong ropes to the ground. The Mouse, recognizing
his roar, came and gnawed the rope with his teeth, and set him free,
exclaiming:

“You ridiculed the idea of my ever being able to help you, not expecting
to receive from me any repayment of your favor; now you know that it is
possible for even a Mouse to confer benefits on a Lion.”




The Charcoal-Burner And The Fuller

A CHARCOAL-BURNER carried on his trade in his own house. One day he met
a friend, a Fuller, and entreated him to come and live with him, saying
that they should be far better neighbors and that their housekeeping
expenses would be lessened. The Fuller replied, “The arrangement is
impossible as far as I am concerned, for whatever I should whiten, you
would immediately blacken again with your charcoal.”

Like will draw like.




The Father And His Sons

A FATHER had a family of sons who were perpetually quarreling among
themselves. When he failed to heal their disputes by his exhortations,
he determined to give them a practical illustration of the evils of
disunion; and for this purpose he one day told them to bring him a
bundle of sticks. When they had done so, he placed the faggot into the
hands of each of them in succession, and ordered them to break it in
pieces. They tried with all their strength, and were not able to do it.
He next opened the faggot, took the sticks separately, one by one, and
again put them into his sons’ hands, upon which they broke them easily.
He then addressed them in these words: “My sons, if you are of one mind,
and unite to assist each other, you will be as this faggot, uninjured
by all the attempts of your enemies; but if you are divided among
yourselves, you will be broken as easily as these sticks.”




The Boy Hunting Locusts

A BOY was hunting for locusts. He had caught a goodly number, when he
saw a Scorpion, and mistaking him for a locust, reached out his hand to
take him. The Scorpion, showing his sting, said: “If you had but touched
me, my friend, you would have lost me, and all your locusts too!”




The Cock and the Jewel

A COCK, scratching for food for himself and his hens, found a precious
stone and exclaimed: “If your owner had found thee, and not I, he would
have taken thee up, and have set thee in thy first estate; but I have
found thee for no purpose. I would rather have one barleycorn than all
the jewels in the world.”




The Kingdom of the Lion

THE BEASTS of the field and forest had a Lion as their king. He was
neither wrathful, cruel, nor tyrannical, but just and gentle as a king
could be. During his reign he made a royal proclamation for a general
assembly of all the birds and beasts, and drew up conditions for a
universal league, in which the Wolf and the Lamb, the Panther and the
Kid, the Tiger and the Stag, the Dog and the Hare,
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 5921
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WHICH TREATS OF THE CHARACTER AND PURSUITS OF THE FAMOUS GENTLEMAN
DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA

WHICH TREATS OF THE FIRST SALLY THE INGENIOUS DON QUIXOTE MADE
FROM HOME

WHEREIN IS RELATED THE DROLL WAY IN WHICH DON QUIXOTE HAD HIMSELF
DUBBED A KNIGHT

CHAPTER IV
OF WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR KNIGHT WHEN HE LEFT THE INN

CHAPTER V
IN WHICH THE NARRATIVE OF OUR KNIGHT’S MISHAP IS CONTINUED

CHAPTER VI
OF THE DIVERTING AND IMPORTANT SCRUTINY WHICH THE CURATE AND THE
BARBER MADE IN THE LIBRARY OF OUR INGENIOUS GENTLEMAN

CHAPTER VII
OF THE SECOND SALLY OF OUR WORTHY KNIGHT DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA

CHAPTER VIII
OF THE GOOD FORTUNE WHICH THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE HAD IN THE
TERRIBLE AND UNDREAMT-OF ADVENTURE OF THE WINDMILLS, WITH OTHER
OCCURRENCES WORTHY TO BE FITLY RECORDED

IN WHICH IS CONCLUDED AND FINISHED THE TERRIFIC BATTLE BETWEEN THE
GALLANT BISCAYAN AND THE VALIANT MANCHEGAN

OF THE PLEASANT DISCOURSE THAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS
SQUIRE SANCHO PANZA

CHAPTER XI
OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE WITH CERTAIN GOATHERDS

CHAPTER XII
OF WHAT A GOATHERD RELATED TO THOSE WITH DON QUIXOTE

CHAPTER XIII
IN WHICH IS ENDED THE STORY OF THE SHEPHERDESS MARCELA, WITH OTHER
INCIDENTS

WHEREIN ARE INSERTED THE DESPAIRING VERSES OF THE DEAD SHEPHERD,
TOGETHER WITH OTHER INCIDENTS NOT LOOKED FOR

IN WHICH IS RELATED THE UNFORTUNATE ADVENTURE THAT DON QUIXOTE
FELL IN WITH WHEN HE FELL OUT WITH CERTAIN HEARTLESS YANGUESANS

OF WHAT HAPPENED TO THE INGENIOUS GENTLEMAN IN THE INN WHICH HE
TOOK TO BE A CASTLE

IN WHICH ARE CONTAINED THE INNUMERABLE TROUBLES WHICH THE BRAVE
DON QUIXOTE AND HIS GOOD SQUIRE SANCHO PANZA ENDURED IN THE INN,
WHICH TO HIS MISFORTUNE HE TOOK TO BE A CASTLE

IN WHICH IS RELATED THE DISCOURSE SANCHO PANZA HELD WITH HIS MASTER,
DON QUIXOTE, AND OTHER ADVENTURES WORTH RELATING

OF THE SHREWD DISCOURSE WHICH SANCHO HELD WITH HIS MASTER, AND OF
THE ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL HIM WITH A DEAD BODY, TOGETHER WITH OTHER
NOTABLE OCCURRENCES

OF THE UNEXAMPLED AND UNHEARD-OF ADVENTURE WHICH WAS ACHIEVED BY THE
VALIANT DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANCHA WITH LESS PERIL THAN ANY EVER
ACHIEVED BY ANY FAMOUS KNIGHT IN THE WORLD

WHICH TREATS OF THE EXALTED ADVENTURE AND RICH PRIZE OF MAMBRINO’S
HELMET, TOGETHER WITH OTHER THINGS THAT HAPPENED TO OUR INVINCIBLE
KNIGHT

OF THE FREEDOM DON QUIXOTE CONFERRED ON SEVERAL UNFORTUNATES WHO
AGAINST THEIR WILL WERE BEING CARRIED WHERE THEY HAD NO WISH TO GO

OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE IN THE SIERRA MORENA, WHICH WAS ONE OF
THE RAREST ADVENTURES RELATED IN THIS VERACIOUS HISTORY

CHAPTER XXIV
IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE ADVENTURE OF THE SIERRA MORENA

CHAPTER XXV
WHICH TREATS OF THE STRANGE THINGS THAT HAPPENED TO THE STOUT
KNIGHT OF LA MANCHA IN THE SIERRA MORENA, AND OF HIS IMITATION
OF THE PENANCE OF BELTENEBROS

IN WHICH ARE CONTINUED THE REFINEMENTS WHEREWITH DON QUIXOTE
PLAYED THE PART OF A LOVER IN THE SIERRA MORENA

OF HOW THE CURATE AND THE BARBER PROCEEDED WITH THEIR SCHEME;
TOGETHER WITH OTHER MATTERS WORTHY OF RECORD IN THIS GREAT HISTORY

WHICH TREATS OF THE STRANGE AND DELIGHTFUL ADVENTURE THAT BEFELL
THE CURATE AND THE BARBER IN THE SAME SIERRA

WHICH TREATS OF THE DROLL DEVICE AND METHOD ADOPTED TO EXTRICATE
OUR LOVE-STRICKEN KNIGHT FROM THE SEVERE PENANCE HE HAD IMPOSED
UPON HIMSELF

WHICH TREATS OF ADDRESS DISPLAYED BY THE FAIR DOROTHEA, WITH OTHER
MATTERS PLEASANT AND AMUSING

OF THE DELECTABLE DISCUSSION BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND SANCHO PANZA,
HIS SQUIRE, TOGETHER WITH OTHER INCIDENTS

CHAPTER XXXII
WHICH TREATS OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE’S PARTY AT THE INN

CHAPTER XXXIII
IN WHICH IS RELATED THE NOVEL OF “THE ILL-ADVISED CURIOSITY”

CHAPTER XXXIV
IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE NOVEL OF “THE ILL-ADVISED CURIOSITY”

CHAPTER XXXV
WHICH TREATS OF THE HEROIC AND PRODIGIOUS BATTLE DON QUIXOTE HAD
WITH CERTAIN SKINS OF RED WINE, AND BRINGS THE NOVEL OF “THE
ILL-ADVISED CURIOSITY” TO A CLOSE

CHAPTER XXXVI
WHICH TREATS OF MORE CURIOUS INCIDENTS THAT OCCURRED AT THE INN

CHAPTER XXXVII
IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE STORY OF THE FAMOUS PRINCESS MICOMICONA,
WITH OTHER DROLL ADVENTURES

WHICH TREATS OF THE CURIOUS DISCOURSE DON QUIXOTE DELIVERED ON
ARMS AND LETTERS

CHAPTER XXXIX
WHEREIN THE CAPTIVE RELATES HIS LIFE AND ADVENTURES

CHAPTER XL
IN WHICH THE STORY OF THE CAPTIVE IS CONTINUED.

CHAPTER XLI
IN WHICH THE CAPTIVE STILL CONTINUES HIS ADVENTURES

CHAPTER XLII
WHICH TREATS OF WHAT FURTHER TOOK PLACE IN THE INN, AND OF
SEVERAL OTHER THINGS WORTH KNOWING

WHEREIN IS RELATED THE PLEASANT STORY OF THE MULETEER, TOGETHER
WITH OTHER STRANGE THINGS THAT CAME TO PASS IN THE INN

CHAPTER XLIV
IN WHICH ARE CONTINUED THE UNHEARD-OF ADVENTURES OF THE INN

CHAPTER XLV
IN WHICH THE DOUBTFUL QUESTION OF MAMBRINO’S HELMET AND THE
PACK-SADDLE IS FINALLY SETTLED, WITH OTHER ADVENTURES THAT
OCCURRED IN TRUTH AND EARNEST

OF THE END OF THE NOTABLE ADVENTURE OF THE OFFICERS OF THE HOLY
BROTHERHOOD; AND OF THE GREAT FEROCITY OF OUR WORTHY KNIGHT, DON
QUIXOTE

OF THE STRANGE MANNER IN WHICH DON QUIXOTE OF LA MANC
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 31284
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[ Anmerkungen zur Transkription:

    Schreibweise und Interpunktion des Originaltextes wurden übernommen;
    lediglich offensichtliche Druckfehler wurden korrigiert. Eine Liste
    der vorgenommenen Änderungen findet sich am Ende des Textes.
  ]




                                Josefine
                              Mutzenbacher

                                  oder

                             Die Geschichte
                        einer Wienerischen Dirne
                        von ihr selbst erzählt.


                       Ungekürzter Nachdruck der
                     Erstausgabe aus dem Jahr 1906


                              SCHNEEKLUTH




Vorbemerkung


Josefine Mutzenbacher -- ihr Name lautete in Wirklichkeit ein wenig
anders -- wurde zu Wien, in der Vorstadt Hernals am 20. Februar 1852
geboren. Sie stand frühzeitig unter sittenpolizeilicher Kontrolle, und
übte ihr Gewerbe zuerst in wohlfeilen Freudenhäusern, der äußeren
Bezirke, dann im Dienste einer Kupplerin, die während des
wirtschaftlichen Aufschwungs- und Ausstellungsjahres 1873 die vornehmere
Lebewelt mit Mädchenware versorgte.

Josefine verschwand damals mit einem Russen aus Wien, kehrte nach
wenigen Jahren wohlhabend und glänzend ausgestattet in ihre Vaterstadt
zurück, wo sie als Dirne der elegantesten Sorte noch bis zum Jahre 1894
ein auffallendes und vielbemerktes Dasein führte.

Sie bezog dann in der Nähe von Klagenfurt ein kleines Gut, und
verbrachte ihre Tage in ziemlicher Einsamkeit, zu der sich dann bald
auch ihre Erkrankung gesellte. Während dieser Krankheit, einem
Frauenleiden, dem Josefine später auch erlag, schrieb sie die Geschichte
ihrer Jugend.

Das Manuskript übergab sie, etliche Wochen vor der schweren Operation,
an deren Folge sie starb, ihrem Arzt. Es erscheint hier als ein seltenes
Dokument seelischer Aufrichtigkeit, als ein wertvolles und sonderbares
Bekenntnis, das auch kulturgeschichtlich für das Liebesleben der
Gegenwart Interesse verdient. An den Bekenntnissen der Josefine
Mutzenbacher wurde im Wesentlichen nicht viel geändert. Nur sprachliche
Unrichtigkeiten, stilistische Fehler wurden verbessert, und die Namen
bekannter Persönlichkeiten, die Josefine in ihren Äußerungen meint,
durch andere ersetzt.

Sie starb den 17. Dezember 1904 in einem Sanatorium.

                                                 Der Herausgeber




ERSTES KAPITEL


Man sagt, daß aus jungen Huren alte Betschwestern werden. Aber das
trifft bei mir nicht zu. Ich bin frühzeitig zur Hure geworden, ich habe
alles erlebt, was ein Weib im Bett, auf Tischen, Stühlen, Bänken, an
kahle Mauerecken gelehnt, im Grase liegend, im Winkel dunkler Haustore,
in chambres séparées, im Eisenbahnzug, in der Kaserne, im Bordell und im
Gefängnis überhaupt nur erleben kann, aber ich bereue nichts von
alledem. Ich bin heute bei Jahren, die Genüsse, die mein Geschlecht mir
bieten kann, sind im Entschwinden begriffen, ich bin reich, bin
verblüht, und sehr oft ganz vereinsamt. Aber es fällt mir nicht ein,
obgleich ich immer fromm und gläubig gewesen bin, jetzt Buße zu tun. Aus
Armut und Elend wie ich entstammt bin, habe ich alles meinem Körper zu
verdanken. Ohne diesen gierigen, zu jeder Sinnenlust frühzeitig
entzündeten, in jedem Laster von Kindheit auf geübten Körper, wäre ich
verkommen, wie meine Gespielinnen, die im Findelhaus starben oder als
abgerackerte, stumpfsinnige Proletarierfrauen zugrunde gingen. Ich bin
nicht im Dreck der Vororte erstickt. Ich habe mir eine schöne Bildung
erworben, die ich nur einzig und allein der Hurerei verdanke, denn diese
war es, die mich in Verkehr mit vornehmen und gelehrten Männern brachte.
Ich habe mich aufklären lassen und gefunden, daß wir armen, niedrig
geborenen Weiber nicht so viel Schuld haben, als man uns einreden
möchte. Ich habe die Welt gesehen und meinen Gesichtskreis erweitert,
und alles das verdanke ich meinem Lebenswandel, den man einen
»lasterhaften« nennt. Wenn ich meine Schicksale jetzt aufschreibe, so
tue ich das nur, die Stunden meiner Einsamkeit damit zu kürzen, und was
mir jetzt abgeht, aus der Erinnerung wenigstens herbeizuschaffen. Ich
halte das für besser als bußfertige Erbauungsstunden, die meinem Pfarrer
wohl gefielen, die mir aber nicht zu Herzen gingen und mir nur eine
grenzenlose Langeweile bereiten würden. Auch finde ich, daß der
Lebensgang von Meinesgleichen nirgends aufgeschrieben steht. Die Bücher,
die ich danach durchsucht habe, erzählen nichts davon, und es wäre
vielleicht doch gut, wenn die vornehmen und reichen Herren, die sich an
uns ergötzen, die uns locken und sich von uns alle unmöglichen Dinge
aufbinden lassen, einmal erfahren würden, wie es in einem jener Mädchen
aussieht, die sie so brünstig in ihre Arme schließen, woher es stammt,
was es erlebt hat, und was es denkt.

                   *       *       *       *       *

Mein Vater war ein blutarmer Sattlergehilfe, der in einem Geschäft in
der Josefstadt arbeitete. Wir wohnten ganz weit draußen in Ottakring, in
einem damals n
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PG #: 65053
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MEET ME IN TOMORROW

                            By GUY ARCHETTE

              Ellen was everything Andy Pearce wanted in
         a girl. Yet he could never let her know of his love,
          for she was part of a world he was about to leave!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                             December 1950
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


The gravel road wound its way through quiet country fields cloaked in
the fresh green of early summer. Andy Pearce watched it with expectant
eyes and the odd feeling that it was winding up within him like twine,
making an ever-growing ball of tension.

It wouldn't be long now, he thought. He was excited--and not a little
afraid.

Abruptly Pearce leaned toward the windshield of the coupe. "That's the
place, Dave!" He pointed to a wall of trees that had just come into
view around a curve.

"At last!" Ellen Thorpe sighed, from her seat between the two men. "I
was beginning to think it would take all day to reach this wonderful
picnic spot of yours, Andy."

"It better be good," Dave Fuller growled. "After letting myself be
coaxed into this trip and driving all morning."

"Good?" Pearce was grinning, though his voice held no humor. "Dave,
I guarantee it's going to be better than anything you can possibly
imagine."

Ellen frowned at Pearce. "You know, Andy, somehow you scare me."

"It's the beast in him," Fuller put in. "The gals are always fooled by
Andy's curly hair and soulful eyes, but sooner or later they wake up to
his true nature."

She wrinkled her nose at him. "I think you're a beast, too. All men are
beasts. But as for Andy, he takes first prize. He had to go and ruin
the date I made for him and Susie. It practically broke her heart that
she wasn't going with us today."

Pearce moved his hands in a helpless gesture. "I'm sorry about Susie,
but this was one time I didn't want to be fixed up with a date."

"I don't think you ever did," Ellen said bitterly. "I practically had
to browbeat you into all the dates I made for you."

"Your concern for my ... well, call it social life, is deeply
appreciated," Pearce returned with mild sarcasm.

"Yours?" she protested. "Andy Pearce, I assure you that arranging your
dates was nothing more or less than self-defense on my part. I didn't
want people to get the idea that I was preparing for a life of bigamy
by always going out with two men."

"I plead self-defense, too." Pearce was sober. "Romantic complications
are something I wanted to avoid. Anyhow, getting back to this picnic
today, I wanted it to be strictly a family affair."

Fuller's red head swung around in dismay. "Good grief, Andy, don't tell
me all your relatives are going to be out here! If that's the reason
you wanted to visit your boyhood stamping grounds--"

"Relax," Pearce said. "No relatives. I was speaking figuratively. I
never had enough relatives to mention. An uncle brought me up, and he
departed this vale of tears a long time ago."

Fuller looked relieved. "Relatives make me nervous."

"Then you'd better stop this rattle-trap of yours." Pearce gestured at
the trees, now almost abreast of the coupe. "Not that the fact we've
arrived has anything to do with it."

       *       *       *       *       *

Fuller turned the car into a stretch of grass beside the road and
braked to a stop. "End of the line!" he announced. Then he glanced at
Pearce in uneasy speculation. "Or is it? I hope it doesn't take a stiff
hike to get to your boyhood Eden."

"Quit griping," Pearce said. "We're almost there now. And don't forget
I promised that this is going to be worth your trouble."

"I'll bet!" Fuller muttered. Despite his skeptical tone, his blue eyes
lingered on Pearce in veiled wonder.

Pearce let himself stiffly out of the car. Ellen followed, glancing
about her curiously. She was a slim, graceful girl, dark, yet with a
quality of glowing vividness. Her shining hair had been cut short in
the current fashion, its boyish effect offset by her large, lustrous
eyes and full red lips.

She stretched on tiptoe, for a moment standing motionless and
statuesque. Pearce watched her with a sudden, flashing intensity. Pain
touched him, and regret.

But it was too late--too late even to think of what might have been....

She turned. "This is a wild, lonely-looking place you've dragged us out
to, Andy."

He nodded, his gray eyes kindling with memories. "It hasn't changed
since I was a kid. Except for the road. It's got gravel on it now."

"What, no red carpet?" Fuller asked in mock surprise, as he too emerged
from the coupe. "A lousy welcome for our boy Andy. No red carpet."

"Cut it out," Ellen admonished. "These aren't the surroundings for low
comedy. Let's just be simple, sociable folk enjoying a picnic. Bring
out the eats, and we'll get started."

Looking exaggeratedly chastened, Fuller opened th
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PG #: 501
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_THE STORY OF DOCTOR DOLITTLE_

[Illustration: “A little town called Puddleby-on-the-Marsh”]




    THE
    _Story of_
    DOCTOR DOLITTLE

    _BEING THE
    HISTORY OF HIS PECULIAR LIFE
    AT HOME AND ASTONISHING ADVENTURES
    IN FOREIGN PARTS. NEVER BEFORE PRINTED._

    _TOLD BY HUGH LOFTING_      _ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR_

    [Illustration]

    _Published by FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY at 443 FOURTH AVENUE, NEW YORK._

    _A.D. 1920_

    WITH AN INTRODUCTION TO THE TENTH PRINTING

    BY HUGH WALPOLE




    _Copyright, 1920, by_
    FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY

    _All rights reserved, including that of translation
    into foreign languages_

    First Printing,     Aug.   24, 1920
    Second Printing,    Dec.   17, 1920
    Third Printing,     April  16, 1921
    Fourth Printing,    July    7, 1921
    Fifth Printing,     Sept.   1, 1921
    Sixth Printing,     Oct.   26, 1921
    Seventh Printing,   Dec.    5, 1921
    Eighth Printing,    April   3, 1922
    Ninth Printing,     Aug.   18, 1922
    Tenth Printing,     Nov.   28, 1922
    Eleventh Printing,  April   2, 1923


    PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA




    TO
    ALL CHILDREN

    CHILDREN IN YEARS AND CHILDREN IN HEART
    I DEDICATE THIS STORY




_INTRODUCTION TO THE TENTH PRINTING_


THERE are some of us now reaching middle age who discover themselves
to be lamenting the past in one respect if in none other, that there
are no books written now for children comparable with those of thirty
years ago. I say written _for_ children because the new psychological
business of writing _about_ them as though they were small pills or
hatched in some especially scientific method is extremely popular
to-day. Writing for children rather than about them is very difficult
as everybody who has tried it knows. It can only be done, I am
convinced, by somebody having a great deal of the child in his own
outlook and sensibilities. Such was the author of “The Little Duke” and
“The Dove in the Eagle’s Nest,” such the author of “A Flatiron for a
Farthing,” and “The Story of a Short Life.” Such, above all, the author
of “Alice in Wonderland.” Grownups imagine that they can do the trick
by adopting baby language and talking down to their very critical
audience. There never was a greater mistake. The imagination of the
author must be a child’s imagination and yet maturely consistent,
so that the White Queen in “Alice,” for instance, is seen just as a
child would see her, but she continues always herself through all her
distressing adventures. The supreme touch of the white rabbit pulling
on his white gloves as he hastens is again absolutely the child’s
vision, but the white rabbit as guide and introducer of Alice’s
adventures belongs to mature grown insight.

Geniuses are rare and, without being at all an undue praiser of times
past, one can say without hesitation that until the appearance of
Hugh Lofting, the successor of Miss Yonge, Mrs. Ewing, Mrs. Gatty and
Lewis Carroll had not appeared. I remember the delight with which some
six months ago I picked up the first “Dolittle” book in the Hampshire
bookshop at Smith College in Northampton. One of Mr. Lofting’s pictures
was quite enough for me. The picture that I lighted upon when I first
opened the book was the one of the monkeys making a chain with their
arms across the gulf. Then I looked further and discovered Bumpo
reading fairy stories to himself. And then looked again and there was a
picture of John Dolittle’s house.

But pictures are not enough although most authors draw so badly that if
one of them happens to have the genius for line that Mr. Lofting shows
there must be, one feels, something in his writing as well. There is.
You cannot read the first paragraph of the book, which begins in the
right way “Once upon a time” without knowing that Mr. Lofting believes
in his story quite as much as he expects you to. That is the first
essential for a story teller. Then you discover as you read on that he
has the right eye for the right detail. What child-inquiring mind could
resist this intriguing sentence to be found on the second page of the
book:

    “Besides the gold-fish in the pond at the bottom of his
    garden, he had rabbits in the pantry, white mice in his
    piano, a squirrel in the linen closet and a hedgehog in
    the cellar.”

And then when you read a little further you will discover that the
Doctor is not merely a peg on whom to hang exciting and various
adventures but that he is himself a man of original and lively
character. He is a very kindly, generous man, and anyone who has ever
written stories will know that it is much more difficult to make
kindly, generous characters interesting than unkindly and mean ones.
But Dolittle is interesting. It is not only that he is quaint but that
he is wise and knows what he is about. The reader, however young,
who meets him gets very soon a sense that if he were in trouble, not
necessarily medical, he would go to Dolittle and ask h
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PG #: 4081
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/4081

THE ALCHEMIST


By Ben Jonson




INTRODUCTION

The greatest of English dramatists except Shakespeare, the first
literary dictator and poet-laureate, a writer of verse, prose,
satire, and criticism who most potently of all the men of his time
affected the subsequent course of English letters: such was Ben
Jonson, and as such his strong personality assumes an interest to
us almost unparalleled, at least in his age.

Ben Jonson came of the stock that was centuries after to give to
the world Thomas Carlyle; for Jonson's grandfather was of
Annandale, over the Solway, whence he migrated to England.
Jonson's father lost his estate under Queen Mary, "having been cast
into prison and forfeited."  He entered the church, but died a
month before his illustrious son was born, leaving his widow and
child in poverty.  Jonson's birthplace was Westminster, and the
time of his birth early in 1573.  He was thus nearly ten years
Shakespeare's junior, and less well off, if a trifle better born.
But Jonson did not profit even by this slight advantage.  His
mother married beneath her, a wright or bricklayer, and Jonson was
for a time apprenticed to the trade.  As a youth he attracted the
attention of the famous antiquary, William Camden, then usher at
Westminster School, and there the poet laid the solid foundations
of his classical learning.  Jonson always held Camden in
veneration, acknowledging that to him he owed,

"All that I am in arts, all that I know;"

and dedicating his first dramatic success, "Every Man in His
Humour," to him.  It is doubtful whether Jonson ever went to either
university, though Fuller says that he was "statutably admitted
into St. John's College, Cambridge."  He tells us that he took no
degree, but was later "Master of Arts in both the universities, by
their favour, not his study."  When a mere youth Jonson enlisted as
a soldier, trailing his pike in Flanders in the protracted wars of
William the Silent against the Spanish.  Jonson was a large and
raw-boned lad; he became by his own account in time exceedingly
bulky.  In chat with his friend William Drummond of Hawthornden,
Jonson told how "in his service in the Low Countries he had, in the
face of both the camps, killed an enemy, and taken opima spolia
from him;" and how "since his coming to England, being appealed to
the fields, he had killed his adversary which had hurt him in the
arm and whose sword was ten inches longer than his."  Jonson's
reach may have made up for the lack of his sword; certainly his
prowess lost nothing in the telling.  Obviously Jonson was brave,
combative, and not averse to talking of himself and his doings.

In 1592, Jonson returned from abroad penniless.  Soon after he
married, almost as early and quite as imprudently as Shakespeare.
He told Drummond curtly that "his wife was a shrew, yet honest";
for some years he lived apart from her in the household of Lord
Albany.  Yet two touching epitaphs among Jonson's "Epigrams," "On
my first daughter," and "On my first son," attest the warmth of the
poet's family affections.  The daughter died in infancy, the son of
the plague; another son grew up to manhood little credit to his
father whom he survived.  We know nothing beyond this of Jonson's
domestic life.

How soon Jonson drifted into what we now call grandly "the
theatrical profession" we do not know.  In 1593, Marlowe made his
tragic exit from life, and Greene, Shakespeare's other rival on the
popular stage, had preceded Marlowe in an equally miserable death
the year before.  Shakespeare already had the running to himself.
Jonson appears first in the employment of Philip Henslowe, the
exploiter of several troupes of players, manager, and father-in-law
of the famous actor, Edward Alleyn.  From entries in "Henslowe's
Diary," a species of theatrical account book which has been handed
down to us, we know that Jonson was connected with the Admiral's
men; for he borrowed 4 pounds of Henslowe, July 28, 1597, paying
back 3s. 9d. on the same day on account of his "share" (in what is
not altogether clear); while later, on December 3, of the same
year, Henslowe advanced 20s. to him "upon a book which he showed
the plot unto the company which he promised to deliver unto the
company at Christmas next."  In the next August Jonson was in
collaboration with Chettle and Porter in a play called "Hot Anger
Soon Cold."  All this points to an association with Henslowe of
some duration, as no mere tyro would be thus paid in advance upon
mere promise.  From allusions in Dekker's play, "Satiromastix," it
appears that Jonson, like Shakespeare, began life as an actor, and
that he "ambled in a leather pitch by a play-wagon" taking at one
time the part of Hieronimo in Kyd's famous play, "The Spanish
Tragedy."  By the beginning of 1598, Jonson, though still in needy
circumstances, had begun to receive recognition.  Francis Meres--well
known for his "Comparative Discourse of our English Poets with
the Greek, Latin, and Italian Poets," printed in 1598, a
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PG #: 65078
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CALCULATOR ***

Transcriber’s Notes:

Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).

The whole number part of a mixed fraction is separated from the
fractional part with -, for example, 2-1/2.

Additional Transcriber’s Notes are at the end.

       *       *       *       *       *

Multum in Parvo Library.

Vol. I. FEBRUARY, 1894. _Published Monthly._ No. 2.




How to Become a LIGHTNING CALCULATOR.


  _Smallest Magazine in the World. Subscription
  price, 50 cts. per year. Single copies, 5 cents each._

  PUBLISHED BY
  A. B. COURTNEY,
  671 Tremont Street, Boston.

  _Entered at Post-Office as second-class matter._




Instantaneous Addition.


Accuracy should be first considered, then rapidity. Quick adders, by
the way, are the most accurate. Write the numbers in vertical lines,
avoiding irregularity. This is important. Keep your thought on results
not numbers themselves. Do not reckon 7 and 4 are 11 and 8 are 19, but
say 7, 11, 19 and so on.

When the same number is repeated several times, multiply instead of
adding.

When adding horizontally begin at the left.

   3132
   2453 12 |
   6471 20 |
   7312 15 |
   2134 21 |
  ----- ---+
  21502

In adding long columns, prove the work, by adding each column
separately in the opposite direction, before adding the next column.
Many accountants put down both figures as in the illustration. The sum
of the first column is 12; carrying _one_, the sum of the second is
20; carrying _two_, the sum of the third column is 15; carrying _one_,
the sum of the fourth column is 21, and the total, 21502, is found by
calling off the last two figures and the right-hand figures, following
the wave line in the illustration. This method is better than the old
one of penciling down the number _to carry_. If one desires to go back
and add a certain column a second time, the number to carry is at hand
and the former total is known.




How to Add Two Columns at Once.


   2312
   3253
   2610
   1256
   3199
  -----
  12630

To the inexperienced it will be a difficult task to add two columns at
once, but many of those who have daily practice in addition find it
about as easy to add two columns as one. Say 99 and 50 are 149, and 6
are 155, and 10 and 50 are 215 and 3 are 218, and 12 are 230. Carry 2,
and say 33 and 12 are 45, and 20 are 65, and 6 are 71, and 30 are 101,
and 2 are 103, and 23 are 126.

Much of the information here contained is compiled from W. D. Rowland’s
valuable little volume, entitled “How to become expert with figures.”
You can get this handy book by sending 25 cents in stamps to AMERICAN
NATION CO., Boston.




Multiplication.


To Multiply Any Number by 11.

Write the first right-hand figure, add the first and second, the second
and third, and so on; then write the left-hand figure. Carry when
necessary.

219434 × 11 = 2413774

Put down the right-hand figure 4. Then say, 4 and 3 are 7; then, 3 and
4 are 7; then, 4 and 9 are 13, put down 3 and carry 1; then, 9 and 1
and 1 are 11, put down the 1 and carry 1; then, 1 and 2 and 1 are 4;
then write the left-hand figure 2. In multiplying small numbers, such
as 24 by 11, write the sum of the two figures between the two figures,
making 264, the required product.


To Multiply by 101, 1001, etc.

To multiply by 101, add two ciphers to the multiplicand, and add to
this the multiplicand.

2341 × 101 = 234100 + 2341

To multiply by 1001, add three ciphers to the multiplicand, and add to
this the multiplicand.


To Multiply by 5, 25, 125.

To multiply by 5, add a cipher and divide by 2.

To multiply by 25, add two ciphers and divide by 4.

To multiply by 125, add three ciphers and divide by 8.


Another Easy Way to Multiply.

    82
    54
  ----
  4428

To multiply two figures by two figures, proceed as follows: Multiply
units by units for the _first_ figure.

Carry and multiply tens by units and units by tens, (adding) for the
_second_ figure. Carry and multiply tens by tens for the _remaining_
figure or figures. In this example proceed as follows:

  2 × 4 = 8 = 1st figure.
  (4 × 8) + (5 × 2) = 42. Therefore 2 = 2d figure.
  (5 × 8) + 4 carried = 44 = 3d and 4th figures.

By a little practice any one may become as familiar with this rule and
as ready in its application as with the ordinary method.

To multiply any number by 2-1/2, add one cipher, and divide by 4.

To multiply any number by 3-1/3, add one cipher, and divide by 3.

To multiply by 33-1/3, add two ciphers, and divide by 3.

To multiply any number by 1-3/7, add one cipher, and divide by 7.

To multiply by 16-2/3, add two ciphers, and divide by 6.

To multiply by 14-2/7, add two ciphers, and divide by 7.

To multiply by 875, add three ciphers, and divide by 8.

To divide by 25, multiply by 4, and cut off two figures.

To divide by 125, multiply by 8, and cut off three figures.

To multiply by 12-1/2, add two ciphers, and divide by 8.

To find the value of any number of articles at 75 cents each, deduct
one-quarter of the number from itself and ca
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(of which a Resume appeared in the “Revue et Mag. de Zoolog.”, Jan.,
1851), briefly gives his reason for believing that specific characters
“sont fixes, pour chaque espece, tant qu’elle se perpetue au milieu des
memes circonstances: ils se modifient, si les circonstances ambiantes
viennent a changer. En resume, L’OBSERVATION des animaux sauvages
demontre deja la variabilite LIMITEE des especes. Les EXPERIENCES sur
les animaux sauvages devenus domestiques, et sur les animaux
domestiques redevenus sauvages, la demontrent plus clairment encore.
Ces memes experiences prouvent, de plus, que les differences produites
peuvent etre de VALEUR GENERIQUE.” In his “Hist. Nat. Generale” (tom.
ii, page 430, 1859) he amplifies analogous conclusions.

From a circular lately issued it appears that Dr. Freke, in 1851
(“Dublin Medical Press”, page 322), propounded the doctrine that all
organic beings have descended from one primordial form. His grounds of
belief and treatment of the subject are wholly different from mine; but
as Dr. Freke has now (1861) published his Essay on the “Origin of
Species by means of Organic Affinity”, the difficult attempt to give
any idea of his views would be superfluous on my part.

Mr. Herbert Spencer, in an Essay (originally published in the “Leader”,
March, 1852, and republished in his “Essays”, in 1858), has contrasted
the theories of the Creation and the Development of organic beings with
remarkable skill and force. He argues from the analogy of domestic
productions, from the changes which the embryos of many species
undergo, from the difficulty of distinguishing species and varieties,
and from the principle of general gradation, that species have been
modified; and he attributes the modification to the change of
circumstances. The author (1855) has also treated Psychology on the
principle of the necessary acquirement of each mental power and
capacity by gradation.

In 1852 M. Naudin, a distinguished botanist, expressly stated, in an
admirable paper on the Origin of Species (“Revue Horticole”, page 102;
since partly republished in the “Nouvelles Archives du Museum”, tom. i,
page 171), his belief that species are formed in an analogous manner as
varieties are under cultivation; and the latter process he attributes
to man’s power of selection. But he does not show how selection acts
under nature. He believes, like Dean Herbert, that species, when
nascent, were more plastic than at present. He lays weight on what he
calls the principle of finality, “puissance mysterieuse, indeterminee;
fatalite pour les uns; pour les autres volonte providentielle, dont
l’action incessante sur les etres vivantes determine, a toutes les
epoques de l’existence du monde, la forme, le volume, et la duree de
chacun d’eux, en raison de sa destinee dans l’ordre de choses dont il
fait partie. C’est cette puissance qui harmonise chaque membre a
l’ensemble, en l’appropriant a la fonction qu’il doit remplir dans
l’organisme general de la nature, fonction qui est pour lui sa raison
d’etre.” (From references in Bronn’s “Untersuchungen uber die
Entwickelungs-Gesetze”, it appears that the celebrated botanist and
palaeontologist Unger published, in 1852, his belief that species
undergo development and modification. Dalton, likewise, in Pander and
Dalton’s work on Fossil Sloths, expressed, in 1821, a similar belief.
Similar views have, as is well known, been maintained by Oken in his
mystical “Natur-Philosophie”. From other references in Godron’s work
“Sur l’Espece”, it seems that Bory St. Vincent, Burdach, Poiret and
Fries, have all admitted that new species are continually being
produced. I may add, that of the thirty-four authors named in this
Historical Sketch, who believe in the modification of species, or at
least disbelieve in separate acts of creation, twenty-seven have
written on special branches of natural history or geology.)

In 1853 a celebrated geologist, Count Keyserling (“Bulletin de la Soc.
Geolog.”, 2nd Ser., tom. x, page 357), suggested that as new diseases,
supposed to have been caused by some miasma have arisen and spread over
the world, so at certain periods the germs of existing species may have
been chemically affected by circumambient molecules of a particular
nature, and thus have given rise to new forms.

In this same year, 1853, Dr. Schaaffhausen published an excellent
pamphlet (“Verhand. des Naturhist. Vereins der Preuss. Rheinlands”,
etc.), in which he maintains the development of organic forms on the
earth. He infers that many species have kept true for long periods,
whereas a few have become modified. The distinction of species he
explains by the destruction of intermediate graduated forms. “Thus
living plants and animals are not separated from the extinct by new
creations, but are to be regarded as their descendants through
continued reproduction.”

A well-known French botanist, M. Lecoq, writes in 1854 (“Etudes sur
Geograph.” Bot. tom. i, page 250), “On voit que nos recherches sur la
fixite ou 
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Apology

by Plato

Translated by Benjamin Jowett


Contents

 INTRODUCTION
 APOLOGY




INTRODUCTION.


In what relation the “Apology” of Plato stands to the real defence of
Socrates, there are no means of determining. It certainly agrees in
tone and character with the description of Xenophon, who says in the
“Memorabilia” that Socrates might have been acquitted “if in any
moderate degree he would have conciliated the favour of the dicasts;”
and who informs us in another passage, on the testimony of Hermogenes,
the friend of Socrates, that he had no wish to live; and that the
divine sign refused to allow him to prepare a defence, and also that
Socrates himself declared this to be unnecessary, on the ground that
all his life long he had been preparing against that hour. For the
speech breathes throughout a spirit of defiance, “_ut non supplex aut
reus sed magister aut dominus videretur esse judicum_” (Cic. “de Orat.”
i. 54); and the loose and desultory style is an imitation of the
“accustomed manner” in which Socrates spoke in “the _agora_ and among
the tables of the money-changers.” The allusion in the “Crito” (45 B)
may, perhaps, be adduced as a further evidence of the literal accuracy
of some parts (37 C, D). But in the main it must be regarded as the
ideal of Socrates, according to Plato’s conception of him, appearing in
the greatest and most public scene of his life, and in the height of
his triumph, when he is weakest, and yet his mastery over mankind is
greatest, and his habitual irony acquires a new meaning and a sort of
tragic pathos in the face of death. The facts of his life are summed
up, and the features of his character are brought out as if by accident
in the course of the defence. The conversational manner, the seeming
want of arrangement, the ironical simplicity, are found to result in a
perfect work of art, which is the portrait of Socrates.

Yet some of the topics may have been actually used by Socrates; and the
recollection of his very words may have rung in the ears of his
disciple. The “Apology” of Plato may be compared generally with those
speeches of Thucydides in which he has embodied his conception of the
lofty character and policy of the great Pericles, and which at the same
time furnish a commentary on the situation of affairs from the point of
view of the historian. So in the “Apology” there is an ideal rather
than a literal truth; much is said which was not said, and is only
Plato’s view of the situation. Plato was not, like Xenophon, a
chronicler of facts; he does not appear in any of his writings to have
aimed at literal accuracy. He is not therefore to be supplemented from
the Memorabilia and Symposium of Xenophon, who belongs to an entirely
different class of writers. The Apology of Plato is not the report of
what Socrates said, but an elaborate composition, quite as much so in
fact as one of the Dialogues. And we may perhaps even indulge in the
fancy that the actual defence of Socrates was as much greater than the
Platonic defence as the master was greater than the disciple. But in
any case, some of the words used by him must have been remembered, and
some of the facts recorded must have actually occurred. It is
significant that Plato is said to have been present at the defence
(Apol.), as he is also said to have been absent at the last scene in
the “Phædo”. Is it fanciful to suppose that he meant to give the stamp
of authenticity to the one and not to the other?—especially when we
consider that these two passages are the only ones in which Plato makes
mention of himself. The circumstance that Plato was to be one of his
sureties for the payment of the fine which he proposed has the
appearance of truth. More suspicious is the statement that Socrates
received the first impulse to his favourite calling of cross-examining
the world from the Oracle of Delphi; for he must already have been
famous before Chaerephon went to consult the Oracle (Riddell), and the
story is of a kind which is very likely to have been invented. On the
whole we arrive at the conclusion that the “Apology” is true to the
character of Socrates, but we cannot show that any single sentence in
it was actually spoken by him. It breathes the spirit of Socrates, but
has been cast anew in the mould of Plato.

There is not much in the other Dialogues which can be compared with the
“Apology”. The same recollection of his master may have been present to
the mind of Plato when depicting the sufferings of the Just in the
“Republic”. The “Crito” may also be regarded as a sort of appendage to
the “Apology”, in which Socrates, who has defied the judges, is
nevertheless represented as scrupulously obedient to the laws. The
idealization of the sufferer is carried still further in the
“Georgias”, in which the thesis is maintained, that “to suffer is
better than to do evil;” and the art of rhetoric is described as only
useful for the purpose of self-accusation. The parallelisms which occur
in the so-called “Apology” of Xenoph
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ON HEROES, HERO-WORSHIP, AND THE HEROIC IN HISTORY

By Thomas Carlyle


Transcriber's Note:

The text is taken from the printed "Sterling Edition" of Carlyle's
Complete Works, in 20 volumes, with the following modifications made
in the etext version: Italicized text is delimited by underscores,
_thusly_. The footnote (there is only one) has been embedded directly
into text, in brackets, [thusly]. Greek text has been transliterated
into Latin characters with the notation [Gr.] juxtaposed. Otherwise, the
punctuation and spelling of the print version have been retained.




CONTENTS.

  I.   THE HERO AS DIVINITY.  ODIN.  PAGANISM:  SCANDINAVIAN MYTHOLOGY.
  II.  THE HERO AS PROPHET.  MAHOMET:  ISLAM.
  III. THE HERO AS POET.  DANTE:  SHAKSPEARE.
  IV.  THE HERO AS PRIEST.  LUTHER; REFORMATION:  KNOX; PURITANISM.
  V.   THE HERO AS MAN OF LETTERS.  JOHNSON, ROUSSEAU, BURNS.
  VI.  THE HERO AS KING.  CROMWELL, NAPOLEON:  MODERN REVOLUTIONISM.





LECTURES ON HEROES.




LECTURE I. THE HERO AS DIVINITY. ODIN. PAGANISM: SCANDINAVIAN MYTHOLOGY.

[May 5, 1840.]

We have undertaken to discourse here for a little on Great Men, their
manner of appearance in our world's business, how they have shaped
themselves in the world's history, what ideas men formed of them,
what work they did;--on Heroes, namely, and on their reception and
performance; what I call Hero-worship and the Heroic in human affairs.
Too evidently this is a large topic; deserving quite other treatment
than we can expect to give it at present. A large topic; indeed, an
illimitable one; wide as Universal History itself. For, as I take it,
Universal History, the history of what man has accomplished in this
world, is at bottom the History of the Great Men who have worked here.
They were the leaders of men, these great ones; the modellers, patterns,
and in a wide sense creators, of whatsoever the general mass of
men contrived to do or to attain; all things that we see standing
accomplished in the world are properly the outer material result, the
practical realization and embodiment, of Thoughts that dwelt in the
Great Men sent into the world: the soul of the whole world's history, it
may justly be considered, were the history of these. Too clearly it is a
topic we shall do no justice to in this place!

One comfort is, that Great Men, taken up in any way, are profitable
company. We cannot look, however imperfectly, upon a great man, without
gaining something by him. He is the living light-fountain, which it
is good and pleasant to be near. The light which enlightens, which has
enlightened the darkness of the world; and this not as a kindled lamp
only, but rather as a natural luminary shining by the gift of Heaven; a
flowing light-fountain, as I say, of native original insight, of manhood
and heroic nobleness;--in whose radiance all souls feel that it is well
with them. On any terms whatsoever, you will not grudge to wander in
such neighborhood for a while. These Six classes of Heroes, chosen out
of widely distant countries and epochs, and in mere external figure
differing altogether, ought, if we look faithfully at them, to
illustrate several things for us. Could we see them well, we should get
some glimpses into the very marrow of the world's history. How happy,
could I but, in any measure, in such times as these, make manifest to
you the meanings of Heroism; the divine relation (for I may well call it
such) which in all times unites a Great Man to other men; and thus, as
it were, not exhaust my subject, but so much as break ground on it! At
all events, I must make the attempt.


It is well said, in every sense, that a man's religion is the chief fact
with regard to him. A man's, or a nation of men's. By religion I do not
mean here the church-creed which he professes, the articles of faith
which he will sign and, in words or otherwise, assert; not this wholly,
in many cases not this at all. We see men of all kinds of professed
creeds attain to almost all degrees of worth or worthlessness under each
or any of them. This is not what I call religion, this profession and
assertion; which is often only a profession and assertion from the
outworks of the man, from the mere argumentative region of him, if even
so deep as that. But the thing a man does practically believe (and this
is often enough _without_ asserting it even to himself, much less to
others); the thing a man does practically lay to heart, and know for
certain, concerning his vital relations to this mysterious Universe, and
his duty and destiny there, that is in all cases the primary thing for
him, and creatively determines all the rest. That is his _religion_; or,
it may be, his mere scepticism and _no-religion_: the manner it is in
which he feels himself to be spiritually related to the Unseen World or
No-World; and I say, if you tell me what that is, you tell me to a very
great extent what the man is, what the kind of things he will do is. Of
a man or of a nation we inquire, therefore, first of al
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I will see them.--This is very hard, sir, said I; but I must say, you
shall not, if I can help it.

We were standing most of this time; but he then sat down, and took me
by both my hands, and said, Well said, my pretty Pamela, if you can help
it! But I will not let you help it. Tell me, are they in your pocket?
No, sir, said I; my heart up at my mouth. Said he, I know you won't tell
a downright fib for the world: but for equivocation! no jesuit ever went
beyond you. Answer me then, Are they in neither of your pockets? No,
sir, said I. Are they not, said he, about your stays? No, sir, replied
I: But pray no more questions: for ask me ever so much, I will not tell
you.

O, said he, I have a way for that. I can do as they do abroad, when the
criminals won't confess; torture them till they do.--But pray, sir, said
I, is this fair, just, or honest? I am no criminal; and I won't confess.

O, my girl! said he, many an innocent person has been put to the
torture. But let me know where they are, and you shall escape the
question, as they call it abroad.

Sir, said I, the torture is not used in England, and I hope you won't
bring it up. Admirably said! said the naughty gentleman.--But I can tell
you of as good a punishment. If a criminal won't plead with us, here
in England, we press him to death, or till he does plead. And so now,
Pamela, that is a punishment shall certainly be yours, if you won't tell
without.

Tears stood in my eyes, and I said, This, sir, is very cruel and
barbarous.--No matter, said he; it is but like your Lucifer, you know,
in my shape! And, after I have done so many heinous things by you as
you think, you have no great reason to judge so hardly of this; or, at
least, it is but of a piece with the rest.

But, sir, said I, (dreadfully afraid he had some notion they were about
me,) if you will be obeyed in this unreasonable manner, though it is sad
tyranny, to be sure!--let me go up to them, and read them over again,
and you shall see so far as to the end of the sad story that follows
those you have.

I'll see them all, said he, down to this time, if you have written so
far:--Or, at least, till within this week.--Then let me go up to them,
said I, and see what I have written, and to what day, to shew them
to you; for you won't desire to see every thing. But I will, replied
he.--But say, Pamela, tell me truth: Are they above? I was much
affrighted. He saw my confusion. Tell me truth, said he. Why, sir,
answered I, I have sometimes hid them under the dry mould in the garden;
sometimes in one place, sometimes in another; and those you have in your
hand, were several days under a rose-bush, in the garden. Artful slut!
said he, What's this to my question?--Are they not about you?--If, said
I, I must pluck them out of my hiding-place behind the wainscot, won't
you see me?--Still more and more artful! said he--Is this an answer to
my question?--I have searched every place above, and in your closet, for
them, and cannot find them; so I will know where they are. Now, said he,
it is my opinion they are about you; and I never undressed a girl in my
life; but I will now begin to strip my pretty Pamela; and I hope I shall
not go far before I find them.

I fell a crying, and said, I will not be used in this manner. Pray, sir,
said I, (for he began to unpin my handkerchief,) consider! Pray sir,
do!--And pray, said he, do you consider. For I will see these papers.
But may be, said he, they are tied about your knees, with your garters,
and stooped. Was ever any thing so vile and so wicked?--I fell on my
knees, and said, What can I do? What can I do? If you'll let me go up
I'll fetch them to you. Will you, said he, on your honour, let me see
them uncurtailed, and not offer to make them away; no not a single
paper?--I will, sir.--On your honour? Yes, sir. And so he let me go up
stairs, crying sadly for vexation to be so used. Sure nobody was ever so
served as I am!

I went to my closet, and there I sat me down, and could not bear the
thoughts of giving up my papers. Besides, I must all undress me, in a
manner, to untack them. So I writ thus:


'SIR,

'To expostulate with such an arbitrary gentleman, I know will signify
nothing; and most hardly do you use the power you so wickedly have got
over me. I have heart enough, sir, to do a deed that would make you
regret using me thus; and I can hardly bear it, and what I am further
to undergo. But a superior consideration withholds me; thank God, it
does!--I will, however, keep my word, if you insist upon it when
you have read this; but, sir, let me beg of you to give me time till
to-morrow morning, that I may just run them over, and see what I put
into your hands against me: and I will then give my papers to you,
without the least alteration, or adding or diminishing: But I should
beg still to be excused, if you please: But if not, spare them to me but
till to-morrow morning: and this, so hardly am I used, shall be thought
a favour, which I shall be very thankful for.'

I
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GHOSTS

By Henrik Ibsen

Translated, with an Introduction, by William Archer




INTRODUCTION.

The winter of 1879-80 Ibsen spent in Munich, and the greater part of the
summer of 1880 at Berchtesgaden. November 1880 saw him back in Rome, and
he passed the summer of 1881 at Sorrento. There, fourteen years earlier,
he had written the last acts of _Peer Gynt_; there he now wrote, or at
any rate completed, _Gengangere_. It was published in December 1881,
after he had returned to Rome. On December 22 he wrote to Ludwig
Passarge, one of his German translators, "My new play has now appeared,
and has occasioned a terrible uproar in the Scandinavian press; every
day I receive letters and newspaper articles decrying or praising it....
I consider it utterly impossible that any German theatre will accept the
play at present. I hardly believe that they will dare to play it in the
Scandinavian countries for some time to come." How rightly he judged we
shall see anon.

In the newspapers there was far more obloquy than praise. Two men,
however, stood by him from the first: Björnson, from whom he had been
practically estranged ever since _The League of Youth_, and Georg
Brandes. The latter published an article in which he declared (I quote
from memory) that the play might or might not be Ibsen's greatest
work, but that it was certainly his noblest deed. It was, doubtless, in
acknowledgment of this article that Ibsen wrote to Brandes on January 3,
1882: "Yesterday I had the great pleasure of receiving your brilliantly
clear and so warmly appreciative review of _Ghosts_.... All who read
your article must, it seems to me, have their eyes opened to what I
meant by my new book--assuming, that is, that they have any _wish_ to
see. For I cannot get rid of the impression that a very large number of
the false interpretations which have appeared in the newspapers are
the work of people who know better. In Norway, however, I am willing to
believe that the stultification has in most cases been unintentional;
and the reason is not far to seek. In that country a great many of the
critics are theologians, more or less disguised; and these gentlemen
are, as a rule, quite unable to write rationally about creative
literature. That enfeeblement of judgment which, at least in the case
of the average man, is an inevitable consequence of prolonged occupation
with theological studies, betrays itself more especially in the judging
of human character, human actions, and human motives. Practical business
judgment, on the other hand, does not suffer so much from studies of
this order. Therefore the reverend gentlemen are very often excellent
members of local boards; but they are unquestionably our worst critics."
This passage is interesting as showing clearly the point of view from
which Ibsen conceived the character of Manders. In the next paragraph
of the same letter he discusses the attitude of "the so-called Liberal
press"; but as the paragraph contains the germ of _An Enemy of the
People_, it may most fittingly be quoted in the introduction to that
play.

Three days later (January 6) Ibsen wrote to Schandorph, the Danish
novelist: "I was quite prepared for the hubbub. If certain of our
Scandinavian reviewers have no talent for anything else, they have
an unquestionable talent for thoroughly misunderstanding and
misinterpreting those authors whose books they undertake to judge....
They endeavour to make me responsible for the opinions which certain of
the personages of my drama express. And yet there is not in the whole
book a single opinion, a single utterance, which can be laid to the
account of the author. I took good care to avoid this. The very method,
the order of technique which imposes its form upon the play, forbids
the author to appear in the speeches of his characters. My object was
to make the reader feel that he was going through a piece of real
experience; and nothing could more effectually prevent such an
impression than the intrusion of the author's private opinions into the
dialogue. Do they imagine at home that I am so inexpert in the theory of
drama as not to know this? Of course I know it, and act accordingly.
In no other play that I have written is the author so external to the
action, so entirely absent from it, as in this last one."

"They say," he continued, "that the book preaches Nihilism. Not at all.
It is not concerned to preach anything whatsoever. It merely points
to the ferment of Nihilism going on under the surface, at home as
elsewhere. A Pastor Manders will always goad one or other Mrs. Alving
to revolt. And just because she is a woman, she will, when once she has
begun, go to the utmost extremes."

Towards the end of January Ibsen wrote from Rome to Olaf Skavlan:
"These last weeks have brought me a wealth of experiences, lessons, and
discoveries. I, of course, foresaw that my new play would call forth a
howl from the camp of the stagnationists; and for this I care no more
than for the barking of a pack of chaine
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Mr. Pratt's Serenade                                              1-15

    Spencer Pratt, Consul-General of the United States at Singapore,
    in the British Straits Settlements, finding Aguinaldo a political
    refugee at that place at the outbreak of our war with Spain,
    April 21, 1898, arranges by cable with Admiral Dewey, then at
    Hong Kong with his squadron, for Aguinaldo to come to Hong Kong
    and thence to Manila, to co-operate by land with Admiral Dewey
    against the Spaniards, Pratt promising Aguinaldo independence,
    without authority. Mr. Pratt is later quietly separated from the
    consular service.


Dewey and Aguinaldo                                              16-45

    After the battle of Manila Bay, May 1, 1898, Admiral Dewey brings
    Aguinaldo down from Hong Kong, whither he had proceeded from
    Singapore, lands him at Cavite, and chaperones his insurrection
    against the Spaniards until the American troops arrive, June 30th.


Anderson and Aguinaldo                                           46-66

    General Anderson's official dealings with Aguinaldo from June 30,
    1898, until General Merritt's arrival, July 25th,


Merritt and Aguinaldo                                            67-87

    General Merritt's five weeks' sojourn in the Islands, from July 25,
    1898, to the end of August, including fall of Manila, August 13th,
    and our relations with Aguinaldo during period indicated.


Otis and Aguinaldo                                              88-106

    Dealings and relations between, September-December,
1898.

Chapter VI

The Wilcox-Sargent Trip                                        107-120

    Two American naval officers make an extended tour through
    the interior of Luzon by permission of Admiral Dewey and with
    Aguinaldo's consent, in October-November, 1898, while the Paris
    peace negotiations were in progress. What they saw and learned.


The Treaty of Paris                                            121-138

    An account of the negotiations, October-December, 1898. How we came
    to pay Spain $20,000,000 for a $200,000,000 insurrection. Treaty
    signed December 10, 1898.


The Benevolent Assimilation Proclamation                       139-151

    President McKinley's celebrated proclamation of December 21,
    1898, cabled out to the Islands, December 27, 1898, after the
    signing of the Treaty of Paris on the 10th, and intended as
    a fire-extinguisher, in fact acted merely as a firebrand, the
    Filipinos perceiving that Benevolent Assimilation meant such
    measure of slaughter as might be necessary to "spare them from
    the dangers of" the independence on which they were bent.


The Iloilo Fiasco                                              152-163

    By order of President McKinley, General Otis abstains from
    hostilities to await Senate action on Treaty of Paris.


Otis and Aguinaldo (Continued)                          164-185

    Still waiting for the Senate to act.


Otis and the War                                               186-223

    Covering the period from the outbreak of February 4, 1899, until
    the fall of that year.


Otis and the War (Continued)                            224-269

    From the fall of 1899 to the spring of 1900.


Macarthur and the War                                          270-281

    Carries the story up to the date of the arrival of the Taft
    Commission, sent out in the spring of 1900, to help General
    MacArthur run the war.


The Taft Commission                                            282-344

    Shows how the Taft Commission, born of the McKinley Benevolent
    Assimilation theory that there was no real fundamental opposition
    to American rule, lived up to that theory, in their telegrams
    sent home during the presidential campaign of 1900, and in 1901
    set up a civil government predicated upon their obstinate but
    opportune delusions of the previous year.


            "The papers 'id it 'andsome
            But you bet the army knows."



Governor Taft--1901-2                                          345-402

    Shows the prematurity of a civil government set up under pressure
    of political expediency, and the disorders which followed.


Governor Taft--1903                                            403-436

    Shows divers serious insurrections in various provinces amounting
    to what the Commission itself termed, in one instance, "a reign of
    terror"--situations so endangering the public safety that to fail
    to order out the army to quell the disturbances was neglect of
    plain duty, such neglect being due to a set policy of preserving
    the official fiction that peace prevailed, and that Benevolent
    Assimilation was a success.


Governor Taft--1903 (Continued)                         437-445

    Shows the essentially despotic, though theoretically benevolent,
    character of the Taft civil government of the Philipp
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Manfred, Prince of Otranto, had one son and one daughter: the latter, a
most beautiful virgin, aged eighteen, was called Matilda. Conrad, the
son, was three years younger, a homely youth, sickly, and of no promising
disposition; yet he was the darling of his father, who never showed any
symptoms of affection to Matilda. Manfred had contracted a marriage for
his son with the Marquis of Vicenza’s daughter, Isabella; and she had
already been delivered by her guardians into the hands of Manfred, that
he might celebrate the wedding as soon as Conrad’s infirm state of health
would permit.

Manfred’s impatience for this ceremonial was remarked by his family and
neighbours. The former, indeed, apprehending the severity of their
Prince’s disposition, did not dare to utter their surmises on this
precipitation. Hippolita, his wife, an amiable lady, did sometimes
venture to represent the danger of marrying their only son so early,
considering his great youth, and greater infirmities; but she never
received any other answer than reflections on her own sterility, who had
given him but one heir. His tenants and subjects were less cautious in
their discourses. They attributed this hasty wedding to the Prince’s
dread of seeing accomplished an ancient prophecy, which was said to have
pronounced that the castle and lordship of Otranto “should pass from the
present family, whenever the real owner should be grown too large to
inhabit it.” It was difficult to make any sense of this prophecy; and
still less easy to conceive what it had to do with the marriage in
question. Yet these mysteries, or contradictions, did not make the
populace adhere the less to their opinion.

Young Conrad’s birthday was fixed for his espousals. The company was
assembled in the chapel of the Castle, and everything ready for beginning
the divine office, when Conrad himself was missing. Manfred, impatient
of the least delay, and who had not observed his son retire, despatched
one of his attendants to summon the young Prince. The servant, who had
not stayed long enough to have crossed the court to Conrad’s apartment,
came running back breathless, in a frantic manner, his eyes staring, and
foaming at the mouth. He said nothing, but pointed to the court.

The company were struck with terror and amazement. The Princess
Hippolita, without knowing what was the matter, but anxious for her son,
swooned away. Manfred, less apprehensive than enraged at the
procrastination of the nuptials, and at the folly of his domestic, asked
imperiously what was the matter? The fellow made no answer, but
continued pointing towards the courtyard; and at last, after repeated
questions put to him, cried out, “Oh! the helmet! the helmet!”

In the meantime, some of the company had run into the court, from whence
was heard a confused noise of shrieks, horror, and surprise. Manfred,
who began to be alarmed at not seeing his son, went himself to get
information of what occasioned this strange confusion. Matilda remained
endeavouring to assist her mother, and Isabella stayed for the same
purpose, and to avoid showing any impatience for the bridegroom, for
whom, in truth, she had conceived little affection.

The first thing that struck Manfred’s eyes was a group of his servants
endeavouring to raise something that appeared to him a mountain of sable
plumes. He gazed without believing his sight.

“What are ye doing?” cried Manfred, wrathfully; “where is my son?”

A volley of voices replied, “Oh! my Lord! the Prince! the Prince! the
helmet! the helmet!”

Shocked with these lamentable sounds, and dreading he knew not what, he
advanced hastily,—but what a sight for a father’s eyes!—he beheld his
child dashed to pieces, and almost buried under an enormous helmet, an
hundred times more large than any casque ever made for human being, and
shaded with a proportionable quantity of black feathers.

The horror of the spectacle, the ignorance of all around how this
misfortune had happened, and above all, the tremendous phenomenon before
him, took away the Prince’s speech. Yet his silence lasted longer than
even grief could occasion. He fixed his eyes on what he wished in vain
to believe a vision; and seemed less attentive to his loss, than buried
in meditation on the stupendous object that had occasioned it. He
touched, he examined the fatal casque; nor could even the bleeding
mangled remains of the young Prince divert the eyes of Manfred from the
portent before him.

All who had known his partial fondness for young Conrad, were as much
surprised at their Prince’s insensibility, as thunderstruck themselves at
the miracle of the helmet. They conveyed the disfigured corpse into the
hall, without receiving the least direction from Manfred. As little was
he attentive to the ladies who remained in the chapel. On the contrary,
without mentioning the unhappy princesses, his wife and daughter, the
first sounds that dropped from Manfred’s lips were, “Take care of the
Lady Isabella.”

The domestics, without
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PG #: 8525
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8525

EVE'S DIARY


By Mark Twain


Illustrated by Lester Ralph




Translated from the Original



SATURDAY.--I am almost a whole day old, now.  I arrived yesterday.
That is as it seems to me.  And it must be so, for if there was a
day-before-yesterday I was not there when it happened, or I should
remember it.  It could be, of course, that it did happen, and that I
was not noticing. Very well; I will be very watchful now, and if any
day-before-yesterdays happen I will make a note of it. It will be best
to start right and not let the record get confused, for some instinct
tells me that these details are going to be important to the historian
some day.  For I feel like an experiment, I feel exactly like an
experiment; it would be impossible for a person to feel more like an
experiment than I do, and so I am coming to feel convinced that that
is what I AM--an experiment; just an experiment, and nothing more.

Then if I am an experiment, am I the whole of it?  No, I think not; I
think the rest of it is part of it.  I am the main part of it, but I
think the rest of it has its share in the matter.  Is my position
assured, or do I have to watch it and take care of it? The latter,
perhaps.  Some instinct tells me that eternal vigilance is the price
of supremacy.  [That is a good phrase, I think, for one so young.]

Everything looks better today than it did yesterday.  In the rush of
finishing up yesterday, the mountains were left in a ragged condition,
and some of the plains were so cluttered with rubbish and remnants that
the aspects were quite distressing.  Noble and beautiful works of art
should not be subjected to haste; and this majestic new world is indeed
a most noble and beautiful work.  And certainly marvelously near to
being perfect, notwithstanding the shortness of the time. There are too
many stars in some places and not enough in others, but that can be
remedied presently, no doubt.  The moon got loose last night, and slid
down and fell out of the scheme--a very great loss; it breaks my heart
to think of it.  There isn't another thing among the ornaments and
decorations that is comparable to it for beauty and finish.  It should
have been fastened better. If we can only get it back again--

But of course there is no telling where it went to.  And besides,
whoever gets it will hide it; I know it because I would do it myself.
I believe I can be honest in all other matters, but I already begin to
realize that the core and center of my nature is love of the beautiful,
a passion for the beautiful, and that it would not be safe to trust me
with a moon that belonged to another person and that person didn't know
I had it.  I could give up a moon that I found in the daytime, because I
should be afraid some one was looking; but if I found it in the dark, I
am sure I should find some kind of an excuse for not saying anything
about it.  For I do love moons, they are so pretty and so romantic.  I
wish we had five or six; I would never go to bed; I should never get
tired lying on the moss-bank and looking up at them.

Stars are good, too.  I wish I could get some to put in my hair. But I
suppose I never can.  You would be surprised to find how far off they
are, for they do not look it.  When they first showed, last night, I
tried to knock some down with a pole, but it didn't reach, which
astonished me; then I tried clods till I was all tired out, but I never
got one.  It was because I am left-handed and cannot throw good.  Even
when I aimed at the one I wasn't after I couldn't hit the other one,
though I did make some close shots, for I saw the black blot of the clod
sail right into the midst of the golden clusters forty or fifty times,
just barely missing them, and if I could have held out a little longer
maybe I could have got one.

So I cried a little, which was natural, I suppose, for one of my age,
and after I was rested I got a basket and started for a place on the
extreme rim of the circle, where the stars were close to the ground and
I could get them with my hands, which would be better, anyway, because I
could gather them tenderly then, and not break them. But it was farther
than I thought, and at last I had to give it up; I was so tired I
couldn't drag my feet another step; and besides, they were sore and hurt
me very much.

I couldn't get back home; it was too far and turning cold; but I found
some tigers and nestled in among them and was most adorably comfortable,
and their breath was sweet and pleasant, because they live on
strawberries.  I had never seen a tiger before, but I knew them in a
minute by the stripes.  If I could have one of those skins, it would
make a lovely gown.

Today I am getting better ideas about distances.  I was so eager to get
hold of every pretty thing that I giddily grabbed for it, sometimes when
it was too far off, and sometimes when it was but six inches away but
seemed a foot--alas, with thorns between! I learned a lesson; also I
made an axiom, all out of my own head--my very firs
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A very little boy stood upon a heap of gravel for the honor of Rum
Alley.  He was throwing stones at howling urchins from Devil's Row who
were circling madly about the heap and pelting at him.

His infantile countenance was livid with fury.  His small body was
writhing in the delivery of great, crimson oaths.

"Run, Jimmie, run!  Dey'll get yehs," screamed a retreating Rum Alley
child.

"Naw," responded Jimmie with a valiant roar, "dese micks can't make me
run."

Howls of renewed wrath went up from Devil's Row throats.  Tattered
gamins on the right made a furious assault on the gravel heap.  On
their small, convulsed faces there shone the grins of true assassins.
As they charged, they threw stones and cursed in shrill chorus.

The little champion of Rum Alley stumbled precipitately down the other
side.  His coat had been torn to shreds in a scuffle, and his hat was
gone.  He had bruises on twenty parts of his body, and blood was
dripping from a cut in his head.  His wan features wore a look of a
tiny, insane demon.

On the ground, children from Devil's Row closed in on their antagonist.
He crooked his left arm defensively about his head and fought with
cursing fury.  The little boys ran to and fro, dodging, hurling stones
and swearing in barbaric trebles.

From a window of an apartment house that upreared its form from amid
squat, ignorant stables, there leaned a curious woman.  Some laborers,
unloading a scow at a dock at the river, paused for a moment and
regarded the fight.  The engineer of a passive tugboat hung lazily to a
railing and watched.  Over on the Island, a worm of yellow convicts
came from the shadow of a building and crawled slowly along the river's
bank.

A stone had smashed into Jimmie's mouth.  Blood was bubbling over his
chin and down upon his ragged shirt.  Tears made furrows on his
dirt-stained cheeks.  His thin legs had begun to tremble and turn weak,
causing his small body to reel.  His roaring curses of the first part
of the fight had changed to a blasphemous chatter.

In the yells of the whirling mob of Devil's Row children there were
notes of joy like songs of triumphant savagery.  The little boys seemed
to leer gloatingly at the blood upon the other child's face.

Down the avenue came boastfully sauntering a lad of sixteen years,
although the chronic sneer of an ideal manhood already sat upon his
lips.  His hat was tipped with an air of challenge over his eye.
Between his teeth, a cigar stump was tilted at the angle of defiance.
He walked with a certain swing of the shoulders which appalled the
timid.  He glanced over into the vacant lot in which the little raving
boys from Devil's Row seethed about the shrieking and tearful child
from Rum Alley.

"Gee!" he murmured with interest.  "A scrap.  Gee!"

He strode over to the cursing circle, swinging his shoulders in a
manner which denoted that he held victory in his fists.  He approached
at the back of one of the most deeply engaged of the Devil's Row
children.

"Ah, what deh hell," he said, and smote the deeply-engaged one on the
back of the head.  The little boy fell to the ground and gave a hoarse,
tremendous howl.  He scrambled to his feet, and perceiving, evidently,
the size of his assailant, ran quickly off, shouting alarms.  The
entire Devil's Row party followed him.  They came to a stand a short
distance away and yelled taunting oaths at the boy with the chronic
sneer.  The latter, momentarily, paid no attention to them.

"What deh hell, Jimmie?" he asked of the small champion.

Jimmie wiped his blood-wet features with his sleeve.

"Well, it was dis way, Pete, see!  I was goin' teh lick dat Riley kid
and dey all pitched on me."

Some Rum Alley children now came forward.  The party stood for a moment
exchanging vainglorious remarks with Devil's Row.  A few stones were
thrown at long distances, and words of challenge passed between small
warriors.  Then the Rum Alley contingent turned slowly in the direction
of their home street.  They began to give, each to each, distorted
versions of the fight.  Causes of retreat in particular cases were
magnified.  Blows dealt in the fight were enlarged to catapultian
power, and stones thrown were alleged to have hurtled with infinite
accuracy.  Valor grew strong again, and the little boys began to swear
with great spirit.

"Ah, we blokies kin lick deh hull damn Row," said a child, swaggering.

Little Jimmie was striving to stanch the flow of blood from his cut
lips.  Scowling, he turned upon the speaker.

"Ah, where deh hell was yeh when I was doin' all deh fightin?" he
demanded.  "Youse kids makes me tired."

"Ah, go ahn," replied the other argumentatively.

Jimmie replied with heavy contempt.  "Ah, youse can't fight, Blue
Billie!  I kin lick yeh wid one han'."

"Ah, go ahn," replied Billie again.

"Ah," said Jimmie threateningly.

"Ah," said the other in the same tone.

They struck at each other, clinched, and rolled over on the cobble
stones.

"Smash 'im, Jimmie, kick deh damn guts out 
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PG #: 10947
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10947



"Good-mornin', sir."

Elder Brown leaned over the little pine picket which divided the
bookkeepers' department of a Macon warehouse from the room in general,
and surveyed the well-dressed back of a gentleman who was busily
figuring at a desk within. The apartment was carpetless, and the dust
of a decade lay deep on the old books, shelves, and the familiar
advertisements of guano and fertilizers which decorated the room. An
old stove, rusty with the nicotine contributed by farmers during the
previous season while waiting by its glowing sides for their cotton to
be sold, stood straight up in a bed of sand, and festoons of cobwebs
clung to the upper sashes of the murky windows. The lower sash of one
window had been raised, and in the yard without, nearly an acre in
extent, lay a few bales of cotton, with jagged holes in their ends,
just as the sampler had left them. Elder Brown had time to notice all
these familiar points, for the figure at the desk kept serenely at its
task, and deigned no reply.

"Good-mornin', sir," said Elder Brown again, in his most dignified
tones. "Is Mr. Thomas in?"

"Good-morning, sir," said the figure. "I'll wait on you in a minute."
The minute passed, and four more joined it. Then the desk man turned.

"Well, sir, what can I do for you?"

The elder was not in the best of humor when he arrived, and his state
of mind had not improved. He waited full a minute as he surveyed the
man of business.

"I thought I mout be able to make some arrangements with you to git
some money, but I reckon I was mistaken." The warehouse man came
nearer.

"This is Mr. Brown, I believe. I did not recognize you at once. You
are not in often to see us."

"No; my wife usually 'tends to the town bizness, while I run the
church and farm. Got a fall from my donkey this morning," he said,
noticing a quizzical, interrogating look upon the face before him,
"and fell squar' on the hat." He made a pretense of smoothing it. The
man of business had already lost interest.

"How much money will you want, Mr. Brown?"

"Well, about seven hundred dollars," said the elder, replacing his
hat, and turning a furtive look upon the warehouse man. The other was
tapping with his pencil upon the little shelf lying across the rail.

"I can get you five hundred."

"But I oughter have seven."

"Can't arrange for that amount. Wait till later in the season, and
come again. Money is very tight now. How much cotton will you raise?"

"Well, I count on a hundr'd bales. An' you can't git the sev'n hundr'd
dollars?"

"Like to oblige you, but can't right now; will fix it for you later
on."

"Well," said the elder, slowly, "fix up the papers for five, an' I'll
make it go as far as possible."

The papers were drawn. A note was made out for $552.50, for the
interest was at one and a half per cent. for seven months, and a
mortgage on ten mules belonging to the elder was drawn and signed. The
elder then promised to send his cotton to the warehouse to be sold in
the fall, and with a curt "Anything else?" and a "Thankee, that's
all," the two parted.

Elder Brown now made an effort to recall the supplemental commissions
shouted to him upon his departure, intending to execute them first,
and then take his written list item by item. His mental resolves had
just reached this point when a new thought made itself known.
Passersby were puzzled to see the old man suddenly snatch his
headpiece off and peer with an intent and awestruck air into its
irregular caverns. Some of them were shocked when he suddenly and
vigorously ejaculated:

"Hannah-Maria-Jemimy! goldarn an' blue blazes!"

He had suddenly remembered having placed his memoranda in that hat,
and as he studied its empty depths his mind pictured the important
scrap fluttering along the sandy scene of his early-morning tumble. It
was this that caused him to graze an oath with less margin that he had
allowed himself in twenty years. What would the old lady say?

Alas! Elder Brown knew too well. What she would not say was what
puzzled him. But as he stood bareheaded in the sunlight a sense of
utter desolation came and dwelt with him. His eye rested upon sleeping
Balaam anchored to a post in the street, and so as he recalled the
treachery that lay at the base of all his affliction, gloom was added
to the desolation.

To turn back and search for the lost paper would have been worse than
useless. Only one course was open to him, and at it went the leader of
his people. He called at the grocery; he invaded the recesses of the
dry-goods establishments; he ransacked the hardware stores; and
wherever he went he made life a burden for the clerks, overhauling
show-cases and pulling down whole shelves of stock. Occasionally an
item of his memoranda would come to light, and thrusting his hand into
his capacious pocket, where lay the proceeds of his check, he would
pay for it upon the spot, and insist upon having it rolled up. To the
suggestion of the slave whom he had in charge for the time being that
the articles b
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PG #: 14209
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14209


COPYRIGHT 1912

ORIGINALLY PUBLISHED BY

THE YOGI PUBLICATION SOCIETY
MASONIC TEMPLE
CHICAGO, ILLINOIS

ISBN 0 911662-25-1


TO
HERMES TRISMEGISTUS


KNOWN BY THE ANCIENT
EGYPTIANS AS

"THE GREAT GREAT"
AND
"MASTER OF MASTERS"

THIS LITTLE VOLUME OF HERMETIC TEACHING
IS REVERENTLY DEDICATED



Table of Contents

  I.    The Hermetic Philosophy
  II.   The Seven Hermetic Principles
        1.  The Principle of Mentalism
        2.  The Principle of Correspondence
        3.  The Principle of Vibration
        4.  The Principle of Polarity
        5.  The Principle of Rhythm
        6.  The Principle of Cause and Effect
        7.  The Principle of Gender
  III.  Mental Transmutation
  IV.   The All
  V.    The Mental Universe
  VI.   The Divine Paradox
  VII.  "The All" in All
  VIII. Planes of Correspondence
  IX.   Vibration
  X.    Polarity
  XI.   Rhythm
  XII.  Causation
  XIII. Gender
  XIV.  Mental Gender
  XV.   Hermetic Axioms



INTRODUCTION

We take great pleasure in presenting to the attention of students and
investigators of the Secret Doctrines this little work based upon the
world-old Hermetic Teachings. There has been so little written upon this
subject, not withstanding the countless references to the Teachings in
the many works upon occultism, that the many earnest searchers after the
Arcane Truths will doubtless welcome the appearance of this present
volume.

The purpose of this work is not the enunciation of any special
philosophy or doctrine, but rather is to give to the students a
statement of the Truth that will serve to reconcile the many bits of
occult knowledge that they may have acquired, but which are apparently
opposed to each other and which often serve to discourage and disgust
the beginner in the study. Our intent is not to erect a new Temple of
Knowledge, but rather to place in the hands of the student a Master-Key
with which he may open the many inner doors in the Temple of Mystery
through the main portals he has already entered.

There is no portion of the occult teachings possessed by the world which
have been so closely guarded as the fragments of the Hermetic Teachings
which have come down to us over the tens of centuries which have elapsed
since the lifetime of its great founder, Hermes Trismegistus, the
"scribe of the gods," who dwelt in old Egypt in the days when the
present race of men was in its infancy. Contemporary with Abraham, and,
if the legends be true, an instructor of that venerable sage, Hermes
was, and is, the Great Central Sun of Occultism, whose rays have served
to illumine the countless teachings which have been promulgated since
his time. All the fundamental and basic teachings embedded in the
esoteric teachings of every race may be traced back to Hermes. Even the
most ancient teachings of India undoubtedly have their roots in the
original Hermetic Teachings.

From the land of the Ganges many advanced occultists wandered to the
land of Egypt, and sat at the feet of the Master. From him they obtained
the Master-Key which explained and reconciled their divergent views, and
thus the Secret Doctrine was firmly established. From other lands also
came the learned ones, all of whom regarded Hermes as the Master of
Masters, and his influence was so great that in spite of the many
wanderings from the path on the part of the centuries of teachers in
these different lands, there may still be found a certain basic
resemblance and correspondence which underlies the many and often quite
divergent theories entertained and taught by the occultists of these
different lands today. The student of Comparative Religions will be able
to perceive the influence of the Hermetic Teachings in every religion
worthy of the name, now known to man, whether it be a dead religion or
one in full vigor in our own times. There is always certain
correspondence in spite of the contradictory features, and the Hermetic
Teachings act as the Great Reconciler.

The lifework of Hermes seems to have been in the direction of planting
the great Seed-Truth which has grown and blossomed in so many strange
forms, rather than to establish a school of philosophy which would
dominate, the world's thought. But, nevertheless, the original truths
taught by him have been kept intact in their original purity by a few
men each age, who, refusing great numbers of half-developed students and
followers, followed the Hermetic custom and reserved their truth for the
few who were ready to comprehend and master it. From lip to ear the
truth has been handed down among the few. There have always been a few
Initiates in each generation, in the various lands of the earth, who
kept alive the sacred flame of the Hermetic Teachings, and such have
always been willing to use their lamps to re-light the lesser lamps of
the outside world, when the light of truth grew dim, and clouded by
reason of neglect, and when the wicks became clogged with foreign
matter. There were always a few to tend faithfully the altar of the
Truth, u
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The Nellie, a cruising yawl, swung to her anchor without a flutter of
the sails, and was at rest. The flood had made, the wind was nearly
calm, and being bound down the river, the only thing for it was to come
to and wait for the turn of the tide.

The sea-reach of the Thames stretched before us like the beginning of
an interminable waterway. In the offing the sea and the sky were welded
together without a joint, and in the luminous space the tanned sails
of the barges drifting up with the tide seemed to stand still in red
clusters of canvas sharply peaked, with gleams of varnished sprits. A
haze rested on the low shores that ran out to sea in vanishing flatness.
The air was dark above Gravesend, and farther back still seemed
condensed into a mournful gloom, brooding motionless over the biggest,
and the greatest, town on earth.

The Director of Companies was our captain and our host. We four
affectionately watched his back as he stood in the bows looking to
seaward. On the whole river there was nothing that looked half so
nautical. He resembled a pilot, which to a seaman is trustworthiness
personified. It was difficult to realize his work was not out there in
the luminous estuary, but behind him, within the brooding gloom.

Between us there was, as I have already said somewhere, the bond of
the sea. Besides holding our hearts together through long periods of
separation, it had the effect of making us tolerant of each other's
yarns--and even convictions. The Lawyer--the best of old fellows--had,
because of his many years and many virtues, the only cushion on deck,
and was lying on the only rug. The Accountant had brought out already a
box of dominoes, and was toying architecturally with the bones. Marlow
sat cross-legged right aft, leaning against the mizzen-mast. He had
sunken cheeks, a yellow complexion, a straight back, an ascetic aspect,
and, with his arms dropped, the palms of hands outwards, resembled an
idol. The Director, satisfied the anchor had good hold, made his way
aft and sat down amongst us. We exchanged a few words lazily. Afterwards
there was silence on board the yacht. For some reason or other we did
not begin that game of dominoes. We felt meditative, and fit for nothing
but placid staring. The day was ending in a serenity of still and
exquisite brilliance. The water shone pacifically; the sky, without a
speck, was a benign immensity of unstained light; the very mist on the
Essex marshes was like a gauzy and radiant fabric, hung from the wooded
rises inland, and draping the low shores in diaphanous folds. Only the
gloom to the west, brooding over the upper reaches, became more somber
every minute, as if angered by the approach of the sun.

And at last, in its curved and imperceptible fall, the sun sank low, and
from glowing white changed to a dull red without rays and without heat,
as if about to go out suddenly, stricken to death by the touch of that
gloom brooding over a crowd of men.

Forthwith a change came over the waters, and the serenity became less
brilliant but more profound. The old river in its broad reach rested
unruffled at the decline of day, after ages of good service done to the
race that peopled its banks, spread out in the tranquil dignity of a
waterway leading to the uttermost ends of the earth. We looked at the
venerable stream not in the vivid flush of a short day that comes and
departs for ever, but in the august light of abiding memories. And
indeed nothing is easier for a man who has, as the phrase goes,
"followed the sea" with reverence and affection, than to evoke the
great spirit of the past upon the lower reaches of the Thames. The tidal
current runs to and fro in its unceasing service, crowded with memories
of men and ships it had borne to the rest of home or to the battles
of the sea. It had known and served all the men of whom the nation is
proud, from Sir Francis Drake to Sir John Franklin, knights all, titled
and untitled--the great knights-errant of the sea. It had borne all the
ships whose names are like jewels flashing in the night of time, from
the Golden Hind returning with her round flanks full of treasure, to be
visited by the Queen's Highness and thus pass out of the gigantic tale,
to the Erebus and Terror, bound on other conquests--and that never
returned. It had known the ships and the men. They had sailed from
Deptford, from Greenwich, from Erith--the adventurers and the settlers;
kings' ships and the ships of men on 'Change; captains, admirals, the
dark "interlopers" of the Eastern trade, and the commissioned "generals"
of East India fleets. Hunters for gold or pursuers of fame, they all
had gone out on that stream, bearing the sword, and often the torch,
messengers of the might within the land, bearers of a spark from the
sacred fire. What greatness had not floated on the ebb of that river
into the mystery of an unknown earth! . . . The dreams of men, the seed
of commonwealths, the germs of empires.

The sun set; the dusk fell on the stream, a
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CONTENTS.




CHAPTER I. GENERAL REMARKS

CHAPTER II. WHAT UTILITARIANISM IS

CHAPTER III. OF THE ULTIMATE SANCTION OF THE PRINCIPLE OF UTILITY

CHAPTER IV. OF WHAT SORT OF PROOF THE PRINCIPLE OF UTILITY IS
SUSCEPTIBLE

CHAPTER V. OF THE CONNEXION BETWEEN JUSTICE AND UTILITY




UTILITARIANISM.






GENERAL REMARKS.

There are few circumstances among those which make up the present
condition of human knowledge, more unlike what might have been expected,
or more significant of the backward state in which speculation on the
most important subjects still lingers, than the little progress which
has been made in the decision of the controversy respecting the
criterion of right and wrong. From the dawn of philosophy, the question
concerning the _summum bonum_, or, what is the same thing, concerning
the foundation of morality, has been accounted the main problem in
speculative thought, has occupied the most gifted intellects, and
divided them into sects and schools, carrying on a vigorous warfare
against one another. And after more than two thousand years the same
discussions continue, philosophers are still ranged under the same
contending banners, and neither thinkers nor mankind at large seem
nearer to being unanimous on the subject, than when the youth Socrates
listened to the old Protagoras, and asserted (if Plato's dialogue be
grounded on a real conversation) the theory of utilitarianism against
the popular morality of the so-called sophist.

It is true that similar confusion and uncertainty, and in some cases
similar discordance, exist respecting the first principles of all the
sciences, not excepting that which is deemed the most certain of them,
mathematics; without much impairing, generally indeed without impairing
at all, the trustworthiness of the conclusions of those sciences. An
apparent anomaly, the explanation of which is, that the detailed
doctrines of a science are not usually deduced from, nor depend for
their evidence upon, what are called its first principles. Were it not
so, there would be no science more precarious, or whose conclusions were
more insufficiently made out, than algebra; which derives none of its
certainty from what are commonly taught to learners as its elements,
since these, as laid down by some of its most eminent teachers, are as
full of fictions as English law, and of mysteries as theology. The
truths which are ultimately accepted as the first principles of a
science, are really the last results of metaphysical analysis, practised
on the elementary notions with which the science is conversant; and
their relation to the science is not that of foundations to an edifice,
but of roots to a tree, which may perform their office equally well
though they be never dug down to and exposed to light. But though in
science the particular truths precede the general theory, the contrary
might be expected to be the case with a practical art, such as morals or
legislation. All action is for the sake of some end, and rules of
action, it seems natural to suppose, must take their whole character
and colour from the end to which they are subservient. When we engage in
a pursuit, a clear and precise conception of what we are pursuing would
seem to be the first thing we need, instead of the last we are to look
forward to. A test of right and wrong must be the means, one would
think, of ascertaining what is right or wrong, and not a consequence of
having already ascertained it.

The difficulty is not avoided by having recourse to the popular theory
of a natural faculty, a sense or instinct, informing us of right and
wrong. For--besides that the existence of such a moral instinct is
itself one of the matters in dispute--those believers in it who have any
pretensions to philosophy, have been obliged to abandon the idea that it
discerns what is right or wrong in the particular case in hand, as our
other senses discern the sight or sound actually present. Our moral
faculty, according to all those of its interpreters who are entitled to
the name of thinkers, supplies us only with the general principles of
moral judgments; it is a branch of our reason, not of our sensitive
faculty; and must be looked to for the abstract doctrines of morality,
not for perception of it in the concrete. The intuitive, no less than
what may be termed the inductive, school of ethics, insists on the
necessity of general laws. They both agree that the morality of an
individual action is not a question of direct perception, but of the
application of a law to an individual case. They recognise also, to a
great extent, the same moral laws; but differ as to their evidence, and
the source from which they derive their authority. According to the one
opinion, the principles of morals are evident _à priori_, requiring
nothing to command assent, except that the meaning of the terms be
understood. According to the other doctrine, right and wrong, as well as
truth and falsehood, are questions of observation and experience. But
both
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 18735
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/18735

Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net









                           [Illustration: ]


                          THE LITTLE RED HEN


                            An Old English

                               Folk Tale


                                Retold

                                 and

                             Illustrated


                                  by

                       FLORENCE WHITE WILLIAMS




                                 The

                     SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY

                   CHICAGO - AKRON, OHIO - NEW YORK

                         PRINTED IN U. S. A.

                           [Illustration: ]

                           COPYRIGHT, 1918

                                  BY

                   THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY

       *       *       *       *       *




The Little Red Hen

[Illustration: ]

A Little Red Hen lived in a barnyard. She spent almost all of her time
walking about the barnyard in her picketty-pecketty fashion,
scratching everywhere for worms.

[Illustration: ]

[Illustration: ]

She dearly loved fat, delicious worms and felt they were absolutely
necessary to the health of her children. As often as she found a worm
she would call "Chuck-chuck-chuck!" to her chickies.

[Illustration: ]

[Illustration: ]

When they were gathered about her, she would distribute choice morsels
of her tid-bit. A busy little body was she!

[Illustration: ]

A cat usually napped lazily in the barn door, not even bothering
herself to scare the rat who ran here and there as he pleased. And as
for the pig who lived in the sty--he did not care what happened so
long as he could eat and grow fat.

[Illustration: ]

One day the Little Red Hen found a Seed. It was a Wheat Seed, but the
Little Red Hen was so accustomed to bugs and worms that she supposed
this to be some new and perhaps very delicious kind of meat. She bit
it gently and found that it resembled a worm in no way whatsoever as
to taste although because it was long and slender, a Little Red Hen
might easily be fooled by its appearance.

[Illustration: ]

[Illustration: ]

[Illustration: ]

Carrying it about, she made many inquiries as to what it might be. She
found it was a Wheat Seed and that, if planted, it would grow up and
when ripe it could be made into flour and then into bread.

[Illustration: ]

When she discovered that, she knew it ought to be planted. She was so
busy hunting food for herself and her family that, naturally, she
thought she ought not to take time to plant it.

[Illustration: ]

[Illustration: ]

So she thought of the Pig--upon whom time must hang heavily and of the
Cat who had nothing to do, and of the great fat Rat with his idle
hours, and she called loudly:

[Illustration: ]

"Who will plant the Seed?"

[Illustration: ]

But the Pig said, "Not I," and the Cat said, "Not I," and the Rat
said, "Not I."

[Illustration]

"Well, then," said the Little Red Hen, "I will."

And she did.

[Illustration: ]

[Illustration: ]

Then she went on with her daily duties through the long summer days,
scratching for worms and feeding her chicks, while the Pig grew fat,
and the Cat grew fat, and the Rat grew fat, and the Wheat grew tall
and ready for harvest.

[Illustration: ]

[Illustration: ]

So one day the Little Red Hen chanced to notice how large the Wheat
was and that the grain was ripe, so she ran about calling briskly:
"Who will cut the Wheat?"

The Pig said, "Not I," the Cat said, "Not I," and the Rat said, "Not
I."

[Illustration: ]

"Well, then," said the Little Red Hen, "I will."

And she did.

[Illustration: ]

She got the sickle from among the farmer's tools in the barn and
proceeded to cut off all of the big plant of Wheat.

On the ground lay the nicely cut Wheat, ready to be gathered and
threshed, but the newest and yellowest and downiest of Mrs. Hen's
chicks set up a "peep-peep-peeping" in their most vigorous fashion,
proclaiming to the world at large, but most particularly to their
mother, that she was neglecting them.

[Illustration: ]

[Illustration: ]

Poor Little Red Hen! She felt quite bewildered and hardly knew where
to turn.

Her attention was sorely divided between her duty to her children and
her duty to the Wheat, for which she felt responsible.

So, again, in a very hopeful tone, she called out, "Who will thresh
the Wheat?"

But the Pig, with a grunt, said, "Not I,"
and the Cat, with a meow, said, "Not I," and
the Rat, with a squeak, said, "Not I."

So the Little Red Hen, looking, it must be admitted, rather
discouraged, said, "Well, I will, then."

And she did.

Of course, she had to feed her babies first, though, and when she had
gotten them all to sleep for their afternoon nap, she went out and
threshed the Wheat. Then she called out: "Who will carry the Wheat to
the mill to be ground?"

[Illustration: ]

Turning their backs with snippy glee,
that Pig said, "Not I,"

[Illustration: ]

[Illustration: ]

[Illustration: ]

[Il
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 71
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/71

On the Duty of Civil Disobedience

 by Henry David Thoreau


 1849, original title: Resistance to Civil Government



I heartily accept the motto,—“That government is best which governs
least;” and I should like to see it acted up to more rapidly and
systematically. Carried out, it finally amounts to this, which also I
believe—“That government is best which governs not at all;” and when
men are prepared for it, that will be the kind of government which they
will have. Government is at best but an expedient; but most governments
are usually, and all governments are sometimes, inexpedient. The
objections which have been brought against a standing army, and they
are many and weighty, and deserve to prevail, may also at last be
brought against a standing government. The standing army is only an arm
of the standing government. The government itself, which is only the
mode which the people have chosen to execute their will, is equally
liable to be abused and perverted before the people can act through it.
Witness the present Mexican war, the work of comparatively a few
individuals using the standing government as their tool; for, in the
outset, the people would not have consented to this measure.

This American government,—what is it but a tradition, though a recent
one, endeavoring to transmit itself unimpaired to posterity, but each
instant losing some of its integrity? It has not the vitality and force
of a single living man; for a single man can bend it to his will. It is
a sort of wooden gun to the people themselves; and, if ever they should
use it in earnest as a real one against each other, it will surely
split. But it is not the less necessary for this; for the people must
have some complicated machinery or other, and hear its din, to satisfy
that idea of government which they have. Governments show thus how
successfully men can be imposed on, even impose on themselves, for
their own advantage. It is excellent, we must all allow; yet this
government never of itself furthered any enterprise, but by the
alacrity with which it got out of its way. _It_ does not keep the
country free. _It_ does not settle the West. _It_ does not educate. The
character inherent in the American people has done all that has been
accomplished; and it would have done somewhat more, if the government
had not sometimes got in its way. For government is an expedient, by
which men would fain succeed in letting one another alone; and, as has
been said, when it is most expedient, the governed are most let alone
by it. Trade and commerce, if they were not made of India rubber, would
never manage to bounce over obstacles which legislators are continually
putting in their way; and, if one were to judge these men wholly by the
effects of their actions, and not partly by their intentions, they
would deserve to be classed and punished with those mischievous persons
who put obstructions on the railroads.

But, to speak practically and as a citizen, unlike those who call
themselves no-government men, I ask for, not at once no government, but
_at once_ a better government. Let every man make known what kind of
government would command his respect, and that will be one step toward
obtaining it.

After all, the practical reason why, when the power is once in the
hands of the people, a majority are permitted, and for a long period
continue, to rule, is not because they are most likely to be in the
right, nor because this seems fairest to the minority, but because they
are physically the strongest. But a government in which the majority
rule in all cases can not be based on justice, even as far as men
understand it. Can there not be a government in which the majorities do
not virtually decide right and wrong, but conscience?—in which
majorities decide only those questions to which the rule of expediency
is applicable? Must the citizen ever for a moment, or in the least
degree, resign his conscience to the legislator? Why has every man a
conscience, then? I think that we should be men first, and subjects
afterward. It is not desirable to cultivate a respect for the law, so
much as for the right. The only obligation which I have a right to
assume, is to do at any time what I think right. It is truly enough
said that a corporation has no conscience; but a corporation of
conscientious men is a corporation _with_ a conscience. Law never made
men a whit more just; and, by means of their respect for it, even the
well-disposed are daily made the agents of injustice. A common and
natural result of an undue respect for the law is, that you may see a
file of soldiers, colonel, captain, corporal, privates, powder-monkeys
and all, marching in admirable order over hill and dale to the wars,
against their wills, aye, against their common sense and consciences,
which makes it very steep marching indeed, and produces a palpitation
of the heart. They have no doubt that it is a damnable business in
which they are concerned; they are all peaceably inclined. Now, what
ar
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 201
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/201

Flatland:  A Romance of Many Dimensions

Edwin A. Abbott (1838-1926.  English scholar, theologian, and writer.)



  -----------------------------------------------------------------
  |        "O day and night, but this is wondrous strange"        |
  |        ______                                                 |
  |       /       /     /|   ------  /     /|      /|    /  /-.   |
  |     /----   /     /__|    /    /     /__|    /  |  /  /   /   |
  |   /       /___  /    |  /    /___  /    |  /    |/  /__.-'    |
  |                                                               |
  | No Dimensions                                  One Dimension  |
  |       .         A ROMANCE OF MANY DIMENSIONS       -----      |
  |   POINTLAND                                      LINELAND     |
  |                                                               |
  | Two Dimensions                               Three Dimensions |
  |      ___                                             __       |
  |     |   |                                          /__/|      |
  |     |___|                                         |__|/       |
  |   FLATLAND                                       SPACELAND    |
  |          "Fie, fie, how franticly I square my talk!"          |
  -----------------------------------------------------------------

With Illustrations by the Author, A SQUARE (Edwin A. Abbott)






                                  To
                  The Inhabitants of SPACE IN GENERAL
                        And H. C. IN PARTICULAR
                        This Work is Dedicated
                    By a Humble Native of Flatland
                           In the Hope that
              Even as he was Initiated into the Mysteries
                          Of THREE Dimensions
                   Having been previously conversant
                             With ONLY TWO
               So the Citizens of that Celestial Region
                   May aspire yet higher and higher
          To the Secrets of FOUR FIVE OR EVEN SIX Dimensions
                         Thereby contributing
                 To the Enlargement of THE IMAGINATION
                     And the possible Development
            Of that most rare and excellent Gift of MODESTY
                       Among the Superior Races
                           Of SOLID HUMANITY






Preface to the Second and Revised Edition, 1884.

By the Editor



If my poor Flatland friend retained the vigour of mind which he enjoyed
when he began to compose these Memoirs, I should not now need to
represent him in this preface, in which he desires, firstly, to return
his thanks to his readers and critics in Spaceland, whose appreciation
has, with unexpected celerity, required a second edition of his work;
secondly, to apologize for certain errors and misprints (for which,
however, he is not entirely responsible); and, thirdly, to explain one
or two misconceptions.  But he is not the Square he once was.  Years of
imprisonment, and the still heavier burden of general incredulity and
mockery, have combined with the natural decay of old age to erase from
his mind many of the thoughts and notions, and much also of the
terminology, which he acquired during his short stay in Spaceland.  He
has, therefore, requested me to reply in his behalf to two special
objections, one of an intellectual, the other of a moral nature.

The first objection is, that a Flatlander, seeing a Line, sees
something that must be THICK to the eye as well as LONG to the eye
(otherwise it would not be visible, if it had not some thickness); and
consequently he ought (it is argued) to acknowledge that his countrymen
are not only long and broad, but also (though doubtless in a very
slight degree) THICK or HIGH.  This objection is plausible, and, to
Spacelanders, almost irresistible, so that, I confess, when I first
heard it, I knew not what to reply.  But my poor old friend's answer
appears to me completely to meet it.

"I admit," said he--when I mentioned to him this objection--"I admit
the truth of your critic's facts, but I deny his conclusions.  It is
true that we have really in Flatland a Third unrecognized Dimension
called 'height', just as it is also true that you have really in
Spaceland a Fourth unrecognized Dimension, called by no name at
present, but which I will call 'extra-height'.  But we can no more take
cognizance of our 'height' than you can of your 'extra-height'.  Even
I--who have been in Spaceland, and have had the privilege of
understanding for twenty-four hours the meaning of 'height'--even I
cannot now comprehend it, nor realize it by the sense of sight or by
any process of reason; I can but apprehend it by faith.

"The reason is obvious.  Dimension implies direction, implies
measurement, implies the more and the less.  Now, all our lines are
EQUALLY and INFINITESIMALLY thick (or high, whichever you like);
consequently, there is nothing in them to lead our minds to the
conception of that Dimen
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 22657
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/22657

STEAM

ITS GENERATION AND USE

[Illustration]

THE BABCOCK & WILCOX CO.
NEW YORK




Thirty-fifth Edition

4th Issue

Copyright, 1919, by The Babcock & Wilcox Co.

       *       *       *       *       *

Bartlett Orr Press

New York




THE BABCOCK & WILCOX CO.

85 LIBERTY STREET, NEW YORK, U. S. A.

_Works_

BAYONNE   NEW JERSEY
BARBERTON       OHIO

_Officers_

W. D. HOXIE, _President_
E. H. WELLS, _Chairman of the Board_
A. G. PRATT, _Vice-President_

_Branch Offices_

ATLANTA                                                 Candler Building
BOSTON                                                 35 Federal Street
CHICAGO                                               Marquette Building
CINCINNATI                                             Traction Building
CLEVELAND                                          New Guardian Building
DENVER                                            435 Seventeenth Street
HAVANA, CUBA                                         104 Calle de Aguiar
HOUSTON                                        Southern Pacific Building
LOS ANGELES                                     I. N. Van Nuy's Building
NEW ORLEANS                                               Shubert Arcade
PHILADELPHIA                                     North American Building
PITTSBURGH                                Farmers' Deposit Bank Building
SALT LAKE CITY                                           Kearns Building
SAN FRANCISCO                                           Sheldon Building
SEATTLE                                             L. C. Smith Building
TUCSON, ARIZ.                                  Santa Rita Hotel Building
SAN JUAN, PORTO RICO                                 Royal Bank Building

_Export Department, New York: Alberto de Verastegni, Director_

TELEGRAPHIC ADDRESS: FOR NEW YORK, "GLOVEBOXES"
FOR HAVANA, "BABCOCK"

[Illustration: Works of The Babcock & Wilcox Co., at Bayonne, New Jersey]

[Illustration: Works of The Babcock & Wilcox Co., at Barberton, Ohio]

[Illustration: Works of Babcock & Wilcox, Limited, Renfrew, SCOTLAND]




BABCOCK & WILCOX Limited

ORIEL HOUSE, FARRINGDON STREET, LONDON, E. C.
WORKS: RENFREW, SCOTLAND

_Directors_

JOHN DEWRANCE, _Chairman_       CHARLES A. KNIGHT
ARTHUR T. SIMPSON               J. H. R. KEMNAL
WILLIAM D. HOXIE                              _Managing Director_
E. H. WELLS                     WALTER COLLS, _Secretary_

_Branch Offices in Great Britain_

GLASGOW: 29 St. Vincent Place
BIRMINGHAM: Winchester House
CARDIFF: 129 Bute Street
BELFAST: Ocean Buildings, Donegal Square, E.
MANCHESTER: 30 Cross Street
MIDDLESBROUGH: The Exchange
NEWCASTLE: 42 Westgate Road
SHEFFIELD: 14 Bank Chambers, Fargate

_Offices Abroad_

BOMBAY: Wheeler's Building, Hornby Road, Fort
BRUSSELS: 187 Rue Royal
BILBAO: 1 Plaza de Albia
CALCUTTA: Clive Building
JOHANNESBURG: Consolidated Buildings
LIMA: Peru
LISBON: 84-86 Rua do Commercio
MADRID: Ventura de la Vega
MELBOURNE: 9 William Street
MEXICO: 22-23 Tiburcio
MILAN: 22 Via Principe Umberto
MONTREAL: College Street, St. Henry
NAPLES: 107 Via Santa Lucia
SHANGHAI: 1a Jinkee Road
SYDNEY: 427-429 Sussex Street
TOKYO: Japan
TORONTO: Traders' Bank Building

_Representatives and Licensees in_

ADELAIDE, South Australia
ATHENS, Greece
AUCKLAND, New Zealand
BAHIA, Brazil
BANGKOK, Siam
BARCELONA, Spain
BRUNN, Austria
BUCHAREST, Roumania
BUDAPEST, Hungary
BUENOS AYRES, Argentine Rep.
CAIRO, Egypt
CHILE, Valparaiso, So. America
CHRISTIANIA, Norway
COLOMBO, Ceylon
COPENHAGEN, Denmark
ESKILSTUNA, Sweden
GIJON, Spain
HELSINGFORS, Finland
HENGELO, Holland
KIMBERLEY, South Africa
MOSCOW, Russia
PERTH, Western Australia
POLAND, Berlin
RANGOON, Burma
RIO DE JANEIRO, Brazil
SMYRNA, Asia Minor
SOURABAYA, Java
ST. PETERSBURG, Russia
TAMMERFORS, Finland
THE HAGUE, Holland

TELEGRAPHIC ADDRESS FOR ALL OFFICES EXCEPT BOMBAY AND CALCUTTA: "BABCOCK"
FOR BOMBAY AND CALCUTTA: "BOILER"

[Illustration: Fonderies et Ateliers de la Courneuve, Chaudières Babcock
& Wilcox, Paris, France]




FONDERIES ET ATELIERS DE LA COURNEUVE
CHAUDIÈRES

BABCOCK & WILCOX

6 RUE LAFERRIÈRE, PARIS

WORKS: SEINE--LA COURNEUVE

_Directors_

EDMOND DUPUIS         J. H. R. KEMNAL
ETIENNE BESSON        IRÉNÉE CHAVANNE
CHARLES A. KNIGHT     JULES LEMAIRE

_Branch Offices_

BORDEAUX: 30 Boulevard Antoine Gautier
LILLE: 23 Rue Faidherbe
LYON: 28 Quai de la Guillotier
MARSEILLE: 21 Cours Devilliers
MONTPELLIER: 1 Rue Boussairolles
NANCY: 2 Rue de Lorraine
ST. ETIENNE: 13 Rue de la Bourse

REPRESENTATIVE FOR SWITZERLAND: SPOERRI & CIE, ZURICH

TELEGRAPHIC ADDRESS: "BABCOCK-PARIS"

[Illustration: Wrought-steel Vertical Header Longitudinal Drum
Babcock & Wilcox Boiler, Equipped with Babcock & Wilcox Superheater and
Babcock & Wilcox Chain Grate Stoker]




THE EARLY HISTORY OF THE GENERATION AND USE OF STEAM


While the time of man's first knowledge and use of the expansive force
of the vapor of water is unknown, records show that such knowledge
existed earlier than 150 B. C. In a treatise of
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 20738
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/20738



Cab, n. [cab]
Cab, una especie de vehiculo.
Kab, kalesang inglés na tila rokabay.

Cabal, n. [cabál]
Cábala, sociedad de personas unidas para alguna conjuracion ó intriga.
Katipunan na may bantâ.

Cabal, v. [cabál]
Maquinar, tramar.
Magbantâ, mag-akalà ng isang laláng.

Cabbage, n. [cábedch]
Berza, repollo.
Repolyo.

Cabbage, v. [cábedch]
Cercenar, hurtar retazos.
Magtalop ng balat, umumit ng mga retaso.

Cabin, n. [cábin]
Cabaña, choza.
Dampâ, sálong, kubo.

Cabin, v. [cábin]
Vivir en cabaña ó choza.
Manahán sa dampâ.

Cabinet, n. [cábinet]
Gabinete, escritorio.
Mesang sulatan.

Cabinet-maker, n. [cábinet-méker]
Ebanista.
Manggagawà ng mga mesang sulatán.

Cable, n. [kébl]
Cable.
Kable pahatid-kawad.

Cablet, n. [kéblet]
Remolque.
Hila.

Caboose, n. [cabús]
El fogón ó cocina á bordo de un barco.
Ang kúsinaan sa sasakyang dagat.

Cacao, n. [kéco]
Cacao.
Kakáw.

Cackle, n. [cákl]
Cacareo.
Tilaok.

Cackle, v. [cákl]
Cacarear, graznar.
Tumilaok.

Cackler, n. [cákler]
Cacareador; chismoso.
Mapagtilaok; mapaghatid humapit.

Caco-demon, n. [caco-dímen]
Diablo.
Diablo.

Cad, adj. [cad]
Rústico, grosero.
Bastos.

Cadaver, a. [cadéver]
Cadaver.
Bangkáy.

Cadaverous, adj. [cadáveraes]
Cadavérico.
Mukhang patáy, parang patáy, maputlâ.

Caddy, n. [cádi]
Botecito.
Munting sisidlan.

Cade, adj. [ked]
Manso, domesticado, criado á la mano.
Maamò.

Cade, v. [ked]
Criar con blandura, mimar.
Paamuin, amuin.

Cadence, n. [kédens]
Cadencia, en la música ó en la poesía ó en las frases; caida,
declinación.
Pagkakatugmà sa tugtugin ó sa tulâ ó sa pananalitâ; kiling, hilig.

Cadence, v. [kédens]
Regular por medida música.
Itugmâ sa kumpas ng tugtog.

Cadet, n. [cadét]
Cadete de un cuerpo militar.
Kadete, ang nag-aaral ng pagpupunò sa mga sundalo ó kawal.

Cafe, n. [café]
Restaurant, fonda.
Restauran, ponda.

Cage, n. [kedch]
Jaula.
Hawla, kulungan.

Cage, v. [kedch]
Enjaular.
Isilid sa hawla; kulungin.

Caiman, n. [kéman]
Caiman.
Bwaya.

Cairn, n. [carn]
Monton de piedras.
Bunton ó salansan ng bató.

Caisson, n. [casóns]
Arcon ó cajón grande.
Malaking sisidlán.

Caitiff, n. [kétif]
Belitre, pícaro, ruin.
Hamak, bastos.

Cajole, v. [cadchól]
Lisonjear, adular.
Manuyâ, mamuri ng pakunwà.

Cajoler, n. [cadchóler]
Adulador, lisonjeador.
Mánunuya, mámumuri ng pakunwâ.

Cajolery, n. [cadchóleri]
Adulacion, lisonja.
Tuyâ, kunwang papuri.

Cake, n. [keík]
Bollo.
Keík.

Cake, v. [keík]
Endurecer.
Magpatigas.

Calamitous, adj. [calámitæs]
Calamitoso, miserable, infeliz.
Abâ, hidwâ, kahapis-hapis.

Calamity, n. [calámity]
Calamidad.
Sakunâ, kapahamakan.

Calcareous, adj. [calkéries]
Calcáreo.
Parang apog; may halong apog.

Calcine, v. [calsáin]
Calcinar, quemar.
Pumasò, sumunog.

Calculate, v. [cálkiulet]
Calcular.
Kumurò, tumasa.

Calculation, n. [calkiulécien]
Calculacion, cálculo.
Kurò, tasa.

Calculator, n. [calkiulétær]
Calculador.
Tagakurô, tagatasa.

Calculous, adj. [cálkiulos]
Pedregoso, arenoso.
Mabató, mabuhangin.

Calculus, n. [cálkiulæs]
Cálculo; piedra en la vejiga.
Kurò; bató sa loob ng pantog.

Caldron, n. [cáldræn]
Calderón, caldera grande.
Kawa, katingan.

Calendar, n. [cálendar]
Calendario ó almanaque..
Kalendaryo, almanake.

Calf, n. [caf]
Ternera; pantorrilla.
Guyang baka; bintî.

Caliber, n. [cáliber]
Calibre.
Kalibre.

Calid, adj. [cálid]
Caliente, ardiente.
Mainit.

Caligraphy, n. [calígrafi]
Caligrafía.
Karunungan sa pagtititik.

Calix, n. [cálics]
Caliz ó campanilla.
Balat ng bulaklak.

Calk, v. [coc]
Calafatear un navio.
Pasakan ang sirà ng sasakyan sa tubig.

Calker, n. [cóker]
Calafate.
Tagapagpasak ng sirà ng sasakyan sa tubig.

Call, n. [col]
Llamada; visita.
Tawag; dalaw.

Call, v. [col]
Llamar, nombrar; visitar á uno.
Tumawag, magpangalan; dumalaw.

Caller, n. [cóler]
Llamador.
Ang tumawag.

Callet, n. [cálet]
Regañona, peliforra.
Magagalitín.

Calling, n. [cóling]
Profesion, vocacion.
Pagkabuhay, hilig.

Calligraphy, n. [calígrafi]
Caligrafía.
Karunugnan tungkol sa mabuting paninitik.

Callosity, n. [calósiti]
Callosidad.
Kalipakán, kalyo.

Callous, adj. [cáles]
Calloso.
Malipak, kinakalyo.

Callow, adj. [cálo]
Pelado, desplumado.
Walang balahibo, inalisan ng balahibo.

Callus, n. [cálæs]
Callo, dureza de alguna parte del cuerpo.
Lipak, kalyo.

Calm, n. [calm]
Calma, serenidad, sociego.
Katahimikan, kalamigan ng isip, hinahon, katiwasayan, kapalagayan
ng loob.

Calm, adj. [calm]
Quieto, tranquilo, sosegado.
Tahimik, mahinahon, tiwasay, palagay-loob.

Calm, v. [calm]
Calmar, tranquilizar, apaciguar.
Tumahimik, huminahon, tumiwasay, pumayapà, humimpil, humumpay.

Calmness, n. [cámnes]
Tranquilidad, calma.
Kapalagayan ng loob, kapanatagán, katahimikan, katiwasayán.

Calmy, adj. [cámi]
Tranquilo, pacífico.
Panatag, palagay-loob tiwasay.

Caloric, n. [calóric]
Calórico.
Nahihinggil sa init.

Calorific, adj. [calorífic]
Calorífico.
Nauukol sa init.

Calumniate, v. [calámniet]
Calumniar.
Magbintang, bintangan, magparatang.

Calumniation, n. [caloemniécien]
Calumnia.
Bintang, paratang.

Calumniator, n. [caloemnietoe
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 12849
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12849







CONTENTS



        List of Illustrations
        Introduction
   I.   Geographical Relations and History
  II.   Physical Type and Relationships
 III.   The Cycle of Life

            Birth
            Childhood
            Engagement and Marriage
            Death and Burial
            The Layog

  IV.   Religion and Magic
   V.   The Ceremonies

            1. The Minor Ceremonies
            2. The Great Ceremonies
            3. Special Ceremonies

  VI.   Social Organization. Government. The Village
 VII.   Warfare, Hunting, and Fishing
VIII.   Economic Life

            Rice Culture
            Cultivated Plants and Trees
            Wild Plants and Trees
            Plants and Trees Used in the Treatment of Disease
            Use of Betel-Nut, Tobacco, and Stimulants
            Domestic Animals

  IX.   Products of Industry

            Iron-Working
            Spinning and Weaving
            Manufacture of Rope and String
            Bark Cloth
            Basket Making
            Mats
            Dyes
            Net Making
            Manufacture of Pottery
            Pipe Making
            Method of Drying Hides

   X.   Decorative Art
  XI.   Personal Adornment, Dances, and Musical Instruments
 XII.   Music, By Albert Gale
        Conclusions





LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


Text-Figures

 1.   Child's Cradle and Jumper
 2.   Diagram of a Game
 3.   Cross Sections Showing Types of Graves
 4.   Ceremonial Paraphernalia
 5.   Household Objects
 6.   Spoons and Ladles
 7.   Types of Knives
 8.   Head-axes
 9.   Spears
10.   Shields
11.   Chicken Snare
12.   Bird Snares
13.   Fishing Devices
14.   Grass Knife; Root Adze; Rice Cutter
15.   Agricultural Implements
16.   Devices Used in Spinning and Weaving
17.   Rope-Making Appliances
18.   Bark Beater
19.   Basket Weaves
20.   Net Needle and Mesh Stick
21.   Tobacco-Pipes
22.   Designs on Pipes and Pottery
23.   Decorative Designs
24.   Patterns Used in Weaving
25.   Blanket Designs
26.   Musical Instruments



PLATES


Frontispiece: Map of Northwestern Luzon.
I.        The Province of Abra, Looking Inland from the Coast Range.
II.       Abra, Looking toward the Sea from the Top of the Cordillera
          Central.
III.      Manabo Man.
IV.       Man of Ba-ak.
V.        Manabo Woman.
VI.       Woman of Patok.
VII.      A Mountain Tinguian from Likuan.
VIII.     A Young Man from Likuan.
IX.       Girl from the Mountain Village of Lamaw (Photograph from
          Philippine Bureau of Science).
X.        A Woman from Lamaw (Photograph from Philippine Bureau
          of Science).
XI.       A Typical Small Boy (Photograph from Philippine Bureau
          of Science).
XII.      The Baby Tender.
XIII.     A Betrothed Maiden.
XIV.      The Wedding.
XV.       Mothers and Babies.
XVI.      Funeral of Malakay.
XVII.     The Whipping at a Funeral.
XVIII.    Inapapaiag. An Offering to the Spirits.
XIX.      The Medium's Outfit.
XX.       Ceremonial Houses.
XXI.      Balaua. The Greatest of the Spirit Structures.
XXII.     Spirit Houses in a Garden.
XXIII.    The Kalangan: A Spirit House; Second in Importance.
XXIV.     The Saloko. A Split Bamboo, in which Offerings are
          Placed. Ceremonies.
XXV.      The Saloko. A Spirit Bamboo, in which Offerings are Placed.
XXVI.     Ready to Launch the Spirit Raft on the River.
XXVII.    The Tangpap. An Important Spirit Structure.
XXVIII.   Gateway at Likuan.
XXIX.     Pottery Houses, for the Spirit of the Rice.
XXX.      A Medium Making an Offering to the Guardian Stones.
XXXI.     Ceremonial Pounding of the Rice.
XXXII.    Renewing the Offering on the Spirit Shield.
XXXIII.   Singeing a Pig at a Ceremony.
XXXIV.    Offering of the Pigs to the Spirits.
XXXV.     The Sayang Ceremony.
XXXVI.    Potters at Work.
XXXVII.   A Family of Laba-an.
XXXVIII.  The Village of Sallapadin.
XXXIX.    Typical Houses.
XL.       House Building.
XLI.      Roofing a House.
XLII.     Water Carriers (Photograph from Philippine Bureau of Science).
XLIII.    A Tinguian Housewife (Photograph from Philippine Bureau
          of Science).
XLIV.     A Warrior.
XLV.      Hunter Fitted for the Trail.
XLVI.     Hunting Party on Mt. Posoey.
XLVII.    Shooting the Blowgun.
XLVIII.   Highland Field and Terraces at Patok.
XLIX.     The Rice Terraces near Likuan.
L.        Plowing in the Lower Terraces.
LI.       Taking Rice Sprouts from the Seed Beds.
LII.      Transplanting the Rice.
LIII.     Bird Scarers in the Fields.
LIV.      Harvesting the Rice.
LV.       The Rice Granary.
LVI.      Pounding Rice (Photograph from Philippine Bureau of Science).
LVII.     Winnowing and Sifting (Photograph from Philippine Bureau
          of Science).
LVIII.    Drying Corn.
LIX.      Breaking the Corn between Two Stones.
LX.       Preparing Tobacco.
LXI.      Feeding the Pigs.
LXII.     A Typical Forge of the Iron Workers.
LXIII.    Ginning Cotton and Sizing the Thread.
LXIV.     Beating Cotton on a Carabao Hide.
LXV.      Spinning (Photograph from Phili
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 78
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/78

Out to Sea


I had this story from one who had no business to tell it to me, or to
any other. I may credit the seductive influence of an old vintage upon
the narrator for the beginning of it, and my own skeptical incredulity
during the days that followed for the balance of the strange tale.

When my convivial host discovered that he had told me so much, and that
I was prone to doubtfulness, his foolish pride assumed the task the old
vintage had commenced, and so he unearthed written evidence in the form
of musty manuscript, and dry official records of the British Colonial
Office to support many of the salient features of his remarkable
narrative.

I do not say the story is true, for I did not witness the happenings
which it portrays, but the fact that in the telling of it to you I have
taken fictitious names for the principal characters quite sufficiently
evidences the sincerity of my own belief that it _may_ be true.

The yellow, mildewed pages of the diary of a man long dead, and the
records of the Colonial Office dovetail perfectly with the narrative of
my convivial host, and so I give you the story as I painstakingly
pieced it out from these several various agencies.

If you do not find it credible you will at least be as one with me in
acknowledging that it is unique, remarkable, and interesting.

From the records of the Colonial Office and from the dead man’s diary
we learn that a certain young English nobleman, whom we shall call John
Clayton, Lord Greystoke, was commissioned to make a peculiarly delicate
investigation of conditions in a British West Coast African Colony from
whose simple native inhabitants another European power was known to be
recruiting soldiers for its native army, which it used solely for the
forcible collection of rubber and ivory from the savage tribes along
the Congo and the Aruwimi. The natives of the British Colony complained
that many of their young men were enticed away through the medium of
fair and glowing promises, but that few if any ever returned to their
families.

The Englishmen in Africa went even further, saying that these poor
blacks were held in virtual slavery, since after their terms of
enlistment expired their ignorance was imposed upon by their white
officers, and they were told that they had yet several years to serve.

And so the Colonial Office appointed John Clayton to a new post in
British West Africa, but his confidential instructions centered on a
thorough investigation of the unfair treatment of black British
subjects by the officers of a friendly European power. Why he was sent,
is, however, of little moment to this story, for he never made an
investigation, nor, in fact, did he ever reach his destination.

Clayton was the type of Englishman that one likes best to associate
with the noblest monuments of historic achievement upon a thousand
victorious battlefields—a strong, virile man—mentally, morally, and
physically.

In stature he was above the average height; his eyes were gray, his
features regular and strong; his carriage that of perfect, robust
health influenced by his years of army training.

Political ambition had caused him to seek transference from the army to
the Colonial Office and so we find him, still young, entrusted with a
delicate and important commission in the service of the Queen.

When he received this appointment he was both elated and appalled. The
preferment seemed to him in the nature of a well-merited reward for
painstaking and intelligent service, and as a stepping stone to posts
of greater importance and responsibility; but, on the other hand, he
had been married to the Hon. Alice Rutherford for scarce a three
months, and it was the thought of taking this fair young girl into the
dangers and isolation of tropical Africa that appalled him.

For her sake he would have refused the appointment, but she would not
have it so. Instead she insisted that he accept, and, indeed, take her
with him.

There were mothers and brothers and sisters, and aunts and cousins to
express various opinions on the subject, but as to what they severally
advised history is silent.

We know only that on a bright May morning in 1888, John, Lord
Greystoke, and Lady Alice sailed from Dover on their way to Africa.

A month later they arrived at Freetown where they chartered a small
sailing vessel, the _Fuwalda_, which was to bear them to their final
destination.

And here John, Lord Greystoke, and Lady Alice, his wife, vanished from
the eyes and from the knowledge of men.

Two months after they weighed anchor and cleared from the port of
Freetown a half dozen British war vessels were scouring the south
Atlantic for trace of them or their little vessel, and it was almost
immediately that the wreckage was found upon the shores of St. Helena
which convinced the world that the _Fuwalda_ had gone down with all on
board, and hence the search was stopped ere it had scarce begun; though
hope lingered in longing hearts for many years.

The _Fuwalda_, a barkentin
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 59112
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/59112

book was produced from images made available by the
HathiTrust Digital Library.)









  _R. U. R._

  (ROSSUM’S UNIVERSAL ROBOTS)

  _A Fantastic Melodrama in Three Acts and
  an Epilogue_

  _By Karel Capek_

  _English version by
  Paul Selver and Nigel Playfair_

  [Illustration]

  Samuel French, Inc.




Copyright ©, 1923, by Doubleday, Page and Company

_ALL RIGHTS RESERVED_

_CAUTION: Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that R. U. R.
is subject to a royalty. It is fully protected under the copyright
laws of the United States of America, the British Commonwealth,
including Canada, and all other countries of the Copyright Union. All
rights, including professional, amateur, motion pictures, recitation,
lecturing, public reading, radio broadcasting, television, and the
rights of translation into foreign languages are strictly reserved. In
its present form the play is dedicated to the reading public only._

_R. U. R. may be given stage presentation by amateurs upon payment
of a royalty of Thirty-five Dollars for the first performance, and
Twenty-five Dollars for each additional performance, payable one week
before the date when the play is given, to Samuel French, Inc., at 45
West 25th Street, New York, N. Y. 10010, or at 7623 Sunset Boulevard,
Hollywood, Calif. 90046, or to Samuel French (Canada), Ltd., 80
Richmond Street East, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M5C 1P1._

_Royalty of the required amount must be paid whether the play is
presented for charity or gain and whether or not admission is charged._

_Stock royalty quoted on application to Samuel French, Inc._

_For all other rights than those stipulated above, apply to Samuel
French, Inc._

_Particular emphasis is laid on the question of amateur or professional
readings, permission and terms for which must be secured in writing
from Samuel French, Inc._

_Copying from this book in whole or in part is strictly forbidden by
law, and the right of performance is not transferable._

_Whenever the play is produced the following notice must appear on all
programs, printing and advertising for the play: “Produced by special
arrangement with Samuel French, Inc.”_

_Due authorship credit must be given on all programs, printing and
advertising for the play._

  Anyone presenting the play shall not commit or authorize any act or
  omission by which the copyright of the play or the right to copyright
  same may be impaired.

  No changes shall be made in the play for the purpose of your
  production unless authorized in writing.

  The publication of this play does not imply that it is necessarily
  available for performance by amateurs or professionals. Amateurs and
  professionals considering a production are strongly advised in their
  own interests to apply to Samuel French, Inc., for consent before
  starting rehearsals, advertising, or booking a theatre or hall.

Printed in U.S.A.

ISBN 0 573 61497 0




R. U. R.

STORY OF THE PLAY


The play is laid on an island somewhere on our planet, and on this
island is the central office of the factory of Rossum’s Universal
Robots. “Robot” is a Czech word meaning “worker.” When the play opens,
a few decades beyond the present day, the factory had turned out
already, following a secret formula, hundreds of thousands, and even
millions, of manufactured workmen, living automats, without souls,
desires or feelings. They are high-powered laborers, good for nothing
but work. There are two grades, the unskilled and the skilled, and
especially trained workmen are furnished on request.

When Helena Glory, president of the Humanitarian League, comes
to ascertain what can be done to improve the condition of those
overspecialized creatures, Harry Domin, the general manager of the
factory, captures her heart and hand in the speediest courting on
record in our theatre. The last two acts take place ten years later.
Due to the desire of Helena to have the Robots more like human beings,
Dr. Gall, the head of the physiological and experimental departments,
has secretly changed the formula, and while he has partially humanized
only a few hundreds, there are enough to make ringleaders, and a world
revolt of robots is under way. This revolution is easily accomplished,
as robots have long since been used when needed as soldiers and the
robots far outnumber human beings.

The rest of the play is magnificent melodrama, superbly portrayed,
with the handful of human beings at bay while the unseen myriads of
their own robots close in on them. The final scene is like Dunsany on a
mammoth scale.

Then comes the epilogue, in which Alquist, the company’s builder, is
not only the only human being on the island, but also the only one
left on earth. The robots have destroyed the rest of mankind. They
spared his life because he was a worker. And he is spending his days
unceasingly endeavoring to discover and reconstruct the lost formula.
The robots are doomed. They saved the wrong man. They should have
spared the company’s physicist. The robot
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 52521
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/52521


But most especially to _Household Tales_, with the Author’s notes,
translated by Margaret Hunt, introduction by Andrew Lang, Bohn Library.

For the use of the Hunt text the Editor gratefully acknowledges the
gracious permission of Messrs. Harcourt, Brace and Company, American
Publishers of the Bohn Library.




CONTENTS


                                                                    PAGE
    THE FROG-KING; OR, IRON HENRY                                     13

    THE WOLF AND THE SEVEN LITTLE KIDS                                19

    RAPUNZEL                                                          24

    LITTLE BROTHER AND LITTLE SISTER                                  30

    THE STAR-MONEY                                                    39

    THE FISHERMAN AND HIS WIFE                                        41

    THE WHITE SNAKE                                                   53

    HAENSEL AND GRETHEL                                               59

    THE SEVEN RAVENS                                                  69

    ASH-MAIDEN                                                        73

    THE ELVES AND THE SHOEMAKER                                       83

    THE THREE BROTHERS                                                86

    LITTLE TABLE SET THYSELF, GOLD-ASS, AND CUDGEL OUT OF THE SACK    89

    IRON JOHN                                                        105

    CLEVER ELSIE                                                     117

    THE BREMEN TOWN-MUSICIANS                                        122

    THE SIX SWANS                                                    127

    THE POOR MILLER’S BOY AND THE CAT                                134

    LITTLE RED-CAP                                                   140

    KING THRUSHBEARD                                                 145

    THE GOLD-CHILDREN                                                151

    LITTLE SNOW-WHITE                                                159

    RUMPELSTILTSKIN                                                  171

    LITTLE BRIAR-ROSE                                                176

    THE THREE LITTLE MEN IN THE WOOD                                 181

    THE GOLDEN BIRD                                                  187

    THE QUEEN BEE                                                    197

    BIRD-FOUND                                                       200

    THE GOLDEN GOOSE                                                 204

    MOTHER HOLLE                                                     208

    THE TWO TRAVELERS                                                213

    JORINDA AND JORINGEL                                             228

    HOW SIX MEN GOT ON IN THE WORLD                                  232

    THE GOOSE-GIRL                                                   240

    THE SINGING, SOARING LARK                                        249

    DOCTOR KNOWALL                                                   257

    THE BLUE LIGHT                                                   260

    THE SPINDLE, THE SHUTTLE, AND THE NEEDLE                         267

    THE THREE LUCK-CHILDREN                                          272

    THE DONKEY CABBAGES                                              276

    CLEVER HANS                                                      285

    THE IRON STOVE                                                   291

    SWEET PORRIDGE                                                   299

    SNOW-WHITE AND ROSE-RED                                          301

    THE HEDGE-KING                                                   310

    ONE-EYE, TWO-EYES, AND THREE-EYES                                314

    THE GOOSE-GIRL AT THE WELL                                       325

    THE SHOES THAT WERE DANCED TO PIECES                             338

    THE NIX OF THE MILL-POND                                         344

    THE LITTLE HOUSE IN THE WOOD                                     352

    MAID MALEEN                                                      360




ILLUSTRATIONS


                                                                    PAGE
    He Said, “Little Table Set Thyself!”                  _Frontispiece_

    The Little Kids Cried, “First Show Us Your Paws”                  20

    The King Said, “Will You Be My Dear Wife?”                        35

    “Yes,” Said She, “Now I Am Emperor”                               48

    There Lay the Gold Ring in the Shell                              57

    Each Star Sat on Its Own Little Chair                             71

    The Elves Began to Stitch, Sew, and Hammer                        84

    The King’s Daughter Pulled Off His Hat, and His Golden Hair
        Rolled Down                                                  111

    The Princess Went Out and Gathered Star-Flowers                  130

    “W
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65075
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65075

LOOK TO THE STARS

                          By Willard Hawkins

             The sky is filled with lonely stones--planets
          waiting for the first breath of life to warm them.
          N'urth was such a world--and the Gods smiled on it.

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                             October 1950
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


_"Tell me, my queen mother, the story of the gods."_

_"Do you never tire, son, of those ancient legends? But no--let this
not seem a reproof. It is well that a prince of the royal line should
ponder much on those mighty ones, who came from the sun, where dwells
El-Leighi, the source of all, to create a fair world--the world in
which some day you will reign. Shall I speak, then, of Solin-Ga-Ling,
patron of husbandry and Lord of the North, or would you hear of the
gentle Maha-Bar-Astro, sweet goddess who fashions the dreams of
childhood? Or would you know of the mysterious Noor-Ah-Mah, who died
twice, lived thrice, and was both male and female by turns?"_

_"Tell me of them all; but first, mother, who was the mightiest of the
gods?"_

_"Hush, child! Among beings so exalted it would be presumptuous for
mortals to regard one above the other. But know this--for it concerns
you and your pride of race: Splendid legends relate to the strength
and virtues of Maha-Ra-Lin, Lord of the South, sometimes called the
Life-giver. For it was he who created Noor-Ah-Mah from a rock by the
sea, and breathed his own life into her nostrils."_

_"But, mother, was he not defeated in battle?"_

_"It was a battle beyond our understanding--of forces that we cannot
comprehend, and for a purpose beyond our knowledge--though it is said
that in some manner the strife arose over the sex to be awarded the
newly created Noor-Ah-Mah. Maha-Ra-Lin would have endowed the partly
formed being with the attributes of a god, but Bar-Doo-Chan, Lord of
the West, contended for a goddess. In their mighty clash of wills, the
heavens were rent with lightning, the seas were churned, mountains were
heaved by the all-powerful ones across the land. Legend has it that a
single moon shone from the heavens before that event, but a lightning
bolt hurled by Maha-Ra-Lin at his antagonist failed of its mark. It
smote the moon by chance, splitting the heavenly body in twain, so that
two moons now circle the continents of N'urth."_

_"Then Bar-Doo-Chan, who defeated Maha-Ra-Lin, was the mightiest."_

_"Nay, that you must not say. True, at the end of three days
Maha-Ra-Lin acknowledged himself defeated. Yet it is written that
he nobly abandoned the fray out of pity for the helpless creatures
of N'urth, and for the newly created Noor-Ah-Mah, knowing that if
the battle continued they would all be destroyed. And so Noor-Ah-Mah
became a goddess, and in that aspect she is depicted by our sculptors
as a mighty huntress, running with upraised spear cheek-by-cheek with
Bar-Doo-Chan. But Maha-Ra-Lin, the Life-giver, could not wholly undo
his original design, so that at times she reverted to the form of a
male. That is why, in ancient carvings, we sometimes find Noor-Ah-Mah
pictured as a god, carrying lightnings of destruction in his clenched
hand."_

_"Then, after all, Maha-Ra-Lin was the greatest?"_

_"He was a mighty being, son. Yet how can any be considered greater
than Pi-Ruh-Al, to whom even the other gods and goddesses turned for
counsel? Pi-Ruh-Al, the great mother, goddess of beauty, of wisdom,
creator of mortal life...."_




                               CHAPTER I


The rain settled into a steady downpour. Drenched to the marrow, Dave
Marlin struggled on through the darkness and mire. At times he stumbled
away from the wagon trail and floundered through sodden verdure that
tangled his feet, clutched with slimy tendrils at his clothing, or
lashed his face. Occasionally he stopped to curse the road, the
darkness, the storm; again to heap maledictions on the truck driver who
had dumped him off on this byway to nowhere.

He should have kept to the paved highway. A light blinking through the
rain, seemingly not far up the mountainside, had lured his feet. It had
long since been lost to view, yet he struggled on. The trail surely
must lead somewhere, even if only to a deserted sawmill or mine shaft.

His feet slipped and he went down cursing. As he struggled out of the
puddle, gouging grit and slime from eyes and nostrils, he became aware
of a deeper black looming ahead.

It was the rear of an old-style open roadster. Through the swish of
waters his ears caught the sound of hammering on metal.

Feeling his way along the side, he came to a man who was muttering to
himself with bitter emphasis while doing things to the engine under the
upraised hood.

"Trouble, buddie?" demanded Marlin.

The other jerked up his head so suddenly that it struck the hood
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 1756
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1756

UNCLE VANYA

SCENES FROM COUNTRY LIFE

IN FOUR ACTS

By Anton Checkov




CHARACTERS

ALEXANDER SEREBRAKOFF, a retired professor

HELENA, his wife, twenty-seven years old

SONIA, his daughter by a former marriage

MME. VOITSKAYA, widow of a privy councilor, and mother of Serebrakoff's
first wife

IVAN (VANYA) VOITSKI, her son

MICHAEL ASTROFF, a doctor

ILIA (WAFFLES) TELEGIN, an impoverished landowner

MARINA, an old nurse

A WORKMAN

The scene is laid on SEREBRAKOFF'S country place




UNCLE VANYA




ACT I

A country house on a terrace. In front of it a garden. In an avenue of
trees, under an old poplar, stands a table set for tea, with a samovar,
etc. Some benches and chairs stand near the table. On one of them is
lying a guitar. A hammock is swung near the table. It is three o'clock
in the afternoon of a cloudy day.

MARINA, a quiet, grey-haired, little old woman, is sitting at the table
knitting a stocking.

ASTROFF is walking up and down near her.

MARINA. [Pouring some tea into a glass] Take a little tea, my son.

ASTROFF. [Takes the glass from her unwillingly] Somehow, I don't seem to
want any.

MARINA. Then will you have a little vodka instead?

ASTROFF. No, I don't drink vodka every day, and besides, it is too hot
now. [A pause] Tell me, nurse, how long have we known each other?

MARINA. [Thoughtfully] Let me see, how long is it? Lord--help me to
remember. You first came here, into our parts--let me think--when was
it? Sonia's mother was still alive--it was two winters before she died;
that was eleven years ago--[thoughtfully] perhaps more.

ASTROFF. Have I changed much since then?

MARINA. Oh, yes. You were handsome and young then, and now you are an
old man and not handsome any more. You drink, too.

ASTROFF. Yes, ten years have made me another man. And why? Because I am
overworked. Nurse, I am on my feet from dawn till dusk. I know no rest;
at night I tremble under my blankets for fear of being dragged out to
visit some one who is sick; I have toiled without repose or a day's
freedom since I have known you; could I help growing old? And then,
existence is tedious, anyway; it is a senseless, dirty business, this
life, and goes heavily. Every one about here is silly, and after
living with them for two or three years one grows silly oneself. It is
inevitable. [Twisting his moustache] See what a long moustache I have
grown. A foolish, long moustache. Yes, I am as silly as the rest, nurse,
but not as stupid; no, I have not grown stupid. Thank God, my brain is
not addled yet, though my feelings have grown numb. I ask nothing, I
need nothing, I love no one, unless it is yourself alone. [He kisses her
head] I had a nurse just like you when I was a child.

MARINA. Don't you want a bite of something to eat?

ASTROFF. No. During the third week of Lent I went to the epidemic at
Malitskoi. It was eruptive typhoid. The peasants were all lying side by
side in their huts, and the calves and pigs were running about the floor
among the sick. Such dirt there was, and smoke! Unspeakable! I slaved
among those people all day, not a crumb passed my lips, but when I got
home there was still no rest for me; a switchman was carried in from the
railroad; I laid him on the operating table and he went and died in
my arms under chloroform, and then my feelings that should have been
deadened awoke again, my conscience tortured me as if I had killed the
man. I sat down and closed my eyes--like this--and thought: will our
descendants two hundred years from now, for whom we are breaking the
road, remember to give us a kind word? No, nurse, they will forget.

MARINA. Man is forgetful, but God remembers.

ASTROFF. Thank you for that. You have spoken the truth.

Enter VOITSKI from the house. He has been asleep after dinner and
looks rather dishevelled. He sits down on the bench and straightens his
collar.

VOITSKI. H'm. Yes. [A pause] Yes.

ASTROFF. Have you been asleep?

VOITSKI. Yes, very much so. [He yawns] Ever since the Professor and his
wife have come, our daily life seems to have jumped the track. I sleep
at the wrong time, drink wine, and eat all sorts of messes for luncheon
and dinner. It isn't wholesome. Sonia and I used to work together and
never had an idle moment, but now Sonia works alone and I only eat and
drink and sleep. Something is wrong.

MARINA. [Shaking her head] Such a confusion in the house! The Professor
gets up at twelve, the samovar is kept boiling all the morning, and
everything has to wait for him. Before they came we used to have dinner
at one o'clock, like everybody else, but now we have it at seven. The
Professor sits up all night writing and reading, and suddenly, at two
o'clock, there goes the bell! Heavens, what is that? The Professor wants
some tea! Wake the servants, light the samovar! Lord, what disorder!

ASTROFF. Will they be here long?

VOITSKI. A hundred years! The Professor has decided to make his home
here.

MARINA. Look at this now! The samovar has been on the table for two
hours, and 
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PG #: 6867
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6867






DEDICATION

To the Philippine Youth

The subject of Doctor Rizal's first prize-winning poem was The
Philippine Youth, and its theme was "Growth." The study of the growth
of free ideas, as illustrated in this book of his lineage, life and
labors, may therefore fittingly be dedicated to the "fair hope of
the fatherland."

Except in the case of some few men of great genius, those who are
accustomed to absolutism cannot comprehend democracy. Therefore our
nation is relying on its young men and young women; on the rising,
instructed generation, for the secure establishment of popular
self-government in the Philippines. This was Rizal's own idea, for
he said, through the old philosopher in "Noli me Tangere," that he
was not writing for his own generation but for a coming, instructed
generation that would understand his hidden meaning.

Your public school education gives you the democratic view-point,
which the genius of Rizal gave him; in the fifty-five volumes of
the Blair-Robertson translation of Philippine historical material
there is available today more about your country's past than the
entire contents of the British Museum afforded him; and you have the
guidance in the new paths that Rizal struck out, of the life of a
hero who, farsightedly or providentially, as you may later decide,
was the forerunner of the present régime.

But you will do as he would have done, neither accept anything because
it is written, nor reject it because it does not fall in with your
prejudices--study out the truth for yourselves.



Introduction

In writing a biography, the author, if he be discriminating, selects,
with great care, the salient features of the life story of the one whom
he deems worthy of being portrayed as a person possessed of preëminent
qualities that make for a character and greatness. Indeed to write
biography at all, one should have that nice sense of proportion that
makes him instinctively seize upon only those points that do advance
his theme. Boswell has given the world an example of biography that
is often wearisome in the extreme, although he wrote about a man
who occupied in his time a commanding position. Because Johnson was
Johnson the world accepts Boswell, and loves to talk of the minuteness
of Boswell's portrayal, yet how many read him, or if they do read him,
have the patience to read him to the end?

In writing the life of the greatest of the Filipinos, Mr. Craig has
displayed judgment. Saturated as he is with endless details of Rizal's
life, he has had the good taste to select those incidents or those
phases of Rizal's life that exhibit his greatness of soul and that
show the factors that were the most potent in shaping his character
and in controlling his purposes and actions.

A biography written with this chastening of wealth cannot fail to
be instructive and worthy of study. If one were to point out but
a single benefit that can accrue from a study of biography written
as Mr. Craig has done that of Rizal, he would mention, I believe,
that to the character of the student, for one cannot study seriously
about men of character without being affected by that study. As
leading to an understanding of the character of Rizal, Mr. Craig has
described his ancestry with considerable fulness and has shown how the
selective principle has worked through successive generations. But
he has also realized the value of the outside influences and shows
how the accidents of birth and nation affected by environment plus
mental vigor and will produced José Rizal. With a strikingly meager
setting of detail, Rizal has been portrayed from every side and the
reader must leave the biography with a knowledge of the elements
that entered into and made his life. As a study for the youth of the
Philippines, I believe this life of Rizal will be productive of good
results. Stimulation and purpose are presented (yet not didactically)
throughout its pages. One object of the author, I should say, has been
to show how both Philippine history and world history helped shape
Rizal's character. Accordingly, he has mentioned many historical
matters both of Philippine and world-wide interest. One cannot read
the book without a desire to know more of these matters. Thus the
book is not only a biography, it is a history as well. It must give
a larger outlook to the youth of the Philippines. The only drawback
that one might find in it, and it seems paradoxical to say it, is
the lack of more detail, for one leaves it wishing that he knew more
of the actual intimate happenings, and this, I take it, is the best
effect a biography can have on the reader outside of the instructive
and moral value of the biography.

JAMES A. ROBERTSON.

MANILA, P. I.



CONTENTS



Dedication. To the Philippine Youth
Introduction
I. America's Forerunner
II. Rizal's Chinese Ancestry
III. Liberalizing Hereditary Influences
IV. Rizal's Early Childhood
V. Jagor's Prophecy
VI. The Period of Preparation
VII. The Period of Propaganda
VIII. Despujol's Duplicit
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PG #: 139
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/139

THE LOST WORLD

                   I have wrought my simple plan
                    If I give one hour of joy
                  To the boy who's half a man,
                    Or the man who's half a boy.



                          The Lost World


                                By

                     SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE

                         COPYRIGHT, 1912



                             Foreword

            Mr. E. D. Malone desires to state that
          both the injunction for restraint and the
          libel action have been withdrawn unreservedly
          by Professor G. E. Challenger, who, being
          satisfied that no criticism or comment in
          this book is meant in an offensive spirit,
          has guaranteed that he will place no
          impediment to its publication and circulation.





                             Contents

CHAPTER

    I.  "THERE ARE HEROISMS ALL ROUND US"
   II.  "TRY YOUR LUCK WITH PROFESSOR CHALLENGER"
  III.  "HE IS A PERFECTLY IMPOSSIBLE PERSON"
   IV.  "IT'S JUST THE VERY BIGGEST THING IN THE WORLD"
    V.  "QUESTION!"
   VI.  "I WAS THE FLAIL OF THE LORD"
  VII.  "TO-MORROW WE DISAPPEAR INTO THE UNKNOWN"
 VIII.  "THE OUTLYING PICKETS OF THE NEW WORLD"
   IX.  "WHO COULD HAVE FORESEEN IT?"
    X.  "THE MOST WONDERFUL THINGS HAVE HAPPENED"
   XI.  "FOR ONCE I WAS THE HERO"
  XII.  "IT WAS DREADFUL IN THE FOREST"
 XIII.  "A SIGHT I SHALL NEVER FORGET"
  XIV.  "THOSE WERE THE REAL CONQUESTS"
   XV.  "OUR EYES HAVE SEEN GREAT WONDERS"
  XVI.  "A PROCESSION!  A PROCESSION!"




                          THE LOST WORLD




                          The Lost World

                            CHAPTER I

                "There Are Heroisms All Round Us"

Mr. Hungerton, her father, really was the most tactless person upon
earth,--a fluffy, feathery, untidy cockatoo of a man, perfectly
good-natured, but absolutely centered upon his own silly self.  If
anything could have driven me from Gladys, it would have been the
thought of such a father-in-law.  I am convinced that he really
believed in his heart that I came round to the Chestnuts three days a
week for the pleasure of his company, and very especially to hear his
views upon bimetallism, a subject upon which he was by way of being an
authority.

For an hour or more that evening I listened to his monotonous chirrup
about bad money driving out good, the token value of silver, the
depreciation of the rupee, and the true standards of exchange.

"Suppose," he cried with feeble violence, "that all the debts in the
world were called up simultaneously, and immediate payment insisted
upon,--what under our present conditions would happen then?"

I gave the self-evident answer that I should be a ruined man, upon
which he jumped from his chair, reproved me for my habitual levity,
which made it impossible for him to discuss any reasonable subject in
my presence, and bounced off out of the room to dress for a Masonic
meeting.

At last I was alone with Gladys, and the moment of Fate had come!  All
that evening I had felt like the soldier who awaits the signal which
will send him on a forlorn hope; hope of victory and fear of repulse
alternating in his mind.

She sat with that proud, delicate profile of hers outlined against the
red curtain.  How beautiful she was!  And yet how aloof!  We had been
friends, quite good friends; but never could I get beyond the same
comradeship which I might have established with one of my
fellow-reporters upon the Gazette,--perfectly frank, perfectly kindly,
and perfectly unsexual.  My instincts are all against a woman being too
frank and at her ease with me.  It is no compliment to a man.  Where
the real sex feeling begins, timidity and distrust are its companions,
heritage from old wicked days when love and violence went often hand in
hand.  The bent head, the averted eye, the faltering voice, the wincing
figure--these, and not the unshrinking gaze and frank reply, are the
true signals of passion.  Even in my short life I had learned as much
as that--or had inherited it in that race memory which we call instinct.

Gladys was full of every womanly quality.  Some judged her to be cold
and hard; but such a thought was treason.  That delicately bronzed
skin, almost oriental in its coloring, that raven hair, the large
liquid eyes, the full but exquisite lips,--all the stigmata of passion
were there.  But I was sadly conscious that up to now I had never found
the secret of drawing it forth.  However, come what might, I should
have done with suspense and bring matters to a head to-night.  She
could but refuse me, and better be a repulsed lover than an accepted
brother.

So far my thoughts had carried me, and I was about to break the long
and uneasy silence, when two critical, dark eyes looked round at me,
and the proud head was shaken in smiling reproof.  "I have a
presentiment that you are going to propose, Ned.  I do wish you
wouldn't; for things are so much nicer as they are."

I dre
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PG #: 65064
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65064

THE OLD ONES

                            By Betsy Curtis

              They had outlived their usefulness on Earth
         and society waited patiently for them to die. Thus it
           was only natural for them to seek a new world....

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                             December 1950
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Dr. Warner didn't usually burst into Dr. Farrar's office. Usually he
paced slowly up the hospital corridor, pulling down his glistening
white lastijac uniform, meditating on all the mistakes he might have
made during the past week, reluctantly turning the knob on the outer
door, hesitatingly asking Miss Herrington if the doctor wished to see
him now, stepping humbly through the inner door into the presence. But
this morning he burst in and slammed the inner door.

"Two this morning in Block Nineteen!" he blurted. "Two suicides at
once; Saul Forsythe and Madam LePays!"

Only a few minutes before, Dr. Farrar had been reading and sighing,
sighing at the thought that there were no excitements left, only
annoyances and minor gratifications.

"The publication of _The One-Hundred-Year-Old in the Culture of Today_
marks the date of another notable contribution to human understanding
by the justly famous young doctor, Jules Farrar." The review grew more
laudatory from paragraph to glowing paragraph. Dr. Farrar, re-reading
it word by word, was inclined to smile at the adjective 'young'; he was
fifty-eight and felt every day of it this smiling spring morning. He
ran his hand back over his head smoothing the place where, twenty years
ago, there had been hair. He looked up from the paper on his desk,
through the glimmering sunlight at the row of dark green file cases
banking the opposite end of the office, the first five now ticketed
"closed" and the "closed" sign lying on top of the sixth, the 100-year
case. He gazed on down the row--110, 120, 130, 140 and the rest--and
sighed deeply. Futility washed over him, and an echo of the old story
of the man who wrote his autobiography taking a year to write the
doings of each day. The job would never be finished and the amusement
of writing of youth was too far behind.

He quoted grimly from his own _Sixty-Year-Old_, "Among males at
this time, the conviction, often amounting to panic, that the time
for accomplishment is almost past begins to grow and obscure the
comfortable mellowness of being in the midst of important activity."
How could he have known so much at thirty and still have arrived at
almost sixty without having solved anything, discovered anything new,
done nothing but descriptive studies steadily for thirty-five years?
And there were no excitements left--nothing but annoyances.

His office door now flew open with a crash against the 50-year file
case, then was banged shut again and Bob Warner's white-jacketed body
was leaning toward him over his desk.

"Two suicides at once, Dr. Farrar!" Dr. Warner was almost shouting
at him, "and one last week and four others in the past year! They'll
investigate us and upset the subjects and everybody. They'll get out of
Block Nineteen and go poking around in genetics and new diseases and
want to know where and why every cent is being spent and wind up trying
to cut the staff or change the diets or some other stupidity." (Jules
Farrar smiled wryly: there had been two Congressional Investigations at
the hospital since he came, and Bob's description from hearsay was all
too accurate.) "I tell you, Doctor, we've got to hush this up. Congress
won't let us get away with firing a couple of floor nurses this time!"
Ione Phillips was in Nineteen and much too pretty for a scapegoat. It
wasn't his responsibility anyway. "What are we going to do, Doctor?"

"Saul Forsythe and Madame LePays," Jules Farrar's voice was low with
concern, "How old were they? What was the matter?"

"Madame was 182 and Forsythe was a year or two older. There wasn't
anything wrong that I know. They'd both been reading last night. He had
the last volume of the _Britannica_ and she had a little old book of
poems--French poems."

"No animosities, no quarrels with other subjects?"

"No, no! They weren't very social types, you know; we haven't had much
culture-pattern data on either of them for some time. It's not as if
they were a great loss to the experiments," he added reassuringly.
Mustn't get old Farrar upset.

       *       *       *       *       *

The older doctor looked oddly at the younger. "There must be something
wrong in Block Nineteen. We'll call a meeting of staff. You can't cover
up this sort of thing, Doctor. Everybody probably knows it already. You
know how nurses gossip. But we'd better talk to Daneshaw first. He's
always sound on what's going on in Block Nineteen."

"But Dr. Farrar, Daneshaw can't bring them back. He's just anot
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 1240
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1240

[Illustration]




The Playboy of the Western World

A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS

by J. M. Synge

Contents

 PREFACE
 PERSONS
 ACT I.
 ACT II.
 ACT III.




PREFACE


In writing THE PLAYBOY OF THE WESTERN WORLD, as in my other plays, I
have used one or two words only that I have not heard among the country
people of Ireland, or spoken in my own nursery before I could read the
newspapers. A certain number of the phrases I employ I have heard also
from herds and fishermen along the coast from Kerry to Mayo, or from
beggar-women and ballad-singers nearer Dublin; and I am glad to
acknowledge how much I owe to the folk imagination of these fine
people. Anyone who has lived in real intimacy with the Irish peasantry
will know that the wildest sayings and ideas in this play are tame
indeed, compared with the fancies one may hear in any little hillside
cabin in Geesala, or Carraroe, or Dingle Bay. All art is a
collaboration; and there is little doubt that in the happy ages of
literature, striking and beautiful phrases were as ready to the
story-teller’s or the playwright’s hand, as the rich cloaks and dresses
of his time. It is probable that when the Elizabethan dramatist took
his ink-horn and sat down to his work he used many phrases that he had
just heard, as he sat at dinner, from his mother or his children. In
Ireland, those of us who know the people have the same privilege. When
I was writing _The Shadow of the Glen_, some years ago, I got more aid
than any learning could have given me from a chink in the floor of the
old Wicklow house where I was staying, that let me hear what was being
said by the servant girls in the kitchen. This matter, I think, is of
importance, for in countries where the imagination of the people, and
the language they use, is rich and living, it is possible for a writer
to be rich and copious in his words, and at the same time to give the
reality, which is the root of all poetry, in a comprehensive and
natural form. In the modern literature of towns, however, richness is
found only in sonnets, or prose poems, or in one or two elaborate books
that are far away from the profound and common interests of life. One
has, on one side, Mallarmé and Huysmans producing this literature; and
on the other, Ibsen and Zola dealing with the reality of life in
joyless and pallid words. On the stage one must have reality, and one
must have joy; and that is why the intellectual modern drama has
failed, and people have grown sick of the false joy of the musical
comedy, that has been given them in place of the rich joy found only in
what is superb and wild in reality. In a good play every speech should
be as fully flavoured as a nut or apple, and such speeches cannot be
written by anyone who works among people who have shut their lips on
poetry. In Ireland, for a few years more, we have a popular imagination
that is fiery and magnificent, and tender; so that those of us who wish
to write start with a chance that is not given to writers in places
where the springtime of the local life has been forgotten, and the
harvest is a memory only, and the straw has been turned into bricks.

J. M. S.


_January_ 21_st_, 1907.



PERSONS

CHRISTOPHER MAHON.
OLD MAHON, _his father, a squatter_.
MICHAEL JAMES FLAHERTY (called MICHAEL JAMES), _a publican_.
MARGARET FLAHERTY (called PEGEEN MIKE), _his daughter_.
SHAWN KEOUGH, _her cousin, a young farmer_.
WIDOW QUIN, _a woman of about thirty_.
PHILLY CULLEN and JIMMY FARRELL, _small farmers_.
SARA TANSEY, SUSAN BRADY, and HONOR BLAKE, _village girls_.
A BELLMAN.
SOME PEASANTS.

The action takes place near a village, on a wild coast of Mayo. The
first Act passes on an evening of autumn, the other two Acts on the
following day.




THE PLAYBOY OF THE WESTERN WORLD

ACT I.


SCENE: Country public-house or shebeen, very rough and untidy. There is
a sort of counter on the right with shelves, holding many bottles and
jugs, just seen above it. Empty barrels stand near the counter. At
back, a little to left of counter, there is a door into the open air,
then, more to the left, there is a settle with shelves above it, with
more jugs, and a table beneath a window. At the left there is a large
open fire-place, with turf fire, and a small door into inner room.
Pegeen, a wild-looking but fine girl, of about twenty, is writing at
table. She is dressed in the usual peasant dress.

PEGEEN.
_slowly as she writes._—Six yards of stuff for to make a yellow gown. A
pair of lace boots with lengthy heels on them and brassy eyes. A hat is
suited for a wedding-day. A fine tooth comb. To be sent with three
barrels of porter in Jimmy Farrell’s creel cart on the evening of the
coming Fair to Mister Michael James Flaherty. With the best compliments
of this season. Margaret Flaherty.

SHAWN KEOGH.
_a fat and fair young man comes in as she signs, looks round awkwardly,
when he sees she is alone._—Where’s himself?

PEGEEN.
_without looking at him._—He’s coming. (_She directs the letter._) To
Mister Sheamus Mul
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 1549
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1549



  VERSE 1. Paul, an apostle, (not of men, neither by man, but by Jesus
  Christ, and God the Father, who raised him from the dead).


St. Paul wrote this epistle because, after his departure from the
Galatian churches, Jewish-Christian fanatics moved in, who perverted
Paul's Gospel of man's free justification by faith in Christ Jesus.

The world bears the Gospel a grudge because the Gospel condemns the
religious wisdom of the world. Jealous for its own religious views, the
world in turn charges the Gospel with being a subversive and licentious
doctrine, offensive to God and man, a doctrine to be persecuted as the
worst plague on earth.

As a result we have this paradoxical situation: The Gospel supplies the
world with the salvation of Jesus Christ, peace of conscience, and every
blessing. Just for that the world abhors the Gospel.

These Jewish-Christian fanatics who pushed themselves into the Galatian
churches after Paul's departure, boasted that they were the descendants
of Abraham, true ministers of Christ, having been trained by the
apostles themselves, that they were able to perform miracles.

In every way they sought to undermine the authority of St. Paul. They
said to the Galatians: "You have no right to think highly of Paul. He
was the last to turn to Christ. But we have seen Christ. We heard Him
preach. Paul came later and is beneath us. It is possible for us to be
in error--we who have received the Holy Ghost? Paul stands alone. He has
not seen Christ, nor has he had much contact with the other apostles.
Indeed, he persecuted the Church of Christ for a long time."

When men claiming such credentials come along, they deceive not only the
naive, but also those who seemingly are well-established in the faith.
This same argument is used by the papacy. "Do you suppose that God for
the sake of a few Lutheran heretics would disown His entire Church? Or
do you suppose that God would have left His Church floundering in error
all these centuries?" The Galatians were taken in by such arguments with
the result that Paul's authority and doctrine were drawn in question.

Against these boasting, false apostles, Paul boldly defends his
apostolic authority and ministry. Humble man that he was, he will not
now take a back seat. He reminds them of the time when he opposed Peter
to his face and reproved the chief of the apostles.

Paul devotes the first two chapters to a defense of his office and his
Gospel, affirming that he received it, not from men, but from the Lord
Jesus Christ by special revelation, and that if he or an angel from
heaven preach any other gospel than the one he had preached, he shall be
accursed.

                        The Certainty of Our Calling

Every minister should make much of his calling and impress upon others
the fact that he has been delegated by God to preach the Gospel. As the
ambassador of a government is honored for his office and not for his
private person, so the minister of Christ should exalt his office in
order to gain authority among men. This is not vain glory, but needful
glorying.

Paul takes pride in his ministry, not to his own praise but to the
praise of God. Writing to the Romans, he declares, "Inasmuch as I am
the apostle of the Gentiles, I magnify mine office," i.e., I want to be
received not as Paul of Tarsus, but as Paul the apostle and ambassador
of Jesus Christ, in order that people might be more eager to hear. Paul
exalts his ministry out of the desire to make known the name, the grace,
and the mercy of God.

  VERSE 1. Paul, an apostle, (not of men, etc.)

Paul loses no time in defending himself against the charge that he had
thrust himself into the ministry. He says to the Galatians: "My call may
seem inferior to you. But those who have come to you are either called
of men or by man. My call is the highest possible, for it is by Jesus
Christ, and God the Father."

When Paul speaks of those called "by men," I take it he means those whom
neither God nor man sent, but who go wherever they like and speak for
themselves.

When Paul speaks of those called "by man" I take it he means those who
have a divine call extended to them through other persons. God calls
in two ways. Either He calls ministers through the agency of men, or
He calls them directly as He called the prophets and apostles. Paul
declares that the false apostles were called or sent neither by men, nor
by man. The most they could claim is that they were sent by others. "But
as for me I was called neither of men, nor by man, but directly by Jesus
Christ. My call is in every respect like the call of the apostles. In
fact I am an apostle."

Elsewhere Paul draws a sharp distinction between an apostleship and
lesser functions, as in I Corinthians 12:28: "And God hath set some in
the church; first, apostles; secondarily, prophets; thirdly, teachers."
He mentions the apostles first because they were appointed directly by
God.

Matthias was called in this manner. The apostles chose two candidates
and then 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 13707
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13707





CONTENTS.

                                               PAGE

THE GRAY CHAMPION                                5

SUNDAY AT HOME                                  15

THE WEDDING-KNELL                               23

THE MINISTER'S BLACK VEIL                       33

THE MAYPOLE OF MERRY MOUNT                      49

THE GENTLE BOY                                  63

MR. HIGGINBOTHAM'S CATASTROPHE                  99

LITTLE ANNIE'S RAMBLE                          113

WAKEFIELD                                      123

A RILL FROM THE TOWN PUMP                      133

THE GREAT CARBUNCLE                            141

THE PROPHETIC PICTURES                         159

DAVID SWAN                                     175

SIGHTS FROM A STEEPLE                          183

THE HOLLOW OF THE THREE HILLS                  191

THE TOLL-GATHERER'S DAY                        197

THE VISION OF THE FOUNTAIN                     204

FANCY'S SHOW-BOX                               211

DR. HEIDEGGER'S EXPERIMENT                     218

LEGENDS OF THE PROVINCE HOUSE:
    I.--HOWE'S MASQUERADE                      233
   II.--EDWARD RANDOLPH'S PORTRAIT             249
  III.--LADY ELEANORE'S MANTLE                 263
   IV.--OLD ESTHER DUDLEY                      281

THE HAUNTED MIND                               294

THE VILLAGE UNCLE                              300

THE AMBITIOUS GUEST                            313

THE SISTER-YEARS                               323

SNOWFLAKES                                     332

THE SEVEN VAGABONDS                            338

THE WHITE OLD MAID                             358

PETER GOLDTHWAITE'S TREASURE                   370

CHIPPINGS WITH A CHISEL                        393

THE SHAKER BRIDAL                              405

NIGHT-SKETCHES                                 412

ENDICOTT AND THE RED CROSS                     419

THE LILY'S QUEST                               427

FOOTPRINTS ON THE SEASHORE                     435

EDWARD FANE'S ROSEBUD                          447

THE THREEFOLD DESTINY                          455




TWICE-TOLD TALES.




THE GRAY CHAMPION.


There was once a time when New England groaned under the actual
pressure of heavier wrongs than those threatened ones which brought on
the Revolution. James II., the bigoted successor of Charles the
Voluptuous, had annulled the charters of all the colonies and sent a
harsh and unprincipled soldier to take away our liberties and endanger
our religion. The administration of Sir Edmund Andros lacked scarcely
a single characteristic of tyranny--a governor and council holding
office from the king and wholly independent of the country; laws made
and taxes levied without concurrence of the people, immediate or by
their representatives; the rights of private citizens violated and the
titles of all landed property declared void; the voice of complaint
stifled by restrictions on the press; and finally, disaffection
overawed by the first band of mercenary troops that ever marched on
our free soil. For two years our ancestors were kept in sullen
submission by that filial love which had invariably secured their
allegiance to the mother-country, whether its head chanced to be a
Parliament, Protector or popish monarch. Till these evil times,
however, such allegiance had been merely nominal, and the colonists
had ruled themselves, enjoying far more freedom than is even yet the
privilege of the native subjects of Great Britain.

At length a rumor reached our shores that the prince of Orange had
ventured on an enterprise the success of which would be the triumph of
civil and religious rights and the salvation of New England. It was
but a doubtful whisper; it might be false or the attempt might fail,
and in either case the man that stirred against King James would lose
his head. Still, the intelligence produced a marked effect. The people
smiled mysteriously in the streets and threw bold glances at their
oppressors, while far and wide there was a subdued and silent
agitation, as if the slightest signal would rouse the whole land from
its sluggish despondency. Aware of their danger, the rulers resolved
to avert it by an imposing display of strength, and perhaps to confirm
their despotism by yet harsher measures.

One afternoon in April, 1689, Sir Edmund Andros and his favorite
councillors, being warm with wine, assembled the red-coats of the
governor's guard and made their appearance in the streets of Boston.
The sun was near setting when the march commenced. The roll of the
drum at that unquiet crisis seemed to go through the streets less as
the martial music of the soldiers than as a muster-call to the
inhabitants themselves. A multitude by various avenues assembled in
King street, which was destined to be the scene, nearly a century
afterward, of another encounter between the troops of Britain and a
people struggling against her tyranny.

Though more than sixty years had elapsed since the Pilgrim
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It is with a kind of fear that I begin to write the history of my life.
I have, as it were, a superstitious hesitation in lifting the veil that
clings about my childhood like a golden mist. The task of writing an
autobiography is a difficult one. When I try to classify my earliest
impressions, I find that fact and fancy look alike across the years that
link the past with the present. The woman paints the child's experiences
in her own fantasy. A few impressions stand out vividly from the first
years of my life; but "the shadows of the prison-house are on the rest."
Besides, many of the joys and sorrows of childhood have lost their
poignancy; and many incidents of vital importance in my early education
have been forgotten in the excitement of great discoveries. In order,
therefore, not to be tedious I shall try to present in a series of
sketches only the episodes that seem to me to be the most interesting
and important.

I was born on June 27, 1880, in Tuscumbia, a little town of northern
Alabama.

The family on my father's side is descended from Caspar Keller, a native
of Switzerland, who settled in Maryland. One of my Swiss ancestors was
the first teacher of the deaf in Zurich and wrote a book on the subject
of their education--rather a singular coincidence; though it is true
that there is no king who has not had a slave among his ancestors, and
no slave who has not had a king among his.

My grandfather, Caspar Keller's son, "entered" large tracts of land in
Alabama and finally settled there. I have been told that once a year he
went from Tuscumbia to Philadelphia on horseback to purchase supplies
for the plantation, and my aunt has in her possession many of the
letters to his family, which give charming and vivid accounts of these
trips.

My Grandmother Keller was a daughter of one of Lafayette's aides,
Alexander Moore, and granddaughter of Alexander Spotswood, an early
Colonial Governor of Virginia. She was also second cousin to Robert E.
Lee.

My father, Arthur H. Keller, was a captain in the Confederate Army, and
my mother, Kate Adams, was his second wife and many years younger. Her
grandfather, Benjamin Adams, married Susanna E. Goodhue, and lived in
Newbury, Massachusetts, for many years. Their son, Charles Adams, was
born in Newburyport, Massachusetts, and moved to Helena, Arkansas. When
the Civil War broke out, he fought on the side of the South and became
a brigadier-general. He married Lucy Helen Everett, who belonged to the
same family of Everetts as Edward Everett and Dr. Edward Everett Hale.
After the war was over the family moved to Memphis, Tennessee.

I lived, up to the time of the illness that deprived me of my sight and
hearing, in a tiny house consisting of a large square room and a small
one, in which the servant slept. It is a custom in the South to build a
small house near the homestead as an annex to be used on occasion. Such
a house my father built after the Civil War, and when he married my
mother they went to live in it. It was completely covered with vines,
climbing roses and honeysuckles. From the garden it looked like an
arbour. The little porch was hidden from view by a screen of yellow
roses and Southern smilax. It was the favourite haunt of humming-birds
and bees.

The Keller homestead, where the family lived, was a few steps from our
little rose-bower. It was called "Ivy Green" because the house and the
surrounding trees and fences were covered with beautiful English ivy.
Its old-fashioned garden was the paradise of my childhood.

Even in the days before my teacher came, I used to feel along the square
stiff boxwood hedges, and, guided by the sense of smell would find the
first violets and lilies. There, too, after a fit of temper, I went to
find comfort and to hide my hot face in the cool leaves and grass. What
joy it was to lose myself in that garden of flowers, to wander happily
from spot to spot, until, coming suddenly upon a beautiful vine, I
recognized it by its leaves and blossoms, and knew it was the vine which
covered the tumble-down summer-house at the farther end of the garden!
Here, also, were trailing clematis, drooping jessamine, and some rare
sweet flowers called butterfly lilies, because their fragile petals
resemble butterflies' wings. But the roses--they were loveliest of all.
Never have I found in the greenhouses of the North such heart-satisfying
roses as the climbing roses of my southern home. They used to hang
in long festoons from our porch, filling the whole air with their
fragrance, untainted by any earthy smell; and in the early morning,
washed in the dew, they felt so soft, so pure, I could not help
wondering if they did not resemble the asphodels of God's garden.

The beginning of my life was simple and much like every other little
life. I came, I saw, I conquered, as the first baby in the family always
does. There was the usual amount of discussion as to a name for me.
The first baby in the family was not to be lightly named, every one was
empha
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It was once upon a time, many, many, many years ago.

And it was in the warm lands where the sun shines stronger than here and
the rain falls closer and all animals and plants thrive better, because
the winter does not stunt their growth.

The forest was full of life and noise.

The flies buzzed, the sparrow ate the flies and the hawk ate the sparrow.
The bees crept into the flowers in search of honey, the lion roared and
the birds sang, the brook rippled and the grass grew. The trees stood and
rustled, while their roots sucked sap from the earth. The flowers were
radiant and fragrant.

All at once, it became strangely still.

It was as though everything held its breath and listened and stared. The
rustling of the trees ceased. The violet woke from her dreams and looked
up in wonder. The lion raised his head and stood with one paw uplifted.
The stag stopped grazing, the eagle rested high in the air on his wings,
the little mouse ran out of his hole and pricked up his ears.

There came two through the forest who were different from the others and
whom no one had ever seen before.

They walked erect. Their foreheads were high, their eyes firm and steady.
They went hand in hand and looked around them as though they did not know
where they were.

“Who, in the name of wonder, are these?” asked the lion.

“They’re animals,” said the stag. “They can walk. But how oddly they do
it! Why don’t they leap on all fours, seeing that they have four legs?
Then they would get along much faster.”

“Oh,” said the snake, “I have no legs at all and it seems to me I get
along pretty fast!’

“I don’t believe they are animals,” said the nightingale. “They have no
feathers and no hair, except that bit on their heads.”

“Scales would do quite as well,” said the pike, popping his head out of
the river.

“Some of us have to manage with our bare skin,” said the earth-worm,
quietly.

“They have no tails,” said the mouse. “Never in their lives have they been
animals!”

“I have no tail,” said the toad. “And nobody can deny that I am an animal.”

“Look!” said the lion. “Just look! One of them is taking up a stone in his
fore-paws: I couldn’t do that.”

“But I could,” said the orang-outang. “There’s nothing in that. For the
rest, I can satisfy your curiosity. Those two, in point of fact, are
animals. They are husband and wife, their name is Two-Legs and they are
distant relations of my own.”

“Oh, really?” said the lion. “Then how is it they have no fur?”

“I daresay they’ve lost it,” said the orang-outang.

“Why don’t you go and talk to them?” asked the lion.

[Illustration: THERE CAME TWO THROUGH THE FOREST]

“I don’t know them,” replied the orang-outang. “And I’m not at all
anxious to have anything to do with them. I have only heard of them. You
must know, they are a sort of very inferior, second-rate ape. I shall be
pleased to give them an apple or an orange now and again, but I won’t
undertake the smallest responsibility for them.”

“They look very nice,” said the lion. “I shouldn’t mind trying what they
taste like.”

“Pray do, for all that I care,” said the orang-outang. “They will never be
a credit to the family and, sooner or later, they will come to a bad end.”

The lion went towards them, as they came, but, when he stood before them,
he suddenly lost courage. He could not understand this himself, for there
was not another thing in the forest that he feared. But the two new
animals had such strange eyes and walked the earth so fearlessly that he
thought they must possess some mysterious power which he could not see.
There was nothing particular about their teeth; and their claws were not
worth speaking of. But something about them there must be.

So he hung his head and moved out of their way.

“Why didn’t you eat them?” asked the lioness.

“I wasn’t feeling hungry,” he answered.

He lay down to rest in the high grass and did as though he were no longer
thinking of them. The other animals did the same, for he was their chief.
But none of them meant it. They were all taken up with the new animals.



Meanwhile, Two-Legs and his wife walked on; and, the farther they walked,
the more they wondered at the splendour of the world. They had no
suspicion of the attention which they attracted and they did not see that
all the animals were stealthily following in their tracks. Wherever they
came, the trees put their tops together and whispered, the birds flew in
the air above their heads and astonished eyes started at them from every
bush.

“We will live here,” said Two-Legs and pointed to a wonderful little
meadow, where the river flowed between flowers and grass.

“No, here!” cried his wife and ran into the adjoining wood, where the
trees dispensed a deep shade and the moss was thick and soft.

[Illustration]

“How strange their voices sound!” said the nightingale. “They have more
notes than I.”

“If they were not so big, I should advise them to build a nest beside me
in the rushes,” said the reed-warbler.

The two new animals walked on a
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[Editor's Note: It has been called to our attention that Project Gutenberg ebook #43 which is the same title as this, is much easier to read than file #42 which you have presently opened.]




                               STRANGE CASE OF
                               DR. JEKYLL AND
                                  MR. HYDE

                                     BY
                            ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON




1)



                             STORY OF THE DOOR

MR. UTTERSON the lawyer was a man of a rugged countenance, that was
never lighted by a smile; cold, scanty and embarrassed in
discourse; backward in sentiment; lean, long, dusty, dreary, and
yet somehow lovable. At friendly meetings, and when the wine was to
his taste, something eminently human beaconed from his eye;
something indeed which never found its way into his talk, but which
spoke not only in these silent symbols of the after-dinner face, but
more often and loudly in the acts of his life. He was austere with
himself; drank gin when he was alone, to mortify a taste for
vintages; and though he enjoyed the theatre, had not crossed the
doors of one for twenty years. But he had an approved tolerance for
others; sometimes wondering, almost with envy, at the high pressure
of spirits involved in their misdeeds; and in any extremity inclined
to help rather than to reprove.

2)

"I incline to Cain's heresy," he used to say quaintly: "I let my
brother go to the devil in his own way." In this character, it was
frequently his fortune to be the last reputable acquaintance and the
last good influence in the lives of down-going men. And to such as
these, so long as they came about his chambers, he never marked a
shade of change in his demeanour.

No doubt the feat was easy to Mr. Utterson; for he was
undemonstrative at the best, and even his friendship seemed to be
founded in a similar catholicity of good-nature. It is the mark of a
modest man to accept his friendly circle ready-made from the hands
of opportunity; and that was the lawyer's way. His friends were
those of his own blood or those whom he had known the longest; his
affections, like ivy, were the growth of time, they implied no
aptness in the object. Hence, no doubt, the bond that united him to
Mr. Richard Enfield, his distant kinsman, the well-known man about
town. It was a nut to crack for many, what these two could see in
each other, or what subject they could find in common. It was
reported by those who encountered them in their Sunday walks, that
they said nothing, looked singularly dull, and would hail with
obvious relief the appearance of a friend. For all that, the two men
put the greatest store by these excursions, counted them the chief
jewel of each week, and not only set aside occasions of pleasure,
but even resisted the calls

3)

of business, that they might enjoy them uninterrupted.

It chanced on one of these rambles that their way led them down a
by-street in a busy quarter of London. The street was small and
what is called quiet, but it drove a thriving trade on the
week-days. The inhabitants were all doing well, it seemed, and all
emulously hoping to do better still, and laying out the surplus of
their gains in coquetry; so that the shop fronts stood along that
thoroughfare with an air of invitation, like rows of smiling
saleswomen. Even on Sunday, when it veiled its more florid charms
and lay comparatively empty of passage, the street shone out in
contrast to its dingy neighbourhood, like a fire in a forest; and
with its freshly painted shutters, well-polished brasses, and
general cleanliness and gaiety of note, instantly caught and pleased
the eye of the passenger.

Two doors from one corner, on the left hand going east, the line
was broken by the entry of a court; and just at that point, a
certain sinister block of building thrust forward its gable on the
street. It was two stories high; showed no window, nothing but a
door on the lower story and a blind forehead of discoloured wall on
the upper; and bore in every feature, the marks of prolonged and
sordid negligence. The door, which was equipped with neither bell
nor knocker, was blistered and distained. Tramps slouched into the
recess and struck matches on

4)

the panels; children kept shop upon the steps; the schoolboy had
tried his knife on the mouldings; and for close on a generation, no
one had appeared to drive away these random visitors or to repair
their ravages.

Mr. Enfield and the lawyer were on the other side of the by-street;
but when they came abreast of the entry, the former lifted up his
cane and pointed.

"Did you ever remark that door?" he asked; and when his companion
had replied in the affirmative, "It is connected in my mind," added
he, "with a very odd story."

"Indeed?" said Mr. Utterson, with a slight change of voice, "and
what was that?"

"Well, it was this way," returned Mr. Enfield: "I was coming home
from some place at the end of the world, about three o'clock of a
black winter morn
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DISCOURSE ON THE METHOD OF RIGHTLY CONDUCTING THE REASON,
                   AND SEEKING TRUTH IN THE SCIENCES

                           by Rene Descartes



PREFATORY NOTE BY THE AUTHOR

If this Discourse appear too long to be read at once, it may be divided
into six Parts:  and, in the first, will be found various
considerations touching the Sciences; in the second, the principal
rules of the Method which the Author has discovered, in the third,
certain of the rules of Morals which he has deduced from this Method;
in the fourth, the reasonings by which he establishes the existence of
God and of the Human Soul, which are the foundations of his Metaphysic;
in the fifth, the order of the Physical questions which he has
investigated, and, in particular, the explication of the motion of the
heart and of some other difficulties pertaining to Medicine, as also
the difference between the soul of man and that of the brutes; and, in
the last, what the Author believes to be required in order to greater
advancement in the investigation of Nature than has yet been made, with
the reasons that have induced him to write.



PART I

Good sense is, of all things among men, the most equally distributed;
for every one thinks himself so abundantly provided with it, that those
even who are the most difficult to satisfy in everything else, do not
usually desire a larger measure of this quality than they already
possess.  And in this it is not likely that all are mistaken the
conviction is rather to be held as testifying that the power of judging
aright and of distinguishing truth from error, which is properly what
is called  good sense or reason, is by nature equal in all men; and
that the diversity of our opinions, consequently, does not arise from
some being endowed with a larger share of reason than others, but
solely from this, that we conduct our thoughts along different ways,
and do not fix our attention on the same objects.  For to be possessed
of a vigorous mind is not enough; the prime requisite is rightly to
apply it.  The greatest minds, as they are capable of the highest
excellences, are open likewise to the greatest aberrations; and those
who travel very slowly may yet make far greater progress, provided they
keep always to the straight road, than those who, while they run,
forsake it.

For myself, I have never fancied my mind to be in any respect more
perfect than those of the generality; on the contrary, I have often
wished that I were equal to some others in promptitude of thought, or
in clearness and distinctness of imagination, or in fullness and
readiness of memory.  And besides these, I know of no other qualities
that contribute to the perfection of the mind; for as to the reason or
sense, inasmuch as it is that alone which constitutes us men, and
distinguishes us from the brutes, I am disposed to believe that it is
to be found complete in each individual; and on this point to adopt the
common opinion of philosophers, who say that the difference of greater
and less holds only among the accidents, and not among the forms or
natures of individuals of the same species.

I will not hesitate, however, to avow my belief that it has been my
singular good  fortune to have very early in life fallen in with
certain tracks which have conducted me to considerations and maxims, of
which I have formed a method that gives me the means, as I think, of
gradually augmenting my knowledge, and of raising it by little and
little to the highest point which the mediocrity of my talents and the
brief duration of my life will permit me to reach.  For I have already
reaped from it such fruits that, although I have been accustomed to
think lowly enough of myself, and although when I look with the eye of
a philosopher at the varied courses and pursuits of mankind at large, I
find scarcely one which does not appear in vain and useless, I
nevertheless derive the highest satisfaction from the progress I
conceive myself to have already made in the search after truth, and
cannot help entertaining such expectations of the future as to believe
that if, among the occupations of men as men, there is any one really
excellent and important, it is that which I have chosen.

After all, it is possible I may be mistaken; and it is but a little
copper and glass, perhaps, that I take for gold and diamonds.  I know
how very liable we are to delusion in what relates to ourselves, and
also how much the judgments of our friends are to be suspected when
given in our favor.  But I shall endeavor in this discourse to describe
the paths I have followed, and to delineate my life as in a picture, in
order that each one may also be able to judge of them for himself, and
that in the general opinion entertained of them, as gathered from
current report, I myself may have a new help towards instruction to be
added to those I have been in the habit of employing.

My present design, then, is not to teach the method which each ought to
follow for the right conduct of 
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Transcriber's note:

      Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).

      Text (Dedication) enclosed by plus signs is in ornate
      bold face (+bold+).





OLD GREEK EDUCATION

by

J. P. MAHAFFY, M.A.

Fell. and Tutor, Trin. Coll., Dub.
Knight of the Order of the Saviour
Author of “Social Life in Greece” “A History of Greek Literature”
“A Primer of Greek Antiquities” etc.






New York
Harper & Brothers, Franklin Square
1882




  TO

  THE GREEK NATION

  STILL, AS OF OLD, THE PIONEER OF EDUCATION

  IN EASTERN EUROPE

  +I Dedicate+

  THIS LITTLE BOOK

  IN MEMORY OF THE YEAR 1881




  PREFATORY NOTE.


Readers unfamiliar with Greek will find the equivalent of the Greek
words cited in the nearest word printed in italics.

The scope of this book precludes me from acknowledging individually
my many obligations to other authors, both for curious facts and for
learned references.




  CONTENTS.


CHAPTER                                                     PAGE

       INTRODUCTION                                            1

    I. Infancy                                                 7

   II. Earlier Childhood                                      14

  III. School Days--The Physical Side                         21

   IV. School Days--The Musical Side--The Schoolmaster        32

    V. The Musical Side--Schools and their Appointments       42

   VI. The Subjects and Method of Education--Drawing and
          Music                                               57

  VII. The Last Stage of Education--Military Training of the
          Ephebi                                              69

 VIII. Higher Education--The Sophists and Socrates            78

   IX. The Rhetors--Isocrates                                 91

    X. The Greek Theorists on Education--Plato and Aristotle  99

   XI. The Growth of Systematic Higher Education--University
          Life at Athens                                     116

       INDEX                                                 141




  GREEK EDUCATION.




  INTRODUCTION.


§ 1. We hear it often repeated that human nature is the same at all
times and in all places; and this is urged at times and places where
it is so manifestly false that we feel disposed peremptorily to deny
it when paraded to us as a general truth. The fact is that only in its
lower activities does human nature show any remarkable uniformity; so
far as men are mere animals, they have strong resemblances, and in
savages even their minds seem to originate the same fancies in various
ages and climes. But when we come to higher developments, to the
spiritual element in individuals, to the social and political relations
of civilized men, the pretended truism gives way more and more to the
opposite truth, that mankind varies at all times and in all places. As
no two individuals, when carefully examined, are exactly alike, so no
two societies of men are even nearly alike; and at the present time
there is probably no more fertile cause of political and legislative
blundering than the assumption that the constitution successfully
worked out by one people can be transferred by the force of a mere
decree to its neighbors. All the recent experiments in state-reform
have been based on this assumption, as if the transferrence of a
House of Commons in any real sense were not as impossible as the
transferrence of Eton and of Oxford to some foreign society.

Although, therefore, we cannot deny that past history contains many
fruitful lessons for the bettering of our own time, it is not unlikely
that the tendency of the present widely informed but hasty age is to
exaggerate the likenesses of various epochs, and to overrate the force
of analogy in social and political reasoning. Historical parallels
are generally striking only up to a certain point; a deeper knowledge
discloses elements of contrast, wide differences of motive, great
variations in human feeling.

§ 2. But as we go back to simpler states of life, or earlier stages
of development, the argument from analogy becomes stronger, and the
lessons we may derive from history, though less striking, are more
trustworthy. This is peculiarly the case with the problem of education
as handled by civilized nations
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   Pray who is there who would refuse
   To bearer be of happy news?
      --Old Granny Fox.

Snow covered the Green Meadows and the Green Forest, and ice bound the
Smiling Pool and the Laughing Brook. Reddy and Granny Fox were hungry
most of the time. It was not easy to find enough to eat these days, and
so they spent nearly every minute they were awake in hunting. Sometimes
they hunted together, but usually one went one way, and the other went
another way so as to have a greater chance of finding something. If
either found enough for two, the one finding it took the food back to
their home if it could be carried. If not, the other was told where to
find it.

For several days they had had very little indeed to eat, and they were
so hungry that they were willing to take almost any chance to get a good
meal. For two nights they had visited Farmer Brown's henhouse, hoping
that they would be able to find a way inside. But the biddies had been
securely locked up, and try as they would, they couldn't find a way in.

“It's of no use,” said Granny, as they started back home after the
second try, “to hope to get one of those hens at night. If we are going
to get any at all, we will have to do it in broad daylight. It can
be done, for I have done it before, but I don't like the idea. We are
likely to be seen, and that means that Bowser the Hound will be set to
hunting us.”

“Pooh!” exclaimed Reddy. “What of it? It's easy enough to fool him.”

“You think so, do you?” snapped Granny. “I never yet saw a young Fox
who didn't think he knew all there is to know, and you're just like the
rest. When you've lived as long as I have you will have learned not to
be quite so sure of your own opinions. I grant you that when there is no
snow on the ground, any Fox with a reasonable amount of Fox sense in his
head can fool Bowser, but with snow everywhere it is a very different
matter. If Bowser once takes it into his head to follow your trail these
days, you will have to be smarter than I think you are to fool him. The
only way you will be able to get away from him will be by going into
a hole in the ground, and when you do that you will have given away a
secret that will mean we will never have any peace at all. We will never
know when Farmer Brown's boy will take it into his head to smoke us out.
I've seen it done. No, Sir, we are not going to try for one of those
hens in the daytime unless we are starving.”

“I'm starving now,” whined Reddy.

“No such thing!” Granny snapped. “I've been without food longer than
this many a time. Have you been over to the Big River lately?”

“No,” replied Reddy. “What's the use? It's frozen over. There isn't
anything there.”

“Perhaps not,” replied Granny, “but I learned a long time ago that it
is a poor plan to overlook any chance. There is a place in the Big River
which never freezes because the water runs too swiftly to freeze, and
I've found more than one meal washed ashore there. You go over there now
while I see what I can find in the Green Forest. If neither of us finds
anything, it will be time enough to think about Farmer Brown's hens
to-morrow.”

Much against his will Reddy obeyed. “It isn't the least bit of use,” he
grumbled, as he trotted towards the Big River. “There won't be anything
there. It is just a waste of time.”

Late that afternoon he came hurrying back, and Granny knew by the way
that he cocked his ears and carried his tail that he had news of some
kind. “Well, what is it?” she demanded.

“I found a dead fish that had been washed ashore,” replied Reddy. “It
wasn't big enough for two, so I ate it.”

“Anything else?” asked Granny.

“No-o,” replied Reddy slowly; “that is, nothing that will do us any
good. Quacker the Wild Duck was swimming about out in the open water,
but though I watched and watched he never once came ashore.”

“Ha!” exclaimed Granny. “That is good news. I think we'll go Duck
hunting.”




   When you're in doubt what course is right,
   The thing to do is just sit tight.
     --Old Granny Fox.

Jolly, round, bright Mr. Sun had just got well started on his daily
climb up in the blue, blue sky that morning when he spied two figures
trotting across the snow-covered Green Meadows, one behind the other.
They were trotting along quite as if they had made up their minds just
where they were going. They had. You see they were Granny and Reddy Fox,
and they were bound for the Big River at the place where the water ran
too swiftly to freeze. The day before Reddy had discovered Quacker the
Wild Duck swimming about there, and now they were on their way to try to
catch him.

Granny led the way and Reddy meekly followed her. To tell the truth,
Reddy hadn't the least idea that they would have a chance to catch
Quacker, because Quacker kept out in the water where he was as safe from
them as if they were a thousand miles away. The only reason that Reddy
had willingly started with Granny was the hope that he might find a dead
fish washed up on the shore as he had the day bef
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PG #: 2265
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2265

Project Gutenberg's Etext of Shakespeare's The Tragedie of Hamlet




Executive Director's Notes:

In addition to the notes below, and so you will *NOT* think all
the spelling errors introduced by the printers of the time have
been corrected, here are the first few lines of Hamlet, as they
are presented herein:

  Barnardo. Who's there?
  Fran. Nay answer me: Stand & vnfold
your selfe

   Bar. Long liue the King

***

As I understand it, the printers often ran out of certain words
or letters they had often packed into a "cliche". . .this is the
original meaning of the term cliche. . .and thus, being unwilling
to unpack the cliches, and thus you will see some substitutions
that look very odd. . .such as the exchanges of u for v, v for u,
above. . .and you may wonder why they did it this way, presuming
Shakespeare did not actually write the play in this manner. . . .

The answer is that they MAY have packed "liue" into a cliche at a
time when they were out of "v"'s. . .possibly having used "vv" in
place of some "w"'s, etc.  This was a common practice of the day,
as print was still quite expensive, and they didn't want to spend
more on a wider selection of characters than they had to.

You will find a lot of these kinds of "errors" in this text, as I
have mentioned in other times and places, many "scholars" have an
extreme attachment to these errors, and many have accorded them a
very high place in the "canon" of Shakespeare.  My father read an
assortment of these made available to him by Cambridge University
in England for several months in a glass room constructed for the
purpose.  To the best of my knowledge he read ALL those available
. . .in great detail. . .and determined from the various changes,
that Shakespeare most likely did not write in nearly as many of a
variety of errors we credit him for, even though he was in/famous
for signing his name with several different spellings.

So, please take this into account when reading the comments below
made by our volunteer who prepared this file:  you may see errors
that are "not" errors. . . .

So. . .with this caveat. . .we have NOT changed the canon errors,
here is the Project Gutenberg Etext of Shakespeare's The Tragedie
of Hamlet.

Michael S. Hart
Project Gutenberg
Executive Director


***


Scanner's Notes: What this is and isn't.  This was taken from
a copy of Shakespeare's first folio and it is as close as I can
come in ASCII to the printed text.

The elongated S's have been changed to small s's and the
conjoined ae have been changed to ae.  I have left the spelling,
punctuation, capitalization as close as possible to the
printed text.  I have corrected some spelling mistakes (I have put
together a spelling dictionary devised from the spellings of the
Geneva Bible and Shakespeare's First Folio and have unified
spellings according to this template), typo's and expanded
abbreviations as I have come across them.  Everything within
brackets [] is what I have added.  So if you don't like that
you can delete everything within the brackets if you want a
purer Shakespeare.

Another thing that you should be aware of is that there are textual
differences between various copies of the first folio.  So there may
be differences (other than what I have mentioned above) between
this and other first folio editions.  This is due to the printer's
habit of setting the type and running off a number of copies and
then proofing the printed copy and correcting the type and then
continuing the printing run.  The proof run wasn't thrown away but
incorporated into the printed copies.  This is just the way it is.
The text I have used was a composite of more than 30 different
First Folio editions' best pages.

If you find any scanning errors, out and out typos, punctuation
errors, or if you disagree with my spelling choices please feel
free to email me those errors.  I wish to make this the best
etext possible.  My email address for right now are haradda@aol.com
and davidr@inconnect.com.  I hope that you enjoy this.

David Reed

The Tragedie of Hamlet

Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.

Enter Barnardo and Francisco two Centinels.

  Barnardo. Who's there?
  Fran. Nay answer me: Stand & vnfold
your selfe

   Bar. Long liue the King

   Fran. Barnardo?
  Bar. He

   Fran. You come most carefully vpon your houre

   Bar. 'Tis now strook twelue, get thee to bed Francisco

   Fran. For this releefe much thankes: 'Tis bitter cold,
And I am sicke at heart

   Barn. Haue you had quiet Guard?
  Fran. Not a Mouse stirring

   Barn. Well, goodnight. If you do meet Horatio and
Marcellus, the Riuals of my Watch, bid them make hast.
Enter Horatio and Marcellus.

  Fran. I thinke I heare them. Stand: who's there?
  Hor. Friends to this ground

   Mar. And Leige-men to the Dane

   Fran. Giue you good night

   Mar. O farwel honest Soldier, who hath relieu'd you?
  Fra. Barnardo ha's my place: giue you goodnight.

Exit Fran.

  Mar. Holla Barnardo

   Bar. Say, what is Horatio there?
  Hor. A peece o
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PG #: 30278
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/30278


DON SANTIAGO'S DINNER.


In the latter part of October, Don Santiago de los Santos, popularly
known as Captain Tiago, gave a dinner. Though, contrary to his custom,
he had not announced it until the afternoon of the day on which it was
to occur, the dinner became at once the absorbing topic of conversation
in Binondo, in the other suburbs of Manila, and even in the walled
city. Captain Tiago was generally considered a most liberal man,
and his house, like his country, shut its doors to no one, whether
bent on pleasure or on the development of some new and daring scheme.

The dinner was given in the captain's house in Analoague street. The
building is of ordinary size, of the style of architecture common
to the country, and is situated on that arm of the Pasig called by
some Binondo Creek. This, like all the streams in Manila, satisfies a
multitude of needs. It serves for bathing, mortar-mixing, laundering,
fishing, means of transportation and communication, and even for
drinking water, when the Chinese water-carriers find it convenient
to use it for that purpose. Although the most important artery of
the busiest part of the town, where the roar of commerce is loudest
and traffic most congested, the stream is, for a distance of a mile,
crossed by only one wooden bridge. During six months of the year, one
end of this bridge is out of order, and the other end is impassable
during the remaining time.

The house is low and somewhat out of plumb. No one, however, knows
whether the faulty lines of the building are due to a defect in the
sight of the architect who constructed it, or whether they are the
result of earthquakes and hurricanes.

A wide staircase, with green balustrades and carpeted here and there in
spots, leads from the zaguan, or tiled entrance hall, to the second
story of the house. On either side of this staircase is a row of
flower-pots and vases, placed upon chinaware pedestals, brilliant in
coloring and fantastic in design. Upstairs, we enter a spacious hall,
which is, in these islands, called caida. This serves to-night for
the dining hall. In the middle of the room is a large table, profusely
and richly ornamented, fairly groaning under the weight of delicacies.

In direct contrast to these worldly preparations are the motley colored
religious pictures on the walls--such subjects as "Purgatory," "Hell,"
"The Last Judgment," "The Death of the Just," and "The Death of the
Sinner." Below these, in a beautiful renaissance frame, is a large,
curious linen engraving of two old ladies. The picture bears the
inscription "Our Lady of Peace, Propitious to Travellers, Venerated
in Antipolo, Visiting in the Guise of a Beggar the Pious Wife of the
Famous Captain Inés in Her Sickness." In the side of the room toward
the river, Captain Tiago has arranged fantastic wooden arches, half
Chinese, half European, through which one can pass to the roof which
covers part of the first story. This roof serves as a veranda, and
has been illuminated with Chinese lanterns in many colors and made
into a pretty little arbor or garden. The sala or principal room of
the house, where the guests assembled is resplendent with colossal
mirrors and brilliant chandeliers, and, upon a platform of pine,
is a costly piano of the finest workmanship.

People almost filled this room, the men keeping on one side and the
women on the other, as though they were in a Catholic church or a
synagogue. Among the women were a number of young girls, both native
and Spanish. Occasionally one of them forgot herself and yawned,
but immediately sought to conceal it by covering her mouth with her
fan. Conversation was carried on in a low voice and died away in
vague mono-syllables, like the indistinct noises heard by night in
a large mansion.

An elderly woman with a kindly face, a cousin of Captain Tiago,
received the ladies. She spoke Spanish regardless of all the
grammatical rules, and her courtesies consisted in offering to the
Spanish ladies cigarettes and betel nut (neither of which they use)
and in kissing the hands of the native women after the manner of
the friars. Finally the poor old lady was completely exhausted,
and, taking advantage of a distant crash occasioned by the breaking
of a plate, hurried off precipitately to investigate, murmuring:
"Jesús! Just wait, you good-for-nothings!"

Among the men there was somewhat more animation. In one corner of
the room were some cadets, who chatted with some show of interest,
but in a low voice. From time to time they surveyed the crowd and
indicated to each other different persons, meanwhile laughing more
or less affectedly.

The only people who appeared to be really enjoying themselves were
two friars, two citizens and an officer of the army who formed a
group around a small table, on which were bottles of wine and English
biscuits. The officer was old, tall and sunburnt, and looked as the
Duke of Alva might have looked, had he been reduced to a command in
the civil guard. He said little, but wh
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PG #: 11339
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/11339

Proofreading Team.





ÆSOP'S FABLES


A NEW TRANSLATION

BY V. S. VERNON JONES


WITH AN INTRODUCTION

BY G. K. CHESTERTON


AND ILLUSTRATIONS

BY ARTHUR RACKHAM


1912 EDITION




INTRODUCTION


_Æsop embodies an epigram not uncommon in human history; his fame
is all the more deserved because he never deserved it. The firm
foundations of common sense, the shrewd shots at uncommon sense, that
characterise all the Fables, belong not him but to humanity. In
the earliest human history whatever is authentic is universal: and
whatever is universal is anonymous. In such cases there is always
some central man who had first the trouble of collecting them, and
afterwards the fame of creating them. He had the fame; and, on the
whole, he earned the fame. There must have been something great and
human, something of the human future and the human past, in such a
man: even if he only used it to rob the past or deceive the future.
The story of Arthur may have been really connected with the most
fighting Christianity of falling Rome or with the most heathen
traditions hidden in the hills of Wales. But the word "Mappe" or
"Malory" will always mean King Arthur; even though we find older and
better origins than the Mabinogian; or write later and worse versions
than the "Idylls of the King." The nursery fairy tales may have come
out of Asia with the Indo-European race, now fortunately extinct; they
may have been invented by some fine French lady or gentleman like
Perrault: they may possibly even be what they profess to be. But we
shall always call the best selection of such tales "Grimm's Tales":
simply because it is the best collection.

The historical Æsop, in so far as he was historical, would seem to
have been a Phrygian slave, or at least one not to be specially and
symbolically adorned with the Phrygian cap of liberty. He lived, if he
did live, about the sixth century before Christ, in the time of that
Croesus whose story we love and suspect like everything else in
Herodotus. There are also stories of deformity of feature and a ready
ribaldry of tongue: stories which (as the celebrated Cardinal said)
explain, though they do not excuse, his having been hurled over a high
precipice at Delphi. It is for those who read the Fables to judge
whether he was really thrown over the cliff for being ugly and
offensive, or rather for being highly moral and correct. But there is
no kind of doubt that the general legend of him may justly rank him
with a race too easily forgotten in our modern comparisons: the race
of the great philosophic slaves. Æsop may have been a fiction like
Uncle Remus: he was also, like Uncle Remus, a fact. It is a fact that
slaves in the old world could be worshipped like Æsop, or loved like
Uncle Remus. It is odd to note that both the great slaves told their
best stories about beasts and birds.

But whatever be fairly due to Æsop, the human tradition called Fables
is not due to him. This had gone on long before any sarcastic freedman
from Phrygia had or had not been flung off a precipice; this has
remained long after. It is to our advantage, indeed, to realise the
distinction; because it makes Æsop more obviously effective than any
other fabulist. Grimm's Tales, glorious as they are, were collected by
two German students. And if we find it hard to be certain of a German
student, at least we know more about him than We know about a Phrygian
slave. The truth is, of course, that Æsop's Fables are not Æsop's
fables, any more than Grimm's Fairy Tales were ever Grimm's fairy
tales. But the fable and the fairy tale are things utterly distinct.
There are many elements of difference; but the plainest is plain
enough. There can be no good fable with human beings in it. There can
be no good fairy tale without them.

Æsop, or Babrius (or whatever his name was), understood that, for
a fable, all the persons must be impersonal. They must be like
abstractions in algebra, or like pieces in chess. The lion must always
be stronger than the wolf, just as four is always double of two. The
fox in a fable must move crooked, as the knight in chess must move
crooked. The sheep in a fable must march on, as the pawn in chess must
march on. The fable must not allow for the crooked captures of the
pawn; it must not allow for what Balzac called "the revolt of a sheep"
The fairy tale, on the other hand, absolutely revolves on the pivot
of human personality. If no hero were there to fight the dragons, we
should not even know that they were dragons. If no adventurer were
cast on the undiscovered island--it would remain undiscovered. If the
miller's third son does not find the enchanted garden where the seven
princesses stand white and frozen--why, then, they will remain white
and frozen and enchanted. If there is no personal prince to find the
Sleeping Beauty she will simply sleep. Fables repose upon quite the
opposite idea; that everything is itself, and will in any case speak
for itself. The wolf will be always wolfish; the fox will be a
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PG #: 45001
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45001

creation, conservation, and government of all things, which are included
in his omnipotence.

So the first book is on the knowledge of God, considered as the Creator,
Preserver, and Governor of the universe at large, and of every thing
contained in it. It shows both the nature and tendency of the true
knowledge of the Creator—that this is not learned in the schools, but that
every man from his birth is self‐taught it—Yet that the depravity of men
is so great as to corrupt and extinguish this knowledge, partly by
ignorance, partly by wickedness; so that it neither leads him to glorify
God as he ought, nor conducts him to the attainment of happiness—And
though this internal knowledge is assisted by all the creatures around,
which serve as a mirror to display the Divine perfections, yet that man
does not profit by it—Therefore, that to those, whom it is God’s will to
bring to an intimate and saving knowledge of himself, he gives his written
word; which introduces observations on the sacred Scripture—That he has
therein revealed himself; that not the Father only, but the Father, Son,
and Holy Spirit, united, is the Creator of heaven and earth; whom neither
the knowledge innate by nature, nor the very beautiful mirror displayed to
us in the world, can, in consequence of our depravity, teach us to know so
as to glorify him. This gives occasion for treating of the revelation of
God in the Scripture, of the unity of the Divine Essence, and the trinity
of Persons.—To prevent man from attributing to God the blame of his own
voluntary blindness, the Author shows the state of man at his creation,
and treats of the image of God, free‐will, and the primitive integrity of
nature.—Having finished the subject of creation, he proceeds to the
conservation and government of all things, concluding the first book with
a full discussion of the doctrine of divine providence.

it is necessary to come to Christ. Therefore it follows in the Creed, “And
in Jesus Christ, his only Son our Lord,” &c.

So in the second book of the Institutes our Author treats of the knowledge
of God as the Redeemer in Christ; and having shown the fall of man, leads
him to Christ the Mediator. Here he states the doctrine of original
sin—that man possesses no inherent strength to enable him to deliver
himself from sin and the impending curse, but that, on the contrary,
nothing can proceed from him, antecedently to reconciliation and
renovation, but what is deserving of condemnation—Therefore, that, man
being utterly lost in himself, and incapable of conceiving even a good
thought by which he may restore himself, or perform actions acceptable to
God, he must seek redemption out of himself, in Christ—That the Law was
given for this purpose, not to confine its observers to itself, but to
conduct them to Christ; which gives occasion to introduce an exposition of
the Moral Law—That he was known, as the Author of salvation, to the Jews
under the Law, but more fully under the Gospel, in which he is manifested
to the world.—Hence follows the doctrine of the similarity and difference
of the Old and New Testament, of the Law and Gospel.—It is next stated,
that, in order to the complete accomplishment of salvation, it was
necessary for the eternal Son of God to become man, and that he actually
assumed a real human nature:—it is also shown how these two natures
constitute one person—That the office of Christ, appointed for the
acquisition and application of complete salvation by his merit and
efficacy, is sacerdotal, regal, and prophetical.—Next follows the manner
in which Christ executed his office, or actually performed the part of a
Mediator, being an exposition of the Articles respecting his death,
resurrection, and ascension to heaven.—Lastly, the Author shows the truth
and propriety of affirming that Christ merited the grace of God and
salvation for us.

the necessity of our being ingrafted into him, as branches into a vine.
Therefore the doctrine concerning Christ is followed, in the third part of
the Creed, by this clause, “I believe in the Holy Spirit,” as being the
bond of union between us and Christ.

So in the third book our Author treats of the Holy Spirit, who unites us
to Christ—and consequently of faith, by which we embrace Christ, with his
twofold benefit, free righteousness, which he imputes to us, and
regeneration, which he commences within us, by bestowing repentance upon
us.—And to show that we have not the least room to glory in such faith as
is unconnected with the pursuit of repentance, before proceeding to the
full discussion of justification, he treats at large of repentance and the
continual exercise of it, which Christ, apprehended by faith, produces in
us by his Spirit.—He next fully discusses the first and chief benefit of
Christ when united to us by the Holy Spirit, that is, justification—and
then treats of prayer, which resembles the hand that actually receives
those blessings to be enjoyed, which faith knows, from the word of
promise, t
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PG #: 1929
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1929

THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL


A COMEDY

A PORTRAIT<1>

BY R. B. SHERIDAN, ESQ.


Transcriber's Comments on the preparation of this E-Text:

SQUARE BRACKETS:

The square brackets, i.e. [ ] are copied from the printed book, without
change, except that a closing bracket "]" has been added to the stage
directions.


FOOTNOTES:

For this E-Text version of the book, the footnotes have been
consolidated at the end of the play.

Numbering of the footnotes has been changed, and each footnote is given
a unique identity in the form <X>.


CHANGES TO THE TEXT:

Character names have been expanded. For Example, SIR BENJAMIN was SIR
BEN.




THE TEXT OF THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL

The text of THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL in this edition is taken, by Mr.
Fraser Rae's generous permission, from his SHERIDAN'S PLAYS NOW PRINTED
AS HE WROTE THEM. In his Prefatory Notes (xxxvii), Mr. Rae writes: "The
manuscript of it [THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL] in Sheridan's own handwriting
is preserved at Frampton Court and is now printed in this volume. This
version differs in many respects from that which is generally known,
and I think it is even better than that which has hitherto been read and
acted. As I have endeavoured to reproduce the works of Sheridan as he
wrote them, I may be told that he was a bad hand at punctuating and very
bad at spelling. . . . But Sheridan's shortcomings as a speller have
been exaggerated." Lest "Sheridan's shortcomings" either in spelling
or in punctuation should obscure the text, I have, in this edition,
inserted in brackets some explanatory suggestions. It has seemed best,
also, to adopt a uniform method for indicating stage-directions and
abbreviations of the names of characters. There can be no gain to the
reader in reproducing, for example, Sheridan's different indications for
the part of Lady Sneerwell--LADY SNEERWELL, LADY SNEER., LADY SN., and
LADY S.--or his varying use of EXIT and EX., or his inconsistencies in
the use of italics in the stage-directions. Since, however, Sheridan's
biographers, from Moore to Fraser Rae, have shown that no authorised or
correct edition of THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL was published in Sheridan's
lifetime, there seems unusual justification for reproducing the text of
the play itself with absolute fidelity to the original manuscript. Mr.
Ridgway, who repeatedly sought to obtain a copy corrected by the author,
according to Moore's account (LIFE OF SHERIDAN, I. p. 260), "was told
by Mr. Sheridan, as an excuse for keeping it back, that he had been
nineteen years endeavouring to satisfy himself with the style of The
School for Scandal, but had not yet succeeded." Mr. Rae (SHERIDAN, I. p.
332) recorded his discovery of the manuscript of "two acts of The School
for Scandal prepared by Sheridan for publication," and hoped, before his
death, to publish this partial revision. Numberless unauthorized changes
in the play have been made for histrionic purposes, from the first
undated Dublin edition to that of Mr. Augustin Daly. Current texts may
usually be traced, directly or indirectly, to the two-volume Murray
edition of Sheridan's plays, in 1821. Some of the changes from the
original manuscript, such as the blending of the parts of Miss Verjuice
and Snake, are doubtless effective for reasons of dramatic economy, but
many of the "cuts" are to be regretted from the reader's standpoint. The
student of English drama will prefer Sheridan's own text to editorial
emendations, however clever or effective for dramatic ends.





THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL


ADDRESSED TO MRS. CREWE,

WITH THE COMEDY OF THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL

     Tell me, ye prim adepts in Scandal's school,
     Who rail by precept, and detract by rule,
     Lives there no character, so tried, so known,
     So deck'd with grace, and so unlike your own,
     That even you assist her fame to raise,
     Approve by envy, and by silence praise!--
     Attend!--a model shall attract your view--
     Daughters of calumny, I summon you!
     You shall decide if this a portrait prove,
     Or fond creation of the Muse and Love.--
     Attend, ye virgin critics, shrewd and sage,
     Ye matron censors of this childish age,
     Whose peering eye and wrinkled front declare
     A fixt antipathy to young and fair;
     By cunning, cautious; or by nature, cold,
     In maiden madness, virulently bold!--
     Attend! ye skilled to coin the precious tale,
     Creating proof, where innuendos fail!
     Whose practised memories, cruelly exact,
     Omit no circumstance, except the fact!--
     Attend, all ye who boast,--or old or young,--
     The living libel of a slanderous tongue!
     So shall my theme as far contrasted be,
     As saints by fiends, or hymns by calumny.
     Come, gentle Amoret (for 'neath that name,
     In worthier verse is sung thy beauty's fame);
     Come--for but thee who seeks the Muse? and while
     Celestial blushes check thy conscious smile,
     With timid grace, and hesitating eye,
     The perfect model, which I boast, supply:-
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PG #: 2490
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2490

LAMIA

By John Keats




Part 1

     Upon a time, before the faery broods
     Drove Nymph and Satyr from the prosperous woods,
     Before King Oberon's bright diadem,
     Sceptre, and mantle, clasp'd with dewy gem,
     Frighted away the Dryads and the Fauns
     From rushes green, and brakes, and cowslip'd lawns,
     The ever-smitten Hermes empty left
     His golden throne, bent warm on amorous theft:
     From high Olympus had he stolen light,
     On this side of Jove's clouds, to escape the sight
     Of his great summoner, and made retreat
     Into a forest on the shores of Crete.
     For somewhere in that sacred island dwelt
     A nymph, to whom all hoofed Satyrs knelt;
     At whose white feet the languid Tritons poured
     Pearls, while on land they wither'd and adored.
     Fast by the springs where she to bathe was wont,
     And in those meads where sometime she might haunt,
     Were strewn rich gifts, unknown to any Muse,
     Though Fancy's casket were unlock'd to choose.
     Ah, what a world of love was at her feet!
     So Hermes thought, and a celestial heat
     Burnt from his winged heels to either ear,
     That from a whiteness, as the lily clear,
     Blush'd into roses 'mid his golden hair,
     Fallen in jealous curls about his shoulders bare.
     From vale to vale, from wood to wood, he flew,
     Breathing upon the flowers his passion new,
     And wound with many a river to its head,
     To find where this sweet nymph prepar'd her secret bed:
     In vain; the sweet nymph might nowhere be found,
     And so he rested, on the lonely ground,
     Pensive, and full of painful jealousies
     Of the Wood-Gods, and even the very trees.
     There as he stood, he heard a mournful voice,
     Such as once heard, in gentle heart, destroys
     All pain but pity: thus the lone voice spake:
     "When from this wreathed tomb shall I awake!
     When move in a sweet body fit for life,
     And love, and pleasure, and the ruddy strife
     Of hearts and lips! Ah, miserable me!"
     The God, dove-footed, glided silently
     Round bush and tree, soft-brushing, in his speed,
     The taller grasses and full-flowering weed,
     Until he found a palpitating snake,
     Bright, and cirque-couchant in a dusky brake.

        She was a gordian shape of dazzling hue,
     Vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue;
     Striped like a zebra, freckled like a pard,
     Eyed like a peacock, and all crimson barr'd;
     And full of silver moons, that, as she breathed,
     Dissolv'd, or brighter shone, or interwreathed
     Their lustres with the gloomier tapestries--
     So rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries,
     She seem'd, at once, some penanced lady elf,
     Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self.
     Upon her crest she wore a wannish fire
     Sprinkled with stars, like Ariadne's tiar:
     Her head was serpent, but ah, bitter-sweet!
     She had a woman's mouth with all its pearls complete:
     And for her eyes: what could such eyes do there
     But weep, and weep, that they were born so fair?
     As Proserpine still weeps for her Sicilian air.
     Her throat was serpent, but the words she spake
     Came, as through bubbling honey, for Love's sake,
     And thus; while Hermes on his pinions lay,
     Like a stoop'd falcon ere he takes his prey.

        "Fair Hermes, crown'd with feathers, fluttering light,
     I had a splendid dream of thee last night:
     I saw thee sitting, on a throne of gold,
     Among the Gods, upon Olympus old,
     The only sad one; for thou didst not hear
     The soft, lute-finger'd Muses chaunting clear,
     Nor even Apollo when he sang alone,
     Deaf to his throbbing throat's long, long melodious moan.
     I dreamt I saw thee, robed in purple flakes,
     Break amorous through the clouds, as morning breaks,
     And, swiftly as a bright Phoebean dart,
     Strike for the Cretan isle; and here thou art!
     Too gentle Hermes, hast thou found the maid?"
     Whereat the star of Lethe not delay'd
     His rosy eloquence, and thus inquired:
     "Thou smooth-lipp'd serpent, surely high inspired!
     Thou beauteous wreath, with melancholy eyes,
     Possess whatever bliss thou canst devise,
     Telling me only where my nymph is fled,--
     Where she doth breathe!" "Bright planet, thou hast said,"
     Return'd the snake, "but seal with oaths, fair God!"
     "I swear," said Hermes, "by my serpent rod,
     And by thine eyes, and by thy starry crown!"
     Light flew his earnest words, among the blossoms blown.
     Then thus again the brilliance feminine:
     "Too frail of heart! for this lost nymph of thine,
     Free as the air, invisibly, she strays
     About these thornless wilds; her pleasant days
     She tastes unseen; unseen her nimble feet
     Leave traces in the grass and flowers sweet;
     From weary tendrils, and bow'd branches green,
     She plucks the fruit unseen, she bathes unseen:
     And by my power is her bea
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PG #: 28233
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OPUS HOCCE

MATHEMATICO-PHYSICUM

_Sæculi Gentisque nostræ Decus egregium._

  En tibi norma Poli, & divæ libramina Molis,
  Computus atque Jovis; quas, dum primordia rerum
  Pangeret, omniparens Leges violare Creator
  Noluit, æternique operis fundamina fixit.
  Intima panduntur victi penetralia cæli,
  Nec latet extremos quæ Vis circumrotat Orbes.
  Sol solio residens ad se jubet omnia prono
  Tendere descensu, nec recto tramite currus
  Sidereos patitur vastum per inane moveri;
  Sed rapit immotis, se centro, singula Gyris.
  Jam patet horrificis quæ sit via flexa Cometis;
  Jam non miramur barbati Phænomena Astri.
  Discimus hinc tandem qua causa argentea Phoebe
  Passibus haud æquis graditur; cur subdita nulli
  Hactenus Astronomo numerorum fræna recuset:
  Cur remeant Nodi, curque Auges progrediuntur.
  Discimus & quantis refluum vaga Cynthia Pontum
  Viribus impellit, dum fractis fluctibus Ulvam
  Deserit, ac Nautis suspectas nudat arenas;
  Alternis vicibus suprema ad littora pulsans.
  Quæ toties animos veterum torsere Sophorum,
  Quæque Scholas frustra rauco certamine vexant
  Obvia conspicimus nubem pellente Mathesi.
  Jam dubios nulla caligine prægravat error
  Queis Superum penetrare domos atque ardua Coeli
  Scandere sublimis Genii concessit acumen.

  Surgite Mortales, terrenas mittite curas
  Atque hinc coeligenæ vires dignoscite Mentis
  A pecudum vita longe lateque remotæ.
  Qui scriptis jussit Tabulis compescere Cædes
  Furta & Adulteria, & perjuræ crimina Fraudis;
  Quive vagis populis circumdare moenibus Urbes
  Autor erat; Cererisve beavit munere gentes;
  Vel qui curarum lenimen pressit ab Uva;
  Vel qui Niliaca monstravit arundine pictos
  Consociare sonos, oculisque exponere Voces;
  Humanam sortem minus extulit; utpote pauca
  Respiciens miseræ solummodo commoda vitæ.
  Jam vero Superis convivæ admittimur, alti
  Jura poli tractare licet, jamque abdita coecæ
  Claustra patent Terræ rerumque immobilis ordo,
  Et quæ præteriti latuerunt sæcula mundi.

  Talia monstrantem mecum celebrate Camænis,
  Vos qui coelesti gaudetis nectare vesci,
  _NEWTONVM_ clausi reserantem scrinia Veri,
  _NEWTONVM_ Musis charum, cui pectore puro
  Phoebus adest, totoque incessit Numine mentem:
  Nec fas est propius Mortali attingere Divos.

                  _EDM. HALLEY._

       *       *       *       *       *


PHILOSOPHIÆ

NATURALIS

Principia

MATHEMATICA.

       *       *       *       *       *


Definitiones.

       *       *       *       *       *


Def. I.

_Quantitas Materiæ est mensura ejusdem orta ex illius Densitate &
Magnitudine conjunctim._

Aer duplo densior in duplo spatio quadruplus est. Idem intellige de Nive et
Pulveribus per compressionem vel liquefactionem condensatis. Et par est
ratio corporum omnium, quæ per causas quascunq; diversimode condensantur.
Medii interea, si quod fuerit, interstitia partium libere pervadentis, hic
nullam rationem habeo. Hanc autem quantitatem sub nomine corporis vel Massæ
in sequentibus passim intelligo. Innotescit ea per corporis cujusq; pondus.
Nam ponderi proportionalem esse reperi per experimenta pendulorum
accuratissime instituta, uti posthac docebitur.

Def. II.

_Quantitas motus est mensura ejusdem orta ex Velocitate et quantitate
Materiæ conjunctim._

Motus totius est summa motuum in partibus singulis, adeoq; in corpore duplo
majore æquali cum Velocitate duplus est, et dupla cum Velocitate
quadruplus.

Def. III.

_Materiæ vis insita est potentia resistendi, qua corpus unumquodq;, quantum
in se est, perseverat in statu suo vel quiescendi vel movendi uniformiter
in directum._

Hæc semper proportionalis est suo corpori, neq; differt quicquam ab inertia
Massæ, nisi in modo concipiendi. Per inertiam materiæ fit ut corpus omne de
statu suo vel quiescendi vel movendi difficulter deturbetur. Unde etiam vis
insita nomine significantissimo vis inertiæ dici possit. Exercet vero
corpus hanc vim solummodo in mutatione status sui per vim aliam in se
impressam facta, estq; exercitium ejus sub diverso respectu et Resistentia
et Impetus: Resistentia quatenus corpus ad conservandum statum suum
reluctatur vi impressæ; Impetus quatenus corpus idem, vi resistentis
obstaculi difficulter cedendo, conatur statum ejus mutare. Vulgus
Resistentiam quiescentibus et Impetum moventibus tribuit; sed motus et
quies, uti vulgo concipiuntur, respectu solo distinguuntur ab invicem, neq;
semper vere quiescunt quæ vulgo tanquam quiescentia spectantur.

Def. IV.

_Vis impressa est actio in corpus exercita, ad mutandum ejus statum vel
quiescendi vel movendi uniformiter in directum._

Consistit hæc vis in actione sola, neq; post actionem permanet in corpore.
Perseverat enim corpus in statu omni novo per solam vim inertiæ. Est autem
vis impressa diversarum originum, ut ex ictu, ex pressione, ex vi
centripeta.

Def. V.

_Vis centripeta est qua corpus versus punctum aliquod tanquam ad centrum
trahitur, impellitur, vel utcunq; tendit._

Hujus generis est gravitas, qua corpus tendit 
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I think that in no country in the civilized world is less attention
paid to philosophy than in the United States. The Americans have no
philosophical school of their own; and they care but little for all
the schools into which Europe is divided, the very names of which are
scarcely known to them. Nevertheless it is easy to perceive that almost
all the inhabitants of the United States conduct their understanding in
the same manner, and govern it by the same rules; that is to say,
that without ever having taken the trouble to define the rules of a
philosophical method, they are in possession of one, common to the whole
people. To evade the bondage of system and habit, of family maxims,
class opinions, and, in some degree, of national prejudices; to accept
tradition only as a means of information, and existing facts only as a
lesson used in doing otherwise, and doing better; to seek the reason
of things for one's self, and in one's self alone; to tend to results
without being bound to means, and to aim at the substance through the
form;--such are the principal characteristics of what I shall call the
philosophical method of the Americans. But if I go further, and if I
seek amongst these characteristics that which predominates over and
includes almost all the rest, I discover that in most of the operations
of the mind, each American appeals to the individual exercise of his own
understanding alone. America is therefore one of the countries in the
world where philosophy is least studied, and where the precepts of
Descartes are best applied. Nor is this surprising. The Americans do not
read the works of Descartes, because their social condition deters them
from speculative studies; but they follow his maxims because this very
social condition naturally disposes their understanding to adopt them.
In the midst of the continual movement which agitates a democratic
community, the tie which unites one generation to another is relaxed
or broken; every man readily loses the trace of the ideas of his
forefathers or takes no care about them. Nor can men living in this
state of society derive their belief from the opinions of the class to
which they belong, for, so to speak, there are no longer any classes, or
those which still exist are composed of such mobile elements, that
their body can never exercise a real control over its members. As to the
influence which the intelligence of one man has on that of another, it
must necessarily be very limited in a country where the citizens, placed
on the footing of a general similitude, are all closely seen by each
other; and where, as no signs of incontestable greatness or superiority
are perceived in any one of them, they are constantly brought back to
their own reason as the most obvious and proximate source of truth. It
is not only confidence in this or that man which is then destroyed, but
the taste for trusting the ipse dixit of any man whatsoever. Everyone
shuts himself up in his own breast, and affects from that point to judge
the world.

The practice which obtains amongst the Americans of fixing the standard
of their judgment in themselves alone, leads them to other habits of
mind. As they perceive that they succeed in resolving without assistance
all the little difficulties which their practical life presents, they
readily conclude that everything in the world may be explained, and that
nothing in it transcends the limits of the understanding. Thus they fall
to denying what they cannot comprehend; which leaves them but little
faith for whatever is extraordinary, and an almost insurmountable
distaste for whatever is supernatural. As it is on their own testimony
that they are accustomed to rely, they like to discern the object which
engages their attention with extreme clearness; they therefore strip off
as much as possible all that covers it, they rid themselves of whatever
separates them from it, they remove whatever conceals it from sight,
in order to view it more closely and in the broad light of day. This
disposition of the mind soon leads them to contemn forms, which they
regard as useless and inconvenient veils placed between them and the
truth.

The Americans then have not required to extract their philosophical
method from books; they have found it in themselves. The same thing may
be remarked in what has taken place in Europe. This same method has
only been established and made popular in Europe in proportion as the
condition of society has become more equal, and men have grown more like
each other. Let us consider for a moment the connection of the periods
in which this change may be traced. In the sixteenth century the
Reformers subjected some of the dogmas of the ancient faith to the
scrutiny of private judgment; but they still withheld from it the
judgment of all the rest. In the seventeenth century, Bacon in the
natural sciences, and Descartes in the study of philosophy in the strict
sense of the term, abolished recognized formulas, destroyed the
empire of t
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PG #: 22400
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HISTORY OF CHRISTIAN MARTYRS TO THE FIRST GENERAL PERSECUTIONS UNDER
NERO.

                                                                  PAGE

 Martyrdom of St. Stephen, James the Great, and Philip              16
   Matthew, James the Less, Matthias, Andrew,
     St. Mark and Peter                                             17
   Paul, Jude, Bartholomew, Thomas, Luke, Simon,
     John, and Barnabas                                             18



THE TEN PRIMITIVE PERSECUTIONS.

 The first persecution under Nero, A. D. 67                         19
 The second persecution under Domitian, A. D. 81                    19
 The third persecution under Trajan, A. D. 108                      20
 The fourth persecution under Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, A. D. 162  22
 The fifth persecution commencing with Severus, A. D. 192           25
 The sixth persecution under Maximinus, A. D. 235                   27
 The seventh persecution under Decius, A. D. 249                    27
 The eighth persecution under Valerian, A. D. 257                   31
 The ninth persecution under Aurelian, A. D. 274                    34
 The tenth persecution under Diocletian, A. D. 303                  36



PERSECUTIONS OF THE CHRISTIANS IN PERSIA.

 Persecutions under the Arian heretics                              45
 Persecution under Julian the Apostate                              46
 Persecution of the Christians by the Goths and Vandals             47
 Persecutions from about the middle of the Fifth, to the conclusion
   of the Seventh century                                           48
 Persecutions from the early part of the Eighth, to near the conclusion
   of the Tenth century                                             49
 Persecutions in the Eleventh century                               51



PAPAL PERSECUTIONS.

 Persecution of the Waldenses in France                             53
 Persecutions of the Albigenses                                     55
 The Bartholomew massacre at Paris, &c.                             57
 From the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, to the French
   Revolution, in 1789                                              62
 Martyrdom of John Calas                                            65



AN ACCOUNT OF THE INQUISITION.

 An account of the cruel handling and burning of Nicholas Burton,
   an English merchant, in Spain                                    73
 Some private enormities of the Inquisition laid open by a very
   singular occurrence                                              76
 The persecution of Dr. Ægidio                                      88
 The persecution of Dr. Constantine                                 89
 The life of William Gardiner.                                      90
 An account of the life and sufferings of Mr. Wm. Lithgow, a
   native of Scotland                                               92
 Croly on the Inquisition                                          101



AN ACCOUNT OF THE PERSECUTIONS IN ITALY, UNDER THE PAPACY.

 An account of the persecutions of Calabria                        107
 Account of the persecutions in the Valleys of Piedmont            110
 Account of the persecutions in Venice                             117
 An account of several remarkable individuals who were martyred
   in different parts of Italy, on account of their religion       119
 An account of the persecutions in the marquisate of Saluces       122
 Persecutions in Piedmont in the Seventeenth century               122
 Further persecutions in Piedmont                                  126
 Narrative of the Piedmontese War                                  134
 Persecution of Michael de Molinos, a native of Spain              144



AN ACCOUNT OF THE PERSECUTIONS IN BOHEMIA UNDER THE PAPACY.

 Persecution of John Huss                                          150
 Persecution of Jerom of Prague                                    154
 Persecution of Zisca                                              157



GENERAL PERSECUTIONS IN GERMANY.

 An account of the persecutions in the Netherlands                 174



 AN ACCOUNT OF THE PERSECUTIONS IN LITHUANIA AND POLAND            178



AN ACCOUNT OF THE PERSECUTIONS IN CHINA AND SEVERAL OTHER COUNTRIES.

 An account of the persecutions in Japan                           181
 Persecutions against the Christians in Abyssinia or Ethiopia      182
 Persecutions against the Christians in Turkey                     182
 Persecutions and oppressions in Georgia and Mingrelia             183
 An account of the persecutions in the States of Barbary           184
 Persecutions in Spanish America                                   184


 AN ACCOUNT OF THE PERSECUTIONS IN GREAT BRITAIN AND IRELAND
   PRIOR TO THE REIGN OF QUEEN MARY I.                             186



 AN ACCOUNT OF THE PERSECUTIONS IN SCOTLAND, DURING THE
   REIGN OF KING HENRY VIII.                                       194
 An account of the Life, Suffering a
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PG #: 940
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“Mine ear is open, and my heart prepared:
The worst is wordly loss thou canst unfold:—
Say, is my kingdom lost?”—Shakespeare


It was a feature peculiar to the colonial wars of North America, that the toils
and dangers of the wilderness were to be encountered before the adverse hosts
could meet. A wide and apparently an impervious boundary of forests severed the
possessions of the hostile provinces of France and England. The hardy colonist,
and the trained European who fought at his side, frequently expended months in
struggling against the rapids of the streams, or in effecting the rugged passes
of the mountains, in quest of an opportunity to exhibit their courage in a more
martial conflict. But, emulating the patience and self-denial of the practiced
native warriors, they learned to overcome every difficulty; and it would seem
that, in time, there was no recess of the woods so dark, nor any secret place
so lovely, that it might claim exemption from the inroads of those who had
pledged their blood to satiate their vengeance, or to uphold the cold and
selfish policy of the distant monarchs of Europe.

Perhaps no district throughout the wide extent of the intermediate frontiers
can furnish a livelier picture of the cruelty and fierceness of the savage
warfare of those periods than the country which lies between the head waters of
the Hudson and the adjacent lakes.

The facilities which nature had there offered to the march of the combatants
were too obvious to be neglected. The lengthened sheet of the Champlain
stretched from the frontiers of Canada, deep within the borders of the
neighboring province of New York, forming a natural passage across half the
distance that the French were compelled to master in order to strike their
enemies. Near its southern termination, it received the contributions of
another lake, whose waters were so limpid as to have been exclusively selected
by the Jesuit missionaries to perform the typical purification of baptism, and
to obtain for it the title of lake “du Saint Sacrément.” The less
zealous English thought they conferred a sufficient honor on its unsullied
fountains, when they bestowed the name of their reigning prince, the second of
the house of Hanover. The two united to rob the untutored possessors of its
wooded scenery of their native right to perpetuate its original appellation of
“Horican.”[1]

 [1]
As each nation of the Indians had its language or its dialect, they usually
gave different names to the same places, though nearly all of their
appellations were descriptive of the object. Thus a literal translation of the
name of this beautiful sheet of water, used by the tribe that dwelt on its
banks, would be “The Tail of the Lake.” Lake George, as it is
vulgarly, and now, indeed, legally, called, forms a sort of tail to Lake
Champlain, when viewed on the map. Hence, the name.


Winding its way among countless islands, and imbedded in mountains, the
“holy lake” extended a dozen leagues still further to the south.
With the high plain that there interposed itself to the further passage of the
water, commenced a portage of as many miles, which conducted the adventurer to
the banks of the Hudson, at a point where, with the usual obstructions of the
rapids, or rifts, as they were then termed in the language of the country, the
river became navigable to the tide.

While, in the pursuit of their daring plans of annoyance, the restless
enterprise of the French even attempted the distant and difficult gorges of the
Alleghany, it may easily be imagined that their proverbial acuteness would not
overlook the natural advantages of the district we have just described. It
became, emphatically, the bloody arena, in which most of the battles for the
mastery of the colonies were contested. Forts were erected at the different
points that commanded the facilities of the route, and were taken and retaken,
razed and rebuilt, as victory alighted on the hostile banners. While the
husbandman shrank back from the dangerous passes, within the safer boundaries
of the more ancient settlements, armies larger than those that had often
disposed of the scepters of the mother countries, were seen to bury themselves
in these forests, whence they rarely returned but in skeleton bands, that were
haggard with care or dejected by defeat. Though the arts of peace were unknown
to this fatal region, its forests were alive with men; its shades and glens
rang with the sounds of martial music, and the echoes of its mountains threw
back the laugh, or repeated the wanton cry, of many a gallant and reckless
youth, as he hurried by them, in the noontide of his spirits, to slumber in a
long night of forgetfulness.

It was in this scene of strife and bloodshed that the incidents we shall
attempt to relate occurred, during the third year of the war which England and
France last waged for the possession of a country that neither was destined to
retain.

The imbecility of her military leaders abroad, and the fatal wan
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As I walked through the wilderness of this world, I lighted on a certain
place where was a den,[1] and laid me down in that place to sleep; and
as I slept, I dreamed a dream. I dreamed, and behold, I saw a man
clothed with rags, standing in a certain place, with his face from his
own house, a book in his hand, and a great burden upon his back. I
looked, and saw him open the book, and read therein; and as he read, he
wept and trembled; and, not being able longer to contain, he brake out
with a lamentable cry, saying, "What shall I do?"

  [1] Bedford jail, in which Bunyan was twelve years a prisoner.

In this plight, therefore, he went home, and restrained himself as long
as he could, that his wife and children should not perceive his
distress; but he could not be silent long, because that his trouble
increased. Wherefore at length he brake his mind to his wife and
children; and thus he began to talk to them: "Oh my dear wife," said he,
"and you my sweet children, I, your dear friend, am in myself undone by
reason of a burden that lieth hard upon me; moreover, I am told to a
certainty that this our city will be burned with fire from heaven; in
which fearful overthrow, both myself, with thee, my wife, and you, my
sweet babes, shall miserably come to ruin, except some way of escape
can be found whereby we may be delivered." At this all his family were
sore amazed; not for that they believed that what he had said to them
was true, but because they thought that some frenzy or madness had got
into his head; therefore, it drawing towards night, and they hoping that
sleep might settle his brain, with all haste they got him to bed. But
the night was as troublesome to him as the day; wherefore, instead of
sleeping, he spent it in sighs and tears. So when the morning was come,
they would know how he did. He told them, Worse and worse: he also set
to talking to them again; but they began to be hardened. They also
thought to drive away his madness by harsh and surly treatment of him:
sometimes they would ridicule, sometimes they would chide, and sometimes
they would quite neglect him. Wherefore he began to retire himself to
his chamber, to pray for and pity them, and also to sorrow over his own
misery; he would also walk solitary in the fields, sometimes reading,
and sometimes praying; and thus for some days he spent his time.

[Sidenote: CHRISTIAN'S DISTRESS OF MIND]

Now, I saw, upon a time, when he was walking in the fields, that he was
(as he was wont) reading in his book, and greatly distressed in his
mind; and as he read, he burst out as he had done before, crying, "What
shall I do to be saved?"

I saw also that he looked this way and that way, as if he would run; yet
he stood still, because (as I perceived) he could not tell which way to
go. I looked then, and saw a man named Evangelist coming to him, who
asked, "Wherefore dost thou cry?"

[Illustration: Evangelist Points to Wicket-Gate.
                                   Page 15]

He answered, "Sir, I read in the book in my hand, that I am condemned to
die, and after that to come to judgment; and I find that I am not
willing to do the first, nor able to do the second."

Then said Evangelist, "Why not willing to die, since this life is
troubled with so many evils?" The man answered, "Because I fear that
this burden that is upon my back will sink me lower than the grave, and
I shall fall into Tophet.[2] And, sir, if I be not fit to go to prison,
I am not fit to go to judgment, and from thence to death; and the
thoughts of these things make me cry."

  [2] Tophet here means hell.

Then said Evangelist, "If this be thy condition, why standest thou
still?"

He answered, "Because I know not whither to go." Then he gave him a
parchment roll, and there was written within, "Flee from the wrath to
come."

The man, therefore, read it, and looking upon Evangelist very carefully,
said, "Whither must I fly?" Then said Evangelist (pointing with his
finger over a very wide field), "Do you see yonder wicket-gate?" The man
said, "No." Then said the other, "Do you see yonder shining light?" He
said, "I think I do." Then said Evangelist, "Keep that light in your
eye, and go up directly thereto; so shalt thou see the gate; at which,
when thou knockest, it shall be told thee what thou shalt do." So I saw
in my dream that the man began to run. Now, he had not run far from his
own door, when his wife and children perceiving it, began to cry after
him to return; but the man put his fingers in his ears, and ran on,
crying, "Life! life! eternal life!" So he looked not behind him, but
fled towards the middle of the plain.

[Sidenote: CHRISTIAN FLEES FROM THE CITY]

The neighbors also came out to see him run; and as he ran, some mocked,
others threatened, and some cried after him to return; and among those
that did so there were two that resolved to fetch him back by force. The
name of the one was Obstinate, and the name of the other Pliable. Now,
by this time the man was got a good dista
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The
                           HOUSE OF ADVENTURE


                           By WARWICK DEEPING

                               Author of
                           “Sorrell and Son”


                  [Illustration: decorative medallion]

                           A. L. BURT COMPANY
                       Publishers        New York
          Published by arrangement with The Macmillan Company
                          Printed in U. S. A.




                PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

                        Copyright 1921 and 1922
                       By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.

                 *        *        *        *        *

             Set up and electrotyped. Published June, 1922.
                         Reissued March, 1928.




                                   To
                          Dr. BEDFORD FENWICK
                    IN MEMORY OF HIS GREAT KINDNESS




                                  THE
                           HOUSE OF ADVENTURE




                                   I


Two stragglers lay sleeping in an orchard near the village of Beaucourt,
sprawling upon a grass bank under the branches of an old apple tree. The
sun had cleared the horizon and hung as a great yellow disc in the
purple boughs of the beech trees on the other side of the stream.
Overhead stretched the thin and cloudless blue of a March sky. The grass
was silvered with hoar-frost—and in the wood across the stream a bird
was singing.

The men slept, two brown figures on the green bank. One sprawled on his
back; the other lay curled on his side. Their boots were the colour of
clay; so were their faces, the clay-coloured faces of men who had been
starved, and who had fallen down to sleep the sleep of exhaustion. They
were dirty with the dirt of five days’ fighting and foot-slogging. Their
chins were painted black with a stubble of hair, and their noses looked
pinched and thin. They had no greatcoats, no packs, no puttees, no
equipment; nothing but a rifle, a blue water-bottle, and a haversack
between them. At the world’s end a man gets rid of unnecessary lumber.

The dawn was extraordinarily still. There was not a sound to be heard
save the singing of the bird in the wood on the other side of the
stream. The country rolled into blue-grey distances under the level
sunlight and the tranquil sky, a strangely peaceful landscape, the
landscape of an unvexed and impersonal dawn. Beaucourt village slept in
the sunlight on the slopes of its two hills. No smoke rose from the
chimneys; no human sound came from it. Beaucourt was empty. The blue
spire of its church and the gold vaned flèches of the château showed up
against the purple heights of the Bois du Renard.

The church clock struck six, six calm and level clangs that were
quaintly challenging, almost ironical. From somewhere—a long way
off—came the soft whoof of a gun, an English gun slewed round in some
quiet orchard and firing a solitary shell or two into nothingness. There
was a whine in the air, a whine that quickened over Beaucourt and became
a menacing and snoring rush. The shell burst beyond the village,
smashing an old apple tree and throwing up a great spurt of earth and
smoke.

The man who had been sleeping curled up on his side, sat up and mopped
the dirt out of his eyes, using his hands like the paws of a cat. A
crack of lightning seemed to have broken the sky just above his head.
The apple tree had been snapped off about three feet from the ground,
and the splintered ends of the stump stood up like torn tendons.

The other sleeper was no longer a man, but a body. He was not
recognizable, and from the ripped front of his tunic a red identity disc
protruded, dangling pathetically at the end of a piece of frayed string.

                        756941 Pte. Beckett, T.
                            2—9——Fusiliers.

The live man looked dazed. War is an affair in which violent and absurd
things happen, and men forget to be astonished. Moreover, Paul Brent was
little more than a starved body, a dirty man sodden with a week’s
weariness and moments of great excitement and blind fear.

“Tom’s dead.”

He uttered the words with the confidential and mumbling foolishness of a
drunkard. It seemed quite natural that Tom should be dead. An immense
apathy lay like so much stagnant water over the mud of Brent’s submerged
emotions. He sat and stared and fingered the hair on his chin.

The man had been his comrade, his pal of pals, one of those rough-hewn,
violent, warm-hearted creatures. They had fought together, drunk
together, snuggled up close in the same barn or dug-out, shared their
tobacco and a hole in the mud. Tom was dead, and yet if Brent was hurt
by his death, it was a vague and animal pain, like the groanings of an
empty belly.

He sat and stared.

His mouth felt dry.

He noticed that the water-bottle, rifle and haversack that lay between
them had not been touched. He remembered, that there was a little water
left in the bottle, and he reached
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 52958
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/52958

(online soon in an extended version, alo linking to free
sources for education worldwide ... MOOC's, educational
materials,...) Images generously made available by the
Internet Archive.








                              REVELATIONS
                            of DIVINE LOVE
                          Recorded by JULIAN,
                        Anchoress at _NORWICH_
                           ANNO DOMINI 1373


                    _In lumine tuo videbimus lumen_


                        A version from the MS.
                         in the BRITISH MUSEUM
                               edited by
                             GRACE WARRACK


                           Methuen & Company
                        36 Essex Street Strand
                                London
                                 1901






    DOMINI, REFUGIUM FACTUS ES NOBIS, A GENERATIONE IN GENERATIONEM.
    RESPICE IN SERVOS TUOS, ET IN OPERA TUA: ET DIRIGE FILIOS EORUM.
    ET SIT SPLENDOR DOMINI DEI NOSTRI SUPER NOS, ET OPERA MANUUM
      NOSTRARUM DIRIGE SUPER NOS: ET OPUS MANUUM NOSTRARUM DIRIGE.

"Truth seeth God, and Wisdom beholdeth God, and of these two cometh the
third: that is a holy, marvelling delight in God; which is Love."






                               CONTENTS

                                                      PAGE
 I.
 NOTES ON MANUSCRIPTS AND EDITIONS OF THIS BOOK.        xi

 II.
 NOTE AS TO TWO JULIANS.                                xv

 III.
 INTRODUCTION:--
 Part I. The Lady Julian.                             xvii
 Part II.  The Manner of the Book.                  xxxiii
 Part III. The Theme of the Book.                       lv

 IV.
 "REVELATIONS OF DIVINE LOVE":--
 (_editorial account_)

 i.
 A List of Contents, called "A Particular of the
 Chapters".                                              1

 ii.-iii.
 Autobiographical.                                       3

 iv.-ix.
 _The First Revelation_: The Trinity is shewn,
 through the  Suffering of Christ, as Goodness,
 or Love all-working.                                    8

 x.
 _The Second Revelation_: Man's Sight of God's
 Love is but partial  because of sin's darkness.        21

 xi.
 _The Third Revelation_: All Being is Being of
 God and is good: Sin  is no Being.                     26

 xii.
 _The Fourth Revelation_: The stain of sin through
 lacking of  human love is cleared away by the
 Death of Christ in His Love.                           29

 xiii.
 _The Fifth Revelation_: By Love's Sacrifice,
 in Christ, the evil suffered, for Love's
 Increase, to rise, is overcome for ever.               30

 xiv.
 _The Sixth Revelation_: The travail of Man
 against evil on earth is a glory accepted
 by Love in Heaven.                                     33

 xv.
 _The Seventh Revelation:_ It is of God's Will,
 for our learning, that on earth we change between
 joy of light and pain of darkness.                     34

 xvi.-xxi.
 _The Eighth Revelation:_ Of the oneness
 of God and Man in the Passion of Christ, through
 Compassion of the Creature with Christ and of
 Christ with the Creature. All compassion in men
 is Christ in men.                                      36

 xxii.-xxiii.
 _The Ninth Revelation_: Of the worshipful entering
 of Man's soul into the Joy of Love Divine in the
 Passion.                                               46

 xxiv.
 _The Tenth Revelation_: Of the thankful entering
 of the soul into the Peace of _the Endless Love_
 opened up for Man in the time of the Passion.          51

 xxv.
 _The Eleventh Revelation:_ Of Christ's Raising,
 Fulfilling Love to the souls of men, as beheld
 in the love between Him and His Mother.                52

 xxvi.
 _The Twelfth Revelation:_ All that the soul
 lives by and loves is God, through Christ.             54

 xxvii.-xl.
 _The Thirteenth Revelation:_ Man's finite love
 was suffered  by Infinite Love to fail, that
 falling thus through sin into pain and death
 of darkness, the creature therein might more
 deeply know his need and more highly know, in
 its succouring strength, the Creator's Love,
 as the Saviour's; that so being raised, and for
 ever held clinging to that through the grace of
 the Holy Ghost, he might rise to fuller and
 higher and endless oneness with God.                   55

 xli.-xliii.
 _The Fourteenth Revelation:_ Beginning on
 earth, Prayer makes the soul one with God.             84

 xliv.-lxiii.
 Regarding these Revelations and the Christian
 Life of Love's travail on earth against sin.           93

 lxiv.-lxv.
 _The Fifteenth Revelation_ (Closing): Of
 Love's Fulfilment in Heaven.                          159

 lxvi.
 Autobiographical: The fall through frailty of
 nature, by self-regarding, into doubt of the
 Shewing of Love; the rescue by mercy; the
 assaying of faith and the overcoming by grace.        164

 lxvii.-lxviii.
 _The Sixteenth Revelation_ (Confirming): The
 Indwelling of God In the Soul, now and for ever.
 "_Thou shalt not be ove
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 19994
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/19994

THE ÆSOP FOR CHILDREN

[Illustration: THE COCK AND THE FOX Fable, Page 58]




The ÆSOP for

CHILDREN

WITH PICTURES BY

MILO WINTER

[Illustration]

RAND MCNALLY & CO.

CHICAGO




_Copyright, 1919, by_
RAND MCNALLY & COMPANY




A LIST OF THE FABLES

                                               PAGE
  The Wolf and the Kid                           11
  The Tortoise and the Ducks                     12
  The Young Crab and His Mother                  13
  The Frogs and the Ox                           13
  The Dog, the Cock, and the Fox                 14
  Belling the Cat                                15
  The Eagle and the Jackdaw                      16
  The Boy and the Filberts                       16
  Hercules and the Wagoner                       17
  The Kid and the Wolf                           17
  The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse           18
  The Fox and the Grapes                         20
  The Bundle of Sticks                           20
  The Wolf and the Crane                         21
  The Ass and His Driver                         22
  The Oxen and the Wheels                        22
  The Lion and the Mouse                         23
  The Shepherd Boy and the Wolf                  24
  The Gnat and the Bull                          25
  The Plane Tree                                 25
  The Farmer and the Stork                       26
  The Sheep and the Pig                          26
  The Travelers and the Purse                    28
  The Lion and the Ass                           28
  The Frogs Who Wished for a King                29
  The Owl and the Grasshopper                    30
  The Wolf and His Shadow                        31
  The Oak and the Reeds                          32
  The Rat and the Elephant                       33
  The Boys and the Frogs                         33
  The Crow and the Pitcher                       34
  The Ants and the Grasshopper                   34
  The Ass Carrying the Image                     35
  A Raven and a Swan                             35
  The Two Goats                                  36
  The Ass and the Load of Salt                   36
  The Lion and the Gnat                          38
  The Leap at Rhodes                             38
  The Cock and the Jewel                         39
  The Monkey and the Camel                       39
  The Wild Boar and the Fox                      40
  The Ass, the Fox, and the Lion                 40
  The Birds, the Beasts, and the Bat             41
  The Lion, the Bear, and the Fox                41
  The Wolf and the Lamb                          42
  The Wolf and the Sheep                         43
  The Hares and the Frogs                        43
  The Fox and the Stork                          44
  The Travelers and the Sea                      45
  The Wolf and the Lion                          45
  The Stag and His Reflection                    46
  The Peacock                                    46
  The Mice and the Weasels                       48
  The Wolf and the Lean Dog                      48
  The Fox and the Lion                           49
  The Lion and the Ass                           50
  The Dog and His Master's Dinner                50
  The Vain Jackdaw and his Borrowed Feathers     51
  The Monkey and the Dolphin                     52
  The Wolf and the Ass                           53
  The Monkey and the Cat                         54
  The Dogs and the Fox                           54
  The Dogs and the Hides                         55
  The Rabbit, the Weasel, and the Cat            55
  The Bear and the Bees                          56
  The Fox and the Leopard                        56
  The Heron                                      58
  The Cock and the Fox                           58
  The Dog in the Manger                          59
  The Wolf and the Goat                          60
  The Ass and the Grasshoppers                   60
  The Mule                                       61
  The Fox and the Goat                           61
  The Cat, the Cock, and the Young Mouse         62
  The Wolf and the Shepherd                      63
  The Peacock and the Crane                      64
  The Farmer and the Cranes                      64
  The Farmer and His Sons                        65
  The Two Pots                                   66
  The Goose and the Golden Egg                   66
  The Fighting Bulls and the Frog                68
  The Mouse and the Weasel                       68
  The Farmer and the Snake                       69
  The Goatherd and the Wild Goats                69
  The Spendthrift and the Swallow                70
  The Cat and the Birds                          70
  The Dog and the Oyster                         71
  The Astrologer                                 71
  Three Bullocks and a Lion                      72
  Mercury and the Woodman                        72
  The Frog and 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 4014
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/4014


THE MILLIONAIRE'S DAUGHTER


The rays of the September sun flooded the great halls of the old
chateau of the Dukes of Charmerace, lighting up with their mellow glow
the spoils of so many ages and many lands, jumbled together with the
execrable taste which so often afflicts those whose only standard of
value is money.  The golden light warmed the panelled walls and old
furniture to a dull lustre, and gave back to the fading gilt of the
First Empire chairs and couches something of its old brightness.  It
illumined the long line of pictures on the walls, pictures of dead and
gone Charmeraces, the stern or debonair faces of the men, soldiers,
statesmen, dandies, the gentle or imperious faces of beautiful women.
It flashed back from armour of brightly polished steel, and drew dull
gleams from armour of bronze.  The hues of rare porcelain, of the rich
inlays of Oriental or Renaissance cabinets, mingled with the hues of
the pictures, the tapestry, the Persian rugs about the polished floor
to fill the hall with a rich glow of colour.

But of all the beautiful and precious things which the sun-rays warmed
to a clearer beauty, the face of the girl who sat writing at a table in
front of the long windows, which opened on to the centuries-old turf of
the broad terrace, was the most beautiful and the most precious.

It was a delicate, almost frail, beauty. Her skin was clear with the
transparent lustre of old porcelain, and her pale cheeks were only
tinted with the pink of the faintest roses. Her straight nose was
delicately cut, her rounded chin admirably moulded. A lover of beauty
would have been at a loss whether more to admire her clear, germander
eyes, so melting and so adorable, or the sensitive mouth, with its
rather full lips, inviting all the kisses. But assuredly he would have
been grieved by the perpetual air of sadness which rested on the
beautiful face--the wistful melancholy of the Slav, deepened by
something of personal misfortune and suffering.

Her face was framed by a mass of soft fair hair, shot with strands of
gold where the sunlight fell on it; and little curls, rebellious to the
comb, strayed over her white forehead, tiny feathers of gold.

She was addressing envelopes, and a long list of names lay on her left
hand. When she had addressed an envelope, she slipped into it a
wedding-card. On each was printed:

    "M. Gournay-Martin has the honour to inform
     you of the marriage of his daughter
     Germaine to the Duke of Charmerace."

She wrote steadily on, adding envelope after envelope to the pile ready
for the post, which rose in front of her. But now and again, when the
flushed and laughing girls who were playing lawn-tennis on the terrace,
raised their voices higher than usual as they called the score, and
distracted her attention from her work, her gaze strayed through the
open window and lingered on them wistfully; and as her eyes came back
to her task she sighed with so faint a wistfulness that she hardly knew
she sighed. Then a voice from the terrace cried, "Sonia! Sonia!"

"Yes. Mlle. Germaine?" answered the writing girl.

"Tea! Order tea, will you?" cried the voice, a petulant voice, rather
harsh to the ear.

"Very well, Mlle. Germaine," said Sonia; and having finished addressing
the envelope under her pen, she laid it on the pile ready to be posted,
and, crossing the room to the old, wide fireplace, she rang the bell.

She stood by the fireplace a moment, restoring to its place a rose
which had fallen from a vase on the mantelpiece; and her attitude, as
with arms upraised she arranged the flowers, displayed the delightful
line of a slender figure. As she let fall her arms to her side, a
footman entered the room.

"Will you please bring the tea, Alfred," she said in a charming voice
of that pure, bell-like tone which has been Nature's most precious gift
to but a few of the greatest actresses.

"For how many, miss?" said Alfred.

"For four--unless your master has come back."

"Oh, no; he's not back yet, miss. He went in the car to Rennes to
lunch; and it's a good many miles away. He won't be back for another
hour."

"And the Duke--he's not back from his ride yet, is he?"

"Not yet, miss," said Alfred, turning to go.

"One moment," said Sonia. "Have all of you got your things packed for
the journey to Paris? You will have to start soon, you know. Are all
the maids ready?"

"Well, all the men are ready, I know, miss. But about the maids, miss,
I can't say. They've been bustling about all day; but it takes them
longer than it does us."

"Tell them to hurry up; and be as quick as you can with the tea,
please," said Sonia.

Alfred went out of the room; Sonia went back to the writing-table. She
did not take up her pen; she took up one of the wedding-cards; and her
lips moved slowly as she read it in a pondering depression.

The petulant, imperious voice broke in upon her musing.

"Whatever are you doing, Sonia? Aren't you getting on with those
letters?" it cried angrily; and Germaine Gournay
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 6688
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6688


Outside Dorlcote Mill

A wide plain, where the broadening Floss hurries on between its green
banks to the sea, and the loving tide, rushing to meet it, checks its
passage with an impetuous embrace. On this mighty tide the black
ships—laden with the fresh-scented fir-planks, with rounded sacks of
oil-bearing seed, or with the dark glitter of coal—are borne along to
the town of St Ogg’s, which shows its aged, fluted red roofs and the
broad gables of its wharves between the low wooded hill and the
river-brink, tingeing the water with a soft purple hue under the
transient glance of this February sun. Far away on each hand stretch
the rich pastures, and the patches of dark earth made ready for the
seed of broad-leaved green crops, or touched already with the tint of
the tender-bladed autumn-sown corn. There is a remnant still of last
year’s golden clusters of beehive-ricks rising at intervals beyond the
hedgerows; and everywhere the hedgerows are studded with trees; the
distant ships seem to be lifting their masts and stretching their
red-brown sails close among the branches of the spreading ash. Just by
the red-roofed town the tributary Ripple flows with a lively current
into the Floss. How lovely the little river is, with its dark changing
wavelets! It seems to me like a living companion while I wander along
the bank, and listen to its low, placid voice, as to the voice of one
who is deaf and loving. I remember those large dipping willows. I
remember the stone bridge.

And this is Dorlcote Mill. I must stand a minute or two here on the
bridge and look at it, though the clouds are threatening, and it is far
on in the afternoon. Even in this leafless time of departing February
it is pleasant to look at,—perhaps the chill, damp season adds a charm
to the trimly kept, comfortable dwelling-house, as old as the elms and
chestnuts that shelter it from the northern blast. The stream is
brimful now, and lies high in this little withy plantation, and half
drowns the grassy fringe of the croft in front of the house. As I look
at the full stream, the vivid grass, the delicate bright-green powder
softening the outline of the great trunks and branches that gleam from
under the bare purple boughs, I am in love with moistness, and envy the
white ducks that are dipping their heads far into the water here among
the withes, unmindful of the awkward appearance they make in the drier
world above.

The rush of the water and the booming of the mill bring a dreamy
deafness, which seems to heighten the peacefulness of the scene. They
are like a great curtain of sound, shutting one out from the world
beyond. And now there is the thunder of the huge covered wagon coming
home with sacks of grain. That honest wagoner is thinking of his
dinner, getting sadly dry in the oven at this late hour; but he will
not touch it till he has fed his horses,—the strong, submissive,
meek-eyed beasts, who, I fancy, are looking mild reproach at him from
between their blinkers, that he should crack his whip at them in that
awful manner as if they needed that hint! See how they stretch their
shoulders up the slope toward the bridge, with all the more energy
because they are so near home. Look at their grand shaggy feet that
seem to grasp the firm earth, at the patient strength of their necks,
bowed under the heavy collar, at the mighty muscles of their struggling
haunches! I should like well to hear them neigh over their
hardly-earned feed of corn, and see them, with their moist necks freed
from the harness, dipping their eager nostrils into the muddy pond. Now
they are on the bridge, and down they go again at a swifter pace, and
the arch of the covered wagon disappears at the turning behind the
trees.

Now I can turn my eyes toward the mill again, and watch the unresting
wheel sending out its diamond jets of water. That little girl is
watching it too; she has been standing on just the same spot at the
edge of the water ever since I paused on the bridge. And that queer
white cur with the brown ear seems to be leaping and barking in
ineffectual remonstrance with the wheel; perhaps he is jealous because
his playfellow in the beaver bonnet is so rapt in its movement. It is
time the little playfellow went in, I think; and there is a very bright
fire to tempt her: the red light shines out under the deepening gray of
the sky. It is time, too, for me to leave off resting my arms on the
cold stone of this bridge....

Ah, my arms are really benumbed. I have been pressing my elbows on the
arms of my chair, and dreaming that I was standing on the bridge in
front of Dorlcote Mill, as it looked one February afternoon many years
ago. Before I dozed off, I was going to tell you what Mr and Mrs
Tulliver were talking about, as they sat by the bright fire in the
left-hand parlour, on that very afternoon I have been dreaming of.



Mr Tulliver, of Dorlcote Mill, Declares His Resolution about Tom

“What I want, you know,” said Mr Tulliver,—“what I want is to give Tom
a good ed
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65017
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65017

THE SOUL STEALERS

                          by Chester S. Geier

            Wraithlike, they came out of the darkness--dead
         men who walked among the living. What grim secret lay
         in their sightless eyes--a warning to all other men!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                             October 1950
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]

A chill touched Bryan as he looked down at the figure on the hospital
bed. He had seen dead men before--too many of them. He had seen them
sprawled on European battlefields, had seen them huddled in wrecked
cars or lying waxen and stiff on morgue slabs.

But he had never seen a dead man like the one who lay there on the bed.
For, paradoxically, this man was still alive. He still breathed, his
heart still pulsed. Yet it was clear that these were little more than
automatic processes. In the only respect that mattered, he was as truly
dead as though in the last stages of dissolution and decay.

He lay on the bed with an unnatural supineness, his head lolling at a
slack angle. His eyes were open in a blank stare, eyes as empty as a
waiting grave. He did not move. He made no sound. A thread of saliva
ran from a corner of his gaping mouth and made a glistening path down
the side of his jaw.

A mindless idiot would have shown more animation than this man.
Something vital and precious had gone from him, leaving him a mere
shell. His was a death-in-life, a thing somehow more terrible than a
shattered skull or a torn chest.

Bryan fought back a shudder and turned to the balding white-clad man at
his side. "What can you tell me, Dave? Just what seems to be wrong with
this fellow?"

The doctor sighed. "Wish I knew, Terry. I've never seen anything like
it in over twenty years of medical practice. Not even the specialists
seem to know. And we have several good ones here, who donate their
services to the hospital--men with experience in unusual cases."

"But don't you have any idea at all about how he got this way?" Bryan
persisted. "Isn't there any possibility that he has some sort of rare
brain disease?"

"We gave him a careful examination, Terry," the doctor returned. "We
could find no evidence of disease--no evidence of concussion or injury,
either. Except, maybe, for one thing."

"What's that?" Bryan asked quickly.

"When he was first brought in, we found a sort of reddish mark near
his left shoulder. As though something hot had touched him. The skin
wasn't broken or burned, however." The doctor shrugged. "It's gone now.
I doubt if anything so light and temporary could have been important,
anyway."

"This might be a case for the psychiatrists," Bryan suggested slowly.
"Maybe this fellow had a terrific shock of some kind--a psychic trauma,
or whatever they call it."

"That's quite possible. But we've done the best we could at this end."
The doctor's voice dropped. "I don't think there's going to be time for
anything else, Terry."

"You mean that he--"

The doctor nodded. "He's dying. I've seen the signs. It's as though
he's lost all will to live."

       *       *       *       *       *

Bryan looked at the man on the bed again, grim speculation in his
eyes. His voice was solemn and soft. "Maybe I'm just a superstitious
Irishman, Dave--but I think I know what's the matter with this
fellow. I knew it the first time I looked at him. He's lost
something--something you can't see with microscopes or X-ray machines.
It's something damned important--and that's why he's dying. What he's
lost, Dave, is ... his soul."

"I'm not laughing, Terry. Oddly enough, I have the same opinion. A
doctor keeps running into situations like this, where ideas thrown into
the discard by the so-called scientific attitude have to be dusted off
and put back to work."

There was silence. An elevator made distant noises somewhere in the
building. White-clad nurses moved crisply by in the hall beyond the
open door. Late Spring sunshine was bright behind the drawn shade at
the window. Life and movement, the mundane and familiar. But in this
room thoughts probed beyond the earthly facade and found a mystery, a
wonder as old as Man.

Bryan moved his muscular shoulders as though against an invisible
resistance. Then, slowly, still fighting that resistance, he reached
into the breast pocket of his rumpled tweed jacket and produced a
pencil and a wrinkled but otherwise clean envelope. Most reporters
carried notepads about with them; some even went in for stenographers'
shorthand notebooks. But to Bryan news was something more than mere
details. It was a thing of human and emotional qualities, and these
he carried in his head like songs--some gay and humorous, many more
tragic and sad. This characteristic had given his by-line its great
popularity with _Courier_ readers. When he needed to remember details
at all--comparatively u
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 48438
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48438


My Birth and Earliest Years in Kalamba


I was born on Wednesday, the nineteenth of June, 1861. It was a few
days before the full of the moon. I found myself in a village. I had
some slight notions of the morning sun and of my parents. That is as
much as I can recall of my baby days.

The training which I received from my earliest infancy is perhaps
what formed my habits. I can recall clearly my first gloomy nights,
passed on the azotea of our house. They seem as yesterday! They were
nights filled with the poetry of sadness and seem near now because
at present my days are so sad. On moonlight nights, I took my supper
on the azotea. My nurse, who was very fond of me, used to threaten
to leave me to a terrible but imaginary being like the bogey of the
Europeans if I did not eat.

I had nine sisters and a brother. Our father was a model parent. He
gave us the education which was suitable in a family neither rich
nor poor. He was thrifty. By careful saving, he was able to build
a stone house. He also bought another house; and he put up a nipa
cottage on our plot of irrigated ground. The cottage was shaded by
bananas and trees.

At nightfall, my mother had us all say our prayers together. Then
we would go to the azotea or to a window to enjoy the moonlight;
and my nurse would tell us stories. Sometimes sad and sometimes gay,
nurse's stories were always oriental in their imagination. In these
stories, dead people, gold, and plants on which diamonds grew were
all mixed together.

When I was four years of age, my little sister Concha died, and for
the first time I cried because of love and sorrow. Till then I had
shed tears only for my own faults, which my loving, prudent mother
well knew how to correct.

I learned to write in my own village. My father looked after my
education. He paid an old man, who had been his schoolmate, to teach
me the first steps in Latin. This teacher lived in our house till he
died, five months later. He had been in almost perfect health and it
was at the moment of death that he received extreme unction.

In June of 1868, I went to Manila with my father. That was just after
the birth of Trinidad, the third sister younger than myself. We went in
a casco which turned out to be a clumsy boat. I shall not try to tell
how happy I was at each new stop on the banks of the Pasig. Beside
this same river, a few years later, I was to be very sad. We went
to Cainta, Taytay, and Antipolo, and then to Manila. In Santa Ana I
visited my eldest sister, Saturnina, who at that time was a student
in La Concordia College. Then I returned to my village and remained
until 1870.





My Schooling in Biñan


Biñan is a town about one and one-half hour's drive from my own town,
Kalamba. My father was born in Biñan, and he wished me to go there to
continue the study of Latin, which I had just begun. He sent me over
one Sunday in the care of my brother. The parting from my family was
tearful on the side of my parents and my sisters, but I was nine years
old and managed to hide my own tears. We reached Biñan at nightfall. We
went to an aunt's house where I was to live. When the moon came up,
a cousin took me around the town. Biñan appeared to me large and
wealthy but neither attractive nor cheerful.

My brother left me after he presented me to the schoolmaster, who,
it seemed, had been his own teacher. The schoolmaster was a tall,
thin man with a long neck and a sharp nose. His body leaned slightly
forward. He wore a shirt of sinamay that had been woven by the deft
fingers of Batangas women. He knew Latin and Spanish grammar by heart;
but his severity, I believe now, was too great. This is all that I
remember of him. His classroom was in his own house, only some thirty
meters from my aunt's home.

When I entered the classroom for the first time, he said to me:

"You, do you speak Spanish?"

"A little, sir," I answered.

"Do you know Latin?"

"A little, sir," I again answered.

Because of these answers, the teacher's son, who was the worst boy in
the class, began to make fun of me. He was some years my elder and
was taller than I, yet we had a tussle. Somehow or other, I don't
know how, I got the better of him. I bent him down over the class
benches. Then I let him loose, having hurt only his pride. After this,
possibly because of my small size, my schoolmates thought me a clever
wrestler. On going from the class one boy challenged me. He offered
me my hold, but I lost and came near breaking my head on the sidewalk.

I do not want to take up time with telling about the beatings I
got, nor shall I attempt to say how it hurt when I received the
first ruler blow on my hand. I used to win in the competitions,
for no one happened to be better than I. I made the most of these
successes. But in spite of the reputation I had of being a good boy,
rare were the days in which my teacher did not call me up to receive
five or six blows on the hand. When I went out with my companions,
they jokingly called me nicknames. But individ
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THE LAND OF MACEDON.


Once upon a time a king reigned over the land of Egypt, whose name
was Anectanabus. In his time that land was the richest in the
world, and its people were wise and happy; but Anectanabus was the
wisest and the noblest of them, and under his rule all men, both
great and small, prospered. The field-workers ploughed and reaped,
the merchants travelled and chaffered, the wise men studied and
wrote and taught, and the great lords watched over the land, helped
the poor, and guarded all men. Shortly to say, the land of Egypt
was in those days the home of plenty and of peace, of mirth and of
game.

Now Anectanabus was, above all men, skilled in the arts of magic,
for he had learned the secrets of Egypt that were not written down
in books, but cut in the stone on the sides of the great temples,
and on the Pillars of the Sun: and when he was a young man he had
been taken into the secret chambers of the Pyramids, and had been
laid in the stone coffin of the gods, and there the secrets had
been whispered to him which the kings and priests of Egypt had
discovered for a thousand years. And chief of all his crafts, he
had the power of making images of men to do what he would, and
whatever the images did, that the men they were like to, did: and
he used this art to save his land from war. For if a fleet of
ships came to attack his land he would make images of them in wax
to float on water, and images of his own ships, and then he would
cause the ships of the enemy to turn and flee before his ships or
ever a blow was struck, and as he did, so it happened in the war.
Or if an army came against him, he caused it to flee in the same
way, so that no king of the countries about dared to come out and
make war on Egypt. And many other arts he used, but all for the
good of his land, so that men loved him and served him with joy.

It fell upon a day that Anectanabus was sitting in his palace hall
on his daïs, and round him were his dukes and princes, and the
great hall of the palace was filled with men in rich array. In that
land, the king showed himself to men but rarely, and when he did so
he was clothed in his noblest and fairest dress, with his crown on
his head, and his nobles and all men were dressed in their best,
so that the hall shone with gold, and sparkled and dazzled with
gems and stones, and the blue and scarlet and purple and green of
the nobles filled the place with a flood of colour. The chief men
of a certain city had petitioned the king about a certain matter,
and a great duke had just risen from his seat to speak about it,
when a cry was heard outside, and through the open doors, past
the great screen, a man in half armour covered with dust and foam
rushed into the presence of the king. Then the heralds hurried
up to him, and crossing their wands before him, asked of him his
errand, and why he entered the hall of the king in such unseemly
dress. But he, heeding their words never a whit, pressed forward,
called out with a loud voice, “O King, the Persians are on us,” and
straightway staggered, and fell down lifeless, for he had ridden
hard without rest and sleep with the message of the lord warden of
the sea.

A great silence fell on the hall, men looked on each other’s faces
but none spoke or moved; then the silence was broken by the shuffle
of the heralds bearing away the body of the messenger, and the
dukes drew up nearer to one another, but still no man spoke; for
the king’s face was dark and troubled, and he had asked none for
counsel. Now Anectanabus was troubled, not because he feared the
enemy, but because he had never before been taken by surprise, for
ever he knew by his magic art the words of the message before
they were uttered. So he sat silent for a while, but at last he
bethought himself, and rose and left the hall, going to a little
room behind the daïs, where he could be alone, for he sought to
know by his magic art who, and how many, and where were his foes.
But the great lords sat on in silence in the king’s hall, waiting
till some of them should be sent against the foe, and silently and
noiselessly the people passed out of the hall.

As soon as Anectanabus was alone in his room, he went to a coffer
of oak covered with broad bands of steel, and opened it with a
golden key which he drew from his breast. Then he drew out a robe
of fair white linen, and putting off his rich attire he clothed
himself in it, keeping on his golden crown. Taking some spices, he
threw them on a brazier of burning embers, and opened the casements
of the room, and round and round the brazier he went till a heavy
smoke filled the room, and hung over a great copper bowl of water
on the table in the middle of it. This done, Anectanabus took a
short wand of polished steel in his hand and pointing it across
the bowl to the four quarters of the earth--North, East, South,
West--he began to utter spells. And now it seemed as if the smoke
from the room gathered over the water, and disappeared, leaving the
ro
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"I'm quite warm," said he, "though I have no sheep-skin coat. I've had
a drop, and it runs through all my veins. I need no sheep-skins. I go
along and don't worry about anything. That's the sort of man I am! What
do I care? I can live without sheep-skins. I don't need them. My wife
will fret, to be sure. And, true enough, it is a shame; one works all
day long, and then does not get paid. Stop a bit! If you don't bring
that money along, sure enough I'll skin you, blessed if I don't. How's
that? He pays twenty kopeks at a time! What can I do with twenty kopeks?
Drink it-that's all one can do! Hard up, he says he is! So he may
be--but what about me? You have a house, and cattle, and everything;
I've only what I stand up in! You have corn of your own growing; I have
to buy every grain. Do what I will, I must spend three roubles every
week for bread alone. I come home and find the bread all used up, and I
have to fork out another rouble and a half. So just pay up what you owe,
and no nonsense about it!"

By this time he had nearly reached the shrine at the bend of the road.
Looking up, he saw something whitish behind the shrine. The daylight was
fading, and the shoemaker peered at the thing without being able to make
out what it was. "There was no white stone here before. Can it be an ox?
It's not like an ox. It has a head like a man, but it's too white; and
what could a man be doing there?"

He came closer, so that it was clearly visible. To his surprise it
really was a man, alive or dead, sitting naked, leaning motionless
against the shrine. Terror seized the shoemaker, and he thought, "Some
one has killed him, stripped him, and left him there. If I meddle I
shall surely get into trouble."

So the shoemaker went on. He passed in front of the shrine so that he
could not see the man. When he had gone some way, he looked back, and
saw that the man was no longer leaning against the shrine, but was
moving as if looking towards him. The shoemaker felt more frightened
than before, and thought, "Shall I go back to him, or shall I go on? If
I go near him something dreadful may happen. Who knows who the fellow
is? He has not come here for any good. If I go near him he may jump
up and throttle me, and there will be no getting away. Or if not, he'd
still be a burden on one's hands. What could I do with a naked man? I
couldn't give him my last clothes. Heaven only help me to get away!"

So the shoemaker hurried on, leaving the shrine behind him-when suddenly
his conscience smote him, and he stopped in the road.

"What are you doing, Simon?" said he to himself. "The man may be dying
of want, and you slip past afraid. Have you grown so rich as to be
afraid of robbers? Ah, Simon, shame on you!"

So he turned back and went up to the man.





Simon approached the stranger, looked at him, and saw that he was a
young man, fit, with no bruises on his body, only evidently freezing and
frightened, and he sat there leaning back without looking up at Simon,
as if too faint to lift his eyes. Simon went close to him, and then the
man seemed to wake up. Turning his head, he opened his eyes and looked
into Simon's face. That one look was enough to make Simon fond of the
man. He threw the felt boots on the ground, undid his sash, laid it on
the boots, and took off his cloth coat.

"It's not a time for talking," said he. "Come, put this coat on at
once!" And Simon took the man by the elbows and helped him to rise. As
he stood there, Simon saw that his body was clean and in good condition,
his hands and feet shapely, and his face good and kind. He threw
his coat over the man's shoulders, but the latter could not find the
sleeves. Simon guided his arms into them, and drawing the coat well on,
wrapped it closely about him, tying the sash round the man's waist.

Simon even took off his torn cap to put it on the man's head, but then
his own head felt cold, and he thought: "I'm quite bald, while he has
long curly hair." So he put his cap on his own head again. "It will be
better to give him something for his feet," thought he; and he made the
man sit down, and helped him to put on the felt boots, saying, "There,
friend, now move about and warm yourself. Other matters can be settled
later on. Can you walk?"

The man stood up and looked kindly at Simon, but could not say a word.

"Why don't you speak?" said Simon. "It's too cold to stay here, we must
be getting home. There now, take my stick, and if you're feeling weak,
lean on that. Now step out!"

The man started walking, and moved easily, not lagging behind.

As they went along, Simon asked him, "And where do you belong to?" "I'm
not from these parts."

"I thought as much. I know the folks hereabouts. But, how did you come
to be there by the shrine?"

"I cannot tell."

"Has some one been ill-treating you?"

"No one has ill-treated me. God has punished me."

"Of course God rules all. Still, you'll have to find food and shelter
somewhere. Where do you want to go to?"

"It is all the same to me."
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Preface



When I first saw Mr. Osgood's beautiful illustrated edition of The Lady
of the Lake, I asked him to let me use some of the cuts in a cheaper
annotated edition for school and household use; and the present volume
is the result.

The text of the poem has given me unexpected trouble. When I edited
some of Gray's poems several years ago, I found that they had not been
correctly printed for more than half a century; but in the case of Scott
I supposed that the text of Black's so-called "Author's Edition" could
be depended upon as accurate. Almost at the start, however, I detected
sundry obvious misprints in one of the many forms in which this edition
is issued, and an examination of others showed that they were as bad in
their way. The "Shilling" issue was no worse than the costly illustrated
one of 1853, which had its own assortment of slips of the type. No two
editions that I could obtain agreed exactly in their readings. I tried
in vain to find a copy of the editio princeps (1810) in Cambridge and
Boston, but succeeded in getting one through a London bookseller. This
I compared, line by line, with the Edinburgh edition of 1821 (from the
Harvard Library), with Lockhart's first edition, the "Globe" edition,
and about a dozen others English and American. I found many misprints
and corruptions in all except the edition of 1821, and a few even in
that. For instance in i. 217 Scott wrote "Found in each cliff a narrow
bower," and it is so printed in the first edition; but in every other
that I have seen "cliff" appears in place of clift,, to the manifest
injury of the passage. In ii. 685, every edition that I have seen since
that of 1821 has "I meant not all my heart might say," which is worse
than nonsense, the correct reading being "my heat." In vi. 396, the
Scottish "boune" (though it occurs twice in other parts of the poem)
has been changed to "bound" in all editions since 1821; and, eight lines
below, the old word "barded" has become "barbed." Scores of similar
corruptions are recorded in my Notes, and need not be cited here.

I have restored the reading of the first edition, except in cases where
I have no doubt that the later reading is the poet's own correction or
alteration. There are obvious misprints in the first edition which Scott
himself overlooked (see on ii. 115, 217,, Vi. 527, etc.), and it is
sometimes difficult to decide whether a later reading--a change of a
plural to a singular, or like trivial variation--is a misprint or the
author's correction of an earlier misprint. I have done the best I
could, with the means at my command, to settle these questions, and am
at least certain that the text as I give it is nearer right than in
any edition since 1821 As all the variae lectiones are recorded in the
Notes, the reader who does not approve of the one I adopt can substitute
that which he prefers.

I have retained all Scott's Notes (a few of them have been somewhat
abridged) and all those added by Lockhart. [1] My own I have made as
concise as possible. There are, of course, many of them which many of
my readers will not need, but I think there are none that may not be of
service, or at least of interest, to some of them; and I hope that no
one will turn to them for help without finding it.

Scott is much given to the use of Elizabethan words and constructions,
and I have quoted many "parallelisms" from Shakespeare and his
contemporaries. I believe I have referred to my edition of Shakespeare
in only a single instance (on iii. 17), but teachers and others who have
that edition will find many additional illustrations in the Notes on the
passages cited.

While correcting the errors of former editors, I may have overlooked
some of my own. I am already indebted to the careful proofreaders of the
University Press for the detection of occasional slips in quotations or
references; and I shall be very grateful to my readers for a memorandum
of any others that they may discover.

Cambridge, June 23, 1883..




ARGUMENT.


The scene of the following Poem is laid chiefly in the vicinity of Loch
Katrine, in the Western Highlands of Perthshire. The time of Action
includes Six Days, and the transactions of each Day occupy a Canto.





THE LADY OF THE LAKE.




CANTO FIRST.

The Chase.



     Harp of the North! that mouldering long hast hung
        On the witch-elm that shades Saint Fillan's spring
     And down the fitful breeze thy numbers flung,
        Till envious ivy did around thee cling,
     Muffling with verdant ringlet every string,--
        O Minstrel Harp, still must thine accents sleep?
     Mid rustling leaves and fountains murmuring,
        Still must thy sweeter sounds their silence keep,
     Nor bid a warrior smile, nor teach a maid to weep?

     Not thus, in ancient days of Caledon, [10]
        Was thy voice mute amid the festal crowd,
     When lay of hopeless love, or glory won,
        Aroused the fearful or subdued the proud.
     At each according pause was heard aloud

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PG #: 65172
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A GENTLEMAN OF LEISURE


                            P. G. WODEHOUSE


              First published by Herbert Jenkins Ltd 1921

                   Copyright 1921 by P. G. Wodehouse
                          All rights reserved




                                CONTENTS


  CHAPTER                                                           PAGE
  I. JIMMY MAKES A BET                                                 7
  II. THE NEW PYRAMUS AND THISBE                                      15
  III. MR. McEACHERN                                                  21
  IV. MOLLY                                                           26
  V. A THIEF IN THE NIGHT                                             30
  VI. AN EXHIBITION PERFORMANCE                                       36
  VII. GETTING ACQUAINTED                                             42
  VIII. AT DREEVER                                                    48
  IX. A NEW FRIEND AND AN OLD ONE                                     53
  X. JIMMY ADOPTS A LAME DOG                                          60
  XI. AT THE TURN OF THE ROAD                                         65
  XII. MAKING A START                                                 74
  XIII. SPIKE’S VIEWS                                                 82
  XIV. CHECK, AND A COUNTER MOVE                                      87
  XV. MR. McEACHERN INTERVENES                                        95
  XVI. A MARRIAGE HAS BEEN ARRANGED                                  101
  XVII. JIMMY REMEMBERS SOMETHING, AND HEARS SOMETHING ELSE          110
  XVIII. THE LOCHINVAR METHOD                                        118
  XIX. ON THE LAKE                                                   124
  XX. A LESSON IN PIQUET                                             131
  XXI. LOATHSOME GIFTS                                               138
  XXII. HOW TWO OF A TRADE DID NOT AGREE                             141
  XXIII. FAMILY JARS                                                 147
  XXIV. THE TREASURE-SEEKER                                          157
  XXV. EXPLANATIONS AND AN INTERRUPTION                              164
  XXVI. STIRRING TIMES FOR SIR THOMAS                                171
  XXVII. A DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE                               176
  XXVIII. SPENNIE’S HOUR OF CLEAR VISION                             185
  XXIX. THE LAST ROUND                                               190
  XXX. CONCLUSION                                                    198


                                   TO
                           DOUGLAS FAIRBANKS
                                  WHO
                             MANY YEARS AGO
                                 PLAYED
                                “JIMMY”
                       IN THE DRAMATIZED VERSION
                             OF THIS NOVEL




                                 ★ 1 ★
                          _Jimmy Makes a Bet_


The main smoking-room of the Strollers’ Club had been filling for the
last half-hour, and was now nearly full. In many ways the Strollers’,
though not the most magnificent, is the pleasantest club in New York.
Its ideals are those of the Savage Club—comfort without pomp—and it is
given over after eleven o’clock at night mainly to the Stage. Everybody
is young, clean-shaven, and full of conversation—and the conversation
strikes a purely professional note.

Everybody in the room on this July night had come from the theatre. Most
of those present had been acting, but a certain number had been to the
opening performance of the latest better-than-“Raffles” play. There had
been something of a boom that season in dramas whose heroes appealed to
the public more pleasantly across the footlights than they might have
done in real life. In the play which had opened tonight Arthur Mifflin,
an exemplary young man off the stage, had been warmly applauded for a
series of actions which, performed anywhere except in the theatre, would
certainly have debarred him from remaining a member of the Strollers’ or
any other club. In faultless evening dress, with a debonair smile on his
face, he had broken open a safe, stolen bonds and jewellery to a large
amount, and escaped without a blush of shame via the window. He had
foiled a detective through four acts and held up a band of pursuers with
a revolver. A large audience had intimated complete approval throughout.

“It’s a hit all right,” said somebody through the smoke.

“These imitation ‘Raffles’ plays always are,” grumbled Willett, who
played bluff fathers in musical comedy. “A few years ago they would have
been scared to death of putting on a show with a criminal hero. Now, it
seems to me, the public doesn’t want anything else. Not that they know
what they do want,” he concluded mournfully.

_The Belle of Boulogne_, in which Willett sustained the role of Cyrus K.
Higgs, a Chicago millionaire, was slowly fading away on a diet of free
passes, and this possibly prejudic
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    CONTENTS

    TWILIGHT OF THE IDOLS

    TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE
    PREFACE
    MAXIMS AND MISSILES
    THE PROBLEM OF SOCRATES
    "REASON" IN PHILOSOPHY
    HOW THE "TRUE WORLD" ULTIMATELY BECAME A FABLE
    MORALITY AS THE ENEMY OF NATURE
    THE FOUR GREAT ERRORS
    THE "IMPROVERS" OF MANKIND
    THINGS THE GERMANS LACK
    SKIRMISHES IN A WAR WITH THE ACT
    THINGS I OWE TO THE ANCIENTS

    THE ANTICHRIST

    ETERNAL RECURRENCE

    NOTES TO ZARATHUSTRA




TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE


_The Twilight of the Idols_ was written towards the end of the summer
of 1888, its composition seems to have occupied only a few days,--so
few indeed that, in _Ecce Homo_ (p. 118), Nietzsche says he hesitates
to give their number; but, in any case, we know it was completed on the
3rd of September in Sils Maria. The manuscript which was dispatched to
the printers on the 7th of September bore the title: "_Idle Hours of a
Psychologist_"; this, however, was abandoned in favour of the present
title, while the work was going through the press. During September
and the early part of October 1888, Nietzsche added to the original
contents of the book by inserting the whole section entitled "Things
the Germans Lack," and aphorisms 32-43 of "Skirmishes in a War with the
Age"; and the book, as it now stands, represents exactly the form in
which Nietzsche intended to publish it in the course of the year 1889.
Unfortunately its author was already stricken down with illness when
the work first appeared at the end of January 1889, and he was denied
the joy of seeing it run into nine editions, of one thousand each,
before his death in 1900.

Of _The Twilight of the Idols,_ Nietzsche says in _Ecce Homo_ (p.
118):--"If anyone should desire to obtain a rapid sketch of how
everything before my time was standing on its head, he should begin
reading me in this book. That which is called 'Idols' on the title-page
is simply the old truth that has been believed in hitherto. In plain
English, _The Twilight of the Idols_ means that the old truth is on its
last legs."

Certain it is that, for a rapid survey of the whole of Nietzsche's
doctrine, no book, save perhaps the section entitled "Of Old and New
Tables" in _Thus Spake Zarathustra,_ could be of more real value than
_The Twilight of the Idols._ Here Nietzsche is quite at his best. He
is ripe for the marvellous feat of the transvaluation of all values.
Nowhere is his language--that marvellous weapon which in his hand
became at once so supple and so murderous--more forcible and more
condensed. Nowhere are his thoughts more profound. But all this does
not by any means imply that this book is the easiest of Nietzsche's
works. On the contrary, I very much fear that, unless the reader is
well prepared, not only in Nietzscheism, but also in the habit of
grappling with uncommon and elusive problems, a good deal of the
contents of this work will tend rather to confuse than to enlighten
him in regard to what Nietzsche actually wishes to make clear in these
pages.

How much prejudice, for instance, how many traditional and deep-seated
opinions, must be uprooted, if we are to see even so much as an
important note of interrogation in the section entitled "The Problem
of Socrates"--not to speak of such sections as "Morality as the Enemy
of Nature," "The Four Great Errors," &c. The errors exposed in these
sections have a tradition of two thousand years behind them; and only a
fantastic dreamer could expect them to be eradicated by a mere casual
study of these pages. Indeed, Nietzsche himself looked forward only to
a gradual change in the general view of the questions he discussed; he
knew only too well what the conversion of "light heads" was worth, and
what kind of man would probably be the first to rush into his arms;
and, grand psychologist that he was, he guarded himself beforehand
against bad company by means of his famous warning:--"The first
adherents of a creed do not prove anything against it."

To the aspiring student of Nietzsche, however, it ought not to be
necessary to become an immediate convert in order to be interested in
the treasure of thought which Nietzsche here lavishes upon us. For
such a man it will be quite difficult enough to regard the questions
raised in this work as actual problems. Once, however, he has succeeded
in doing this, and has given his imagination time to play round these
questions _as_ problems, the particular turn or twist that Nietzsche
gives to their elucidation, may then perhaps strike him, not only as
valuable, but as absolutely necessary.

With regard to the substance of _The Twilight of the Idols,_ Nietzsche
says in _Ecce Homo_ (p. 119):--"There is the waste of an all-too-rich
autumn in this book: you trip over truths. You even crush some to
death, there are too many of them."

And what are these truths? They are things that are not yet held to
be true. They are the utterances of a man who, as a single exception,
escaped for a while the general insanity of Eur
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CONVERSATION.


One of the first rules for a guide in polite conversation, is to avoid
political or religious discussions in general society. Such discussions
lead almost invariably to irritating differences of opinion, often to
open quarrels, and a coolness of feeling which might have been avoided
by dropping the distasteful subject as soon as marked differences of
opinion arose. It is but one out of many that can discuss either
political or religious differences, with candor and judgment, and yet so
far control his language and temper as to avoid either giving or taking
offence.

In their place, in circles which have met for such discussions, in a
_tête à tête_ conversation, in a small party of gentlemen where each is
ready courteously to listen to the others, politics may be discussed
with perfect propriety, but in the drawing-room, at the dinner-table, or
in the society of ladies, these topics are best avoided.

If you are drawn into such a discussion without intending to be so, be
careful that your individual opinion does not lead you into language
and actions unbecoming a gentleman. Listen courteously to those whose
opinions do not agree with yours, and _keep your temper_. A man in a
passion ceases to be a gentleman.

Even if convinced that your opponent is utterly wrong, yield gracefully,
decline further discussion, or dextrously turn the conversation, but do
not obstinately defend your own opinion until you become angry, or more
excited than is becoming to a gentleman.

Many there are who, giving their opinion, not as an _opinion_ but as a
_law_, will defend their position by such phrases, as: “Well, if _I_
were president, or governor, I would,” &c.--and while by the warmth of
their argument they prove that they are utterly unable to govern their
own temper, they will endeavor to persuade you that they are perfectly
competent to take charge of the government of the nation.

Retain, if you will, a fixed political opinion, yet do not parade it
upon all occasions, and, above all, do not endeavor to _force_ others to
agree with you. Listen calmly to their ideas upon the same subjects, and
if you cannot agree, differ politely, and while your opponent may set
you down as a bad politician, let him be obliged to admit that you are a
_gentleman_.

Wit and vivacity are two highly important ingredients in the
conversation of a man in polite society, yet a straining for effect, or
forced wit, is in excessively bad taste. There is no one more
insupportable in society than the everlasting talkers who scatter puns,
witticisms, and jokes with so profuse a hand that they become as
tiresome as a comic newspaper, and whose loud laugh at their own wit
drowns other voices which might speak matter more interesting. The
really witty man does not shower forth his wit so indiscriminately; his
charm consists in wielding his powerful weapon delicately and easily,
and making each highly polished witticism come in the right place and
moment to be effectual. While real wit is a most delightful gift, and
its use a most charming accomplishment, it is, like many other bright
weapons, dangerous to use too often. You may wound where you meant only
to amuse, and remarks which you mean only in for general applications,
may be construed into personal affronts, so, if you have the gift, use
it wisely, and not too freely.

The most important requisite for a good conversational power is
education, and, by this is meant, not merely the matter you may store in
your memory from observation or books, though this is of vast
importance, but it also includes the developing of the mental powers,
and, above all, the comprehension. An English writer says, “A man should
be able, in order to enter into conversation, to catch rapidly the
meaning of anything that is advanced; for instance, though you know
nothing of science, you should not be obliged to stare and be silent,
when a man who does understand it is explaining a new discovery or a new
theory; though you have not read a word of Blackstone, your
comprehensive powers should be sufficiently acute to enable you to take
in the statement that may be made of a recent cause; though you may not
have read some particular book, you should be capable of appreciating
the criticism which you hear of it. Without such power--simple enough,
and easily attained by attention and practice, yet too seldom met with
in general society--a conversation which departs from the most ordinary
topics cannot be maintained without the risk of lapsing into a lecture;
with such power, society becomes instructive as well as amusing, and you
have no remorse at an evening’s end at having wasted three or four hours
in profitless banter, or simpering platitudes. This facility of
comprehension often startles us in some women, whose education we know
to have been poor, and whose reading is limited. If they did not rapidly
receive your ideas, they could not, therefore, be fit companions for
intellectual men, and it is, perhaps, their
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65032
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65032

WIND IN HER HAIR

                            By Kris Neville

              To Marte and Johnny Nine the space ship was
            their world. And yet they dreamed of returning
            home to Earth ... a planet they had never seen.

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                             October 1950
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


"Marte!"

His voice echoed hollowly, dying away to an eerie whisper, fainter and
fainter.

"Marte!"

It was very silent here on the last level below the giant atomic motors.

The feeble light showered down from a single overhead bulb; it was
their special bulb. Marte always lit it when she came below.

"Marte!" His voice was almost pleading.

"Here I am, Johnny. Over here."

"Little imp," he said, not unkindly. "What do you mean, hiding?"

"Hiding, Johnny? I wasn't hiding.... And besides, you looked so funny
and lost, standing there, calling me."

He saw her, now, sitting half in shadow, leaning against the far
bulkhead.

His feet ping-pinged on the uncarpeted deck plates as he crossed to her.

"Hello," she said brightly. She threw back her head, and her eyes
caught the dim light and sparkled it. "I hoped you'd come today."
Smiling, she held out her hand.

He took it. "I really shouldn't have," he said.

"Oh?" She puckered her lips in mock anger and drew him down beside
her. "Didn't you _want_ to come?"

"You know I did."

"Then why?"

"They might need me in Control," he said, half seriously.

Marte's eyes opened an involuntary fraction. "Nothing's wrong, is
there?" Her lips had lost their sudden, native smile, and the smile in
her eyes half fled.

"No. Everything's fine.... I just meant in case...."

"Oh, Johnny, don't say it; please." Her eyes spoke with her voice,
emotions bubbled in them. Her face had something of a woman's
seriousness in it, the product more of native understanding than
experience, and much of a girl's naivete. "Don't even _think_ about
anything like that." She looked up at him, studied his face intently,
and then said, "Tell me that: Say nothing's going to go wrong."

"I was just talking, Marte. Nothing can go wrong; not now."

"Say it again!"

"Nothing is going to go wrong," he said slowly, giving each word its
full meaning.

"Do you really--really and _truly_--believe that?" she asked.

"Of course I do, Marte."

The girl smiled. "I do too--only--" The smile faded. Her eyes focused
on some distant place, beyond the last level, beyond the Ship itself.
"Only sometimes I'm afraid it's too good to happen.... That I'm
dreaming, and that all at once I'll wake up, and--" She shook her head.
"But that's silly, isn't it, Johnny?"

"Yes," he said. He settled back and rested against the bulkhead.

       *       *       *       *       *

There was silence for a while, two young people, hand in hand, sitting
in silence.

Finally, Marte spoke.

"Here," she said, "feel." She pressed his hand against the bulkhead.
"See how cool it is?"

"Of course. It's the outside plate."

"Yes," she said, "I know. There's nothing but space out there." She
squeezed his hand. "But just a little while ago, before you came, I was
sitting here thinking. And I thought that wind must feel like that. I
mean, not how it _feels_, exactly, but how it makes _you_ feel. Wild
and free. Without any bulkheads to keep you from walking and walking."

He shook his head. "Little dreamer," he whispered.

She frowned prettily. "Don't you feel it, too?"

Johnny Nine pressed his hand to the bulkhead again. "Yes, I guess maybe
I do. In a way."

"Of course you do! You've just got to. You can't _help_ it! Put your
cheek close against the bulkhead and you can almost feel the wind
blowing on your face. I can. And if I try hard enough, I can almost
smell the fields of flowers all in bloom and hear birds singing, like
they were singing from far away.... And I can--"

"You've been reading again," he interrupted with a smile.

"Uh-huh," she said dreamily. "I have.... And when I finished, I came
down here, and I thought about it, and I hoped you'd come so we could
talk. It was poetry; it was--beautiful....

"You know, Johnny, I'd like to write poetry. If I had the sky and the
birds and the rivers and the mountains all to write about."

After a moment, Johnny Nine said, "Go ahead, tell me what the poems
were about."

[Illustration: They envisioned themselves running hand in hand, with
the wind whispering gently....]

"Well...." She drew out the word slowly. "It's not what they were
about, exactly. It's what they said, not out loud, but down deep. It's
like getting a present that means an awful lot to you; it's not the
present, but the way it makes your nose tickle and your stomach feel."
She smiled wistfully.

"They were all written a long time ago, even before the First
Generation, by men back on Earth, but they seemed to be wri
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 11937
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/11937


Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by ALBERT G.
MACKEY, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of
South Carolina.




To General John C. Fremont.



My Dear Sir:

While any American might be proud of associating his name with that of one
who has done so much to increase the renown of his country, and to enlarge
the sum of human knowledge, this book is dedicated to you as a slight
testimonial of regard for your personal character, and in grateful
recollection of acts of friendship.

Yours very truly,

A. G. Mackey.




Preface.



Of the various modes of communicating instruction to the uninformed, the
masonic student is particularly interested in two; namely, the instruction
by legends and that by symbols. It is to these two, almost exclusively,
that he is indebted for all that he knows, and for all that he can know,
of the philosophic system which is taught in the institution. All its
mysteries and its dogmas, which constitute its philosophy, are intrusted
for communication to the neophyte, sometimes to one, sometimes to the
other of these two methods of instruction, and sometimes to both of them
combined. The Freemason has no way of reaching any of the esoteric
teachings of the Order except through the medium of a legend or a symbol.

A legend differs from an historical narrative only in this--that it is
without documentary evidence of authenticity. It is the offspring solely
of tradition. Its details may be true in part or in whole. There may be no
internal evidence to the contrary, or there may be internal evidence that
they are altogether false. But neither the possibility of truth in the one
case, nor the certainty of falsehood in the other, can remove the
traditional narrative from the class of legends. It is a legend simply
because it rests on no written foundation. It is oral, and therefore
legendary.

In grave problems of history, such as the establishment of empires, the
discovery and settlement of countries, or the rise and fall of dynasties,
the knowledge of the truth or falsity of the legendary narrative will be
of importance, because the value of history is impaired by the imputation
of doubt. But it is not so in Freemasonry. Here there need be no absolute
question of the truth or falsity of the legend. The object of the masonic
legends is not to establish historical facts, but to convey philosophical
doctrines. They are a method by which esoteric instruction is
communicated, and the student accepts them with reference to nothing else
except their positive use and meaning as developing masonic dogmas. Take,
for instance, the Hiramic legend of the third degree. Of what importance
is it to the disciple of Masonry whether it be true or false? All that he
wants to know is its internal signification; and when he learns that it is
intended to illustrate the doctrine of the immortality of the soul, he is
content with that interpretation, and he does not deem it necessary,
except as a matter of curious or antiquarian inquiry, to investigate its
historical accuracy, or to reconcile any of its apparent contradictions.
So of the lost keystone; so of the second temple; so of the hidden ark:
these are to him legendary narratives, which, like the casket, would be of
no value were it not for the precious jewel contained within. Each of
these legends is the expression of a philosophical idea.

But there is another method of masonic instruction, and that is by
symbols. No science is more ancient than that of symbolism. At one time,
nearly all the learning of the world was conveyed in symbols. And although
modern philosophy now deals only in abstract propositions, Freemasonry
still cleaves to the ancient method, and has preserved it in its
primitive importance as a means of communicating knowledge.

According to the derivation of the word from the Greek, "to symbolize"
signifies "to compare one thing with another." Hence a symbol is the
expression of an idea that has been derived from the comparison or
contrast of some object with a moral conception or attribute. Thus we say
that the plumb is a symbol of rectitude of conduct. The physical qualities
of the plumb are here compared or contrasted with the moral conception of
virtue, or rectitude. Then to the Speculative Mason it becomes, after he
has been taught its symbolic meaning, the visible expression of the idea
of moral uprightness.

But although there are these two modes of instruction in Freemasonry,--by
legends and by symbols,--there really is no radical difference between the
two methods. The symbol is a visible, and the legend an audible
representation of some contrasted idea--of some moral conception produced
from a comparison. Both the legend and the symbol relate to dogmas of a
deep religious character; both of them convey moral sentiments in the same
peculiar method, and both of them are designed by this method to
illustrate the philosophy of Speculative Masonry.

To investigate the recondite meaning of t
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PG #: 7700
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/7700

LYSISTRATA


Translated from the Greek of

ARISTOPHANES

Illustrations by Norman Lindsay




FOREWORD

_Lysistrata_ is the greatest work by Aristophanes. This blank and rash
statement is made that it may be rejected. But first let it be
understood that I do not mean it is a better written work than the
_Birds_ or the _Frogs_, or that (to descend to the scale of values that
will be naturally imputed to me) it has any more appeal to the
collectors of "curious literature" than the _Ecclesiazusae_ or the
_Thesmophoriazusae_. On the mere grounds of taste I can see an at least
equally good case made out for the _Birds_. That brightly plumaged
fantasy has an aerial wit and colour all its own. But there are certain
works in which a man finds himself at an angle of vision where there is
an especially felicitous union of the aesthetic and emotional elements
which constitute the basic qualities of his uniqueness. We recognize
these works as being welded into a strange unity, as having a
homogeneous texture of ecstasy over them that surpasses any aesthetic
surface of harmonic colour, though that harmony also is understood by
the deeper welling of imagery from the core of creative exaltation. And
I think that this occurs in _Lysistrata_. The intellectual and spiritual
tendrils of the poem are more truly interwoven, the operation of their
centres more nearly unified; and so the work goes deeper into life. It
is his greatest play because of this, because it holds an intimate
perfume of femininity and gives the finest sense of the charm of a
cluster of girls, the sweet sense of their chatter, and the contact of
their bodies, that is to be found before Shakespeare, because that
mocking gaiety we call Aristophanies reaches here its most positive
acclamation of life, vitalizing sex with a deep delight, a rare
happiness of the spirit.

Indeed it is precisely for these reasons that it is _not_ considered
Aristophanes' greatest play.

To take a case which is sufficiently near to the point in question, to
make clear what I mean: the supremacy of _Antony and Cleopatra_ in the
Shakespearean aesthetic is yet jealously disputed, and it seems silly to
the academic to put it up against a work like _Hamlet_. But it is the
comparatively more obvious achievement of _Hamlet_, its surface
intellectuality, which made it the favourite of actors and critics. It
is much more difficult to realize the complex and delicately passionate
edge of the former play's rhythm, its tides of hugely wandering emotion,
the restless, proud, gay, and agonized reaction from life, of the blood,
of the mind, of the heart, which is its unity, than to follow the
relatively straightforward definition of Hamlet's nerves. Not that
anything derogatory to _Hamlet_ or the _Birds_ is intended; but the
value of such works is not enhanced by forcing them into contrast with
other works which cover deeper and wider nexus of aesthetic and
spiritual material. It is the very subtlety of the vitality of such
works as _Antony and Cleopatra_ and _Lysistrata_ that makes it so easy
to undervalue them, to see only a phallic play and political pamphlet in
one, only a chronicle play in a grandiose method in the other. For we
have to be in a highly sensitized condition before we can get to that
subtle point where life and the image mix, and so really perceive the
work at all; whereas we can command the response to a lesser work which
does not call so finely on the full breadth and depth of our spiritual
resources.

I amuse myself at times with the fancy that Homer, Sappho, and
Aristophanes are the inviolable Trinity of poetry, even to the extent of
being reducible to One. For the fiery and lucid directness of Sappho, if
her note of personal lyricism is abstracted, is seen to be an element of
Homer, as is the profoundly balanced humour of Aristophanes, at once
tenderly human and cruelly hard, as of a god to whom all sympathies and
tolerances are known, but who is invulnerable somewhere, who sees from a
point in space where the pressure of earth's fear and pain, and so its
pity, is lifted. It is here that the Shakespearean and Homeric worlds
impinge and merge, not to be separated by any academic classifications.
They meet in this sensitivity equally involved and aloof, sympathetic
and arrogant, suffering and joyous; and in this relation we see
Aristophanes as the forerunner of Shakespeare, his only one. We see also
that the whole present aesthetic of earth is based in Homer. We live and
grow in the world of consciousness bequeathed to us by him; and if we
grow beyond it through deeper Shakespearean ardours, it is because those
beyond are rooted in the broad basis of the Homeric imagination. To
shift that basis is to find the marshes of primitive night and fear
alone beneath the feet: Christianity.

And here we return to the question of the immorality of _Lysistrata_.
First we may inquire: is it possible for a man whose work has so
tremendous a significance in the spiritual development of ma
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PG #: 17157
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/17157





PREFACE.

    And lo! the book, from all its end beguiled,
    A harmless wonder to some happy child.

    LORD LYTTON.


Gulliver's Travels was published in 1726; and, although it was by no
means intended for them, the book was soon appropriated by the children,
who have ever since continued to regard it as one of the most delightful
of their story books. They cannot comprehend the occasion which provoked
the book nor appreciate the satire which underlies the narrative, but
they delight in the wonderful adventures, and wander full of open-eyed
astonishment into the new worlds through which the vivid and logically
accurate imagination of the author so personally conducts them. And
there is a meaning and a moral in the stories of the Voyages to Lilliput
and Brobdingnag which is entirely apart from the political satire they
are intended to convey, a meaning and a moral which the youngest child
who can read it will not fail to seize, and upon which it is scarcely
necessary for the teacher to comment.

For young children the book combines in a measure the interest of
_Robinson Crusoe_ and that of the fairy tale; its style is objective,
the narrative is simple, and the matter appeals strongly to the childish
imagination. For more mature boys and girls and for adults the interest
is found chiefly in the keen satire which underlies the narrative. It
appeals, therefore, to a very wide range of intelligence and taste, and
can be read with profit by the child of ten and by the young man or
woman of mature years.

This edition is practically a reprint of the original (1726-27). The
punctuation and capitalization have been modernized, some archaisms
changed, and the paragraphs have been made more frequent. A few passages
have been omitted which would offend modern ears and are unsuitable for
children's reading, and some foot-notes have been added explaining
obsolete words and obscure expressions.

As a reading book in school which must be adapted to the average mind,
these stories will be found suitable for classes from the fifth or sixth
school year to the highest grade of the grammar school.

THOMAS M. BALLIET.




CONTENTS.

VOYAGE TO LILLIPUT.



The Author gives some account of himself and family--His first
inducements to travel--He is shipwrecked, and swims for his life--Gets
safe on shore in the country of Lilliput--Is made a prisoner, and
carried up the country


The emperor of Lilliput, attended by several of the nobility, comes to
see the Author in his confinement--The emperor's person and habits
described--Learned men appointed to teach the Author their language--He
gains favor by his mild disposition--His pockets are searched, and his
sword and pistols taken from him


The Author diverts the emperor, and his nobility of both sexes, in a
very uncommon manner--The diversions of the court of Lilliput
described--The Author has his liberty granted him upon certain
conditions


Mildendo, the metropolis of Lilliput, described, together with the
emperor's palace--A conversation between the Author and a principal
secretary concerning the affairs of that empire--The Author's offers to
serve the emperor in his wars


The Author, by an extraordinary stratagem, prevents an invasion--A high
title of honor is conferred upon him--Ambassadors arrive from the
emperor of Blefuscu, and sue for peace


Of the inhabitants of Lilliput; their learning, laws, and customs; the
manner of educating their children--The Author's way of living in that
country--His vindication of a great lady


The Author, being informed of a design to accuse him of high treason,
makes his escape to Blefuscu--His reception there


The Author, by a lucky accident, finds means to leave Blefuscu; and
after some difficulties, returns safe to his native country

       *       *       *       *       *

LIST OF FULL-PAGE ILLUSTRATIONS.

    "He commanded his generals to draw up the troops"
     Map of Lilliput and Blefuscu
    "I lay all this while ... in great uneasiness"
    "Producing his credentials"
    "These gentlemen made an exact inventory"
    "Her imperial majesty was pleased to smile very graciously upon me"
    "And created me a _nardac_ upon the spot"
    "Three hundred tailors were employed"
    "The happiness ... of dining with me"
    "He desired I would hear him with patience"
    "I set sail ... at six in the morning"

AND TWENTY-THREE SMALLER ONES IN THE TEXT.




CONTENTS

A VOYAGE TO BROBDINGNAG.


A great storm described; the long-boat sent to fetch water, the Author
goes with it to discover the country--He is left on shore, is seized by
one of the natives, and carried to a farmer's house--His reception
there, with several accidents that happened there--A description of the
inhabitants


A description of the farmer's daughter--The Author carried to a
market-town, and then to the metropolis--The particulars of his journey


The Author sent for to court--The queen buys him of his master the
farmer, and presents him to the king--He disp
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 57333
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/57333


One day Mihail Averyanitch came after dinner when Andrey Yefimitch was
lying on the sofa. It so happened that Hobotov arrived at the same time
with his bromide. Andrey Yefimitch got up heavily and sat down, leaning
both arms on the sofa.

“You have a much better colour to-day than you had yesterday, my dear
man,” began Mihail Averyanitch. “Yes, you look jolly. Upon my soul, you
do!”

“It’s high time you were well, dear colleague,” said Hobotov, yawning.
“I’ll be bound, you are sick of this bobbery.”

“And we shall recover,” said Mihail Averyanitch cheerfully. “We shall
live another hundred years! To be sure!”

“Not a hundred years, but another twenty,” Hobotov said reassuringly.
“It’s all right, all right, colleague; don’t lose heart. . . . Don’t go
piling it on!”

“We’ll show what we can do,” laughed Mihail Averyanitch, and he slapped
his friend on the knee. “We’ll show them yet! Next summer, please God,
we shall be off to the Caucasus, and we will ride all over it on
horseback—trot, trot, trot! And when we are back from the Caucasus I
shouldn’t wonder if we will all dance at the wedding.” Mihail
Averyanitch gave a sly wink. “We’ll marry you, my dear boy, we’ll marry
you. . . .”

Andrey Yefimitch felt suddenly that the rising disgust had mounted to
his throat, his heart began beating violently.

“That’s vulgar,” he said, getting up quickly and walking away to the
window. “Don’t you understand that you are talking vulgar nonsense?”

He meant to go on softly and politely, but against his will he suddenly
clenched his fists and raised them above his head.

“Leave me alone,” he shouted in a voice unlike his own, blushing crimson
and shaking all over. “Go away, both of you!”

Mihail Averyanitch and Hobotov got up and stared at him first with
amazement and then with alarm.

“Go away, both!” Andrey Yefimitch went on shouting. “Stupid people!
Foolish people! I don’t want either your friendship or your medicines,
stupid man! Vulgar! Nasty!”

Hobotov and Mihail Averyanitch, looking at each other in bewilderment,
staggered to the door and went out. Andrey Yefimitch snatched up the
bottle of bromide and flung it after them; the bottle broke with a crash
on the door-frame.

“Go to the devil!” he shouted in a tearful voice, running out into the
passage. “To the devil!”

When his guests were gone Andrey Yefimitch lay down on the sofa,
trembling as though in a fever, and went on for a long while repeating:
“Stupid people! Foolish people!”

When he was calmer, what occurred to him first of all was the thought
that poor Mihail Averyanitch must be feeling fearfully ashamed and
depressed now, and that it was all dreadful. Nothing like this had ever
happened to him before. Where was his intelligence and his tact? Where
was his comprehension of things and his philosophical indifference?

The doctor could not sleep all night for shame and vexation with
himself, and at ten o’clock next morning he went to the post office and
apologized to the postmaster.

“We won’t think again of what has happened,” Mihail Averyanitch, greatly
touched, said with a sigh, warmly pressing his hand. “Let bygones be
bygones. Lyubavkin,” he suddenly shouted so loud that all the postmen
and other persons present started, “hand a chair; and you wait,” he
shouted to a peasant woman who was stretching out a registered letter to
him through the grating. “Don’t you see that I am busy? We will not
remember the past,” he went on, affectionately addressing Andrey
Yefimitch; “sit down, I beg you, my dear fellow.”

For a minute he stroked his knees in silence, and then said:

“I have never had a thought of taking offence. Illness is no joke, I
understand. Your attack frightened the doctor and me yesterday, and we
had a long talk about you afterwards. My dear friend, why won’t you
treat your illness seriously? You can’t go on like this . . . . Excuse
me speaking openly as a friend,” whispered Mihail Averyanitch. “You live
in the most unfavourable surroundings, in a crowd, in uncleanliness, no
one to look after you, no money for proper treatment. . . . My dear
friend, the doctor and I implore you with all our hearts, listen to our
advice: go into the hospital! There you will have wholesome food and
attendance and treatment. Though, between ourselves, Yevgeny Fyodoritch
is mauvais ton, yet he does understand his work, you can fully rely upon
him. He has promised me he will look after you.”

Andrey Yefimitch was touched by the postmaster’s genuine sympathy and
the tears which suddenly glittered on his cheeks.

“My honoured friend, don’t believe it!” he whispered, laying his hand on
his heart; “don’t believe them. It’s all a sham. My illness is only that
in twenty years I have only found one intelligent man in the whole town,
and he is mad. I am not ill at all, it’s simply that I have got into an
enchanted circle which there is no getting out of. I don’t care; I am
ready for anything.”

“Go into the hospital, my dear fellow.”

“I don’t care if it were into the pit.”


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PG #: 1531
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1531

a team of about twenty Project Gutenberg volunteers.
HTML version prepared by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.



cover 



OTHELLO, THE MOOR OF VENICE



by William Shakespeare



Contents

ACT I
Scene I. Venice. A street.
Scene II. Venice. Another street.
Scene III. Venice. A council chamber.


ACT II
Scene I. A seaport in Cyprus. A Platform.
Scene II. A street.
Scene III. A Hall in the Castle.


ACT III
Scene I. Cyprus. Before the Castle.
Scene II. Cyprus. A Room in the Castle.
Scene III. Cyprus. The Garden of the Castle.
Scene IV. Cyprus. Before the Castle.


ACT IV
Scene I. Cyprus. Before the Castle.
Scene II. Cyprus. A Room in the Castle.
Scene III. Cyprus. Another Room in the Castle.


ACT V
Scene I. Cyprus. A Street.
Scene II. Cyprus. A Bedchamber in the castle.



Dramatis Personæ

DUKE OF VENICE
BRABANTIO, a Senator of Venice and Desdemona’s father
Other Senators
GRATIANO, Brother to Brabantio
LODOVICO, Kinsman to Brabantio
OTHELLO, a noble Moor in the service of Venice
CASSIO, his Lieutenant
IAGO, his Ancient
MONTANO, Othello’s predecessor in the government of Cyprus
RODERIGO, a Venetian Gentleman
CLOWN, Servant to Othello

DESDEMONA, Daughter to Brabantio and Wife to Othello
EMILIA, Wife to Iago
BIANCA, Mistress to Cassio

Officers, Gentlemen, Messenger, Musicians, Herald, Sailor, Attendants,
&c.

SCENE: The First Act in Venice; during the rest of the Play at a
Seaport in Cyprus.


ACT I

SCENE I. Venice. A street.

 Enter Roderigo and Iago.

RODERIGO.
Tush, never tell me, I take it much unkindly
That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse,
As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this.

IAGO.
’Sblood, but you will not hear me.
If ever I did dream of such a matter,
Abhor me.

RODERIGO.
Thou told’st me, thou didst hold him in thy hate.

IAGO.
Despise me if I do not. Three great ones of the city,
In personal suit to make me his lieutenant,
Off-capp’d to him; and by the faith of man,
I know my price, I am worth no worse a place.
But he, as loving his own pride and purposes,
Evades them, with a bombast circumstance,
Horribly stuff’d with epithets of war:
And in conclusion,
Nonsuits my mediators: for “Certes,” says he,
“I have already chose my officer.”
And what was he?
Forsooth, a great arithmetician,
One Michael Cassio, a Florentine,
A fellow almost damn’d in a fair wife,
That never set a squadron in the field,
Nor the division of a battle knows
More than a spinster, unless the bookish theoric,
Wherein the toged consuls can propose
As masterly as he: mere prattle without practice
Is all his soldiership. But he, sir, had the election,
And I, of whom his eyes had seen the proof
At Rhodes, at Cyprus, and on other grounds,
Christian and heathen, must be belee’d and calm’d
By debitor and creditor, this counter-caster,
He, in good time, must his lieutenant be,
And I, God bless the mark, his Moorship’s ancient.

RODERIGO.
By heaven, I rather would have been his hangman.

IAGO.
Why, there’s no remedy. ’Tis the curse of service,
Preferment goes by letter and affection,
And not by old gradation, where each second
Stood heir to the first. Now sir, be judge yourself
Whether I in any just term am affin’d
To love the Moor.

RODERIGO.
I would not follow him, then.

IAGO.
O, sir, content you.
I follow him to serve my turn upon him:
We cannot all be masters, nor all masters
Cannot be truly follow’d. You shall mark
Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave
That, doting on his own obsequious bondage,
Wears out his time, much like his master’s ass,
For nought but provender, and when he’s old, cashier’d.
Whip me such honest knaves. Others there are
Who, trimm’d in forms, and visages of duty,
Keep yet their hearts attending on themselves,
And throwing but shows of service on their lords,
Do well thrive by them, and when they have lin’d their coats,
Do themselves homage. These fellows have some soul,
And such a one do I profess myself. For, sir,
It is as sure as you are Roderigo,
Were I the Moor, I would not be Iago:
In following him, I follow but myself.
Heaven is my judge, not I for love and duty,
But seeming so for my peculiar end.
For when my outward action doth demonstrate
The native act and figure of my heart
In complement extern, ’tis not long after
But I will wear my heart upon my sleeve
For daws to peck at: I am not what I am.

RODERIGO.
What a full fortune does the thick-lips owe,
If he can carry’t thus!

IAGO.
Call up her father,
Rouse him, make after him, poison his delight,
Proclaim him in the streets; incense her kinsmen,
And though he in a fertile climate dwell,
Plague him with flies: though that his joy be joy,
Yet throw such changes of vexation on’t,
As it may lose some color.

RODERIGO.
Here is her father’s house, I’ll call aloud.

IAGO.
Do, with like timorous accent and dire yell
As when, by night and negligence, the fire
Is spied in populous cities.

RODERIGO.
What ho, Brabantio! Signior Brabantio, ho!

IAGO.
Awake! what ho, Brabantio! Thieves, thieves!
Look to your house, your daughter, and your bags!
Thiev
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PG #: 25609
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/25609

_A
  Child's
  Garden
  of Verses_

  ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

  _Illustrated by
  Jessie Willcox Smith_

  CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, _New York_




  Copyright, 1905, By CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

  Printed in the United States of America

  All rights reserved. No part of this book
  may be reproduced in any form without the
  permission of Charles Scribner's Sons

  DD-3.64[H]

  Reset March 1955

[Illustration]




TO ALISON CUNNINGHAM

FROM HER BOY

    _For the long nights you lay awake_
    _And watched for my unworthy sake:_
    _For your most comfortable hand_
    _That led me through the uneven land:_
    _For all the story-books you read:_
    _For all the pains you comforted:_

    _For all you pitied, all you bore,_
    _In sad and happy days of yore:--_
    _My second Mother, my first Wife,_
    _The angel of my infant life--_
    _From the sick child, now well and old,_
    _Take, nurse, the little book you hold!_

    _And grant it, Heaven, that all who read_
    _May find as dear a nurse at need,_
    _And every child who lists my rhyme,_
    _In the bright, fireside, nursery clime,_
    _May hear it in as kind a voice_
    _As made my childish days rejoice!_

_R. L. S._




THE ORIGINAL

TITLE PAGE

FOR

A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES

BY

JESSIE WILLCOX SMITH

[Illustration]

  A CHILD'S GARDEN OF VERSES
  ROBERT LOVIS STEVENSON
  WITH ILLVSTRATIONS BY
  JESSIE WILLCOX SMITH

  CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
  NEW YORK     MCMV




CONTENTS


  TO ALISON CUNNINGHAM                                                 vii

  BED IN SUMMER                                                          3

  A THOUGHT                                                              4

  AT THE SEA-SIDE                                                        5

  YOUNG NIGHT-THOUGHT                                                    6

  WHOLE DUTY OF CHILDREN                                                 7

  RAIN                                                                   7

  PIRATE STORY                                                           8

  FOREIGN LANDS                                                          9

  WINDY NIGHTS                                                          10

  TRAVEL                                                                11

  SINGING                                                               13

  LOOKING FORWARD                                                       14

  A GOOD PLAY                                                           15

  WHERE GO THE BOATS?                                                   16

  AUNTIE'S SKIRTS                                                       17

  THE LAND OF COUNTERPANE                                               18

  THE LAND OF NOD                                                       19

  MY SHADOW                                                             20

  SYSTEM                                                                22

  A GOOD BOY                                                            23

  ESCAPE AT BEDTIME                                                     24

  MARCHING SONG                                                         25

  THE COW                                                               26

  HAPPY THOUGHT                                                         27

  THE WIND                                                              28

  KEEPSAKE MILL                                                         29

  GOOD AND BAD CHILDREN                                                 31

  FOREIGN CHILDREN                                                      33

  THE SUN TRAVELS                                                       35

  THE LAMPLIGHTER                                                       36

  MY BED IS A BOAT                                                      37

  THE MOON                                                              39

  THE SWING                                                             40

  TIME TO RISE                                                          41

  LOOKING-GLASS RIVER                                                   42

  FAIRY BREAD                                                           44

  FROM A RAILWAY CARRIAGE                                               45

  WINTER-TIME                                                           46

  THE HAYLOFT                                                           47

  FAREWELL TO THE FARM                                                  49

  NORTH-WEST PASSAGE                                                    50

    1. Good-Night                                                       50

    2. Shadow March                                                     51

    3. In Port                                                          52

  THE CHILD ALONE

  THE UNSEEN PLAYMATE                                                   57

  MY SHIP AND 
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{TRANSCRIBERS NOTES: spelling variants are preserved (e.g. labour
instead of labor, criticise instead of criticize, etc.); the
translators' comments are in square brackets [...] as they are in the
text; footnotes are indicated by * and appear immediately following the
passage containing the note (in the text they appear at the bottom of
the page); and, finally, corrections and addenda are in curly brackets
{...}.}



ROCHEFOUCAULD

"As Rochefoucauld his maxims drew From Nature--I believe them true. They
argue no corrupted mind In him; the fault is in mankind."--Swift.

"Les Maximes de la Rochefoucauld sont des proverbs des gens
d'esprit."--Montesquieu.

"Maxims are the condensed good sense of nations."--Sir J. Mackintosh.

"Translators should not work alone; for good Et Propria Verba do not
always occur to one mind."--Luther's Table Talk, iii.



CONTENTS


     Preface (translator's)
     Introduction (translator's)
     Reflections and Moral Maxims
     First Supplement
     Second Supplement
     Third Supplement
     Reflections on Various Subjects
     Index




Preface.

 {Translators'}
Some apology must be made for an attempt "to translate the
untranslatable." Notwithstanding there are no less than eight English
translations of La Rochefoucauld, hardly any are readable, none are free
from faults, and all fail more or less to convey the author's meaning.
Though so often translated, there is not a complete English edition
of the Maxims and Reflections. All the translations are confined
exclusively to the Maxims, none include the Reflections. This may be
accounted for, from the fact that most of the translations are taken
from the old editions of the Maxims, in which the Reflections do
not appear. Until M. Suard devoted his attention to the text of
Rochefoucauld, the various editions were but reprints of the preceding
ones, without any regard to the alterations made by the author in the
later editions published during his life-time. So much was this the
case, that Maxims which had been rejected by Rochefoucauld in his last
edition, were still retained in the body of the work. To give but one
example, the celebrated Maxim as to the misfortunes of our friends, was
omitted in the last edition of the book, published in Rochefoucauld's
life-time, yet in every English edition this Maxim appears in the body
of the work.

Reflections which has ever since been the standard text of Rochefoucauld
in France. The Maxims are printed from the edition of 1678, the last
published during the author's life, and the last which received his
corrections. To this edition were added two Supplements; the first
containing the Maxims which had appeared in the editions of 1665, 1666,
and 1675, and which were afterwards omitted; the second, some additional
Maxims found among various of the author's manuscripts in the Royal
Library at Paris. And a Series of Reflections which had been previously
published in a work called "Receuil de pièces d'histoire et de
littérature." Paris, 1731. They were first published with the Maxims in
an edition by Gabriel Brotier.

In an edition of Rochefoucauld entitled "Reflexions, ou Sentences et
Maximes Morales, augmentées de plus deux cent nouvelles Maximes et
Maximes et Pensées diverses suivant les copies Imprimées à Paris, chez
Claude Barbin, et Matre Cramoisy 1692,"* some fifty Maxims were added,
ascribed by the editor to Rochefoucauld, and as his family allowed them
to be published under his name, it seems probable they were genuine.
These fifty form the third supplement to this book.

     *In all the French editions this book is spoken of as
     published in 1693. The only copy I have seen is in the
     Cambridge University Library, 47, 16, 81, and is called
     "Reflexions Morales."


The apology for the present edition of Rochefoucauld must therefore be
twofold: firstly, that it is an attempt to give the public a complete
English edition of Rochefoucauld's works as a moralist. The body of the
work comprises the Maxims as the author finally left them, the first
supplement, those published in former editions, and rejected by the
author in the later; the second, the unpublished Maxims taken from the
author's correspondence and manuscripts, and the third, the Maxims first
published in 1692. While the Reflections, in which the thoughts in the
Maxims are extended and elaborated, now appear in English for the first
time. And secondly, that it is an attempt (to quote the preface of the
edition of 1749) "to do the Duc de la Rochefoucauld the justice to make
him speak English."




Introduction

 {Translators'}
The description of the "ancien regime" in France, "a despotism tempered
by epigrams," like most epigrammatic sentences, contains some truth,
with much fiction. The society of the last half of the seventeenth, and
the whole of the eighteenth centuries, was doubtless greatly influenced
by the precise and terse mode in which the popular writers of that date
expressed their thoughts. To a people
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 8795
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THE VISION

OF

HELL, PURGATORY, AND PARADISE

BY DANTE ALIGHIERI




PURGATORY

Complete



TRANSLATED BY

THE REV. H. F. CARY



PURGATORY

Cantos 1 - 33



CANTO I

O'er better waves to speed her rapid course
The light bark of my genius lifts the sail,
Well pleas'd to leave so cruel sea behind;
And of that second region will I sing,
In which the human spirit from sinful blot
Is purg'd, and for ascent to Heaven prepares.

Here, O ye hallow'd Nine! for in your train
I follow, here the deadened strain revive;
Nor let Calliope refuse to sound
A somewhat higher song, of that loud tone,
Which when the wretched birds of chattering note
Had heard, they of forgiveness lost all hope.

Sweet hue of eastern sapphire, that was spread
O'er the serene aspect of the pure air,
High up as the first circle, to mine eyes
Unwonted joy renew'd, soon as I 'scap'd
Forth from the atmosphere of deadly gloom,
That had mine eyes and bosom fill'd with grief.
The radiant planet, that to love invites,
Made all the orient laugh, and veil'd beneath
The Pisces' light, that in his escort came.

To the right hand I turn'd, and fix'd my mind
On the' other pole attentive, where I saw
Four stars ne'er seen before save by the ken
Of our first parents.  Heaven of their rays
Seem'd joyous.  O thou northern site, bereft
Indeed, and widow'd, since of these depriv'd!

As from this view I had desisted, straight
Turning a little tow'rds the other pole,
There from whence now the wain had disappear'd,
I saw an old man standing by my side
Alone, so worthy of rev'rence in his look,
That ne'er from son to father more was ow'd.
Low down his beard and mix'd with hoary white
Descended, like his locks, which parting fell
Upon his breast in double fold.  The beams
Of those four luminaries on his face
So brightly shone, and with such radiance clear
Deck'd it, that I beheld him as the sun.

"Say who are ye, that stemming the blind stream,
Forth from th' eternal prison-house have fled?"
He spoke and moved those venerable plumes.
"Who hath conducted, or with lantern sure
Lights you emerging from the depth of night,
That makes the infernal valley ever black?
Are the firm statutes of the dread abyss
Broken, or in high heaven new laws ordain'd,
That thus, condemn'd, ye to my caves approach?"

My guide, then laying hold on me, by words
And intimations given with hand and head,
Made my bent knees and eye submissive pay
Due reverence; then thus to him replied.

"Not of myself I come; a Dame from heaven
Descending, had besought me in my charge
To bring.  But since thy will implies, that more
Our true condition I unfold at large,
Mine is not to deny thee thy request.
This mortal ne'er hath seen the farthest gloom.
But erring by his folly had approach'd
So near, that little space was left to turn.
Then, as before I told, I was dispatch'd
To work his rescue, and no way remain'd
Save this which I have ta'en.  I have display'd
Before him all the regions of the bad;
And purpose now those spirits to display,
That under thy command are purg'd from sin.
How I have brought him would be long to say.
From high descends the virtue, by whose aid
I to thy sight and hearing him have led.
Now may our coming please thee.  In the search
Of liberty he journeys: that how dear
They know, who for her sake have life refus'd.
Thou knowest, to whom death for her was sweet
In Utica, where thou didst leave those weeds,
That in the last great day will shine so bright.
For us the' eternal edicts are unmov'd:
He breathes, and I am free of Minos' power,
Abiding in that circle where the eyes
Of thy chaste Marcia beam, who still in look
Prays thee, O hallow'd spirit! to own her shine.
Then by her love we' implore thee, let us pass
Through thy sev'n regions; for which best thanks
I for thy favour will to her return,
If mention there below thou not disdain."

"Marcia so pleasing in my sight was found,"
He then to him rejoin'd, "while I was there,
That all she ask'd me I was fain to grant.
Now that beyond the' accursed stream she dwells,
She may no longer move me, by that law,
Which was ordain'd me, when I issued thence.
Not so, if Dame from heaven, as thou sayst,
Moves and directs thee; then no flattery needs.
Enough for me that in her name thou ask.
Go therefore now: and with a slender reed
See that thou duly gird him, and his face
Lave, till all sordid stain thou wipe from thence.
For not with eye, by any cloud obscur'd,
Would it be seemly before him to come,
Who stands the foremost minister in heaven.
This islet all around, there far beneath,
Where the wave beats it, on the oozy bed
Produces store of reeds. No other plant,
Cover'd with leaves, or harden'd in its stalk,
There lives, not bending to the water's sway.
After, this way return not; but the sun
Will show you, that now rises, where to take
The mountain in its easiest ascent."

He disappear'd; and I myself uprais'd
Speechless, and to my guide retiring close,
Toward him turn'd mine eyes.  He thus began;
"My son! observant thou my steps pursue.
We 
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PG #: 1695
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THE TWO POETS OF SAFFRON PARK


The suburb of Saffron Park lay on the sunset side of London, as red and
ragged as a cloud of sunset. It was built of a bright brick throughout;
its sky-line was fantastic, and even its ground plan was wild. It had
been the outburst of a speculative builder, faintly tinged with art,
who called its architecture sometimes Elizabethan and sometimes Queen
Anne, apparently under the impression that the two sovereigns were
identical. It was described with some justice as an artistic colony,
though it never in any definable way produced any art. But although its
pretensions to be an intellectual centre were a little vague, its
pretensions to be a pleasant place were quite indisputable. The
stranger who looked for the first time at the quaint red houses could
only think how very oddly shaped the people must be who could fit in to
them. Nor when he met the people was he disappointed in this respect.
The place was not only pleasant, but perfect, if once he could regard
it not as a deception but rather as a dream. Even if the people were
not “artists,” the whole was nevertheless artistic. That young man with
the long, auburn hair and the impudent face—that young man was not
really a poet; but surely he was a poem. That old gentleman with the
wild, white beard and the wild, white hat—that venerable humbug was not
really a philosopher; but at least he was the cause of philosophy in
others. That scientific gentleman with the bald, egg-like head and the
bare, bird-like neck had no real right to the airs of science that he
assumed. He had not discovered anything new in biology; but what
biological creature could he have discovered more singular than
himself? Thus, and thus only, the whole place had properly to be
regarded; it had to be considered not so much as a workshop for
artists, but as a frail but finished work of art. A man who stepped
into its social atmosphere felt as if he had stepped into a written
comedy.

More especially this attractive unreality fell upon it about nightfall,
when the extravagant roofs were dark against the afterglow and the
whole insane village seemed as separate as a drifting cloud. This again
was more strongly true of the many nights of local festivity, when the
little gardens were often illuminated, and the big Chinese lanterns
glowed in the dwarfish trees like some fierce and monstrous fruit. And
this was strongest of all on one particular evening, still vaguely
remembered in the locality, of which the auburn-haired poet was the
hero. It was not by any means the only evening of which he was the
hero. On many nights those passing by his little back garden might hear
his high, didactic voice laying down the law to men and particularly to
women. The attitude of women in such cases was indeed one of the
paradoxes of the place. Most of the women were of the kind vaguely
called emancipated, and professed some protest against male supremacy.
Yet these new women would always pay to a man the extravagant
compliment which no ordinary woman ever pays to him, that of listening
while he is talking. And Mr. Lucian Gregory, the red-haired poet, was
really (in some sense) a man worth listening to, even if one only
laughed at the end of it. He put the old cant of the lawlessness of art
and the art of lawlessness with a certain impudent freshness which gave
at least a momentary pleasure. He was helped in some degree by the
arresting oddity of his appearance, which he worked, as the phrase
goes, for all it was worth. His dark red hair parted in the middle was
literally like a woman’s, and curved into the slow curls of a virgin in
a pre-Raphaelite picture. From within this almost saintly oval,
however, his face projected suddenly broad and brutal, the chin carried
forward with a look of cockney contempt. This combination at once
tickled and terrified the nerves of a neurotic population. He seemed
like a walking blasphemy, a blend of the angel and the ape.

This particular evening, if it is remembered for nothing else, will be
remembered in that place for its strange sunset. It looked like the end
of the world. All the heaven seemed covered with a quite vivid and
palpable plumage; you could only say that the sky was full of feathers,
and of feathers that almost brushed the face. Across the great part of
the dome they were grey, with the strangest tints of violet and mauve
and an unnatural pink or pale green; but towards the west the whole
grew past description, transparent and passionate, and the last red-hot
plumes of it covered up the sun like something too good to be seen. The
whole was so close about the earth, as to express nothing but a violent
secrecy. The very empyrean seemed to be a secret. It expressed that
splendid smallness which is the soul of local patriotism. The very sky
seemed small.

I say that there are some inhabitants who may remember the evening if
only by that oppressive sky. There are others who may remember it
because it marked the first appearance in th
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Copyright (C) 2002 by Lightheart.


Brother Lawrence's
THE PRACTICE OF THE PRESENCE OF GOD
2002 Edition
edited by Lightheart at PracticeGodsPresence.com

Includes: Editor's Preface Conversations and Letters

Editor's Preface

Brother Lawrence was born Nicholas Herman around 1610 in Herimenil,
Lorraine, a Duchy of France. His birth records were destroyed in a fire at
his parish church during the Thirty Years War, a war in which he fought
as a young soldier. It was also the war in which he sustained a near
fatal injury to his sciatic nerve. The injury left him quite crippled
and in chronic pain for the rest of his life.

The details of his early life are few and sketchy. However, we know he
was educated both at home and by his parish priest whose first name was
Lawrence and who was greatly admired by the young Nicolas. He was well
read and, from an early age, drawn to a spiritual life of faith and love
for God.

We also know that in the years between the abrupt end of his duties as
a soldier and his entry into monastic life, he spent a period of time
in the wilderness living like one of the early desert fathers. Also,
prior to entering the monastery, and perhaps as preparation, he spent
time as a civil servant. In his characteristic, self deprecating way,
he mentions that he was a "footman who was clumsy and broke everything".

At mid-life he entered a newly established monastery in Paris where
he became the cook for the community which grew to over one hundred
members. After fifteen years, his duties were shifted to the sandal repair
shop but, even then, he often returned to the busy kitchen to help out.

In times as troubled as today, Brother Lawrence, discovered, then
followed, a pure and uncomplicated way to walk continually in God's
presence. For some forty years, he lived and walked with Our Father at
his side. Yet, through his own words, we learn that Brother Lawrence's
first ten years were full of severe trials and challenges.

A gentle man of joyful spirit, Brother Lawrence shunned attention and
the limelight, knowing that outside distraction "spoils all". It was not
until after his death that a few of his letters were collected. Joseph
de Beaufort, representative and counsel to the local archbishop,
first published the letters in a small pamphlet. The following year,
in a second publication which he titled, 'The Practice of the Presence
of God', de Beaufort included, as introductory material, the content of
four conversations he had with Brother Lawrence.

In this small book, through letters and conversations, Brother Lawrence
simply and beautifully explains how to continually walk with God -
not from the head but from the heart. Brother Lawrence left the gift
of a way of life available to anyone who seeks to know God's peace and
presence; that anyone, regardless of age or circumstance, can practice
-anywhere, anytime.  Brother Lawrence also left the gift of a direct
approach to living in God's presence that is as practical today as it
was three hundred years ago.

Brother Lawrence died in 1691, having practiced God's presence for over
forty years. His quiet death was much like his monastic life where each
day and each hour was a new beginning and a fresh commitment to love
God with all his heart.

Edited by Lightheart at PracticeGodsPresence.com October 2002

CONVERSATIONS

Introduction: At the time of de Beaufort's interviews, Brother Lawrence
was in his late fifties. Joseph de Beaufort later commented that the
crippled brother, who was then in charge of the upkeep of over one
hundred pairs of sandals, was "rough in appearance but gentle in grace".

First Conversation: The first time I saw Brother Lawrence was upon
the 3rd of August, 1666. He told me that God had done him a singular
favor in his conversion at the age of eighteen. During that winter,
upon seeing a tree stripped of its leaves and considering that within a
little time the leaves would be renewed and after that the flowers and
fruit appear, Brother Lawrence received a high view of the Providence
and Power of God which has never since been effaced from his soul. This
view had perfectly set him loose from the world and kindled in him such
a love for God, that he could not tell whether it had increased in the
forty years that he had lived since.

Brother Lawrence said he had been footman to M. Fieubert, the treasurer,
and that he was a great awkward fellow who broke everything. He finally
decided to enter a monastery thinking that he would there be made to
smart for his awkwardness and the faults he would commit, and so he would
sacrifice his life with its pleasures to God. But Brother Lawrence said
that God had surprised him because he met with nothing but satisfaction
in that state.

Brother Lawrence related that we should establish ourselves in a sense
of God's Presence by continually conversing with Him. It was a shameful
thing to quit His conversation to think of trifles and fooleries. We
should feed and nourish our souls with high 
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One January day, thirty years ago, the little town of Hanover,
anchored on a windy Nebraska tableland, was trying not to be blown
away. A mist of fine snowflakes was curling and eddying about the
cluster of low drab buildings huddled on the gray prairie, under
a gray sky. The dwelling-houses were set about haphazard on the
tough prairie sod; some of them looked as if they had been moved in
overnight, and others as if they were straying off by themselves,
headed straight for the open plain. None of them had any appearance
of permanence, and the howling wind blew under them as well as over
them. The main street was a deeply rutted road, now frozen hard,
which ran from the squat red railway station and the grain “elevator”
 at the north end of the town to the lumber yard and the horse pond
at the south end. On either side of this road straggled two uneven
rows of wooden buildings; the general merchandise stores, the two
banks, the drug store, the feed store, the saloon, the post-office.
The board sidewalks were gray with trampled snow, but at two o'clock
in the afternoon the shopkeepers, having come back from dinner,
were keeping well behind their frosty windows. The children were
all in school, and there was nobody abroad in the streets but a
few rough-looking countrymen in coarse overcoats, with their long
caps pulled down to their noses. Some of them had brought their
wives to town, and now and then a red or a plaid shawl flashed out
of one store into the shelter of another. At the hitch-bars along
the street a few heavy work-horses, harnessed to farm wagons,
shivered under their blankets. About the station everything was
quiet, for there would not be another train in until night.

On the sidewalk in front of one of the stores sat a little Swede
boy, crying bitterly. He was about five years old. His black cloth
coat was much too big for him and made him look like a little old
man. His shrunken brown flannel dress had been washed many times
and left a long stretch of stocking between the hem of his skirt
and the tops of his clumsy, copper-toed shoes. His cap was pulled
down over his ears; his nose and his chubby cheeks were chapped and
red with cold. He cried quietly, and the few people who hurried
by did not notice him. He was afraid to stop any one, afraid to
go into the store and ask for help, so he sat wringing his long
sleeves and looking up a telegraph pole beside him, whimpering, “My
kitten, oh, my kitten! Her will fweeze!” At the top of the pole
crouched a shivering gray kitten, mewing faintly and clinging
desperately to the wood with her claws. The boy had been left
at the store while his sister went to the doctor's office, and in
her absence a dog had chased his kitten up the pole. The little
creature had never been so high before, and she was too frightened
to move. Her master was sunk in despair. He was a little country
boy, and this village was to him a very strange and perplexing
place, where people wore fine clothes and had hard hearts. He
always felt shy and awkward here, and wanted to hide behind things
for fear some one might laugh at him. Just now, he was too unhappy
to care who laughed. At last he seemed to see a ray of hope: his
sister was coming, and he got up and ran toward her in his heavy
shoes.

His sister was a tall, strong girl, and she walked rapidly and
resolutely, as if she knew exactly where she was going and what she
was going to do next. She wore a man's long ulster (not as if it
were an affliction, but as if it were very comfortable and belonged
to her; carried it like a young soldier), and a round plush cap,
tied down with a thick veil. She had a serious, thoughtful face,
and her clear, deep blue eyes were fixed intently on the distance,
without seeming to see anything, as if she were in trouble. She
did not notice the little boy until he pulled her by the coat.
Then she stopped short and stooped down to wipe his wet face.

“Why, Emil! I told you to stay in the store and not to come out.
What is the matter with you?”

“My kitten, sister, my kitten! A man put her out, and a dog chased
her up there.” His forefinger, projecting from the sleeve of his
coat, pointed up to the wretched little creature on the pole.

“Oh, Emil! Didn't I tell you she'd get us into trouble of some
kind, if you brought her? What made you tease me so? But there,
I ought to have known better myself.” She went to the foot of the
pole and held out her arms, crying, “Kitty, kitty, kitty,” but the
kitten only mewed and faintly waved its tail. Alexandra turned
away decidedly. “No, she won't come down. Somebody will have to
go up after her. I saw the Linstrums' wagon in town. I'll go and
see if I can find Carl. Maybe he can do something. Only you must
stop crying, or I won't go a step. Where's your comforter? Did
you leave it in the store? Never mind. Hold still, till I put
this on you.”

She unwound the brown veil from her head and tied it about his
throat. A shabby little traveling man, who was just then 
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THE SOCIAL LADDER

                             _Drawings by_
                          CHARLES DANA GIBSON

                            [Illustration]

                       _New York_: R. H. RUSSELL
                          _London_: JOHN LANE
                                 1902

This is the seventh book in the regular series of Mr. Gibson’s published
                       drawings, consisting of:

                 DRAWINGS BY C. D. GIBSON      No. 1
                 PICTURES OF PEOPLE            No. 2
                 SKETCHES AND CARTOONS         No. 3
                 THE EDUCATION OF MR. PIPP     No. 4
                 AMERICANS                     No. 5
                 A WIDOW AND HER FRIENDS       No. 6
                 THE SOCIAL LADDER             No. 7

 Each book contains eighty-four of Mr. Gibson’s best cartoons, and all
are uniform in size, shape and binding. Thanks are due Messrs. Mitchell
& Miller for their co-operation in making this volume as representative
                       and complete as possible.

                    Copyright by Mitchell & Miller
               COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY ROBERT HOWARD RUSSELL

This book is published in Great Britain by especial arrangement with Mr.
James Henderson, the proprietor of the English copyright of some of the
                               drawings.

        Printed in the United States of America, in July, 1902
                      Entered at Stationers’ Hall

[Illustration]

[Illustration: THE SOCIAL LADDER]

[Illustration]

[Illustration: STUDIES IN EXPRESSION.

AN IMITATION OF THE LADY OF THE HOUSE.]

[Illustration]

[Illustration: MRS. STEELE POOLE’S HOUSEWARMING.

_She_: “YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT IT IS TO LOVE.”

“I DON’T, EH? HAVEN’T I BEEN TO EVERY PLAY, READ EVERY POPULAR NOVEL IN
THE LAST SIX MONTHS, GOT INTO DEBT HOPELESSLY, HAD MY APPENDIX REMOVED,
AND ALL FOR YOUR SAKE?”]

[Illustration: MR. MEEKER DOESN’T OBJECT SO MUCH TO HIS WIFE’S
ENTERTAINMENTS AS HE DOES TO THE WAY SHE USES HIS ROOM FOR THE
GENTLEMEN’S THINGS.]

[Illustration]

[Illustration: HIS REVENGE.

_Time: Any morning at 4:15._

MR. MEEKER, HAVING BEEN KEPT UP LATE FOR THE LAST TWENTY YEARS AND
REBUKED FOR HIS LACK OF INTEREST, DEVELOPS A SUDDEN ENTHUSIASM. MRS.
MEEKER AND THE GIRLS NOW DO THE WAITING.]

[Illustration]

[Illustration: STUDIES IN EXPRESSION.

AT A DRAMATIC AGENCY.]

[Illustration: THE SONG OF THE DÉBUTANTE.

“MOTHER, DEAR MOTHER, COME HOME WITH ME NOW.”]

[Illustration: THE TROUBLES OF THE RICH.

AT THE LAST MOMENT, SEVERAL WHO WERE INVITED SEND THEIR REGRETS.]

[Illustration]

[Illustration: THE STORY OF HIS LIFE.]

[Illustration]

[Illustration: THE HEIRESS.

    SHE CANNOT TALK, SHE CANNOT SING,
      SHE LOOKS A FRIGHT; BUT FOLKS AVER
    TEN MILLIONS HAVE BEEN SET APART
      TO TALK AND SING AND LOOK FOR HER.]

[Illustration]

[Illustration: MR. GRUBBS WALKS IN HIS SLEEP AND APPEARS FOR THE FIRST
AND ONLY TIME AT AN ENTERTAINMENT IN HIS OWN HOUSE.]

[Illustration]

[Illustration: WHY NOT

HAVE PLATE GLASS FRONTS TO THE OPERA BOXES? THE OCCUPANTS COULD STILL BE
SEEN, BUT NOT HEARD.]

[Illustration]

[Illustration: THE NEXT MORNING

_Mrs. Innittor Dedd’s maid reads_: “AMONG THOSE PRESENT WAS MRS.
INNITTOR DEDD, WHOSE LOVELY FACE AND SPLENDID FIGURE WERE ENHANCED BY A
TIARA OF DIAMONDS AND THREE ROPES OF PEARLS. SHE WORE HER FAMOUS RUBIES
AND WAS EVEN MORE REGAL THAN AT THE BULLYON’S BALL THE NIGHT BEFORE,”
ETC., ETC.]

[Illustration]

[Illustration: ADVICE TO A HOSTESS.

KEEP YOUR ENTERTAINMENT WITHIN THE MENTAL GRASP OF YOUR GUESTS.]

[Illustration]

[Illustration: MODERN CELEBRITIES.

AN INTERESTING DISCUSSION BETWEEN THE AUTHOR OF “THE BARRENNESS OF
UNKISSED KISSES” AND A FAMOUS DRAMATIST.]

[Illustration: WASTED ENERGY.

_Professor Bung_: A BEAUTY? WELL, PERHAPS SHE IS.

_Mr. Rattles_: WHY, MAN, HAVEN’T YOU NOTICED THE DIVINE WAY SHE SMILES?

“OH, I’M NOT ALTOGETHER UNOBSERVANT. I HAVE MADE A CALCULATION, IN FACT,
THAT THE ENERGY EXPENDED ON HER SMILES, IF SCIENTIFICALLY APPLIED, WOULD
RUN AN AUTOMOBILE.”]

[Illustration: STUDIES IN EXPRESSION.

SHOWING THAT A MAN MAY BE A HERO IN HIS OWN HOUSE.]

[Illustration]

[Illustration: PARASITES.

BASKING IN THE GOLDEN SUNSHINE.]

[Illustration: OF COURSE THERE ARE MERMAIDS.]

[Illustration: PLENTY OF GOOD FISH IN THE SEA.]

[Illustration]

[Illustration: HIS CHRISTMAS GIFT.]

[Illustration]

[Illustration: A SUGGESTION.

FOR ILL-ASSORTED PAIRS.]

[Illustration]

[Illustration: MRS. KATCHAM PRIDES HERSELF ON ALWAYS HAVING THE LATEST
CELEBRITY AT HER HOUSE. TO-NIGHT IT IS NO LESS A PERSONAGE THAN
“GOUGER.”]

[Illustration]

[Illustration: STUDIES IN EXPRESSION.

WHILE UNCLE JOE HAS HIS TIE FIXED.]

[Illustration]

[Illustration: A CROOKED TALE.

    THERE WAS A CROOKED MAN,
      WHO MADE A CROOKED DEAL,
    AND GOT A CROOKED FORTUNE
      BY A VERY CROOKED STEAL;
    HE HAD A CROOKED WIFE,
      WITH A VERY CROOKED NAME,
    AND NOW THEY LIVE APART
      IN VERY CROOKED FAME.]

[Illustration: _He_: Y
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PG #: 1600
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SYMPOSIUM

By Plato


Translated by Benjamin Jowett




INTRODUCTION.

Of all the works of Plato the Symposium is the most perfect in form,
and may be truly thought to contain more than any commentator has ever
dreamed of; or, as Goethe said of one of his own writings, more than the
author himself knew. For in philosophy as in prophecy glimpses of the
future may often be conveyed in words which could hardly have been
understood or interpreted at the time when they were uttered (compare
Symp.)--which were wiser than the writer of them meant, and could not
have been expressed by him if he had been interrogated about them.
Yet Plato was not a mystic, nor in any degree affected by the Eastern
influences which afterwards overspread the Alexandrian world. He was
not an enthusiast or a sentimentalist, but one who aspired only to
see reasoned truth, and whose thoughts are clearly explained in his
language. There is no foreign element either of Egypt or of Asia to
be found in his writings. And more than any other Platonic work the
Symposium is Greek both in style and subject, having a beauty 'as of
a statue,' while the companion Dialogue of the Phaedrus is marked by
a sort of Gothic irregularity. More too than in any other of his
Dialogues, Plato is emancipated from former philosophies. The genius of
Greek art seems to triumph over the traditions of Pythagorean, Eleatic,
or Megarian systems, and 'the old quarrel of poetry and philosophy' has
at least a superficial reconcilement. (Rep.)

An unknown person who had heard of the discourses in praise of love
spoken by Socrates and others at the banquet of Agathon is desirous of
having an authentic account of them, which he thinks that he can
obtain from Apollodorus, the same excitable, or rather 'mad' friend of
Socrates, who is afterwards introduced in the Phaedo. He had imagined
that the discourses were recent. There he is mistaken: but they are
still fresh in the memory of his informant, who had just been repeating
them to Glaucon, and is quite prepared to have another rehearsal of them
in a walk from the Piraeus to Athens. Although he had not been present
himself, he had heard them from the best authority. Aristodemus, who
is described as having been in past times a humble but inseparable
attendant of Socrates, had reported them to him (compare Xen. Mem.).

The narrative which he had heard was as follows:--

Aristodemus meeting Socrates in holiday attire, is invited by him to
a banquet at the house of Agathon, who had been sacrificing in
thanksgiving for his tragic victory on the day previous. But no sooner
has he entered the house than he finds that he is alone; Socrates has
stayed behind in a fit of abstraction, and does not appear until the
banquet is half over. On his appearing he and the host jest a little;
the question is then asked by Pausanias, one of the guests, 'What shall
they do about drinking? as they had been all well drunk on the day
before, and drinking on two successive days is such a bad thing.' This
is confirmed by the authority of Eryximachus the physician, who further
proposes that instead of listening to the flute-girl and her 'noise'
they shall make speeches in honour of love, one after another, going
from left to right in the order in which they are reclining at the
table. All of them agree to this proposal, and Phaedrus, who is
the 'father' of the idea, which he has previously communicated to
Eryximachus, begins as follows:--

He descants first of all upon the antiquity of love, which is proved by
the authority of the poets; secondly upon the benefits which love gives
to man. The greatest of these is the sense of honour and dishonour.
The lover is ashamed to be seen by the beloved doing or suffering any
cowardly or mean act. And a state or army which was made up only of
lovers and their loves would be invincible. For love will convert the
veriest coward into an inspired hero.

And there have been true loves not only of men but of women also. Such
was the love of Alcestis, who dared to die for her husband, and in
recompense of her virtue was allowed to come again from the dead. But
Orpheus, the miserable harper, who went down to Hades alive, that he
might bring back his wife, was mocked with an apparition only, and
the gods afterwards contrived his death as the punishment of his
cowardliness. The love of Achilles, like that of Alcestis, was
courageous and true; for he was willing to avenge his lover Patroclus,
although he knew that his own death would immediately follow: and
the gods, who honour the love of the beloved above that of the lover,
rewarded him, and sent him to the islands of the blest.

Pausanias, who was sitting next, then takes up the tale:--He says that
Phaedrus should have distinguished the heavenly love from the earthly,
before he praised either. For there are two loves, as there are two
Aphrodites--one the daughter of Uranus, who has no mother and is the
elder and wiser goddess, and the other, the daughter of Zeus and Dione,

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_Historia Animalium_ Schneider, 1812, Aubert and Wimmer, 1860;
Dittmeyer, 1907

_Metaphysica_ Schwegler, 1848, W Christ, 1899

_Organon_ Waitz, 1844 6

_Poetica_ Vahlen, 1867, 1874, with Notes by E Moore, 1875, with English
translation by E R Wharton, 1883, 1885, Uberweg, 1870, 1875, with
German translation, Susemihl, 1874, Schmidt, 1875, Christ, 1878, I
Bywater, 1898, T G Tucker, 1899

_De Republica Athenientium_ Text and facsimile of Papyrus, F G Kenyon,
1891, 3rd edition, 1892, Kaibel and Wilamowitz-Moellendorf, 1891, 3rd
edition, 1898, Van Herwerden and Leeuwen (from Kenyon’s text), 1891,
Blass, 1892, 1895, 1898, 1903, J E Sandys, 1893

_Politica_ Susemihl, 1872, with German, 1878, 3rd edition, 1882,
Susemihl and Hicks, 1894, etc, O Immisch, 1909

_Physica_ C Prantl, 1879

_Rhetorica_ Stahr, 1862, Sprengel (with Latin text), 1867, Cope and
Sandys, 1877, Roemer, 1885, 1898

ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS OF ONE OR MORE WORKS De Anima (with Parva
Naturalia), by W A Hammond, 1902 Ethica Of Morals to Nicomachus, by E
Pargiter, 1745, with Politica by J Gillies, 1797, 1804, 1813, with
Rhetorica and Poetica, by T Taylor, 1818, and later editions
Nicomachean Ethics, 1819, mainly from text of Bekker by D P Chase,
1847, revised 1861, and later editions, with an introductory essay by G
H Lewes (Camelot Classics) 1890, re-edited by J M Mitchell (New
Universal Library), 1906, 1910, by R W Browne (Bohn’s Classical
Library), 1848, etc, by R Williams, 1869, 1876, by W M Hatch and others
(with translation of paraphrase attributed to Andronicus of Rhodes),
edited by E Hatch, 1879 by F H Peters, 1881, J E C Welldon, 1892, J
Gillies (Lubbock’s Hundred Books) 1893 Historia Animalium, by R
Creswell (Bonn’s Classical Library) 1848, with Treatise on Physiognomy,
by T Taylor, 1809 Metaphysica, by T Taylor, 1801, by J H M Mahon
(Bohn’s Classical Library), 1848 Organon, with Porphyry’s Introduction,
by O F Owen (Bohn’s Classical Library), 1848 Posterior Analytics, E
Poste, 1850, E S Bourchier, 1901, On Fallacies, E Poste, 1866 Parva
Naturaha (Greek and English), by G R T Ross, 1906, with De Anima, by W
A Hammond, 1902 Youth and Old Age, Life and Death and Respiration, W
Ogle 1897 Poetica, with Notes from the French of D Acier, 1705, by H J
Pye, 1788, 1792, T Twining, 1789, 1812, with Preface and Notes by H
Hamilton, 1851, Treatise on Rhetorica and Poetica, by T Hobbes (Bohn’s
Classical Library), 1850, by Wharton, 1883 (see Greek version), S H
Butcher, 1895, 1898, 3rd edition, 1902, E S Bourchier, 1907, by Ingram
Bywater, 1909 De Partibus Animalium, W Ogle, 1882 De Republica
Athenientium, by E Poste, 1891, F G Kenyon, 1891, T J Dymes, 1891 De
Virtutibus et Vitus, by W Bridgman, 1804 Politica, from the French of
Regius, 1598, by W Ellis, 1776, 1778, 1888 (Morley’s Universal
Library), 1893 (Lubbock’s Hundred Books) by E Walford (with Æconomics,
and Life by Dr Gillies), (Bohn’s Classical Library), 1848, J E. C.
Welldon, 1883, B Jowett, 1885, with Introduction and Index by H W C
Davis, 1905, Books i iii iv (vii) from Bekker’s text by W E Bolland,
with Introduction by A Lang, 1877. Problemata (with writings of other
philosophers), 1597, 1607, 1680, 1684, etc. Rhetorica, A summary by T
Hobbes, 1655 (?), new edition, 1759, by the translators of the Art of
Thinking, 1686, 1816, by D M Crimmin, 1812, J Gillies, 1823, Anon 1847,
J E C Welldon, 1886, R C Jebb, with Introduction and Supplementary
Notes by J E Sandys, 1909 (see under Poetica and Ethica). Secreta
Secretorum (supposititious work), Anon 1702, from the Hebrew version by
(E E T S), 1894, 1898.

LIFE, ETC J W Blakesley, 1839, A Crichton (Jardine’s Naturalist’s
Library), 1843, JS Blackie, Four Phases of Morals, Socrates, Aristotle,
etc, 1871, G Grote, Aristotle, edited by A Bain and G C Robertson,
1872, 1880, E Wallace, Outlines of the Philosophy of Aristotle, 1875,
1880, A Grant (Ancient Classics for English readers), 1877, T Davidson,
Aristotle and Ancient Educational Ideals (Great Educators), 1892, F
Sewall, Swedenborg and Aristotle, 1895, W A Heidel, The Necessary and
the Contingent of the Aristotelian System (University of Chicago
Contributions to Philosophy), 1896, F W Bain, On the Realisation of the
Possible, and the Spirit of Aristotle, 1899, J H Hyslop, The Ethics of
the Greek Philosophers, etc (Evolution of Ethics), 1903, M V Williams,
Six Essays on the Platonic Theory of Knowledge as expounded in the
later dialogues and reviewed by Aristotle, 1908, J M Watson,
Aristotle’s Criticism of Plato, 1909 A E Taylor, Aristotle, 1919, W D
Ross, Aristotle, 1923.




ARISTOTLE’S ETHICS




BOOK I



Every art, and every science reduced to a teachable form, and in like
manner every action and moral choice, aims, it is thought, at some
good: for which reason a common and by no means a bad description of
the Chief Good is, “that which all things aim at.”

Now there plainly is a difference in the Ends proposed: for in some
cases they are acts of working, and in others certain works or tangible
res
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His nephew Sung Yü was no servile imitator. In addition to “elegies” in
the style of the Li Sao, he was the author of many “Fu” or descriptive
prose-poems, unrhymed but more or less metrical.

_The Han Dynasty._--Most of the Han poems in this book were intended to
be sung. Many of them are from the official song-book of the dynasty and
are known as Yo Fu or Music Bureau poems, as distinct from _shih_, which
were recited. Ch’in Chia’s poem and his wife’s reply (p. 54) are both
_shih_; but all the rest might, I think, be counted as songs.

The Han dynasty is rich in Fu (descriptions), but none of them could be
adequately translated. They are written in an elaborate and florid style
which recalls Apuleius or Lyly.

_The Chin Dynasty._

(1) _Popular Songs_ (Songs of Wu). The popular songs referred to the Wu
(Soochow) district and attributed to the fourth century may many of
them have been current at a much earlier date. They are slight in
content and deal with only one topic. They may, in fact, be called
“Love-epigrams.” They find a close parallel in the _coplas_ of Spain,
_cf._:

    _El candil se esta apagando,
    La alcuza no tiene aceite--
    No te digo que te vayas, ...
    No te digo que te quedes._

    The brazier is going out,
    The lamp has no more oil--
    I do not tell you to go, ...
    I do not tell you to stay.

A Han song, which I will translate quite literally, seems to be the
forerunner of the Wu songs.

    On two sides of river, wedding made:
    Time comes; no boat.
    Lusting heart loses hope
    Not seeing what-it-desires.

(2) _The Taoists._--Confucius inculcated the duty of public service.
Those to whom this duty was repulsive found support in Taoism, a system
which denied this obligation. The third and fourth centuries A.D.
witnessed a great reaction against state service. It occurred to the
intellectuals of China that they would be happier growing vegetables in
their gardens than place-hunting at Nanking. They embraced the theory
that “by bringing himself into harmony with Nature” man can escape every
evil. Thus Tao (Nature’s Way) corresponds to the Nirvana of Buddhism,
and the God of Christian mysticism.

They reduced to the simplest standard their houses, apparel, and food;
and discarded the load of book-learning which Confucianism imposed on
its adherents.

The greatest of these recluses was T’ao Ch’ien (A.D. 365-427), twelve of
whose poems will be found on p. 71, _seq._ Something of his philosophy
may be gathered from the poem “Substance, Shadow, and Spirit” (p. 73),
his own views being voiced by the last speaker. He was not an original
thinker, but a great poet who reflects in an interesting way the outlook
of his time.

_Liang and Minor Dynasties._--This period is known as that of the
“Northern and Southern Courts.” The north of China was in the hands of
the Tungusie Tartars, who founded the Northern Wei dynasty--a name
particularly familiar, since it is the habit of European collectors to
attribute to this dynasty any sculpture which they believe to be earlier
than T’ang. Little poetry was produced in the conquered provinces; the
Tartar emperors, though they patronized Buddhist art, were incapable of
promoting literature. But at Nanking a series of emperors ruled, most of
whom distinguished themselves either in painting or poetry. The Chinese
have always (and rightly) despised the literature of this period, which
is “all flowers and moonlight.” A few individual writers, such as Pao
Chao, stand out as exceptions. The Emperor Yüan-ti--who hacked his way
to the throne by murdering all other claimants, including his own
brother--is typical of the period both as a man and as a poet. A
specimen of his sentimental poetry will be found on p. 90. When at last
forced to abdicate, he heaped together 200,000 books and pictures; and,
setting fire to them, exclaimed: “The culture of the Liang dynasty
perishes with me.”

_T’ang._--I have already described the technical developments of poetry
during this dynasty. Form was at this time valued far above content.
“Poetry,” says a critic, “should draw its materials from the Han and Wei
dynasties.” With the exception of a few reformers, writers contented
themselves with clothing old themes in new forms. The extent to which
this is true can of course only be realized by one thoroughly familiar
with the earlier poetry.

In the main, T’ang confines itself to a narrow range of stock subjects.
The _mise-en-scène_ is borrowed from earlier times. If a battle-poem be
written, it deals with the campaigns of the Han dynasty, not with
contemporary events. The “deserted concubines” of conventional
love-poetry are those of the Han Court. Innumerable poems record
“Reflections on Visiting a Ruin,” or on “The Site of an Old City,” etc.
The details are ingeniously varied, but the sentiments are in each case
identical. Another feature is the excessive use of historical allusions.
This is usually not apparent in rhymed translations, which evade such
references
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PROTOCOLS


The most striking fact in connection with the Protocols is the close
resemblance which their ruthless program bears in many respects to the
policies actually put into effect by the Bolsheviki in Russia. Indeed,
without this fact before us, the necessity for a serious consideration
of the Protocols would be much less apparent. If the evidence shows that
the Bolshevist movement is a movement conducted under Jewish leadership
and principally controlled by Jews, and, furthermore, that it closely
corresponds with the political program outlined in the Protocols, then,
indeed, we have facts of grave significance supporting the authenticity
of the Protocols.


1. JEWISH CHARACTER OF THE BOLSHEVIST MOVEMENT IN RUSSIA

With regard to the question as to how far the Bolshevist movement is
a Jewish movement in the sense that it is under Jewish control, there
is some disagreement. Certain prominent Jews in this country, while
admitting that most of the Bolshevist leaders in Russia are Jews, claim
that this is a mere coincidence, and claim further that the Bolshevist
leaders are only _apostate_ Jews who do not adhere to the Jewish
religion.[8] The evidence, however, is not very convincing on either
point, for on the one hand the proportion of Jews among the Bolshevist
leaders in Russia is so large that it strongly tends to show that it is
not accidental but must be otherwise explained, while on the other hand,
as to the allegation of apostasy, this seems to be principally based upon
evidence that the Jewish leaders in Russia are denouncing religion _in
general_ on the ground that it is the bulwark of the capitalistic system
and the enemy of the Socialistic State, in accordance with the teachings
of Karl Marx and his followers. Such evidence, however, does not prove
very much if in practice only the Christian church is actually attacked.

It is important to note in this connection that Karl Marx himself was a
Jew, as are also practically all of the best known leaders of radical
socialism, such as Bebel, Bernstein, Lassalle, Hillquit, the brothers
Adler (in Austria), etc. The legend now prominently displayed by the
Bolsheviki in Russia, that “religion is the opium of the people,” was the
saying of Karl Marx himself, while it was Bebel who said: “Christianity
and Socialism stand towards each other as fire and water.”

Moreover, there is evidence that there has been a marked persecution
of _Christian_ priests and their congregations by the Bolsheviki, and
that the Jewish rabbis have not been molested. Generally speaking, we
believe that the preponderance of evidence strongly tends to show that
Bolshevism is Jewish in character in the sense that it is under the
control principally of Jews who occupy, either openly or secretly, almost
all of the positions of importance in the Soviet government in Russia.
This was equally true in regard to the recent Spartacan and Bolshevist
revolutions in Germany and Hungary. The one important exception is Lenin
himself, Trotzky and almost all the other important Bolshevist leaders
to-day being members of the Jewish race.

Evidence that the Bolsheviki in Russia have conducted a campaign of
persecution against the Christian religion, while protecting the Jewish
religion, will be considered below under the heading, “The Destruction of
Religion and Christianity.” For the present we shall confine ourselves to
other evidence which tends to show that the Bolshevik movement in Russia
is under Jewish leadership and may be regarded as primarily a Jewish
movement.


(_a_) _Testimony before the Overman Committee_

The testimony of a number of reliable witnesses before the Overman
Committee is to the effect that from the very beginning the leadership of
the Bolshevist revolution in Russia has been principally Jewish and that
the movement had powerful support from Jews returning to Russia in the
spring of 1917.

This testimony was taken early in the year 1919 and is contained in
the printed Senate Report (a public document) entitled, “Bolshevik
Propaganda—Hearings before a Subcommittee of the Committee on the
Judiciary, United States Senate, Sixty-fifth Congress, pursuant to S.
Res. 439 and 469.”

Among the witnesses who testified as to the Jewish character of the
Bolshevist movement before the Senate Committee was Dr. George A. Simons,
a Methodist clergyman who had been for many years in charge of a church
and other property belonging to the American Methodists in Petrograd. He
was there during the Kerensky régime and during the Bolshevist régime
until October 6, 1918.

Dr. Simons testified that “at the beginning of the so-called new régime
[Kerensky’s] there was a disposition to glorify the Allies and to make a
great deal of what the French Revolution had stood for; within from six
to eight weeks there was an undercurrent just the opposite, and things
began to loom up in a pro-German way.”[9]

He then told of the arrival of Lenin from Switzerland _via_ Germany, and
of Bronstein (_alias_ Trotzk
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KEEPING UNCLE BEN’S APPOINTMENT


“We are ready to start, but where are the twins?” exclaimed Jinks
impatiently. Jinks was Meredith Starr’s chum who lived next door to the
Starrs.

“Why, they were here but a moment ago!” said Mete.

“Perhaps they ran on to Mossy Glen without us,” came from Lavinia
Starr, two years older than the twins, who were eight.

A shrill whistle from the woods then told the three waiting children
that Don and Dot Starr were half-way to the meeting place. The Blue
Birds and Bobolinks were going to meet at the barn, known now as the
Publishing Offices, to start thence for the ten-forty train to New
York.

“Hurry up, we’ve wasted three minutes waiting for those awful twins!”
sighed Vene--the nickname for Lavinia.

At the Publishing Offices on the Mossy Glen estate, the three late
arrivals found all the members assembled. Ruth and Ned Talmage had not
far to walk as their home was at Mossy Glen, and the Starr children
including Jinks were now accounted for. Besides these two groups,
there were the other girl-members of the Blue Bird Club, or Nest, and
the boys who founded the society called Bobolinks, that published the
magazine and other important printed matter--such as tickets, notices,
programmes, etc.

“Here come Ike and Jim--can we all crowd into those two autos, do you
think?” asked Ned, anxiously.

“It will not be the first time they’ve carried such a load,” laughed
Jinks.

Just as the children climbed eagerly into the two cars, Mrs. Talmage
appeared hurrying along the path from the house.

“Now Ned--remember! Don’t allow anyone to go other than the way I’ve
directed you. This is the first time that we grown-ups consented to
have you children go to New York alone, and you must be careful to
follow all advices from us,” declared Mrs. Talmage, with a note of
anxiety in her tone.

“Oh, we’ll be all right, mother; don’t worry. Aren’t Mete and Jinks and
I almost grown up?” said Ned, soothingly.

“No, you’re not! You three boys are just as full of mischief as Don
Starr, and everyone knows what we have to endure from _him_!” sighed
Mrs. Talmage.

The children all laughed--Dot Starr the twin, laughing loudest, but Don
looked as dark as a thunder-cloud at his friends.

“Guess you all got out of bed with a left foot, this morning! That
accounts for the grouches!” grumbled Don.

Another laugh failed to bring harmony into Don’s discordant heart just
then, so Mrs. Talmage turned again to Ned:

“When you get off the train at Hoboken, you take the tube
uptown--remember now, uptown! Don’t get on the cars that go to Newark
or Cortlandt Street. Ask a guard which is the right train to carry you
to 23rd Street.

“Then walk across from the 23rd Street exit to Fourth Avenue, and up
Fourth to Uncle Ben’s address. You have it written on the letter, Ned,
so you simply can’t go wrong!”

“We won’t go wrong, Mother. You only _think_ we may!”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake--hurry up! We’ll miss that train,” complained
Don, who now had an opportunity to give vent to his ire.

“Good-by, children! I wish you would telephone me as soon as you arrive
at Uncle Ben’s offices, so I will know you are all right!” said Mrs.
Talmage as the cars rolled away.

The party had ample time to board the train at the little station of
Oakdale, and soon they found themselves in Hoboken--the terminal for
the Jersey suburban trains.

As they were passing the news-stand at the foot of the steps that led
to the tubes under the river, Don saw a variety of tempting candies.

“I’ve got my week’s allowance with me, Dot--do you want some
chewing-gum?” asked her twin.

“S-sh! They’ll hear you! And you know Vene won’t let us have
chewing-gum,” warned Dot, glancing at the other children. But they had
not heard Don, as they were interested in buying the tickets to New
York.

This was a perplexing matter, as tickets for Dot, Don, and Tuck
Stevens were to be at half-price, and those of the other children at
full-price. The twins took advantage of the problem to buy a box of gum
and a roll of chocolate disks.

“Oh! Looka here! We’ve got ten pieces of gum for a nickel!” chuckled
Don, delightedly, as he emptied the box into his palm.

“You take five and I’ll take five,” suggested Dot.

“Why, no! Didn’t I pay for them? You take one and when you want another
I’ll give it to you.”

“But I always go even shares with you when _I_ get anything at home,”
argued Dot.

“That’s different! You don’t pay out your hard-earned money for it,
and I had to. Why, just think how many times last week I had to be at
school on time! Didn’t that mean getting out of bed so early that I
’most got insomnia from it?”

Dot had an inspiration. She hastily began chewing the single piece of
white-candied gum and determined to ask for a second piece soon, as Don
had promised to give her another one when she wanted it.

Don now hastened in front of his sister, to join the other children,
but he was too preoccupied with the gum to notice where he went. He
heard a guard call: “All aboard
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{FN19-1} The Bengali "Good-by"; literally, it is a hopeful paradox:
"Then I come."

{FN19-2} The characteristic sound of dematerialization of bodily
atoms.



CHAPTER: 20

WE DO NOT VISIT KASHMIR

"Father, I want to invite Master and four friends to accompany me
to the Himalayan foothills during my summer vacation. May I have
six train passes to Kashmir and enough money to cover our travel
expenses?"

As I had expected, Father laughed heartily. "This is the third time
you have given me the same cock-and-bull story. Didn't you make a
similar request last summer, and the year before that? At the last
moment, Sri Yukteswarji refuses to go."

"It is true, Father; I don't know why my guru will not give me his
definite word about Kashmir. {FN20-1} But if I tell him that I have
already secured the passes from you, somehow I think that this time
he will consent to make the journey."

Father was unconvinced at the moment, but the following day, after
some good-humored gibes, he handed me six passes and a roll of
ten-rupee bills.

"I hardly think your theoretical trip needs such practical props,"
he remarked, "but here they are."

That afternoon I exhibited my booty to Sri Yukteswar. Though he
smiled at my enthusiasm, his words were noncommittal: "I would like
to go; we shall see." He made no comment when I asked his little
hermitage disciple, Kanai, to accompany us. I also invited three
other friends--Rajendra Nath Mitra, Jotin Auddy, and one other boy.
Our date of departure was set for the following Monday.

On Saturday and Sunday I stayed in Calcutta, where marriage rites
for a cousin were being celebrated at my family home. I arrived in
Serampore with my luggage early Monday morning. Rajendra met me at
the hermitage door.

"Master is out, walking. He has refused to go."

I was equally grieved and obdurate. "I will not give Father a third
chance to ridicule my chimerical plans for Kashmir. Come; the rest
of us will go anyhow."

Rajendra agreed; I left the ashram to find a servant. Kanai, I knew,
would not take the trip without Master, and someone was needed to
look after the luggage. I bethought myself of Behari, previously
a servant in my family home, who was now employed by a Serampore
schoolmaster.  As I walked along briskly, I met my guru in front
of the Christian church near Serampore Courthouse.

"Where are you going?" Sri Yukteswar's face was unsmiling.

"Sir, I hear that you and Kanai will not take the trip we have been
planning. I am seeking Behari. You will recall that last year he
was so anxious to see Kashmir that he even offered to serve without
pay."

"I remember. Nevertheless, I don't think Behari will be willing to
go."

I was exasperated. "He is just eagerly waiting for this opportunity!"

My guru silently resumed his walk; I soon reached the schoolmaster's
house. Behari, in the courtyard, greeted me with a friendly warmth
that abruptly vanished as soon as I mentioned Kashmir. With a murmured
word of apology, the servant left me and entered his employer's
house.  I waited half an hour, nervously assuring myself that
Behari's delay was being caused by preparations for his trip.
Finally I knocked at the front door.

"Behari left by the back stairs about thirty minutes ago," a man
informed me. A slight smile hovered about his lips.

I departed sadly, wondering whether my invitation had been too
coercive or whether Master's unseen influence were at work. Passing
the Christian church, again I saw my guru walking slowly toward
me.  Without waiting to hear my report, he exclaimed:

"So Behari would not go! Now, what are your plans?"

I felt like a recalcitrant child who is determined to defy his
masterful father. "Sir, I am going to ask my uncle to lend me his
servant, Lal Dhari."

"See your uncle if you want to," Sri Yukteswar replied with a
chuckle.  "But I hardly think you will enjoy the visit."

Apprehensive but rebellious, I left my guru and entered Serampore
Courthouse. My paternal uncle, Sarada Ghosh, a government attorney,
welcomed me affectionately.

"I am leaving today with some friends for Kashmir," I told him.
"For years I have been looking forward to this Himalayan trip."

"I am happy for you, Mukunda. Is there anything I can do to make
your journey more comfortable?"

These kind words gave me a lift of encouragement. "Dear uncle," I
said, "could you possibly spare me your servant, Lal Dhari?"

My simple request had the effect of an earthquake. Uncle jumped so
violently that his chair overturned, the papers on the desk flew in
every direction, and his pipe, a long, coconut-stemmed hubble-bubble,
fell to the floor with a great clatter.

"You selfish young man," he shouted, quivering with wrath, "what a
preposterous idea! Who will look after me, if you take my servant
on one of your pleasure jaunts?"

I concealed my surprise, reflecting that my amiable uncle's sudden
change of front was only one more enigma in a day fully devoted
to incomprehensibility. My retreat from the courthouse office w
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PG #: 42796
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42796

scans obtained from the University of Florida.









                    THE BOX-CAR CHILDREN

                _By Gertrude Chandler Warner_

    _Author of "Star Stories For Little Folks" and, with Frances Warner,
    of "Life's Minor Collisions"_


    _With pictures by
    Dorothy Lake Gregory_

    RAND McNALLY & COMPANY

    CHICAGO               NEW YORK

    _Copyright, 1924, by_
    RAND MCNALLY & COMPANY


    [Transcriber's Note: Extensive research did not uncover any evidence
    that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]




THE CONTENTS


    THE FLIGHT                    9

    THE SECOND NIGHT             18

    SHELTER                      27

    A NEW HOME                   34

    HOUSEKEEPING                 43

    EARNING A LIVING             51

    AT HOME                      61

    BUILDING THE DAM             71

    CHERRY PICKING               81

    THE RACE                     88

    MORE EDUCATION               96

    GINSENG                     105

    TROUBLE                     111

    CAUGHT                      120

    A NEW GRANDFATHER           127

    A UNITED FAMILY             134

    SAFE                        142




[Illustration: _Jess shut the door with as much care as she had opened
it_]




THE FLIGHT


About seven o'clock one hot summer evening a strange family moved into
the little village of Middlesex. Nobody knew where they came from, or
who they were. But the neighbors soon made up their minds what they
thought of the strangers, for the father was very drunk. He could hardly
walk up the rickety front steps of the old tumble-down house, and his
thirteen-year-old son had to help him. Toward eight o'clock a pretty,
capable-looking girl of twelve came out of the house and bought a loaf
of bread at the baker's. And that was all the villagers learned about
the newcomers that night.

"There are four children," said the bakeshop woman to her husband the
next day, "and their mother is dead. They must have some money, for the
girl paid for the bread with a dollar bill."

"Make them pay for everything they get," growled the baker, who was a
hard man. "The father is nearly dead with drink now, and soon they will
be only beggars."

This happened sooner than he thought. The next day the oldest boy and
girl came to ask the bakeshop woman to come over. Their father was dead.

She went over willingly enough, for someone had to go. But it was clear
that she did not expect to be bothered with four strange children, with
the bakery on her hands and two children of her own.

"Haven't you any other folks?" she asked the children.

"We have a grandfather in Greenfield," spoke up the youngest child
before his sister could clap her hand over his mouth.

"Hush, Benny," she said anxiously.

This made the bakeshop woman suspicious. "What's the matter with your
grandfather?" she asked.

"He doesn't like us," replied the oldest boy reluctantly. "He didn't
want my father to marry my mother, and if he found us he would treat us
cruelly."

"Did you ever see him?"

"Jess has. Once she saw him."

"Well, did he treat you cruelly?" asked the woman, turning upon Jess.

"Oh, he didn't see me," replied Jess. "He was just passing through
our--where we used to live--and my father pointed him out to me."

"Where did you use to live?" went on the questioner. But none of the
children could be made to tell.

"We will get along all right alone, won't we, Henry?" declared Jess.

"Indeed we will!" said Henry.

"I will stay in the house with you tonight," said the woman at last,
"and tomorrow we will see what can be done."

The four children went to bed in the kitchen, and gave the visitor the
only other bed in the house. They knew that she did not at once go to
bed, but sat by the window in the dark. Suddenly they heard her talking
to her husband through the open window.

"They must go to their grandfather, that's certain," Jess heard her say.

"Of course," agreed her husband. "Tomorrow we will make them tell us
what his name is."

Soon after that Jess and Henry heard her snoring heavily. They sat up in
the dark.

"Mustn't we surely run away?" whispered Jess in Henry's ear.

"Yes!" whispered Henry. "Take only what we need most. We must be far off
before morning, or they will catch us."

Jess sat still for a moment, thinking, for every motion she made must
count.

"I will take both loaves of bread," she thought, "and Violet's little
workbag. Henry has his knife. And all Father's money is in my pocket."
She drew it out and counted it in the dark, squinting her eyes in the
faint light of the moon. It amounted to nearly four dollars.

"You'll have to carry Benny until he gets waked up," whispered Jess. "If
we wake him up here, he might cry."

She touched Violet as she spoke.

"Sh! Violet! Come! We're going to run away," she whispered.

The little girl made no sound. She sat up obediently and tried to make
out the dim shadow of her sister.

"What shall I do?" she said, light as 
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Darius and Parysatis had two sons: the elder was named Artaxerxes, and  1
the younger Cyrus. Now, as Darius lay sick and felt that the end of
life drew near, he wished both his sons to be with him. The elder, as
it chanced, was already there, but Cyrus he must needs send for from
the province over which he had made him satrap, having appointed him
general moreover of all the forces that muster in the plain of the
Castolus. Thus Cyrus went up, taking with him Tissaphernes as his
friend, and accompanied also by a body of Hellenes, three hundred
heavy armed men, under the command of Xenias the Parrhasian (1).

 (1) Parrhasia, a district and town in the south-west of Arcadia.

Now when Darius was dead, and Artaxerxes was established in the
kingdom, Tissaphernes brought slanderous accusations against Cyrus
before his brother, the king, of harbouring designs against him. And
Artaxerxes, listening to the words of Tissaphernes, laid hands upon
Cyrus, desiring to put him to death; but his mother made intercession
for him, and sent him back again in safety to his province. He then,
having so escaped through peril and dishonour, fell to considering,
not only how he might avoid ever again being in his brother's power,
but how, if possible, he might become king in his stead. Parysatis,
his mother, was his first resource; for she had more love for Cyrus
than for Artaxerxes upon his throne. Moreover Cyrus's behaviour
towards all who came to him from the king's court was such that, when
he sent them away again, they were better friends to himself than to    5
the king his brother. Nor did he neglect the barbarians in his own
service; but trained them, at once to be capable as warriors and
devoted adherents of himself. Lastly, he began collecting his Hellenic
armament, but with the utmost secrecy, so that he might take the king
as far as might be at unawares.

The manner in which he contrived the levying of the troops was as
follows: First, he sent orders to the commandants of garrisons in the
cities (so held by him), bidding them to get together as large a body
of picked Peloponnesian troops as they severally were able, on the
plea that Tissaphernes was plotting against their cities; and truly
these cities of Ionia had originally belonged to Tissaphernes, being
given to him by the king; but at this time, with the exception of
Miletus, they had all revolted to Cyrus. In Miletus, Tissaphernes,
having become aware of similar designs, had forestalled the
conspirators by putting some to death and banishing the remainder.
Cyrus, on his side, welcomed these fugitives, and having collected an
army, laid siege to Miletus by sea and land, endeavouring to reinstate
the exiles; and this gave him another pretext for collecting an
armament. At the same time he sent to the king, and claimed, as being
the king's brother, that these cities should be given to himself
rather than that Tissaphernes should continue to govern them; and in
furtherance of this end, the queen, his mother, co-operated with him,
so that the king not only failed to see the design against himself,
but concluded that Cyrus was spending his money on armaments in order
to make war on Tissaphernes. Nor did it pain him greatly to see the
two at war together, and the less so because Cyrus was careful to
remit the tribute due to the king from the cities which belonged to
Tissaphernes.

A third army was being collected for him in the Chersonese, over
against Abydos, the origin of which was as follows: There was a
Lacedaemonian exile, named Clearchus, with whom Cyrus had become
associated. Cyrus admired the man, and made him a present of ten
thousand darics (2). Clearchus took the gold, and with the money raised  9
an army, and using the Chersonese as his base of operations, set to
work to fight the Thracians north of the Hellespont, in the interests
of the Hellenes, and with such happy result that the Hellespontine
cities, of their own accord, were eager to contribute funds for the
support of his troops. In this way, again, an armament was being
secretly maintained for Cyrus.

 (2) A Persian gold coin = 125.55 grains of gold.

Then there was the Thessalian Aristippus, Cyrus's friend (3), who,
under pressure of the rival political party at home, had come to Cyrus
and asked him for pay for two thousand mercenaries, to be continued
for three months, which would enable him, he said, to gain the upper
hand of his antagonists. Cyrus replied by presenting him with six
months' pay for four thousand mercenaries--only stipulating that
Aristippus should not come to terms with his antagonists without final
consultation with himself. In this way he secured to himself the
secret maintenance of a fourth armament.

 (3) Lit. "guest-friend." Aristippus was, as we learn from the "Meno"
    of Plato, a native of Larisa, of the family of the Aleuadae, and a
    pupil of Gorgias. He was also a lover of Menon, whom he appears to
    have sent on this expedition instead of himself.

Further, he b
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THE WORK OF THE RELIGIOUS ORDERS IN THE PHILIPPINES.


A recent traveller designates the Philippines as the birthplace
of typhoons, the home of earthquakes,--epithets undoubtedly strong
yet well deserved; and typhoons at certain seasons of the year, with
earthquakes at uncertain periods, when taken together with the torrid
heat, trying at all seasons, and the malaria fruitful of fevers,
make these islands of the Eastern seas, which otherwise would be a
veritable Paradise upon earth, an undesirable place of abode to the
average European, unless, indeed, he is attracted thither by the
greed of gain or by the nobler desire of missionary enterprise.

For Nature, bountiful there almost to prodigality, revelling in
all the luxuriance of tropical vegetation, has always at hand, as
a set-off to her gifts, terrible manifestations of her power. The
seventeenth-century navigator, William Dampier, in his own quaint
and amusing way, describes how the natives and the Spanish colonists
of Manila strove to guard against the double danger of earthquakes
and typhoons, and how they both failed ignominiously. The Spaniards
built strong stone houses, but the earthquake made light of them, and
shook them so violently that the terrified inmates would rush out of
doors to save their lives; while the natives from their frail bamboo
dwellings, which were perched on high poles, placidly contemplated
their discomfiture. All that the earthquake meant to them was a
gentle swaying from side to side. But the Spaniards had their turn
when the fierce typhoon blew, against which their thick walls were
proof. Then, from the security of their houses, could they view, with
a certain grim satisfaction, the huts of the natives swaying every
minute more violently in the wind, till, one by one, they toppled
over--each an indescribable heap of poles, mats, household utensils,
and human beings.

By way of general description it may be said that the Philippine
Archipelago consists of between one and two thousand islands; two of
which, Luzon and Mindanao, are much larger than Ireland, while the
rest vary in size down to mere islets, rocks, and reefs. Altogether
the islands stretch from north to south a distance as great as from
the north of England to the south of Italy. The soil is extremely rich,
and easily cultivated; vast forests abound, containing valuable timber;
and the mineral resources, up to the present undeveloped, are apt to
prove a sure source of income under modern methods of working.

But what concerns us most in this inquiry is the character of the
inhabitants. The population, which is variously estimated at from
eight to ten millions, is made up of more than eighty distinct tribes,
which nearly all belong to the Malay race. There are still to be
found in some of the islands, and principally in the mountainous
districts, the remnants of the aboriginal inhabitants, usually called
Negritos. These are of a distinctively inferior type, are rapidly
diminishing in numbers, and seem to many observers incapable of
civilization. Our only concern therefore is with the Malays, who form
the vast bulk of the population, and have in the course of time been
nearly all converted to Christianity. Nearly seven million Christians
are counted among them; while the unconverted pagans, together with
the Moros, or Malay Mohammedans, of Mindanao and the Sulu islands,
are not a million in number.

Christianity has effected a wonderful transformation in the character
of the people, softening and refining it, as we may judge by the
contrast presented by their cruel and bloodthirsty neighbors in
Mindanao and the Sulu group, who, nevertheless, belong to the
same race, and whose characteristics they must originally have
shared. Travellers have not sufficiently dwelt on this important
point. They note that the civilized native is self-respecting and
self-constrained to a remarkable degree, patient under misfortune,
and forbearing under provocation. He is a kind father and a dutiful
son. His relatives are never left in want, but are welcome to share
the best his house affords, to the end of their days. Unfortunately
for himself, he is a happy-go-lucky fellow, delighting in cock-fighting
and games of chance, and naturally indolent, his wants being so few and
simple. He is a born musician, genial, sociable, loving to dance, sing,
and make merry among his companions. His wife is allowed a degree of
liberty hardly equalled in any other Eastern country, a liberty she
rarely abuses. She is the financier of the family, and the husband
consults her when making a bargain. She does her share of the work;
but it is not more than her just share, and she is not overburdened
with labor. Hospitality is cheerful and open-handed, and the traveller
is welcomed to the hut of the native with cordiality. The houses of
the natives are kept neat, and are models of cleanliness, and the
natives also keep themselves extremely clean. They are practical and
fervent Catholics. At the vesper Ange
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[Illustration: The Sanitarium at Battle Creek, Mich.]

[Frontispiece: Yours truly, J. H. Kellogg]




PLAIN FACTS FOR OLD AND YOUNG.

BY

J. H. KELLOGG, M.D.,

MEMBER AMERICAN PUBLIC HEALTH ASSOCIATION, AMERICAN SOCIETY FOR THE
ADVANCEMENT OF SCIENCE, AMERICAN SOCIETY OF MICROSCOPY, MEMBER MICH.
STATE BOARD OF HEALTH, MEDICAL SUPERINTENDENT OF THE BATTLE CREEK
SANITARIUM, AUTHOR OF NUMEROUS WORKS ON HEALTH, ETC.




PUBLISHED BY
SEGNER & CONDIT,
BURLINGTON, IOWA.
1881.




Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1879, by
J. H. KELLOGG, M.D.,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D.C.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.




PREFACE.


The publishers of this work offer no apology for presenting it to the
reading public, since the wide prevalence of the evils which it exposes
is sufficient warrant for its publication. The subjects with which it
deals are of vital consequence to the human race; and it is of the utmost
importance that every effort should be made to dispel the gross
ignorance which almost universally prevails, by the wide diffusion,
in a proper manner, of information of the character contained in this
volume.

This book has been written not for the young only, nor for any single
class of persons, but for all who are old enough to be capable of
understanding and appreciating it. The prime object of its preparation
has been to call attention to the great prevalence of sexual excesses
of all kinds, and the heinous crimes resulting from some forms of sexual
transgression, and to point out the terrible results which inevitably
follow the violation of sexual law.

In order to make more clear and comprehensible the teachings of nature
respecting the laws regulating the sexual function, and the evils
resulting from their violation, it has seemed necessary to preface the
practical part of the subject by a concise description of the anatomy
of reproduction. In this portion of the work especial pains has been
taken to avoid anything like indelicacy of expression, yet it has not
been deemed advisable to sacrifice perspicuity of ideas to any prudish
notions of modesty. It is hoped that the reader will bear in mind that
the language of science is always chaste in itself, and that it is only
through a corrupt imagination that it becomes invested with impurity.
The author has constantly endeavored to impart information in the most
straightforward, simple, and concise manner.

The work should be judiciously circulated, and to secure this the
publishers will take care to place it in the hands of agents competent
to introduce it with discretion; yet it may be read without injury by
any one who is sufficiently mature to understand it. Great care has
been taken to exclude from its pages those accounts of the habits of
vicious persons, and descriptions of the mechanical accessories of vice,
with which many works upon sexual subjects abound.

The first editions of the work were issued with no little anxiety on
the part of both author and publishers as to how it would be received
by the reading public. It was anticipated that no little adverse
criticism, and perhaps severe condemnation, would be pronounced by many
whose education and general mode of thought had been such as to unfit
them to appreciate it; but it was hoped that persons of more thoughtful
and unbiased minds would receive the work kindly, and would readily
co-operate with the publishers in its circulation. This anticipation
has been more than realized. Wherever the book has been introduced,
it has met with a warm reception; and of the several thousand persons
into whose hands the work has been placed, hundreds have gratefully
acknowledged the benefit which they have received from its perusal,
and it is hoped that a large proportion have been greatly benefited.

The cordial reception which the work has met from the press everywhere
has undoubtedly contributed in great measure to its popularity. The
demand for the work has exhausted several editions in rapid succession,
and has seemed to require its preparation in the greatly enlarged and
in every way improved form in which it now appears. The addition of
two whole chapters for the purpose of bringing the subject directly
before the minds of boys and girls in a proper manner, adds greatly
to the interest and value of the work, as there seemed to be a slight
deficiency in this particular in the former editions.

J. H. K.
BATTLE CREEK, MICH.,
_October, 1879_.




CONTENTS.


                                                                   PAGE.
INTRODUCTION . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  15

_SEX IN LIVING FORMS_.

Living beings--Animals and vegetables--Life force--Reproduction--
Spontaneous generation--Simplest form of generation--Hermaphrodism--
Sex in plants--Sex in animals--Other sexual differences--Men and women
differ in form--Modern mania for female pedestrianism--3,000 quarter
miles in 3,000 quarter hours--A female walking-match--The male and
female brain--V
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CONTENTS OF VOL. I.


ADVERTISEMENT TO THE READER, PREFIXED TO THE FIRST OCTAVO EDITION      v

ADVERTISEMENT TO THE SECOND OCTAVO EDITION                          xvii

A VINDICATION OF NATURAL SOCIETY: OR, A VIEW OF THE MISERIES AND
  EVILS ARISING TO MANKIND FROM EVERY SPECIES OF ARTIFICIAL SOCIETY    1

A PHILOSOPHICAL INQUIRY INTO THE ORIGIN OF OUR IDEAS OF THE SUBLIME
  AND BEAUTIFUL; WITH AN INTRODUCTORY DISCOURSE CONCERNING TASTE      67

A SHORT ACCOUNT OF A LATE SHORT ADMINISTRATION                       263

OBSERVATIONS ON A LATE PUBLICATION, INTITULED,
  "THE PRESENT STATE OF THE NATION"                                  269

THOUGHTS ON THE CAUSE OF THE PRESENT DISCONTENTS                     433




ADVERTISEMENT

TO THE READER.[1]


The late Mr. Burke, from a principle of unaffected humility, which they
who were the most intimately acquainted with his character best know to
have been in his estimation one of the most important moral duties,
never himself made any collection of the various publications with
which, during a period of forty years, he adorned and enriched the
literature of this country. When, however, the rapid and unexampled
demand for his "Reflections on the Revolution in France" had
unequivocally testified his celebrity as a writer, some of his friends
so far prevailed upon him, that he permitted them to put forth a regular
edition of his works. Accordingly, three volumes in quarto appeared
under that title in 1792, printed for the late Mr. Dodsley. That
edition, therefore, has been made the foundation of the present, for
which a form has been chosen better adapted to public convenience. Such
errors of the press as have been discovered in it are here rectified: in
other respects it is faithfully followed, except that in one instance
an accident of little moment has occasioned a slight deviation from the
strict chronological arrangement, and that, on the other hand, a speech
of conspicuous excellence, on his declining the poll at Bristol, in
1780, is here, for the first time, inserted in its proper place.

As the activity of the author's mind, and the lively interest which he
took in the welfare of his country, ceased only with his life, many
subsequent productions issued from his pen, which were received in a
manner corresponding with his distinguished reputation. He wrote also
various tracts, of a less popular description, which he designed for
private circulation in quarters where he supposed they might produce
most benefit to the community, but which, with some other papers, have
been printed since his death, from copies which he left behind him
fairly transcribed, and most of them corrected as for the press. All
these, now first collected together, form the contents of the last two
volumes.[2] They are disposed in chronological order, with the exception
of the "Preface to Brissot's Address," which having appeared in the
author's lifetime, and from delicacy not being avowed by him, did not
come within the plan of this edition, but has been placed at the end of
the last volume, on its being found deficient in its just bulk.

The several posthumous publications, as they from time to time made
their appearance, were accompanied by appropriate prefaces. These,
however, as they were principally intended for temporary purposes, have
been omitted. Some few explanations only, which they contained, seem
here to be necessary.

The "Observations on the Conduct of the Minority" in the Session of 1793
had been written and sent by Mr. Burke as a paper entirely and strictly
confidential; but it crept surreptitiously into the world, through the
fraud and treachery of the man whom he had employed to transcribe it,
and, as usually happens in such cases, came forth in a very mangled
state, under a false title, and without the introductory letter. The
friends of the author, without waiting to consult him, instantly
obtained an injunction from the Court of Chancery to stop the sale. What
he himself felt, on receiving intelligence of the injury done him by one
from whom his kindness deserved a very different return, will be best
conveyed in his own words. The following is an extract of a letter to a
friend, which he dictated on this subject from a sick-bed.

BATH, 15th Feb., 1797.

"My Dear Laurence,--

"On the appearance of the advertisement, all newspapers and all letters
have been kept back from me till this time. Mrs. Burke opened yours,
and finding that all the measures in the power of Dr. King, yourself,
and Mr. Woodford, had been taken to suppress the publication, she
ventured to deliver me the letters to-day, which were read to me in my
bed, about two o'clock.

"This affair does vex me; but I am not in a state of health at present
to be deeply vexed at anything. Whenever this matter comes into
discussion, I authorize you to contradict the infamous reports which (I
am informed) have been given out, that this paper had been circulated
through the ministry, and was intended gradually to
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Introduces all the Rest


There once lived, in a sequestered part of the county of Devonshire, one
Mr. Godfrey Nickleby: a worthy gentleman, who, taking it into his head
rather late in life that he must get married, and not being young enough
or rich enough to aspire to the hand of a lady of fortune, had wedded an
old flame out of mere attachment, who in her turn had taken him for the
same reason. Thus two people who cannot afford to play cards for money,
sometimes sit down to a quiet game for love.

Some ill-conditioned persons who sneer at the life-matrimonial, may
perhaps suggest, in this place, that the good couple would be better
likened to two principals in a sparring match, who, when fortune is low
and backers scarce, will chivalrously set to, for the mere pleasure
of the buffeting; and in one respect indeed this comparison would hold
good; for, as the adventurous pair of the Fives’ Court will afterwards
send round a hat, and trust to the bounty of the lookers-on for the
means of regaling themselves, so Mr. Godfrey Nickleby and HIS partner,
the honeymoon being over, looked out wistfully into the world, relying
in no inconsiderable degree upon chance for the improvement of their
means. Mr. Nickleby’s income, at the period of his marriage, fluctuated
between sixty and eighty pounds PER ANNUM.

There are people enough in the world, Heaven knows! and even in London
(where Mr. Nickleby dwelt in those days) but few complaints prevail, of
the population being scanty. It is extraordinary how long a man may look
among the crowd without discovering the face of a friend, but it is no
less true. Mr. Nickleby looked, and looked, till his eyes became sore
as his heart, but no friend appeared; and when, growing tired of the
search, he turned his eyes homeward, he saw very little there to relieve
his weary vision. A painter who has gazed too long upon some glaring
colour, refreshes his dazzled sight by looking upon a darker and more
sombre tint; but everything that met Mr. Nickleby’s gaze wore so black
and gloomy a hue, that he would have been beyond description refreshed
by the very reverse of the contrast.

At length, after five years, when Mrs. Nickleby had presented her husband
with a couple of sons, and that embarrassed gentleman, impressed with
the necessity of making some provision for his family, was seriously
revolving in his mind a little commercial speculation of insuring his
life next quarter-day, and then falling from the top of the Monument by
accident, there came, one morning, by the general post, a black-bordered
letter to inform him how his uncle, Mr. Ralph Nickleby, was dead, and
had left him the bulk of his little property, amounting in all to five
thousand pounds sterling.

As the deceased had taken no further notice of his nephew in his
lifetime, than sending to his eldest boy (who had been christened after
him, on desperate speculation) a silver spoon in a morocco case, which,
as he had not too much to eat with it, seemed a kind of satire upon his
having been born without that useful article of plate in his mouth,
Mr. Godfrey Nickleby could, at first, scarcely believe the tidings thus
conveyed to him. On examination, however, they turned out to be strictly
correct. The amiable old gentleman, it seemed, had intended to leave
the whole to the Royal Humane Society, and had indeed executed a will to
that effect; but the Institution, having been unfortunate enough, a few
months before, to save the life of a poor relation to whom he paid a
weekly allowance of three shillings and sixpence, he had, in a fit of
very natural exasperation, revoked the bequest in a codicil, and left it
all to Mr. Godfrey Nickleby; with a special mention of his indignation,
not only against the society for saving the poor relation’s life, but
against the poor relation also, for allowing himself to be saved.

With a portion of this property Mr. Godfrey Nickleby purchased a small
farm, near Dawlish in Devonshire, whither he retired with his wife and
two children, to live upon the best interest he could get for the rest
of his money, and the little produce he could raise from his land. The
two prospered so well together that, when he died, some fifteen years
after this period, and some five after his wife, he was enabled to
leave, to his eldest son, Ralph, three thousand pounds in cash, and
to his youngest son, Nicholas, one thousand and the farm, which was as
small a landed estate as one would desire to see.

These two brothers had been brought up together in a school at Exeter;
and, being accustomed to go home once a week, had often heard, from
their mother’s lips, long accounts of their father’s sufferings in his
days of poverty, and of their deceased uncle’s importance in his days
of affluence: which recitals produced a very different impression on
the two: for, while the younger, who was of a timid and retiring
disposition, gleaned from thence nothing but forewarnings to shun the
great world and attach himself to the qui
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Thirty years ago, Marseilles lay burning in the sun, one day.

A blazing sun upon a fierce August day was no greater rarity in southern
France then, than at any other time, before or since. Everything in
Marseilles, and about Marseilles, had stared at the fervid sky, and been
stared at in return, until a staring habit had become universal there.
Strangers were stared out of countenance by staring white houses,
staring white walls, staring white streets, staring tracts of arid road,
staring hills from which verdure was burnt away. The only things to be
seen not fixedly staring and glaring were the vines drooping under their
load of grapes. These did occasionally wink a little, as the hot air
barely moved their faint leaves.

There was no wind to make a ripple on the foul water within the harbour,
or on the beautiful sea without. The line of demarcation between the two
colours, black and blue, showed the point which the pure sea would not
pass; but it lay as quiet as the abominable pool, with which it never
mixed. Boats without awnings were too hot to touch; ships blistered at
their moorings; the stones of the quays had not cooled, night or
day, for months. Hindoos, Russians, Chinese, Spaniards, Portuguese,
Englishmen, Frenchmen, Genoese, Neapolitans, Venetians, Greeks, Turks,
descendants from all the builders of Babel, come to trade at Marseilles,
sought the shade alike--taking refuge in any hiding-place from a sea too
intensely blue to be looked at, and a sky of purple, set with one great
flaming jewel of fire.

The universal stare made the eyes ache. Towards the distant line of
Italian coast, indeed, it was a little relieved by light clouds of mist,
slowly rising from the evaporation of the sea, but it softened nowhere
else. Far away the staring roads, deep in dust, stared from the
hill-side, stared from the hollow, stared from the interminable
plain. Far away the dusty vines overhanging wayside cottages, and the
monotonous wayside avenues of parched trees without shade, drooped
beneath the stare of earth and sky. So did the horses with drowsy bells,
in long files of carts, creeping slowly towards the interior; so did
their recumbent drivers, when they were awake, which rarely happened;
so did the exhausted labourers in the fields. Everything that lived or
grew, was oppressed by the glare; except the lizard, passing swiftly
over rough stone walls, and the cicala, chirping his dry hot chirp, like
a rattle. The very dust was scorched brown, and something quivered in
the atmosphere as if the air itself were panting.

Blinds, shutters, curtains, awnings, were all closed and drawn to keep
out the stare. Grant it but a chink or keyhole, and it shot in like a
white-hot arrow. The churches were the freest from it. To come out of
the twilight of pillars and arches--dreamily dotted with winking lamps,
dreamily peopled with ugly old shadows piously dozing, spitting, and
begging--was to plunge into a fiery river, and swim for life to the
nearest strip of shade. So, with people lounging and lying wherever
shade was, with but little hum of tongues or barking of dogs, with
occasional jangling of discordant church bells and rattling of vicious
drums, Marseilles, a fact to be strongly smelt and tasted, lay broiling
in the sun one day.

In Marseilles that day there was a villainous prison. In one of its
chambers, so repulsive a place that even the obtrusive stare blinked at
it, and left it to such refuse of reflected light as it could find for
itself, were two men. Besides the two men, a notched and disfigured
bench, immovable from the wall, with a draught-board rudely hacked upon
it with a knife, a set of draughts, made of old buttons and soup bones,
a set of dominoes, two mats, and two or three wine bottles. That was all
the chamber held, exclusive of rats and other unseen vermin, in addition
to the seen vermin, the two men.

It received such light as it got through a grating of iron bars
fashioned like a pretty large window, by means of which it could be
always inspected from the gloomy staircase on which the grating gave.
There was a broad strong ledge of stone to this grating where the bottom
of it was let into the masonry, three or four feet above the ground.
Upon it, one of the two men lolled, half sitting and half lying, with
his knees drawn up, and his feet and shoulders planted against the
opposite sides of the aperture. The bars were wide enough apart to
admit of his thrusting his arm through to the elbow; and so he held on
negligently, for his greater ease.

A prison taint was on everything there. The imprisoned air, the
imprisoned light, the imprisoned damps, the imprisoned men, were all
deteriorated by confinement. As the captive men were faded and haggard,
so the iron was rusty, the stone was slimy, the wood was rotten, the air
was faint, the light was dim. Like a well, like a vault, like a tomb,
the prison had no knowledge of the brightness outside, and would have
kept its polluted atmosphere intact in one
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THE INNOCENCE OF FATHER BROWN

By G. K. Chesterton

                  Contents


                  The Blue Cross
                  The Secret Garden
                  The Queer Feet
                  The Flying Stars
                  The Invisible Man
                  The Honour of Israel Gow
                  The Wrong Shape
                  The Sins of Prince Saradine
                  The Hammer of God
                  The Eye of Apollo
                  The Sign of the Broken Sword
                  The Three Tools of Death





The Blue Cross

Between the silver ribbon of morning and the green glittering ribbon of
sea, the boat touched Harwich and let loose a swarm of folk like flies,
among whom the man we must follow was by no means conspicuous--nor
wished to be. There was nothing notable about him, except a slight
contrast between the holiday gaiety of his clothes and the official
gravity of his face. His clothes included a slight, pale grey jacket,
a white waistcoat, and a silver straw hat with a grey-blue ribbon. His
lean face was dark by contrast, and ended in a curt black beard that
looked Spanish and suggested an Elizabethan ruff. He was smoking a
cigarette with the seriousness of an idler. There was nothing about him
to indicate the fact that the grey jacket covered a loaded revolver,
that the white waistcoat covered a police card, or that the straw hat
covered one of the most powerful intellects in Europe. For this was
Valentin himself, the head of the Paris police and the most famous
investigator of the world; and he was coming from Brussels to London to
make the greatest arrest of the century.

Flambeau was in England. The police of three countries had tracked the
great criminal at last from Ghent to Brussels, from Brussels to the Hook
of Holland; and it was conjectured that he would take some advantage of
the unfamiliarity and confusion of the Eucharistic Congress, then
taking place in London. Probably he would travel as some minor clerk
or secretary connected with it; but, of course, Valentin could not be
certain; nobody could be certain about Flambeau.

It is many years now since this colossus of crime suddenly ceased
keeping the world in a turmoil; and when he ceased, as they said after
the death of Roland, there was a great quiet upon the earth. But in
his best days (I mean, of course, his worst) Flambeau was a figure as
statuesque and international as the Kaiser. Almost every morning the
daily paper announced that he had escaped the consequences of one
extraordinary crime by committing another. He was a Gascon of gigantic
stature and bodily daring; and the wildest tales were told of his
outbursts of athletic humour; how he turned the juge d’instruction
upside down and stood him on his head, “to clear his mind”; how he ran
down the Rue de Rivoli with a policeman under each arm. It is due to him
to say that his fantastic physical strength was generally employed in
such bloodless though undignified scenes; his real crimes were chiefly
those of ingenious and wholesale robbery. But each of his thefts was
almost a new sin, and would make a story by itself. It was he who ran
the great Tyrolean Dairy Company in London, with no dairies, no cows, no
carts, no milk, but with some thousand subscribers. These he served by
the simple operation of moving the little milk cans outside people’s
doors to the doors of his own customers. It was he who had kept up an
unaccountable and close correspondence with a young lady whose whole
letter-bag was intercepted, by the extraordinary trick of photographing
his messages infinitesimally small upon the slides of a microscope. A
sweeping simplicity, however, marked many of his experiments. It is said
that he once repainted all the numbers in a street in the dead of night
merely to divert one traveller into a trap. It is quite certain that
he invented a portable pillar-box, which he put up at corners in quiet
suburbs on the chance of strangers dropping postal orders into it.
Lastly, he was known to be a startling acrobat; despite his huge figure,
he could leap like a grasshopper and melt into the tree-tops like a
monkey. Hence the great Valentin, when he set out to find Flambeau, was
perfectly aware that his adventures would not end when he had found him.

But how was he to find him? On this the great Valentin’s ideas were
still in process of settlement.

There was one thing which Flambeau, with all his dexterity of disguise,
could not cover, and that was his singular height. If Valentin’s quick
eye had caught a tall apple-woman, a tall grenadier, or even a tolerably
tall duchess, he might have arrested them on the spot. But all along his
train there was nobody that could be a disguised Flambeau, any more than
a cat could be a disguised giraffe. About the people on the boat he had
already satisfied himself; and the people picked up at Harwich or on
the journey limited themselves with certainty to six. There was a short
railway official travelling up to the t
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The object of this Essay is to explain as clearly as I am able, the
grounds of an opinion which I have held from the very earliest period
when I had formed any opinions at all on social or political matters,
and which, instead of being weakened or modified, has been constantly
growing stronger by the progress of reflection and the experience of
life: That the principle which regulates the existing social
relations between the two sexes--the legal subordination of one sex
to the other--is wrong in itself, and now one of the chief hindrances
to human improvement; and that it ought to be replaced by a principle
of perfect equality, admitting no power or privilege on the one side,
nor disability on the other.

The very words necessary to express the task I have undertaken, show
how arduous it is. But it would be a mistake to suppose that the
difficulty of the case must lie in the insufficiency or obscurity of
the grounds of reason on which my conviction rests. The difficulty is
that which exists in all cases in which there is a mass of feeling to
be contended against. So long as an opinion is strongly rooted in the
feelings, it gains rather than loses in stability by having a
preponderating weight of argument against it. For if it were accepted
as a result of argument, the refutation of the argument might shake
the solidity of the conviction; but when it rests solely on feeling,
the worse it fares in argumentative contest, the more persuaded its
adherents are that their feeling must have some deeper ground, which
the arguments do not reach; and while the feeling remains, it is
always throwing up fresh intrenchments of argument to repair any
breach made in the old. And there are so many causes tending to make
the feelings connected with this subject the most intense and most
deeply-rooted of all those which gather round and protect old
institutions and customs, that we need not wonder to find them as yet
less undermined and loosened than any of the rest by the progress of
the great modern spiritual and social transition; nor suppose that
the barbarisms to which men cling longest must be less barbarisms
than those which they earlier shake off.

In every respect the burthen is hard on those who attack an almost
universal opinion. They must be very fortunate as well as unusually
capable if they obtain a hearing at all. They have more difficulty in
obtaining a trial, than any other litigants have in getting a
verdict. If they do extort a hearing, they are subjected to a set of
logical requirements totally different from those exacted from other
people. In all other cases, the burthen of proof is supposed to lie
with the affirmative. If a person is charged with a murder, it rests
with those who accuse him to give proof of his guilt, not with
himself to prove his innocence. If there is a difference of opinion
about the reality of any alleged historical event, in which the
feelings of men in general are not much interested, as the Siege of
Troy for example, those who maintain that the event took place are
expected to produce their proofs, before those who take the other
side can be required to say anything; and at no time are these
required to do more than show that the evidence produced by the
others is of no value. Again, in practical matters, the burthen of
proof is supposed to be with those who are against liberty; who
contend for any restriction or prohibition; either any limitation of
the general freedom of human action, or any disqualification or
disparity of privilege affecting one person or kind of persons, as
compared with others. The _à priori_ presumption is in favour of
freedom and impartiality. It is held that there should be no
restraint not required by the general good, and that the law should
be no respecter of persons, but should treat all alike, save where
dissimilarity of treatment is required by positive reasons, either of
justice or of policy. But of none of these rules of evidence will the
benefit be allowed to those who maintain the opinion I profess. It is
useless for me to say that those who maintain the doctrine that men
have a right to command and women are under an obligation to obey, or
that men are fit for government and women unfit, are on the
affirmative side of the question, and that they are bound to show
positive evidence for the assertions, or submit to their rejection.
It is equally unavailing for me to say that those who deny to women
any freedom or privilege rightly allowed to men, having the double
presumption against them that they are opposing freedom and
recommending partiality, must be held to the strictest proof of their
case, and unless their success be such as to exclude all doubt, the
judgment ought to go against them. These would be thought good pleas
in any common case; but they will not be thought so in this instance.
Before I could hope to make any impression, I should be expected not
only to answer all that has ever been said by those who take the
other side of th
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HARTFORD, CONN.
AMERICAN PUBLISHING COMPANY



Copyright, 1894, 
by OLIVIA L. CLEMENS
All Rights Reserved
The right of dramatization and translation reserved.



Copyright, 1893-1894, by the Century Company, in the Century Magazine.
Copyright, 1894, by Olivia L. Clemens
(All Rights Reserved)


Contents

           Pudd'nhead Wilson 
Chapter         Chapter Title                  Page
        A Whisper to the Reader                  15
     I. Pudd'nhead Wins His Name                 17
    II. Driscoll Spares His Slaves               27
   III. Roxy Plays a Shrewd Trick                41
    IV. The Ways of the Changelings              52
     V. The Twins Thrill Dawson's Landing        67
    VI. Swimming in Glory                        77
   VII. The Unknown Nymph                        86
  VIII. Marse Tom Tramples His Chance            93
    IX. Tom Practises Sycophancy                111
     X. The Nymph Revealed                      121
    XI. Pudd'nhead's Startling Discovery        130
   XII. The Shame of Judge Driscoll             155
  XIII. Tom Stares at Ruin                      166
   XIV. Roxana Insists Upon Reform              179
    XV. The Robber Robbed                       197
   XVI. Sold Down the River                     214
  XVII. The Judge Utters Dire Prophecy          221
 XVIII. Roxana Commands                         225
   XIX. The Prophecy Realized                   246
    XX. The Murderer Chuckles                   263
   XXI. Doom                                    278
        Conclusion                              300






A Whisper

to the Reader.

There is no character, howsoever good and fine, but it can be destroyed
by ridicule, howsoever poor and witless. Observe the ass, for instance:
his character is about perfect, he is the choicest spirit among all the
humbler animals, yet see what ridicule has brought him to. Instead of
feeling complimented when we are called an ass, we are left in 
doubt.--Pudd'nhead Wilson's Calendar.

A person who is ignorant of legal matters is always liable to make
mistakes when he tries to photograph a court scene with his pen; and so
I was not willing to let the law chapters in this book go to press
without first subjecting them to rigid and exhausting revision and
correction by a trained barrister--if that is what they are called.
These chapters are right, now, in every detail, for they were rewritten
under the immediate eye of William Hicks, who studied law part of a
while in southwest Missouri thirty-five years ago and then came over
here to Florence for his health and is still helping for exercise and
board in Macaroni Vermicelli's horse-feed shed which is up the back
alley as you turn around the corner out of the Piazza del Duomo just
beyond the house where that stone that Dante used to sit on six hundred
years ago is let into the wall when he let on to be watching them build
Giotto's campanile and yet always got tired looking as soon as Beatrice
passed along on her way to get a chunk of chestnut cake to defend
herself with in case of a Ghibelline outbreak before she got to school,
at the same old stand where they sell the same old cake to this day and
it is just as light and good as it was then, too, and this is not
flattery, far from it. He was a little rusty on his law, but he rubbed
up for this book, and those two or three legal chapters are right and
straight, now. He told me so himself.

Given under my hand this second day of January, 1893, at the Villa
Viviani, village of Settignano, three miles back of Florence, on the
hills--the same certainly affording the most charming view to be found
on this planet, and with it the most dreamlike and enchanting sunsets to
be found in any planet or even in any solar system--and given, too, in
the swell room of the house, with the busts of Cerretani senators and
other grandees of this line looking approvingly down upon me as they
used to look down upon Dante, and mutely asking me to adopt them into my
family, which I do with pleasure, for my remotest ancestors are but
spring chickens compared with these robed and stately antiques, and it
will be a great and satisfying lift for me, that six hundred years will.

Mark Twain.





Pudd'nhead Wins His Name.

Tell the truth or trump--but get the trick.--Pudd'nhead Wilson's
Calendar.

The scene of this chronicle is the town of Dawson's Landing, on the
Missouri side of the Mississippi, half a day's journey, per steamboat,
below St. Louis.

In 1830 it was a snug little collection of modest one- and two-story
frame dwellings whose whitewashed exteriors were almost concealed from
sight by climbing tangles of rose-vines, honeysuckles, and
morning-glories. Each of these pretty homes had a garden in front fenced
with white palings and opulently stocked with hollyhocks, marigolds,
touch-me-nots, prince's-feathers and other old-fashioned flowers; while
on the window-sills of the houses stood wooden boxes containing
moss-rose plants and terra-cotta pot
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OMENS


In seeking for omens, Natives consult the so-called science of omens
or science of the five birds, and are guided by them. Selected omens
are always included in native calendars or panchangams.

To the quivering and throbbing of various parts of the body as omens,
repeated reference is made in the Hindu classics. Thus, in Kalidasa's
Sakuntala, King Dushyanta says: "This hermitage is tranquil, and yet
my arm throbs. Whence can there be any result from this in such a
place? But yet the gates of destiny are everywhere." Again, Sakuntala
says: "Alas! why does my right eye throb?" to which Gautami replies:
"Child, the evil be averted. May the tutelary deities of your husband's
family confer happy prospects!" In the Raghuvamsa, the statement occurs
that "the son of Paulastya, being greatly incensed, drove an arrow
deep into his right arm, which was throbbing, and which, therefore,
prognosticated his union with Sita." A quivering sensation in the
right arm is supposed to indicate marriage with a beautiful woman;
in the right eye some good luck.

During a marriage among the Telugu Tottiyans, who have settled in
the Tamil country, a red ram without blemish is sacrificed. It is
first sprinkled with water, and, if it shivers, this is considered
a good omen. It is recorded, [1] in connection with the legends of
the Badagas of the Nilgiris, that "in the heart of the Banagudi shola
(grove), not far from the Dodduru group of cromlechs, is an odd little
shrine to Karairaya, within which are a tiny cromlech, some sacred
water-worn stones, and sundry little pottery images representing
a tiger, a mounted man, and some dogs. These keep in memory, it is
said, a Badaga who was slain in combat with a tiger; and annually
a festival is held, at which new images are placed there, and vows
are paid. A Kurumba (jungle tribe) makes fire by friction, and burns
incense, throws sanctified water over the numerous goats brought to
be sacrificed, to see if they will shiver in the manner always held
necessary in sacrificed victims, and then slays, one after the other,
those which have shown themselves duly qualified."

In many villages, during the festival to the village deity, water is
poured over a sheep's back, and it is accepted as a good sign if it
shivers. "When the people are economical, they keep on pouring water
till it does shiver, to avoid the expense of providing a second victim
for sacrifice. But, where they are more scrupulous, if it does not
shiver, it is taken as a sign that the goddess will not accept it,
and it is taken away." [2]

Before the thieving Koravas set out on a predatory expedition, a goat
is decorated, and taken to a shrine. It is then placed before the idol,
which is asked whether the expedition will be successful. If the body
of the animal quivers, it is regarded as an answer in the affirmative;
if it does not, the expedition is abandoned.

If, in addition to quivering, the animal urinates, no better sign
could be looked for. Thieves though they are, the Koravas make it a
point of honour to pay for the goat used in the ceremony. It is said
that, in seeking omens from the quivering of an animal, a very liberal
interpretation is put on the slightest movement. It is recorded by
Bishop Whitehead [3] that, when an animal has been sacrificed to the
goddess Nukalamma at Coconada, its head is put before the shrine,
and water poured on it. If the mouth opens, it is accepted as a sign
that the sacrifice is accepted.

At the death ceremonies of the Idaiyans of Coimbatore, a cock is tied
to a sacrificial post, to which rice is offered. One end of a thread
is tied to the post, and the other end to a new cloth. The thread is
watched till it shakes, and then broken. The cock is then killed.

Of omens, both good and bad, in Malabar, the following comprehensive
list is given by Mr Logan [4]:--


    "Good.--Crows, pigeons, etc., and beasts as deer, etc., moving
    from left to right, and dogs and jackals moving inversely, and
    other beasts found similarly and singly; wild crow, ruddy goose,
    mungoose, goat, and peacock seen singly or in couples either at
    the right or left. A rainbow seen on the right and left, or behind,
    prognosticates good, but the reverse if seen in front. Buttermilk,
    raw rice, puttalpira (Trichosanthes anguina, snake-gourd),
    priyangu flower, honey, ghi (clarified butter); red cotton juice,
    antimony sulphurate, metal mug, bell ringing, lamp, lotus, karuka
    grass, raw fish, flesh, flour, ripe fruits, sweetmeats, gems,
    sandalwood, elephants, pots filled with water, a virgin, a couple
    of Brahmans, Rajas, respectable men, white flower, white yak tail,
    [5] white cloth, and white horse. Chank shell (Turbinella rapa),
    flagstaff, turban, triumphal arch, fruitful soil, burning fire,
    elegant eatables or drinkables, carts with men in, cows with
    their young, mares, bulls or cows with ropes tied to their necks,
    palanquin, swans, peacock and crane warbling 
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LADY SUSAN VERNON TO MR. VERNON


Langford, Dec.

MY DEAR BROTHER,--I can no longer refuse myself the pleasure of
profiting by your kind invitation when we last parted of spending some
weeks with you at Churchhill, and, therefore, if quite convenient to you
and Mrs. Vernon to receive me at present, I shall hope within a few
days to be introduced to a sister whom I have so long desired to be
acquainted with. My kind friends here are most affectionately
urgent with me to prolong my stay, but their hospitable and cheerful
dispositions lead them too much into society for my present situation
and state of mind; and I impatiently look forward to the hour when I
shall be admitted into your delightful retirement.

I long to be made known to your dear little children, in whose hearts I
shall be very eager to secure an interest I shall soon have need for all
my fortitude, as I am on the point of separation from my own daughter.
The long illness of her dear father prevented my paying her that
attention which duty and affection equally dictated, and I have too
much reason to fear that the governess to whose care I consigned her was
unequal to the charge. I have therefore resolved on placing her at one
of the best private schools in town, where I shall have an opportunity
of leaving her myself in my way to you. I am determined, you see, not to
be denied admittance at Churchhill. It would indeed give me most painful
sensations to know that it were not in your power to receive me.

Your most obliged and affectionate sister,

S. VERNON.







LADY SUSAN VERNON TO MRS. JOHNSON


Langford.


You were mistaken, my dear Alicia, in supposing me fixed at this place
for the rest of the winter: it grieves me to say how greatly you were
mistaken, for I have seldom spent three months more agreeably than
those which have just flown away. At present, nothing goes smoothly; the
females of the family are united against me. You foretold how it would
be when I first came to Langford, and Mainwaring is so uncommonly
pleasing that I was not without apprehensions for myself. I remember
saying to myself, as I drove to the house, "I like this man, pray Heaven
no harm come of it!" But I was determined to be discreet, to bear in
mind my being only four months a widow, and to be as quiet as possible:
and I have been so, my dear creature; I have admitted no one's
attentions but Mainwaring's. I have avoided all general flirtation
whatever; I have distinguished no creature besides, of all the numbers
resorting hither, except Sir James Martin, on whom I bestowed a little
notice, in order to detach him from Miss Mainwaring; but, if the world
could know my motive THERE they would honour me. I have been called an
unkind mother, but it was the sacred impulse of maternal affection, it
was the advantage of my daughter that led me on; and if that daughter
were not the greatest simpleton on earth, I might have been rewarded for
my exertions as I ought.

Sir James did make proposals to me for Frederica; but Frederica, who
was born to be the torment of my life, chose to set herself so violently
against the match that I thought it better to lay aside the scheme for
the present. I have more than once repented that I did not marry him
myself; and were he but one degree less contemptibly weak I certainly
should: but I must own myself rather romantic in that respect, and
that riches only will not satisfy me. The event of all this is very
provoking: Sir James is gone, Maria highly incensed, and Mrs. Mainwaring
insupportably jealous; so jealous, in short, and so enraged against
me, that, in the fury of her temper, I should not be surprized at her
appealing to her guardian, if she had the liberty of addressing him:
but there your husband stands my friend; and the kindest, most amiable
action of his life was his throwing her off for ever on her marriage.
Keep up his resentment, therefore, I charge you. We are now in a sad
state; no house was ever more altered; the whole party are at war, and
Mainwaring scarcely dares speak to me. It is time for me to be gone; I
have therefore determined on leaving them, and shall spend, I hope, a
comfortable day with you in town within this week. If I am as little
in favour with Mr. Johnson as ever, you must come to me at 10 Wigmore
street; but I hope this may not be the case, for as Mr. Johnson, with
all his faults, is a man to whom that great word "respectable" is always
given, and I am known to be so intimate with his wife, his slighting me
has an awkward look.

I take London in my way to that insupportable spot, a country village;
for I am really going to Churchhill. Forgive me, my dear friend, it is
my last resource. Were there another place in England open to me I would
prefer it. Charles Vernon is my aversion; and I am afraid of his wife.
At Churchhill, however, I must remain till I have something better in
view. My young lady accompanies me to town, where I shall deposit her
under the care of Miss Summers, in Wigmore street,
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Nym clene Wete and bray it in a morter wel that the holys [2] gon al
of and seyt [3] yt til it breste and nym yt up. and lat it kele [4]
and nym fayre fresch broth and swete mylk of Almandys or swete mylk
of kyne and temper yt al. and nym the yolkys of eyryn [5]. boyle it a
lityl and set yt adoun and messe yt forthe wyth fat venyson and fresh
moton.

[1] See again, No. I. of the second part of this treatise.
[2] Hulls.
[3] Miswritten for _seyth_ or _sethe_, i.e. seeth.
[4] cool.
[5] eggs.



Nym wyte Pisyn and wasch hem and seth hem a good wyle sithsyn wasch
hem in golde [1] watyr unto the holys gon of alle in a pot and kever
it wel that no breth passe owt and boyle hem ryzt wel and do therto
god mylk of Almandys and a party of flowr of ris and salt and safron
and messe yt forthe.

[1] cold.



Cranys and Herons schulle be euarund [1] wyth Lardons of swyne and
rostyd and etyn wyth gyngynyr.

[1] Perhaps _enarmed_, or _enorned_. See Mr. Brander's Roll, No. 146.



Pecokys and Partrigchis schul ben yparboyld and lardyd and etyn wyth
gyngenyr.



Nym hennyn and porke and seth hem togedere nym the lyre [2] of the
hennyn and the porke and hakkyth finale and grynd hit al to dust and
wyte bred therwyth and temper it wyth the selve broth and wyth heyryn
and colure it with safroun and boyle it and disch it and cast theron
powder of peper and of gyngynyr and serve it forthe.

[1] V. Mortrews in Gloss.
[2] Flesh.



Schal be sodyn. Nym the lyre and brek it smal In a morter and peper
and wyte bred therwyth and temper it wyth ale and ley it wyth the
capoun. Nym hard sodyn eyryn and hewe the wyte smal and kaste thereto
and nym the zolkys al hole and do hem in a dysch and boyle the capoun
and colowre it wyth safroun and salt it and messe it forthe.



Schullyn be scaldyd and sodyn wyth porke and grynd pepyr and comyn
bred and ale and temper it wyth the selve broth and boyle and colowre
it wyth safroun and salt it and messe it forthe.

[1] Hens.



Schul be parboylyd and lardyd and rostid and nym onyons and myce hem
rizt smal and fry hem in wyte gres and grynd peper bred and ale and
the onions therto and coloure it wyth safroun and salt it and serve
it forth.

[1] Hares.
[1] Perhaps _Cinee_; for see No. 51.



Schul be hewe in gobbettys and sodyn with al the blod Nym bred piper
and ale and grynd togedere and temper it with the selve broth and
boyle it and salt it and serve it forthe.



Schul be sodyn and hakkyd in gobbettys and grynd gyngynyr galyngale
and canel. and temper it up with god almand mylk and boyle it and nym
macys and clowys and kest [2] therin and the conynggis also and salt
hym [3] and serve it forthe.

[1] Rabbits.
[2] Cast.
[3] _it_, or perhaps _hem_.



Nym hennys and schald hem wel. and seth hem after and nym the lyre
and hak yt smal and bray it with otyn grotys in a morter and with
wyte bred and temper it up wyth the broth Nym the grete bonys and
grynd hem al to dust and kest hem al in the broth and mak it thorw a
clothe and boyle it and serve it forthe.

[1] Cullis. V. Preface.



Nym the nomblys of the venysoun and wasch hem clene in water and salt
hem and seth hem in tweye waterys grynd pepyr bred and ale and temper
it wyth the secunde brothe and boyle it and hak the nomblys and do
theryn and serve it forthe.

[1] Umbles.



Nym kedys [1] and chekenys and hew hem in morsellys and seth hem in
almand mylk or in kyne mylke grynd gyngyner galingale and cast therto
and boyle it and serve it forthe.

[1] Kids.



Nym rys and lese hem and wasch hem clene and do thereto god almande
mylk and seth hem tyl they al to brest and than lat hem kele and nym
the lyre of the hennyn or of capouns and grynd hem smal kest therto
wite grese and boyle it Nym blanchyd almandys and safroun and set
hem above in the dysche and serve yt forthe.

[1] Blanc-manger. See again, No. 33, 34. II. No. 7. Chaucer writes it
    _Blankmanger_.



Nym eyren wyth al the wyte and myse bred and schepys [2] talwe as
gret as dyses [3] grynd peper and safroun and cast therto and do hit
in the schepis wombe seth it wel and dresse it forthe of brode leches
thynne.

[1] Frenchemulle d'un mouton. A sheeps call, or kell. Cotgrave.
    Junius, v. _Moil_, says, "a French moile Chaucero est cibus
    delicatior, a dish made of marrow and grated bread."
[2] Sheep's fat.
[3] dice; square bits, or bits as big as dice.



Nym the tharmys [1] of a pygge and wasch hem clene in water and salt
and seth hem wel and than hak hem smale and grynd pepyr and safroun
bred and ale and boyle togedere Nym wytys of eyrynn and knede it
wyth flour and mak smal pelotys [2] and fry hem with wyte grees and
do hem in disches above that othere mete and serve it forthe.

[1] Rops, guts, puddings
[2] Balls, pellets, from the French _pelote._



Nym appelyn and seth hem and lat hem kele and make hem thorw a clothe
and on flesch dayes kast therto god fat breyt [2] of Bef and god wyte
grees and sugar and safroun and almande mylk on fysch dayes oyle de
olyve and gode powdres [3] and
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PG #: 65072
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THE TIME ARMADA

                           By Fox B. Holden

              Politics and science don't mix--except that
           Congressman Blair had once been a physicist. This
          was The Beginning--but The End was worlds away....

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                       October and November 1953
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


_5:20 P. M., April 17, 1958_

Congressman Douglas Blair shivered a little, turned up his coat collar
against the gray drizzle that had been falling like a finely-sifted fog
all day. His head ached, his nose felt stuffy, and he was tired. It was
good of Grayson to pick him up.

The front seat of the dark blue sedan was soft and reassuring, and the
warm current of air from the heater beneath it felt good. He let his
spare, barely six-foot body slump like a bag of wet wash and pushed
his hat back with the half-formed thought that it might ease the dull
pressure behind his eyes.

"Rough going today, eh, Congressman?"

Grayson twisted the blue sedan into outbound Washington traffic, turned
the windshield wipers to a faster pace. Click-click, click-click, and
Blair wished someone would invent windshield wipers for the brain, to
be worn like a radio head-set, maybe with a hole in the top of the head.

"Hey, buddy! Republicans got your tongue?"

"No, sorry, Carl. Just tired. It's that damned McKenny bill."

"Off the record?"

"I'm afraid so for now, Carl. He can get the thing through--he's so
damn clever he should've been a woman. Got the steel men eating out of
his hand. Made no bones about telling the rest of us today that what
the hell, the people never had anything to say about it, anyway. The
work of government is up to the professionals. The sooner the people
get their nose out of it, the better off they'll be. He said that,
Carl, right in front of everybody. And nobody so much as blinked."

The drizzle started to develop into a dark blue rain as they headed
toward the suburbs.

"What's going to happen, Carl?" Blair said after awhile.

"If I knew, believe me, I wouldn't be sitting here! I don't know, Doug.
We'll all cook in Hell together I guess. Here, have a cigarette."

"Thanks. No, dammit. That's just it--if they'd take this going to Hell
business and forget about it--sink it, scuttle it. Nobody goes to
Hell, he makes his own if that's the way he lives, or he makes his own
personal Heaven or Paradise or whatever you call it if that's the way
he lives. Most of us are in between someplace, a little scared, mostly
indifferent, and too mixed up to see the simple fact that the way of
living we've got in this country isn't so bad but what just plain
honesty and a little intelligence couldn't run it right side up."

"Sure, sure, I know and you're right, Doug. But take it easy.... Things
aren't always as bad as they look."

       *       *       *       *       *

Blair inhaled on the cigarette, laughed a little and felt better.
Sometimes he knew he sounded like a college kid trying to tell his
father what was wrong with the world, but that was why he liked Carl.
Carl let him talk, knew it was his way of blowing off the pent-up steam.

"You know what, chum?" They were running smoothly along the highway
now, the engine a reassuring hum of power, the interior of the sedan
warm and relaxing. The rain was letting up a little, but dirty banks
of fog had started gathering at the roadside like ghosts of all the
work of the day, tenuous, without substance.

"What, Carl?"

"You should've stuck with the M.I.T. degree after all. Hell with your
brain you'd've made that try for the Moon a success last month instead
of another near-miss."

"Maybe you're right. Those boys know what they're doing though. I'll
stick to puttering."

"Puttering the man calls it. 'He hath a lean and hungry look--such
men are dangerous....' Myself, I think that gadget you 'putter' with
in that cellar of yours is some kind of a gismo to hypnotize all the
states-righters into doing something intelligent like dropping dead
without being told!"

"With ingenuity such as yours, my friend, I think I could really
accomplish something in that cellar of mine at that! That's the
trouble. You writers and newsmen have all the good ideas--slide-rules
don't think worth a damn! Instead of a wonderful creation such as you
suggest, what have I got? A pile of junk that may, if it works in any
degree at all, turn out to be a fairly good television set...."

"You wouldn't kid an old friend. That martini you were putting away
the other night said that it was an experiment with something called
tired light."

"Exactly. Television."

"Look, the quality of curiosity is not strained, it droppeth as a
gentle ten-ton truck from twenty stories up! You said--or the martini
said anyway--that if this little gimcrack of yours works, it'd be able
to bring ba
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PG #: 11027
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GRIMM'S FAIRY STORIES

Colored Illustrations by JOHN B. GRUELLE

Pen and Ink Sketches by R. EMMETT OWEN

1922







CONTENTS


THE GOOSE-GIRL

THE LITTLE BROTHER AND SISTER

HANSEL AND GRETHEL

OH, IF I COULD BUT SHIVER!

DUMMLING AND THE THREE FEATHERS

LITTLE SNOW-WHITE

CATHERINE AND FREDERICK

THE VALIANT LITTLE TAILOR

LITTLE RED-CAP

THE GOLDEN GOOSE

BEARSKIN

CINDERELLA

FAITHFUL JOHN

THE WATER OF LIFE

THUMBLING

BRIAR ROSE

THE SIX SWANS

RAPUNZEL

MOTHER HOLLE

THE FROG PRINCE

THE TRAVELS OF TOM THUMB

SNOW-WHITE AND ROSE-RED

THE THREE LITTLE MEN IN THE WOOD

RUMPELSTILTSKIN

LITTLE ONE-EYE, TWO-EYES AND THREE-EYES




[Illustration: Grimm's Fairy Stories]




THE GOOSE-GIRL


An old queen, whose husband had been dead some years, had a beautiful
daughter. When she grew up, she was betrothed to a prince who lived a
great way off; and as the time drew near for her to be married, she got
ready to set off on her journey to his country. Then the queen, her
mother, packed up a great many costly things--jewels, and gold, and
silver, trinkets, fine dresses, and in short, everything that became a
royal bride; for she loved her child very dearly; and she gave her a
waiting-maid to ride with her, and give her into the bridegroom's hands;
and each had a horse for the journey. Now the princess' horse was called
Falada, and could speak.

When the time came for them to set out, the old queen went into her
bed-chamber, and took a little knife, and cut off a lock of her hair,
and gave it to her daughter, saying, "Take care of it, dear child; for
it is a charm that may be of use to you on the road." Then they took a
sorrowful leave of each other, and the princess put the lock of her
mother's hair into her bosom, got upon her horse, and set off on her
journey to her bridegroom's kingdom.

One day, as they were riding along by the side of a brook, the princess
began to feel very thirsty, and said to her maid, "Pray get down and
fetch me some water in my golden cup out of yonder brook, for I want to
drink." "Nay," said the maid, "if you are thirsty, get down yourself,
and lie down by the water and drink; I shall not be your waiting-maid
any longer." The princess was so thirsty that she got down, and knelt
over the little brook and drank, for she was frightened, and dared not
bring out her golden cup; and then she wept, and said, "Alas! what will
become of me?" And the lock of hair answered her, and said--

  "Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,
  Sadly, sadly her heart would rue it."

But the princess was very humble and meek, so she said nothing to her
maid's ill behavior, but got upon her horse again.

Then all rode further on their journey, till the day grew so warm, and
the sun so scorching, that the bride began to feel very thirsty again;
and at last, when they came to a river, she forgot her maid's rude
speech, and said, "Pray get down and fetch me some water to drink in my
golden cup." But the maid answered her, and even spoke more haughtily
than before, "Drink if you will, but I shall not be your waiting-maid."
Then the princess was so thirsty that she got off her horse and lay
down, and held her head over the running stream, and cried, and said,
"What will become of me?" And the lock of hair answered her again--

  "Alas! alas! if thy mother knew it,
  Sadly, sadly her heart would rue it."

And as she leaned down to drink, the lock of hair fell from her bosom
and floated away with the water, without her seeing it, she was so much
frightened. But her maid saw it, and was very glad, for she knew the
charm, and saw that the poor bride would be in her power now that she
had lost the hair. So when the bride had finished drinking, and would
have got upon Falada again, the maid said, "I shall ride upon Falada,
and you may have my horse instead;" so she was forced to give up her
horse, and soon afterwards to take off her royal clothes, and put on her
maid's shabby ones.

At last, as they drew near the end of the journey, this treacherous
servant threatened to kill her mistress if she ever told anyone what had
happened. But Falada saw it all, and marked it well. Then the
waiting-maid got upon Falada, and the real bride was set upon the other
horse, and they went on in this way till at last they came to the royal
court. There was great joy at their coming, and the prince hurried to
meet them, and lifted the maid from her horse, thinking she was the one
who was to be his wife; and she was led upstairs to the royal chamber,
but the true princess was told to stay in the court below.

However, the old king happened to be looking out of the window, and saw
her in the yard below; and as she looked very pretty, and too delicate
for a waiting-maid, he went into the royal chamber to ask the bride whom
it was she had brought with her, that was thus left standing in the
court below. "I brought her with me for the sake of her company on the
road," said she. "Pray give the girl some work to do, that she may not
be idle." The ol
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Copyright 1907
by William Jennings Bryan




Author's Preface


This volume is published in response to numerous requests from many
sections, and my purpose is to put in permanent and convenient form
the observations made during travels in the old world.

The illustrations will throw light on the subjects treated and it is
believed will add much to the interest. The photographs from which
they were made were collected at the places visited or taken by
members of our party. Chapters one to forty-six were written from
time to time during the trip around the world.

I was accompanied on this tour by my wife and our two younger
children, William J., Jr., and Grace, aged sixteen and fourteen
years respectively. The trip was taken for educational purposes and
proved far more instructive than we anticipated.

We left our home September 21, 1905, sailed from San Francisco
September 27, and arrived in New York August 29, 1906--the day
before the date fixed for the home-coming reception in that
city--and reached Lincoln September 5, sixteen days less than a year
after our departure.

While most of our travel was in the North Temperate Zone, we were
below the Equator a few days in Java and above the Arctic Circle in
Norway.

In this narrative I fear I have sacrificed literary style to
conciseness, for I have endeavored to condense and crowd into the
space as much information as possible. The statement of facts may be
relied on, being based either upon observations gathered at first
hand from persons worthy to be trusted, or taken from authoritative
writings.

Mrs. Bryan assisted me in the collection of materials and the
preparation of the matter, and I am also indebted to the American
Ambassadors, Ministers and Consuls, as well as to the officials of
the countries which were visited, for valuable information.

I have included a series of articles written during a former visit
to Europe in 1902. As I have avoided in the World Tour Narratives
the subjects treated in these previous European articles, the two
series are appropriately published together.

All of these are published with the more pleasure because I believe
they will give the reader increased admiration for American
institutions and a larger confidence in the triumph of American
Ideals.

  WILLIAM JENNINGS BRYAN

  Lincoln, Nebraska, 1907




CONTENTS


  AUTHOR'S PREFACE                                               5

  CHAPTER I--Crossing the Pacific--Hawaii                       15

  CHAPTER II--Japan and Her People                              25

  CHAPTER III--Japanese Customs and Hospitality                 37

  CHAPTER IV--Japan--Her History and Progress                   49

  CHAPTER V--Japan--Her Industries, Arts and Commerce           61

  CHAPTER VI--Japan--Her Educational System and Her Religions   69

  CHAPTER VII--Japan--Her Government, Politics and Problems     80

  CHAPTER VIII--Korea--"The Hermit Nation"                      90

  CHAPTER IX--China--As She Was                                101

  CHAPTER X--China--As She Was--Part Second                    112

  CHAPTER XI--Chinese Education, Religion and Philosophy       119

  CHAPTER XII--China's Awakening                               127

  CHAPTER XIII--Chinese Exclusion                              137

  CHAPTER XIV--The Philippines--The Northern Islands           151

  CHAPTER XV--The Philippines--The Moro Country                177

  CHAPTER XVI--The Philippine Problem                          186

  CHAPTER XVII--The Philippine Problem--Continued              197

  CHAPTER XVIII--Java--The Beautiful                           205

  CHAPTER XIX--Netherlands India                               215

  CHAPTER XX--In The Tropics                                   223

  CHAPTER XXI--Burma and Buddhism                              234

  CHAPTER XXII--Eastern India                                  247

  CHAPTER XXIII--Hindu India                                   260

  CHAPTER XXIV--Mohammedan India                               273

  CHAPTER XXV--Western India                                   285

  CHAPTER XXVI--British Rule in India                          295

  CHAPTER XXVII--Ancient Egypt                                 312

  CHAPTER XXVIII--Modern Egypt                                 321

  CHAPTER XXIX--Among the Lebanons                             331

  CHAPTER XXX--The Christian's Mecca                           341

  CHAPTER XXXI--Galilee                                        349

  CHAPTER XXXII--Greece, the World's Teacher                   358

  CHAPTER XXXIII--The Byzantine Capital                        366

  CHAPTER XXXIV--In the Land of the Turk                       376

  CHAPTER XXXV--Hungary and Her Neighbors                      385

  CHAPTER XXXVI--Austria-Hungary                               396

  CHAPTER XXXVII--The Duma                                     403

  CHAPTER XXXVIII--Around the Baltic                           417

  C
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[Transcriber's note: Anonymous, _Laura Middleton; Her Brother and her
Lover_ (1890)  A classic Victorian erotic novel]




Laura Middleton; HER BROTHER AND HER LOVER.


ST. KITT'S.
1890.



The remarks which Emily had made regarding the share Laura Middleton
had had in opening up her ideas on the subject of the mysteries in
which she had now been fully initiated had not escaped my observation.
It so happened that at that very time I was under an engagement to pay
a visit to the Middletons, who were very distant relations of my
mother. It of course occurred to me that it was possible I might be
able to turn the information I had thus acquired to some account. Laura
and I were old friends. She was about two years older than I, a very
handsome, fine-looking girl but, as I had then fancied, upon rather a
larger scale than quite suited my taste. We had always been on very
good terms as children, but she had a sort of haughty, imperious air
which, joined to the difference in our ages, had operated in a manner
that would have prevented me from thinking of taking any liberties with
her; and she was about the last person in the world I should have been
disposed to imagine addicted to the amusements in which Emily had
participated with her.

When I again met her on arriving at their country seat, I found that a
considerable change had taken place in her person, but probably this
was merely the natural result that the preceding two years, during
which I had not seen her, had worked upon a girl at her time of life,
by fully developing the proportions and fining down the parts of the
figure which at an earlier period might have appeared too prominent. I
too had grown considerably during this period, more so in proportion
than she had, and now her height by no means appeared to me to be too
great; and, altogether, I could not help acknowledging to myself that I
had rarely seen a handsomer or finer-looking woman. She still retained
somewhat of her haughty air, though softened down, and I could hardly
fancy, when looking at her, that Emily's account of her behaviour in
the hours when she gave herself up to enjoyment could be true. I soon,
however, became aware of circumstances that tended to corroborate the
tale, and which put me in the way of making advances to her, which I
hastened to do.

When it came to be time to dress for dinner, Lady Middleton said to me
that she had presumed on our relationship to put me into the family
wing of the house, as the arrival of some unexpected visitors had made
her change the destination of the room she had previously intended for
me. She said she had no doubt I would find the one set apart for me
quite comfortable, for the only objection to it, and which prevented
her from being able to put a stranger into it, was that it opened into
another room which would have to be occupied by her son Frank, who was
expected home from school in a short time. This last room, in
consequence of some alterations made in building an addition to the
house, had no separate entrance, but opened into the two rooms on each
side, and as the one on the other side was occupied by his sister and
aunt, Frank would have to enter through mine. She said I must keep him
in order and make him behave himself, and if I had any trouble with him
to let her know. I had not seen my young namesake for about two years,
but I recollected him as a fine, high-spirited, very handsome boy about
twelve or thirteen years of age, always getting into some scrape or
other and always getting out of them somehow in such a fearless,
good-humoured manner that it was impossible for anyone to be angry with
him. So I said I should be delighted to renew my acquaintance with my
young friend, and that I had not the least doubt but that we should get
on very pleasantly.

On going to my room to dress for dinner, I found a servant-girl engaged
in making some of the arrangements which the change of apartments had
necessitated. On my entrance she was going to leave the room, but
seeing that she was a very nice-looking young girl, I said she need not
run away in such a hurry, that surely she was not afraid of me. She
gave me an arch look as if taking the measure of my capacities, and
replied with a smile that she did not think she need be afraid of such
a nice-looking young gentleman. This I thought was a fair challenge,
and it induced me to take a better look at her. I found she was a very
well made country girl of about nineteen, with some very promising
points about her. I therefore kept her in conversation for a short
time, while I went on with my washing operation. Finding she was in no
hurry to leave me, I went up to her as she was engaged in putting the
bed in order and snatched a few kisses. I then commenced playing with
her bubbles and taking some further liberties with her. As my
proceedings met with very little resistance, beyond a few exclamations
of "Oh for shame, I did not expect such conduct from you," I proceeded
with my researches and
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Gutenberg (This file was produced from images generously
made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)









                          CRIMES OF PREACHERS
                                 IN THE
                        UNITED STATES AND CANADA


                             TENTH EDITION.

              Transcribed out of the Original Newspapers,
                    and with Previous Transcriptions
                    Diligently Compared and Revised.


                     "THESE BE THY GODS, O ISRAEL."

              "By their fruits shall ye know them. Do men
             gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles?"


                                New York
                        THE TRUTH SEEKER COMPANY
                            62 Vesey Street









CRIMES OF PREACHERS.



In the year 1906 the Young Men's Christian Association of Pittsburgh,
in Pennsylvania, rejected the application of an actor for membership
on the ground that one of his profession could not be a moral
person. Viewing the action as a slur cast on the whole theatrical
profession, Mr. Henry E. Dixey, the well-known actor, offered to give
one thousand dollars to charity if it could be shown that actors,
man for man, were not as good as ministers of the gospel. No champion
of the cloth appearing to claim Mr. Dixey's money on that proposition,
he went further and offered another thousand dollars if there could not
be found a minister in jail for every state in the Union. This second
challenge was likewise ignored by the clergy and the association
which had provoked it, but Mr. Dixey made a few inquiries as to
the proportion of ministers to actors among convicts. His research,
which was far short of being thorough, discovered 43 ministers and
19 actors in jail. The investigation, so far as the ministers were
concerned, could have touched only the fringe of the matter, for in
eight months of the year 1914 the publishers of this work counted
more than seventy reported offenses of preachers for which they were
or deserved to be imprisoned, and of course the count included only
those cases reported in newspapers that reached the office through
an agency which scans only the more important ones. There had been
nothing like a systematic reading of the press of the country for
these cases. Judged by 1914, the clerical convicts in 1906 must have
far exceeded the number developed by Mr. Dixey's census.

The foregoing incident is introduced here to explain the nature of
this work, "Crimes of Preachers," which, like Mr. Dixey's challenge
to the clergy in behalf of his profession, is the reply we have to
make to the preachers in behalf of the unbelievers in their religion.

The clergy assume to be the teachers and guardians of morality, and
assert not only that belief in their astonishing creeds is necessary
to an upright life, but, by implication, that a profession of faith
is in a sense a guarantee of morality. It has become traditionary
with them to assume that the non-Christian man is an immoral man;
that the sincere believer is the exemplar of the higher life, while
the "Infidel," the unbeliever, illustrates the opposite; and that
whatever of morality the civilized world enjoys today it owes to the
profession and practice of Christianity.

Now, it is wholly legitimate that systems should be judged by the
correspondence between the claims made for them and their actual
performances. When Mrs. Eddy, for an instance, rose up and asserted
that Christian Science was the key to health, investigation into the
health of persons professing and practicing Christian Science became
at once a proper inquiry. And so, when ministers exalt the belief
and practice of Christianity as the one highway to the moral life of
individuals and nations, it is equally germane to observe with some
care whether or not the clergy make good their claims in their own
persons. The inquiry would be of great interest and permissible even
were Christianity offered only for our free acceptance or rejection;
but the investigation assumes the binding nature of a civic duty
when, on the strength of these clerical pretensions, the preachers of
Christianity claim and are allowed to enjoy privileges and immunities
from the state that are not granted to other citizens. There are many
"benefits of the clergy" besides those bestowed on them personally
in the shape of half-fares, freedom from civic and military duties,
and the license under the papal decree which forbids that any priest
shall be brought into a civil or criminal court without the approval
of his ecclesiastical superior. In the United States church property
valued at a billion and a half dollars escapes taxation on the
plea that it is devoted to improving the morals of the community,
and the ministers have a virtual monopoly of the first day of the
week, commonly called Sunday, on the strength of the same unproved
theory. The plea is questioned and denied by the publishers of this
book, who quote the evid
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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


MISS VIRGINIA E. OTIS

"HAD ONCE RACED OLD LORD BILTON ON HER PONY"

"BLOOD HAS BEEN SPILLED ON THAT SPOT"

"I REALLY MUST INSIST ON YOUR OILING THOSE CHAINS"

"THE TWINS ... AT ONCE DISCHARGED TWO PELLETS ON HIM"

"ITS HEAD WAS BALD AND BURNISHED"

"HE MET WITH A SEVERE FALL"

"A HEAVY JUG OF WATER FELL RIGHT DOWN ON HIM"

"MAKING SATIRICAL REMARKS ON THE PHOTOGRAPHS"

"SUDDENLY THERE LEAPED OUT TWO FIGURES"

"'POOR, POOR GHOST,' SHE MURMURED; 'HAVE YOU NO PLACE WHERE YOU CAN
SLEEP?'"

"THE GHOST GLIDED ON MORE SWIFTLY"

"HE HEARD SOMEBODY GALLOPING AFTER HIM"

"OUT ON THE LANDING STEPPED VIRGINIA"

"CHAINED TO IT WAS A GAUNT SKELETON"

"BY THE SIDE OF THE HEARSE AND THE COACHES WALKED THE SERVANTS WITH
LIGHTED TORCHES"

"THE MOON CAME OUT FROM BEHIND A CLOUD"






When Mr. Hiram B. Otis, the American Minister, bought Canterville Chase,
every one told him he was doing a very foolish thing, as there was no
doubt at all that the place was haunted. Indeed, Lord Canterville
himself, who was a man of the most punctilious honour, had felt it his
duty to mention the fact to Mr. Otis when they came to discuss terms.

"We have not cared to live in the place ourselves," said Lord
Canterville, "since my grandaunt, the Dowager Duchess of Bolton, was
frightened into a fit, from which she never really recovered, by two
skeleton hands being placed on her shoulders as she was dressing for
dinner, and I feel bound to tell you, Mr. Otis, that the ghost has been
seen by several living members of my family, as well as by the rector of
the parish, the Rev. Augustus Dampier, who is a Fellow of King's
College, Cambridge. After the unfortunate accident to the Duchess, none
of our younger servants would stay with us, and Lady Canterville often
got very little sleep at night, in consequence of the mysterious noises
that came from the corridor and the library."

"My Lord," answered the Minister, "I will take the furniture and the
ghost at a valuation. I have come from a modern country, where we have
everything that money can buy; and with all our spry young fellows
painting the Old World red, and carrying off your best actors and
prima-donnas, I reckon that if there were such a thing as a ghost in
Europe, we'd have it at home in a very short time in one of our public
museums, or on the road as a show."

"I fear that the ghost exists," said Lord Canterville, smiling, "though
it may have resisted the overtures of your enterprising impresarios. It
has been well known for three centuries, since 1584 in fact, and always
makes its appearance before the death of any member of our family."

"Well, so does the family doctor for that matter, Lord Canterville. But
there is no such thing, sir, as a ghost, and I guess the laws of Nature
are not going to be suspended for the British aristocracy."

"You are certainly very natural in America," answered Lord Canterville,
who did not quite understand Mr. Otis's last observation, "and if you
don't mind a ghost in the house, it is all right. Only you must remember
I warned you."

[Illustration: MISS VIRGINIA E. OTIS]

A few weeks after this, the purchase was concluded, and at the close of
the season the Minister and his family went down to Canterville Chase.
Mrs. Otis, who, as Miss Lucretia R. Tappan, of West 53d Street, had been
a celebrated New York belle, was now a very handsome, middle-aged woman,
with fine eyes, and a superb profile. Many American ladies on leaving
their native land adopt an appearance of chronic ill-health, under the
impression that it is a form of European refinement, but Mrs. Otis had
never fallen into this error. She had a magnificent constitution, and a
really wonderful amount of animal spirits. Indeed, in many respects, she
was quite English, and was an excellent example of the fact that we
have really everything in common with America nowadays, except, of
course, language. Her eldest son, christened Washington by his parents
in a moment of patriotism, which he never ceased to regret, was a
fair-haired, rather good-looking young man, who had qualified himself
for American diplomacy by leading the German at the Newport Casino for
three successive seasons, and even in London was well known as an
excellent dancer. Gardenias and the peerage were his only weaknesses.
Otherwise he was extremely sensible. Miss Virginia E. Otis was a little
girl of fifteen, lithe and lovely as a fawn, and with a fine freedom
in her large blue eyes. She was a wonderful Amazon, and had once raced
old Lord Bilton on her pony twice round the park, winning by a length
and a half, just in front of the Achilles statue, to the huge delight of
the young Duke of Cheshire, who proposed for her on the spot, and was
sent back to Eton that very night by his guardians, in floods of tears.
After Virginia came the twins, who were usually called "The Star and
Stripes," as they were always getting swished. They were delightful
boys, and, with the exception of the worthy Minister, the on
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When Caroline Meeber boarded the afternoon train for Chicago, her total
outfit consisted of a small trunk, a cheap imitation alligator-skin
satchel, a small lunch in a paper box, and a yellow leather snap purse,
containing her ticket, a scrap of paper with her sister’s address in
Van Buren Street, and four dollars in money. It was in August, 1889.
She was eighteen years of age, bright, timid, and full of the illusions
of ignorance and youth. Whatever touch of regret at parting
characterised her thoughts, it was certainly not for advantages now
being given up. A gush of tears at her mother’s farewell kiss, a touch
in her throat when the cars clacked by the flour mill where her father
worked by the day, a pathetic sigh as the familiar green environs of
the village passed in review, and the threads which bound her so
lightly to girlhood and home were irretrievably broken.

To be sure there was always the next station, where one might descend
and return. There was the great city, bound more closely by these very
trains which came up daily. Columbia City was not so very far away,
even once she was in Chicago. What, pray, is a few hours—a few hundred
miles? She looked at the little slip bearing her sister’s address and
wondered. She gazed at the green landscape, now passing in swift
review, until her swifter thoughts replaced its impression with vague
conjectures of what Chicago might be.

When a girl leaves her home at eighteen, she does one of two things.
Either she falls into saving hands and becomes better, or she rapidly
assumes the cosmopolitan standard of virtue and becomes worse. Of an
intermediate balance, under the circumstances, there is no possibility.
The city has its cunning wiles, no less than the infinitely smaller and
more human tempter. There are large forces which allure with all the
soulfulness of expression possible in the most cultured human. The
gleam of a thousand lights is often as effective as the persuasive
light in a wooing and fascinating eye. Half the undoing of the
unsophisticated and natural mind is accomplished by forces wholly
superhuman. A blare of sound, a roar of life, a vast array of human
hives, appeal to the astonished senses in equivocal terms. Without a
counsellor at hand to whisper cautious interpretations, what falsehoods
may not these things breathe into the unguarded ear! Unrecognised for
what they are, their beauty, like music, too often relaxes, then
weakens, then perverts the simpler human perceptions.

Caroline, or Sister Carrie, as she had been half affectionately termed
by the family, was possessed of a mind rudimentary in its power of
observation and analysis. Self-interest with her was high, but not
strong. It was, nevertheless, her guiding characteristic. Warm with the
fancies of youth, pretty with the insipid prettiness of the formative
period, possessed of a figure promising eventual shapeliness and an eye
alight with certain native intelligence, she was a fair example of the
middle American class—two generations removed from the emigrant. Books
were beyond her interest—knowledge a sealed book. In the intuitive
graces she was still crude. She could scarcely toss her head
gracefully. Her hands were almost ineffectual. The feet, though small,
were set flatly. And yet she was interested in her charms, quick to
understand the keener pleasures of life, ambitious to gain in material
things. A half-equipped little knight she was, venturing to reconnoitre
the mysterious city and dreaming wild dreams of some vague, far-off
supremacy, which should make it prey and subject—the proper penitent,
grovelling at a woman’s slipper.

“That,” said a voice in her ear, “is one of the prettiest little
resorts in Wisconsin.”

“Is it?” she answered nervously.

The train was just pulling out of Waukesha. For some time she had been
conscious of a man behind. She felt him observing her mass of hair. He
had been fidgetting, and with natural intuition she felt a certain
interest growing in that quarter. Her maidenly reserve, and a certain
sense of what was conventional under the circumstances, called her to
forestall and deny this familiarity, but the daring and magnetism of
the individual, born of past experiences and triumphs, prevailed. She
answered.

He leaned forward to put his elbows upon the back of her seat and
proceeded to make himself volubly agreeable.

“Yes, that is a great resort for Chicago people. The hotels are swell.
You are not familiar with this part of the country, are you?”

“Oh, yes, I am,” answered Carrie. “That is, I live at Columbia City. I
have never been through here, though.”

“And so this is your first visit to Chicago,” he observed.

All the time she was conscious of certain features out of the side of
her eye. Flush, colourful cheeks, a light moustache, a grey fedora hat.
She now turned and looked upon him in full, the instincts of
self-protection and coquetry mingling confusedly in her brain.

“I didn’t say that,” she said.

“Oh,” he answered, in a very
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Holsatia--Hamburg--Frankfort-on-the- Main--How it Won its Name--A Lesson
in Political Economy--Neatness in Dress--Rhine Legends--“The Knave
of Bergen” The Famous Ball--The Strange Knight--Dancing with the
Queen--Removal of the Masks--The Disclosure--Wrath of the Emperor--The
Ending



of the Empress--The Schloss Hotel--Location of Heidelberg--The River
Neckar--New Feature in a Hotel--Heidelberg Castle--View from the
Hotel--A Tramp in the Woods--Meeting a Raven--Can Ravens Talk?--Laughed
at and Vanquished--Language of Animals--Jim Baker--Blue-Jays



reckon I've struck something”--A Knot Hole--Attempt to fill it--A Ton
of Acorns--Friends Called In--A Great Mystery--More Jays called A Blue
Flush--A Discovery--A Rich Joke--One that Couldn't See It



Life--Attending Lectures--An Immense Audience--Industrious
Students--Politeness of the Students--Intercourse with the Professors
Scenes at the Castle Garden--Abundance of Dogs--Symbol of Blighted
Love--How the Ladies Advertise



Grinder--Frequency of the Duels--The Duelists--Protection against
Injury--The Surgeon--Arrangements for the Duels--The First
Duel--The First Wound--A Drawn Battle--The Second Duel--Cutting and
Slashing--Interference of the Surgeon



Fights--The Last Duel--Fighting in Earnest--Faces and Heads
Mutilated--Great Nerve of the Duelists--Fatal Results not
Infrequent--The World's View of these Fights



of the Wounded--Wounds Honorable--Newly bandaged Students around
Heidelberg--Scarred Faces Abundant--A Badge of Honor--Prince Bismark
as a Duelist--Statistics--Constant Sword Practice--Color of the
Corps--Corps Etiquette





[The Knighted Knave of Bergen]


One day it occurred to me that it had been many years since the world
had been afforded the spectacle of a man adventurous enough to undertake
a journey through Europe on foot. After much thought, I decided that
I was a person fitted to furnish to mankind this spectacle. So I
determined to do it. This was in March, 1878.

I looked about me for the right sort of person to accompany me in the
capacity of agent, and finally hired a Mr. Harris for this service.

It was also my purpose to study art while in Europe. Mr. Harris was in
sympathy with me in this. He was as much of an enthusiast in art as
I was, and not less anxious to learn to paint. I desired to learn the
German language; so did Harris.

Toward the middle of April we sailed in the HOLSATIA, Captain Brandt,
and had a very pleasant trip, indeed.

After a brief rest at Hamburg, we made preparations for a long
pedestrian trip southward in the soft spring weather, but at the
last moment we changed the program, for private reasons, and took the
express-train.

We made a short halt at Frankfort-on-the-Main, and found it an
interesting city. I would have liked to visit the birthplace of
Gutenburg, but it could not be done, as no memorandum of the site of the
house has been kept. So we spent an hour in the Goethe mansion instead.
The city permits this house to belong to private parties, instead
of gracing and dignifying herself with the honor of possessing and
protecting it.

Frankfort is one of the sixteen cities which have the distinction of
being the place where the following incident occurred. Charlemagne,
while chasing the Saxons (as HE said), or being chased by them (as THEY
said), arrived at the bank of the river at dawn, in a fog. The enemy
were either before him or behind him; but in any case he wanted to get
across, very badly. He would have given anything for a guide, but none
was to be had. Presently he saw a deer, followed by her young, approach
the water. He watched her, judging that she would seek a ford, and he
was right. She waded over, and the army followed. So a great Frankish
victory or defeat was gained or avoided; and in order to commemorate the
episode, Charlemagne commanded a city to be built there, which he named
Frankfort--the ford of the Franks. None of the other cities where this
event happened were named for it. This is good evidence that Frankfort
was the first place it occurred at.

Frankfort has another distinction--it is the birthplace of the German
alphabet; or at least of the German word for alphabet --BUCHSTABEN.
They say that the first movable types were made on birch
sticks--BUCHSTABE--hence the name.

I was taught a lesson in political economy in Frankfort. I had brought
from home a box containing a thousand very cheap cigars. By way of
experiment, I stepped into a little shop in a queer old back street,
took four gaily decorated boxes of wax matches and three cigars, and
laid down a silver piece worth 48 cents. The man gave me 43 cents
change.

In Frankfort everybody wears clean clothes, and I think we noticed that
this strange thing was the case in Hamburg, too, and in the villages
along the road. Even in the narrowest and poorest and most ancient
quarters of Frankfort neat and clean clothes were the rule. The little
children of both sexes were nearly always nice enough to take into a
body's lap. And as
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_a_. Reading of the text by the teacher, a sentence at a time. Each
sentence to be translated by a pupil after the new words have been
explained by the teacher, in Spanish if possible.

_b_. A second reading by the teacher, followed by chorus reading of the
class.

II. At home the pupil should read the text aloud several times and copy
the text once or twice, then study it carefully.

III. In the recitation, translation should be reduced to a minimum, thus
allowing a maximum of time for conversation based upon the text. There
should also be considerable blackboard work consisting of the questions
and answers that were given orally. Repetition of answers by the entire
class as well as chorus reading are also profitable. After the reading
selection has been thoroughly mastered, oral and written résumés should
be given by the pupils.

The authors wish to thank the firm of A. P. Schmidt of Boston for
permission to reprint the songs _Bolero_ and _Me gustan Todas_. They are
especially indebted to Dr. Manuel Barranco for many valuable suggestions
and for assistance in proof reading.

ERWIN W. ROESSLEE
ALFRED REMY


                            CONTENTS


  1. La Escuela
  2. El Discípulo
  3. La Sala de Clase. (I)
  4. La Sala de Clase. (II)
  5. El Discípulo en la Escuela
  6. Una Lección de Español
  7. Una Lección de Geografía
  8. La Familia
  9. Las Monedas de los Estados Unidos
  10. Las Monedas de España
  11. El Año y los Meses
  12. Los Días de la Semana
  13. La Casa
  14. Proverbios. (I)
  15. El Invierno
  16. La Primavera
  17. El Verano
  18. El Otoño
  19. El Cuerpo Humano
  26. Méjico
  21. Frases de Cortesía
  22. Los Recreos
  23. Una Visita
  24. El Teatro
  25. Los Órganos del Cuerpo Humano
  26. El Brasil
  27. Los Pobres Sastres
  28. Tres Palabras
  29. Anuncio del Estreno de una Ópera
  30. Un Portero Exacto
  31. Una Pierna
  32. ¿Qué dice David?
  33. El Canal de Suez
  34. Dura Suerte
  35. El Muchacho Inteligente
  36. El Criado Erudito
  37. Concepto Falso
  38. Chile
  39. Los Cuatro Hermanos
  40. Adivinanzas. (I)
  41. Argentina
  42. El Barbero de la Coruña
  43. El Perro del Ventrílocuo
  44. El Canal de Panamá
  45. Proverbios. (II)
  46. El Competidor
  47. El Estudiante de Salamanca
  48. Adivinanzas. (II)
  49. Cuba
  50. El Tonto
  51. El Peral
  52. El Estudiante Juicioso
  53. Proverbios. (III)
  54. El Espejo de Matsuyama
  55. Los Zapatos de Tamburí
  56. La Portería del Cielo

POESÍAS

  57. Refranes en Verso
  58. El Papagayo, el Tordo y la Marica (_Iriarte_)
  59. La Abeja y los Zánganos (_Iriarte_)
  60. Los Huevos (_Iriarte_)
  61. La Rana y la Gallina (_Iriarte_)
  62. El Asno y su Amo (_Iriarte_)
  63. La Víbora y la Sanguijuela (_Iriarte_)

CANCIONES

  64. Me gustan Todas (_Spanish Folksong_)
  65. Bolero (_Spanish Folksong_)
  66. Himno Nacional de España. _Manuel Fenollosa_
  67. Himno Nacional de Méjico. _Jaime Nuñó_
  68. Himno Nacional de Guatemala. _Rafael Alvarez_

PREGUNTAS

VOCABULARIO






1. LA ESCUELA

Voy a la escuela. Voy a la escuela el lunes, el martes, el miércoles,
el jueves y el viernes. El sábado y el domingo no voy a la escuela.
El sábado y el domingo estoy en casa. Soy un discípulo y estoy en
la escuela. El discípulo aprende. Aprendo la aritmética, a leer y
a escribir. Vd. aprende el español. Todos nosotros aprendemos
diligentemente. Algunos discípulos no son diligentes. Algunos son
perezosos. El maestro elogia a los discípulos diligentes y a los
discípulos obedientes. Él no elogia a los alumnos perezosos.

El maestro enseña. Mi maestro enseña el español. Este maestro enseña
las matemáticas y aquel maestro el inglés. El señor Blanco enseña la
biología y la química. La señorita Herrera enseña la geografía y la
historia. ¿Qué aprende Vd. en la escuela? Aprendo el español, el
francés, el álgebra, la biología y la estenografía.


2. EL DISCÍPULO

En nuestra escuela hay muchos discípulos. Carlos, Enrique y Pablo son
discípulos. Ana, María y Elvira son discípulas. Juan es diligente.
Carlos no es muy diligente. Algunas veces está muy perezoso. Elvira
es más diligente que Juan. ¿Quién es más diligente, el discípulo o la
discípula? Juan está atento y es obediente. Carlos está desatento y es
desobediente. No escucha atentamente. Cuando el maestro habla y explica
Carlos no escucha. Él no aprende nada. En muchas escuelas hay discípulos
y discípulas. En algunas escuelas hay sólo discípulos y en otras
escuelas hay sólo discípulas.


3. LA SALA DE CLASE (I)

La escuela es grande y bonita y tiene muchas salas de clase. La sala de
clase es grande y clara y tiene cuatro paredes. Las paredes son blancas
o amarillas o verdes. El techo está arriba de nosotros. El techo es
siempre blanco. El suelo está debajo de nosotros. El suelo es de madera.
La pizarra está en la pared delante de la clase. La pizarra es negra y
debajo de ella están la tiza y los cepillos. La tiza es generalmente
blanca pero algunas veces es verde, o azul o roja.

Limpiamos la pizarra con el c
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Transcriber’s Note

In what follows, italic text is denoted by _underscores_. Small capitals
in the original text have been transcribed as ALL CAPITALS.

See the end of this document for details of corrections and other changes.

             ————————————— Start of Book —————————————




                         PORNEIOPATHOLOGY.


                                A

                        POPULAR TREATISE ON

                    VENEREAL AND OTHER DISEASES

                              OF THE

                   MALE AND FEMALE GENITAL SYSTEM;

                          WITH REMARKS ON

          IMPOTENCE, ONANISM, STERILITY, PILES, AND GRAVEL,
                AND PRESCRIPTIONS FOR THEIR TREATMENT.

                     BY R. J. CULVERWELL, M. D.,
       Member of the Royal College of Surgeons, Fellow of many
                         Learned Societies.

                      WITH ONE HUNDRED PLATES.

                           —————————————

                             NEW YORK:
                    J. S. REDFIELD, CLINTON HALL.
                                ———
                               1844.




                              PREFACE.

                               —————

EVERY medical man who will study to investigate as far as possible,
in every case, the original channel through which disease or
constitutional disorder first found its entry into the system, will
be astonished at the mass of human suffering which may be traced up
to a venereal origin, although its primary symptoms may have been
for years apparently eradicated from the frame. The malady generally
commences its attack in early life, before experience has overcome the
short-sighted heedlessness of youth, and taught it to look beyond the
pains and pleasures of the passing moment. Delicacy or shame will not
allow him to seek assistance, until the poison has acquired strength
and virulence too alarming to be neglected; and the patient then,
instead of applying to his usual professional friends, flies to some
empirical practitioner, who temporarily arrests the external symptoms,
and discharges him as cured. Thus matters go on, until the malady
becomes constitutional; and the patient is at last compelled to place
himself under the treatment of those who, at an earlier period, might
have preserved his constitution untainted, and his body comparatively
uninjured by the ravages of this insidious disease.

Some years ago the idea first occurred to me that a popular treatise,
divested as much as possible of technical phraseology, explaining
to the non-medical reader the structure and anatomy of the parts
primarily affected by the venereal disease, and describing its first
as well as its subsequent and aggravated symptoms, and pointing out
the safest treatment of it in inexperienced hands, while in its simple
form, would be of much avail in counteracting the effects of the
complaint resulting from mal-treatment or neglect among the young and
thoughtless. This work is intended to teach him where serious danger
exists, or may be apprehended; for the treatment in a great degree, and
under any circumstances, must fall upon the patient himself: and every
medical man knows that, in very many instances, those who are fully
alive to the injury that may arise from such self-management, are yet
reduced, by considerations of delicacy and secrecy, to practise it; and
it is hoped that a perusal will contribute to give him a knowledge and
confidence which he never could acquire from the uneducated empiric.
Under these impressions have I ventured to submit the following pages;
and while I hope their utility may be acknowledged, I would remark,
that they are not intended to supersede medical aid in any stage of
the disorder, but that, on the contrary, I would impress upon the
reader, if he need it, the prudence of having immediate recourse to
a well-educated physician in the earliest stages of the disease, and
to beware of advertising quacks. But where, from circumstances which,
in venereal complaints, very frequently occur, the party can not have
recourse to professional aid, the next best step is certainly to place
in his hands a formula of that treatment which is most likely to be
successful with himself.

In thus publicly unfolding the mysteries of this department of the
profession, I expect some reprehension from those who assume that
all medical knowledge should be limited to the regular practisers of
the science; but I would fain remind all parties that, although this
branch of medical writing has hitherto been in the hands of mercenary
empirics, it is equally conducive to the honor of the profession, and
the interest of the patient, that these pretenders should be driven
from the field. Conscious of my integrity as a regularly educated
surgeon, and not altogether destitute of successful practice to rest
my claim upon, it is with less hesitation I depart from professional
ceremony; and whatever opinion may be pronounced, as to my success
in performi
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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      Internet Archive. See
      https://archive.org/details/openboatandother00cranrich





THE OPEN BOAT AND OTHER STORIES


    *************************************

            New Novels for 1898
       _Crown 8vo, price 6s. each_

        DREAMERS OF THE GHETTO
            By I. ZANGWILL

        THE SCOURGE-STICK
            By MRS. CAMPBELL PRAED

        THE LONDONERS
            By ROBERT HICHENS

        THE WAR OF THE WORLDS
            By H. G. WELLS

        THE FOURTH NAPOLEON
            By CHARLES BENHAM

        THE TRIUMPH OF DEATH
            By GABRIELE D'ANNUNZIO

        THE MINISTER OF STATE
            By J. A. STEUART

        CLEO THE MAGNIFICENT
            By Z. Z.

        THE BROOM OF THE WAR-GOD
            By H. N. BRAILSFORD

        THE LAKE OF WINE
            By BERNARD CAPES

        GOD'S FOUNDLING
            By A. J. DAWSON

        EZEKIEL'S SIN
            By J. A. PEARCE


          LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
           21 Bedford Street, W.C.

    *************************************


THE OPEN BOAT AND OTHER STORIES

by

STEPHEN CRANE

Author of "The Red Badge of Courage," "The Little Regiment,"
"The Third Violet," etc.





London
William Heinemann
1898

All rights reserved




             To the Memory of
         THE LATE WILLIAM HIGGINS

                  and to
          CAPTAIN EDWARD MURPHY
                   and
         STEWARD C. B. MONTGOMERY
      Of the sunk Steamer 'Commodore.'




CONTENTS


                 Part I
             Minor Conflicts

                                     Page
    The Open Boat                      1
    A Man and Some Others             41
    The Bride comes to Yellow Sky     65
    The Wise Men                      85
    The Five White Mice              107
    Flanagan and His Short
        Filibustering Adventure      129
    Horses                           155
    Death and the Child              175


                Part II
           Midnight Sketches

    An Experiment in Misery          211
    The Men in the Storm             227
    The Duel that was not Fought     239
    An Ominous Baby                  251
    A Great Mistake                  259
    An Eloquence of Grief            265
    The Auction                      271
    The Pace of Youth                279
    A Detail                         297





                 Part I
            Minor Conflicts




              THE OPEN BOAT

     A Tale intended to be after the Fact.
     Being the Experience of Four Men from
         the Sunk Steamer 'Commodore'


                   I

None of them knew the colour of the sky. Their eyes glanced level, and
were fastened upon the waves that swept toward them. These waves were
of the hue of slate, save for the tops, which were of foaming white,
and all of the men knew the colours of the sea. The horizon narrowed
and widened, and dipped and rose, and at all times its edge was jagged
with waves that seemed thrust up in points like rocks.

Many a man ought to have a bath-tub larger than the boat which here
rode upon the sea. These waves were most wrongfully and barbarously
abrupt and tall, and each froth-top was a problem in small boat
navigation.

The cook squatted in the bottom and looked with both eyes at the six
inches of gunwale which separated him from the ocean. His sleeves were
rolled over his fat forearms, and the two flaps of his unbuttoned vest
dangled as he bent to bail out the boat. Often he said: "Gawd! That was
a narrow clip." As he remarked it he invariably gazed eastward over the
broken sea.

The oiler, steering with one of the two oars in the boat, sometimes
raised himself suddenly to keep clear of water that swirled in over the
stern. It was a thin little oar and it seemed often ready to snap.

The correspondent, pulling at the other oar, watched the waves and
wondered why he was there.

The injured captain, lying in the bow, was at this time buried in that
profound dejection and indifference which comes, temporarily at least,
to even the bravest and most enduring when, willy nilly, the firm
fails, the army loses, the ship goes down. The mind of the master of a
vessel is rooted deep in the timbers of her, though he commanded for a
day or a decade, and this captain had on him the stern impression of
a scene in the greys of dawn of seven turned faces, and later a stump
of a top-mast with a white ball on it that slashed to and fro at the
waves, went low and lower, and down. Thereafter there was something
strange in his voice. Although steady, it was deep with mourning, and
of a quality beyond oration or tears.

"Keep 'er a little more south, Billie," said he.

"'A little more south,' sir," said the oiler in the stern.

A seat in this boat was not unlike a seat upon a bucking broncho, and,
by the same toke
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                           Tomato Cream Toast

                   1½ cups stewed and strained tomato
                   ½ cup scalded cream
                   ¼ teaspoon soda
                   3 tablespoons butter
                   3 tablespoons flour
                   ½ teaspoon salt
                   6 slices toast

Put butter in saucepan; when melted and bubbling, add flour, mixed with
salt, and stir in gradually tomato, to which soda has been added, then
add cream. Dip slices of toast in sauce. Serve as soon as made.


                              German Toast

                          3 eggs
                          ½ teaspoon salt
                          2 tablespoons sugar
                          1 cup milk
                          6 slices stale bread

Beat eggs slightly, add salt, sugar, and milk; strain into a shallow
dish. Soak bread in mixture until soft. Cook on a hot, well-greased
griddle; brown on one side, turn and brown other side. Serve for
breakfast or luncheon, or with a sauce for dessert.


                                 Brewis

Break stale bits or slices of brown and white bread in small pieces,
allowing one and one-half cups brown bread to one-half cup white bread.
Butter a hot frying-pan, put in bread, and cover with equal parts milk
and water. Cook until soft; add butter and salt to taste.


                          Bread for Garnishing

Dry toast is often used for garnishing, cut in various shapes. Always
shape before toasting. Cubes of bread, toast points, and small oblong
pieces are most common. Cubes of stale bread, from which centres are
removed, are fried in deep fat and called croûstades; half-inch cubes,
browned in butter, or fried in deep fat, are called croûtons.


                          Uses for Stale Bread

All pieces of bread should be saved and utilized. Large pieces are best
for toast. Soft stale bread, from which crust is removed, when crumbed,
is called stale breadcrumbs, or raspings, and is used for puddings,
griddle-cakes, omelets, scalloped dishes, and dipping food to be fried.
Remnants of bread, from which crusts have not been removed, are dried in
oven, rolled, and sifted. These are called dry bread crumbs, and are
useful for crumbing croquettes, cutlets, fish, meat, etc.




                               CHAPTER V
               BISCUITS, BREAKFAST CAKES, AND SHORTCAKES


                      Batters, Sponges, and Doughs

Batter is a mixture of flour and some liquid (usually combined with
other ingredients, as sugar, salt, eggs, etc.), of consistency to pour
easily, or to drop from a spoon.

Batters are termed thin or thick, according to their consistency.

Sponge is a batter to which yeast is added.

Dough differs from batter inasmuch as it is stiff enough to be handled.


                              Cream Scones

                        2 cups flour
                        4 teaspoons baking power
                        2 teaspoons sugar
                        ½ teaspoon salt
                        4 tablespoons butter
                        2 eggs
                        ⅓ cup cream

Mix and sift together flour, baking powder, sugar, and salt. Rub in
butter with tips of fingers; add eggs well beaten, and cream. Toss on a
floured board, pat, and roll to three-fourths inch in thickness. Cut in
squares, brush with white of egg, sprinkle with sugar, and bake in a hot
oven fifteen minutes.


                        Baking Powder Biscuit I

                  2 cups flour
                  4 teaspoons baking powder
                  1 teaspoon salt
                  1 tablespoon lard
                  ¾ cup milk and water in equal parts
                  1 tablespoon butter

Mix dry ingredients, and sift twice.

Work in butter and lard with tips of fingers; add gradually the liquid,
mixing with knife to a soft dough. It is impossible to determine the
exact amount of liquid, owing to differences in flour. Toss on a floured
board, pat and roll lightly to one-half inch in thickness. Shape with a
biscuit-cutter. Place on buttered pan, and bake in hot oven twelve to
fifteen minutes. If baked in too slow an oven, the gas will escape
before it has done its work. Many obtain better results by using bread
flour.


                        Baking Powder Biscuit II

                       2 cups flour
                       4 teaspoons baking powder
                       2 tablespoons butter
                       ¾ cup milk
                       ½ teaspoon salt

Mix and bake as Baking Powder Biscuit I.


                           Emergency Biscuit

Use recipe for Baking Powder Biscuit I or II, with the addition of more
milk, that mixture may be dropped from spoon without spreading. Drop by
spoonfuls on a buttered pan, one-half inch apart. Brush over with milk,
and bake in hot oven eight minutes.


                    Fruit Rolls (Pin Wheel Biscuit)

                 2 cups flour
                 4 teaspoons baking powder
                 ½ teas
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PG #: 43936
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The WONDERFUL
                                 WIZARD
                                   OF
                                   OZ

                            BY L. Frank Baum

                             W. W. Denslow.

[Illustration]

                            Geo. M. Hill Co.
                               New York.




                             INTRODUCTION.


Folk lore, legends, myths and fairy tales have followed childhood
through the ages, for every healthy youngster has a wholesome and
instinctive love for stories fantastic, marvelous and manifestly
unreal. The winged fairies of Grimm and Andersen have brought more
happiness to childish hearts than all other human creations.

Yet the old-time fairy tale, having served for generations, may
now be classed as "historical" in the children's library; for the
time has come for a series of newer "wonder tales" in which the
stereotyped genie, dwarf and fairy are eliminated, together with all
the horrible and blood-curdling incident devised by their authors
to point a fearsome moral to each tale. Modern education includes
morality; therefore the modern child seeks only entertainment in its
wonder-tales and gladly dispenses with all disagreeable incident.

[Illustration]

Having this thought in mind, the story of "The Wonderful Wizard of
Oz" was written solely to pleasure children of today. It aspires to
being a modernized fairy tale, in which the wonderment and joy are
retained and the heart-aches and nightmares are left out.

                     L. FRANK BAUM.

  CHICAGO, APRIL, 1900.

[Illustration]

  Copyright 1899
  By L. Frank Baum
  and W. W. Denslow.
  All rights reserved

[Illustration]




                           LIST OF CHAPTERS.


  CHAPTER I.--The Cyclone.

  CHAPTER II.--The Council with The Munchkins.

  CHAPTER III.--How Dorothy Saved the Scarecrow.

  CHAPTER IV.--The Road Through the Forest.

  CHAPTER V.--The Rescue of the Tin Woodman.

  CHAPTER VI.--The Cowardly Lion.

  CHAPTER VII.--The Journey to The Great Oz.

  CHAPTER VIII.--The Deadly Poppy Field.

  CHAPTER IX.--The Queen of the Field Mice.

  CHAPTER X.--The Guardian of the Gates.

  CHAPTER XI.--The Wonderful Emerald City of Oz.

  CHAPTER XII.--The Search for the Wicked Witch.

  CHAPTER XIII.--How the Four were Reunited.

  CHAPTER XIV.--The Winged Monkeys.

  CHAPTER XV.--The Discovery of Oz the Terrible.

  CHAPTER XVI.--The Magic Art of the Great Humbug.

  CHAPTER XVII.--How the Balloon was Launched.

  CHAPTER XVIII.--Away to the South.

  CHAPTER XIX.--Attacked by the Fighting Trees.

  CHAPTER XX.--The Dainty China Country.

  CHAPTER XXI.--The Lion Becomes the King of Beasts.

  CHAPTER XXII.--The Country of the Quadlings.

  CHAPTER XXIII.--The Good Witch grants Dorothy's Wish.

  CHAPTER XXIV.--Home Again.


  _This book is dedicated to my
  good friend & comrade.

                My Wife

                      L.F.B._




                               Chapter I.

                              The Cyclone.


[Illustration]

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Dorothy lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with Uncle
Henry, who was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was the farmer's wife.
Their house was small, for the lumber to build it had to be carried
by wagon many miles. There were four walls, a floor and a roof,
which made one room; and this room contained a rusty looking cooking
stove, a cupboard for the dishes, a table, three or four chairs,
and the beds. Uncle Henry and Aunt Em had a big bed in one corner,
and Dorothy a little bed in another corner. There was no garret at
all, and no cellar--except a small hole, dug in the ground, called a
cyclone cellar, where the family could go in case one of those great
whirlwinds arose, mighty enough to crush any building in its path. It
was reached by a trap-door in the middle of the floor, from which a
ladder led down into the small, dark hole.

When Dorothy stood in the doorway and looked around, she could see
nothing but the great gray prairie on every side. Not a tree nor a
house broke the broad sweep of flat country that reached the edge of
the sky in all directions. The sun had baked the plowed land into a
gray mass, with little cracks running through it. Even the grass was
not green, for the sun had burned the tops of the long blades until
they were the same gray color to be seen everywhere. Once the house had
been painted, but the sun blistered the paint and the rains washed it
away, and now the house was as dull and gray as everything else.

[Illustration: "_She caught Toto by the ear._"]

When Aunt Em came there to live she was a young, pretty wife. The
sun and wind had changed her, too. They had taken the sparkle from
her eyes and left them a sober gray; they had taken the red from her
cheeks and lips, and they were gray also. She was thin and gaunt,
and never smiled, now. When Dorothy, who was an orphan, first came
to her, Aunt Em had been so startled by the child's laughter that
she would scream a
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[Illustration]



    THE TALE OF

    BENJAMIN BUNNY

    BY
    BEATRIX POTTER

    AUTHOR OF "THE TAIL OF PETER RABBIT," &C.

[Illustration]

    FREDERICK WARNE & CO., INC.

    NEW YORK

    Copyright, 1904
    BY
    FREDERICK WARNE & Co.

    Copyright renewed, 1932

    FOR THE CHILDREN OF SAWREY

    FROM
    OLD MR. BUNNY


[Illustration]

One morning a little rabbit sat on a bank.

He pricked his ears and listened to the trit-trot, trit-trot of a pony.

A gig was coming along the road; it was driven by Mr. McGregor, and beside
him sat Mrs. McGregor in her best bonnet.

As soon as they had passed, little Benjamin Bunny slid down into the road,
and set off--with a hop, skip, and a jump--to call upon his relations, who
lived in the wood at the back of Mr. McGregor's garden.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

That wood was full of rabbit holes; and in the neatest, sandiest hole of
all lived Benjamin's aunt and his cousins--Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail, and
Peter.

Old Mrs. Rabbit was a widow; she earned her living by knitting rabbit-wool
mittens and muffatees (I once bought a pair at a bazaar). She also sold
herbs, and rosemary tea, and rabbit-tobacco (which is what we call
lavender).

Little Benjamin did not very much want to see his Aunt.

He came round the back of the fir-tree, and nearly tumbled upon the top of
his Cousin Peter.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Peter was sitting by himself. He looked poorly, and was dressed in a red
cotton pocket-handkerchief.

"Peter," said little Benjamin, in a whisper, "who has got your clothes?"

Peter replied, "The scarecrow in Mr. McGregor's garden," and described how
he had been chased about the garden, and had dropped his shoes and coat.

Little Benjamin sat down beside his cousin and assured him that Mr.
McGregor had gone out in a gig, and Mrs. McGregor also; and certainly for
the day, because she was wearing her best bonnet.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Peter said he hoped that it would rain.

At this point old Mrs. Rabbit's voice was heard inside the rabbit hole,
calling: "Cotton-tail! Cotton-tail! fetch some more camomile!"

Peter said he thought he might feel better if he went for a walk.

They went away hand in hand, and got upon the flat top of the wall at the
bottom of the wood. From here they looked down into Mr. McGregor's garden.
Peter's coat and shoes were plainly to be seen upon the scarecrow, topped
with an old tam-o'-shanter of Mr. McGregor's.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Little Benjamin said: "It spoils people's clothes to squeeze under a gate;
the proper way to get in is to climb down a pear-tree."

Peter fell down head first; but it was of no consequence, as the bed below
was newly raked and quite soft.

It had been sown with lettuces.

They left a great many odd little footmarks all over the bed, especially
little Benjamin, who was wearing clogs.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Little Benjamin said that the first thing to be done was to get back
Peter's clothes, in order that they might be able to use the
pocket-handkerchief.

They took them off the scarecrow. There had been rain during the night;
there was water in the shoes, and the coat was somewhat shrunk.

Benjamin tried on the tam-o'-shanter, but it was too big for him.

Then he suggested that they should fill the pocket-handkerchief with
onions, as a little present for his Aunt.

Peter did not seem to be enjoying himself; he kept hearing noises.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]


Benjamin, on the contrary, was perfectly at home, and ate a lettuce leaf.
He said that he was in the habit of coming to the garden with his father
to get lettuces for their Sunday dinner.

(The name of little Benjamin's papa was old Mr. Benjamin Bunny.)

The lettuces certainly were very fine.

Peter did not eat anything; he said he should like to go home. Presently
he dropped half the onions.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Little Benjamin said that it was not possible to get back up the pear-tree
with a load of vegetables. He led the way boldly towards the other end of
the garden. They went along a little walk on planks, under a sunny, red
brick wall.

The mice sat on their doorsteps cracking cherry-stones; they winked at
Peter Rabbit and little Benjamin Bunny.

Presently Peter let the pocket-handkerchief go again.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

They got amongst flower-pots, and frames, and tubs. Peter heard noises
worse than ever; his eyes were as big as lolly-pops!

He was a step or two in front of his cousin when he suddenly stopped.

This is what those little rabbits saw round that corner!

Little Benjamin took one look, and then, in half a minute less than no
time, he hid himself and Peter and the onions underneath a large
basket....

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

The cat got up and stretched herself, and came and sniffed at the basket.

Perhaps she liked the smell of onions!

Anyway, she sat down upon the top of the basket.

She sat there for _five hours_.

       
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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This etext was produced from Space Science Fiction May 1953.
    Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.
    copyright on this publication was renewed.




[Illustration]




SECOND VARIETY


BY PHILIP K. DICK


ILLUSTRATED BY EBEL

    The claws were bad enough in the first place--nasty, crawling
    little death-robots. But when they began to imitate their
    creators, it was time for the human race to make peace--if it
    could!


The Russian soldier made his way nervously up the ragged side of the
hill, holding his gun ready. He glanced around him, licking his dry
lips, his face set. From time to time he reached up a gloved hand and
wiped perspiration from his neck, pushing down his coat collar.

Eric turned to Corporal Leone. "Want him? Or can I have him?" He
adjusted the view sight so the Russian's features squarely filled the
glass, the lines cutting across his hard, somber features.

Leone considered. The Russian was close, moving rapidly, almost
running. "Don't fire. Wait." Leone tensed. "I don't think we're
needed."

The Russian increased his pace, kicking ash and piles of debris out of
his way. He reached the top of the hill and stopped, panting, staring
around him. The sky was overcast, drifting clouds of gray particles.
Bare trunks of trees jutted up occasionally; the ground was level and
bare, rubble-strewn, with the ruins of buildings standing out here and
there like yellowing skulls.

The Russian was uneasy. He knew something was wrong. He started down
the hill. Now he was only a few paces from the bunker. Eric was
getting fidgety. He played with his pistol, glancing at Leone.

"Don't worry," Leone said. "He won't get here. They'll take care of
him."

"Are you sure? He's got damn far."

"They hang around close to the bunker. He's getting into the bad part.
Get set!"

The Russian began to hurry, sliding down the hill, his boots sinking
into the heaps of gray ash, trying to keep his gun up. He stopped for
a moment, lifting his fieldglasses to his face.

"He's looking right at us," Eric said.

       *       *       *       *       *

The Russian came on. They could see his eyes, like two blue stones.
His mouth was open a little. He needed a shave; his chin was stubbled.
On one bony cheek was a square of tape, showing blue at the edge. A
fungoid spot. His coat was muddy and torn. One glove was missing. As
he ran his belt counter bounced up and down against him.

Leone touched Eric's arm. "Here one comes."

Across the ground something small and metallic came, flashing in the
dull sunlight of mid-day. A metal sphere. It raced up the hill after
the Russian, its treads flying. It was small, one of the baby ones.
Its claws were out, two razor projections spinning in a blur of white
steel. The Russian heard it. He turned instantly, firing. The sphere
dissolved into particles. But already a second had emerged and was
following the first. The Russian fired again.

A third sphere leaped up the Russian's leg, clicking and whirring. It
jumped to the shoulder. The spinning blades disappeared into the
Russian's throat.

Eric relaxed. "Well, that's that. God, those damn things give me the
creeps. Sometimes I think we were better off before."

"If we hadn't invented them, they would have." Leone lit a cigarette
shakily. "I wonder why a Russian would come all this way alone. I
didn't see anyone covering him."

Lt. Scott came slipping up the tunnel, into the bunker. "What
happened? Something entered the screen."

"An Ivan."

"Just one?"

Eric brought the view screen around. Scott peered into it. Now there
were numerous metal spheres crawling over the prostrate body, dull
metal globes clicking and whirring, sawing up the Russian into small
parts to be carried away.

"What a lot of claws," Scott murmured.

"They come like flies. Not much game for them any more."

Scott pushed the sight away, disgusted. "Like flies. I wonder why he
was out there. They know we have claws all around."

A larger robot had joined the smaller spheres. It was directing
operations, a long blunt tube with projecting eyepieces. There was not
much left of the soldier. What remained was being brought down the
hillside by the host of claws.

"Sir," Leone said. "If it's all right, I'd like to go out there and
take a look at him."

"Why?"

"Maybe he came with something."

Scott considered. He shrugged. "All right. But be careful."

"I have my tab." Leone patted the metal band at his wrist. "I'll be
out of bounds."

       *       *       *       *       *

He picked up his rifle and stepped carefully up to the mouth of the
bunker, making his way between blocks of concrete and steel prongs,
twisted and bent. The air was cold at the top. He crossed over the
ground toward the remains of the soldier, striding across the soft
ash. A wind blew around him, swirling gray particles up in his face.
He squinted and pushed on.

The claws retreated as he came close, some of them stiffening into
immobility. He touched his tab. The Iva
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    CONTENTS.

    BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION
    AN ATTEMPT AT SELF-CRITICISM
    FOREWORD TO RICHARD WAGNER
    THE BIRTH OF TRAGEDY




INTRODUCTION.[1]


Frederick Nietzsche was born at Röcken near Lützen, in the Prussian
province of Saxony, on the 15th of October 1844, at 10 a.m. The day
happened to be the anniversary of the birth of Frederick-William IV.,
then King of Prussia, and the peal of the local church-bells which was
intended to celebrate this event, was, by a happy coincidence, just
timed to greet my brother on his entrance into the world. In 1841,
at the time when our father was tutor to the Altenburg Princesses,
Theresa of Saxe-Altenburg, Elizabeth, Grand Duchess of Olden-burg, and
Alexandra, Grand Duchess Constantine of Russia, he had had the honour
of being presented to his witty and pious sovereign. The meeting seems
to have impressed both parties very favourably; for, very shortly
after it had taken place, our father received his living at Röcken "by
supreme command." His joy may well be imagined, therefore, when a first
son was born to him on his beloved and august patron's birthday, and
at the christening ceremony he spoke as follows:--"Thou blessed month
of October!--for many years the most decisive events in my life have
occurred within thy thirty-one days, and now I celebrate the greatest
and most glorious of them all by baptising my little boy! O blissful
moment! O exquisite festival! O unspeakably holy duty! In the Lord's
name I bless thee!--With all my heart I utter these words: Bring me
this, my beloved child, that I may consecrate it unto the Lord. My son,
Frederick William, thus shalt thou be named on earth, as a memento of
my royal benefactor on whose birthday thou wast born!"

Our father was thirty-one years of age, and our mother not quite
nineteen, when my brother was born. Our mother, who was the daughter
of a clergyman, was good-looking and healthy, and was one of a very
large family of sons and daughters. Our paternal grandparents, the
Rev. Oehler and his wife, in Pobles, were typically healthy people.
Strength, robustness, lively dispositions, and a cheerful outlook on
life, were among the qualities which every one was pleased to observe
in them. Our grandfather Oehler was a bright, clever man, and quite
the old style of comfortable country parson, who thought it no sin to
go hunting. He scarcely had a day's illness in his life, and would
certainly not have met with his end as early as he did--that is to say,
before his seventieth year--if his careless disregard of all caution,
where his health was concerned, had not led to his catching a severe
and fatal cold. In regard to our grand-mother Oehler, who died in her
eighty-second year, all that can be said is, that if all German women
were possessed of the health she enjoyed, the German nation would excel
all others from the standpoint of vitality. She bore our grandfather
eleven children; gave each of them the breast for nearly the whole of
its first year, and reared them all It is said that the sight of these
eleven children, at ages varying from nineteen years to one month, with
their powerful build, rosy cheeks, beaming eyes, and wealth of curly
locks, provoked the admiration of all visitors. Of course, despite
their extraordinarily good health, the life of this family was not
by any means all sunshine. Each of the children was very spirited,
wilful, and obstinate, and it was therefore no simple matter to keep
them in order. Moreover, though they always showed the utmost respect
and most implicit obedience to their parents--even as middle-aged
men and women--misunderstandings between themselves were of constant
occurrence. Our Oehler grandparents were fairly well-to-do; for our
grandmother hailed from a very old family, who had been extensive
land-owners in the neighbourhood of Zeitz for centuries, and her father
owned the baronial estate of Wehlitz and a magnificent seat near Zeitz
in Pacht. When she married, her father gave her carriages and horses,
a coachman, a cook, and a kitchenmaid, which for the wife of a German
minister was then, and is still, something quite exceptional. As a
result of the wars in the beginning of the nineteenth century, however,
our great-grandfather lost the greater part of his property.

Our father's family was also in fairly comfortable circumstances,
and likewise very large. Our grandfather Dr. Nietzsche (D.D. and
Superintendent) married twice, and had in all twelve children, of whom
three died young. Our grandfather on this side, whom I never knew,
must certainly have been a distinguished, dignified, very learned
and reserved man; his second wife--our beloved grandmother--was an
active-minded, intelligent, and exceptionally good-natured woman.
The whole of our father's family, which I only got to know when they
were very advanced in years, were remarkable for their great power of
self-control, their lively interest in intellectual matters, and a
strong sense of family unity, which
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 For more than two-thirds of a century it has been known that Casanova spent the last fourteen years of his life at Dux, that he wrote his Memoirs there, and that he died there. During all this time people have been discussing the authenticity and the truthfulness of the Memoirs, they have been searching for information about Casanova in various directions, and yet hardly any one has ever taken the trouble, or obtained the permission, to make a careful examination in precisely the one place where information was most likely to be found. The very existence of the manuscripts at Dux was known only to a few, and to most of these only on hearsay; and thus the singular good fortune was reserved for me, on my visit to Count Waldstein in September 1899, to be the first to discover the most interesting things contained in these manuscripts. M. Octave Uzanne, though he had not himself visited Dux, had indeed procured copies of some of the manuscripts, a few of which were published by him in Le Livre, in 1887 and 1889. But with the death of Le Livre in 1889 the ‘Casanova inedit’ came to an end, and has never, so far as I know, been continued elsewhere. Beyond the publication of these fragments, nothing has been done with the manuscripts at Dux, nor has an account of them ever been given by any one who has been allowed to examine them.

For five years, ever since I had discovered the documents in the Venetian archives, I had wanted to go to Dux; and in 1899, when I was staying with Count Lutzow at Zampach, in Bohemia, I found the way kindly opened for me. Count Waldstein, the present head of the family, with extreme courtesy, put all his manuscripts at my disposal, and invited me to stay with him. Unluckily, he was called away on the morning of the day that I reached Dux. He had left everything ready for me, and I was shown over the castle by a friend of his, Dr. Kittel, whose courtesy I should like also to acknowledge. After a hurried visit to the castle we started on the long drive to Oberleutensdorf, a smaller Schloss near Komotau, where the Waldstein family was then staying. The air was sharp and bracing; the two Russian horses flew like the wind; I was whirled along in an unfamiliar darkness, through a strange country, black with coal mines, through dark pine woods, where a wild peasantry dwelt in little mining towns. Here and there, a few men and women passed us on the road, in their Sunday finery; then a long space of silence, and we were in the open country, galloping between broad fields; and always in a haze of lovely hills, which I saw more distinctly as we drove back next morning.

The return to Dux was like a triumphal entry, as we dashed through the market-place filled with people come for the Monday market, pots and pans and vegetables strewn in heaps all over the ground, on the rough paving stones, up to the great gateway of the castle, leaving but just room for us to drive through their midst. I had the sensation of an enormous building: all Bohemian castles are big, but this one was like a royal palace. Set there in the midst of the town, after the Bohemian fashion, it opens at the back upon great gardens, as if it were in the midst of the country. I walked through room after room, along corridor after corridor; everywhere there were pictures, everywhere portraits of Wallenstein, and battle-scenes in which he led on his troops. The library, which was formed, or at least arranged, by Casanova, and which remains as he left it, contains some 25,000 volumes, some of them of considerable value; one of the most famous books in Bohemian literature, Skala’s History of the Church, exists in manuscript at Dux, and it is from this manuscript that the two published volumes of it were printed. The library forms part of the Museum, which occupies a ground-floor wing of the castle. The first room is an armoury, in which all kinds of arms are arranged, in a decorative way, covering the ceiling and the walls with strange patterns. The second room contains pottery, collected by Casanova’s Waldstein on his Eastern travels. The third room is full of curious mechanical toys, and cabinets, and carvings in ivory. Finally, we come to the library, contained in the two innermost rooms. The book-shelves are painted white, and reach to the low-vaulted ceilings, which are whitewashed. At the end of a bookcase, in the corner of one of the windows, hangs a fine engraved portrait of Casanova.

After I had been all over the castle, so long Casanova’s home, I was taken to Count Waldstein’s study, and left there with the manuscripts. I found six huge cardboard cases, large enough to contain foolscap paper, lettered on the back: ‘Grafl. Waldstein-Wartenberg’sches Real Fideicommiss. Dux-Oberleutensdorf: Handschriftlicher Nachlass Casanova.’ The cases were arranged so as to stand like books; they opened at the side; and on opening them, one after another, I found series after series of manuscripts roughly thrown together, after some pret
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This etext was proofread by Martin Ward and compared against a separate
copy scanned by Mike Perry.



ORTHODOXY

by

GILBERT K. CHESTERTON







PREFACE


     This book is meant to be a companion to "Heretics," and to
put the positive side in addition to the negative.  Many critics
complained of the book called "Heretics" because it merely criticised
current philosophies without offering any alternative philosophy.
This book is an attempt to answer the challenge.  It is unavoidably
affirmative and therefore unavoidably autobiographical.  The writer has
been driven back upon somewhat the same difficulty as that which beset
Newman in writing his Apologia; he has been forced to be egotistical
only in order to be sincere.  While everything else may be different
the motive in both cases is the same.  It is the purpose of the writer
to attempt an explanation, not of whether the Christian Faith can
be believed, but of how he personally has come to believe it.
The book is therefore arranged upon the positive principle of a riddle
and its answer.  It deals first with all the writer's own solitary
and sincere speculations and then with all the startling style in
which they were all suddenly satisfied by the Christian Theology.
The writer regards it as amounting to a convincing creed.  But if
it is not that it is at least a repeated and surprising coincidence.

                                           Gilbert K. Chesterton.





CONTENTS


   I.  Introduction in Defence of Everything Else
  II.  The Maniac
 III.  The Suicide of Thought
  IV.  The Ethics of Elfland
   V.  The Flag of the World
  VI.  The Paradoxes of Christianity
 VII.  The Eternal Revolution
VIII.  The Romance of Orthodoxy
  IX.  Authority and the Adventurer





ORTHODOXY



I INTRODUCTION IN DEFENCE OF EVERYTHING ELSE


     THE only possible excuse for this book is that it is an answer
to a challenge.  Even a bad shot is dignified when he accepts a duel.
When some time ago I published a series of hasty but sincere papers,
under the name of "Heretics," several critics for whose intellect
I have a warm respect (I may mention specially Mr. G.S.Street)
said that it was all very well for me to tell everybody to affirm
his cosmic theory, but that I had carefully avoided supporting my
precepts with example.  "I will begin to worry about my philosophy,"
said Mr. Street, "when Mr. Chesterton has given us his."
It was perhaps an incautious suggestion to make to a person
only too ready to write books upon the feeblest provocation.
But after all, though Mr. Street has inspired and created this book,
he need not read it.  If he does read it, he will find that in
its pages I have attempted in a vague and personal way, in a set
of mental pictures rather than in a series of deductions, to state
the philosophy in which I have come to believe.  I will not call it
my philosophy; for I did not make it.  God and humanity made it;
and it made me.

     I have often had a fancy for writing a romance about an English
yachtsman who slightly miscalculated his course and discovered England
under the impression that it was a new island in the South Seas.
I always find, however, that I am either too busy or too lazy to
write this fine work, so I may as well give it away for the purposes
of philosophical illustration.  There will probably be a general
impression that the man who landed (armed to the teeth and talking
by signs) to plant the British flag on that barbaric temple which
turned out to be the Pavilion at Brighton, felt rather a fool.
I am not here concerned to deny that he looked a fool.  But if you
imagine that he felt a fool, or at any rate that the sense of folly
was his sole or his dominant emotion, then you have not studied
with sufficient delicacy the rich romantic nature of the hero
of this tale.  His mistake was really a most enviable mistake;
and he knew it, if he was the man I take him for.  What could
be more delightful than to have in the same few minutes all the
fascinating terrors of going abroad combined with all the humane
security of coming home again?  What could be better than to have
all the fun of discovering South Africa without the disgusting
necessity of landing there?  What could be more glorious than to
brace one's self up to discover New South Wales and then realize,
with a gush of happy tears, that it was really old South Wales.
This at least seems to me the main problem for philosophers, and is
in a manner the main problem of this book.  How can we contrive
to be at once astonished at the world and yet at home in it?
How can this queer cosmic town, with its many-legged citizens,
with its monstrous and ancient lamps, how can this world give us
at once the fascination of a strange town and the comfort and honour
of being our own town?

     To show that a faith or a philosophy is true from every
standpoint would be too big an undertaking even for a much bigger
book than this; it is necessary to follow one path of argument;
and this is t
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A Runaway Reef


THE YEAR 1866 was marked by a bizarre development, an unexplained and
downright inexplicable phenomenon that surely no one has
forgotten. Without getting into those rumors that upset civilians in
the seaports and deranged the public mind even far inland, it must be
said that professional seamen were especially alarmed. Traders,
shipowners, captains of vessels, skippers, and master mariners from
Europe and America, naval officers from every country, and at their
heels the various national governments on these two continents, were
all extremely disturbed by the business.

In essence, over a period of time several ships had encountered “an
enormous thing” at sea, a long spindle-shaped object, sometimes giving
off a phosphorescent glow, infinitely bigger and faster than any
whale.

The relevant data on this apparition, as recorded in various logbooks,
agreed pretty closely as to the structure of the object or creature in
question, its unprecedented speed of movement, its startling
locomotive power, and the unique vitality with which it seemed to be
gifted. If it was a cetacean, it exceeded in bulk any whale previously
classified by science. No naturalist, neither Cuvier nor Lacépède,
neither Professor Dumeril nor Professor de Quatrefages, would have
accepted the existence of such a monster sight unseen—specifically,
unseen by their own scientific eyes.

Striking an average of observations taken at different times—rejecting
those timid estimates that gave the object a length of 200 feet, and
ignoring those exaggerated views that saw it as a mile wide and three
long—you could still assert that this phenomenal creature greatly
exceeded the dimensions of anything then known to ichthyologists, if
it existed at all.

Now then, it did exist, this was an undeniable fact; and since the
human mind dotes on objects of wonder, you can understand the
worldwide excitement caused by this unearthly apparition. As for
relegating it to the realm of fiction, that charge had to be dropped.

In essence, on July 20, 1866, the steamer Governor Higginson, from the
Calcutta & Burnach Steam Navigation Co., encountered this moving mass
five miles off the eastern shores of Australia.

Captain Baker at first thought he was in the presence of an unknown
reef; he was even about to fix its exact position when two waterspouts
shot out of this inexplicable object and sprang hissing into the air
some 150 feet. So, unless this reef was subject to the intermittent
eruptions of a geyser, the Governor Higginson had fair and honest
dealings with some aquatic mammal, until then unknown, that could
spurt from its blowholes waterspouts mixed with air and steam.

Similar events were likewise observed in Pacific seas, on July 23 of
the same year, by the Christopher Columbus from the West India &
Pacific Steam Navigation Co. Consequently, this extraordinary cetacean
could transfer itself from one locality to another with startling
swiftness, since within an interval of just three days, the Governor
Higginson and the Christopher Columbus had observed it at two
positions on the charts separated by a distance of more than 700
nautical leagues.

Fifteen days later and 2,000 leagues farther, the Helvetia from the
Compagnie Nationale and the Shannon from the Royal Mail line, running
on opposite tacks in that part of the Atlantic lying between the
United States and Europe, respectively signaled each other that the
monster had been sighted in latitude 42 degrees 15’ north and
longitude 60 degrees 35’ west of the meridian of Greenwich. From their
simultaneous observations, they were able to estimate the mammal’s
minimum length at more than 350 English feet;* this was because both
the Shannon and the Helvetia were of smaller dimensions, although each
measured 100 meters stem to stern. Now then, the biggest whales, those
rorqual whales that frequent the waterways of the Aleutian Islands,
have never exceeded a length of 56 meters—if they reach even that.

*Author’s Note: About 106 meters. An English foot is only 30.4
 centimeters.

One after another, reports arrived that would profoundly affect public
opinion: new observations taken by the transatlantic liner Pereire,
the Inman line’s Etna running afoul of the monster, an official report
drawn up by officers on the French frigate Normandy, dead-earnest
reckonings obtained by the general staff of Commodore Fitz-James
aboard the Lord Clyde. In lighthearted countries, people joked about
this phenomenon, but such serious, practical countries as England,
America, and Germany were deeply concerned.

In every big city the monster was the latest rage; they sang about it
in the coffee houses, they ridiculed it in the newspapers, they
dramatized it in the theaters. The tabloids found it a fine
opportunity for hatching all sorts of hoaxes. In those newspapers
short of copy, you saw the reappearance of every gigantic imaginary
creature, from “Moby Dick,” that dreadful white whale from the High
Arctic regions, to
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IN THE GARRET OF GREEN GABLES

"Thanks be, I'm done with geometry, learning or teaching it," said Anne
Shirley, a trifle vindictively, as she thumped a somewhat battered
volume of Euclid into a big chest of books, banged the lid in triumph,
and sat down upon it, looking at Diana Wright across the Green Gables
garret, with gray eyes that were like a morning sky.

The garret was a shadowy, suggestive, delightful place, as all garrets
should be. Through the open window, by which Anne sat, blew the sweet,
scented, sun-warm air of the August afternoon; outside, poplar boughs
rustled and tossed in the wind; beyond them were the woods, where
Lover's Lane wound its enchanted path, and the old apple orchard which
still bore its rosy harvests munificently.  And, over all, was a great
mountain range of snowy clouds in the blue southern sky.  Through the
other window was glimpsed a distant, white-capped, blue sea--the
beautiful St. Lawrence Gulf, on which floats, like a jewel, Abegweit,
whose softer, sweeter Indian name has long been forsaken for the more
prosaic one of Prince Edward Island.

Diana Wright, three years older than when we last saw her, had grown
somewhat matronly in the intervening time.  But her eyes were as black
and brilliant, her cheeks as rosy, and her dimples as enchanting, as in
the long-ago days when she and Anne Shirley had vowed eternal
friendship in the garden at Orchard Slope.  In her arms she held a
small, sleeping, black-curled creature, who for two happy years had
been known to the world of Avonlea as "Small Anne Cordelia."  Avonlea
folks knew why Diana had called her Anne, of course, but Avonlea folks
were puzzled by the Cordelia.  There had never been a Cordelia in the
Wright or Barry connections.  Mrs. Harmon Andrews said she supposed
Diana had found the name in some trashy novel, and wondered that Fred
hadn't more sense than to allow it.  But Diana and Anne smiled at each
other.  They knew how Small Anne Cordelia had come by her name.

"You always hated geometry," said Diana with a retrospective smile.  "I
should think you'd be real glad to be through with teaching, anyhow."

"Oh, I've always liked teaching, apart from geometry.  These past three
years in Summerside have been very pleasant ones. Mrs. Harmon Andrews
told me when I came home that I wouldn't likely find married life as
much better than teaching as I expected.  Evidently Mrs. Harmon is of
Hamlet's opinion that it may be better to bear the ills that we have
than fly to others that we know not of."

Anne's laugh, as blithe and irresistible as of yore, with an added note
of sweetness and maturity, rang through the garret.  Marilla in the
kitchen below, compounding blue plum preserve, heard it and smiled;
then sighed to think how seldom that dear laugh would echo through
Green Gables in the years to come.  Nothing in her life had ever given
Marilla so much happiness as the knowledge that Anne was going to marry
Gilbert Blythe; but every joy must bring with it its little shadow of
sorrow.  During the three Summerside years Anne had been home often for
vacations and weekends; but, after this, a bi-annual visit would be as
much as could be hoped for.

"You needn't let what Mrs. Harmon says worry you," said Diana, with the
calm assurance of the four-years matron.  "Married life has its ups and
downs, of course.  You mustn't expect that everything will always go
smoothly.  But I can assure you, Anne, that it's a happy life, when
you're married to the right man."

Anne smothered a smile.  Diana's airs of vast experience always amused
her a little.

"I daresay I'll be putting them on too, when I've been married four
years," she thought.  "Surely my sense of humor will preserve me from
it, though."

"Is it settled yet where you are going to live?" asked Diana, cuddling
Small Anne Cordelia with the inimitable gesture of motherhood which
always sent through Anne's heart, filled with sweet, unuttered dreams
and hopes, a thrill that was half pure pleasure and half a strange,
ethereal pain.

"Yes. That was what I wanted to tell you when I 'phoned to you to come
down today.  By the way, I can't realize that we really have telephones
in Avonlea now.  It sounds so preposterously up-to-date and modernish
for this darling, leisurely old place."

"We can thank the A. V. I. S. for them," said Diana.  "We should never
have got the line if they hadn't taken the matter up and carried it
through.  There was enough cold water thrown to discourage any society.
But they stuck to it, nevertheless.  You did a splendid thing for
Avonlea when you founded that society, Anne.  What fun we did have at
our meetings!  Will you ever forget the blue hall and Judson Parker's
scheme for painting medicine advertisements on his fence?"

"I don't know that I'm wholly grateful to the A. V. I.  S. in the
matter of the telephone," said Anne.  "Oh, I know it's most
convenient--even more so than our old device of signalling to each
other by flashes of candlelight!  And, as
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Copyright, 1922
by
The American Geographical Society
of New York

The Conde Nast Press
Greenwich, Conn.




CONTENTS


  CHAPTER                                                          PAGE

     I  INTRODUCTION                                                  1

    II  ATLANTIS                                                     11

   III  ST. BRENDAN’S EXPLORATIONS AND ISLANDS                       34

    IV  THE ISLAND OF BRAZIL                                         50

     V  THE ISLAND OF THE SEVEN CITIES                               68

    VI  THE PROBLEM OF MAYDA                                         81

   VII  GREENLAND OR GREEN ISLAND                                    94

  VIII  MARKLAND, OTHERWISE NEWFOUNDLAND                            114

    IX  ESTOTILAND AND THE OTHER ISLANDS OF ZENO                    124

     X  ANTILLIA AND THE ANTILLES                                   144

    XI  CORVO, OUR NEAREST EUROPEAN NEIGHBOR                        164

   XII  THE SUNKEN LAND OF BUSS AND OTHER PHANTOM ISLANDS           174

  XIII  SUMMARY                                                     187

        INDEX                                                       191

The following chapters are reprinted, with modifications, from the
_Geographical Review_: III, Vol. 8, 1919; V, Vol. 7, 1919; VI, Vol. 9,
1920; VIII, Vol. 4, 1917; X, Vol. 9, 1920; XI, Vol. 5, 1918.




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

(_All illustrations, except Figs. 1, 15, and 23, are reproductions of
medieval maps. The source is indicated in a general way in each title;
the precise reference will be found in the text where the map is first
discussed._)


  FIG.                                                              PAGE

   1  Map of the Sargasso Sea, 1:72,000,000                           28

   2  The Pizigani, 1367 (two sections)                            40–41

   3  Beccario, 1426                                                  45

   4  Dalorto, 1325                                                   51

   5  Catalan map, 1375                                               58

   6  Nicolay, 1560                                                   62

   7  Catalan map, about 1480                                         64

   8  World map in portolan atlas, about 1508 (Egerton MS. 2803)      74

   9  Desceliers, 1546                                                76

  10  Ortelius, 1570                                                  77

  11  Ptolemy, 1513                                                   82

  12  Prunes, 1553                                                    88

  13  Coppo, 1528                                                     97

  14  Bishop Thorláksson, 1606                                        98

  15  Map of the early Norse Western and Eastern Settlements
        of Greenland, 1:6,400,000                                    103

  16  Clavus, 1427                                                   104

  17  Donnus Nicolaus Germanus, after 1466                           105

  18  Sigurdr Stefánsson, 1590                                       107

  19  Zeno, 1558                                                     126

  20  Beccario, 1435                                                 152

  21  Pareto, 1455                                                   158

  22  Benincasa, 1482                                                160

  23  Representation of Corvo on fourteenth- and fifteenth-century
        maps as compared with its present outline                    172

  24  Buss Island, probably 1673                                     176

  25  Bianco, 1436                                                   179





INTRODUCTION


We cannot tell at what early era the men of the eastern Mediterranean
first ventured through the Strait of Gibraltar out on the open ocean,
nor even when they first allowed their fancies free rein to follow
the same path and picture islands in the great western mystery.
Probably both events came about not long after these men developed
enough proficiency in navigation to reach the western limit of the
Mediterranean. We are equally in lack of positive knowledge as to what
seafaring nation led the way.

The weight of authority favors the Phoenicians, but there are some
indications in the more archaic of the Greek myths that the Hellenic or
pre-Hellenic people of the Minoan period were promptly in the field.
These bequests of an olden time are most efficiently exploited, in the
matter-of-fact and very credulous “Historical Library” of Diodorus
Siculus,[1] about the time of Julius Caesar, who feels himself fully
equipped with information as to the far-ranging campaigns of Hercules,
Perseus, and other worthies. His identifications of tribes, persons,
and places find an echo which may be called modern in Hakluyt’s map of
1587,[2] illustrating Peter Martyr, which shows the Cape Verde Islands
as Hesperides and Gorgades vel Medusiae. But this, though
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  XIX. WINTER STILL CONTINUES                                 243

   XX. NEWS FROM DISTANT FRIENDS                              252

  XXI. ON FURTHER EVENTS ON THE ALP                           268

 XXII. SOMETHING UNEXPECTED HAPPENS                           276





ILLUSTRATIONS

                                                             PAGE
WAVING HER HAND AND LOOKING AFTER HER DEPARTING
  FRIEND TILL HE LOOKED NO BIGGER THAN A LITTLE
  DOT                                              _Frontispiece_

SHE UNDID THE HEAVY SHAWL AND THE TWO LITTLE DRESSES           30

HERE A NEAT LITTLE BED WAS PREPARED                            41

SHE HANDED HIM ALSO THE WHOLE SLICE OF CHEESE                  57

OFF THEY STARTED AT SUCH A PACE THAT HEIDI SHOUTED FOR
  JOY                                                          71

WHEN HEIDI HEARD THAT SHE STRUGGLED TO GET FREE                92

OFF THEY STARTED, AND SOON HEIDI WAS PULLING THE
  DOOR-BELL                                                   116

THERE SHE WOULD REMAIN, EATING HER HEART AWAY WITH
  LONGING                                                     152

THROWING HERSELF IN HER GRANDFATHER'S ARMS, SHE HELD HIM
  TIGHT                                                       179

WITH HEIDI'S HAND IN HIS THEY WANDERED DOWN TOGETHER          192

THEY ARE COMING, OH, THE DOCTOR IS COMING FIRST               211

THE TWO CHILDREN WERE ALREADY FLYING DOWN THE ALP             241

HE WATCHED HIS FALLEN ENEMY TUMBLING DOWNWARDS,
  DOWNWARDS                                                   277

PETER SHOT OFF AND RUSHED DOWN THE MOUNTAIN-SIDE,
  TURNING WILD SOMERSAULTS ON HIS PERILOUS WAY                298




Part I

Heidi's Years of Learning and Travel

[Illustration]




HEIDI



GOING UP TO THE ALM-UNCLE


The little old town of Mayenfeld is charmingly situated. From it a
footpath leads through green, well-wooded stretches to the foot of the
heights which look down imposingly upon the valley. Where the footpath
begins to go steeply and abruptly up the Alps, the heath, with its
short grass and pungent herbage, at once sends out its soft perfume to
meet the wayfarer.

One bright sunny morning in June, a tall, vigorous maiden of the
mountain region climbed up the narrow path, leading a little girl by
the hand. The youngster's cheeks were in such a glow that it showed
even through her sun-browned skin. Small wonder though! for in spite
of the heat, the little one, who was scarcely five years old, was
bundled up as if she had to brave a bitter frost. Her shape was
difficult to distinguish, for she wore two dresses, if not three, and
around her shoulders a large red cotton shawl. With her feet encased
in heavy hob-nailed boots, this hot and shapeless little person toiled
up the mountain.

The pair had been climbing for about an hour when they reached a
hamlet half-way up the great mountain named the Alm. This hamlet was
called "Im Dörfli" or "The Little Village." It was the elder girl's
home town, and therefore she was greeted from nearly every house;
people called to her from windows and doors, and very often from the
road. But, answering questions and calls as she went by, the girl did
not loiter on her way and only stood still when she reached the end of
the hamlet. There a few cottages lay scattered about, from the
furthest of which a voice called out to her through an open door:
"Deta, please wait one moment! I am coming with you, if you are going
further up."

When the girl stood still to wait, the child instantly let go her hand
and promptly sat down on the ground.

"Are you tired, Heidi?" Deta asked the child.

"No, but hot," she replied.

"We shall be up in an hour, if you take big steps and climb with all
your little might!" Thus the elder girl tried to encourage her small
companion.

A stout, pleasant-looking woman stepped out of the house and joined
the two. The child had risen and wandered behind the old
acquaintances, who immediately started gossiping about their friends
in the neighborhood and the people of the hamlet generally.

"Where are you taking the child, Deta?" asked the newcomer. "Is she
the child your sister left?"

"Yes," Deta assured her; "I am taking her up to the Alm-Uncle and
there I want her to remain."

"You can't really mean to take her there Deta. You must have lost your
senses, to go to him. I am sure the old man will show you the door and
won't even listen to what you say."

"Why not? As he's her grandfather, it is high time he should do
something for the child. I have taken care of her until this summer
and now a good place has been offered to me. The child shall not
hinder me from accepting it, I tell you that!"

"It would not be so hard, if he were like other mortals. But you know
him yourself. How could he _look_ after a child, especially such a
little one? She'll never get along with him, I am sure of that!--But
tell me of your prospects."

"I am going to a splendid house in Frankfurt. Last summer some peop
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He had been in the cave for only a short time it
           seemed. But when he finally emerged the world he
          knew was gone. And it had left him with a strange--

                              INHERITANCE

                          By Edward W. Ludwig

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                             October 1950
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


It shone as a pin-point of silver far away in the midnight-blackness of
the cave. It shone as a tiny island of life in a sea of death. It shone
as a symbol of His mercy.

Martin stood swaying, staring wide-eyed at that wonderful light and
letting its image sink deep into his vision. His eyes lidded as
consciousness faded for an instant, then opened.

"We've almost made it," he gasped. "We've almost made it, Sandy, you
and me and the pup!"

His hand passed tenderly over the puppy, a soft, hairy ball of living
warmth cradled in his arm. And from out of the darkness at his feet
came a feeble bark.

Martin choked on the ancient, tomb-stale air. "We can't stop now,
Sandy," he wheezed. "We're almost there, almost at the entrance!"

He shuffled forward over the cold stone floor of the little cave, the
thick, dead air a solid thing, a wall that pressed him back, back, back.

But the light grew larger, expanding like a balloon, and suddenly
there was a skittering of dog-paws over stone and a joyous, frantic
barking.

"That's right, Sandy, go ahead. Breathe that air, that fresh air!"

Martin staggered once, his lean, tall body thudding against sharp rock
in the side of the cave. Then a draft of air blew cool and fresh into
his face, and a strength returned to him.

Abruptly, he was at the source of the light, at the cave's entrance, a
hole barely large enough for him to squeeze through. The blinding light
of day fell upon him like a gigantic, crashing sea wave. He closed his
aching eyes and fell to the side of the rock-strewn hill, sucking the
clean sweet air deep into his lungs.

       *       *       *       *       *

At length he sat up, holding the pup in his arms. "Two days in that
hole of hell," he murmured, "and it's all your fault. A month old, and
you have to start exploring caves."

He cocked his head. "Still, I guess it's partly my fault. After all, I
got lost, too."

Sandy, a black and white fox terrier, barked impatiently.

"Okay, Sandy, okay. We'll go home."

Shakily, Martin rose. His mind was clear now, the fogginess washed away
by the cool morning air. There was only hunger, that great gnawing
hunger, and thirst that made his throat and mouth seem as dry as
ancient parchment.

As he stood overlooking the valley below with its green fields and
little groves of trees, a realization came to him. The world wasn't
so bad after all! Up to this moment, he'd almost hated the world
with its wars, its threats of mass destruction, its warnings of
atomic dusts and plagues that could wipe out humanity within an hour.
He'd most certainly hated the cities with their blaring, rumbling
automobile-monsters, with their mad rushing, their greedy, frantic,
senseless, superficial living that was really not living at all.

That was why he had chosen to live in the hill country, on the
outskirts of the village, raising his few vegetables and making a trip
every few days to the village store to purchase other necessities with
his pension check from World War II.

But now, he realized, it was good to be alive and to be a part of the
green, growing things of Earth.

Sandy barked again.

"Okay, okay, Sandy. We'll go."

But Sandy came sidling up to him now, tail between his legs. His
barking faded to a low, shrill whimper.

"Sandy! What's the matter? What's wrong?"

Even the whimpering ceased, and there was silence. Martin stared at
the dog, not understanding. To him came a _feeling_. Something _was_
wrong. A nameless fear rose within him, but the cause of that fear was
intangible, locked just below the surface of consciousness.

He took the fear, crushed it, pushed it back into the caverns of his
mind that held only forgotten things. "Nothing's wrong," he declared
boldly. "We're just tired and hungry, that's all."

He strode down the quiet hillside toward the broad highway that
stretched across the valley. He sang:

    "We're happy, so happy,
    Don't want to reach a star;
    We're happy, always happy,
    Just the way we are."

Strange about that tune, he thought. He hated popular music, but in
a regrettable moment of optimism he'd once purchased a second-hand
battery video. After a three-day saturation with tooth paste and soap
commercials he'd consigned the monstrosity to a remote corner of the
woods, but that tune--of all the dubious products of civilization--had
somehow stuck in his memory.

Suddenly he stopped singing, as if some inexplicable pressure had
seized his throat, stoppi
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DAISY MILLER: A STUDY

IN TWO PARTS

The text is that of the first American appearance in book form, 1879.





PART I


At the little town of Vevey, in Switzerland, there is a particularly
comfortable hotel. There are, indeed, many hotels, for the entertainment
of tourists is the business of the place, which, as many travelers will
remember, is seated upon the edge of a remarkably blue lake--a lake that
it behooves every tourist to visit. The shore of the lake presents an
unbroken array of establishments of this order, of every category, from
the “grand hotel” of the newest fashion, with a chalk-white front, a
hundred balconies, and a dozen flags flying from its roof, to the little
Swiss pension of an elder day, with its name inscribed in German-looking
lettering upon a pink or yellow wall and an awkward summerhouse in the
angle of the garden. One of the hotels at Vevey, however, is famous,
even classical, being distinguished from many of its upstart neighbors
by an air both of luxury and of maturity. In this region, in the month
of June, American travelers are extremely numerous; it may be said,
indeed, that Vevey assumes at this period some of the characteristics
of an American watering place. There are sights and sounds which evoke a
vision, an echo, of Newport and Saratoga. There is a flitting hither
and thither of “stylish” young girls, a rustling of muslin flounces,
a rattle of dance music in the morning hours, a sound of high-pitched
voices at all times. You receive an impression of these things at the
excellent inn of the “Trois Couronnes” and are transported in fancy to
the Ocean House or to Congress Hall. But at the “Trois Couronnes,” it
must be added, there are other features that are much at variance with
these suggestions: neat German waiters, who look like secretaries of
legation; Russian princesses sitting in the garden; little Polish boys
walking about held by the hand, with their governors; a view of the
sunny crest of the Dent du Midi and the picturesque towers of the Castle
of Chillon.

I hardly know whether it was the analogies or the differences that were
uppermost in the mind of a young American, who, two or three years ago,
sat in the garden of the “Trois Couronnes,” looking about him, rather
idly, at some of the graceful objects I have mentioned. It was a
beautiful summer morning, and in whatever fashion the young American
looked at things, they must have seemed to him charming. He had come
from Geneva the day before by the little steamer, to see his aunt, who
was staying at the hotel--Geneva having been for a long time his place
of residence. But his aunt had a headache--his aunt had almost always a
headache--and now she was shut up in her room, smelling camphor, so that
he was at liberty to wander about. He was some seven-and-twenty years
of age; when his friends spoke of him, they usually said that he was at
Geneva “studying.” When his enemies spoke of him, they said--but,
after all, he had no enemies; he was an extremely amiable fellow, and
universally liked. What I should say is, simply, that when certain
persons spoke of him they affirmed that the reason of his spending so
much time at Geneva was that he was extremely devoted to a lady who
lived there--a foreign lady--a person older than himself. Very few
Americans--indeed, I think none--had ever seen this lady, about whom
there were some singular stories. But Winterbourne had an old attachment
for the little metropolis of Calvinism; he had been put to school there
as a boy, and he had afterward gone to college there--circumstances
which had led to his forming a great many youthful friendships. Many of
these he had kept, and they were a source of great satisfaction to him.

After knocking at his aunt’s door and learning that she was indisposed,
he had taken a walk about the town, and then he had come in to his
breakfast. He had now finished his breakfast; but he was drinking a
small cup of coffee, which had been served to him on a little table in
the garden by one of the waiters who looked like an attache. At last
he finished his coffee and lit a cigarette. Presently a small boy came
walking along the path--an urchin of nine or ten. The child, who was
diminutive for his years, had an aged expression of countenance, a pale
complexion, and sharp little features. He was dressed in knickerbockers,
with red stockings, which displayed his poor little spindle-shanks;
he also wore a brilliant red cravat. He carried in his hand a long
alpenstock, the sharp point of which he thrust into everything that
he approached--the flowerbeds, the garden benches, the trains of the
ladies’ dresses. In front of Winterbourne he paused, looking at him with
a pair of bright, penetrating little eyes.

“Will you give me a lump of sugar?” he asked in a sharp, hard little
voice--a voice immature and yet, somehow, not young.

Winterbourne glanced at the small table near him, on which his coffee
service rested, and saw that several morsels of sugar remained.
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VOLPONE; OR, THE FOX


By Ben Jonson




INTRODUCTION


The greatest of English dramatists except Shakespeare, the first
literary dictator and poet-laureate, a writer of verse, prose, satire,
and criticism who most potently of all the men of his time affected the
subsequent course of English letters: such was Ben Jonson, and as such
his strong personality assumes an interest to us almost unparalleled, at
least in his age.

Ben Jonson came of the stock that was centuries after to give to the
world Thomas Carlyle; for Jonson's grandfather was of Annandale, over
the Solway, whence he migrated to England. Jonson's father lost his
estate under Queen Mary, "having been cast into prison and forfeited."
He entered the church, but died a month before his illustrious son was
born, leaving his widow and child in poverty. Jonson's birthplace was
Westminster, and the time of his birth early in 1573. He was thus nearly
ten years Shakespeare's junior, and less well off, if a trifle better
born. But Jonson did not profit even by this slight advantage. His
mother married beneath her, a wright or bricklayer, and Jonson was for a
time apprenticed to the trade. As a youth he attracted the attention of
the famous antiquary, William Camden, then usher at Westminster School,
and there the poet laid the solid foundations of his classical learning.
Jonson always held Camden in veneration, acknowledging that to him he
owed,

     "All that I am in arts, all that I know;"

and dedicating his first dramatic success, "Every Man in His Humour,"
to him. It is doubtful whether Jonson ever went to either university,
though Fuller says that he was "statutably admitted into St. John's
College, Cambridge." He tells us that he took no degree, but was later
"Master of Arts in both the universities, by their favour, not his
study." When a mere youth Jonson enlisted as a soldier, trailing his
pike in Flanders in the protracted wars of William the Silent against
the Spanish. Jonson was a large and raw-boned lad; he became by his
own account in time exceedingly bulky. In chat with his friend William
Drummond of Hawthornden, Jonson told how "in his service in the Low
Countries he had, in the face of both the camps, killed an enemy, and
taken opima spolia from him;" and how "since his coming to England,
being appealed to the fields, he had killed his adversary which had hurt
him in the arm and whose sword was ten inches longer than his." Jonson's
reach may have made up for the lack of his sword; certainly his prowess
lost nothing in the telling. Obviously Jonson was brave, combative, and
not averse to talking of himself and his doings.

In 1592, Jonson returned from abroad penniless. Soon after he married,
almost as early and quite as imprudently as Shakespeare. He told
Drummond curtly that "his wife was a shrew, yet honest"; for some
years he lived apart from her in the household of Lord Albany. Yet two
touching epitaphs among Jonson's "Epigrams," "On my first daughter," and
"On my first son," attest the warmth of the poet's family affections.
The daughter died in infancy, the son of the plague; another son grew up
to manhood little credit to his father whom he survived. We know nothing
beyond this of Jonson's domestic life.

How soon Jonson drifted into what we now call grandly "the theatrical
profession" we do not know. In 1593, Marlowe made his tragic exit from
life, and Greene, Shakespeare's other rival on the popular stage,
had preceded Marlowe in an equally miserable death the year before.
Shakespeare already had the running to himself. Jonson appears first in
the employment of Philip Henslowe, the exploiter of several troupes of
players, manager, and father-in-law of the famous actor, Edward Alleyn.
From entries in "Henslowe's Diary," a species of theatrical account book
which has been handed down to us, we know that Jonson was connected with
the Admiral's men; for he borrowed 4 pounds of Henslowe, July 28, 1597,
paying back 3s. 9d. on the same day on account of his "share" (in what
is not altogether clear); while later, on December 3, of the same year,
Henslowe advanced 20s. to him "upon a book which he showed the plot unto
the company which he promised to deliver unto the company at Christmas
next." In the next August Jonson was in collaboration with Chettle and
Porter in a play called "Hot Anger Soon Cold." All this points to an
association with Henslowe of some duration, as no mere tyro would be
thus paid in advance upon mere promise. From allusions in Dekker's play,
"Satiromastix," it appears that Jonson, like Shakespeare, began life as
an actor, and that he "ambled in a leather pitch by a play-wagon" taking
at one time the part of Hieronimo in Kyd's famous play, "The Spanish
Tragedy." By the beginning of 1598, Jonson, though still in needy
circumstances, had begun to receive recognition. Francis Meres--well
known for his "Comparative Discourse of our English Poets with the
Greek, Latin, and Italian Poets," printed in 1598, and for his m
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CONTENTS

TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION
AUTHOR'S PREFACE
WHY I AM SO WISE
WHY I AM SO CLEVER
WHY I WRITE SUCH EXCELLENT BOOKS
The Birth of Tragedy
Thoughts out of Season
Human, All-too-Human
The Dawn of Day
The Joyful Wisdom
Thus spake Zarathustra
Beyond Good and Evil
The Genealogy of Morals
The Twilight of the Idols
The Case of Wagner
WHY I AM A FATALITY
EDITORIAL NOTE TO POETRY
POETRY--
Songs, Epigrams, etc.
Dionysus-Dithyrambs
Fragments of Dionysus-Dithyrambs
HYMN TO LIFE, COMPOSED BY F. NIETZSCHE




TRANSLATOR'S INTRODUCTION


_Ecce Homo_ is the last prose work that Nietzsche wrote. It is true
that the pamphlet _Nietzsche contra Wagner_ was prepared a month
later than the Autobiography; but we cannot consider this pamphlet as
anything more than a compilation, seeing that it consists entirely of
aphorisms drawn from such previous works as _Joyful Wisdom, Beyond
Good and Evil, The Genealogy of Morals,_ etc. Coming at the end of a
year in which he had produced the _Case of Wagner, The Twilight of the
Idols,_ and _The Antichrist, Ecce Homo_ is not only a coping-stone
worthy of the wonderful creations of that year, but also a fitting
conclusion to his whole life, in the form of a grand summing up of his
character as a man, his purpose as a reformer, and his achievement
as a thinker. As if half conscious of his approaching spiritual end,
Nietzsche here bids his friends farewell, just in the manner in which,
in the _Twilight of the Idols_ (Aph. 36, Part ix.), he declares that
every one should be able to take leave of his circle of relatives and
intimates when his time seems to have come--that is to say, while he
is still _himself_ while he still knows what he is about, and is able
to measure his own life and life in general, and speak of both in a
manner which is not vouchsafed to the groaning invalid, to the man
lying on his back, decrepit and exhausted, or to the moribund victim
of some wasting disease. Nietzsche's spiritual death, like his whole
life, was in singular harmony with his doctrine: he died suddenly
and proudly,--sword in hand. War, which he--and he alone among all
the philosophers of Christendom--had praised so whole-heartedly, at
last struck him down in the full vigour of his manhood, and left him
a victim on the battlefield--the terrible battlefield of thought, on
which there is no quarter, and for which no Geneva Convention has yet
been established or even thought of.

To those who know Nietzsche's life-work, no apology will be needed
for the form and content of this wonderful work. They will know, at
least, that a man either is, or is not, aware of his significance and
of the significance of what he has accomplished, and that if he is
aware of it, then self-realisation, even of the kind which we find
in these pages, is neither morbid nor suspicious, but necessary and
inevitable. Such chapter headings as "Why I am so Wise," "Why I am a
Fatality," "Why I write such Excellent Books,"--however much they may
have disturbed the equanimity, and "objectivity" in particular, of
certain Nietzsche biographers, can be regarded as pathological only
in a democratic age in which people have lost all sense of graduation
and rank and in which the virtues of modesty and humility have to be
preached far and wide as a corrective against the vulgar pretensions of
thousands of wretched nobodies. For little people can be endured only
as modest citizens; or humble Christians. If, however, they demand a
like modesty on the part of the truly great; if they raise their voices
against Nietzsche's lack of the very virtue they so abundantly possess
or pretend to possess, it is time to remind them of Goethe's famous
remark: "_Nur Lumpe sind bescheiden_" (Only nobodies are ever modest).

It took Nietzsche barely three weeks to write this story of his life.
Begun on the 15 th of October 1888, his four-and-fourtieth birthday,
it was finished on the 4th of November of the same year, and, but
for a few trifling modifications and additions, is just as Nietzsche
left it. It was not published in Germany until the year 1908, eight
years after Nietzsche's death. In a letter dated the 27th of December
1888, addressed to the musical composer Fuchs, the author declares
the object of the work to be to dispose of all discussion, doubt, and
inquiry concerning his own personality, in order to leave the public
mind free to consider merely "the things for the sake of which he
existed" ("_die Dinge, derentwegen ich da bin_"). And, true to his
intention, Nietzsche's honesty in these pages is certainly one of
the most remarkable features about them. From the first chapter, in
which he frankly acknowledges the decadent elements within him, to
the last page, whereon he characterises his mission, his life-task,
and his achievement, by means of the one symbol, _Dionysus_ versus
_Christ,_--everything comes straight from the shoulder, without
hesitation, without fear of consequences, and, above all, without
concealment. Only in one place does he app
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BEAUTIFUL STORIES FROM SHAKESPEARE

By E. Nesbit




     “It may be said of Shakespeare, that from his works may be
     collected a system of civil and economical prudence.  He has
     been imitated by all succeeding writers; and it may be
     doubted whether from all his successors more maxims of
     theoretical knowledge, or more rules of practical prudence
     can be collected than he alone has given to his country.”--
     Dr. SAMUEL JOHNSON.




PREFACE



The writings of Shakespeare have been justly termed “the richest, the
purest, the fairest, that genius uninspired ever penned.”

Shakespeare instructed by delighting. His plays alone (leaving mere
science out of the question), contain more actual wisdom than the
whole body of English learning. He is the teacher of all good-- pity,
generosity, true courage, love. His bright wit is cut out “into little
stars.” His solid masses of knowledge are meted out in morsels and
proverbs, and thus distributed, there is scarcely a corner of the
English-speaking world to-day which he does not illuminate, or a cottage
which he does not enrich. His bounty is like the sea, which, though
often unacknowledged, is everywhere felt. As his friend, Ben Jonson,
wrote of him, “He was not of an age but for all time.” He ever kept the
highroad of human life whereon all travel. He did not pick out by-paths
of feeling and sentiment. In his creations we have no moral highwaymen,
sentimental thieves, interesting villains, and amiable, elegant
adventuresses--no delicate entanglements of situation, in which
the grossest images are presented to the mind disguised under the
superficial attraction of style and sentiment. He flattered no bad
passion, disguised no vice in the garb of virtue, trifled with no just
and generous principle. While causing us to laugh at folly, and shudder
at crime, he still preserves our love for our fellow-beings, and our
reverence for ourselves.

Shakespeare was familiar with all beautiful forms and images, with
all that is sweet or majestic in the simple aspects of nature, of
that indestructible love of flowers and fragrance, and dews, and
clear waters--and soft airs and sounds, and bright skies and woodland
solitudes, and moon-light bowers, which are the material elements of
poetry,--and with that fine sense of their indefinable relation to
mental emotion, which is its essence and vivifying soul--and which, in
the midst of his most busy and tragical scenes, falls like gleams of
sunshine on rocks and ruins--contrasting with all that is rugged or
repulsive, and reminding us of the existence of purer and brighter
elements.

These things considered, what wonder is it that the works of
Shakespeare, next to the Bible, are the most highly esteemed of all the
classics of English literature. “So extensively have the characters of
Shakespeare been drawn upon by artists, poets, and writers of fiction,”
 says an American author,--“So interwoven are these characters in the
great body of English literature, that to be ignorant of the plot of
these dramas is often a cause of embarrassment.”

But Shakespeare wrote for grown-up people, for men and women, and in
words that little folks cannot understand.

Hence this volume. To reproduce the entertaining stories contained
in the plays of Shakespeare, in a form so simple that children can
understand and enjoy them, was the object had in view by the author of
these Beautiful Stories from Shakespeare.

And that the youngest readers may not stumble in pronouncing any
unfamiliar names to be met with in the stories, the editor has prepared
and included in the volume a Pronouncing Vocabulary of Difficult Names.
To which is added a collection of Shakespearean Quotations, classified
in alphabetical order, illustrative of the wisdom and genius of the
world's greatest dramatist.

E. T. R.




A BRIEF LIFE OF SHAKESPEARE.



In the register of baptisms of the parish church of Stratford-upon-Avon,
a market town in Warwickshire, England, appears, under date of April 26,
1564, the entry of the baptism of William, the son of John Shakspeare.
The entry is in Latin--“Gulielmus filius Johannis Shakspeare.”

The date of William Shakespeare's birth has usually been taken as three
days before his baptism, but there is certainly no evidence of this
fact.

The family name was variously spelled, the dramatist himself not always
spelling it in the same way. While in the baptismal record the name is
spelled “Shakspeare,” in several authentic autographs of the dramatist
it reads “Shakspere,” and in the first edition of his works it is
printed “Shakespeare.”

Halliwell tells us, that there are not less than thirty-four ways in
which the various members of the Shakespeare family wrote the name,
and in the council-book of the corporation of Stratford, where it is
introduced one hundred and sixty-six times during the period that
the dramatist's father was a member of the municipal body, there are
fourteen different spellings. The modern “Shakespeare” 
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PG #: 15474
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/15474

to John B. Hare at www.sacred-texts.com









The Mahabharata

of

Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa

BOOK 1

ADI PARVA

Translated into English Prose from the Original Sanskrit Text

by

Kisari Mohan Ganguli

[1883-1896]

Scanned at sacred-texts.com, 2003. Proofed at Distributed Proofing,
Juliet Sutherland, Project Manager. Additional proofing and formatting at
sacred-texts.com, by J. B. Hare.



TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE

The object of a translator should ever be to hold the mirror upto his
author. That being so, his chief duty is to represent so far as
practicable the manner in which his author’s ideas have been expressed,
retaining if possible at the sacrifice of idiom and taste all the
peculiarities of his author’s imagery and of language as well. In regard
to translations from the Sanskrit, nothing is easier than to dish up
Hindu ideas, so as to make them agreeable to English taste. But the
endeavour of the present translator has been to give in the following
pages as literal a rendering as possible of the great work of Vyasa. To
the purely English reader there is much in the following pages that will
strike as ridiculous. Those unacquainted with any language but their own
are generally very exclusive in matters of taste. Having no knowledge of
models other than what they meet with in their own tongue, the standard
they have formed of purity and taste in composition must necessarily be a
narrow one. The translator, however, would ill-discharge his duty, if for
the sake of avoiding ridicule, he sacrificed fidelity to the original. He
must represent his author as he is, not as he should be to please the
narrow taste of those entirely unacquainted with him. Mr. Pickford, in
the preface to his English translation of the Mahavira Charita, ably
defends a close adherence to the original even at the sacrifice of idiom
and taste against the claims of what has been called ‘Free Translation,’
which means dressing the author in an outlandish garb to please those to
whom he is introduced.

In the preface to his classical translation of Bhartrihari’s Niti Satakam
and Vairagya Satakam, Mr. C.H. Tawney says, “I am sensible that in the
present attempt I have retained much local colouring. For instance, the
ideas of worshipping the feet of a god of great men, though it frequently
occurs in Indian literature, will undoubtedly move the laughter of
Englishmen unacquainted with Sanskrit, especially if they happen to
belong to that class of readers who revel their attention on the
accidental and remain blind to the essential. But a certain measure of
fidelity to the original even at the risk of making oneself ridiculous,
is better than the studied dishonesty which characterises so many
translations of oriental poets.”

We fully subscribe to the above although, it must be observed, the
censure conveyed to the class of translators last indicated is rather
undeserved, there being nothing like a ‘studied dishonesty’ in their
efforts which proceed only from a mistaken view of their duties and as
such betray only an error of the head but not of the heart. More than
twelve years ago when Babu Pratapa Chandra Roy, with Babu Durga Charan
Banerjee, went to my retreat at Seebpore, for engaging me to translate
the Mahabharata into English, I was amazed with the grandeur of the
scheme. My first question to him was,--whence was the money to come,
supposing my competence for the task. Pratapa then unfolded to me the
details of his plan, the hopes he could legitimately cherish of
assistance from different quarters. He was full of enthusiasm. He showed
me Dr. Rost’s letter, which, he said, had suggested to him the
undertaking. I had known Babu Durga Charan for many years and I had the
highest opinion of his scholarship and practical good sense. When he
warmly took Pratapa’s side for convincing me of the practicability of the
scheme, I listened to him patiently. The two were for completing all
arrangements with me the very day. To this I did not agree. I took a
week’s time to consider. I consulted some of my literary friends,
foremost among whom was the late lamented Dr. Sambhu C. Mookherjee. The
latter, I found, had been waited upon by Pratapa. Dr. Mookherjee spoke to
me of Pratapa as a man of indomitable energy and perseverance. The result
of my conference with Dr. Mookherjee was that I wrote to Pratapa asking
him to see me again. In this second interview estimates were drawn up,
and everything was arranged as far as my portion of the work was
concerned. My friend left with me a specimen of translation which he had
received from Professor Max Muller. This I began to study, carefully
comparing it sentence by sentence with the original. About its literal
character there could be no doubt, but it had no flow and, therefore,
could not be perused with pleasure by the general reader. The translation
had been executed thirty years ago by a young German friend of the great
Pundit. I had to touch up every sentence. This I did without at all
impairing faithful
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PG #: 2833
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2833


Under certain circumstances there are few hours in life more agreeable
than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea. There
are circumstances in which, whether you partake of the tea or not--some
people of course never do,--the situation is in itself delightful. Those
that I have in mind in beginning to unfold this simple history offered
an admirable setting to an innocent pastime. The implements of
the little feast had been disposed upon the lawn of an old English
country-house, in what I should call the perfect middle of a splendid
summer afternoon. Part of the afternoon had waned, but much of it was
left, and what was left was of the finest and rarest quality. Real dusk
would not arrive for many hours; but the flood of summer light had begun
to ebb, the air had grown mellow, the shadows were long upon the smooth,
dense turf. They lengthened slowly, however, and the scene expressed
that sense of leisure still to come which is perhaps the chief source
of one’s enjoyment of such a scene at such an hour. From five o’clock to
eight is on certain occasions a little eternity; but on such an occasion
as this the interval could be only an eternity of pleasure. The persons
concerned in it were taking their pleasure quietly, and they were not
of the sex which is supposed to furnish the regular votaries of the
ceremony I have mentioned. The shadows on the perfect lawn were straight
and angular; they were the shadows of an old man sitting in a deep
wicker-chair near the low table on which the tea had been served, and
of two younger men strolling to and fro, in desultory talk, in front of
him. The old man had his cup in his hand; it was an unusually large cup,
of a different pattern from the rest of the set and painted in brilliant
colours. He disposed of its contents with much circumspection, holding
it for a long time close to his chin, with his face turned to the house.
His companions had either finished their tea or were indifferent to
their privilege; they smoked cigarettes as they continued to stroll.
One of them, from time to time, as he passed, looked with a certain
attention at the elder man, who, unconscious of observation, rested his
eyes upon the rich red front of his dwelling. The house that rose beyond
the lawn was a structure to repay such consideration and was the most
characteristic object in the peculiarly English picture I have attempted
to sketch.

It stood upon a low hill, above the river--the river being the Thames at
some forty miles from London. A long gabled front of red brick, with
the complexion of which time and the weather had played all sorts of
pictorial tricks, only, however, to improve and refine it, presented
to the lawn its patches of ivy, its clustered chimneys, its windows
smothered in creepers. The house had a name and a history; the old
gentleman taking his tea would have been delighted to tell you these
things: how it had been built under Edward the Sixth, had offered a
night’s hospitality to the great Elizabeth (whose august person had
extended itself upon a huge, magnificent and terribly angular bed which
still formed the principal honour of the sleeping apartments), had been
a good deal bruised and defaced in Cromwell’s wars, and then, under the
Restoration, repaired and much enlarged; and how, finally, after having
been remodelled and disfigured in the eighteenth century, it had passed
into the careful keeping of a shrewd American banker, who had bought it
originally because (owing to circumstances too complicated to set forth)
it was offered at a great bargain: bought it with much grumbling at its
ugliness, its antiquity, its incommodity, and who now, at the end of
twenty years, had become conscious of a real aesthetic passion for it,
so that he knew all its points and would tell you just where to stand
to see them in combination and just the hour when the shadows of
its various protuberances which fell so softly upon the warm, weary
brickwork--were of the right measure. Besides this, as I have said,
he could have counted off most of the successive owners and occupants,
several of whom were known to general fame; doing so, however, with an
undemonstrative conviction that the latest phase of its destiny was not
the least honourable. The front of the house overlooking that portion
of the lawn with which we are concerned was not the entrance-front; this
was in quite another quarter. Privacy here reigned supreme, and the wide
carpet of turf that covered the level hill-top seemed but the extension
of a luxurious interior. The great still oaks and beeches flung down a
shade as dense as that of velvet curtains; and the place was furnished,
like a room, with cushioned seats, with rich-coloured rugs, with
the books and papers that lay upon the grass. The river was at some
distance; where the ground began to slope the lawn, properly speaking,
ceased. But it was none the less a charming walk down to the water.

The old gentleman at the tea-table, who had come from Am
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PG #: 8710
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8710

THE DORE GALLERY OF BIBLE ILLUSTRATIONS



Illustrated by Gustave Dore


Complete


This volume, as its title indicates, is a collection of engravings
illustrative of the Bible--the designs being all from the pencil of the
greatest of modern delineators, Gustave Dore. The original work, from
which this collection has been made, met with an immediate and warm
recognition and acceptance among those whose means admitted of its
purchase, and its popularity has in no wise diminished since its first
publication, but has even extended to those who could only enjoy it
casually, or in fragmentary parts. That work, however, in its entirety,
was far too costly for the larger and ever-widening circle of M. Dore's
admirers, and to meet the felt and often-expressed want of this class,
and to provide a volume of choice and valuable designs upon sacred
subjects for art-loving Biblical students generally, this work was
projected and has been carried forward. The aim has been to introduce
subjects of general interest--that is, those relating to the most
prominent events and personages of Scripture--those most familiar to all
readers; the plates being chosen with special reference to the known
taste of the American people. To each cut is prefixed a page of
letter-press--in, narrative form, and containing generally a brief
analysis of the design. Aside from the labors of the editor and
publishers, the work, while in progress, was under the pains-taking and
careful scrutiny of artists and scholars not directly interested in the
undertaking, but still having a generous solicitude for its success. It
is hoped, therefore, that its general plan and execution will render it
acceptable both to the appreciative and friendly patrons of the great
artist, and to those who would wish to possess such a work solely as a
choice collection of illustrations upon sacred themes.




GUSTAVE DORE.

The subject of this sketch is, perhaps, the most original and variously
gifted designer the world has ever known. At an age when most men have
scarcely passed their novitiate in art, and are still under the direction
and discipline of their masters and the schools, he had won a brilliant
reputation, and readers and scholars everywhere were gazing on his work
with ever-increasing wonder and delight at his fine fancy and
multifarious gifts. He has raised illustrative art to a dignity and
importance before unknown, and has developed capacities for the pencil
before unsuspected. He has laid all subjects tribute to his genius,
explored and embellished fields hitherto lying waste, and opened new and
shining paths and vistas where none before had trod. To the works of the
great he has added the lustre of his genius, bringing their beauties into
clearer view and warming them to a fuller life.

His delineations of character, in the different phases of life, from the
horrible to the grotesque, the grand to the comic, attest the versatility
of his powers; and, whatever faults may be found by critics, the public
will heartily render their quota of admiration to his magic touch, his
rich and facile rendering of almost every thought that stirs, or lies yet
dormant, in the human heart. It is useless to attempt a sketch of his
various beauties; those who would know them best must seek them in the
treasure--house that his genius is constantly augmenting with fresh gems
and wealth. To one, however, of his most prominent traits we will
refer--his wonderful rendering of the powers of Nature.

His early wanderings in the wild and romantic passes of the Vosges
doubtless developed this inherent tendency of his mind. There he
wandered, and there, mayhap, imbibed that deep delight of wood and
valley, mountain--pass and rich ravine, whose variety of form and detail
seems endless to the enchanted eye. He has caught the very spell of the
wilderness; she has laid her hand upon him, and he has gone forth with
her blessing. So bold and truthful and minute are his countless
representations of forest scenery; so delicate the tracery of branch and
stem; so patriarchal the giant boles of his woodland monarchs, that the'
gazer is at once satisfied and entranced. His vistas lie slumbering with
repose either in shadowy glade or fell ravine, either with glint of lake
or the glad, long course of some rejoicing stream, and above all, supreme
in a beauty all its own, he spreads a canopy of peerless sky, or a
wilderness, perhaps, of angry storm, or peaceful stretches of soft,
fleecy cloud, or heavens serene and fair--another kingdom to his teeming
art, after the earth has rendered all her gifts.

Paul Gustave Dore was born in the city of Strasburg, January 10, 1833. Of
his boyhood we have no very particular account. At eleven years of age,
however, he essayed his first artistic creation--a set' of lithographs,
published in his native city. The following year found him in Paris,
entered as a 7. student at the Charlemagne Lyceum. His first actual work
began in 1848, when his fine series of sketch
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PG #: 65176
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65176

Consider an alien infiltrating our
                  world--impossible to catch because
                   he might inhabit any person--even
                  you! You'd likely start screaming--

                          GET OUT OF MY BODY!

                           By Tom W. Harris

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                             February 1958
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


"I have come to discuss a very grave problem," said the
talking-attendant.

"Then let's get down to details," said Chester Forge. "It's urgent you
said."

Interviews with Ravians always made Chester nervous. They wouldn't use
the psi-control voice sets, and there was something uncanny in talking
to a human, a talking-attendant, when you knew it wasn't the man
speaking at all, but the alien intelligence he was temporarily host to.

It was even more unsettling when the Ravian was a high official,
as at present. Their minds were even more coldly intellectual, dry
and logical than the usual Ravian tourist's. And they could make a
lot of trouble. Chester's job as tour-chief here at Knoxville--more
specifically, Port Knoxville, where the ships came in--was to keep the
tourists happy as possible. No, not happy. Happiness is an emotion.
Satisfied maybe.

"There are scant useful details I can give you," said Monnn, the
Ravian, through the lips of the talking-attendant. "There was a
stowaway on the sightseeing ship that came in this morning--one of our
people. He is a fugitive. He has left the ship and is here on earth
somewhere, perhaps in Knoxville. He must be captured."

Chester Forge was jolted, but he had found you got on better with
Ravians if you never showed feelings. He made his voice calm.

"A fugitive, hmmm? What was his crime?"

"The question is immaterial," said Monnn. "So typical of your people.
But I suppose you will function better if not bothered by curiosity.
Minnn, the stowaway, told a lie."

"A lie?"

"The worst of crimes. Minnn was a politician, campaigning for office,
and he lied in making a promise he could not execute."

By Joe, thought Chester, now I've heard them all. Well, the rule is you
never, never question the tastes of an alien. The Martians have a mad
passion for hop-toads, the Zarlos like to have things hurt them, the
Frin talk all the time and the Rorn don't talk at all, and--

"We'll get him for you," said Chester more firmly than he felt.

"We feel you may fail," said the Ravian. "We ask permission to send our
own searchers, no quota on numbers, open-area travel permission."

Chester went white. "I'm afraid we can't grant that. I promise we'll
get him for you."

"Why can you not grant that?"

"Well--population. There aren't enough volunteers to host any more than
the present quota, and of course you can't get around without hosts."

"How human," said Monnn through the attendant. "You are afraid of us.
Yet you know we have no desire at all for this planet, and that we know
you know this.

"Why do you lie? On our planet you would be treated as Minnn will
be--your personality dismembered, the useful parts assigned to another,
the imperfect disposed of."

"Be that as it may," said Chester, a chill in his spine. "We will find
this fugitive ourselves."

"Of course. And if you do not, within two of your days, we must come
to search ourselves. One more thing--Minnn may turn killer. And now I
shall retire--manipulating this organism is most fatiguing."

The talking-attendant stood blank-faced for a moment as the Ravian
withdrew to some nook of his mentality. Then he blinked and peered
around, discovered he was in Forge's office, and saluted.

"That's okay, John," said Chester. "Thanks. Take him back to his husk."

The attendant left and Chester picked up his visor, punching the button
for Security Chief....

       *       *       *       *       *

On Clinch Street, little Sally Odum was walking home from school. She
turned down an alley for a shortcut, and there she saw the toy. It
was a black, fringed globe, a little larger than a grapefruit. "Gee!"
exclaimed Sally, and reached out and grabbed it.

The globe changed from black to gray, from shiny to dull, and from firm
to flaccid. Sally felt a little tingle in her fingertips, a tiny tug
in her mind. Looking thoughtful, she slipped the limp toy under her
jacket. She trotted home, hid the thing at the bottom of her toy box,
and promptly forgot about ever finding it.

Minnn, exhausted from the psionic strain of rolling his body through
the thick earth air all the way from the port to the city, and then
directing the feeling and movement of Sally, made one little adjustment
in her memory, then turned off his awareness and rested. In the rich
rush of mental currents he would soon be replenished. In the meantime
he was safe....

       *       *       *       *       *

The Ravi
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PG #: 45634
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Gûnûñ'da`le'gi--see Nûñnâ'hi-dihi'.

Gusti'--a traditional Cherokee settlement on Tennessee river, near
Kingston, Roane county, Tennessee. See number 79. The name cannot
be analyzed. Wafford thought it a Cherokee attempt at "Kingston,"
but it seems rather to be aboriginal.

Gu'wisguwi'--The Cherokee name for the chief John Ross and for the
district named in his honor, commonly spelled Cooweescoowee. Properly
an onomatope for a large bird said to have been seen formerly at
infrequent intervals in the old Cherokee country, accompanying the
migratory wild geese, and described as resembling a large snipe,
with yellow legs and unwebbed feet. In boyhood John Ross was known
as Tsan'-usdi', "Little John."

Gwal`gâ'hi--"Frog place," from gwal`gû, a variety of frog, and hi,
locative. A place on Hiwassee river, just above the junction of
Peachtree creek, near Murphy, in Cherokee county, North Carolina;
about 1755 the site of a village of refugee Natchez, and later of a
Baptist mission.

gwehe'!--a cricket's cry. See number 119.


ha!--an introductory exclamation intended to attract attention or
add emphasis; about equivalent to Here! Now!

ha'-ma'ma'--a song term compounded of ha! an introductory exclamation,
and mama', a word which has no analysis, but is used in speaking to
young children to mean "let me carry you on my back." See number 117.

Hanging-maw--see Uskwâ'li-gû'ta.

ha'nia-lil'-lil'--an unmeaning dance refrain. See number 24.

Hard-mush--see Gatûñ'wa`li.

ha'suyak'--a song form for hasuya'gi', "(thou) pick it out"
(imperative); "I pick it out, or select it," ga'suyagiû'; second
person, ha'suyagiû'. See number 19.

ha'tlû--dialectic form, ga'tsû, "where?" (interrogative).

ha'wiye'ehi', ha'wiye'-hyuwe'--unmeaning dance refrains. See numbers
32 and 118.

hayû'--an emphatic affirmative, about equivalent to "Yes, sir!" See
number 115.

hayuya'haniwa'--an unmeaning refrain in one of the bear songs. See
number 75.

he-e!--an unmeaning song introduction.

Hemp-carrier--see Tâle'danigi'ski.

Hemptown--see Gatûñlti'yi.

hi!--unmeaning dance exclamation.

hi'gina'lii--"(you are) my friend"; agina'lii, "(he is) my friend." In
white man's jargon, canaly.



Hickory-log--see Wane'-asûñ'tlûñyi.

Hightower--see I'tawa'.

hila'gû?--how many? how much? (Upper dialect); the Middle dialect
form is hûñgû'.

hilahi'yu--long ago; the final yu makes it more emphatic.

hi'lûñnû--"(thou) go to sleep"; from tsi'lihû', "I am asleep."

hi'ski--five; cf. Mohawk wisk. The Cherokee numerals including 10 are
as follows: sâ'gwû, ta'li, tsâ'i, nûñ'gi, hi'ski, su'tali, gûl`kwâ'gi,
tsune'la, sañne'la, askâ'hi.

Hiwassee--see Ayuhwa'si.

hi'yagu'we--an unmeaning dance refrain. See number 32.

Houston, Samuel--see Ka'lanû.

hûñgû--see hila'gû.

huhu--the yellow-breasted chat, or yellow mocking bird (Icteria
virens); the name is an onomatope. See number 45.

hûñyahu'ska--"he will die."

hwi'lahi--"thou (must) go."


igagû'ti--daylight. The name is sometimes applied to the ulûñsû'ti
(q. v.), and also to the clematis vine.

i'hya--the cane reed (Arundinaria) of the Gulf states, used by the
Indians for blowguns, fishing rods, and basketry.

ihyâ'ga--see atsil'sûñ`ti.

i'nadû'--snake.

I'nadû-na'i--"Going-snake," a Cherokee chief prominent about eighty
years ago. The name properly signifies that the person is "going along
in company with a snake," the verbal part being from the irregular
verb asta'i, "I am going along with him." The name has been given to
a district of the present Cherokee Nation.

i'nage'hi--dwelling in the wilderness, an inhabitant of the wilderness;
from i'nage'i, "wilderness," and ehi, habitual present form of ehû,
"he is dwelling"; ge'û, "I am dwelling."

I'nage-utasûñ'hi--"He who grew up in the wilderness," i. e. "He who
grew up wild"; from i'nage'i, "wilderness, unoccupied timber land," and
utasûñ'hi, the third person perfect of the irregular verb, ga'tûñskû',
"I am growing up."

Inâ'li--Black-fox; the common red fox is tsu'la (in Muscogee,
chula). Black-fox was principal chief of the Cherokee Nation in
1810. See page 86.

Iskagua--"Iakagua or Clear Sky, formerly Nenetooyah or the
Bloody-Fellow." The name appears thus in a document of 1791 as that
of a Cherokee chief frequently mentioned about that period under the
name of "the Bloody Fellow." In one treaty it is given as "Eskaqua or
Bloody Fellow." Both forms and etymologies are doubtful, neither form
seeming to have any reference either to "sky" (galûñ'lahi) or "blood"
(gi'ga). The first may be intended for Ik-e'gwa, "Great-day." See
page 69.

Istanare--see U`stana'li.

I`sû'nigû--an important Cherokee settlement, commonly known to
the whites as Seneca, formerly on Keowee river, about the mouth
of Conneross creek, in Oconee county, South Carolina. Hopewell, the
country seat of General Pickens, where the famous treaty was made, was
near it on the east side of the river. The word cannot be translated,
but has no connection with the tribal name, Seneca.

Itaba--see I'tawa'.
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PG #: 2383
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2383




                    LIFE OF GEOFFREY CHAUCER.


NOT in point of genius only, but even in point of time, Chaucer
may claim the proud designation of "first" English poet. He
wrote "The Court of Love" in 1345, and "The Romaunt of the
Rose," if not also "Troilus and Cressida," probably within the
next decade: the dates usually assigned to the poems of
Laurence Minot extend from 1335 to 1355, while "The Vision
of Piers Plowman" mentions events that occurred in 1360 and
1362 -- before which date Chaucer had certainly written "The
Assembly of Fowls" and his "Dream." But, though they were
his contemporaries, neither Minot nor Langland (if Langland
was the author of the Vision) at all approached Chaucer in the
finish, the force, or the universal interest of their works and the
poems of earlier writer; as Layamon and the author of the
"Ormulum," are less English than Anglo-Saxon or Anglo-
Norman. Those poems reflected the perplexed struggle for
supremacy between the two grand elements of our language,
which marked the twelfth and thirteenth centuries; a struggle
intimately associated with the political relations between the
conquering Normans and the subjugated Anglo-Saxons.
Chaucer found two branches of the language; that spoken by
the people, Teutonic in its genius and its forms; that spoken by
the learned and the noble, based on the French  Yet each branch
had begun to borrow of the other -- just as nobles and people
had been taught to recognise that each needed the other in the
wars and the social tasks of the time; and Chaucer, a scholar, a
courtier, a man conversant with all orders of society, but
accustomed to speak, think, and write in the words of the
highest, by his comprehensive genius cast into the simmering
mould a magical amalgamant which made the two half-hostile
elements unite and interpenetrate each other. Before Chaucer
wrote, there were two tongues in England, keeping alive the
feuds and resentments of cruel centuries; when he laid down his
pen, there was practically but one speech -- there was, and ever
since has been, but one people.

Geoffrey Chaucer, according to the most trustworthy traditions-
for authentic testimonies on the subject are wanting -- was born
in 1328; and London is generally believed to have been his
birth-place. It is true that Leland, the biographer of England's
first great poet who lived nearest to his time, not merely speaks
of Chaucer as having been  born many years later than the date
now assigned, but mentions Berkshire or Oxfordshire as the
scene of his birth. So great uncertainty have some felt on the
latter score, that elaborate parallels have been drawn between
Chaucer, and Homer -- for whose birthplace several cities
contended, and whose descent was traced to the demigods.
Leland may seem to have had fair opportunities of getting at the
truth about Chaucer's birth -- for Henry VIII had him, at the
suppression of the monasteries throughout England, to search
for records of public interest the archives of the religious
houses. But it may be questioned whether he was likely to find
many authentic particulars regarding the personal history of the
poet in the quarters which he explored; and Leland's testimony
seems to be set aside by Chaucer's own evidence as to his
birthplace, and by the contemporary references which make him
out an aged man for years preceding the accepted date of his
death. In one of his prose works, "The Testament of Love," the
poet speaks of himself in terms that strongly confirm the claim
of London to the honour of giving him birth; for he there
mentions "the city of London, that is to me so dear and sweet,
in which I was forth growen; and more kindly love," says he,
"have I to that place than to any other in earth; as every kindly
creature hath full appetite to that place of his kindly engendrure,
and to will rest and peace in that place to abide." This tolerably
direct evidence is supported -- so far as it can be at such an
interval of time -- by the learned Camden; in his Annals of
Queen Elizabeth, he describes Spencer, who was certainly born
in London, as being a fellow-citizen of Chaucer's -- "Edmundus
Spenserus, patria Londinensis, Musis adeo arridentibus natus, ut
omnes Anglicos superioris aevi poetas, ne Chaucero quidem
concive excepto, superaret." <1> The records of the time notice
more than one person of the name of Chaucer, who held
honourable positions about the Court; and though we cannot
distinctly trace the poet's relationship with any of these
namesakes or antecessors, we find excellent ground for belief
that his family or friends stood well at Court, in the ease with
which Chaucer made his way there, and in his subsequent
career.

Like his great successor, Spencer, it was the fortune of Chaucer
to live under a splendid, chivalrous, and high-spirited reign.
1328 was the second year of Edward III; and, what with Scotch
wars, French expeditions, and the strenuous and costly struggle
to hold England in a worthy place among the State
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INTRODUCTION.


Pope's life as a writer falls into three periods, answering fairly enough
to the three reigns in which he worked.  Under Queen Anne he was an
original poet, but made little money by his verses; under George I. he
was chiefly a translator, and made much money by satisfying the French-
classical taste with versions of the "Iliad" and "Odyssey."  Under George
I. he also edited Shakespeare, but with little profit to himself; for
Shakespeare was but a Philistine in the eyes of the French-classical
critics.  But as the eighteenth century grew slowly to its work, signs of
a deepening interest in the real issues of life distracted men's
attention from the culture of the snuff-box and the fan.  As Pope's
genius ripened, the best part of the world in which he worked was
pressing forward, as a mariner who will no longer hug the coast but
crowds all sail to cross the storms of a wide unknown sea.  Pope's poetry
thus deepened with the course of time, and the third period of his life,
which fell within the reign of George II., was that in which he produced
the "Essay on Man," the "Moral Essays," and the "Satires."  These deal
wholly with aspects of human life and the great questions they raise,
according throughout with the doctrine of the poet, and of the reasoning
world about him in his latter day, that "the proper study of mankind is
Man."

Wrongs in high places, and the private infamy of many who enforced the
doctrines of the Church, had produced in earnest men a vigorous
antagonism.  Tyranny and unreason of low-minded advocates had brought
religion itself into question; and profligacy of courtiers, each
worshipping the golden calf seen in his mirror, had spread another form
of scepticism.  The intellectual scepticism, based upon an honest search
for truth, could end only in making truth the surer by its questionings.
The other form of scepticism, which might be traced in England from the
low-minded frivolities of the court of Charles the Second, was widely
spread among the weak, whose minds flinched from all earnest thought.
They swelled the number of the army of bold questioners upon the ways of
God to Man, but they were an idle rout of camp-followers, not combatants;
they simply ate, and drank, and died.

In 1697, Pierre Bayle published at Rotterdam, his "Historical and
Critical Dictionary," in which the lives of men were associated with a
comment that suggested, from the ills of life, the absence of divine care
in the shaping of the world.  Doubt was born of the corruption of
society; Nature and Man were said to be against faith in the rule of a
God, wise, just, and merciful.  In 1710, after Bayle's death, Leibnitz, a
German philosopher then resident in Paris, wrote in French a book, with a
title formed from Greek words meaning Justice of God, Theodicee, in which
he met Bayle's argument by reasoning that what we cannot understand
confuses us, because we see only the parts of a great whole.  Bayle, he
said, is now in Heaven, and from his place by the throne of God, he sees
the harmony of the great Universe, and doubts no more.  We see only a
little part in which are many details that have purposes beyond our ken.
The argument of Leibnitz's Theodicee was widely used; and although Pope
said that he had never read the Theodicee, his "Essay on Man" has a like
argument.  When any book has a wide influence upon opinion, its general
ideas pass into the minds of many people who have never read it.  Many
now talk about evolution and natural selection, who have never read a
line of Darwin.

In the reign of George the Second, questionings did spread that went to
the roots of all religious faith, and many earnest minds were busying
themselves with problems of the state of Man, and of the evidence of God
in the life of man, and in the course of Nature.  Out of this came,
nearly at the same time, two works wholly different in method and in
tone--so different, that at first sight it may seem absurd to speak of
them together.  They were Pope's "Essay on Man," and Butler's "Analogy of
Religion, Natural and Revealed, to the Constitution and Course of
Nature."

Butler's "Analogy" was published in 1736; of the "Essay on Man," the
first two Epistles appeared in 1732, the Third Epistle in 1733, the
Fourth in 1734, and the closing Universal Hymn in 1738.  It may seem even
more absurd to name Pope's "Essay on Man" in the same breath with
Milton's "Paradise Lost;" but to the best of his knowledge and power, in
his smaller way, according to his nature and the questions of his time,
Pope was, like Milton, endeavouring "to justify the ways of God to Man."
He even borrowed Milton's line for his own poem, only weakening the verb,
and said that he sought to "vindicate the ways of God to Man."  In
Milton's day the questioning all centred in the doctrine of the "Fall of
Man," and questions of God's Justice were associated with debate on fate,
fore-knowledge, and free will.  In Pope's day the question was not
theological, but w
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Contents


This Table of Contents contains the original chapter headings that were present
in the first printed edition of 1848. These headings were removed in later
(one-volume) editions of the text, after Anne Brontë’s death in 1849.

 I. A Discovery
 II. An Interview
 III. A Controversy
 IV. The Party
 V. The Studio
 VI. Progression
 VII. The Excursion
 VIII. The Present
 IX. A Snake in the Grass
 X. A Contract and a Quarrel
 XI. The Vicar Again
 XII. A Tête-à-Tête and a Discovery
 XIII. A Return to Duty
 XIV. An Assault
 XV. An Encounter and its Consequences
 XVI. The Warnings of Experience
 XVII. Further Warnings
 XVIII. The Miniature
 XIX. An Incident
 XX. Persistence
 XXI. Opinions
 XXII. Traits of Friendship
 XXIII. First Weeks of Matrimony
 XXIV. First Quarrel
 XXV. First Absence
 XXVI. The Guests
 XXVII. A Misdemeanour
 XXVIII. Parental Feelings
 XXIX. The Neighbour
 XXX. Domestic Scenes
 XXXI. Social Virtues
 XXXII. Comparisons: Information Rejected
 XXXIII. Two Evenings
 XXXIV. Concealment
 XXXV. Provocations
 XXXVI. Dual Solitude
 XXXVII. The Neighbour Again
 XXXVIII. The Injured Man
 XXXIX. A Scheme of Escape
 XL. A Misadventure
 XLI. “Hope Springs Eternal in the Human Breast”
 XLII. A Reformation
 XLIII. The Boundary Past
 XLIV. The Retreat
 XLV. Reconciliation
 XLVI. Friendly Counsels
 XLVII. Startling Intelligence
 XLVIII. Further Intelligence
 XLIX. 
 L. Doubts and Disappointments
 LI. An Unexpected Occurrence
 LII. Fluctuations
 LIII. Conclusion


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

 Portrait of Anne Brontë
 Moorland Scene, Haworth
 Moorland scene (with water): Haworth
 Moorland scene (with cottage), Haworth
 Blake Hall—The Approach (Grassdale Manor)
 Blake Hall—Front (Grassdale Manor)
 Blake Hall—Side (Grassdale Manor)

[Illustration]




INTRODUCTION


Anne Brontë serves a twofold purpose in the study of what the Brontës
wrote and were. In the first place, her gentle and delicate presence,
her sad, short story, her hard life and early death, enter deeply into
the poetry and tragedy that have always been entwined with the memory
of the Brontës, as women and as writers; in the second, the books and
poems that she wrote serve as matter of comparison by which to test the
greatness of her two sisters. She is the measure of their genius—like
them, yet not with them.

Many years after Anne’s death her brother-in-law protested against a
supposed portrait of her, as giving a totally wrong impression of the
“dear, gentle Anne Brontë.” “Dear” and “gentle” indeed she seems to
have been through life, the youngest and prettiest of the sisters, with
a delicate complexion, a slender neck, and small, pleasant features.
Notwithstanding, she possessed in full the Brontë seriousness, the
Brontë strength of will. When her father asked her at four years old
what a little child like her wanted most, the tiny creature replied—if
it were not a Brontë it would be incredible!—“Age and experience.” When
the three children started their “Island Plays” together in 1827, Anne,
who was then eight, chose Guernsey for her imaginary island, and
peopled it with “Michael Sadler, Lord Bentinck, and Sir Henry Halford.”
She and Emily were constant companions, and there is evidence that they
shared a common world of fancy from very early days to mature
womanhood. “The Gondal Chronicles” seem to have amused them for many
years, and to have branched out into innumerable books, written in the
“tiny writing” of which Mr. Clement Shorter has given us facsimiles. “I
am now engaged in writing the fourth volume of Solala Vernon’s Life,”
says Anne at twenty-one. And four years later Emily says, “The Gondals
still flourish bright as ever. I am at present writing a work on the
First War. Anne has been writing some articles on this and a book by
Henry Sophona. We intend sticking firm by the rascals as long as they
delight us, which I am glad to say they do at present.”

That the author of “Wildfell Hall” should ever have delighted in the
Gondals, should ever have written the story of Solala Vernon or Henry
Sophona, is pleasant to know. Then, for her too, as for her sisters,
there was a moment when the power of “making out” could turn loneliness
and disappointment into riches and content. For a time at least, and
before a hard and degrading experience had broken the spring of her
youth, and replaced the disinterested and spontaneous pleasure that is
to be got from the life and play of imagination, by a sad sense of
duty, and an inexorable consciousness of moral and religious mission,
Anne Brontë wrote stories for her own amusement, and loved the
“rascals” she created.

But already in 1841, when we first hear of the Gondals and Solala
Vernon, the material for quite other books was in poor Anne’s mind. She
was then teaching in the family at Thorpe Green, where Branwell joined
her as tutor in 1843, and where, owing to events that are still a
mystery, she seems to have passed through an ordeal that left her
shattered in health and nerve, with nothing g
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[_All Rights Reserved._]




DEDICATED,

WITH ALL LOVE AND ESTEEM,

TO MY BROTHER,

GEORGE IGNATIUS PIRKIS.




CONTENTS


I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

X

XI

XII

XIII

XIV

XV




DISAPPEARED FROM HER HOME.




“£200 REWARD. Disappeared from her home, Amy, only daughter of Stephen
Warden, Esq., of the High Elms, Harleyford. Age, 17; height, 5ft. Dark
hair and eyes, oval face, small nose, mouth, and chin; remarkably small
hands and feet; dressed in dark blue silk walking costume, broad
brimmed felt hat, with light-blue ostrich feather. Jewellery worn—a
gold butterfly brooch, and butterfly earrings; on the third finger of
left hand, an antique ruby ring—one large stone, surrounded with eight
small diamonds, set in a garter with buckle; motto on garter, ‘_Sans
espoir je meurs._’ The young lady was last seen on the morning of the
14th of August, leaving the park lands, and entering the high road
leading to Dunwich. Information to be given to Inspector Smythe,
Dunwich Police Station, who will pay the above reward on the young
lady’s restoration to her family, or portions of the amount according
to the value of the information received.”

_____

The above handbill appeared one bright summer’s morning on the walls of
Dunwich Police Station, and on all the principal buildings of that busy
manufacturing town.

Hard-working men of business found time, in the midst of their buying
and selling, to stop and read, and wonder how it was possible that
any young lady, well looked after, as Miss Warden undoubtedly was,
well-known, too, in the neighbourhood, and surrounded by relations,
friends, and servants, could thus disappear from their very midst, at
noon-day, and leave no trace of any sort.

Harleyford was situated about five miles from Dunwich, and Mr. Warden’s
house about three from the local railway station. A well-traversed high
road led from his estate to the market town—Dunwich. This the young
lady had been seen to enter about ten o’clock on the morning of the
14th of August, by some country people, with whom she exchanged
greetings. From that moment nothing more had been seen nor heard of
her, and it was, as the country people expressed it in their broad
Leicestershire dialect, “as though the earth had opened, and swallowed
her up,” so completely had all traces of her been lost.

Well-to-do tradesmen and thriving farmers, passing by, read the
handbill with a sort of shudder. Here was a young lady taking her usual
morning walk on a bright summer’s day; she wishes her neighbours a gay
good morning with a nod and a smile, goes on her way, and lo! nothing
more is seen or heard of her. After this, who was safe? And with a sigh
and a shiver, and a thought of their own young daughters at home, they
went their way to ponder over the strange occurrence.

The county people by scores left their cards on Mr. and Mrs. Warden;
heard how they had waited breakfast for their daughter, then luncheon,
then dinner—how they had sent their men far and near to scour the
country—how every river had been dragged, every infirmary and hospital
searched, every railway official questioned and cross-questioned as to
whether the young lady had been seen entering either station—how the
parents had racked their brains to discover any possible or impossible
pretext which could drive their daughter from her home—how that now,
well-nigh broken-hearted, after a fortnight of wearying suspense, they
had folded their hands and prayed for any news, even the worst that
might come.

“It is beyond mystery,” said old Lady Nugent to her young lady
companion, driving along the very same high road which had seen the
last of poor Amy, and looking right and left in the hedges, as though
she expected to find some traces of her there; “If the girl had had any
love troubles, one could understand it better; for the young, foolish
things at seventeen are often driven to some desperate folly by a man’s
wicked eyes. But every one knows she could have made the best match in
the county if she had liked. There’s young Lord Hardcastle, who
absolutely worships her—fastidious and fault-finding as he is; and as
for Frank Varley, the rector’s son, with his £10,000 a year, he is
positively mad after her.”

“Yes, my lady,” responded the companion, “and it is well known that
neither Mr. nor Mrs. Warden cared in the least whom she chose. Ah! she
was always a coquette, even in the schoolroom. Those young, bright
things with so much money, and so many chances generally choose badly
after all, and run away with some groom, or footman. Depend upon it, my
lady”—

“Don’t be an idiot, Matthews,” interrupts the dowager, “talk about
things you understand. It has been ascertained beyond doubt that no one
but Miss Warden is missing, far or near. Besides, the young lady,
however playful and vivacious she might be with her equals in station,
was too well-born and well-bred to permit the slightest familiarity
from an inferior. She would not have suffered such a thing any more
than I
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bien que depuis les exploits de l'illustre détective anglais, pas une
aventure au monde n'a aussi vivement excité la curiosité que les
exploits de cet _Arsène Lupin_, cette succession de faits devenus
aujourd'hui un livre.

Le succès des récits de M. Leblanc a été, on peut le dire, foudroyant
dans la revue mensuelle où le lecteur, qui se contentait jadis des
vulgaires intrigues du roman feuilleton, va chercher (évolution
significative) une littérature qui le divertisse, mais qui reste
pourtant de la littérature.

L'auteur avait débuté, il y a une douzaine d'années, si je ne me
trompe, dans l'ancien _Gil Blas_, où ses nouvelles originales, sobres,
puissantes, le placèrent du premier coup au meilleur rang des
conteurs. Normand, Rouennais, l'auteur était visiblement de la bonne
lignée des Flaubert, des Maupassant, des Albert Sorel (qui fut, lui
aussi, un _novellière_ à ses heures). Son premier roman, _Une Femme_,
fut très remarqué, et, depuis, plusieurs études psychologiques,
l'_Oeuvre de Mort_, _Armelle et Claude_, _l'Enthousiasme_, une pièce
en trois actes, applaudie chez Antoine, _la Pitié_, étaient venues
s'ajouter à ces petits romans en deux cents lignes où excelle M.
Maurice Leblanc.

Il faut avoir un don particulier d'imagination pour trouver de ces
drames en raccourci, de ces nouvelles rapides qui enserrent la
substance même de volumes entiers, comme telles vignettes magistrales
contiennent des tableaux tout faits. Ces rares qualités d'inventeur
devaient nécessairement, un jour, trouver un cadre plus large, et
l'auteur d'_Une Femme_ allait bientôt se concentrer après s'être
dispersé en tant d'originales histoires.

C'est alors qu'il fit la connaissance du délicieux et inattendu
Arsène Lupin.

On sait l'histoire de ce bandit du XVIIIe siècle qui volait les gens
avec des manchettes, comme Buffon écrivait son _Histoire Naturelle_.
Arsène Lupin est un petit neveu de ce scélérat qui faisait peur à la
fois et souriait aux marquises épouvantées et séduites.

--Vous pouvez comparer, me disait M. Marcel L'Heureux en m'apportant
les épreuves de l'oeuvre de son confrère et les numéros où _Je sais
tout_ illustrait les exploits d'Arsène Lupin, vous pouvez comparer
Sherlock Holmes à Lupin et Maurice Leblanc à Conan Doyle. Il est
certain que les deux écrivains ont des points de contact. Même
puissance de récit, même habileté d'intrigue, même science du mystère,
même enchaînement rigoureux des faits, même sobriété de moyens. Mais
quelle supériorité dans le choix des sujets, dans la qualité même du
drame! Et remarquez ce tour de force: avec Sherlock Holmes on se
trouve chaque fois en face d'un nouveau vol et d'un nouveau crime;
ici, nous savons d'avance qu'Arsène Lupin est le coupable; nous savons
que, lorsque nous aurons débrouillé les fils enchevêtrés de l'histoire,
nous nous trouverons en face du fameux gentleman-cambrioleur! Il y
avait là un écueil, certes. Il est évité, il était même impossible de
l'éviter avec plus d'habileté que ne l'a fait Maurice Leblanc. À
l'aide de procédés que le plus averti ne distingue pas il vous tient
en haleine jusqu'au dénouement de chaque aventure. Jusqu'à la dernière
ligne on reste dans l'incertitude, la curiosité, l'angoisse, et le
coup de théâtre est toujours inattendu, bouleversant et troublant. En
vérité, Arsène Lupin est un type, un type déjà légendaire, et qui
restera. Figure vivante, jeune, pleine de gaîté, d'imprévu, d'ironie.
Voleur et cambrioleur, escroc et filou, tout ce que vous voudrez, mais
si sympathique, ce bandit! Il agit avec une si jolie désinvolture!
Tant d'ironie, tant de charme et tant d'esprit! C'est un dilettante.
C'est un artiste! Remarquez-le bien: Arsène Lupin ne vole pas; il
s'amuse à voler. Il choisit. Au besoin, il restitue. Il est noble et
charmant, chevaleresque, délicat, et je le répète, si sympathique, que
tout ce qu'il fait semble juste, et qu'on se prend malgré soi à
espérer le succès de ses entreprises, que l'on s'en réjouit, et que la
morale elle-même a l'air de son côté. Tout cela, je le répète, parce
que Lupin est la création d'un artiste, et parce qu'en composant un
livre où il a donné libre cours à son imagination, Maurice Leblanc n'a
pas oublié qu'il était avant tout, et dans toute l'acception du terme,
un écrivain!»

Ainsi parla M. Marcel L'Heureux, si bon juge en la matière et qui sait
la valeur d'un roman pour en avoir écrit de si remarquables. Et me
voici de son avis après avoir lu ces pages ironiquement amusantes,
point du tout amorales malgré le paradoxe qui prête tant de séduction
au gentleman détrousseur de ses contemporains. Certes je ne donnerais
pas un prix Montyon à ce très séduisant Lupin. Mais eût-on couronné
pour sa vertu le Fra Diavolo qui charma nos grand-mères à
l'Opéra-Comique, au temps lointain où les symboles d'_Ariane et Barbe
Bleue_ n'étaient pas inventés?

   _Le voilà qui s'avance_
   _La plume rouge à son chapeau..._

Arsène Lupin, c'est un Fra Diavolo armé non d'un tromblon, mais d'un
revolver, vêtu non d'une roma
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PLACE OF BIRTH--CHARACTER OF THE DISTRICT--TUCKAHOE--ORIGIN OF THE
NAME--CHOPTANK RIVER--TIME OF BIRTH--GENEALOGICAL TREES--MODE OF
COUNTING TIME--NAMES OF GRANDPARENTS--THEIR POSITION--GRANDMOTHER
ESPECIALLY ESTEEMED--“BORN TO GOOD LUCK”--SWEET
POTATOES--SUPERSTITION--THE LOG CABIN--ITS CHARMS--SEPARATING
CHILDREN--MY AUNTS--THEIR NAMES--FIRST KNOWLEDGE OF BEING A SLAVE--OLD
MASTER--GRIEFS AND JOYS OF CHILDHOOD--COMPARATIVE HAPPINESS OF THE
SLAVE-BOY AND THE SON OF A SLAVEHOLDER.


In Talbot county, Eastern Shore, Maryland, near Easton, the county town
of that county, there is a small district of country, thinly populated,
and remarkable for nothing that I know of more than for the worn-out,
sandy, desert-like appearance of its soil, the general dilapidation
of its farms and fences, the indigent and spiritless character of its
inhabitants, and the prevalence of ague and fever.

The name of this singularly unpromising and truly famine stricken
district is Tuckahoe, a name well known to all Marylanders, black and
white. It was given to this section of country probably, at the first,
merely in derision; or it may possibly have been applied to it, as I
have heard, because some one of its earlier inhabitants had been guilty
of the petty meanness of stealing a hoe--or taking a hoe that did not
belong to him. Eastern Shore men usually pronounce the word _took_, as
_tuck; Took-a-hoe_, therefore, is, in Maryland parlance, _Tuckahoe_.
But, whatever may have been its origin--and about this I will not be
{26} positive--that name has stuck to the district in question; and it
is seldom mentioned but with contempt and derision, on account of the
barrenness of its soil, and the ignorance, indolence, and poverty of its
people. Decay and ruin are everywhere visible, and the thin population
of the place would have quitted it long ago, but for the Choptank
river, which runs through it, from which they take abundance of shad and
herring, and plenty of ague and fever.

It was in this dull, flat, and unthrifty district, or neighborhood,
surrounded by a white population of the lowest order, indolent and
drunken to a proverb, and among slaves, who seemed to ask, _“Oh! what’s
the use?”_ every time they lifted a hoe, that I--without any fault of
mine was born, and spent the first years of my childhood.

The reader will pardon so much about the place of my birth, on the score
that it is always a fact of some importance to know where a man is born,
if, indeed, it be important to know anything about him. In regard to the
_time_ of my birth, I cannot be as definite as I have been respecting
the _place_. Nor, indeed, can I impart much knowledge concerning my
parents. Genealogical trees do not flourish among slaves. A person of
some consequence here in the north, sometimes designated _father_, is
literally abolished in slave law and slave practice. It is only once in
a while that an exception is found to this statement. I never met with a
slave who could tell me how old he was. Few slave-mothers know anything
of the months of the year, nor of the days of the month. They keep no
family records, with marriages, births, and deaths. They measure the
ages of their children by spring time, winter time, harvest time,
planting time, and the like; but these soon become undistinguishable
and forgotten. Like other slaves, I cannot tell how old I am. This
destitution was among my earliest troubles. I learned when I grew up,
that my master--and this is the case with masters generally--allowed
no questions to be put to him, by which a slave might learn his{27
GRANDPARENTS} age. Such questions deemed evidence of impatience, and
even of impudent curiosity. From certain events, however, the dates of
which I have since learned, I suppose myself to have been born about the
year 1817.

The first experience of life with me that I now remember--and I remember
it but hazily--began in the family of my grandmother and grandfather.
Betsey and Isaac Baily. They were quite advanced in life, and had long
lived on the spot where they then resided. They were considered old
settlers in the neighborhood, and, from certain circumstances, I infer
that my grandmother, especially, was held in high esteem, far higher
than is the lot of most colored persons in the slave states. She was
a good nurse, and a capital hand at making nets for catching shad and
herring; and these nets were in great demand, not only in Tuckahoe, but
at Denton and Hillsboro, neighboring villages. She was not only good at
making the nets, but was also somewhat famous for her good fortune in
taking the fishes referred to. I have known her to be in the water
half the day. Grandmother was likewise more provident than most of
her neighbors in the preservation of seedling sweet potatoes, and it
happened to her--as it will happen to any careful and thrifty person
residing in an ignorant and improvident community--to enjoy the
reputation of having been born to “good luck.” Her “good luck” was owing
to the exc
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PG #: 6400
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6400

legion, on the side of Otho, at the battle which decided the fate of the
empire in favour of Vitellius.  From incidental notices in the following
History, we learn that he was born towards the close of the reign of
Vespasian, who died in the year 79 of the Christian era.  He lived till
the time of Hadrian, under whose administration he filled the office of
secretary; until, with several others, he was dismissed for presuming on
familiarities with the empress Sabina, of which we have no further
account than that they were unbecoming his position in the imperial
court.  How long he survived this disgrace, which appears to have
befallen him in the year 121, we are not informed; but we find that the
leisure afforded him by his retirement, was employed in the composition
of numerous works, of which the only portions now extant are collected in
the present volume.

Several of the younger Pliny’s letters are addressed to Suetonius, with
whom he lived in the closest friendship.  They afford some brief, but
generally pleasant, glimpses of his habits and career; and in a letter,
in which Pliny makes application on behalf of his friend to the emperor
Trajan, for a mark of favour, he speaks of him as “a most excellent,
honourable, and learned man, whom he had the pleasure of entertaining
under his own roof, and with whom the nearer he was brought into
communion, the more he loved him.” [1]

The plan adopted by Suetonius in his Lives of the Twelve Caesars, led him
to be more diffuse on their personal conduct and habits than on public
events.  He writes Memoirs rather than History.  He neither dwells on the
civil wars which sealed the fall of the Republic, nor on the military
expeditions which extended the frontiers of the empire; nor does he
attempt to develop the causes of the great political changes which marked
the period of which he treats.

When we stop to gaze in a museum or gallery on the antique busts of the
Caesars, we perhaps endeavour to trace in their sculptured physiognomy
the characteristics of those princes, who, for good or evil, were in
their times masters of the destinies of a large portion of the human
race.  The pages of Suetonius will amply gratify this natural curiosity.
In them we find a series of individual portraits sketched to the life,
with perfect truth and rigorous impartiality.  La Harpe remarks of
Suetonius, “He is scrupulously exact, and strictly methodical.  He omits
nothing which concerns the person whose life he is writing; he relates
everything, but paints nothing.  His work is, in some sense, a collection
of anecdotes, but it is very curious to read and consult.” [2]

Combining as it does amusement and information, Suetonius’s “Lives of the
Caesars” was held in such estimation, that, so soon after the invention
of printing as the year 1500, no fewer than eighteen editions had been
published, and nearly one hundred have since been added to the number.
Critics of the highest rank have devoted themselves to the task of
correcting and commenting on the text, and the work has been translated
into most European languages.  Of the English translations, that of Dr.
Alexander Thomson, published in 1796, has been made the basis of the
present.  He informs us in his Preface, that a version of Suetonius was
with him only a secondary object, his principal design being to form a
just estimate of Roman literature, and to elucidate the state of
government, and the manners of the times; for which the work of Suetonius
seemed a fitting vehicle.  Dr. Thomson’s remarks appended to each
successive reign, are reprinted nearly verbatim in the present edition.
His translation, however, was very diffuse, and retained most of the
inaccuracies of that of Clarke, on which it was founded; considerable
care therefore has been bestowed in correcting it, with the view of
producing, as far as possible, a literal and faithful version.

To render the works of Suetonius, as far as they are extant, complete,
his Lives of eminent Grammarians, Rhetoricians, and Poets, of which a
translation has not before appeared in English, are added.  These Lives
abound with anecdote and curious information connected with learning and
literary men during the period of which the author treats.
                                                            T. F.


CONTENTS

   I.  LIVES OF THE TWELVE CAESARS
       1.  Julius Caesar
       2.  Augustus
       3.  Tiberius
       4.  Caligula
       5.  Claudius
       6.  Nero
       7.  Galba
       8.  Otho
       9.  Vitellius
      10.  Vespasian
      11.  Titus
      12.  Domitian
  II.  LIVES OF THE GRAMMARIANS AND THE HISTORIANS
 III.  LIVES OF THE POETS
       Terence
       Juvenal
       Persius
       Horace
       Lucan
       Pliny
 FOOTNOTES
 INDEX




(1)

THE TWELVE CAESARS.




CAIUS JULIUS CASAR.


I.  Julius Caesar, the Divine [3], lost his father [4] when he was in the
sixteenth year of his age [5]; and the year following, being nominated to
the office of high-priest of
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PG #: 65181
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PRISONER OF WAR

                          By Randall Garrett

               It was the first time a Flesso had met an
            Earthman face to face. And the Flesso appeared
            puzzled as to why the Earthman showed no fear!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                               June 1958
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Marten wasn't prepared for it when the alien tractor-beam grabbed his
little ship. He had been in the Fourth Quadrant of Fless territory,
threading an uneasy course through the extraterrestrials' home grounds,
but he hadn't expected to be caught so suddenly or so hard.

The ship stopped in mid-flight abruptly--so abruptly that Marten's head
was slammed back against the rear of the seat, and for a moment he was
paralyzed by the shock of what had happened.

But only for a moment. His toe reached out, snapped the pedal on the
subspace radio, and an instant later the voice of Earth Central's
operator said, "What is it, Marten?"

"Tell them I've been caught," Marten said crisply. "Tell 'em the
Flesso patrols got me. And--"

The radio went dead as the Flesso dampers got to it. Marten pulled
himself forward and ran his eyes over the instrument panel. Against the
dark velvet of space, a dull-gray Flesso warship was swelling in the
viewplate, preparing to scoop up its prey. Marten had been caught like
a fly in molasses.

The odds had been against his stunt anyway. Theoretically, such a
small ship as the little scout he was piloting should have been able
to get through the Flesso patrols easily--but in practice, the network
of spybeams stretching through the entire Quadrant were efficient and
near-infallible defenses, as Marten was discovering now.

_But I had lousy luck too_, he thought. _I wandered right up to the
biggest warship in the whole damned fleet. Must have come within a
light week or less._

There wasn't much point in trying to break away, now. Marten was
trapped--thoroughly and unarguably. The little scout ship didn't carry
a tenth the power he would need to break from the grasp of the big
battle cruiser. And as for the scout ship's armament, it wasn't enough
even to tickle the screens of a battleship like this one. Scout ships
depended on speed and indetectability, and neither attribute was of
much value now.

Within minutes, the heavy tractor beams pulled the smaller ship into
the yawning airlock of the huge Flesso cruiser.

_Okay_, Marten thought. He folded his arms, leaned back in his chair,
and waited. There was nothing else he could do--until a Fless tried to
enter the ship.

       *       *       *       *       *

Time passed. The little scout ship was drawn further and further into
the monster Flesso ship. It was now entirely enclosed by darkness,
imprisoned within the metal hull of the huge battleship of space.

Sitting inside, Marten waited patiently. The Flesso had been wanting to
capture an Earthman for a long time. Well, now they'd succeeded. They'd
captured their first Earth ship.

Suddenly, Marten's damped communicator screen came back to life. A
scaly, toad-like face appeared, and Marten stared blandly at the three
red-rimmed, fiery eyes that confronted him.

"I see you are still alive, Earthman!"

"No thanks to you, ugly-face!" Marten returned. "I'm hungry, though. Am
I going to stay for dinner, or can I leave now?"

Earth and Fless had long been in communication with each other; the
war had lasted for nearly five years, ever since the first treacherous
Flesso sneak attack on a Terran outpost. The beings from the planet
Fless were the coldest, most dangerous aliens Earth had yet encountered
in its expansion to the stars.

During the war, neither side had succeeded in capturing one of the
other's men alive. The ravening energies of a billion-cycle space gun
tore a ship completely apart, leaving no survivors. But now Marten had
been captured--and he was determined to make the most of it.

"Keep your tongue!" the toad-faced Fless snarled. "Do you know who I
am?"

"Santa Claus? Uncle Sam? The Wicked Witch of the North?"

The alien's face radiated hatred. "I am Ghuvekenkh-Nathor!"

Marten whistled. Ghuvek, eh? He had really stumbled into a good one,
then. Ghuvek was the leader of the Flesso legions!

"Hello, Ghuvek. The pleasure is all mine. Do I _have_ to keep looking
at your face?"

"You will surrender or die," Ghuvek said, ignoring the barb.

Marten chuckled. "Okay. Come and get me, ugly!" He reached out and
snapped off the communicator decisively.

Without waiting to see what would happen next, he sprang from the
control seat. The Flesso were going to expect to find him inside the
little scout ship. Very well, Marten thought. That's the one place I
_won't_ be.

Smiling grimly, he strapped on a pair of bulky Spaulding
cutter-pistols, and headed for the escape hatch. The ali
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PG #: 65074
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65074

THE ULTIMATE QUEST

                             By Hal Annas

                    Man has evolved slowly, always
                    striving toward a nebulous goal
                     somewhere in his future. Will
                    he attain it--to regret it?...

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                             December 1950
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Striding down the corridor on long thin legs, Art Fillmore mentally
glanced over the news and his wide brow puckered. "Scientists to awaken
twentieth century man," the mental beam proclaimed. "Dark age to yield
untold volumes of ignorance."

Fillmore paused before the twelve-foot door, closed his eyes and
concentrated until he had achieved the proper attenuation, then entered
the office without opening the door. The bald man in the reclining
chair dropped his feet from the five-foot-high desk and sat up with a
start.

"I wish you wouldn't do that, Art," he said nervously. "You know I've
got the itch."

"Sorry," Fillmore apologized. "Wasn't thinking. Had my mind on my
forthcoming wedding."

"Wedding?" The bald man's narrow mouth dropped open, revealing small
fragile teeth. "Why didn't you tell me? What does she look like?"

"Haven't seen her yet," Fillmore grinned. "Just mental images, and
you know how girls are when they project their own images. But she's a
mental pippin: seven feet eight or nine with a shape you dream about.
Must weigh about eighty-two or three pounds."

"Too fat," the bald man grunted. "I never liked the short and fat type.
Have you paid for her yet?"

"Not yet, but I've got the cash and I'll get a discount."

"How much?"

"Dollar sixty-nine less three per cent."

"Good Lord!" The bald man leaned forward, aghast. "For that price she
must be a pippin. Why, you can buy two hundred average women for that
and the market's glutted with them. How old is she?"

"Hundred and nine."

"Oh! That explains it. You're practically getting her right out of the
cradle and can teach her whatever you want her to know and see that she
doesn't learn anything else. Has she got any mental quirks?"

Fillmore sighed. "She's almost perfect in that respect. Doesn't have to
have her mind erased but once every six weeks. Nine power intelligence
but she holds it back. That way she doesn't come anywhere near a
nervous breakdown oftener than once in six weeks."

"Domestic type?"

"Definitely. Regular homebody. Never been out of the solar system.
She's the kind that likes a quiet picnic on Mars and will settle for
the moon when Mars is crowded. Besides, she's interested largely in
warts and mice. Studies them all the time. Knows how to grow warts on
anybody."

"You're a lucky man, Art. Planned the honeymoon yet?"

"Sure. She's going to Venus while I go in the opposite direction.
Haven't decided yet where I'll spend that happy time. On one of the
planets of the nearer stars, I suppose."

"That's perfect," the bald man said approvingly. "My wife made me stay
on earth while she went to the moon. That's too close for comfort.
After all, you don't have but one real honeymoon, and in my opinion
every man and woman should strive to make it as nearly perfect as
possible. I think the government ought to subsidize that sort of thing.
Then the happy couple could put more distance between them. Think what
bliss could be achieved if the man could afford to go the maximum
distance in one direction and send his wife twice that far in the
other direction. I mean to say, happiness is next to the ultimate, and
if they could be separated so far that no trace of one ever got back
to the other--well, just think of it! We would never hear of divorce
again."

       *       *       *       *       *

Fillmore's thin angular features darkened. "It is sad to think of the
divorces. There's been a dozen in the past half a century. But isn't
it because the couples were immature? Some of them married at under
eighty years of age, and they insisted on living on the same side of
the earth with each other."

"You're pretty young yourself," the bald man put in.

"I'm ninety-six," Fillmore said defensively. "That's plenty old for a
man. All of my people matured early."

"And probably died early."

"Yes." Fillmore nodded. "A few of them lived to be nearly five hundred,
but they were mostly females. The males usually check out between two
and three hundred. Their fourteen power intelligence burns them up."

"Had your mind erased recently?"

"Yesterday. Did it so I could accept Cynthia's proposal without any
reservation."

"Cynthia?"

"That's what I call her. Her real name is Xylosh. She found the name
Cynthia in one of those books of ignorance unearthed from the ruins of
that ancient farm called New York. She asked me to call her by that
name. You know how girls are!"

"Sure. They are all very romantic. She ma
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PG #: 65085
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65085

The Barrier

                            By Bryce Walton

               If Stevens could cross the high velocity
            barrier at the edge of space he would receive a
            pardon on Earth. But would he live to claim it?

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                             February 1951
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]



[Illustration: His features were twisted by the acceleration, and his
sanity seemed to have gone.]

There were maybe ten or fifteen people to see him off. They weren't
cheering. They stood in the gray curtain of rain, hunched over with
their hands in their storm-coat pockets. Behind them was the vague bulk
of the Experimental Station. And beyond that, invisible in the night,
were the mountains he would never see again.

"O.K., Stevens. This is it."

So what? Stevens clanked as he turned toward the "Coffin." He was
encased in a bulging metal pressure suit and his head was a big alloy
bubble. No one smiled. No one raised a hand to say goodbye.

Doris would, of course, say goodbye, if she were here. She wasn't here.
She didn't even know about his volunteering.

Major Kanin nodded stiffly. His gray eyes wrinkled. "Good luck,
Stevens," he said dutifully. It was meaningless. Kanin had sent too
many poor guys out on a one-way trip. He knew Stevens wouldn't come
down. Not in any recognizable form.

A couple of gray-suited mechanics moved around behind Stevens. Stevens
leaned over and thrust his head into the tubular opening of the
torpedo-like plane. The two mechanics lifted his legs, shoved him in
headfirst like he was ammunition being crammed into an ancient cannon.
The metal hatch slid down past his feet. He was bound tightly by the
cockpit which was only an air-conditioned tube but slightly larger than
his body. When the canopy over his head closed, he had only two inches
between the plate in his helmet and the control and instrument panel.

For one agonizing moment, long and terrifying, Stevens felt an awful
compressing suffocation and entrapment. The claustrophobia went away,
in part, and left the plexglas plate in his helmet dewed with his
sweat.

He tried to relax. He stared at the controls. He twisted his head
carefully then so as not to bump his helmet against the side--the noise
was numbing inside when he did bump anything--and looked through the
tiny peep-hole in the tubular wall which would soon close too, leaving
him completely sealed. He looked out and waited for the signal. Major
Kanin had turned his back and was discussing something with a Doctor
and a Lieutenant. The mechanics were around preparing the kick-off
rockets.

The "Coffin" was light, and it was new. A slight improvement over the
last one. But the so-called improvement was a farce, Stevens knew,
because no one had any idea why none of the others had ever come back.
None of them expected him to come back either, and they showed it
plainly. Also, none of them cared particularly, from any human point of
view. The Military cared of course, from another view-point.

This was another velocity test run. Once around the Earth to this
take-off spot on the desert. The Military wanted to get to the Moon
if they had to walk there over a suspension bridge of human dead.
The first Sovereign State to get a military base on the Moon would,
in theory, be the all-time victor in what certain kinds of humorists
called the "game" of war. So far, no one had been able to stand the
velocity.

Stevens felt his skin stretch in a dry, tight grin. He carefully and
slowly moistened his lips and watched the light that would blink
yellow. A minute after that the job would kick-off before rockets
delivering a 3000-pound thrust for twelve seconds.

       *       *       *       *       *

Stevens guessed that the brain-boys up in some hidden bureau had an
idea that sooner or later they would find somebody who could stand it,
then they could make tests, find out why. Stevens had no idea how many
had already been sacrificed. The boys upstairs knew but they weren't
giving out statistics these days. Stevens would increase the unknown
number by one more.

So it meant nothing, he thought. He wasn't one of the superboys, the
jet-jyrenes, the hero lads who never came back and had statues and
plaques stuck all over the place for being permanently en absentia. Not
anymore, he wasn't.

He was one of the new volunteers from the West Coast branch of the
Military Prison. Big-hearted Kanin had even promised him a pardon if he
brought the ship back. It was a new high in irony, but that was about
all.

He wouldn't come back, and he knew it. But he would be free, and Doris
would be free to live her own life. He had been stupid, hot-headed,
once--and this was a preferable way, he had decided, to pay up the debt.

Doris had resigned herself to waiting for him. It was a mansla
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 830
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[Illustration] 




The Argonautica

by Apollonius Rhodius


Originally written in Ancient Greek sometime in the 3rd Century B.C. by the
Alexandrian poet Apollonius Rhodius (“Apollonius the Rhodian”).
Translation by R.C. Seaton, 1912.

SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY: ORIGINAL TEXT—

Seaton, R.C. (Ed. & Trans.): “Apollonius Rhodius: Argonautica”
(Harvard University Press, Cambridge MA, 1912). Original Greek text with
side-by-side English translation.

OTHER TRANSLATIONS—

Rieu, E.V. (Trans.): “Apollonius of Rhodes: The Voyage of the Argo”
(Penguin Classics, London, 1959, 1971).

RECOMMENDED READING—

Euripides: “Medea”, “Hecabe”, “Electra”,
and “Heracles”, translated by Philip Vellacott (Penguin Classics,
London, 1963). Contains four plays by Euripides, two of which concern
characters from “The Argonautica”.

Contents

 INTRODUCTION
 THE ARGONAUTICA
 BOOK I
 BOOK II
 BOOK III
 BOOK IV
 ENDNOTES




INTRODUCTION


Much has been written about the chronology of Alexandrian literature
and the famous Library, founded by Ptolemy Soter, but the dates of the
chief writers are still matters of conjecture. The birth of Apollonius
Rhodius is placed by scholars at various times between 296 and 260
B.C., while the year of his death is equally uncertain. In fact, we
have very little information on the subject. There are two “lives” of
Apollonius in the Scholia, both derived from an earlier one which is
lost. From these we learn that he was of Alexandria by birth,[1] that
he lived in the time of the Ptolemies, and was a pupil of Callimachus;
that while still a youth he composed and recited in public his
_Argonautica_, and that the poem was condemned, in consequence of which
he retired to Rhodes; that there he revised his poem, recited it with
great applause, and hence called himself a Rhodian. The second “life”
adds: “Some say that he returned to Alexandria and again recited his
poem with the utmost success, so that he was honoured with the
libraries of the Museum and was buried with Callimachus.” The last
sentence may be interpreted by the notice of Suidas, who informs us
that Apollonius was a contemporary of Eratosthenes, Euphorion and
Timarchus, in the time of Ptolemy Euergetes, and that he succeeded
Eratosthenes in the headship of the Alexandrian Library. Suidas also
informs us elsewhere that Aristophanes at the age of sixty-two
succeeded Apollonius in this office. Many modern scholars deny the
“bibliothecariate” of Apollonius for chronological reasons, and there
is considerable difficulty about it. The date of Callimachus’ _Hymn to
Apollo_, which closes with some lines (105-113) that are admittedly an
allusion to Apollonius, may be put with much probability at 248 or 247
B.C. Apollonius must at that date have been at least twenty years old.
Eratosthenes died 196-193 B.C. This would make Apollonius seventy-two
to seventy-five when he succeeded Eratosthenes. This is not impossible,
it is true, but it is difficult. But the difficulty is taken away if we
assume with Ritschl that Eratosthenes resigned his office some years
before his death, which allows us to put the birth of Apollonius at
about 280, and would solve other difficulties. For instance, if the
Librarians were buried within the precincts, it would account for the
burial of Apollonius next to Callimachus—Eratosthenes being still
alive. However that may be, it is rather arbitrary to take away the
“bibliothecariate” of Apollonius, which is clearly asserted by Suidas,
on account of chronological calculations which are themselves
uncertain. Moreover, it is more probable that the words following “some
say” in the second “life” are a remnant of the original life than a
conjectural addition, because the first “life” is evidently incomplete,
nothing being said about the end of Apollonius’ career.

The principal event in his life, so far as we know, was the quarrel
with his master Callimachus, which was most probably the cause of his
condemnation at Alexandria and departure to Rhodes. This quarrel
appears to have arisen from differences of literary aims and taste,
but, as literary differences often do, degenerated into the bitterest
personal strife. There are references to the quarrel in the writings of
both. Callimachus attacks Apollonius in the passage at the end of the
_Hymn to Apollo_, already mentioned, also probably in some epigrams,
but most of all in his _Ibis_, of which we have an imitation, or
perhaps nearly a translation, in Ovid’s poem of the same name. On the
part of Apollonius there is a passage in the third book of the
_Argonautica_ (ll. 927-947) which is of a polemical nature and stands
out from the context, and the well-known savage epigram upon
Callimachus.[2] Various combinations have been attempted by scholars,
notably by Couat, in his _Poésie Alexandrine_, to give a connected
account of the quarrel, but we have not _data_ sufficient to determine
the order of the attacks, and replies, and counter-attacks. The _Ibis_
has been thought to mark the termination of 
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_Discourses of Epictetus_, in eight books, the first four only of which
have come down to us. He tells us himself in the introduction to this
work, that he strove as far as possible to preserve the very words
of his teacher as mementoes of his method of reasoning and diction.
Gellius (xix. 1) speaks of a fifth book of these Discourses.

the philosophy of Epictetus, which is still extant. This manual of
the Stoic moral philosophy was very popular, both among Pagans and
Christians, for many centuries.

is mentioned by Photius under the title of “Ὁμιλίαι Ἐπικτήτου”,
or _Friendly Conversations with Epictetus_. Of this only a few
fragments survive.

is mentioned by Simplicius in the beginning of his Commentary on the
Enchiridion.

original books. By far the most important of these is the _Anabasis of
Alexander_, or the History of Alexander the Great’s Campaigns. This
is one of the most authentic and accurate of historical works. Though
inspired with admiration for his hero, the author evinces impartiality
and freedom from hero-worship. He exhibits great literary acuteness in
the choice of his authorities and in sifting evidence. The two chief
sources from which he drew his narrative were the histories written by
Ptolemy, son of Lagus, and Aristobulus, son of Aristobulus, both of
whom were officers in Alexander’s army. Other authorities quoted by
Arrian himself were:—Eratosthenes, Megasthenes, Nearchus, Aristus,
and Asclepiades. He also made use of Alexander’s letters, which he
mentions five times;[6] only once, however, quoting the exact words of
the writer. The last authority which he mentions, is the _Royal Diary_
kept by Eumenes, of Cardia, the private secretary of Philip as well as
of Alexander, and by the historian Diodotus, of Erythrae. It is used by
Arrian only once,[7] as it is by Plutarch.[8]

united in manuscripts with the Anabasis, as an eighth book. Though
it may be looked upon as a supplement to the Anabasis, Arrian often
refers in the one work to the other.[9] From this we may infer that the
author wished the _Indica_ to be considered a distinct book from the
Anabasis; and from the remark in Anab. v. 1, it is clear that it was
composed after the Anabasis. This book is written in the Ionic dialect,
like the History of Herodotus and the Indica of Ctesias. The latter
untrustworthy book Arrian wished to supplant by his own narrative,
principally based on the works of Megasthenes and Nearchus.

after Alexander_, in ten books, which gives the history of Alexander’s
successors. Photius (cod. 92) has preserved many extracts from this
work.

VIII. _Bithynica_ in eight books, a work often quoted by Eustathius in
his commentaries to the Iliad and to Dionysius Periegetes. In regard
to the contents of this book, Photius (cod. 93) says:—“The Bithynica
commences from the mythical events of history and comes down as far
as the death of the last Nicomedes, who at his death bequeathed his
kingdom to the Romans, who had never been ruled by a king after the
expulsion of Tarquin.”

IX. _Parthica_, in seventeen books. See Photius (cod. 58).

X. _History of the Alani_. See Photius (cod. 93). Only fragments of
this and the _Parthica_ remain.

Arrian wrote the biographies of the Corinthian Timoleon and of the
Syracusan Dion. Lucian (Alex. 2), also states that he wrote the life of
Tilliborus, the notorious robber of Asia Minor.

XII. A valuable geographical work by Arrian has come down to us, called
“Περίπλους πόντου Εὐξείνου”, a description of a voyage round the coasts
of the Euxine. This naval expedition was executed by him as Governor
of Cappadocia. The Alani, or, Albani of the East, a tribe related to
the Massagetae, were threatening to invade his province, and he made
this voyage with a view of fortifying the most important strategic
points on the coast. From section 26 of the Periplus we find that this
voyage must have taken place about the year 131 or 132 A.D.; for the
death of King Cotys II., noticed in that passage as just dead, is
proved by Böckh’s investigations to have occurred in 131 A.D. Two other
geographical works, _The Periplus of the Red Sea_ and _The Periplus of
the Euxine_, formerly ascribed to Arrian, are proved to belong to a
later date.

XIII. A work on _Tactics_, composed 137 A.D. In many parts this book
agrees nearly verbally with the larger work of Aelian on the same
subject; but Leo Tacticus (vii. 85) expressly mentions the two works as
distinct.

XIV. _An Array of Battle against the Alani_, is a fragment discovered
in the seventeenth century in the Description of his Battles with the
Alani, who invaded his province, probably 137 A.D., as Arrian had
previously feared.[10]

XV. A small work by Arrian on the Chase, forms a supplement to
Xenophon’s book on the same subject. It is entitled _Cynegeticus of
Arrian or the second Xenophon the Athenian_.


The best editions of the Anabasis are the following:—The _editio
princeps_ by Trincavelli, Venice, 1535; Gerbel, Strassburg, 1539; Henri
Estienne, 1575;
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 1301
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1301


691 (return)
_Hist. Parl._ Introd., i. 1 et seqq.

692 (return)
_Deux Amis_, xii. 78.

693 (return)
Mercier. ii. 124.

694 (return)
_Moniteur_ of these months, passim.

695 (return)
Foster, ii. 628; Montgaillard, iv. 141-57.

696 (return)
_Mémoires_ (_Sur les Prisons_, i.), pp. 55-7.

697 (return)
_Mémoires de Madame Roland_ (Introd.), i. 68.

698 (return)
Vie de Bailly in _Mémoires_, i., p. 29.

699 (return)
_Mémoires de Madame Roland_ (Introd.), i. 88.

700 (return)
Foster, ii. 629.

701 (return)
_Moniteur_, 11 Decembre, 30 Decembre, 1793; Louvet, p. 287.

702 (return)
See Louvet, p. 301.

703 (return)
_Deux Amis_, xii. 249-51.

704 (return)
_Deux Amis_, xi. 145.

705 (return)
_Moniteur_ (du 17 Novembre 1793), &c.

706 (return)
_Deux Amis_, xii. 251-62.

707 (return)
_Moniteur_, 1793, Nos. 101 (31 Decembre), 95, 96, 98, &c.

708 (return)
_Deux Amis_, xii. 266-72; _Moniteur_, du 2 Janvier 1794.

709 (return)
_Procès de Carrier_, 4 tomes, Paris, 1795.

710 (return)
_Les Horreures des Prisons d’Arras_, Paris, 1823.

711 (return)
Montgaillard, iv. 200.

712 (return)
_Moniteur_, Séance du 17 Brumaire (7th November), 1793.

713 (return)
_Analyse du Moniteur_ (Paris, 1801), ii. 280.

714 (return)
Mercier, iv. 134. See _Moniteur_, Séance du 10 Novembre.

715 (return)
See also _Moniteur_, Séance du 26 Novembre.

716 (return)
Mercier, iv. 127-146.

717 (return)
_Deux Amis_, xii. 62-5.

718 (return)
_Débats_, du 10 Novembre, 1723.

719 (return)
_Dictionnaire des Hommes Marquans_, i. 115.

720 (return)
_Moniteur_, du 27 Novembre 1793.

721 (return)
_Choix des Rapports_, xiii. 189.

722 (return)
Ibid. xv. 360.

723 (return)
There is, in _Prudhomme_, an atrocity _à la_ Captain-Kirk reported of
this Cavaignac; which has been copied into Dictionaries of _Hommes
Marquans_, of _Biographie Universelle_, &c.; which not only has no
truth in it, but, much more singular, is still capable of being proved
to have none.

724 (return)
_Deux Amis_, xiii. 205-30; Toulongeon, &c.

725 (return)
Levasseur, _Mémoires_, ii. c. 2-7.

726 (return)
His narrative in _Deux Amis_, xiv. 177-86.

727 (return)
Compare Barrère (_Chois des Rapports_, xiv. 416-21); Lord Howe (_Annual
Register_ of 1794, p. 86), &c.

728 (return)
Carlyle’s _Miscellanies_, § Sinking of the Vengeur.

729 (return)
_Chois des Rapports_, xv. 378, 384.

730 (return)
26th June, 1794, (see _Rapport de Guyton-Morveau sur les Aérostats_, in
_Moniteur_ du 6 Vendémiaire, An 2).

731 (return)
Mercier, v. 25; _Deux Amis_, xii. 142-199.

732 (return)
See _Deux Amis_, xv. 189-192; _Mémoires de Genlis; Founders of the
French Republic_, &c. &c.

733 (return)
Mercier, ii. 134.

734 (return)
Montgaillard, iv. 290.

735 (return)
_Moniteur_, du 17 Ventose (7th March) 1794.

736 (return)
_Biographie de Ministres_, § Danton.

737 (return)
_Aperçus sur Camille Desmoulins_ in _Vieux Cordelier_, Paris, 1825, pp.
1-29.

738 (return)
Montgaillard, iv. 200.

739 (return)
Duchesse d’Angoulême, _Captivité à la Tour du Temple_, pp. 37-71.

740 (return)
_Tribunal Révolutionnaire_, du 8 Mai 1794, _Moniteur_, No. 231.

741 (return)
_Tableaux de la Révolution_, § Soupers Fraternels; Mercier, ii. 150.

742 (return)
Riouffe, p. 73; _Deux Amis_, xii. 298-302.

743 (return)
Vilate, _Causes Secrètes de la Révolution de_ 9 _Thermidor_.

744 (return)
See Vilate, _Causes Secrètes_. (Vilate’s Narrative is very curious; but
is not to be taken as true, without sifting; being, at bottom, in spite
of its title, not a Narrative but a Pleading).

745 (return)
Montgaillard, iv. 237.

746 (return)
_Maison d’Arrêt de Port-Libre_, par Coittant, &c. _Mémoires sur les
Prisons_, ii.

747 (return)
Montgaillard, iv. 218; Riouffe, p. 273.

748 (return)
_Voyage de Cent Trente-deux Nantais_, (_Prisons_, ii. 288-335).

749 (return)
_Relation de ce qu’ont souffert pour la Religion les Prêtres déportés
en 1794, dans la rade de l’île d’Aix_, (_Prisons_, ii. 387-485).

750 (return)
_Deux Amis_, xii. 347-73.

751 (return)
_Deux Amis_, xii. 350-8.

752 (return)
See Vilate.

753 (return)
_Moniteur_, Nos. 311, 312; _Débats_, iv. 421-42; _Deux Amis_, xii.
390-411.

754 (return)
_Précis des Evénemens du Neuf Thermidor_, par C.A. Méda, ancien
Gendarme, Paris, 1825.

755 (return)
Mémoires sur les Prisons, ii. 277.

756 (return)
Méda. p. 384. (Méda asserts that it was he who, with infinite courage,
though in a lefthanded manner, shot Robespierre. Méda got promoted for
his services of this night; and died General and Baron. Few credited
Méda (in what was otherwise incredible).

757 (return)
24th December 1794, _Moniteur_, No. 97.

758 (return)
October 1795, Dulaure, viii. 454-6.

759 (return)
_Deux Amis_, xiii. 3-39.

760 (return)
Mercier, _Nouveau Paris_, iii. 138, 153.

761 (return)
Montgaillard, iv. 436-42.

762 (return)
Montgaillard, Mercier, (ubi supra).

763 (return)
De Staël, _Considérations_ iii. c. 10, &c.

764 (return)
Toulongeon, iii. c. 7; v. c. 10, p. 194.

765 (return)
19th January, 1795, Montgaillard, iv. 287-311.

766 (return)
5t
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 28299
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/28299


The first edition of this celebrated book was published at Nuremberg in
1657; soon after a translation was made into English by Charles Hoole.
The last English edition appeared in 1777, and this was reprinted in
America in 1812. This was the first illustrated school-book, and was the
first attempt at what now passes under the name of “object lessons.”
--SHORT HISTORY OF EDUCATION, W. H. PAYNE, Syracuse, 1881, p. 103.

Of these, the “Janua” and the “Orbis” were translated into most European
and some of the Oriental languages. It is evident that these practices
of Comenius contain the germs of things afterwards connected with the
names of Pestalozzi and Stow. It also may be safely assumed that many
methods that are now in practical use, were then not unknown to earliest
teachers. --GILL’S SYSTEMS OF EDUCATION, London, 1876, p. 13.

The more we reflect on the method of Comenius, the more we shall see it
is replete with suggestiveness, and we shall feel surprised that so much
wisdom can have lain in the path of schoolmasters for two hundred and
fifty years, and that they have never stooped to avail themselves of its
treasures. --BROWNING’S INTRODUCTION TO THE HISTORY OF EDUCATIONAL
THEORIES, 1882, New York edition, p. 67.

The “Orbis Pictus,” the first practical application of the intuitive
method, had an extraordinary success, and has served as a model for the
innumerable illustrated books which for three centuries have invaded the
schools. --COMPAYRE’S HISTORY OF PEDAGOGY, Payne’s translation, Boston,
1886, p. 127.

He remained at Patak four years, which were characterized by surprising
literary activity. During this short period he produced no less than
fifteen different works, among them his “World Illustrated” (_Orbis
Pictus_), the most famous of all his writings. It admirably applied the
principle that words and things should be learned together.... The
“World Illustrated” had an enormous circulation, and remained for a long
time the most popular text-book in Europe. --PAINTER’S HISTORY OF
EDUCATION, N.Y., 1886, p. 206.

Or, si ce livre n’est qu’un équivalent se la véritable intuition; si,
ensuite, le contenu du tout paraît fort défectueux, au point de vue de
la science de nos jours; si, enfin, un effort exagéré pour l’intégrité
de la conception de l’enfant a créé, pour les choses modernes, trop de
dénominations latines qui paraissent douteuses, l’Orbis pictus était
pourtant, pour son temps, une oeuvre très originale et très spirituelle,
qui fit faire un grand progrès à la pédagogie et servit longtemps de
livre d’école utile et de modèle à d’innombrables livres d’images,
souvent pires. --HISTOIRE D’ ÉDUCATION, FREDERICK DITTES, Redolfi’s
French translation, Paris, 1880, p. 178.

Here Comenius wrote, among others, his second celebrated work the “Orbis
Pictus.” He was not, however, able to finish it in Hungary for want of a
skilful engraver on copper. For such a one he carried it to Michael
Endter, the bookseller at Nuremberg, but the engraving delayed the
publication of the book for three years more. In 1657 Comenius expressed
the hope that it would appear during the next autumn. With what great
approbation the work was received at its first appearance, is shown by
the fact that within two years, in 1659, Endter had published a second
enlarged edition. --KARL VON RAUMER, translated in Barnard’s Journal of
Education, v. 260.

The “Janua” had an enormous sale, and was published in many languages,
but the editions and sale of the “Orbis Pictus” far exceeded those of
the “Janua,” and, indeed, for some time it was the most popular
text-book in Europe, and deservedly so. --LAURIE’S JOHN AMOS COMENIUS,
Boston edition, p. 185.




  Joh. Amos Comenii

  ORBIS SENSUALIUM PICTUS:

    hoc est

  Omnium principalium in Mundo
  Rerum, & in Vita Actionum,

  PICTURA & NOMENCLATURA.


  Joh. Amos Comenius’s

  VISIBLE WORLD:

    or, a

  NOMENCLATURE, AND PICTURES

    of all the

  CHIEF THINGS that are in the WORLD, and
    of MENS EMPLOYMENTS therein;

  In above 150 COPPER CUTS.

    Written

  By the Author in Latin and High Dutch, being
    one of his last ESSAYS; and the most suitable to
    Childrens Capacity of any he hath hitherto made.


  Translated into English
  By CHARLES HOOLE, M.A.
  For the Use of Young Latin Scholars.

  The ELEVENTH EDITION Corrected, and the English made to
  answer Word for Word to the Latin.

  _Nihil est in intellectu, quod non prius fuit in sensu._ Arist.

  _London_; Printed for, and sold by _John_ and _Benj._
  _Sprint_, at the _Bell_ in _Little Britain_, 1728.




_Gen._ ii. 19, 20.

The Lord God brought unto _Adam_ every Beast of the Field, and every
Fowl of the Air, to see what he would call them. And _Adam_ gave Names
to all Cattle, and to the Fowl of the Air, and to every Beast of the
Field.

Gen. ii. 19, 20.

_Adduxit Dominus Deus ad _Adam_ cuncta Animantia Terræ, & universa
volatilia Cœli, ut videret quomodo vocaret illa. Appellavitque _Adam_
Nominibus suis cuncta Ani
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65069
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THE BRAVE WALK ALONE

                           By John McGreevey

            He was a coward not only in the eyes of his men
           but his father as well. Yet sometimes fear can be
           mistaken for the honor badge of great courage....

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                             December 1950
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Dirk Jemson pressed his forehead against the cool metal of the
astro-chart and hoped that he was not going to be sick. At any moment,
the space cruiser would be entering the gravity field of Caliban, and
if he were ordered to assume control ... he shuddered at the prospect.

Around him in the cabin, the other members of the crew went quietly
about their duties. Allen, the astrogator worked over his charts
and calculations; Kennedy, the atochanic squinted worriedly at the
readings on his gauges; Tabor, the biophysicist was engrossed in a book.

They were men handling routine assignments automatically. If they felt
any of the fear, the impending nausea which constricted Dirk's stomach,
they gave no outward indication of it.

He straightened himself and closed his eyes. These others were at home
out in space, unperturbed by the thought that they were rushing now at
the speed of light toward an unknown world, the dark satellite of
Caliban. They could not understand this space sickness which held him
in a vise. They were like his father.

Dirk looked apprehensively toward the audio-visor above Allen's head.
Momentarily, his father's face would blur into that screen; his
father's voice would saw into the quiet of the cabin with a command.
And all of these men would come to attention and listen, for this would
be the face and voice of Commandant Jemson--Terra's most renowned and
daring space explorer.

Dirk's gaze roamed the cabin. These others--Allen, Kennedy--even Tabor
who was only an observer--would listen to the words of the Commandant;
but they would know that his message was meant only for Dirk. Dirk
Jemson--the Commandant's son.

Wave upon wave of the sickness swept over him and he fought desperately
against the impulse to call out for help. He imagined the surprise
on their faces as they assisted him, and then, afterward, the polite
pretense that nothing had happened.

Why couldn't they leave him on Terra, doing the things he wanted to
do--the things he could do well? He was an alien here. He had been an
alien in the Service from the beginning. The agonizing days at the
strato-school on Mars still stood vividly in his memory.

They had expected such great things of him. After all, he was the son
of Commandant Jemson and his brother Ken had been one of the most
brilliant graduates the school ever had. Now, young Dirk was there to
carry on in the Jemson tradition--to make good for the Commandant and
for the gallant Ken who had lost his life in the first attempt made to
land on Setebos.

       *       *       *       *       *

They had expected great things--but they had been disappointed. Of
course, his panic on the trip to Mars had been understandable. The
first experience in space. It often happened so. Soon he'd be as calm
and unaffected as the others.

Then, there had been the practice flight to Deimos. For Dirk, it still
had the immediacy of a nightmare. It was five years now--more than
five--and yet he could still visualize the cramped quarters of that
training ship.

The instructor had been a fish-faced young man named Petley. Ensign
Petley. He had seen in Dirk Jemson a chance for advancement. Give the
commandant's son the breaks, he had told himself, and you'll get a
promotion.

As the trainer approached Deimos, Petley had turned from the
visi-shield and smiled patronizingly at the tensed class who crowded
around him.

"We're approaching Deimos, class," he said, and his lips made little
smacking noises as he spoke. "I'm going to let Dirk show us how to make
a landing. Dirk--take the controls."

And with that, he had gestured to Dirk and stepped back. The silence
in the training ship had been absolute. The other thirteen in the
class stared at the recipient of this signal honor. Who but the son of
the commandant would be trusted to land a ship on his first training
flight? Who but the heir to the space mantle of Commandant Jemson.

Dirk remembered the sticky perspiration that had drenched his uniform
as he had stared in disbelief at the beaming Petley. He had stammered
some excuse, but Petley had smiled and firmly insisted. This was no
time to be modest.

Dirk had closed his eyes, moved to the controls. Through the
visi-shield, the grey orb of Deimos rushed toward him. The black maw
of space was a swirling, twisting, rotating nightmare that blurred up
at him.

In the background, Ensign Petley had murmured explanations to the
watchers. Closer and closer whirled Deimos. Di
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/50307

celebration of Distributed Proofreaders' 15th Anniversary,
using images generously made available by The Internet
Archive.









[Transcriber's Note: Printer errors in the Italian sonnets are noted
in the Transcriber's Note at the end of this file, along with a list
of the corresponding sonnet numbers in _Il Canzoniere_.]




FIFTEEN SONNETS OF PETRARCH

[Illustration]

  SELECTED AND TRANSLATED BY
  THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON
  PUBLISHED BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN
  & COMPANY BOSTON AND NEW YORK
  MDCCCCIII

  COPYRIGHT 1900 AND 1903
  BY THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON
  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED




INTRODUCTION




NOTE


This introduction is based essentially upon a paper 'Sunshine and
Petrarch' which originally included most of the sonnets in this
volume. It was written at Newport, R.I., where the translator was
then residing.




INTRODUCTION


Near my summer home there is a little cove or landing by the bay,
where nothing larger than a boat can ever anchor. I sit above it
now, upon the steep bank, knee-deep in buttercups, and amid grass so
lush and green that it seems to ripple and flow instead of waving.
Below lies a tiny beach, strewn with a few bits of driftwood and some
purple shells, and so sheltered by projecting walls that its wavelets
plash but lightly. A little farther out the sea breaks more roughly
over submerged rocks, and the waves lift themselves, before breaking,
in an indescribable way, as if each gave a glimpse through a
translucent window, beyond which all ocean's depths might be clearly
seen, could one but hit the proper angle of vision. On the right side
of my retreat a high wall limits the view, while close upon the left
the crumbling parapet of Fort Greene stands out into the foreground,
its verdant scarp so relieved against the blue water that each inward
bound schooner seems to sail into a cave of grass. In the middle
distance is a white lighthouse, and beyond lie the round tower of
old Fort Louis, and the soft low walls of Conanicut.

Behind me an oriole chirrups in triumph amid the birch-trees which
wave around the house of the haunted window; before me a kingfisher
pauses and waits, and a darting blackbird shows the scarlet on his
wings. Sloops and schooners constantly come and go, careening in the
wind, their white sails taking, if remote enough, a vague blue mantle
from the delicate air. Sailboats glide in the distance,--each a mere
white wing of canvas,--or coming nearer, and glancing suddenly into
the cove, are put as suddenly on the other tack, and almost in an
instant seem far away. There is to-day such a live sparkle on the
water, such a luminous freshness on the grass, that it seems, as is
often the case in early June, as if all history were a dream, and the
whole earth were but the creation of a summer's day.

If Petrarch still knows and feels the consummate beauty of these
earthly things, it may seem to him some repayment for the sorrows of
a lifetime that one reader, after all this lapse of years, should
choose his sonnets to match this grass, these blossoms, and the
soft lapse of these blue waves. Yet any longer or more continuous
poem would be out of place to-day. I fancy that this narrow cove
prescribes the proper limits of a sonnet; and when I count the lines
of ripple within yonder projecting wall, there proves to be room for
just fourteen. Nature meets our whims with such little fitnesses.
The words which build these delicate structures of Petrarch's are as
soft and fine and close-textured as the sands upon this tiny beach,
and their monotone, if such it be, is the monotone of the neighboring
ocean. Is it not possible, by bringing such a book into the open air,
to separate it from the grimness of commentators, and bring it back
to life and light and Italy? The beautiful earth is the same as when
this poetry and passion were new; there is the same sunlight, the
same blue water and green grass; yonder pleasure-boat might bear, for
aught we know, the friends and lovers of five centuries ago; Petrarch
and Laura might be there, with Boccaccio and Fiammetta as comrades,
and with Chaucer as their stranger guest. It bears, at any rate, if I
know its voyagers, eyes as lustrous, voices as sweet. With the world
thus young, beauty eternal, fancy free, why should these delicious
Italian pages exist but to be tortured into grammatical examples?
Is there no reward to be imagined for a delightful book that can
match Browning's fantastic burial of a tedious one? When it has
sufficiently basked in sunshine, and been cooled in pure salt air,
when it has bathed in heaped clover, and been scented, page by page,
with melilot, cannot its beauty once more blossom, and its buried
loves revive?

Emboldened by such influences, at least let me translate a sonnet
(Lieti fiori e felici), and see if anything is left after the sweet
Italian syllables are gone. Before this continent was discovered,
before English literature existed, when Chaucer was a child these
words were written. Yet they are to-day 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 5116
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PRAGMATISM

A New Name for Some Old Ways of Thinking

By William James


To the Memory of John Stuart Mill

from whom I first learned the pragmatic openness of mind and whom my
fancy likes to picture as our leader were he alive to-day.




Preface

The lectures that follow were delivered at the Lowell Institute in
Boston in November and December, 1906, and in January, 1907, at
Columbia University, in New York. They are printed as delivered, without
developments or notes. The pragmatic movement, so-called--I do not like
the name, but apparently it is too late to change it--seems to have
rather suddenly precipitated itself out of the air. A number of
tendencies that have always existed in philosophy have all at once
become conscious of themselves collectively, and of their combined
mission; and this has occurred in so many countries, and from so many
different points of view, that much unconcerted statement has resulted.
I have sought to unify the picture as it presents itself to my own eyes,
dealing in broad strokes, and avoiding minute controversy. Much futile
controversy might have been avoided, I believe, if our critics had been
willing to wait until we got our message fairly out.

If my lectures interest any reader in the general subject, he will
doubtless wish to read farther. I therefore give him a few references.

In America, John Dewey's 'Studies in Logical Theory' are the foundation.
Read also by Dewey the articles in the Philosophical Review, vol.
xv, pp. 113 and 465, in Mind, vol. xv, p. 293, and in the Journal of
Philosophy, vol. iv, p. 197.

Probably the best statements to begin with however, are F. C. S.
Schiller's in his 'Studies in Humanism,' especially the essays numbered
i, v, vi, vii, xviii and xix. His previous essays and in general
the polemic literature of the subject are fully referred to in his
footnotes.

Furthermore, see G. Milhaud: le Rationnel, 1898, and the fine articles
by Le Roy in the Revue de Metaphysique, vols. 7, 8 and 9. Also articles
by Blondel and de Sailly in the Annales de Philosophie Chretienne, 4me
Serie, vols. 2 and 3. Papini announces a book on Pragmatism, in the
French language, to be published very soon.

To avoid one misunderstanding at least, let me say that there is no
logical connexion between pragmatism, as I understand it, and a doctrine
which I have recently set forth as 'radical empiricism.' The latter
stands on its own feet. One may entirely reject it and still be a
pragmatist.

Harvard University, April, 1907.




Contents

Lecture I

The Present Dilemma in Philosophy

Chesterton quoted. Everyone has a philosophy. Temperament is a factor in
all philosophizing. Rationalists and empiricists. The tender-minded
and the tough-minded. Most men wish both facts and religion. Empiricism
gives facts without religion. Rationalism gives religion without facts.
The layman's dilemma. The unreality in rationalistic systems. Leibnitz
on the damned, as an example. M. I. Swift on the optimism of idealists.
Pragmatism as a mediating system. An objection. Reply: philosophies have
characters like men, and are liable to as summary judgments. Spencer as
an example.

Lecture II

What Pragmatism Means

The squirrel. Pragmatism as a method. History of the method. Its
character and affinities. How it contrasts with rationalism and
intellectualism. A 'corridor theory.' Pragmatism as a theory of truth,
equivalent to 'humanism.' Earlier views of mathematical, logical, and
natural truth. More recent views. Schiller's and Dewey's 'instrumental'
view. The formation of new beliefs. Older truth always has to be kept
account of. Older truth arose similarly. The 'humanistic' doctrine.
Rationalistic criticisms of it. Pragmatism as mediator between
empiricism and religion. Barrenness of transcendental idealism. How far
the concept of the Absolute must be called true. The true is the good
in the way of belief. The clash of truths. Pragmatism unstiffens
discussion.

Lecture III

Some Metaphysical Problems Pragmatically Considered

The problem of substance. The Eucharist. Berkeley's pragmatic treatment
of material substance. Locke's of personal identity. The problem of
materialism. Rationalistic treatment of it. Pragmatic treatment. 'God'
is no better than 'Matter' as a principle, unless he promise more.
Pragmatic comparison of the two principles. The problem of design.
'Design' per se is barren. The question is WHAT design. The problem of
'free-will.' Its relations to 'accountability.' Free-will a cosmological
theory. The pragmatic issue at stake in all these problems is what do
the alternatives PROMISE.

Lecture IV

The One and the Many

Total reflection. Philosophy seeks not only unity, but totality.
Rationalistic feeling about unity. Pragmatically considered, the world
is one in many ways. One time and space. One subject of discourse. Its
parts interact. Its oneness and manyness are co-ordinate. Question of
one origin. Generic oneness. One purpose. One story. One knower. Value
of pragmatic 
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_the_ Pioneer Home


    [Illustration: Dedicatory plaque above fireplace in Pioneer Home]

  THIS HOME OF AN OHIO PIONEER IS DEDICATED TO THE EARLY SETTLERS OF THE
  MIAMI VALLEY. THROUGH COURAGE, TOIL AND PERSEVERANCE, THEY OVERCAME
  HARDSHIP AND DANGER, AND BROUGHT CIVILIZATION TO THE WILDERNESS.

    [Illustration: Fireplace in pioneer home]

The Pioneer Home, which serves as an Information Center for Carillon
Park, is believed to have been built about 1815.

It was originally located in Washington Township about five miles
southwest of Centerville on Social Row Road, about halfway between
Sheehan Road and Yankee Street. In the spring of 1953 it was torn down
and moved to Carillon Park, where it was rebuilt, using the original
stones and timbers.

Abstract records in the Court House show that the 20-acre plot on which
this house was originally located was sold by Abner and Patsy Garrard on
February 14, 1815, to William Morris and his wife. The purchase price
was $140. Later records show that the Morrises sold the property on
September 18, 1838, for $753. The difference in the purchase and selling
prices was the largest in over 50 years and indicates that the house was
built sometime during that 23-year period.

Since 1858 the property has had a number of owners, including an
Elizabeth Morris, who bought it in 1856 and lived there for 30 years.
Whether she was related to the builder of the house is not known. In
1896 the property was purchased by Mr. and Mrs. Hugh E. Brunk, who lived
in the house until 1907.

Most houses built in the early 1800’s were made of logs and chinked with
plaster made of lime and sand. This house was built of a good quality
white limestone, the reason probably being that stone was easier to
obtain than logs in this particular location, because a stone quarry was
located scarcely a quarter-mile away. The old quarry, near Sheehan Road,
long since has been abandoned.

    [Illustration: Pioneers and Conestoga wagon]

The stone walls of the house were about 18 inches thick and the inside
surface of these walls was plastered. The whole interior of the
downstairs rooms, except the floors, was whitewashed. The interior
dimensions of the lower floor are 15 by 23 feet.

Floor joists, rafters, and shingle laths were all hand hewn from white
oak. Examination of the floor joists disclosed that four of them had
been split from the same log. All wooden trim and the door and window
frames were of black walnut. In the period when this house was built,
the use of this kind of wood was not at all uncommon even in barns.

The floor boards were about one and a quarter inches thick and were of
beech and walnut. There is no ridge pole to support the roof, but the
rafters are notched and put together with wooden pins. The split
shingles were of oak. In the work of reconstruction, all of the stone
used is the original stone except the floor, which formerly was of wood.
The ceiling beams, attic flooring, rafters and most of the shingle laths
are originals. The remaining woodwork which was in bad condition has
been replaced but the original details of design and construction have
been carefully reproduced.

The fireplace chimneys are a part of the end walls. This style of
architecture shows the Moravian influence, the Moravians being a
religious sect who came to Ohio mostly from North Carolina,
Pennsylvania, and Georgia.

Wooden partitions at one time divided the lower floor into three rooms:
two tiny bedrooms and the living room. Because they made the rooms so
small, these partitions were not included when the house was rebuilt.

Each room had its own fireplace. The large one was used for cooking and
for heating the combination kitchen and living room. The two smaller
fireplaces were in the bedrooms. They were connected to a single chimney
and have been omitted.

The large fireplace was the center of activity for the household. Every
morning a large log would be brought in and placed on the embers left
from the fire of the night before. This log would be big enough to last
the day, and smaller sticks and logs would be put in front of it. If no
coals survived from the night before, the fire had to be lighted by
sparks from flint and steel, which was always a tedious task, or coals
might be borrowed from a neighbor. This was seldom necessary because
most families took care not to let their fires go out.

Hinged to the side of the big fireplace was a crane with pot hooks or
“trammels” on which cooking utensils were hung. Its deep pit provided
storage for wood ashes so necessary to the pioneer for the making of lye
used in making soap and hominy. Nearby was the inevitable bellows—known
in those days as “belluses”—and the hearth brush.

Cooking over an open fireplace was difficult, but many housewives became
very proficient at it, and meat cooked in this way had a flavor
unexcelled by any mode of cooking today.

The big fireplace also had its disadvantages. With the first frost,
flies were likely to swarm d
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Transcriber's note: A few obvious typographical errors have been corrected:
they are listed at the end of the text.

In this edition line numbers are displayed on every tenth line--in the
printed work they were synchronised to the pagination, with sometimes only
one number per page. Lines marked = were printed AND COUNTED as two lines.

Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). In the main text of
The Vision, the numbers of the original pages are enclosed in curly
brackets to facilitate the use of the glossary.

Project Gutenberg has the other volume of this work.
Volume II: see http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43661

       *       *       *       *       *


Library of Old Authors.

[Illustration: Spede the plough & send us korne enough]

  THE VISION AND CREED

  OF

  PIERS PLOUGHMAN.

  EDITED,
  FROM A CONTEMPORARY MANUSCRIPT,
  WITH A HISTORICAL INTRODUCTION,
  NOTES, AND A GLOSSARY,

  BY THOMAS WRIGHT, M.A. F.S.A. &c.

  Corresponding Member of the Imperial Institute of France,
  Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres.

  IN TWO VOLUMES.

  VOL. I.

  _SECOND AND REVISED EDITION._

  LONDON:
  REEVES AND TURNER, 196 STRAND.
  1887.

_PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION._

It is now thirteen years since the first edition of the following text of
this important poem was published by the late Mr. Pickering, during which
time the study of our old literature and history has undergone considerable
development, and it is believed that a reprint at a more moderate price
would be acceptable to the public. Holding still the same opinion which he
has always held with regard to the superior character of the manuscript
from which this text was taken, the editor has done no more than carefully
reprint it, but, in order to make it as useful as he could, he has revised
and made additions to both the Notes and the Glossary.

The remarkable poem of The Vision of Piers Ploughman is not only so
interesting a monument of the English language and literature, but it is
also so important an illustration of the political history of our country
during the fourteenth century, that it deserves to be read far more
generally than it has been, and the editor will rejoice sincerely if he
should have contributed by this new edition to render it more popular, and
place it within the reach of a greater number of readers. Independent of
its historical and literary importance, it contains many beauties which
will fully repay the slight labour required to master its partially
obsolete language, and, as one of the purest works in the English tongue as
it existed during the century in which it was composed, it is to be hoped
that, when the time shall at length arrive when English antiquities and
English philology and literary history are at length to be made a part of
the studies in our universities and in the higher classes of our schools,
the work of the Monk of Malvern, as a link between the poetry and language
of the Anglo-Saxon and those of modern England, will be made a prominent
text-book.

THOMAS WRIGHT.

  14, SYDNEY STREET, BROMPTON,
             _Nov. 1855_.

_INTRODUCTION._

The History of the Middle Ages in England, as in other countries,
represents to us a series of great consecutive political movements,
coexistent with a similar series of intellectual revolutions in the mass of
the people. The vast mental development caused by the universities in the
twelfth century led the way for the struggle to obtain religious and
political liberty in the thirteenth. The numerous political songs of that
period which have escaped the hand of time, and above all the mass of
satirical ballads against the Church of Rome, which commonly go under the
name of Walter Mapes, are remarkable monuments of the intellectual history
of our forefathers. Those ballads are written in Latin; for it was the most
learned class of the community which made the first great stand against the
encroachments and corruptions of the papacy and the increasing influence of
the monks. We know that the struggle alluded to was historically
unsuccessful. The baronial wars ended in the entire destruction of the
popular leaders; but their cause did not expire at Evesham; they had laid
foundations which no storm could overthrow, not placed hastily on the
uncertain surface of popular favour, but fixed deeply in the public mind.
The barons, who had fought so often and so staunchly for the great charter,
had lost their power; even the learning of the universities had faded under
the withering grasp of monachism; but the remembrance of the old contest
remained, and what was more, its literature was left, the songs which had
spread abroad the principles for which, or against which, Englishmen had
fought, carried them down (a precious legacy) to their posterity. Society
itself had undergone an important change; it was no longer a feudal
aristocracy which held the destinies of the country in its iron hand. The
plant which had been cut off took root again in another (a 
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truth, while it keeps wholly in generals, makes use of undefined terms,
and employs comparisons, instead of instances. This is particularly
remarkable in that philosophy, which ascribes the discernment of
all moral distinctions to reason alone, without the concurrence of
sentiment. It is impossible that, in any particular instance, this
hypothesis can so much as be rendered intelligible, whatever specious
figure it may make in general declamations and discourses. Examine the
crime of INGRATITUDE, for instance; which has place, wherever we observe
good-will, expressed and known, together with good-offices performed, on
the one side, and a return of ill-will or indifference, with ill-offices
or neglect on the other: anatomize all these circumstances, and examine,
by your reason alone, in what consists the demerit or blame. You never
will come to any issue or conclusion.

Reason judges either of MATTER OF FACT or of RELATIONS. Enquire then,
first, where is that matter of fact which we here call crime; point
it out; determine the time of its existence; describe its essence or
nature; explain the sense or faculty to which it discovers itself. It
resides in the mind of the person who is ungrateful. He must, therefore,
feel it, and be conscious of it. But nothing is there, except the
passion of ill-will or absolute indifference. You cannot say that these,
of themselves, always, and in all circumstances, are crimes. No, they
are only crimes when directed towards persons who have before expressed
and displayed good-will towards us. Consequently, we may infer, that the
crime of ingratitude is not any particular individual FACT; but arises
from a complication of circumstances, which, being presented to the
spectator, excites the SENTIMENT of blame, by the particular structure
and fabric of his mind.

This representation, you say, is false. Crime, indeed, consists not in
a particular FACT, of whose reality we are assured by reason; but it
consists in certain MORAL RELATIONS, discovered by reason, in the same
manner as we discover by reason the truths of geometry or algebra.
But what are the relations, I ask, of which you here talk? In the case
stated above, I see first good-will and good-offices in one person;
then ill-will and ill-offices in the other. Between these, there is a
relation of CONTRARIETY. Does the crime consist in that relation? But
suppose a person bore me ill-will or did me ill-offices; and I, in
return, were indifferent towards him, or did him good offices. Here is
the same relation of CONTRARIETY; and yet my conduct is often highly
laudable. Twist and turn this matter as much as you will, you can never
rest the morality on relation; but must have recourse to the decisions
of sentiment.

When it is affirmed that two and three are equal to the half of ten,
this relation of equality I understand perfectly. I conceive, that if
ten be divided into two parts, of which one has as many units as the
other; and if any of these parts be compared to two added to three, it
will contain as many units as that compound number. But when you draw
thence a comparison to moral relations, I own that I am altogether at a
loss to understand you. A moral action, a crime, such as ingratitude, is
a complicated object. Does the morality consist in the relation of its
parts to each other? How? After what manner? Specify the relation: be
more particular and explicit in your propositions, and you will easily
see their falsehood.

No, say you, the morality consists in the relation of actions to the
rule of right; and they are denominated good or ill, according as they
agree or disagree with it. What then is this rule of right? In what does
it consist? How is it determined? By reason, you say, which examines the
moral relations of actions. So that moral relations are determined
by the comparison of action to a rule. And that rule is determined by
considering the moral relations of objects. Is not this fine reasoning?

All this is metaphysics, you cry. That is enough; there needs nothing
more to give a strong presumption of falsehood. Yes, reply I, here
are metaphysics surely; but they are all on your side, who advance an
abstruse hypothesis, which can never be made intelligible, nor quadrate
with any particular instance or illustration. The hypothesis which we
embrace is plain. It maintains that morality is determined by sentiment.
It defines virtue to be WHATEVER MENTAL ACTION OR QUALITY GIVES TO A
SPECTATOR THE PLEASING SENTIMENT OF APPROBATION; and vice the contrary.
We then proceed to examine a plain matter of fact, to wit, what actions
have this influence. We consider all the circumstances in which these
actions agree, and thence endeavour to extract some general observations
with regard to these sentiments. If you call this metaphysics, and find
anything abstruse here, you need only conclude that your turn of mind is
not suited to the moral sciences.

whether he had better, in a particular emergence, assist a brother or
a ben
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Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by
Internet Archive (https://archive.org)



Note: Images of the original pages are available through
      Internet Archive. See
      https://archive.org/details/menwomenbooks00birruoft





ESSAYS ABOUT MEN, WOMEN, AND BOOKS


      *      *      *      *      *      *

WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR.


_CHEAP EDITION. In square crown 8vo., appropriately bound, 2s. 6d. net._

IN THE NAME OF THE BODLEIAN, AND OTHER ESSAYS.

‘These delightful essays possess all the characteristics which
have given their author a special place in modern literary
criticism.’--_Daily News._

‘Mr. Birrell delights us on every page when he comes before us as
essayist. “In the Name of the Bodleian” is a worthy companion to
“Obiter Dicta.”’--_Daily Telegraph._


_CHEAP and UNIFORM EDITION, price 2s. 6d. each; also ORIGINAL EDITIONS,
5s. each._


        OBITER DICTA. First Series.
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     ESSAYS ABOUT MEN, WOMEN, & BOOKS.
             RES JUDICATÆ.


_SECOND EDITION. In fcap. 8vo., cloth, price 5s._

MISCELLANIES.


_LIBRARY EDITION. In 2 vols., crown 8vo., bound in cloth, 12s._

COLLECTED ESSAYS.


     Vol. I. contains: OBITER DICTA. Series I.
            OBITER DICTA. Series II.

     Vol. II. contains: MEN, WOMEN, AND BOOKS.
                 RES JUDICATÆ.


ELLIOT STOCK, 62, PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON, E.C.

      *      *      *      *      *      *



MEN, WOMEN, AND BOOKS

by

AUGUSTINE BIRRELL

Author of ‘Obiter Dicta,’ etc.






London: Elliot Stock
62, Paternoster Row, E.C.
1910




CONTENTS

                                      PAGE
DEAN SWIFT                               1

LORD BOLINGBROKE                        16

STERNE                                  28

DR. JOHNSON                             38

RICHARD CUMBERLAND                      47

ALEXANDER KNOX AND THOMAS DE QUINCEY    58

HANNAH MORE                             70

MARIE BASHKIRTSEFF                      81

SIR JOHN VANBRUGH                       96

JOHN GAY                               109

ROGER NORTH’S AUTOBIOGRAPHY            121

BOOKS OLD AND NEW                      134

BOOK-BINDING                           147

POETS LAUREATE                         157

PARLIAMENTARY CANDIDATES               167

THE BONÂ-FIDE TRAVELLER                176

‘HOURS IN A LIBRARY’                   189

AMERICANISMS AND BRITICISMS            199

AUTHORS AND CRITICS                    210




DEAN SWIFT.


Of writing books about Dean Swift there is no end. I make no complaint,
because I find no fault; I express no wonder, for I feel none. The
subject is, and must always remain, one of strange fascination. We
have no author like the Dean of St. Patrick’s. It has been said of
Wordsworth that good-luck usually attended those who have written about
him. The same thing may be said, with at least equal truth, about
Swift. There are a great many books about him, and with few exceptions
they are all interesting.

A man who has had his tale told both by Johnson and by Scott ought
to be comprehensible. Swift has been, on the whole, lucky with his
more recent biographers. Dr. Craik’s is a judicious life, Mitford’s an
admirable sketch, Forster’s a valuable fragment; Mr. Leslie Stephen
never fails to get to close quarters with his subject. Then there
are anecdotes without end--all bubbling with vitality--letters, and
journals. And yet, when you have read all that is to be read, what are
you to say--what to think?

No fouler pen than Swift’s has soiled our literature. His language
is horrible from first to last. He is full of odious images, of base
and abominable allusions. It would be a labour of Hercules to cleanse
his pages. His love-letters are defaced by his incurable coarseness.
This habit of his is so inveterate that it seems a miracle he kept
his sermons free from his blackguard phrases. It is a question not
of morality, but of decency, whether it is becoming to sit in the
same room with the works of this divine. How the good Sir Walter ever
managed to see him through the press is amazing. In this matter Swift
is inexcusable.

Then his unfeeling temper, his domineering brutality--the tears he
drew, the discomfort he occasioned.


     ‘Swift, dining at a house, where the part of the tablecloth which
     was next him happened to have a small hole, tore it as wide as he
     could, and ate his soup through it; his reason for such behaviour
     was, as he said, to mortify the lady of the house, and to teach
     her to pay a proper attention to housewifery.’


One is glad to know he sometimes met his match. He slept one night at
an inn kept by a widow lady of very respectable family, Mrs. Seneca,
of Drogheda. In the morning he made a violent complaint of the sheets
being dirty.

‘Dirty, indeed!’ exclaimed Mrs. Seneca; ‘you are the last man, doctor,
that should complain of dirty sheets.’

And so, indeed, he was, for he had just published the ‘Lady’s
Dressing-room,’ a ve
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TO HIM SO DEEPLY INDEBTED.




PREFACE.


The stories contained in the following pages are taken from the
collections published by Afanasief, Khudyakof, Erlenvein, and
Chudinsky. The South-Russian collections of Kulish and Rudchenko I
have been able to use but little, there being no complete dictionary
available of the dialect, or rather the language, in which they are
written. Of these works that of Afanasief is by far the most
important, extending to nearly 3,000 pages, and containing 332
distinct stories--of many of which several variants are given,
sometimes as many as five. Khudyakof's collection contains 122
skazkas--as the Russian folk-tales are called--Erlenvein's 41, and
Chudinsky's 31. Afanasief has also published a separate volume,
containing 33 "legends," and he has inserted a great number of stories
of various kinds in his "Poetic views of the Old Slavonians about
Nature," a work to which I have had constant recourse.

From the stories contained in what may be called the "chap-book
literature" of Russia, I have made but few extracts. It may, however,
be as well to say a few words about them. There is a Russian word
_lub_, diminutive _lubok_, meaning the soft bark of the lime tree,
which at one time was used instead of paper. The popular tales which
were current in former days were at first printed on sheets or strips
of this substance, whence the term _lubochnuiya_ came to be given to
all such productions of the cheap press, even after paper had taken
the place of bark.[1]

The stories which have thus been preserved have no small interest of
their own, but they cannot be considered as fair illustrations of
Russian folk-lore, for their compilers in many cases took them from
any sources to which they had access, whether eastern or western,
merely adapting what they borrowed to Russian forms of thought and
speech. Through some such process, for instance, seem to have passed
the very popular Russian stories of Eruslan Lazarevich and of Bova
Korolevich. They have often been quoted as "creations of the Slavonic
mind," but there seems to be no reason for doubting that they are
merely Russian adaptations, the first of the adventures of the Persian
Rustem, the second of those of the Italian Buovo di Antona, our Sir
Bevis of Hampton. The editors of these "chap-book skazkas" belonged to
the pre-scientific period, and had a purely commercial object in view.
Their stories were intended simply to sell.

A German version of seventeen of these "chap-book tales," to which
was prefixed an introduction by Jacob Grimm, was published some forty
years ago,[2] and has been translated into English.[3] Somewhat later,
also, appeared a German version of twelve more of these tales.[4]

Of late years several articles have appeared in some of the German
periodicals,[5] giving accounts or translations of some of the Russian
Popular Tales. But no thorough investigation of them appeared in
print, out of Russia, until the publication last year of the erudite
work on "Zoological Mythology" by Professor Angelo de Gubernatis. In
it he has given a summary of the greater part of the stories contained
in the collections of Afanasief and Erlenvein, and so fully has he
described the part played in them by the members of the animal world
that I have omitted, in the present volume, the chapter I had prepared
on the Russian "Beast-Epos."

Another chapter which I have, at least for a time, suppressed, is
that in which I had attempted to say something about the origin and
the meaning of the Russian folk-tales. The subject is so extensive
that it requires for its proper treatment more space than a single
have left the stories I have quoted to speak for themselves, except in
those instances in which I have given the chief parallels to be found
in the two collections of foreign folk-tales best known to the English
reader, together with a few others which happened to fall within the
range of my own reading. Professor de Gubernatis has discussed at
length, and with much learning, the esoteric meaning of the skazkas,
and their bearing upon the questions to which the "solar theory" of
myth-explanation has given rise. To his volumes, and to those of Mr.
Cox, I refer all who are interested in those fascinating enquiries. My
chief aim has been to familiarize English readers with the Russian
folk-tale; the historical and mythological problems involved in it can
be discussed at a later period. Before long, in all probability, a
copious flood of light will be poured upon the connexion of the
Popular Tales of Russia with those of other lands by one of those
scholars who are best qualified to deal with the subject.[6]

Besides the stories about animals, I have left unnoticed two other
groups of skazkas--those which relate to historical events, and those
in which figure the heroes of the Russian "epic poems" or "metrical
romances." My next volume will be devoted to the Builinas, as those
poems are called, and in it the skazkas which are connected with th
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Come Into My Brain!

                          By Alexander Blade

               Fitted with the new thought-helmet, Dane
            Harrell plunged into the venomous brain of the
            alien. It was a fast way to commit suicide!...

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                               June 1958
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Dane Harrell held the thought-helmet tightly between his hands and,
before putting it on, glanced over at the bound, writhing alien sitting
opposite him. The alien snarled defiantly.

"You're sure you want to go through with this?" asked Dr. Phelps.

Harrell nodded. "I volunteered, didn't I? I said I'd take a look inside
this buzzard's brain and I'm going to do it. If I don't come up in half
an hour, come get me."

"Right."

Harrell slipped the cool bulk of the thought-helmet over his head and
signalled to the scientist, who pulled the actuator switch. Harrell
shuddered as psionic current surged through him; he stiffened,
wriggled, and felt himself glide out of his body, hover incorporeally
in the air between his now soulless shell and the alien bound opposite.

_Remember, you volunteered_, he told himself.

He hung for a moment outside the alien's skull; then, he drifted
downward and in. He had entered the alien's mind. Whether he would
emerge alive, and with the troop-deployment data--well, that was
another matter entirely.

The patrol-ships of the Terran outpost on Planetoid 113 had discovered
the alien scout a week before. The Dimellian spy was lurking about the
outermost reaches of the Terran safety zone when he was caught.

It wasn't often that Earth captured a Dimellian alive and so the
Outpost resolved to comb as much information from him as possible.
The Earth-Dimell war was four years old; neither side had scored a
decisive victory. It was believed that Dimell was massing its fleets
for an all-out attack on Earth itself; confirmation of this from the
captured scout would make Terran defensive tactics considerably more
sound.

But the Dimellian resisted all forms of brainwashing until Phelps,
the Base Psych-man, came forth with the experimental thought-helmet.
Volunteers were requested; Harrell spoke up first. Now, wearing
the thought-helmet, he plunged deep into the unknown areas of the
Dimellian's mind, hoping to emerge with high-order military secrets.

His first impression was of thick grey murk--so thick it could be cut.
Using a swimming motion, Harrell drifted downward, toward the light in
the distance. It was a long way down; he floated, eerily, in free-fall.

Finally he touched ground. It yielded under him spongily, but it
was solid. He looked around. The place was alien: coarse crumbly red
soil, giant spike-leaved trees that shot up hundreds of feet overhead,
brutal-looking birds squawking and chattering in the low branches.

It looked just like the tridim solidos of Dimell he had seen. Well, why
not? Why shouldn't the inside of a man's mind--or an alien's, for that
matter--resemble his home world?

Cautiously, Harrell started to walk. Mountains rose in the dim distance
and he could see, glittering on a mountaintop far beyond him, the white
bulk of an armored castle. Of course! His imaginative mind realized at
once that here was where the Dimellian guarded his precious secrets; up
there, on the mountain, was his goal.

He started to walk.

Low-hanging vines obscured his way; he conjured up a machete and cut
them down. The weapon felt firm and real in his hand but he realized
that not even the hand was real; all this was but an imaginative
projection.

The castle was further away than he had thought. He saw this after he
had walked for perhaps 15 minutes. There was no telling duration inside
the alien's skull, either. Or distance. The castle seemed just as
distant now as when he had begun and his 15-minute journey through the
jungle had tired him.

Suddenly demonic laughter sounded up ahead in the jungle. Harsh, ugly
laughter.

And the Dimellian appeared, slashing his way through the vines with
swashbuckling abandon.

"Get out of my mind, Earthman!"

       *       *       *       *       *

The Dimellian was larger than life and twice as ugly. It was an
idealized, self-glorified mental image Harrell faced.

The captured Dimellian was about five feet tall, thick-shouldered, with
sturdy, corded arms and supplementary tentacles sprouting from its
shoulders; its skin was green and leathery, dotted with toad-like warts.

Harrell now saw a creature close to nine feet tall, swaggering, with a
mighty barrel of a chest and a huge broad-sword clutched in one of its
arms. The tentacles writhed purposefully.

"You know why I'm here, alien. I want to know certain facts. And I'm
not getting out of your mind until I've wrung them from you."

The alien's lipless mouth curved in a bleak sm
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PART 1--DROPPED FROM THE CLOUDS




“Are we rising again?” “No. On the contrary.” “Are we descending?”
 “Worse than that, captain! we are falling!” “For Heaven’s sake heave out
the ballast!” “There! the last sack is empty!” “Does the balloon rise?”
 “No!” “I hear a noise like the dashing of waves. The sea is below the
car! It cannot be more than 500 feet from us!” “Overboard with every
weight! ... everything!”

Such were the loud and startling words which resounded through the air,
above the vast watery desert of the Pacific, about four o’clock in the
evening of the 23rd of March, 1865.

Few can possibly have forgotten the terrible storm from the northeast,
in the middle of the equinox of that year. The tempest raged without
intermission from the 18th to the 26th of March. Its ravages were
terrible in America, Europe, and Asia, covering a distance of eighteen
hundred miles, and extending obliquely to the equator from the
thirty-fifth north parallel to the fortieth south parallel. Towns were
overthrown, forests uprooted, coasts devastated by the mountains of
water which were precipitated on them, vessels cast on the shore, which
the published accounts numbered by hundreds, whole districts leveled
by waterspouts which destroyed everything they passed over, several
thousand people crushed on land or drowned at sea; such were the traces
of its fury, left by this devastating tempest. It surpassed in disasters
those which so frightfully ravaged Havana and Guadalupe, one on the 25th
of October, 1810, the other on the 26th of July, 1825.

But while so many catastrophes were taking place on land and at sea, a
drama not less exciting was being enacted in the agitated air.

In fact, a balloon, as a ball might be carried on the summit of a
waterspout, had been taken into the circling movement of a column of
air and had traversed space at the rate of ninety miles an hour, turning
round and round as if seized by some aerial maelstrom.

Beneath the lower point of the balloon swung a car, containing five
passengers, scarcely visible in the midst of the thick vapor mingled
with spray which hung over the surface of the ocean.

Whence, it may be asked, had come that plaything of the tempest? From
what part of the world did it rise? It surely could not have started
during the storm. But the storm had raged five days already, and the
first symptoms were manifested on the 18th. It cannot be doubted that
the balloon came from a great distance, for it could not have traveled
less than two thousand miles in twenty-four hours.

At any rate the passengers, destitute of all marks for their guidance,
could not have possessed the means of reckoning the route traversed
since their departure. It was a remarkable fact that, although in the
very midst of the furious tempest, they did not suffer from it. They
were thrown about and whirled round and round without feeling the
rotation in the slightest degree, or being sensible that they were
removed from a horizontal position.

Their eyes could not pierce through the thick mist which had gathered
beneath the car. Dark vapor was all around them. Such was the density
of the atmosphere that they could not be certain whether it was day or
night. No reflection of light, no sound from inhabited land, no roaring
of the ocean could have reached them, through the obscurity, while
suspended in those elevated zones. Their rapid descent alone had
informed them of the dangers which they ran from the waves. However,
the balloon, lightened of heavy articles, such as ammunition, arms, and
provisions, had risen into the higher layers of the atmosphere, to a
height of 4,500 feet. The voyagers, after having discovered that the sea
extended beneath them, and thinking the dangers above less dreadful than
those below, did not hesitate to throw overboard even their most useful
articles, while they endeavored to lose no more of that fluid, the life
of their enterprise, which sustained them above the abyss.

The night passed in the midst of alarms which would have been death to
less energetic souls. Again the day appeared and with it the tempest
began to moderate. From the beginning of that day, the 24th of March,
it showed symptoms of abating. At dawn, some of the lighter clouds had
risen into the more lofty regions of the air. In a few hours the wind
had changed from a hurricane to a fresh breeze, that is to say, the rate
of the transit of the atmospheric layers was diminished by half. It
was still what sailors call “a close-reefed topsail breeze,” but the
commotion in the elements had none the less considerably diminished.

Towards eleven o’clock, the lower region of the air was sensibly
clearer. The atmosphere threw off that chilly dampness which is felt
after the passage of a great meteor. The storm did not seem to have gone
farther to the west. It appeared to have exhausted itself. Could it have
passed away in electric sheets, as is sometimes the case with regard to
the typhoons of the Indian Ocean?

But at 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 20748
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/20748

Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net









[Illustration: _Adventures of Tom Thumb_
It Shone Down Upon the White Pebbles]




FAVORITE
FAIRY TALES

ARRANGED BY

LOGAN MARSHALL

[Illustration]

_ONE HUNDRED ILLUSTRATIONS_

THE JOHN C. WINSTON COMPANY
CHICAGO  PHILADELPHIA  TORONTO




COPYRIGHT, 1917, BY
L. T. MYERS
PRINTED IN U. S. A.




CONTENTS

                                   PAGE

LITTLE SNOW WHITE                     5

THE UGLY DUCKLING                    22

ALADDIN AND THE WONDERFUL LAMP       43

THE SLEEPING BEAUTY                  64

PUSS-IN-BOOTS                        73

ADVENTURES OF TOM THUMB              81

THE THREE BEARS                      95

THE LITTLE MATCH GIRL               103

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST                109

THE STORY OF CINDERELLA             122

JACK THE GIANT KILLER               135

JACK AND THE BEANSTALK              155

DICK WHITTINGTON AND HIS CAT        167

THE STORY OF BLUEBEARD              184

LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD              195

SINDBAD THE SAILOR                  202

HANSEL AND GRETEL                   230

THE GOOSE GIRL                      247




LITTLE SNOW-WHITE

[Illustration]


Once upon a time in the middle of winter, when the flakes of snow were
falling like feathers from the clouds, a Queen sat at her palace window,
which had an ebony black frame, stitching her husband's shirts. While
she was thus engaged and looking out at the snow she pricked her finger,
and three drops of blood fell upon the snow. Now the red looked so well
upon the white that she thought to herself, "Oh, that I had a child as
white as this snow, as red as this blood, and as black as the wood of
this frame!" Soon afterwards a little daughter came to her, who was as
white as snow, and with cheeks as red as blood, and with hair as black
as ebony, and from this she was named "Snow-White." And at the same time
her mother died.

About a year afterwards the King married another wife, who was very
beautiful, but so proud and haughty that she could not bear anyone to be
better-looking than herself. She owned a wonderful mirror, and when she
stepped before it and said:

    "Mirror, mirror on the wall,
     Who is the fairest of us all?"

it replied:

    "The Queen is the fairest of the day."

Then she was pleased, for she knew that the mirror spoke truly.

Little Snow-White, however, grew up, and became prettier and prettier,
and when she was seven years old she was as fair as the noonday, and
more beautiful than the Queen herself. When the Queen now asked her
mirror:

    "Mirror, mirror on the wall,
     Who is the fairest of us all?"

it replied:

    "The Queen was fairest yesterday;
     Snow-White is the fairest, now, they say."

This answer so angered the Queen that she became quite yellow with envy.
From that hour, whenever she saw Snow-White, her heart was hardened
against her, and she hated the little girl. Her envy and jealousy
increased so that she had no rest day or night, and she said to a
Huntsman, "Take the child away into the forest. I will never look
upon her again. You must kill her, and bring me her heart and tongue
for a token."

The Huntsman listened and took the maiden away, but when he drew out his
knife to kill her, she began to cry, saying, "Ah, dear Huntsman, give me
my life! I will run into the wild forest, and never come home again."

This speech softened the Hunter's heart, and her beauty so touched him
that he had pity on her and said, "Well, run away then, poor child." But
he thought to himself, "The wild beasts will soon devour you." Still he
felt as if a stone had been lifted from his heart, because her death was
not by his hand. Just at that moment a young boar came roaring along to
the spot, and as soon as he clapped eyes upon it the Huntsman caught it,
and, killing it, took its tongue and heart and carried them to the
Queen, for a token of his deed.

But now poor little Snow-White was left motherless and alone, and
overcome with grief, she was bewildered at the sight of so many trees,
and knew not which way to turn. She ran till her feet refused to go
farther, and as it was getting dark, and she saw a little house near,
she entered in to rest. In this cottage everything was very small, but
very neat and elegant. In the middle stood a little table with a white
cloth over it, and seven little plates upon it, each plate having a
spoon and a knife and a fork, and there were also seven little mugs.
Against the wall were seven little beds arranged in a row, each covered
with snow-white sheets.

Little Snow-White, being both hungry and thirsty, ate a little morsel of
porridge out of each plate, and drank a drop or two of wine out of each
mug, for she did not wish to take away the whole share of anyone. After
that, because she was so tired, she laid herself down on one bed, but it
did not suit; she tried another, but that was too long; a fourth was too
short, a fifth too hard. But the seventh was just the thing; a
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 3435
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THE BOOK OF THE
THOUSAND NIGHTS AND A NIGHT

A Plain and Literal Translation
of the Arabian Nights Entertainments

Translated and Annotated by
 Richard F. Burton 




VOLUME ONE


Inscribed to the Memory
of
My Lamented Friend
John Frederick Steinhaeuser,
(Civil Surgeon, Aden)
who
A Quarter of a Century Ago
Assisted Me in this Translation.


“TO THE PURE ALL THINGS ARE PURE”
(Puris omnia pura)

—_Arab Proverb._

“Niuna corrotta mente intese mai sanamente parole.”

—“_Decameron_”—_conclusion_.

“Erubuit, posuitque meum Lucretia librum
Sed coram Bruto. Brute! recede, leget.”

—MARTIAL.

“Mieulx est de ris que de larmes escripre,
Pour ce que rire est le propre des hommes.”

—RABELAIS.

“The pleasure we derive from perusing the Thousand-and-One Stories
makes us regret that we possess only a comparatively small part of
these truly enchanting fictions.”

—CRICHTON’S “_History of Arabia_.”


Contents of the First Volume

 Introduction
 Story Of King Shahryar and His Brother
 a. Tale of the Bull and the Ass
 1. Tale of the Trader and the Jinni
 a. The First Shaykh’s Story
 b. The Second Shaykh’s Story
 c. The Third Shaykh’s Story
 2. The Fisherman and the Jinni
 a. Tale of the Wazir and the Sage Duban
 ab. Story of King Sindibad and His Falcon
 ac. Tale of the Husband and the Parrot
 ad. Tale of the Prince and the Ogress
 b. Tale of the Ensorcelled Prince
 3. The Porter and the Three Ladies of Baghdad
 a. The First Kalandar’s Tale
 b. The Second Kalandar’s Tale
 ba. Tale of the Envier and the Envied
 c. The Third Kalandar’s Tale
 d. The Eldest Lady’s Tale
 e. Tale of the Portress
 Conclusion of the Story of the Porter and the Three Ladies
 4. Tale of the Three Apples
 5. Tale of Nur Al-din Ali and his Son
 6. The Hunchback’s Tale
 a. The Nazarene Broker’s Story
 b. The Reeve’s Tale
 c. Tale of the Jewish Doctor
 d. Tale of the Tailor
 e. The Barber’s Tale of Himself
 ea. The Barber’s Tale of his First Brother
 eb. The Barber’s Tale of his Second Brother
 ec. The Barber’s Tale of his Third Brother
 ed. The Barber’s Tale of his Fourth Brother
 ee. The Barber’s Tale of his Fifth Brother
 ef. The Barber’s Tale of his Sixth Brother
 The End of the Tailor’s Tale




The Translator’s Foreword.


This work, labourious as it may appear, has been to me a labour of
love, an unfailing source of solace and satisfaction. During my long
years of official banishment to the luxuriant and deadly deserts of
Western Africa, and to the dull and dreary half clearings of South
America, it proved itself a charm, a talisman against ennui and
despondency. Impossible even to open the pages without a vision
starting into view; with out drawing a picture from the pinacothek of
the brain; without reviving a host of memories and reminiscences which
are not the common property of travellers, however widely they may have
travelled. From my dull and commonplace and "respectable" surroundings,
the Jinn bore me at once to the land of my pre-dilection, Arabia, a
region so familiar to my mind that even at first sight, it seemed a
reminiscence of some by gone metem-psychic life in the distant Past.
Again I stood under the diaphanous skies, in air glorious as aether,
whose every breath raises men's spirits like sparkling wine. Once more
I saw the evening star hanging like a solitaire from the pure front of
the western firmament; and the after glow transfiguring and
transforming, as by magic, the homely and rugged features of the scene
into a fairy land lit with a light which never shines on other soils or
seas. Then would appear the woollen tents, low and black, of the true
Badawin, mere dots in the boundless waste of lion tawny clays and
gazelle brown gravels, and the camp fire dotting like a glow worm the
village centre. Presently, sweetened by distance, would be heard the
wild weird song of lads and lasses, driving or rather pelting, through
the gloaming their sheep and goats; and the measured chant of the
spearsmen gravely stalking behind their charge, the camels; mingled
with bleating of the flocks and the bellowing of the humpy herds; while
the reremouse flitted overhead with his tiny shriek, and the rave of
the jackal resounded through deepening glooms, and—most musical of
music—the palm trees answered the whispers of the night breeze with the
softest tones of falling water.

And then a shift of scene. The Shaykhs and "white beards" of the tribe
gravely take their places, sitting with outspread skirts like hillocks
on the plain, as the Arabs say, around the camp fire, whilst I reward
their hospitality and secure its continuance by reading or reciting a
few pages of their favourite tales. The women and children stand
motionless as silhouettes outside the ring; and all are breathless with
attention; they seem to drink in the words with eyes and mouths as well
as with ears. The most fantastic flights of fancy, the wildest
improbabilities, the most impossible of impossibilities, appear to them
utterly natural, mere matters of every day occurrence. They
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 876
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LIFE IN THE IRON-MILLS

by Rebecca Harding Davis


               “Is this the end?
               O Life, as futile, then, as frail!
               What hope of answer or redress?”


A cloudy day: do you know what that is in a town of iron-works? The sky
sank down before dawn, muddy, flat, immovable. The air is thick, clammy
with the breath of crowded human beings. It stifles me. I open the
window, and, looking out, can scarcely see through the rain the grocer's
shop opposite, where a crowd of drunken Irishmen are puffing Lynchburg
tobacco in their pipes. I can detect the scent through all the foul
smells ranging loose in the air.

The idiosyncrasy of this town is smoke. It rolls sullenly in slow folds
from the great chimneys of the iron-foundries, and settles down in
black, slimy pools on the muddy streets. Smoke on the wharves, smoke on
the dingy boats, on the yellow river,--clinging in a coating of greasy
soot to the house-front, the two faded poplars, the faces of the
passers-by. The long train of mules, dragging masses of pig-iron through
the narrow street, have a foul vapor hanging to their reeking sides.
Here, inside, is a little broken figure of an angel pointing upward from
the mantel-shelf; but even its wings are covered with smoke, clotted
and black. Smoke everywhere! A dirty canary chirps desolately in a
cage beside me. Its dream of green fields and sunshine is a very old
dream,--almost worn out, I think.

From the back-window I can see a narrow brick-yard sloping down to
the river-side, strewed with rain-butts and tubs. The river, dull and
tawny-colored, (la belle riviere!) drags itself sluggishly along, tired
of the heavy weight of boats and coal-barges. What wonder? When I was a
child, I used to fancy a look of weary, dumb appeal upon the face of the
negro-like river slavishly bearing its burden day after day. Something
of the same idle notion comes to me to-day, when from the street-window
I look on the slow stream of human life creeping past, night and
morning, to the great mills. Masses of men, with dull, besotted faces
bent to the ground, sharpened here and there by pain or cunning; skin
and muscle and flesh begrimed with smoke and ashes; stooping all night
over boiling caldrons of metal, laired by day in dens of drunkenness and
infamy; breathing from infancy to death an air saturated with fog and
grease and soot, vileness for soul and body. What do you make of a case
like that, amateur psychologist? You call it an altogether serious thing
to be alive: to these men it is a drunken jest, a joke,--horrible to
angels perhaps, to them commonplace enough. My fancy about the river was
an idle one: it is no type of such a life. What if it be stagnant and
slimy here? It knows that beyond there waits for it odorous sunlight,
quaint old gardens, dusky with soft, green foliage of apple-trees, and
flushing crimson with roses,--air, and fields, and mountains. The future
of the Welsh puddler passing just now is not so pleasant. To be stowed
away, after his grimy work is done, in a hole in the muddy graveyard,
and after that, not air, nor green fields, nor curious roses.

Can you see how foggy the day is? As I stand here, idly tapping the
windowpane, and looking out through the rain at the dirty back-yard and
the coalboats below, fragments of an old story float up before me,--a
story of this house into which I happened to come to-day. You may think
it a tiresome story enough, as foggy as the day, sharpened by no sudden
flashes of pain or pleasure.--I know: only the outline of a dull life,
that long since, with thousands of dull lives like its own, was vainly
lived and lost: thousands of them, massed, vile, slimy lives, like those
of the torpid lizards in yonder stagnant water-butt.--Lost? There is a
curious point for you to settle, my friend, who study psychology in a
lazy, dilettante way. Stop a moment. I am going to be honest. This is
what I want you to do. I want you to hide your disgust, take no heed
to your clean clothes, and come right down with me,--here, into the
thickest of the fog and mud and foul effluvia. I want you to hear this
story. There is a secret down here, in this nightmare fog, that has lain
dumb for centuries: I want to make it a real thing to you. You, Egoist,
or Pantheist, or Arminian, busy in making straight paths for your feet
on the hills, do not see it clearly,--this terrible question which men
here have gone mad and died trying to answer. I dare not put this secret
into words. I told you it was dumb. These men, going by with drunken
faces and brains full of unawakened power, do not ask it of Society or
of God. Their lives ask it; their deaths ask it. There is no reply. I
will tell you plainly that I have a great hope; and I bring it to you
to be tested. It is this: that this terrible dumb question is its own
reply; that it is not the sentence of death we think it, but, from the
very extremity of its darkness, the most solemn prophecy which the world
has known of the Hope to
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 4018
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/4018

JAPANESE FAIRY TALES

COMPILED BY

YEI THEODORA OZAKI




Profusely Illustrated by Japanese Artists




TO

ELEANOR MARION-CRAWFORD.

I DEDICATE THIS BOOK TO YOU AND TO THE SWEET CHILD-FRIENDSHIP THAT YOU
GAVE ME IN THE DAYS SPENT WITH YOU BY THE SOUTHERN SEA, WHEN YOU USED
TO LISTEN WITH UNFEIGNED PLEASURE TO THESE FAIRY STORIES FROM FAR
JAPAN. MAY THEY NOW REMIND YOU OF MY CHANGELESS LOVE AND REMEMBRANCE.

Y. T. O.

Tokio, 1908.




PREFACE.

This collection of Japanese fairy tales is the outcome of a suggestion
made to me indirectly through a friend by Mr. Andrew Lang. They have
been translated from the modern version written by Sadanami Sanjin.
These stories are not literal translations, and though the Japanese
story and all quaint Japanese expressions have been faithfully
preserved, they have been told more with the view to interest young
readers of the West than the technical student of folk-lore.

Grateful acknowledgment is due to Mr. Y. Yasuoka, Miss Fusa Okamoto, my
brother Nobumori Ozaki, Dr. Yoshihiro Takaki, and Miss Kameko Yamao,
who have helped me with translations.

The story which I have named "The Story of the Man who did not Wish to
Die" is taken from a little book written a hundred years ago by one
Shinsui Tamenaga. It is named Chosei Furo, or "Longevity." "The
Bamboo-cutter and the Moon-child" is taken from the classic "Taketari
Monogatari," and is NOT classed by the Japanese among their fairy
tales, though it really belongs to this class of literature.

The pictures were drawn by Mr. Kakuzo Fujiyama, a Tokio artist.

In telling these stories in English I have followed my fancy in adding
such touches of local color or description as they seemed to need or as
pleased me, and in one or two instances I have gathered in an incident
from another version. At all times, among my friends, both young and
old, English or American, I have always found eager listeners to the
beautiful legends and fairy tales of Japan, and in telling them I have
also found that they were still unknown to the vast majority, and this
has encouraged me to write them for the children of the West.

Y. T. O.

Tokio, 1908.




CONTENTS.


MY LORD BAG OF RICE

THE TONGUE-CUT SPARROW

THE STORY OF URASHIMA TARO, THE FISHER LAD

THE FARMER AND THE BADGER

THE "shinansha," OR THE SOUTH POINTING CARRIAGE

THE ADVENTURES OF KINTARO, THE GOLDEN BOY

THE STORY OF PRINCESS HASE

THE STORY OF THE MAN WHO DID NOT WISH TO DIE

THE BAMBOO-CUTTER AND THE MOON-CHILD

THE MIRROR OF MATSUYAMA

THE GOBLIN OF ADACHIGAHARA

THE SAGACIOUS MONKEY AND THE BOAR

THE HAPPY HUNTER AND THE SKILLFUL FISHER

THE STORY OF THE OLD MAN WHO MADE WITHERED TREES TO FLOWER

THE JELLY FISH AND THE MONKEY

THE QUARREL OF THE MONKEY AND THE CRAB

THE WHITE HARE AND THE CROCODILES

THE STORY OF PRINCE YAMATO TAKE

MOMOTARO, OR THE STORY OF THE SON OF A PEACH

THE OGRE OF RASHOMON

HOW AN OLD MAN LOST HIS WEN

THE STONES OF FIVE COLORS AND THE EMPRESS JOKWA






JAPANESE FAIRY TALES.




MY LORD BAG OF RICE.


Long, long ago there lived, in Japan a brave warrior known to all as
Tawara Toda, or "My Lord Bag of Rice." His true name was Fujiwara
Hidesato, and there is a very interesting story of how he came to
change his name.

One day he sallied forth in search of adventures, for he had the nature
of a warrior and could not bear to be idle. So he buckled on his two
swords, took his huge bow, much taller than himself, in his hand, and
slinging his quiver on his back started out. He had not gone far when
he came to the bridge of Seta-no-Karashi spanning one end of the
beautiful Lake Biwa. No sooner had he set foot on the bridge than he
saw lying right across his path a huge serpent-dragon. Its body was so
big that it looked like the trunk of a large pine tree and it took up
the whole width of the bridge. One of its huge claws rested on the
parapet of one side of the bridge, while its tail lay right against the
other. The monster seemed to be asleep, and as it breathed, fire and
smoke came out of its nostrils.

At first Hidesato could not help feeling alarmed at the sight of this
horrible reptile lying in his path, for he must either turn back or
walk right over its body. He was a brave man, however, and putting
aside all fear went forward dauntlessly. Crunch, crunch! he stepped now
on the dragon's body, now between its coils, and without even one
glance backward he went on his way.

He had only gone a few steps when he heard some one calling him from
behind. On turning back he was much surprised to see that the monster
dragon had entirely disappeared and in its place was a strange-looking
man, who was bowing most ceremoniously to the ground. His red hair
streamed over his shoulders and was surmounted by a crown in the shape
of a dragon's head, and his sea-green dress was patterned with shells.
Hidesato knew at once that this was no ordinary mortal and he wondered
much at the strange occurrence. Where had the dragon gone in such a
short space of time? Or had it transf
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 29558
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COPYRIGHT 1911
BY BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA



BOY SCOUT CERTIFICATE

This is to certify that _________
of ___________ State of _________
Street and City or Town address


Age_____ Height_____ Weigh_____

is a member of ________ Patrol, of Troop No. _____

________________
Scout Master


SCOUT HISTORY

Qualified as Tenderfoot ________ 191_

Second Class Scout _________ 191_

First Class Scout _______ 191_


QUALIFIED FOR MERIT BADGES
SUBJECT              DATE
1________________    ________________
2________________    ________________
3________________    ________________
4________________    ________________
5________________    ________________

Qualified as Life Scout ________________

Qualified as Star Scout ________________

Qualified as Eagle Scout ________________

Awarded Honor Medal      ________________



{v}

PREFACE

The Boy Scout Movement has become almost universal, and wherever
organized its leaders are glad, as we are, to acknowledge the debt we
all owe to Lieut.-Gen. Sir Robert S. S. Baden-Powell, who has done so
much to make the movement of interest to boys of all nations.

The BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA is a corporation formed by a group of men
who are anxious that the boys of America should come under the
influence of this movement and be built up in all that goes to make
character and good citizenship. The affairs of the organization are
managed by a National Council, composed of some of the most prominent
men of our country, who gladly and freely give their time and money
that this purpose may be accomplished.

In the various cities, towns, and villages, the welfare of the boy
scouts is cared for by local councils, and these councils, like the
National Council are composed of men who are seeking for the boys of
the community the very best things.

In order that the work of the boy scouts throughout America may be
uniform and intelligent, the National Council has prepared its
"Official Handbook," the purpose of which is to furnish to the patrols
of the boy scouts advice in practical methods, as well as inspiring
information.

The work of preparing this handbook has enlisted the services of men
eminently fitted for such work, for each is an expert in his own
department, and the Editorial Board feels that the organization is to
be congratulated in that such men have been found willing to give
their time and ripe experience to this movement. It would be
impossible adequately to thank all who by advice and friendly
criticism have helped in the preparation of the book, or even to
mention their names, but to the authors whose names are attached to
the various chapters, we acknowledge an especial obligation. Without
their friendly help this book could not be. We wish especially to
express our appreciation of the helpful suggestions made by Daniel
Carter Beard.

We have carefully examined and approved all the material which goes to
make up {vi} the manual, and have tried to make it as complete as
possible; nevertheless, no one can be more conscious than we are of
the difficulty of providing a book which will meet all the demands of
such widely scattered patrols with such varied interests. We have
constantly kept in mind the evils that confront the boys of our
country and have struck at them by fostering better things. Our hope
is that the information needed for successful work with boy scouts
will be found within the pages of this book.

In these pages and throughout our organization we have made it
obligatory upon our scouts that they cultivate courage, loyalty,
patriotism, brotherliness, self-control, courtesy, kindness to
animals, usefulness, cheerfulness, cleanliness, thrift, purity and
honor. No one can doubt that with such training added to his native
gifts, the American boy will in the near future, as a man, be an
efficient leader in the paths of civilization and peace.

It has been deemed wise to publish all material especially for the aid
of scout masters in a separate volume to be known as "The Scout
Masters' Manual."

We send out our "Official Handbook," therefore, with the earnest wish
that many boys may find in it new methods for the proper use of their
leisure time and fresh inspiration in their efforts to make their
hours of recreation contribute to strong, noble manhood in the days to
come.

THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA
Editorial Board.
WILLIAM D. MURRAY
GEORGE D. PRATT,
A. A. JAMESON,


{vii}

OFFICERS AND MEMBERS OF THE NATIONAL COUNCIL
BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA
THE FIFTH AVENUE BUILDING, 200 FIFTH AVENUE
NEW YORK CITY

Honorary President            THE HON. WILLIAM H. TAFT
Honorary Vice-President       Colonel THEODORE ROOSEVELT
President                     COLIN H. LIVINGSTONE, Washington, D. C.
1st Vice-President            B. L. DULANEY, Bristol, Tenn.
2d Vice-President             MILTON A. McRAE, Detroit, Mich.
3d Vice-President             DAVID STARR JORDAN, Stanford, Ca.
Chief Scout                   ERNEST THOMPSON SETON, Cos Cob, Conn.
National Scout Commissioner   DANIEL CARTE
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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home is the resort
Of love, of joy, of peace and plenty, where,
Supporting and supported, polish’d friends
And dear relations mingle into bliss.
                    THOMSON


On the pleasant banks of the Garonne, in the province of Gascony,
stood, in the year 1584, the château of Monsieur St. Aubert. From its
windows were seen the pastoral landscapes of Guienne and Gascony
stretching along the river, gay with luxuriant woods and vine, and
plantations of olives. To the south, the view was bounded by the
majestic Pyrenees, whose summits, veiled in clouds, or exhibiting awful
forms, seen, and lost again, as the partial vapours rolled along, were
sometimes barren, and gleamed through the blue tinge of air, and
sometimes frowned with forests of gloomy pine, that swept downward to
their base. These tremendous precipices were contrasted by the soft
green of the pastures and woods that hung upon their skirts; among
whose flocks, and herds, and simple cottages, the eye, after having
scaled the cliffs above, delighted to repose. To the north, and to the
east, the plains of Guienne and Languedoc were lost in the mist of
distance; on the west, Gascony was bounded by the waters of Biscay.

margin of the Garonne, and to listen to the music that floated on its
waves. He had known life in other forms than those of pastoral
simplicity, having mingled in the gay and in the busy scenes of the
world; but the flattering portrait of mankind, which his heart had
delineated in early youth, his experience had too sorrowfully
corrected. Yet, amidst the changing visions of life, his principles
remained unshaken, his benevolence unchilled; and he retired from the
multitude “more in _pity_ than in anger,” to scenes of simple nature,
to the pure delights of literature, and to the exercise of domestic
virtues.

He was a descendant from the younger branch of an illustrious family,
and it was designed, that the deficiency of his patrimonial wealth
should be supplied either by a splendid alliance in marriage, or by
success in the intrigues of public affairs. But St. Aubert had too nice
a sense of honour to fulfil the latter hope, and too small a portion of
ambition to sacrifice what he called happiness, to the attainment of
wealth. After the death of his father he married a very amiable woman,
his equal in birth, and not his superior in fortune. The late Monsieur
St. Aubert’s liberality, or extravagance, had so much involved his
affairs, that his son found it necessary to dispose of a part of the
family domain, and, some years after his marriage, he sold it to
Monsieur Quesnel, the brother of his wife, and retired to a small
estate in Gascony, where conjugal felicity, and parental duties,
divided his attention with the treasures of knowledge and the
illuminations of genius.

To this spot he had been attached from his infancy. He had often made
excursions to it when a boy, and the impressions of delight given to
his mind by the homely kindness of the grey-headed peasant, to whom it
was intrusted, and whose fruit and cream never failed, had not been
obliterated by succeeding circumstances. The green pastures along which
he had so often bounded in the exultation of health, and youthful
freedom—the woods, under whose refreshing shade he had first indulged
that pensive melancholy, which afterwards made a strong feature of his
character—the wild walks of the mountains, the river, on whose waves he
had floated, and the distant plains, which seemed boundless as his
early hopes—were never after remembered by St. Aubert but with
enthusiasm and regret. At length he disengaged himself from the world,
and retired hither, to realise the wishes of many years.

The building, as it then stood, was merely a summer cottage, rendered
interesting to a stranger by its neat simplicity, or the beauty of the
surrounding scene; and considerable additions were necessary to make it
a comfortable family residence. St. Aubert felt a kind of affection for
every part of the fabric, which he remembered in his youth, and would
not suffer a stone of it to be removed, so that the new building,
adapted to the style of the old one, formed with it only a simple and
elegant residence. The taste of Madame St. Aubert was conspicuous in
its internal finishing, where the same chaste simplicity was observable
in the furniture, and in the few ornaments of the apartments, that
characterised the manners of its inhabitants.

The library occupied the west side of the château, and was enriched by
a collection of the best books in the ancient and modern languages.
This room opened upon a grove, which stood on the brow of a gentle
declivity, that fell towards the river, and the tall trees gave it a
melancholy and pleasing shade; while from the windows the eye caught,
beneath the spreading branches, the gay and luxuriant landscape
stretching to the west, and overlooked on the left by the bold
precipices of the Pyrenees. Adjoining the library was a green-house,
stored with scarce and beautiful
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a team of about twenty Project Gutenberg volunteers.

THE TRAGEDY OF JULIUS CAESAR


by William Shakespeare


Contents

ACT I
Scene I. Rome. A street.
Scene II. The same. A public place.
Scene III. The same. A street.


ACT II
Scene I. Rome. Brutus’ orchard.
Scene II. A room in Caesar’s palace.
Scene III. A street near the Capitol.
Scene IV. Another part of the same street, before the house of Brutus.


ACT III
Scene I. Rome. Before the Capitol; the Senate sitting.
Scene II. The same. The Forum.
Scene III. The same. A street.


ACT IV
Scene I. A room in Antony’s house.
Scene II. Before Brutus’ tent, in the camp near Sardis.
Scene III. Within the tent of Brutus.


ACT V
Scene I. The plains of Philippi.
Scene II. The same. The field of battle.
Scene III. Another part of the field.
Scene IV. Another part of the field.
Scene V. Another part of the field.


 Dramatis Personæ

JULIUS CAESAR
OCTAVIUS CAESAR, Triumvir after his death.
MARCUS ANTONIUS,    ”    ”     ”
M. AEMILIUS LEPIDUS,   ”    ”     ”
CICERO, PUBLIUS, POPILIUS LENA, Senators.
MARCUS BRUTUS, Conspirator against Caesar.
CASSIUS, ”    ”     ”
CASCA,   ”    ”     ”
TREBONIUS,     ”    ”     ”
LIGARIUS,”    ”     ”
DECIUS BRUTUS, ”    ”     ”
METELLUS CIMBER,     ”    ”     ”
CINNA,   ”    ”     ”
FLAVIUS, tribune
MARULLUS, tribune
ARTEMIDORUS, a Sophist of Cnidos.
A Soothsayer
CINNA, a poet.
Another Poet.
LUCILIUS, TITINIUS, MESSALA, young CATO, and VOLUMNIUS, Friends to
Brutus and Cassius.
VARRO, CLITUS, CLAUDIUS, STRATO, LUCIUS, DARDANIUS, Servants to Brutus
PINDARUS, Servant to Cassius


CALPHURNIA, wife to Caesar
PORTIA, wife to Brutus

The Ghost of Caesar


Senators, Citizens, Soldiers, Commoners, Messengers, and Servants.

SCENE: Rome, the conspirators’ camp near Sardis, and the plains of
Philippi.


ACT I

SCENE I. Rome. A street.

 Enter Flavius, Marullus and a throng of Citizens.

FLAVIUS.
Hence! home, you idle creatures, get you home.
Is this a holiday? What, know you not,
Being mechanical, you ought not walk
Upon a labouring day without the sign
Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou?

CARPENTER.
Why, sir, a carpenter.

MARULLUS.
Where is thy leather apron and thy rule?
What dost thou with thy best apparel on?
You, sir, what trade are you?

COBBLER.
Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a
cobbler.

MARULLUS.
But what trade art thou? Answer me directly.

COBBLER.
A trade, sir, that I hope I may use with a safe conscience, which is
indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles.

MARULLUS.
What trade, thou knave? Thou naughty knave, what trade?

COBBLER.
Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me; yet, if you be out, sir, I
can mend you.

MARULLUS.
What mean’st thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow!

COBBLER.
Why, sir, cobble you.

FLAVIUS.
Thou art a cobbler, art thou?

COBBLER.
Truly, sir, all that I live by is with the awl; I meddle with no
tradesman’s matters, nor women’s matters, but withal I am indeed, sir,
a surgeon to old shoes: when they are in great danger, I recover them.
As proper men as ever trod upon neat’s leather have gone upon my
handiwork.

FLAVIUS.
But wherefore art not in thy shop today?
Why dost thou lead these men about the streets?

COBBLER.
Truly, sir, to wear out their shoes, to get myself into more work. But
indeed, sir, we make holiday to see Caesar, and to rejoice in his
triumph.

MARULLUS.
Wherefore rejoice? What conquest brings he home?
What tributaries follow him to Rome,
To grace in captive bonds his chariot wheels?
You blocks, you stones, you worse than senseless things!
O you hard hearts, you cruel men of Rome,
Knew you not Pompey? Many a time and oft
Have you climb’d up to walls and battlements,
To towers and windows, yea, to chimney tops,
Your infants in your arms, and there have sat
The livelong day with patient expectation,
To see great Pompey pass the streets of Rome.
And when you saw his chariot but appear,
Have you not made an universal shout,
That Tiber trembled underneath her banks
To hear the replication of your sounds
Made in her concave shores?
And do you now put on your best attire?
And do you now cull out a holiday?
And do you now strew flowers in his way,
That comes in triumph over Pompey’s blood?
Be gone!
Run to your houses, fall upon your knees,
Pray to the gods to intermit the plague
That needs must light on this ingratitude.

FLAVIUS.
Go, go, good countrymen, and, for this fault
Assemble all the poor men of your sort,
Draw them to Tiber banks, and weep your tears
Into the channel, till the lowest stream
Do kiss the most exalted shores of all.

 [_Exeunt Citizens._]

See whether their basest metal be not mov’d;
They vanish tongue-tied in their guiltiness.
Go you down that way towards the Capitol;
This way will I. Disrobe the images,
If you do find them deck’d with ceremonies.

MARULLUS.
May we do so?
You know it is the feast of Lupercal.

FLAVIUS.
It is no matter; let no images
Be hung with Caesar’s trophies. I’ll about
And drive away the vulgar from the stree
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 14988
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HARPER'S NEW CLASSICAL LIBRARY.


COMPRISING LITERAL TRANSLATIONS OF


  CÆSAR.
  VIRGIL.
  SALLUST.
  HORACE.
  CICERO'S ORATIONS.
  CICERO'S OFFICES &c.
  CICERO ON ORATORY AND ORATORS.
  CICERO'S TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS, the Republic, and the Nature of the Gods.
  TERENCE.
  TACITUS.
  LIVY. 2 Vols.
  JUVENAL.
  XENOPHON.
  HOMER'S ILIAD.
  HOMER'S ODYSSEY.
  HERODOTUS.
  DEMOSTHENES. 2 Vols.
  THUCIDIDES.
  ÆSCHYLUS.
  SOPHOCLES.
  EURIPIDES. 2 Vols.
  PLATO. [SELECT DIALOGUES.]


12mo, Cloth, $1.50 per Volume.


HARPER & BROTHERS _will send either of the above works by mail, postage
prepaid, to any part of the United States, on receipt of the price_.






NOTE.


The greater portion of the Republic was previously translated by
Francis Barham, Esq., and published in 1841. Although ably performed,
it was not sufficiently close for the purpose of the "CLASSICAL
LIBRARY," and was therefore placed in the hands of the present editor
for revision, as well as for collation with recent texts. This has
occasioned material alterations and additions.

The treatise "On the Nature of the Gods" is a revision of that usually
ascribed to the celebrated Benjamin Franklin.






CONTENTS.


_Tusculan Disputations_

_On the Nature of the Gods_

_On the Commonwealth_






THE TUSCULAN DISPUTATIONS.

INTRODUCTION.


In the year A.U.C. 708, and the sixty-second year of Cicero's age, his
daughter, Tullia, died in childbed; and her loss afflicted Cicero to
such a degree that he abandoned all public business, and, leaving the
city, retired to Asterra, which was a country house that he had near
Antium; where, after a while, he devoted himself to philosophical
studies, and, besides other works, he published his Treatise de
Finibus, and also this treatise called the Tusculan Disputations, of
which Middleton gives this concise description:

"The first book teaches us how to contemn the terrors of death, and to
look upon it as a blessing rather than an evil;

"The second, to support pain and affliction with a manly fortitude;

"The third, to appease all our complaints and uneasinesses under the
accidents of life;

"The fourth, to moderate all our other passions;

"And the fifth explains the sufficiency of virtue to make men happy."

It was his custom in the opportunities of his leisure to take some
friends with him into the country, where, instead of amusing themselves
with idle sports or feasts, their diversions were wholly speculative,
tending to improve the mind and enlarge the understanding. In this
manner he now spent five days at his Tusculan villa in discussing with
his friends the several questions just mentioned. For, after employing
the mornings in declaiming and rhetorical exercises, they used to
retire in the afternoon into a gallery, called the Academy, which he
had built for the purpose of philosophical conferences, where, after
the manner of the Greeks, he held a school, as they called it, and
invited the company to call for any subject that they desired to hear
explained, which being proposed accordingly by some of the audience
became immediately the argument of that day's debate. These five
conferences, or dialogues, he collected afterward into writing in the
very words and manner in which they really passed; and published them
under the title of his Tusculan Disputations, from the name of the
villa in which they were held.

       *       *       *       *       *




BOOK I.

ON THE CONTEMPT OF DEATH.


from my labors as an advocate, and from my duties as a senator, I had
recourse again, Brutus, principally by your advice, to those studies
which never had been out of my mind, although neglected at times, and
which after a long interval I resumed; and now, since the principles
and rules of all arts which relate to living well depend on the study
of wisdom, which is called philosophy, I have thought it an employment
worthy of me to illustrate them in the Latin tongue, not because
philosophy could not be understood in the Greek language, or by the
teaching of Greek masters; but it has always been my opinion that our
countrymen have, in some instances, made wiser discoveries than the
Greeks, with reference to those subjects which they have considered
worthy of devoting their attention to, and in others have improved upon
their discoveries, so that in one way or other we surpass them on every
point; for, with regard to the manners and habits of private life, and
family and domestic affairs, we certainly manage them with more
elegance, and better than they did; and as to our republic, that our
ancestors have, beyond all dispute, formed on better customs and laws.
What shall I say of our military affairs; in which our ancestors have
been most eminent in valor, and still more so in discipline? As to
those things which are attained not by study, but nature, neither
Greece, nor any nation, is comparable to us; for what people has
displayed such gravity, such steadiness, such greatness of soul,
probity, faith--such disting
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The story of the Iliad is a dramatic record of the love and hate,
wrong and revenge, courage and custom, passion and superstition, of
mythical Greece, and embraces in a single brilliant recital events
which the historic bards of other lands, lacking the genius of Homer,
have sent down the centuries in fragments. Human nature has been
substantially the same in all ages, differing only in the ardor of
its passions and appetites, as affected by the zone of its habitat
and its peculiar physical surroundings. Hence almost every nation,
barbarous and civilized, has had its Helen and its Troy, its Paris
and its Agamemnon, its Hector and its demi-gods; and Hawaii is not
an exception. The wrath of no dusky Achilles is made the thesis of
the story of the Hawaiian abduction, but in other respects the Greek
and Polynesian legends closely resemble each other in their general
outlines.

The story of Hina, the Hawaiian Helen, and Kaupeepee, the Paris of
the legend, takes us back to the twelfth century, near the close of
the second and final era of migration from Tahiti, Samoa, and perhaps
other islands of Polynesia--a period which added very considerably
to the population of the group, and gave to it many new chiefs, a
number of new customs, and a few new gods. That the tale may be better
understood by the reader who may not be conversant with the legendary
history of the Hawaiian Islands, it will be necessary to refer briefly
to the political and social condition of the group at that time.

Notwithstanding the many sharply drawn and wonderfully-preserved
historic legends of the Hawaiians, the early settlement of the little
archipelago is shrouded in mystery. The best testimony, however,
warrants the assumption that the islands were first discovered and
occupied by a people who had drifted from southern Asia to the islands
of the Pacific in the first or second century of the Christian era,
and, by migratory stages from the Fijis to Samoa and thence to Tahiti,
had reached the Hawaiian group in about A.D. 550. The first discovery
was doubtless the result of accident; but those who made it were able
to find their way back to the place from which they started--either
Tahiti or Samoa--and in due time return with augmented numbers,
bearing with them to their new home pigs, fowls, dogs, and the seeds
of such fruits and vegetables as they had found to be wanting there.

The little colony grew and prospered, and for nearly five hundred years
had no communication with, or knowledge of, the world beyond. At the
end of that time their geographical traditions had grown so faint
that they spoke only of Kahiki, a place very far away, from which
their ancestors came. First landing on the large island of Hawaii,
they had spread over the eight habitable divisions of the group. The
people were ruled by district chiefs, in fief to a supreme head on
some of the islands, and on others independent, and the lines dividing
the masses from the nobility were less strictly drawn than during the
centuries succeeding. Wars were frequent between neighboring chiefs,
and popular increase was slow; but the tabus of the chiefs and priests
were not oppressive, and the people claimed and exercised a degree
of personal independence unknown to them after the eleventh century.

In about A.D. 1025, or perhaps a little earlier, the people of the
group were suddenly aroused from their long dream of six centuries
by the arrival of a large party of adventurers from Tahiti. Their
chief was Nanamaoa. Their language resembled that of the Hawaiians,
and their customs and religions were not greatly at variance. They
were therefore received with kindness, and in a few years their
influence began to be felt throughout the group. They landed at Kohala,
Hawaii, and Nanamaoa soon succeeded in establishing himself there as
an influential chief. His sons secured possessions on Maui and Oahu,
and on the latter island one of them--Nanakaoko--instituted the sacred
place called Kukaniloko, in the district of Ewa, where it was the
desire of future chiefs that their sons should be born. Even Kamehameha
I., as late as 1797, sought to remove his queen thither before the
birth of Liholiho, but the illness of the royal mother prevented. This
became the sacred birth-place of princes, as Iao, in Wailuku valley,
on the island of Maui, became their tabu spot of interment.

It was at Kukaniloko that Kapawa, the son of Nanakaoko, was
born. His principal seat of power was probably on Hawaii, although
he retained possessions on Maui and Oahu. It was during his life
that the celebrated chief and priest Paao made his appearance in the
group. He came from one of the southern islands with a small party,
bringing with him new gods and new modes of worship, and to him the
subsequent high-priests of Hawaii traced their sacerdotal line, even
down to Hevaheva, who in 1819 was the first to apply the torch to
the temples in which his ancestors had so long worshipped. Paao was a
statesman and warrior as we
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IT'S RAINING FROGS!

                           By MILTON LESSER

            George didn't like the idea of little red frogs
          raining down on him from a clear sky. But a pretty
         girl falling into his arms was quite another matter!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                             December 1950
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


"_We shall pick up an existence by its frogs.... Wise men have tried
other ways. They have tried to understand our state of being, by
grasping at its stars, or its arts, or its economics. But, if there is
an underlying oneness of all things, it does not matter where we begin,
whether with stars, or laws of supply and demand, or frogs, or Napoleon
Bonaparte. One measures a circle, beginning anywhere._"

                                                  --_Charles Fort, LO!_

       *       *       *       *       *

It was raining. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, but it was raining.
George wished it were raining cats and dogs, but it wasn't. Anything
would be better than this. It was raining frogs. Little red frogs.

It was strictly a local rain. The frogs seemed to germinate from a
spot somewhere above George's head, and then they spread out and came
tumbling down in a cone-shaped area some fifteen feet across. The worst
part of it was that George was in the center of the cone.

[Illustration: It was as if a hole had opened in space, pouring forth
the stream of red frogs....]

The frogs fell on him. They seemed to be concentrated most heavily
in the center of the cone, and a good percentage of them landed on
him--mostly on his head--and then bounced off to fall on the sand.
George didn't like it.

He moved. He got up off the sand and ran half a dozen paces closer to
the surf, but he still felt the little red frogs striking him. The spot
was still directly, over his head; George was not sure how high up. He
was still the center of the cone.

"Myra! Hey, Myra," George called his wife. He could see her head
bobbing up and down in the waves and the powerful strokes of her arms
through the water showed George that she had heard him call. But she
would be angry. As soon as he shouted, the frogs stopped falling. First
the downpour became a drizzle, and then there were no frogs at all.
Myra would be very angry. She was all wrapped up in this new idea of
hers, and she would be angry. If he hadn't yelled, more frogs would
have fallen--and there's no telling what else, George thought.

The Bikini suit was not in style this year, but Myra wore it because
she knew she looked good in it. George watched her run toward him and
watched her shake her dark hair loose after she removed the bathing
cap. Then he looked at her figure and he knew it was good, so good that
he unconsciously felt the spare tire beginning to blossom out around
his waist, and he blushed. That was another trouble, he always blushed.
Not only that, but he was very fair-skinned. They could spend the
entire summer at their seaside bungalow in this secluded area, and Myra
would be bronzed like an Indian maiden. But George would turn red and
then he would peel. Then he would turn red all over again and then he
would peel again. And he had freckles all over.

But he stopped thinking of that now. It was a general consideration.
The specific consideration bothered him more: there was one circular
area of little red frogs, fifteen feet across. Then there was a trail
of little red frogs on the sand, five running steps long. And then
there was another fifteen foot circle of them. Most of the frogs were
still, but some of them hopped about, and soon the circles had become
irregular areas.

Myra came up to him breathlessly. "Oh, George!" she cooed. "You're
magnificent, really magnificent. Frogs this time. Little red frogs.
You're so--so _Fortean_."

George sighed. He had a lot of friends, and many of them complained
because their wives would call this or that thing Freudian. But
they had sympathy: a lot of men had wives riding the Freudian
merry-go-round. This was worse. To Myra things were _Fortean_. George
had seen pictures of this man Fort--a nice enough looking guy with a
cherubic face and a ruddy complexion, a turned up nose and big bushy
eyebrows. A mild, harmless man. He had passed away; for some twenty
years now he had been dead. But he could impress people. His work had
impressed Myra.

He thought we're _property_, or things are teleported from one place
to another, or we're being fished for, or you can tell a world by its
frogs, or science is whacky and word-nutty and sophistic hooey....
George had heard it all dozens of times. Myra had told him. Myra had
told him so much that he thought he knew Fort's philosophy by heart.
A lot of ridiculous hog-wash--until the rain. How could he call it
ridiculous now?

       *       *       
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Myths of Creation

Although the Aryan inhabitants of Northern Europe are supposed by some
authorities to have come originally from the plateau of Iran, in the
heart of Asia, the climate and scenery of the countries where they
finally settled had great influence in shaping their early religious
beliefs, as well as in ordering their mode of living.

The grand and rugged landscapes of Northern Europe, the midnight
sun, the flashing rays of the aurora borealis, the ocean continually
lashing itself into fury against the great cliffs and icebergs of
the Arctic Circle, could not but impress the people as vividly as
the almost miraculous vegetation, the perpetual light, and the blue
seas and skies of their brief summer season. It is no great wonder,
therefore, that the Icelanders, for instance, to whom we owe the most
perfect records of this belief, fancied in looking about them that the
world was originally created from a strange mixture of fire and ice.

Northern mythology is grand and tragical. Its principal theme is the
perpetual struggle of the beneficent forces of Nature against the
injurious, and hence it is not graceful and idyllic in character,
like the religion of the sunny South, where the people could bask
in perpetual sunshine, and the fruits of the earth grew ready to
their hand.

It was very natural that the dangers incurred in hunting and fishing
under these inclement skies, and the suffering entailed by the long
cold winters when the sun never shines, made our ancestors contemplate
cold and ice as malevolent spirits; and it was with equal reason that
they invoked with special fervour the beneficent influences of heat
and light.

When questioned concerning the creation of the world, the Northern
scalds, or poets, whose songs are preserved in the Eddas and Sagas,
declared that in the beginning, when there was as yet no earth, nor
sea, nor air, when darkness rested over all, there existed a powerful
being called Allfather, whom they dimly conceived as uncreated as
well as unseen, and that whatever he willed came to pass.

In the centre of space there was, in the morning of time, a great
abyss called Ginnunga-gap, the cleft of clefts, the yawning gulf,
whose depths no eye could fathom, as it was enveloped in perpetual
twilight. North of this abode was a space or world known as Nifl-heim,
the home of mist and darkness, in the centre of which bubbled the
exhaustless spring Hvergelmir, the seething cauldron, whose waters
supplied twelve great streams known as the Elivagar. As the water of
these streams flowed swiftly away from its source and encountered
the cold blasts from the yawning gulf, it soon hardened into huge
blocks of ice, which rolled downward into the immeasurable depths of
the great abyss with a continual roar like thunder.

South of this dark chasm, and directly opposite Nifl-heim, the realm
of mist, was another world called Muspells-heim, the home of elemental
fire, where all was warmth and brightness, and whose frontiers were
continually guarded by Surtr, the flame giant. This giant fiercely
brandished his flashing sword, and continually sent forth great showers
of sparks, which fell with a hissing sound upon the ice-blocks in
the bottom of the abyss, and partly melted them by their heat.


    "Great Surtur, with his burning sword,
    Southward at Muspel's gate kept ward,
    And flashes of celestial flame,
    Life-giving, from the fire-world came."

            Valhalla (J. C. Jones).



Ymir and Audhumla

As the steam rose in clouds it again encountered the prevailing cold,
and was changed into rime or hoarfrost, which, layer by layer, filled
up the great central space. Thus by the continual action of cold and
heat, and also probably by the will of the uncreated and unseen,
a gigantic creature called Ymir or Orgelmir (seething clay), the
personification of the frozen ocean, came to life amid the ice-blocks
in the abyss, and as he was born of rime he was called a Hrim-thurs,
or ice-giant.


    "In early times,
    When Ymir lived,
    Was sand, nor sea,
    Nor cooling wave;
    No earth was found,
    Nor heaven above;
    One chaos all,
    And nowhere grass."

            Sæmund's Edda (Henderson's tr.).


Groping about in the gloom in search of something to eat, Ymir
perceived a gigantic cow called Audhumla (the nourisher), which
had been created by the same agency as himself, and out of the same
materials. Hastening towards her, Ymir noticed with pleasure that
from her udder flowed four great streams of milk, which would supply
ample nourishment.

All his wants were thus satisfied; but the cow, looking about her for
food in her turn, began to lick the salt off a neighbouring ice-block
with her rough tongue. This she continued to do until first the hair of
a god appeared and then the whole head emerged from its icy envelope,
until by-and-by Buri (the producer) stepped forth entirely free.

While the cow had been thus engaged, Ymir, the giant, had fallen
asleep, and as he slept a
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 27761
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/27761

Transcriber's Note:
    This is a heavily edited version of _Hamlet_. It was used
    for Charles Kean's 1859 stage production. Phrases printed
    in italics in the book are indicated in this electronic
    version by _ (underscore). Footnotes originally appeared
    at the bottom of each page. For this electronic version
    the footnotes are collected at the end of each act. In
    Act I, Scene 5, the word Uumix'd has been changed to
    Unmix'd. A closing bracket ] was added to Act IV footnote
    37 after _Naked on your kingdom_,. A closing bracket ]
    was added to Act IV footnote 50 after _Venom'd stuck_,.
    The word o'er-crows appears in Act V, Scene 3; in
    footnote V.81, o'ercrows appears without a hyphen. Both
    are as they appear in the book.




            SHAKESPEARE'S TRAGEDY

                     OF

                   HAMLET,
             PRINCE OF DENMARK.

     ARRANGED FOR REPRESENTATION AT THE
          Royal Princess's Theatre

                    WITH
             EXPLANATORY NOTES,

                     BY
            CHARLES KEAN, F.S.A.

               AS PERFORMED ON
          MONDAY, JANUARY 10, 1859.




                  LONDON:

   BRADBURY AND EVANS, 11, BOUVERIE STREET.
                   1859.




                  LONDON:
  BRADBURY AND EVANS, PRINTERS, WHITEFRIARS.




Dramatis Personæ


  CLAUDIUS (_King of Denmark_)          Mr. RYDER.

  HAMLET (_son to the former and_
    _nephew to the present King_).      Mr. CHARLES KEAN.

  POLONIUS (_Lord Chamberlain_)         Mr. MEADOWS.

  HORATIO (_friend To Hamlet_)          Mr. GRAHAM.

  LAERTES (_son To Polonius_)           Mr. J. F. CATHCART.

  ROSENCRANTZ     }                  {  Mr. BRAZIER.
  GUILDENSTERN    } (_Courtiers_)    {  Mr. G. EVERETT.
  OSRICK          }                  {  Mr. DAVID FISHER.

  PRIEST                                Mr. TERRY.

  MARCELLUS                             Mr. PAULO.

  BERNARDO                              Mr. DALY.

  FRANCISCO                             Mr. COLLETT.

  GHOST OF HAMLET'S FATHER              Mr. WALTER LACY.

  FIRST GRAVEDIGGER                     Mr. FRANK MATTHEWS.

  SECOND GRAVEDIGGER                    Mr. H. SAKER.

  FIRST PLAYER                          Mr. F. COOKE.

  SECOND PLAYER                         Mr. ROLLESTON.

  GERTRUDE (_Queen of Denmark, and_
    _mother of Hamlet_)                 Mrs. CHARLES KEAN.

  OPHELIA (_daughter of Polonius_)      Miss HEATH.

  ACTRESS                               Miss DALY.




STAGE DIRECTIONS.


R. H. means Right Hand; L. H. Left Hand; U. E. Upper Entrance; R. H.
C. Enters through the Centre from the Right Hand; L. H. C. Enters
through the Centre from the Left Hand.


RELATIVE POSITIONS OF THE PERFORMERS WHEN ON THE STAGE.

R. means on the Right side of the Stage; L. on the Left side of the
Stage; C. Centre of the Stage; R. C. Right Centre of the Stage; L. C.
Left Centre of the Stage.

The reader is supposed _to be on the Stage_, facing the audience.




PREFACE.


The play of _Hamlet_ is above all others the most stupendous monument
of Shakespeare's genius, standing as a beacon to command the wonder
and admiration of the world, and as a memorial to future generations,
that the mind of its author was moved by little less than inspiration.
_Lear_, with its sublime picture of human misery;--_Othello_, with its
harrowing overthrow of a nature great and amiable;--_Macbeth_, with
its fearful murder of a monarch, whose "virtues plead like angels
trumpet-tongued against the deep damnation of his taking
off,"--severally exhibit, in the most pre-eminent degree, all those
mighty elements which constitute the perfection of tragic art--the
grand, the pitiful, and the terrible. _Hamlet_ is a history of mind--a
tragedy of thought. It contains the deepest philosophy, and most
profound wisdom; yet speaks the language of the heart, touching the
secret spring of every sense and feeling. Here we have no ideal
exaltation of character, but life with its blended faults and
virtues,--a gentle nature unstrung by passing events, and thus
rendered "out of tune and harsh."

The original story of Hamlet is to be found in the Latin pages of the
Danish historian, Saxo Grammaticus, who died in the year 1208.
Towards the end of the sixteenth century, the French author, Francis
de Belleforest, introduced the fable into a collection of novels,
which were translated into English, and printed in a small quarto
black letter volume, under the title of the "Historie of Hamblett,"
from which source Shakespeare constructed the present tragedy.

Saxo has placed his history about 200 years before Christianity, when
barbarians, clothed in skins, peopled the shores of the Baltic. The
poet, however, has so far modernised the subject as to make Hamlet a
Christian, and England tributary to the "sovereign majesty of
Denmark." A date can therefore be easily fixed, and the costume of
the tenth and eleventh centuries may be selected for the purpos
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 8147
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8147

The Man Who Would be King

          By

      Rudyard Kipling




Published by Brentano’s at 31 Union Square New York

  THE MAN WHO WOULD
               BE KING

“Brother to a Prince and fellow to a beggar if he be found worthy.”

The Law, as quoted, lays down a fair conduct of life, and one not easy
to follow. I have been fellow to a beggar again and again under
circumstances which prevented either of us finding out whether the
other was worthy. I have still to be brother to a Prince, though I once
came near to kinship with what might have been a veritable King and was
promised the reversion of a Kingdom—army, law-courts, revenue and
policy all complete. But, to-day, I greatly fear that my King is dead,
and if I want a crown I must go and hunt it for myself.

The beginning of everything was in a railway train upon the road to
Mhow from Ajmir. There had been a deficit in the Budget, which
necessitated travelling, not Second-class, which is only half as dear
as First-class, but by Intermediate, which is very awful indeed. There
are no cushions in the Intermediate class, and the population are
either Intermediate, which is Eurasian, or native, which for a long
night journey is nasty; or Loafer, which is amusing though intoxicated.
Intermediates do not patronize refreshment-rooms. They carry their food
in bundles and pots, and buy sweets from the native sweetmeat-sellers,
and drink the roadside water. That is why in the hot weather
Intermediates are taken out of the carriages dead, and in all weathers
are most properly looked down upon.

My particular Intermediate happened to be empty till I reached
Nasirabad, when a huge gentleman in shirt-sleeves entered, and,
following the custom of Intermediates, passed the time of day. He was a
wanderer and a vagabond like myself, but with an educated taste for
whiskey. He told tales of things he had seen and done, of
out-of-the-way corners of the Empire into which he had penetrated, and
of adventures in which he risked his life for a few days’ food. “If
India was filled with men like you and me, not knowing more than the
crows where they’d get their next day’s rations, it isn’t seventy
millions of revenue the land would be paying—it’s seven hundred
million,” said he; and as I looked at his mouth and chin I was
disposed to agree with him. We talked politics—the politics of
Loaferdom that sees things from the underside where the lath and
plaster is not smoothed off—and we talked postal arrangements because
my friend wanted to send a telegram back from the next station to
Ajmir, which is the turning-off place from the Bombay to the Mhow line
as you travel westward. My friend had no money beyond eight annas which
he wanted for dinner, and I had no money at all, owing to the hitch in
the Budget before mentioned. Further, I was going into a wilderness
where, though I should resume touch with the Treasury, there were no
telegraph offices. I was, therefore, unable to help him in any way.

“We might threaten a Station-master, and make him send a wire on
tick,” said my friend, “but that’d mean inquiries for you and for
me, and I’ve got my hands full these days. Did you say you are
travelling back along this line within any days?”

“Within ten,” I said.

“Can’t you make it eight?” said he. “Mine is rather urgent
business.”

“I can send your telegram within ten days if that will serve you,”
I said.

“I couldn’t trust the wire to fetch him now I think of it. It’s
this way. He leaves Delhi on the 23d for Bombay. That means he’ll be
running through Ajmir about the night of the 23d.”

“But I’m going into the Indian Desert,” I explained.

“Well and good,” said he. “You’ll be changing at Marwar
Junction to get into Jodhpore territory—you must do that—and
he’ll be coming through Marwar Junction in the early morning of the
24th by the Bombay Mail. Can you be at Marwar Junction on that time?
’Twon’t be inconveniencing you because I know that there’s
precious few pickings to be got out of these Central India
States—even though you pretend to be correspondent of the
Backwoodsman.”

“Have you ever tried that trick?” I asked.

“Again and again, but the Residents find you out, and then you get
escorted to the Border before you’ve time to get your knife into
them. But about my friend here. I must give him a word o’ mouth to
tell him what’s come to me or else he won’t know where to go. I
would take it more than kind of you if you was to come out of Central
India in time to catch him at Marwar Junction, and say to him:—‘He
has gone South for the week.’ He’ll know what that means. He’s a
big man with a red beard, and a great swell he is. You’ll find him
sleeping like a gentleman with all his luggage round him in a
second-class compartment. But don’t you be afraid. Slip down the
window, and say:—‘He has gone South for the week,’ and he’ll
tumble. It’s only cutting your time of stay in those parts by two
days. I ask you as a stranger—going to the West,” he said with
emphasis.

“Where have you come fr
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PG #: 1717
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1717


A book of modern social inquiry has a shape that is somewhat sharply
defined. It begins as a rule with an analysis, with statistics, tables
of population, decrease of crime among Congregationalists, growth of
hysteria among policemen, and similar ascertained facts; it ends with a
chapter that is generally called “The Remedy.” It is almost wholly due
to this careful, solid, and scientific method that “The Remedy” is never
found. For this scheme of medical question and answer is a blunder;
the first great blunder of sociology. It is always called stating the
disease before we find the cure. But it is the whole definition and
dignity of man that in social matters we must actually find the cure
before we find the disease.

The fallacy is one of the fifty fallacies that come from the modern
madness for biological or bodily metaphors. It is convenient to speak
of the Social Organism, just as it is convenient to speak of the British
Lion. But Britain is no more an organism than Britain is a lion. The
moment we begin to give a nation the unity and simplicity of an animal,
we begin to think wildly. Because every man is a biped, fifty men are
not a centipede. This has produced, for instance, the gaping absurdity
of perpetually talking about “young nations” and “dying nations,” as
if a nation had a fixed and physical span of life. Thus people will say
that Spain has entered a final senility; they might as well say that
Spain is losing all her teeth. Or people will say that Canada should
soon produce a literature; which is like saying that Canada must soon
grow a new moustache. Nations consist of people; the first generation
may be decrepit, or the ten thousandth may be vigorous. Similar
applications of the fallacy are made by those who see in the increasing
size of national possessions, a simple increase in wisdom and stature,
and in favor with God and man. These people, indeed, even fall short in
subtlety of the parallel of a human body. They do not even ask whether
an empire is growing taller in its youth, or only growing fatter in its
old age. But of all the instances of error arising from this physical
fancy, the worst is that we have before us: the habit of exhaustively
describing a social sickness, and then propounding a social drug.

Now we do talk first about the disease in cases of bodily breakdown; and
that for an excellent reason. Because, though there may be doubt about
the way in which the body broke down, there is no doubt at all about
the shape in which it should be built up again. No doctor proposes to
produce a new kind of man, with a new arrangement of eyes or limbs. The
hospital, by necessity, may send a man home with one leg less: but
it will not (in a creative rapture) send him home with one leg extra.
Medical science is content with the normal human body, and only seeks to
restore it.

But social science is by no means always content with the normal human
soul; it has all sorts of fancy souls for sale. Man as a social idealist
will say “I am tired of being a Puritan; I want to be a Pagan,” or
“Beyond this dark probation of Individualism I see the shining paradise
of Collectivism.” Now in bodily ills there is none of this difference
about the ultimate ideal. The patient may or may not want quinine; but
he certainly wants health.  No one says “I am tired of this headache; I
want some toothache,” or “The only thing for this Russian influenza is
a few German measles,” or “Through this dark probation of catarrh I see
the shining paradise of rheumatism.” But exactly the whole difficulty in
our public problems is that some men are aiming at cures which other
men would regard as worse maladies; are offering ultimate conditions
as states of health which others would uncompromisingly call states of
disease. Mr. Belloc once said that he would no more part with the idea
of property than with his teeth; yet to Mr. Bernard Shaw property is
not a tooth, but a toothache. Lord Milner has sincerely attempted to
introduce German efficiency; and many of us would as soon welcome German
measles. Dr. Saleeby would honestly like to have Eugenics; but I would
rather have rheumatics.

This is the arresting and dominant fact about modern social discussion;
that the quarrel is not merely about the difficulties, but about the
aim. We agree about the evil; it is about the good that we should tear
each other’s eyes out. We all admit that a lazy aristocracy is a bad
thing. We should not by any means all admit that an active aristocracy
would be a good thing. We all feel angry with an irreligious priesthood;
but some of us would go mad with disgust at a really religious one.
Everyone is indignant if our army is weak, including the people who
would be even more indignant if it were strong. The social case is
exactly the opposite of the medical case. We do not disagree, like
doctors, about the precise nature of the illness, while agreeing about
the nature of health. On the contrary, we all agree that England is
unhealthy, but hal
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65098
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65098


AT THE AUSTRIAN EMBASSY.


The Austrian embassy at Athens was more largely and more brilliantly
attended than usual. At nine o’clock the Patissia Road showed a
line of carriages going backward towards the Platea Omonia from the
gaily-lighted embassy. All the foreign ministers were there, as
well as the Prime Minister of Greece, and whatever distinguished
travellers Athens had the honour of entertaining at that time,--it
being winter, there was a goodly number. A Russian Prince or two,
presented by the Russian minister; two eminent English politicians on
their way to Constantinople for a confidential exchange of views with
the Sublime Sultan, to be remembered by jewelled snuff-boxes or some
such trifles; a sprightly French mathematician straight from Paris
the Blest; a half-dozen of celebrated archæologists, furnished by
Europe and the United States, all viewing each other with more or less
malevolence and suspicion--the Frenchman noticeably not on speaking
terms with his distinguished brother from Germany; Dr. Jarovisky of
world renown, fresh from Pergamos and recent discoveries at Argos,
speaking various languages as badly as possible; a genial and witty
Irish professor rushing through Greece with the intention of writing
an exhaustive analysis of the country and the people, in that spirit
of amiable impertinence so characteristic of hasty travellers. There
was the flower of the so-called Greek aristocracy: Phanariote Princes,
Græco-Italian Counts from Zante and Corfu, and retired merchants and
speculators from Constantinople and Smyrna and London. There was
a Greek poet, hardly distinguishable in accent and manner from a
Parisian, except in a detail of appearance which gave him the head
of a convict, so hideously do the Hellenes shave their heads to look
as if they wore mouse-coloured skull caps; a prose translator of
Shakespeare, who had lately visited the Immortal’s shrine at Warwick,
and, in the interests of local colouring modelled himself since his
return as closely as possible upon the accepted type of the English man
of letters, and surveyed the frivolities under his eye with a British
impassivity and glacial neutrality of gaze. All the musical dilettanti
of the city of the Wise Maid were there, and all its presentable
women. Some of the girls were pretty, and all were thickly powdered
and richly dressed; all had large, brilliant dark eyes. And the gowns
and frocks from Paris, the jewels, lace, aigrettes, flowers, and bare
arms and shoulders made an effective and troublous contrast with the
preponderance of masculine evening attire and semi-official splendour.

This large and distinguished gathering had been convened in honour of
the return to her native city of Mademoiselle Photini Natzelhuber, a
celebrated pianiste, the rival and friend of Rubinstein, the pupil
of Liszt and not greatly inferior to her master, who, at Vienna, had
been publicly named by him Queen of Pianists to match his recognised
kingliness. All Athens was on tiptoe of expectation, eager to hear her,
and still more eager to see her. It is not known, but extravagantly
conjectured, with what sum the Baroness von Hohenfels was able to bid
over the heads of her rival salonists and procure the honour of the
Natzelhuber’s first appearance in Athens. Sane and discerning persons
were probably right in putting it down to francs represented by four
figures, for Austrian baronesses have a pretty accurate knowledge of
the value of money. But for the moment six figures were supposed to
represent the sum, and the matter was discussed with that singular
absence of reserve or delicacy with which fashionable and well-bred
society is apt to discuss the affairs of its host in the host’s own
house.

Through the confused mingling of languages French could be detected as
the most universal. A fair, pale young man, with the grave questioning
air of a stranger who is disagreeably conscious of being shy and ill at
ease, and, above all, utterly and helplessly alone, was walking about
the rooms, amazed and bewildered by this Babel of tongues and types,
and seemed to entreat by his look of gentle fear that no one should
notice him or talk to him. He stared around with unquiet, troubled
blue eyes, so very blue, so hopelessly, stupidly frank and clear, like
a child’s, that they made more noticeable the extreme youthfulness
of his face and most slender figure. A mere boy, twenty-one years of
innocence and ignorance leaving him on the brink of manhood with only
the potentialities of his sex faintly shadowed in the lightest gold
stain above the soft upper lip. He had just stepped into the glare and
turmoil of life from the protected shadow of an isolated old castle
in Rapolden Kirchen, with no more reliable and scientific guide to
the mysteries of existence than a tender and nervous mother, who,
after bringing him up like a girl, had left him for another sphere,
and no other knowledge of the passions and their complex sensations
than that to be gathered in a cl
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 8954
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8954


LUCY.

It lay down in a hollow, rich with fine old timber and luxuriant pastures; and you came upon it through an avenue of limes, bordered on either side by meadows, over the high hedges of which the cattle looked inquisitively at you as you passed, wondering, perhaps, what you wanted; for there was no thorough-fare, and unless you were going to the Court you had no business there at all.

At the end of this avenue there was an old arch and a clock tower, with a stupid, bewildering clock, which had only one hand—and which jumped straight from one hour to the next—and was therefore always in extremes. Through this arch you walked straight into the gardens of Audley Court.

A smooth lawn lay before you, dotted with groups of rhododendrons, which grew in more perfection here than anywhere else in the county. To the right there were the kitchen gardens, the fish-pond, and an orchard bordered by a dry moat, and a broken ruin of a wall, in some places thicker than it was high, and everywhere overgrown with trailing ivy, yellow stonecrop, and dark moss. To the left there was a broad graveled walk, down which, years ago, when the place had been a convent, the quiet nuns had walked hand in hand; a wall bordered with espaliers, and shadowed on one side by goodly oaks, which shut out the flat landscape, and circled in the house and gardens with a darkening shelter.

The house faced the arch, and occupied three sides of a quadrangle. It was very old, and very irregular and rambling. The windows were uneven; some small, some large, some with heavy stone mullions and rich stained glass; others with frail lattices that rattled in every breeze; others so modern that they might have been added only yesterday. Great piles of chimneys rose up here and there behind the pointed gables, and seemed as if they were so broken down by age and long service that they must have fallen but for the straggling ivy which, crawling up the walls and trailing even over the roof, wound itself about them and supported them. The principal door was squeezed into a corner of a turret at one angle of the building, as if it were in hiding from dangerous visitors, and wished to keep itself a secret—a noble door for all that—old oak, and studded with great square-headed iron nails, and so thick that the sharp iron knocker struck upon it with a muffled sound, and the visitor rung a clanging bell that dangled in a corner among the ivy, lest the noise of the knocking should never penetrate the stronghold.

A glorious old place. A place that visitors fell in raptures with; feeling a yearning wish to have done with life, and to stay there forever, staring into the cool fish-ponds and counting the bubbles as the roach and carp rose to the surface of the water. A spot in which peace seemed to have taken up her abode, setting her soothing hand on every tree and flower, on the still ponds and quiet alleys, the shady corners of the old-fashioned rooms, the deep window-seats behind the painted glass, the low meadows and the stately avenues—ay, even upon the stagnant well, which, cool and sheltered as all else in the old place, hid itself away in a shrubbery behind the gardens, with an idle handle that was never turned and a lazy rope so rotten that the pail had broken away from it, and had fallen into the water.

A noble place; inside as well as out, a noble place—a house in which you incontinently lost yourself if ever you were so rash as to attempt to penetrate its mysteries alone; a house in which no one room had any sympathy with another, every chamber running off at a tangent into an inner chamber, and through that down some narrow staircase leading to a door which, in its turn, led back into that very part of the house from which you thought yourself the furthest; a house that could never have been planned by any mortal architect, but must have been the handiwork of that good old builder, Time, who, adding a room one year, and knocking down a room another year, toppling down a chimney coeval with the Plantagenets, and setting up one in the style of the Tudors; shaking down a bit of Saxon wall, allowing a Norman arch to stand here; throwing in a row of high narrow windows in the reign of Queen Anne, and joining on a dining-room after the fashion of the time of Hanoverian George I, to a refectory that had been standing since the Conquest, had contrived, in some eleven centuries, to run up such a mansion as was not elsewhere to be met with throughout the county of Essex. Of course, in such a house there were secret chambers; the little daughter of the present owner, Sir Michael Audley, had fallen by accident upon the discovery of one. A board had rattled under her feet in the great nursery where she played, and on attention being drawn to it, it was found to be loose, and so removed, revealed a ladder, leading to a hiding-place between the floor of the nursery and the ceiling of the room below—a hiding-place so small that he who had hid there must have crou
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PG #: 65070
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65070

"WHAT SO PROUDLY WE HAIL...."

                             By DAY KEENE

            The Pig and Whistle of 1789 was a far cry from
          Central Park in 1950. And Ephraim Hale was certain
          that more than rum had been used to get him there!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                             December 1950
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Ephraim Hale yawned a great yawn and awakened. He'd expected to have
a headache. Surprisingly, considering the amount of hot buttered rum
he'd consumed the night before, he had none. But where in the name
of the Continental Congress had he gotten to this time? The last he
remembered was parting from Mr. Henry in front of the Pig and Whistle.
A brilliant statesman, Mr. Henry.

"_Give me liberty or give me death._"

E-yah. But that didn't tell him where he was. It looked like a cave.
This sort of thing had to stop. Now he was out of the Army and in
politics he had to be more circumspect. Ephraim felt in his purse, felt
flesh, and every inch of his six feet two blushed crimson. This, Martha
would never believe.

He sat up on the floor of the cave. The thief who had taken his clothes
had also stolen his purse. He was naked and penniless. And he the
representative from Middlesex to the first Congress to convene in New
York City in this year of our Lord, 1789.

He searched the floor of the cave. All the thief had left, along with
his home-cobbled brogans, his Spanish pistol, and the remnants of an
old leather jerkin, was the post from Sam Osgood thanking him for his
support in helping to secure Osgood's appointment as Postmaster General.

Forming a loin cloth of the leather, Ephraim tucked the pistol and
cover in it. The letter could prove valuable. A man in politics never
knew when a friend might need reminding. Then, decent as possible under
the circumstances, he walked toward the distant point of light to
reconnoiter his position. It was bad. His rum-winged feet had guided
him into a gentleman's park. And the gentleman was prolific. A dozen
boys of assorted ages were playing at ball on the greensward.

Rolling aside the rock that formed a natural door to the cave, Ephraim
beckoned the nearest boy, a cherub of about seven. "I wonder, young
master, if you would tell me on whose estate I am trespassing."

The boy grinned through a maze of freckles. "Holy smoke, mister. What
you out front for? A second Nature Boy, or Tarzan Comes To Television?"

"I beg your pardon?" Ephraim said puzzled.

"Ya heard me," the boy said.

       *       *       *       *       *

Close up, he didn't look so cherubic. He was one of the modern
generation with no respect for his elders. What he needed was a beech
switch well applied to the seat of his britches. Ephraim summoned the
dignity possible to a man without pants. "I," he attempted to impress
the boy, "am the Honorable Ephraim Hale, late officer of the Army
of The United States, and elected representative from Middlesex to
Congress. And I will be beholden to you, young sir, if you will inform
your paternal parent a gentleman is in distress and wouldst have words
with him."

"Aw, ya fadder's mustache," the boy said. "Take it to the V.A. I should
lose the old man a day of hackin'." So saying, he returned to cover
second base.

Ephraim was tempted to pursue and cane him. He might if it hadn't been
for the girl. While he had been talking to the boy she had strolled
across the greensward to a sunny knoll not far from the mouth of
the cave. She was both young and comely. As he watched, fascinated,
she began to disrobe. The top part of her dress came off revealing
a bandeau of like material barely covering her firm young breasts.
Then, stepping out of her skirt, she stood a moment in bandeau and
short flared pants, her arms stretched in obeisance to the sun before
reclining on the grass.

[Illustration: He stared at the girl in amazement, for he had never
seen such brazen nakedness in all his life--and such real beauty....]

Ephraim blushed furiously. He hadn't seen as much of Martha during
their ten years of marriage. He cleared his throat to make his presence
known and permit her to cover her charms.

The girl turned her head toward him. "Hello. You taking a sun bath,
too? It's nice to have it warm so oily, ain't it?"

Ephraim continued to blush. The girl continued to look, and liked what
she saw. With a pair of pants and a whiskey glass the big man in the
mouth of the cave could pass as a man of distinction. If his hair was
long, his forehead was high and his cheeks were gaunt and clean shaven.
His shoulders were broad and well-muscled and his torso tapered to a
V. It wasn't every day a girl met so handsome a man. She smiled. "My
name's Gertie Swartz. What's yours?"

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Ephraim told her.

"That's a nice name," she appr
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 3289
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3289




“I am inclined to think--” said I.

“I should do so,” Sherlock Holmes remarked impatiently.

I believe that I am one of the most long-suffering of mortals; but I'll
admit that I was annoyed at the sardonic interruption. “Really, Holmes,”
 said I severely, “you are a little trying at times.”

He was too much absorbed with his own thoughts to give any immediate
answer to my remonstrance. He leaned upon his hand, with his untasted
breakfast before him, and he stared at the slip of paper which he had
just drawn from its envelope. Then he took the envelope itself, held it
up to the light, and very carefully studied both the exterior and the
flap.

“It is Porlock's writing,” said he thoughtfully. “I can hardly doubt
that it is Porlock's writing, though I have seen it only twice before.
The Greek e with the peculiar top flourish is distinctive. But if it is
Porlock, then it must be something of the very first importance.”

He was speaking to himself rather than to me; but my vexation
disappeared in the interest which the words awakened.

“Who then is Porlock?” I asked.

“Porlock, Watson, is a nom-de-plume, a mere identification mark; but
behind it lies a shifty and evasive personality. In a former letter he
frankly informed me that the name was not his own, and defied me ever
to trace him among the teeming millions of this great city. Porlock is
important, not for himself, but for the great man with whom he is in
touch. Picture to yourself the pilot fish with the shark, the jackal
with the lion--anything that is insignificant in companionship with what
is formidable: not only formidable, Watson, but sinister--in the highest
degree sinister. That is where he comes within my purview. You have
heard me speak of Professor Moriarty?”

“The famous scientific criminal, as famous among crooks as--”

“My blushes, Watson!” Holmes murmured in a deprecating voice.

“I was about to say, as he is unknown to the public.”

“A touch! A distinct touch!” cried Holmes. “You are developing a certain
unexpected vein of pawky humour, Watson, against which I must learn to
guard myself. But in calling Moriarty a criminal you are uttering libel
in the eyes of the law--and there lie the glory and the wonder of it!
The greatest schemer of all time, the organizer of every deviltry, the
controlling brain of the underworld, a brain which might have made or
marred the destiny of nations--that's the man! But so aloof is he
from general suspicion, so immune from criticism, so admirable in his
management and self-effacement, that for those very words that you have
uttered he could hale you to a court and emerge with your year's pension
as a solatium for his wounded character. Is he not the celebrated author
of The Dynamics of an Asteroid, a book which ascends to such rarefied
heights of pure mathematics that it is said that there was no man in the
scientific press capable of criticizing it? Is this a man to traduce?
Foul-mouthed doctor and slandered professor--such would be your
respective roles! That's genius, Watson. But if I am spared by lesser
men, our day will surely come.”

“May I be there to see!” I exclaimed devoutly. “But you were speaking of
this man Porlock.”

“Ah, yes--the so-called Porlock is a link in the chain some little way
from its great attachment. Porlock is not quite a sound link--between
ourselves. He is the only flaw in that chain so far as I have been able
to test it.”

“But no chain is stronger than its weakest link.”

“Exactly, my dear Watson! Hence the extreme importance of Porlock. Led
on by some rudimentary aspirations towards right, and encouraged by the
judicious stimulation of an occasional ten-pound note sent to him by
devious methods, he has once or twice given me advance information which
has been of value--that highest value which anticipates and prevents
rather than avenges crime. I cannot doubt that, if we had the cipher, we
should find that this communication is of the nature that I indicate.”

Again Holmes flattened out the paper upon his unused plate. I rose and,
leaning over him, stared down at the curious inscription, which ran as
follows:

534 C2 13 127 36 31 4 17 21 41 DOUGLAS 109 293 5 37 BIRLSTONE 26
BIRLSTONE 9 47 171

“What do you make of it, Holmes?”

“It is obviously an attempt to convey secret information.”

“But what is the use of a cipher message without the cipher?”

“In this instance, none at all.”

“Why do you say 'in this instance'?”

“Because there are many ciphers which I would read as easily as I do the
apocrypha of the agony column: such crude devices amuse the intelligence
without fatiguing it. But this is different. It is clearly a reference
to the words in a page of some book. Until I am told which page and
which book I am powerless.”

“But why 'Douglas' and 'Birlstone'?”

“Clearly because those are words which were not contained in the page in
question.”

“Then why has he not indicated the book?”

“Your native shrewdness, my dear Watson, that innate cunning which is
the delight of
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 107
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/107

Description of Farmer Oak—An Incident


When Farmer Oak smiled, the corners of his mouth spread till they were
within an unimportant distance of his ears, his eyes were reduced to
chinks, and diverging wrinkles appeared round them, extending upon his
countenance like the rays in a rudimentary sketch of the rising sun.

His Christian name was Gabriel, and on working days he was a young man
of sound judgment, easy motions, proper dress, and general good
character. On Sundays he was a man of misty views, rather given to
postponing, and hampered by his best clothes and umbrella: upon the
whole, one who felt himself to occupy morally that vast middle space of
Laodicean neutrality which lay between the Communion people of the
parish and the drunken section,—that is, he went to church, but yawned
privately by the time the congregation reached the Nicene creed, and
thought of what there would be for dinner when he meant to be listening
to the sermon. Or, to state his character as it stood in the scale of
public opinion, when his friends and critics were in tantrums, he was
considered rather a bad man; when they were pleased, he was rather a
good man; when they were neither, he was a man whose moral colour was a
kind of pepper-and-salt mixture.

Since he lived six times as many working-days as Sundays, Oak’s
appearance in his old clothes was most peculiarly his own—the mental
picture formed by his neighbours in imagining him being always dressed
in that way. He wore a low-crowned felt hat, spread out at the base by
tight jamming upon the head for security in high winds, and a coat like
Dr. Johnson’s; his lower extremities being encased in ordinary leather
leggings and boots emphatically large, affording to each foot a roomy
apartment so constructed that any wearer might stand in a river all day
long and know nothing of damp—their maker being a conscientious man who
endeavoured to compensate for any weakness in his cut by unstinted
dimension and solidity.

Mr. Oak carried about him, by way of watch, what may be called a small
silver clock; in other words, it was a watch as to shape and intention,
and a small clock as to size. This instrument being several years older
than Oak’s grandfather, had the peculiarity of going either too fast or
not at all. The smaller of its hands, too, occasionally slipped round
on the pivot, and thus, though the minutes were told with precision,
nobody could be quite certain of the hour they belonged to. The
stopping peculiarity of his watch Oak remedied by thumps and shakes,
and he escaped any evil consequences from the other two defects by
constant comparisons with and observations of the sun and stars, and by
pressing his face close to the glass of his neighbours’ windows, till
he could discern the hour marked by the green-faced timekeepers within.
It may be mentioned that Oak’s fob being difficult of access, by reason
of its somewhat high situation in the waistband of his trousers (which
also lay at a remote height under his waistcoat), the watch was as a
necessity pulled out by throwing the body to one side, compressing the
mouth and face to a mere mass of ruddy flesh on account of the exertion
required, and drawing up the watch by its chain, like a bucket from a
well.

But some thoughtful persons, who had seen him walking across one of his
fields on a certain December morning—sunny and exceedingly mild—might
have regarded Gabriel Oak in other aspects than these. In his face one
might notice that many of the hues and curves of youth had tarried on
to manhood: there even remained in his remoter crannies some relics of
the boy. His height and breadth would have been sufficient to make his
presence imposing, had they been exhibited with due consideration. But
there is a way some men have, rural and urban alike, for which the mind
is more responsible than flesh and sinew: it is a way of curtailing
their dimensions by their manner of showing them. And from a quiet
modesty that would have become a vestal, which seemed continually to
impress upon him that he had no great claim on the world’s room, Oak
walked unassumingly and with a faintly perceptible bend, yet distinct
from a bowing of the shoulders. This may be said to be a defect in an
individual if he depends for his valuation more upon his appearance
than upon his capacity to wear well, which Oak did not.

He had just reached the time of life at which “young” is ceasing to be
the prefix of “man” in speaking of one. He was at the brightest period
of masculine growth, for his intellect and his emotions were clearly
separated: he had passed the time during which the influence of youth
indiscriminately mingles them in the character of impulse, and he had
not yet arrived at the stage wherein they become united again, in the
character of prejudice, by the influence of a wife and family. In
short, he was twenty-eight, and a bachelor.

The field he was in this morning sloped to a ridge called Norcombe
Hill. Through a spur of this hill ran the 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 12753
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12753





PREFACE TO THE EIGHTH EDITION


The Publishers have asked me to authorise a new edition, in my own name,
of this little book--now long out of print--which was written by me
thirty-five years ago under the initials J.T.K.

In acceding to their request I wish to say that the book as now published
is merely a word-for-word reprint of my early effort to help to popularise
the Arthur legends.

It is little else than an abridgment of Sir Thomas Malory's version of
them as printed by Caxton--with a few additions from Geoffrey of Monmouth
and other sources--and an endeavour to arrange the many tales into a more
or less consecutive story.

The chief pleasure which came to me from it was, and is, that it began for
me a long and intimate acquaintance with Lord Tennyson, to whom, by his
permission, I Dedicated it before I was personally known to him.

JAMES KNOWLES.




_Addendum by Lady Knowles_


In response to a widely expressed wish for a fresh edition of this little
book--now for some years out of print--a new and ninth edition has been
prepared.

In his preface my husband says that the intimacy with Lord Tennyson to
which it led was the chief pleasure the book brought him. I have been
asked to furnish a few more particulars on this point that may be
generally interesting, and feel that I cannot do better than give some
extracts from a letter written by himself to a friend in July 1896.

"DEAR ----,

"I am so _very_ glad you approve of my little effort to popularise the
Arthur Legends. Tennyson had written his first four 'Idylls of the King'
before my book appeared, which was in 1861. Indeed, it was in consequence
of the first four Idylls that I sought and obtained, while yet a stranger
to him, leave to dedicate my venture to him. He was extremely kind about
it--declared 'it ought to go through forty editions'--and when I came to
know him personally talked very frequently about it and Arthur with me,
and made constant use of it when he at length yielded to my perpetual
urgency and took up again his forsaken project of treating the whole
subject of King Arthur.

"He discussed and rediscussed at any amount of length the way in which
this could now be done--and the Symbolism, which had from his earliest
time haunted him as the inner meaning to be given to it, brought him back
to the Poem in its changed shape of separate pictures.

"He used often to say that it was entirely my doing that he revived his
old plan, and added, 'I know more about Arthur than any other man in
England, and I think you know next most.' It would amuse you to see in
what intimate detail he used to consult with me--and often with my little
book in front of us--over the various tales, and when I wrote an article
(in the shape of a long letter) in the _Spectator_ of January 1870 he
asked to reprint it, and published it with the collected Idylls.

"For years, while his boys were at school and college, I acted as his
confidential friend in business and many other matters, and I suppose he
told me more about himself and his life than any other man now living
knows."

ISABEL KNOWLES.




CONTENTS



The Finding of Merlin--The Fight of the Dragons--The Giants' Dance--The
Prophecies of Merlin and the Birth of Arthur--Uther attacks the
Saxons--The Death of Uther


Merlin's Advice to the Archbishop--The Miracle of the Sword and Stone--The
Coronation of King Arthur--The Opposition of the Six Kings--The Sword
Excalibur--The Defeat of the Six Kings--The War with the Eleven Kings


The Adventure of the Questing Beast--The Siege of York--The Battles of
Celidon Forest and Badon Hill--King Arthur drives the Saxons from the
Realm--The Embassy from Rome--The King rescues Merlin--The Knight of the
Fountain


King Arthur conquers Ireland and Norway--Slays the Giant of St. Michael's
Mount and conquers Gaul--King Ryence's Insolent Message--The Damsel and
the Sword--The Lady of the Lake--The Adventures of Sir Balin


Sir Balin kills Sir Lancear--The Sullen Knight--The Knight Invisible is
killed--Sir Balin smites the Dolorous Stroke, and fights with his brother
Sir Balan


The Marriage of King Arthur and Guinevere--The Coronation of the
Queen--The Founding of the Round Table--The Quest of the White Hart--The
Adventures of Sir Gawain--The Quest of the White Hound--Sir Tor kills
Abellius--The Adventures of Sir Pellinore--The Death of Sir
Hantzlake--Merlin saves King Arthur


King Arthur and Sir Accolon of Gaul are entrapped by Sir Damas--They fight
each other through Enchantment of Queen Morgan le Fay--Sir Damas is
compelled to surrender all his Lands to Sir Outzlake his Brother their
Rightful Owner--Queen Morgan essays to kill King Arthur with a Magic
Garment--Her Damsel is compelled to wear it and is thereby burned to
Cinders


A Second Embassy from Rome--King Arthur's Answer--The Emperor assembles
his Armies--King Arthur slays the Emperor--Sir Gawain and Sir
Prianius--The Lombards are defeated--King Arthur crowned at Rome


The Adventures of Sir Lancelot--He and hi
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 40077
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40077


Copyright, 1904, by
THE CENTURY CO.

THE DEVINNE PRESS


TO THE STUDENTS
OF THREE UNIVERSITIES
--INDIANA, STANFORD, AND CORNELL--
FOR WHOM, WITH WHOM, AND BY WHOSE AID
THIS BOOK CAME TO BE WRITTEN




CONTENTS


PART I

                                                               PAGE
THE VALUE OF MATERIAL THINGS                                  1-169


DIVISION A--WANTS AND PRESENT GOODS

CHAPTER

1 THE NATURE AND PURPOSE OF POLITICAL ECONOMY: NAME
AND DEFINITION; PLACE OF ECONOMICS AMONG THE
SOCIAL SCIENCES; THE RELATION OF ECONOMICS TO
PRACTICAL AFFAIRS                                                 3

2 ECONOMIC MOTIVES: MATERIAL WANTS, THE PRIMARY
ECONOMIC MOTIVES; DESIRES FOR NON-MATERIAL ENDS,
AS SECONDARY ECONOMIC MOTIVES                                     9

3 WEALTH AND WELFARE: THE RELATION OF MEN AND
MATERIAL THINGS TO ECONOMIC WELFARE; SOME IMPORTANT
ECONOMIC CONCEPTS CONNECTED WITH WEALTH
AND WELFARE                                                      15

4 THE NATURE OF DEMAND: THE COMPARISON OF GOODS
IN MAN'S THOUGHT; DEMAND FOR GOODS GROWS OUT
OF SUBJECTIVE COMPARISONS                                        21

5 EXCHANGE IN A MARKET: EXCHANGE OF GOODS RESULTING
FROM DEMAND; BARTER UNDER SIMPLE CONDITIONS;
PRICE IN A MARKET                                                30

6 PSYCHIC INCOME: INCOME AS A FLOW OF GOODS; INCOME
AS A SERIES OF GRATIFICATIONS                                    39


DIVISION B--WEALTH AND RENT

7 WEALTH AND ITS DIRECT USES: THE GRADES OF RELATION
OF INDIRECT GOODS TO GRATIFICATION; CONDITIONS OF
ECONOMIC WEALTH                                                  46

8 THE RENTING CONTRACT: NATURE AND DEFINITION OF
RENT; THE HISTORY OF CONTRACT RENT AND CHANGES
IN IT                                                            53

9 THE LAW OF DIMINISHING RETURNS: DEFINITION OF THE
CONCEPT OF (ECONOMIC) DIMINISHING RETURNS; OTHER
MEANINGS OF THE PHRASE "DIMINISHING RETURNS";
DEVELOPMENT OF THE CONCEPT OF DIMINISHING RETURNS                61

10 THE THEORY OF RENT: THE MARKET VALUE OF THE
USUFRUCT: DIFFERENTIAL ADVANTAGES IN CONSUMPTION
GOODS; DIFFERENTIAL ADVANTAGES IN INDIRECT GOODS                 73

11 REPAIR, DEPRECIATION, AND DESTRUCTION OF WEALTH:
RELATION TO ITS SALE AND RENT: REPAIR OF RENT-BEARING
AGENTS; DEPRECIATION IN RENT-EARNING
POWER OF AGENTS KEPT IN REPAIR; DESTRUCTION OF
NATURAL STORES OF MATERIAL                                       81

12 INCREASE OF RENT-BEARERS AND OF RENTS: EFFORTS OF
MEN TO INCREASE PRODUCTS AND RENT-BEARERS;
EFFECTS OF SOCIAL CHANGES IN RAISING THE RENTS
OF INDIRECT AGENTS                                               90

DIVISION C--CAPITALIZATION AND TIME-VALUE

13 MONEY AS A TOOL IN EXCHANGE: ORIGIN OF THE USE OF
MONEY; NATURE OF THE USE OF MONEY; THE VALUE OF
TYPICAL MONEY                                                    98

14 THE MONEY ECONOMY AND THE CONCEPT OF CAPITAL: THE
BARTER ECONOMY AND ITS DECLINE; THE CONCEPT OF
CAPITAL IN MODERN BUSINESS                                      108

15 THE CAPITALIZATION OF ALL FORMS OF RENT: THE PURCHASE
OF RENT-CHARGES AS AN EXAMPLE OF CAPITALIZATION;
CAPITALIZATION INVOLVED IN THE EVALUATING
OF INDIRECT AGENTS; THE INCREASING ROLE OF CAPITALIZATION
IN MODERN INDUSTRY                                              118

16 INTEREST ON MONEY LOANS: VARIOUS FORMS OF CONTRACT
INTEREST; THE MOTIVE FOR PAYING INTEREST                        131

17 THE THEORY OF TIME-VALUE: DEFINITION AND SCOPE
OF TIME-VALUE; THE ADJUSTMENT OF THE RATE OF TIME-DISCOUNT      141

18 RELATIVELY FIXED AND RELATIVELY INCREASABLE FORMS
OF CAPITAL: HOW VARIOUS FORMS OF CAPITAL MAY
BE INCREASED; SOCIAL SIGNIFICANCE OF THESE DIFFERENCES          152

19 SAVING AND PRODUCTION AS AFFECTED BY THE RATE OF
INTEREST: SAVING AS AFFECTED BY THE INTEREST RATE;
CONDITIONS FAVORABLE TO SAVING; INFLUENCE OF THE
INTEREST RATE ON METHODS OF PRODUCTION                          159


PART II

THE VALUE OF HUMAN SERVICES                                 171-355


DIVISION A--LABOR AND WAGES

20 LABOR AND CLASSES OF LABORERS: RELATION OF LABOR
TO WEALTH; VARIETIES OF TALENTS AND OF ABILITIES
IN MEN                                                          173

21 THE SUPPLY OF LABOR: WHAT IS A DOCTRINE OF POPULATION?
POPULATION IN HUMAN SOCIETY; CURRENT ASPECT
OF THE POPULATION PROBLEM                                       184

22 CONDITIONS FOR EFFICIENT LABOR: OBJECTIVE PHYSICAL
CONDITIONS; SOCIAL CONDITIONS FAVORING EFFICIENCY;
DIVISION OF LABOR                                               195

23 THE LAW OF WAGES: NATURE OF WAGES AND THE WAGES
PROBLEM; THE DIFFERENT MODES OF EARNING WAGES;
WAGES AS EXEMPLIFYING THE GENERAL LAW OF VALUE                  205

24 THE RELATION OF LABOR TO VALUE: RELATION OF RENT
TO WAGES, RELATION OF TIME-VALUE TO WAGES; THE
RELATION OF LABOR TO VALUE                                      215

25 THE WAGE SYSTEM AND ITS RESULTS: SYSTEMS OF LABOR;
THE WAGE SYSTEM AS IT IS; PROGRESS OF THE 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 15859
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/15859

THE PIAZZA TALES

by

HERMAN MELVILLE,

Author of "Typee," "Omoo," etc., etc., etc.

New York;
Dix & Edwards, 321 Broadway.
London: Sampson Low, Son & Co.
Miller & Holman,
Printers & Stereotypers, N.Y.

1856







CONTENTS


   THE PIAZZA

   BARTLEBY

   BENITO CERENO

   THE LIGHTNING-ROD MAN

   THE ENCANTADAS; OR, ENCHANTED ISLANDS

   THE BELL-TOWER







THE PIAZZA.

  "With fairest flowers,
  Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele--"


When I removed into the country, it was to occupy an old-fashioned
farm-house, which had no piazza--a deficiency the more regretted,
because not only did I like piazzas, as somehow combining the coziness
of in-doors with the freedom of out-doors, and it is so pleasant to
inspect your thermometer there, but the country round about was such a
picture, that in berry time no boy climbs hill or crosses vale without
coming upon easels planted in every nook, and sun-burnt painters
painting there. A very paradise of painters. The circle of the stars cut
by the circle of the mountains. At least, so looks it from the house;
though, once upon the mountains, no circle of them can you see. Had the
site been chosen five rods off, this charmed ring would not have been.

The house is old. Seventy years since, from the heart of the Hearth
Stone Hills, they quarried the Kaaba, or Holy Stone, to which, each
Thanksgiving, the social pilgrims used to come. So long ago, that, in
digging for the foundation, the workmen used both spade and axe,
fighting the Troglodytes of those subterranean parts--sturdy roots of a
sturdy wood, encamped upon what is now a long land-slide of sleeping
meadow, sloping away off from my poppy-bed. Of that knit wood, but one
survivor stands--an elm, lonely through steadfastness.

Whoever built the house, he builded better than he knew; or else Orion
in the zenith flashed down his Damocles' sword to him some starry night,
and said, "Build there." For how, otherwise, could it have entered the
builder's mind, that, upon the clearing being made, such a purple
prospect would be his?--nothing less than Greylock, with all his hills
about him, like Charlemagne among his peers.

Now, for a house, so situated in such a country, to have no piazza for
the convenience of those who might desire to feast upon the view, and
take their time and ease about it, seemed as much of an omission as if a
picture-gallery should have no bench; for what but picture-galleries are
the marble halls of these same limestone hills?--galleries hung, month
after month anew, with pictures ever fading into pictures ever fresh.
And beauty is like piety--you cannot run and read it; tranquillity and
constancy, with, now-a-days, an easy chair, are needed. For though, of
old, when reverence was in vogue, and indolence was not, the devotees of
Nature, doubtless, used to stand and adore--just as, in the cathedrals
of those ages, the worshipers of a higher Power did--yet, in these times
of failing faith and feeble knees, we have the piazza and the pew.

During the first year of my residence, the more leisurely to witness the
coronation of Charlemagne (weather permitting, they crown him every
sunrise and sunset), I chose me, on the hill-side bank near by, a royal
lounge of turf--a green velvet lounge, with long, moss-padded back;
while at the head, strangely enough, there grew (but, I suppose, for
heraldry) three tufts of blue violets in a field-argent of wild
strawberries; and a trellis, with honeysuckle, I set for canopy. Very
majestical lounge, indeed. So much so, that here, as with the reclining
majesty of Denmark in his orchard, a sly ear-ache invaded me. But, if
damps abound at times in Westminster Abbey, because it is so old, why
not within this monastery of mountains, which is older?

A piazza must be had.

The house was wide--my fortune narrow; so that, to build a panoramic
piazza, one round and round, it could not be--although, indeed,
considering the matter by rule and square, the carpenters, in the
kindest way, were anxious to gratify my furthest wishes, at I've
forgotten how much a foot.

Upon but one of the four sides would prudence grant me what I wanted.
Now, which side?

To the east, that long camp of the Hearth Stone Hills, fading far away
towards Quito; and every fall, a small white flake of something peering
suddenly, of a coolish morning, from the topmost cliff--the season's
new-dropped lamb, its earliest fleece; and then the Christmas dawn,
draping those dim highlands with red-barred plaids and tartans--goodly
sight from your piazza, that. Goodly sight; but, to the north is
Charlemagne--can't have the Hearth Stone Hills with Charlemagne.

Well, the south side. Apple-trees are there. Pleasant, of a balmy
morning, in the month of May, to sit and see that orchard, white-budded,
as for a bridal; and, in October, one green arsenal yard; such piles of
ruddy shot. Very fine, I grant; but, to the north is Charlemagne.

The west side, look. An upland pasture, alleying away into a maple wood
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65132
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65132

WILD PASTURES


[Illustration: He was still sitting on his perch greeting the gold of
  the morning sun with melodious uproar                   [_Page 31_]




  WILD PASTURES

  BY

  WINTHROP PACKARD

  ILLUSTRATED BY

  CHARLES COPELAND

  [Illustration]

  BOSTON

  SMALL, MAYNARD AND COMPANY

  PUBLISHERS




  COPYRIGHT, 1909

  By Small, Maynard & Company

  (INCORPORATED)

  _Entered at Stationers’ Hall_

  THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.




  TO

  MY WIFE AND THE WEE BOY

  WHO HAVE MADE AND SHARED
  THE PASTURE SUNSHINE




CONTENTS


                                    PAGE

  WAYLAYING THE DAWN                   1

  STALKING THE WILD GRAPE             25

  THE FROG RENDEZVOUS                 47

  A BUTTERFLY CHASE                   69

  DOWN STREAM                         89

  BROOK MAGIC                        109

  IN THE PONKAPOAG BOGS              131

  SOME BUTTERFLY FRIENDS             151

  THE RESTING TIME OF THE BIRDS      173

  THE POND AT LOW TIDE               193

  HOW THE RAIN CAME                  215




ILLUSTRATIONS


  He was still sitting on his perch greeting the gold of
  the morning sun with melodious uproar                   _Frontispiece_

                                                           OPPOSITE PAGE

  The fox may slink for an hour unscared, waiting with
  watchful eye on the neighboring chicken coop                         6

  The mother bird, dancing and mincing along                          38

  Out from among the birches she sails gracefully, a
  veritable queen of the fairies                                      64

  There was the swish of wings, the snip-snap of a
  bird’s beak, and it was all over                                    86

  The way of the “kiver” is this. There is a single,
  snappy, business-like bob, then another, then
  three in quick succession                                           96

  That such things are not seen oftener is simply
  because people are dull and go to bed instead
  of sitting out under the witch-hazel at midnight
  of a full moon                                                     114

  Of a clear midsummer evening you may hear the
  muskrat grubbing roots there ... and hear his
  snort and splash when he dives at sudden sight
  of you                                                             142

  Every boy who knows the country in summer knows
  him by his rich, red coloration, his strong, black-bordered
  wings with their black veins                                       160

  The English sparrow has the true instincts of the
  browbeating coward                                                 180

  The skunk doesn’t know where he is going and he
  isn’t even on his way                                              198

  My lone quail sat on a rock in the pasture, tipped
  his head back a little, swelled his white throat,
  and whistled                                                       222




WAYLAYING THE DAWN




WAYLAYING THE DAWN


The most beautiful place which can be found on earth of a June morning
is a New England pasture, and fortunate are we New Englanders who love
the open in the fact that, whatever town or city may be our home, the
old-time pastures lie still at our very doors.

The way to the one that I know best lies through the yard of an old,
old house, a yard that stands hospitably always open. It swings along
by the ancient barn and turns a right angle by a worn-out field. Then
you enter an old lane leading to what has been for more than a century
a cow pasture. Here the close-cropped turf is like a lawn between the
gray and mossy old stone fences that the farmer of a century and more
gone grubbed from the rocky fields and made into metes and bounds.
There they stand to-day, just as he set them, grim mementos of toil
which the softening hand of time has made beautiful. Where cattle still
travel such lanes day by day these walls are undecorated, but many of
the lanes are untraveled and have been so these fifty years. Such are
garlanded with woodbine, sentineled by red cedars, and fragrant with
the breath of wild rose, azalea, and clethra.

Side by side with this lawn-like lane is another which was once
traversed by the cattle of the next farm, but which has not been used
for a lifetime. In this the wild things of the wood are untrammeled,
save by one another, and they hold it in riotous possession. Just as
the first lane is tame and sleek this other is wild and unkempt. The
raspberry and blackberry tangle catches you by the leg if you enter,
as if to hold you until birch and alder, cedar and sassafras, look you
over and decide whether or not you are of their lodge. If you give them
the right grip you may pass. If not, you will be well switched and
scratched before you are allowed to go on.

Here the wild grape climbs unpruned from wall to cedar, from cedar to
birch and from birch to oak, whence it sends its witching fragrance
far on the morning air. You may 
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_Only One Hundred and Sixty Copies of this
Edition on Japanese Vellum Paper have been printed,
of which One Hundred and Fifty are for Sale.

This is No. 147_


_The Illustrations in this Book were coloured by hand by
Miss Gloria Cardew._




   _TO
   MY DEAR LITTLE PHIL_




Preface


From the extreme West of the Indo-European world, we go this year to
the extreme East. From the soft rain and green turf of Gaeldom, we
seek the garish sun and arid soil of the Hindoo. In the Land of Ire,
the belief in fairies, gnomes, ogres and monsters is all but dead; in
the Land of Ind it still flourishes in all the vigour of animism.

Soils and national characters differ; but fairy tales are the same in
plot and incidents, if not in treatment. The majority of the tales in
this volume have been known in the West in some form or other, and the
problem arises how to account for their simultaneous existence in
farthest West and East. Some--as Benfey in Germany, M. Cosquin in
France, and Mr. Clouston in England--have declared that India is the
Home of the Fairy Tale, and that all European fairy tales have been
brought from thence by Crusaders, by Mongol missionaries, by Gipsies,
by Jews, by traders, by travellers. The question is still before the
courts, and one can only deal with it as an advocate. So far as my
instructions go, I should be prepared, within certain limits, to hold
a brief for India. So far as the children of Europe have their fairy
stories in common, these--and they form more than a third of the
whole--are derived from India. In particular, the majority of the
Drolls or comic tales and jingles can be traced, without much
difficulty, back to the Indian peninsula.

Certainly there is abundant evidence of the early transmission by
literary means of a considerable number of drolls and folk-tales from
India about the time of the Crusaders. The collections known in Europe
by the titles of _The Fables of Bidpai_, _The Seven Wise Masters_,
_Gesta Romanorum_, and _Barlaam and Josaphat_, were extremely popular
during the Middle Ages, and their contents passed on the one hand into
the _Exempla_ of the monkish preachers, and on the other into the
_Novelle_ of Italy, thence, after many days, to contribute their quota
to the Elizabethan Drama. Perhaps nearly one-tenth of the main
incidents of European folk-tales can be traced to this source.

There are even indications of an earlier literary contact between
Europe and India, in the case of one branch of the folk-tale, the
Fable or Beast Droll. In a somewhat elaborate discussion[1] I have
come to the conclusion that a goodly number of the fables that pass
under the name of the Samian slave, Æsop, were derived from India,
probably from the same source whence the same tales were utilised in
the Jatakas, or Birth-stories of Buddha. These Jatakas contain a large
quantity of genuine early Indian folk-tales, and form the earliest
collection of folk-tales in the world, a sort of Indian Grimm,
collected more than two thousand years before the good German brothers
went on their quest among the folk with such delightful results. For
this reason I have included a considerable number of them in this
volume; and shall be surprised if tales that have roused the laughter
and wonder of pious Buddhists for the last two thousand years, cannot
produce the same effect on English children. The Jatakas have been
fortunate in their English translators, who render with vigour and
point; and I rejoice in being able to publish the translation of two
new Jatakas, kindly done into English for this volume by Mr. W. H. D.
Rouse, of Christ's College, Cambridge. In one of these I think I have
traced the source of the Tar Baby incident in "Uncle Remus."

[Footnote 1: "History of the Æsopic Fable," the introductory volume to
my edition of Caxton's _Fables of Esope_ (London, Nutt, 1889).]

Though Indian fairy tales are the earliest in existence, yet they are
also from another point of view the youngest. For it is only about
twenty-five years ago that Miss Frere began the modern collection of
Indian folk-tales with her charming "Old Deccan Days" (London, John
Murray, 1868; fourth edition, 1889). Her example has been followed by
Miss Stokes, by Mrs. Steel, and Captain (now Major) Temple, by the
Pandit Natesa Sastri, by Mr. Knowles and Mr. Campbell, as well as
others who have published folk-tales in such periodicals as the
_Indian Antiquary_ and _The Orientalist_. The story-store of modern
India has been well dipped into during the last quarter of a century,
though the immense range of the country leaves room for any number of
additional workers and collections. Even so far as the materials
already collected go, a large number of the commonest incidents in
European folk-tales have been found in India. Whether brought there or
born there, we have scarcely any criterion for judging; but as some of
those still current among the folk in India can be traced back more
than a millennium, the presumption is in favo
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instruction, never made our acquisitions burthensome, or tasks
tedious. What convinces me of the rectitude of his method is, that
notwithstanding my extreme aversion to restraint, the recollection of
my studies is never attended with disgust; and, if my improvement was
trivial, it was obtained with ease, and has never escaped memory.

The simplicity of this rural life was of infinite advantage in opening
my heart to the reception of true friendship. The sentiments I had
hitherto formed on this subject were extremely elevated, but altogether
imaginary. The habit of living in this peaceful manner soon united me
tenderly to my cousin Bernard; my affection was more ardent than that
I had felt for my brother, nor has time ever been able to efface it.
He was a tall, lank, weakly boy, with a mind as mild as his body was
feeble, and who did not wrong the good opinion they were disposed to
entertain for the son of my guardian. Our studies, amusements, and
tasks, were the same; we were alone; each wanted a playmate; to separate
would in some measure, have been to annihilate us. Though we had not
many opportunities of demonstrating our attachment to each other, it was
certainly extreme; and so far from enduring the thought of separation,
we could not even form an idea that we should ever be able to submit to
it. Each of a disposition to be won by kindness, and complaisant, when
not soured by contradiction, we agreed in every particular. If, by
the favor of those who governed us he had the ascendant while in
their presence, I was sure to acquire it when we were alone, and this
preserved the equilibrium so necessary in friendship. If he hesitated in
repeating his task, I prompted him; when my exercises were finished, I
helped to write his; and, in our amusements, my disposition being most
active, ever had the lead. In a word, our characters accorded so well,
and the friendship that subsisted between us was so cordial, that during
the five years we were at Bossey and Geneva we were inseparable: we
often fought, it is true, but there never was any occasion to separate
us. No one of our quarrels lasted more than a quarter of an hour, and
never in our lives did we make any complaint of each other. It may be
said, these remarks are frivolous; but, perhaps, a similiar example
among children can hardly be produced.

The manner in which I passed my time at Bossey was so agreeable to my
disposition, that it only required a longer duration absolutely to have
fixed my character, which would have had only peaceable, affectionate,
benevolent sentiments for its basis. I believe no individual of our
kind ever possessed less natural vanity than myself. At intervals, by
an extraordinary effort, I arrived at sublime ideas, but presently sunk
again into my original languor. To be loved by every one who knew me was
my most ardent wish. I was naturally mild, my cousin was equally so, and
those who had the care of us were of similiar dispositions. Everything
contributed to strengthen those propensities which nature had implanted
in my breast, and during the two years I was neither the victim nor
witness of any violent emotions.

I knew nothing so delightful as to see every one content, not only with
me, but all that concerned them. When repeating our catechism at church,
nothing could give me greater vexation, on being obliged to hesitate,
than to see Miss Lambercier’s countenance express disapprobation and
uneasiness. This alone was more afflicting to me than the shame
of faltering before so many witnesses, which, notwithstanding, was
sufficiently painful; for though not oversolicitous of praise, I was
feelingly alive to shame; yet I can truly affirm, the dread of being
reprimanded by Miss Lambercier alarmed me less than the thought of
making her uneasy.

Neither she nor her brother were deficient in a reasonable severity, but
as this was scarce ever exerted without just cause, I was more afflicted
at their disapprobation than the punishment. Certainly the method
of treating youth would be altered if the distant effects this
indiscriminate, and frequently indiscreet method produces, were more
conspicuous. I would willingly excuse myself from a further explanation,
did not the lesson this example conveys (which points out an evil as
frequent as it is pernicious) forbid my silence.

As Miss Lambercier felt a mother’s affection, she sometimes exerted a
mother’s authority, even to inflicting on us when we deserved it, the
punishment of infants. She had often threatened it, and this threat of
a treatment entirely new, appeared to me extremely dreadful; but I found
the reality much less terrible than the idea, and what is still more
unaccountable, this punishment increased my affection for the person who
had inflicted it. All this affection, aided by my natural mildness, was
scarcely sufficient to prevent my seeking, by fresh offences, a return
of the same chastisement; for a degree of sensuality had mingled with
the smart and shame, which left m
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[Transcription note: One poem uses an a with a macron over it, this
has been rendered as ä, which is not used in this text for any other
purpose.]


CONTENTS.

     Memoir of Victor Marie Hugo




EARLY POEMS.

     Moses on the Nile--_Dublin University Magazine_
     Envy and Avarice--_American Keepsake_




ODES.--1818-28.

     King Louis XVII--_Dublin University Magazine_
     The Feast of Freedom--_"Father Prout" (F.S. Mahony)_
     Genius--_Mrs. Torre Hulme_
     The Girl of Otaheite--_Clement Scott_
     Nero's Incendiary Song--_H.J. Williams_
     Regret--_Fraser's Magazine_
     The Morning of Life
     Beloved Name--_Caroline Bowles (Mrs. Southey)_
     The Portrait of a Child--_Dublin University Magazine_




BALLADES.--1823-28.

     The Grandmother--_"Father Prout" (F.S. Mahony)_
     The Giant in Glee--_Foreign Quart. Rev. (adapted)_
     The Cymbaleer's Bride--_"Father Prout" (F.S. Mahony)_
     Battle of the Norsemen and the Gaels
     Madelaine
     The Fay and the Peri--_Asiatic Journal_




LES ORIENTALES.--1829

     The Scourge of Heaven--_I.N. Fazakerley_
     Pirates' Song
     The Turkish Captive--_W.D., Tait's Edisiburgh Mag._
     Moonlight on the Bosphorus--_John L. O'Sullivan_
     The Veil--_"Father Prout" (F.S. Mahony)_
     The Favorite Sultana
     The Pasha and the Dervish
     The Lost Battle--_W.D., Bentley's Miscel_., 1839
     The Greek Boy
     Zara, the Bather--_John L. O'Sullivan_
     Expectation--_John L. O'Sullivan _
     The Lover's Wish--_V., Eton Observer_
     The Sacking of the City--_John L. O'Sullivan_
     Noormahal the Fair
     The Djinns--_John L. O'Sullivan_
     The Obdurate Beauty--_John L. O'Sullivan_
     Don Rodrigo
     Cornflowers--_H.L. Williams_
     Mazeppa--_H.L. Williams_
     The Danube in Wrath--_Fraser's Magazine_
     Old Ocean--_R.C. Ellwood_
     My Napoleon--_H.L. Williams_




LES FEUILLES D'AUTOMNE.--1831.

     The Patience of the People--_G.W.M. Reynolds_
     Dictated before the Rhone Glacier--_Author of "Critical Essays"_
     The Poet's Love for Liveliness--_Fraser's Magazine_
     Infantile Influence--_Henry Highton, M.A._
     The Watching Angel--_Foreign Quarterly Review_
     Sunset--_Toru Dutt_
     The Universal Prayer--_Henry Highton, M.A._
     The Universal Prayer--_C., Tait's Magazine_




LES CHANTS DU CRÉPUSCULE.--1849.

     Prelude to "The Songs of Twilight"--_G.W.M. Reynolds_
     The Land of Fable--_G.W.M. Rrynolds_
     The Three Glorious Days--_Elizabeth Collins_
     Tribute to the Vanquished--_Fraser's Magazine_
     Angel or Demon--_Fraser's Magazine_
     The Eruption of Vesuvius--_Fraser's Magazine_
     Marriage and Feasts--_G.W.M. Reynolds_
     The Morrow of Grandeur--_Fraser's Magazine_
     The Eaglet Mourned--_Fraser's Magazine_
     Invocation--_G.W.M. Reynolds_
     Outside the Ball-room--_G.W.M. Reynolds_
     Prayer for France--_J.S. Macrae_
     To Canaris, the Greek Patriot--_G.W.M. Reynolds_
     Poland--_G.W.M. Reynolds_
     Insult not the Fallen--_W.C.K. Wilde_
     Morning--_W.M. Hardinge_
     Song of Love--_Toru Dutt_
     Sweet Charmer--_H.B. Farnie_
     More Strong than Time--_A. Lang_
     Roses and Butterflies--_W.C. Westbrook_
     A Simile--_Fanny Kemble-Butler_
     The Poet to his Wife




LES VOIX INTÉRIEURES.--1840.

     The Blinded Bourbons--_Fraser's Magazine_
     To Albert Dürer--_Mrs. Newton Crosland_
     To his Muse--_Fraser's Magazine_
     The Cow--_Toru Dutt_
     Mothers--_Dublin University Magazine_
     To some Birds Flown away--_Mrs. Newton Crosland_
     My Thoughts of Ye--_Dublin University Magazine_
     The Beacon in the Storm
     Love's Treacherous Pool
     The Rose and the Grave--_A. Lang_




LES RAYONS ET LES OMBRES.--1840.

     Holyrood Palace--_Fraser's Magazine_
     The Humble Home--_Author of "Critical Essays"_
     The Eighteenth Century--_Author of "Critical Essays"_
     Still be a Child--_Dublin University Magazine_
     The Pool and the Soul--_R.F. Hodgson_
     Ye Mariners who Spread your Sails--_Author of "Critical Essays"_
     On a Flemish Window-Pane--_Fraser's Magazine_
     The Preceptor--_E.E. Frewer_
     Gastibelza--_H.L. Williams_
     Guitar Song--_Evelyn Jerrold_
     Come when I Sleep--_Wm. W. Tomlinson_
     Early Love Revisited--_Author of "Critical Essays"_
     Sweet Memory of Love--_Author of "Critical Essays"_
     The Marble Faun--_William Young_
     A Love for Winged Things
     Baby's Seaside Grave




LES CHÂTIMENTS.--1853.

     Indignation!
     Imperial Revels--_H.L.W._
     Poor Little Children
     Apostrophe to Nature
     Napoleon "The Little"
     Fact or Fable--_H.L.W._
     A Lament--_Edwin Arnold, C.S.I._
     No Assassination
     The Despatch of the Doom
     The Seaman's Song
     The Retreat from Moscow--_Toru Dutt_
     The Ocean's Song--_Toru Dutt_
     The Trumpets of the Mind--_Toru Dutt_
     After the Coup d'État--_Toru Dutt_
     Patria
     The Universal Republic




LES CONTEMPLATIONS.--18
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_The Youngest Camel_


[Illustration: “_Now we have brought you to the pathway between the
winds._”]




  THE YOUNGEST CAMEL

  By Kay Boyle

  [Illustration]

  With illustrations by
  FRITZ KREDEL

  BOSTON
  LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY
  1939




  COPYRIGHT 1939, BY KAY BOYLE

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THE RIGHT
  TO REPRODUCE THIS BOOK OR PORTIONS
  THEREOF IN ANY FORM

  FIRST EDITION

  _Published August 1939_

  THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY PRESS BOOKS
  ARE PUBLISHED BY
  LITTLE, BROWN AND COMPANY
  IN ASSOCIATION WITH
  THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY COMPANY

  PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA




  _For Pegeen, Bobby, Apple-Joan,
  Kathe, and Clover Vail_




ILLUSTRATIONS


  “_Now we have brought you to the pathway between the
     winds._”                                               Frontispiece

  _The little camel said nothing at all, but simply
     followed in her footsteps_                                       22

  _He lay there very meekly on one side_                              28

  _And then they flew off, their legs floating on the air behind
     them_                                                            44

  “_It’s much wiser to be polite to everyone I meet, because one
     never knows._”                                                   54

  _The little camel took another uncertain step towards the tent_     68




_The Youngest Camel_




[Illustration]

_I_


The beginning of the caravan’s trip was made through lovely country,
through regions in which flowers such as tea roses and white and purple
iris bloomed. When the caravan came through villages, boys ran out
barefoot and half-naked to sell fruit to the travelers: baskets of
peaches, pears, and melons. All the forty camels wore bells, each one
several little silver-tongued bells attached to the harness he wore
around his neck. The youngest camel was the only one who did not carry
a bell, nor a load on his back. This was the first trip he had ever
made across the desert and he followed close behind his mother. As long
as she was there before him, he felt quite pleased with himself and not
at all fearful of all the sights he saw.

After several days the caravan, like every other caravan that took this
route, entered the badlands. Here the older camels fell into sudden
rages and spat if anyone approached them. If the camel drivers jerked
their nose cords, they flung their legs about and tottered as if they
were about to faint. Now and then, towards sundown, when the hour to
halt seemed near, they screamed aloud like humans. But the camels grew
quieter as soon as the desert began and they felt their feet deep in
the hot slipping sand.

The early mornings were now a clear icy blue, but as the day advanced
the heat blazed up as if a fire were sweeping across the heavens
towards them. The youngest camel didn’t mind how hot it was and he
had such a good opinion of his own strength that he thought he could
never possibly get tired. He came skipping and jumping along behind
his mother, playing games with himself and laughing out loud when the
dry sand ran swift as water between his toes. But when his mother
complained of the terrible heat and the long way they had to go, he
lifted his soft dark eyes and looked at her long legs before him, and
her tail, and he thought: I love her. I love her elbows with the hair
worn off them, like the old carpet the snake charmer sits on in the
market place; I love the way her hump slumps when she has no more water
in it, and I love the way her tail is eaten by the moths because she
forgot to put it in camphor once about fifty years ago.

He was a very poetic young camel and rather musical besides. He had a
beautiful singing voice, and in the evenings when they halted at an
oasis he liked to play the harp and sing to her. Most of his songs were
about himself and his own beauty and grace, but sometimes at night his
songs were so tender in his love for her that she had to rise from her
knees and break off great leaves from the banana trees and dry the
tears from her aging face.

On the fifteenth night they halted at an oasis where the poplars and
mimosas grew in great profusion, and where hares and antelope moved
shyly in the cool green gorges. The stars were sprinkled out as fine as
salt across the bluish night sky. The youngest camel lay close beside
his mother in the moist grasses, and she said to him:--

“Flower of my heart, this trip you have followed close beside me, for
you are my baby still, but soon you must prepare yourself for what will
surely come. Perhaps when we reach the end of our journey you will be
taken from me, and from then on you will travel with strange camels,
carrying a load of your own.”

“A baby?” said the youngest camel in surprise, feeling a little
annoyed. “Me, a baby?”

“Yes,” said his mother sadly, “and so, my earliest leaf, you will have
to undergo the ordeal of loneliness.”

“What in the world is that?” asked the young camel, and he reached out
for his harp an
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Why the Princess Has a Story About Her

There was once a little princess whose father was king over a great
country full of mountains and valleys.  His palace was built upon one
of the mountains, and was very grand and beautiful.  The princess,
whose name was Irene, was born there, but she was sent soon after her
birth, because her mother was not very strong, to be brought up by
country people in a large house, half castle, half farmhouse, on the
side of another mountain, about half-way between its base and its peak.

The princess was a sweet little creature, and at the time my story
begins was about eight years old, I think, but she got older very fast.
Her face was fair and pretty, with eyes like two bits of night sky,
each with a star dissolved in the blue.  Those eyes you would have
thought must have known they came from there, so often were they turned
up in that direction.  The ceiling of her nursery was blue, with stars
in it, as like the sky as they could make it. But I doubt if ever she
saw the real sky with the stars in it, for a reason which I had better
mention at once.

These mountains were full of hollow places underneath; huge caverns,
and winding ways, some with water running through them, and some
shining with all colours of the rainbow when a light was taken in.
There would not have been much known about them, had there not been
mines there, great deep pits, with long galleries and passages running
off from them, which had been dug to get at the ore of which the
mountains were full.  In the course of digging, the miners came upon
many of these natural caverns.  A few of them had far-off openings out
on the side of a mountain, or into a ravine.

Now in these subterranean caverns lived a strange race of beings,
called by some gnomes, by some kobolds, by some goblins.  There was a
legend current in the country that at one time they lived above ground,
and were very like other people.  But for some reason or other,
concerning which there were different legendary theories, the king had
laid what they thought too severe taxes upon them, or had required
observances of them they did not like, or had begun to treat them with
more severity, in some way or other, and impose stricter laws; and the
consequence was that they had all disappeared from the face of the
country.  According to the legend, however, instead of going to some
other country, they had all taken refuge in the subterranean caverns,
whence they never came out but at night, and then seldom showed
themselves in any numbers, and never to many people at once.  It was
only in the least frequented and most difficult parts of the mountains
that they were said to gather even at night in the open air.  Those who
had caught sight of any of them said that they had greatly altered in
the course of generations; and no wonder, seeing they lived away from
the sun, in cold and wet and dark places.  They were now, not
ordinarily ugly, but either absolutely hideous, or ludicrously
grotesque both in face and form.  There was no invention, they said, of
the most lawless imagination expressed by pen or pencil, that could
surpass the extravagance of their appearance.  But I suspect those who
said so had mistaken some of their animal companions for the goblins
themselves--of which more by and by.  The goblins themselves were not
so far removed from the human as such a description would imply.  And
as they grew misshapen in body they had grown in knowledge and
cleverness, and now were able to do things no mortal could see the
possibility of.  But as they grew in cunning, they grew in mischief,
and their great delight was in every way they could think of to annoy
the people who lived in the open-air storey above them.  They had
enough of affection left for each other to preserve them from being
absolutely cruel for cruelty's sake to those that came in their way;
but still they so heartily cherished the ancestral grudge against those
who occupied their former possessions and especially against the
descendants of the king who had caused their expulsion, that they
sought every opportunity of tormenting them in ways that were as odd as
their inventors; and although dwarfed and misshapen, they had strength
equal to their cunning.  In the process of time they had got a king and
a government of their own, whose chief business, beyond their own
simple affairs, was to devise trouble for their neighbours.  It will
now be pretty evident why the little princess had never seen the sky at
night.  They were much too afraid of the goblins to let her out of the
house then, even in company with ever so many attendants; and they had
good reason, as we shall see by and by.




The Princess Loses Herself

I have said the Princess Irene was about eight years old when my story
begins.  And this is how it begins.

One very wet day, when the mountain was covered with mist which was
constantly gathering itself together into raindrops, and pouring down
on the roofs of the great old ho
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time,—the period of the 2300 days; therefore the angel, in resuming his
explanation, dwells chiefly upon the subject of time:

“Seventy weeks are determined upon thy people and upon thy holy city....
Know therefore and understand, that from the going forth of the
commandment to restore and to build Jerusalem unto the Messiah the Prince
shall be seven weeks, and threescore and two weeks: the street shall be
built again, and the wall, even in troublous times. And after threescore
and two weeks shall Messiah be cut off, but not for Himself.... And He
shall confirm the covenant with many for one week: and in the midst of the
week He shall cause the sacrifice and the oblation to cease.”

The angel had been sent to Daniel for the express purpose of explaining to
him the point which he had failed to understand in the vision of the
eighth chapter, the statement relative to time,—“Unto two thousand and
three hundred days; then shall the sanctuary be cleansed.” After bidding
Daniel “understand the matter, and consider the vision,” the very first
words of the angel are, “Seventy weeks are determined upon thy people and
upon thy holy city.” The word here translated “determined,” literally
signifies “cut off.” Seventy weeks, representing 490 years, are declared
by the angel to be cut off, as specially pertaining to the Jews. But from
what were they cut off? As the 2300 days was the only period of time
mentioned in chapter eight, it must be the period from which the seventy
weeks were cut off; the seventy weeks must therefore be a part of the 2300
days, and the two periods must begin together. The seventy weeks were
declared by the angel to date from the going forth of the commandment to
restore and build Jerusalem. If the date of this commandment could be
found, then the starting-point for the great period of the 2300 days would
be ascertained.

In the seventh chapter of Ezra the decree is found.(540) In its completest
form it was issued by Artaxerxes, king of Persia, B.C. 457. But in Ezra
6:14 the house of the Lord at Jerusalem is said to have been built
“according to the commandment [margin, decree] of Cyrus, and Darius, and
Artaxerxes king of Persia.” These three kings, in originating,
re-affirming, and completing the decree, brought it to the perfection
required by the prophecy to mark the beginning of the 2300 years. Taking
B.C. 457, the time when the decree was completed, as the date of the
commandment, every specification of the prophecy concerning the seventy
weeks was seen to have been fulfilled.

“From the going forth of the commandment to restore and to build Jerusalem
unto the Messiah the Prince shall be seven weeks, and threescore and two
weeks,”—namely, sixty-nine weeks, or 483 years. The decree of Artaxerxes
went into effect in the autumn of B.C. 457. From this date, 483 years
extend to the autumn of A.D. 27.(541) At that time this prophecy was
fulfilled. The word “Messiah” signifies “the Anointed One.” In the autumn
of A.D. 27, Christ was baptized by John, and received the anointing of the
Spirit. The apostle Peter testifies that “God anointed Jesus of Nazareth
with the Holy Ghost and with power.”(542) And the Saviour Himself
declared, “The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me, because He hath anointed Me
to preach the gospel to the poor.”(543) After His baptism He went into
Galilee, “preaching the gospel of the kingdom of God, and saying, _The
time_ is fulfilled.”(544)

“And He shall confirm the covenant with many for one week.” The “week”
here brought to view is the last one of the seventy; it is the last seven
years of the period allotted especially to the Jews. During this time,
extending from A.D. 27 to A.D. 34, Christ, at first in person and
afterward by His disciples, extended the gospel invitation especially to
the Jews. As the apostles went forth with the good tidings of the kingdom,
the Saviour’s direction was, “Go not into the way of the Gentiles, and
into any city of the Samaritans enter ye not: but go rather to the lost
sheep of the house of Israel.”(545)

“In the midst of the week He shall cause the sacrifice and the oblation to
cease.” In A.D. 31, three and a half years after His baptism, our Lord was
crucified. With the great sacrifice offered upon Calvary, ended that
system of offerings which for four thousand years had pointed forward to
the Lamb of God. Type had met antitype, and all the sacrifices and
oblations of the ceremonial system were there to cease.

The seventy weeks, or 490 years, especially allotted to the Jews, ended,
as we have seen, in A.D. 34. At that time, through the action of the
Jewish Sanhedrim, the nation sealed its rejection of the gospel by the
martyrdom of Stephen and the persecution of the followers of Christ. Then
the message of salvation, no longer restricted to the chosen people, was
given to the world. The disciples, forced by persecution to flee from
Jerusalem, “went everywhere preaching the Word.” “Philip went down to the
city of Samaria, and preached Christ unt
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PG #: 1097
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MRS WARREN’S PROFESSION


by George Bernard Shaw


1894


With The Author’s Apology (1902)




THE AUTHOR’S APOLOGY


Mrs Warren’s Profession has been performed at last, after a delay of
only eight years; and I have once more shared with Ibsen the triumphant
amusement of startling all but the strongest-headed of the London
theatre critics clean out of the practice of their profession. No
author who has ever known the exultation of sending the Press into an
hysterical tumult of protest, of moral panic, of involuntary and frantic
confession of sin, of a horror of conscience in which the power of
distinguishing between the work of art on the stage and the real life
of the spectator is confused and overwhelmed, will ever care for the
stereotyped compliments which every successful farce or melodrama
elicits from the newspapers. Give me that critic who rushed from my play
to declare furiously that Sir George Crofts ought to be kicked. What a
triumph for the actor, thus to reduce a jaded London journalist to
the condition of the simple sailor in the Wapping gallery, who shouts
execrations at Iago and warnings to Othello not to believe him! But
dearer still than such simplicity is that sense of the sudden earthquake
shock to the foundations of morality which sends a pallid crowd of
critics into the street shrieking that the pillars of society are
cracking and the ruin of the State is at hand. Even the Ibsen champions
of ten years ago remonstrate with me just as the veterans of those brave
days remonstrated with them. Mr Grein, the hardy iconoclast who first
launched my plays on the stage alongside Ghosts and The Wild Duck,
exclaimed that I have shattered his ideals. Actually his ideals! What
would Dr Relling say? And Mr William Archer himself disowns me because I
“cannot touch pitch without wallowing in it”. Truly my play must be more
needed than I knew; and yet I thought I knew how little the others know.

Do not suppose, however, that the consternation of the Press reflects
any consternation among the general public. Anybody can upset the
theatre critics, in a turn of the wrist, by substituting for the
romantic commonplaces of the stage the moral commonplaces of the pulpit,
platform, or the library. Play Mrs Warren’s Profession to an audience
of clerical members of the Christian Social Union and of women well
experienced in Rescue, Temperance, and Girls’ Club work, and no moral
panic will arise; every man and woman present will know that as long
as poverty makes virtue hideous and the spare pocket-money of rich
bachelordom makes vice dazzling, their daily hand-to-hand fight against
prostitution with prayer and persuasion, shelters and scanty alms,
will be a losing one. There was a time when they were able to urge that
though “the white-lead factory where Anne Jane was poisoned” may be a
far more terrible place than Mrs Warren’s house, yet hell is still more
dreadful. Nowadays they no longer believe in hell; and the girls among
whom they are working know that they do not believe in it, and would
laugh at them if they did. So well have the rescuers learnt that Mrs
Warren’s defence of herself and indictment of society is the thing that
most needs saying, that those who know me personally reproach me, not
for writing this play, but for wasting my energies on “pleasant
plays” for the amusement of frivolous people, when I can build up such
excellent stage sermons on their own work. Mrs Warren’s Profession is
the one play of mine which I could submit to a censorship without doubt
of the result; only, it must not be the censorship of the minor theatre
critic, nor of an innocent court official like the Lord Chamberlain’s
Examiner, much less of people who consciously profit by Mrs Warren’s
profession, or who personally make use of it, or who hold the widely
whispered view that it is an indispensable safety-valve for the
protection of domestic virtue, or, above all, who are smitten with a
sentimental affection for our fallen sister, and would “take her up
tenderly, lift her with care, fashioned so slenderly, young, and SO
fair.” Nor am I prepared to accept the verdict of the medical gentlemen
who would compulsorily sanitate and register Mrs Warren, whilst leaving
Mrs Warren’s patrons, especially her military patrons, free to destroy
her health and anybody else’s without fear of reprisals. But I should be
quite content to have my play judged by, say, a joint committee of
the Central Vigilance Society and the Salvation Army. And the sterner
moralists the members of the committee were, the better.

Some of the journalists I have shocked reason so unripely that they will
gather nothing from this but a confused notion that I am accusing the
National Vigilance Association and the Salvation Army of complicity in
my own scandalous immorality. It will seem to them that people who would
stand this play would stand anything. They are quite mistaken. Such
an audience as I have described would be revolted by many of our
fashionable play
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PESTILENCES PREVIOUS TO THE BLACK DEATH, CHIEFLY FROM FAMINES.


The Middle Age of European history has no naturally fixed beginning or
ending. The period of Antiquity may be taken as concluded by the fourth
Christian century, or by the fifth or by the sixth; the Modern period may
be made to commence in the fourteenth, or in the fifteenth or in the
sixteenth. The historian Hallam includes a thousand years in the medieval
period, from the invasion of France by Clovis to the invasion of Italy by
Charles VIII. in 1494. We begin, he says, in darkness and calamity, and we
break off as the morning breathes upon us and the twilight reddens into
the lustre of day. To the epidemiologist the medieval period is rounded
more definitely. At the one end comes the great plague in the reign of
Justinian, and at the other end the Black Death. Those are the two
greatest pestilences in recorded history; each has no parallel except in
the other. They were in the march of events, and should not be fixed upon
as doing more than their share in shaping the course of history. But no
single thing stands out more clearly as the stroke of fate in bringing the
ancient civilization to an end than the vast depopulation and solitude
made by the plague which came with the corn-ships from Egypt to Byzantium
in the year 543; and nothing marks so definitely the emergence of Europe
from the middle period of stagnation as the other depopulation and social
upheaval made by the plague which came in the overland track of Genoese
and Venetian traders from China in the year 1347. While many other
influences were in the air to determine the oncoming and the offgoing of
the middle darkness, those two world-wide pestilences were singular in
their respective effects: of the one, we may say that it turned the key of
the medieval prison-house; and of the other, that it unlocked the door
after eight hundred years.

The Black Death and its after-effects will occupy a large part of this
work, so that what has just been said of it will not stand as a bare
assertion. But the plague in the reign of Justinian hardly touches British
history, and must be left with a brief reference. Gibbon was not
insensible of the part that it played in the great drama of his history.
“There was,” he says, “a visible decrease of the human species, which has
never been repaired in some of the fairest countries of the globe.” After
vainly trying to construe the arithmetic of Procopius, who was a witness
of the calamity at Byzantium, he agrees to strike off one or more ciphers,
and adopts as an estimate “not wholly inadmissible,” a mortality of one
hundred millions. The effects of that depopulation, in part due to war,
are not followed in the history. So far as Gibbon’s method could go, the
plague came for him into the same group of phenomena as comets and
earthquakes; it was part of the stage scenery amidst which the drama of
emperors, pontiffs, generals, eunuchs, Theodoras, and adventurers
proceeded. Even of the comets and earthquakes, he remarks that they were
subject to physical laws; and it was from no want of scientific spirit
that he omitted to show how a plague of such magnitude had a place in the
physical order, and not less in the moral order.

A new science of epidemiology has sprung up since the time of Gibbon, who
had to depend on the writings of Mead, a busy and not very profound Court
physician. More particularly the Egyptian origin of the plague of the
sixth century, and its significance, have been elucidated by the brilliant
theory of Pariset, of which some account will be given at the end of the
chapter on the Black Death. For the present, we are concerned with it only
in so far as it may have a bearing upon the pestilences of Britain. The
plague of the sixth century made the greatest impression, naturally, upon
the oldest civilized countries of Europe; but it extended also to the
outlying provinces of the empire, and to the countries of the barbarians.
It was the same disease as the Black Death of the fourteenth century, the
bubo-plague; and it spread from country to country, and lasted from
generation to generation, as that more familiar infection is known to have
done[1].

Renewals of it are heard of in one part of Europe or another until the end
of the sixth century, when its continuity is lost. But it is clear that
the seeds of pestilence were not wanting in Rome and elsewhere in the
centuries following. Thus, about the year 668, the English
archbishop-elect, Vighard, having gone to Rome to get his election
confirmed by the Pope Vitalianus, was shortly after his arrival cut off by
pestilence, with almost all who had gone with him[2]. Twelve years after,
in 680, there was another severe pestilence in the months of July, August
and September, causing a great mortality at Rome, and such panic at Pavia
that the inhabitants fled to the mountains[3]. In 746 a pestilence is said
to have advanced from Sicily and Calabria, and to have made such
devastation in Rome tha
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PG #: 30240
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THE BIG TRIP
       UP YONDER

By KURT VONNEGUT, JR.

Illustrated by KOSSIN


    _If it was good enough for your grandfather, forget it ... it is
    much too good for anyone else!_


Gramps Ford, his chin resting on his hands, his hands on the crook of
his cane, was staring irascibly at the five-foot television screen that
dominated the room. On the screen, a news commentator was summarizing
the day's happenings. Every thirty seconds or so, Gramps would jab the
floor with his cane-tip and shout, "Hell, we did that a hundred years
ago!"

Emerald and Lou, coming in from the balcony, where they had been seeking
that 2185 A.D. rarity--privacy--were obliged to take seats in the back
row, behind Lou's father and mother, brother and sister-in-law, son and
daughter-in-law, grandson and wife, granddaughter and husband,
great-grandson and wife, nephew and wife, grandnephew and wife,
great-grandniece and husband, great-grandnephew and wife--and, of
course, Gramps, who was in front of everybody. All save Gramps, who was
somewhat withered and bent, seemed, by pre-anti-gerasone standards, to
be about the same age--somewhere in their late twenties or early
thirties. Gramps looked older because he had already reached 70 when
anti-gerasone was invented. He had not aged in the 102 years since.

"Meanwhile," the commentator was saying, "Council Bluffs, Iowa, was
still threatened by stark tragedy. But 200 weary rescue workers have
refused to give up hope, and continue to dig in an effort to save Elbert
Haggedorn, 183, who has been wedged for two days in a ..."

"I wish he'd get something more cheerful," Emerald whispered to Lou.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Silence!" cried Gramps. "Next one shoots off his big bazoo while the
TV's on is gonna find hisself cut off without a dollar--" his voice
suddenly softened and sweetened--"when they wave that checkered flag at
the Indianapolis Speedway, and old Gramps gets ready for the Big Trip Up
Yonder."

He sniffed sentimentally, while his heirs concentrated desperately on
not making the slightest sound. For them, the poignancy of the
prospective Big Trip had been dulled somewhat, through having been
mentioned by Gramps about once a day for fifty years.

"Dr. Brainard Keyes Bullard," continued the commentator, "President of
Wyandotte College, said in an address tonight that most of the world's
ills can be traced to the fact that Man's knowledge of himself has not
kept pace with his knowledge of the physical world."

"_Hell!_" snorted Gramps. "We said _that_ a hundred years ago!"

"In Chicago tonight," the commentator went on, "a special celebration is
taking place in the Chicago Lying-in Hospital. The guest of honor
is Lowell W. Hitz, age zero. Hitz, born this morning, is the
twenty-five-millionth child to be born in the hospital." The commentator
faded, and was replaced on the screen by young Hitz, who squalled
furiously.

"Hell!" whispered Lou to Emerald. "We said that a hundred years ago."

"I heard that!" shouted Gramps. He snapped off the television set and
his petrified descendants stared silently at the screen. "You, there,
boy--"

"I didn't mean anything by it, sir," said Lou, aged 103.

"Get me my will. You know where it is. You kids _all_ know where it is.
Fetch, boy!" Gramps snapped his gnarled fingers sharply.

Lou nodded dully and found himself going down the hall, picking his way
over bedding to Gramps' room, the only private room in the Ford
apartment. The other rooms were the bathroom, the living room and the
wide windowless hallway, which was originally intended to serve as a
dining area, and which had a kitchenette in one end. Six mattresses and
four sleeping bags were dispersed in the hallway and living room, and
the daybed, in the living room, accommodated the eleventh couple, the
favorites of the moment.

On Gramps' bureau was his will, smeared, dog-eared, perforated and
blotched with hundreds of additions, deletions, accusations, conditions,
warnings, advice and homely philosophy. The document was, Lou reflected,
a fifty-year diary, all jammed onto two sheets--a garbled, illegible log
of day after day of strife. This day, Lou would be disinherited for the
eleventh time, and it would take him perhaps six months of impeccable
behavior to regain the promise of a share in the estate. To say nothing
of the daybed in the living room for Em and himself.

"Boy!" called Gramps.

"Coming, sir." Lou hurried back into the living room and handed Gramps
the will.

"Pen!" said Gramps.

       *       *       *       *       *

He was instantly offered eleven pens, one from each couple.

"Not _that_ leaky thing," he said, brushing Lou's pen aside. "Ah,
_there's_ a nice one. Good boy, Willy." He accepted Willy's pen. That
was the tip they had all been waiting for. Willy, then--Lou's
father--was the new favorite.

Willy, who looked almost as young as Lou, though he was 142, did a poor
job of concealing his pleasure. He glanced shyly at the daybed, which
would become 
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PG #: 1672
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GORGIAS

by Plato

Translated by Benjamin Jowett




INTRODUCTION.

In several of the dialogues of Plato, doubts have arisen among his
interpreters as to which of the various subjects discussed in them
is the main thesis. The speakers have the freedom of conversation; no
severe rules of art restrict them, and sometimes we are inclined to
think, with one of the dramatis personae in the Theaetetus, that the
digressions have the greater interest. Yet in the most irregular of the
dialogues there is also a certain natural growth or unity; the beginning
is not forgotten at the end, and numerous allusions and references are
interspersed, which form the loose connecting links of the whole. We
must not neglect this unity, but neither must we attempt to confine
the Platonic dialogue on the Procrustean bed of a single idea. (Compare
Introduction to the Phaedrus.)

Two tendencies seem to have beset the interpreters of Plato in this
matter. First, they have endeavoured to hang the dialogues upon one
another by the slightest threads; and have thus been led to opposite and
contradictory assertions respecting their order and sequence. The mantle
of Schleiermacher has descended upon his successors, who have applied
his method with the most various results. The value and use of the
method has been hardly, if at all, examined either by him or them.
Secondly, they have extended almost indefinitely the scope of each
separate dialogue; in this way they think that they have escaped all
difficulties, not seeing that what they have gained in generality they
have lost in truth and distinctness. Metaphysical conceptions easily
pass into one another; and the simpler notions of antiquity, which
we can only realize by an effort, imperceptibly blend with the more
familiar theories of modern philosophers. An eye for proportion is
needed (his own art of measuring) in the study of Plato, as well as of
other great artists. We may hardly admit that the moral antithesis
of good and pleasure, or the intellectual antithesis of knowledge
and opinion, being and appearance, are never far off in a Platonic
discussion. But because they are in the background, we should not bring
them into the foreground, or expect to discern them equally in all the
dialogues.

There may be some advantage in drawing out a little the main outlines
of the building; but the use of this is limited, and may be easily
exaggerated. We may give Plato too much system, and alter the natural
form and connection of his thoughts. Under the idea that his dialogues
are finished works of art, we may find a reason for everything, and lose
the highest characteristic of art, which is simplicity. Most great works
receive a new light from a new and original mind. But whether these new
lights are true or only suggestive, will depend on their agreement with
the spirit of Plato, and the amount of direct evidence which can
be urged in support of them. When a theory is running away with
us, criticism does a friendly office in counselling moderation, and
recalling us to the indications of the text.

Like the Phaedrus, the Gorgias has puzzled students of Plato by the
appearance of two or more subjects. Under the cover of rhetoric higher
themes are introduced; the argument expands into a general view of the
good and evil of man. After making an ineffectual attempt to obtain a
sound definition of his art from Gorgias, Socrates assumes the
existence of a universal art of flattery or simulation having several
branches:--this is the genus of which rhetoric is only one, and not the
highest species. To flattery is opposed the true and noble art of life
which he who possesses seeks always to impart to others, and which at
last triumphs, if not here, at any rate in another world. These two
aspects of life and knowledge appear to be the two leading ideas of
the dialogue. The true and the false in individuals and states, in the
treatment of the soul as well as of the body, are conceived under the
forms of true and false art. In the development of this opposition
there arise various other questions, such as the two famous paradoxes of
Socrates (paradoxes as they are to the world in general, ideals as they
may be more worthily called): (1) that to do is worse than to suffer
evil; and (2) that when a man has done evil he had better be punished
than unpunished; to which may be added (3) a third Socratic paradox or
ideal, that bad men do what they think best, but not what they desire,
for the desire of all is towards the good. That pleasure is to be
distinguished from good is proved by the simultaneousness of pleasure
and pain, and by the possibility of the bad having in certain cases
pleasures as great as those of the good, or even greater. Not merely
rhetoricians, but poets, musicians, and other artists, the whole tribe
of statesmen, past as well as present, are included in the class of
flatterers. The true and false finally appear before the judgment-seat
of the gods below.

The dialogue naturally falls into 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
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_Cover design after engraving from Diderot._


  CONTRIBUTIONS FROM
  THE MUSEUM OF HISTORY AND TECHNOLOGY:

  PAPER 51




  WOODWORKING TOOLS, 1600-1900

  _Peter C. Welsh_


  SPECIALIZATION        183

  CONFIGURATION         194

  CHANGE                214

  BIBLIOGRAPHY          227

  _Peter C Welsh_




WOODWORKING TOOLS

1600-1900


     _This history of woodworking hand tools from the 17th to the 20th
     century is one of a very gradual evolution of tools through
     generations of craftsmen. As a result, the sources of changes in
     design are almost impossible to ascertain. Published sources,
     moreover, have been concerned primarily with the object shaped by
     the tool rather than the tool itself. The resulting scarcity of
     information is somewhat compensated for by collections in museums
     and restorations._

     _In this paper, the author spans three centuries in discussing the
     specialization, configuration, and change of woodworking tools in
     the United States._

     THE AUTHOR: _Peter C. Welsh is curator, Growth of the United
     States, in the Smithsonian Institution's Museum of History and
     Technology._

In 1918, PROFESSOR W.M.F. PETRIE concluded a brief article on "History
in Tools" with a reminder that the history of this subject "has yet to
be studied," and lamented the survival of so few precisely dated
specimens. What Petrie found so discouraging in studying the implements
of the ancient world has consistently plagued those concerned with tools
of more recent vintage. Anonymity is the chief characteristic of hand
tools of the last three centuries. The reasons are many: first, the tool
is an object of daily use, subjected while in service to hard wear and,
in some cases, ultimate destruction; second, a tool's usefulness is apt
to continue through many years and through the hands of several
generations of craftsmen, with the result that its origins become lost;
third, the achievement of an implement of demonstrated proficiency
dictated against radical, and therefore easily datable, changes in shape
or style; and fourth, dated survivals needed to establish a range of
firm control specimens for the better identification of unknowns,
particularly the wooden elements of tools--handles, moldings, and plane
bodies--are frustratingly few in non-arid archaeological sites. When
tracing the provenance of American tools there is the additional problem
of heterogeneous origins and shapes--that is, what was the appearance
of a given tool prior to its standardization in England and the United
States? The answer requires a brief summary of the origin of selected
tool shapes, particularly those whose form was common to both the
British Isles and the Continent in the 17th century. Beyond this, when
did the shape of English tools begin to differ from the shape of tools
of the Continent? Finally, what tool forms predominated in American
usage and when, if in fact ever, did any of these tools achieve a
distinctly American character? In the process of framing answers to
these questions, one is confronted by a constantly diminishing
literature, coupled with a steadily increasing number of tool types.[1]

[Illustration: Figure 1.--1685: THE PRINCIPAL TOOLS that the carpenter
needed to frame a house, as listed by JOHANN AMOS COMENIUS in his _Orbis
Sensualium Pictus_ were the felling axe (4), wedge and beetle (7 and 8),
chip axe (10), saw (12), trestle (14), and pulley (15). (Charles Hoole
transl., London, 1685. _Courtesy of the Folger Shakespeare Library_.)]

[Illustration: Figure 2.--1685: THE BOXMAKER AND TURNER as pictured by
Comenius required planes (3 and 5), workbench (4), auger (6), knife (7),
and lathe (14). (From Johann Amos Comenius, _Orbis Sensualium Pictus.
Courtesy of the Folger Shakespeare Library_.)]

The literature of the subject, both new and old, is sparse, with
interest always centering upon the object shaped by the craftsman's tool
rather than upon the tool itself. Henry Mercer's _Ancient Carpenters'
Tools_, first published in 1929, is an exception. It remains a rich
source of information based primarily on the marvelous collections
preserved by the Bucks County Historical Society. Since 1933, the Early
American Industries Association, both through collecting and through its
_Chronicle_, has called attention to the vanishing trades, their tools
and techniques; the magazine _Antiques_ has occasionally dealt with this
subject. Historians of economic and industrial development usually
neglect the tools of the woodcrafts, and when considering the
toolmakers, they have reference only to the inventors and producers of
machine tools. The dearth of written material is somewhat compensated
for by the collections of hand tools in American museums and
restorations, notably those at Williamsburg, Cooperstown, Old Sturbridge
Village, Winterthur, the Henry Ford Museum, and Shelburne; at the 
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                                LITTLE
                                BLACK
                                SAMBO


                                 BY
                           HELEN BANNERMAN


                             ILLUSTRATED
                                 BY
                       FLORENCE WHITE WILLIAMS



                                 THE
                     SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY
                   CHICAGO . AKRON, OHIO . NEW YORK
                          PRINTED IN U.S.A.




[Illustration:]

LITTLE BLACK
SAMBO

[Illustration:]


Once upon a time there was a little black boy, and his name was Little
Black Sambo.

[Illustration:]

And his mother was called Black Mumbo.

[Illustration:]

And his father was called Black Jumbo.

[Illustration:]

And Black Mumbo made him a beautiful little Red Coat, and a pair of
beautiful little Blue Trousers.

[Illustration:]

And Black Jumbo went to the Bazaar and bought him a beautiful Green
Umbrella and a lovely little Pair of Purple Shoes with Crimson Soles
and Crimson Linings.

And then wasn't Little Black Sambo grand?

[Illustration:]

So he put on all his Fine Clothes and went out for a walk in the
Jungle.

[Illustration:]

And by and by he met a Tiger. And the Tiger said to him, "Little
Black Sambo, I'm going to eat you up!"

[Illustration:]

And Little Black Sambo said, "Oh! Please, Mr. Tiger, don't eat me up,
and I'll give you my beautiful little Red Coat."

[Illustration:]

So the Tiger said, "Very well, I won't eat you this time, but you must
give me your beautiful little Red Coat." So the Tiger got poor Little
Black Sambo's beautiful little Red Coat, and went away saying,

"Now I'm the grandest Tiger in the Jungle."

[Illustration:]

And Little Black Sambo went on, and by and by he met another Tiger,
and it said to him, "Little Black Sambo, I'm going to eat you up!"

[Illustration:]

And Little Black Sambo said, "Oh! Please, Mr. Tiger, don't eat me up,
and I'll give you my beautiful little Blue Trousers."

[Illustration:]

So the Tiger said, "Very well, I won't eat you this time, but you must
give me your beautiful little Blue Trousers." So the Tiger got poor
Little Black Sambo's beautiful little Blue Trousers, and went away
saying, "Now I'm the grandest Tiger in the Jungle."

[Illustration:]

And Little Black Sambo went on and by and by he met another Tiger, and
it said to him, "Little Black Sambo, I'm going to eat you up!" And
Little Black Sambo said, "Oh! Please, Mr. Tiger, don't eat me up, and
I'll give you my beautiful little Purple Shoes with Crimson Soles and
Crimson Linings."

[Illustration:]

[Illustration:]

But the Tiger said, "What use would your shoes be to me? I've got four
feet and you've got only two."

[Illustration:]

"You haven't got enough shoes for me." But Little Black Sambo said,
"You could wear them on your ears."

"So I could," said the Tiger, "that's a very good idea. Give them to
me, and I won't eat you this time."

So the Tiger got poor Little Black Sambo's beautiful little Purple
Shoes with Crimson Soles and Crimson Linings, and went away saying,
"Now I'm the grandest Tiger in the Jungle."

[Illustration:]

And by and by Little Black Sambo met another Tiger, and it said to
him, "Little Black Sambo, I'm going to eat you up!"

[Illustration:]

And Little Black Sambo said, "Oh! Please, Mr. Tiger, don't eat me up
and I'll give you my beautiful Green Umbrella." But the Tiger said,
"How can I carry an umbrella when I need all my paws for walking
with?"

[Illustration:]

"You could tie a knot on your tail, and carry it that way," said
Little Black Sambo.

[Illustration:]

"So I could," said the Tiger. "Give it to me and I won't eat you this
time."

[Illustration:]

So he got poor Little Black Sambo's beautiful Green Umbrella, and went
away saying, "Now _I_'m the grandest Tiger in the Jungle."

And poor Little Black Sambo went away crying, because the cruel Tigers
had taken all his fine clothes.

[Illustration:]

Presently he heard a horrible noise that sounded like
"Gr-r-r-r-rrrrrrr," and it got louder and louder.

"Oh dear!" said Little Black Sambo, "There are all the Tigers coming
back to eat me up! What shall I do?"

So he ran quickly to a palm-tree,

[Illustration:]

And peeped round it to see what the matter was.

And there he saw all the Tigers fighting and disputing which of them
was the grandest.

And at last they all got so angry that they jumped up and took off all
the fine clothes and began to tear each other with their claws and
bite each other with their great big white teeth.

[Illustration:]

And they came, rolling and tumbling, right to the foot of the very
tree where Little Black Sambo was hiding, but he jumped quickly in
behind the umbrella. And the Tigers all caught hold of each others'
tails.

[Illustration:]

As they wrangled and scrambled, and so they found themselves in a ring
around the tree.

Then, when the Tigers were 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 12096
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12096

Proofreading Team and the Million Book Project/State Central Library,
Hyderabad






BUSHIDO
THE SOUL OF JAPAN


BY
INAZO NITOBÉ, A.M., Ph.D.


Author's Edition, Revised and Enlarged
13th EDITION
1908


DECEMBER, 1904


TO MY BELOVED UNCLE
TOKITOSHI OTA
WHO TAUGHT ME TO REVERE THE PAST
AND
TO ADMIRE THE DEEDS OF THE SAMURAI
I DEDICATE
THIS LITTLE BOOK


                               --"That way
    Over the mountain, which who stands upon,
    Is apt to doubt if it be indeed a road;
    While if he views it from the waste itself,
    Up goes the line there, plain from base to brow,
    Not vague, mistakable! What's a break or two
    Seen from the unbroken desert either side?
    And then (to bring in fresh philosophy)
    What if the breaks themselves should prove at last
    The most consummate of contrivances
    To train a man's eye, teach him what is faith?"

    --ROBERT BROWNING,

    _Bishop Blougram's Apology_.


    "There are, if I may so say, three powerful spirits, which have
    from time to time, moved on the face of the waters, and given a
    predominant impulse to the moral sentiments and energies of
    mankind. These are the spirits of liberty, of religion, and of
    honor."

    --HALLAM,

    _Europe in the Middle Ages_.


    "Chivalry is itself the poetry of life."

    --SCHLEGEL,

    _Philosophy of History_.



PREFACE


About ten years ago, while spending a few days under the hospitable roof
of the distinguished Belgian jurist, the lamented M. de Laveleye, our
conversation turned, during one of our rambles, to the subject of
religion. "Do you mean to say," asked the venerable professor, "that you
have no religious instruction in your schools?" On my replying in the
negative he suddenly halted in astonishment, and in a voice which I
shall not easily forget, he repeated "No religion! How do you impart
moral education?" The question stunned me at the time. I could give no
ready answer, for the moral precepts I learned in my childhood days,
were not given in schools; and not until I began to analyze the
different elements that formed my notions of right and wrong, did I find
that it was Bushido that breathed them into my nostrils.

The direct inception of this little book is due to the frequent queries
put by my wife as to the reasons why such and such ideas and customs
prevail in Japan.

In my attempts to give satisfactory replies to M. de Laveleye and to my
wife, I found that without understanding Feudalism and Bushido,[1] the
moral ideas of present Japan are a sealed volume.

[Footnote 1: Pronounced _Boó-shee-doh'_. In putting Japanese words and
names into English, Hepburn's rule is followed, that the vowels should
be used as in European languages, and the consonants as in English.]

Taking advantage of enforced idleness on account of long illness, I put
down in the order now presented to the public some of the answers given
in our household conversation. They consist mainly of what I was taught
and told in my youthful days, when Feudalism was still in force.

Between Lafcadio Hearn and Mrs. Hugh Fraser on one side and Sir Ernest
Satow and Professor Chamberlain on the other, it is indeed discouraging
to write anything Japanese in English. The only advantage I have over
them is that I can assume the attitude of a personal defendant, while
these distinguished writers are at best solicitors and attorneys. I
have often thought,--"Had I their gift of language, I would present the
cause of Japan in more eloquent terms!" But one who speaks in a borrowed
tongue should be thankful if he can just make himself intelligible.

All through the discourse I have tried to illustrate whatever points I
have made with parallel examples from European history and literature,
believing that these will aid in bringing the subject nearer to the
comprehension of foreign readers.

Should any of my allusions to religious subjects and to religious
workers be thought slighting, I trust my attitude towards Christianity
itself will not be questioned. It is with ecclesiastical methods and
with the forms which obscure the teachings of Christ, and not with the
teachings themselves, that I have little sympathy. I believe in the
religion taught by Him and handed down to us in the New Testament, as
well as in the law written in the heart. Further, I believe that God
hath made a testament which maybe called "old" with every people and
nation,--Gentile or Jew, Christian or Heathen. As to the rest of my
theology, I need not impose upon the patience of the public.

In concluding this preface, I wish to express my thanks to my friend
Anna C. Hartshorne for many valuable suggestions and for the
characteristically Japanese design made by her for the cover of this
book.

INAZO NITOBE.

Malvern, Pa., Twelfth Month, 1899.




PREFACE


TO THE TENTH AND REVISED EDITION

Since its first publication in Philadelphia, more than six years ago,
this little book has had an unexpected history. The Japanese reprint has
passed through 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65122
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65122

You'll Like It On Mars!

                           By Tom W. Harris

            Nobody could figure out how Kettering had shot
              his realistic scenes on Mars. His movie was
           just too good to be true--and much too gruesome!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                              August 1958
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


I remember it all so clearly. "Get the information and you can have
anything you want," Myron Ferdinand told me. He stuffed his heavy
pipe with five-dollar-an-ounce tobacco and blew a heavy cloud around
his heavy face. "Fail to get it, and I'll wash you out of the whole
industry."

Myron meant what he said. "I'll get it," I said with beautifully faked
confidence.

"Renn Kettering will be glad to see you at his party tonight," Myron
grinned. "I planted a rumor that you want to leave me and go to work
for him. Maneuver a private talk, get him on the subject of how he made
that damned movie. Maybe he'll let something slip."

"Great idea," I said. Movie magnates always have great ideas.

"Talk to his cast. And slip off alone if you can and look his
house over. I don't care what you do, but come back here with the
information. And don't get big ideas on selling out to Kettering. He'd
hire you to get you away from Stupendous and then dust-bin you because
he couldn't trust you. You understand that, of course."

"Of course," I said. Movie magnates are always right.

"One thing more, Manny. I want you to see those steals again."

"I've seen those scenes of his about seven thousand times, Myron."

"So have I--so has the whole country--and between you and me I don't
think they're as hot as they're cracked up to be. I'd have done it
different. But I want you to see them just before you go to Kettering's
party, to have 'em fresh in your mind. Get it?"

"Terrif idea!" I bellowed. "I didn't think of that!"

"That's why I'm president of Stupendous," said Myron.

Modest guy, Myron Ferdinand. "Right," I said, sliding toward the door.

"Remember," said Myron. "Anything you want--or on the other hand, the
end of you in Hollywood."

On the way to the preview room I mulled it over. Nice simple
assignment. Find out how Renn Kettering of PGP Studios had shot those
startling sequences _Mars Hazard_, an international hit. It was super
realism--the critics were calling it "Art's answer to the newsreel" and
stuff like that. The scenes had been shot on Mars. Renn had fabulous
influence. In this case he must have paid off the government itself,
because the crew of the third ship to touch the new planet had been
mostly his own actors and technicians and Renn himself was along. These
factors were known to every hipster. But how had he managed to shoot
those....

I was at the view room. I signaled the joker in the projection booth
and sat down as the first famous sequences came on the screen.

The space crew had left the ship and were in a little ravine when a
bunch of tawnies came down on them. There were liver-freezing shots of
the tawnies--close-ups--those could have been done with a telephoto
lens. The space crew got behind some rocks, and Vance Hubbard, the
film's heavy, stood up and cut loose with a blaster. The blue sparks
burst and showered around the big tawny that was coming for Vance,
and it howled but didn't stop. Vance hurled the gun at its big sticky
mouth, and then the thing grabbed him with its front mandibles, or
whatever you call them.

There was a closeup of Vance's face, scrambled with terror, about the
best acting I have ever seen from Vance. And, the tawny got those
yellow choppers going and minced him into little hunks.

It was all close to the camera, and about the most real thing I ever
saw outside of a newsreel. Superb realism.

If I hadn't seen so many murder films and pirate films and
space-monster films I suppose I couldn't have kept watching. But me
and John Q. Public were just alike--calloused. Calloused or not, I
still felt a cold chill or two. If the public wanted horror, this film
delivered it.

There were some more hair-raising shots as the crew tried to beat off
the tawnies. There was a guy who got in the way of a blaster. I wanted
to think he was a rubber dummy or some kind of robot, but I couldn't
convince myself. Anyway, the tawnies cleaned up. The only one who made
it back to the ship was Arden Montgomery, and her legs were ripped and
slashed like ragged cloth.

Then the clips were over. I sat and thought a moment. Maybe Myron had
a point, watching the steals again. I had picked up an idea. It was
crazy, but I needed any idea I could get hold of.

Maybe those scenes were just as real as they looked. Maybe Renn was
using doubles here on Earth, and the real cast was scattered in hunks
around the bleak sands of the red planet. Renn was unscrupulous enough
for something like that.
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 6523
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6523

The Post Office


By Rabindranath Tagore


[Translated from Bengali to English by Devabrata Mukherjee]

[New York: The Macmillan Company, 1914
Copyright 1914, by Mitchell Kennerley;
Copyright, 1914 by The Macmillan Company]




DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

MADHAV
AMAL, his adopted child
SUDHA, a little flower girl
THE DOCTOR
DAIRYMAN
WATCHMAN
GAFFER
VILLAGE HEADMAN, a bully
KING'S HERALD
ROYAL PHYSICIAN




THE POST OFFICE


ACT I


[MADHAV'S House]

MADHAV.  What a state I am in!  Before he came, nothing mattered;
I felt so free.  But now that he has come, goodness knows from
where, my heart is filled with his dear self, and my home will be
no home to me when he leaves.  Doctor, do you think he--

PHYSICIAN.  If there's life in his fate, then he will live long.
But what the medical scriptures say, it seems--

MADHAV.  Great heavens, what?

PHYSICIAN.  The scriptures have it: "Bile or palsey, cold or gout
spring all alike."

MADHAV.  Oh, get along, don't fling your scriptures at me; you
only make me more anxious; tell me what I can do.

PHYSICIAN.  [Taking snuff] The patient needs the most scrupulous
care.

MADHAV.  That's true; but tell me how.

PHYSICIAN.  I have already mentioned, on no account must he be
let out of doors.

MADHAV Poor child, it is very hard to keep him indoors all day
long.

PHYSICIAN.  What else can you do?  The autumn sun and the damp
are both very bad for the little fellow--for the scriptures have
it:

  "In wheezing, swoon or in nervous fret,
    In jaundice or leaden eyes--"


MADHAV.  Never mind the scriptures, please.  Eh, then we must
shut the poor thing up.  Is there no other method?

PHYSICIAN.  None at all: for, "In the wind and in the sun--"

MADHAV.  What will your "in this and in that" do for me now?  Why
don't you let them alone and come straight to the point?  What's
to be done then?  Your system is very, very hard for the poor
boy; and he is so quiet too with all his pain and sickness.  It
tears my heart to see him wince, as he takes your medicine.

PHYSICIAN.  effect.  That's why the sage Chyabana observes: "In
medicine as in good advices, the least palatable ones are the
truest."  Ah, well!  I must be trotting now.  [Exit]

[GAFFER enters]

MADHAV.  Well, I'm jiggered, there's Gaffer now.

GAFFER.  Why, why, I won't bite you.

MADHAV.  No, but you are a devil to send children off their
heads.

GAFFER.  But you aren't a child, and you've no child in the
house; why worry then?

MADHAV.  Oh, but I have brought a child into the house.

GAFFER.  Indeed, how so?

MADHAV.  You remember how my wife was dying to adopt a child?

GAFFER.  Yes, but that's an old story; you didn't like the idea.

MADHAV.  You know, brother, how hard all this getting money in
has been.  That somebody else's child would sail in and waste all
this money earned with so much trouble--Oh, I hated the idea.
But this boy clings to my heart in such a queer sort of way--

GAFFER.  So that's the trouble!  and your money goes all for him
and feels jolly lucky it does go at all.

MADHAV.  Formerly, earning was a sort of passion with me; I
simply couldn't help working for money.  Now, I make money and as
I know it is all for this dear boy, earning becomes a joy to me.

GAFFER.  Ah, well, and where did you pick him up?

MADHAV.  He is the son of a man who was a brother to my wife by
village ties.  He has had no mother since infancy; and now the
other day he lost his father as well.

GAFFER.  Poor thing: and so he needs me all the more.

MADHAV.  The doctor says all the organs of his little body are at
loggerheads with each other, and there isn't much hope for his
life.  There is only one way to save him and that is to keep him
out of this autumn wind and sun.  But you are such a terror!
What with this game of yours at your age, too, to get children
out of doors!

GAFFER.  God bless my soul!  So I'm already as bad as autumn wind
and sun, eh!  But, friend, I know something, too, of the game of
keeping them indoors.  When my day's work is over I am coming in
to make friends with this child of yours.  [Exit]

[AMAL enters]

AMAL.  Uncle, I say, Uncle!

MADHAV.  Hullo!  Is that you, Amal?

AMAL.  Mayn't I be out of the courtyard at all?

MADHAV.  No, my dear, no.

AMAL.  See, there where Auntie grinds lentils in the quirn, the
squirrel is sitting with his tail up and with his wee hands he's
picking up the broken grains of lentils and crunching them.
Can't I run up there?

MADHAV.  No, my darling, no.

AMAL.  Wish I were a squirrel!--it would be lovely.  Uncle, why
won't you let me go about?

MADHAV.  Doctor says it's bad for you to be out.

AMAL.  How can the doctor know?

MADHAV.  What a thing to say!  The doctor can't know and he reads
such huge books!

AMAL.  Does his book-learning tell him everything?

MADHAV.  Of course, don't you know!

AMAL [With a sigh] Ah, I am so stupid!  I don't read books.

MADHAV.  Now, think of it; very, very learned people are all like
you; they are never out of doors.

AMAL.  Aren't they really?
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 2388
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2388

The
                 Song Celestial.
                       or
                  Bhagavad-Gita
             (From the Mahabharata)

        Being a Discourse Between Arjuna,
     Prince of India, and the Supreme Being
            Under the Form of Krishna


        Translated from the Sanskrit Text
                       by
                Sir Edwin Arnold,
             M.A., K.C.I.E., C.S.I.

                    New York
         Truslove, Hanson & Comba, Ltd.
                 67 Fifth Avenue
                      1900



Dedication

TO INDIA

So have I read this wonderful and spirit-thrilling speech,
By Krishna and Prince Arjun held, discoursing each with each;
So have I writ its wisdom here,--its hidden mystery,
For England; O our India! as dear to me as She!

EDWIN ARNOLD




PREFACE

This famous and marvellous Sanskrit poem occurs as an episode of the
Mahabharata, in the sixth--or "Bhishma"--Parva of the great Hindoo
epic. It enjoys immense popularity and authority in India, where it is
reckoned as one of the ``Five Jewels,"--pancharatnani--of Devanagiri
literature. In plain but noble language it unfolds a philosophical system
which remains to this day the prevailing Brahmanic belief, blending as it
does the doctrines of Kapila, Patanjali, and the Vedas. So lofty are many
of its declarations, so sublime its aspirations, so pure and tender its
piety, that Schlegel, after his study of the poem, breaks forth into this
outburst of delight and praise towards its unknown author:
"Magistrorum reverentia a Brachmanis inter sanctissima pietatis officia
refertur. Ergo te primum, Vates sanctissime, Numinisque hypopheta!
quisquis tandem inter mortales dictus tu fueris, carminis bujus auctor,,
cujus oraculis mens ad excelsa quaeque,quaeque,, aeterna atque divina,
cum inenarraoih quddam delectatione rapitur-te primum, inquam,
salvere jubeo, et vestigia tua semper adore." Lassen re-echoes this
splendid tribute; and indeed, so striking are some of the moralities here
inculcated, and so close the parallelism--ofttimes actually verbal--
between its teachings and those of the New Testament, that a
controversy has arisen between Pandits and Missionaries on the point
whether the author borrowed from Christian sources, or the Evangelists
and Apostles from him.

This raises the question of its date, which cannot be positively settled. It
must have been inlaid into the ancient epic at a period later than that of
the original Mahabharata, but Mr Kasinath Telang has offered some fair
arguments to prove it anterior to the Christian era. The weight of
evidence, however, tends to place its composition at about the third
century after Christ; and perhaps there are really echoes in this
Brahmanic poem of the lessons of Galilee, and of the Syrian incarnation.

Its scene is the level country between the Jumna and the Sarsooti
rivers-now Kurnul and Jheend. Its simple plot consists of a dialogue held
by Prince Arjuna, the brother of King Yudhisthira, with Krishna, the
Supreme Deity, wearing the disguise of a charioteer. A great battle is
impending between the armies of the Kauravas and Pandavas, and this
conversation is maintained in a war-chariot drawn up between the
opposing hosts.

The poem has been turned into French by Burnouf, into Latin by Lassen,
into Italian by Stanislav Gatti, into Greek by Galanos, and into English
by Mr. Thomson and Mr Davies, the prose transcript of the last-named
being truly beyond praise for its fidelity and clearness. Mr Telang has
also published at Bombay a version in colloquial rhythm, eminently
learned and intelligent, but not conveying the dignity or grace of the
original. If I venture to offer a translation of the wonderful poem after
so many superior scholars, it is in grateful recognition of the help
derived from their labours, and because English literature would
certainly be incomplete without possessing in popular form a poetical
and philosophical work so dear to India.

There is little else to say which the "Song Celestial" does not explain for
itself. The Sanskrit original is written in the Anushtubh metre, which
cannot be successfully reproduced for Western ears. I have therefore
cast it into our flexible blank verse, changing into lyrical measures
where the text itself similarly breaks. For the most part, I believe the
sense to be faithfully preserved in the following pages; but Schlegel
himself had to say: "In reconditioribus me semper poetafoster mentem
recte divinasse affirmare non ausim." Those who would read more upon
the philosophy of the poem may find an admirable introduction in the
volume of Mr Davies, printed by Messrs Trubner & Co.

EDWIN ARNOLD, C.S.I.




CONTENTS

     I. THE DISTRESS OF ARJUNA
    II. THE BOOK OF DOCTRINES
   III. VIRTUE IN WORK
    IV. THE RELIGION OF KNOWLEDGE
     V. RELIGION OF RENOUNCING WORKS
    VI. RELIGION BY SELF-RESTRAINT
   VII. RELIGION BY DISCERNMENT
  VIII. RELIGION BY SERVICE OF THE SUPREME
    IX. RELIGION BY THE KINGLY KNOWLEDGE AND THE KING
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 37423
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WHAT IS THOUGHT?


§ 1. _Varied Senses of the Term_

[Sidenote: Four senses of thought, from the wider to the limited]

No words are oftener on our lips than _thinking_ and _thought_. So
profuse and varied, indeed, is our use of these words that it is not
easy to define just what we mean by them. The aim of this chapter is to
find a single consistent meaning. Assistance may be had by considering
some typical ways in which the terms are employed. In the first place
_thought_ is used broadly, not to say loosely. Everything that comes to
mind, that "goes through our heads," is called a thought. To think of a
thing is just to be conscious of it in any way whatsoever. Second, the
term is restricted by excluding whatever is directly presented; we think
(or think of) only such things as we do not directly see, hear, smell,
or taste. Then, third, the meaning is further limited to beliefs that
rest upon some kind of evidence or testimony. Of this third type, two
kinds--or, rather, two degrees--must be discriminated. In some cases, a
belief is accepted with slight or almost no attempt to state the grounds
that support it. In other cases, the ground or basis for a belief is
deliberately sought and its adequacy to support the belief examined.
This process is called reflective thought; it alone is truly educative
in value, and it forms, accordingly, the principal subject of this
volume. We shall now briefly describe each of the four senses.

[Sidenote: Chance and idle thinking]

is "in our heads" or that "goes through our minds." He who offers "a
penny for your thoughts" does not expect to drive any great bargain. In
calling the objects of his demand _thoughts_, he does not intend to
ascribe to them dignity, consecutiveness, or truth. Any idle fancy,
trivial recollection, or flitting impression will satisfy his demand.
Daydreaming, building of castles in the air, that loose flux of casual
and disconnected material that floats through our minds in relaxed
moments are, in this random sense, _thinking_. More of our waking life
than we should care to admit, even to ourselves, is likely to be whiled
away in this inconsequential trifling with idle fancy and unsubstantial
hope.

[Sidenote: Reflective thought is consecutive, not merely a sequence]

In this sense, silly folk and dullards _think_. The story is told of a
man in slight repute for intelligence, who, desiring to be chosen
selectman in his New England town, addressed a knot of neighbors in this
wise: "I hear you don't believe I know enough to hold office. I wish you
to understand that I am thinking about something or other most of the
time." Now reflective thought is like this random coursing of things
through the mind in that it consists of a succession of things thought
of; but it is unlike, in that the mere chance occurrence of any chance
"something or other" in an irregular sequence does not suffice.
Reflection involves not simply a sequence of ideas, but a
_con_sequence--a consecutive ordering in such a way that each
determines the next as its proper outcome, while each in turn leans back
on its predecessors. The successive portions of the reflective thought
grow out of one another and support one another; they do not
come and go in a medley. Each phase is a step from something to
something--technically speaking, it is a term of thought. Each term
leaves a deposit which is utilized in the next term. The stream or flow
becomes a train, chain, or thread.

[Sidenote: The restriction of _thinking_ to what goes beyond direct
observation]

[Sidenote: Reflective thought aims, however, at belief]

restricted to matters not directly perceived: to what we do not see,
smell, hear, or touch. We ask the man telling a story if he saw a
certain incident happen, and his reply may be, "No, I only thought of
it." A note of invention, as distinct from faithful record of
observation, is present. Most important in this class are successions of
imaginative incidents and episodes which, having a certain coherence,
hanging together on a continuous thread, lie between kaleidoscopic
flights of fancy and considerations deliberately employed to establish a
conclusion. The imaginative stories poured forth by children possess all
degrees of internal congruity; some are disjointed, some are
articulated. When connected, they simulate reflective thought; indeed,
they usually occur in minds of logical capacity. These imaginative
enterprises often precede thinking of the close-knit type and prepare
the way for it. But _they do not aim at knowledge, at belief about facts
or in truths_; and thereby they are marked off from reflective thought
even when they most resemble it. Those who express such thoughts do not
expect credence, but rather credit for a well-constructed plot or a
well-arranged climax. They produce good stories, not--unless by
chance--knowledge. Such thoughts are an efflorescence of feeling; the
enhancement of a mood or sentiment is their aim; congruity of emotion,
their binding tie.
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 21970
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/21970





THE SCARLET PLAGUE





THE way led along upon what had once been the embankment of a railroad.
But no train had run upon it for many years. The forest on either side
swelled up the slopes of the embankment and crested across it in a green
wave of trees and bushes. The trail was as narrow as a man's body, and
was no more than a wild-animal runway. Occasionally, a piece of rusty
iron, showing through the forest-mould, advertised that the rail and the
ties still remained. In one place, a ten-inch tree, bursting through at
a connection, had lifted the end of a rail clearly into view. The tie
had evidently followed the rail, held to it by the spike long enough
for its bed to be filled with gravel and rotten leaves, so that now the
crumbling, rotten timber thrust itself up at a curious slant. Old as the
road was, it was manifest that it had been of the mono-rail type.

An old man and a boy travelled along this runway. They moved slowly, for
the old man was very old, a touch of palsy made his movements tremulous,
and he leaned heavily upon his staff. A rude skull-cap of goat-skin
protected his head from the sun. From beneath this fell a scant fringe
of stained and dirty-white hair. A visor, ingeniously made from a large
leaf, shielded his eyes, and from under this he peered at the way of
his feet on the trail. His beard, which should have been snow-white
but which showed the same weather-wear and camp-stain as his hair,
fell nearly to his waist in a great tangled mass. About his chest and
shoulders hung a single, mangy garment of goat-skin. His arms and legs,
withered and skinny, betokened extreme age, as well as did their sunburn
and scars and scratches betoken long years of exposure to the elements.

The boy, who led the way, checking the eagerness of his muscles to
the slow progress of the elder, likewise wore a single garment--a
ragged-edged piece of bear-skin, with a hole in the middle through which
he had thrust his head. He could not have been more than twelve years
old. Tucked coquettishly over one ear was the freshly severed tail of a
pig. In one hand he carried a medium-sized bow and an arrow.

On his back was a quiverful of arrows. From a sheath hanging about his
neck on a thong, projected the battered handle of a hunting knife. He
was as brown as a berry, and walked softly, with almost a catlike tread.
In marked contrast with his sunburned skin were his eyes--blue, deep
blue, but keen and sharp as a pair of gimlets. They seemed to bore into
aft about him in a way that was habitual. As he went along he smelled
things, as well, his distended, quivering nostrils carrying to his brain
an endless series of messages from the outside world. Also, his hearing
was acute, and had been so trained that it operated automatically.
Without conscious effort, he heard all the slight sounds in the apparent
quiet--heard, and differentiated, and classified these sounds--whether
they were of the wind rustling the leaves, of the humming of bees and
gnats, of the distant rumble of the sea that drifted to him only in
lulls, or of the gopher, just under his foot, shoving a pouchful of
earth into the entrance of his hole.

Suddenly he became alertly tense. Sound, sight, and odor had given him
a simultaneous warning. His hand went back to the old man, touching
him, and the pair stood still. Ahead, at one side of the top of the
embankment, arose a crackling sound, and the boy's gaze was fixed on the
tops of the agitated bushes. Then a large bear, a grizzly, crashed into
view, and likewise stopped abruptly, at sight of the humans. He did not
like them, and growled querulously. Slowly the boy fitted the arrow to
the bow, and slowly he pulled the bowstring taut. But he never removed
his eyes from the bear.

[Illustration: Slowly he pulled the bowstring taut 020]

The old man peered from under his green leaf at the danger, and stood as
quietly as the boy. For a few seconds this mutual scrutinizing went
on; then, the bear betraying a growing irritability, the boy, with a
movement of his head, indicated that the old man must step aside from
the trail and go down the embankment. The boy followed, going backward,
still holding the bow taut and ready. They waited till a crashing among
the bushes from the opposite side of the embankment told them the bear
had gone on. The boy grinned as he led back to the trail.

“A big un, Granser,” he chuckled.

The old man shook his head.

“They get thicker every day,” he complained in a thin, undependable
falsetto. “Who'd have thought I'd live to see the time when a man would
be afraid of his life on the way to the Cliff House. When I was a boy,
Edwin, men and women and little babies used to come out here from San
Francisco by tens of thousands on a nice day. And there weren't any
bears then. No, sir. They used to pay money to look at them in cages,
they were that rare.”

“What is money, Granser?”

Before the old man could answer, the boy recollected and triumphantly
shoved his hand into a pouch u
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 18947
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/18947



GEFJUN’S PLOWING.

1. King Gylfe ruled the lands that are now called Svithjod (Sweden). Of
him it is said that he gave to a wayfaring woman, as a reward for the
entertainment she had afforded him by her story-telling, a plow-land in
his realm, as large as four oxen could plow it in a day and a night But
this woman was of the asa-race; her name was Gefjun. She took from the
north, from Jotunheim, four oxen, which were the sons of a giant and
her, and set them before the plow. Then went the plow so hard and deep
that it tore up the land, and the oxen drew it westward into the sea,
until it stood still in a sound. There Gefjun set the land, gave it a
name and called it Seeland. And where the land had been taken away
became afterward a sea, which in Sweden is now called Logrinn (the Lake,
the Malar Lake in Sweden). And in the Malar Lake the bays correspond to
the capes in Seeland. Thus Brage, the old skald:

  Gefjun glad
  Drew from Gylfe
  The excellent land,
  Denmark’s increase,
  So that it reeked
  From the running beasts.
  Four heads and eight eyes
  Bore the oxen
  As they went before the wide
  Robbed land of the grassy isle.[8]

    [Footnote 8: Heimskringla: Ynglinga Saga, ch. v.]





GYLFE’S JOURNEY TO ASGARD.


2. King Gylfe was a wise man and skilled in the black art. He wondered
much that the asa-folk was so mighty in knowledge, that all things went
after their will. He thought to himself whether this could come from
their own nature, or whether the cause must be sought for among the gods
whom they worshiped. He therefore undertook a journey to Asgard. He went
secretly, having assumed the likeness of an old man, and striving thus
to disguise himself. But the asas were wiser, for they see into the
future, and, foreseeing his journey before he came, they received him
with an eye-deceit. So when he came into the burg he saw there a hall so
high that he could hardly look over it. Its roof was thatched with
golden shields as with shingles. Thus says Thjodolf of Hvin, that Valhal
was thatched with shields:

  Thinking thatchers
  Thatched the roof;
  The beams of the burg
  Beamed with gold.[9]

    [Footnote 9: Heimskringla: Harald Harfager’s Saga, ch. xix.]

In the door of the hall Gylfe saw a man who played with swords so
dexterously that seven were in the air at one time. That man asked him
what his name was. Gylfe answered that his name was Ganglere;[10] that
he had come a long way, and that he sought lodgings for the night. He
also asked who owned the burg. The other answered that it belonged to
their king: I will go with you to see him and then you may ask him for
his name yourself. Then the man turned and led the way into the hall.
Ganglere followed, and suddenly the doors closed behind him. There he
saw many rooms and a large number of people, of whom some were playing,
others were drinking, and some were fighting with weapons. He looked
around him, and much of what he saw seemed to him incredible. Then
quoth he:

  Gates all,
  Before in you go,
  You must examine well;
  For you cannot know
  Where enemies sit
  In the house before you.[11]

    [Footnote 10: The walker.]

    [Footnote 11: Elder Edda: Havamal.]

He saw three high-seats, one above the other, and in each sat a man. He
asked what the names of these chiefs were. He, who had conducted him in,
answered that the one who sat in the lowest high-seat was king, and
hight Har; the one next above him, Jafnhar; but the one who sat on the
highest throne, Thride. Har asked the comer what more his errand was,
and added that food and drink was there at his service, as for all in
Har’s hall. Ganglere answered that he first would like to ask whether
there was any wise man. Answered Har: You will not come out from here
hale unless you are wiser.

  And stand now forth
  While you ask;
  He who answers shall sit.





OF THE HIGHEST GOD.


3. Ganglere then made the following question: Who is the highest and
oldest of all the gods? Made answer Har: Alfather he is called in our
tongue, but in Asgard of old he had twelve names. The first is Alfather,
the second is Herran or Herjan, the third Nikar or Hnikar, the fourth
Nikuz or Hnikud, the fifth Fjolner, the sixth Oske, the seventh Ome, the
eighth Biflide or Biflinde, the ninth Svidar, the tenth Svidrer, the
eleventh Vidrer, the twelfth Jalg or Jalk. Ganglere asks again: Where is
this god? What can he do? What mighty works has he accomplished?
Answered Har: He lives from everlasting to everlasting, rules over all
his realm, and governs all things, great and small. Then remarked
Jafnhar: He made heaven and earth, the air and all things in them.
Thride added: What is most important, he made man and gave him a spirit,
which shall live, and never perish, though the body may turn to dust or
burn to ashes. All who live a life of virtue shall dwell with him in
Gimle or Vingolf. The wicked, on the other hand, go to Hel, and from her
to Niflhel, that is, down into the ninth world. Then asked Ganglere:
W
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 32449
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/32449


CHILDHOOD.


To the Japanese baby the beginning of life is not very different from
its beginning to babies in the Western world. Its birth, whether it be
girl or boy, is the cause of much rejoicing. As boys alone can carry on
the family name and inherit titles and estates, they are considered of
more importance, but many parents' hearts are made glad by the addition
of a daughter to the family circle.

As soon as the event takes place, a special messenger is dispatched to
notify relatives and intimate friends, while formal letters of
announcement are sent to those less closely related. All persons thus
notified must make an early visit to the newcomer, in order to welcome
it into the world, and must either take with them or send before them
some present. Toys, pieces of cotton, silk, or crêpe for the baby's
dress are regarded as suitable; and everything must be accompanied by
fish or eggs, for good luck. Where eggs are sent, they are neatly
arranged in a covered box, which may contain thirty, forty, or even one
hundred eggs.[1] The baby, especially if it be the first one in a
family, receives many presents in the first few weeks of its life, and
at a certain time proper acknowledgment must be made and return presents
sent. This is done when the baby is about thirty days old.

[1] All presents in Japan must be wrapped in white paper, although,
except for funerals, this paper must have some writing on it, and must
be tied with a peculiar red and white paper string, in which is inserted
the _noshi_, or bit of dried fish, daintily folded in a piece of colored
paper, which is an indispensable accompaniment of every present.

Both baby and mother have a hard time of it for the first few weeks of
its life. The baby is passed from hand to hand, fussed over, and talked
to so much by the visitors that come in, that it must think this world a
trying place. The mother, too, is denied the rest and quiet she needs,
and wears herself out in the excitement of seeing her friends, and the
physical exercise of going through, so far as possible, the ceremonious
bows and salutations that etiquette prescribes.

Before the seventh day the baby receives its name.[2] There is no
especial ceremony connected with this, but the child's birth must be
formally registered, together with its name, at the district office of
registration, and the household keep holiday in honor of the event. A
certain kind of rice, cooked with red beans, a festival dish denoting
good fortune, is usually partaken of by the family on the seventh day.

[2] A child is rarely given the name of a living member of the family,
or of any friend. The father's name, slightly modified, is frequently
given to a son, and those of ancestors long ago dead are sometimes used.
One reason for this is probably the inconvenience of similar names in
the same family, and middle names, as a way of avoiding this difficulty,
are unknown. The father usually names the child, but some friend or
patron of the family may be asked to do it. Names of beautiful objects
in nature, such as Plum, Snow, Sunshine, Lotos, Gold, are commonly used
for girls, while boys of the lower classes often rejoice in such
appellations as Stone, Bear, Tiger, etc. To call a child after a person
would not be considered any especial compliment.[*3]

The next important event in the baby's life is the _miya mairi_, a
ceremony which corresponds roughly with our christening. On the
thirtieth day after birth,[*4] the baby is taken for its first visit to
the temple. For this visit great preparations are made, and the baby is
dressed in finest silk or crêpe, gayly figured,--garments made
especially for the occasion. Upon the dress appears in various places
the crest of the family, as on all ceremonial dresses, whether for young
or old, for every Japanese family has its crest. Thus arrayed, and
accompanied by members of the family, the young baby is carried to one
of the Shinto temples, and there placed under the protection of the
patron deity of the temple. This god, chosen from a great number of
Shinto deities, is supposed to become the special guardian of the child
through life. Offerings are made to the god and to the priest, and a
blessing is obtained; and the baby is thus formally placed under the
care of a special deity. This ceremony over, there is usually an
entertainment of some kind at the home of the parents, especially if the
family be one of high rank. Friends are invited, and if there are any
who have not as yet sent in presents, they may give them at this time.

It is usually on this day that the family send to their friends some
acknowledgment of the presents received. This sometimes consists of the
red bean rice, such as is prepared for the seventh day celebration, and
sometimes of cakes of _mochi_, or rice paste. A letter of thanks usually
accompanies the return present. If rice is sent, it is put in a handsome
lacquered box, the box placed on a lacquered tray, and the whole covered
with a square of c
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 2226
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2226



O ye who tread the Narrow Way
By Tophet-flare to Judgment Day,
Be gentle when “the heathen” pray
    To Buddha at Kamakura!

He sat, in defiance of municipal orders, astride the gun Zam Zammah on
her brick platform opposite the old Ajaib-Gher—the Wonder House, as the
natives call the Lahore Museum. Who hold Zam-Zammah, that
“fire-breathing dragon”, hold the Punjab, for the great green-bronze
piece is always first of the conqueror’s loot.

There was some justification for Kim—he had kicked Lala Dinanath’s boy
off the trunnions—since the English held the Punjab and Kim was
English. Though he was burned black as any native; though he spoke the
vernacular by preference, and his mother-tongue in a clipped uncertain
sing-song; though he consorted on terms of perfect equality with the
small boys of the bazar; Kim was white—a poor white of the very
poorest. The half-caste woman who looked after him (she smoked opium,
and pretended to keep a second-hand furniture shop by the square where
the cheap cabs wait) told the missionaries that she was Kim’s mother’s
sister; but his mother had been nursemaid in a Colonel’s family and had
married Kimball O’Hara, a young colour-sergeant of the Mavericks, an
Irish regiment. He afterwards took a post on the Sind, Punjab, and
Delhi Railway, and his Regiment went home without him. The wife died of
cholera in Ferozepore, and O’Hara fell to drink and loafing up and down
the line with the keen-eyed three-year-old baby. Societies and
chaplains, anxious for the child, tried to catch him, but O’Hara
drifted away, till he came across the woman who took opium and learned
the taste from her, and died as poor whites die in India. His estate at
death consisted of three papers—one he called his “_ne varietur_”
because those words were written below his signature thereon, and
another his “clearance-certificate”. The third was Kim’s
birth-certificate. Those things, he was used to say, in his glorious
opium-hours, would yet make little Kimball a man. On no account was Kim
to part with them, for they belonged to a great piece of magic—such
magic as men practised over yonder behind the Museum, in the big
blue-and-white Jadoo-Gher—the Magic House, as we name the Masonic
Lodge. It would, he said, all come right some day, and Kim’s horn would
be exalted between pillars—monstrous pillars—of beauty and strength.
The Colonel himself, riding on a horse, at the head of the finest
Regiment in the world, would attend to Kim—little Kim that should have
been better off than his father. Nine hundred first-class devils, whose
God was a Red Bull on a green field, would attend to Kim, if they had
not forgotten O’Hara—poor O’Hara that was gang-foreman on the
Ferozepore line. Then he would weep bitterly in the broken rush chair
on the veranda. So it came about after his death that the woman sewed
parchment, paper, and birth-certificate into a leather amulet-case
which she strung round Kim’s neck.

“And some day,” she said, confusedly remembering O’Hara’s prophecies,
“there will come for you a great Red Bull on a green field, and the
Colonel riding on his tall horse, yes, and” dropping into English—“nine
hundred devils.”

“Ah,” said Kim, “I shall remember. A Red Bull and a Colonel on a horse
will come, but first, my father said, will come the two men making
ready the ground for these matters. That is how my father said they
always did; and it is always so when men work magic.”

If the woman had sent Kim up to the local Jadoo-Gher with those papers,
he would, of course, have been taken over by the Provincial Lodge, and
sent to the Masonic Orphanage in the Hills; but what she had heard of
magic she distrusted. Kim, too, held views of his own. As he reached
the years of indiscretion, he learned to avoid missionaries and white
men of serious aspect who asked who he was, and what he did. For Kim
did nothing with an immense success. True, he knew the wonderful walled
city of Lahore from the Delhi Gate to the outer Fort Ditch; was hand in
glove with men who led lives stranger than anything Haroun al Raschid
dreamed of; and he lived in a life wild as that of the Arabian Nights,
but missionaries and secretaries of charitable societies could not see
the beauty of it. His nickname through the wards was “Little Friend of
all the World”; and very often, being lithe and inconspicuous, he
executed commissions by night on the crowded housetops for sleek and
shiny young men of fashion. It was intrigue,—of course he knew that
much, as he had known all evil since he could speak,—but what he loved
was the game for its own sake—the stealthy prowl through the dark
gullies and lanes, the crawl up a waterpipe, the sights and sounds of
the women’s world on the flat roofs, and the headlong flight from
housetop to housetop under cover of the hot dark. Then there were holy
men, ash-smeared _faquirs_ by their brick shrines under the trees at
the riverside, with whom he was quite familiar—greeting them as they
returned from begging-tours, and, 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 24811
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/24811

VIKING TALES


[Decoration]


[Illustration: _A map showing the journeys of the Vikings_]




          VIKING TALES
              _by_
          JENNIE HALL
 _The Francis W. Parker School_
          _Chicago_


         [Illustration]


          ILLUSTRATED
              _by_
           VICTOR R.
            LAMBDIN


       RAND McNALLY & CO

      _Chicago_ _New York_
            _London_




 _Copyright, 1902,_
   By JENNIE HALL

      [Device]
   Made in U.S.A.




Transcriber's Note:

    Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. In the
    _Pronouncing Index_ the up tack diacritical mark over a vowel is
    represented by [+a], [+e], [+i] and [+o].




_The_ Table _of_ Contents


                                     PAGE
 _A List of the Illustrations_          8
 _What the Sagas Were_                  9


PART I.

_IN NORWAY_

 The Baby                              15
 The Tooth Thrall                      19
 Olaf's Farm                           27
 Olaf's Fight with Havard              40
 Foes'-fear                            47
 Harald is King                        53
 Harald's Battle                       62
 Gyda's Saucy Message                  71
 The Sea Fight                         81
 King Harald's Wedding                 89
 King Harald Goes West-Over-Seas       95


PART II.

_WEST-OVER-SEAS_

 Homes in Iceland                     103
 Eric the Red                         143
 Leif and His New Land                161
 Wineland the Good                    174

 _Descriptive Notes_                  194
 _Suggestions to Teachers_            200
 _A Reading List_                     204
 _A Pronouncing Index_                207




A List of the Illustrations


                                                                    PAGE

 _A map showing the journeys of the Vikings_                Frontispiece

 "_I own this baby for my son. He shall be called Harald_"            17

 "_He threw back his cape and drew a little dagger from his
     belt_"                                                           22

 "_I struck my shield against the door so that it made a
     great clanging_"                                                 31

 "_Then he turned to the shore and sang out loudly_"                  45

 "_He drove it into the wolf's neck_"                                 51

 "_I vow that I will grind my father's foes under my heel_"           59

 "_King Haki fell dead under 'Foes'-fear'_"                           68

 "_I will not be his wife unless he puts all of Norway
     under him for my sake_"                                          73

 "_Then he leaped into King Arnvid's boat_"                           87

 "_I, Harald, King of Norway, take you, Gyda, for my wife_"           91

 "_In Norway they left burning houses and weeping women_"             97

 "_Then he saw that Leif's ship was being driven afar off_"          125

 "_Those Icelanders clapped them on the shoulders_"                  137

 "_He looked straight ahead of him and scowled_"                     145

 "_More than half the men in the hall jumped to their feet_"         147

 "_It is a bigger boat than I ever saw before_"                      153

 "_He pointed to the woods and laughed and rolled his eyes_"         167

 "_The chief held them out to Thorfinn and hugged the cloak
     to him_"                                                        187




What _the_ Sagas Were


Iceland is a little country far north in the cold sea. Men found it and
went there to live more than a thousand years ago. During the warm
season they used to fish and make fish-oil and hunt sea-birds and gather
feathers and tend their sheep and make hay. But the winters were long
and dark and cold. Men and women and children stayed in the house and
carded and spun and wove and knit. A whole family sat for hours around
the fire in the middle of the room. That fire gave the only light.
Shadows flitted in the dark corners. Smoke curled along the high beams
in the ceiling. The children sat on the dirt floor close by the fire.
The grown people were on a long narrow bench that they had pulled up to
the light and warmth. Everybody's hands were busy with wool. The work
left their minds free to think and their lips to talk. What was there to
talk about? The summer's fishing, the killing of a fox, a voyage to
Norway. But the people grew tired of this little gossip. Fathers looked
at their children and thought:

"They are not learning much. What will make them brave and wise? What
will teach them to love their country and old Norway? Will not the
stories of battles, of brave deeds, of mighty men, do this?"

So, as the family worked in the red fire-light, the father told of the
kings of Norway, of long voyages to strange lands, of good fights. And
in farmhouses all through Iceland these old tales were told over and
over until everybody knew them and loved them. Some men could sing and
play the harp. This made the stor
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 2811
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2811


XXXIX -- TRAJAN TO PLINY

XL -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN

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CV -- To TIlE EMPEROR TRAJAN

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CIX -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN

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CXVII -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN

CXVIII -- TRAJAN TO PLINY

CXIX -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN

CXX -- TRAJAN TO PLINY

CXXI -- To THE EMPEROR TRAJAN

CXXII -- TRAJAN TO PLINY

FOOTNOTES TO THE CORRESPONDENCE WITH THE EMPEROR TRAJAN



LETTERS GAIUS PLINIUS CAECILIUS SECUNDUS



I -- To SEPTITTUS

YOU have frequently pressed me to make a select collection of my Letters
(if there really be any deserving of a special preference) and give them
to the public. I have selected them accordingly; not, indeed, in their
proper order of time, for I was not compiling a history; but just as
each came to hand. And now I have only to wish that you may have no
reason to repent of your advice, nor I of my compliance: in that case, I
may probably enquire after the rest, which at present be neglected, and
preserve those I shall hereafter write. Farewell.



II -- To ARRIANUS

I FORESEE your journey in my direction is likely to be delayed, and
therefore send you the speech which I promised in my former; requesting
you, as usual, to revise and correct it. I desire this the more
earnestly as I never, I think, wrote with the same empressment in any of
my former speeches; for I have endeavoured to imitate your old favourite
Demosthenes and Calvus, who is lately become mine, at least in the
rhetorical forms of the speech; for to catch their sublime spirit, is
given, alone, to the "inspired few." My subject, indeed, seemed
naturally to lend itself to this (may I venture to call it?) emulation;
consisting, as it did, almost entirely in a vehement style of address,
even to a degree sufficient to have awakened me (if only I am capable of
being awakened) out of that indolence in which I have long reposed. I
have not however altogether neglected the flowers of rhetoric of my
favourite Marc-Tully, wherever I could with propriety step out of my
direct road, to enjoy a more flowery path: for it was energy, not
austerity, at which I aimed. I would not have you imagine by this that I
am bespeaking your indulgence: on the contrary, to make your correcting
pen more vigorous, I will confess that neither my friends nor myself are
averse from the publication of this piece, if only you should join in
the approval of what is perhaps my folly. The truth is, as I must
publish something, I wish it might be this performance rather than any
other, because it is already finished: (you hear the wish of laziness.)
At all events, however, something I must publish, and for many reasons;
chiefly because of the tracts which I have already sent in to the world,
though they have long since lost all their recommendation from novelty,
are still, I am told, in request; if, after all, the booksellers are not
tickling my ears. And let them; since, by that innocent deceit, I am
encouraged to pursue my studies. Farewell.



III -- To VOCONIUS ROMANUS

DID YOU ever meet with a more ab
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PG #: 27200
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/27200


We will pay a visit to Switzerland, and wander through that
country of mountains, whose steep and rocky sides are overgrown with
forest trees. Let us climb to the dazzling snow-fields at their
summits, and descend again to the green meadows beneath, through which
rivers and brooks rush along as if they could not quickly enough reach
the sea and vanish. Fiercely shines the sun over those deep valleys,
as well as upon the heavy masses of snow which lie on the mountains.

During the year these accumulations thaw or fall in the rolling
avalance, or are piled up in shining glaciers. Two of these glaciers
lie in the broad, rocky cliffs, between the Schreckhorn and the
Wetterhorn, near the little town of Grindelwald. They are wonderful to
behold, and therefore in the summer time strangers come here from
all parts of the world to see them. They cross snow-covered mountains,
and travel through the deep valleys, or ascend for hours, higher and
still higher, the valleys appearing to sink lower and lower as they
proceed, and become as small as if seen from an air balloon. Over
the lofty summits of these mountains the clouds often hang like a dark
veil; while beneath in the valley, where many brown, wooden houses are
scattered about, the bright rays of the sun may be shining upon a
little brilliant patch of green, making it appear almost
transparent. The waters foam and dash along in the valleys beneath;
the streams from above trickle and murmur as they fall down the
rocky mountain's side, looking like glittering silver bands.

On both sides of the mountain-path stand these little wooden
houses; and, as within, there are many children and many mouths to
feed, each house has its own little potato garden. These children rush
out in swarms, and surround travellers, whether on foot or in
carriages. They are all clever at making a bargain. They offer for
sale the sweetest little toy-houses, models of the mountain cottages
in Switzerland. Whether it be rain or sunshine, these crowds of
children are always to be seen with their wares.

About twenty years ago, there might be seen occasionally, standing
at a short distance from the other children, a little boy, who was
also anxious to sell his curious wares. He had an earnest,
expressive countenance, and held the box containing his carved toys
tightly with both hands, as if unwilling to part with it. His
earnest look, and being also a very little boy, made him noticed by
the strangers; so that he often sold the most, without knowing why. An
hour's walk farther up the ascent lived his grandfather, who cut and
carved the pretty little toy-houses; and in the old man's room stood a
large press, full of all sorts of carved things--nut-crackers,
knives and forks, boxes with beautifully carved foliage, leaping
chamois. It contained everything that could delight the eyes of a
child. But the boy, who was named Rudy, looked with still greater
pleasure and longing at some old fire-arms which hung upon the
rafters, under the ceiling of the room. His grandfather promised him
that he should have them some day, but that he must first grow big and
strong, and learn how to use them. Small as he was, the goats were
placed in his care, and a good goat-keeper should also be a good
climber, and such Rudy was; he sometimes, indeed, climbed higher
than the goats, for he was fond of seeking for birds'-nests at the top
of high trees; he was bold and daring, but was seldom seen to smile,
excepting when he stood by the roaring cataract, or heard the
descending roll of the avalanche. He never played with the other
children, and was not seen with them, unless his grandfather sent
him down to sell his curious workmanship. Rudy did not much like
trade; he loved to climb the mountains, or to sit by his grandfather
and listen to his tales of olden times, or of the people in Meyringen,
the place of his birth.

"In the early ages of the world," said the old man, "these
people could not be found in Switzerland. They are a colony from the
north, where their ancestors still dwell, and are called Swedes."

This was something for Rudy to know, but he learnt more from other
sources, particularly from the domestic animals who belonged to the
house. One was a large dog, called Ajola, which had belonged to his
father; and the other was a tom-cat. This cat stood very high in
Rudy's favor, for he had taught him to climb.

"Come out on the roof with me," said the cat; and Rudy quite
understood him, for the language of fowls, ducks, cats, and dogs, is
as easily understood by a young child as his own native tongue. But it
must be at the age when grandfather's stick becomes a neighing
horse, with head, legs, and tail. Some children retain these ideas
later than others, and they are considered backwards and childish
for their age. People say so; but is it so?

"Come out on the roof with me, little Rudy," was the first thing
he heard the cat say, and Rudy understood him. "What people say
about falling down is all nonsense," cont
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PG #: 64982
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64982



If little Bunny Cotton-Tail had not read by candle-light, this story
might never have been written.

One evening Bunny Cotton-Tail read very late, and he was so excited
over the story he was reading that he waved one paw too near the
candle, and burned it sadly. Poor Bunny cried so loud that all the
neighbors heard him, and came running in to see what was the matter.
Have you ever cried so loud that you could be heard next door?

Mother Cotton-Tail tied up the burned paw in a cabbage leaf and sent
Bunny to bed. And what do you suppose that comical Bunny did? He liked
the smell of the cabbage so well, that he ate the leaf all up, and his
poor paw began to hurt worse than ever.

This time he did not cry, for he was afraid he would be scolded for
eating the cabbage leaf. He crept out of bed and ran out of the house.

Mother Cotton-Tail never allowed little Bunny to go out late at night,
so now everything seemed very strange to him. He looked at the big
moon, and he was afraid. He ran on for some time and he came to a
beautiful garden.

Here he saw more cabbages than he had ever dreamed of! There were big
cabbages, little cabbages, and middle-sized cabbages. He was just going
to have a nice meal when he looked up and saw a very tall creature
waving its arms at him.

Poor little Bunny was sadly frightened. He did not know that this big
thing was only a scare-crow. He had never seen a scare-crow before, in
all his life. But he had seen men, and his mother had told him that men
did not like rabbits. Bunny thought the scare-crow was a man, and he
quickly crept close to a big cabbage, to hide, and lay quite still for
a while.

Every now and then Bunny peeped out from among the cabbage leaves, and
there that awful creature and the moon were, always staring at him!

By and by, he decided to run home, and he started off as fast as his
little legs would carry him. But the moonlight made him dizzy, and he
took the wrong road.

When daylight came, poor little Bunny Cotton-Tail was far from home,
and soon a hunter came that way, and caught him. The hunter put Bunny
in his bag and took him home for his little boy to play with. The
little boy’s name was Harold. When his papa came in with Bunny, Harold
clapped his hands for joy. Then the whole family gathered around and
made remarks about poor Bunny.

“Why are his ears so long?” Harold asked.

“To keep the flies off,” answered Uncle Jack.

“He must have left his tail at home,” said big brother.

“He looks scared. We must build him a house,” said papa.

So they all went to work and made a nice house for Bunny, and big
brother brought him a large leaf of cabbage to eat.

Two big tears rolled down poor Bunny’s face, for the cabbage made him
think of his fright in the garden, and his sore paw, and how he had
left home.

Then Harold took Bunny in his arms and hugged him, and that made the
poor little rabbit feel better, and he fell asleep.

When Harold put Bunny back in his box, he forgot to shut the door. He
never thought that in the morning his new pet might be gone.

[Illustration:

  When Bunny runs away to roam,
  Some one is sure to bring him home.
  So Bunny should be good, I say,
  And not go out and run away.]






Late that night Bunny Cotton-Tail made up his mind to run away. So he
crept out of his little house, and through a hole in the back fence,
and was off. The great moon was staring down at him, and he was very
much afraid of the moon, but he could not go very fast, for his paw
still hurt him and he limped sadly.

After a while he sat down on a log to rest, and whom did he see coming
down the road with a wheel-barrow but Mother Cotton-Tail? She had been
searching all night and all day for Bunny.

When Bunny saw his mother he clapped his paws together so hard that he
hurt his sore one, and he cried: “Oh, ma, oh, ma!”

Mother Cotton-Tail did not waste any words, for Mr. Fox is out in the
woods at night. She just tumbled Bunny into that old wheel-barrow, and
whisk! they went down the road; while the big moon laughed and made a
face at them.

When they got home all the rabbits in the neighborhood stood around the
front gate, and they all cried: “Hurrah! welcome home, Bunny!”

Bunny was so ashamed that he hung his head and waved his sore paw
feebly. Then his mother took him into the house and put him to bed.

Poor Bunny was so shaken up by the ride in that wheel-barrow that he
did not sleep very well, and next day he had to stay at home with his
mother while all the other rabbits went to a pic-nic.

After supper, when he was sitting up in a big arm-chair by the window,
whom should he see coming slowly up the road but his dear friend Susan
Cotton-Tail? Susan Cotton-Tail walked slowly because she was very
tired. The rabbits had tramped miles and miles on that pic-nic.

Susan Cotton-Tail carried something on her arm. At first Bunny thought
it was a bag, and then he saw it was a basket. What do you suppose
Susan Cotton-Tail had in that basket? She had some nice things t
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65119
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65119

Haverford knew from his radio contracts he
            was the last man alive on Earth. His death was
            certain--for the enemy numbered trillions, a--

                           Homecoming Horde

                         By Robert Silverberg

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                              August 1958
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


The room was sealed as tightly as possible. Haverford had checked it
for cracks, made sure the windows were caulked, and now kept constant
guard. He was alone. He could never tell when the alien invaders would
break through.

_I must be nearly the last_, he thought. It was strange, this feeling
of being alone on Earth. But it was probably true.

The aliens had come six days before. Haverford remembered picking up
their ultimatum on his ham set:--

              EARTHMEN, THE LANTHAII ARE COMING. BEWARE!

That was all it had been--an ominous warning, rather than a threat or
an order. The way the message had been worded left little doubt that
they were conquerors--conquerors from space.

Haverford had been amused, at first. A solitary recluse, he had little
dealings with his fellow men, at least not in person. The costly ham
set that occupied nearly a third of his one-room flat was his sole
contact. Through radio he kept in regular touch with "friends" in
Yokohama and Buenos Aires, Texas and Oregon, while actually leaving the
confines of his own room at increasingly rare intervals.

He had, naturally, picked up the Lanthaii messages on his set. There
wasn't an amateur operator in the world that hadn't detected them. That
was when he began to feel it wasn't a joke.

Reports came in. Dazo Osaki, the Japanese contact, reported hearing the
strange message; Lionel Bentham in Sussex picked it up also, as did
Miguel Bartirone in Buenos Aires. EARTHMEN, THE LANTHAII ARE COMING.
BEWARE! Someone--there was no doubt of it--was beaming the message at
the entire Earth from _outside_.

And then the Lanthaii had come.

Haverford, pacing his room nervously, remembered the day of
their landing. He had been talking to Bentham, the Englishman, a
slow-speaking, phlegmatic sort.

"--so I mean to write to my man in Parliament, y'know, and ask him to
plump for the legislation. It'll be a great boon for ham operators
if--Lord! What's that! _What's that?_"

Haverford had stared at the transmitter in shocked surprise as
Bentham's voice was replaced with the screeching of static, then
some other sounds he did not understand, followed by a quick, sharp,
repulsive clicking, and--

Silence.

"Bentham! Bentham!"

Silence.

       *       *       *       *       *

That had been the beginning. The Lanthaii had landed, all right. The
alien invaders were sweeping the world.

Haverford got the details from a news broadcast. They had come in
silvery ships, hundreds of them. Thousands.

"You should have seen it," Bartirone told him, speaking in his accented
English. "All over Buenos Aires, in midday--suddenly, the sky was
blotted out. Ships. Silvery ships. They seemed small. They started to
land."

"Have you seen the invaders yourself?"

"No. Not yet. They haven't come this far west in the city yet. But--"

The Argentinan's voice stopped. Haverford listened numbly, knowing
despite himself exactly what had happened. The invaders had come.

He rose, looked around his room. He had enough food in the freezer
and on the shelves to last for months. Haverford was a frugal man; by
buying in quantity, he saved precious cash that was used for augmenting
the radio set.

He decided to hide in his home--to seal it from the outside world, to
wait. Perhaps the invaders would be driven back; perhaps Earth would
fall. But he would be safe. He would not be killed in the war of
conquest.

He made sure there was no way his room could be entered. Just as he was
about to nail fast the bolt that held the door shut, he heard knocking.

Three sharp knocks. Haverford leaped for the bolt, drove it home, hung
tensely against the door.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"Mrs. Kelley," came the reply.

He almost fainted from relief. He had expected the aliens--and it was
only the landlady. Cautiously, he threw open the door.

"Yes?"

"Have you heard, Mr. Haverford? About the invasion, I mean?"

"Yes, I've heard. What of it?"

"I just thought I'd tell you," she said, shrugging. "I know you don't
go out much or read the papers, and I thought maybe--"

"I've heard over the radio," he told her stiffly. "Is there anything
else I can do for you?"

"No--not at all."

"Very well, then. If anyone comes to see me, you can tell them I'm not
looking for visitors."

"Yes, Mr. Haverford."

She disappeared into the darkness of the corridor. Haverford slammed
the door, shot the bolt home, nailed it fast. So far as the outside
world was concerned, he was as good as dead.

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PG #: 257
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/257

TROILUS AND CRISEYDE

by Geoffrey Chaucer



Contents:






BOOK I. Incipit Liber Primus

                 The double sorwe of Troilus to tellen,                1
               That was the king Priamus sone of Troye,
               In lovinge, how his aventures fellen
               Fro wo to wele, and after out of Ioye,
               My purpos is, er that I parte fro ye.                   5
               Thesiphone, thou help me for tendyte
               Thise woful vers, that wepen as I wryte!

               To thee clepe I, thou goddesse of torment,
               Thou cruel Furie, sorwing ever in peyne;
               Help me, that am the sorwful instrument                10
               That helpeth lovers, as I can, to pleyne!
               For wel sit it, the sothe for to seyne,
               A woful wight to han a drery fere,
               And, to a sorwful tale, a sory chere.

               For I, that god of Loves servaunts serve,              15
               Ne dar to Love, for myn unlyklinesse,
               Preyen for speed, al sholde I therfor sterve,
               So fer am I fro his help in derknesse;
               But nathelees, if this may doon gladnesse
               To any lover, and his cause avayle,                    20
               Have he my thank, and myn be this travayle!

               But ye loveres, that bathen in gladnesse,
               If any drope of pitee in yow be,
               Remembreth yow on passed hevinesse
               That ye han felt, and on the adversitee                25
               Of othere folk, and thenketh how that ye
               Han felt that Love dorste yow displese;
               Or ye han wonne hym with to greet an ese.

               And preyeth for hem that ben in the cas
               Of Troilus, as ye may after here,                      30
               That love hem bringe in hevene to solas,
               And eek for me preyeth to god so dere,
               That I have might to shewe, in som manere,
               Swich peyne and wo as Loves folk endure,
               In Troilus unsely aventure.                            35

               And biddeth eek for hem that been despeyred
               In love, that never nil recovered be,
               And eek for hem that falsly been apeyred
               Thorugh wikked tonges, be it he or she;
               Thus biddeth god, for his benignitee,                  40
               So graunte hem sone out of this world to pace,
               That been despeyred out of Loves grace.

               And biddeth eek for hem that been at ese,
               That god hem graunte ay good perseveraunce,
               And sende hem might hir ladies so to plese,            45
               That it to Love be worship and plesaunce.
               For so hope I my soule best avaunce,
               To preye for hem that Loves servaunts be,
               And wryte hir wo, and live in charitee.

               And for to have of hem compassioun                     50
               As though I were hir owene brother dere.
               Now herkeneth with a gode entencioun,
               For now wol I gon streight to my matere,
               In whiche ye may the double sorwes here
               Of Troilus, in loving of Criseyde,                     55
               And how that she forsook him er she deyde.

                 It is wel wist, how that the Grekes stronge
               In armes with a thousand shippes wente
               To Troyewardes, and the citee longe
               Assegeden neigh ten yeer er they stente,               60
               And, in diverse wyse and oon entente,
               The ravisshing to wreken of Eleyne,
               By Paris doon, they wroughten al hir peyne.

               Now fil it so, that in the toun ther was
               Dwellinge a lord of greet auctoritee,                  65
               A gret devyn that cleped was Calkas,
               That in science so expert was, that he
               Knew wel that Troye sholde destroyed be,
               By answere of his god, that highte thus,
               Daun Phebus or Apollo Delphicus.                       70

               So whan this Calkas knew by calculinge,
               And eek by answere of this Appollo,
               That Grekes sholden swich a peple bringe,
               Thorugh which that Troye moste been for-do,
               He caste anoon out of the toun to go;                  75
               For wel wiste he, by sort, that Troye sholde
               Destroyed ben, ye, wolde who-so nolde.

               For which, for to departen softely
               Took purpos ful this forknowinge wyse,
               And to the Grekes ost ful prively                      80
               He stal anoon; and they, in curteys wyse,
               Hym deden bothe worship and servyse,
               In trust that he hath conning hem to rede
        
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PG #: 17405
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/17405



 1. Sun Tzu said:  The art of war is of vital importance
    to the State.

 2. It is a matter of life and death, a road either
    to safety or to ruin.  Hence it is a subject of inquiry
    which can on no account be neglected.

 3. The art of war, then, is governed by five constant
    factors, to be taken into account in one's deliberations,
    when seeking to determine the conditions obtaining in the field.

 4. These are:  (1) The Moral Law; (2) Heaven; (3) Earth;
    (4) The Commander; (5) Method and discipline.

5,6. The Moral Law causes the people to be in complete
    accord with their ruler, so that they will follow him
    regardless of their lives, undismayed by any danger.

 7. Heaven signifies night and day, cold and heat,
    times and seasons.

 8. Earth comprises distances, great and small;
    danger and security; open ground and narrow passes;
    the chances of life and death.

 9. The Commander stands for the virtues of wisdom,
    sincerity, benevolence, courage and strictness.

10. By method and discipline are to be understood
    the marshaling of the army in its proper subdivisions,
    the graduations of rank among the officers, the maintenance
    of roads by which supplies may reach the army, and the
    control of military expenditure.

11. These five heads should be familiar to every general: 
    he who knows them will be victorious; he who knows them
    not will fail.

12. Therefore, in your deliberations, when seeking
    to determine the military conditions, let them be made
    the basis of a comparison, in this wise:--

13. (1) Which of the two sovereigns is imbued
        with the Moral law?
    (2) Which of the two generals has most ability?
    (3) With whom lie the advantages derived from Heaven
        and Earth?
    (4) On which side is discipline most rigorously enforced?
    (5) Which army is stronger?
    (6) On which side are officers and men more highly trained?
    (7) In which army is there the greater constancy
        both in reward and punishment?

14. By means of these seven considerations I can
    forecast victory or defeat.

15. The general that hearkens to my counsel and acts
    upon it, will conquer:  let such a one be retained in command! 
    The general that hearkens not to my counsel nor acts upon it,
    will suffer defeat:--let such a one be dismissed!

16. While heading the profit of my counsel,
    avail yourself also of any helpful circumstances
    over and beyond the ordinary rules.

17. According as circumstances are favorable,
    one should modify one's plans.

18. All warfare is based on deception.

19. Hence, when able to attack, we must seem unable;
    when using our forces, we must seem inactive; when we
    are near, we must make the enemy believe we are far away;
    when far away, we must make him believe we are near.

20. Hold out baits to entice the enemy.  Feign disorder,
    and crush him.

21. If he is secure at all points, be prepared for him. 
    If he is in superior strength, evade him.

22. If your opponent is of choleric temper, seek to
    irritate him.  Pretend to be weak, that he may grow arrogant.

23. If he is taking his ease, give him no rest. 
    If his forces are united, separate them.

24. Attack him where he is unprepared, appear where
    you are not expected.

25. These military devices, leading to victory,
    must not be divulged beforehand.

26. Now the general who wins a battle makes many
    calculations in his temple ere the battle is fought. 
    The general who loses a battle makes but few
    calculations beforehand.  Thus do many calculations
    lead to victory, and few calculations to defeat: 
    how much more no calculation at all!  It is by attention
    to this point that I can foresee who is likely to win or lose.




 1. Sun Tzu said:  In the operations of war,
    where there are in the field a thousand swift chariots,
    as many heavy chariots, and a hundred thousand
    mail-clad soldiers, with provisions enough to carry them
    a thousand li, the expenditure at home and at the front,
    including entertainment of guests, small items such as
    glue and paint, and sums spent on chariots and armor,
    will reach the total of a thousand ounces of silver per day. 
    Such is the cost of raising an army of 100,000 men.

 2. When you engage in actual fighting, if victory
    is long in coming, then men's weapons will grow dull and
    their ardor will be damped.  If you lay siege to a town,
    you will exhaust your strength.

 3. Again, if the campaign is protracted, the resources
    of the State will not be equal to the strain.

 4. Now, when your weapons are dulled, your ardor damped,
    your strength exhausted and your treasure spent,
    other chieftains will spring up to take advantage
    of your extremity.  Then no man, however wise,
    will be able to avert the consequences that must ensue.

 5. Thus, though we have heard of stupid haste in war,
    cleverness has n
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PG #: 2040
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2040

Transcribed from the 1886 George Routledge and Sons edition--first
edition (London Magazine) text, by David Price, email
ccx074@coventry.ac.uk





CONFESSIONS OF AN ENGLISH OPIUM-EATER:
BEING AN EXTRACT FROM THE
LIFE OF A SCHOLAR.


_From the "London Magazine" for September_ 1821.




TO THE READER


I here present you, courteous reader, with the record of a remarkable
period in my life: according to my application of it, I trust that it
will prove not merely an interesting record, but in a considerable degree
useful and instructive.  In _that_ hope it is that I have drawn it up;
and _that_ must be my apology for breaking through that delicate and
honourable reserve which, for the most part, restrains us from the public
exposure of our own errors and infirmities.  Nothing, indeed, is more
revolting to English feelings than the spectacle of a human being
obtruding on our notice his moral ulcers or scars, and tearing away that
"decent drapery" which time or indulgence to human frailty may have drawn
over them; accordingly, the greater part of _our_ confessions (that is,
spontaneous and extra-judicial confessions) proceed from demireps,
adventurers, or swindlers: and for any such acts of gratuitous
self-humiliation from those who can be supposed in sympathy with the
decent and self-respecting part of society, we must look to French
literature, or to that part of the German which is tainted with the
spurious and defective sensibility of the French.  All this I feel so
forcibly, and so nervously am I alive to reproach of this tendency, that
I have for many months hesitated about the propriety of allowing this or
any part of my narrative to come before the public eye until after my
death (when, for many reasons, the whole will be published); and it is
not without an anxious review of the reasons for and against this step
that I have at last concluded on taking it.

Guilt and misery shrink, by a natural instinct, from public notice: they
court privacy and solitude: and even in their choice of a grave will
sometimes sequester themselves from the general population of the
churchyard, as if declining to claim fellowship with the great family of
man, and wishing (in the affecting language of Mr. Wordsworth)

      Humbly to express
   A penitential loneliness.

It is well, upon the whole, and for the interest of us all, that it
should be so: nor would I willingly in my own person manifest a disregard
of such salutary feelings, nor in act or word do anything to weaken them;
but, on the one hand, as my self-accusation does not amount to a
confession of guilt, so, on the other, it is possible that, if it _did_,
the benefit resulting to others from the record of an experience
purchased at so heavy a price might compensate, by a vast overbalance,
for any violence done to the feelings I have noticed, and justify a
breach of the general rule.  Infirmity and misery do not of necessity
imply guilt.  They approach or recede from shades of that dark alliance,
in proportion to the probable motives and prospects of the offender, and
the palliations, known or secret, of the offence; in proportion as the
temptations to it were potent from the first, and the resistance to it,
in act or in effort, was earnest to the last.  For my own part, without
breach of truth or modesty, I may affirm that my life has been, on the
whole, the life of a philosopher: from my birth I was made an
intellectual creature, and intellectual in the highest sense my pursuits
and pleasures have been, even from my schoolboy days.  If opium-eating be
a sensual pleasure, and if I am bound to confess that I have indulged in
it to an excess not yet _recorded_ {1} of any other man, it is no less
true that I have struggled against this fascinating enthralment with a
religious zeal, and have at length accomplished what I never yet heard
attributed to any other man--have untwisted, almost to its final links,
the accursed chain which fettered me.  Such a self-conquest may
reasonably be set off in counterbalance to any kind or degree of self-
indulgence.  Not to insist that in my case the self-conquest was
unquestionable, the self-indulgence open to doubts of casuistry,
according as that name shall be extended to acts aiming at the bare
relief of pain, or shall be restricted to such as aim at the excitement
of positive pleasure.

Guilt, therefore, I do not acknowledge; and if I did, it is possible that
I might still resolve on the present act of confession in consideration
of the service which I may thereby render to the whole class of opium-
eaters.  But who are they?  Reader, I am sorry to say a very numerous
class indeed.  Of this I became convinced some years ago by computing at
that time the number of those in one small class of English society (the
class of men distinguished for talents, or of eminent station) who were
known to me, directly or indirectly, as opium-eaters; such, for instance,
as the eloquent and benevolent ---, the late Dean of ---, Lord ---, Mr.
--
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generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
Libraries.)






[Illustration: WILLIAM O. HUDSON
President, Board of Commissioners of Port of New Orleans]




FOREWORD.


Oh the mind of man! Frail, untrustworthy, perishable--yet able to stand
unlimited agony, cope with the greatest forces of Nature and build
against a thousand years. Passion can blind it--yet it can read in
infinity the difference between right and wrong. Alcohol can unsettle
it--yet it can create a poem or a harmony or a philosophy that is
immortal. A flower pot falling out of a window can destroy it--yet it
can move mountains.

If Man had a tool that was as frail as his mind, he would fear to use
it. He would not trust himself on a plank so liable to crack. He would
not venture into a boat so liable to go to pieces. He would not drive a
tack with a hammer, the head of which is so liable to fly off.

But Man knows that what the mind can conceive, that can he execute. So
Man sits in his room and plans the things the world thought impossible.
From the known he dares the unknown. He covers paper with figures,
conjures forth a blue print, and sends an army of workmen against the
forces of Nature. If his mind blundered, he would waste millions in
money and perhaps destroy thousands of lives. But Man can trust his
mind; fragile though it is, he knows it can bear the strain of any task
put upon it.

All over the world there is the proof: in the heavens above, and in the
waters under the earth. And nowhere has Man won a greater triumph over
unspeakable odds than in New Orleans, in the dredging of a canal
through buried forests 18,000 years old, the creation of an underground
river, and the building of a lock that was thought impossible.




The Industrial Canal
and Inner Harbor of New Orleans


History, Description and Economic Aspects of Giant
Facility Created to Encourage Industrial
Expansion and Develop Commerce



By Thomas Ewing Dabney



Published by
Board of Commissioners of the Port of New Orleans
Second Port U. S. A.
May, 1921

(Copyright, 1921, by Thomas Ewing Dabney).




CONTENTS


FOREWORD                                                      2

THE NEED RECOGNIZED FOR A CENTURY                             5

NEW ORLEANS DECIDES TO BUILD CANAL                            8

SMALL CANAL FIRST PLANNED                                    13

THE DIRT BEGINS TO FLY                                       17

CANAL PLANS EXPANDED                                         22

DIGGING THE DITCH                                            27

OVERWHELMING ENDORSEMENT BY NEW ORLEANS                      31

SIPHON AND BRIDGES                                           36

THE REMARKABLE LOCK                                          40

NEW CHANNEL TO THE GULF                                      48

WHY GOVERNMENT SHOULD OPERATE CANAL                          54

ECONOMIC ASPECT OF CANAL                                     60

CONSTRUCTION COSTS AND CONTRACTORS                           66

OTHER PORT FACILITIES                                        70

COMPARISON OF DISTANCES BETWEEN NEW ORLEANS AND THE
PRINCIPAL CITIES AND PORTS OF THE WORLD                      78




THE NEED RECOGNIZED FOR A CENTURY.


There is a map in the possession of T. P. Thompson of New Orleans, who
has a notable collection of books and documents on the early history of
this city, dated March 1, 1827, and drawn by Captain W. T. Poussin,
topographical engineer, showing the route of a proposed canal to
connect the Mississippi River and Lake Pontchartrain, curiously near
the site finally chosen for that great enterprise nearly a hundred
years later.

New Orleans then was a mere huddle of buildings around Jackson Square;
but with the purchase of the Louisiana territory from France, and the
great influx of American enterprise that characterized the first
quarter of the last century, development was working like yeast, and it
was foreseen that New Orleans' future depended largely upon connecting
the two waterways mentioned--the river, that drains the commerce of the
Mississippi Valley, at our front door, and the lake, with its short-cut
to the sea and the commerce of the world, at the back.

When the Carondelet canal, now known as the Old Basin Canal, was begun
in 1794, the plan was to extend it to the river. It was also planned to
connect the New Basin Canal, begun in 1833, with the Mississippi. This
was, in fact, one of the big questions of the period. That the work was
not put through was due more to the lack of machinery than of
enterprise.

During the rest of the century, the proposal bobbed up at frequent
intervals, and the small Lake Borgne canal was finally shoved through
from the Mississippi to Lake Borgne, which is a bay of Lake
Pontchartrain.

The difference between these early proposals and the plan for the
Industrial Canal and Inner Harbor that was finally adopted, is that the
purpose in the former case was simply to develop a waterway for
handling freig
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   ‘MINE is no horse with wings, to gain
      The region of the spheral chime;
   He does but drag a rumbling wain,
      Cheer’d by the coupled bells of rhyme;
   And if at Fame’s bewitching note
      My homely Pegasus pricks an ear,
   The world’s cart-collar hugs his throat,
      And he’s too wise to prance or rear.’




   Thus ever answer’d Vaughan his Wife,
      Who, more than he, desired his fame;
   But, in his heart, his thoughts were rife
      How for her sake to earn a name.
   With bays poetic three times crown’d,
      And other college honours won,
   He, if he chose, might be renown’d,
      He had but little doubt, she none;
   And in a loftier phrase he talk’d
      With her, upon their Wedding-Day,
   (The eighth), while through the fields they walk’d,
      Their children shouting by the way.




   ‘Not careless of the gift of song,
      Nor out of love with noble fame,
   I, meditating much and long
      What I should sing, how win a name,
   Considering well what theme unsung,
      What reason worth the cost of rhyme,
   Remains to loose the poet’s tongue
      In these last days, the dregs of time,
   Learn that to me, though born so late,
      There does, beyond desert, befall
   (May my great fortune make me great!)
      The first of themes, sung last of all.
   In green and undiscover’d ground,
      Yet near where many others sing,
   I have the very well-head found
      Whence gushes the Pierian Spring.’




   Then she: ‘What is it, Dear?  The Life
      Of Arthur, or Jerusalem’s Fall?’
   ‘Neither: your gentle self, my Wife,
      And love, that grows from one to all.
   And if I faithfully proclaim
      Of these the exceeding worthiness,
   Surely the sweetest wreath of Fame
      Shall, to your hope, my brows caress;
   And if, by virtue of my choice
      Of this, the most heart-touching theme
   That ever tuned a poet’s voice,
      I live, as I am bold to dream,
   To be delight to many days,
      And into silence only cease
   When those are still, who shared their bays
      With Laura and with Beatrice,
   Imagine, Love, how learned men
      Will deep-conceiv’d devices find,
   Beyond my purpose and my ken,
      An ancient bard of simple mind.
   You, Sweet, his Mistress, Wife, and Muse,
      Were you for mortal woman meant?
   Your praises give a hundred clues
      To mythological intent!
   And, severing thus the truth from trope,
      In you the Commentators see
   Outlines occult of abstract scope,
      A future for philosophy!
   Your arm’s on mine! these are the meads
      In which we pass our living days;
   There Avon runs, now hid with reeds,
      Now brightly brimming pebbly bays;
   Those are our children’s songs that come
      With bells and bleatings of the sheep;
   And there, in yonder English home,
      We thrive on mortal food and sleep!’
   She laugh’d.  How proud she always was
      To feel how proud he was of her!
   But he had grown distraught, because
      The Muse’s mood began to stir.




   His purpose with performance crown’d,
      He to his well-pleased Wife rehears’d,
   When next their Wedding-Day came round,
      His leisure’s labour, ‘Book the First.’



CANTO I
The Cathedral Close.


PRELUDES.

_The Impossibility_.


   Lo, love’s obey’d by all.  ’Tis right
      That all should know what they obey,
   Lest erring conscience damp delight,
      And folly laugh our joys away.
   Thou Primal Love, who grantest wings
      And voices to the woodland birds,
   Grant me the power of saying things
      Too simple and too sweet for words!


_Love’s Really_.


   I walk, I trust, with open eyes;
      I’ve travell’d half my worldly course;
   And in the way behind me lies
      Much vanity and some remorse;
   I’ve lived to feel how pride may part
      Spirits, tho’ match’d like hand and glove;
   I’ve blush’d for love’s abode, the heart;
      But have not disbelieved in love;
   Nor unto love, sole mortal thing
      Of worth immortal, done the wrong
   To count it, with the rest that sing,
      Unworthy of a serious song;
   And love is my reward; for now,
      When most of dead’ning time complain,
   The myrtle blooms upon my brow,
      Its odour quickens all my brain.


_The Poet’s Confidence_.


   The richest realm of all the earth
      Is counted still a heathen land:
   Lo, I, like Joshua, now go forth
      To give it into Israel’s hand.
   I will not hearken blame or praise;
      For so should I dishonour do
   To that sweet Power by which these Lays
      Alone are lovely, good, and true;
   Nor credence to the world’s cries give,
      Which ever preach and still prevent
   Pure passion’s high prerogative
      To make, not follow, precedent.
   From love’s abysmal ether rare
      If I to men have here made known
   New truths, they, like new stars, were there
      Before, though not yet written down.
   Moving but as the feelings move,
      I run, or loiter with delight,
   Or pause to mark whe
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posthac, ab eo ordiri maxime volui, quod et aetati tuae esset aptissimum
et auctoritati meae. Nam cum multa sint in philosophia et gravia et
utilia accurate copioseque a philosophis disputata, latissime patere
videntur ea, quae de officiis tradita ab illis et praecepta sunt. Nulla
enim vitae pars neque publicis neque privatis neque forensibus neque
domesticis in rebus, neque si tecum agas quid, neque si cum altero
contrahas, vacare officio potest, in eoque et colendo sita vitae est
honestas omnis et neglegendo[4] turpitudo.

*5* Atque haec quidem quaestio communis est omnium philosophorum; quis
est enim, qui nullis officii praeceptis tradendis philosophum se audeat
dicere? Sed sunt non nullae disciplinae, quae propositis bonorum et
malorum finibus officium omne pervertant. Nam qui summum bonum sic
instituit, ut nihil habeat cum virtute coniunctum, idque suis commodis,
non honestate metitur, hic, si sibi ipse consentiat et non interdum
naturae bonitate vincatur neque amicitiam colere possit nec iustitiam
nec liberalitatem; fortis vero dolorem summum malum iudicans aut
temperans voluptatem summum bonum statuens esse certe nullo modo potest.

#de Fin. II, 12 ff.; Tusc. Disp. IV-V; de Off. III, 117#

*6* Quae quamquam ita sunt in promptu, ut res disputatione non egeat,
tamen sunt a nobis alio loco disputata. Hae disciplinae igitur si sibi
consentaneae velint esse, de officio nihil queant dicere, neque ulla
officii praecepta firma, stabilia, coniuncta naturae tradi possunt nisi
aut ab iis, qui solam, aut ab iis, qui maxime honestatem propter se
dicant expetendam. Ita propria est ea praeceptio Stoicorum,
Academicorum, Peripateticorum, quoniam Aristonis, Pyrrhonis, Erilli iam
pridem explosa sententia est; qui tamen haberent ius suum disputandi de
officio, si rerum aliquem dilectum[5] reliquissent, ut ad officii
inventionem aditus esset. Sequemur[6] igitur hoc quidem tempore et hac
in quaestione potissimum Stoicos non ut interpretes, sed, ut solemus, e
fontibus eorum iudicio arbitrioque nostro, quantum quoque modo
videbitur, hauriemus.

*7* Placet igitur, quoniam omnis disputatio de officio futura est, ante
definire, quid sit officium; quod a Panaetio praetermissum esse miror.
Omnis enim, quae [a] ratione[7] suscipitur de aliqua re institutio,
debet a definitione proficisci, ut intellegatur, quid sit id, de quo
disputetur....[8]

    [4] _et neglegendo_ A H a b, Edd.; _et in neglegendo_ B c.

    [5] _dilectum_ B H a b, Edd.; _delectum_ A c.

    [6] _sequemur_ Graevius, Edd.; _sequimur_ MSS.

    [7] [_a_] _ratione_ Ed.; _a ratione_ MSS.; _ratione_ Müller.

    [8] Cicero's definition must have followed here, something
    like _Omne igitur, quod ratione actum est officium
    appellamus_ Unger.


#Statement of subject.#

by and by), I wish, if possible, to begin with a matter most suited at
once to your years and to my position. Although philosophy offers many
problems, both important and useful, that have been fully and carefully
discussed by philosophers, those teachings which have been handed down
on the subject of moral duties seem to have the widest practical
application. For no phase of life, whether public or private, whether in
business or in the home, whether one is working on what concerns oneself
alone or dealing with another, can be without its moral duty; on the
discharge of such duties depends all that is morally right, and on their
neglect all that is morally wrong in life.

#The philosophic schools and ethical teaching.#

*5* Moreover, the subject of this inquiry is the common property of all
philosophers; for who would presume to call himself a philosopher, if he
did not inculcate any lessons of duty? But there are some schools that
distort all notions of duty by the theories they propose touching the
supreme good and the supreme evil. For he who posits the supreme good as
having no connection with virtue and measures it not by a moral standard
but by his own interests--if he should be consistent and not rather at
times over-ruled by his better nature, he could value neither friendship
nor justice nor generosity; and brave he surely cannot possibly be that
counts pain the supreme evil, nor temperate he that holds pleasure to be
the supreme good.

#Reasons for choice of subject and authorities.#

*6* Although these truths are so self-evident that the subject does not
call for discussion, still I have discussed it in another connection.
If, therefore, these schools should claim to be consistent, they could
not say anything about duty; and no fixed, invariable, natural rules of
duty can be posited except by those who say that moral goodness is worth
seeking solely or chiefly for its own sake. Accordingly, the teaching of
ethics is the peculiar right of the Stoics, the Academicians, and the
Peripatetics; for the theories of Aristo, Pyrrho, and Erillus have been
long since rejected; and yet they would have the right to discuss duty
if they had left us any power of choosing between things, so that ther
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because he told him not the cause why he bare that shield.


And if so be ye can descrive what ye bear, ye are worthy to bear the
arms. As for that, said Sir Tristram, I will answer you; this shield
was given me, not desired, of Queen Morgan le Fay; and as for me, I can
not descrive these arms, for it is no point of my charge, and yet I
trust to God to bear them with worship. Truly, said King Arthur, ye
ought not to bear none arms but if ye wist what ye bear: but I pray you
tell me your name. To what intent? said Sir Tristram. For I would wit,
said Arthur. Sir, ye shall not wit as at this time. Then shall ye and I
do battle together, said King Arthur. Why, said Sir Tristram, will ye
do battle with me but if I tell you my name? and that little needeth
you an ye were a man of worship, for ye have seen me this day have had
great travail, and therefore ye are a villainous knight to ask battle
of me, considering my great travail; howbeit I will not fail you, and
have ye no doubt that I fear not you; though you think you have me at a
great advantage yet shall I right well endure you. And there withal
King Arthur dressed his shield and his spear, and Sir Tristram against
him, and they came so eagerly together. And there King Arthur brake his
spear all to pieces upon Sir Tristram’s shield. But Sir Tristram hit
Arthur again, that horse and man fell to the earth. And there was King
Arthur wounded on the left side, a great wound and a perilous.

Then when Sir Uwaine saw his lord Arthur lie on the ground sore
wounded, he was passing heavy. And then he dressed his shield and his
spear, and cried aloud unto Sir Tristram and said: Knight, defend thee.
So they came together as thunder, and Sir Uwaine brised his spear all
to pieces upon Sir Tristram’s shield, and Sir Tristram smote him harder
and sorer, with such a might that he bare him clean out of his saddle
to the earth. With that Sir Tristram turned about and said: Fair
knights, I had no need to joust with you, for I have had enough to do
this day. Then arose Arthur and went to Sir Uwaine, and said to Sir
Tristram: We have as we have deserved, for through our orgulyté we
demanded battle of you, and yet we knew not your name. Nevertheless, by
Saint Cross, said Sir Uwaine, he is a strong knight at mine advice as
any is now living.

Then Sir Tristram departed, and in every place he asked and demanded
after Sir Launcelot, but in no place he could not hear of him whether
he were dead or alive; wherefore Sir Tristram made great dole and
sorrow. So Sir Tristram rode by a forest, and then was he ware of a
fair tower by a marsh on that one side, and on that other side a fair
meadow. And there he saw ten knights fighting together. And ever the
nearer he came he saw how there was but one knight did battle against
nine knights, and that one did so marvellously that Sir Tristram had
great wonder that ever one knight might do so great deeds of arms. And
then within a little while he had slain half their horses and unhorsed
them, and their horses ran in the fields and forest. Then Sir Tristram
had so great pity of that one knight that endured so great pain, and
ever he thought it should be Sir Palomides, by his shield. And so he
rode unto the knights and cried unto them, and bade them cease of their
battle, for they did themselves great shame so many knights to fight
with one. Then answered the master of those knights, his name was
called Breuse Saunce Pité, that was at that time the most mischievoust
knight living, and said thus: Sir knight, what have ye ado with us to
meddle? and therefore, an ye be wise, depart on your way as ye came,
for this knight shall not escape us. That were pity, said Sir Tristram,
that so good a knight as he is should be slain so cowardly; and
therefore I warn you I will succour him with all my puissance.




promised to fight together within a fortnight.


So Sir Tristram alighted off his horse because they were on foot, that
they should not slay his horse, and then dressed his shield, with his
sword in his hand, and he smote on the right hand and on the left hand
passing sore, that well-nigh at every stroke he struck down a knight.
And when they espied his strokes they fled all with Breuse Saunce Pité
unto the tower, and Sir Tristram followed fast after with his sword in
his hand, but they escaped into the tower, and shut Sir Tristram
without the gate. And when Sir Tristram saw this he returned aback unto
Sir Palomides, and found him sitting under a tree sore wounded. Ah,
fair knight, said Sir Tristram, well be ye found. Gramercy, said Sir
Palomides, of your great goodness, for ye have rescued me of my life,
and saved me from my death. What is your name? said Sir Tristram. He
said: My name is Sir Palomides. O Jesu, said Sir Tristram, thou hast a
fair grace of me this day that I should rescue thee, and thou art the
man in the world that I most hate; but now make thee ready, for I will
do battle with thee. What is your name? said Sir Palomides. My name is

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"THE HAIRY APE"

A Comedy of Ancient and Modern Life

In Eight Scenes


By

EUGENE O'NEILL





CHARACTERS


  ROBERT SMITH, "YANK"
  PADDY
  LONG
  MILDRED DOUGLAS
  HER AUNT
  SECOND ENGINEER
  A GUARD
  A SECRETARY OF AN ORGANIZATION
  STOKERS, LADIES, GENTLEMEN, ETC.





SCENE I


SCENE--_The firemen's forecastle of a transatlantic liner an hour after
sailing from New York for the voyage across. Tiers of narrow, steel
bunks, three deep, on all sides. An entrance in rear. Benches on the
floor before the bunks. The room is crowded with men, shouting,
cursing, laughing, singing--a confused, inchoate uproar swelling into a
sort of unity, a meaning--the bewildered, furious, baffled defiance of
a beast in a cage. Nearly all the men are drunk. Many bottles are
passed from hand to hand. All are dressed in dungaree pants, heavy ugly
shoes. Some wear singlets, but the majority are stripped to the waist._

_The treatment of this scene, or of any other scene in the play, should
by no means be naturalistic. The effect sought after is a cramped space
in the bowels of a ship, imprisoned by white steel. The lines of bunks,
the uprights supporting them, cross each other like the steel framework
of a cage. The ceiling crushes down upon the men's heads. They cannot
stand upright. This accentuates the natural stooping posture which
shovelling coal and the resultant over-development of back and shoulder
muscles have given them. The men themselves should resemble those
pictures in which the appearance of Neanderthal Man is guessed at. All
are hairy-chested, with long arms of tremendous power, and low,
receding brows above their small, fierce, resentful eyes. All the
civilized white races are represented, but except for the slight
differentiation in color of hair, skin, eyes, all these men are alike._

_The curtain rises on a tumult of sound. YANK is seated in the
foreground. He seems broader, fiercer, more truculent, more powerful,
more sure of himself than the rest. They respect his superior
strength--the grudging respect of fear. Then, too, he represents to
them a self-expression, the very last word in what they are, their most
highly developed individual._

VOICES--Gif me trink dere, you!

'Ave a wet!

Salute!

Gesundheit!

Skoal!

Drunk as a lord, God stiffen you!

Here's how!

Luck!

Pass back that bottle, damn you!

Pourin' it down his neck!

Ho, Froggy! Where the devil have you been?

La Touraine.

I hit him smash in yaw, py Gott!

Jenkins--the First--he's a rotten swine--

And the coppers nabbed him--and I run--

I like peer better. It don't pig head gif you.

A slut, I'm sayin'! She robbed me aslape--

To hell with 'em all!

You're a bloody liar!

Say dot again!

[_Commotion. Two men about to fight are pulled apart._]

No scrappin' now!

To-night--

See who's the best man!

Bloody Dutchman!

To-night on the for'ard square.

I'll bet on Dutchy.

He packa da wallop, I tella you!

Shut up, Wop!

No fightin', maties. We're all chums, ain't we?

[_A voice starts bawling a song._]

    "Beer, beer, glorious beer!
    Fill yourselves right up to here."

YANK--[_For the first time seeming to take notice of the uproar about
him, turns around threateningly--in a tone of contemptuous authority._]
"Choke off dat noise! Where d'yuh get dat beer stuff? Beer, hell!
Beer's for goils--and Dutchmen. Me for somep'n wit a kick to it! Gimme
a drink, one of youse guys. [_Several bottles are eagerly offered. He
takes a tremendous gulp at one of them; then, keeping the bottle in his
hand, glares belligerently at the owner, who hastens to acquiesce in
this robbery by saying:_] All righto, Yank. Keep it and have another."
[_Yank contemptuously turns his back on the crowd again. For a second
there is an embarrassed silence. Then--_]

VOICES--We must be passing the Hook. She's beginning to roll to it. Six
days in hell--and then Southampton. Py Yesus, I vish somepody take my
first vatch for me! Gittin' seasick, Square-head? Drink up and forget
it! What's in your bottle? Gin. Dot's nigger trink. Absinthe? It's
doped. You'll go off your chump, Froggy! Cochon! Whiskey, that's the
ticket! Where's Paddy? Going asleep. Sing us that whiskey song, Paddy.
[_They all turn to an old, wizened Irishman who is dozing, very drunk,
on the benches forward. His face is extremely monkey-like with all the
sad, patient pathos of that animal in his small eyes._] Singa da song,
Caruso Pat! He's gettin' old. The drink is too much for him. He's too
drunk.

PADDY--[_Blinking about him, starts to his feet resentfully, swaying,
holding on to the edge of a bunk._] I'm never too drunk to sing. 'Tis
only when I'm dead to the world I'd be wishful to sing at all. [_With a
sort of sad contempt._] "Whiskey Johnny," ye want? A chanty, ye want?
Now that's a queer wish from the ugly like of you, God help you. But no
matther. [_He starts to sing in a thin, nasal, doleful tone:_]

    Oh, whiskey is the life of man!
        Whiskey! O Johnny!

[_They all join in on this._]

    Oh, 
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The Man Who Died


I returned from the City about three o’clock on that May afternoon
pretty well disgusted with life. I had been three months in the Old
Country, and was fed up with it. If anyone had told me a year ago that
I would have been feeling like that I should have laughed at him; but
there was the fact. The weather made me liverish, the talk of the
ordinary Englishman made me sick. I couldn’t get enough exercise, and
the amusements of London seemed as flat as soda-water that has been
standing in the sun. “Richard Hannay,” I kept telling myself, “you have
got into the wrong ditch, my friend, and you had better climb out.”

It made me bite my lips to think of the plans I had been building up
those last years in Buluwayo. I had got my pile—not one of the big
ones, but good enough for me; and I had figured out all kinds of ways
of enjoying myself. My father had brought me out from Scotland at the
age of six, and I had never been home since; so England was a sort of
Arabian Nights to me, and I counted on stopping there for the rest of
my days.

But from the first I was disappointed with it. In about a week I was
tired of seeing sights, and in less than a month I had had enough of
restaurants and theatres and race-meetings. I had no real pal to go
about with, which probably explains things. Plenty of people invited me
to their houses, but they didn’t seem much interested in me. They would
fling me a question or two about South Africa, and then get on to their
own affairs. A lot of Imperialist ladies asked me to tea to meet
schoolmasters from New Zealand and editors from Vancouver, and that was
the dismalest business of all. Here was I, thirty-seven years old,
sound in wind and limb, with enough money to have a good time, yawning
my head off all day. I had just about settled to clear out and get back
to the veld, for I was the best bored man in the United Kingdom.

That afternoon I had been worrying my brokers about investments to give
my mind something to work on, and on my way home I turned into my
club—rather a pot-house, which took in Colonial members. I had a long
drink, and read the evening papers. They were full of the row in the
Near East, and there was an article about Karolides, the Greek Premier.
I rather fancied the chap. From all accounts he seemed the one big man
in the show; and he played a straight game too, which was more than
could be said for most of them. I gathered that they hated him pretty
blackly in Berlin and Vienna, but that we were going to stick by him,
and one paper said that he was the only barrier between Europe and
Armageddon. I remember wondering if I could get a job in those parts.
It struck me that Albania was the sort of place that might keep a man
from yawning.

About six o’clock I went home, dressed, dined at the Café Royal, and
turned into a music-hall. It was a silly show, all capering women and
monkey-faced men, and I did not stay long. The night was fine and clear
as I walked back to the flat I had hired near Portland Place. The crowd
surged past me on the pavements, busy and chattering, and I envied the
people for having something to do. These shop-girls and clerks and
dandies and policemen had some interest in life that kept them going. I
gave half-a-crown to a beggar because I saw him yawn; he was a
fellow-sufferer. At Oxford Circus I looked up into the spring sky and I
made a vow. I would give the Old Country another day to fit me into
something; if nothing happened, I would take the next boat for the
Cape.

My flat was the first floor in a new block behind Langham Place. There
was a common staircase, with a porter and a liftman at the entrance,
but there was no restaurant or anything of that sort, and each flat was
quite shut off from the others. I hate servants on the premises, so I
had a fellow to look after me who came in by the day. He arrived before
eight o’clock every morning and used to depart at seven, for I never
dined at home.

I was just fitting my key into the door when I noticed a man at my
elbow. I had not seen him approach, and the sudden appearance made me
start. He was a slim man, with a short brown beard and small, gimlety
blue eyes. I recognized him as the occupant of a flat on the top floor,
with whom I had passed the time of day on the stairs.

“Can I speak to you?” he said. “May I come in for a minute?” He was
steadying his voice with an effort, and his hand was pawing my arm.

I got my door open and motioned him in. No sooner was he over the
threshold than he made a dash for my back room, where I used to smoke
and write my letters. Then he bolted back.

“Is the door locked?” he asked feverishly, and he fastened the chain
with his own hand.

“I’m very sorry,” he said humbly. “It’s a mighty liberty, but you
looked the kind of man who would understand. I’ve had you in my mind
all this week when things got troublesome. Say, will you do me a good
turn?”

“I’ll listen to you,” I said. “That’s all I’ll promise.” I was getting
worried by the a
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The opportunity of this class might seem to have come when the
Hohenstaufen Frederick II., grandson of Barbarossa, ascended the throne,
and still more when, on attaining full age, he claimed the whole of the
Peninsula as his family inheritance. Other Emperors had withstood the
Papal claims, but none had ever proved an antagonist like Frederick. His
quarrel seemed indeed to be with the Church itself, with its doctrines
and morals as well as with the ambition of churchmen; and he offered the
strange spectacle of a Roman Emperor--one of the twin lights in the
Christian firmament--whose favour was less easily won by Christian
piety, however eminent, than by the learning of the Arab or the Jew.
When compelled at last to fulfil a promise extorted from him of
conducting a crusade to the Holy Land, he scandalised Christendom by
making friends of the Sultan, and by using his presence in the East, not
for the deliverance of the Sepulchre, but for the furtherance of
learning and commerce. Thrice excommunicated, he had his revenge by
proving with how little concern the heaviest anathemas of the Church
could be met by one who was armed in unbelief. Literature, art, and
manners were sedulously cultivated in his Sicilian court, and among the
able ministers whom he selected or formed, the modern idea of the State
may be said to have had its birth. Free thinker and free liver, poet,
warrior, and statesman, he stood forward against the sombre background
of the Middle Ages a figure in every respect so brilliant and original
as well to earn from his contemporaries the title of the Wonder of the
World.

On the goodwill of Italians Frederick had the claim of being the most
Italian of all the Emperors since the revival of the Western Empire, and
the only one of them whose throne was permanently set on Italian soil.
Yet he never won the popular heart. To the common mind he always
appeared as something outlandish and terrible--as the man who had driven
a profitable but impious trade in the Sultan's land. Dante, in his
childhood, must have heard many a tale of him; and we find him keenly
interested in the character of the Emperor who came nearest to uniting
Italy into a great nation, in whose court there had been a welcome for
every man of intellect, and in whom a great original poet would have
found a willing and munificent patron. In the _Inferno_, by the mouth of
Pier delle Vigne, the Imperial Chancellor, he pronounces Frederick to
have been worthy of all honour;[5] yet justice requires him to lodge
this flower of kings in the burning tomb of the Epicureans, as having
been guilty of the arch-heresy of denying the moral government of the
world, and holding that with the death of the body all is ended.[6] It
was a heresy fostered by the lives of many churchmen, high and low; but
the example of Frederick encouraged the profession of it by nobles and
learned laymen. On Frederick's character there was a still darker stain
than this of religious indifference--that of cold-blooded cruelty. Even
in an age which had produced Ezzelino Romano, the Emperor's cloaks of
lead were renowned as the highest refinement in torture.[7] But, with
all his genius, and his want of scruple in the choice of means, he built
nothing politically that was not ere his death crumbling to dust. His
enduring work was that of an intellectual reformer under whose
protection and with whose personal help his native language was refined,
Europe was enriched with a learning new to it or long forgotten, and the
minds of men, as they lost their blind reverence for Rome, were prepared
for a freer treatment of all the questions with which religion deals. He
was thus in some respects a precursor of Dante.

More than once in the course of Frederick's career it seemed as if he
might become master of Tuscany in fact as well as in name, had Florence
only been as well affected to him as were Siena and Pisa. But already,
as has been said, the popular interest had been strengthened by
accessions from among the nobles. Others of them, without descending
into the ranks of the citizens, had set their hopes on being the first
in a commonwealth rather than privates in the Imperial garrison. These
men, with their restless and narrow ambitions, were as dangerous to have
for allies as for foes, but by throwing their weight into the popular
scale they at least served to hold the Imperialist magnates in check,
and established something like a balance in the fighting power of
Florence; and so, as in the days of Barbarossa, the city was preserved
from taking a side too strongly. The hearts of the Florentine traders
were in their own affairs--in extending their commerce and increasing
their territory and influence in landward Tuscany. As regarded the
general politics of Italy, their sympathy was still with the Roman See;
but it was a sympathy without devotion or gratitude. For refusing to
join in the crusade of 1238 the town was placed under interdict by
Gregory IX. The Emperor meanwhile was a
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                       “A spirit  .  .  .
                    .  .  .  .  .  .
    The undulating and silent well,
    And rippling rivulet, and evening gloom,
    Now deepening the dark shades, for speech assuming,
    Held commune with him; as if he and it
    Were all that was.”
                             SHELLEY’S Alastor.


I awoke one morning with the usual perplexity of mind which accompanies
the return of consciousness. As I lay and looked through the eastern
window of my room, a faint streak of peach-colour, dividing a cloud that
just rose above the low swell of the horizon, announced the approach of
the sun. As my thoughts, which a deep and apparently dreamless sleep had
dissolved, began again to assume crystalline forms, the strange events
of the foregoing night presented themselves anew to my wondering
consciousness. The day before had been my one-and-twentieth birthday.
Among other ceremonies investing me with my legal rights, the keys of an
old secretary, in which my father had kept his private papers, had been
delivered up to me. As soon as I was left alone, I ordered lights in the
chamber where the secretary stood, the first lights that had been there
for many a year; for, since my father’s death, the room had been left
undisturbed. But, as if the darkness had been too long an inmate to
be easily expelled, and had dyed with blackness the walls to which,
bat-like, it had clung, these tapers served but ill to light up the
gloomy hangings, and seemed to throw yet darker shadows into the hollows
of the deep-wrought cornice. All the further portions of the room lay
shrouded in a mystery whose deepest folds were gathered around the dark
oak cabinet which I now approached with a strange mingling of reverence
and curiosity. Perhaps, like a geologist, I was about to turn up to
the light some of the buried strata of the human world, with its fossil
remains charred by passion and petrified by tears. Perhaps I was to
learn how my father, whose personal history was unknown to me, had woven
his web of story; how he had found the world, and how the world had left
him. Perhaps I was to find only the records of lands and moneys, how
gotten and how secured; coming down from strange men, and through
troublous times, to me, who knew little or nothing of them all. To solve
my speculations, and to dispel the awe which was fast gathering around
me as if the dead were drawing near, I approached the secretary; and
having found the key that fitted the upper portion, I opened it with
some difficulty, drew near it a heavy high-backed chair, and sat down
before a multitude of little drawers and slides and pigeon-holes. But
the door of a little cupboard in the centre especially attracted my
interest, as if there lay the secret of this long-hidden world. Its key
I found.

One of the rusty hinges cracked and broke as I opened the door: it
revealed a number of small pigeon-holes. These, however, being but
shallow compared with the depth of those around the little cupboard, the
outer ones reaching to the back of the desk, I concluded that there
must be some accessible space behind; and found, indeed, that they were
formed in a separate framework, which admitted of the whole being pulled
out in one piece. Behind, I found a sort of flexible portcullis of small
bars of wood laid close together horizontally. After long search, and
trying many ways to move it, I discovered at last a scarcely projecting
point of steel on one side. I pressed this repeatedly and hard with
the point of an old tool that was lying near, till at length it
yielded inwards; and the little slide, flying up suddenly, disclosed a
chamber--empty, except that in one corner lay a little heap of withered
rose-leaves, whose long-lived scent had long since departed; and, in
another, a small packet of papers, tied with a bit of ribbon, whose
colour had gone with the rose-scent. Almost fearing to touch them, they
witnessed so mutely to the law of oblivion, I leaned back in my chair,
and regarded them for a moment; when suddenly there stood on the
threshold of the little chamber, as though she had just emerged from its
depth, a tiny woman-form, as perfect in shape as if she had been a small
Greek statuette roused to life and motion. Her dress was of a kind that
could never grow old-fashioned, because it was simply natural: a robe
plaited in a band around the neck, and confined by a belt about the
waist, descended to her feet. It was only afterwards, however, that I
took notice of her dress, although my surprise was by no means of so
overpowering a degree as such an apparition might naturally be expected
to excite. Seeing, however, as I suppose, some astonishment in my
countenance, she came forward within a yard of me, and said, in a voice
that strangely recalled a sensation of twilight, and reedy river banks,
and a low wind, even in this deathly room:--

“Anodos, you never saw such a little creature before, did you?”

“No,” said I; “and indeed I hardly believe I d
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A SHROPSHIRE LAD

By A. E. Housman

Introduction by William Stanley Braithwaite

1919




INTRODUCTION


The method of the poems in _ A Shropshire Lad _ illustrates better
than any theory how poetry may assume the attire of reality, and yet
in speech of the simplest, become in spirit the sheer quality of
loveliness. For, in these unobtrusive pages, there is nothing shunned
which makes the spectacle of life parade its dark and painful, its
ironic and cynical burdens, as well as those images with happy and
exquisite aspects. With a broader and deeper background of experience
and environment, which by some divine special privilege belongs to
the poetic imagination, it is easier to set apart and contrast these
opposing words and sympathies in a poet; but here we find them evoked
in a restricted locale- an English county-where the rich, cool tranquil
landscape gives a solid texture to the human show. What, I think,
impresses one, thrills, like ecstatic, half-smothered strains of music,
floating from unperceived instruments, in Mr. Housman's poems, is
the encounter his spirit constantly endures with life. It is, this
encounter, what you feel in the Greeks, and as in the Greeks, it is a
spiritual waging of miraculous forces. There is, too, in Mr. Housman's
poems, the singularly Grecian Quality of a clean and fragrant mental and
emotional temper, vibrating equally whether the theme dealt with is
ruin or defeat, or some great tragic crisis of spirit, or with moods and
ardours of pure enjoyment and simplicities of feeling. Scarcely has any
modern book of poems shown so sure a touch of genius in this respect:
the magic, in a continuous glow saturating the substance of every
picture and motive with its own peculiar essence.

What has been called the "cynical bitterness" of Mr. Housman's poems,
is really nothing more than his ability to etch in sharp tones the
actualities of experience. The poet himself is never cynical; his
joyousness is all too apparent in the very manner and intensity of
expression. The "lads" of Ludlow are so human to him, the hawthorn and
broom on the Severn shores are so fragrant with associations, he cannot
help but compose under a kind of imaginative wizardry of exultation,
even when the immediate subject is grim or grotesque. In many of
these brief, tense poems the reader confronts a mask, as it were, with
appalling and distorted lineaments; but behind it the poet smiles,
perhaps sardonically, but smiles nevertheless. In the real countenance
there are no tears or grievances, but a quizzical, humorous expression
which shows, when one has torn the subterfuge away, that here is a
spirit whom life may menace with its contradictions and fatalities, but
never dupe with its circumstance and mystery.

All this quite points to, and partly explains, the charm of the poems in
_ A Shropshire Lad _. The fastidious care with which each poem is built
out of the simplest of technical elements, the precise tone and color of
language employed to articulate impulse and mood, and the reproduction
of objective substances for a clear visualization of character and
scene, all tend by a sure and unfaltering composition, to present a
lyric art unique in English poetry of the last twenty-five years.

I dare say I have scarcely touched upon the secret of Mr. Housman's
book. For some it may radiate from the Shropshire life he so finely
etches; for others, in the vivid artistic simplicity and unity of
values, through which Shropshire lads and landscapes are presented. It
must be, however, in the miraculous fusing of the two. Whatever that
secret is, the charm of it never fails after all these years to keep the
poems preserved with a freshness and vitality, which are the qualities
of enduring genius.


WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE





A SHROPSHIRE LAD



          I

          1887

          From Clee to heaven the beacon burns,
           The shires have seen it plain,
          From north and south the sign returns
           And beacons burn again.

          Look left, look right, the hills are bright,
           The dales are light between,
          Because 'tis fifty years to-night
           That God has saved the Queen.

          Now, when the flame they watch not towers
           About the soil they trod,
          Lads, we'll remember friends of ours
           Who shared the work with God.

          To skies that knit their heartstrings right,
           To fields that bred them brave,
          The saviours come not home to-night:
           Themselves they could not save.

          It dawns in Asia, tombstones show
           And Shropshire names are read;
          And the Nile spills his overflow
           Beside the Severn's dead.

          We pledge in peace by farm and town
           The Queen they served in war,
          And fire the beacons up and down
           The land they perished for.

          "God Save the Queen" we living sing,
           From height to height 'tis heard;
          An
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cover




Riders to the Sea

A PLAY IN ONE ACT

by J. M. Synge

Contents

 INTRODUCTION
 RIDERS TO THE SEA




INTRODUCTION


It must have been on Synge’s second visit to the Aran Islands that he
had the experience out of which was wrought what many believe to be his
greatest play. The scene of “Riders to the Sea” is laid in a cottage on
Inishmaan, the middle and most interesting island of the Aran group.
While Synge was on Inishmaan, the story came to him of a man whose body
had been washed up on the far away coast of Donegal, and who, by reason
of certain peculiarities of dress, was suspected to be from the island.
In due course, he was recognised as a native of Inishmaan, in exactly
the manner described in the play, and perhaps one of the most
poignantly vivid passages in Synge’s book on “The Aran Islands” relates
the incident of his burial.

The other element in the story which Synge introduces into the play is
equally true. Many tales of “second sight” are to be heard among Celtic
races. In fact, they are so common as to arouse little or no wonder in
the minds of the people. It is just such a tale, which there seems no
valid reason for doubting, that Synge heard, and that gave the title,
“Riders to the Sea”, to his play.

It is the dramatist’s high distinction that he has simply taken the
materials which lay ready to his hand, and by the power of sympathy
woven them, with little modification, into a tragedy which, for
dramatic irony and noble pity, has no equal among its contemporaries.
Great tragedy, it is frequently claimed with some show of justice, has
perforce departed with the advance of modern life and its complicated
tangle of interests and creature comforts. A highly developed
civilisation, with its attendant specialisation of culture, tends ever
to lose sight of those elemental forces, those primal emotions, naked
to wind and sky, which are the stuff from which great drama is wrought
by the artist, but which, as it would seem, are rapidly departing from
us. It is only in the far places, where solitary communion may be had
with the elements, that this dynamic life is still to be found
continuously, and it is accordingly thither that the dramatist, who
would deal with spiritual life disengaged from the environment of an
intellectual maze, must go for that experience which will beget in him
inspiration for his art. The Aran Islands from which Synge gained his
inspiration are rapidly losing that sense of isolation and
self-dependence, which has hitherto been their rare distinction, and
which furnished the motivation for Synge’s masterpiece. Whether or not
Synge finds a successor, it is none the less true that in English
dramatic literature “Riders to the Sea” has an historic value which it
would be difficult to over-estimate in its accomplishment and its
possibilities. A writer in The Manchester Guardian shortly after
Synge’s death phrased it rightly when he wrote that it is “the tragic
masterpiece of our language in our time; wherever it has been played in
Europe from Galway to Prague, it has made the word tragedy mean
something more profoundly stirring and cleansing to the spirit than it
did.”

The secret of the play’s power is its capacity for standing afar off,
and mingling, if we may say so, sympathy with relentlessness. There is
a wonderful beauty of speech in the words of every character, wherein
the latent power of suggestion is almost unlimited. “In the big world
the old people do be leaving things after them for their sons and
children, but in this place it is the young men do be leaving things
behind for them that do be old.” In the quavering rhythm of these
words, there is poignantly present that quality of strangeness and
remoteness in beauty which, as we are coming to realise, is the
touchstone of Celtic literary art. However, the very asceticism of the
play has begotten a corresponding power which lifts Synge’s work far
out of the current of the Irish literary revival, and sets it high in a
timeless atmosphere of universal action.

Its characters live and die. It is their virtue in life to be lonely,
and none but the lonely man in tragedy may be great. He dies, and then
it is the virtue in life of the women mothers and wives and sisters to
be great in their loneliness, great as Maurya, the stricken mother, is
great in her final word.

“Michael has a clean burial in the far north, by the grace of the
Almighty God. Bartley will have a fine coffin out of the white boards,
and a deep grave surely. What more can we want than that? No man at all
can be living for ever, and we must be satisfied.” The pity and the
terror of it all have brought a great peace, the peace that passeth
understanding, and it is because the play holds this timeless peace
after the storm which has bowed down every character, that “Riders to
the Sea” may rightly take its place as the greatest modern tragedy in
the English tongue.

EDWARD J. O’BRIEN.

February 23, 1911.




RIDERS TO THE SEA

 A PLAY IN ONE ACT


Fi
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Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team.








VENUS IN FURS


Of this book, intended for
private circulation, only
1225 copies have been
printed, and type afterward
distributed.




VENUS IN FURS

By

LEOPOLD VON SACHER-MASOCH


Translated from the German

By

FERNANDA SAVAGE




INTRODUCTION


Leopold von Sacher-Masoch was born in Lemberg, Austrian Galicia, on
January 27, 1836. He studied jurisprudence at Prague and Graz, and in
1857 became a teacher at the latter university. He published several
historical works, but soon gave up his academic career to devote
himself wholly to literature. For a number of years he edited the
international review, _Auf der Hohe_, at Leipzig, but later removed to
Paris, for he was always strongly Francophile. His last years he spent
at Lindheim in Hesse, Germany, where he died on March 9, 1895. In 1873
he married Aurora von Rumelin, who wrote a number of novels under the
pseudonym of Wanda von Dunajew, which it is interesting to note is the
name of the heroine of _Venus in Furs_. Her sensational memoirs which
have been the cause of considerable controversy were published in 1906.

During his career as writer an endless number of works poured from
Sacher-Masoch's pen. Many of these were works of ephemeral journalism,
and some of them unfortunately pure sensationalism, for economic
necessity forced him to turn his pen to unworthy ends.

There is, however, a residue among his works which has a distinct
literary and even greater psychological value. His principal literary
ambition was never completely fulfilled. It was a somewhat
programmatic plan to give a picture of contemporary life in all its
various aspects and interrelations under the general title of the
_Heritage of Cain_. This idea was probably derived from Balzac's
_Comedie Humaine_. The whole was to be divided into six subdivisions
with the general titles _Love, Property, Money, The State, War,_ and
_Death_. Each of these divisions in its turn consisted of six novels,
of which the last was intended to summarize the author's conclusions
and to present his solution for the problems set in the others.

This extensive plan remained unachieved, and only the first two parts,
_Love_ and _Property_, were completed. Of the other sections only
fragments remain. The present novel, _Venus in Furs_, forms the fifth
in the series, _Love_.

The best of Sacher-Masoch's work is characterized by a swift
narration and a graphic representation of character and scene and a
rich humor. The latter has made many of his shorter stories dealing
with his native Galicia little masterpieces of local color.

There is, however, another element in his work which has caused his
name to become as eponym for an entire series of phenomena at one end
of the psycho-sexual scale. This gives his productions a peculiar
psychological value, though it cannot be denied also a morbid tinge
that makes them often repellent. However, it is well to remember that
nature is neither good nor bad, neither altruistic nor egoistic, and
that it operates through the human psyche as well as through crystals
and plants and animals with the same inexorable laws.

Sacher-Masoch was the poet of the anomaly now generally known as
_masochism_. By this is meant the desire on the part of the individual
affected of desiring himself completely and unconditionally subject to
the will of a person of the opposite sex, and being treated by this
person as by a master, to be humiliated, abused, and tormented, even
to the verge of death. This motive is treated in all its innumerable
variations. As a creative artist Sacher-Masoch was, of course, on the
quest for the absolute, and sometimes, when impulses in the human
being assume an abnormal or exaggerated form, there is just for a
moment a flash that gives a glimpse of the thing in itself.

If any defense were needed for the publication of work like
Sacher-Masoch's it is well to remember that artists are the historians
of the human soul and one might recall the wise and tolerant Montaigne's
essay _On the Duty of Historians_ where he says, "One may cover over
secret actions, but to be silent on what all the world knows, and things
which have had effects which are public and of so much consequence is an
inexcusable defect."

And the curious interrelation between cruelty and sex, again and
again, creeps into literature. Sacher-Masoch has not created anything
new in this. He has simply taken an ancient motive and developed it
frankly and consciously, until, it seems, there is nothing further to
say on the subject. To the violent attacks which his books met he
replied in a polemical work, _Über den Wert der Kritik_.

It would be interesting to trace the masochistic tendency as it occurs
throughout literature, but no more can be done than just to allude to
a few instances. The theme recurs continually in the _Confessions_ of
Jean Jacques Rousseau; it explains the character of the chevalier in
Prévost's _Ma
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M.DCCC.LX.


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1849,

By M.A. DWIGHT,

in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court for the Southern District
of New York.


TO THE
RIGHT HONORABLE
EARL COWPER,
THIS
TRANSLATION OF THE ILIAD,
THE INSCRIPTION OF WHICH TO HIMSELF,
THE LATE LAMENTED EARL,
BENEVOLENT TO ALL,
AND ESPECIALLY KIND TO THE AUTHOR,
HAD NOT DISDAINED TO ACCEPT
IS HUMBLY OFFERED,
AS A SMALL BUT GRATEFUL TRIBUTE,
TO THE MEMORY OF HIS FATHER,
BY HIS LORDSHIP’S
AFFECTIONATE KINSMAN AND SERVANT

WILLIAM COWPER.

_June 4, 1791._


vii

PREFACE.

Whether a translation of Homer may be best executed in blank verse or
in rhyme, is a question in the decision of which no man can find
difficulty, who has ever duly considered what translation ought to be,
or who is in any degree practically acquainted with those very
different kinds of versification. I will venture to assert that a just
translation of any ancient poet in rhyme, is impossible. No human
ingenuity can be equal to the task of closing every couplet with sounds
homotonous, expressing at the same time the full sense, and only the
full sense of his original. The translator’s ingenuity, indeed, in this
case becomes itself a snare, and the readier he is at invention and
expedient, the more likely he is to be betrayed into the widest
departures from the guide whom he professes to follow. Hence it has
happened, that although the public have long been in possession of an
English Homer by a poet whose writings have done immortal honor to his
country, the demand of a new one, and especially in blank verse, has
been repeatedly and loudly made by some of the best judges and ablest
writers of the present day.

I have no contest with my predecessor. None is supposable between
performers on different instruments. Mr. Pope has surmounted all
difficulties in his version of Homer that it was possible to surmount
in rhyme. But he was fettered, and his fetters were his choice.
Accustomed always to rhyme, he had formed to himself an ear which
probably could not be much gratified by verse that wanted it, and
determined to encounter even impossibilities, rather than abandon a
mode of writing in which he had excelled every body, for the sake of
another to which, unexercised in it as he was, he must have felt strong
objections.

I number myself among the warmest admirers of Mr. Pope as an original
writer, and I allow him all the merit he can justly claim as the
translator of this chief of poets. He has given us the _Tale of Troy
divine_ in smooth verse, generally in correct and elegant language, and
in diction often highly poetical. But his deviations are so many,
occasioned chiefly by the cause already mentioned, that, much as he has
done, and valuable as his work is on some accounts, it was yet in the
humble province of a translator that I thought it possible even for me
to fellow him with some advantage.

That he has sometimes altogether suppressed the sense of his author,
and has not seldom intermingled his own ideas with it, is a remark
which, on viii this occasion, nothing but necessity should have
extorted from me. But we differ sometimes so widely in our matter, that
unless this remark, invidious as it seems, be premised, I know not how
to obviate a suspicion, on the one hand, of careless oversight, or of
factitious embellishment on the other. On this head, therefore, the
English reader is to be admonished, that the matter found in me,
whether he like it or not, is found also in Homer, and that the matter
not found in me, how much soever he may admire it, is found only in Mr.
Pope. I have omitted nothing; I have invented nothing.

There is indisputably a wide difference between the case of an original
writer in rhyme and a translator. In an original work the author is
free; if the rhyme be of difficult attainment, and he cannot find it in
one direction, he is at liberty to seek it in another; the matter that
will not accommodate itself to his occasions he may discard, adopting
such as will. But in a translation no such option is allowable; the
sense of the author is required, and we do not surrender it willingly
even to the plea of necessity. Fidelity is indeed of the very essence
of translation, and the term itself implies it. For which reason, if we
suppress the sense of our original, and force into its place our own,
we may call our work an _imitation_, if we please, or perhaps a
_paraphrase_, but it is no longer the same author only in a different
dress, and therefore it is not translation. Should a painter,
professing to draw the likeness of a beautiful woman, give her more or
fewer features than belong to her, and a general cast of countenance of
his own invention, he might be said to have produced a _jeu d’esprit_,
a curiosity perhaps in its way, but by no means the lady in question.

It will however be necessary to speak a little more largely to this
subject, on which discordant opinions prevail even among good judges.

The free and the close transl
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INTRODUCTION TO THE ART OF DIVINATION FROM TEA-LEAVES

It seems highly probable that at no previous period of the world's
history have there been so many persons as there are at the present
moment anxious to ascertain in advance, if that be humanly possible, a
knowledge of at least 'what a day may bring forth.' The incidence of the
greatest of all wars, which has resulted in sparse news of those from
whom they are separated, and produces a state of uncertainty as to what
the future holds in store for each of the inhabitants of the British
Empire, is, of course, responsible for this increase in a perfectly sane
and natural curiosity; with its inevitable result, a desire to employ
any form of divination in the hope that some light may haply be cast
upon the darkness and obscurity of the future.

It is unfortunately the case, as records of the police-courts have
recently shown, that the creation of this demand for foreknowledge
of coming events or for information as to the well-being of distant
relatives and friends has resulted in the abundant supply of the want by
scores of pretended 'Fortune-tellers' and diviners of the Future;
who, trading upon the credulity and anxieties of their unfortunate
fellow-countrywomen, seek to make a living at their expense.

Now it is an axiom, which centuries of experience have shown to be as
sound as those of Euclid himself, that the moment the taint of money
enters into the business of reading the Future the accuracy and credit
of the Fortune told disappears. The Fortune-teller no longer possesses
the singleness of mind or purpose necessary to a clear reading of
the symbols he or she consults. The amount of the fee is the first
consideration, and this alone is sufficient to obscure the mental vision
and to bias the judgment. This applies to the very highest and most
conscientious of Fortune-tellers--persons really adept at foreseeing the
future when no taint of monetary reward intervenes. The greater number,
however, of so-called Fortune-tellers are but charlatans, with the
merest smattering of partly-assimilated knowledge of some form of
divination or 'character-reading'; whether by the cards, coins, dice,
dominoes, hands, crystal, or in any other pretended way. With these, the
taint of the money they hope to receive clouds such mind or intuition
as they may possess, and it follows that their judgments and
prognostications have precisely the same value as the nostrums of the
quack medicine-vendor. They are very different from the Highlander who,
coming to the door of his cottage or bothie at dawn, regards steadfastly
the signs and omens he notes in the appearance of the sky, the actions
of animals, the flight of birds, and so forth, and derives there from
a foresight into the coming events of the opening day. They differ also
from the 'spae-wife,' who, manipulating the cup from which she has taken
her morning draught of tea, looks at the various forms and shapes the
leaves and dregs have taken, and deduces thence such simple horary
prognostications as the name of the person from whom 'postie' will
presently bring up the glen a letter or a parcel or a remittance of
money; or as to whether she is likely to go a journey, or to hear news
from across the sea, or to obtain a good price for the hose she has
knitted or for the chickens or eggs she is sending to the store-keeper.
Here the taint of a money-payment is altogether absent; and no Highland
'spae-wife' or seer would dream of taking a fee for looking into the
future on behalf of another person.

It follows, therefore, that provided he or she is equipped with the
requisite knowledge and some skill and intuition, the persons most
fitted to tell correctly their own fortune are themselves; because they
cannot pay themselves for their own prognostications, and the absence of
a monetary taint consequently leaves the judgment unbiased. Undoubtedly
one of the simplest, most inexpensive and, as the experience of nearly
three centuries has proved, most reliable forms of divination within its
own proper limits, is that of reading fortunes in tea-cups. Although it
cannot be of the greatest antiquity, seeing that tea was not introduced
into Britain until the middle of the seventeenth century, and for many
years thereafter was too rare and costly to be used by the great bulk
of the population, the practice of reading the tea-leaves doubtless
descends from the somewhat similar form of divination known to the
Greeks as "_κοταβος_" by which fortune in love was discovered
by the particular splash made by wine thrown out of a cup into a metal
basin. A few spae-wives still practise this method by throwing out the
tea-leaves into the saucer, but the reading of the symbols as they are
originally formed in the cup is undoubtedly the better method.

Any person after a study of this book and by carefully following the
principles here laid down may with practice quickly learn to read the
horary fortunes that the tea-leaves foretell. It should be di
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a. Man the Machine. b. Personal Merit

[The Old Man and the Young Man had been conversing. The Old Man had
asserted that the human being is merely a machine, and nothing more. The
Young Man objected, and asked him to go into particulars and furnish his
reasons for his position.]

Old Man. What are the materials of which a steam-engine is made?

Young Man. Iron, steel, brass, white-metal, and so on.

O.M. Where are these found?

Y.M. In the rocks.

O.M. In a pure state?

Y.M. No--in ores.

O.M. Are the metals suddenly deposited in the ores?

Y.M. No--it is the patient work of countless ages.

O.M. You could make the engine out of the rocks themselves?

Y.M. Yes, a brittle one and not valuable.

O.M. You would not require much, of such an engine as that?

Y.M. No--substantially nothing.

O.M. To make a fine and capable engine, how would you proceed?

Y.M. Drive tunnels and shafts into the hills; blast out the iron ore;
crush it, smelt it, reduce it to pig-iron; put some of it through
the Bessemer process and make steel of it. Mine and treat and combine
several metals of which brass is made.

O.M. Then?

Y.M. Out of the perfected result, build the fine engine.

O.M. You would require much of this one?

Y.M. Oh, indeed yes.

O.M. It could drive lathes, drills, planers, punches, polishers, in a
word all the cunning machines of a great factory?

Y.M. It could.

O.M. What could the stone engine do?

Y.M. Drive a sewing-machine, possibly--nothing more, perhaps.

O.M. Men would admire the other engine and rapturously praise it?

Y.M. Yes.

O.M. But not the stone one?

Y.M. No.

O.M. The merits of the metal machine would be far above those of the
stone one?

Y.M. Of course.

O.M. Personal merits?

Y.M. _Personal_ merits? How do you mean?

O.M. It would be personally entitled to the credit of its own
performance?

Y.M. The engine? Certainly not.

O.M. Why not?

Y.M. Because its performance is not personal. It is the result of the
law of construction. It is not a _merit_ that it does the things which
it is set to do--it can't _help_ doing them.

O.M. And it is not a personal demerit in the stone machine that it does
so little?

Y.M. Certainly not. It does no more and no less than the law of its make
permits and compels it to do. There is nothing _personal_ about it; it
cannot choose. In this process of “working up to the matter” is it your
idea to work up to the proposition that man and a machine are about the
same thing, and that there is no personal merit in the performance of
either?

O.M. Yes--but do not be offended; I am meaning no offense. What makes
the grand difference between the stone engine and the steel one? Shall
we call it training, education? Shall we call the stone engine a savage
and the steel one a civilized man? The original rock contained the stuff
of which the steel one was built--but along with a lot of sulphur and
stone and other obstructing inborn heredities, brought down from the old
geologic ages--prejudices, let us call them. Prejudices which nothing
within the rock itself had either _power_ to remove or any _desire_ to
remove. Will you take note of that phrase?

Y.M. Yes. I have written it down; “Prejudices which nothing within the
rock itself had either power to remove or any desire to remove.” Go on.

O.M. Prejudices must be removed by _outside influences_ or not at all.
Put that down.

Y.M. Very well; “Must be removed by outside influences or not at all.”
 Go on.

O.M. The iron's prejudice against ridding itself of the cumbering rock.
To make it more exact, the iron's absolute _indifference_ as to whether
the rock be removed or not. Then comes the _outside influence_ and
grinds the rock to powder and sets the ore free. The _iron_ in the ore
is still captive. An _outside influence_ smelts it free of the clogging
ore. The iron is emancipated iron, now, but indifferent to further
progress. An _outside influence_ beguiles it into the Bessemer furnace
and refines it into steel of the first quality. It is educated, now--its
training is complete. And it has reached its limit. By no possible
process can it be educated into _gold_. Will you set that down?

Y.M. Yes. “Everything has its limit--iron ore cannot be educated into
gold.”

O.M. There are gold men, and tin men, and copper men, and leaden men,
and steel men, and so on--and each has the limitations of his nature,
his heredities, his training, and his environment. You can build engines
out of each of these metals, and they will all perform, but you must
not require the weak ones to do equal work with the strong ones. In
each case, to get the best results, you must free the metal from its
obstructing prejudicial ones by education--smelting, refining, and so
forth.

Y.M. You have arrived at man, now?

O.M. Yes. Man the machine--man the impersonal engine. Whatsoever a man
is, is due to his _make_, and to the _influences_ brought to bear
upon it by his heredities, his habitat, his associations. He is moved,
directed, COMMANDED, by _exterior_ in
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Marseille.--L'arrivée.


Le 24 février 1815, la vigie de Notre-Dame de la Garde signala le
trois-mâts le _Pharaon_, venant de Smyrne, Trieste et Naples.

Comme d'habitude, un pilote côtier partit aussitôt du port, rasa le
château d'If, et alla aborder le navire entre le cap de Morgion et l'île
de Rion.

Aussitôt, comme d'habitude encore, la plate-forme du fort Saint-Jean
s'était couverte de curieux; car c'est toujours une grande affaire à
Marseille que l'arrivée d'un bâtiment, surtout quand ce bâtiment, comme
le _Pharaon_, a été construit, gréé, arrimé sur les chantiers de la
vieille Phocée, et appartient à un armateur de la ville.

Cependant ce bâtiment s'avançait; il avait heureusement franchi le
détroit que quelque secousse volcanique a creusé entre l'île de
Calasareigne et l'île de Jaros; il avait doublé Pomègue, et il
s'avançait sous ses trois huniers, son grand foc et sa brigantine, mais
si lentement et d'une allure si triste, que les curieux, avec cet
instinct qui pressent un malheur, se demandaient quel accident pouvait
être arrivé à bord. Néanmoins les experts en navigation reconnaissaient
que si un accident était arrivé, ce ne pouvait être au bâtiment
lui-même; car il s'avançait dans toutes les conditions d'un navire
parfaitement gouverné: son ancre était en mouillage, ses haubans de
beaupré décrochés; et près du pilote, qui s'apprêtait à diriger le
_Pharaon_ par l'étroite entrée du port de Marseille, était un jeune
homme au geste rapide et à l'oeil actif, qui surveillait chaque
mouvement du navire et répétait chaque ordre du pilote.

La vague inquiétude qui planait sur la foule avait particulièrement
atteint un des spectateurs de l'esplanade de Saint-Jean, de sorte qu'il
ne put attendre l'entrée du bâtiment dans le port; il sauta dans une
petite barque et ordonna de ramer au-devant du _Pharaon_, qu'il
atteignit en face de l'anse de la Réserve.

En voyant venir cet homme, le jeune marin quitta son poste à côté du
pilote, et vint, le chapeau à la main, s'appuyer à la muraille du
bâtiment.

C'était un jeune homme de dix-huit à vingt ans, grand, svelte, avec de
beaux yeux noirs et des cheveux d'ébène; il y avait dans toute sa
personne cet air calme et de résolution particulier aux hommes habitués
depuis leur enfance à lutter avec le danger.

«Ah! c'est vous, Dantès! cria l'homme à la barque; qu'est-il donc
arrivé, et pourquoi cet air de tristesse répandu sur tout votre bord?

--Un grand malheur, monsieur Morrel! répondit le jeune homme, un grand
malheur, pour moi surtout: à la hauteur de Civita-Vecchia, nous avons
perdu ce brave capitaine Leclère.

--Et le chargement? demanda vivement l'armateur.

--Il est arrivé à bon port, monsieur Morrel, et je crois que vous serez
content sous ce rapport; mais ce pauvre capitaine Leclère....

--Que lui est-il donc arrivé? demanda l'armateur d'un air visiblement
soulagé; que lui est-il donc arrivé, à ce brave capitaine?

--Il est mort.

--Tombé à la mer?

--Non, monsieur; mort d'une fièvre cérébrale, au milieu d'horribles
souffrances.»

Puis, se retournant vers ses hommes:

«Holà hé! dit-il, chacun à son poste pour le mouillage!»

L'équipage obéit. Au même instant, les huit ou dix matelots qui le
composaient s'élancèrent les uns sur les écoutes, les autres sur les
bras, les autres aux drisses, les autres aux hallebas des focs, enfin
les autres aux cargues des voiles.

Le jeune marin jeta un coup d'oeil nonchalant sur ce commencement de
manoeuvre, et, voyant que ses ordres allaient s'exécuter, il revint à
son interlocuteur.

«Et comment ce malheur est-il donc arrivé? continua l'armateur,
reprenant la conversation où le jeune marin l'avait quittée.

--Mon Dieu, monsieur, de la façon la plus imprévue: après une longue
conversation avec le commandant du port, le capitaine Leclère quitta
Naples fort agité; au bout de vingt-quatre heures, la fièvre le prit;
trois jours après, il était mort....

«Nous lui avons fait les funérailles ordinaires, et il repose, décemment
enveloppé dans un hamac, avec un boulet de trente-six aux pieds et un à
la tête, à la hauteur de l'île d'El Giglio. Nous rapportons à sa veuve
sa croix d'honneur et son épée. C'était bien la peine, continua le jeune
homme avec un sourire mélancolique, de faire dix ans la guerre aux
Anglais pour en arriver à mourir, comme tout le monde, dans son lit.

--Dame! que voulez-vous, monsieur Edmond, reprit l'armateur qui
paraissait se consoler de plus en plus, nous sommes tous mortels, et il
faut bien que les anciens fassent place aux nouveaux, sans cela il n'y
aurait pas d'avancement; et du moment que vous m'assurez que la
cargaison....

--Est en bon état, monsieur Morrel, je vous en réponds. Voici un voyage
que je vous donne le conseil de ne point escompter pour 25.000 francs de
bénéfice.»

Puis, comme on venait de dépasser la tour ronde:

«Range à carguer les voiles de hune, le foc et la brigantine! cria le
jeune marin; faites penaud!»

L'ordre s'exécuta avec presque autant de promptitude que sur un bâtiment
de 
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provided by the Internet Archive







ARS AMATORIA;

or, THE ART OF LOVE.


By Ovid


Literally Translated into English Prose, with Copious Notes, by Henry T. Riley

1885



BOOK THE FIRST.


|Should any one of the people not know the art of loving, let him read
me; and taught by me, on reading my lines, let him love. By art the
ships are onward sped by sails and oars; by art are the light chariots,
by art is Love, to be guided. In the chariot and in the flowing reins
was Automedon skilled: in the Hæmonian ship _of Jason_ Tiphys was the
pilot. Me, too, skilled in my craft, has Venus made the guardian of
Love. Of Cupid the Tiphys and the Automedon shall I be styled. Unruly
indeed he is, and one who oft rebels against me; but he is a child; his
age is tender and easy to be governed. The son of Phillyra made the boy
Achilles skilled at the lyre; and with his soothing art he subdued his
ferocious disposition. He who so oft alarmed his own companions, so
oft the foe, is believed to have stood in dread of an aged man full of
years. Those hands which Hector was doomed to feel, at the request of
his master he held out for stripes [701] as commanded. Chiron was the
preceptor of the grandson of Æacus, I of Love. Both of the boys were
wild; both of a Goddess born. But yet the neck of even the bull is laden
with the plough; and the reins are champed by the teeth of the spirited
steed. To me, too, will Love yield; though, with his bow, he should
wound my breast, and should brandish his torches hurled against me. The
more that Love has pierced me, the more has he relentlessly inflamed me;
so much the fitter avenger shall I be of the wounds so made.

Phoebus, I pretend not that these arts were bestowed on me by thee; nor
by the notes of the birds of the air am I inspired. Neither Clio nor the
sisters of Clio have been beheld by me, while watching, Ascra, in thy
vales, my flocks. To this work experience gives rise; listen to a Poet
well-versed. The truth will I sing; Mother of Love, favour my design.
Be ye afar, [702] ye with the thin fillets on your hair, the mark of
chastity; and thou, long flounce, which dost conceal the middle of the
foot. We will sing of guiltless delights, and of thefts allowed; and in
my song there shall be nought that is criminal.

In the first place, endeavour to find out an object which you may
desire to love, you who are now coming for the first time to engage as a
soldier in a new service. The next task after that, is to prevail on
the fair by pleasing her. The third is, for her love to prove of long
duration. This is my plan; this space shall be marked out by my chariot;
this the turning-place to be grazed by my wheels in their full career.

While you may, and while you are able to proceed with flowing reins;
choose one to whom you may say, "You alone are pleasing to me." She
will not come to you gliding through the yielding air; the fair one that
suits must be sought with your eyes. The hunter knows full well where
to extend the toils for the deer; full well he knows in what vale dwells
the boar gnashing with his teeth. The shrubberies are known to the
fowlers. He who holds out the hooks, knows what waters are swam in by
many a fish. You, too, who seek a subject for enduring love, first learn
in what spot the fair are to be met with. In your search, I will not
bid you give your sails to the wind, nor is a long path to be trodden by
you, that you may find her.

Let Perseus bear away his Andromeda from the tawny Indians, [703] and
let the Grecian fair be ravished by Paris, the Phrygian hero. Rome will
present you damsels as many, and full as fair; so that you will declare,
that whatever has been on the earth, she possesses. As many ears of
corn as Gargara has, as many clusters as Methymna; as many fishes as
are concealed in the seas, birds in the boughs; as many stars as [704]
heaven has, so many fair ones does your own Rome contain; and in her own
City does the mother of Æneas hold her reign. Are you charmed by early
and still dawning years, the maiden in all her genuineness will come
before your eyes; or do you wish a riper fair, [705] a thousand riper
will please you; you will be forced not to know which is your own
choice. Or does an age mature and more staid delight you; this throng
too, believe me, will be even greater.

Do you only saunter at your leisure in the shade of Pompey's Portico,
[706] when the sun approaches the back of the Lion of Hercules; [707] or
where the mother [708] has added her own gifts to those of her son, a
work rich in its foreign marble. And let not the Portico of Livia [709]
be shunned by you, which, here and there adorned with ancient paintings,
bears the name of its founder. Where, too, are the grand-daughters of
Be-lus, [710] who dared to plot death for their wretched cousins, and
where their enraged father stands with his drawn sword. Nor let Adonis,
bewailed by Venus, [711] escape you; and the seventh holy-day observed
by the Jew of Syria. [712] Nor fly fr
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[Illustration: _The Return of the Crusaders_]

                    _Life Stories for Young People_




                               BARBAROSSA


                     _Translated from the German of
                              Franz Kühn_

                                   BY
                            GEORGE P. UPTON
                    _Translator of “Memories,” etc._

                        WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS

                  [Illustration: A. C. McCLURG & CO.]

                                CHICAGO
                          A. C. McCLURG & CO.
                                  1906

                               Copyright
                          A. C. McClurg & Co.
                                  1906
                      Published September 22, 1906

                THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A.




                          Translator’s Preface


From whatever point of view we consider Frederick I,—more familiarly
known as “Barbarossa,” because of his red beard,—whether as the greatest
of the sovereigns of the Holy Roman Empire, or as one of the most
gallant of the famous crusade leaders, the story of his life is one of
absorbing interest. This little volume includes a sketch of the events
which led up to his accession to the throne of Germany, of his various
campaigns in Italy after he had received the imperial crown, and of the
disastrous third Crusade, in which he took part with Richard the
Lion-hearted of England and Philip Augustus of France. The young reader
will probably feel most interested in Barbarossa as a Crusader,
particularly because in this connection appear the two young knights,
Raymond and Conrad, who became the _protégés_ of Barbarossa after the
death of their gallant father, Conrad of Feuchtwangen, on the
battlefield. Their brave exploits in battle, the adventurous ride of
Raymond when he carried to the Emperor the news of the danger of his
father and his little band in the valley, the capture of the brothers by
the fleeing Turks at Iconium, and the exciting description of the test
to which the Sultan exposed them, will appeal to the young from the
romantic side, while their noble qualities as Christian knights and
their high manly character should make an equally forcible appeal, in
these days when knighthood can hardly be said to be in flower.

In making this translation I have endeavored to retain the vigorous
descriptions as well as the healthy sentiment and charming simplicity of
the author’s moralizing by keeping as closely to the original as
possible. The only liberty I have taken with the text is the omission of
passages here and there,—without marring the context, however,—so as to
make the volume nearly uniform in size with the others in the series. I
have invariably characterized Frederick as Emperor, referring to him
thus as Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire rather than as King of Germany.

                                                                G. P. U.

Chicago, July 1, 1906.




                                Contents


  I. Return of the Crusaders                                          11
  II. Frederick Ascends the Throne                                    21
  III. The Italian Campaigns                                          33
  IV. The Mayence Festival and Tournament                             45
  V. Life in the Castle                                               52
  VI. The Third Crusade                                               61
  VII. Conrad’s Victory in the Valley                                 73
  VIII. Raymond’s Heroic Ride                                         86
  IX. Conrad’s Death                                                 100
  X. Capture of the Brothers                                         112
  XI. The Brothers’ Ordeal                                           126
  XII. The Emperor to the Rescue                                     138
  XIII. Barbarossa’s Victory and Death                               153
    Appendix                                                         167




                             Illustrations


  The Return of the Crusaders                             _Frontispiece_
  Raymond’s Ride                                                      92
  The Test                                                           132
  Redbeard and the Lion                                              156




                               Barbarossa




                               Chapter I
                        Return of the Crusaders


The second Crusade was ended.[1] Exploits as heroic as those in the
first Crusade, under Godfrey of Bouillon,[2] had been performed, but no
battles as glorious as those in the first had been fought. It was a
difficult task to wrest Palestine from the domination of the Turks.
Scarcely the tenth part of the stout champions who set out from the
various provinces of France and Germany returned, and of this little
remnant many were exhausted by
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 16269
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Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net.






THOUGHT-FORMS

BY ANNIE BESANT
AND C.W. LEADBEATER

[Illustration: Publisher Logo]

THE THEOSOPHICAL PUBLISHING HOUSE LTD
38 GREAT ORMOND STREET, LONDON, W.C. 1




_First Printed_ 1901
_Reprint_       1905
_Reprint_       1925


_Made and Printed in Great Britain by_
PERCY LUND, HUMPHRIES & CO LTD
THE COUNTRY PRESS
BRADFORD

[Illustration: FRONTISPIECE--MEANING OF THE COLOURS--(see html version
for this and other illustrations.)]




FOREWORD


The text of this little book is the joint work of Mr Leadbeater and
myself; some of it has already appeared as an article in _Lucifer_ (now
the _Theosophical Review_), but the greater part of it is new. The
drawing and painting of the Thought-Forms observed by Mr Leadbeater or
by myself, or by both of us together, has been done by three friends--Mr
John Varley, Mr Prince, and Miss Macfarlane, to each of whom we tender
our cordial thanks. To paint in earth's dull colours the forms clothed
in the living light of other worlds is a hard and thankless task; so
much the more gratitude is due to those who have attempted it. They
needed coloured fire, and had only ground earths. We have also to thank
Mr F. Bligh Bond for allowing us to use his essay on _Vibration
Figures_, and some of his exquisite drawings. Another friend, who sent
us some notes and a few drawings, insists on remaining anonymous, so we
can only send our thanks to him with similar anonymity.

It is our earnest hope--as it is our belief--that this little book will
serve as a striking moral lesson to every reader, making him realise the
nature and power of his thoughts, acting as a stimulus to the noble, a
curb on the base. With this belief and hope we send it on its way.

ANNIE BESANT.




CONTENTS

                                                                    PAGE
FOREWORD                                                               6
INTRODUCTION                                                          11
THE DIFFICULTY OF REPRESENTATION                                      16
THE TWO EFFECTS OF THOUGHT                                            21
HOW THE VIBRATION ACTS                                                23
THE FORM AND ITS EFFECT                                               25
THE MEANING OF THE COLOURS                                            32
THREE CLASSES OF THOUGHT-FORMS                                        36
ILLUSTRATIVE THOUGHT-FORMS                                            40
AFFECTION                                                          40-44
DEVOTION                                                           44-49
INTELLECT                                                          49-50
AMBITION                                                              51
ANGER                                                                 52
SYMPATHY                                                              55
FEAR                                                                  55
GREED                                                                 56
VARIOUS EMOTIONS                                                      57
  SHIPWRECK                                                           57
  ON THE FIRST NIGHT                                                  59
  THE GAMBLERS                                                        60
  AT A STREET ACCIDENT                                                61
  AT A FUNERAL                                                        61
  ON MEETING A FRIEND                                                 64
  APPRECIATION OF A PICTURE                                           65
FORMS SEEN IN MEDITATION                                              66
  SYMPATHY AND LOVE FOR ALL                                           66
  AN ASPIRATION TO ENFOLD ALL                                         66
  IN THE SIX DIRECTIONS                                               67
  COSMIC ORDER                                                        68
  THE LOGOS AS MANIFESTED IN MAN                                      69
  THE LOGOS PERVADING ALL                                             70
  ANOTHER CONCEPTION                                                  71
  THE THREEFOLD MANIFESTATION                                         71
  THE SEVENFOLD MANIFESTATION                                         72
  INTELLECTUAL ASPIRATION                                             72
HELPFUL THOUGHTS                                                      74
FORMS BUILT BY MUSIC                                                  75
  MENDELSSOHN                                                         77
  GOUNOD                                                              80
  WAGNER                                                              82




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

                                            FIG.                    PAGE
MEANING OF THE COLOURS                
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 1719
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1719

THE BALLAD OF THE WHITE HORSE

By G.K. Chesterton






Prefatory Note:


This ballad needs no historical notes, for the simple reason that it
does not profess to be historical.  All of it that is not frankly
fictitious, as in any prose romance about the past, is meant to
emphasize tradition rather than history. King Alfred is not a legend in
the sense that King Arthur may be a legend; that is, in the sense that
he may possibly be a lie. But King Alfred is a legend in this broader
and more human sense, that the legends are the most important things
about him.


The cult of Alfred was a popular cult, from the darkness of the ninth
century to the deepening twilight of the twentieth. It is wholly as a
popular legend that I deal with him here. I write as one ignorant of
everything, except that I have found the legend of a King of Wessex
still alive in the land.  I will give three curt cases of what I mean.
A tradition connects the ultimate victory of Alfred with the valley in
Berkshire called the Vale of the White Horse. I have seen doubts of the
tradition, which may be valid doubts. I do not know when or where the
story started; it is enough that it started somewhere and ended with me;
for I only seek to write upon a hearsay, as the old balladists did.  For
the second case, there is a popular tale that Alfred played the harp and
sang in the Danish camp; I select it because it is a popular tale, at
whatever time it arose. For the third case, there is a popular tale that
Alfred came in contact with a woman and cakes; I select it because it is
a popular tale, because it is a vulgar one.  It has been disputed by
grave historians, who were, I think, a little too grave to be good
judges of it. The two chief charges against the story are that it was
first recorded long after Alfred's death, and that (as Mr. Oman urges)
Alfred never really wandered all alone without any thanes or soldiers.
Both these objections might possibly be met. It has taken us nearly as
long to learn the whole truth about Byron, and perhaps longer to learn
the whole truth about Pepys, than elapsed between Alfred and the first
writing of such tales. And as for the other objection, do the historians
really think that Alfred after Wilton, or Napoleon after Leipsic, never
walked about in a wood by himself for the matter of an hour or two? Ten
minutes might be made sufficient for the essence of the story. But I am
not concerned to prove the truth of these popular traditions. It is
enough for me to maintain two things:  that they are popular traditions;
and that without these popular traditions we should have bothered about
Alfred about as much as we bother about Eadwig.


One other consideration needs a note.  Alfred has come down to us in the
best way (that is, by national legends) solely for the same reason as
Arthur and Roland and the other giants of that darkness, because he
fought for the Christian civilization against the heathen nihilism. But
since this work was really done by generation after generation, by the
Romans before they withdrew, and by the Britons while they remained, I
have summarised this first crusade in a triple symbol, and given to a
fictitious Roman, Celt, and Saxon, a part in the glory of Ethandune. I
fancy that in fact Alfred's Wessex was of very mixed bloods; but in any
case, it is the chief value of legend to mix up the centuries while
preserving the sentiment; to see all ages in a sort of splendid
foreshortening.  That is the use of tradition: it telescopes history.


G.K.C.




DEDICATION


          Of great limbs gone to chaos,
          A great face turned to night--
          Why bend above a shapeless shroud
          Seeking in such archaic cloud
          Sight of strong lords and light?

          Where seven sunken Englands
          Lie buried one by one,
          Why should one idle spade, I wonder,
          Shake up the dust of thanes like thunder
          To smoke and choke the sun?

          In cloud of clay so cast to heaven
          What shape shall man discern?
          These lords may light the mystery
          Of mastery or victory,
          And these ride high in history,
          But these shall not return.

          Gored on the Norman gonfalon
          The Golden Dragon died:
          We shall not wake with ballad strings
          The good time of the smaller things,
          We shall not see the holy kings
          Ride down by Severn side.

          Stiff, strange, and quaintly coloured
          As the broidery of Bayeux
          The England of that dawn remains,
          And this of Alfred and the Danes
          Seems like the tales a whole tribe feigns
          Too English to be true.

          Of a good king on an island
          That ruled once on a time;
          And as he walked by an apple tree
          There came green devils out of the sea
          With sea-plants trailing heavily
          And tracks of opal slime.

          Yet Alfred is no fairy tale;
     
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65020
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Transcriber’s Notes

Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations
in hyphenation have been standardised but other spelling and
punctuation remains unchanged. Variable spelling of the names of herbs
have been corrected in the case of Stæchus which was sometimes spelled
Stæchas and Zedoary sometimes spelled Zeadory.

The introductory text to Part II appears to have been erroneously
headed Chapter I. It has no subtitle and is not listed in the Contents.
To avoid the confusion of duplicated Chapter numbers, this heading has
been removed.

Italics are represented thus _italic_.




                                  THE

                               COMPLETE

                              DISTILLER:

                              CONTAINING,

 I. The Method of performing the various Processes of Distillation,
 with Descriptions of the several Instruments: The whole Doctrine
 of Fermentation: The manner of drawing Spirits from Malt, Raisins,
 Molosses, Sugar, _&c._ and of rectifying them: With Instructions for
 imitating to the greatest Perfection both the Colour and Flavour of
 _French_ Brandies.

 II. The manner of distilling all Kinds of Simple Waters from Plants,
 Flowers, _&c._

 III. The Method of making all the compound Waters and rich Cordials so
 largely imported from _France_ and _Italy_; as likewise all those now
 made in _Great Britain_.

                          To which are added,

 Accurate Descriptions of the several Drugs, Plants, Flowers, Fruits,
 &c. used by Distillers, and Instructions for chusing the best of each
 Kind.

    The Whole delivered in the plainest manner, for the Use both of
                 _Distillers_ and _Private Families_.

                      By _A. COOPER_, DISTILLER.

                               _LONDON_:

            Printed for P. VAILLANT in the _Strand_; and R.
                   GRIFFITHS in _Pater-Noster-Row_.

                              M.DCC.LVII.




                                  THE

                               PREFACE.


_It is now some Years since I first formed a Design of compiling a
complete System of Distillation; and accordingly read most of the
Treatises on that Subject, and extracted from each what I thought
necessary for my Purpose, proposing to supply the Defects from my own
Experience. It is, however, more than probable, that this Design had
never been executed, had not a_ French _Treatise of Distillation[1]
fell into my Hands; but finding in that Book many useful Observations,
and a great Number of Recipes for making various Sorts of compound
Waters and Cordials, I determined to finish the Work I had begun, being
now enabled to render it much more useful than it was possible for
me otherwise to have done. What I have translated from this Author,
will, I dare say, be kindly received by our Distillers, as the manner
of making many of the foreign Compound Waters,_ &c. _has never before
been published in the_ English _Language. And I flatter myself, if the
several Hints interspersed through this Treatise are carefully adverted
to, Distillation may be carried to a much greater Degree of Perfection
than it is at present; and the celebrated Compound Waters and Cordials
of the_ French _and_ Italians,_ imported at so great an Expence, and
such Detriment to the Trade of this Nation, may be made in_ England,
_equal to those manufactured abroad._

[Footnote 1: This Treatise is intitled _Traité Raisonné de la
Distillation; ou La Distillation réduite en Principes: Avec un Traité
des Odeurs_. _Par M._ DE’JEAN, _Distillateur_. Printed at _Paris_,
in the Year, M.DCC.LIII.]

_My principal Intention being to render this Treatise useful to all,
I have endeavoured to deliver every thing in the plainest and most
intelligible Manner. Beauty of Stile is not, indeed, to be expected in
a Work of this Nature; and therefore if Perspicuity be not wanting, I
presume the Reader will forgive me, if he meets with some Passages that
might have been delivered in a more elegant Manner. I have also, for
the same Reason, avoided, as much as possible, Terms of Art, and given
all the Recipes in Words at length._

_Distillation, tho’ long practised, has not been carried to the Degree
of Perfection that might reasonably have been expected. Nor will
this appear surprising, if it be considered, that the Generality of
Distillers proceed in the same beaten Tract, without hardly suspecting
their Art capable of Improvements; or giving themselves any Trouble to
enquire into the Rationale of the several Processes they daily perform.
They imagine, that the Theory of Distillation is very abstruse, and
above the Reach of common Capacities; or, at least, that it requires a
long and very assiduous Study to comprehend it; and, therefore, content
themselves with repeating the Processes, without the least Variation.
This Opinion, however ridiculous it may appear to those not acquainted
with the present Practice of Distillers, has, I am satisfied, been
the principal
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65106
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North” and Payer’s “New Lands within the Arctic Circle”; The Century
Company for selections from General Greely’s article on “The Northwest
Passage”; to Clinedinst, Washington, D.C., for permission to reproduce
the copyright portraits of Admirals Schley and Melville, General Greely,
and Commander Peary; Constable & Company, and E. P. Dutton & Company,
Ltd., London, for permission to reproduce the portrait of Amundsen in
the latter’s work, “The Northwest Passage”; Doubleday, Page & Company
for selections from Commander Peary’s “Nearest the Pole,” and for the
portrait of Anthony Fiala and other illustrations from the latter’s
work, “Fighting the Polar Ice”; The Encyclopædia Britannica Company for
a selection from an article by Markham on “Polar Regions”; to J. Scott
Keltie, Esq., editor of the _Geographical Journal_, for selections from
that journal; Houghton; Mifflin Company for selections from “The Voyage
of the Jeannette” and Melville’s “In the Lena Delta”; Dodd, Mead &
Company for selections from the Duke of Abruzzi’s “On the Polar Star”;
Benjamin B. Hampton, Esq., for permission to reproduce photographs of the
Peary expedition of 1908 and Commander Peary’s map, and Mr. Hampton and
the _New York Times_ for permission to quote Commander Peary’s telegram
announcing his discovery of the Pole; the editor of the _Illustrated
London News_ for permission to reproduce the portraits of Sir Edward
Belcher, Captain Nares, and Commander Markham; Little, Brown & Company
for selections from General Greely’s “Handbook of Polar Discoveries”; The
London Agency for Ordnance Maps for selections from Sir Allen Young’s
“Pandora Voyages”; Longmans, Green & Company for selections from Nansen’s
“First Crossing of Greenland” and Sverdrup’s “New Land”; the editor of
_McClure’s Magazine_ for a selection from Mr. Baldwin’s article on “The
Baldwin-Ziegler Arctic Expedition,” which appeared in that magazine in
1901-1902; Albert Operti, Esq., for permission to reproduce the portraits
of W. H. Gilder, Lieutenant Schwatka, Colonel Brainard, Captain De Long,
and Lieutenant Lockwood; C. Kegan Paul & Company for a selection from
Markham’s “Great Frozen Sea”; G. P. Putnam’s Sons for a selection from
Mr. Alger’s article on “Roald Amundsen,” which appeared in _Putnam’s
Monthly_; the editor of the _American Review of Reviews_ for a selection
from Mr. McGrath’s article on “Polar Exploration,” which appeared in that
magazine; Sampson, Low, Marston & Company, London, for a selection from
“German Arctic Expeditions”; Charles Scribner’s Sons for a selection
from Schwatka’s “Search,” Greely’s “Three Years’ Arctic Service,” and
Schley’s “Rescue of Greely”; F. A. Stokes Company for permission to
reproduce illustrations from Commander Peary’s work, “The North Pole,”
and for the loan of photographs; and to the same company for selections
from Andrée’s “Balloon Expedition” and Peary’s “Northward over the Great
Ice.”




CONTENTS


                                                                      PAGE

                                CHAPTER I

    Early adventurers. Pytheas.—Dicuil.—Other.—Wulfstan.—The
    Norsemen.—Iva Bardsen.—The Cabots.—The Cortereals.—Willoughby
    and Chancellor.—Stephen Burrough.—Niccolò Zeno.—Frobisher.—Pet
    and Jackman.—Sir Humphrey Gilbert.—Davis.—Barentz                    1

                               CHAPTER II

    Seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.
    Hudson.—Baffin.—Deshneff.—Behring.—Schalaroff.—Tchitschagof.—Anjou
    and Von Wrangell.—Phipps                                            18

                               CHAPTER III

    Early nineteenth century. Ross and Parry, May 3, 1818. Object
    of voyage, search for Northwest Passage through Davis Strait
    and explore bays and channels described by Baffin.—Met natives
    near Melville Bay.—The discovery by Ross of the famous Crimson
    Cliffs.—Enters Lancaster Sound.—Advance barred by imaginary
    Crocker Mountains.—Return of expedition to England.—Buchan
    and Franklin North Polar expedition _via_ Greenland and
    Spitzbergen.—_Dorothea_ and _Trent_ in Magdalena Bay, June
    3, 1818.—Reached high latitude of 80° 37´ N.—Course directed
    to east coast of Greenland.—Disastrous battle with the
    ice.—_Dorothea_ disabled.—Hasty return to England                   29

                               CHAPTER IV

    1819-1827. Parry’s first voyage.—Object, to survey
    Lancaster Sound and prove the non-existence of Crocker
    Mountains.—Discovery of new lands.—Parry Islands.—Attains
    longitude 110° W., thereby winning the bounty of five
    thousand pounds offered by Parliament.—Winters near Melville
    Island. Second voyage.—Ships _Hecla_ and _Fury_.—Examines
    Duke of York Bay and Frozen Strait of Middleton.—Winters
    off Lyon Inlet.—Sledge journeys.—Object, to make Northwest
    Passage _via_ Prince Regent Inlet.—Reached Port Bowen.—Ten
    months’ imprisonment.—Destruction of the _Fury_.—Hasty
    return to England. Fourth voya
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 5683
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		   THE CRITIQUE OF PRACTICAL REASON

			   by Immanuel Kant

		translated by Thomas Kingsmill Abbott


PREFACE.

This work is called the Critique of Practical Reason, not of the
pure practical reason, although its parallelism with the speculative
critique would seem to require the latter term. The reason of this
appears sufficiently from the treatise itself. Its business is to show
that there is pure practical reason, and for this purpose it
criticizes the entire practical faculty of reason. If it succeeds in
this, it has no need to criticize the pure faculty itself in order
to see whether reason in making such a claim does not presumptuously
overstep itself (as is the case with the speculative reason). For
if, as pure reason, it is actually practical, it proves its own
reality and that of its concepts by fact, and all disputation
against the possibility of its being real is futile.

With this faculty, transcendental freedom is also established;
freedom, namely, in that absolute sense in which speculative reason
required it in its use of the concept of causality in order to
escape the antinomy into which it inevitably falls, when in the
chain of cause and effect it tries to think the unconditioned.
Speculative reason could only exhibit this concept (of freedom)
problematically as not impossible to thought, without assuring it
any objective reality, and merely lest the supposed impossibility of
what it must at least allow to be thinkable should endanger its very
being and plunge it into an abyss of scepticism.

Inasmuch as the reality of the concept of freedom is proved by an
apodeictic law of practical reason, it is the keystone of the whole
system of pure reason, even the speculative, and all other concepts
(those of God and immortality) which, as being mere ideas, remain in
it unsupported, now attach themselves to this concept, and by it
obtain consistence and objective reality; that is to say, their
possibility is proved by the fact that freedom actually exists, for
this idea is revealed by the moral law.

Freedom, however, is the only one of all the ideas of the
speculative reason of which we know the possibility a priori (without,
however, understanding it), because it is the condition of the moral
law which we know. * The ideas of God and immortality, however, are
not conditions of the moral law, but only conditions of the necessary
object of a will determined by this law; that is to say, conditions of
the practical use of our pure reason. Hence, with respect to these
ideas, we cannot affirm that we know and understand, I will not say
the actuality, but even the possibility of them. However they are
the conditions of the application of the morally determined will to
its object, which is given to it a priori, viz., the summum bonum.
Consequently in this practical point of view their possibility must be
assumed, although we cannot theoretically know and understand it. To
justify this assumption it is sufficient, in a practical point of
view, that they contain no intrinsic impossibility (contradiction).
Here we have what, as far as speculative reason is concerned, is a
merely subjective principle of assent, which, however, is
objectively valid for a reason equally pure but practical, and this
principle, by means of the concept of freedom, assures objective
reality and authority to the ideas of God and immortality. Nay,
there is a subjective necessity (a need of pure reason) to assume
them. Nevertheless the theoretical knowledge of reason is not hereby
enlarged, but only the possibility is given, which heretofore was
merely a problem and now becomes assertion, and thus the practical use
of reason is connected with the elements of theoretical reason. And
this need is not a merely hypothetical one for the arbitrary
purposes of speculation, that we must assume something if we wish in
speculation to carry reason to its utmost limits, but it is a need
which has the force of law to assume something without which that
cannot be which we must inevitably set before us as the aim of our
action.



                                                    {PREFACE ^paragraph 5}

* Lest any one should imagine that he finds an inconsistency here
when I call freedom the condition of the moral law, and hereafter
maintain in the treatise itself that the moral law is the condition
under which we can first become conscious of freedom, I will merely
remark that freedom is the ratio essendi of the moral law, while the
moral law is the ratio cognoscendi of freedom. For had not the moral
law been previously distinctly thought in our reason, we should
never consider ourselves justified in assuming such a thing as
freedom, although it be not contradictory. But were there no freedom
it would be impossible to trace the moral law in ourselves at all.



It would certainly be more satisfactory to our speculative reason if
it could solve these problems for itself without this circuit and
preserve the solution for practical use as a thin
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 14033
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Reprinted from Stereotype Plates by Wm. Clowes & Sons, Ltd., Stamford
Street and Charing Cross







PREFACE.


No apologies are needed for a new edition of so favourite an author as
Plutarch. From the period of the revival of classical literature in
Europe down to our own times, his writings have done more than those of
any other single author to familiarise us with the greatest men and the
greatest events of the ancient world.

The great Duke of Marlborough, it is said, confessed that his only
knowledge of English history was derived from Shakespeare's historical
plays, and it would not be too much to say that a very large proportion
of educated men, in our own as well as in Marlborough's times, have owed
much of their knowledge of classical antiquity to the study of
Plutarch's Lives. Other writers may be read with profit, with
admiration, and with interest; but few, like Plutarch, can gossip
pleasantly while instructing solidly; can breathe life into the dry
skeleton of history, and show that the life of a Greek or Roman worthy,
when rightly dealt with, can prove as entertaining as a modern novel. No
one is so well able as Plutarch to dispel the doubt which all schoolboys
feel as to whether the names about which they read ever belonged to men
who were really alive; his characters are so intensely human and
lifelike in their faults and failings as well as in their virtues, that
we begin to think of them as of people whom we have ourselves personally
known.

His biographies are numerous and short. By this, he avoids one of the
greatest faults of modern biographers, that namely of identifying
himself with some one particular personage, and endeavouring to prove
that all his actions were equally laudable. Light and shade are as
necessary to a character as to a picture, but a man who devotes his
energies for years to the study of any single person's life, is
insensibly led into palliating or explaining away his faults and
exaggerating his excellencies until at last he represents him as an
impossible monster of virtue. Another advantage which we obtain by his
method is that we are not given a complete chronicle of each person's
life, but only of the remarkable events in it, and such incidents as
will enable us to judge of his character. This also avoids what is the
dreariest part of all modern biographies, those chapters I mean which
describe the slow decay of their hero's powers, his last illness, and
finally his death. This subject, which so many writers of our own time
seem to linger lovingly upon, is dismissed by Plutarch in a few lines,
unless any circumstance of note attended the death of the person
described.

Without denying that Plutarch is often inaccurate and often diffuse;
that his anecdotes are sometimes absurd, and his metaphysical
speculations not unfrequently ridiculous, he is nevertheless generally
admitted to be one of the most readable authors of antiquity, while all
agree that his morality is of the purest and loftiest type.

The first edition of the Greek text of Plutarch's Lives appeared at
Florence in the year 1517, and two years afterwards it was republished
by Aldus. Before this, however, about the year 1470, a magnificent Latin
version by various hands appeared at Rome. From this, from the Greek
text, and also from certain MSS. to which he had access, Amyot in the
year 1559 composed his excellent translation, of which it has been well
said: "Quoique en vieux Gaulois, elle a un air de fraicheur qui la fait
rejeunir de jour en jour."

Amyot's spirited French version was no less spiritedly translated by Sir
Thomas North. His translation was much read and admired in its day; a
modern reviewer even goes so far as to say that it is "still beyond
comparison the best version of Parallel Lives which the English tongue
affords." Be this as it may, the world will ever be deeply indebted to
North's translation, for it is to Shakespeare's perusal of that work
that we owe 'Coriolanus,' 'Antony and Cleopatra,' and 'Julius Caesar.'

North's translation was followed by that known as Dryden's. This work,
performed by many different hands, is of unequal merit. Some Lives are
rendered into a racy and idiomatic, although somewhat archaic English,
while others fall far short of the standard of Sir Thomas North's work.
Dryden's version has during the last few years been re-edited by A.H.
Clough, Fellow of Oriel College, Oxford.

The translation by which Plutarch is best known at the present day is
that of the Langhornes. Their style is certainly dull and commonplace,
and is in many instances deserving of the harsh epithets which have been
lavished upon it. We must remember, however, before unsparingly
condemning their translation, that the taste of the age for which they
wrote differed materially from that of our own, and that people who
could read the 'Letters of Theodosius and Constantia' with interest,
would certainly prefer Plutarch in the translation of the Langhornes to
the simpler phrases of North'
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 21000
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/21000

from scans of public domain material at Klassik Stiftung
Weimar / Herzogin Anna Amalia Bibliothek.)






                _Faust._


            _Eine Tragödie._

                  _von_

                _Goethe._



               _Tübingen._

in der J. G. _Cotta_’schen Buchhandlung.

                  1808.




_Zueignung._


Ihr naht euch wieder, schwankende Gestalten!
Die früh sich einst dem trüben Blick gezeigt.
Versuch’ ich wohl euch diesmal fest zu halten?
Fühl’ ich mein Herz noch jenem Wahn geneigt?
Ihr drängt euch zu! nun gut, so mögt ihr walten,
Wie ihr aus Dunst und Nebel um mich steigt;
Mein Busen fühlt sich jugendlich erschüttert
Vom Zauberhauch der euren Zug umwittert.

Ihr bringt mit euch die Bilder froher Tage,
Und manche liebe Schatten steigen auf;
Gleich einer alten, halbverklungnen Sage,
Kommt erste Lieb’ und Freundschaft mit herauf;
Der Schmerz wird neu, es wiederholt die Klage
Des Lebens labyrinthisch irren Lauf,
Und nennt die Guten, die, um schöne Stunden
Vom Glück getäuscht, vor mir hinweggeschwunden.

Sie hören nicht die folgenden Gesänge,
Die Seelen, denen ich die ersten sang,
Zerstoben ist das freundliche Gedränge,
Verklungen ach! der erste Wiederklang.
Mein Leid[Lied] ertönt der unbekannten Menge,
Ihr Beyfall selbst macht meinem Herzen bang,
Und was sich sonst an meinem Lied erfreuet,
Wenn es noch lebt, irrt in der Welt zerstreuet.

Und mich ergreift ein längst entwöhntes Sehnen
Nach jenem stillen, ernsten Geisterreich,
Es schwebet nun, in unbestimmten Tönen,
Mein lispelnd Lied, der Aeolsharfe gleich,
Ein Schauer faßt mich, Thräne folgt den Thränen,
Das strenge Herz es fühlt sich mild und weich;
Was ich besitze seh’ ich wie im weiten,
Und was verschwand wird mir zu Wirklichkeiten.




_Vorspiel_

_auf dem Theater._


_Director, Theaterdichter,
lustige Person._

_Director._

Ihr beyden die ihr mir so oft,
In Noth und Trübsal, beygestanden,
Sagt was ihr wohl, in deutschen Landen,
Von unsrer Unternehmung hofft?
Ich wünschte sehr der Menge zu behagen,
Besonders weil sie lebt und leben läßt.
Die Pfosten sind, die Breter aufgeschlagen,
Und jedermann erwartet sich ein Fest.
Sie sitzen schon, mit hohen Augenbraunen,
Gelassen da und möchten gern erstaunen.
Ich weiß wie man den Geist des Volks versöhnt;
Doch so verlegen bin ich nie gewesen;
Zwar sind sie an das Beste nicht gewöhnt,
Allein sie haben schrecklich viel gelesen.
Wie machen wir’s? daß alles frisch und neu
Und mit Bedeutung auch gefällig sey.
Denn freylich mag ich gern die Menge sehen,
Wenn sich der Strom nach unsrer Bude drängt,
Und mit gewaltig wiederholten Wehen,
Sich durch die enge Gnadenpforte zwängt;
Bey hellem Tage, schon vor Vieren,
Mit Stößen sich bis an die Kasse ficht
Und, wie in Hungersnoth um Brot an Beckerthüren,
Um ein Billet sich fast die Hälse bricht.
Dieß Wunder wirkt auf so verschiedne Leute
Der Dichter nur; mein Freund, o! thu es heute.

_Dichter._

O sprich mir nicht von jener bunten Menge,
Bey deren Anblick uns der Geist entflieht.
Verhülle mir das wogende Gedränge,
Das wider Willen uns zum Strudel zieht.
Nein, führe mich zur stillen Himmelsenge,
Wo nur dem Dichter reine Freude blüht;
Wo Lieb’ und Freundschaft unsres Herzens Segen
Mit Götterhand erschaffen und erpflegen.

    Ach! was in tiefer Brust uns da entsprungen,
Was sich die Lippe schüchtern vorgelallt,
Mißrathen jetzt und jetzt vielleicht gelungen,
Verschlingt des wilden Augenblicks Gewalt.
Oft wenn es erst durch Jahre durchgedrungen
Erscheint es in vollendeter Gestalt.
Was glänzt ist für den Augenblick geboren,
Das Aechte bleibt der Nachwelt unverloren.

_Lustige Person._

Wenn ich nur nichts von Nachwelt hören sollte.
Gesetzt daß _ich_ von Nachwelt reden wollte,
Wer machte denn der Mitwelt Spaß?
Den will sie doch und soll ihn haben.
Die Gegenwart von einem braven Knaben
Ist, dächt’ ich, immer auch schon was.
Wer sich behaglich mitzutheilen weiß,
Den wird des Volkes Laune nicht erbittern;
Er wünscht sich einen großen Kreis,
Um ihn gewisser zu erschüttern.
Drum seyd nur brav und zeigt euch musterhaft,
Laßt Phantasie, mit allen ihren Chören,
Vernunft, Verstand, Empfindung, Leidenschaft,
Doch, merkt euch wohl! nicht ohne Narrheit hören.

_Director._

Besonders aber laßt genug geschehn!
Man kommt zu schaun, man will am liebsten sehn.
Wird vieles vor den Augen abgesponnen,
So daß die Menge staunend gaffen kann,
Da habt ihr in der Breite gleich gewonnen,
Ihr seyd ein vielgeliebter Mann.
Die Masse könnt ihr nur durch Masse zwingen,
Ein jeder sucht sich endlich selbst was aus.
Wer vieles bringt, wird manchem etwas bringen;
Und jeder geht zufrieden aus dem Haus.
Gebt ihr ein Stück, so gebt es gleich in Stücken!
Solch ein Ragout es muß euch glücken;
Leicht ist es vorgelegt, so leicht als ausgedacht.
Was hilft’s wenn ihr ein Ganzes dargebracht,
Das Publikum wird es euch doch zerpflücken.

_Dichter._

Ihr fühlet nicht wie schlecht ein solches Handwerk sey!
Wie wenig das den ächten Künstler zieme!
Der saubern Herren Pfuscherey
Ist, merk’ ich, schon bey euch Maxi
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65124
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65124

Peter Conroy had been born in deep space and
              the starship was the only home he knew. It
            was a good reason why he must fight for this--

                           Voyage To Procyon

                         By Robert Silverberg

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                               June 1958
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


In the deepest level of the mighty _Starship I_, Peter Conroy lay
hidden in a cornfield. Around him waved the tall stalks of ripening
corn; high overhead, near the distant ceiling of the level, blazed the
actinic lights that irradiated the broad field.

And nearby, Conroy could hear the stealthy footsteps of Bayliss Kent
and his men, searching desperately for him. They _had_ to find him--and
Peter Conroy had to keep from being found.

Crouching low, he edged forward between the bending stalks. Kent
thought he had Conroy hemmed in, that he had the entrance to the
cornfield guarded. Conroy grinned. He had been brought up in the
Agronomy section; Kent and his men hadn't. It made a difference.

He looked around carefully, then began moving slowly away from them
on his hands and knees. _If I can only reach the irrigation tube in
time_, he thought. _If_--

It had been over fifty years since the _Starship I_ had left Earth. For
more than half a century, the great ship had been headed toward the
star Procyon and the planets around it--habitable planets, detected by
the Lunar telescope. Fifty years, and there was still a hundred years
of flight yet to come before the huge ship reached her destination.

Conroy and all the others of his generation had been born on the ship,
as had most of their parents before them. The ship, with its vast
farms, its great factories, and its clusters of living centers, was all
the world they knew.

But Bayliss Kent and his little party of malcontents wanted to change
all that. They wanted to go back to Earth.

Suddenly, something crackled under Conroy's knee, and he froze. A dry
leaf--nothing more. But had the others heard it?

He couldn't be sure. The searchers were making quite a bit of noise
themselves, and perhaps they might have thought it was one of their own
group who had made the sound. He decided to risk it, and moved on.

Just ahead of him was the irrigation tube. Again Conroy called on his
special knowledge of the Agronomy section. This particular acreage of
corn was in the harvest season--almost ready to cut. There wouldn't be
any water in the irrigation tubes now.

The tube was a little over three feet across and dropped down into the
sub-levels of the ship, where the water-purifiers were. Conroy peered
into the tube's depths for a moment, then lifted up the hinged cover,
lowered himself into the tube, and braced his feet against one side and
his shoulders against the other.

Closing the cover, then, in total blackness, he began to lower himself
down the tube. Hands, shoulders, feet; hands, shoulders, feet. Over and
over again, as mountain climbers work their way up and down crevasses.

After several minutes, he was startled by a sudden glow of light from
above. He glanced up. The opening of the tube was nearly a hundred
feet overhead now. He wondered if they would be able to pick him out in
the darkness, this far down the shaft.

"Can you see him?" called a voice that echoed through the steel tube.
Conroy could see a head silhouetted against the light.

"It goes straight down, and there's no ladder," came the reply. It was
Bayliss Kent's voice. "I don't see him down there."

"What kind of tube is this?" the first voice asked. Hal Lester, Kent's
chief henchman.

"Irrigation, I think."

"Well, if he _has_ managed to get down it, he's gotten clean away.
Bayliss, I told you we shouldn't have let Conroy know our plans."

"Never mind that now!" Kent snapped coldly. "Search the cornfield! He
must be here somewhere--and we've got to find him before the local
agronomist comes by on his inspection rounds."

       *       *       *       *       *

There was the sound of the door being lowered, and darkness came again.
Peter Conroy heaved a sigh of relief and continued working his way down
the tube.

He knew these tubes well. His father was an Agronomist, and, until
Peter had taken up navigation, he had helped his father on the
farmlands. The ship was like a sealed world, a hollow metal planet
five miles in diameter that was carrying its crew through space on the
generations-long voyage to Procyon.

Or would the starship ever get to Procyon? Was Bayliss Kent going to
succeed in his plan to force the Commander to reverse the ship and
return to Earth?

Not if they depended on Peter Conroy to navigate for them, they
wouldn't!

Conroy, working his way down the tube, suddenly felt emptiness as he
lowered one foot. He had come to the end of the vertical tube
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 1093
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1093



What determined the speech that startled him in the course of their
encounter scarcely matters, being probably but some words spoken by
himself quite without intention--spoken as they lingered and slowly moved
together after their renewal of acquaintance.  He had been conveyed by
friends an hour or two before to the house at which she was staying; the
party of visitors at the other house, of whom he was one, and thanks to
whom it was his theory, as always, that he was lost in the crowd, had
been invited over to luncheon.  There had been after luncheon much
dispersal, all in the interest of the original motive, a view of
Weatherend itself and the fine things, intrinsic features, pictures,
heirlooms, treasures of all the arts, that made the place almost famous;
and the great rooms were so numerous that guests could wander at their
will, hang back from the principal group and in cases where they took
such matters with the last seriousness give themselves up to mysterious
appreciations and measurements.  There were persons to be observed,
singly or in couples, bending toward objects in out-of-the-way corners
with their hands on their knees and their heads nodding quite as with the
emphasis of an excited sense of smell.  When they were two they either
mingled their sounds of ecstasy or melted into silences of even deeper
import, so that there were aspects of the occasion that gave it for
Marcher much the air of the "look round," previous to a sale highly
advertised, that excites or quenches, as may be, the dream of
acquisition.  The dream of acquisition at Weatherend would have had to be
wild indeed, and John Marcher found himself, among such suggestions,
disconcerted almost equally by the presence of those who knew too much
and by that of those who knew nothing.  The great rooms caused so much
poetry and history to press upon him that he needed some straying apart
to feel in a proper relation with them, though this impulse was not, as
happened, like the gloating of some of his companions, to be compared to
the movements of a dog sniffing a cupboard.  It had an issue promptly
enough in a direction that was not to have been calculated.

It led, briefly, in the course of the October afternoon, to his closer
meeting with May Bartram, whose face, a reminder, yet not quite a
remembrance, as they sat much separated at a very long table, had begun
merely by troubling him rather pleasantly.  It affected him as the sequel
of something of which he had lost the beginning.  He knew it, and for the
time quite welcomed it, as a continuation, but didn't know what it
continued, which was an interest or an amusement the greater as he was
also somehow aware--yet without a direct sign from her--that the young
woman herself hadn't lost the thread.  She hadn't lost it, but she
wouldn't give it back to him, he saw, without some putting forth of his
hand for it; and he not only saw that, but saw several things more,
things odd enough in the light of the fact that at the moment some
accident of grouping brought them face to face he was still merely
fumbling with the idea that any contact between them in the past would
have had no importance.  If it had had no importance he scarcely knew why
his actual impression of her should so seem to have so much; the answer
to which, however, was that in such a life as they all appeared to be
leading for the moment one could but take things as they came.  He was
satisfied, without in the least being able to say why, that this young
lady might roughly have ranked in the house as a poor relation; satisfied
also that she was not there on a brief visit, but was more or less a part
of the establishment--almost a working, a remunerated part.  Didn't she
enjoy at periods a protection that she paid for by helping, among other
services, to show the place and explain it, deal with the tiresome
people, answer questions about the dates of the building, the styles of
the furniture, the authorship of the pictures, the favourite haunts of
the ghost?  It wasn't that she looked as if you could have given her
shillings--it was impossible to look less so.  Yet when she finally
drifted toward him, distinctly handsome, though ever so much older--older
than when he had seen her before--it might have been as an effect of her
guessing that he had, within the couple of hours, devoted more
imagination to her than to all the others put together, and had thereby
penetrated to a kind of truth that the others were too stupid for.  She
_was_ there on harder terms than any one; she was there as a consequence
of things suffered, one way and another, in the interval of years; and
she remembered him very much as she was remembered--only a good deal
better.

By the time they at last thus came to speech they were alone in one of
the rooms--remarkable for a fine portrait over the chimney-place--out of
which their friends had passed, and the charm of it was that even before
they had spoken they had practically arranged with each other
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 2434
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2434

version by Al Haines.










THE NEW ATLANTIS


BY

SIR FRANCIS BACON




INTRODUCTORY NOTE

Bacon's literary executor, Dr. Rowley, published "The New Atlantis" in
1627, the year after the author's death.  It seems to have been written
about 1623, during that period of literary activity which followed
Bacon's political fall.  None of Bacon's writings gives in short apace
so vivid a picture of his tastes and aspirations as this fragment of
the plan of an ideal commonwealth.  The generosity and enlightenment,
the dignity and splendor, the piety and public spirit, of the
inhabitants of Bensalem represent the ideal qualities which Bacon the
statesman desired rather than hoped to see characteristic of his own
country; and in Solomon's House we have Bacon the scientist indulging
without restriction his prophetic vision of the future of human
knowledge.  No reader acquainted in any degree with the processes and
results of modern scientific inquiry can fail to be struck by the
numerous approximations made by Bacon's imagination to the actual
achievements of modern times.  The plan and organization of his great
college lay down the main lines of the modern research university; and
both in pure and applied science he anticipates a strikingly large
number of recent inventions and discoveries.  In still another way is
"The New Atlantis" typical of Bacon's attitude. In spite of the
enthusiastic and broad-minded schemes he laid down for the pursuit of
truth, Bacon always had an eye to utility.  The advancement of science
which he sought was conceived by him as a means to a practical end the
increase of man's control over nature, and the comfort and convenience
of humanity.  For pure metaphysics, or any form of abstract thinking
that yielded no "fruit," he had little interest; and this leaning to
the useful is shown in the practical applications of the discoveries
made by the scholars of Solomon's House.  Nor does the interest of the
work stop here.  It contains much, both in its political and in its
scientific ideals, that we have as yet by no means achieved, but which
contain valuable elements of suggestion and stimulus for the future.





THE NEW ATLANTIS

We sailed from Peru, (where we had continued for the space of one whole
year) for China and Japan, by the South Sea; taking with us victuals
for twelve months; and had good winds from the east, though soft and
weak, for five months space, and more.  But the wind came about, and
settled in the west for many days, so as we could make little or no
way, and were sometime in purpose to turn back.  But then again there
arose strong and great winds from the south, with a point east, which
carried us up (for all that we could do) towards the north; by which
time our victuals failed us, though we had made good spare of them.  So
that finding ourselves, in the midst of the greatest wilderness of
waters in the world, without victuals, we gave ourselves for lost men
and prepared for death.  Yet we did lift up our hearts and voices to
God above, who showeth his wonders in the deep, beseeching him of his
mercy, that as in the beginning he discovered the face of the deep, and
brought forth dry land, so he would now discover land to us, that we
might not perish.

And it came to pass that the next day about evening we saw within a
kenning before us, towards the north, as it were thick clouds, which
did put us in some hope of land; knowing how that part of the South Sea
was utterly unknown; and might have islands, or continents, that
hitherto were not come to light.  Wherefore we bent our course thither,
where we saw the appearance of land, all that night; and in the dawning
of the next day, we might plainly discern that it was a land; flat to
our sight, and full of boscage; which made it show the more dark.  And
after an hour and a half's sailing, we entered into a good haven, being
the port of a fair city; not great indeed, but well built, and that
gave a pleasant view from the sea: and we thinking every minute long,
till we were on land, came close to the shore, and offered to land.
But straightways we saw divers of the people, with bastons in their
hands (as it were) forbidding us to land; yet without any cries of
fierceness, but only as warning us off, by signs that they made.
Whereupon being not a little discomforted, we were advising with
ourselves, what we should do.

During which time, there made forth to us a small boat, with about
eight persons in it; whereof one of them had in his hand a tipstaff of
a yellow cane, tipped at both ends with blue, who came aboard our ship,
without any show of distrust at all.  And when he saw one of our
number, present himself somewhat before the rest, he drew forth a
little scroll of parchment (somewhat yellower than our parchment, and
shining like the leaves of writing tables, but otherwise soft and
flexible,) and delivered it to our foremost man.  In which scroll were
written in ancient Hebrew, and in ancient Greek, and in good Latin o
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 38326
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/38326

Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of England

                          A Revised Translation

                    With Introduction, Life, and Notes

                                    By

                               A. M. Sellar

            Late Vice-Principal of Lady Margaret Hall, Oxford

                                  London

                           George Bell and Sons

                                   1907





CONTENTS


Editor’s Preface
Introduction
Life Of Bede
Errata
Preface
Book I
   Chap. I. Of the Situation of Britain and Ireland, and of their ancient
   inhabitants.
   Chap. II. How Caius Julius Caesar was the first Roman that came into
   Britain.
   Chap. III. How Claudius, the second of the Romans who came into
   Britain, brought the islands Orcades into subjection to the Roman
   empire; and Vespasian, sent by him, reduced the Isle of Wight under the
   dominion of the Romans.
   Chap. IV. How Lucius, king of Britain, writing to Pope Eleutherus,
   desired to be made a Christian.
   Chap. V. How the Emperor Severus divided from the rest by a rampart
   that part of Britain which had been recovered.
   Chap. VI. Of the reign of Diocletian, and how he persecuted the
   Christians.
   Chap. VII. The Passion of St. Alban and his companions, who at that
   time shed their blood for our Lord.
   Chap. VIII. How, when the persecution ceased, the Church in Britain
   enjoyed peace till the time of the Arian heresy.
   Chap. IX. How during the reign of Gratian, Maximus, being created
   Emperor in Britain, returned into Gaul with a mighty army.
   Chap. X. How, in the reign of Arcadius, Pelagius, a Briton, insolently
   impugned the Grace of God.
   Chap. XI. How during the reign of Honorius, Gratian and Constantine
   were created tyrants in Britain; and soon after the former was slain in
   Britain, and the latter in Gaul.
   Chap. XII. How the Britons, being ravaged by the Scots and Picts,
   sought succour from the Romans, who coming a second time, built a wall
   across the island; but when this was broken down at once by the
   aforesaid enemies, they were reduced to greater distress than before.
   Chap. XIII. How in the reign of Theodosius the younger, in whose time
   Palladius was sent to the Scots that believed in Christ, the Britons
   begging assistance of Ætius, the consul, could not obtain it. [446
   A.D.]
   Chap. XIV. How the Britons, compelled by the great famine, drove the
   barbarians out of their territories; and soon after there ensued, along
   with abundance of corn, decay of morals, pestilence, and the downfall
   of the nation.
   Chap. XV. How the Angles, being invited into Britain, at first drove
   off the enemy; but not long after, making a league with them, turned
   their weapons against their allies.
   Chap. XVI. How the Britons obtained their first victory over the
   Angles, under the command of Ambrosius, a Roman.
   Chap. XVII. How Germanus the Bishop, sailing into Britain with Lupus,
   first quelled the tempest of the sea, and afterwards that of the
   Pelagians, by Divine power. [429 A.D.]
   Chap. XVIII. How the some holy man gave sight to the blind daughter of
   a tribune, and then coming to St. Alban, there received of his relics,
   and left other relics of the blessed Apostles and other martyrs. [429
   A.D.]
   Chap. XIX. How the same holy man, being detained there by sickness, by
   his prayers quenched a fire that had broken out among the houses, and
   was himself cured of his infirmity by a vision. [429 A.D.]
   Chap. XX. How the same Bishops brought help from Heaven to the Britons
   in a battle, and then returned home. [430 A.D.]
   Chap. XXI. How, when the Pelagian heresy began to spring up afresh,
   Germanus, returning to Britain with Severus, first restored bodily
   strength to a lame youth, then spiritual health to the people of God,
   having condemned or converted the Heretics. [447 A.D.]
   Chap. XXII. How the Britons, being for a time at rest from foreign
   invasions, wore themselves out by civil wars, and at the same time gave
   themselves up to more heinous crimes.
   Chap. XXIII. How the holy Pope Gregory sent Augustine, with other
   monks, to preach to the English nation, and encouraged them by a letter
   of exhortation, not to desist from their labour. [596 A.D.]
   Chap. XXIV. How he wrote to the bishop of Arles to entertain them. [596
   A.D.]
   Chap. XXV. How Augustine, coming into Britain, first preached in the
   Isle of Thanet to the King of Kent, and having obtained licence from
   him, went into Kent, in order to preach therein. [597 A.D.]
   Chap. XXVI. How St. Augustine in Kent followed the doctrine and manner
   of life of the primitive Church, and settled his episcopal see in the
   royal city. [597 A.D.]
   Chap. XXVII. How St. Augustine, being made a bishop, sent to acquaint
   Pope Gregory with what had been done in Britain, and asked and received
   replies, of which he stood in need. [597-601 A.D
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 2002
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2002



   I thought once how Theocritus had sung
   Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,
   Who each one in a gracious hand appears
   To bear a gift for mortals, old or young:
   And, as I mused it in his antique tongue,
   I saw, in gradual vision through my tears,
   The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years,
   Those of my own life, who by turns had flung
   A shadow across me.  Straightway I was ’ware,
   So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
   Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;
   And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,—
   “Guess now who holds thee!”—“Death,” I said, But, there,
   The silver answer rang, “Not Death, but Love.”






   But only three in all God’s universe
   Have heard this word thou hast said,—Himself, beside
   Thee speaking, and me listening! and replied
   One of us . . . that was God, . . . and laid the curse
   So darkly on my eyelids, as to amerce
   My sight from seeing thee,—that if I had died,
   The death-weights, placed there, would have signified
   Less absolute exclusion.  “Nay” is worse
   From God than from all others, O my friend!
   Men could not part us with their worldly jars,
   Nor the seas change us, nor the tempests bend;
   Our hands would touch for all the mountain-bars:
   And, heaven being rolled between us at the end,
   We should but vow the faster for the stars.






   Unlike are we, unlike, O princely Heart!
   Unlike our uses and our destinies.
   Our ministering two angels look surprise
   On one another, as they strike athwart
   Their wings in passing.  Thou, bethink thee, art
   A guest for queens to social pageantries,
   With gages from a hundred brighter eyes
   Than tears even can make mine, to play thy part
   Of chief musician.  What hast thou to do
   With looking from the lattice-lights at me,
   A poor, tired, wandering singer, singing through
   The dark, and leaning up a cypress tree?
   The chrism is on thine head,—on mine, the dew,—
   And Death must dig the level where these agree.






   Thou hast thy calling to some palace-floor,
   Most gracious singer of high poems! where
   The dancers will break footing, from the care
   Of watching up thy pregnant lips for more.
   And dost thou lift this house’s latch too poor
   For hand of thine? and canst thou think and bear
   To let thy music drop here unaware
   In folds of golden fulness at my door?
   Look up and see the casement broken in,
   The bats and owlets builders in the roof!
   My cricket chirps against thy mandolin.
   Hush, call no echo up in further proof
   Of desolation! there’s a voice within
   That weeps . . . as thou must sing . . . alone, aloof.






   I lift my heavy heart up solemnly,
   As once Electra her sepulchral urn,
   And, looking in thine eyes, I over-turn
   The ashes at thy feet.  Behold and see
   What a great heap of grief lay hid in me,
   And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn
   Through the ashen greyness.  If thy foot in scorn
   Could tread them out to darkness utterly,
   It might be well perhaps.  But if instead
   Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow
   The grey dust up, . . . those laurels on thine head,
   O my Belovëd, will not shield thee so,
   That none of all the fires shall scorch and shred
   The hair beneath.  Stand further off then! go!






   Go from me.  Yet I feel that I shall stand
   Henceforward in thy shadow.  Nevermore
   Alone upon the threshold of my door
   Of individual life, I shall command
   The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
   Serenely in the sunshine as before,
   Without the sense of that which I forbore—
   Thy touch upon the palm.  The widest land
   Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
   With pulses that beat double.  What I do
   And what I dream include thee, as the wine
   Must taste of its own grapes.  And when I sue
   God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
   And sees within my eyes the tears of two.






   The face of all the world is changed, I think,
   Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul
   Move still, oh, still, beside me, as they stole
   Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink
   Of obvious death, where I, who thought to sink,
   Was caught up into love, and taught the whole
   Of life in a new rhythm.  The cup of dole
   God gave for baptism, I am fain to drink,
   And praise its sweetness, Sweet, with thee anear.
   The names of country, heaven, are changed away
   For where thou art or shalt be, there or here;
   And this . . . this lute and song . . . loved yesterday,
   (The singing angels know) are only dear
   Because thy name moves right in what they say.






   What can I give thee back, O liberal
   And princely giver, who hast brought the gold
   And purple of thine heart, unstained, untold,
   And laid them on the outside of the wall
   For such as I to take or leave withal,
   In unexpected largesse? am I cold,
   Ungrateful, that for these most manifold
   High gifts, I render nothing back at all?
   Not s
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PG #: 65077
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65077

TOURISTS TO TERRA

                           By Mack Reynolds

              They came from a far sun in a distant time,
           seeking thrills on alien planets. Earth was their
         latest stop and its puny humans promised good sport!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                             December 1950
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Diomed of Argos, son of Tydeus, drew his sword with a shout and rushed
forward to finish off his Trojan opponent before help could arrive.
Suddenly he stopped and threw up a shielding arm before his eyes. When
he could see again, one who could only have been Aphrodite, Goddess of
love and beauty stood between him and the unconscious enemy. She was
dressed as though for the bridal room, her Goddess body, breathtakingly
beautiful, revealed through the transparent robe she wore. She was
attired for love, but held a short sword in her hand.

Aphrodite smiled at him in derision. "Now, then, Prince of Argos, would
you fight the Gods?" She advanced the sword, half mockingly.

But the Greek was mad with bloodlust, half crazed with his day's
victories; he snatched up his spear, muttering, "Pallas Athene aids
me," and rushed her.

Her eyes widened, fear flashing in them, and she began to rise from the
ground. The barbaric spear flashed out and ripped her arm; blood flowed
and she dropped the sword, screaming.

Diomed heard a voice call urgently, "Go back! Go back immediately to--"
And the Goddess Aphrodite disappeared.

He whirled to face the newcomer and saw another God confronting him.
The extent of his action was beginning to be realized but Diomed had
gone too far to turn back now; he charged his new opponent, shield held
high and sword at the ready. The God lifted his hand, sending forth a
bolt of power that brought the Greek to his knees.

Diomed's eyes were filled with sudden fear and despair. "Phoebus
Apollo," he quavered.

The God was scornful. "Beware, Diomed," he said. "Do not think to fight
with Gods."

The Greek cowered before him.

       *       *       *       *       *

Later, in the invisible space ship, hovering five hundred feet above
the battle, Cajun faced her, his features impassive and his tone of
voice faultless. He was boiling with rage beneath his courtesy.

"I will present your complaint to the Captain, but I would like to
remind the Lady Jan that she has been warned repeatedly against
appearing in the battle clothed as she is and without greater defenses.
It was fortunate I was able to appear as soon as I did. If you'd been
injured seriously, I hesitate to say what repercussions would've taken
place on the home planet."

Her eyebrows went up. "Injured seriously! Just what do you mean by
that? Do you realize this horrible wound will probably take half the
night to heal? You saw that barbarian was insane, why didn't you come
to my assistance sooner? You haven't heard the last of this, you
inefficient nincompoop. When we return home I'll have you stripped of
your rank!"

Cajun's face remained blank. "Yes, your ladyship," he said. "And,
before I go, may I deliver a message from the Lady Marid? She said they
await you in the salon."

She drew a cape about her and without speaking further, swept from the
compartment.

A muscle twitched in his cheek. "Parasites," he muttered savagely,
and turned to go to his own quarters where he could change from this
ridiculous glittering armor, into his own uniform as ship's officer.

The Lady Jan stormed into the salon where the others had gathered to
try the new concoction the steward had named ambrosia. Some of them
still wore their costumes, others had changed into the more comfortable
dress of their own world.

Her eyes blazed at them. "Who in the name of Makred told that Greek he
would conquer anyone he fought today, even a God? The damned barbarian
nearly killed me!"

The Lord Daren laughed gently. "It was Marid; she was playing the
Goddess Athene. The sport was rather poor with that new bow of hers so
she thought she'd inflame one of the Greeks and see just how berserk he
would become if he thought he had the protection of a Goddess."

"He could have killed me!"

"Oh, come, now, Jan, you were barely scratched. Besides, Marid didn't
know this Greek, Diomed, was going to run into you, or that he'd have
the fantastic nerve to attack whom he thought one of his Gods."

She took up a goblet of the new drink, but she wasn't placated, "I'm of
the opinion this stop shouldn't be made; it's too dangerous. I'm going
to insist Captain Foren blast the city and obliterate both sides of
this barbaric conflict."

       *       *       *       *       *

The Lady Marid, who was still dressed in her Pallas Athene armor, broke
in. "Don't be so upset, Jan. We're sorry that brute hurt your arm,
but what can you expect on this type of cruise? They gu
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 4397
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/4397

List of Volumes

      spines (203K)

      subscription (12K)

      editon (10K)

      titlepage1 (38K)

      frontis1 (60K)




      FORSYTE SAGA

      Complete

      By John Galsworthy


      Contents

         PREFACE:

         THE MAN OF PROPERTY

         PART I

         CHAPTER I—“AT HOME” AT OLD JOLYON’S

         CHAPTER II—OLD JOLYON GOES TO THE OPERA

         CHAPTER III—DINNER AT SWITHIN’S

         CHAPTER IV—PROJECTION OF THE HOUSE

         CHAPTER V—A FORSYTE MÉNAGE

         CHAPTER VI—JAMES AT LARGE

         CHAPTER VII—OLD JOLYON’S PECCADILLO

         CHAPTER VIII—PLANS OF THE HOUSE

         CHAPTER IX—DEATH OF AUNT ANN


         PART II

         CHAPTER I—PROGRESS OF THE HOUSE

         CHAPTER II—JUNE’S TREAT

         CHAPTER III—DRIVE WITH SWITHIN

         CHAPTER IV—JAMES GOES TO SEE FOR HIMSELF

         CHAPTER V—SOAMES AND BOSINNEY CORRESPOND

         CHAPTER VI—OLD JOLYON AT THE ZOO

         CHAPTER VII—AFTERNOON AT TIMOTHY’S

         CHAPTER VIII—DANCE AT ROGER'S

         CHAPTER IX—EVENING AT RICHMOND

         CHAPTER X—DIAGNOSIS OF A FORSYTE

         CHAPTER XI—BOSINNEY ON PAROLE

         CHAPTER XII—JUNE PAYS SOME CALLS

         CHAPTER XIII—PERFECTION OF THE HOUSE

         CHAPTER XIV—SOAMES SITS ON THE STAIRS


         PART III

         CHAPTER I—MRS. MACANDER’S EVIDENCE

         CHAPTER II—NIGHT IN THE PARK

         CHAPTER III—MEETING AT THE BOTANICAL

         CHAPTER IV—VOYAGE INTO THE INFERNO

         CHAPTER V—THE TRIAL

         CHAPTER VI—SOAMES BREAKS THE NEWS

         CHAPTER VII—JUNE’S VICTORY

         CHAPTER VIII—BOSINNEY’S DEPARTURE

         CHAPTER IX—IRENE’S RETURN

         THE FORSYTE SAGA—VOLUME II


         INDIAN SUMMER OF A FORSYTE

         I

         II

         III

         IV

         V


         IN CHANCERY

         PART 1

         CHAPTER I—AT TIMOTHY’S

         CHAPTER II—EXIT A MAN OF THE WORLD

         CHAPTER III—SOAMES PREPARES TO TAKE STEPS

         CHAPTER IV—SOHO

         CHAPTER V—JAMES SEES VISIONS

         CHAPTER VI—NO-LONGER-YOUNG JOLYON AT HOME

         CHAPTER VII—THE COLT AND THE FILLY

         CHAPTER VIII—JOLYON PROSECUTES TRUSTEESHIP

         CHAPTER IX—VAL HEARS THE NEWS

         CHAPTER X—SOAMES ENTERTAINS THE FUTURE

         CHAPTER XI—AND VISITS THE PAST

         CHAPTER XII—ON FORSYTE ’CHANGE

         CHAPTER XIII—JOLYON FINDS OUT WHERE HE IS

         CHAPTER XIV—SOAMES DISCOVERS WHAT HE WANTS


         PART II

         CHAPTER I—THE THIRD GENERATION

         CHAPTER II—SOAMES PUTS IT TO THE TOUCH

         CHAPTER III—VISIT TO IRENE

         CHAPTER IV—WHERE FORSYTES FEAR TO TREAD

         CHAPTER V—JOLLY SITS IN JUDGMENT

         CHAPTER VI—JOLYON IN TWO MINDS

         CHAPTER VII—DARTIE VERSUS DARTIE

         CHAPTER VIII—THE CHALLENGE

         CHAPTER IX—DINNER AT JAMES’

         CHAPTER X—DEATH OF THE DOG BALTHASAR

         CHAPTER XI—TIMOTHY STAYS THE ROT

         CHAPTER XII—PROGRESS OF THE CHASE

         CHAPTER XIII—“HERE WE ARE AGAIN!”

         CHAPTER XIV—OUTLANDISH NIGHT


         PART III

         CHAPTER I—SOAMES IN PARIS

         CHAPTER II—IN THE WEB

         CHAPTER III—RICHMOND PARK

         CHAPTER IV—OVER THE RIVER

         CHAPTER V—SOAMES ACTS

         CHAPTER VI—A SUMMER DAY

         CHAPTER VII—A SUMMER NIGHT

         CHAPTER VIII—JAMES IN WAITING

         CHAPTER IX—OUT OF THE WEB

         CHAPTER X—PASSING OF AN AGE

         CHAPTER XI—SUSPENDED ANIMATION

         CHAPTER XII—BIRTH OF A FORSYTE

         CHAPTER XIII—JAMES IS TOLD

         CHAPTER XIV—HIS


         AWAKENING


         TO LET

         PART I

         I.—ENCOUNTER

         II.—FINE FLEUR FORSYTE

         III.—AT ROBIN HILL

         IV.—THE MAUSOLEUM

         V.—THE NATIVE HEATH

         VI.—JON

         VII.—FLEUR

         VIII.—IDYLL ON GRASS

         IX. GOYA

         X.—TRIO

         XI.—DUET

         XII.—CAPRICE


         PART II

         I.—MOTHER AND SON

         II.—FATHERS AND DAUGHTERS

         III.—MEETINGS

         IV.—IN GREEN STREET

         V.—PURELY FORSYTE AFFAIRS

         VI.—SOAMES’ PRIVATE LIFE

         VII.—JUNE TAKES A HAND

         VIII.—THE BIT BETWEEN THE TEETH

         IX.—THE FAT IN THE FIRE

         X.—DECISION

         XI.—TIMOTHY PROPHESIES


         PART III

         I.—OLD JOLYON WALKS

         II.—CONFESSION

         III.—IRENE

         IV.—SOAMES COGITATES

         V.—THE FIXED IDEA

         VI.—DESPERATE

         VII.—EMBASSY

         VIII.—THE DARK TUNE

         IX.—UNDER THE OAK-TREE

         X.—FLEUR’S WEDDING

         XI.—THE LAST OF THE OLD FORSYTES




      Volumes

      Volume 1.  The Man of Property

      Volume 2.  Indian Summer of a Forsyte, and In Chancery

      Volume 3.  Awakening, and To Let

      THE MAN OF PROPERTY


        TO MY WIFE:
 I DEDICATE THE FORSYTE SAGA IN ITS ENTIRETY,
 BELIEVING IT TO BE OF ALL MY WORKS THE LEAST UNWORTHY OF ONE WITHOUT
 WHOSE E
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 63509
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/63509

Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net






NOTA DE TRANSCRIPCIÓN

  * Las cursivas se muestran entre _subrayados_, las negrita entre
    =iguales= y las versalitas se han convertido a MAYÚSCULAS.

  * Los errores de imprenta han sido corregidos sin avisar.

  * Se ha modernizado la ortografía del original impreso y se han
    puesto tildes a las mayúsculas.

  * Las páginas en blanco han sido eliminadas.

  * Algunas ilustraciones se han desplazado ligeramente para no
    interrumpir un párrafo.




  TRILOGÍA
  SÓFOCLES


[Ilustración]




LOS GRANDES AUTORES

POEMAS :: NOVELAS :: TEATRO

CADA TOMO CONSTA DE UNAS 300 PÁGINAS, TIRADAS A DOS TINTAS SOBRE
EXCELENTE PAPEL PLUMA, RICAMENTE ORNAMENTADO POR DISTINGUIDOS ARTISTAS.

En rústica: 3 ptas., tomo. -- Encuadernado: 4’50 ptas., tomo.


OBRAS PUBLICADAS

  Virgilio.--=La Eneida.=--Traducción de E. de Ochoa. Ornamentación
  de Antonio Saló.

  Milton.--=El paraíso perdido.=--Traducción de Juan Mateos, Pbro.
  Ornamentación de Coll Salieti.

  Anónimo.--=Romancero del Cid.=--Edición ordenada y revisada por
  Luis C. Viada y Lluch. Ornamentación de Antonio Saló.

  Mistral.--=Mireya.=--Traducción de Lorenzo Riber. Ornamentación de
  Antonio Saló.

  Dante.--=La divina comedia.=--Traducción de M. Aranda Sanjuan.
  Ornamentación de Antonio Saló.

  Homero.--=Iliada.=--Traducción de Manuel Vallvé. Ornamentación de
  Manuel Farriols.

  Walter Scott.--=La novia de Lammermoor.=--Traducción de J. Lleonart
  y Carlos Riba Bracons. Ornamentación de Antonio Saló.

  Tirso de Molina.--=El bandolero.=--Edición prologada, transcrita y
  revisada por Luis C. Viada y Lluch. Ornamentación de Antonio Saló.

  Cervantes.--=Entremeses.=--Edición cuidadosamente revisada por Luis
  C. Viada y Lluch. Ornamentación por J. Junceda.

  Beaumarchais.--=El barbero de Sevilla: Las bodas de
  Fígaro.=--Traducción de José Pérez Bojart. Ornamentación de Ramón
  Baixeras.

  Shakespeare.--=Hamlet: Romeo y Julieta.=--Traducción de J.
  Roviralta Borrell. Ornament. de Antonio Saló.

  Sófocles.--=Edipo Rey: Edipo en Colona: Antígona.=--Trad. de J.
  Pérez Bojart. Ornamentación de J. d’Ivori.


EN PRENSA

  Goethe.--=Fausto.=--Traducción de J. Roviralta Borrell.
  Ornamentación de Manuel Farriols.




  SÓFOCLES

  EDIPO REY
  EDIPO EN COLONA
  ANTÍGONA

  VERSIÓN CASTELLANA DE
  JOSÉ PÉREZ BOJART

  MCMXX

  [Ilustración]

  ORNAMENTADA POR J. D’IVORI


  EDITORIAL IBÉRICA
  J. PUGÉS S. EN C. -- BARCELONA




[Ilustración: LOS GRANDES AUTORES

: TEATRO :]




EDIPO REY




PERSONAJES


  EDIPO
  CREÓN
  EL GRAN SACERDOTE
  TIRESIAS
  YOCASTA
  EL CRIADO DE LAYO
  UN MENSAJERO
  UN OFICIAL DE EDIPO
  EL CORO, compuesto de ancianos tebanos.




[Ilustración]

ACTO PRIMERO


ESCENA PRIMERA

EDIPO. EL GRAN SACERDOTE. EL CORO

EDIPO

Nuevos retoños del antiguo Cadmo, hijos míos. ¿Qué motivo os obliga a
venir así a prosternaros en los escalones de este palacio, llevando
en la mano las ramas reservadas para los suplicantes? El humo del
incienso, los cantos lúgubres, los lamentos resuenan en toda la ciudad.

No os he enviado a nadie, he venido yo mismo, hijos míos, a informarme
del motivo de vuestras quejas; sí, Edipo, tan loado en toda Grecia,
viene a escucharos. Hablad, pues, ¡oh, anciano! ya que a vos os cuadra
explicaros por ellos. ¿Qué temor, qué esperanza os han reunido en este
sitio? Contad con el deseo que tengo de auxiliaros. Sería yo insensible
si no estuviera conmovido por el estado suplicante en que os veo.

EL GRAN SACERDOTE

Vos que reináis sobre mi patria, Edipo, ved cuántos ciudadanos de
todas edades, prosternados ante vuestros altares, unos en la infancia
y arrastrándose apenas aún, otros en la fuerza de la juventud; mirad
esos ancianos que son los pontífices de los dioses; a mí, que soy el
gran Sacerdote de Zeus. El resto de los tebanos, llevando en la mano
las ramas de los suplicantes, está prosternado en la plaza pública, o
en ambos templos de Palas, o sobre la ceniza profética del Ismeno. Ya
lo veis, Edipo; esta ciudad, tanto tiempo combatida por la tempestad,
no puede ya levantar su cabeza por cima de las olas ensangrentadas
que la sumergen. Los gérmenes de los frutos de la tierra se secan en
los cálices de las flores; los rebaños perecen, y las mujeres ven
morir en su seno a sus hijos. Un dios cruel, armado de tea terrible,
una espantosa peste, ha venido a caer sobre esta ciudad y cambia en
un desierto la antigua morada de los hijos de Cadmo. El negro Hades
se enriquece con nuestros lamentos y con nuestros lloros. Estas
gentes y yo, sin embargo, no venimos a imploraros como a un dios;
mas os consideramos, entre todos los mortales, como el más capaz de
socorrernos en medio de las vicisitudes de la vida y de las desgracias
enviadas por los dioses. Vos, llegando a nuestros muros, nos librasteis
del tributo que el monstruo cruel nos había impuesto, sin que ninguno
de nosotros os suministrase ni os preparase los medios. Sólo por la
inspiración de un dios sal
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PG #: 2587
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2587

LIFE IS A DREAM

By Pedro Calderon De La Barca



Translated by Edward Fitzgerald




INTRODUCTORY NOTE

Pedro Calderon de la Barca was born in Madrid, January 17, 1600, of
good family. He was educated at the Jesuit College in Madrid and at the
University of Salamanca; and a doubtful tradition says that he began
to write plays at the age of thirteen. His literary activity was
interrupted for ten years, 1625-1635, by military service in Italy and
the Low Countries, and again for a year or more in Catalonia. In 1637
he became a Knight of the Order of Santiago, and in 1651 he entered the
priesthood, rising to the dignity of Superior of the Brotherhood of San
Pedro in Madrid. He held various offices in the court of Philip IV, who
rewarded his services with pensions, and had his plays produced with
great splendor. He died May 5, 1681.

At the time when Calderon began to compose for the stage, the Spanish
drama was at its height. Lope de Vega, the most prolific and, with
Calderon, the greatest, of Spanish dramatists, was still alive; and by
his applause gave encouragement to the beginner whose fame was to rival
his own. The national type of drama which Lope had established was
maintained in its essential characteristics by Calderon, and he produced
abundant specimens of all its varieties. Of regular plays he has left
a hundred and twenty; of "Autos Sacramentales," the peculiar Spanish
allegorical development of the medieval mystery, we have seventy-three;
besides a considerable number of farces.

The dominant motives in Calderon's dramas are characteristically
national: fervid loyalty to Church and King, and a sense of honor
heightened almost to the point of the fantastic. Though his plays
are laid in a great variety of scenes and ages, the sentiment and the
characters remain essentially Spanish; and this intensely local quality
has probably lessened the vogue of Calderon in other countries. In the
construction and conduct of his plots he showed great skill, yet the
ingenuity expended in the management of the story did not restrain the
fiery emotion and opulent imagination which mark his finest speeches
and give them a lyric quality which some critics regard as his greatest
distinction.

Of all Calderon's works, "Life is a Dream" may be regarded as the most
universal in its theme. It seeks to teach a lesson that may be learned
from the philosophers and religious thinkers of many ages--that the
world of our senses is a mere shadow, and that the only reality is to be
found in the invisible and eternal. The story which forms its basis
is Oriental in origin, and in the form of the legend of "Barlaam and
Josaphat" was familiar in all the literatures of the Middle Ages.
Combined with this in the plot is the tale of Abou Hassan from the
"Arabian Nights," the main situations in which are turned to farcical
purposes in the Induction to the Shakespearean "Taming of the Shrew."
But with Calderon the theme is lifted altogether out of the atmosphere
of comedy, and is worked up with poetic sentiment and a touch of
mysticism into a symbolic drama of profound and universal philosophical
significance.





LIFE IS A DREAM



DRAMATIS PERSONAE

     Basilio           King of Poland.
     Segismund         his Son.
     Astolfo           his Nephew.
     Estrella          his Niece.
     Clotaldo          a General in Basilio's Service.
     Rosaura           a Muscovite Lady.
     Fife              her Attendant.

     Chamberlain, Lords in Waiting, Officers,
     Soldiers, etc., in Basilio's Service.


The Scene of the first and third Acts lies on the Polish frontier: of
the second Act, in Warsaw.

As this version of Calderon's drama is not for acting, a higher and
wider mountain-scene than practicable may be imagined for Rosaura's
descent in the first Act and the soldiers' ascent in the last. The bad
watch kept by the sentinels who guarded their state-prisoner, together
with much else (not all!) that defies sober sense in this wild drama, I
must leave Calderon to answer for; whose audience were not critical of
detail and probability, so long as a good story, with strong, rapid, and
picturesque action and situation, was set before them.




ACT I




SCENE I--A pass of rocks, over which a storm is rolling away,

and the sun setting: in the foreground, half-way down, a fortress.


(Enter first from the topmost rock Rosaura, as from horseback, in man's
attire; and, after her, Fife.)

     ROSAURA.
     There, four-footed Fury, blast
     Engender'd brute, without the wit
     Of brute, or mouth to match the bit
     Of man--art satisfied at last?
     Who, when thunder roll'd aloof,
     Tow'rd the spheres of fire your ears
     Pricking, and the granite kicking
     Into lightning with your hoof,
     Among the tempest-shatter'd crags
     Shattering your luckless rider
     Back into the tempest pass'd?
     There then lie to starve and die,
     Or find another Phaeton
     Mad-mettled as yourself; for I,
     Wearied, worried, 
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PG #: 222
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/222



I confess that when first I made acquaintance with Charles
Strickland I never for a moment discerned that there was in
him anything out of the ordinary.  Yet now few will be found
to deny his greatness.  I do not speak of that greatness which
is achieved by the fortunate politician or the successful
soldier; that is a quality which belongs to the place he
occupies rather than to the man; and a change of circumstances
reduces it to very discreet proportions.  The Prime Minister
out of office is seen, too often, to have been but a pompous
rhetorician, and the General without an army is but the tame
hero of a market town.  The greatness of Charles Strickland
was authentic.  It may be that you do not like his art, but at
all events you can hardly refuse it the tribute of your
interest.  He disturbs and arrests.  The time has passed when
he was an object of ridicule, and it is no longer a mark of
eccentricity to defend or of perversity to extol him.
His faults are accepted as the necessary complement to his merits.
It is still possible to discuss his place in art, and the
adulation of his admirers is perhaps no less capricious than
the disparagement of his detractors; but one thing can never
be doubtful, and that is that he had genius.  To my mind the
most interesting thing in art is the personality of the
artist; and if that is singular, I am willing to excuse a
thousand faults.  I suppose Velasquez was a better painter
than El Greco, but custom stales one's admiration for him:
the Cretan, sensual and tragic, proffers the mystery of his
soul like a standing sacrifice.  The artist, painter, poet, or
musician, by his decoration, sublime or beautiful, satisfies
the aesthetic sense; but that is akin to the sexual instinct,
and shares its barbarity:  he lays before you also the greater
gift of himself.  To pursue his secret has something of the
fascination of a detective story.  It is a riddle which shares
with the universe the merit of having no answer.  The most
insignificant of Strickland's works suggests a personality
which is strange, tormented, and complex; and it is this
surely which prevents even those who do not like his pictures
from being indifferent to them; it is this which has excited
so curious an interest in his life and character.

It was not till four years after Strickland's death that
Maurice Huret wrote that article in the <i Mercure de France>
which rescued the unknown painter from oblivion and blazed the
trail which succeeding writers, with more or less docility,
have followed.  For a long time no critic has enjoyed in
France a more incontestable authority, and it was impossible
not to be impressed by the claims he made; they seemed
extravagant; but later judgments have confirmed his estimate,
and the reputation of Charles Strickland is now firmly
established on the lines which he laid down.  The rise of this
reputation is one of the most romantic incidents in the
history of art.  But I do not propose to deal with Charles
Strickland's work except in so far as it touches upon
his character. I cannot agree with the painters who claim
superciliously that the layman can understand nothing of
painting, and that he can best show his appreciation of their
works by silence and a cheque-book.  It is a grotesque
misapprehension which sees in art no more than a craft
comprehensible perfectly only to the craftsman:  art is a
manifestation of emotion, and emotion speaks a language that
all may understand.  But I will allow that the critic who has
not a practical knowledge of technique is seldom able to say
anything on the subject of real value, and my ignorance of
painting is extreme.  Fortunately, there is no need for me to
risk the adventure, since my friend, Mr. Edward Leggatt, an
able writer as well as an admirable painter, has exhaustively
discussed Charles Strickland's work in a little book[1] which
is a charming example of a style, for the most part, less
happily cultivated in England than in France.


[1]  "A Modern Artist:  Notes on the Work of Charles
Strickland," by Edward Leggatt, A.R.H.A.  Martin Secker, 1917.


Maurice Huret in his famous article gave an outline of Charles
Strickland's life which was well calculated to whet the
appetites of the inquiring.  With his disinterested passion
for art, he had a real desire to call the attention of the
wise to a talent which was in the highest degree original;
but he was too good a journalist to be unaware that the "human
interest" would enable him more easily to effect his purpose.
And when such as had come in contact with Strickland in the
past, writers who had known him in London, painters who had
met him in the cafes of Montmartre, discovered to their
amazement that where they had seen but an unsuccessful artist,
like another, authentic genius had rubbed shoulders with them
there began to appear in the magazines of France and America a
succession of articles, the reminiscences of one, the
appreciation of another, which added to Strickland's
not
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 974
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Mr Verloc, going out in the morning, left his shop nominally in charge of
his brother-in-law.  It could be done, because there was very little
business at any time, and practically none at all before the evening.  Mr
Verloc cared but little about his ostensible business.  And, moreover,
his wife was in charge of his brother-in-law.

The shop was small, and so was the house.  It was one of those grimy
brick houses which existed in large quantities before the era of
reconstruction dawned upon London.  The shop was a square box of a place,
with the front glazed in small panes.  In the daytime the door remained
closed; in the evening it stood discreetly but suspiciously ajar.

The window contained photographs of more or less undressed dancing girls;
nondescript packages in wrappers like patent medicines; closed yellow
paper envelopes, very flimsy, and marked two-and-six in heavy black
figures; a few numbers of ancient French comic publications hung across a
string as if to dry; a dingy blue china bowl, a casket of black wood,
bottles of marking ink, and rubber stamps; a few books, with titles
hinting at impropriety; a few apparently old copies of obscure
newspapers, badly printed, with titles like _The Torch_, _The
Gong_—rousing titles.  And the two gas jets inside the panes were always
turned low, either for economy’s sake or for the sake of the customers.

These customers were either very young men, who hung about the window for
a time before slipping in suddenly; or men of a more mature age, but
looking generally as if they were not in funds.  Some of that last kind
had the collars of their overcoats turned right up to their moustaches,
and traces of mud on the bottom of their nether garments, which had the
appearance of being much worn and not very valuable.  And the legs inside
them did not, as a general rule, seem of much account either.  With their
hands plunged deep in the side pockets of their coats, they dodged in
sideways, one shoulder first, as if afraid to start the bell going.

The bell, hung on the door by means of a curved ribbon of steel, was
difficult to circumvent.  It was hopelessly cracked; but of an evening,
at the slightest provocation, it clattered behind the customer with
impudent virulence.

It clattered; and at that signal, through the dusty glass door behind the
painted deal counter, Mr Verloc would issue hastily from the parlour at
the back.  His eyes were naturally heavy; he had an air of having
wallowed, fully dressed, all day on an unmade bed.  Another man would
have felt such an appearance a distinct disadvantage.  In a commercial
transaction of the retail order much depends on the seller’s engaging and
amiable aspect.  But Mr Verloc knew his business, and remained
undisturbed by any sort of æsthetic doubt about his appearance.  With a
firm, steady-eyed impudence, which seemed to hold back the threat of some
abominable menace, he would proceed to sell over the counter some object
looking obviously and scandalously not worth the money which passed in
the transaction: a small cardboard box with apparently nothing inside,
for instance, or one of those carefully closed yellow flimsy envelopes,
or a soiled volume in paper covers with a promising title.  Now and then
it happened that one of the faded, yellow dancing girls would get sold to
an amateur, as though she had been alive and young.

Sometimes it was Mrs Verloc who would appear at the call of the cracked
bell.  Winnie Verloc was a young woman with a full bust, in a tight
bodice, and with broad hips.  Her hair was very tidy.  Steady-eyed like
her husband, she preserved an air of unfathomable indifference behind the
rampart of the counter.  Then the customer of comparatively tender years
would get suddenly disconcerted at having to deal with a woman, and with
rage in his heart would proffer a request for a bottle of marking ink,
retail value sixpence (price in Verloc’s shop one-and-sixpence), which,
once outside, he would drop stealthily into the gutter.

The evening visitors—the men with collars turned up and soft hats rammed
down—nodded familiarly to Mrs Verloc, and with a muttered greeting,
lifted up the flap at the end of the counter in order to pass into the
back parlour, which gave access to a passage and to a steep flight of
stairs.  The door of the shop was the only means of entrance to the house
in which Mr Verloc carried on his business of a seller of shady wares,
exercised his vocation of a protector of society, and cultivated his
domestic virtues.  These last were pronounced.  He was thoroughly
domesticated.  Neither his spiritual, nor his mental, nor his physical
needs were of the kind to take him much abroad.  He found at home the
ease of his body and the peace of his conscience, together with Mrs
Verloc’s wifely attentions and Mrs Verloc’s mother’s deferential regard.

Winnie’s mother was a stout, wheezy woman, with a large brown face.  She
wore a black wig under a white cap.  Her swollen legs rendered her
inact
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65146
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DON’T WAIT TO BE “FOUND”


Every day of my life I receive letters from men and women, mostly women,
whom I do not know personally, asking me to advise them how best to use
their vocal talents. Some of my correspondents also request me to give
them an audition so that they can demonstrate their claim to be
embryonic stars.

It is manifestly impossible for me to spend all my time listening to
persons unknown to me, in the hope of finding new Carusos, new Pattis
and, shall I say it?--new Tetrazzinis. If I were to do so I should have
little time for my own practice. Nevertheless, whenever I am able, I do
give an audition to a young aspirant to musical fame, as I consider it
my duty to help, to the best of my ability, those who are to come after
me.

To those correspondents whom I have been unable to see personally let me
say that star singers are not necessarily discovered by stars. It is
quite true that from time to time it has been my fortunate experience to
discover a tenor or a baritone or a soprano. But they had already been
more or less discovered before I found them.

True at Covent Garden I found John McCormack singing a very minor rôle
and was instrumental in having him elevated to the position of principal
tenor. And other _prime donne_ have acted similarly.

Nevertheless these artists would doubtless have come to the front in
their own time without being “discovered” by a _prima donna_. Most big
artists of to-day were not found by any one: they found themselves. I,
for instance, was nobody’s find. When the _prima donna_ failed to appear
at the opening night of an opera in my native Florence I volunteered to
take the part, and in so doing discovered myself.

My readers will therefore understand that to be discovered by a great
singer is not essential to becoming a great artist, and that because I
am unable to give auditions to all who ask me I am not hindering them
from becoming successful.

But for the benefit of those numerous correspondents who have expressed
to me a desire that I should help all interested in training their
voices, especially in their attempts to climb the difficult ladder of
successful singing in public, I have consented to publish the following
hints, and I hope sincerely they will be useful to all who read them.

I do not claim that I have given an exhaustive treatise--no one ever has
done so--on the art of singing, but I am sure that any one possessing a
voice who cares to put into practice the suggestions I am now making,
will be benefited thereby.

From this handbook I have purposely excluded the story of my
professional life. That is already published under the title of “My Life
of Song” (Cassell and Co., London; Dorrance, Philadelphia, U. S. A.).

It will be observed that I use the word “he” all the way through when
meaning “he or she.” This is merely because I understand there is no
English word which expresses the both. It would have been more modern to
have used “she” in every case, but perhaps less modest. My lady readers
will, however, understand that I am writing at least as much, if not
more, for their benefit than for our lords and masters.





YOUR AIM


Singers may be divided into two classes. No, I do not mean, as some
might suppose, those who can sing and those who cannot, though that is a
possible classification. I mean in this case those who sing for mere
pleasure and those who intend to make a career in this way. It is for
both that these pages are intended.

As we have often been told, whatever is worth doing at all is worth
doing well, and there is no reason why the singers who practise our
beautiful art only for the enjoyment of themselves and their friends
should not make the most of the powers which the good God has given
them. I think, indeed, that it is their plain duty to do so, if only in
the interests of their hearers. And I am glad to think that nowadays
many see the matter in this light.

However it may be in the case of professional singers--upon which point
I shall have something to say presently--there is, I suppose, no doubt
that the standard of amateur singing has enormously improved during
recent years.

The days when it was thought that anyone, however poorly equipped, had
the right to stand up and perform in public, have passed away, and in
those circles, at all events, where there is any kind of pretension to
general intelligence and culture it is expected that all who come
forward in this way shall show themselves to be possessed of at least
some knowledge of the rudiments of the art.

As to the general necessity for study on the part of those who aspire to
sing, few words, I suppose, are necessary. If every one can sing after a
fashion, there is, I venture to say, no branch of the art of music which
demands a more arduous apprenticeship and more prolonged study, if all
of its higher possibilities are to be realised.

Precisely, however, because singing is in itself such a purely natural
proceeding, this elementary fact is too often o
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 26558
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/26558

Pennsylvania Dutch Cooking




                               Dutchland
                              Pennsylvania

           [Illustration: Kissin wears out ... cookin’ don’t]

                Jacob’s at the table and half et already

                     PROVEN RECIPES FOR TRADITIONAL
                        PENNSYLVANIA Dutch FOODS




[Illustration]

PENNSYLVANIA Dutch COOKERY


In 1683 the Plain Sects began to arrive in William Penn’s Colony seeking
a land of peace and plenty. They were a mixed people; Moravians from
Bohemia and Moravia, Mennonites from Switzerland and Holland, the Amish,
the Dunkards, the Schwenkfelds, and the French Huguenots. After the lean
years of clearing the land and developing their farms they established
the peace and plenty they sought. These German-speaking people were
originally called the Pennsylvania Deutsch but time and custom have
caused them to be known to us as the Pennsylvania Dutch.

The Pennsylvania Dutch are a hard working people and as they say, “Them
that works hard, eats hearty.” The blending of recipes from their many
home lands and the ingredients available in their new land produced
tasty dishes that have been handed down from mother to daughter for
generations. Their cooking was truly a folk art requiring much intuitive
knowledge, for recipes contained measurements such as “flour to
stiffen,” “butter the size of a walnut,” and “large as an apple.” Many
of the recipes have been made more exact and standardized providing us
with a regional cookery we can all enjoy.

Soups are a traditional part of Pennsylvania Dutch cooking and the Dutch
housewife can apparently make soup out of anything. If she has only milk
and flour she can still make rivel soup. However, most of their soups
are sturdier dishes, hearty enough to serve as the major portion of the
evening meal. One of the favorite summer soups in the Pennsylvania Dutch
country is Chicken Corn Soup. Few Sunday School picnic suppers would be
considered complete without gallons of this hearty soup.

Many of the Pennsylvania Dutch foods are a part of their folklore. No
Shrove Tuesday would be complete without raised doughnuts called
“fastnachts.” One of the many folk tales traces this custom back to the
burnt offerings made by their old country ancestors to the goddess of
spring. With the coming of Christianity the custom became associated
with the Easter season and “fastnachts” are eaten on Shrove Tuesday to
insure living to next Shrove Tuesday. Young dandelion greens are eaten
on Maundy Thursday in order to remain well throughout the year.

The Christmas season is one of the busiest times in the Pennsylvania
Dutch kitchen. For weeks before Christmas the house is filled with the
smell of almond cookies, anise cookies, sandtarts, Belsnickle Christmas
cookies, walnut kisses, pfeffernusse, and other traditional cookies. Not
just a few of one kind but dozens and dozens of many kinds of cookies
must be made. There must be plenty for the enjoyment of the family and
many holiday visitors.

Regardless of the time of the year or the time of the day there are
pies. The Pennsylvania Dutch eat pies for breakfast. They eat pies for
lunch. They eat pies for dinner and they eat pies for midnight snacks.
Pies are made with a great variety of ingredients from the apple pie we
all know to the rivel pie which is made from flour, sugar, and butter.
The Dutch housewife is as generous with her pies as she is with all her
cooking, baking six or eight at a time not one and two.

The apple is an important Pennsylvania Dutch food. Dried apples form the
basis for many typical dishes. Each fall barrels of apples are converted
into cider. Apple butter is one of the Pennsylvania Dutch foods which
has found national acceptance. The making of apple butter is an all-day
affair and has the air of a holiday to it. Early in the morning the
neighbors gather and begin to peel huge piles of apples that will be
needed. Soon the great copper apple butter kettle is brought out and set
up over a wood fire. Apple butter requires constant stirring to prevent
burning. However, stirring can be light work for a boy and a girl when
they’re young and the day is bright and the world is full of promise. By
dusk the apple butter is made, neighborhood news is brought up to date
and hunger has been driven that much further away for the coming winter.

Food is abundant and appetites are hearty in the Pennsylvania Dutch
country. The traditional dishes are relatively simple and unlike most
regional cookery the ingredients are readily available. Best of all, no
matter who makes them the results are “wonderful good.”




PENNSYLVANIA DUTCH

[Illustration: “Make with a smile for once”

“Some folks are wonderful nice”]

Salads


FRUIT SALAD DRESSING

  ½ cup sugar
  1½ tblsp. flour
  2 eggs
  ½ cup pineapple juice
  ½ cup lemon juice
  1 cup whipped cream

Combine the fruit juices and stir slowly into the flour and sugar. Cook.
Stirring constantly, until it thickens. (or
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 14005
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14005

Proofreading Team.










THE LADIES DELIGHT.


CONTAINING,

I. An Address to all _well provided_ HIBERNIANS;

II. The ARBOR VITAE; or, Tree of Life. A Poem. Shewing whence it took
it's _Root_, and has spread its _Leaves_ over all Christendom; being
extremely useful to _Students_ in all _Branches_ of polite Literature.

III. The Natural History of the ARBOR VITAE; or, The Tree of Life, in
Prose; printed from the Original Manuscript.

IV. RIDOTTO al' FRESCO. A Poem. Describing the Growth of this Tree in
the famous _Spring Gardens_ at _Vaux-Hall_, under the Care of that
ingenious _Botanist_ Doctor H----GG----R.

       *       *       *       *       *

_RES est severa Voluptas_.

       *       *       *       *       *

_LONDON_:

Printed for _W. James_ in the _Strand_, 1732

[Price Six-pence.]

       *       *       *       *       *




AN ADDRESS TO ALL _Well provided_ HIBERNIANS.


_Gentlemen_,

As Nature hath been so _very Indulgent_ to ye, as to stock your Gardens
with _Trees_ of the _largest Growth_, for which Reason ye are caress'd,
whilst Men of _less Parts_, tho' in _some Things_ more deserving, are
laugh'd at, and excluded all Company.

As all Infants, especially of the Female Sex, are much delighted with
Fruit, so as their Years and other Appetites increase, no Wonder if that
increases too. Both Men and Beasts have _some-thing_ or another, for
which they are esteem'd; so ye being in a particular manner Happy in
this _Talent_, may securely laugh, while ye daily _grow_ in the Ladies
Favour, and spread your _Branches_ over all the Kingdom: Many a hopeful
_Stick of Wood_ has been produc'd by this glorious Tree, who after they
had _piss'd_ their Estates against the Wall (as the good Housewives term
it) have by the Strength of true _Hibernian_ Prowess rais'd themselves
to the Favour of some fair Virtuoso, and being by her _plac'd in a
HOT-BED_, have been restor'd to their pristine Strength, and flourish'd
again; and like true Heroes, not envying the busy World, have been
content to _spend_ the remainder of their Days in an obscure Nook of the
World.

Thus, Gentlemen, and as all Poets chuse the most Worthy to patronize
their Works, I humbly offer ye the following Poem, and that you may
still continue as ye now are; that your Trees may ever flourish, your
_Green-houses_ be secure, nor your _young Plants_ be ever nipt in the
_Bud_, and that you may ever _stand_ against all _Cracks_, Storms,
Tempests, and _Eruptions_,

_Is the hearty Wishes of Your's_,

BOTANICUS.




THE Natural HISTORY OF THE TREE of LIFE.


  The Tree of which I fain would sing,
  If the kind Muse her Aid would bring,
  Is _Arbor Vitae_; but in brief,
  By vulgar Men call'd--_Tree of Life_.

  First for Description then, 'tis such
  As needs must captivate you much.
  In Stem most streight, of lovely Size,
  With Head elate this Plant doth rise;
  First bare--when it doth further shoot,
  _A Tuft of Moss_ keeps warm the Root:
  No _Lapland_ Muff has such a Fur,
  No Skin so soft has any Cur;
  This touch'd, alone the Heart can move,
  Which Ladies more than Lap-dogs love;
  From this erect springs up the Stalk,
  No Power can stop, or ought can baulk;
  On Top an _Apex_ crowns the Tree,
  As all Mankind may plainly see;
  So shines a Filbeard, when the Shell,
  Half gone, displays the _ruby Peel_
  Or like a Cherry bright and gay,
  Just red'ning in the Month of _May_.

  As other Trees bear Fruit at Top,
  And they who rob 'em must _climb up_;
  This still more rare doth upward shoot,
  But at the Bottom bears its Fruit,
  And they who'd reap its Virtues strong,
  Need but to lay 'em _all along_,
  _Ope' wide, their Mouths_, and they'll receive
  The _Fruit of Life_, and eat, and live:
  Not the fair Tree that _India_ bears,
  All over Spice both Head and Ears,
  Can boast more Gifts than the Great Pow'rs
  Have granted to this Tree of ours:
  That in good Ale its Power boasts,
  And ours has _Nutmeg's_ fit for _Toasts_
  And Bags by _Nature_ planted grow,
  To keep 'em from all Winds that blow.

  The Rise is slow, and by Degrees,
  Both Fruits and Tree itself increase
  So slow, that ten Years scarce produce
  _Six Inches_ good and fit for Use;
  But fifteen ripen well the Fruit,
  And add a _viscous Balm_ into't;
  Then rub'd, drops Tears as if 'twas greiv'd,
  Which by a neighbouring Shrub's receiv'd;
  As Men set Tubs to catch the Rain,
  So does this Shrub _its Juice_ retain,
  Which 'cause it wears a colour'd Robe,
  Is justly call'd the _flow'ring Shrub_.

  In every Nation springs this Tree,
  In some confin'd; in others more free;
  In _England_, 'tis of mod'rate Size,
  And oft' does _nine full inches_ rise:
  But _Ireland_, tho' in Soil most poor,
  Exceeds all Lands in this fame Store;
  And sent o'er hither, it is such
  As does exceed our own by much,
  And gets the Owner many a _Farthing_,
  For _Ladies_ love it in their _Garden_.

  That it's a _Tree_ right _sensitive_,
  Denies no honest Man alive:
  Tho' as one 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
      file which includes the original lovely illustrations.
      See 18155-h.htm or 18155-h.zip:
      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/1/5/18155/18155-h/18155-h.htm)
      or
      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/8/1/5/18155/18155-h.zip)





One Shilling Net.

THE STORY OF THE THREE LITTLE PIGS

With Drawings by L. Leslie Brooke







[Illustration]




THE STORY OF THE THREE LITTLE PIGS.


Once upon a time there was an old Sow with three little Pigs,
and as she had not enough to keep them, she sent them out to seek their
fortune.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

The first that went off met a Man with a bundle of straw, and said to
him, "Please, Man, give me that straw to build me a house"; which the
Man did, and the little Pig built a house with it. Presently came along
a Wolf, and knocked at the door, and said, "Little Pig, little Pig, let
me come in."

To which the Pig answered, "No, no, by the hair of my chinny chin chin."

[Illustration]

"Then I'll huff and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house
in!" said the Wolf. So he huffed and he puffed, and he blew his house
in, and ate up the little Pig.

The second Pig met a Man with a bundle of furze, and said, "Please, Man,
give me that furze to build a house"; which the Man did, and the Pig
built his house.

[Illustration]

Then along came the Wolf and said, "Little Pig, little Pig, let me come
in."

"No, no, by the hair of my chinny chin chin."

"Then I'll puff and I'll huff, and I'll blow your house in!" So he
huffed and he puffed, and he puffed and he huffed, and at last he blew
the house down, and ate up the second little Pig.

[Illustration]

The third little Pig met a Man with a load of bricks, and said, "Please,
Man, give me those bricks to build a house with"; so the Man gave him
the bricks, and he built his house with them. So the Wolf came, as he
did to the other little Pigs, and said, "Little Pig, little Pig, let me
come in."

"No, no, by the hair of my chinny chin chin."

"Then I'll huff and I'll puff, and I'll blow your house in."

Well, he huffed and he puffed, and he huffed and he puffed, and he
puffed and he huffed; but he could _not_ get the house down. When he
found that he could not, with all his huffing and puffing, blow the
house down, he said, "Little Pig, I know where there is a nice field of
turnips."

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

"Where?" said the little Pig.

"Oh, in Mr. Smith's home-field; and if you will be ready to-morrow
morning, I will call for you, and we will go together and get some for
dinner."

"Very well," said the little Pig, "I will be ready. What time do you
mean to go?"

"Oh, at six o'clock."

[Illustration]

Well, the little Pig got up at five, and got the turnips and was home
again before six. When the Wolf came he said, "Little Pig, are you
ready?"

"Ready!" said the little Pig, "I have been and come back again, and got
a nice pot-full for dinner."

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

The Wolf felt very angry at this, but thought that he would be _up to_
the little Pig somehow or other; so he said, "Little Pig, I know where
there is a nice apple-tree."

"Where?" said the Pig.

"Down at Merry-garden," replied the Wolf; "and if you will not deceive
me I will come for you, at five o'clock to-morrow, and we will go
together and get some apples."

[Illustration]

Well, the little Pig woke at four the next morning, and bustled up, and
went off for the apples, hoping to get back before the Wolf came; but
he had farther to go, and had to climb the tree, so that just as he was
coming down from it, he saw the Wolf coming, which, as you may suppose,
frightened him very much. When the Wolf came up he said, "Little Pig,
what! are you here before me? Are they nice apples?"

[Illustration]

"Yes, very," said the little Pig; "I will throw you down one." And he
threw it so far that, while the Wolf was gone to pick it up, the
little Pig jumped down and ran home.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

The next day the Wolf came again, and said to the little Pig, "Little
Pig, there is a Fair in the Town this afternoon: will you go?"

"Oh, yes," said the Pig, "I will go; what time shall you be ready?"

"At three," said the Wolf.

[Illustration]

So the little Pig went off before the time, as usual, and got to the
Fair, and bought a butter churn, and was on his way home with it when he
saw the Wolf coming. Then he could not tell what to do. So he got into
the churn to hide, and in doing so turned it round, and it began to
roll, and rolled down the hill with the Pig inside it, which frightened
the Wolf so much that he ran home without going to the Fair.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

He went to the little Pig's house, and told him how frightened he had
been by a great round thing which came down the hill past him.

Then the little Pig said, "Hah! I frightened you, did I? I had been to
the Fair and bought a butter churn, and when I saw you I got into it,
and rolle
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65100
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65100

The BUILDERS

                           By FOX B. HOLDEN

             They rummaged in the ruins of Earth's cities,
           looking for plans to restore vital machinery. But
          what they finally constructed got up and ran away!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                             February 1951
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Markten flew low over the sun-lit ruins, and wondered idly if he would
find any more in them than he had found elsewhere on the planet.

"Looks as completely dead as all the rest," he said to his companion.
"New City has a big enough population anyhow, as far as I'm concerned.
Not that it's important, I suppose. There's always plenty of space in
which to expand, but you know what I mean."

The younger occupant of the low-circling aircraft nodded his
understanding. "There'd be enough room on either side of the Big
Mountains to take care of millions more of us, I guess. But I think
you're right. Anyway, there isn't another nomad or ruin-dweller on the
planet. New City is as complete as it's going to be--and as you say,
twelve million is enough. But do you think we'll find any more plans
down there?"

"Hard to say," Markten answered, levelling off the aircraft for a
landing. "But if there are traces of anything, I hope you'll keep your
attention on what's of technical value and not waste time again on all
that other stuff. None of us have ever bothered reading it--you can't
build anything from it--no diagrams. To build is the only purpose of
New City's civilization--how could anything else be of importance?"

"I've wondered off and on about that. But then, there is so little of
anything left that it doesn't make much difference. Important thing is
to find more diagrams."

"Glad you realize it. I've been a citizen of New City ever since the
first few of us on this continent started building it forty years ago,
and I can tell you, building things is all that's important. You'd
realize that soon enough if you'd wandered around, alone and useless,
as I and a lot of other Elders did for years." Markten brought the
fast, twin-engined aircraft in to a perfect landing, cut the power,
and set the brakes. The two left their seats and started getting field
equipment together.

"They told us at the academy that you Elders wandered so far and for
so long that you had permanently lost all memory of the past. Is that
really true, Markten?"

"It is, not that it ever mattered. We all had forgotten from where we'd
come, or how we got where we were. I guess all we remembered was how to
build. But then--"

"As you said, building is all there is that's important."

They left the plane and started in the direction of what once had
obviously been a city. To Markten and his young aide the sight was
nothing new; they had seen, as had all the other members of the
Research Builders division, thousands of others just like the one
toward which they were now walking. Sometimes Markten thought it would
have been a lot easier to have signed up with the Production Builders
division--but that would have been dull. Always searching for new
plans: building something _new_--that was more to his taste.

       *       *       *       *       *

The only trouble was, there seemed to be fewer and fewer new plans
as the years went by. And now, even when you found some, you had to
check its potentialities exhaustively before you started building it.
Markten shuddered a little when he thought of some of the first things
that had been built without preconstruction study for analysis as to
its probable use. One of them would have blown New City off the face
of the earth had it been put into operation in a metropolitan proving
lab. Fortunately, the thing had been too big, and had been taken for
trial to a lab located in a southern desert. Today, there was still a
ten-mile wide crater in the sand where the thing had gone off.

Production never got that model from Research. There were some others
of similar nature that they hadn't got, too....

That was why, these days, even if you dug something up, you were damn
careful before you built it.

"Say, Markten!"

"Yes?"

"I was wondering about something. Eventually, we're bound to find all
the plans there are. What happens when there aren't anymore?"

"Maybe then there'll be time for that other stuff I caught you wasting
time on in the ruin we were in last week!" There was a grin on
Markten's thin face. "But not until!"

"No, seriously, Markten. The division academy instructors said there
wasn't much left, and that was why we had to be especially well
trained, to find what little more there is. But what about after we do,
and there just isn't anymore?"

"Just--build more of what we've got, of course. What else would there
be to do?"

"Well--well, you must be right. But Production sure will be 
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[Illustration]

                                 HISTORY
                                   OF
                                  BIRDS

                                 LONDON:
                    _Printed by Knight and Bagster_,
                         14, Bartholomew Close.

                          FOR J. DAVIS, No. 56,
                            PATERNOSTER-ROW.

                                                33


[Illustration]

The OSTRICH leaves its eggs in the desert, and if it goes far away,
it cannot find them again. In the Bible, cruel and forgetful people
are compared to the Ostrich. It is a large bird, and runs very swiftly
when pursued, and if it finds a bush it hides its head, and thinks that
because it does not see its pursuers, they cannot see it. The Ostrich may
remind us of ourselves, as we are by nature inclined to be unkind and
forgetful, and to act as if we thought God did not see us.


[Illustration]

The EAGLE is a bird of prey; it is violent and strong, yet we read that
it obeys the command of God, (Job xxxix. 27.) and that he uses it to
punish those who disobey him. (Prov. xxx. 17.) Thus God often makes use
of wicked people, to punish others who despise his word. The text in
Proverbs, mentioned above, teaches us that God will punish those who are
disobedient to their parents: I hope my little readers will remember
this.


[Illustration]

The PEACOCK is very vain, and proud of its fine feathers. I suppose that
little girl is proud of her finery, and the little boy tells her she is
like the Peacock. In the book of Job, we are reminded that it was God
who gave the Peacock its beautiful feathers, (c. xxxix. v. 13.) Children
should remember that they have nothing of their own to be proud of,
that every thing they possess is given them by God, and they should be
thankful to him for all his mercies.


[Illustration]

The GOOSE is generally thought a silly bird, but I am sure that little
boy and girl who are so mischievous as to frighten the geese, are much
more silly. Any person who observes geese closely, will find that they
shew many proofs of being wiser than they are supposed to be; so you will
often find among your little companions, that those who appear to be
dull, are superior in many things to others who seem to be very sharp and
clever.


[Illustration]

The SWALLOW is a bird of passage. It is part of the year in one country,
and the other part in another country. In the Bible, we read that the
Swallow observes the time of its coming, but man knows not the judgment
of the Lord. The Swallows go from one country to another exactly at the
time which God has appointed as best for them, but although we are told
in the Bible what is the will of God, and find that nothing else can make
us happy, yet we continually forget it, and so fall into sin, and meet
with many troubles.


[Illustration]

The QUAIL is a small bird, and very pleasant to eat. The Israelites
were tired of the manna which God sent them for food, and desired flesh
without remembering that he knew what was best for them. But though their
request was granted, we read that the wrath of the Lord was kindled
against them, and he smote them with a great plague, so that many died.
When you pray for what you desire to have, always remember that God knows
what is better for you than you do yourself, and intreat him not to give
it, unless it is right for you to have it.


[Illustration]

The PARROT is a chattering bird; it can say many words, but cannot at all
understand the meaning of what it says. I have often seen Parrots without
feathers that talked a great deal of nonsense, I dare say you know that I
mean little boys and girls. We read that “in all labor there is profit,
but the talk of the lips tendeth only to penury.” People that talk a
great deal are not wise. In the multitude of words there wanteth not sin.


[Illustration]

The STORK is called in the Bible, by a name which also means pity or
mercy. It is supposed to be so called, because it is said never to
forsake its parents, but to feed them and take care of them as long as
they live. I hope you will not forget this. The fifth commandment is
this, “Honour thy father and mother that it may be well with thee, and
thou mayest live long on the earth.” Undutiful children are not happy
when they grow up.


[Illustration]

The SPARROW is of less value than most other birds, yet we are told that
God takes care even of them. (Matt. x. 29.) This should lead us to say,
if he takes care of the Sparrows, surely he will not overlook children;
and we should pray to God to direct us and to watch over us, and that he
would enable us to love him for his goodness towards us. But above all,
we should praise him for the greatness of his mercy in sending his only
and well-beloved son to die for us, that we might be brought nigh to him.


[Illustration]

The DOVE is said to signify to us what Christ is—meek, lowly, and kind,
bringing us the good tidings of salvation, as the Dove brough
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HINDU MAGIC

  AN EXPOSE OF THE TRICKS OF THE
  YOGIS AND FAKIRS OF INDIA

  BY

  HEREWARD CARRINGTON

  Author of “Handcuff Tricks,” “Side Show and Animal
  Tricks,” “The Boys’ Book of Magic,” “The
  Physical Phenomena of Spiritualism,”
  Etc., Etc.


  ILLUSTRATED


  PUBLISHED BY THE SPHINX
  Kansas City, Missouri
  1913






  TO

  SIDNEY LENZ

  (With Warmest Regards.)





TABLE OF CONTENTS



                                          Page

  The Mango Tree Trick                       5

  The Basket Trick                          19

  The Dry Sands Trick                       26

  The Coloured Sands Trick                  27

  The Diving Duck                           29

  The Jumping Egg                           30

  The Beans and Scorpion Trick              32

  The Basket and Birds Trick                33

  The Ball of Cotton Trick                  34

  The Brass Bowl Trick                      37

  Snake Charming                            38

  Voluntary Interment                       41

  The Rope Trick                            44





HINDU MAGIC


In this pamphlet I propose to consider the phenomena which are
presented by the fakirs and yogis of India, and to inquire into their
nature and the method of their production.

The feats performed by Indian fakirs are numerous, but I shall describe
those most commonly witnessed: the mango-tree trick, the basket trick,
the bowl of water trick, the dry sands trick, the rope and dismembered
body test, levitation, snake charming, burial alive, etc.

As so much is heard of Indian magic, and the powers of the Oriental
performer, it may be well to examine their performances somewhat
critically, and to see how far we are entitled to assume that there
is anything in them suggesting the supernormal, anything calling for
explanations that necessitate the operation of laws “other than those
known to Western science.”




THE MANGO-TREE TRICK.


I shall begin by describing the famous mango-tree trick—perhaps the
best known of all the feats performed by the Indian conjuror. I shall
first of all describe the performance as it would appear to the
uninitiated witness, afterwards explaining the secret.

As the trick is usually exhibited, it is somewhat as follows: The
native comes forward, almost nude, being covered only with a small loin
cloth, of such small compass that the onlooker can see clearly that
there is nothing hidden in or about it or the performer. As the trick
(like almost all Indian tricks) is performed in any locality—on the
deck of a ship, in one’s own room, etc.—all idea of pre-arrangement,
trap-doors, etc., is precluded. The performer advances, carrying in
his hands a little earthen or tin pot containing water, and another
containing a quart or so of dry sand. He also has with him some seeds
of the mango-tree, and a large cloth, about four feet square. This is
shaken out and both sides are shown to the spectators, so that they may
see that nothing is concealed within it.

[Illustration]

All this having been gone through, the fakir proceeds to build up a
little mud pile of his earth and water, mixing the two together with
his fingers, and dexterously moulding them into a pyramid of muddy
earth. This may be done in some previously examined vessel, or on the
bare earth or floor. The mango-seed is now inserted in the soil, and
covered on all sides with earth. The fakir then covers the mound of
earth with the shawl or large handkerchief, and places his hands and
arms under the shawl, manipulating the seed and the earth for some
time; placing his hands over the seed; making passes above the seed,
etc. As his hands and arms are bare, and can be seen bare throughout
this process of manipulation, and as his hands never once approach his
body, no one has any objection to his handling the seed and the earth
in this manner, or to his placing his hands beneath the cloth. After
a few minutes of this manipulation, the conjuror withdraws his hands,
and proceeds to make passes over the cloth and above it, at the same
time muttering semi-articulate incantations, etc. Sometimes a tom-tom
is beaten, or other instrument is played upon, and, after a while, the
conjuror removes the cloth, and the seed is seen to have sprouted—a
couple of tiny leaves appearing above the surface of the earth. If
the onlooker is especially skeptical, the fakir sometimes removes the
seed, and shows the skeptic a couple of minute roots, sprouting from
the lower end of it. It (the seed) is then replaced in the earth,
the manipulations and incantations repeated, and, after a while, the
fakir removes the cloth a second time, and the mango is seen to have
sprouted still more—now being several inches in height. This process
is repeated five or six times, or even more, at the end of which time
the mango-tree is two feet or more in height. It is even asserted that,
in some cases, the tree has been known to bear fruit.

So much for the effect of the trick. Now for the explanation.


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laugh once through the whole chapter, unless peradventure he should
laugh at the author.

Chapter viii -- A dialogue between Mesdames Bridget and Deborah;
containing more amusement, but less instruction, than the former.

Chapter ix -- Containing matters which will surprize the reader.

Chapter x -- The hospitality of Allworthy; with a short sketch of the
characters of two brothers, a doctor and a captain, who were
entertained by that gentleman.

falling in love: descriptions of beauty, and other more prudential
inducements to matrimony.

Chapter xii -- Containing what the reader may, perhaps, expect to find
in it.

Chapter xiii -- Which concludes the first book; with an instance of
ingratitude, which, we hope, will appear unnatural.


BOOK II -- CONTAINING SCENES OF MATRIMONIAL FELICITY IN DIFFERENT
DEGREES OF LIFE; AND VARIOUS OTHER TRANSACTIONS DURING THE FIRST TWO
YEARS AFTER THE MARRIAGE BETWEEN CAPTAIN BLIFIL AND MISS BRIDGET
ALLWORTHY.

Chapter i -- Showing what kind of a history this is; what it is like,
and what it is not like.

Chapter ii -- Religious cautions against showing too much favour to
bastards; and a great discovery made by Mrs Deborah Wilkins.

Chapter iii -- The description of a domestic government founded upon
rules directly contrary to those of Aristotle.

Chapter iv -- Containing one of the most bloody battles, or rather
duels, that were ever recorded in domestic history.

Chapter v -- Containing much matter to exercise the judgment and
reflection of the reader.

Chapter vi -- The trial of Partridge, the schoolmaster, for
incontinency; the evidence of his wife; a short reflection on the
wisdom of our law; with other grave matters, which those will like
best who understand them most.

may extract from hatred: with a short apology for those people who
overlook imperfections in their friends.

Chapter viii -- A receipt to regain the lost affections of a wife,
which hath never been known to fail in the most desperate cases.

Chapter ix -- A proof of the infallibility of the foregoing receipt,
in the lamentations of the widow; with other suitable decorations of
death, such as physicians, &c., and an epitaph in the true stile.


BOOK III -- CONTAINING THE MOST MEMORABLE TRANSACTIONS WHICH PASSED IN
THE FAMILY OF MR ALLWORTHY, FROM THE TIME WHEN TOMMY JONES ARRIVED AT
THE AGE OF FOURTEEN, TILL HE ATTAINED THE AGE OF NINETEEN. IN THIS
BOOK THE READER MAY PICK UP SOME HINTS CONCERNING THE EDUCATION OF
CHILDREN.

Chapter i -- Containing little or nothing.

Chapter ii -- The heroe of this great history appears with very bad
omens. A little tale of so LOW a kind that some may think it not worth
their notice. A word or two concerning a squire, and more relating to
a gamekeeper and a schoolmaster.

Chapter iii -- The character of Mr Square the philosopher, and of Mr
Thwackum the divine; with a dispute concerning----

Chapter iv.

Containing a necessary apology for the author; and a childish
incident, which perhaps requires an apology likewise --

concerning the two boys; with some reasons for their opinions, and
other matters.

Chapter vi -- Containing a better reason still for the
before-mentioned opinions.

Chapter vii -- In which the author himself makes his appearance on the
stage.

Chapter viii -- A childish incident, in which, however, is seen a
good-natured disposition in Tom Jones.

Chapter ix -- Containing an incident of a more heinous kind, with the
comments of Thwackum and Square.

Chapter x -- In which Master Blifil and Jones appear in different
lights.


BOOK IV -- CONTAINING THE TIME OF A YEAR.

Chapter i -- Containing five pages of paper.

Chapter ii -- A short hint of what we can do in the sublime, and a
description of Miss Sophia Western.

Chapter iii -- Wherein the history goes back to commemorate a trifling
incident that happened some years since; but which, trifling as it
was, had some future consequences.

Chapter iv -- Containing such very deep and grave matters, that some
readers, perhaps, may not relish it.

Chapter v -- Containing matter accommodated to every taste.

Chapter vi -- An apology for the insensibility of Mr Jones to all the
charms of the lovely Sophia; in which possibly we may, in a
considerable degree, lower his character in the estimation of those
men of wit and gallantry who approve the heroes in most of our modern
comedies.

Chapter vii -- Being the shortest chapter in this book.

Chapter viii -- A battle sung by the muse in the Homerican style, and
which none but the classical reader can taste.

Chapter ix -- Containing matter of no very peaceable colour.

Chapter x -- A story told by Mr Supple, the curate. The penetration of
Squire Western. His great love for his daughter, and the return to it
made by her.

observations for which we have been forced to dive pretty deep into
nature.

Chapter xii -- Containing much clearer matters; but which flowed from
the same fountain with those in the preceding chapter.

Chapter xiii -- A dreadful accident which befel 
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AUTHOR’S PREFACE TO THE FIRST PORTION OF THIS WORK

Second Edition published in 1846

From the Author to the Reader

Reader, whosoever or wheresoever you be, and whatsoever be your
station--whether that of a member of the higher ranks of society or that
of a member of the plainer walks of life--I beg of you, if God shall
have given you any skill in letters, and my book shall fall into your
hands, to extend to me your assistance.

For in the book which lies before you, and which, probably, you have
read in its first edition, there is portrayed a man who is a type taken
from our Russian Empire. This man travels about the Russian land and
meets with folk of every condition--from the nobly-born to the humble
toiler. Him I have taken as a type to show forth the vices and the
failings, rather than the merits and the virtues, of the commonplace
Russian individual; and the characters which revolve around him have
also been selected for the purpose of demonstrating our national
weaknesses and shortcomings. As for men and women of the better sort, I
propose to portray them in subsequent volumes. Probably much of what I
have described is improbable and does not happen as things customarily
happen in Russia; and the reason for that is that for me to learn all
that I have wished to do has been impossible, in that human life is not
sufficiently long to become acquainted with even a hundredth part
of what takes place within the borders of the Russian Empire. Also,
carelessness, inexperience, and lack of time have led to my perpetrating
numerous errors and inaccuracies of detail; with the result that in
every line of the book there is something which calls for correction.
For these reasons I beg of you, my reader, to act also as my corrector.
Do not despise the task, for, however superior be your education, and
however lofty your station, and however insignificant, in your eyes,
my book, and however trifling the apparent labour of correcting and
commenting upon that book, I implore you to do as I have said. And you
too, O reader of lowly education and simple status, I beseech you not to
look upon yourself as too ignorant to be able in some fashion, however
small, to help me. Every man who has lived in the world and mixed with
his fellow men will have remarked something which has remained hidden
from the eyes of others; and therefore I beg of you not to deprive me
of your comments, seeing that it cannot be that, should you read my book
with attention, you will have NOTHING to say at some point therein.

For example, how excellent it would be if some reader who is
sufficiently rich in experience and the knowledge of life to be
acquainted with the sort of characters which I have described herein
would annotate in detail the book, without missing a single page, and
undertake to read it precisely as though, laying pen and paper before
him, he were first to peruse a few pages of the work, and then to recall
his own life, and the lives of folk with whom he has come in contact,
and everything which he has seen with his own eyes or has heard of from
others, and to proceed to annotate, in so far as may tally with his own
experience or otherwise, what is set forth in the book, and to jot down
the whole exactly as it stands pictured to his memory, and, lastly, to
send me the jottings as they may issue from his pen, and to continue
doing so until he has covered the entire work! Yes, he would indeed do
me a vital service! Of style or beauty of expression he would need
to take no account, for the value of a book lies in its truth and its
actuality rather than in its wording. Nor would he need to consider my
feelings if at any point he should feel minded to blame or to upbraid
me, or to demonstrate the harm rather than the good which has been
done through any lack of thought or verisimilitude of which I have
been guilty. In short, for anything and for everything in the way of
criticism I should be thankful.

Also, it would be an excellent thing if some reader in the higher walks
of life, some person who stands remote, both by life and by education,
from the circle of folk which I have pictured in my book, but who knows
the life of the circle in which he himself revolves, would undertake to
read my work in similar fashion, and methodically to recall to his mind
any members of superior social classes whom he has met, and carefully to
observe whether there exists any resemblance between one such class and
another, and whether, at times, there may not be repeated in a higher
sphere what is done in a lower, and likewise to note any additional fact
in the same connection which may occur to him (that is to say, any fact
pertaining to the higher ranks of society which would seem to confirm or
to disprove his conclusions), and, lastly, to record that fact as it may
have occurred within his own experience, while giving full details of
persons (of individual manners, tendencies, and customs) and also of
inanimate surroundings (of dress, furnitur
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a copy made available at The Internet Archive.








Philippine Folk Tales

Compiled and Annotated by

Mabel Cook Cole


1916



PREFACE


From time to time since the American occupation of the Islands,
Philippine folk-tales have appeared in scientific publications, but
never, so far as the writer is aware, has there been an attempt to
offer to the general public a comprehensive popular collection of
this material. It is my earnest hope that this collection of tales
will give those who are interested opportunity to learn something
of the magic, superstitions, and weird customs of the Filipinos,
and to feel the charm of their wonder-world as it is pictured by
these dark-skinned inhabitants of our Island possessions.

In company with my husband, who was engaged in ethnological work for
the Field Museum of Natural History, it was my good fortune to spend
four years among the wild tribes of the Philippines, During this
time we frequently heard these stories, either related by the people
in their homes and around the camp fires or chanted by the pagan
priests in communion with the spirits. The tales are now published
in this little volume, with the addition of a few folk-legends
that have appeared in the _Journal of American Folk-Lore_ and in
scientific publications, here retold with some additions made by
native story-tellers.

I have endeavored to select typical tales from tribes widely separated
and varying in culture from savagery to a rather high degree of
development. The stories are therefore divided into five groups,
as follows: Tinguian, Igorot, the Wild Tribes of Mindanao, Moro,
and Christian,

The first two groups, Tinguian and Igorot, are from natives who
inhabit the rugged mountain region of northwestern Luzon. From time
immemorial they have been zealous head-hunters, and the stories teem
with references to customs and superstitions connected with their
savage practices. By far the largest number belong to the Tinguian
group. In order to appreciate these tales to the fullest extent,
we must understand the point of view of the Tinguian. To him they
embody all the known traditions of "the first times"--of the people
who inhabited the earth before the present race appeared, of the
ancient heroes and their powers and achievements. In them he finds
an explanation of and reason for many of his present laws and customs.

A careful study of the whole body of Tinguian mythology points to
the conclusion that the chief characters of these tales are not
celestial beings but typical, generalized heroes of former ages,
whose deeds have been magnified in the telling by many generations
of their descendants. These people of "the first times" practiced
magic. They talked with jars, created human beings out of betel-nuts,
raised the dead, and had the power of changing themselves into other
forms. This, however, does not seem strange or impossible to the
Tinguian of today, for even now they talk with jars, perform certain
rites to bring sickness and death to their foes, and are warned by
omens received through the medium of birds, thunder and lightning,
or the condition of the liver of a slaughtered animal. They still
converse freely with certain spirits who during religious ceremonies
are believed to use the bodies of men or women as mediums for the
purpose of advising and instructing the people.

Several of the characters appear in story after story. Sometimes they
go under different names, but in the minds of the story-tellers their
personality and relationships are definitely established. Thus Ini-init
of the first tale becomes Kadayadawan in the second, Aponitolau in
the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth, and Ligi in the seventh. Kanag,
the son of Aponitolau and Aponibolinayen, in the fifth tale is called
Dumalawi.

These heroes had most unusual relations with the heavenly bodies,
all of which seem to have been regarded as animate beings. In the
fourth tale Aponitolau marries Gaygayoma, the star maiden who is
the daughter of the big star and the moon. In the first story the
same character under the name of Ini-init seems to be a sun-god:
we are told that he is "the sun," and again "a round stone which
rolls." Thereupon we might conclude that he is a true solar being;
yet in the other tales of this collection and in many more known to
the Tinguian he reveals no celestial qualities. Even in the first
story he abandons his place in the sky and goes to live on earth.

In the first eight stories we read of many customs of "the first
times" which differ radically from those of the present. But a careful
analysis of all the known lore of this people points to the belief that
many of these accounts depict a period when similar customs did exist
among the people, or else were practiced by emigrants who generations
ago became amalgamated with the Tinguian and whose strange customs
finally became attributed to the people of the tales. The stories
numbered nine to sixteen are of a somewhat different type, and in
them the Tin
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Dombey and Son


Dombey sat in the corner of the darkened room in the great arm-chair by
the bedside, and Son lay tucked up warm in a little basket bedstead,
carefully disposed on a low settee immediately in front of the fire and
close to it, as if his constitution were analogous to that of a muffin,
and it was essential to toast him brown while he was very new.

Dombey was about eight-and-forty years of age. Son about
eight-and-forty minutes. Dombey was rather bald, rather red, and though
a handsome well-made man, too stern and pompous in appearance, to be
prepossessing. Son was very bald, and very red, and though (of course)
an undeniably fine infant, somewhat crushed and spotty in his general
effect, as yet. On the brow of Dombey, Time and his brother Care had
set some marks, as on a tree that was to come down in good
time—remorseless twins they are for striding through their human
forests, notching as they go—while the countenance of Son was crossed
with a thousand little creases, which the same deceitful Time would
take delight in smoothing out and wearing away with the flat part of
his scythe, as a preparation of the surface for his deeper operations.

Dombey, exulting in the long-looked-for event, jingled and jingled the
heavy gold watch-chain that depended from below his trim blue coat,
whereof the buttons sparkled phosphorescently in the feeble rays of the
distant fire. Son, with his little fists curled up and clenched,
seemed, in his feeble way, to be squaring at existence for having come
upon him so unexpectedly.

“The House will once again, Mrs Dombey,” said Mr Dombey, “be not only
in name but in fact Dombey and Son;” and he added, in a tone of
luxurious satisfaction, with his eyes half-closed as if he were reading
the name in a device of flowers, and inhaling their fragrance at the
same time; “Dom-bey and Son!”

The words had such a softening influence, that he appended a term of
endearment to Mrs Dombey’s name (though not without some hesitation, as
being a man but little used to that form of address): and said, “Mrs
Dombey, my—my dear.”

A transient flush of faint surprise overspread the sick lady’s face as
she raised her eyes towards him.

“He will be christened Paul, my—Mrs Dombey—of course.”

She feebly echoed, “Of course,” or rather expressed it by the motion of
her lips, and closed her eyes again.

“His father’s name, Mrs Dombey, and his grandfather’s! I wish his
grandfather were alive this day! There is some inconvenience in the
necessity of writing Junior,” said Mr Dombey, making a fictitious
autograph on his knee; “but it is merely of a private and personal
complexion. It doesn’t enter into the correspondence of the House. Its
signature remains the same.” And again he said “Dombey and Son,” in
exactly the same tone as before.

Those three words conveyed the one idea of Mr Dombey’s life. The earth
was made for Dombey and Son to trade in, and the sun and moon were made
to give them light. Rivers and seas were formed to float their ships;
rainbows gave them promise of fair weather; winds blew for or against
their enterprises; stars and planets circled in their orbits, to
preserve inviolate a system of which they were the centre. Common
abbreviations took new meanings in his eyes, and had sole reference to
them. A. D. had no concern with Anno Domini, but stood for anno
Dombei—and Son.

He had risen, as his father had before him, in the course of life and
death, from Son to Dombey, and for nearly twenty years had been the
sole representative of the Firm. Of those years he had been married,
ten—married, as some said, to a lady with no heart to give him; whose
happiness was in the past, and who was content to bind her broken
spirit to the dutiful and meek endurance of the present. Such idle talk
was little likely to reach the ears of Mr Dombey, whom it nearly
concerned; and probably no one in the world would have received it with
such utter incredulity as he, if it had reached him. Dombey and Son had
often dealt in hides, but never in hearts. They left that fancy ware to
boys and girls, and boarding-schools and books. Mr Dombey would have
reasoned: That a matrimonial alliance with himself _must_, in the
nature of things, be gratifying and honourable to any woman of common
sense. That the hope of giving birth to a new partner in such a House,
could not fail to awaken a glorious and stirring ambition in the breast
of the least ambitious of her sex. That Mrs Dombey had entered on that
social contract of matrimony: almost necessarily part of a genteel and
wealthy station, even without reference to the perpetuation of family
Firms: with her eyes fully open to these advantages. That Mrs Dombey
had had daily practical knowledge of his position in society. That Mrs
Dombey had always sat at the head of his table, and done the honours of
his house in a remarkably lady-like and becoming manner. That Mrs
Dombey must have been happy. That she couldn’t help it.

Or, at all events, with one drawback. Yes. 
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SPECIFICATIONS OF ALL DOMESTIC AND FOREIGN MOTOR-CARS AND MOTOR BUSINESS
WAGONS, GASOLINE, STEAM AND ELECTRIC, SOLD IN THIS COUNTRY, 1907 ***




    An Illustrated Directory of the Specifications of All Domestic
      and Foreign Motor-Cars and Motor Business Wagons--Gasoline,
               Steam and Electric--Sold in This Country
                                 1907


                             Published by

                                 MoToR

               The National Monthly Magazine of Motoring

    1789 Broadway                                          New York City

  [Illustration]




                            INDEX      1907

_Page numbers from 156 to 200 inclusive, indicate business wagons._

    Acme, 68, 78

    Adams-Farwell, 67

    Aerocar, 36, 56

    Albany, 4

    American, 67

    American Mercedes, 106

    American Mors, 61, 91, 100, 103

    American Simplex, 205

    American Trucks, 174, 175, 176, 177, 180

    Apollo, 51

    Apperson, 84, 89, 109

    Argus, 49, 151, 179

    Aster, 135, 138

    Atlas, 19, 167, 169, 170, 171, 172

    Auburn, 22

    Aurora, 11

    Austin, 86, 96

    Auto-Buggy, 4

    Autocar, 18, 39, 63, 72

    Autocar Equipment Co., 98, 172, 173, 177, 189

    Auto Cycle, 5


    Babcock Electric, 117, 118, 120, 125, 129

    Bailey, 37

    Bailey Electric, 122

    Baker, 115, 118, 120, 121, 122, 123, 126, 127, 128

    Bay State Forty, 76

    Beebe, 201, 202, 203

    Belden, 88

    Berkshire, 69

    Berliet, 100, 104, 105, 107, 108

    Bianchi, 136

    Biddle-Murray, 176

    B. L. M., 69, 88, 108

    Boss Steamer, 113

    Brasier, 136, 141, 147, 150, 155

    Brunn, 194

    Brush, 201

    Buffum, 54

    Buggyabout, 8, 12, 157

    Buick, 17, 21, 37, 41


    Cadillac, 13, 15, 16, 18, 38, 51, 75, 157

    Cameron, 12, 18, 32

    Cantono Fore Carriage, 119, 127

    Cartercar, 19, 24, 25, 159

    Case, 38

    C. G. V., 135, 138, 143, 150, 154

    Chadwick, 96

    Chalfant, 21

    Champion, 184, 192

    Chase, 174

    Chatham, 204

    Chicago Trucks, 181, 182

    Clark Steamer, 113

    Clement-Bayard, 136, 149, 153

    Cleveland, 69, 78, 89

    Climax, 157

    Columbia (Electric), 114, 117, 125, 129, 130, 131, 185, 186, 191,
      192, 193

    Columbia (Gasoline), 28, 64, 84, 86, 99, 208

    Columbus, 118, 121, 124, 126

    Commerce, 173

    Commercial, 189, 190

    Compound, 24, 27, 28, 39, 42, 76

    Conover, 62

    Continental, 44, 54

    Coppock, 207

    Corbin, 42, 51, 73

    Cornish-Friedberg, 40

    Cosmopolitan, 4

    Coulthard Steam Trucks, 199, 200

    Couple-Gear Truck, 198

    Covert, 159

    Craig-Toledo, 78

    Crawford, 48, 61

    Croesus, 39, 82


    Darracq, 134, 137, 139, 145, 147, 149

    Deere, 46, 166

    De La Buire, 143

    Delahaye, 141, 144, 152

    Delaunay-Belleville, 137, 140, 146

    De Luxe, 89

    Detroit, 26

    Diamond T, 74

    Dolson, 47, 66

    Dorris, 48

    Dragon, 35

    Duer, 202

    Duryea, 20, 26, 47


    Eagle, 30

    Elmore, 29, 30, 50

    Elwell-Parker, 190

    English Daimler, 140, 144, 148

    Eureka, 34


    Farmers' Auto, 8

    Federal, 6, 9

    FIAT, 134, 139, 144, 153

    Ford, 8, 59, 208

    Four-Wheel Drive Truck, 178

    Franklin, 31, 33, 59, 81, 97, 164

    Frayer-Miller, 46, 61, 80, 169

    French Mors, 132, 133, 134, 138, 145, 151

    Frontenac, 70


    Gaeth, 74, 164

    Gale, 10, 23

    Gallia Electric, 131

    Gearless, 65, 67, 76

    General Vehicle Co., 195, 196, 197, 198

    Glide, 45, 75, 76, 96

    Gobron-Brillie, 145, 154

    Great Arrow (Pierce), 78, 93, 104

    Great Smith, 52, 206

    Grout, 43, 49


    Halladay, 64

    Harrison, 91

    Hawley, 5, 11

    Hay-Berg, 52, 66

    Haynes, 43, 49, 73, 87

    Heine Velox, 205

    Hercules, 124, 125, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187, 189, 190, 191, 192,
      193

    Hewitt, 16, 55, 80, 162, 175

    Hill, 33, 65

    Holsman, 10, 11, 12, 13

    Hotchkiss, 139, 141, 151


    Iroquois, 44, 60

    Isotta Fraschini, 136, 142, 152

    Itala, 139, 143, 154


    Jackson, 20, 27, 45

    Jenkins Special, 57

    Jewel, 7, 9

    Johnson, 111, 200

    Juvenile Electric, 114


    Kato Four-Wheel Drive, 203

    Kisselkar, 33

    Klink, 40, 53

    Knox, 25, 50, 51, 82, 91, 94, 163, 174


    Lambert, 18, 31, 35, 48, 63

    Lane Steamer, 111, 112

    Lansden, 127, 130, 131, 187, 188, 190, 194

    Leader, 15, 17

    Leon Bollee, 207, 208

    Locomobile, 56, 58, 77, 87, 101, 109

    Logan, 26, 157, 158, 166, 167

    Lorraine de Dietrich, 153

    Lozier, 95, 102, 105

    Luverne, 15, 22


    Manhattan, 170, 173, 176, 177, 178, 179

    Marion, 36

    Marmon, 46, 71, 87, 96

    Martini, 142, 150

    Marvel, 13

    Maryland, 53

    Mason, 22, 23

    Matheson, 86, 98, 105

    Maxwell, 13, 14, 23, 25, 61, 160

    Mercedes Simplex, 140, 148, 153, 155

    Merciless, 90

    Meteor, 55, 65

    Michigan, 22

    Mieusset, 144

    Military, 107

    Mi
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PG #: 1653
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Of the imitation of Christ, and of contempt of the world and all
its vanities

He that followeth me shall not walk in darkness,(1) saith the
Lord.  These are the words of Christ; and they teach us how far
we must imitate His life and character, if we seek true
illumination, and deliverance from all blindness of heart.  Let
it be our most earnest study, therefore, to dwell upon the life
of Jesus Christ.

2. His teaching surpasseth all teaching of holy men, and such as
have His Spirit find therein the hidden manna.(2)  But there are
many who, though they frequently hear the Gospel, yet feel but
little longing after it, because they have not the mind of
Christ.  He, therefore, that will fully and with true wisdom
understand the words of Christ, let him strive to conform his
whole life to that mind of Christ.

3. What doth it profit thee to enter into deep discussion
concerning the Holy Trinity, if thou lack humility, and be thus
displeasing to the Trinity?  For verily it is not deep words that
make a man holy and upright; it is a good life which maketh a man
dear to God.  I had rather feel contrition than be skilful in the
definition thereof.  If thou knewest the whole Bible, and the
sayings of all the philosophers, what should all this profit thee
without the love and grace of God?  Vanity of vanities, all is
vanity, save to love God, and Him only to serve.  That is the
highest wisdom, to cast the world behind us, and to reach forward
to the heavenly kingdom.

4. It is vanity then to seek after, and to trust in, the riches
that shall perish.  It is vanity, too, to covet honours, and to
lift up ourselves on high.  It is vanity to follow the desires of
the flesh and be led by them, for this shall bring misery at the
last.  It is vanity to desire a long life, and to have little
care for a good life.  It is vanity to take thought only for the
life which now is, and not to look forward to the things which
shall be hereafter.  It is vanity to love that which quickly
passeth away, and not to hasten where eternal joy abideth.

5. Be ofttimes mindful of the saying,(3) The eye is not satisfied
with seeing, nor the ear with hearing.  Strive, therefore, to
turn away thy heart from the love of the things that are seen,
and to set it upon the things that are not seen.  For they who
follow after their own fleshly lusts, defile the conscience, and
destroy the grace of God.

(1) John viii. 12.   (2) Revelations ii. 17.
(3) Ecclesiastes i. 8.



Of thinking humbly of oneself

There is naturally in every man a desire to know, but what
profiteth knowledge without the fear of God?  Better of a surety
is a lowly peasant who serveth God, than a proud philosopher who
watcheth the stars and neglecteth the knowledge of himself.  He
who knoweth himself well is vile in his own sight; neither
regardeth he the praises of men.  If I knew all the things that
are in the world, and were not in charity, what should it help me
before God, who is to judge me according to my deeds?

2. Rest from inordinate desire of knowledge, for therein is found
much distraction and deceit.  Those who have knowledge desire to
appear learned, and to be called wise.  Many things there are to
know which profiteth little or nothing to the soul.  And foolish
out of measure is he who attendeth upon other things rather than
those which serve to his soul's health.  Many words satisfy not
the soul, but a good life refresheth the mind, and a pure
conscience giveth great confidence towards God.

3. The greater and more complete thy knowledge, the more severely
shalt thou be judged, unless thou hast lived holily.  Therefore
be not lifted up by any skill or knowledge that thou hast; but
rather fear concerning the knowledge which is given to thee.  If
it seemeth to thee that thou knowest many things, and
understandest them well, know also that there are many more
things which thou knowest not.  Be not high-minded, but rather
confess thine ignorance.  Why desirest thou to lift thyself above
another, when there are found many more learned and more skilled
in the Scripture than thou?  If thou wilt know and learn anything
with profit, love to be thyself unknown and to be counted for
nothing.

4. That is the highest and most profitable lesson, when a man
truly knoweth and judgeth lowly of himself.  To account nothing
of one's self, and to think always kindly and highly of others,
this is great and perfect wisdom.  Even shouldest thou see thy
neighbor sin openly or grievously, yet thou oughtest not to
reckon thyself better than he, for thou knowest not how long
thou shalt keep thine integrity.  All of us are weak and frail;
hold thou no man more frail than thyself.



Of the knowledge of truth

Happy is the man whom Truth by itself doth teach, not by figures
and transient words, but as it is in itself.(1)  Our own
judgment and feelings often deceive us, and we discern but
little of the truth.  What doth it profit to argue about hidden
and dark things, concerning which we shall no
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Although I am an old man, night is generally my time for walking. In the
summer I often leave home early in the morning, and roam about fields
and lanes all day, or even escape for days or weeks together; but,
saving in the country, I seldom go out until after dark, though, Heaven
be thanked, I love its light and feel the cheerfulness it sheds upon the
earth, as much as any creature living.

I have fallen insensibly into this habit, both because it favours my
infirmity and because it affords me greater opportunity of speculating
on the characters and occupations of those who fill the streets. The
glare and hurry of broad noon are not adapted to idle pursuits like
mine; a glimpse of passing faces caught by the light of a street-lamp
or a shop window is often better for my purpose than their full
revelation in the daylight; and, if I must add the truth, night is
kinder in this respect than day, which too often destroys an air-built
castle at the moment of its completion, without the least ceremony or
remorse.

That constant pacing to and fro, that never-ending restlessness, that
incessant tread of feet wearing the rough stones smooth and glossy--is
it not a wonder how the dwellers in narrows ways can bear to hear it!
Think of a sick man in such a place as Saint Martin’s Court, listening
to the footsteps, and in the midst of pain and weariness obliged,
despite himself (as though it were a task he must perform) to detect
the child’s step from the man’s, the slipshod beggar from the booted
exquisite, the lounging from the busy, the dull heel of the sauntering
outcast from the quick tread of an expectant pleasure-seeker--think of
the hum and noise always being present to his sense, and of the stream
of life that will not stop, pouring on, on, on, through all his
restless dreams, as if he were condemned to lie, dead but conscious, in
a noisy churchyard, and had no hope of rest for centuries to come.

Then, the crowds forever passing and repassing on the bridges (on
those which are free of toll at least), where many stop on fine evenings
looking listlessly down upon the water with some vague idea that by and
by it runs between green banks which grow wider and wider until at last
it joins the broad vast sea--where some halt to rest from heavy loads
and think as they look over the parapet that to smoke and lounge away
one’s life, and lie sleeping in the sun upon a hot tarpaulin, in a
dull, slow, sluggish barge, must be happiness unalloyed--and where
some, and a very different class, pause with heavier loads than they,
remembering to have heard or read in old time that drowning was not a
hard death, but of all means of suicide the easiest and best.

Covent Garden Market at sunrise too, in the spring or summer, when the
fragrance of sweet flowers is in the air, over-powering even the
unwholesome streams of last night’s debauchery, and driving the dusky
thrush, whose cage has hung outside a garret window all night long,
half mad with joy! Poor bird! the only neighbouring thing at all akin
to the other little captives, some of whom, shrinking from the hot
hands of drunken purchasers, lie drooping on the path already, while
others, soddened by close contact, await the time when they shall be
watered and freshened up to please more sober company, and make old
clerks who pass them on their road to business, wonder what has filled
their breasts with visions of the country.

But my present purpose is not to expatiate upon my walks. The story I
am about to relate, and to which I shall recur at intervals,  arose out
of one of these rambles; and thus I have been led to speak of them by
way of preface.

One night I had roamed into the City, and was walking slowly on in my
usual way, musing upon a great many things, when I was arrested by an
inquiry, the purport of which did not reach me, but which seemed to be
addressed to myself, and was preferred in a soft sweet voice that
struck me very pleasantly. I turned hastily round and found at my elbow
a pretty little girl, who begged to be directed to a certain street at
a considerable distance, and indeed in quite another quarter of the
town.

‘It is a very long way from here,’ said I, ‘my child.’

‘I know that, sir,’ she replied timidly. ‘I am afraid it is a very long
way, for I came from there to-night.’

‘Alone?’ said I, in some surprise.

‘Oh, yes, I don’t mind that, but I am a little frightened now, for I
had lost my road.’

‘And what made you ask it of me? Suppose I should tell you wrong?’

‘I am sure you will not do that,’ said the little creature,’ you are
such a very old gentleman, and walk so slow yourself.’

I cannot describe how much I was impressed by this appeal and the
energy with which it was made, which brought a tear into the child’s
clear eye, and made her slight figure tremble as she looked up into my
face.

‘Come,’ said I, ‘I’ll take you there.’

She put her hand in mine as confidingly as if she had known me from her
cradle, and we trudged away together; the litt
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LORD JIM





He was an inch, perhaps two, under six feet, powerfully built, and he
advanced straight at you with a slight stoop of the shoulders, head
forward, and a fixed from-under stare which made you think of a charging
bull. His voice was deep, loud, and his manner displayed a kind of
dogged self-assertion which had nothing aggressive in it. It seemed
a necessity, and it was directed apparently as much at himself as at
anybody else. He was spotlessly neat, apparelled in immaculate white
from shoes to hat, and in the various Eastern ports where he got his
living as ship-chandler’s water-clerk he was very popular.

A water-clerk need not pass an examination in anything under the sun,
but he must have Ability in the abstract and demonstrate it practically.
His work consists in racing under sail, steam, or oars against other
water-clerks for any ship about to anchor, greeting her captain
cheerily, forcing upon him a card--the business card of the
ship-chandler--and on his first visit on shore piloting him firmly but
without ostentation to a vast, cavern-like shop which is full of things
that are eaten and drunk on board ship; where you can get everything
to make her seaworthy and beautiful, from a set of chain-hooks for her
cable to a book of gold-leaf for the carvings of her stern; and where
her commander is received like a brother by a ship-chandler he has never
seen before. There is a cool parlour, easy-chairs, bottles, cigars,
writing implements, a copy of harbour regulations, and a warmth of
welcome that melts the salt of a three months’ passage out of a seaman’s
heart. The connection thus begun is kept up, as long as the ship remains
in harbour, by the daily visits of the water-clerk. To the captain he
is faithful like a friend and attentive like a son, with the patience
of Job, the unselfish devotion of a woman, and the jollity of a boon
companion. Later on the bill is sent in. It is a beautiful and humane
occupation. Therefore good water-clerks are scarce. When a water-clerk
who possesses Ability in the abstract has also the advantage of having
been brought up to the sea, he is worth to his employer a lot of money
and some humouring. Jim had always good wages and as much humouring
as would have bought the fidelity of a fiend. Nevertheless, with black
ingratitude he would throw up the job suddenly and depart. To his
employers the reasons he gave were obviously inadequate. They said
‘Confounded fool!’ as soon as his back was turned. This was their
criticism on his exquisite sensibility.

To the white men in the waterside business and to the captains of ships
he was just Jim--nothing more. He had, of course, another name, but he
was anxious that it should not be pronounced. His incognito, which had
as many holes as a sieve, was not meant to hide a personality but a
fact. When the fact broke through the incognito he would leave
suddenly the seaport where he happened to be at the time and go to
another--generally farther east. He kept to seaports because he was a
seaman in exile from the sea, and had Ability in the abstract, which is
good for no other work but that of a water-clerk. He retreated in good
order towards the rising sun, and the fact followed him casually but
inevitably. Thus in the course of years he was known successively in
Bombay, in Calcutta, in Rangoon, in Penang, in Batavia--and in each of
these halting-places was just Jim the water-clerk. Afterwards, when his
keen perception of the Intolerable drove him away for good from seaports
and white men, even into the virgin forest, the Malays of the jungle
village, where he had elected to conceal his deplorable faculty, added a
word to the monosyllable of his incognito. They called him Tuan Jim: as
one might say--Lord Jim.

Originally he came from a parsonage. Many commanders of fine
merchant-ships come from these abodes of piety and peace. Jim’s father
possessed such certain knowledge of the Unknowable as made for the
righteousness of people in cottages without disturbing the ease of mind
of those whom an unerring Providence enables to live in mansions. The
little church on a hill had the mossy greyness of a rock seen through a
ragged screen of leaves. It had stood there for centuries, but the trees
around probably remembered the laying of the first stone. Below, the
red front of the rectory gleamed with a warm tint in the midst of
grass-plots, flower-beds, and fir-trees, with an orchard at the back,
a paved stable-yard to the left, and the sloping glass of greenhouses
tacked along a wall of bricks. The living had belonged to the family for
generations; but Jim was one of five sons, and when after a course of
light holiday literature his vocation for the sea had declared itself,
he was sent at once to a ‘training-ship for officers of the mercantile
marine.’

He learned there a little trigonometry and how to cross top-gallant
yards. He was generally liked. He had the third place in navigation
and pulled stroke in the first cutter. Having 
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PG #: 1658
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PHAEDO

By Plato


Translated by Benjamin Jowett




INTRODUCTION.

After an interval of some months or years, and at Phlius, a town of
Peloponnesus, the tale of the last hours of Socrates is narrated to
Echecrates and other Phliasians by Phaedo the 'beloved disciple.' The
Dialogue necessarily takes the form of a narrative, because Socrates has
to be described acting as well as speaking. The minutest particulars of
the event are interesting to distant friends, and the narrator has an
equal interest in them.

During the voyage of the sacred ship to and from Delos, which has
occupied thirty days, the execution of Socrates has been deferred.
(Compare Xen. Mem.) The time has been passed by him in conversation with
a select company of disciples. But now the holy season is over, and the
disciples meet earlier than usual in order that they may converse with
Socrates for the last time. Those who were present, and those who might
have been expected to be present, are mentioned by name. There are
Simmias and Cebes (Crito), two disciples of Philolaus whom Socrates
'by his enchantments has attracted from Thebes' (Mem.), Crito the aged
friend, the attendant of the prison, who is as good as a friend--these
take part in the conversation. There are present also, Hermogenes,
from whom Xenophon derived his information about the trial of Socrates
(Mem.), the 'madman' Apollodorus (Symp.), Euclid and Terpsion from
Megara (compare Theaet.), Ctesippus, Antisthenes, Menexenus, and some
other less-known members of the Socratic circle, all of whom are silent
auditors. Aristippus, Cleombrotus, and Plato are noted as absent. Almost
as soon as the friends of Socrates enter the prison Xanthippe and her
children are sent home in the care of one of Crito's servants.
Socrates himself has just been released from chains, and is led by this
circumstance to make the natural remark that 'pleasure follows pain.'
(Observe that Plato is preparing the way for his doctrine of the
alternation of opposites.) 'Aesop would have represented them in a fable
as a two-headed creature of the gods.' The mention of Aesop reminds
Cebes of a question which had been asked by Evenus the poet (compare
Apol.): 'Why Socrates, who was not a poet, while in prison had been
putting Aesop into verse?'--'Because several times in his life he had
been warned in dreams that he should practise music; and as he was about
to die and was not certain of what was meant, he wished to fulfil the
admonition in the letter as well as in the spirit, by writing verses as
well as by cultivating philosophy. Tell this to Evenus; and say that I
would have him follow me in death.' 'He is not at all the sort of man
to comply with your request, Socrates.' 'Why, is he not a philosopher?'
'Yes.' 'Then he will be willing to die, although he will not take his
own life, for that is held to be unlawful.'

Cebes asks why suicide is thought not to be right, if death is to be
accounted a good? Well, (1) according to one explanation, because man is
a prisoner, who must not open the door of his prison and run away--this
is the truth in a 'mystery.' Or (2) rather, because he is not his own
property, but a possession of the gods, and has no right to make away
with that which does not belong to him. But why, asks Cebes, if he is a
possession of the gods, should he wish to die and leave them? For he is
under their protection; and surely he cannot take better care of himself
than they take of him. Simmias explains that Cebes is really referring
to Socrates, whom they think too unmoved at the prospect of leaving the
gods and his friends. Socrates answers that he is going to other gods
who are wise and good, and perhaps to better friends; and he professes
that he is ready to defend himself against the charge of Cebes.
The company shall be his judges, and he hopes that he will be more
successful in convincing them than he had been in convincing the court.

The philosopher desires death--which the wicked world will insinuate
that he also deserves: and perhaps he does, but not in any sense which
they are capable of understanding. Enough of them: the real question
is, What is the nature of that death which he desires? Death is
the separation of soul and body--and the philosopher desires such
a separation. He would like to be freed from the dominion of bodily
pleasures and of the senses, which are always perturbing his mental
vision. He wants to get rid of eyes and ears, and with the light of the
mind only to behold the light of truth. All the evils and impurities
and necessities of men come from the body. And death separates him from
these corruptions, which in life he cannot wholly lay aside. Why then
should he repine when the hour of separation arrives? Why, if he is dead
while he lives, should he fear that other death, through which alone he
can behold wisdom in her purity?

Besides, the philosopher has notions of good and evil unlike those of
other men. For they are courageous because they are afraid of greater
d
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Miss Polly Harrington entered her kitchen a little hurriedly this
June morning. Miss Polly did not usually make hurried movements; she
specially prided herself on her repose of manner. But to-day she was
hurrying--actually hurrying.

Nancy, washing dishes at the sink, looked up in surprise. Nancy had been
working in Miss Polly's kitchen only two months, but already she knew
that her mistress did not usually hurry.

“Nancy!”

“Yes, ma'am.” Nancy answered cheerfully, but she still continued wiping
the pitcher in her hand.

“Nancy,”--Miss Polly's voice was very stern now--“when I'm talking to
you, I wish you to stop your work and listen to what I have to say.”

Nancy flushed miserably. She set the pitcher down at once, with the
cloth still about it, thereby nearly tipping it over--which did not add
to her composure.

“Yes, ma'am; I will, ma'am,” she stammered, righting the pitcher,
and turning hastily. “I was only keepin' on with my work 'cause you
specially told me this mornin' ter hurry with my dishes, ye know.”

Her mistress frowned.

“That will do, Nancy. I did not ask for explanations. I asked for your
attention.”

“Yes, ma'am.” Nancy stifled a sigh. She was wondering if ever in any way
she could please this woman. Nancy had never “worked out” before; but
a sick mother suddenly widowed and left with three younger children
besides Nancy herself, had forced the girl into doing something toward
their support, and she had been so pleased when she found a place in
the kitchen of the great house on the hill--Nancy had come from “The
Corners,” six miles away, and she knew Miss Polly Harrington only as
the mistress of the old Harrington homestead, and one of the wealthiest
residents of the town. That was two months before. She knew Miss Polly
now as a stern, severe-faced woman who frowned if a knife clattered to
the floor, or if a door banged--but who never thought to smile even when
knives and doors were still.

“When you've finished your morning work, Nancy,” Miss Polly was saying
now, “you may clear the little room at the head of the stairs in the
attic, and make up the cot bed. Sweep the room and clean it, of course,
after you clear out the trunks and boxes.”

“Yes, ma'am. And where shall I put the things, please, that I take out?”

“In the front attic.” Miss Polly hesitated, then went on: “I suppose I
may as well tell you now, Nancy. My niece, Miss Pollyanna Whittier, is
coming to live with me. She is eleven years old, and will sleep in that
room.”

“A little girl--coming here, Miss Harrington? Oh, won't that be nice!”
 cried Nancy, thinking of the sunshine her own little sisters made in the
home at “The Corners.”

“Nice? Well, that isn't exactly the word I should use,” rejoined Miss
Polly, stiffly. “However, I intend to make the best of it, of course. I
am a good woman, I hope; and I know my duty.”

Nancy colored hotly.

“Of course, ma'am; it was only that I thought a little girl here
might--might brighten things up for you,” she faltered.

“Thank you,” rejoined the lady, dryly. “I can't say, however, that I see
any immediate need for that.”

“But, of course, you--you'd want her, your sister's child,” ventured
Nancy, vaguely feeling that somehow she must prepare a welcome for this
lonely little stranger.

Miss Polly lifted her chin haughtily.

“Well, really, Nancy, just because I happened to have a sister who was
silly enough to marry and bring unnecessary children into a world that
was already quite full enough, I can't see how I should particularly
WANT to have the care of them myself. However, as I said before, I hope
I know my duty. See that you clean the corners, Nancy,” she finished
sharply, as she left the room.

“Yes, ma'am,” sighed Nancy, picking up the half-dried pitcher--now so
cold it must be rinsed again.


In her own room, Miss Polly took out once more the letter which she had
received two days before from the far-away Western town, and which had
been so unpleasant a surprise to her. The letter was addressed to Miss
Polly Harrington, Beldingsville, Vermont; and it read as follows:

“Dear Madam:--I regret to inform you that the Rev. John Whittier died
two weeks ago, leaving one child, a girl eleven years old. He left
practically nothing else save a few books; for, as you doubtless know,
he was the pastor of this small mission church, and had a very meagre
salary.

“I believe he was your deceased sister's husband, but he gave me to
understand the families were not on the best of terms. He thought,
however, that for your sister's sake you might wish to take the child
and bring her up among her own people in the East. Hence I am writing to
you.

“The little girl will be all ready to start by the time you get this
letter; and if you can take her, we would appreciate it very much if you
would write that she might come at once, as there is a man and his wife
here who are going East very soon, and they would take her with them to
Boston, and put her on the Beldingsville train. Of course you would be

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       *       *       *       *       *

PREFACE

To The Present Edition,

With Some Account Of The Translator.

The first edition of this translation of La Fontaine's Fables appeared
in Boston, U.S., in 1841. It achieved a considerable success, and six
editions were printed in three years. Since then it has been allowed to
pass out of print, except in the shape of a small-type edition produced
in London immediately after the first publication in Boston, and the
present publishers have thought that a reprint in a readable yet popular
form would be generally acceptable.

The translator has remarked, in the "Advertisement" to his original
edition (which follows these pages), on the singular neglect of La
Fontaine by English translators up to the time of his own work. Forty
years have elapsed since those remarks were penned, yet translations into
English of the _complete_ Fables of the chief among modern fabulists
are almost as few in number as they were then. Mr. George Ticknor (the
author of the "History of Spanish Literature," &c.), in praising Mr.
Wright's translation when it first appeared, said La Fontaine's was "a
book till now untranslated;" and since Mr. Wright so happily accomplished
his self-imposed task, there has been but one other complete translation,
viz., that of the late Mr. Walter Thornbury. This latter, however, seems
to have been undertaken chiefly with a view to supplying the necessary
accompaniment to the English issue of M. Doré's well-known designs for
the Fables (first published as illustrations to a Paris edition), and
existing as it does only in the large quarto form given to those
illustrations, it cannot make any claim to be a handy-volume edition. Mr.
Wright's translation, however, still holds its place as the best English
version, and the present reprint, besides having undergone careful
revision, embodies the corrections (but not the expurgations) of the
sixth edition, which differed from those preceding it. The notes too,
have, for the most part, been added by the reviser.

Some account of the translator, who is still one of the living notables
of his nation, may not be out of place here. Elizur Wright, junior, is
the son of Elizur Wright, who published some papers in mathematics, but
was principally engaged in agricultural pursuits at Canaan, Litchfield
Co., Connecticut, U.S. The younger Elizur Wright was born at Canaan in
1804. He graduated at Yale College in 1826, and afterwards taught in a
school at Groton. In 1829, he became Professor of Mathematics in Hudson
College, from which post he went to New York in 1833, on being appointed
secretary to the American Anti-Slavery Society. In 1838 he removed to the
literary centre of the United States, Boston, where he edited several
papers successively, and where he published his "La Fontaine;" which
thus, whilst, it still remains his most considerable work, was also one
of his earliest. How he was led to undertake it, he has himself narrated
in the advertisement to his first edition. But previously to 1841, the
date of the first publication of the complete "Fables," he tried the
effect of a partial publication. In 1839 he published, anonymously, a
little 12mo volume, "La Fontaine; A Present for the Young." This, as
appears from the title, was a book for children, and though the substance
of these few (and simpler) fables may be traced in the later and complete
edition, the latter shows a considerable improvement upon the work of his
"'prentice hand." The complete work was published, as we have said, in
1841. It appeared in an expensive and sumptuous form, and was adorned
with the French artist Grandville's illustrations--which had first
appeared only two years previously in the Paris edition of La Fontaine's
Fables, published by Fournier Ainé. The book was well received both in
America and England, and four other editions were speedily called for.
The sixth edition, published in 1843, was a slightly expurgated one,
designed for schools. The expurgation, however, almost wholly consisted
of the omission bodily of five of the fables, whose places were, as Mr.
Wright stated in his preface, filled by six original fables of his own.
From his "Notice" affixed to this sixth edition, it seems evident that he
by no means relished the task, usually a hateful one, of expurgating his
author. Having, however, been urged to the task by "criticisms both
friendly and unfriendly" (as he says) he did it; and did it wisely,
because sparingly. But in his prefatory words he in a measure protests.
He says:--"In this age, distinguished for almost everything more than
sincerity, there are some people who would seem too delicate and refined
to read their Bibles." And he concludes with the appeal,--"But the
unsophisticated lovers of _nature_, who have not had the opportunity
to acquaint themselves with the French language, I have no doubt will
thank me for interpreting to them these honest and truthful fictions of
the frank old JEAN, and will beg me to pro
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Online Distributed Proofreading Team











1811 DICTIONARY OF THE VULGAR TONGUE.

              A
          DICTIONARY
             OF
BUCKISH SLANG, UNIVERSITY WIT,
            AND
     PICKPOCKET ELOQUENCE.


UNABRIDGED FROM THE ORIGINAL 1811 EDITION WITH A FOREWORD BY
ROBERT CROMIE

COMPILED ORIGINALLY BY CAPTAIN GROSE.

AND NOW CONSIDERABLY ALTERED AND ENLARGED, WITH THE MODERN
CHANGES AND IMPROVEMENTS, BY A MEMBER OF THE WHIP CLUB.

ASSISTED BY HELL-FIRE DICK, AND JAMES GORDON,
ESQRS. OF CAMBRIDGE; AND WILLIAM SOAMES, ESQ. OF
THE HON. SOCIETY OF NEWMAN'S HOTEL.





PREFACE.

The merit of Captain Grose's Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue has
been long and universally acknowledged. But its circulation was
confined almost exclusively to the lower orders of society: he
was not aware, at the time of its compilation, that our young men
of fashion would at no very distant period be as distinguished
for the vulgarity of their jargon as the inhabitants of Newgate;
and he therefore conceived it superfluous to incorporate with his
work the few examples of fashionable slang that might occur to
his observation.

But our Jehus of rank have a phraseology not less peculiar to
themselves, than the disciples of Barrington: for the uninitiated
to understand their modes of expression, is as impossible as for
a Buxton to construe the Greek Testament. To sport an Upper
Benjamin, and to swear with a good grace, are qualifications
easily attainable by their cockney imitators; but without the aid
of our additional definitions, neither the cits of Fish-street,
nor the boors of Brentford would be able to attain the language
of whippism. We trust, therefore, that the whole tribe of
second-rate Bang Ups, will feel grateful for our endeavour to render
this part of the work as complete as possible. By an occasional
reference to our pages, they may be initiated into all the
peculiarities of language by which the man of spirit is
distinguished from the man of worth. They may now talk bawdy
before their papas, without the fear of detection, and abuse
their less spirited companions, who prefer a good dinner at home
to a glorious UP-SHOT in the highway, without the hazard of a
cudgelling.

But we claim not merely the praise of gratifying curiosity, or
affording assistance to the ambitious; we are very sure that the
moral influence of the Lexicon Balatronicum will be more certain
and extensive than that of any methodist sermon that has ever
been delivered within the bills of mortality. We need not descant
on the dangerous impressions that are made on the female mind, by
the remarks that fall incidentally from the lips of the brothers
or servants of a family; and we have before observed, that
improper topics can with our assistance be discussed, even before
the ladies, without raising a blush on the cheek of modesty. It
is impossible that a female should understand the meaning of
TWIDDLE DIDDLES, or rise from table at the mention of BUCKINGER'S
BOOT. Besides, Pope assures us, that "VICE TO BE HATED NEEDS BUT
TO BE SEEN;" in this volume it cannot be denied, that she is seen
very plainly; and a love of virtue is, therefore, the necessary
result of perusing it.

The propriety of introducing the UNIVERSITY SLANG will be readily
admitted; it is not less curious than that of the College in the
Old
Bailey, and is less generally understood. When the number and
accuracy of our additions are compared with the price of the
volume, we have no doubt that its editors will meet with the
encouragement that is due to learning, modesty, and virtue.




DICTIONARY OF THE VULGAR TONGUE.




ABBESS, or LADY ABBESS, A bawd, the mistress of a
  brothel.

ABEL-WACKETS. Blows given on the palm of the hand
  with a twisted handkerchief, instead of a ferula; a jocular
  punishment among seamen, who sometimes play at cards
  for wackets, the loser suffering as many strokes as he has
  lost games.

ABIGAIL. A lady's waiting-maid.

ABRAM. Naked. CANT.

ABRAM COVE. A cant word among thieves, signifying a
  naked or poor man; also a lusty, strong rogue.

ABRAM MEN. Pretended mad men.

TO SHAM ABRAM. To pretend sickness.

ACADEMY, or PUSHING SCHOOL. A brothel. The Floating
  Academy; the lighters on board of which those persons
  are confined, who by a late regulation are condemned to
  hard labour, instead of transportation.--Campbell's
  Academy; the same, from a gentleman of that name, who had
  the contract for victualling the hulks or lighters.

ACE OF SPADES. A widow.

ACCOUNTS. To cast up one's accounts; to vomit.

ACORN. You will ride a horse foaled by an acorn, i.e. the
  gallows, called also the Wooden and Three-legged Mare.
  You will be hanged.--See THREE-LEGGED MARE.

ACT OF PARLIAMENT. A military term for small beer, five
  pints of which, by an act of parliament, a landlord was
  formerly obliged to give to each soldier gratis.

ACTEON. A cuckold, from the horns planted on the head
  of Acteon by Diana.

ACTIVE CITIZEN. A louse.

ADAM'S ALE. Water.

ADA
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Note: A 1 is also applied colloquially to other things to imply
superiority; prime; first-class; first-rate.

AAM
Aam, n. Etym: [D. aam, fr. LL. ama; cf. L. hama a water bucket, Gr.

Defn: A Dutch and German measure of liquids, varying in different
cities, being at Amsterdam about 41 wine gallons, at Antwerp 36½, at
Hamburg 38¼. [Written also Aum and Awm.]

AARD-VARK
Aard"-vark`, n. Etym: [D., earth-pig.] (Zoöl.)

Defn: An edentate mammal, of the genus Orycteropus, somewhat
resembling a pig, common in some parts of Southern Africa. It burrows
in the ground, and feeds entirely on ants, which it catches with its
long, slimy tongue.

AARD-WOLF
Aard"-wolf`, n. Etym: [D, earth-wolf] (Zoöl.)

Defn: A carnivorous quadruped (Proteles Lalandii), of South Africa,
resembling the fox and hyena. See Proteles.

AARONIC; AARONICAL
Aa*ron"ic, Aa*ron"ic*al, a.

Defn: Pertaining to Aaron, the first high priest of the Jews.

AARON'S ROD
Aar"on's rod`. Etym: [See Exodus vii. 9 and Numbers xvii. 8]

1. (Arch.)

Defn: A rod with one serpent twined around it, thus differing from
the caduceus of Mercury, which has two.

2. (Bot.)

Defn: A plant with a tall flowering stem; esp. the great mullein, or
hag-taper, and the golden-rod.

AB-
Ab-. Etym: [Latin prep., etymologically the same as E. of, off. See
Of.]

Defn: A prefix in many words of Latin origin. It signifies from, away
, separating, or departure, as in abduct, abstract, abscond. See A-
(6).

AB
Ab, n. Etym: [Of Syriac origin.]

Defn: The fifth month of the Jewish year according to the
ecclesiastical reckoning, the eleventh by the civil computation,
coinciding nearly with August. W. Smith.

ABACA
Ab"a*ca, n. Etym: [The native name.]

Defn: The Manila-hemp plant (Musa textilis); also, its fiber. See
Manila hemp under Manila.

ABACINATE
A*bac"i*nate, v.t. Etym: [LL. abacinatus, p.p. of abacinare; ab off +
bacinus a basin.]

Defn: To blind by a red-hot metal plate held before the eyes. [R.]

ABACINATION
A*bac`i*na"tion, n.

Defn: The act of abacinating. [R.]

ABACISCUS
Ab`a*cis"cus, n. Etym: [Gr.Abacus.] (Arch.)

Defn: One of the tiles or squares of a tessellated pavement; an
abaculus.

ABACIST
Ab"a*cist, n. Etym: [LL abacista, fr. abacus.]

Defn: One who uses an abacus in casting accounts; a calculator.

ABACK
A*back", adv. Etym: [Pref. a- + back; AS. on bæc at, on, or toward
the back. See Back.]

1. Toward the back or rear; backward. "Therewith aback she started."
Chaucer.

2. Behind; in the rear. Knolles.

3. (Naut.)

Defn: Backward against the mast;-said of the sails when pressed by
the wind. Totten. To be taken aback. (a) To be driven backward
against the mast; -- said of the sails, also of the ship when the
sails are thus driven. (b) To be suddenly checked, baffled, or
discomfited. Dickens.

ABACK
Ab"ack, n.

Defn: An abacus. [Obs.] B. Jonson.

ABACTINAL
Ab*ac"ti*nal, a. Etym: [L. ab + E. actinal.] (Zoöl.)

Defn: Pertaining to the surface or end opposite to the mouth in a
radiate animal; -- opposed to actinal. "The aboral or abactinal
area." L. Agassiz.

ABACTION
Ab*ac"tion, n.

Defn: Stealing cattle on a large scale. [Obs.]

ABACTOR
Ab*ac"tor, n. Etym: [L., fr. abigere to drive away; ab+agere to
drive.] (Law)

Defn: One who steals and drives away cattle or beasts by herds or
droves. [Obs.]

ABACULUS
A*bac"u*lus, n.; pl. Abaculi. Etym: [L., dim. of abacus.] (Arch.)

Defn: A small tile of glass, marble, or other substance, of various
colors, used in making ornamental patterns in mosaic pavements.
Fairholt.

ABACUS
Ab"a*cus, n. E. pl. Abacuses ; L. pl. Abaci. Etym: [L. abacus, abax,
Gr.

1. A table or tray strewn with sand, anciently used for drawing,
calculating, etc. [Obs.]

2. A calculating table or frame; an instrument for performing
arithmetical calculations by balls sliding on wires, or counters in
grooves, the lowest line representing units, the second line, tens,
etc. It is still employed in China.

3. (Arch.)
(a) The uppermost member or division of the capital of a column,
immediately under the architrave. See Column.
(b) A tablet, panel, or compartment in ornamented or mosaic work.

4. A board, tray, or table, divided into perforated compartments, for
holding cups, bottles, or the like; a kind of cupboard, buffet, or
sideboard. Abacus harmonicus (Mus.), an ancient diagram showing the
structure and disposition of the keys of an instrument. Crabb.

ABADA
Ab"a*da, n. Etym: [Pg., the female rhinoceros.]

Defn: The rhinoceros. [Obs.] Purchas.

ABADDON
A*bad"don, n. Etym: [Heb. abaddon destruction, abyss, fr. abad to be
lost, to perish.]

1. The destroyer, or angel of the bottomless pit; -- the same as
Apollyon and Asmodeus.

2. Hell; the bottomless pit. [Poetic]
In all her gates, Abaddon rues Thy bold attempt. Milton.

ABAFT
A*baft", prep. Etym: [Pref. a-on + OE. baft, baften, biaften, AS.
beæftan; be by + æftan behind. See After, Aft, By.] (Naut.)

Defn: Behind; toward the stern from; as, abaft the wheelhouse. Abaft
the beam. See under Beam.

ABAFT
A*baft", adv. (Naut
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1. Diana and Virbius

WHO does not know Turner's picture of the Golden Bough? The scene,
suffused with the golden glow of imagination in which the divine
mind of Turner steeped and transfigured even the fairest natural
landscape, is a dream-like vision of the little woodland lake of
Nemi-- "Diana's Mirror," as it was called by the ancients. No one
who has seen that calm water, lapped in a green hollow of the Alban
hills, can ever forget it. The two characteristic Italian villages
which slumber on its banks, and the equally Italian palace whose
terraced gardens descend steeply to the lake, hardly break the
stillness and even the solitariness of the scene. Diana herself
might still linger by this lonely shore, still haunt these woodlands
wild.

In antiquity this sylvan landscape was the scene of a strange and
recurring tragedy. On the northern shore of the lake, right under
the precipitous cliffs on which the modern village of Nemi is
perched, stood the sacred grove and sanctuary of Diana Nemorensis,
or Diana of the Wood. The lake and the grove were sometimes known as
the lake and grove of Aricia. But the town of Aricia (the modern La
Riccia) was situated about three miles off, at the foot of the Alban
Mount, and separated by a steep descent from the lake, which lies in
a small crater-like hollow on the mountain side. In this sacred
grove there grew a certain tree round which at any time of the day,
and probably far into the night, a grim figure might be seen to
prowl. In his hand he carried a drawn sword, and he kept peering
warily about him as if at every instant he expected to be set upon
by an enemy. He was a priest and a murderer; and the man for whom he
looked was sooner or later to murder him and hold the priesthood in
his stead. Such was the rule of the sanctuary. A candidate for the
priesthood could only succeed to office by slaying the priest, and
having slain him, he retained office till he was himself slain by a
stronger or a craftier.

The post which he held by this precarious tenure carried with it the
title of king; but surely no crowned head ever lay uneasier, or was
visited by more evil dreams, than his. For year in, year out, in
summer and winter, in fair weather and in foul, he had to keep his
lonely watch, and whenever he snatched a troubled slumber it was at
the peril of his life. The least relaxation of his vigilance, the
smallest abatement of his strength of limb or skill of fence, put
him in jeopardy; grey hairs might seal his death-warrant. To gentle
and pious pilgrims at the shrine the sight of him might well seem to
darken the fair landscape, as when a cloud suddenly blots the sun on
a bright day. The dreamy blue of Italian skies, the dappled shade of
summer woods, and the sparkle of waves in the sun, can have accorded
but ill with that stern and sinister figure. Rather we picture to
ourselves the scene as it may have been witnessed by a belated
wayfarer on one of those wild autumn nights when the dead leaves are
falling thick, and the winds seem to sing the dirge of the dying
year. It is a sombre picture, set to melancholy music--the
background of forest showing black and jagged against a lowering and
stormy sky, the sighing of the wind in the branches, the rustle of
the withered leaves under foot, the lapping of the cold water on the
shore, and in the foreground, pacing to and fro, now in twilight and
now in gloom, a dark figure with a glitter of steel at the shoulder
whenever the pale moon, riding clear of the cloud-rack, peers down
at him through the matted boughs.

The strange rule of this priesthood has no parallel in classical
antiquity, and cannot be explained from it. To find an explanation
we must go farther afield. No one will probably deny that such a
custom savours of a barbarous age, and, surviving into imperial
times, stands out in striking isolation from the polished Italian
society of the day, like a primaeval rock rising from a
smooth-shaven lawn. It is the very rudeness and barbarity of the
custom which allow us a hope of explaining it. For recent researches
into the early history of man have revealed the essential similarity
with which, under many superficial differences, the human mind has
elaborated its first crude philosophy of life. Accordingly, if we
can show that a barbarous custom, like that of the priesthood of
Nemi, has existed elsewhere; if we can detect the motives which led
to its institution; if we can prove that these motives have operated
widely, perhaps universally, in human society, producing in varied
circumstances a variety of institutions specifically different but
generically alike; if we can show, lastly, that these very motives,
with some of their derivative institutions, were actually at work in
classical antiquity; then we may fairly infer that at a remoter age
the same motives gave birth to the priesthood of Nemi. Such an
inference, in default of direct evidence as to how the priesthood
did actually arise, can never amount to demonstra
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WIT, HUMOR, AND SHAKSPEARE.




 In Press:


 _The West-Easterly Divan
 of Goethe._

 Translated, with an Introduction
 and Notes,

 By John Weiss.


  [Ready in December.]




 WIT, HUMOR, AND
 SHAKSPEARE.

 Twelve Essays.

 By JOHN WEISS.

 [Illustration]

 BOSTON:
 ROBERTS BROTHERS.
 1876.




 _Copyright_, 1876,
 By John Weiss.

 _Cambridge:
 Press of John Wilson & Son._




CONTENTS.


                                                                 PAGE

 I. The Cause of Laughter                                          3

 II. Wit, Irony, Humor                                            33

 III. Dogberry, Malvolio, Troilus and Cressida
 (Ajax), Bottom, Touchstone                                       73

 IV. Falstaff: his Companions; Americanisms                      119

 V. Hamlet                                                       151

 VI. The Porter in "Macbeth," the Clown in
 "Twelfth Night," the Fool in "Lear"                             185

 VII. Women and Men: Maria, Helena, Imogen,
 Constance                                                       211

 VIII. Lord Bacon and the Plays, Shakspeare's
 Women, Love in Shakspeare                                       245

 IX. Portia                                                      301

 X. Helena; Ophelia                                              327

 XI. Macbeth                                                     361

 XII. Blonde Women: Lady Macbeth                                 397




THE CAUSE OF LAUGHTER.


This Subject is best reached from the point of reflecting that, of all
the animals, man alone appears to be capable of laughter. If, as so
many naturalists now claim, man has ascended by successive evolutions
of varieties from a lower animal type, we ought to be able to find
some germs of the laughing propensity among our ancestors. The first
witness we summon on this question is the anatomist, because the
physical expression that accompanies an act of laughter depends upon
the connection of the respiratory nerves with the diaphragm below
and the orbicular and straight muscles of the mouth above. But these
muscles are not perfectly developed in the animals. When dogs are
fondly gambolling about you, there is "a slight eversion of the lips,"
which is a rudimentary hint of man's facial expression in an act of
mirth. The dog has been the associate of human moods in all countries,
and for thousands of years; yet, although we are told that "the little
dog laughed to see the sport," he has not yet made up his mouth for any
thing more emphatic than a simper.

Some kinds of monkeys have established a facial expression, accompanied
with a laughing noise, which is so like the human that we might charge
them with being entertained at the practical jokes which they pass
upon each other, or over some obscurer sense of sylvan incongruity.
We can see, at least, that Nature was preparing in them the nervous
connections which men employ to transmit their pleasurable emotions; as
the flexible plants which dangle by the streams and chasms of the Andes
are woven by his after-thought to span the intervals, and the good
cheer of humanity passes to and fro.

The respiratory nerves radiate from their centre in the medulla
oblongata, the place to which the brain must transmit the first shock
of the surprise which ends in smiling and laughing. Thence it is
transmitted to the heart and diaphragm, quickening the action of the
one, and setting the other in motion, at the same instant climbing
to engage the facial nerves in sympathy; then the orbicular muscles
retract, forcing the cheek up towards the eye, and tightening the
muscles which surround the eyelid.

All our passions appear to claim the respiratory nerves for outward
expression. They are a signal corps which communicate by hoisting the
blush, the smile; by letting fall the tear, by the exhalation of a
sigh, by the explosions of laughter. The life-breaths of joy and grief
tend primitively to the lungs, and they voice the mother-tongue of all
emotions.

I have often wondered how animals can avoid being struck with the
differences which exist among themselves, so much more salient and
intrusive than among the races of men, in shape, gestures, tones, and
habits. What a wide range of Nature's curious freakery a forest has, or
a district of country like those plains and thickets of Africa, where
the natives dig their great pit and organize a monster drive! Into it
falls every thing which cannot escape to either side. The giraffe,
elephant, gnu, antelope, hartbeest, zebra, jackal,--think of the
commingling of strange discrepancies thus suddenly collected! Were it
not for the panic which prevails, and the accidents to life and limb,
one would suppose that they ought to be aware of Nature's whims in
themselves, and to narrowly escape inventing amusement. But curiosity
and aversion probably exhaust the speculative possibilities of animals
in this direction.

It is true, we occasionally hear of happy fam
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The schoolmaster was leaving the village, and everybody seemed sorry.
The miller at Cresscombe lent him the small white tilted cart and horse
to carry his goods to the city of his destination, about twenty miles
off, such a vehicle proving of quite sufficient size for the departing
teacher’s effects. For the schoolhouse had been partly furnished by the
managers, and the only cumbersome article possessed by the master, in
addition to the packing-case of books, was a cottage piano that he had
bought at an auction during the year in which he thought of learning
instrumental music. But the enthusiasm having waned he had never
acquired any skill in playing, and the purchased article had been a
perpetual trouble to him ever since in moving house.

The rector had gone away for the day, being a man who disliked the
sight of changes. He did not mean to return till the evening, when the
new school-teacher would have arrived and settled in, and everything
would be smooth again.

The blacksmith, the farm bailiff, and the schoolmaster himself were
standing in perplexed attitudes in the parlour before the instrument.
The master had remarked that even if he got it into the cart he should
not know what to do with it on his arrival at Christminster, the city
he was bound for, since he was only going into temporary lodgings just
at first.

A little boy of eleven, who had been thoughtfully assisting in the
packing, joined the group of men, and as they rubbed their chins he
spoke up, blushing at the sound of his own voice: “Aunt have got a
great fuel-house, and it could be put there, perhaps, till you’ve found
a place to settle in, sir.”

“A proper good notion,” said the blacksmith.

It was decided that a deputation should wait on the boy’s aunt—an old
maiden resident—and ask her if she would house the piano till Mr.
Phillotson should send for it. The smith and the bailiff started to see
about the practicability of the suggested shelter, and the boy and the
schoolmaster were left standing alone.

“Sorry I am going, Jude?” asked the latter kindly.

Tears rose into the boy’s eyes, for he was not among the regular day
scholars, who came unromantically close to the schoolmaster’s life, but
one who had attended the night school only during the present teacher’s
term of office. The regular scholars, if the truth must be told, stood
at the present moment afar off, like certain historic disciples,
indisposed to any enthusiastic volunteering of aid.

The boy awkwardly opened the book he held in his hand, which Mr.
Phillotson had bestowed on him as a parting gift, and admitted that he
was sorry.

“So am I,” said Mr. Phillotson.

“Why do you go, sir?” asked the boy.

“Ah—that would be a long story. You wouldn’t understand my reasons,
Jude. You will, perhaps, when you are older.”

“I think I should now, sir.”

“Well—don’t speak of this everywhere. You know what a university is,
and a university degree? It is the necessary hallmark of a man who
wants to do anything in teaching. My scheme, or dream, is to be a
university graduate, and then to be ordained. By going to live at
Christminster, or near it, I shall be at headquarters, so to speak, and
if my scheme is practicable at all, I consider that being on the spot
will afford me a better chance of carrying it out than I should have
elsewhere.”

The smith and his companion returned. Old Miss Fawley’s fuel-house was
dry, and eminently practicable; and she seemed willing to give the
instrument standing-room there. It was accordingly left in the school
till the evening, when more hands would be available for removing it;
and the schoolmaster gave a final glance round.

The boy Jude assisted in loading some small articles, and at nine
o’clock Mr. Phillotson mounted beside his box of books and other
_impedimenta_, and bade his friends good-bye.

“I shan’t forget you, Jude,” he said, smiling, as the cart moved off.
“Be a good boy, remember; and be kind to animals and birds, and read
all you can. And if ever you come to Christminster remember you hunt me
out for old acquaintance’ sake.”

The cart creaked across the green, and disappeared round the corner by
the rectory-house. The boy returned to the draw-well at the edge of the
greensward, where he had left his buckets when he went to help his
patron and teacher in the loading. There was a quiver in his lip now
and after opening the well-cover to begin lowering the bucket he paused
and leant with his forehead and arms against the framework, his face
wearing the fixity of a thoughtful child’s who has felt the pricks of
life somewhat before his time. The well into which he was looking was
as ancient as the village itself, and from his present position
appeared as a long circular perspective ending in a shining disk of
quivering water at a distance of a hundred feet down. There was a
lining of green moss near the top, and nearer still the hart’s-tongue
fern.

He said to himself, in the melodramatic tones of a whimsical boy, that
the schoolmaster had
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PG #: 65087
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BEN, THE TRAPPER;

                                 OR,

                         THE MOUNTAIN DEMON.


                     A TALE OF THE BLACK HILLS.


                      BY MAJOR LEWIS W. CARSON.


                              NEW YORK:
                    BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,
                         98 WILLIAM STREET.




     Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by
                          BEADLE AND ADAMS,
     In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.




                              CONTENTS


                                                                   PAGE
     I.  THE TRAPPER’S CAMP.                                         9
    II.  THE GRIZZLY BEAR.                                          17
   III.  THE MOUNTAIN DEVIL.                                        24
    IV.  THE TRAPPING-GROUND.                                       30
     V.  TREED BY A BUFFALO.                                        40
    VI.  THE MESSAGE.                                               48
   VII.  INDIANS!                                                   57
  VIII.  SHOWING HIS COLORS.                                        67
    IX.  MIFFIN’S LEAP.                                             73
     X.  THE SUCK.                                                  80
    XI.  THE QUICKSAND.                                             87
   XII.  THROUGH THE SNARE.                                         94




                          BEN, THE TRAPPER.




                             CHAPTER I.

                         THE TRAPPER’S CAMP.


In a deep defile among the Black Hills, far out on the western
plains, three men had made a camp. They were of that wonderful race
who have done more to develop the resources of the western world
than any other, the trappers of the North-west. Their great aid in
this cause has never been allowed by us as a people. We hear of
great discoveries of gold, or of a new pass through the mountains,
and in the _discovery_ lose sight of the _agent_, who, in nine cases
out of ten, is one of the class of whom this book is written. Their
wandering, perilous life is full of hardships, of which we have
no conception. The cold of winter, the savage foe, the yet more
savage employees of the Hudson Bay Company, the grizzly bear, the
snow-slide, all these are their enemies. They toil hard to pluck
from the hand of stern old winter a precarious livelihood, happy in
the possession of a few traps, a rifle, ammunition, and a blanket.
With these they lead as happy lives as any, and as useful as most.
Hundreds of tales of individual daring have been told of these men,
and yet the truth is not half known. Their creed is simple as that of
the border chiefs of Scotland:

      “That they should take who have the power,
       And they should keep who _can_!”

To hate an Indian, or an employee of the Hudson Bay Company. It
was in the days when the rivalry between the American Fur Company
and the Hudson Bay was at its height, and the rancor between them
equaled that of Whig and Tory during the Revolution. Each claimed
the country, and many a bleaching skeleton on the western streams
remains to this day, attesting the fact that the men fought for the
right of possession to the last.

The men in the pass were types of different nationalities. One,
a tall, supple, wiry old fellow, dressed in a greasy buckskin
hunting-shirt and leggings, with moccasins of moose-hide, showed
himself to be a lifelong rover of the hills and plains. He was piling
brush on the fire, and smoking placidly, puffing the smoke from his
nose in clouds. His face was a study, covered though it was by a
beard of nearly seven months’ growth. It showed the character of the
man. Brave to a fault, an unrelenting foe, a steadfast friend--one
on whom great reliance could be placed in time of need. His rifle,
carefully covered with a buckskin sheath, was propped against a
rock near at hand. A huge knife hung in his belt, by the side of a
shot-pouch and powder-flask.

The man on his right hand was a Frenchman--a keen-eyed, vivacious
fellow, dressed very much like his companion, and armed, in addition
to the knife and rifle, with a pair of handsome pistols. His name was
Jules Damand, and he had been a voyageur, trained to the business at
Saint Ann’s, on the St. Lawrence.

The third was a Dutchman! A simple glance at his broad, stolid face
told his nationality. He was a stout fellow, of tremendous girth,
with a smiling blue eye, an expressionless face while in repose, and
a foot that looked much like a young trunk. He was smoking placidly,
and suffering his companions to attend to the fire, and cook the food
hanging over it. The last duty was the Frenchman’s, who, like nearly
all the men of his nation, had a theory in regard to cookery which he
was always ready to explain by example.

“Look here, Jan,” said the first-named trapper, “why don’t ye lend a
hand at takin’ care of the fire?”

“S
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Als Zarathustra dreissig Jahr alt war, verliess er seine Heimat und den
See seiner Heimat und ging in das Gebirge. Hier genoss er seines
Geistes und seiner Einsamkeit und wurde dessen zehn Jahr nicht müde.
Endlich aber verwandelte sich sein Herz,—und eines Morgens stand er mit
der Morgenröthe auf, trat vor die Sonne hin und sprach zu ihr also:

„Du grosses Gestirn! Was wäre dein Glück, wenn du nicht Die hättest,
welchen du leuchtest!

Zehn Jahre kamst du hier herauf zu meiner Höhle: du würdest deines
Lichtes und dieses Weges satt geworden sein, ohne mich, meinen Adler
und meine Schlange.

Aber wir warteten deiner an jedem Morgen, nahmen dir deinen Überfluss
ab und segneten dich dafür.

Siehe! Ich bin meiner Weisheit überdrüssig, wie die Biene, die des
Honigs zu viel gesammelt hat, ich bedarf der Hände, die sich
ausstrecken.

Ich möchte verschenken und austheilen, bis die Weisen unter den
Menschen wieder einmal ihrer Thorheit und die Armen einmal ihres
Reichthums froh geworden sind.

Dazu muss ich in die Tiefe steigen: wie du des Abends thust, wenn du
hinter das Meer gehst und noch der Unterwelt Licht bringst, du
überreiches Gestirn!

Ich muss, gleich dir, _untergehen_, wie die Menschen es nennen, zu
denen ich hinab will.

So segne mich denn, du ruhiges Auge, das ohne Neid auch ein
allzugrosses Glück sehen kann!

Segne den Becher, welcher überfliessen will, dass das Wasser golden aus
ihm fliesse und überallhin den Abglanz deiner Wonne trage!

Siehe! Dieser Becher will wieder leer werden, und Zarathustra will
wieder Mensch werden.“

—Also begann Zarathustra’s Untergang.


Zarathustra stieg allein das Gebirge abwärts und Niemand begegnete ihm.
Als er aber in die Wälder kam, stand auf einmal ein Greis vor ihm, der
seine heilige Hütte verlassen hatte, um Wurzeln im Walde zu suchen. Und
also sprach der Greis zu Zarathustra:

Nicht fremd ist mir dieser Wanderer: vor manchem Jahre gieng er hier
vorbei. Zarathustra hiess er; aber er hat sich verwandelt. Damals
trugst du deine Asche zu Berge: willst du heute dein Feuer in die
Thäler tragen? Fürchtest du nicht des Brandstifters Strafen?

Ja, ich erkenne Zarathustra. Rein ist sein Auge, und an seinem Munde
birgt sich kein Ekel. Geht er nicht daher wie ein Tänzer?

Verwandelt ist Zarathustra, zum Kind ward Zarathustra, ein Erwachter
ist Zarathustra: was willst du nun bei den Schlafenden?

Wie im Meere lebtest du in der Einsamkeit, und das Meer trug dich.
Wehe, du willst an’s Land steigen? Wehe, du willst deinen Leib wieder
selber schleppen?

Zarathustra antwortete: „Ich liebe die Menschen.“

Warum, sagte der Heilige, gieng ich doch in den Wald und die Einöde?
War es nicht, weil ich die Menschen allzu sehr liebte?

Jetzt liebe ich Gott: die Menschen liebe ich nicht. Der Mensch ist mir
eine zu unvollkommene Sache. Liebe zum Menschen würde mich umbringen.

Zarathustra antwortete: „Was sprach ich von Liebe! Ich bringe den
Menschen ein Geschenk.“

Gieb ihnen Nichts, sagte der Heilige. Nimm ihnen lieber Etwas ab und
trage es mit ihnen—das wird ihnen am wohlsten thun: wenn er dir nur
wohlthut!

Und willst du ihnen geben, so gieb nicht mehr, als ein Almosen, und
lass sie noch darum betteln!

„Nein, antwortete Zarathustra, ich gebe kein Almosen. Dazu bin ich
nicht arm genug.“

Der Heilige lachte über Zarathustra und sprach also: So sieh zu, dass
sie deine Schätze annehmen! Sie sind misstrauisch gegen die Einsiedler
und glauben nicht, dass wir kommen, um zu schenken.

Unse Schritte klingen ihnen zu einsam durch die Gassen. Und wie wenn
sie Nachts in ihren Betten einen Mann gehen hören, lange bevor die
Sonne aufsteht, so fragen sie sich wohl: wohin will der Dieb?

Gehe nicht zu den Menschen und bleibe im Walde! Gehe lieber noch zu den
Thieren! Warum willst du nicht sein, wie ich,—ein Bär unter Bären, ein
Vogel unter Vögeln?

„Und was macht der Heilige im Walde?“ fragte Zarathustra.

Der Heilige antwortete: Ich mache Lieder und singe sie, und wenn ich
Lieder mache, lache, weine und brumme ich: also lobe ich Gott.

Mit Singen, Weinen, Lachen und Brummen lobe ich den Gott, der mein Gott
ist. Doch was bringst du uns zum Geschenke?

Als Zarathustra diese Worte gehört hatte, grüsste er den Heiligen und
sprach: „Was hätte ich euch zu geben! Aber lasst mich schnell davon,
dass ich euch Nichts nehme!“—Und so trennten sie sich von einander, der
Greis und der Mann, lachend, gleichwie zwei Knaben lachen.

Als Zarathustra aber allein war, sprach er also zu seinem Herzen:
„Sollte es denn möglich sein! Dieser alte Heilige hat in seinem Walde
noch Nichts davon gehört, dass _Gott todt_ ist!“—


Als Zarathustra in die Nächste Stadt kam, die an den Wäldern liegt,
fand er daselbst viel Volk versammelt auf dem Markte: denn es war
verheissen worden, das man einen Seiltänzer sehen solle. Und
Zarathustra sprach also zum Volke:

Ich lehre euch den Übermenschen. Der Mensch ist Etwas, das überwunden
werden soll. Was habt ihr gethan, ihn zu überwinden?

„Alle Wesen bisher schufen etwas über sich hinaus: und
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PG #: 20480
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A BRIEF RÉSUMÉ OF THE HISTORY OF THE STUDY OF HANDS THROUGH THE CENTURIES
TO THE PRESENT DAY

The success I had during the twenty-five years in which I was connected
with this study was, I believe, chiefly owing to the fact that although
my principal study was the lines and formation of hands, yet I did not
confine myself alone to that particular page in the book of Nature. I
endeavoured to study every phase of thought that can throw light on human
life; consequently the very ridges of the skin, the hair found on the
hands, all were used as a detective would use a clue to accumulate
evidence. I found people were sceptical of such a study only because they
had not the subject presented to them in a logical manner.

There are hundreds of facts connected with the hand that people have
rarely, if ever, heard of, and I think it will not be out of place if I
touch on them here. For instance, in regard to what are known as the
corpuscles, Meissner, in 1853, proved that these little molecular
substances were distributed in a peculiar manner in the hand itself. He
found that in the tips of the fingers they were 108 to the square line,
with 400 papillæ; that they gave forth certain distinct crepitations, or
vibrations, and that in the red lines of the hand they were most numerous
and, strange to say, were found in straight individual rows in the lines
of the palm. Experiments were made as to these vibrations, and it was
proved that, after a little study, one could distinctly detect and
recognise the crepitations _in relation to each individual_. They
increased or decreased in every phase of health, thought, or excitement,
and were extinct the moment death had mastered its victim. About twenty
years later, experiments were made with a man in Paris, who had an
abnormally acute sense of sound (Nature's compensation for want of sight,
as he had been born blind). In a very short time this man could detect
the slightest change or irregularity in these crepitations, and through
the changes was able to tell with wonderful accuracy about how old a
person was, and how near they were to illness, and even death.

The study of these corpuscles was also taken up by Sir Charles Bell, who,
in 1874, demonstrated that each corpuscle contained the end of a nerve
fibre, and was in immediate connection with the brain. This great
specialist also demonstrated that every portion of the brain was in touch
with the nerves of the hand and more particularly with the corpuscles
found in the tips of the fingers and the lines of the hand.

[Illustration: LORD KITCHENER'S HAND.]

The detection of criminals by taking impressions of the tips of the
fingers and by thumb marks is now used by the police of almost every
country, and thousands of criminals have been tracked down and identified
by this means.

To-day, at Scotland Yard, is to be seen almost an entire library now
devoted to books on this side of the subject and to the collections that
the police have made, and yet, in my short time, I remember how the idea
was scoffed at when Monsieur Bertillon and the French police first
commenced the detection of criminals by this method. If the ignorant
prejudice against a complete study of the hand were overcome, the police
would be greatly assisted by studying the lines of the palm, and
acquiring a knowledge of what these lines mean, especially as regards
mentality and the inclination of the brain in one direction or another.

It is a well-known fact that, even if the skin be burned off the hands or
removed by an acid, in a short time the lines will reappear exactly as
they were before, and the same happens to the ridges or "spirals" in the
skin of the inside tips of the fingers and thumb.

The scientific use of such a study could also be made invaluable in
foreseeing tendencies towards insanity, etc.

Sir Thomas Browne, in his _Religio Medici_, after referring to
Physiognomy, says:

    "Now there are besides these characters in our faces certain
    mystical figures in our hands, which I dare not call mere
    dashes, strokes _à la volée_ or at random, because delineated
    by a pencil that never works in vain, and hereof I take more
    particular notice because I carry that in mine own hand which
    I could never read nor discover in another."

But prejudice is a hard thing to combat, and, in consequence, a study
which could render untold aid to humanity has been neglected in modern
times. Yet it cannot be denied that this strange study was practised and
followed by some of the greatest teachers and students of other
civilisations.

Whether or no these ancient philosophers were more enlightened than we
are has long been a question of dispute, but the one point and the most
important one which has been admitted is, that in those days the greatest
study of mankind was man. It is, therefore, reasonable to suppose that
their conclusions are more likely to be correct than those of an age like
our own--famous chiefly for its implements of destruction,
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One confidential evening, not three months ago, Lionel Wallace told me
this story of the Door in the Wall. And at the time I thought that so
far as he was concerned it was a true story.

He told it me with such a direct simplicity of conviction that I could
not do otherwise than believe in him. But in the morning, in my own
flat, I woke to a different atmosphere, and as I lay in bed and
recalled the things he had told me, stripped of the glamour of his
earnest slow voice, denuded of the focussed shaded table light, the
shadowy atmosphere that wrapped about him and the pleasant bright
things, the dessert and glasses and napery of the dinner we had shared,
making them for the time a bright little world quite cut off from
every-day realities, I saw it all as frankly incredible. “He was
mystifying!” I said, and then: “How well he did it!. . . . . It isn’t
quite the thing I should have expected him, of all people, to do well.”

Afterwards, as I sat up in bed and sipped my morning tea, I found
myself trying to account for the flavour of reality that perplexed me
in his impossible reminiscences, by supposing they did in some way
suggest, present, convey—I hardly know which word to use—experiences it
was otherwise impossible to tell.

Well, I don’t resort to that explanation now. I have got over my
intervening doubts. I believe now, as I believed at the moment of
telling, that Wallace did to the very best of his ability strip the
truth of his secret for me. But whether he himself saw, or only thought
he saw, whether he himself was the possessor of an inestimable
privilege, or the victim of a fantastic dream, I cannot pretend to
guess. Even the facts of his death, which ended my doubts forever,
throw no light on that. That much the reader must judge for himself.

I forget now what chance comment or criticism of mine moved so reticent
a man to confide in me. He was, I think, defending himself against an
imputation of slackness and unreliability I had made in relation to a
great public movement in which he had disappointed me. But he plunged
suddenly. “I have” he said, “a preoccupation—”

“I know,” he went on, after a pause that he devoted to the study of his
cigar ash, “I have been negligent. The fact is—it isn’t a case of
ghosts or apparitions—but—it’s an odd thing to tell of, Redmond—I am
haunted. I am haunted by something—that rather takes the light out of
things, that fills me with longings . . . . .”

He paused, checked by that English shyness that so often overcomes us
when we would speak of moving or grave or beautiful things. “You were
at Saint Athelstan’s all through,” he said, and for a moment that
seemed to me quite irrelevant. “Well”—and he paused. Then very
haltingly at first, but afterwards more easily, he began to tell of the
thing that was hidden in his life, the haunting memory of a beauty and
a happiness that filled his heart with insatiable longings that made
all the interests and spectacle of worldly life seem dull and tedious
and vain to him.

Now that I have the clue to it, the thing seems written visibly in his
face. I have a photograph in which that look of detachment has been
caught and intensified. It reminds me of what a woman once said of
him—a woman who had loved him greatly. “Suddenly,” she said, “the
interest goes out of him. He forgets you. He doesn’t care a rap for
you—under his very nose . . . . .”

Yet the interest was not always out of him, and when he was holding his
attention to a thing Wallace could contrive to be an extremely
successful man. His career, indeed, is set with successes. He left me
behind him long ago; he soared up over my head, and cut a figure in the
world that I couldn’t cut—anyhow. He was still a year short of forty,
and they say now that he would have been in office and very probably in
the new Cabinet if he had lived. At school he always beat me without
effort—as it were by nature. We were at school together at Saint
Athelstan’s College in West Kensington for almost all our school time.
He came into the school as my co-equal, but he left far above me, in a
blaze of scholarships and brilliant performance. Yet I think I made a
fair average running. And it was at school I heard first of the Door in
the Wall—that I was to hear of a second time only a month before his
death.

To him at least the Door in the Wall was a real door leading through a
real wall to immortal realities. Of that I am now quite assured.

And it came into his life early, when he was a little fellow between
five and six. I remember how, as he sat making his confession to me
with a slow gravity, he reasoned and reckoned the date of it. “There
was,” he said, “a crimson Virginia creeper in it—all one bright uniform
crimson in a clear amber sunshine against a white wall. That came into
the impression somehow, though I don’t clearly remember how, and there
were horse-chestnut leaves upon the clean pavement outside the green
door. They were blotched yellow and green, you know, not brown nor
dirty, 
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  THE WORLD-TREES OF THE ANCIENTS. -- The Scandinavian Ash --
  The Hindu World-Tree -- The World-Tree of the Buddhists -- The
  Iranian World-Tree -- The Assyrian Sacred Tree -- The Mother Tree
  of the Greeks, Romans, and Teutons                                   1


  THE TREES OF PARADISE AND THE TREE OF ADAM. -- The Terrestrial
  Paradise -- The Paradise of the Persians, Arabians, Hindus,
  Scandinavians, and Celts -- The Mosaic Paradise -- Eden and the
  Walls of its Garden -- The Tree of Life -- The Tree of Knowledge
  -- The Forbidden Fruit -- Adam’s Departure from Paradise --
  Seth’s Journey to the Garden of Eden -- The Death of Adam -- The
  Seeds of the Tree of Life -- Moses and his Rods -- King David and
  the Rods -- Solomon and the Cedars of Lebanon -- The Tree of Adam
  and the Tree of the Cross                                            9


  SACRED PLANTS OF THE ANCIENTS. -- The Parsis and the Cypress --
  The Oak -- Sacred Plants and Trees of the Brahmans and Buddhists
  -- Plants Revered by the Burmans -- The Cedar, Elm, Ash, Rowan,
  Baobab, Nipa, Dragon Tree, Zamang, and Moriche Palm -- The
  Nelumbo or Sacred Bean -- Plants Worshipped by Egyptians -- The
  Lotus, Henna, and Pomegranate -- Sacred Plants of the Græco-Roman
  Divinities -- Plants of the Norse Gods                              21


  FLORAL CEREMONIES, GARLANDS, AND WREATHS. -- The Altars of the
  Gods -- Flowers, Fragrant Woods, and Aromatics -- Incense --
  Perfumes -- Ceremonies of the Assyrians, Egyptians, Greeks, and
  Romans -- The Roman Triumphs -- Festivals of the Terminalia
  and Floralia -- May-day Customs -- Well-flowering -- Harvest
  Festivals -- Flowers and Weddings -- Floral Games of Toulouse and
  Salency -- The Rosière -- Rose Pelting -- Battle of Flowers --
  Japanese New Year’s Festival -- Wreaths, Chaplets, and Garlands     26


  PLANTS OF THE CHRISTIAN CHURCH. -- The Virgin Mary and her
  Flowers -- Joseph’s Plants -- The Plants of Bethlehem -- Flora
  of the Flight into Egypt -- The Herb of the Madonna -- Plants of
  the Virgin -- The Annunciation, Visitation, and Assumption -- The
  Rosary -- The Plants of Christmas -- The Garden of Gethsemane
  -- Plants of the Passion -- The Crown of Thorns -- The Wood of
  the Cross -- Veronica -- The Plants of Calvary -- The Trees and
  the Crucifixion -- The Tree of Judas -- Plants of St. John the
  Baptist -- Plant Divination on St. John’s Eve -- Flowers of
  the Saints -- The Floral Calendar -- Flowers of the Church’s
  Festivals -- Decoration of Churches -- Gospel Oaks -- Memorial
  Trees -- The Glastonbury Thorn -- St. Joseph’s Walnut Tree -- St.
  Martin’s Yew                                                        40


  PLANTS OF THE FAIRIES AND NAIADES. -- The Elves and the Oak --
  Elves of the Forest -- The Elf of the Fir-tree -- The Rose Elf
  -- Moss or Wood Folk -- The Black Dwarfs -- The Still Folk --
  The Procca -- English Fairies -- The Fairy Steed -- Fairy Revels
  -- Elf Grass -- Fairy Plants -- The Cowslip, or Fairy Cup --
  The Foxglove, or Lusmore -- The Four-leaved Clover -- The Fairy
  Unguent -- The Russalkis -- Naiades and Water Nymphs -- The
  Fontinalia -- Fays of the Well                                      64


  SYLVANS, WOOD NYMPHS, AND TREE SPIRITS. -- Fauns, Satyrs, Dryads,
  and Hamadryads -- The Laurel Maiden -- The Willow Nymph -- The
  Sister of the Flowers -- Sacred Groves and their Denizens -- The
  Spirits of the Forest -- The Indian Tree Ghosts -- The Burmese
  Nats -- The African Wood Spirits -- The Waldgeister of the
  Germans -- The Elder-mother -- German Tree and Field Spirits        74


  PLANTS OF THE DEVIL. -- Puck’s Plant -- Pixie-stools -- Loki’s
  Plants -- The Trolls and the Globe-flower -- Accursed and Unlucky
  Plants -- Plants connected with the Black Art -- Plant-haunting
  Demons -- The Devil and Fruit Trees -- Tree Demons on St. John’s
  Eve -- Demons of the Woods and Fields -- The Herb of the Devil --
  Poisonous and Noxious Plants -- Ill-omened Plants -- The Devil’s
  Key -- Plants Inimical to the Devil -- The Devil-Chaser -- The
  Deadly Upas -- The Manchineel -- The Oleander -- The Jatropha
  Urens -- The Lotos -- The Elder -- The Phallus Impudicus -- The
  Carrion Flower -- The Antchar -- The Loco or Rattle Weed -- The
  Aquapura -- Deadly Trees of Hispaniola and New Andalusia --
  Poisonous Plants                                                    82


  PLANTS OF THE WITCHES. -- The Herbs of Hecate, Circe, and
  Medea -- Witch Powder -- Witches and Elders -- Sylvan Haunts
  of Witches -- Witches’ Plant-steeds -- Witches’ Soporifics
  -- The Nightmare Flower -- Plants used in Spells -- Potions,
  Philtres, and Hell-broths -- The Hag Taper -- Witch Ointment --
  The Witches’ Bath -- Foreign Witches and their Plants -- Plants
  used for Charms and Spells -- Witches’ Prescriptions -- Herbs of
  Witchcraft -- Plants Antagonistic to Witches                        91


  MAGICAL PLANTS. -- Plants pro
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 2166
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2166

I MEET SIR HENRY CURTIS


It is a curious thing that at my age—fifty-five last birthday—I should
find myself taking up a pen to try to write a history. I wonder what
sort of a history it will be when I have finished it, if ever I come to
the end of the trip! I have done a good many things in my life, which
seems a long one to me, owing to my having begun work so young,
perhaps. At an age when other boys are at school I was earning my
living as a trader in the old Colony. I have been trading, hunting,
fighting, or mining ever since. And yet it is only eight months ago
that I made my pile. It is a big pile now that I have got it—I don’t
yet know how big—but I do not think I would go through the last fifteen
or sixteen months again for it; no, not if I knew that I should come
out safe at the end, pile and all. But then I am a timid man, and
dislike violence; moreover, I am almost sick of adventure. I wonder why
I am going to write this book: it is not in my line. I am not a
literary man, though very devoted to the Old Testament and also to the
“Ingoldsby Legends.” Let me try to set down my reasons, just to see if
I have any.

First reason: Because Sir Henry Curtis and Captain John Good asked me.

Second reason: Because I am laid up here at Durban with the pain in my
left leg. Ever since that confounded lion got hold of me I have been
liable to this trouble, and being rather bad just now, it makes me limp
more than ever. There must be some poison in a lion’s teeth, otherwise
how is it that when your wounds are healed they break out again,
generally, mark you, at the same time of year that you got your
mauling? It is a hard thing when one has shot sixty-five lions or more,
as I have in the course of my life, that the sixty-sixth should chew
your leg like a quid of tobacco. It breaks the routine of the thing,
and putting other considerations aside, I am an orderly man and don’t
like that. This is by the way.

Third reason: Because I want my boy Harry, who is over there at the
hospital in London studying to become a doctor, to have something to
amuse him and keep him out of mischief for a week or so. Hospital work
must sometimes pall and grow rather dull, for even of cutting up dead
bodies there may come satiety, and as this history will not be dull,
whatever else it may be, it will put a little life into things for a
day or two while Harry is reading of our adventures.

Fourth reason and last: Because I am going to tell the strangest story
that I remember. It may seem a queer thing to say, especially
considering that there is no woman in it—except Foulata. Stop, though!
there is Gagaoola, if she was a woman, and not a fiend. But she was a
hundred at least, and therefore not marriageable, so I don’t count her.
At any rate, I can safely say that there is not a _petticoat_ in the
whole history.

Well, I had better come to the yoke. It is a stiff place, and I feel as
though I were bogged up to the axle. But, “_sutjes, sutjes_,” as the
Boers say—I am sure I don’t know how they spell it—softly does it. A
strong team will come through at last, that is, if they are not too
poor. You can never do anything with poor oxen. Now to make a start.

I, Allan Quatermain, of Durban, Natal, Gentleman, make oath and
say—That’s how I headed my deposition before the magistrate about poor
Khiva’s and Ventvögel’s sad deaths; but somehow it doesn’t seem quite
the right way to begin a book. And, besides, am I a gentleman? What is
a gentleman? I don’t quite know, and yet I have had to do with
niggers—no, I will scratch out that word “niggers,” for I do not like
it. I’ve known natives who _are_, and so you will say, Harry, my boy,
before you have done with this tale, and I have known mean whites with
lots of money and fresh out from home, too, who _are not_.

At any rate, I was born a gentleman, though I have been nothing but a
poor travelling trader and hunter all my life. Whether I have remained
so I know not, you must judge of that. Heaven knows I’ve tried. I have
killed many men in my time, yet I have never slain wantonly or stained
my hand in innocent blood, but only in self-defence. The Almighty gave
us our lives, and I suppose He meant us to defend them, at least I have
always acted on that, and I hope it will not be brought up against me
when my clock strikes. There, there, it is a cruel and a wicked world,
and for a timid man I have been mixed up in a great deal of fighting. I
cannot tell the rights of it, but at any rate I have never stolen,
though once I cheated a Kafir out of a herd of cattle. But then he had
done me a dirty turn, and it has troubled me ever since into the
bargain.

Well, it is eighteen months or so ago since first I met Sir Henry
Curtis and Captain Good. It was in this way. I had been up elephant
hunting beyond Bamangwato, and had met with bad luck. Everything went
wrong that trip, and to top up with I got the fever badly. So soon as I
was well enough I trekked down to the Diamond Fields, sold such ivory
as I h
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 1688
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1688

THE DESCENT


“But you can’t do it, you know,” friends said, to whom I applied for
assistance in the matter of sinking myself down into the East End of
London. “You had better see the police for a guide,” they added, on
second thought, painfully endeavouring to adjust themselves to the
psychological processes of a madman who had come to them with better
credentials than brains.

“But I don’t want to see the police,” I protested. “What I wish to do
is to go down into the East End and see things for myself. I wish to
know how those people are living there, and why they are living there,
and what they are living for. In short, I am going to live there
myself.”

“You don’t want to _live_ down there!” everybody said, with
disapprobation writ large upon their faces. “Why, it is said there are
places where a man’s life isn’t worth tu’pence.”

“The very places I wish to see,” I broke in.

“But you can’t, you know,” was the unfailing rejoinder.

“Which is not what I came to see you about,” I answered brusquely,
somewhat nettled by their incomprehension. “I am a stranger here, and I
want you to tell me what you know of the East End, in order that I may
have something to start on.”

“But we know nothing of the East End. It is over there, somewhere.” And
they waved their hands vaguely in the direction where the sun on rare
occasions may be seen to rise.

“Then I shall go to Cook’s,” I announced.

“Oh yes,” they said, with relief. “Cook’s will be sure to know.”

But O Cook, O Thomas Cook & Son, path-finders and trail-clearers,
living sign-posts to all the world, and bestowers of first aid to
bewildered travellers—unhesitatingly and instantly, with ease and
celerity, could you send me to Darkest Africa or Innermost Thibet, but
to the East End of London, barely a stone’s throw distant from Ludgate
Circus, you know not the way!

“You can’t do it, you know,” said the human emporium of routes and
fares at Cook’s Cheapside branch. “It is so—hem—so unusual.”

“Consult the police,” he concluded authoritatively, when I had
persisted. “We are not accustomed to taking travellers to the East End;
we receive no call to take them there, and we know nothing whatsoever
about the place at all.”

“Never mind that,” I interposed, to save myself from being swept out of
the office by his flood of negations. “Here’s something you can do for
me. I wish you to understand in advance what I intend doing, so that in
case of trouble you may be able to identify me.”

“Ah, I see! should you be murdered, we would be in position to identify
the corpse.”

He said it so cheerfully and cold-bloodedly that on the instant I saw
my stark and mutilated cadaver stretched upon a slab where cool waters
trickle ceaselessly, and him I saw bending over and sadly and patiently
identifying it as the body of the insane American who _would_ see the
East End.

“No, no,” I answered; “merely to identify me in case I get into a
scrape with the ’bobbies.’” This last I said with a thrill; truly, I
was gripping hold of the vernacular.

“That,” he said, “is a matter for the consideration of the Chief
Office.”

“It is so unprecedented, you know,” he added apologetically.

The man at the Chief Office hemmed and hawed. “We make it a rule,” he
explained, “to give no information concerning our clients.”

“But in this case,” I urged, “it is the client who requests you to give
the information concerning himself.”

Again he hemmed and hawed.

“Of course,” I hastily anticipated, “I know it is unprecedented, but—”

“As I was about to remark,” he went on steadily, “it is unprecedented,
and I don’t think we can do anything for you.”

However, I departed with the address of a detective who lived in the
East End, and took my way to the American consul-general. And here, at
last, I found a man with whom I could “do business.” There was no
hemming and hawing, no lifted brows, open incredulity, or blank
amazement. In one minute I explained myself and my project, which he
accepted as a matter of course. In the second minute he asked my age,
height, and weight, and looked me over. And in the third minute, as we
shook hands at parting, he said: “All right, Jack. I’ll remember you
and keep track.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. Having burnt my ships behind me, I was now
free to plunge into that human wilderness of which nobody seemed to
know anything. But at once I encountered a new difficulty in the shape
of my cabby, a grey-whiskered and eminently decorous personage who had
imperturbably driven me for several hours about the “City.”

“Drive me down to the East End,” I ordered, taking my seat.

“Where, sir?” he demanded with frank surprise.

“To the East End, anywhere. Go on.”

The hansom pursued an aimless way for several minutes, then came to a
puzzled stop. The aperture above my head was uncovered, and the cabman
peered down perplexedly at me.

“I say,” he said, “wot plyce yer wanter go?”

“East End,” I repeated. “Nowhere in particular. Just drive me around
anywhere.”

“But wot’s the haddress,
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 217
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/217



 THE EARLY MARRIED LIFE OF THE MORELS

“The Bottoms” succeeded to “Hell Row”. Hell Row was a block of
thatched, bulging cottages that stood by the brookside on Greenhill
Lane. There lived the colliers who worked in the little gin-pits two
fields away. The brook ran under the alder trees, scarcely soiled by
these small mines, whose coal was drawn to the surface by donkeys that
plodded wearily in a circle round a gin. And all over the countryside
were these same pits, some of which had been worked in the time of
Charles II., the few colliers and the donkeys burrowing down like ants
into the earth, making queer mounds and little black places among the
corn-fields and the meadows. And the cottages of these coal-miners, in
blocks and pairs here and there, together with odd farms and homes of
the stockingers, straying over the parish, formed the village of
Bestwood.

Then, some sixty years ago, a sudden change took place, gin-pits were
elbowed aside by the large mines of the financiers. The coal and iron
field of Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire was discovered. Carston, Waite
and Co. appeared. Amid tremendous excitement, Lord Palmerston formally
opened the company’s first mine at Spinney Park, on the edge of
Sherwood Forest.

About this time the notorious Hell Row, which through growing old had
acquired an evil reputation, was burned down, and much dirt was
cleansed away.

Carston, Waite and Co. found they had struck on a good thing, so, down
the valleys of the brooks from Selby and Nuttall, new mines were sunk,
until soon there were six pits working. From Nuttall, high up on the
sandstone among the woods, the railway ran, past the ruined priory of
the Carthusians and past Robin Hood’s Well, down to Spinney Park, then
on to Minton, a large mine among corn-fields; from Minton across the
farmlands of the valleyside to Bunker’s Hill, branching off there, and
running north to Beggarlee and Selby, that looks over at Crich and the
hills of Derbyshire; six mines like black studs on the countryside,
linked by a loop of fine chain, the railway.

To accommodate the regiments of miners, Carston, Waite and Co. built
the Squares, great quadrangles of dwellings on the hillside of
Bestwood, and then, in the brook valley, on the site of Hell Row, they
erected the Bottoms.

The Bottoms consisted of six blocks of miners’ dwellings, two rows of
three, like the dots on a blank-six domino, and twelve houses in a
block. This double row of dwellings sat at the foot of the rather sharp
slope from Bestwood, and looked out, from the attic windows at least,
on the slow climb of the valley towards Selby.

The houses themselves were substantial and very decent. One could walk
all round, seeing little front gardens with auriculas and saxifrage in
the shadow of the bottom block, sweet-williams and pinks in the sunny
top block; seeing neat front windows, little porches, little privet
hedges, and dormer windows for the attics. But that was outside; that
was the view on to the uninhabited parlours of all the colliers’ wives.
The dwelling-room, the kitchen, was at the back of the house, facing
inward between the blocks, looking at a scrubby back garden, and then
at the ash-pits. And between the rows, between the long lines of
ash-pits, went the alley, where the children played and the women
gossiped and the men smoked. So, the actual conditions of living in the
Bottoms, that was so well built and that looked so nice, were quite
unsavoury because people must live in the kitchen, and the kitchens
opened on to that nasty alley of ash-pits.

Mrs. Morel was not anxious to move into the Bottoms, which was already
twelve years old and on the downward path, when she descended to it
from Bestwood. But it was the best she could do. Moreover, she had an
end house in one of the top blocks, and thus had only one neighbour; on
the other side an extra strip of garden. And, having an end house, she
enjoyed a kind of aristocracy among the other women of the “between”
houses, because her rent was five shillings and sixpence instead of
five shillings a week. But this superiority in station was not much
consolation to Mrs. Morel.

She was thirty-one years old, and had been married eight years. A
rather small woman, of delicate mould but resolute bearing, she shrank
a little from the first contact with the Bottoms women. She came down
in the July, and in the September expected her third baby.

Her husband was a miner. They had only been in their new home three
weeks when the wakes, or fair, began. Morel, she knew, was sure to make
a holiday of it. He went off early on the Monday morning, the day of
the fair. The two children were highly excited. William, a boy of
seven, fled off immediately after breakfast, to prowl round the wakes
ground, leaving Annie, who was only five, to whine all morning to go
also. Mrs. Morel did her work. She scarcely knew her neighbours yet,
and knew no one with whom to trust the little girl. So she promised to
take her to the wakes after din
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 13529
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13529


DISCUSSION OF THE ELEMENTS OF SEA POWER.

The sea a great common                                              25
Advantages of water-carriage over that by land                      25
Navies exist for the protection of commerce                         26
Dependence of commerce upon secure seaports                         27
Development of colonies and colonial posts                          28
Links in the chain of Sea Power: production, shipping, colonies     28
General conditions affecting Sea Power:
   I. Geographical position                                         29
  II. Physical conformation                                         35
 III. Extent of territory                                           42
  IV. Number of population                                          44
   V. National character                                            50
  VI. Character and policy of governments                           58
        England                                                     59
        Holland                                                     67
        France                                                      69
Influence of colonies on Sea Power                                  82
The United States:
  Its weakness in Sea Power                                         83
  Its chief interest in internal development                        84
  Danger from blockades                                             85
  Dependence of the navy upon the shipping interest                 87
Conclusion of the discussion of the elements of Sea Power           88
Purpose of the historical narrative                                 89



STATE OF EUROPE IN 1660.--SECOND ANGLO-DUTCH WAR, 1665-1667.--SEA
BATTLES OF LOWESTOFT AND OF THE FOUR DAYS

Accession of Charles II. and Louis XIV.                             90
Followed shortly by general wars                                    91
French policy formulated by Henry IV. and Richelieu                 92
Condition of France in 1660                                         93
Condition of Spain                                                  94
Condition of the Dutch United Provinces                             96
Their commerce and colonies                                         97
Character of their government                                       98
Parties in the State                                                99
Condition of England in 1660                                        99
Characteristics of French, English, and Dutch ships                101
Conditions of other European States                                102
Louis XIV. the leading personality in Europe                       103
His policy                                                         104
Colbert's administrative acts                                      105
Second Anglo-Dutch War, 1665                                       107
Battle of Lowestoft, 1665                                          108
Fire-ships, compared with torpedo-cruisers                         109
The group formation                                                112
The order of battle for sailing-ships                              115
The Four Days' Battle, 1666                                        117
Military merits of the opposing fleets                             126
Soldiers commanding fleets, discussion                             127
Ruyter in the Thames, 1667                                         132
Peace of Breda, 1667                                               132
Military value of commerce-destroying                              132


WAR OF ENGLAND AND FRANCE IN ALLIANCE AGAINST THE UNITED
PROVINCES, 1672-1674.--FINALLY, OF FRANCE AGAINST COMBINED
EUROPE, 1674-1678.--SEA BATTLES OF SOLEBAY, THE TEXEL, AND
STROMBOLI.

Aggressions of Louis XIV. on Spanish Netherlands                   139
Policy of the United Provinces                                     139
Triple alliance between England, Holland, and Sweden               140
Anger of Louis XIV.                                                140
Leibnitz proposes to Louis to seize Egypt                          141
His memorial                                                       142
Bargaining between Louis XIV. and Charles II.                      143
The two kings declare war against the United Provinces             144
Military character of this war                                     144
Naval strategy of the Dutch                                        144
Tactical combinations of De Ruyter                                 145
Inefficiency of Dutch naval administration                         145
Battle of Solebay, 1672                                            146
Tactical comments                                                  147
Effect of the battle on the course of the war                      148
Land campaign of the French in Holland                             149
Murder of John De Witt, Grand Pensionary of Holland  
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65140
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65140

NOT IN THE RULES

                           By Mack Reynolds

               A planet's strength was determined in the
            Arena where brute force emerged victorious. But
           the Earthman chose a forgotten weapon--strategy!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                              April 1951
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


I got the bad news as soon as we landed on Mars. The minute I got off
the spacer, the little yellow Martie was standing there with a yellow
envelope. He said, "Gladiator Jak Demsi?"

I admitted it and he handed me the envelope. Made me feel kind of good,
as though I was somebody important, which I'm not. I'd been taking
plenty of guff on the trip. Not only from Suzi, but from Alger Wilde,
who was also along. Yeah, between them they'd ridden me as well as the
liner, all the way from Terra.

I handed the Martie a kopek and put the yellow envelope in my pocket,
as though I was used to getting spacegrams.

I said to Suzi, "Let's hit the chow line." I don't usually talk that
fancy, but I was trying to impress her with my knowledge of antique
phrases. Both Suzi and Alger Wilde are students of ancient times and
love to lard their conversation with such stuff.

Suzi said, "Sure, Jak. Come on Alger," which wasn't what I'd meant at
all. And then she said, "Aren't you going to open that spacegram, Jak?
It might be important."

"Probably is," I said carelessly. "But it can wait, whatever it is."

And it did. I opened it after we'd ordered at the spaceport restaurant.
I should have waited until after I'd eaten, but I couldn't know that
until I read:

    SPACER TRANSPORTING GLADIATOR EARTH-MARS FOR INTER-PLANETARY GAMES
    LOST. YOU HAVE BEEN APPOINTED EMERGENCY REPLACEMENT REPRESENTING
    EARTH. GOOD LUCK.

I gulped. If you don't know all about the Interplanetary Meet which is
held every decade, then maybe you don't know why I gulped. If you do,
you do. It's tough enough being a gladiator on Terra but at least you
have a chance of coming out alive; you've even got a chance of winning.
But at the Interplanetary Meet! Who ever heard of a Terran coming out
in one piece? Not to speak of winning.

Sure, I'm a gladiator, but I've always been strictly a second rater; in
fact, some of the sports writers call me a third rater. Anyway, I've
always worked in the smaller meets where the gladiators, even when they
lose, usually get off with their lives. In the small town stuff, they
don't kill expensive gladiators, if they can help it.

My head was doing double flips trying to figure out some way of making
myself scarce, when Suzi said, "What is it, Jak?"

Like a fool, I handed the message to her and she and Alger read it
together.

Suzi's eyes widened and she started to say something, worriedly, but
Alger stuck out his hand and said, "Congratulations, Jak. I knew you
had great things in you. Now they'll be coming out.... Er.... That is,
just think, one of the three gladiators representing Terra. What an
honor!"

I was sunk.

The Interplanetary Meet was just three days off and I had three days to
live.

       *       *       *       *       *

I wouldn't have been on Mars in the first place if it hadn't been for
an argument I had with Suzi back on Terra just before she was scheduled
to blast off for Mars to cover the Interplanetary Games. Suzi is a
sports reporter, see. She covers the meets from the woman's angle. What
she really wanted to do was write books about primitive culture; and
what I wanted her to do was spend the rest of her life being my wife.
Neither of us seemed to have much of a chance of making good.

As usual, Suzi was giving me _kert_. If you'll pardon my language. "I
don't know why I bother with you, Jak," she said scowling. "You've had
the book a week and don't know a thing about it. You're nothing but a
drip, a square."

"Listen," I said resentfully. "Don't use those mythological terms on
me. Last time it took me all day to look them up. Besides, I try don't
I? My manager's going crazy because I've been spending so much time
reading instead of training for my next meet."

You get the idea. The girl was just gone on the ancients. She wouldn't
have tolerated me for an hour if I hadn't been willing to let her cram
her nonsense into me at every opportunity.

"How long do you expect to be on Mars?" I asked her.

She shrugged. "Perhaps three months, Terra time."

"Three months!"

She patted my hand. "Don't worry about me, Jak. I'm taking along an
extensive micro-film library dealing with the literature and drama of
Twentieth Century North America. As you undoubtedly know, it reached
its height in the comic books and cartoon movies of the time. Besides,"
she went on, "Alger Wilde will be there, covering the meet from the
society angle. He'll be good company. Alger is quite an authority on
prehistori
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 944
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/944


ST. JAGO--CAPE DE VERD ISLANDS

Porto Praya--Ribeira Grande--Atmospheric Dust with Infusoria--Habits of
a Sea-slug and Cuttle-fish--St. Paul's Rocks, non-volcanic--Singular
Incrustations--Insects the first Colonists of Islands--Fernando
Noronha--Bahia--Burnished Rocks--Habits of a Diodon--Pelagic Confervae
and Infusoria--Causes of discoloured Sea.


AFTER having been twice driven back by heavy southwestern gales, Her
Majesty's ship Beagle, a ten-gun brig, under the command of Captain
Fitz Roy, R. N., sailed from Devonport on the 27th of December, 1831.
The object of the expedition was to complete the survey of Patagonia
and Tierra del Fuego, commenced under Captain King in 1826 to 1830,--to
survey the shores of Chile, Peru, and of some islands in the
Pacific--and to carry a chain of chronometrical measurements round the
World. On the 6th of January we reached Teneriffe, but were prevented
landing, by fears of our bringing the cholera: the next morning we saw
the sun rise behind the rugged outline of the Grand Canary island, and
suddenly illuminate the Peak of Teneriffe, whilst the lower parts were
veiled in fleecy clouds.  This was the first of many delightful days
never to be forgotten. On the 16th of January, 1832, we anchored at
Porto Praya, in St. Jago, the chief island of the Cape de Verd
archipelago.

The neighbourhood of Porto Praya, viewed from the sea, wears a desolate
aspect.  The volcanic fires of a past age, and the scorching heat of a
tropical sun, have in most places rendered the soil unfit for
vegetation.  The country rises in successive steps of table-land,
interspersed with some truncate conical hills, and the horizon is
bounded by an irregular chain of more lofty mountains.  The scene, as
beheld through the hazy atmosphere of this climate, is one of great
interest; if, indeed, a person, fresh from sea, and who has just
walked, for the first time, in a grove of cocoa-nut trees, can be a
judge of anything but his own happiness.  The island would generally be
considered as very uninteresting, but to anyone accustomed only to an
English landscape, the novel aspect of an utterly sterile land
possesses a grandeur which more vegetation might spoil.  A single green
leaf can scarcely be discovered over wide tracts of the lava plains;
yet flocks of goats, together with a few cows, contrive to exist.  It
rains very seldom, but during a short portion of the year heavy
torrents fall, and immediately afterwards a light vegetation springs
out of every crevice.  This soon withers; and upon such naturally
formed hay the animals live.  It had not now rained for an entire year.
When the island was discovered, the immediate neighbourhood of Porto
Praya was clothed with trees, [1] the reckless destruction of which has
caused here, as at St. Helena, and at some of the Canary islands,
almost entire sterility.  The broad, flat-bottomed valleys, many of
which serve during a few days only in the season as water-courses, are
clothed with thickets of leafless bushes.  Few living creatures inhabit
these valleys.  The commonest bird is a kingfisher (Dacelo Iagoensis),
which tamely sits on the branches of the castor-oil plant, and thence
darts on grasshoppers and lizards.  It is brightly coloured, but not so
beautiful as the European species: in its flight, manners, and place of
habitation, which is generally in the driest valley, there is also a
wide difference.

One day, two of the officers and myself rode to Ribeira Grande, a
village a few miles eastward of Porto Praya.  Until we reached the
valley of St. Martin, the country presented its usual dull brown
appearance; but here, a very small rill of water produces a most
refreshing margin of luxuriant vegetation.  In the course of an hour we
arrived at Ribeira Grande, and were surprised at the sight of a large
ruined fort and cathedral.  This little town, before its harbour was
filled up, was the principal place in the island: it now presents a
melancholy, but very picturesque appearance.  Having procured a black
Padre for a guide, and a Spaniard who had served in the Peninsular war
as an interpreter, we visited a collection of buildings, of which an
ancient church formed the principal part.  It is here the governors and
captain-generals of the islands have been buried.  Some of the
tombstones recorded dates of the sixteenth century. [2]

The heraldic ornaments were the only things in this retired place that
reminded us of Europe.  The church or chapel formed one side of a
quadrangle, in the middle of which a large clump of bananas were
growing.  On another side was a hospital, containing about a dozen
miserable-looking inmates.

We returned to the Venda to eat our dinners.  A considerable number of
men, women, and children, all as black as jet, collected to watch us.
Our companions were extremely merry; and everything we said or did was
followed by their hearty laughter.  Before leaving the town we visited
the cathedral.  It does not appear so rich as the smaller chu
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We must now briefly consider the higher plants with reference to the
maintenance of diversity in the germ-plasm through crossing.

We saw in an earlier lecture that most flowers are hermaphrodite,
but that they do not fertilize themselves, and are adapted for
crossing, since the pollen of one flower is carried by insects to
the pistil of another, which cannot be reached by its own pollen,
either because it ripens too early or too late, or because the
stigma, notwithstanding its proximity, is so placed as to be out of
reach of the pollen from the adjacent stamens. I showed, following
the fundamental investigations of Sprengel, Charles Darwin, Hermann
Müller, and other successors of Darwin, that the flowers may in a sense
be regarded as the resultants of the insect-visits, since all their
accessory adaptations--large coloured petals, fragrance, nectar, and
even little minutiæ of colour and markings (honey-guides)--as well
as their detailed shape, as seen in 'landing stages,' corolla tubes,
and so on, are only intelligible when we refer their existence to
natural selection. We assume that each of these adaptations secured
some advantage for the species concerned, and that therefore their
first beginnings as slight germinal varieties were accepted, and were
brought gradually to their full expression by the united operation
of germinal and personal selection. This at least is how we should
express ourselves now that we have become acquainted with the factor
of germinal selection. The advantage secured by every such improvement
in a flower's means of attracting insects is obvious, as soon as it
is established that cross-fertilization is more advantageous for the
species than self-fertilization.

We have discussed this already; we saw that experiments instituted
by Darwin proved that seedlings which had arisen through
cross-fertilization were superior to those arising through
self-fertilization, and that in many cases the mother-plant itself
produced fewer seeds when self-fertilized than when cross-fertilized.
This discovery afforded an explanation of the cross-fertilization
of flowers by insects which Sprengel had previously observed. We
understand how the flowers must have become so adapted through
processes of selection that they were unable to fertilize themselves,
but attracted insects, and, so to speak, compelled these to dust them
with pollen from another plant of the same species. We also understand
how self-fertilization remained possible for many flowers in the
event of cross-fertilization through insects not being effected,
since after a certain period of waiting, a curvature of the stamens
or the pistil may take place and lead to the stigma being dusted with
the pollen of the same flower. Obviously the development of _fewer_
seeds is preferable to complete sterility. It is a well-known fact
that peculiar inconspicuous and closed flowers, designed solely for
self-fertilization, may occur along with the open flowers, as in the
case of the so-called cleistogamous flowers of the violet (_Viola_)
and the little dead-nettle (_Lamium amplexicaule_), and the phyletic
origin of these becomes intelligible as soon as it is established that
cross-fertilization is more advantageous than self-fertilization.

Now, however, it seems as if the fundamental proposition of this theory
of flowers will have to be rejected. Not only do the cleistogamous
flowers just mentioned exhibit a great fertility, not at all less
than that of the open flowers of the same species which are adapted
for cross-fertilization, but there is a small number of plants which
produce seeds by _self-fertilization alone_. Thus in _Myrmecodia_
cross-fertilization is absolutely prevented by the fact that the
flowers never open, and according to Charles Darwin _Ophrys apifera_
also reproduces by self-fertilization alone, and is nevertheless a
thoroughly vigorous plant. There are several other cases of this sort,
and particularly among the orchids, though the whole of the structure
of their flowers is specially adapted for pollination by insects.
Many of them are only rarely visited by insects, some not at all, we
know not why, but it is readily intelligible that in such cases they
should have adapted themselves to self-fertilization wherever that was
possible. For this _no great_ variation was necessary; it was enough
that the pollinia, which formerly only became detached from their
attachment at a touch or a push from an insect, should free themselves
spontaneously. And this, according to Darwin, is what happens,
for instance, in _Ophrys scolopax_, which at Cannes is frequently
self-fertilizing. For the development of seed, however, it is not
enough that the pollen should reach the stigma; the pollen-grain has
to send out its tube and penetrate into the ovary, and in many orchids
this does not happen; they are infertile with their own pollen. Various
other plants are also non-fertile with their own pollen, for instance
the common corydalis, _Corydalis
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B. and Esther N. Keyser






THE ART OF MONEY GETTING

or

GOLDEN RULES FOR MAKING MONEY


By P.T. Barnum



In the United States, where we have more land than people, it is not
at all difficult for persons in good health to make money. In this
comparatively new field there are so many avenues of success open, so
many vocations which are not crowded, that any person of either sex who
is willing, at least for the time being, to engage in any respectable
occupation that offers, may find lucrative employment.

Those who really desire to attain an independence, have only to set
their minds upon it, and adopt the proper means, as they do in regard to
any other object which they wish to accomplish, and the thing is easily
done. But however easy it may be found to make money, I have no doubt
many of my hearers will agree it is the most difficult thing in the
world to keep it. The road to wealth is, as Dr. Franklin truly says,
"as plain as the road to the mill." It consists simply in expending less
than we earn; that seems to be a very simple problem. Mr. Micawber,
one of those happy creations of the genial Dickens, puts the case in a
strong light when he says that to have annual income of twenty pounds
per annum, and spend twenty pounds and sixpence, is to be the most
miserable of men; whereas, to have an income of only twenty pounds, and
spend but nineteen pounds and sixpence is to be the happiest of mortals.
Many of my readers may say, "we understand this: this is economy, and we
know economy is wealth; we know we can't eat our cake and keep it also."
Yet I beg to say that perhaps more cases of failure arise from mistakes
on this point than almost any other. The fact is, many people think they
understand economy when they really do not.

True economy is misapprehended, and people go through life without
properly comprehending what that principle is. One says, "I have an
income of so much, and here is my neighbor who has the same; yet every
year he gets something ahead and I fall short; why is it? I know all
about economy." He thinks he does, but he does not. There are men who
think that economy consists in saving cheese-parings and candle-ends,
in cutting off two pence from the laundress' bill and doing all sorts of
little, mean, dirty things. Economy is not meanness. The misfortune is,
also, that this class of persons let their economy apply in only one
direction. They fancy they are so wonderfully economical in saving a
half-penny where they ought to spend twopence, that they think they can
afford to squander in other directions. A few years ago, before kerosene
oil was discovered or thought of, one might stop overnight at almost any
farmer's house in the agricultural districts and get a very good supper,
but after supper he might attempt to read in the sitting-room, and
would find it impossible with the inefficient light of one candle. The
hostess, seeing his dilemma, would say: "It is rather difficult to read
here evenings; the proverb says 'you must have a ship at sea in order
to be able to burn two candles at once;' we never have an extra candle
except on extra occasions." These extra occasions occur, perhaps, twice
a year. In this way the good woman saves five, six, or ten dollars in
that time: but the information which might be derived from having the
extra light would, of course, far outweigh a ton of candles.

But the trouble does not end here. Feeling that she is so economical
in tallow candies, she thinks she can afford to go frequently to the
village and spend twenty or thirty dollars for ribbons and furbelows,
many of which are not necessary. This false connote may frequently
be seen in men of business, and in those instances it often runs to
writing-paper. You find good businessmen who save all the old envelopes
and scraps, and would not tear a new sheet of paper, if they could avoid
it, for the world. This is all very well; they may in this way save five
or ten dollars a year, but being so economical (only in note paper),
they think they can afford to waste time; to have expensive parties,
and to drive their carriages. This is an illustration of Dr. Franklin's
"saving at the spigot and wasting at the bung-hole;" "penny wise and
pound foolish." Punch in speaking of this "one idea" class of people
says "they are like the man who bought a penny herring for his family's
dinner and then hired a coach and four to take it home." I never knew a
man to succeed by practising this kind of economy.

True economy consists in always making the income exceed the out-go.
Wear the old clothes a little longer if necessary; dispense with the new
pair of gloves; mend the old dress: live on plainer food if need be; so
that, under all circumstances, unless some unforeseen accident occurs,
there will be a margin in favor of the income. A penny here, and a
dollar there, placed at interest, goes on accumulating, and in this way
the desired result is attained. It requires some training, perhaps, to
accomplish this econom
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  IX. OF SIR LANCELOT AND THE FAIR MAID OF ASTOLAT                229

   X. HOW THE THREE GOOD KNIGHTS ACHIEVED THE HOLY GRAAL          250

  XI. OF THE PLOTS OF SIR MORDRED; AND HOW SIR LANCELOT
        SAVED THE QUEEN                                           278

 XII. OF SIR GAWAINE'S HATRED, AND THE WAR WITH SIR LANCELOT      307





KING ARTHUR'S KNIGHTS





HOW ARTHUR WAS MADE KING AND WON HIS KINGDOM


In the hall of his Roman palace at London, King Uther, Pendragon of the
Island of Britain, lay dying. He had been long sick with a wasting
disease, and forced to lie in his bed, gnawing his beard with wrath at
his weakness, while the pagan Saxons ravened up and down the fair broad
lands, leaving in their tracks the smoking ruin of broken towns and
desolated villages, where mothers lay dead beside their children on the
hearths, fair churches stood pillaged and desecrated, and priests and
nuns wandered in the wilds.

At length, when the pagans, bold and insolent, had ventured near
London, the king had been able to bear his shame and anguish no longer.
He had put himself, in a litter, at the head of his army, and meeting
the fierce, brave pagans at Verulam (now called St. Albans) he had, in
a battle day-long and stubborn, forced them at length to fly with heavy
slaughter.

That was three days ago, and since then he had lain in his bed as still
as if he were dead; and beside him sat the wise wizard Merlin, white
with great age, and in his eyes the calmness of deep learning.

It was the third night when the king suddenly awoke from his stupor and
clutched the hand of Merlin.

'I have dreamed!' he said in a low shaken voice. 'I have seen two
dragons fighting--one white, the other red. First the white dragon got
the mastery, and clawed with iron talons the red one's crest, and drove
him hither and thither into holes and crannies of the rocks. And then
the red one took heart, and with a fury that was marvellous to see, he
drove and tore the white dragon full terribly, and anon the white one
crawled away sore wounded. And the red dragon walked up and down in the
place of his triumph, and grew proud, and fought smaller red dragons
and conquered. Thus for a long time he stayed, and was secure and
boastful. Then I saw the white dragon return with a rage that was very
terrible, and the red dragon fought with him; but his pride had
softened him, so he drew off. Then other red dragons came upon him in
his wounds and beat him sore, which seeing, the white dragon dashed
upon them all--and I awoke. Merlin, tell me what this may mean, for my
mind is sore distraught with the vision.'

Then Merlin looked at the trembling king, wasted with disease, and in
his wise heart was great pity.

'It means, lord,' he said in slow grave tones, 'that thy people shall
conquer--that a red dragon shall rise from thy kin, who shall drive out
the loathsome pagan and shall conquer far and wide, and his fame shall
go into all lands and for all time.'

'I thank thee, Merlin, for thy comfort,' sighed the wearied king. 'I
have feared me these last years that the pagan will at the last drive
my people into the western sea, and that the name of Christ shall die
out of this fair land, and the foul pagan possess it. But thy words
give me great heart.'

'Nay, sir,' said Merlin, 'take comfort. Great power will come to this
people in a near time, and they shall conquer all their enemies.'

Anon the king slept, and lay thus for three further days, neither
speaking nor moving. Many great lords and barons came craving to speak
with Merlin, asking if the king were not better. But, looking into
their crafty eyes, and seeing there the pride and ambitions of their
hearts, Merlin knew that they wished the king were already dead; for
all thought that King Uther had no son to take the kingdom after him,
and each great baron, strong in men, plotted to win the overlordship
when the king should be gone.

'If he dieth and sayeth not which he shall name to succeed him,' some
asked, 'say, Merlin, what's to be done?'

'I shall tell you,' said Merlin. 'Come ye all into this chamber
to-morrow's morn, and, if God so wills, I will make the king speak.'

Next morn, therefore, came all the great barons and lords into the high
hall of the palace, and many were the proud and haughty glances passing
among them. There was King Lot of Orkney, small and slim, with his dark
narrow face and crafty eyes under pent eyebrows; King Uriens of Reged,
tall and well-seeming, with grim eyes war-wise, fresh from the long
harrying of the fleeing pagans; King Mark of Tintagel, burly of form,
crafty and mean of look; King Nentres of Garlot, ruddy of face,
blusterous of manner, who tried to hide cunning under a guise of
honesty; and many others, as Duke Cambenet of Loidis, King Brandegoris
of Stranggore, King Morkant of Strathclyde, King Clariance of
Northumberland, King Kador of Cornwall, and King Idres of Silura.

Now, when all these were assembled about the bed of Uther, Merlin went
to t
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HTML file produced by David Widger




ESSAYS OF SCHOPENHAUER:

TRANSLATED BY MRS. RUDOLF DIRCKS.

WITH AN INTRODUCTION.




CONTENTS


ON AUTHORSHIP AND STYLE
ON NOISE
ON EDUCATION
ON READING AND BOOKS
THE EMPTINESS OF EXISTENCE
ON WOMEN
THINKING FOR ONESELF
SHORT DIALOGUE ON THE INDESTRUCTIBILITY OF OUR TRUE BEING BY DEATH
RELIGION--A DIALOGUE
PSYCHOLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS
METAPHYSICS OF LOVE
PHYSIOGNOMY
ON SUICIDE




PRELIMINARY.


When Schopenhauer was asked where he wished to be buried, he answered,
"Anywhere; they will find me;" and the stone that marks his grave at
Frankfort bears merely the inscription "Arthur Schopenhauer," without
even the date of his birth or death. Schopenhauer, the pessimist, had a
sufficiently optimistic conviction that his message to the world would
ultimately be listened to--a conviction that never failed him during a
lifetime of disappointments, of neglect in quarters where perhaps he
would have most cherished appreciation; a conviction that only showed
some signs of being justified a few years before his death. Schopenhauer
was no opportunist; he was not even conciliatory; he never hesitated to
declare his own faith in himself, in his principles, in his philosophy;
he did not ask to be listened to as a matter of courtesy but as a
right--a right for which he would struggle, for which he fought, and
which has in the course of time, it may be admitted, been conceded to
him.

Although everything that Schopenhauer wrote was written more or less as
evidence to support his main philosophical thesis, his unifying
philosophical principle, the essays in this volume have an interest, if
not altogether apart, at least of a sufficiently independent interest to
enable them to be considered on their own merits, without relation to
his main idea. And in dissociating them, if one may do so for a moment
(their author would have scarcely permitted it!), one feels that one
enters a field of criticism in which opinions can scarcely vary. So far
as his philosophy is concerned, this unanimity does not exist; he is one
of the best abused amongst philosophers; he has many times been
explained and condemned exhaustively, and no doubt this will be as many
times repeated. What the trend of his underlying philosophical principal
was, his metaphysical explanation of the world, is indicated in almost
all the following essays, but chiefly in the "Metaphysics of Love," to
which the reader may be referred.

These essays are a valuable criticism of life by a man who had a wide
experience of life, a man of the world, who possessed an almost inspired
faculty of observation. Schopenhauer, of all men, unmistakably observed
life at first hand. There is no academic echo in his utterances; he is
not one of a school; his voice has no formal intonation; it is deep,
full-chested, and rings out its words with all the poignancy of
individual emphasis, without bluster, but with unfailing conviction. He
was for his time, and for his country, an adept at literary form; but he
used it only as a means. Complicated as his sentences occasionally are,
he says many sharp, many brilliant, many epigrammatic things, he has the
manner of the famous essayists, he is paradoxical (how many of his
paradoxes are now truisms!); one fancies at times that one is almost
listening to a creation of Molière, but these fireworks are not merely a
literary display, they are used to illumine what he considers to be the
truth. _Rien n'est beau que le vrai; le vrai seul est aimable_, he
quotes; he was a deliberate and diligent searcher after truth, always
striving to attain the heart of things, to arrive at a knowledge of
first principles. It is, too, not without a sort of grim humour that
this psychological vivisectionist attempts to lay bare the skeleton of
the human mind, to tear away all the charming little sentiments and
hypocrisies which in the course of time become a part and parcel of
human life. A man influenced by such motives, and possessing a frank and
caustic tongue, was not likely to attain any very large share of popular
favour or to be esteemed a companionable sort of person. The fabric of
social life is interwoven with a multitude of delicate evasions, of
small hypocrisies, of matters of tinsel sentiment; social intercourse
would be impossible, if it were not so. There is no sort of social
existence possible for a person who is ingenuous enough to say always
what he thinks, and, on the whole, one may be thankful that there is
not. One naturally enough objects to form the subject of a critical
diagnosis and exposure; one chooses for one's friends the agreeable
hypocrites of life who sustain for one the illusions in which one wishes
to live. The mere conception of a plain-speaking world is calculated to
reduce one to the last degree of despair; it is the conception of the
intolerable. Nevertheless it is good for mankind now and again to have a
plain speaker, a "mar feast," on the scene; a wizard who devises for us
a spectacle of disillu
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It is often enough, and always with great surprise, intimated to me that
there is something both ordinary and unusual in all my writings, from
the "Birth of Tragedy" to the recently published "Prelude to a
Philosophy of the Future": they all contain, I have been told, snares
and nets for short sighted birds, and something that is almost a
constant, subtle, incitement to an overturning of habitual opinions and
of approved customs. What!? Everything is merely--human--all too human?
With this exclamation my writings are gone through, not without a
certain dread and mistrust of ethic itself and not without a disposition
to ask the exponent of evil things if those things be not simply
misrepresented. My writings have been termed a school of distrust, still
more of disdain: also, and more happily, of courage, audacity even. And
in fact, I myself do not believe that anybody ever looked into the world
with a distrust as deep as mine, seeming, as I do, not simply the timely
advocate of the devil, but, to employ theological terms, an enemy and
challenger of God; and whosoever has experienced any of the consequences
of such deep distrust, anything of the chills and the agonies of
isolation to which such an unqualified difference of standpoint condemns
him endowed with it, will also understand how often I must have sought
relief and self-forgetfulness from any source--through any object of
veneration or enmity, of scientific seriousness or wanton lightness;
also why I, when I could not find what I was in need of, had to fashion
it for myself, counterfeiting it or imagining it (and what poet or
writer has ever done anything else, and what other purpose can all the
art in the world possibly have?) That which I always stood most in need
of in order to effect my cure and self-recovery was faith, faith enough
not to be thus isolated, not to look at life from so singular a point of
view--a magic apprehension (in eye and mind) of relationship and
equality, a calm confidence in friendship, a blindness, free from
suspicion and questioning, to two sidedness; a pleasure in externals,
superficialities, the near, the accessible, in all things possessed of
color, skin and seeming. Perhaps I could be fairly reproached with much
"art" in this regard, many fine counterfeitings; for example, that,
wisely or wilfully, I had shut my eyes to Schopenhauer's blind will
towards ethic, at a time when I was already clear sighted enough on the
subject of ethic; likewise that I had deceived myself concerning Richard
Wagner's incurable romanticism, as if it were a beginning and not an
end; likewise concerning the Greeks, likewise concerning the Germans and
their future--and there may be, perhaps, a long list of such likewises.
Granted, however, that all this were true, and with justice urged
against me, what does it signify, what can it signify in regard to how
much of the self-sustaining capacity, how much of reason and higher
protection are embraced in such self-deception?--and how much more
falsity is still necessary to me that I may therewith always reassure
myself regarding the luxury of my truth. Enough, I still live; and life
is not considered now apart from ethic; it _will_ [have] deception; it
thrives (lebt) on deception ... but am I not beginning to do all over
again what I have always done, I, the old immoralist, and bird
snarer--talk unmorally, ultramorally, "beyond good and evil"?



Thus, then, have I evolved for myself the "free spirits" to whom this
discouraging-encouraging work, under the general title "Human, All Too
Human," is dedicated. Such "free spirits" do not really exist and never
did exist. But I stood in need of them, as I have pointed out, in order
that some good might be mixed with my evils (illness, loneliness,
strangeness, _acedia_, incapacity): to serve as gay spirits and
comrades, with whom one may talk and laugh when one is disposed to talk
and laugh, and whom one may send to the devil when they grow wearisome.
They are some compensation for the lack of friends. That such free
spirits can possibly exist, that our Europe will yet number among her
sons of to-morrow or of the day after to-morrow, such a brilliant and
enthusiastic company, alive and palpable and not merely, as in my case,
fantasms and imaginary shades, I, myself, can by no means doubt. I see
them already coming, slowly, slowly. May it not be that I am doing a
little something to expedite their coming when I describe in advance the
influences under which I see them evolving and the ways along which they
travel?



It may be conjectured that a soul in which the type of "free spirit" can
attain maturity and completeness had its decisive and deciding event in
the form of a great emancipation or unbinding, and that prior to that
event it seemed only the more firmly and forever chained to its place
and pillar. What binds strongest? What cords seem almost unbreakable? In
the case of mortals of a choice and lofty nature they will be those of
duty: that rever
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Cambodia
Cameroon
Canada
Cape Verde
Cayman Islands
Central African Republic
Chad
Chile
China
Christmas Island
Clipperton Island
Cocos (Keeling) Islands
Colombia
Comoros
Congo, Democratic Republic of the
Congo, Republic of the
Cook Islands
Coral Sea Islands
Costa Rica
Cote d'Ivoire
Croatia
Cuba
Cyprus
Czech Republic



Denmark
Dhekelia
Djibouti
Dominica
Dominican Republic


E

Ecuador
Egypt
El Salvador
Equatorial Guinea
Eritrea
Estonia
Ethiopia


F

Falkland Islands (Islas Malvinas)
Faroe Islands
Fiji
Finland
France
French Polynesia
French Southern and Antarctic Lands


G

Gabon
Gambia, The
Gaza Strip
Georgia
Germany
Ghana
Gibraltar
Greece
Greenland
Grenada
Guam
Guatemala
Guernsey
Guinea
Guinea-Bissau
Guyana


H

Haiti
Heard Island and McDonald Islands
Holy See (Vatican City)
Honduras
Hong Kong
Hungary



Iceland
India
Indian Ocean
Indonesia
Iran
Iraq
Ireland
Isle of Man
Israel
Italy


J

Jamaica
Jan Mayen
Japan
Jersey
Jordan


K

Kazakhstan
Kenya
Kiribati
Korea, North
Korea, South
Kosovo
Kuwait
Kyrgyzstan



Laos
Latvia
Lebanon
Lesotho
Liberia
Libya
Liechtenstein
Lithuania
Luxembourg



Macau
Macedonia
Madagascar
Malawi
Malaysia
Maldives
Mali
Malta
Marshall Islands
Mauritania
Mauritius
Mayotte
Mexico
Micronesia, Federated States of
Moldova
Monaco
Mongolia
Montenegro
Montserrat
Morocco
Mozambique


N

Namibia
Nauru
Navassa Island
Nepal
Netherlands
Netherlands Antilles
New Caledonia
New Zealand
Nicaragua
Niger
Nigeria
Niue
Norfolk Island
Northern Mariana Islands
Norway


O

Oman


P

Pacific Ocean
Pakistan
Palau
Panama
Papua New Guinea
Paracel Islands
Paraguay
Peru
Philippines
Pitcairn Islands
Poland
Portugal
Puerto Rico


Q

Qatar


R

Romania
Russia
Rwanda


S

Saint Barthelemy
Saint Helena, Ascension, and Tristan da Cunha
Saint Kitts and Nevis
Saint Lucia
Saint Martin
Saint Pierre and Miquelon
Saint Vincent and the Grenadines
Samoa
San Marino
Sao Tome and Principe
Saudi Arabia
Senegal
Serbia
Seychelles
Sierra Leone
Singapore
Slovakia
Slovenia
Solomon Islands
Somalia
South Africa
South Georgia and South Sandwich Islands
Southern Ocean
Spain
Spratly Islands
Sri Lanka
Sudan
Suriname
Svalbard
Swaziland
Sweden
Switzerland
Syria


T

Tajikistan
Tanzania
Thailand
Timor-Leste
Togo
Tokelau
Tonga
Trinidad and Tobago
Tunisia
Turkey
Turkmenistan
Turks and Caicos Islands
Tuvalu


U

Uganda
Ukraine
United Arab Emirates
United Kingdom
United States
United States Pacific Island Wildlife Refuges
Uruguay
Uzbekistan



Vanuatu
Venezuela
Vietnam
Virgin Islands


W

Wake Island
Wallis and Futuna
West Bank
Western Sahara


Y

Yemen


Z

Zambia
Zimbabwe


T

Taiwan


E

European Union



======================================================================



Field Listings


[Transcriber's note: To search on a field code in this file, prefix
the code number with "@", e.g. "@2001".  "2001" will find all
occurrences; prefixing it with "@" will find the correct location.]



Code    Field Description

2001    GDP (purchasing power parity)
2002    Population growth rate
2003    GDP - real growth rate
2004    GDP - per capita (PPP)
2005    Affiliation
2006    Dependency status
2007    Diplomatic representation from the US
2008    Transportation - note
2010    Age structure
2011    Geographic coordinates
2012    GDP - composition by sector
2013    Radio broadcast stations
2014
2015    Television broadcast stations
2016
2018    Sex ratio
2019    Heliports
2020    Elevation extremes
2021    Natural hazards
2022    People - note
2023    Area - comparative
2024    Military service age and obligation
2025    Manpower fit for military service
2026    Manpower reaching militarily significant age
2028    Background
2030    Airports - with paved runways
2031    Airports - with unpaved runways
2032    Environment - current issues
2033    Environment - international agreements
2034    Military expenditures
2038    Electricity - production
2042    Electricity - consumption
2043    Electricity - imports
2044    Electricity - exports
2045    Electricity - production by source
2046    Population below poverty line
2047    Household income or consumption by percentage share
2048    Labor force - by occupation
2049    Exports - commodities
2050    Exports - partners
2051    Administrative divisions
2052    Agriculture - products
2053    Airports
2054    Birth rate
2055    Military branches
2056    Budget
2057    Capital
2058    Imports - commodities
2059    Climate
2060    Coastline
2061    Imports - partners
2062
2063    Constitution
2064
2065
2066    Death rate
2068    Dependent areas
2070    Disputes - international
2075    Ethnic groups
2076    Exchange rates
2077    Executive branch
2078    Exports
2079    Debt - external
2081    Flag description
2085    Roadways
2086    Illicit drugs
2087    Imports
2088    Independence
2089    Industrial production growth rate
2090    Industries
2091    Infant mortality rate
2092    Inflation rate (consumer prices)
2093    Waterways
2094    Judicial branch
2095    Labor force
2096    Land boundaries
2097    
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 41562
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41562

THE HANGING STRANGER

                          BY PHILIP K. DICK

                         ILLUSTRATED BY SMITH

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from Science Fiction
Adventures Magazine December 1953. Extensive research did not uncover
any evidence that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


[Illustration]


    Ed had always been a practical man, when he saw something was wrong
    he tried to correct it. Then one day he saw _it_ hanging in the town
    square.


Five o'clock Ed Loyce washed up, tossed on his hat and coat, got his car
out and headed across town toward his TV sales store. He was tired. His
back and shoulders ached from digging dirt out of the basement and
wheeling it into the back yard. But for a forty-year-old man he had done
okay. Janet could get a new vase with the money he had saved; and he
liked the idea of repairing the foundations himself!

It was getting dark. The setting sun cast long rays over the scurrying
commuters, tired and grim-faced, women loaded down with bundles and
packages, students swarming home from the university, mixing with clerks
and businessmen and drab secretaries. He stopped his Packard for a red
light and then started it up again. The store had been open without him;
he'd arrive just in time to spell the help for dinner, go over the
records of the day, maybe even close a couple of sales himself. He drove
slowly past the small square of green in the center of the street, the
town park. There were no parking places in front of LOYCE TV SALES AND
SERVICE. He cursed under his breath and swung the car in a U-turn. Again
he passed the little square of green with its lonely drinking fountain
and bench and single lamppost.

From the lamppost something was hanging. A shapeless dark bundle,
swinging a little with the wind. Like a dummy of some sort. Loyce rolled
down his window and peered out. What the hell was it? A display of
some kind? Sometimes the Chamber of Commerce put up displays in the
square.

Again he made a U-turn and brought his car around. He passed the park
and concentrated on the dark bundle. It wasn't a dummy. And if it was a
display it was a strange kind. The hackles on his neck rose and he
swallowed uneasily. Sweat slid out on his face and hands.

It was a body. A human body.

       *       *       *       *       *

"Look at it!" Loyce snapped. "Come on out here!"

Don Fergusson came slowly out of the store, buttoning his pin-stripe
coat with dignity. "This is a big deal, Ed. I can't just leave the guy
standing there."

"See it?" Ed pointed into the gathering gloom. The lamppost jutted up
against the sky--the post and the bundle swinging from it. "There it is.
How the hell long has it been there?" His voice rose excitedly. "What's
wrong with everybody? They just walk on past!"

Don Fergusson lit a cigarette slowly. "Take it easy, old man. There must
be a good reason, or it wouldn't be there."

"A reason! What kind of a reason?"

Fergusson shrugged. "Like the time the Traffic Safety Council put that
wrecked Buick there. Some sort of civic thing. How would I know?"

Jack Potter from the shoe shop joined them. "What's up, boys?"

"There's a body hanging from the lamppost," Loyce said. "I'm going to
call the cops."

"They must know about it," Potter said. "Or otherwise it wouldn't be
there."

"I got to get back in." Fergusson headed back into the store. "Business
before pleasure."

Loyce began to get hysterical. "You see it? You see it hanging there? A
man's body! A dead man!"

"Sure, Ed. I saw it this afternoon when I went out for coffee."

"You mean it's been there all afternoon?"

"Sure. What's the matter?" Potter glanced at his watch. "Have to run.
See you later, Ed."

Potter hurried off, joining the flow of people moving along the
sidewalk. Men and women, passing by the park. A few glanced up curiously
at the dark bundle--and then went on. Nobody stopped. Nobody paid any
attention.

"I'm going nuts," Loyce whispered. He made his way to the curb and
crossed out into traffic, among the cars. Horns honked angrily at him.
He gained the curb and stepped up onto the little square of green.

The man had been middle-aged. His clothing was ripped and torn, a gray
suit, splashed and caked with dried mud. A stranger. Loyce had never
seen him before. Not a local man. His face was partly turned, away, and
in the evening wind he spun a little, turning gently, silently. His skin
was gouged and cut. Red gashes, deep scratches of congealed blood. A
pair of steel-rimmed glasses hung from one ear, dangling foolishly. His
eyes bulged. His mouth was open, tongue thick and ugly blue.

"For Heaven's sake," Loyce muttered, sickened. He pushed down his nausea
and made his way back to the sidewalk. He was shaking all over, with
revulsion--and fear.

_Why?_ Who was the man? Why was he hanging there? What did it mean?

And--why didn't anybody notice?

He bumped into a small man hurrying along the sidewalk. "Watch it!" the
man grated, "Oh, it's you
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 9700
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/9700


_AN ANGLO-SAXON POEM_.


_A FRAGMENT_.

WITH TEXT AND GLOSSARY ON THE BASIS OF M. HEYNE.

EDITED, CORRECTED, AND ENLARGED, BY

JAMES A. HARRISON, LL.D., LITT. D.,

PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH AND MODERN LANGUAGES, WASHINGTON AND LEE UNIVERSITY,

AND

ROBERT SHARP (PH.D. LIPS.),

PROFESSOR OF GREEK AND ENGLISH, TULANE UNIVERSITY OF LOUISIANA.

FOURTH EDITION. REVISED, WITH NOTES.

GINN & COMPANY

BOSTON--NEW YORK--CHICAGO--LONDON

Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1883, by

JAMES ALBERT HARRISON AND ROBERT SHARP

in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.



DEDICATED

TO

PROFESSOR F. A. MARCH, OF LAFAYETTE COLLEGE, PA.,

AND

FREDERICK J. FURNIVALL, ESQ. FOUNDER OF THE "NEW SHAKSPERE SOCIETY," THE
"CHAUCER SOCIETY," ETC., ETC.



PREFACE TO THE FOURTH EDITION.

The favor with which the successive editions of "Beówulf" have been
received during the past thirteen years emboldens the editors to continue
the work of revision in a fourth issue, the most noticeable feature of
which is a considerable body of explanatory Notes, now for the first time
added. These Notes mainly concern themselves with new textual readings,
with here and there grammatical, geographical, and archæological points
that seemed worthy of explanation. Parallelisms and parallel passages are
constantly compared, with the view of making the poem illustrate and
explain itself. A few emendations and textual changes are suggested by the
editors with all possible diffidence; numerous corrections have been made
in the Glossary and List of Names; and the valuable parts of former
Appendices have been embodied in the Notes.

For the Notes, the editors are much indebted to the various German
periodicals mentioned on page 116, to the recent publications of Professors
Earle and J. L. Hall, to Mr. S. A. Brooke, and to the Heyne-Socin edition
of "Beówulf." No change has been made in the system of accentuation, though
a few errors in quantity have been corrected. The editors are looking
forward to an eventual fifth edition, in which an entirely new text will be
presented.

October, 1893.



NOTE TO THE THIRD EDITION.

This third edition of the American issue of Beówulf will, the editors hope,
be found more accurate and useful than either of the preceding editions.
Further corrections in text and glossary have been made, and some
additional new readings and suggestions will be found in two brief
appendices at the back of the book. Students of the metrical system of
Beówulf will find ample material for their studies in Sievers' exhaustive
essay on that subject (Beiträge, X. 209-314).

Socin's edition of Heyne's Beówulf (called the fifth edition) has been
utilized to some extent in this edition, though it unfortunately came too
late to be freely used. While it repeats many of the omissions and
inaccuracies of Heyne's fourth edition, it contains much that is valuable
to the student, particularly in the notes and commentary. Students of the
poem, which has been subjected to much searching criticism during the last
decade, will also derive especial help from the contributions of Sievers
and Kluge on difficult questions appertaining to it. Wülker's new edition
(in the Grein _Bibliothek_) is of the highest value, however one may
dissent from particular textual views laid down in the 'Berichtigter Text.'
Paul and Braune's Beiträge contain a varied miscellany of hints,
corrections, and suggestions principally embodying the views of Kluge,
Cosijn, Sievers, and Bugge, some of the more important of which are found
in the appendices to the present and the preceding edition. Holder and
Zupitza, Sarrazin and Hermann Möller (Kiel, 1883), Heinzel (Anzeiger f.d.
Alterthum, X.), Gering (Zacher's Zeitschrift, XII.), Brenner (Eng. Studien,
IX.), and the contributors to Anglia, have assisted materially in the
textual and metrical interpretation of the poem.

The subject of Anglo-Saxon quantity has been discussed in several able
essays by Sievers, Sweet, Ten Brink (Anzeiger, f.d. Alterthum, V.), Kluge
(Beiträge, XI.), and others; but so much is uncertain in this field that
the editors have left undisturbed the marking of vowels found in the text
of their original edition, while indicating in the appendices the now
accepted views of scholars on the quantity of the personal pronouns (mê,
wê, þû, þê, gê, hê); the adverb nû, etc. Perhaps it would be best to banish
absolutely all attempts at marking quantities except in cases where the Ms.
has them marked.

An approximately complete Bibliography of Beówulf literature will be found
in Wülker's _Grundriss_ and in Garnett's translation of the poem.

JAMES A. HARRISON,

ROBERT SHARP.

WASHINGTON AND LEE UNIVERSITY,
LEXINGTON, VA., May, 1888.


NOTE TO THE SECOND REVISED EDITION.

The editors feel so encouraged at the kind reception accorded their edition
of Beówulf (1883), that, in spite of its many shortcomings, they have
determined to prepare a second revised edition of the book, and thus
endeavor to extend its 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 56463
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/56463

the Great) to that height, that Pompey vaunted himself for Sylla’s
overmatch; for when he had carried the consulship for a friend of
his, against the pursuit of Sylla, and that Sylla did a little resent
thereat, and began to speak great, Pompey turned upon him again, and,
in effect, bade him be quiet; for that more men adored the sun rising
than the sun setting.[309] With Julius Cæsar, Decimus Brutus had
obtained that interest, as he set him down in his testament for heir
in remainder after his nephew; and this was the man that had power
with him to draw him forth to his death; for when Cæsar would have
discharged the senate, in regard of some ill presages, and specially a
dream of Calphurnia, this man lifted him gently by the arm out of his
chair, telling him he hoped he would not dismiss the senate till his
wife had dreamt a better dream;[310] and it seemeth his favor was so
great, as Antonius, in a letter which is recited verbatim in one of
Cicero’s Philippics, calleth him _venefica_, “witch,” as if he had
enchanted Cæsar.[311] Augustus raised Agrippa (though of mean birth) to
that height, as, when he consulted with Mæcenas about the marriage of
his daughter Julia, Mæcenas took the liberty to tell him, that he must
either marry his daughter to Agrippa, or take away his life; there was
no third way, he had made him so great. With Tiberius Cæsar, Sejanus
had ascended to that height, as they two were termed and reckoned
as a pair of friends. Tiberius, in a letter to him, saith, “Hæc pro
amicitiâ nostrâ non occultavi;”[312] and the whole senate dedicated
an altar to Friendship, as to a goddess, in respect of the great
dearness of friendship between them two. The like, or more, was between
Septimius Severus and Plautianus; for he forced his eldest son to
marry the daughter of Plautianus, and would often maintain Plautianus
in doing affronts to his son; and did write, also, in a letter to the
senate, by these words: “I love the man so well, as I wish he may
over-live me.”[313] Now, if these princes had been as a Trajan, or a
Marcus Aurelius, a man might have thought that this had proceeded of
an abundant goodness of nature; but being men so wise,[314] of such
strength and severity of mind, and so extreme lovers of themselves,
as all these were, it proveth most plainly that they found their own
felicity (though as great as ever happened to mortal men) but as an
half-piece, except they might have a friend to make it entire; and yet,
which is more, they were princes that had wives, sons, nephews; and yet
all these could not supply the comfort of friendship.

It is not to be forgotten what Comineus[315] observeth of his first
master, Duke Charles the Hardy,[316] namely, that he would communicate
his secrets with none, and, least of all, those secrets which troubled
him most. Whereupon he goeth on, and saith, that towards his latter
time, that closeness did impair and a little perish his understanding.
Surely, Comineus might have made the same judgment, also, if it had
pleased him, of his second master, Louis the Eleventh, whose closeness
was indeed his tormentor. The parable of Pythagoras is dark, but true:
“Cor ne edito,” “eat not the heart.”[317] Certainly, if a man would
give it a hard phrase, those that want friends to open themselves unto
are cannibals of their own hearts; but one thing is most admirable
(wherewith I will conclude this first fruit of friendship), which
is, that this communicating of a man’s self to his friend works two
contrary effects, for it redoubleth joys, and cutteth griefs in halves;
for there is no man that imparteth his joys to his friend, but he
joyeth the more; and no man that imparteth his griefs to his friend,
but he grieveth the less. So that it is, in truth, of operation upon a
man’s mind of like virtue as the alchemists used to attribute to their
stone for man’s body, that it worketh all contrary effects, but still
to the good and benefit of nature. But yet, without praying in aid of
alchemists, there is a manifest image of this in the ordinary course of
nature; for, in bodies, union strengtheneth and cherisheth any natural
action; and, on the other side, weakeneth and dulleth any violent
impression; and even so it is of minds.

The second fruit of friendship is healthful and sovereign for the
understanding, as the first is for the affections; for friendship
maketh indeed a fair day in the affections from storm and tempests,
but it maketh daylight in the understanding, out of darkness and
confusion of thoughts. Neither is this to be understood only of
faithful counsel, which a man receiveth from his friend; but before
you come to that, certain it is, that whosoever hath his mind fraught
with many thoughts, his wits and understanding do clarify and break
up in the communicating and discoursing with another; he tosseth his
thoughts more easily; he marshalleth them more orderly; he seeth how
they look when they are turned into words; finally, he waxeth wiser
than himself; and that
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 2992
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2992

THE MIDDLE CLASS GENTLEMAN (Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme)

By MOLIERE (Jean-Baptiste Poquelin, 1622-1673)

Translated by Philip Dwight Jones


Comedy-Ballet presented at Chambord, for the entertainment of the
King, in the month of October 1670, and to the public in Paris for
the first time at the Palais-Royal Theater 23 November 1670




The Cast

     Monsieur Jourdain, bourgeois.
     Madame Jourdain, his wife.
     Lucile, their daughter.
     Nicole, maid.
     Cleonte, suitor of Lucile.
     Covielle, Cleonte's valet.
     Dorante, Count, suitor of Dorimene.
     Dorimene, Marchioness.
     Music Master.
     Pupil of the Music Master.
     Dancing Master.
     Fencing Master.
     Master of Philosophy.
     Tailor.
     Tailor's apprentice.
     Two lackeys.
     Many male and female musicians, instrumentalists, dancers, cooks,
     tailor's apprentices, and others necessary for the interludes.


The scene is Monsieur Jourdain's house in Paris.




ACT ONE

SCENE I (Music Master, Dancing Master, Musicians, and Dancers)

(The play opens with a great assembly of instruments, and in the
middle of the stage is a pupil of the Music Master seated at a
table composing a melody which Monsieur Jourdain has ordered for a
serenade.)

MUSIC MASTER: (To Musicians) Come, come into this room, sit there
and wait until he comes.

DANCING MASTER: (To dancers) And you too, on this side.

MUSIC MASTER: (To Pupil) Is it done?

PUPIL: Yes.

MUSIC MASTER: Let's see... This is good.

DANCING MASTER: Is it something new?

MUSIC MASTER: Yes, it's a melody for a serenade that I set him to
composing here, while waiting for our man to awake.

DANCING MASTER: May I see it?

MUSIC MASTER: You'll hear it, with the dialogue, when he comes.  He
won't be long.

DANCING MASTER: Our work, yours and mine, is not trivial at
present.

MUSIC MASTER: This is true. We've found here such a man as we both
need. This is a nice source of income for us--this Monsieur
Jourdain, with the visions of nobility and gallantry that he has
gotten into his head. You and I should hope that everyone resembled
him.

DANCING MASTER: Not entirely; I could wish that he understood
better the things that we give him.

MUSIC MASTER: It's true that he understands them poorly, but he
pays well, and that's what our art needs now more than anything
else.

DANCING MASTER: As for me, I admit, I feed a little on glory.
Applause touches me; and I hold that, in all the fine arts, it is
painful to produce for dolts, to endure the barbarous opinions of a
fool about my choreography. It is a pleasure, don't tell me
otherwise, to work for people who can appreciate the fine points of
an art, who know how to give a sweet reception to the beauties of a
work and, by pleasurable approbations, gratify us for our labor.
Yes, the most agreeable recompense we can receive for the things we
do is to see them recognized and flattered by an applause that
honors us. There is nothing, in my opinion, that pays us better for
all our fatigue; and it is an exquisite delight to receive the
praises of the well-informed.

MUSIC MASTER: I agree, and I enjoy them as you do. There is surely
nothing more agreeable than the applause you speak of; but that
incense does not provide a living. Pure praises do not provide a
comfortable existence; it is necessary to add something solid, and
the best way to praise is to praise with cash-in-hand.  He's a man,
it's true, whose insight is very slight, who talks nonsense about
everything and applauds only for the wrong reasons but his money
makes up for his judgments. He has discernment in his purse. His
praises are in cash, and this ignorant bourgeois is worth more to
us, as you see, than the educated nobleman who introduced us here.

DANCING MASTER: There is some truth in what you say; but I find
that you lean a little too heavily on money; and material interest
is something so base that a man of good taste should never show an
attachment to it.

MUSIC MASTER: You are ready enough to receive the money our man
gives you.

DANCING MASTER: Assuredly; but I don't place all my happiness in
it, and I could wish that together with his fortune he had some
good taste in things.

MUSIC MASTER: I could wish it too, that's what both of us are
working for as much as we can.  But, in any case, he gives us the
means to make ourselves known in the world; and he will pay others
if they will praise him.

DANCING MASTER: Here he comes.

SCENE II (Monsieur Jourdain, Two Lackeys, Music Master, Dancing
Master, Pupil, Musicians, and Dancers)

MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: Well gentlemen? What's this? Are you going to
show me your little skit?

DANCING MASTER: How? What little skit?

MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: Well, the... What-do-you-call it? Your
prologue or dialogue of songs and dances.

DANCING MASTER: Ha, ha!

MUSIC MASTER: You find us ready for you.

MONSIEUR JOURDAIN: I kept you waiting a little, but it's because
I'm having myself dressed today like the people of quality, and my
tailor sent me some silk s
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 17957
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/17957

And since you have bidden me also to put together, if only for your
entertainment, a few notes on the subject of the Sublime, let me see if
there is anything in my speculations which promises advantage to men of
affairs. In you, dear friend--such is my confidence in your abilities,
and such the part which becomes you--I look for a sympathising and
discerning[1] critic of the several parts of my treatise. For that was a
just remark of his who pronounced that the points in which we resemble
the divine nature are benevolence and love of truth.

    [Footnote 1: Reading φιλοφρονέστατα καὶ ἀληθέστατα.]

As I am addressing a person so accomplished in literature, I need only
state, without enlarging further on the matter, that the Sublime,
wherever it occurs, consists in a certain loftiness and excellence of
language, and that it is by this, and this only, that the greatest poets
and prose-writers have gained eminence, and won themselves a lasting
place in the Temple of Fame.

A lofty passage does not convince the reason of the reader, but takes
him out of himself. That which is admirable ever confounds our judgment,
and eclipses that which is merely reasonable or agreeable. To believe or
not is usually in our own power; but the Sublime, acting with an
imperious and irresistible force, sways every reader whether he will or
no. Skill in invention, lucid arrangement and disposition of facts, are
appreciated not by one passage, or by two, but gradually manifest
themselves in the general structure of a work; but a sublime thought, if
happily timed, illumines[2] an entire subject with the vividness of a
lightning-flash, and exhibits the whole power of the orator in a moment
of time. Your own experience, I am sure, my dearest Terentian, would
enable you to illustrate these and similar points of doctrine.

    [Footnote 2: Reading διεφώτισεν.]



The first question which presents itself for solution is whether there
is any art which can teach sublimity or loftiness in writing. For some
hold generally that there is mere delusion in attempting to reduce such
subjects to technical rules. “The Sublime,” they tell us, “is born in a
man, and not to be acquired by instruction; genius is the only master
who can teach it. The vigorous products of nature” (such is their view)
“are weakened and in every respect debased, when robbed of their flesh
and blood by frigid technicalities.”

But I maintain that the truth can be shown to stand otherwise in this
matter. Let us look at the case in this way; Nature in her loftier and
more passionate moods, while detesting all appearance of restraint, is
not wont to show herself utterly wayward and reckless; and though in all
cases the vital informing principle is derived from her, yet to
determine the right degree and the right moment, and to contribute the
precision of practice and experience, is the peculiar province of
scientific method. The great passions, when left to their own blind and
rash impulses without the control of reason, are in the same danger as a
ship let drive at random without ballast. Often they need the spur, but
sometimes also the curb.

The remark of Demosthenes with regard to human life in general,--that
the greatest of all blessings is to be fortunate, but next to that and
equal in importance is to be well advised,--for good fortune is utterly
ruined by the absence of good counsel,--may be applied to literature, if
we substitute genius for fortune, and art for counsel. Then, again (and
this is the most important point of all), a writer can only learn from
art when he is to abandon himself to the direction of his genius.[1]

    [Footnote 1: Literally, “But the most important point of all is that
    the actual fact that there are some parts of literature which are in
    the power of natural genius alone, must be learnt from no other
    source than from art.”]

These are the considerations which I submit to the unfavourable critic
of such useful studies. Perhaps they may induce him to alter his opinion
as to the vanity and idleness of our present investigations.



  ... “And let them check the stove’s long tongues of fire:
  For if I see one tenant of the hearth,
  I’ll thrust within one curling torrent flame,
  And bring that roof in ashes to the ground:
  But now not yet is sung my noble lay.”[1]

Such phrases cease to be tragic, and become burlesque,--I mean phrases
like “curling torrent flames” and “vomiting to heaven,” and representing
Boreas as a piper, and so on. Such expressions, and such images, produce
an effect of confusion and obscurity, not of energy; and if each
separately be examined under the light of criticism, what seemed
terrible gradually sinks into absurdity. Since then, even in tragedy,
where the natural dignity of the subject makes a swelling diction
allowable, we cannot pardon a tasteless grandiloquence, how much more
incongruous must it seem in sober prose!

    [Footnote 1: Aeschylus in his lost _Oreithyia_.]

Hence we laugh at those fine w
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PG #: 10136
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10136



THE MISTRESS.

"Strength, and honour are her clothing; and she shall rejoice in time to
come. She openeth her mouth with wisdom; and in her tongue is the law of
kindness. She looketh well to the ways of her household; and eateth not
the bread of idleness. Her children arise up, and call her blessed; her
husband also, and he praiseth her."--_Proverbs_, xxxi. 25-28.

is it with the mistress of a house. Her spirit will be seen through the
whole establishment; and just in proportion as she performs her duties
intelligently and thoroughly, so will her domestics follow in her path.
Of all those acquirements, which more particularly belong to the
feminine character, there are none which take a higher rank, in our
estimation, than such as enter into a knowledge of household duties; for
on these are perpetually dependent the happiness, comfort, and
well-being of a family. In this opinion we are borne out by the author
of "The Vicar of Wakefield," who says: "The modest virgin, the prudent
wife, and the careful matron, are much more serviceable in life than
petticoated philosophers, blustering heroines, or virago queens. She who
makes her husband and her children happy, who reclaims the one from vice
and trains up the other to virtue, is a much greater character than
ladies described in romances, whose whole occupation is to murder
mankind with shafts from their quiver, or their eyes."

2. PURSUING THIS PICTURE, we may add, that to be a good housewife does
not necessarily imply an abandonment of proper pleasures or amusing
recreation; and we think it the more necessary to express this, as the
performance of the duties of a mistress may, to some minds, perhaps seem
to be incompatible with the enjoyment of life. Let us, however, now
proceed to describe some of those home qualities and virtues which are
necessary to the proper management of a Household, and then point out
the plan which may be the most profitably pursued for the daily
regulation of its affairs.

3. EARLY RISING IS ONE OF THE MOST ESSENTIAL QUALITIES which enter into
good Household Management, as it is not only the parent of health, but
of innumerable other advantages. Indeed, when a mistress is an early
riser, it is almost certain that her house will be orderly and
well-managed. On the contrary, if she remain in bed till a late hour,
then the domestics, who, as we have before observed, invariably partake
somewhat of their mistress's character, will surely become sluggards. To
self-indulgence all are more or less disposed, and it is not to be
expected that servants are freer from this fault than the heads of
houses. The great Lord Chatham thus gave his advice in reference to this
subject:--"I would have inscribed on the curtains of your bed, and the
walls of your chamber, 'If you do not rise early, you can make progress
in nothing.'"

4. CLEANLINESS IS ALSO INDISPENSABLE TO HEALTH, and must be studied both
in regard to the person and the house, and all that it contains. Cold or
tepid baths should be employed every morning, unless, on account of
illness or other circumstances, they should be deemed objectionable. The
bathing of _children_ will be treated of under the head of "MANAGEMENT
OF CHILDREN."

5. FRUGALITY AND ECONOMY ARE HOME VIRTUES, without which no household
can prosper. Dr. Johnson says: "Frugality may be termed the daughter of
Prudence, the sister of Temperance, and the parent of Liberty. He that
is extravagant will quickly become poor, and poverty will enforce
dependence and invite corruption." The necessity of practising economy
should be evident to every one, whether in the possession of an income
no more than sufficient for a family's requirements, or of a large
fortune, which puts financial adversity out of the question. We must
always remember that it is a great merit in housekeeping to manage a
little well. "He is a good waggoner," says Bishop Hall, "that can turn
in a little room. To live well in abundance is the praise of the estate,
not of the person. I will study more how to give a good account of my
little, than how to make it more." In this there is true wisdom, and it
may be added, that those who can manage a little well, are most likely
to succeed in their management of larger matters. Economy and frugality
must never, however, be allowed to degenerate into parsimony and
meanness.

6. THE CHOICE OF ACQUAINTANCES is very important to the happiness of a
mistress and her family. A gossiping acquaintance, who indulges in the
scandal and ridicule of her neighbours, should be avoided as a
pestilence. It is likewise all-necessary to beware, as Thomson sings,

                                 "The whisper'd tale,
  That, like the fabling Nile, no fountain knows;--
  Fair-laced Deceit, whose wily, conscious aye
  Ne'er looks direct; the tongue that licks the dust
  But, when it safely dares, as prompt to sting."

If the duties of a family do not sufficiently occupy the time of a
mistress, society should be formed of such a kind as wil
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PG #: 65113
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65113

THE VENGEANCE OF TOFFEE

                          By Charles F. Myers

             The world was on the brink of atomic war and
               nothing, it seemed, could prevent it. But
            Toffee had a plan--and a little magic to boot!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                             February 1951
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


The bombs ticked--in remote places--behind locked and guarded doors.
The bombs ticked, and the terrible sound was distinct in the farthest
corners of the world--wherever a man picked up a newspaper, turned on a
radio--or paused to listen to the beating of his own heart. A Bomb ...
H Bomb ... X Bomb--the bombs ticked louder and louder with the growing
hours--and each man dwelt alone now with the dark spectre of his own
trembling fear.

"_Yesterday we perfected a new kind of totalitarian death...._" (It
was difficult to remember the pleasant, relaxed voice which had once
given the announcer his popularity, for now it seemed that his breath
passed over taut nerves rather than vocal cords. But no one noticed; it
was only what he said that mattered now, not how he said it. Fear fed
on fear with an avid, indiscriminate appetite--and flourished from the
diet.)

"_Today we can only be certain that the foreign powers will have caught
up with us within the next few hours._

"_Can you remember the Atomic Age, ladies and gentlemen? How long ago
that was! And yet how swiftly we have progressed from that to the Age
of Human Terror._

"_The X Bomb--the incomprehensible unit of power and destruction which
dwarfs the human soul and reduces it to a negligible fraction of
quivering fright--just one small fraction contributing to the monstrous
organism of terror which has lately become our modern civilization.
How wretched we are to be living in a civilization in which the word
'city' has been rendered obsolete by the word 'target.' The New York
Target ... the Chicago Target ... the Salt Lake and San Francisco
Targets. How wretched we are._

"_And is it strange that these targets which were once cities are being
deserted? Is it strange that men have begun to run from the bombs even
before they have begun to fall? That is the nature of terror._

"_For the first time in its history the nation looks upon a
nomadic society--largely that group of the working people who have
ceased working to wander aimlessly, seeking safety within our own
borders--living by thievery and lawlessness. Crime has increased so
rapidly of late that a comparative estimate is impossible. That, too,
is the nature of terror._

"_Today the government would force these erstwhile workers back to
the hearts of the targets--force them by law back to the factories to
engage again in the production of death and destruction._

"_'Necessary,' the statesmen say. 'Necessary to national safety.' But
with the statesmen's words comes the obvious question: Is there still
any national safety left for any nation? Does it exist anywhere, to be
preserved? Haven't the fleeing nomads asked themselves this question
already, turning their frightened eyes to the unprotecting skies?_

"_But the statesman must speak--and he must speak logic, even now
when logic has deserted us, and words can no longer save us. Every
man--statesman or otherwise--knows that it is no longer a question of
whether the bombs will drop--but when they will drop--and who will drop
them--we or they?_

"_It is true that no nation has declared war, but terror declares its
own war. Can we wait another day to take the initiative? Can they? The
undeclared enemy may destroy us tomorrow--or tonight--even within the
next few minutes. I may not live to finish this broadcast--and you may
not live to hear it...._"

       *       *       *       *       *

Suddenly there was a sharp click, and the voice stopped, silenced as
effectively as though a wire had been knotted about the speaker's
throat. Marc Pillsworth, startled at the sudden silence, snapped
forward in his chair and looked up. Julie, the lamp light slanting
sharply across her face, glared down at him with tense irritation. She
removed her hand significantly from the radio switch.

"I'm telling you, Marcus Pillsworth," she said menacingly, "I can't
stand any more of it. If you turn on that bloody instrument again--if
you so much as twitch your bony finger in its direction--one of us is
going to die of unnatural causes, and you may have read that the female
is notoriously more long-lived than the male."

Marc stared at her incredulously through the chill dimness of the
living room. Then he sighed heavily. This also was the nature of human
terror: every man was married to a shrew these days. Women simply
weren't up to it.

But Julie had been better than most--until now. He looked at the
tightly drawn lips, the circled eyes and tried to rem
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PG #: 33
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/33



CONTENTS

    INTRODUCTORY.     THE CUSTOM-HOUSE

    CHAPTER I.        THE PRISON-DOOR

    CHAPTER II.       THE MARKET-PLACE

    CHAPTER III.      THE RECOGNITION

    CHAPTER IV.       THE INTERVIEW

    CHAPTER V.        HESTER AT HER NEEDLE

    CHAPTER VI.       PEARL

    CHAPTER VII.      THE GOVERNOR'S HALL

    CHAPTER VIII.     THE ELF-CHILD AND THE MINISTER

    CHAPTER IX.       THE LEECH

    CHAPTER X.        THE LEECH AND HIS PATIENT

    CHAPTER XI.       THE INTERIOR OF A HEART

    CHAPTER XII.      THE MINISTER'S VIGIL

    CHAPTER XIII.     ANOTHER VIEW OF HESTER

    CHAPTER XIV.      HESTER AND THE PHYSICIAN

    CHAPTER XV.       HESTER AND PEARL

    CHAPTER XVI.      A FOREST WALK

    CHAPTER XVII.     THE PASTOR AND HIS PARISHIONER

    CHAPTER XVIII.    A FLOOD OF SUNSHINE

    CHAPTER XIX.      THE CHILD AT THE BROOK-SIDE

    CHAPTER XX.       THE MINISTER IN A MAZE

    CHAPTER XXI.      THE NEW ENGLAND HOLIDAY

    CHAPTER XXII.     THE PROCESSION

    CHAPTER XXIII.    THE REVELATION OF THE SCARLET LETTER

    CHAPTER XXIV.     CONCLUSION




THE CUSTOM-HOUSE

INTRODUCTORY TO "THE SCARLET LETTER"


It is a little remarkable, that--though disinclined to talk
overmuch of myself and my affairs at the fireside, and to my
personal friends--an autobiographical impulse should twice in my
life have taken possession of me, in addressing the public.  The
first time was three or four years since, when I favoured the
reader--inexcusably, and for no earthly reason that either the
indulgent reader or the intrusive author could imagine--with a
description of my way of life in the deep quietude of an Old
Manse.  And now--because, beyond my deserts, I was happy enough
to find a listener or two on the former occasion--I again seize
the public by the button, and talk of my three years' experience
in a Custom-House.  The example of the famous "P. P., Clerk of
this Parish," was never more faithfully followed.  The truth
seems to be, however, that when he casts his leaves forth upon
the wind, the author addresses, not the many who will fling
aside his volume, or never take it up, but the few who will
understand him better than most of his schoolmates or lifemates.
Some authors, indeed, do far more than this, and indulge
themselves in such confidential depths of revelation as could
fittingly be addressed only and exclusively to the one heart and
mind of perfect sympathy; as if the printed book, thrown at
large on the wide world, were certain to find out the divided
segment of the writer's own nature, and complete his circle of
existence by bringing him into communion with it.  It is scarcely
decorous, however, to speak all, even where we speak
impersonally.  But, as thoughts are frozen and utterance
benumbed, unless the speaker stand in some true relation with
his audience, it may be pardonable to imagine that a friend, a
kind and apprehensive, though not the closest friend, is
listening to our talk; and then, a native reserve being thawed
by this genial consciousness, we may prate of the circumstances
that lie around us, and even of ourself, but still keep the
inmost Me behind its veil.  To this extent, and within these
limits, an author, methinks, may be autobiographical, without
violating either the reader's rights or his own.

It will be seen, likewise, that this Custom-House sketch has a
certain propriety, of a kind always recognised in literature, as
explaining how a large portion of the following pages came into
my possession, and as offering proofs of the authenticity of a
narrative therein contained.  This, in fact--a desire to put
myself in my true position as editor, or very little more, of
the most prolix among the tales that make up my volume--this,
and no other, is my true reason for assuming a personal relation
with the public.  In accomplishing the main purpose, it has
appeared allowable, by a few extra touches, to give a faint
representation of a mode of life not heretofore described,
together with some of the characters that move in it, among whom
the author happened to make one.

In my native town of Salem, at the head of what, half a century
ago, in the days of old King Derby, was a bustling wharf--but
which is now burdened with decayed wooden warehouses, and
exhibits few or no symptoms of commercial life; except, perhaps,
a bark or brig, half-way down its melancholy length, discharging
hides; or, nearer at hand, a Nova Scotia schooner, pitching out
her cargo of firewood--at the head, I say, of this dilapidated
wharf, which the tide often overflows, and along which, at the
base and in the rear of the row of buildings, the track of many
languid years is seen in a border of unthrifty grass--here, with
a view from its front windows adown this not very enlivening
prospect, and thence across the harbour, stands a spacious
edifice of brick.  From the loftiest point of its roof, during
precisely three and a half hours of each forenoon, floats or
droops, in breeze or calm, the ban
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PG #: 14314
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14314


WHAT IS BEST SOCIETY?


"Society" is an ambiguous term; it may mean much or nothing. Every human
being--unless dwelling alone in a cave--is a member of society of one sort
or another, and therefore it is well to define what is to be understood by
the term "Best Society" and why its authority is recognized. Best Society
abroad is always the oldest aristocracy; composed not so much of persons
of title, which may be new, as of those families and communities which
have for the longest period of time known highest cultivation. Our own
Best Society is represented by social groups which have had, since this is
America, widest rather than longest association with old world
cultivation. Cultivation is always the basic attribute of Best Society,
much as we hear in this country of an "Aristocracy of wealth."

To the general public a long purse is synonymous with high position--a
theory dear to the heart of the "yellow" press and eagerly fostered in the
preposterous social functions of screen drama. It is true that Best
Society is comparatively rich; it is true that the hostess of great
wealth, who constantly and lavishly entertains, will shine, at least to
the readers of the press, more brilliantly than her less affluent sister.
Yet the latter, through her quality of birth, her poise, her inimitable
distinction, is often the jewel of deeper water in the social crown of her
time.

The most advertised commodity is not always intrinsically the best, but is
sometimes merely the product of a company with plenty of money to spend on
advertising. In the same way, money brings certain people before the
public--sometimes they are persons of "quality," quite as often the
so-called "society leaders" featured in the public press do not belong to
good society at all, in spite of their many published photographs and the
energies of their press-agents. Or possibly they do belong to "smart"
society; but if too much advertised, instead of being the "queens" they
seem, they might more accurately be classified as the court jesters of
to-day.


=THE IMITATION AND THE GENUINE=

New York, more than any city in the world, unless it be Paris, loves to be
amused, thrilled and surprised all at the same time; and will accept with
outstretched hand any one who can perform this astounding feat. Do not
underestimate the ability that can achieve it: a scintillating wit, an
arresting originality, a talent for entertaining that amounts to genius,
and gold poured literally like rain, are the least requirements.

Puritan America on the other hand demanding, as a ticket of admission to
her Best Society, the qualifications of birth, manners and cultivation,
clasps her hands tight across her slim trim waist and announces severely
that New York's "Best" is, in her opinion, very "bad" indeed. But this is
because Puritan America, as well as the general public, mistakes the
jester for the queen.

As a matter of fact, Best Society is not at all like a court with an
especial queen or king, nor is it confined to any one place or group, but
might better be described as an unlimited brotherhood which spreads over
the entire surface of the globe, the members of which are invariably
people of cultivation and worldly knowledge, who have not only perfect
manners but a perfect manner. Manners are made up of trivialities of
deportment which can be easily learned if one does not happen to know
them; manner is personality--the outward manifestation of one's innate
character and attitude toward life. A gentleman, for instance, will never
be ostentatious or overbearing any more than he will ever be servile,
because these attributes never animate the impulses of a well-bred person.
A man whose manners suggest the grotesque is invariably a person of
imitation rather than of real position.

Etiquette must, if it is to be of more than trifling use, include ethics
as well as manners. Certainly what one is, is of far greater importance
than what one appears to be. A knowledge of etiquette is of course
essential to one's decent behavior, just as clothing is essential to one's
decent appearance; and precisely as one wears the latter without being
self-conscious of having on shoes and perhaps gloves, one who has good
manners is equally unself-conscious in the observance of etiquette, the
precepts of which must be so thoroughly absorbed as to make their
observance a matter of instinct rather than of conscious obedience.

Thus Best Society is not a fellowship of the wealthy, nor does it seek to
exclude those who are not of exalted birth; but it _is_ an association of
gentle-folk, of which good form in speech, charm of manner, knowledge of
the social amenities, and instinctive consideration for the feelings of
others, are the credentials by which society the world over recognizes its
chosen members.





INTRODUCTIONS


=THE CORRECT FORM=

The word "present" is preferable on formal occasions to the word
"introduce." On informal occasions neither word is expressed, though
understood, a
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PG #: 65141
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65141

They were kids with personality problems, so
             they joined tough gangs, living only to fight
           and kill. Society had to find a way to correct--

                        The Vicious Delinquents

                           By Mark Reinsberg

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                             October 1958
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Two or three things worried me on my trip back to the hideout. So my
astrogation was sloppy and I kept losing Jupiter's shadow.

First, there was the showdown with Naomi over who would lead the
Callisto gang. This meant another degravity fight with python whips
and steel claws. Having just gotten rid of the old battle scars on my
cheek, shoulder and breast, I wasn't so eager to have my title back on
the same disfiguring terms.

On the other hand, wouldn't the girls take it as a sign of cowardice if
I tried to settle peaceably for second in command?

Next, I kept thinking about the money I'd taken from my parents the day
before. What amazed me was how they could be so stupid as to believe
I would go to Mars and enroll in that technical school. Two thousand
solars was just enough to buy this sweet secondhand 2064 model Spacer
coupe. The gals in our ordnance crew would rig it up with missile
launchers, turn it into a killer, flagship of our fleet.

But just now my ship was unarmed, defenseless. And as I approached our
base on airless, rocky Callisto I again had the feeling I was being
followed, trailed in space.

Not by any of the Io boys; I was pretty sure of that. Because that
brave gang will always attack when the odds are five to one in their
favor. And not by the police either: They've always left us alone.
Someone else.

I circled Jupiter's fifth moon warily, searching a half million square
miles of space for the suspected other rocket, but my instruments
detected nothing man-made. So I radioed the password and hastily set
down in the mouth of a giant natural cave entrance--the airlock of our
underground hideout.

While air hissed into the chamber I strapped on my weapons belt and
glanced in the doorway mirror. Not--mind you--because there's anything
particularly feminine about me, but it's still such a surprise not to
find a face full of claw marks that I studied my appearance with a kind
of stranger's curiosity. Even without scars, I would hardly call myself
an attractive girl.

My black dyed hair had reverted to its original blond shade, and the
same shoulder length it had had two years ago when I was matrixed. I
had a fifteen-year-old's applecheeked complexion, and thick eyebrows
that met above the bridge of my long thin nose and cried out for
plucking. My ears were too large and my jaw rather sharply angular.
Only my neck seemed gracefully proportioned--long, finely sculptured.

At the rest, sheathed in a black metallic leotard, I could only shrug.

The airlock opened. Chin uplifted, I strode from my ship with python
whip coiled in my hand, steel claws jingling at my waist. My name, in
case you're interested, is Vera.

       *       *       *       *       *

At the heavily guarded first corridor I was met by Ginger, a fat
fog-throated valkyrie who serves as our security officer.

"We were almost ready to blast you, my dear. Good thing you signalled
when you did."

We rapped the knuckles of our clenched fists in greeting.

"What's happened in the past week?" I asked. "Kill any more Ios?"

Ginger grimaced. "Naw. I shot the arm off one but I don't think he
died. Ran into him in an alley in Ganymede City. Imagine that guy! He
was trying to steal an air synthesizer I myself had just stolen."

The corridor led to the First Hall, a large vestibule bright with
luminescent wall paint where eight tunnels branched off into separately
hollowed-out caverns in the rocky guts of Callisto.

"I'm itching to get back into combat," I said. "What do you say we make
a raid on the Io boys tomorrow?"

Ginger realized I was testing her loyalty. "I'd like nothing better,"
she responded heartily. "But of course we'll have to clear it with
Naomi first."

I stopped abruptly. "Since when?"

"Well, Vera, she became leader the day after you fell."

"By whose authority?" I said indignantly.

"Don't play dumb recruit. You know our system. We had no way of knowing
you'd return. Naomi and half a dozen others declared for title, and
Naomi won out in a fair gang fight. Just like you did before her."

"So it seems we have two leaders now," I said, limbering my python whip.

"That's something you and Naomi will have to work out," Ginger intoned.
"I'll leave you here to choose your own tunnel."

This was part of the ritual of our gang. When a new girl arrived, the
tunnel she selected, blindly, determined her branch of service on
Callisto. One tunnel led to commissary, another to transport, another
to 
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PG #: 11757
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/11757

This eBook is courtesy of the Celebration of Women Writers, online at
  http://digital.library.upenn.edu/women/.

                                 THE
                           Velveteen Rabbit

                                  OR
                         HOW TOYS BECOME REAL

                         by Margery Williams
                  Illustrations by William Nicholson

                      DOUBLEDAY & COMPANY, INC.
                Garden City                   New York
  _________________________________________________________________

                         To Francesco Bianco
                                 from
                         The Velveteen Rabbit
  _________________________________________________________________

                        List of Illustrations

                          Christmas Morning
                   The Skin Horse Tells His Story
                             Spring Time
                             Summer Days
                            Anxious Times
                          The Fairy Flower
                          At Last! At Last!
  _________________________________________________________________

HERE was once a velveteen rabbit, and in the beginning he was really
splendid. He was fat and bunchy, as a rabbit should be; his coat was
spotted brown and white, he had real thread whiskers, and his ears
were lined with pink sateen. On Christmas morning, when he sat wedged
in the top of the Boy's stocking, with a sprig of holly between his
paws, the effect was charming.

There were other things in the stocking, nuts and oranges and a toy
engine, and chocolate almonds and a clockwork mouse, but the Rabbit
was quite the best of all. For at least two hours the Boy loved him,
and then Aunts and Uncles came to dinner, and there was a great
rustling of tissue paper and unwrapping of parcels, and in the
excitement of looking at all the new presents the Velveteen Rabbit was
forgotten.

                          Christmas Morning

For a long time he lived in the toy cupboard or on the nursery floor,
and no one thought very much about him. He was naturally shy, and
being only made of velveteen, some of the more expensive toys quite
snubbed him. The mechanical toys were very superior, and looked down
upon every one else; they were full of modern ideas, and pretended
they were real. The model boat, who had lived through two seasons and
lost most of his paint, caught the tone from them and never missed an
opportunity of referring to his rigging in technical terms. The Rabbit
could not claim to be a model of anything, for he didn't know that
real rabbits existed; he thought they were all stuffed with sawdust
like himself, and he understood that sawdust was quite out-of-date and
should never be mentioned in modern circles. Even Timothy, the jointed
wooden lion, who was made by the disabled soldiers, and should have
had broader views, put on airs and pretended he was connected with
Government. Between them all the poor little Rabbit was made to feel
himself very insignificant and commonplace, and the only person who
was kind to him at all was the Skin Horse.

The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others.
He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the
seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled
out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long
succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and
by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they
were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery
magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that
are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all
about it.

"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by
side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does
it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that
happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just
to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."

"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.

"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When
you are Real you don't mind being hurt."

"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit
by bit?"

"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It
takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who
break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.
Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved
off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very
shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are
Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had
not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse 
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PG #: 54
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54


Chicago, June, 1904



                        To those excellent
                          good fellows
                              and
                           comedians
                            David C.
                           Montgomery
                              and
                         Frank A. Stone
                          whose clever
                        personations of
                              the
                          Tin Woodman
                            and the
                           Scarecrow
                        have delighted
                         thousands of
                           children
                     throughout the land,
                        this book is
                    gratefully dedicated
                              by
                          THE AUTHOR



     LIST OF CHAPTERS
                                                        PAGE
Tip Manufactures Pumpkinhead                              7

The Marvelous Powder of Life                             15

The Flight of the Fugitives                              29

Tip Makes an Experiment in Magic                         39

The Awakening of the Saw-horse                           47

Jack Pumpkinhead's Ride to the Emerald City              59

His Majesty the Scarecrow                                71

Gen. Jinjur's Army of Revolt                             83

The Scarecrow Plans an escape                            97

The Journey to the Tin Woodman                          109

A Nickel-Plated Emperor                                 121

Mr. H. M. Woggle-Bug, T. E.                             135

A Highly Magnified History                              147

Old Mombi indulges in Witchcraft                        159

The Prisoners of the Queen                              169

The Scarecrow Takes Time to Think                       181

The Astonishing Flight of the Gump                      191

In the Jackdaw's Nest                                   201

Dr. Nikidik's Famous Wishing Pills                      219

The Scarecrow Appeals to Glinda the Good                231

The Tin-Woodman Plucks a Rose                           247

The Transformation of Old Mombi                         257

Princess Ozma of Oz                                     265

The Riches of Content                                   279




7                    Tip Manufactures a Pumpkinhead


In the Country of the Gillikins, which is at the North of the Land of Oz,
lived a youth called Tip. There was more to his name than that, for old
Mombi often declared that his whole name was Tippetarius; but no one was
expected to say such a long word when "Tip" would do just as well.

This boy remembered nothing of his parents, for he had been brought when
quite young to be reared by the old woman known as Mombi, whose reputation,
I am sorry to say, was none of the best. For the Gillikin people had reason
to suspect her of indulging in magical arts, and therefore hesitated to
associate with her.

Mombi was not exactly a Witch, because the Good Witch who ruled that part of
the Land of Oz



8                    Line-Art Drawing

had forbidden any other Witch to exist in her dominions. So Tip's guardian,
however much she might aspire to working magic, realized it was unlawful to
be more than a Sorceress, or at most a Wizardess.

Tip was made to carry wood from the forest, that the old woman might boil
her pot. He also worked in the corn-fields, hoeing and husking; and he fed
the pigs and milked the four-horned cow that was Mombi's especial pride.

But you must not suppose he worked all the time, for he felt that would be
bad for him. When sent to the forest Tip often climbed trees for birds' eggs
or amused himself chasing the fleet white rabbits or fishing in the brooks
with bent pins. Then he would hastily gather his armful of wood and carry it
home. And when he was supposed to be working in the corn-fields, and the
tall stalks hid him from Mombi's view, Tip would often dig in the gopher
holes, or if the mood seized him--



lie upon his back between the rows of corn and take a nap. So, by taking
care not to exhaust his strength, he grew as strong and rugged as a boy may
be.

Mombi's curious magic often frightened her neighbors, and they treated her
shyly, yet respectfully, because of her weird powers. But Tip frankly hated
her, and took no pains to hide his feelings. Indeed, he sometimes showed
less respect for the old woman than he should have done, considering she was
his guardian.

There were pumpkins in Mombi's corn-fields, lying golden red among the rows
of green stalks; and these had been planted and carefully tended that the
four-horned cow might eat of them in the winter time. But one day, after the
corn had all been cut and stacked, and Tip was carrying the pumpkins to the
stable, he took a notion to make a "Jack Lantern" and try to give the old
woman a fright with it.

So he selected 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65101
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65101

MAID--TO ORDER!

                             By HAL ANNAS

                Herb Cornith didn't really mind getting
            married as long as the girl answered his strict
            specifications which were simply--a superwoman!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                             February 1951
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Herb Cornith shook his dark head in disappointment. "Nope," he said,
"she won't do. Lacks an ounce of being the right weight."

The willowy blonde behind the desk blinked blue eyes and frowned.
"But Mr. Cornith," she insisted, "you fit Miss Lucy Hollowell's
specifications perfectly. She even specified that the man must be very
exacting, meticulous and choosy. Certainly you are being all of that
when you quibble over an ounce in her weight."

Cornith picked up the specification sheet in his muscular right hand.
He studied it out of thoughtful brown eyes. "This doesn't look right,"
he said. "I'll admit that I have strong features, but I'm not handsome."

"To a woman, you are handsome, Mr. Cornith. In fact, magnetically so."

"I'm only six feet tall, not seventy-three inches."

"That is a typographical error, Mr. Cornith. It should read seventy-two
inches. The corrected copy should be along soon. Something went wrong
with the machine."

"And my eyes are not particularly expressive. I generally conceal my
thoughts."

"That, Mr. Cornith, is merely your own opinion. You don't know what
expression you might put into your eyes when you look into the eyes of
your soul-mate."

"The eyes of my what?"

"Excuse me, Mr. Cornith. I know you're not the poetic type. You're the
rugged type, but brainy, realistic. Still, you fit the specifications."

"You said there was another sheet to the specifications?"

"Yes. It won't be finished until tomorrow. But let me assure you that
it fits you. In fact, it describes your every virtue and fault."

Cornith glanced round the large room. His brown eyes came to rest on
a model of an early Martian rocket ship. He studied it for a space,
mentally seeing its interior and its outmoded atomic drive. It reminded
him that he should get back to the laboratory and check on those
ray-collector tests. This business of dickering over specifications for
a wife was a nuisance. His requirements had been on file since he had
taken the Levet test at the age of eighteen. Because of his exacting
nature they had been hard to fill. Now at twenty-seven he was still
unmarried. Not that he cared. But by reason of the fact that he was of
the higher mental level, and physically fitted to survive in a complex
and expanding civilization, he was urged by the Foundation to marry and
beget children.

       *       *       *       *       *

This was the accepted procedure. Marriage was seldom discouraged, but
it was urged only on those who came up to certain specifications. The
purpose was to improve mankind in order that man might hold his own in
a solar system that was even now reaching out toward the stars. The
system had long been in effect on Mars, but owing to the colder climate
and the thinner atmosphere, Mars had less than a tenth the population
of earth. Selective breeding alone had enabled these to survive.

"Sorry," Cornith said. "This Lucy Hollowell fits everything except she
is too skinny. I don't want a bag of bones for a wife."

The blonde smiled wryly. "She is only a half-ounce under the
specifications, to be exact. Perhaps you have not carefully read your
requirements. Let me remind you, Mr. Cornith, the Foundation probed
your every thought, conscious and subconscious, your every physical
reaction, and they specified merely that the girl must be unusually
intelligent, naming the subjects which will fit into your pattern; that
she must be beautiful according to your standards; that she must be
five-feet four-inches tall and weigh a hundred and twenty-three pounds.

"Now, Mr. Cornith, there is one little thing which the Foundation has
decided that you implanted in your thoughts by suggestion before taking
the test. They decided that you were being facetious. I am alluding
to the specified requirements that your wife must be able to wiggle
her ears, throw her voice and perform sleight-of-hand tricks, among
other curious things. The Foundation says that these things may not be
essentially required. But they do admit the requirement that she must
be eager to please you at all times. And since it is Lucy Hollowell's
nature to be eager to please the man she marries, she is even now
practicing ventriloquism and learning how to wiggle her ears. She has
a brilliant mind and will have no difficulty learning a number of
sleight-of-hand tricks."

"But she's too skinny!"

"Half an ounce, Mr. Cornith. She weighs a hundred and twenty-two
pounds, fifteen ounces. She could very easily gain that ounce b
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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BOSWELL'S LIFE OF JOHNSON

By James Boswell


Abridged and edited, with an introduction

by Charles Grosvenor Osgood

Professor of English at Princeton University




Preface


In making this abridgement of Boswell's Life of Johnson I have omitted
most of Boswell's criticisms, comments, and notes, all of Johnson's
opinions in legal cases, most of the letters, and parts of the
conversation dealing with matters which were of greater importance in
Boswell's day than now. I have kept in mind an old habit, common enough,
I dare say, among its devotees, of opening the book of random, and
reading wherever the eye falls upon a passage of especial interest. All
such passages, I hope, have been retained, and enough of the whole book
to illustrate all the phases of Johnson's mind and of his time which
Boswell observed.

Loyal Johnsonians may look upon such a book with a measure of scorn. I
could not have made it, had I not believed that it would be the means
of drawing new readers to Boswell, and eventually of finding for them
in the complete work what many have already found--days and years of
growing enlightenment and happy companionship, and an innocent refuge
from the cares and perturbations of life.

Princeton, June 28, 1917.



INTRODUCTION


Phillips Brooks once told the boys at Exeter that in reading biography
three men meet one another in close intimacy--the subject of the
biography, the author, and the reader. Of the three the most interesting
is, of course, the man about whom the book is written. The most
privileged is the reader, who is thus allowed to live familiarly with an
eminent man. Least regarded of the three is the author. It is his part
to introduce the others, and to develop between them an acquaintance,
perhaps a friendship, while he, though ever busy and solicitous,
withdraws into the background.

Some think that Boswell, in his Life of Johnson, did not sufficiently
realize his duty of self-effacement. He is too much in evidence,
too bustling, too anxious that his own opinion, though comparatively
unimportant, should get a hearing. In general, Boswell's faults are
easily noticed, and have been too much talked about. He was morbid,
restless, self-conscious, vain, insinuating; and, poor fellow, he died a
drunkard. But the essential Boswell, the skilful and devoted artist, is
almost unrecognized. As the creator of the Life of Johnson he is almost
as much effaced as is Homer in the Odyssey. He is indeed so closely
concealed that the reader suspects no art at all. Boswell's performance
looks easy enough--merely the more or less coherent stringing together
of a mass of memoranda. Nevertheless it was rare and difficult, as is
the highest achievement in art. Boswell is primarily the artist, and
he has created one of the great masterpieces of the world.* He created
nothing else, though his head was continually filling itself with
literary schemes that came to nought. But into his Life of Johnson he
poured all his artistic energies, as Milton poured his into Paradise
Lost, and Vergil his into the Aneid.

     * Here I include his Journal of a Tour of the Hebrides as
     essentially a part of the Life.  The Journal of a Tour in
     Corsica is but a propaedeutic study.

First, Boswell had the industry and the devotion to his task of an
artist. Twenty years and more he labored in collecting his material. He
speaks frankly of his methods. He recorded the talk of Johnson and
his associates partly by a rough shorthand of his own, partly by an
exceptional memory, which he carefully trained for this very purpose.
'O for shorthand to take this down!' said he to Mrs. Thrale as they
listened to Johnson; and she replied: 'You'll carry it all in your head;
a long head is as good as shorthand.' Miss Hannah More recalls a gay
meeting at the Garricks', in Johnson's absence, when Boswell was bold
enough to match his skill with no other than Garrick himself in
an imitation of Johnson. Though Garrick was more successful in his
Johnsonian recitation of poetry, Boswell won in reproducing his familiar
conversation. He lost no time in perfecting his notes both mental and
stenographic, and sat up many a night followed by a day of headache,
to write them in final form, that none of the freshness and glow might
fade. The sheer labor of this process, not to mention the difficulty,
can be measured only by one who attempts a similar feat. Let him try to
report the best conversation of a lively evening, following its
course, preserving its point, differentiating sharply the traits of the
participants, keeping the style, idiom, and exact words of each. Let him
reject all parts of it, however diverting, of which the charm and force
will evaporate with the occasion, and retain only that which will be as
amusing, significant, and lively as ever at the end of one hundred,
or, for all that we can see, one thousand years. He will then, in some
measure, realize the difficulty of Boswell's performance. When his work
appeared Boswell himself
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org)



Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
      file which includes the original illustrations.
      See 53489-h.htm or 53489-h.zip:
      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/53489/53489-h/53489-h.htm)
      or
      (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/53489/53489-h.zip)


      Images of the original pages are available through
      Internet Archive. See
      https://archive.org/details/lifeoflazarillod00markiala


Transcriber’s note:

      Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).

      Small capitals are represented in upper case as in
      SMALL CAPS.





THE LIFE OF LAZARILLO DE TORMES


      *      *      *      *      *      *

AGENTS


  AMERICA      THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
                 64 & 66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK

  AUSTRALASIA  THE OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS, MELBOURNE

  CANADA       THE MACMILLAN COMPANY OF CANADA, LTD.
                 27 RICHMOND STREET WEST, TORONTO

  INDIA        MACMILLAN & COMPANY, LTD.
                 MACMILLAN BUILDING, BOMBAY
                 309 BOW BAZAAR STREET, CALCUTTA

      *      *      *      *      *      *


THE LIFE OF LAZARILLO DE TORMES


[Illustration: _Lazarillo begging._]


THE LIFE OF LAZARILLO DE TORMES

His Fortunes & Adversities

Translated from the Edition of 1554
(Printed at Burgos)

by

SIR CLEMENTS MARKHAM, K.C.B.
D.SC. (CAMB.)

With a Notice of the Mendoza Family,
a Short Life of the Author, Don Diego
Hurtado De Mendoza, a Notice of
the Work, and Some Remarks on the
Character of Lazarillo de Tormes







London
Adam and Charles Black
1908




ANALYTICAL TABLE OF CONTENTS

  INTRODUCTORY

  THE FAMILY OF MENDOZA

                                                                PAGE
  Descent of the author of Lazarillo de Tormes                    xv
  A Mendoza saved the life of King Juan I. of Castille           xvi
  The poet Marquis of Santillana                                xvii
  Children of the Marquis                                      xviii
  Counts of Tendilla                                             xix
  Antiquity of the family                                        xxi

  DON DIEGO HURTADO DE MENDOZA, AUTHOR OF “LAZARILLO DE TORMES”

  Born in the Alhambra                                         xxiii
  At Salamanca                                                  xxiv
  Services in Italy                                             xxiv
  Library                                                       xxiv
  The “Guerra de Granada”                                        xxv
  Last days                                                      xxv
  Death                                                          xxv

  THE BOOK, “LAZARILLO DE TORMES”

  Ticknor’s opinion                                            xxvii
  First edition                                                xxvii
  Value of copies                                             xxviii
  Spurious second parts                                       xxviii
  English translations                                          xxix

  NOTES ON THE CHARACTER OF LAZARO

  His age coincides with the Author’s                           xxxi
  Two destinies                                                xxxii
  Baneful surroundings as a child                             xxxiii
  Good stories well told                                      xxxiii
  Higher qualities                                              xxxv
  Development of character                                      xxxv
  Merits of the work                                           xxxvi


  PROLOGUE

  Lazaro’s reason for relating all the circumstances of
    his life                                                       1
  Motives _not_ to gain money but to win fame                      2
  Success of the poor should be a lesson to the rich               3


  I

  LAZARO RELATES THE WAY OF HIS BIRTH AND TELLS WHOSE SON HE IS

  Parentage of Lazaro                                              4
  Reason of his surname                                            4
  Death of father. Mother in service                               6
  Stepfather. Little brown brother                                 6
  Living on stolen goods                                           7
  Helps at the inn                                                 8


  FIRST MASTER

  HOW LAZARO TOOK SERVICE WITH A BLIND MAN

  Service with the blind man                                      11
  Farewell to his mother                                          11
  Cruel trick of the blind man                                    12
  Sagacity of the blind man                                       15
  The blind man’s resources and avarice                           16
  Inside of the knapsack                                          17
  Contrivance with half blancas                                   17
  Ways of getting at the wine                       
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 35461
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_Copyright 1922_


CONTENTS  CHAPTER Page

A SHORT HISTORY OF THE WORLD
I. THE WORLD IN SPACE 1
II. THE WORLD IN TIME 5
III. THE BEGINNINGS OF LIFE 11
IV. THE AGE OF FISHES 16
V. THE AGE OF THE COAL SWAMPS 21
VI. THE AGE OF REPTILES 26
VII. THE FIRST BIRDS AND THE FIRST MAMMALS 31
VIII. THE AGE OF MAMMALS 37
IX. MONKEYS, APES AND SUB-MEN 43
X. THE NEANDERTHALER AND THE RHODESIAN MAN 48
XI. THE FIRST TRUE MEN 53
XII. PRIMITIVE THOUGHT 60
XIII. THE BEGINNINGS OF CULTIVATION 65
XIV. PRIMITIVE NEOLITHIC CIVILIZATIONS 71
XV. SUMERIA, EARLY EGYPT AND WRITING 77
XVI. PRIMITIVE NOMADIC PEOPLES 84
XVII. THE FIRST SEA-GOING PEOPLES 91
XVIII. EGYPT, BABYLON AND ASSYRIA 96
XIX. THE PRIMITIVE ARYANS 104
XX. THE LAST BABYLONIAN EMPIRE AND THE EMPIRE OF DARIUS I 109
XXI. THE EARLY HISTORY OF THE JEWS 115
XXII. PRIESTS AND PROPHETS IN JUDEA 122
XXIII. THE GREEKS 127
XXIV. THE WARS OF THE GREEKS AND PERSIANS 134
XXV. THE SPLENDOUR OF GREECE 139
XXVI. THE EMPIRE OF ALEXANDER THE GREAT 145
XXVII. THE MUSEUM AND LIBRARY AT ALEXANDRIA 150
XXVIII. THE LIFE OF GAUTAMA BUDDHA 156
XXIX. KING ASOKA 163
XXX. CONFUCIUS AND LAO TSE 167
XXXI. ROME COMES INTO HISTORY 174
XXXII. ROME AND CARTHAGE 180
XXXIII. THE GROWTH OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE 185
XXXIV. BETWEEN ROME AND CHINA 196
XXXV. THE COMMON MAN’S LIFE UNDER THE EARLY ROMAN EMPIRE 201
XXXVI. RELIGIOUS DEVELOPMENTS UNDER THE ROMAN EMPIRE 208
XXXVII. THE TEACHING OF JESUS 214
XXXVIII. THE DEVELOPMENT OF DOCTRINAL CHRISTIANITY 222
XXXIX. THE BARBARIANS BREAK THE EMPIRE INTO EAST AND WEST 227
XL. THE HUNS AND THE END OF THE WESTERN EMPIRE 233
XLI. THE BYZANTINE AND SASSANID EMPIRES 238
XLII. THE DYNASTIES OF SUY AND TANG IN CHINA 245
XLIII. MUHAMMAD AND ISLAM 248
XLIV. THE GREAT DAYS OF THE ARABS 253
XLV. THE DEVELOPMENT OF LATIN CHRISTENDOM 258
XLVI. THE CRUSADES AND THE AGE OF PAPAL DOMINION 267
XLVII. RECALCITRANT PRINCES AND THE GREAT SCHISM 277
XLVIII. THE MONGOL CONQUESTS 287
XLIX. THE INTELLECTUAL REVIVAL OF THE EUROPEANS 294
L. THE REFORMATION OF THE LATIN CHURCH 304
LI. THE EMPEROR CHARLES V 309
LII. THE AGE OF POLITICAL EXPERIMENTS; OF GRAND MONARCHY AND
     PARLIAMENTS AND REPUBLICANISM IN EUROPE 318
LIII. THE NEW EMPIRES OF THE EUROPEANS IN ASIA AND OVERSEAS 329
LIV. THE AMERICAN WAR OF INDEPENDENCE 335
LV. THE FRENCH REVOLUTION AND THE RESTORATION OF MONARCHY IN FRANCE 341
LVI. 
THE UNEASY PEACE IN EUROPE THAT FOLLOWED THE FALL OF NAPOLEON 349
LVII. THE DEVELOPMENT OF MATERIAL KNOWLEDGE 355
LVIII. THE INDUSTRIAL REVOLUTION 365
LIX. THE DEVELOPMENT OF MODERN POLITICAL AND SOCIAL IDEAS 370
LX. THE EXPANSION OF THE UNITED STATES 382
LXI. THE RISE OF GERMANY TO PREDOMINANCE IN EUROPE 390
LXII. THE NEW OVERSEAS EMPIRES OF THE STEAMSHIP AND RAILWAY 393
LXIII. 
EUROPEAN AGGRESSION IN ASIA, AND THE RISE OF JAPAN 399
LXIV. THE BRITISH EMPIRE IN 1914 405
LXV. THE AGE OF ARMAMENT IN EUROPE, AND THE GREAT WAR OF 1914-18 409
LXVI. THE REVOLUTION AND FAMINE IN RUSSIA 415
LXVII. THE POLITICAL AND SOCIAL RECONSTRUCTION OF THE WORLD 421
CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE 429
INDEX 439 

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Page

Luminous Spiral Clouds of Matter 2

Nebula seen Edge-on 3

The Great Spiral Nebula 6

A Dark Nebula 7

Another Spiral Nebula 8

Landscape before Life 9

Marine Life in the Cambrian Period 12

Fossil Trilobite 13

Early Palæozoic Fossils of various Species of
 Lingula 14

Fossilized Footprints of a Labyrinthodont, Cheirotherium 15

Pterichthys Milleri 17

Fossil of Cladoselache 18

Sharks and Ganoids of the Devonian Period 19

A Carboniferous Swamp 22

Skull of a Labyrinthodont, Capitosaurus 23

Skeleton of a Labyrinthodont: The Eryops 24

A Fossil Ichthyosaurus 27

A Pterodactyl 28

The Diplodocus 29

Fossil of Archeopteryx 32

Hesperornis in its Native Seas 33

The Ki-wi 34

Slab of Marl Rich in Cainozoic Fossils 35

Titanotherium Robustum 38

Skeleton of Giraffe-camel 40

Skeleton of Early Horse 40

Comparative Sizes of Brains of Rhinoceros and Dinoceras 41

A Mammoth 44

Flint Implements from Piltdown Region 45

A Pithecanthropean Man 46

The Heidelberg Man 46

The Piltdown Skull 47

A Neanderthaler 49

Europe and Western Asia 50,000 years ago

_Map_  50

Comparison of Modern Skull and Rhodesian Skull 51

Altamira Cave Paintings 54

Later Palæolithic Carvings 55

Bust of Cro-magnon Man 57

Later Palæolithic Art 58

Relics of the Stone Age 62

Gray’s Inn Lane Flint Implement 63

Somaliland Flint Implement 63

Neolithic Flint Implement 67

Australian Spearheads 68

Neolithic Pottery 69

Relationship of Human Races _Map_  72

A Maya Stele 73

European Neolithic Warrior 75

Babylonian Brick 78

Egyptian Cylinder Seals of First Dynasty 79

The Sakhara Pyramids 80

The Pyramid of Cheops: Scene from Summit 81

The Temple of Hathor 82

Pottery and Implements of the Lake
 Dwellers 85

A Lake Village 86

Flint Knives of 4500 B.C. 87

Egyptian Wall Paintings of Nomads 87

Egyptian Peasants Going to Work 88

Stele of Naram Sin 89

The Treasure House at Mycenæ 93

The Palace at Cnossos 95

Temple at Abu Sim
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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  "Et quibus immitis placatur sanguine diro
  Teutates, horrensque feris altaribus Hesus."

Teutates is Mercury, Hesus, Mars. So also at iii. 399, &c.

  "Lucus erat longo nunquam violatus ab aevo.
  ... Barbara ritu
  Sacra Deum, structae diris altaribus arae,
  Omnis et humanis lustrata cruoribus arbor."

[64] That is, as in the preceding case, a deity whose attributes
corresponded to those of the Roman Mars. This appears to have been
not _Thor_, who is rather the representative of the Roman Jupiter, but
_Tyr_, "a warrior god, and the protector of champions and brave men!"
"From _Tyr_ is derived the name given to the third day of the week in
most of the Teutonic languages, and which has been rendered into Latin
by _Dies Martis_. Old Norse, _Tirsdagr_, _Tisdagr_; Swedish, _Tisdag_;
Danish, _Tirsdag_; German, _Dienstag_; Dutch, _Dingsdag_; Anglo-Saxon,
_Tyrsdaeg_, _Tyvesdag_, _Tivesdaeg_; English, _Tuesday_"--(Mallet's
North. Ant. ch. v.)--_White_.

[65] The Suevi appear to have been the Germanic tribes, and this also
the worship spoken of at chap. xl. _Signum in modum liburnae figuration
_corresponds with the _vehiculum_ there spoken of; the real thing being,
according to Ritter's view, a pinnace placed on wheels. That _signum
ipsum _("the very symbol") does not mean any image of the goddess, may
be gathered also from ch. xl., where the goddess herself, _si credere
velis_, is spoken of as being washed in the sacred lake.

[66] As the Romans in their ancient coins, many of which are now extant,
recorded the arrival of Saturn by the stern of a ship; so other nations
have frequently denoted the importation of a foreign religious rite by
the figure of a galley on their medals.

[67] Tacitus elsewhere speaks of temples of German divinities (e.g. 40;
Templum Nerthae, Ann. i. 51; Templum Tanfanae); but a consecrated grove,
or any other sacred place, was called templum by the Romans.

[68] The Scythians are mentioned by Herodotus, and the Alans by Ammianus
Marcellinus, as making use of these divining rods. The German method of
divination with them is illustrated by what is said by Saxo-Grammaticus
(Hist. Dan. xiv, 288) of the inhabitants of the Isle of Rugen in the
Baltic Sea: "Throwing, by way of lots, three pieces of wood, white in
one part, and black in another, into their laps, they foretold good
fortune by the coming up of the white; bad by that of the black."

[69] The same practice obtained among the Persians, from whom the
Germans appear to be sprung. Darius was elected king by the neighing
of a horse; sacred white horses were in the army of Cyrus; and Xerxes,
retreating after his defeat, was preceded by the sacred horses
and consecrated chariot. Justin (i. 10) mentions the cause of this
superstition, viz. that "the Persians believed the Sun to be the only
God, and horses to be peculiarly consecrated to him." The priest of the
Isle of Rugen also took auspices from a white horse, as may be seen in
Saxo-Grammaticus.

[70] Montesquieu finds in this custom the origin of the duel, and of
knight-errantry.

[71] This remarkable passage, so curious in political history, is
commented on by Montesquieu, in his Spirit of Laws. vi 11. That
celebrated author expresses his surprise at the existence of such a
balance between liberty and authority in the forests of Germany; and
traces the origin of the English constitution from this source. Tacitus
again mentions the German form of government in his Annals, iv. 33.

[72] The high antiquity of this made of reckoning appears from the Book
of Genesis. "The evening and the morning were the first day." The Gauls,
we are informed by Caesar, "assert that, according to the tradition of
their Druids, they are all sprung from Father Dis; on which account they
reckon every period of time according to the number of nights, not of
days; and observe birthdays and the beginnings of months and years in
such a manner, that the day seems to follow the night." (Bell. Gall.
vi. 18.) The vestiges of this method of computation still appear in the
English language, in the terms se'nnight and fort'night.

[73] _Ut turbae placuit_. Doederlein interprets this passage as
representing the confused way in which the people took their seats in
the national assembly, without reference to order, rank, age, &c.
It rather represents, however, that the people, not the chieftains,
determined when the business of the council should begin.--_White_.

[74] And in an open plain. Vast heaps of stone still remaining, denote
the scenes of these national councils. (See Mallet's Introduct. to Hist.
of Denmark.) The English Stonehenge has been supposed a relic of this
kind. In these assemblies are seen the origin of those which, under the
Merovingian race of French kings, were called the Fields of March;
under the Carlovingian, the Fields of May; then, the Plenary Courts of
Christmas and Easter; and lastly, the States General.

[75] The speech of Civilis was received with this expression of
applause. Tacitus, Hist. i
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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Whatever may be said in praise of poverty, the fact remains that it is
not possible to live a really complete or successful life unless one is
rich. No man can rise to his greatest possible height in talent or soul
development unless he has plenty of money; for to unfold the soul and
to develop talent he must have many things to use, and he cannot have
these things unless he has money to buy them with.

Man develops in mind, soul, and body by making use of things, and
society is so organized that man must have money in order to become the
possessor of things; therefore, the basis of all advancement for man
must be the science of getting rich.

The object of all life is development; and everything that lives has an
inalienable right to all the development it is capable of attaining.

Man’s right to life means his right to have the free and unrestricted
use of all the things which may be necessary to his fullest mental,
spiritual, and physical unfoldment; or, in other words, his right to be
rich.

In this book, I shall not speak of riches in a figurative way; to be
really rich does not mean to be satisfied or contented with a little.
No man ought to be satisfied with a little if he is capable of using
and enjoying more. The purpose of Nature is the advancement and
unfoldment of life; and every man should have all that can contribute
to the power, elegance, beauty, and richness of life; to be content
with less is sinful.

The man who owns all he wants for the living of all the life he is
capable of living is rich; and no man who has not plenty of money can
have all he wants. Life has advanced so far, and become so complex,
that even the most ordinary man or woman requires a great amount of
wealth in order to live in a manner that even approaches completeness.
Every person naturally wants to become all that he is capable of
becoming; this desire to realize innate possibilities is inherent in
human nature; we cannot help wanting to be all that we can be. Success
in life is becoming what you want to be; you can become what you want
to be only by making use of things, and you can have the free use
of things only as you become rich enough to buy them. To understand
the science of getting rich is therefore the most essential of all
knowledge.

There is nothing wrong in wanting to get rich. The desire for riches
is really the desire for a richer, fuller, and more abundant life; and
that desire is praiseworthy. The man who does not desire to live more
abundantly is abnormal, and so the man who does not desire to have
money enough to buy all he wants is abnormal.

There are three motives for which we live; we live for the body, we
live for the mind, and we live for the soul. No one of these is better
or holier than the other; all are alike desirable, and no one of the
three--body, mind, or soul--can live fully if either of the others is
cut short of full life and expression. It is not right or noble to live
only for the soul and deny mind or body; and it is wrong to live for
the intellect and deny body and soul.

We are all acquainted with the loathsome consequences of living for
the body and denying both mind and soul; and we see that real life
means the complete expression of all that man can give forth through
body, mind, and soul. Whatever he may say, no man can be really happy
or satisfied unless his body is living fully in every function,
and unless the same is true of his mind and his soul. Wherever
there is unexpressed possibility, or function not performed, there
is unsatisfied desire. Desire is possibility seeking expression, or
function seeking performance.

Man cannot live fully in body without good food, comfortable clothing,
and warm shelter; and without freedom from excessive toil. Rest and
recreation are also necessary to his physical life.

He cannot live fully in mind without books and time to study them,
without opportunity for travel and observation, or without intellectual
companionship.

To live fully in mind he must have intellectual recreations, and must
surround himself with all the objects of art and beauty he is capable
of using and appreciating.

To live fully in soul, man must have love; and love is denied
expression by poverty.

Man’s highest happiness is found in the bestowal of benefits on those
he loves; love finds its most natural and spontaneous expression in
giving. The man who has nothing to give cannot fill his place as a
husband or father, as a citizen, or as a man. It is in the use of
material things that man finds full life for his body, develops his
mind, and unfolds his soul. It is therefore of supreme importance to
him that he should be rich.

It is perfectly right that you should desire to be rich; if you are a
normal man or woman you cannot help doing so. It is perfectly right
that you should give your best attention to the Science of Getting
Rich, for it is the noblest and most necessary of all studies. If you
neglect this study, you are derelict in your duty to yourself
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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_Source_.--Unearthed by Mr. E. Clodd from the “Suffolk Notes and
Queries” of the _Ipswich Journal_, and reprinted by him in a paper on
“The Philosophy of Rumpelstiltskin” in _Folk-Lore Journal_, vii. 138-43.
I have reduced the Suffolk dialect.

_Parallels_.--In Yorkshire this occurs as “Habetrot and Scantlie Mab,”
 in Henderson's _Folk-Lore of Northern Counties_, 221-6; in Devonshire
as “Duffy and the Devil” in Hunt's _Romances and Drolls of the West
of England_, 239-47; in Scotland two variants are given by Chambers,
_Popular Rhymes of Scotland_, under the title “Whuppity Stourie.” The
“name-guessing wager” is also found in “Peerifool”, printed by Mr.
Andrew Lang in _Longman's Magazine_, July 1889, also _Folk-Lore_,
September, 1890. It is clearly the same as Grimm's “Rumpelstiltskin”
 (No. 14); for other Continental parallels see Mr. Clodd's article, and
Cosquin, _Contes pop. de Lorraine_, i. 269 _seq_.

_Remarks_.--One of the best folk-tales that have ever been collected,
far superior to any of the continental variants of this tale with which
I am acquainted. Mr. Clodd sees in the class of name-guessing stories, a
“survival” of the superstition that to know a man's name gives you power
over him, for which reason savages object to tell their names. It may be
necessary, I find, to explain to the little ones that Tom Tit can only
be referred to as “that,” because his name is not known till the end.




_Source_.--From _Folk-Lore Journal_, ii. 40-3; to which it was
communicated by Miss C. Burne.

_Parallels_.--Prof. Stephens gave a variant from his own memory in
_Folk-Lore Record_, iii. 155, as told in Essex at the beginning of the
century. Mr. Toulmin Smith gave another version in _The Constitutional_,
July 1, 1853, which was translated by his daughter, and contributed
to _Mélusine_, t. ii. An Oxfordshire version was given in _Notes and
Queries_, April 17, 1852. It occurs also in Ireland, Kennedy, _Fireside
Stories_, p. 9. It is Grimm's _Kluge Else_, No. 34, and is spread
through the world. Mr. Clouston devotes the seventh chapter of his _Book
of Noodles_ to the Quest of the Three Noodles.




_Source_.--From the first edition of Henderson's _Folk-Lore of
Northern Counties_, p. 314, to which it was communicated by the Rev. S.
Baring-Gould.

_Parallels_.--This is better known under the title, “Orange and Lemon,”
 and with the refrain:

  “My mother killed me,
  My father picked my bones,
  My little sister buried me,
  Under the marble stones.”

I heard this in Australia. Mr. Jones Gives part of it in _Folk Tales
of the Magyars_, 418-20, and another version occurs in 4 _Notes and
Queries_, vi. 496. Mr. I. Gollancz informs me he remembers a version
entitled “Pepper, Salt, and Mustard,” with the refrain just given.
Abroad it is Grimm's “Juniper Tree” (No. 47), where see further
parallels. The German rhyme is sung by Margaret in the mad scene of
Goethe's “Faust.”




_Source_.--Halliwell's _Nursery Rhymes and Tales_, 114.

_Parallels_.--_Cf._ Miss Burne, _Shropshire Folk-Lore_, 529; also No.
xxxiv. _infra_ (“Cat and Mouse”). It occurs also in Scotch, with the
title “The Wife and her Bush of Berries,” Chambers's _Pop. Rhymes_, p.
57. Newell, _Games and Songs of American Children_, gives a game named
“Club-fist” (No. 75), founded on this, and in his notes refers to
German, Danish, and Spanish variants. (_Cf._ Cosquin, ii. 36 _seq._)

_Remarks_.--One of the class of Accumulative stories, which are well
represented in England. (_Cf. infra_, Nos. xvi., xx., xxxiv.)




_Source_.--_American Folk-Lore Journal_ I, 227-8. I have eliminated a
malodorous and un-English skunk.

_Parallels_.--Two other versions are given in the _Journal l.c._ One
of these, however, was probably derived from Grimm's “Town Musicians of
Bremen” (No. 27). That the others came from across the Atlantic is shown
by the fact that it occurs in Ireland (Kennedy, _Fictions_, pp. 5-10)
and Scotland (Campbell, No. 11). For other variants, see R. Köhler in
Gonzenbach, _Sicil. Märchen_, ii. 245.




_Source_.--Halliwell, p. 149.

_Parallels_.--This is the _Hans im Glück_ of Grimm (No. 83). _Cf._ too,
“Lazy Jack,” _infra_, No. xxvii. Other variants are given by M. Cosquin,
_Contes pop. de Lorraine_, i. 241. On surprising robbers, see preceding
tale.

_Remarks_.--In some of the variants the door is carried, because Mr.
Vinegar, or his equivalent, has been told to “mind the door,” or he acts
on the principle “he that is master of the door is master of the
house.” In other stories he makes the foolish exchanges to the entire
satisfaction of his wife. (_Cf._ Cosquin, i. 156-7.)




_Source_.--From a Scotch tale, “Nicht Nought Nothing,” collected by Mr.
Andrew Lang in Morayshire, published by him first in _Revue Celtique_,
t. iii; then in his _Custom and Myth_, p. 89; and again in _Folk-Lore_,
Sept. 1890. I have changed the name so as to retain the _équivoque_ of
the giant's reply to the King. I have also inserted the incidents of
the flight, the usual ones in 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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Online Distributed Proofreading Team.









                      HOME GEOGRAPHY
                            FOR
                      PRIMARY GRADES

                            BY
                     C. C. LONG, Ph.D.

  AUTHOR OF NEW LANGUAGE LESSONS, LESSONS IN ENGLISH, ETC.,



TO THE TEACHER.

Geography may be divided into the geography of the home and the
geography of the world at large. A knowledge of the home must be
obtained by direct observation; of the rest of the world, through the
imagination assisted by information. Ideas acquired by direct
observation form a basis for imagining those things which are distant
and unknown.

The first work, then, in geographical instruction, is to study that
small part of the earth's surface lying just at our doors. All around
are illustrations of lake and river, upland and lowland, slope and
valley. These forms must be actually observed by the pupil, mental
pictures obtained, in order that he may be enabled to build up in his
mind other mental pictures of similar unseen forms. The hill that he
climbs each day may, by an appeal to his imagination, represent to him
the lofty Andes or the Alps. From the meadow, or the bit of level land
near the door, may be developed a notion of plain and prairie. The
little stream that flows past the schoolhouse door, or even one formed
by the sudden shower, may speak to him of the Mississippi, the Amazon,
or the Rhine. Similarly, the idea of sea or ocean may be deduced from
that of pond or lake. Thus, after the pupil has acquired elementary
ideas by actual perception, the imagination can use them in
constructing, on a larger scale, mental pictures of similar objects
outside the bounds of his own experience and observation.

To effect this, the teacher should visit with her class places where the
simpler geographical features in miniature may be observed. If the
school is in the city, pupils may be taken to the parks for this
purpose. If out-of-door study be impossible, they may be induced to
recall objects which they have seen on their way to school or on short
excursions in the neighborhood. In the case of children who have little
opportunity for observing nature, a drawing, a photograph, or a model
will be helpful in giving them a proper idea of the matter. It must not
be forgotten, however, that actual observation by the pupil is necessary
to seeing clearly and intelligently.

Vegetable and animal life are essential features of the geography of the
world, and considerable time should be given to the study of those
within the observation of the pupils. Information concerning plants may
be gained by outdoor study; also by planting seeds in boxes and having
pupils carefully watch their germination and growth.

Pupils should be encouraged to make collections of the minerals and
rocks of their region. These should be classified and arranged for use,
not for show.

The lessons about rain, snow, dew, etc., should be given at appropriate
times. A wet day will suggest a lesson on rain, a snowy day a lesson
about snow. No attempt should be made at "science" teaching, so-called.
All that should be sought is to get the pupil thoughtfully to observe,
and thus to awaken his interest in the world about him.

Lessons should be conversational in form, which is always a most
pleasing style for children, as it is the most natural. The work of the
teacher is to awaken and stimulate interest, not to impart information.
The attention of the child should be directed to what lies around him.
He must observe, and think, and express his thoughts. Nor should his
observations be confined to the school and school hours. He should be
encouraged to obtain his information by his own searching, without
guidance, and report the results.

The development of clear mental pictures is stimulated by expression.
"Expression is the test of the pupil's knowledge." Hence, the child
should be required to reproduce what he has learned. He may do this by
modeling, drawing, and oral and written description. These are placed in
the order which should be followed in the training of children.

The inclination of nearly every child left to his own mode of
development is to make, in some plastic material, what he has seen.
Trying to fashion the hills and valleys with which he is familiar
excites his interest, and leads to closer observation. This may be
followed by the reproduction in molder's sand, or in clay, of the forms
seen in pictures or learned from description. Definitions of the various
forms, hill, mountain, valley, island, etc., should be developed as they
are molded. The memorizing of definitions should seldom be required, and
should never be made a test of the pupil's knowledge.

Reproduction by the hand should be followed by drawing, whenever this
can be done. Drawing teaches the child how to see well. It often enables
him to reveal what could not well be expressed in words. He also becomes
ready and rapid in the use of the pencil when he has ideas to put on
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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Useful Household Books

THE COOK BOOK OF LEFT-OVERS By Helen Carroll Clarke, former instructor
    in cookery in Pratt Institute, Brooklyn, and Phoebe Deyo Rulon,
    former instructor in invalid cookery and dietetics in Bellevue
    Hospital, New York City. Illustrated with Photographs. 16mo, Special
    Waterproof Cloth, Uniform with “The Expert Waitress,” $1.00 net.

SIMPLE ITALIAN COOKERY By Antonia Isola. A collection of recipes showing
    how to cook macaroni, rice, soups, meats, vegetables, sweets, etc.
    16mo, Cloth, 50 cents net.

HYGIENE FOR MOTHER AND CHILD By Francis H. MacCarthy, M.D., Attending
    Physician to the Out-Patient Department for Children, Massachusetts
    Homoeopathic Hospital. A manual for mothers and nurses. Post 8vo,
    Cloth, $1.25 net.

THE BABY: HIS CARE AND TRAINING By Marianna Wheeler. (New and Revised
    Edition.) Everything mother should know regarding the food,
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                               ----------

                HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                               _HARPER’S
                               HOUSEHOLD
                               HANDBOOK_


                          A GUIDE TO EASY WAYS
                         OF DOING WOMAN’S WORK




[Illustration]




                      HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
                          NEW YORK AND LONDON
                                MCMXIII


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                 COPYRIGHT, 1913. BY HARPER & BROTHERS
                                 ──────
                PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
                         PUBLISHED MARCH, 1913




                                  B-N


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                                CONTENTS


              CHAP.                                  PAGE

                 I. WASH-DAY WISDOM, NURSING, AND       1
                    SICKROOM

                II. INSIDE A ROOM                      24

               III. EQUIPMENT AND RENOVATORS           41

                IV. CHINA, GLASS, AND FURNITURE        56

                 V. MAKING WHOLE                       74

                VI. MAKING AND MAKING OVER             95

               VII. REMEDYING SPOTS, STAINS, AND      113
                    TARNISH

              VIII. FOOD: CHOOSING AND KEEPING        129

                IX. HOUSE PLANTS, WINDOW BOXES,       145
                    CUT FLOWERS

                 X. DISINFECTANTS, INSECTS,           163
                    INSECTICIDES

                XI. CARE OF PETS                      179

               XII. IN EMERGENCIES                    192

                    INDEX                             201


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                                HARPER’S
                           HOUSEHOLD HANDBOOK




------------------------------------------------------------------------


                                HARPER’S
                           HOUSEHOLD HANDBOOK




                                   I

                 WASH-DAY WISDOM, NURSING, AND SICKROOM


=Water=: Soften hard water with either washing-soda or lye, taking care
not to use too much. Turbid or milky water can be cleared to a degree
with alum. Dissolve a tablespoonful in a pint of boiling water, and add
a cupful to a tub. Ill-smelling water should be dashed with clear lime
water—using likewise a cupful to the tub. A teaspoonful of carbolic acid
to the tubful is also advisable with wash water under suspicion.

=Soap=: Save money and strength by getting soap in boxfuls, piling it
cobhouse fashion on a dry shelf in the air. Borax soaps chap the hands
least. Naphtha soaps do the best work with cold water. Cheap yellow
soaps, having much resin in them, answer very well if the clothes are
well rinsed. Any sort of soap is best made into a jelly. Shave a bar,
cover with boiling water, and simmer until soft. If there are very dirty
things to wash, add a teaspoonful of borax in powder, and as much
washing-soda to the cake of soap. This is for rubbing on dirty spots.
Other things had better be washed in suds, made by putting a handful of
jelly in a tub of water.

=Washing Fluids=: Use for boys’ clothes, working-men’s shirts, and
overalls turpentine, kerosene, and lime water, equal quantities, shaken
well together. Wet thoroughly, let stand an hour, then wash in warm
suds. Turpentine and spirits of ammonia, half and half, shaken hard
together, will make easier the cleansing of colored woolens.

=Bleaching=: Clothes that are yellow from lying shou
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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LAW ***




                           RACE DISTINCTIONS
                            IN AMERICAN LAW




                   RACE DISTINCTIONS IN AMERICAN LAW


                                   BY
                 GILBERT THOMAS STEPHENSON, A.M., LL.B.

[Illustration]

                          NEW YORK AND LONDON
                        D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
                                  1910




                          COPYRIGHT, 1910, BY
                        D. APPLETON AND COMPANY


 _Published September, 1910_




                                 TO MY
                           FATHER AND MOTHER

------------------------------------------------------------------------




                                PREFACE


America has to-day no problem more perplexing and disquieting than that
of the proper and permanent relations between the white and the colored
races. Although it concerns most vitally the twenty millions of
Caucasians and the eight millions of Negroes in eleven States of the
South, still it is a national problem, because whatever affects one part
of our national organism concerns the whole of it. Although this
question has been considered from almost every conceivable standpoint,
few have turned to the laws of the States and of the Nation to see how
they bear upon it. It was with the hope of gaining new light on the
subject from this source that I undertook the present investigation.

I have examined the Constitutions, statutes, and judicial decisions of
the United States and of the States and Territories between 1865 and the
present to find the laws that have made any distinctions between persons
on the basis of race. Reference has been made to some extent to laws in
force before 1865, but only as the background of later legislation and
decision. In order to make this study comparative as well as special,
the writer has abandoned his original plan of confining it to the
Southern States and laws applicable only to Negroes, and has extended it
to include the whole United States and all the races.

Immediately after the Negro became a free man in 1865, the Federal
Government undertook, by a series of constitutional amendments and
statutory enactments, to secure to him all the rights and privileges of
an American citizen. My effort has been to ascertain how far this
attempt has been successful. The inquiry has been: After forty-five
years of freedom from physical bondage, how much does the Negro lack of
being, in truth, a full-fledged American citizen? What limitations upon
him are allowed or imposed by law because he is a Negro?

This is not meant, however, to be a legal treatise. Although the sources
are, in the main, constitutions, statutes, and court reports, an effort
has been made to state the principles in an untechnical manner. Knowing
that copious citations are usually irksome to those who read for general
information, I have relegated all notes to the ends of the chapters for
the benefit of the more curious reader who often finds them the most
profitable part of a book. There he will find citations of authorities
for practically every important statement made.

All the chapters, except the last two, were published serially in _The
American Law Review_/cite> during the year 1909. The substance of the
chapter on “Separation of Races in Public Conveyances” was published
also in _The American Political Science Review_ for May, 1909.

I wish that I could make public acknowledgment of my indebtedness to all
who have helped me in the preparation of this volume. Hundreds of public
officials in the South—mayors of cities, clerks of courts,
attorneys-general, superintendents of public instruction, etc.—have
responded generously to my requests for information. I am thankful to
Mr. John H. Arnold, Librarian of the Harvard Law School, for access to
the stacks of that library, without which privilege my work would have
been greatly delayed, and to his assistants for their uniform courtesy
while I was making such constant demands upon them. I am under especial
obligation to Professor Albert Bushnell Hart, of Harvard University, for
his direction and assistance in my examination of the sources and his
valuable advice while I have been preparing the material for publication
in this form; also to Mr. Charles E. Grinnell, former Editor of _The
American Law Review_, for his encouragement and suggestions during the
preparation of the articles for his magazine. Lastly, I would express my
gratitude to Mr. Charles Vernon Imlay, of the New York Bar, the value of
whose painstaking help in the revision of the manuscript of this book is
truly inestimable.

                                              GILBERT THOMAS STEPHENSON.

 WARREN PLACE, PENDLETON, N. C.
         June 1, 1910.




                                CONTENTS



                                CHAPTER I

                                                                    PAGE

 INTRODUCTORY                                           
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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LONDON:

HENRY G. BOHN, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN.


JOHN CHILDS AND SON, BUNGAY




PREFACE.


In this new English version of the most elegant of the Roman historians,
the object of the translator has been, to adhere as closely to the
original text as is consistent with the idioms of the respective
languages. But while thus providing more especially for the wants of the
classical student, he has not been unmindful of the neatness and
perspicuity required to satisfy the English reader.

There have been several previous translations of our author, but the
only one now before the public, or deserving of particular mention, is
that by Baker, which is undoubtedly a very able performance, and had it
been more faithful, would have rendered any other unnecessary.

The edition used for the present translation is that published at Oxford
under the superintendence of Travers Twiss, whose carefully revised text
is by far the best extant. The few notes and illustrations which the
limits of an edition in this popular form permit, are chiefly confined
to the explanation of grammatical difficulties. Historical and
antiquarian illustration is now so abundantly supplied by excellent
Manuals and Dictionaries, that it has been deemed unnecessary to swell
the present volumes by additions in that department.

Among the manuals of Roman History which may most advantageously be used
by the student, is Twiss's Epitome of Niebuhr, 2 vols. 8vo, a work
frequently referred to in these pages.




THE

HISTORY OF ROME.




BOOK I.


     _The coming of Æneas into Italy, and his achievements there; the
     reign of Ascanius in Alba, and of the other Sylvian kings. Romulus
     and Remus born. Amulius killed. Romulus builds Rome; forms a
     senate; makes war upon the Sabines; presents the_ opima spolia _to
     Jupiter Feretrius; divides the people into_ curiæ; _his victories;
     is deified. Numa institutes the rites of religious worship; builds
     a temple to Janus; and having made peace with all his neighbours,
     closes it for the first time; enjoys a peaceful reign, and is
     succeeded by Tullus Hostilius. War with the Albans; combat of the
     Horatii and Curiatii. Alba demolished, and the Albans made citizens
     of Rome. War declared against the Sabines; Tullus killed by
     lightning. Ancus Marcius renews the religious institutions of Numa;
     conquers the Latins, confers on them the right of citizenship, and
     assigns them the Aventine hill to dwell on; adds the hill Janiculum
     to the city; enlarges the bounds of the empire. In his reign Lucumo
     comes to Rome; assumes the name of Tarquinius; and, after the death
     of Ancus, is raised to the throne. He increases the senate, by
     adding to it a hundred new senators; defeats the Latins and
     Sabines; augments the centuries of knights; builds a wall round the
     city; makes the common sewers; is slain by the sons of Ancus after
     a reign of thirty-eight years; and is succeeded by Servius Tullius.
     He institutes the census; closes the lustrum, in which eighty
     thousand citizens are said to have been enrolled; divides the
     people into classes and centuries; enlarges the Pomœrium, and
     adds the Quirinal, Viminal, and Esquiline hills to the city; after
     a reign of forty years, is murdered by L. Tarquin, afterwards
     surnamed Superbus. He usurps the crown. Tarquin makes war on the
     Volsci, and, with the plunder taken from them, builds a temple to
     Jupiter Capitolinus. By a stratagem of his son, Sextus Tarquin, he
     reduces the city of Gabii; after a reign of twenty-five years is
     dethroned and banished, in consequence of the forcible violation of
     the person of Lucretia by his son Sextus. L. Junius Brutus and L.
     Tarquinius Collatinus first created consuls._




PREFACE.


Whether in tracing the history of the Roman people, from the foundation
of the city, I shall employ myself to a useful purpose,[1] I am neither
very certain, nor, if I were, dare I say: inasmuch as I observe, that it
is both an old and hackneyed practice,[2] later authors always supposing
that they will either adduce something more authentic in the facts, or,
that they will excel the less polished ancients in their style of
writing. Be that as it may, it will, at all events, be a satisfaction to
me, that I too have contributed my share[3] to perpetuate the
achievements of a people, the lords of the world; and if, amidst so
great a number of historians,[4] my reputation should remain in
obscurity, I may console myself with the celebrity and lustre of those
who shall stand in the way of my fame. Moreover, the subject is both of
immense labour, as being one which must be traced back for more than
seven hundred years, and which, having set out from small beginnings,
has increased to such a degree that it is now distressed by its own
magnitude. And, to most readers, I doubt not but that the first origin
and the events immediately succee
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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FALCON BOOKS

_Jean Craig In New York_

BY KAY LYTTLETON

When lovely Jean Craig moved with her family to Woodhow farm in
Connecticut, she thought she was giving up her art lessons forever. And
then suddenly the opportunity came to go to New York to study, and she
went to live with her cousin Beth in the suburbs of New York. These
months were an exciting interlude in her life. She loved seeing her old
friends again, going to parties, and meeting new people, among them
Aldo Thomas, an artist from Italy.

_Jean Craig in New York_ tells of Jean’s adventures in the city,
but it is also the story of the Craigs who meet life’s adventures with
gaiety and courage.


Other FALCON BOOKS for Girls:

  JEAN CRAIG GROWS UP
  JEAN CRAIG FINDS ROMANCE
  PATTY AND JO, DETECTIVES




[Illustration: There sat a robust, middle-aged newcomer.]




  _JEAN CRAIG
   IN NEW YORK_

  by KAY LYTTLETON

  [Illustration: FALCON BOOKS]

  THE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY

  CLEVELAND AND NEW YORK




  Falcon Books
  _are published by_ THE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY
  _2231 West 110th Street · Cleveland 2 · Ohio_

  W 2

  COPYRIGHT 1948 BY THE WORLD PUBLISHING COMPANY

  MANUFACTURED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA




Contents


   1. Jean Finds a Stranger              9

   2. New York Cousins                  23

   3. Exhibit A                         38

   4. Christmas at the Ellis Place      52

   5. New York Dreams Come True         61

   6. Leaving Home                      75

   7. Aldo from Italy                   82

   8. Jean Meets a Contessa             94

   9. Letters from Home                109

  10. At the Art Academy               122

  11. The Sculptured Head              136

  12. From Out of the West             148

  13. Spring Picnic                    158

  14. Billie’s Crisis                  172

  15. Fire!                            190

  16. Future Plans                     205




JEAN CRAIG IN NEW YORK


1. Jean Finds a Stranger


It was just five days before Christmas when a pink express card arrived
in the noon mail. The Craigs knew there must be something unusual
in the mail, for Mr. Ricketts, the rural free delivery carrier, had
lingered at the end of the drive.

Jean, the oldest of the four children, slipped into a coat and stadium
boots and ran down the drive to see what he wanted.

“There’s something for you folks at the express office, I guess. If
it’s anything heavy I suggest you go down and get it today. Looks like
we’d have some snow before nightfall.” He waited while Jean glanced at
the card. “Know what it is?”

“Why, no, I don’t believe I do,” she answered. “We’ve gotten all our
Christmas packages. Maybe they’re books for Dad.”

“Like enough,” said Mr. Ricketts. “I didn’t know. I always feel a
little bit interested, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” laughed Jean, as he started his truck. She hurried back
to the house, her head down against the wind. The front door banged as
Kit, fifteen and two years younger than Jean, let her in, her hands
floury from baking.

“For Pete’s sake, why do you stand talking all day to that old gossip?
Any mail from the West?”

The previous spring, the Craig family had moved to Elmhurst,
Connecticut, because of Mr. Craig’s health. Due to a war injury, he
had required a complete rest. At the suggestion of his cousin Rebecca,
the family had left Long Island to live on a farm. Rural living was
far different from anything Jean, Kit, thirteen-year-old Doris, and
eleven-year-old Tommy were used to, but they grew to love it more and
more as they made new friends and discovered the never-ending surprises
that the country held for them.

As told in _Jean Craig Grows Up_, the family met their landlord,
Ralph McRae, a young good-looking boy of twenty-four, from Saskatoon,
Saskatchewan, who was immediately attracted to Jean. When he returned
to his western ranch, he took Buzzy Hancock, his cousin and Kit’s best
friend, back with him. Now, Jean was finding it hard to wait for the
summer to come when Ralph and Buzzy would return.

With a letter from Ralph in her hand, Jean answered Kit’s questions
hurriedly. “Mr. Ricketts only wanted to know about an express package,
whether it was heavy or light, where it came from, and if we expected
it.” She piled the rest of the mail on the dining room table. “There is
no mail from Saskatoon for you, Kit, only for me.”

“Oh, I thought maybe Buzzy might have written to me. The mug, he
promised to send me a silver fox skin for Christmas, if he could find
one. I’m going to give up waiting for it. With Christmas five days
away, he surely would have sent it by now.”

Kit’s face was perfectly serious. Buzzy had asked her before he left
Elmhurst what she would like best, and she had told him. The others
laughed at her, but she held firmly to the idea that if it were
possible, Buzzy would get it for her.

Jean was engrossed in a five-page letter from Ralph and had paid no
attention to Kit’s remarks. She finished reading the letter, full of
Christ
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PG #: 30241
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/30241



Before one can correctly understand the work of the Holy Spirit, he must
first of all know the Spirit Himself. A frequent source of error and
fanaticism about the work of the Holy Spirit is the attempt to study and
understand His work without first of all coming to know Him as a Person.

It is of the highest importance from the standpoint of worship that we
decide whether the Holy Spirit is a Divine Person, worthy to receive our
adoration, our faith, our love, and our entire surrender to Himself, or
whether it is simply an influence emanating from God or a power or an
illumination that God imparts to us. If the Holy Spirit is a person, and a
Divine Person, and we do not know Him as such, then we are robbing a
Divine Being of the worship and the faith and the love and the surrender
to Himself which are His due.

It is also of the highest importance from the practical standpoint that we
decide whether the Holy Spirit is merely some mysterious and wonderful
power that we in our weakness and ignorance are somehow to get hold of and
use, or whether the Holy Spirit is a real Person, infinitely holy,
infinitely wise, infinitely mighty and infinitely tender who is to get
hold of and use us. The former conception is utterly heathenish, not
essentially different from the thought of the African fetich worshipper
who has his god whom he uses. The latter conception is sublime and
Christian. If we think of the Holy Spirit as so many do as merely a power
or influence, our constant thought will be, “How can I get more of the
Holy Spirit,” but if we think of Him in the Biblical way as a Divine
Person, our thought will rather be, “How can the Holy Spirit have more of
me?” The conception of the Holy Spirit as a Divine influence or power that
we are somehow to get hold of and use, leads to self-exaltation and
self-sufficiency. One who so thinks of the Holy Spirit and who at the same
time imagines that he has received the Holy Spirit will almost inevitably
be full of spiritual pride and strut about as if he belonged to some
superior order of Christians. One frequently hears such persons say, “I am
a Holy Ghost man,” or “I am a Holy Ghost woman.” But if we once grasp the
thought that the Holy Spirit is a Divine Person of infinite majesty, glory
and holiness and power, who in marvellous condescension has come into our
hearts to make His abode there and take possession of our lives and make
use of them, it will put us in the dust and keep us in the dust. I can
think of no thought more humbling or more overwhelming than the thought
that a person of Divine majesty and glory dwells in my heart and is ready
to use even me.

It is of the highest importance from the standpoint of experience that we
know the Holy Spirit as a person. Thousands and tens of thousands of men
and women can testify to the blessing that has come into their own lives
as they have come to know the Holy Spirit, not merely as a gracious
influence (emanating, it is true, from God) but as a real Person, just as
real as Jesus Christ Himself, an ever-present, loving Friend and mighty
Helper, who is not only always by their side but dwells in their heart
every day and every hour and who is ready to undertake for them in every
emergency of life. Thousands of ministers, Christian workers and
Christians in the humblest spheres of life have spoken to me, or written
to me, of the complete transformation of their Christian experience that
came to them when they grasped the thought (not merely in a theological,
but in an experimental way) that the Holy Spirit was a Person and
consequently came to know Him.

There are at least four distinct lines of proof in the Bible that the Holy
Spirit is a person.

I. _All the distinctive characteristics of personality are ascribed to the
Holy Spirit in the Bible._

What are the distinctive characteristics, or marks, of personality?
Knowledge, feeling or emotion, and will. Any entity that thinks and feels
and wills is a person. When we say that the Holy Spirit is a person, there
are those who understand us to mean that the Holy Spirit has hands and
feet and eyes and ears and mouth, and so on, but these are not the
characteristics of personality but of corporeity. All of these
characteristics or marks of personality are repeatedly ascribed to the
Holy Spirit in the Old and New Testaments. We read in 1 Cor. ii. 10, 11,
“But God hath revealed them unto us by His Spirit: for the Spirit
searcheth all things, yea, the deep things of God. For what man knoweth
the things of a man, save the spirit of man which is in him? even so the
things of God knoweth no man, but the Spirit of God.” Here knowledge is
ascribed to the Holy Spirit. We are clearly taught that the Holy Spirit is
not merely an influence that illuminates our minds to comprehend the truth
but a Being who Himself knows the truth.

In 1 Cor. xii. 11, we read, “But all these worketh that one and the
selfsame Spirit, dividing to every man severally as _He will_.” Here will
is ascribed to t
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PG #: 18442
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/18442



There was once a king of England whose name was John. He was a bad
king; for he was harsh and cruel to his people, and so long as he
could have his own way, he did not care what became of other folks. He
was the worst king that England ever had.

Now, there was in the town of Can´ter-bur-y a rich old abbot who lived
in grand style in a great house called the Abbey. Every day a hundred
noble men sat down with him to dine; and fifty brave knights, in fine
velvet coats and gold chains, waited upon him at his table.

When King John heard of the way in which the abbot lived, he made up
his mind to put a stop to it. So he sent for the old man to come and
see him.

"How now, my good abbot?" he said. "I hear that you keep a far better
house than I. How dare you do such a thing? Don't you know that no man
in the land ought to live better than the king? And I tell you that no
man shall."

"O king!" said the abbot, "I beg to say that I am spending nothing but
what is my own. I hope that you will not think ill of me for making
things pleasant for my friends and the brave knights who are with me."

"Think ill of you?" said the king. "How can I help but think ill of
you? All that there is in this broad land is mine by right; and how do
you dare to put me to shame by living in grander style than I? One
would think that you were trying to be king in my place."

"Oh, do not say so!" said the abbot "For I"--

"Not another word!" cried the king. "Your fault is plain, and unless
you can answer me three questions, your head shall be cut off, and all
your riches shall be mine."

"I will try to answer them, O king!" said the abbot.

"Well, then," said King John, "as I sit here with my crown of gold on
my head, you must tell me to within a day just how long I shall live.
Sec-ond-ly, you must tell me how soon I shall ride round the whole
world; and lastly, you shall tell me what I think."

"O king!" said the abbot, "these are deep, hard questions, and I
cannot answer them just now. But if you will give me two weeks to
think about them, I will do the best that I can."

"Two weeks you shall have," said the king; "but if then you fail to
answer me, you shall lose your head, and all your lands shall be
mine."

The abbot went away very sad and in great fear. He first rode to
Oxford. Here was a great school, called a u-ni-ver´si-ty, and he
wanted to see if any of the wise pro-fess-ors could help him. But they
shook their heads, and said that there was nothing about King John in
any of their books.

Then the abbot rode down to Cam-bridge, where there was another
u-ni-ver-si-ty. But not one of the teachers in that great school could
help him.

At last, sad and sor-row-ful, he rode toward home to bid his friends
and his brave knights good-by. For now he had not a week to live.


As the abbot was riding up the lane which led to his grand house, he
met his shep-herd going to the fields.

"Welcome home, good master!" cried the shepherd. "What news do you
bring us from great King John?"

"Sad news, sad news," said the abbot; and then he told him all that
had happened.

"Cheer up, cheer up, good master," said the shepherd. "Have you never
yet heard that a fool may teach a wise man wit? I think I can help you
out of your trouble."

"You help me!" cried the abbot "How? how?"

"Well," answered the shepherd, "you know that everybody says that I
look just like you, and that I have some-times been mis-tak-en for
you. So, lend me your servants and your horse and your gown, and I
will go up to London and see the king. If nothing else can be done, I
can at least die in your place."

"My good shepherd," said the abbot, "you are very, very kind; and I
have a mind to let you try your plan. But if the worst comes to the
worst, you shall not die for me. I will die for myself."

So the shepherd got ready to go at once. He dressed himself with
great care. Over his shepherd's coat he threw the abbot's long gown,
and he bor-rowed the abbot's cap and golden staff. When all was ready,
no one in the world would have thought that he was not the great man
himself. Then he mounted his horse, and with a great train of servants
set out for London.

Of course the king did not know him.

"Welcome, Sir Abbot!" he said. "It is a good thing that you have come
back. But, prompt as you are, if you fail to answer my three
questions, you shall lose your head."

"I am ready to answer them, O king!" said the shepherd.

"Indeed, indeed!" said the king, and he laughed to himself. "Well,
then, answer my first question: How long shall I live? Come, you must
tell me to the very day."

"You shall live," said the shepherd, "until the day that you die, and
not one day longer. And you shall die when you take your last breath,
and not one moment before."

The king laughed.

"You are witty, I see," he said. "But we will let that pass, and say
that your answer is right. And now tell me how soon I may ride round
the world."

[Illustration: "You shall live until the day that you die."]

"You m
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PG #: 15665
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/15665


A. NOUNS.

12. A Noun is the name of a _person_, _place_, _thing_, or _quality_; as,
Caesar, _Caesar_; Rōma, _Rome_; penna, _feather_; virtūs, _courage_.

1. Nouns are either Proper or Common. Proper nouns are permanent names of
persons or places; as, Caesar, Rōma. Other nouns are Common: as, penna,
virtūs.

2. Nouns are also distinguished as Concrete or Abstract.

  a) Concrete nouns are those which designate individual objects; as, mōns,
  _mountain_; pēs, _foot_; diēs, _day_; mēns, _mind_.

  Under concrete nouns are included, also, collective nouns; as, legiō,
  _legion_; comitātus, _retinue_.

  b) Abstract nouns designate qualities; as, cōnstantia, _steadfastness_;
  paupertās, _poverty_.

GENDER OF NOUNS.

13. There are three Genders,--Masculine, Feminine, and Neuter. Gender in
Latin is either natural or grammatical.

Natural Gender.

14. The gender of nouns is natural when it is based upon sex. Natural
gender is confined entirely to names of persons; and these are--

1. Masculine, if they denote males; as,--

  nauta, _sailor_; agricola, _farmer_.

2. Feminine, if they denote females; as,--

  māter, _mother_; rēgīna, _queen_.

Grammatical Gender.

15. Grammatical gender is determined not by sex, but by the general
signification of the word, or the ending of its Nominative Singular. By
grammatical gender, nouns denoting things or qualities are often Masculine
or Feminine, simply by virtue of their signification or the ending of the
Nominative Singular. The following are the general principles for
determining grammatical gender:--

_A. Gender determined by Signification._

1. Names of _Rivers_, _Winds_, and _Months_ are Masculine; as,--

  Sēquana, _Seine_; Eurus, _east wind_; Aprīlis, _April_.

2. Names of _Trees_, and such names of _Towns_ and _Islands_ as end in -us,
are Feminine; as,--

  quercus, _oak_; Corinthus, _Corinth_; Rhodus, _Rhodes_.

Other names of towns and islands follow the gender of their endings (see
_B_, below); as,--

  Delphī, n.; Leuctra, n.; Tībur, n.; Carthāgō, f.

3. Indeclinable nouns, also infinitives and phrases, are Neuter; as,--

  nihil, _nothing_; nefās, _wrong_; amāre, _to love_.

NOTE.--Exceptions to the above principles sometimes occur; as, Allia (the
river), f.

_B. Gender determined by Ending of Nominative Singular._

The gender of other nouns is determined by the ending of the Nominative
Singular.[11]

NOTE 1.--_Common Gender._ Certain nouns are sometimes Masculine, sometimes
Feminine. Thus, sacerdōs may mean either _priest_ or _priestess_, and is
Masculine or Feminine accordingly. So also cīvis, _citizen_; parēns,
_parent_; etc. The gender of such nouns is said to be _common_.

NOTE 2.--Names of animals usually have grammatical gender, according to the
ending of the Nominative Singular, but the one form may designate either
the male or female; as, ānser, m., _goose_ or _gander_. So vulpēs, f.,
_fox_; aquīla, f., _eagle_.

NUMBER.

16. The Latin has two Numbers,--the Singular and Plural. The Singular
denotes one object, the Plural, more than one.

CASES.

17. There are six Cases in Latin:--

  Nominative,     Case of Subject;
  Genitive,       Objective with _of_, or Possessive;
  Dative,         Objective with _to_ or _for_;
  Accusative,     Case of Direct Object;
  Vocative,       Case of Address;
  Ablative,       Objective with _by_, _from_, _in_,
                  _with_.

1. LOCATIVE. Vestiges of another case, the Locative (denoting place where),
occur in names of towns and in a few other words.

2. OBLIQUE CASES. The Genitive, Dative, Accusative, and Ablative are called
Oblique Cases.

3. STEM AND CASE-ENDINGS. The different cases are formed by appending
certain case-endings to a fundamental part called the Stem.[12] Thus,
_portam_ (Accusative Singular) is formed by adding the case-ending -m to
the stem porta-. But in most cases the final vowel of the stem has
coalesced so closely with the actual case-ending that the latter has become
more or less obscured. The _apparent case-ending_ thus resulting is called
a termination.

THE FIVE DECLENSIONS.

18. There are five Declensions in Latin, distinguished from each other by
the final letter of the Stem, and also by the Termination of the Genitive
Singular, as follows:--

  DECLENSION.     FINAL LETTER OF STEM.   GEN. TERMINATION.
  First           ā                       -ae
  Second          ŏ                       -ī
  Third           ĭ / Some consonant      -īs
  Fourth          ŭ                       -ūs
  Fifth           ē                       -ēī / -ĕī

Cases alike in Form.

19. 1. The Vocative is regularly like the Nominative, except in the
singular of nouns in -us of the Second Declension.

2. The Dative and Ablative Plural are always alike.

3. In Neuters the Accusative and Nominative are always alike, and in the
Plural end in -ă.

4. In the Third, Fourth, and Fifth Declensions, the Accusative Plural is
regularly like the Nominative.

       *       *       *       *       *

FIRST DECLENSION.

ā
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PG #: 3328
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3328

MAN AND SUPERMAN

A COMEDY AND A PHILOSOPHY

By Bernard Shaw




EPISTLE DEDICATORY TO ARTHUR BINGHAM WALKLEY

My dear Walkley:

You once asked me why I did not write a Don Juan play. The levity with
which you assumed this frightful responsibility has probably by this
time enabled you to forget it; but the day of reckoning has arrived:
here is your play! I say your play, because qui facit per alium facit
per se. Its profits, like its labor, belong to me: its morals, its
manners, its philosophy, its influence on the young, are for you to
justify. You were of mature age when you made the suggestion; and you
knew your man. It is hardly fifteen years since, as twin pioneers of
the New Journalism of that time, we two, cradled in the same new sheets,
made an epoch in the criticism of the theatre and the opera house by
making it a pretext for a propaganda of our own views of life. So you
cannot plead ignorance of the character of the force you set in motion.
You meant me to epater le bourgeois; and if he protests, I hereby refer
him to you as the accountable party.

I warn you that if you attempt to repudiate your responsibility, I shall
suspect you of finding the play too decorous for your taste. The
fifteen years have made me older and graver. In you I can detect no such
becoming change. Your levities and audacities are like the loves and
comforts prayed for by Desdemona: they increase, even as your days do
grow. No mere pioneering journal dares meddle with them now: the stately
Times itself is alone sufficiently above suspicion to act as your
chaperone; and even the Times must sometimes thank its stars that
new plays are not produced every day, since after each such event
its gravity is compromised, its platitude turned to epigram, its
portentousness to wit, its propriety to elegance, and even its decorum
into naughtiness by criticisms which the traditions of the paper do not
allow you to sign at the end, but which you take care to sign with the
most extravagant flourishes between the lines. I am not sure that this
is not a portent of Revolution. In eighteenth century France the end was
at hand when men bought the Encyclopedia and found Diderot there. When
I buy the Times and find you there, my prophetic ear catches a rattle of
twentieth century tumbrils.

However, that is not my present anxiety. The question is, will you not
be disappointed with a Don Juan play in which not one of that hero's
mille e tre adventures is brought upon the stage? To propitiate you, let
me explain myself. You will retort that I never do anything else: it
is your favorite jibe at me that what I call drama is nothing but
explanation. But you must not expect me to adopt your inexplicable,
fantastic, petulant, fastidious ways: you must take me as I am, a
reasonable, patient, consistent, apologetic, laborious person, with the
temperament of a schoolmaster and the pursuits of a vestryman. No doubt
that literary knack of mine which happens to amuse the British public
distracts attention from my character; but the character is there none
the less, solid as bricks. I have a conscience; and conscience is
always anxiously explanatory. You, on the contrary, feel that a man who
discusses his conscience is much like a woman who discusses her modesty.
The only moral force you condescend to parade is the force of your
wit: the only demand you make in public is the demand of your artistic
temperament for symmetry, elegance, style, grace, refinement, and the
cleanliness which comes next to godliness if not before it. But my
conscience is the genuine pulpit article: it annoys me to see people
comfortable when they ought to be uncomfortable; and I insist on making
them think in order to bring them to conviction of sin. If you don't
like my preaching you must lump it. I really cannot help it.

In the preface to my Plays for Puritans I explained the predicament of
our contemporary English drama, forced to deal almost exclusively with
cases of sexual attraction, and yet forbidden to exhibit the incidents
of that attraction or even to discuss its nature. Your suggestion that
I should write a Don Juan play was virtually a challenge to me to treat
this subject myself dramatically. The challenge was difficult enough
to be worth accepting, because, when you come to think of it, though we
have plenty of dramas with heroes and heroines who are in love and must
accordingly marry or perish at the end of the play, or about people
whose relations with one another have been complicated by the marriage
laws, not to mention the looser sort of plays which trade on the
tradition that illicit love affairs are at once vicious and delightful,
we have no modern English plays in which the natural attraction of the
sexes for one another is made the mainspring of the action. That is
why we insist on beauty in our performers, differing herein from the
countries our friend William Archer holds up as examples of seriousness
to our childish theatres. There the Juliets and Isoldes, 
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PG #: 24571
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/24571

Thorsten Kontowski, Irma Spehar, Markus Brenner and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net






                           Der Struwwelpeter

                            [Illustration]

                                 oder

                lustige Geschichten und drollige Bilder
                       für Kinder von 3–6 Jahren

                                  von
                         Dr. Heinrich Hoffmann

                             564. Auflage

             Rütten & Loening Verlag in Frankfurt am Main

                           =Originalausgabe=




Wie der »Struwwelpeter« entstand


Dr. Heinrich Hoffmann, der Verfasser des _»Struwwelpeter«_, erzählt
dessen Entstehung wie folgt:

»Gegen Weihnachten des Jahres 1844, als mein ältester Sohn drei Jahre
alt war, ging ich in die Stadt, um demselben zum Festgeschenke ein
Bilderbuch zu kaufen, wie es der Fassungskraft des kleinen menschlichen
Wesens in solchem Alter entsprechend schien. Aber was fand ich? Lange
Erzählungen oder alberne Bildersammlungen, moralische Geschichten, die
mit ermahnenden Vorschriften begannen und schlossen, wie: »Das brave
Kind muß wahrhaft sein«; oder: »Brave Kinder müssen sich reinlich
halten« etc. – Als ich nun gar endlich ein Foliobuch fand, in welchem
eine Bank, ein Stuhl, ein Topf und vieles andere, was wächst oder
gemacht wird, ein wahres Weltrepertorium, abgezeichnet war, und wo bei
jedem Bild fein säuberlich zu lesen war: die Hälfte, ein Drittel, oder
ein Zehntel der natürlichen Größe, da war es mit meiner Geduld aus.
Einem Kind, dem man eine Bank zeichnet, und das sich daran erfreuen
soll, ist dies eine Bank, eine wirkliche Bank. Und von der wirklichen
Lebensgröße der Bank, hat und braucht das Kind gar keinen Begriff zu
haben. Abstrakt denkt ja das Kind noch gar nicht, und die allgemeine
Warnung: »Du sollst nicht lügen!« hat wenig ausgerichtet im Vergleich
mit der Geschichte: »Fritz, Fritz, die Brücke kommt!«

Als ich damals heimkam, hatte ich aber _doch_ ein Buch mitgebracht; ich
überreichte es meiner Frau mit den Worten: »Hier ist das gewünschte Buch
für den Jungen!« Sie nahm es und rief verwundert: »Das ist ja ein
Schreibheft mit leeren weißen Blättern!« »Nun ja, da wollen wir ein Buch
daraus machen!«

Damit ging es nun aber so zu. Ich war damals, neben meinem Amt als Arzt
der Irrenanstalt, auch noch auf Praxis in der Stadt angewiesen. Nun ist
es ein eigen Ding um den Verkehr des Arztes mit Kindern von drei bis
sechs Jahren. In gesunden Tagen wird der Arzt und der Schornsteinfeger
gar oft als Erziehungsmittel gebraucht: »Kind, wenn du nicht brav bist,
kommt der Schornsteinfeger und holt dich!« oder: »Kind, wenn du zu viel
davon issest, so kommt der Doktor und gibt dir bittere Arznei, oder
setzt dir gar Blutegel an!« Die Folge ist, daß, wenn in schlimmen Zeiten
der Doktor gerufen in das Zimmer tritt, der kleine kranke Engel zu
heulen, sich zu wehren, und um sich zu treten anfängt. Eine Untersuchung
des Zustandes ist schlechterdings unmöglich; stundenlang aber kann der
Arzt nicht den Beruhigenden, Besänftigenden machen. Da half mir
gewöhnlich rasch ein Blättchen Papier und Bleistift; eine der
Geschichten wie sie in dem Buche stehen, wird rasch erfunden, mit drei
Strichen gezeichnet, und dazu möglichst lebendig erzählt. Der wilde
Oppositionsmann wird ruhig, die Tränen trocknen, und der Arzt kann
spielend seine Pflicht tun.

[Illustration: Heinrich Hoffmann]

So entstanden die meisten dieser tollen Szenen, und ich schöpfte sie aus
vorhandenem Vorrate; einiges wurde später dazu erfunden, die Bilder
wurden mit derselben Feder und Tinte gezeichnet, mit der ich erst die
Reime geschrieben hatte, alles unmittelbar und ohne schriftstellerische
Absichtlichkeit. Das Heft wurde eingebunden und auf den Weihnachtstisch
gelegt. Die Wirkung auf den beschenkten Knaben war die erwartete; aber
unerwartet war die auf einige erwachsene Freunde, die das Büchlein zu
Gesicht bekamen. Von allen Seiten wurde ich aufgefordert, es drucken zu
lassen und es zu veröffentlichen. Ich lehnte es anfangs ab; ich hatte
nicht im Entferntesten daran gedacht, als Kinderschriftsteller und
Bilderbüchler aufzutreten. Fast wider Willen wurde ich dazu gebracht als
ich einst in einer literarischen Abendgesellschaft mit dem einen meiner
jetzigen Verleger gemütlich bei der Flasche zusammensaß. Und so trat das
bescheidene Hauskind plötzlich hinaus in die weite offene Welt und
machte nun seine Reise, ich kann wohl sagen, um die Welt, und ist heute
seit einunddreißig Jahren bis zur _hundertsten_ Auflage gelangt. Von
Uebersetzungen ist mir bis jetzt eine englische, holländische, dänische,
schwedische, russische, französische, italienische, spanische und eine
portugiesische (für Brasilien) zu Gesicht gekommen.

Ich muß dabei auch des sonderbaren Erfolges erwähnen, den das Büchlein
anfangs in Frankfurt selbst hatte. In den ersten Monaten des Jahres
1846, nachdem der Struwwelpeter am vergangenen Christfest zum erstenmal
in die Kinderwelt getrete
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[Illustration]




My Man Jeeves

by P. G. Wodehouse

1919


Contents

 LEAVE IT TO JEEVES
 JEEVES AND THE UNBIDDEN GUEST
 JEEVES AND THE HARD-BOILED EGG
 ABSENT TREATMENT
 HELPING FREDDIE
 RALLYING ROUND OLD GEORGE
 DOING CLARENCE A BIT OF GOOD
 THE AUNT AND THE SLUGGARD




LEAVE IT TO JEEVES


Jeeves—my man, you know—is really a most extraordinary chap. So
capable. Honestly, I shouldn’t know what to do without him. On broader
lines he’s like those chappies who sit peering sadly over the marble
battlements at the Pennsylvania Station in the place marked
“Inquiries.” You know the Johnnies I mean. You go up to them and say:
“When’s the next train for Melonsquashville, Tennessee?” and they
reply, without stopping to think, “Two-forty-three, track ten, change
at San Francisco.” And they’re right every time. Well, Jeeves gives you
just the same impression of omniscience.

As an instance of what I mean, I remember meeting Monty Byng in Bond
Street one morning, looking the last word in a grey check suit, and I
felt I should never be happy till I had one like it. I dug the address
of the tailors out of him, and had them working on the thing inside the
hour.

“Jeeves,” I said that evening. “I’m getting a check suit like that one
of Mr. Byng’s.”

“Injudicious, sir,” he said firmly. “It will not become you.”

“What absolute rot! It’s the soundest thing I’ve struck for years.”

“Unsuitable for you, sir.”

Well, the long and the short of it was that the confounded thing came
home, and I put it on, and when I caught sight of myself in the glass I
nearly swooned. Jeeves was perfectly right. I looked a cross between a
music-hall comedian and a cheap bookie. Yet Monty had looked fine in
absolutely the same stuff. These things are just Life’s mysteries, and
that’s all there is to it.

But it isn’t only that Jeeves’s judgment about clothes is infallible,
though, of course, that’s really the main thing. The man knows
everything. There was the matter of that tip on the “Lincolnshire.” I
forget now how I got it, but it had the aspect of being the real,
red-hot tabasco.

“Jeeves,” I said, for I’m fond of the man, and like to do him a good
turn when I can, “if you want to make a bit of money have something on
Wonderchild for the ‘Lincolnshire.’”

He shook his head.

“I’d rather not, sir.”

“But it’s the straight goods. I’m going to put my shirt on him.”

“I do not recommend it, sir. The animal is not intended to win. Second
place is what the stable is after.”

Perfect piffle, I thought, of course. How the deuce could Jeeves know
anything about it? Still, you know what happened. Wonderchild led till
he was breathing on the wire, and then Banana Fritter came along and
nosed him out. I went straight home and rang for Jeeves.

“After this,” I said, “not another step for me without your advice.
From now on consider yourself the brains of the establishment.”

“Very good, sir. I shall endeavour to give satisfaction.”

And he has, by Jove! I’m a bit short on brain myself; the old bean
would appear to have been constructed more for ornament than for use,
don’t you know; but give me five minutes to talk the thing over with
Jeeves, and I’m game to advise any one about anything. And that’s why,
when Bruce Corcoran came to me with his troubles, my first act was to
ring the bell and put it up to the lad with the bulging forehead.

“Leave it to Jeeves,” I said.

I first got to know Corky when I came to New York. He was a pal of my
cousin Gussie, who was in with a lot of people down Washington Square
way. I don’t know if I ever told you about it, but the reason why I
left England was because I was sent over by my Aunt Agatha to try to
stop young Gussie marrying a girl on the vaudeville stage, and I got
the whole thing so mixed up that I decided that it would be a sound
scheme for me to stop on in America for a bit instead of going back and
having long cosy chats about the thing with aunt. So I sent Jeeves out
to find a decent apartment, and settled down for a bit of exile. I’m
bound to say that New York’s a topping place to be exiled in. Everybody
was awfully good to me, and there seemed to be plenty of things going
on, and I’m a wealthy bird, so everything was fine. Chappies introduced
me to other chappies, and so on and so forth, and it wasn’t long before
I knew squads of the right sort, some who rolled in dollars in houses
up by the Park, and others who lived with the gas turned down mostly
around Washington Square—artists and writers and so forth. Brainy
coves.

Corky was one of the artists. A portrait-painter, he called himself,
but he hadn’t painted any portraits. He was sitting on the side-lines
with a blanket over his shoulders, waiting for a chance to get into the
game. You see, the catch about portrait-painting—I’ve looked into the
thing a bit—is that you can’t start painting portraits till people come
along and ask you to, and they won’t come and ask you to until you’ve
painted a lot first. This makes it kind of difficult for a chapp
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PLAY DAYS


Bow!

I always begin a story that way. It is what you Two-Legged Folks call
“making your bow.” With us dogs it means “Hello” and “How do you do”
and “Good morning” and――and lots of other things too. And sometimes it
means “Look out!” You see, we have so many ways of saying it!

Perhaps some day I’ll tell you how to know just what we mean when we
say “Bow!”――like that――sort of quick and friendly; and what we mean
when we say it slow and gruff, way down in our throats.

And then there’s “Wow!” too. “Wow” is different from “Bow.” And
“Bow-wow” is still different. But this isn’t telling my story, is it?

Of course, you haven’t said you wanted me to tell you my story, but I’m
almost sure you do. I think you’ll like it, because I am a very good
story-teller――for a dog. And, although I am not quite three years old,
I have seen a lot of things in my day.

You won’t mind if I wag my tail now and then, will you? It is very hard
for a dog to tell a tale without wagging. Some folks say a dog talks
with his tail. He doesn’t though; not really. He just uses his tail
the way you Two-Legged Folks use your hands, to make others understand
better what you are saying.

When you tell a story you should always start right at the very
beginning, and that is what I am going to do.

The first thing I remember was when I was about two weeks old. I’m sure
you can’t remember when you were two weeks old. I think that is very
clever of me, don’t you? It shows what a fine memory I have. I was
lying in a sort of cage made of criss-cross wires. There was sawdust
on the floor. There were four of us in all, for I had two sisters and
one brother. My mother’s name was Gretchen and my father’s name was
Fritz. I am named after my father. He had two or three other names
besides, but they’re very hard to say, being German. You see my father
and mother were both born in Germany and brought to this country when
they were very young, and so, of course, they spoke German very nicely.
But they never taught it to me. I suppose there wasn’t time. There are
so many, many things a puppy has to learn. I didn’t see much of my
father when I was a tiny puppy. Sometimes he came to the cage where we
lived and licked our noses through the wires, but he was a very busy
dog and had lots of things to attend to.

My mother was very beautiful, with the loveliest soft brown eyes and
the longest, silkiest ears and quite the crookedest front legs you
ever saw. (You see, in my family crooked front legs are much admired.)
We all loved her very dearly, but I am afraid we caused her a lot of
trouble. But she was very fond of us and very proud of us. Sometimes
I wished she wasn’t so careful about keeping us clean, for lots of
times when I wanted to play with my brother and sisters I couldn’t
because she had to wash me all over. You see, puppies don’t like being
washed much more than you do; and I heard you making an awful fuss this
morning!

We lived very happily in the cage for several weeks. We ate and slept
and played, but most of all we ate and slept. At first it must have
been funny to see us trying to walk, for our legs were so weak that
they just sprawled out under us when we wanted to use them. But it
wasn’t long before we could run and jump as much as we pleased. I was
the biggest and the strongest of us all, and I think my mother was
every bit as fond of me as she was of my two sisters and my brother,
but it _did_ seem to me as if I got most of the punishment. Maybe I was
the naughtiest one, too!

As we grew older and stronger our mother used to leave us alone for a
little while every day, and we didn’t like that at all at first. We
used to whine and cry and feel very lonesome until she came back. But
she always _did_ come back, and pretty soon we got to know that she
would, and so we didn’t mind so much. We had some lovely frolics, we
puppies. We used to make believe that we were very cross, and tumble
each other over in the sawdust and bite each other’s ears and legs and
growl such funny little growls!

A man named William looked after us. He wore leather gaiters. They
tasted very well. Mother said he was a coachman. He was very kind to
us and brought us things to eat and water to drink and petted us a
lot. Then there was another man who only came to see us a few times.
We didn’t like him so well. He was a Doctor and smelled of medicine.
He came to see us once when my sister Freya was sick and once when I
had an awful pain in my insides. That was later, though, after we were
out of the cage and running around in the yard. It was when I ate the
harness soap. Mother told me afterwards that it was a mistake to eat
any kind of soap. I think she was right.

Then, of course, there was the Master, and the Mistress, and, best of
all, the Baby. She wasn’t exactly a baby, because she was almost two
years old, but every one called her the Baby. We all loved her very
much. She used to take us up one by one and kiss us on our noses and
call us “Booful dogums” and
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THE ESSAYS OF ARTHUR SCHOPENHAUER: STUDIES IN PESSIMISM

TRANSLATED BY

T. BAILEY SAUNDERS, M.A.







CONTENTS.


  ON THE SUFFERINGS OF THE WORLD
  ON THE VANITY OF EXISTENCE
  ON SUICIDE
  IMMORTALITY: A DIALOGUE
  PSYCHOLOGICAL OBSERVATIONS
  ON EDUCATION
  OF WOMEN
  ON NOISE
  A FEW PARABLES




NOTE.

The Essays here presented form a further selection from Schopenhauer's
_Parerga_, brought together under a title which is not to be found
in the original, and does not claim to apply to every chapter in
the volume. The first essay is, in the main, a rendering of the
philosopher's remarks under the heading of _Nachträge zur Lehre vom
Leiden der Welt_, together with certain parts of another section
entitled _Nachträge zur Lehre von der Bejahung und Verneinung des
Willens zum Leben_. Such omissions as I have made are directed chiefly
by the desire to avoid repeating arguments already familiar to readers
of the other volumes in this series. The _Dialogue on Immortality_
sums up views expressed at length in the philosopher's chief work, and
treated again in the _Parerga_. The _Psychological Observations_ in
this and the previous volume practically exhaust the chapter of the
original which bears this title.

The essay on _Women_ must not be taken in jest. It expresses
Schopenhauer's serious convictions; and, as a penetrating observer
of the faults of humanity, he may be allowed a hearing on a question
which is just now receiving a good deal of attention among us.

T.B.S.




ON THE SUFFERINGS OF THE WORLD.


Unless _suffering_ is the direct and immediate object of life, our
existence must entirely fail of its aim. It is absurd to look upon
the enormous amount of pain that abounds everywhere in the world, and
originates in needs and necessities inseparable from life itself, as
serving no purpose at all and the result of mere chance. Each separate
misfortune, as it comes, seems, no doubt, to be something exceptional;
but misfortune in general is the rule.

I know of no greater absurdity than that propounded by most systems of
philosophy in declaring evil to be negative in its character. Evil is
just what is positive; it makes its own existence felt. Leibnitz is
particularly concerned to defend this absurdity; and he seeks to
strengthen his position by using a palpable and paltry sophism.[1]
It is the good which is negative; in other words, happiness and
satisfaction always imply some desire fulfilled, some state of pain
brought to an end.

[Footnote 1: _Translator's Note_, cf. _Thèod_, §153.--Leibnitz argued
that evil is a negative quality--_i.e_., the absence of good; and that
its active and seemingly positive character is an incidental and not
an essential part of its nature. Cold, he said, is only the absence of
the power of heat, and the active power of expansion in freezing water
is an incidental and not an essential part of the nature of cold. The
fact is, that the power of expansion in freezing water is really an
increase of repulsion amongst its molecules; and Schopenhauer is quite
right in calling the whole argument a sophism.]

This explains the fact that we generally find pleasure to be not
nearly so pleasant as we expected, and pain very much more painful.

The pleasure in this world, it has been said, outweighs the pain; or,
at any rate, there is an even balance between the two. If the reader
wishes to see shortly whether this statement is true, let him compare
the respective feelings of two animals, one of which is engaged in
eating the other.

The best consolation in misfortune or affliction of any kind will
be the thought of other people who are in a still worse plight than
yourself; and this is a form of consolation open to every one. But
what an awful fate this means for mankind as a whole!

We are like lambs in a field, disporting themselves under the eye of
the butcher, who chooses out first one and then another for his prey.
So it is that in our good days we are all unconscious of the evil Fate
may have presently in store for us--sickness, poverty, mutilation,
loss of sight or reason.

No little part of the torment of existence lies in this, that Time is
continually pressing upon us, never letting us take breath, but always
coming after us, like a taskmaster with a whip. If at any moment Time
stays his hand, it is only when we are delivered over to the misery of
boredom.

But misfortune has its uses; for, as our bodily frame would burst
asunder if the pressure of the atmosphere was removed, so, if the
lives of men were relieved of all need, hardship and adversity; if
everything they took in hand were successful, they would be so swollen
with arrogance that, though they might not burst, they would present
the spectacle of unbridled folly--nay, they would go mad. And I may
say, further, that a certain amount of care or pain or trouble is
necessary for every man at all times. A ship without ballast is
unstable and will not go straight.

Certain it is that _work, worry, labor_ and _trouble_, f
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Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
      file which includes the original illustrations.
      See 29021-h.htm or 29021-h.zip:
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      Images of the original pages are available through
      Internet Archive/American Libraries. See
      http://www.archive.org/details/fairytalesofchar00perr





THE FAIRY TALES OF CHARLES PERRAULT

Illustrated by Harry Clarke

With an Introduction by Thomas Bodkin







George G. Harrap & Co. Ltd.
2 & 3 Portsmouth Street Kingsway
London. W.C.2.

First published August 1922




CONTENTS.


                                            PAGE

INTRODUCTION                                  9

LITTLE RED RIDING-HOOD                       21

THE FAIRY                                    27

BLUE BEARD                                   35

THE SLEEPING BEAUTY IN THE WOOD              47

THE MASTER CAT; OR, PUSS IN BOOTS            67

CINDERILLA; OR, THE LITTLE GLASS SLIPPER     77

RIQUET WITH THE TUFT                         93

LITTLE THUMB                                109

THE RIDICULOUS WISHES                       127

DONKEY-SKIN                                 137





LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


                                                                 PAGE

CINDERILLA AND HER PRINCE                               _Frontispiece_

"HE ASKED HER WHITHER SHE WAS GOING"                  _facing_    24

"'WHAT IS THIS I SEE?' SAID HER MOTHER"                           28

"'AM I COME HITHER TO SERVE YOU WITH WATER, PRAY?'"   _facing_    30

"'WHAT, IS NOT THE KEY OF MY CLOSET AMONG THE REST?'"             36

"THIS MAN HAD THE MISFORTUNE TO HAVE A BLUE BEARD"    _facing_    38

"AT THIS VERY INSTANT THE YOUNG FAIRY CAME OUT FROM
BEHIND THE HANGINGS"                                              48

THE PRINCE ENQUIRES OF THE AGED COUNTRYMAN            _facing_    54

"HE SAW, UPON A BED, THE FINEST SIGHT WAS EVER
BEHELD"                                               _facing_    56

"'I WILL HAVE IT SO,' REPLIED THE QUEEN, 'AND WILL
EAT HER WITH SAUCE ROBERT'"                                       59

"THE MARQUIS GAVE HIS HAND TO THE PRINCESS, AND
FOLLOWED THE KING, WHO WENT UP FIRST"                 _facing_    74

"AWAY SHE DROVE, SCARCE ABLE TO CONTAIN HERSELF FOR JOY"          78

"ANY ONE BUT CINDERILLA WOULD HAVE DRESSED THEIR
HEADS AWRY"                                           _facing_    80

"SHE LEFT BEHIND ONE OF HER GLASS SLIPPERS, WHICH THE
PRINCE TOOK UP MOST CAREFULLY"                                    87

"THE PRINCE BELIEVED HE HAD GIVEN HER MORE WITH THAN
HE HAD RESERVED FOR HIMSELF"                                      99

"RIQUET WITH THE TUFT APPEARED TO HER THE FINEST
PRINCE UPON EARTH"                                    _facing_   104

"LITTLE THUMB WAS AS GOOD AS HIS WORD, AND RETURNED
THAT SAME NIGHT WITH THE NEWS"                                   110

"HE BROUGHT THEM HOME BY THE VERY SAME WAY THEY CAME" _facing_   112

"JUPITER APPEARED BEFORE HIM WIELDING HIS MIGHTY
THUNDERBOLTS"                                                    128

"A LONG BLACK PUDDING CAME WINDING AND WRIGGLING
TOWARDS HER"                                          _facing_   130

"TRUTH TO TELL, THIS NEW ORNAMENT DID NOT SET OFF HER
BEAUTY"                                                          133

"ANOTHER GOWN THE COLOUR OF THE MOON"                            138

"HE THOUGHT THE PRINCESS WAS HIS QUEEN"                          143

"CURIOSITY MADE HIM PUT HIS EYE TO THE KEYHOLE"       _facing_   150




INTRODUCTION

    "Avec ardeur il aima les beaux arts."

                                   _Griselidis_


_Charles Perrault must have been as charming a fellow as a man could
meet. He was one of the best-liked personages of his own great age,
and he has remained ever since a prime favourite of mankind. We are
fortunate in knowing a great deal about his varied life, deriving our
knowledge mainly from D'Alembert's history of the French Academy and
from his own memoirs, which were written for his grandchildren, but
not published till sixty-six years after his death. We should, I
think, be more fortunate still if the memoirs had not ceased in
mid-career, or if their author had permitted himself to write of his
family affairs without reserve or restraint, in the approved manner of
modern autobiography. We should like, for example, to know much more
than we do about the wife and the two sons to whom he was so devoted._

_Perrault was born in Paris in 1628, the fifth son of Pierre Perrault,
a prosperous parliamentary lawyer; and, at the age of nine, was sent
to a day-school--the Collège de Beauvais. His father helped him with
his lessons at home, as he himself, later on, was accustomed to help
his own
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Salzburg, 1769.

MY DEAR YOUNG LADY,--

I beg you will pardon the liberty I take in plaguing you with these few
lines, but as you said yesterday that there was nothing you could not
understand in Latin, and I might write what I chose in that language, I
could not resist the bold impulse to write you a few Latin lines. When
you have deciphered these, be so good as to send me the answer by one of
Hagenauer's servants, for my messenger cannot wait; remember, you must
answer this by a letter.

[Footnote: By a messenger of the Hagenauer family, in whose house,
opposite the inn of "Den drei Allurten," Mozart was born, and with whom
his family were on the most intimate terms.]

"Cuperem scire, de qua causa, a quam plurimis adolescentibus ottium
usque adeo oestimetur, ut ipsi se nec verbis, nec verberibus ad hoc
sinant abduci."

[Footnote: "I should like to know the reason why indolence is so highly
prized by very many young men, that neither by words nor blows will they
suffer themselves to be roused from it."]

WOLFGANG MOZART.



The father's plan to go to Italy, there to lay the foundation of a
European reputation for his son, was realized in the beginning of
December, 1769, and during the journey, the boy, who was at that time
just entering his fifteenth year, subjoined to his father's reports
scraps of his own writing, in which, in true boyish fashion, he had
recourse to all kinds of languages and witticisms, but always exhibiting
in his opinions on music the closest observation, the gravest thought,
and the most acute judgment.




Verona, Jan. 1770.

MY VERY DEAREST SISTER,--

I have at last got a letter a span long after hoping so much for an
answer that I lost patience; and I had good cause to do so before
receiving yours at last. The German blockhead having said his say, now
the Italian one begins. Lei e piu franca nella lingua italiana di quel
che mi ho immaginato. Lei mi dica la cagione perche lei non fu nella
commedia che hanno giocata i Cavalieri. Adesso sentiamo sempre una opera
titolata Il Ruggiero. Oronte, il padre di Bradamante, e un principe (il
Signor Afferi) bravo cantante, un baritono, [Footnote: "You are more
versed in the Italian language than I believed. Tell me why you were not
one of the actors in the comedy performed by the Cavaliers. We are now
hearing an opera called 'Il Ruggiero.' Oronte, the father of Bradamante,
is a Prince (acted by Afferi, a good singer, a baritone)."] but very
affected when he speaks out a falsetto, but not quite so much so as
Tibaldi in Vienna. Bradamante innamorata di Ruggiero (ma [Footnote:
"Bradamante is enamored of Ruggiero, but"]--she is to marry Leone, but
will not) fa una povera Baronessa, che ha avuto una gran disgrazia, ma
non so la quale; recita [Footnote: "Pretends to be a poor Baroness who
has met with some great misfortune, but what it is I don't know, she
performs"] under an assumed name, but the name I forget; ha una voce
passabile, e la statura non sarebbe male, ma distuona come il diavolo.
Ruggiero, un ricco principe innamorato di Bradamante, e un musico; canta
un poco Manzuolisch [Footnote: Manzuoli was a celebrated soprano, from
whom Mozart had lessons in singing when in London.] ed ha una bellissima
voce forte ed e gia vecchio; ha 55 anni, ed ha una [Footnote: "She has
a tolerable voice, and her appearance is in her favor, but she sings out
of tune like a devil Ruggiero, a rich Prince enamored of Bradamante, is
a musico, and sings rather in Manzuoli's style, and has a fine powerful
voice, though quite old; he is fifty-five, and has a"] flexible voice.
Leone is to marry Bradamante--richississimo e, [Footnote: "Immensely
rich."] but whether he is rich off the stage I can't say. La moglie di
Afferi, che ha una bellissima voce, ma e tanto susurro nel teatro che
non si sente niente. Irene fa una sorella di Lolli, del gran violinista
che habbiamo sentito a Vienna, a una [Footnote: "Afferi's wife has a
most beautiful voice, but sings so softly on the stage that you really
hear nothing at all. A sister of Lolli, the great violinist whom we
heard at Vienna, acts Irene; she has a"] very harsh voce, e canta sempre
[Footnote: "Voice, and always sings"] a quaver too tardi o troppo a
buon' ora. Granno fa un signore, che non so come si chiame; e la prima
volta che lui recita. [Footnote: "Slow or too fast. Ganno is acted by
a gentleman whose name I never heard. It is his first appearance on the
stage."] There is a ballet between each act. We have a good dancer here
called Roessler. He is a German, and dances right well. The very last
time we were at the opera (but not, I hope, the very last time we ever
shall be there) we got M. Roessler to come up to our palco, (for M.
Carlotti gives us his box, of which we have the key,) and conversed with
him. Apropos, every one is now in maschera, and one great convenience
is, that if you fasten your mask on your hat you have the privilege
of not taking off your hat when any one speaks to you; and you never
address the
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  CHINA AND POTTERY MARKS


  GILMAN COLLAMORE & CO. INC.


  15 EAST 56th STREET
  NEW YORK




_Traditions and Old China_

_Copyright, 1920, Gilman Collamore & Company, Inc._




_Traditions and Old China_


From early days when the ancients showed their appreciation of fine
pottery and old glassware by burying "these most esteemed possessions"
with the dead, fine china has been synonymous with culture and breeding.
With our ancestors for generations we share the tradition that, just as
first editions give prestige to one's book shelves, old china or the
finest work of the modern kilns express readily that good taste and
discrimination that is characteristic of our old families.

A wealth of association and historic data is to be acquired from the study
of the "fabrique marks" and periods of the master craftsmen. If in America
there was a general tendency toward acquiring, even a smattering, of this
knowledge, there would be less of these drawing-room atrocities which
Arthur Hayden in his "Chats on English Earthenware" points out, "To have a
modern set of vases adorning a Georgian cabinet is like putting new wine
in old bottles."

For the convenience of the seasoned collector, as well as the beginner,
in this book is a representative list of better known marks by which china
can be identified. While it is not possible to include a complete list,
particularly those of extremely rare specimens, those compiled have
particular reference to the marks of English china which is greatly in
demand by collectors. These will suffice to enable the reader to identify
pieces whenever encountered.

The signatures or mark which the master craftsmen in earth or clay signed
their products, just as a painter signs his work, were often specially
designed devices of various kinds, often a combination of initials and
dates. Each "fabrique mark" stands for a certain potter's art just as the
modern trade-mark.

Beginning more than a half century ago in the old La Farge House in lower
Broadway (where John La Farge was born) the house of Gilman Collamore and
Company has done much to develop an appreciation of fine china in America.
It was one of the first houses to bring over from England and France
china, both modern and old, for its American clients. At this time many
fine specimens of old china are on view as well as complete stocks from
the modern English and Continental manufacture.

  GILMAN COLLAMORE & COMPANY, INC.
    15 EAST 56TH STREET
      NEW YORK




Germany and Austria


[Illustration]

DRESDEN

MEISSEN. Established in 1709. Mark used to 1712, in blue. Hard paste.

[Illustration]

DRESDEN

Mark used from 1712 to 1720, in blue. Hard paste.

[Illustration]

DRESDEN

About 1720, mark in blue. Hard paste.

[Illustration]

DRESDEN

1730, mark in blue. Hard paste.

[Illustration]

DRESDEN

1796. MARCOLINI (Director) PERIOD. Mark in blue. Hard paste.

[Illustration]

DRESDEN

Royal pieces only. Mark in blue. Hard paste.

[Illustration]

DRESDEN

Present mark. This mark with two scratches across it shows imperfect
pieces which may or may not have been decorated in the factory. Hard
paste.

[Illustration]

VIENNA

Established in 1718. This mark first used in 1744. Hard paste.

Royal factory discontinued in 1864.

[Illustration]

BERLIN

Established in 1751. Wegeleys' mark. Hard paste.

[Illustration]

BERLIN

In 1763 became a royal establishment. Mark in blue. Sometimes an eagle
added.

[Illustration]

BERLIN

Different kind of sceptre. In blue. Hard paste.

[Illustration]

BERLIN

An extra mark used in 1830 with the sceptre, which is the present mark.
This mark complete is never used except with perfect pieces decorated in
the factory. Decorated pieces bearing the blue sceptre mark only are
decorated outside of the factory.

[Illustration]

HOCHST, near MAYENCE

Founded in 1720. This mark, used about 1740, in gold, red, or blue. Hard
paste.

[Illustration]

HOCHST, near MAYENCE

Hard paste.

[Illustration]

FRANKENTHAL

1755 to 1761. First period. Hard paste.

[Illustration]

FRANKENTHAL

1799, second period. Carl Theodore. Hard paste.

[Illustration]

FRANKENTHAL

Phillipp Hanong (Director). Hard paste.

[Illustration]

FRANKENTHAL

Joseph Adam Hanong (Director). Hard paste.

[Illustration]

FRANKENTHAL

John Hanong (Director). Hard paste.

[Illustration]

FRANKENTHAL

1800. Franz Bartolo (Director). Hard paste.

[Illustration]

NYMPHENBURG

Established in 1747. Hard paste.

[Illustration]

NYMPHENBURG

Hard paste.

[Illustration]

NYMPHENBURG

An early mark in blue. Hard paste.

[Illustration]

FURSTENBURG

Established in 1750. Hard paste.

[Illustration]

FURSTENBURG

1758. Hard paste.

[Illustration]

LUDWIGSBURG or KRONENBURG

Established in 1758 to 1806. Hard paste.

[Illustration]

LUDWIGSBURG

First period. Hard paste.

[Illustration]

LUDWIGSBURG

Second period. Hard paste.

[Illustration]

LUDWIGSBURG

Hard paste. Mark in blue.

[Il
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 4361
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/4361


FROM 1820 TO THE MEXICAN WAR.

1820-1846.

According to Cothren, in his "History of Ancient Woodbury,
Connecticut," the Sherman family came from Dedham, Essex County,
England.  The first recorded name is of Edmond Sherman, with his
three sons, Edmond, Samuel, and John, who were at Boston before
1636; and farther it is distinctly recorded that Hon. Samuel
Sherman, Rev. John, his brother, and Captain John, his first
cousin, arrived from Dedham, Essex County, England, in 1634.
Samuel afterward married Sarah Mitchell, who had come (in the same
ship) from England, and finally settled at Stratford, Connecticut.
The other two (Johns) located at Watertown, Massachusetts.

From Captain John Sherman are descended Roger Sherman, the signer
of the Declaration of Independence, Hon. William M. Evarts, the
Messrs. Hoar, of Massachusetts, and many others of national fame.
Our own family are descended from the Hon. Samuel Sherman and his
son; the Rev. John, who was born in 1650-'51; then another John,
born in 1687; then Judge Daniel, born in 1721; then Taylor Sherman,
our grandfather, who was born in 1758.  Taylor Sherman was a lawyer
and judge in Norwalk, Connecticut, where he resided until his
death, May 4, 1815; leaving a widow, Betsey Stoddard Sherman, and
three children, Charles R. (our father), Daniel, and Betsey.

When the State of Connecticut, in 1786, ceded to the United States
her claim to the western part of her public domain, as defined by
her Royal Charter, she reserved a large district in what is now
northern Ohio, a portion of which (five hundred thousand acres)
composed the "Fire-Land District," which was set apart to indemnify
the parties who had lost property in Connecticut by the raids of
Generals Arnold, Tryon, and others during the latter part of the
Revolutionary War.

Our grandfather, Judge Taylor Sherman, was one of the commissioners
appointed by the State of Connecticut to quiet the Indian title,
and to survey and subdivide this Fire-Land District, which includes
the present counties of Huron and Erie.  In his capacity as
commissioner he made several trips to Ohio in the early part of
this century, and it is supposed that he then contracted the
disease which proved fatal.  For his labor and losses he received a
title to two sections of land, which fact was probably the prime
cause of the migration of our family to the West.  My father
received a good education, and was admitted to the bar at Norwalk,
Connecticut, where, in 1810, he, at twenty years of age, married
Mary Hoyt, also of Norwalk, and at once migrated to Ohio, leaving
his wife (my mother) for a time.  His first purpose was to settle
at Zanesville, Ohio, but he finally chose Lancaster, Fairfield
County, where he at once engaged in the practice of his
profession.  In 1811 he returned to Norwalk, where, meantime, was
born Charles Taylor Sherman, the eldest of the family, who with his
mother was carried to Ohio on horseback.

Judge Taylor Sherman's family remained in Norwalk till 1815, when
his death led to the emigration of the remainder of the family,
viz., of Uncle Daniel Sherman, who settled at Monroeville, Ohio, as
a farmer, where he lived and died quite recently, leaving children
and grandchildren;  and an aunt, Betsey, who married Judge Parker,
of Mansfield, and died in 1851, leaving children and grandchildren;
also Grandmother Elizabeth Stoddard Sherman, who resided with her
daughter, Mrs. Betsey Parker, in Mansfield until her death, August
1,1848.

Thus my father, Charles R. Sherman, became finally established at
Lancaster, Ohio, as a lawyer, with his own family in the year 1811,
and continued there till the time of his death, in 1829.  I have no
doubt that he was in the first instance attracted to Lancaster by
the natural beauty of its scenery, and the charms of its already
established society.  He continued in the practice of his
profession, which in those days was no sinecure, for the ordinary
circuit was made on horseback, and embraced Marietta, Cincinnati,
and Detroit.  Hardly was the family established there when the War
of 1812 caused great alarm and distress in all Ohio.  The English
captured Detroit and the shores of Lake Erie down to the Maumee
River; while the Indians still occupied the greater part of the
State.  Nearly every man had to be somewhat of a soldier, but I
think my father was only a commissary; still, he seems to have
caught a fancy for the great chief of the Shawnees, "Tecumseh."

Perry's victory on Lake Erie was the turning-point of the Western
campaign, and General Harrison's victory over the British and
Indians at the river Thames in Canada ended the war in the West,
and restored peace and tranquillity to the exposed settlers of
Ohio.  My father at once resumed his practice at the bar, and was
soon recognized as an able and successful lawyer.  When, in 1816,
my brother James was born, he insisted on engrafting the Indian
name "Tecumseh" on the usual family list.  My mother had already
named her first son 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65127
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65127

Why would strangers abduct an insane girl
            from a psychiatric ward? Jim Lawrence found out
            that to answer this question he had to face a--

                           Menace From Vega

                           By Robert Randall

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                               June 1958
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


The tall, darkly handsome man was grinning at Dr. James Lawrence from
the wrong side of a gun.

"Don't do anything foolish," the stranger said.

The psychiatrist swallowed and looked at the muzzle of the weapon. The
gun didn't look like any he had ever seen before, but he had no doubt
that it was deadly.

"What do you want?" he asked. He had never faced a gun before, but he
found, oddly enough, that he wasn't at all frightened. There was simply
a tense expectancy, a feeling of what's-coming-next? and no more.

"You have a patient at this hospital named Bette Bauer?" It was half a
question, half a statement.

Jim Lawrence looked at the intruder without answering. He knew Bette
Bauer--a tall, beautiful brunette with deep grey-green eyes. There was
nothing behind those eyes. She had been in St. Paul's Neuropsychiatric
Hospital for three years--a schizophrenic catatonic, completely out of
touch with the real world.

"You're behaving childishly," said the man with the odd-looking gun,
softly. "All I have to do is look through your files. Where is she?"

Lawrence shrugged. "Ward 3, Room 41. Why do you want to know?" He
glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly midnight.

"It doesn't matter," the stranger said. "Come along. Lead us to where
she is confined."

Outside the office, there were four men. They held their hands in
their pockets as though there were guns there. Lawrence glanced from
one to another. They all looked somewhat alike, all with that same dark
slimness and hardness of feature.

"What do you want?" Lawrence demanded.

"Just take us to Bette Bauer," the leader said. "If you do not, you
will be shot." He smiled.

It was the sight of that smile that made Jim Lawrence realize the cold
dangerousness of the man.

"Very well," Jim said. "Come this way."

As he led them down the hall toward Ward 3, Jim wondered about these
men. What interest could they have in Bette Bauer? She had once been
a brilliant physicist, and had shown signs of actual genius. But
something had happened to her shortly after she had received her
doctor's degree in theoretical physics. Her mind had become unbalanced,
and she had been committed to St. Paul's Hospital.

As Chief Psychiatrist, Dr. James Lawrence had worked with her
regularly; he was deeply interested in the girl. But he had been
completely unable to break the dazed, trancelike state that she had
been in for the past three years.

What did these five men want with her? And who _were_ they, anyway?
There was something odd about them, even aside from the peculiar
gun that the leader carried. Their clothes seemed wrong, as though
they weren't used to wearing them; their speech was strange in some
undefinable way.

When they reached Ward 3, Jim Lawrence took the keys from his pocket
and unlocked the main door. A night nurse at the desk looked up and
smiled.

"Good evening, Dr. Lawrence," she said sweetly. Then she saw the men
behind him, and her eyebrows lifted.

"We want to see Bette Bauer," Jim said, keeping his voice even.

"Certainly, Doctor." She led the way down the corridor to Room 41.
It was a padded cell; with Dr. Bette Bauer, naked to prevent her
from harming herself with her clothing, lying on the floor, crooning
mindlessly, her grey-green eyes staring out into nothingness.

The dark man said, "That's her. Pick her up."

As the four silent followers moved forward, Jim saw that the leader was
watching them--he had taken his eyes off Jim himself.

Lawrence reached out and made a grab for the gun--but the dark man was
a move ahead of him. He moved away smoothly, whirled, and brought the
gun down stunningly on Jim's head.

Jim threw a wild, wobbly punch at the man, and then the other four
moved in on him. He fought back blindly for a few moments, but then a
fist raked across his jaw, another smashed into his stomach, and the
gun descended a second time. It caught him on the side of the head, and
he sagged to the floor.

The thick padding was the last thing he felt before he blacked out.

       *       *       *       *       *

The pain of awakening was worse than the pain of the blow. Jim's head
throbbed as though there were a motorcycle engine inside it.

When he opened his eyes, the pain became worse. A brilliant light was
shining directly into his eyes. He winced and closed them again.

"Dim the light," said a softly slurred voice.

Jim opened his eyes again. This time, he saw what was standing over
him, and he recoiled in horr
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 10607
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10607




A LIST OF THE RHYMES

Little Bo-Peep
Little Boy Blue
Rain
The Clock
Winter
Fingers and Toes
A Seasonable Song
Dame Trot and Her Cat
Three Children on the Ice
Cross Patch
The Old Woman Under a Hill
Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-Dee
Oh Dear!
Old Mother Goose
Little Jumping Joan
Pat-a-Cake
Money and the Mare
Robin Redbreast
A Melancholy Song
Jack
Going to St. Ives
Thirty Days Hath September
Baby Dolly
Bees
Come Out to Play
If Wishes Were Horses
To Market
Old Chairs to Mend
Robin and Richard
A Man and a Maid
Here Goes My Lord
The Clever Hen
Two Birds
Leg Over Leg
Lucy Locket
When Jenny Wren Was Young
Barber
The Flying Pig
Solomon Grundy
Hush-a-Bye
Burnie Bee
Three Wise Men of Gotham
The Hunter of Reigate
Little Polly Flinders
Ride Away, Ride Away
Pippen Hill
Pussy-Cat and Queen
The Winds
Clap Handies
Christmas
Elizabeth
Just Like Me
Play Days
Heigh-Ho, the Carrion Crow
ABC
A Needle and Thread
Banbury Cross
The Man in Our Town
Georgy Porgy
For Every Evil
Cushy Cow
Wee Willie Winkie
About the Bush
See-Saw
Robin-a-Bobbin
John Smith
Simple Simon
Three Blind Mice
Five Toes
A Little Man
Doctor Foster
Diddle Diddle Dumpling
Jerry Hall
Lengthening Days
The Black Hen
The Mist
A Candle
Miss Muffet
Curly-Locks
Humpty Dumpty
One, Two, Three
The Dove and the Wren
Master I Have
Pins
Shall We Go A-Shearing?
Goosey, Goosey, Gander
Old Mother Hubbard
The Cock and the Hen
Blue Bell Boy
Why May Not I Love Johnny?
Jack Jelf
Jack Sprat
Hush-a-Bye
Daffodils
The Girl in the Lane
Hush-a-Bye
Nancy Dawson
Handy Pandy
Jack and Jill
The Alphabet
Dance to Your Daddie
One Misty Moisty Morning
Robin Hood and Little John
Rain
The Old Woman from France
Teeth and Gums
The Robins
The Old Man
T'Other Little Tune
My Kitten
If All the Seas Were One Sea
Pancake Day
A Plum Pudding
Forehead, Eyes, Cheeks, Nose, etc.
Two Pigeons
A Sure Test
Lock and Key
The Lion and the Unicorn
The Merchants of London
To Babylon
I'll Tell You a Story
A Strange Old Woman
Sleep, Baby, Sleep
Cry, Baby
Baa, Baa, Black Sheep
Little Fred
The Cat and the Fiddle
Doctor Fell
A Counting-Out Rhyme
Jack and His Fiddle
Buttons
Hot Boiled Beans
Little Pussy
Sing a Song of Sixpence
Tommy Tittlemouse
The Derby Ram
The Hobby-Horse
The Mulberry Bush
Young Lambs to Sell
Boy and the Sparrow
Old Woman, Old Woman
The First of May
Sulky Sue
The House That Jack Built
Saturday, Sunday
Little Jenny Wren
The Old Woman and the Pedlar
Bobby Snooks
The Little Moppet
A Walnut
The Man in the Moon
One, He Loves
Bat, Bat
Hark! Hark!
The Hart
My Love
The Man of Bombay
Poor Old Robinson Crusoe!
A Sieve
My Maid Mary
A Difficult Rhyme
Pretty John Watts
Good Advice
Bye, Baby Bunting
Tom, Tom, the Piper's Son
Comical Folk
Cock-Crow
Tommy Snooks
The Three Sons
The Blacksmith
Two Gray Kits
One, Two, Buckle My Shoe
Cock-a-Doodle-Do!
Pairs or Pears
Belleisle
Old King Cole
See, See
Dapple-Gray
A Well
Coffee and Tea
Pussy-Cat Mew
The Little Girl with a Curl
Dreams
A Cock and Bull Story
For Baby
Myself
Over the Water
Candle-Saving
Fears and Tears
The Kilkenny Cats
Old Grimes
A Week of Birthdays
A Chimney
Ladybird
The Man Who Had Naught
The Tailors and the Snail
Around the Green Gravel
Intery, Mintery
Caesar's Song
As I Was Going Along
Hector Protector
Billy, Billy
Rock-a-Bye, Baby
The Man in the Wilderness
Little Jack Horner
The Bird Scarer
Mary, Mary, Quite Contrary
Bessy Bell and Mary Gray
Needles and Pins
Pussy-Cat and the Dumplings
Dance, Thumbkin, Dance
Mary's Canary
The Little Bird
Birds of a Feather
The Dusty Miller
A Star
The Greedy Man
The Ten O'Clock Scholar
Cock-a-Doodle-Do
An Icicle
A Ship's Nail
The Old Woman of Leeds
The Boy in the Barn
Sunshine
Willy, Willy
Tongs
Jack Jingle
The Quarrel
The Pumpkin-Eater
Shoeing
Betty Blue
That's All
Bedtime
Dance, Little Baby
My Little Maid
For Want of a Nail
Pease Porridge
Ring a Ring o' Roses
The Crooked Sixpence
This Is the Way
Ducks and Drakes
The Donkey
If
The Bells
Little Girl and Queen
The King of France
Peter Piper
One to Ten
An Equal
The Tarts
Come, Let's to Bed
Little Maid
What Are Little Boys Made Of?
Bandy Legs
The Girl and the Birds
A Pig
Jenny Wren
Little Tom Tucker
Where Are You Going, My Pretty
Maid?
The Old Woman of Gloucester
Multiplication Is Vexation
Little King Boggen
Whistle
Bell Horses
Taffy
The Robin
The Old Woman of Harrow
Young Roger and Dolly
The Piper and His Cow
The Man of Derby
The Coachman
There was an Old Woman
A Thorn
The Old Woman of Surrey
The Little Mouse
Boy and Girl
When
Sing, Sing
London Bridge
March Winds
The Balloon
A Cherry
The Lost Shoe
Hot Codlins
Swan
Three Straws
The Man of Tobago
Ding, Dong, Bell
A Sunshiny Shower
The Farmer and the Raven
Christmas
Willy Boy
Polly and Sukey
The Death and Burial of Poor Cock Robin
The Mouse and the Clock
Hot-Cross Buns
Bobby Shaftoe
The Bunch of Blue Ribbons
The Woman of Exeter
Sneezing
Pussy-Cat by the Fire
When the Snow Is on the Ground


AN ALPHABETICAL LIST OF
FIRST LINES

A, B, C, and D
About the bush, Willie
A carrion crow sat on an oak
A diller, a dollar, a ten o'clock scholar!
A duc
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 1056
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1056



The one opened the door with a latch-key and went in, followed by a
young fellow who awkwardly removed his cap. He wore rough clothes that
smacked of the sea, and he was manifestly out of place in the spacious
hall in which he found himself. He did not know what to do with his
cap, and was stuffing it into his coat pocket when the other took it
from him. The act was done quietly and naturally, and the awkward young
fellow appreciated it. “He understands,” was his thought. “He’ll see me
through all right.”

He walked at the other’s heels with a swing to his shoulders, and his
legs spread unwittingly, as if the level floors were tilting up and
sinking down to the heave and lunge of the sea. The wide rooms seemed
too narrow for his rolling gait, and to himself he was in terror lest
his broad shoulders should collide with the doorways or sweep the
bric-a-brac from the low mantel. He recoiled from side to side between
the various objects and multiplied the hazards that in reality lodged
only in his mind. Between a grand piano and a centre-table piled high
with books was space for a half a dozen to walk abreast, yet he essayed
it with trepidation. His heavy arms hung loosely at his sides. He did
not know what to do with those arms and hands, and when, to his excited
vision, one arm seemed liable to brush against the books on the table,
he lurched away like a frightened horse, barely missing the piano
stool. He watched the easy walk of the other in front of him, and for
the first time realized that his walk was different from that of other
men. He experienced a momentary pang of shame that he should walk so
uncouthly. The sweat burst through the skin of his forehead in tiny
beads, and he paused and mopped his bronzed face with his handkerchief.

“Hold on, Arthur, my boy,” he said, attempting to mask his anxiety with
facetious utterance. “This is too much all at once for yours truly.
Give me a chance to get my nerve. You know I didn’t want to come, an’ I
guess your fam’ly ain’t hankerin’ to see me neither.”

“That’s all right,” was the reassuring answer. “You mustn’t be
frightened at us. We’re just homely people—Hello, there’s a letter for
me.”

He stepped back to the table, tore open the envelope, and began to
read, giving the stranger an opportunity to recover himself. And the
stranger understood and appreciated. His was the gift of sympathy,
understanding; and beneath his alarmed exterior that sympathetic
process went on. He mopped his forehead dry and glanced about him with
a controlled face, though in the eyes there was an expression such as
wild animals betray when they fear the trap. He was surrounded by the
unknown, apprehensive of what might happen, ignorant of what he should
do, aware that he walked and bore himself awkwardly, fearful that every
attribute and power of him was similarly afflicted. He was keenly
sensitive, hopelessly self-conscious, and the amused glance that the
other stole privily at him over the top of the letter burned into him
like a dagger-thrust. He saw the glance, but he gave no sign, for among
the things he had learned was discipline. Also, that dagger-thrust went
to his pride. He cursed himself for having come, and at the same time
resolved that, happen what would, having come, he would carry it
through. The lines of his face hardened, and into his eyes came a
fighting light. He looked about more unconcernedly, sharply observant,
every detail of the pretty interior registering itself on his brain.
His eyes were wide apart; nothing in their field of vision escaped; and
as they drank in the beauty before them the fighting light died out and
a warm glow took its place. He was responsive to beauty, and here was
cause to respond.

An oil painting caught and held him. A heavy surf thundered and burst
over an outjutting rock; lowering storm-clouds covered the sky; and,
outside the line of surf, a pilot-schooner, close-hauled, heeled over
till every detail of her deck was visible, was surging along against a
stormy sunset sky. There was beauty, and it drew him irresistibly. He
forgot his awkward walk and came closer to the painting, very close.
The beauty faded out of the canvas. His face expressed his
bepuzzlement. He stared at what seemed a careless daub of paint, then
stepped away. Immediately all the beauty flashed back into the canvas.
“A trick picture,” was his thought, as he dismissed it, though in the
midst of the multitudinous impressions he was receiving he found time
to feel a prod of indignation that so much beauty should be sacrificed
to make a trick. He did not know painting. He had been brought up on
chromos and lithographs that were always definite and sharp, near or
far. He had seen oil paintings, it was true, in the show windows of
shops, but the glass of the windows had prevented his eager eyes from
approaching too near.

He glanced around at his friend reading the letter and saw the books on
the table. Into his eyes leaped a wistfulness and a yearning as
promptly as 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 26073
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/26073

[Transcriber’s Note:

This e-text covers the second half, Books VIII-XV, of Henry T. Riley’s
1851 translation of Ovid’s Metamorphoses. The first half, Books I-VII,
is already available from Project Gutenberg as e-text 21765. Note that
this text, unlike the earlier one, is based solely on the 1893 George
Bell reprint.

The text includes characters that will only display in UTF-8 (Unicode)
text readers, including many single words of Greek in the Notes:

  œ, Œ (oe ligature)
  κείρω, ἀκονιτὶ

If any of these characters do not display properly, or if the
apostrophes and quotation marks in this paragraph appear as garbage,
make sure your text reader’s “character set” or “file encoding” is set
to Unicode (UTF-8). You may also need to change the default font. As a
last resort, use the latin-1 version of the file instead.

In the original text, words and phrases supplied by the translator
were printed in _italics_. In this e-text they are shown in braces {}.
Italics in the notes and commentary are shown conventionally with
_lines_. Square brackets [] in the body text are in the original.

Line numbers from the Latin poem--not its prose translation--were
printed as headnotes on each page. For this e-text, only the line
numbers of each complete “Fable” are given. Line numbers used in
footnotes are retained from the original text; these, too, refer to
the Latin poem and are independent of line divisions in the translation.

In Transcriber’s Notes, references to Clarke are from the third
edition (1752).]




                      The

                 METAMORPHOSES

                       of

                      OVID.


    Literally Translated into English Prose,
      with Copious Notes and Explanations,


            BY HENRY T. RILEY, B.A.
           of Clare Hall, Cambridge.


                    LONDON:

  GEORGE BELL & SONS, YORK ST., COVENT GARDEN,
                 AND NEW YORK.

                     1893.




                    LONDON:

      Reprinted from the Stereotype Plates
          by Wm. Clowes & Sons, Ltd.,
       Stamford Street and Charing Cross.




[The Introduction is included here for completeness, omitting the
Synopses of Books I-VII.]


INTRODUCTION.


The Metamorphoses of Ovid are a compendium of the Mythological
narratives of ancient Greece and Rome, so ingeniously framed, as to
embrace a large amount of information upon almost every subject
connected with the learning, traditions, manners, and customs of
antiquity, and have afforded a fertile field of investigation to the
learned of the civilized world. To present to the public a faithful
translation of a work, universally esteemed, not only for its varied
information, but as being the masterpiece of one of the greatest Poets
of ancient Rome, is the object of the present volume.

To render the work, which, from its nature and design, must, of
necessity, be replete with matter of obscure meaning, more inviting to
the scholar, and more intelligible to those who are unversed in
Classical literature, the translation is accompanied with Notes and
Explanations, which, it is believed, will be found to throw considerable
light upon the origin and meaning of some of the traditions of heathen
Mythology.

In the translation, the text of the Delphin edition has been generally
adopted; and no deviation has been made from it, except in a few
instances, where the reason for such a step is stated in the notes;
at the same time, the texts of Burmann and Gierig have throughout been
carefully consulted. The several editions vary materially in respect to
punctuation; the Translator has consequently used his own discretion in
adopting that which seemed to him the most fully to convey in each
passage the intended meaning of the writer.

The Metamorphoses of Ovid have been frequently translated into the
English language. On referring to Mr. Bohn’s excellent Catalogue of the
Greek and Latin Classics and their Translations, we find that the whole
of the work has been twice translated into English Prose, while five
translations in Verse are there enumerated. A prose version of the
Metamorphoses was published by Joseph Davidson, about the middle of
the last century, which professes to be “as near the original as the
different idioms of the Latin and English will allow;” and to be
“printed for the use of schools, as well as of private gentlemen.” A few
moments’ perusal of this work will satisfy the reader that it has not
the slightest pretension to be considered a literal translation, while,
by its departure from the strict letter of the author, it has gained
nothing in elegance of diction. It is accompanied by “critical,
historical, geographical, and classical notes in English, from the best
Commentators, both ancient and modern, beside a great number of notes,
entirely new;” but notwithstanding this announcement, these annotations
will be found to be but few in number, and, with some exceptions in the
early part of the volume, to throw very little light on the o
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 63107
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/63107

generously made available by Hathi Trust.)






MRS DALLOWAY IN BOND STREET


BY VIRGINIA WOOLF




THE

DIAL

[Illustration]

VOLUME LXXV

_July to December, 1923_



THE DIAL PUBLISHING COMPANY




MRS DALLOWAY IN BOND STREET

BY VIRGINIA WOOLF


Mrs Dalloway said she would buy the gloves herself.

Big Ben was striking as she stepped out into the street. It was eleven
o'clock and the unused hour was fresh as if issued to children on a
beach. But there was something solemn in the deliberate swing of the
repeated strokes; something stirring in the murmur of wheels and the
shuffle of footsteps.

No doubt they were not all bound on errands of happiness. There is much
more to be said about us than that we walk the streets of Westminster.
Big Ben too is nothing but steel rods consumed by rust were it not for
the care of H. M.'s Office of Works. Only for Mrs Dalloway the moment
was complete; for Mrs Dalloway June was fresh. A happy childhood--and it
was not to his daughters only that Justin Parry had seemed a fine fellow
(weak of course on the Bench); flowers at evening, smoke rising; the caw
of rooks falling from ever so high, down down through the October
air--there is nothing to take the place of childhood. A leaf of mint
brings it back; or a cup with a blue ring.

Poor little wretches, she sighed, and pressed forward. Oh, right under
the horses' noses, you little demon! and there she was left on the kerb
stretching her hand out, while Jimmy Dawes grinned on the further side.

A charming woman, poised, eager, strangely white-haired for her pink
cheeks, so Scope Purvis, C. B., saw her as he hurried to his office. She
stiffened a little, waiting for Durtnall's van to pass. Big Ben struck
the tenth; struck the eleventh stroke. The leaden circles dissolved in
the air. Pride held her erect, inheriting, handing on, acquainted with
discipline and with suffering. How people suffered, how they suffered,
she thought, thinking of Mrs Foxcroft at the Embassy last night decked
with jewels, eating her heart out, because that nice boy was dead, and
now the old Manor House (Durtnall's van passed) must go to a cousin.

"Good morning to you!" said Hugh Whitbread raising his hat rather
extravagantly by the china shop, for they had known each other as
children. "Where are you off to?"

"I love walking in London" said Mrs Dalloway. "Really it's better
than walking in the country!"

"We've just come up" said Hugh Whitbread. "Unfortunately to see
doctors."

"Milly?" said Mrs Dalloway, instantly compassionate.

"Out of sorts," said Hugh Whitbread. "That sort of thing. Dick
all right?"

"First rate!" said Clarissa.

Of course, she thought, walking on, Milly is about my
age--fifty--fifty-two. So it is probably _that_, Hugh's manner had said
so, said it perfectly--dear old Hugh, thought Mrs Dalloway, remembering
with amusement, with gratitude, with emotion, how shy, like a
brother--one would rather die than speak to one's brother--Hugh had
always been, when he was at Oxford, and came over, and perhaps one of
them (drat the thing!) couldn't ride. How then could women sit in
Parliament? How could they do things with men? For there is this
extraordinarily deep instinct, something inside one; you can't get over
it; it's no use trying; and men like Hugh respect it without our saying
it, which is what one loves, thought Clarissa, in dear old Hugh.

She had passed through the Admiralty Arch and saw at the end of the
empty road with its thin trees Victoria's white mound, Victoria's
billowing motherliness, amplitude and homeliness, always ridiculous, yet
how sublime, thought Mrs Dalloway, remembering Kensington Gardens and
the old lady in horn spectacles and being told by Nanny to stop dead
still and bow to the Queen. The flag flew above the Palace. The King and
Queen were back then. Dick had met her at lunch the other day--a
thoroughly nice woman. It matters so much to the poor, thought Clarissa,
and to the soldiers. A man in bronze stood heroically on a pedestal with
a gun on her left hand side--the South African war. It matters, thought
Mrs Dalloway walking towards Buckingham Palace. There it stood
four-square, in the broad sunshine, uncompromising, plain. But it was
character she thought; something inborn in the race; what Indians
respected. The Queen went to hospitals, opened bazaars--the Queen of
England, thought Clarissa, looking at the Palace. Already at this hour a
motor car passed out at the gates; soldiers saluted; the gates were
shut. And Clarissa, crossing the road, entered the Park, holding herself
upright.

June had drawn out every leaf on the trees. The mothers of Westminster
with mottled breasts gave suck to their young. Quite respectable girls
lay stretched on the grass. An elderly man, stooping very stiffly,
picked up a crumpled paper, spread it out flat and flung it away. How
horrible! Last night at the Embassy Sir Dighton had said "If I want a
fellow to hold my horse, I have only to put up my hand." But the
religious quest
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 1887
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1887



The Spider has a bad name: to most of us, she represents an odious,
noxious animal, which every one hastens to crush under foot.  Against
this summary verdict the observer sets the beast's industry, its talent
as a weaver, its wiliness in the chase, its tragic nuptials and other
characteristics of great interest.  Yes, the Spider is well worth
studying, apart from any scientific reasons; but she is said to be
poisonous and that is her crime and the primary cause of the repugnance
wherewith she inspires us.  Poisonous, I agree, if by that we understand
that the animal is armed with two fangs which cause the immediate death
of the little victims which it catches; but there is a wide difference
between killing a Midge and harming a man.  However immediate in its
effects upon the insect entangled in the fatal web, the Spider's poison
is not serious for us and causes less inconvenience than a Gnat-bite.
That, at least, is what we can safely say as regards the great majority
of the Spiders of our regions.

Nevertheless, a few are to be feared; and foremost among these is the
Malmignatte, the terror of the Corsican peasantry.  I have seen her
settle in the furrows, lay out her web and rush boldly at insects larger
than herself; I have admired her garb of black velvet speckled with
carmine-red; above all, I have heard most disquieting stories told about
her.  Around Ajaccio and Bonifacio, her bite is reputed very dangerous,
sometimes mortal.  The countryman declares this for a fact and the doctor
does not always dare deny it.  In the neighbourhood of Pujaud, not far
from Avignon, the harvesters speak with dread of _Theridion lugubre_, {1}
first observed by Leon Dufour in the Catalonian mountains; according to
them, her bite would lead to serious accidents.  The Italians have
bestowed a bad reputation on the Tarantula, who produces convulsions and
frenzied dances in the person stung by her.  To cope with 'tarantism,'
the name given to the disease that follows on the bite of the Italian
Spider, you must have recourse to music, the only efficacious remedy, so
they tell us.  Special tunes have been noted, those quickest to afford
relief.  There is medical choreography, medical music.  And have we not
the tarentella, a lively and nimble dance, bequeathed to us perhaps by
the healing art of the Calabrian peasant?

Must we take these queer things seriously or laugh at them?  From the
little that I have seen, I hesitate to pronounce an opinion.  Nothing
tells us that the bite of the Tarantula may not provoke, in weak and very
impressionable people, a nervous disorder which music will relieve;
nothing tells us that a profuse perspiration, resulting from a very
energetic dance, is not likely to diminish the discomfort by diminishing
the cause of the ailment.  So far from laughing, I reflect and enquire,
when the Calabrian peasant talks to me of his Tarantula, the Pujaud
reaper of his _Theridion lugubre_, the Corsican husbandman of his
Malmignatte.  Those Spiders might easily deserve, at least partly, their
terrible reputation.

The most powerful Spider in my district, the Black-bellied Tarantula,
will presently give us something to think about, in this connection.  It
is not my business to discuss a medical point, I interest myself
especially in matters of instinct; but, as the poison-fangs play a
leading part in the huntress' manoeuvres of war, I shall speak of their
effects by the way.  The habits of the Tarantula, her ambushes, her
artifices, her methods of killing her prey: these constitute my subject.
I will preface it with an account by Leon Dufour, {2} one of those
accounts in which I used to delight and which did much to bring me into
closer touch with the insect.  The Wizard of the Landes tells us of the
ordinary Tarantula, that of the Calabrias, observed by him in Spain:

   '_Lycosa tarantula_ by preference inhabits open places, dry, arid,
   uncultivated places, exposed to the sun.  She lives generally--at
   least when full-grown--in underground passages, regular burrows, which
   she digs for herself.  These burrows are cylindrical; they are often
   an inch in diameter and run into the ground to a depth of more than a
   foot; but they are not perpendicular.  The inhabitant of this gut
   proves that she is at the same time a skilful hunter and an able
   engineer.  It was a question for her not only of constructing a deep
   retreat that could hide her from the pursuit of her foes: she also had
   to set up her observatory whence to watch for her prey and dart out
   upon it.  The Tarantula provides for every contingency: the
   underground passage, in fact, begins by being vertical, but, at four
   or five inches from the surface, it bends at an obtuse angle, forms a
   horizontal turning and then becomes perpendicular once more.  It is at
   the elbow of this tunnel that the Tarantula posts herself as a
   vigilant sentry and does not for a moment lose sight of the door of
   her dwelling; it was there th
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PG #: 65128
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65128

The Miserly Robot

                             By R. J. Rice

                Lowndes didn't like Nestor. For Nestor
            was a robot--managing his finances. And Nestor
            had only one thought in his brain: save money!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                             October 1958
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


The old robot was one of the few remaining hand-made productions of
the Rotulian era--an era which had seen each individually constructed
robot reach the zenith in the various professional fields. An era
totally unlike present-day Cornusia and its slip-shod electro-assembly
line robotic productions. And indeed slip-shod were these productions,
many Cornusians agreed. Loudly and indignantly they howled that the
stupid Cornusian robots, conspicuous by their dress (multicolored sport
coats, striped trousers, curling shoes and brightly feathered hats) did
nothing but prance around all day and engage in horseplay.

Not so the old robot....

From that long-ago day when his final bolts had been lovingly tightened
by grimy machinists and tabac-chewing electronicians, he had been
fabulous. Even the Rotulian elders, accustomed as they were to robotic
achievements, had been stunned by his rapid rise in the fields of
finance and economics. And even the irascible bearded banker, Tesmit
Lowndes, after an eighty year association with the robot in investment
circles, would admit, although grudgingly if questioned, that the robot
was "sharp with a kredit."

Upon the early demise of the elder Lowndes (at age ninety, and there
were raised eyebrows in Cornusian society at such an early departure)
his will, officially striped in red and green and properly opened
in the presence of the required seven witnesses was found to state
unequivocally: "It is my last testament, under the laws of Cornusia,
that my longtime and good friend Nestor shall operate the finances
of my estate for my son Harry, sole survivor, until...." And there
followed, set down in tiny multitudinous lines of legal terminology
peculiar to the age, the conditions and the length of the operation of
the estate.

So it was that the robot Nestor became involved, through no fault of
his own, with certain people who--

       *       *       *       *       *

"Nestor," said Harry Lowndes to the robot who had entered the study
in answer to the pull on the bell cord, "I must have an advance on my
allowance."

Nestor stopped just inside the door. He was a small and chunky robot,
much older than the slender six-tube types presently in use. His somber
clothing, unlike the gaily clad, stupid Cornusian robots, gave evidence
that he was a production of the Rotulian era. A blue-serge suit decked
his blocky metal frame. A conservative black and white zebraic tie,
a type popular with professional men, was knotted neatly into his
spotlessly white button-down collar and draped in graceful folds over
his aud screen. Thick, horn-rimmed focals perched on his stub nose and
magnified his magenta eye sockets.

He was carrying two bulky ledgers, a huge well-worn legal-looking
volume and half a dozen much-thumbed copies of the Uni-Worlds Financial
Journal. As Lowndes finished speaking Nestor shuffled toward the desk,
set the armload down and stepped back, removing his black bowler and
exposing to Lowndes' view a worn, blue-gray pate from which tiny specks
of aconium flaked--a sign of rapid aging in the Rotulian robot.

"Master Lowndes," said Nestor, "an advance will be impossible.
According to the terms of your late father's will--"

Lowndes interrupted, red-faced. He slammed his fist down on the
desk top. "All right. All right, Nestor," he growled. "So my father
left you, his financial adviser, in charge of the estate. I'm not
complaining. You're making kredits. But can't you loosen up a little
bit? All I need is a five hundred advance on next month's allowance."

Nestor leaned forward to place the black bowler on the corner of the
desk. "I'm sorry, Master," he said, straightening back up slowly. "The
will allows you one thousand kredits."

"I know what the will allows me," yelled Lowndes.

"Master," said Nestor, "I am trying to preserve the estate. Your
interests are paramount with--"

"Nestor, I've got to have five hundred kredits!"

The robot did not answer. His aud lights flickered.

Lowndes cooled down. "Nestor," he asked, "can't you find a loophole in
the terms of the will?" He pointed to the legal-looking volume setting
on the desk. "How about digging through that?"

Nestor did not answer. His aud lights still flickered fitfully.

"Nestor, I am sorry I spoke shortly to you."

Silence.

Lowndes stared at the motionless robot. "Now look here Nestor, you
heard me apologize."

Still silence.

"Please, Nestor," Lowndes pleaded. "I know you can figure out a way.
Just this 
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PG #: 14640
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14640

representative, the letters marked with diacriticals, as they occur in the
lessons; then, the formation of words by the combination of these sounds.
For instance, teach the pupil to identify the characters a, o, n, d, g, r,
and th, in Lesson I, as the representatives of certain elementary sounds;
then teach him to form the words at the head of the lesson, then other
words, as nag, on, and, etc. Pursue a similar course in teaching the
succeeding lessons. Having read a few lessons in this manner, begin to
teach the names of the letters and the spelling of words, and require the
groups, "a man," "the man," "a pen," to be read as a good reader would
pronounce single words.

II.  When one of the letters in the combinations ou or ow, is marked in
the words at the head of the reading exercises, the other is silent. If
neither is marked, the two letters represent a diphthong. All other
unmarked vowels in the vocabularies, when in combination, are silent
letters. In slate or blackboard work, the silent letters may be canceled.

at the head of the reading exercises, and to read these exercises without
hesitation. Having read a few lessons, begin to teach the names of the
letters and the spelling of words.

words and read sentences, as above. Having read a few lessons in this
manner, begin to use the Phonic Method, combining it with the Word Method,
by first teaching the words in each lesson as words; then the elementary
sounds, the names of the letters, and spelling.

names of the letters and the spelling of words.


Copyright, 1879, by Van Antwerp, Bragg & Co.
Copyright, 1896, by American Book Company.
Copyright, 1907 and 1920, by H.H. Vail.

EP486



Preface

In presenting McGuffey’s Revised First Reader to the public, attention is
invited to the following features:

1. Words of only two or three letters are used in the first lessons.
Longer and more difficult ones are gradually introduced as the pupil gains
aptness in the mastery of words.

2. A proper gradation has been carefully preserved. All new words are
placed at the head of each lesson, to be learned before the lesson is
read. Their number in the early lessons is very small, thus making the
first steps easy. All words in these vocabularies are used in the text
immediately following.

3. Carefully engraved script exercises are introduced for a double
purpose. These should be used to teach the reading of script; and may also
serve as copies in slate work.

4. The illustrations have been designed and engraved specially for the
lessons in which they occur. Many of the engravings will serve admirably
as the basis for oral lessons in language.

5. The type is large, strong, and distinct.

The credit for this revision is almost wholly due to the  friends of
McGuffey’s Readers,--eminent teachers and scholars, who have contributed
suggestions and criticisms gained from their daily work in the schoolroom.

Cincinnati, June, 1879.

                                                                     (iii)



THE ALPHABET.

A    a      N   n
B    b      O   o
C    c      P   p
D    d      Q   q
E    e      R   r
F    f      S   s
G    g      T   t
H    h      U   u
I    i      V   v
J    j      W   w
K    k      X   x
L    l      Y   y
M    m      Z   z



[Illustration:

Script Alphabet

A  B  C  D  E  F  G
H  I  J  K  L  M  N
O  P  Q  R  S  Y  U
V  W  X  Y  Z

a  b  c  d  e  f  g  h  i
j  k  l  m  n  o  p  q
r  s  t  u  v  w  x  y  z

SCRIPT FIGURES

1  2  3  4  5  6  7  8  9  0
]


[Illustration: Dog]



McGuffey's FIRST READER.



LESSON I.

dog   the   ran

a   o    n   d   g   r   th


[Illustration: Running dog.]


The dog.

The dog ran.



LESSON II.

cat    mat    is    on

c    t    i    m    s


[Illustration: Cat]


The cat.        The mat.

Is the cat on the mat?

The cat is on the mat.



LESSON III.

it    his    pen    hand

a     in     has    man

p     h      e


[Illustration: Man with glasses writing at a desk.]


The man.           A pen.

The man has a pen.

Is the pen in his hand?

It is in his hand.



LESSON IV.

hen    fat    rat    box    big    run    from    can

f      b      x      u


[Illustration: Hen watching a rat.]


A fat hen.       A big rat.

The fat hen is on the box.

The rat ran from the box.

Can the hen run?



LESSON V.

Rab    Ann    hat    catch    see

e      ch     s


[Illustration: Girl chasing dog with hat in his mouth.]


See Rab!   See Ann!

See!  Rab has the hat.

Can Ann catch Rab?



LESSON VI.

she    pat    too    now    let    me

sh     oo     ow     l


[Illustration: Girl with dog]


Ann can catch Rab.

See! She has the hat.

Now Ann can pat Rab.

Let me pat Rab, too.



LESSON VII.

Ned    eggs    black    left    fed    nest    them    get    will

a black hen             the nest

w   ck


[Illustration: Boy feeding a hen.]


Ned has fed the hen.

She is a black hen.

She has left the nest.

See the eggs in the nest!

Will the hen let Ned get them?



LESSON VIII.

head    he    Nat    come    with    
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PG #: 507
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/507


The Workshop


With a single drop of ink for a mirror, the Egyptian sorcerer undertakes
to reveal to any chance comer far-reaching visions of the past. This is
what I undertake to do for you, reader. With this drop of ink at the
end of my pen, I will show you the roomy workshop of Mr. Jonathan Burge,
carpenter and builder, in the village of Hayslope, as it appeared on the
eighteenth of June, in the year of our Lord 1799.

The afternoon sun was warm on the five workmen there, busy upon doors
and window-frames and wainscoting. A scent of pine-wood from a tentlike
pile of planks outside the open door mingled itself with the scent of
the elder-bushes which were spreading their summer snow close to
the open window opposite; the slanting sunbeams shone through the
transparent shavings that flew before the steady plane, and lit up the
fine grain of the oak panelling which stood propped against the wall.
On a heap of those soft shavings a rough, grey shepherd dog had
made himself a pleasant bed, and was lying with his nose between his
fore-paws, occasionally wrinkling his brows to cast a glance at the
tallest of the five workmen, who was carving a shield in the centre of
a wooden mantelpiece. It was to this workman that the strong barytone
belonged which was heard above the sound of plane and hammer singing--

     Awake, my soul, and with the sun
     Thy daily stage of duty run;
     Shake off dull sloth...

Here some measurement was to be taken which required more concentrated
attention, and the sonorous voice subsided into a low whistle; but it
presently broke out again with renewed vigour--

     Let all thy converse be sincere,
     Thy conscience as the noonday clear.

Such a voice could only come from a broad chest, and the broad chest
belonged to a large-boned, muscular man nearly six feet high, with a
back so flat and a head so well poised that when he drew himself up
to take a more distant survey of his work, he had the air of a soldier
standing at ease. The sleeve rolled up above the elbow showed an arm
that was likely to win the prize for feats of strength; yet the long
supple hand, with its broad finger-tips, looked ready for works of
skill. In his tall stalwartness Adam Bede was a Saxon, and justified his
name; but the jet-black hair, made the more noticeable by its contrast
with the light paper cap, and the keen glance of the dark eyes that
shone from under strongly marked, prominent and mobile eyebrows,
indicated a mixture of Celtic blood. The face was large and roughly
hewn, and when in repose had no other beauty than such as belongs to an
expression of good-humoured honest intelligence.

It is clear at a glance that the next workman is Adam's brother. He is
nearly as tall; he has the same type of features, the same hue of hair
and complexion; but the strength of the family likeness seems only to
render more conspicuous the remarkable difference of expression both in
form and face. Seth's broad shoulders have a slight stoop; his eyes
are grey; his eyebrows have less prominence and more repose than his
brother's; and his glance, instead of being keen, is confiding and
benign. He has thrown off his paper cap, and you see that his hair is
not thick and straight, like Adam's, but thin and wavy, allowing you
to discern the exact contour of a coronal arch that predominates very
decidedly over the brow.

The idle tramps always felt sure they could get a copper from Seth; they
scarcely ever spoke to Adam.

The concert of the tools and Adam's voice was at last broken by Seth,
who, lifting the door at which he had been working intently, placed
it against the wall, and said, “There! I've finished my door to-day,
anyhow.”

The workmen all looked up; Jim Salt, a burly, red-haired man known as
Sandy Jim, paused from his planing, and Adam said to Seth, with a sharp
glance of surprise, “What! Dost think thee'st finished the door?”

“Aye, sure,” said Seth, with answering surprise; “what's awanting to't?”

A loud roar of laughter from the other three workmen made Seth look
round confusedly. Adam did not join in the laughter, but there was a
slight smile on his face as he said, in a gentler tone than before,
“Why, thee'st forgot the panels.”

The laughter burst out afresh as Seth clapped his hands to his head, and
coloured over brow and crown.

“Hoorray!” shouted a small lithe fellow called Wiry Ben, running forward
and seizing the door. “We'll hang up th' door at fur end o' th' shop an'
write on't 'Seth Bede, the Methody, his work.' Here, Jim, lend's hould
o' th' red pot.”

“Nonsense!” said Adam. “Let it alone, Ben Cranage. You'll mayhap be
making such a slip yourself some day; you'll laugh o' th' other side o'
your mouth then.”

“Catch me at it, Adam. It'll be a good while afore my head's full o' th'
Methodies,” said Ben.

“Nay, but it's often full o' drink, and that's worse.”

Ben, however, had now got the “red pot” in his hand, and was about
to begin writing his inscription, making, by way of preliminary, an
im
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PG #: 30850
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/30850

The Government of the Philippine Islands

                    Department of Public Instruction

                          Bureau of Education



                  Philippine Craftsman Reprint Series

                                 No. 1


                            Philippine Mats




                                 Manila

                           Bureau of Printing

                                  1913









FOREWORD.


The present bulletin is a reprint from The Philippine Craftsman,
Vol. I, Nos. 3, 4, and 5, and is issued in this form for the purpose
of placing in the hands of teachers a convenient manual for use in
giving instruction in this important branch of industrial work. In
it are contained directions for the preparation of materials for mat
making, with suggestive color schemes for these materials and details
for weaving a number of approved Philippine designs.

The use of mats for sleeping and other household purposes is universal
through the extreme Orient. Suitable mat materials abound in these
Islands, and when proper attention shall have been given to the
artistic and decorative side of their manufacture, the mat industry
may well become a source of considerable revenue in thousands of
Filipino homes.

The Bureau of Education has for some years past been endeavoring to
improve the designs used as well as the workmanship of Philippine mats,
in order that the article produced shall be typical of the country,
artistic in design, and of real commercial value. It is expected that
this end will be definitely furthered through the study and use of
the material contained in this reprint.

A considerable part of the subject matter of this publication
is the original work of Mr. Hugo H. Miller, Mr. John F. Minier,
Mr. U. S. Andes, Mr. Theodore Muller, and Mrs. Alice Brezina. Credit is
also due to numerous American and Filipino teachers for the submission
of reports and materials used in its preparation.


Frank L. Crone,

Acting Director.

Manila, February 1, 1913.






PHILIPPINE MATS.


The production of mats in the Philippines is large because of the
extensive domestic demand for them. The sleeping mat [1] is used
throughout the Christian provinces, and is also found among the
Moros. Such mats are of the finer class and are usually more or less
highly decorated with colored straws in various designs. For this
purpose the buri petates are more widely produced than those made from
any other material. Pandan mats are considered stronger and cooler
but their use is not so extensive, probably because they are more
expensive than the buri mats. In the Visayas, tikug mats are important.

Another use of mats is in the baling of two of the staple products of
the Philippines, tobacco and abaca. In the Cagayan valley mats of dried
banana petioles are employed. A great many of these are made in Batac,
Ilocos Norte, from which place they are shipped to Cagayan. In most
cases the tobacco of the Visayas is packed in such mats also. At Argao,
Cebu, banana petiole mats are woven as a by-product of the sabá cloth
industry. In obtaining the fiber, the outer skin of the petiole is
pulled off for stripping, and the remaining portion, which is called
"upag," is dried and woven into very coarse mats by children. These
are called "bastos" [2] or "liplip," and are disposed of to the tobacco
balers in the town, or are shipped to Cebu and other towns for baling
purposes. While sabá sinamay is produced in several of the districts
in the Visayas, notably in Bohol, it is not known that the upag is
used for mat weaving there.

Coarse buri mats are almost exclusively used in wrapping abaca for
the export trade. Since baling is carried on only in large seaports,
particularly in Manila and Cebu, the weaving of these mats in certain
localities where the buri palm is abundant and their transportation
to the hemp-producing towns are important industries.

While they are not, strictly speaking, mats, plaited sacks [3] are
woven in the same weave and bear the same relation to sugar and rice as
do mats to tobacco and abaca. Most of the domestic rice crop entering
into commerce is packed in buri sacks and practically all the export
sugar is sent away in them. A few bayones are made of pandan. The
production of bayones is an important industry in certain districts.

Mats are also employed throughout the provinces for drying paddy
and copra in the sun, in the same manner in which trays are used for
sun-curing fruit in temperate regions.

The use of the finer grades of petates for floor mats and for
wall decoration is confined to the foreign population in the
Philippines. Nevertheless, a considerable number is so utilized. For
this trade only mats of the better grades are demanded, and the number
sold for the purpose is probably considerably restricted by the fact
that few mats are of suitable color combination and of proper design
to satisfy foreign taste. As yet there is no known commercial export
of Philippine mats. There is 
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ville où il y a beaucoup de bouches qui parlent et fort peu de têtes qui
pensent. Il devait le subir, quoiqu'il fût évêque et parce qu'il était
évêque. Mais, après tout, les propos auxquels on mêlait son nom
n'étaient peut-être que des propos; du bruit, des mots, des paroles;
moins que des paroles, des _palabres_, comme dit l'énergique langue du
midi.

Quoi qu'il en fût, après neuf ans d'épiscopat et de résidence à Digne,
tous ces racontages, sujets de conversation qui occupent dans le premier
moment les petites villes et les petites gens, étaient tombés dans un
oubli profond. Personne n'eût osé en parler, personne n'eût même osé
s'en souvenir.

mademoiselle Baptistine, qui était sa soeur et qui avait dix ans de
moins que lui.

Ils avaient pour tout domestique une servante du même âge que
mademoiselle Baptistine, et appelée madame Magloire, laquelle, après
avoir été _la servante de M. le Curé_, prenait maintenant le double
titre de femme de chambre de mademoiselle et femme de charge de
monseigneur.

Mademoiselle Baptistine était une personne longue, pâle, mince, douce;
elle réalisait l'idéal de ce qu'exprime le mot «respectable»; car il
semble qu'il soit nécessaire qu'une femme soit mère pour être vénérable.
Elle n'avait jamais été jolie; toute sa vie, qui n'avait été qu'une
suite de saintes oeuvres, avait fini par mettre sur elle une sorte de
blancheur et de clarté; et, en vieillissant, elle avait gagné ce qu'on
pourrait appeler la beauté de la bonté. Ce qui avait été de la maigreur
dans sa jeunesse était devenu, dans sa maturité, de la transparence; et
cette diaphanéité laissait voir l'ange. C'était une âme plus encore que
ce n'était une vierge. Sa personne semblait faite d'ombre; à peine assez
de corps pour qu'il y eût là un sexe; un peu de matière contenant une
lueur; de grands yeux toujours baissés; un prétexte pour qu'une âme
reste sur la terre.

Madame Magloire était une petite vieille, blanche, grasse, replète,
affairée, toujours haletante, à cause de son activité d'abord, ensuite à
cause d'un asthme.

À son arrivée, on installa M. Myriel en son palais épiscopal avec les
honneurs voulus par les décrets impériaux qui classent l'évêque
immédiatement après le maréchal de camp. Le maire et le président lui
firent la première visite, et lui de son côté fit la première visite au
général et au préfet.

L'installation terminée, la ville attendit son évêque à l'oeuvre.




Chapitre II

Monsieur Myriel devient monseigneur Bienvenu


Le palais épiscopal de Digne était attenant à l'hôpital.

Le palais épiscopal était un vaste et bel hôtel bâti en pierre au
commencement du siècle dernier par monseigneur Henri Puget, docteur en
théologie de la faculté de Paris, abbé de Simore, lequel était évêque de
Digne en 1712. Ce palais était un vrai logis seigneurial. Tout y avait
grand air, les appartements de l'évêque, les salons, les chambres, la
cour d'honneur, fort large, avec promenoirs à arcades, selon l'ancienne
mode florentine, les jardins plantés de magnifiques arbres. Dans la
salle à manger, longue et superbe galerie qui était au rez-de-chaussée
et s'ouvrait sur les jardins, monseigneur Henri Puget avait donné à
manger en cérémonie le 29 juillet 1714 à messeigneurs Charles Brûlart de
Genlis, archevêque-prince d'Embrun, Antoine de Mesgrigny, capucin,
évêque de Grasse, Philippe de Vendôme, grand prieur de France, abbé de
Saint-Honoré de Lérins, François de Berton de Grillon, évêque-baron de
Vence, César de Sabran de Forcalquier, évêque-seigneur de Glandève, et
Jean Soanen, prêtre de l'oratoire, prédicateur ordinaire du roi,
évêque-seigneur de Senez. Les portraits de ces sept révérends
personnages décoraient cette salle, et cette date mémorable, 29 juillet
1714, y était gravée en lettres d'or sur une table de marbre blanc.

L'hôpital était une maison étroite et basse à un seul étage avec un
petit jardin. Trois jours après son arrivée, l'évêque visita l'hôpital.
La visite terminée, il fit prier le directeur de vouloir bien venir
jusque chez lui.

--Monsieur le directeur de l'hôpital, lui dit-il, combien en ce moment
avez-vous de malades?

--Vingt-six, monseigneur.

--C'est ce que j'avais compté, dit l'évêque.

--Les lits, reprit le directeur, sont bien serrés les uns contre les
autres.

--C'est ce que j'avais remarqué.

--Les salles ne sont que des chambres, et l'air s'y renouvelle
difficilement.

--C'est ce qui me semble.

--Et puis, quand il y a un rayon de soleil, le jardin est bien petit
pour les convalescents.

--C'est ce que je me disais.

--Dans les épidémies, nous avons eu cette année le typhus, nous avons eu
une suette militaire il y a deux ans, cent malades quelquefois; nous ne
savons que faire.

--C'est la pensée qui m'était venue.

--Que voulez-vous, monseigneur? dit le directeur, il faut se résigner.

Cette conversation avait lieu dans la salle à manger-galerie du
rez-de-chaussée. L'évêque garda un moment le silence, puis il se tourna
brusquement vers le directeur de l'hôpital:

--Monsieur, dit-il, combie
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On the 25th March, 18--, a very strange occurrence took place in St
Petersburg. On the Ascension Avenue there lived a barber of the name of
Ivan Jakovlevitch. He had lost his family name, and on his sign-board,
on which was depicted the head of a gentleman with one cheek soaped, the
only inscription to be read was, "Blood-letting done here."

On this particular morning he awoke pretty early. Becoming aware of the
smell of fresh-baked bread, he sat up a little in bed, and saw his wife,
who had a special partiality for coffee, in the act of taking some
fresh-baked bread out of the oven.

"To-day, Prasskovna Ossipovna," he said, "I do not want any coffee; I
should like a fresh loaf with onions."

"The blockhead may eat bread only as far as I am concerned," said his
wife to herself; "then I shall have a chance of getting some coffee."
And she threw a loaf on the table.

For the sake of propriety, Ivan Jakovlevitch drew a coat over his shirt,
sat down at the table, shook out some salt for himself, prepared two
onions, assumed a serious expression, and began to cut the bread. After
he had cut the loaf in two halves, he looked, and to his great
astonishment saw something whitish sticking in it. He carefully poked
round it with his knife, and felt it with his finger.

"Quite firmly fixed!" he murmured in his beard. "What can it be?"

He put in his finger, and drew out--a nose!

Ivan Jakovlevitch at first let his hands fall from sheer astonishment;
then he rubbed his eyes and began to feel it. A nose, an actual nose;
and, moreover, it seemed to be the nose of an acquaintance! Alarm and
terror were depicted in Ivan's face; but these feelings were slight in
comparison with the disgust which took possession of his wife.

"Whose nose have you cut off, you monster?" she screamed, her face red
with anger. "You scoundrel! You tippler! I myself will report you to the
police! Such a rascal! Many customers have told me that while you were
shaving them, you held them so tight by the nose that they could hardly
sit still."

But Ivan Jakovlevitch was more dead than alive; he saw at once that this
nose could belong to no other than to Kovaloff, a member of the
Municipal Committee whom he shaved every Sunday and Wednesday.

"Stop, Prasskovna Ossipovna! I will wrap it in a piece of cloth and
place it in the corner. There it may remain for the present; later on I
will take it away."

"No, not there! Shall I endure an amputated nose in my room? You
understand nothing except how to strop a razor. You know nothing of the
duties and obligations of a respectable man. You vagabond! You
good-for-nothing! Am I to undertake all responsibility for you at the
police-office? Ah, you soap-smearer! You blockhead! Take it away where
you like, but don't let it stay under my eyes!"

Ivan Jakovlevitch stood there flabbergasted. He thought and thought, and
knew not what he thought.

"The devil knows how that happened!" he said at last, scratching his
head behind his ear. "Whether I came home drunk last night or not, I
really don't know; but in all probability this is a quite extraordinary
occurrence, for a loaf is something baked and a nose is something
different. I don't understand the matter at all." And Ivan Jakovlevitch
was silent. The thought that the police might find him in unlawful
possession of a nose and arrest him, robbed him of all presence of mind.
Already he began to have visions of a red collar with silver braid and
of a sword--and he trembled all over.

At last he finished dressing himself, and to the accompaniment of the
emphatic exhortations of his spouse, he wrapped up the nose in a cloth
and issued into the street.

He intended to lose it somewhere--either at somebody's door, or in a
public square, or in a narrow alley; but just then, in order to complete
his bad luck, he was met by an acquaintance, who showered inquiries upon
him. "Hullo, Ivan Jakovlevitch! Whom are you going to shave so early in
the morning?" etc., so that he could find no suitable opportunity to do
what he wanted. Later on he did let the nose drop, but a sentry bore
down upon him with his halberd, and said, "Look out! You have let
something drop!" and Ivan Jakovlevitch was obliged to pick it up and put
it in his pocket.

A feeling of despair began to take possession of him; all the more as
the streets became more thronged and the merchants began to open their
shops. At last he resolved to go to the Isaac Bridge, where perhaps he
might succeed in throwing it into the Neva.

But my conscience is a little uneasy that I have not yet given any
detailed information about Ivan Jakovlevitch, an estimable man in many
ways.

Like every honest Russian tradesman, Ivan Jakovlevitch was a terrible
drunkard, and although he shaved other people's faces every day, his own
was always unshaved. His coat (he never wore an overcoat) was quite
mottled, i.e. it had been black, but become brownish-yellow; the collar
was quite shiny, and instead of the three buttons, only the threads b
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1902 ***




[Illustration]

  YOUTH

  VOLUME 1  NUMBER 5
  1902
  JULY

An ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY JOURNAL for BOYS & GIRLS

The Penn Publishing Company Philadelphia




  CONTENTS FOR JULY

  FRONTISPIECE (Independence Hall)                                  PAGE

  THE DOUBLE PERIL                          George H. Coomer         157

  LITTLE POLLY PRENTISS (Serial)            Elizabeth Lincoln Gould  161

  THE FENCE MAN                             Mrs. F. M. Howard        166

  WITH WASHINGTON AT VALLEY FORGE (Serial)  W. Bert Foster           170
    Illustrated by F. A. Carter

  MIDSUMMER DAYS                            Julia McNair Wright      179
    Illustrated by Nina G. Barlow

  A DAUGHTER OF THE FOREST (Serial)         Evelyn Raymond           181

  FOURTH OF JULY                            W. F. Fox                187

  WOOD-FOLK TALK                            J. Allison Atwood        188

  WITH THE EDITOR                                                    190

  EVENT AND COMMENT                                                  191

  OUT OF DOORS                                                       192

  IN-DOORS (Parlor Magic, Paper V)          Ellis Stanyon            193

  THE OLD TRUNK (Puzzles)                                            195

  WITH THE PUBLISHER                                                 196

       *       *       *       *       *

YOUTH

  _An Illustrated Monthly Journal for Boys and Girls_

  SINGLE COPIES 10 CENTS  ANNUAL SUBSCRIPTION $1.00

  Sent postpaid to any address
  Subscriptions can begin at any time and must be paid in advance
  Remittances may be made in the way most convenient to the sender,
  and should be sent to

  The Penn Publishing Company
  923 Arch Street, Philadelphia, Pa.
  Copyright 1902 by The Penn Publishing Company.


[Illustration: INDEPENDENCE HALL]




YOUTH

VOL. I  JULY 1902  No. 5




  THE DOUBLE PERIL
  By George H. Coomer


“Nonsense,” said Uncle Hayward; “how people do like to be scared! If a
real Bengal tiger had made his escape anywhere within twenty miles of
here, the whole country would have been up in arms before this time.
I’ve no faith in the story.”

“Well, they are not quite sure of it,” replied the neighbor who had
given the information, “but they think so. The steamer was sunk and
some of the animals were drowned, but it is believed that the big tiger
escaped in the darkness and got ashore.”

“What sort of a show was it?” inquired uncle; “a large menagerie?”

“No, I believe not,” was the answer; “only a few animals that some
company had hired for the season--a tiger, a jaguar, a pair of
leopards, and a few monkeys--that’s what they tell me. The steamer had
a heavy cargo, and went down very suddenly.”

“And they think the tiger made for the woods, eh?” said uncle. “When
did it happen, do you say?”

“Night before last--about five miles down the river. ’Twas a small
steamer going up to Macon. There was no one lost, I hear.”

“Well,” remarked uncle, “a Bengal tiger would be an interesting
neighbor, that’s certain; and I don’t believe he would be long in
making his presence known. However, such stories generally require a
good deal of allowance. As likely as not, there was no tiger aboard of
the steamer, after all.”

“Oh, I reckon there was,” said the neighbor; “but then, of course, we
can’t tell; people like excitement, and when such a rumor gets started
it grows very fast.”

“Yes, that’s true; we shall have a whole menagerie ashore here before
night. When I was a boy, in Maine, there was a story that a lion and an
elephant had made their escape from somebody’s show and taken to the
woods. And, dear me! it spread like the scarlet fever! The children ran
all the way to school and all the way back; and the big girls actually
cried in the entry, they were so frightened. Some of the mischievous
boys would make ‘elephant tracks’ in the road, and this added to
the panic. But we never could hear of any showman who had lost such
animals, and all on a sudden the thing came to nothing. I guess the
tiger story will end in the same way.”

“Why, father,” said Cousin Harold, the fourteen-year-old boy of the
family, “I don’t see why it isn’t likely enough to be true. I almost
hope there is something in it, though I shouldn’t want him to be
killing people’s cattle and things. Just think of it--a big Bengal
tiger, and right here in Georgia, too! How I should like to have a
chance at him with my gun!”

“Why, Harold,” said his mother, “how you talk. If I believed such a
creature to be anywhere in the neighborhood, I’d shut you up in the
smoke-house rather that let you go into the woods.”

“What, and make bacon of a poor fellow?” replied the young lad, gayly.

Uncle Hayward and his family were New England people, who had settled
in Georgia near the Ocmulgee River, where I was now paying them a
really delightful visit. Harold and myself, being very fond of hunting,
spent much time together in pursuit of the various kinds of game t
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Part 1.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER I. Squire Hawkins and His Tennessee Land--He Decides to Remove
to Missouri

CHAPTER II. He Meets With and Adopts the Boy Clay

CHAPTER III Uncle Daniel's Apparition and PrayeR

CHAPTER IV The Steamboat Explosion

CHAPTER V Adoption of the Little Girl Laura--Arrival at
Missouri--Reception by Colonel Beriah Sellers

CHAPTER VI Trouble and Darkness in the Hawkins Family--Proposed Sale of
the Tennessee Land

CHAPTER VII Colonel Sellers at Home--His Wonderful Clock and Cure for
Rheumatism

CHAPTER VIII Colonel Sellers Makes Known His Magnificent Speculation
Schemes and Astonishes Washington Hawkins

CHAPTER IX Death of Judge Hawkins

ILLUSTRATIONS

FRONTPIECE COL. SELLERS FEEDING HIS FAMILY ON EXPECTATIONS
1.  CONTEMPLATION 2.  THE SQUIRE's HOUSE S.  THE U. S. MAIL
4.  OBEDSTOWN MALES 5.  HURRYING 6.  THE SQUIRE'S KITCHEN 7.  “FOR
GOODNESS SAKE SI” 8.  THE LAST COG WHEEL 9.  GONE UP 10.  TAIL PIECE
11.  THE ORPHANS LAST GIFT 12.  MRS HAWKINS AND CLAY AT THE GRAVE OF HIS
MOTHER 13.  “CHILDREN, DAR'S SUMFIN' A COMIN 14.  “HEAH I IS, LORD, HEAH
I IS!” 15.  TAIL PIECE 16.  NOT ENCOURAGED 17.  SHE'S GAINING 18.  “BY
THE MARK TWAIN!” 19.  FAST TOGETHER 20.  ONE OF THE VICTIMS 21.  THE
PROCESSION--FORWARD MARCH! 22.  THE HAPPY WIFE 23.  LAURA 24.  READY
TO SELL 25.  STOCK RISING 26.  A FAMILY COUNCIL 27.  TAIL PIECE
28.  ATTEMPTED CORNER IN SPECIE 29.  A BRILLIANT IDEA 30.  BIG THINGS
SHOWN UP 31.  COL. SELLERS BLOWING BUBBLES FOR WASHINGTON 32.  GEN
BOSWELL'S OFFICE 33.  TAIL PIECE 34.  CONSOLATION 35.  THE DYING FATHER
36.  TAIL PIECE


June 18--. Squire Hawkins sat upon the pyramid of large blocks, called
the “stile,” in front of his house, contemplating the morning.

The locality was Obedstown, East Tennessee. You would not know that
Obedstown stood on the top of a mountain, for there was nothing about
the landscape to indicate it--but it did: a mountain that stretched
abroad over whole counties, and rose very gradually. The district
was called the “Knobs of East Tennessee,” and had a reputation like
Nazareth, as far as turning out any good thing was concerned.

The Squire's house was a double log cabin, in a state of decay; two
or three gaunt hounds lay asleep about the threshold, and lifted their
heads sadly whenever Mrs. Hawkins or the children stepped in and out
over their bodies. Rubbish was scattered about the grassless yard; a
bench stood near the door with a tin wash basin on it and a pail of
water and a gourd; a cat had begun to drink from the pail, but the
exertion was overtaxing her energies, and she had stopped to rest. There
was an ash-hopper by the fence, and an iron pot, for soft-soap-boiling,
near it.

This dwelling constituted one-fifteenth of Obedstown; the other fourteen
houses were scattered about among the tall pine trees and among the
corn-fields in such a way that a man might stand in the midst of the
city and not know but that he was in the country if he only depended on
his eyes for information.

“Squire” Hawkins got his title from being postmaster of Obedstown--not
that the title properly belonged to the office, but because in those
regions the chief citizens always must have titles of some sort, and so
the usual courtesy had been extended to Hawkins. The mail was monthly,
and sometimes amounted to as much as three or four letters at a single
delivery. Even a rush like this did not fill up the postmaster's whole
month, though, and therefore he “kept store” in the intervals.

The Squire was contemplating the morning. It was balmy and tranquil, the
vagrant breezes were laden with the odor of flowers, the murmur of bees
was in the air, there was everywhere that suggestion of repose that
summer woodlands bring to the senses, and the vague, pleasurable
melancholy that such a time and such surroundings inspire.

Presently the United States mail arrived, on horseback. There was but
one letter, and it was for the postmaster. The long-legged youth who
carried the mail tarried an hour to talk, for there was no hurry; and in
a little while the male population of the village had assembled to
help. As a general thing, they were dressed in homespun “jeans,” blue or
yellow--here were no other varieties of it; all wore one suspender and
sometimes two--yarn ones knitted at home,--some wore vests, but few
wore coats. Such coats and vests as did appear, however, were rather
picturesque than otherwise, for they were made of tolerably fanciful
patterns of calico--a fashion which prevails thereto this day among
those of the community who have tastes above the common level and are
able to afford style. Every individual arrived with his hands in his
pockets; a hand came out occasionally for a purpose, but it always went
back again after service; and if it was the head that was served, just
the cant that the dilapidated straw hat got by being uplifted and rooted
under, was retained until the next call altered the inclination; many
hats were present, but none were erect and no two were
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LEGENDS RESEMBLING OLD TESTAMENT HISTORY

_Rev. C. M. Hyde, D.D._


In the first volume of Judge Fornander's elaborate work on "The
Polynesian Race" he has given some old Hawaiian legends which closely
resemble the Old Testament history. How shall we account for such
coincidences?

Take, for instance, the Hawaiian account of the Creation. The
_Kane_, _Ku_ and _Lono:_ or, Sunlight, Substance, and Sound,--these
constituted a triad named _Ku-Kaua-Kahi_, or the Fundamental Supreme
Unity. In worship the reverence due was expressed by such epithets as
_Hi-ka-po-loa, Oi-e,_ Most Excellent, etc. "These gods existed from
eternity, from and before chaos, or, as the Hawaiian term expressed
it, '_mai ka po mia_' (from the time of night, darkness, chaos). By
an act of their will these gods dissipated or broke into pieces the
existing, surrounding, all-containing _po_, night, or chaos. By this
act light entered into space. They then created the heavens, three in
number, as a place to dwell in; and the earth to be their footstool,
_he keehina honua a Kane_. Next they created the sun, moon, stars,
and a host of angels, or spirits--_i kini akua_--to minister to
them. Last of all they created man as the model, or in the likeness
of Kane. The body of the first man was made of red earth--_lepo ula_,
or _alaea_--and the spittle of the gods--_wai nao_. His head was made
of a whitish clay--_palolo_--which was brought from the four ends of
the world by Lono. When the earth-image of Kane was ready, the three
gods breathed into its nose, and called on it to rise, and it became
a living being. Afterwards the first woman was created from one of
the ribs--_lalo puhaka_--of the man while asleep, and these two were
the progenitors of all mankind. They are called in the chants and in
various legends by a large number of different names; but the most
common for the man was Kumuhonua, and for the woman Keolakuhonua
[or _Lalahonua_].

"Of the creation of animals these chants are silent; but from the
pure tradition it may be inferred that the earth at the time of its
creation or emergence from the watery chaos was stocked with vegetable
and animal. The animals specially mentioned in the tradition as having
been created by Kane were hogs (_puaa_), dogs (_ilio_), lizards or
reptiles (_moo_).

"Another legend of the series, that of _Wela-ahi-lani_, states
that after Kane had destroyed the world by fire, on account of the
wickedness of the people then living, he organized it as it now is,
and created the first man and the first woman, with the assistance
of Ku and Lono, nearly in the same manner as narrated in the former
legend of Kumuhonua. In this legend the man is called Wela-ahi-lani,
and the woman is called Owe."

Of the primeval home, the original ancestral seat of mankind,
Hawaiian traditions speak in highest praise. "It had a number of
names of various meanings, though the most generally occurring,
and said to be the oldest, was _Kalana-i-hau-ola_ (Kalana with
the life-giving dew). It was situated in a large country, or
continent, variously called in the legends Kahiki-honua-kele,
Kahiki-ku, Kapa-kapa-ua-a-Kane, Molo-lani. Among other names
for the primary homestead, or paradise, are _Pali-uli_ (the blue
mountain), _Aina-i-ka-kaupo-o-Kane_ (the land in the heart of Kane),
_Aina-wai-akua-a-Kane_ (the land of the divine water of Kane). The
tradition says of Pali-uli, that it was a sacred, tabooed land; that
a man must be righteous to attain it; if faulty or sinful he will not
get there; if he looks behind he will not get there; if he prefers his
family he will not enter Pali-uli." "Among other adornments of the
Polynesian Paradise, the Kalana-i-hau-ola, there grew the _Ulu kapu
a Kane_, the breadfruit tabooed for Kane, and the _ohia hemolele_,
the sacred apple-tree. The priests of the olden time are said to
have held that the tabooed fruits of these trees were in some manner
connected with the trouble and death of Kumuhonua and Lalahonua,
the first man and the first woman. Hence in the ancient chants he is
called _Kane-laa-uli, Kumu-uli, Kulu-ipo_, the fallen chief, he who
fell on account of the tree, or names of similar import."

According to those legends of Kumuhonua and Wela-ahi-lani, "at the
time when the gods created the stars, they also created a multitude
of angels, or spirits (_i kini akua_), who were not created like
men, but made from the spittle of the gods (_i kuhaia_), to be their
servants or messengers. These spirits, or a number of them, disobeyed
and revolted, because they were denied the _awa_; which means that
they were not permitted to be worshipped, _awa_ being a sacrificial
offering and sign of worship. These evil spirits did not prevail,
however, but were conquered by Kane, and thrust down into uttermost
darkness (_ilalo loa i ka po_). The chief of these spirits was called
by some Kanaloa, by others Milu, the ruler of Po; Akua ino; Kupu ino,
the evil spirit. Other legends, however, state that the veritable and
primor
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PG #: 20321
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/20321

[Preparer's notes:
  1) Though the original title does not appear in this version, this
     is (apart from the preface) a translation of:
    "Brevisima relacion de la destruccíon de las Indias", by
    Bartolome de las Casas, originally published in Seville in 1552.
  2) The original archaic spelling and punctuation has been retained]


                         POPERY
                   Truly Display'd in its
                       Bloody Colours:
                       Or, a faithful
                         NARRATIVE
                          OF THE
Horrid and Unexampled Massacres, Butcheries, and all manner of
Cruelties, that Hell and Malice could invent, committed by the Popish
_Spanish_ Party on the inhabitants of _West-India_
                         TOGETHER
With the Devastations of several Kingdoms in _America_ by Fire and
Sword, for the space of Forty and Two Years, from the time of its first
Discovery by them.


----------------------------------------------------------------------
_Composed first in_ Spanish _by_ Bartholomew de las Casas, _a Bishop there,
and Eye-Witness of most of these Barbarous Cruelties; afterward Translated
by him into_ Latin, _then by other hands, into_ High-Dutch, Low-Dutch,
French, _and now Taught to Speak Modern English_.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
_London,_ Printed for _R. Hewson_ at the _Crown in Cornhil,_
          near the _Stocks-Market._  1689.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
----------------------------------------------------------------------


                           THE
                         ARGUMENT
                   OF THIS NARRATIVE
                       By way of
                         PREFACE
                         TO THE
                         READER.


_The Reverend Author of this Compendious Summary was_ Bartholomaeus de las
Casas _alias_ Casaus, _a Pious and Religeous person, (as appears by his
zealous Transports in this Narrative for promotion of the Christian
Faith) elevated from a Frier of the_ Dominican _Order to sit in the
Episcopal Chair, who was frequently importuned by Good and Learned Men,
particularly Historians, to Publish this Summary, who so prevailed with
him, that he Collected out of that copious History which might and
ought to be written on this subject, the contents of this concise
Treatise with intention to display unto the World the Enormities,_ &c.
_the_ Spaniards _committed in_ America _during their residence there, to
their eternal ignominy; and for the author finding that no Admonitions
or Reprehensions, how mild soever could operate upon or sink into the
rocky-hearted Tyrants in those Occidental parts; he therefore took up a
firm resolution, being then about 50 years of age (as he himself
declares) to run the Hazards and Dangers by Sea, and the Risque of a
long voyage into_ Spain _there to acquaint and Certifie the most
Illustrious Prince_ Phillip _the Son and Heir of his Imperial Majesty_
Charles _the Fifth of Blessed Memory, with the Horrid crimes,_ &c.
_perpetrated in those countries, part whereof he had seen, and part
heard from such as boasted of their Wickedness. Whereupon his_
Caeserean _Majesty moved with a tender and Christian compassion
towards these Inhabitants of the Countries of_ America, _languishing
for want of redress, he called a Council at_ Valedolid, _Anno Dom.
1542. consisting of Learned and Able Men,  in order to the reformation
of the_ West-Indian _government, and took such a course, that from that
time their Tyranny and cruelty against those_ Barbarians _was somewhat
repressed, and those Nations in some measure delivered from that
intolerable and more then_ Aegyptian _Bondage, or at least the_
Spaniards _ill usage and treatment of the_ Americans _was alleviated
and abated.  This Book mostly_ Historical, _part_ Typographical, _was
Published first by the Author in_ Spanish _at_ Sevil, _after that
Translated into_ Latin _by himself; and in process of time into_ High
Dutch, Low Dutch, French _and now_ English; _which is the Sixth
Language it has been taught to speak, that anyone of what Nation soever
might in this Narrative contemplate and see as in a mirror the dismal
and pernitious fruits, that lacquey and attend unlimited and close
fisted Avarice, and thereby Learn to abhor and detest it,_ Cane pejus &
angue: _it being the predominant and chiefest motive to the comission
of such inexpressible Outrages, as here in part are faintly, not fully
represented.  Which sin the Pagan_ Indians _themselves did exprobate in
the_ Spaniards _with all Detestation, Ignominy and Disgrace: for when
they had taken some of them Prisoners (which was rarely) they bound
them hand and foot, laid them on the ground, and then pouring melted
Gold down their Throats, cried out and called to them aloud in
derision,_ yield, throw up thy Gold O Christian!  Vomit and spew out
the Mettal which hath so inqinated and invenom'd both Body and So
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http://www.freeliterature.org (Images generously made
available by the Internet Archive)





POEMS

by

RANIER MARIA RILKE


Translated by Jessie Lamont

With an Introduction by H.T.


New York

Tobias A. Wright

1918



TO THE MEMORY OF

AUGUSTE RODIN

THROUGH WHOM I CAME TO KNOW

RAINER MARIA RILKE




POEMS OF RAINER MARIA RILKE




INTRODUCTION


Acknowledgment

To the Editors of Poetry--A magazine of Verse, and Poet Lore, the
translator is indebted for permission to reprint certain poems in this
book--also to the compilers of the following anthologies--Amphora II
edited by Thomas Bird Mosher--The Catholic Anthology of World Poetry
selected by Carl van Doren.


CONTENTS

_Introduction:_
  The Poetry of Rainer Maria Rilke

_First Poems:_
  Evening
  Mary Virgin

_The Book of Pictures:_
  Presaging
  Autumn
  Silent Hour
  The Angels
  Solitude
  Kings in Legends
  The Knight
  The Boy
  Initiation
  The Neighbour
  Song of the Statue
  Maidens I
  Maidens II
  The Bride
  Autumnal Day
  Moonlight Night
  In April
  Memories of a Childhood
  Death
  The Ashantee
  Remembrance
  Music
  Maiden Melancholy
  Maidens at Confirmation
  The Woman who Loves
  Pont du Carrousel
  Madness
  Lament
  Symbols

_New Poems:_
  Early Apollo
  The Tomb of a Young Girl
  The Poet
  The Panther
  Growing Blind
  The Spanish Dancer
  Offering
  Love Song
  Archaic Torso of Apollo

_The Book of Hours:_

  _The Book of a Monk's Life_
    I Live my Life in Circles
    Many have Painted Her
    In Cassocks Clad
    Thou Anxious One
    I Love My Life's Dark Hours

  _The Book of Pilgrimage_
    By Day Thou Art The Legend and The Dream
    All Those Who Seek Thee
    In a House Was One
    Extinguish My Eyes
    In the Deep Nights

  _The Book of Poverty and Death_
    Her Mouth
    Alone Thou Wanderest
    A Watcher of Thy Spaces




THE POETRY OF RAINER MARIA RILKE

    εἶσὶ γὰρ οὖν, οἳ ἐν ταῖς ψυχαῖς κυοῦσιν

                                     Plato

The supreme problem of every age is that of finding its consummate
artistic expression. Before this problem every other remains of
secondary importance. History defines and directs its physical course,
science cooperates in the achievement of its material aims, but Art
alone gives to the age its spiritual physiognomy, its ultimate and
lasting expression.

The process of Art is on the one hand sensuous, the conception having
for its basis the fineness of organization of the senses; and on the
other hand it is severely scientific, the value of the creation being
dependent upon the craftsmanship, the mastery over the tool, the
technique.

Art, like Nature, its great and only reservoir for all time past and all
time to come, ever strives for elimination and selection. It is severe
and aristocratic in the application of its laws and impervious to appeal
to serve other than its own aims. Its purpose is the symbolization of
Life. In its sanctum there reigns the silence of vast accomplishment,
the serene, final, and imperturbable solitude which is the ultimate
criterion of all great things created.

To speak of Poetry is to speak of the most subtle, the most delicate,
and the most accurate instrument by which to measure Life.

Poetry is reality's essence visioned and made manifest by one endowed
with a perception acutely sensitive to sound, form, and colour, and
gifted with a power to shape into rhythmic and rhymed verbal symbols the
reaction to Life's phenomena. The poet moulds that which appears
evanescent and ephemeral in image and in mood into everlasting values.
In this act of creation he serves eternity.

Poetry, in especial lyrical poetry, must be acknowledged the supreme
art, culminating as it does in a union of the other arts, the musical,
the plastic, and the pictorial.

The most eminent contemporary poets of Europe have, each in accordance
with his individual temperament, reflected in their work the spiritual
essence of our age, its fears and failures, its hopes and high
achievements: Maeterlinck, with his mood of resignation and his
retirement into a dusky twilight where his shadowy figures move
noiselessly like phantoms in fate-laden dimness; Dehmel, the worshipper
of will, with his passion for materiality and the beauty of all things
physical and tangible; Verhaeren, the visionary of a new vitality, who
sees in the toilers of fields and factories the heroic gesture of our
time and who might have written its great epic of industry but for the
overwhelming lyrical mood of his soul.

Until a few years ago, known only to a relatively small community on the
continent but commanding an ever increasing attention which has borne
his name far beyond the boundary of his country, the personality of
Rainer Maria Rilke stands to-day beside the most illustrious poets of
modern Europe.

       *       *       *       *       *

The background against which the figure of Rainer Maria Rilke is
silhouetted is so varied, the influences which have entered into his
life are so manifold, tha
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It happened in the ‘seventies in winter, on the day after St. Nicholas’s
Day. There was a fete in the parish and the innkeeper, Vasili Andreevich
Brekhunov, a Second Guild merchant, being a church elder had to go to
church, and had also to entertain his relatives and friends at home.

But when the last of them had gone he at once began to prepare to drive
over to see a neighbouring proprietor about a grove which he had been
bargaining over for a long time. He was now in a hurry to start,
lest buyers from the town might forestall him in making a profitable
purchase.

The youthful landowner was asking ten thousand rubles for the grove
simply because Vasili Andreevich was offering seven thousand. Seven
thousand was, however, only a third of its real value. Vasili Andreevich
might perhaps have got it down to his own price, for the woods were in
his district and he had a long-standing agreement with the other village
dealers that no one should run up the price in another’s district, but
he had now learnt that some timber-dealers from town meant to bid for
the Goryachkin grove, and he resolved to go at once and get the matter
settled. So as soon as the feast was over, he took seven hundred rubles
from his strong box, added to them two thousand three hundred rubles of
church money he had in his keeping, so as to make up the sum to three
thousand; carefully counted the notes, and having put them into his
pocket-book made haste to start.

Nikita, the only one of Vasili Andreevich’s labourers who was not drunk
that day, ran to harness the horse. Nikita, though an habitual drunkard,
was not drunk that day because since the last day before the fast, when
he had drunk his coat and leather boots, he had sworn off drink and
had kept his vow for two months, and was still keeping it despite the
temptation of the vodka that had been drunk everywhere during the first
two days of the feast.

Nikita was a peasant of about fifty from a neighbouring village, ‘not
a manager’ as the peasants said of him, meaning that he was not the
thrifty head of a household but lived most of his time away from home
as a labourer. He was valued everywhere for his industry, dexterity, and
strength at work, and still more for his kindly and pleasant temper. But
he never settled down anywhere for long because about twice a year, or
even oftener, he had a drinking bout, and then besides spending all his
clothes on drink he became turbulent and quarrelsome. Vasili Andreevich
himself had turned him away several times, but had afterwards taken him
back again--valuing his honesty, his kindness to animals, and especially
his cheapness. Vasili Andreevich did not pay Nikita the eighty rubles
a year such a man was worth, but only about forty, which he gave him
haphazard, in small sums, and even that mostly not in cash but in goods
from his own shop and at high prices.

Nikita’s wife Martha, who had once been a handsome vigorous woman,
managed the homestead with the help of her son and two daughters, and
did not urge Nikita to live at home: first because she had been living
for some twenty years already with a cooper, a peasant from another
village who lodged in their house; and secondly because though she
managed her husband as she pleased when he was sober, she feared him
like fire when he was drunk. Once when he had got drunk at home, Nikita,
probably to make up for his submissiveness when sober, broke open her
box, took out her best clothes, snatched up an axe, and chopped all her
undergarments and dresses to bits. All the wages Nikita earned went to
his wife, and he raised no objection to that. So now, two days before
the holiday, Martha had been twice to see Vasili Andreevich and had got
from him wheat flour, tea, sugar, and a quart of vodka, the lot costing
three rubles, and also five rubles in cash, for which she thanked him as
for a special favour, though he owed Nikita at least twenty rubles.

‘What agreement did we ever draw up with you?’ said Vasili Andreevich
to Nikita. ‘If you need anything, take it; you will work it off. I’m not
like others to keep you waiting, and making up accounts and reckoning
fines. We deal straight-forwardly. You serve me and I don’t neglect
you.’

And when saying this Vasili Andreevich was honestly convinced that he
was Nikita’s benefactor, and he knew how to put it so plausibly that
all those who depended on him for their money, beginning with Nikita,
confirmed him in the conviction that he was their benefactor and did not
overreach them.

‘Yes, I understand, Vasili Andreevich. You know that I serve you and
take as much pains as I would for my own father. I understand very
well!’ Nikita would reply. He was quite aware that Vasili Andreevich was
cheating him, but at the same time he felt that it was useless to try
to clear up his accounts with him or explain his side of the matter, and
that as long as he had nowhere to go he must accept what he could get.

Now, having heard his master’s order to harness, he went as usual
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THE DAILY MIRACLE

"Yes, he's one of those men that don't know how to manage. Good
situation.  Regular income.  Quite enough for luxuries as well as
needs.  Not really extravagant.  And yet the fellow's always in
difficulties.  Somehow he gets nothing out of his money.  Excellent
flat--half empty!  Always looks as if he'd had the brokers in.  New
suit--old hat!  Magnificent necktie--baggy trousers!  Asks you to
dinner:  cut glass--bad mutton, or Turkish coffee--cracked cup!  He
can't understand it.  Explanation simply is that he fritters his income
away.  Wish I had the half of it! I'd  show him--"

So we have most of us criticised, at one time or another, in our
superior way.

We are nearly all chancellors of the exchequer:  it is the pride of the
moment.  Newspapers are full of articles explaining how to live on
such-and-such a sum, and these articles provoke a correspondence whose
violence proves the interest they excite.  Recently, in a daily organ,
a battle raged round the question whether a woman can exist nicely in
the country on L85 a year.  I have seen an essay, "How to live on eight
shillings a week."  But I have never seen an essay, "How to live on
twenty-four hours a day."  Yet it has been said that time is money.
That proverb understates the case.  Time is a great deal more than
money.  If you have time you can obtain money--usually.  But though you
have the wealth of a cloak-room attendant at the Carlton Hotel, you
cannot buy yourself a minute more time than I have, or the cat by the
fire has.


Philosophers have explained space.  They have not explained time. It is
the inexplicable raw material of everything.  With it, all is possible;
without it, nothing.  The supply of time is truly a daily miracle, an
affair genuinely astonishing when one examines it.  You wake up in the
morning, and lo! your purse is magically filled with twenty-four hours
of the unmanufactured tissue of the universe of your life!  It is
yours.  It is the most precious of possessions.  A highly singular
commodity, showered upon you in a manner as singular as the commodity
itself!

For remark!  No one can take it from you.  It is unstealable.  And no
one receives either more or less than you receive.

Talk about an ideal democracy!  In the realm of time there is no
aristocracy of wealth, and no aristocracy of intellect.  Genius is
never rewarded by even an extra hour a day.  And there is no
punishment.  Waste your infinitely precious commodity as much as you
will, and the supply will never be withheld from you.  No mysterious
power will say:--"This man is a fool, if not a knave.  He does not
deserve time; he shall be cut off at the meter." It is more certain
than consols, and payment of income is not affected by Sundays.
Moreover, you cannot draw on the future.  Impossible to get into debt!
You can only waste the passing moment.  You cannot waste to-morrow; it
is kept for you.  You cannot waste the next hour; it is kept for you.

I said the affair was a miracle.  Is it not?

You have to live on this twenty-four hours of daily time.  Out of it
you have to spin health, pleasure, money, content, respect, and the
evolution of your immortal soul.  Its right use, its most effective
use, is a matter of the highest urgency and of the most thrilling
actuality.  All depends on that.  Your happiness--the elusive prize
that you are all clutching for, my friends!--depends on that. Strange
that the newspapers, so enterprising and up-to-date as they are, are
not full of "How to live on a given income of time," instead of "How to
live on a given income of money"!  Money is far commoner than time.
When one reflects, one perceives that money is just about the commonest
thing there is.  It encumbers the earth in gross heaps.

If one can't contrive to live on a certain income of money, one earns a
little more--or steals it, or advertises for it.  One doesn't
necessarily muddle one's life because one can't quite manage on a
thousand pounds a year; one braces the muscles and makes it guineas,
and balances the budget.  But if one cannot arrange that an income of
twenty-four hours a day shall exactly cover all proper items of
expenditure, one does muddle one's life definitely.  The supply of
time, though gloriously regular, is cruelly restricted.


Which of us lives on twenty-four hours a day?  And when I say "lives,"
I do not mean exists, nor "muddles through."  Which of us is free from
that uneasy feeling that the "great spending departments" of his daily
life are not managed as they ought to be? Which of us is quite sure
that his fine suit is not surmounted by a shameful hat, or that in
attending to the crockery he has forgotten the quality of the food?
Which of us is not saying to himself--which of us has not been saying
to himself all his life:  "I shall alter that when I have a little more
time"?

We never shall have any more time.  We have, and we have always had,
all the time there is.  It is the realisation of this profound and
neglecte
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PG #: 1022
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1022

WALKING

by Henry David Thoreau




I wish to speak a word for Nature, for absolute Freedom and Wildness, as
contrasted with a freedom and culture merely civil,—to regard man as
an inhabitant, or a part and parcel of Nature, rather than a member
of society. I wish to make an extreme statement, if so I may make
an emphatic one, for there are enough champions of civilization: the
minister and the school committee and every one of you will take care of
that.

I have met with but one or two persons in the course of my life who
understood the art of Walking, that is, of taking walks—who had a
genius, so to speak, for sauntering, which word is beautifully derived
“from idle people who roved about the country, in the Middle Ages, and
asked charity, under pretense of going à la Sainte Terre,” to the Holy
Land, till the children exclaimed, “There goes a Sainte-Terrer,” a
Saunterer, a Holy-Lander. They who never go to the Holy Land in their
walks, as they pretend, are indeed mere idlers and vagabonds; but they
who do go there are saunterers in the good sense, such as I mean. Some,
however, would derive the word from sans terre without land or a home,
which, therefore, in the good sense, will mean, having no particular
home, but equally at home everywhere. For this is the secret of
successful sauntering. He who sits still in a house all the time may be
the greatest vagrant of all; but the saunterer, in the good sense, is
no more vagrant than the meandering river, which is all the while
sedulously seeking the shortest course to the sea. But I prefer the
first, which, indeed, is the most probable derivation. For every walk is
a sort of crusade, preached by some Peter the Hermit in us, to go forth
and reconquer this Holy Land from the hands of the Infidels.

It is true, we are but faint-hearted crusaders, even the walkers,
nowadays, who undertake no persevering, never-ending enterprises. Our
expeditions are but tours, and come round again at evening to the old
hearth-side from which we set out. Half the walk is but retracing our
steps. We should go forth on the shortest walk, perchance, in the
spirit of undying adventure, never to return,—prepared to send back
our embalmed hearts only as relics to our desolate kingdoms. If you are
ready to leave father and mother, and brother and sister, and wife
and child and friends, and never see them again,—if you have paid your
debts, and made your will, and settled all your affairs, and are a free
man; then you are ready for a walk.

To come down to my own experience, my companion and I, for I sometimes
have a companion, take pleasure in fancying ourselves knights of a new,
or rather an old, order—not Equestrians or Chevaliers, not Ritters or
Riders, but Walkers, a still more ancient and honorable class, I trust.
The chivalric and heroic spirit which once belonged to the Rider seems
now to reside in, or perchance to have subsided into, the Walker—not
the Knight, but Walker Errant. He is a sort of fourth estate, outside of
Church and State and People.

We have felt that we almost alone hereabouts practiced this noble art;
though, to tell the truth, at least if their own assertions are to be
received, most of my townsmen would fain walk sometimes, as I do, but
they cannot. No wealth can buy the requisite leisure, freedom, and
independence which are the capital in this profession. It comes only
by the grace of God. It requires a direct dispensation from Heaven
to become a walker. You must be born into the family of the Walkers.
Ambulator nascitur, non fit. Some of my townsmen, it is true, can
remember and have described to me some walks which they took ten years
ago, in which they were so blessed as to lose themselves for half
an hour in the woods; but I know very well that they have confined
themselves to the highway ever since, whatever pretensions they may make
to belong to this select class. No doubt they were elevated for a moment
as by the reminiscence of a previous state of existence, when even they
were foresters and outlaws.

         “When he came to grene wode,
            In a mery mornynge,
          There he herde the notes small
            Of byrdes mery syngynge.

         “It is ferre gone, sayd Robyn,
            That I was last here;
          Me lyste a lytell for to shote
            At the donne dere.”

I think that I cannot preserve my health and spirits, unless I spend
four hours a day at least—and it is commonly more than that—sauntering
through the woods and over the hills and fields, absolutely free from
all worldly engagements. You may safely say, A penny for your thoughts,
or a thousand pounds. When sometimes I am reminded that the mechanics
and shopkeepers stay in their shops not only all the forenoon, but all
the afternoon too, sitting with crossed legs, so many of them—as if the
legs were made to sit upon, and not to stand or walk upon—I think that
they deserve some credit for not having all committed suicide long ago.

I, who cannot stay in my chamber
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Figures 25, 26, 27, are simply varieties of the solar wheel, intended to
represent the idea of the sun and moon, the mystic triad and unit, the
"arba," or four. In Figure 26, the mural ornament is introduced, that
being symbolic of feminine virginity. For explanation of Figure 27, see
Figures 85, 86.

Figure 28 is copied from Lajard, Op. Cit., plate xiv. F. That author
states that he has taken it from a drawing of an Egyptian stèle, made by
M. E. Prisse (Monum. Egypt., plate xxxvii.), and that the original is
in the British Museum. There is an imperfect copy of it in Rawlinson's
Herodotus, vol. ii.



The original is too indelicate to be represented fully. Isis, the
central figure, is wholly nude, with the exception of her head-dress,
and neck and breast ornaments. In one hand she holds two blades of corn
apparently, whilst in the other she has three lotus flowers, two being
egg-shaped, but the central one fully expanded; with these, which
evidently symbolise the mystic triad, is associated a circle emblematic
of the yoni, thus indicating the fourfold creator. Isis stands upon a
lioness; on one side of her stands a clothed male figure, holding in one
hand the crux ansata, and in the other an upright spear. On the opposite
side is a male figure wholly nude, like the goddess, save his head-dress
and collar, the ends of which are arranged so as to form a cross. His
hand points to a flagellum; behind him is a covert reference to the
triad, whilst in front Osiris offers undisguised homage to Isis. The
head-dress of the goddess appears to be a modified form of the crescent
moon inverted. It is not exclusively Egyptian, as it has been found in
conjunction with other emblems on an Assyrian obelisc of Phallic form.



Figures 29, 30, 31, 32, represent the various triangles and their union,
which have been adopted in worship. Figure 29 is said to represent fire,
which amongst the ancient Persians was depicted as a cone, whilst the
figure inverted represents water.



Figure 33 is an ancient Hindoo emblem, called Sri Iantra. The circle
represents the world, in which the living exist; the triangle pointing
upwards shows the male creator; and the triangle with the apex downwards
the female; distinct, yet united. These have a world within themselves,
in which the male is uppermost. In the central circle the image to be
worshipped is placed. When used, the figure is placed on the ground,
with Brahma to the east, and Laksmi to the west. Then a relic of any
saint, or image of Buddha, like a modern papal crucifix, is added, and
the shrine for worship is complete. It has now been adopted in Christian
churches and Freemasons' lodges.

It will be noticed that the male emblem points to the rising sun, and
the female triangle points to the setting sun, when the earth seems to
receive the god into her couch.



Figure 34 is a very ancient Hindoo emblem, whose real signification I am
unable to divine. It is used in calculation; it forms the basis of some
game, and it is a sign of vast import in sacti worship.

A coin, bearing this figure upon it, and having a central cavity with
the Etruscan letters SUPEN placed one between each two of the angles,
was found in a fictile urn, at Volaterræ, and is depicted in Fabretti's
Italian Glossary, plate xxvi., fig. 858, bis a. As the coin is round,
the reader will see that these letters may be read as Supen, Upens,
Pensu, Ensup, or Nsupe. A search through Fabretti's Lexicon affords no
clue to any meaning except for the third. There seems, indeed, strong
reason to believe that pensu was the Etruscan form of the Pali panca,
the Sanscrit pânch, the Bengalli pânch, and the Greek penta, i. e.,
five. Five, certainly, would be an appropriate word for the pentangle.
It is almost impossible to avoid speculating upon the value of this
fragment of archæological evidence in support of the idea that the
Greeks, Aryans, and Etruscans had something in common; but into the
question it would be unprofitable to enter here.

But, although declining to enter upon this wide field of inquiry, I
would notice that whilst searching Fabretti's Glossary my eye fell upon
the figure of an equilateral triangle with the apex upwards, depicted
plate xliii., fig. 2440 ter. The triangle is of brass, and was found
in the territory of the Falisci. It bears a rude representation of the
outlines of the soles of two human feet, in this respect resembling a
Buddhist emblem; and there is on its edge an inscription which may be
rendered thus in Roman letters, KAYI: TERTINEI. POSTIKNU, which probably
signifies "Gavia, the wife of Tertius, offered it." The occurrence
of two Hindoo symbols in ancient Italy is very remarkable. It must,
however, be noticed that similar symbols have been found on ancient
sculptured stones in Ireland and Scotland. There may be no emblematic
ideas whatever conveyed by the design; but when the marks appear
on Gnostic gems, they are supposed to indicate death, i. e., the
impressions left by the feet of the i
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PG #: 65007
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65007


Korea, Doorstep of Strategy

_The Historical Background--The Russo-Japanese War--Korea as a Japanese
Colony--The Partition of Korea--Red Victory in China--Civil Strife in
Korea_


It meant little to most Americans on 25 June 1950 to read in their
Sunday newspapers that civil strife had broken out in Korea. They
could hardly have suspected that this remote Asiatic peninsula was to
become the scene of the fourth most costly military effort of American
history, both in blood and money, before the end of the year. Yet the
danger of an explosion had been present ever since the end of World
War II, when the United States and the Soviet Union rushed into the
political vacuum created in Korea by the defeat of Japan.

The Korean question came up officially for the first time at the
Cairo Conference of December 1943. With Soviet Russia not yet being
represented as a belligerent in the Far East, the United States, Great
Britain and China agreed that “in due course Korea shall become free
and independent.”[1]

     [1] Quoted in James F. Byrnes, _Speaking Frankly_ (New York:
         Harper, 1947), 221.

Any discussion of this issue had to take into consideration Korea’s
status as a Japanese possession since 1910. Government, industry,
commerce, agriculture, transportation--every phase of Korean life
had been administered by Japanese for the benefit of Japan. As
a consequence, the 25,000,000 inhabitants of the peninsula were
woefully lacking in experience to fit them for the responsibilities of
independence.

Syngman Rhee, the elderly Korean patriot, had long been clamoring
for recognition of his Korean government in exile. The United States
hung back because of reluctance to offend Joseph Stalin, the Soviet
dictator, at a time when Russia was a powerful military ally. Moscow
had a strong bargaining point, moreover, in the prospect of giving
military aid to the United States in the fight against Japan. Such
an alliance was particularly desirable from the American viewpoint
early in 1945 because of the losses resulting from Japanese _kamikaze_
tactics. In the belief that active Soviet participation might shorten
the war and save thousands of American lives, President Franklin D.
Roosevelt was disposed to compromise with Stalin.

[Illustration: THE STRATEGIC TRIANGLE]

The two agreed informally at the Yalta Conference of February 1945 that
Korea should be independent “... and that if a transition period were
necessary, a trusteeship should be established,” according to James F.
Byrnes, United States Secretary of State. He added in his memoirs that
“a desire to help the Koreans develop the skills and experience that
would enable them to maintain their independence was the inspiration
for President Roosevelt’s acquiescence in the trusteeship idea.”[2]

     [2] Byrnes, _loc. cit._

The Soviet dictator made a plea at Yalta for historical justice.
Although Czar Nicholas II had been execrated as a tyrant and warmonger
in Communist doctrine, Stalin demanded that the “wrongs” resulting from
the Russo-Japanese War be righted 40 years later. The price of Soviet
military aid against Japan, in short, was the restoration of Russian
territory in the Far East that had been lost in the defeat of 1905.


_The Historical Background_

It was inevitable that the fate of Korea would be involved in any
such readjustment. Korea is one of those tragic areas of the earth’s
surface which are destined in all ages to be a doorstep of strategy.
As the focal point of the China-Russia-Japan triangle, the peninsula
offers each of these powers a threshold for aggression against either
of the other two. Possession of Korea has been for centuries an aim of
aspiring conquerors in the Far East, and all three rival nations have
had a turn.

China was first. From ancient times down to the last quarter of the
19th century, the Chinese Empire held a loose suzerainty acknowledged
by the Koreans. Japan won a brief foothold in the 16th century under
the great war lord Hideyoshi, only to learn the painful lesson that
control of the sea is requisite to a seaborne invasion of a peninsula.
Naval victories by the Koreans cut Hideyoshi’s line of communications,
and he withdrew after frightful devastations which left an enduring
tradition of fear and hate. Both Japan and Korea then entered upon
a period of self-imposed isolation lasting until their political
hibernation was rudely interrupted by Western nations clamoring for
trade.

The United States took the lead in inaugurating a new era in the Far
East. Commodore Perry and his American warships opened up Japan to
commerce in 1853. Several persuasive bombardments of coastal cities by
American, British and French naval guns were required to end Japan’s
seclusion; and in 1871 an American squadron was sent to Korea after
the destruction of an American merchant ship and massacre of its crew.
United States Marines and bluejackets stormed Korean river forts
defended by cannon. All objectives were taken and heavy casualties
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PG #: 220
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THE SECRET SHARER

By Joseph Conrad




I


On my right hand there were lines of fishing stakes resembling a
mysterious system of half-submerged bamboo fences, incomprehensible in
its division of the domain of tropical fishes, and crazy of aspect as if
abandoned forever by some nomad tribe of fishermen now gone to the other
end of the ocean; for there was no sign of human habitation as far as
the eye could reach. To the left a group of barren islets, suggesting
ruins of stone walls, towers, and blockhouses, had its foundations set
in a blue sea that itself looked solid, so still and stable did it lie
below my feet; even the track of light from the westering sun shone
smoothly, without that animated glitter which tells of an imperceptible
ripple. And when I turned my head to take a parting glance at the tug
which had just left us anchored outside the bar, I saw the straight line
of the flat shore joined to the stable sea, edge to edge, with a perfect
and unmarked closeness, in one leveled floor half brown, half blue under
the enormous dome of the sky. Corresponding in their insignificance to
the islets of the sea, two small clumps of trees, one on each side of
the only fault in the impeccable joint, marked the mouth of the river
Meinam we had just left on the first preparatory stage of our homeward
journey; and, far back on the inland level, a larger and loftier mass,
the grove surrounding the great Paknam pagoda, was the only thing on
which the eye could rest from the vain task of exploring the monotonous
sweep of the horizon. Here and there gleams as of a few scattered pieces
of silver marked the windings of the great river; and on the nearest of
them, just within the bar, the tug steaming right into the land became
lost to my sight, hull and funnel and masts, as though the impassive
earth had swallowed her up without an effort, without a tremor. My eye
followed the light cloud of her smoke, now here, now there, above the
plain, according to the devious curves of the stream, but always fainter
and farther away, till I lost it at last behind the miter-shaped hill
of the great pagoda. And then I was left alone with my ship, anchored at
the head of the Gulf of Siam.

She floated at the starting point of a long journey, very still in an
immense stillness, the shadows of her spars flung far to the eastward by
the setting sun. At that moment I was alone on her decks. There was not
a sound in her--and around us nothing moved, nothing lived, not a canoe
on the water, not a bird in the air, not a cloud in the sky. In this
breathless pause at the threshold of a long passage we seemed to be
measuring our fitness for a long and arduous enterprise, the appointed
task of both our existences to be carried out, far from all human eyes,
with only sky and sea for spectators and for judges.

There must have been some glare in the air to interfere with one’s
sight, because it was only just before the sun left us that my roaming
eyes made out beyond the highest ridges of the principal islet of the
group something which did away with the solemnity of perfect solitude.
The tide of darkness flowed on swiftly; and with tropical suddenness a
swarm of stars came out above the shadowy earth, while I lingered yet,
my hand resting lightly on my ship’s rail as if on the shoulder of a
trusted friend. But, with all that multitude of celestial bodies staring
down at one, the comfort of quiet communion with her was gone for good.
And there were also disturbing sounds by this time--voices, footsteps
forward; the steward flitted along the main-deck, a busily ministering
spirit; a hand bell tinkled urgently under the poop deck....

I found my two officers waiting for me near the supper table, in the
lighted cuddy. We sat down at once, and as I helped the chief mate, I
said:

“Are you aware that there is a ship anchored inside the islands? I saw
her mastheads above the ridge as the sun went down.”

He raised sharply his simple face, overcharged by a terrible growth of
whisker, and emitted his usual ejaculations: “Bless my soul, sir! You
don’t say so!”

My second mate was a round-cheeked, silent young man, grave beyond his
years, I thought; but as our eyes happened to meet I detected a slight
quiver on his lips. I looked down at once. It was not my part to
encourage sneering on board my ship. It must be said, too, that I knew
very little of my officers. In consequence of certain events of no
particular significance, except to myself, I had been appointed to the
command only a fortnight before. Neither did I know much of the hands
forward. All these people had been together for eighteen months or so,
and my position was that of the only stranger on board. I mention this
because it has some bearing on what is to follow. But what I felt most
was my being a stranger to the ship; and if all the truth must be
told, I was somewhat of a stranger to myself. The youngest man on board
(barring the second mate), and untried as yet by a position of the
fulle
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PG #: 65013
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SAME ***




                  ONE FOR THE ROBOT--TWO FOR THE SAME

                            By ROG PHILLIPS

               The ingredients were simple: one man for
            one robot. But the results were something else!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                             October 1950
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


I took an instinctive disliking to him from the very first. I don't
know exactly what caused it. His appearance? He wore a well tailored
gray plaid suit draped on what I would have sworn to be nothing but
a skeleton. Blue-veined skin fitted over the exposed parts, such as
his long slender hands, folded together on his lap, the stretch of
bare leg below the cuffs of his perfectly pressed trousers and above
his carelessly drooped sox, his turkey-like neck with its large
Adam's apple threatened at any moment to wobble up and down while a
gobble-gobble-gobble burst forth.

His face? It made me think of a broken handled cup inverted on a
saucer, the edge of the saucer being his jaw line. If you were to wrap
the cup and saucer in tightly stretched dull white plastic or rubber
sheeting and paint eyes in the proper places you would have it down pat.

Maybe it was the eyes that made me dislike him. They were faded blue,
but not the kind you would call characterless. It would be more
accurate to call them emotionless. Not emotionless in a cold way, but
in a dead way.

On either side of his head were cartilages shaped like ears, and over
the top of his head faded and lifeless grey hair parted with artificial
neatness.

Those were my impressions, though the hair was real enough, and I might
have seen him through different eyes if I had been in a better mood.

He wore his suit like it didn't belong to him, or if it did he very
seldom had one on. I looked closely at him, sitting near me on the park
bench half turned toward where I was slouched, trying to imagine what
type of clothes would be natural to him; all I could conjure up was a
white frock and rubber gloves and a white face mask.

He had asked me, "Are you employed?", and I had swallowed an impulse
to snap at him long enough to size him up.

So now I had sized him up. I didn't like anything about him. But a
civil answer to his question might lead to the price of a badly needed
meal. I forced a polite grin.

"Not at the moment," I said.

"I surmised as much," he said quickly, smirking. His voice had the
quality of a high school chemistry teacher talking to an audience of
sulphuric acid carboys.

I turned away, looking out across the expanse of lawn and trees and
flower beds of the park to where the double decker busses bobbed along
like water bugs above the carpet of cars flowing along the inner drive.
The impatient honking of tired motorists on their way home after their
day's work mingled with the contented quacking of ducks on the pond at
my back.

"Would you like to earn some money?"

"Huh?" I said, jerking my attention back to him.

His smile was the kind a professor would give to a pupil who had just
awakened from a sound sleep.

"I said, would you like to earn some money?"

"Uh, uh," I said. "I'm hungry. I'd mow your lawn on an empty stomach
and get maybe fifty cents. That's one hamburger and two cups of coffee.
I'd still be hungry."

Instead of answering, he reached one of his blue-veined hands inside
his coat and drew out a new looking black leather billfold. I watched
him while he pulled out a thick sheaf of currency.

He carefully counted out ten twenty dollar bills, dropping them one by
one in a neat pile on the park bench. He stuck the rest back in his
billfold and took out a white glossy card, dropping it on the pile of
bills.

Then, smirking, he stood up and turned his back on me, slowly walking
down the path that wound up onto a bridge over the duck pond, without
looking back.

I waited until he was out of sight, then picked up the card and read
the name printed on it in raised green lettering: Dr. Leopold Moriss.

       *       *       *       *       *

I had a hamburger and two cups of coffee in a place where they'd never
seen me before. It would have been too hard to explain a twenty dollar
bill. Afterward I rented a room and soaked some of the accumulated dirt
out of my pores.

Next morning I bought a new suit and the things that go with it. By
noon I was wearing a hundred of that two hundred dollars. Most of the
rest was in my pocket.

Everything was fine, except that Dr. Leopold Moriss' smirking bloodless
lips and dead eyes, framed by his skin-covered jaw kept dancing before
me, taunting me, daring me to use that money without eventually showing
up to earn it.

I began to dislike him even more intensely. Instead of having lunch I
went into a cocktail lounge and had a few Bourbons straight. When their
warmth began to soak in Dr. Leopol
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 2776
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2776

and revised by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.

[Illustration]




The Four Million

by O. Henry


Contents

 TOBIN’S PALM
 THE GIFT OF THE MAGI
 A COSMOPOLITE IN A CAFÉ
 BETWEEN ROUNDS
 THE SKYLIGHT ROOM
 A SERVICE OF LOVE
 THE COMING-OUT OF MAGGIE
 MAN ABOUT TOWN
 THE COP AND THE ANTHEM
 AN ADJUSTMENT OF NATURE
 MEMOIRS OF A YELLOW DOG
 THE LOVE-PHILTRE OF IKEY SCHOENSTEIN
 MAMMON AND THE ARCHER
 SPRINGTIME À LA CARTE
 THE GREEN DOOR
 FROM THE CABBY’S SEAT
 AN UNFINISHED STORY
 THE CALIPH, CUPID AND THE CLOCK
 SISTERS OF THE GOLDEN CIRCLE
 THE ROMANCE OF A BUSY BROKER
 AFTER TWENTY YEARS
 LOST ON DRESS PARADE
 BY COURIER
 THE FURNISHED ROOM
 THE BRIEF DÉBUT OF TILDY




TOBIN’S PALM


Tobin and me, the two of us, went down to Coney one day, for there was
four dollars between us, and Tobin had need of distractions. For there
was Katie Mahorner, his sweetheart, of County Sligo, lost since she
started for America three months before with two hundred dollars, her
own savings, and one hundred dollars from the sale of Tobin’s inherited
estate, a fine cottage and pig on the Bog Shannaugh. And since the
letter that Tobin got saying that she had started to come to him not a
bit of news had he heard or seen of Katie Mahorner. Tobin advertised in
the papers, but nothing could be found of the colleen.

So, to Coney me and Tobin went, thinking that a turn at the chutes and
the smell of the popcorn might raise the heart in his bosom. But Tobin
was a hardheaded man, and the sadness stuck in his skin. He ground his
teeth at the crying balloons; he cursed the moving pictures; and,
though he would drink whenever asked, he scorned Punch and Judy, and
was for licking the tintype men as they came.

So I gets him down a side way on a board walk where the attractions
were some less violent. At a little six by eight stall Tobin halts,
with a more human look in his eye.

“’Tis here,” says he, “I will be diverted. I’ll have the palm of me
hand investigated by the wonderful palmist of the Nile, and see if what
is to be will be.”

Tobin was a believer in signs and the unnatural in nature. He possessed
illegal convictions in his mind along the subjects of black cats, lucky
numbers, and the weather predictions in the papers.

We went into the enchanted chicken coop, which was fixed mysterious
with red cloth and pictures of hands with lines crossing ’em like a
railroad centre. The sign over the door says it is Madame Zozo the
Egyptian Palmist. There was a fat woman inside in a red jumper with
pothooks and beasties embroidered upon it. Tobin gives her ten cents
and extends one of his hands. She lifts Tobin’s hand, which is own
brother to the hoof of a drayhorse, and examines it to see whether ’tis
a stone in the frog or a cast shoe he has come for.

“Man,” says this Madame Zozo, “the line of your fate shows—”

“’Tis not me foot at all,” says Tobin, interrupting. “Sure, ’tis no
beauty, but ye hold the palm of me hand.”

“The line shows,” says the Madame, “that ye’ve not arrived at your time
of life without bad luck. And there’s more to come. The mount of
Venus—or is that a stone bruise?—shows that ye’ve been in love. There’s
been trouble in your life on account of your sweetheart.”

“’Tis Katie Mahorner she has references with,” whispers Tobin to me in
a loud voice to one side.

“I see,” says the palmist, “a great deal of sorrow and tribulation with
one whom ye cannot forget. I see the lines of designation point to the
letter K and the letter M in her name.”

“Whist!” says Tobin to me, “do ye hear that?”

“Look out,” goes on the palmist, “for a dark man and a light woman; for
they’ll both bring ye trouble. Ye’ll make a voyage upon the water very
soon, and have a financial loss. I see one line that brings good luck.
There’s a man coming into your life who will fetch ye good fortune.
Ye’ll know him when ye see him by his crooked nose.”

“Is his name set down?” asks Tobin. “’Twill be convenient in the way of
greeting when he backs up to dump off the good luck.”

“His name,” says the palmist, thoughtful looking, “is not spelled out
by the lines, but they indicate ’tis a long one, and the letter ‘o’
should be in it. There’s no more to tell. Good-evening. Don’t block up
the door.”

“’Tis wonderful how she knows,” says Tobin as we walk to the pier.

As we squeezed through the gates a nigger man sticks his lighted segar
against Tobin’s ear, and there is trouble. Tobin hammers his neck, and
the women squeal, and by presence of mind I drag the little man out of
the way before the police comes. Tobin is always in an ugly mood when
enjoying himself.

On the boat going back, when the man calls “Who wants the good-looking
waiter?” Tobin tried to plead guilty, feeling the desire to blow the
foam off a crock of suds, but when he felt in his pocket he found
himself discharged for lack of evidence. Somebody had disturbed his
change during the commotion. So we sat, dry, upon the stools, listening
to the Dagoes fiddling on deck. If anything, Tobin was lower in 
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PG #: 65018
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65018


TWO ARTISTS                         7


DREAMS AND SCHEMES                 20


AN HONEST MAN’S HONEST LOVE        31


IN THE SOCIAL REALM                37


THE IMAGE OF BEAUTIFUL SIN         44


WHITE ROSES                        52


THE CALL OF A SOUL                 57


LIFE’S NIGHT WATCH                 62


A KENTUCKY STOCK FARM              68


THE BIRTH MARK                     75


HEARTS LAID BARE                   87


SUNLIGHT                           97


THE PICTURESQUE SPORT             103


WEDDED                            108


CHLORAL                           113


A BOLD INTRUDER                   120


AN ERRAND OF MYSTERY              130


A TIMELY WARNING                  140


A PLAINT OF PAIN                  146


A CROP OF KISSES                  151


A HOPE OF CHANGE                  156


THE HOME IN THE SOUTH             160


A STRANGE DEPARTURE               172


OF THE WORLD, UNWORLDLY           183


TEMPTED                           193


LOST FAITH                        197


THE CUP OF WRATH AND TREMBLING    203


A DROP OF POISON                  207


ROBERT’S TRIUMPH                  211


SHADOWING HER                     216


GONE                              219


STORMING THE LION’S DEN           222

CONCLUSION                        232




A FOOL IN SPOTS.





TWO ARTISTS.


They were seated tete-a-tete at a dinner table.

“Tell me why you have never married, Milburn,” and the steel eyes in
Willard Frost’s face searched through his glasses.

Robert Milburn’s answer was a shrug, and a long cloud of smoke blown
back at the glowing end of his cigar.

“Tell me why,” persisted the keen-eyed Frost.

“Because it is too expensive a luxury; besides, a man who has affianced
a career like mine must take that for his bride,” was Robert’s answer.

“Admitting there is warmth and color in some of your artistic
creations, old fellow, I should think you would find these scarcely
available of winter nights, eh?”

Robert laughed; his laugh was short, though, and bitter. He had taken
keen pleasure in the cynical worldly wisdom and unsentimental judgment
of this man.

“If you can’t afford the wife, then let the wife afford you,” began
Frost’s logical reasoning. “You have brain, muscle and youth. Marry
them to that necessary adjunct which you do not possess, and which the
government refuses to supply. This is perfectly practical. The whole
question of marriage is too much a matter of sentiment; too little
a matter of judgment. Now, the son of a millionaire without an idea
above his raiment and his club, devoid of morals and of brains, marries
the daughter of a silver king. What is the result? A race of vulgar
imbeciles.”

Here Frost, more wickedly practical, continued: “Now, you are of
gentle blood, being fitted out by nature with the most unfortunate
combination of attributes. Nature has given you much more than your
share of intelligence and manly beauty, together with most refined and
sympathetic sensibilities and luxurious tastes, and then has placed you
in an orbit representing intelligence, aristocracy and wealth. Here
she has left you to revolve with the greater and lesser luminaries,
and that with the slenderest of incomes, which is not as yet greatly
increased by your profession. You doubtless find that it requires
considerable financiering to do these things deemed necessary to
maintain your position in the constellation.”

“It is rather annoying to be poor,” Robert answered in a carefully
repressed voice. A hard sigh followed, and there flashed through him
the hot consciousness of the bitter truth. For that special reason no
word had ever crossed his lips that could, by any means, be twisted
into serious suit with the fair sex. It was generally accepted that he
was not a “marrying” man.

They were, both of them, men who would at first sight interest a
stranger. The younger of the two you might have seen before if you
frequented the ultra-fashionable dinner parties, luncheons, etc., of
polite New York. Anywhere, everywhere, was Robert Milburn a special
guest and a general favorite.

He was medium-sized, delicately featured, with a look of half-lazy
enthusiasm. You would set him down at once as an artistic character;
at the same time, there was in his make-up and bearing, that which
bespeaks an ambitious nature. His companion, who appeared older, was a
man of statelier stamp, tall and sufficiently athletic. His face was
well finished and had a certain air of self-possession, which not a few
name self-conceit, and resent accordingly.

“Ah! Robert, you have entirely too much sentiment, my boy. Do not
waste yourself. I will cite you a girl--there’s Frances Baxter. True,
she is not good looking, in fact, I presume quite a few consider her
extraordinarily plain. But that excessive income is worth your while to
aspire to--such a name as Milburn is certainly worth something.”

With an earnestness of tone and manner which the gossipy nature of
the talk hardly seemed
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PG #: 964
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THE MERRY ADVENTURES OF ROBIN HOOD

by Howard Pyle



PREFACE

FROM THE AUTHOR TO THE READER


You who so plod amid serious things that you feel it shame to give
yourself up even for a few short moments to mirth and joyousness in the
land of Fancy; you who think that life hath nought to do with innocent
laughter that can harm no one; these pages are not for you. Clap to the
leaves and go no farther than this, for I tell you plainly that if you
go farther you will be scandalized by seeing good, sober folks of real
history so frisk and caper in gay colors and motley that you would
not know them but for the names tagged to them. Here is a stout, lusty
fellow with a quick temper, yet none so ill for all that, who goes by
the name of Henry II. Here is a fair, gentle lady before whom all the
others bow and call her Queen Eleanor. Here is a fat rogue of a fellow,
dressed up in rich robes of a clerical kind, that all the good folk call
my Lord Bishop of Hereford. Here is a certain fellow with a sour temper
and a grim look--the worshipful, the Sheriff of Nottingham. And here,
above all, is a great, tall, merry fellow that roams the greenwood and
joins in homely sports, and sits beside the Sheriff at merry feast,
which same beareth the name of the proudest of the Plantagenets--Richard
of the Lion's Heart. Beside these are a whole host of knights, priests,
nobles, burghers, yeomen, pages, ladies, lasses, landlords, beggars,
peddlers, and what not, all living the merriest of merry lives, and all
bound by nothing but a few odd strands of certain old ballads (snipped
and clipped and tied together again in a score of knots) which draw
these jocund fellows here and there, singing as they go.

Here you will find a hundred dull, sober, jogging places, all tricked
out with flowers and what not, till no one would know them in their
fanciful dress. And here is a country bearing a well-known name, wherein
no chill mists press upon our spirits, and no rain falls but what rolls
off our backs like April showers off the backs of sleek drakes; where
flowers bloom forever and birds are always singing; where every fellow
hath a merry catch as he travels the roads, and ale and beer and wine
(such as muddle no wits) flow like water in a brook.

This country is not Fairyland. What is it? 'Tis the land of Fancy, and
is of that pleasant kind that, when you tire of it--whisk!--you clap
the leaves of this book together and 'tis gone, and you are ready for
everyday life, with no harm done.

And now I lift the curtain that hangs between here and No-man's-land.
Will you come with me, sweet Reader? I thank you. Give me your hand.



CONTENTS

     CHAPTER                                                PAGE

     I         HOW ROBIN HOOD CAME TO BE AN OUTLAW            1
     II        ROBIN HOOD AND THE TINKER                     14
     III       THE SHOOTING MATCH AT NOTTINGHAM TOWN         27
     IV        WILL STUTELY RESCUED BY HIS COMPANIONS        38
     V         ROBIN HOOD TURNS BUTCHER                      50
     VI        LITTLE JOHN GOES TO NOTTINGHAM FAIR           61
     VII       HOW LITTLE JOHN LIVED AT THE SHERIFF'S        68
     VIII      LITTLE JOHN AND THE TANNER OF BLYTH           81
     IX        ROBIN HOOD AND WILL SCARLET                   92
     X         THE ADVENTURE WITH MIDGE, THE MILLER'S SON   102
     Xl        ROBIN HOOD AND ALLAN A DALE                  115
     XII       ROBIN HOOD SEEKS THE CURTAL FRIAR            129
     XIII      ROBIN HOOD COMPASSES A MARRIAGE              145
     XIV       ROBIN HOOD AIDS A SORROWFUL KNIGHT           156
     XV        HOW SIR RICHARD OF THE LEA PAID HIS DEBTS    172
     XVI       LITTLE JOHN TURNS BAREFOOT FRIAR             186
     XVII      ROBIN HOOD TURNS BEGGAR                      202
     XVIII     ROBIN HOOD SHOOTS BEFORE QUEEN ELEANOR       222
     XIX       THE CHASE OF ROBIN HOOD                      243
     XX        ROBIN HOOD AND GUY OF GISBOURNE              262
     XXI       KING RICHARD COMES TO SHERWOOD FOREST        281
     EPILOGUE                                     300





How Robin Hood Came to Be an Outlaw

IN MERRY ENGLAND in the time of old, when good King Henry the Second
ruled the land, there lived within the green glades of Sherwood Forest,
near Nottingham Town, a famous outlaw whose name was Robin Hood. No
archer ever lived that could speed a gray goose shaft with such skill
and cunning as his, nor were there ever such yeomen as the sevenscore
merry men that roamed with him through the greenwood shades. Right
merrily they dwelled within the depths of Sherwood Forest, suffering
neither care nor want, but passing the time in merry games of archery or
bouts of cudgel play, living upon the King's venison, washed down with
draughts of ale of October brewing.

Not only Robin himself but all the band were outlaws and dwelled apart
from other men, yet they were beloved by the country people round about,
for no one ever came to jolly Rob
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 901
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/901

THE JEW OF MALTA.



By Christopher Marlowe

Edited By The Rev. Alexander Dyce.



The Famous Tragedy of The Rich Iew of Malta.  As it was playd before the
King and Qveene, in His Majesties Theatre at White-Hall, by her
Majesties Servants at the Cock-pit.  Written by Christopher Marlo.
London; Printed by I. B. for Nicholas Vavasour, and are to be sold at
his Shop in the Inner-Temple, neere the Church.  1633.  4to.



TO MY WORTHY FRIEND, MASTER THOMAS HAMMON, of GRAY'S INN, ETC.

This play, composed by so worthy an author as Master Marlowe, and the
part of the Jew presented by so unimitable an actor as Master Alleyn,
being in this later age commended to the stage; as I ushered it unto the
court, and presented it to the Cock-pit, with these Prologues and
Epilogues here inserted, so now being newly brought to the press, I was
loath it should be published without the ornament of an Epistle; making
choice of you unto whom to devote it; than whom (of all those gentlemen
and acquaintance within the compass of my long knowledge) there is none
more able to tax ignorance, or attribute right to merit. Sir, you have
been pleased to grace some of mine own works [1] with your courteous
patronage:  I hope this will not be the worse accepted, because
commended by me; over whom none can claim more power or privilege than
yourself.  I had no better a new-year's gift to present you with;
receive it therefore as a continuance of that inviolable obligement, by
which he rests still engaged, who, as he ever hath, shall always remain,

     Tuissimus,
          Tho. Heywood. [2]





THE PROLOGUE SPOKEN AT COURT.

     Gracious and great, that we so boldly dare
     ('Mongst other plays that now in fashion are)
     To present this, writ many years agone,
     And in that age thought second unto none,
     We humbly crave your pardon.  We pursue
     The story of a rich and famous Jew
     Who liv'd in Malta:  you shall find him still,
     In all his projects, a sound Machiavill;
     And that's his character.  He that hath past
     So many censures [3] is now come at last
     To have your princely ears:  grace you him; then
     You crown the action, and renown the pen.




EPILOGUE SPOKEN AT COURT.

     It is our fear, dread sovereign, we have bin [4]
     Too tedious; neither can't be less than sin
     To wrong your princely patience:  if we have,
     Thus low dejected, we your pardon crave;
     And, if aught here offend your ear or sight,
     We only act and speak what others write.




THE PROLOGUE TO THE STAGE, AT THE COCK-PIT.

     We know not how our play may pass this stage,
     But by the best of poets [5] in that age
     THE MALTA-JEW had being and was made;
     And he then by the best of actors [6] play'd:
     In HERO AND LEANDER [7] one did gain
     A lasting memory; in Tamburlaine,
     This Jew, with others many, th' other wan
     The attribute of peerless, being a man
     Whom we may rank with (doing no one wrong)
     Proteus for shapes, and Roscius for a tongue,--
     So could he speak, so vary; nor is't hate
     To merit in him [8] who doth personate
     Our Jew this day; nor is it his ambition
     To exceed or equal, being of condition
     More modest:  this is all that he intends,
     (And that too at the urgence of some friends,)
     To prove his best, and, if none here gainsay it,
     The part he hath studied, and intends to play it.




EPILOGUE TO THE STAGE, AT THE COCK-PIT.

     In graving with Pygmalion to contend,
     Or painting with Apelles, doubtless the end
     Must be disgrace:  our actor did not so,--
     He only aim'd to go, but not out-go.
     Nor think that this day any prize was play'd; [9]
     Here were no bets at all, no wagers laid: [10]
     All the ambition that his mind doth swell,
     Is but to hear from you (by me) 'twas well.




DRAMATIS PERSONAE.

     FERNEZE, governor of Malta.
     LODOWICK, his son.
     SELIM CALYMATH, son to the Grand Seignior.
     MARTIN DEL BOSCO, vice-admiral of Spain.
     MATHIAS, a gentleman.
     JACOMO,     |
     BARNARDINE, | friars.
     BARABAS, a wealthy Jew.
     ITHAMORE, a slave.
     PILIA-BORZA, a bully, attendant to BELLAMIRA.
     Two Merchants.
     Three Jews.
     Knights, Bassoes, Officers, Guard, Slaves, Messenger,
          and Carpenters

     KATHARINE, mother to MATHIAS.
     ABIGAIL, daughter to BARABAS.
     BELLAMIRA, a courtezan.
     Abbess.
     Nun.

     MACHIAVEL as Prologue speaker.

          Scene, Malta.





THE JEW OF MALTA.

          Enter MACHIAVEL.

     MACHIAVEL. Albeit the world think Machiavel is dead,
     Yet was his soul but flown beyond the Alps;
     And, now the Guise [11] is dead, is come from France,
     To view this land, and frolic with his friends.
     To some perhaps my name is odious;
     But such as love me, guard me from their tongues,
     And let them know that I am Machiavel,
     And weigh not men, and therefore not men's words.
     Admir'd I am of those
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PG #: 10741
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10741


DIVISION OF THE SUBJECT.


Aristotle[1] divides the blessings of life into three classes--those
which come to us from without, those of the soul, and those of the
body. Keeping nothing of this division but the number, I observe that
the fundamental differences in human lot may be reduced to three
distinct classes:

[Footnote 1: _Eth. Nichom_., I. 8.]

(1) What a man is: that is to say, personality, in the widest sense
of the word; under which are included health, strength, beauty,
temperament, moral character, intelligence, and education.

(2) What a man has: that is, property and possessions of every kind.

(3) How a man stands in the estimation of others: by which is to be
understood, as everybody knows, what a man is in the eyes of his
fellowmen, or, more strictly, the light in which they regard him. This
is shown by their opinion of him; and their opinion is in its turn
manifested by the honor in which he is held, and by his rank and
reputation.

The differences which come under the first head are those which Nature
herself has set between man and man; and from this fact alone we may
at once infer that they influence the happiness or unhappiness of
mankind in a much more vital and radical way than those contained
under the two following heads, which are merely the effect of human
arrangements. Compared with _genuine personal advantages_, such as a
great mind or a great heart, all the privileges of rank or birth, even
of royal birth, are but as kings on the stage, to kings in real life.
The same thing was said long ago by Metrodorus, the earliest disciple
of Epicurus, who wrote as the title of one of his chapters, _The
happiness we receive from ourselves is greater than that which we
obtain from our surroundings_[1] And it is an obvious fact, which
cannot be called in question, that the principal element in a man's
well-being,--indeed, in the whole tenor of his existence,--is what he
is made of, his inner constitution. For this is the immediate source
of that inward satisfaction or dissatisfaction resulting from the
sum total of his sensations, desires and thoughts; whilst his
surroundings, on the other hand, exert only a mediate or indirect
influence upon him. This is why the same external events or
circumstances affect no two people alike; even with perfectly similar
surroundings every one lives in a world of his own. For a man has
immediate apprehension only of his own ideas, feelings and volitions;
the outer world can influence him only in so far as it brings these to
life. The world in which a man lives shapes itself chiefly by the way
in which he looks at it, and so it proves different to different
men; to one it is barren, dull, and superficial; to another rich,
interesting, and full of meaning. On hearing of the interesting events
which have happened in the course of a man's experience, many people
will wish that similar things had happened in their lives too,
completely forgetting that they should be envious rather of the mental
aptitude which lent those events the significance they possess when he
describes them; to a man of genius they were interesting adventures;
but to the dull perceptions of an ordinary individual they would have
been stale, everyday occurrences. This is in the highest degree the
case with many of Goethe's and Byron's poems, which are obviously
founded upon actual facts; where it is open to a foolish reader to
envy the poet because so many delightful things happened to him,
instead of envying that mighty power of phantasy which was capable
of turning a fairly common experience into something so great and
beautiful.

[Footnote 1: Cf. Clemens Alex. Strom. II., 21.]

In the same way, a person of melancholy temperament will make a scene
in a tragedy out of what appears to the sanguine man only in the light
of an interesting conflict, and to a phlegmatic soul as something
without any meaning;--all of which rests upon the fact that every
event, in order to be realized and appreciated, requires the
co-operation of two factors, namely, a subject and an object, although
these are as closely and necessarily connected as oxygen and hydrogen
in water. When therefore the objective or external factor in an
experience is actually the same, but the subjective or personal
appreciation of it varies, the event is just as much a different one
in the eyes of different persons as if the objective factors had not
been alike; for to a blunt intelligence the fairest and best object in
the world presents only a poor reality, and is therefore only poorly
appreciated,--like a fine landscape in dull weather, or in the
reflection of a bad _camera obscura_. In plain language, every man
is pent up within the limits of his own consciousness, and cannot
directly get beyond those limits any more than he can get beyond his
own skin; so external aid is not of much use to him. On the stage, one
man is a prince, another a minister, a third a servant or a soldier or
a general, and so on,--mere external differenc
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65084
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65084

Transcriber’s note:

      Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).

      Text enclosed by equal signs is in bold face (=bold=).




Boy Scout Series Volume 6

THE BOY SCOUT PATHFINDERS

Or

Jack Danby’s Best Adventure

by

MAJOR ROBERT MAITLAND

C






The Saalfield Publishing Company
Chicago      Akron, Ohio      New York

Copyright 1912
by
The Saalfield Publishing Co.




                              CONTENTS


                                                                   PAGE
      I  HO! FOR THE ADIRONDACKS                                     3
     II  THE LOGGING CAMP                                           12
    III  THE OLD SNAKE HUNTER                                       26
     IV  THE FIGHT                                                  35
      V  THE BEAR’S SURPRISE PARTY                                  42
     VI  THE PLOT                                                   50
    VII  TRAPPED IN THE CAVE                                        58
   VIII  THE BOY SCOUTS TO THE FORE                                 66
     IX  DICK CRAWFORD GIVES WARNING                                77
      X  “BUSY AS BEAVERS”                                          87
     XI  THE BOG                                                   100
    XII  OLD SAM TO THE RESCUE                                     108
   XIII  THE BROKEN TRESTLE                                        117
    XIV  THE SAVING OF THE TRAIN                                   124
     XV  A STRANGE DUEL                                            132
    XVI  TOO LATE!                                                 139
   XVII  JACK’S RUN FOR LIFE                                       148
  XVIII  BALKED OF THEIR PREY                                      154




                      The Boy Scout Pathfinders




                              CHAPTER I

                       HO! FOR THE ADIRONDACKS


“Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Ding-dong!” clashed the great bell
on the locomotive, and with much creaking and clanking and letting
off of steam, with iron scraping on iron and one last, long drawn
whistle of the air-brakes, the train came slowly to a stop.

As if vying with the locomotive to see which could make the greater
noise, a score or more of khaki-clad boys came tumbling to the
platform of the little mountain station, amid whoops and cat-calls
and shouts of, “Here we are!” “Hurrah for the Adirondacks!” “Say,
fellows, this is the backwoods and no mistake!”

And then in rapid succession came the further inquiries:

“Which way do we go? Up this road?”

“See that big rock away down there? I’ll race you to it!”

The big collie Don, not to be behindhand when there was any noise or
capering to be done, and more glad than anyone else to be released
from the many hours of close confinement in that awful baggage car,
ran wildly about, darting in and out between the boys’ feet, at the
imminent danger of upsetting the whole procession, and added his
joyful bark to the general noise and confusion.

A couple of boys did go down, but were at once on their feet and
after Don, who--knowing and wise dog that he was!--understood well
that his pursuers were his loyal friends, as he was theirs, and felt
no fear, but ran and doubled, and ran on again, treating it all as
the very best kind of a joke.

A half hour of racing and tearing to given points and back again,
and impromptu games of leapfrog and follow my leader gave vent to
the bubbling spirits held in check during the long journey and the
Scouts, once more looking like self-controlled boys instead of
cavorting wild Indians, settled down to a walk.

This was the opportunity for which Mr. Durland had been waiting to
discuss plans for the season’s camp.

The call to camp had been sent out so late that most of the Scouts
knew little beside the location and duration of the camp; and now
Scout-Master Durland proceeded to enlighten them.

Late in the autumn of the previous year Mr. Scott, a very
wealthy gentleman, had purchased a large section of land in the
Adirondacks--many, many acres of ground, nearly a whole county, in
fact.

As it was late in the season, he had been forced to postpone the
inspection and surveying of the tract until the next year, but in
order to be ready early in the summer, he had had a stout log house
erected, to serve as a shelter for whomever should be sent out for
the survey, and after that as a temporary hunting lodge until a
larger and more elaborate one should be built.

Mr. Scott and the Scout-Master were warm friends, and knowing the
proposed plans for the new lands, Mr. Durland had suggested making
the work the object of the Boy Scouts’ summer camp. Mr. Scott, a firm
believer and warm advocate of the Boy Scout movement, had readily
consented.

Because there was more or less danger in this region of encountering
a bear, or even a wildcat, and as a rattlesnake was not altogether an
impossibility, it was thought advisable to use the lodge as
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 28521
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/28521

[Transcriber's note: Anonymous, _The power of mesmerism_ (1891),
1891 edition.  A classic Victorian erotic novel]





THE POWER OF MESMERISM



A HIGHLY EROTIC NARRATIVE OF VOLUPTUOUS FACTS AND FANCIES.




PRINTED FOR THE NIHISLISTS. MOSCOW 1891






Brackley Hall was a fine old place in the lovely country of Devon and
had been in the possession of the Etheridges for centuries.

The park was beautifully wooded, and stretched down on one side to the
coast, commanding in all directions the most enchanting views.

Mr. Etheridge was a man of some forty years of age, of singularly
handsome appearance, and bore evident traces of the Italian blood which
flowed in his veins. He had the appearance of a man having strong
amorous passions, but his manners were as gentle as those of a woman,
and he was universally popular throughout the whole county.

His wife was a woman of unusual beauty. Descended from an old Spanish
family, she had married when but sixteen years of age; Mr. Etheridge
having met her at the house of some friends, and as they mutually fell
in love with each other, their united entreaties overcame the objection
raised on account of her youth, and in fact the warm blood that flowed
in her veins had ripened her beauty to an extent almost unusual in
those of more phlegmatic races.

She was now in her thirty-fifth year, and in the full zenith of her
charms. An exquisitely shaped head graced a neck and shoulders white as
alabaster, large liquid eyes, and long drooping lashes, a nose of
perfect form, and two ruby pouting lips that seemed made to be kissed.

Her form was magnificent, of commanding height, widely spreading hips,
and a bosom of massive proportions, the firmness of which rendered
stays entirely unnecessary; a fact that was evident on watching the
rise and fall of those two lovely globes, their form being perfectly
defined even to the nipples, beneath her well-fitting dress.

Her glance was electric, and it was impossible to meet her look
unmoved, she exhaled an atmosphere of voluptuousness of the most
maddening force.

Her daughter Ethel, who had left school in Paris but a few months, was
the very counterpart of her lovely mother in her leading features. She
had just completed her seventeenth year, and was of tall, graceful
stature, with a perfect figure. The smallness of her waist contrasted
perfectly with the ravishing fullness of bosom and wideness of hips.
She had the liquid eyes of her mother, but they were suffused with a
humidity that was perfectly maddening, and the expression of every
feature of her lovely face and palpitating form spoke of a warmth of
temperament and lascivious abandon that would have tempted an anchorite.

On a bright summer afternoon, in the year 18--, father, mother, and
daughter were waiting at the railway station, anxiously expecting the
arrival of the remaining member of the family, Frank, who, a year older
than Ethel, had been finishing his education in Germany, and was now
returning to take up his residence at Brackley.

At last the train arrived, and they hardly recognised the handsome,
tall, and fine-looking young fellow who leaped out to greet them.

A few hours after reaching the house the parents noted a peculiar
change that had taken place in their son. A dreamy languor seemed to
have taken possession of him, in place of the exuberant flow of animal
spirits that characterised him as a boy. He had a strange habit of
looking as though he were endeavouring to read the very thoughts of
those with whom he came in contact.

Mrs. Etheridge noticed this particularly, but thinking he was fatigued
by his long journey, made no remark. But the most remarkable effect was
produced on Ethel; her brother seemed utterly unable to remove his eyes
from her. Her singular beauty, and the nameless charm that pervaded
her, seemed to have an irresistible attraction for him. Every time that
his eye rested on her she trembled violently, and seemed labouring
under some mysterious and powerful influence. Her lovely breasts
heaved, and the humidity of her eyes increased, and she still seemed
unusually excited after her brother had left the room in order to dress
for dinner.

Some friends had been invited to dine, and Frank found himself placed
between his mother and sister. He glanced alternately at the two lovely
bosoms, well exposed by the low dresses each of them wore; and his face
flushed, and he seemed for the moment about to faint, but almost
immediately recovering himself, he proceeded with his dinner and joined
in the conversation.

In the course of the meal he ventured again to glance at his sister,
and as she was leaning forward he saw the lovely valley between those
hills of snow.

He accidentally pressed his knee against hers, she immediately looked
at him fondly, and her breasts rose and fell tumultuously as she
mechanically pressed closer to him.

Nothing further happened on this occasion, but they had a most charming
evening in the drawing room, and Ethel and Frank 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65042
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65042


THE BREAKING OF THE PEACE



THE OPENING OF THE WAR



THE BATTLE OF MONS

The landing of the British in France--The British leaders--The
advance to Mons--The defence of the bridges of Nimy--The holding of
the canal--The fateful telegram--The rearguard actions of Frameries,
Wasmes, and Dour--The charge of the Lancers--The fate of the
Cheshires--The 7th Brigade at Solesmes--The Guards in action--The
Germans' rude awakening--The Connaughts at Pont-sur-Sambre



THE BATTLE OF LE CATEAU

The order of battle at Le Cateau--The stand of the 2nd
Suffolks--Major Yate's V.C.--The fight for the quarries--The splendid
work of the British guns--Difficult retirement of the Fourth
Division--The fate of the 1st Gordons--Results of the
battle--Exhaustion of the Army--The destruction of the 2nd
Munsters--A cavalry fight--The news in Great Britain--The views of
General Joffre--Battery L--The action of Villars-Cotteret--Reunion of
the Army



THE BATTLE OF THE MARNE

The general situation--"Die grosse Zeit"--The turn of the tide--The
Battle of the Ourcq--The British advance--Cavalry fighting--The 1st
Lincolns and the guns--6th Brigade's action at Hautvesnes--9th
Brigade's capture of Germans at Vinly--The problem of the Aisne--Why
the Marne is one of the great battles of all time



THE BATTLE OF THE AISNE

The hazardous crossing of the Aisne--Wonderful work of the
sappers--The fight for the sugar factory--General advance of the
Army--The 4th (Guards) Brigade's difficult task--Cavalry as a mobile
reserve--The Sixth Division--Hardships of the Army--German breach of
faith--_Tâtez toujours_--The general position--Attack upon the West
Yorks--Counter-attack by Congreve's 18th Brigade--Rheims
Cathedral--Spies--The siege and fall of Antwerp



THE LA BASSÉE--ARMENTIÈRES OPERATIONS

The great battle line--Advance of Second Corps--Death of General
Hamilton--The farthest point--Fate of the 2nd Royal Irish--The Third
Corps--Exhausted troops--First fight of Neuve Chapelle--The Indians
take over--The Lancers at Warneton--Pulteney's operations--Action of
Le Gheir



THE FIRST BATTLE OF YPRES

The Seventh Division--Its peculiar excellence--Its difficult
position--A deadly ordeal--Desperate attacks on Seventh
Division--Destruction of 2nd Wilts--Hard fight of 20th
Brigade--Arrival of First Corps--Advance of Haig's Corps--Fight of
Pilken Inn--Bravery of enemy--Advance of Second Division--Fight of
Kruiseik cross-roads--Fight of Zandvoorde--Fight of
Gheluvelt--Advance of Worcesters--German recoil--General result--A
great crisis



THE FIRST BATTLE OF YPRES (_continued_)

Attack upon the cavalry--The struggle at Messines--The London Scots
in action--Rally to the north--Terrible losses--Action of
Zillebeke--Record of the Seventh Division--Situation at Ypres--Attack
of the Prussian Guard--Confused fighting--End of the first Battle of
Ypres--Death of Lord Roberts--The Eighth Division



A RETROSPECT AND GENERAL SUMMARY

Position of Italy--Fall of German colonies--Sea affairs--Our Allies



THE WINTER LULL OF 1914

Increase of the Army--Formation of the Fifth Corps--The visit of the
King--Third Division at Petit Bois--The fight at Givenchy--Heavy
losses of the Indians--Fine advance of Manchesters--Advance of the
First Division--Singular scenes at Christmas


INDEX




MAPS AND PLANS

Map to illustrate the British Campaign in France and Flanders, 1914

Position of Second Army Corps at Mons, August 23

First Morning of Retreat of Second Army Corps, August 24

Sketch of Battle of Le Cateau, August 26

Line of Retreat from Mons


British Advance during the Battle of the Marne

British Advance at the Aisne

Diagram to illustrate Operations of Smith-Dorrien's Second Corps and
Pulteney's Third Corps from October 11 to October 19, 1914

Southern End of British Line

General View of Seat of Operations

Line of Seventh Division (Capper) and Third Cavalry Division (Byng)
from October 16 onwards

General Scene of Operations

Sketch of Battle of Gheluvelt, October 31



[Illustration: Map of north-east France and Belgium]




{1}


THE BREAKING OF THE PEACE

In the frank, cynical, and powerful book of General Bernhardi which
has been so often quoted in connection with the war there is one
statement which is both true and important.  It is, that no one in
Great Britain thought seriously of a war with Germany before the year
1902.  As a German observer he has fixed this date, and a British
commentator who cast back through the history of the past would
surely endorse it.  Here, then, is a point of common agreement from
which one can construct a scheme of thought.

Why then should the British people in the year 1902 begin to
seriously contemplate the possibility of a war with Germany?  It
might be argued by a German apologist that this date marks an
appreciation by Great Britain that Germany was a great trade rival
who might with advantage be crushed.  But the facts would not sustain
such a conclusion.  The growth of German trade and of German wealth
was a phenomenon
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PG #: 65138
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65138

use cover


REVOLT OF THE DEVIL STAR

By ROSS ROCKLYNNE

The Law of the Universe stated that
all life must create and die. Devil
Star defied the law--for did he not
know the dread secret of his birth?

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
February 1951
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


[illus]

<i>The story of Darkness has been told. Darkness, the dreamer who crossed
the immeasurable gulf of lightless emptiness between two universes.
He, an energy creature tens of millions of miles in girth, sought the
answer to life. Perhaps he found that answer in death, when he mated in
the thus-far inaccessible forty-eighth band of life.</i>

<i>And the story of Darkness' daughter Sun Destroyer has been told. She
plunged back along Darkness' trail to seek out that aged, sorrowing
being whose name was Oldster. For Oldster was wise. He had counselled
Darkness. Surely Oldster could lead Sun Destroyer to her life's
completion in the forty-ninth band of hyper-space. But there was no
forty-ninth band, unless it lay in Sun Destroyer's wild fantasies of
impossible happiness. She too died, yearning for her son Vanguard,
the infant purple light who lay helpless in the seventeenth band of
hyper-space.</i>

<i>The story of Vanguard too has been told. He was renamed Yellow Light
by his taunting playmates, because of imperfections in his central
core. Physically disabled by his long stay in the seventeenth band, he
was never to know happiness. Oldster, in his compassion and wisdom, led
Vanguard to mate--to create and thus to die--for he knew Vanguard's
true greatness, that he was destined to father a new race who would
supplant the old.</i>

<i>And this is the last story of the Darkness, the story of the purple
light named Devil Star.</i>

<tb>

Youth and play. Youth and that great yard of galaxies with the great
high fence of the darkness. Youth and the joys of living ... and the
deep-fluttering memory of his birth.

Into his ten-millionth year he never spoke of that memory. He kept it
cold and suffocating in an unplumbed chamber of his thought swirls.
Then it pressed upward in its wild escape.

"Moon Flame!"

His companion in the joyous race across that galaxy touched him briefly
with his visions.

"You spoke?"

"Yes! Moon Flame, listen to me. I must know something. Whether you--if
the others--if <i>they</i> remember. Remember the moment of birth! Remember
the mother--the dying father--<i>the band of life</i>--"

His aura quivered. He strove not to read concern in the gaze of Moon
Flame.

"I do not remember it," said Moon Flame slowly. "Birth? Death? Father?
You speak in riddles, Devil Star. Come now, faster! I see the others in
the galaxy beyond. Forget that silliness!"

For a clairvoyant second in his time-scale, the raging thoughts of
Devil Star swelled. And subsided.

He flung himself into Moon Flame's path.

"You must listen," he said tensely. "We must all beware. For all of us
will die!"

Moon Flame did not lessen his speed. "Die?"

"You do not understand, Moon Flame. Death is our destiny. It was
destined long before we were born."

Moon Flame stared. "Then if this strange thing is destined, no one can
win against it."

"No one?" Devil Star swerved in his backward flight, brushing the
violet furnace of a super-sun. He said, "I shall win, Moon Flame. I
shall fight death--the death green lights will attempt to give us. I
shall interrupt destiny. I shall be its master!"

But Moon Flame did not understand. He brushed Devil Star aside with
an impatient tractor ray. With a scornful glance backward, he went
shooting off leaving Devil Star caught in a wake of incandescent sparks.

Devil Star stared after him, but all he saw was the immortal blaze of
his life's years.

He was the rebel. He would not die!

<tb>

Devil Star had five million more years of peace, of caniptious play.
And then....

He was alone, and cradling his loneliness, atop a galaxy shaped like
a masterfully blown, brimming wine-glass, with the bubbles of stars
clouding about its rim. The moment of his curse had come, for a vast
cunning had grown in him. He would lie here, shielded by a giant star,
and he would wait.

The waiting was not long. Came the beat of a life force. He felt
himself tremble. Deep inside something was whispering that he should
forget, turn back--play--skim along the surface of life as did Moon
Flame and the other energy children. Accept destiny!

Destiny! The cunning shift and quiver of sub-atomic particles that
began when the universe began.

He would not.

The life force pressed in, strengthened. And with a thread of vision he
saw a matured green light, her central core burning with an hypnotic,
frightening radiance.

Devil Star surged up closer to the star that shielded him, for now
he sensed the swirl and pulse of another life. With a thinned ray of
sight, he beheld the purple light ripping through space toward the
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 14837
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14837

[Illustration]




THE TALE OF
TOM KITTEN

BY
BEATRIX POTTER

_Author of_
_"The Tale of Peter Rabbit", &c._

[Illustration]

FREDERICK WARNE

First published 1907




1907 by Frederick Warne & Co.




Printed and bound in Great Britain by
William Clowes Limited, Beccles and London




DEDICATED
TO ALL
PICKLES,
--ESPECIALLY TO THOSE THAT
GET UPON MY GARDEN WALL




[Illustration]

Once upon a time there were three little kittens, and their names were
Mittens, Tom Kitten, and Moppet.

They had dear little fur coats of their own; and they tumbled about the
doorstep and played in the dust.

But one day their mother--Mrs. Tabitha Twitchit--expected friends to tea;
so she fetched the kittens indoors, to wash and dress them, before the
fine company arrived.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

First she scrubbed their faces (this one is Moppet).

Then she brushed their fur, (this one is Mittens).

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Then she combed their tails and whiskers (this is Tom Kitten).

Tom was very naughty, and he scratched.

Mrs. Tabitha dressed Moppet and Mittens in clean pinafores and tuckers;
and then she took all sorts of elegant uncomfortable clothes out of a
chest of drawers, in order to dress up her son Thomas.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Tom Kitten was very fat, and he had grown; several buttons burst off. His
mother sewed them on again.

When the three kittens were ready, Mrs. Tabitha unwisely turned them out
into the garden, to be out of the way while she made hot buttered toast.

"Now keep your frocks clean, children! You must walk on your hind legs.
Keep away from the dirty ash-pit, and from Sally Henny Penny, and from the
pig-stye and the Puddle-Ducks."

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Moppet and Mittens walked down the garden path unsteadily. Presently they
trod upon their pinafores and fell on their noses.

When they stood up there were several green smears!

"Let us climb up the rockery, and sit on the garden wall," said Moppet.

They turned their pinafores back to front, and went up with a skip and a
jump; Moppet's white tucker fell down into the road.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Tom Kitten was quite unable to jump when walking upon his hind legs in
trousers. He came up the rockery by degrees, breaking the ferns, and
shedding buttons right and left.

He was all in pieces when he reached the top of the wall.

Moppet and Mittens tried to pull him together; his hat fell off, and the
rest of his buttons burst.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

While they were in difficulties, there was a pit pat paddle pat! and the
three Puddle-Ducks came along the hard high road, marching one behind the
other and doing the goose step--pit pat paddle pat! pit pat waddle pat!

They stopped and stood in a row, and stared up at the kittens. They had
very small eyes and looked surprised.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Then the two duck-birds, Rebeccah and Jemima Puddle-Duck, picked up the
hat and tucker and put them on.

Mittens laughed so that she fell off the wall. Moppet and Tom descended
after her; the pinafores and all the rest of Tom's clothes came off on the
way down.

"Come! Mr. Drake Puddle-Duck," said Moppet--"Come and help us to dress
him! Come and button up Tom!"

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Mr. Drake Puddle-Duck advanced in a slow sideways manner, and picked up
the various articles.

But he put them on _himself!_ They fitted him even worse than Tom Kitten.

"It's a very fine morning!" said Mr. Drake Puddle-Duck.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

And he and Jemima and Rebeccah Puddle-Duck set off up the road, keeping
step--pit pat, paddle pat! pit pat, waddle pat!

Then Tabitha Twitchit came down the garden and found her kittens on the
wall with no clothes on.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

She pulled them off the wall, smacked them, and took them back to the
house.

"My friends will arrive in a minute, and you are not fit to be seen; I am
affronted," said Mrs. Tabitha Twitchit.

She sent them upstairs; and I am sorry to say she told her friends that
they were in bed with the measles; which was not true.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

Quite the contrary; they were not in bed: _not_ in the least.

Somehow there were very extraordinary noises over-head, which disturbed
the dignity and repose of the tea party.

And I think that some day I shall have to make another, larger, book, to
tell you more about Tom Kitten!

[Illustration]

As for the Puddle-Ducks--they went into a pond.

The clothes all came off directly, because there were no buttons.

[Illustration]

[Illustration]

And Mr. Drake Puddle-Duck, and Jemima and Rebeccah, have been looking for
them ever since.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 29854
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/29854

[This e-text comes in three forms: Unicode (UTF-8), Latin-1 and ASCII-7.
Use the one that works best on your text reader.

  --If “œ” displays as a single character, and apostrophes and
  quotation marks are “curly” or angled, you have the UTF-8 version
  (best). If any part of this paragraph displays as garbage, try
  changing your text reader’s “character set” or “file encoding”.
  If that doesn’t work, proceed to:
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  “rôle” and “mêre” have accents and “æ” is a single letter. Apostrophes
  and quotation marks will be straight (“typewriter” form). Again, if
  you see any garbage in this paragraph and can’t get it to display
  properly, use:
  --The ASCII-7 or rock-bottom version. All necessary text will still be
  there; it just won’t be as pretty. Note that in the Introduction to
  “Agnes de Castro”, the name “Constança” has a cedilla and “Peñafiel”
  has a tilde.

In the printed book, all notes were grouped at the end of the volume.
For this e-text, they have been placed after their respective stories.
The _Epistle Dedicatory_ to _Oroonoko_ was printed as an Appendix. In
keeping with the editor’s intention (see second paragraph of Note),
it has been placed immediately before the novel.

Where appropriate, cross-references from other volumes of the Complete
Works are quoted after the Notes. The “N.E.D.” (New English Dictionary)
is now known as the OED.

Typographic note: In the printed book, all references to plays give the
Act in lower-case Roman numerals and the Scene in small capital Roman
numerals; the two look identical except for the dots over the i’s. For
this plain-text version, the conventional “IV, iv” sequence was used
instead. Italic passages used Roman type for emphasis; this is shown
as +Name+.]




                   THE WORKS

                       of

                   APHRA BEHN


                   Edited by
                MONTAGUE SUMMERS

                     VOL. V

  The Black Lady -- The King of Bantam
  The Unfortunate Happy Lady -- The Fair Jilt
  Oroonoko -- Agnes de Castro
  The History of the Nun -- The Nun
  The Lucky Mistake -- The Unfortunate Bride
  The Dumb Virgin -- The Wandering Beauty
  The Unhappy Mistake


       [Illustration: (Publisher’s Device)]

           LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN
        STRATFORD-ON-AVON: A. H. BULLEN
                     MCMXV




CONTENTS.

[See Transcriber’s Note at beginning of text for handling of Notes
and Appendix.]

                                                            Page

  The Adventure of the Black Lady                              1
  The Court of the King of Bantam                             11
  The Unfortunate Happy Lady: A True History                  35
  The Fair Jilt                                               67
  Oroonoko; or, The Royal Slave                              125
  Agnes De Castro                                            209
  The History of the Nun; or, The Fair Vow-Breaker           257
  The Nun; or, The Perjur’d Beauty                           325
  The Lucky Mistake                                          349
  The Unfortunate Bride; or, The Blind Lady a Beauty         399
  The Dumb Virgin; or, The Force of Imagination              415
  The Wandering Beauty                                       445
  The Unhappy Mistake; or, The Impious Vow Punish’d          469
  Appendix                                                   507
  Notes                                                      513


       *       *       *       *       *
           *       *       *       *


THE ADVENTURE OF THE _BLACK LADY_.


About the Beginning of last _June_ (as near as I can remember)
_Bellamora_ came to Town from _Hampshire_, and was obliged to lodge the
first Night at the same Inn where the Stage-Coach set up. The next Day
she took Coach for _Covent-Garden_, where she thought to find Madam
_Brightly_, a Relation of hers, with whom she design’d to continue for
about half a Year undiscover’d, if possible, by her Friends in the
Country: and order’d therefore her Trunk, with her Clothes, and most of
her Money and Jewels, to be brought after her to Madame _Brightly’s_ by
a strange Porter, whom she spoke to in the Street as she was taking
Coach; being utterly unacquainted with the neat Practices of this fine
City. When she came to _Bridges-Street_, where indeed her Cousin had
lodged near three or four Years since, she was strangely surprized that
she could not learn anything of her; no, nor so much as meet with anyone
that had ever heard of her Cousin’s Name: Till, at last, describing
Madam _Brightly_ to one of the House-keepers in that Place, he told her,
that there was such a kind of Lady, whom he had sometimes seen there
about a Year and a half ago; but that he believed she was married and
remov’d towards _Soho_. In this Perplexity she quite forgot her Trunk
and Money, _&c_, and wander’d in her Hackney-Coach all over St. _Anne’s_
Pari
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the reigns of Charles II. and James II., comprising his Diary from 1659
to 1669, deciphered by the Rev. John Smith, A.B., of St. John’s College,
Cambridge, from the original Shorthand MS. in the Pepysian Library, and
a Selection from his Private Correspondence. Edited by Richard, Lord
Braybrooke. In two volumes. London, Henry Colburn... 1825. 4vo.

2. Memoirs of Samuel Pepys, Esq., F.R.S.... Second edition. In five
volumes. London, Henry Colburn.... 1828. 8vo.

3. Diary and Correspondence of Samuel Pepys, F.R.S., Secretary to the
Admiralty in the reigns of Charles II. and James II.; with a Life and
Notes by Richard, Lord Braybrooke; the third edition, considerably
enlarged. London, Henry Colburn.... 1848-49. 5 vols. sm. 8vo.

4. Diary and Correspondence of Samuel Pepys, F.R.S.... The fourth
edition, revised and corrected. In four volumes. London, published for
Henry Colburn by his successors, Hurst and Blackett... 1854. 8vo.

The copyright of Lord Braybrooke’s edition was purchased by the late Mr.
Henry G. Bohn, who added the book to his Historical Library.

5. Diary and Correspondence of Samuel Pepys, Esq., F.R.S., from his MS.
Cypber in the Pepysian Library, with a Life and Notes by Richard,
Lord Braybrooke. Deciphered, with additional notes, by the Rev. Mynors
Bright, M.A.... London, Bickers and Son, 1875-79. 6 vols. 8vo.

Nos. 1, 2 and 3 being out of copyright have been reprinted by various
publishers.

No. 5 is out of print.

                 PARTICULARS OF THE LIFE OF SAMUEL PEPYS.

The family of Pepys is one of considerable antiquity in the east of
England, and the Hon. Walter Courtenay Pepys

     [Mr. W.  C.  Pepys has paid great attention to the history of his
     family, and in 1887 he published an interesting work entitled
     “Genealogy of the Pepys Family, 1273-1887,” London, George Bell and
     Sons, which contains the fullest pedigrees of the family yet
     issued.]

says that the first mention of the name that he has been able to find is
in the Hundred Rolls (Edw. I, 1273), where Richard Pepis and John Pepes
are registered as holding lands in the county of Cambridge. In the next
century the name of William Pepis is found in deeds relating to lands in
the parish of Cottenham, co. Cambridge, dated 1329 and 1340 respectively
(Cole MSS., British Museum, vol. i., p. 56; vol. xlii., p. 44).
According to the Court Roll of the manor of Pelhams, in the parish of
Cottenham, Thomas Pepys was “bayliffe of the Abbot of Crowland in 1434,”
 but in spite of these references, as well as others to persons of
the same name at Braintree, Essex, Depedale, Norfolk, &c., the first
ancestor of the existing branches of the family from whom Mr. Walter
Pepys is able to trace an undoubted descent, is “William Pepis the
elder, of Cottenham, co. Cambridge,” whose will is dated 20th March,

In 1852 a curious manuscript volume, bound in vellum, and entitled
“Liber Talboti Pepys de instrumentis ad Feoda pertinentibus
exemplificatis,” was discovered in an old chest in the parish church of
Bolney, Sussex, by the vicar, the Rev. John Dale, who delivered it
to Henry Pepys, Bishop of Worcester, and the book is still in the
possession of the family. This volume contains various genealogical
entries, and among them are references to the Thomas Pepys of 1434
mentioned above, and to the later William Pepys. The reference to the
latter runs thus:--

     “A Noate written out of an ould Booke of my uncle William Pepys.”

     “William Pepys, who died at Cottenham, 10 H. 8, was brought up by
     the Abbat of Crowland, in Huntingdonshire, and he was borne in
     Dunbar, in Scotland, a gentleman, whom the said Abbat did make his
     Bayliffe of all his lands in Cambridgeshire, and placed him in
     Cottenham, which William aforesaid had three sonnes, Thomas, John,
     and William, to whom Margaret was mother naturallie, all of whom
     left issue.”

In illustration of this entry we may refer to the Diary of June 12th,
1667, where it is written that Roger Pepys told Samuel that “we
did certainly come out of Scotland with the Abbot of Crowland.” The
references to various members of the family settled in Cottenham and
elsewhere, at an early date already alluded to, seem to show that there
is little foundation for this very positive statement.

With regard to the standing of the family, Mr. Walter Pepys writes:--

     “The first of the name in 1273 were evidently but small copyholders.
     Within 150 years (1420) three or four of the name had entered the
     priesthood, and others had become connected with the monastery of
     Croyland as bailiffs, &c.  In 250 years (1520) there were certainly
     two families: one at Cottenham, co. Cambridge, and another at
     Braintree, co. Essex, in comfortable circumstances as yeomen
     farmers.  Within fifty years more (1563), one of the family, Thomas,
     of Southcreeke, co. Norfolk, had entered the ranks of the gentry
     sufficiently to have his coat-of-arms recognized by the H
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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Travellers left and entered our car at every stopping of the train.
Three persons, however, remained, bound, like myself, for the farthest
station: a lady neither young nor pretty, smoking cigarettes, with a
thin face, a cap on her head, and wearing a semi-masculine outer
garment; then her companion, a very loquacious gentleman of about forty
years, with baggage entirely new and arranged in an orderly manner;
then a gentleman who held himself entirely aloof, short in stature,
very nervous, of uncertain age, with bright eyes, not pronounced in
color, but extremely attractive,—eyes that darted with rapidity from
one object to another.

This gentleman, during almost all the journey thus far, had entered
into conversation with no fellow-traveller, as if he carefully avoided
all acquaintance. When spoken to, he answered curtly and decisively,
and began to look out of the car window obstinately.

Yet it seemed to me that the solitude weighed upon him. He seemed to
perceive that I understood this, and when our eyes met, as happened
frequently, since we were sitting almost opposite each other, he turned
away his head, and avoided conversation with me as much as with the
others. At nightfall, during a stop at a large station, the gentleman
with the fine baggage—a lawyer, as I have since learned—got out with
his companion to drink some tea at the restaurant. During their absence
several new travellers entered the car, among whom was a tall old man,
shaven and wrinkled, evidently a merchant, wearing a large
heavily-lined cloak and a big cap. This merchant sat down opposite the
empty seats of the lawyer and his companion, and straightway entered
into conversation with a young man who seemed like an employee in some
commercial house, and who had likewise just boarded the train. At first
the clerk had remarked that the seat opposite was occupied, and the old
man had answered that he should get out at the first station. Thus
their conversation started.

I was sitting not far from these two travellers, and, as the train was
not in motion, I could catch bits of their conversation when others
were not talking.

They talked first of the prices of goods and the condition of business;
they referred to a person whom they both knew; then they plunged into
the fair at Nijni Novgorod. The clerk boasted of knowing people who
were leading a gay life there, but the old man did not allow him to
continue, and, interrupting him, began to describe the festivities of
the previous year at Kounavino, in which he had taken part. He was
evidently proud of these recollections, and, probably thinking that
this would detract nothing from the gravity which his face and manners
expressed, he related with pride how, when drunk, he had fired, at
Kounavino, such a broadside that he could describe it only in the
other’s ear.

The clerk began to laugh noisily. The old man laughed too, showing two
long yellow teeth. Their conversation not interesting me, I left the
car to stretch my legs. At the door I met the lawyer and his lady.

“You have no more time,” the lawyer said to me. “The second bell is
about to ring.”

Indeed I had scarcely reached the rear of the train when the bell
sounded. As I entered the car again, the lawyer was talking with his
companion in an animated fashion. The merchant, sitting opposite them,
was taciturn.

“And then she squarely declared to her husband,” said the lawyer with a
smile, as I passed by them, “that she neither could nor would live with
him, because” . . .

And he continued, but I did not hear the rest of the sentence, my
attention being distracted by the passing of the conductor and a new
traveller. When silence was restored, I again heard the lawyer’s voice.
The conversation had passed from a special case to general
considerations.

“And afterward comes discord, financial difficulties, disputes between
the two parties, and the couple separate. In the good old days that
seldom happened. Is it not so?” asked the lawyer of the two merchants,
evidently trying to drag them into the conversation.

Just then the train started, and the old man, without answering, took
off his cap, and crossed himself three times while muttering a prayer.
When he had finished, he clapped his cap far down on his head, and
said:

“Yes, sir, that happened in former times also, but not as often. In the
present day it is bound to happen more frequently. People have become
too learned.”

The lawyer made some reply to the old man, but the train, ever
increasing its speed, made such a clatter upon the rails that I could
no longer hear distinctly. As I was interested in what the old man was
saying, I drew nearer. My neighbor, the nervous gentleman, was
evidently interested also, and, without changing his seat, he lent an
ear.

“But what harm is there in education?” asked the lady, with a smile
that was scarcely perceptible. “Would it be better to marry as in the
old days, when the bride and bridegroom did not even see each other
before marriage?” sh
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 1150
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1150

THE DANISH HISTORY,

BOOKS I-IX

by

Saxo Grammaticus

("Saxo the Learned") fl. Late 12th - Early 13th Century A.D.


     PREPARER'S NOTE:

     Originally written in Latin in the early years of the 13th
     Century A.D. by the Danish historian Saxo, of whom little is
     known except his name.

     The text of this edition is based on that published as
     "The Nine Books of the Danish History of Saxo Grammaticus",
     translated by Oliver Elton (Norroena Society, New York, 1905).
     This edition is in the PUBLIC DOMAIN in the United States.

     This electronic edition was edited, proofed, and prepared by
     Douglas B. Killings.

     The preparer would like to thank Mr. James W. Marchand and Mr.
     Jessie D. Hurlbut for their invaluable assistance in the
     production of this electronic text.  Thank you.  I am indebted to
     you both.

     Although Saxo wrote 16 books of his "Danish History", only the
     first nine were ever translated by Mr. Oliver Elton; it is these
     nine books that are here included.  As far as the preparer knows,
     there is (unfortunately) no public domain English translation of
     Books X-XVI.  Those interested in the latter books should search
     for the translation mentioned below.




SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY:

ORIGINAL TEXT--

Olrik, J and Raeder (Ed.): "Saxo Grammaticus: Gesta Danorum"
(Copenhagen, 1931).

Dansk Nationallitteraert Arkiv: "Saxo Grammaticus: Gesta Danorum" (DNA,
Copenhagen, 1996). Web-based Latin edition of Saxo, substantiallly based
on the above edition; currently at the


OTHER TRANSLATIONS--

Fisher, Peter (Trans.) and Hilda Ellis Davidson (Ed.): "Saxo
Grammaticus: History of the Danes" (Brewer, Cambridge, 1979).


RECOMMENDED READING--

Jones, Gwyn: "History of the Vikings" (Oxford University Press, Oxford,
1968, 1973, 1984).

Sturlson, Snorri: "The Heimskringla" (Translation: Samual Laing, London,
1844; released as Online Medieval and Classical Library E-text
#15, 1996). Web version at the following URL:
http://sunsite.berkeley.edu/OMACL/Heimskringla/




INTRODUCTION.




SAXO'S POSITION.

Saxo Grammaticus, or "The Lettered", one of the notable historians of
the Middle Ages, may fairly be called not only the earliest chronicler
of Denmark, but her earliest writer. In the latter half of the twelfth
century, when Iceland was in the flush of literary production, Denmark
lingered behind. No literature in her vernacular, save a few Runic
inscriptions, has survived. Monkish annals, devotional works, and lives
were written in Latin; but the chronicle of Roskild, the necrology of
Lund, the register of gifts to the cloister of Sora, are not literature.
Neither are the half-mythological genealogies of kings; and besides, the
mass of these, though doubtless based on older verses that are lost,
are not proved to be, as they stand, prior to Saxo. One man only, Saxo's
elder contemporary, Sueno Aggonis, or Sweyn (Svend) Aageson, who wrote
about 1185, shares or anticipates the credit of attempting a connected
record. His brief draft of annals is written in rough mediocre Latin.
It names but a few of the kings recorded by Saxo, and tells little that
Saxo does not. Yet there is a certain link between the two writers.
Sweyn speaks of Saxo with respect; he not obscurely leaves him the task
of filling up his omissions. Both writers, servants of the brilliant
Bishop Absalon, and probably set by him upon their task, proceed, like
Geoffrey of Monmouth, by gathering and editing mythical matter. This
they more or less embroider, and arrive in due course insensibly at
actual history. Both, again, thread their stories upon a genealogy of
kings in part legendary. Both write at the spur of patriotism, both to
let Denmark linger in the race for light and learning, and desirous to
save her glories, as other nations have saved theirs, by a record. But
while Sweyn only made a skeleton chronicle, Saxo leaves a memorial in
which historian and philologist find their account. His seven later
books are the chief Danish authority for the times which they relate;
his first nine, here translated, are a treasure of myth and folk-lore.
Of the songs and stories which Denmark possessed from the common
Scandinavian stock, often her only native record is in Saxo's Latin.
Thus, as a chronicler both of truth and fiction, he had in his own
land no predecessor, nor had he any literary tradition behind him.
Single-handed, therefore, he may be said to have lifted the dead-weight
against him, and given Denmark a writer. The nature of his work will be
discussed presently.




LIFE OF SAXO.

Of Saxo little is known but what he himself indicates, though much
doubtful supposition has gathered round his name.

That he was born a Dane his whole language implies; it is full of a glow
of aggressive patriotism. He also often praises the Zealanders at the
expense of other Danes, and Zealand as the centre of Denmark; but that
is the whole contemporary evidence for the statement that he was a
Ze
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BRETTON.


My godmother lived in a handsome house in the clean and ancient town of
Bretton. Her husband’s family had been residents there for generations,
and bore, indeed, the name of their birthplace—Bretton of Bretton:
whether by coincidence, or because some remote ancestor had been a
personage of sufficient importance to leave his name to his
neighbourhood, I know not.

When I was a girl I went to Bretton about twice a year, and well I
liked the visit. The house and its inmates specially suited me. The
large peaceful rooms, the well-arranged furniture, the clear wide
windows, the balcony outside, looking down on a fine antique street,
where Sundays and holidays seemed always to abide—so quiet was its
atmosphere, so clean its pavement—these things pleased me well.

One child in a household of grown people is usually made very much of,
and in a quiet way I was a good deal taken notice of by Mrs. Bretton,
who had been left a widow, with one son, before I knew her; her
husband, a physician, having died while she was yet a young and
handsome woman.

She was not young, as I remember her, but she was still handsome, tall,
well-made, and though dark for an Englishwoman, yet wearing always the
clearness of health in her brunette cheek, and its vivacity in a pair
of fine, cheerful black eyes. People esteemed it a grievous pity that
she had not conferred her complexion on her son, whose eyes were
blue—though, even in boyhood, very piercing—and the colour of his long
hair such as friends did not venture to specify, except as the sun
shone on it, when they called it golden. He inherited the lines of his
mother’s features, however; also her good teeth, her stature (or the
promise of her stature, for he was not yet full-grown), and, what was
better, her health without flaw, and her spirits of that tone and
equality which are better than a fortune to the possessor.

In the autumn of the year —— I was staying at Bretton; my godmother
having come in person to claim me of the kinsfolk with whom was at that
time fixed my permanent residence. I believe she then plainly saw
events coming, whose very shadow I scarce guessed; yet of which the
faint suspicion sufficed to impart unsettled sadness, and made me glad
to change scene and society.

Time always flowed smoothly for me at my godmother’s side; not with
tumultuous swiftness, but blandly, like the gliding of a full river
through a plain. My visits to her resembled the sojourn of Christian
and Hopeful beside a certain pleasant stream, with “green trees on each
bank, and meadows beautified with lilies all the year round.” The charm
of variety there was not, nor the excitement of incident; but I liked
peace so well, and sought stimulus so little, that when the latter came
I almost felt it a disturbance, and wished rather it had still held
aloof.

One day a letter was received of which the contents evidently caused
Mrs. Bretton surprise and some concern. I thought at first it was from
home, and trembled, expecting I know not what disastrous communication:
to me, however, no reference was made, and the cloud seemed to pass.

The next day, on my return from a long walk, I found, as I entered my
bedroom, an unexpected change. In, addition to my own French bed in its
shady recess, appeared in a corner a small crib, draped with white; and
in addition to my mahogany chest of drawers, I saw a tiny rosewood
chest. I stood still, gazed, and considered.

“Of what are these things the signs and tokens?” I asked. The answer
was obvious. “A second guest is coming: Mrs. Bretton expects other
visitors.”

On descending to dinner, explanations ensued. A little girl, I was
told, would shortly be my companion: the daughter of a friend and
distant relation of the late Dr. Bretton’s. This little girl, it was
added, had recently lost her mother; though, indeed, Mrs. Bretton ere
long subjoined, the loss was not so great as might at first appear.
Mrs. Home (Home it seems was the name) had been a very pretty, but a
giddy, careless woman, who had neglected her child, and disappointed
and disheartened her husband. So far from congenial had the union
proved, that separation at last ensued—separation by mutual consent,
not after any legal process. Soon after this event, the lady having
over-exerted herself at a ball, caught cold, took a fever, and died
after a very brief illness. Her husband, naturally a man of very
sensitive feelings, and shocked inexpressibly by too sudden
communication of the news, could hardly, it seems, now be persuaded but
that some over-severity on his part—some deficiency in patience and
indulgence—had contributed to hasten her end. He had brooded over this
idea till his spirits were seriously affected; the medical men insisted
on travelling being tried as a remedy, and meanwhile Mrs. Bretton had
offered to take charge of his little girl. “And I hope,” added my
godmother in conclusion, “the child will not be like her mamma; as
silly and frivolous a little flirt as ever sensible ma
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 5160
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5160

Transcribed from the 1849 edition text by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org





                              THE MABINOGION


                    TRANSLATED BY LADY CHARLOTTE GUEST




CONTENTS

Introduction                             1
The Lady of the Fountain                 2
Peredur the Son of Evrawc                3
Geraint the son of Erbin                 4
Kilhwch and Olwen                        5
The dream of Rhonabwy                    6
Pwyll Prince of Dyved                    7
Branwen the daughter of Llyr             8
Manawyddan the son of Llyr               9
Math the son of Mathonwy                10
The dream of Maxen Wledig               11
The story of Lludd and Llevelys         12
Taliesin                                13




INTRODUCTION


WHILST engaged on the Translations contained in these volumes, and on the
Notes appended to the various Tales, I have found myself led unavoidably
into a much more extensive course of reading than I had originally
contemplated, and one which in great measure bears directly upon the
earlier Mediæval Romance.

Before commencing these labours, I was aware, generally, that there
existed a connexion between the Welsh Mabinogion and the Romance of the
Continent; but as I advanced, I became better acquainted with the
closeness and extent of that connexion, its history, and the proofs by
which it is supported.

At the same time, indeed, I became aware, and still strongly feel, that
it is one thing to collect facts, and quite another to classify and draw
from them their legitimate conclusions; and though I am loth that what
has been collected with some pains, should be entirely thrown away, it is
unwillingly, and with diffidence, that I trespass beyond the acknowledged
province of a translator.

In the twelfth and thirteenth centuries there arose into general
notoriety in Europe, a body of “Romance,” which in various forms retained
its popularity till the Reformation.  In it the plot, the incidents, the
characters, were almost wholly those of Chivalry, that bond which united
the warriors of France, Spain, and Italy, with those of pure Teutonic
descent, and embraced more or less firmly all the nations of Europe,
excepting only the Slavonic races, not yet risen to power, and the Celts,
who had fallen from it.  It is not difficult to account for this latter
omission.  The Celts, driven from the plains into the mountains and
islands, preserved their liberty, and hated their oppressors with fierce,
and not causeless, hatred.  A proud and free people, isolated both in
country and language, were not likely to adopt customs which implied
brotherhood with their foes.

Such being the case, it is remarkable that when the chief romances are
examined, the name of many of the heroes and their scenes of action are
found to be Celtic, and those of persons and places famous in the
traditions of Wales and Brittany.  Of this the romances of Ywaine and
Gawaine, Sir Perceval de Galles, Eric and Enide, Mort d’Arthur, Sir
Lancelot, Sir Tristan, the Graal, &c., may be cited as examples.  In some
cases a tendency to triads, and other matters of internal evidence, point
in the same direction.

It may seem difficult to account for this.  Although the ancient dominion
of the Celts over Europe is not without enduring evidence in the names of
the mountains and streams, the great features of a country, yet the loss
of their prior language by the great mass of the Celtic nations in
Southern Europe (if indeed their successors in territory be at all of
their blood), prevents us from clearly seeing, and makes us wonder, how
stories, originally embodied in the Celtic dialects of Great Britain and
France, could so influence the literature of nations to whom the Celtic
languages were utterly unknown.  Whence then came these internal marks,
and these proper names of persons and places, the features of a story
usually of earliest date and least likely to change?

These romances were found in England, France, Germany, Norway, Sweden,
and even Iceland, as early as the beginning of the thirteenth and end of
the twelfth century.  The Germans, who propagated them through the
nations of the North, derived them certainly from France.  Robert Wace
published his Anglo-Norman Romance of the Brut d’Angleterre about 1155.
Sir Tristan was written in French prose in 1170; and The Chevalier au
Lion, Chevalier de l’Epée, and Sir Lancelot du Lac, in metrical French,
by Chrestien de Troyes, before 1200.

From these facts it is to be argued that the further back these romances
are traced, the more clearly does it appear that they spread over the
Continent from the North-west of France.  The older versions, it may be
remarked, are far more simple than the later corruptions.  In them there
is less allusion to the habits and usages of Chivalry, and the Welsh
names and elements stand out in stronger relief.  It is a great step to
be able to trace the stocks of these romances back to Wace, or to his
country and age. 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65040
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65040


Copyright 1886,
By Charles Scribner’S Sons.

Press of J. J. Little & Co.,
Nos. 10 to 20 Astor Place, New York.




PREFACE.


The recent outbreak of a fraction of the Chiricahua Apaches, and the
frightful atrocities which have marked their trail through Arizona,
Sonora, New Mexico, and Chihuahua, has attracted renewed attention to
these brave but bloodthirsty aborigines and to the country exposed to
their ravages.

The contents of this book, which originally appeared in a serial
form in the _Outing Magazine_ of Boston, represent the details of
the expedition led by General Crook to the Sierra Madre, Mexico, in
1883; but, as the present military operations are conducted by the
same commander, against the same enemy, and upon the same field of
action, a perusal of these pages will, it is confidently believed,
place before the reader a better knowledge of the general situation
than any article which is likely soon to appear.

There is this difference to be noted, however; of the one hundred
and twenty-five (125) fighting men brought back from the Sierra
Madre, less than one-third have engaged in the present hostilities,
from which fact an additional inference may be drawn both of the
difficulties to be overcome in the repression of these disturbances
and of the horrors which would surely have accumulated upon the heads
of our citizens had the _whole_ fighting force of this fierce band
taken to the mountains.

One small party of eleven (11) hostile Chiricahuas, during the period
from November 15th, 1885, to the present date, has killed twenty-one
(21) friendly Apaches living in peace upon the reservation, and no
less than twenty-five (25) white men, women, and children. This
bloody raid has been conducted through a country filled with regular
troops, militia, and “rangers,”--and at a loss to the enemy, so far
as can be shown, of only one man, whose head is now at Fort Apache.

              JOHN G. BOURKE.

  APACHE INDIAN AGENCY,
  SAN CARLOS, ARIZONA,
  _December 15th, 1885_.




  LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.


                                                        PAGE

  CRAWFORD’S COLUMN MOVING TO THE FRONT      _Frontispiece._

  APACHE VILLAGE SCENE                           to face   7

  APACHE WAR-DANCE                                        17

  APACHE INDIAN SCOUTS EXAMINING TRAILS BY NIGHT          23

  APACHE AWL-CASES, TOBACCO BAGS, ETC.                    26

  APACHE AMBUSCADE                                        34

  APACHE HEAD-DRESSES, SHOES, TOYS, ETC.                  49

  APACHE WEAPONS AND EQUIPMENTS                           64

  APACHE GIRL, WITH TYPICAL DRESS                         79

  APACHE WARFARE                                          88

  APACHE BASKET-WORK                                     100

  FIGHTING THE PRAIRIE FIRE                              107




AN APACHE CAMPAIGN.






Within the compass of this volume it is impossible to furnish a
complete dissertation upon the Apache Indians or the causes which led
up to the expedition about to be described. The object is simply to
outline some of the difficulties attending the solution of the Indian
question in the South-west and to make known the methods employed
in conducting campaigns against savages in hostility. It is thought
that the object desired can best be accomplished by submitting an
unmutilated extract from the journal carefully kept during the whole
period involved.

Much has necessarily been excluded, but without exception it has
been to avoid repetition, or else to escape the introduction of
information bearing upon the language, the religion, marriages,
funeral ceremonies, etc., of this interesting race, which would
increase the bulk of the manuscript, and, perhaps, detract from its
value in the eyes of the general reader.

Ethnologically the Apache is classed with the Tinneh tribes, living
close to the Yukon and Mackenzie rivers, within the Arctic circle.
For centuries he has been preëminent over the more peaceful nations
about him for courage, skill, and daring in war; cunning in deceiving
and evading his enemies; ferocity in attack when skilfully-planned
ambuscades have led an unwary foe into his clutches; cruelty and
brutality to captives; patient endurance and fortitude under the
greatest privations.

In peace he has commanded respect for keen-sighted intelligence, good
fellowship, warmth of feeling for his friends, and impatience of
wrong.

No Indian has more virtues and none has been more truly ferocious
when aroused. He was the first of the native Americans to defeat in
battle or outwit in diplomacy the all-conquering, smooth-tongued
Spaniard, with whom and his Mexican-mongrel descendants he has waged
cold-blooded, heart-sickening war since the days of Cortés. When the
Spaniard had fire-arms and corselet of steel he was unable to push
back this fierce, astute aborigine, provided simply with lance and
bow. The past fifty years have seen the Apache provided with arms
of precision, and, especia
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 19337
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/19337

A CHRISTMAS CAROL

By CHARLES DICKENS

ILLUSTRATED BY
GEORGE ALFRED WILLIAMS

New York
THE PLATT & PECK CO.

_Copyright, 1905, by_ THE BAKER & TAYLOR COMPANY

[Illustration: "He had been Tim's blood horse all the way from church."]




INTRODUCTION


The combined qualities of the realist and the idealist which Dickens
possessed to a remarkable degree, together with his naturally jovial
attitude toward life in general, seem to have given him a remarkably
happy feeling toward Christmas, though the privations and hardships of
his boyhood could have allowed him but little real experience with this
day of days.

Dickens gave his first formal expression to his Christmas thoughts in
his series of small books, the first of which was the famous "Christmas
Carol," the one perfect chrysolite. The success of the book was
immediate. Thackeray wrote of it: "Who can listen to objections
regarding such a book as this? It seems to me a national benefit, and to
every man or woman who reads it, a personal kindness."

This volume was put forth in a very attractive manner, with
illustrations by John Leech, who was the first artist to make these
characters live, and his drawings were varied and spirited.

There followed upon this four others: "The Chimes," "The Cricket on the
Hearth," "The Battle of Life," and "The Haunted Man," with illustrations
on their first appearance by Doyle, Maclise, and others. The five are
known to-day as the "Christmas Books." Of them all the "Carol" is the
best known and loved, and "The Cricket on the Hearth," although third in
the series, is perhaps next in point of popularity, and is especially
familiar to Americans through Joseph Jefferson's characterisation of
Caleb Plummer.

Dickens seems to have put his whole self into these glowing little
stories. Whoever sees but a clever ghost story in the "Christmas Carol"
misses its chief charm and lesson, for there is a different meaning in
the movements of Scrooge and his attendant spirits. A new life is
brought to Scrooge when he, "running to his window, opened it and put
out his head. No fog, no mist; clear, bright, jovial, stirring cold;
cold, piping for the blood to dance to; Golden sun-light; Heavenly sky;
sweet fresh air; merry bells. Oh, glorious! Glorious!" All this
brightness has its attendant shadow, and deep from the childish heart
comes that true note of pathos, the ever memorable toast of Tiny Tim,
"God bless Us, Every One!" "The Cricket on the Hearth" strikes a
different note. Charmingly, poetically, the sweet chirping of the little
cricket is associated with human feelings and actions, and at the crisis
of the story decides the fate and fortune of the carrier and his wife.

Dickens's greatest gift was characterization, and no English writer,
save Shakespeare, has drawn so many and so varied characters. It would
be as absurd to interpret all of these as caricatures as to deny Dickens
his great and varied powers of creation. Dickens exaggerated many of his
comic and satirical characters, as was his right, for caricature and
satire are very closely related, while exaggeration is the very essence
of comedy. But there remains a host of characters marked by humour and
pathos. Yet the pictorial presentation of Dickens's characters has ever
tended toward the grotesque. The interpretations in this volume aim to
eliminate the grosser phases of the caricature in favour of the more
human. If the interpretations seem novel, if Scrooge be not as he has
been pictured, it is because a more human Scrooge was desired--a Scrooge
not wholly bad, a Scrooge of a better heart, a Scrooge to whom the
resurrection described in this story was possible. It has been the
illustrator's whole aim to make these people live in some form more
fully consistent with their types.

                                   GEORGE ALFRED WILLIAMS.
_Chatham, N.J._




CONTENTS


A CHRISTMAS CAROL

STAVE                                                                 PAGE

  I _Marley's Ghost_                                                    11
 II _The First of the Three Spirits_                                    32
III _The Second of the Three Spirits_                                   51
 IV _The Last of the Spirits_                                           76
  V _The End of it_                                                     93




ILLUSTRATIONS


A CHRISTMAS CAROL

_"He had been Tim's blood horse all the way from church."_    Frontispiece

_"A Merry Christmas, Uncle! God save you!" cried a cheerful voice._     14

_To sit staring at those fixed glazed eyes in silence, for a moment,
    would play, Scrooge felt, the very deuce with him._                 26

_"You recollect the way?" inquired the spirit. "Remember it!" cried
    Scrooge, with fervour; "I could walk it blindfold."_                36

_"Why, it's Ali Baba!" Scrooge exclaimed in ecstasy. "It's dear old
    honest Ali Baba!"_                                                  38




A CHRISTMAS CAROL

In Prose

BEI
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65114
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65114

THE WONDERS OF OPTICS.





------------------------------------------------------------------------


[Illustration:

  Spectrum showing the absorptive power of Sodium vapour (Fig. 6).
]

[Illustration:

  Solar Spectrum (Fig. 5).
]

[Illustration:

  Action of a prism on a ray of light (Fig. 7).
  Eng.^d by A. Robin N.Y.
]


------------------------------------------------------------------------


                                  THE

                           WONDERS OF OPTICS.




                                   BY

                               F. MARION.



               TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH, AND EDITED BY

                        CHARLES W. QUIN, F.C.S.




      ILLUSTRATED WITH SEVENTY ENGRAVINGS ON WOOD, AND A COLOURED
                             FRONTISPIECE.




                             --------------



                               NEW YORK:
                        CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS,
                             SUCCESSORS TO
                       SCRIBNER, ARMSTRONG, & CO.


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                                PREFACE.

                             --------------


THE present work needs but little introduction to the English public.
The author, M. F. Marion, who holds a high official scientific position
in Paris, is well known, especially in Europe, as a popular writer on
the “Wonders of Optics,” and kindred subjects. As a rule, the original
text has been strictly adhered to by the Translator, but in a few
instances certain anecdotes of a local character have been altered so as
to be more generally applicable, or condensed to make room for the
chapter on the Spectroscope, which is entirely original.


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                               CONTENTS.

                             --------------


                                PART I.

                        THE PHENOMENA OF VISION.


                               CHAPTER I.

                                                       PAGE
            THE EYE                                      15


                              CHAPTER II.

            THE STRUCTURE OF THE EYE                     22


                              CHAPTER III.

            THE ERRORS OF THE EYE                        30


                              CHAPTER IV.

            OPTICAL ILLUSIONS                            36


                               CHAPTER V.

            THE APPRECIATION OF COLOUR                   44


                              CHAPTER VI.

            ILLUSIONS CAUSED BY LIGHT ITSELF             53


                              CHAPTER VII.

            THE INFLUENCE OF THE IMAGINATION             60


                             --------------


                                PART II.

                           THE LAWS OF LIGHT.


                               CHAPTER I.

            WHAT IS LIGHT?                               73


                              CHAPTER II.

            THE SOLAR SPECTRUM                           84


                              CHAPTER III.

            OTHER CAUSES OF COLOUR                       94


                              CHAPTER IV.

            LUMINOUS, CALORIFIC, CHEMICAL, AND          100
              MAGNETIC PROPERTIES OF THE SPECTRUM


                               CHAPTER V.

            THE LAWS OF REFLECTION.—MIRRORS             106


                              CHAPTER VI.

            METALLIC BURNING MIRRORS                    117


                              CHAPTER VII.

            LENSES                                      127


                             CHAPTER VIII.

            OPTICAL INSTRUMENTS.—THE SIMPLE AND         141
              COMPOUND MICROSCOPE. THE SOLAR AND
              PHOTO-ELECTRIC MICROSCOPE


                              CHAPTER IX.

            THE TELESCOPES OF GALILEO, GREGORY,         150
              NEWTON, HERSCHEL, LORD ROSSE, AND
              FOUCAULT


                             --------------


                               PART III.

                             NATURAL MAGIC.


                               CHAPTER I.

            THE MAGIC LANTERN                           173


                              CHAPTER II.

            THE PHANTASMAGORIA                          183


                              CHAPTER III.

            OTHER OPTICAL ILLUSIONS                     196


                              CHAPTER IV.

            THE PROPERTIES OF MIRRORS                   216


                               CHAPTER V.

            CHINESE SHADOWS                             223


                              CHAPTER VI.

            POLYORAMA—DISSOLVING VIEWS—DIORAMA          231


                              CHAPTER VII.

            THE STEREOSCOPE                             236


                             CHAPTER
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 27035
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/27035

- Terminalf - Ressources terminologiques en langue française (Terminological
resources in French), in progress.

= What do you think of the debate about copyright on the Web?

Like all debates, it is a confused debate, with no way out.

= How do you see the growth of a multilingual Web?

Europeans are making some efforts towards at least bilingualism. What are the
Americans doing?

= What is your best experience with the Internet?

Finding good literary sites, such as Zvi Har'El's Jules Verne Collection,
dedicated to Jules Verne (a French 19th-century novelist) or le Théâtre de la
foire à Paris, dedicated to the 17th-century Fair Theatre in Paris.


ISABELLE AVELINE [FR]


[FR] Isabelle Aveline (Lyon)

#Créatrice de Zazieweb, site consacré à l'actualité littéraire

"Zazieweb est un site libre et indépendant qui offre des espaces d'interactivité
à ses lecteurs actifs et communicants ! C'est aussi (depuis 1996!) un annuaire
des sites littéraires découverts avec passion sur le web et chroniqués, une
information littéraire au quotidien: Au fil du net: l'actualité du meilleur du
web littéraire; Agenda: toutes les manifestations en rapport avec le livre et la
littérature; TV/Radio: une sélection des émissions littéraires sur les deux
semaines à venir; Ebook: des informations et des dossiers sur le livre
numérique, les nouveaux objets de lecture...; et des choix de lectures
"Zazieweb" dans la rubrique Kestulizaz?

Né en 1996 sous la forme d'une page perso, Zazieweb est devenu en cinq ans un
site littéraire communautaire offrant à la fois des espaces d'échanges et
d'expression (les lectures des e-lecteurs, l'espace communautaire, les forums)
et un portail littéraire. Zazieweb, c'est aujourd'hui une association qui a pour
vocation la promotion et mise en avant des "petits éditeurs", la diffusion de la
littérature contemporaine indépendante, la mise en relation sur le mode
interactif du web des lecteurs/auteurs/éditeurs via les espaces persos... et
pleins d'autres choses en devenir!" (extrait du site web)

[Entretien 08/06/1998 // Entretien 03/09/1999]

* Entretien du 8 juin 1998

= Quel est l'historique de Zazieweb?

Zazieweb est né il y a deux ans environ, en juin 1996. C'était à l'époque un
projet personnel qui entrait dans le cadre d'un master multimédia et que j'ai
essayé de "vendre" aux éditeurs.

= Quel est l'apport de l'internet dans votre vie professionnelle?

Découvrir internet a ouvert d'autres possibilités et surtout maintenant je ne
conçois pas de ne pas travailler "on the Web".

= Comment voyez-vous l'avenir?

Grâce à internet, les choses sont plus souples, on peut très facilement passer
d'une société à une autre (la concurrence!), le télétravail pointe le bout de
son nez (en France c'est encore un peu tabou...), il n'y a plus forcément de
grande séparation entre espace pro et personnel.

*Entretien du 3 septembre 1999

= Quoi de neuf depuis notre premier entretien?

Aujourd'hui je cherche à développer une viabilité financière pour Zazieweb:
échange de bandeaux, partenariat, vente d'espace publicitaire ciblé, affiliation
à un programme de vente de livres.

= Quel est votre meilleur souvenir lié à l'internet?

Mon premier surf.

= Et votre pire souvenir?

Ma première connexion.


JEAN-PIERRE BALPE [FR]


[FR] Jean-Pierre Balpe (Paris)

#Directeur du département hypermédias de l'Université de Paris 8

Jean-Pierre Balpe est directeur du département hypermédias et du laboratoire
Paragraphe de l'Université de Paris 8. Il est également secrétaire général de la
revue Action poétique. Chercheur, théoricien de la littérature informatique,
auteur de divers ouvrages scientifiques et techniques (dernier ouvrage paru:
Contextes de l'art numérique, Hermès, 2000), écrivain, après avoir très
longtemps écrit des poèmes et nouvelles publiés dans diverses revues, il
s'intéresse dès 1975 aux possibilités que l'informatique offre à l'écriture
littéraire. En 1981 il est un des cofondateurs de l'ALAMO (Atelier de
littérature assistée par la mathématique et les ordinateurs) et, à ce titre,
conseiller auprès de la BPI (Bibliothèque publique d'information) pour les
expositions "Les Immatériaux" et "Mémoires du futur". En 1985 il conçoit pour
l'INA (Institut national de l'audiovisuel) et France Télécom le premier scénario
de télévision interactive, diffusé alors par Canal +. Depuis 1989, il réalise
des logiciels d'écriture principalement utilisés lors d'expositions ou de
manifestations publiques, notamment Un roman inachevé pour le stand du ministère
de la Culture au MILIA (Marché international du livre illustré et des nouveaux
médias) à Cannes et au MIM (Marché international du multimédia de Montréal) en
1995, Romans (Roman) pour l'exposition "Artifices" de novembre 1996 ou sous
forme de spectacles comme Trois mythologies et un poète aveugle, première oeuvre
générative collaborant avec un générateur musical. Il a actuellement en chantier
un opéra numérique, Barbe-Bleue, résultat de la collaboration de trois
générateurs: générate
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 60976
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60976

RIP VAN WINKLE




ARTHUR RACKHAM’S ILLUSTRATIONS


    THE ALLIES’ FAIRY BOOK                             6s. net

    A CHRISTMAS CAROL By CHARLES DICKENS               6s. net

    MOTHER GOOSE, THE OLD NURSERY RHYMES               6s. net

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LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN

[Illustration]




[Illustration: “He used to console himself by frequenting a kind of
perpetual club of the sages, philosophers and other idle personages,
which held its sessions before a small inn.”]




RIP VAN WINKLE

    [Illustration]

    BY · WASHINGTON
    IRVING
    ILLUSTRATED · BY
    ARTHUR · RACKHAM

    [Illustration]

    LONDON: WILLIAM · HEINEMANN
    NEW · YORK: DOUBLEDAY · PAGE · & Co.




    _Complete Edition, with 51 Illustrations in Colour. First
    published (15s. net) September 1905._

    _New Impressions January 1907; August 1908; May 1909; November
    1910._

    _Cheaper Issue, with 24 Illustrations in Colour and many new
    Illustrations in the Text October 1916. New Impression 1917,
    1919._




ILLUSTRATIONS


IN COLOUR

                                                        To face page

  “He used to console himself by frequenting a kind of
  perpetual club of the sages, philosophers and other idle
  personages, which held its sessions before a small inn”
                                             _Frontispiece_

  “Certain biscuit-bakers have gone so far as to imprint his
  likeness on their New-Year Cakes”                                x

  “These mountains are regarded by all good wives, far and
  near, as perfect barometers”                                     x

  “Some of the houses of the original settlers”                    2

  “A curtain-lecture is worth all the sermons in the world
  for teaching the virtues of patience and long-suffering”         2

  “Taught them to fly kites”                                       2

  “His cow would go astray or get among the cabbages”              4

  “His children were as ragged and wild as if they belonged
  to nobody”                                                       4

  “Equipped in a pair of his father’s cast-off galligaskins,
  which he had as much ado to hold up as a fine lady does her
  train in bad weather”                                            4

  “So that he was fain to draw off his forces and take to
  the outside of the house--the only side which, in truth,
  belongs to a henpecked husband.”                                 6

  “A company of odd-looking persons playing at ninepins”          10

  “They maintained the gravest faces”                             12

  “They stared at him with such fixed, statue-like gaze, that
  his heart turned within him and his knees smote together”       12

  “He even ventured to taste the beverage, which he found had
  much of the flavour of excellent Hollands”                      12

  “Surely,” thought he, “I have not slept here all night....
  Oh! that flagon! that wicked flagon! what excuse shall I
  make to Dame Van Winkle?”                                       12

  “They all stared at him with equal marks of surprise and
  invariably stroked their chins”                                 14

  “A troop of strange children ran at his heels, hooting
  after him and pointing at his grey beard”                       14

  “The dogs, too, not one of whom he recognised for an old
  acquaintance, barked at him as he passed”                       14

  “He found the house gone to decay.... ‘My very dog,’ sighed
  poor Rip, ‘has forgotten me’”                                   16

  “They crowded round him, eyeing him from head to foot with
  great curiosity”                                                16

  Rip’s daughter and grandchild                                   20

  “He preferred making friends among the rising generation,
  with whom he soon grew into great f
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65136
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65136

Lowell’s Writings.


    _POEMS._ Complete. _Diamond Edition._ One volume.

    _POEMS._ With Portrait. _Blue and Gold Edition._ Two volumes.

    _POEMS._ With Portrait. _Cabinet Edition._ Two volumes.

    _POEMS._ With Portrait. 16mo Edition. Two volumes.

    _FIRESIDE TRAVELS._ One volume.

    _A FABLE FOR CRITICS._ One volume.

    _THE BIGLOW PAPERS._ Two Series. Each in one volume.

    _THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL._ One volume.

    _THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL._ Illustrated. _Red-Line Edition._ One
    elegant small 4to volume.

    _UNDER THE WILLOWS, AND OTHER POEMS._ One volume.

    _AMONG MY BOOKS._ A new volume, in press, and nearly ready.


                  FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO., Publishers.




                            The Cathedral.

                  Οὐδὲν σοφιζώμεσθα τοῖσι δαίμοισιν.
                  Πατρίους παραδοχὰς, ἄς θ’ ὁμήλικας χρόνῳ
                  Κεκτήμεθ’, οὐδεις αὐτὰ καταβαλέι λόγος,
                  Οὐδ’ ἣν δι’ ἄκρων τὸ σορόν εὔρεται φρενῶν.
                                EURIPIDES, _Bacchæ_, 196-199.




                            The Cathedral.

                                  BY

                         JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

                       [Illustration: colophon]

                                BOSTON:
                         FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO.
                                 1870.


      Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by

                        FIELDS, OSGOOD, & CO.,

in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts.


               UNIVERSITY PRESS: WELCH, BIGELOW, & CO.,
                              CAMBRIDGE.




                        To MR. JAMES T. FIELDS.


MY DEAR FIELDS,--

Dr. Johnson’s sturdy self-respect led him to invent the Bookseller as
a substitute for the Patron. My relations with you have enabled me to
discover how pleasantly the Friend may replace the Bookseller. Let me
record my sense of many thoughtful services by associating your name
with a poem which owes its appearance in this form to your partiality.

                           Cordially yours,

                                                          J. R. LOWELL.

CAMBRIDGE, Nov. 29, 1869.

[Illustration]




               THE CATHEDRAL.


    Far through the memory shines a happy day,
    Cloudless of care, down-shod to every sense,
    And simply perfect from its own resource,
    As to a bee the new campanula’s
    Illuminate seclusion swung in air.
    Such days are not the prey of setting suns,
    Nor ever blurred with mist of afterthought;
    Like words made magical by poets dead,
    Wherein the music of all meaning is
    The sense hath garnered or the soul divined,
    They mingle with our life’s ethereal part,
    Sweetening and gathering sweetness evermore,
    By beauty’s franchise disenthralled of time.

    I can recall, nay, they are present still,
    Parts of myself, the perfume of my mind,
    Days that seem farther off than Homer’s now
    Ere yet the child had loudened to the boy,
    And I, recluse from playmates, found perforce
    Companionship in things that not denied
    Nor granted wholly; as is Nature’s wont,
    Who, safe in uncontaminate reserve,
    Lets us mistake our longing for her love,
    And mocks with various echo of ourselves.

    These first sweet frauds upon our consciousness,
    That blend the sensual with its imaged world,
    These virginal cognitions, gifts of morn,
    Ere life grow noisy, and slower-footed thought
    Can overtake the rapture of the sense,
    To thrust between ourselves and what we feel,
    Have something in them secretly divine.
    Vainly the eye, once schooled to serve the brain,
    With pains deliberate studies to renew
    The ideal vision: second-thoughts are prose;
    For beauty’s acme hath a term as brief
    As the wave’s poise before it break in pearl.
    Our own breath dims the mirror of the sense,
    Looking too long and closely: at a flash
    We snatch the essential grace of meaning out,
    And that first passion beggars all behind,
    Heirs of a tamer transport prepossessed.
    Who, seeing once, has truly seen again
    The gray vague of unsympathizing sea
    That dragged his Fancy from her moorings back
    To shores inhospitable of eldest time,
    Till blank foreboding of earth-gendered powers,
    Pitiless seignories in the elements,
    Omnipotences blind that darkling smite,
    Misgave him, and repaganized the world?
    Yet, by some subtler touch of sympathy,
    These primal apprehensions, dimly stirred,
    Perplex the eye with pictures from within.
    This hath made poets dream of lives foregone
    In worlds fantastical, more fair than ours;
    So Memory cheats us, glimpsing half-revealed.
    Even as I write she tries her wonted spell
    In that continuous redbreast boding rain:
    The bird I hear sings not from yonder elm;
    But the flown ecstasy my childhood heard
    Is vocal in my mind, renewe
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 5669
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5669



All speculations concerning forms of government bear the impress, more
or less exclusive, of two conflicting theories respecting political
institutions; or, to speak more properly, conflicting conceptions of
what political institutions are.

By some minds, government is conceived as strictly a practical art,
giving rise to no questions but those of means and an end. Forms of
government are assimilated to any other expedients for the attainment
of human objects. They are regarded as wholly an affair of invention
and contrivance. Being made by man, it is assumed that man has the
choice either to make them or not, and how or on what pattern they
shall be made. Government, according to this conception, is a problem,
to be worked like any other question of business. The first step is to
define the purposes which governments are required to promote. The
next, is to inquire what form of government is best fitted to fulfill
those purposes. Having satisfied ourselves on these two points, and
ascertained the form of government which combines the greatest amount
of good with the least of evil, what further remains is to obtain the
concurrence of our countrymen, or those for whom the institutions are
intended, in the opinion which we have privately arrived at. To find
the best form of government; to persuade others that it is the best;
and, having done so, to stir them up to insist on having it, is the
order of ideas in the minds of those who adopt this view of political
philosophy. They look upon a constitution in the same light
(difference of scale being allowed for) as they would upon a steam
plow, or a threshing machine.

To these stand opposed another kind of political reasoners, who are so
far from assimilating a form of government to a machine, that they
regard it as a sort of spontaneous product, and the science of
government as a branch (so to speak) of natural history. According to
them, forms of government are not a matter of choice. We must take
them, in the main, as we find them. Governments can not be constructed
by premeditated design. They "are not made, but grow." Our business
with them, as with the other facts of the universe, is to acquaint
ourselves with their natural properties, and adapt ourselves to them.
The fundamental political institutions of a people are considered by
this school as a sort of organic growth from the nature and life of
that people; a product of their habits, instincts, and unconscious
wants and desires, scarcely at all of their deliberate purposes. Their
will has had no part in the matter but that of meeting the necessities
of the moment by the contrivances of the moment, which contrivances,
if in sufficient conformity to the national feelings and character,
commonly last, and, by successive aggregation, constitute a polity
suited to the people who possess it, but which it would be vain to
attempt to superinduce upon any people whose nature and circumstances
had not spontaneously evolved it.

It is difficult to decide which of these doctrines would be the most
absurd, if we could suppose either of them held as an exclusive
theory. But the principles which men profess, on any controverted
subject, are usually a very incomplete exponent of the opinions they
really hold. No one believes that every people is capable of working
every sort of institution. Carry the analogy of mechanical
contrivances as far as we will, a man does not choose even an
instrument of timber and iron on the sole ground that it is in itself
the best. He considers whether he possesses the other requisites which
must be combined with it to render its employment advantageous, and,
in particular whether those by whom it will have to be worked possess
the knowledge and skill necessary for its management. On the other
hand, neither are those who speak of institutions as if they were a
kind of living organisms really the political fatalists they give
themselves out to be. They do not pretend that mankind have absolutely
no range of choice as to the government they will live under, or that
a consideration of the consequences which flow from different forms of
polity is no element at all in deciding which of them should be
preferred. But, though each side greatly exaggerates its own theory,
out of opposition to the other, and no one holds without modification
to either, the two doctrines correspond to a deep-seated difference
between two modes of thought; and though it is evident that neither of
these is entirely in the right, yet it being equally evident that
neither is wholly in the wrong, we must endeavour to get down to what
is at the root of each, and avail ourselves of the amount of truth
which exists in either.

Let us remember, then, in the first place, that political institutions
(however the proposition may be at times ignored) are the work of
men--owe their origin and their whole existence to human will. Men did
not wake on a summer morning and find them sprung up. Neither do they
resemble trees, which
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 1017
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1017

Transcribed from the 1909 Arthur L. Humphreys edition by David Price,
email ccx074@pglaf.org

                          [Picture: Book cover]




THE
SOUL OF MAN


                                * * * * *

                                  LONDON
                            ARTHUR L. HUMPREYS
                                   1900

                                * * * * *

                           _Second Impression_




THE SOUL OF MAN


THE chief advantage that would result from the establishment of Socialism
is, undoubtedly, the fact that Socialism would relieve us from that
sordid necessity of living for others which, in the present condition of
things, presses so hardly upon almost everybody.  In fact, scarcely
anyone at all escapes.

Now and then, in the course of the century, a great man of science, like
Darwin; a great poet, like Keats; a fine critical spirit, like M. Renan;
a supreme artist, like Flaubert, has been able to isolate himself, to
keep himself out of reach of the clamorous claims of others, to stand
‘under the shelter of the wall,’ as Plato puts it, and so to realise the
perfection of what was in him, to his own incomparable gain, and to the
incomparable and lasting gain of the whole world.  These, however, are
exceptions.  The majority of people spoil their lives by an unhealthy and
exaggerated altruism—are forced, indeed, so to spoil them.  They find
themselves surrounded by hideous poverty, by hideous ugliness, by hideous
starvation.  It is inevitable that they should be strongly moved by all
this.  The emotions of man are stirred more quickly than man’s
intelligence; and, as I pointed out some time ago in an article on the
function of criticism, it is much more easy to have sympathy with
suffering than it is to have sympathy with thought.  Accordingly, with
admirable, though misdirected intentions, they very seriously and very
sentimentally set themselves to the task of remedying the evils that they
see.  But their remedies do not cure the disease: they merely prolong it.
Indeed, their remedies are part of the disease.

They try to solve the problem of poverty, for instance, by keeping the
poor alive; or, in the case of a very advanced school, by amusing the
poor.

But this is not a solution: it is an aggravation of the difficulty.  The
proper aim is to try and reconstruct society on such a basis that poverty
will be impossible.  And the altruistic virtues have really prevented the
carrying out of this aim.  Just as the worst slave-owners were those who
were kind to their slaves, and so prevented the horror of the system
being realised by those who suffered from it, and understood by those who
contemplated it, so, in the present state of things in England, the
people who do most harm are the people who try to do most good; and at
last we have had the spectacle of men who have really studied the problem
and know the life—educated men who live in the East End—coming forward
and imploring the community to restrain its altruistic impulses of
charity, benevolence, and the like.  They do so on the ground that such
charity degrades and demoralises.  They are perfectly right.  Charity
creates a multitude of sins.

There is also this to be said.  It is immoral to use private property in
order to alleviate the horrible evils that result from the institution of
private property.  It is both immoral and unfair.

Under Socialism all this will, of course, be altered.  There will be no
people living in fetid dens and fetid rags, and bringing up unhealthy,
hunger-pinched children in the midst of impossible and absolutely
repulsive surroundings.  The security of society will not depend, as it
does now, on the state of the weather.  If a frost comes we shall not
have a hundred thousand men out of work, tramping about the streets in a
state of disgusting misery, or whining to their neighbours for alms, or
crowding round the doors of loathsome shelters to try and secure a hunch
of bread and a night’s unclean lodging.  Each member of the society will
share in the general prosperity and happiness of the society, and if a
frost comes no one will practically be anything the worse.

Upon the other hand, Socialism itself will be of value simply because it
will lead to Individualism.

Socialism, Communism, or whatever one chooses to call it, by converting
private property into public wealth, and substituting co-operation for
competition, will restore society to its proper condition of a thoroughly
healthy organism, and insure the material well-being of each member of
the community.  It will, in fact, give Life its proper basis and its
proper environment.  But for the full development of Life to its highest
mode of perfection, something more is needed.  What is needed is
Individualism.  If the Socialism is Authoritarian; if there are
Governments armed with economic power as they are now with political
power; if, in a word, we are to have Industrial Tyrannies, then the last
state of man will be worse than 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 16157
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/16157

Pilar Somoza and PG Distributed Proofreaders from page
scans provided by University of Michigan. Dedicated to the
three Filipino comedians Dolphy, Panchito and Babalu who
made this folklore memorable in a 1970s film adaptation.







IBONG ADARNA


AKLATAN NI JULIANA MARTINEZ
116 P. Calderon, Manila


CORRIDO AT BUHAY NA PINAGDAANAN NANG TATLONG PRINCIPENG MAGCACAPATID
NA ANAC NANG HARING FERNANDO AT NANG REINA VALERIANA SA CAHARIANG
BERBANIA


  Virgeng Ináng mariquit
Emperadora sa Langit,
tulungan po yaring isip
matutong macapagsulit.

  Sa aua mo po't, talaga
Vírgeng ualang macapára,
acong hamac na oveja
hulugan nang iyong gracia.

  Dila co'i iyóng talasan
pauiin ang cagarilán,
at nang mangyaring maturan
ang munting ipagsasaysay.

  At sa tanang nangarito
nalilimping auditorio,
sumandaling dinguin ninyo
ang sasabihing corrido.

  Na ang sabi sa historia
nang panahong una-una,
sa mundo'i nabubuhay pa
yaong daquilang monarca.

  At ang caniyang esposa
yaong mariquit, na reina,
ang pangala't bansag niya
ay si doña Valeriana.

  Itong hari cong tinuran
si don Fernando ang ngalan
ang caniyang tinubuan
ang Berbaniang caharian.

  Ang haring sinabi co na
ay may tatlóng anác sila,
tuturan co't ibabadyá
nang inyo ngang maquilala.

  Si don Pedro ang panganay
na anác nang haring mahal,
at ang icalaua naman
si don Diego ang pangalan.

  Ang icatlo'i, si don Juan
ito'i siyang bunsong tunay,
parang Arao na sumilang
sa Berbaniang caharian.

  Ito'i, lalong mahal baga
sa capatid na dalaua,
salang malingat sa mata
nang caniyang haring amá.

  Para-parang nag-aaral
ang manga anác na mahal,
malaqui ang catouaan
nang hari nilang magulang.

  Ay ano'i, nang matuto na
yaong tatlóng anác niya,
ay tinauag capagdaca
nitong daquilang monarca.

  Lumapit na capagcuan
ang tatlóng príncipeng mahal,
cordero'i, siyang cabagay
nag-aantay pag-utusan.

  Anáng hari ay ganitó
caya co tinauag cayó,
dito sa itatanong co
ay sabihin ang totoó.

  Linoob nang Dios Amá
na cayo'i, nangatuto na,
mili cayó sa dalaua
magpare ó magcorona.

  Ang sagót nila at saysay
sa hari nilang magulang,
capua ibig magtangan
nang corona't, cetrong mahal.

  Nang itó ay maringig na
nang haring canilang amá,
pinaturuan na sila
na humauac nang espada.

  Sa Dios na calooban
sa canilang pag-aaral,
di nalao'i, natutuhan
ang sa armas ay pagtangan.

  Ito'i, lisanin co muna
yaong pagcatuto nila,
at ang aquing ipagbadyá
itong daquilang monarca.

  Nang isang gabing tahimic
itong hari'i, na-iidlip,
capagdaca'i, nanaguinip
sa hihigán niyang banig.

  At ang bungang panaguimpan
nitong hari cong tinuran,
ang anác na si don Juan
pinag lilo at pinatay.

  Ang dalauang tampalasang
sa caniya ay pumatáy,
inihulog at iniuan
sa balón na calaliman.

  Sa pananaguinip bagá
nitong mahal na monarca,
nagbangon capagcaraca
sa hihigán niyang cama.

  At hindi nanga na-idlip
sa malaqui niyang hapis,
sa hirap na masasapit
niyong bunsong ini-ibig.

  Ito ang niyang dahilán
nang sa bungang panaguimpan
tuloy ipinagcaramdam
at sa banig ay naratay.

  Nagpatauag nanga rito
marurunong na médico,
dili masabi cun anó
ang saquit nang haring itó.

  Sa gayong carami bagá
medicong tinauag nila,
ay ualang macapagbadyá
sa saquít na dinadalá.

  Ay mayroon namang isá
na bagong cararating pa,
siyang nagpahayag bagá
saquit nang bunying alteza.

  Ang damdam mo haring mahal
ay galing sa panaguimpán,
sa iyo'i, aquing tuturan
ang iyo pong cagamutan.

  May isang ibong maganda
ang pangalan ay Adarna,
cun marinig mong magcantá
ang saquít mo'i, guiguinhaua.

  Sa Tabor na cabunducan
ang siyang quinalalaguian,
cahoy na hinahapunan
Piedras Platas ang pangalan.

  Cun arao ay uala roon
itong encantadang ibon,
sa iba sumasalilong
at nagpapaui nang gutom.

  Cun gabing catahimican
ualang malay ang sino man,
ay siyang pag-oui lamang
sa Tabor na cabunducan.

  Cayá mahal na monarca
yao'i, siyang ipacuha,
gagaling pong ualang sala
ang saquít mong dinadalá.

  Nang sa haring mapaquingan
ang caniyang cagamutan,
capagdaca'i, inutusan
ang anác niyang panganay.

  Si D. Pedro'i, tumalima
sa utos nang haring amá,
iguinayác capagdaca
cabayong sasac-yán niya.

  Yao nanga't, lumacad na
cabunducan ang pinuntá,
at hahanaping talagá,
mahal na ibong Adarna.

  Mahiguit na tatlong buan
paglacad niya sa párang,
at hindi nga maalaman
ang Tabor na cabunducan.

  May dinatnang landás siya
mataas na pasalungá,
tumahan capagcaraca
itong príncipeng masiglá.

  Sa masamáng capalaran
sa Dios na calooban,
nang dumating sa ibabao
cabayo niya'i, namatáy.

  Di anong magagaua pa
uala nang masac-yán siya,
ang bastimento'i, quinuha
at lumacad capagdaca.

  Sa Dios na calooban
na sa tanong bininyagan,
dumating siyang mahusay
sa Tabor na cabunducan.

  May cahoy siyang naquita
na tantong caaya-aya,
sa caagapay na ibá
siyang tangi sa lahat na.

  Ang daho'i, sacdal nang inam
para-parang cumiquinang,
diamante'i, siyang cabagay
sa mata'i, nacasisilao.

  Ang naisipan nga niya
sa loob at ala-ala,
doon na tumiguil bagá
itong príncipeng masiglá.

  Ang
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 51002
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/51002


CHARAN


[Some think that love, strong, true, and self-sacrificing, is not to
be found in the Orient; but the story of Charan, which comes down
four hundred years and more, proves the contrary, for it still has
the fresh, sweet flavour of a romance of yesterday; albeit the setting
of the East provides an odd and interesting background.]



In the days of King Sung-jong (A.D. 1488-1495) one of Korea's noted
men became governor of Pyong-an Province. Now Pyong-an stands first
of all the eight provinces in the attainments of erudition and polite
society. Many of her literati are good musicians, and show ability
in the affairs of State.

At the time of this story there was a famous dancing girl in Pyong-an
whose name was Charan. She was very beautiful, and sang and danced to
the delight of all beholders. Her ability, too, was specially marked,
for she understood the classics and was acquainted with history. The
brightest of all the geisha was she, famous and far-renowned.

The Governor's family consisted of a son, whose age was sixteen,
and whose face was comely as a picture. Though so young, he was
thoroughly grounded in Chinese, and was a gifted scholar. His
judgment was excellent, and he had a fine appreciation of literary
form, so that the moment he lifted his pen the written line took on
admirable expression. His name became known as Keydong (The Gifted
Lad). The Governor had no other children, neither son nor daughter,
so his heart was wrapped up in this boy. On his birthday he had all
the officials invited and other special guests, who came to drink
his health. There were present also a company of dancing-girls and a
large band of musicians. The Governor, during a lull in the banquet,
called his son to him, and ordered the chief of the dancing-girls to
choose one of the prettiest of their number, that he and she might
dance together and delight the assembled guests. On hearing this,
the company, with one accord, called for Charan, as the one suited
by her talents, attainments and age to be a fitting partner for his
son. They came out and danced like fairies, graceful as the wavings
of the willow, light and airy as the swallow. All who saw them were
charmed. The Governor, too, greatly pleased, called Charan to him,
had her sit on the dais, treated her to a share in the banquet, gave
her a present of silk, and commanded that from that day forth she be
the special dancing maiden to attend upon his son.

From this birthday forth they became fast friends together. They
thought the world of each other. More than all the delightful stories
of history was their love--such as had never been seen.

The Governor's term of office was extended for six years more, and so
they remained in the north country. Finally, at the time of return, he
and his wife were in great anxiety over their son being separated from
Charan. If they were to force them to separate, they feared he would
die of a broken heart. If they took her with them, she not being his
wife, they feared for his reputation. They could not possibly decide,
so they concluded to refer the matter to the son himself. They called
him and said, "Even parents cannot decide as to the love of their son
for a maiden. What ought we to do? You love Charan so that it will be
very hard for you to part, and yet to have a dancing-girl before you
are married is not good form, and will interfere with your marriage
prospects and promotion. However, the having of a second wife is a
common custom in Korea, and one that the world recognizes. Do as you
think best in the matter." The son replied, "There is no difficulty;
when she is before my eyes, of course she is everything, but when
the time comes for me to start for home she will be like a pair of
worn shoes, set aside; so please do not be anxious."

The Governor and his wife were greatly delighted, and said he was a
"superior man" indeed.

When the time came to part Charan cried bitterly, so that those
standing by could not bear to look at her; but the son showed not the
slightest sign of emotion. Those looking on were filled with wonder at
his fortitude. Although he had already loved Charan for six years, he
had never been separated from her for a single day, so he knew not what
it meant to say Good-bye, nor did he know how it felt to be parted.

The Governor returned to Seoul to fill the office of Chief Justice,
and the son came also. After this return thoughts of love for Charan
possessed Keydong, though he never expressed them in word or manner. It
was almost the time of the Kam-see Examination. The father, therefore,
ordered his son to go with some of his friends to a neighbouring
monastery to study and prepare. They went, and one night, after
the day's work was over and all were asleep, the young man stole
out into the courtyard. It was winter, with frost and snow and a
cold, clear moon. The mountains were deep and the world was quiet,
so that the slightest sound could be heard. The young man looked
up at the moon and his 
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LETTERS
  of
  Abelard and Heloise.



  LETTERS
  OF
  Abelard and
  Heloise.

  To which is prefix'd
  A PARTICULAR ACCOUNT
  OF
  THEIR
  _Lives, Amours, and Misfortunes._
  BY THE LATE JOHN HUGHES, ESQ.
  Together with the
  _POEM OF ELOISA TO ABELARD._
  BY
  MR. POPE.
  And, (to which is now added) the
  _POEM OF ABELARD TO ELOISA,_
  BY MRS. MADAN.

  ------------

  LONDON:

  Printed
  for W. OSBORNE, and T. GRIFFIN in
  Holborn, and J. MOZLEY, in
  Gainsborough.

  MDCCLXXXII.




PREFACE


It is very surprising that the _Letters of Abelard and Heloise_
have not sooner appeared in English, since it is generally allowed,
by all who have seen them in other languages, that they are written
with the greatest passion of any in this kind which are extant. And
it is certain that the _Letters from a Nun to a Cavalier_, which
have so long been known and admired among us, are in all respects
inferior to them. Whatever those were, these are known to be genuine
Pieces occasioned by an amour which had very extraordinary
consequences, and made a great noise at the time when it happened,
being between two of the most distinguished Persons of that age.

These _Letters_, therefore, being truly written by the
Persons themselves, whose names they bear, and who were both
remarkable for their genius and learning, as well as by a most
extravagant passion for each other, are every where full of
sentiments of the heart, (which are not to be imitated in a feigned
story,) and touches of Nature, much more moving than any which could
flow from the Pen of a Writer of Novels, or enter into the
imagination of any who had not felt the like emotions and distresses.

They were originally written in Latin, and are extant in a
Collection of the Works of _Abelard_, printed at Paris in the
year 1616. With what elegance and beauty of stile they were written
in that language, will sufficiently appear to the learned Reader,
even by those few citations which are set at the bottom of the page
in some places of the following history. But the Book here mentioned
consisting chiefly of school-divinity, and the learning of those
times, and therefore being rarely to be met with but in public
libraries, and in the hands of some learned men, the Letters of
_Abelard_ and _Heloise_ are much more known by a Translation,
or rather Paraphrase of them, in French, first published at
the Hague in 1693, and which afterwards received several other
more complete Editions. This Translation is much applauded, but who
was the Author of it is not certainly known. Monsieur Bayle says he
had been informed it was done by a woman; and, perhaps, he thought no
one besides could have entered so thoroughly into the passion and
tenderness of such writings, for which that sex seems to have a more
natural disposition than the other. This may be judged of by the
Letters themselves, among which those of _Heloise_ are the most
moving, and the Master seems in this particular to have been excelled
by the Scholar.

In some of the later Editions in French, there has been prefixed
to the Letters an Historical Account of _Abelard_ and _Heloise_;
this is chiefly extracted from the Preface of the Editor of _Abelard's_
Works in Latin, and from the _Critical Dictionary_ of Monsieur
Bayle*, who has put together, under several articles, all the
particulars he was able to collect concerning these two famous
Persons; and though the first Letter of _Abelard to Philintus_,
in which he relates his own story, may seem to have rendered this
account in part unnecessary; yet the Reader will not be displeased to
see the thread of the relation entire, and continued to the death of
the Persons whose misfortunes had made their lives so very
remarkable.

* _Vide Artic_. Abelard, Heloise, Foulques, _and_ Paraclete

It is indeed impossible to be unmoved at the surprising and
multiplied afflictions and persecutions which befel a man of
_Abelard's_ fine genius, when we see them so feelingly described
by his own hand. Many of these were owing to the malice of such as
were his enemies on the account of his superior learning and merit;
yet the great calamities of his life took their rise from his unhappy
indulgence of a criminal passion, and giving himself a loose to
unwarrantable pleasures. After this he was perpetually involved in
sorrow and distress, and in vain sought for ease and quiet in a
monastic life. The _Letters_ between him and his beloved _Heloise_
were not written till long after their marriage and separation, and
when each of them was dedicated to a life of religion. Accordingly we
find in them surprising mixtures of devotion and tenderness, and
remaining frailty, and a lively picture of human nature in its
contrarieties of passion and reason, its infirmities, and its
sufferings.




   CONTENTS.


The History of Abelard and Heloise

   LETTERS.

I. Abelard to Philintus.

II. Heloise to Abelard.

III. Abelard to Heloise.

IV. Heloise to Abelard.

V. Heloise to Abelard.

VI. Abelard to Heloise.
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The Gilgamesh Epic is the most notable literary product of Babylonia as
yet discovered in the mounds of Mesopotamia. It recounts the exploits
and adventures of a favorite hero, and in its final form covers twelve
tablets, each tablet consisting of six columns (three on the obverse
and three on the reverse) of about 50 lines for each column, or a total
of about 3600 lines. Of this total, however, barely more than one-half
has been found among the remains of the great collection of cuneiform
tablets gathered by King Ashurbanapal (668-626 B.C.) in his palace
at Nineveh, and discovered by Layard in 1854 [1] in the course of his
excavations of the mound Kouyunjik (opposite Mosul). The fragments of
the epic painfully gathered--chiefly by George Smith--from the _circa_
30,000 tablets and bits of tablets brought to the British Museum were
published in model form by Professor Paul Haupt; [2] and that edition
still remains the primary source for our study of the Epic.

For the sake of convenience we may call the form of the Epic in the
fragments from the library of Ashurbanapal the Assyrian version,
though like most of the literary productions in the library it not
only reverts to a Babylonian original, but represents a late copy of
a much older original. The absence of any reference to Assyria in
the fragments recovered justifies us in assuming that the Assyrian
version received its present form in Babylonia, perhaps in Erech;
though it is of course possible that some of the late features,
particularly the elaboration of the teachings of the theologians or
schoolmen in the eleventh and twelfth tablets, may have been produced
at least in part under Assyrian influence. A definite indication
that the Gilgamesh Epic reverts to a period earlier than Hammurabi
(or Hammurawi) [3] i.e., beyond 2000 B. C., was furnished by the
publication of a text clearly belonging to the first Babylonian
dynasty (of which Hammurabi was the sixth member) in _CT_. VI, 5;
which text Zimmern [4] recognized as a part of the tale of Atra-hasis,
one of the names given to the survivor of the deluge, recounted on
the eleventh tablet of the Gilgamesh Epic. [5] This was confirmed
by the discovery [6] of a fragment of the deluge story dated in the
eleventh year of Ammisaduka, i.e., c. 1967 B.C. In this text, likewise,
the name of the deluge hero appears as Atra-hasis (col. VIII, 4). [7]
But while these two tablets do not belong to the Gilgamesh Epic and
merely introduce an episode which has also been incorporated into the
Epic, Dr. Bruno Meissner in 1902 published a tablet, dating, as the
writing and the internal evidence showed, from the Hammurabi period,
which undoubtedly is a portion of what by way of distinction we may
call an old Babylonian version. [8] It was picked up by Dr. Meissner
at a dealer's shop in Bagdad and acquired for the Berlin Museum. The
tablet consists of four columns (two on the obverse and two on the
reverse) and deals with the hero's wanderings in search of a cure
from disease with which he has been smitten after the death of his
companion Enkidu. The hero fears that the disease will be fatal and
longs to escape death. It corresponds to a portion of Tablet X of
the Assyrian version. Unfortunately, only the lower portion of the
obverse and the upper of the reverse have been preserved (57 lines
in all); and in default of a colophon we do not know the numeration
of the tablet in this old Babylonian edition. Its chief value,
apart from its furnishing a proof for the existence of the Epic
as early as 2000 B. C., lies (a) in the writing _Gish_ instead of
Gish-gi(n)-mash in the Assyrian version, for the name of the hero,
(b) in the writing En-ki-du--abbreviated from dug--"Enki is
good" for En-ki-dú in the Assyrian version, [9] and (c) in the
remarkable address of the maiden Sabitum, dwelling at the seaside,
to whom Gilgamesh comes in the course of his wanderings. From the
Assyrian version we know that the hero tells the maiden of his grief
for his lost companion, and of his longing to escape the dire fate of
Enkidu. In the old Babylonian fragment the answer of Sabitum is given
in full, and the sad note that it strikes, showing how hopeless it
is for man to try to escape death which is in store for all mankind,
is as remarkable as is the philosophy of "eat, drink and be merry"
which Sabitum imparts. The address indicates how early the tendency
arose to attach to ancient tales the current religious teachings.


	"Why, O Gish, does thou run about?
	The life that thou seekest, thou wilt not find.
	When the gods created mankind,
	Death they imposed on mankind;
	Life they kept in their power.
	Thou, O Gish, fill thy belly,
	Day and night do thou rejoice,
	Daily make a rejoicing!
	Day and night a renewal of jollification!
	Let thy clothes be clean,
	Wash thy head and pour water over thee!
	Care for the little one who takes hold of thy hand!
	Let the wife rejoice in thy bosom!"


Such teachings, reminding us of the leading thought in the B
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VOL. I.




INTRODUCTION.


I VISITED Naples in the year 1818. On the 8th of December of that year, my
companion and I crossed the Bay, to visit the antiquities which are
scattered on the shores of Baiae. The translucent and shining waters of the
calm sea covered fragments of old Roman villas, which were interlaced by
sea-weed, and received diamond tints from the chequering of the sun-beams;
the blue and pellucid element was such as Galatea might have skimmed in her
car of mother of pearl; or Cleopatra, more fitly than the Nile, have chosen
as the path of her magic ship. Though it was winter, the atmosphere seemed
more appropriate to early spring; and its genial warmth contributed to
inspire those sensations of placid delight, which are the portion of every
traveller, as he lingers, loath to quit the tranquil bays and radiant
promontories of Baiae.

We visited the so called Elysian Fields and Avernus: and wandered through
various ruined temples, baths, and classic spots; at length we entered the
gloomy cavern of the Cumaean Sibyl. Our Lazzeroni bore flaring torches,
which shone red, and almost dusky, in the murky subterranean passages,
whose darkness thirstily surrounding them, seemed eager to imbibe more and
more of the element of light. We passed by a natural archway, leading to a
second gallery, and enquired, if we could not enter there also. The guides
pointed to the reflection of their torches on the water that paved it,
leaving us to form our own conclusion; but adding it was a pity, for it led
to the Sibyl's Cave. Our curiosity and enthusiasm were excited by this
circumstance, and we insisted upon attempting the passage. As is usually
the case in the prosecution of such enterprizes, the difficulties decreased
on examination. We found, on each side of the humid pathway, "dry land for
the sole of the foot."

At length we arrived at a large, desert, dark cavern, which the Lazzeroni
assured us was the Sibyl's Cave. We were sufficiently disappointed--Yet
we examined it with care, as if its blank, rocky walls could still bear
trace of celestial visitant. On one side was a small opening. Whither does
this lead? we asked: can we enter here?--"_Questo poi, no,_"--said the
wild looking savage, who held the torch; "you can advance but a short
distance, and nobody visits it."

"Nevertheless, I will try it," said my companion; "it may lead to the real
cavern. Shall I go alone, or will you accompany me?"

I signified my readiness to proceed, but our guides protested against such
a measure. With great volubility, in their native Neapolitan dialect, with
which we were not very familiar, they told us that there were spectres,
that the roof would fall in, that it was too narrow to admit us, that there
was a deep hole within, filled with water, and we might be drowned. My
friend shortened the harangue, by taking the man's torch from him; and we
proceeded alone.

The passage, which at first scarcely admitted us, quickly grew narrower and
lower; we were almost bent double; yet still we persisted in making our way
through it. At length we entered a wider space, and the low roof
heightened; but, as we congratulated ourselves on this change, our torch
was extinguished by a current of air, and we were left in utter darkness.
The guides bring with them materials for renewing the light, but we had
none--our only resource was to return as we came. We groped round the
widened space to find the entrance, and after a time fancied that we had
succeeded. This proved however to be a second passage, which evidently
ascended. It terminated like the former; though something approaching to a
ray, we could not tell whence, shed a very doubtful twilight in the space.
By degrees, our eyes grew somewhat accustomed to this dimness, and we
perceived that there was no direct passage leading us further; but that it
was possible to climb one side of the cavern to a low arch at top, which
promised a more easy path, from whence we now discovered that this light
proceeded. With considerable difficulty we scrambled up, and came to
another passage with still more of illumination, and this led to another
ascent like the former.

After a succession of these, which our resolution alone permitted us to
surmount, we arrived at a wide cavern with an arched dome-like roof. An
aperture in the midst let in the light of heaven; but this was overgrown
with brambles and underwood, which acted as a veil, obscuring the day, and
giving a solemn religious hue to the apartment. It was spacious, and nearly
circular, with a raised seat of stone, about the size of a Grecian couch,
at one end. The only sign that life had been here, was the perfect
snow-white skeleton of a goat, which had probably not perceived the opening
as it grazed on the hill above, and had fallen headlong. Ages perhaps had
elapsed since this catastrophe; and the ruin it had made above, had been
repaired by the growth of vegetation during many hundred summers.

The rest of the furniture of the cav
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To

RAYMOND NEEDHAM, K.C.

WITH AFFECTION AND ADMIRATION




-1-


"Jeeves," I said, "may I speak frankly?"

"Certainly, sir."

"What I have to say may wound you."

"Not at all, sir."

"Well, then----"

No--wait. Hold the line a minute. I've gone off the rails.


I don't know if you have had the same experience, but the snag I always
come up against when I'm telling a story is this dashed difficult problem
of where to begin it. It's a thing you don't want to go wrong over,
because one false step and you're sunk. I mean, if you fool about too
long at the start, trying to establish atmosphere, as they call it, and
all that sort of rot, you fail to grip and the customers walk out on you.

Get off the mark, on the other hand, like a scalded cat, and your public
is at a loss. It simply raises its eyebrows, and can't make out what
you're talking about.

And in opening my report of the complex case of Gussie Fink-Nottle,
Madeline Bassett, my Cousin Angela, my Aunt Dahlia, my Uncle Thomas,
young Tuppy Glossop and the cook, Anatole, with the above spot of
dialogue, I see that I have made the second of these two floaters.

I shall have to hark back a bit. And taking it for all in all and
weighing this against that, I suppose the affair may be said to have had
its inception, if inception is the word I want, with that visit of mine
to Cannes. If I hadn't gone to Cannes, I shouldn't have met the Bassett
or bought that white mess jacket, and Angela wouldn't have met her shark,
and Aunt Dahlia wouldn't have played baccarat.

Yes, most decidedly, Cannes was the _point d'appui._

Right ho, then. Let me marshal my facts.

I went to Cannes--leaving Jeeves behind, he having intimated that he did
not wish to miss Ascot--round about the beginning of June. With me
travelled my Aunt Dahlia and her daughter Angela. Tuppy Glossop, Angela's
betrothed, was to have been of the party, but at the last moment couldn't
get away. Uncle Tom, Aunt Dahlia's husband, remained at home, because he
can't stick the South of France at any price.

So there you have the layout--Aunt Dahlia, Cousin Angela and self off to
Cannes round about the beginning of June.

All pretty clear so far, what?

We stayed at Cannes about two months, and except for the fact that Aunt
Dahlia lost her shirt at baccarat and Angela nearly got inhaled by a
shark while aquaplaning, a pleasant time was had by all.

On July the twenty-fifth, looking bronzed and fit, I accompanied aunt and
child back to London. At seven p.m. on July the twenty-sixth we alighted
at Victoria. And at seven-twenty or thereabouts we parted with mutual
expressions of esteem--they to shove off in Aunt Dahlia's car to Brinkley
Court, her place in Worcestershire, where they were expecting to
entertain Tuppy in a day or two; I to go to the flat, drop my luggage,
clean up a bit, and put on the soup and fish preparatory to pushing round
to the Drones for a bite of dinner.

And it was while I was at the flat, towelling the torso after a
much-needed rinse, that Jeeves, as we chatted of this and that--picking
up the threads, as it were--suddenly brought the name of Gussie
Fink-Nottle into the conversation.

As I recall it, the dialogue ran something as follows:

SELF: Well, Jeeves, here we are, what?

JEEVES: Yes, sir.

SELF: I mean to say, home again.

JEEVES: Precisely, sir.

SELF: Seems ages since I went away.

JEEVES: Yes, sir.

SELF: Have a good time at Ascot?

JEEVES: Most agreeable, sir.

SELF: Win anything?

JEEVES: Quite a satisfactory sum, thank you, sir.

SELF: Good. Well, Jeeves, what news on the Rialto? Anybody been phoning
or calling or anything during my abs.?

JEEVES: Mr. Fink-Nottle, sir, has been a frequent caller.

I stared. Indeed, it would not be too much to say that I gaped.

"Mr. Fink-Nottle?"

"Yes, sir."

"You don't mean Mr. Fink-Nottle?"

"Yes, sir."

"But Mr. Fink-Nottle's not in London?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, I'm blowed."

And I'll tell you why I was blowed. I found it scarcely possible to give
credence to his statement. This Fink-Nottle, you see, was one of those
freaks you come across from time to time during life's journey who can't
stand London. He lived year in and year out, covered with moss, in a
remote village down in Lincolnshire, never coming up even for the Eton
and Harrow match. And when I asked him once if he didn't find the time
hang a bit heavy on his hands, he said, no, because he had a pond in his
garden and studied the habits of newts.

I couldn't imagine what could have brought the chap up to the great city.
I would have been prepared to bet that as long as the supply of newts
didn't give out, nothing could have shifted him from that village of his.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, sir."

"You got the name correctly? Fink-Nottle?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, it's the most extraordinary thing. It must be five years since he
was in London. He makes no secret of the fact that the place gives him
the pip. Until now, he has always stayed glued to the country, completely
surrounded
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Dan K. Anderson and wife, Woodford, Wisconsin; Ole Jacobson, Elk Horn,
Wisconsin; Samuel Sampson, Rio, Wisconsin; T. M. Newton, Grinnell,
Iowa; Harvey Arveson, Whitewater, Wisconsin; and Reverend Helge
Höverstad, Mt. Horeb, Wisconsin. My thanks are also due to Reverend
G. G. Krostu of Koshkonong Parsonage for having placed at my disposal
the Koshkonong Church Register from 1844-1850; as also for verifying
my copy of it in some cases of names and dates; for the privilege
accorded me of using these so precious documents I am most grateful.
Reverend K. A. Kasberg of Spring Grove, Minnesota, has given me certain
important data on part of the immigration to East Koshkonong in 1842,
and similarly N. A. Lie of Deerfield, Wisconsin, for immigration from
Voss in 1838-1844, and Mr. Elim Ellingson and wife of Capron, Illinois,
on the founders of the Long Prairie Settlement. Many others might be
mentioned who have given valuable assistance by letter and otherwise
in the course of the investigation, and to whom I owe much. Finally,
I wish to thank Dr. N. C. Evans of Mt. Horeb, Wisconsin, for the loan
of _Cyclopedia of Wisconsin_ (1906) and _Illustreret Kirkehistorie_
(Chicago, 1898); Mr. O. N. Falk of Stoughton, Wisconsin, for loaning
me _Billed-Magazin_ for 1869-1870, and my brother, Martin O. Flom, of
Stoughton, for securing for my use several Wisconsin Atlases and a copy
of _The Biographical Review of Dane County_ (1893).

Of published works on Norwegian immigration which I have found
especially useful are to be mentioned S. Nilsen's _Billed-Magazin_ on
causes of immigration and the earliest immigrants from Telemarken and
Numedal; R. B. Anderson's _First Chapter on Norwegian Immigration_
for the sloopers of 1825, and their descendants; Strand's _History
of the Norwegians in Illinois_ (1905) for the Norwegians in Chicago;
H. L. Skavlem's sketch of _Scandinavians in the Early Days of Rock
County, Wisconsin_, _Normandsforbundet_ for February, 1909, and several
articles in _Symra_, 1905-1908. I must also mention a most valuable
series of articles on the Rock Prairie Settlement, Rock County,
Wisconsin, which appeared in _Amerika_ in 1906. (See further the
Bibliography at the end of this volume.)

No one who has never been engaged in a similar undertaking can have any
conception of the difficulty of the task and the labor involved in the
collecting, weighing and sifting of the vast amount of detail material.
I have tried to write a work which shall be correct as to details and
historically reliable. That errors have crept in I doubt not. I shall
be grateful to the reader who may discover such errors if he will call
my attention to them.

Finally, I wish to say that I have attempted nothing complete with
reference to the personal sketches of the earliest pioneers; this
was manifestly impossible. I have thought also that this was not
here called for except in cases of founders of settlements, and even
here I have sometimes lacked the full facts. To many it will also
undoubtedly seem that the early days of the church and the founding of
congregations should have received more attention. I can only say that
this volume deals specifically with the causes, course and progress of
Norwegian immigration and that this plan precluded a discussion in this
volume of religious and educational movements among the pioneers, or
of social questions, occupations, public service, and like topics. The
work thus aims to keep only what the title promises, and I hope it will
be found to be a real contribution to history within the scope marked
out for it.




                           TABLE OF CONTENTS


  INTRODUCTION                                                        15

  CHAPTER I. Norway. Population, Resources, Pursuits of her
        People, Social Conditions, Laws and Institutions              18

  CHAPTER II. Emigration from Norway                                  27

  CHAPTER III. The Earliest Immigrants from Norway, 1620 to 1825.     35

  CHAPTER IV. The Sloopers of 1825. The First Norwegian
       Settlement in America. Kleng Peerson                           45

  CHAPTER V. The Founding of the Fox River Settlement.
       Personal Notes on Some of the Founders                         55

  CHAPTER VI. Causes of Emigration from Norway. General Factors,
       Economic                                                       64

  CHAPTER VII. Causes of Emigration Continued. Special Factors.
       Religion as a Cause. Emigration Agents                         73

  CHAPTER VIII. Causes of Emigration Continued. The Influence
       of Successful Pioneers. "America-Letters." The Spirit
       of Adventure. Summary                                          80

  CHAPTER IX. Growth of the Fox River Settlement. The
       Immigration of 1836. Further Personal Sketches.                89

  CHAPTER X. The Year 1837 Continued. The Sailing of _Aegir_.         97

  CHAPTER XI. Beaver Creek. Ole Rynning                              102

  
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My father was a St. Bernard, my mother was a collie, but I am a
Presbyterian.  This is what my mother told me, I do not know these nice
distinctions myself.  To me they are only fine large words meaning
nothing.  My mother had a fondness for such; she liked to say them, and
see other dogs look surprised and envious, as wondering how she got so
much education.  But, indeed, it was not real education; it was only
show: she got the words by listening in the dining-room and drawing-room
when there was company, and by going with the children to Sunday-school
and listening there; and whenever she heard a large word she said it over
to herself many times, and so was able to keep it until there was a
dogmatic gathering in the neighborhood, then she would get it off, and
surprise and distress them all, from pocket-pup to mastiff, which
rewarded her for all her trouble.  If there was a stranger he was nearly
sure to be suspicious, and when he got his breath again he would ask her
what it meant.  And she always told him.  He was never expecting this but
thought he would catch her; so when she told him, he was the one that
looked ashamed, whereas he had thought it was going to be she.  The
others were always waiting for this, and glad of it and proud of her, for
they knew what was going to happen, because they had had experience.
When she told the meaning of a big word they were all so taken up with
admiration that it never occurred to any dog to doubt if it was the right
one; and that was natural, because, for one thing, she answered up so
promptly that it seemed like a dictionary speaking, and for another
thing, where could they find out whether it was right or not? for she was
the only cultivated dog there was.  By and by, when I was older, she
brought home the word Unintellectual, one time, and worked it pretty hard
all the week at different gatherings, making much unhappiness and
despondency; and it was at this time that I noticed that during that week
she was asked for the meaning at eight different assemblages, and flashed
out a fresh definition every time, which showed me that she had more
presence of mind than culture, though I said nothing, of course.  She had
one word which she always kept on hand, and ready, like a life-preserver,
a kind of emergency word to strap on when she was likely to get washed
overboard in a sudden way--that was the word Synonymous.  When she
happened to fetch out a long word which had had its day weeks before and
its prepared meanings gone to her dump-pile, if there was a stranger
there of course it knocked him groggy for a couple of minutes, then he
would come to, and by that time she would be away down wind on another
tack, and not expecting anything; so when he'd hail and ask her to cash
in, I (the only dog on the inside of her game) could see her canvas
flicker a moment--but only just a moment--then it would belly out taut
and full, and she would say, as calm as a summer's day, “It's synonymous
with supererogation,” or some godless long reptile of a word like that,
and go placidly about and skim away on the next tack, perfectly
comfortable, you know, and leave that stranger looking profane and
embarrassed, and the initiated slatting the floor with their tails in
unison and their faces transfigured with a holy joy.

And it was the same with phrases.  She would drag home a whole phrase, if
it had a grand sound, and play it six nights and two matinees, and
explain it a new way every time--which she had to, for all she cared for
was the phrase; she wasn't interested in what it meant, and knew those
dogs hadn't wit enough to catch her, anyway.  Yes, she was a daisy!  She
got so she wasn't afraid of anything, she had such confidence in the
ignorance of those creatures.  She even brought anecdotes that she had
heard the family and the dinner-guests laugh and shout over; and as a
rule she got the nub of one chestnut hitched onto another chestnut,
where, of course, it didn't fit and hadn't any point; and when she
delivered the nub she fell over and rolled on the floor and laughed and
barked in the most insane way, while I could see that she was wondering
to herself why it didn't seem as funny as it did when she first heard it.
But no harm was done; the others rolled and barked too, privately ashamed
of themselves for not seeing the point, and never suspecting that the
fault was not with them and there wasn't any to see.

You can see by these things that she was of a rather vain and frivolous
character; still, she had virtues, and enough to make up, I think.  She
had a kind heart and gentle ways, and never harbored resentments for
injuries done her, but put them easily out of her mind and forgot them;
and she taught her children her kindly way, and from her we learned also
to be brave and prompt in time of danger, and not to run away, but face
the peril that threatened friend or stranger, and help him the best we
could without stopping to think what the cost might be to us.  And she
taug
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      My name is Arthur Gordon Pym. My father was a respectable trader
      in sea-stores at Nantucket, where I was born. My maternal
      grandfather was an attorney in good practice. He was fortunate in
      every thing, and had speculated very successfully in stocks of
      the Edgarton New Bank, as it was formerly called. By these and
      other means he had managed to lay by a tolerable sum of money. He
      was more attached to myself, I believe, than to any other person
      in the world, and I expected to inherit the most of his property
      at his death. He sent me, at six years of age, to the school of
      old Mr. Ricketts, a gentleman with only one arm and of eccentric
      manners—he is well known to almost every person who has visited
      New Bedford. I stayed at his school until I was sixteen, when I
      left him for Mr. E. Ronald’s academy on the hill. Here I became
      intimate with the son of Mr. Barnard, a sea-captain, who
      generally sailed in the employ of Lloyd and Vredenburgh—Mr.
      Barnard is also very well known in New Bedford, and has many
      relations, I am certain, in Edgarton. His son was named Augustus,
      and he was nearly two years older than myself. He had been on a
      whaling voyage with his father in the John Donaldson, and was
      always talking to me of his adventures in the South Pacific
      Ocean. I used frequently to go home with him, and remain all day,
      and sometimes all night. We occupied the same bed, and he would
      be sure to keep me awake until almost light, telling me stories
      of the natives of the Island of Tinian, and other places he had
      visited in his travels. At last I could not help being interested
      in what he said, and by degrees I felt the greatest desire to go
      to sea. I owned a sailboat called the Ariel, and worth about
      seventy-five dollars. She had a half-deck or cuddy, and was
      rigged sloop-fashion—I forget her tonnage, but she would hold ten
      persons without much crowding. In this boat we were in the habit
      of going on some of the maddest freaks in the world; and, when I
      now think of them, it appears to me a thousand wonders that I am
      alive to-day.

      I will relate one of these adventures by way of introduction to a
      longer and more momentous narrative. One night there was a party
      at Mr. Barnard’s, and both Augustus and myself were not a little
      intoxicated toward the close of it. As usual, in such cases, I
      took part of his bed in preference to going home. He went to
      sleep, as I thought, very quietly (it being near one when the
      party broke up), and without saying a word on his favorite topic.
      It might have been half an hour from the time of our getting in
      bed, and I was just about falling into a doze, when he suddenly
      started up, and swore with a terrible oath that he would not go
      to sleep for any Arthur Pym in Christendom, when there was so
      glorious a breeze from the southwest. I never was so astonished
      in my life, not knowing what he intended, and thinking that the
      wines and liquors he had drunk had set him entirely beside
      himself. He proceeded to talk very coolly, however, saying he
      knew that I supposed him intoxicated, but that he was never more
      sober in his life. He was only tired, he added, of lying in bed
      on such a fine night like a dog, and was determined to get up and
      dress, and go out on a frolic with the boat. I can hardly tell
      what possessed me, but the words were no sooner out of his mouth
      than I felt a thrill of the greatest excitement and pleasure, and
      thought his mad idea one of the most delightful and most
      reasonable things in the world. It was blowing almost a gale, and
      the weather was very cold—it being late in October. I sprang out
      of bed, nevertheless, in a kind of ecstasy, and told him I was
      quite as brave as himself, and quite as tired as he was of lying
      in bed like a dog, and quite as ready for any fun or frolic as
      any Augustus Barnard in Nantucket.

      We lost no time in getting on our clothes and hurrying down to
      the boat. She was lying at the old decayed wharf by the
      lumber-yard of Pankey & Co., and almost thumping her side out
      against the rough logs. Augustus got into her and bailed her, for
      she was nearly half full of water. This being done, we hoisted
      jib and mainsail, kept full, and started boldly out to sea.

      The wind, as I before said, blew freshly from the southwest. The
      night was very clear and cold. Augustus had taken the helm, and I
      stationed myself by the mast, on the deck of the cuddy. We flew
      along at a great rate—neither of us having said a word since
      casting loose from the wharf. I now asked my companion what
      course he intended to steer, and what time he thought it probable
    
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PG #: 64999
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THE

                           GOLDEN HARPOON;

                                 OR,

                        LOST AMONG THE FLOES

                   A STORY OF THE WHALING GROUNDS.

                         BY ROGER STARBUCK.


                              NEW YORK:
                    BEADLE AND ADAMS, PUBLISHERS,
                         98 WILLIAM STREET.




     Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by
                         BEADLE AND COMPANY,
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the
                   Southern District of New York.




                              CONTENTS

                                                                   PAGE
     I.  THE GOLDEN HARPOON.                                         9
    II.  THE RESULT.                                                19
   III.  A “STOVE” BOAT.                                            24
    IV.  IN CONFINEMENT.                                            33
     V.  THE BARRICADE.                                             39
    VI.  A SLIGHT CHANGE.                                           46
   VII.  ADRIFT.                                                    52
  VIII.  THE CHASE.                                                 60
    IX.  THE DISAPPEARANCE.                                         71
     X.  AN UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER--CONCLUSION.                       86




                         THE GOLDEN HARPOON.




                             CHAPTER I.

                         THE GOLDEN HARPOON.


On the morning of the 25th day of April, 18--, the whale-ship
Montpelier, of New London, anchored in one of the many bays that open
along the coast of Kamschatka, where it is washed by the waters of
the Sea of Ochotsk.

As soon as every thing was made snug alow and aloft, the skipper
rubbed his hands with complacency, and a satisfied expression was
seen to cross even the face of Mr. Briggs, the first mate, who was
the ship’s grumbler.

“Good quarters,” remarked the captain.

“Ay, ay, sir,” responded Briggs, “the tide is easy here and I don’t
think a gale would hurt us much--we are so shut in by the cliffs.
But,” he suddenly added, turning his glance toward a large field of
ice, about a league from the shore, “I don’t like the looks of yonder
floe. It may come upon us and give us a jam.”

“It will drift past us,” replied the captain; “the current tends to
the north’ard.”

“I’m not so sure of _that_,” said the mate, as he snatched a glass
from the mizzen fife-rail, and directed it toward the ice. “Them
undercurrents up this way sometimes plays the very smash. But if I
ain’t much mistaken, I see a bear moving along the floe.”

As he spoke, he passed the glass to his companion, who immediately
lifted it to his eye.

“Do you see the animal, captain?”

“Ay, ay, there it is, sure enough; a _brown_ bear, I believe.”

“Uncle!” exclaimed a gentle voice at this instant, and a light hand
fell upon the captain’s shoulder. “How wild! how picturesque! What
place _is_ this?”

The speaker was a girl of seventeen, with large brown eyes, a
_petite_ but well-rounded figure, and a countenance truly lovely
in its purity and expression. From her neck, by a strip of blue
ribbon, was suspended a golden harpoon of delicate workmanship, and
about four inches in length. It was the gift of the captain--her
only living relative--who had presented it to her on the day that he
complied with her request to accompany him on his present voyage.

And why did she wish to go to sea?

Firstly, because the bold and handsome Harry Marline had shipped in
the Montpelier as boat-steerer and harpooner’s aid. Secondly, because
she was much attached to her relative, who, having no children of his
own, always had treated his niece with the indulgent fondness of a
father.

You might have known this, had you seen the smile that crossed his
face as he turned and gazed with admiration upon the crimsoned cheek,
and the expressive eyes of the young girl.

“Good-morning, Alice,” he said. “I am glad to see you stirring so
early. How did you pass the night?”

“Very well, thank you,” she replied, raising herself upon the tips of
her toes, and presenting her lips for a kiss, which was immediately
granted. “Very well, indeed; but you have not answered my question.
What place is this?”

“It has no particular name that I ever heard of,” replied the
captain. “But, you have been long enough at sea, now, Alice, to
perceive that I’ve chosen a good place for an anchorage--”

“If it wasn’t for the ice,” interrupted Briggs.

“An excellent place,” continued the captain, paying no attention to
the words of his companion, “a position well sheltered, where the
craft can lie while we fill her with oil--secure from every danger--”

“Except that of ice,” doggedly persisted the mate.

“Secure from _every_ danger,” repeated the captain, turning sharply
toward his first officer.

“Oh! I am so glad!” cried Alice, clapping her white hands with an
en
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PG #: 1041
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University Library. HTML version by Al Haines.










THE SONNETS

by William Shakespeare




  I

  From fairest creatures we desire increase,
  That thereby beauty's rose might never die,
  But as the riper should by time decease,
  His tender heir might bear his memory:
  But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes,
  Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel,
  Making a famine where abundance lies,
  Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel:
  Thou that art now the world's fresh ornament,
  And only herald to the gaudy spring,
  Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
  And tender churl mak'st waste in niggarding:
    Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
    To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee.

  II

  When forty winters shall besiege thy brow,
  And dig deep trenches in thy beauty's field,
  Thy youth's proud livery so gazed on now,
  Will be a tatter'd weed of small worth held:
  Then being asked, where all thy beauty lies,
  Where all the treasure of thy lusty days;
  To say, within thine own deep sunken eyes,
  Were an all-eating shame, and thriftless praise.
  How much more praise deserv'd thy beauty's use,
  If thou couldst answer 'This fair child of mine
  Shall sum my count, and make my old excuse,'
  Proving his beauty by succession thine!
    This were to be new made when thou art old,
    And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold.

  III

  Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest
  Now is the time that face should form another;
  Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
  Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
  For where is she so fair whose unear'd womb
  Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
  Or who is he so fond will be the tomb,
  Of his self-love to stop posterity?
  Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee
  Calls back the lovely April of her prime;
  So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
  Despite of wrinkles this thy golden time.
    But if thou live, remember'd not to be,
    Die single and thine image dies with thee.

  IV

  Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
  Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy?
  Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
  And being frank she lends to those are free:
  Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
  The bounteous largess given thee to give?
  Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
  So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live?
  For having traffic with thy self alone,
  Thou of thy self thy sweet self dost deceive:
  Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,
  What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
    Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee,
    Which, used, lives th' executor to be.

  V

  Those hours, that with gentle work did frame
  The lovely gaze where every eye doth dwell,
  Will play the tyrants to the very same
  And that unfair which fairly doth excel;
  For never-resting time leads summer on
  To hideous winter, and confounds him there;
  Sap checked with frost, and lusty leaves quite gone,
  Beauty o'er-snowed and bareness every where:
  Then were not summer's distillation left,
  A liquid prisoner pent in walls of glass,
  Beauty's effect with beauty were bereft,
  Nor it, nor no remembrance what it was:
    But flowers distill'd, though they with winter meet,
    Leese but their show; their substance still lives sweet.


  VI

  Then let not winter's ragged hand deface,
  In thee thy summer, ere thou be distill'd:
  Make sweet some vial; treasure thou some place
  With beauty's treasure ere it be self-kill'd.
  That use is not forbidden usury,
  Which happies those that pay the willing loan;
  That's for thy self to breed another thee,
  Or ten times happier, be it ten for one;
  Ten times thy self were happier than thou art,
  If ten of thine ten times refigur'd thee:
  Then what could death do if thou shouldst depart,
  Leaving thee living in posterity?
    Be not self-will'd, for thou art much too fair
    To be death's conquest and make worms thine heir.

  VII

  Lo! in the orient when the gracious light
  Lifts up his burning head, each under eye
  Doth homage to his new-appearing sight,
  Serving with looks his sacred majesty;
  And having climb'd the steep-up heavenly hill,
  Resembling strong youth in his middle age,
  Yet mortal looks adore his beauty still,
  Attending on his golden pilgrimage:
  But when from highmost pitch, with weary car,
  Like feeble age, he reeleth from the day,
  The eyes, 'fore duteous, now converted are
  From his low tract, and look another way:
    So thou, thyself outgoing in thy noon:
    Unlook'd, on diest unless thou get a son.

  VIII

  Music to hear, why hear'st thou music sadly?
  Sweets with sweets war not, joy delights in joy:
  Why lov'st thou that which thou receiv'st not gladly,
  Or else receiv'st with pleasure thine annoy?
  If the true concord of well-tuned sounds,
  By unions married, do offend thine ear,
  They do but sweetly chide thee, who confounds
  In singleness the parts t
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PG #: 28500
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/28500





COPYRIGHT 1922

BY

THE TEA AND COFFEE TRADE JOURNAL COMPANY

NEW YORK

_International Copyright Secured_

_All Rights Reserved in U.S.A. and
Foreign Countries_

PRINTED IN U.S.A.




_To My Wife_

_HELEN DE GRAFF UKERS_




PREFACE


Seventeen years ago the author of this work made his first trip abroad
to gather material for a book on coffee. Subsequently he spent a year in
travel among the coffee-producing countries. After the initial surveys,
correspondents were appointed to make researches in the principal
European libraries and museums; and this phase of the work continued
until April, 1922. Simultaneous researches were conducted in American
libraries and historical museums up to the time of the return of the
final proofs to the printer in June, 1922.

Ten years ago the sorting and classification of the material was begun.
The actual writing of the manuscript has extended over four years.

Among the unique features of the book are the Coffee Thesaurus; the
Coffee Chronology, containing 492 dates of historical importance; the
Complete Reference Table of the Principal Kinds of Coffee Grown in the
World; and the Coffee Bibliography, containing 1,380 references.

The most authoritative works on this subject have been Robinson's _The
Early History of Coffee Houses in England_, published in London in 1893;
and Jardin's _Le Café_, published in Paris in 1895. The author wishes to
acknowledge his indebtedness to both for inspiration and guidance. Other
works, Arabian, French, English, German, and Italian, dealing with
particular phases of the subject, have been laid under contribution; and
where this has been done, credit is given by footnote reference. In all
cases where it has been possible to do so, however, statements of
historical facts have been verified by independent research. Not a few
items have required months of tracing to confirm or to disprove.

There has been no serious American work on coffee since Hewitt's
_Coffee: Its History, Cultivation and Uses_, published in 1872; and
Thurber's _Coffee from Plantation to Cup_, published in 1881. Both of
these are now out of print, as is also Walsh's _Coffee: Its History,
Classification and Description_, published in 1893.

The chapters on The Chemistry of Coffee and The Pharmacology of Coffee
have been prepared under the author's direction by Charles W. Trigg,
industrial fellow of the Mellon Institute of Industrial Research.

The author wishes to acknowledge, with thanks, valuable assistance and
numerous courtesies by the officials of the following institutions:

British Museum, and Guildhall Museum, London; Bibliothéque Nationale,
Paris; Congressional Library, Washington; New York Public Library,
Metropolitan Museum of Art, and New York Historical Society, New York;
Boston Public Library, and Boston Museum of Fine Arts; Smithsonian
Institution, Washington; State Historical Museum, Madison, Wis.; Maine
Historical Society, Portland; Chicago Historical Society; New Jersey
Historical Society, Newark; Harvard University Library; Essex Institute,
Salem, Mass.; Peabody Institute, Baltimore.

Thanks and appreciation are due also to:

Charles James Jackson, London, for permission to quote from his
_Illustrated History of English Plate_;

Francis Hill Bigelow, author; and The Macmillan Company, publishers, for
permission to reproduce illustrations from _Historic Silver of the
Colonies_;

H.G. Dwight, author; and Charles Scribner's Sons, publishers, for
permission to quote from _Constantinople, Old and New_, and from the
article on "Turkish Coffee Houses" in _Scribner's Magazine_;

Walter G. Peter, Washington, D.C., for permission to photograph and
reproduce pictures of articles in the Peter collection at the United
States National Museum;

Mary P. Hamlin and George Arliss, authors, and George C. Tyler,
producer, for permission to reproduce the Exchange coffee-house setting
of the first act of _Hamilton_;

Judge A.T. Clearwater, Kingston N.Y.; R.T. Haines Halsey, and Francis P.
Garvan, New York, for permission to publish pictures of historic silver
coffee pots in their several collections;

The secretaries of the American Chambers of Commerce in London, Paris,
and Berlin;

Charles Cooper, London, for his splendid co-operation and for his
special contribution to chapter XXXV;

Alonzo H. De Graff, London, for his invaluable aid and unflagging zeal
in directing the London researches;

To the Coffee Trade Association, London, for assistance rendered;

To G.J. Lethem, London, for his translations from the Arabic;

Geoffrey Sephton, Vienna, for his nice co-operation;

L.P. de Bussy of the Koloniaal Institute, Amsterdam, Holland, for
assistance rendered;

Burton Holmes and Blendon R. Campbell, New York, for courtesies;

John Cotton Dana, Newark, N.J., for assistance rendered;

Charles H. Barnes, Medford, Mass., for permission to publish the
photograph of Peregrine White's Mayflower mortar and pestle;

Andrew L. Winton, Ph.D., Wilton, Conn., for permission to quote fro
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Longtemps, je me suis couché de bonne heure. Parfois, à peine ma
bougie éteinte, mes yeux se fermaient si vite que je n'avais pas le
temps de me dire: «Je m'endors.» Et, une demi-heure après, la pensée
qu'il était temps de chercher le sommeil m'éveillait; je voulais poser
le volume que je croyais avoir encore dans les mains et souffler ma
lumière; je n'avais pas cessé en dormant de faire des réflexions sur
ce que je venais de lire, mais ces réflexions avaient pris un tour un
peu particulier; il me semblait que j'étais moi-même ce dont parlait
l'ouvrage: une église, un quatuor, la rivalité de François Ier et de
Charles Quint. Cette croyance survivait pendant quelques secondes à
mon réveil; elle ne choquait pas ma raison mais pesait comme des
écailles sur mes yeux et les empêchait de se rendre compte que le
bougeoir n'était plus allumé. Puis elle commençait à me devenir
inintelligible, comme après la métempsycose les pensées d'une
existence antérieure; le sujet du livre se détachait de moi, j'étais
libre de m'y appliquer ou non; aussitôt je recouvrais la vue et
j'étais bien étonné de trouver autour de moi une obscurité, douce et
reposante pour mes yeux, mais peut-être plus encore pour mon esprit, à
qui elle apparaissait comme une chose sans cause, incompréhensible,
comme une chose vraiment obscure. Je me demandais quelle heure il
pouvait être; j'entendais le sifflement des trains qui, plus ou moins
éloigné, comme le chant d'un oiseau dans une forêt, relevant les
distances, me décrivait l'étendue de la campagne déserte où le
voyageur se hâte vers la station prochaine; et le petit chemin qu'il
suit va être gravé dans son souvenir par l'excitation qu'il doit à des
lieux nouveaux, à des actes inaccoutumés, à la causerie récente et aux
adieux sous la lampe étrangère qui le suivent encore dans le silence
de la nuit, à la douceur prochaine du retour.

J'appuyais tendrement mes joues contre les belles joues de l'oreiller
qui, pleines et fraîches, sont comme les joues de notre enfance. Je
frottais une allumette pour regarder ma montre. Bientôt minuit. C'est
l'instant où le malade, qui a été obligé de partir en voyage et a dû
coucher dans un hôtel inconnu, réveillé par une crise, se réjouit en
apercevant sous la porte une raie de jour. Quel bonheur, c'est déjà le
matin! Dans un moment les domestiques seront levés, il pourra sonner,
on viendra lui porter secours. L'espérance d'être soulagé lui donne du
courage pour souffrir. Justement il a cru entendre des pas; les pas se
rapprochent, puis s'éloignent. Et la raie de jour qui était sous sa
porte a disparu. C'est minuit; on vient d'éteindre le gaz; le dernier
domestique est parti et il faudra rester toute la nuit à souffrir sans
remède.

Je me rendormais, et parfois je n'avais plus que de courts réveils
d'un instant, le temps d'entendre les craquements organiques des
boiseries, d'ouvrir les yeux pour fixer le kaléidoscope de
l'obscurité, de goûter grâce à une lueur momentanée de conscience le
sommeil où étaient plongés les meubles, la chambre, le tout dont je
n'étais qu'une petite partie et à l'insensibilité duquel je retournais
vite m'unir. Ou bien en dormant j'avais rejoint sans effort un âge à
jamais révolu de ma vie primitive, retrouvé telle de mes terreurs
enfantines comme celle que mon grand-oncle me tirât par mes boucles et
qu'avait dissipée le jour,--date pour moi d'une ère nouvelle,--où on les
avait coupées. J'avais oublié cet événement pendant mon sommeil, j'en
retrouvais le souvenir aussitôt que j'avais réussi à m'éveiller pour
échapper aux mains de mon grand-oncle, mais par mesure de précaution
j'entourais complètement ma tête de mon oreiller avant de retourner
dans le monde des rêves.

Quelquefois, comme Ève naquit d'une côte d'Adam, une femme naissait
pendant mon sommeil d'une fausse position de ma cuisse. Formée du
plaisir que j'étais sur le point de goûter, je m'imaginais que c'était
elle qui me l'offrait. Mon corps qui sentait dans le sien ma propre
chaleur voulait s'y rejoindre, je m'éveillais. Le reste des humains
m'apparaissait comme bien lointain auprès de cette femme que j'avais
quittée il y avait quelques moments à peine; ma joue était chaude
encore de son baiser, mon corps courbaturé par le poids de sa taille.
Si, comme il arrivait quelquefois, elle avait les traits d'une femme
que j'avais connue dans la vie, j'allais me donner tout entier à ce
but: la retrouver, comme ceux qui partent en voyage pour voir de leurs
yeux une cité désirée et s'imaginent qu'on peut goûter dans une
réalité le charme du songe. Peu à peu son souvenir s'évanouissait,
j'avais oublié la fille de mon rêve.

Un homme qui dort, tient en cercle autour de lui le fil des heures,
l'ordre des années et des mondes. Il les consulte d'instinct en
s'éveillant et y lit en une seconde le point de la terre qu'il occupe,
le temps qui s'est écoulé jusqu'à son réveil; mais leurs rangs peuvent
se mêler, se rompre. Que vers le matin après quelque insomnie, le
sommeil le prenne en train de li
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PG #: 57426
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/57426

[Illustration:

  ONLY AUTHENTIC PORTRAIT OF
  WILHELM HEINRICH SEBASTIAN VON TROOMP
  (FROM THE OIL PAINTING).
]




                             BARON TRUMP’S
                               MARVELLOUS
                              UNDERGROUND
                                JOURNEY


                                   BY

                           INGERSOLL LOCKWOOD

    AUTHOR OF “TRAVELS AND ADVENTURES OF LITTLE BARON TRUMP AND HIS
                             WONDERFUL DOG
    BULGER” “WONDERFUL DEEDS AND DOINGS OF LITTLE GIANT BOAB AND HIS
       TALKING RAVEN TABIB” “EXTRAORDINARY EXPERIENCES OF LITTLE
          CAPTAIN DOPPELKOP ON THE SHORES OF BUBBLELAND” ETC.


                             ILLUSTRATED BY

                         CHARLES HOWARD JOHNSON


                                 BOSTON

                       LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS

                             10 MILK STREET

                                  1893




                 COPYRIGHT, 1892, BY INGERSOLL LOCKWOOD

                         _All Rights Reserved_

                     MARVELLOUS UNDERGROUND JOURNEY

------------------------------------------------------------------------




                BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICE OF WILHELM HEINRICH
                     SEBASTIAN VON TROOMP, COMMONLY
                       CALLED LITTLE BARON TRUMP


As doubting Thomases seem to take particular pleasure in popping up on
all occasions, Jack-in-the-Box-like, it may be well to head them off in
this particular instance by proving that Baron Trump was a real baron,
and not a mere baron of the mind. The family was originally French
Huguenot—De la Trompe—which, upon the revocation of the Edict of Nantes
in 1685, took refuge in Holland, where its head assumed the name of Van
der Troomp, just as many other of the French Protestants rendered their
names into Dutch. Some years later, upon the invitation of the Elector
of Brandenburg, Niklas Van der Troomp became a subject of that prince,
and purchased a large estate in the province of Pomerania, again
changing his name, this time to Von Troomp.

The “Little Baron,” so called from his diminutive stature, was born some
time in the latter part of the seventeenth century. He was the last of
his race in the direct line, although cousins of his are to-day
well-known Pomeranian gentry. He began his travels at an incredibly
early age, and filled his castle with such strange objects picked up
here and there in the far away corners of the world, that the
simple-minded peasantry came to look upon him as half bigwig and half
magician—hence the growth of the many myths and fanciful stories
concerning this indefatigable globe-trotter. The date of his death
cannot be fixed with any certainty; but this much may be said: Among the
portraits of Pomeranian notables hanging in the Rathhaus at Stettin,
there is one picturing a man of low stature, and with a head much too
large for his body. He is dressed in some outlandish costume, and holds
in his left hand a grotesque image in ivory, most elaborately carved.
The broad face is full of intelligence, and the large gray eyes are
lighted up with a good-natured but quizzical look that invariably
attracts attention. The man’s right hand rests upon the back of a dog
sitting on a table and looking straight out with an air of dignity that
shows that he knew he was sitting for his portrait.

If a visitor asks the guide who this man is, he always gets for answer:—

“Oh, that’s the Little Baron!”

But little Baron who, that’s the question?

Why may it not be the famous Wilhelm Heinrich Sebastian von Troomp,
commonly called “Little Baron Trump,” and his wonderful dog Bulger?




                                CONTENTS


                               CHAPTER I.

                                                                    PAGE

 BULGER IS GREATLY ANNOYED BY THE FAMILIARITY OF THE VILLAGE DOGS
   AND THE PRESUMPTION OF THE HOUSE CATS.—HIS HEALTH SUFFERS
   THEREBY, AND HE IMPLORES ME TO SET OUT ON MY TRAVELS AGAIN. I
   READILY CONSENT, FOR I HAD BEEN READING OF THE WORLD WITHIN A
   WORLD IN A MUSTY OLD MS. WRITTEN BY THE LEARNED DON FUM.—PARTING
   INTERVIEWS WITH THE ELDER BARON AND THE GRACIOUS BARONESS MY
   MOTHER.—PREPARATIONS FOR DEPARTURE.                                 1


                               CHAPTER II.

 DON FUM’s MYSTERIOUS DIRECTIONS.—BULGER AND I SET OUT FOR
   PETERSBURG, AND THENCE PROCEED TO ARCHANGEL.—THE STORY OF OUR
   JOURNEY AS FAR AS ILITCH ON THE ILITCH.—IVAN THE TEAMSTER.—HOW
   WE MADE OUR WAY NORTHWARD IN SEARCH OF THE PORTALS TO THE WORLD
   WITHIN A WORLD.—IVAN’S THREAT.—BULGER’S DISTRUST OF THE MAN AND
   OTHER THINGS.                                                       7


                              CHAPTER III.

 IVAN MORE AND MORE TROUBLESOME.—BULGER WATCHES HIM CLOSELY.—HIS
   COWARDLY ATTACK UPON ME.—MY FAITHFUL BULGER TO THE RESCUE.—A
   DRIVER WORTH HAVING.—HOW I WAS CARRIED TO A PLACE OF SAFETY.—IN
   THE HAND
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PG #: 65137
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THE LONGSNOZZLE EVENT

                             By Hal Annas

             As the greatest detective in the galaxy, Len
              Zitts could easily arrest the murderer. His
            main interest was in analyzing the weapon used!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                              April 1951
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Len Zitts wiggled his big toe and gently pressed it against the
velvet-covered button, and the couch on which he was lying began
easing from beneath the desk to shape itself into a lounging chair.
In the process, a pair of mechanical arms slipped a pair of flexible
plastic moccasins on his feet and another pair of arms buttoned his
shirt collar and straightened his maroon cravat. At the same time a
mechanical comb and brush straightened the part in his thick chestnut
hair and smoothed it neatly.

Rising from behind the desk to a sitting position, without any effort
on his part, Len Zitts blinked brown eyes and looked again at the
vision of blonde loveliness which stood with full mouth agape just
inside the doorway.

"Oh!" The slender woman drew a deep breath, causing her bosom to swell
alluringly. "You scared me. Popping up like a jack-in-the-box!"

Moving his little finger an eighth of an inch, Zitts touched a button
on the arm of the chair and a mechanical hand put a cigaret in his
mouth and another tubelike arm moved beneath the cigaret and squirted
flame against its tip. "Sit down," Zitts invited. "Have a cigaret." He
pressed another button and an arm on the far side of the desk extended
a tray of assorted cigarets toward the woman.

A little breathless, she sat down and smoothed her diaphanous cerise
skirt along her thighs. "I--I'm still a little scared," she said
tremulously.

Zitts arched a chestnut brown eyebrow, significantly glanced at the
desk and the mechanical equipment, and said, "Don't be alarmed. Just a
few little inventions of my own. Desks were originally intended as a
resting place for the feet. I've merely modernized the idea. Slip under
the desk to relax. People can't spill drinks and ashes down your collar
while you sleep."

The woman nodded, smiled, revealing even teeth and a wide mouth with
upturned corners. "I suppose you want me to tell you why I came?"

Zitts shook his head almost imperceptibly. "I know why you came," he
said. "You want to offer me a ton of gold to investigate your husband's
death. Sorry! Afraid we can't do business."

"B-but--but--how did you know?" The woman leaned forward and lifted a
slender hand and looked at it as though to test her eyes.

       *       *       *       *       *

Zitts eyed the round arm with interest. "Elementary," he said. "People
are always wanting me to investigate something, and they always try to
palm off that trash called gold. They never offer anything worthwhile,
such as a dozen genuine bacteria for my collection, or a scuttle of
coal--that almost priceless black stuff from which so many things are
made. Ever seen any coal?"

The woman shook her head, swinging the shoulder-length blonde hair from
side to side, and her deep blue eyes opened wide in wonder. "Heard of
it. Glossy ebon substance of which ornaments are made. A princess on
Mars is said to own a chunk of it as big as my thumb, set in a pendant.
It was captured in the Martian war with Saturn."

"It's probably a phony," Zitts pointed out. "The Martians are too smart
to let a woman wear that precious stuff. A piece that big could be
made into the nucleus of a webbing which would trap enough sunlight
and moisture from the orbit of Mars to turn every sandy plain on that
planet into fertile land."

The subject seemed beyond the grasp of the woman. "But you haven't told
me," she said softly, "how you knew it was my husband's death, not
something else."

Zitts turned slightly in his chair. The turning itself seemed to serve
as a signal. The door on his right opened noiselessly and a dusky
Venusian female glided into the room, came and sat down on a seat which
was remarkably like a man's knee.

"My confidential secretary," Zitts said by way of introduction. "Miss
Xuren Claustinkelwickwellopiandusselkuck. I streamline that a bit and
call her Zoo. Zoo, this is Mrs. Elmer-Brown Jake-Smith."

"What?" The blonde woman's eyes snapped from Zoo to Zitts. "How did you
know my name? And how did you know I had two husbands?"

"One husband," Zitts corrected. "Mr. Jake-Smith was done to death in
some mysterious manner yesterday morning at daylight just as he was
going to bed for the day. But you're still entitled to both names,
having been legally wed to both men. The beyondlaws, I believe, are
bidding Elmer-Brown."

"Beyondlaws? Isn't that an outmoded term? Its meaning has slipped me."

"Outmoded, yes, but still appropriate. Coined to replace the term
congressmen. They once m
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PG #: 3836
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For many days we had been tempest-tossed. Six times had the darkness
closed over a wild and terrific scene, and returning light as often
brought but renewed distress, for the raging storm increased in
fury until on the seventh day all hope was lost.

We were driven completely out of our course; no conjecture
could be formed as to our whereabouts. The crew had lost heart,
and were utterly exhausted by incessant labour. The riven masts
had gone by the board, leaks had been sprung in every direction,
and the water, which rushed in, gained upon us rapidly.

Instead of reckless oaths, the seamen now uttered frantic cries to
God for mercy, mingled with strange and often ludicrous vows, to
be performed should deliverance be granted. Every man on board
alternately commended his soul to his Creator, and strove to
bethink himself of some means of saving his life.

My heart sank as I looked round upon my family in the midst of
these horrors. Our four young sons were overpowered by terror.
`Dear children,' said I, `if the Lord will, He can save us even
from this fearful peril; if not, let us calmly yield our lives
into His hand, and think of the joy and blessedness of finding
ourselves for ever and ever united in that happy home above.
Even death is not too bitter, when it does not separate those
who love one another.'

At these words my weeping wife looked bravely up, and, as the
boys clustered round her, she began to cheer and encourage them
with calm and loving words. I rejoiced to see her fortitude,
though my heart was ready to break as I gazed on my dear ones.

We knelt down together, one after another praying with deep
earnestness and emotion. Fritz, in particular, besought help
and deliverance for his dear parents and brothers, as though
quite forgetting himself. Our hearts were soothed by the never-
failing comfort of child-like confiding prayer, and the horrors
of our situation seemed less overwhelming. `Ah,' thought I,
`the Lord will hear our prayer! He will help us.'

Amid the roar of the thundering waves I suddenly heard the cry
of `Land! land!', while at the same instant the ship struck with
a frightful shock, which threw everyone to the deck, and seemed
to threaten her immediate destruction. Dreadful sounds betokened
the breaking up of the ship, and the roaring waters poured in on
all sides.

Then the voice of the captain was heard above the tumult, shouting,
`Lower away the boats! We are lost!'

`Lost!' I exclaimed, and the word went like a dagger to my heart;
but seeing my children's terror renewed, I composed myself,
calling out cheerfully, `Take courage, my boys! We are all above
water yet. There is the land not far off, let us do our best to
reach it. You know God helps those that help themselves! Remain
with your mother, while I go on deck to see what is best to be
done now.' With that, I left them and went on deck.

A wave instantly threw me down; another followed, and then another,
as I contrived to find my footing. The ship was shattered on all
directions, and on one side there was a large hole in the hull.

Forgetting the passengers, the ship's company crowded into the
lifeboats, and the last who entered cut the davit ropes to cast
each boat into the sea.

What was my horror when through the foam and spray I beheld the
last remaining boat leave the ship, the last of the seamen spring
into her and push off, regardless of my cries and entreaties that
we might be allowed to share their slender chance of preserving
their lives. My voice was drowned in the howling of the blast,
and even had the crew wished it, the return of the boat was
impossible, for the waves were mountain-high.

Casting my eyes despairingly around, I became gradually aware
that our position was by no means hopeless, inasmuch as the
stern of the ship containing our cabin was jammed between two
high rocks, and was partly raised from among the breakers which
dashed the fore-part to pieces. As the clouds of mist and rain
drove past, I could make out, through rents in the vaporous
curtain, a line of rocky coast, and, rugged as it was, my heart
bounded towards it as a sign of help in the hour of need.

Yet the sense of our lonely and forsaken condition weighed heavily
upon me as I returned to my family, constraining myself to say
with a smile, `Courage, dear ones! Although our good ship will
never sail more, she is so placed that our cabin will remain
above water, and tomorrow, if the wind and waves abate, I see no
reason why we should not be able to get ashore.'

These few words had an immediate effect on the spirits of my
children, for my family had the habit of trusting in my assurances.
The boys at once regarded our problematical chance of escaping as
a happy certainty, and began to enjoy the relief from the violent
pitching and rolling of the vessel.

My wife, however, perceived my distress and anxiety in spite of
my forced composure, and I made her comprehend our real situation,
greatly fearing the effect of the intelligence on 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 40986
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/40986

Gutenberg (This book was produced from scanned images of
public domain material from the Google Print project.)








                                  THE
                            OERA LINDA BOOK

                                  From
                 A Manuscript of the Thirteenth Century

                 With the Permission of the Proprietor
                    C. over de Linden, of The Helder

                       The Original Frisian Text
                     As Verified by Dr J. O. Ottema

                           Accompanied by an
            English Version of Dr Ottema's Dutch Translation



                                   By
                          William R. Sandbach



                                 London
                      Trübner & Co., Ludgate Hill

                                  1876

                         [All rights reserved]






TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.


The work of which I here offer an English translation has excited,
among the Dutch and German literary societies, a keen controversy
in regard to its authenticity--a controversy not yet brought to
a conclusion, some affirming that it contains internal evidence of
truth, while others declare it to be a forgery. But even the latter
do not insist on its being the work of a modern fabricator. They
allow it to be one hundred, or perhaps one hundred and fifty, years
old. If they admit that, I do not see why they refuse it a greater
antiquity; and as to the improbability of the stories related in it,
I refer the reader to the exhaustive inquiry in Dr Ottema's Preface.

Is it more difficult to believe that the early Frisians, being hardy
and intrepid marine adventurers, sailed to the Mediterranean, and
even proceeded farther, than that the Phoenicians sailed to England
for tin, and to the Baltic for amber? or that a clever woman became a
lawgiver at Athens, than that a goddess sprang, full grown and armed,
from the cleft skull of Jupiter?

There is nothing in the narratives of this book inconsistent with
probability, however they may vary from some of our preconceived
ideas; but whether it is really what it pretends to be--a very ancient
manuscript, or a more modern fiction--it is not the less a most curious
and interesting work, and as such I offer it to the British public.

In order to give an idea of the manuscript, I have procured photographs
of two of its pages, which are bound with this volume.

I have also followed Dr Ottema's plan of printing the original Frisian
opposite to the translation, so that any reader possessing a knowledge
of the language may verify the correctness of the translation.

In addition to the Preface which I have translated, Dr Ottema
has written two pamphlets on the subject of the Oera Linda Book
(1. Historical Notes and Explanations; 2. The Royal Academy and Het
Oera Linda Bok), both of which would be very valuable to any one who
wished to study the controversy respecting the authenticity of the
work, but which I have not thought it necessary to translate for the
present publication.

There has also appeared in the "Deventer Courant" a series of twelve
letters on the same subject. Though written anonymously, I believe
they are from the pen of Professor Vitringa. They have been translated
into German by Mr Otto.

The writer evidently entered upon his task of criticism with a feeling
of disbelief in the authenticity of the book; but in his last letter
he admits that, after a minute examination, he is unable to pronounce
a positive conviction either for or against it.

His concluding remarks are to the following effect:--

"If the book is a romance, then I must admit that it has been written
with a good object, and by a clever man, because the sentiments
expressed in it are of a highly moral tendency; and the facts
related, so far as they can be controlled by regular history, are
not untruthful; and where they deal with events of which we have no
historical records, they do not offend our ideas of possibility or
even probability."


    Wm. R. Sandbach.






INTRODUCTION.


C. over de Linden, Chief Superintendent of the Royal Dockyard at
the Helder, possesses a very ancient manuscript, which has been
inherited and preserved in his family from time immemorial, without
any one knowing whence it came or what it contained, owing to both
the language and the writing being unknown.

All that was known was that a tradition contained in it had from
generation to generation been recommended to careful preservation. It
appeared that the tradition rests upon the contents of two letters,
with which the manuscript begins, from Hiddo oera Linda, anno 1256,
and from Liko oera Linda, anno 803. It came to C. over de Linden by
the directions of his grandfather, Den Heer Andries over de Linden,
who lived at Enkhuizen, and died there on the 15th of April 1820,
aged sixty-one. As the grandson was at that time barely ten years old,
the manuscript was taken care of for him by his aunt, Aafje Meylhoff,
born Over 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 1237
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1237

FATHER GORIOT


By Honore De Balzac



Translated by Ellen Marriage




     To the great and illustrious Geoffroy Saint-Hilaire, a token
     of admiration for his works and genius.
                                                      DE BALZAC.





FATHER GORIOT


Mme. Vauquer (_nee_ de Conflans) is an elderly person, who for the past
forty years has kept a lodging-house in the Rue Nueve-Sainte-Genevieve,
in the district that lies between the Latin Quarter and the Faubourg
Saint-Marcel. Her house (known in the neighborhood as the _Maison
Vauquer_) receives men and women, old and young, and no word has ever
been breathed against her respectable establishment; but, at the same
time, it must be said that as a matter of fact no young woman has been
under her roof for thirty years, and that if a young man stays there for
any length of time it is a sure sign that his allowance must be of the
slenderest. In 1819, however, the time when this drama opens, there was
an almost penniless young girl among Mme. Vauquer’s boarders.

That word drama has been somewhat discredited of late; it has been
overworked and twisted to strange uses in these days of dolorous
literature; but it must do service again here, not because this story is
dramatic in the restricted sense of the word, but because some tears may
perhaps be shed _intra et extra muros_ before it is over.

Will any one without the walls of Paris understand it? It is open to
doubt. The only audience who could appreciate the results of close
observation, the careful reproduction of minute detail and local color,
are dwellers between the heights of Montrouge and Montmartre, in a vale
of crumbling stucco watered by streams of black mud, a vale of sorrows
which are real and joys too often hollow; but this audience is so
accustomed to terrible sensations, that only some unimaginable and
well-neigh impossible woe could produce any lasting impression there.
Now and again there are tragedies so awful and so grand by reason of the
complication of virtues and vices that bring them about, that egotism
and selfishness are forced to pause and are moved to pity; but the
impression that they receive is like a luscious fruit, soon consumed.
Civilization, like the car of Juggernaut, is scarcely stayed perceptibly
in its progress by a heart less easy to break than the others that lie
in its course; this also is broken, and Civilization continues on her
course triumphant. And you, too, will do the like; you who with this
book in your white hand will sink back among the cushions of your
armchair, and say to yourself, “Perhaps this may amuse me.” You will
read the story of Father Goriot’s secret woes, and, dining thereafter
with an unspoiled appetite, will lay the blame of your insensibility
upon the writer, and accuse him of exaggeration, of writing romances.
Ah! once for all, this drama is neither a fiction nor a romance! _All is
true_,--so true, that every one can discern the elements of the tragedy
in his own house, perhaps in his own heart.

The lodging-house is Mme. Vauquer’s own property. It is still standing
in the lower end of the Rue Nueve-Sainte-Genevieve, just where the road
slopes so sharply down to the Rue de l’Arbalete, that wheeled traffic
seldom passes that way, because it is so stony and steep. This position
is sufficient to account for the silence prevalent in the streets shut
in between the dome of the Pantheon and the dome of the Val-de-Grace,
two conspicuous public buildings which give a yellowish tone to the
landscape and darken the whole district that lies beneath the shadow of
their leaden-hued cupolas.

In that district the pavements are clean and dry, there is neither mud
nor water in the gutters, grass grows in the chinks of the walls. The
most heedless passer-by feels the depressing influences of a place where
the sound of wheels creates a sensation; there is a grim look about the
houses, a suggestion of a jail about those high garden walls. A Parisian
straying into a suburb apparently composed of lodging-houses and public
institutions would see poverty and dullness, old age lying down to die,
and joyous youth condemned to drudgery. It is the ugliest quarter of
Paris, and, it may be added, the least known. But, before all things,
the Rue Nueve-Sainte-Genevieve is like a bronze frame for a picture for
which the mind cannot be too well prepared by the contemplation of sad
hues and sober images. Even so, step by step the daylight decreases,
and the cicerone’s droning voice grows hollower as the traveler descends
into the Catacombs. The comparison holds good! Who shall say which is
more ghastly, the sight of the bleached skulls or of dried-up human
hearts?



The front of the lodging-house is at right angles to the road, and
looks out upon a little garden, so that you see the side of the house
in section, as it were, from the Rue Nueve-Sainte-Genevieve. Beneath the
wall of the house front there lies a channel, a fathom wide, paved with
cobble-stones, and bes
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 6762
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6762


Metaphysica: Schwegler, 1848; W. Christ, 1899.

Organon: Waitz, 1844-6.

Poetica: Vahlen, 1867, 1874, with Notes by E. Moore, 1875; with English
translation by E. R. Wharton, 1883, 1885; Uberweg, 1870, 1875; with
German translation, Susemihl, 1874; Schmidt, 1875; Christ, 1878; I.
Bywater, 1898; T. G. Tucker, 1899.

De Republics, Atheniensium: Text and facsimile of Papyrus, F. G. Kenyon,
1891, 3rd edition, 1892; Kaibel and Wilamowitz--Moel-lendorf, 1891, 3rd
edition, 1898; Van Herwerden and Leeuwen (from Kenyon's text), 1891;
Blass, 1892, 1895, 1898, 1903; J. E. Sandys, 1893.

Politica: Susemihl, 1872; with German, 1878, 3rd edition, 1882; Susemihl
and Hicks, 1894, etc.; O. Immisch, 1909.

Physica: C. Prantl, 1879.

Rhetorica: Stahr, 1862; Sprengel (with Latin text), 1867; Cope and
Sandys, 1877; Roemer, 1885, 1898.

ENGLISH TRANSLATIONS OF ONE OR MORE WORKS: De Anima (with Parva
Naturalia), by W. A. Hammond, 1902. Ethica: Of Morals to Nicomachus, by
E. Pargiter, 1745; with Politica, by J. Gillies, 1797, 1804, 1813;
with Rhetorica and Poetica, by T. Taylor, 1818, and later editions.
Nicomachean Ethics, 1819; mainly from text of Bekker, by D. P. Chase,
1847; revised 1861, and later editions with an introductory essay by
G. H. Lewes (Camelot Classics), 1890; re-edited by J. M. Mitchell (New
Universal Library), 1906, 1910; with an introductory essay by Prof.
J.H. Smith (Everyman's Library), 1911; by R.W.Browne (Bohn's Classical
Library), 1848, etc.; by R. Williams, 1869, 1876; by W. M. Hatch and
others (with translation of paraphrase attributed to Andronicus of
Rhodes), edited by E. Hatch, 1879; by F, H. Peters, 1881; J. E. C.
Welldon, 1892; J. Gillies (Lubbock's Hundred Books), 1893. Historia
Animalium, by R. Creswell (Bohn's Classical Library), 1848; with
Treatise on Physiognomy, by T. Taylor, 1809. Metaphysica, by T. Taylor,
1801; by J. H. M'Mahon (Bohn's Classical Library), 1848. Organon, with
Porphyry's Introduction, by O. F. Owen (Bohn's Classical Library),
1848. Posterior Analytics, E. Poste, 1850; E. S. Bourchier, 1901; On
Fallacies, E. Poste, 1866. Parva Naturalia (Greek and English), by G. R.
T. Ross, 1906; with De Anima, by W. A. Hammond, 1902. Youth and Old Age,
Life and Death and Respiration, W. Ogle, 1897. Poetica, with Notes
from the French of D'Acier, 1705; by H. J. Pye, 1788, 1792; T. Twining,
1789,1812, with Preface and Notes by H. Hamilton, 1851; Treatise on
Rhetorica and Poetica, by T. Hobbes (Bohn's Classical Library), 1850;
by Wharton, 1883 (see Greek version), S. H. Butcher, 1895, 1898, 3rd
edition, 1902; E. S. Bourchier, 1907; by Ingram Bywater, 1909. De
Partibus Animalium, W. Ogle, 1882. De Republica Athenientium, by E.
Poste, 1891; F. G. Kenyon, 1891; T. J. Dymes, 1891. De Virtutibus et
Vitiis, by W. Bridgman, 1804. Politica, from the French of Regius,
1598; by W. Ellis, 1776, 1778, 1888 (Morley's Universal Library), 1893
(Lubbock's Hundred Books); by E. Walford (with AEconomics, and Life by
Dr. Gillies) (Bohn's Classical Library), 1848; J. E. C. Welldon, 1883;
B. Jowett, 1885; with Introduction and Index by H. W. C. Davis, 1905;
Books i. iii. iv. (vii.) from Bekker's text by W. E. Bolland, with
Introduction by A. Lang, 1877. Problemata (with writings of other
philosophers), 1597, 1607, 1680, 1684, etc. Rhetorica: A summary by T.
Hobbes, 1655 (?), new edition, 1759; by the translators of the Art of
Thinking, 1686, 1816; by D. M. Crimmin, 1812; J. Gillies, 1823;
Anon. 1847; J. E. C. Welldon, 1886; R. C. Jebb, with Introduction
and Supplementary Notes by J. E. Sandys, 1909 (see under Poetica and
Ethica). Secreta Secretorum (supposititious work), Anon. 1702; from the
Hebrew version by M. Gaster, 1907, 1908. Version by Lydgate and Burgh,
edited by R. Steele (E.E.T.S.), 1894, 1898.

LIFE, ETC.: J. W. Blakesley, 1839; A Crichton (Jardine's Naturalist's
Library), 1843; J. S. Blackie, Four Phases of Morals, Socrates,
Aristotle, etc., 1871; G. Grote, Aristotle, edited by A. Bain and G.
Aristotle, 1875, 1880; A. Grant (Ancient Classics for English readers),
1877; T. Davidson, Aristotle and Ancient Educational Ideals (Great
Educators), 1892.





A TREATISE ON GOVERNMENT




BOOK I






As we see that every city is a society, and every society Ed. is
established for some good purpose; for an apparent [Bekker 1252a] good
is the spring of all human actions; it is evident that this is the
principle upon which they are every one founded, and this is more
especially true of that which has for its object the best possible, and
is itself the most excellent, and comprehends all the rest. Now this is
called a city, and the society thereof a political society; for those
who think that the principles of a political, a regal, a family, and
a herile government are the same are mistaken, while they suppose that
each of these differ in the numbers to whom their power extends, but
not in their constitution: so that with them a herile government is one
composed of a very few, a domestic of more, a civil and a re
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PG #: 15143
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/15143








To

ASHLEY HORACE THORNDIKE, LITT. D.

PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH, COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY

WHO GUIDED MY EARLIER STUDIES IN THE SUPERNATURAL




The Imperishable Ghost

INTRODUCTION


Ghosts are the true immortals, and the dead grow more alive all the
time. Wraiths have a greater vitality to-day than ever before. They are
far more numerous than at any time in the past, and people are more
interested in them. There are persons that claim to be acquainted with
specific spirits, to speak with them, to carry on correspondence with
them, and even some who insist that they are private secretaries to the
dead. Others of us mortals, more reserved, are content to keep such
distance as we may from even the shadow of a shade. But there's no
getting away from ghosts nowadays, for even if you shut your eyes to
them in actual life, you stumble over them in the books you read, you
see them on the stage and on the screen, and you hear them on the
lecture platform. Even a Lodge in any vast wilderness would have the
company of spirits. Man's love for the supernatural, which is one of the
most natural things about him, was never more marked than at present.
You may go a-ghosting in any company to-day, and all aspects of
literature, novels, short stories, poetry, and drama alike, reflect the
shadeless spirit. The latest census of the haunting world shows a vast
increase in population, which might be explained on various grounds.

Life is so inconveniently complex nowadays, what with income taxes and
other visitations of government, that it is hard for us to have the
added risk of wraiths, but there's no escaping. Many persons of to-day
are in the same mental state as one Mr. Boggs, told of in a magazine
story, a rural gentleman who was agitated over spectral visitants. He
had once talked at a séance with a speaker who claimed to be the spirit
of his brother, Wesley Boggs, but who conversed only on blue suspenders,
a subject not of vital interest to Wesley in the flesh. "Still," Mr.
Boggs reflected, "I'm not so darn sure!" In answer to a suggestion
regarding subliminal consciousness and dual personality as explanation
of the strange things that come bolting into life, he said, "It's crawly
any way you look at it. Ghosts inside you are as bad as ghosts outside
you." There are others to-day who are "not so darn sure!"

One may conjecture divers reasons for this multitude of ghosts in late
literature. Perhaps spooks are like small boys that rush to fires,
unwilling to miss anything, and craving new sensations. And we mortals
read about them to get vicarious thrills through the safe _medium_ of
fiction. The war made sensationalists of us all, and the drab
everydayness of mortal life bores us. Man's imagination, always bigger
than his environment, overleaps the barriers of time and space and
claims all worlds as eminent domain, so that literature, which he has
the power to create, as he cannot create his material surroundings,
possesses a dramatic intensity, an epic sweep, unknown in actuality. In
the last analysis, man is as great as his daydreams--or his nightmares!

Ghosts have always haunted literature, and doubtless always will.
Specters seem never to wear out or to die, but renew their tissue both
of person and of raiment, in marvelous fashion, so that their number
increases with a Malthusian relentlessness. We of to-day have the ghosts
that haunted our ancestors, as well as our own modern revenants, and
there's no earthly use trying to banish or exorcise them by such a
simple thing as disbelief in them. Schopenhauer asserts that a belief in
ghosts is born with man, that it is found in all ages and in all lands,
and that no one is free from it. Since accounts vary, and our earliest
antecedents were poor diarists, it is difficult to establish the
apostolic succession of spooks in actual life, but in literature, the
line reaches back as far as the primeval picture writing. A study of
animism in primitive culture shows many interesting links between the
past and the present in this matter. And anyhow, since man knows that
whether or not he has seen a ghost, presently he'll be one, he's
fascinated with the subject. And he creates ghosts, not merely in his
own image, but according to his dreams of power.

The more man knows of natural laws, the keener he is about the
supernatural. He may claim to have laid aside superstition, but he isn't
to be believed in that. Though he has discarded witchcraft and alchemy,
it is only that he may have more time for psychical research; true, he
no longer dabbles with ancient magic, but that is because the modern
types, as the ouija board, entertain him more. He dearly loves to
traffic with that other world of which he knows so little and concerning
which he is so curious.

Perhaps the war, or possibly an increase in class consciousness, or
unionization of spirits, or whatever, has greatly energized the ghost in
our day and given him both ambition and strength to do more things than
ever. Maybe "pep 
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PG #: 10940
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10940



1. The Queen of Sheba before Solomon. Fac-simile of a Miniature from the
Breviary of Cardinal Grimani, attributed to Memling. Costumes of the
Fifteenth Century.

2. The Court of Marie of Anjou, Wife of Charles VII. Fac-simile of a
Miniature from the "Douze Perilz d'Enfer." Costumes of the Fifteenth
Century.

3. Louis XII. leaving Alexandria, on the 24th April, 1507, to chastise the
City of Genoa. From a Miniature in the "Voyage de Gênes" of Jean Marot.

4. A Young Mother's Retinue. Miniature from a Latin "Terence" of Charles

5. Table Service of a Lady of Quality. Fac-simile of a Miniature in the
"Roman de Renaud de Montauban." Costumes of the Fifteenth Century.

6. Ladies Hunting. From a Miniature in a Manuscript Copy of "Ovid's
Epistles." Costumes of the Fifteenth Century.

7. A Court Fool. Fac-simile of a Miniature in a Manuscript of the
Fifteenth Century.

8. The Chess-players. After a Miniature of the "Three Ages of Man." (End
of the Fifteenth Century.)

9. Martyrdom of SS. Crispin and Crépinien. From a Window in the Hôpital
des Quinze-Vingts (Fifteenth Century).

10. Settlement of Accounts by the Brotherhood of Charité-Dieu, Rouen, in
1466. A Miniature from the "Livre des Comptes" of this Society (Fifteenth
Century).

11. Decapitation of Guillaume de Pommiers and his Confessor at Bordeaux in
1377 ("Chroniques de Froissart").

12. The Jews' Passover. Fac-simile of a Miniature in a Missal of the
Fifteenth Century of the School of Van Eyck.

13. Entry of Charles VII. into Paris. A Miniature from the "Chroniques
d'Enguerrand de Monstrelet." Costumes of the Sixteenth Century.

14. St. Catherine surrounded by the Doctors of Alexandria. A Miniature
from the Breviary of Cardinal Grimani, attributed to Memling. Costumes of
the Fifteenth Century.

15. Italian Lace-work, in Gold-thread. The Cypher and Arms of Henri III.
(Sixteenth Century).





Aigues-Mortes, Ramparts of the Town of
Alms Bag, Fifteenth Century
Amende honorable before the Tribunal
America, Discovery of
Anne of Brittany and the Ladies of her Court
Archer, in Fighting Dress, Fifteenth Century
Armourer
Arms of Louis XI. and Charlotte of Savoy
Arms, Various, Fifteenth Century

Bailiwick
Bailliage, or Tribunal of the King's Bailiff,
  Sixteenth Century
Baker, The, Sixteenth Century
Balancing, Feats of, Thirteenth Century
Ballet, Representation of a, before Henri
  III. and his Court
Banner of the Coopers of Bayonne
  "             "        La Rochelle
  "           Corporation of Bakers of Arras
  "             "            Bakers of Paris
  "             "            Boot and Shoe
                Makers of Issoudun
  "           Corporation of Publichouse-keepers of Montmédy
  "           Corporation of Publichouse-keepers of Tonnerre
  "           Drapers of Caen
  "           Harness-makers of Paris
  "           Nail-makers of Paris
  "           Pastrycooks of Caen
  "                 "        La Rochelle
  "                 "        Tonnerre
  "           Tanners of Vie
  "           Tilers of Paris
  "           Weavers of Toulon
  "           Wheelwrights of Paris
Banquet, Grand, at the Court of France
Barber
Barnacle Geese
Barrister, Fifteenth Century
Basin-maker
Bastille, The
Bears and other Beasts, how they may be
  caught with a Dart
Beggar playing the Fiddle
Beheading
Bell and Canon Caster
Bird-catching, Fourteenth Century
Bird-piping, Fourteenth Century
Blind and Poor Sick of St. John, Fifteenth
  Century
Bob Apple, The Game of
Bootmaker's Apprentice working at a Trial-piece,
  Thirteenth Century
Bourbon, Constable de, Trial of, before the
  Peers of France
Bourgeois, Thirteenth Century
Brandenburg, Marquis of
Brewer, The, Sixteenth Century
Brotherhood of Death, Member of the
Burgess of Ghent and his Wife, from a
  Window of the Fifteenth Century
Burgess at Meals
Burgesses with Hoods, Fourteenth Century
Burning Ballet, The
Butcher, The, Sixteenth Century
Butler at his Duties

Cards for a Game of Piquet, Sixteenth Century
Carlovingian King in his Palace
Carpenter, Fifteenth Century
Carpenter's Apprentice working at a Trial-piece,
  Fifteenth Century
Cast to allure Beasts
Castle of Alamond, The
Cat-o'-nine-tails
Celtic Monument (the Holy Ox)
Chamber of Accounts, Hotel of the
Chandeliers in Bronze, Fourteenth Century
Charlemagne, The Emperor
     "       Coronation of
     "       Dalmatica and Sandals of
     "       receiving the Oath of Fidelity
               from one of his great Barons
     "       Portrait of
Charles, eldest Son of King Pepin, receiving
  the News of the Death of his Father
Charles V. and the Emperor Charles IV.,
  Interview between
Château-Gaillard aux Andelys
Châtelet, The Great
Cheeses, The Manufacture of, Sixteenth
  Century
Chilpéric, Tomb of, Eleventh Century
Clasp-maker
Cloth to approach Beasts, How to carry a
Cloth-worker
Coins, Gold Merovingian, 628-638
  "    Gold, Sixth and Seventh Centuries
  "     "    Fourteenth and Fifteenth Centuries
  "    Gold and Silver, Thirteenth Century
  "     "             
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 29220
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/29220

Monday or Tuesday


_By_ VIRGINIA WOOLF


[Illustration: Publisher's logo]


NEW YORK
HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY
1921


COPYRIGHT, 1921, BY
HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY, INC.


PRINTED IN THE U. S. A. BY
THE QUINN & BODEN COMPANY
RAHWAY, N. J.




CONTENTS


                            PAGE

A HAUNTED HOUSE              3

A SOCIETY                    9

MONDAY OR TUESDAY           41

AN UNWRITTEN NOVEL          45

THE STRING QUARTET          71

BLUE AND GREEN              81

KEW GARDENS                 83

THE MARK ON THE WALL        99




MONDAY OR TUESDAY




A HAUNTED HOUSE


Whatever hour you woke there was a door shutting. From room to room they
went, hand in hand, lifting here, opening there, making sure--a ghostly
couple.

"Here we left it," she said. And he added, "Oh, but here too!" "It's
upstairs," she murmured. "And in the garden," he whispered. "Quietly,"
they said, "or we shall wake them."

But it wasn't that you woke us. Oh, no. "They're looking for it; they're
drawing the curtain," one might say, and so read on a page or two. "Now
they've found it," one would be certain, stopping the pencil on the
margin. And then, tired of reading, one might rise and see for oneself,
the house all empty, the doors standing open, only the wood pigeons
bubbling with content and the hum of the threshing machine sounding from
the farm. "What did I come in here for? What did I want to find?" My
hands were empty. "Perhaps it's upstairs then?" The apples were in the
loft. And so down again, the garden still as ever, only the book had
slipped into the grass.

But they had found it in the drawing room. Not that one could ever see
them. The window panes reflected apples, reflected roses; all the leaves
were green in the glass. If they moved in the drawing room, the apple
only turned its yellow side. Yet, the moment after, if the door was
opened, spread about the floor, hung upon the walls, pendant from the
ceiling--what? My hands were empty. The shadow of a thrush crossed the
carpet; from the deepest wells of silence the wood pigeon drew its
bubble of sound. "Safe, safe, safe," the pulse of the house beat softly.
"The treasure buried; the room ..." the pulse stopped short. Oh, was
that the buried treasure?

A moment later the light had faded. Out in the garden then? But the
trees spun darkness for a wandering beam of sun. So fine, so rare,
coolly sunk beneath the surface the beam I sought always burnt behind
the glass. Death was the glass; death was between us; coming to the
woman first, hundreds of years ago, leaving the house, sealing all the
windows; the rooms were darkened. He left it, left her, went North, went
East, saw the stars turned in the Southern sky; sought the house, found
it dropped beneath the Downs. "Safe, safe, safe," the pulse of the house
beat gladly. "The Treasure yours."

The wind roars up the avenue. Trees stoop and bend this way and that.
Moonbeams splash and spill wildly in the rain. But the beam of the lamp
falls straight from the window. The candle burns stiff and still.
Wandering through the house, opening the windows, whispering not to wake
us, the ghostly couple seek their joy.

"Here we slept," she says. And he adds, "Kisses without number." "Waking
in the morning--" "Silver between the trees--" "Upstairs--" "In the
garden--" "When summer came--" "In winter snowtime--" The doors go
shutting far in the distance, gently knocking like the pulse of a heart.

Nearer they come; cease at the doorway. The wind falls, the rain slides
silver down the glass. Our eyes darken; we hear no steps beside us; we
see no lady spread her ghostly cloak. His hands shield the lantern.
"Look," he breathes. "Sound asleep. Love upon their lips."

Stooping, holding their silver lamp above us, long they look and deeply.
Long they pause. The wind drives straightly; the flame stoops slightly.
Wild beams of moonlight cross both floor and wall, and, meeting, stain
the faces bent; the faces pondering; the faces that search the sleepers
and seek their hidden joy.

"Safe, safe, safe," the heart of the house beats proudly. "Long years--"
he sighs. "Again you found me." "Here," she murmurs, "sleeping; in the
garden reading; laughing, rolling apples in the loft. Here we left our
treasure--" Stooping, their light lifts the lids upon my eyes. "Safe!
safe! safe!" the pulse of the house beats wildly. Waking, I cry "Oh, is
this _your_ buried treasure? The light in the heart."




A SOCIETY


This is how it all came about. Six or seven of us were sitting one day
after tea. Some were gazing across the street into the windows of a
milliner's shop where the light still shone brightly upon scarlet
feathers and golden slippers. Others were idly occupied in building
little towers of sugar upon the edge of the tea tray. After a time, so
far as I can remember, we drew round the fire and began as usual to
praise men--how strong, how noble, how brilliant, how courageous, how
beautiful they were--how we envied those who by hook or by cr
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PG #: 19002
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 IV. THE QUEEN'S CROQUET-GROUND. THE MOCK TURTLE'S STORY. THE
LOBSTER QUADRILLE. WHO STOLE THE TARTS?

       *       *       *       *       *





[Illustration]


Alice was beginning to get very tired of sitting by her sister on
the bank, and of having nothing to do: once or twice she had
peeped into the book her sister was reading, but it had no
pictures or conversations in it, and where is the use of a book,
thought Alice, without pictures or conversations? So she was
considering in her own mind, (as well as she could, for the hot
day made her feel very sleepy and stupid,) whether the pleasure
of making a daisy-chain was worth the trouble of getting up and
picking the daisies, when a white rabbit with pink eyes ran close
by her.

There was nothing very remarkable in that, nor did Alice think it
so very much out of the way to hear the rabbit say to itself
"dear, dear! I shall be too late!" (when she thought it over
afterwards, it occurred to her that she ought to have wondered at
this, but at the time it all seemed quite natural); but when the
rabbit actually took a watch out of its waistcoat-pocket, looked
at it, and then hurried on, Alice started to her feet, for it
flashed across her mind that she had never before seen a rabbit
with either a waistcoat-pocket or a watch to take out of it, and,
full of curiosity, she hurried across the field after it, and was
just in time to see it pop down a large rabbit-hole under the
hedge. In a moment down went Alice after it, never once
considering how in the world she was to get out again.

The rabbit-hole went straight on like a tunnel for some way, and
then dipped suddenly down, so suddenly, that Alice had not a
moment to think about stopping herself, before she found herself
falling down what seemed a deep well. Either the well was very
deep, or she fell very slowly, for she had plenty of time as she
went down to look about her, and to wonder what would happen
next. First, she tried to look down and make out what she was
coming to, but it was too dark to see anything: then, she looked
at the sides of the well, and noticed that they were filled with
cupboards and book-shelves: here and there were maps and pictures
hung on pegs. She took a jar down off one of the shelves as she
passed: it was labelled "Orange Marmalade," but to her great
disappointment it was empty: she did not like to drop the jar,
for fear of killing somebody underneath, so managed to put it
into one of the cupboards as she fell past it.

"Well!" thought Alice to herself, "after such a fall as this, I
shall think nothing of tumbling down stairs! How brave they'll
all think me at home! Why, I wouldn't say anything about it, even
if I fell off the top of the house!" (which was most likely
true.)

Down, down, down. Would the fall never come to an end? "I wonder
how many miles I've fallen by this time?" she said aloud, "I must
be getting somewhere near the centre of the earth. Let me see:
that would be four thousand miles down, I think--" (for you see
Alice had learnt several things of this sort in her lessons in
the schoolroom, and though this was not a very good opportunity
of showing off her knowledge, as there was no one to hear her,
still it was good practice to say it over,) "yes that's the right
distance, but then what Longitude or Latitude-line shall I be
in?" (Alice had no idea what Longitude was, or Latitude either,
but she thought they were nice grand words to say.)

Presently she began again: "I wonder if I shall fall right
through the earth! How funny it'll be to come out among the
people that walk with their heads downwards! But I shall have to
ask them what the name of the country is, you know. Please,
Ma'am, is this New Zealand or Australia?"--and she tried to
curtsey as she spoke (fancy curtseying as you're falling through
the air! do you think you could manage it?) "and what an ignorant
little girl she'll think me for asking! No, it'll never do to
ask: perhaps I shall see it written up somewhere."

Down, down, down: there was nothing else to do, so Alice soon
began talking again. "Dinah will miss me very much tonight, I
should think!" (Dinah was the cat.) "I hope they'll remember her
saucer of milk at tea-time! Oh, dear Dinah, I wish I had you
here! There are no mice in the air, I'm afraid, but you might
catch a bat, and that's very like a mouse, you know, my dear. But
do cats eat bats, I wonder?" And here Alice began to get rather
sleepy, and kept on saying to herself, in a dreamy sort of way
"do cats eat bats? do cats eat bats?" and sometimes, "do bats
eat cats?" for, as she couldn't answer either question, it didn't
much matter which way she put it. She felt that she was dozing
off, and had just begun to dream that she was walking hand in
hand with Dinah, and was saying to her very earnestly, "Now,
Dinah, my dear, tell me the truth. Did you ever eat a bat?" when
suddenly, bump! bump! down she came upon a heap of sticks and
shavings, and the fall was over.

Alice was not a bit
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PG #: 7889
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/7889


  Here's where I've planted my garden and here I shall care for love's blossoms--

    As I am taught by my muse, carefully sort them in plots:

  Fertile branches, whose product is golden fruit of my lifetime,

    Set here in happier years, tended with pleasure today.

  You, stand here at my side, good Priapus--albeit from thieves I've

    Nothing to fear. Freely pluck, whosoever would eat.

  --Hypocrites, those are the ones! If weakened with shame and bad conscience

    One of those criminals comes, squinting out over my garden,

  Bridling at nature's pure fruit, punish the knave in his hindparts,

    Using the stake which so red rises there at your loins.





  Tell me ye stones and give me O glorious palaces answer.

    Speak O ye streets but one word. Genius, art thou alive?

  Yes, here within thy sanctified walls there's a soul in each object,

    ROMA eternal. For me, only, are all things yet mute.

  Who will then tell me in whispers and where must I find just the window

    Where one day she'll be glimpsed: creature who'll scorch me with love?

  Can't I divine yet the paths through which over and over

    To her and from her I'll go, squandering valuable time?

  Visiting churches and palaces, all of the ruins and the pillars,

    I, a responsible man, profit from making this trip.

  With my business accomplished, ah, then shall only one temple,

    AMOR's temple alone, take the initiate in.

  Rome, thou art a whole world, it is true, and yet without love this

    World would not be the world, Rome would cease to be Rome.





  More than ever I dreamed, I have found it: my happy good fortune!

    Cupid sagaciously led past those palazzos so fine.

  He of course knows very well (and I have also discovered)

    What, beneath tapestries rich, gilded boudoirs conceal.

  One may if one wishes call him a blind, wanton boy--but I know you,

    Clever Cupid, too well! O, incorruptible god!

  We were by no means inveigled to enter façades so majestic;

    Somber cortilé we passed, balcony high and gallant,

  Hastening onward until an humble but exquisite portal

    Offered a refuge to both, ardent seeker and guide.

  Here he provides me with ev'rything, sees that I get what I call for;

    Each day that passes he spreads freshly plucked roses for me.

  --Isn't that heaven on earth? Say, beautiful Lady Borghese,

    What would you give to me more? --You, Nipotina, what yours?

  Banquets and game tables, operas, balls, promenades down the Corso?

    These but deprive my sweet boy of his most opportune times.

  Finery, haughtiness do not entice me. Does one not lift a

    Gown of the finest brocade just as one lifts common wool?

  If she's to press in comfort a lover against that soft bosom,

    Doesn't he want her to be free from all brooches and chains?

  Must not the jewelry, and then the lace and the bustles and whalebone

    All of it come off entire, if he's to learn how she feels?

  I encounter no troubles like those. Simple dress of rough homespun,

    At but a lover's mere touch, tumbles in folds to the floor.

  Quickly he carries the girl as she's clad in chemise of coarse linen--

    Just as a nursemaid might, playfully up to her bed.

  Drapings of satin are absent; the mattress is quite unembroidered.

    Large is this room where the bed offers its comfort for two.

  Jupiter's welcome to more from his Juno if he can get it;

    Let any mortal find rest, softer, wherever he can.

  We are content with Cupid's delights, authentic and naked--

    And with the exquisite creak /crack of the bed as it rocks.





  Ask whomever you will but you'll never find out where I'm lodging,

    High society's lords, ladies so groomed and refined.

  "Tell me, was Werther authentic? Did all of that happen in real life?"

    "Lotte, oh where did she live, Werther's only true love?"

  How many times have I cursed those frivolous pages that broadcast

    Out among all mankind passions I felt in my youth!

  Were he my brother, why then I 'd have murdered poor Werther.

    Yet his despondent ghost couldn't have sought worse revenge.

  That's the way "Marlborough," the ditty, follows the Englishman's travels

    Down to Livorno from France, thence from Livorno to Rome,

  All of the way into Naples and then, should he flee on to Madras,

    "Marlborough" will surely be there, "Marlborough" sung in the port.

  Happily now I've escaped, and my mistress knows Werther and Lotte

    Not a whit better than who might be this man in her bed:

  That he's a foreigner, footloose and lusty, is all she could tell you,

    Who beyond mountains and snow, dwelt in a house made of wood.





  Do not, beloved, regret that you yielded to me so quickly:

    I entertain no base, insolent thoughts about you.

  Arrows of Cupid work divers effects. Some do but scratch us:

    Slow and insidious these poison our hearts over years.

  Yet with a head freshly honed and cunningly f
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PG #: 65107
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65107

KNOLE _and the_ SACKVILLES


[Illustration:

  _John Frederick Sackville, 3^{rd}. Duke of Dorset K.G._

  _From the portrait at Knole by Gainsborough._
]




                                 KNOLE
                                 _and_
                             THE SACKVILLES


                                   by

                           V. SACKVILLE-WEST


                                 LONDON
                           WILLIAM HEINEMANN
                                  1922




                          CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE


  1456  KNOLE _bought by_ Archbishop BOURCHIER

  1486  _Death of Bourchier. Succeeded by_ Cardinal MORTON

  1500  _Death of Morton. Succeeded by_ HENRY DEAN

  1502  _Death of Dean. Succeeded by_ WAREHAM

  1532  _Death of Wareham. Succeeded by_ CRANMER

  1539  KNOLE _given by Cranmer to_ HENRY VIII

  1546  _Death of Henry VIII. Succeeded by_ EDWARD VI

  1550  KNOLE _granted by Edward VI to_ JOHN DUDLEY, Earl of Warwick

  1552  KNOLE _resold by Warwick to_ EDWARD VI

  1553  _Death of Edward VI. Succeeded by_ QUEEN MARY

        KNOLE _granted by the Queen to_ REGINALD POLE

  1558  _Death of Mary. Succeeded by_ QUEEN ELIZABETH

  1586  KNOLE _granted to_ THOMAS SACKVILLE _by Elizabeth_


    Thos. Sackville, _Lord Buckhurst_, 1st EARL _of_ DORSET 1536–1608

  1554  _Married_ CECILIE BAKER

  1557  _Member of Parliament_
  1563

  1563  _Travelling abroad_

  1566  _Death of his father_, Sir RICHARD

  1567  _Created_ Lord BUCKHURST

  1568  _Ambassador to France_

  1569  _Lord-Lieutenant of Sussex_

  1571  _Ambassador to France_

  1586  _Execution of_ MARY _Queen of_ SCOTS

  1586  _Given_ KNOLE _by_ QUEEN ELIZABETH

  1587  _Ambassador to the Low Countries_

  1589  _Ambassador to the Low Countries_

  1589  _Knight of the Garter_

  1591  _Chancellor of Oxford_

  1598  _Ambassador to the Low Countries_

  1599  _Lord High Treasurer_

  1601  _Lord High Steward_

  1603  _Death of Queen Elizabeth. Succeeded by_ JAMES I

  1603  _Lord Treasurer for life_

  1604  _Created_ Earl _of_ DORSET

  1608  _Death at the Council Table_


            Robert Sackville, 2nd EARL _of_ DORSET, 1561–1609

  1579  _Married_ MARGARET HOWARD, _dau. of_ Duke _of_ NORFOLK

  1585  _Member of Parliament_
  1608

  1592  _Married_ ANNE SPENCER

  1608  _Succeeded his father_, THOMAS

  1609  _Death_


           Richard Sackville, 3rd EARL _of_ DORSET, 1589–1624

  1609  _Married_ Lady ANNE CLIFFORD, _daughter of_ GEORGE, Earl of
          CUMBERLAND

  1609  _Succeeded his father_, ROBERT

  1624  _Death_


            Edward Sackville, 4th EARL _of_ DORSET, 1591–1652

  1605  _At Christ Church, Oxford_

  1612  _Married_ MARY, _daughter of_ Sir GEORGE CURZON

  1614  _His duel with_ Lord BRUCE

  1614  _Member of Parliament_

  1616  _Knight of the Bath_

  1621  _Ambassador to_ LOUIS XIII

  1623  _Travels in Italy_
  1624

  1623  _Again Ambassador to_ LOUIS XIII

  1624  _Succeeded his brother_, RICHARD

  1624  _Lord-Lieutenant of Sussex and Middlesex_

  1625  _Knight of the Garter_

  1625  _Death of James I. Succeeded by_ CHARLES I

  1628  _Lord Chamberlain_

  1630  Lady DORSET _appointed Governess to the King’s children_

  1631  _Commissioner for Planting Virginia_
  1634

  1638  _Granted the East Coast of America_

  1642  _Outbreak of civil war._ Ld. DORSET _joins the_ KING _at York_

  1644  _Lord Privy Seal_

  1649  _Execution of_ CHARLES I

  1652  _Death_


           Richard Sackville, 5th EARL _of_ DORSET, 1622–1677

 Before _Married_ Lady FRANCES CRANFIELD, _daughter of_ LIONEL Earl _of_
  1638    MIDDLESEX

  1662  _Succeeded his father_, EDWARD

  1660  _Lord-Lieutenant of Middlesex and Sussex_
  1670

                             1677   _Death_


   Charles Sackville, 6th EARL _of_ DORSET _and_ EARL _of_ MIDDLESEX,
                                1638–1706

  1660  _Member of Parliament_

  1660  _Restoration of_ CHARLES II

  1665  _Naval battle against the Dutch_

  1667  _Living with_ NELL GWYNN

  1668  _Ambassador to France_

  1674  _Death of his mother; he succeeds to the Cranfield estates_

  1675  _Created_ Earl _of_ MIDDLESEX

  1677  _Succeeded his father_, RICHARD, _as_ Earl _of_ DORSET

  1678  _Married_ MARY, Countess _of_ FALMOUTH

  1685  _Married_ Lady MARY COMPTON, _daughter of_ JAMES Earl _of_
          NORTHAMPTON

  1685  _Death of Charles II. Succeeded by_ JAMES II

  1688  _Accession of_ WILLIAM _of_ ORANGE

  1689  _Lord Chamberlain_
  1697

  1691  _Knight of the Garter_

  1701  _His poems published with_ SEDLEY’S

  1702  _Death of William III. Succeeded by_ QUEEN ANNE

  1704  _Married_ ANNE ROCHE

  1706  _Death_


    Lionel Sackville, 7th EARL _and_ 1st DUKE _of_ DORSET, 1688–1765

  1706  _Succeeded his father_, CHARLES, _as_ Earl _of_ DORSET _and_
          MIDDLESEX

  1709  _Married_ ELIZABETH COLYEAR

  1708  _Lord Warden of the Cinque Ports, intermittently till 1728_

  1714  _Knight of the Garter_

  1714  _Death of Quee
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 657
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/657

The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle





Originally compiled on the orders of King Alfred the Great,
approximately A.D. 890, and subsequently maintained and added to
by generations of anonymous scribes until the middle of the 12th
Century.  The original language is Anglo-Saxon (Old English), but
later entries are essentially Middle English in tone.

Translation by Rev. James Ingram (London, 1823), with additional
readings from the translation of Dr. J.A. Giles (London, 1847).


*****************************************************************

PREPARER'S NOTE:

At present there are nine known versions or fragments of the
"Anglo-Saxon Chronicle" in existence, all of which vary
(sometimes greatly) in content and quality.  The translation that
follows is not a translation of any one Chronicle; rather, it is
a collation of readings from many different versions.

The nine known "Anglo-Saxon Chronicle" MS. are the following:

A-Prime   The Parker Chronicle (Corpus Christi College,
          Cambridge, MS. 173)
A         Cottonian Fragment (British Museum, Cotton MS. Otho B
          xi, 2)
B         The Abingdon Chronicle I (British Museum, Cotton MS.
          Tiberius A vi.)
C         The Abingdon Chronicle II (British Museum, Cotton MS.
          Tiberius B i.)
D         The Worcester Chronicle (British Museum, Cotton MS.
          Tiberius B iv.)
E         The Laud (or "Peterborough") Chronicle (Bodleian, MS.
          Laud 636)
F         The Bilingual Canterbury Epitome (British Museum,
          Cotton MS. Domitian A viii.)  NOTE: Entries in English
          and Latin.
H         Cottonian Fragment (British Museum, Cotton MS. Domitian
          A ix.)
I         An Easter Table Chronicle (British Museum, Cotton MS.
          Caligula A xv.)


This electronic edition contains primarily the translation of
Rev. James Ingram, as published in the Everyman edition of this
text.  Excerpts from the translation of Dr. J.A. Giles were
included as an appendix in the Everyman edition; the preparer of
this edition has elected to collate these entries into the main
text of the translation.  Where these collations have occurred I
have marked the entry with a double parenthesis (()).

WARNING:
While I have elected to include the footnotes of Rev. Ingram in
this edition, please note that they should be used with extreme
care.  In many cases the views expressed by Rev. Ingram are
severally out of date, having been superseded by almost 175 years
of active scholarship.  At best, these notes will provide a
starting point for inquiry.  They should not, however, be treated
as absolute.


SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY:

ORIGINAL TEXT--

Classen, E. and Harmer, F.E. (eds.): "An Anglo-Saxon Chronicle
from British Museum, Cotton MS. Tiberius B iv." (Manchester,
1926)

Flower, Robin and Smith, Hugh (eds.): "The Peterborough Chronicle
and Laws" (Early English Text Society, Original Series 208,
Oxford, 1941).

Taylor, S. (ed.): "The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle: MS B" <aka "The
Abingdon Chronicle I"> (Cambridge, 1983)

OTHER TRANSLATIONS--

Garmonsway, G.N.: "The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle" (Everyman Press,
London, 1953, 1972).  HIGHLY RECOMMENDED.  Contains side-by-side
translations of all nine known texts.

RECOMMENDED READING--

Bede: "A History of the English Church and People" <aka "The
Ecclesiastical History">, translated by Leo Sherley-Price
(Penguin Classics, London, 1955, 1968).

Poole, A.L.: "Domesday Book to Magna Carta" (Oxford University
Press, Oxford, 1951, 1953)

Stenton, Sir Frank W.: "Anglo-Saxon England" (Oxford University
Press, Oxford, 1943, 1947, 1971)

*****************************************************************

ORIGINAL INTRODUCTION TO INGRAM'S EDITION [1823]

England may boast of two substantial monuments of its early
history; to either of which it would not be easy to find a
parallel in any nation, ancient or modern.  These are, the Record
of Doomsday (1) and the "Saxon Chronicle" (2).  The former, which
is little more than a statistical survey, but contains the most
authentic information relative to the descent of property and the
comparative importance of the different parts of the kingdom at a
very interesting period, the wisdom and liberality of the British
Parliament long since deemed worthy of being printed (3) among
the Public Records, by Commissioners appointed for that purpose.
The other work, though not treated with absolute neglect, has not
received that degree of attention which every person who feels an
interest in the events and transactions of former times would
naturally expect.  In the first place, it has never been printed
entire, from a collation of all the MSS.  But of the extent of
the two former editions, compared with the present, the reader
may form some idea, when he is told that Professor Wheloc's
"Chronologia Anglo-Saxonica", which was the first attempt (4) of
the kind, published at Cambridge in 1644, is comprised in less
than 62 folio pages, exclusive of the Latin appendix.  The
improved edition by Edmund Gib
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 24968
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WHERE I WAS BORN


My life has been an eventful one. I was born a slave--was the child of
slave parents--therefore I came upon the earth free in God-like thought,
but fettered in action. My birthplace was Dinwiddie Court-House, in
Virginia. My recollections of childhood are distinct, perhaps for the
reason that many stirring incidents are associated with that period. I
am now on the shady side of forty, and as I sit alone in my room the
brain is busy, and a rapidly moving panorama brings scene after scene
before me, some pleasant and others sad; and when I thus greet old
familiar faces, I often find myself wondering if I am not living the
past over again. The visions are so terribly distinct that I almost
imagine them to be real. Hour after hour I sit while the scenes are
being shifted; and as I gaze upon the panorama of the past, I realize
how crowded with incidents my life has been. Every day seems like a
romance within itself, and the years grow into ponderous volumes. As I
cannot condense, I must omit many strange passages in my history. From
such a wilderness of events it is difficult to make a selection, but as
I am not writing altogether the history of myself, I will confine my
story to the most important incidents which I believe influenced the
moulding of my character. As I glance over the crowded sea of the past,
these incidents stand forth prominently, the guide-posts of memory. I
presume that I must have been four years old when I first began to
remember; at least, I cannot now recall anything occurring previous to
this period. My master, Col. A. Burwell, was somewhat unsettled in his
business affairs, and while I was yet an infant he made several
removals. While living at Hampton Sidney College, Prince Edward County,
Va., Mrs. Burwell gave birth to a daughter, a sweet, black-eyed baby,
my earliest and fondest pet. To take care of this baby was my first
duty. True, I was but a child myself--only four years old--but then I
had been raised in a hardy school--had been taught to rely upon myself,
and to prepare myself to render assistance to others. The lesson was not
a bitter one, for I was too young to indulge in philosophy, and the
precepts that I then treasured and practised I believe developed those
principles of character which have enabled me to triumph over so many
difficulties. Notwithstanding all the wrongs that slavery heaped upon
me, I can bless it for one thing--youth's important lesson of
self-reliance. The baby was named Elizabeth, and it was pleasant to me
to be assigned a duty in connection with it, for the discharge of that
duty transferred me from the rude cabin to the household of my master.
My simple attire was a short dress and a little white apron. My old
mistress encouraged me in rocking the cradle, by telling me that if I
would watch over the baby well, keep the flies out of its face, and not
let it cry, I should be its little maid. This was a golden promise, and
I required no better inducement for the faithful performance of my task.
I began to rock the cradle most industriously, when lo! out pitched
little pet on the floor. I instantly cried out, "Oh! the baby is on the
floor;" and, not knowing what to do, I seized the fire-shovel in my
perplexity, and was trying to shovel up my tender charge, when my
mistress called to me to let the child alone, and then ordered that I be
taken out and lashed for my carelessness. The blows were not
administered with a light hand, I assure you, and doubtless the severity
of the lashing has made me remember the incident so well. This was the
first time I was punished in this cruel way, but not the last. The
black-eyed baby that I called my pet grew into a self-willed girl, and
in after years was the cause of much trouble to me. I grew strong and
healthy, and, notwithstanding I knit socks and attended to various kinds
of work, I was repeatedly told, when even fourteen years old, that I
would never be worth my salt. When I was eight, Mr. Burwell's family
consisted of six sons and four daughters, with a large family of
servants. My mother was kind and forbearing; Mrs. Burwell a hard
task-master; and as mother had so much work to do in making clothes,
etc., for the family, besides the slaves, I determined to render her all
the assistance in my power, and in rendering her such assistance my
young energies were taxed to the utmost. I was my mother's only child,
which made her love for me all the stronger. I did not know much of my
father, for he was the slave of another man, and when Mr. Burwell moved
from Dinwiddie he was separated from us, and only allowed to visit my
mother twice a year--during the Easter holidays and Christmas. At last
Mr. Burwell determined to reward my mother, by making an arrangement
with the owner of my father, by which the separation of my parents could
be brought to an end. It was a bright day, indeed, for my mother when it
was announced that my father was coming to live with us. The old weary
look faded from her face,
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/28219

the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned
images of public domain material from the Google Print
project.)






  [ Transcriber's Note:

    This is a two-language e-book. It first contains the English, and
    then the German text.

    Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully as
    possible; changes (corrections of spelling and punctuation) made to
    the original text are listed at the end of this file.


    Anmerkungen zur Transkription:

    Dieses e-Book ist zweisprachig. Es enthält zuerst den englischen und
    dann den deutschen Text.

    Schreibweise und Interpunktion des Originaltextes wurden übernommen;
    lediglich offensichtliche Druckfehler wurden korrigiert. Eine Liste
    der vorgenommenen Änderungen findet sich am Ende des Textes.
  ]




                                ADVICE

                          TO YOUNG MUSICIANS,

                             TRANSLATED BY

                          HENRY HUGO PIERSON.



                          LEIPSIC & NEW-YORK.

                          J. SCHUBERTH & CO.


                                LONDON,

                       ENT. ST. HALL. EWER & CO.

                       (This work is copyright.)


            Entered according to act of congress AD. 1860 by
                           J. SCHUBERTH & CO.
       in the clerks office of the District Court of the Southern
                         District of New-York.




The cultivation of the Ear is of the greatest importance.--Endeavour
early to distinguish each several tone and key. Find out the exact notes
sounded by the bell, the glass, the cuckoo, etc.

                   *       *       *       *       *

Practise frequently the scale and other finger exercises; but this alone
is not sufficient. There are many people who think to obtain grand
results in this way, and who up to a mature age spend many hours daily
in mechanical labour. That is about the same, as if we tried every day
to pronounce the alphabet with greater volubility! You can employ your
time more usefully.

                   *       *       *       *       *

There are such things as mute pianoforte-keyboards; try them for a
while, and you will discover that they are useless. Dumb people cannot
teach us to speak.

                   *       *       *       *       *

Play _strictly in time_! The playing of many a virtuoso resembles the
walk of an intoxicated person. Do not take such as your model.

                   *       *       *       *       *

Learn betimes the fundamental principles of Harmony.

                   *       *       *       *       *

Do not be afraid of the words Theory, Thoroughbass, Counterpoint, etc.;
you will understand their full meaning in due time.

                   *       *       *       *       *

Never jingle! Play always with energy and do not leave a piece
unfinished.

                   *       *       *       *       *

You may play too slow or too fast; both are faults.

                   *       *       *       *       *

Endeavour to play easy pieces well and with elegance; that is better
than to play difficult pieces badly.

                   *       *       *       *       *

Take care always to have your instrument well tuned.

                   *       *       *       *       *

It is not only necessary that you should be able to play your pieces on
the instrument, but you should also be able to hum the air without the
piano. Strengthen your imagination so, that you may not only retain the
melody of a composition, but even the harmony which belongs to it.

                   *       *       *       *       *

Endeavour, even with a poor voice, to sing at first sight without the
aid of the instrument; by these means your ear for music will constantly
improve: but in case you are endowed with a good voice, do not hesitate
a moment to cultivate it; considering it at the same time as the most
valuable gift which heaven has granted you!

                   *       *       *       *       *

You must be able to understand a piece of music upon paper.

                   *       *       *       *       *

When you play, never mind who listens to you.

                   *       *       *       *       *

Play always as if in the presence of a master.

                   *       *       *       *       *

If any one should place before you a composition to play at sight, read
it over before you play it.

                   *       *       *       *       *

When you have done your musical day's work and feel tired, do not exert
yourself further. It is better to rest than to work without pleasure and
vigour.

                   *       *       *       *       *

In maturer years play no fashionable trifles. Time is precious. We
should need to live a hundred lives, only to become acquainted with all
the good works that exist.

                   *       *       *       *       *

With sweetmeats
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 15396
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/15396

TENDER BUTTONS

  Objects · Food · Rooms

Gertrude Stein

1914




CONTENTS


  OBJECTS

  FOOD

  ROOMS




OBJECTS


A CARAFE, THAT IS A BLIND GLASS.

A kind in glass and a cousin, a spectacle and nothing strange a single
hurt color and an arrangement in a system to pointing. All this and not
ordinary, not unordered in not resembling. The difference is spreading.


GLAZED GLITTER.

Nickel, what is nickel, it is originally rid of a cover.

The change in that is that red weakens an hour. The change has come.
There is no search. But there is, there is that hope and that
interpretation and sometime, surely any is unwelcome, sometime there is
breath and there will be a sinecure and charming very charming is that
clean and cleansing. Certainly glittering is handsome and convincing.

There is no gratitude in mercy and in medicine. There can be breakages
in Japanese. That is no programme. That is no color chosen. It was
chosen yesterday, that showed spitting and perhaps washing and
polishing. It certainly showed no obligation and perhaps if borrowing is
not natural there is some use in giving.


A SUBSTANCE IN A CUSHION.

The change of color is likely and a difference a very little difference
is prepared. Sugar is not a vegetable.

Callous is something that hardening leaves behind what will be soft if
there is a genuine interest in there being present as many girls as men.
Does this change. It shows that dirt is clean when there is a volume.

A cushion has that cover. Supposing you do not like to change, supposing
it is very clean that there is no change in appearance, supposing that
there is regularity and a costume is that any the worse than an oyster
and an exchange. Come to season that is there any extreme use in feather
and cotton. Is there not much more joy in a table and more chairs and
very likely roundness and a place to put them.

A circle of fine card board and a chance to see a tassel.

What is the use of a violent kind of delightfulness if there is no
pleasure in not getting tired of it. The question does not come before
there is a quotation. In any kind of place there is a top to covering
and it is a pleasure at any rate there is some venturing in refusing to
believe nonsense. It shows what use there is in a whole piece if one
uses it and it is extreme and very likely the little things could be
dearer but in any case there is a bargain and if there is the best thing
to do is to take it away and wear it and then be reckless be reckless
and resolved on returning gratitude.

Light blue and the same red with purple makes a change. It shows that
there is no mistake. Any pink shows that and very likely it is
reasonable. Very likely there should not be a finer fancy present. Some
increase means a calamity and this is the best preparation for three and
more being together. A little calm is so ordinary and in any case there
is sweetness and some of that.

A seal and matches and a swan and ivy and a suit.

A closet, a closet does not connect under the bed. The band if it is
white and black, the band has a green string. A sight a whole sight and
a little groan grinding makes a trimming such a sweet singing trimming
and a red thing not a round thing but a white thing, a red thing and a
white thing.

The disgrace is not in carelessness nor even in sewing it comes out out
of the way.

What is the sash like. The sash is not like anything mustard it is not
like a same thing that has stripes, it is not even more hurt than that,
it has a little top.


A BOX.

Out of kindness comes redness and out of rudeness comes rapid same
question, out of an eye comes research, out of selection comes painful
cattle. So then the order is that a white way of being round is
something suggesting a pin and is it disappointing, it is not, it is so
rudimentary to be analysed and see a fine substance strangely, it is so
earnest to have a green point not to red but to point again.


A PIECE OF COFFEE.

More of double.

A place in no new table.

A single image is not splendor. Dirty is yellow. A sign of more in not
mentioned. A piece of coffee is not a detainer. The resemblance to
yellow is dirtier and distincter. The clean mixture is whiter and not
coal color, never more coal color than altogether.

The sight of a reason, the same sight slighter, the sight of a simpler
negative answer, the same sore sounder, the intention to wishing, the
same splendor, the same furniture.

The time to show a message is when too late and later there is no
hanging in a blight.

A not torn rose-wood color. If it is not dangerous then a pleasure and
more than any other if it is cheap is not cheaper. The amusing side is
that the sooner there are no fewer the more certain is the necessity
dwindled. Supposing that the case contained rose-wood and a color.
Supposing that there was no reason for a distress and more likely for a
number, supposing that there was no astonishment, is it not necessary to
mingle astonishment.

The settling of stationing cleaning is one w
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 36077
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GESLACHTSNAMEN, ONTLEEND AAN MANSVOORNAMEN.

DIT ZIJN DE VADERSNAMEN, DE ZOOGENOEMDE PATRONYMIKA.


§ 4. Zoodra zich by de menschen van 't eene of andere land de behoefte
had doen gevoelen om nog eenen toenaam te voegen by den eigenen
naam, ter onderscheiding van gelijknamige personen, ontstonden
die toenamen, welke afgeleid zijn van den naam des vaders van den
betrokkenen persoon. Als er b. v. in eene en de zelfde plaats twee
mannen woonden, die beiden Hendrik heetten, maar waar van de eene
een zoon was van zekeren Willem, de andere van zekeren Frederik, dan
lag er wel niets naders voor de hand, dan dat men den eenen Hendrik,
zoon van Willem of Willems-zoon, den anderen Hendrik, zoon van Frederik
of Frederiks-zoon noemde.

Deze zeer eenvoudige en natuurlike wyze om aan kinderen, ter onderlinge
onderscheiding, toenamen te geven, afgeleid van de namen hunner vaders,
is zeer algemeen onder de meeste volken der aarde verspreid geweest. Zy
was dit reeds in vroege tyden; de geschiedenis weet daarvan talryke
voorbeelden aan te wyzen, by Joden, Persen, Grieken, enz. De bekende
namen van Gyges Dascili, van Darius Hystaspis, Zapyrus Megabizi,
Xantippus Periclis, Ptolemaeus Lagi, Seleucus Antiochi, enz. kunnen als
voorbeelden dienen. Vooral by de Israëliten werd, duidelikheidshalve,
en meest als de naam geschreven werd in geslachtsregisters, de
vadersnaam, als toenaam, gevoegd achter den naam van iederen man. De
bybelboeken geven daar van talryke voorbeelden aan; o. a. het eerste
hoofdstuk van 't boek Numeri. En de Romeinen, uit den tijd toen zy
reeds aanmerkelik in beschaving en ontwikkeling waren vooruit gegaan,
droegen niet aleen wel tweederlei soort van geslachtsnamen, maar zy
voerden buitendien nog dikwijls hun vaders naam in den tweeden naamval
daar by. Zoo is ons een Lucius Furius Marci filius Camillus bekend, en
een Cneius Cornelius Publici filius Scipio, en meer anderen. En ook nog
later, zelfs tot in onzen tijd, is deze naamsforming by sommige volken
in stand gebleven, vooral in het oosten. Joden en Arabieren aldaar
noemen zich in dezer voege: Jehuda ben Halevi (Juda, zoon van Levi,
of van den priester), Abraham ben Esra; Osman ben Omar of Osman ibn
Omar (Osman, zoon van Omar), Achmet ben Ali, enz. Grieken, Bulgaren,
Bosniaken en andere christelike volken, die tot voor korten tijd nog
onder turksche heerschappy stonden, of ten deele ook nog heden staan,
hebben mede dit oude gebruik in stand gehouden, wijl de Turken het
dragen van vaste geslachtsnamen niet verplichtend stellen. Georgios
Michaëlopoulos (Georg of Joris, zoon van Michiel), Dimitri Rafaëlovich
(Demetrius, zoon van Rafaël), Spiridion Daniëlowitz, enz. zijn namen,
met den vadersnaam als toenaam, van mannen uit die landen. Onder de
Russen heerscht deze gewoonte eveneens, wijl ook in Rusland de zaak
der geslachtsnamen nog niet vast geregeld is; Paul, die een zoon is
van Iwan, noemt zich Paul Iwanowitz (Paul, zoon van Jan, of Paulus
Janszoon, of Paul Jansen), en Iwan, wiens vader Paul heet, noemt
zich, omgekeerd, Iwan Paulowitz. Maar wy kunnen ook by onze eigene
germaansche stamverwanten blyven. Immers tot voor weinige jaren, toen
ook in de skandinaafsche landen het voeren van geslachtsnamen nog niet
vast geregeld was, volgden Zweden, Noren, Denen en IJslanders eveneens
dit gebruik, en zelfs heden is het nog veelvuldig by de Skandinaviers
in zwang. Heet de vader Sven, de zoon Harald noemt zich Harald Svensen;
draagt de vader van Axel den naam van Thorbrand, eerstgenoemde wordt
Axel Thorbrandson geheeten. Zoo heette de vader van Per Thomasson,
den zweedschen, in 1818 geborenen dichter, natuurlik Thomas, en wel
Thomas Svensson, en zyne moeder Hanna Svensdotter (Sven's dochter);
toeval was het dat zyne beide grootvaders, naar luid der patronymika
zyner ouders, Sven heetten. En zelfs onder de hedendaagsche Friesen
in Nederland en Duitschland, ofschoon dan in 't begin dezer eeu
reeds het dragen van vaste geslachtsnamen onder hen aan eene vaste
regeling werd onderworpen, is dit aloude en waardige gebruik, van
gepasten kinderliken eerbied voor den vader getuigende, nog steeds
in stand gebleven. Vooral ten platten lande in de friesche gewesten
is dit het geval. Daar heeten de mannen nog steeds Frank Eabes,
Sybren Hoites, Auke Sjoerds, en de vrouen Sytske Walles, Wybrechtje
(of Wibrichje) Teakes, Baukje Tjaards, enz. Althans zóó, en nooit
anders, worden Frank, Sybren en Auke, Sytske, Wybrechtje en Baukje
in 't dageliksche leven genoemd, naar de namen hunner vaders Eabe,
Hoite en Sjoerd, Walle, Teake en Tjaard. En dit niettegenstaande deze
lieden vaste geslachtsnamen hebben, en b. v. als Frank Wynalda, Sybren
Ruurda, Auke Rommertsma, en als Sytske Abbinga, Wybrechtje Hoitema,
Baukje Heidstra in de boeken van den burgerliken stand ingeschreven
staan. Vraagt men den Friesen ten platten lande, hoe deze of gene
man heet, gewoonlik zal men u den vóórnaam van dien man noemen, met
zynen vadersnaam in den tweeden naamval, b. v. Albert Sierks. Wil
men weten hoe de ges
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CONTENTS OF VOL. I.

    PREFACE 1

    FIRST BOOK. EUROPEAN NIHILISM. A PLAN

    I. NIHILISM--

    1. Nihilism as an Outcome of the Valuations and Interpretations of
           Existence which have prevailed hitherto
    2. Further Causes of Nihilism
    3. The Nihilistic Movement as an Expression of Decadence
    4. The Crisis: Nihilism and the Idea of Recurrence

    II. CONCERNING THE HISTORY OF EUROPEAN NIHILISM--

    _(a)_ Modern Gloominess
    _(b)_ The Last Centuries
    _(c)_ Signs of Increasing Strength

    SECOND BOOK. A CRITICISM OF THE HIGHEST VALUES THAT HAVE PREVAILED
    HITHERTO.

    I. CRITICISM OF RELIGION--

    1. Concerning the Origin of Religions
    2. Concerning the History of Christianity
    3. Christian Ideals

    II. A CRITICISM OF MORALITY--

    1. The Origin of Moral Valuations
    2. The Herd
    3. General Observations concerning Morality
    4. How Virtue is made to Dominate
    5. The Moral Ideal--

    _A._ A Criticism of Ideals
    _B._ A Criticism of the "Good Man," of the Saint, etc.
    _C._ Concerning the Slander of the so-called Evil Qualities
    _D._ A Criticism of the Words: Improving, Perfecting, Elevating

    6. Concluding Remarks concerning the Criticism of Morality

    III. CRITICISM OF PHILOSOPHY--

    1. General Remarks
    2. A Criticism of Greek Philosophy
    3. The Truths and Errors of Philosophers
    4. Concluding Remarks in the Criticism of Philosophy




TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.


In the volume before us we have the first two books of what was to be
Nietzsche's greatest theoretical and philosophical prose work. The
reception given to _Thus Spake Zarathustra_ had been so unsatisfactory,
and misunderstandings relative to its teaching had become so general,
that, within a year of the publication of the first part of that
famous philosophical poem, Nietzsche was already beginning to see
the necessity of bringing his doctrines before the public in a more
definite and unmistakable form. During the years that followed--that is
to say, between 1883 and 1886--this plan was matured, and although we
have no warrant, save his sister's own word and the internal evidence
at our disposal, for classing _Beyond Good and Evil_ (published 1886)
among the contributions to Nietzsche's grand and final philosophical
scheme, "The Will to Power," it is now impossible to separate it
entirely from his chief work as we would naturally separate _The Birth
of Tragedy,_ the _Thoughts out of Season,_ the volumes entitled _Human,
all-too-Human, The Dawn of Day,_ and _Joyful Wisdom._

_Beyond Good and Evil,_ then, together with its sequel, _The Genealogy
of Morals,_ and the two little volumes, _The Twilight of the Idols_
and the _Antichrist_ (published in 1889 and 1894 respectively), must
be regarded as forming part of the general plan of which _The Will to
Power_ was to be the _opus magnum._

Unfortunately, _The Will to Power_ was never completed by its author.
The text from which this translation was made is a posthumous
publication, and it suffers from all the disadvantages that a book
must suffer from which has been arranged and ordered by foster hands.
When those who were responsible for its publication undertook the task
of preparing it for the press, it was very little more than a vast
collection of notes and rough drafts, set down by Nietzsche from time
to time, as the material for his chief work; and, as any liberty taken
with the original manuscript, save that of putting it in order, would
probably have resulted in adding or excluding what the author would
on no account have added or excluded himself, it follows that in some
few cases the paragraphs are no more than hasty memoranda of passing
thoughts, which Nietzsche must have had the intention of elaborating
at some future time. In these cases the translation follows the German
as closely as possible, and the free use even of a conjunction has in
certain cases been avoided, for fear lest the meaning might be in the
slightest degree modified. It were well, therefore, if the reader could
bear these facts in mind whenever he is struck by a certain clumsiness,
either of expression or disposition, in the course of reading this
translation.

It may be said that, from the day when Nietzsche first recognised the
necessity of making a more unequivocal appeal to his public than
the _Zarathustra_ had been, that is to say, from the spring of 1883,
his work in respect of _The Will to Power_ suffered no interruption
whatsoever, and that it was his chief preoccupation from that period
until his breakdown in 1889.

That this span of six years was none too long for the task he had
undertaken, will be gathered from the fact that, in the great work he
had planned, he actually set out to show that the life-principle, "Will
to Power," was the prime motor of all living organisms.

To do this he appeals both to the animal world and to human society,
with its subdivisions, religion, art, morality, politics, etc. etc.,
and in each of 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65151
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IN ARCHEAOLOGY ***




                             HOW OLD IS IT?


                   THE STORY OF DATING IN ARCHAEOLOGY


                       MUSEUM OF NEW MEXICO PRESS
                     POPULAR SERIES PAMPHLET NO. 2




                                                          HOW OLD IS IT?
                                                   DATING IN ARCHAEOLOGY
                                                 _by James Schoenwetter_


There is a whole field of science devoted to the invention and
development of dating methods—or “clocks” as we may think of them. It is
called _geochronology_, the science of dating events. There are
relatively few geochronologists, scientists trained in the use of all
kinds of dating methods and in the theories upon which these methods are
based.

Geochronologists tell us that there are two major types of clocks: those
that tick at an absolute rate of speed which can be measured, and those
which tick only once in a while. A clock of the first type yields what
is called an _absolute_ date, revealing the number of hours, days,
years, centuries or millennia since an event occurred. A clock of the
second type yields what is called a _relative_ date, placing an event as
before or after another event, but does not tell us exactly how far they
are apart in time nor how long ago they occurred.

Depending upon how accurate his date must be to solve the problem he has
set for himself, the archaeologist will select absolute or relative
dating methods. Often, of course, the type of clock he wishes to use is
not available, and he must use the next best type. Probably he will try
to use a number of clocks of different kinds on the problem since each
clock will act as a check on the others.

The absolute clock utilized most widely in archaeology is the historical
record. Men have used calendars for a long time, and have often left
records with written dates. On tombstones at a site in old Virginia, on
the pedestals of statues and other monuments from classical Greece and
Rome, on the walls of the tombs of Egyptian kings, dates are clearly
inscribed which can be related to the sites dug into by the
archaeologists. These dates must often be recalculated in terms of the
Christian calendar which we use. Most calendars in use in the
Mediterranean, the Near East and China during classical antiquity have
been successfully correlated with the one we use today, and a date
inscribed or noted on such sites can be considered in our own terms.
Other calendars, such as those developed in the ancient cultures of the
Maya on the Yucatan Peninsula, have yet to be accurately correlated with
our own. Such calendars can be used on their own terms of course, and a
site which has an inscription in the Mayan calendar is known to be so
many years older or younger than another one with a different date in
that calendar. We speak of such a situation as a _floating chronology_.
That is, the sequence of events and the number of years which separate
them are known, but the dates of those events in absolute time are
unknown.

    [Illustration: (uncaptioned)]

Tree rings afford another kind of absolute clock, the _dendrological_
method. Each year a tree adds a growth ring. Depending on the amount of
water the tree has available to it for cell growth, the ring will be
wider or narrower. Certain trees whose water requirements are high live
near streams or other places where their roots can tap a constant supply
of water. Such trees, referred to as _complacent_, have annual rings
which are all of about the same width. Other _sensitive_ trees live in
places where they must depend almost wholly on rainfall for their water
supply, as on the slopes of hills or in the clefts of rocks. Such trees
have annual rings which vary in width depending upon the amount of rain
they receive. In any given area, especially in arid and semiarid
regions, some years have more rainfall than others. The sensitive trees
will produce wider rings during years when there is more rainfall and
narrower rings in years when there is less. Often there are periods of a
decade or so when all of the sensitive trees will produce the same
pattern of ring growth; for example, three years of narrow rings, one
year of wide, two more of narrow and three more of wide. Such a pattern
is called a _signature_.

Signatures are the basis of tree ring chronologies. All the trees in a
region did not begin growing at the same time of course, but every time
there is a series of years which will produce a signature, all the
sensitive trees still alive will have that signature. Let us say we cut
down a sensitive tree in 1960 and, by counting back the rings, find
signatures at 1940-45, 1910-14, 1880-89, 1821-27, 1795-1800 and 1750-58.
Next we recover a beam from an abandoned Spanish Mission built in 1810.
It happens to be from a sensitive tree, and we can spot the 1795-1800
and the 1750-58 signatures near the outer rings. Now we have two records
which can be said t
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                             STEVENTON, Thursday (January 16, 1796).

I HAVE just received yours and Mary's letter, and I thank you both,
though their contents might have been more agreeable. I do not at all
expect to see you on Tuesday, since matters have fallen out so
unpleasantly; and if you are not able to return till after that day, it
will hardly be possible for us to send for you before Saturday, though
for my own part I care so little about the ball that it would be no
sacrifice to me to give it up for the sake of seeing you two days
earlier. We are extremely sorry for poor Eliza's illness. I trust,
however, that she has continued to recover since you wrote, and that you
will none of you be the worse for your attendance on her. What a
good-for-nothing fellow Charles is to bespeak the stockings! I hope he
will be too hot all the rest of his life for it!

I sent you a letter yesterday to Ibthorp, which I suppose you will not
receive at Kintbury. It was not very long or very witty, and therefore
if you never receive it, it does not much signify. I wrote principally
to tell you that the Coopers were arrived and in good health. The little
boy is very like Dr. Cooper, and the little girl is to resemble Jane,
they say.

Our party to Ashe to-morrow night will consist of Edward Cooper, James
(for a ball is nothing without him), Buller, who is now staying with us,
and I. I look forward with great impatience to it, as I rather expect to
receive an offer from my friend in the course of the evening. I shall
refuse him, however, unless he promises to give away his white coat.

I am very much flattered by your commendation of my last letter, for I
write only for fame, and without any view to pecuniary emolument.

Edward is gone to spend the day with his friend, John Lyford, and does
not return till to-morrow. Anna is now here; she came up in her chaise
to spend the day with her young cousins, but she does not much take to
them or to anything about them, except Caroline's spinning-wheel. I am
very glad to find from Mary that Mr. and Mrs. Fowle are pleased with
you. I hope you will continue to give satisfaction.

How impertinent you are to write to me about Tom, as if I had not
opportunities of hearing from him myself! The last letter that I
received from him was dated on Friday, 8th, and he told me that if the
wind should be favorable on Sunday, which it proved to be, they were to
sail from Falmouth on that day. By this time, therefore, they are at
Barbadoes, I suppose. The Rivers are still at Manydown, and are to be at
Ashe to-morrow. I intended to call on the Miss Biggs yesterday had the
weather been tolerable. Caroline, Anna, and I have just been devouring
some cold souse, and it would be difficult to say which enjoyed it most.

Tell Mary that I make over Mr. Heartley and all his estate to her for
her sole use and benefit in future, and not only him, but all my other
admirers into the bargain wherever she can find them, even the kiss
which C. Powlett wanted to give me, as I mean to confine myself in
future to Mr. Tom Lefroy, for whom I don't care sixpence. Assure her
also, as a last and indubitable proof of Warren's indifference to me,
that he actually drew that gentleman's picture for me, and delivered it
to me without a sigh.

_Friday._--At length the day is come on which I am to flirt my last with
Tom Lefroy, and when you receive this it will be over. My tears flow as
I write at the melancholy idea. Wm. Chute called here yesterday. I
wonder what he means by being so civil. There is a report that Tom is
going to be married to a Lichfield lass. John Lyford and his sister
bring Edward home to-day, dine with us, and we shall all go together to
Ashe. I understand that we are to draw for partners. I shall be
extremely impatient to hear from you again, that I may know how Eliza
is, and when you are to return.

With best love, etc., I am affectionately yours,

                                                  J. AUSTEN.

  Miss AUSTEN,
    The Rev. Mr. Fowle's, Kintbury, Newbury






                             CORK STREET, Tuesday morn (August, 1796).

MY DEAR CASSANDRA,--Here I am once more in this scene of dissipation and
vice, and I begin already to find my morals corrupted. We reached
Staines yesterday, I do not (know) when, without suffering so much from
the heat as I had hoped to do. We set off again this morning at seven
o'clock, and had a very pleasant drive, as the morning was cloudy and
perfectly cool. I came all the way in the chaise from Hertford Bridge.

Edward[1] and Frank[2] are both gone out to seek their fortunes; the
latter is to return soon and help us seek ours. The former we shall
never see again. We are to be at Astley's to-night, which I am glad of.
Edward has heard from Henry this morning. He has not been at the races
at all, unless his driving Miss Pearson over to Rowling one day can be
so called. We shall find him there on Thursday.

I hope you are all alive after our melancholy parting
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TO

JEREMIAH HARMAN, Esq.

    Dear Sir,

    I dedicate to you the following translation as a testimony
    of my sincere gratitude and respect; in doing so, I but
    follow the example of Portius, an Italian writer, who
    inscribed his translation of Aristotle's Treatise on Colours
    to one of the Medici.

                     I have the honour to be,

                        Dear Sir,

                          Your most obliged and obedient Servant,

                                                 C. L. EASTLAKE.




THE TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.


English writers who have spoken of Goethe's "Doctrine of Colours,"[1]
have generally confined their remarks to those parts of the work in
which he has undertaken to account for the colours of the prismatic
spectrum, and of refraction altogether, on principles different
from the received theory of Newton. The less questionable merits
of the treatise consisting of a well-arranged mass of observations
and experiments, many of which are important and interesting, have
thus been in a great measure overlooked. The translator, aware of
the opposition which the theoretical views alluded to have met with,
intended at first to make a selection of such of the experiments as
seem more directly applicable to the theory and practice of painting.
Finding, however, that the alterations this would have involved would
have been incompatible with a clear and connected view of the author's
statements, he preferred giving the theory itself entire, reflecting,
at the same time, that some scientific readers may be curious to hear
the author speak for himself even on the points at issue.

In reviewing the history and progress of his opinions and researches,
Goethe tells us that he first submitted his views to the public
in two short essays entitled "Contributions to Optics." Among the
circumstances which he supposes were unfavourable to him on that
occasion, he mentions the choice of his title, observing that by a
reference to optics he must have appeared to make pretensions to a
knowledge of mathematics, a science with which he admits he was very
imperfectly acquainted. Another cause to which he attributes the severe
treatment he experienced, was his having ventured so openly to question
the truth of the established theory: but this last provocation could
not be owing to mere inadvertence on his part; indeed the larger work,
in which he alludes to these circumstances, is still more remarkable
for the violence of his objections to the Newtonian doctrine.

There can be no doubt, however, that much of the opposition Goethe met
with was to be attributed to the manner as well as to the substance
of his statements. Had he contented himself with merely detailing his
experiments and showing their application to the laws of chromatic
harmony, leaving it to others to reconcile them as they could with the
pre-established system, or even to doubt in consequence, the truth of
some of the Newtonian conclusions, he would have enjoyed the credit
he deserved for the accuracy and the utility of his investigations.
As it was, the uncompromising expression of his convictions only
exposed him to the resentment or silent neglect of a great portion
of the scientific world, so that for a time he could not even obtain
a fair hearing for the less objectionable or rather highly valuable
communications contained in his book. A specimen of his manner of
alluding to the Newtonian theory will be seen in the preface.

It was quite natural that this spirit should call forth a somewhat
vindictive feeling, and with it not a little uncandid as well as
unsparing criticism. "The Doctrine of Colours" met with this reception
in Germany long before it was noticed in England, where a milder and
fairer treatment could hardly be expected, especially at a time when,
owing perhaps to the limited intercourse with the continent, German
literature was far less popular than it is at present. This last fact,
it is true, can be of little importance in the present instance,
for although the change of opinion with regard to the genius of an
enlightened nation must be acknowledged to be beneficial, it is to be
hoped there is no fashion in science, and the translator begs to state
once for all, that in advocating the neglected merits of the "Doctrine
of Colours," he is far from undertaking to defend its imputed errors.
Sufficient time has, however, now elapsed since the publication of this
work (in 1810) to allow a calmer and more candid examination of its
claims. In this more pleasing task Germany has again for some time led
the way, and many scientific investigators have followed up the hints
and observations of Goethe with a due acknowledgment of the acuteness
of his views.[2]

It may require more magnanimity in English scientific readers to do
justice to the merits of one who was so open and, in many respects, it
is believed, so mistaken an opponent of Newton; but it must be admitted
that the statements of Goethe contain more
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PG #: 50603
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MINUTE MYSTERIES
                            [_Detectograms_]


                                   BY
                              H. A. RIPLEY

                           WITH A FOREWORD BY
                             LEWIS E. LAWES
                      _Warden of Sing Sing Prison_

                          BOSTON AND NEW YORK
                        HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
                    _The Riverside Press Cambridge_
                                  1932

              COPYRIGHT, 1932, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED INCLUDING THE RIGHT TO REPRODUCE THIS BOOK OR PARTS
                          THEREOF IN ANY FORM


                          The Riverside Press
                       CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS
                         PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.


                                   TO
                               MY MOTHER




                                FOREWORD


The solution of criminal mysteries constitutes one of the most
absorbing, possibly the most intriguing forms of mental activity
existent. It calls for something more than mere cold intelligence and
reasoning ability, requiring in addition native perception, intuition,
and a natural understanding of human behavior under stress of emotion
and passion. Furthermore, some knowledge of pathological or abnormal
behaviorism is a requisite.

Mr. Ripley’s excellently thought-out series of mysteries might be said
to represent a very adequate cross-section of the problems perennially
confronting the law-enforcers and official crime-solvers of the nation.
The points of evidence are cleverly assembled and the _nuances_ of
incrimination are very subtly shaded.

It would be well for the reader interested in successfully solving these
problems to endeavor to think, not as a detective, but as the criminal
in the case would think, in order to arrive at a correct solution. I
have found that to deal adequately with the criminal after conviction,
and while in confinement, it is necessary to understand his personal
problems. To accomplish this, one must first think as does the criminal,
discover the sequent conclusions upon which he based his anti-social
activities, and thereupon make use of these findings to assist him
toward rehabilitation.

In this novel challenge to amateur criminologists, who suffer from a
dearth of laboratory specimens upon which to experiment, Mr. Ripley
offers an excellent opportunity—that of examining and forming
conclusions upon the more elemental, vital, and dramatic aspects of
various typical criminal situations, without the drawback of fantasy and
concocted sordidness, which, for the practical criminologist, takes the
glamour and color out of this thing called—Crime.

                                                          Lewis E. Lawes




                            AUTHOR’S PREFACE


Chief Inspector Kelley, that grizzled veteran of the Detective Bureau,
was talking to his nephew, Jim Barry, who had indicated a desire to
enter the uncrowded field of criminology.

‘The average policeman,’ he said, ‘looks upon the lay criminologist in
much the same manner as the professional in any field regards the
amateur. Generally speaking, that attitude is justified.

‘In thirty years of police work, however, I have met no one in detective
circles, in or out of the force, who so effectively combines theoretical
knowledge with practical application as Professor Fordney.

‘A man of definite scientific attainments and recognition, he yet
appreciates that the simple fundamentals of crime detection are
effective in ninety per cent of all criminal cases. While he has
unraveled by scientific means some amazing and extremely baffling crimes
that otherwise would have gone unsolved, he puts his greatest reliance
on those basic principles upon which rests the whole structure of crime
detection.

‘His major theory is that most crimes are simple; that their solution
calls only for the exercise of ordinary talents developed to an
extraordinary degree; that the stupidity of the average criminal
himself, and not the brilliance of the detective, is responsible for his
detection.

‘In that, I might tell you, he finds complete corroboration in the
experience of such an outstanding detective of world-wide reputation as
Sir Melville L. Macnaghten, C.B., late Chief of the Criminal
Investigation Department of Scotland Yard. Commenting on the capture of
a particularly vicious murderer, he remarked, “But for the fact that the
student of criminal history is constantly faced with the stupidity of
the criminal, there would be nothing more remarkable in this case than
the fatuity of the man who, having murdered solely for personal
gratifications, and taken every precaution, as he thought, to avoid
discovery, immediately wrote blackmailing letters in which he showed
guilty knowledge of a secret murder.”

‘Fordney could undoubtedly explain such an inconsistency as this by his
uncanny knowledge of criminal psychology,’ continued Kelle
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    Men can do nothing without the make-believe of a beginning. Even
    science, the strict measurer, is obliged to start with a make-believe
    unit, and must fix on a point in the stars' unceasing journey when his
    sidereal clock shall pretend that time is at Nought. His less accurate
    grandmother Poetry has always been understood to start in the middle;
    but on reflection it appears that her proceeding is not very different
    from his; since Science, too, reckons backward as well as forward,
    divides his unit into billions, and with his clock-finger at Nought
    really sets off _in medias res_. No retrospect will take us to
    the true beginning; and whether our prologue be in heaven or on earth,
    it is but a fraction of that all-presupposing fact with which our
    story sets out.


Was she beautiful or not beautiful? and what was the secret of form or
expression which gave the dynamic quality to her glance? Was the good
or the evil genius dominant in those beams? Probably the evil; else why
was the effect that of unrest rather than of undisturbed charm? Why was
the wish to look again felt as coercion and not as a longing in which
the whole being consents?

She who raised these questions in Daniel Deronda's mind was occupied in
gambling: not in the open air under a southern sky, tossing coppers on
a ruined wall, with rags about her limbs; but in one of those splendid
resorts which the enlightenment of ages has prepared for the same
species of pleasure at a heavy cost of gilt mouldings, dark-toned
color and chubby nudities, all correspondingly heavy--forming a
suitable condenser for human breath belonging, in great part, to the
highest fashion, and not easily procurable to be breathed in elsewhere
in the like proportion, at least by persons of little fashion.

It was near four o'clock on a September day, so that the atmosphere was
well-brewed to a visible haze. There was deep stillness, broken only by
a light rattle, a light chink, a small sweeping sound, and an
occasional monotone in French, such as might be expected to issue from
an ingeniously constructed automaton. Round two long tables were
gathered two serried crowds of human beings, all save one having their
faces and attention bent on the tables. The one exception was a
melancholy little boy, with his knees and calves simply in their
natural clothing of epidermis, but for the rest of his person in a
fancy dress. He alone had his face turned toward the doorway, and
fixing on it the blank gaze of a bedizened child stationed as a
masquerading advertisement on the platform of an itinerant show, stood
close behind a lady deeply engaged at the roulette-table.

About this table fifty or sixty persons were assembled, many in the
outer rows, where there was occasionally a deposit of new-comers, being
mere spectators, only that one of them, usually a woman, might now and
then be observed putting down a five-franc with a simpering air, just
to see what the passion of gambling really was. Those who were taking
their pleasure at a higher strength, and were absorbed in play, showed
very distant varieties of European type: Livonian and Spanish,
Graeco-Italian and miscellaneous German, English aristocratic and
English plebeian. Here certainly was a striking admission of human
equality. The white bejewelled fingers of an English countess were very
near touching a bony, yellow, crab-like hand stretching a bared wrist
to clutch a heap of coin--a hand easy to sort with the square, gaunt
face, deep-set eyes, grizzled eyebrows, and ill-combed scanty hair
which seemed a slight metamorphosis of the vulture. And where else
would her ladyship have graciously consented to sit by that dry-lipped
feminine figure prematurely old, withered after short bloom like her
artificial flowers, holding a shabby velvet reticule before her, and
occasionally putting in her mouth the point with which she pricked her
card? There too, very near the fair countess, was a respectable London
tradesman, blonde and soft-handed, his sleek hair scrupulously parted
behind and before, conscious of circulars addressed to the nobility and
gentry, whose distinguished patronage enabled him to take his holidays
fashionably, and to a certain extent in their distinguished company.
Not his the gambler's passion that nullifies appetite, but a well-fed
leisure, which, in the intervals of winning money in business and
spending it showily, sees no better resource than winning money in play
and spending it yet more showily--reflecting always that Providence had
never manifested any disapprobation of his amusement, and dispassionate
enough to leave off if the sweetness of winning much and seeing others
lose had turned to the sourness of losing much and seeing others win.
For the vice of gambling lay in losing money at it. In his bearing
there might be something of the tradesman, but in his pleasures he was
fit to rank with the owners of the oldest titles. Standing close to his
chair was a hand
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THE FIRE UPON THE ALTAR


As far back as our history goes we find that fire has played an important
part in the religious ceremonial of the human race. In practically every
religion we find the sacred altar fires, which were guarded by the
priests and vestals with greater care than their own lives. In the Bible
we find many references made to the sacred fires which were used as one
form of devotion by the ancient Israelites. The Altar of Burnt Offerings
is as old as the human race, and dates from the time when the first man,
lifting himself out of the mists of ancient Lemuria, first saw the sun,
the great Fire Spirit of the universe. Among the followers of Zoroaster,
the Persian Initiate, fire has been used for centuries in honor of the
great Fire God, Ormuzd, who is said by them to have created the universe.

[Illustration: The Everburning Lamp:

Know that the Flame that burns within thee and lights thy way is the
ever burning lamp of the ancients. As their lamps were fed by the purest
of oil, so thy spiritual Flame must be fed by a life of purity and
altruism.]

There are two paths or divisions of humanity whose history is closely
related to that of the Wisdom Teachings. They embody the doctrines of
fire and water, the two opposites of nature. Those who follow the path of
faith or the heart, use water, and are known as the Sons of Seth, while
those who follow the path of the mind and action are the Children of
Cain, who was the son of Samael, the Spirit of Fire. Today we find the
latter among the alchemists, the hermetic philosophers, the Rosicrucians,
and the Freemasons.

It is well for us to understand that we ourselves are the cube altar upon
which and in which burns the altar fire. For many centuries the Initiate
of fire has been nourishing and guarding the Spiritual Flame within
himself, as the ancient priests watched day and night the altar fires of
Vesta’s temple.

The ever burning lamp of the alchemist, which having burned thousands of
years without fuel in the catacombs of Rome, is but a symbol of this same
spiritual fire within himself. In the picture we see the ever burning
lamp which was carried by the Initiate in his wandering. It represents
the spinal column of man, at the top of which is flickering a little
blue and red flame. As the lamp of the ancients was fed and kept burning
by the purest of olive oil, so man is transmitting within himself and
cleansing in the laver of purification the life essences, which, when
turned upward, provide fuel for the ever burning lamp within himself.

[Illustration: The Masonic Censor:

As the perfume rising from the incense burner was acceptable in the
sight of the Lord, so may our words and actions ever be a sweet incense
acceptable in the sight of the Most High.]

Upon the altars of the ancients were offered sacrifices to their gods.
The ancient Hierophant offered up sacrifices of spices and incense. The
Masonic brother of today still has among his symbols the incense burner
or censer, but few of the brothers recognize themselves in this symbol.
The ancients symbolized under such things as this the development of the
individual, and as the tiny spark burning among the incense cubes slowly
consumes all, so the Spiritual Flame within the student is slowly burning
away and transmuting the base metals and properties within himself, and
offering up the essence thereof as the smoke upon the altar of Divinity.
It is said that King Solomon, when he completed his temple, offered bulls
as a sacrifice to the Lord, by burning them upon the temple altar. Those
who believe in a harmless life wonder why so many references are made in
the Bible to animal sacrifice.

The student realizes that the animal sacrifices are those of the
celestial zodiac, and that when the Ram or the Bull was offered upon the
altar, it represented the qualities in man which come through Aries, the
celestial Ram, and Taurus, the Bull in the zodiac. In other words, the
Initiate, passing through his tests and purification, is offering upon
the altar of his own higher being the lower animal instincts and desires
within himself. Among the Masonic brothers we also find what is called
the Symbol of Mortality. It is a spade, a coffin, and an open grave,
while upon the coffin has been laid a sprig of acacia, or evergreen.
In the picture we see the spade of the grave digger, which has been
considered the symbol of death for centuries.

[Illustration: The Grave Digger’s Spade:

Let us take the spade that now digs our grave through the passions and
emotions of life and use it to unearth the secret room far below the
rubbish of the fallen temple of the human soul.]

In the Book of Thoth, that strange document which has descended to man at
his present stage of evolution as a deck of playing cards, we find a very
wonderful symbolism. Of all the suits of cards, that of the spade is the
only suit in which all the court cards face away from the pip. In all the
other kings and queens, the faces are looking at t
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A considerable number of hunting parties were out that year without
finding so much as a fresh trail; for the moose were uncommonly shy, and
the various Nimrods returned to the bosoms of their respective families
with the best excuses the facts of their imaginations could suggest. Dr.
Cathcart, among others, came back without a trophy; but he brought
instead the memory of an experience which he declares was worth all the
bull moose that had ever been shot. But then Cathcart, of Aberdeen, was
interested in other things besides moose--amongst them the vagaries of
the human mind. This particular story, however, found no mention in his
book on Collective Hallucination for the simple reason (so he confided
once to a fellow colleague) that he himself played too intimate a part
in it to form a competent judgment of the affair as a whole....

Besides himself and his guide, Hank Davis, there was young Simpson, his
nephew, a divinity student destined for the "Wee Kirk" (then on his
first visit to Canadian backwoods), and the latter's guide, Défago.
Joseph Défago was a French "Canuck," who had strayed from his native
Province of Quebec years before, and had got caught in Rat Portage when
the Canadian Pacific Railway was a-building; a man who, in addition to
his unparalleled knowledge of wood-craft and bush-lore, could also sing
the old _voyageur_ songs and tell a capital hunting yarn into the
bargain. He was deeply susceptible, moreover, to that singular spell
which the wilderness lays upon certain lonely natures, and he loved the
wild solitudes with a kind of romantic passion that amounted almost to
an obsession. The life of the backwoods fascinated him--whence,
doubtless, his surpassing efficiency in dealing with their mysteries.

On this particular expedition he was Hank's choice. Hank knew him and
swore by him. He also swore at him, "jest as a pal might," and since he
had a vocabulary of picturesque, if utterly meaningless, oaths, the
conversation between the two stalwart and hardy woodsmen was often of a
rather lively description. This river of expletives, however, Hank
agreed to dam a little out of respect for his old "hunting boss," Dr.
Cathcart, whom of course he addressed after the fashion of the country
as "Doc," and also because he understood that young Simpson was already
a "bit of a parson." He had, however, one objection to Défago, and one
only--which was, that the French Canadian sometimes exhibited what Hank
described as "the output of a cursed and dismal mind," meaning
apparently that he sometimes was true to type, Latin type, and suffered
fits of a kind of silent moroseness when nothing could induce him to
utter speech. Défago, that is to say, was imaginative and melancholy.
And, as a rule, it was too long a spell of "civilization" that induced
the attacks, for a few days of the wilderness invariably cured them.

This, then, was the party of four that found themselves in camp the last
week in October of that "shy moose year" 'way up in the wilderness north
of Rat Portage--a forsaken and desolate country. There was also Punk, an
Indian, who had accompanied Dr. Cathcart and Hank on their hunting trips
in previous years, and who acted as cook. His duty was merely to stay in
camp, catch fish, and prepare venison steaks and coffee at a few
minutes' notice. He dressed in the worn-out clothes bequeathed to him by
former patrons, and, except for his coarse black hair and dark skin, he
looked in these city garments no more like a real redskin than a stage
Negro looks like a real African. For all that, however, Punk had in him
still the instincts of his dying race; his taciturn silence and his
endurance survived; also his superstition.

The party round the blazing fire that night were despondent, for a week
had passed without a single sign of recent moose discovering itself.
Défago had sung his song and plunged into a story, but Hank, in bad
humor, reminded him so often that "he kep' mussing-up the fac's so, that
it was 'most all nothin' but a petered-out lie," that the Frenchman had
finally subsided into a sulky silence which nothing seemed likely to
break. Dr. Cathcart and his nephew were fairly done after an exhausting
day. Punk was washing up the dishes, grunting to himself under the
lean-to of branches, where he later also slept. No one troubled to stir
the slowly dying fire. Overhead the stars were brilliant in a sky quite
wintry, and there was so little wind that ice was already forming
stealthily along the shores of the still lake behind them. The silence
of the vast listening forest stole forward and enveloped them.

Hank broke in suddenly with his nasal voice.

"I'm in favor of breaking new ground tomorrow, Doc," he observed with
energy, looking across at his employer. "We don't stand a dead Dago's
chance around here."

"Agreed," said Cathcart, always a man of few words. "Think the idea's
good."

"Sure pop, it's good," Hank resumed with confidence. "S'pose, now, you
and I strike west, up Garden
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Oxford
At the Clarendon Press




PREFACE.


The text of this edition is a reprint (page for page and line for line)
of a copy of the 1820 edition in the British Museum. For convenience of
reference line-numbers have been added; but this is the only change,
beyond the correction of one or two misprints.

The books to which I am most indebted for the material used in the
Introduction and Notes are _The Poems of John Keats_ with an
Introduction and Notes by E. de Sélincourt, _Life of Keats_ (English Men
of Letters Series) by Sidney Colvin, and _Letters of John Keats_ edited
by Sidney Colvin. As a pupil of Dr. de Sélincourt I also owe him special
gratitude for his inspiration and direction of my study of Keats, as
well as for the constant help which I have received from him in the
preparation of this edition.
                                                            M. R.




CONTENTS


                                                             PAGE
PREFACE                                                        ii

LIFE OF KEATS                                                   v

ADVERTISEMENT                                                   2

LAMIA. PART I                                                   3

LAMIA. PART II                                                 27

ISABELLA; OR, THE POT OF BASIL.  A STORY FROM BOCCACCIO        47

THE EVE OF ST. AGNES                                           81

ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE                                          107

ODE ON A GRECIAN URN                                          113

ODE TO PSYCHE                                                 117

FANCY                                                         122

ODE ['Bards of Passion and of Mirth']                         128

LINES ON THE MERMAID TAVERN                                   131

ROBIN HOOD. TO A FRIEND                                       133

TO AUTUMN                                                     137

ODE ON MELANCHOLY                                             140

HYPERION. BOOK I                                              145

HYPERION. BOOK II                                             167

HYPERION. BOOK III                                            191

  NOTE ON ADVERTISEMENT                                       201

INTRODUCTION TO LAMIA                                         201

  NOTES ON LAMIA                                              203

INTRODUCTION TO ISABELLA AND THE EVE OF ST. AGNES             210

  NOTES ON ISABELLA                                           215

  NOTES ON THE EVE OF ST. AGNES                               224

INTRODUCTION TO THE ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE, ODE ON A GRECIAN
  URN, ODE ON MELANCHOLY, AND TO AUTUMN                       229

  NOTES ON ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE                               232

  NOTES ON ODE ON A GRECIAN URN                               235

INTRODUCTION TO ODE TO PSYCHE                                 236

  NOTES ON ODE TO PSYCHE                                      237

INTRODUCTION TO FANCY                                         238

  NOTES ON FANCY                                              238

  NOTES ON ODE ['Bards of Passion and of Mirth']              239

INTRODUCTION TO LINES ON THE MERMAID TAVERN                   239

  NOTES ON LINES ON THE MERMAID TAVERN                        239

INTRODUCTION TO ROBIN HOOD                                    240

  NOTES ON ROBIN HOOD                                         241

  NOTES ON 'TO AUTUMN'                                        242

  NOTES ON ODE ON MELANCHOLY                                  243

INTRODUCTION TO HYPERION                                      244

  NOTES ON HYPERION                                           249




LIFE OF KEATS


Of all the great poets of the early nineteenth century--Wordsworth,
Coleridge, Scott, Byron, Shelley, Keats--John Keats was the last born
and the first to die. The length of his life was not one-third that of
Wordsworth, who was born twenty-five years before him and outlived him
by twenty-nine. Yet before his tragic death at twenty-six Keats had
produced a body of poetry of such extraordinary power and promise that
the world has sometimes been tempted, in its regret for what he might
have done had he lived, to lose sight of the superlative merit of what
he actually accomplished.

The three years of his poetic career, during which he published three
small volumes of poetry, show a development at the same time rapid and
steady, and a gradual but complete abandonment of almost every fault and
weakness. It would probably be impossible, in the history of literature,
to find such another instance of the 'growth of a poet's mind'.

The last of these three volumes, which is here reprinted, was published
in 1820, when it 'had good success among the literary people and . . . a
moderate sale'. It contains the flower of his poetic production and is
perhaps, altogether, one of the most marvellous 
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THE EXPERIMENT

"I am glad you came, Clarke; very glad indeed.  I was not sure you
could spare the time."

"I was able to make arrangements for a few days; things are not very
lively just now.  But have you no misgivings, Raymond?  Is it
absolutely safe?"

The two men were slowly pacing the terrace in front of Dr. Raymond's
house.  The sun still hung above the western mountain-line, but it
shone with a dull red glow that cast no shadows, and all the air was
quiet; a sweet breath came from the great wood on the hillside above,
and with it, at intervals, the soft murmuring call of the wild doves.
Below, in the long lovely valley, the river wound in and out between
the lonely hills, and, as the sun hovered and vanished into the west, a
faint mist, pure white, began to rise from the hills.  Dr. Raymond
turned sharply to his friend.

"Safe?  Of course it is.  In itself the operation is a perfectly simple
one; any surgeon could do it."

"And there is no danger at any other stage?"

"None; absolutely no physical danger whatsoever, I give you my word.
You are always timid, Clarke, always; but you know my history.  I have
devoted myself to transcendental medicine for the last twenty years.  I
have heard myself called quack and charlatan and impostor, but all the
while I knew I was on the right path.  Five years ago I reached the
goal, and since then every day has been a preparation for what we shall
do tonight."

"I should like to believe it is all true."  Clarke knit his brows, and
looked doubtfully at Dr. Raymond.  "Are you perfectly sure, Raymond,
that your theory is not a phantasmagoria--a splendid vision, certainly,
but a mere vision after all?"

Dr. Raymond stopped in his walk and turned sharply. He was a
middle-aged man, gaunt and thin, of a pale yellow complexion, but as he
answered Clarke and faced him, there was a flush on his cheek.

"Look about you, Clarke.  You see the mountain, and hill following
after hill, as wave on wave, you see the woods and orchard, the fields
of ripe corn, and the meadows reaching to the reed-beds by the river.
You see me standing here beside you, and hear my voice; but I tell you
that all these things--yes, from that star that has just shone out in
the sky to the solid ground beneath our feet--I say that all these are
but dreams and shadows; the shadows that hide the real world from our
eyes.  There is a real world, but it is beyond this glamour and this
vision, beyond these 'chases in Arras, dreams in a career,' beyond them
all as beyond a veil.  I do not know whether any human being has ever
lifted that veil; but I do know, Clarke, that you and I shall see it
lifted this very night from before another's eyes.  You may think this
all strange nonsense; it may be strange, but it is true, and the
ancients knew what lifting the veil means.  They called it seeing the
god Pan."

Clarke shivered; the white mist gathering over the river was chilly.

"It is wonderful indeed," he said.  "We are standing on the brink of a
strange world, Raymond, if what you say is true.  I suppose the knife
is absolutely necessary?"

"Yes; a slight lesion in the grey matter, that is all; a trifling
rearrangement of certain cells, a microscopical alteration that would
escape the attention of ninety-nine brain specialists out of a hundred.
I don't want to bother you with 'shop,' Clarke; I might give you a mass
of technical detail which would sound very imposing, and would leave
you as enlightened as you are now.  But I suppose you have read,
casually, in out-of-the-way corners of your paper, that immense strides
have been made recently in the physiology of the brain.  I saw a
paragraph the other day about Digby's theory, and Browne Faber's
discoveries.  Theories and discoveries!  Where they are standing now, I
stood fifteen years ago, and I need not tell you that I have not been
standing still for the last fifteen years.  It will be enough if I say
that five years ago I made the discovery that I alluded to when I said
that ten years ago I reached the goal.  After years of labour, after
years of toiling and groping in the dark, after days and nights of
disappointments and sometimes of despair, in which I used now and then
to tremble and grow cold with the thought that perhaps there were
others seeking for what I sought, at last, after so long, a pang of
sudden joy thrilled my soul, and I knew the long journey was at an end.
By what seemed then and still seems a chance, the suggestion of a
moment's idle thought followed up upon familiar lines and paths that I
had tracked a hundred times already, the great truth burst upon me, and
I saw, mapped out in lines of sight, a whole world, a sphere unknown;
continents and islands, and great oceans in which no ship has sailed
(to my belief) since a Man first lifted up his eyes and beheld the sun,
and the stars of heaven, and the quiet earth beneath.  You will think
this all high-flown language, Clarke, but it is hard to be literal.
And yet; I do not know whether what
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A sharp clip-crop of iron-shod hoofs deadened and died away, and clouds
of yellow dust drifted from under the cottonwoods out over the sage.

Jane Withersteen gazed down the wide purple slope with dreamy and
troubled eyes. A rider had just left her and it was his message that
held her thoughtful and almost sad, awaiting the churchmen who were
coming to resent and attack her right to befriend a Gentile.

She wondered if the unrest and strife that had lately come to the
little village of Cottonwoods was to involve her. And then she sighed,
remembering that her father had founded this remotest border settlement
of southern Utah and that he had left it to her. She owned all the
ground and many of the cottages. Withersteen House was hers, and the
great ranch, with its thousands of cattle, and the swiftest horses of
the sage. To her belonged Amber Spring, the water which gave verdure
and beauty to the village and made living possible on that wild purple
upland waste. She could not escape being involved by whatever befell
Cottonwoods.

That year, 1871, had marked a change which had been gradually coming
in the lives of the peace-loving Mormons of the border. Glaze--Stone
Bridge--Sterling, villages to the north, had risen against the
invasion of Gentile settlers and the forays of rustlers. There had been
opposition to the one and fighting with the other. And now Cottonwoods
had begun to wake and bestir itself and grown hard.

Jane prayed that the tranquillity and sweetness of her life would not be
permanently disrupted. She meant to do so much more for her people than
she had done. She wanted the sleepy quiet pastoral days to last always.
Trouble between the Mormons and the Gentiles of the community would
make her unhappy. She was Mormon-born, and she was a friend to poor
and unfortunate Gentiles. She wished only to go on doing good and being
happy. And she thought of what that great ranch meant to her. She loved
it all--the grove of cottonwoods, the old stone house, the amber-tinted
water, and the droves of shaggy, dusty horses and mustangs, the sleek,
clean-limbed, blooded racers, and the browsing herds of cattle and the
lean, sun-browned riders of the sage.

While she waited there she forgot the prospect of untoward change. The
bray of a lazy burro broke the afternoon quiet, and it was comfortingly
suggestive of the drowsy farmyard, and the open corrals, and the green
alfalfa fields. Her clear sight intensified the purple sage-slope as it
rolled before her. Low swells of prairie-like ground sloped up to
the west. Dark, lonely cedar-trees, few and far between, stood out
strikingly, and at long distances ruins of red rocks. Farther on, up the
gradual slope, rose a broken wall, a huge monument, looming dark purple
and stretching its solitary, mystic way, a wavering line that faded
in the north. Here to the westward was the light and color and beauty.
Northward the slope descended to a dim line of canyons from which rose
an up-flinging of the earth, not mountainous, but a vast heave of purple
uplands, with ribbed and fan-shaped walls, castle-crowned cliffs, and
gray escarpments. Over it all crept the lengthening, waning afternoon
shadows.

The rapid beat of hoofs recalled Jane Withersteen to the question at
hand. A group of riders cantered up the lane, dismounted, and threw
their bridles. They were seven in number, and Tull, the leader, a tall,
dark man, was an elder of Jane's church.

“Did you get my message?” he asked, curtly.

“Yes,” replied Jane.

“I sent word I'd give that rider Venters half an hour to come down to
the village. He didn't come.”

“He knows nothing of it;” said Jane. “I didn't tell him. I've been
waiting here for you.”

“Where is Venters?”

“I left him in the courtyard.”

“Here, Jerry,” called Tull, turning to his men, “take the gang and fetch
Venters out here if you have to rope him.”

The dusty-booted and long-spurred riders clanked noisily into the grove
of cottonwoods and disappeared in the shade.

“Elder Tull, what do you mean by this?” demanded Jane. “If you must
arrest Venters you might have the courtesy to wait till he leaves my
home. And if you do arrest him it will be adding insult to injury. It's
absurd to accuse Venters of being mixed up in that shooting fray in the
village last night. He was with me at the time. Besides, he let me take
charge of his guns. You're only using this as a pretext. What do you
mean to do to Venters?”

“I'll tell you presently,” replied Tull. “But first tell me why you
defend this worthless rider?”

“Worthless!” exclaimed Jane, indignantly. “He's nothing of the kind.
He was the best rider I ever had. There's not a reason why I shouldn't
champion him and every reason why I should. It's no little shame to me,
Elder Tull, that through my friendship he has roused the enmity of my
people and become an outcast. Besides I owe him eternal gratitude for
saving the life of little Fay.”

“I've heard of your love for Fay Larkin and that you intend to adopt
her. But--Ja
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——Lord Angelo is precise;
Stands at a guard with envy; Scarce confesses
That his blood flows, or that his appetite
Is more to bread than stone.

MEASURE FOR MEASURE.

Scarcely had the Abbey Bell tolled for five minutes, and already was
the Church of the Capuchins thronged with Auditors. Do not encourage
the idea that the Crowd was assembled either from motives of piety or
thirst of information. But very few were influenced by those reasons;
and in a city where superstition reigns with such despotic sway as in
Madrid, to seek for true devotion would be a fruitless attempt. The
Audience now assembled in the Capuchin Church was collected by various
causes, but all of them were foreign to the ostensible motive. The
Women came to show themselves, the Men to see the Women: Some were
attracted by curiosity to hear an Orator so celebrated; Some came
because they had no better means of employing their time till the play
began; Some, from being assured that it would be impossible to find
places in the Church; and one half of Madrid was brought thither by
expecting to meet the other half. The only persons truly anxious to
hear the Preacher were a few antiquated devotees, and half a dozen
rival Orators, determined to find fault with and ridicule the
discourse. As to the remainder of the Audience, the Sermon might have
been omitted altogether, certainly without their being disappointed,
and very probably without their perceiving the omission.

Whatever was the occasion, it is at least certain that the Capuchin
Church had never witnessed a more numerous assembly. Every corner was
filled, every seat was occupied. The very Statues which ornamented the
long aisles were pressed into the service. Boys suspended themselves
upon the wings of Cherubims; St. Francis and St. Mark bore each a
spectator on his shoulders; and St. Agatha found herself under the
necessity of carrying double. The consequence was, that in spite of all
their hurry and expedition, our two newcomers, on entering the Church,
looked round in vain for places.

However, the old Woman continued to move forwards. In vain were
exclamations of displeasure vented against her from all sides: In vain
was She addressed with—“I assure you, Segnora, there are no places
here.”—“I beg, Segnora, that you will not crowd me so
intolerably!”—“Segnora, you cannot pass this way. Bless me! How can
people be so troublesome!”—The old Woman was obstinate, and on She
went. By dint of perseverance and two brawny arms She made a passage
through the Crowd, and managed to bustle herself into the very body of
the Church, at no great distance from the Pulpit. Her companion had
followed her with timidity and in silence, profiting by the exertions
of her conductress.

“Holy Virgin!” exclaimed the old Woman in a tone of disappointment,
while She threw a glance of enquiry round her; “Holy Virgin! What heat!
What a Crowd! I wonder what can be the meaning of all this. I believe
we must return: There is no such thing as a seat to be had, and nobody
seems kind enough to accommodate us with theirs.”

This broad hint attracted the notice of two Cavaliers, who occupied
stools on the right hand, and were leaning their backs against the
seventh column from the Pulpit. Both were young, and richly habited.
Hearing this appeal to their politeness pronounced in a female voice,
they interrupted their conversation to look at the speaker. She had
thrown up her veil in order to take a clearer look round the Cathedral.
Her hair was red, and She squinted. The Cavaliers turned round, and
renewed their conversation.

“By all means,” replied the old Woman’s companion; “By all means,
Leonella, let us return home immediately; The heat is excessive, and I
am terrified at such a crowd.”

These words were pronounced in a tone of unexampled sweetness. The
Cavaliers again broke off their discourse, but for this time they were
not contented with looking up: Both started involuntarily from their
seats, and turned themselves towards the Speaker.

The voice came from a female, the delicacy and elegance of whose figure
inspired the Youths with the most lively curiosity to view the face to
which it belonged. This satisfaction was denied them. Her features were
hidden by a thick veil; But struggling through the crowd had deranged
it sufficiently to discover a neck which for symmetry and beauty might
have vied with the Medicean Venus. It was of the most dazzling
whiteness, and received additional charms from being shaded by the
tresses of her long fair hair, which descended in ringlets to her
waist. Her figure was rather below than above the middle size: It was
light and airy as that of an Hamadryad. Her bosom was carefully veiled.
Her dress was white; it was fastened by a blue sash, and just permitted
to peep out from under it a little foot of the most delicate
proportions. A chaplet of large grains hung upon her arm, and her face
was covered with a veil of thick black gauze. Such was the female, to
whom the youngest of the Ca
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PG #: 50133
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When a traveler in north central Massachusetts takes the wrong fork
at the junction of the Aylesbury pike just beyond Dean's Corners he
comes upon a lonely and curious country. The ground gets higher, and
the brier-bordered stone walls press closer and closer against the ruts
of the dusty, curving road. The trees of the frequent forest belts
seem too large, and the wild weeds, brambles, and grasses attain a
luxuriance not often found in settled regions. At the same time the
planted fields appear singularly few and barren; while the sparsely
scattered houses wear a surprizing uniform aspect of age, squalor, and
dilapidation. Without knowing why, one hesitates to ask directions
from the gnarled, solitary figures spied now and then on crumbling
doorsteps or in the sloping, rock-strewn meadows. Those figures are
so silent and furtive that one feels somehow confronted by forbidden
things, with which it would be better to have nothing to do. When a
rise in the road brings the mountains in view above the deep woods,
the feeling of strange uneasiness is increased. The summits are too
rounded and symmetrical to give a sense of comfort and naturalness, and
sometimes the sky silhouettes with especial clearness the queer circles
of tall stone pillars with which most of them are crowned.

Gorges and ravines of problematical depth intersect the way, and the
crude wooden bridges always seem of dubious safety. When the road
dips again there are stretches of marshland that one instinctively
dislikes, and indeed almost fears at evening when unseen whippoorwills
chatter and the fireflies come out in abnormal profusion to dance to
the raucous, creepily insistent rhythms of stridently piping bullfrogs.
The thin, shining line of the Miskatonic's upper reaches has an oddly
serpentlike suggestion as it winds close to the feet of the domed hills
among which it rises.

As the hills draw nearer, one heeds their wooded sides more than their
stone-crowned tops. Those sides loom up so darkly and precipitously
that one wishes they would keep their distance, but there is no road by
which to escape them. Across a covered bridge one sees a small village
huddled between the stream and the vertical slope of Round Mountain,
and wonders at the cluster of rotting gambrel roofs bespeaking an
earlier architectural period than that of the neighboring region. It
is not reassuring to see, on a closer glance, that most of the houses
are deserted and falling to ruin, and that the broken-steepled church
now harbors the one slovenly mercantile establishment of the hamlet.
One dreads to trust the tenebrous tunnel of the bridge, yet there is no
way to avoid it. Once across, it is hard to prevent the impression of a
faint, malign odor about the village street, as of the massed mold and
decay of centuries. It is always a relief to get clear of the place,
and to follow the narrow road around the base of the hills and across
the level country beyond till it rejoins the Aylesbury pike. Afterward
one sometimes learns that one has been through Dunwich.

Outsiders visit Dunwich as seldom as possible, and since a certain
season of horror all the signboards pointing toward it have been taken
down. The scenery, judged by any ordinary esthetic canon, is more
than commonly beautiful; yet there is no influx of artists or summer
tourists. Two centuries ago, when talk of witch-blood, Satan-worship,
and strange forest presences was not laughed at, it was the custom to
give reasons for avoiding the locality. In our sensible age--since
the Dunwich horror of 1928 was hushed up by those who had the town's
and the world's welfare at heart--people shun it without knowing
exactly why. Perhaps one reason--though it can not apply to uninformed
strangers--is that the natives are now repellently decadent, having
gone far along that path of retrogression so common in many New England
backwaters. They have come to form a race by themselves, with the
well-defined mental and physical stigmata of degeneracy and inbreeding.
The average of their intelligence is wofully low, whilst their annals
reek of overt viciousness and of half-hidden murders, incests, and
deeds of almost unnamable violence and perversity. The old gentry,
representing the two or three armigerous families which came from
Salem in 1692, have kept somewhat above the general level of decay;
though many branches are sunk into the sordid populace so deeply that
only their names remain as a key to the origin they disgrace. Some of
the Whateleys and Bishops still send their eldest sons to Harvard and
Miskatonic, though those sons seldom return to the moldering gambrel
roofs under which they and their ancestors were born.

No one, even those who have the facts concerning the recent horror,
can say just what is the matter with Dunwich; though old legends speak
of unhallowed rites and conclaves of the Indians, amidst which they
called forbidden shapes of shadow out of the great rounded hills, and
made wild orgiastic prayers that w
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PG #: 16967
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KoLekTo EsPeRanTa
                       APROBITA DE D-ro ZAMENHOF




                           ENGLISH-ESPERANTO

                               DICTIONARY




                                   BY

                      J. C. O'CONNOR, Ph.Dr., M.A.

                                  AND

                              C. F. HAYES




                               COPYRIGHT




                   "REVIEW OF REVIEWS" OFFICE, LONDON

                                  1906




                                   AL

                        SINJORO FELIX MOSCHELES,
                               PREZIDANTO
                             DE NIA SOCIETO

                       LA AŬTOROJ DEDIĈAS TIUN ĈI
                   MODESTAN LIBRETON KIEL ESPRIMETON
                             DE DANKEGECO.




                                PREFACE.


In response to numerous requests from almost every country in which
English is spoken, we have much pleasure in presenting to the public
this the first English-Esperanto Dictionary. The demands for such a
work became so pressing that it was absolutely necessary to issue it
as quickly as possible. Were it not for this urgency we would have
waited until the larger Dictionary was ready, but the knowledge that the
progress of Esperanto would be materially checked or retarded decided
us to issue this smaller one. The compiling of a Dictionary is always a
difficult task, but the difficulty is increased in a very great degree
when an initial and original work is undertaken. Such a work demands
careful and thorough research, absolute precision, and much patient
labour. The labour, however, has been lightened by the good wishes
of Esperantists all the world over. Not from England alone, but from
that Greater Britain beyond the seas, kindly help has been offered,
and gratefully accepted. We have spared no pains in the endeavour to
make this Dictionary (within its limits) perfect, and we hope we have
succeeded. The busy Briton, who has not time for word-building, will
find within the following pages every ordinary English word, with its
Esperanto equivalent. It has been said, and with truth, that with a
perfect knowledge of one or two thousand words anyone can adequately
express oneself—conversationally—on any of the ordinary topics of
everyday life, and for this reason we have taken special pains to select
those words which are most in use. The student who possesses a knowledge
of the process of word-building can from the material within these pages
extend such material to an almost unlimited extent. (For an example of
this see pages 10-15).

   The larger Dictionary is in course of preparation, though some
time must necessarily elapse before its publication. For this the
collaboration and counsel of the most eminent continental Esperantists
have been secured. We shall be extremely grateful to those who use
the present work for any suggestions that may render it more useful,
in the event of a second edition being required, and also that the
larger Dictionary may receive the benefit of such suggestions. (Any
such suggestions may be sent to J. C. O'Connor, B.A., Esperanto House,
St. Stephen's Square, Bayswater, W.; or to C. F. Hayes, Fairlight, 48,
Swanage Road, Wandsworth, S.W.) It is to the interest of all loyal
Esperantists to do what they can in anything that may help to extend
the scope of this marvellous language, which our revered master has so
generously given to the world.

   We take this opportunity of tendering our very sincere thanks to
Dr. Zamenhof for the invaluable assistance he has given us during the
preparation of this little work, as well as for his _aprobita_ of it;
and at the same time we acknowledge our indebtedness to M. A. Motteau
(Author of the Esperanto-English Dictionary) for his careful revision of
the proof sheets, and for the many useful suggestions which his thorough
knowledge of Esperanto enabled him to give.

   Particular attention must be given to the fact that it is to the
root of a word that the prefixes and suffixes are added. When it is
stated that the final letter "i" indicates the infinitive, the letter
"o" the noun, the letter "a" the adjective, the letter "e" the adverb,
the letter "j" added to form the plural, etc., the pronouns "mi", "li",
"vi", etc., do not interfere with the statement, for they are complete
words; the letters "m", "l", and "v" are not roots. The word "do" is
not a noun, because "d" is not a root. The word "plej" is not a plural,
because "ple" is not a root. The word "meti", to put, has nothing to do
with the diminutive suffix "et", because "m" is not the root.

   The reader of this Dictionary will see to which part of speech
the English word belongs, by looking at the ending of the Esperanto
translation of the word.

                                                            The Authors.




                               PREFIXES.


bo'—denotes relationship resulting from marriage:

   patro = father, bo'patro = father
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PG #: 28554
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[Illustration: _"The wub, sir," Peterson said. "It spoke!"_]


               BEYOND LIES THE WUB

                By PHILIP K. DICK


 _The slovenly wub might well have said: Many men
   talk like philosophers and live like fools._


They had almost finished with the loading. Outside stood the Optus, his
arms folded, his face sunk in gloom. Captain Franco walked leisurely
down the gangplank, grinning.

"What's the matter?" he said. "You're getting paid for all this."

The Optus said nothing. He turned away, collecting his robes. The
Captain put his boot on the hem of the robe.

"Just a minute. Don't go off. I'm not finished."

"Oh?" The Optus turned with dignity. "I am going back to the village."
He looked toward the animals and birds being driven up the gangplank
into the spaceship. "I must organize new hunts."

Franco lit a cigarette. "Why not? You people can go out into the veldt
and track it all down again. But when we run out halfway between Mars
and Earth--"

The Optus went off, wordless. Franco joined the first mate at the bottom
of the gangplank.

"How's it coming?" he said. He looked at his watch. "We got a good
bargain here."

The mate glanced at him sourly. "How do you explain that?"

"What's the matter with you? We need it more than they do."

"I'll see you later, Captain." The mate threaded his way up the plank,
between the long-legged Martian go-birds, into the ship. Franco watched
him disappear. He was just starting up after him, up the plank toward
the port, when he saw _it_.

"My God!" He stood staring, his hands on his hips. Peterson was walking
along the path, his face red, leading _it_ by a string.

"I'm sorry, Captain," he said, tugging at the string. Franco walked
toward him.

"What is it?"

The wub stood sagging, its great body settling slowly. It was sitting
down, its eyes half shut. A few flies buzzed about its flank, and it
switched its tail.

_It_ sat. There was silence.

"It's a wub," Peterson said. "I got it from a native for fifty cents. He
said it was a very unusual animal. Very respected."

"This?" Franco poked the great sloping side of the wub. "It's a pig! A
huge dirty pig!"

"Yes sir, it's a pig. The natives call it a wub."

"A huge pig. It must weigh four hundred pounds." Franco grabbed a tuft
of the rough hair. The wub gasped. Its eyes opened, small and moist.
Then its great mouth twitched.

A tear rolled down the wub's cheek and splashed on the floor.

"Maybe it's good to eat," Peterson said nervously.

"We'll soon find out," Franco said.

       *       *       *       *       *

The wub survived the take-off, sound asleep in the hold of the ship.
When they were out in space and everything was running smoothly, Captain
Franco bade his men fetch the wub upstairs so that he might perceive
what manner of beast it was.

The wub grunted and wheezed, squeezing up the passageway.

"Come on," Jones grated, pulling at the rope. The wub twisted, rubbing
its skin off on the smooth chrome walls. It burst into the ante-room,
tumbling down in a heap. The men leaped up.

"Good Lord," French said. "What is it?"

"Peterson says it's a wub," Jones said. "It belongs to him." He kicked
at the wub. The wub stood up unsteadily, panting.

"What's the matter with it?" French came over. "Is it going to be sick?"

They watched. The wub rolled its eyes mournfully. It gazed around at the
men.

"I think it's thirsty," Peterson said. He went to get some water. French
shook his head.

"No wonder we had so much trouble taking off. I had to reset all my
ballast calculations."

Peterson came back with the water. The wub began to lap gratefully,
splashing the men.

Captain Franco appeared at the door.

"Let's have a look at it." He advanced, squinting critically. "You got
this for fifty cents?"

"Yes, sir," Peterson said. "It eats almost anything. I fed it on grain
and it liked that. And then potatoes, and mash, and scraps from the
table, and milk. It seems to enjoy eating. After it eats it lies down
and goes to sleep."

"I see," Captain Franco said. "Now, as to its taste. That's the real
question. I doubt if there's much point in fattening it up any more. It
seems fat enough to me already. Where's the cook? I want him here. I
want to find out--"

The wub stopped lapping and looked up at the Captain.

"Really, Captain," the wub said. "I suggest we talk of other matters."

The room was silent.

"What was that?" Franco said. "Just now."

"The wub, sir," Peterson said. "It spoke."

They all looked at the wub.

"What did it say? What did it say?"

"It suggested we talk about other things."

Franco walked toward the wub. He went all around it, examining it from
every side. Then he came back over and stood with the men.

"I wonder if there's a native inside it," he said thoughtfully. "Maybe
we should open it up and have a look."

"Oh, goodness!" the wub cried. "Is that all you people can think of,
killing and cutting?"

Franco clenched his fists. "Come out of there! Whoever you are, come
out!"

Nothing stirr
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PG #: 1567
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POEMS

by T. S. ELIOT


New York Alfred A. Knopf 1920


             To Jean Verdenal 1889-1915


Certain of these poems first appeared in Poetry, Blast, Others, The
Little Review, and Art and Letters.



CONTENTS

     Gerontion
     Burbank with a Baedeker: Bleistein with a Cigar
     Sweeney Erect
     A Cooking Egg
     Le Directeur
     Mélange adultère de tout
     Lune de Miel
     The Hippopotamus
     Dans le Restaurant
     Whispers of Immortality
     Mr. Eliot's Sunday Morning Service
     Sweeney Among the Nightingales
     The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
     Portrait of a Lady
     Preludes
     Rhapsody on a Windy Night
     Morning at the Window
     The Boston Evening Transcript
     Aunt Helen
     Cousin Nancy
     Mr. Apollinax
     Hysteria
     Conversation Galante
     La Figlia Che Pianga




POEMS



Gerontion

       Thou hast nor youth nor age
       But as it were an after dinner sleep
       Dreaming of both.


     Here I am, an old man in a dry month,
     Being read to by a boy, waiting for rain.
     I was neither at the hot gates
     Nor fought in the warm rain
     Nor knee deep in the salt marsh, heaving a cutlass,
     Bitten by flies, fought.
     My house is a decayed house,
     And the jew squats on the window sill, the owner,
     Spawned in some estaminet of Antwerp,
     Blistered in Brussels, patched and peeled in London.
     The goat coughs at night in the field overhead;
     Rocks, moss, stonecrop, iron, merds.
     The woman keeps the kitchen, makes tea,
     Sneezes at evening, poking the peevish gutter.

                       I an old man,
     A dull head among windy spaces.

     Signs are taken for wonders. "We would see a sign":
     The word within a word, unable to speak a word,
     Swaddled with darkness. In the juvescence of the year
     Came Christ the tiger

     In depraved May, dogwood and chestnut, flowering Judas,
     To be eaten, to be divided, to be drunk
     Among whispers; by Mr. Silvero
     With caressing hands, at Limoges
     Who walked all night in the next room;
     By Hakagawa, bowing among the Titians;
     By Madame de Tornquist, in the dark room
     Shifting the candles; Fraulein von Kulp
     Who turned in the hall, one hand on the door. Vacant shuttles
     Weave the wind. I have no ghosts,
     An old man in a draughty house
     Under a windy knob.

     After such knowledge, what forgiveness? Think now
     History has many cunning passages, contrived corridors
     And issues, deceives with whispering ambitions,
     Guides us by vanities. Think now
     She gives when our attention is distracted
     And what she gives, gives with such supple confusions
     That the giving famishes the craving. Gives too late
     What's not believed in, or if still believed,
     In memory only, reconsidered passion. Gives too soon
     Into weak hands, what's thought can be dispensed with
     Till the refusal propagates a fear. Think
     Neither fear nor courage saves us. Unnatural vices
     Are fathered by our heroism. Virtues
     Are forced upon us by our impudent crimes.
     These tears are shaken from the wrath-bearing tree.

     The tiger springs in the new year. Us he devours. Think at last
     We have not reached conclusion, when I
     Stiffen in a rented house. Think at last
     I have not made this show purposelessly
     And it is not by any concitation
     Of the backward devils.
     I would meet you upon this honestly.
     I that was near your heart was removed therefrom
     To lose beauty in terror, terror in inquisition.
     I have lost my passion: why should I need to keep it
     Since what is kept must be adulterated?
     I have lost my sight, smell, hearing, taste and touch:
     How should I use it for your closer contact?

     These with a thousand small deliberations
     Protract the profit of their chilled delirium,
     Excite the membrane, when the sense has cooled,
     With pungent sauces, multiply variety
     In a wilderness of mirrors. What will the spider do,
     Suspend its operations, will the weevil
     Delay? De Bailhache, Fresca, Mrs. Cammel, whirled
     Beyond the circuit of the shuddering Bear
     In fractured atoms. Gull against the wind, in the windy straits
     Of Belle Isle, or running on the Horn,
     White feathers in the snow, the Gulf claims,
     And an old man driven by the Trades
     To a sleepy corner.

                       Tenants of the house,
     Thoughts of a dry brain in a dry season.




Burbank with a Baedeker: Bleistein with a Cigar

       Tra-la-la-la-la-la-laire--nil nisi divinum stabile
       est; caetera fumus--the gondola stopped, the old
       palace was there, how charming its grey and pink--
       goats and monkeys, with such hair too!--so the
       countess passed on until she came through the
       little park, where Niobe presented her with a
       cabinet, and so departed.


     Burbank crossed a little bridge
     Desce
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PG #: 11505
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/11505

Team





ALL THINGS CONSIDERED



BY

G. K. CHESTERTON




Ninth Edition



CONTENTS

THE CASE FOR THE EPHEMERAL

COCKNEYS AND THEIR JOKES

THE FALLACY OF SUCCESS

ON RUNNING AFTER ONE'S HAT

THE VOTE AND THE HOUSE

CONCEIT AND CARICATURE

PATRIOTISM AND SPORT

AN ESSAY ON TWO CITIES

FRENCH AND ENGLISH

THE ZOLA CONTROVERSY

OXFORD FROM WITHOUT

WOMAN

THE MODERN MARTYR

ON POLITICAL SECRECY

EDWARD VII. AND SCOTLAND

THOUGHTS AROUND KOEPENICK

THE BOY

LIMERICKS AND COUNSELS OF PERFECTION

ANONYMITY AND FURTHER COUNSELS

ON THE CRYPTIC AND THE ELLIPTIC

THE WORSHIP OF THE WEALTHY

SCIENCE AND RELIGION

THE METHUSELAHITE

SPIRITUALISM

THE ERROR OF IMPARTIALITY

PHONETIC SPELLING

HUMANITARIANISM AND STRENGTH

WINE WHEN IT IS RED

DEMAGOGUES AND MYSTAGOGUES

THE "EATANSWILL GAZETTE"

FAIRY TALES

TOM JONES AND MORALITY

THE MAID OF ORLEANS

A DEAD POET

CHRISTMAS

ALL THINGS CONSIDERED




THE CASE FOR THE EPHEMERAL


I cannot understand the people who take literature seriously; but I can
love them, and I do. Out of my love I warn them to keep clear of this
book. It is a collection of crude and shapeless papers upon current or
rather flying subjects; and they must be published pretty much as they
stand. They were written, as a rule, at the last moment; they were
handed in the moment before it was too late, and I do not think that our
commonwealth would have been shaken to its foundations if they had been
handed in the moment after. They must go out now, with all their
imperfections on their head, or rather on mine; for their vices are too
vital to be improved with a blue pencil, or with anything I can think
of, except dynamite.

Their chief vice is that so many of them are very serious; because I had
no time to make them flippant. It is so easy to be solemn; it is so hard
to be frivolous. Let any honest reader shut his eyes for a few moments,
and approaching the secret tribunal of his soul, ask himself whether he
would really rather be asked in the next two hours to write the front
page of the _Times_, which is full of long leading articles, or the
front page of _Tit-Bits,_ which is full of short jokes. If the reader
is the fine conscientious fellow I take him for, he will at once reply
that he would rather on the spur of the moment write ten _Times_
articles than one _Tit-Bits_ joke. Responsibility, a heavy and cautious
responsibility of speech, is the easiest thing in the world; anybody can
do it. That is why so many tired, elderly, and wealthy men go in for
politics. They are responsible, because they have not the strength of
mind left to be irresponsible. It is more dignified to sit still than to
dance the Barn Dance. It is also easier. So in these easy pages I keep
myself on the whole on the level of the _Times_: it is only occasionally
that I leap upwards almost to the level of _Tit-Bits._

I resume the defence of this indefensible book. These articles have
another disadvantage arising from the scurry in which they were written;
they are too long-winded and elaborate. One of the great disadvantages
of hurry is that it takes such a long time. If I have to start for
High-gate this day week, I may perhaps go the shortest way. If I have to
start this minute, I shall almost certainly go the longest. In these
essays (as I read them over) I feel frightfully annoyed with myself for
not getting to the point more quickly; but I had not enough leisure to
be quick. There are several maddening cases in which I took two or three
pages in attempting to describe an attitude of which the essence could
be expressed in an epigram; only there was no time for epigrams. I do
not repent of one shade of opinion here expressed; but I feel that they
might have been expressed so much more briefly and precisely. For
instance, these pages contain a sort of recurring protest against the
boast of certain writers that they are merely recent. They brag that
their philosophy of the universe is the last philosophy or the new
philosophy, or the advanced and progressive philosophy. I have said much
against a mere modernism. When I use the word "modernism," I am not
alluding specially to the current quarrel in the Roman Catholic Church,
though I am certainly astonished at any intellectual group accepting so
weak and unphilosophical a name. It is incomprehensible to me that any
thinker can calmly call himself a modernist; he might as well call
himself a Thursdayite. But apart altogether from that particular
disturbance, I am conscious of a general irritation expressed against
the people who boast of their advancement and modernity in the
discussion of religion. But I never succeeded in saying the quite clear
and obvious thing that is really the matter with modernism. The real
objection to modernism is simply that it is a form of snobbishness. It
is an attempt to crush a rational opponent not by reason, but by some
mystery of superiority, by hinting that one is specially up to date or
particularly "in the know." To flaunt the fact that we
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to the Governor, Lieut. Friend, R.N., and Captain Booth, all of Van
Diemen’s Land. In New South Wales my best thanks are due to George
Bennett, Esq., who, like Mr. Ewing, favoured me with his warmest
friendship, and evinced an equal anxiety for the success of my
undertaking; the Messrs. James and William M’Arthur, of Camden; the
Messrs. Stephen and Charles Coxen, of Yarrundi; Charles Throsby, Esq.,
of Bong-bong; Alexander and William S. MacLeay, Esqs.; Captain P. P.
King, and many others. Much valuable information has been communicated
to me by George Grey, Esq. (now Governor of New Zealand), whose
exertions during his expedition along the north-western coasts of
Australia were characterized by a degree of energy of character and
perseverance but rarely equalled; whose ornithological collection made
during this arduous enterprise, although small, was by no means
destitute of interest; and who, upon succeeding Colonel Gawler in the
Governorship of South Australia, found time amidst his multifarious
occupations to devote considerable attention to Natural History, and to
send me some interesting drawings and other details respecting the
mounds raised by the _Leipoa_, &c. In South Australia I received many
acts of kind attention and assistance from my friend Captain Sturt, whom
I accompanied on one of his expeditions into the interior; and I have
much pleasure in acknowledging my obligations to Mr. Eyre, now
Lieut.-Governor of New Zealand, and the late J. B. Harvey, Esq.

Nor must I conclude my acknowledgements of the kindness of those who
have rendered me their aid, without especially recording the liberality
of the Right Hon. The Earl of Derby, who has at all times most readily
submitted to my inspection every collection of which he has become the
possessor, and allowed me the free use of any objects desirable for the
enhancement of the “Birds of Australia;” neither is the kindness of His
Highness the Prince of Canino, Sir Wm. Jardine, Bart., Robert Brown,
Professor Owen, H. E. Strickland, W. Yarrell, T. C. Eyton, J. J.
Bennett, D. W. Mitchell, and E. Blyth, Esqs., forgotten by one whom they
have ever been sedulous to oblige. My thanks are also due to the
Trustees, to J. E. Gray, and G. R. Gray, Esqs., of the British Museum;
and to the authorities of the Linnean and Zoological Societies of
London, the Royal Museums of Berlin, Leyden and Paris, and the Museum at
Sydney. I am also considerably indebted to my friend W. C. L. Martin,
Esq., author of many valuable works and papers on natural history, for
the readiness with which his varied literary attainments and critical
acumen have at all times been rendered, whenever solicited, to enhance
the accuracy of my labours.

At the conclusion of my “Birds of Europe,” I had the pleasing duty of
stating that nearly the whole of the Plates had been lithographed by my
amiable wife. Would that I had the happiness of recording a similar
statement with regard to the present work; but such, alas! is not the
case, it having pleased the All-wise Disposer of Events to remove her
from this sublunary world within one short year after our return from
Australia, during her sojourn in which country an immense mass of
drawings, both ornithological and botanical, were made by her inimitable
hand and pencil, and which has enabled Mr. H. C. Richter, to whom, after
her lamented death, the execution of the Plates was entrusted, to
perform his task in a manner highly satisfactory to myself, and I trust
equally so to the Subscribers. The colouring, as in the case of the
“Birds of Europe,” and my other works, has been entirely executed by Mr.
Bayfield, to whose unwearied exertions and punctuality I must not fail
to bear testimony, as well as to the minute accuracy with which his
labours have been performed. The printing of the Plates, by Messrs.
Hullmandel and Walton, and the letter-press, by Messrs. R. and J. E.
Taylor, has also been equally satisfactory.

And I cannot refrain from speaking in the highest terms of my assistant,
Mr. Edwin C. Prince, who has been with me from the commencement of my
various works. I left him in charge of the whole of my affairs during my
absence from England, with a perfect conviction that he would zealously
exert himself for my interest, and the confidence I reposed in him has
been fully realized, not only during my absence, but during the long
period of eighteen years.

It was my most anxious wish that the unique and perfect collection of
Australian Birds, forming the originals of the present work, should have
found a resting-place in the National Museum of this country, inasmuch
as it comprised examples of both sexes of nearly every known species in
various stages of plumage, each carefully labelled with its correct
scientific appellation, the date when and the place where killed, the
sex ascertained by dissection, and the colouring of the soft parts;
besides which, it comprised the finest specimens I had been able to
procure during the long period of ten ye
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A Challenge to the JOHNS HOPKINS University


                           ONE HUNDRED PROOFS
                                  THAT
                               THE EARTH
                                   IS
                              NOT A GLOBE.


                 Dedicated to RICHARD A. PROCTOR, Esq.
                 "The Greatest Astronomer of the Age."


                           By WM. CARPENTER,
  Referee for John Hampden, Esq., in the Celebrated Scientific Wager,
    in 1870; Author of 'Common Sense' on Astronomy, (London, 1866;)
           Proctor's Planet Earth; Wallace's Wonderful Water;
                   The Delusion of the Day, &c., &c.


                 "UPRIGHT, DOWNRIGHT, STRAIGHTFORWARD."


                               BALTIMORE:
                  Printed and Published by the Author,
                           No. 71 Chew Street
                                 1885.

     TWENTY-FIVE CENTS. Five Copies, Postage Paid, for One Dollar.
                       5th Edition: 6th Thousand.







INDEX.


  1 The aeronaut sees for himself.
  2 Standing water level.
  3 Surveyors' "allowance."
  4 Flow of Rivers--the Nile.
  5 Lighthouses--Cape Hatteras.
  6 The sea-shore.--"Coming up."
  7 A trip down Chesapeake Bay.
  8 The model globe useless.
  9 The sailor's level charts.
 10 The mariners' compass.
 11 The southern circumference.
 12 Circumnavigation of the Earth.
 13 Meridians are straight lines.
 14 Parallels of latitude--circles.
 15 Sailing down and underneath.
 16 Distance round the South.
 17 Levelness required by man.
 18 The "level" of the astronomers.
 19 Half the globe is cut off, now!
 20 No "up" or "down" in nature?
 21 The "spherical lodestone."
 22 No falsehoods wanted!
 23 No proof of "rotundity."
 24 A "most complete" failure.
 25 The first Atlantic Cable.
 26 Earth's "curvature."
 27 Which end goes down?
 28 A "hill of water."
 29 Characteristics of a globe.
 30 Horizon--level with the eye.
 31 Much too small a globe.
 32 Vanishing point of objects.
 33 We are not "fastened on."
 34 Our "antipodes."--a delusion.
 35 Horizon a level line.
 36 Chesapeake Bay by night.
 37 Six months day and night.
 38 The "Midnight Sun."
 39 Sun moves round the Earth.
 40 Suez Canal--100 miles--level.
 41 The "true level."--a curve.
 42 Projectiles--firing east or west.
 43 Bodies thrown upwards.
 44 Firing in opposite direction.
 45 Astronomer Royal of England.
 46 An utterly meaningless theory.
 47 Professor Proctor's cylinder.
 48 Proctor's false perspective.
 49 Motion of the clouds.
 50 Scriptural proof--a plane.
 51 The "Standing Order."
 52 More ice in the south.
 53 Sun's accelerated pace, south.
 54 Balloons not left behind.
 55 The Moon's beams are cold.
 56 The Sun and Moon.
 57 Not Earth's shadow at all.
 58 Rotating and revolving.
 59 Proctor's big mistake.
 60 Sun's distance from Earth.
 61 No true "measuring-rod."
 62 Sailing "round" a thing.
 63 Telescopes--"hill of water."
 64 The laws of optics--Glaisher.
 65 "Dwelling" upon error.
 66 Ptolemy's predictions.
 67 Canal in China--700 miles.
 68 Mr. Lockyer's false logic.
 69 Beggarly alternatives.
 70 Mr. Lockyer's suppositions.
 71 North Star seen from S. lat.
 72 "Walls not parallel!"
 73 Pendulum experiments.
 74 "Delightful uncertainty."
 75 Outrageous calculations.
 76 J. R. Young's Navigation.
 77 "Tumbling over."
 78 Circumnavigation--south.
 79 A disc--not a sphere.
 80 Earth's "motion" unproven.
 81 Moon's motion east to west.
 82 All on the wrong track.
 83 No meridianal "degrees."
 84 Depression of North Star.
 85 Rivers flowing up-hill?
 86 100 miles in five seconds.
 87 Miserable makeshifts.
 88 What holds the people on.
 89 Luminous objects.
 90 Practice against theory.
 91 Unscientific classification.
 92 G. B. Airy's "suppositions."
 93 Astronomers give up theory.
 94 School-room "proofs" false.
 95 Pictorial proof--Earth a plane.
 96 Laws of perspective ignored.
 97 "Rational suppositions."
 98 It is the star that moves.
 99 Hair-splitting calculation.
100 How "time" is lost or gained.







INTRODUCTION.


"Parallax," the Founder of the Zetetic Philosophy, is dead; and it now
becomes the duty of those, especially, who knew him personally and
who labored with him in the cause of Truth against Error, to begin,
anew, the work which is left in their hands. Dr. Samuel B. Rowbotham
finished his earthly labours, in England, the country of his birth,
December 23, 1884, at the age of 89. He was, certainly, one of the
most gifted of men: and though his labours as a public lecturer were
confined within the limits of the British Islands his published work
is known all over the world and is destined to live and be republished
when books on the now popular system of philosophy will be considered
in no other light than as bundles of waste paper. For several years
did "Parallax" spread a knowledge of the facts which form the basis
of his system without the slightest recognition from the newspaper
press until, in Janu
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cover




His Last Bow


by Arthur Conan Doyle



Preface



The friends of Mr. Sherlock Holmes will be glad to learn that he is
still alive and well, though somewhat crippled by occasional attacks of
rheumatism. He has, for many years, lived in a small farm upon the
Downs five miles from Eastbourne, where his time is divided between
philosophy and agriculture. During this period of rest he has refused
the most princely offers to take up various cases, having determined
that his retirement was a permanent one. The approach of the German war
caused him, however, to lay his remarkable combination of intellectual
and practical activity at the disposal of the Government, with
historical results which are recounted in _His Last Bow_. Several
previous experiences which have lain long in my portfolio have been
added to _His Last Bow_ so as to complete the volume.

John H. Watson, M.D.



Contents


 The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge
 The Adventure of the Bruce-Partington Plans
 The Adventure of the Devil’s Foot
 The Adventure of the Red Circle
 The Disappearance of Lady Frances Carfax
 The Adventure of the Dying Detective
 His Last Bow: The War Service of Sherlock Holmes



The Adventure of Wisteria Lodge


 The Singular Experience of Mr. John Scott Eccles
 The Tiger of San Pedro


 1. The Singular Experience of Mr. John Scott Eccles

I find it recorded in my notebook that it was a bleak and windy day
towards the end of March in the year 1892. Holmes had received a
telegram while we sat at our lunch, and he had scribbled a reply. He
made no remark, but the matter remained in his thoughts, for he stood
in front of the fire afterwards with a thoughtful face, smoking his
pipe, and casting an occasional glance at the message. Suddenly he
turned upon me with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“I suppose, Watson, we must look upon you as a man of letters,” said
he. “How do you define the word ‘grotesque’?”

“Strange—remarkable,” I suggested.

He shook his head at my definition.

“There is surely something more than that,” said he; “some underlying
suggestion of the tragic and the terrible. If you cast your mind back
to some of those narratives with which you have afflicted a
long-suffering public, you will recognise how often the grotesque has
deepened into the criminal. Think of that little affair of the
red-headed men. That was grotesque enough in the outset, and yet it
ended in a desperate attempt at robbery. Or, again, there was that most
grotesque affair of the five orange pips, which led straight to a
murderous conspiracy. The word puts me on the alert.”

“Have you it there?” I asked.

He read the telegram aloud.

“Have just had most incredible and grotesque experience. May I consult
you?

“Scott Eccles,
“Post Office, Charing Cross.”


“Man or woman?” I asked.

“Oh, man, of course. No woman would ever send a reply-paid telegram.
She would have come.”

“Will you see him?”

“My dear Watson, you know how bored I have been since we locked up
Colonel Carruthers. My mind is like a racing engine, tearing itself to
pieces because it is not connected up with the work for which it was
built. Life is commonplace, the papers are sterile; audacity and
romance seem to have passed forever from the criminal world. Can you
ask me, then, whether I am ready to look into any new problem, however
trivial it may prove? But here, unless I am mistaken, is our client.”

A measured step was heard upon the stairs, and a moment later a stout,
tall, grey-whiskered and solemnly respectable person was ushered into
the room. His life history was written in his heavy features and
pompous manner. From his spats to his gold-rimmed spectacles he was a
Conservative, a churchman, a good citizen, orthodox and conventional to
the last degree. But some amazing experience had disturbed his native
composure and left its traces in his bristling hair, his flushed, angry
cheeks, and his flurried, excited manner. He plunged instantly into his
business.

“I have had a most singular and unpleasant experience, Mr. Holmes,”
said he. “Never in my life have I been placed in such a situation. It
is most improper—most outrageous. I must insist upon some explanation.”
He swelled and puffed in his anger.

“Pray sit down, Mr. Scott Eccles,” said Holmes in a soothing voice.
“May I ask, in the first place, why you came to me at all?”

“Well, sir, it did not appear to be a matter which concerned the
police, and yet, when you have heard the facts, you must admit that I
could not leave it where it was. Private detectives are a class with
whom I have absolutely no sympathy, but none the less, having heard
your name—”

“Quite so. But, in the second place, why did you not come at once?”

Holmes glanced at his watch.

“It is a quarter-past two,” he said. “Your telegram was dispatched
about one. But no one can glance at your toilet and attire without
seeing that your disturbance dates from the moment of your waking.”

Our client smoothed down his unbrushed hair and felt his unshave
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CONTENTS


PREFACE 1836 EDITION.

PREFACE 1885 EDITION.

AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION.

NOTE.

VOLUME I. -- 1769-1800

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VIII.

CHAPTER IX.

CHAPTER X.

CHAPTER XI.

CHAPTER XII.

CHAPTER XIII.

CHAPTER XIV.

CHAPTER XV.

CHAPTER XVI.

CHAPTER XVII.

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX.

CHAPTER XX.

CHAPTER XXI

CHAPTER XXII.

CHAPTER XXIII

CHAPTER XXIV.

CHAPTER XXV.

CHAPTER XXVI.

CHAPTER XXVII.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

CHAPTER XXIX.

CHAPTER XXX

CHAPTER XXXI.

CHAPTER XXXII.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

CHAPTER XXXV

VOLUME II. -- 1800-1805

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VIII.

CHAPTER IX.

CHAPTER X.

CHAPTER XI.

CHAPTER XII.

CHAPTER XIII.

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII.

CHAPTER XVIII.

CHAPTER XIX.

CHAPTER XX.

CHAPTER XXI.

CHAPTER XXII.

CHAPTER XXIII.

CHAPTER XXIV.

CHAPTER XXV.

CHAPTER XXYI.

CHAPTER XXVII.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

CHAPTER XXIX.

CHAPTER XXX.

CHAPTER XXXI.

CHAPTER XXXII.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

CHAPTER XXXIV.



VOLUME III. -- 1805-1814

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VIII.

CHAPTER IX.

CHAPTER X.

CHAPTER XI.

CHAPTER XII.

CHAPTER XIII.

CHAPTER--XIV.

CHAPTER XV.

CHAPTER XVI.

CHAPTER XVII.

CHAPTER XVIII.

CHAPTER XIX.

CHAPTER XX.

CHAPTER XXI.

CHAP XXII.

CHAPTER XXIII.

CHAPTER XXIV

CHAPTER XXV.

CHAPTER XXVI.

CHAPTER XXVII.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

CHAPTER XXIX.

CHAPTER XXX.

CHAPTER XXXI.

CHAPTER XXXII.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

CHAPTER, XXXV.


VOLUME IV. -- 1814-1821

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VIII.

CHAPTER IX.

CHAPTER X.

CHAPTER XI.

CHAPTER XII.

CHAPTER XIII





PREFACE 1836 EDITION.

In introducing the present edition of M. de Bourrienne's Memoirs to
the public we are bound, as Editors, to say a few Words on the subject.
Agreeing, however, with Horace Walpole that an editor should not dwell
for any length of time on the merits of his author, we shall touch but
lightly on this part of the matter. We are the more ready to abstain
since the great success in England of the former editions of these
Memoirs, and the high reputation they have acquired on the European
Continent, and in every part of the civilised world where the fame of
Bonaparte has ever reached, sufficiently establish the merits of M. de
Bourrienne as a biographer. These merits seem to us to consist chiefly
in an anxious desire to be impartial, to point out the defects as well
as the merits of a most wonderful man; and in a peculiarly graphic power
of relating facts and anecdotes. With this happy faculty Bourrienne
would have made the life of almost any active individual interesting;
but the subject of which the most favourable circumstances permitted
him to treat was full of events and of the most extraordinary facts. The
hero of his story was such a being as the world has produced only on the
rarest occasions, and the complete counterpart to whom has, probably,
never existed; for there are broad shades of difference between Napoleon
and Alexander, Caesar, and Charlemagne; neither will modern history
furnish more exact parallels, since Gustavus Adolphus, Frederick the
Great, Cromwell, Washington, or Bolivar bear but a small resemblance
to Bonaparte either in character, fortune, or extent of enterprise. For
fourteen years, to say nothing of his projects in the East, the history
of Bonaparte was the history of all Europe!

With the copious materials he possessed, M. de Bourrienne has produced
a work which, for deep interest, excitement, and amusement, can scarcely
be paralleled by any of the numerous and excellent memoirs for which the
literature of France is so justly celebrated.

M. de Bourrienne shows us the hero of Marengo and Austerlitz in his
night-gown and slippers--with a 'trait de plume' he, in a hundred
instances, places the real man before us, with all his personal habits
and peculiarities of manner, temper, and conversation.

The friendship between Bonaparte and Bourrienne began in boyhood, at the
school of Brienne, and their unreserved intimacy continued during the
most brilliant part of Napoleon's career. We have said enough, the
motives for his writing this work and his competency for the task will
be best explained in M. de Bourrienne's own words, which the reader will
find in the Introductory Chapter.

M. de Bourrienne says little of Napoleon after his first abdication and
retirement to Elba in 1814: we have endeavoured to fill up the chasm
thus left by following his hero through the remaining seven years of
his life, to the "last scenes of all" that ended his "strange, eventful
history,"--to his deathbed and alien grave at St. Helena. A completeness
will thus be given to the work which it did not before possess, and
which we hope will, with the other additions and impr
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[Illustration: Frontispiece]


IN PRAISE OF FOLLY


By Erasmus

Illustrated with many curious CUTS, Designed, Drawn, and Etched by Hans
Holbein,


WITH PORTRAIT,

LIFE OF ERASMUS,

AND HIS

Epistle addressed to Sir Thomas More.


LONDON: REEVES & TURNER, 196, STRAND, W.C.

1876.




THE LIFE OF ERASMUS.

ERASMUS, so deservedly famous for his admirable writings, the vast
extent of his learning, his great candour and moderation, and for being
one of the chief restorers of the Latin tongue on this side the Alps,
was born at Rotterdam, on the 28th of October, in the year 1467. The
anonymous author of his life commonly printed with his Colloquies (of
the London edition) is pleased to tell us that _de anno quo natus est
apud Batavos, non constat_. And if he himself wrote the life which we
find before the Elzevir edition, said to be _Erasmo autore_, he does not
particularly mention the year in which he was born, but places it _circa
annum 67 supra millesintum quadringentesimum_. Another Latin life, which
is prefixed to the above-mentioned London edition, fixes it in the year
1465; as does his epitaph at Basil. But as the inscription on his statue
at Rotterdam, the place of his nativity, may reasonably be supposed the
most authentic, we have followed that. His mother was the daughter of a
physician at Sevenbergen in Holland, with whom his father contracted an
acquaintance, and had correspondence with her on promise of marriage,
and was actually contracted to her. His father's name was Gerard; he
was the youngest of ten brothers, without one sister coming between; for
which reason his parents (according to the superstition of the times)
designed to consecrate him to the church. His brothers liked the notion,
because, as the church then governed all, they hoped, if he rose in
his profession, to have a sure friend to advance their interest; but
no importunities could prevail on Gerard to turn ecclesiastic Finding
himself continually pressed upon so disagreeable a subject, and not able
longer to bear it, he was forced to fly from his native country, leaving
a letter for his friends, in which he acquainted them with the reason of
his departure, and that he should never trouble them any more. Thus he
left her who was to be his wife big with child, and made the best of
his way to Rome. Being an admirable master of the pen, he made a very
genteel livelihood by transcribing most authors of note (for printing
was not in use). He for some time lived at large, but afterwards applied
close to study, made great progress in the Greek and Latin languages,
and in the civil law; for Rome at that time was full of learned men.
When his friends knew he was at Rome, they sent him word that the young
gentlewoman whom he had courted for a wife was dead; upon which, in a
melancholy fit, he took orders, and turned his thoughts wholly to the
study of divinity. He returned to his own country, and found to his
grief that he had been imposed upon; but it was too late to think of
marriage, so he dropped all farther pretensions to his mistress; nor
would she after this unlucky adventure be induced to marry.

The son took the name of Gerard after his father, which in German
signifies _amiable_, and (after the fashion of the learned men of that
age, who affected to give their names a Greek or Latin turn) his was
turned into Erasmus, which in Greek has the same signification. He was
chorister of the cathedral church of Utrecht till he was nine years
old; after which he was sent to Deventer to be instructed by the famous
Alexander Hegius, a Westphalian. Under so able a master he proved
an extraordinary proficient; and it is remarkable that he had such a
strength of memory as to be able to say all Terence and Horace by heart.
He was now arrived to the thirteenth year of his age, and had been
continually under the watchful eye of his mother, who died of the plague
then raging at Deventer. The contagion daily increasing, and having
swept away the family where he boarded, he was obliged to return home.
His father Gerard was so concerned at her death that he grew melancholy,
and died soon after: neither of his parents being much above forty when
they died.

Erasmus had three guardians assigned him, the chief of whom was Peter
Winkel, schoolmaster of Goude; and the fortune left him was amply
sufficient for his support, if his executors had faithfully discharged
their trust Although he was fit for the university, his guardians were
averse to sending him there, as they designed him for a monastic life,
and therefore removed him to Bois-le-duc, where, he says, he lost near
three years, living in a Franciscan convent The professor of humanity in
this convent, admiring his rising genius, daily importuned him to take
the habit, and be of their order. Erasmus had no great inclination for
the cloister; not that he had the least dislike to the severities of
a pious life, but he could not reconcile himself to the monastic
profession; he therefore urged his rawness o
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The Rassendylls--With a Word on the Elphbergs


“I wonder when in the world you’re going to do anything, Rudolf?” said
my brother’s wife.

“My dear Rose,” I answered, laying down my egg-spoon, “why in the world
should I do anything? My position is a comfortable one. I have an
income nearly sufficient for my wants (no one’s income is ever quite
sufficient, you know), I enjoy an enviable social position: I am
brother to Lord Burlesdon, and brother-in-law to that charming lady, his
countess. Behold, it is enough!”

“You are nine-and-twenty,” she observed, “and you’ve done nothing but--”

“Knock about? It is true. Our family doesn’t need to do things.”

This remark of mine rather annoyed Rose, for everybody knows (and
therefore there can be no harm in referring to the fact) that, pretty
and accomplished as she herself is, her family is hardly of the same
standing as the Rassendylls. Besides her attractions, she possessed a
large fortune, and my brother Robert was wise enough not to mind about
her ancestry. Ancestry is, in fact, a matter concerning which the next
observation of Rose’s has some truth.

“Good families are generally worse than any others,” she said.

Upon this I stroked my hair: I knew quite well what she meant.

“I’m so glad Robert’s is black!” she cried.

At this moment Robert (who rises at seven and works before breakfast)
came in. He glanced at his wife: her cheek was slightly flushed; he
patted it caressingly.

“What’s the matter, my dear?” he asked.

“She objects to my doing nothing and having red hair,” said I, in an
injured tone.

“Oh! of course he can’t help his hair,” admitted Rose.

“It generally crops out once in a generation,” said my brother. “So does
the nose. Rudolf has got them both.”

“I wish they didn’t crop out,” said Rose, still flushed.

“I rather like them myself,” said I, and, rising, I bowed to the
portrait of Countess Amelia.

My brother’s wife uttered an exclamation of impatience.

“I wish you’d take that picture away, Robert,” said she.

“My dear!” he cried.

“Good heavens!” I added.

“Then it might be forgotten,” she continued.

“Hardly--with Rudolf about,” said Robert, shaking his head.

“Why should it be forgotten?” I asked.

“Rudolf!” exclaimed my brother’s wife, blushing very prettily.

I laughed, and went on with my egg. At least I had shelved the question
of what (if anything) I ought to do. And, by way of closing the
discussion--and also, I must admit, of exasperating my strict little
sister-in-law a trifle more--I observed:

“I rather like being an Elphberg myself.”

When I read a story, I skip the explanations; yet the moment I begin to
write one, I find that I must have an explanation. For it is manifest
that I must explain why my sister-in-law was vexed with my nose and
hair, and why I ventured to call myself an Elphberg. For eminent as,
I must protest, the Rassendylls have been for many generations, yet
participation in their blood of course does not, at first sight, justify
the boast of a connection with the grander stock of the Elphbergs or
a claim to be one of that Royal House. For what relationship is there
between Ruritania and Burlesdon, between the Palace at Strelsau or the
Castle of Zenda and Number 305 Park Lane, W.?

Well then--and I must premise that I am going, perforce, to rake up the
very scandal which my dear Lady Burlesdon wishes forgotten--in the year
1733, George II. sitting then on the throne, peace reigning for
the moment, and the King and the Prince of Wales being not yet at
loggerheads, there came on a visit to the English Court a certain
prince, who was afterwards known to history as Rudolf the Third of
Ruritania. The prince was a tall, handsome young fellow, marked (maybe
marred, it is not for me to say) by a somewhat unusually long, sharp and
straight nose, and a mass of dark-red hair--in fact, the nose and the
hair which have stamped the Elphbergs time out of mind. He stayed some
months in England, where he was most courteously received; yet, in
the end, he left rather under a cloud. For he fought a duel (it was
considered highly well bred of him to waive all question of his rank)
with a nobleman, well known in the society of the day, not only for his
own merits, but as the husband of a very beautiful wife. In that duel
Prince Rudolf received a severe wound, and, recovering therefrom, was
adroitly smuggled off by the Ruritanian ambassador, who had found him
a pretty handful. The nobleman was not wounded in the duel; but the
morning being raw and damp on the occasion of the meeting, he contracted
a severe chill, and, failing to throw it off, he died some six months
after the departure of Prince Rudolf, without having found leisure to
adjust his relations with his wife--who, after another two months, bore
an heir to the title and estates of the family of Burlesdon. This lady
was the Countess Amelia, whose picture my sister-in-law wished to remove
from the drawing-room in Park Lane; and her husband was James, fifth
Earl of Burlesdon a
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BUREAU OF ECONOMIC GEOLOGY
                        The University of Texas
                             Austin, Texas
                        Peter T. Flawn, Director


                              Guidebook 6




                        TEXAS ROCKS AND MINERALS
                          _An Amateur’s Guide_


                                  _By_
                           ROSELLE M. GIRARD

                      _Sketches by Bill M. Harris_

                             February 1964
                      Second Printing, April 1972
                       Third Printing, April 1976
                       Fourth Printing, May 1979




                                Contents


  Page
  Preface vii
  Introduction 1
      Earth’s outer crust 2
      Geologists 2
      Time and rock units 2
      Geologic map 6
  What are rocks and minerals? 7
      Chemical elements 7
      Minerals 7
      Rocks 8
      Igneous rocks 9
      Extrusive or volcanic igneous rocks 9
      Intrusive igneous rocks 9
      Sedimentary rocks 10
      Soils 10
      Sedimentary rock materials in broken fragments 11
      Sedimentary rock materials in solution 12
      Cementing materials and chemical sediments 12
      Sedimentary rocks formed by plants and animals 12
      Metamorphic rocks 12
      Static metamorphism 13
      Contact metamorphism 13
      Dynamic metamorphism 14
      Occurrence and properties of minerals 14
      How minerals occur 14
      Crystalline minerals 14
      Crystals 14
      Imperfect crystals 14
      Amorphous minerals 15
      Some distinguishing properties of minerals 15
      Color 16
      Luster 16
      Transmission of light 16
      Hardness 16
      Streak or powder 17
      Cleavage 17
      Parting 17
      Fracture 17
      Specific gravity 18
      Effervescence in acid 18
      Some special occurrences of minerals 18
      Cave deposits 18
      Concretions 19
      Geodes 19
      Petrified wood 20
  Collecting rocks and minerals 22
  Rock and mineral identification charts 24
      How to use the mineral identification charts 24
      Key to mineral identification charts 25
      Mineral identification charts 26
      How to use the rock identification charts 39
      Rock identification charts 40
  Descriptions of some Texas rocks and minerals 43
      Anhydrite 43
      Asbestos 43
      Barite 44
      Basalt 45
      Calcite 46
      Cassiterite 47
      Celestite 48
      Cinnabar 49
      Clay 51
      Copper minerals (chalcocite, chalcopyrite, malachite, azurite)
          52
      Dolomite 54
      Feldspar 55
      Fluorite 56
      Galena 57
      Garnet 58
      Gneiss 59
      Gold 59
      Granite 61
      Graphite 62
      Gypsum 63
      Halite 65
      Hematite 66
      Limestone 68
      Limonite 70
      Llanite 71
      Magnetite 72
      Manganese minerals (braunite, hollandite, pyrolusite) 73
      Marble 75
      Mica 76
      Obsidian and vitrophyre 77
      Opal 78
      Pegmatite 79
      Pyrite 80
      Quartz 81
      Quartzite 84
      Rhyolite 85
      Sand and sandstone 85
      Schist 87
      Serpentine 87
      Shale 88
      Silver minerals (argentite, cerargyrite, native silver) 89
      Sulfur 90
      Talc and soapstone 93
      Topaz 94
      Tourmaline 94
      Uranium minerals (carnotite, uranophane, pitchblende) 95
      Volcanic ash (pumicite) 97
  Composition, hardness, and specific gravity of some Texas minerals
          99
  Books about rocks and minerals 100
      Nontechnical books for beginners 100
      Textbooks and other reference books 100
      Selected references on Texas rocks and minerals 100
  Glossary 102
  Index 104




                             Illustrations


  Page
  Guadalupe Peak and El Capitan in the Guadalupe Mountains,
          Culberson County, Texas 1
  Earth’s outer crust 2
  Geologic time scale 3
  Generalized geologic map of Texas 4-5
  A mineral is made up of chemical elements 7
  A rock is made up of minerals 8
  Extrusive igneous rocks form at the earth’s surface 9
  Intrusive igneous rocks form beneath the earth’s surface 10
  Soils develop from weathered rock and associated organic material
          11
  Conglomerate from Webb County, Texas 11
  Precipitated sediments lining a teakettle 12
  Contact metamorphism 13
  A scalenohedron 14
  Barite specimen showing radial form 15
  Chalcedony showing botryoidal form 16
  Transparent mineral 16
  Streak plate 17
  Conchoidal fracture 18
  Stalactites and stalagmites in the Caverns of Sonora, Sutton
          County, Texas 19
  Calcite geode from Travis County, Texas 20
  Petrified wood from Texas Gulf Coastal Plain 20
  Prospector’s hammer 22
  Hand lens 22
  Physiographic outline map of Texas 42
  Massive anhydrite 43
  Amphibole asbestos from Gillespie County, Texas 44
  Barite cleavage fragment from west Texas 44
  Basalt from Brewster County, Texas 45
  Calcite has perfect rhombohedral cleavage 46
  Calcite crystals (dog-tooth spar) from the Terlingua
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 33525
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/33525


THE CABULIWALLAH


My five years' old daughter Mini cannot live without chattering. I
really believe that in all her life she has not wasted a minute in
silence. Her mother is often vexed at this, and would stop her prattle,
but I would not. To see Mini quiet is unnatural, and I cannot bear it
long. And so my own talk with her is always lively.

One morning, for instance, when I was in the midst of the seventeenth
chapter of my new novel, my little Mini stole into the room, and putting
her hand into mine, said: "Father! Ramdayal the door-keeper calls a crow
a krow! He doesn't know anything, does he?"

Before I could explain to her the differences of language in this world,
she was embarked on the full tide of another subject. "What do you
think, Father? Bhola says there is an elephant in the clouds, blowing
water out of his trunk, and that is why it rains!"

And then, darting off anew, while I sat still making ready some reply to
this last saying: "Father! what relation is Mother to you?"

With a grave face I contrived to say: "Go and play with Bhola, Mini! I
am busy!"

The window of my room overlooks the road. The child had seated herself
at my feet near my table, and was playing softly, drumming on her knees.
I was hard at work on my seventeenth chapter, where Pratap Singh, the
hero, had just caught Kanchanlata, the heroine, in his arms, and was
about to escape with her by the third-story window of the castle, when
all of a sudden Mini left her play, and ran to the window, crying: "A
Cabuliwallah! a Cabuliwallah!" Sure enough in the street below was a
Cabuliwallah, passing slowly along. He wore the loose, soiled clothing
of his people, with a tall turban; there was a bag on his back, and he
carried boxes of grapes in his hand.

I cannot tell what were my daughter's feelings at the sight of this man,
but she began to call him loudly. "Ah!" I thought, "he will come in, and
my seventeenth chapter will never be finished!" At which exact moment
the Cabuliwallah turned, and looked up at the child. When she saw this,
overcome by terror, she fled to her mother's protection and
disappeared. She had a blind belief that inside the bag, which the big
man carried, there were perhaps two or three other children like
herself. The pedlar meanwhile entered my doorway and greeted me with a
smiling face.

So precarious was the position of my hero and my heroine, that my first
impulse was to stop and buy something, since the man had been called. I
made some small purchases, and a conversation began about Abdurrahman,
the Russians, the English, and the Frontier Policy.

As he was about to leave, he asked: "And where is the little girl, sir?"

And I, thinking that Mini must get rid of her false fear, had her
brought out.

She stood by my chair, and looked at the Cabuliwallah and his bag. He
offered her nuts and raisins, but she would not be tempted, and only
clung the closer to me, with all her doubts increased.

This was their first meeting.

One morning, however, not many days later, as I was leaving the house, I
was startled to find Mini, seated on a bench near the door, laughing and
talking, with the great Cabuliwallah at her feet. In all her life, it
appeared, my small daughter had never found so patient a listener, save
her father. And already the corner of her little _sari_ was stuffed
with almonds and raisins, the gift of her visitor. "Why did you give her
those?" I said, and taking out an eight-anna bit, I handed it to him.
The man accepted the money without demur, and slipped it into his
pocket.

Alas, on my return an hour later, I found the unfortunate coin had made
twice its own worth of trouble! For the Cabuliwallah had given it to
Mini; and her mother, catching sight of the bright round object, had
pounced on the child with: "Where did you get that eight-anna bit?"

"The Cabuliwallah gave it me," said Mini cheerfully.

"The Cabuliwallah gave it you!" cried her mother much shocked. "O Mini!
how could you take it from him?"

I, entering at the moment, saved her from impending disaster, and
proceeded to make my own inquiries.

It was not the first or second time, I found, that the two had met. The
Cabuliwallah had overcome the child's first terror by a judicious
bribery of nuts and almonds, and the two were now great friends.

They had many quaint jokes, which afforded them much amusement. Seated
in front of him, looking down on his gigantic frame in all her tiny
dignity, Mini would ripple her face with laughter and begin: "O
Cabuliwallah! Cabuliwallah! what have you got in your bag?"

And he would reply, in the nasal accents of the mountaineer: "An
elephant!" Not much cause for merriment, perhaps; but how they both
enjoyed the fun! And for me, this child's talk with a grown-up man had
always in it something strangely fascinating.

Then the Cabuliwallah, not to be behindhand, would take his turn: "Well,
little one, and when are you going to the father-in-law's house?"

Now most small Bengali maidens have heard long
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 64997
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64997

THE JOSS: A REVERSION

 A Novel

 By
 _RICHARD MARSH_


 LONDON
 F. V. WHITE & CO.
 14, BEDFORD STREET, STRAND, W.C.
 1901




 CONTENTS.

 BOOK I.
 UNCLE BENJAMIN.
 (Mary Blyth Tells the Story.)

 I.--Firandolo’s
 II.--Locked Out
 III.--The Doll
 IV.--An Interview with Mr. Slaughter
 V.--The Missionary’s Letter
 VI.--Sole Residuary Legatee
 VII.--Entering into Possession
 VIII.--The Back-door Key

 BOOK II.
 84, CAMFORD STREET.
 (The Facts of the Case According to Emily Purvis.)

 IX.--Max Lander
 X.--Between 13 and 14, Rosemary Street
 XI.--One Way In
 XII.--The Shutting of a Door
 XIII.--A Vision of the Night
 XIV.--Susie
 XV.--An Ultimatum
 XVI.--The Noise which Came from the Passage

 BOOK III.
 THE GOD OF FORTUNE.
 (Mr. Frank Paine Tells the Story of his Association with the
 Testamentary Dispositions of Mr. Benjamin Batters.)

 XVII.--The Affair of the Freak
 XVIII.--Counsel’s Opinion
 XIX.--The Reticence of Captain Lander
 XX.--My Client: and Her Friend
 XXI.--The Agitation of Miss Purvis
 XXII.--Luke
 XXIII.--The Trio Return
 XXIV.--The God Out of the Machine

 BOOK IV.
 THE JOSS.
 (Captain Max Lander Sets Forth the Curious Adventure which Marked the
 Voyage of “The Flying Scud.”)

 XXV.--Luke’s Suggestion
 XXVI.--The Throne in the Centre
 XXVII.--The Offerings of the Faithful
 XXVIII.--The Joss Reverts
 XXIX.--The Father--and His Child
 XXX.--The Morning’s News
 XXXI.--The Termination of the Voyage of the “Flying Scud”
 XXXII.--The Little Discussion Between the Several Parties
 XXXIII.--In the Presence

 BOOK V.
 AUTHOR’S POSTSCRIPT.

 XXXIV.--How Matters Stand To-day




 THE JOSS: A REVERSION.



 BOOK I.
 UNCLE BENJAMIN.

 (MARY BLYTH TELLS THE STORY.)



 CHAPTER I.
 FIRANDOLO’S.

I had had an aggravating day. In everything luck had been against
me. I had got down late, and been fined for that. Then when I went
into the shop I found I had forgotten my cuffs, and Mr. Broadley, who
walks the fancy department, marked me sixpence for that. Just as I was
expecting my call for dinner an old lady came in who kept me fussing
about till my set came up--and only spent three and two-three after
all; so when I did go down alone there was nothing left; and what was
left was worse than cold. Though I was as hungry as I very well could
be I could scarcely swallow as much as a mouthful; lukewarm boiled
mutton cased in solidified fat is not what I care for. Directly after
I came up, feeling hungrier than ever, Miss Patten did me out of the
sale of a lot of sequin trimming on which there was a ninepenny spiff.
I was showing it to a customer, and before I had had half a chance she
came and took it clean out of my hands, and sold it right away. It
made me crosser than ever. To crown it all, I missed three sales. One
lady wanted a veil, and because we had not just the sort she wanted,
when she walked out of the shop Mr. Broadley seemed to think it was my
fault. He said he would mark me. When some people want a triangular
spot you cannot put them off with a round one. It is no use your
saying you can. And so I as good as told him.

Not twenty minutes afterwards a girl came in--a mere chit--who wanted
some passementerie, beaded. She had brought a pattern. Somehow
directly I saw it I thought there would be trouble. I hunted through
the stock and found the thing exactly, only there were blue beads
where there ought to have been green. As there were a dozen different
coloured beads it did not really matter, especially as ours were a
green blue, and hers were a blue green. But that chit would not see
it. She would not admit that it was a match. When I called Mr.
Broadley, and he pointed out to her that the two were so much alike
that, at a little distance, you could not tell one from the other, she
was quite short. She caught up her old pattern and took herself away.
Then Mr. Broadley gave it to me hot. He reminded me that that was two
sales I had missed, and that three, on one day, meant dismissal. I did
not suppose they would go so far as that, but I did expect that, if I
missed again, it would cost me half-a-crown, at least. So, of course,
there was I, as it were, on tenterhooks, resolved that rather than I
would let anyone else go without a purchase I would force some
elevenpence three-farthing thing on her; if I had to pay for it
myself. And there was Mr. Broadley hanging about just by my stand,
watching me so that I felt I should like to stick my scissors into
him.

But I was doomed to be done. Luck was clean against me. Just as we
were getting ready to close in came an old woman--one of your
red-faced sort, with her bonnet a little on one side of her head. She
wanted some torchon lace. Now, strictly speaking, lace is not in my
department, but as we are all supposed to serve through, and most of
the others were engaged--it is extraordinary how, some nights, people
will crowd into the shop just as we are getting ready to close--Mr.
Broadley planted her on me. She was a nice old party. She did not know
herself what 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 34811
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/34811

[ Anmerkungen zur Transkription:

    Schreibweise und Interpunktion des Originaltextes wurden übernommen;
    lediglich offensichtliche Druckfehler wurden korrigiert. Listen der
    vorgenommenen Änderungen sowie der beibehaltenen inkonsistenten
    Schreibweisen finden sich am Ende des Textes.

    Im Original gesperrt gedruckter Text wurde mit = markiert.
    Im Original in Antiqua gedruckter Text wurde mit _ markiert.
  ]




                       THOMAS MANN + BUDDENBROOKS




                              THOMAS MANN

                              Buddenbrooks

                                Verfall
                                 einer
                                Familie


                       DEUTSCHE BUCH-GEMEINSCHAFT
                                  GMBH

                                 Berlin




             Mit Genehmigung von S. Fischer Verlag, Berlin

              Copyright 1909 by S. Fischer Verlag, Berlin

                        Alle Rechte vorbehalten




                              Buddenbrooks




Erster Teil


Erstes Kapitel

»Was ist das. -- Was -- ist das ...«

»Je, den Düwel ook, _c'est la question, ma très chère demoiselle_!«

Die Konsulin Buddenbrook, neben ihrer Schwiegermutter auf dem
geradlinigen, weiß lackierten und mit einem goldenen Löwenkopf
verzierten Sofa, dessen Polster hellgelb überzogen waren, warf einen
Blick auf ihren Gatten, der in einem Armsessel bei ihr saß, und kam
ihrer kleinen Tochter zu Hilfe, die der Großvater am Fenster auf den
Knien hielt.

»Tony!« sagte sie, »ich glaube, daß mich Gott --«

Und die kleine Antonie, achtjährig und zartgebaut, in einem Kleidchen
aus ganz leichter changierender Seide, den hübschen Blondkopf ein wenig
vom Gesichte des Großvaters abgewandt, blickte aus ihren graublauen
Augen angestrengt nachdenkend und ohne etwas zu sehen ins Zimmer hinein,
wiederholte noch einmal: »Was ist das«, sprach darauf langsam: »Ich
glaube, daß mich Gott«, fügte, während ihr Gesicht sich aufklärte, rasch
hinzu: »-- geschaffen hat samt allen Kreaturen«, war plötzlich auf
glatte Bahn geraten und schnurrte nun, glückstrahlend und unaufhaltsam,
den ganzen Artikel daher, getreu nach dem Katechismus, wie er soeben,
_anno_ 1835, unter Genehmigung eines hohen und wohlweisen Senates, neu
revidiert herausgegeben war. Wenn man im Gange war, dachte sie, war es
ein Gefühl, wie wenn man im Winter auf dem kleinen Handschlitten mit den
Brüdern den »Jerusalemsberg« hinunterfuhr: es vergingen einem geradezu
die Gedanken dabei, und man konnte nicht einhalten, wenn man auch
wollte.

»Dazu Kleider und Schuhe«, sprach sie, »Essen und Trinken, Haus und Hof,
Weib und Kind, Acker und Vieh ...« Bei diesen Worten aber brach der
alte M. Johann Buddenbrook einfach in Gelächter aus, in sein helles,
verkniffenes Kichern, das er heimlich in Bereitschaft gehalten hatte. Er
lachte vor Vergnügen, sich über den Katechismus mokieren zu können, und
hatte wahrscheinlich nur zu diesem Zwecke das kleine Examen vorgenommen.
Er erkundigte sich nach Tonys Acker und Vieh, fragte, wieviel sie für
den Sack Weizen nähme und erbot sich, Geschäfte mit ihr zu machen. Sein
rundes, rosig überhauchtes und wohlmeinendes Gesicht, dem er beim besten
Willen keinen Ausdruck von Bosheit zu geben vermochte, wurde von
schneeweiß gepudertem Haar eingerahmt, und etwas wie ein ganz leise
angedeutetes Zöpflein fiel auf den breiten Kragen seines mausgrauen
Rockes hinab. Er war, mit seinen siebenzig Jahren, der Mode seiner
Jugend nicht untreu geworden; nur auf den Tressenbesatz zwischen den
Knöpfen und den großen Taschen hatte er verzichtet, aber niemals im
Leben hatte er lange Beinkleider getragen. Sein Kinn ruhte breit,
doppelt und mit einem Ausdruck von Behaglichkeit auf dem weißen
Spitzen-Jabot.

Alle hatten in sein Lachen eingestimmt, hauptsächlich aus Ehrerbietung
gegen das Familienoberhaupt. Mme. Antoinette Buddenbrook, geborene
Duchamps, kicherte in genau derselben Weise wie ihr Gatte. Sie war eine
korpulente Dame mit dicken, weißen Locken über den Ohren, einem schwarz
und hellgrau gestreiften Kleide ohne Schmuck, das Einfachheit und
Bescheidenheit verriet, und mit noch immer schönen und weißen Händen, in
denen sie einen kleinen, sammetnen Pompadour auf dem Schoße hielt. Ihre
Gesichtszüge waren im Laufe der Jahre auf wunderliche Weise denjenigen
ihres Gatten ähnlich geworden. Nur der Schnitt und die lebhafte Dunkelheit
ihrer Augen redeten ein wenig von ihrer halb romanischen Herkunft; sie
stammte großväterlicherseits aus einer französisch-schweizerischen
Familie und war eine geborene Hamburgerin.

Ihre Schwiegertochter, die Konsulin Elisabeth Buddenbrook, eine geborene
Kröger, lachte das Krögersche Lachen, das mit einem pruschenden
Lippenlaut begann, und bei dem sie das Kinn auf die Brust drückte. Sie
war, wie alle Krögers, eine äußerst elegante Erscheinung, und war sie
auch keine Schönheit zu nennen, so gab sie doch mit ihrer hellen und
besonnenen Stimme, ihren ruhigen, sicheren und sanften Bewegung
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 41771
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/41771


Geographical Description of the Sulu Archipelago               121

    In general                                                 121
    Island of Sulu                                             127
        Geographical features                                  127
        Principal coast settlements                            129
        Districts of the island                                131
    Town of Jolo                                               133
        General plan, buildings and streets                    133
        Trade                                                  137
        Population                                             144



Genealogy of Sulu                                              147

    Translator's introduction                                  147
    Sulu author's introduction                                 147
    Descendants of Asip                                        148
    Descendants of Tuan Masha'ika                              149
    Original and later settlers of Sulu                        149
    Sulu historical notes                                      151
        Introduction                                           151
        Sulu notes                                             152



Rise and Prosperity of Sulu                                    155

    Sulu before Islam                                          155
    Introduction of Islam and the rise of a Mohammedan
    dynasty in Sulu                                            158
    Establishment of the Mohammedan Church in Sulu and the
    reign of Abu Bakr                                          161
    Early days of the sultanate                                163
        Successors of Abu Bakr                                 163
        Figueroa's expedition against Sulu                     164
        Reasons for hostilities                                168
        Rule of Batara Shah Tangah                             171
        Figueroa's expedition against Mindanao                 172
        Moro raids                                             175
    First Spanish conquest and occupation of Sulu              177
    Sulu supremacy in the Archipelago                          179
        Successors of Bungsu                                   179
        Reign of Sultan Alimud Din I                           180
        Reign of Sultan Israel                                 187
        Moro pirates                                           191
    Treaty of 1836 with the Sultan of Sulu                     194
        Text of the treaty                                     194
        Ratification of the treaty by the Queen Regent
        of Spain                                               196
    Expedition of Governor Claveria                            199
    Visits to Jolo of Captain Henry Keppel and Sir
    James Brooke                                               201



Decline of Sulu                                                205

    Expedition against Jolo                                    205
    Treaty of April 30, 1851                                   209
        Translation of the Sulu text of the treaty of 1851     212
    Politico-military government of Mindanao and adjacent
    islands                                                    214



Sulu Under Spanish Sovereignty                                 221

    Occupation of Jolo                                         221
    Rule of Sultan Jamalul A'lam                               224
        Cession of possessions in Borneo to British North
        Borneo Company                                         225
        Treaty of July, 1878                                   226
            Translation of the Spanish copy of the treaty      227
            Translation of the Sulu text of the treaty         229
        Rule of Sultan Badarud Din II                          233
        Struggle for the sultanate                             237
        Rule of Sultan Harun                                   240
        Rule of Sultan Jamalul Kiram II                        244



Conclusion                                                     247

    Political status of Sulu at the time of Spanish
    evacuation                                                 247
    Spanish policy                                             249
        Attitude of the Moros                                  249
        Mistakes and difficulties of Spanish rule              251
        Report of Baltasar Giraudier                           254
        Views of Espina                                        255
        Purpose of Spain                                       256
        Resources of Spain                                     260


Appendixes

    Appendix I. The pacification of Mindanao by Ronquillo      269
            II. The pacification of Mindanao                   275
           III. The 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 564
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/564

THE DAWN


An ancient English Cathedral Tower? How can the ancient English
Cathedral tower be here! The well-known massive gray square tower of
its old Cathedral? How can that be here! There is no spike of rusty
iron in the air, between the eye and it, from any point of the real
prospect. What is the spike that intervenes, and who has set it up?
Maybe it is set up by the Sultan’s orders for the impaling of a horde
of Turkish robbers, one by one. It is so, for cymbals clash, and the
Sultan goes by to his palace in long procession. Ten thousand scimitars
flash in the sunlight, and thrice ten thousand dancing-girls strew
flowers. Then, follow white elephants caparisoned in countless gorgeous
colours, and infinite in number and attendants. Still the Cathedral
Tower rises in the background, where it cannot be, and still no
writhing figure is on the grim spike. Stay! Is the spike so low a thing
as the rusty spike on the top of a post of an old bedstead that has
tumbled all awry? Some vague period of drowsy laughter must be devoted
to the consideration of this possibility.

Shaking from head to foot, the man whose scattered consciousness has
thus fantastically pieced itself together, at length rises, supports
his trembling frame upon his arms, and looks around. He is in the
meanest and closest of small rooms. Through the ragged window-curtain,
the light of early day steals in from a miserable court. He lies,
dressed, across a large unseemly bed, upon a bedstead that has indeed
given way under the weight upon it. Lying, also dressed and also across
the bed, not longwise, are a Chinaman, a Lascar, and a haggard woman.
The two first are in a sleep or stupor; the last is blowing at a kind
of pipe, to kindle it. And as she blows, and shading it with her lean
hand, concentrates its red spark of light, it serves in the dim morning
as a lamp to show him what he sees of her.

“Another?” says this woman, in a querulous, rattling whisper. “Have
another?”

He looks about him, with his hand to his forehead.

“Ye’ve smoked as many as five since ye come in at midnight,” the woman
goes on, as she chronically complains. “Poor me, poor me, my head is so
bad. Them two come in after ye. Ah, poor me, the business is slack, is
slack! Few Chinamen about the Docks, and fewer Lascars, and no ships
coming in, these say! Here’s another ready for ye, deary. Ye’ll
remember like a good soul, won’t ye, that the market price is dreffle
high just now? More nor three shillings and sixpence for a thimbleful!
And ye’ll remember that nobody but me (and Jack Chinaman t’other side
the court; but he can’t do it as well as me) has the true secret of
mixing it? Ye’ll pay up accordingly, deary, won’t ye?”

She blows at the pipe as she speaks, and, occasionally bubbling at it,
inhales much of its contents.

“O me, O me, my lungs is weak, my lungs is bad! It’s nearly ready for
ye, deary. Ah, poor me, poor me, my poor hand shakes like to drop off!
I see ye coming-to, and I ses to my poor self, ‘I’ll have another ready
for him, and he’ll bear in mind the market price of opium, and pay
according.’ O my poor head! I makes my pipes of old penny ink-bottles,
ye see, deary—this is one—and I fits-in a mouthpiece, this way, and I
takes my mixter out of this thimble with this little horn spoon; and so
I fills, deary. Ah, my poor nerves! I got Heavens-hard drunk for
sixteen year afore I took to this; but this don’t hurt me, not to speak
of. And it takes away the hunger as well as wittles, deary.”

She hands him the nearly-emptied pipe, and sinks back, turning over on
her face.

He rises unsteadily from the bed, lays the pipe upon the hearth-stone,
draws back the ragged curtain, and looks with repugnance at his three
companions. He notices that the woman has opium-smoked herself into a
strange likeness of the Chinaman. His form of cheek, eye, and temple,
and his colour, are repeated in her. Said Chinaman convulsively
wrestles with one of his many Gods or Devils, perhaps, and snarls
horribly. The Lascar laughs and dribbles at the mouth. The hostess is
still.

[Illustration: In the Court]


“What visions can _she_ have?” the waking man muses, as he turns her
face towards him, and stands looking down at it. “Visions of many
butcherss’ shops, and public-houses, and much credit? Of an increase of
hideous customers, and this horrible bedstead set upright again, and
this horrible court swept clean? What can she rise to, under any
quantity of opium, higher than that!—Eh?”

He bends down his ear, to listen to her mutterings.

“Unintelligible!”

As he watches the spasmodic shoots and darts that break out of her face
and limbs, like fitful lightning out of a dark sky, some contagion in
them seizes upon him: insomuch that he has to withdraw himself to a
lean arm-chair by the hearth—placed there, perhaps, for such
emergencies—and to sit in it, holding tight, until he has got the
better of this unclean spirit of imitation.

Then he comes back, pounces on the Chinaman, and seizing him
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 32938
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/32938

information, gives at considerable length an account of this peculiar
method of treating the dead among the Persians, as follows:

  It is a matter of astonishment, considering the _Persians_ have ever
  had the renown of being one of the most civilized Nations in the
  world, that notwithstanding they should have used such barbarous
  customs about the Dead as are set down in the Writings of some
  Historians; and the rather because at this day there are still to be
  seen among them those remains of Antiquity, which do fully satisfie
  us, that their Tombs have been very magnificent. And yet
  nevertheless, if we will give credit to _Procopius_ and _Agathias_,
  the _Persians_ were never wont to bury their Dead Bodies, so far
  were they from bestowing any Funeral Honours upon them: But, as
  these Authors tell us, they exposed them stark naked in the open
  fields, which is the greatest shame our Laws do allot to the most
  infamous Criminals, by laying them open to the view of all upon the
  highways: Yea, in their opinion it was a great unhappiness, if
  either Birds or Beasts did not devour their Carcases; and they
  commonly made an estimate of the Felicity of these poor Bodies,
  according as they were sooner or later made a prey of. Concerning
  these, they resolved that they must needs have been very bad indeed,
  since even the beasts themselves would not touch them; which caused
  an extream sorrow to their Relations, they taking it for an ill
  boding to their Family, and an infallible presage of some great
  misfortune hanging over their heads; for they persuaded themselves,
  that the Souls which inhabited those Bodies being dragg’d into Hell,
  would not fail to come and trouble them; and that being always
  accompanied with the Devils, their Tormentors, they would certainly
  give them a great deal of disturbance.

  And on the contrary, when these Corpses were presently devoured,
  their joy was very great, they enlarged themselves in praises of the
  Deceased; every one esteeming them undoubtedly happy, and came to
  congratulate their relations on that account: For as they believed
  assuredly, that they were entered into the _Elysian_ Fields, so they
  were persuaded, that they would procure the same bliss for all those
  of their family.

  They also took a great delight to see Skeletons and Bones scatered
  up and down in the fields, whereas we can scarcely endure to see
  those of Horses and Dogs used so. And these remains of Humane
  Bodies, (the sight whereof gives us so much horror, that we
  presently bury them out of our sight, whenever we find them
  elsewhere than in Charnel-houses or Church-yards) were the occasion
  of their greatest joy; beecause they concluded from thence the
  happiness of those that had been devoured, wishing after their Death
  to meet with the like good luck.

The same author states, and Bruhier corroborates the assertion, that the
Parthians, Medes, Iberians, Caspians, and a few others, had such a
horror and aversion of the corruption and decomposition of the dead, and
of their being eaten by worms, that they threw out the bodies into the
open fields to be devoured by wild beasts, a part of their belief being
that persons so devoured would not be entirely extinct, but enjoy at
least a partial sort of life in their living sepulchers. It is quite
probable that for these and other reasons the Bactrians and Hircanians
trained dogs for this special purpose, called _Canes sepulchrales_,
which received the greatest care and attention, for it was deemed proper
that the souls of the deceased should have strong and lusty frames to
dwell in.

The Buddhists of Bhotan are said to expose the bodies of their dead on
top of high rocks.

According to Tegg, whose work is quoted frequently, in the London Times
of January 28, 1876, Mr. Monier Williams writes from Calcutta regarding
the “Towers of Silence,” so called, of the Parsees, who, it is well
known, are the descendants of the ancient Persians expelled from Persia
by the Mohammedan conquerors, and settled at Surat about 1,100 years
since. This gentleman’s narrative is freely made use of to show how the
custom of the exposure of the dead to birds of prey has continued up to
the present time.

  The Dakhmas, or Parsee towers of silence, are erected in a garden on
  the highest point of Malabar Hill, a beautiful, rising ground on one
  side of Black Bay, noted for the bungalows and compounds of the
  European and wealthier inhabitants of Bombay scattered in every
  direction over its surface.

  The garden is approached by a well-constructed, private road, all
  access to which, except to Parsees, is barred by strong iron gates.

The garden is described as being very beautiful, and he says:

  No English nobleman’s garden could be better kept, and no pen could
  do justice to the glories of its flowering shrubs, cypresses, and
  palms. It seemed the very ideal, not only of a place of sacred
  silence, but of peaceful re
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Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion


by

David Hume




PAMPHILUS TO HERMIPPUS


It has been remarked, my HERMIPPUS, that though the ancient philosophers
conveyed most of their instruction in the form of dialogue, this method
of composition has been little practised in later ages, and has seldom
succeeded in the hands of those who have attempted it. Accurate and
regular argument, indeed, such as is now expected of philosophical
inquirers, naturally throws a man into the methodical and didactic
manner; where he can immediately, without preparation, explain the point
at which he aims; and thence proceed, without interruption, to deduce
the proofs on which it is established. To deliver a SYSTEM in
conversation, scarcely appears natural; and while the dialogue-writer
desires, by departing from the direct style of composition, to give a
freer air to his performance, and avoid the appearance of Author and
Reader, he is apt to run into a worse inconvenience, and convey the
image of Pedagogue and Pupil. Or, if he carries on the dispute in the
natural spirit of good company, by throwing in a variety of topics, and
preserving a proper balance among the speakers, he often loses so much
time in preparations and transitions, that the reader will scarcely
think himself compensated, by all the graces of dialogue, for the order,
brevity, and precision, which are sacrificed to them.

There are some subjects, however, to which dialogue-writing is peculiarly
adapted, and where it is still preferable to the direct and simple method
of composition.

Any point of doctrine, which is so obvious that it scarcely admits of
dispute, but at the same time so important that it cannot be too often
inculcated, seems to require some such method of handling it; where the
novelty of the manner may compensate the triteness of the subject; where
the vivacity of conversation may enforce the precept; and where the
variety of lights, presented by various personages and characters, may
appear neither tedious nor redundant.

Any question of philosophy, on the other hand, which is so OBSCURE and
UNCERTAIN, that human reason can reach no fixed determination with regard
to it; if it should be treated at all, seems to lead us naturally into
the style of dialogue and conversation. Reasonable men may be allowed to
differ, where no one can reasonably be positive. Opposite sentiments,
even without any decision, afford an agreeable amusement; and if the
subject be curious and interesting, the book carries us, in a manner,
into company; and unites the two greatest and purest pleasures of human
life, study and society.

Happily, these circumstances are all to be found in the subject of
NATURAL RELIGION. What truth so obvious, so certain, as the being of a
God, which the most ignorant ages have acknowledged, for which the most
refined geniuses have ambitiously striven to produce new proofs and
arguments? What truth so important as this, which is the ground of all
our hopes, the surest foundation of morality, the firmest support of
society, and the only principle which ought never to be a moment absent
from our thoughts and meditations? But, in treating of this obvious and
important truth, what obscure questions occur concerning the nature of
that Divine Being, his attributes, his decrees, his plan of providence?
These have been always subjected to the disputations of men; concerning
these human reason has not reached any certain determination. But these
are topics so interesting, that we cannot restrain our restless inquiry
with regard to them; though nothing but doubt, uncertainty, and
contradiction, have as yet been the result of our most accurate
researches.

This I had lately occasion to observe, while I passed, as usual, part of
the summer season with CLEANTHES, and was present at those conversations
of his with PHILO and DEMEA, of which I gave you lately some imperfect
account. Your curiosity, you then told me, was so excited, that I must,
of necessity, enter into a more exact detail of their reasonings, and
display those various systems which they advanced with regard to so
delicate a subject as that of natural religion. The remarkable contrast
in their characters still further raised your expectations; while you
opposed the accurate philosophical turn of CLEANTHES to the careless
scepticism of PHILO, or compared either of their dispositions with the
rigid inflexible orthodoxy of DEMEA. My youth rendered me a mere auditor
of their disputes; and that curiosity, natural to the early season of
life, has so deeply imprinted in my memory the whole chain and connection
of their arguments, that, I hope, I shall not omit or confound any
considerable part of them in the recital.




PART 1


After I joined the company, whom I found sitting in CLEANTHES's library,
DEMEA paid CLEANTHES some compliments on the great care which he took of
my education, and on his unwearied perseverance and constancy in all his
friendships. The father of PAMPHILUS, said he, was yo
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_Of writing lives in general, and particularly of Pamela; with a word by
the bye of Colley Cibber and others._


It is a trite but true observation, that examples work more forcibly on
the mind than precepts: and if this be just in what is odious and
blameable, it is more strongly so in what is amiable and praiseworthy.
Here emulation most effectually operates upon us, and inspires our
imitation in an irresistible manner. A good man therefore is a standing
lesson to all his acquaintance, and of far greater use in that narrow
circle than a good book.

But as it often happens that the best men are but little known, and
consequently cannot extend the usefulness of their examples a great way;
the writer may be called in aid to spread their history farther, and to
present the amiable pictures to those who have not the happiness of
knowing the originals; and so, by communicating such valuable patterns
to the world, he may perhaps do a more extensive service to mankind than
the person whose life originally afforded the pattern.

In this light I have always regarded those biographers who have recorded
the actions of great and worthy persons of both sexes. Not to mention
those antient writers which of late days are little read, being written
in obsolete, and as they are generally thought, unintelligible
languages, such as Plutarch, Nepos, and others which I heard of in my
youth; our own language affords many of excellent use and instruction,
finely calculated to sow the seeds of virtue in youth, and very easy to
be comprehended by persons of moderate capacity. Such as the history of
John the Great, who, by his brave and heroic actions against men of
large and athletic bodies, obtained the glorious appellation of the
Giant-killer; that of an Earl of Warwick, whose Christian name was Guy;
the lives of Argalus and Parthenia; and above all, the history of those
seven worthy personages, the Champions of Christendom. In all these
delight is mixed with instruction, and the reader is almost as much
improved as entertained.

But I pass by these and many others to mention two books lately
published, which represent an admirable pattern of the amiable in either
sex. The former of these, which deals in male virtue, was written by the
great person himself, who lived the life he hath recorded, and is by
many thought to have lived such a life only in order to write it. The
other is communicated to us by an historian who borrows his lights, as
the common method is, from authentic papers and records. The reader, I
believe, already conjectures, I mean the lives of Mr Colley Cibber and
of Mrs Pamela Andrews. How artfully doth the former, by insinuating that
he escaped being promoted to the highest stations in Church and State,
teach us a contempt of worldly grandeur! how strongly doth he inculcate
an absolute submission to our superiors! Lastly, how completely doth he
arm us against so uneasy, so wretched a passion as the fear of shame!
how clearly doth he expose the emptiness and vanity of that phantom,
reputation!

What the female readers are taught by the memoirs of Mrs Andrews is so
well set forth in the excellent essays or letters prefixed to the second
and subsequent editions of that work, that it would be here a needless
repetition. The authentic history with which I now present the public is
an instance of the great good that book is likely to do, and of the
prevalence of example which I have just observed: since it will appear
that it was by keeping the excellent pattern of his sister's virtues
before his eyes, that Mr Joseph Andrews was chiefly enabled to preserve
his purity in the midst of such great temptations. I shall only add that
this character of male chastity, though doubtless as desirable and
becoming in one part of the human species as in the other, is almost the
only virtue which the great apologist hath not given himself for the
sake of giving the example to his readers.




_Of Mr Joseph Andrews, his birth, parentage, education, and great
endowments; with a word or two concerning ancestors._


Mr Joseph Andrews, the hero of our ensuing history, was esteemed to be
the only son of Gaffar and Gammer Andrews, and brother to the
illustrious Pamela, whose virtue is at present so famous. As to his
ancestors, we have searched with great diligence, but little success;
being unable to trace them farther than his great-grandfather, who, as
an elderly person in the parish remembers to have heard his father say,
was an excellent cudgel-player. Whether he had any ancestors before
this, we must leave to the opinion of our curious reader, finding
nothing of sufficient certainty to rely on. However, we cannot omit
inserting an epitaph which an ingenious friend of ours hath
communicated:--

    Stay, traveller, for underneath this pew
    Lies fast asleep that merry man Andrew:
    When the last day's great sun shall gild the skies,
    Then he shall from his tomb get up and rise.
    Be merry while thou canst: for surely thou
 
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9. FACSIMILE OF TUESDAY, 23RD OCTOBER, 1770.

10. CHART OF NEW ZEALAND, EXPLORED IN 1769 AND 1770, BY LIEUTENANT I:
COOK, COMMANDER OF HIS MAJESTY'S BARK ENDEAVOUR, ENGRAVED BY I. BAYLY.
REPRODUCTION OF THE ORIGINAL PUBLISHED CHART.

11. PRINTERS' PLATE: Owl on books, distant town, hills, tree and moon.
"REST, PRAY, SLEEP."
Elliott Stock, 62, Paternoster Row.]



SKETCH OF CAPTAIN COOK'S LIFE.

CAPTAIN COOK'S life, or the account of so much of it as is recoverable,
has been so often recounted that there is no occasion to insert more in
this publication than is necessary as a reference to the reader, to
enable him to realise the career and character of the man.

Cook's first biographer, Andrew Kippis, wrote in 1788, and his work has
recently been republished.* (* "A Narrative of the Voyage round the
World, performed by Captain James Cook, with an Account of His Life" by
A. Kippis, D.D., F.R.S. London: Bickers & Son 1889.)

The latest and best life is by Walter Besant,* (* "Captain Cook" by
Walter Besant: "English Men of Action" London, Macmillan & Co. 1890.)
whose graceful pen has given us a fascinating, interesting, and, as far
as is possible, complete picture of this great Englishman. Many details
of Cook's private life are lost, but enough has been collected by Mr.
Besant to place our hero vividly before us, and a perusal of his work is
strongly recommended.

Many things in the following sketch are taken from Mr. Besant, to whom I
wish to tender my acknowledgments.

James Cook rose from nearly the lowest ranks. The second son of James
Cook, a Yorkshire labourer, and Grace his wife, he was born on the edge
of the Cleveland Hills on February 27th, 1728, in the little village of
Marton, which lies about four miles south-south-east of Middlesborough,
and five miles west of the well-known hill and landmark, Roseberry
Topping. Eight years later his father removed to Great Ayton, which lies
close under Roseberry Topping.

At the age of thirteen Cook, who, it is recorded, had had some elementary
schooling both at Marton and Great Ayton, was apprenticed to one
Sanderson, a draper and grocer of Staithes, a fishing village on the
coast, about fourteen miles from Ayton and nine north-west of Whitby.

A year later Cook went, or ran away, to sea, shipping at Whitby on board
the Freelove, a collier belonging to the brothers Walker.

In this hard school Cook learnt his sailor duties. No better training
could have been found for his future responsibilities. Here he learnt to
endure the utmost rigours of the sea. Constant fighting with North Sea
gales, bad food, and cramped accommodation, taught him to regard with the
indifference that afterwards distinguished him, all the hardships that he
had to encounter, and led him to endure and persevere where others, less
determined or more easily daunted by difficulties, would have hurried on,
and left their work incomplete.

All details of Cook's life during his thirteen years in the merchant
service are lost: what voyages he made, how he fared, whether he advanced
in general knowledge, all is gone. The only fact known is that in May
1755, when Cook was twenty-seven years of age, and mate of a vessel of
Messrs. Walker, then in the Thames, he, to avoid the press, then active
on account of the outbreak of the war with France, volunteered on board
H.M.S. Eagle, of 60 guns, as an able seaman.

Captain Hugh Palliser, who succeeded to the command of this ship in
October, was certainly Cook's warmest patron, and it would appear that
Cook did work superior to that of an able seaman in the Eagle. Be that as
it may, all that is absolutely known is that that ship took her share of
the fighting at the taking of Louisbourg and elsewhere on the North
American and West Indian Station, and returned to England in 1759.

By Palliser's interest Cook was now appointed master of the Mercury. It
is therefore evident that his qualifications as a navigator recommended
themselves to Palliser.

The Mercury went to North America, and here Cook did his first good
service recorded, namely, taking soundings in the St. Lawrence, to enable
the fleet then attacking Quebec to take up safe positions in covering the
army under Wolfe. This he accomplished with great skill, under many
difficulties, in the face of the enemy, much of it being done at night.
He was immediately employed in making a survey of the intricate channels
of the river below Quebec, and for many years his chart was the guide for
navigation. Cook was indeed a born surveyor. Before his day charts were
of the crudest description, and he must have somehow acquired a
considerable knowledge of trigonometry, and possessed an intuitive
faculty for practically applying it, to enable him to originate, as it
may truly be said he did, the art of modern marine surveying.

The expedition to Quebec concluded, Cook was appointed master of the
Northumberland, bearing Admiral Lord Colville's flag, and during that
ship's winter at Halifax he applied himself to furt
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THE SKETCH BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENT.


By Washington Irving




CONTENTS:

  Preface
  The Author’s Account of Himself
  The Voyage
  Roscoe
  The Wife
  Rip Van Winkle
  English Writers on America
  Rural Life in England
  The Broken Heart
  The Art of Book-making
  A Royal Poet
  The Country Church
  The Widow and her Son
  A Sunday in London
  The Boar’s Head Tavern
  The Mutability of Literature
  Rural Funerals
  The Inn Kitchen
  The Spectre Bridegroom
  Westminster Abbey
  Christmas
  The Stage-Coach
  Christmas Eve
  Christmas Day
  The Christmas Dinner
  London Antiques
  Little Britain
  Statford-on-Avon
  Traits of Indian Character
  Philip of Pokanoket
  John Bull
  The Pride of the Village
  The Angler
  The Legend of Sleepy Hollow
  L’Envoy




THE SKETCH-BOOK OF GEOFFREY CRAYON, GENT.


“I have no wife nor children, good or bad, to provide for. A mere
spectator of other men’s fortunes and adventures, and how they play
their parts; which, methinks, are diversely presented unto me, as from a
common theatre or scene.”--BURTON.




PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION.


THE following papers, with two exceptions, were written in England, and
formed but part of an intended series for which I had made notes and
memorandums. Before I could mature a plan, however, circumstances
compelled me to send them piecemeal to the United States, where they
were published from time to time in portions or numbers. It was not my
intention to publish them in England, being conscious that much of their
contents could be interesting only to American readers, and, in truth,
being deterred by the severity with which American productions had been
treated by the British press.

By the time the contents of the first volume had appeared in this
occasional manner, they began to find their way across the Atlantic,
and to be inserted, with many kind encomiums, in the London Literary
Gazette. It was said, also, that a London bookseller intended to publish
them in a collective form. I determined, therefore, to bring them
forward myself, that they might at least have the benefit of my
superintendence and revision. I accordingly took the printed numbers
which I had received from the United States, to Mr. John Murray, the
eminent publisher, from whom I had already received friendly attentions,
and left them with him for examination, informing him that should he be
inclined to bring them before the public, I had materials enough on
hand for a second volume. Several days having elapsed without any
communication from Mr. Murray, I addressed a note to him, in which I
construed his silence into a tacit rejection of my work, and begged that
the numbers I had left with him might be returned to me. The following
was his reply:

MY DEAR SIR: I entreat you to believe that I feel truly obliged by your
kind intentions towards me, and that I entertain the most unfeigned
respect for your most tasteful talents. My house is completely filled
with workpeople at this time, and I have only an office to transact
business in; and yesterday I was wholly occupied, or I should have done
myself the pleasure of seeing you.

If it would not suit me to engage in the publication of your present
work, it is only because I do not see that scope in the nature of it
which would enable me to make those satisfactory accounts between us,
without which I really feel no satisfaction in engaging--but I will
do all I can to promote their circulation, and shall be most ready to
attend to any future plan of yours.

    With much regard, I remain, dear sir,
                     Your faithful servant,
                                 JOHN MURRAY.

This was disheartening, and might have deterred me from any further
prosecution of the matter, had the question of republication in Great
Britain rested entirely with me; but I apprehended the appearance of a
spurious edition. I now thought of Mr. Archibald Constable as publisher,
having been treated by him with much hospitality during a visit to
Edinburgh; but first I determined to submit my work to Sir-Walter (then
Mr.) Scott, being encouraged to do so by the cordial reception I had
experienced from him at Abbotsford a few years previously, and by the
favorable opinion he had expressed to others of my earlier writings. I
accordingly sent him the printed numbers of the Sketch-Book in a parcel
by coach, and at the same time wrote to him, hinting that since I had
had the pleasure of partaking of his hospitality, a reverse had taken
place in my affairs which made the successful exercise of my pen
all-important to me; I begged him, therefore, to look over the literary
articles I had forwarded to him, and, if he thought they would bear
European republication, to ascertain whether Mr. Constable would be
inclined to be the publisher.

The parcel containing my work went by coach to Scott’s address in
Edinburgh; the letter went by mail to his residence in the country. By
the very first post I received a reply, before he had seen my work.


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Copyright, 1920
by
Frederick J. Turner


TO
CAROLINE M. TURNER
MY WIFE




PREFACE


In republishing these essays in collected form, it has seemed best to
issue them as they were originally printed, with the exception of a few
slight corrections of slips in the text and with the omission of
occasional duplication of language in the different essays. A
considerable part of whatever value they may possess arises from the
fact that they are commentaries in different periods on the central
theme of the influence of the frontier in American history. Consequently
they may have some historical significance as contemporaneous attempts
of a student of American history, at successive transitions in our
development during the past quarter century to interpret the relations
of the present to the past. Grateful acknowledgment is made to the
various societies and periodicals which have given permission to reprint
the essays.

Various essays dealing with the connection of diplomatic history and the
frontier and others stressing the significance of the section, or
geographic province, in American history, are not included in the
present collection. Neither the French nor the Spanish frontier is
within the scope of the volume.

The future alone can disclose how far these interpretations are correct
for the age of colonization which came gradually to an end with the
disappearance of the frontier and free land. It alone can reveal how
much of the courageous, creative American spirit, and how large a part
of the historic American ideals are to be carried over into that new age
which is replacing the era of free lands and of measurable isolation by
consolidated and complex industrial development and by increasing
resemblances and connections between the New World and the Old.

But the larger part of what has been distinctive and valuable in
America's contribution to the history of the human spirit has been due
to this nation's peculiar experience in extending its type of frontier
into new regions; and in creating peaceful societies with new ideals in
the successive vast and differing geographic provinces which together
make up the United States. Directly or indirectly these experiences
shaped the life of the Eastern as well as the Western States, and even
reacted upon the Old World and influenced the direction of its thought
and its progress. This experience has been fundamental in the economic,
political and social characteristics of the American people and in their
conceptions of their destiny.

Writing at the close of 1796, the French minister to the United States,
on to be devoted to French interests, and he added: "Jefferson, I say,
is American, and by that name, he cannot be sincerely our friend. An
American is the born enemy of all European peoples." Obviously erroneous
as are these words, there was an element of truth in them. If we would
understand this element of truth, we must study the transforming
influence of the American wilderness, remote from Europe, and by its
resources and its free opportunities affording the conditions under
which a new people, with new social and political types and ideals,
could arise to play its own part in the world, and to influence Europe.

FREDERICK J. TURNER.

HARVARD UNIVERSITY, March, 1920.




CONTENTS


CHAPTER                                                       PAGE

   I THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE FRONTIER IN AMERICAN HISTORY        1

  II THE FIRST OFFICIAL FRONTIER OF THE MASSACHUSETTS BAY       39

 III THE OLD WEST                                               67

  IV THE MIDDLE WEST                                           126

   V THE OHIO VALLEY IN AMERICAN HISTORY                       157

  VI THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE MISSISSIPPI VALLEY IN AMERICAN
     HISTORY                                                   177

 VII THE PROBLEM OF THE WEST                                   205

VIII DOMINANT FORCES IN WESTERN LIFE                           222

  IX CONTRIBUTIONS OF THE WEST TO AMERICAN DEMOCRACY           243

   X PIONEER IDEALS AND THE STATE UNIVERSITY                   269

  XI THE WEST AND AMERICAN IDEALS                              290

 XII SOCIAL FORCES IN AMERICAN HISTORY                         311

XIII MIDDLE WESTERN PIONEER DEMOCRACY                          335

     INDEX                                                     361





THE SIGNIFICANCE OF THE FRONTIER IN AMERICAN HISTORY[1:1]


In a recent bulletin of the Superintendent of the Census for 1890 appear
these significant words: "Up to and including 1880 the country had a
frontier of settlement, but at present the unsettled area has been so
broken into by isolated bodies of settlement that there can hardly be
said to be a frontier line. In the discussion of its extent, its
westward movement, etc., it can not, therefore, any longer have a place
in the census reports." This brief official statement marks the closing
of a great historic movement. Up to our own day American history has
been
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PHAEDRA

By Jean Baptiste Racine


Translated by Robert Bruce Boswell




INTRODUCTORY NOTE

JEAN BAPTISTE RACINE, the younger contemporary of Corneille, and his
rival for supremacy in French classical tragedy, was born at
Ferte-Milon, December 21, 1639. He was educated at the College of
Beauvais, at the great Jansenist school at Port Royal, and at the
College d'Harcourt. He attracted notice by an ode written for the
marriage of Louis XIV in 1660, and made his first really great dramatic
success with his "Andromaque." His tragic masterpieces include
"Britannicus," "Berenice," "Bajazet," "Mithridate," "Iphigenie," and
"Phaedre," all written between 1669 and 1677. Then for some years he
gave up dramatic composition, disgusted by the intrigues of enemies who
sought to injure his career by exalting above him an unworthy rival. In
1689 he resumed his work under the persuasion of Mme. de Maintenon, and
produced "Esther" and "Athalie," the latter ranking among his finest
productions, although it did not receive public recognition until some
time after his death in 1699. Besides his tragedies, Racine wrote one
comedy, "Les Plaideurs," four hymns of great beauty, and a history of
Port Royal.

The external conventions of classical tragedy which had been
established by Corneille, Racine did not attempt to modify. His study
of the Greek tragedians and his own taste led him to submit willingly
to the rigor and simplicity of form which were the fundamental marks
of the classical ideal. It was in his treatment of character that he
differed most from his predecessor; for whereas, as we have seen,
Corneille represented his leading figures as heroically subduing
passion by force of will, Racine represents his as driven by almost
uncontrollable passion. Thus his creations appeal to the modern reader
as more warmly human; their speech, if less exalted, is simpler and
more natural; and he succeeds more brilliantly with his portraits of
women than with those of men.

All these characteristics are exemplified in "Phaedre," the tragedy of
Racine which has made an appeal to the widest audience. To the legend
as treated by Euripides, Racine added the love of Hippolytus for
Aricia, and thus supplied a motive for Phaedra's jealousy, and at the
same time he made the nurse instead of Phaedra the calumniator of his
son to Theseus.





PHAEDRA




CHARACTERS

     THESEUS, son of Aegeus and King of Athens.
     PHAEDRA, wife of Theseus and Daughter of Minos and Pasiphae.
     HIPPOLYTUS, son of Theseus and Antiope, Queen of the Amazons.
     ARICIA, Princess of the Blood Royal of Athens.
     OENONE, nurse of Phaedra.
     THERAMENES, tutor of Hippolytus.
     ISMENE, bosom friend of Aricia.
     PANOPE, waiting-woman of Phaedra.
     GUARDS.


The scene is laid at Troezen, a town of the Peloponnesus.




ACT I

          SCENE I
          HIPPOLYTUS, THERAMENES


          HIPPOLYTUS
          My mind is settled, dear Theramenes,
          And I can stay no more in lovely Troezen.
          In doubt that racks my soul with mortal anguish,
          I grow ashamed of such long idleness.
          Six months and more my father has been gone,
          And what may have befallen one so dear
          I know not, nor what corner of the earth
          Hides him.

          THERAMENES
          And where, prince, will you look for him?
          Already, to content your just alarm,
          Have I not cross'd the seas on either side
          Of Corinth, ask'd if aught were known of Theseus
          Where Acheron is lost among the Shades,
          Visited Elis, doubled Toenarus,
          And sail'd into the sea that saw the fall
          Of Icarus? Inspired with what new hope,
          Under what favour'd skies think you to trace
          His footsteps? Who knows if the King, your father,
          Wishes the secret of his absence known?
          Perchance, while we are trembling for his life,
          The hero calmly plots some fresh intrigue,
          And only waits till the deluded fair--

          HIPPOLYTUS
          Cease, dear Theramenes, respect the name
          Of Theseus. Youthful errors have been left
          Behind, and no unworthy obstacle
          Detains him. Phaedra long has fix'd a heart
          Inconstant once, nor need she fear a rival.
          In seeking him I shall but do my duty,
          And leave a place I dare no longer see.

          THERAMENES
          Indeed! When, prince, did you begin to dread
          These peaceful haunts, so dear to happy childhood,
          Where I have seen you oft prefer to stay,
          Rather than meet the tumult and the pomp
          Of Athens and the court? What danger shun you,
          Or shall I say what grief?

          HIPPOLYTUS
          That happy time
          Is gone, and all is changed, since to these shores
          The gods sent Phaedra.

          THERAMENES
          I perceive the cause
          Of your distress. It is the queen whose si
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PG #: 57342
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/57342

In that among the Persians there existed the Magi,[1] and among
the Babylonians or Assyrians the Chaldæi,[2] among the Indians the
Gymnosophistæ,[3] and among the Celts and Gauls men who were called
Druids[4] and Semnothei, as Aristotle relates in his book on Magic,
and Sotion in the twenty-third book of his Succession of Philosophers.
Besides those men there were the Phœnician Ochus, the Thracian
Zamolxis,[5] and the Libyan Atlas. For the Egyptians say that Vulcan
was the son of Nilus, and that he was the author of philosophy, in which
those who were especially eminent were called his priests and prophets.

forty-eight thousand eight hundred and sixty-three years, and during this
time there were three hundred and seventy-three eclipses of the sun, and
eight hundred and thirty-two eclipses of the moon.

Again, from the time of the Magi, the first of whom was Zoroaster
the Persian, to that of the fall of Troy, Hermodorus the Platonic
philosopher, in his treatise on Mathematics, calculates that fifteen
thousand years elapsed. But Xanthus the Lydian says that the passage of
the Hellespont by Xerxes took place six thousand years after the time of
Zoroaster,[6] and that after him there was a regular succession of Magi
under the names of Ostanes and Astrampsychos and Gobryas and Pazatas,
until the destruction of the Persian empire by Alexander.

merits of the Greeks, from whom not only all philosophy, but even the
whole human race in reality originated. For Musæus was born among the
Athenians, and Linus among the Thebans; and they say that the former,
who was the son of Eumolpus, was the first person who taught the system
of the genealogy of the gods, and who invented the spheres; and that
he taught that all things originated in one thing, and when dissolved
returned to that same thing; and that he died at Phalerum, and that this
epitaph was inscribed on his tomb:—

    Phalerum’s soil beneath this tomb contains
    Musæus dead, Eumolpus’ darling son.

And it is from the father of Musæus that the family called Eumolpidæ
among the Athenians derive their name. They say too that Linus was the
son of Mercury and the Muse Urania; and that he invented a system of
Cosmogony, and of the motions of the sun and moon, and of the generation
of animals and fruits; and the following is the beginning of his poem,

    There was a time when all the present world
    Uprose at once.

From which Anaxagoras derived his theory, when he said that all things
had been produced at the same time, and that then intellect had come and
arranged them all in order.

They say, moreover, that Linus died in Eubœa, having been shot with an
arrow by Apollo, and that this epitaph was set over him:—

    The Theban Linus sleeps beneath this ground,
    Urania’s son with fairest garlands crown’d.

name shows that it has no connection with the barbarians. But those who
attribute its origin to them, introduce Orpheus the Thracian, and say
that he was a philosopher, and the most ancient one of all. But if one
ought to call a man who has said such things about the gods as he has
said, a philosopher, I do not know what name one ought to give to him who
has not scrupled to attribute all sorts of human feelings to the gods,
and even such discreditable actions as are but rarely spoken of among
men; and tradition relates that he was murdered by women;[7] but there
is an inscription at Dium in Macedonia, saying that he was killed by
lightning, and it runs thus:—

    Here the bard buried by the Muses lies,
      The Thracian Orpheus of the golden lyre;
    Whom mighty Jove, the Sovereign of the skies,
      Removed from earth by his dread lightn’ng’s fire.

give also an account of the different systems prevailing among the
various tribes. And they say that the Gymnosophists and the Druids
philosophize, delivering their apophthegms in enigmatical language,
bidding men worship the gods and do no evil, and practise manly virtue.

Gymnosophists despise death, and that the Chaldæans study astronomy and
the science of soothsaying—that the Magi occupy themselves about the
service to be paid to the gods, and about sacrifices and prayers, as
if they were the only people to whom the deities listen: and that they
deliver accounts of the existence and generation of the gods, saying that
they are fire, and earth, and water; and they condemn the use of images,
and above all things do they condemn those who say that the gods are male
and female; they speak much of justice, and think it impious to destroy
the bodies of the dead by fire; they allow men to marry their mothers or
their daughters, as Sotion tells us in his twenty-third book; they study
the arts of soothsaying and divination, and assert that the gods reveal
their will to them by those sciences. They teach also that the air is
full of phantoms, which, by emanation and a sort of evaporation, glide
into the sight of those who have a clear perception; they forbid any
extravagance of ornament, and the use of gold; thei
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The Old Pyncheon Family


Halfway down a by-street of one of our New England towns stands a rusty
wooden house, with seven acutely peaked gables, facing towards various
points of the compass, and a huge, clustered chimney in the midst. The
street is Pyncheon Street; the house is the old Pyncheon House; and an
elm-tree, of wide circumference, rooted before the door, is familiar to
every town-born child by the title of the Pyncheon Elm. On my
occasional visits to the town aforesaid, I seldom failed to turn down
Pyncheon Street, for the sake of passing through the shadow of these
two antiquities,—the great elm-tree and the weather-beaten edifice.

The aspect of the venerable mansion has always affected me like a human
countenance, bearing the traces not merely of outward storm and
sunshine, but expressive also, of the long lapse of mortal life, and
accompanying vicissitudes that have passed within. Were these to be
worthily recounted, they would form a narrative of no small interest
and instruction, and possessing, moreover, a certain remarkable unity,
which might almost seem the result of artistic arrangement. But the
story would include a chain of events extending over the better part of
two centuries, and, written out with reasonable amplitude, would fill a
bigger folio volume, or a longer series of duodecimos, than could
prudently be appropriated to the annals of all New England during a
similar period. It consequently becomes imperative to make short work
with most of the traditionary lore of which the old Pyncheon House,
otherwise known as the House of the Seven Gables, has been the theme.
With a brief sketch, therefore, of the circumstances amid which the
foundation of the house was laid, and a rapid glimpse at its quaint
exterior, as it grew black in the prevalent east wind,—pointing, too,
here and there, at some spot of more verdant mossiness on its roof and
walls,—we shall commence the real action of our tale at an epoch not
very remote from the present day. Still, there will be a connection
with the long past—a reference to forgotten events and personages, and
to manners, feelings, and opinions, almost or wholly obsolete—which, if
adequately translated to the reader, would serve to illustrate how much
of old material goes to make up the freshest novelty of human life.
Hence, too, might be drawn a weighty lesson from the little-regarded
truth, that the act of the passing generation is the germ which may and
must produce good or evil fruit in a far-distant time; that, together
with the seed of the merely temporary crop, which mortals term
expediency, they inevitably sow the acorns of a more enduring growth,
which may darkly overshadow their posterity.

The House of the Seven Gables, antique as it now looks, was not the
first habitation erected by civilized man on precisely the same spot of
ground. Pyncheon Street formerly bore the humbler appellation of
Maule’s Lane, from the name of the original occupant of the soil,
before whose cottage-door it was a cow-path. A natural spring of soft
and pleasant water—a rare treasure on the sea-girt peninsula where the
Puritan settlement was made—had early induced Matthew Maule to build a
hut, shaggy with thatch, at this point, although somewhat too remote
from what was then the centre of the village. In the growth of the
town, however, after some thirty or forty years, the site covered by
this rude hovel had become exceedingly desirable in the eyes of a
prominent and powerful personage, who asserted plausible claims to the
proprietorship of this and a large adjacent tract of land, on the
strength of a grant from the legislature. Colonel Pyncheon, the
claimant, as we gather from whatever traits of him are preserved, was
characterized by an iron energy of purpose. Matthew Maule, on the other
hand, though an obscure man, was stubborn in the defence of what he
considered his right; and, for several years, he succeeded in
protecting the acre or two of earth which, with his own toil, he had
hewn out of the primeval forest, to be his garden ground and homestead.
No written record of this dispute is known to be in existence. Our
acquaintance with the whole subject is derived chiefly from tradition.
It would be bold, therefore, and possibly unjust, to venture a decisive
opinion as to its merits; although it appears to have been at least a
matter of doubt, whether Colonel Pyncheon’s claim were not unduly
stretched, in order to make it cover the small metes and bounds of
Matthew Maule. What greatly strengthens such a suspicion is the fact
that this controversy between two ill-matched antagonists—at a period,
moreover, laud it as we may, when personal influence had far more
weight than now—remained for years undecided, and came to a close only
with the death of the party occupying the disputed soil. The mode of
his death, too, affects the mind differently, in our day, from what it
did a century and a half ago. It was a death that blasted with strange
horror the humble name o
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PG #: 6099
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Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.












LES FLEURS DU MAL

par

CHARLES BAUDELAIRE

_Préface par Henry FRICHET_





[Illustration]

PRÉFACE


Charles Baudelaire avait un ami, Auguste Poulet-Malassis, ancien élève
de l'école des Chartes, qui s'était fait éditeur par goût pour les
raffinements typographiques et pour la littérature qu'il jugeait en
érudit et en artiste beaucoup plus qu'en commerçant; aussi bien ne fit-
il jamais fortune, mais ses livres devenus assez rares sont depuis
longtemps très recherchés des bibliophiles.

Les poésies de Baudelaire disséminées un peu partout dans les petits
journaux d'avant-garde comme le _Corsaire_ et jusque dans la grave
_Revue des Deux-Mondes,_ n'avaient point encore, en 1857, été
réunies en volume. Poulet-Malassis, que le génie original de Baudelaire
enthousiasmait, s'offrit de les publier sous le titre de _Fleurs du
Mal,_ titre neuf, audacieux, longtemps cherché et trouvé enfin non
point par Baudelaire ni par l'éditeur, mais par Hippolyte Babou.

Les _Fleurs du Mal_ se présentaient comme un bouquet poétique
composé de fleurs rares et vénéneuses d'un parfum encore ignoré. Ce fut
un succès--succès d'ailleurs préparé par la _Revue des Deux-
Mondes_ qui, en accueillant un an auparavant quelques poésies de
Baudelaire, avait mis sa responsabilité à couvert par une note
singulièrement prudente. De nos jours une pareille note ressemblerait
fort à une réclame déguisée:

« Ce qui nous paraît ici mériter l'intérêt, disait-elle, c'est
l'expression vive, curieuse, même dans sa violence, de quelques
défaillances, de quelques douleurs morales, que, sans les partager ni
les discuter, on doit tenir à connaître comme un des signes de notre
temps. Il nous semble, d'ailleurs, qu'il est des cas où la publicité
n'est pas seulement un encouragement, où elle peut avoir l'influence
d'un conseil utile et appeler le vrai talent à se dégager, à se
fortifier, en élargissant ses voies, en étendant son horizon. »

C'était se méprendre étrangement que de compter sur la publicité pour
amener Baudelaire à résipiscence; le parquet impérial ne prit pas tant
de ménagements. Le livre à peine paru, fut déféré aux tribunaux. Tandis
que Baudelaire se hâtait de recueillir en brochure les articles
justificatifs d'Edmond Thierry, Barbey d'Aurevilly, Charles Asselineau,
etc..., il sollicitait l'amitié de Sainte-Beuve et de Flaubert (tout
récemment poursuivi pour avoir écrit _Madame Bovary_), des moyens
de défense dont les minutes ont été conservées et dont il transmettait
la teneur à son avocat, Me Chaix d'Est-Ange. Sur le réquisitoire de M.
Pinard (alors avocat général et plus tard ministre de l'Intérieur), le
délit d'offense à la morale religieuse fut écarté, mais en raison de la
prévention d'outrage à la morale publiques et aux bonnes moeurs, la
Cour prononça la suppression de six pièces: _Lesbos, Femmes damnées,
le Lethé, A celle qui est trop gaie, les Bijoux et les Métamorphoses du
Vampire,_ et la condamnation à une amende de l'auteur et de
l'éditeur (21 août 1857).

Le dommage matériel ne fut pas considérable pour Malassis; l'édition
était presque épuisée lors de la saisie.

Tout d'abord, Baudelaire voulut protester. On a retrouvé dans ses
papiers le brouillon de divers projets de préfaces qu'il abandonna lors
de la réimpression à la fois diminuée et augmentée des _Fleurs du
Mal_ en 1861. Cette mutilation de sa pensée par autorité de justice
avait eu pour résultat de rendre les directeurs de journaux et de
revues très méfiants à son égard, lorsqu'il leur présentait quelques
pages de prose ou des poésies nouvelles; sa situation pécuniaire s'en
ressentit. Il travaillait lentement, à ses heures, toujours préoccupé
d'atteindre l'idéale perfection et ne traitant d'ailleurs que des
sujets auxquels le grand public était alors (encore plus
qu'aujourd'hui) complètement étranger.

Lorsque Baudelaire posa en 1862 sa candidature aux fauteuils
académiques laissés vacants par la mort de Scribe et du Père
Lacordaire, il était, dans sa pensée, de protester ainsi contre la
condamnation des _Fleurs du Mal._ L'insuccès de Baudelaire à
l'Académie n'était pas douteux. Ses amis, ses vrais amis, Alfred de
Vigny et Sainte-Beuve, lui conseillèrent de se désister, ce qu'il fit
d'ailleurs en des termes dont on apprécia la modestie et la convenance.

On a beaucoup parlé de la vie douloureuse de Baudelaire: manque
d'argent, santé précaire, absence de tendresse féminine, car sa
maîtresse Jeanne Duval, une jolie fille de couleur qu'il appelait son «
vase de tristesse », n'était qu'une sotte dont le coeur et la pensée
étaient loin de lui. Son seul esprit, son méchant esprit était de
tourner en ridicule les manies de son ami. Cependant elle était
charmante, nous dit Théodore de Banville, « elle portait bien sa brune
tête ingénue et superbe, couronnée d'une chevelure violemment crespelée
et dont la démarche de reine pleine d'une grâce farouche, avait à la
fois quelque chose de divin et de bestial ». Et B
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PG #: 25063
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[Transcriber's Note:

This e-text is based on the same printed edition as Project Gutenberg
e-text 2421. Readers who prefer a "cleaner", less cluttered-looking text
file may choose to use that version instead.

The "music" directory associated with the html version of this text
includes pdf and midi (sound) files for all Airs. More information is
at the end of this e-text.]




THE BEGGAR'S OPERA

[Illustration]




  The
  BEGGAR'S
  OPERA.


  WRITTEN by Mr. _GAY_.


  To which is Prefixed the
  MUSICK to each SONG.

  [Decoration]

  _Nos hæc novimus esse nihil._ --MART.


  LONDON:
  William Heinemann
  1921




_To J. G. and to G. L. F., without whom I should have been powerless,
do I dedicate my share in this book. C. L. F._


_Note.-- The Text here given is taken from the edition of 1765. The
scenes have been re-numbered in the modern method denoting actual
changes of place or intervals of time._


_First published September 1921_

_New Impression October 1921_




LIST OF THE PLATES

     I. THE BEGGAR                      Frontispiece
    II. MRS. PEACHUM                 To face page  6
   III. POLLY PEACHUM                     "       18
    IV. SCENE: A TAVERN NEAR NEWGATE      "       28
     V. CAPTAIN MACHEATH                  "       40
    VI. LUCY LOCKIT                       "       56
   VII. PEACHUM                           "       70
  VIII. LOCKIT                            "       82




CLAUD LOVAT FRASER

  That when I die this word may stand for me--
  He had a heart to praise, an eye to see,
  And beauty was his king.


Dead at the age of thirty-one after a sudden operation, Claud Lovat
Fraser was as surely a victim of the war as though he had fallen in
action. He was full of vigour for his work, but shell-shock had left him
with a heart that could not stand a strain of this kind, and all his own
fine courage could not help the surgeons in a losing fight. We are not
sorry for him--we learn that, not to be sorry for the dead. But for
ourselves? This terror is always so fresh, so unexampled. I had
telephoned to him to ask whether he would help me in a certain
theatrical enterprise. I was told by his servant that he was ill, but
one hears these things so often that one gave but little thought to it
beyond sending a telegram asking for news; and now this. Personal griefs
are of no public interest, but here is as sad a public loss as has
befallen us, if the world can measure truly, in our generation.

But it is not, I think, of our loss that we should speak now. These
desolations, strangely, have a way of bringing their own fortitude.
A few hours after hearing, without any warning, of Lovat Fraser's death,
I was walking among the English landscape that he loved so well, and I
felt there how poor and inadequate a thing death really was, how little
to be feared. This apparent intention to destroy a life and genius so
young, so admirable, and so rich in promise, seemed, for all the hurt,
in some way wholly to have failed. We all knew that, given health, the
next ten years would show a splendid volume of work from the new power
and understanding to which he had been coming in these later days. But
just as it seems to me not the occasion to lament our own loss, so does
it seem idle to speculate with regret upon what art may have lost by
this sudden stroke. It is, rather, well to be glad that so few years
have borne so abundantly. Not only is the work that Lovat Fraser has
left full in volume, it is decisive in character beyond all likelihood
in one of his years. Greatly as he would have added to our delight, and
wider as his influence would have grown, nothing he might have done
could have added to our knowledge of the kind of distinction that was
his and that will always mark his fame.

The man himself had a charm of unusual definition. One might go to his
studio at five o'clock and find him lumbering with his great frame among
a chaos of the rare and curious books that he loved, stacked pell-mell
on to the shelves, littered on tables and the floor, his clothes and
face and fingers streaked with paint. And then an hour or two later he
would come dressed ready for the theatre, an immaculate beau of the
'fifties, his top coat with waist and skirts, his opera hat made to
special order by a Bond Street expert on an 1850 last. And then, before
setting off, he would talk of some fellow-artist who was a little down
and out, and wonder whether some of his drawings might not be bought at
a few guineas apiece. Then to book, as it were, such an order gave salt
to his evening, and if the evening meant contact with some of his own
exquisite work, a word of admiration was taken with that wistful
gratitude that it is now almost unbearable to remember.

The theatre is a complex, co-operative affair, and it is idle to inquire
who gives more than another to it. But on one side of its effort nobody
in these later years has fought for light and beauty more surely and
courageously than Claud Lovat Fraser. Lik
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DURING a portion of the first half of the present century, and more
particularly during the latter part of it, there flourished and practised
in the city of New York a physician who enjoyed perhaps an exceptional
share of the consideration which, in the United States, has always been
bestowed upon distinguished members of the medical profession.  This
profession in America has constantly been held in honour, and more
successfully than elsewhere has put forward a claim to the epithet of
“liberal.”  In a country in which, to play a social part, you must either
earn your income or make believe that you earn it, the healing art has
appeared in a high degree to combine two recognised sources of credit.
It belongs to the realm of the practical, which in the United States is a
great recommendation; and it is touched by the light of science—a merit
appreciated in a community in which the love of knowledge has not always
been accompanied by leisure and opportunity.  It was an element in Dr.
Sloper’s reputation that his learning and his skill were very evenly
balanced; he was what you might call a scholarly doctor, and yet there
was nothing abstract in his remedies—he always ordered you to take
something.  Though he was felt to be extremely thorough, he was not
uncomfortably theoretic, and if he sometimes explained matters rather
more minutely than might seem of use to the patient, he never went so far
(like some practitioners one has heard of) as to trust to the explanation
alone, but always left behind him an inscrutable prescription.  There
were some doctors that left the prescription without offering any
explanation at all; and he did not belong to that class either, which
was, after all, the most vulgar.  It will be seen that I am describing a
clever man; and this is really the reason why Dr. Sloper had become a
local celebrity.  At the time at which we are chiefly concerned with him,
he was some fifty years of age, and his popularity was at its height.  He
was very witty, and he passed in the best society of New York for a man
of the world—which, indeed, he was, in a very sufficient degree.  I
hasten to add, to anticipate possible misconception, that he was not the
least of a charlatan.  He was a thoroughly honest man—honest in a degree
of which he had perhaps lacked the opportunity to give the complete
measure; and, putting aside the great good-nature of the circle in which
he practised, which was rather fond of boasting that it possessed the
“brightest” doctor in the country, he daily justified his claim to the
talents attributed to him by the popular voice.  He was an observer, even
a philosopher, and to be bright was so natural to him, and (as the
popular voice said) came so easily, that he never aimed at mere effect,
and had none of the little tricks and pretensions of second-rate
reputations.  It must be confessed that fortune had favoured him, and
that he had found the path to prosperity very soft to his tread.  He had
married at the age of twenty-seven, for love, a very charming girl, Miss
Catherine Harrington, of New York, who, in addition to her charms, had
brought him a solid dowry.  Mrs. Sloper was amiable, graceful,
accomplished, elegant, and in 1820 she had been one of the pretty girls
of the small but promising capital which clustered about the Battery and
overlooked the Bay, and of which the uppermost boundary was indicated by
the grassy waysides of Canal Street.  Even at the age of twenty-seven
Austin Sloper had made his mark sufficiently to mitigate the anomaly of
his having been chosen among a dozen suitors by a young woman of high
fashion, who had ten thousand dollars of income and the most charming
eyes in the island of Manhattan.  These eyes, and some of their
accompaniments, were for about five years a source of extreme
satisfaction to the young physician, who was both a devoted and a very
happy husband.  The fact of his having married a rich woman made no
difference in the line he had traced for himself, and he cultivated his
profession with as definite a purpose as if he still had no other
resources than his fraction of the modest patrimony which on his father’s
death he had shared with his brothers and sisters.  This purpose had not
been preponderantly to make money—it had been rather to learn something
and to do something.  To learn something interesting, and to do something
useful—this was, roughly speaking, the programme he had sketched, and of
which the accident of his wife having an income appeared to him in no
degree to modify the validity.  He was fond of his practice, and of
exercising a skill of which he was agreeably conscious, and it was so
patent a truth that if he were not a doctor there was nothing else he
could be, that a doctor he persisted in being, in the best possible
conditions.  Of course his easy domestic situation saved him a good deal
of drudgery, and his wife’s affiliation to the “best people” brought him
a good many of those patients whose symptoms are, if n
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GOING AWAY


I SHALL never forget the one-fourth serious and three-fourths comical
astonishment, with which, on the morning of the third of January
eighteen-hundred-and-forty-two, I opened the door of, and put my head
into, a ‘state-room’ on board the Britannia steam-packet, twelve hundred
tons burthen per register, bound for Halifax and Boston, and carrying Her
Majesty’s mails.

That this state-room had been specially engaged for ‘Charles Dickens,
Esquire, and Lady,’ was rendered sufficiently clear even to my scared
intellect by a very small manuscript, announcing the fact, which was
pinned on a very flat quilt, covering a very thin mattress, spread like a
surgical plaster on a most inaccessible shelf.  But that this was the
state-room concerning which Charles Dickens, Esquire, and Lady, had held
daily and nightly conferences for at least four months preceding: that
this could by any possibility be that small snug chamber of the
imagination, which Charles Dickens, Esquire, with the spirit of prophecy
strong upon him, had always foretold would contain at least one little
sofa, and which his lady, with a modest yet most magnificent sense of its
limited dimensions, had from the first opined would not hold more than
two enormous portmanteaus in some odd corner out of sight (portmanteaus
which could now no more be got in at the door, not to say stowed away,
than a giraffe could be persuaded or forced into a flower-pot): that this
utterly impracticable, thoroughly hopeless, and profoundly preposterous
box, had the remotest reference to, or connection with, those chaste and
pretty, not to say gorgeous little bowers, sketched by a masterly hand,
in the highly varnished lithographic plan hanging up in the agent’s
counting-house in the city of London: that this room of state, in short,
could be anything but a pleasant fiction and cheerful jest of the
captain’s, invented and put in practice for the better relish and
enjoyment of the real state-room presently to be disclosed:—these were
truths which I really could not, for the moment, bring my mind at all to
bear upon or comprehend.  And I sat down upon a kind of horsehair slab,
or perch, of which there were two within; and looked, without any
expression of countenance whatever, at some friends who had come on board
with us, and who were crushing their faces into all manner of shapes by
endeavouring to squeeze them through the small doorway.

We had experienced a pretty smart shock before coming below, which, but
that we were the most sanguine people living, might have prepared us for
the worst.  The imaginative artist to whom I have already made allusion,
has depicted in the same great work, a chamber of almost interminable
perspective, furnished, as Mr. Robins would say, in a style of more than
Eastern splendour, and filled (but not inconveniently so) with groups of
ladies and gentlemen, in the very highest state of enjoyment and
vivacity.  Before descending into the bowels of the ship, we had passed
from the deck into a long narrow apartment, not unlike a gigantic hearse
with windows in the sides; having at the upper end a melancholy stove, at
which three or four chilly stewards were warming their hands; while on
either side, extending down its whole dreary length, was a long, long
table, over each of which a rack, fixed to the low roof, and stuck full
of drinking-glasses and cruet-stands, hinted dismally at rolling seas and
heavy weather.  I had not at that time seen the ideal presentment of this
chamber which has since gratified me so much, but I observed that one of
our friends who had made the arrangements for our voyage, turned pale on
entering, retreated on the friend behind him, smote his forehead
involuntarily, and said below his breath, ‘Impossible! it cannot be!’ or
words to that effect.  He recovered himself however by a great effort,
and after a preparatory cough or two, cried, with a ghastly smile which
is still before me, looking at the same time round the walls, ‘Ha! the
breakfast-room, steward—eh?’  We all foresaw what the answer must be: we
knew the agony he suffered.  He had often spoken of _the saloon_; had
taken in and lived upon the pictorial idea; had usually given us to
understand, at home, that to form a just conception of it, it would be
necessary to multiply the size and furniture of an ordinary drawing-room
by seven, and then fall short of the reality.  When the man in reply
avowed the truth; the blunt, remorseless, naked truth; ‘This is the
saloon, sir’—he actually reeled beneath the blow.

In persons who were so soon to part, and interpose between their else
daily communication the formidable barrier of many thousand miles of
stormy space, and who were for that reason anxious to cast no other
cloud, not even the passing shadow of a moment’s disappointment or
discomfiture, upon the short interval of happy companionship that yet
remained to them—in persons so situated, the natural transition from
these first surprises was obviously into p
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 1094
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1094

TAMBURLAINE THE GREAT,

IN TWO PARTS.

This is Part I.

By Christopher Marlowe

Edited By The Rev. Alexander Dyce.


TRANSCRIBER'S COMMENTS ON THE PREPARATION OF THE E-TEXT:


SQUARE BRACKETS:

The square brackets, i.e. [ ] are copied from the printed book,
without change, except that the stage directions usually do not
have closing brackets.  These have been added.


FOOTNOTES:

For this E-Text version of the book, the footnotes have been
consolidated at the end of the play.

Numbering of the footnotes has been changed, and each footnote
is given a unique identity in the form [XXX].


CHANGES TO THE TEXT:

Character names were expanded.  For Example, TAMBURLAINE was
TAMB., ZENOCRATE was ZENO., etc.


GREEK:
One word, appearing in note 115, was printed in Greek Characters.
This word has been transliterated as <<deiktikos>>.



  Tamburlaine the Great.  Who, from a Scythian Shephearde
  by his rare and woonderfull Conquests, became a most
  puissant and mightye Monarque.  And (for his tyranny,
  and terrour in Warre) was tearmed, The Scourge of God.
  Deuided into two Tragicall Discourses, as they were
  sundrie times shewed vpon Stages in the Citie of London.
  By the right honorable the Lord Admyrall, his seruauntes.
  Now first, and newlie published.  London.  Printed by
  Richard Ihones:  at the signe of the Rose and Crowne
  neere Holborne Bridge.  1590.  4to.

The above title-page is pasted into a copy of the FIRST PART OF
TAMBURLAINE in the Library at Bridge-water House; which copy,
excepting that title-page and the Address to the Readers, is the
impression of 1605.  I once supposed that the title-pages which
bear the dates 1605 and 1606 (see below) had been added to the
4tos of the TWO PARTS of the play originally printed in 1590;
but I am now convinced that both PARTS were really reprinted,
THE FIRST PART in 1605, and THE SECOND PART in 1606, and that
nothing remains of the earlier 4tos, except the title-page and
the Address to the Readers, which are preserved in the Bridge-
water collection.

In the Bodleian Library, Oxford, is an 8vo edition of both PARTS
OF TAMBURLAINE, dated 1590:  the title-page of THE FIRST PART
agrees verbatim with that given above; the half-title-page of
THE SECOND PART is as follows;

  The Second Part of The bloody Conquests of mighty
  Tamburlaine.  With his impassionate fury, for the death
  of his Lady and loue faire Zenocrate; his fourme of
  exhortacion and discipline to his three sons, and the
  maner of his own death.

In the Garrick Collection, British Museum, is an 8vo edition of
both PARTS dated 1592:  the title-page of THE FIRST PART runs
thus;

  Tamburlaine the Great.  Who, from a Scythian Shepheard,
  by his rare and wonderfull Conquestes, became a most
  puissant and mightie Mornarch [sic]:  And (for his
  tyrannie, and terrour in warre) was tearmed, The Scourge
  of God.  The first part of the two Tragicall discourses,
  as they were sundrie times most stately shewed vpon
  Stages in the Citie of London.  By the right honorable
  the Lord Admirall, his seruauntes.  Now newly published.
  Printed by Richard Iones, dwelling at the signe of the
  Rose and Crowne neere Holborne Bridge.

The half-title-page of THE SECOND PART agrees exactly with that
already given.  Perhaps the 8vo at Oxford and that in the British
Museum (for I have not had an opportunity of comparing them) are
the same impression, differing only in the title-pages.

Langbaine (ACCOUNT OF ENGL. DRAM. POETS, p. 344) mentions an 8vo
dated 1593.

The title-pages of the latest impressions of THE TWO PARTS are
as follows;

  Tamburlaine the Greate.  Who, from the state of a
  Shepheard in Scythia, by his rare and wonderfull
  Conquests, became a most puissant and mighty Monarque.
  London Printed for Edward White, and are to be solde
  at the little North doore of Saint Paules-Church, at
  the signe of the Gunne, 1605.  4to.

  Tamburlaine the Greate.  With his impassionate furie,
  for the death of his Lady and Loue fair Zenocrate:  his
  forme of exhortation and discipline to his three Sonnes,
  and the manner of his owne death.  The second part.
  London Printed by E. A. for Ed. White, and are to be
  solde at his Shop neere the little North doore of Saint
  Paules Church at the Signe of the Gun.  1606.  4to.

The text of the present edition is given from the 8vo of 1592,
collated with the 4tos of 1605-6.




TO THE GENTLEMEN-READERS [1] AND OTHERS THAT TAKE PLEASURE
IN READING HISTORIES. [2]

Gentlemen and courteous readers whosoever:  I have here published
in print, for your sakes, the two tragical discourses of the
Scythian shepherd Tamburlaine, that became so great a conqueror
and so mighty a monarch.  My hope is, that they will be now no
less acceptable unto you to read after your serious affairs and
studies than they have been lately delightful for many of you to
see when the same were shewed in London upon stages.  I have
purposely omitted and left out some fond [3] and frivolous
gestures,
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 29214
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[Transcriber’s Note:

This text uses UTF-8 (Unicode) file encoding. If the apostrophes and
quotation marks in this paragraph appear as garbage, make sure your
text reader’s “character set” or “file encoding” is set to Unicode
(UTF-8). You may also need to change the default font. As a last
resort, use the Latin-1 version of the file instead.

In the main text, page divisions have been retained because page and
line numbers are used in the Index. Page numbers are shown in [[double
brackets]]. Page numbers in the Table of Contents are original.

Further details on format are at the end of the e-text, followed by
a list of errors noted by the transcriber. Numbering errors in the
vocabulary lists are shown inline in [[double brackets]].]




  Early English Text Society.

  EXTRA SERIES, LXXIX.


  Dialogues in French and English.

  BY WILLIAM CAXTON.

  (Adapted from a Fourteenth-Century Book of Dialogues
  in French and Flemish.)

  EDITED FROM CAXTON’S PRINTED TEXT (ABOUT 1483), WITH
  INTRODUCTION, NOTES, AND WORD-LISTS,

  BY

  HENRY BRADLEY, M.A.,

  _Joint-Editor of the New English Dictionary._

  LONDON:
  PUBLISHED FOR THE EARLY ENGLISH TEXT SOCIETY,
  BY KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRÜBNER & CO., Ltd.

  PATERNOSTER HOUSE, CHARING CROSS ROAD.

  MDCCCC.


  _Price Ten Shillings._




  BERLIN: ASHER & CO., 13, UNTER DEN LINDEN.
  NEW YORK: C. SCRIBNER & CO.; LEYPOLDT & HOLT.
  PHILADELPHIA: J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO.




  Dialogues in French and English.

  BY WILLIAM CAXTON.

  (Adapted from a Fourteenth-Century Book of Dialogues
  in French and Flemish.)

  EDITED FROM CAXTON’S PRINTED TEXT (ABOUT 1483), WITH
  INTRODUCTION, NOTES, AND WORD-LISTS,

  BY

  HENRY BRADLEY, M.A.,
  _Joint-Editor of the New English Dictionary._

  LONDON:
  PUBLISHED FOR THE EARLY ENGLISH TEXT SOCIETY,
  BY KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRÜBNER & CO., Ltd.

  PATERNOSTER HOUSE, CHARING CROSS ROAD.
  M DCCCC.




Extra Series, No. LXXIX.

OXFORD: HORACE HART, M.A., PRINTER TO THE UNIVERSITY.




INTRODUCTION.


The work now for the first time reprinted from Caxton’s original edition
has been preserved in three copies. One of these is in the Library of
Ripon Cathedral, another in the Spencer Library, now at Manchester, and
the third at Bamborough Castle. A small fragment, consisting of pp.
17-18 and 27-28, is in the Bodleian Library. The text of the present
edition is taken from the Ripon copy. I have not had an opportunity of
seeing this myself; but a type-written transcript was supplied to me by
Mr. John Whitham, Chapter Clerk of Ripon Cathedral, and the proofs were
collated with the Ripon book by the Rev. Dr. Fowler, Vice-Principal of
Bishop Hatfield’s Hall, Durham, who was kind enough to re-examine every
passage in which I suspected a possible inaccuracy. It is therefore
reasonable to hope that the present reprint will be found to be a
strictly faithful representation of the original edition.

The earlier bibliographers gave to the book the entirely inappropriate
title of ‘Instructions for Travellers.’ Mr. Blades is nearer the mark in
calling it ‘A Vocabulary in French and English,’ but, as it consists
chiefly of a collection of colloquial phrases and dialogues, the
designation adopted in the present edition appears to be preferable. As
in other printed works of the same period, there is no title-page in the
original edition, so that a modern editor is at liberty to give to the
book whatever name may most accurately describe its character. The name
of Caxton does not occur in the colophon, which merely states that the
work was printed at Westminster; but the authorship is sufficiently
certain from internal evidence. On the ground of the form of type
employed, Mr. Blades inferred that the book was printed about 1483.
However this may be, there are, as will be shown, decisive reasons for
believing that it was written at a much earlier period.

A fact which has hitherto escaped notice is that Caxton’s book is
essentially an adaptation of a collection of phrases and dialogues in
French and Flemish, of which an edition was published by Michelant in
1875[1], from a MS. in the Bibliothèque Nationale.

    [Footnote 1: _Le Livre des Mestiers: Dialogues français-flamands
    composés au XIV^e siècle par un maître d’école de la ville de
    Bruges_. Paris: Librairie Tross.]

The text of Caxton’s original cannot, indeed, have been precisely
identical with that of the MS. used by Michelant. It contained many
passages which are wanting in the Paris MS., and in some instances had
obviously preferable readings. Caxton’s English sentences are very often
servile translations from the Flemish, and he sometimes falls into the
use of Flemish words and idioms in such a way as to show that his long
residence abroad had impaired his familiarity with his native language.
The French _respaulme cet hanap_, for instance, is rendered by ‘spoylle
the cup.’ Of course the English verb _spoylle_ never meant ‘to rinse’;
Caxton was misled by the sound of the Flemish _sp
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 5946
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/5946

OF THE INTERVIEW THE CURATE AND THE BARBER HAD WITH DON QUIXOTE
ABOUT HIS MALADY

WHICH TREATS OF THE NOTABLE ALTERCATION WHICH SANCHO PANZA HAD
WITH DON QUIXOTE’S NIECE, AND HOUSEKEEPER, TOGETHER WITH OTHER DROLL
MATTERS

OF THE LAUGHABLE CONVERSATION THAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE,
SANCHO PANZA, AND THE BACHELOR SAMSON CARRASCO

IN WHICH SANCHO PANZA GIVES A SATISFACTORY REPLY TO THE DOUBTS AND
QUESTIONS OF THE BACHELOR SAMSON CARRASCO, TOGETHER WITH OTHER MATTERS
WORTH KNOWING AND TELLING

OF THE SHREWD AND DROLL CONVERSATION THAT PASSED BETWEEN SANCHO
PANZA AND HIS WIFE TERESA PANZA, AND OTHER MATTERS WORTHY OF BEING
DULY RECORDED

OF WHAT TOOK PLACE BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS NIECE AND
HOUSEKEEPER; ONE OF THE MOST IMPORTANT CHAPTERS IN THE WHOLE HISTORY

OF WHAT PASSED BETWEEN DON QUIXOTE AND HIS SQUIRE, TOGETHER WITH
OTHER VERY NOTABLE INCIDENTS

WHEREIN IS RELATED WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE ON HIS WAY TO SEE HIS
LADY DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO

CHAPTER IX
WHEREIN IS RELATED WHAT WILL BE SEEN THERE

CHAPTER X
WHEREIN IS RELATED THE CRAFTY DEVICE SANCHO ADOPTED TO ENCHANT THE
LADY DULCINEA, AND OTHER INCIDENTS AS LUDICROUS AS THEY ARE TRUE

OF THE STRANGE ADVENTURE WHICH THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE HAD WITH
THE CAR OR CART OF “THE CORTES OF DEATH”

OF THE STRANGE ADVENTURE WHICH BEFELL THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE WITH
THE BOLD KNIGHT OF THE MIRRORS

IN WHICH IS CONTINUED THE ADVENTURE OF THE KNIGHT OF THE GROVE,
TOGETHER WITH THE SENSIBLE, ORIGINAL, AND TRANQUIL COLLOQUY THAT
PASSED BETWEEN THE TWO SQUIRES

CHAPTER XIV
WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE ADVENTURE OF THE KNIGHT OF THE GROVE

CHAPTER XV
WHEREIN IT IS TOLD AND KNOWN WHO THE KNIGHT OF THE MIRRORS AND HIS
SQUIRE WERE

CHAPTER XVI
OF WHAT BEFELL DON QUIXOTE WITH A DISCREET GENTLEMAN OF LA MANCHA

CHAPTER XVII
WHEREIN IS SHOWN THE FURTHEST AND HIGHEST POINT WHICH THE UNEXAMPLED
COURAGE OF DON QUIXOTE REACHED OR COULD REACH; TOGETHER WITH THE
HAPPILY ACHIEVED ADVENTURE OF THE LIONS

OF WHAT HAPPENED DON QUIXOTE IN THE CASTLE OR HOUSE OF THE KNIGHT OF
THE GREEN GABAN, TOGETHER WITH OTHER MATTERS OUT OF THE COMMON

IN WHICH IS RELATED THE ADVENTURE OF THE ENAMOURED SHEPHERD,
TOGETHER WITH OTHER TRULY DROLL INCIDENTS

WHEREIN AN ACCOUNT IS GIVEN OF THE WEDDING OF CAMACHO THE RICH,
TOGETHER WITH THE INCIDENT OF BASILIO THE POOR

CHAPTER XXI
IN WHICH CAMACHO’S WEDDING IS CONTINUED, WITH OTHER DELIGHTFUL INCIDENTS

CHAPTER XXII
WHEREIN IS RELATED THE GRAND ADVENTURE OF THE CAVE OF MONTESINOS IN
THE HEART OF LA MANCHA, WHICH THE VALIANT DON QUIXOTE BROUGHT TO A
HAPPY TERMINATION

OF THE WONDERFUL THINGS THE INCOMPARABLE DON QUIXOTE SAID HE SAW
IN THE PROFOUND CAVE OF MONTESINOS, THE IMPOSSIBILITY AND MAGNITUDE OF
WHICH CAUSE THIS ADVENTURE TO BE DEEMED APOCRYPHAL

WHEREIN ARE RELATED A THOUSAND TRIFLING MATTERS, AS TRIVIAL AS
THEY ARE NECESSARY TO THE RIGHT UNDERSTANDING OF THIS GREAT HISTORY

WHEREIN IS SET DOWN THE BRAYING ADVENTURE, AND THE DROLL ONE OF
THE PUPPET-SHOWMAN, TOGETHER WITH THE MEMORABLE DIVINATIONS OF THE
DIVINING APE

WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE DROLL ADVENTURE OF THE PUPPET-SHOWMAN,
TOGETHER WITH OTHER THINGS IN TRUTH RIGHT GOOD

WHEREIN IT IS SHOWN WHO MASTER PEDRO AND HIS APE WERE, TOGETHER WITH
THE MISHAP DON QUIXOTE HAD IN THE BRAYING ADVENTURE, WHICH HE DID
NOT CONCLUDE AS HE WOULD HAVE LIKED OR AS HE HAD EXPECTED

OF MATTERS THAT BENENGELI SAYS HE WHO READS THEM WILL KNOW, IF HE
READS THEM WITH ATTENTION

CHAPTER XXIX
OF THE FAMOUS ADVENTURE OF THE ENCHANTED BARK

CHAPTER XXX
OF DON QUIXOTE’S ADVENTURE WITH A FAIR HUNTRESS

CHAPTER XXXI
WHICH TREATS OF MANY AND GREAT MATTERS

CHAPTER XXXII
OF THE REPLY DON QUIXOTE GAVE HIS CENSURER, WITH OTHER INCIDENTS,
GRAVE AND DROLL

OF THE DELECTABLE DISCOURSE WHICH THE DUCHESS AND HER DAMSELS HELD
WITH SANCHO PANZA, WELL WORTH READING AND NOTING

WHICH RELATES HOW THEY LEARNED THE WAY IN WHICH THEY WERE TO
DISENCHANT THE PEERLESS DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO, WHICH IS ONE OF THE
RAREST ADVENTURES IN THIS BOOK

WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE INSTRUCTION GIVEN TO DON QUIXOTE TOUCHING
THE DISENCHANTMENT OF DULCINEA, TOGETHER WITH OTHER MARVELLOUS INCIDENTS

WHEREIN IS RELATED THE STRANGE AND UNDREAMT-OF ADVENTURE OF THE
DISTRESSED DUENNA, ALIAS THE COUNTESS TRIFALDI, TOGETHER WITH A LETTER
WHICH SANCHO PANZA WROTE TO HIS WIFE, TERESA PANZA

CHAPTER XXXVII
WHEREIN IS CONTINUED THE NOTABLE ADVENTURE OF THE DISTRESSED DUENNA

CHAPTER XXXVIII
WHEREIN IS TOLD THE DISTRESSED DUENNA’S TALE OF HER MISFORTUNES

CHAPTER XXXIX
IN WHICH THE TRIFALDI CONTINUES HER MARVELLOUS AND MEMORABLE STORY

CHAPTER XL
OF MATTERS RELATING AND BELONGING TO THIS ADVENTURE AND TO THIS
MEMORABLE HISTORY

CHAPTER XLI
OF THE ARRIVAL OF CLAVILENO AND THE END OF THIS PROTRACTED ADVENTURE

CHAPTER XLII
OF THE COUNSELS WHICH DON QUIXOTE GAVE SANCHO PANZA BEFORE HE SET
OUT TO GOVERN THE ISLAND, TOGETHER WITH OTHER WELL-CONSIDERED MATTERS

CHAPTER XLIII
OF THE SECOND SET OF COUNSELS DON QUIXOTE GAVE SANCHO PANZA

CHAPTER XLIV
HOW SANCHO PANZA WAS CONDUCTED TO HIS GOVERN
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 3796
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GLEN "NOTES" AND OTHER MATTERS

It was a warm, golden-cloudy, lovable afternoon. In the big living-room
at Ingleside Susan Baker sat down with a certain grim satisfaction
hovering about her like an aura; it was four o'clock and Susan, who had
been working incessantly since six that morning, felt that she had
fairly earned an hour of repose and gossip. Susan just then was
perfectly happy; everything had gone almost uncannily well in the
kitchen that day. Dr. Jekyll had not been Mr. Hyde and so had not
grated on her nerves; from where she sat she could see the pride of her
heart--the bed of peonies of her own planting and culture, blooming as
no other peony plot in Glen St. Mary ever did or could bloom, with
peonies crimson, peonies silvery pink, peonies white as drifts of
winter snow.

Susan had on a new black silk blouse, quite as elaborate as anything
Mrs. Marshall Elliott ever wore, and a white starched apron, trimmed
with complicated crocheted lace fully five inches wide, not to mention
insertion to match. Therefore Susan had all the comfortable
consciousness of a well-dressed woman as she opened her copy of the
Daily Enterprise and prepared to read the Glen "Notes" which, as Miss
Cornelia had just informed her, filled half a column of it and
mentioned almost everybody at Ingleside. There was a big, black
headline on the front page of the Enterprise, stating that some
Archduke Ferdinand or other had been assassinated at a place bearing
the weird name of Sarajevo, but Susan tarried not over uninteresting,
immaterial stuff like that; she was in quest of something really vital.
Oh, here it was--"Jottings from Glen St. Mary." Susan settled down
keenly, reading each one over aloud to extract all possible
gratification from it.

Mrs. Blythe and her visitor, Miss Cornelia--alias Mrs. Marshall
Elliott--were chatting together near the open door that led to the
veranda, through which a cool, delicious breeze was blowing, bringing
whiffs of phantom perfume from the garden, and charming gay echoes from
the vine-hung corner where Rilla and Miss Oliver and Walter were
laughing and talking. Wherever Rilla Blythe was, there was laughter.

There was another occupant of the living-room, curled up on a couch,
who must not be overlooked, since he was a creature of marked
individuality, and, moreover, had the distinction of being the only
living thing whom Susan really hated.

All cats are mysterious but Dr. Jekyll-and-Mr. Hyde--"Doc" for
short--was trebly so. He was a cat of double personality--or else, as
Susan vowed, he was possessed by the devil. To begin with, there had
been something uncanny about the very dawn of his existence. Four years
previously Rilla Blythe had had a treasured darling of a kitten, white
as snow, with a saucy black tip to its tail, which she called Jack
Frost. Susan disliked Jack Frost, though she could not or would not
give any valid reason therefor.

"Take my word for it, Mrs. Dr. dear," she was wont to say ominously,
"that cat will come to no good."

"But why do you think so?" Mrs. Blythe would ask.

"I do not think--I know," was all the answer Susan would vouchsafe.

With the rest of the Ingleside folk Jack Frost was a favourite; he was
so very clean and well groomed, and never allowed a spot or stain to be
seen on his beautiful white suit; he had endearing ways of purring and
snuggling; he was scrupulously honest.

And then a domestic tragedy took place at Ingleside. Jack Frost had
kittens!

It would be vain to try to picture Susan's triumph. Had she not always
insisted that that cat would turn out to be a delusion and a snare? Now
they could see for themselves!

Rilla kept one of the kittens, a very pretty one, with peculiarly sleek
glossy fur of a dark yellow crossed by orange stripes, and large,
satiny, golden ears. She called it Goldie and the name seemed
appropriate enough to the little frolicsome creature which, during its
kittenhood, gave no indication of the sinister nature it really
possessed. Susan, of course, warned the family that no good could be
expected from any offspring of that diabolical Jack Frost; but Susan's
Cassandra-like croakings were unheeded.

The Blythes had been so accustomed to regard Jack Frost as a member of
the male sex that they could not get out of the habit. So they
continually used the masculine pronoun, although the result was
ludicrous. Visitors used to be quite electrified when Rilla referred
casually to "Jack and his kitten," or told Goldie sternly, "Go to your
mother and get him to wash your fur."

"It is not decent, Mrs. Dr. dear," poor Susan would say bitterly. She
herself compromised by always referring to Jack as "it" or "the white
beast," and one heart at least did not ache when "it" was accidentally
poisoned the following winter.

In a year's time "Goldie" became so manifestly an inadequate name for
the orange kitten that Walter, who was just then reading Stevenson's
story, changed it to Dr. Jekyll-and-Mr. Hyde. In his Dr. Jekyll mood
the cat wa
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 15489
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THE JAMES A. McCANN COMPANY

PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.




INTRODUCTION


The medical profession is justly conservative. Human life should not be
considered as the proper material for wild experiments.

Conservatism, however, is too often a welcome excuse for lazy minds,
loath to adapt themselves to fast changing conditions.

Remember the scornful reception which first was accorded to Freud's
discoveries in the domain of the unconscious.

When after years of patient observations, he finally decided to appear
before medical bodies to tell them modestly of some facts which always
recurred in his dream and his patients' dreams, he was first laughed at
and then avoided as a crank.

The words "dream interpretation" were and still are indeed fraught with
unpleasant, unscientific associations. They remind one of all sorts of
childish, superstitious notions, which make up the thread and woof of
dream books, read by none but the ignorant and the primitive.

The wealth of detail, the infinite care never to let anything pass
unexplained, with which he presented to the public the result of his
investigations, are impressing more and more serious-minded scientists,
but the examination of his evidential data demands arduous work and
presupposes an absolutely open mind.

This is why we still encounter men, totally unfamiliar with Freud's
writings, men who were not even interested enough in the subject to
attempt an interpretation of their dreams or their patients' dreams,
deriding Freud's theories and combatting them with the help of
statements which he never made.

Some of them, like Professor Boris Sidis, reach at times conclusions
which are strangely similar to Freud's, but in their ignorance of
psychoanalytic literature, they fail to credit Freud for observations
antedating theirs.

Besides those who sneer at dream study, because they have never looked
into the subject, there are those who do not dare to face the facts
revealed by dream study. Dreams tell us many an unpleasant biological
truth about ourselves and only very free minds can thrive on such a
diet. Self-deception is a plant which withers fast in the pellucid
atmosphere of dream investigation.

The weakling and the neurotic attached to his neurosis are not anxious
to turn such a powerful searchlight upon the dark corners of their
psychology.

Freud's theories are anything but theoretical.

He was moved by the fact that there always seemed to be a close
connection between his patients' dreams and their mental abnormalities,
to collect thousands of dreams and to compare them with the case
histories in his possession.

He did not start out with a preconceived bias, hoping to find evidence
which might support his views. He looked at facts a thousand times
"until they began to tell him something."

His attitude toward dream study was, in other words, that of a
statistician who does not know, and has no means of foreseeing, what
conclusions will be forced on him by the information he is gathering,
but who is fully prepared to accept those unavoidable conclusions.

This was indeed a novel way in psychology. Psychologists had always been
wont to build, in what Bleuler calls "autistic ways," that is through
methods in no wise supported by evidence, some attractive hypothesis,
which sprung from their brain, like Minerva from Jove's brain, fully
armed.

After which, they would stretch upon that unyielding frame the hide of a
reality which they had previously killed.

It is only to minds suffering from the same distortions, to minds also
autistically inclined, that those empty, artificial structures appear
acceptable molds for philosophic thinking.

The pragmatic view that "truth is what works" had not been as yet
expressed when Freud published his revolutionary views on the psychology
of dreams.

Five facts of first magnitude were made obvious to the world by his
interpretation of dreams.

First of all, Freud pointed out a constant connection between some part
of every dream and some detail of the dreamer's life during the previous
waking state. This positively establishes a relation between sleeping
states and waking states and disposes of the widely prevalent view that
dreams are purely nonsensical phenomena coming from nowhere and leading
nowhere.

Secondly, Freud, after studying the dreamer's life and modes of thought,
after noting down all his mannerisms and the apparently insignificant
details of his conduct which reveal his secret thoughts, came to the
conclusion that there was in every dream the attempted or successful
gratification of some wish, conscious or unconscious.

Thirdly, he proved that many of our dream visions are symbolical, which
causes us to consider them as absurd and unintelligible; the
universality of those symbols, however, makes them very transparent to
the trained observer.

Fourthly, Freud showed that sexual desires play an enormous part in our
unconscious, a part which puritanical hypocrisy has always tried to
minimize, if not to ignore 
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PG #: 31547
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The Astronomer entered the dining room with decorum. He felt very much
the guest.

He said, "Where are the youngsters? My son isn't in his room."

The Industrialist smiled. "They've been out for hours. However,
breakfast was forced into them among the women some time ago, so there
is nothing to worry about. Youth, Doctor, youth!"

"Youth!" The word seemed to depress the Astronomer.

They ate breakfast in silence. The Industrialist said once, "You really
think they'll come. The day looks so--_normal_."

The Astronomer said, "They'll come."

That was all.

Afterward the Industrialist said, "You'll pardon me. I can't conceive
your playing so elaborate a hoax. You really spoke to them?"

"As I speak to you. At least, in a sense. They can project thoughts."

"I gathered that must be so from your letter. How, I wonder."

"I could not say. I asked them and, of course, they were vague. Or
perhaps it was just that I could not understand. It involves a projector
for the focussing of thought and, even more than that, conscious
attention on the part of both projector and receptor. It was quite a
while before I realized they were trying to think at me. Such
thought-projectors may be part of the science they will give us."

"Perhaps," said the Industrialist. "Yet think of the changes it would
bring to society. A thought-projector!"

"Why not? Change would be good for us."

"I don't think so."

"It is only in old age that change is unwelcome," said the Astronomer,
"and races can be old as well as individuals."

The Industrialist pointed out the window. "You see that road. It was
built Beforethewars. I don't know exactly when. It is as good now as the
day it was built. We couldn't possibly duplicate it now. The race was
young when that was built, eh?"

"Then? Yes! At least they weren't afraid of new things."

"No. I wish they had been. Where is the society of Beforethewars?
Destroyed, Doctor! What good were youth and new things? We are better
off now. The world is peaceful and jogs along. The race goes nowhere but
after all, there is nowhere to go. _They_ proved that. The men who built
the road. I will speak with your visitors as I agreed, if they come. But
I think I will only ask them to go."

"The race is not going nowhere," said the Astronomer, earnestly. "It is
going toward final destruction. My university has a smaller student body
each year. Fewer books are written. Less work is done. An old man sleeps
in the sun and his days are peaceful and unchanging, but each day finds
him nearer death all the same."

"Well, well," said the Industrialist.

"No, don't dismiss it. Listen. Before I wrote you, I investigated your
position in the planetary economy."

"And you found me solvent?" interrupted the Industrialist, smiling.

"Why, yes. Oh, I see, you are joking. And yet--perhaps the joke is not
far off. You are less solvent than your father and he was less solvent
than his father. Perhaps your son will no longer be solvent. It becomes
too troublesome for the planet to support even the industries that still
exist, though they are toothpicks to the oak trees of Beforethewars. We
will be back to village economy and then to what? The caves?"

"And the infusion of fresh technological knowledge will be the changing
of all that?"

"Not just the new knowledge. Rather the whole effect of change, of a
broadening of horizons. Look, sir, I chose you to approach in this
matter not only because you were rich and influential with government
officials, but because you had an unusual reputation, for these days, of
daring to break with tradition. Our people will resist change and you
would know how to handle them, how to see to it that--that--"

"That the youth of the race is revived?"

"Yes."

"With its atomic bombs?"

"The atomic bombs," returned the Astronomer, "need not be the end of
civilization. These visitors of mine had their atomic bomb, or whatever
their equivalent was on their own worlds, and survived it, because they
didn't give up. Don't you see? It wasn't the bomb that defeated us, but
our own shell shock. This may be the last chance to reverse the
process."

[Illustration]

"Tell me," said the Industrialist, "what do these friends from space
want in return?"

The Astronomer hesitated. He said, "I will be truthful with you. They
come from a denser planet. Ours is richer in the lighter atoms."

"They want magnesium? Aluminum?"

"No, sir. Carbon and hydrogen. They want coal and oil."

"Really?"

The Astronomer said, quickly, "You are going to ask why creatures who
have mastered space travel, and therefore atomic power, would want coal
and oil. I can't answer that."

The Industrialist smiled. "But I can. This is the best evidence yet of
the truth of your story. Superficially, atomic power would seem to
preclude the use of coal and oil. However, quite apart from the energy
gained by their combustion they remain, and always will remain, the
basic raw material for all organic chemistry. Plastics, dyes,
pharmaceuticals, solvents. Indu
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PG #: 9830
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_Novels_

THE LAST TYCOON
(Unfinished)
_With a foreword by Edmund Wilson
and notes by the author_

TENDER IS THE NIGHT

THE GREAT GATSBY

THE BEAUTIFUL AND DAMNED

THIS SIDE OF PARADISE


_Stories_

THE PAT HOBBY STORIES
_With an introduction by Arnold Gingrich_

TAPS AT REVEILLE

SIX TALES OF THE JAZZ AGE AND OTHER STORIES
_With an introduction by Frances Fitzgerald Lanahan_

FLAPPERS AND PHILOSOPHERS
_With an introduction by Arthur Mizener_

THE STORIES OF F. SCOTT FITZGERALD
_A selection of 28 stories, with
an introduction by Malcolm Cowley_


_Stories and Essays_

AFTERNOON OF AN AUTHOR
_With an introduction and notes
by Arthur Mizener_

THE FITZGERALD READER: A Selection
_Edited and with an introduction
by Arthur Mizener_






The victor belongs to the spoils.
--ANTHONY PATCH



TO
SHANE LESLIE, GEORGE JEAN NATHAN
AND MAXWELL PERKINS

IN APPRECIATION OF MUCH LITERARY HELP
AND ENCOURAGEMENT





CONTENTS


BOOK ONE

  I. ANTHONY PATCH

 II. PORTRAIT OF A SIREN



BOOK TWO

  I. THE RADIANT HOUR

 II. SYMPOSIUM



BOOK THREE

  I. A MATTER OF CIVILIZATION

 II. A MATTER OF AESTHETICS





BOOK ONE





ANTHONY PATCH

In 1913, when Anthony Patch was twenty-five, two years were already gone
since irony, the Holy Ghost of this later day, had, theoretically at
least, descended upon him. Irony was the final polish of the shoe, the
ultimate dab of the clothes-brush, a sort of intellectual "There!"--yet
at the brink of this story he has as yet gone no further than the
conscious stage. As you first see him he wonders frequently whether he
is not without honor and slightly mad, a shameful and obscene thinness
glistening on the surface of the world like oil on a clean pond, these
occasions being varied, of course, with those in which he thinks himself
rather an exceptional young man, thoroughly sophisticated, well adjusted
to his environment, and somewhat more significant than any one else
he knows.

This was his healthy state and it made him cheerful, pleasant, and very
attractive to intelligent men and to all women. In this state he
considered that he would one day accomplish some quiet subtle thing that
the elect would deem worthy and, passing on, would join the dimmer stars
in a nebulous, indeterminate heaven half-way between death and
immortality. Until the time came for this effort he would be Anthony
Patch--not a portrait of a man but a distinct and dynamic personality,
opinionated, contemptuous, functioning from within outward--a man who
was aware that there could be no honor and yet had honor, who knew the
sophistry of courage and yet was brave.


A WORTHY MAN AND HIS GIFTED SON

Anthony drew as much consciousness of social security from being the
grandson of Adam J. Patch as he would have had from tracing his line
over the sea to the crusaders. This is inevitable; Virginians and
Bostonians to the contrary notwithstanding, an aristocracy founded
sheerly on money postulates wealth in the particular.

Now Adam J. Patch, more familiarly known as "Cross Patch," left his
father's farm in Tarrytown early in sixty-one to join a New York cavalry
regiment. He came home from the war a major, charged into Wall Street,
and amid much fuss, fume, applause, and ill will he gathered to himself
some seventy-five million dollars.

This occupied his energies until he was fifty-seven years old. It was
then that he determined, after a severe attack of sclerosis, to
consecrate the remainder of his life to the moral regeneration of the
world. He became a reformer among reformers. Emulating the magnificent
efforts of Anthony Comstock, after whom his grandson was named, he
levelled a varied assortment of uppercuts and body-blows at liquor,
literature, vice, art, patent medicines, and Sunday theatres. His mind,
under the influence of that insidious mildew which eventually forms on
all but the few, gave itself up furiously to every indignation of the
age. From an armchair in the office of his Tarrytown estate he directed
against the enormous hypothetical enemy, unrighteousness, a campaign
which went on through fifteen years, during which he displayed himself a
rabid monomaniac, an unqualified nuisance, and an intolerable bore. The
year in which this story opens found him wearying; his campaign had
grown desultory; 1861 was creeping up slowly on 1895; his thoughts ran a
great deal on the Civil War, somewhat on his dead wife and son, almost
infinitesimally on his grandson Anthony.

Early in his career Adam Patch had married an anemic lady of thirty,
Alicia Withers, who brought him one hundred thousand dollars and an
impeccable entré into the banking circles of New York. Immediately and
rather spunkily she had borne him a son and, as if completely
devitalized by the magnificence of this performance, she had thenceforth
effaced herself within the shadowy dimensions of the nursery. The boy,
Adam Ulysses Patch, became an inveterate joiner of clubs, connoisseur of
good form, and driver of tandems--at the astonishing age of twenty-
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The only complete poem of the genealogical group is the _Theogony_,
which traces from the beginning of things the descent and vicissitudes
of the families of the gods. Like the _Works and Days_ this poem has no
dramatic plot; but its unifying principle is clear and simple. The gods
are classified chronologically: as soon as one generation is
catalogued, the poet goes on to detail the offspring of each member of
that generation. Exceptions are only made in special cases, as the Sons
of Iapetus (ll. 507-616) whose place is accounted for by their
treatment by Zeus. The chief landmarks in the poem are as follows:
after the first 103 lines, which contain at least three distinct
preludes, three primeval beings are introduced, Chaos, Earth, and
Eros—here an indefinite reproductive influence. Of these three, Earth
produces Heaven to whom she bears the Titans, the Cyclopes and the
hundred-handed giants. The Titans, oppressed by their father, revolt at
the instigation of Earth, under the leadership of Cronos, and as a
result Heaven and Earth are separated, and Cronos reigns over the
universe. Cronos knowing that he is destined to be overcome by one of
his children, swallows each one of them as they are born, until Zeus,
saved by Rhea, grows up and overcomes Cronos in some struggle which is
not described. Cronos is forced to vomit up the children he had
swallowed, and these with Zeus divide the universe between them, like a
human estate. Two events mark the early reign of Zeus, the war with the
Titans and the overthrow of Typhoeus, and as Zeus is still reigning the
poet can only go on to give a list of gods born to Zeus by various
goddesses. After this he formally bids farewell to the cosmic and
Olympian deities and enumerates the sons born of goddess to mortals.
The poem closes with an invocation of the Muses to sing of the “tribe
of women”.

This conclusion served to link the _Theogony_ to what must have been a
distinct poem, the _Catalogues of Women_. This work was divided into
four (Suidas says five) books, the last one (or two) of which was known
as the _Eoiae_ and may have been again a distinct poem: the curious
title will be explained presently. The _Catalogues_ proper were a
series of genealogies which traced the Hellenic race (or its more
important peoples and families) from a common ancestor. The reason why
women are so prominent is obvious: since most families and tribes
claimed to be descended from a god, the only safe clue to their origin
was through a mortal woman beloved by that god; and it has also been
pointed out that _mutterrecht_ still left its traces in northern Greece
in historical times.

The following analysis (after Marckscheffel) 1108 will show the
principle of its composition. From Prometheus and Pronoia sprang
Deucalion and Pyrrha, the only survivors of the deluge, who had a son
Hellen (frag. 1), the reputed ancestor of the whole Hellenic race. From
the daughters of Deucalion sprang Magnes and Macedon, ancestors of the
Magnesians and Macedonians, who are thus represented as cousins to the
true Hellenic stock. Hellen had three sons, Dorus, Xuthus, and Aeolus,
parents of the Dorian, Ionic and Aeolian races, and the offspring of
these was then detailed. In one instance a considerable and
characteristic section can be traced from extant fragments and notices:
Salmoneus, son of Aeolus, had a daughter Tyro who bore to Poseidon two
sons, Pelias and Neleus; the latter of these, king of Pylos, refused
Heracles purification for the murder of Iphitus, whereupon Heracles
attacked and sacked Pylos, killing amongst the other sons of Neleus
Periclymenus, who had the power of changing himself into all manner of
shapes. From this slaughter Neleus alone escaped (frags. 13, and
10-12). This summary shows the general principle of arrangement of the
_Catalogues_: each line seems to have been dealt with in turn, and the
monotony was relieved as far as possible by a brief relation of famous
adventures connected with any of the personages—as in the case of
Atalanta and Hippomenes (frag. 14). Similarly the story of the
Argonauts appears from the fragments (37-42) to have been told in some
detail.

This tendency to introduce romantic episodes led to an important
development. Several poems are ascribed to Hesiod, such as the
_Epithalamium of Peleus and Thetis_, the _Descent of Theseus into
Hades_, or the _Circuit of the Earth_ (which must have been connected
with the story of Phineus and the Harpies, and so with the
Argonaut-legend), which yet seem to have belonged to the _Catalogues_.
It is highly probable that these poems were interpolations into the
_Catalogues_ expanded by later poets from more summary notices in the
genuine Hesiodic work and subsequently detached from their contexts and
treated as independent. This is definitely known to be true of the
_Shield of Heracles_, the first 53 lines of which belong to the fourth
book of the _Catalogues_, and almost certainly applies to other
episodes, such as the _Sui
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Some notable sight was drawing the passengers, both men and women, to
the window; and therefore I rose and crossed the car to see what it was.
I saw near the track an enclosure, and round it some laughing men, and
inside it some whirling dust, and amid the dust some horses, plunging,
huddling, and dodging. They were cow ponies in a corral, and one of them
would not be caught, no matter who threw the rope. We had plenty of time
to watch this sport, for our train had stopped that the engine might
take water at the tank before it pulled us up beside the station
platform of Medicine Bow. We were also six hours late, and starving for
entertainment. The pony in the corral was wise, and rapid of limb. Have
you seen a skilful boxer watch his antagonist with a quiet, incessant
eye? Such an eye as this did the pony keep upon whatever man took the
rope. The man might pretend to look at the weather, which was fine; or
he might affect earnest conversation with a bystander: it was bootless.
The pony saw through it. No feint hoodwinked him. This animal was
thoroughly a man of the world. His undistracted eye stayed fixed upon
the dissembling foe, and the gravity of his horse-expression made the
matter one of high comedy. Then the rope would sail out at him, but he
was already elsewhere; and if horses laugh, gayety must have abounded in
that corral. Sometimes the pony took a turn alone; next he had slid in a
flash among his brothers, and the whole of them like a school of playful
fish whipped round the corral, kicking up the fine dust, and (I take it)
roaring with laughter. Through the window-glass of our Pullman the thud
of their mischievous hoofs reached us, and the strong, humorous curses
of the cow-boys. Then for the first time I noticed a man who sat on the
high gate of the corral, looking on. For he now climbed down with
the undulations of a tiger, smooth and easy, as if his muscles flowed
beneath his skin. The others had all visibly whirled the rope, some of
them even shoulder high. I did not see his arm lift or move. He appeared
to hold the rope down low, by his leg. But like a sudden snake I saw the
noose go out its length and fall true; and the thing was done. As the
captured pony walked in with a sweet, church-door expression, our train
moved slowly on to the station, and a passenger remarked, “That man
knows his business.”

But the passenger's dissertation upon roping I was obliged to lose, for
Medicine Bow was my station. I bade my fellow-travellers good-by, and
descended, a stranger, into the great cattle land. And here in less than
ten minutes I learned news which made me feel a stranger indeed.

My baggage was lost; it had not come on my train; it was adrift
somewhere back in the two thousand miles that lay behind me. And by way
of comfort, the baggage-man remarked that passengers often got astray
from their trunks, but the trunks mostly found them after a while.
Having offered me this encouragement, he turned whistling to his
affairs and left me planted in the baggage-room at Medicine Bow. I stood
deserted among crates and boxes, blankly holding my check, hungry and
forlorn. I stared out through the door at the sky and the plains; but
I did not see the antelope shining among the sage-brush, nor the great
sunset light of Wyoming. Annoyance blinded my eyes to all things save
my grievance: I saw only a lost trunk. And I was muttering half-aloud,
“What a forsaken hole this is!” when suddenly from outside on the
platform came a slow voice: “Off to get married AGAIN? Oh, don't!”

The voice was Southern and gentle and drawling; and a second voice came
in immediate answer, cracked and querulous. “It ain't again. Who says
it's again? Who told you, anyway?”

And the first voice responded caressingly: “Why, your Sunday clothes
told me, Uncle Hughey. They are speakin' mighty loud o' nuptials.”

“You don't worry me!” snapped Uncle Hughey, with shrill heat.

And the other gently continued, “Ain't them gloves the same yu' wore to
your last weddin'?”

“You don't worry me! You don't worry me!” now screamed Uncle Hughey.

Already I had forgotten my trunk; care had left me; I was aware of the
sunset, and had no desire but for more of this conversation. For it
resembled none that I had heard in my life so far. I stepped to the door
and looked out upon the station platform.

Lounging there at ease against the wall was a slim young giant,
more beautiful than pictures. His broad, soft hat was pushed back; a
loose-knotted, dull-scarlet handkerchief sagged from his throat; and one
casual thumb was hooked in the cartridge-belt that slanted across his
hips. He had plainly come many miles from somewhere across the vast
horizon, as the dust upon him showed. His boots were white with it. His
overalls were gray with it. The weather-beaten bloom of his face shone
through it duskily, as the ripe peaches look upon their trees in a dry
season. But no dinginess of travel or shabbiness of attire could tarnish
the splendor that radiated from 
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PG #: 57493
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This treatise on Natural History, a novel work in Roman literature,
which I have just completed, I have taken the liberty to dedicate to
you, most gracious[35] Emperor, an appellation peculiarly suitable to
you, while, on account of his age, that of _great_ is more appropriate
to your Father;—

  “For still thou ne’er wouldst quite despise
    The trifles that I write[36];”

if I may be allowed to shelter myself under the example of Catullus,
my fellow-countryman[37], a military term, which you well understand.
For he, as you know, when his napkins had been changed[38], expressed
himself a little harshly, from his anxiety to show his friendship
for his dear little _Veranius_ and _Fabius_[39]. At the same time
this my importunity may effect, what you complained of my not having
done in another too forward epistle of mine; it will put upon record,
and let all the world know, with what kindness you exercise the
imperial dignity. You, who have had the honour of a triumph, and of
the censorship, have been six times consul, and have shared in the
tribunate; and, what is still more honourable, whilst you held them in
conjunction with your Father, you have presided over the Equestrian
order, and been the Prefect of the Prætorians[40]: all this you have
done for the service of the Republic, and, at the same time, have
regarded me as a fellow-soldier and a messmate. Nor has the extent of
your prosperity produced any change in you, except that it has given
you the power of doing good to the utmost of your wishes. And whilst
all these circumstances increase the veneration which other persons
feel for you, with respect to myself, they have made me so bold, as to
wish to become more familiar. You must, therefore, place this to your
own account, and blame yourself for any fault of this kind that I may
commit.

But, although I have laid aside my blushes[41], I have not gained
my object; for you still awe me, and keep me at a distance, by the
majesty of your understanding. In no one does the force of eloquence
and of tribunitian oratory blaze out more powerfully! With what glowing
language do you thunder forth the praises of your Father! How dearly
do you love your Brother! How admirable is your talent for poetry!
What a fertility of genius do you possess, so as to enable you to
imitate your Brother[42]! But who is there that is bold enough to form
an estimate on these points, if he is to be judged by you, and, more
especially, if you are challenged to do so? For the case of those
who merely publish their works is very different from that of those
who expressly dedicate them to you. In the former case I might say,
Emperor! why do you read these things? They are written only for the
common people, for farmers or mechanics, or for those who have nothing
else to do; why do you trouble yourself with them? Indeed, when I
undertook this work, I did not expect that you would sit in judgement
upon me[43]; I considered your situation much too elevated for you to
descend to such an office. Besides, we possess the right of openly
rejecting the opinion of men of learning. M. Tullius himself, whose
genius is beyond all competition, uses this privilege; and, remarkable
as it may appear, employs an advocate in his own defence:—“I do not
write for very learned people; I do not wish my works to be read by
Manius Persius, but by Junius Congus[44].” And if Lucilius, who first
introduced the satirical style[45], applied such a remark to himself,
and if Cicero thought proper to borrow it, and that more especially
in his treatise “De Republica,” how much reason have I to do so, who
have such a judge to defend myself against! And by this dedication
I have deprived myself of the benefit of challenge[46]; for it is a
very different thing whether a person has a judge given him by lot, or
whether he voluntarily selects one; and we always make more preparation
for an invited guest, than for one that comes in unexpectedly.

When the candidates for office, during the heat of the canvass,
deposited the fine[47] in the hands of Cato, that determined opposer
of bribery, rejoicing as he did in his being rejected from what he
considered to be foolish honours, they professed to do this out of
respect to his integrity; the greatest glory which a man could attain.
It was on this occasion that Cicero uttered the noble ejaculation, “How
happy are you, Marcus Porcius, of whom no one dares to ask what is
dishonourable[48]!” When L. Scipio Asiaticus appealed to the tribunes,
among whom was Gracchus, he expressed full confidence that he should
obtain an acquittal, even from a judge who was his enemy. Hence it
follows, that he who appoints his own judge must absolutely submit to
the decision; this choice is therefore termed an appeal[49].

I am well aware, that, placed as you are in the highest station, and
gifted with the most splendid eloquence and the most accomplished
mind, even those who come to pay their respects to you, do it with a
kind of veneration: on thi
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the senseless and barbarous swaddling clothes have become almost
obsolete. Cf. La Longue Voyage de Siam, Le Beau Voyage de Canada,
etc.]

You must expect great opposition from the nurses, who find a half
strangled baby needs much less watching. Besides his dirtyness is
more perceptible in an open garment; he must be attended to more
frequently. Indeed, custom is an unanswerable argument in some
lands and among all classes of people.

Do not argue with the nurses; give your orders, see them carried
out, and spare no pains to make the attention you prescribe easy in
practice. Why not take your share in it? With ordinary nurslings,
where the body alone is thought of, nothing matters so long as the
child lives and does not actually die, but with us, when education
begins with life, the new-born child is already a disciple, not
of his tutor, but of nature. The tutor merely studies under this
master, and sees that his orders are not evaded. He watches over
the infant, he observes it, he looks for the first feeble glimmering
of intelligence, as the Moslem looks for the moment of the moon's
rising in her first quarter.

We are born capable of learning, but knowing nothing, perceiving
nothing. The mind, bound up within imperfect and half grown organs,
is not even aware of its own existence. The movements and cries of
the new-born child are purely reflex, without knowledge or will.

Suppose a child born with the size and strength of manhood, entering
upon life full grown like Pallas from the brain of Jupiter; such a
child-man would be a perfect idiot, an automaton, a statue without
motion and almost without feeling; he would see and hear nothing,
he would recognise no one, he could not turn his eyes towards what
he wanted to see; not only would he perceive no external object,
he would not even be aware of sensation through the several
sense-organs. His eye would not perceive colour, his ear sounds,
his body would be unaware of contact with neighbouring bodies, he
would not even know he had a body, what his hands handled would
be in his brain alone; all his sensations would be united in one
place, they would exist only in the common "sensorium," he would
have only one idea, that of self, to which he would refer all his
sensations; and this idea, or rather this feeling, would be the
only thing in which he excelled an ordinary child.

This man, full grown at birth, would also be unable to stand on his
feet, he would need a long time to learn how to keep his balance;
perhaps he would not even be able to try to do it, and you would
see the big strong body left in one place like a stone, or creeping
and crawling like a young puppy.

He would feel the discomfort of bodily needs without knowing what
was the matter and without knowing how to provide for these needs.
There is no immediate connection between the muscles of the stomach
and those of the arms and legs to make him take a step towards
food, or stretch a hand to seize it, even were he surrounded with
it; and as his body would be full grown and his limbs well developed
he would be without the perpetual restlessness and movement
of childhood, so that he might die of hunger without stirring
to seek food. However little you may have thought about the order
and development of our knowledge, you cannot deny that such a one
would be in the state of almost primitive ignorance and stupidity
natural to man before he has learnt anything from experience or
from his fellows.

We know then, or we may know, the point of departure from which
we each start towards the usual level of understanding; but who
knows the other extreme? Each progresses more or less according to
his genius, his taste, his needs, his talents, his zeal, and his
opportunities for using them. No philosopher, so far as I know,
has dared to say to man, "Thus far shalt thou go and no further."
We know not what nature allows us to be, none of us has measured
the possible difference between man and man. Is there a mind so
dead that this thought has never kindled it, that has never said
in his pride, "How much have I already done, how much more may I
achieve?  Why should I lag behind my fellows?"

As I said before, man's education begins at birth; before he can
speak or understand he is learning. Experience precedes instruction;
when he recognises his nurse he has learnt much. The knowledge
of the most ignorant man would surprise us if we had followed his
course from birth to the present time. If all human knowledge were
divided into two parts, one common to all, the other peculiar to
the learned, the latter would seem very small compared with the
former.  But we scarcely heed this general experience, because
it is acquired before the age of reason. Moreover, knowledge only
attracts attention by its rarity, as in algebraic equations common
factors count for nothing. Even animals learn much. They have
senses and must learn to use them; they have needs, they must learn
to satisfy them; they must learn to eat, walk, or f
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 11228
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/11228





CONTENTS

I. At Break of Day
II. The Christening Party
III. The Editor at Work
IV. Theodore Felix
V. A Journey Southward
VI. Janet
VII. The Operation
VIII. The Campaign drags
IX. A White Man's "Nigger"
X. Delamere Plays a Trump
XI. The Baby and the Bird
XII. Another Southern Product
XIII. The Cakewalk
XIV. The Maunderings of Old Mrs. Ochiltree
XV. Mrs. Carteret Seeks an Explanation
XVI. Ellis Takes a Trick
XVII. The Social Aspirations of Captain McBane
XVIII. Sandy Sees His Own Ha'nt
XIX. A Midnight Walk
XX. A Shocking Crime
XXI. The Necessity of an Example
XXII. How Not to Prevent a Lynching
XXIII. Belleview
XXIV. Two Southern Gentlemen
XXV. The Honor of a Family
XXVI. The Discomfort of Ellis
XXVII. The Vagaries of the Higher Law
XXVIII. In Season and Out
XXIX. Mutterings of the Storm
XXX. The Missing Papers
XXXI. The Shadow of a Dream
XXXII. The Storm breaks
XXXIII. Into the Lion's Jaws
XXXIV. The Valley of the Shadow
XXXV. "Mine Enemy, O Mine Enemy!"
XXXVI. Fiat Justitia
XXXVII. The Sisters





The Marrow of Tradition

I like you and your book, ingenious Hone!
 In whose capacious all-embracing leaves
  The very marrow of tradition's shown.

--CHARLES LAMB
_To the Editor of the Every-Day Book_






AT BREAK OF DAY

"Stay here beside her, major. I shall not he needed for an hour yet.
Meanwhile I'll go downstairs and snatch a bit of sleep, or talk to old
Jane."

The night was hot and sultry. Though the windows of the chamber were
wide open, and the muslin curtains looped back, not a breath of air was
stirring. Only the shrill chirp of the cicada and the muffled croaking
of the frogs in some distant marsh broke the night silence. The heavy
scent of magnolias, overpowering even the strong smell of drugs in the
sickroom, suggested death and funeral wreaths, sorrow and tears, the
long home, the last sleep. The major shivered with apprehension as the
slender hand which he held in his own contracted nervously and in a
spasm of pain clutched his fingers with a viselike grip.

Major Carteret, though dressed in brown linen, had thrown off his coat
for greater comfort. The stifling heat, in spite of the palm-leaf fan
which he plied mechanically, was scarcely less oppressive than his own
thoughts. Long ago, while yet a mere boy in years, he had come back from
Appomattox to find his family, one of the oldest and proudest in the
state, hopelessly impoverished by the war,--even their ancestral home
swallowed up in the common ruin. His elder brother had sacrificed his
life on the bloody altar of the lost cause, and his father, broken and
chagrined, died not many years later, leaving the major the last of his
line. He had tried in various pursuits to gain a foothold in the new
life, but with indifferent success until he won the hand of Olivia
Merkell, whom he had seen grow from a small girl to glorious womanhood.
With her money he had founded the Morning Chronicle, which he had made
the leading organ of his party and the most influential paper in the
State. The fine old house in which they lived was hers. In this very
room she had first drawn the breath of life; it had been their nuptial
chamber; and here, too, within a few hours, she might die, for it seemed
impossible that one could long endure such frightful agony and live.

One cloud alone had marred the otherwise perfect serenity of their
happiness. Olivia was childless. To have children to perpetuate the name
of which he was so proud, to write it still higher on the roll of
honor, had been his dearest hope. His disappointment had been
proportionately keen. A few months ago this dead hope had revived, and
altered the whole aspect of their lives. But as time went on, his wife's
age had begun to tell upon her, until even Dr. Price, the most cheerful
and optimistic of physicians, had warned him, while hoping for the best,
to be prepared for the worst. To add to the danger, Mrs. Carteret had
only this day suffered from a nervous shock, which, it was feared, had
hastened by several weeks the expected event.

Dr. Price went downstairs to the library, where a dim light was
burning. An old black woman, dressed in a gingham frock, with a red
bandana handkerchief coiled around her head by way of turban, was seated
by an open window. She rose and curtsied as the doctor entered and
dropped into a willow rocking-chair near her own.

"How did this happen, Jane?" he asked in a subdued voice, adding, with
assumed severity, "You ought to have taken better care of your
mistress."

"Now look a-hyuh, Doctuh Price," returned the old woman in an unctuous
whisper, "you don' wanter come talkin' none er yo' foolishness 'bout my
not takin' keer er Mis' 'Livy. _She_ never would 'a' said sech a thing!
Seven er eight mont's ago, w'en she sent fer me, I says ter her, says
I:--

"'Lawd, Lawd, honey! You don' tell me dat after all dese long w'ary
years er waitin' de good Lawd is done heared yo' prayer an' is gwine ter
sen' you de chile you be'n wantin' so long an' so bad? Bless his holy
name! 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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Read Me First File (aaREADME.txt)
French Language list (french.txt)
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GERMAN    number of words  159809  size in bytes   2055986
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------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65152
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PART I ***


                               PRACTICAL
                           SCHOOL DISCIPLINE


                            Applied Methods



                                _PART I_




                                  _By_

                              RAY C. BEERY
               _A. B._ (_Columbia_), _M. A._ (_Harvard_)




                             _President of_
                  INTERNATIONAL ACADEMY OF DISCIPLINE
                     PLEASANT HILL, OHIO, U. S. A.


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                         COPYRIGHTED, 1917, BY
                              RAY C. BEERY
                                  ────
                    COPYRIGHTED, GREAT BRITAIN, 1917
                         _All Rights Reserved_




------------------------------------------------------------------------




                               Dedicated

                                 to the

                 Members of the J. A. D. Teachers’ Club

                                   ❧

                 “_He that ruleth his spirit is greater
                     than he that taketh a city._”




------------------------------------------------------------------------




                                GREETING


With this second book of Practical School Discipline, we wish to send to
each member of the Teachers’ Club our personal word of greeting. Applied
Methods was written for you. Primarily it was written for you only. It
is a book to help teachers, by means of teachers’ experiences. We
believe it will lighten your work, brighten your school room, and
lengthen your years of effective service by easing the friction in daily
school routine. Work can no longer be drudgery when conducted according
to principles which take the drudgery out of it.

Because we have faith in the principles herein discussed, we are
desirous to learn from each member of the “Teachers’ Club” what the
result has been in his or her individual case. Have you been
particularly successful in the management of some difficult situation?
Write and tell us about it. Have you failed to find your own specific
problem treated within these pages? Tell us that also. Perhaps we can
help you by letter.

The Teachers’ Club is a coöperative organization from which we expect
the most stimulating results—results which can be made much more
effective by personal correspondence with its members. Your experience
may help another who is still struggling with the difficulty which you
have overcome. Another teacher’s experience may help you. Our offices
are clearing houses for exchange of views and mutual aid. Coöperation we
believe to be the principle which eventually must supplant, throughout
the world, the cruder method of competition. The members of the
“Teacher’s Club,” the first and only one to be organized upon this plan,
will be quick to recognize the higher ideal and to respond thereto.

Finally, if the better understanding of the principles herein treated,
and the tonic effect of interchange of ideas with fellow teachers who
appreciate your difficulties and who desire to assist, should prove
helpful to you, then tell other teachers about your Club. Perhaps they
might profit also by the same mutual help. Meanwhile our thought for you
does not end with placing these Case Books on Discipline within your
hands.


------------------------------------------------------------------------

                                PREFACE


The readers of Applied Methods will note that in the discussion of
problems which confront the teacher the “case citation” plan peculiar to
legal and medical writers is here followed. That is to say, instead of
long enumerations of general principles relating to disobedience,
impoliteness, dishonesty, etc., specific cases or incidents are cited,
followed by “constructive treatment” or suggestions for treating each
specific case. It is believed that this method will be more helpful and
more suggestive to the ordinary teacher than is the usual method.

To make the suggestions still more helpful, because more personal, the
reader is asked to transfer himself after the citation of each case from
past time to present, and from the other teacher’s school to his own
room; and, in the “constructive treatment” which follows, imagine the
“Case” to be the reader’s individual problem, and the author to be
conversing with him personally.

In the preparation and collation of the cases it has been thought more
practicable and also more convenient for the teachers, to divide the
subject matter of the text into two volumes rather than to combine all
into one large book. There will be no break in the continuity of
thought, however. The second volume, like the present, will follow the
case citation plan and will continue the treatment of school
disturbances which develop for the most part out of natural instincts of
children.


---------------------------------------------------------------------
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 39955
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39955



Indeed, my indulgent friends, I will tell you—here, in this late
preface,(1) which might easily have become an obituary or a funeral
oration—what I sought in the depths below: for I have come back, and—I
have escaped. Think not that I will urge you to run the same perilous
risk! or that I will urge you on even to the same solitude! For whoever
proceeds on his own path meets nobody: this is the feature of one’s “own
path.” No one comes to help him in his task: he must face everything quite
alone—danger, bad luck, wickedness, foul weather. He goes his own way;
and, as is only right, meets with bitterness and occasional irritation
because he pursues this “own way” of his: for instance, the knowledge that
not even his friends can guess who he is and whither he is going, and that
they ask themselves now and then: “Well? Is he really moving at all? Has
he still ... a path before him?”—At that time I had undertaken something
which could not have been done by everybody: I went down into the deepest
depths; I tunnelled to the very bottom; I started to investigate and
unearth an old _faith_ which for thousands of years we philosophers used
to build on as the safest of all foundations—which we built on again and
again although every previous structure fell in: I began to undermine our
_faith in morals_. But ye do not understand me?—






So far it is on Good and Evil that we have meditated least profoundly:
this was always too dangerous a subject. Conscience, a good reputation,
hell, and at times even the police, have not allowed and do not allow of
impartiality; in the presence of morality, as before all authority, we
_must_ not even think, much less speak: here we must obey! Ever since the
beginning of the world, no authority has permitted itself to be made the
subject of criticism; and to criticise morals—to look upon morality as a
problem, as problematic—what! was that not—_is_ that not—immoral?—But
morality has at its disposal not only every means of intimidation
wherewith to keep itself free from critical hands and instruments of
torture: its security lies rather in a certain art of enchantment, in
which it is a past master—it knows how to “enrapture.” It can often
paralyse the critical will with a single look, or even seduce it to
itself: yea, there are even cases where morality can turn the critical
will against itself; so that then, like the scorpion, it thrusts the sting
into its own body. Morality has for ages been an expert in all kinds of
devilry in the art of convincing: even at the present day there is no
orator who would not turn to it for assistance (only hearken to our
anarchists, for instance: how morally they speak when they would fain
convince! In the end they even call themselves “the good and the just”).
Morality has shown herself to be the greatest mistress of seduction ever
since men began to discourse and persuade on earth—and, what concerns us
philosophers even more, she is the veritable _Circe of philosophers_. For,
to what is it due that, from Plato onwards, all the philosophic architects
in Europe have built in vain? that everything which they themselves
honestly believed to be _aere perennius_ threatens to subside or is
already laid in ruins? Oh, how wrong is the answer which, even in our own
day, rolls glibly off the tongue when this question is asked: “Because
they have all neglected the prerequisite, the examination of the
foundation, a critique of all reason”—that fatal answer made by Kant, who
has certainly not thereby attracted us modern philosophers to firmer and
less treacherous ground! (and, one may ask apropos of this, was it not
rather strange to demand that an instrument should criticise its own value
and effectiveness? that the intellect itself should “recognise” its own
worth, power, and limits? was it not even just a little ridiculous?) The
right answer would rather have been, that all philosophers, including Kant
himself were building under the seductive influence of morality—that they
aimed at certainty and “truth” only in appearance; but that in reality
their attention was directed towards “_majestic moral edifices_,” to use
once more Kant’s innocent mode of expression, who deems it his “less
brilliant, but not undeserving” task and work “to level the ground and
prepare a solid foundation for the erection of those majestic moral
edifices” (_Critique of Pure Reason_, ii. 257). Alas! He did not succeed
in his aim, quite the contrary—as we must acknowledge to-day. With this
exalted aim, Kant was merely a true son of his century, which more than
any other may justly be called the century of exaltation: and this he
fortunately continued to be in respect to the more valuable side of this
century (with that solid piece of sensuality, for example, which he
introduced into his theory of knowledge). He, too, had been bitten by the
moral tarantula, Rousseau; he, too, felt weighing on his soul that moral
fanaticism of which another disciple of Rousseau’s, Robespierre, felt and
p
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 45368
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G. S. Crawford, Dr. W. S. Culbertson, Mr. R. Langton Cole, Mr. B. G.
Collins, Mr. J. J. L. Duyvendak, Mr. O. W. Ellis, Mr. G. S. Ferrier,
Mr. David Freeman, Mr. S. N. Fu, Mr. G. B. Gloyne, Sir Richard Gregory,
Mr. F. H. Hayward, Mr. Sydney Herbert, Dr. Fr. Krupicka, Mr. H. Lang
Jones, Mr. C. H. B. Laughton, Mr. B. I. Macalpin, Mr. G. H. Mair, Mr. F.
S. Marvin, Mr. J. S. Mayhew, Mr. B. Stafford Morse, Professor J. L.
Myres, the Hon. W. Ormsby-Gore, Sir Sydney Olivier, Mr. R. I. Pocock,
Mr. J. Pringle, Mr. W. H. R. Rivers, Sir Denison Ross, Dr. E. J.
Russell, Dr. Charles Singer, Mr. A. St. George Sanford, Dr. C. O.
Stallybrass, Mr. G. H. Walsh, Mr. G. P. Wells, Miss Rebecca West, and
Mr. George Whale have all to be thanked for help, either by reading
parts of the MS. or by pointing out errors in the published parts,
making suggestions, answering questions, or giving advice. The amount of
friendly and sympathetic assistance the writer has received, often from
very busy people, has been a quite extraordinary experience. He has met
with scarcely a single instance of irritation or impatience on the part
of specialists whose domains he has invaded and traversed in what must
have seemed to many of them an exasperatingly impudent and superficial
way. Numerous other helpful correspondents have pointed out printer’s
errors and minor slips in the serial publication which preceded this
book edition, and they have added many useful items of information, and
to those writers also the warmest thanks are due. But of course none of
these generous helpers are to be held responsible for the judgments,
tone, arrangement, or writing of this _Outline_. In the relative
importance of the parts, in the moral and political implications of the
story, the final decision has necessarily fallen to the writer. The
problem of illustrations was a very difficult one for him, for he had
had no previous experience in the production of an illustrated book. In
Mr. J. F. Horrabin he has had the good fortune to find not only an
illustrator but a collaborator. Mr. Horrabin has spared no pains to make
this work informative and exact. His maps and drawings are a part of the
text, the most vital and decorative part. Some of them, the hypothetical
maps, for example, of the western world at the end of the last glacial
age, during the “pluvial age” and 12,000 years ago, and the migration
map of the Barbarian invaders of the Roman Empire, represent the reading
and inquiry of many laborious days.

The index to this edition is the work of Mr. Strickland Gibson of
Oxford. Several correspondents have asked for a pronouncing index and
accordingly this has been provided.

The writer owes a word of thanks to that living index of printed books,
Mr. J. F. Cox of the London Library. He would also like to acknowledge
here the help he has received from Mrs. Wells. Without her labour in
typing and re-typing the drafts of the various chapters as they have
been revised and amended, in checking references, finding suitable
quotations, hunting up illustrations, and keeping in order the whole
mass of material for this history, and without her constant help and
watchful criticism, its completion would have been impossible.

[Illustration: H. G. Wells]




SCHEME OF CONTENTS


BOOK I

THE MAKING OF OUR WORLD

                                                                    PAGE
CHAPTER I. THE EARTH IN SPACE AND TIME                                 3

CHAPTER II. THE RECORD OF THE ROCKS

§ 1. The first living things                                           7

§ 2. How old is the world?                                            13

CHAPTER III. NATURAL SELECTION AND THE CHANGES OF SPECIES             16

CHAPTER IV. THE INVASION OF THE DRY LAND BY LIFE

§ 1. Life and water                                                   23

§ 2. The earliest animals                                             25


§ 1. Why life must change continually                                 29

§ 2. The sun a steadfast star                                         34

§ 3. Changes from within the earth                                    35

§ 4. Life may control change                                          36


§ 1. The age of lowland life                                          38

§ 2. Flying dragons                                                   43

§ 3. The first birds                                                  43

§ 4. An age of hardship and death                                     44

§ 5. The first appearance of fur and feathers                         47


§ 1. A new age of life                                                51

§ 2. Tradition comes into the world                                   52

§ 3. An age of brain growth                                           56

§ 4. The world grows hard again                                       57

§ 5. Chronology of the Ice Age                                        59


BOOK II

THE MAKING OF MEN


§ 1. Man descended from a
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 52881
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/52881

------------------------------------------------------------------------




                           THE COMPLETE WORKS
                                   OF
                          FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE

        _The First Complete and Authorised English Translation_

                               EDITED BY
                             DR OSCAR LEVY

[Illustration]

                               VOLUME TEN

                           THE JOYFUL WISDOM

                          ("LA GAYA SCIENZA")

------------------------------------------------------------------------




                        Of the First Edition of
                       One Thousand Five Hundred
                             Copies this is
                                  No.




                         _FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE_

                                  THE

                             JOYFUL WISDOM

                          ("LA GAYA SCIENZA")


                             TRANSLATED BY

                             THOMAS COMMON


                        WITH POETRY RENDERED BY

                              PAUL V. COHN

                                  AND

                             MAUDE D. PETRE

                    _I stay to mine house confined,
                   Nor graft my wits on alien stock;
                     And mock at every master mind
                   That never at itself could mock._


                              T. N. FOULIS

                        13 & 15 FREDERICK STREET

                          EDINBURGH: & LONDON

                                  1910

------------------------------------------------------------------------




                          ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

               Printed at THE DARIEN PRESS, _Edinburgh_.




                                CONTENTS


                                                            PAGE

       EDITORIAL NOTE                                        vii

       PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION                           1

       JEST, RUSE AND REVENGE: A PRELUDE IN RHYME             11

       BOOK FIRST                                             29

       BOOK SECOND                                            93

       BOOK THIRD                                            149

       BOOK FOURTH: SANCTUS JANUARIUS                        211

       BOOK FIFTH: WE FEARLESS ONES                          273

       APPENDIX: SONGS OF PRINCE FREE-AS-A-BIRD              355




                             EDITORIAL NOTE


"The Joyful Wisdom," written in 1882, just before "Zarathustra," is
rightly judged to be one of Nietzsche's best books. Here the essentially
grave and masculine face of the poet-philosopher is seen to light up and
suddenly break into a delightful smile. The warmth and kindness that
beam from his features will astonish those hasty psychologists who have
never divined that behind the destroyer is the creator, and behind the
blasphemer the lover of life. In the retrospective valuation of his work
which appears in "Ecce Homo" the author himself observes with truth that
the fourth book, "Sanctus Januarius," deserves especial attention: "The
whole book is a gift from the Saint, and the introductory verses express
my gratitude for the most wonderful month of January that I have ever
spent." Book fifth "We Fearless Ones," the Appendix "Songs of Prince
Free-as-a-Bird," and the Preface, were added to the second edition in
1887.

The translation of Nietzsche's poetry has proved to be a more
embarrassing problem than that of his prose. Not only has there been a
difficulty in finding adequate translators—a difficulty overcome, it is
hoped, by the choice of Miss Petre and Mr Cohn,—but it cannot be denied
that even in the original the poems are of unequal merit. By the side of
such masterpieces as "To the Mistral" are several verses of
comparatively little value. The Editor, however, did not feel justified
in making a selection, as it was intended that the edition should be
complete. The heading, "Jest, Ruse and Revenge," of the "Prelude in
Rhyme" is borrowed from Goethe.




                         PREFACE TO THE SECOND
                                EDITION.


                                   1.

Perhaps more than one preface would be necessary for this book; and
after all it might still be doubtful whether any one could be brought
nearer to the _experiences_ in it by means of prefaces, without having
himself experienced something similar. It seems to be written in the
language of the thawing-wind: there is wantonness, restlessness,
contradiction and April-weather in it; so that one is as constantly
reminded of the proximity of winter as of the _victory_ over it: the
victory which is coming, which must come, which has perhaps already
come.... Gratitude continually flows forth, as if the most unexpected
thing had happened, the gratitude of a convalescent—for _convalescence_
was this most unexpected thing. "Joyful Wisdom": 
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PG #: 35898
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THE LAMP OF SACRIFICE.


raised by man for whatsoever uses, that the sight of them contributes to
his mental health, power and pleasure.

It is very necessary, in the outset of all inquiry, to distinguish
carefully between Architecture and Building.

To build, literally to confirm, is by common understanding to put
together and adjust the several pieces of any edifice or receptacle of a
considerable size. Thus we have church building, house building, ship
building, and coach building. That one edifice stands, another floats,
and another is suspended on iron springs, makes no difference in the
nature of the art, if so it may be called, of building or edification.
The persons who profess that art, are severally builders,
ecclesiastical, naval, or of whatever other name their work may justify;
but building does not become architecture merely by the stability of
what it erects; and it is no more architecture which raises a church, or
which fits it to receive and contain with comfort a required number of
persons occupied in certain religious offices, than it is architecture
which makes a carriage commodious or a ship swift. I do not, of course,
mean that the word is not often, or even may not be legitimately,
applied in such a sense (as we speak of naval architecture); but in that
sense architecture ceases to be one of the fine arts, and it is
therefore better not to run the risk, by loose nomenclature, of the
confusion which would arise, and has often arisen, from extending
principles which belong altogether to building, into the sphere of
architecture proper.

Let us, therefore, at once confine the name to that art which, taking up
and admitting, as conditions of its working, the necessities and common
uses of the building, impresses on its form certain characters venerable
or beautiful, but otherwise unnecessary. Thus, I suppose, no one would
call the laws architectural which determine the height of a breastwork
or the position of a bastion. But if to the stone facing of that bastion
be added an unnecessary feature, as a cable moulding, _that_ is
Architecture. It would be similarly unreasonable to call battlements or
machicolations architectural features, so long as they consist only of
an advanced gallery supported on projecting masses, with open intervals
beneath for offence. But if these projecting masses be carved beneath
into rounded courses, which are useless, and if the headings of the
intervals be arched and trefoiled, which is useless, _that_ is
Architecture. It may not be always easy to draw the line so sharply and
simply, because there are few buildings which have not some pretence or
color of being architectural; neither can there be any architecture
which is not based on building, nor any good architecture which is not
based on good building; but it is perfectly easy and very necessary to
keep the ideas distinct, and to understand fully that Architecture
concerns itself only with those characters of an edifice which are above
and beyond its common use. I say common; because a building raised to
the honor of God, or in memory of men, has surely a use to which its
architectural adornment fits it; but not a use which limits, by any
inevitable necessities, its plan or details.

heads:--

  Devotional; including all buildings raised for God's service or honor.

  Memorial; including both monuments and tombs.

  Civil; including every edifice raised by nations or societies, for
        purposes of common business or pleasure.

  Military; including all private and public architecture of defence.

  Domestic; including every rank and kind of dwelling-place.

Now, of the principles which I would endeavor to develope, while all
must be, as I have said, applicable to every stage and style of the art,
some, and especially those which are exciting rather than directing,
have necessarily fuller reference to one kind of building than another;
and among these I would place first that spirit which, having influence
in all, has nevertheless such especial reference to devotional and
memorial architecture--the spirit which offers for such work precious
things simply because they are precious; not as being necessary to the
building, but as an offering, surrendering, and sacrifice of what is to
ourselves desirable. It seems to me, not only that this feeling is in
most cases wholly wanting in those who forward the devotional buildings
of the present day; but that it would even be regarded as an ignorant,
dangerous, or perhaps criminal principle by many among us. I have not
space to enter into dispute of all the various objections which may be
urged against it--they are many and spacious; but I may, perhaps, ask
the reader's patience while I set down those simple reasons which cause
me to believe it a good and just feeling, and as well-pleasing to God
and honorable in men, as it is beyond all dispute necessary to the
production of any great work in the kind with which we are at present
concerned.

have said that it pr
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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Transcriber’s Notes.

Hyphenation has been standardised.
Other changes made are noted at the end of the book.


[Illustration: ARMED AND EQUIPPED, AS ADVISED BY FRIENDS.]




  _A JOURNEY
  OF A JAYHAWKER_

  _BY
  W. Y. MORGAN_

  _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY
  ALBERT T. REID_


  MONOTYPED AND PRINTED BY
  CRANE & COMPANY, PRINTERS
  TOPEKA
  1905




  Copyright 1905,
  BY W. Y. MORGAN.




PREFACE.


These letters were written to the Hutchinson Daily News, and are
printed in book form without revision. With this understanding the
reader will kindly overlook inconsistencies and inaccuracies, which
easily creep into what is only an impression and not a study. Any other
mistakes are to be charged to the printer and proof-reader, who are
likewise to be credited for the correct grammar and English which may
be found in some places.

There is no excuse for the publication of these letters. No one is
guilty except the writer, and he is responsible only to his conscience,
which is not sensitive.

  W. Y. MORGAN.

  HUTCHINSON, KANSAS, December 1, 1905.




  _To the
  PEOPLE OF HUTCHINSON,
  Who have stood for much from the same
  source, and for whom there is no
  relief in sight, this book is
  respectfully dedicated._




CONTENTS.


                                           _Page._

      GOING TO EUROPE                      11

      LEAVING THE LAND                     17

      CROSSING THE ATLANTIC                24

      FIRST DAY IN IRELAND                 31

      BY KILLARNEY’S LAKES                 37

      IRELAND AND THE IRISH                44

      THE CITY OF PLEASURE                 53

      PARIS AND PARISIANS                  60

      RURAL FRANCE                         69

      GETTING INTO ITALY                   79

      ROME AND ROMANS                      86

      VENICE, THE BEAUTIFUL                93

      SOME THINGS ON ART                  100

      AN ITALIAN FOURTH AND SO FORTH      106

      ACROSS THE ALPS                     117

      GENEVA AND CHILLON                  123

      SOMETHING OF SWITZERLAND            130

      SWISS AND SWITZERLAND               136

      IN THE BLACK FOREST                 145

      STORIES OF STRASSBURG               152

      IN OLD HEIDELBERG                   159

      WORMS AND OTHER THINGS              167

      RICH OLD FRANKFORT                  174

      DOWN THE RHINE                      180

      COLOGNE WATER AND OTHERS            188

      IN DUTCH LAND                       197

      THE DAM DUTCH TOWNS                 204

      THE KINGDOM OF BELGIUM              212

      EUROPEAN ART AND GRUB               219

      IN OLD, OLD ENGLAND                 231

      THE GREATEST OF CITIES              238

      AT KING EDWARD’S HOUSE              246

      THE TOWER AND OTHER THINGS          253

      IN RURAL ENGLAND                    259

      RAILROADS IN EUROPE                 266

      THE TIME TO QUIT                    275




A JOURNEY OF A JAYHAWKER.




GOING TO EUROPE.


  BOSTON, May 25, 1905.

When one decides to make a European trip he immediately becomes
impressed with the importance of his intention, and thinks that
everyone else is likewise affected. Of course this is a mistake, but
you have to stop and think before you realize it. You go down the
street imagining everyone is saying, “There is a man who is going to
Europe.” In fact, the other fellow is probably merely wondering whether
or not you will pay the two dollars you owe him or stand him off for
another thirty days. You are in an exhilarated state. You think over
the cherished desires of a lifetime to see London, Paris, Rome, and
the places made famous by history. You can’t pick up a paper but you
read some reference to a place or thing which you are going to see
across the Atlantic, and which ordinarily you would skip as you do
a patent-medicine advertisement. You go to reading the accounts of
Emperor William’s plans as if you would soon meet William and talk them
over with him. You read about the comings and goings of nobility and
wonder if the pope knows you are likely to call on him some day in
July, and whether the Swiss Guards will realize the honor of a visit
from an American citizen by the name of Morgan or Jones. You read of
European travel and sights, and, worst of all, you actually get to
believe the things. In fact, you work yourself up to a fine point of
enthusiasm and in your mind go cavorting around among ancient heroes
and crowned heads. As a first guess I would say that probably the most
successful part of a trip to the Old World is the one you take in
advance.

[Illustration]

As soon as I disclosed my European intentions, I began to get advice
from friends and old travelers. This is a trying experience. Everybody
has ideas as to what should be done, and no two will agree. One of the
first questions to be settled is that of clothing. The importance of
this is impressed upon the prospective tourist. In the fir
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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Project Gutenberg's Etext of Shakespeare's The Tragedie of Macbeth





Executive Director's Notes:

In addition to the notes below, and so you will *NOT* think all
the spelling errors introduced by the printers of the time have
been corrected, here are the first few lines of Hamlet, as they
are presented herein:

  Barnardo. Who's there?
  Fran. Nay answer me: Stand & vnfold
your selfe

   Bar. Long liue the King

***

As I understand it, the printers often ran out of certain words
or letters they had often packed into a "cliche". . .this is the
original meaning of the term cliche. . .and thus, being unwilling
to unpack the cliches, and thus you will see some substitutions
that look very odd. . .such as the exchanges of u for v, v for u,
above. . .and you may wonder why they did it this way, presuming
Shakespeare did not actually write the play in this manner. . . .

The answer is that they MAY have packed "liue" into a cliche at a
time when they were out of "v"'s. . .possibly having used "vv" in
place of some "w"'s, etc.  This was a common practice of the day,
as print was still quite expensive, and they didn't want to spend
more on a wider selection of characters than they had to.

You will find a lot of these kinds of "errors" in this text, as I
have mentioned in other times and places, many "scholars" have an
extreme attachment to these errors, and many have accorded them a
very high place in the "canon" of Shakespeare.  My father read an
assortment of these made available to him by Cambridge University
in England for several months in a glass room constructed for the
purpose.  To the best of my knowledge he read ALL those available
. . .in great detail. . .and determined from the various changes,
that Shakespeare most likely did not write in nearly as many of a
variety of errors we credit him for, even though he was in/famous
for signing his name with several different spellings.

So, please take this into account when reading the comments below
made by our volunteer who prepared this file:  you may see errors
that are "not" errors. . . .

So. . .with this caveat. . .we have NOT changed the canon errors,
here is the Project Gutenberg Etext of Shakespeare's The Tragedie
of Macbeth.

Michael S. Hart
Project Gutenberg
Executive Director


***


Scanner's Notes: What this is and isn't.  This was taken from
a copy of Shakespeare's first folio and it is as close as I can
come in ASCII to the printed text.

The elongated S's have been changed to small s's and the
conjoined ae have been changed to ae.  I have left the spelling,
punctuation, capitalization as close as possible to the
printed text.  I have corrected some spelling mistakes (I have put
together a spelling dictionary devised from the spellings of the
Geneva Bible and Shakespeare's First Folio and have unified
spellings according to this template), typo's and expanded
abbreviations as I have come across them.  Everything within
brackets [] is what I have added.  So if you don't like that
you can delete everything within the brackets if you want a
purer Shakespeare.

Another thing that you should be aware of is that there are textual
differences between various copies of the first folio.  So there may
be differences (other than what I have mentioned above) between
this and other first folio editions.  This is due to the printer's
habit of setting the type and running off a number of copies and
then proofing the printed copy and correcting the type and then
continuing the printing run.  The proof run wasn't thrown away but
incorporated into the printed copies.  This is just the way it is.
The text I have used was a composite of more than 30 different
First Folio editions' best pages.

If you find any scanning errors, out and out typos, punctuation
errors, or if you disagree with my spelling choices please feel
free to email me those errors.  I wish to make this the best
etext possible.  My email address for right now are haradda@aol.com
and davidr@inconnect.com.  I hope that you enjoy this.

David Reed

The Tragedie of Macbeth

Actus Primus. Scoena Prima.

Thunder and Lightning. Enter three Witches.

  1. When shall we three meet againe?
In Thunder, Lightning, or in Raine?
  2. When the Hurley-burley's done,
When the Battaile's lost, and wonne

   3. That will be ere the set of Sunne

   1. Where the place?
  2. Vpon the Heath

   3. There to meet with Macbeth

   1. I come, Gray-Malkin

   All. Padock calls anon: faire is foule, and foule is faire,
Houer through the fogge and filthie ayre.

Exeunt.


Scena Secunda.

Alarum within. Enter King, Malcome, Donalbaine, Lenox, with
attendants, meeting a bleeding Captaine.

  King. What bloody man is that? he can report,
As seemeth by his plight, of the Reuolt
The newest state

   Mal. This is the Serieant,
Who like a good and hardie Souldier fought
'Gainst my Captiuitie: Haile braue friend;
Say to the King, the knowledge of the Broyle,
As thou didst leaue it

   Cap. Doubtfull it stood,
As two spent Swimme
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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I am a sick man.... I am a spiteful man. I am an unattractive man. I
believe my liver is diseased. However, I know nothing at all about my
disease, and do not know for certain what ails me. I don't consult a
doctor for it, and never have, though I have a respect for medicine and
doctors. Besides, I am extremely superstitious, sufficiently so to
respect medicine, anyway (I am well-educated enough not to be
superstitious, but I am superstitious). No, I refuse to consult a doctor
from spite. That you probably will not understand. Well, I understand
it, though. Of course, I can't explain who it is precisely that I am
mortifying in this case by my spite: I am perfectly well aware that I
cannot "pay out" the doctors by not consulting them; I know better than
any one that by all this I am only injuring myself and no one else. But
still, if I don't consult a doctor it is from spite. My liver is bad,
well--let it get worse!

    [Footnote 1: The author of the diary and the diary itself
    are, of course, imaginary. Nevertheless it is clear that
    such persons as the writer of these notes not only may, but
    positively must, exist in our society, when we consider the
    circumstances in the midst of which our society is formed. I
    have tried to expose to the view of the public more
    distinctly than is commonly done, one of the characters of
    the recent past. He is one of the representatives of a
    generation still living. In this fragment, entitled
    "Underground," this person introduces himself and his views,
    and, as it were, tries to explain the causes owing to which
    he has made his appearance and was bound to make his
    appearance in our midst. In the second fragment there are
    added the actual notes of this person concerning certain
    events in his life.--AUTHOR'S NOTE.]

I have been going on like that for a long time--twenty years. Now I am
forty. I used to be in the government service, but am no longer. I was a
spiteful official. I was rude and took pleasure in being so. I did not
take bribes, you see, so I was bound to find a recompense in that, at
least. (A poor jest, but I will not scratch it out. I wrote it thinking
it would sound very witty; but now that I have seen myself that I only
wanted to show off in a despicable way, I will not scratch it out on
purpose!)

When petitioners used to come for information to the table at which I
sat, I used to grind my teeth at them, and felt intense enjoyment when I
succeeded in making anybody unhappy. I almost always did succeed. For
the most part they were all timid people--of course, they were
petitioners. But of the uppish ones there was one officer in particular
I could not endure. He simply would not be humble, and clanked his sword
in a disgusting way. I carried on a feud with him for eighteen months
over that sword. At last I got the better of him. He left off clanking
it. That happened in my youth, though.

But do you know, gentlemen, what was the chief point about my spite?
Why, the whole point, the real sting of it lay in the fact that
continually, even in the moment of the acutest spleen, I was inwardly
conscious with shame that I was not only not a spiteful but not even an
embittered man, that I was simply scaring sparrows at random and amusing
myself by it. I might foam at the mouth, but bring me a doll to play
with, give me a cup of tea with sugar in it, and maybe I should be
appeased. I might even be genuinely touched, though probably I should
grind my teeth at myself afterwards and lie awake at night with shame
for months after. That was my way.

I was lying when I said just now that I was a spiteful official. I was
lying from spite. I was simply amusing myself with the petitioners and
with the officer, and in reality I never could become spiteful. I was
conscious every moment in myself of many, very many elements absolutely
opposite to that. I felt them positively swarming in me, these opposite
elements. I knew that they had been swarming in me all my life and
craving some outlet from me, but I would not let them, would not let
them, purposely would not let them come out. They tormented me till I
was ashamed: they drove me to convulsions and--sickened me, at last, how
they sickened me! Now, are not you fancying, gentlemen, that I am
expressing remorse for something now, that I am asking your forgiveness
for something? I am sure you are fancying that.... However, I assure you
I do not care if you are....

It was not only that I could not become spiteful, I did not know how to
become anything: neither spiteful nor kind, neither a rascal nor an
honest man, neither a hero nor an insect. Now, I am living out my life
in my corner, taunting myself with the spiteful and useless consolation
that an intelligent man cannot become anything seriously, and it is only
the fool who becomes anything. Yes, a man in the nineteenth century must
and morally ought to be pre-eminently a characterless creature; a man of
character, an active
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
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 CAUTIONARY TALES FOR CHILDREN




 CAUTIONARY TALES FOR
 CHILDREN

 _Designed for the Admonition of Children between the ages
 of eight and fourteen years_


 Verses by
 H. BELLOC

 Pictures by
 B. T. B.

 [Illustration]


 DUCKWORTH
 3 HENRIETTA STREET, LONDON, W.C.




 First published by Eveleigh Nash, 1907
 First published by Gerald Duckworth & Co. Ltd., 1918
 Thirteenth Impression, 1957

 _All rights reserved_


 _Made and Printed in Great Britain by_
 _Thomas Nelson and Sons Ltd_
 _London and Edinburgh_




 DEDICATED
 TO
 BOBBY, JOHNNY, AND EDDIE
 SOMERSET




INTRODUCTION


Upon being asked by a Reader whether the verses contained in this book
were true.


[Illustration]

    And is it True? It is not True.
    And if it were it wouldn't do,
    For people such as me and you
    Who pretty nearly all day long
    Are doing something rather wrong.
    Because if things were really so,
    You would have perished long ago,
    And I would not have lived to write
    The noble lines that meet your sight,
    Nor B. T. B. survived to draw
    The nicest things you ever saw.
                                 H. B.

       *       *       *       *       *




JIM,

_Who ran away from his Nurse, and was eaten by a Lion._


[Illustration]

    There was a Boy whose name was Jim;
    His Friends were very good to him.
    They gave him Tea, and Cakes, and Jam,
    And slices of delicious Ham,
    And Chocolate with pink inside,
    And little Tricycles to ride,
    And

[Illustration]

        read him Stories through and through,
    And even took him to the Zoo--
    But there it was the dreadful Fate
    Befell him, which I now relate.

    You know--at least you _ought_ to know.
    For I have often told you so--
    That Children never are allowed
    To leave their Nurses in a Crowd;

    Now this was Jim's especial Foible,
    He ran away when he was able,
    And on this inauspicious day
    He slipped his hand and ran away!
    He hadn't gone a yard when--

[Illustration]

                                Bang!
    With open Jaws, a Lion sprang,
    And hungrily began to eat
    The Boy: beginning at his feet.

    Now just imagine how it feels
    When first your toes and then your heels,
    And then by gradual degrees,
    Your shins and ankles, calves and knees,
    Are slowly eaten, bit by bit.

[Illustration]

    No wonder Jim detested it!
    No wonder that he shouted "Hi!"
    The Honest Keeper heard his cry,
    Though very fat

[Illustration]

                    he almost ran
    To help the little gentleman.
    "Ponto!" he ordered as he came
    (For Ponto was the Lion's name),
    "Ponto!" he cried,

[Illustration]

                       with angry Frown.
    "Let go, Sir! Down, Sir! Put it down!"

    The Lion made a sudden Stop,
    He let the Dainty Morsel drop,
    And slunk reluctant to his Cage,
    Snarling with Disappointed Rage
    But when he bent him over Jim,
    The Honest Keeper's

[Illustration]

                          Eyes were dim.
    The Lion having reached his Head,
    The Miserable Boy was dead!

[Illustration]

    When Nurse informed his Parents, they
    Were more Concerned than I can say:--
    His Mother, as She dried her eyes,
    Said, "Well--it gives me no surprise,
    He would not do as he was told!"
    His Father, who was self-controlled,
    Bade all the children round attend
    To James' miserable end,
    And always keep a-hold of Nurse
    For fear of finding something worse.




HENRY KING,

_Who chewed bits of String, and was early cut off in Dreadful Agonies._


    The Chief Defect of Henry King
    Was

[Illustration]

        chewing little bits of String.
    At last he swallowed some which tied
    Itself in ugly Knots inside.

[Illustration]

    Physicians of the Utmost Fame
    Were called at once; but when they came
    They answered,

[Illustration]

                    as they took their Fees,
    "There is no Cure for this Disease.
    Henry will very soon be dead."
    His Parents stood about his Bed
    Lamenting his Untimely Death,
    When Henry, with his Latest Breath,
    Cried--
    "Oh, my Friends, be warned by me,

[Illustration]

    That Breakfast, Dinner, Lunch and Tea
    Are all the Human Frame requires ..."
    With that the Wretched Child expires.




MATILDA,

_Who told Lies, and was Burned to Death._


    Matilda told such Dreadful Lies,

[Illustration]

    It made one Gasp and Stretch one's Eyes;
    Her Aunt, who, from her Earliest Youth,
    Had kept a Strict Regard for Truth,

[Illustration]

    Attempted to Believe Matilda:
    The effort very nearly killed her,
    And would have done so, had not She
    Discovered this Infirmity.
    For once, towards the Close of Day,
    Matilda, growing tired of play,
    And finding she was left alone,
    Went tiptoe

[Illustration]

                to
                   the Telephone
    And
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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                                 THE
                       HISTORY OF MARY PRINCE,
                        A WEST INDIAN SLAVE.

                         RELATED BY HERSELF.


                   WITH A SUPPLEMENT BY THE EDITOR.



                          To which is added,

                      THE NARRATIVE OF ASA-ASA,

                         A CAPTURED AFRICAN.



    "By our sufferings, since ye brought us
      To the man-degrading mart,--
    All sustain'd by patience, taught us
      Only by a broken heart,--
    Deem our nation brutes no longer,
      Till some reason ye shall find
    Worthier of regard, and stronger
      Than the colour of our kind."
                               COWPER.



                               LONDON:
               PUBLISHED BY F. WESTLEY AND A. H. DAVIS,
                       STATIONERS' HALL COURT;
                   AND BY WAUGH & INNES, EDINBURGH.

                                1831.




PREFACE.


The idea of writing Mary Prince's history was first suggested by herself.
She wished it to be done, she said, that good people in England might hear
from a slave what a slave had felt and suffered; and a letter of her late
master's, which will be found in the Supplement, induced me to accede to
her wish without farther delay. The more immediate object of the
publication will afterwards appear.

The narrative was taken down from Mary's own lips by a lady who happened
to be at the time residing in my family as a visitor. It was written out
fully, with all the narrator's repetitions and prolixities, and afterwards
pruned into its present shape; retaining, as far as was practicable,
Mary's exact expressions and peculiar phraseology. No fact of importance
has been omitted, and not a single circumstance or sentiment has been
added. It is essentially her own, without any material alteration farther
than was requisite to exclude redundancies and gross grammatical errors,
so as to render it clearly intelligible.

After it had been thus written out, I went over the whole, carefully
examining her on every fact and circumstance detailed; and in all that
relates to her residence in Antigua I had the advantage of being assisted
in this scrutiny by Mr. Joseph Phillips, who was a resident in that colony
during the same period, and had known her there.

The names of all the persons mentioned by the narrator have been printed
in full, except those of Capt. I---- and his wife, and that of Mr. D----,
to whom conduct of peculiar atrocity is ascribed. These three individuals
are now gone to answer at a far more awful tribunal than that of public
opinion, for the deeds of which their former bondwoman accuses them; and
to hold them up more openly to human reprobation could no longer affect
themselves, while it might deeply lacerate the feelings of their surviving
and perhaps innocent relatives, without any commensurate public advantage.

Without detaining the reader with remarks on other points which will be
adverted to more conveniently in the Supplement, I shall here merely
notice farther, that the Anti-Slavery Society have no concern whatever
with this publication, nor are they in any degree responsible for the
statements it contains. I have published the tract, not as their
Secretary, but in my private capacity; and any profits that may arise from
the sale will be exclusively appropriated to the benefit of Mary Prince
herself.

THO. PRINGLE.

_7, Solly Terrace, Claremont Square_,

_January 25, 1831._


P. S. Since writing the above, I have been furnished by my friend Mr.
George Stephen, with the interesting narrative of Asa-Asa, a captured
African, now under his protection; and have printed it as a suitable
appendix to this little history.

T. P.




THE HISTORY OF MARY PRINCE, A WEST INDIAN SLAVE.

(Related by herself.)


I was born at Brackish-Pond, in Bermuda, on a farm belonging to Mr.
Charles Myners. My mother was a household slave; and my father, whose name
was Prince, was a sawyer belonging to Mr. Trimmingham, a ship-builder at
Crow-Lane. When I was an infant, old Mr. Myners died, and there was a
division of the slaves and other property among the family. I was bought
along with my mother by old Captain Darrel, and given to his grandchild,
little Miss Betsey Williams. Captain Williams, Mr. Darrel's son-in-law,
was master of a vessel which traded to several places in America and the
West Indies, and he was seldom at home long together.

Mrs. Williams was a kind-hearted good woman, and she treated all her
slaves well. She had only one daughter, Miss Betsey, for whom I was
purchased, and who was about my own age. I was made quite a pet of by Miss
Betsey, and loved her very much. She used to lead me about by the hand,
and call me her little nigger. This was the happiest period of my life;
for I was too young to understand rightly my condition as a slave, and too
thoughtless and full of spirits to look forward 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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[Transcriber’s Note:
Footnotes are collected at the end of each play. Where a footnote refers
to an omitted passage, the verses before and after the omission have been
numbered in parentheses:
(182)
(184)
All other line numbers are from the original text.]

       *       *       *       *       *


                 P L A U T U S

        With an English Translation by

                  PAUL NIXON
        Dean of BOWDOIN COLLEGE, Maine



                In Five Volumes


        I

        AMPHITRYON
        THE COMEDY OF ASSES
        THE POT OF GOLD
        THE TWO BACCHISES
        THE CAPTIVES




          Cambridge, Massachusetts
          HARVARD UNIVERSITY PRESS

                    London
            WILLIAM HEINEMANN LTD


             _First printed_ 1916

       *       *       *       *       *

                   CONTENTS


     Greek Originals of the Plays........vii
     Introduction.........................ix
     Bibliography.......................xvii
  I. Amphitruo, or Amphitryon..............1
 II. Asinaria, or the Comedy of Asses....123
III. Aulularia, or the Pot of Gold.......231
 IV. Bacchides, or the Two Bacchises.....325
  V. Captivi, or the Captives............459
     Index...............................569

[Transcriber’s Note:
The Index of Proper Names is not included in this e-text.]

       *       *       *       *       *


THE GREEK ORIGINALS OF THE PLAYS IN THIS VOLUME


In this and each succeeding volume a summary will be given of the
consensus of opinion[1] regarding the Greek originals of the plays in
the volume and regarding the time of presentation in Rome of Plautus’s
adaptations. It may be that some general readers will be glad to have
even so condensed an account of these matters as will be offered them.

The original of the _Amphitruo_ is not now thought to have been a work
of the Middle Comedy but of the New Comedy, very possibly Philemon’s
Νὺξ μακρά. A clue to the Greek play’s date is found in the
description of Amphitryon’s battle with the Teloboians,[2] a battle
fought after the manner of those of the Diadochi who came into
prominence at the death of Alexander the Great. The date of the
Plautine adaptation of this play, as in the case of the _Asinaria_,
_Aulularia_, _Bacchides_,[3] and _Captivi_, is quite uncertain, beyond
the fact that it no doubt belongs, like almost all of his extant work,
to the last two decades of his life, 204-184 B.C. The _Amphitruo_ is
one of the five[4] plays in the first two volumes whose scene is not
laid in Athens.

The Ὀναγός of a certain Demophilus,[5] otherwise unknown to us, was
the onginal of the _Asinaria._ The assertion of Libanus that he is his
master’s Salus[6] is thought to be a fling at the honours decreed
certain of the Diadochi, who were called, while still alive, Σωτῆρες.
This possibility, together with the fact that the Pellaean[7] merchant
and the Rhodian[8] Periphanes travel to Athens-- northern Greece and the
Aegaean therefore being pacified and Athens at peace with Macedon--would
indicate that the Ὀναγός was written while Demetrius Poliorcetes
controlled Macedon, 294-288 B.C.

Very slender evidence connects the _Aulularia_ with some unknown play
of Menander’s in which a miser is represented δεδιὼς μή τι τῶν ἔιδον
ὁ καπνος οἴχοιτο φερων. Euclio’s distress[9] at seeing any smoke
escape from his house seems at least to suggest that Plautus may have
borrowed the _Aulularia_ from Menander. The allusion to _praefectum
mulierum_,[10] rather than _censorem_, would seem to show that in the
original γυναικοι ομον had been written; this would prove the Greek
play to have been presented while Demetrius of Phalerum was in power
at Athens (317-307 B.C.), where he introduced this detested office,
which was done away with by 307 B.C.

Ritschl[11] has shown clearly enough that the original of the
_Bacchides_ was Menander’s Δὶς ἐξαπατῶν. The fact that Athens, Samos,
and Ephesus are at peace, that the Aegaean is not swept by hostile
fleets, that one can travel freely between Athens and Phoeis, together
with the allusion to Demetrius,[12] lead one to believe that the Δὶς
ἐξαπατῶν was written either between the years 316-307 or 298-296 B.C.

The original of the _Captivi_ is quite unknown, while the war between
the Aetolians and Eleans gives the only clue to the date of this
original. Hueffner[13] considers it probable that the war was that
between Aristodemus and Alexander, and the Greek play was produced
shortly after 314 B.C. Others[14] assume that the scene of the play
would not be Aetolia unless Aetolia had become an important state,
and that the war was therefore one of the third century B.C.

  [Footnote 1: See especially Hueffner, _De Plauti Comoediarum Exemplis
  Atticis_, Göttingen, 1894; Legrand, _Daos_, Paris, 1910, English
  translation by James Loeb under title _The New Greek Comedy_, William
  Heinemann, 1916; Leo, _Plautinische Forschungen_, Berlin, 1912.]

  [Footnote 2: _Amph._ 203 _seq._]

  [Footnote 3: Produced
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THE

DESCRIPION

OF A NEW

WORLD

CALLED

The Blazing-World.

WRITTEN

By The Thrice Noble, Illustrious, and Excellent

PRINCESSE

THE

Duchess of Newcastle

Printed by A. Maxwell, in the Year M.DC.LX.VIII.




    Contents

    To The Duchesse of Newcastle, On Her New Blazing-World.
    To all Noble and Worthy Ladies.
    The Description of a New World, Called The Blazing-World.
    The Second Part of the Description of the New Blazing-World.
    The Epilogue to the Reader.




[Illustration]


    Here on this Figure Cast a Glance.
    But so as if it were by Chance,
    Your eyes not fixt, they must not Stay,
    Since this like Shadowes to the Day
    It only represent's; for Still,
    Her Beauty's found beyond the Skill
    Of the best Paynter, to Imbrace
    These lovely Lines within her face.
    View her Soul's Picture, Judgment, witt,
    Then read those Lines which Shee hath writt,
    By Phancy's Pencill drawne alone
    Which Peces but Shee, can justly owne.




To The Duchesse of Newcastle, On Her New Blazing-World.


    Our Elder World, with all their Skill and Arts,
    Could but divide the World into three Parts:
    Columbus, then for Navigation fam'd,
    Found a new World, America 'tis nam'd;
    Now this new World was found, it was not made,
    Onely discovered, lying in Time's shade.

    Then what are You, having no Chaos found
    To make a World, or any such least ground?
    But your Creating Fancy, thought it fit
    To make your World of Nothing, but pure Wit.
    Your Blazing-World, beyond the Stars mounts higher,
    Enlightens all with a Cœlestial Fier.

    William Newcastle.




To all Noble and Worthy Ladies.


This present _Description of a New World_, was made as an Appendix to my
_Observations upon Experimental Philosophy;_ and, having some Sympathy
and Coherence with each other, were joyned together as Two several
Worlds, at their Two Poles. But, by reason most Ladies take no delight
in Philosophical Arguments, I separated some from the mentioned
Observations, and caused them to go out by themselves, that I might
express my Respects, in presenting to Them such Fancies as my
Contemplations did afford. The First Part is Romancical; the Second,
Philosophical; and the Third is meerly Fancy; or (as I may call it)
Fantastical. And if (Noble Ladies) you should chance to take pleasure in
reading these Fancies, I shall account my self a Happy Creatoress: If
not, I must be content to live a Melancholly Life in my own World; which
I cannot call a Poor World, if Poverty be only want of Gold, and Jewels:
for, there is more Gold in it, than all the Chymists ever made; or, (as
I verily believe) will ever be able to make. As for the Rocks of
Diamonds, I wish, with all my Soul, they might be shared amongst my
Noble Female Friends; upon which condition, I would willingly quit my
Part: And of the Gold, I should desire only so much as might suffice to
repair my Noble Lord and Husband's Losses: for, I am not Covetous, but
as Ambitious as ever any of my Sex was, is, or can be; which is the
cause, That though I cannot be Henry the Fifth, or Charles the Second;
yet, I will endeavour to be, Margaret the First: and, though I have
neither Power, Time nor Occasion, to be a great Conqueror, like
Alexander, or Cesar; yet, rather than not be Mistress of a World, since
Fortune and the Fates would give me none, I have made One of my own. And
thus, believing, or, at least, hoping, that no Creature can, or will,
Envy me for this World of mine, I remain,

Noble Ladies, Your Humble Servant, M. Newcastle.




The Description of a New World, Called The Blazing-World.


A Merchant travelling into a foreign Country, fell extreamly in Love
with a young Lady; but being a stranger in that Nation, and beneath her,
both in Birth and Wealth, he could have but little hopes of obtaining
his desire; however his Love growing more and more vehement upon him,
even to the slighting of all difficulties, he resolved at last to Steal
her away; which he had the better opportunity to do, because her
Father's house was not far from the Sea, and she often using to gather
shells upon the shore accompanied not with above two to three of her
servants it encouraged him the more to execute his design. Thus coming
one time with a little leight Vessel, not unlike a Packet-boat, mann'd
with some few Sea-men, and well victualled, for fear of some accidents,
which might perhaps retard their journey, to the place where she used to
repair; he forced her away: But when he fancied himself the happiest man
of the World, he proved to be the most unfortunate; for Heaven frowning
at his Theft, raised such a Tempest, as they knew not what to do, or
whither to steer their course; so that the Vessel, both by its own
leightness, and the violent motion of the Wind, was carried as swift as
an Arrow out of a Bow, towards the North-pole, and in a short time
reached the Icy Sea, where the wind forced it amongst huge pieces of
Ice; but being little, and l
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EARLY NEGRO NEWSPAPERS


[Sidenote: FREEDOM’S JOURNAL]

Seven years after Benjamin Lundy began _The Genius of Universal
Emancipation_, and four years before William Lloyd Garrison started to
publish _The Liberator_, Negro Journalism in America was born. The first
publication was _Freedom’s Journal_[1], issued March 16, 1827. It was
in form a medium-sized, neat-looking, well-printed weekly, about nine
by twelve inches. _Freedom’s Journal_ was a thorough-going abolitionist
sheet, having been called into being to defend the Negro against the vile
attacks of a New York editor of Jewish descent who had pro-slavery and
Negro-hating tendencies. This new organ had for its motto, “Righteousness
Exalteth a Nation,” and its columns were filled with long dissertations
on the immorality of slavery.

[Sidenote: JOHN RUSSWURM FIRST EDITOR]

The editor, John Russwurm, one of the first Negroes to graduate from a
college in the United States, graduated from Bowdoin College in 1826.
Russwurm was born in Jamaica in 1799. He published _The Journal_ until
1829, when he went to Liberia, where he became editor of _The Liberia
Herald_.

[Sidenote: THE COLORED AMERICAN]

A period of about eight years elapsed before the founding of a second
Negro newspaper. In January, 1837, Rev. Samuel Cornish began the
publishing of _The Weekly Advocate_. The name was changed in March,
however, to _The Colored American_, and under that name it continued to
be issued weekly until 1842. The first editor, Rev. Cornish, was one
of the leading Negro journalists of the period. He had been associated
with _Freedom’s Journal_, and throughout a period of twenty years he was
actively connected with some newspaper.

[Sidenote: ADVOCATED EMANCIPATION]

The subscription price of _The Colored American_ was two dollars per year
in advance. Its objects were, according to its flag, “the moral, social
and political elevation of the free Colored people; and the peaceful
emancipation of the enslaved.” The paper was well received by the
American press of the period, and many favorable comments on it appeared
from time to time.

[Sidenote: THE ELEVATOR]

The first two Negro newspapers had their headquarters in New York City,
but their successor was established in Albany, N. Y. _The Elevator_ came
into being in 1842, with Stephen Myers as its publisher. The paper was
strongly backed by the Abolitionists. Among its influential supporters
and backers was Horace Greeley of _The New York Tribune_.

[Sidenote: THE NATIONAL WATCHMAN]

Contemporaneous with _The Elevator_ appeared _The National Watchman and
Clarion_, which was established in Troy, N. Y., in the latter part of
1842. Its publisher and editor was William G. Allen. It was short-lived,
as was also _The People’s Press_ which was published by Thomas Hamilton
in New York City the following year.

[Sidenote: THE MYSTERY]

Following the lead taken by the empire state, Pennsylvania became a
field of activity for the Negro journalist. In 1843, _The Mystery_ was
published at Pittsburgh by Dr. Martin Delaney, a graduate of Harvard
College. At first it was conducted as the personal property of its
editor, but as such it survived only nine months when it became necessary
to transfer its ownership to a joint-stock company. After the change
Delaney was retained in the capacity of editor.

Delaney was the first Negro editor to be sued for libel. He was fined for
his statements; but his popularity was so great that the fine was paid by
popular subscription.

_The Mystery_ ceased publication under that name in 1848, at which time
it was purchased by the African Methodist Episcopal Church.

[Sidenote: STATEMENT BY N. Y. SUN, ORIGIN OF THE RAM’S HORN]

As the result of a statement by the editor of _The New York Sun_, “The
_Sun_ shines for all white men and not for colored men,” in January,
1847, _The Ram’s Horn_ was begun. Its editor was Willis Hodges, who
according to _The Afro-American Press and Its Editor_[2], furnished the
money necessary to publish the first issue by whitewashing in New York
City for two months. Within a short period of time the circulation of
the paper reached two thousand five hundred copies. The subscription
price was $1.50 to subscribers within the state, and $1 a year to those
outside the state. Its motto was—“We are men, and therefore interested in
whatever concerns men.” The publication was a five column folio, printed
on both sides. It suspended publication in June 1848.

[1] March 21, 1828, the name was changed to _Rights of All_.

[2] Published by I. Garland Penn in 1891.





THE ABOLITIONIST PRESS (1847-1865)


[Sidenote: DOUGLASS FOUNDS NORTH STAR]

With the founding of the _North Star_, at Rochester. N. Y., November
1, 1847, a new era in Negro Journalism was begun. The new paper was
conducted on a much higher plane than any of the preceding publications.
The editor of the _North Star_ was Frederick Douglass, a man who stood
head and shoulders above his colleagues. In fact, Douglass is in Negro
Jour
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* * * * * “and the breath of the whale is frequently attended with such
an insupportable smell, as to bring on a disorder of the brain.”
—_Ulloa’s South America_.

“To fifty chosen sylphs of special note,
We trust the important charge, the petticoat.
Oft have we known that seven-fold fence to fail,
Tho’ stuffed with hoops and armed with ribs of whale.”
—_Rape of the Lock_.

“If we compare land animals in respect to magnitude, with those that
take up their abode in the deep, we shall find they will appear
contemptible in the comparison. The whale is doubtless the largest
animal in creation.” —_Goldsmith, Nat. Hist_.

“If you should write a fable for little fishes, you would make them
speak like great whales.” —_Goldsmith to Johnson_.

“In the afternoon we saw what was supposed to be a rock, but it was
found to be a dead whale, which some Asiatics had killed, and were then
towing ashore. They seemed to endeavor to conceal themselves behind the
whale, in order to avoid being seen by us.” —_Cook’s Voyages_.

“The larger whales, they seldom venture to attack. They stand in so
great dread of some of them, that when out at sea they are afraid to
mention even their names, and carry dung, lime-stone, juniper-wood, and
some other articles of the same nature in their boats, in order to
terrify and prevent their too near approach.” —_Uno Von Troil’s Letters
on Banks’s and Solander’s Voyage to Iceland in_ 1772.

“The Spermacetti Whale found by the Nantuckois, is an active, fierce
animal, and requires vast address and boldness in the fishermen.”
—_Thomas Jefferson’s Whale Memorial to the French minister in_ 1778.

“And pray, sir, what in the world is equal to it?” —_Edmund Burke’s
reference in Parliament to the Nantucket Whale-Fishery_.

“Spain—a great whale stranded on the shores of Europe.” —_Edmund
Burke_. (_somewhere_.)

“A tenth branch of the king’s ordinary revenue, said to be grounded on
the consideration of his guarding and protecting the seas from pirates
and robbers, is the right to _royal_ fish, which are whale and
sturgeon. And these, when either thrown ashore or caught near the
coast, are the property of the king.” —_Blackstone_.

“Soon to the sport of death the crews repair:
Rodmond unerring o’er his head suspends
The barbed steel, and every turn attends.”
—_Falconer’s Shipwreck_.

“Bright shone the roofs, the domes, the spires,
    And rockets blew self driven,
To hang their momentary fire
    Around the vault of heaven.

“So fire with water to compare,
    The ocean serves on high,
Up-spouted by a whale in air,
    To express unwieldy joy.”
—_Cowper, on the Queen’s Visit to London_.

“Ten or fifteen gallons of blood are thrown out of the heart at a
stroke, with immense velocity.” —_John Hunter’s account of the
dissection of a whale_. (_A small sized one_.)

“The aorta of a whale is larger in the bore than the main pipe of the
water-works at London Bridge, and the water roaring in its passage
through that pipe is inferior in impetus and velocity to the blood
gushing from the whale’s heart.” —_Paley’s Theology_.

“The whale is a mammiferous animal without hind feet.” —_Baron Cuvier_.

“In 40 degrees south, we saw Spermacetti Whales, but did not take any
till the first of May, the sea being then covered with them.”
—_Colnett’s Voyage for the Purpose of Extending the Spermacetti Whale
Fishery_.

“In the free element beneath me swam,
Floundered and dived, in play, in chace, in battle,
Fishes of every color, form, and kind;
Which language cannot paint, and mariner
Had never seen; from dread Leviathan
To insect millions peopling every wave:
Gather’d in shoals immense, like floating islands,
Led by mysterious instincts through that waste
And trackless region, though on every side
Assaulted by voracious enemies,
Whales, sharks, and monsters, arm’d in front or jaw,
With swords, saws, spiral horns, or hooked fangs.”
—_Montgomery’s World before the Flood_.

“Io! Pæan! Io! sing.
To the finny people’s king.
Not a mightier whale than this
In the vast Atlantic is;
Not a fatter fish than he,
Flounders round the Polar Sea.”
—_Charles Lamb’s Triumph of the Whale_.

“In the year 1690 some persons were on a high hill observing the whales
spouting and sporting with each other, when one observed:
there—pointing to the sea—is a green pasture where our children’s
grand-children will go for bread.” —_Obed Macy’s History of Nantucket_.

“I built a cottage for Susan and myself and made a gateway in the form
of a Gothic Arch, by setting up a whale’s jaw bones.” —_Hawthorne’s
Twice Told Tales_.

“She came to bespeak a monument for her first love, who had been killed
by a whale in the Pacific ocean, no less than forty years ago.”
—_Ibid_.

“No, Sir, ’tis a Right Whale,” answered Tom; “I saw his spout; he threw
up a pair of as pretty rainbows as a Christian would wish to look at.
He’s a raal oil-butt, that fellow!” —_Cooper’s Pilot_.

“The papers were brought in, and we saw in the Berlin Gazette that
whales had been introduced on the s
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speaking, has published a History of Geography. In treating of Marco Polo,
he alludes to the first edition of this work, most evidently with no
intention of disparagement, but speaks of it as merely a revision of
Marsden's Book. The last thing I should allow myself to do would be to
apply to a Geographer, whose works I hold in so much esteem, the
disrespectful definition which the adage quoted in my former Preface[5]
gives of the _vir qui docet quod non sapit_; but I feel bound to say that
on this occasion M. Vivien de St. Martin has permitted himself to
pronounce on a matter with which he had not made himself acquainted; for
the perusal of the very first lines of the Preface (I will say nothing of
the Book) would have shown him that such a notion was utterly unfounded.

In concluding these "forewords" I am probably taking leave of Marco
Polo,[6] the companion of many pleasant and some laborious hours, whilst I
have been contemplating with him ("_vôlti a levante_") that Orient in
which I also had spent years not a few.

       *       *       *       *       *

And as the writer lingered over this conclusion, his thoughts wandered
back in reverie to those many venerable libraries in which he had formerly
made search for mediaeval copies of the Traveller's story; and it seemed
to him as if he sate in a recess of one of these with a manuscript before
him which had never till then been examined with any care, and which he
found with delight to contain passages that appear in no version of the
Book hitherto known. It was written in clear Gothic text, and in the Old
French tongue of the early 14th century. Was it possible that he had
lighted on the long-lost original of Ramusio's Version? No; it proved to
be different. Instead of the tedious story of the northern wars, which
occupies much of our Fourth Book, there were passages occurring in the
later history of Ser Marco, some years after his release from the Genoese
captivity. They appeared to contain strange anachronisms certainly; but we
have often had occasion to remark on puzzles in the chronology of Marco's
story![7] And in some respects they tended to justify our intimated
suspicion that he was a man of deeper feelings and wider sympathies than
the book of Rusticiano had allowed to appear.[8] Perhaps this time the
Traveller had found an amanuensis whose faculties had not been stiffened
by fifteen years of Malapaga?[9] One of the most important passages ran
thus:--

  "Bien est voirs que, après ce que _Messires Marc Pol_ avoit pris fame et
  si estoit demouré plusours ans de sa vie a _Venysse_, il avint que
  mourut _Messires Mafés_ qui oncles _Monseignour Marc_ estoit: (et mourut
  ausi ses granz chiens mastins qu'avoit amenei dou Catai,[10] et qui
  avoit non _Bayan_ pour l'amour au bon chievetain _Bayan Cent-iex_);
  adonc n'avoit oncques puis _Messires Marc_ nullui, fors son esclave
  _Piere le Tartar_, avecques lequel pouvoit penre soulas à s'entretenir
  de ses voiages et des choses dou Levant. Car la gent de _Venysse_ si
  avoit de grant piesce moult anuy pris des loncs contes _Monseignour
  Marc_; et quand ledit _Messires Marc_ issoit de l'uys sa meson ou Sain
  Grisostome, souloient li petit marmot es voies dariere-li courir en
  cryant _Messer Marco Miliòn! cont' a nu un busiòn!_ que veult dire en
  François 'Messires Marcs des millions di-nous un de vos gros mensonges.'
  En oultre, la Dame _Donate_ fame anuyouse estoit, et de trop estroit
  esprit, et plainne de couvoitise.[11] Ansi avint que _Messires Marc_
  desiroit es voiages rantrer durement.

  "Si se partist de _Venisse_ et chevaucha aux parties d'occident. Et
  demoura mainz jours es contrées de _Provence_ et de _France_ et puys
  fist passaige aux Ysles de la tremontaingne et s'en retourna par _la
  Magne_, si comme vous orrez cy-après. Et fist-il escripre son voiage
  atout les devisements les contrées; mes de la France n'y parloit mie
  grantment pour ce que maintes genz la scevent apertement. Et pour ce en
  lairons atant, et commencerons d'autres choses, assavoir, de BRETAINGNE
  LA GRANT."

    _Cy devyse dou roiaume de Bretaingne la grant._

  "Et sachiés que quand l'en se part de _Calés_, et l'en nage XX ou XXX
  milles à trop grant mesaise, si treuve l'en une grandisme Ysle qui
  s'apelle _Bretaingne la Grant_. Elle est à une grant royne et n'en fait
  treuage à nulluy. Et ensevelissent lor mors, et ont monnoye de chartres
  et d'or et d'argent, et ardent pierres noyres, et vivent de marchandises
  et d'ars, et ont toutes choses de vivre en grant habondance mais non pas
  à bon marchié. Et c'est une Ysle de trop grant richesce, et li marinier
  de celle partie dient que c'est li plus riches royaumes qui soit ou
  monde, et qu'il y a li mieudre marinier dou monde et li mieudre coursier
  et li mieudre chevalier (ains ne chevauchent mais lonc com François).
  Ausi ont-il trop bons homes d'armes et vaillans durement (bien que maint
  n'y ait), et les dames et damoseles bonnes et l
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PREFACE.





A singular fatality has ruled the destiny of nearly all the most
famous of Leonardo da Vinci's works. Two of the three most important
were never completed, obstacles having arisen during his life-time,
which obliged him to leave them unfinished; namely the Sforza
Monument and the Wall-painting of the Battle of Anghiari, while the
third--the picture of the Last Supper at Milan--has suffered
irremediable injury from decay and the repeated restorations to
which it was recklessly subjected during the XVIIth and XVIIIth
centuries. Nevertheless, no other picture of the Renaissance has
become so wellknown and popular through copies of every description.

Vasari says, and rightly, in his Life of Leonardo, "that he laboured
much more by his word than in fact or by deed", and the biographer
evidently had in his mind the numerous works in Manuscript which
have been preserved to this day. To us, now, it seems almost
inexplicable that these valuable and interesting original texts
should have remained so long unpublished, and indeed forgotten. It
is certain that during the XVIth and XVIIth centuries their
exceptional value was highly appreciated. This is proved not merely
by the prices which they commanded, but also by the exceptional
interest which has been attached to the change of ownership of
merely a few pages of Manuscript.

That, notwithstanding this eagerness to possess the Manuscripts,
their contents remained a mystery, can only be accounted for by the
many and great difficulties attending the task of deciphering them.
The handwriting is so peculiar that it requires considerable
practice to read even a few detached phrases, much more to solve
with any certainty the numerous difficulties of alternative
readings, and to master the sense as a connected whole. Vasari
observes with reference to Leonardos writing: "he wrote backwards,
in rude characters, and with the left hand, so that any one who is
not practised in reading them, cannot understand them". The aid of a
mirror in reading reversed handwriting appears to me available only
for a first experimental reading. Speaking from my own experience,
the persistent use of it is too fatiguing and inconvenient to be
practically advisable, considering the enormous mass of Manuscripts
to be deciphered. And as, after all, Leonardo's handwriting runs
backwards just as all Oriental character runs backwards--that is
to say from right to left--the difficulty of reading direct from the
writing is not insuperable. This obvious peculiarity in the writing
is not, however, by any means the only obstacle in the way of
mastering the text. Leonardo made use of an orthography peculiar to
himself; he had a fashion of amalgamating several short words into
one long one, or, again, he would quite arbitrarily divide a long
word into two separate halves; added to this there is no punctuation
whatever to regulate the division and construction of the sentences,
nor are there any accents--and the reader may imagine that such
difficulties were almost sufficient to make the task seem a
desperate one to a beginner. It is therefore not surprising that the
good intentions of some of Leonardo s most reverent admirers should
have failed.

Leonardos literary labours in various departments both of Art and of
Science were those essentially of an enquirer, hence the analytical
method is that which he employs in arguing out his investigations
and dissertations. The vast structure of his scientific theories is
consequently built up of numerous separate researches, and it is
much to be lamented that he should never have collated and arranged
them. His love for detailed research--as it seems to me--was the
reason that in almost all the Manuscripts, the different paragraphs
appear to us to be in utter confusion; on one and the same page,
observations on the most dissimilar subjects follow each other
without any connection. A page, for instance, will begin with some
principles of astronomy, or the motion of the earth; then come the
laws of sound, and finally some precepts as to colour. Another page
will begin with his investigations on the structure of the
intestines, and end with philosophical remarks as to the relations
of poetry to painting; and so forth.

Leonardo himself lamented this confusion, and for that reason I do
not think that the publication of the texts in the order in which
they occur in the originals would at all fulfil his intentions. No
reader could find his way through such a labyrinth; Leonardo himself
could not have done it.

Added to this, more than half of the five thousand manuscript pages
which now remain to us, are written on loose leaves, and at present
arranged in a manner which has no justification beyond the fancy of
the collector who first brought them together to make volumes of
more or less extent. Nay, even in the volumes, the pages of which
were numbered by Leonardo himself, their order, so far as the
connection of the texts was concerned, was obviously a 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 45814
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45814


  Inflection in General                                    25
  Summary of Inflections                                   26


  Classification--Common Nouns and Proper Nouns            27        233
  Special Classes--Abstract, Collective, Compound          29        234
  Inflection of Nouns                                      30        235
  Gender                                                   31        235
  Number                                                   34        235
  Person                                                   39        236
  Case                                                     40        237
  Nominative Case                                          41        237
  Possessive Case                                          43        238
  Objective Case                                           47        239
  Parsing of Nouns                                         54        240


  Personal Pronouns                                        55        241
  Gender and Number of Personal Pronouns                   56        241
  Case of Personal Pronouns                                57        241
  The Self-Pronouns (Compound Personal Pronouns)           60        241
  Adjective Pronouns--Demonstratives                       62        243
  Adjective Pronouns--Indefinites                          64        243
  Relative Pronouns                                        66        244
  The Relative Pronoun _What_                              71        246
  Compound Relative Pronouns                               72        246
  Interrogative Pronouns                                   73        246
  Parsing of Pronouns                                      74        247


  Classification of Adjectives                             75        248
  Adjectives--the Articles                                 77        248
  Comparison of Adjectives                                 79        249
  Irregular Comparison                                     81        249


  Classification of Adverbs                                83        250
  Relative and Interrogative Adverbs                       86        251
  Comparison of Adverbs                                    87        252
  Use of the Comparative and Superlative                   88        252
  Numerals--Adjectives, Nouns, Adverbs                     89        252


  Classification of Verbs                                  91        253
  Auxiliary Verbs--Verb-Phrases                            91        253
  Transitive and Intransitive Verbs                        92        253
  Copulative Verbs                                         93        253
  Inflection of Verbs                                      94        254
  Tense of Verbs                                           94        254
  Present and Past Tenses                                  94        254
  Weak (Regular) and Strong (Irregular) Verbs              95        254
  Person and Number                                        97        254
  The Personal Endings                                     97        254
  Conjugation of the Present and the Past                  98        254
  Special Rules of Number and Person                      100        254
  The Future Tense--_Shall_ and _Will_                    102        256
  Complete or Compound Tenses                             106        258
  Voice--Active and Passive                               107        258
  Conjugation of the Six Tenses                           108        258
  Use of the Passive Voice                                110        258
  Progressive Verb-Phrases                                113        260
  Emphatic Verb-Phrases                                   114        260
  Mood of Verbs                                           115        261
  Indicative Mood                                         115        261
  Imperative Mood                                         116        261
  Subjunctive Mood--Forms                                 118        261
  Uses of the Subjunctive                                 119        261
  Potential Verb-Phrases (Modal Auxiliaries)              124        262
  Special Rules for _Should_ and _Would_                  127        264
  The Infinitive                                          132        266
  The Infinitive as a Noun                                134        266
  The Infinitive as a Modifier                            136        266
  The Infinitive Clause                                   137        267
  Participles--Forms and Constructions                    140        268
  Nominative Absolute                                     144        269
  Verbal Nouns in _-ing_ (Participial Nouns)              145        269


  List of Prepositions                                    148        270
  Special Uses of Prepositions                            149        270


  Coördinate (or Coördinating) Conjunctions
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 35173
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BACCHAE




                           THE ATHENIAN DRAMA
                           FOR ENGLISH READERS

  A Series of Verse Translations of the Greek Dramatic Poets, with
                   Commentaries and Explanatory Notes.

              Crown 8vo, cloth, gilt top, 7s. 6d. each net.
                   Each Volume Illustrated from ancient
                      Sculptures and Vase-Painting.

AESCHYLUS: _The Orestean Trilogy._ By Prof. G. C. Warr. With an
  Introduction on _The Rise of Greek Tragedy_, and 13 Illustrations.

SOPHOCLES: _OEdipus Tyrannus_ and _Coloneus_, and _Antigone_. By Prof.
  J. S. Phillimore. With an Introduction on _Sophocles and his
  Treatment of Tragedy_, and 16 Illustrations.

EURIPIDES: _Hippolytus_; _Bacchae_; _Aristophanes' 'Frogs.'_ By
  Prof. Gilbert Murray. With an Appendix on _The Lost Tragedies
  of Euripides_, and an Introduction on _The Significance of the Bacchae
  in Athenian History_, and 12 Illustrations.          [_Third Edition._


                       ALSO UNIFORM WITH THE ABOVE

THE HOMERIC HYMNS. A New Prose Rendering by Andrew Lang, with Essays
  Critical and Explanatory, and 14 Illustrations.


                         THE PLAYS OF EURIPIDES

Translated into English Rhyming Verse, with Explanatory Notes, by Prof.
  Gilbert Murray. Crown 8vo, cloth, 2s. each net.

                           _The Trojan Women._
                               _Electra._


          _Hippolytus._ Fifth Edition. }
          _Bacchae._ Second Edition.   } Paper Covers, Impl.
          _The Trojan Women._          } 16mo, 1s. each net
          _Electra._                   }




                                   THE
                                 BACCHAE
                                   OF
                                EURIPIDES


                  TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH RHYMING VERSE
                        WITH EXPLANATORY NOTES BY

                       GILBERT MURRAY, M.A., LL.D.

              EMERITUS PROFESSOR OF GREEK IN THE UNIVERSITY
                      OF GLASGOW; SOMETIME FELLOW OF
                           NEW COLLEGE, OXFORD


                            _SECOND EDITION_


                                 LONDON
                  GEORGE ALLEN, 156, CHARING CROSS ROAD

                            One Shilling Net.




                                  1906
                         [All rights reserved]




                              THE BACCHAE




                         CHARACTERS IN THE PLAY


DIONYSUS, THE GOD; _son of Zeus and of the Theban princess Semelê_.
CADMUS, _formerly King of Thebes, father of Semelê_.
PENTHEUS, _King of Thebes, grandson of Cadmus_.
AGÂVÊ, _daughter of Cadmus, mother of Pentheus_.
TEIRESIAS, _an aged Theban prophet_.
A SOLDIER OF PENTHEUS' GUARD.
TWO MESSENGERS.
A CHORUS OF INSPIRED DAMSELS, _following Dionysus from the East._

"_The play was first produced after the death of Euripides by his son,
who bore the same name, together with the 'Iphigenîa in Aulis' and the
'Alcmaeon,' probably in the year_ 405 B.C."


[Illustration]




                 THE BACCHAE


_The background represents the front of the Castle of_ PENTHEUS, _King
    of Thebes. At one side is visible the sacred Tomb of Semelê, a
    little enclosure overgrown with wild vines, with a cleft in the
    rocky floor of it from which there issues at times steam or smoke.
    The God_ DIONYSUS _is discovered alone_.

                  DIONYSUS.

Behold, God's Son is come unto this land
Of Thebes, even I, Dionysus, whom the brand
Of heaven's hot splendour lit to life, when she
Who bore me, Cadmus' daughter Semelê,
Died here. So, changed in shape from God to man,
I walk again by Dirce's streams and scan
Ismenus' shore. There by the castle side
I see her place, the Tomb of the Lightning's Bride,
The wreck of smouldering chambers, and the great
Faint wreaths of fire undying--as the hate
Dies not, that Hera held for Semelê.
  Aye, Cadmus hath done well; in purity
He keeps this place apart, inviolate,
His daughter's sanctuary; and I have set
My green and clustered vines to robe it round.
  Far now behind me lies the golden ground
Of Lydian and of Phrygian; far away
The wide hot plains where Persian sunbeams play,
The Bactrian war-holds, and the storm-oppressed
Clime of the Mede, and Araby the Blest,
And Asia all, that by the salt sea lies
In proud embattled cities, motley-wise
Of Hellene and Barbarian interwrought;
And now I come to Hellas--having taught
All the world else my dances and my rite
Of mysteries, to show me in men's sight
Manifest God.
                And first of Hellene lands
I cry thus Thebes to waken; set her hands
To clasp my wand, mine ivied javelin,
And round her shoulders hang my wild fawn-skin.
For they have scorned me whom it least beseemed,
Semelê's sisters; mocked my birth, nor deemed
That Dionysus sprang from Dian seed.
My mother sinned, said they; and in her need,
With Cadmus plotting, cloaked her human shame
With the dread name of Zeus; for 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 1519
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1519

a team of about twenty Project Gutenberg volunteers.


MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING




by William Shakespeare




Contents


ACT I

Scene I.
Before Leonato’s House.

Scene II.
A room in Leonato’s house.

Scene III.
Another room in Leonato’s house.



ACT II

Scene I.
A hall in Leonato’s house.

Scene II.
Another room in Leonato’s house.

Scene III.
Leonato’s Garden.



ACT III

Scene I.
Leonato’s Garden.

Scene II.
A Room in Leonato’s House.

Scene III.
A Street.

Scene IV.
A Room in Leonato’s House.

Scene V.
Another Room in Leonato’s House.



ACT IV

Scene I.
The Inside of a Church.

Scene II.
A Prison.



ACT V

Scene I.
Before Leonato’s House.

Scene II.
Leonato’s Garden.

Scene III.
The Inside of a Church.

Scene IV.
A Room in Leonato’s House.








Dramatis Personæ

DON PEDRO, Prince of Arragon.
DON JOHN, his bastard Brother.
CLAUDIO, a young Lord of Florence.
BENEDICK, a young Lord of Padua.
LEONATO, Governor of Messina.
ANTONIO, his Brother.
BALTHASAR, Servant to Don Pedro.
BORACHIO, follower of Don John.
CONRADE, follower of Don John.
DOGBERRY, a Constable.
VERGES, a Headborough.
FRIAR FRANCIS.
A Sexton.
A Boy.

HERO, Daughter to Leonato.
BEATRICE, Niece to Leonato.
MARGARET, Waiting gentlewoman attending on Hero.
URSULA, Waiting gentlewoman attending on Hero.

Messengers, Watch, Attendants, &c.

SCENE. Messina.


ACT I
SCENE I. Before Leonato’s House.

Enter Leonato, Hero, Beatrice and others,
with a Messenger.

LEONATO.
I learn in this letter that Don Pedro of Arragon comes this night
to Messina.

MESSENGER.
He is very near by this: he was not three leagues off when I left him.

LEONATO.
How many gentlemen have you lost in this action?

MESSENGER.
But few of any sort, and none of name.

LEONATO.
A victory is twice itself when the achiever brings home full
numbers. I find here that Don Pedro hath bestowed much honour on a
young Florentine called Claudio.

MESSENGER.
Much deserved on his part, and equally remembered by Don Pedro.
He hath borne himself beyond the promise of his age, doing in the figure
of a lamb the feats of a lion: he hath indeed better bettered expectation
than you must expect of me to tell you how.

LEONATO.
He hath an uncle here in Messina will be very much glad of it.

MESSENGER.
I have already delivered him letters, and there appears much
joy in him; even so much that joy could not show itself modest enough
without a badge of bitterness.

LEONATO.
Did he break out into tears?

MESSENGER.
In great measure.

LEONATO.
A kind overflow of kindness. There are no faces truer than those
that are so washed; how much better is it to weep at joy than to joy at
weeping!

BEATRICE.
I pray you, is Signior Mountanto returned from the wars or no?

MESSENGER.
I know none of that name, lady: there was none such in the army
of any sort.

LEONATO.
What is he that you ask for, niece?

HERO.
My cousin means Signior Benedick of Padua.

MESSENGER.
O! he is returned, and as pleasant as ever he was.

BEATRICE.
He set up his bills here in Messina and challenged Cupid at the
flight; and my uncle’s fool, reading the challenge, subscribed for
Cupid, and challenged him at the bird-bolt. I pray you, how many hath he
killed and eaten in these wars? But how many hath he killed? for, indeed,
I promised to eat all of his killing.

LEONATO.
Faith, niece, you tax Signior Benedick too much; but he’ll
be meet with you, I doubt it not.

MESSENGER.
He hath done good service, lady, in these wars.

BEATRICE.
You had musty victual, and he hath holp to eat it; he is a very
valiant trencher-man; he hath an excellent stomach.

MESSENGER.
And a good soldier too, lady.

BEATRICE.
And a good soldier to a lady; but what is he to a lord?

MESSENGER.
A lord to a lord, a man to a man; stuffed with all honourable
virtues.

BEATRICE.
It is so indeed; he is no less than a stuffed man; but for the
stuffing,—well, we are all mortal.

LEONATO.
You must not, sir, mistake my niece. There is a kind of merry war
betwixt Signior Benedick and her; they never meet but there’s a
skirmish of wit between them.

BEATRICE.
Alas! he gets nothing by that. In our last conflict four of his
five wits went halting off, and now is the whole man governed with one! so
that if he have wit enough to keep himself warm, let him bear it for a
difference between himself and his horse; for it is all the wealth that he
hath left to be known a reasonable creature. Who is his companion now? He
hath every month a new sworn brother.

MESSENGER.
Is’t possible?

BEATRICE.
Very easily possible: he wears his faith but as the fashion of
his hat; it ever changes with the next block.

MESSENGER.
I see, lady, the gentleman is not in your books.

BEATRICE.
No; and he were, I would burn my study. But I pray you, who is
his companion? Is there no young squarer now that will make a voyage with
him to the devil?

MESSENGER.
He is most in the company of the right noble Claudio.

BEATRICE.
O Lord, he will hang upon him like a disease: he is sooner
caught than the pestilence, and the ta
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 32488
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/32488

[Illustration: JUST SO STORIES]

[Illustration: How the Whale Got His Throat]

Transcriber's Note: Not being able to ascertain which words were Kipling
being clever and which were his printer's creativity, all spelling
anomalies except the few glaringly obvious ones noted at the end have
been retained. For example, "He married ever so many wifes" was retained
on page 227. For the HTML version, the page images have been included so
that the reader may make comparisons.




JVST SO STORIES

BY RVDYARD KIPLING

[Illustration]

_Pictures by Joseph M. Gleeson_

          Doubleday Page & Company
          1912




          Copyright, 1912, by Rudyard Kipling

          "Just So Stories," have also been copyrighted
          separately as follows: How the Whale Got His Tiny
          Throat. Copyright, 1897, by the Century Company.
          How the Camel Got His Hump. Copyright, 1897, by
          the Century Company. How the Rhinoceros Got His
          Wrinkly Skin. Copyright, 1898, by the Century
          Company. The Elephant's Child. Copyright, 1900, by
          Rudyard Kipling; Copyright, 1900, by the Curtis
          Publishing Company. The Beginning of the
          Armadillos. Copyright, 1900, by Rudyard Kipling.
          The Sing Song of Old Man Kangaroo. Copyright, 1900
          by Rudyard Kipling. How the Leopard Got His Spots,
          Copyright, 1901, by Rudyard Kipling. How the First
          Letter Was Written. Copyright, 1901, by Rudyard
          Kipling. The Cat That Walked by Himself,
          Copyright, 1902, by Rudyard Kipling.

[Illustration]




CONTENTS


                                                     PAGE

          How the Whale Got His Throat                  1

          How the Camel Got His Hump                   15

          How the Rhinoceros Got His Skin              29

          How the Leopard Got His Spots                43

          The Elephant's Child                         63

          The Sing-Song of Old Man Kangaroo            85

          The Beginning of the Armadillos             101

          How the First Letter was Written            123

          How the Alphabet was Made                   145

          The Crab that Played with the Sea           171

          The Cat that Walked by Himself              197

          The Butterfly that Stamped                  225

[Illustration]




HOW THE WHALE GOT HIS THROAT


IN the sea, once upon a time, O my Best Beloved, there was a Whale, and
he ate fishes. He ate the starfish and the garfish, and the crab and the
dab, and the plaice and the dace, and the skate and his mate, and the
mackereel and the pickereel, and the really truly twirly-whirly eel. All
the fishes he could find in all the sea he ate with his mouth--so! Till
at last there was only one small fish left in all the sea, and he was a
small 'Stute Fish, and he swam a little behind the Whale's right ear, so
as to be out of harm's way. Then the Whale stood up on his tail and
said, 'I'm hungry.' And the small 'Stute Fish said in a small 'stute
voice, 'Noble and generous Cetacean, have you ever tasted Man?'

'No,' said the Whale. 'What is it like?'

'Nice,' said the small 'Stute Fish. 'Nice but nubbly.'

'Then fetch me some,' said the Whale, and he made the sea froth up with
his tail.

'One at a time is enough,' said the 'Stute Fish. 'If you swim to
latitude Fifty North, longitude Forty West (that is magic), you will
find, sitting _on_ a raft, _in_ the middle of the sea, with nothing
on but a pair of blue canvas breeches, a pair of suspenders (you must
_not_ forget the suspenders, Best Beloved), and a jack-knife, one
shipwrecked Mariner, who, it is only fair to tell you, is a man of
infinite-resource-and-sagacity.'

So the Whale swam and swam to latitude Fifty North, longitude Forty
West, as fast as he could swim, and _on_ a raft, _in_ the middle of the
sea, _with_ nothing to wear except a pair of blue canvas breeches, a
pair of suspenders (you must particularly remember the suspenders, Best
Beloved), _and_ a jack-knife, he found one single, solitary shipwrecked
Mariner, trailing his toes in the water. (He had his mummy's leave to
paddle, or else he would never have done it, because he was a man of
infinite-resource-and-sagacity.)

Then the Whale opened his mouth back and back and back till it nearly
touched his tail, and he swallowed the shipwrecked Mariner, and the raft
he was sitting on, and his blue canvas breeches, and the suspenders
(which you _must_ not forget), _and_ the jack-knife--He swallowed them
all down into his warm, dark, inside cupboards, and then he smacked his
lips--so, and turned round three times on his tail.

But as soon as the Mariner, who was a man of
infinite-resource-and-sagacity, found himself truly inside the Whale's
warm, dark, inside cupboards, he stumped and he jumped and he thumped
and he bumped, and he pranced and he danced, and he banged and he
clanged, and he hit and he bit, and he leaped and he creeped,
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 854
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/854

Transcribed from the 1919 Methuen & Co. Ltd. edition by David Price,
email ccx074@pglaf.org





                                A WOMAN OF
                              NO IMPORTANCE


                                  A PLAY

                                    BY
                               OSCAR WILDE

                                * * * * *

                           METHUEN & CO., LTD.
                           36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
                                  LONDON

                             _Eighth Edition_

                                * * * * *

_First Printed_                                                 _1894_
_First Issued by Methuen and Co._ (_Limited    _February_       _1908_
Editions on Handmade Paper and Japanese
Vellum_)
_Third Edition_                                _September_      _1909_
_Fourth Edition_                               _May_            _1910_
_Fifth Edition_                                _December_       _1911_
_Sixth Edition_                                _March_          _1913_
_Seventh Edition_ (_Cheap Form_)               _October_        _1916_
_Eighth Edition_                                       _1919_

_The dramatic rights of_ ‘_A Woman of No Importance_’ _belong to Sir
Herbert Beerbohm Tree and to Robert Ross_, _executor and administrator of
Oscar Wilde’s estate_.

                                * * * * *

                                    TO
                                  GLADYS
                             COUNTESS DE GREY

                          [MARCHIONESS OF RIPON]

                                * * * * *




THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY


LORD ILLINGWORTH

SIR JOHN PONTEFRACT

LORD ALFRED RUFFORD

MR. KELVIL, M.P.

THE VEN. ARCHDEACON DAUBENY, D.D.

GERALD ARBUTHNOT

FARQUHAR, Butler

FRANCIS, Footman

                                * * * * *

LADY HUNSTANTON

LADY CAROLINE PONTEFRACT

LADY STUTFIELD

MRS. ALLONBY

MISS HESTER WORSLEY

ALICE, Maid

MRS. ARBUTHNOT




THE SCENES OF THE PLAY


ACT I.  _The Terrace at Hunstanton Chase_.

ACT II.  _The Drawing-room at Hunstanton Chase_.

ACT III.  _The Hall at Hunstanton Chase_.

ACT IV.  _Sitting-room in Mrs. Arbuthnot’s House at Wrockley_.

TIME:  _The Present_.

PLACE:  _The Shires_.

      _The action of the play takes place within twenty-four hours_.




LONDON: HAYMARKET THEATRE


               _Lessee and Manager_: _Mr. H Beerbohm Tree_
                           _April_ 19_th_, 1893

LORD ILLINGWORTH                    _Mr. Tree_.
SIR JOHN PONTEFRACT                 _Mr. E. Holman Clark_.
LORD ALFRED RUFFORD                 _Mr. Ernest Lawford_.
MR. KELVIL, M.P.                    _Mr. Charles Allan_.
THE VEN. ARCHDEACON DAUBENY, D.D.   _Mr. Kemble_.
GERALD ARBUTHNOT                    _Mr. Terry_.
FARQUHAR (_Butler_)                 _Mr. Hay_.
FRANCIS (_Footman_)                 _Mr. Montague_.
LADY HUNSTANTON                     _Miss Rose Leclercq_.
LADY CAROLINE PONTEFRACT            _Miss Le Thière_.
LADY STUTFIELD                      _Miss Blanche Horlock_.
MRS. ALLONBY                        _Mrs. Tree_.
MISS HESTER WORSLEY                 _Miss Julia Neilson_.
ALICE (_Maid_)                      _Miss Kelly_.
MRS. ARBUTHNOT                      _Mrs. Bernard-Beere_.

FIRST ACT


                                  SCENE

              _Lawn in front of the terrace at Hunstanton_.

[SIR JOHN _and_ LADY CAROLINE PONTEFRACT, MISS WORSLEY, _on chairs under
large yew tree_.]

LADY CAROLINE.  I believe this is the first English country house you
have stayed at, Miss Worsley?

HESTER.  Yes, Lady Caroline.

LADY CAROLINE.  You have no country houses, I am told, in America?

HESTER.  We have not many.

LADY CAROLINE.  Have you any country?  What we should call country?

HESTER.  [_Smiling_.]  We have the largest country in the world, Lady
Caroline.  They used to tell us at school that some of our states are as
big as France and England put together.

LADY CAROLINE.  Ah! you must find it very draughty, I should fancy.
[_To_ SIR JOHN.]  John, you should have your muffler.  What is the use of
my always knitting mufflers for you if you won’t wear them?

SIR JOHN.  I am quite warm, Caroline, I assure you.

LADY CAROLINE.  I think not, John.  Well, you couldn’t come to a more
charming place than this, Miss Worsley, though the house is excessively
damp, quite unpardonably damp, and dear Lady Hunstanton is sometimes a
little lax about the people she asks down here.  [_To_ SIR JOHN.]  Jane
mixes too much.  Lord Illingworth, of course, is a man of high
distinction.  It is a privilege to meet him.  And that member of
Parliament, Mr. Kettle—

SIR JOHN.  Kelvil, my love, Kelvil.

LADY CAROLINE.  He must be quite respectable.  One has never heard his
name before in the whole course of one’s life, which speaks volumes for a
man, nowadays.  But Mrs. Allonby is hardly a very suitable person.

HESTER.  I dislike Mrs. Allonby.  I dislike her more than I can say.

LADY CAROLINE.  I am not s
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 75
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<title> E-MAIL 101

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phone line to exchange electronic mail (E-mail), trade files, or search
for information.  Many of those computers are connected to the worldwide
network called the Internet.  Some few of them will--for a fee--let
*you* connect to the Internet.  From there you can dial any of 900,000
or more computers, send E-mail to any of 25 million people, and access
hundreds of free, informative services.

In short, you are on the verge of a new method of communicating with
people and machines called "internetworking."  Internetworking lets you:

  o Avoid playing phone tag;

  o Sign up to receive special interest electronic newsletters and
journals;

  o Access hundreds of information services and document collections in
exactly the same way--no need to have hundreds of sets of different
instructions or hundreds of (expensive) special purpose software
packages;

  o Find and communicate with other people who share your interests.

Internetworking is an essential skill for the '90s.  Your children will
find it as common as viewing television or using the telephone.  It
still has a few rough edges--but we'll explain those.

There is actually no single network owned by one company called the
Internet.  Instead, many medium-sized networks have grown together to
create a "phone system" that connects together nearly a million
computers.  Many hundreds of these computers allow some form of public
access.  You can get the latest news or weather, download information
about Government programs or high-tech products, search on-line library
catalogues and databases, download free software, and do many other
things, with little or no monetary investment beyond the cost of your
home computer.

Using the Internet need not be expensive:  you can get on the Internet
for as little as $10 a month if you own (1) a home computer, (2) a $50
modem, and (3) some communications software (under $100).  There are
more expensive ways to connect to the Internet, of course.  These ways
make sense for businesses or organizations that make heavy use of the
network.  But in this course we will discuss methods that cost in the
$10-$40/month range.  These methods are suitable for exploring the net
after hours and for casual use.  We will provide some basic information
about more expensive methods of connecting (Appendix C) so that you can
make informed decisions if your networking needs should increase in the
future.

Internetworking well means mastering a whole host of skills--connecting
two computers together using the Internet is just the beginning.  You
have to learn methods for transferring information from the remote
computer to your own.  This is a complex task that may involve using a
file transfer protocol and compression techniques.

Because the information world is so vast, your biggest problem will most
likely not be connecting to the Internet.  It will be finding what you
want.  Thus, this course covers not only the mechanics of making a
connection and transferring files, but techniques for locating material
as well.  And of course you will want to be savvy about the costs of
different connection methods.  This means estimating whether it will
cost you more per Megabyte to transfer the information or to have it
faxed to you by a friendly librarian.

This course is intended for the general public--students,
businesspersons, 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65134
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65134


_Edith Wharton_                                                        1



_Alice Brown_                                                         11



_Ellen Glasgow_                                                       20



_Gertrude Atherton_                                                   41



_Mary Roberts Rinehart_                                               54



_Kathleen Norris_                                                     68



_Margaret Deland_                                                     78



_Gene Stratton-Porter_                                                88



_Eleanor H. Porter_                                                  108



_Kate Douglas Wiggin_                                                121



_Mary Johnston_                                                      132


_Corra Harris_                                                       153



_Mary Austin_                                                        164



_Mary S. Watts_                                                      177



_Mary E. Wilkins Freeman_                                            198



_Anna Katharine Green_                                               204



_Helen R. Martin_                                                    215



_Sophie Kerr_                                                        226



_Marjorie Benton Cooke_                                              238



_Grace S. Richmond_                                                  246



_Willa Sibert Cather_                                                254



_Clara Louise Burnham_                                               267



_Demetra Vaka_                                                       284



_Edna Ferber_                                                        292


_Dorothy Canfield Fisher_                                            298



_Amelia E. Barr_                                                     304



_Alice Hegan Rice_                                                   313



_Alice Duer Miller_                                                  320



_Eleanor Hallowell Abbott_                                           326



_Harriet T. Comstock_                                                334



_Honoré Willsie_                                                     342



_Frances Hodgson Burnett_                                            357



_Mary E. Waller_                                                     369



_Zona Gale_                                                          377



_Mary Heaton Vorse_                                                  386




INTRODUCTION


This book, the rather unpremeditated production of several months’ work,
is by a man who is not a novelist and who is therefore entirely unfitted
to write about women who are novelists. Several excuses may be urged;
the author is, by general agreement, young. He has to do with many
novels, being, indeed, a sort of new and strange creature, a literary
reporter self-styled, a person connected with a newspaper and charged
with the task of describing new books for the readers thereof. As he
could make no critical pretensions he had to fall back upon a process
peculiar to newspaper work, the attempt at a simple putting before the
public of facts, of things lately said and done--in short, of news. He
had to regard a new book as a piece of news to be communicated as
honestly and as entertainingly as any other occurrence. And so, here. He
has tried to be a good reporter of the personalities, performances and
methods of work of some of the best known American women novelists.

An effort has been made to include in this book all the living American
women novelists whose writing, by the customary standards, is
artistically fine. An equal effort has been made to include all the
living American women novelists whose writing has attained a wide
popularity. The author does not contend, nor will he so much as allow,
that the production of writing artistically fine is a greater
achievement than the satisfaction of many thousands of readers. It may
be more lasting; it is not more meritorious; and to attempt to institute
comparisons between the two things is absurd. The critic may be
justified in treating of Edith Wharton and ignoring Gene
Stratton-Porter. The literary reporter who should do such a thing
doesn’t know his job.

It is, therefore, to be feared that this is no book for highbrows. But a
lower forehead and a broader outlook have their advantages. In the
striking popularity of a particular storyteller a thoughtful observer
may see important and significant evidences of the tendencies of his
time. And that may be much more worth his while than the most careful
speculation as to who will be read fifty years from now.

The order in which authors are taken up in the book is accidental and
therefore meaningless. The reader is recommended to follow his own
inclination in perusing the chapters. They 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 35688
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35688

https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive.)









[Illustration]

[Illustration: ALICE: You're Humpty Dumpty! Just like an egg. [Page 24]]




  Alice in Wonderland

  A dramatization of Lewis Carroll's
  "Alice's Adventures in Wonderland" and
  "Through the Looking Glass"


  By Alice Gerstenberg

  Author of "The Conscience of Sarah Platt",
  "Unquenched Fire," "A Little World," etc.

  Chicago
  A.C.Mc.Clurg & Co.
  1915




  Copyright
  A. C. McCLURG & CO.
  1915


  Published December, 1915


  Rights to produce this play in all countries of the world
  are reserved by Alice Gerstenberg


  W. F. MAEL PRINTING COMPANY, CHICAGO




[Illustration: TO THE MEMORY OF LEWIS CARROLL]




This dramatic rendering of _Alice in Wonderland_, by Alice Gerstenberg of
Chicago, was produced by The Players Producing Company of Chicago (Aline
Barnsdall and Arthur Bissell), at the Fine Arts Theater, Chicago, February
11, 1915. After a successful run it opened at the Booth Theater, New York,
March 23, 1915.

The scenery and the costumes were designed by William Penhallow Henderson
of Chicago.

The music was written by Eric De Lamarter of Chicago.

The advertising posters and cards were designed by Jerome Blum of Chicago.

The illustrations of the characters of the play in this book were drawn by
J. Allen St. John from photographs by Victor Georg of Chicago.

W. H. Gilmore staged the play with the following cast:

  LEWIS CARROLL       Frank Stirling
  ALICE               Vivian Tobin
  RED QUEEN           Florence LeClercq
  WHITE QUEEN         Mary Servoss
  WHITE RABBIT        Donald Gallaher
  HUMPTY DUMPTY       Alfred Donohoe
  GRYPHON             Fred W. Permain
  MOCK TURTLE         Geoffrey Stein
  MAD HATTER          Geoffrey Stein
  MARCH HARE          Fred W. Permain
  DORMOUSE            J. Gunnis Davis
  FROG FOOTMAN        Walter Kingsford
  DUCHESS             Kenyon Bishop
  CHESHIRE CAT        Alfred Donohoe
  KING OF HEARTS      Frederick Annerly
  QUEEN OF HEARTS     Winifred Hanley
  KNAVE OF HEARTS     Foxhall Daingerfield
  CATERPILLAR         Walter Kingsford
  TWO OF SPADES       Rule Pyott
  FIVE OF SPADES      France Bendtsen
  SEVEN OF SPADES     John A. Rice




Alice in Wonderland


THE SCENES

ACT I

  Scene I--Alice's Home.
  Scene II--The Room in the Looking Glass.
  Scene III--The Hall with Doors.
  Scene IV--The Sea Shore.

ACT II

  Scene----The March Hare's Garden.

ACT III

  Scene I--The Garden of Flowers.
  Scene II--The Court of Hearts.
  Scene III--Alice's Home.

Miss Gerstenberg's manuscript called for costumes after the illustrations
of John Tenniel, and scenery of the simple imaginative type, the "new art"
in the theater.




ALICE IN WONDERLAND




Alice in Wonderland




ACT I


SCENE ONE

_ALICE'S home. LEWIS CARROLL is discovered, playing chess. Golden-haired
ALICE, in a little blue dress, a black kitten in her arms, stands watching
him._


ALICE

That's a funny game, uncle. What did you do then?


CARROLL

A red pawn took a white pawn; this way. You see, Alice, the chessboard is
divided into sixty-four squares, red and white, and the white army tries
to win and the red army tries to win. It's like a battle!


ALICE

With soldiers?


CARROLL

Yes, here are the Kings and Queens they are fighting for. That's the Red
Queen and here's the White Queen.


ALICE

How funny they look!


CARROLL

See the crowns on their heads, and look at their big feet.


ALICE

It's a foot apiece, that's what it is! Do they hump along like this?


CARROLL

Here! You're spoiling the game. I must keep them all in their right
squares.


ALICE

I want to be a queen!


CARROLL

Here _you_ are [_he points to a small white pawn_] here _you_ are in your
little stiff skirt!


ALICE

How do you do, Alice!


CARROLL

And now you are going to move here.


ALICE

Let me move myself.


CARROLL

When you have traveled all along the board this way and haven't been taken
by the enemy you may be a queen.


ALICE

Why do people always play with kings and queens? Mother has them in her
playing cards too. Look!

[_ALICE goes to the mantel and takes a pack of playing cards from the
ledge._]

Here's the King of Hearts and here's his wife; she's the Queen of
Hearts--isn't she cross-looking? wants to bite one's head off.

[_CARROLL moves a pawn._]

You're playing against yourself, aren't you?


CARROLL

That's one way of keeping in practice, Alice; I have friends in the
university who want to beat me.


ALICE

But if you play against yourself I should think you'd want to cheat!


CARROLL

Does a nice little girl like you cheat when she plays against herself?


ALICE

Oh! I _never_ do! I'd scold myself hard. I always pretend I'm _two_ people
too. It's lots of fun, isn't it? Sometimes when I'm all alone I walk up to
the looking glass and talk to the other Alice. She's so silly, that Alice;
she can't do anything by herself. She just mocks me all the time. Wh
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 3250
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3250

HOW TO TELL A STORY AND OTHERS

by Mark Twain



CONTENTS:

     HOW TO TELL A STORY
          THE WOUNDED SOLDIER
          THE GOLDEN ARM
     MENTAL TELEGRAPHY AGAIN
     THE INVALID'S STORY




HOW TO TELL A STORY

          The Humorous Story an American Development.--Its Difference
          from Comic and Witty Stories.

I do not claim that I can tell a story as it ought to be told. I only
claim to know how a story ought to be told, for I have been almost daily
in the company of the most expert story-tellers for many years.

There are several kinds of stories, but only one difficult kind--the
humorous. I will talk mainly about that one. The humorous story is
American, the comic story is English, the witty story is French. The
humorous story depends for its effect upon the manner of the telling;
the comic story and the witty story upon the matter.

The humorous story may be spun out to great length, and may wander
around as much as it pleases, and arrive nowhere in particular; but the
comic and witty stories must be brief and end with a point. The humorous
story bubbles gently along, the others burst.

The humorous story is strictly a work of art--high and delicate art--and
only an artist can tell it; but no art is necessary in telling the comic
and the witty story; anybody can do it. The art of telling a humorous
story--understand, I mean by word of mouth, not print--was created in
America, and has remained at home.

The humorous story is told gravely; the teller does his best to conceal
the fact that he even dimly suspects that there is anything funny about
it; but the teller of the comic story tells you beforehand that it is
one of the funniest things he has ever heard, then tells it with eager
delight, and is the first person to laugh when he gets through. And
sometimes, if he has had good success, he is so glad and happy that
he will repeat the “nub” of it and glance around from face to face,
collecting applause, and then repeat it again. It is a pathetic thing to
see.

Very often, of course, the rambling and disjointed humorous story
finishes with a nub, point, snapper, or whatever you like to call it.
Then the listener must be alert, for in many cases the teller will
divert attention from that nub by dropping it in a carefully casual and
indifferent way, with the pretence that he does not know it is a nub.

Artemus Ward used that trick a good deal; then when the belated audience
presently caught the joke he would look up with innocent surprise, as if
wondering what they had found to laugh at. Dan Setchell used it before
him, Nye and Riley and others use it to-day.

But the teller of the comic story does not slur the nub; he shouts it at
you--every time. And when he prints it, in England, France, Germany, and
Italy, he italicizes it, puts some whooping exclamation-points after
it, and sometimes explains it in a parenthesis. All of which is very
depressing, and makes one want to renounce joking and lead a better
life.

Let me set down an instance of the comic method, using an anecdote which
has been popular all over the world for twelve or fifteen hundred years.
The teller tells it in this way:




THE WOUNDED SOLDIER.

In the course of a certain battle a soldier whose leg had been shot
off appealed to another soldier who was hurrying by to carry him to the
rear, informing him at the same time of the loss which he had sustained;
whereupon the generous son of Mars, shouldering the unfortunate,
proceeded to carry out his desire. The bullets and cannon-balls were
flying in all directions, and presently one of the latter took the
wounded man's head off--without, however, his deliverer being aware of
it. In no-long time he was hailed by an officer, who said:

“Where are you going with that carcass?”

“To the rear, sir--he's lost his leg!”

“His leg, forsooth?” responded the astonished officer; “you mean his
head, you booby.”

Whereupon the soldier dispossessed himself of his burden, and stood
looking down upon it in great perplexity. At length he said:

“It is true, sir, just as you have said.” Then after a pause he added,
“But he TOLD me IT WAS HIS LEG--”


Here the narrator bursts into explosion after explosion of thunderous
horse-laughter, repeating that nub from time to time through his
gaspings and shriekings and suffocatings.

It takes only a minute and a half to tell that in its comic-story form;
and isn't worth the telling, after all. Put into the humorous-story
form it takes ten minutes, and is about the funniest thing I have ever
listened to--as James Whitcomb Riley tells it.

He tells it in the character of a dull-witted old farmer who has just
heard it for the first time, thinks it is unspeakably funny, and is
trying to repeat it to a neighbor. But he can't remember it; so he gets
all mixed up and wanders helplessly round and round, putting in tedious
details that don't belong in the tale and only retard it; taking them
out conscientiously and putting in others that are just as useless;
ma
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65126
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65126

AN EEL BY THE TAIL

                           By Allen K. Lang

             Mr. Tedder was quite sure that a strip tease
           dancer had no place in his physics classroom. But
             what bothered him more was how she got there!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                              April 1951
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


The strip teaser materialized in the first period physics class at
Terre Haute's Technical High School.

It all happened just because Mr. Tedder was fresh out of college,
and anxious to make good in his first teaching job. He'd been given
Physics II, a tough class for a new teacher. His pupils, a set of
hardened II-A boys, were sure of themselves and so were the few girls
in the class. It was with hopes of shaking that assurance that Mr.
Tedder had spent a month of after-school hours studying an article on
Ziegler's effect. He also hoped, but with less faith than wistfulness,
that a demonstration of Ziegler's effect might shock his class into
staying awake. Above all, Mr. Tedder felt that his Junior boys might
be considerably edified by an electrical phenomenon that was not yet
understood by the best physical theorists of three planets.

Mr. Tedder wanted to give his class a good show. So, with more feeling
for dramatic effect than for scientific good sense, he'd wound the
three solenoids with heavy insulated silver wire rather than with the
light copper wire Ziegler had reported using. On the theory that, if he
were to demonstrate the Ziegler effect it would be best to demonstrate
a whole lot of it, Mr. Tedder contrived a battery of the new
lithium-reaction cells. The direct current from this powerful battery
was transformed by an antique, but workable, automotive spark coil.

The bell rang as usual that morning, marking the beginning of the first
class. Twenty pupils filed into the physics classroom and took their
seats. Eighteen of them slumped down in an attitude which suggested
that, although they were prepared to accept stoically the hour's
ordeal, they weren't going to allow themselves to be taught anything.
After all, Tech had lost last night's game to Walbash: what physical
phenomenon could hope to shake off that grim memory? There was a
shuffling of papers as the boys in the back seats pulled comic books
from their notebooks. Guenther and Stetzel, sitting up front, pulled
sheets of paper from notepads and headed them, "The Ziegler Effect."

The classroom settled into an uneasy silence. Mr. Tedder waved an
instructive hand toward the apparatus set up on the marble top of the
demonstration bench. "As you can see, I have a set of three solenoids,
or coils of insulated wire, connected to a source of alternating
current. A sudden surge of this current through the outermost solenoid
will give an iron-cerium alloy bar placed at the center of the
apparatus an impetus toward horizontal motion." Stetzel and Guenther,
who were conscientious, took rapid notes. The rest of the class was
divided between those students who were surreptitiously catching up
on the adventures of "_The Rocket Patrol_" and those who were quietly
sinking into sleep.

       *       *       *       *       *

Mr. Tedder continued. "The alloy bar's initial movement will be
frustrated, as it were, by the action of a second solenoid placed
within and at right angles to the first. A third coil, within and at
right angles to each of the outer two, completes the process. The
winding ratios of the three solenoids are 476:9:34." Stetzel and
Guenther scribbled the numbers rapidly; Ned Norcross, in the back row,
stirred in his sleep, and two members of the Class of '95 who shared a
volume of the Rocket Patrol's exploits agreed to turn the page.

"What happens to the bar of iron-cerium at this point is a matter
of conjecture. All observers are agreed only in that it disappears.
Perhaps it leaves the coils so rapidly that it neither injures the
wires nor can it be seen. Perhaps the bar passes through a temporary
fissure in the three-dimensional system we perceive, falling into some
yet-unconceivable other dimension. Doctor Ziegler, who first observed
this effect, inclines to this latter belief." Mr. Tedder placed his
fingers on the telegraph key he'd rigged up to close the circuit
through his apparatus. "Watch closely," he cautioned, tapping down on
the key.

       *       *       *       *       *

_On the twenty-third planet at a distant sun--a planet called by
its inhabitants a name for which there are no equivalents in human
phonetics--a Young Being in the early stages of pre-maturity tangled
the minds of his elders with feelings of anguish. His teacher had
disappeared!_

       *       *       *       *       *

Ned Norcross, who was taking Junior Physics II for the third time,
had his mind on neither the Ziegler Effect no
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 48247
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48247

PRAYERS
                                 of the
                              EARLY CHURCH


                               Edited by
                            J. MANNING POTTS

[Illustration: logo]

                             THE UPPER ROOM

             The World’s Most Widely Used Devotional Guide
                           1908 Grand Avenue
                         Nashville 5, Tennessee

                            Copyright, 1953
                                   by
                             The Upper Room
                          Nashville, Tennessee

                            UR-74-50-1053-10
                Printed in the United States of America




                                Preface


Demand for books of prayers has caused this book to be compiled. The
experience of The Upper Room in publishing Ralph S. Cushman’s _A Pocket
Book of Prayer_ with its sale of over a million copies and the reaction
from the publication of other prayer books have prompted the editor to
collect and arrange these prayers. There are prayers of our Lord, the
apostles, the martyrs, and the saints covering the period of the Early
Church from its beginning through the fifth century. There are some
prayers from each of the first five centuries. The treasure house from
which to choose is almost unlimited. It is a vast and fruitful field and
anyone is amply rewarded who delves into it.

The prayers have been selected primarily for their spiritual and
devotional content. Many have been laid aside with regret that they
could not be included in this book, but its compass in size is set and
only so many can be used.

The prayers are arranged chronologically. Some other method of
arrangement might have been chosen but this seemed good in order to
represent each century. There are questions about the date and
authorship of the prayers. They are the same questions that arise in
reference to the Books of the Bible.

This book of prayers is published with the hope and prayer that it may
have wide use. It has been prepared for individual and family devotions.
It can be used with prayer groups in prayer meetings, for cells, and, of
course, for the development of one’s own personal spiritual life. The
material is perfect for use in the devotional services of young people’s
groups, women’s groups, and men’s clubs. The prayers are excellent for
insertion in church bulletins. Other ways will be found of making these
great prayers usable.

The prayers have been collected from many old books of prayers and
devotional materials. The editor is deeply indebted to all those who
have ploughed the field before. They have labored and we have entered
into their labors. It has been a joy to search out the material, to
arrange the prayers, to put them in order, and to index them under so
many subjects.

        J. Manning Potts
        Editor, _THE UPPER ROOM_
        Nashville, Tennessee




                                Contents


                               Chapter I
  FIRST CENTURY PRAYERS                                                 7
  1. New Testament Prayers                                              8
      Simeon, Mary, Jesus, Stephen, Paul, Peter.
  2. Other First Century Prayers                                       15
      Clement of Rome, Clementine Liturgy, Syrian Clementine
      Liturgy.

                                Chapter II
  SECOND CENTURY PRAYERS                                               21
      Polycarp, Ignatius, Liturgy of St. James, Barnabas, Clement of
      Alexandria, Irenaeus.

                               Chapter III
  THIRD CENTURY PRAYERS                                                31
      Old Gallican Sacramentary, Liturgy of St. Mark, Eastern Church
      Liturgy, Eastern Church Vespers.

                                Chapter IV
  FOURTH CENTURY PRAYERS                                               41
      Coptic Liturgy of St. Cyril, Ambrose, Nerses of Clajes,
      Gallican Sacramentary, Armenian Liturgy, Basil, Chrysostom,
      Augustine, Apostolic Constitutions.

                                Chapter V
  FIFTH CENTURY PRAYERS                                                77
      Liturgy of the Nestorians, Ancient Collect, Leonine
      Sacramentary, Gelasian Sacramentary, Liturgy of the Blessed
      Apostles.




                               Chapter I
                         FIRST CENTURY PRAYERS




                        1. New Testament Prayers


                          The Prayer of Simeon

Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy
word; for mine eyes have seen thy salvation, which thou hast prepared
before the face of all people; a light to lighten the Gentiles, and the
glory of thy people Israel.
                                                             —Luke 2:29.


                             The Magnificat

And Mary said, My soul doth magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath
rejoiced in God my Saviour. For he hath regarded th
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65065
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65065

_Base-Ball Ballads_




                              _BASE-BALL
                               BALLADS_

                          _By GRANTLAND RICE_

               Sporting Editor the Nashville Tennessean

                   _Illustrated by C. H. WELLINGTON_

                            [Illustration]

                        THE TENNESSEAN COMPANY
                         NASHVILLE, TENNESSEE




                           COPYRIGHT, 1910,

                                  BY

                        THE TENNESSEAN COMPANY.




         DEDICATED TO THE FAN


    From lowly bootblack of the town
    To merchant prince of high renown,
    Or butcher, baker, candle-maker,
    Lawyer, doctor, undertaker,
    Priest or farmer, young or old,
    Or rich or poor within the fold,
    So that his spirit bows before
    The bondage of the full box score--
    Whatever be his name or fame,
    So that his heart leans to the GAME.




CONTENTS.


                                                                    Page.

PLAY BALL 9

WHEN THE BUG IS ON THE BAWL                                           10

CASEY’S REVENGE                                                       12

THE BUG’S VIEW-POINT                                                  17

THE COURTSHIP OF A SON OF SWAT                                        19

THE BUSH LEAGUER’S DREAM                                              22

SPRINGTIME IN THE HISTORY ROOM                                        24

THE HOLD-OUT LEAGUE                                                   26

THE SONG OF THE BASE HIT                                              28

ON THE ROAD TO ROOTERS’ ROW                                           30

“TILL THE LAST MAN IS OUT”                                            32

THE BUSHERS                                                           34

THE CLIMAX OF FAN JOY                                                  3

SONGS OF SWAT--“YOU USTER BAT .300”                                   38

THE TEST                                                              40

THE LAUGH ON NERO                                                     41

CURFEWED                                                              44

THE FAN AND HIS WAY                                                   47

OVER THE PLATE                                                        49

KNOCKING SLANG                                                        51

THE REAL SPRINGTIME                                                   53

THE RAVEN UP-TO-DATE                                                  54

A DAY IN THE BLEACHERS                                                57

A WARNING                                                             59

OUT ON THE LINES                                                      61

ON MEMORY’S WALL                                                      62

THE GAME                                                              64

MUDVILLE’S FATE                                                       65

A TOAST WORTH WHILE                                                   68

THE CHAMPS OF THE ALLEY LEAGUE                                        70

THE MAN WHO PLAYED WITH ANSON ON THE OLD CHICAGO TEAM                 73

THE RECORD                                                            78

“THE MAJOR LEAGUER’S DAUGHTER; OR, THE TURNING OF THE TIDE”           79

PEN SNAPSHOT OF THE BRITISH FAN                                       82

ON THE COACHING LINE                                                  84

THE GOODS                                                             86

THE WINTER LEAGUE WONDER                                              87

A TIP TO THE FAN FLOCK                                                89

AS THE GAME “BREAKS”                                                  91

THE GRAND OLD WINTER LEAGUE                                           93

THE SLIDE OF PAUL REVERE                                              94

THE ANNUAL RETURN                                                     96

IN THE GOOD OLD WINTER TIME                                           98

AFTER THE GAME                                                       100

ON ROOTERS’ ROW                                                      101

THE LOVE SONNETS OF A SON OF SWAT                                    103

AT THE END OF THE GAME                                               107

THE MOGUL’S DREAM                                                    109

HARD-LUCK ADAM                                                       111

DENTON (CY) YOUNG                                                    112

THE UMP’S MIDWINTER DREAM                                            114

A REAL JOB FOR TEDDY                                                 116

THE SHOCK                                                            119

WHEN “WIFEY” READS DOPE                                              120

A HARD-LUCK YARN                  
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PG #: 769
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Tea began as a medicine and grew into a beverage. In China, in the
eighth century, it entered the realm of poetry as one of the polite
amusements. The fifteenth century saw Japan ennoble it into a religion
of aestheticism--Teaism. Teaism is a cult founded on the adoration
of the beautiful among the sordid facts of everyday existence. It
inculcates purity and harmony, the mystery of mutual charity, the
romanticism of the social order. It is essentially a worship of the
Imperfect, as it is a tender attempt to accomplish something possible in
this impossible thing we know as life.

The Philosophy of Tea is not mere aestheticism in the ordinary
acceptance of the term, for it expresses conjointly with ethics and
religion our whole point of view about man and nature. It is hygiene,
for it enforces cleanliness; it is economics, for it shows comfort in
simplicity rather than in the complex and costly; it is moral geometry,
inasmuch as it defines our sense of proportion to the universe. It
represents the true spirit of Eastern democracy by making all its
votaries aristocrats in taste.

The long isolation of Japan from the rest of the world, so conducive to
introspection, has been highly favourable to the development of
Teaism. Our home and habits, costume and cuisine, porcelain, lacquer,
painting--our very literature--all have been subject to its influence.
No student of Japanese culture could ever ignore its presence. It has
permeated the elegance of noble boudoirs, and entered the abode of
the humble. Our peasants have learned to arrange flowers, our meanest
labourer to offer his salutation to the rocks and waters. In our
common parlance we speak of the man "with no tea" in him, when he is
insusceptible to the serio-comic interests of the personal drama.
Again we stigmatise the untamed aesthete who, regardless of the mundane
tragedy, runs riot in the springtide of emancipated emotions, as one
"with too much tea" in him.

The outsider may indeed wonder at this seeming much ado about nothing.
What a tempest in a tea-cup! he will say. But when we consider how small
after all the cup of human enjoyment is, how soon overflowed with tears,
how easily drained to the dregs in our quenchless thirst for infinity,
we shall not blame ourselves for making so much of the tea-cup. Mankind
has done worse. In the worship of Bacchus, we have sacrificed too
freely; and we have even transfigured the gory image of Mars. Why not
consecrate ourselves to the queen of the Camelias, and revel in the warm
stream of sympathy that flows from her altar? In the liquid amber within
the ivory-porcelain, the initiated may touch the sweet reticence of
Confucius, the piquancy of Laotse, and the ethereal aroma of Sakyamuni
himself.

Those who cannot feel the littleness of great things in themselves are
apt to overlook the greatness of little things in others. The average
Westerner, in his sleek complacency, will see in the tea ceremony but
another instance of the thousand and one oddities which constitute the
quaintness and childishness of the East to him. He was wont to regard
Japan as barbarous while she indulged in the gentle arts of peace: he
calls her civilised since she began to commit wholesale slaughter on
Manchurian battlefields. Much comment has been given lately to the Code
of the Samurai,--the Art of Death which makes our soldiers exult in
self-sacrifice; but scarcely any attention has been drawn to Teaism,
which represents so much of our Art of Life. Fain would we remain
barbarians, if our claim to civilisation were to be based on the
gruesome glory of war. Fain would we await the time when due respect
shall be paid to our art and ideals.

When will the West understand, or try to understand, the East? We
Asiatics are often appalled by the curious web of facts and fancies
which has been woven concerning us. We are pictured as living on the
perfume of the lotus, if not on mice and cockroaches. It is either
impotent fanaticism or else abject voluptuousness. Indian spirituality
has been derided as ignorance, Chinese sobriety as stupidity, Japanese
patriotism as the result of fatalism. It has been said that we are less
sensible to pain and wounds on account of the callousness of our nervous
organisation!

Why not amuse yourselves at our expense? Asia returns the compliment.
There would be further food for merriment if you were to know all
that we have imagined and written about you. All the glamour of the
perspective is there, all the unconscious homage of wonder, all the
silent resentment of the new and undefined. You have been loaded with
virtues too refined to be envied, and accused of crimes too
picturesque to be condemned. Our writers in the past--the wise men who
knew--informed us that you had bushy tails somewhere hidden in your
garments, and often dined off a fricassee of newborn babes! Nay, we had
something worse against you: we used to think you the most impracticable
people on the earth, for you were said to preach what you never
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PG #: 1154
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(_His Landing on The Island_)

    Heaven-sent,
    In his dolphin-drawn canoe
    From worlds unknown
    He landed on our shores.
    The very palms
    Bowed down their heads
    In welcome to the coming King.



(_His Meeting With The Beetle_)

    By moonlight in the mountains
    He communed with beasts.
    The shy Jabizri brings him picture-words
    Of great distress.



(_He liberates The Lost Families_)

    Big was his heart with pity;
    Big were his hands with strength.
    See how he tears the mountain like a yam!
    See how the lost ones
    Dance forth to greet the day!



(_He Makes Fire_)

    Our land was cold and dying.
    He waved his hand and lo!
    Lightning leapt from cloudless skies;
    The sun leant down;
    And Fire was born!
    Then while we crowded round
    The grateful glow, pushed he
    Our wayward, floating land
    Back to peaceful anchorage
    In sunny seas.



(_He Leads The People To Victory in War_)

    Once only
    Was his kindly countenance
    Darkened by a deadly frown.
    Woe to the wicked enemy
    That dares attack
    The tribe with Thinkalot for Chief!



(_He Is Crowned King_)

    The birds of the air rejoiced;
    The Sea laughed and gambolled with her shores;
    All Red-skins wept for joy
    The day we crowned him King.
    He is the Builder, the Healer, the Teacher and the Prince;
    He is the greatest of them all.
    May he live a thousand thousand years,
    Happy in his heart,
    To bless our land with Peace.




_THE SECOND CHAPTER_

THOUGHTS OF HOME


IN the Royal Palace Bumpo and I had a beautiful suite of rooms of our
very own—which Polynesia, Jip and Chee-Chee shared with us. Officially
Bumpo was Minister of the Interior; while I was First Lord of the
Treasury. Long Arrow also had quarters there; but at present he was
absent, traveling abroad.

One night after supper when the Doctor was away in the town somewhere
visiting a new-born baby, we were all sitting round the big table in
Bumpo’s reception-room. This we did every evening, to talk over the
plans for the following day and various affairs of state. It was a kind
of Cabinet Meeting.

To-night however we were talking about England—and also about things
to eat. We had got a little tired of Indian food. You see, none of
the natives knew how to cook; and we had the most discouraging time
training a chef for the Royal Kitchen. Most of them were champions at
spoiling good food. Often we got so hungry that the Doctor would sneak
downstairs with us into the palace basement, after all the cooks were
safe in bed, and fry pancakes secretly over the dying embers of the
fire. The Doctor himself was the finest cook that ever lived. But he
used to make a terrible mess of the kitchen; and of course we had to be
awfully careful that we didn’t get caught.

Well, as I was saying, to-night food was the subject of discussion at
the Cabinet Meeting; and I had just been reminding Bumpo of the nice
dishes we had had at the bed-maker’s house in Monteverde.

“I tell you what I would like now,” said Bumpo: “a large cup of cocoa
with whipped cream on the top of it. In Oxford we used to be able to
get the most wonderful cocoa. It is really too bad they haven’t any
cocoa-trees in this island, or cows to give cream.”

“When do you suppose,” asked Jip, “the Doctor intends to move on from
here?”

“I was talking to him about that only yesterday,” said Polynesia. “But
I couldn’t get any satisfactory answer out of him. He didn’t seem to
want to speak about it.”

There was a pause in the conversation.

“Do you know what I believe?” she added presently. “I believe the
Doctor has given up even thinking of going home.”

“Good Lord!” cried Bumpo. “You don’t say!”

“Sh!” said Polynesia. “What’s that noise?”

We listened; and away off in the distant corridors of the palace we
heard the sentries crying,

“The King!—Make way!—The King!”

“It’s he—at last,” whispered Polynesia—“late, as usual. Poor man, how
he does work!—Chee-Chee, get the pipe and tobacco out of the cupboard
and lay the dressing-gown ready on his chair.”

When the Doctor came into the room he looked serious and thoughtful.
Wearily he took off his crown and hung it on a peg behind the door.
Then he exchanged the royal cloak for the dressing-gown, dropped into
his chair at the head of the table with a deep sigh and started to fill
his pipe.

“Well,” asked Polynesia quietly, “how did you find the baby?”

“The baby?” he murmured—his thoughts still seemed to be very far
away—“Ah yes. The baby was much better, thank you—It has cut its second
tooth.”

Then he was silent again, staring dreamily at the ceiling through a
cloud of tobacco-smoke; while we all sat round quite still, waiting.

“We were wondering, Doctor,” said I at last,—“just before you came
in—when you would be starting home again. We will have been on this
island seven months to-morrow.”

The Doctor sat forward in his chair looking rather uncomfortable.

“Well, as a matter of fact,” said he after
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PG #: 64989
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64989

HARLEM SHADOWS

                             THE POEMS OF

                             CLAUDE McKAY

                        WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY

                              MAX EASTMAN

                            [Illustration]

                               NEW YORK
                      HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY


                          COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY
                   HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY, INC.


                       PRINTED IN THE U.S.A. BY
                       THE QUINN & BODEN COMPANY
                             RAHWAY, N. J.


A number of these poems appeared in the _Seven Arts_, _Pearson’s_, _The
 Liberator_, _The Messenger_, and _The Cambridge Magazine_ (England).




CONTENTS


  INTRODUCTION  _ix_
  AUTHOR’S WORD  _xix_
  THE EASTER FLOWER  _3_
  TO ONE COMING NORTH  _4_
  AMERICA  _6_
  ALFONSO, DRESSING TO WAIT AT TABLE  _7_
  THE TROPICS IN NEW YORK  _8_
  FLAME HEART  _9_
  HOME THOUGHTS  _11_
  ON BROADWAY  _12_
  THE BARRIER  _13_
  ADOLESCENCE  _14_
  HOMING SWALLOWS  _15_
  THE CITY’S LOVE  _16_
  NORTH AND SOUTH  _17_
  WILD MAY  _18_
  THE PLATEAU  _19_
  AFTER THE WINTER  _20_
  THE WILD GOAT  _21_
  HARLEM SHADOWS  _22_
  THE WHITE CITY  _23_
  THE SPANISH NEEDLE  _24_
  MY MOTHER  _26_
  IN BONDAGE  _28_
  DECEMBER, 1919  _29_
  HERITAGE  _30_
  WHEN I HAVE PASSED AWAY  _31_
  ENSLAVED  _32_
  I SHALL RETURN  _33_
  MORNING JOY  _34_
  AFRICA  _35_
  ON A PRIMITIVE CANOE  _36_
  WINTER IN THE COUNTRY  _37_
  TO WINTER  _39_
  SPRING IN NEW HAMPSHIRE  _40_
  ON THE ROAD  _41_
  THE HARLEM DANCER  _42_
  DAWN IN NEW YORK  _43_
  THE TIRED WORKER  _44_
  OUTCAST  _45_
  I KNOW MY SOUL  _46_
  BIRDS OF PREY  _47_
  THE CASTAWAYS  _48_
  EXHORTATION: SUMMER, 1919  _49_
  THE LYNCHING  _51_
  BAPTISM  _52_
  IF WE MUST DIE  _53_
  SUBWAY WIND  _54_
  THE NIGHT FIRE  _55_
  POETRY  _56_
  TO A POET  _57_
  A PRAYER  _58_
  WHEN DAWN COMES TO THE CITY  _60_
  O WORD I LOVE TO SING  _63_
  ABSENCE  _64_
  SUMMER MORN IN NEW HAMPSHIRE  _66_
  REST IN PEACE  _67_
  A RED FLOWER  _68_
  COURAGE  _70_
  TO O. E. A.  _71_
  ROMANCE  _73_
  FLOWER OF LOVE  _75_
  THE SNOW FAIRY  _76_
  LA PALOMA IN LONDON  _78_
  A MEMORY OF JUNE  _79_
  FLIRTATION  _81_
  TORMENTED  _82_
  POLARITY  _83_
  ONE YEAR AFTER  _84_
  FRENCH LEAVE  _86_
  JASMINES  _88_
  COMMEMORATION  _89_
  MEMORIAL  _90_
  THIRST  _92_
  FUTILITY  _93_
  THROUGH AGONY  _94_




INTRODUCTION


These poems have a special interest for all the races of man because
they are sung by a pure blooded Negro. They are the first significant
expression of that race in poetry. We tried faithfully to give a
position in our literature to Paul Laurence Dunbar. We have excessively
welcomed other black poets of minor talent, seeking in their music some
distinctive quality other than the fact that they wrote it. But here for
the first time we find our literature vividly enriched by a voice from
this most alien race among us. And it should be illuminating to observe
that while these poems are characteristic of that race as we most admire
it--they are gentle-simple, candid, brave and friendly, quick of
laughter and of tears--yet they are still more characteristic of what is
deep and universal in mankind. There is no special or exotic kind of
merit in them, no quality that demands a transmutation of our own
natures to perceive. Just as the sculptures and wood and ivory carvings
of the vast forgotten African Empires of Ifé and Benin, although so
wistful in their tranquillity, are tranquil in the possession of the
qualities of all classic and great art, so these poems, the purest of
them, move with a sovereignty that is never new to the lovers of the
high music of human utterance.

It is the peculiarity of his experience, rather than of his nature, that
makes this poet’s race a fact to be remembered in the enjoyment of his
songs. The subject of all poetry is the experience of the poet, and no
man of any other race in the world can touch or imagine the experience
of the children of African slaves in America.

Claude McKay was born in 1890 in a little thatched house of two rooms in
a beautiful valley of the hilly middle-country of Jamaica. He was born
to the genial, warm, patient, neighborly farmer’s life of that island.
It was a life rich in sun and sound and color and emotion, as we can see
in his poems which are forever homeward yearning--in the midst of their
present passion and strong will into the future, forever vividly
remembering. Like a blue-bird’s note in a March wind, those sudden clear
thoughts of the warm South ring out in the midst of his northern songs.
They carry a thrill into the depth of our hearts. Perhaps in some sense
they are thoughts of a mother. At least it seems inevitable that we
should find among them those two sacred sonnets of a child’s
bereavement. It seems inevitable that a wonderful poet should have had a
wise and beautiful mother.

We can only distantly imagine how the happy tropic life of pla
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PG #: 3188
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MARK TWAIN'S SPEECHES


by Mark Twain







 CONTENTS



 INTRODUCTION

 PREFACE

 THE STORY OF A SPEECH

 PLYMOUTH ROCK AND THE PILGRIMS

 COMPLIMENTS AND DEGREES

 BOOKS, AUTHORS, AND HATS

 DEDICATION SPEECH

 DIE SCHRECKEN DER DEUTSCHEN SPRACHE

 GERMAN FOR THE HUNGARIANS

 A NEW GERMAN WORD

 UNCONSCIOUS PLAGIARISM

 THE WEATHER

 THE BABIES

 OUR CHILDREN AND GREAT DISCOVERIES

 EDUCATING THEATRE-GOERS

 THE EDUCATIONAL THEATRE

 POETS AS POLICEMEN

 PUDD'NHEAD WILSON DRAMATIZED

 DALY THEATRE

 THE DRESS OF CIVILIZED WOMAN

 DRESS REFORM AND COPYRIGHT

 COLLEGE GIRLS

 GIRLS

 THE LADIES

 WOMAN'S PRESS CLUB

 VOTES FOR WOMEN

 WOMAN-AN OPINION

 ADVICE TO GIRLS

 TAXES AND MORALS

 TAMMANY AND CROKER

 MUNICIPAL CORRUPTION

 MUNICIPAL GOVERNMENT

 CHINA AND THE PHILIPPINES

 THEORETICAL MORALS

 LAYMAN'S SERMON

 UNIVERSITY SETTLEMENT SOCIETY

 PUBLIC EDUCATION ASSOCIATION

 EDUCATION AND CITIZENSHIP

 COURAGE

 THE DINNER TO MR. CHOATE

 ON STANLEY AND LIVINGSTONE

 HENRY M. STANLEY

 DINNER TO MR. JEROME

 HENRY IRVING

 DINNER TO HAMILTON W. MABIE

 INTRODUCING NYE AND RILEY

 DINNER TO WHITELAW REID

 ROGERS AND RAILROADS

 THE OLD-FASHIONED PRINTER

 SOCIETY OF AMERICAN AUTHORS

 READING-ROOM OPENING

 LITERATURE

 DISAPPEARANCE OF LITERATURE

 THE NEW YORK PRESS CLUB DINNER

 THE ALPHABET AND SIMPLIFIED SPELLING

 SPELLING AND PICTURES

 BOOKS AND BURGLARS

 AUTHORS' CLUB

 BOOKSELLERS

 “MARK TWAIN'S FIRST APPEARANCE”

 MORALS AND MEMORY

 QUEEN VICTORIA

 JOAN OF ARC

 ACCIDENT INSURANCE—ETC.

 OSTEOPATHY

 WATER-SUPPLY

 MISTAKEN IDENTITY

 CATS AND CANDY

 OBITUARY POETRY

 CIGARS AND TOBACCO

 BILLIARDS

 THE UNION RIGHT OR WRONG

 AN IDEAL FRENCH ADDRESS

 STATISTICS

 GALVESTON ORPHAN BAZAAR

 SAN FRANCISCO EARTHQUAKE

 CHARITY AND ACTORS

 RUSSIAN REPUBLIC

 RUSSIAN SUFFERERS

 WATTERSON AND TWAIN AS REBELS

 ROBERT FULTON FUND

 FULTON DAY, JAMESTOWN

 LOTOS CLUB DINNER IN HONOR OF MARK TWAIN

 COPYRIGHT

 IN AID OF THE BLIND

 DR. MARK TWAIN, FARMEOPATH

 MISSOURI UNIVERSITY SPEECH

 BUSINESS

 CARNEGIE THE BENEFACTOR

 ON POETRY, VERACITY, AND SUICIDE

 WELCOME HOME

 AN UNDELIVERED SPEECH

 SIXTY-SEVENTH BIRTHDAY

 TO THE WHITEFRIARS

 THE ASCOT GOLD CUP

 THE SAVAGE CLUB DINNER

 GENERAL MILES AND THE DOG

 WHEN IN DOUBT, TELL THE TRUTH

 THE DAY WE CELEBRATE

 INDEPENDENCE DAY

 AMERICANS AND THE ENGLISH

 ABOUT LONDON

 PRINCETON

 THE ST. LOUIS HARBOR-BOAT “MARK TWAIN”

 SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY








INTRODUCTION


These speeches will address themselves to the minds and hearts of those
who read them, but not with the effect they had with those who heard
them; Clemens himself would have said, not with half the effect. I have
noted elsewhere how he always held that the actor doubled the value of
the author's words; and he was a great actor as well as a great author.
He was a most consummate actor, with this difference from other actors,
that he was the first to know the thoughts and invent the fancies to
which his voice and action gave the color of life. Representation is the
art of other actors; his art was creative as well as representative; it
was nothing at second hand.

I never heard Clemens speak when I thought he quite failed; some burst
or spurt redeemed him when he seemed flagging short of the goal, and,
whoever else was in the running, he came in ahead. His near-failures
were the error of a rare trust to the spontaneity in which other
speakers confide, or are believed to confide, when they are on
their feet. He knew that from the beginning of oratory the orator's
spontaneity was for the silence and solitude of the closet where he
mused his words to an imagined audience; that this was the use of
orators from Demosthenes and Cicero up and down. He studied every word
and syllable, and memorized them by a system of mnemonics peculiar
to himself, consisting of an arbitrary arrangement of things on a
table—knives, forks, salt-cellars; inkstands, pens, boxes, or whatever
was at hand—which stood for points and clauses and climaxes, and were
at once indelible diction and constant suggestion. He studied every tone
and every gesture, and he forecast the result with the real audience
from its result with that imagined audience. Therefore, it was beautiful
to see him and to hear him; he rejoiced in the pleasure he gave and the
blows of surprise which he dealt; and because he had his end in mind, he
knew when to stop.

I have been talking of his method and manner; the matter the reader has
here before him; and it is good matter, glad, honest, kind, just.

W. D. HOWELLS.





PREFACE

FROM THE PREFACE TO THE ENGLISH EDITION OF “MARK TWAIN'S SKETCHES”

If I were to sell the reader a barrel of molasses, and he, instead of
sweetening his substantial dinner with the same at judicious intervals,
should eat the entire barrel at one sitting, and then abuse me for
making him sick, I would say that he deserved to be made sick for not
knowing any better how to utilize the blessings this world af
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PG #: 60979
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Transcriber’s Note


Table of Contents created by Transcriber and placed in the Public
Domain.




  REMINISCENCES
  OF A
  STOCK OPERATOR




  REMINISCENCES
  OF A
  STOCK OPERATOR


  By Edwin Lefevre

  _with a new Introduction by_
  Benton W. Davis


  [Illustration]

  American Research Council · Larchmont, New York




  Copyright © 1923 by George H. Doran Company

  All Rights Reserved

  Reprinted by arrangement with Doubleday & Company, Inc.

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 64-23364
  Printed in the United States of America




  To
  Jesse Lauriston Livermore




CONTENTS


      I                1
     II               14
    III               30
     IV               39
      V               55
     VI               67
    VII               80
   VIII               87
     IX              100
      X              117
     XI              131
    XII              144
   XIII              160
    XIV              173
     XV              190
    XVI              199
   XVII              215
  XVIII              230
    XIX              238
     XX              245
    XXI              257
   XXII              273
  XXIII              293
   XXIV              304




_I_


I went to work when I was just out of grammar school. I got a job
as quotation-board boy in a stock-brokerage office. I was quick at
figures. At school I did three years of arithmetic in one. I was
particularly good at mental arithmetic. As quotation-board boy I
posted the numbers on the big board in the customers’ room. One of the
customers usually sat by the ticker and called out the prices. They
couldn’t come too fast for me. I have always remembered figures. No
trouble at all.

There were plenty of other employes in that office. Of course I made
friends with the other fellows, but the work I did, if the market was
active, kept me too busy from ten A.M. to three P.M. to let me do much
talking. I don’t care for it, anyhow, during business hours.

But a busy market did not keep me from thinking about the work. Those
quotations did not represent prices of stocks to me, so many dollars
per share. They were numbers. Of course, they meant something. They
were always changing. It was all I had to be interested in--the
changes. Why did they change? I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I didn’t
think about that. I simply saw that they changed. That was all I had to
think about five hours every day and two on Saturdays: that they were
always changing.

That is how I first came to be interested in the behaviour of prices.
I had a very good memory for figures. I could remember in detail how
the prices had acted on the previous day, just before they went up or
down. My fondness for mental arithmetic came in very handy.

I noticed that in advances as well as declines, stock prices were apt
to show certain habits, so to speak. There was no end of parallel cases
and these made precedents to guide me. I was only fourteen, but after
I had taken hundreds of observations in my mind I found myself testing
their accuracy, comparing the behaviour of stocks to-day with other
days. It was not long before I was anticipating movements in prices. My
only guide, as I say, was their past performances. I carried the “dope
sheets” in my mind. I looked for stock prices to run on form. I had
“clocked” them. You know what I mean.

You can spot, for instance, where the buying is only a trifle better
than the selling. A battle goes on in the stock market and the tape is
your telescope. You can depend upon it seven out of ten cases.

Another lesson I learned early is that there is nothing new in Wall
Street. There can’t be because speculation is as old as the hills.
Whatever happens in the stock market to-day has happened before and
will happen again. I’ve never forgotten that. I suppose I really manage
to remember when and how it happened. The fact that I remember that way
is my way of capitalizing experience.

I got so interested in my game and so anxious to anticipate advances
and declines in all the active stocks that I got a little book. I
put down my observations in it. It was not a record of imaginary
transactions such as so many people keep merely to make or lose
millions of dollars without getting the swelled head or going to the
poorhouse. It was rather a sort of record of my hits and misses, and
next to the determination of probable movements I was most interested
in verifying whether I had observed accurately; in other words, whether
I was right.

Say that after studying every fluctuation of the day in an active stock
I would conclude that it was behaving as it always did before it broke
eight or ten points. Well, I would jot down the stock and the price
on Monday, and remembering past performances I would write down what
it ought to do on Tuesday and Wednesday. Later I would check up with
actual transcriptions from the tape.

That is how I first came to take an interest in the message of the
tape. The fluctuations were from the first associated i
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PG #: 65117
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A roomy, comfortable, old-fashioned house in Bayswater, with high
windows, big rooms, and little balconies just big enough to hold a
wealth of flowers in summer and a very pretty show of evergreens when
the season for flowers was past.

On October a row of asters, backed up by a taller row of foliage
plants, made the house look bright and pretty, and the young faces that
appeared at the windows of the drawing-room made it prettier still.

Mr. and Mrs. Aldington, the occupiers of the house, thought that there
was nothing pleasanter in life than the gayety of young people, and so,
as they had only two children, a son and a daughter, both grown up,
they gave a general invitation to the younger generation, of which,
particularly on a Sunday afternoon and evening, the contemporaries of
their son and daughter were not slow to avail themselves.

Especially was it the pleasure of these good-hearted people to extend
hospitality to those young folks whose lives were, for one reason or
another, not so bright as those of their own children. And many a
friendless young barrister waiting for a brief, young doctor struggling
for a practice, and many a girl whose parents had a hard time of it
in keeping up a fair position on an unfairly small income, found
recreation and a warm welcome at the old-fashioned house in Bayswater.

Some of them found more than that. Gerard Buckland, for instance, a
clever young barrister who was tired of hearing of the great things he
was to do some day, since he was unable to get even small things to do
to go on with, found at the Aldingtons something that he had stoutly
resolved to do without until he had “got on.”

He found, in other words, his “ideal.”

It was on a bright Sunday afternoon, when the big drawing-room was full
of lively people, mostly young, and all talking at once, that Gerard,
having been introduced by Arthur Aldington two Sundays previously, took
advantage for the third time of the general invitation given him by the
host and hostess, and found himself surrounded by a dozen people among
whom he knew no one except the Aldingtons themselves.

Whereupon Rose, the daughter of the house, made him sit by her, and, as
he was shyly looking over a basketful of loose photographs which he had
found on a table beside him, undertook the task of showman, and told
him all about the pictures as he looked at them one by one.

It chanced that the second picture he picked up after Rose’s arrival
was the portrait of a girl which attracted him at once.

“What an interesting face!” said he, as he looked at the photograph.

“And she’s an interesting girl too!” said Rose, who was a plain,
amiable young woman of six-and-twenty, whom everybody liked and nobody
had as yet chosen. “She’s the daughter of a Colonel, who speculated,
and then died and left his wife and two girls with scarcely anything to
live upon. Papa says it’s one of the saddest stories he knows. They’ve
gone to live in a cottage somewhere, after living in one of the most
beautiful houses you ever saw in the country, and having a flat in town
as well.”

Gerard Buckland was looking intently at the photograph, which was that
of a quite young woman with an oval face, delicate features, and an
expression which combined vivacity with intelligence.

“She looks very clever,” he said.

“Yes, so she is--and very pretty too.”

“Yes, very, very pretty.”

He was fascinated; and when he was compelled to look at other
photographs, he placed that of the girl whose story he had just heard
at the side of the basket, in such a position that he could glance at
it again from time to time, and amuse himself by speculating about
this girl who was so handsome, so clever, and so unlucky.

Rose Aldington noticed his preoccupation with the picture, and said,
with a smile--

“I see you admire her, just as everyone else does.”

“I was thinking the story a sad one,” said Gerard, rather confused at
being discovered in his act of adoration.

“Oh, well, perhaps she’ll marry well, and her sister too, and then it
will be all right. The sister is even better-looking than Ra--than she
is, and just as nice. Only unluckily she hadn’t finished growing up
when their father died, so she hasn’t had the benefit of such a good
education as the elder.”

“It’s hard upon a girl, though, when she has to marry just for money,”
observed Gerard.

“Oh, yes, of course. And I’m not sure that this particular girl would
do it either. But that’s the usual thing to say, isn’t it, when a very
pretty girl is left unexpectedly poor?”

“Yes.”

Gerard answered quite shortly, and looked at the photograph again. And
at that moment the door opened, and an exclamation rose to his lips as
he recognized in the new arrival the very girl whose picture he held in
his hand.

He felt the blood rush to his face as he looked at her. He saw at
once that the absence of color from the photograph had given him an
altogether wrong impression of what the girl herself would be like. She
was of medium height, slende
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PG #: 65153
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--     II. The Chevaliers’ Lodges                                     23

--    III. The Abbey Precincts                                        40

--     IV. Lady Caroline                                              62

--      V. At the Deanery                                             82

--     VI. Law                                                       103

--    VII. A New Light                                               116

--   VIII. Triumph and Terror                                        129

--     IX. Visitors                                                  150

--      X. The Minor Canon                                           171

--     XI. Another Evening at the Deanery                            190

--    XII. Brother and Sister                                        209

--   XIII. Captain Despard                                           227

--    XIV. The Workroom                                              242

--     XV. Romance and Reality                                       261

--    XVI. The Signor’s Household                                    279




                         WITHIN THE PRECINCTS.





ST. MICHAEL’S.


The Abbey Church of St. Michael’s stands on a low hill in a flat and
fertile country. The holy places which are sacred to the great archangel
seem to settle naturally upon a mount; and this, one of the noblest
structures consecrated under his name, had all the effect of a very high
elevation--so wide-spreading was the landscape round, so vast the sweep
of plain, fields, and woods, great parks and commons, and gleaming white
villages like ships at sea, which could be seen from its walls and
terraces. Though the settlement was ecclesiastical, the place had been
walled and defensible in the days when danger threatened wealth whatever
form it assumed. Danger, however, had long been far from the thoughts of
the dignified corporation which held its reverend court upon the hill.
The Abbey was as splendid as any cathedral, and possessed a dean and
chapter, though no bishop. It was of Late Gothic, perpendicular and
magnificent; and the walls and towers which still surrounded it, and
even the old houses within the precincts, were older still than the
Abbey, and could have furnished many “bits” to make the heart of a
mediæval architect glad. The very turf which filled the quadrangle and
clothed the slope of the Dean’s Walk was a production of centuries; the
Chapter House was full of historical documents, and the library of rare
books; and there were antiquarian fanatics who protested that the
wealthy livings belonging to the Abbey, and its old endowments, were the
least of its riches. Nor was this establishment on the hill confined to
ecclesiastical interests only. The beautiful church was the chapel of an
order of knighthood, and opposite to it--forming an integral part of the
pile of buildings--was a line of small ancient houses, forming a kind of
screen and inner wall of defence to the sacred citadel, which were the
lodges of a supplementary order of pensioners--Chevaliers of St.
Michael--which at the time of the foundation had given such a balance,
as the Middle Ages loved, of Christian charity and help, to the
splendour and braggadocio of the more glorious knights. Thus the little
community which inhabited this noble old pile of buildings was varied
and composite. The highest official in it was the costly and
aristocratic Dean, the lowest the lay clerks, who were housed humbly in
the shadow of the church in a little cloister of their own, and who
daily filled the Abbey with the noblest music. The Deanery was close to
the Abbey, and embraced in its irregular group of roofs the great
tower, which showed for miles round, with its lighted windows, rising up
into the night. The canons’ houses, if not equally fine, were still
great old houses, standing on the edge of the hill, their walls rising
straight from the green slopes dotted with trees, round the foot of
which a little red-roofed town had gathered; and the Abbey itself stood
between those stately habitations and the humbler lodges of the
Chevaliers, which shut off the lower level of sloping bank on the other
side. The Dean himself was of a great family, and belonged not only to
the nobility, but, higher still, to the most select circles of fashion,
and had a noble wife and such a position in society as many a bishop
envied; and among his canons were men not only of family, but possessed
of some mild links of connection with the worlds of learning and
scholarship,--even it was said that one had writ a book in days when
books were not so common. The minor canons were of humbler degree; they
formed the link between gods and men, so to speak--between the Olympus
of the Chapter and the common secular sphere below. We will not deceive
the reader nor buoy him up with hopes that this history concerns the
lofty fortunes of the members of that sacred and superior class. To no
such distinction can these humble p
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PG #: 58465
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THE ORIGIN OF WITCHCRAFT, SHAMANISM, AND SORCERY.--VINDICTIVE AND
MISCHIEVOUS MAGIC.


As their peculiar perfume is the chief association with spices,
so sorcery is allied in every memory to gypsies. And as it has not
escaped many poets that there is something more strangely sweet
and mysterious in the scent of cloves than in that of flowers, so
the attribute of inherited magic power adds to the romance of these
picturesque wanderers. Both the spices and the Romany come from the
far East--the fatherland of divination and enchantment. The latter
have been traced with tolerable accuracy, if we admit their affinity
with the Indian Dom and Domar, back to the threshold of history, or
well-nigh into prehistoric times, and in all ages they, or their women,
have been engaged, as if by elvish instinct, in selling enchantments,
peddling prophecies and palmistry, and dealing with the devil generally
in a small retail way. As it was of old so it is to-day--


    Ki shan i Romani
    Adoi san' i chov'hani.

    Wherever gypsies go,
    There the witches are, we know.


It is no great problem in ethnology or anthropology as to how gypsies
became fortune-tellers. We may find a very curious illustration of
it in the wren. This is apparently as humble, modest, prosaic little
fowl as exists, and as far from mystery and wickedness as an old
hen. But the ornithologists of the olden time, and the myth-makers,
and the gypsies who lurked and lived in the forest, knew better. They
saw how this bright-eyed, strange little creature in her elvish way
slipped in and out of hollow trees and wood shade into sunlight,
and anon was gone, no man knew whither, and so they knew that it was
an uncanny creature, and told wonderful tales of its deeds in human
form, and to-day it is called by gypsies in Germany, as in England,
the witch-bird, or more briefly, chorihani, "the witch." Just so the
gypsies themselves, with their glittering Indian eyes, slipping like
the wren in and out of the shadow of the Unknown, and anon away and
invisible, won for themselves the name which now they wear. Wherever
Shamanism, or the sorcery which is based on exorcising or commanding
spirits, exists, its professors from leading strange lives, or from
solitude or wandering, become strange and wild-looking. When men have
this appearance people associate with it mysterious power. This is
the case in Tartary, Africa, among the Eskimo, Lapps, or Red Indians,
with all of whom the sorcerer, voodoo or medaolin, has the eye of
the "fascinator," glittering and cold as that of a serpent. So the
gypsies, from the mere fact of being wanderers and out-of-doors
livers in wild places, became wild-looking, and when asked if they
did not associate with the devils who dwell in the desert places,
admitted the soft impeachment, and being further questioned as to
whether their friends the devils, fairies, elves, and goblins had not
taught them how to tell the future, they pleaded guilty, and finding
that it paid well, went to work in their small way to improve their
"science," and particularly their pecuniary resources. It was an easy
calling; it required no property or properties, neither capital nor
capitol, shiners nor shrines, wherein to work the oracle. And as I
believe that a company of children left entirely to themselves would
form and grow up with a language which in a very few years would
be spoken fluently, [2] so I am certain that the shades of night,
and fear, pain, and lightning and mystery would produce in the same
time conceptions of dreaded beings, resulting first in demonology and
then in the fancied art of driving devils away. For out of my own
childish experiences and memories I retain with absolute accuracy
material enough to declare that without any aid from other people
the youthful mind forms for itself strange and seemingly supernatural
phenomena. A tree or bush waving in the night breeze by moonlight is
perhaps mistaken for a great man, the mere repetition of the sight
or of its memory make it a personal reality. Once when I was a child
powerful doses of quinine caused a peculiar throb in my ear which I
for some time believed was the sound of somebody continually walking
upstairs. Very young children sometimes imagine invisible playmates or
companions talk with them, and actually believe that the unseen talk
to them in return. I myself knew a small boy who had, as he sincerely
believed, such a companion, whom he called Bill, and when he could
not understand his lessons he consulted the mysterious William, who
explained them to him. There are children who, by the voluntary or
involuntary exercise of visual perception or volitional eye-memory,
[3] reproduce or create images which they imagine to be real, and this
faculty is much commoner than is supposed. In fact I believe that where
it exists in most remarkable degrees the adults to whom the children
describe their visions dismiss them as "fancies" or falsehoods. Even
in the very extraordinary cases recorded b
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of California and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images
generously made available by The Internet Archive/American
Libraries.)






NOTA DE TRANSCRIPCIÓN

  * En el texto, las cursivas se muestran entre _subrayados_ y las
    versalitas se han convertido a MAYÚSCULAS.

  * Los errores de imprenta han sido corregidos sin avisar.

  * Se ha respetado la ortografía del original —que difiere ligeramente
    de la actual—, normalizándola a la grafía de mayor frecuencia.

  * Se han añadido tildes a las mayúsculas que las necesitan.

  * Las notas a pie de página se han colocado al final del prólogo «Al
    Lector», único capítulo del libro que las usa.

  * Se han hecho los siguientes cambios:
    Canto XIII, 685, p. 207: «Fidas» → «Fidante», de acuerdo con la
      corrección anunciada en el Índice de nombres propios, voz Fidante.
    Canto XVI, 101, p. 244: «hombro derecho» → «hombro izquierdo»,
      según el original griego y otras traducciones más recientes (el
      escudo se llevaba normalmente a la izquierda).
    Canto XVII, 288, p. 270: «Hipóloco» → «Hipótoo», de acuerdo con la
      corrección anunciada en el Índice de nombres propios, voz Hipótoo.
    Índice de nombres propios, p. 436, voz _Príamo_: «Príamo» → «Júpiter»,
      para respetar el sentido del texto referenciado (IV, 46 y 47).

  * Algunas ilustraciones se han desplazado ligeramente, para evitar que
    interrumpieran un párrafo.




LA ILÍADA




[Ilustración]




  HOMERO

  LA ILÍADA

  VERSIÓN DIRECTA Y LITERAL DEL GRIEGO

  POR

  LUIS SEGALÁ Y ESTALELLA

  DOCTOR EN FILOSOFÍA Y LETRAS Y EN DERECHO, CATEDRÁTICO NUMERARIO
  DE LENGUA Y LITERATURA GRIEGAS EN LA UNIVERSIDAD DE BARCELONA, É
  INDIVIDUO CORRESPONDIENTE DE LA REAL ACADEMIA DE BUENAS LETRAS DE
  LA MISMA CAPITAL

  ILUSTRACIONES DE FLAXMAN Y DEL PROFESOR A. J. CHURCH


  [Ilustración]


  BARCELONA
  MONTANER Y SIMÓN, EDITORES
  CALLE DE ARAGÓN, NÚM. 255
  1908




  ES PROPIEDAD




AL LECTOR


No sin temor pongo en tus manos esta versión en prosa del inmortal
poema homérico compuesto hace _treinta siglos_[1] y no superado aún por
otro alguno; epopeya sin par y cuadro fiel de los orígenes históricos
de aquella cultura helénica que tanto influyó en la romana, y más
tarde, ya directamente, ya por medio de esta última, en la de casi
todos los pueblos civilizados.

Sabido es que la _Ilíada_ tiene por asunto un episodio de la guerra de
Troya, ocurrido en el noveno año de la misma[2]; y que se atribuye á
Homero, el padre de la poesía, el célebre aedo que recorría la Grecia
cantando al son de la cítara sus propias composiciones. No es posible
hablar en estas pocas líneas de la llamada _cuestión homérica_[3],
ni resumir lo que han dicho los críticos sobre la existencia[4] y la
patria de Homero[5], las obras que compuso[6] y el estado en que han
llegado hasta nosotros[7]. Por tanto, sólo manifestaré las razones que
me impulsaron á hacer esta versión literal del más famoso de sus poemas.

De la _Ilíada_ se han publicado en España tres traducciones: las de D.
Ignacio García Malo, D. José Gómez Hermosilla[8] y D. Conrado Roure[9];
pues la notabilísima que preparaba D. Juan Montserrat y Archs no llegó
á ver la luz pública[10]. Las dos primeras son dignas de elogio por
el conocimiento que de la obra original revelan en sus autores, y
la de Hermosilla también por su valor literario, mucho mayor de lo
que generalmente se cree, como ha demostrado mi insigne maestro D.
Marcelino Menéndez y Pelayo; pero ambas están en verso y no pueden
ser tan fieles, que no amplifiquen, mutilen ó alteren el texto para
acomodarlo á la forma métrica. De aquí que no satisfagan completamente
á quien, sin estar impuesto en la lengua griega, necesite conocer la
_Ilíada_ en sus menores detalles, le convenga alegar textualmente
algunos de sus versos ó quiera verificar las citas que se hagan de
dicho poema. En cuanto á la traducción de D. Conrado Roure, muy
estimable en algunos pasajes por su fidelidad, como está escrita en
catalán, sólo pueden utilizarla los que conocen esta lengua.

Para salvar tales inconvenientes se publica la presente versión
literal en prosa castellana; y puedo asegurarte que si el buen deseo,
el entusiasmo por la obra y la diligencia en el trabajo bastaran para
tener acierto, no habría otra que fuese más perfecta y acabada.

Dice Fr. Luis de León que «el que traslada ha de ser fiel y cabal, y si
fuere posible, contar las palabras, para dar otras tantas, y no más, de
la misma manera, cualidad, y condición y variedad de significaciones
que las originales tienen, sin limitallas á su propio sonido y parecer,
para que los que leyeren la traducción puedan entender la variedad
toda de sentidos á que da ocasión el original si se leyese, y queden
libres para escoger de ellos el que mejor les pareciere[11].» Tomando
por regla tan autorizada opinión y poniendo en práctica los consejos
que el malogrado helenista Dr. D. José Balari, eximio cat
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PG #: 151
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THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER

IN SEVEN PARTS

By Samuel Taylor Coleridge



PART THE FIRST.

     It is an ancient Mariner,
     And he stoppeth one of three.
     "By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
     Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

     "The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,
     And I am next of kin;
     The guests are met, the feast is set:
     May'st hear the merry din."

     He holds him with his skinny hand,
     "There was a ship," quoth he.
     "Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!"
     Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

     He holds him with his glittering eye--
     The Wedding-Guest stood still,
     And listens like a three years child:
     The Mariner hath his will.

     The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:
     He cannot chuse but hear;
     And thus spake on that ancient man,
     The bright-eyed Mariner.

     The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,
     Merrily did we drop
     Below the kirk, below the hill,
     Below the light-house top.

     The Sun came up upon the left,
     Out of the sea came he!
     And he shone bright, and on the right
     Went down into the sea.

     Higher and higher every day,
     Till over the mast at noon--
     The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,
     For he heard the loud bassoon.

     The bride hath paced into the hall,
     Red as a rose is she;
     Nodding their heads before her goes
     The merry minstrelsy.

     The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,
     Yet he cannot chuse but hear;
     And thus spake on that ancient man,
     The bright-eyed Mariner.

     And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he
     Was tyrannous and strong:
     He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
     And chased south along.

     With sloping masts and dipping prow,
     As who pursued with yell and blow
     Still treads the shadow of his foe
     And forward bends his head,
     The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,
     And southward aye we fled.

     And now there came both mist and snow,
     And it grew wondrous cold:
     And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
     As green as emerald.

     And through the drifts the snowy clifts
     Did send a dismal sheen:
     Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken--
     The ice was all between.

     The ice was here, the ice was there,
     The ice was all around:
     It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
     Like noises in a swound!

     At length did cross an Albatross:
     Thorough the fog it came;
     As if it had been a Christian soul,
     We hailed it in God's name.

     It ate the food it ne'er had eat,
     And round and round it flew.
     The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
     The helmsman steered us through!

     And a good south wind sprung up behind;
     The Albatross did follow,
     And every day, for food or play,
     Came to the mariners' hollo!

     In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
     It perched for vespers nine;
     Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
     Glimmered the white Moon-shine.

     "God save thee, ancient Mariner!
     From the fiends, that plague thee thus!--
     Why look'st thou so?"--With my cross-bow
     I shot the ALBATROSS.




PART THE SECOND.

     The Sun now rose upon the right:
     Out of the sea came he,
     Still hid in mist, and on the left
     Went down into the sea.

     And the good south wind still blew behind
     But no sweet bird did follow,
     Nor any day for food or play
     Came to the mariners' hollo!

     And I had done an hellish thing,
     And it would work 'em woe:
     For all averred, I had killed the bird
     That made the breeze to blow.
     Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay
     That made the breeze to blow!

     Nor dim nor red, like God's own head,
     The glorious Sun uprist:
     Then all averred, I had killed the bird
     That brought the fog and mist.
     'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,
     That bring the fog and mist.

     The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,
     The furrow followed free:
     We were the first that ever burst
     Into that silent sea.

     Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,
     'Twas sad as sad could be;
     And we did speak only to break
     The silence of the sea!

     All in a hot and copper sky,
     The bloody Sun, at noon,
     Right up above the mast did stand,
     No bigger than the Moon.

     Day after day, day after day,
     We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
     As idle as a painted ship
     Upon a painted ocean.

     Water, water, every where,
     And all the boards did shrink;
     Water, water, every where,
     Nor any drop to drink.

     The very deep did rot: O Christ!
     That ever this should be!
     Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
     Upon the slimy sea.

     About, about, in reel and rout
     The death-fires danced at night;
     The water, like a witch's oils,
     Burnt green, and blue and white.

     And some in dreams assured were
     Of the spirit that plagued us s
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PG #: 60825
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60825


_The Early Life of Lucille_


Since, dear Rosie, you are so interested to hear my birching and
whipping experiences, I will try to recollect them as well as
possible, but hope you will consider my weak state of health, and not
press me to tell you too much at once.

Perhaps you do not know that almost from my infancy it was arranged
that I should marry the Earl of Ellington, who was about twelve years
my senior, being a family compact of a purely mercenary character,
designed to consolidate some very doubtful title deeds, which now that
our union has proved unfruitful, are likely to entail great expense
and annoyance to our heirs-at-law.

My father, you know, was the Honourable Mr. Warton, and my mother died
in giving birth to myself, so that I was brought up under a nurse, and
afterwards, when about seven years old, a young lady was engaged as
governess to instil my juvenile mind with the rudiments of learning,
preparatory to being sent to a finishing school.

This lady’s name was Miss Birch, and although my papa had known her
father, Dr. Birch, for some years, I now believe that the fascination
of her name had great influence with him in making a selection from
the numerous, and in many instances more eligible ladies, who applied
for the situation.

Miss Birch was a dark lady about thirty years of age when she entered
our family, very good-looking, rather large pouting mouth, set off
with lovely rows of most pearly white teeth, which, when she smiled or
said much showed to beautiful effect in contrast to her rather swarthy
complexion, dark brown eyes, and thick bushy black arching eyebrows,
her figure was well moulded and plump, and being about five feet six,
she had quite a commanding presence.

I was nearly eight years old before I began to notice the significant
looks which occasionally passed between papa and governess, but hints
were so often thrown out about the necessity of procuring a good birch
rod for the naughty bottom of Lucille, that I was gradually awakened
to the discovery of some most mysterious kind of understanding which
must subsist between them. My infant brain was much puzzled and
alarmed, as I already felt in imagination the tingling smart of the
green twigs I so much dreaded.

Miss Birch seemed more exacting and severe over my lessons, especially
when papa happened to be in the schoolroom, and now I will tell you my
first experience of the rod.

One day after failing both in spelling and arithmetic she rang the
bell, and ordered the servant to request Mr. Warton’s presence in the
schoolroom for a few minutes. Papa entered with a very serious look,
requesting Miss Birch to inform him of the cause of sending for him.

“Mr. Warton,” said my governess, “you know we have had many serious
conversations about the necessity for proper correction in case Miss
Lucille should continue so inattentive to her studies, to-day she has
failed in everything, and I am certain that unless her energies are
sharpened up by the stinging smart of the rod she will go from bad to
worse; I am so averse to wield the birch myself, and would much
prefer that her papa should take in hand the serious whipping she
ought to have.”

Papa.—“Lucille, you hear what Miss Birch says, (I noticed him cast
most excited and amorous looks towards the governess as he spoke), she
has been most forbearing with you, and interceded with me many times
to save your bottom, and even now cannot bring herself to lift her own
hand to make you smart a little; it must indeed be a serious fault to
induce her to ask me to use the rod, but, ‘Spare the rod and spoil the
child,’ has always been a maxim with me; lay her across your lap, Miss
Birch, and pull up her clothes, whilst I get the rod out of the table
drawer.”

Miss Birch, with heaving bosom, and quite a deep blush upon her
face.—“I feel as ashamed at baring her naughty posteriors as if I was
going to suffer the degradation and humiliation myself, but come,
Lucille dear, you must bear it, and I hope you will be a better and
more diligent girl in future.” Then catching me by the wrist, as I
stood by her side covered with confusion, she tried to lay me across
her knees, but I struggled and screamed, “No! No!! No!!! I won’t be
whipped! Oh! Oh!! dear papa, do forgive me this time!” my face quite
crimson and streaming with tears.

Papa, having got out the rod, a fine switch of long thin birch twigs,
tied up with velvet and silk ribbons at the handle,—“Come! Come!!
Lucille, this resistance will only make it worse for you.” As he
seized and threw me on the governess’s lap, Miss Birch securing my
head well under her left arm, speedily pulled up dress and skirts,
till my fat little bottom was exposed in a tight fitting pair of
drawers, my legs being left to kick about, although I was quite firmly
secured, and to all intents quite helpless, and my toes could scarcely
touch the ground.

I could hear papa whisking the birch about, and then he said, “That
will do famously, Miss Birch, keep her head
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 8092
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/8092


Once upon a time there were two little boys who lived chiefly in the
front garden, because their villa was a model one. The front garden was
about the same size as the dinner table; it consisted of four strips of
gravel, a square of turf with some mysterious pieces of cork standing up
in the middle and one flower bed with a row of red daisies. One morning
while they were at play in these romantic grounds, a passing individual,
probably the milkman, leaned over the railing and engaged them in
philosophical conversation. The boys, whom we will call Paul and Peter,
were at least sharply interested in his remarks. For the milkman (who
was, I need say, a fairy) did his duty in that state of life by offering
them in the regulation manner anything that they chose to ask for. And
Paul closed with the offer with a business-like abruptness, explaining
that he had long wished to be a giant that he might stride across
continents and oceans and visit Niagara or the Himalayas in an afternoon
dinner stroll. The milkman producing a wand from his breast pocket,
waved it in a hurried and perfunctory manner; and in an instant the
model villa with its front garden was like a tiny doll's house at Paul's
colossal feet. He went striding away with his head above the clouds to
visit Niagara and the Himalayas. But when he came to the Himalayas,
he found they were quite small and silly-looking, like the little cork
rockery in the garden; and when he found Niagara it was no bigger than
the tap turned on in the bathroom. He wandered round the world for
several minutes trying to find something really large and finding
everything small, till in sheer boredom he lay down on four or five
prairies and fell asleep. Unfortunately his head was just outside the
hut of an intellectual backwoodsman who came out of it at that moment
with an axe in one hand and a book of Neo-Catholic Philosophy in the
other. The man looked at the book and then at the giant, and then at the
book again. And in the book it said, “It can be maintained that the evil
of pride consists in being out of proportion to the universe.” So the
backwoodsman put down his book, took his axe and, working eight hours a
day for about a week, cut the giant's head off; and there was an end of
him.

Such is the severe yet salutary history of Paul. But Peter, oddly
enough, made exactly the opposite request; he said he had long wished to
be a pigmy about half an inch high; and of course he immediately became
one. When the transformation was over he found himself in the midst of
an immense plain, covered with a tall green jungle and above which, at
intervals, rose strange trees each with a head like the sun in symbolic
pictures, with gigantic rays of silver and a huge heart of gold. Toward
the middle of this prairie stood up a mountain of such romantic and
impossible shape, yet of such stony height and dominance, that it looked
like some incident of the end of the world. And far away on the faint
horizon he could see the line of another forest, taller and yet more
mystical, of a terrible crimson colour, like a forest on fire for ever.
He set out on his adventures across that coloured plain; and he has not
come to the end of it yet.

Such is the story of Peter and Paul, which contains all the highest
qualities of a modern fairy tale, including that of being wholly unfit
for children; and indeed the motive with which I have introduced it is
not childish, but rather full of subtlety and reaction. It is in fact
the almost desperate motive of excusing or palliating the pages that
follow. Peter and Paul are the two primary influences upon European
literature to-day; and I may be permitted to put my own preference in
its most favourable shape, even if I can only do it by what little girls
call telling a story.

I need scarcely say that I am the pigmy. The only excuse for the scraps
that follow is that they show what can be achieved with a commonplace
existence and the sacred spectacles of exaggeration. The other great
literary theory, that which is roughly represented in England by Mr.
Rudyard Kipling, is that we moderns are to regain the primal zest by
sprawling all over the world growing used to travel and geographical
variety, being at home everywhere, that is being at home nowhere. Let it
be granted that a man in a frock coat is a heartrending sight; and the
two alternative methods still remain. Mr. Kipling's school advises us
to go to Central Africa in order to find a man without a frock coat. The
school to which I belong suggests that we should stare steadily at the
man until we see the man inside the frock coat. If we stare at him long
enough he may even be moved to take off his coat to us; and that is a
far greater compliment than his taking off his hat. In other words,
we may, by fixing our attention almost fiercely on the facts actually
before us, force them to turn into adventures; force them to give up
their meaning and fulfil their mysterious purpose. The purpose of the
Kipling liter
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PG #: 10662
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10662





THE DREAMS THAT ARE ONLY DREAMS


"This to be Love, that your spirit to live in a natural holiness with
the Beloved, and your bodies to be a sweet and natural delight that
shall be never lost of a lovely mystery.... And shame to be unborn, and
all things to go wholesome and proper, out of an utter greatness of
understanding; and the Man to be an Hero and a Child before the Woman;
and the Woman to be an Holy Light of the Spirit and an Utter Companion
and in the same time a glad Possession unto the Man.... And this doth be
Human Love...."

"...for this to be the especial glory of Love, that it doth make unto
all Sweetness and Greatness, and doth be a fire burning all Littleness;
so that did all in this world to have met The Beloved, then did
Wantonness be dead, and there to grow Gladness and Charity, dancing in
the years."





MIRDATH THE BEAUTIFUL


    "And I cannot touch her face
    And I cannot touch her hair,
    And I kneel to empty shadows--
    Just memories of her grace;
    And her voice sings in the winds
    And in the sobs of dawn
    And among the flowers at night
    And from the brooks at sunrise
    And from the sea at sunset,
    And I answer with vain callings ..."

It was the Joy of the Sunset that brought us to speech. I was gone a
long way from my house, walking lonely-wise, and stopping often that I
view the piling upward of the Battlements of Evening, and to feel the
dear and strange gathering of the Dusk come over all the world about me.

The last time that I paused, I was truly lost in a solemn joy of the
Glory of the Coming Night; and maybe I laughed a little in my throat,
standing there alone in the midst of the Dusk upon the World. And, lo!
my content was answered out of the trees that bounded the country road
upon my right; and it was so as that some one had said: "And thou also!"
in glad understanding, that I laughed again a little in my throat; as
though I had only a half-believing that any true human did answer my
laugh; but rather some sweet Delusion or Spirit that was tuned to my
mood.

But she spoke and called me by my name; and when I had gone to the side
of the road, that I should see her somewhat, and discover whether I knew
her, I saw that she was surely that lady, who for her beauty was known
through all of that sweet County of Kent as Lady Mirdath the Beautiful;
and a near neighbour to me; for the Estates of her Guardian abounded
upon mine.

Yet, until that time, I had never met her; for I had been so oft and
long abroad; and so much given to my Studies and my Exercises when at
home, that I had no further Knowledge of her than Rumour gave to me odd
time; and for the rest, I was well content; for as I have given hint, my
books held me, and likewise my Exercises; for I was always an athlete,
and never met the man so quick or so strong as I did be; save in some
fiction of a tale or in the mouth of a boaster.

Now, I stood instantly with my hat in my hand; and answered her gentle
bantering so well as I might, the while that I peered intent and
wondering at her through the gloom; for truly Rumour had told no tale to
equal the beauty of this strange maid; who now stood jesting with so
sweet a spirit, and claiming kinship of Cousinhood with me, as was
truth, now that I did wake to think.

And, truly, she made no ado; but named me frank by my lad's name, and
gave laughter and right to me to name her Mirdath, and nothing less or
more--at that time. And she bid me then to come up through the hedge,
and make use of a gap that was her own especial secret, as she
confessed, when she took odd leave with her maid to some country frolic,
drest as village maids; but not to deceive many, as I dare believe.

And I came up through the gap in the hedge and stood beside her; and
tall she had seemed to me, when I looked up at her; and tall she was, in
truth; but indeed I was a great head taller. And she invited me then to
walk with her to the house, that I meet her Guardian and give word to my
sorrow that I had so long neglected to make call upon them; and truly
her eyes to shine with mischief and delight, as she named me so for my
amissness.

But, indeed, she grew sober in a moment, and she set up her finger to me
to hush, as that she heard somewhat in the wood that lay all the way
upon our right. And, indeed, something I heard too; for there was surely
a rustling of the leaves, and anon a dead twig crackt with a sound clear
and sharp in the stillness.

And immediately there came three men running out of the wood at me; and
I called to them sharply to keep off or beware of harm; and I put the
maid to my back with my left hand, and had my oak staff ready for my
use.

But the three men gave out no word of reply; but ran in at me; and I saw
somewhat of the gleam of knives; and at that, I moved very glad and
brisk to the attack; and behind me there went shrill and sweet, the call
of a silver whistle; for the Maid was whistling for her dogs; and maybe
the call was also a signal to the men
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 3172
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3172

FENIMORE COOPER'S LITERARY OFFENCES

by Mark Twain



          The Pathfinder and The Deerslayer stand at the head of Cooper's
          novels as artistic creations.  There are others of his works
          which contain parts as perfect as are to be found in these, and
          scenes even more thrilling.  Not one can be compared with
          either of them as a finished whole.

          The defects in both of these tales are comparatively slight.
          They were pure works of art.--Prof. Lounsbury.


          The five tales reveal an extraordinary fulness of invention.
          ...  One of the very greatest characters in fiction, Natty
          Bumppo....

          The craft of the woodsman, the tricks of the trapper, all the
          delicate art of the forest, were familiar to Cooper from his
          youth up.--Prof. Brander Matthews.

          Cooper is the greatest artist in the domain of romantic fiction
          yet produced by America.--Wilkie Collins.


It seems to me that it was far from right for the Professor of English
Literature in Yale, the Professor of English Literature in Columbia, and
Wilkie Collins to deliver opinions on Cooper's literature without having
read some of it. It would have been much more decorous to keep silent
and let persons talk who have read Cooper.

Cooper's art has some defects. In one place in 'Deerslayer,' and in the
restricted space of two-thirds of a page, Cooper has scored 114 offences
against literary art out of a possible 115. It breaks the record.

There are nineteen rules governing literary art in the domain of
romantic fiction--some say twenty-two. In Deerslayer Cooper violated
eighteen of them. These eighteen require:

1. That a tale shall accomplish something and arrive somewhere. But the
Deerslayer tale accomplishes nothing and arrives in the air.

2. They require that the episodes of a tale shall be necessary parts of
the tale, and shall help to develop it. But as the Deerslayer tale is
not a tale, and accomplishes nothing and arrives nowhere, the episodes
have no rightful place in the work, since there was nothing for them to
develop.

3. They require that the personages in a tale shall be alive, except in
the case of corpses, and that always the reader shall be able to tell
the corpses from the others. But this detail has often been overlooked
in the Deerslayer tale.

4. They require that the personages in a tale, both dead and alive,
shall exhibit a sufficient excuse for being there. But this detail also
has been overlooked in the Deerslayer tale.

5. They require that when the personages of a tale deal in conversation,
the talk shall sound like human talk, and be talk such as human
beings would be likely to talk in the given circumstances, and have
a discoverable meaning, also a discoverable purpose, and a show of
relevancy, and remain in the neighborhood of the subject in hand, and
be interesting to the reader, and help out the tale, and stop when the
people cannot think of anything more to say. But this requirement has
been ignored from the beginning of the Deerslayer tale to the end of it.

6. They require that when the author describes the character of a
personage in his tale, the conduct and conversation of that personage
shall justify said description. But this law gets little or no attention
in the Deerslayer tale, as Natty Bumppo's case will amply prove.

7. They require that when a personage talks like an illustrated,
gilt-edged, tree-calf, hand-tooled, seven-dollar Friendship's Offering
in the beginning of a paragraph, he shall not talk like a negro minstrel
in the end of it. But this rule is flung down and danced upon in the
Deerslayer tale.

8. They require that crass stupidities shall not be played upon the
reader as “the craft of the woodsman, the delicate art of the forest,”
 by either the author or the people in the tale. But this rule is
persistently violated in the Deerslayer tale.

9. They require that the personages of a tale shall confine themselves
to possibilities and let miracles alone; or, if they venture a miracle,
the author must so plausibly set it forth as to make it look possible
and reasonable. But these rules are not respected in the Deerslayer
tale.

10. They require that the author shall make the reader feel a deep
interest in the personages of his tale and in their fate; and that he
shall make the reader love the good people in the tale and hate the bad
ones. But the reader of the Deerslayer tale dislikes the good people in
it, is indifferent to the others, and wishes they would all get drowned
together.

11. They require that the characters in a tale shall be so clearly
defined that the reader can tell beforehand what each will do in a given
emergency. But in the Deerslayer tale this rule is vacated.

In addition to these large rules there are some little ones. These
require that the author shall:

12. Say what he is proposing to say, not merely come near it.

13. Use the right word, not its seco
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 13614
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13614








PREFACE.


In this volume the terminal phenomena of the sexual process are discussed,
before an attempt is finally made, in the concluding volume, to consider
the bearings of the psychology of sex on that part of morals which may be
called "social hygiene."

Under "Erotic Symbolism" I include practically all the aberrations of the
sexual instinct, although some of these have seemed of sufficient
importance for separate discussion in previous volumes. It is highly
probable that many readers will consider that the name scarcely suffices
to cover manifestations so numerous and so varied. The term "sexual
equivalents" will seem preferable to some. While, however, it may be fully
admitted that these perversions are "sexual equivalents"--or at all events
equivalents of the normal sexual impulse--that term is merely a
descriptive label which tells us nothing of the phenomena. "Sexual
Symbolism" gives us the key to the process, the key that makes all these
perversions intelligible. In all of them--very clearly in some, as in
shoe-fetichism; more obscurely in others, as in exhibitionism--it has come
about by causes congenital, acquired, or both, that some object or class
of objects, some act or group of acts, has acquired a dynamic power over
the psycho-physical mechanism of the sexual process, deflecting it from
its normal adjustment to the whole of a beloved person of the opposite
sex. There has been a transmutation of values, and certain objects,
certain acts, have acquired an emotional value which for the normal person
they do not possess. Such objects and acts are properly, it seems to me,
termed symbols, and that term embodies the only justification that in most
cases these manifestations can legitimately claim.

"The Mechanism of Detumescence" brings us at last to the final climax for
which the earlier and more prolonged stage of tumescence, which has
occupied us so often in these _Studies_, is the elaborate preliminary.
"The art of love," a clever woman novelist has written, "is the art of
preparation." That "preparation" is, on the physiological side, the
production of tumescence, and all courtship is concerned in building up
tumescence. But the final conjugation of two individuals in an explosion
of detumescence, thus slowly brought about, though it is largely an
involuntary act, is still not without its psychological implications and
consequences; and it is therefore a matter for regret that so little is
yet known about it. The one physiological act in which two individuals are
lifted out of all ends that center in self and become the instrument of
those higher forces which fashion the species, can never be an act to be
slurred over as trivial or unworthy of study.

In the brief study of "The Psychic State in Pregnancy" we at last touch
the point at which the whole complex process of sex reaches its goal. A
woman with a child in her womb is the everlasting miracle which all the
romance of love, all the cunning devices of tumescence and detumescence,
have been invented to make manifest. The psychic state of the woman who
thus occupies the supreme position which life has to offer cannot fail to
be of exceeding interest from many points of view, and not least because
the maternal instinct is one of the elements even of love between the
sexes. But the psychology of pregnancy is full of involved problems, and
here again, as so often in the wide field we have traversed, we stand at
the threshold of a door it is not yet given us to pass.

HAVELOCK ELLIS.

Carbis Water, Lelant, Cornwall.




CONTENTS.


EROTIC SYMBOLISM.


The Definition of Erotic Symbolism. Symbolism of Act and Symbolism of
Object. Erotic Fetichism. Wide Extension of the Symbols of Sex. The
Immense Variety of Possible Erotic Fetiches. The Normal Foundations of
Erotic Symbolism. Classification of the Phenomena. The Tendency to
Idealize the Defects of a Beloved Person. Stendhal's "Crystallization".


Foot-fetichism and Shoe-fetichism. Wide Prevalence and Normal Basis.
Restif de la Bretonne. The Foot a Normal Focus of Sexual Attraction Among
Some Peoples. The Chinese, Greeks, Romans, Spaniards, etc. The Congenital
Predisposition in Erotic Symbolism. The Influence of Early Association and
Emotional Shock. Shoe-fetichism in Relation to Masochism. The Two
Phenomena Independent Though Allied. The Desire to be Trodden On. The
Fascination of Physical Constraint. The Symbolism of Self-inflicted Pain.
The Dynamic Element in Erotic Symbolism. The Symbolism of Garments.


Scatalogic Symbolism. Urolagnia. Coprolagnia. The Ascetic Attitude Towards
the Flesh. Normal Basis of Scatalogic Symbolism. Scatalogic Conceptions
Among Primitive Peoples. Urine as a Primitive Holy Water. Sacredness of
Animal Excreta. Scatalogy in Folk-lore. The Obscene as Derived from the
Mythological. The Immature Sexual Impulse Tends to Manifest Itself in
Scatalogic Forms. The Basis of Physiological Connection Between the
Urinary and Genital Spheres. Urinary Fetichism Sometimes No
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 17314
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/17314




 COPYRIGHT, 1905, BY
DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY

_Published October, 1905_




          _TO_

          JOHN BLAND


          _My Lamb, you are so very small,
          You have not learned to read at all;
          Yet never a printed book withstands
          The urgence of your dimpled hands.
          So, though this book is for yourself,
          Let mother keep it on the shelf
          Till you can read. O days that pass,
          That day will come too soon, alas!_




NOTE


Parts of this story have appeared in the _Strand Magazine_ under the
title of

          "THE PSAMMEAD."




CONTENTS

CHAPTER                            PAGE

   I BEAUTIFUL AS THE DAY            1

  II GOLDEN GUINEAS                 36

 III BEING WANTED                   70

  IV WINGS                         108

   V NO WINGS                      141

  VI A CASTLE AND NO DINNER        159

 VII A SIEGE AND BED               183

VIII BIGGER THAN THE BAKER'S BOY   203

  IX GROWN UP                      236

   X SCALPS                        261

  XI THE LAST WISH                 287




ILLUSTRATIONS


The Psammead                                          _Frontispiece_

That First Glorious Rush Round the Garden         _Facing page_    2

Cyril Had Nipped His Finger in the Door of a Hutch   "     "       4

Anthea Suddenly Screamed, "It's Alive!"              "     "      12

The Baby Did Not Know Them!                          "     "      28

Martha Emptied a Toilet-jug of Cold Water Over Him   "     "      32

The Rain Fell in Slow Drops on to Anthea's Face      "     "      36

He Staggered, and Had to Sit Down Again in a Hurry   "     "      50

Mr. Beale Snatched the Coin, Bit It, and Put It in
  His Pocket                                         "     "       58

They Had Run Into Martha and the Baby                "     "       64

He Said, "Now Then!" to the Policeman and Mr.
  Peasemarsh                                         "     "       66

The Lucky Children Hurriedly Started for the Gravel
  Pit                                                "     "       78

"Poof, poof, poofy," He Said, and Made a Grab        "     "       86

At Double-quick Time Ran the Twinkling Legs of the
  Lamb's Brothers and Sisters                        "      "      88

The Next Minute the Two Were Fighting                "      "      90

He Snatched the Baby from Anthea                     "      "      94

He Consented to Let the Two Gypsy Women Feed Him     "      "      98

The Sand-fairy Blew Himself Out                      "      "     122

They Flew Over Rochester                             "      "     126

The Farmer Sat Down on the Grass, Suddenly and
  Heavily                                            "      "     128

Everyone Now Turned Out His Pockets                  "      "     132

These Were the Necessaries of Life                   "      "     134

The Children Were Fast Asleep                        "      "     138

The Keeper Spoke Deep-Chested Words through the
  Keyhole                                            "      "     150

There the Castle Stood, Black and Stately            "      "     164

Robert Was Dragged Forthwith--by the Reluctant Ear   "      "     166

He Wiped Away a Manly Tear                           "      "     168

"Oh, Do, Do, Do, _Do_!" Said Robert                  "      "     174

The Man Fell with a Splash Into the Moat-water       "      "     196

Anthea Tilted the Pot over the Nearest Leadhole      "      "     198

He Pulled Robert's Hair                              "      "     210

"The Sammyadd's Done Us Again," Said Cyril           "      "     214

He Lifted Up the Baker's Boy and Set Him on Top of
  the Haystack                                       "      "     216

It Was a Strange Sensation Being Wheeled in a
  Pony-carriage by a Giant                           "      "     220

When the Girl Came Out She Was Pale and Trembling    "      "     228

"When Your Time's Up Come to Me"                     "      "     230

He Opened the Case and Used the Whole Thing as a
  Garden Spade                                       "      "     238

She Did It Gently by Tickling His Nose with a Twig of
    Honeysuckle                                      "      "     244

There, Sure Enough, Stood a Bicycle                  "      "     248

The Punctured State of It Was Soon Evident           "      "     250

The Grown-up Lamb Struggled                          "      "     258

She Broke Open the Missionary Box with the Poker     "      "     266

"Ye Seek a Pow-wow?" He Said                         "      "     278

Bright Knives Were Being Brandished All about Them   "      "     284

She Was Clasped in Eight Loving Arms                 "      "     294

"We Found a Fairy," Said Jane, Obediently            "      "     298

It Burrowed, and Disappeared, Scratching Fiercely
  to the Last                                        "      "     308





BEAUTIFUL A
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 64957
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64957

THE MAGNETIC GIRL

 BY
 RICHARD MARSH
 AUTHOR OF
 “_The Beetle_,” “_Curios: Some Strange Adventures of Two Bachelors_,”
 “_Ada Vernham, Actress_,” “_Mrs Musgrave and Her Husband_,”
 “_The Twickenham Peerage_,” _etc._

 London
 John Long
 13 and 14 Norris Street, Haymarket
 1903




 COPYRIGHT.

 _Copyright by John Long 1903
 All Rights Reserved_




 CONTENTS.

 CHAPTER I. A MAN
 CHAPTER II. WOMEN’S VOICES
 CHAPTER III. THE UNFINISHED SENTENCE
 CHAPTER IV. THE EPISODE OF THE BAKER’S BOY
 CHAPTER V. THE FURTHER EPISODES OF THE SHOP-WALKER AND THE ARTIST IN
   HAIR
 CHAPTER VI. MISS NORAH FEELS ODD
 CHAPTER VII. MISS NORAH RECEIVES TWO GENTLEMEN
 CHAPTER VIII. MEN ARE DECEIVERS EVER
 CHAPTER IX. MORE TREACHERY
 CHAPTER X. THE COMPROMISE
 CHAPTER XI. THE TURNING OF THE WORM
 CHAPTER XII. MISS NORAH’S SOLILOQUY
 CHAPTER XIII. JANE
 CHAPTER XIV. A QUARTER TO SEVEN
 CHAPTER XV. TRAMPLING UPON FIVE
 CHAPTER XVI. THE DINNER WHICH FAILED
 CHAPTER XVII. THE BROWN MAN
 CHAPTER XVIII. BEFORE THE CURTAIN
 CHAPTER XIX. AN UNREHEARSED EFFECT
 CHAPTER XX. THE BROUGHAM
 CHAPTER XXI. THE SINGULAR WOOING
 CHAPTER XXII. I BEHAVE LIKE A GOOSE
 CHAPTER XXIII. “UNTIL?”
 CHAPTER XXIV. THE FINISHED SENTENCE
 CHAPTER XXV. THE BROWN MAN’S APOLOGY
 CHAPTER XXVI. ON THE SINGULAR EFFECTS OF SUNLIGHT




 THE MAGNETIC GIRL




 CHAPTER I.
 A MAN

It was the most extraordinary thing that ever happened to anyone. I
really hardly know how to begin to tell about it. I was doing my hair
before the looking-glass in my bedroom--and I could not help noticing
that it was rather a curious colour, though my eyes were nearly
blinded by tears of rage, and something else. The rage was because
Lilian and Audrey and Eveleen and Doris, and mother too, had been
saying all the nasty things they could to me. The something else was
because Benjamin Morgan had asked me to be his wife.

There--it’s out! My first proposal of marriage--my very, very first!
and that it should have come from him! It made me go hot all over with
shame and disgust and a most singular variety of feelings.

They had been teasing me about him for ever so long; congratulating
me--of course, with the most biting sarcasm--on having made a conquest
at last. I am twenty-three, and nearly twenty-four, and no man ever
paid me the least attention--until Mr Morgan began. And I wished he
had not; because they made the most dreadful fun of him, and teased me
more than they had ever done before--which is saying more than words
can describe--on account of his being a hunchback. At least, he’s not
exactly a hunchback, though they say he is: but I do like to be
accurate, and I don’t care who laughs at me, and I’m quite sure that
it’s only one shoulder which is a little higher than the other.
There’s no denying that he is rather short for a man. His nurse
dropped him when he was a baby. For years they never thought that he
would live. If it were not for that there would be nothing against
him. He has a nice face,--no one can say that there is anything the
matter with that; with big black eyes, and the sweetest smile, and the
pleasantest voice. He was the most thoughtful person I ever met. As
generous as could be. He never said disagreeable things about anyone.
I never saw him impatient, or out of temper. Though he had a way,
sometimes, of making you understand that he was hurt by something
which had been said or done, which made you feel that you were a
perfect wretch.

If he had not been crooked! They never ceased to laugh at me because
of “Crooked Ben,”--as they loved to call him. It got to such a state
that I grew to hate the sight of him. At the mere mention of his name
I would go hot all over;--they were always dragging him in by the head
and ears! Persisting--in season and out of season!--in telling me how
glad they were that I had some sort of an admirer at last, even if it
wasn’t a very straight one. That made me so wild that I would declare
that he was no admirer of mine, though I could not help but suspect
the contrary. Then, of course, they would go on worse than ever,
saying that having a lover like that was almost like having two:
because he had two such different sides to him that no one would
suppose that the one belonged to the other; and that when he was my
husband I might call one side of him by one name, and the other by
another. I have not the very best of tempers, and when they talked
like that I would fly into such rages; vowing and declaring that
nothing on earth would ever induce me to have anything to do with him,
and that nothing was further from his mind than the idea of asking me,
since I had given him no sort of encouragement, but, on the contrary,
had given him clearly to understand that I did not desire even his
acquaintance.

And now, in spite of all my vows and declarations, he had actually
made me a proposal of marriage. If they ever came to hear of it I
might as well go into a lunatic asylum at once; because they would
certainly end by driving me there.

And yet I wa
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and revised by Jeannie Howse




Dracula’s Guest

by Bram Stoker


First published 1914

To MY SON

Contents

 PREFACE
 Dracula’s Guest
 The Judge’s House
 The Squaw
 The Secret of the Growing Gold
 The Gipsy Prophecy
 The Coming of Abel Behenna
 The Burial of the Rats
 A Dream of Red Hands
 Crooken Sands




PREFACE


A few months before the lamented death of my husband—I might say even
as the shadow of death was over him—he planned three series of short
stories for publication, and the present volume is one of them. To his
original list of stories in this book, I have added an hitherto
unpublished episode from _Dracula_. It was originally excised owing to
the length of the book, and may prove of interest to the many readers
of what is considered my husband’s most remarkable work. The other
stories have already been published in English and American
periodicals. Had my husband lived longer, he might have seen fit to
revise this work, which is mainly from the earlier years of his
strenuous life. But, as fate has entrusted to me the issuing of it, I
consider it fitting and proper to let it go forth practically as it was
left by him.

FLORENCE BRAM STOKER




Dracula’s Guest


When we started for our drive the sun was shining brightly on Munich,
and the air was full of the joyousness of early summer. Just as we were
about to depart, Herr Delbrück (the maître d’hôtel of the Quatre
Saisons, where I was staying) came down, bareheaded, to the carriage
and, after wishing me a pleasant drive, said to the coachman, still
holding his hand on the handle of the carriage door:

“Remember you are back by nightfall. The sky looks bright but there is
a shiver in the north wind that says there may be a sudden storm. But I
am sure you will not be late.” Here he smiled, and added, “for you know
what night it is.”

Johann answered with an emphatic, “Ja, mein Herr,” and, touching his
hat, drove off quickly. When we had cleared the town, I said, after
signalling to him to stop:

“Tell me, Johann, what is tonight?”

He crossed himself, as he answered laconically: “Walpurgis nacht.” Then
he took out his watch, a great, old-fashioned German silver thing as
big as a turnip, and looked at it, with his eyebrows gathered together
and a little impatient shrug of his shoulders. I realised that this was
his way of respectfully protesting against the unnecessary delay, and
sank back in the carriage, merely motioning him to proceed. He started
off rapidly, as if to make up for lost time. Every now and then the
horses seemed to throw up their heads and sniffed the air suspiciously.
On such occasions I often looked round in alarm. The road was pretty
bleak, for we were traversing a sort of high, wind-swept plateau. As we
drove, I saw a road that looked but little used, and which seemed to
dip through a little, winding valley. It looked so inviting that, even
at the risk of offending him, I called Johann to stop—and when he had
pulled up, I told him I would like to drive down that road. He made all
sorts of excuses, and frequently crossed himself as he spoke. This
somewhat piqued my curiosity, so I asked him various questions. He
answered fencingly, and repeatedly looked at his watch in protest.
Finally I said:

“Well, Johann, I want to go down this road. I shall not ask you to come
unless you like; but tell me why you do not like to go, that is all I
ask.” For answer he seemed to throw himself off the box, so quickly did
he reach the ground. Then he stretched out his hands appealingly to me,
and implored me not to go. There was just enough of English mixed with
the German for me to understand the drift of his talk. He seemed always
just about to tell me something—the very idea of which evidently
frightened him; but each time he pulled himself up, saying, as he
crossed himself: “Walpurgis-Nacht!”

I tried to argue with him, but it was difficult to argue with a man
when I did not know his language. The advantage certainly rested with
him, for although he began to speak in English, of a very crude and
broken kind, he always got excited and broke into his native tongue—and
every time he did so, he looked at his watch. Then the horses became
restless and sniffed the air. At this he grew very pale, and, looking
around in a frightened way, he suddenly jumped forward, took them by
the bridles and led them on some twenty feet. I followed, and asked why
he had done this. For answer he crossed himself, pointed to the spot we
had left and drew his carriage in the direction of the other road,
indicating a cross, and said, first in German, then in English: “Buried
him—him what killed themselves.”

I remembered the old custom of burying suicides at cross-roads: “Ah! I
see, a suicide. How interesting!” But for the life of me I could not
make out why the horses were frightened.

Whilst we were talking, we heard a sort of sound between a yelp and a
bark. It was far away; but the horses got very restless, and it took
Johann all his time to quiet them. He was pa
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I first saw the light in the city of Boston in the year 1857. "What!"
you say, "eighteen fifty-seven? That is an odd slip. He means nineteen
fifty-seven, of course." I beg pardon, but there is no mistake. It was
about four in the afternoon of December the 26th, one day after
Christmas, in the year 1857, not 1957, that I first breathed the east
wind of Boston, which, I assure the reader, was at that remote period
marked by the same penetrating quality characterizing it in the present
year of grace, 2000.

These statements seem so absurd on their face, especially when I add
that I am a young man apparently of about thirty years of age, that no
person can be blamed for refusing to read another word of what promises
to be a mere imposition upon his credulity. Nevertheless I earnestly
assure the reader that no imposition is intended, and will undertake,
if he shall follow me a few pages, to entirely convince him of this. If
I may, then, provisionally assume, with the pledge of justifying the
assumption, that I know better than the reader when I was born, I will
go on with my narrative. As every schoolboy knows, in the latter part
of the nineteenth century the civilization of to-day, or anything like
it, did not exist, although the elements which were to develop it were
already in ferment. Nothing had, however, occurred to modify the
immemorial division of society into the four classes, or nations, as
they may be more fitly called, since the differences between them were
far greater than those between any nations nowadays, of the rich and
the poor, the educated and the ignorant. I myself was rich and also
educated, and possessed, therefore, all the elements of happiness
enjoyed by the most fortunate in that age. Living in luxury, and
occupied only with the pursuit of the pleasures and refinements of
life, I derived the means of my support from the labor of others,
rendering no sort of service in return. My parents and grand-parents
had lived in the same way, and I expected that my descendants, if I had
any, would enjoy a like easy existence.

But how could I live without service to the world? you ask. Why should
the world have supported in utter idleness one who was able to render
service? The answer is that my great-grandfather had accumulated a sum
of money on which his descendants had ever since lived. The sum, you
will naturally infer, must have been very large not to have been
exhausted in supporting three generations in idleness. This, however,
was not the fact. The sum had been originally by no means large. It
was, in fact, much larger now that three generations had been supported
upon it in idleness, than it was at first. This mystery of use without
consumption, of warmth without combustion, seems like magic, but was
merely an ingenious application of the art now happily lost but carried
to great perfection by your ancestors, of shifting the burden of one's
support on the shoulders of others. The man who had accomplished this,
and it was the end all sought, was said to live on the income of his
investments. To explain at this point how the ancient methods of
industry made this possible would delay us too much. I shall only stop
now to say that interest on investments was a species of tax in
perpetuity upon the product of those engaged in industry which a person
possessing or inheriting money was able to levy. It must not be
supposed that an arrangement which seems so unnatural and preposterous
according to modern notions was never criticized by your ancestors. It
had been the effort of lawgivers and prophets from the earliest ages to
abolish interest, or at least to limit it to the smallest possible
rate. All these efforts had, however, failed, as they necessarily must
so long as the ancient social organizations prevailed. At the time of
which I write, the latter part of the nineteenth century, governments
had generally given up trying to regulate the subject at all.

By way of attempting to give the reader some general impression of the
way people lived together in those days, and especially of the
relations of the rich and poor to one another, perhaps I cannot do
better than to compare society as it then was to a prodigious coach
which the masses of humanity were harnessed to and dragged toilsomely
along a very hilly and sandy road. The driver was hunger, and permitted
no lagging, though the pace was necessarily very slow. Despite the
difficulty of drawing the coach at all along so hard a road, the top
was covered with passengers who never got down, even at the steepest
ascents. These seats on top were very breezy and comfortable. Well up
out of the dust, their occupants could enjoy the scenery at their
leisure, or critically discuss the merits of the straining team.
Naturally such places were in great demand and the competition for them
was keen, every one seeking as the first end in life to secure a seat
on the coach for himself and to leave it to his child after him. By the
rule of the coach a man c
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custom. A square tower surmounts the gate, and the pillars are inscribed
with Arabic legends. The horse-shoe arch has a mighty hand in
bas-relief, with the fingers pointing upward, and on the second arch is
a key in stone, and the tradition is that the gate was impregnable until
the stone hand should take the stone key and unlock the gate for the
enemy to enter. Without waiting for such a miracle, we pass through the
two-leaved gates, and by a winding and still ascending path we reach the
terrace on which the palaces and villas of the Moorish kings were built.
This plateau is about half a mile long, and narrow, surrounded by red
walls six feet thick and thirty feet high, and made strong by many
towers, each one of which was the residence of some of the household of
royalty. The various styles of architecture within and on these walls
are the best illustrations of the successive races and tastes and power
of the men who have ruled on this lofty eminence. Rome and Carthage has
each in its turn been master here, and left his sign-manual in
characters that time has spared. More incongruous than any thing else is
the Tuscan palace of Charles V., and a modern parish church has risen on
the ruins of a mosque. Napoleon’s soldiers were followed by the English,
and modern war is not a whit more mindful of the proprieties of art and
sentiment than the old savagery which we despise. Ruin, desolation,
decay is now the spirit of the place. It is impressive, eloquent indeed;
perhaps more so than those ruins in Egypt and Greece and Rome that have
the hoar of more centuries upon them. It is not so strange, nor so
mournful, that the columns and walls should now be in the dust that did
their duty two, three thousand years ago. It seems to be almost becoming
that the temples of old paganism should moulder in the dispensation of
faith that worships in spirit only. But it is painfully suggestive of
the transient nature of all human art and power that these massive
structures with gorgeous decorations, whose splendor is only equalled by
the fancies of romance, have had their rise, their reign, and their ruin
all within the lapse of the last ten hundred years.

Antonio Aguilo ’y Fuster, Conseije del Palacio Arabe, Alhambra, gave me
his card, as we entered a small door in the side of a plain wall, and
were informed that we were now in the palace of the Moors, the veritable
Alhambra itself! The important personage whose card was in my hand was
the guardian of this mysterious realm, and would, for the usual
consideration of a dollar to him paid, introduce us to the several
apartments. The contract was concluded, and the porter led the way.

He brought us first into the Court of Myrtles. It is a vast open oblong,
170 feet by 74, with a lake in the centre, surrounded by a marble
pavement and myrtle-trees, from which it takes its name. In this lake
the wives of the Moorish monarch bathed, of course secluded from all
eyes but his own, and the eunuchs, whose “sentry boxes” still remain.
Light and beautiful columns, with graceful arches springing from the
capitals, support a gallery on all sides. Out of this court open many
rooms, whose floors and walls and ceilings, with their inscriptions,
their delicate tracery work, not worth the name of sculpture, but
beautiful as perishable, are the types of the race that revelled here in
the beginning of the fourteenth century. Right here Mohammed III. had
his head cut off, and his body was pitched into the water where the
usurper king Nasr often enjoyed the luxury of a bath with his wives.

The governor, or more properly the janitor, made brief comments on the
architecture and uses of the various apartments, and then led us to the
_Court of Lions_. Above all other portions of the Alhambra this gives
the most correct idea of the palace as it was in its ancient and early
glory. A process of restoration has been going on for some years, under
the direction of government, and Sr. Contreras having the work in
charge, has succeeded so happily that Yusef himself, who was the first
monarch to indulge in these Oriental shawl-pattern tracery and tawdry
designs, would have been delighted to have the modern architect to help
him from the beginning. And the Emperor of Russia has heard such reports
of the wonderful restorative powers of this skilful manipulator of
plaster, that he has ordered an Alhambra for himself, a copy of this
series of ruined palaces, which he will keep for a curiosity on the
banks of the Neva. In the midst of the court is a fountain supported by
twelve marble lions, in the centre of a vast alabaster basin. Standing
on the four sides of it are 124 white marble pillars, sustaining a light
gallery and a pavilion projecting into the court, elaborately adorned
with filagree-worked walls, and a domed roof that admits the tempered
light and excludes the heat of the sun. This fountain too has been
filled with blood, for here in the midst of all this luxury of splendid
decorations the children of 
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ASCRIPTION.

To Prof. W. H. Venable, who reviewed the manuscript of this work, I am
indebted for many valuable suggestions, and I can not speak too kindly
of him as a critic.

The illustrations, excepting those mechanical and historical, making in
themselves a beautiful narrative without words, are due to the admirable
artistic conceptions and touch of Mr. J. Augustus Knapp.

Structural imperfections as well as word selections and phrases that
break all rules in composition, and that the care even of Prof. Venable
could not eradicate, I accept as wholly my own. For much, on the one
hand, that it may seem should have been excluded, and on the other, for
giving place to ideas nearer to empiricism than to science, I am also
responsible. For vexing my friends with problems that seemingly do not
concern in the least men in my position, and for venturing to think,
superficially, it may be, outside the restricted lines of a science
bound to the unresponsive crucible and retort, to which my life has been
given, and amid the problems of which it has nearly worn itself away, I
have no plausible excuse, and shall seek none.

                                                        JOHN URI LLOYD


COPYRIGHT, 1895, BY JOHN URI LLOYD.
COPYRIGHT, 1896, BY JOHN URI LLOYD.

[_All rights reserved._]




PREFACE


[Illustration]

Books are as tombstones made by the living for the living, but destined
soon only to remind us of the dead. The preface, like an epitaph, seems
vainly to "implore the passing tribute" of a moment's interest. No man
is allured by either a grave-inscription or a preface, unless it be
accompanied by that ineffable charm which age casts over mortal
productions. Libraries, in one sense, represent cemeteries, and the rows
of silent volumes, with their dim titles, suggest burial tablets, many
of which, alas! mark only cenotaphs--empty tombs. A modern book, no
matter how talented the author, carries with it a familiar personality
which may often be treated with neglect or even contempt, but a volume a
century old demands some reverence; a vellum-bound or hog-skin print, or
antique yellow parchment, two, three, five hundred years old, regardless
of its contents, impresses one with an indescribable feeling akin to awe
and veneration,--as does the wheat from an Egyptian tomb, even though it
be only wheat. We take such a work from the shelf carefully, and replace
it gently. While the productions of modern writers are handled
familiarly, as men living jostle men yet alive; those of authors long
dead are touched as tho' clutched by a hand from the unseen world; the
reader feels that a phantom form opposes his own, and that spectral eyes
scan the pages as he turns them.

[Illustration: "THE STERN FACE, ... ACROSS THE GULF."]

The stern face, the penetrating eye of the personage whose likeness
forms the frontispiece of the yellowed volume in my hand, speak across
the gulf of two centuries, and bid me beware. The title page is read
with reverence, and the great tome is replaced with care, for an almost
superstitious sensation bids me be cautious and not offend. Let those
who presume to criticise the intellectual productions of such men be
careful; in a few days the dead will face their censors--dead.

Standing in a library of antiquated works, one senses the shadows of a
cemetery. Each volume adds to the oppression, each old tome casts the
influence of its spirit over the beholder, for have not these old books
spirits? The earth-grave covers the mind as well as the body of its
moldering occupant, and while only a strong imagination can assume that
a spirit hovers over and lingers around inanimate clay, here each title
is a voice that speaks as though the heart of its creator still
throbbed, the mind essence of the dead writer envelops the living
reader. Take down that vellum-bound volume,--it was written in one of
the centuries long past. The pleasant face of its creator, as fresh as
if but a print of yesterday, smiles upon you from the exquisitely
engraved copper-plate frontispiece; the mind of the author rises from
out the words before you. This man is not dead and his comrades live.
Turn to the shelves about, before each book stands a guardian
spirit,--together they form a phantom army that, invisible to mortals,
encircles the beholder.

[Illustration: "THE PLEASANT FACE OF ITS CREATOR ... SMILES UPON YOU."]

Ah! this antique library is not as is a church graveyard, only a
cemetery for the dead; it is also a mansion for the living. These
alcoves are trysting places for elemental shades. Essences of
disenthralled minds meet here and revel. Thoughts of the past take shape
and live in this atmosphere,--who can say that pulsations unperceived,
beyond the reach of physics or of chemistry, are not as ethereal
mind-seeds which, although unseen, yet, in living brain, exposed to such
an atmosphere as this, formulate embryotic thought-expressions destined
to become energetic intellectual forces? I sit in such a weird li
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INTRODUCTORY, CONCERNING THE PEDIGREE OF THE CHUZZLEWIT FAMILY


As no lady or gentleman, with any claims to polite breeding, can
possibly sympathize with the Chuzzlewit Family without being first
assured of the extreme antiquity of the race, it is a great satisfaction
to know that it undoubtedly descended in a direct line from Adam and
Eve; and was, in the very earliest times, closely connected with the
agricultural interest. If it should ever be urged by grudging and
malicious persons, that a Chuzzlewit, in any period of the family
history, displayed an overweening amount of family pride, surely the
weakness will be considered not only pardonable but laudable, when the
immense superiority of the house to the rest of mankind, in respect of
this its ancient origin, is taken into account.

It is remarkable that as there was, in the oldest family of which we
have any record, a murderer and a vagabond, so we never fail to meet,
in the records of all old families, with innumerable repetitions of
the same phase of character. Indeed, it may be laid down as a general
principle, that the more extended the ancestry, the greater the amount
of violence and vagabondism; for in ancient days those two amusements,
combining a wholesome excitement with a promising means of repairing
shattered fortunes, were at once the ennobling pursuit and the healthful
recreation of the Quality of this land.

Consequently, it is a source of inexpressible comfort and happiness
to find, that in various periods of our history, the Chuzzlewits were
actively connected with divers slaughterous conspiracies and bloody
frays. It is further recorded of them, that being clad from head to
heel in steel of proof, they did on many occasions lead their
leather-jerkined soldiers to the death with invincible courage, and
afterwards return home gracefully to their relations and friends.

There can be no doubt that at least one Chuzzlewit came over with
William the Conqueror. It does not appear that this illustrious ancestor
‘came over’ that monarch, to employ the vulgar phrase, at any subsequent
period; inasmuch as the Family do not seem to have been ever greatly
distinguished by the possession of landed estate. And it is well known
that for the bestowal of that kind of property upon his favourites,
the liberality and gratitude of the Norman were as remarkable as those
virtues are usually found to be in great men when they give away what
belongs to other people.

Perhaps in this place the history may pause to congratulate itself upon
the enormous amount of bravery, wisdom, eloquence, virtue, gentle birth,
and true nobility, that appears to have come into England with the
Norman Invasion: an amount which the genealogy of every ancient family
lends its aid to swell, and which would beyond all question have been
found to be just as great, and to the full as prolific in giving birth
to long lines of chivalrous descendants, boastful of their origin, even
though William the Conqueror had been William the Conquered; a change of
circumstances which, it is quite certain, would have made no manner of
difference in this respect.

There was unquestionably a Chuzzlewit in the Gunpowder Plot, if indeed
the arch-traitor, Fawkes himself, were not a scion of this remarkable
stock; as he might easily have been, supposing another Chuzzlewit
to have emigrated to Spain in the previous generation, and there
intermarried with a Spanish lady, by whom he had issue, one
olive-complexioned son. This probable conjecture is strengthened, if not
absolutely confirmed, by a fact which cannot fail to be interesting
to those who are curious in tracing the progress of hereditary tastes
through the lives of their unconscious inheritors. It is a notable
circumstance that in these later times, many Chuzzlewits, being
unsuccessful in other pursuits, have, without the smallest rational
hope of enriching themselves, or any conceivable reason, set up as
coal-merchants; and have, month after month, continued gloomily to watch
a small stock of coals, without in any one instance negotiating with a
purchaser. The remarkable similarity between this course of proceeding
and that adopted by their Great Ancestor beneath the vaults of the
Parliament House at Westminster, is too obvious and too full of
interest, to stand in need of comment.

It is also clearly proved by the oral traditions of the Family, that
there existed, at some one period of its history which is not distinctly
stated, a matron of such destructive principles, and so familiarized to
the use and composition of inflammatory and combustible engines, that
she was called ‘The Match Maker;’ by which nickname and byword she is
recognized in the Family legends to this day. Surely there can be
no reasonable doubt that this was the Spanish lady, the mother of
Chuzzlewit Fawkes.

But there is one other piece of evidence, bearing immediate reference
to their close connection with this memorable event in English History,
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incorruption. It is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory.... It is sown
a natural body, it is raised a spiritual body.... The first Adam was made
a living soul, the last Adam was made a quickening spirit.... We shall all
be changed.... For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this
mortal must put on immortality.”

terrestrial.... There is one glory of the sun and another glory of the
moon.”

Ephesians II, 14 ff.: “For he is our peace, who hath made both one, and
hath broken down the middle wall of partition between us, having abolished
in his flesh the enmity, even the law of commandments contained in
ordinances; for to make in himself of twain one new man, so making peace,
and that he might reconcile both unto God in one body by the cross, having
slain the enmity thereby.”

If we note the two contraries that are to be united according to the
procedure of the hermetic philosophers with [Symbol: Sun] and [Symbol:
Moon] [sun and moon, gold and silver, etc.] and represent them united with
the cross [Symbol: +] we get [Symbol: Mercury with a sun]; i.e., [Symbol:
Mercury], the symbol of mercury. This ideogram conceals the concept,
Easter. All these ideas, as we know, did not originate with Christianity.

tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, an house not made
with hands, eternal in the heavens.”

John VII, 38: “He that believeth on me ... out of his belly shall flow
rivers of living water.”

I mention right here that the hermetic philosophers do not pursue
speculative theology, but that, as is clearly evident from their writings,
they made the content of the religious doctrine a part of their life. That
was their work, a work of mysticism. Everything that the reader is
inclined to conceive in the passages above, as probably belonging merely
to the other life, they as Mystics, sought to represent to themselves on
earth, though without prejudice to the hope of a life beyond. I presume
that they therefore speak of two stones, a celestial and a terrestrial.
The celestial stone is the eternal blessedness and, as far as the
Christian world of ideas is considered, is Christ, who has aided mankind
to attain it. The terrestrial stone is the mystical Christ whom each may
cause to be crucified and resurrected in himself, whereby he attains a
kingdom of heaven on earth with those peculiar qualities that have been
allegorically attributed to the philosopher’s stone. Therefore the
terrestrial stone is called a reflection of the celestial and so it is
said that from lead, etc., the stone may be easily produced and “in a
short time,” i.e., not only after death.

At any rate in primitive symbolism there seems to be a religious idea at
the bottom of the recommendation to use the sputum lunæ (moon spittle) or
sperm astrale (star semen), star mucus, in short of an efflux from the
world of light above us, as first material for the work of our
illumination. [In many alchemistic recipes such things are recommended.
Misunderstanding led to a so-called shooting star substance being eagerly
hunted for. What was found and thought to be star mucus was a gelatinous
plant.] So it is in this passage from John IX, 5, ff.: “As long as I am in
the world I am the light of the world. When he [Jesus] had thus spoken, he
spat on the ground and made clay of the spittle and anointed the eyes of
the blind man with the clay, and said unto him, Go, wash in the pool of
Siloam [which is by interpretation: Sent]. He went his way, therefore,
washed, and came seeing.” The transference of a virtue by the receiving of
a secretion is a quite common primitive idea.

As Michael Maier (Symbola Aureae Mensae Lib. XI) informs us, Melchior
Cibinensis, a Hungarian priest, expressed the secrets of the forbidden art
in the holy form of the Mass. For as birth, life, exaltation, suffering in
fire and then death were, as it were, ascribed to the Philosopher’s Stone
in black and gloomy colors, and finally resurrection and life in red and
other beautiful colors, so he compared his preparation with the work of
the salvation of man (and the “terrestrial” stone with the “celestial”
stone), namely, with the birth, life, suffering, death and resurrection of
Christ. (Höhler, Herm. Phil., p. 156.) The making of the Philosopher’s
Stone is, so to speak, the Imitation of Christ.

Hitchcock (H. A., p. 143) believes that Irenaeus Philaletha has clearly
alluded in a passage of his writings to the two mental processes, analysis
and synthesis, which lead to the same end. “To seek the unity through Sol,
I take it, is to employ the intellect upon the Idea of Unity, by analysis
that terminates in the parts; whereas to study upon Mercury, here used for
nature at large, is to work synthetically, and by combining the parts,
reach an idea of the unity. The two lead to the same thing, beginning as
it were from opposite extremes; for the analysis of any one thing,
completely made, must terminate in the parts, while the parts, upon a
synthetical construction, must reprodu
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said he had been gone from Paris, as I have hinted, having met with some
great losses and misfortunes; that he had been in Holland on that very
account, whither he had also carried his children; that he was after
that settled for some time at Rouen; that she had been at Rouen, and
found there (by a mere accident), from a Dutch skipper, that he was at
London, had been there above three years; that he was to be found upon
the Exchange, on the French walk; and that he lodged at St. Laurence
Pountney's Lane, and the like; so Amy said she supposed I might soon
find him out, but that she doubted he was poor, and not worth looking
after. This she did because of the next clause, which the jade had most
mind to on many accounts.

Germany, where his estate lay; that he had quitted the French service,
and lived retired; that she had seen his gentleman, who remained at
Paris to solicit his arrears, &c.; that he had given her an account how
his lord had employed him to inquire for me and find me out, as above,
and told her what pains he had taken to find me; that he had understood
that I was gone to England; that he once had orders to go to England to
find me; that his lord had resolved, if he could have found me, to have
called me a countess, and so have married me, and have carried me into
Germany with him; and that his commission was still to assure me that
the prince would marry me if I would come to him, and that he would send
him an account that he had found me, and did not doubt but he would have
orders to come over to England to attend me in a figure suitable to my
quality.

Amy, an ambitious jade, who knew my weakest part--namely, that I loved
great things, and that I loved to be flattered and courted--said
abundance of kind things upon this occasion, which she knew were
suitable to me and would prompt my vanity; and talked big of the
prince's gentleman having orders to come over to me with a procuration
to marry me by proxy (as princes usually do in like cases), and to
furnish me with an equipage, and I know not how many fine things; but
told me, withal, that she had not yet let him know that she belonged to
me still, or that she knew where to find me, or to write to me; because
she was willing to see the bottom of it, and whether it was a reality or
a gasconade. She had indeed told him that, if he had any such
commission, she would endeavour to find me out, but no more.

certainty what was become of him, or in what part of the world he was;
but that thus much she had learned from good hands, that he had
committed a crime, in being concerned in a design to rob a rich banker
at Paris; and that he was fled, and had not been heard of there for
above six years.

commanded into the field upon an occasion of some action in Flanders, he
was wounded at the battle of Mons, and died of his wounds in the
Hospital of the Invalids; so there was an end of my four inquiries,
which I sent her over to make.

This account of the prince, and the return of his affection to me, with
all the flattering great things which seemed to come along with it; and
especially as they came gilded and set out by my maid Amy--I say this
account of the prince came to me in a very unlucky hour, and in the very
crisis of my affair.

The merchant and I had entered into close conferences upon the grand
affair. I had left off talking my platonics, and of my independency, and
being a free woman, as before; and he having cleared up my doubts too,
as to his circumstances and the misfortunes he had spoken of, I had gone
so far that we had begun to consider where we should live, and in what
figure, what equipage, what house, and the like.

I had made some harangues upon the delightful retirement of a country
life, and how we might enjoy ourselves so effectually without the
encumbrances of business and the world; but all this was grimace, and
purely because I was afraid to make any public appearance in the world,
for fear some impertinent person of quality should chop upon me again
and cry out, "Roxana, Roxana, by ----!" with an oath, as had been done
before.

My merchant, bred to business and used to converse among men of
business, could hardly tell how to live without it; at least it appeared
he should be like a fish out of water, uneasy and dying. But, however,
he joined with me; only argued that we might live as near London as we
could, that he might sometimes come to 'Change and hear how the world
should go abroad, and how it fared with his friends and his children.

I answered that if he chose still to embarrass himself with business, I
supposed it would be more to his satisfaction to be in his own country,
and where his family was so well known, and where his children also
were.

He smiled at the thoughts of that, and let me know that he should be
very willing to embrace such an offer; but that he could not expect it
of me, to whom England was, to be sure, so naturalised now as that it
would be carrying me out of my native country, which he would not
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(FROM PYOTR IVANITCH TO IVAN PETROVITCH)

DEAR SIR AND MOST PRECIOUS FRIEND, IVAN PETROVITCH,

For the last two days I have been, I may say, in pursuit of you, my friend,
having to talk over most urgent business with you, and I cannot come across
you anywhere. Yesterday, while we were at Semyon Alexeyitch's, my wife made
a very good joke about you, saying that Tatyana Petrovna and you were a
pair of birds always on the wing. You have not been married three months
and you already neglect your domestic hearth. We all laughed heartily--from
our genuine kindly feeling for you, of course--but, joking apart, my
precious friend, you have given me a lot of trouble. Semyon Alexeyitch said
to me that you might be going to the ball at the Social Union's club!
Leaving my wife with Semyon Alexeyitch's good lady, I flew off to the
Social Union. It was funny and tragic! Fancy my position! Me at the
ball--and alone, without my wife! Ivan Andreyitch meeting me in the
porter's lodge and seeing me alone, at once concluded (the rascal!) that I
had a passion for dances, and taking me by the arm, wanted to drag me off
by force to a dancing class, saying that it was too crowded at the Social
Union, that an ardent spirit had not room to turn, and that his head ached
from the patchouli and mignonette. I found neither you, nor Tatyana
Petrovna. Ivan Andreyitch vowed and declared that you would be at _Woe from
Wit_, at the Alexandrinsky theatre.

I flew off to the Alexandrinsky theatre: you were not there either. This
morning I expected to find you at Tchistoganov's--no sign of you there.
Tchistoganov sent to the Perepalkins'--the same thing there. In fact, I am
quite worn out; you can judge how much trouble I have taken! Now I am
writing to you (there is nothing else I can do). My business is by no means
a literary one (you understand me?); it would be better to meet face to
face, it is extremely necessary to discuss something with you and as
quickly as possible, and so I beg you to come to us to-day with Tatyana
Petrovna to tea and for a chat in the evening. My Anna Mihalovna will be
extremely pleased to see you. You will truly, as they say, oblige me to my
dying day. By the way, my precious friend--since I have taken up my pen
I'll go into all I have against you--I have a slight complaint I must make;
in fact, I must reproach you, my worthy friend, for an apparently very
innocent little trick which you have played at my expense.... You are a
rascal, a man without conscience. About the middle of last month, you
brought into my house an acquaintance of yours, Yevgeny Nikolaitch; you
vouched for him by your friendly and, for me, of course, sacred
recommendation; I rejoiced at the opportunity of receiving the young man
with open arms, and when I did so I put my head in a noose. A noose it
hardly is, but it has turned out a pretty business. I have not time now to
explain, and indeed it is an awkward thing to do in writing, only a very
humble request to you, my malicious friend: could you not somehow very
delicately, in passing, drop a hint into the young man's ear that there are
a great many houses in the metropolis besides ours? It's more than I can
stand, my dear fellow! We fall at your feet, as our friend Semyonovitch
says. I will tell you all about it when we meet. I don't mean to say that
the young man has sinned against good manners, or is lacking in spiritual
qualities, or is not up to the mark in some other way. On the contrary, he
is an amiable and pleasant fellow; but wait, we shall meet; meanwhile if
you see him, for goodness' sake whisper a hint to him, my good friend. I
would do it myself, but you know what I am, I simply can't, and that's all
about it. You introduced him. But I will explain myself more fully this
evening, anyway. Now good-bye. I remain, etc.

P.S.--My little boy has been ailing for the last week, and gets worse and
worse every day; he is cutting his poor little teeth. My wife is nursing
him all the time, and is depressed, poor thing. Be sure to come, you will
give us real pleasure, my precious friend.



(FROM IVAN PETROVITCH TO PYOTR IVANITCH)

DEAR SIR, PYOTR IVANITCH!

I got your letter yesterday, I read it and was perplexed. You looked for
me, goodness knows where, and I was simply at home. Till ten o'clock I was
expecting Ivan Ivanitch Tolokonov. At once on getting your letter I set out
with my wife, I went to the expense of taking a cab, and reached your house
about half-past six. You were not at home, but we were met by your wife. I
waited to see you till half-past ten, I could not stay later. I set off
with my wife, went to the expense of a cab again, saw her home, and went on
myself to the Perepalkins', thinking I might meet you there, but again I
was out in my reckoning. When I get home I did not sleep all night, I felt
uneasy; in the morning I drove round to you three times, at nine, at ten
and at eleven; three times I went to the expense of a cab, and again you
left me in the lurch.

I read y
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A Face on Which Time Makes but Little Impression


A Saturday afternoon in November was approaching the time of twilight,
and the vast tract of unenclosed wild known as Egdon Heath embrowned
itself moment by moment. Overhead the hollow stretch of whitish cloud
shutting out the sky was as a tent which had the whole heath for its
floor.

The heaven being spread with this pallid screen and the earth with the
darkest vegetation, their meeting-line at the horizon was clearly
marked. In such contrast the heath wore the appearance of an instalment
of night which had taken up its place before its astronomical hour was
come: darkness had to a great extent arrived hereon, while day stood
distinct in the sky. Looking upwards, a furze-cutter would have been
inclined to continue work; looking down, he would have decided to
finish his faggot and go home. The distant rims of the world and of the
firmament seemed to be a division in time no less than a division in
matter. The face of the heath by its mere complexion added half an hour
to evening; it could in like manner retard the dawn, sadden noon,
anticipate the frowning of storms scarcely generated, and intensify the
opacity of a moonless midnight to a cause of shaking and dread.

In fact, precisely at this transitional point of its nightly roll into
darkness the great and particular glory of the Egdon waste began, and
nobody could be said to understand the heath who had not been there at
such a time. It could best be felt when it could not clearly be seen,
its complete effect and explanation lying in this and the succeeding
hours before the next dawn; then, and only then, did it tell its true
tale. The spot was, indeed, a near relation of night, and when night
showed itself an apparent tendency to gravitate together could be
perceived in its shades and the scene. The sombre stretch of rounds and
hollows seemed to rise and meet the evening gloom in pure sympathy, the
heath exhaling darkness as rapidly as the heavens precipitated it. And
so the obscurity in the air and the obscurity in the land closed
together in a black fraternization towards which each advanced halfway.

The place became full of a watchful intentness now; for when other
things sank brooding to sleep the heath appeared slowly to awake and
listen. Every night its Titanic form seemed to await something; but it
had waited thus, unmoved, during so many centuries, through the crises
of so many things, that it could only be imagined to await one last
crisis—the final overthrow.

It was a spot which returned upon the memory of those who loved it with
an aspect of peculiar and kindly congruity. Smiling champaigns of
flowers and fruit hardly do this, for they are permanently harmonious
only with an existence of better reputation as to its issues than the
present. Twilight combined with the scenery of Egdon Heath to evolve a
thing majestic without severity, impressive without showiness, emphatic
in its admonitions, grand in its simplicity. The qualifications which
frequently invest the façade of a prison with far more dignity than is
found in the façade of a palace double its size lent to this heath a
sublimity in which spots renowned for beauty of the accepted kind are
utterly wanting. Fair prospects wed happily with fair times; but alas,
if times be not fair! Men have oftener suffered from, the mockery of a
place too smiling for their reason than from the oppression of
surroundings oversadly tinged. Haggard Egdon appealed to a subtler and
scarcer instinct, to a more recently learnt emotion, than that which
responds to the sort of beauty called charming and fair.

Indeed, it is a question if the exclusive reign of this orthodox beauty
is not approaching its last quarter. The new Vale of Tempe may be a
gaunt waste in Thule; human souls may find themselves in closer and
closer harmony with external things wearing a sombreness distasteful to
our race when it was young. The time seems near, if it has not actually
arrived, when the chastened sublimity of a moor, a sea, or a mountain
will be all of nature that is absolutely in keeping with the moods of
the more thinking among mankind. And ultimately, to the commonest
tourist, spots like Iceland may become what the vineyards and myrtle
gardens of South Europe are to him now; and Heidelberg and Baden be
passed unheeded as he hastens from the Alps to the sand dunes of
Scheveningen.

The most thoroughgoing ascetic could feel that he had a natural right
to wander on Egdon—he was keeping within the line of legitimate
indulgence when he laid himself open to influences such as these.
Colours and beauties so far subdued were, at least, the birthright of
all. Only in summer days of highest feather did its mood touch the
level of gaiety. Intensity was more usually reached by way of the
solemn than by way of the brilliant, and such a sort of intensity was
often arrived at during winter darkness, tempests, and mists. Then
Egdon was aroused to reciprocity; for the storm was its lov
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[Illustration: Soon the door opened and the children
  were called into the large guest-room (page 10)]




[Illustration:

  The

  New Year’s Carol

  By

  Johanna Spyri

  Translated from the German by

  Alice Howland Goodwin

  with pictures by

  Grace Edwards Wesson

  Boston and New York
  Houghton Mifflin Company
]




  COPYRIGHT, 1924, BY HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED


  The Riverside Press
  CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS
  PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.




ILLUSTRATIONS


  SOON THE DOOR OPENED AND THE CHILDREN
  WERE CALLED INTO THE LARGE GUEST-ROOM
  (page 10)           _Colored frontispiece_

  “WAIT,” SAID BARTY, “I WILL TELL YOU
  HOW IT GOES.”                           6

  SUMMER-TIME CAME AND THE GRASS ON THE
  HIGH SLOPES WAS CUT                    12

  THE WONDER GREW UNTIL FRANZELIE FOUND
  A CARD                                 32




[Illustration: The New Year’s Carol]




Near the fortress of the little Swiss village above Altdorf are green
meadows with fragrant grass and fresh flowers. They are beautiful to
look upon and wander over. Shady nut-trees stand here and there, and
through the meadow rushes a foaming brook that makes wild leaps over
the rocks that lie in its course.

At the end of this village, where stands an old ivy-covered tower, a
path runs along by the brook-side. Here is a very large old nut-tree,
and it is a delight to the weary wanderer to throw himself down in its
cool shade and gaze far up at the blue sky and high mountains whose
tops are lost in the white clouds. Near the tree is a bridge over the
dashing waters which rush down between the high mountains. Here the
steep path leads to a small Swiss cottage with a little stall near by.
Higher is a similar cottage and above them still another, the smallest
of all perched up among the wild rocks. Before the low door is a grassy
sward where the goats are milked, and in the summer the door stands
always open.

Here lived Joseph, the gatherer of wild hay, and Afra, his tidy
industrious little wife. They seldom left their tiny home except to go
to church, which they devoutly attended.

Their boy was born on Saint Sebastian’s day and so received the name of
his patron Saint, but was commonly called Barty, and the little sister
who came two years later was for the same reason named Franzelie.

But the good Joseph died and Afra was left a widow with the two
children for whom she must toil early and late. Their scanty clothing
was always clean and carefully mended. When the children went out
together, Barty always held his little sister fast by the hand, and
people said to the mother, “Your boy with his rosy face is like a
strawberry apple, and little Franzelie, with her fair face, blue eyes,
and golden curls, is like an altar picture.”

But the mother said, “They are dear sweet children and I am earnestly
praying that the good God will keep them well and good and pure.”




[Illustration]

It was a cold autumn and winter came early. In October deep snow fell,
and in November the little home was nearly buried out of sight. The
children sat in their corner by the stove and seldom went out of the
house. Barty was now seven. Franzelie five.

But few passers-by came to make a path in the deep snow, and, when
the mother was obliged to go to the village for bread, she came back
well-nigh exhausted. Deep sorrow and anxiety filled her heart, and
if she could not earn enough by knitting and spinning for the black
bread, the little family must live upon the milk of the meager goat,
and there were still three long winter months before them.

Formerly she had sung at night by her children’s bedside, but now she
was too oppressed to sing.

One night she sat in silence listening to the wind. It howled and
rattled around the little cottage as if it would blow it away.
Franzelie was fast asleep--she had no care if her mother was by her
side--but Barty’s eyes were wide open.

“Mother,” he said, “why do you never sing any more?”

“Alas, dear boy, I cannot.”

[Illustration: “Wait,” said Barty, “I will tell you how it goes.”]

“Have you forgotten the song? Wait, I will tell you how it goes.”
And he sat up in bed and sang:

    “Now the shades of darkness
    Fall o’er land and sea.
    Father grant thy blessing,
    May we rest in Thee.”

He sang with clear pure tones, and a thought suddenly came to the
mother.

“Barty,” said the mother, “perhaps you can do something for me.”

“Oh, yes, I will,” he said eagerly, jumping out of bed.

“No, No! Go back again, you will be cold,” and she tucked him again
into his warm nest. “To-morrow I will teach you a song for the New
Year; perhaps you can sing it in the village and get bread, possibly
nuts.”

Barty thought over the wonderful plan and was too excited to sleep for
a long time. At last he called out, “Mother, is it almost morning?”
But, finding it was not, he quietly settled himself for the slumber
which soon came.

Early in the morning he was ready for his lesson, but his mother told
h
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II.  You are rich.

III.  You hate girls.

I suppose I might call you Dear Mr. Girl-Hater. Only that's rather
insulting to me.  Or Dear Mr. Rich-Man, but that's insulting to you, as
though money were the only important thing about you.  Besides, being
rich is such a very external quality.  Maybe you won't stay rich all
your life; lots of very clever men get smashed up in Wall Street.  But
at least you will stay tall all your life!  So I've decided to call you
Dear Daddy-Long-Legs. I hope you won't mind.  It's just a private pet
name we won't tell Mrs. Lippett.

The ten o'clock bell is going to ring in two minutes.  Our day is
divided into sections by bells.  We eat and sleep and study by bells.
It's very enlivening; I feel like a fire horse all of the time.  There
it goes!  Lights out.  Good night.

Observe with what precision I obey rules--due to my training in the
John Grier Home.

           Yours most respectfully,
                                       Jerusha Abbott




To Mr. Daddy-Long-Legs Smith

                                           1st October

Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

I love college and I love you for sending me--I'm very, very happy, and
so excited every moment of the time that I can scarcely sleep.  You
can't imagine how different it is from the John Grier Home.  I never
dreamed there was such a place in the world.  I'm feeling sorry for
everybody who isn't a girl and who can't come here; I am sure the
college you attended when you were a boy couldn't have been so nice.

My room is up in a tower that used to be the contagious ward before
they built the new infirmary.  There are three other girls on the same
floor of the tower--a Senior who wears spectacles and is always asking
us please to be a little more quiet, and two Freshmen named Sallie
McBride and Julia Rutledge Pendleton.  Sallie has red hair and a
turn-up nose and is quite friendly; Julia comes from one of the first
families in New York and hasn't noticed me yet.  They room together and
the Senior and I have singles.  Usually Freshmen can't get singles;
they are very scarce, but I got one without even asking.  I suppose the
registrar didn't think it would be right to ask a properly brought-up
girl to room with a foundling.  You see there are advantages!

My room is on the north-west corner with two windows and a view.  After
you've lived in a ward for eighteen years with twenty room-mates, it is
restful to be alone.  This is the first chance I've ever had to get
acquainted with Jerusha Abbott.  I think I'm going to like her.

Do you think you are?


                                           Tuesday

They are organizing the Freshman basket-ball team and there's just a
chance that I shall get in it.  I'm little of course, but terribly
quick and wiry and tough.  While the others are hopping about in the
air, I can dodge under their feet and grab the ball.  It's loads of fun
practising--out in the athletic field in the afternoon with the trees
all red and yellow and the air full of the smell of burning leaves, and
everybody laughing and shouting.  These are the happiest girls I ever
saw--and I am the happiest of all!

I meant to write a long letter and tell you all the things I'm learning
(Mrs. Lippett said you wanted to know), but 7th hour has just rung, and
in ten minutes I'm due at the athletic field in gymnasium clothes.
Don't you hope I'll get in the team?

                               Yours always,
                                           Jerusha Abbott

PS. (9 o'clock.)

Sallie McBride just poked her head in at my door.  This is what she
said:

'I'm so homesick that I simply can't stand it.  Do you feel that way?'

I smiled a little and said no; I thought I could pull through.  At
least homesickness is one disease that I've escaped!  I never heard of
anybody being asylum-sick, did you?




                                               10th October

Dear Daddy-Long-Legs,

Did you ever hear of Michael Angelo?

He was a famous artist who lived in Italy in the Middle Ages.
Everybody in English Literature seemed to know about him, and the whole
class laughed because I thought he was an archangel.  He sounds like an
archangel, doesn't he?  The trouble with college is that you are
expected to know such a lot of things you've never learned.  It's very
embarrassing at times.  But now, when the girls talk about things that
I never heard of, I just keep still and look them up in the
encyclopedia.

I made an awful mistake the first day.  Somebody mentioned Maurice
Maeterlinck, and I asked if she was a Freshman.  That joke has gone all
over college.  But anyway, I'm just as bright in class as any of the
others--and brighter than some of them!

Do you care to know how I've furnished my room?  It's a symphony in
brown and yellow.  The wall was tinted buff, and I've bought yellow
denim curtains and cushions and a mahogany desk (second hand for three
dollars) and a rattan chair and a brown rug with an ink spot in the
middle.  I stand the 
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PG #: 12299
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BY THE SAME AUTHOR

Identification of the Economic Woods of the United States.
8vo, vi + 117 pages, 15 figures. Cloth, $1.25 net.


TO THE STAFF OF THE FOREST PRODUCTS LABORATORY, AT MADISON,
WISCONSIN IN APPRECIATION OF THE MANY OPPORTUNITIES AFFORDED AND
COURTESIES EXTENDED THE AUTHOR




PREFACE



This book was written primarily for students of forestry to whom
a knowledge of the technical properties of wood is essential.
The mechanics involved is reduced to the simplest terms and
without reference to higher mathematics, with which the students
rarely are familiar. The intention throughout has been to avoid
all unnecessarily technical language and descriptions, thereby
making the subject-matter readily available to every one
interested in wood.

Part I is devoted to a discussion of the mechanical properties
of wood--the relation of wood material to stresses and strains.
Much of the subject-matter is merely elementary mechanics of
materials in general, though written with reference to wood in
particular. Numerous tables are included, showing the various
strength values of many of the more important American woods.

Part II deals with the factors affecting the mechanical
properties of wood. This is a subject of interest to all who are
concerned in the rational use of wood, and to the forester it
also, by retrospection, suggests ways and means of regulating
his forest product through control of the conditions of
production. Attempt has been made, in the light of all data at
hand, to answer many moot questions, such as the effect on the
quality of wood of rate of growth, season of cutting, heartwood
and sapwood, locality of growth, weight, water content,
steaming, and defects.

Part III describes methods of timber testing. They are for the
most part those followed by the U.S. Forest Service. In schools
equipped with the necessary machinery the instructions will
serve to direct the tests; in others a study of the text with
reference to the illustrations should give an adequate
conception of the methods employed in this most important line
of research.

The appendix contains a copy of the working plan followed by the
U.S. Forest Service in the extensive investigations covering the
mechanical properties of the woods grown in the United States.
It contains many valuable suggestions for the independent
investigator. In addition four tables of strength values for
structural timbers, both green and air-seasoned, are included.
The relation of the stresses developed in different structural
forms to those developed in the small clear specimens is given.

In the bibliography attempt was made to list all of the
important publications and articles on the mechanical properties
of wood, and timber testing. While admittedly incomplete, it
should prove of assistance to the student who desires a fuller
knowledge of the subject than is presented here.

The writer is indebted to the U.S. Forest Service for nearly all
of his tables and photographs as well as many of the data upon
which the book is based, since only the Government is able to
conduct the extensive investigations essential to a thorough
understanding of the subject. More than eighty thousand tests
have been made at the Madison laboratory alone, and the work is
far from completion.

The writer also acknowledges his indebtedness to Mr. Emanuel
Fritz, M.E., M.F., for many helpful suggestions in the
preparation of Part I; and especially to Mr. Harry Donald
Tiemann, M.E., M.F., engineer in charge of Timber Physics at the
Government Forest Products Laboratory, Madison, Wisconsin, for
careful revision of the entire manuscript.

SAMUEL J. RECORD.
YALE FOREST SCHOOL, _July 1, 1914_.




CONTENTS



      PREFACE

       PART I THE MECHANICAL PROPERTIES OF WOOD

              Introduction
              Fundamental considerations and definitions
              Tensile strength
              Compressive or crushing strength
              Shearing strength
              Transverse or bending strength: Beams
              Toughness: Torsion
              Hardness
              Cleavability

      PART II FACTORS AFFECTING THE MECHANICAL PROPERTIES OF
                WOOD

              Introduction
              Rate of growth
              Heartwood and sapwood
              Weight, density, and specific gravity
              Color
              Cross grain
              Knots
              Frost splits
              Shakes, galls, pitch pockets
              Insect injuries
              Marine wood-borer injuries
              Fungous injuries
              Parasitic plant injuries
              Locality of growth
              Season of cutting
              Water content
              Temperature
              Preservatives

     PART III TIMBER TESTING

              Working plan
              Forms of material tested
              Size of test specimens
              Moisture determination
              Machine for static tests
              Speed of testing machine
   
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EXAMINATION FOR THE POST OF GUARDIAN ANGEL.[36]


My eldest sister’s husband’s grandfather, named Sung Tao, was a
graduate.[37] One day, while lying down from indisposition, an
official messenger arrived, bringing the usual notification in his
hand and leading a horse with a white forehead, to summon him to the
examination for his master’s degree. Mr. Sung here remarked that the
Grand Examiner had not yet come, and asked why there should be this
hurry. The messenger did not reply to this, but pressed so earnestly
that at length Mr. Sung roused himself, and getting upon the horse
rode with him. The way seemed strange, and by-and-by they reached a
city which resembled the capital of a prince. They then entered the
Prefect’s _yamên_,[38] the apartments of which were beautifully
decorated; and there they found some ten officials sitting at the
upper end, all strangers to Mr. Sung, with the exception of one whom
he recognised to be the God of War.[39] In the verandah were two
tables and two stools, and at the end of one of the former a candidate
was already seated, so Mr. Sung sat down alongside of him. On the
table were writing materials for each, and suddenly down flew a piece
of paper with a theme on it, consisting of the following eight
words:--“One man, two men; by intention, without intention.” When Mr.
Sung had finished his essay, he took it into the hall. It contained
the following passage: “Those who are virtuous by intention, though
virtuous, shall not be rewarded. Those who are wicked without
intention, though wicked, shall receive no punishment.” The presiding
deities praised this sentiment very much, and calling Mr. Sung to come
forward, said to him, “A Guardian Angel is wanted in Honan. Go you and
take up the appointment.” Mr. Sung no sooner heard this than he bowed
his head and wept, saying, “Unworthy though I am of the honour you
have conferred upon me, I should not venture to decline it but that my
aged mother has reached her seventh decade, and there is no one now to
take care of her. I pray you let me wait until she has fulfilled her
destiny, when I will hold myself at your disposal.” Thereupon one of
the deities, who seemed to be the chief, gave instructions to search
out his mother’s term of life, and a long-bearded attendant forthwith
brought in the Book of Fate. On turning it over, he declared that she
still had nine years to live; and then a consultation was held among
the deities, in the middle of which the God of War said, “Very well.
Let Mr. graduate Chang take the post, and be relieved in nine years’
time.” Then, turning to Mr. Sung, he continued, “You ought to proceed
without delay to your post; but as a reward for your filial piety, you
are granted a furlough of nine years. At the expiration of that time
you will receive another summons.” He next addressed a few kind words
to Mr. Chang; and the two candidates, having made their _kotow_, went
away together. Grasping Mr. Sung’s hand, his companion, who gave
“Chang Ch‘i of Ch‘ang-shan” as his name and address, accompanied him
beyond the city walls and gave him a stanza of poetry at parting. I
cannot recollect it all, but in it occurred this couplet:--

   “With wine and flowers we chase the hours,
        In one eternal spring:
    No moon, no light, to cheer the night--
        Thyself that ray must bring.”

Mr. Sung here left him and rode on, and before very long reached his
own home; here he awaked as if from a dream, and found that he had
been dead three days,[40] when his mother, hearing a groan in the
coffin, ran to it and helped him out. It was some time before he could
speak, and then he at once inquired about Ch‘ang-shan, where, as it
turned out, a graduate named Chang had died that very day.

Nine years afterwards, Mr. Sung’s mother, in accordance with fate,
passed from this life; and when the funeral obsequies were over, her
son, having first purified himself, entered into his chamber and died
also. Now his wife’s family lived within the city, near the western
gate; and all of a sudden they beheld Mr. Sung, accompanied by
numerous chariots and horses with carved trappings and red-tasselled
bits, enter into the hall, make an obeisance, and depart. They were
very much disconcerted at this, not knowing that he had become a
spirit, and rushed out into the village to make inquiries, when they
heard he was already dead. Mr. Sung had an account of his adventure
written by himself; but unfortunately after the insurrection it was
not to be found. This is only an outline of the story.


FOOTNOTES:

[36] The tutelar deity of every Chinese city.

[37] That is, he had taken the first or bachelor’s degree. I shall not
hesitate to use strictly English equivalents for all kinds of Chinese
terms. The three degrees are literally, (1) Cultivated Talent, (2)
Raised Man, and (3) Promoted Scholar.

[38] The official residence of a mandarin above a certain rank.

[39] The Chinese Mars. A celebrated warrior, named Kuan Yü, who lived
about the begi
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1. All that we are is the result of what we have thought: it is founded
on our thoughts, it is made up of our thoughts. If a man speaks or acts
with an evil thought, pain follows him, as the wheel follows the foot of
the ox that draws the carriage.

2. All that we are is the result of what we have thought: it is founded
on our thoughts, it is made up of our thoughts. If a man speaks or acts
with a pure thought, happiness follows him, like a shadow that never
leaves him.

3. "He abused me, he beat me, he defeated me, he robbed me,"--in those
who harbour such thoughts hatred will never cease.

4. "He abused me, he beat me, he defeated me, he robbed me,"--in those
who do not harbour such thoughts hatred will cease.

5. For hatred does not cease by hatred at any time: hatred ceases by
love, this is an old rule.

6. The world does not know that we must all come to an end here;--but
those who know it, their quarrels cease at once.

7. He who lives looking for pleasures only, his senses uncontrolled,
immoderate in his food, idle, and weak, Mara (the tempter) will
certainly overthrow him, as the wind throws down a weak tree.

8. He who lives without looking for pleasures, his senses well
controlled, moderate in his food, faithful and strong, him Mara will
certainly not overthrow, any more than the wind throws down a rocky
mountain.

9. He who wishes to put on the yellow dress without having cleansed
himself from sin, who disregards temperance and truth, is unworthy of
the yellow dress.

10. But he who has cleansed himself from sin, is well grounded in all
virtues, and regards also temperance and truth, he is indeed worthy of
the yellow dress.

11. They who imagine truth in untruth, and see untruth in truth, never
arrive at truth, but follow vain desires.

12. They who know truth in truth, and untruth in untruth, arrive at
truth, and follow true desires.

13. As rain breaks through an ill-thatched house, passion will break
through an unreflecting mind.

14. As rain does not break through a well-thatched house, passion will
not break through a well-reflecting mind.

15. The evil-doer mourns in this world, and he mourns in the next; he
mourns in both. He mourns and suffers when he sees the evil of his own
work.

16. The virtuous man delights in this world, and he delights in the
next; he delights in both. He delights and rejoices, when he sees the
purity of his own work.

17. The evil-doer suffers in this world, and he suffers in the next; he
suffers in both. He suffers when he thinks of the evil he has done; he
suffers more when going on the evil path.

18. The virtuous man is happy in this world, and he is happy in the
next; he is happy in both. He is happy when he thinks of the good he has
done; he is still more happy when going on the good path.

19. The thoughtless man, even if he can recite a large portion (of the
law), but is not a doer of it, has no share in the priesthood, but is
like a cowherd counting the cows of others.

20. The follower of the law, even if he can recite only a small portion
(of the law), but, having forsaken passion and hatred and foolishness,
possesses true knowledge and serenity of mind, he, caring for nothing in
this world or that to come, has indeed a share in the priesthood.





21. Earnestness is the path of immortality (Nirvana), thoughtlessness
the path of death. Those who are in earnest do not die, those who are
thoughtless are as if dead already.

22. Those who are advanced in earnestness, having understood this
clearly, delight in earnestness, and rejoice in the knowledge of the
Ariyas (the elect).

23. These wise people, meditative, steady, always possessed of strong
powers, attain to Nirvana, the highest happiness.

24. If an earnest person has roused himself, if he is not forgetful,
if his deeds are pure, if he acts with consideration, if he restrains
himself, and lives according to law,--then his glory will increase.

25. By rousing himself, by earnestness, by restraint and control, the
wise man may make for himself an island which no flood can overwhelm.

26. Fools follow after vanity, men of evil wisdom. The wise man keeps
earnestness as his best jewel.

27. Follow not after vanity, nor after the enjoyment of love and lust!
He who is earnest and meditative, obtains ample joy.

28. When the learned man drives away vanity by earnestness, he, the
wise, climbing the terraced heights of wisdom, looks down upon the
fools, serene he looks upon the toiling crowd, as one that stands on a
mountain looks down upon them that stand upon the plain.

29. Earnest among the thoughtless, awake among the sleepers, the wise
man advances like a racer, leaving behind the hack.

30. By earnestness did Maghavan (Indra) rise to the lordship of the
gods. People praise earnestness; thoughtlessness is always blamed.

31. A Bhikshu (mendicant) who delights in earnestness, who looks with
fear on thoughtlessness, moves about like fire, burning all his fetters,
small or large.

32. A Bhikshu (mendican
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Proofreading Team. This ebook was produced using images from the
University of Georgia Libraries.








THE ELDER EDDAS

OF SAEMUND SIGFUSSON.

_Translated from the Original Old Norse Text into English_

BY

BENJAMIN THORPE,

AND THE

YOUNGER EDDAS

OF SNORRE STURLESON.

_Translated from the Original Old Norse Text into English_

BY

I.A. BLACKWELL.



HON. RASMUS B. ANDERSON, LL.D.,

EDITOR IN CHIEF.



J. W. BUEL, Ph.D.,

MANAGING EDITOR.


PUBLISHED BY THE

NORROENA SOCIETY,

LONDON STOCKHOLM COPENHAGEN BERLIN NEW YORK

1906



[Illustration KING GUNTHER.]

(_After a painting by B. Guth_.)


Gunnar, Gunther, or Gunter, King of Burgundy, was probably a real
personage of the troubled times with which his name is associated--a
period distinguished as much for heroic characters as for tragic
events. Gunther represents the best type of kinghood of his age; a man
swayed by his affections rather than by ambition, who scrupled at
misdeeds, yet yielded to the mastering passions of love; one whose
instincts were loyalty to friends and country, and who shrank from
cruelties to gain his ends, but who fell a victim to woman's
fascinations. History accordingly praises him more for a lover than
for a sovereign.






LIST OF PHOTOGRAVURES.

(ELDER AND YOUNGER EDDAS.)


Frontispiece--Gunnar (Gunther) Page

Siegfried Awakens Brynhild 159

Death of Atli 247

A Feast in Valhalla 331




CONTENTS.

THE ELDER EDDAS OF SAEMUND.

                                                  Page

  Preface by the Translator                        ix
  Introduction to the Voluspa                      xv
  The Vala's Prophecy                               1
  The Lay of Vafthrudnir                            9
  The Lay of Vegtam, or Baldur's Dream             26
  The High One's Lay                               29
  Odin's Rune Song                                 44
  The Lay of Hymir                                 48
  The Lay of Thrym, or the Hammer Recovered        53
  The Lay of the Dwarf Alvis                       57
  The Lay of Harbard                               63
  The Journey, or Lay of Skirnir                   71
  The Lay of Rig                                   78
  Egir's Compotation, or Loki's Altercation        84
  The Lay of Fiolsvith                             95
  The Lay of Hyndla                               102
  The Incantation of Groa                         109
  The Song of the Sun                             111
  The Lay of Volund                               121
  The Lay of Helgi Hiorvard's Son                 127
  The First Lay of Helgi Hundingcide              137
  The Second Lay of Helgi Hundingcide             144
  Sinfiotli's End                                 155
  The Lay of Sigurd, or Gripir's Prophecy         157
  The Lay of Fafnir                               172
  The Lay of Sigrdrifa                            180
  Fragments of the Lay of Sigurd and Brynhild     186
  The Third Lay of Sigurd Fafnicide               194
  Fragments of the Lay of Brynhild                203
  The First Lay of Gudrun                         206
  Brynhild's Hel-ride                             210
  The Slaughter of the Niflungs                   212
  The Second Lay of Gudrun                        213
  The Third Lay of Gudrun                         219
  Oddrun's Lament                                 221
  The Lay of Atli                                 226
  The Groenland Lay of Atli                       233
  Gudrun's Incitement                             248
  The Lay of Hamdir                               251

THE YOUNGER EDDAS OF STURLESON.

  The Deluding of Gylfi                           256
  Of the Primordial State of the Universe         259
  Origin of the Frost-Giants                      260
  Of the Cow Audhumla, and Birth of Odin          262
  The Making of Heaven and Earth                  263
  Creation of Man and Woman                       265
  Night and Day, Sun and Moon                     266
  Wolves that Pursue the Sun and Moon             267
  The Way that Leads to Heaven                    268
  The Golden Age                                  269
  Origin of the Dwarfs, and Norns of Destiny      270
  The Ash Yggdrasill and Mimer's Well             271
  The Norns that Tend Yggdrasill                  273
  The Wind and the Seasons                        275
  Thor and His Hammer                             277
  Balder and Njord                                278
  Njord and His Wife Skadi                        279
  The God Frey and Goddess Freyja                 280
  Tyr and Other Gods                              281
  Hodur the Blind, Assassin of Baldur             283
  Loki and His Progeny                            284
  Binding the Wolf Fenrir                         285
  The Goddesses and their Attributes              289
  Frey, and Gerda the Beautiful                   291
  The Joys of Valhalla                            293
  The Wonderful Ho
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         _To teach you the Way out of England to Constantinople_

IN the name of God, Glorious and Almighty!

He that will pass over the sea and come to land [to go to the city of
Jerusalem, he may wend many ways, both on sea and land], after the
country that he cometh from; [for] many of them come to one end.  But
troweth not that I will tell you all the towns, and cities and castles
that men shall go by; for then should I make too long a tale; but all
only some countries and most principal steads that men shall go through
to go the right way.

First, if a man come from the west side of the world, as England,
Ireland, Wales, Scotland, or Norway, he may, if that he will, go through
Almayne and through the kingdom of Hungary, that marcheth to the land of
Polayne, and to the land of Pannonia, and so to Silesia.

And the King of Hungary is a great lord and a mighty, and holdeth great
lordships and much land in his hand.  For he holdeth the kingdom of
Hungary, Sclavonia, and of Comania a great part, and of Bulgaria that men
call the land of Bougiers, and of the realm of Russia a great part,
whereof he hath made a duchy, that lasteth unto the land of Nyfland, and
marcheth to Prussia.  And men go through the land of this lord, through a
city that is clept Cypron, and by the castle of Neasburghe, and by the
evil town, that sit toward the end of Hungary.  And there pass men the
river of Danube.  This river of Danube is a full great river, and it
goeth into Almayne, under the hills of Lombardy, and it receiveth into
him forty other rivers, and it runneth through Hungary and through Greece
and through Thrace, and it entereth into the sea, toward the east so
rudely and so sharply, that the water of the sea is fresh and holdeth his
sweetness twenty mile within the sea.

And after, go men to Belgrade, and enter into the land of Bougiers; and
there pass men a bridge of stone that is upon the river of Marrok.  And
men pass through the land of Pyncemartz and come to Greece to the city of
Nye, and to the city of Fynepape, and after to the city of Dandrenoble,
and after to Constantinople, that was wont to be clept Bezanzon.  And
there dwelleth commonly the Emperor of Greece.  And there is the most
fair church and the most noble of all the world; and it is of Saint
Sophie.  And before that church is the image of Justinian the emperor,
covered with gold, and he sitteth upon an horse y-crowned.  And he was
wont to hold a round apple of gold in his hand: but it is fallen out
thereof.  And men say there, that it is a token that the emperor hath
lost a great part of his lands and of his lordships; for he was wont to
be Emperor of Roumania and of Greece, of all Asia the less, and of the
land of Syria, of the land of Judea in the which is Jerusalem, and of the
land of Egypt, of Persia, and of Arabia.  But he hath lost all but
Greece; and that land he holds all only.  And men would many times put
the apple into the image’s hand again, but it will not hold it.  This
apple betokeneth the lordship that he had over all the world, that is
round.  And the tother hand he lifteth up against the East, in token to
menace the misdoers.  This image stands upon a pillar of marble at
Constantinople.






           _Of the Cross and the Crown of our Lord Jesu Christ_

AT Constantinople is the cross of our Lord Jesu Christ, and his coat
without seams, that is clept _Tunica inconsutilis_, and the sponge, and
the reed, of the which the Jews gave our Lord eysell and gall, in the
cross.  And there is one of the nails, that Christ was nailed with on the
cross.

And some men trow that half the cross, that Christ was done on, be in
Cyprus, in an abbey of monks, that men call the Hill of the Holy Cross;
but it is not so.  For that cross that is in Cyprus, is the cross, in the
which Dismas the good thief was hanged on.  But all men know not that;
and that is evil y-done.  For for profit of the offering, they say that
it is the cross of our Lord Jesu Christ.

And ye shall understand that the cross of our Lord was made of four
manner of trees, as it is contained in this verse,—_In cruce fit palma_,
_cedrus_, _cypressus_, _oliva_.  For that piece that went upright from
the earth to the head was of cypress; and the piece that went overthwart,
to the which his hands were nailed, was of palm; and the stock, that
stood within the earth, in the which was made the mortise, was of cedar;
and the table above his head, that was a foot and an half long, on the
which the title was written in Hebrew, Greek and Latin, that was of
olive.

And the Jews made the cross of these four manner of trees; for they
trowed that our Lord Jesu Christ should have hanged on the cross, as long
as the cross might last.  And therefore made they the foot of the cross
of cedar; for cedar may not, in earth nor water, rot, and therefore they
would that it should have lasted long.  For they trowed that the body of
Christ should have stunken, they made that piece, that went from the
earth upwar
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Idylls of the King

  IN TWELVE BOOKS


  by

  Alfred, Lord Tennyson



  Flos Regum Arthurus (Joseph of Exeter)




  Contents


  Dedication
  The Coming of Arthur


  THE ROUND TABLE

  Gareth and Lynette
  The Marriage of Geraint
  Geraint and Enid
  Balin and Balan
  Merlin and Vivien
  Lancelot and Elaine
  The Holy Grail
  Pelleas and Ettarre
  The Last Tournament
  Guinevere

  The Passing of Arthur
  To the Queen



  Dedication


  These to His Memory--since he held them dear,
  Perchance as finding there unconsciously
  Some image of himself--I dedicate,
  I dedicate, I consecrate with tears--
  These Idylls.

               And indeed He seems to me
  Scarce other than my king's ideal knight,
  'Who reverenced his conscience as his king;
  Whose glory was, redressing human wrong;
  Who spake no slander, no, nor listened to it;
  Who loved one only and who clave to her--'
  Her--over all whose realms to their last isle,
  Commingled with the gloom of imminent war,
  The shadow of His loss drew like eclipse,
  Darkening the world.  We have lost him:  he is gone:
  We know him now:  all narrow jealousies
  Are silent; and we see him as he moved,
  How modest, kindly, all-accomplished, wise,
  With what sublime repression of himself,
  And in what limits, and how tenderly;
  Not swaying to this faction or to that;
  Not making his high place the lawless perch
  Of winged ambitions, nor a vantage-ground
  For pleasure; but through all this tract of years
  Wearing the white flower of a blameless life,
  Before a thousand peering littlenesses,
  In that fierce light which beats upon a throne,
  And blackens every blot:  for where is he,
  Who dares foreshadow for an only son
  A lovelier life, a more unstained, than his?
  Or how should England dreaming of his sons
  Hope more for these than some inheritance
  Of such a life, a heart, a mind as thine,
  Thou noble Father of her Kings to be,
  Laborious for her people and her poor--
  Voice in the rich dawn of an ampler day--
  Far-sighted summoner of War and Waste
  To fruitful strifes and rivalries of peace--
  Sweet nature gilded by the gracious gleam
  Of letters, dear to Science, dear to Art,
  Dear to thy land and ours, a Prince indeed,
  Beyond all titles, and a household name,
  Hereafter, through all times, Albert the Good.

     Break not, O woman's-heart, but still endure;
  Break not, for thou art Royal, but endure,
  Remembering all the beauty of that star
  Which shone so close beside Thee that ye made
  One light together, but has past and leaves
  The Crown a lonely splendour.

                               May all love,
  His love, unseen but felt, o'ershadow Thee,
  The love of all Thy sons encompass Thee,
  The love of all Thy daughters cherish Thee,
  The love of all Thy people comfort Thee,
  Till God's love set Thee at his side again!



  The Coming of Arthur

  Leodogran, the King of Cameliard,
  Had one fair daughter, and none other child;
  And she was the fairest of all flesh on earth,
  Guinevere, and in her his one delight.

     For many a petty king ere Arthur came
  Ruled in this isle, and ever waging war
  Each upon other, wasted all the land;
  And still from time to time the heathen host
  Swarmed overseas, and harried what was left.
  And so there grew great tracts of wilderness,
  Wherein the beast was ever more and more,
  But man was less and less, till Arthur came.
  For first Aurelius lived and fought and died,
  And after him King Uther fought and died,
  But either failed to make the kingdom one.
  And after these King Arthur for a space,
  And through the puissance of his Table Round,
  Drew all their petty princedoms under him.
  Their king and head, and made a realm, and reigned.

     And thus the land of Cameliard was waste,
  Thick with wet woods, and many a beast therein,
  And none or few to scare or chase the beast;
  So that wild dog, and wolf and boar and bear
  Came night and day, and rooted in the fields,
  And wallowed in the gardens of the King.
  And ever and anon the wolf would steal
  The children and devour, but now and then,
  Her own brood lost or dead, lent her fierce teat
  To human sucklings; and the children, housed
  In her foul den, there at their meat would growl,
  And mock their foster mother on four feet,
  Till, straightened, they grew up to wolf-like men,
  Worse than the wolves.  And King Leodogran
  Groaned for the Roman legions here again,
  And Caesar's eagle:  then his brother king,
  Urien, assailed him:  last a heathen horde,
  Reddening the sun with smoke and earth with blood,
  And on the spike that split the mother's heart
  Spitting the child, brake on him, till, amazed,
  He knew not whither he should turn for aid.

     But--for he heard of Arthur newly crowned,
  Though not without an uproar made by those
  Who cried, 'He is not Uther's son'--the King
  Sent to him, saying, 'Arise, and help us thou!
  For here between the man and beast we die.'

     And Arthur 
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SECT. 1. General View of the Nature and Objects of Virtue.--2.  The
Origin and Basis of Virtue, as founded on the Elementary Principles
of Mind.--3. The Laws which flow from the nature of Mind regulating
the application of those principles to human actions;--4. Virtue,
a possible attribute of man.

We exist in the midst of a multitude of beings like ourselves, upon
whose happiness most of our actions exert some obvious and decisive
influence.

The regulation of this influence is the object of moral science.
We know that we are susceptible of receiving painful or pleasurable
impressions of greater or less intensity and duration. That is called
good which produces pleasure; that is called evil which produces
pain. These are general names, applicable to every class of causes,
from which an overbalance of pain or pleasure may result. But when
a human being is the active instrument of generating or diffusing
happiness, the principle through which it is most effectually
instrumental to that purpose, is called virtue. And benevolence,
or the desire to be the author of good, united with justice, or
an apprehension of the manner in which that good is to be done,
constitutes virtue.

But wherefore should a man be benevolent and just? The immediate
emotions of his nature, especially in its most inartificial state,
prompt him to inflict pain, and to arrogate dominion. He desires
to heap superfluities to his own store, although others perish with
famine. He is propelled to guard against the smallest invasion of
his own liberty, though he reduces others to a condition of the most
pitiless servitude. He is revengeful, proud and selfish. Wherefore
should he curb these propensities?

It is inquired, for what reason a human being should engage
in procuring the happiness, or refrain from producing the pain of
another? When a reason is required to prove the necessity of adopting
any system of conduct, what is it that the objector demands? He
requires proof of that system of conduct being such as will most
effectually promote the happiness of mankind.  To demonstrate this,
is to render a moral reason. Such is the object of virtue.

A common sophism, which, like many others, depends on the abuse of
a metaphorical expression to a literal purpose, has produced much
of the confusion which has involved the theory of morals. It is said
that no person is bound to be just or kind, if, on his neglect, he
should fail to incur some penalty. Duty is obligation. There can
be no obligation without an obliger. Virtue is a law, to which it
is the will of the lawgiver that we should conform; which will we
should in no manner be bound to obey, unless some dreadful punishment
were attached to disobedience. This is the philosophy of slavery
and superstition.

In fact, no person can be BOUND or OBLIGED, without some power
preceding to bind and oblige. If I observe a man bound hand and
foot, I know that some one bound him. But if I observe him returning
self-satisfied from the performance of some action, by which he has
been the willing author of extensive benefit, I do not infer that
the anticipation of hellish agonies, or the hope of heavenly reward,
has constrained him to such an act.

       .      .      .      .      .       .       .

It remains to be stated in what manner the sensations which
constitute the basis of virtue originate in the human mind; what
are the laws which it receives there; how far the principles of
mind allow it to be an attribute of a human being; and, lastly,
what is the probability of persuading mankind to adopt it as a
universal and systematic motive of conduct.

BENEVOLENCE

There is a class of emotions which we instinctively avoid. A human
being, such as is man considered in his origin, a child a month
old, has a very imperfect consciousness of the existence of other
natures resembling itself. All the energies of its being are
directed to the extinction of the pains with which it is perpetually
assailed. At length it discovers that it is surrounded by natures
susceptible of sensations similar to its own. It is very late before
children attain to this knowledge. If a child observes, without
emotion, its nurse or its mother suffering acute pain, it is
attributable rather to ignorance than insensibility. So soon as
the accents and gestures, significant of pain, are referred to the
feelings which they express, they awaken in the mind of the beholder
a desire that they should cease. Pain is thus apprehended to be evil
for its own sake, without any other necessary reference to the mind
by which its existence is perceived, than such as is indispensable
to its perception. The tendencies of our original sensations, indeed,
all have for their object the preservation of our individual being.
But these are passive and unconscious. In proportion as the mind
acquires an active power, the empire of these tendencies becomes
limited. Thus an infant, a savage, and a solitary beast, is selfish,
because its mind is incapable of recei
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Nothing more strangely indicates an enormous and silent evil of modern
society than the extraordinary use which is made nowadays of the word
"orthodox."  In former days the heretic was proud of not being a
heretic.  It was the kingdoms of the world and the police and the
judges who were heretics. He was orthodox.  He had no pride in having
rebelled against them; they had rebelled against him.  The armies with
their cruel security, the kings with their cold faces, the decorous
processes of State, the reasonable processes of law--all these like
sheep had gone astray. The man was proud of being orthodox, was proud
of being right. If he stood alone in a howling wilderness he was more
than a man; he was a church.  He was the centre of the universe; it was
round him that the stars swung.  All the tortures torn out of forgotten
hells could not make him admit that he was heretical. But a few modern
phrases have made him boast of it.  He says, with a conscious laugh, "I
suppose I am very heretical," and looks round for applause.  The word
"heresy" not only means no longer being wrong; it practically means
being clear-headed and courageous. The word "orthodoxy" not only no
longer means being right; it practically means being wrong.  All this
can mean one thing, and one thing only.  It means that people care less
for whether they are philosophically right.  For obviously a man ought
to confess himself crazy before he confesses himself heretical. The
Bohemian, with a red tie, ought to pique himself on his orthodoxy. The
dynamiter, laying a bomb, ought to feel that, whatever else he is, at
least he is orthodox.

It is foolish, generally speaking, for a philosopher to set fire to
another philosopher in Smithfield Market because they do not agree in
their theory of the universe.  That was done very frequently in the
last decadence of the Middle Ages, and it failed altogether in its
object.  But there is one thing that is infinitely more absurd and
unpractical than burning a man for his philosophy. This is the habit of
saying that his philosophy does not matter, and this is done
universally in the twentieth century, in the decadence of the great
revolutionary period. General theories are everywhere contemned; the
doctrine of the Rights of Man is dismissed with the doctrine of the
Fall of Man. Atheism itself is too theological for us to-day.
Revolution itself is too much of a system; liberty itself is too much
of a restraint. We will have no generalizations.  Mr. Bernard Shaw has
put the view in a perfect epigram:  "The golden rule is that there is
no golden rule." We are more and more to discuss details in art,
politics, literature. A man's opinion on tramcars matters; his opinion
on Botticelli matters; his opinion on all things does not matter.  He
may turn over and explore a million objects, but he must not find that
strange object, the universe; for if he does he will have a religion,
and be lost. Everything matters--except everything.

Examples are scarcely needed of this total levity on the subject of
cosmic philosophy.  Examples are scarcely needed to show that, whatever
else we think of as affecting practical affairs, we do not think it
matters whether a man is a pessimist or an optimist, a Cartesian or a
Hegelian, a materialist or a spiritualist. Let me, however, take a
random instance.  At any innocent tea-table we may easily hear a man
say, "Life is not worth living." We regard it as we regard the
statement that it is a fine day; nobody thinks that it can possibly
have any serious effect on the man or on the world.  And yet if that
utterance were really believed, the world would stand on its head.
Murderers would be given medals for saving men from life; firemen would
be denounced for keeping men from death; poisons would be used as
medicines; doctors would be called in when people were well; the Royal
Humane Society would be rooted out like a horde of assassins. Yet we
never speculate as to whether the conversational pessimist will
strengthen or disorganize society; for we are convinced that theories
do not matter.

This was certainly not the idea of those who introduced our freedom.
When the old Liberals removed the gags from all the heresies, their
idea was that religious and philosophical discoveries might thus be
made. Their view was that cosmic truth was so important that every one
ought to bear independent testimony.  The modern idea is that cosmic
truth is so unimportant that it cannot matter what any one says. The
former freed inquiry as men loose a noble hound; the latter frees
inquiry as men fling back into the sea a fish unfit for eating. Never
has there been so little discussion about the nature of men as now,
when, for the first time, any one can discuss it.  The old restriction
meant that only the orthodox were allowed to discuss religion. Modern
liberty means that nobody is allowed to discuss it. Good taste, the
last and vilest of human superstitions, has succeeded in silencing us
where all the r
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OF THE NATURE OF THINGS

By Titus Lucretius Carus



A Metrical Translation

By William Ellery Leonard




BOOK I




PROEM

     Mother of Rome, delight of Gods and men,
     Dear Venus that beneath the gliding stars
     Makest to teem the many-voyaged main
     And fruitful lands--for all of living things
     Through thee alone are evermore conceived,
     Through thee are risen to visit the great sun--
     Before thee, Goddess, and thy coming on,
     Flee stormy wind and massy cloud away,
     For thee the daedal Earth bears scented flowers,
     For thee waters of the unvexed deep
     Smile, and the hollows of the serene sky
     Glow with diffused radiance for thee!
     For soon as comes the springtime face of day,
     And procreant gales blow from the West unbarred,
     First fowls of air, smit to the heart by thee,
     Foretoken thy approach, O thou Divine,
     And leap the wild herds round the happy fields
     Or swim the bounding torrents. Thus amain,
     Seized with the spell, all creatures follow thee
     Whithersoever thou walkest forth to lead,
     And thence through seas and mountains and swift streams,
     Through leafy homes of birds and greening plains,
     Kindling the lure of love in every breast,
     Thou bringest the eternal generations forth,
     Kind after kind. And since 'tis thou alone
     Guidest the Cosmos, and without thee naught
     Is risen to reach the shining shores of light,
     Nor aught of joyful or of lovely born,
     Thee do I crave co-partner in that verse
     Which I presume on Nature to compose
     For Memmius mine, whom thou hast willed to be
     Peerless in every grace at every hour--
     Wherefore indeed, Divine one, give my words
     Immortal charm. Lull to a timely rest
     O'er sea and land the savage works of war,
     For thou alone hast power with public peace
     To aid mortality; since he who rules
     The savage works of battle, puissant Mars,
     How often to thy bosom flings his strength
     O'ermastered by the eternal wound of love--
     And there, with eyes and full throat backward thrown,
     Gazing, my Goddess, open-mouthed at thee,
     Pastures on love his greedy sight, his breath
     Hanging upon thy lips. Him thus reclined
     Fill with thy holy body, round, above!
     Pour from those lips soft syllables to win
     Peace for the Romans, glorious Lady, peace!
     For in a season troublous to the state
     Neither may I attend this task of mine
     With thought untroubled, nor mid such events
     The illustrious scion of the Memmian house
     Neglect the civic cause.

                            Whilst human kind
     Throughout the lands lay miserably crushed
     Before all eyes beneath Religion--who
     Would show her head along the region skies,
     Glowering on mortals with her hideous face--
     A Greek it was who first opposing dared
     Raise mortal eyes that terror to withstand,
     Whom nor the fame of Gods nor lightning's stroke
     Nor threatening thunder of the ominous sky
     Abashed; but rather chafed to angry zest
     His dauntless heart to be the first to rend
     The crossbars at the gates of Nature old.
     And thus his will and hardy wisdom won;
     And forward thus he fared afar, beyond
     The flaming ramparts of the world, until
     He wandered the unmeasurable All.
     Whence he to us, a conqueror, reports
     What things can rise to being, what cannot,
     And by what law to each its scope prescribed,
     Its boundary stone that clings so deep in Time.
     Wherefore Religion now is under foot,
     And us his victory now exalts to heaven.

     I know how hard it is in Latian verse
     To tell the dark discoveries of the Greeks,
     Chiefly because our pauper-speech must find
     Strange terms to fit the strangeness of the thing;
     Yet worth of thine and the expected joy
     Of thy sweet friendship do persuade me on
     To bear all toil and wake the clear nights through,
     Seeking with what of words and what of song
     I may at last most gloriously uncloud
     For thee the light beyond, wherewith to view
     The core of being at the centre hid.
     And for the rest, summon to judgments true,
     Unbusied ears and singleness of mind
     Withdrawn from cares; lest these my gifts, arranged
     For thee with eager service, thou disdain
     Before thou comprehendest: since for thee
     I prove the supreme law of Gods and sky,
     And the primordial germs of things unfold,
     Whence Nature all creates, and multiplies
     And fosters all, and whither she resolves
     Each in the end when each is overthrown.
     This ultimate stock we have devised to name
     Procreant atoms, matter, seeds of things,
     Or primal bodies, as primal to the world.

     I fear perhaps thou deemest that we fare
     An impious road to realms of thought profane;
     But 'tis that same religion oftener far
     Hath bred the foul impieties of men:
     As once at 
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GENEALOGY AND PARENTAGE.

     TO LOUISA MAY ALCOTT.

     BY HER FATHER.

     When I remember with what buoyant heart,
       Midst war's alarms and woes of civil strife,
     In youthful eagerness thou didst depart,
       At peril of thy safety, peace, and life,
     To nurse the wounded soldier, swathe the dead,--
       How piercèd soon by fever's poisoned dart,
     And brought unconscious home, with wildered head,
       Thou ever since 'mid langour and dull pain,
     To conquer fortune, cherish kindred dear,
       Hast with grave studies vexed a sprightly brain,
     In myriad households kindled love and cheer,
       Ne'er from thyself by Fame's loud trump beguiled,
     Sounding in this and the farther hemisphere,--
       I press thee to my heart as Duty's faithful child.


Louisa Alcott was the second child of Amos Bronson and Abba May
Alcott. This name was spelled Alcocke in English history. About 1616 a
coat-of-arms was granted to Thomas Alcocke of Silbertoft, in the
county of Leicester. The device represents three cocks, emblematic of
watchfulness; and the motto is _Semper Vigilans_.

The first of the name appearing in English history is John Alcocke of
Beverley, Yorkshire, of whom Fuller gives an account in his Worthies
of England.

Thomas and George Alcocke were the first of the name among the
settlers in New England. The name is frequently found in the records
of Dorchester and Roxbury, and has passed through successive changes
to its present form.

The name of Bronson came from Mr. Alcott's maternal grandfather, the
sturdy Capt. Amos Bronson of Plymouth, Conn. "His ancestors on both
sides had been substantial people of respectable position in England,
and were connected with the founders and governors of the chief New
England colonies. At the time of Mr. Alcott's birth they had become
simple farmers, reaping a scanty living from their small farms in
Connecticut."

Amos Bronson Alcott, the father of Louisa, was born Nov. 29, 1799, at
the foot of Spindle Hill, in the region called New Connecticut. He has
himself given in simple verse the story of his quaint rustic life in
his boyhood, and Louisa has reproduced it in her story of "Eli's
Education" (in the Spinning-Wheel Stories), which gives a very true
account of his youthful life and adventures. He derived his refined,
gentle nature from his mother, who had faith in her son, and who lived
to see him the accomplished scholar he had vowed to become in his
boyhood. Although brought up in these rustic surroundings, his manners
were always those of a true gentleman. The name of the little mountain
town afterward became Wolcott, and Louisa records in her journal a
pilgrimage made thither in after years.[1]

Louisa Alcott's mother was a daughter of Col. Joseph May of Boston.
This family is so well known that it is hardly necessary to repeat its
genealogy here.[2] She was a sister of Samuel J. May, for many years
pastor of the Unitarian church at Syracuse, who was so tenderly
beloved by men of all religious persuasions in his home, and so widely
known and respected for his courage and zeal in the Antislavery cause,
as well as for his many philanthropic labors.

Mrs. Alcott's mother was Dorothy Sewall, a descendant of that family
already distinguished in the annals of the Massachusetts colony, and
which has lost nothing of its reputation for ability and virtue in its
latest representatives.[3]

Mrs. Alcott inherited in large measure the traits which distinguished
her family. She was a woman of large stature, fine physique, and
overflowing life. Her temper was as quick and warm as her affections,
but she was full of broad unselfish generosity. Her untiring energies
were constantly employed, not only for the benefit of her family, but
for all around her. She had a fine mind, and if she did not have
large opportunities for scholastic instruction, she always enjoyed the
benefit of intellectual society and converse with noble minds. She
loved expression in writing, and her letters are full of wit and
humor, keen criticism, and noble moral sentiments. Marriage with an
idealist, who had no means of support, brought her many trials and
privations. She bore them heroically, never wavering in affection for
her husband or in devotion to her children. If the quick, impatient
temper sometimes relieved itself in hasty speech, the action was
always large and unselfish.

It will be apparent from Louisa's life that she inherited the traits
of both her parents, and that the uncommon powers of mind and heart
that distinguished her were not accidental, but the accumulated result
of the lives of generations of strong and noble men and women.

She was well born.


_Mr. Alcott to Colonel May._

     GERMANTOWN, Nov. 29, 1832.

   DEAR SIR,--It is with great pleasure that I announce to you the
   _birth of a second daughter_. She was born at half-past 12 this
   morning, on my birthday (33), and is a very fine healthful child,
   much more so than Anna was at birth,--
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TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE

  * Italics are denoted by underscores as in _italics_.
  * Bold text is denoted by equals as in =bold=.
  * Small caps are represented in upper case as in SMALL CAPS.
  * Original spelling was kept, but variant spellings were made
    consistent when a predominant usage was found.
  * Obvious printer errors have been silently corrected.




PERPETUAL PEACE


[Illustration]


  “For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see,
  Saw the Vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be;
  Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails,
  Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales;
  Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rain’d a ghastly dew
  From the nations’ airy navies grappling in the central blue;
  Far along the world-wide whisper of the south-wind rushing warm,
  With the standards of the peoples plunging thro’ the thunder-storm;
  Till the war-drum throbb’d no longer, and the battle-flags were furl’d
  In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the world.
  There the common sense of most shall hold a fretful realm in awe,
  And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in universal law.”

  TENNYSON: _Locksley Hall_.




  PERPETUAL PEACE
  A PHILOSOPHICAL ESSAY

  BY
  IMMANUEL KANT

  1795


  TRANSLATED WITH INTRODUCTION
  AND NOTES BY
  M. CAMPBELL SMITH, M.A.

  _WITH A PREFACE BY PROFESSOR LATTA_


  LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & UNWIN LTD.
  RUSKIN HOUSE 40 MUSEUM STREET, W.C.
  NEW YORK: THE MACMILLAN COMPANY




  _First Edition, 1903_
  _Second Impression, February 1915_
  _Third       ”      February 1917_




PREFACE


This translation of Kant’s essay on _Perpetual Peace_ was undertaken
by Miss Mary Campbell Smith at the suggestion of the late Professor
Ritchie of St. Andrews, who had promised to write for it a preface,
indicating the value of Kant’s work in relation to recent discussions
regarding the possibility of “making wars to cease.” In view of the
general interest which these discussions have aroused and of the
vague thinking and aspiration which have too often characterised
them, it seemed to Professor Ritchie that a translation of this wise
and sagacious essay would be both opportune and valuable.[1] His
untimely death has prevented the fulfilment of his promise, and I
have been asked, in his stead, to introduce the translator’s work.

  [1] Cf. his _Studies in Political and Social Ethics_, pp. 169,
  170.

This is, I think, the only complete translation into English of
Kant’s essay, including all the notes as well as the text, and the
translator has added a full historical Introduction, along with
numerous notes of her own, so as (in Professor Ritchie’s words)
“to meet the needs (1) of the student of Political Science who
wishes to understand the relation of Kant’s theories to those of
Grotius, Hobbes, Locke, Rousseau etc., and (2) of the general reader
who wishes to understand the significance of Kant’s proposals
in connection with the ideals of Peace Congresses, and with the
development of International Law from the end of the Middle Ages to
the Hague Conference.”

Although it is more than 100 years since Kant’s essay was written,
its substantial value is practically unimpaired. Anyone who is
acquainted with the general character of the mind of Kant will
expect to find in him sound common-sense, clear recognition of the
essential facts of the case and a remarkable power of analytically
exhibiting the conditions on which the facts necessarily depend.
These characteristics are manifest in the essay on _Perpetual Peace_.
Kant is not pessimist enough to believe that a perpetual peace is an
unrealisable dream or a consummation devoutly to be feared, nor is
he optimist enough to fancy that it is an ideal which could easily
be realised if men would but turn their hearts to one another. For
Kant perpetual peace is an ideal, not merely as a speculative Utopian
idea, with which in fancy we may play, but as a moral principle,
which ought to be, and therefore can be, realised. Yet he makes it
perfectly clear that we cannot hope to approach the realisation of
it unless we honestly face political facts and get a firm grasp of
the indispensable conditions of a lasting peace. To strive after the
ideal in contempt or in ignorance of these conditions is a labour
that must inevitably be either fruitless or destructive of its own
ends. Thus Kant demonstrates the hopelessness of any attempt to
secure perpetual peace between independent nations. Such nations may
make treaties; but these are binding only for so long as it is not
to the interest of either party to denounce them. To enforce them
is impossible while the nations remain independent. “There is,” as
Professor Ritchie put it (_Studies in Political and Social Ethics_,
p. 169), “only one way in which war between independent nations can
be prevented; and that is by the nations ceasing to be independent.”
But this does not necessarily mean the establishment of a despotism,
whether
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Transcriber's Notes:

In the List of Illustrations I restored a missing single quote after "Lenore!":
  "'Wretch,' I cried, 'thy God hath lent thee--by these angels he hath sent thee
  Respite--respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!'"

The List of Illustrations uses 'visitor' where the poem and the actual
illustration use 'visiter'.


       *       *       *       *       *




THE RAVEN

BY
EDGAR ALLAN POE

ILLUSTRATED
BY GUSTAVE DORÉ

[Illustration]

WITH COMMENT BY EDMUND C. STEDMAN

NEW YORK

HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, FRANKLIN SQUARE
1884




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1883, by
HARPER & BROTHERS,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

_All rights reserved._




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
WITH NAMES OF ENGRAVERS

Title-page, designed by Elihu Vedder.       _Frederick Juengling._

"Nevermore."                         _H. Claudius, G.J. Buechner._

ANANKE.                                             _H. Claudius._

"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore."
                                                    _R.A. Muller._

"Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak December,
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor."
                                                    _R.G. Tietze._

"Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow--sorrow for the lost Lenore."
                                                    _H. Claudius._

"Sorrow for the lost Lenore."                     _W. Zimmermann._

"For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore--
                                          Nameless here for evermore."
                                            _Frederick Juengling._

"''T is some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door--
Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door.'"
                                                  _W. Zimmermann._

   --"Here I opened wide the door;--
Darkness there, and nothing more."                  _H. Claudius._

"Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before."
                                                      _F.S. King._

"'Surely,' said I, 'surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore.'"
                                            _Frederick Juengling._

"Open here I flung the shutter."                     _T. Johnson._

             --"A stately Raven of the saintly days of yore.
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he."
                                                 _R. Staudenbaur._

"Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door--
                                          Perched, and sat, and nothing more."
                                                    _R.G. Tietze._

"Wandering from the Nightly shore." _Frederick Juengling._

"Till I scarcely more than muttered, 'Other friends have flown before--
On the morrow _he_ will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'"
                                                   _Frank French._

"Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy."                                 _R. Schelling._

"But whose velvet violet lining with the lamplight gloating o'er
                                          _She_ shall press, ah, nevermore!"
                                                  _George Kruell._

"'Wretch,' I cried, 'thy God hath lent thee--by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite--respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore!'"
                                               _Victor Bernstrom._

"On this home by Horror haunted."                _R. Staudenbaur._

                            "'Tell me truly, I implore--
Is there--_is_ there balm in Gilead?--tell me--tell me, I implore!'"
                                                  _W. Zimmermann._

"'Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore.'"
                                                      _F.S. King._

"'Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!' I shrieked, upstarting."
                                                  _W. Zimmermann._

"'Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Plutonian shore!'"
                                                  _Robert Hoskin._

"And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
                                          Shall be lifted--nevermore!"
                                                    _R.G. Tietze._

The secret of the Sphinx.                        _R. Staudenbaur._




COMMENT ON THE POEM.


The secret of a poem, no less than a jest's prosperity, lies in the ear of
him that hears it. Yield to its spell, accept the poet's mood: this, after
all, is what the sages answer when you ask them of its value. Even thou
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    Count Victor Alten distinguished himself in the Pa. D. at Osnabruck,
    a lt.-gen. in the Hanoverian Service.

                             AIDE-DE-CAMP.

Lt. Baron Estorff, 2nd Dns., K.G.L.

    D. at Osnabruck, 28th April, 1827.

                           MAJOR OF BRIGADE.

Capt. Einem, K.G.L.

    Afterwards Lt.-Col. Gottfried von Einem. D. 23rd Aug., 1820.

                  *       *       *       *       *

                             MAJOR-GENERAL.

Sir John Vandeleur, K.C.B.

    Only son of Richard Vandeleur of Rutland, Queen’s Co., a captain 9th
    Lt. Dns., by Elinor, dau. of John Firman of Firmount. Bn. 1763.
    Served under Lord Lake in India; commanded a cavalry brigade in the
    Pa., and received the gold cross. G.C.B. for Waterloo. Gen. and
    Col.-in-Chf. 16th Lt. Dns. in 1830. M., 1829, Catherine, dau. of
    Rev. John Glasse, and had issue. D. 1st Nov., 1849.

                             AIDE-DE-CAMP.

Capt. W. Armstrong, 19th Lt. Dns.

    The 19th Dragoons was Sir John Vandeleur’s old regt. Wm. Armstrong
    was placed on h. p. as capt. in the Royal African Corps in 1819. In
    the h. p. list 1830.

                           MAJOR OF BRIGADE.

Maj. M. Childers, 11th Lt. Dns.

    Eldest son, by a 2nd marriage, of Chas. Walbanke-Childers, who
    assumed the latter name on inheriting the estates of his
    grandfather, Leonard Childers, of Carr House, co. York. Michael
    Childers became jun. lt.-col. of 11th Dns. in 1820. C.B. Col. 1837.
    D. at Sand Hutton, co. York, 9th Jan., 1854, unm.

                  *       *       *       *       *

                             MAJOR-GENERAL.

Maj.-Gen. George Cooke, W.

    Son of Col. G. Cooke, of Harefield Park, Mdx., and brother of Sir
    H.F. Cooke (private sec. to Duke of York) and Adl. Sir Edward Cooke.
    His mother was Penelope, sister of Adl. Boyer. Appointed ens. 1st
    Guards, 1784. In 1794 served in Flanders, and was A.D.C. to
    Maj.-Gen. (aftds. F.-M.) Hulse. As lt.-col. in the Guards was sev.
    wnded. when serving in Holland in 1799. Held a command in the Pa.
    under Sir T. Graham. Appointed maj.-gen. 4th June, 1811. Lost his
    right arm at Waterloo. K.C.B. 22nd June, 1815; K. St. George of
    Russia, &c.; Col.-in-Chf. 40th Foot. D. 3rd Feb., 1887, at
    Harefield, Mdx.

                             AIDE-DE-CAMP.

Capt. G. Disbrowe, 1st Ft. Gds.

    The Desboroughs, or Disbrowes, were brought into notice during the
    Civil Wars when John Desborough, a noted Republican, exchanged his
    plough for a sword, and attained high renown as a soldier. The
    Gen.’s family came still more into notice when he married Cromwell’s
    youngest sister. George Disbrowe was placed on h. p. as lt.-col.
    1821. K.H. He was 2nd son of Edward Disbrowe, of Walton-upon-Trent,
    co. Derby, by Lady Charlotte Hobart, youngest dau. of George, 3rd
    Earl of Buckinghamshire. Col. G. Disbrowe d. about 1875.

                          EXTRA AIDE-DE-CAMP.

Ens. Augustus Cuyler, 2nd Ft. Gds.

    Bn. 14th Aug., 1796. 2nd son of Gen. Cornelius Cuyler, who was
    created a Bart. in 1814; lt. and capt. same regt. 1817; lt.-col. h.
    p. 1826.

                  *       *       *       *       *

                             MAJOR-GENERAL.

Sir James Kempt, K.C.B., W.

    Bn. in Edinburgh about 1764. Son of Gavin Kempt, of Batley Hall,
    Hants. Entd. army 1783. A.D.C. to Abercromby in Holland. Accompanied
    Sir Ralph to the Mediterranean and served as his A.D.C. and military
    sec. until that Gen.’s death. Served under Lord Hutchinson in Egypt
    in similar position. Commanded a brigade in the 3rd division in the
    Pa. Received the gold cross with three clasps; G.C.B. for Waterloo;
    Gov. Nova Scotia; Gov.-Gen. Canada; Master-Gen. of the Ordnance;
    Col.-in-Chf. 1st Foot, 7th Aug., 1846. D. in London 20th Dec., 1854,
    leaving £120,000 in personalty.

                             AIDE-DE-CAMP.

Capt. the Hon. Charles Gore, 85th Foot.

    Bn. 1793. Began his career in 6th Regt. Foot. Exchanged to 43rd
    Regt. Joined this regt. in the Pa. 1811, and was one of the storming
    party of Fort San Francisco, at the investment of Ciudad Rodrigo.
    A.D.C. to Sir Andrew Barnard at Salamanca, and in a similar capacity
    to Sir J. Kempt at Vittoria and subsequent battles. Accompanied
    Kempt to Canada in 1814, and returned just in time to fight at
    Waterloo, where he had three horses shot under him. Son of Arthur
    Gore, 2nd Earl of Arran, by his 3rd wife, Eliz. Underwood. G.C.B.;
    K.H.; Gen. and col. 6th Foot; Lt.-Gov. Chelsea Hospital. M. 1824
    Sarah, dau. of Hon. James Fraser of Nova Scotia, and had issue. D.
    4th Sept., 1869.

                           MAJOR OF BRIGADE.

Capt. Charles Eeles, 95th Foot, K.

    Brother of Lt.-Col. Wm. Eeles, K.H., who d. in command of 1st Batt.
    Rifle Brigade in 1837.

                  *       *       *       *       *

                             MAJO
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LOVE AND FREINDSHIP AND OTHER EARLY WORKS

(Love And Friendship And Other Early Works)

A Collection of Juvenile Writings

By Jane Austen



Transcriber's Note: A few very small changes have been made to this
version: Italics have been converted to capitals. The British 'pound'
symbol has been converted to 'L'; but in general the author's erratic
spelling, punctuation and capitalisations have been retained.




CONTENTS.

     Love and Freindship
     Lesley Castle
     The History of England
     Collection of Letters
     Scraps





LOVE AND FREINDSHIP



  TO MADAME LA COMTESSE DE FEUILLIDE THIS NOVEL
  IS INSCRIBED BY HER
  OBLIGED HUMBLE SERVANT

  THE AUTHOR.


  “Deceived in Freindship and Betrayed in Love.”




LETTER the FIRST From ISABEL to LAURA

How often, in answer to my repeated intreaties that you would give my
Daughter a regular detail of the Misfortunes and Adventures of your
Life, have you said “No, my freind never will I comply with your request
till I may be no longer in Danger of again experiencing such dreadful
ones.”

Surely that time is now at hand. You are this day 55. If a woman
may ever be said to be in safety from the determined Perseverance of
disagreeable Lovers and the cruel Persecutions of obstinate Fathers,
surely it must be at such a time of Life. Isabel




LETTER 2nd LAURA to ISABEL

Altho' I cannot agree with you in supposing that I shall never again be
exposed to Misfortunes as unmerited as those I have already experienced,
yet to avoid the imputation of Obstinacy or ill-nature, I will gratify
the curiosity of your daughter; and may the fortitude with which I have
suffered the many afflictions of my past Life, prove to her a useful
lesson for the support of those which may befall her in her own. Laura




LETTER 3rd LAURA to MARIANNE

As the Daughter of my most intimate freind I think you entitled to that
knowledge of my unhappy story, which your Mother has so often solicited
me to give you.

My Father was a native of Ireland and an inhabitant of Wales; my Mother
was the natural Daughter of a Scotch Peer by an italian Opera-girl--I
was born in Spain and received my Education at a Convent in France.

When I had reached my eighteenth Year I was recalled by my Parents to
my paternal roof in Wales. Our mansion was situated in one of the most
romantic parts of the Vale of Uske. Tho' my Charms are now considerably
softened and somewhat impaired by the Misfortunes I have undergone, I
was once beautiful. But lovely as I was the Graces of my Person were the
least of my Perfections. Of every accomplishment accustomary to my sex,
I was Mistress. When in the Convent, my progress had always exceeded my
instructions, my Acquirements had been wonderfull for my age, and I had
shortly surpassed my Masters.

In my Mind, every Virtue that could adorn it was centered; it was the
Rendez-vous of every good Quality and of every noble sentiment.

A sensibility too tremblingly alive to every affliction of my Freinds,
my Acquaintance and particularly to every affliction of my own, was my
only fault, if a fault it could be called. Alas! how altered now! Tho'
indeed my own Misfortunes do not make less impression on me than they
ever did, yet now I never feel for those of an other. My accomplishments
too, begin to fade--I can neither sing so well nor Dance so gracefully
as I once did--and I have entirely forgot the MINUET DELA COUR. Adeiu.
Laura.




LETTER 4th Laura to MARIANNE

Our neighbourhood was small, for it consisted only of your Mother. She
may probably have already told you that being left by her Parents
in indigent Circumstances she had retired into Wales on eoconomical
motives. There it was our freindship first commenced. Isobel was then
one and twenty. Tho' pleasing both in her Person and Manners (between
ourselves) she never possessed the hundredth part of my Beauty or
Accomplishments. Isabel had seen the World. She had passed 2 Years at
one of the first Boarding-schools in London; had spent a fortnight in
Bath and had supped one night in Southampton.

“Beware my Laura (she would often say) Beware of the insipid Vanities
and idle Dissipations of the Metropolis of England; Beware of the
unmeaning Luxuries of Bath and of the stinking fish of Southampton.”

“Alas! (exclaimed I) how am I to avoid those evils I shall never
be exposed to? What probability is there of my ever tasting the
Dissipations of London, the Luxuries of Bath, or the stinking Fish of
Southampton? I who am doomed to waste my Days of Youth and Beauty in an
humble Cottage in the Vale of Uske.”

Ah! little did I then think I was ordained so soon to quit that humble
Cottage for the Deceitfull Pleasures of the World. Adeiu Laura.




LETTER 5th LAURA to MARIANNE

One Evening in December as my Father, my Mother and myself, were
arranged in social converse round our Fireside, we were on a sudden
greatly astonished, by hearing a violent knocking on the outward door of
our rustic Cot.

My Father started--“What noise is that,” (
------------------------------------------------------------------------

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University, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
(https://www.pgdp.net)



GREY WETHERS


      *      *      *      *      *      *

_By_ V. SACKVILLE-WEST


GREY WETHERS

THE HEIR AND OTHER STORIES

CHALLENGE

HERITAGE

KNOLE AND THE SACKVILLES

_New York_:
_George H. Doran Company_

      *      *      *      *      *      *


GREY WETHERS

A Romantic Novel

by

V. SACKVILLE-WEST


New [Illustration: Logo] York
George H. Doran Company

Copyright, 1923,
by George H. Doran Company


[Illustration: Logo]


GREY WETHERS. II

Printed in the United States of America




                           _CLAIRE_

     _Ces fantômes charmants que nous croyons à nous..._

     _Ils sont là, près de nous, jouant sur notre route;_
       _Ils ne dédaignent pas notre soleil obscur,_
     _Et derrière eux, et sans que leur candeur s’en doute,_
       _Leurs ailes font parfois de l’ombre sur le mur._

     _Ils ont ce grand dégout mystérieux de l’âme_
       _Pour notre chair coupable et pour notre destin;_
     _Ils ont, êtres rêveurs qu’un autre azur réclame,_
       _Je ne sais quelle soif de mourir le matin._
                                              VICTOR HUGO.




GREY WETHERS

PART ONE




GREY WETHERS




_Part One_


More than half a century has now elapsed since the events which added
a new legend to the hard ancient hills lying about Marlborough and
King’s Avon. The last organised rustic Scouring of the White Horse of
King’s Avon,--from which occasion these events may properly be said to
date, although a believer in predestination might be found to contend
that they dated, indeed, from the very births of Clare Warrener and
Nicholas Lovel,--that last organised Scouring took place more than
half a century ago. The White Horse remains, the same gaunt, hoary
relic; King’s Avon remains, secluded, tragic, rearing its great stones
within the circle of its strange earthwork; the Downs remain, and every
winter, now as then, shroud their secrets and the memory of their
secrets beneath the same mantle of snow away from the speculation of
the curious. But of Clare Warrener and Nicholas Lovel no trace remains,
unless indeed they have passed into the wind and become incorporate
with the intractable spaces and uncompromising heights. A great many
tales are locally told of them, all too fantastic to be set down in
print; the chalky soil, so unpropitious to other crops, grew at least
a rich crop of superstition, especially in an age and district when
stories of witches and burnings were curiously mingled in the minds
of the ignorant with the opening of barrows and the fable of British
princes. So it is not surprising that the disappearance of these two
persons should have given rise to a jabber of conjecture which rapidly
came to be explained away by a variety of legends following the line of
approved local tradition. It is not the business of print to enter into
these conjectures or their interpretation. It is the business of print
to set down, in as practical a manner as may be, the circumstances
leading up to the final catastrophe,--or fulfilment, call it which you
will, according to the point of view from which you approach it,--and
to leave the reader to carry on the narrative for himself in the manner
best suited to his own fancy and requirements.


A peculiar silence reigned over the village; no children shouted,
and no young men or girls passed down the street with that exact air
of energy and enterprise that youth alone can produce. Somnolence
predominated; it seemed a village inhabited only by the aged, and by
those sparsely; a small gaggle of geese quacked and pried with their
flat beaks along the cobbles; but for them, the cats and the old men
had the place to themselves. The cats slumbered, curled round in the
corners of doorsteps, where the sun struck hot on the stone; and on a
bench outside the Waggon of Hay the four old men sat in a row, leaning
on their knobly sticks, and holding pewter mugs in their hands. Brown
old men, brown of hide and brown of garment, so that it was difficult
to tell where their clothes began or their hands and faces left off.
Eight boots of similar pattern set squarely side by side on the stones;
four heads of almost equal similarity nodded together over the pewter,
sagely and immemorially, for it would be safe to say that those four
old men of King’s Avon might have been at any moment replaced by
another set of four old men out of another century, without a casual
observer remarking on the difference. It was the day out of half a
score of years when they were left in supreme sovereignty over the
village. The Waggon of Hay became then what they considered it always
ought to be, and what they chose to maintain it had been at that epoch
of time called “when we were young,” a place of meeting sober and
stagnant, undisturbed by the rude, hobnailed entrance of young men,
calling for spirits in a tap-room where they should have been content
with beer or cider. It was the day when th
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had engaged to accompany me to the Vilage of St. Charles; accordingly
at 12 Oclk after bidding an affectionate adieu to my Hostis, that
excellent woman the spouse of Mr. Peter Chouteau, and some of my fair
friends of St. Louis, we set forward to that village in order to join
my friend companion and fellow labourer Capt. William Clark who had
previously arrived at that place with the party destined for the
discovery of the interior of the continent of North America the first 5
miles of our rout laid through a beatifull high leavel and fertile
prarie which incircles the town of St. Louis from N. W. to S. E. the
lands through which we then passed are somewhat broken up fertile the
plains and woodlands are here indiscriminately interspersed untill you
arrive within three miles of the vilage when the woodland commences and
continues to the Missouri the latter is extreamly fertile. At half
after one P.M. our progress was interrupted the near approach of a
violent thunder storm from the N. W. and concluded to take shelter in a
little cabbin hard by untill the rain should be over; accordingly we
alighted and remained about an hour and a half and regailed ourselves
with a could collation which we had taken the precaution to bring with
us from St. Louis.

The clouds continued to follow each other in rapaid succession,
insomuch that there was but little prospect of it's ceasing to rain
this evening; as I had determined to reach St. Charles this evening and
knowing that there was now no time to be lost I set forward in the
rain, most of the gentlemen continued with me, we arrived at half after
six and joined Capt Clark, found the party in good health and sperits.
suped this evening with Monsr. Charles Tayong a Spanish Ensign & late
Commandant of St. Charles at an early hour I retired to rest on board
the barge--St. Charles is situated on the North bank of the Missouri 21
Miles above it's junction with the Mississippi, and about the same
distance N. W. from St. Louis; it is bisected by one principal street
about a mile in length runing nearly parrallel with the river, the
plain on which it stands-is narrow tho sufficiently elivated to secure
it against the annual inundations of the river, which usually happen in
the month of June, and in the rear it is terminated by a range of small
hills, hence the appellation of petit Cote, a name by which this vilage
is better known to the French inhabitants of the Illinois than that of
St. Charles. The Vilage contains a Chappel, one hundred dwelling
houses, and about 450 inhabitants; their houses are generally small and
but illy constructed; a great majority of the inhabitants are miserably
pour, illiterate and when at home excessively lazy, tho they are polite
hospitable and by no means deficient in point of natural genious, they
live in a perfect state of harmony among each other; and plase as
implicit confidence in the doctrines of their speritual pastor, the
Roman Catholic priest, as they yeald passive obedience to the will of
their temporal master the commandant. a small garden of vegetables is
the usual extent of their cultivation, and this is commonly imposed on
the old men and boys; the men in the vigor of life consider the
cultivation of the earth a degrading occupation, and in order to gain
the necessary subsistence for themselves and families, either undertake
hunting voyages on their own account, or engage themselves as hirelings
to such persons as possess sufficient capital to extend their traffic
to the natives of the interior parts of the country; on those voyages
in either case, they are frequently absent from their families or homes
the term of six twelve or eighteen months and alwas subjected to severe
and incessant labour, exposed to the ferosity of the lawless savages,
the vicissitudes of weather and climate, and dependant on chance or
accident alone for food, raiment or relief in the event of malady.
These people are principally the decendants of the Canadian French, and
it is not an inconsiderable proportian of them that can boast a small
dash of the pure blood of the aboriginees of America. On consulting
with my friend Capt. C. I found it necessary that we should pospone our
departure untill 2 P M. the next day and accordingly gave orders to the
party to hold themselves in readiness to depart at that hour.

Captn. Clark now informed me that having gotten all the stores on board
the Barge and perogues on the evening of the 13th of May he determined
to leave our winter cantainment at the mouth of River Dubois the next
day, and to ascend the Missouri as far as the Vilage of St. Charles,
where as it had been previously concerted between us, he was to wait my
arrival; this movement while it advanced us a small distance on our
rout, would also enable him to determine whether the vessels had been
judiciously loaded and if not timely to make the necessary alterations;
accordingly at 4 P.M. on Monday the 14th of May 1804, he embarked with
the party in the presence of a
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PG #: 28289
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Transcribed from the 1883 Funk & Wagnalls edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org

                          [Picture: Book cover]





                                THE ESSAYS
                                    OF
                             “GEORGE ELIOT.”


                                COMPLETE.

               COLLECTED AND ARRANGED, WITH AN INTRODUCTION
                      ON HER “ANALYSIS OF MOTIVES,”

                                    BY
                             NATHAN SHEPPARD,

    EDITOR OF “CHARACTER READINGS FROM GEORGE ELIOT,” AND “THE DICKENS
                READER;” AND AUTHOR OF “SHUT UP IN PARIS.”

                                * * * * *

                                NEW YORK:
                       FUNK & WAGNALLS, PUBLISHERS,
                          10 AND 12 DEY STREET.

       Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1883, by
                             FUNK & WAGNALLS,
     In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, D. C.




CONTENTS.

PREFACE,                                         5
“GEORGE ELIOT’S” ANALYSIS OF MOTIVES,            7
I.—CARLYLE’S LIFE OF STERLING,                  25
II.—WOMAN IN FRANCE,                            31
III.—EVANGELICAL TEACHING,                      64
IV.—GERMAN WIT,                                 99
V.—NATURAL HISTORY OF GERMAN LIFE,             141
VI.—SILLY NOVELS BY LADY NOVELISTS,            178
VII.—WORLDLINESS AND OTHER-WORLDLINESS,        205
VIII.—THE INFLUENCE OF RATIONALISM,            257
IX.—THE GRAMMAR OF ORNAMENT,                   272
X.—FELIX HOLT’S ADDRESS TO WORKINGMEN,         275




PREFACE.


Since the death of George Eliot much public curiosity has been excited by
the repeated allusions to, and quotations from, her contributions to
periodical literature, and a leading newspaper gives expression to a
general wish when it says that “this series of striking essays ought to
be collected and reprinted, both because of substantive worth and because
of the light they throw on the author’s literary canons and
predilections.”  In fact, the articles which were published anonymously
in _The Westminster Review_ have been so pointedly designated by the
editor, and the biographical sketch in the “Famous Women” series is so
emphatic in its praise of them, and so copious in its extracts from one
and the least important one of them, that the publication of all the
Review and magazine articles of the renowned novelist, without abridgment
or alteration, would seem but an act of fair play to her fame, while at
the same time a compliance with a reasonable public demand.

Nor are these first steps in her wonderful intellectual progress any the
less, but are all the more noteworthy, for being first steps.  “To ignore
this stage,” says the author of the valuable little volume to which we
have just referred—“to ignore this stage in George Eliot’s mental
development would be to lose one of the connecting links in her history.”
Furthermore, “nothing in her fictions excels the style of these papers.”
Here is all her “epigrammatic felicity,” and an irony not surpassed by
Heine himself, while her paper on the poet Young is one of her wittiest
bits of critical analysis.

Her translation of Status’s “Life of Jesus” was published in 1840, and
her translation of Feuerbach’s “Essence of Christianity” in 1854.  Her
translation of Spinoza’s “Ethics” was finished the same year, but remains
unpublished.  She was associate editor of _The Westminster Review_ from
1851 to 1853.  She was about twenty-seven years of age when her first
translation appeared, thirty-three when the first of these magazine
articles appeared, thirty-eight at the publication of her first story,
and fifty-nine when she finished “Theophrastus Such.”  Two years after
she died, at the age of sixty-one.  So that George Eliot’s literary life
covered a period of about thirty-two years.

The introductory chapter on her “Analysis of Motives” first appeared as a
magazine article, and appears here at the request of the publishers,
after having been carefully revised, indeed almost entirely rewritten by
its author.




“GEORGE ELIOT’S” ANALYSIS OF MOTIVES.


George Eliot is the greatest of the novelists in the delineation of
feeling and the analysis of motives.  In “uncovering certain human lots,
and seeing how they are woven and interwoven,” some marvellous work has
been done by this master in the two arts of rhetoric and fiction.

If you say the telling of a story is her forte, you put her below Wilkie
Collins or Mrs. Oliphant; if you say her object is to give a picture of
English society, she is surpassed by Bulwer and Trollope; if she be
called a satirist of society, Thackeray is her superior; if she intends
to illustrate the absurdity of behavior, she is eclipsed by Dickens; but
if the analysis of human motives be her forte and art, she stands first,
and it is very doubtful whether any artist in fiction is entitled to
stand second.  She reaches 
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MY VISITOR


      There are some events of which each circumstance and surrounding
      detail seems to be graven on the memory in such fashion that we
      cannot forget it, and so it is with the scene that I am about to
      describe. It rises as clearly before my mind at this moment as
      though it had happened but yesterday.

      It was in this very month something over twenty years ago that I,
      Ludwig Horace Holly, was sitting one night in my rooms at
      Cambridge, grinding away at some mathematical work, I forget
      what. I was to go up for my fellowship within a week, and was
      expected by my tutor and my college generally to distinguish
      myself. At last, wearied out, I flung my book down, and, going to
      the mantelpiece, took down a pipe and filled it. There was a
      candle burning on the mantelpiece, and a long, narrow glass at
      the back of it; and as I was in the act of lighting the pipe I
      caught sight of my own countenance in the glass, and paused to
      reflect. The lighted match burnt away till it scorched my
      fingers, forcing me to drop it; but still I stood and stared at
      myself in the glass, and reflected.

      “Well,” I said aloud, at last, “it is to be hoped that I shall be
      able to do something with the inside of my head, for I shall
      certainly never do anything by the help of the outside.”

      This remark will doubtless strike anybody who reads it as being
      slightly obscure, but I was in reality alluding to my physical
      deficiencies. Most men of twenty-two are endowed at any rate with
      some share of the comeliness of youth, but to me even this was
      denied. Short, thick-set, and deep-chested almost to deformity,
      with long sinewy arms, heavy features, deep-set grey eyes, a low
      brow half overgrown with a mop of thick black hair, like a
      deserted clearing on which the forest had once more begun to
      encroach; such was my appearance nearly a quarter of a century
      ago, and such, with some modification, it is to this day. Like
      Cain, I was branded—branded by Nature with the stamp of abnormal
      ugliness, as I was gifted by Nature with iron and abnormal
      strength and considerable intellectual powers. So ugly was I that
      the spruce young men of my College, though they were proud enough
      of my feats of endurance and physical prowess, did not even care
      to be seen walking with me. Was it wonderful that I was
      misanthropic and sullen? Was it wonderful that I brooded and
      worked alone, and had no friends—at least, only one? I was set
      apart by Nature to live alone, and draw comfort from her breast,
      and hers only. Women hated the sight of me. Only a week before I
      had heard one call me a “monster” when she thought I was out of
      hearing, and say that I had converted her to the monkey theory.
      Once, indeed, a woman pretended to care for me, and I lavished
      all the pent-up affection of my nature upon her. Then money that
      was to have come to me went elsewhere, and she discarded me. I
      pleaded with her as I have never pleaded with any living creature
      before or since, for I was caught by her sweet face, and loved
      her; and in the end by way of answer she took me to the glass,
      and stood side by side with me, and looked into it.

      “Now,” she said, “if I am Beauty, who are you?” That was when I
      was only twenty.

      And so I stood and stared, and felt a sort of grim satisfaction
      in the sense of my own loneliness; for I had neither father, nor
      mother, nor brother; and as I did so there came a knock at my
      door.

      I listened before I went to open it, for it was nearly twelve
      o’clock at night, and I was in no mood to admit any stranger. I
      had but one friend in the College, or, indeed, in the
      world—perhaps it was he.

      Just then the person outside the door coughed, and I hastened to
      open it, for I knew the cough.

      A tall man of about thirty, with the remains of great personal
      beauty, came hurrying in, staggering beneath the weight of a
      massive iron box which he carried by a handle with his right
      hand. He placed the box upon the table, and then fell into an
      awful fit of coughing. He coughed and coughed till his face
      became quite purple, and at last he sank into a chair and began
      to spit up blood. I poured out some whisky into a tumbler, and
      gave it to him. He drank it, and seemed better; though his better
      was very bad indeed.

      “Why did you keep me standing there in the cold?” he asked
      pettishly. “You know the draughts are death to me.”

      “I did not know who it was,” I answered. “You are a late
      visitor.”

      “Yes; and I verily believe it is my last visit,” he answered,
      with a ghastly attempt at a smile. “I am done for, Holly. I am
      done for. I do not 
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PG #: 14642
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[Transcriber's Notes:

Welcome to the schoolroom of 1900. The moral tone is plain. "She is kind
to the old blind man."

The exercises are still suitable, and perhaps more helpful than some
contemporary alternatives. Much is left to the teacher. Explanations given
in the text are enough to get started teaching a child to read and write.
Counting in Roman numerals is included as a bonus in the form of lesson
numbers.

Don Kostuch
]


ECLECTIC EDUCATIONAL SERIES.

McGUFFEY'S[Registered]

ECLECTIC PRIMER.

REVISED EDITION.

[Illustration: Two children in hammock.]

McGuffey Editions and Colophon are Trademarks of

JOHN WILEY & SONS, INC.
NEW YORK - CHICHESTER - WEINHEIM - BRISBANE - SINGAPORE - TORONTO

Copyright, 1881, By Van Antwerp, Brag & Co.

Copyright, 1896, By American Book Company.

Copyright, 1909, By Henry H. Vail.


EP 179


Preface

The flattering success of McGuffey's Revised Readers, and the inquiry for
more primary reading matter to be used in the first year of school work,
have induced the Publishers to prepare a REVISED PRIMER, which may be used
to precede the First Reader of any well arranged series.

The method pursued is the same as that in McGuffey's Revised Readers, and
the greatest possible care has been taken to insure a gradation suited to
the youngest children. Only about six new words are to be mastered in each
lesson. These new words and the new elementary sounds are always to be
found in the vocabulary of the lesson in which they are first used.

The plan of the book enables the teacher to pursue the Phonic Method, the
Word Method, the Alphabet Method, or any combination of these methods.

Illustrations of the best character have been freely supplied, and the
skilled teacher will be able to use them to great advantage.

The script exercises throughout the book and the slate exercises at the
close, have been specially written and carefully engraved for this Primer;
they may be used to teach the reading of script, and as exercises in
learning to write.

In the full confidence that the public will appreciate a cheap and
attractive Primer of this character, the Publishers have spared no expense
to make this book equal, in type, paper, and illustrations, to any that
have been issued from their Press.
(iii)



THE ALPHABET.

A B C D
E F G H
I J K L
M N O P
Q R S T
U V W X
Y Z



THE ALPHABET.

a b c d
e f g h
i j k l
m n o p
q r s t
u v w x
y z


[Illustration: Cat watching moth.]



McGuffey's Eclectic Primer


Lesson 1

a   and  cat  rat

a   e   d   n   r   t

[Illustration: Rat]

a rat    a cat

A cat    A rat

A cat and a rat.

A rat and a cat.



LESSON II.

at    the   ran   has

Ann   h     th    s

[Illustration: Cat]

The cat       the rat

The cat has a rat.

The rat ran at Ann.

Ann has a cat.

The cat ran at the rat.



LESSON III.

Nat  hat  fan   can   f

[Illustration: Children playing at the seashore.]

a fan       a hat

Ann and Nat.

Ann has a fan.

Nat has a hat.

Ann can fan Nat.



LESSON IV.

man   cap   lad   sat

l   m   p   s

[Illustration: Boy running and old man, with gout, sitting.]

a cap       the lad

A man and a lad.

The man sat; the lad ran.

The man has a hat.

The lad has a cap.



LESSON V.--REVIEW.

The cat and the rat ran.

Ann sat, and Nat ran.

A rat ran at Nat.

Can Ann fan the lad?

The man and the lad.

The man has a cap.

The lad has a fan.

Has Ann a hat?

Ann has a hat and a fan.

[Illustration: Script Exercise:

a  at  rat  sat

can   cap   lad   and

The cat ran. Ann ran.

The man has a hat.
]



LESSON VI.

dog   Rab   fat   Nat's

o   b   g

[Illustration: Boy and dog watching cat on post.]

Nat's cap      a fat dog

Has the lad a dog?

The lad has a fat dog.

The dog has Nat's cap.

Nat and Rab ran.

Rab ran at a cat.



LESSON VII.

see  sees   frog

on   log   e

[Illustration: Boy sitting on fence, watching frog sitting on log.]

a log       the frog

See the frog on a log.

Rab sees the frog.

Can the frog see Rab?

The frog can see the dog.

Rab ran at the frog.



LESSON VIII.

it   stand   Ann's   is   lamp   mat   i

[Illustration: Mother with girl holding cat, by lamplight.]

a mat       the stand

See the lamp! It is on a mat.

The mat is on the stand.

The lamp is Nat's, and the mat is Ann's.



LESSON IX.

Tom   nag   not   him   catch   he   his    ch

[Illustration: Boy and dog chasing horse.]

See the nag! It is Tom's nag.

Can Tom catch his nag?

He can not catch him.

The dog ran at the nag, and the nag ran.



LESSON X.--REVIEW.

Tom's nag is fat; his dog is not fat.

Nat is on Tom's nag.

Nat's dog, Rab, can not catch the rat.

See the frog on the log.

A lad sees the frog.

The lad can not catch it.

A cat is on the mat; the cat sees a rat.

Ann's fan is on the stand.

The man has a lamp.

A dog ran at the man.

Ann sat on a log.


[Illustration: Script exercise:

Tom sees Nat's dog.

A fat frog is on the log.

Can not Rab catch it?
]



LESSON XI

nest   this   eggs   she  in   get   box   hen

e   x   sh

[Illustr
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MUIRHEAD LIBRARY OF PHILOSOPHY


An admirable statement of the aims of the Library of Philosophy was
provided by the first editor, the late Professor J. H. Muirhead, in his
description of the original programme printed in Erdmann's History of
Philosophy under the date 1890. This was slightly modified in subsequent
volumes to take the form of the following statement:

"The Muirhead Library of Philosophy was designed as a contribution to
the History of Modern Philosophy under the heads: first of Different
Schools of Thought--Sensationalist, Realist, Idealist, Intuitivist;
secondly of different Subjects--Psychology, Ethics, Aesthetics,
Political Philosophy, Theology. While much had been done in England in
tracing the course of evolution in nature, history, economics, morals
and religion, little had been done in tracing the development of thought
on these subjects. Yet 'the evolution of opinion is part of the whole
evolution'.

"By the co-operation of different writers in carrying out this plan it
was hoped that a thoroughness and completeness of treatment, otherwise
unattainable, might be secured. It was believed also that from writers
mainly British and American fuller consideration of English Philosophy
than it had hitherto received might be looked for. In the earlier series
of books containing, among others, Bosanquet's "History of Aesthetic,"
Pfleiderer's "Rational Theology since Kant," Albee's "History of English
Utilitarianism," Bonar's "Philosophy and Political Economy," Brett's
"History of Psychology," Ritchie's "Natural Rights," these objects were
to a large extent effected.

"In the meantime original work of a high order was being produced both
in England and America by such writers as Bradley, Stout, Bertrand
Russell, Baldwin, Urban, Montague, and others, and a new interest in
foreign works, German, French and Italian, which had either become
classical or were attracting public attention, had developed. The scope
of the Library thus became extended into something more international,
and it is entering on the fifth decade of its existence in the hope that
it may contribute to that mutual understanding between countries which
is so pressing a need of the present time."

The need which Professor Muirhead stressed is no less pressing to-day,
and few will deny that philosophy has much to do with enabling us to
meet it, although no one, least of all Muirhead himself, would regard
that as the sole, or even the main, object of philosophy. As Professor
Muirhead continues to lend the distinction of his name to the Library
of Philosophy it seemed not inappropriate to allow him to recall us to
these aims in his own words. The emphasis on the history of thought also
seemed to me very timely; and the number of important works promised
for the Library in the very near future augur well for the continued
fulfilment, in this and other ways, of the expectations of the original
editor.

H. D. Lewis




PREFACE

This book has grown out of an attempt to harmonize two different
tendencies, one in psychology, the other in physics, with both of which
I find myself in sympathy, although at first sight they might seem
inconsistent. On the one hand, many psychologists, especially those
of the behaviourist school, tend to adopt what is essentially a
materialistic position, as a matter of method if not of metaphysics.
They make psychology increasingly dependent on physiology and external
observation, and tend to think of matter as something much more solid
and indubitable than mind. Meanwhile the physicists, especially Einstein
and other exponents of the theory of relativity, have been making
"matter" less and less material. Their world consists of "events," from
which "matter" is derived by a logical construction. Whoever reads, for
example, Professor Eddington's "Space, Time and Gravitation" (Cambridge
University Press, 1920), will see that an old-fashioned materialism can
receive no support from modern physics. I think that what has permanent
value in the outlook of the behaviourists is the feeling that physics is
the most fundamental science at present in existence. But this position
cannot be called materialistic, if, as seems to be the case, physics
does not assume the existence of matter.

The view that seems to me to reconcile the materialistic tendency of
psychology with the anti-materialistic tendency of physics is the view
of William James and the American new realists, according to which the
"stuff" of the world is neither mental nor material, but a "neutral
stuff," out of which both are constructed. I have endeavoured in this
work to develop this view in some detail as regards the phenomena with
which psychology is concerned.

My thanks are due to Professor John B. Watson and to Dr. T. P. Nunn
for reading my MSS. at an early stage and helping me with many valuable
suggestions; also to Mr. A. Wohlgemuth for much very useful information
as regards important literature. I have also to acknowledge the help
of the e
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Pro software donated by Caere; and David Widger











TALES FROM SHAKESPEARE

By Charles And Mary Lamb



CONTENTS

     AUTHOR’S PREFACE
     THE TEMPEST
     A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’s DREAM
     WINTER’S TALE
     MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING
     AS YOU LIKE IT
     TWO GENTLEMEN OF VERONA
     MERCHANT OF VENICE
     CYMBELINE
     KING LEAR
     MACBETH
     ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL
     TAMING OF THE SHREW
     COMEDY OF ERRORS
     MEASURE FOR MEASURE
     TWELFTH NIGHT; OR, WHAT YOU WILL
     TIMON OF ATHENS
     ROMEO AND JULIET
     HAMLET, PRINCE OF DENMARK
     OTHELLO
     PERICLES, PRINCE OF TYRE




PREFACE

The following Tales are meant to be submitted to the young reader
as an introduction to the study of Shakespeare, for which purpose
his words are used whenever it seemed possible to bring them in;
and in whatever has been added to give them the regular form of a
connected story, diligent care has been taken to select such
words as might least interrupt the effect of the beautiful
English tongue in which he wrote: therefore, words introduced
into our language since his time have been as far as possible
avoided.

In those Tales which have been taken from the Tragedies, the
young readers will perceive, when they come to see the source
from which these stories are derived, that Shakespeare’s own
words, with little alteration, recur very frequently in the
narrative as well as in the dialogue; but in those made from the
Comedies the writers found themselves scarcely ever able to turn
his words into the narrative form: therefore it is feared that,
in them, dialogue has been made use of too frequently for young
people not accustomed to the dramatic form of writing. But this
fault, if it be a fault, has been caused by an earnest wish to
give as much of Shakespeare’s own words as possible: and if the
“He said” and “She said,” the question and the reply, should
sometimes seem tedious to their young ears, they must pardon it,
because it was the only way in which could be given to them a few
hints and little foretastes of the great pleasure which awaits
them in their elder years, when they come to the rich treasures
from which these small and valueless coins are extracted;
pretending to no other merit than as faint and imperfect stamps
of Shakespeare’s matchless image. Faint and imperfect images they
must be called, because the beauty of his language is too
frequently destroyed by the necessity of changing many of his
excellent words into words far less expressive of his true sense,
to make it read something like prose; and even in some few
places, where his blank verse is given unaltered, as hoping from
its simple plainness to cheat the young readers into the belief
that they are reading prose, yet still his language being
transplanted from its own natural soil and wild poetic garden, it
must want much of its native beauty.

It has been wished to make these Tales easy reading for very
young children. To the utmost of their ability the writers have
constantly kept this in mind; but the subjects of most of them
made this a very difficult task. It was no easy matter to give
the histories of men and women in terms familiar to the
apprehension of a very young mind. For young ladies, too, it has
been the intention chiefly to write; because boys being generally
permitted the use of their fathers’ libraries at a much earlier
age than girls are, they frequently have the best scenes of
Shakespeare by heart, before their sisters are permitted to look
into this manly book; and, therefore, instead of recommending
these Tales to the perusal, of young gentlemen who can read them
so much better in the originals, their kind assistance is rather
requested in explaining to their sisters such parts as are
hardest for them to understand: and when they have helped them to
get over the difficulties, then perhaps they will read to them
(carefully selecting what is proper for a young sister’s ear)
some passage which has pleased them in one of these stories, in
the very words of the scene from which it is taken; and it is
hoped they will find that the beautiful extracts, the select
passages, they may choose to give their sisters in this way will
be much better relished and understood from their having some
notion of the general story from one of these imperfect
abridgments;--which if they be fortunately so done as to prove
delight to any of the young readers, it is hoped that no worse
effect will result than to make them wish themselves a little
older, that they may be allowed to read the Plays at full length
(such a wish will be neither peevish nor irrational). When time
and leave of judicious friends shall put them into their hands,
they will discover in such of them as are here abridged (not to
mention almost as many more, which are left untouched) many
surprising events and turns of fortune, which for their infinite
variety could not be contained in this little book, besides a
world of sprightly and cheerful characters, both me
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LUCIAN'S TRUE HISTORY


TRANSLATED BY FRANCIS HICKES ILLUSTRATED BY WILLIAM STRANG
J. B. CLARK AND AUBREY BEARDSLEY WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY
CHARLES WHIBLEY

(Originally published with the Greek text in 1894.)


A. H. BULLEN

18 Cecil Court

LONDON

MCMII




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.



AFTER THE TEMPEST (Strang)
ADORATION (Clark)
"A SNARE OF VINTAGE" (Beardsley)
SPIDERS OF MIGHTY BIGNESS (Strang)
THE BATTLE OF THE TURNIPS (Clark)
THE SUPPER OF FISH (Strang)
UNDERPROPPING THE WHALE'S CHOPS (Clark)
SOCRATES' GARDEN (Clark)
THE BANQUET OF BEANS (Strang)
THE PILLAR OF BERYLSTONE (Clark)
OWLS AND POPPIES (Strang)
DREAMS (Beardsley)
THE HALCYON'S NEST (Strang)
THE FLOATING FOREST (Clark)
THE ISLAND WOMEN (Strang)
WATER INCARNADINE (Clark)




INTRODUCTION.


It is a commonplace of criticism that Lucian was the first of the
moderns, but in truth he is near to our time because of all the
ancients he is nearest to his own. With Petronius he shared the
discovery that there is material for literature in the debased and
various life of every day--that to the seeing eye the individual is
more wonderful in colour and complexity than the severely simple
abstraction of the poets. He replaced the tradition, respected of
his fathers, by an observation more vivid and less pedantic than
the note-book of the naturalist. He set the world in the dry light
of truth, and since the vanity of mankind is a constant factor
throughout the ages, there is scarce a page of Lucian's writing that
wears the faded air of antiquity. His personages are as familiar
to-day as they were in the second century, because, with his pitiless
determination to unravel the tangled skein of human folly, he never
blinded his vision to their true qualities. And the multiplicity of
his interest is as fresh as his penetration. Nothing came amiss to
his eager curiosity. For the first time in the history of literature
(with the doubtful exception of Cicero) we encounter a writer whose
ceaseless activity includes the world. While others had declared
themselves poets, historians, philosophers, Lucian comes forth as a
man of letters. Had he lived to-day, he would have edited a newspaper,
written leading articles, and kept his name ever before the public
in the magazines. For he possessed the qualities, if he avoided the
defects, of the journalist. His phrase had not been worn by constant
use to imbecility; his sentences were not marred by the association
of commonness; his style was still his own and fit for the expression
of a personal view. But he noted such types and incidents as make an
immediate, if perennial, appeal, and to study him is to be convinced
that literature and journalism are not necessarily divorced.

The profession was new, and with the joy of the innovator Lucian was
never tired of inventing new genres. Romance, criticism, satire--he
mastered them all. In _Toxaris_ and _The Ass_ he proves with what
delicacy and restraint he could handle the story. His ill-omened
apprenticeship to a sculptor gave him that taste and feeling for
art which he turned to so admirable an account. He was, in fact,
the first of the art-critics, and he pursued the craft with an easy
unconsciousness of the heritage he bequeathed to the world. True, he
is silent concerning the technical practice of the Greeks; true, he
leaves us in profound ignorance of the art of Zeuxis, whose secrets he
might have revealed, had he been less a man of letters. But he found
in painting and sculpture an opportunity for elegance of phrase, and
we would forgive a thousand shortcomings for such inspirations of
beauty as the smile of Sosandra: to τὸ μειδίαμα σεμνὸν καὶ λεληθὸς. In
literary criticism he was on surer ground, and here also he leaves the
past behind. His knowledge of Greek poetry was profound; Homer he had
by heart; and on every page he proves his sympathies by covert allusion
or precise quotation. His treatise concerning the Writing of History[1]
preserves its force irresistible after seventeen centuries, nor has
the wisdom of the ages impeached or modified this lucid argument.
With a modest wit he compares himself to Diogenes, who, when he saw
his fellow-citizens busied with the preparations of war, gathered
his skirts about him and fell to rolling his tub up and down. So
Lucian, unambitious of writing history, sheltered himself from "the
waves and the smoke," and was content to provide others with the best
of good counsel. Yet such is the irony of accident that, as Lucian's
criticism has outlived the masterpieces of Zeuxis, so the historians
have snatched an immortality from his censure; and let it be remembered
for his glory that he used Thucydides as a scourge wherewith to beat
impostors. But matters of so high import did not always engross his
humour, and in _The Illiterate Book-buyer_[2] he satirizes a fashion of
the hour and of all time with a courage and brutality which tear the
heart out of truth. How intimately do
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Ronalds Of The Bennals, The

     In Tarbolton, ye ken, there are proper young men,
     And proper young lasses and a', man;
     But ken ye the Ronalds that live in the Bennals,
     They carry the gree frae them a', man.

     Their father's laird, and weel he can spare't,
     Braid money to tocher them a', man;
     To proper young men, he'll clink in the hand
     Gowd guineas a hunder or twa, man.

     There's ane they ca' Jean, I'll warrant ye've seen
     As bonie a lass or as braw, man;
     But for sense and guid taste she'll vie wi' the best,
     And a conduct that beautifies a', man.

     The charms o' the min', the langer they shine,
     The mair admiration they draw, man;
     While peaches and cherries, and roses and lilies,
     They fade and they wither awa, man,

     If ye be for Miss Jean, tak this frae a frien',
     A hint o' a rival or twa, man;
     The Laird o' Blackbyre wad gang through the fire,
     If that wad entice her awa, man.

     The Laird o' Braehead has been on his speed,
     For mair than a towmond or twa, man;
     The Laird o' the Ford will straught on a board,
     If he canna get her at a', man.

     Then Anna comes in, the pride o' her kin,
     The boast of our bachelors a', man:
     Sae sonsy and sweet, sae fully complete,
     She steals our affections awa, man.

     If I should detail the pick and the wale
     O' lasses that live here awa, man,
     The fau't wad be mine if they didna shine
     The sweetest and best o' them a', man.

     I lo'e her mysel, but darena weel tell,
     My poverty keeps me in awe, man;
     For making o' rhymes, and working at times,
     Does little or naething at a', man.

     Yet I wadna choose to let her refuse,
     Nor hae't in her power to say na, man:
     For though I be poor, unnoticed, obscure,
     My stomach's as proud as them a', man.

     Though I canna ride in weel-booted pride,
     And flee o'er the hills like a craw, man,
     I can haud up my head wi' the best o' the breed,
     Though fluttering ever so braw, man.

     My coat and my vest, they are Scotch o' the best,
     O'pairs o' guid breeks I hae twa, man;
     And stockings and pumps to put on my stumps,
     And ne'er a wrang steek in them a', man.

     My sarks they are few, but five o' them new,
     Twal' hundred, as white as the snaw, man,
     A ten-shillings hat, a Holland cravat;
     There are no mony poets sae braw, man.

     I never had frien's weel stockit in means,
     To leave me a hundred or twa, man;
     Nae weel-tocher'd aunts, to wait on their drants,
     And wish them in hell for it a', man.

     I never was cannie for hoarding o' money,
     Or claughtin't together at a', man;
     I've little to spend, and naething to lend,
     But deevil a shilling I awe, man.




Song--Here's To Thy Health

     Tune--“Laggan Burn.”


     Here's to thy health, my bonie lass,
     Gude nicht and joy be wi' thee;
     I'll come nae mair to thy bower-door,
     To tell thee that I lo'e thee.
     O dinna think, my pretty pink,
     But I can live without thee:
     I vow and swear I dinna care,
     How lang ye look about ye.

     Thou'rt aye sae free informing me,
     Thou hast nae mind to marry;
     I'll be as free informing thee,
     Nae time hae I to tarry:
     I ken thy frien's try ilka means
     Frae wedlock to delay thee;
     Depending on some higher chance,
     But fortune may betray thee.

     I ken they scorn my low estate,
     But that does never grieve me;
     For I'm as free as any he;
     Sma' siller will relieve me.
     I'll count my health my greatest wealth,
     Sae lang as I'll enjoy it;
     I'll fear nae scant, I'll bode nae want,
     As lang's I get employment.

     But far off fowls hae feathers fair,
     And, aye until ye try them,
     Tho' they seem fair, still have a care;
     They may prove waur than I am.
     But at twal' at night, when the moon shines bright,
     My dear, I'll come and see thee;
     For the man that loves his mistress weel,
     Nae travel makes him weary.




Lass Of Cessnock Banks, The^1

     [Footnote 1: The lass is identified as Ellison Begbie, a servant
      wench, daughter of a  “Farmer Lang”.]

     A Song of Similes

     Tune--“If he be a Butcher neat and trim.”


     On Cessnock banks a lassie dwells;
     Could I describe her shape and mein;
     Our lasses a' she far excels,
     An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

     She's sweeter than the morning dawn,
     When rising Phoebus first is seen,
     And dew-drops twinkle o'er the lawn;
     An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

     She's stately like yon youthful ash,
     That grows the cowslip braes between,
     And drinks the stream with vigour fresh;
     An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

     She's spotless like the flow'ring thorn,
     With flow'rs so white and leaves so green,
     When purest in the dewy morn;
     An' she has twa sparkling roguish een.

     Her looks ar
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disappeared; and in the Timaeus, Sophist, and Statesman his function of
chief speaker is handed over to the Pythagorean philosopher Timaeus, and
to the Eleatic Stranger, at whose feet he sits, and is silent. More and
more Plato seems to have felt in his later writings that the character
and method of Socrates were no longer suited to be the vehicle of his
own philosophy. He is no longer interrogative but dogmatic; not 'a
hesitating enquirer,' but one who speaks with the authority of a
legislator. Even in the Republic we have seen that the argument which is
carried on by Socrates in the old style with Thrasymachus in the first
book, soon passes into the form of exposition. In the Laws he is nowhere
mentioned. Yet so completely in the tradition of antiquity is Socrates
identified with Plato, that in the criticism of the Laws which we find
in the so-called Politics of Aristotle he is supposed by the writer
still to be playing his part of the chief speaker (compare Pol.).

The Laws are discussed by three representatives of Athens, Crete, and
Sparta. The Athenian, as might be expected, is the protagonist or chief
speaker, while the second place is assigned to the Cretan, who, as
one of the leaders of a new colony, has a special interest in the
conversation. At least four-fifths of the answers are put into his
mouth. The Spartan is every inch a soldier, a man of few words himself,
better at deeds than words. The Athenian talks to the two others,
although they are his equals in age, in the style of a master
discoursing to his scholars; he frequently praises himself; he
entertains a very poor opinion of the understanding of his companions.
Certainly the boastfulness and rudeness of the Laws is the reverse of
the refined irony and courtesy which characterize the earlier dialogues.
We are no longer in such good company as in the Phaedrus and Symposium.
Manners are lost sight of in the earnestness of the speakers, and
dogmatic assertions take the place of poetical fancies.

The scene is laid in Crete, and the conversation is held in the course
of a walk from Cnosus to the cave and temple of Zeus, which takes place
on one of the longest and hottest days of the year. The companions start
at dawn, and arrive at the point in their conversation which terminates
the fourth book, about noon. The God to whose temple they are going is
the lawgiver of Crete, and this may be supposed to be the very cave
at which he gave his oracles to Minos. But the externals of the scene,
which are briefly and inartistically described, soon disappear, and we
plunge abruptly into the subject of the dialogue. We are reminded by
contrast of the higher art of the Phaedrus, in which the summer's day,
and the cool stream, and the chirping of the grasshoppers, and the
fragrance of the agnus castus, and the legends of the place are present
to the imagination throughout the discourse.

The typical Athenian apologizes for the tendency of his countrymen
'to spin a long discussion out of slender materials,' and in a similar
spirit the Lacedaemonian Megillus apologizes for the Spartan brevity
(compare Thucydid.), acknowledging at the same time that there may be
occasions when long discourses are necessary. The family of Megillus is
the proxenus of Athens at Sparta; and he pays a beautiful compliment to
the Athenian, significant of the character of the work, which, though
borrowing many elements from Sparta, is also pervaded by an Athenian
spirit. A good Athenian, he says, is more than ordinarily good, because
he is inspired by nature and not manufactured by law. The love of
listening which is attributed to the Timocrat in the Republic is also
exhibited in him. The Athenian on his side has a pleasure in speaking to
the Lacedaemonian of the struggle in which their ancestors were jointly
engaged against the Persians. A connexion with Athens is likewise
intimated by the Cretan Cleinias. He is the relative of Epimenides,
whom, by an anachronism of a century,--perhaps arising as Zeller
suggests (Plat. Stud.) out of a confusion of the visit of Epimenides
and Diotima (Symp.),--he describes as coming to Athens, not after the
attempt of Cylon, but ten years before the Persian war. The Cretan and
Lacedaemonian hardly contribute at all to the argument of which the
Athenian is the expounder; they only supply information when asked about
the institutions of their respective countries. A kind of simplicity or
stupidity is ascribed to them. At first, they are dissatisfied with the
free criticisms which the Athenian passes upon the laws of Minos and
Lycurgus, but they acquiesce in his greater experience and knowledge of
the world. They admit that there can be no objection to the enquiry; for
in the spirit of the legislator himself, they are discussing his laws
when there are no young men present to listen. They are unwilling to
allow that the Spartan and Cretan lawgivers can have been mistaken
in honouring courage as the first part of virtue, and are puzzled at
hearing for 
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CYROPAEDIA

THE EDUCATION OF CYRUS

By Xenophon



Translated By Henry Graham Dakyns

Revised By F. M. Stawell



DEDICATION

To Clifton College



PREPARER'S NOTE

This was typed from an Everyman's Library edition. It seems that Dakyns
died before Cyropaedia could be included as the planned fourth and final
volume of his series, "The Works of Xenophon," published in the 1890s by
Macmillan and Co. The works in that series can all be found in Project
Gutenberg under their individual titles. The complete list of Xenophon's
works (though there is doubt about some of these) is:

  Work                                   Number of books

  The Anabasis                                         7
  The Hellenica                                        7
  The Cyropaedia                                       8
  The Memorabilia                                      4
  The Symposium                                        1
  The Economist                                        1
  On Horsemanship                                      1
  The Sportsman                                        1
  The Cavalry General                                  1
  The Apology                                          1
  On Revenues                                          1
  The Hiero                                            1
  The Agesilaus                                        1
  The Polity of the Athenians and the Lacedaemonians   2

Text in brackets "{}" is my transliteration of Greek text into English
using an Oxford English Dictionary alphabet table. The diacritical marks
have been lost.




INTRODUCTION

A very few words may suffice by way of introduction to this translation
of the _Cyropaedia_.

Professor Jowett, whose Plato represents the high-water mark of
classical translation, has given us the following reminders: "An English
translation ought to be idiomatic and interesting, not only to the
scholar, but also to the unlearned reader. It should read as an original
work, and should also be the most faithful transcript which can be made
of the language from which the translation is taken, consistently with
the first requirement of all, that it be English. The excellence of a
translation will consist, not merely in the faithful rendering of words,
or in the composition of a sentence only, or yet of a single paragraph,
but in the colour and style of the whole work."

These tests may be safely applied to the work of Mr. Dakyns. An
accomplished Greek scholar, for many years a careful and sympathetic
student of Xenophon, and possessing a rare mastery of English idiom,
he was unusually well equipped for the work of a translator. And
his version will, as I venture to think, be found to satisfy those
requirements of an effective translation which Professor Jowett laid
down. It is faithful to the tone and spirit of the original, and it has
the literary quality of a good piece of original English writing. For
these and other reasons it should prove attractive and interesting
reading for the average Englishman.

Xenophon, it must be admitted, is not, like Plato, Thucydides, or
Demosthenes, one of the greatest of Greek writers, but there are several
considerations which should commend him to the general reader. He is
more representative of the type of man whom the ordinary Englishman
specially admires and respects, than any other of the Greek authors
usually read.

An Athenian of good social position, endowed with a gift of eloquence
and of literary style, a pupil of Socrates, a distinguished soldier,
an historian, an essayist, a sportsman, and a lover of the country, he
represents a type of country gentleman greatly honoured in English life,
and this should ensure a favourable reception for one of his chief works
admirably rendered into idiomatic English. And the substance of the
_Cyropaedia_, which is in fact a political romance, describing the
education of the ideal ruler, trained to rule as a benevolent despot
over his admiring and willing subjects, should add a further element of
enjoyment for the reader of this famous book in its English garb.

                                                          J. HEREFORD.




EDITOR'S NOTE

In preparing this work for the press, I came upon some notes made by Mr.
Dakyns on the margin of his Xenophon. These were evidently for his own
private use, and are full of scholarly colloquialisms, impromptu words
humorously invented for the need of the moment, and individual turns of
phrase, such as the references to himself under his initials in small
letters, "hgd." Though plainly not intended for publication, the notes
are so vivid and illuminating as they stand that I have shrunk from
putting them into a more formal dress, believing that here, as in the
best letters, the personal element is bound up with what is most fresh
and living in the comment, most characteristic of the writer, and most
delightful both to those who knew him and to those who will wish they
had. I have, therefore, only a
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devrait être médité par quiconque essaye de faire parler le visage de
l’homme, par les philosophes aussi bien que par les artistes, car, sous
une apparence plus légère et sous le prétexte de l’esthétique, c’est un
des plus beaux monuments de la science des rapports du physique et du
moral.”

From reasons which will presently be assigned, Sir C. Bell did not
attempt to follow out his views as far as they might have been carried.
He does not try to explain why different muscles are brought into
action under different emotions; why, for instance, the inner ends of
the eyebrows are raised, and the corners of the mouth depressed, by a
person suffering from grief or anxiety.

In 1807 M. Moreau edited an edition of Lavater on Physiognomy,[6] in
which he incorporated several of his own essays, containing excellent
descriptions of the movements of the facial muscles, together with many
valuable remarks. He throws, however, very little light on the
philosophy of the subject. For instance, M. Moreau, in speaking of the
act of frowning, that is, of the contraction of the muscle called by
French writers the _soucilier_ (_corrigator supercilii_), remarks with
truth:—“Cette action des sourciliers est un des symptômes les plus
tranchés de l’expression des affections pénibles ou concentrées.” He
then adds that these muscles, from their attachment and position, are
fitted “à resserrer, à concentrer les principaux traits de la _face_,
comme il convient dans toutes ces passions vraiment oppressives ou
profondes, dans ces affections dont le sentiment semble porter
l’organisation à revenir sur elle-même, à se contracter et à
_s’amoindrir_, comme pour offrir moins de prise et de surface à des
impressions redoutables ou importunes.” He who thinks that remarks of
this kind throw any light on the meaning or origin of the different
expressions, takes a very different view of the subject to what I do.

In the above passage there is but a slight, if any, advance in the
philosophy of the subject, beyond that reached by the painter Le Brun,
who, in 1667, in describing the expression of fright, says:—“Le sourcil
qui est abaissé d’un côté et élevé de l’autre, fait voir que la partie
élevée semble le vouloir joindre au cerveau pour le garantir du mal que
l’âme aperçoit, et le côté qui est abaissé et qui paraît enflé,—nous
fait trouver dans cet état par les esprits qui viennent du cerveau en
abondance, comme polir couvrir l’âme et la défendre du mal qu’elle
craint; la bouche fort ouverte fait voir le saisissement du cœur, par
le sang qui se retire vers lui, ce qui l’oblige, voulant respirer, à
faire un effort qui est cause que la bouche s’ouvre extrêmement, et
qui, lorsqu’il passe par les organes de la voix, forme un son qui n’est
point articulé; que si les muscles et les veines paraissent enflés, ce
n’est que par les esprits que le cerveau envoie en ces parties-là.” I
have thought the foregoing sentences worth quoting, as specimens of the
surprising nonsense which has been written on the subject.

‘The Physiology or Mechanism of Blushing,’ by Dr. Burgess, appeared in
1839, and to this work I shall frequently refer in my thirteenth
Chapter.

In 1862 Dr. Duchenne published two editions, in folio and octavo, of
his ‘Mécanisme de la Physionomie Humaine,’ in which he analyses by
means of electricity, and illustrates by magnificent photographs, the
movements of the facial muscles. He has generously permitted me to copy
as many of his photographs as I desired. His works have been spoken
lightly of, or quite passed over, by some of his countrymen. It is
possible that Dr. Duchenne may have exaggerated the importance of the
contraction of single muscles in giving expression; for, owing to the
intimate manner in which the muscles are connected, as may be seen in
Henle’s anatomical drawings[7]—the best I believe ever published it is
difficult to believe in their separate action. Nevertheless, it is
manifest that Dr. Duchenne clearly apprehended this and other sources
of error, and as it is known that he was eminently successful in
elucidating the physiology of the muscles of the hand by the aid of
electricity, it is probable that he is generally in the right about the
muscles of the face. In my opinion, Dr. Duchenne has greatly advanced
the subject by his treatment of it. No one has more carefully studied
the contraction of each separate muscle, and the consequent furrows
produced on the skin. He has also, and this is a very important
service, shown which muscles are least under the separate control of
the will. He enters very little into theoretical considerations, and
seldom attempts to explain why certain muscles and not others contract
under the influence of certain emotions.

A distinguished French anatomist, Pierre Gratiolet, gave a course of
lectures on Expression at the Sorbonne, and his notes were published
(1865) after his death, under the title of ‘De la Physionomie et des
Mouvements d’Expression.’ This is a very interesting work, full of
va
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Proofreading Team.







THE TALE OF
SQUIRREL NUTKIN

BY
BEATRIX POTTER

_Author of_
"_The Tale of Peter Rabbit_"

[Illustration]

FREDERICK WARNE

[Illustration]

FREDERICK WARNE




1903 by Frederick Warne & Co.

Printed and bound in Great Britain by
William Clowes Limited, Beccles and London




A STORY FOR NORAH

[Illustration]

This is a Tale about a tail--a tail that belonged to a little red
squirrel, and his name was Nutkin.

He had a brother called Twinkleberry, and a great many cousins: they lived
in a wood at the edge of a lake.

[Illustration]

In the middle of the lake there is an island covered with trees and nut
bushes; and amongst those trees stands a hollow oak-tree, which is the
house of an owl who is called Old Brown.

[Illustration]

One autumn when the nuts were ripe, and the leaves on the hazel bushes
were golden and green--Nutkin and Twinkleberry and all the other little
squirrels came out of the wood, and down to the edge of the lake.

[Illustration]

They made little rafts out of twigs, and they paddled away over the water
to Owl Island to gather nuts.

Each squirrel had a little sack and a large oar, and spread out his tail
for a sail.

[Illustration]

They also took with them an offering of three fat mice as a present for
Old Brown, and put them down upon his door-step.

Then Twinkleberry and the other little squirrels each made a low bow, and
said politely--

"Old Mr. Brown, will you favour us with permission to gather nuts upon
your island?"

[Illustration]

But Nutkin was excessively impertinent in his manners. He bobbed up and
down like a little red _cherry_, singing--

    "Riddle me, riddle me, rot-tot-tote!
     A little wee man, in a red red coat!
     A staff in his hand, and a stone in his throat;
     If you'll tell me this riddle, I'll give you a groat."

Now this riddle is as old as the hills; Mr. Brown paid no attention
whatever to Nutkin.

He shut his eyes obstinately and went to sleep.

[Illustration]

The squirrels filled their little sacks with nuts, and sailed away home in
the evening.

[Illustration]

But next morning they all came back again to Owl Island; and Twinkleberry
and the others brought a fine fat mole, and laid it on the stone in front
of Old Brown's doorway, and said--

"Mr. Brown, will you favour us with your gracious permission to gather
some more nuts?"

[Illustration]

But Nutkin, who had no respect, began to dance up and down, tickling old
Mr. Brown with a _nettle_ and singing--

    "Old Mr. B! Riddle-me-ree!
     Hitty Pitty within the wall,
     Hitty Pitty without the wall;
     If you touch Hitty Pitty,
     Hitty Pitty will bite you!"

Mr. Brown woke up suddenly and carried the mole into his house.

[Illustration]

He shut the door in Nutkin's face. Presently a little thread of blue
_smoke_ from a wood fire came up from the top of the tree, and Nutkin
peeped through the key-hole and sang--

    "A house full, a hole full!
     And you cannot gather a bowl-full!"



[Illustration]

The squirrels searched for nuts all over the island and filled their
little sacks.

But Nutkin gathered oak-apples--yellow and scarlet--and sat upon a
beech-stump playing marbles, and watching the door of old Mr. Brown.

[Illustration]

On the third day the squirrels got up very early and went fishing; they
caught seven fat minnows as a present for Old Brown.

They paddled over the lake and landed under a crooked chestnut tree on Owl
Island.

[Illustration]

Twinkleberry and six other little squirrels each carried a fat minnow; but
Nutkin, who had no nice manners, brought no present at all. He ran in
front, singing--

    "The man in the wilderness said to me,
    'How many strawberries grow in the sea?'
     I answered him as I thought good--
     'As many red herrings as grow in the wood.'"

But old Mr. Brown took no interest in riddles--not even when the answer
was provided for him.

[Illustration]

On the fourth day the squirrels brought a present of six fat beetles,
which were as good as plums in _plum-pudding_ for Old Brown. Each beetle
was wrapped up carefully in a dock-leaf, fastened with a pine-needle pin.

But Nutkin sang as rudely as ever--

     "Old Mr. B! riddle-me-ree
      Flour of England, fruit of Spain,
      Met together in a shower of rain;
      Put in a bag tied round with a string,
    If you'll tell me this riddle, I'll give you a ring!"


Which was ridiculous of Nutkin, because he had not got any ring to give to
Old Brown.

[Illustration]

The other squirrels hunted up and down the nut bushes; but Nutkin
gathered robin's pincushions off a briar bush, and stuck them full of
pine-needle pins.

[Illustration]

On the fifth day the squirrels brought a present of wild honey; it was so
sweet and sticky that they licked their fingers as they put it down upon
the stone. They had stolen it out of a bumble _bees'_ nest on the tippitty
top of the hill.

But Nutkin skipped up and down, singing--

    "Hum-a-bum! buzz! buzz! Hum-a-bum buzz!
      As
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1, MARCH 1902 ***




  YOUNG FOLKS MAGAZINE

  VOLUME 1      NUMBER 1

  1902 MARCH

  _An_ ILLUSTRATED MONTHLY JOURNAL _for_ BOYS & GIRLS

  The Penn Publishing Company   Philadelphia




  CONTENTS FOR MARCH


                                                                   PAGE
  WITH WASHINGTON AT VALLEY FORGE (Serial)  W. Bert Foster            1
    Illustrated by F. A. Carter

  AT THE BEND OF THE TRAIL                  Otis T. Merrill          11

  TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW (Verse)              Mackay                   13

  A DAUGHTER OF THE FOREST (Serial)         Evelyn Raymond           14
    Illustrated by Ida Waugh

  MARCH (Poem)                              Bayard Taylor            22

  WOOD-FOLK TALK                            J. Allison Atwood        23
    Illustrated by the Author

  LITTLE POLLY PRENTISS (Serial)            Elizabeth Lincoln Gould  25
    Illustrated by Ida Waugh

  A RAMBLE IN EARLY SPRING                  Julia McNair Wright      31

  WITH THE EDITOR                                                    32

  EVENT AND COMMENT                                                  33

  IN-DOORS (Parlor Magic)                   Ellis Stanyon            34

  THE OLD TRUNK                                                      36

  WITH THE PUBLISHER                                                 37


  YOUNG FOLKS MAGAZINE
  _An Illustrated Monthly Journal for Boys and Girls_

  SINGLE COPIES 10 CENTS
  ANNUAL SUBSCRIPTION $1.00
  Sent postpaid to any address
  Subscriptions can begin at any time and must be paid in advance

  Remittances may be made in the way most convenient to the sender,
  and should be sent to

  THE PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY
  923 ARCH STREET, PHILADELPHIA, PA.


  Copyright 1902 by The Penn Publishing Company


  Young Folks Magazine

  VOL. I      MARCH 1902      No. 1




  WITH WASHINGTON AT VALLEY FORGE

  By W. Bert Foster


  CHAPTER I

 Unwelcome Guests at the Three Oaks Inn

All day the strident whistle of the locust had declared for a
continuation of the parching heat. The meadows lay brown under the
glare of the August sun; the roads were deep in powdery yellow dust.
The cattle stood with sweating flanks in the shade of the oaks which
bordered the stage track, and although the sun was now declining toward
the summits of the distant mountains, all nature continued in the
somnolence of a summer day.

A huddle of sheep under a wagon shed and the lolling form of a big
collie dog in the barnyard were the only signs of life about the Three
Oaks Inn. Mistress and maids, as well as the guests now sheltered by
its moss-grown roof, had retired to the cooler chambers, and Jonas
Benson, the portly landlord, snored loudly in his armchair in the hall.
Out of this hall, with its exposed beams of time-blackened oak and its
high fanlight over the entrance, opened the main room, its floor sanded
in an intricate pattern that very morning by one of the maids. Across
the hall was the closed door of the darkened parlor.

Had Jonas Benson been of a more wakeful mind this hot afternoon, it is
quite likely that this narrative would never have been written. But
he snored on while behind the closed door of the parlor were whispered
words which, had they reached the ears of the landlord of the Three
Oaks, would have put him instantly on the alert.

The year was 1777, a fateful one indeed for the American arms in the
struggle for liberty--a year of both blessing and misfortune for the
patriot cause. Within its twelve months the Continental army achieved
some notable victories; but it suffered, too, memorable defeats. It
was the year when human liberty seemed trembling in the balance, when
all nations--even France--stood aloof, waiting to see whether the
star of the American Colonies was setting or on the ascendant. The
British army, under Howe and Clinton, occupied New York. Washington
and his little force lay near Philadelphia, then the capital of the
newly-formed confederation. New Jersey--all the traveled ways between
the two armies--was disputed territory, disturbed continually by a sort
of guerilla warfare most hard for the peacefully-inclined farmers and
tradespeople to bear.

Spies of both sides in the great conflict infested the country:
foraging parties, like the rain, descended upon the just and the
unjust; and neighbors who had lived in harmony for years before the war
broke out, now were at daggers’ points. The Tories had grown confident
because of the many set-backs endured by the patriot forces. Many even
prophesied that, when Burgoyne’s army, then being gathered beyond the
Canadian border, should descend the valleys of upper New York and
finally join Howe and Clinton, the handful of Americans bearing arms
against the king would be fairly swept into the sea, or ground to
powder between the victorious British lines.

Jonas Benson was intensely patriotic, and the Three Oaks had given
shelter oft and again to scouts and foraging parties of the Continental
troop
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THE IMAGINARY INVALID.

(LE MALADE IMAGINAIRE.)

by

MOLIÈRE,

Translated into English Prose.

With Short Introductions and Explanatory Notes.

by

CHARLES HERON WALL.







This is the last comedy written by Molière. He was very ill, nearly
dying, at the time he wrote it. It was first acted at the Palais Royal
Theatre, on February 10, 1673.

Molière acted the part of Argan.




PERSONS REPRESENTED.

ARGAN, _an imaginary invalid_.

BÉLINE, _second wife to_ ARGAN.

ANGÉLIQUE, _daughter to_ ARGAN, _in love with_ CLÉANTE.

LOUISON, ARGAN'S _young daughter, sister to_ ANGÉLIQUE.

BÉRALDE, _brother to_ ARGAN.

CLÉANTE, _lover to_ ANGÉLIQUE.

MR. DIAFOIRUS, _a physician_.

THOMAS DIAFOIRUS, _his son, in love with_ ANGÉLIQUE.

MR. PURGON, _physician to_ ARGAN.

MR. FLEURANT, _an apothecary_.

MR. DE BONNEFOI, _a notary_.

TOINETTE, _maid-servant to_ ARGAN.




ACT I.

SCENE I.--ARGAN (_sitting at a table, adding up his apothecary's
bill with counters_).


ARG. Three and two make five, and five make ten, and ten make twenty.
"Item, on the 24th, a small, insinuative clyster, preparative and
gentle, to soften, moisten, and refresh the bowels of Mr. Argan." What
I like about Mr. Fleurant, my apothecary, is that his bills are always
civil. "The bowels of Mr. Argan." All the same, Mr. Fleurant, it is
not enough to be civil, you must also be reasonable, and not plunder
sick people. Thirty sous for a clyster! I have already told you, with
all due respect to you, that elsewhere you have only charged me twenty
sous; and twenty sous, in the language of apothecaries, means only ten
sous. Here they are, these ten sous. "Item, on the said day, a good
detergent clyster, compounded of double catholicon rhubarb, honey of
roses, and other ingredients, according to the prescription, to scour,
work, and clear out the bowels of Mr. Argan, thirty sons." With your
leave, ten sous. "Item, on the said day, in the evening, a julep,
hepatic, soporiferous, and somniferous, intended to promote the sleep
of Mr. Argan, thirty-five sous." I do not complain of that, for it
made me sleep very well. Ten, fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen sous six
deniers. "Item, on the 25th, a good purgative and corroborative
mixture, composed of fresh cassia with Levantine senna and other
ingredients, according to the prescription of Mr. Purgon, to expel Mr.
Argan's bile, four francs." You are joking, Mr. Fleurant; you must
learn to be reasonable with patients; Mr. Purgon never ordered you to
put four francs. Tut! put three francs, if you please. Twenty; thirty
sous.[1] "Item, on the said day, a dose, anodyne and astringent, to
make Mr. Argan sleep, thirty sous." Ten sous, Mr. Fleurant. "Item, on
the 26th, a carminative clyster to cure the flatulence of Mr. Argan,
thirty sous." "Item, the clyster repeated in the evening, as above,
thirty sous." Ten sous, Mr. Fleurant. "Item, on the 27th, a good
mixture composed for the purpose of driving out the bad humours of Mr.
Argan, three francs." Good; twenty and thirty sous; I am glad that
you are reasonable. "Item, on the 28th, a dose of clarified and
edulcorated whey, to soften, lenify, temper, and refresh the blood of
Mr. Argan, twenty sous." Good; ten sous. "Item, a potion, cordial and
preservative, composed of twelve grains of bezoar, syrup of citrons
and pomegranates, and other ingredients, according to the prescription,
five francs." Ah! Mr. Fleurant, gently, if you please; if you go on
like that, no one will wish to be unwell. Be satisfied with four
francs. Twenty, forty sous. Three and two are five, and five are ten,
and ten are twenty. Sixty-three francs four sous six deniers. So that
during this month I have taken one, two, three, four, five, six,
seven, eight mixtures, and one, two, three, four, five, six, seven,
eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve clysters; and last month there were
twelve mixtures and twenty clysters. I am not astonished, therefore,
that I am not so well this month as last. I shall speak to Mr. Purgon
about it, so that he may set the matter right. Come, let all this be
taken away. (_He sees that no one comes, and that he is alone._)
Nobody. It's no use, I am always left alone; there's no way of keeping
them here. (_He rings a hand-bell._) They don't hear, and my bell
doesn't make enough noise. (_He rings again._) No one. (_He rings
again._) Toinette! (_He rings again._) It's just as if I didn't ring
at all. You hussy! you jade! (_He rings again._) Confound it all! (_He
rings and shouts._) Deuce take you, you wretch!


SCENE II.--ARGAN, TOINETTE.

TOI. Coming, coming.

ARG. Ah! you jade, you wretch!

TOI. (_pretending to have knocked her head_). Bother your impatience!
You hurry me so much that I have knocked my head against the
window-shutter.

ARG. (_angry_). You vixen!

TOI. (_interrupting_ ARGAN). Oh!

ARG. There is ...

TOI. Oh!

ARG. For the last hour I ...

TOI. Oh!

ARG. You have left me ...

TOI. Oh!

ARG. Be silent! you baggage, and let me scold you.

TOI. Well! that's too bad after what 
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MY EAGLE


The soft summer wind stirs the redwoods, and Wild-Water ripples sweet
cadences over its mossy stones. There are butterflies in the sunshine,
and from everywhere arises the drowsy hum of bees. It is so quiet and
peaceful, and I sit here, and ponder, and am restless. It is the quiet
that makes me restless. It seems unreal. All the world is quiet, but it
is the quiet before the storm. I strain my ears, and all my senses, for
some betrayal of that impending storm. Oh, that it may not be
premature! That it may not be premature![1]

 [1] The Second Revolt was largely the work of Ernest Everhard, though
 he coöperated, of course, with the European leaders. The capture and
 secret execution of Everhard was the great event of the spring of 1932
 A.D. Yet so thoroughly had he prepared for the revolt, that his
 fellow-conspirators were able, with little confusion or delay, to
 carry out his plans. It was after Everhard’s execution that his wife
 went to Wake Robin Lodge, a small bungalow in the Sonoma Hills of
 California.

Small wonder that I am restless. I think, and think, and I cannot cease
from thinking. I have been in the thick of life so long that I am
oppressed by the peace and quiet, and I cannot forbear from dwelling
upon that mad maelstrom of death and destruction so soon to burst
forth. In my ears are the cries of the stricken; and I can see, as I
have seen in the past,[2] all the marring and mangling of the sweet,
beautiful flesh, and the souls torn with violence from proud bodies and
hurled to God. Thus do we poor humans attain our ends, striving through
carnage and destruction to bring lasting peace and happiness upon the
earth.

 [2] Without doubt she here refers to the Chicago Commune.

And then I am lonely. When I do not think of what is to come, I think
of what has been and is no more—my Eagle, beating with tireless wings
the void, soaring toward what was ever his sun, the flaming ideal of
human freedom. I cannot sit idly by and wait the great event that is
his making, though he is not here to see. He devoted all the years of
his manhood to it, and for it he gave his life. It is his handiwork. He
made it.[3]

 [3] With all respect to Avis Everhard, it must be pointed out that
 Everhard was but one of many able leaders who planned the Second
 Revolt. And we to-day, looking back across the centuries, can safely
 say that even had he lived, the Second Revolt would not have been less
 calamitous in its outcome than it was.

And so it is, in this anxious time of waiting, that I shall write of my
husband. There is much light that I alone of all persons living can
throw upon his character, and so noble a character cannot be blazoned
forth too brightly. His was a great soul, and, when my love grows
unselfish, my chiefest regret is that he is not here to witness
to-morrow’s dawn. We cannot fail. He has built too stoutly and too
surely for that. Woe to the Iron Heel! Soon shall it be thrust back
from off prostrate humanity. When the word goes forth, the labor hosts
of all the world shall rise. There has been nothing like it in the
history of the world. The solidarity of labor is assured, and for the
first time will there be an international revolution wide as the world
is wide.[4]

 [4] The Second Revolt was truly international. It was a colossal
 plan—too colossal to be wrought by the genius of one man alone. Labor,
 in all the oligarchies of the world, was prepared to rise at the
 signal. Germany, Italy, France, and all Australasia were labor
 countries—socialist states. They were ready to lend aid to the
 revolution. Gallantly they did; and it was for this reason, when the
 Second Revolt was crushed, that they, too, were crushed by the united
 oligarchies of the world, their socialist governments being replaced
 by oligarchical governments.

You see, I am full of what is impending. I have lived it day and night
utterly and for so long that it is ever present in my mind. For that
matter, I cannot think of my husband without thinking of it. He was the
soul of it, and how can I possibly separate the two in thought?

As I have said, there is much light that I alone can throw upon his
character. It is well known that he toiled hard for liberty and
suffered sore. How hard he toiled and how greatly he suffered, I well
know; for I have been with him during these twenty anxious years and I
know his patience, his untiring effort, his infinite devotion to the
Cause for which, only two months gone, he laid down his life.

I shall try to write simply and to tell here how Ernest Everhard
entered my life—how I first met him, how he grew until I became a part
of him, and the tremendous changes he wrought in my life. In this way
may you look at him through my eyes and learn him as I learned him—in
all save the things too secret and sweet for me to tell.

It was in February, 1912, that I first met him, when, as a guest of my
father’s[5] at dinner, he came to our house in Berkeley. I cannot say
that my very first 
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produced from scanned images of public domain material
from the Google Print project.)









THE AWAKENING OF SPRING




      BOOKS BY FRANK WEDEKIND

      _Published by_ BROWN BROTHERS


      THE AWAKENING OF SPRING.
      A Tragedy of Childhood
      Net, $1.25. By mail, $1.35

      SUCH IS LIFE. A Play in Five Acts
      Net, $1.25. By mail, $1.34

      RABBI EZRA AND THE VICTIM.
      Two Stories
      Net, 25c. By mail, 29c

      THE GRISLEY SUITOR. A Story
      Net, 25c. By mail, 29c.




      The Awakening of Spring


      A TRAGEDY OF CHILDHOOD
      BY
      FRANK WEDEKIND

      _Translated from the German by Francis J. Ziegler_

      THIRD EDITION

      PHILADELPHIA
      BROWN BROTHERS
      1912

      _Copyright, 1910_
      BY
      BROWN BROTHERS




A PROEM FOR PRUDES


That it is a fatal error to bring up children, either boys or girls,
in ignorance of their sexual nature is the thesis of Frank Wedekind's
drama “Frühlings Erwachen.” From its title one might suppose it a
peaceful little idyl of the youth of the year. No idea a could be
more mistaken. It is a tragedy of frightful import, and its action is
concerned with the development of natural instincts in the adolescent
of both sexes.

The playwright has attacked his theme with European frankness; but of
plot, in the usual acceptance of the term, there is little. Instead
of the coherent drama of conventional type, Wedekind has given us a
series of loosely connected scenes illuminative of character--scenes
which surely have profound significance for all occupied in the
training of the young. He sets before us a group of school children,
lads and lassies just past the age of puberty, and shows logically
that death and degradation may be their lot as the outcome of
parental reticence. They are not vicious children, but little ones
such as we meet every day, imaginative beings living in a world of
youthful ideals and speculating about the mysteries which surround
them. Wendla, sent to her grave by the abortive administered with the
connivance of her affectionate but mistaken mother, is a most lovable
creature, while Melchior, the father of her unborn child, is a high
type of boy whose downfall is due to a philosophic temperament, which
leads him to inquire into the nature of life and to impart his
knowledge to others; a temperament which, under proper guidance,
would make him a useful, intelligent man. It is Melchior's very
excellence of character which proves his undoing. That he should be
imprisoned as a moral degenerate only serves to illustrate the
stupidity of his parents and teachers. As for the suicide of Moritz,
the imaginative youth who kills himself because he has failed in his
examinations, that is another crime for which the dramatist makes
false educational methods responsible.

A grim vein of humor is exhibited now and then, as when we are
introduced to the conference room in which the members of a gymnasium
faculty, met to consider the regulation of their pupils' morals, sit
beneath the portraits of Pestalozzi and J. J. Rousseau disputing with
considerable acrimony about the opening and shutting of a window. The
exchange of unpleasant personalities is interrupted only by the
entrance of the accused student, to whose defense the faculty refuses
to listen, having marked the boy for expulsion prior to the formal
farce of his trial.

Wedekind has been accused of depicting his adults as too ignorant and
too indifferent to the needs of the younger generation. But most of
us will have to admit that the majority of his scenes and characters
seem very true to life.

“Frühlings Erwachen” may not be pleasant reading exactly, but there
is no forgetting it after one has perused it; there is an elemental
strength about it which grips the intellect. As a play it stands
unique in the annals of dramatic art. That it has succeeded in
attracting much attention abroad is shown by the fact that this drama
in book form has gone through twenty-six editions in its original
version and has been translated into several European tongues,
Russian included, while stage performances of the work have been
given in France as well as in Germany.

The Teutonic grimness of the work puzzled the Parisians, who are not
used to having philosophy thrust at them over the footlights; but in
Germany “Frühlings Erwachen” proved much more successful. In Berlin,
indeed, it has become part of the regular stock of plays acted at
“Das Neue Theater,” where it is said to be certain of drawing a
crowded audience. That the play is radically different from anything
given on the American stage is undoubtedly true. It must be
remembered, however, that the Continental European playwright regards
the stage as a medium of instruction, as well as a place of
amusement. The dictum of the Swedish dramatist, August Strindberg,
that the playwright should be a lay priest preaching on vital topics
of the day in a way to make them intelligible to mediocre intellects,
is not appre
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In the year 1775, there stood upon the borders of Epping Forest, at a
distance of about twelve miles from London--measuring from the Standard
in Cornhill, or rather from the spot on or near to which the Standard
used to be in days of yore--a house of public entertainment called the
Maypole; which fact was demonstrated to all such travellers as
could neither read nor write (and at that time a vast number both of
travellers and stay-at-homes were in this condition) by the emblem
reared on the roadside over against the house, which, if not of those
goodly proportions that Maypoles were wont to present in olden times,
was a fair young ash, thirty feet in height, and straight as any arrow
that ever English yeoman drew.

The Maypole--by which term from henceforth is meant the house, and not
its sign--the Maypole was an old building, with more gable ends than a
lazy man would care to count on a sunny day; huge zig-zag chimneys, out
of which it seemed as though even smoke could not choose but come in
more than naturally fantastic shapes, imparted to it in its tortuous
progress; and vast stables, gloomy, ruinous, and empty. The place was
said to have been built in the days of King Henry the Eighth; and there
was a legend, not only that Queen Elizabeth had slept there one night
while upon a hunting excursion, to wit, in a certain oak-panelled room
with a deep bay window, but that next morning, while standing on a
mounting block before the door with one foot in the stirrup, the virgin
monarch had then and there boxed and cuffed an unlucky page for some
neglect of duty. The matter-of-fact and doubtful folks, of whom there
were a few among the Maypole customers, as unluckily there always are
in every little community, were inclined to look upon this tradition as
rather apocryphal; but, whenever the landlord of that ancient hostelry
appealed to the mounting block itself as evidence, and triumphantly
pointed out that there it stood in the same place to that very day, the
doubters never failed to be put down by a large majority, and all true
believers exulted as in a victory.

Whether these, and many other stories of the like nature, were true or
untrue, the Maypole was really an old house, a very old house, perhaps
as old as it claimed to be, and perhaps older, which will sometimes
happen with houses of an uncertain, as with ladies of a certain, age.
Its windows were old diamond-pane lattices, its floors were sunken
and uneven, its ceilings blackened by the hand of time, and heavy with
massive beams. Over the doorway was an ancient porch, quaintly and
grotesquely carved; and here on summer evenings the more favoured
customers smoked and drank--ay, and sang many a good song too,
sometimes--reposing on two grim-looking high-backed settles, which,
like the twin dragons of some fairy tale, guarded the entrance to the
mansion.

In the chimneys of the disused rooms, swallows had built their nests
for many a long year, and from earliest spring to latest autumn whole
colonies of sparrows chirped and twittered in the eaves. There were more
pigeons about the dreary stable-yard and out-buildings than anybody
but the landlord could reckon up. The wheeling and circling flights
of runts, fantails, tumblers, and pouters, were perhaps not quite
consistent with the grave and sober character of the building, but the
monotonous cooing, which never ceased to be raised by some among them
all day long, suited it exactly, and seemed to lull it to rest. With its
overhanging stories, drowsy little panes of glass, and front bulging
out and projecting over the pathway, the old house looked as if it were
nodding in its sleep. Indeed, it needed no very great stretch of fancy
to detect in it other resemblances to humanity. The bricks of which it
was built had originally been a deep dark red, but had grown yellow and
discoloured like an old man’s skin; the sturdy timbers had decayed like
teeth; and here and there the ivy, like a warm garment to comfort it in
its age, wrapt its green leaves closely round the time-worn walls.

It was a hale and hearty age though, still: and in the summer or
autumn evenings, when the glow of the setting sun fell upon the oak and
chestnut trees of the adjacent forest, the old house, partaking of its
lustre, seemed their fit companion, and to have many good years of life
in him yet.

The evening with which we have to do, was neither a summer nor an autumn
one, but the twilight of a day in March, when the wind howled dismally
among the bare branches of the trees, and rumbling in the wide chimneys
and driving the rain against the windows of the Maypole Inn, gave such
of its frequenters as chanced to be there at the moment an undeniable
reason for prolonging their stay, and caused the landlord to prophesy
that the night would certainly clear at eleven o’clock precisely,--which
by a remarkable coincidence was the hour at which he always closed his
house.

The name of him upon whom the spirit of prophecy thus descended was
Joh
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INTRODUCTION


The tales included in this little book of translations are derived
mainly from the "Lays" of Marie de France. I do not profess them to be
a complete collection of her stories in verse. The ascription varies.
Poems which were included in her work but yesterday are withdrawn
to-day, and new matter suggested by scholars to take the place of the
old. I believe it to be, however, a far fuller version of Marie's
"Lays" than has yet appeared, to my knowledge, in English. Marie's
poems are concerned chiefly with love. To complete my book I have
added two famous mediaeval stories on the same excellent theme.
This, then, may be regarded as a volume of French romances, dealing,
generally, with one aspect of mediaeval life.

An age so feminist in its sympathies as ours should be attracted the
more easily to Marie de France, because she was both an artist and a
woman. To deliver oneself through any medium is always difficult. For
a woman of the Middle Ages to express herself publicly by any means
whatever was almost impossible. A great lady, a great Saint or
church-woman, might do so very occasionally. But the individuality
of the ordinary wife was merged in that of her husband, and for one
Abbess of Shrewsbury or Whitby, for one St. Clare or St. Hilda, there
were how many thousand obscure sisters, who were buried in the daily
routine of a life hidden with Christ in God! Doubtless the artistic
temperament burst out now and again in woman, and would take no
denial. It blew where it listed, appearing in the most unexpected
places. A young nun in a Saxon convent, for instance, would write
little dramas in Latin for the amusement and edification of the noble
maidens under her charge. These comedies, written in the days of the
Emperor Otho, can be read with pleasure in the reign of King George,
by those who find fragrant the perfumes of the past. They deal with
the pious legends of the Saints, and are regarded with wistful
admiration by the most modern of Parisian playwrights. In their
combination of audacity and simplicity they could only be performed by
Saxon religious in the times of Otho, or by marionettes in the more
self-conscious life of to-day. Or, again, an Abbess, the protagonist
of one of the great love stories of the world, by sheer force of
personality, would compose letters to one--how immeasurably her moral
inferior, in spite of his genius--expressing with an unexampled
poignancy the most passionate emotions of the heart. Or, to take my
third illustration, here are a woman's poems written in an age when
literature was almost entirely in the hands of men. Consider the
strength of character which alone induced these three ladies to stray
from the beaten paths of their sex. To the average woman it was
enough to be an object of art herself, or to be the inspiration of
masterpieces by man. But these three women of the Middle Ages--and
such as they--shunned the easier way, and, in their several spheres,
were by deliberate effort, self-conscious artists.

The place and date of birth of Marie de France are unknown--indeed
the very century in which she lived has been a matter of dispute. Her
poems are written in the French of northern France; but that does not
prove her necessarily to be a Frenchwoman. French was the tongue
of the English Court, and many Englishmen have written in the same
language. Indeed, it is a very excellent vehicle for expression.
Occasionally, Marie would insert English words in her French text, the
better to convey her meaning; but it does not follow therefrom that
the romances were composed in England. It seems strange that so
few positive indications of her race and home are given in her
poems--nothing is contained beyond her Christian name and the bare
statement that she was of France. She took great pride in her work,
which she wrought to the best of her ability, and was extremely
jealous of that bubble-reputation. Yet whilst this work was an
excellent piece of self-portraiture, it reveals not one single fact
or date on which to go. A consensus of critical opinion presumes that
Marie was a subject of the English Crown, born in an ancient town
called Pitre, some three miles above Rouen, in the Duchy of Normandy.
This speculation is based largely on the unwonted topographical
accuracy of her description of Pitre, given in "The Lay of the Two
Lovers." Such evidence, perhaps, is insufficient to obtain a judgment
in a Court of Law. The date when Marie lived was long a matter of
dispute. The Prologue to her "Lays" contains a dedication to some
unnamed King; whilst her "Fables" is dedicated to a certain Count
William. These facts prove her to have been a person of position and
repute. The King was long supposed to be Henry the Third of England,
and this would suggest that she lived in the thirteenth century.
An early scholar, the Abbé de La Rue, in fact, said that this was
"undoubtedly" the case, giving cogent reasons in support of his
contention. But modern scholarship, in the p
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CONTENTS

Impressions of an Indian Childhood

The School Days of an Indian Girl

An Indian Teacher Among Indians

The Great Spirit

The Soft-Hearted Sioux

The Trial Path

A Warrior's Daughter

A Dream of Her Grandfather

The Widespread Enigma of Blue-Star Woman

America's Indian Problem




IMPRESSIONS OF AN INDIAN CHILDHOOD


MY MOTHER.


A wigwam of weather-stained canvas stood at the base of some irregularly
ascending hills. A footpath wound its way gently down the sloping land
till it reached the broad river bottom; creeping through the long swamp
grasses that bent over it on either side, it came out on the edge of the
Missouri.

Here, morning, noon, and evening, my mother came to draw water from the
muddy stream for our household use. Always, when my mother started for
the river, I stopped my play to run along with her. She was only of
medium height. Often she was sad and silent, at which times her full
arched lips were compressed into hard and bitter lines, and shadows fell
under her black eyes. Then I clung to her hand and begged to know what
made the tears fall.

"Hush; my little daughter must never talk about my tears"; and smiling
through them, she patted my head and said, "Now let me see how fast you
can run today." Whereupon I tore away at my highest possible speed, with
my long black hair blowing in the breeze.

I was a wild little girl of seven. Loosely clad in a slip of brown
buckskin, and light-footed with a pair of soft moccasins on my feet, I
was as free as the wind that blew my hair, and no less spirited than a
bounding deer. These were my mother's pride,--my wild freedom and
overflowing spirits. She taught me no fear save that of intruding myself
upon others.

Having gone many paces ahead I stopped, panting for breath, and laughing
with glee as my mother watched my every movement. I was not wholly
conscious of myself, but was more keenly alive to the fire within. It
was as if I were the activity, and my hands and feet were only
experiments for my spirit to work upon.

Returning from the river, I tugged beside my mother, with my hand upon
the bucket I believed I was carrying. One time, on such a return, I
remember a bit of conversation we had. My grown-up cousin, Warca-Ziwin
(Sunflower), who was then seventeen, always went to the river alone for
water for her mother. Their wigwam was not far from ours; and I saw her
daily going to and from the river. I admired my cousin greatly. So I
said: "Mother, when I am tall as my cousin Warca-Ziwin, you shall not
have to come for water. I will do it for you."

With a strange tremor in her voice which I could not understand, she
answered, "If the paleface does not take away from us the river we
drink."

"Mother, who is this bad paleface?" I asked.

"My little daughter, he is a sham,--a sickly sham! The bronzed Dakota is
the only real man."

I looked up into my mother's face while she spoke; and seeing her bite
her lips, I knew she was unhappy. This aroused revenge in my small soul.
Stamping my foot on the earth, I cried aloud, "I hate the paleface that
makes my mother cry!"

Setting the pail of water on the ground, my mother stooped, and
stretching her left hand out on the level with my eyes, she placed her
other arm about me; she pointed to the hill where my uncle and my only
sister lay buried.

"There is what the paleface has done! Since then your father too has
been buried in a hill nearer the rising sun. We were once very happy.
But the paleface has stolen our lands and driven us hither. Having
defrauded us of our land, the paleface forced us away.

"Well, it happened on the day we moved camp that your sister and uncle
were both very sick. Many others were ailing, but there seemed to be no
help. We traveled many days and nights; not in the grand, happy way that
we moved camp when I was a little girl, but we were driven, my child,
driven like a herd of buffalo. With every step, your sister, who was not
as large as you are now, shrieked with the painful jar until she was
hoarse with crying. She grew more and more feverish. Her little hands
and cheeks were burning hot. Her little lips were parched and dry, but
she would not drink the water I gave her. Then I discovered that her
throat was swollen and red. My poor child, how I cried with her because
the Great Spirit had forgotten us!

"At last, when we reached this western country, on the first weary night
your sister died. And soon your uncle died also, leaving a widow and an
orphan daughter, your cousin Warca-Ziwin. Both your sister and uncle
might have been happy with us today, had it not been for the heartless
paleface."

My mother was silent the rest of the way to our wigwam. Though I saw no
tears in her eyes, I knew that was because I was with her. She seldom
wept before me.





THE LEGENDS.


During the summer days my mother built her fire in the shadow of our
wigwam.

In the early morning our simple breakfast was spread upon the grass west
of our tepee. At the farthest point of the shad
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PG #: 1289
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Transcribed from the 1894 Chapman and Hall edition of “Christmas Stories”
by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org





                           THREE GHOST STORIES


                            by Charles Dickens




CONTENTS

The Haunted House             121
The Trial For Murder          303
The Signal-Man                312




THE HAUNTED HOUSE.
IN TWO CHAPTERS. {121}


                                 [1859.]



THE MORTALS IN THE HOUSE.


UNDER none of the accredited ghostly circumstances, and environed by none
of the conventional ghostly surroundings, did I first make acquaintance
with the house which is the subject of this Christmas piece.  I saw it in
the daylight, with the sun upon it.  There was no wind, no rain, no
lightning, no thunder, no awful or unwonted circumstance, of any kind, to
heighten its effect.  More than that: I had come to it direct from a
railway station: it was not more than a mile distant from the railway
station; and, as I stood outside the house, looking back upon the way I
had come, I could see the goods train running smoothly along the
embankment in the valley.  I will not say that everything was utterly
commonplace, because I doubt if anything can be that, except to utterly
commonplace people—and there my vanity steps in; but, I will take it on
myself to say that anybody might see the house as I saw it, any fine
autumn morning.

The manner of my lighting on it was this.

I was travelling towards London out of the North, intending to stop by
the way, to look at the house.  My health required a temporary residence
in the country; and a friend of mine who knew that, and who had happened
to drive past the house, had written to me to suggest it as a likely
place.  I had got into the train at midnight, and had fallen asleep, and
had woke up and had sat looking out of window at the brilliant Northern
Lights in the sky, and had fallen asleep again, and had woke up again to
find the night gone, with the usual discontented conviction on me that I
hadn’t been to sleep at all;—upon which question, in the first imbecility
of that condition, I am ashamed to believe that I would have done wager
by battle with the man who sat opposite me.  That opposite man had had,
through the night—as that opposite man always has—several legs too many,
and all of them too long.  In addition to this unreasonable conduct
(which was only to be expected of him), he had had a pencil and a
pocket-book, and had been perpetually listening and taking notes.  It had
appeared to me that these aggravating notes related to the jolts and
bumps of the carriage, and I should have resigned myself to his taking
them, under a general supposition that he was in the civil-engineering
way of life, if he had not sat staring straight over my head whenever he
listened.  He was a goggle-eyed gentleman of a perplexed aspect, and his
demeanour became unbearable.

It was a cold, dead morning (the sun not being up yet), and when I had
out-watched the paling light of the fires of the iron country, and the
curtain of heavy smoke that hung at once between me and the stars and
between me and the day, I turned to my fellow-traveller and said:

“I _beg_ your pardon, sir, but do you observe anything particular in me?”
For, really, he appeared to be taking down, either my travelling-cap or
my hair, with a minuteness that was a liberty.

The goggle-eyed gentleman withdrew his eyes from behind me, as if the
back of the carriage were a hundred miles off, and said, with a lofty
look of compassion for my insignificance:

“In you, sir?—B.”

“B, sir?” said I, growing warm.

“I have nothing to do with you, sir,” returned the gentleman; “pray let
me listen—O.”

He enunciated this vowel after a pause, and noted it down.

At first I was alarmed, for an Express lunatic and no communication with
the guard, is a serious position.  The thought came to my relief that the
gentleman might be what is popularly called a Rapper: one of a sect for
(some of) whom I have the highest respect, but whom I don’t believe in.
I was going to ask him the question, when he took the bread out of my
mouth.

“You will excuse me,” said the gentleman contemptuously, “if I am too
much in advance of common humanity to trouble myself at all about it.  I
have passed the night—as indeed I pass the whole of my time now—in
spiritual intercourse.”

“O!” said I, somewhat snappishly.

“The conferences of the night began,” continued the gentleman, turning
several leaves of his note-book, “with this message: ‘Evil communications
corrupt good manners.’”

“Sound,” said I; “but, absolutely new?”

“New from spirits,” returned the gentleman.

I could only repeat my rather snappish “O!” and ask if I might be
favoured with the last communication.

“‘A bird in the hand,’” said the gentleman, reading his last entry with
great solemnity, “‘is worth two in the Bosh.’”

“Truly I am of the same opinion,” said I; “but shouldn’t it be Bush?”

“It came to me, Bosh,” returned the gentleman.

The gentlema
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PUBLI VERGILI MARONIS

AENEIDOS


  LIBER I


  ARMA virumque cano, Troiae qui primus ab oris
  Italiam, fato profugus, Laviniaque venit
  litora, multum ille et terris iactatus et alto
  vi superum saevae memorem Iunonis ob iram;
  multa quoque et bello passus, dum conderet urbem,
  inferretque deos Latio, genus unde Latinum,
  Albanique patres, atque altae moenia Romae.

  Musa, mihi causas memora, quo numine laeso,
  quidve dolens, regina deum tot volvere casus
  insignem pietate virum, tot adire labores
  impulerit.  Tantaene animis caelestibus irae?

  Urbs antiqua fuit, Tyrii tenuere coloni,
  Karthago, Italiam contra Tiberinaque longe
  ostia, dives opum studiisque asperrima belli;
  quam Iuno fertur terris magis omnibus unam
  posthabita coluisse Samo; hic illius arma,
  hic currus fuit; hoc regnum dea gentibus esse,
  si qua fata sinant, iam tum tenditque fovetque.
  Progeniem sed enim Troiano a sanguine duci
  audierat, Tyrias olim quae verteret arces;
  hinc populum late regem belloque superbum
  venturum excidio Libyae:  sic volvere Parcas.
  Id metuens, veterisque memor Saturnia belli,
  prima quod ad Troiam pro caris gesserat Argis---
  necdum etiam causae irarum saevique dolores
  exciderant animo:  manet alta mente repostum
  iudicium Paridis spretaeque iniuria formae,
  et genus invisum, et rapti Ganymedis honores.
  His accensa super, iactatos aequore toto
  Troas, reliquias Danaum atque immitis Achilli,
  arcebat longe Latio, multosque per annos
  errabant, acti fatis, maria omnia circum.
  Tantae molis erat Romanam condere gentem!

  Vix e conspectu Siculae telluris in altum
  vela dabant laeti, et spumas salis aere ruebant,
  cum Iuno, aeternum servans sub pectore volnus,
  haec secum:  'Mene incepto desistere victam,
  nec posse Italia Teucrorum avertere regem?
  Quippe vetor fatis.  Pallasne exurere classem
  Argivom atque ipsos potuit submergere ponto,
  unius ob noxam et furias Aiacis Oilei?
  Ipsa, Iovis rapidum iaculata e nubibus ignem,
  disiecitque rates evertitque aequora ventis,
  illum expirantem transfixo pectore flammas
  turbine corripuit scopuloque infixit acuto.
  Ast ego, quae divom incedo regina, Iovisque
  et soror et coniunx, una cum gente tot annos
  bella gero! Et quisquam numen Iunonis adoret
  praeterea, aut supplex aris imponet honorem?'

  Talia flammato secum dea corde volutans
  nimborum in patriam, loca feta furentibus austris,
  Aeoliam venit.  Hic vasto rex Aeolus antro
  luctantes ventos tempestatesque sonoras
  imperio premit ac vinclis et carcere frenat.
  Illi indignantes magno cum murmure montis
  circum claustra fremunt; celsa sedet Aeolus arce
  sceptra tenens, mollitque animos et temperat iras.
  Ni faciat, maria ac terras caelumque profundum
  quippe ferant rapidi secum verrantque per auras.
  Sed pater omnipotens speluncis abdidit atris,
  hoc metuens, molemque et montis insuper altos
  imposuit, regemque dedit, qui foedere certo
  et premere et laxas sciret dare iussus habenas.
  Ad quem tum Iuno supplex his vocibus usa est:

  'Aeole, namque tibi divom pater atque hominum rex
  et mulcere dedit fluctus et tollere vento,
  gens inimica mihi Tyrrhenum navigat aequor,
  Ilium in Italiam portans victosque Penates:
  incute vim ventis submersasque obrue puppes,
  aut age diversos et disiice corpora ponto.
  Sunt mihi bis septem praestanti corpore nymphae,
  quarum quae forma pulcherrima Deiopea,
  conubio iungam stabili propriamque dicabo,
  omnis ut tecum meritis pro talibus annos
  exigat, et pulchra faciat te prole parentem.'

  Aeolus haec contra:  'Tuus, O regina, quid optes
  explorare labor; mihi iussa capessere fas est.
  Tu mihi, quodcumque hoc regni, tu sceptra Iovemque
  concilias, tu das epulis accumbere divom,
  nimborumque facis tempestatumque potentem.'

  Haec ubi dicta, cavum conversa cuspide montem
  impulit in latus:  ac venti, velut agmine facto,
  qua data porta, ruunt et terras turbine perflant.
  Incubuere mari, totumque a sedibus imis
  una Eurusque Notusque ruunt creberque procellis
  Africus, et vastos volvunt ad litora fluctus.
  Insequitur clamorque virum stridorque rudentum.
  Eripiunt subito nubes caelumque diemque
  Teucrorum ex oculis; ponto nox incubat atra.
  Iutonuere poli, et crebris micat ignibus aether,
  praesentemque viris intentant omnia mortem.

  Extemplo Aeneae solvuntur frigore membra:
  ingemit, et duplicis tendens ad sidera palmas
  talia voce refert:  'O terque quaterque beati,
  quis ante ora patrum Troiae sub moenibus altis
  contigit oppetere! O Danaum fortissime gentis
  Tydide! Mene Iliacis occumbere campis
  non potuisse, tuaque animam hanc effundere dextra,
  saevus ubi Aeacidae telo iacet Hector, ubi ingens
  Sarpedon, ubi tot Simois correpta sub undis
  scuta virum galeasque et fortia corpora volvit?'

  Talia iactanti stridens Aquilone procella
  velum adversa ferit, fluctusque ad sidera tollit.
  Franguntur remi; tum prora avertit, et undis
  dat latus; insequitur cumulo praeruptus aquae mon
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_Dover Publications, Inc._

NEW YORK




TO

JOHN CASPAR BRANNER Ph.D.,

_The inspiration of whose teaching is no less great than his
contribution to science._

This New 1950 Edition of DE RE METALLICA is a complete and unchanged
reprint of the translation published by The Mining Magazine, London, in
1912. It has been made available through the kind permission of
Honorable Herbert C. Hoover and Mr. Edgar Rickard, Author and Publisher,
respectively, of the original volume.

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA




TRANSLATORS' PREFACE.


There are three objectives in translation of works of this character: to
give a faithful, literal translation of the author's statements; to give
these in a manner which will interest the reader; and to preserve, so
far as is possible, the style of the original text. The task has been
doubly difficult in this work because, in using Latin, the author
availed himself of a medium which had ceased to expand a thousand years
before his subject had in many particulars come into being; in
consequence he was in difficulties with a large number of ideas for
which there were no corresponding words in the vocabulary at his
command, and instead of adopting into the text his native German terms,
he coined several hundred Latin expressions to answer his needs. It is
upon this rock that most former attempts at translation have been
wrecked. Except for a very small number, we believe we have been able to
discover the intended meaning of such expressions from a study of the
context, assisted by a very incomplete glossary prepared by the author
himself, and by an exhaustive investigation into the literature of these
subjects during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. That discovery
in this particular has been only gradual and obtained after much labour,
may be indicated by the fact that the entire text has been
re-typewritten three times since the original, and some parts more
often; and further, that the printer's proof has been thrice revised. We
have found some English equivalent, more or less satisfactory, for
practically all such terms, except those of weights, the varieties of
veins, and a few minerals. In the matter of weights we have introduced
the original Latin, because it is impossible to give true equivalents
and avoid the fractions of reduction; and further, as explained in the
Appendix on Weights it is impossible to say in many cases what scale the
Author had in mind. The English nomenclature to be adopted has given
great difficulty, for various reasons; among them, that many methods and
processes described have never been practised in English-speaking mining
communities, and so had no representatives in our vocabulary, and we
considered the introduction of German terms undesirable; other methods
and processes have become obsolete and their descriptive terms with
them, yet we wished to avoid the introduction of obsolete or unusual
English; but of the greatest importance of all has been the necessity to
avoid rigorously such modern technical terms as would imply a greater
scientific understanding than the period possessed.

Agricola's Latin, while mostly free from mediæval corruption, is
somewhat tainted with German construction. Moreover some portions have
not the continuous flow of sustained thought which others display, but
the fact that the writing of the work extended over a period of twenty
years, sufficiently explains the considerable variation in style. The
technical descriptions in the later books often take the form of
House-that-Jack-built sentences which have had to be at least partially
broken up and the subject occasionally re-introduced. Ambiguities were
also sometimes found which it was necessary to carry on into the
translation. Despite these criticisms we must, however, emphasize that
Agricola was infinitely clearer in his style than his contemporaries
upon such subjects, or for that matter than his successors in almost any
language for a couple of centuries. All of the illustrations and display
letters of the original have been reproduced and the type as closely
approximates to the original as the printers have been able to find in a
modern font.

There are no footnotes in the original text, and Mr. Hoover is
responsible for them all. He has attempted in them to give not only such
comment as would tend to clarify the text, but also such information as
we have been able to discover with regard to the previous history of the
subjects mentioned. We have confined the historical notes to the time
prior to Agricola, because to have carried them down to date in the
briefest manner would have demanded very much more space than could be
allowed. In the examination of such technical and historical material
one is appalled at the flood of mis-information with regard to ancient
arts and sciences which has been let loose upon the world by the hands
of non-technical translators and commentators. At an early stage we
considered that we must justify any divergence of 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 7787
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Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. We
thank the Case Western Reserve University Library
Preservation Department that has given us the image files
with which the present e-book has been prepared.










TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:

The Esperanto alphabet contains 28 characters. These are the
characters of English, but with "q", "w", "x", and "y" removed, and
six diacritical letters added. The diacritical letters are "c",
"g", "h", "j" and "s" with circumflexes (or "hats", as Esperantists
fondly call them), and "u" with a breve. Zamenhof himself suggested
that where the diacritical letters caused difficulty, one could
instead use "ch", "gh", "hh", "jh", "sh" and "u". A plain ASCII
file is one such place; there are no ASCII codes for Esperanto's
special letters.

However, there are two problems with Zamenhof's "h-method". There
is no difference between "u" and "u" with a breve, and there is no
way to determine (without prior knowledge of the word(s) involved,
and sometimes a bit of context) whether an "h" following one of
those other five letters is really the second half of a diacritical
pair, or just an "h" that happened to find itself next to one of
them. Consequently other, unambiguous, methods have been used over
the years. One is the "x-method", which uses the digraphs "cx",
"gx", "hx", "jx", "sx" and "ux" to represent the special letters.
There is no ambiguity because the letter "x" is not an Esperanto
letter, and each diacritical letter has a unique transliteration.
This is the method used in this Project Gutenberg e-text.








                               A COMPLETE
                          GRAMMAR OF ESPERANTO

                       THE INTERNATIONAL LANGUAGE

                                  WITH
              GRADED EXERCISES FOR READING AND TRANSLATION
                    TOGETHER WITH FULL VOCABULARIES

                                   BY
                       IVY KELLERMAN, A.M., Ph.D.

     MEMBER OF THE EXECUTIVE COMMITTEE AND CHAIRMAN OF EXAMINATIONS
         FOR THE ESPERANTO ASSOCIATION OF NORTH AMERICA, MEMBER
              OF THE INTERNATIONAL "LINGVA KOMITATO"


                   *       *       *       *       *


                                   TO

                           DR. L. L. ZAMENHOF

                             THE AUTHOR OF
                               ESPERANTO


                   *       *       *       *       *


                                PREFACE.

This volume has been prepared to meet a twofold need. An adequate
presentation of the International Language has become an imperative
necessity. Such presentation, including full and accurate grammatical
explanations, suitably graded reading lessons, and similarly graded
material for translation from English, has not heretofore been
accessible within the compass of a single volume, or in fact within the
compass of any two or three volumes.

The combination of grammar and reader here offered is therefore
unique. It is to furnish not merely an introduction to Esperanto, or
a superficial acquaintance with it, but a genuine understanding of
the language and mastery of its use without recourse to additional
textbooks, readers, etc. In other words, this one volume affords
as complete a knowledge of Esperanto as several years' study of a
grammar and various readers will accomplish for any national language.
Inflection, word-formation and syntax are presented clearly and
concisely, yet with a degree of completeness and in a systematic order
that constitute a new feature. Other points worthy of note are the
following:

The reasons for syntactical usages are given, instead of mere statements
that such usages exist. For example, clauses of purpose and of result
are really explained, instead of being dismissed with the unsatisfactory
remark that "the imperative follows 'por ke,'" or the "use of 'tiel ...
ke' and 'tia ... ke' must be distinguished from that of 'tiel ... kiel'
and 'tia ... kia,'" etc., with but little intimation of when and why
"por ke", "tiel ... ke" and "tia ... ke" are likely to occur.

Affixes are not mentioned until some familiarity with the general
character of the language is assured, as well as the possession of
a fair vocabulary. They are introduced gradually, with adequate
explanation and illustration. Of importance in connection with
word-formation is an element distinctly new--the explanation and
classification of compound words. Such words, like affixes, are
withheld until the use of simple words is familiar.

Another new feature is the gradual introduction of correlative words in
their logical order, and in their proper grammatical categories, before
they are called "correlatives," or tabulated. The tabulation finally
presented is a real classification, with regard to the meaning and
grammatical character of the words, not merely an arbitrary alphabetical
arrangement. The use of primary adverbs precedes the explanation of
adverb derivation; prepositions, especially "de", 
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 1004
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Oft have I seen at some cathedral door
    A laborer, pausing in the dust and heat,
    Lay down his burden, and with reverent feet
    Enter, and cross himself, and on the floor
Kneel to repeat his paternoster o’er;
    Far off the noises of the world retreat;
    The loud vociferations of the street
    Become an undistinguishable roar.
So, as I enter here from day to day,
    And leave my burden at this minster gate,
    Kneeling in prayer, and not ashamed to pray,
The tumult of the time disconsolate
    To inarticulate murmurs dies away,
    While the eternal ages watch and wait.



How strange the sculptures that adorn these towers!
    This crowd of statues, in whose folded sleeves
    Birds build their nests; while canopied with leaves
    Parvis and portal bloom like trellised bowers,
And the vast minster seems a cross of flowers!
    But fiends and dragons on the gargoyled eaves
    Watch the dead Christ between the living thieves,
    And, underneath, the traitor Judas lowers!
Ah! from what agonies of heart and brain,
    What exultations trampling on despair,
    What tenderness, what tears, what hate of wrong,
What passionate outcry of a soul in pain,
    Uprose this poem of the earth and air,
    This mediaeval miracle of song!



I enter, and I see thee in the gloom
    Of the long aisles, O poet saturnine!
    And strive to make my steps keep pace with thine.
    The air is filled with some unknown perfume;
The congregation of the dead make room
    For thee to pass; the votive tapers shine;
    Like rooks that haunt Ravenna’s groves of pine,
    The hovering echoes fly from tomb to tomb.
From the confessionals I hear arise
    Rehearsals of forgotten tragedies,
    And lamentations from the crypts below
And then a voice celestial that begins
    With the pathetic words, “Although your sins
    As scarlet be,” and ends with “as the snow.”



With snow-white veil, and garments as of flame,
    She stands before thee, who so long ago
    Filled thy young heart with passion and the woe
    From which thy song in all its splendors came;
And while with stern rebuke she speaks thy name,
    The ice about thy heart melts as the snow
    On mountain heights, and in swift overflow
    Comes gushing from thy lips in sobs of shame.
Thou makest full confession; and a gleam
    As of the dawn on some dark forest cast,
    Seems on thy lifted forehead to increase;
Lethe and Eunoe—the remembered dream
    And the forgotten sorrow—bring at last
    That perfect pardon which is perfect peace.


V

I Lift mine eyes, and all the windows blaze
    With forms of saints and holy men who died,
    Here martyred and hereafter glorified;
    And the great Rose upon its leaves displays
Christ’s Triumph, and the angelic roundelays,
    With splendor upon splendor multiplied;
    And Beatrice again at Dante’s side
    No more rebukes, but smiles her words of praise.
And then the organ sounds, and unseen choirs
    Sing the old Latin hymns of peace and love
    And benedictions of the Holy Ghost;
And the melodious bells among the spires
    O’er all the house-tops and through heaven above
    Proclaim the elevation of the Host!



O star of morning and of liberty!
    O bringer of the light, whose splendor shines
    Above the darkness of the Apennines,
    Forerunner of the day that is to be!
The voices of the city and the sea,
    The voices of the mountains and the pines,
    Repeat thy song, till the familiar lines
    Are footpaths for the thought of Italy!
Thy fame is blown abroad from all the heights,
    Through all the nations; and a sound is heard,
    As of a mighty wind, and men devout,
Strangers of Rome, and the new proselytes,
    In their own language hear thy wondrous word,
    And many are amazed and many doubt.

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PG #: 36287
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CONTENTS.


CHARLES BAUDELAIRE by James Huneker


THE FLOWERS OF EVIL

The Dance of Death
The Beacons
The Sadness of the Moon
Exotic Perfume
Beauty
The Balcony
The Sick Muse
The Venal Muse
The Evil Monk
The Temptation
The Irreparable
A Former Life
Don Juan in Hades
The Living Flame
Correspondences
The Flask
Reversibility
The Eyes of Beauty
Sonnet of Autumn
The Remorse of the Dead
The Ghost
To a Madonna
The Sky
Spleen
The Owls
Bien Loin d'Ici
Music
Contemplation
To a Brown Beggar-maid
The Swan
The Seven Old Men
The Little Old Women
A Madrigal of Sorrow
The Ideal
Mist and Rain
Sunset
The Corpse
An Allegory
The Accursed
La Beatrice
The Soul of Wine
The Wine of Lovers
The Death of Lovers
The Death of the Poor
The Benediction
Gypsies Travelling
Francisco Meæ Laudes
Robed in a Silken Robe
A Landscape
The Voyage


LITTLE POEMS IN PROSE

The Stranger
Every Man his Chimæra
Venus and the Fool
Intoxication
The Gifts of the Moon
The Invitation to the Voyage
What is Truth?
Already!
The Double Chamber
At One o'Clock in the Morning
The Confiteor of the Artist
The Thyrsus
The Marksman
The Shooting-range and the Cemetery
The Desire to Paint
The Glass-vendor
The Widows
The Temptations; or, Eros, Plutus, and Glory




CHARLES BAUDELAIRE.

BY JAMES HUNEKER.






For the sentimental no greater foe exists than the iconoclast who
dissipates literary legends. And he is abroad nowadays. Those golden
times when they gossiped of De Quincey's enormous opium consumption, of
the gin absorbed by gentle Charles Lamb, of Coleridge's dark ways,
Byron's escapades, and Shelley's atheism--alas! into what faded limbo
have they vanished. Poe, too, whom we saw in fancy reeling from Richmond
to Baltimore, Baltimore to Philadelphia, Philadelphia to New York. Those
familiar fascinating anecdotes have gone the way of all such jerry-built
spooks. We now know Poe to have been a man suffering at the time of his
death from cerebral lesion, a man who drank at intervals and little. Dr.
Guerrier of Paris has exploded a darling superstition about De Quincey's
opium-eating. He has demonstrated that no man could have lived so
long--De Quincey was nearly seventy-five at his death--and worked so
hard, if he had consumed twelve thousand drops of laudanum as often as
he said he did. Furthermore, the English essayist's description of the
drug's effects is inexact. He was seldom sleepy--a sure sign, asserts
Dr. Guerrier, that he was not altogether enslaved by the drug habit.
Sprightly in old age, his powers of labour were prolonged until past
three-score and ten. His imagination needed little opium to produce the
famous Confessions. Even Gautier's revolutionary red waistcoat worn at
the première of Hernani was, according to Gautier, a pink doublet. And
Rousseau has been whitewashed. So they are disappearing, those literary
legends, until, disheartened, we cry out: Spare us our dear,
old-fashioned, disreputable men of genius!

But the legend of Charles Baudelaire is seemingly indestructible. This
French poet has suffered more from the friendly malignant biographer and
chroniclers than did Poe. Who shall keep the curs out of the cemetery?
asked Baudelaire after he had read Griswold on Poe. A few years later
his own cemetery was invaded and the world was put into possession of
the Baudelaire legend; that legend of the atrabilious, irritable poet,
dandy, maniac, his hair dyed green, spouting blasphemies; that grim,
despairing image of a diabolic, a libertine, saint, and drunkard. Maxime
du Camp was much to blame for the promulgation of these tales--witness
his Souvenirs littéraires. However, it may be confessed that part of the
Baudelaire legend was created by Charles Baudelaire. In the history of
literature it is difficult to parallel such a deliberate piece of
self-stultification. Not Villon, who preceded him, not Verlaine, who
imitated him, drew for the astonishment or disedification of the world a
like unflattering portrait. Mystifier as he was, he must have suffered
at times from acute cortical irritation. And, notwithstanding his
desperate effort to realize Poe's idea, he only proved Poe correct, who
had said that no man can bare his heart quite naked; there always will
be something held back, something false ostentatiously thrust forward.
The grimace, the attitude, the pomp of rhetoric are so many buffers
between the soul of man and the sharp reality of published confessions.
Baudelaire was no more exception to this rule than St. Augustine,
Bunyan, Rousseau, or Huysmans; though he was as frank as any of them, as
we may see in the printed diary, Mon cœur mis à nu (Posthumous Works,
Société du Mercure de France); and in the Journal, Fusées, Letters, and
other fragments exhumed by devoted Baudelarians.

To smash legends, Eugène Crépet's biographical study, first printed in
1887, has been republished with new notes by his son, Jacques Crépet.
This is an exceedingly valuable contribution to Baudelaire lore; a
dispassionate life, however, has yet to be written, a 
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      My name is Arthur Gordon Pym. My father was a respectable trader
      in sea-stores at Nantucket, where I was born. My maternal
      grandfather was an attorney in good practice. He was fortunate in
      every thing, and had speculated very successfully in stocks of
      the Edgarton New Bank, as it was formerly called. By these and
      other means he had managed to lay by a tolerable sum of money. He
      was more attached to myself, I believe, than to any other person
      in the world, and I expected to inherit the most of his property
      at his death. He sent me, at six years of age, to the school of
      old Mr. Ricketts, a gentleman with only one arm and of eccentric
      manners—he is well known to almost every person who has visited
      New Bedford. I stayed at his school until I was sixteen, when I
      left him for Mr. E. Ronald’s academy on the hill. Here I became
      intimate with the son of Mr. Barnard, a sea-captain, who
      generally sailed in the employ of Lloyd and Vredenburgh—Mr.
      Barnard is also very well known in New Bedford, and has many
      relations, I am certain, in Edgarton. His son was named Augustus,
      and he was nearly two years older than myself. He had been on a
      whaling voyage with his father in the John Donaldson, and was
      always talking to me of his adventures in the South Pacific
      Ocean. I used frequently to go home with him, and remain all day,
      and sometimes all night. We occupied the same bed, and he would
      be sure to keep me awake until almost light, telling me stories
      of the natives of the Island of Tinian, and other places he had
      visited in his travels. At last I could not help being interested
      in what he said, and by degrees I felt the greatest desire to go
      to sea. I owned a sailboat called the Ariel, and worth about
      seventy-five dollars. She had a half-deck or cuddy, and was
      rigged sloop-fashion—I forget her tonnage, but she would hold ten
      persons without much crowding. In this boat we were in the habit
      of going on some of the maddest freaks in the world; and, when I
      now think of them, it appears to me a thousand wonders that I am
      alive to-day.

      I will relate one of these adventures by way of introduction to a
      longer and more momentous narrative. One night there was a party
      at Mr. Barnard’s, and both Augustus and myself were not a little
      intoxicated toward the close of it. As usual, in such cases, I
      took part of his bed in preference to going home. He went to
      sleep, as I thought, very quietly (it being near one when the
      party broke up), and without saying a word on his favorite topic.
      It might have been half an hour from the time of our getting in
      bed, and I was just about falling into a doze, when he suddenly
      started up, and swore with a terrible oath that he would not go
      to sleep for any Arthur Pym in Christendom, when there was so
      glorious a breeze from the southwest. I never was so astonished
      in my life, not knowing what he intended, and thinking that the
      wines and liquors he had drunk had set him entirely beside
      himself. He proceeded to talk very coolly, however, saying he
      knew that I supposed him intoxicated, but that he was never more
      sober in his life. He was only tired, he added, of lying in bed
      on such a fine night like a dog, and was determined to get up and
      dress, and go out on a frolic with the boat. I can hardly tell
      what possessed me, but the words were no sooner out of his mouth
      than I felt a thrill of the greatest excitement and pleasure, and
      thought his mad idea one of the most delightful and most
      reasonable things in the world. It was blowing almost a gale, and
      the weather was very cold—it being late in October. I sprang out
      of bed, nevertheless, in a kind of ecstasy, and told him I was
      quite as brave as himself, and quite as tired as he was of lying
      in bed like a dog, and quite as ready for any fun or frolic as
      any Augustus Barnard in Nantucket.

      We lost no time in getting on our clothes and hurrying down to
      the boat. She was lying at the old decayed wharf by the
      lumber-yard of Pankey & Co., and almost thumping her side out
      against the rough logs. Augustus got into her and bailed her, for
      she was nearly half full of water. This being done, we hoisted
      jib and mainsail, kept full, and started boldly out to sea.

      The wind, as I before said, blew freshly from the southwest. The
      night was very clear and cold. Augustus had taken the helm, and I
      stationed myself by the mast, on the deck of the cuddy. We flew
      along at a great rate—neither of us having said a word since
      casting loose from the wharf. I now asked my companion what
      course he intended to steer, and what time he thought it probable
    
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In the notes the difficulties have been explained, so far as possible,
by reference to the vocabulary, or by rearranging the words; but it has
often been necessary to translate into English. Perhaps the criticism
will be made that the notes to the first few pages are too numerous and
too simple; but many of these notes, and especially those that explain
elementary rules of Spanish grammar, are given for the benefit of
students who begin to read almost from the first. In the notes to the
lyrics, no attempt has been made to treat Spanish prosody fully; only a
few rules are given, and these in the simplest language.

The vocabulary has been made as complete as possible. It contains many
facts, such as descriptions of places and biographies of noted men, that
are usually not given in vocabularies. It contains also all irregular
verb-forms that occur in the first fifty pages of the texts.

I have pleasure in acknowledging my indebtedness to many of my
colleagues for advice and helpful suggestions, and I am especially
indebted to Dr. S. Griswold Morley for help in reading the proofs.

E. C. H.

COLORADO SPRINGS, COLO.




CONTENTS


                                                                    PAGE

MAP OF SPAIN                                             _facing page_ 1

LOS CONSEJOS DE UN
PADRE                           _José Echegaray_                       1

CASILADA                       _Antonio de Trueba_                     8

LA FLORECITA AZUL              _María del Pilar Sinués_               15

LA NIÑA DEL VIGÍA              _Manuela de la Peña Cuéllar_           20

TONY                           _Enrique Pérez Escrich_                23

PESCADOR DE CAÑA               _Ernesto García Ladevese_              30

LA CONFESIÓN DE UN CRIMEN      _Armando Palacio Valdés_               34

ECONOMÍA PRÁCTICA              _Luis Taboada_                         40

DE VIAJE                       _Luis Taboada_                         43

TEMPRANO Y CON SOL             _Emilia Pardo Bazán_                   46

EL PREMIO GORDO                _Emilia Pardo Bazán_                   53

EL LIBRO TALONARIO             _Pedro Antonio de Alarcón_             60

EL PÁJARO EN LA NIEVE          _Armando Palacio Valdés_               67

LA BALLENA DEL MANZANARES      _Antonio de Trueba_                    79

LA CASA DONDE MURIÓ            _Julia de Asensi_                      83

LAS NOCHES LARGAS DE CÓRDOBA   _Narciso Campillo_                     96

CUADROS DE COSTUMBRES
(FRAGMENTOS)                    _Fernán Caballero_                   110

LA AJORCA DE ORO               _Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer_              125


POESÍAS

LOS DOS CONEJOS                _Iriarte_                             135

EL PATO Y LA SERPIENTE         _Iriarte_                             137

EL JABALÍ Y LA ZORRA           _Samaniego_                           138

Á TODO HAY QUIEN GANE       _Felipe Pérez y González_                139

EL PERAL                   _Juan Eugenio Hartzenbusch_               140

EL GLOBITO AZUL            _Juan Antonio Cavestany_                  141

FUSILES Y MUÑECAS          _Juan de Dios Peza_                       143

CANTOS DE PÁJARO           _Antonio de Trueba_                       146

CANCIÓN                    _Fernán Caballero_                        148

¡BELLO ES VIVIR!(_from_
INDECISIÓN)               _José Zorrilla_                            149

¡EXCELSIOR!               _Gaspar Núñez de Arce_                     150

RIMAS: XIII               _Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer_                   151

RIMAS: LIII               _Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer_                   152

NOTES                                                                155

VOCABULARY                                                           203




SPANISH TALES

[Illustration: Map of the Iberian Peninsula]




LOS CONSEJOS DE UN PADRE


El León, el rey de las selvas, agonizaba en el hueco de su caverna....

Á su lado estaba su hijo, el _nuevo león_, el rey futuro de todos los
animales.

El monarca moribundo le daba penosamente el último consejo, el más
importante.

--Huye del hombre--le decía:--huye siempre; no pretendas luchar con él.

Eres señor absoluto de los demás animales, no los temas; domínalos,
castígalos, devóralos si tienes hambre.

Con todos puedes luchar, á todos puedes vencer; pero no pretendas luchar
con el hombre: te daría muerte y sin piedad, porque es cruel, más cruel
que nosotros.

--¿Tan fuerte es el hombre?--preguntó el hijo.

--No es fuerte, no--replicó el padre.--Y continuó diciendo:--De un
latigazo de tu cola le podrías lanzar por los aires como al más
miserable animalejo.

--¿Sus dientes, sus colmillos, son poderosos?

--Son despreciables y ridículos: valen menos que los de un ratoncillo.

--¿Sus uñas, son tan potentes como mis zarpas?

--Son mezquinas y á veces las lleva sucias; no, por las zarpas no
conseguiría vencerte.

--¿Tendrá melenas como éstas, que nosotros sacudimos orgullosos
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 2151
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2151

The Works of Edgar Allan Poe

by Edgar Allan Poe

The Raven Edition

VOLUME V.


Contents

 PHILOSOPHY OF FURNITURE
 A TALE OF JERUSALEM
 THE SPHINX
 HOP-FROG
 THE MAN OF THE CROWD
 NEVER BET THE DEVIL YOUR HEAD
 THOU ART THE MAN
 WHY THE LITTLE FRENCHMAN WEARS HIS HAND IN A SLING
 BON-BON
 SOME WORDS WITH A MUMMY
 THE POETIC PRINCIPLE
 OLD ENGLISH POETRY

 POEMS
 PREFACE
 POEMS OF LATER LIFE
 THE RAVEN
 THE BELLS
 ULALUME
 TO HELEN
 ANNABEL LEE
 A VALENTINE
 AN ENIGMA
 FOR ANNIE
 TO F——
 TO FRANCES S. OSGOOD
 ELDORADO
 TO MARIE LOUISE (SHEW)
 O MARIE LOUISE (SHEW)
 THE CITY IN THE SEA
 THE SLEEPER
 NOTES

 POEMS OF MANHOOD
 LENORE
 TO ONE IN PARADISE
 THE COLISEUM
 THE HAUNTED PALACE
 THE CONQUEROR WORM
 SILENCE
 DREAM-LAND
 HYMN
 TO ZANTE
 SCENES FROM “POLITIAN”
 POEMS OF YOUTH
 INTRODUCTION TO POEMS—1831
 _LETTER TO MR. B—._
 SONNET—TO SCIENCE
 AL AARAAF
 TAMERLANE
 TO HELEN
 THE VALLEY OF UNREST
 ISRAFEL
 TO ——
 TO ——
 TO THE RIVER——
 SONG
 SPIRITS OF THE DEAD
 A DREAM
 ROMANCE
 FAIRY-LAND
 THE LAKE —— TO——
 EVENING STAR
 “THE HAPPIEST DAY.”
 IMITATION
 HYMN TO ARISTOGEITON AND HARMODIUS
 DREAMS
 “IN YOUTH I HAVE KNOWN ONE”
 NOTES

 DOUBTFUL POEMS
 ALONE
 TO ISADORE
 THE VILLAGE STREET
 THE FOREST REVERIE
 NOTES




PHILOSOPHY OF FURNITURE.


      In the internal decoration, if not in the external architecture of their
      residences, the English are supreme. The Italians have but little
      sentiment beyond marbles and colours. In France, _meliora probant,
      deteriora _sequuntur—the people are too much a race of gadabouts
      to maintain those household proprieties of which, indeed, they have a
      delicate appreciation, or at least the elements of a proper sense. The
      Chinese and most of the eastern races have a warm but inappropriate fancy.
      The Scotch are _poor _decorists. The Dutch have, perhaps, an
      indeterminate idea that a curtain is not a cabbage. In Spain they are _all
      _curtains—a nation of hangmen. The Russians do not furnish. The
      Hottentots and Kickapoos are very well in their way. The Yankees alone are
      preposterous.
    
      How this happens, it is not difficult to see. We have no aristocracy of
      blood, and having therefore as a natural, and indeed as an inevitable
      thing, fashioned for ourselves an aristocracy of dollars, the _display
      of wealth _has here to take the place and perform the office of the
      heraldic display in monarchical countries. By a transition readily
      understood, and which might have been as readily foreseen, we have been
      brought to merge in simple _show_ our notions of taste itself.
    
      To speak less abstractly. In England, for example, no mere parade of
      costly appurtenances would be so likely as with us, to create an
      impression of the beautiful in respect to the appurtenances themselves—or
      of taste as regards the proprietor:—this for the reason, first, that
      wealth is not, in England, the loftiest object of ambition as constituting
      a nobility; and secondly, that there, the true nobility of blood,
      confining itself within the strict limits of legitimate taste, rather
      avoids than affects that mere costliness in which a _parvenu _rivalry
      may at any time be successfully attempted.
    
      The people _will _imitate the nobles, and the result is a thorough
      diffusion of the proper feeling. But in America, the coins current being
      the sole arms of the aristocracy, their display may be said, in general,
      to be the sole means of the aristocratic distinction; and the populace,
      looking always upward for models, are insensibly led to confound the two
      entirely separate ideas of magnificence and beauty. In short, the cost of
      an article of furniture has at length come to be, with us, nearly the sole
      test of its merit in a decorative point of view—and this test, once
      established, has led the way to many analogous errors, readily traceable
      to the one primitive folly.
    
      There could be nothing more directly offensive to the eye of an artist
      than the interior of what is termed in the United States—that is to
      say, in Appallachia—a well-furnished apartment. Its most usual
      defect is a want of keeping. We speak of the keeping of a room as we would
      of the keeping of a picture—for both the picture and the room are
      amenable to those undeviating principles which regulate all varieties of
      art; and very nearly the same laws by which we decide on the higher merits
      of a painting, suffice for decision on the adjustment of a chamber.
    
      A want of keeping is observable sometimes in the character of the several
      pieces of furniture, but generally in their colours or modes of adaptation
      to use _Very _often the eye is offended by their inartistic
      arrangement. Straight lines are too prevalent—too uninterruptedly
      continued—or clumsily interrupte
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PG #: 38219
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THE DREAM




FIFTH LECTURE

THE DREAM

_Difficulties and Preliminary Approach_


One day the discovery was made that the disease symptoms of certain
nervous patients have a meaning.[22] Thereupon the psychoanalytic method
of therapy was founded. In this treatment it happened that the patients
also presented dreams in place of their symptoms. Herewith originated
the conjecture that these dreams also have a meaning.

We will not, however, pursue this historical path, but enter upon the
opposite one. We wish to discover the meaning of dreams as preparation
for the study of the neuroses. This inversion is justified, for the
study of dreams is not only the best preparation for that of the
neuroses, but the dream itself is also a neurotic symptom, and in fact
one which possesses for us the incalculable advantage of occurring in
all normals. Indeed, if all human beings were well and would dream, we
could gain from their dreams almost all the insight to which the study
of the neuroses has led.

Thus it is that the dream becomes the object of psychoanalytic
research--again an ordinary, little-considered phenomenon, apparently of
no practical value, like the errors with which, indeed, it shares the
character of occurring in normals. But otherwise the conditions are
rather less favorable for our work. Errors had been neglected only by
science, which had paid little attention to them; but at least it was no
disgrace to occupy one's self with them. People said there are indeed
more important things, but perhaps something may come of it.
Preoccupation with the dream, however, is not merely impractical and
superfluous, but actually ignominious; it carries the odium of the
unscientific, awakens the suspicion of a personal leaning towards
mysticism. The idea of a physician busying himself with dreams when even
in neuropathology and psychiatry there are matters so much more
serious--tumors the size of apples which incapacitate the organ of the
psyche, hemorrhages, and chronic inflammations in which one can
demonstrate changes in the tissues under the microscope! No, the dream
is much too trifling an object, and unworthy of Science.

And besides, it is a condition which in itself defies all the
requirements of exact research--in dream investigation one is not even
sure of one's object. A delusion, for example, presents itself in clear
and definite outlines. "I am the Emperor of China," says the patient
aloud. But the dream? It generally cannot be related at all. If anyone
relates a dream, has he any guarantee that he has told it correctly, and
not changed it during the telling, or invented an addition which was
forced by the indefiniteness of his recollection? Most dreams cannot be
remembered at all, are forgotten except for small fragments. And upon
the interpretation of such material shall a scientific psychology or
method of treatment for patients be based?

A certain excess in judgment may make us suspicious. The objections to
the dream as an object of research obviously go too far. The question of
insignificance we have already had to deal with in discussing errors. We
said to ourselves that important matters may manifest themselves through
small signs. As concerns the indefiniteness of the dream, it is after
all a characteristic like any other. One cannot prescribe the
characteristics of an object. Moreover, there are clear and definite
dreams. And there are other objects of psychiatric research which suffer
from the same trait of indefiniteness, e.g., many compulsion ideas, with
which even respectable and esteemed psychiatrists have occupied
themselves. I might recall the last case which occurred in my practice.
The patient introduced himself to me with the words, "I have a certain
feeling as though I had harmed or had wished to harm some living
thing--a child?--no, more probably a dog--perhaps pushed it off a
bridge--or something else." We can overcome to some degree the
difficulty of uncertain recollection in the dream if we determine that
exactly what the dreamer tells us is to be taken as his dream, without
regard to anything which he has forgotten or may have changed in
recollection. And finally, one cannot make so general an assertion as
that the dream is an unimportant thing. We know from our own experience
that the mood in which one wakes up after a dream may continue
throughout the whole day. Cases have been observed by physicians in
which a psychosis begins with a dream and holds to a delusion which
originated in it. It is related of historical personages that they drew
their inspiration for important deeds from dreams. So we may ask whence
comes the contempt of scientific circles for the dream?

I think it is the reaction to their over-estimation in former times.
Reconstruction of the past is notoriously difficult, but this much we
may assume with certainty--if you will permit me the jest--that our
ancestors of 3000 years ago and more, dreamed much in the way we do. As
far as we know, all ancient peoples a
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PG #: 65145
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65145


Copyright, 1923, by Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.

Published October, 1923

Set up, electrotyped, printed and bound by the Vail-Ballou Press, Inc.,
Binghamton, N. Y.
Paper furnished by W. F. Etherington & Co., New York.

Manufactured in the United States of America




TO MY COLLEAGUES AND FRIENDS
AT THE RICE INSTITUTE
HOUSTON, TEXAS




PREFACE


A preface should be long, like one of Mr. Shaw’s, or short. I propose
the latter.

The essays here collected were written on very various occasions. This
must excuse the considerable overlap that will be found among them. I
have not thought it worth while to attempt to get rid of this, since,
though facts may be repeated, the point of view and general context are
on each occasion different.

Contrary to all custom, I have put the meat courses at the two ends
of my menu. If an author may presume to advise his readers, I would
suggest that, after finishing the first essay, they should (if they
retain a stomach for more) proceed at once to the last. This done, they
will find the others all in a sense lesser variations (if I may change
my metaphor) upon the same themes.

In spite, however, of the diversity of their occasions, there is a
common thread running through them, a common background of ideas. I
do not know whether I am justified in calling those ideas especially
biological, but they are certainly ideas which must present themselves
to any biologist who does not deliberately confine himself to the
technicalities of his science.

The biologist cannot fail to be impressed by the fact that his science
to-day is, roughly and broadly speaking, in the position which
Chemistry and Physics occupied a century ago. It is beginning to reach
down from observation to experimental analysis, and from experimental
analysis to grasp of principle. Furthermore, as the grasp of principles
in physico-chemical science led speedily to an immense new extension
both of knowledge and of control, so it is not to be doubted that
like effects will spring from like causes in biology. But whereas the
extension of control in physics and chemistry led to a multiplication
of the number of things which man could do and experience, the
extension of control in biology will _inter alia_ mean an alteration
of the modes of man’s experience itself. The one, that is to say,
remained in essence a quantitative change so far as concerns the real
life of man; the other can be a qualitative change. Applied physics and
chemistry bring more grist to the mill; applied biology will also be
capable of changing the mill itself.

The possibilities of physiological improvement, of the better
combination of existing psychical faculties, of the education of
old faculties to new heights, and of the discovery of new faculties
altogether--all this is no utopian silliness, but is bound to come
about if science continues her current progress.

Take but one example. In the first half of last century, hypnotism, or
mesmerism as it was then called, was in complete scientific disrepute.
To-day, all the main claims of its founders have been verified, and
many new facts unearthed. Every text-book on the subject will tell
you that men may be made insensible to pain by hypnosis alone without
any drug, many women even being delivered of children under its
influence without suffering. Temperature can be changed, blisters
raised, and many other processes not normally under the control of the
will can similarly be affected. The mind can be raised to an abnormal
sensitiveness, in which differences between objects that are completely
unrecognizable in ordinary waking existence, such as those between the
backs of two cards in a pack, may be easily distinguished.

If such possibilities are open to the empiricism of the hypnotist,
what may we not await from any truly scientific knowledge of mind,
comparable even in low degree to our knowledge of, say, electricity?

But these in a sense are all details, relevant in a way, and yet only
details. There is something still more fundamental in the biologist’s
attitude. He has to study evolution, and in that study there is brought
home to him, more vividly than to any one to whom the facts are not so
familiar, that in spite of all appearances to the contrary there has
been, throughout the whole of evolution, and most markedly in the rise
of man from his pre-human forbears, a real advance, a progress.

He sees further that the most remarkable single feature in that
progress has been the evolution of self-consciousness in the
development of man. That has made possible not only innumerable single
changes, but a change in the very method of change itself; for it
substituted the possibility of conscious control of evolution for the
previous mechanism of the blind chances of variation aided by the
equally blind sifting process of natural selection, a mechanism in
which consciousness had no part.

Most of mankind, now as in the past, close their eyes to this
possibility. They seek to put off their responsibil
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 50742
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/50742


The Prelude


Now we have heard, by inquiry, of the glory of the kings of the
people, they of the Spear-Danes, how the Athelings were doing deeds
of courage. [3] Full often Scyld, the son of Scef, with troops of
warriors, withheld the drinking-stools from many a tribe. This
earl caused terror when at first he was found in a miserable
case. Afterwards he gave help when he grew up under the welkin,
and worshipfully he flourished until all his neighbours over the sea
gave him obedience, and yielded him tribute. He was a good king. In
after-time there was born to him a son in the Court, whom God sent
thither as a saviour of the people. He saw the dire distress that
they formerly suffered when for a long while they were without a
prince. Then it was that the Lord of Life, the Wielder of glory,
gave to him glory. Famous was Beowulf. [4] Far and wide spread his
fame. Heir was he of Scyld in the land of the Danes. Thus should
a young man be doing good deeds, with rich gifts to the friends of
his father, so that in later days, when war shall come upon them,
boon companions may stand at his side, helping their liege lord. For
in all nations, by praiseworthy deeds, shall a man be thriving.

At the fated hour Scyld passed away, very vigorous in spirit, to the
keeping of his Lord. Then his pleasant companions carried him down to
the ocean flood, as he himself had bidden them, whilst the friend of
the Scyldings was wielding words, he who as the dear Lord of the Land
had ruled it a long time. And there, in the haven, stood the ship,
with rings at the prow, icy, and eager for the journey, the ferry of
the Atheling.

Then they laid down their dear Lord the giver of rings, the famous
man, on the bosom of the ship, close to the mast, where were heaps of
treasures, armour trappings that had been brought from far ways. Never
heard I of a comelier ship, decked out with battle-weapons and
weeds of war, with swords and byrnies. In his bosom they laid many
a treasure when he was going on a far journey, into the power of
the sea. Nor did they provide for him less of booty and of national
treasures than they had done, who at the first had sent him forth,
all alone o'er the waves, when he was but a child. Then moreover they
set a golden standard high o'er his head, and let the sea take him,
and gave all to the man of the sea. Full sad were their minds, and all
sorrowing were they. No man can say soothly, no, not any hall-ruler,
nor hero under heaven, who took in that lading. [5]










The Story



Moreover the Danish Beowulf, [6] the dear King of his people, was
a long time renowned amongst the folk in the cities (his father,
the Prince, had gone a-faring elsewhere from this world). Then was
there born to him a son, the high Healfdene; and while he lived he
was ruling the happy Danish people, and war-fierce and ancient was
he. Four children were born to him: Heorogar the leader of troops, and
Hrothgar, and Halga the good. And I heard say that Queen Elan (wife
of Ongentheow) was his daughter, and she became the beloved comrade
of the Swede. Then to Hrothgar was granted good speed in warfare and
honour in fighting, so that his loyal subjects eagerly obeyed him,
until the youths grew doughty, a very great band of warriors. Then
it burned in his mind that he would bid men be building a palace,
a greater mead-hall than the children of men ever had heard of, and
that he would therein distribute to young and to old, as God gave him
power, all the wealth that he had save the share of the folk and the
lives of men.

Then I heard far and wide how he gave commandment to many a people
throughout all the world, this work to be doing, and to deck out
the folkstead. In due time it happened that soon among men, this
greatest of halls was now all ready. And Hart he called it, whose
word had great wielding. He broke not his promise, but gave to them
rings and treasures at the banquet. The hall towered on high, and the
gables were wide between the horns, [7] and awaited the surging of the
loathsome flames. Not long time should pass ere hatred was awakened
after the battle-slaughter, twixt father-in-law and son-in-law. [8]

Then it was that the powerful sprite who abode in darkness, scarce
could brook for a while that daily he heard loud joy in the hall. There
was sound of harping, and the clear song of the bard.

He who knew it was telling of the beginning of mankind, and he
said that the Almighty created the world, and the bright fields
surrounded by water. And, exulting, He set the sun and the moon as
lamps to shine upon the earth-dwellers, and adorned the world with
branches and leaves. And life He was giving to every kind of living
creature. So noble men lived in joy, and were all blessed till one
began to do evil, a devil from hell; and this grim spirit was called
Grendel. And he was a march-stepper, who ruled on the moorlands, the
fens, and the stronghold. For a while he kept guard, this unhappy
creature, over the land of the race of monsters
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PG #: 23661
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/23661



He happened to be building a Palace when the news came, and he left all
the bricks kicking about the floor for Nurse to clear up--but then the
news was rather remarkable news. You see, there was a knock at the front
door and voices talking downstairs, and Lionel thought it was the man
come to see about the gas, which had not been allowed to be lighted
since the day when Lionel made a swing by tying his skipping rope to the
gas bracket.

And then, quite suddenly, Nurse came in and said, "Master Lionel, dear,
they've come to fetch you to go and be King."

Then she made haste to change his smock and to wash his face and hands
and brush his hair, and all the time she was doing it Lionel kept
wriggling and fidgeting and saying, "Oh, don't, Nurse," and, "I'm sure
my ears are quite clean," or, "Never mind my hair, it's all right," and,
"That'll do."

"You're going on as if you was going to be an eel instead of a King,"
said Nurse.

The minute Nurse let go for a moment Lionel bolted off without waiting
for his clean handkerchief, and in the drawing room there were two very
grave-looking gentlemen in red robes with fur, and gold coronets with
velvet sticking up out of the middle like the cream in the very
expensive jam tarts.

They bowed low to Lionel, and the gravest one said: "Sire, your
great-great-great-great-great-grandfather, the King of this country, is
dead, and now you have got to come and be King."

"Yes, please, sir," said Lionel, "when does it begin?"

"You will be crowned this afternoon," said the grave gentleman who was
not quite so grave-looking as the other.

"Would you like me to bring Nurse, or what time would you like me to be
fetched, and hadn't I better put on my velvet suit with the lace
collar?" said Lionel, who had often been out to tea.

"Your Nurse will be removed to the Palace later. No, never mind about
changing your suit; the Royal robes will cover all that up."

The grave gentlemen led the way to a coach with eight white horses,
which was drawn up in front of the house where Lionel lived. It was No.
7, on the left-hand side of the street as you go up.

Lionel ran upstairs at the last minute, and he kissed Nurse and said:
"Thank you for washing me. I wish I'd let you do the other ear.
No--there's no time now. Give me the hanky. Good-bye, Nurse."

"Good-bye, ducky," said Nurse. "Be a good little King now, and say
'please' and 'thank you,' and remember to pass the cake to the little
girls, and don't have more than two helps of anything."

So off went Lionel to be made a King. He had never expected to be a King
any more than you have, so it was all quite new to him--so new that he
had never even thought of it. And as the coach went through the town he
had to bite his tongue to be quite sure it was real, because if his
tongue was real it showed he wasn't dreaming. Half an hour before he had
been building with bricks in the nursery; and now--the streets were all
fluttering with flags; every window was crowded with people waving
handkerchiefs and scattering flowers; there were scarlet soldiers
everywhere along the pavements, and all the bells of all the churches
were ringing like mad, and like a great song to the music of their
ringing he heard thousands of people shouting, "Long live Lionel! Long
live our little King!"

He was a little sorry at first that he had not put on his best clothes,
but he soon forgot to think about that. If he had been a girl he would
very likely have bothered about it the whole time.

As they went along, the grave gentlemen, who were the Chancellor and the
Prime Minister, explained the things which Lionel did not understand.

"I thought we were a Republic," said Lionel. "I'm sure there hasn't been
a King for some time."

"Sire, your great-great-great-great-great-grandfather's death happened
when my grandfather was a little boy," said the Prime Minister, "and
since then your loyal people have been saving up to buy you a crown--so
much a week, you know, according to people's means--sixpence a week from
those who have first-rate pocket money, down to a halfpenny a week from
those who haven't so much. You know it's the rule that the crown must be
paid for by the people."

"But hadn't my great-great-however-much-it-is-grandfather a crown?"

"Yes, but he sent it to be tinned over, for fear of vanity, and he had
had all the jewels taken out, and sold them to buy books. He was a
strange man; a very good King he was, but he had his faults--he was fond
of books. Almost with his last breath he sent the crown to be
tinned--and he never lived to pay the tinsmith's bill."

Here the Prime Minister wiped away a tear, and just then the carriage
stopped and Lionel was taken out of the carriage to be crowned. Being
crowned is much more tiring work than you would suppose, and by the time
it was over, and Lionel had worn the Royal robes for an hour or two and
had had his hand kissed by everybody whose business it was to do it, he
was quite worn out, and was very glad to get into the P
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PG #: 4928
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/4928

  XXXIX. Thor's Visit to Jotunheim
     XL. The Death of Baldur--The Elves--Runic Letters--Skalds--Iceland
         --Teutonic Mythology--The Nibelungen Lied
         --Wagner's Nibelungen Ring
    XLI. The Druids--Iona

KING ARTHUR AND HIS KNIGHTS


    I. Introduction
   II. The Mythical History of England
  III. Merlin
   IV. Arthur
    V. Arthur (Continued)
   VI. Sir Gawain
  VII. Caradoc Briefbras; or, Caradoc with the Shrunken Arm
 VIII. Launcelot of the Lake
   IX. The Adventure of the Cart
    X. The Lady of Shalott
   XI. Queen Guenever's Peril
  XII. Tristram and Isoude
 XIII. Tristram and Isoude (Continued)
  XIV. Sir Tristram's Battle with Sir Launcelot
   XV. The Round Table
  XVI. Sir Palamedes
 XVII. Sir Tristram
  XIX. The Sangreal, or Holy Graal
   XX. The Sangreal (Continued)
  XXI. The Sangreal (Continued)
 XXII. Sir Agrivain's Treason


THE MABINOGEON


      Introductory Note
   I. The Britons
  II. The Lady of the Fountain
 III. The Lady of the Fountain (Continued)
  IV. The Lady of the Fountain (Continued)
   V. Geraint, the Son of Erbin
  VI. Geraint, the Son of Erbin (Continued)
 VII. Geraint, the Son of Erbin (Continued)
  IX. Branwen, the Daughter of Llyr
   X. Manawyddan
  XI. Kilwich and Olwen
 XII. Kilwich and Olwen (Continued)


HERO MYTHS OF THE BRITISH RACE


Beowulf
Cuchulain, Champion of Ireland
Hereward the Wake
Robin Hood

LEGENDS OF CHARLEMAGNE


Introduction
The Peers, or Paladins
The Tournament
The Siege of Albracca
Adventures of Rinaldo and Orlando
The Invasion of France
The Invasion of France (Continued)

Bradamante and Rogero
Astolpho and the Enchantress
The Orc
Astolpho's Adventures continued, and Isabella's begun.
Medoro
Orlando Mad
Zerbino and Isabella
Astolpho in Abyssinia
The War in Africa
Rogero and Bradamante
The Battle of Roncesvalles
Rinaldo and Bayard
Death of Rinaldo
Huon of Bordeaux
Huon of Bordeaux (Continued)
Huon of Bordeaux (Continued)
Ogier, the Dane
Ogier, the Dane (Continued)
Ogier, the Dane (Continued)

GLOSSARY





STORIES OF GODS AND HEROES


INTRODUCTION


The religions of ancient Greece and Rome are extinct. The so-
called divinities of Olympus have not a single worshipper among
living men. They belong now not to the department of theology, but
to those of literature and taste. There they still hold their
place, and will continue to hold it, for they are too closely
connected with the finest productions of poetry and art, both
ancient and modern, to pass into oblivion.

We propose to tell the stories relating to them which have come
down to us from the ancients, and which are alluded to by modern
poets, essayists, and orators. Our readers may thus at the same
time be entertained by the most charming fictions which fancy has
ever created, and put in possession of information indispensable
to every one who would read with intelligence the elegant
literature of his own day.

In order to understand these stories, it will be necessary to
acquaint ourselves with the ideas of the structure of the universe
which prevailed among the Greeks--the people from whom the
Romans, and other nations through them, received their science and
religion.

The Greeks believed the earth to be flat and circular, their own
country occupying the middle of it, the central point being either
Mount Olympus, the abode of the gods, or Delphi, so famous for its
oracle.

The circular disk of the earth was crossed from west to east and
divided into two equal parts by the Sea, as they called the
Mediterranean, and its continuation the Euxine, the only seas with
which they were acquainted.

Around the earth flowed the River Ocean, its course being from
south to north on the western side of the earth, and in a contrary
direction on the eastern side. It flowed in a steady, equable
current, unvexed by storm or tempest. The sea, and all the rivers
on earth, received their waters from it.

The northern portion of the earth was supposed to be inhabited by
a happy race named the Hyperboreans, dwelling in everlasting bliss
and spring beyond the lofty mountains whose caverns were supposed
to send forth the piercing blasts of the north wind, which chilled
the people of Hellas (Greece). Their country was inaccessible by
land or sea. They lived exempt from disease or old age, from toils
and warfare. Moore has given us the "Song of a Hyperborean,"
beginning

    "I come from a land in the sun-bright deep,
        Where golden gardens glow,
     Where the winds of the north, becalmed in sleep,
        Their conch shells never blow."

On the south side of the earth, close to the stream of Ocean,
dwelt a people happy and virtuous as the Hyperboreans. They were
named the Aethiopians. The gods favored them so highly that they
were wont to leave at times their Olympian abodes and go to share
their sacrifices and banquets.

On the western margin of the earth, by the stream of Ocean, lay a
happy place named the Elysian Plain, whither mortals favored by
the gods were transported without tasting of 
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This is a retranscription of one of the first Project
Gutenberg Etexts, offically dated November 22, 1973--
and now officially re-released on November 22, 1993--
on the 30th anniversary of his assassination.



***The Project Gutenberg Etext of Kennedy's Inaugural Address**

JFK's Inaugural Address, January 20, 1961, 12:11 EST


We observe today not a victory of party but a celebration of freedom. . .
symbolizing an end as well as a beginning. . .signifying renewal
as well as change for I have sworn before you and Almighty God
the same solemn oath our forbears prescribed nearly a century
and three-quarters ago.

The world is very different now, for man holds in his mortal hands
the power to abolish all forms of human poverty and all forms of human life.
And yet the same revolutionary beliefs for which our forbears fought
are still at issue around the globe. . .the belief that the rights of man
come not from the generosity of the state but from the hand of God.
We dare not forget today that we are the heirs of that first revolution.

Let the word go forth from this time and place. . .to friend and foe alike. . .
that the torch has been passed to a new generation of Americans. . .
born in this century, tempered by war, disciplined by a hard and bitter peace,
proud of our ancient heritage. . .and unwilling to witness or permit the slow
undoing of those human rights to which this nation has always been committed,
and to which we are committed today. . .at home and around the world.

Let every nation know. . .whether it wishes us well or ill. . .
that we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship,
support any friend, oppose any foe, to assure the survival and
the success of liberty.  This much we pledge. . .and more.

To those old allies whose cultural and spiritual origins we share:
we pledge the loyalty of faithful friends.  United. . .there is
little we cannot do in a host of co-operative ventures.
Divided. . .there is little we can do. . .for we dare not meet
a powerful challenge, at odds, and split asunder.
To those new states whom we welcome to the ranks of the free:
we pledge our word that one form of colonial control shall not
have passed away merely to be replaced by a far more iron tyranny.
We shall not always expect to find them supporting our view.
But we shall always hope to find them strongly supporting their
own freedom. . .and to remember that. . .in the past. . .those who
foolishly sought power by riding the back of the tiger ended up inside.
To those people in the huts and villages of half the globe
struggling to break the bonds of mass misery:  we pledge our best
efforts to help them help themselves, for whatever period
is required. . .not because the Communists may be doing it,
not because we seek their votes, but because it is right.
If a free society cannot help the many who are poor,
it cannot save the few who are rich.

To our sister republics south of our border:  we offer a special pledge. . .
to convert our good words into good deeds. . .in a new alliance for progress
. . .to assist free men and free governments in casting off the chains of
poverty.  But this peaceful revolution of hope cannot become the prey of
hostile powers.  Let all our neighbors know that we shall join with them
to oppose aggression or subversion anywhere in the Americas. . .and let
every other power know that this hemisphere intends to remain the master
of its own house.

To that world assembly of sovereign states:  the United Nations. . .
our last best hope in an age where the instruments of war
have far outpaced the instruments of peace, we renew our pledge
of support. . .to prevent it from becoming merely a forum for
invective. . .to strengthen its shield of the new and the weak. . .
and to enlarge the area in which its writ may run.

Finally, to those nations who would make themselves our adversaries,
we offer not a pledge but a request:  that both sides begin anew
the quest for peace; before the dark powers of destruction unleashed
by science engulf all humanity in planned or accidental self-destruction.
We dare not tempt them with weakness.  For only when our arms are sufficient
beyond doubt can we be certain beyond doubt that they will never be employed.
But neither can two great and powerful groups of nations take comfort from
our present course. . .both sides overburdened by the cost of modern weapons,
both rightly alarmed by the steady spread of the deadly atom, yet both racing
to alter that uncertain balance of terror that stays the hand of Mankind's
final war.

So let us begin anew. . .remembering on both sides that civility
is not a sign of weakness, and sincerity is always subject to proof.
Let us never negotiate out of fear, but let us never fear to negotiate.
Let both sides explore what problems unite us instead of belaboring
those problems which divide us.  Let both sides, for the first time,
formulate serious and precise proposals for the inspection and
control of arms. . .and bring
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WHEN the porter’s wife (she used to answer the house-bell), announced “A
gentleman—with a lady, sir,” I had, as I often had in those days, for the
wish was father to the thought, an immediate vision of sitters.  Sitters
my visitors in this case proved to be; but not in the sense I should have
preferred.  However, there was nothing at first to indicate that they
might not have come for a portrait.  The gentleman, a man of fifty, very
high and very straight, with a moustache slightly grizzled and a dark
grey walking-coat admirably fitted, both of which I noted
professionally—I don’t mean as a barber or yet as a tailor—would have
struck me as a celebrity if celebrities often were striking.  It was a
truth of which I had for some time been conscious that a figure with a
good deal of frontage was, as one might say, almost never a public
institution.  A glance at the lady helped to remind me of this
paradoxical law: she also looked too distinguished to be a “personality.”
Moreover one would scarcely come across two variations together.

Neither of the pair spoke immediately—they only prolonged the preliminary
gaze which suggested that each wished to give the other a chance.  They
were visibly shy; they stood there letting me take them in—which, as I
afterwards perceived, was the most practical thing they could have done.
In this way their embarrassment served their cause.  I had seen people
painfully reluctant to mention that they desired anything so gross as to
be represented on canvas; but the scruples of my new friends appeared
almost insurmountable.  Yet the gentleman might have said “I should like
a portrait of my wife,” and the lady might have said “I should like a
portrait of my husband.”  Perhaps they were not husband and wife—this
naturally would make the matter more delicate.  Perhaps they wished to be
done together—in which case they ought to have brought a third person to
break the news.

“We come from Mr. Rivet,” the lady said at last, with a dim smile which
had the effect of a moist sponge passed over a “sunk” piece of painting,
as well as of a vague allusion to vanished beauty.  She was as tall and
straight, in her degree, as her companion, and with ten years less to
carry.  She looked as sad as a woman could look whose face was not
charged with expression; that is her tinted oval mask showed friction as
an exposed surface shows it.  The hand of time had played over her
freely, but only to simplify.  She was slim and stiff, and so
well-dressed, in dark blue cloth, with lappets and pockets and buttons,
that it was clear she employed the same tailor as her husband.  The
couple had an indefinable air of prosperous thrift—they evidently got a
good deal of luxury for their money.  If I was to be one of their
luxuries it would behove me to consider my terms.

“Ah, Claude Rivet recommended me?” I inquired; and I added that it was
very kind of him, though I could reflect that, as he only painted
landscape, this was not a sacrifice.

The lady looked very hard at the gentleman, and the gentleman looked
round the room.  Then staring at the floor a moment and stroking his
moustache, he rested his pleasant eyes on me with the remark:

“He said you were the right one.”

“I try to be, when people want to sit.”

“Yes, we should like to,” said the lady anxiously.

“Do you mean together?”

My visitors exchanged a glance.  “If you could do anything with _me_, I
suppose it would be double,” the gentleman stammered.

“Oh yes, there’s naturally a higher charge for two figures than for one.”

“We should like to make it pay,” the husband confessed.

“That’s very good of you,” I returned, appreciating so unwonted a
sympathy—for I supposed he meant pay the artist.

A sense of strangeness seemed to dawn on the lady.  “We mean for the
illustrations—Mr. Rivet said you might put one in.”

“Put one in—an illustration?” I was equally confused.

“Sketch her off, you know,” said the gentleman, colouring.

It was only then that I understood the service Claude Rivet had rendered
me; he had told them that I worked in black and white, for magazines, for
story-books, for sketches of contemporary life, and consequently had
frequent employment for models.  These things were true, but it was not
less true (I may confess it now—whether because the aspiration was to
lead to everything or to nothing I leave the reader to guess), that I
couldn’t get the honours, to say nothing of the emoluments, of a great
painter of portraits out of my head.  My “illustrations” were my
pot-boilers; I looked to a different branch of art (far and away the most
interesting it had always seemed to me), to perpetuate my fame.  There
was no shame in looking to it also to make my fortune; but that fortune
was by so much further from being made from the moment my visitors wished
to be “done” for nothing.  I was disappointed; for in the pictorial sense
I had immediately _seen_ them.  I had seized their type—I had already
settled what I would do with it.  Something t
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JINGLES

  BY
  FRANK J. MEDINA


  THE SMITH-BROOKS PRESS, DENVER




  COPYRIGHT 1919
  BY
  FRANK J. MEDINA
  Denver, Colo.




CONTENTS


                                                                    PAGE

  ALONE                                                               12
      _It’s queer how seasons affect us sometimes_,

  BOARDER’S SOLILOQUY                                                 14
      _To board or not to board? That is the question_,

  ECHOES FROM THE SEA                                                  7
      _Drifting along in my gallant craft_,

  ESCAPED FROM THE LAW                                                30
      _They started out all bright and gay_,

  GOING, GOING, GONE                                                  17
      _Where are you going, my dear young man?_

  HER GENTLEMAN FRIEND                                                33
      _He’s tall, handsome; eyes of blue_;

  I’S OO BOY                                                          34
      _I hug him closely to my breast_,

  “IT’S ALL BEEN DONE BEFORE”                                         13
      _There are many things in this world_

  LAWYER TAFFY AND DR. PILL                                           22
      _There are two distinguished gentlemen_,

  LIFE’S REALITY                                                       6
      _Gather ’round me closely and a story I’ll relate_

  LITTLE LIFE                                                         24
      _Little infants_,

  LONELINESS                                                          16
      _Loneliness is not a pain_,

  LOVE AT DAWN                                                        10
      _The fields are full of flowers_,

  LOVE WILL FIND THE WAY                                               9
      _Though oceans divide, apart they roam_,

  MY JINGLES                                                           5
      _These jingles, I present to thee_,

  MY LADY FAIR                                                        20
      _My lady loves the poems that are old_;

  MY WIFE                                                             25
      _What? You ask me if I’m happy_

  OUR LAST GOODNIGHT                                                  32
      _“Goodnight! goodnight!” Our last “goodnight!”_

  OLD AND NEW                                                         23
      _The old oaken bucket_,

  PARTING                                                             36
      _Tonight we part forever, though it fills my heart with pain_;

  PLEADING SUITOR                                                     12
      _Give me the love, the love I crave_

  ROCKY MOUNTAINS                                                      8
      _I love to climb these hills unique_,

  SMALL TOWN HOTEL                                                    18
      _A bed, a washstand, a lamp and a chair_,

  SONGS OF LONG AGO                                                   20
      _Deep in my heart I cherish memories of the past_,

  THAT’S MY BEAU                                                      21
      _A great big fellow_,

  THAT’S MY PA                                                        29
      _Always stern_,

  THAT’S MY WIFE                                                      28
      _Rich brown hair_,

  THE ACTOR’S FAREWELL                                                27
      _The actor stood with his only love_,

  THE SCHOOL HOUSE ON THE PLAIN                                       26
      _’Tis not far from the foothills_,

  THE SEA OF LIFE                                                     19
      _Smoothly we sail o’er life’s mighty sea_,

  THE TICKING OF THE CLOCK                                            15
      _Far from friends and comrades_,

  THE WILD AND WOOLLY WEST                                            31
      _You call us wild--just tell me why_;

  ’TWAS NOT TO BE                                                     35
      _I’ve been thinking of the many things_

  TRUTH                                                               36
      _If in life you would succeed_,

  WHO?                                                                17
      _Who lights the stars that twinkle at night?_

  WHO WAS THE FOOL?                                                   11
      _A fool there was, so the story goes_,


[Illustration: _Frank J. Medina_]




My Jingles


  These jingles, I present to thee,
  Were written years ago by me;
  Some are fair and some are not,
  Some, you’ll say, are simply rot;
  Some’s not worth the second look--
  But then I had to fill the book.




Life’s Reality


  Gather ’round me closely and a story I’ll relate
  Of life in different stages--its sad and happy state--
  When as a youth, before the storm and all the world is fair,
  And then a man of middle-age, with nothing left but care.
  Life’s story has a happy hue and the wo
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PG #: 49157
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The Little Girl’s Sewing Book




    THE
    LITTLE GIRL’S
    SEWING BOOK

    EDITED BY FLORA KLICKMANN

    [Illustration]

    New York:
    Frederick A. Stokes Company, Publishers.




[Illustration]



A Word to the Grown-ups.


This book contains lessons in practically all the stitches used in
plain needlework, as well as the more useful of the fancy stitches.
Each article described and illustrated will be found to contain
instructions for some definite branch of sewing; and though all the
stitches required in making the article will not necessarily be
illustrated in that chapter, they will appear in other chapters, and
can easily be referred to, by aid of the comprehensive index.




[Illustration]




Things you can make for Yourself.




A Handy Work Apron.


If you are going to set to work to make some of the pretty articles
described in this little book, the little work apron shown in the
picture on this page is just the very thing you will need to put on
while you are sewing.

It has two deep pockets and two small ones, and you will be able to put
the silks and cottons necessary, for whatever it is you are making,
into these, so that they will be ready as you want to use them.

[Illustration: THIS HAS FOUR POCKETS]

You will find it is so handy, too, to have a pocket to slip your
scissors into after cutting your thread. You know what a nasty way they
have of slipping off your lap on to the floor. And then, when you pick
them up, it is quite likely that you get a little dust on your hands,
and this gets on to your pretty work and makes it look soiled.

Then, when your sewing time is ended for the day, how convenient it is
to be able to fold your work away in your little work apron, so that it
is kept well protected from any stray specks of dust, and will be quite
ready for you when next you want it.

So you see how this little apron is going to help you to keep your work
nice and clean, and I am sure you will want to make yourself one as
quickly as ever you can, so let us see how it is done.

You will only need 1 yard of material to make the apron, and this can
be white or coloured as you prefer. A soft linen or sateen would make
up well. For the featherstitching use coloured “Star Sylko” thread, as
this will wash without the colour running.

To cut out the apron, first measure off 4 inches of the material, and
cut across from selvedge to selvedge; this will form the band. The
piece used for the apron itself is 32 inches long and 20 inches wide,
and when you have cut this you will have a strip left for making the
small pockets, which should each be 6 inches square. To make the points
at the bottom of the pockets, fold each square right down the centre,
measure 1½ inches up the double cut edges, and cut off the corners on
the cross to the edge of the centre fold.

[Illustration: GATHERING, STROKING, AND PUTTING INTO A BAND.]

Now take the piece you have cut for the apron, and turn a quarter-inch
hem along both the sides and one of the ends of this strip, tack these
along carefully, and hem neatly. We give directions for tacking and
hemming on page 18.

To form the large double pocket, fold the hemmed end of the strip up 11
inches, and oversew the edges of the side hems together. Directions for
oversewing are given on page 28. Now place a tacking line right down
the centre of the pocket The small patch pockets should then be added.
Turn a quarter-inch hem along the top of each of these, and a single
narrow turning round the other edges. Hem one of these on to each side
of the large pocket, placing them about 3½ inches down from the top of
the large pocket, and 3 inches in from the side edges of the apron.

[Illustration: HOW THE FEATHER-STITCHING IS DONE.]

Now take the band strip, tack a single turning round all edges and
fold right along the centre. Gather the top of the apron, draw the
gathers up tightly (winding the thread round a pin so that it will be
ready when you want to let them out again), and carefully stroke down
each gathered stitch with your needle to make them set nicely. Now let
out the gathers until the apron is 13 inches wide, place the gathered
edge between the folded band, taking care that you get the centre of
the band and the centre of the apron together, and hem along each side
of the work. You will see that you have a little picture showing you
exactly how this should be done.

The open edges of the ends of the band should be oversewn together.

When you have finished sewing on your band you will need to put a
button on one end and to make a buttonhole in the other end. If you
are not quite sure how to make a buttonhole nicely you had better look
carefully at the illustrations showing how to do this.

First fold the end of the band, and cut your buttonhole through
the fold and exactly in a line with a thread of the material; the
buttonhole should be cut just large enough for you to put your button
through easily. Before you commence to work the buttonholes make a line
of 
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her husband, but the Lady Johanna must have died before the year
1490.[98] The facts on which that view is founded are the presence of
the royal and Douglas arms impaled, and “the male figure being
sculptured with an earl’s coronet, to which none of the previous lords
of Dalkeith had a right, although they were allied to royalty.”[99]

[Illustration: FIG. 1133.--The Collegiate Church of Dalkeith. Monument
in Choir.]

The monument is in a very dilapidated condition, the base and lower half
of the pedestal being buried in earth and rubbish, the accumulation of
centuries. The arms on the pedestal (see Fig. 1133) are the same as
those already referred to as carved at the heads of the figures. They
are repeated on the opposite side of the pedestal, but in inverse order.
The canopied work along the top of the pedestal is similar to what is
seen surmounting a fragment of royal arms at Dunfermline (see Fig. 218),
which fragment may also have been part of a tomb.

The precise date of the founding of the Chapel of St. Nicholas does not
appear to be known, but since 1372, when Robert II. granted a licence to
James of Douglas to endow a chaplainry therein, frequent notices of it
appear.[100]

In 1390 Sir James Douglas, first Lord of Dalkeith (already referred to),
“bequeathed, besides a cup and a missal, a sum of money for the
reparation and roofing of the Chapel of St. Nicholas at Dalkeith;” and
by another

[Illustration: FIG. 1134.--The Collegiate Church of Dalkeith. Effigies
on Monument in Choir.]

deed two years later, “he assigns the residue of his goods to the fabric
and ornament of the said chapel,”[101] and for other purposes. Before
his death, in 1420, he raised the chapel to the rank of a Collegiate
Church, and is supposed to have finished the building, endowing it with
“stipends and manses for a provest and five prebendaries, as perpetual
chaplains.”[102] In 1467 St. Nicholas was disjoined from Lasswade, and
Dalkeith was made a separate parish, and in 1477 the church was enlarged
by the

[Illustration: FIG. 1135.--The Collegiate Church of Dalkeith.

Shield at Head of Lady.]

addition of three canonries, endowed by the Earl of Morton. At the
Reformation, St. Nicholas’ was settled as the Presbyterian church of the
parish.

In 1686 the minister reported the church to be ruinous, and the
Presbytery ordered it to be made wind and water tight.

On the north side of the church there is a vault occupied as the funeral
vault of the Buccleuch family.




ST. MUNGO’S CHURCH, BORTHWICK, MID-LOTHIAN.


This church is situated near the well known castle of the same name in
the south-east part of the county, and about nine miles from Edinburgh.
With the exception of the south aisle or chapel, the church (Fig. 1136)
was entirely rebuilt about forty years ago.[103] To judge from what of
the old plan can now be made out, the structure has originally been a
Norman one, with aisleless nave and choir, and a circular eastern apse.
The reconstruction of the edifice included that of the apse and the
south wall of the chancel, which, although not entirely new, are yet
practically so, none of the ancient architectural features being left,
but only, at most, some of the walling. The apse is about 16 feet wide
by about 10 feet 6 inches deep, and was lighted by three narrow widely
splayed windows. The chancel was about 16 feet 6 inches long by 22 feet
wide. The south wall contained two windows, and apparently a piscina,
but all these features have disappeared, as well as the more important
arches which formed the entrance to the chancel and the apse.

A south aisle or chapel (see Fig. 1136) has been added to the church. It
is entire and is a good example of Scottish Gothic of the latter half of
the fifteenth century, having in all probability been built about the
same time as the castle, the licence for the erection of which is dated
1430. William de Borthwick, a man of some eminence, was created Lord
Borthwick shortly before that date, and the aisle is believed to have
been erected by him. This aisle is vaulted with a pointed barrel vault,
covered on the

[Illustration: FIG. 1136.--St. Mungo’s Church. Plan.]

outside with a stone roof (Fig. 1137), to resist the thrusts of which
massive buttresses are provided. The roof consists of overlapping stone
flags, carefully wrought, and the cornice at the wall head (Fig. 1138)
is ornamented with carved heads and leaves alternately. The chapel
contains in the south wall a recess for a monument, and the remains of
two piscinas and a locker in the south and west walls. There is a small
pointed window in

[Illustration: FIG. 1137.--St. Mungo’s Church. South Aisle, from
South-West.]

the west side, and a larger one in the south end. The tracery of the
latter is probably modern, as is the west doorway. The wide arch which

[Illustration: FIG. 1138.--St. Mungo’s Church. Cornice of Aisle.]

formerly opened into the church has been built up.

A stately monument (Fig. 1139), containing two recumbent figu
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Just where the Sierra Nevada begins to subside in gentler undulations,
and the rivers grow less rapid and yellow, on the side of a great red
mountain, stands “Smith's Pocket.” Seen from the red road at sunset,
in the red light and the red dust, its white houses look like the
outcroppings of quartz on the mountainside. The red stage topped
with red-shirted passengers is lost to view half a dozen times in the
tortuous descent, turning up unexpectedly in out-of-the-way places, and
vanishing altogether within a hundred yards of the town. It is probably
owing to this sudden twist in the road that the advent of a stranger
at Smith's Pocket is usually attended with a peculiar circumstance.
Dismounting from the vehicle at the stage office, the too-confident
traveler is apt to walk straight out of town under the impression that
it lies in quite another direction. It is related that one of the tunnel
men, two miles from town, met one of these self-reliant passengers
with a carpetbag, umbrella, Harper's Magazine, and other evidences of
“Civilization and Refinement,” plodding along over the road he had just
ridden, vainly endeavoring to find the settlement of Smith's Pocket.

An observant traveler might have found some compensation for his
disappointment in the weird aspect of that vicinity. There were huge
fissures on the hillside, and displacements of the red soil, resembling
more the chaos of some primary elemental upheaval than the work of
man; while halfway down, a long flume straddled its narrow body and
disproportionate legs over the chasm, like an enormous fossil of some
forgotten antediluvian. At every step smaller ditches crossed the road,
hiding in their sallow depths unlovely streams that crept away to a
clandestine union with the great yellow torrent below, and here and
there were the ruins of some cabin with the chimney alone left intact
and the hearthstone open to the skies.

The settlement of Smith's Pocket owed its origin to the finding of a
“pocket” on its site by a veritable Smith. Five thousand dollars were
taken out of it in one half-hour by Smith. Three thousand dollars were
expended by Smith and others in erecting a flume and in tunneling. And
then Smith's Pocket was found to be only a pocket, and subject like
other pockets to depletion. Although Smith pierced the bowels of the
great red mountain, that five thousand dollars was the first and last
return of his labor. The mountain grew reticent of its golden secrets,
and the flume steadily ebbed away the remainder of Smith's fortune.
Then Smith went into quartz-mining; then into quartz-milling; then into
hydraulics and ditching, and then by easy degrees into saloonkeeping.
Presently it was whispered that Smith was drinking a great deal; then it
was known that Smith was a habitual drunkard, and then people began to
think, as they are apt to, that he had never been anything else. But the
settlement of Smith's Pocket, like that of most discoveries, was happily
not dependent on the fortune of its pioneer, and other parties projected
tunnels and found pockets. So Smith's Pocket became a settlement, with
its two fancy stores, its two hotels, its one express office, and its
two first families. Occasionally its one long straggling street was
overawed by the assumption of the latest San Francisco fashions,
imported per express, exclusively to the first families; making outraged
Nature, in the ragged outline of her furrowed surface, look still more
homely, and putting personal insult on that greater portion of the
population to whom the Sabbath, with a change of linen, brought merely
the necessity of cleanliness without the luxury of adornment. Then there
was a Methodist Church, and hard by a Monte Bank, and a little beyond,
on the mountainside, a graveyard; and then a little schoolhouse.

“The Master,” as he was known to his little flock, sat alone one night
in the schoolhouse, with some open copybooks before him, carefully
making those bold and full characters which are supposed to combine the
extremes of chirographical and moral excellence, and had got as far as
“Riches are deceitful,” and was elaborating the noun with an insincerity
of flourish that was quite in the spirit of his text, when he heard a
gentle tapping. The woodpeckers had been busy about the roof during
the day, and the noise did not disturb his work. But the opening of the
door, and the tapping continuing from the inside, caused him to look
up. He was slightly startled by the figure of a young girl, dirty
and shabbily clad. Still, her great black eyes, her coarse, uncombed,
lusterless black hair falling over her sunburned face, her red arms
and feet streaked with the red soil, were all familiar to him. It was
Melissa Smith--Smith's motherless child.

“What can she want here?” thought the master. Everybody knew “Mliss,”
 as she was called, throughout the length and height of Red Mountain.
Everybody knew her as an incorrigible girl. Her fierce, ungovernable
disposition, her mad freaks and
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cover




The Fortunes and Misfortunes of the Famous Moll Flanders, &c.


Who was Born in Newgate, and during a Life of continu’d Variety for
Threescore Years, besides her Childhood, was Twelve Year a Whore, five
times a Wife (whereof once to her own Brother), Twelve Year a Thief,
Eight Year a Transported Felon in Virginia, at last grew Rich, liv’d
Honest, and dies a Penitent. Written from her own Memorandums . . .

by Daniel Defoe




THE AUTHOR’S PREFACE


The world is so taken up of late with novels and romances, that it will
be hard for a private history to be taken for genuine, where the names
and other circumstances of the person are concealed, and on this
account we must be content to leave the reader to pass his own opinion
upon the ensuing sheet, and take it just as he pleases.

The author is here supposed to be writing her own history, and in the
very beginning of her account she gives the reasons why she thinks fit
to conceal her true name, after which there is no occasion to say any
more about that.

It is true that the original of this story is put into new words, and
the style of the famous lady we here speak of is a little altered;
particularly she is made to tell her own tale in modester words that
she told it at first, the copy which came first to hand having been
written in language more like one still in Newgate than one grown
penitent and humble, as she afterwards pretends to be.

The pen employed in finishing her story, and making it what you now see
it to be, has had no little difficulty to put it into a dress fit to be
seen, and to make it speak language fit to be read. When a woman
debauched from her youth, nay, even being the offspring of debauchery
and vice, comes to give an account of all her vicious practices, and
even to descend to the particular occasions and circumstances by which
she ran through in threescore years, an author must be hard put to it
wrap it up so clean as not to give room, especially for vicious
readers, to turn it to his disadvantage.

All possible care, however, has been taken to give no lewd ideas, no
immodest turns in the new dressing up of this story; no, not to the
worst parts of her expressions. To this purpose some of the vicious
part of her life, which could not be modestly told, is quite left out,
and several other parts are very much shortened. What is left ’tis
hoped will not offend the chastest reader or the modest hearer; and as
the best use is made even of the worst story, the moral ’tis hoped will
keep the reader serious, even where the story might incline him to be
otherwise. To give the history of a wicked life repented of,
necessarily requires that the wicked part should be make as wicked as
the real history of it will bear, to illustrate and give a beauty to
the penitent part, which is certainly the best and brightest, if
related with equal spirit and life.

It is suggested there cannot be the same life, the same brightness and
beauty, in relating the penitent part as is in the criminal part. If
there is any truth in that suggestion, I must be allowed to say ’tis
because there is not the same taste and relish in the reading, and
indeed it is too true that the difference lies not in the real worth of
the subject so much as in the gust and palate of the reader.

But as this work is chiefly recommended to those who know how to read
it, and how to make the good uses of it which the story all along
recommends to them, so it is to be hoped that such readers will be more
pleased with the moral than the fable, with the application than with
the relation, and with the end of the writer than with the life of the
person written of.

There is in this story abundance of delightful incidents, and all of
them usefully applied. There is an agreeable turn artfully given them
in the relating, that naturally instructs the reader, either one way or
other. The first part of her lewd life with the young gentleman at
Colchester has so many happy turns given it to expose the crime, and
warn all whose circumstances are adapted to it, of the ruinous end of
such things, and the foolish, thoughtless, and abhorred conduct of both
the parties, that it abundantly atones for all the lively description
she gives of her folly and wickedness.

The repentance of her lover at the Bath, and how brought by the just
alarm of his fit of sickness to abandon her; the just caution given
there against even the lawful intimacies of the dearest friends, and
how unable they are to preserve the most solemn resolutions of virtue
without divine assistance; these are parts which, to a just
discernment, will appear to have more real beauty in them, than all the
amorous chain of story which introduces it.

In a word, as the whole relation is carefully garbled of all the levity
and looseness that was in it, so it all applied, and with the utmost
care, to virtuous and religious uses. None can, without being guilty of
manifest injustice, cast any reproach upon it, or upon our design in
publishing
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TIMAEUS

      by Plato

      Translated by Benjamin Jowett


      Contents

 INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS.
 Section 1.
 Section 2.
 Section 3.
 Section 4.
 Section 5.
 Section 6.
 Section 7.
 Section 8.

 TIMAEUS




      INTRODUCTION AND ANALYSIS.

      Of all the writings of Plato the Timaeus is the most obscure and
      repulsive to the modern reader, and has nevertheless had the
      greatest influence over the ancient and mediaeval world. The
      obscurity arises in the infancy of physical science, out of the
      confusion of theological, mathematical, and physiological
      notions, out of the desire to conceive the whole of nature
      without any adequate knowledge of the parts, and from a greater
      perception of similarities which lie on the surface than of
      differences which are hidden from view. To bring sense under the
      control of reason; to find some way through the mist or labyrinth
      of appearances, either the highway of mathematics, or more
      devious paths suggested by the analogy of man with the world, and
      of the world with man; to see that all things have a cause and
      are tending towards an end—this is the spirit of the ancient
      physical philosopher. He has no notion of trying an experiment
      and is hardly capable of observing the curiosities of nature
      which are ‘tumbling out at his feet,’ or of interpreting even the
      most obvious of them. He is driven back from the nearer to the
      more distant, from particulars to generalities, from the earth to
      the stars. He lifts up his eyes to the heavens and seeks to guide
      by their motions his erring footsteps. But we neither appreciate
      the conditions of knowledge to which he was subjected, nor have
      the ideas which fastened upon his imagination the same hold upon
      us. For he is hanging between matter and mind; he is under the
      dominion at the same time both of sense and of abstractions; his
      impressions are taken almost at random from the outside of
      nature; he sees the light, but not the objects which are revealed
      by the light; and he brings into juxtaposition things which to us
      appear wide as the poles asunder, because he finds nothing
      between them. He passes abruptly from persons to ideas and
      numbers, and from ideas and numbers to persons,—from the heavens
      to man, from astronomy to physiology; he confuses, or rather does
      not distinguish, subject and object, first and final causes, and
      is dreaming of geometrical figures lost in a flux of sense. He
      contrasts the perfect movements of the heavenly bodies with the
      imperfect representation of them (Rep.), and he does not always
      require strict accuracy even in applications of number and figure
      (Rep.). His mind lingers around the forms of mythology, which he
      uses as symbols or translates into figures of speech. He has no
      implements of observation, such as the telescope or microscope;
      the great science of chemistry is a blank to him. It is only by
      an effort that the modern thinker can breathe the atmosphere of
      the ancient philosopher, or understand how, under such unequal
      conditions, he seems in many instances, by a sort of inspiration,
      to have anticipated the truth.

      The influence with the Timaeus has exercised upon posterity is
      due partly to a misunderstanding. In the supposed depths of this
      dialogue the Neo-Platonists found hidden meanings and connections
      with the Jewish and Christian Scriptures, and out of them they
      elicited doctrines quite at variance with the spirit of Plato.
      Believing that he was inspired by the Holy Ghost, or had received
      his wisdom from Moses, they seemed to find in his writings the
      Christian Trinity, the Word, the Church, the creation of the
      world in a Jewish sense, as they really found the personality of
      God or of mind, and the immortality of the soul. All religions
      and philosophies met and mingled in the schools of Alexandria,
      and the Neo-Platonists had a method of interpretation which could
      elicit any meaning out of any words. They were really incapable
      of distinguishing between the opinions of one philosopher and
      another— between Aristotle and Plato, or between the serious
      thoughts of Plato and his passing fancies. They were absorbed in
      his theology and were under the dominion of his name, while that
      which was truly great and truly characteristic in him, his effort
      to realize and connect abstractions, was not understood by them
      at all. Yet the genius of Plato and Greek philosophy reacted upon
      the East, and a Greek element of thought and language overlaid
      and partly reduced to order the chaos of Orientalism. And kindred
      spirits, like St. Augustine, even though they were acquainted
      with his writings only through the medium
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Here begins the tale, and tells of a man who was named Sigi, and called
of men the son of Odin; another man withal is told of in the tale, hight
Skadi, a great man and mighty of his hands; yet was Sigi the mightier
and the higher of kin, according to the speech of men of that time.
Now Skadi had a thrall with whom the story must deal somewhat, Bredi by
name, who was called after that work which he had to do; in prowess and
might of hand he was equal to men who were held more worthy, yea, and
better than some thereof.

Now it is to be told that, on a time, Sigi fared to the hunting of the
deer, and the thrall with him; and they hunted deer day-long till the
evening; and when they gathered together their prey in the evening, lo,
greater and more by far was that which Bredi had slain than Sigi's prey;
and this thing he much misliked, and he said that great wonder it was
that a very thrall should out-do him in the hunting of deer: so he
fell on him and slew him, and buried the body of him thereafter in a
snow-drift.

Then he went home at evening tide and says that Bredi had ridden away
from him into the wild-wood. "Soon was he out of my sight," he says,
"and naught more I wot of him."

Skadi misdoubted the tale of Sigi, and deemed that this was a guile of
his, and that he would have slain Bredi. So he sent men to seek for him,
and to such an end came their seeking, that they found him in a certain
snow-drift; then said Skadi, that men should call that snow-drift
Bredi's Drift from henceforth; and thereafter have folk followed, so
that in such wise they call every drift that is right great.

Thus it is well seen that Sigi has slain the thrall and murdered him; so
he is given forth to be a wolf in holy places, (1) and may no more abide
in the land with his father; therewith Odin bare him fellowship from the
land, so long a way, that right long it was, and made no stay till he
brought him to certain war-ships. So Sigi falls to lying out a-warring
with the strength that his father gave him or ever they parted; and
happy was he in his warring, and ever prevailed, till he brought
it about that he won by his wars land and lordship at the last; and
thereupon he took to him a noble wife, and became a great and mighty
king, and ruled over the land of the Huns, and was the greatest of
warriors. He had a son by his wife, who was called Refir, who grew up in
his father's house, and soon became great of growth, and shapely.


  ENDNOTES:
  (1)  "Wolf in holy places," a man put out of the pale of society
       for crimes, an outlaw.



of Sigi.

Now Sigi grew old, and had many to envy him, so that at last those
turned against him whom he trusted most; yea, even the brothers of his
wife; for these fell on him at his unwariest, when there were few
with him to withstand them, and brought so many against him, that they
prevailed against him, and there fell Sigi and all his folk with him.
But Rerir, his son, was not in this trouble, and he brought together so
mighty a strength of his friends and the great men of the land, that
he got to himself both the lands and kingdom of Sigi his father; and so
now, when he deems that the feet under him stand firm in his rule, then
he calls to mind that which he had against his mother's brothers, who
had slain his father. So the king gathers together a mighty army, and
therewith falls on his kinsmen, deeming that if he made their kinship
of small account, yet none the less they had first wrought evil against
him. So he wrought his will herein, in that he departed not from strife
before he had slain all his father's banesmen, though dreadful the deed
seemed in every wise. So now he gets land, lordship, and fee, and is
become a mightier man than his father before him.

Much wealth won in war gat Rerir to himself, and wedded a wife withal,
such as he deemed meet for him, and long they lived together, but had
no child to take the heritage after them; and ill-content they both were
with that, and prayed the Gods with heart and soul that they might get
them a child. And so it is said that Odin hears their prayer, and Freyia
no less hearkens wherewith they prayed unto her: so she, never lacking
for all good counsel, calls to her her casket-bearing may, (1) the
daughter of Hrimnir the giant, and sets an apple in her hand, and bids
her bring it to the king. She took the apple, and did on her the gear of
a crow, and went flying till she came whereas the king sat on a mound,
and there she let the apple fall into the lap of the king; but he took
the apple, and deemed he knew whereto it would avail; so he goes home
from the mound to his own folk, and came to the queen, and some deal of
that apple she ate.

So, as the tale tells, the queen soon knew that she big with child, but
a long time wore or ever she might give birth to the child: so it befell
that the king must needs go to the wars, after the custom of kings, that
he may keep his own land in peace: and in this journey it came to pass
that Rerir fell
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  XXIX. THE MAGIC SHOP

   XXX. THE EMPIRE OF THE ANTS

  XXXI. THE DOOR IN THE WALL

 XXXII. THE COUNTRY OF THE BLIND





  I.

  THE JILTING OF JANE.


As I sit writing in my study, I can hear our Jane bumping her way
downstairs with a brush and dust-pan. She used in the old days to sing
hymn tunes, or the British national song for the time being, to these
instruments, but latterly she has been silent and even careful over her
work. Time was when I prayed with fervour for such silence, and my wife
with sighs for such care, but now they have come we are not so glad as we
might have anticipated we should be. Indeed, I would rejoice secretly,
though it may be unmanly weakness to admit it, even to hear Jane sing
"Daisy," or, by the fracture of any plate but one of Euphemia's best green
ones, to learn that the period of brooding has come to an end.

Yet how we longed to hear the last of Jane's young man before we heard the
last of him! Jane was always very free with her conversation to my wife,
and discoursed admirably in the kitchen on a variety of topics--so well,
indeed, that I sometimes left my study door open--our house is a small
one--to partake of it. But after William came, it was always William,
nothing but William; William this and William that; and when we thought
William was worked out and exhausted altogether, then William all over
again. The engagement lasted altogether three years; yet how she got
introduced to William, and so became thus saturated with him, was always a
secret. For my part, I believe it was at the street corner where the Rev.
Barnabas Baux used to hold an open-air service after evensong on Sundays.
Young Cupids were wont to flit like moths round the paraffin flare of that
centre of High Church hymn-singing. I fancy she stood singing hymns there,
out of memory and her imagination, instead of coming home to get supper,
and William came up beside her and said, "Hello!" "Hello yourself!" she
said; and etiquette being satisfied, they proceeded to talk together.

As Euphemia has a reprehensible way of letting her servants talk to her,
she soon heard of him. "He is _such_ a respectable young man, ma'am,"
said Jane, "you don't know." Ignoring the slur cast on her acquaintance,
my wife inquired further about this William.

"He is second porter at Maynard's, the draper's," said Jane, "and gets
eighteen shillings--nearly a pound--a week, m'm; and when the head porter
leaves he will be head porter. His relatives are quite superior people,
m'm. Not labouring people at all. His father was a greengrosher, m'm, and
had a churnor, and he was bankrup' twice. And one of his sisters is in a
Home for the Dying. It will be a very good match for me, m'm," said Jane,
"me being an orphan girl."

"Then you are engaged to him?" asked my wife.

"Not engaged, ma'am; but he is saving money to buy a ring--hammyfist."

"Well, Jane, when you are properly engaged to him you may ask him round
here on Sunday afternoons, and have tea with him in the kitchen;" for my
Euphemia has a motherly conception of her duty towards her maid-servants.
And presently the amethystine ring was being worn about the house, even
with ostentation, and Jane developed a new way of bringing in the joint so
that this gage was evident. The elder Miss Maitland was aggrieved by it,
and told my wife that servants ought not to wear rings. But my wife looked
it up in _Enquire Within_ and _Mrs. Motherly's Book of Household
Management_, and found no prohibition. So Jane remained with this
happiness added to her love.

The treasure of Jane's heart appeared to me to be what respectable people
call a very deserving young man. "William, ma'am," said Jane one day
suddenly, with ill-concealed complacency, as she counted out the beer
bottles, "William, ma'am, is a teetotaller. Yes, m'm; and he don't smoke.
Smoking, ma'am," said Jane, as one who reads the heart, "_do_ make
such a dust about. Beside the waste of money. _And_ the smell.
However, I suppose they got to do it--some of them..."

William was at first a rather shabby young man of the ready-made black
coat school of costume. He had watery gray eyes, and a complexion
appropriate to the brother of one in a Home for the Dying. Euphemia did
not fancy him very much, even at the beginning. His eminent respectability
was vouched for by an alpaca umbrella, from which he never allowed himself
to be parted.

"He goes to chapel," said Jane. "His papa, ma'am----"

"His _what_, Jane?"

"His papa, ma'am, was Church: but Mr. Maynard is a Plymouth Brother, and
William thinks it Policy, ma'am, to go there too. Mr. Maynard comes and
talks to him quite friendly when they ain't busy, about using up all the
ends of string, and about his soul. He takes a lot of notice, do Mr.
Maynard, of William, and the way he saves his soul, ma'am."

Presently we heard that the head porter at Maynard's had left, and that
William was head porter at twenty-three shillings a week. "He is really
kind of over the man who drives the van
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[Illustration: The Lovers who exchanged Fans.
_Fr_. (_See page_ 245)]




DEDICATED TO

MY WIFE




PREFACE


In writing _Myths and Legends of Japan_ I have been much indebted to
numerous authorities on Japanese subjects, and most especially to
Lafcadio Hearn, who first revealed to me the Land of the Gods. It
is impossible to enumerate all the writers who have assisted me in
preparing this volume. I have borrowed from their work as persistently
as Japan has borrowed from other countries, and I sincerely hope
that, like Japan herself, I have made good use of the material I have
obtained from so many sources.

I am indebted to Professor Basil Hall Chamberlain for placing his work
at my disposal, and I have found his encyclopædic volume, _Things
Japanese_, his translation of the _Kojiki_, his _Murray's Hand-book for
Japan_ (in collaboration with W. B. Mason), and his _Japanese Poetry_,
of great value. I thank the Executors of the late Dr. W. G. Aston for
permission to quote from this learned authority's work. I have made
use of his translation of the _Nihongi_ (_Transactions of the Japan
Society_, 1896) and have gathered much useful material from _A History
of Japanese Literature_. I am indebted to Mr. F. Victor Dickins for
allowing me to make use of his translation of the _Taketori Monogatari_
and the _Ho-jō-ki_. My friend Mrs. C. M. Salwey has taken a sympathetic
interest in my work, which has been invaluable to me. Her book, _Fans
of Japan_, has supplied me with an exquisite legend, and many of her
articles have yielded a rich harvest. I warmly thank Mr. Yone Noguchi
for allowing me to quote from his poetry, and also Miss Clara A. Walsh
for so kindly putting at my disposal her fascinating volume, _The
Master-Singers of Japan_, published by Mr. John Murray in the "Wisdom
of the East" series. My thanks are due to Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin
Company, for allowing me to quote from Lafcadio Hearn's _Glimpses of
Unfamiliar Japan_ and _The Japanese Letters of Lafcadio Hearn_; to
Messrs. George Allen & Sons, for giving me permission to quote from
Sir F. T. Piggott's _Garden of Japan_; to the Editor of the _Academy_,
for permitting me to reprint my article on "Japanese Poetry," and to
Messrs. Cassell and Co. Ltd., for allowing me to reproduce "The Garden
of Japan," which I originally contributed to _Cassell's Magazine_. The
works of Dr. William Anderson, Sir Ernest Satow, Lord Redesdale, Madame
Ozaki, Mr. R. Gordon Smith, Captain F. Brinkley, the late Rev. Arthur
Lloyd, Mr. Henri L. Joly, Mr. K. Okakura, the Rev. W. E. Griffis, and
others, have been of immense value to me, and in addition I very warmly
thank all those writers I have left unnamed, through want of space,
whose works have assisted me in the preparation of this volume.




CONTENTS

           Introduction
        I. The Period of the Gods
       II. Heroes and Warriors
      III. The Bamboo-cutter and the Moon-maiden
       IV. Buddha Legends
        V. Fox Legends
       VI. Jizō, the God of Children
      VII. Legend in Japanese Art
     VIII. The Star Lovers and the Robe of Feathers
       IX. Legends of Mount Fuji
        X. Bells
       XI. Yuki-onna, the Lady of the Snow
      XII. Flowers and Gardens
     XIII. Trees
      XIV. Mirrors
       XV. Kwannon and Benten. Daikoku, Ebisu, and Hotei
      XVI. Dolls and Butterflies
     XVII. Festivals
    XVIII. The Peony-lantern
      XIX. Kōbō Daishi, Nichiren, and Shōdō Shonin
       XX. Fans
      XXI. Thunder
     XXII. Animal Legends
    XXIII. Bird and Insect Legends
     XXIV. Concerning Tea
      XXV. Legends of the Weird
     XXVI. Three Maidens
    XXVII. Legends of the Sea
   XXVIII. Superstitions
     XXIX. Supernatural Beings
      XXX. The Transformation of Issunboshi and Kintaro, The Golden Boy
     XXXI. Miscellaneous Legends

    A Note on Japanese Poetry
    Gods and Goddesses
    Genealogy of the Age of the Gods
    Bibliography
    Index of Poetical Quotations
    Glossary and Index




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

    The Lovers who exchanged Fans _Frontispiece_
    Uzume awakens the Curiosity of Ama-terasu
    Susa-no-o and Kushi-nada-hime
    Hoori and the Sea God's Daughter
    Yorimasa slays the Vampire
    Yorimasa and Benkei attacked by a ghostly company of the Taira Clan
    Raiko and the Enchanted Maiden
    Raiko slays the Goblin of Oyeyama
    Prince Yamato and Takeru
    Momotaro and the Pheasant
    Hidesato and the Centipede
    The Moonfolk demand the Lady Kaguya
    Buddha and the Dragon
    The Mikado and the Jewel Maiden
    Jizō
    A Kakemono Ghost
    Sengen, the Goddess of Mount Fuji
    Visu on Mount Fuji-Yama
    Kiyo and the Priest
    Yuki-Onna, the Lady of the Snow
    Shingé and Yoshisawa by the Violet Well
    Matsu rescues Teoyo
    Shinzaburō recognised Tsuyu and her maid Yoné
    The Jelly-Fish and the Monkey
    The Firefly Battle
    Hōïchi-the-Earless
    The Maiden of Unai
    Urashima and the Sea King's Daughter
    Tokoyo and the Sea Serpent
    The
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may be assumed to be a current philosophical opinion of the age. 'The
ancients,' as Aristotle (De Anim.) says, citing a verse of Empedocles,
'affirmed knowledge to be the same as perception.' We may now examine
these words, first, with reference to their place in the history of
philosophy, and secondly, in relation to modern speculations.

(a) In the age of Socrates the mind was passing from the object to the
subject. The same impulse which a century before had led men to form
conceptions of the world, now led them to frame general notions of the
human faculties and feelings, such as memory, opinion, and the like. The
simplest of these is sensation, or sensible perception, by which Plato
seems to mean the generalized notion of feelings and impressions of
sense, without determining whether they are conscious or not.

The theory that 'Knowledge is sensible perception' is the antithesis of
that which derives knowledge from the mind (Theaet.), or which assumes
the existence of ideas independent of the mind (Parm.). Yet from their
extreme abstraction these theories do not represent the opposite poles
of thought in the same way that the corresponding differences would
in modern philosophy. The most ideal and the most sensational have a
tendency to pass into one another; Heracleitus, like his great successor
Hegel, has both aspects. The Eleatic isolation of Being and the Megarian
or Cynic isolation of individuals are placed in the same class by Plato
(Soph.); and the same principle which is the symbol of motion to one
mind is the symbol of rest to another. The Atomists, who are sometimes
regarded as the Materialists of Plato, denied the reality of sensation.
And in the ancient as well as the modern world there were reactions from
theory to experience, from ideas to sense. This is a point of view from
which the philosophy of sensation presented great attraction to the
ancient thinker. Amid the conflict of ideas and the variety of opinions,
the impression of sense remained certain and uniform. Hardness,
softness, cold, heat, etc. are not absolutely the same to different
persons, but the art of measuring could at any rate reduce them all
to definite natures (Republic). Thus the doctrine that knowledge is
perception supplies or seems to supply a firm standing ground. Like the
other notions of the earlier Greek philosophy, it was held in a very
simple way, without much basis of reasoning, and without suggesting the
questions which naturally arise in our own minds on the same subject.

(b) The fixedness of impressions of sense furnishes a link of connexion
between ancient and modern philosophy. The modern thinker often repeats
the parallel axiom, 'All knowledge is experience.' He means to say that
the outward and not the inward is both the original source and the final
criterion of truth, because the outward can be observed and analyzed;
the inward is only known by external results, and is dimly perceived
by each man for himself. In what does this differ from the saying of
Theaetetus? Chiefly in this--that the modern term 'experience,' while
implying a point of departure in sense and a return to sense, also
includes all the processes of reasoning and imagination which have
intervened. The necessary connexion between them by no means affords a
measure of the relative degree of importance which is to be ascribed to
either element. For the inductive portion of any science may be small,
as in mathematics or ethics, compared with that which the mind has
attained by reasoning and reflection on a very few facts.

with the Protagorean thesis that 'Man is the measure of all things.'
The interpretation which Protagoras himself is supposed to give of these
latter words is: 'Things are to me as they appear to me, and to you as
they appear to you.' But there remains still an ambiguity both in the
text and in the explanation, which has to be cleared up. Did Protagoras
merely mean to assert the relativity of knowledge to the human mind? Or
did he mean to deny that there is an objective standard of truth?

These two questions have not been always clearly distinguished; the
relativity of knowledge has been sometimes confounded with uncertainty.
The untutored mind is apt to suppose that objects exist independently
of the human faculties, because they really exist independently of the
faculties of any individual. In the same way, knowledge appears to be
a body of truths stored up in books, which when once ascertained are
independent of the discoverer. Further consideration shows us that these
truths are not really independent of the mind; there is an adaptation of
one to the other, of the eye to the object of sense, of the mind to the
conception. There would be no world, if there neither were nor ever
had been any one to perceive the world. A slight effort of reflection
enables us to understand this; but no effort of reflection will enable
us to pass beyond the limits of our own faculties, or to imagine the
relation or adaptation of objec
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I, THE SIEUR LOUIS DE CONTE, was born in Neufchateau, on the 6th of
January, 1410; that is to say, exactly two years before Joan of Arc was
born in Domremy. My family had fled to those distant regions from the
neighborhood of Paris in the first years of the century. In politics
they were Armagnacs—patriots; they were for our own French King, crazy
and impotent as he was. The Burgundian party, who were for the English,
had stripped them, and done it well. They took everything but my
father's small nobility, and when he reached Neufchateau he reached it
in poverty and with a broken spirit. But the political atmosphere there
was the sort he liked, and that was something. He came to a region of
comparative quiet; he left behind him a region peopled with furies,
madmen, devils, where slaughter was a daily pastime and no man's life
safe for a moment. In Paris, mobs roared through the streets nightly,
sacking, burning, killing, unmolested, uninterrupted. The sun rose upon
wrecked and smoking buildings, and upon mutilated corpses lying here,
there, and yonder about the streets, just as they fell, and stripped
naked by thieves, the unholy gleaners after the mob. None had the
courage to gather these dead for burial; they were left there to rot and
create plagues.

And plagues they did create. Epidemics swept away the people like
flies, and the burials were conducted secretly and by night, for public
funerals were not allowed, lest the revelation of the magnitude of the
plague's work unman the people and plunge them into despair. Then came,
finally, the bitterest winter which had visited France in five hundred
years. Famine, pestilence, slaughter, ice, snow—Paris had all these at
once. The dead lay in heaps about the streets, and wolves entered the
city in daylight and devoured them.

Ah, France had fallen low—so low! For more than three quarters of a
century the English fangs had been bedded in her flesh, and so cowed
had her armies become by ceaseless rout and defeat that it was said and
accepted that the mere sight of an English army was sufficient to put a
French one to flight.

When I was five years old the prodigious disaster of Agincourt fell upon
France; and although the English King went home to enjoy his glory, he
left the country prostrate and a prey to roving bands of Free Companions
in the service of the Burgundian party, and one of these bands came
raiding through Neufchateau one night, and by the light of our burning
roof-thatch I saw all that were dear to me in this world (save an elder
brother, your ancestor, left behind with the court) butchered while
they begged for mercy, and heard the butchers laugh at their prayers and
mimic their pleadings. I was overlooked, and escaped without hurt. When
the savages were gone I crept out and cried the night away watching the
burning houses; and I was all alone, except for the company of the dead
and the wounded, for the rest had taken flight and hidden themselves.

I was sent to Domremy, to the priest, whose housekeeper became a loving
mother to me. The priest, in the course of time, taught me to read and
write, and he and I were the only persons in the village who possessed
this learning.

At the time that the house of this good priest, Guillaume Fronte, became
my home, I was six years old. We lived close by the village church, and
the small garden of Joan's parents was behind the church. As to that
family there were Jacques d'Arc the father, his wife Isabel Romee; three
sons—Jacques, ten years old, Pierre, eight, and Jean, seven; Joan, four,
and her baby sister Catherine, about a year old. I had these
children for playmates from the beginning. I had some other playmates
besides—particularly four boys: Pierre Morel, Etienne Roze, Noel
Rainguesson, and Edmond Aubrey, whose father was maire at that time;
also two girls, about Joan's age, who by and by became her favorites;
one was named Haumetter, the other was called Little Mengette. These
girls were common peasant children, like Joan herself. When they grew
up, both married common laborers. Their estate was lowly enough, you
see; yet a time came, many years after, when no passing stranger,
howsoever great he might be, failed to go and pay his reverence to
those two humble old women who had been honored in their youth by the
friendship of Joan of Arc.

These were all good children, just of the ordinary peasant type;
not bright, of course—you would not expect that—but good-hearted and
companionable, obedient to their parents and the priest; and as they
grew up they became properly stocked with narrowness and prejudices
got at second hand from their elders, and adopted without reserve; and
without examination also—which goes without saying. Their religion was
inherited, their politics the same. John Huss and his sort might find
fault with the Church, in Domremy it disturbed nobody's faith; and when
the split came, when I was fourteen, and we had three Popes at once,
nobody in Domremy was worried about how to cho
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[Illustration: DANIEL’S YOUTH.

T · NELSON · AND · SONS

_LONDON · EDINBURGH · AND · NEW · YORK_]




[Illustration: “A PURPOSE IN THE HEART.”

Page 5]




[Illustration: BIBLE LESSONS

DANIEL’S YOUTH.

SUNDAY. God is the judge: he putteth down one, and setteth up
another.—PS. lxxv. 7.

MONDAY. The king’s favour is toward a wise servant.—PROV. xiv. 35.

TUESDAY. O satisfy us early with thy mercy.—PS. xc. 14.

WEDNESDAY. But I keep under my body: lest that by any means, I myself
should be a castaway.—1 COR. ix. 27.

THURSDAY. Flee also youthful lusts: but follow righteousness, faith,
charity, peace with them that call on the Lord out of a pure heart.—2
TIM. ii. 22.

FRIDAY. How much better is it to get wisdom than gold.—PROV. xvi. 16.

SATURDAY. The wisdom that is from above is first pure, then peaceable,
gentle, and easy to be intreated.—JAMES iii. 17.]

       *       *       *       *       *

    1. _Tell who Daniel was, and how he came to Babylon._—DAN. i.
    1-3, 6.

    2. _For what purpose was Daniel chosen by Nebuchadnezzar?_—DAN.
    i. 4, 5.

    3. _What did Daniel ask the prince of the eunuchs?_—DAN. i.
    8-10.

    4. _What did he then propose to Melzar?_—DAN. i 11-14.

    5. _What was the result of the trial?_—DAN. i. 15, 16.

    6. _How did Nebuchadnezzar receive them at the end of the three
    years?_—DAN. i. 17-20.

    7. _In what was Daniel an example to the young?_

    In his early piety. It grew in a situation where it had no
    advantages, and many difficulties to overcome. He showed his
    obedience to God’s law—temperance—amiability—diligence in his
    studies.


ILLUSTRATIVE STORY.

“Daniel purposed in his heart that he would not defile himself.” This, my
dear boys, explains all that Daniel did, and all that Daniel became;—this
is the root of the matter, it was this “purpose in his heart,” carried
out, that made him good and great: he purposed in his heart that he
should not sin.

Most boys are fond of laying plans—they have many purposes for the
future. I remember often at school we used to talk of what we would
be, what we would do, when we were men. One would be a sailor, another
a goldsmith, another a pastry cook, and another a soldier. I do think
the boy who purposed to be a pastry cook loved sugar, and the intended
goldsmith was fond of the glitter of gold. Yet, if I recollect aright,
not one of these boys became what he purposed—they never _did_ what they
purposed.

I will mark down three kinds of purposes, and tell a little story for
each.

    1. _A purpose of the head._

    2. _A purpose of the tongue._

    3. _A purpose of the heart._

Henry was the one of my companions who had most purposes in his head. He
was a clever boy, about my own age; but he knew it, and never would exert
himself. He was careless about his lessons, and never used to look at
some of them till he was in the school-room; yet he purposed to gain the
first prize in his class. He did not say much about it, but he evidently
took for granted that it would easily be his. Weeks and months passed
away, and frequently Henry suffered for his carelessness. Boys, who were
not his equals, got and kept ahead of him by their superior application.
The master used to tell Henry that he would regret his negligence; and
then, for a few days, Henry’s talents were applied, and he regained
his place; but it did not last, his indolence prevailed, and again he
relapsed. The session drew to a close. Most of the boys now doubted
whether Henry would come off first. The competitions took place, and each
boy lodged his papers. Henry did exert himself then, but it was too late.
Before the assembled school the names of the successful competitors were
read. Henry’s name stood _third_,—his purpose was not of the heart but
just of the head, and nothing came of it. He _purposed, but he did not
do_.

There was another boy older than Henry at the school, whose purposes
were all on his tongue. You never could be long beside him without
hearing him tell what “he could do.” It did not matter who you were
speaking of, or what they had done, Richard could do more. Little boys,
the first week they were at the academy, looked up to Richard with much
reverence, for they believed what he said of himself, but the second week
they knew him better; for though his tongue spoke of great things, he did
very little; and in a short while longer, they found out that Richard
was a boaster, a vain-bragger, who gave his tongue all the work that his
head, feet, and hands should have done; all his purposes were on his
tongue, but he never performed them.

James Ferrier was very unlike either of these boys; his father was a poor
man; and James was despised by many of the boys, when he came among them,
because his jacket was coarse, and his dress clumsily made. But he cared
not; quietly and calmly he took his seat in the class where Henry was,
and though he had been two years shorter time at Latin than the other
boys of the class, it was he whose na
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Transcriber's Note:

    This etext was produced from _A Martian Odyssey and Others_
    published in 1949. Extensive research did not uncover any evidence
    that the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor
    spelling and typographical errors have been corrected without note.




PYGMALION'S SPECTACLES




"But what is reality?" asked the gnomelike man. He gestured at the tall
banks of buildings that loomed around Central Park, with their countless
windows glowing like the cave fires of a city of Cro-Magnon people. "All
is dream, all is illusion; I am your vision as you are mine."

Dan Burke, struggling for clarity of thought through the fumes of
liquor, stared without comprehension at the tiny figure of his
companion. He began to regret the impulse that had driven him to leave
the party to seek fresh air in the park, and to fall by chance into the
company of this diminutive old madman. But he had needed escape; this
was one party too many, and not even the presence of Claire with her
trim ankles could hold him there. He felt an angry desire to go
home--not to his hotel, but home to Chicago and to the comparative peace
of the Board of Trade. But he was leaving tomorrow anyway.

"You drink," said the elfin, bearded face, "to make real a dream. Is it
not so? Either to dream that what you seek is yours, or else to dream
that what you hate is conquered. You drink to escape reality, and the
irony is that even reality is a dream."

"Cracked!" thought Dan again.

"Or so," concluded the other, "says the philosopher Berkeley."

"Berkeley?" echoed Dan. His head was clearing; memories of a Sophomore
course in Elementary Philosophy drifted back. "Bishop Berkeley, eh?"

"You know him, then? The philosopher of Idealism--no?--the one who
argues that we do not see, feel, hear, taste the object, but that we
have only the sensation of seeing, feeling, hearing, tasting."

"I--sort of recall it."

"Hah! But sensations are _mental_ phenomena. They exist in our minds.
How, then, do we know that the objects themselves do not exist only in
our minds?" He waved again at the light-flecked buildings. "You do not
see that wall of masonry; you perceive only a _sensation_, a feeling of
sight. The rest you interpret."

"You see the same thing," retorted Dan.

"How do you know I do? Even if you knew that what I call red would not
be green could you see through my eyes--even if you knew that, how do
you know that I too am not a dream of yours?"

Dan laughed. "Of course nobody _knows_ anything. You just get what
information you can through the windows of your five senses, and then
make your guesses. When they're wrong, you pay the penalty." His mind
was clear now save for a mild headache. "Listen," he said suddenly. "You
can argue a reality away to an illusion; that's easy. But if your friend
Berkeley is right, why can't you take a dream and make it real? If it
works one way, it must work the other."

The beard waggled; elf-bright eyes glittered queerly at him. "All
artists do that," said the old man softly. Dan felt that something more
quivered on the verge of utterance.

"That's an evasion," he grunted. "Anybody can tell the difference
between a picture and the real thing, or between a movie and life."

"But," whispered the other, "the realer the better, no? And if one could
make a--a movie--_very_ real indeed, what would you say then?"

"Nobody can, though."

The eyes glittered strangely again. "I can!" he whispered. "I _did_!"

"Did what?"

"Made real a dream." The voice turned angry. "Fools! I bring it here to
sell to Westman, the camera people, and what do they say? 'It isn't
clear. Only one person can use it at a time. It's too expensive.' Fools!
Fools!"

"Huh?"

"Listen! I'm Albert Ludwig--_Professor_ Ludwig." As Dan was silent, he
continued, "It means nothing to you, eh? But listen--a movie that gives
one sight and sound. Suppose now I add taste, smell, even touch, if your
interest is taken by the story. Suppose I make it so that you are in the
story, you speak to the shadows, and the shadows reply, and instead of
being on a screen, the story is all about you, and you are in it. Would
that be to make real a dream?"

"How the devil could you do that?"

"How? How? But simply! First my liquid positive, then my magic
spectacles. I photograph the story in a liquid with light-sensitive
chromates. I build up a complex solution--do you see? I add taste
chemically and sound electrically. And when the story is recorded, then
I put the solution in my spectacle--my movie projector. I electrolyze
the solution, break it down; the older chromates go first, and out comes
the story, sight, sound, smell, taste--all!"

"Touch?"

"If your interest is taken, your mind supplies that." Eagerness crept
into his voice. "You will look at it, Mr.----?"

"Burke," said Dan. "A swindle!" he thought. Then a spark of recklessness
glowed out of the vanishing fumes of alcohol. "Why not?" he grunted.

He rose; Ludwig, standing, came scarcely to his
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A BOARDING SCHOOL.

“ARE you for a walk,” said Montraville to his companion, as they arose
from table; “are you for a walk? or shall we order the chaise and
proceed to Portsmouth?” Belcour preferred the former; and they sauntered
out to view the town, and to make remarks on the inhabitants, as they
returned from church.

Montraville was a Lieutenant in the army: Belcour was his brother
officer: they had been to take leave of their friends previous to their
departure for America, and were now returning to Portsmouth, where the
troops waited orders for embarkation. They had stopped at Chichester
to dine; and knowing they had sufficient time to reach the place of
destination before dark, and yet allow them a walk, had resolved, it
being Sunday afternoon, to take a survey of the Chichester ladies as
they returned from their devotions.

They had gratified their curiosity, and were preparing to return to the
inn without honouring any of the belles with particular notice, when
Madame Du Pont, at the head of her school, descended from the church.
Such an assemblage of youth and innocence naturally attracted the young
soldiers: they stopped; and, as the little cavalcade passed, almost
involuntarily pulled off their hats. A tall, elegant girl looked at
Montraville and blushed: he instantly recollected the features of
Charlotte Temple, whom he had once seen and danced with at a ball at
Portsmouth. At that time he thought on her only as a very lovely child,
she being then only thirteen; but the improvement two years had made in
her person, and the blush of recollection which suffused her cheeks as
she passed, awakened in his bosom new and pleasing ideas. Vanity led him
to think that pleasure at again beholding him might have occasioned the
emotion he had witnessed, and the same vanity led him to wish to see her
again.

“She is the sweetest girl in the world,” said he, as he entered the inn.
Belcour stared. “Did you not notice her?” continued Montraville: “she
had on a blue bonnet, and with a pair of lovely eyes of the same colour,
has contrived to make me feel devilish odd about the heart.”

“Pho,” said Belcour, “a musket ball from our friends, the Americans, may
in less than two months make you feel worse.”

“I never think of the future,” replied Montraville; “but am determined
to make the most of the present, and would willingly compound with any
kind Familiar who would inform me who the girl is, and how I might be
likely to obtain an interview.”

But no kind Familiar at that time appearing, and the chaise which they
had ordered, driving up to the door, Montraville and his companion were
obliged to take leave of Chichester and its fair inhabitant, and proceed
on their journey.

But Charlotte had made too great an impression on his mind to be easily
eradicated: having therefore spent three whole days in thinking on her
and in endeavouring to form some plan for seeing her, he determined
to set off for Chichester, and trust to chance either to favour or
frustrate his designs. Arriving at the verge of the town, he dismounted,
and sending the servant forward with the horses, proceeded toward the
place, where, in the midst of an extensive pleasure ground, stood the
mansion which contained the lovely Charlotte Temple. Montraville leaned
on a broken gate, and looked earnestly at the house. The wall which
surrounded it was high, and perhaps the Argus's who guarded the
Hesperian fruit within, were more watchful than those famed of old.

“'Tis a romantic attempt,” said he; “and should I even succeed in seeing
and conversing with her, it can be productive of no good: I must of
necessity leave England in a few days, and probably may never return;
why then should I endeavour to engage the affections of this lovely
girl, only to leave her a prey to a thousand inquietudes, of which at
present she has no idea? I will return to Portsmouth and think no more
about her.”

The evening now was closed; a serene stillness reigned; and the
chaste Queen of Night with her silver crescent faintly illuminated the
hemisphere. The mind of Montraville was hushed into composure by the
serenity of the surrounding objects. “I will think on her no more,” said
he, and turned with an intention to leave the place; but as he turned,
he saw the gate which led to the pleasure grounds open, and two women
come out, who walked arm-in-arm across the field.

“I will at least see who these are,” said he. He overtook them, and
giving them the compliments of the evening, begged leave to see them
into the more frequented parts of the town: but how was he delighted,
when, waiting for an answer, he discovered, under the concealment of a
large bonnet, the face of Charlotte Temple.

He soon found means to ingratiate himself with her companion, who was a
French teacher at the school, and, at parting, slipped a letter he had
purposely written, into Charlotte's hand, and five guineas into that of
Mademoiselle, who promised she would endeavour to bring her young charge
into 
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11/1 LL. Alfred, c. 13; 1 Tylor, Primitive Culture, Am. ed., p.
285 et seq.; Bain, Mental and Moral Science, Bk. III. ch. 8, p.

11/2 Florus, Epitome, II. 18. Cf. Livy, IX 1, 8, VIII. 39;
Zonaras, VII. 26, ed. Niebuhr, vol. 43, pp. 98, 99.

12/1 Gaii Inst. IV. Section 81. I give the reading of Huschke: "Licere
enim etiam, si fato is fuerit mortuus, mortuum dare; nam quamquam
diximus, non etiam permissum reis esse, et mortuos homines
dedere, tamen et si quis eum dederit, qui fato suo vita
excesserit, aeque liberatur." Ulpian's statement, in D. 9. 1. 1,
Section 13, that the action is gone if the animal dies ante litem
contestatam, is directed only to the point that liability is
founded on possession of the thing.

12/2 "Bello contra foedus suscepto."

12/3 Livy, VIII. 39: "Vir...haud dubie proximarum induciarum
ruptor. De eo coacti referre praetores decretum fecerunt 'Ut
Brutulus Papius Romanis dederetur."...Fetiales Romam, ut
censuerunt, missi, et corpus Brutuli exanime: ipse morte
voluntaria ignominiae se ac supplicio subtraxit. Placuit cum
corpore bona quoque ejus dedi." Cf. Zonaras, VII. 26, ed.
Niebuhr, vol. 43, p. 97: [Greek characters]. See further Livy, V.
36, "postulatumque ut pro jure gentium violato Fabii dederentur,"
and Ib. I. 32.

13/1 Livy, IX. 5, 8, 9, 10. "Nam quod deditione nostra negant
exsolvi religione populum, id istos magis ne dedantur, quam quia
ita se res habeat, dicere, quis adeo juris fetialium expers est,
qui ignoret?" The formula of surrender was as follows: "Quandoque
hisce homines injussu populi Romani Quiritium foedus ictum iri
spoponderunt, atque ob eam rem noxam nocuerunt; ob eam rem, quo
populus Romanus scelere impio sit solutus, hosce homines vobis
dedo." Cf. Zonaras, VII. 26, ed. Niebuhr, vol. 43, pp. 98, 99.

13/2 De Orator. I. 40, and elsewhere. It is to be noticed that
Florus, in his account, says deditione Mancini expiavit. Epitome,
II. 18. It has already been observed that the cases mentioned by
Livy seem to suggest that the object of the surrender was
expiation, as much as they do that it was satisfaction of a
contract. Zonaras says, Postumius and Calvinus [Greek
characters]. (VII. 26, ed. Niebuhr, Vol. 43, pp. 98, 99.) Cf. ib.
p. 97. Compare Serv. ad Virg. Eclog. IV. 43: "In legibus Numae
cautum est, ut si quis imprudens occidisset hominem pro capite
occisi et natis [agnatis? Huschke] ejus in concione offerret
arietem." Id. Geor. III. 387, and Festus, Subici, Subigere. But
cf. Wordsworth's Fragments and Specimens of Early Latin, note to

14/1 D. 9. 4. 2

14/2 2 Tissot, Droit Penal, 615; 1 Ihering, Geist d. Roem. R.,
Section
14; 4 id. Section 63.

14/3 Aul. Gell. Noctes Attici, 20. 1; Quintil. Inst. Orat. 3. 6.
84; Tertull. Apol., c. 4.

14/4 Cf. Varro, De Lingua Latina, VI.: "Liber, qui suas operas in
servitute pro pecunia, quam debeat, dum solveret Nexus vocatur."

15/1 D. 9. 1. 1, Section 9 But cf. 1 Hale, P.C. 420.

15/2 D. 9. 4. 2, Section 1.

15/3 D. 9. 1. 1, Sections 4, 5.

16/1 D. 4. 9. 1, Section 1; ib. 7, Section 4.

16/2 Gaius in D. 44. 7. 5, Section 6; Just. Inst. 4. 5, Section

16/3 D. 4. 9. 7, pr.

17/1 See Austin, Jurisp. (3d ed.) 513; Doctor and Student, Dial.
2, ch. 42.

17/2 Cf. L. Burgund. XVIII.; L. Rip. XLVI. (al. 48).

17/3 See the word Lege, Merkel, Lex Salica, p. 103. Cf. Wilda,
Strafrecht der Germanen, 660, n. 1. See further Lex Salica, XL.;
Pactus pro tenore pacis Child. et Chloth., c. 5; Decretio
Chlotharii, c. 5; Edictus Hilperichi, cc. 5, 7; and the
observations of Sohm in his treatise on the Procedure of the
Salic Law, Sections 20, 22, 27, French Tr. (Thevenin), pp. 83 n.,
93, 94, 101-103, 130.

17/4 Wilda, Strafrecht, 590.

18/1 Cf. Wilda, Strafrecht, 660, n. 1; Merkel, Lex Salica, Gloss.
Lege, p. 103. Lex Saxon. XI. Section 3: "Si servus perpetrato facinore
fugerit, ita ut adomino ulterius inveniri non possit, nihil solvat."
Cf. id. II. Section 5. Capp. Rip. c. 5: "Nemini liceat servum
suum, propter damnum ab illo cuibet inlatum, dimittere; sed justa
qualitatem damni dominus pro illo respondeat vel eum in
compositione aut ad poenam petitori offeret. Si autem servus
perpetrato scelere fugerit, ita ut a domino paenitus inveniri non
possit, sacramento se dominus ejus excusare studeat, quod nec
suae voluntatis nec conscientia fuisset, quod servus ejus tale
facinus commisit."

18/2 L. Saxon. XI. Section 1.

18/3 Lex Angl. et Wer. XVI.: "Omne damnum quod servus fecerit
dominus emendet."

19/1 C. 3; 1 Thorpe, Anc. Laws, pp. 27, 29.

19/2 C. 74; 1 Thorpe, p. 149; cf. p. 118, n. a. See LL. Hen. I.,

19/3 C. 24; 1 Thorpe, p. 79. Cf. Ine, c. 42; 1 Thorpe, p. 129.

19/4 C. 13; 1 Thorpe, p. 71.

19/5 1 Tylor, Primitive Culture, Am. ed., p. 286.

20/1 Cf. Record in Molloy, Book 2, ch. 3, Section 16, 24 Ed. III.:
"Visum fuit curiae, quod unusquisque magister navis tenetur
respondere de quacunque transgressione per servientes suos in
navi sua facta." The Laws of Oleron were relied on in this case.
Cf. Stat. of the Staple, Ed. III., Stat. 2, c. 19. La
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 58820
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/58820



“Oh, damn!” said Lord Peter Wimsey at Piccadilly Circus. “Hi, driver!”

The taxi man, irritated at receiving this appeal while negotiating the
intricacies of turning into Lower Regent Street across the route of a
19 ’bus, a 38-B and a bicycle, bent an unwilling ear.

“I’ve left the catalogue behind,” said Lord Peter deprecatingly.
“Uncommonly careless of me. D’you mind puttin’ back to where we came
from?”

“To the Savile Club, sir?”

“No—110 Piccadilly—just beyond—thank you.”

“Thought you was in a hurry,” said the man, overcome with a sense of
injury.

“I’m afraid it’s an awkward place to turn in,” said Lord Peter,
answering the thought rather than the words. His long, amiable face
looked as if it had generated spontaneously from his top hat, as white
maggots breed from Gorgonzola.

The taxi, under the severe eye of a policeman, revolved by slow jerks,
with a noise like the grinding of teeth.

The block of new, perfect and expensive flats in which Lord Peter
dwelt upon the second floor, stood directly opposite the Green Park,
in a spot for many years occupied by the skeleton of a frustrate
commercial enterprise. As Lord Peter let himself in he heard his man’s
voice in the library, uplifted in that throttled stridency peculiar to
well-trained persons using the telephone.

“I believe that’s his lordship just coming in again—if your Grace would
kindly hold the line a moment.”

“What is it, Bunter?”

“Her Grace has just called up from Denver, my lord. I was just saying
your lordship had gone to the sale when I heard your lordship’s
latchkey.”

“Thanks,” said Lord Peter; “and you might find me my catalogue, would
you? I think I must have left it in my bedroom, or on the desk.”

He sat down to the telephone with an air of leisurely courtesy, as
though it were an acquaintance dropped in for a chat.

“Hullo, Mother—that you?”

“Oh, there you are, dear,” replied the voice of the Dowager Duchess. “I
was afraid I’d just missed you.”

“Well, you had, as a matter of fact. I’d just started off to
Brocklebury’s sale to pick up a book or two, but I had to come back for
the catalogue. What’s up?”

“Such a quaint thing,” said the Duchess. “I thought I’d tell you. You
know little Mr. Thipps?”

“Thipps?” said Lord Peter. “Thipps? Oh, yes, the little architect man
who’s doing the church roof. Yes. What about him?”

“Mrs. Throgmorton’s just been in, in quite a state of mind.”

“Sorry, Mother, I can’t hear. Mrs. Who?”

“Throgmorton—Throgmorton—the vicar’s wife.”

“Oh, Throgmorton, yes?”

“Mr. Thipps rang them up this morning. It was his day to come down, you
know.”

“Yes?”

“He rang them up to say he couldn’t. He was so upset, poor little man.
He’d found a dead body in his bath.”

“Sorry, Mother, I can’t hear; found what, where?”

“A dead body, dear, in his bath.”

“What?—no, no, we haven’t finished. Please don’t cut us off. Hullo!
Hullo! Is that you, Mother? Hullo!—Mother!—Oh, yes—sorry, the girl was
trying to cut us off. What sort of body?”

“A dead man, dear, with nothing on but a pair of pince-nez. Mrs.
Throgmorton positively blushed when she was telling me. I’m afraid
people do get a little narrow-minded in country vicarages.”

“Well, it sounds a bit unusual. Was it anybody he knew?”

“No, dear, I don’t think so, but, of course, he couldn’t give her many
details. She said he sounded quite distracted. He’s such a respectable
little man—and having the police in the house and so on, really worried
him.”

“Poor little Thipps! Uncommonly awkward for him. Let’s see, he lives in
Battersea, doesn’t he?”

“Yes, dear; 59, Queen Caroline Mansions; opposite the Park. That big
block just round the corner from the Hospital. I thought perhaps you’d
like to run round and see him and ask if there’s anything we can do. I
always thought him a nice little man.”

“Oh, quite,” said Lord Peter, grinning at the telephone. The Duchess
was always of the greatest assistance to his hobby of criminal
investigation, though she never alluded to it, and maintained a polite
fiction of its non-existence.

“What time did it happen, Mother?”

“I think he found it early this morning, but, of course, he didn’t
think of telling the Throgmortons just at first. She came up to me just
before lunch—so tiresome, I had to ask her to stay. Fortunately, I was
alone. I don’t mind being bored myself, but I hate having my guests
bored.”

“Poor old Mother! Well, thanks awfully for tellin’ me. I think I’ll
send Bunter to the sale and toddle round to Battersea now an’ try and
console the poor little beast. So-long.”

“Good-bye, dear.”

“Bunter!”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Her Grace tells me that a respectable Battersea architect has
discovered a dead man in his bath.”

“Indeed, my lord? That’s very gratifying.”

“Very, Bunter. Your choice of words is unerring. I wish Eton and
Balliol had done as much for me. Have you found the catalogue?”

“Here it is, my lord.”

“Thanks. I am going to Battersea at once. I want you to attend the sale
for me. Don’t lose time—I don’t want to miss the
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PG #: 16865
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THE PIECE OF WOOD THAT LAUGHED AND CRIED LIKE A CHILD


There was once upon a time a piece of wood in the shop of an old
carpenter named Master Antonio. Everybody, however, called him Master
Cherry, on account of the end of his nose, which was always as red and
polished as a ripe cherry.

No sooner had Master Cherry set eyes on the piece of wood than his face
beamed with delight, and, rubbing his hands together with satisfaction,
he said softly to himself:

"This wood has come at the right moment; it will just do to make the leg
of a little table."

He immediately took a sharp axe with which to remove the bark and the
rough surface, but just as he was going to give the first stroke he
heard a very small voice say imploringly, "Do not strike me so hard!"

He turned his terrified eyes all around the room to try and discover
where the little voice could possibly have come from, but he saw nobody!
He looked under the bench--nobody; he looked into a cupboard that was
always shut--nobody; he looked into a basket of shavings and
sawdust--nobody; he even opened the door of the shop and gave a glance
into the street--and still nobody. Who, then, could it be?

"I see how it is," he said, laughing and scratching his wig, "evidently
that little voice was all my imagination. Let us set to work again."

And, taking up the axe, he struck a tremendous blow on the piece of
wood.

"Oh! oh! you have hurt me!" cried the same little voice dolefully.

This time Master Cherry was petrified. His eyes started out of his head
with fright, his mouth remained open, and his tongue hung out almost to
the end of his chin, like a mask on a fountain. As soon as he had
recovered the use of his speech he began to say, stuttering and
trembling with fear:

"But where on earth can that little voice have come from that said 'Oh!
oh!'? Is it possible that this piece of wood can have learned to cry and
to lament like a child? I cannot believe it. This piece of wood is
nothing but a log for fuel like all the others, and thrown on the fire
it would about suffice to boil a saucepan of beans. How then? Can anyone
be hidden inside it? If anyone is hidden inside, so much the worse for
him. I will settle him at once."

So saying, he seized the poor piece of wood and commenced beating it
without mercy against the walls of the room.

Then he stopped to listen if he could hear any little voice lamenting.
He waited two minutes--nothing; five minutes--nothing; ten
minutes--still nothing!

"I see how it is," he then said, forcing himself to laugh, and pushing
up his wig; "evidently the little voice that said 'Oh! oh!' was all my
imagination! Let us set to work again."

Putting the axe aside, he took his plane, to plane and polish the bit of
wood; but whilst he was running it up and down he heard the same little
voice say, laughing:

"Stop! you are tickling me all over!"

This time poor Master Cherry fell down as if he had been struck by
lightning. When he at last opened his eyes he found himself seated on
the floor.

His face was changed, even the end of his nose, instead of being
crimson, as it was nearly always, had become blue from fright.




[Illustration]


MASTER CHERRY GIVES THE WOOD AWAY


At that moment some one knocked at the door.

"Come in," said the carpenter, without having the strength to rise to
his feet.

A lively little old man immediately walked into the shop. His name was
Geppetto, but when the boys of the neighborhood wished to make him angry
they called him Pudding, because his yellow wig greatly resembled a
pudding made of Indian corn.

Geppetto was very fiery. Woe to him who called him Pudding! He became
furious and there was no holding him.

"Good-day, Master Antonio," said Geppetto; "what are you doing there on
the floor?"

"I am teaching the alphabet to the ants."

"Much good may that do you."

"What has brought you to me, neighbor Geppetto?"

"My legs. But to tell the truth. Master Antonio, I came to ask a favor
of you."

"Here I am, ready to serve you," replied the carpenter, getting on his
knees.

"This morning an idea came into my head."

"Let us hear it."

"I thought I would make a beautiful wooden puppet; one that could dance,
fence, and leap like an acrobat. With this puppet I would travel about
the world to earn a piece of bread and a glass of wine. What do you
think of it?"

"Bravo, Pudding!" exclaimed the same little voice, and it was impossible
to say where it came from.

Hearing himself called Pudding, Geppetto became as red as a turkey-cock
from rage and, turning to the carpenter, he said in a fury:

"Why do you insult me?"

"Who insults you?"

"You called me Pudding!"

"It was not I!"

"Do you think I called myself Pudding? It was you, I say!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

And, becoming more and more angry, from words they came to blows, and,
flying at each other, they bit and fought, and scratched.

When the fight was over Master Antonio was in possession of Geppetto's
yellow wig, and Geppetto discovered that the gr
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PG #: 9842
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/9842



Gredyf gwr oed gwas
Gwrhyt am dias
Meirch mwth myngvras
A dan vordwyt megyrwas
Ysgwyt ysgauyn lledan
Ar bedrein mein vuan
Kledyuawr glas glan
Ethy eur aphan
Ny bi ef a vi
Cas e rof a thi
Gwell gwneif a thi
Ar wawt dy uoli
Kynt y waet elawr
Nogyt y neithyawr
Kynt y vwyt y vrein
Noc y argyurein
Ku kyueillt ewein
Kwl y uot a dan vrein
Marth ym pa vro
Llad un mab marro





Kayawc kynhorawc men y delhei
Diffun ymlaen bun med a dalhei
Twll tal y rodawr ene klywei
Awr ny rodei nawd meint dilynei
Ni chilyei o gamhawn eny verei
Waet mal brwyn gomynei gwyr nyt echei
Nys adrawd gododin ar llawr mordei
Rac pebyll madawc pan atcoryei
Namen un gwr o gant eny delhei





Kaeawc kynnivyat kywlat erwyt
Ruthyr eryr en ebyr pan llithywyt
E arnot a vu not a gatwyt
Grwell a wnaeth e aruaeth ny gilywyt
Rac bedin ododin odechwyt
Hyder gymhell ar vreithel vanawyt
Ny nodi nac ysgeth w nac ysgwyt
Ny ellir anet ry vaethpwyt
Rac ergyt catvannan catwyt





Kaeawc kynhorawc bleid e maran
Gwevrawr godrwawr torchawr am rann
Bu gwevrawr gwerthvawr gwerth gwin vann
Ef gwrthodes gwrys gwyar disgrein
Ket dyffei wyned a gogled e rann
O gussyl mab ysgyrran
Ysgwydawr angkyuan





Kaeawc kynhorawc aruawc eg gawr
Kyn no diw e gwr gwrd eg gwyawr
Kynran en racwan rac bydinawr
Kwydei pym pymwnt rac y lafnawr
O wyr deivyr a brennych dychiawr
Ugein cant eu diuant en un awr
Kynt y gic e vleid nogyt e neithyawr
Kynt e vud e vran nogyt e allawr
Kyn noe argyurein e waet e lawr
Gwerth med eg kynted gan lliwedawr
Hyueid hir ermygir tra vo kerdawr





Gwyr a aeth Ododin chwerthin ognaw
Chwerw en trin a llain en emdullyaw
Byrr vlyned en hed yd ynt endaw
Mab botgat gwnaeth gwynnyeith gwreith e law
Ket elwynt e lanneu e benydyaw
A hen a yeueing a hydyr a llaw
Dadyl diheu angheu y eu treidaw





Gwyr a aeth Ododin chwerthin wanar
Disgynnyeis em bedin trin diachar
Wy lledi a llavnawr heb vawr drydar
Colovyn glyw reithuyw rodi arwar





Gwyr a aeth gatraeth oed fraeth eu llu
Glasved eu hancwyn a gwenwyn vu
Trychant trwy beiryant en cattau
A gwedy elwch tawelwch vu
Ket elwynt e lanneu e benydu
Dadyl dieu angheu y eu treidu





Gwyr a aeth gatraeth veduaeth uedwn
Fyryf frwythlawn oed cam nas kymhwyllwn
E am lavnawr coch gorvawr gwrmwn
Dwys dengyn ed emledyn aergwn
Ar deulu brenneych beych barnasswn
Dilyw dyn en vyw nys adawsswn
Kyueillt a golleis diffleis vedwn
Rugyl en emwrthryn rynn riadwn
Ny mennws gwrawl gwadawl chwegrwn
Maban y gian o vaen gwynngwn





Gwyr a aeth gatraeth gan wawr
Trauodynt en hed eu hovnawr
Milcant a thrychant a emdaflawr
Gwyarllyt gwynnodynt waewawr
Ef gorsaf yng gwryaf eg gwryawr
Rac gosgord mynydawc mwynvawr





Gwyr a aeth gatraeth gan wawr
Dygymyrrws eu hoet eu hanyanawr
Med evynt melyn melys maglawr
Blwydyn bu llewyn llawer kerdawr
Coch eu cledyuawr na phurawr
Eu llain gwyngalch a phedryollt bennawr
Rac gosgord mynydawc mwynvawr





Gwyr a aeth gatraeth gan dyd
Neus goreu o gadeu gewilid
Wy gwnaethant en geugant gelorwyd
A llavnawr llawn annawd em bedyd
Goreu yw hwn kyn kystlwn kerennyd
Enneint creu ac angeu oe hennyd
Rac bedin Ododin pan vudyd
Neus goreu deu bwyllyat neirthyat gwychyd





Gwr a aeth gatraeth gan dyd
Ne llewes ef vedgwyn veinoethyd
Bu truan gyuatcan gyvluyd
E neges ef or drachwres drenghidyd
Ny chryssiws gatraeth
Mawr mor ehelaeth
   E aruaeth uch arwyt
Ny bu mor gyffor
O eidyn ysgor
   A esgarei oswyd
Tutuwlch hir ech e dir ae dreuyd
Ef lladei Saesson seithuet dyd
Perheit y wrhyt en wrvyd
Ae govein gan e gein gyweithyd
Pan dyvu dutvwch dut nerthyd
Oed gwaetlan gwyaluan vab Kilyd





Gwr a aeth gatraeth gan wawr
Wyneb udyn ysgorva ysgwydawr
Crei kyrchynt kynnullynt reiawr
En gynnan mal taran twryf aessawr
Gwr gorvynt gwr etvynt gwr llawr
Ef rwygei a chethrei a chethrawr
Od uch lled lladei a llavnawr
En gystud heyrn dur arbennawr
E mordei ystyngei a dyledawr
Rac erthgi erthychei vydinawr





O vreithyell gatraeth pan adrodir
Maon dychiorant eu hoet bu hir
Edyrn diedyrn amygyn dir
A meibyon godebawc gwerin enwir
Dyforthynt lynwyssawr gelorawr hir
Bu tru a dynghetven anghen gywir
A dyngwt y dutvwlch a chyvwlch hir
Ket yvein ved gloyw wrth leu babir
Ket vei da e vlas y gas bu hir





Blaen echeching gaer glaer ewgei
Gwyr gweiryd gwanar ae dilynei
Blaen ar e bludue dygollouit vual
Ene vwynvawr vordei
Blaen gwirawt vragawt ef dybydei
Blaen eur a phorphor kein as mygei
Blaen edystrawr pasc ae gwaredei
Gwrthlef, ac euo bryt ae derllydei
Blaen erwyre gawr buduawr drei
Arth en llwrw byth hwyr e techei





Anawr gynhoruan
Huan arwyran
Grwledic gwd gyffgein
Nef enys brydein
Garw ryt rac rynn
Aes elwrw budyn
Bual oed arwynn
Eg kynted eidyn
Erchyd ryodres
E ved medwawt
Yuei win gwirawt
Oed eruit uedel
Yuei win gouel
Aerueid en arued
Aer gennin vedel
Aer adan glaer
Kenyn keuit aer
Aer seirchyawc
Aer edenawc
Nyt oed diryf y ysgwyt
Gan waywawr plymnwyt
Kwydyn gyuoedyon
Eg cat blymnwyt
Diessic e dias
Divevyl as talas
Hudid e wyllyas
Kyn bu clawr glas
Bed gwruelling vreisc





Teithi etmygant
Tri llwry novant
Pymwnt a phy
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 60333
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Same: _Noten zu S. K.'s Lebensgeschichte._ Halle, 1876.

Same: _Die Bedeutung der aesthetischen Schriften S. K.'s._ Halle,

Barfod, H. P. (Introduction to the first edition of the Diary.)
Copenhagen, 1869.

Bohlin, Th. _S. K.'s Etiska Åskadning._ Uppsala, 1918.

Brandes, G. _S. K., En kritisk Fremstilling i Grundrids._ Copenhagen,

Same: German ed. Leipzig, 1879.

Deleuran, V. _Esquisse d'une étude sur S. K._ Thèse, University
of Paris, 1897.

Höffding, H. _S. K._ Copenhagen, 1892.

Same: German edition (2nd). Stuttgart, 1902.

Hoffmann, R. _K. und die religiöse Gewissheit._ Göttingen, 1910.

Jensen, Ch. _S. K.'s religiöse Udvikling._ Aarhus, 1898.

Monrad, O. P. _S. K. Sein Leben und seine Werke._ Jena, 1909.

Münch, Ph. _Haupt und Grundgedanken der Philosophie S. K.'s._
Leipzig, 1902.

Rosenberg, P. A. _S. K., hans Liv, hans Personlighed og hans
Forfatterskab._ Copenhagen, 1898.

Rudin, W. S. _K.'s Person och Författerskap. Förste Afdelningen._
Stockholm, 1880.

Schrempf, Ch. _S. K.'s Stellung zu Bibel und Dogma._ Zeitschrift
für Theologie und Kirche, 1891, p. 179.

Same: _S. K. Ein unfreier Pionier der Freiheit._ (With a foreword
by Höffding) Frankfurt, 1909.

Swenson, D. _The Anti-Intellectualism of K._ Philosophic Review,
1916, p. 567.


To my friends and colleagues, Percy M. Dawson and Howard M. Jones,
I wish also in this place to express my thanks for help and criticism
"in divers spirits."


[Footnote 1: Pronounced _Kerkegor._]

[Footnote 2: An interesting parallel is the story of Peter Williams, as
told by George Borrow, _Lavengro_, chap. 75 ff.]

[Footnote 3: Corresponding, approximately, to our doctoral thesis.]

[Footnote 4: Not "Discourses for Edification," _cf._ the Foreword to
_Atten Opbyggelige Taler_, S. V. vol. IV.]

[Footnote 5: _De Carne Christi_, chap. V, as my friend, Professor A. E.
Haydon, kindly points out.]

[Footnote 6: _Cf._ Brandes, S. K. p. 157.]

[Footnote 7: Mrs. Thomasine Gyllembourg-Ehrensvärd.]

[Footnote 8: With signal exception of "The Present Moment."]

[Footnote 9: In process of publication. Jena.]

[Footnote 10: Samlede Værker. Copenhagen, 1901-1906 (14 vols). In the
notes abbreviated S. V. Still another edition is preparing.]

[Footnote 11: Copenhagen, 1909 ff.]




DIAPSALMATA[1]


What is a poet? An unhappy man who conceals profound anguish in his
heart, but whose lips are so fashioned that when sighs and groans pass
over them they sound like beautiful music. His fate resembles that of
the unhappy men who were slowly roasted by a gentle fire in the tyrant
Phalaris' bull--their shrieks could not reach his ear to terrify
him, to him they sounded like sweet music. And people flock about the
poet and say to him: do sing again; which means, would that new
sufferings tormented your soul, and: would that your lips stayed
fashioned as before, for your cries would only terrify us, but your
music is delightful. And the critics join them, saying: well done, thus
must it be according to the laws of æsthetics. Why, to be sure, a critic
resembles a poet as one pea another, the only difference being that he
has no anguish in his heart and no music on his lips. Behold, therefore
would I rather be a swineherd on Amager,[2] and be understood by the
swine than a poet, and misunderstood by men.


In addition to my numerous other acquaintances I have still one more
intimate friend--my melancholy. In the midst of pleasure, in the
midst of work, he beckons to me, calls me aside, even though I remain
present bodily. My melancholy is the most faithful sweetheart I have
had--no wonder that I return the love!

Of all ridiculous things the most ridiculous seems to me, to be
busy--to be a man who is brisk about his food and his work.
Therefore, whenever I see a fly settling, in the decisive moment, on
the nose of such a person of affairs; or if he is spattered with mud
from a carriage which drives past him in still greater haste; or the
drawbridge opens up before him; or a tile falls down and knocks him
dead, then I laugh heartily. And who, indeed, could help laughing?
What, I wonder, do these busy folks get done? Are they not to be
classed with the woman who in her confusion about the house being
on fire carried out the fire-tongs? What things of greater account, do
you suppose, will they rescue from life's great conflagration?


Let others complain that the times are wicked. I complain that they
are paltry; for they are without passion. The thoughts of men are thin
and frail like lace, and they themselves are feeble like girl
lace-makers. The thoughts of their hearts are too puny to be sinful.
For a worm it might conceivably be regarded a sin to harbor thoughts
such as theirs, not for a man who is formed in the image of God. Their
lusts are staid and sluggish, their passions sleepy; they do their duty,
these sordid minds, but permit themselves, as did the Jews, to trim the
coins just the least little bit, thinking that if our Lord keep tab of
them ever so carefully one might yet safely vent
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PG #: 34647
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_Japara, 25 May, 1899._[1]

I have longed to make the acquaintance of a "modern girl," that proud,
independent girl who has all my sympathy! She who, happy and
self-reliant, lightly and alertly steps on her way through life, full of
enthusiasm and warm feeling; working not only for her own well-being and
happiness, but for the greater good of humanity as a whole.

I glow with enthusiasm toward the new time which has come, and can truly
say that in my thoughts and sympathies I do not belong to the Indian
world, but to that of my pale sisters who are struggling forward in the
distant West.

If the laws of my land permitted it, there is nothing that I had rather
do than give myself wholly to the working and striving of the new woman
in Europe; but age-long traditions that cannot be broken hold us fast
cloistered in their unyielding arms. Some day those arms will loosen and
let us go, but that time lies as yet far from us, infinitely far. It
will come, that I know; it may be three, four generations after us. Oh,
you do not know what it is to love this young, this new age with heart
and soul, and yet to be bound hand and foot, chained by all the laws,
customs, and conventions of one's land. All our institutions are
directly opposed to the progress for which I so long for the sake of our
people. Day and night I wonder by what means our ancient traditions
could be overcome. For myself, I could find a way to shake them off, to
break them, were it not that another bond, stronger than any age-old
tradition could ever be, binds me to my world; and that is the love
which I bear for those to whom I owe my life, and whom I must thank for
everything. Have I the right to break the hearts of those who have given
me nothing but love and kindness my whole life long, and who have
surrounded me with the tenderest care?

But it was not the voices alone which reached me from that distant, that
bright, that new-born Europe, which made me long for a change in
existing conditions. Even in my childhood, the word "emancipation"
enchanted my ears; it had a significance that nothing else had, a
meaning that was far beyond my comprehension, and awakened in me an
evergrowing longing for freedom and independence--a longing to stand
alone. Conditions both in my own surroundings and in those of others
around me broke my heart, and made me long with a nameless sorrow for
the awakening of my country.

Then the voices which penetrated from distant lands grew clearer and
clearer, till they reached me, and to the satisfaction of some who loved
me, but to the deep grief of others, brought seed which entered my
heart, took root, and grew strong and vigorous.

And now I must tell you something of myself so that you can make my
acquaintance.

I am the eldest of the three unmarried daughters of the Regent of
Japara, and have six brothers and sisters. What a world, eh? My
grandfather, Pangèran Ario Tjondronegoro of Demak, was a great leader in
the progressive movement of his day, and the first regent of middle Java
to unlatch his door to that guest from over the sea--Western
civilization. All of his children had European educations; all of them
have, or had (several of them are now dead), a love of progress
inherited from their father; and these gave to their children the same
upbringing which they themselves had received. Many of my cousins and
all my older brothers have gone through the Hoogere Burger School--the
highest institution of learning that we have here in India; and the
youngest of my three older brothers has been studying for three years in
the Netherlands, and two others are in the service of that country. We
girls, so far as education goes, fettered by our ancient traditions and
conventions, have profited but little by these advantages. It was a
great crime against the customs of our land that we should be taught at
all, and especially that we should leave the house every day to go to
school. For the custom of our country forbade girls in the strongest
manner ever to go outside of the house. We were never allowed to go
anywhere, however, save to the school, and the only place of instruction
of which our city could boast, which was open to us, was a free grammar
school for Europeans.

When I reached the age of twelve, I was kept at home--I must go into the
"box." I was locked up, and cut off from all communication with the
outside world, toward which I might never turn again save at the side of
a bridegroom, a stranger, an unknown man whom my parents would choose
for me, and to whom I should be betrothed without my own knowledge.
European friends--this I heard later--had tried in every possible way to
dissuade my parents from this cruel course toward me, a young and
life-loving child; but they were able to do nothing. My parents were
inexorable; I went into my prison. Four long years I spent between thick
walls, without once seeing the outside world.

How I passed through that time, I do not know. I only know that it was
terrible. But th
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accomplishments (whose father had been presented with the freedom of the
city by C. Valerius Flaccus), both on account of his fidelity and on
account of his knowledge of the Gallic language, which Ariovistus, by
long practice, now spoke fluently; and because in his case the Germans
would have no motive for committing violence; and [as his colleague] M.
Mettius, who had shared the hospitality of Ariovistus. He commissioned
them to learn what Ariovistus had to say, and to report to him. But when
Ariovistus saw them before him in his camp, he cried out in the presence
of his army, "Why were they come to him? was it for the purpose of
acting as spies?" He stopped them when attempting to speak, and cast
them into chains.

XLVIII.--The same day he moved his camp forward and pitched under a hill
six miles from Caesar's camp. The day following he led his forces past
Caesar's camp, and encamped two miles beyond him; with this design--that
he might cut off Caesar from, the corn and provisions which might be
conveyed to him from the Sequani and the Aedui. For five successive days
from that day, Caesar drew out his forces before the camp, and put them
in battle order, that, if Ariovistus should be willing to engage in
battle, an opportunity might not be wanting to him. Ariovistus all this
time kept his army in camp: but engaged daily in cavalry skirmishes. The
method of battle in which the Germans had practised themselves was this.
There were 6000 horse, and as many very active and courageous foot, one
of whom each of the horse selected out of the whole army for his own
protection. By these [foot] they were constantly accompanied in their
engagements; to these the horse retired; these on any emergency rushed
forward; if any one, upon receiving a very severe wound, had fallen from
his horse, they stood around him: if it was necessary to advance
farther: than usual, or to retreat more rapidly, so great, from
practice, was their swiftness, that, supported by the manes of the
horses, they could keep pace with their speed.

XLIX.--Perceiving that Ariovistus kept himself in camp, Caesar, that he
might not any longer be cut off from provisions, chose a convenient
position for a camp beyond that place in which the Germans had encamped,
at about 600 paces from them, and having drawn up his army in three
lines, marched to that place. He ordered the first and second lines to
be under arms; the third to fortify the camp. This place was distant
from the enemy about 600 paces, as has been stated. Thither Ariovistus
sent light troops, about 16,000 men in number, with all his cavalry;
which forces were to intimidate our men, and hinder them in their
fortification. Caesar nevertheless, as he had before arranged, ordered
two lines to drive off the enemy: the third to execute the work. The
camp being fortified, he left there two legions and a portion of the
auxiliaries; and led back the other four legions into the larger camp.

L.--The next day, according to his custom, Caesar led out his forces
from both camps, and having advanced a little from the larger one, drew
up his line of battle, and gave the enemy an opportunity of fighting.
When he found that they did not even then come out [from their
entrenchments], he led back his army into camp about noon. Then at last
Ariovistus sent part of his forces to attack the lesser camp. The battle
was vigorously maintained on both sides till the evening. At sunset,
after many wounds had been inflicted and received, Ariovistus led back
his forces into camp. When Caesar inquired of his prisoners, wherefore
Ariovistus did not come to an engagement, he discovered this to be the
reason--that among the Germans it was the custom for their matrons to
pronounce from lots and divination whether it were expedient that the
battle should be engaged in or not; that they had said, "that it was not
the will of heaven that the Germans should conquer, if they engaged in
battle before the new moon."

LI.--The day following, Caesar left what seemed sufficient as a guard
for both camps; [and then] drew up all the auxiliaries in sight of the
enemy, before the lesser camp, because he was not very powerful in the
number of legionary soldiers, considering the number of the enemy; that
[thereby] he might make use of his auxiliaries for appearance. He
himself, having drawn up his army in three lines, advanced to the camp
of the enemy. Then at last of necessity the Germans drew their forces
out of camp, and disposed them canton by canton, at equal distances, the
Harudes, Marcomanni, Tribocci, Vangiones, Nemetes, Sedusii, Suevi; and
surrounded their whole army with their chariots and waggons, that no
hope might be left in flight. On these they placed their women, who,
with dishevelled hair and in tears, entreated the soldiers, as they went
forward to battle, not to deliver them into slavery to the Romans.

LII.--Caesar appointed over each legion a lieutenant and a questor, that
every one might have them as witnesses of his v
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your age; the rest she can see for herself."

Mlle Angèle got pen and ink, while La Vireville, not unamused, gave
her the required information. Then, looking up at him from time to
time as he sat there, she wrote much more, and he knew that such
a description of his personal appearance, drawn from the life,
must almost inevitably, in the end, be his ruin, for in sitting
for his own portrait he was also sitting for that of 'Monsieur
Augustin.' And he wondered whether the picture now taking shape
under her pen were flattering or the reverse. Some of the Government
'signalements' which he had seen posted up in Brittany were remarkable
for their fidelity to detail. . . . At any rate, he was not forced
to reveal to this artist, now accumulating unimpeachable material,
what other scars he carried besides that, only too obvious, on
his cheek.

"It will be best, Angèle," said Mme. de Chaulnes as the writer
finished, "to put, not Monsieur's name, which for this purpose he
might find inconvenient, but 'the person recommended by' and then
the cypher signature. It will be best also to fill in the route to
be taken, lest a fancy should seize Monsieur Augustin to go by
way of Brittany, for example."

The émigré was about to protest, when it occurred to him that she
might conceivably indicate the same route as that taken by Anne
and his escort, which it would be a great convenience to know,
since his mind was entirely set on overtaking them before they
got to Paris. It need hardly be said that he had no intention of
putting foot in that city if he could possibly avoid it.

Mlle. de Chaulnes passed the document to her sister-in-law, who
read it through carefully.

"Excellent," she said. "I fear, M. Augustin, that you will not
henceforward derive much immunity from the inaccuracy of the
Convention's previous description of your person. You have taken
a copy, Angèle?"

"Yes," said the younger lady.

Mme. de Chaulnes folded the passport, and gave it, together with
Anne-Hilarion's safe-conduct back to England, to the prospective
rescuer. "Voilà, Monsieur!" she said. "Take that to the Committee
of Public Safety and you will find that it will do what you wish
for the child. You need have no fear that it will not, for the
Committee is something in our debt. But I take leave to doubt if
your intentions are quite as heroic as they appear."

"I lay claim to no heroism of any kind," said La Vireville shortly,
and, putting the papers in his breast, he took up his wet cloak.

Mme. de Chaulnes meanwhile had, for the first time, got to her
feet, and stood leaning upon her stick. "Of course, M. le Chevalier,
you do not think we are so blind as not to know what you mean to
do. But, believe me, you will never be able to do it. For one
thing, you will not be able to overtake them before Paris. They
have twenty-four hours' start of you."

"Madame," retorted Fortuné de la Vireville, his hand on the latch
of the door, "some have thought that children are peculiarly the
objects of angelic protection. We shall see about that twenty-four
hours' start!"

As he shut the door he was aware of a little laugh, and the words,
in a voice of mock surprise, "Monsieur est donc dévot?"

       *       *       *       *       *

Dévot indeed La Vireville was not, and no real confidence in
celestial intervention, but wrath and dismay filled his heart as
he rode off in the rain and the darkness. But it was not in him
to show other than a bold front to an enemy, whatever his secret
apprehensions. It was not very likely that he would be able to get
the boy out of the hands of his captors without, himself, paying
the ultimate penalty. Still, there was a chance, and he meant to
stake everything upon it. Only, as he hastened to the _Rose and
Crown_ to change his horse, it occurred to him most unpleasantly
that perhaps he was being utterly duped; that Anne-Hilarion had,
perhaps, never been taken to France after all, and that he was
going to put his head into the lion's mouth for nothing. And he
cursed the maddening uncertainty of the whole affair, where the
only fact that stood out with real clearness was the jeopardy
in which he was about to place his own neck.

In the midst of the business of hiring another horse, he suddenly
remembered Elspeth, and wondered that he had not thought of her
before. She must know something. But where was she? Had they shipped
her off too? It seemed unlikely--yet equally unlikely was it that
they had either left her free to hurry back to London with her
tale, or had made away with her. They had probably arranged for
a temporary disappearance. If he looked for her he would waste
the time on which so much depended, and even if he found her she
would not, probably, be able to tell him a great deal. And so La
Vireville, whose life of late years had taught him the faculty of
quick decision, resolved not to pursue that trail.

He wrote at the inn a letter to Mr. Elphinstone, explaining what
he was about to do, made arrangements for it to be t
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{105b}  Fifth Annual Report of the Reg. Gen. of Births, Deaths, and
Marriages.

{106}  Dr. Cowen.  "Vital Statistics of Glasgow."

{107}  Report of Commission of Inquiry into the State of Large Towns and
Populous Districts.  First Report, 1844.  Appendix.

{108a}  Factories' Inquiry Commission's Reports, 3rd vol.  Report of Dr.
Hawkins on Lancashire, in which Dr. Robertson is cited--the "Chief
Authority for Statistics in Manchester."

{108b}  Quoted by Dr. Wade from the Report of the Parliamentary
Factories' Commission of 1832, in his "History of the Middle and Working-
Classes."  London, 1835, 3rd ed.

{112a}  Children's Employment Commission's Report.  App. Part II. Q. 18,
No. 216, 217, 226, 233, etc.  Horne.

{112b}  _Ibid_. evidence, p. 9, 39; 133.

{113a}  _Ibid_. p. 9, 36; 146.

{113b}  _Ibid_. p. 34; 158.

{113c}  Symonds' Rep.  App. Part I., pp. E, 22, _et seq_.

{115a}  "Arts and Artisans."

{115b}  "Principles of Population," vol. ii. pp. 136, 197.

{116}   We shall see later how the rebellion of the working-class against
the bourgeoisie in England is legalised by the right of coalition.

{117a}  "Chartism," p. 34, _et seq_.

{117b}  _Ibid_., p. 40.

{119}  Shall I call bourgeois witnesses to bear testimony from me here,
too?  I select one only, whom every one may read, namely, Adam Smith.
"Wealth of Nations" (McCulloch's four volume edition), vol. iii., book 5,
chap. 8, p. 297.

{120}  "Principles of Population," vol. ii., p. 76, _et seq_. p. 82, p.

{122}  "Philosophy of Manufactures," London, 1835, p. 406, _et seq_.  We
shall have occasion to refer further to this reputable work.

{125}  "On the Present Condition of the Labouring Poor in Manchester,"
etc.  By the Rev. Rd. Parkinson, Canon of Manchester, 3d Ed., London and
Manchester, 1841, Pamphlet.

{131a}  "Manufacturing Population of England," chap. 10.

{131b}  The total of population, about fifteen millions, divided by the
number of convicted criminals (22,733).

{134a}  "The Cotton Manufacture of Great Britain," by Dr. A. Ure, 1836.

{134b}  "History of the Cotton Manufacture of Great Britain," by E.
Baines, Esq.

{135}  "Stubborn Facts from the Factories by a Manchester Operative."
Published and dedicated to the working-classes, by Wm. Rashleigh, M.P.,
London, Ollivier, 1844, p. 28, _et seq_.

{136}  Compare Factories' Inquiry Commission's Report.

{138}  L. Symonds, in "Arts and Artisans."

{140}  See Dr. Ure in the "Philosophy of Manufacture."

{141}  Report of Factory Inspector, L. Homer, October, 1844: "The state
of things in the matter of wages is greatly perverted in certain branches
of cotton manufacture in Lancashire; there are hundreds of young men,
between twenty and thirty, employed as piecers and otherwise, who do not
get more than 8 or 9 shillings a week, while children under thirteen
years, working under the same roof, earn 5 shillings, and young girls,
from sixteen to twenty years, 10-12 shillings per week."

{143a}  Report of Factories' Inquiry Commission.  Testimony of Dr.
Hawkins, p. 3.

{143b}  In 1843, among the accidents brought to the Infirmary in
Manchester, one hundred and eighty-nine were from burning.

{144}  Factories' Inquiry Commission's Report, Power's Report on Leeds:
passim Tufnell Report on Manchester, p. 17. etc.

{145}  This letter is re-translated from the German, no attempt being
made to re-produce either the spelling or the original Yorkshire dialect.

{147a}  How numerous married women are in the factories is seen from
information furnished by a manufacturer: In 412 factories in Lancashire,
10,721 of them were employed; of the husbands of these women, but 5,314
were also employed in the factories, 3,927 were otherwise employed, 821
were unemployed, and information was wanting as to 659; or two, if not
three men for each factory, are supported by the work of their wives.

{147b}  House of Commons, March 15th, 1844.

{147c}  Factories' Inquiry Commission's Report, p. 4.

{148a}  For further examples and information compare Factories' Inquiry
Commission's Report.  Cowell Evidence, pp. 37, 38, 39, 72, 77, 59;
Tufnell Evidence, pp. 9, 15, 45, 54, etc.

{148b}  Cowell Evidence, pp. 35, 37, and elsewhere.

{148c}  Power Evidence, p. 8.

{149a}  Cowell Evidence, p. 57

{149b}  Cowell Evidence, p. 82.

{149c}  Factories' Inquiry Commission's Report, p. 4, Hawkins.

{151}  Stuart Evidence, p. 35.

{152a}  Tufnell Evidence, p. 91.

{152b}  Dr. Loudon Evidence, pp. 12, 13.

{153a}  Dr. Loudon Evidence, p. 16.

{153b}  Drinkwater Evidence, pp. 72, 80, 146, 148, 150 (two brothers); 69
(two brothers); 155, and many others.

Power Evidence, pp. 63, 66, 67 (two cases); 68 (three cases); 69 (two
cases); in Leeds, pp. 29, 31, 40, 43, 53, _et seq_.

Loudon Evidence, pp. 4, 7 (four cases); 8 (several cases), etc.

Sir D. Barry Evidence, pp. 6, 8, 13, 21, 22, 44, 55 (three cases), etc.

Tufnell Evidence, pp. 5, 6, 16, etc.

{154a}  Factories' Inquiry Commission's Report, 1836, Sir D. Barry
Evidence, p. 21 (two cases).


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[Illustration: POETS ARE THE TRUMPETS WHICH SING TO BATTLE
POETS ARE THE UNACKNOWLEDGED LEGISLATORS OF THE WORLD

SHELLEY]




"EVERYMAN"

WITH OTHER INTERLUDES, including EIGHT MIRACLE PLAYS

[Illustration: EVERY MAN I WILL GO WITH THEE BE THY GVIDE
IN THY MOST NEED TO GO BY THY SIDE]

LONDON: PUBLISHED
by J. M. DENT & SONS LTD.
AND IN NEW YORK
BY E. P. DUTTON & CO




First Issue of this Edition                                1909
Reprinted                                      1910, 1912, 1914




INTRODUCTION

    By craftsmen and mean men, these pageants are played,
    And to commons and countrymen accustomably before:
    If better men and finer heads now come, what can be said?



The pageants of the old English town-guilds, and the other mysteries and
interludes that follow, have still an uncommon reality about them if we
take them in the spirit in which they were originally acted. Their
office as the begetters of the greater literary drama to come, and their
value as early records, have, since Sharp wrote his _Dissertation on the
Coventry Mysteries_ in 1816, been fully illustrated. But they have
hardly yet reached the outside reader who looks for life and not for
literary origins and relations in what he reads. This is a pity, for
these old plays hide under their archaic dress the human interest that
all dramatic art, no matter how crude, can claim when it is touched with
our real emotions and sensations. They are not only a primitive
religious drama, born of the church and its feasts; they are the genuine
expression of the town life of the English people when it was still
lived with some exuberance of spirits and communal pleasure. As we read
them, indeed, though it be in cold blood, we are carried out of our
book, and set in the street or market-square by the side of the "commons
and countrymen," as in the day when Whitsuntide, or Corpus Christi,
brought round the annual pageantry to Chester, Coventry, York, and other
towns.

Of the plays that follow, six come from the old town pageants,
reflecting in their variety the range of subject and the contemporary
effect of the cycles from which they are taken. They are all typical,
and show us how the scenes and characters of the east were mingled with
the real life of the English craftsmen and townsfolk who acted them, and
for whose pleasure they were written. Yet they give us only a small
notion of the whole interest and extent of these plays. We gain an idea
of their popularity both from the number of them given in one town and
the number of places at which regular cycles, or single pageants, were
represented from year to year. The York plays alone that remain are
forty-eight in all; the Chester, twenty-four or five; the Wakefield,
thirty-two or three. Even these do not represent anything like the full
list. Mr. E. K. Chambers, in an appendix to his _Mediæval Stage_, gives
a list of eighty-nine different episodes treated in one set or another
of the English and Cornish cycles. Then as to the gazette of the many
scattered places where they had a traditional hold: Beverley had a cycle
of thirty-six; Newcastle-on-Tyne and Norwich, each one of twelve; while
the village and parochial plays were almost numberless. In Essex alone
the list includes twenty-one towns and villages, though it is fair to
add that this was a specially enterprising shire. At Lydd and New
Romney, companies of players from fourteen neighbouring towns and
villages can be traced in the local records that stretch from a year or
so before, to eight years after, the fifteenth century.

Mrs. J. R. Green, in her history of _Town Life_ in that century, shows
us how the townspeople mixed their workday and holiday pursuits, their
serious duties with an apparent "incessant round of gaieties." Hardly a
town but had its own particular play, acted in the town hall or the
parish churchyard, "the mayor and his brethren sitting in state." In
1411 there was a great play, _From the Beginning of the World_, played
in London at the Skinner's Well. It lasted seven days continually, and
there were the most part of the lords and gentles of England. No copy of
this play exists, but of its character we have a pretty sensible idea
from various other plays of the Creation handed down from the
north-country cycles. In the best of them the predestined Adam is
created after a fashion both to suggest his treatment by Giotto in the
medallion at Florence, and his lineaments as an English mediæval
prototype:--

    "But now this man that I have made,
    With the ghost of life, I make him glad,
    Rise up, Adam, rise up rade,[1]
    A man full of soul and life!"

But to surprise the English mediæval smith or carpenter, cobbler or
bowyer, when he turns playgoer at Whitsuntide, assisting at a play
which expressed himself as well as its scriptural folk, we must go on to
later episodes. The Deluge in the Chester pageant, that opens the
present volume, has among its many Noah's Ark sensations, some of them
difficult enoug
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A Discourse Upon The Origin And The Foundation Of The Inequality Among
Mankind

By J. J. Rousseau




INTRODUCTORY NOTE

Jean Jacques Rousseau was born at Geneva, June 28, 1712, the son of a
watchmaker of French origin. His education was irregular, and though
he tried many professions--including engraving, music, and
teaching--he found it difficult to support himself in any of them. The
discovery of his talent as a writer came with the winning of a prize
offered by the Academy of Dijon for a discourse on the question,
"Whether the progress of the sciences and of letters has tended to
corrupt or to elevate morals." He argued so brilliantly that the
tendency of civilization was degrading that he became at once famous.
The discourse here printed on the causes of inequality among men was
written in a similar competition.

He now concentrated his powers upon literature, producing two novels,
"La Nouvelle Heloise," the forerunner and parent of endless
sentimental and picturesque fictions; and "Emile, ou l'Education," a
work which has had enormous influence on the theory and practise of
pedagogy down to our own time and in which the Savoyard Vicar appears,
who is used as the mouthpiece for Rousseau's own religious ideas. "Le
Contrat Social" (1762) elaborated the doctrine of the discourse on
inequality. Both historically and philosophically it is unsound; but
it was the chief literary source of the enthusiasm for liberty,
fraternity, and equality, which inspired the leaders of the French
Revolution, and its effects passed far beyond France.

His most famous work, the "Confessions," was published after his
death. This book is a mine of information as to his life, but it is
far from trustworthy; and the picture it gives of the author's
personality and conduct, though painted in such a way as to make it
absorbingly interesting, is often unpleasing in the highest degree.
But it is one of the great autobiographies of the world.

During Rousseau's later years he was the victim of the delusion of
persecution; and although he was protected by a succession of good
friends, he came to distrust and quarrel with each in turn. He died at
Ermenonville, near Paris, July 2, 1778, the most widely influential
French writer of his age.

The Savoyard Vicar and his "Profession of Faith" are introduced into
"Emile" not, according to the author, because he wishes to exhibit his
principles as those which should be taught, but to give an example of
the way in which religious matters should be discussed with the young.
Nevertheless, it is universally recognized that these opinions are
Rousseau's own, and represent in short form his characteristic
attitude toward religious belief. The Vicar himself is believed to
combine the traits of two Savoyard priests whom Rousseau knew in his
youth. The more important was the Abbe Gaime, whom he had known at
Turin; the other, the Abbe Gatier, who had taught him at Annecy.




QUESTION PROPOSED BY THE ACADEMY OF DIJON

What is the Origin of the Inequality among Mankind; and whether such
Inequality is authorized by the Law of Nature?




A DISCOURSE UPON THE ORIGIN AND THE FOUNDATION OF THE INEQUALITY AMONG
MANKIND

'Tis of man I am to speak; and the very question, in answer to which I
am to speak of him, sufficiently informs me that I am going to speak
to men; for to those alone, who are not afraid of honouring truth, it
belongs to propose discussions of this kind. I shall therefore
maintain with confidence the cause of mankind before the sages, who
invite me to stand up in its defence; and I shall think myself happy,
if I can but behave in a manner not unworthy of my subject and of my
judges.

I conceive two species of inequality among men; one which I call
natural, or physical inequality, because it is established by nature,
and consists in the difference of age, health, bodily strength, and
the qualities of the mind, or of the soul; the other which may be
termed moral, or political inequality, because it depends on a kind of
convention, and is established, or at least authorized, by the common
consent of mankind. This species of inequality consists in the
different privileges, which some men enjoy, to the prejudice of
others, such as that of being richer, more honoured, more powerful,
and even that of exacting obedience from them.

It were absurd to ask, what is the cause of natural inequality, seeing
the bare definition of natural inequality answers the question: it
would be more absurd still to enquire, if there might not be some
essential connection between the two species of inequality, as it
would be asking, in other words, if those who command are necessarily
better men than those who obey; and if strength of body or of mind,
wisdom or virtue are always to be found in individuals, in the same
proportion with power, or riches: a question, fit perhaps to be
discussed by slaves in the hearing of their masters, but unbecoming
free and reasonable beings in quest of truth.

What therefore is precisely
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Project Gutenberg volunteers

THE TRAGEDY OF KING LEAR



by William Shakespeare





Contents

ACT I
Scene I.
A Room of State in King Lear’s Palace.
Scene II.
A Hall in the Earl of Gloucester’s Castle.
Scene III.
A Room in the Duke of Albany’s Palace.
Scene IV.
A Hall in Albany’s Palace.
Scene V.
Court before the Duke of Albany’s Palace.

ACT II
Scene I.
A court within the Castle of the Earl of Gloucester.
Scene II.
Before Gloucester’s Castle.
Scene III.
The open Country.
Scene IV.
Before Gloucester’s Castle.

ACT III
Scene I.
A Heath.
Scene II.
Another part of the heath.
Scene III.
A Room in Gloucester’s Castle.
Scene IV.
A part of the Heath with a Hovel.
Scene V.
A Room in Gloucester’s Castle.
Scene VI.
A Chamber in a Farmhouse adjoining the Castle.
Scene VII.
A Room in Gloucester’s Castle.

ACT IV
Scene I.
The heath.
Scene II.
Before the Duke of Albany’s Palace.
Scene III.
The French camp near Dover.
Scene IV.
The French camp. A Tent.
Scene V.
A Room in Gloucester’s Castle.
Scene VI.
The country near Dover.
Scene VII.
A Tent in the French Camp.

ACT V
Scene I.
The Camp of the British Forces near Dover.
Scene II.
A field between the two Camps.
Scene III.
The British Camp near Dover.




 Dramatis Personæ 

LEAR, King of Britain.
GONERIL, eldest daughter to Lear.
REGAN, second daughter to Lear.
CORDELIA, youngest daughter to Lear.
DUKE of ALBANY, married to Goneril.
DUKE of CORNWALL, married to Regan.
KING of FRANCE.
DUKE of BURGUNDY.
EARL of GLOUCESTER.
EDGAR, elder son to Gloucester.
EDMUND, younger bastard son to Gloucester.
EARL of KENT.
FOOL.
OSWALD, steward to Goneril.
CURAN, a Courtier.
OLD MAN, Tenant to Gloucester.
Physician.
An Officer employed by Edmund.
Gentleman, attendant on Cordelia.
A Herald.
Servants to Cornwall.

Knights attending on the King, Officers, Messengers, Soldiers and
Attendants.

SCENE: Britain.



ACT I

SCENE I. A Room of State in King Lear’s Palace.

 Enter Kent, Gloucester and Edmund.

KENT.
I thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany than Cornwall.

GLOUCESTER.
It did always seem so to us; but now, in the division of the kingdom,
it appears not which of the Dukes he values most, for qualities are so
weighed that curiosity in neither can make choice of either’s moiety.

KENT.
Is not this your son, my lord?

GLOUCESTER.
His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge: I have so often
blush’d to acknowledge him that now I am braz’d to’t.

KENT.
I cannot conceive you.

GLOUCESTER.
Sir, this young fellow’s mother could; whereupon she grew
round-wombed, and had indeed, sir, a son for her cradle ere she
had a husband for her bed. Do you smell a fault?

KENT.
I cannot wish the fault undone, the issue of it being so proper.

GLOUCESTER.
But I have a son, sir, by order of law, some year elder than
this, who yet is no dearer in my account: though this knave came
something saucily to the world before he was sent for, yet was
his mother fair; there was good sport at his making, and the
whoreson must be acknowledged. Do you know this noble gentleman,
Edmund?

EDMUND.
No, my lord.

GLOUCESTER.
My Lord of Kent: remember him hereafter as my honourable friend.

EDMUND.
My services to your lordship.

KENT.
I must love you, and sue to know you better.

EDMUND.
Sir, I shall study deserving.

GLOUCESTER.
He hath been out nine years, and away he shall again. The King
is coming.

 [_Sennet within._]

 Enter Lear, Cornwall, Albany, Goneril, Regan, Cordelia and Attendants.

LEAR.
Attend the lords of France and Burgundy,
Gloucester.

GLOUCESTER.
I shall, my lord.

 [_Exeunt Gloucester and Edmund._]

LEAR.
Meantime we shall express our darker purpose.
Give me the map there. Know that we have divided
In three our kingdom: and ’tis our fast intent
To shake all cares and business from our age;
Conferring them on younger strengths, while we
Unburden’d crawl toward death. Our son of Cornwall,
And you, our no less loving son of Albany,
We have this hour a constant will to publish
Our daughters’ several dowers, that future strife
May be prevented now. The princes, France and Burgundy,
Great rivals in our youngest daughter’s love,
Long in our court have made their amorous sojourn,
And here are to be answer’d. Tell me, my daughters,—
Since now we will divest us both of rule,
Interest of territory, cares of state,—
Which of you shall we say doth love us most?
That we our largest bounty may extend
Where nature doth with merit challenge.—Goneril,
Our eldest born, speak first.

GONERIL.
Sir, I love you more than word can wield the matter;
Dearer than eyesight, space, and liberty;
Beyond what can be valu’d, rich or rare;
No less than life, with grace, health, beauty, honour;
As much as child e’er lov’d, or father found;
A love that makes breath poor and speech unable;
Beyond all manner of so much I love you.

CORDELIA.
[_Aside._] What shall Cordelia speak? Love, and be silent.

LEAR.
Of all these bounds, even from this line to this,
With shadowy forests and with champains rich’d,
With plenteous rivers and w
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THE JUNGLE BOOK




                    [Illustration: Rudyard Kipling]




[Illustration: "LITTLE TOOMAI LAID HIMSELF DOWN CLOSE TO THE GREAT NECK
LEST A SWINGING BOUGH SHOULD SWEEP HIM TO THE GROUND." (SEE PAGE 246.)]




                                  THE
                              JUNGLE BOOK


                                   BY
                            RUDYARD KIPLING


                             [Illustration]


                                NEW YORK
                            THE CENTURY CO.
                                  1910




                        Copyright 1893, 1894, by
                            RUDYARD KIPLING
                          Copyright, 1894, by
                          HARPER and BROTHERS
                        Copyright 1893, 1894, by
                            THE CENTURY CO.




                                CONTENTS


                                                                PAGE

    MOWGLI'S BROTHERS                                              1

      HUNTING-SONG OF THE SEEONEE PACK                            42

    KAA'S HUNTING                                                 47

      ROAD-SONG OF THE BANDAR-LOG                                 89

    "TIGER! TIGER!"                                               93

      MOWGLI'S SONG                                              131

    THE WHITE SEAL                                               137

      LUKANNON                                                   170

    "RIKKI-TIKKI-TAVI"                                           175

      DARZEE'S CHAUNT                                            212

    TOOMAI OF THE ELEPHANTS                                      217

      SHIV AND THE GRASSHOPPER                                   261

    HER MAJESTY'S SERVANTS                                       265

      PARADE-SONG OF THE CAMP ANIMALS                            300




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS


                                                                PAGE

    "LITTLE TOOMAI LAID HIMSELF DOWN CLOSE TO THE
      GREAT NECK, LEST A SWINGING BOUGH SHOULD
      SWEEP HIM TO THE GROUND"                          FRONTISPIECE

    "'GOOD LUCK GO WITH YOU, O CHIEF OF THE
      WOLVES'"                                                     5

    "THE TIGER'S ROAR FILLED THE CAVE WITH THUNDER"               11

    THE MEETING AT THE COUNCIL ROCK                               17

    "BAGHEERA WOULD LIE OUT ON A BRANCH AND CALL,
      'COME ALONG, LITTLE BROTHER'"                               23

    "'WAKE, LITTLE BROTHER; I BRING NEWS'"                        99

    "'ARE ALL THESE TALES SUCH COBWEBS AND MOON-TALK?'
      SAID MOWGLI"                                               105

    "BULDEO LAY AS STILL, AS STILL, EXPECTING EVERY MINUTE
      TO SEE MOWGLI TURN INTO A TIGER, TOO"                      121

    "WHEN THE MOON ROSE OVER THE PLAIN THE VILLAGERS
      SAW MOWGLI TROTTING ACROSS, WITH TWO
      WOLVES AT HIS HEELS"                                       126

    "THEY CLAMBERED UP ON THE COUNCIL ROCK TOGETHER,
      AND MOWGLI SPREAD THE SKIN OUT ON
      THE FLAT STONE"                                            129

    "TEN FATHOMS DEEP"                                           146

    "THEY WERE ALL AWAKE AND STARING IN EVERY DIRECTION
      BUT THE RIGHT ONE"                                         154

    "HE HAD FOUND SEA COW AT LAST"                               162

    "RIKKI-TIKKI LOOKED DOWN BETWEEN THE BOY'S COLLAR
      AND NECK"                                                  177

    "HE PUT HIS NOSE INTO THE INK"                               178

    "RIKKI-TIKKI WAS AWAKE ON THE PILLOW"                        179

    "HE CAME TO BREAKFAST RIDING ON TEDDY'S SHOULDER"            180

    "'WE ARE VERY MISERABLE,' SAID DARZEE"                       181

    "'I AM NAG,' SAID THE COBRA: 'LOOK, AND BE AFRAID.'
      BUT AT THE BOTTOM OF HIS COLD HEART _HE_ WAS
      AFRAID"                                                    183

    "HE JUMPED UP IN THE AIR, AND JUST UNDER HIM
      WHIZZED BY THE HEAD OF NAGAINA"                            187

    "IN THE DARK HE RAN UP AGAINST CHUCHUNDRA,
      THE MUSKRAT"                                               192

    "THEN RIKKI-TIKKI WAS BATTERED TO AND FRO AS
      A RAT IS SHAKEN BY A DOG"                                  197

    DARZEE'S WIFE PRETENDS TO HAVE A BROKEN WING                 201

    "NAGAINA FLEW DOWN THE PATH WITH RIKKI-TIKKI
      BEHIND HER"                                                207

    "IT IS ALL OVER"                                             210

    "KALA NAG WAS THE BEST-LOVED ELEPHANT IN THE
      SERVICE"                                                   219

    "'HE IS AFRAID OF ME,' SAID LITTLE TOOMAI, AND
      HE MADE KALA NAG LIFT UP HIS FEET ONE
      AFTER THE OTHER"                                           223

    "HE WOULD GET HIS TOR
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Would that I could hope for the luck of that Chinese scholar known to
Japanese literature as "Rosan"! For he was beloved by two
spirit-maidens, celestial sisters, who every ten days came to visit him
and to tell him stories about butterflies. Now there are marvelous
Chinese stories about butterflies—ghostly stories; and I want to know
them. But never shall I be able to read Chinese, nor even Japanese; and
the little Japanese poetry that I manage, with exceeding difficulty, to
translate, contains so many allusions to Chinese stories of butterflies
that I am tormented with the torment of Tantalus... And, of course, no
spirit-maidens will even deign to visit so skeptical a person as
myself.

I want to know, for example, the whole story of that Chinese maiden
whom the butterflies took to be a flower, and followed in multitude,—so
fragrant and so fair was she. Also I should like to know something more
concerning the butterflies of the Emperor Genso, or Ming Hwang, who
made them choose his loves for him... He used to hold wine-parties in
his amazing garden; and ladies of exceeding beauty were in attendance;
and caged butterflies, set free among them, would fly to the fairest;
and then, upon that fairest the Imperial favor was bestowed. But after
Genso Kotei had seen Yokihi (whom the Chinese call Yang-Kwei-Fei), he
would not suffer the butterflies to choose for him,—which was unlucky,
as Yokihi got him into serious trouble... Again, I should like to know
more about the experience of that Chinese scholar, celebrated in Japan
under the name Soshu, who dreamed that he was a butterfly, and had all
the sensations of a butterfly in that dream. For his spirit had really
been wandering about in the shape of a butterfly; and, when he awoke,
the memories and the feelings of butterfly existence remained so vivid
in his mind that he could not act like a human being... Finally I
should like to know the text of a certain Chinese official recognition
of sundry butterflies as the spirits of an Emperor and of his
attendants...

Most of the Japanese literature about butterflies, excepting some
poetry, appears to be of Chinese origin; and even that old national
aesthetic feeling on the subject, which found such delightful
expression in Japanese art and song and custom, may have been first
developed under Chinese teaching. Chinese precedent doubtless explains
why Japanese poets and painters chose so often for their geimyo, or
professional appellations, such names as Chomu ("Butterfly-Dream),"
Icho ("Solitary Butterfly)," etc. And even to this day such geimyo as
Chohana ("Butterfly-Blossom"), Chokichi ("Butterfly-Luck"), or
Chonosuke ("Butterfly-Help"), are affected by dancing-girls. Besides
artistic names having reference to butterflies, there are still in use
real personal names (yobina) of this kind,—such as Kocho, or Cho,
meaning "Butterfly." They are borne by women only, as a rule,—though
there are some strange exceptions... And here I may mention that, in
the province of Mutsu, there still exists the curious old custom of
calling the youngest daughter in a family Tekona,—which quaint word,
obsolete elsewhere, signifies in Mutsu dialect a butterfly. In classic
time this word signified also a beautiful woman...

It is possible also that some weird Japanese beliefs about butterflies
are of Chinese derivation; but these beliefs might be older than China
herself. The most interesting one, I think, is that the soul of a
living person may wander about in the form of a butterfly. Some pretty
fancies have been evolved out of this belief,—such as the notion that
if a butterfly enters your guest-room and perches behind the bamboo
screen, the person whom you most love is coming to see you. That a
butterfly may be the spirit of somebody is not a reason for being
afraid of it. Nevertheless there are times when even butterflies can
inspire fear by appearing in prodigious numbers; and Japanese history
records such an event. When Taira-no-Masakado was secretly preparing
for his famous revolt, there appeared in Kyoto so vast a swarm of
butterflies that the people were frightened,—thinking the apparition to
be a portent of coming evil... Perhaps those butterflies were supposed
to be the spirits of the thousands doomed to perish in battle, and
agitated on the eve of war by some mysterious premonition of death.

However, in Japanese belief, a butterfly may be the soul of a dead
person as well as of a living person. Indeed it is a custom of souls to
take butterfly-shape in order to announce the fact of their final
departure from the body; and for this reason any butterfly  which
enters a house ought to be kindly treated.

To this belief, and to queer fancies connected with it, there are many
allusions in popular drama. For example, there is a well-known play
called Tonde-deru-Kocho-no-Kanzashi; or, "The Flying Hairpin of Kocho."
Kocho is a beautiful person who kills herself because of false
accusations and cruel treatment. Her would-be avenger long 
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PG #: 40868
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If the _intellect_ were not of a subordinate nature, as the two preceding
chapters show, then everything which takes place without it, _i.e._,
without intervention of the idea, such as reproduction, the development
and maintenance of the organism, the healing of wounds, the restoration or
vicarious supplementing of mutilated parts, the salutary crisis in
diseases, the works of the mechanical skill of animals, and the
performances of instinct would not be done so infinitely better and more
perfectly than what takes place with the assistance of intellect, all
conscious and intentional achievements of men, which compared with the
former are mere bungling. In general _nature_ signifies that which
operates, acts, performs without the assistance of the intellect. Now,
that this is really identical with what we find in ourselves as _will_ is
the general theme of this second book, and also of the essay, “_Ueber den
Willen in der Natur_.” The possibility of this fundamental knowledge
depends upon the fact that _in us_ the will is directly lighted by the
intellect, which here appears as self‐consciousness; otherwise we could
just as little arrive at a fuller knowledge of it _within us_ as without
us, and must for ever stop at inscrutable forces of nature. We have to
abstract from the assistance of the _intellect_ if we wish to comprehend
the nature of the will in itself, and thereby, as far as is possible,
penetrate to the inner being of nature.

On this account, it may be remarked in passing, my direct antipode among
philosophers is Anaxagoras; for he assumed arbitrarily as that which is
first and original, from which everything proceeds, a νους, an
intelligence, a subject of ideas, and he is regarded as the first who
promulgated such a view. According to him the world existed earlier in the
mere idea than in itself; while according to me it is the unconscious
_will_ which constitutes the reality of things, and its development must
have advanced very far before it finally attains, in the animal
consciousness, to the idea and intelligence; so that, according to me,
thought appears as the very last. However, according to the testimony of
Aristotle (_Metaph._, i. 4), Anaxagoras himself did not know how to begin
much with his νους, but merely set it up, and then left it standing like a
painted saint at the entrance, without making use of it in his development
of nature, except in cases of need, when he did not know how else to help
himself. All physico‐theology is a carrying out of the error opposed to
the truth expressed at the beginning of this chapter—the error that the
most perfect form of the origin of things is that which is brought about
by means of an _intellect_. Therefore it draws a bolt against all deep
exploration of nature.

From the time of Socrates down to our own time, we find that the chief
subject of the ceaseless disputations of the philosophers has been that
_ens rationis_, called _soul_. We see the most of them assert its
immortality, that is to say, its metaphysical nature; yet others,
supported by facts which incontrovertibly prove the entire dependence of
the intellect upon the bodily organism, unweariedly maintain the contrary.
That soul is by all and before everything taken as _absolutely simple_;
for precisely from this its metaphysical nature, its immateriality and
immortality were proved, although these by no means necessarily follow
from it. For although we can only conceive the destruction of a formed
body through breaking up of it into its parts, it does not follow from
this that the destruction of a simple existence, of which besides we have
no conception, may not be possible in some other way, perhaps by gradually
vanishing. I, on the contrary, start by doing away with the presupposed
simplicity of our subjectively conscious nature, or the _ego_, inasmuch as
I show that the manifestations from which it was deduced have two very
different sources, and that in any case the intellect is physically
conditioned, the function of a material organ, therefore dependent upon
it, and without it is just as impossible as the grasp without the hand;
that accordingly it belongs to the mere phenomenon, and thus shares the
fate of this,—that the _will_, on the contrary, is bound to no special
organ, but is everywhere present, is everywhere that which moves and
forms, and therefore is that which conditions the whole organism; that, in
fact, it constitutes the metaphysical substratum of the whole phenomenon,
consequently is not, like the intellect, a _Posterius_ of it, but its
_Prius_; and the phenomenon depends upon it, not it upon the phenomenon.
But the body is reduced indeed to a mere idea, for it is only the manner
in which the _will_ exhibits itself in the perception of the intellect or
brain. The _will_, again, which in all other systems, different as they
are in other respects, appears as one of the last results, is with me the
very first. The _intellect_, as mere function of the brain, is invol
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 12186
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Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by Jno. W.
Leonard & Co.,

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the
Southern District of New York.




To

Brother J.J.J. Gourgas,

Sovereign Grand Inspector General in the Supreme Council for the Northern
Jurisdiction of the United States,


As a Slight Testimonial of My Friendship and Esteem for Him
As a Man,
And of My Profound Veneration for His Character
As a Mason;
Whose Long and Useful Life Has Been Well Spent in the
Laborious Prosecution of the Science,
And the Unremitting Conservation of the Principles of Our
Sublime Institution.



Table of Contents



Preface
Introduction


Book First. The Law of Grand Lodges.

Chapter I. Historical Sketch.
Chapter II. Of the Mode of Organizing Grand Lodges.
Chapter III. Of the Members of a Grand Lodge.
Chapter IV. Of the Officers of a Grand Lodge.
    Section I. Of the Grand Master.
    Section II. The Deputy Grand Master.
    Section III. Of the Grand Wardens.
    Section IV. Of the Grand Treasurer.
    Section V. Of the Grand Secretary.
    Section VI. Of the Grand Chaplain.
    Section VII. Of the Grand Deacons.
    Section VIII. Of the Grand Marshal.
    Section IX. Of the Grand Stewards.
    Section X. Of the Grand Sword-Bearer.
    Section XI. Of the Grand Tiler.
    Section I. General View.
    Section II. Of the Legislative Power of a Grand Lodge.
    Section III. Of the Judicial Power of a Grand Lodge.
    Section IV. Of the Executive Power of a Grand Lodge.


Book Second. Laws of Subordinate Lodges.

Chapter I. Of the Nature and Organization of Subordinate Lodges.
Chapter II. Of Lodges under Dispensation.
Chapter III. Of Lodges Working under a Warrant of Constitution.
Chapter IV. Of the Officers of a Subordinate Lodge.
    Section I. Of the Officers in General.
    Section II. Of the Worshipful Master.
    Section III. Of the Wardens.
    Section IV. Of the Treasurer.
    Section V. Of the Secretary.
    Section VI. Of the Deacons.
    Section VII. Of the Stewards.
    Section VIII. Of the Tiler.
    Section I. Of the Order of Business.
    Section II. Of Appeals from the Decision of the Chair.
    Section III. Of the Mode of Taking the Question.
    Section IV. Of Adjournments.
    Section V. Of the Appointment of Committees.
    Section VI. Of the Mode of Keeping the Minutes.


Book Third. The Law of Individuals.

    Section I. Of the Moral Qualifications of Candidates.
    Section II. Of the Physical Qualifications of Candidates.
    Section III. Of the Intellectual Qualifications of Candidates.
    Section IV. Of the Political Qualifications of Candidates.
    Section V. Of the Petition of Candidates for Admission, and the
                   Action Thereon.
    Section VI. Of Balloting for Candidates.
    Section VII. Of the Reconsideration of the Ballot.
    Section VIII. Of the Renewal of Applications by Rejected Candidates.
    Section IX. Of the Necessary Probation and Due Proficiency of
                    Candidates before Advancement
    Section X. Of Balloting for Candidates in each Degree.
    Section XI. Of the Number to be Initiated at one Communication.
    Section XII. Of Finishing the Candidates of one Lodge in another.
    Section XIII. Of the Initiation of Non-residents.
Chapter II. Of the Rights of Entered Apprentices.
Chapter III. Of the Rights of Fellow Crafts.
Chapter IV. Of the Rights of Master Masons.
    Section I. Of the Right of Membership.
    Section II. Of the Right of Visit.
    Section III. Of the Examination of Visitors.
    Section IV. Of Vouching for a Brother.
    Section V. Of the Right of Claiming Relief.
    Section VI. Of the Right of Masonic Burial.
Chapter V. Of the Rights of Past Masters.
Chapter VI. Of Affiliation.
Chapter VII. Of Demitting.
Chapter VIII. Of Unaffiliated Masons.


Book Fourth. Of Masonic Crimes and Punishments.

Chapter I. Of What Are Masonic Crimes.
Chapter II. Of Masonic Punishments.
    Section I. Of Censure.
    Section II. Of Reprimand.
    Section III. Of Exclusion from the Lodge.
    Section IV. Of Definite Suspension.
    Section V. Of Indefinite Suspension.
    Section VI. Of Expulsion.
Chapter III. Of Masonic Trials.
    Section I. Of the Form of Trial.
    Section II. Of the Evidence in Masonic Trials.
Chapter IV. Of the Penal Jurisdiction of a Lodge.
Chapter V. Of Appeals.
Chapter VI. Of Restoration.


Index.
Footnotes.




Preface.



In presenting to the fraternity a work on the Principles of Masonic Law,
it is due to those for whom it is intended, that something should be said
of the design with which it has been written, and of the plan on which it
has been composed. It is not pretended to present to the craft an
encyclopedia of jurisprudence, in which every question that can possibly
arise, in the transactions of a Lodge, is decided with an especial
reference to its particular circumstances. Were the accomplishment of such
an herculean task possible, except after years of intense and
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The Party--Across America to Vancouver--On Board the Warrimo--Steamer
Chairs--The Captain--Going Home under a Cloud--A Gritty Purser--The
Brightest Passenger--Remedy for Bad Habits--The Doctor and the Lumbago
--A Moral Pauper--Limited Smoking--Remittance-men.


Change of Costume--Fish, Snake, and Boomerang Stories--Tests of Memory
--A Brahmin Expert--General Grant's Memory--A Delicately Improper Tale


Honolulu--Reminiscences of the Sandwich Islands--King Liholiho and His
Royal Equipment--The Tabu--The Population of the Island--A Kanaka Diver
--Cholera at Honolulu--Honolulu; Past and Present--The Leper Colony


Leaving Honolulu--Flying-fish--Approaching the Equator--Why the Ship Went
Slow--The Front Yard of the Ship--Crossing the Equator--Horse Billiards
or Shovel Board--The Waterbury Watch--Washing Decks--Ship Painters--The
Great Meridian--The Loss of a Day--A Babe without a Birthday


A lesson in Pronunciation--Reverence for Robert Burns--The Southern
Cross--Troublesome Constellations--Victoria for a Name--Islands on the
Map--Alofa and Fortuna--Recruiting for the Queensland Plantations
--Captain Warren's NoteBook--Recruiting not thoroughly Popular


Missionaries Obstruct Business--The Sugar Planter and the Kanaka--The
Planter's View--Civilizing the Kanaka--The Missionary's View--The Result
--Repentant Kanakas--Wrinkles--The Death Rate in Queensland


The  Fiji Islands--Suva--The Ship from Duluth--Going Ashore--Midwinter in
Fiji--Seeing the Governor--Why Fiji was Ceded to England--Old time
Fijians--Convicts among the Fijians--A Case Where Marriage was a Failure-
-
Immortality with Limitations


A Wilderness of Islands--Two Men without a Country--A Naturalist from New
Zealand--The Fauna of Australasia--Animals, Insects, and Birds--The
Ornithorhynchus--Poetry and Plagiarism



Close to Australia--Porpoises at Night--Entrance to Sydney Harbor--The
Loss of the Duncan Dunbar--The Harbor--The City of Sydney--Spring-time in
Australia--The Climate--Information for Travelers--The Size of Australia
--A Dust-Storm and Hot Wind


The  Discovery of Australia--Transportation of Convicts--Discipline
--English Laws, Ancient and Modern--Flogging Prisoners to Death--Arrival
of
Settlers--New South Wales Corps--Rum Currency--Intemperance Everywhere
--$100,000 for One Gallon of Rum--Development of the Country--Immense
Resources


Hospitality of English-speaking People--Writers and their Gratitude--Mr.
Gane and the Panegyrics--Population of Sydney An English City with
American Trimming--“Squatters”--Palaces and Sheep Kingdoms--Wool and
Mutton--Australians and Americans--Costermonger Pronunciation--England is
“Home”--Table Talk--English and Colonial Audiences 124


Mr. X., a Missionary--Why Christianity Makes Slow Progress in India--A
Large Dream--Hindoo Miracles and Legends--Sampson and Hanuman--The
Sandstone Ridge--Where are the Gates?


Public Works in Australasia--Botanical Garden of Sydney--Four Special
Socialties--The Government House--A Governor and His Functions--The
Admiralty House--The Tour of the Harbor--Shark Fishing--Cecil Rhodes'
Shark and his First Fortune--Free Board for Sharks.


Bad Health--To Melbourne by Rail--Maps Defective--The Colony of Victoria
--A Round-trip Ticket from Sydney--Change Cars, from Wide to Narrow
Gauge, a Peculiarity at Albury--Customs-fences--“My Word”--The Blue
Mountains--Rabbit Piles--Government R. R. Restaurants--Duchesses for
Waiters--“Sheep-dip”--Railroad Coffee--Things Seen and Not Seen


Wagga-Wagga--The Tichborne Claimant--A Stock Mystery--The Plan of the
Romance--The Realization--The Henry Bascom Mystery--Bascom Hall--The
Author's Death and Funeral


Melbourne and its Attractions--The Melbourne Cup Races--Cup Day--Great
Crowds--Clothes Regardless of Cost--The Australian Larrikin--Is He Dead?
--Australian Hospitality--Melbourne Wool-brokers--The Museums--The
Palaces
--The Origin of Melbourne


The British Empire--Its Exports and Imports--The Trade of Australia--To
Adelaide--Broken Hill Silver Mine--A Roundabout road--The Scrub and its
Possibilities for the Novelist--The Aboriginal Tracker--A Test Case--How
Does One Cow-Track Differ from Another?


The Gum Trees--Unsociable Trees--Gorse and Broom--A universal Defect--An
Adventurer--Wanted L200, got L20,000,000--A Vast Land Scheme--The
Smash-up--The Corpse Got Up and Danced--A Unique Business by One Man
--Buying the Kangaroo Skin--The Approach to Adelaide--Everything Comes to
Him who Waits--A Healthy Religious Atmosphere--What is the Matter with
the
Specter?



The Botanical Gardens--Contributions from all Countries--The
Zoological Gardens of Adelaide--The Laughing Jackass--The Dingo--A
Misnamed Province--Telegraphing from Melbourne to San Francisco--A Mania
for Holidays--The Temperature--The Death Rate--Celebration of the
Reading of the Proclamation of 1836--Some old Settlers at the
Commemoration--Their Staying Powers--The Intelligence of the Aboriginal
--The Antiquity of the Boomerang


A Caller--A Talk about Old Times--The Fox Hun
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   § 1.—The Arician Grove.
   § 2.—Primitive man and the supernatural.
   § 3.—Incarnate gods.
   § 4.—Tree-worship.
   § 5.—Tree-worship in antiquity.
   § 1.—Royal and priestly taboos.
   § 2.—The nature of the soul.
   § 3.—Royal and priestly taboos (continued).
   § 1.—Killing the divine king.
   § 2.—Killing the tree-spirit.
   § 3.—Carrying out Death.
   § 4.—Adonis.
   § 5.—Attis.
   § 6.—Osiris.
   § 7.—Dionysus.
   § 8.—Demeter and Proserpine.
   § 9.—Lityerses.
Footnotes






                               [Cover Art]

[Transcriber’s Note: The above cover image was produced by the submitter
at Distributed Proofreaders, and is being placed into the public domain.]

                              [Frontispiece]





DEDICATION.


To My Friend

WILLIAM ROBERTSON SMITH

In Gratitude And Admiration





PREFACE.


For some time I have been preparing a general work on primitive
superstition and religion. Among the problems which had attracted my
attention was the hitherto unexplained rule of the Arician priesthood; and
last spring it happened that in the course of my reading I came across
some facts which, combined with others I had noted before, suggested an
explanation of the rule in question. As the explanation, if correct,
promised to throw light on some obscure features of primitive religion, I
resolved to develop it fully, and, detaching it from my general work, to
issue it as a separate study. This book is the result.

Now that the theory, which necessarily presented itself to me at first in
outline, has been worked out in detail, I cannot but feel that in some
places I may have pushed it too far. If this should prove to have been the
case, I will readily acknowledge and retract my error as soon as it is
brought home to me. Meantime my essay may serve its purpose as a first
attempt to solve a difficult problem, and to bring a variety of scattered
facts into some sort of order and system.

A justification is perhaps needed of the length at which I have dwelt upon
the popular festivals observed by European peasants in spring, at
midsummer, and at harvest. It can hardly be too often repeated, since it
is not yet generally recognised, that in spite of their fragmentary
character the popular superstitions and customs of the peasantry are by
far the fullest and most trustworthy evidence we possess as to the
primitive religion of the Aryans. Indeed the primitive Aryan, in all that
regards his mental fibre and texture, is not extinct. He is amongst us to
this day. The great intellectual and moral forces which have
revolutionised the educated world have scarcely affected the peasant. In
his inmost beliefs he is what his forefathers were in the days when forest
trees still grew and squirrels played on the ground where Rome and London
now stand.

Hence every inquiry into the primitive religion of the Aryans should
either start from the superstitious beliefs and observances of the
peasantry, or should at least be constantly checked and controlled by
reference to them. Compared with the evidence afforded by living
tradition, the testimony of ancient books on the subject of early religion
is worth very little. For literature accelerates the advance of thought at
a rate which leaves the slow progress of opinion by word of mouth at an
immeasurable distance behind. Two or three generations of literature may
do more to change thought than two or three thousand years of traditional
life. But the mass of the people who do not read books remain unaffected
by the mental revolution wrought by literature; and so it has come about
that in Europe at the present day the superstitious beliefs and practices
which have been handed down by word of mouth are generally of a far more
archaic type than the religion depicted in the most ancient literature of
the Aryan race.

It is on these grounds that, in discussing the meaning and origin of an
ancient Italian priesthood, I have devoted so much attention to the
popular customs and superstitions of modern Europe. In this part of my
subject I have made great use of the works of the late W. Mannhardt,
without which, indeed, my book could scarcely have been written. Fully
recognising the truth of the principles which I have imperfectly stated,
Mannhardt set himself systematically to collect, compare, and explain the
living superstitions of the peasantry. Of this wide field the special
department which he marked out for himself was the religion of the woodman
and the farmer, in other words, the superstitious beliefs and rites
connected with trees and cultivated plants. By oral inquiry, and by
printed questions scattered broadcast over Europe, as well as by
ransacking the literature of folk-lore, he collected a mass of evidence,
part of which he published in a series of admirable works. But his health,
always feeble, broke down before he could complete the comprehensive and
really vast scheme which he had planned, and at his too early death much
of his precious materials remained unpubl
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 16653
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/16653


THE RACES AND EARLY CIVILIZATION OF BABYLONIA


  Prehistoric Babylonia--The Confederacies of Sumer and
  Akkad--Sumerian Racial Affinities--Theories of Mongolian and
  Ural-Altaic Origins--Evidence of Russian Turkestan--Beginnings of
  Agriculture--Remarkable Proofs from Prehistoric Egyptian
  Graves--Sumerians and the Mediterranean Race--Present-day Types in
  Western Asia--The Evidence of Crania--Origin of the Akkadians--The
  Semitic Blend--Races in Ancient Palestine--Southward Drift of
  Armenoid Peoples--The Rephaims of the Bible--Akkadians attain
  Political Supremacy in Northern Babylonia--Influence of Sumerian
  Culture--Beginnings of Civilization--Progress in the Neolithic
  Age--Position of Women in Early Communities--Their Legal Status in
  Ancient Babylonia--Influence in Social and Religious Life--The
  "Woman's Language"--Goddess who inspired Poets.


Before the dawn of the historical period Ancient Babylonia was
divided into a number of independent city states similar to those
which existed in pre-Dynastic Egypt. Ultimately these were grouped
into loose confederacies. The northern cities were embraced in the
territory known as Akkad, and the southern in the land of Sumer, or
Shumer. This division had a racial as well as a geographical
significance. The Akkadians were "late comers" who had achieved
political ascendency in the north when the area they occupied was
called Uri, or Kiuri, and Sumer was known as Kengi. They were a people
of Semitic speech with pronounced Semitic affinities. From the
earliest times the sculptors depicted them with abundant locks, long
full beards, and the prominent distinctive noses and full lips, which
we usually associate with the characteristic Jewish type, and also
attired in long, flounced robes, suspended from their left shoulders,
and reaching down to their ankles. In contrast, the Sumerians had
clean-shaven faces and scalps, and noses of Egyptian and Grecian
rather than Semitic type, while they wore short, pleated kilts, and
went about with the upper part of their bodies quite bare like the
Egyptian noblemen of the Old Kingdom period. They spoke a non-Semitic
language, and were the oldest inhabitants of Babylonia of whom we have
any knowledge. Sumerian civilization was rooted in the agricultural
mode of life, and appears to have been well developed before the
Semites became numerous and influential in the land. Cities had been
built chiefly of sun-dried and fire-baked bricks; distinctive pottery
was manufactured with much skill; the people were governed by
humanitarian laws, which formed the nucleus of the Hammurabi code, and
had in use a system of cuneiform writing which was still in process of
development from earlier pictorial characters. The distinctive feature
of their agricultural methods was the engineering skill which was
displayed in extending the cultivatable area by the construction of
irrigating canals and ditches. There are also indications that they
possessed some knowledge of navigation and traded on the Persian Gulf.
According to one of their own traditions Eridu, originally a seaport,
was their racial cradle. The Semitic Akkadians adopted the distinctive
culture of these Sumerians after settlement, and exercised an
influence on its subsequent growth.

Much controversy has been waged regarding the original home of the
Sumerians and the particular racial type which they represented. One
theory connects them with the lank-haired and beardless Mongolians,
and it is asserted on the evidence afforded by early sculptural
reliefs that they were similarly oblique-eyed. As they also spoke an
agglutinative language, it is suggested that they were descended from
the same parent stock as the Chinese in an ancient Parthian homeland.
If, however, the oblique eye was not the result of faulty and
primitive art, it is evident that the Mongolian type, which is
invariably found to be remarkably persistent in racial blends, did not
survive in the Tigris and Euphrates valleys, for in the finer and more
exact sculpture work of the later Sumerian period the eyes of the
ruling classes are found to be similar to those of the Ancient
Egyptians and southern Europeans. Other facial characteristics suggest
that a Mongolian racial connection is highly improbable; the prominent
Sumerian nose, for instance, is quite unlike the Chinese, which is
diminutive. Nor can far-reaching conclusions be drawn from the scanty
linguistic evidence at our disposal. Although the languages of the
Sumerians and long-headed Chinese are of the agglutinative variety, so
are those also which are spoken by the broad-headed Turks and Magyars
of Hungary, the broad-headed and long-headed, dark and fair Finns, and
the brunet and short-statured Basques with pear-shaped faces, who are
regarded as a variation of the Mediterranean race with distinctive
characteristics developed in isolation. Languages afford no sure
indication of racial origins or affinities.

Another theory connects the Sumerians with t
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PG #: 6626
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6626


At the end of the Rue Guenegaud, coming from the quays, you find the
Arcade of the Pont Neuf, a sort of narrow, dark corridor running from
the Rue Mazarine to the Rue de Seine. This arcade, at the most, is
thirty paces long by two in breadth. It is paved with worn, loose,
yellowish tiles which are never free from acrid damp. The square panes
of glass forming the roof, are black with filth.

On fine days in the summer, when the streets are burning with heavy sun,
whitish light falls from the dirty glazing overhead to drag miserably
through the arcade. On nasty days in winter, on foggy mornings, the
glass throws nothing but darkness on the sticky tiles--unclean and
abominable gloom.

To the left are obscure, low, dumpy shops whence issue puffs of air as
cold as if coming from a cellar. Here are dealers in toys, cardboard
boxes, second-hand books. The articles displayed in their windows are
covered with dust, and owing to the prevailing darkness, can only be
perceived indistinctly. The shop fronts, formed of small panes of glass,
streak the goods with a peculiar greenish reflex. Beyond, behind
the display in the windows, the dim interiors resemble a number of
lugubrious cavities animated by fantastic forms.

To the right, along the whole length of the arcade, extends a wall
against which the shopkeepers opposite have stuck some small cupboards.
Objects without a name, goods forgotten for twenty years, are spread
out there on thin shelves painted a horrible brown colour. A dealer in
imitation jewelry has set up shop in one of these cupboards, and there
sells fifteen sous rings, delicately set out on a cushion of blue velvet
at the bottom of a mahogany box.

Above the glazed cupboards, ascends the roughly plastered black wall,
looking as if covered with leprosy, and all seamed with defacements.

The Arcade of the Pont Neuf is not a place for a stroll. You take it to
make a short cut, to gain a few minutes. It is traversed by busy
people whose sole aim is to go quick and straight before them. You see
apprentices there in their working-aprons, work-girls taking home their
work, persons of both sexes with parcels under their arms. There are
also old men who drag themselves forward in the sad gloaming that falls
from the glazed roof, and bands of small children who come to the arcade
on leaving school, to make a noise by stamping their feet on the tiles
as they run along. Throughout the day a sharp hurried ring of footsteps
resounds on the stone with irritating irregularity. Nobody speaks,
nobody stays there, all hurry about their business with bent heads,
stepping out rapidly, without taking a single glance at the shops. The
tradesmen observe with an air of alarm, the passers-by who by a miracle
stop before their windows.

The arcade is lit at night by three gas burners, enclosed in heavy
square lanterns. These jets of gas, hanging from the glazed roof whereon
they cast spots of fawn-coloured light, shed around them circles of pale
glimmer that seem at moments to disappear. The arcade now assumes the
aspect of a regular cut-throat alley. Great shadows stretch along the
tiles, damp puffs of air enter from the street. Anyone might take the
place for a subterranean gallery indistinctly lit-up by three funeral
lamps. The tradespeople for all light are contented with the faint rays
which the gas burners throw upon their windows. Inside their shops, they
merely have a lamp with a shade, which they place at the corner of their
counter, and the passer-by can then distinguish what the depths of these
holes sheltering night in the daytime, contain. On this blackish line
of shop fronts, the windows of a cardboard-box maker are flaming: two
schist-lamps pierce the shadow with a couple of yellow flames. And, on
the other side of the arcade a candle, stuck in the middle of an argand
lamp glass, casts glistening stars into the box of imitation jewelry.
The dealer is dozing in her cupboard, with her hands hidden under her
shawl.

A few years back, opposite this dealer, stood a shop whose bottle-green
woodwork excreted damp by all its cracks. On the signboard, made of a
long narrow plank, figured, in black letters the word: MERCERY. And on
one of the panes of glass in the door was written, in red, the name of
a woman: _Therese Raquin_. To right and left were deep show cases, lined
with blue paper.

During the daytime the eye could only distinguish the display of goods,
in a soft, obscured light.

On one side were a few linen articles: crimped tulle caps at two and
three francs apiece, muslin sleeves and collars: then undervests,
stockings, socks, braces. Each article had grown yellow and crumpled,
and hung lamentably suspended from a wire hook. The window, from top to
bottom, was filled in this manner with whitish bits of clothing, which
took a lugubrious aspect in the transparent obscurity. The new caps, of
brighter whiteness, formed hollow spots on the blue paper covering the
shelves. And the coloured socks hanging on an iron ro
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65192
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65192

HOW TO LIVE
                          A MANUAL OF HYGIENE
           _FOR USE IN THE SCHOOLS OF THE PHILIPPINE ISLANDS_


                                   BY

                             ADELINE KNAPP

                AUTHOR OF “THE STORY OF THE PHILIPPINES”

                              ILLUSTRATED

[Illustration]

                      SILVER, BURDETT AND COMPANY

                   NEW YORK      BOSTON      CHICAGO




                            COPYRIGHT, 1902,
                     BY SILVER, BURDETT AND COMPANY




                               CONTENTS.


                   CHAPTER                      PAGE
                        I. THE HUMAN BODY          7

                       II. THE STORY OF WATER     19

                      III. ABOUT FOOD             30

                       IV. ALL AROUND THE HOUSE   44

                        V. OUR OWN SELVES         63

                       VI. PUBLIC HYGIENE         81




                             ILLUSTRATIONS.


                                                   PAGE
                THE SKULL, CHEST, AND ABDOMEN         8

                THE CIRCULATION                      11

                THE WRONG WAY TO CARRY A BABY        16

                GOVERNOR-GENERAL CARRIEDO            19

                PUMPING STATION, MANILA WATERWORKS   20

                THE WRONG PLACE FOR A WELL           23

                A BADLY ARRANGED MARKET              31

                A MARKET AS IT SHOULD BE             36

                AN UNHEALTHFUL STREET                46

                CLOTHES DRYING ON THE GROUND         59

                THE BEST WAY TO DRY CLOTHES          60

                THE SKIN MAGNIFIED                   66

                THE EAR                              77

                GATE COVERED WITH UNHEALTHFUL MOLD   84




                              HOW TO LIVE.




                               CHAPTER I.
                            THE HUMAN BODY.


In America, where they make the best locomotive engines in the world,
they say that the life of an engine is about twenty years. That is, when
they build an engine, they know about how much work it will have to do
and what usage it is likely to have. They know that the engine is strong
enough to do such work and stand such usage for twenty years. So they
say that the length of the engine’s life is twenty years.

Now, a man’s body is, in its way, a machine. It is made to do certain
work, and if it has the right sort of care, it ought to be healthy and
do the work required of it, to the end of the man’s life. It is
estimated that the natural life of a man is seventy years. This little
book is intended to tell us how to live and something about caring for
our bodies so that they shall last as long as possible, and be ready and
able to do their work in the world.

[Illustration:

  THE SKULL, CHEST, AND ABDOMEN.
]

In a general way, we may compare the human body to three closed boxes,
one above another. These boxes are the skull, the chest, and the
abdomen. Each one has its own special contents, formed to do a special
work for the body. The skull is a hard, bony case made to contain the
brain. This is where the mind lives, and it is part of the work of the
mind to take care of the body and direct its movements. The brain
maintains a sort of telegraph station within itself. Wires, which we
call nerves, branch out from it to all parts of the body, and the brain
is constantly receiving messages over these wires and sending others
telling the muscles what to do. For instance, if the hand comes in
contact with something hot, a message instantly goes to the brain,
telling this fact. The brain sends back word to take the hand away, and
the hand is withdrawn. But all this is done so quickly that the hand
seems to be withdrawn the very instant that it comes in contact with the
fire. The skull is supported by the backbone, which connects it with the
second closed box.

This second cavity is the chest, which is really a sort of cage formed
by the ribs, the backbone, and the breastbone. In the chest are the
heart and the lungs. The heart is an engine. Put your hand over it and
you can feel the steady throb of its beat, day and night. It is working
all the time, whether you are awake or asleep. The business of the heart
is to send blood to all parts of the body. It does this by driving the
blood through tubes, called arteries and veins, that go all over the
body. The arteries are deep down among the muscles, but some of the
veins are close to the surface. We can see blue veins at the temples and
on the backs of our hands. All the blood goes to every part of the body
once in two minutes.

The food which a person eats is acted upon by the digestive fluids in
the body and is turned over and dissolved until it becomes fluid itself.
It is then taken up by the blood and carried to different parts of the
body, so that each organ and muscle gets what it needs. We shall learn,
a 
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PG #: 1642
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1642

EUTHYPHRO

By Plato


Translated by Benjamin Jowett




INTRODUCTION.

In the Meno, Anytus had parted from Socrates with the significant words:
'That in any city, and particularly in the city of Athens, it is easier
to do men harm than to do them good;' and Socrates was anticipating
another opportunity of talking with him. In the Euthyphro, Socrates is
awaiting his trial for impiety. But before the trial begins, Plato would
like to put the world on their trial, and convince them of ignorance in
that very matter touching which Socrates is accused. An incident which
may perhaps really have occurred in the family of Euthyphro, a
learned Athenian diviner and soothsayer, furnishes the occasion of the
discussion.

This Euthyphro and Socrates are represented as meeting in the porch of
the King Archon. (Compare Theaet.) Both have legal business in hand.
Socrates is defendant in a suit for impiety which Meletus has brought
against him (it is remarked by the way that he is not a likely man
himself to have brought a suit against another); and Euthyphro too is
plaintiff in an action for murder, which he has brought against his
own father. The latter has originated in the following manner:--A poor
dependant of the family had slain one of their domestic slaves in Naxos.
The guilty person was bound and thrown into a ditch by the command of
Euthyphro's father, who sent to the interpreters of religion at Athens
to ask what should be done with him. Before the messenger came back the
criminal had died from hunger and exposure.

This is the origin of the charge of murder which Euthyphro brings
against his father. Socrates is confident that before he could have
undertaken the responsibility of such a prosecution, he must have been
perfectly informed of the nature of piety and impiety; and as he is
going to be tried for impiety himself, he thinks that he cannot do
better than learn of Euthyphro (who will be admitted by everybody,
including the judges, to be an unimpeachable authority) what piety is,
and what is impiety. What then is piety?

Euthyphro, who, in the abundance of his knowledge, is very willing to
undertake all the responsibility, replies: That piety is doing as I do,
prosecuting your father (if he is guilty) on a charge of murder; doing
as the gods do--as Zeus did to Cronos, and Cronos to Uranus.

Socrates has a dislike to these tales of mythology, and he fancies that
this dislike of his may be the reason why he is charged with impiety.
'Are they really true?' 'Yes, they are;' and Euthyphro will gladly tell
Socrates some more of them. But Socrates would like first of all to have
a more satisfactory answer to the question, 'What is piety?' 'Doing as
I do, charging a father with murder,' may be a single instance of piety,
but can hardly be regarded as a general definition.

Euthyphro replies, that 'Piety is what is dear to the gods, and impiety
is what is not dear to them.' But may there not be differences of
opinion, as among men, so also among the gods? Especially, about good
and evil, which have no fixed rule; and these are precisely the sort of
differences which give rise to quarrels. And therefore what may be dear
to one god may not be dear to another, and the same action may be both
pious and impious; e.g. your chastisement of your father, Euthyphro, may
be dear or pleasing to Zeus (who inflicted a similar chastisement on his
own father), but not equally pleasing to Cronos or Uranus (who suffered
at the hands of their sons).

Euthyphro answers that there is no difference of opinion, either among
gods or men, as to the propriety of punishing a murderer. Yes, rejoins
Socrates, when they know him to be a murderer; but you are assuming the
point at issue. If all the circumstances of the case are considered, are
you able to show that your father was guilty of murder, or that all the
gods are agreed in approving of our prosecution of him? And must you
not allow that what is hated by one god may be liked by another? Waiving
this last, however, Socrates proposes to amend the definition, and
say that 'what all the gods love is pious, and what they all hate is
impious.' To this Euthyphro agrees.

Socrates proceeds to analyze the new form of the definition. He shows
that in other cases the act precedes the state; e.g. the act of being
carried, loved, etc. precedes the state of being carried, loved, etc.,
and therefore that which is dear to the gods is dear to the gods because
it is first loved of them, not loved of them because it is dear to them.
But the pious or holy is loved by the gods because it is pious or holy,
which is equivalent to saying, that it is loved by them because it is
dear to them. Here then appears to be a contradiction,--Euthyphro has
been giving an attribute or accident of piety only, and not the essence.
Euthyphro acknowledges himself that his explanations seem to walk
away or go round in a circle, like the moving figures of Daedalus, the
ancestor of Socrates, who has communicated his art to his desc
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PG #: 1329
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1329


On a March evening, at eight o’clock, Backhouse, the medium—a fast-
rising star in the psychic world—was ushered into the study at Prolands,
the Hampstead residence of Montague Faull. The room was illuminated only
by the light of a blazing fire. The host, eying him with indolent
curiosity, got up, and the usual conventional greetings were exchanged.
Having indicated an easy chair before the fire to his guest, the South
American merchant sank back again into his own. The electric light was
switched on. Faull’s prominent, clear-cut features, metallic-looking
skin, and general air of bored impassiveness, did not seem greatly to
impress the medium, who was accustomed to regard men from a special
angle. Backhouse, on the contrary, was a novelty to the merchant. As he
tranquilly studied him through half closed lids and the smoke of a
cigar, he wondered how this little, thickset person with the pointed
beard contrived to remain so fresh and sane in appearance, in view of
the morbid nature of his occupation.

“Do you smoke?” drawled Faull, by way of starting the conversation. “No?
Then will you take a drink?”

“Not at present, I thank you.”

A pause.

“Everything is satisfactory? The materialisation will take place?”

“I see no reason to doubt it.”

“That’s good, for I would not like my guests to be disappointed. I have
your check written out in my pocket.”

“Afterward will do quite well.”

“Nine o’clock was the time specified, I believe?”

“I fancy so.”

The conversation continued to flag. Faull sprawled in his chair, and
remained apathetic.

“Would you care to hear what arrangements I have made?”

“I am unaware that any are necessary, beyond chairs for your guests.”

“I mean the decoration of the siance room, the music, and so forth.”

Backhouse stared at his host. “But this is not a theatrical
performance.”

“That’s correct. Perhaps I ought to explain.... There will be ladies
present, and ladies, you know, are aesthetically inclined.”

“In that case I have no objection. I only hope they will enjoy the
performance to the end.”

He spoke rather dryly.

“Well, that’s all right, then,” said Faull. Flicking his cigar into the
fire, he got up and helped himself to whisky.

“Will you come and see the room?”

“Thank you, no. I prefer to have nothing to do with it till the time
arrives.”

“Then let’s go to see my sister, Mrs. Jameson, who is in the drawing
room. She sometimes does me the kindness to act as my hostess, as I am
unmarried.”

“I will be delighted,” said Backhouse coldly.

They found the lady alone, sitting by the open pianoforte in a pensive
attitude. She had been playing Scriabin and was overcome. The medium
took in her small, tight, patrician features and porcelain-like hands,
and wondered how Faull came by such a sister. She received him bravely,
with just a shade of quiet emotion. He was used to such receptions at
the hands of the sex, and knew well how to respond to them.

“What amazes me,” she half whispered, after ten minutes of graceful,
hollow conversation, “is, if you must know it, not so much the
manifestation itself—though that will surely be wonderful—as your
assurance that it will take place. Tell me the grounds of your
confidence.”

“I dream with open eyes,” he answered, looking around at the door, “and
others see my dreams. That is all.”

“But that’s beautiful,” responded Mrs. Jameson. She smiled rather
absently, for the first guest had just entered.

It was Kent-Smith, the ex-magistrate, celebrated for his shrewd judicial
humour, which, however, he had the good sense not to attempt to carry
into private life. Although well on the wrong side of seventy, his eyes
were still disconcertingly bright. With the selective skill of an old
man, he immediately settled himself in the most comfortable of many
comfortable chairs.

“So we are to see wonders tonight?”

“Fresh material for your autobiography,” remarked Faull.

“Ah, you should not have mentioned my unfortunate book. An old public
servant is merely amusing himself in his retirement, Mr. Backhouse. You
have no cause for alarm—I have studied in the school of discretion.”

“I am not alarmed. There can be no possible objection to your publishing
whatever you please.”

“You are most kind,” said the old man, with a cunning smile.

“Trent is not coming tonight,” remarked Mrs. Jameson, throwing a curious
little glance at her brother.

“I never thought he would. It’s not in his line.”

“Mrs. Trent, you must understand,” she went on, addressing the ex-
magistrate, “has placed us all under a debt of gratitude. She has
decorated the old lounge hall upstairs most beautifully, and has secured
the services of the sweetest little orchestra.”

“But this is Roman magnificence.”

“Backhouse thinks the spirits should be treated with more deference,”
laughed Faull.

“Surely, Mr. Backhouse—a poetic environment...”

“Pardon me. I am a simple man, and always prefer to reduce things to
elemental simplicity. I raise no opposition, but I express my opinion.
Nature is o
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PG #: 1666
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1666

THE GOLDEN ASSE


by Lucius Apuleius "Africanus"



Translated by William Adlington


First published 1566 This version as reprinted from the edition of
1639. The original spelling, capitalisation and punctuation have been
retained.




Dedication


To the Right Honourable and Mighty Lord, THOMAS EARLE OF SUSSEX,
Viscount Fitzwalter, Lord of Egremont and of Burnell, Knight of the most
noble Order of the Garter, Iustice of the forrests and Chases from
Trent Southward; Captain of the Gentleman Pensioners of the House of the
QUEENE our Soveraigne Lady.

After that I had taken upon me (right Honourable) in manner of that
unlearned and foolish Poet, Cherillus, who rashly and unadvisedly
wrought a big volume in verses, of the valiant prowesse of Alexander the
Great, to translate this present booke, contayning the Metamorphosis of
Lucius Apuleius; being mooved thereunto by the right pleasant pastime
and delectable matter therein; I eftsoones consulted with myself, to
whom I might best offer so pleasant and worthy a work, devised by
the author, it being now barbarously and simply framed in our English
tongue. And after long deliberation had, your honourable lordship came
to my remembrance, a man much more worthy, than to whom so homely and
rude a translation should be presented. But when I again remembred the
jesting and sportfull matter of the booke, unfit to be offered to any
man of gravity and wisdome, I was wholly determined to make no Epistle
Dedicatory at all; till as now of late perswaded thereunto by my
friends, I have boldly enterprised to offer the same to your Lordship,
who as I trust wil accept the same, than if it did entreat of some
serious and lofty matter, light and merry, yet the effect thereof
tendeth to a good and vertuous moral, as in the following Epistle to the
reader may be declared. For so have all writers in times past employed
their travell and labours, that their posterity might receive some
fruitfull profit by the same. And therfore the poets feined not their
fables in vain, considering that children in time of their first
studies, are very much allured thereby to proceed to more grave and
deepe studies and disciplines, whereas their mindes would quickly loath
the wise and prudent workes of learned men, wherein in such unripe
years they take no spark of delectation at all. And not only that profit
ariseth to children by such feined fables, but also the vertues of
men are covertly thereby commended, and their vices discommended and
abhorred. For by the fable of Actaeon, where it is feigned that he saw
Diana washing her selfe in a well, hee was immediately turned into an
Hart, and so was slain of his own Dogs; may bee meant, That when a
man casteth his eyes on the vain and soone fading beauty of the world,
consenting thereto in his minde, hee seemeth to bee turned into a brute
beast, and so to be slain by the inordinate desire of his owne affects.
By Tantalus that stands in the midst of the floud Eridan, having before
him a tree laden with pleasant apples, he being neverthelesse always
thirsty and hungry, betokeneth the insatiable desires of covetous
persons. The fables of Atreus, Thiestes, Tereus and Progne signifieth
the wicked and abhominable facts wrought and attempted by mortall men.
The fall of Icarus is an example to proud and arrogant persons, that
weeneth to climb up to the heavens. By Mydas, who obtained of Bacchus,
that all things which he touched might be gold, is carped the foul
sin of avarice. By Phaeton, that unskilfully took in hand to rule the
chariot of the Sunne, are represented those persons which attempt things
passing their power and capacity. By Castor and Pollux, turned into a
signe in heaven called Gemini, is signified, that vertuous and godly
persons shall be rewarded after life with perpetuall blisse. And in this
feined jest of Lucius Apuleius is comprehended a figure of mans life,
ministring most sweet and delectable matter, to such as shall be
desirous to reade the same. The which if your honourable lordship shall
accept ant take in good part, I shall not onely thinke my small travell
and labour well employed, but also receive a further comfort to attempt
some more serious matter, which may be more acceptable to your Lordship:
desiring the same to excuse my rash and bold enterprise at this time, as
I nothing doubt of your Lordships goodnesse. To whome I beseech Almighty
God to impart long life, with encrease of much honour.

From Vniversity Colledge in Oxenforde, the xviij. of September, 1566.

Your Honours most bounden,

WIL. ADLINGTON.




The Life of Lucius Apuleius Briefly Described


LUCIUS APULEIUS African, an excellent follower of Plato his sect, born
in Madaura, a Countrey sometime inhabited by the Romans, and under the
jurisdiction of Syphax, scituate and lying on the borders of Numidia and
Getulia, whereby he calleth himself half a Numidian and half a Getulian:
and Sidonius named him the Platonian Madaurence: his father called
Theseus had passed all o
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***





                            [1844 Title Page]
The Pencil of Nature




H. Fox Talbot



Longman, Brown, Green and Longmans, London
1844





CONTENTS


Introductory Remarks
Brief Historical Sketch of the Invention of the Art
PLATE I. PART OF QUEEN’S COLLEGE, OXFORD.
PLATE II. VIEW OF THE BOULEVARDS AT PARIS.
PLATE III. ARTICLES OF CHINA.
PLATE IV.  ARTICLES OF GLASS.
PLATE V.  BUST OF PATROCLUS.
PLATE VI.  THE OPEN DOOR.
PLATE VII.  LEAF OF A PLANT.
PLATE VIII.  A SCENE IN A LIBRARY.
PLATE IX. FAC-SIMILE OF AN OLD PRINTED PAGE.
PLATE X. THE HAYSTACK.
PLATE XI. COPY OF A LITHOGRAPHIC PRINT.
PLATE XII. THE BRIDGE OF ORLEANS.
PLATE XIII. QUEEN’S COLLEGE, OXFORD.
PLATE XIV. THE LADDER.
PLATE XV. LACOCK ABBEY IN WILTSHIRE.
PLATE XVI. CLOISTERS OF LACOCK ABBEY.
PLATE XVII. BUST OF PATROCLUS.
PLATE XVIII. GATE OF CHRISTCHURCH.
PLATE XIX. THE TOWER OF LACOCK ABBEY
PLATE XX. LACE
PLATE XXI. THE MARTYRS’ MONUMENT
PLATE XXII. WESTMINSTER ABBEY
PLATE XXIII. HAGAR IN THE DESERT.
PLATE XXIV. A FRUIT PIECE.





ILLUSTRATIONS


PLATE I. PART OF QUEEN’S COLLEGE, OXFORD.
PLATE II. VIEW OF THE BOULEVARDS AT PARIS.
PLATE III. ARTICLES OF CHINA.
PLATE IV.  ARTICLES OF GLASS.
PLATE V.  BUST OF PATROCLUS.
PLATE VI.  THE OPEN DOOR.
PLATE VII.  LEAF OF A PLANT.
PLATE VIII.  A SCENE IN A LIBRARY.
PLATE IX. FAC-SIMILE OF AN OLD PRINTED PAGE.
PLATE X. THE HAYSTACK.
PLATE XI. COPY OF A LITHOGRAPHIC PRINT.
PLATE XII. THE BRIDGE OF ORLEANS.
PLATE XIII. QUEEN’S COLLEGE, OXFORD, Entrance Gateway
PLATE XIV. THE LADDER.
PLATE XV. LACOCK ABBEY IN WILTSHIRE.
PLATE XVI. CLOISTERS OF LACOCK ABBEY.
PLATE XVII. BUST OF PATROCLUS.
PLATE XVIII. GATE OF CHRISTCHURCH.
PLATE XIX. THE TOWER OF LACOCK ABBEY
PLATE XX. LACE
PLATE XXI. THE MARTYRS’ MONUMENT
PLATE XXII. WESTMINSTER ABBEY
PLATE XXIII. HAGAR IN THE DESERT.
PLATE XXIV. A FRUIT PIECE.






INTRODUCTORY REMARKS


The little work now presented to the Public is the first attempt to
publish a series of plates or pictures wholly executed by the new art of
Photogenic Drawing, without any aid whatever from the artist’s pencil.

The term “Photography” is now so well known, that an explanation of it is
perhaps superfluous; yet, as some persons may still be unacquainted with
the art, even by name, its discovery being still of very recent date, a
few words may be looked for of general explanation.

It may suffice, then, to say, that the plates of this work have been
obtained by the mere action of Light upon sensitive paper.  They have been
formed or depicted by optical and chemical means alone, and without the
aid of any one acquainted with the art of drawing.  It is needless,
therefore, to say that they differ in all respects, and as widely us
possible, in their origin, from plates of the ordinary kind, which owe
their existence to the united skill of the Artist and the Engraver.

They are impressed by Nature’s hand; and what they want as yet of delicacy
and finish of execution arises chiefly from our want of sufficient
knowledge of her laws.  When we have learnt more, by experience,
respecting the formation of such pictures, they will doubtless be brought
much nearer to perfection; and though we may not be able to conjecture
with any certainty what rank they may hereafter attain to as pictorial
productions, they will surely find their own sphere of utility, both for
completeness of detail and correctness of perspective.

The Author of the present work having been so fortunate as to discover,
about ten years ago, the principles and practice of Photogenic Drawing, is
desirous that the first specimen of an Art, likely in all probability to
be much employed in future, should be published in the country where it
was first discovered.  And he makes no doubt that his countrymen will deem
such an intention sufficiently laudable to induce them to excuse the
imperfections necessarily incident to a first attempt to exhibit an Art of
so great singularity, which employs processes entirely new, and having no
analogy to any thing in use before.  That such imperfections will occur in
a first essay, must indeed be expected.  At present the Art can hardly be
said to have advanced beyond its infancy—at any rate, it is yet in a very
early stage—and its practice is often impeded by doubts and difficulties,
which, with increasing knowledge, will diminish and disappear.  Its
progress will be more rapid when more minds are devoted to its
improvement, and when more of skilful manual assistance is employed in the
manipulation of its delicate processes; the paucity of which skilled
assistance at the present moment the Author finds one of the chief
difficulties in his way.





BRIEF HISTORICAL SKETCH OF THE INVENTION OF THE ART


It may be proper to preface these specimens of a new Art by a brief
account of the circumstances which preceded and led to the discovery of
it.  And these were nearly as follows.

One of the first days of the month of October 1833, I was amusing myself
on the lovely shores of the Lake of Como, 
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DE SCHAT VAN DELOS [1].


Op een zonnigen dag in het zwoele jaargetijde richtte een slanke,
jeugdige vrouwengestalte, vergezeld door eene slavin, in de stad der
Atheners haren snellen tred over de Agora [2]. De verschijning dezer
vrouw had de wonderlijke uitwerking, dat elk wie haar ook op den weg
ontmoette en had aangekeken, achter haar stil stond en als vastgenageld
haar een geruimen tijd naöogde. De oorzaak daarvan lag niet zoozeer in
de omstandigheid, dat het schier eene zeldzaamheid was, wanneer men
eene vrije Atheensche vrouw uit den hoogeren stand openlijk op de
straten zag wandelen, als wel vooral hierin, dat deze vrouwengestalte
van eene buitengewone en overweldigende schoonheid was.

Op de gezichten van hen, die bij de ontmoeting haar aanstaarden, of
achter haar, als aan den grond genageld haar naöogden, spiegelde de
verbazing zich op alle mogelijke wijzen van uitdrukking af.

Eenigen lachten met welgevallen, de oogen van grijsaards, wier baard
reeds grauwde, fonkelden, anderen sloegen op de vrouw blikken, als die
van een Faun [3], wederom anderen drukten een soort van eerbied uit,
alsof zij eene Godin zagen. Eenigen vestigden op haar een ernstigen,
bevredigden kennersblik, anderen keken als dwazen, met den mond van
verwondering half geopend. Evenwel waren er ook niet weinigen, die een
spottenden grijnslach vertoonden en een kwaadaardigen, sarkastischen
blik op haar vestigden, alsof schoonheid zonde ware.—Mannen, die twee
aan twee of in groepen stonden, braken hun gesprek af. Gezichten,
waarop de verveling te lezen stond, schenen op eens als bezield; het
voorhoofd, met rimpels doorploegd, werd effen. Er kwam beweging in de
gemoederen.

De verschijning der vrouw was als een zonnestraal, die in een priëel
van rozen valt en waarin de muggen in bacchantische dwarling hare
dansen uitvoeren.

Onder degenen, wier aandacht de indrukwekkende vrouwengestalte tot zich
trok, waren ook twee mannen, die zwijgend naast elkander voortgingen.
Rustig, ernstig, vol waardigheid en edel waren beiden van uiterlijk; de
een, om wiens hoofd donkere lokken golfden, was jonger, statig, doch
niet zonder een spoor van weekelijkheid in zijn trekken; nog hooger,
bijna eerbied afdwingend, stak naast hem de gestalte uit van den
ouderen man, en het groote voorhoofd welfde zich over zijn diepzinnige
oogen. Het was, als zag men den vurigen Achilles voortschrijden, naast
Agamemnon, den gebieder der volken.

De jongste sloeg een blik van verrassing op de betooverende vrouw; de
oudste daarentegen bleef rustig: het was, alsof hij de schoone niet
voor de eerste maal had gezien en hij scheen zóó onverschillig, zóó
diep in andere gedachten verzonken, dat zijn metgezel eene vraag
onderdrukte, die hem reeds op de lippen zweefde.

Een slaaf liep achter de beide mannen. Zij volgden den langen,
stoffigen weg, die naar den Piraeus [4] voerde.

Vorschend liet in het voortgaan de jongste soms zijn blikken weiden
over den hel schitterenden spiegel van den Saronischen zeeboezem. Zijn
oog was scherp, als het oog van een adelaar. Hij ontwaarde een schip,
dat nog niet zichtbaar was voor den blik van een ander mensch. Hij zag
het opdoemen aan het uiteinde van den horizont der zee. De nadering van
het vaartuig was onmerkbaar bij den grooten afstand. De man, met den
adelaarsblik, had het voorkomen van iemand, die zich weet te
beheerschen; maar wanneer hij zoo heentuurde naar het vaartuig in de
verte, scheen het toch soms voor een oogenblik, alsof hij met den adem
van zijn eigene borst het talmende zeil wilde doen zwellen en het schip
in snelle vaart doen naderen.

Wanneer men den blik rechts van den weg wendde, welken de beide mannen
betraden, dan stiet men op eenigen afstand op een in de zon blinkenden
muur, die schier onafzienbaar van de stad afliep tot aan het klippige
strand der zee. Richtte men zijn oog naar den linkerkant, dan zag men
een muur van dezelfde soort, als die, welke zoo even voor den blik van
den beschouwer zich scheen op te doen. De bouwlieden stapelden
rechthoekig gehouwen stukken op elkander en waar de massa gereed was,
daar klonk wijd en zijt het dreunen van de hamers, die de aaneen
hechtende ijzeren krammen in het arduin dreven.

Ook deze muur strekte zich naar beneden uit tot aan de zee, breidde
zich daar met een groote kromming uit en, zoowel boven de stad als daar
beneden met den anderen muur verbonden, omvatte hij de haven met hare
gebouwen, als met een beschuttenden arm.

Op dit muurwerk rustte het oog van den jongste der beide mannen
vorschend en met eene soort van bevrediging, wanneer het voor een
oogenblik zich afwendde van het door het zeil bewogen schip in de
verte. En lachende sprak hij ten laatste, terwijl hij langs de
eindelooze lijn van aaneengehecht arduin schouwde, zich tot zijn makker
wendend:

„Wanneer ieder woord, dat ik met aandrang ter wille van dit werk tot de
Atheners sprak, tot een steen daarvoor was geworden, waarlijk, dan zou
het reeds lang gereed voor onze oogen staan. Maar ook nu zien wij het
eindelijk d
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Preface


I was a boy when I went through the wonderful adventures herein set down.
With the memory of my boyish feelings strong upon me, I present my book
specially to boys, in the earnest hope that they may derive valuable
information, much pleasure, great profit, and unbounded amusement from
its pages.

One word more.  If there is any boy or man who loves to be melancholy and
morose, and who cannot enter with kindly sympathy into the regions of
fun, let me seriously advise him to shut my book and put it away.  It is
not meant for him.

RALPH ROVER






The beginning--My early life and character--I thirst for adventure in
foreign lands and go to sea.

Roving has always been, and still is, my ruling passion, the joy of my
heart, the very sunshine of my existence.  In childhood, in boyhood, and
in man's estate, I have been a rover; not a mere rambler among the woody
glens and upon the hill-tops of my own native land, but an enthusiastic
rover throughout the length and breadth of the wide wide world.

It was a wild, black night of howling storm, the night in which I was
born on the foaming bosom of the broad Atlantic Ocean.  My father was a
sea-captain; my grandfather was a sea-captain; my great-grandfather had
been a marine.  Nobody could tell positively what occupation _his_ father
had followed; but my dear mother used to assert that he had been a
midshipman, whose grandfather, on the mother's side, had been an admiral
in the royal navy.  At anyrate we knew that, as far back as our family
could be traced, it had been intimately connected with the great watery
waste.  Indeed this was the case on both sides of the house; for my
mother always went to sea with my father on his long voyages, and so
spent the greater part of her life upon the water.

Thus it was, I suppose, that I came to inherit a roving disposition.  Soon
after I was born, my father, being old, retired from a seafaring life,
purchased a small cottage in a fishing village on the west coast of
England, and settled down to spend the evening of his life on the shores
of that sea which had for so many years been his home.  It was not long
after this that I began to show the roving spirit that dwelt within me.
For some time past my infant legs had been gaining strength, so that I
came to be dissatisfied with rubbing the skin off my chubby knees by
walking on them, and made many attempts to stand up and walk like a man;
all of which attempts, however, resulted in my sitting down violently and
in sudden surprise.  One day I took advantage of my dear mother's absence
to make another effort; and, to my joy, I actually succeeded in reaching
the doorstep, over which I tumbled into a pool of muddy water that lay
before my father's cottage door.  Ah, how vividly I remember the horror
of my poor mother when she found me sweltering in the mud amongst a group
of cackling ducks, and the tenderness with which she stripped off my
dripping clothes and washed my dirty little body!  From this time forth
my rambles became more frequent, and, as I grew older, more distant,
until at last I had wandered far and near on the shore and in the woods
around our humble dwelling, and did not rest content until my father
bound me apprentice to a coasting vessel, and let me go to sea.

For some years I was happy in visiting the sea-ports, and in coasting
along the shores of my native land.  My Christian name was Ralph, and my
comrades added to this the name of Rover, in consequence of the passion
which I always evinced for travelling.  Rover was not my real name, but
as I never received any other I came at last to answer to it as naturally
as to my proper name; and, as it is not a bad one, I see no good reason
why I should not introduce myself to the reader as Ralph Rover.  My
shipmates were kind, good-natured fellows, and they and I got on very
well together.  They did, indeed, very frequently make game of and banter
me, but not unkindly; and I overheard them sometimes saying that Ralph
Rover was a "queer, old-fashioned fellow."  This, I must confess,
surprised me much, and I pondered the saying long, but could come at no
satisfactory conclusion as to that wherein my old-fashionedness lay.  It
is true I was a quiet lad, and seldom spoke except when spoken to.
Moreover, I never could understand the jokes of my companions even when
they were explained to me: which dulness in apprehension occasioned me
much grief; however, I tried to make up for it by smiling and looking
pleased when I observed that they were laughing at some witticism which I
had failed to detect.  I was also very fond of inquiring into the nature
of things and their causes, and often fell into fits of abstraction while
thus engaged in my mind.  But in all this I saw nothing that did not seem
to be exceedingly natural, and could by no means understand why my
comrades should call me "an old-fashioned fellow."

Now, while engaged in the coasting trade, I fell in with many seamen who
had travelled to almost eve
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EARLY YEARS


I was born in the city of Cork, Ireland, in 1830. My people were poor.
For generations they had fought for Ireland’s freedom. Many of my folks
have died in that struggle. My father, Richard Harris, came to America
in 1835, and as soon as he had become an American citizen he sent for
his family. His work as a laborer with railway construction crews took
him to Toronto, Canada. Here I was brought up but always as the child
of an American citizen. Of that citizenship I have ever been proud.

After finishing the common schools, I attended the Normal school
with the intention of becoming a teacher. Dress-making too, I
learned proficiently. My first position was teaching in a convent in
Monroe, Michigan. Later, I came to Chicago and opened a dress-making
establishment. I preferred sewing to bossing little children.

However, I went back to teaching again, this time in Memphis,
Tennessee. Here I was married in 1861. My husband was an iron moulder
and a staunch member of the Iron Moulders’ Union.

In 1867, a yellow fever epidemic swept Memphis. Its victims were mainly
among the poor and the workers. The rich and the well-to-do fled the
city. Schools and churches were closed. People were not permitted to
enter the house of a yellow fever victim without permits. The poor
could not afford nurses. Across the street from me, ten persons lay
dead from the plague. The dead surrounded us. They were buried at night
quickly and without ceremony. All about my house I could hear weeping
and the cries of delirium. One by one, my four little children sickened
and died. I washed their little bodies and got them ready for burial.
My husband caught the fever and died. I sat alone through nights of
grief. No one came to me. No one could. Other homes were as stricken
as was mine. All day long, all night long, I heard the grating of the
wheels of the death cart.

After the union had buried my husband, I got a permit to nurse the
sufferers. This I did until the plague was stamped out.

I returned to Chicago and went again into the dressmaking business
with a partner. We were located on Washington Street near the lake. We
worked for the aristocrats of Chicago, and I had ample opportunity to
observe the luxury and extravagance of their lives. Often while sewing
for the lords and barons who lived in magnificent houses on the Lake
Shore Drive, I would look out of the plate glass windows and see the
poor, shivering wretches, jobless and hungry, walking along the frozen
lake front. The contrast of their condition with that of the tropical
comfort of the people for whom I sewed was painful to me. My employers
seemed neither to notice nor to care.

Summers, too, from the windows of the rich, I used to watch the mothers
come from the west side slums, lugging babies and little children,
hoping for a breath of cool, fresh air from the lake. At night, when
the tenements were stifling hot, men, women and little children slept
in the parks. But the rich, having donated to the charity ice fund,
had, by the time it was hot in the city, gone to seaside and mountains.

In October, 1871, the great Chicago fire burned up our establishment
and everything that we had. The fire made thousands homeless. We stayed
all night and the next day without food on the lake front, often going
into the lake to keep cool. Old St. Mary’s church at Wabash Avenue and
Peck Court was thrown open to the refugees and there I camped until I
could find a place to go.

Near by in an old, tumbled down, fire scorched building the Knights of
Labor held meetings. The Knights of Labor was the labor organization
of those days. I used to spend my evenings at their meetings, listening
to splendid speakers. Sundays we went out into the woods and held
meetings.

Those were the days of sacrifice for the cause of labor. Those were the
days when we had no halls, when there were no high salaried officers,
no feasting with the enemies of labor. Those were the days of the
martyrs and the saints.

I became acquainted with the labor movement. I learned that in 1865,
after the close of the Civil War, a group of men met in Louisville,
Kentucky. They came from the North and from the South; they were the
“blues” and the “greys” who a year or two before had been fighting
each other over the question of chattel slavery. They decided that the
time had come to formulate a program to fight another brutal form of
slavery--industrial slavery. Out of this decision had come the Knights
of Labor.

From the time of the Chicago fire I became more and more engrossed in
the labor struggle and I decided to take an active part in the efforts
of the working people to better the conditions under which they worked
and lived. I became a member of the Knights of Labor.

One of the first strikes that I remember occurred in the Seventies.
The Baltimore and Ohio Railroad employees went on strike and they sent
for me to come help them. I went. The mayor of Pittsburgh swore in as
deputy sheriffs a lawless, reckle
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I feel little reluctance in complying with your request. You know not
fully the cause of my sorrows. You are a stranger to the depth of my
distresses. Hence your efforts at consolation must necessarily fail. Yet
the tale that I am going to tell is not intended as a claim upon your
sympathy. In the midst of my despair, I do not disdain to contribute
what little I can to the benefit of mankind. I acknowledge your right to
be informed of the events that have lately happened in my family. Make
what use of the tale you shall think proper. If it be communicated
to the world, it will inculcate the duty of avoiding deceit. It will
exemplify the force of early impressions, and show the immeasurable
evils that flow from an erroneous or imperfect discipline.

My state is not destitute of tranquillity. The sentiment that dictates
my feelings is not hope. Futurity has no power over my thoughts. To all
that is to come I am perfectly indifferent. With regard to myself, I
have nothing more to fear. Fate has done its worst. Henceforth, I am
callous to misfortune.

I address no supplication to the Deity. The power that governs the
course of human affairs has chosen his path. The decree that ascertained
the condition of my life, admits of no recal. No doubt it squares with
the maxims of eternal equity. That is neither to be questioned nor
denied by me. It suffices that the past is exempt from mutation. The
storm that tore up our happiness, and changed into dreariness and desert
the blooming scene of our existence, is lulled into grim repose; but
not until the victim was transfixed and mangled; till every obstacle was
dissipated by its rage; till every remnant of good was wrested from our
grasp and exterminated.

How will your wonder, and that of your companions, be excited by my
story! Every sentiment will yield to your amazement. If my testimony
were without corroborations, you would reject it as incredible. The
experience of no human being can furnish a parallel: That I, beyond the
rest of mankind, should be reserved for a destiny without alleviation,
and without example! Listen to my narrative, and then say what it is
that has made me deserve to be placed on this dreadful eminence, if,
indeed, every faculty be not suspended in wonder that I am still alive,
and am able to relate it. My father's ancestry was noble on the paternal
side; but his mother was the daughter of a merchant. My grand-father was
a younger brother, and a native of Saxony. He was placed, when he had
reached the suitable age, at a German college. During the vacations,
he employed himself in traversing the neighbouring territory. On one
occasion it was his fortune to visit Hamburg. He formed an acquaintance
with Leonard Weise, a merchant of that city, and was a frequent guest
at his house. The merchant had an only daughter, for whom his guest
speedily contracted an affection; and, in spite of parental menaces and
prohibitions, he, in due season, became her husband.

By this act he mortally offended his relations. Thenceforward he was
entirely disowned and rejected by them. They refused to contribute any
thing to his support. All intercourse ceased, and he received from them
merely that treatment to which an absolute stranger, or detested enemy,
would be entitled.

He found an asylum in the house of his new father, whose temper was
kind, and whose pride was flattered by this alliance. The nobility of
his birth was put in the balance against his poverty. Weise conceived
himself, on the whole, to have acted with the highest discretion, in
thus disposing of his child. My grand-father found it incumbent on him
to search out some mode of independent subsistence. His youth had
been eagerly devoted to literature and music. These had hitherto been
cultivated merely as sources of amusement. They were now converted into
the means of gain. At this period there were few works of taste in
the Saxon dialect. My ancestor may be considered as the founder of the
German Theatre. The modern poet of the same name is sprung from the same
family, and, perhaps, surpasses but little, in the fruitfulness of his
invention, or the soundness of his taste, the elder Wieland. His life
was spent in the composition of sonatas and dramatic pieces. They were
not unpopular, but merely afforded him a scanty subsistence. He died
in the bloom of his life, and was quickly followed to the grave by his
wife. Their only child was taken under the protection of the merchant.
At an early age he was apprenticed to a London trader, and passed seven
years of mercantile servitude.

My father was not fortunate in the character of him under whose care
he was now placed. He was treated with rigor, and full employment was
provided for every hour of his time. His duties were laborious and
mechanical. He had been educated with a view to this profession, and,
therefore, was not tormented with unsatisfied desires. He did not hold
his present occupations in abhorrence, because they withheld him from
paths more f
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 3790
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/3790

MAJOR BARBARA

BERNARD SHAW




ACT I

It is after dinner on a January night, in the library in
Lady Britomart Undershaft's house in Wilton Crescent. A large and
comfortable settee is in the middle of the room, upholstered in
dark leather. A person sitting on it [it is vacant at present]
would have, on his right, Lady Britomart's writing table, with
the lady herself busy at it; a smaller writing table behind him
on his left; the door behind him on Lady Britomart's side; and a
window with a window seat directly on his left. Near the window
is an armchair.

Lady Britomart is a woman of fifty or thereabouts, well dressed
and yet careless of her dress, well bred and quite reckless of
her breeding, well mannered and yet appallingly outspoken and
indifferent to the opinion of her interlocutory, amiable and yet
peremptory, arbitrary, and high-tempered to the last bearable
degree, and withal a very typical managing matron of the upper
class, treated as a naughty child until she grew into a scolding
mother, and finally settling down with plenty of practical
ability and worldly experience, limited in the oddest way with
domestic and class limitations, conceiving the universe exactly
as if it were a large house in Wilton Crescent, though handling
her corner of it very effectively on that assumption, and being
quite enlightened and liberal as to the books in the library, the
pictures on the walls, the music in the portfolios, and the
articles in the papers.

Her son, Stephen, comes in. He is a gravely correct young man
under 25, taking himself very seriously, but still in some awe of
his mother, from childish habit and bachelor shyness rather than
from any weakness of character.

STEPHEN. What's the matter?

LADY BRITOMART. Presently, Stephen.

Stephen submissively walks to the settee and sits down. He takes
up The Speaker.

LADY BRITOMART. Don't begin to read, Stephen. I shall require all
your attention.

STEPHEN. It was only while I was waiting--

LADY BRITOMART. Don't make excuses, Stephen. [He puts down The
Speaker]. Now! [She finishes her writing; rises; and comes to the
settee]. I have not kept you waiting very long, I think.

STEPHEN. Not at all, mother.

LADY BRITOMART. Bring me my cushion. [He takes the cushion from
the chair at the desk and arranges it for her as she sits down on
the settee]. Sit down. [He sits down and fingers his tie
nervously]. Don't fiddle with your tie, Stephen: there is nothing
the matter with it.

STEPHEN. I beg your pardon. [He fiddles with his watch chain
instead].

LADY BRITOMART. Now are you attending to me, Stephen?

STEPHEN. Of course, mother.

LADY BRITOMART. No: it's not of course. I want something much
more than your everyday matter-of-course attention. I am going to
speak to you very seriously, Stephen. I wish you would let that
chain alone.

STEPHEN [hastily relinquishing the chain] Have I done anything to
annoy you, mother? If so, it was quite unintentional.

LADY BRITOMART [astonished] Nonsense! [With some remorse] My poor
boy, did you think I was angry with you?

STEPHEN. What is it, then, mother? You are making me very uneasy.

LADY BRITOMART [squaring herself at him rather aggressively]
Stephen: may I ask how soon you intend to realize that you are a
grown-up man, and that I am only a woman?

STEPHEN [amazed] Only a--

LADY BRITOMART. Don't repeat my words, please: It is a most
aggravating habit. You must learn to face life seriously,
Stephen. I really cannot bear the whole burden of our family
affairs any longer. You must advise me: you must assume the
responsibility.

STEPHEN. I!

LADY BRITOMART. Yes, you, of course. You were 24 last June.
You've been at Harrow and Cambridge. You've been to India and
Japan. You must know a lot of things now; unless you have wasted
your time most scandalously. Well, advise me.

STEPHEN [much perplexed] You know I have never interfered in the
household--

LADY BRITOMART. No: I should think not. I don't want you to order
the dinner.

STEPHEN. I mean in our family affairs.

LADY BRITOMART. Well, you must interfere now; for they are
getting quite beyond me.

STEPHEN [troubled] I have thought sometimes that perhaps I ought;
but really, mother, I know so little about them; and what I do
know is so painful--it is so impossible to mention some things to
you--[he stops, ashamed].

LADY BRITOMART. I suppose you mean your father.

STEPHEN [almost inaudibly] Yes.

LADY BRITOMART. My dear: we can't go on all our lives not
mentioning him. Of course you were quite right not to open the
subject until I asked you to; but you are old enough now to be
taken into my confidence, and to help me to deal with him about
the girls.

STEPHEN. But the girls are all right. They are engaged.

LADY BRITOMART [complacently] Yes: I have made a very good match
for Sarah. Charles Lomax will be a millionaire at 35. But that is
ten years ahead; and in the meantime his trustees cannot under
the terms of his father's will allow him more than 800 pounds a
year.

STEPHEN. But
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 17147
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/17147


Leibniz was above all things a metaphysician. That does not mean that his
head was in the clouds, or that the particular sciences lacked interest for
him. Not at all--he felt a lively concern for theological debate, he was a
mathematician of the first rank, he made original contributions to physics,
he gave a realistic attention to moral psychology. But he was incapable of
looking at the objects of any special enquiry without seeing them as
aspects or parts of one intelligible universe. He strove constantly after
system, and the instrument on which his effort relied was the speculative
reason. He embodied in an extreme form the spirit of his age. Nothing could
be less like the spirit of ours. To many people now alive metaphysics means
a body of wild and meaningless assertions resting on spurious argument. A
professor of metaphysics may nowadays be held to deal handsomely with the
duties of his chair if he is prepared to handle metaphysical statements at
all, though it be only for the purpose of getting rid of them, by showing
them up as confused forms of something else. A chair in metaphysical
philosophy becomes analogous to a chair in tropical diseases: what is
taught from it is not the propagation but the cure.

Confidence in metaphysical construction has ebbed and flowed through
philosophical history; periods of speculation have been followed by periods
of criticism. The tide will flow again, but it has not turned yet, and  [8]
such metaphysicians as survive scarcely venture further than to argue a
case for the possibility of their art. It would be an embarrassing task to
open an approach to Leibnitian metaphysics from the present metaphysical
position, if there is a present position. If we want an agreed
starting-point, it will have to be historical.

The historical importance of Leibniz's ideas is anyhow unmistakable. If
metaphysical thinking is nonsensical, its empire over the human imagination
must still be confessed; if it is as chimerical a science as alchemy, it is
no less fertile in by-products of importance. And if we are to consider
Leibniz historically, we cannot do better than take up his _Theodicy_, for
two reasons. It was the only one of his main philosophical works to be
published in his lifetime, so that it was a principal means of his direct
influence; the Leibniz his own age knew was the Leibniz of the _Theodicy_.
Then in the second place, the _Theodicy_ itself is peculiarly rich in
historical material. It reflects the world of men and books which Leibniz
knew; it expresses the theological setting of metaphysical speculation
which still predominated in the first years of the eighteenth century.

Leibniz is remembered for his philosophy; he was not a professional
philosopher. He was offered academic chairs, but he declined them. He was a
gentleman, a person of means, librarian to a reigning prince, and
frequently employed in state affairs of trust and importance. The librarian
might at any moment become the political secretary, and offer his own
contributions to policy. Leibniz was for the greater part of his active
life the learned and confidential servant of the House of Brunswick; when
the Duke had nothing better to do with him, he set him to research into
ducal history. If Leibniz had a profession in literature, it was history
rather than philosophy. He was even more closely bound to the interests of
his prince than John Locke was to those of the Prince of Orange. The Houses
of Orange and of Brunswick were on the same side in the principal contest
which divided Europe, the battle between Louis XIV and his enemies. It was
a turning-point of the struggle when the Prince of Orange supplanted
Louis's Stuart friends on the English throne. It was a continuation of the
same movement, when Leibniz's master, George I, succeeded to the same
throne, and frustrated the restoration of the Stuart heir. Locke returned
to England in the wake of the Prince of Orange, and became the          [9]
representative thinker of the régime. Leibniz wished to come to the English
court of George I, but was unkindly ordered to attend to the duties of his
librarianship. So he remained in Hanover. He was then an old man, and
before the tide of favour had turned, he died.

Posterity has reckoned Locke and Leibniz the heads of rival sects, but
politically they were on the same side. As against Louis's political
absolutism and enforced religious uniformity, both championed religious
toleration and the freedom of the mind. Their theological liberalism was
political prudence; it was not necessarily for that reason the less
personally sincere. They had too much wisdom to meet bigotry with bigotry,
or set Protestant intolerance against Catholic absolutism. But they had too
much sympathy with the spirit of Europe to react into free thinking or to
make a frontal attack on revealed truth. They took their stand on a
fundamental Christian theism, the common religion of all good men; they
repudiated the negative enormities of
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 64969
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64969

HOLD ONTO YOUR BODY!

                         _By Richard O. Lewis_

                 People do strange things--an example,
              committing suicide for no apparent reason.
              Unless it's time for a change of identity!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                              October 1953
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


"Fidwell," I said, "why don't you go lose yourself!"

He stared at me uncomprehendingly for a full three seconds. Then a
glimmer of understanding leaped into his beady little eyes and he got
up from the chair before my desk and started happily toward the outer
door of the office.

"Okay, Mr. Nelson," he said over a thin shoulder. "Just whatever you
say."

"Better still," I amended, tapping the glass top of my desk with
manicured nails, "go shoot yourself."

He nodded blithely. "Just as you say, T. J. Just as you say." He
always called me T. J. when he felt that I was giving him a measure of
attention.

"Wait," I said, as he reached the door. "Do you by any chance own a
gun?"

He turned, a frown spreading between his mousy brows. "No," he said,
slowly, "I don't." Then he brightened. "But I could purchase one!"

"Fine," I said, tossing him a bill. "Buy a couple bullets for it, too."

He caught the money, smiled, nodded, and left--closing the door softly
and respectfully behind him.

Humming a merry little tune, I turned to the papers upon my desk. The
partnership contract between James Fidwell and T. J. Nelson. _If one of
the partners should die from any cause, the other partner would become
sole owner of the Remey Company...._

They seemed quite in order. I shuffled them into a neat pile and cut
an intricate little dance step on my way to the files with them. The
partnership was soon to reach a happy culmination.

Suicide has it all over murder, you know. No silly questions from the
police. No mess to clean up. No body to get rid of. (The relatives
usually take care of all that.) No bother at all, really.

I skipped back to the desk, flipped up the telephone, and began poking
a finger into the little holes in the dial.

"Mr. Pasquamine?" I chimed, after hearing the faint click at the other
end of the wire.

"Yes."

"This is T. J.," I said, chummily. "You still own that block of
floating stock in the Remey Company, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Fine! Fine!" I complimented. "Bring it over to my office as soon as
possible. And, by the way," I added, casually, "have it transferred to
my name, you know."

"Yes."

He was in my office in less than an hour, his fat hulk sweating and
panting in the chair before my desk, the heavy lids drooping over his
black eyes. The stocks were piled neatly before me. I thumbed through
them. They seemed to be quite in order. I skipped across the room to
the files with them.

"Pasquamine," I said, returning to my desk and handing him a cheap
cigar, "do you by chance own a gun?"

He shook his fat head. "No."

"Do you have at home, perchance, a rope?" I glanced at his obese body.
"A good stout one?"

"No."

"A knife, perhaps? A good sharp one?"

His oily face beamed quickly. "Ah, Mr. Nelson! That I have! Sharp for
the salami!" He kissed his thick fingers and made a flipping motion
into the air with them. "Sharp for the good big salami!"

"Excellent!" I nodded quick approbation. "Go home and cut your throat
with it."

       *       *       *       *       *

He pushed his hulk up from the chair and walked toward the door.

"And don't bother about coming back to the office afterwards," I
admonished.

He paused, hand on the knob, and turned. Then his round face lighted
up. "Ah, Mr. Nelson!" he chuckled. "You make with the joke!"

"Sure." I smiled. "And now you go home and make with the knife."

That was the last time I saw Pasquamine. Except at the funeral, of
course. He made a lovely corpse--considering everything.

It was the day following the funeral when there came a gentle tapping
at my office door.

"Come in," I said, tossing the half-finished bottle of gin back into
the lower drawer.

They didn't bother about opening the door; they just crawled under it.
A moment later, they had slithered across the floor, had wiggled their
way up to the top on my desk, and had flattened out upon its polished
surface in complete pseudopod relaxation. Gyf and Gyl. My two very good
friends.

"Sorry, boys," I said, after we had exchanged the usual amenities,
"that I had to get rid of your symbiotics in such a messy fashion. But
business is business, you know; and I felt that the time was right...."

Gyf shrugged gelatinously. "I was getting tired of occupying Fidwell,
anyway," he vibrated. "Regular old pussyfoot. Never had no fun."

Gyl burped resoundingly in the middle. "I hope the next body I get
doesn't turn out to be another wine-guzzling, garlic eater." A tremor
ran through him. "It up
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 63256
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/63256

[Illustration]

                         THE AMERICAN DIARY OF
                            A JAPANESE GIRL






------------------------------------------------------------------------


[Illustration:

  Drawn by Genjiro Yeto
  THE GUEST OF HONOR
]


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                           The American Diary
                           of a Japanese Girl


                         BY MISS MORNING GLORY


                       Illustrated in colour and
                           in black-and-white


                                   BY

                              Genjiro Yeto



                                   ❦



                                NEW YORK
                     _Frederick A. Stokes Company_
                               PUBLISHERS


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                          Copyright, 1901, by
                     Frank Leslie Publishing House.

                          Copyright, 1902, by
                      Frederick A. Stokes Company.
                                  ————
                          All rights reserved.



                     PUBLISHED IN SEPTEMBER, 1902.




------------------------------------------------------------------------




                             To Her Majesty

                                 HARUKO

                            Empress of Japan


                                                  _January, 1902_

_Ever since my childhood, thy sovereign beauty has been all to me in
benevolence and inspiration._

_How often I watched thy august presence in happy amazement when thou
didst pass along our Tokio streets! What a sad sensation I had all
through me when thou wert just out of sight! If thou only knewest, I
prayed, that I was one of thy daughters! I set it in my mind, a long
time ago, that anything I did should be offered to our mother. =How I
wish I could say my own mother!= Mother art thou, heavenly lady!_

_I am now going to publish my simple diary of my American journey._

_And I humbly dedicate it unto thee, our beloved Empress, craving that
thou wilt condescend to acknowledge that one of thy daughters had some
charming hours even in a foreign land._

                                                  _Morning Glory_


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                        _List of Illustrations._


             “The guest of honour.”                   _Frontispiece._

             “A new delight to catch the peeping tips    18
               of my shoes.”

             “Good night—Native land!”                   20

             “In Amerikey.”                              32

             “Such disobedient tools!”                   50

             “O ho, Japanese kimono!”                    58

             “So you like the Oriental woman?”          128

             “How dare I swallow raw fishes!”           152

             “Uncle, please count how many stories in   248
               that building.”

             Tail-piece                                 262


------------------------------------------------------------------------




                            BEFORE I SAILED




------------------------------------------------------------------------




                            BEFORE I SAILED


                                                  TOKIO, Sept. 23rd

My new page of life is dawning.

A trip beyond the seas—Meriken Kenbutsu—it’s not an ordinary event.

It is verily the first event in our family history that I could trace
back for six centuries.

My to-day’s dream of America—dream of a butterfly sipping on golden
dews—was rudely broken by the artless chirrup of a hundred sparrows in
my garden.

“Chui, chui! Chui, chui, chui!”

Bad sparrows!

My dream was silly but splendid.

Dream is no dream without silliness which is akin to poetry.

If my dream ever comes true!


24th—The song of gay children scattered over the street had subsided.
The harvest moon shone like a yellow halo of “Nono Sama.” All things in
blessed Mitsuho No Kuni—the smallest ant also—bathed in sweet inspiring
beams of beauty. The soft song that is not to be heard but to be felt,
was in the air.

’Twas a crime, I judged, to squander lazily such a gracious graceful
hour within doors.

I and my maid strolled to the Konpira shrine.

Her red stout fingers—like sweet potatoes—didn’t appear so bad tonight,
for the moon beautified every ugliness.

Our Emperor should proclaim forbidding woman to be out at any time
except under the moonlight.

Without beauty woman is nothing. Face is the whole soul. I prefer death
if I am not given a pair of dark velvety eyes.

What a shame even woman must grow old!

One stupid wrinkle on my face would be enough to stun me.

My pride is in my slim fingers of satin skin.

I’ll carefully clean my roseate finger-nails before I’ll land in
America.

Our wo
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 608
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/608

AREOPAGITICA


A SPEECH FOR THE LIBERTY OF UNLICENSED PRINTING TO THE PARLIAMENT OF
ENGLAND

     This is true liberty, when free-born men,
     Having to advise the public, may speak free,
     Which he who can, and will, deserves high praise;
     Who neither can, nor will, may hold his peace:
     What can be juster in a state than this?

     Euripid.  Hicetid.


They, who to states and governors of the Commonwealth direct their
speech, High Court of Parliament, or, wanting such access in a private
condition, write that which they foresee may advance the public good;
I suppose them, as at the beginning of no mean endeavour, not a little
altered and moved inwardly in their minds: some with doubt of what will
be the success, others with fear of what will be the censure; some with
hope, others with confidence of what they have to speak. And me perhaps
each of these dispositions, as the subject was whereon I entered,
may have at other times variously affected; and likely might in these
foremost expressions now also disclose which of them swayed most, but
that the very attempt of this address thus made, and the thought of whom
it hath recourse to, hath got the power within me to a passion, far more
welcome than incidental to a preface.

Which though I stay not to confess ere any ask, I shall be blameless, if
it be no other than the joy and gratulation which it brings to all who
wish and promote their country's liberty; whereof this whole discourse
proposed will be a certain testimony, if not a trophy. For this is not
the liberty which we can hope, that no grievance ever should arise
in the Commonwealth--that let no man in this world expect; but when
complaints are freely heard, deeply considered and speedily reformed,
then is the utmost bound of civil liberty attained that wise men look
for. To which if I now manifest by the very sound of this which I shall
utter, that we are already in good part arrived, and yet from such
a steep disadvantage of tyranny and superstition grounded into our
principles as was beyond the manhood of a Roman recovery, it will be
attributed first, as is most due, to the strong assistance of God our
deliverer, next to your faithful guidance and undaunted wisdom, Lords
and Commons of England. Neither is it in God's esteem the diminution
of his glory, when honourable things are spoken of good men and worthy
magistrates; which if I now first should begin to do, after so fair a
progress of your laudable deeds, and such a long obligement upon the
whole realm to your indefatigable virtues, I might be justly reckoned
among the tardiest, and the unwillingest of them that praise ye.

Nevertheless there being three principal things, without which all
praising is but courtship and flattery: First, when that only is praised
which is solidly worth praise: next, when greatest likelihoods are
brought that such things are truly and really in those persons to whom
they are ascribed: the other, when he who praises, by showing that such
his actual persuasion is of whom he writes, can demonstrate that he
flatters not; the former two of these I have heretofore endeavoured,
rescuing the employment from him who went about to impair your merits
with a trivial and malignant encomium; the latter as belonging chiefly
to mine own acquittal, that whom I so extolled I did not flatter, hath
been reserved opportunely to this occasion.

For he who freely magnifies what hath been nobly done, and fears not to
declare as freely what might be done better, gives ye the best covenant
of his fidelity; and that his loyalest affection and his hope waits on
your proceedings. His highest praising is not flattery, and his plainest
advice is a kind of praising. For though I should affirm and hold by
argument, that it would fare better with truth, with learning and the
Commonwealth, if one of your published Orders, which I should name, were
called in; yet at the same time it could not but much redound to the
lustre of your mild and equal government, whenas private persons are
hereby animated to think ye better pleased with public advice, than
other statists have been delighted heretofore with public flattery. And
men will then see what difference there is between the magnanimity of a
triennial Parliament, and that jealous haughtiness of prelates and cabin
counsellors that usurped of late, whenas they shall observe ye in the
midst of your victories and successes more gently brooking written
exceptions against a voted Order than other courts, which had produced
nothing worth memory but the weak ostentation of wealth, would have
endured the least signified dislike at any sudden proclamation.

If I should thus far presume upon the meek demeanour of your civil and
gentle greatness, Lords and Commons, as what your published Order hath
directly said, that to gainsay, I might defend myself with ease, if any
should accuse me of being new or insolent, did they but know how much
better I find ye esteem it to imitate the old and elegant hum
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65186
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65186

BEYOND THE FEARFUL FOREST

                         By Geoff St. Reynard

        No hunter had ever dared to follow the great Knifetooth
            Bear into his Fearful Forest. For beyond it lay
            a greater peril--the land of _The Nameless_....

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                              April 1951
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


_The bones lie light in the fertile soil of Sunset Fields. You can prod
them out with a few thrusts of your bare toes. The roots of the big
luxurious tree ferns carry skulls and skins and back-bones up to the
frond-filtered shining of day, and even the delicately questing purple
tendrils of the burrowflower may drag an occasional finger or toe bone
from its uneasy rest, so light they lie._

_The bones do not decay. Nobody knows why. Animal bones decay. The
skeletons of our own revered dead fall away to powder in a generation
or two. But the bones of Sunset Fields are like the unchanging granite
of the jagged cliffs, and of them we make our arrow points and lance
heads, our hammers and our needles. It is more difficult to work the
bones, to chip and flake them into form, than it is to shape our tools
of metal; for we have ways of heating and molding these, subtle methods
handed down from the far olden times of our fathers' fathers. There is
no way to heat and mold a bone._

_Our singers tell a legend that--oh, many years ago!--a man went by
stealth and slew another man with his lance. Not many of us believed
the legend even when we were children. To kill a man! Our singers say
that he possessed a beautiful woman whom the slayer desired. Who would
desire the woman of another man? Such a thing seems incredible and
childish, even to a child. There are women for all men, men for all
women, and do we not each love all others equally, reserving a special
love only for our own mate? But the legend is sung that after this
bloody deed was done, many men fought because of it, and their curst
bones lie in the earth of Sunset Fields forever, a memorial to their
fantastic stupidity._

_It is a legend of the singers. Nobody really knows why the bones do
not decay._

_Beyond Sunset Fields run the three brooks: the Gray, the Blue, and
the Crimson. Far to the south they meet, and there become the Wide
River that flows turbulently on until it reaches the silver dusk that
encircles the world. There was a man of our people who once set out to
find the end of the Wide River, but he never came back._

_Beyond the trio of brooks there rise the first grim ranks of the
Fearful Forest, line after line of tall broad-leafed trees so evenly
spaced you would think they had been planted by design. Pass the
palisades of this forest and brave its terrors, its darkness and great
angry beasts, and you will come after a time to the other side; and
there, beyond a black plain where nothing grows save crawling vines and
nauseous weed patches, you may see the towering cliffs of the country
of The Nameless...._

       *       *       *       *       *

I am a hunter. My father was a singer, and his mate also; but I have a
poor voice, good for little except to shout across the valleys to my
friends, so my father, affectionately calling me Bear-throat, counseled
me to become a hunter; and this I did.

I am strong, of course. My arms are brown as a deer's hide and they
swell with muscle. My legs are sturdy and, though not thickset, can
carry me at a run for the space of a day without tiring. I do not boast
when I say this, for after all I am a hunter and my arms and legs are
my tools as much as my lances and arrows and metal knife. My name is
Ahmusk, though I am more generally hailed as Bear-throat, the nickname
my father gave to me. I have eyes the color of Blue Brook where it runs
into a deep pool. My hair, the pale golden hue of the earliest corn of
autumn, is cut short in the fashion of hunters, falling scarcely to my
shoulders in back, in front sliced off evenly just above my eyes. And I
think this is all that need be said concerning the person of Ahmusk the
hunter.

The day of which I would speak first was a day of cheerful sun and
small breezes, with that crispness in the air that makes a man stand
tall and blink once or twice, and perhaps shout for joy. I did just
that, after I had wakened, and then I sat on the edge of my platform
and looking down the tree's trunk at the grass below I was astonished
at its bright new-seeming greenness. I sucked in a great chestful
of air and shouted again. In the tree nearest mine there were two
platforms, and now someone sat up on the higher and rubbed her eyes and
grumbled. "What is it, Bear-throat?"

"The morning, girl, the morning," I said heartily.

"Need you be a herald of the dawn _every_ day?" she asked,
mock-petulantly. And I laughed.

"Throw off your furs and smel
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 45280
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/45280

provided by Google Books







THE WONDERFUL “ONE-HOSS-SHAY”

And Other Poems

By Oliver Wendell Holmes

(Reprinted from the Atlantic Monthly of September, 1858)

With numerous original illustrations by Thomas McIlvaine

Frederick A. Stokes Company

1897



[Illustration: 008]

[Illustration: 013]

[Illustration: 014]




THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE:

OR THE WONDERFUL “ONE-HOSS-SHAY.”

A LOGICAL STORY.


|Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss-shay,

That was built in such a logical way?

It ran a hundred years to a day,

And then, of a sudden, it--ah, but stay,

I'll tell you what happened without delay.=



Scaring the parson into fits,

Frightening people out of their wits,--

Have you ever heard of that, I say?=



Seventeen hundred and fifty-five.

_Georgius Secundus_ was then alive,--

Snuffy old drone from the German hive!

That was the year when Lisbon-town

Saw the earth open and gulp her down,

And Braddock's army was done so brown,

Left without a scalp to its crown.=


[Illustration: 026]

(“BRADDOCK'S ARMY WAS DONE SO BROWN.”)


It was on the terrible Earthquake-day

That the Deacon finished the one-hoss-shay.

Now in building of chaises, I tell you what,

There is always _somewhere_ a weakest spot,--

In hub, tire, felloe, in spring or thill,

In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill,

In screw, bolt, thoroughbrace,--lurking still

Find it somewhere you must and will,--

Above or below, or within or without,--

And that's the reason, beyond a doubt,

A chaise _breaks down_, but doesn't _wear out_.=



But the Deacon swore (as Deacons do)

With an “I dew vum,” or an “I tell _yeou_,”

He would build one shay to beat the taown

'n' the keounty 'n' all the keuntry raoun';


[Illustration: 032]

(“I DEW VUM”)


It should be so built that it _couldn'_ break daown:

--“Fur,” said the Deacon, “'t's mighty plain

Thut the weakes' place mus' stan' the strain;

'n' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain, is only jest

To make that place uz strong uz the rest.”



So the Deacon inquired of the village folk

Where he could find the strongest oak,

That couldn't be split nor bent nor broke,--

That was for spokes and floor and sills;

He sent for lancewood to make the thills;

The crossbars were ash, from the straightest trees;

The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese,

But lasts like iron for things like these;

The hubs of logs from the “Settler's ellum,”

Last of its timber,--they couldn't sell 'em,--


[Illustration: 038]

(“SO THE DEACON INQUIRED OF THE VILLAGE FOLK.”)


Never an axe had seen their chips,

And the wedges flew from between their lips,

Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips;

Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw,

Spring, tire, axle, and linchpin too,

Steel of the finest, bright and blue;

Thoroughbrace bison-skin, thick and wide;

Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide

Found in the pit when the tanner died.

That was the way he “put her through.”--

“There!” said the Deacon, “naow she'll dew!”=



_Do!_ I tell you, I rather guess

She was a wonder, and nothing less!

Colts grew horses, beards turned gray,

Deacon and deaconess dropped away,

Children and grandchildren--where were they?

But there stood the stout old one-hoss-shay

As fresh as on Lisbon-earth-quake-day!=



|Eighteen hundred;--it came and found

The Deacon's Masterpiece strong and sound.

Eighteen hundred increased by ten;

“Hahnsum kerridge” they called it then.

Eighteen hundred and twenty came:--

Running as usual; much the same.

Thirty and forty at last arrive,

And then came fifty, and _fifty-five_.=



Little of all we value here

Wakes on the morn of its hundredth year

Without both feeling and looking queer.

In fact, there's nothing that keeps its youth,

So far as I know, but a tree and truth.

(This is a moral that runs at large;

Take it.--You're welcome.--No extra charge.)=



|First of November--the Earthquake-day.--

There are traces of age in the one-hoss-shay,

A general flavor of mild decay,

But nothing local, as one may say.

There couldn't be,--for the Deacon's art

Had made it so like in every part

That there wasn't a chance for one to start.

For the wheels were just as strong as the thills--

And the floor was just as strong as the sills,

And the panels just as strong as the floor,

And the whippletree neither less nor more.

And the back-crossbar as strong as the fore,

And spring and axle and hub _encore_.

And yet, _as a whole_, it is past a doubt

In another hour it will be _worn out!_=



|First of November, 'Fifty-five!

This morning the parson takes a drive.

Now, small boys, get out of the way!

Here comes the wonderful one hoss-shay,

Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay.

“Huddup!” said the parson.--Off went they.=



The parson was working his Sunday's text,--

Had got to _fifthly_, and stopped perplexed

At what the--Moses--was coming next.

All at once the horse stood still,

Close by the meet'n'-house on the hill.


[Illustration: 050]

(“THE PARSON TAKES A DRIVE.”)


Firs
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 64965
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/64965

World Without Glamor

                          _By Milton Lesser_

                Colonists on Talbor had little time for
            anything but work, which was bad for morale. So
            Earth sent a special ship--with a unique cargo.

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Imagination Stories of Science and Fantasy
                          October 1953
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


Marsden had filled a basin with well water and began to lather his
hands and face with soap when Marie entered their cabin. He looked
up and clucked his tongue in disapproval. "Lord," he said. "Look at
yourself."

Marie scowled at him as she removed her bandanna and shook loose her
short-cropped hair. "How do you expect me to look?" Her plain but
pretty face was sweat-streaked. She wore a simple tunic which fell
halfway down her thighs and almost matched her sturdy, sun-darkened
legs in color, although sweat darkened the back of the garment and left
rings of white under the armpits where it had evaporated.

"I know how I'd like you to look."

"Harry Marsden, just what do you mean by that?"

He had felt it for some time now, this smouldering resentment which
had wedged its way between them after only two years of marriage. He
couldn't talk to her without arguing, not after they had finished
working for the day under the broiling sun and returned, bone-weary
and stiff-muscled, to their cabin. The routine sickened him: he would
come in first, splash cold water on his face, maybe scrub up some.
Marie would follow after feeding their chickens (chickens here on
Talbor, three dozen long light years from Earth!), strip off her tunic
and try to scrub the grime from her body while he looked at her. And
if it were warm she'd prepare their simple dinner half-naked, with no
thought for modesty, until he knew every plane, every curve of her body
and realized it was a body strong for work and not soft for play, a
body good for bearing children, a body which could work all day in the
fields like a machine but which would never lose the grit from its
pores.

"I didn't mean anything by it. Forget what I said, Marie." Marsden went
to the clothing rack and took down his one good suit. He looked again
at Marie, then closed his eyes and let a growing eagerness engulf him.

The ship from Earth was coming. Not the ship with more farm machinery,
not the battered freighter which reached Talbor twice every year, but
a tourist ship--the first one in Marsden's memory. There would be
real Earth people on it, men and women. He thought deliciously of the
women, wasp-waisted, high-breasted, lithe-legged and delicate. Marie
would seem so plain against them, so tragically unfeminine--unless the
pictures lied. Born on Talbor, Marsden had never seen a real woman of
Earth.

       *       *       *       *       *

Maybe Marsden would feel more inclined to watch the patterned years
drag by on Talbor if he just once saw the women of Earth. He never told
this to Marie, for she wouldn't understand.

"We'd better hurry," she said, "or we won't get to town till after the
ship comes in."

Marsden nodded. "Like to see it land. Everyone will be there, I'll bet."

"I suppose so. It's a great deal of trouble, if you ask me."

"Trouble? Don't you want to see the people of Earth?" There it was
again--Marsden felt an argument brewing. Marie spoke like an old woman,
but she was only twenty-five. You couldn't blame her, though, and every
time Marsden's thoughts took that tack he felt sorry for his wife. She
had known nothing but Talbor all her life.

"They're people," said Marie. "Just folks." But she carefully removed
the frilly dress which had hung near Marsden's suit on the rack and
examined it critically.

"You're going to wear that?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing. You haven't put it on since we got married, that's all."

"We can't scare the Earth people off with a lot of tunics and
coveralls."

"Better get dressed," said Marsden, chuckling with grim amusement as
Marie struggled with the unfamiliar garment. Marsden's own starched
collar threatened to choke him, but the women of Earth would expect it.

"What's so funny, Harry?"

"There must be an easier way to climb into that thing. You look so
funny."

Marie's back was toward him. She took the dress off and threw it across
the bed. "All right, I won't wear it. I won't wear anything. I'm not
going."

"Now, Marie."

"Don't you 'now' me. I'll stay right here."

"I was joking," said Marsden, squirming uncomfortably inside his collar.

Marie flung the dress from bed to floor. "You can throw it out, for all
I care. Or give it away."

"Thank you, I'll stay here."

"For crying out loud!" Marsden said in exasperation. "This is the
biggest thing to hit Talbor in years. The Earth people are coming to
visit us and you want to stay home."

"They probably will make fun of us."

"If we act like bu
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65193
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65193



The north polar regions lie within the Arctic circle, and at their
center is the North Pole. The distance from the circle to the pole is
more than fourteen hundred miles. Intense cold and the hardships of ice
navigation have made the discovery and exploration of this region very
slow and hazardous.

It is believed that Norsemen from Norway and Sweden, after colonizing
Iceland, made settlements on the Greenland coast and carried their seal
hunting beyond the Arctic circle, far into the polar regions. But in
1347 a plague broke out in Norway, and the people forgot their far-off
colonies. For more than a hundred years after this no attempt was made
to enter the Arctic circle.

It is a singular fact that the famous voyage of Columbus in 1492,
although made toward the south, should have influenced to some extent
discovery in the north polar regions. After Columbus had really proved
that the earth was round, navigators believed that by sailing westward
far enough they might reach the rich lands of India and Cathay (China).

The only route then known from Europe to India was through the
Mediterranean Sea. At Constantinople, the cargoes of metals, woods,
and pitch were unloaded and sent on by caravan to the East, while
returning caravans brought silks, dyewoods, spices, perfumes, precious
stones, ivory, and pearls, to be shipped from Constantinople.

When the Turks, through whose country the merchants passed, began to
realize how valuable the Eastern trade was, they sent bands of robbers
to seize the caravans, making traffic by this route more difficult and
more dangerous as time went on; so that European merchants tried to
find some other way of reaching that part of the world.

[Illustration: SEBASTIAN CABOT.]

John and Sebastian Cabot, two English navigators, set out in 1497 to
sail westward, but finding their way blocked by the American continent,
they returned. In 1498 Sebastian Cabot made a second voyage, with
the object of finding a passage north of America which would lead to
the Spice Islands and rich Cathay. In this way the long hunt for the
northwest passage was begun.

The Cabots did not find the northwest passage; and though many voyages
were made in search of it by other navigators during the fifteenth and
sixteenth centuries, nobody met with success. The severe cold, added to
the difficulties of a voyage through the ice of ages, prevented further
investigation in that direction for some time.

Meanwhile, the Spanish and the Portuguese had been active in seeking
for southern routes to the East, and had discovered two,――one around
the Cape of Good Hope and one through the Strait of Magellan. They
guarded these waterways jealously, and would not allow the ships of
other nations to pass. Thus they succeeded in controlling all the rich
Eastern trade, and were growing very wealthy and powerful.

The English and the Dutch, who were also anxious to obtain a share
of the rich commerce with the East, saw the importance of finding a
northern route to India; consequently they experimented by sailing
northeast along the coast of Europe and Asia. The route which they
sought was known as the northeast passage.

England sent out the first expedition in 1553, but the severity of the
weather prevented the ships from making much progress. Several other
vain attempts were made by the English, and then the Dutch took up the
work; but they failed, too, and for a time the search for northern
passages to the Indies was abandoned.

[Illustration: THE EARTH ON JUNE 21.]

The total absence of the sun from the Arctic regions during a large
part of each year makes the climate severe and the country desolate.
Direct sun rays are necessary to insure warmth, and the regions within
the Arctic circle receive at the best only slanting rays.

[Illustration: THE EARTH ON DECEMBER 21.]

In the temperate zones the sun is never exactly overhead. For people
who live within the tropics it is overhead twice every year. At all
places along the equator the sun is overhead at noon on the 21st of
March. Each day after, it comes overhead at noon at places farther
north, until the 21st of June, when it is overhead at the tropic
of Cancer. After this the sun appears to turn and go south, and on
September 22 it is again overhead at noon at the equator. The sun then
continues to move southward each day until December 21, when it is
overhead at the tropic of Capricorn. And so it goes back and forth the
year round.

While the sun is north of the equator, there is constant day somewhere
within the Arctic circle; when the sun is south of the equator, there
is constant night somewhere within the Arctic circle. The farther a
region is from the equator, the longer are the days and nights at
different seasons of the year. At the pole there is a night of six
months and a day of six months. The night is sometimes lighted by the
moon and sometimes by the aurora borealis.

[Illustration: DAILY MOTION OF THE HEAVENS AS SEEN AT THE NORTH POLE.]

There are but two
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 56315
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/56315

BUREAU OF ECONOMIC GEOLOGY
                   The University of Texas at Austin
                          Austin, Texas 78712
                       John T. Lonsdale, Director


                              Guidebook 2




                             TEXAS FOSSILS:
                   _An Amateur Collector’s Handbook_


                                   By
                        William H. Matthews III

                             November 1960
                      _Second Printing, July 1963_
                     _Third Printing, August 1967_
                      _Fourth Printing, June 1971_
                    _Fifth Printing, November 1973_
                      _Sixth Printing, April 1976_
                   _Seventh Printing, November 1978_
                   _Eighth Printing, September 1981_
                     _Ninth Printing, August 1984_




                                Contents


                                                                Page
  Introduction                                                     1
  What are fossils?                                                3
  The study of fossils                                             4
      Paleobotany                                                  4
      Invertebrate paleontology                                    4
      Vertebrate paleontology                                      4
      Micropaleontology                                            4
  Preservation of fossils                                          5
      Requirements of fossilization                                5
      Missing pages in the record                                  5
  Different kinds of fossil preservation                           7
      Original soft parts of organisms                             7
      Original hard parts of organisms                             7
          Calcareous remains                                      10
          Phosphatic remains                                      10
          Siliceous remains                                       10
          Chitinous remains                                       10
      Altered hard parts of organisms                             10
          Carbonization                                           10
          Petrifaction or permineralization                       10
          Replacement or mineralization                           10
              Replacement by calcareous material                  11
              Replacement by siliceous material                   11
              Replacement by iron compounds                       11
      Traces of organisms                                         11
          Molds and casts                                         11
          Tracks, trails, and burrows                             14
          Coprolites                                              14
          Gastroliths                                             14
      Pseudofossils                                               14
          Dendrites                                               14
          Slickensides                                            16
          Concretions                                             16
  Where and how to collect fossils                                17
      Collecting equipment                                        17
      Where to look                                               19
      How to collect                                              20
  Cleaning and preparation of fossils                             21
  How fossils are named                                           21
      The science of classification                               21
      The units of classification                                 22
  Identification of fossils                                       23
  Use of identification keys                                      23
      Identification key to main types of invertebrate fossils    26
  List of Texas colleges offering geology courses                 27
  Cataloging the collection                                       31
  How fossils are used                                            31
  Geologic history                                                33
      Geologic column and time scale                              33
      The geology of Texas                                        34
          Physiography                                            35
              Trans-Pecos region                                  35
              Texas Plains                                        35
      High Plains                                                 35
      North-central Plains                                        37
      Edwards Plateau                                             37
      Grand Prairie                                               37
      Llano uplift                                                37
              Gu
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 11438
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/11438



After leaving Vienna, and long before you come to Budapest, the Danube
enters a region of singular loneliness and desolation, where its waters
spread away on all sides regardless of a main channel, and the country
becomes a swamp for miles upon miles, covered by a vast sea of low
willow-bushes. On the big maps this deserted area is painted in a
fluffy blue, growing fainter in color as it leaves the banks, and
across it may be seen in large straggling letters the word _Sümpfe_,
meaning marshes.

In high flood this great acreage of sand, shingle-beds, and
willow-grown islands is almost topped by the water, but in normal
seasons the bushes bend and rustle in the free winds, showing their
silver leaves to the sunshine in an ever-moving plain of bewildering
beauty. These willows never attain to the dignity of trees; they have
no rigid trunks; they remain humble bushes, with rounded tops and soft
outline, swaying on slender stems that answer to the least pressure of
the wind; supple as grasses, and so continually shifting that they
somehow give the impression that the entire plain is moving and alive.
For the wind sends waves rising and falling over the whole surface,
waves of leaves instead of waves of water, green swells like the sea,
too, until the branches turn and lift, and then silvery white as their
underside turns to the sun.

Happy to slip beyond the control of the stern banks, the Danube here
wanders about at will among the intricate network of channels
intersecting the islands everywhere with broad avenues down which the
waters pour with a shouting sound; making whirlpools, eddies, and
foaming rapids; tearing at the sandy banks; carrying away masses of
shore and willow-clumps; and forming new islands innumerably which
shift daily in size and shape and possess at best an impermanent life,
since the flood-time obliterates their very existence.

Properly speaking, this fascinating part of the river’s life begins
soon after leaving Pressburg, and we, in our Canadian canoe, with gipsy
tent and frying-pan on board, reached it on the crest of a rising flood
about mid-July. That very same morning, when the sky was reddening
before sunrise, we had slipped swiftly through still-sleeping Vienna,
leaving it a couple of hours later a mere patch of smoke against the
blue hills of the Wienerwald on the horizon; we had breakfasted below
Fischeramend under a grove of birch trees roaring in the wind; and had
then swept on the tearing current past Orth, Hainburg, Petronell (the
old Roman Carnuntum of Marcus Aurelius), and so under the frowning
heights of Thelsen on a spur of the Carpathians, where the March steals
in quietly from the left and the frontier is crossed between Austria
and Hungary.

Racing along at twelve kilometers an hour soon took us well into
Hungary, and the muddy waters—sure sign of flood—sent us aground on
many a shingle-bed, and twisted us like a cork in many a sudden
belching whirlpool before the towers of Pressburg (Hungarian, Poszóny)
showed against the sky; and then the canoe, leaping like a spirited
horse, flew at top speed under the grey walls, negotiated safely the
sunken chain of the Fliegende Brucke ferry, turned the corner sharply
to the left, and plunged on yellow foam into the wilderness of islands,
sandbanks, and swamp-land beyond—the land of the willows.

The change came suddenly, as when a series of bioscope pictures snaps
down on the streets of a town and shifts without warning into the
scenery of lake and forest. We entered the land of desolation on wings,
and in less than half an hour there was neither boat nor fishing-hut
nor red roof, nor any single sign of human habitation and civilization
within sight. The sense of remoteness from the world of humankind, the
utter isolation, the fascination of this singular world of willows,
winds, and waters, instantly laid its spell upon us both, so that we
allowed laughingly to one another that we ought by rights to have held
some special kind of passport to admit us, and that we had, somewhat
audaciously, come without asking leave into a separate little kingdom
of wonder and magic—a kingdom that was reserved for the use of others
who had a right to it, with everywhere unwritten warnings to
trespassers for those who had the imagination to discover them.

Though still early in the afternoon, the ceaseless buffetings of a most
tempestuous wind made us feel weary, and we at once began casting about
for a suitable camping-ground for the night. But the bewildering
character of the islands made landing difficult; the swirling flood
carried us in shore and then swept us out again; the willow branches
tore our hands as we seized them to stop the canoe, and we pulled many
a yard of sandy bank into the water before at length we shot with a
great sideways blow from the wind into a backwater and managed to beach
the bows in a cloud of spray. Then we lay panting and laughing after
our exertions on the hot yellow sand, sheltered from the wind, and in
the
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 35698
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/35698


Copyright
First Edition (Globe 8vo) June 1891
Reprinted October 1891, 1918, 1921
Reprinted (Crown 8vo) 1925

Printed in Great Britain




CONTENTS


  LETTER                                         DATE        PAGE

  PREFACE                                                      xi

    1. TO CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE       Oct. 13, 1816             1

    2. TO BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON      Nov. 20, 1816             1

    3.      "           "             Nov. 20, 1816             2

    4. TO CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE       Dec. 17, 1816             2

    5. TO JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS      Mar. 2, 1817?             3

    6.      "           "             Mar. 17, 1817             4

    7. TO GEORGE AND THOMAS KEATS     April 15, 1817            4

    8. TO JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS      April 17, 1817            6

    9. TO LEIGH HUNT                  May 10, 1817             10

   10. TO BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON      May 10, 1817             13

   11. TO MESSRS. TAYLOR AND HESSEY   May 16, 1817             17

   12.      "           "             July 8, 1817             19

   13. TO MARIANE AND JANE REYNOLDS   Sept. 5, 1817            19

   14. TO FANNY KEATS                 Sept. 10, 1817           21

   15. TO JANE REYNOLDS               Sept. 14, 1817           24

   16. TO JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS      Sept. 21, 1817           28

   17. TO BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON      Sept. 28, 1817           32

   18. TO BENJAMIN BAILEY             Oct. 8, 1817             33

   19.      "        "                About Nov. 1, 1817       36

   20.      "        "                Nov. 5, 1817             39

   21. TO CHARLES WENTWORTH DILKE     Nov. 1817                40

   22. TO BENJAMIN BAILEY             Nov. 22, 1817            40

   23. TO JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS      Nov. 22, 1817            44

   24. TO GEORGE AND THOMAS KEATS     Dec. 22, 1817            46

   25.      "           "             Jan. 5, 1818             48

   26. TO BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON      Jan. 10, 1818            53

   27. TO JOHN TAYLOR                 Jan. 10, 1818            53

   28. TO GEORGE AND THOMAS KEATS     Jan. 13-20, 1818         54

   29. TO JOHN TAYLOR                 Jan. 23, 1818            56

   30. TO GEORGE AND THOMAS KEATS     Jan. 23, 1818            57

   31. TO BENJAMIN BAILEY             Jan. 23, 1818            61

   32. TO JOHN TAYLOR                 Jan. 30, 1818            64

   33. TO JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS      Jan. 31, 1818            65

   34.      "           "             Feb. 3, 1818             67

   35. TO JOHN TAYLOR                 Feb. 5, 1818             71

   36. TO GEORGE AND THOMAS KEATS     Feb. 14, 1818            71

   37. TO JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS      Feb. 19, 1818            73

   38. TO GEORGE AND THOMAS KEATS     Feb. 21, 1818            75

   39. TO JOHN TAYLOR                 Feb. 27, 1818            77

   40. TO MESSRS. TAYLOR AND HESSEY   Mar. 1818?               78

   41. TO BENJAMIN BAILEY             Mar. 13, 1818            78

   42. TO JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS      Mar. 14, 1818            82

   43. TO BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON      Mar. 21, 1818            85

   44. TO MESSRS. TAYLOR AND HESSEY   Mar. 21, 1818            88

   45. TO JAMES RICE                  Mar. 24, 1818            88

   46. TO JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS      Mar. 25, 1818            90

   47. TO BENJAMIN ROBERT HAYDON      April 8, 1818            94

   48. TO JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS      April 9, 1818            96

   49.      "             "           April 10, 1818           98

   50. TO JOHN TAYLOR                 April 24, 1818           99

   51. TO JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS      April 27, 1818          100

   52.      "             "           May 3, 1818             103

   53. TO BENJAMIN BAILEY             May 28, 1818            109

   54.       "      "                 June 10, 1818           111

   55. TO JOHN TAYLOR                 June 21, 1818           114

   56. TO THOMAS KEATS                June 29-July 2, 1818    114

   57. TO FANNY KEATS                 July 2-4, 1818          118

   58. TO THOMAS KEATS                July 2-9, 1818          123

   59.     "      "                   July 10-14, 1818        127

   60. TO JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS      July 11-13, 1818        132

   61. TO THOMAS KEATS                July 17-21, 1818        136

   62. TO BENJAMIN BAILEY             July 18-22, 1818        142

   63. TO THOMAS KEATS                July 23-26, 1818        147

   64.     "      "                   Aug. 3, 1818            153

   65. TO MRS. WYLIE                  Aug. 6, 1818            158

   66. TO FANNY KEATS                 Aug. 18, 1818           161

   67.     "     "                    Aug. 25, 1818           162

   68. TO JANE REYNOLDS               Sept. 1, 1818           162

   69. TO CHARLES WENTWORTH DILKE     Sept. 21, 1818          163

   70. TO JOHN HAMILTON REYNOLDS      About Sept. 22, 1818    165

   71. TO FANNY KEATS     
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 2131
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2131

AN ACCOUNT OF EGYPT

By Herodotus


Translated By G. C. Macaulay




NOTE

HERODOTUS was born at Halicarnassus, on the southwest coast of Asia
Minor, in the early part of the fifth century, B. C. Of his life we know
almost nothing, except that he spent much of it traveling, to collect
the material for his writings, and that he finally settled down at
Thurii, in southern Italy, where his great work was composed. He died in
424 B. C.

The subject of the history of Herodotus is the struggle between the
Greeks and the barbarians, which he brings down to the battle of Mycale
in 479 B. C. The work, as we have it, is divided into nine books,
named after the nine Muses, but this division is probably due to the
Alexandrine grammarians. His information he gathered mainly from oral
sources, as he traveled through Asia Minor, down into Egypt, round
the Black Sea, and into various parts of Greece and the neighboring
countries. The chronological narrative halts from time to time to give
opportunity for descriptions of the country, the people, and their
customs and previous history; and the political account is constantly
varied by rare tales and wonders.

Among these descriptions of countries the most fascinating to the
modern, as it was to the ancient, reader is his account of the marvels
of the land of Egypt. From the priests at Memphis, Heliopolis, and the
Egyptian Thebes he learned what he reports of the size of the country,
the wonders of the Nile, the ceremonies of their religion, the
sacredness of their animals. He tells also of the strange ways of the
crocodile and of that marvelous bird, the Phoenix; of dress and funerals
and embalming; of the eating of lotos and papyrus; of the pyramids and
the great labyrinth; of their kings and queens and courtesans.

Yet Herodotus is not a mere teller of strange tales. However credulous
he may appear to a modern judgment, he takes care to keep separate what
he knows by his own observation from what he has merely inferred and
from what he has been told. He is candid about acknowledging ignorance,
and when versions differ he gives both. Thus the modern scientific
historian, with other means of corroboration, can sometimes learn from
Herodotus more than Herodotus himself knew.

There is abundant evidence, too, that Herodotus had a philosophy of
history. The unity which marks his work is due not only to the strong
Greek national feeling running through it, the feeling that rises to a
height in such passages as the descriptions of the battles of Marathon,
Thermopylae, and Salamis, but also to his profound belief in Fate and
in Nemesis. To his belief in Fate is due the frequent quoting of oracles
and their fulfilment, the frequent references to things foreordained by
Providence. The working of Nemesis he finds in the disasters that befall
men and nations whose towering prosperity awakens the jealousy of the
gods. The final overthrow of the Persians, which forms his main theme,
is only one specially conspicuous example of the operation of this force
from which human life can never free itself.

But, above all, he is the father of story-tellers. "Herodotus is such
simple and delightful reading," says Jevons; "he is so unaffected and
entertaining, his story flows so naturally and with such ease that
we have a difficulty in bearing in mind that, over and above the hard
writing which goes to make easy reading there is a perpetual marvel in
the work of Herodotus. It is the first artistic work in prose that Greek
literature produced. This prose work, which for pure literary merit no
subsequent work has surpassed, than which later generations, after
using the pen for centuries, have produced no prose more easy or more
readable, this was the first of histories and of literary prose."





AN ACCOUNT OF EGYPT

BY HERODOTUS




BEING THE SECOND BOOK OF HIS HISTORIES CALLED EUTERPE


When Cyrus had brought his life to an end, Cambyses received the royal
power in succession, being the son of Cyrus and of Cassandane the
daughter of Pharnaspes, for whose death, which came about before his
own, Cyrus had made great mourning himself and also had proclaimed to
all those over whom he bore rule that they should make mourning for her:
Cambyses, I say, being the son of this woman and of Cyrus, regarded
the Ionians and Aiolians as slaves inherited from his father; and he
proceeded to march an army against Egypt, taking with him as helpers not
only other nations of which he was ruler, but also those of the Hellenes
over whom he had power besides.


Now the Egyptians, before the time when Psammetichos became king over
them, were wont to suppose that they had come into being first of all
men; but since the time when Psammetichos having become king desired to
know what men had come into being first, they suppose that the Phrygians
came into being before themselves, but they themselves before all other
men. Now Psammetichos, when he was not able by inquiry to find out any
means of knowing who had come into b
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 65169
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/65169

SOUTHWEST ***




                               Early Man
                           Projectile Points
                            in the Southwest


                       MUSEUM OF NEW MEXICO PRESS
                     POPULAR SERIES PAMPHLET NO. 4




                            EARLY MAN PROJECTILE POINTS IN THE SOUTHWEST
                                                      _by Kenneth Honea_




                              INTRODUCTION


The cultures of Early Man in the Southwest, though yet imperfectly
known, seem most readily distinguishable by characteristic types of
projectile points. The majority of finds, and they are rare, have been
made on the surface; much less often at camp or kill sites.

Camp sites were situated on ridges, in sand dunes, or on hills
overlooking streams, lakes, or ponds. Occupational features generally
include hearths, split and charred food bones, debris from stone tool
manufacturing, and a full inventory of stone tools. Seeds, grinding
stones, storage and cooking pits are rarely found at such early sites.

Kill sites, by contrast, are usually situated on the edges of streams,
lakes, or ponds. Features will include animal skeletons, sometimes
partially dismembered, points used in killing game, some stone
butchering tools such as scrapers, knives, utilized flakes, and waste
flakes resulting from the sharpening of stone tools. Preferred parts of
game may be missing, indicating they were carried back to camp. Hearths
are occasionally found at kill sites, indicating that part of the game
may have been prepared there.

Points used by Early Man were likely thrown at game with a spear-thrower
or atl-atl, rather than shot at them with a bow and arrow. Atl-atls were
probably of wood, and had a long groove on one side. Into this groove
was placed the spear with a point hafted onto one end. The atl-atl was
thrust back and thrown forward, releasing the spear on the forward
thrust.

On the basis of findings, archaeologists have reconstructed two
widespread methods of hunting by Early Man. In the first instance, game
was observed, stalked and killed at watering places. In the second, game
was driven into an arroyo, stream, lake, or pond, or stampeded over a
cliff.




                    EARLY MATERIALS AND TECHNOLOGIES


It is a curious fact that Early Southwestern Man most often made his
tools of very finely textured stone. Perhaps this custom was induced by
the exacting, finely controlled technologies of stone flaking practiced
and the kinds of tools made. Indeed, workmanship on many projectile
points, knives, and scrapers is so well achieved that one is led to
believe that Early Man strove to express some degree of esthetic
idealism in his tools.

Demands in technology often led to the widespread trading of choice
materials. The best known of these is from the alibates quarries near
Amarillo in the Texas Panhandle. Fine quality flint from this locality
has been found at Early Man sites as far west as Arizona and as far
north as Wyoming and Montana.

Early man prepared point “blanks” by the striking of suitable primary
flakes by direct percussion from a block of stone, the core. The striker
consisted either of a hard subround hammerstone, or a cylinder-hammer of
soft stone, bone, antler, or hard wood. Flakes driven off by the former
were usually thicker at one end. Those produced in the second instance
were relatively thin throughout their length. Long flakes or “blades”
were also often used as blanks, especially in the making of long
projectile points. They could be detached from cores with either of the
above strikers, or by holding a bone or stone “punch” on an edge of a
core and striking the top of the punch with a hammerstone. This is a
form of indirect percussion. Blades were also produced by what has been
called impulsive pressure. A bone, antler, or stone-tipped crutch was
applied to an edge of a core, and pressed downwards with the chest,
driving off a blade.

Often cores were pre-shaped before the striking or pressing off of
flakes or blades by what is termed the “Levallois technique.” A block of
stone was initially trimmed on both faces into a round, oval, or
triangular shape. Either one or a series of flakes or blades were then
driven off one or both faces of the core, using any of the above
percussion or pressure instruments. A distinct advantage to the
technique was that the upper face of the detached flake or blade blanks
had already been trimmed in the process of initial preparation of the
core. This same preparation also predetermined to a large extent the
shape of blanks produced in the Levallois technique.

The processes by which appropriate blanks were turned into finished
projectile points involved several manufacturing stages and one or a
combination of flaking techniques. The techniques employed consisted of
direct or indirect percussion, using a hammerstone, cylinder-hammer, or
punch, and direct or indirect pressure, using a crutch, an animal claw
or tooth,
------------------------------------------------------------------------

PG #: 6695
https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6695





COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS

  COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY THE VANITY FAIR PUB. CO., INC.
  COPYRIGHT, 1920, 1921, BY THE METROPOLITAN PUBLICATIONS, INC.
  COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY THE CHICAGO TRIBUNE
  COPYRIGHT, 1920, BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING CO.
  COPYRIGHT, 1920, 1921, BY THE SMART SET CO.

Printed in the United States of America

Published September, 1922




QUITE INAPPROPRIATELY

TO MY MOTHER




A TABLE OF CONTENTS


MY LAST FLAPPERS


THE JELLY-BEAN

_This is a Southern story, with the scene laid in the small city of
Tarleton, Georgia. I have a profound affection for Tarleton, but
somehow whenever I write a story about it I receive letters from all
over the South denouncing me in no uncertain terms. “The Jelly-Bean,”
published in “The Metropolitan,” drew its full share of these
admonitory notes._

_It was written under strange circumstances shortly after my first
novel was published, and, moreover, it was the first story in which I
had a collaborator. For, finding that I was unable to manage the
crap-shooting episode, I turned it over to my wife, who, as a Southern
girl, was presumably an expert on the technique and terminology of
that great sectional pastime._


THE CAMEL’S BACK

_I suppose that of all the stories I have ever written this one cost me
the least travail and perhaps gave me the most amusement. As to the
labor involved, it was written during one day in the city of New
Orleans, with the express purpose of buying a platinum and diamond
wrist watch which cost six hundred dollars. I began it at seven in the
morning and finished it at two o’clock the same night. It was
published in the “Saturday Evening Post” in 1920, and later included
in the O. Henry Memorial Collection for the same year. I like it least
of all the stories in this volume._

_My amusement was derived from the fact that the camel part of the
story is literally true; in fact, I have a standing engagement with
the gentleman involved to attend the next fancy-dress party to which
we are mutually invited, attired as the latter part of the camel--this
as a sort of atonement for being his historian._


MAY DAY

_This somewhat unpleasant tale, published as a novelette in the “Smart
Set” in July, 1920, relates a series of events which took place in the
spring of the previous year. Each of the three events made a great
impression upon me. In life they were unrelated, except by the general
hysteria of that spring which inaugurated the Age of Jazz, but in my
story I have tried, unsuccessfully I fear, to weave them into a
pattern--a pattern which would give the effect of those months in New
York as they appeared to at least one member of what was then the
younger generation._


PORCELAIN AND PINK

_“And do you write for any other magazines?” inquired the young lady._

_“Oh, yes,” I assured her. “I’ve had some stories and plays in the
‘Smart Set,’ for instance----”_

_The young lady shivered._

_“The ‘Smart Set’!” she exclaimed. “How can you? Why, they publish
stuff about girls in blue bathtubs, and silly things like that.”_

_And I had the magnificent joy of telling her that she was referring to
“Porcelain and Pink,” which had appeared there several months before._


FANTASIES


THE DIAMOND AS BIG AS THE RITZ

_These next stories are written in what, were I of imposing stature, I
should call my “second manner.” “The Diamond as Big as the Ritz,”
which appeared last summer in the “Smart Set,” was designed utterly
for my own amusement. I was in that familiar mood characterized by a
perfect craving for luxury, and the story began as an attempt to feed
that craving on imaginary foods._

_One well-known critic has been pleased to like this extravaganza
better than anything I have written. Personally I prefer “The Offshore
Pirate.” But, to tamper slightly with Lincoln: If you like this sort
of thing, this, possibly, is the sort of thing you’ll like._


THE CURIOUS CASE OF BENJAMIN BUTTON

_This story was inspired by a remark of Mark Twain’s to the effect that
it was a pity that the best part of life came at the beginning and the
worst part at the end. By trying the experiment upon only one man in a
perfectly normal world I have scarcely given his idea a fair trial.
Several weeks after completing it, I discovered an almost identical
plot in Samuel Butler’s “Note-books.”_

_The story was published in “Collier’s” last summer and provoked this
startling letter from an anonymous admirer in Cincinnati:_

_“Sir--_

_I have read the story Benjamin Button in Colliers and I wish to say
that as a short story writer you would make a good lunatic I have seen
many peices of cheese in my life but of all the peices of cheese I
have ever seen you are the biggest peice. I hate to waste a peice of
stationary on you but I will.“_


TARQUIN OF CHEAPSIDE

_Written almost six years ago, this story is a product of undergraduate
days at Princeton. Considerably revised, it was published in the
“Smart Set” in 1921. At the time of its conception I had but one
id
------------------------------------------------------------------------

Book_Order,Project_Gutenberg_Number,Title,Author
0,84,"Frankenstein; Or, The Modern Prometheus","Shelley, Mary Wollstonecraft"
1,1342,Pride and Prejudice,"Austen, Jane"
2,64317,The Great Gatsby,"Fitzgerald, F. Scott (Francis Scott)"
3,98,A Tale of Two Cities,"Dickens, Charles"
4,11,Alice's Adventures in Wonderland,"Carroll, Lewis"
5,2542,A Doll's House : a play,"Ibsen, Henrik"
6,844,The Importance of Being Earnest: A Trivial Comedy for Serious People,"Wilde, Oscar"
7,174,The Picture of Dorian Gray,"Wilde, Oscar"
8,1080,"A Modest Proposal
For preventing the children of poor people in Ireland, from being a burden on their parents or country, and for making them beneficial to the publick","Swift, Jonathan"
9,5200,Metamorphosis,"Kafka, Franz"
10,1661,The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes,"Doyle, Arthur Conan"
11,2701,"Moby Dick; Or, The Whale","Melville, Herman"
12,1260,Jane Eyre: An Autobiography,"Brontë, Charlotte"
13,1952,The Yellow Wallpaper,"Gilman, Charlotte Perkins"
14,76,Adventures of Huckleberry Finn,"Twain, Mark"
15,219,Heart of Darkness,"Conrad, Joseph"
16,26184,Simple Sabotage Field Manual,United States. Office of Strategic Services
17,43,The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,"Stevenson, Robert Louis"
18,345,Dracula,"Stoker, Bram"
19,25344,The Scarlet Letter,"Hawthorne, Nathaniel"
20,1250,Anthem,"Rand, Ayn"
21,2852,The Hound of the Baskervilles,"Doyle, Arthur Conan"
22,46,A Christmas Carol in Prose; Being a Ghost Story of Christmas,"Dickens, Charles"
23,1400,Great Expectations,"Dickens, Charles"
24,74,"The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, Complete","Twain, Mark"
25,160,"The Awakening, and Selected Short Stories","Chopin, Kate"
26,1232,The Prince,"Machiavelli, Niccolò"
27,205,"Walden, and On The Duty Of Civil Disobedience","Thoreau, Henry David"
28,408,The Souls of Black Folk,"Du Bois, W. E. B. (William Edward Burghardt)"
29,16,Peter Pan,"Barrie, J. M. (James Matthew)"
30,158,Emma,"Austen, Jane"
31,55,The Wonderful Wizard of Oz,"Baum, L. Frank (Lyman Frank)"
32,2591,Grimms' Fairy Tales,"Grimm, Jacob"
33,2600,War and Peace,"Tolstoy, Leo, graf"
34,57775,Le jardin des supplices,"Mirbeau, Octave"
35,23,"Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, an American Slave","Douglass, Frederick"
36,4300,Ulysses,"Joyce, James"
37,2814,Dubliners,"Joyce, James"
38,120,Treasure Island,"Stevenson, Robert Louis"
39,3825,Pygmalion,"Shaw, Bernard"
40,514,Little Women,"Alcott, Louisa May"
41,5740,Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus,"Wittgenstein, Ludwig"
42,768,Wuthering Heights,"Brontë, Emily"
43,45,Anne of Green Gables,"Montgomery, L. M. (Lucy Maud)"
44,215,The Call of the Wild,"London, Jack"
45,1727,"The Odyssey
Rendered into English prose for the use of those who cannot read the original",Homer
46,58585,The Prophet,"Gibran, Kahlil"
47,244,A Study in Scarlet,"Doyle, Arthur Conan"
48,2500,Siddhartha,"Hesse, Hermann"
49,203,Uncle Tom's Cabin,"Stowe, Harriet Beecher"
50,1184,"The Count of Monte Cristo, Illustrated","Dumas, Alexandre"
51,6130,The Iliad,Homer
52,902,"The Happy Prince, and Other Tales","Wilde, Oscar"
53,1497,The Republic,Plato
54,829,Gulliver's Travels into Several Remote Nations of the World,"Swift, Jonathan"
55,16328,Beowulf: An Anglo-Saxon Epic Poem,N/A
56,2554,Crime and Punishment,"Dostoyevsky, Fyodor"
57,996,Don Quixote,"Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de"
58,36,The War of the Worlds,"Wells, H. G. (Herbert George)"
59,3600,Essays of Michel de Montaigne — Complete,"Montaigne, Michel de"
60,113,The Secret Garden,"Burnett, Frances Hodgson"
61,135,Les Misérables,"Hugo, Victor"
62,33283,"Calculus Made Easy
Being a very-simplest introduction to those beautiful methods which are generally called by the terrifying names of the Differential Calculus and the Integral Calculus","Thompson, Silvanus P. (Silvanus Phillips)"
63,42108,"The Slang Dictionary: Etymological, Historical and Andecdotal","Hotten, John Camden"
64,236,The Jungle Book,"Kipling, Rudyard"
65,10007,Carmilla,"Le Fanu, Joseph Sheridan"
66,161,Sense and Sensibility,"Austen, Jane"
67,3207,Leviathan,"Hobbes, Thomas"
68,19942,Candide,Voltaire
69,43453,A Pickle for the Knowing Ones,"Dexter, Timothy"
70,730,Oliver Twist,"Dickens, Charles"
71,27827,"The Kama Sutra of Vatsyayana
Translated From the Sanscrit in Seven Parts With Preface, Introduction and Concluding Remarks",Vatsyayana
72,100,The Complete Works of William Shakespeare,"Shakespeare, William"
73,5131,Childe Harold's Pilgrimage,"Byron, George Gordon Byron, Baron"
74,972,The Devil's Dictionary,"Bierce, Ambrose"
75,1934,"Songs of Innocence, and Songs of Experience","Blake, William"
76,35,The Time Machine,"Wells, H. G. (Herbert George)"
77,1998,Thus Spake Zarathustra: A Book for All and None,"Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm"
78,1001,"Divine Comedy, Longfellow's Translation, Hell",Dante Alighieri
79,35899,The Philippines a Century Hence,"Rizal, José"
80,4363,Beyond Good and Evil,"Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm"
81,863,The Mysterious Affair at Styles,"Christie, Agatha"
82,1399,Anna Karenina,"Tolstoy, Leo, graf"
83,105,Persuasion,"Austen, Jane"
84,20228,Noli Me Tangere,"Rizal, José"
85,766,David Copperfield,"Dickens, Charles"
86,30254,The Romance of Lust: A classic Victorian erotic novel,Anonymous
87,521,The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe,"Defoe, Daniel"
88,3090,Complete Original Short Stories of Guy De Maupassant,"Maupassant, Guy de"
89,5739,Korean—English Dictionary,"Kuperman, Leon"
90,8800,An Index of The Divine Comedy by Dante,Dante Alighieri
91,15399,"The Interesting Narrative of the Life of Olaudah Equiano, Or Gustavus Vassa, The African
Written By Himself","Equiano, Olaudah"
92,10623,Plays,"Glaspell, Susan"
93,7370,Second Treatise of Government,"Locke, John"
94,61,The Communist Manifesto,"Marx, Karl"
95,3296,The Confessions of St. Augustine,"Augustine, Saint, Bishop of Hippo"
96,140,The Jungle,"Sinclair, Upton"
97,41,The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,"Irving, Washington"
98,14838,The Tale of Peter Rabbit,"Potter, Beatrix"
99,21700,Don Juan,"Byron, George Gordon Byron, Baron"
100,779,"The Tragical History of Doctor Faustus
From the Quarto of 1604","Marlowe, Christopher"
101,42324,"Frankenstein; Or, The Modern Prometheus","Shelley, Mary Wollstonecraft"
102,209,The Turn of the Screw,"James, Henry"
103,22120,"Chaucer's Works, Volume 4 — The Canterbury Tales","Chaucer, Geoffrey"
104,6133,"The Extraordinary Adventures of Arsene Lupin, Gentleman-Burglar","Leblanc, Maurice"
105,4517,Ethan Frome,"Wharton, Edith"
106,600,Notes from the Underground,"Dostoyevsky, Fyodor"
107,786,Hard Times,"Dickens, Charles"
108,34901,On Liberty,"Mill, John Stuart"
109,121,Northanger Abbey,"Austen, Jane"
110,11030,"Incidents in the Life of a Slave Girl, Written by Herself","Jacobs, Harriet A. (Harriet Ann)"
111,21279,2 B R 0 2 B,"Vonnegut, Kurt"
112,2148,The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 2,"Poe, Edgar Allan"
113,10,The King James Version of the Bible,N/A
114,37134,The Elements of Style,"Strunk, William"
115,20203,Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin,"Franklin, Benjamin"
116,1837,The Prince and the Pauper,"Twain, Mark"
117,5827,The Problems of Philosophy,"Russell, Bertrand"
118,2680,Meditations,"Marcus Aurelius, Emperor of Rome"
119,61085,In our time,"Hemingway, Ernest"
120,145,Middlemarch,"Eliot, George"
121,4217,A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man,"Joyce, James"
122,1524,"Hamlet, Prince of Denmark","Shakespeare, William"
123,2097,The Sign of the Four,"Doyle, Arthur Conan"
124,12,Through the Looking-Glass,"Carroll, Lewis"
125,103,Around the World in Eighty Days,"Verne, Jules"
126,73,The Red Badge of Courage: An Episode of the American Civil War,"Crane, Stephen"
127,375,An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge,"Bierce, Ambrose"
128,110,Tess of the d'Urbervilles: A Pure Woman,"Hardy, Thomas"
129,42884,"The Philippine Islands, 1493-1898, Volume 33, 1519-1522
Explorations by early navigators, descriptions of the islands and their peoples, their history and records of the Catholic missions, as related in contemporaneous books and manuscripts, showing the political, economic, commercial and religious conditions of those islands from their earliest relations with European nations to the close of the nineteenth century","Pigafetta, Antonio"
130,376,"A Journal of the Plague Year
Written by a Citizen Who Continued All the While in London","Defoe, Daniel"
131,308,Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog),"Jerome, Jerome K. (Jerome Klapka)"
132,10676,The Reign of Greed,"Rizal, José"
133,40074,A Dictionary of Cebuano Visayan,"Wolff, John U."
134,1322,Leaves of Grass,"Whitman, Walt"
135,28054,The Brothers Karamazov,"Dostoyevsky, Fyodor"
136,1251,Le Morte d'Arthur: Volume 1,"Malory, Thomas, Sir"
137,51233,The Marching Morons,"Kornbluth, C. M. (Cyril M.)"
138,1064,The Masque of the Red Death,"Poe, Edgar Allan"
139,2848,Antiquities of the Jews,"Josephus, Flavius"
140,1513,Romeo and Juliet,"Shakespeare, William"
141,1254,Cyrano de Bergerac,"Rostand, Edmond"
142,32415,The Nursery Rhymes of England,N/A
143,852,Democracy and Education: An Introduction to the Philosophy of Education,"Dewey, John"
144,2413,Madame Bovary,"Flaubert, Gustave"
145,6737,The Social Cancer: A Complete English Version of Noli Me Tangere,"Rizal, José"
146,25717,"The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire
Table of Contents with links in the HTML file to the two Project Gutenberg editions (12 volumes)","Gibbon, Edward"
147,1228,"On the Origin of Species By Means of Natural Selection
Or, the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life","Darwin, Charles"
148,32572,Hans Andersen's Fairy Tales. Second Series,"Andersen, H. C. (Hans Christian)"
149,15272,"Spenser's The Faerie Queene, Book I","Spenser, Edmund"
150,1023,Bleak House,"Dickens, Charles"
151,2000,Don Quijote,"Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de"
152,815,Democracy in America — Volume 1,"Tocqueville, Alexis de"
153,52320,"Vocabulum; or The Rogue's Lexicon
Compiled from the Most Authentic Sources","Matsell, George W. (George Washington)"
154,3176,The Innocents Abroad,"Twain, Mark"
155,2199,The Iliad,Homer
156,61262,Poirot Investigates,"Christie, Agatha"
157,16643,Essays by Ralph Waldo Emerson,"Emerson, Ralph Waldo"
158,132,The Art of War,"Sunzi, active 6th century B.C."
159,141,Mansfield Park,"Austen, Jane"
160,19033,Alice's Adventures in Wonderland,"Carroll, Lewis"
161,23700,The Decameron of Giovanni Boccaccio,"Boccaccio, Giovanni"
162,35249,A Japanese Boy,"Shiukichi, Shigemi"
163,7142,The History of the Peloponnesian War,Thucydides
164,3300,An Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations,"Smith, Adam"
165,4093,Hedda Gabler,"Ibsen, Henrik"
166,1074,The Sea-Wolf,"London, Jack"
167,910,White Fang,"London, Jack"
168,59603,Three Stories & Ten Poems,"Hemingway, Ernest"
169,1533,Macbeth,"Shakespeare, William"
170,61221,A Passage to India,"Forster, E. M. (Edward Morgan)"
171,8492,The King in Yellow,"Chambers, Robert W. (Robert William)"
172,41360,The Elementary Forms of the Religious Life,"Durkheim, Émile"
173,9622,"Lyrical Ballads, With a Few Other Poems (1798)","Coleridge, Samuel Taylor"
174,13415,The Lady with the Dog and Other Stories,"Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich"
175,23042,"The Tempest
The Works of William Shakespeare [Cambridge Edition] [9 vols.]","Shakespeare, William"
176,5230,The Invisible Man: A Grotesque Romance,"Wells, H. G. (Herbert George)"
177,8799,"The Divine Comedy by Dante, Illustrated, Paradise, Complete",Dante Alighieri
178,4280,The Critique of Pure Reason,"Kant, Immanuel"
179,40686,Demonology and Devil-lore,"Conway, Moncure Daniel"
180,45631,"Twelve Years a Slave
Narrative of Solomon Northup, a Citizen of New-York, Kidnapped in Washington City in 1841, and Rescued in 1853, from a Cotton Plantation near the Red River in Louisiana","Northup, Solomon"
181,1257,The Three Musketeers,"Dumas, Alexandre"
182,271,Black Beauty,"Sewell, Anna"
183,17396,The Secret Garden,"Burnett, Frances Hodgson"
184,2781,Just So Stories,"Kipling, Rudyard"
185,86,A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court,"Twain, Mark"
186,147,Common Sense,"Paine, Thomas"
187,45304,"The City of God, Volume I","Augustine, Saint, Bishop of Hippo"
188,289,The Wind in the Willows,"Grahame, Kenneth"
189,11231,"Bartleby, the Scrivener: A Story of Wall-Street","Melville, Herman"
190,24518,Memoirs of Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds,"Mackay, Charles"
191,4367,"Personal Memoirs of U. S. Grant, Complete","Grant, Ulysses S. (Ulysses Simpson)"
192,7178,Swann's Way,"Proust, Marcel"
193,3800,Ethics,"Spinoza, Benedictus de"
194,22381,Myths and Legends of Ancient Greece and Rome,"Berens, E. M."
195,18269,Pascal's Pensées,"Pascal, Blaise"
196,25305,"Memoirs of Fanny Hill
A New and Genuine Edition from the Original Text (London, 1749)","Cleland, John"
197,58866,The Murder on the Links,"Christie, Agatha"
198,28890,Helps to Latin Translation at Sight,"Luce, Edmund"
199,1754,The Sea-Gull,"Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich"
200,1974,The Poetics of Aristotle,Aristotle
201,34206,"The Thousand and One Nights, Vol. I.
Commonly Called the Arabian Nights' Entertainments",N/A
202,146,"A Little Princess
Being the whole story of Sara Crewe now told for the first time","Burnett, Frances Hodgson"
203,47629,"Ang ""Filibusterismo"" (Karugtóng ng Noli Me Tangere)","Rizal, José"
204,14591,Faust [part 1]. Translated Into English in the Original Metres,"Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von"
205,1946,On War,"Clausewitz, Carl von"
206,41617,A Complete Guide to Heraldry,"Fox-Davies, Arthur Charles"
207,8789,"The vision of hell. 
By Dante Alighieri.
Translated by Rev. Henry Francis Cary, M.A.
and illustrated with the seventy-five designs of Gustave Doré.",Dante Alighieri
208,35123,"The Ladies' Book of Etiquette, and Manual of Politeness
A Complete Hand Book for the Use of the Lady in Polite Society","Hartley, Florence"
209,2610,Notre-Dame de Paris,"Hugo, Victor"
210,55201,The Republic of Plato,Plato
211,2446,An Enemy of the People,"Ibsen, Henrik"
212,52319,"The Genealogy of Morals
The Complete Works, Volume Thirteen, edited by Dr. Oscar Levy.","Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm"
213,2641,A Room with a View,"Forster, E. M. (Edward Morgan)"
214,14977,"The Red Record
Tabulated Statistics and Alleged Causes of Lynching in the United States","Wells-Barnett, Ida B."
215,22367,Die Verwandlung,"Kafka, Franz"
216,159,The Island of Doctor Moreau,"Wells, H. G. (Herbert George)"
217,29728,Cookery and Dining in Imperial Rome,Apicius
218,512,"Mosses from an Old Manse, and Other Stories","Hawthorne, Nathaniel"
219,20,Paradise Lost,"Milton, John"
220,2638,The Idiot,"Dostoyevsky, Fyodor"
221,2130,Utopia,"More, Thomas, Saint"
222,45502,How the Other Half Lives: Studies Among the Tenements of New York,"Riis, Jacob A. (Jacob August)"
223,541,The Age of Innocence,"Wharton, Edith"
224,9800,"The Rape of the Lock, and Other Poems","Pope, Alexander"
225,7849,The Trial,"Kafka, Franz"
226,383,"She Stoops to Conquer; Or, The Mistakes of a Night: A Comedy","Goldsmith, Oliver"
227,12116,Struwwelpeter: Merry Stories and Funny Pictures,"Hoffmann, Heinrich"
228,3618,Arms and the Man,"Shaw, Bernard"
229,1280,Spoon River Anthology,"Masters, Edgar Lee"
230,2850,"The Wars of the Jews; Or, The History of the Destruction of Jerusalem","Josephus, Flavius"
231,16119,"Doctrina Christiana
The first book printed in the Philippines, Manila, 1593.",N/A
232,58221,La Odisea,Homer
233,2147,The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 1,"Poe, Edgar Allan"
234,38269,A History of the Philippines,"Barrows, David P."
235,38427,The World as Will and Idea (Vol. 1 of 3),"Schopenhauer, Arthur"
236,14975,Southern Horrors: Lynch Law in All Its Phases,"Wells-Barnett, Ida B."
237,36098,The Flowers of Evil,"Baudelaire, Charles"
238,2527,The Sorrows of Young Werther,"Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von"
239,4507,As a Man Thinketh,"Allen, James"
240,13701,"The Philippine Islands, 1493-1898 — Volume 07 of 55
1588-1591
Explorations by Early Navigators, Descriptions of the Islands and Their Peoples, Their History and Records of the Catholic Missions, as Related in Contemporaneous Books and Manuscripts, Showing the Political, Economic, Commercial and Religious Conditions of Those Islands from Their Earliest Relations with European Nations to the Close of the Nineteenth Century",N/A
241,4276,North and South,"Gaskell, Elizabeth Cleghorn"
242,47,Anne of Avonlea,"Montgomery, L. M. (Lucy Maud)"
243,128,The Arabian Nights Entertainments,"Lang, Andrew"
244,14328,The Consolation of Philosophy,Boethius
245,26,Paradise Lost,"Milton, John"
246,21765,"The Metamorphoses of Ovid, Books I-VII",Ovid
247,284,The House of Mirth,"Wharton, Edith"
248,834,The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes,"Doyle, Arthur Conan"
249,500,The Adventures of Pinocchio,"Collodi, Carlo"
250,164,Twenty Thousand Leagues under the Sea,"Verne, Jules"
251,24869,"The Rámáyan of Válmíki, translated into English verse",Valmiki
252,131,"The Pilgrim's Progress from this world to that which is to come
Delivered under the similitude of a dream, by John Bunyan","Bunyan, John"
253,60093,Cane,"Toomer, Jean"
254,2232,The Duchess of Malfi,"Webster, John"
255,25929,Daemonologie.,"James I, King of England"
256,580,The Pickwick Papers,"Dickens, Charles"
257,28885,"Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
Illustrated by Arthur Rackham. With a Proem by Austin Dobson","Carroll, Lewis"
258,15845,Florante at Laura,"Balagtas, Francisco"
259,49965,Dao De Jing: A Minimalist Translation,Laozi
260,19322,The Antichrist,"Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm"
261,82,Ivanhoe: A Romance,"Scott, Walter"
262,1321,The Waste Land,"Eliot, T. S. (Thomas Stearns)"
263,13437,Best Russian Short Stories,N/A
264,8300,"The Bible, Douay-Rheims, Complete
The Challoner Revision",N/A
265,42671,Pride and Prejudice,"Austen, Jane"
266,12242,"Poems by Emily Dickinson, Three Series, Complete","Dickinson, Emily"
267,148,The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin,"Franklin, Benjamin"
268,3420,"A Vindication of the Rights of Woman
With Strictures on Political and Moral Subjects","Wollstonecraft, Mary"
269,5225,The Satyricon — Complete,Petronius Arbiter
270,245,Life on the Mississippi,"Twain, Mark"
271,32,Herland,"Gilman, Charlotte Perkins"
272,29433,Nature,"Emerson, Ralph Waldo"
273,921,De Profundis,"Wilde, Oscar"
274,65130,The Power of Sexual Surrender,"Robinson, Marie Nyswander"
275,60,The Scarlet Pimpernel,"Orczy, Emmuska Orczy, Baroness"
276,2946,Howards End,"Forster, E. M. (Edward Morgan)"
277,8117,The Possessed (The Devils),"Dostoyevsky, Fyodor"
278,51,Anne of the Island,"Montgomery, L. M. (Lucy Maud)"
279,833,The Theory of the Leisure Class,"Veblen, Thorstein"
280,35451,Medea of Euripides,Euripides
281,1597,Andersen's Fairy Tales,"Andersen, H. C. (Hans Christian)"
282,25141,The Pursuit of God,"Tozer, A. W. (Aiden Wilson)"
283,10625,A Concise Dictionary of Middle English from A.D. 1150 to 1580,"Mayhew, A. L. (Anthony Lawson)"
284,583,The Woman in White,"Collins, Wilkie"
285,242,My Antonia,"Cather, Willa"
286,4705,A Treatise of Human Nature,"Hume, David"
287,155,The Moonstone,"Collins, Wilkie"
288,108,The Return of Sherlock Holmes,"Doyle, Arthur Conan"
289,143,The Mayor of Casterbridge,"Hardy, Thomas"
290,851,Narrative of the Captivity and Restoration of Mrs. Mary Rowlandson,"Rowlandson, Mary White"
291,6087,The Vampyre; a Tale,"Polidori, John William"
292,65086,World of the Mad,"Anderson, Poul"
293,621,The Varieties of Religious Experience: A Study in Human Nature,"James, William"
294,9662,An Enquiry Concerning Human Understanding,"Hume, David"
295,27805,The Wind in the Willows,"Grahame, Kenneth"
296,11592,Children's Hour with Red Riding Hood and Other Stories,N/A
297,31552,Novo dicionário da língua portuguesa,"Figueiredo, Cândido de"
298,33900,"Principles of Orchestration, with Musical Examples Drawn from His Own Works","Rimsky-Korsakov, Nikolay"
299,1429,"The Garden Party, and Other Stories","Mansfield, Katherine"
300,1404,The Federalist Papers,"Jay, John"
301,3177,Roughing It,"Twain, Mark"
302,1155,The Secret Adversary,"Christie, Agatha"
303,3186,"The Mysterious Stranger, and Other Stories","Twain, Mark"
304,61963,We,"Zamiatin, Evgenii Ivanovich"
305,1112,The Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet,"Shakespeare, William"
306,48320,"Adventures of Sherlock Holmes
Illustrated","Doyle, Arthur Conan"
307,26654,Peter and Wendy,"Barrie, J. M. (James Matthew)"
308,421,Kidnapped,"Stevenson, Robert Louis"
309,10800,The Anatomy of Melancholy,"Burton, Robert"
310,61168,The Man in the Brown Suit,"Christie, Agatha"
311,14568,"Sir Gawayne and the Green Knight
An Alliterative Romance-Poem (c. 1360 A.D.)",N/A
312,883,Our Mutual Friend,"Dickens, Charles"
313,228,The Aeneid,Virgil
314,1292,The Way of the World,"Congreve, William"
315,1063,The Cask of Amontillado,"Poe, Edgar Allan"
316,5682,Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysic of Morals,"Kant, Immanuel"
317,932,The Fall of the House of Usher,"Poe, Edgar Allan"
318,12030,"The Spectator, Volumes 1, 2 and 3
With Translations and Index for the Series","Steele, Richard, Sir"
319,31591,Language of Flowers,"Greenaway, Kate"
320,45109,The Enchiridion,Epictetus
321,37106,"Little Women; Or, Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy","Alcott, Louisa May"
322,40580,"A General History of the Pyrates:
from their first rise and settlement in the island of Providence, to the present time","Defoe, Daniel"
323,31516,The Eyes Have It,"Dick, Philip K."
324,805,This Side of Paradise,"Fitzgerald, F. Scott (Francis Scott)"
325,49513,"The Complete Herbal
To which is now added, upwards of one hundred additional herbs, with a display of their medicinal and occult qualities physically applied to the cure of all disorders incident to mankind: to which are now first annexed, the English physician enlarged, and key to Physic.","Culpeper, Nicholas"
326,62,A Princess of Mars,"Burroughs, Edgar Rice"
327,26659,"The Will to Believe, and Other Essays in Popular Philosophy","James, William"
328,7986,"Plays by Anton Chekhov, Second Series","Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich"
329,885,An Ideal Husband,"Wilde, Oscar"
330,58212,"The Noble and Gentle Men of England
or, notes touching the arms and descents of the ancient knightly and gentle houses of England, arranged in their respective counties.","Shirley, Evelyn Philip"
331,41445,"Frankenstein; Or, The Modern Prometheus","Shelley, Mary Wollstonecraft"
332,2707,The History of Herodotus — Volume 1,Herodotus
333,3160,The Odyssey,Homer
334,6081,Biographia Literaria,"Coleridge, Samuel Taylor"
335,7256,The Gift of the Magi,"Henry, O."
336,18857,A Journey to the Centre of the Earth,"Verne, Jules"
337,42704,Salomé: A Tragedy in One Act,"Wilde, Oscar"
338,59254,The Inimitable Jeeves,"Wodehouse, P. G. (Pelham Grenville)"
339,16436,"Poems Every Child Should Know
The What-Every-Child-Should-Know-Library",N/A
340,398,The First Book of Adam and Eve,"Platt, Rutherford Hayes"
341,2892,Irish Fairy Tales,"Stephens, James"
342,24022,A Christmas Carol,"Dickens, Charles"
343,1514,A Midsummer Night's Dream,"Shakespeare, William"
344,46333,The Social Contract & Discourses,"Rousseau, Jean-Jacques"
345,10609,"English Literature
Its History and Its Significance for the Life of the English-Speaking World","Long, William J. (William Joseph)"
346,16966,"Shakespearean Tragedy: Lectures on Hamlet, Othello, King Lear, Macbeth","Bradley, A. C. (Andrew Cecil)"
347,1874,The Railway Children,"Nesbit, E. (Edith)"
348,18251,Latin for Beginners,"D'Ooge, Benjamin L. (Benjamin Leonard)"
349,1079,"The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman","Sterne, Laurence"
350,14264,The Practice and Science of Drawing,"Speed, Harold"
351,246,The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam,Omar Khayyam
352,32474,"The Memoirs of the Conquistador Bernal Diaz del Castillo, Vol 1 (of 2)
Written by Himself Containing a True and Full Account of the Discovery and Conquest of Mexico and New Spain.","Díaz del Castillo, Bernal"
353,2376,Up from Slavery: An Autobiography,"Washington, Booker T."
354,8578,The Grand Inquisitor,"Dostoyevsky, Fyodor"
355,64339,"Nieuw volledig Oost-Indisch kookboek
recepten voor de volledige Indische rijsttafel, zuren, gebakken, vla's, confituren, ijssoorten","Catenius-van der Meijden, J. M. J."
356,31,Plays of Sophocles: Oedipus the King; Oedipus at Colonus; Antigone,Sophocles
357,20239,The Ten Books on Architecture,Vitruvius Pollio
358,15250,Myths and Legends of China,"Werner, E. T. C. (Edward Theodore Chalmers)"
359,45315,The Marriage of Heaven and Hell,"Blake, William"
360,15210,Darkwater: Voices from Within the Veil,"Du Bois, W. E. B. (William Edward Burghardt)"
361,33870,Chess Fundamentals,"Capablanca, José Raúl"
362,24737,The Children of Odin: The Book of Northern Myths,"Colum, Padraic"
363,27673,"Oedipus King of Thebes
Translated into English Rhyming Verse with Explanatory Notes",Sophocles
364,550,Silas Marner,"Eliot, George"
365,503,The Blue Fairy Book,"Lang, Andrew"
366,1200,Gargantua and Pantagruel,"Rabelais, François"
367,175,The Phantom of the Opera,"Leroux, Gaston"
368,30017,My Father's Dragon,"Gannett, Ruth Stiles"
369,23218,The Red Room,"Wells, H. G. (Herbert George)"
370,599,Vanity Fair,"Thackeray, William Makepeace"
371,15263,"The Underground Railroad
A Record of Facts, Authentic Narratives, Letters, &c., Narrating the Hardships, Hair-Breadth Escapes and Death Struggles of the Slaves in Their Efforts for Freedom, As Related by Themselves and Others, or Witnessed by the Author.","Still, William"
372,10615,"An Essay Concerning Humane Understanding, Volume 1
MDCXC, Based on the 2nd Edition, Books 1 and 2","Locke, John"
373,790,Lady Windermere's Fan,"Wilde, Oscar"
374,12122,"The Monkey's Paw
The Lady of the Barge and Others, Part 2.","Jacobs, W. W. (William Wymark)"
375,21,"Aesop's Fables
Translated by George Fyler Townsend",Aesop
376,5921,"The History of Don Quixote, Volume 1, Complete","Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de"
377,31284,"Josefine Mutzenbacher
oder Die Geschichte einer Wienerischen Dirne von ihr selbst erzählt","Salten, Felix"
378,65053,Meet Me in Tomorrow,"Geier, Chester S."
379,501,The Story of Doctor Dolittle,"Lofting, Hugh"
380,4081,The Alchemist,"Jonson, Ben"
381,65078,How to Become a Lightning Calculator,Anonymous
382,2009,"The Origin of Species by Means of Natural Selection
Or, the Preservation of Favoured Races in the Struggle for Life, 6th Edition","Darwin, Charles"
383,1656,Apology,Plato
384,1091,"On Heroes, Hero-Worship, and the Heroic in History","Carlyle, Thomas"
385,6124,"Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded","Richardson, Samuel"
386,8121,Ghosts,"Ibsen, Henrik"
387,36542,The American Occupation of the Philippines 1898-1912,"Blount, James H. (James Henderson)"
388,696,The Castle of Otranto,"Walpole, Horace"
389,8525,"Eve's Diary, Complete","Twain, Mark"
390,447,Maggie: A Girl of the Streets,"Crane, Stephen"
391,10947,The Best American Humorous Short Stories,N/A
392,14209,"The Kybalion
A Study of The Hermetic Philosophy of Ancient Egypt and Greece",Three Initiates
393,38769,"A Course of Pure Mathematics
Third Edition","Hardy, G. H. (Godfrey Harold)"
394,526,Heart of Darkness,"Conrad, Joseph"
395,11224,Utilitarianism,"Mill, John Stuart"
396,18735,"The Little Red Hen
An Old English Folk Tale",N/A
397,71,On the Duty of Civil Disobedience,"Thoreau, Henry David"
398,201,Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions (Illustrated),"Abbott, Edwin Abbott"
399,22657,"Steam, Its Generation and Use",Babcock & Wilcox Company
400,20738,"Diccionario Ingles-Español-Tagalog
Con partes de la oracion y pronunciacion figurada","Calderón, Sofronio G."
401,12849,"The Tinguian: Social, Religious, and Economic Life of a Philippine Tribe","Cole, Fay-Cooper"
402,78,Tarzan of the Apes,"Burroughs, Edgar Rice"
403,59112,"R.U.R. (Rossum's Universal Robots)
A Fantastic Melodrama in Three Acts and an Epilogue","Čapek, Karel"
404,52521,Grimm's Fairy Tales,"Grimm, Jacob"
405,65075,Look to the Stars,"Hawkins, Willard E."
406,1756,Uncle Vanya: Scenes from Country Life in Four Acts,"Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich"
407,6867,"Lineage, Life and Labors of José Rizal, Philippine Patriot","Craig, Austin"
408,139,The Lost World,"Doyle, Arthur Conan"
409,65064,The Old Ones,"Curtis, Betsy"
410,1240,The Playboy of the Western World: A Comedy in Three Acts,"Synge, J. M. (John Millington)"
411,1549,Commentary on the Epistle to the Galatians,"Luther, Martin"
412,13707,Twice Told Tales,"Hawthorne, Nathaniel"
413,2397,"The Story of My Life
With her letters (1887-1901) and a supplementary account of her education, including passages from the reports and letters of her teacher, Anne Mansfield Sullivan, by John Albert Macy","Keller, Helen"
414,65029,Two-Legs,"Ewald, Carl"
415,42,The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde,"Stevenson, Robert Louis"
416,59,Discourse on the Method of Rightly Conducting One's Reason and of Seeking Truth in the Sciences,"Descartes, René"
417,65058,Old Greek Education,"Mahaffy, J. P. (John Pentland)"
418,4980,Old Granny Fox,"Burgess, Thornton W. (Thornton Waldo)"
419,2265,Hamlet,"Shakespeare, William"
420,30278,"Friars and Filipinos
An Abridged Translation of Dr. Jose Rizal's Tagalog Novel,
'Noli Me Tangere.'","Rizal, José"
421,11339,Aesop's Fables; a new translation,Aesop
422,45001,Institutes of the Christian Religion (Vol. 1 of 2),"Calvin, Jean"
423,1929,The School for Scandal,"Sheridan, Richard Brinsley"
424,2490,Lamia,"Keats, John"
425,28233,Philosophiae Naturalis Principia Mathematica,"Newton, Isaac"
426,26272,The Spy,"Cooper, James Fenimore"
427,41568,An Introduction to Mathematics,"Whitehead, Alfred North"
428,816,Democracy in America — Volume 2,"Tocqueville, Alexis de"
429,22400,"Fox's Book of Martyrs
Or A History of the Lives, Sufferings, and Triumphant
Deaths of the Primitive Protestant Martyrs","Foxe, John"
430,940,The Last of the Mohicans; A narrative of 1757,"Cooper, James Fenimore"
431,39452,The Pilgrim's Progress by John Bunyan Every Child Can Read,"Bunyan, John"
432,65149,The House of Adventure,"Deeping, Warwick"
433,52958,Revelations of Divine Love,"Julian, of Norwich"
434,19994,"The Aesop for Children
With pictures by Milo Winter",Aesop
435,4014,Arsene Lupin,"Leblanc, Maurice"
436,6688,The Mill on the Floss,"Eliot, George"
437,65017,The Soul Stealers,"Geier, Chester S."
438,48438,Rizal's own story of his life,"Rizal, José"
439,64991,The Story of Alexander,"Steele, Robert"
440,6157,"What Men Live By, and Other Tales","Tolstoy, Leo, graf"
441,3011,The Lady of the Lake,"Scott, Walter"
442,65172,A Gentleman of Leisure,"Wodehouse, P. G. (Pelham Grenville)"
443,52263,"The Twilight of the Idols; or, How to Philosophize with the Hammer. The Antichrist
Complete Works, Volume Sixteen","Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm"
444,39293,"The Gentlemen's Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness
Being a Complete Guide for a Gentleman's Conduct in All His Relations Towards Society","Hartley, Cecil B."
445,65032,Wind in Her Hair,"Neville, Kris"
446,11937,"The Symbolism of Freemasonry
Illustrating and Explaining Its Science and Philosophy, Its Legends, Myths and Symbols","Mackey, Albert Gallatin"
447,7700,Lysistrata,Aristophanes
448,17157,Gulliver's Travels into Several Remote Regions of the World,"Swift, Jonathan"
449,57333,Project Gutenberg Compilation of Short Stories by Chekhov,"Chekhov, Anton Pavlovich"
450,1531,"Othello, the Moor of Venice","Shakespeare, William"
451,25609,A Child's Garden of Verses,"Stevenson, Robert Louis"
452,9105,Reflections; or Sentences and Moral Maxims,"La Rochefoucauld, François duc de"
453,8795,"The Divine Comedy by Dante, Illustrated, Purgatory, Complete",Dante Alighieri
454,1695,The Man Who Was Thursday: A Nightmare,"Chesterton, G. K. (Gilbert Keith)"
455,5657,The Practice of the Presence of God,"Lawrence, of the Resurrection, Brother"
456,24,O Pioneers!,"Cather, Willa"
457,65026,"The Social Ladder
Drawings by Charles Dana Gibson","Gibson, Charles Dana"
458,1600,Symposium,Plato
459,8438,The Ethics of Aristotle,Aristotle
460,42290,A Hundred and Seventy Chinese Poems,N/A
461,64977,"The Protocols and World Revolution
Including a Translation and Analysis of the ""Protocols of the Meetings of the Zionist Men of Wisdom""","Nilus, Sergiei"
462,64978,The Blue Birds at Happy Hills,"Roy, Lillian Elizabeth"
463,7452,Autobiography of a Yogi,"Yogananda, Paramahansa"
464,42796,The Box-Car Children,"Warner, Gertrude Chandler"
465,1170,Anabasis,Xenophon
466,36438,The Friars in the Philippines,"Coleman, Ambrose"
467,19924,Plain Facts for Old and Young,"Kellogg, John Harvey"
468,15043,"The Works of the Right Honourable Edmund Burke, Vol. 01 (of 12)","Burke, Edmund"
469,967,Nicholas Nickleby,"Dickens, Charles"
470,963,Little Dorrit,"Dickens, Charles"
471,204,The Innocence of Father Brown,"Chesterton, G. K. (Gilbert Keith)"
472,27083,The Subjection of Women,"Mill, John Stuart"
473,102,The Tragedy of Pudd'nhead Wilson,"Twain, Mark"
474,35690,Omens and Superstitions of Southern India,"Thurston, Edgar"
475,946,Lady Susan,"Austen, Jane"
476,8102,"The Forme of Cury: A Roll of Ancient English Cookery Compiled, about A.D. 1390","Pegge, Samuel"
477,65072,The Time Armada,"Holden, Fox B."
478,11027,Grimm's Fairy Stories,"Grimm, Jacob"
479,35588,Scientific Papers by Sir George Howard Darwin. Volume V. Supplementary Volume,"Darwin, George Howard, Sir"
480,45376,"The Old World and Its Ways
Describing a Tour Around the World and Journeys Through Europe","Bryan, William Jennings"
481,28522,Laura Middleton; Her Brother and her Lover,Anonymous
482,57764,Crimes of Preachers in the United States and Canada,"Billings, M. E."
483,14522,The Canterville Ghost,"Wilde, Oscar"
484,233,Sister Carrie: A Novel,"Dreiser, Theodore"
485,119,A Tramp Abroad,"Twain, Mark"
486,15353,A First Spanish Reader,"Remy, Alfred"
487,65003,"Porneiopathology
A Popular Treatise on Venereal and Other Diseases of the Male and Female Genital System; With Remarks on Impotence, Onanism, Sterility, Piles, and Gravel, and Prescriptions for Their Treatment","Culverwell, Robert James"
488,45524,The Open Boat and Other Stories,"Crane, Stephen"
489,65061,The Boston cooking-school cook book,"Farmer, Fannie Merritt"
490,43936,The Wonderful Wizard of Oz,"Baum, L. Frank (Lyman Frank)"
491,14407,The Tale of Benjamin Bunny,"Potter, Beatrix"
492,32032,Second Variety,"Dick, Philip K."
493,51356,"The Birth of Tragedy; or, Hellenism and Pessimism","Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm"
494,2981,"The Memoirs of Jacques Casanova de Seingalt, 1725-1798. Complete","Casanova, Giacomo"
495,130,Orthodoxy,"Chesterton, G. K. (Gilbert Keith)"
496,2488,Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Seas: An Underwater Tour of the World,"Verne, Jules"
497,544,Anne's House of Dreams,"Montgomery, L. M. (Lucy Maud)"
498,65103,Legendary Islands of the Atlantic: A Study of Medieval Geography,"Babcock, William Henry"
499,20781,"Heidi
(Gift Edition)","Spyri, Johanna"
500,65035,Inheritance,"Ludwig, Edward W."
501,208,Daisy Miller: A Study,"James, Henry"
502,4039,"Volpone; Or, The Fox","Jonson, Ben"
503,52190,"Ecce Homo
Complete Works, Volume Seventeen","Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm"
504,1430,Beautiful Stories from Shakespeare,"Shakespeare, William"
505,15474,"The Mahabharata of Krishna-Dwaipayana Vyasa, Volume 1
Books 1, 2 and 3",N/A
506,2833,The Portrait of a Lady — Volume 1,"James, Henry"
507,8710,"The Doré Bible Gallery, Complete
Containing One Hundred Superb Illustrations, and a Page of Explanatory Letter-press Facing Each",N/A
508,65176,Get Out of My Body!,"Harris, Tom W."
509,45634,"Myths of the Cherokee
Extract from the Nineteenth Annual Report of the Bureau of American Ethnology","Mooney, James"
510,2383,"The Canterbury Tales, and Other Poems","Chaucer, Geoffrey"
511,2428,An Essay on Man; Moral Essays and Satires,"Pope, Alexander"
512,969,The Tenant of Wildfell Hall,"Brontë, Anne"
513,65012,Disappeared From Her Home: A Novel,"Pirkis, Catherine Louisa"
514,32854,"Arsène Lupin, gentleman-cambrioleur","Leblanc, Maurice"
515,202,My Bondage and My Freedom,"Douglass, Frederick"
516,6400,"The Lives of the Twelve Caesars, Complete",Suetonius
517,65181,Prisoner of War,"Garrett, Randall"
518,65074,The Ultimate Quest,"Annas, Hal"
519,65085,The Barrier,"Walton, Bryce"
520,830,The Argonautica,"Apollonius, Rhodius"
521,46976,"The Anabasis of Alexander
or, The History of the Wars and Conquests of Alexander the Great",Arrian
522,1301,The French Revolution: A History,"Carlyle, Thomas"
523,28299,The Orbis Pictus,"Comenius, Johann Amos"
524,65069,The Brave Walk Alone,"McGreevey, John"
525,50307,Fifteen sonnets of Petrarch,"Petrarca, Francesco"
526,5116,Pragmatism: A New Name for Some Old Ways of Thinking,"James, William"
527,65168,The Pioneer Home,Anonymous
528,43660,"The Vision and Creed of Piers Ploughman, Volume 1","Langland, William"
529,4320,An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals,"Hume, David"
530,64985,"Men, Women, and Books","Birrell, Augustine"
531,22373,Russian Fairy Tales: A Choice Collection of Muscovite Folk-lore,N/A
532,65177,Come Into My Brain!,"Silverberg, Robert"
533,1268,The Mysterious Island,"Verne, Jules"
534,20748,Favorite Fairy Tales,N/A
535,3435,The Book of the Thousand Nights and a Night — Volume 01,N/A
536,876,"Life in the Iron-Mills; Or, The Korl Woman","Davis, Rebecca Harding"
537,4018,Japanese Fairy Tales,"Ozaki, Yei Theodora"
538,29558,"Boy Scouts Handbook
The First Edition, 1911",Boy Scouts of America
539,3268,The Mysteries of Udolpho,"Radcliffe, Ann Ward"
540,1522,Julius Caesar,"Shakespeare, William"
541,14988,"Cicero's Tusculan Disputations
Also, Treatises On The Nature Of The Gods, And On The Commonwealth","Cicero, Marcus Tullius"
542,56597,The Legends and Myths of Hawaii: The fables and folk-lore of a strange people,"Kalakaua, David, King of Hawaii"
543,65067,It's Raining Frogs!,"Marlowe, Stephen"
544,28497,Myths of the Norsemen: From the Eddas and Sagas,"Guerber, H. A. (Hélène Adeline)"
545,27761,"Hamlet, Prince of Denmark","Shakespeare, William"
546,8147,The Man Who Would Be King,"Kipling, Rudyard"
547,1717,What's Wrong with the World,"Chesterton, G. K. (Gilbert Keith)"
548,65098,Daughters of Men,"Lynch, Hannah"
549,8954,Lady Audley's Secret,"Braddon, M. E. (Mary Elizabeth)"
550,65070,"""What So Proudly We Hail...""","Keene, Day"
551,3289,The Valley of Fear,"Doyle, Arthur Conan"
552,107,Far from the Madding Crowd,"Hardy, Thomas"
553,12753,The Legends of King Arthur and His Knights,"Malory, Thomas, Sir"
554,40077,"The Principles of Economics, with Applications to Practical Problems","Fetter, Frank A. (Frank Albert)"
555,15859,The Piazza Tales,"Melville, Herman"
556,65132,Wild Pastures,"Packard, Winthrop"
557,7128,Indian Fairy Tales,N/A
558,3913,The Confessions of Jean Jacques Rousseau — Complete,"Rousseau, Jean-Jacques"
559,8775,Poems,"Hugo, Victor"
560,64988,The Youngest Camel,"Boyle, Kay"
561,708,The Princess and the Goblin,"MacDonald, George"
562,25833,The Great Controversy Between Christ and Satan,"White, Ellen Gould Harmon"
563,1097,Mrs. Warren's Profession,"Shaw, Bernard"
564,42686,"A History of Epidemics in Britain, Volume 1 (of 2)
From A.D. 664 to the Extinction of Plague","Creighton, Charles"
565,30240,The Big Trip Up Yonder,"Vonnegut, Kurt"
566,1672,Gorgias,Plato
567,27238,Woodworking Tools 1600-1900,"Welsh, Peter C."
568,17824,Little Black Sambo,"Bannerman, Helen"
569,12096,"Bushido, the Soul of Japan","Nitobe, Inazo"
570,65122,You'll Like It on Mars,"Harris, Tom W."
571,6523,The Post Office,"Tagore, Rabindranath"
572,2388,"The Song Celestial; Or, Bhagavad-Gîtâ (from the Mahâbhârata)
Being a discourse between Arjuna, Prince of India, and the Supreme Being under the form of Krishna",N/A
573,37423,How We Think,"Dewey, John"
574,21970,The Scarlet Plague,"London, Jack"
575,18947,"The Younger Edda; Also called Snorre's Edda, or The Prose Edda",Snorri Sturluson
576,32449,"Japanese Girls and Women
Revised and Enlarged Edition","Bacon, Alice Mabel"
577,2226,Kim,"Kipling, Rudyard"
578,24811,Viking Tales,"Hall, Jennie"
579,2811,Letters of Pliny,"Pliny, the Younger"
580,27200,Fairy Tales of Hans Christian Andersen,"Andersen, H. C. (Hans Christian)"
581,64982,The Tale of Bunny Cotton-Tail,"Smith, Laura Rountree"
582,65119,Homecoming Horde,"Silverberg, Robert"
583,257,Troilus and Criseyde,"Chaucer, Geoffrey"
584,17405,The Art of War,"Sunzi, active 6th century B.C."
585,2040,Confessions of an English Opium-Eater,"De Quincey, Thomas"
586,31383,"The Industrial Canal and Inner Harbor of New Orleans
History, Description and Economic Aspects of Giant Facility Created to Encourage Industrial Expansion and Develop Commerce","Dabney, Thomas Ewing"
587,4099,The Angel in the House,"Patmore, Coventry"
588,47001,De Officiis,"Cicero, Marcus Tullius"
589,1252,Le Morte d'Arthur: Volume 2,"Malory, Thomas, Sir"
590,4015,The Hairy Ape,"O'Neill, Eugene"
591,558,The Thirty-Nine Steps,"Buchan, John"
592,41537,The Divine Comedy of Dante Alighieri: The Inferno,Dante Alighieri
593,325,Phantastes: A Faerie Romance for Men and Women,"MacDonald, George"
594,5720,A Shropshire Lad,"Housman, A. E. (Alfred Edward)"
595,994,Riders to the Sea,"Synge, J. M. (John Millington)"
596,6852,Venus in Furs,"Sacher-Masoch, Leopold, Ritter von"
597,16452,"The Iliad of Homer
Translated into English Blank Verse by William Cowper",Homer
598,18241,"Tea-Cup Reading and Fortune-Telling by Tea Leaves, by a Highland Seer",N/A
599,70,What Is Man? and Other Essays,"Twain, Mark"
600,17989,"Le comte de Monte-Cristo, Tome I","Dumas, Alexandre"
601,47677,"Ars Amatoria; or, The Art Of Love
Literally Translated into English Prose, with Copious Notes",Ovid
602,65142,Barbarossa,"Kühn, Franz"
603,16269,Thought-Forms,"Besant, Annie"
604,1719,The Ballad of the White Horse,"Chesterton, G. K. (Gilbert Keith)"
605,65020,"The Complete Distiller
Containing, I. The method of performing the various processes of distillation, with descriptions of the several instruments: the whole doctrine of fermentation: the manner of drawing spirits from malt, raisins, molasses, sugar, &c. and of rectifying them: with instructions for imitating, to the greatest perfection, both the colour and flavour of French brandies. II. The manner of distilling all kinds of simple waters from plants, flowers, &c. III. The method of making all the compound waters and rich cordials so largely imported from France and Italy; as likewise all those now made in Great Britain. To which are added, accurate descriptions of the several drugs, plants, flowers, fruits, &c. used by distillers, and instructions for chusing the best of each kind...","Cooper, A. (Ambrose)"
606,65106,"The Great White North
The story of polar exploration from the earliest times to the discovery of the pole","Wright, Helen S. (Helen Saunders)"
607,5683,The Critique of Practical Reason,"Kant, Immanuel"
608,14033,"Plutarch's Lives, Volume 1 (of 4)",Plutarch
609,21000,Faust: Eine Tragödie [erster Teil],"Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von"
610,65124,Voyage to Procyon,"Silverberg, Robert"
611,1093,The Beast in the Jungle,"James, Henry"
612,2434,New Atlantis,"Bacon, Francis"
613,38326,Bede's Ecclesiastical History of England,"Bede, the Venerable, Saint"
614,2002,Sonnets from the Portuguese,"Browning, Elizabeth Barrett"
615,65077,Tourists to Terra,"Reynolds, Mack"
616,4397,The Forsyte Saga - Complete,"Galsworthy, John"
617,63509,Edipo rey; Edipo en Colona; Antígona,Sophocles
618,2587,Life Is a Dream,"Calderón de la Barca, Pedro"
619,222,The Moon and Sixpence,"Maugham, W. Somerset (William Somerset)"
620,974,The Secret Agent: A Simple Tale,"Conrad, Joseph"
621,65146,How to Sing,"Tetrazzini, Luisa"
622,26558,Pennsylvania Dutch Cooking,Unknown
623,14005,The Ladies Delight,Anonymous
624,18155,The Story of the Three Little Pigs,"Brooke, L. Leslie (Leonard Leslie)"
625,65100,The Builders,"Holden, Fox B."
626,65139,History of Birds,Unknown
627,65121,Hindu Magic: An Expose of the Tricks of the Yogis and Fakirs of India,"Carrington, Hereward"
628,6593,"History of Tom Jones, a Foundling","Fielding, Henry"
629,1081,Dead Souls,"Gogol, Nikolai Vasilevich"
630,12814,Philippine Folk Tales,N/A
631,821,Dombey and Son,"Dickens, Charles"
632,65005,"An Illustrated Directory of the Specifications of All Domestic and Foreign Motor-cars and Motor Business Wagons, Gasoline, Steam and Electric, Sold in This Country, 1907","Motor, the automotive business magazine"
633,1653,The Imitation of Christ,"Thomas, à Kempis"
634,700,The Old Curiosity Shop,"Dickens, Charles"
635,5658,Lord Jim,"Conrad, Joseph"
636,1658,Phaedo,Plato
637,1450,Pollyanna,"Porter, Eleanor H. (Eleanor Hodgman)"
638,7241,"Fables of La Fontaine — a New Edition, with Notes","La Fontaine, Jean de"
639,5402,1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue,"Grose, Francis"
640,29765,Webster's Unabridged Dictionary,Various
641,3623,The Golden Bough: A Study of Magic and Religion,"Frazer, James George"
642,65060,"Wit, Humor, and Shakspeare: Twelve Essays","Weiss, John"
643,153,Jude the Obscure,"Hardy, Thomas"
644,65087,"Ben, the Trapper; Or, The Mountain Demon: A Tale of the Black Hills","Aiken, Albert W."
645,7205,Also sprach Zarathustra: Ein Buch für Alle und Keinen,"Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm"
646,20480,Palmistry for All,Cheiro
647,456,"The Door in the Wall, and Other Stories","Wells, H. G. (Herbert George)"
648,44638,"Plant Lore, Legends, and Lyrics
Embracing the Myths, Traditions, Superstitions, and Folk-Lore of the Plant Kingdom","Folkard, Richard"
649,2166,King Solomon's Mines,"Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)"
650,1688,The People of the Abyss,"London, Jack"
651,217,Sons and Lovers,"Lawrence, D. H. (David Herbert)"
652,13529,"The Influence of Sea Power Upon History, 1660-1783","Mahan, A. T. (Alfred Thayer)"
653,65140,Not in the Rules,"Reynolds, Mack"
654,944,The Voyage of the Beagle,"Darwin, Charles"
655,65049,"The Evolution Theory, Vol. 2 of 2","Weismann, August"
656,15114,"An Investigation of the Laws of Thought
On which are founded the mathematical theories of logic and probabilities","Boole, George"
657,8581,"The Art of Money Getting; Or, Golden Rules for Making Money","Barnum, P. T. (Phineas Taylor)"
658,22396,"King Arthur's Knights
The Tales Re-told for Boys & Girls","Gilbert, Henry"
659,11945,Essays of Schopenhauer,"Schopenhauer, Arthur"
660,38145,"Human, All Too Human: A Book for Free Spirits","Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm"
661,35830,The 2010 CIA World Factbook,United States. Central Intelligence Agency
662,41562,The Hanging Stranger,"Dick, Philip K."
663,9700,I. Beówulf: an Anglo-Saxon poem. II. The fight at Finnsburh: a fragment.,N/A
664,56463,"Bacon's Essays, and Wisdom of the Ancients","Bacon, Francis"
665,2992,The Middle-Class Gentleman,Molière
666,17957,On the Sublime,"Longinus, active 1st century"
667,10136,The Book of Household Management,"Beeton, Mrs. (Isabella Mary)"
668,65113,The Vengeance of Toffee,"Farrell, Henry"
669,33,The Scarlet Letter,"Hawthorne, Nathaniel"
670,14314,Etiquette,"Post, Emily"
671,65141,The Vicious Delinquents,"Reinsberg, Mark"
672,11757,The Velveteen Rabbit,"Bianco, Margery Williams"
673,54,The Marvelous Land of Oz,"Baum, L. Frank (Lyman Frank)"
674,65101,Maid—To Order,"Annas, Hal"
675,1564,"Boswell's Life of Johnson
Abridged and edited, with an introduction by Charles Grosvenor Osgood","Boswell, James"
676,53489,"The Life of Lazarillo de Tormes
His Fortunes & Adversities; with a Notice of the Mendoza Family, a Short Life of the Author, Don Diego Hurtado De Mendoza, a Notice of the Work, and Some Remarks on the Character of Lazarillo de Tormes",Anonymous
677,35461,A Short History of the World,"Wells, H. G. (Herbert George)"
678,7524,The Germany and the Agricola of Tacitus,"Tacitus, Cornelius"
679,59844,The Science of Getting Rich,"Wattles, W. D."
680,7439,English Fairy Tales,N/A
681,12228,Home Geography for Primary Grades,"Long, C. C."
682,65120,Harper's Household Handbook: A guide to easy ways of doing woman's work,"McCulloch-Williams, Martha"
683,65083,Race Distinctions in American Law,"Stephenson, Gilbert Thomas"
684,19725,"The History of Rome, Books 01 to 08",Livy
685,65135,Jean Craig in New York,"Lyttleton, Kay"
686,30241,The Person and Work of The Holy Spirit,"Torrey, R. A. (Reuben Archer)"
687,18442,Fifty Famous Stories Retold,"Baldwin, James"
688,15665,New Latin Grammar,"Bennett, Charles E. (Charles Edwin)"
689,3328,Man and Superman: A Comedy and a Philosophy,"Shaw, Bernard"
690,24571,"Der Struwwelpeter
oder lustige Geschichten und drollige Bilder","Hoffmann, Heinrich"
691,8164,My Man Jeeves,"Wodehouse, P. G. (Pelham Grenville)"
692,65001,The Story My Doggie Told to Me,"Barbour, Ralph Henry"
693,10732,The Essays of Arthur Schopenhauer; Studies in Pessimism,"Schopenhauer, Arthur"
694,29021,The Fairy Tales of Charles Perrault,"Perrault, Charles"
695,5307,The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart — Volume 01,"Mozart, Wolfgang Amadeus"
696,40311,China and Pottery Marks,Unknown
697,4361,Memoirs of General William T. Sherman — Complete,"Sherman, William T. (William Tecumseh)"
698,65127,Menace From Vega,"Garrett, Randall"
699,10607,The Real Mother Goose,N/A
700,1056,Martin Eden,"London, Jack"
701,26073,"The Metamorphoses of Ovid, Books VIII-XV",Ovid
702,63107,Mrs Dalloway in Bond Street,"Woolf, Virginia"
703,1887,The Life of the Spider,"Fabre, Jean-Henri"
704,65128,The Miserly Robot,"Rice, R. J."
705,14640,"McGuffey's First Eclectic Reader, Revised Edition","McGuffey, William Holmes"
706,507,Adam Bede,"Eliot, George"
707,30850,"Philippine Mats
Philippine Craftsman Reprint Series No. 1",Philippines. Bureau of Education
708,17489,Les misérables Tome I: Fantine,"Hugo, Victor"
709,928,"Alice's Adventures in Wonderland
HTML Edition","Carroll, Lewis"
710,36238,"The Mantle, and Other Stories","Gogol, Nikolai Vasilevich"
711,64979,"Youth, Volume 1, Number 5, July 1902
An Illustrated Monthly Journal for Boys & Girls",Various
712,3178,The Gilded Age: A Tale of Today,"Twain, Mark"
713,18450,"Hawaiian Folk Tales
A Collection of Native Legends",N/A
714,20321,"A Brief Account of the Destruction of the Indies
Or, a faithful NARRATIVE OF THE Horrid and Unexampled Massacres, Butcheries, and all manner of Cruelties, that Hell and Malice could invent, committed by the Popish Spanish Party on the inhabitants of West-India, TOGETHER With the Devastations of several Kingdoms in America by Fire and Sword, for the space of Forty and Two Years, from the time of its first Discovery by them.","Casas, Bartolomé de las"
715,38594,Poems,"Rilke, Rainer Maria"
716,986,Master and Man,"Tolstoy, Leo, graf"
717,2274,How to Live on 24 Hours a Day,"Bennett, Arnold"
718,1022,Walking,"Thoreau, Henry David"
719,38485,"Ancient Pagan and Modern Christian Symbolism
With an Essay on Baal Worship, on the Assyrian Sacred ""Grove,"" and Other Allied Symbols","Inman, Thomas"
720,65007,"U.S. Marine Operations in Korea, 1950-1953, Volume 1 (of 5)
The Pusan Perimeter",United States. Marine Corps
721,220,The Secret Sharer,"Conrad, Joseph"
722,5001,Relativity : the Special and General Theory,"Einstein, Albert"
723,65013,One for the Robot—Two for the Same,"Phillips, Rog"
724,2776,The Four Million,"Henry, O."
725,65018,A Fool in Spots,"Rives, Hallie Erminie"
726,964,The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood,"Pyle, Howard"
727,901,The Jew of Malta,"Marlowe, Christopher"
728,10741,The Essays of Arthur Schopenhauer: the Wisdom of Life,"Schopenhauer, Arthur"
729,65084,"The Boy Scout Pathfinders; Or, Jack Danby's Best Adventure","Maitland, Robert"
730,28521,"The Power of Mesmerism
A Highly Erotic Narrative of Voluptuous Facts and Fancies",Anonymous
731,65042,"The British Campaign in France and Flanders, 1914","Doyle, Arthur Conan"
732,65138,Revolt of the Devil Star,"Rocklynne, Ross"
733,14837,The Tale of Tom Kitten,"Potter, Beatrix"
734,29854,"The Works of Aphra Behn, Volume V","Behn, Aphra"
735,4200,The Diary of Samuel Pepys — Complete,"Pepys, Samuel"
736,689,The Kreutzer Sonata and Other Stories,"Tolstoy, Leo, graf"
737,1150,"The Danish History, Books I-IX","Saxo, Grammaticus"
738,9182,Villette,"Brontë, Charlotte"
739,5160,The Mabinogion,N/A
740,65040,"An Apache Campaign in the Sierra Madre
An Account of the Expedition in Pursuit of the Hostile Chiricahua Apaches in the Spring of 1883","Bourke, John Gregory"
741,19337,A Christmas Carol,"Dickens, Charles"
742,65114,The Wonders of Optics,"Marion, Fulgence"
743,27035,Entretiens / Interviews / Entrevistas,"Lebert, Marie"
744,60976,Rip Van Winkle,"Irving, Washington"
745,65136,The Cathedral,"Lowell, James Russell"
746,5669,Considerations on Representative Government,"Mill, John Stuart"
747,1017,The Soul of Man under Socialism,"Wilde, Oscar"
748,16157,"Ibong Adarna
Corrido at Buhay na Pinagdaanan nang tatlong Principeng Magcacapatid na Anac nang Haring Fernando at nang Reina Valeriana sa Cahariang Berbania",Anonymous
749,51002,"Korean Folk Tales: Imps, Ghosts and Faries","Im, Pang"
750,35977,"Letters of Abelard and Heloise
To which is prefix'd a particular account of their lives, amours, and misfortunes",Héloïse
751,11000,An Old Babylonian Version of the Gilgamesh Epic,"Jastrow, Morris"
752,18247,The Last Man,"Shelley, Mary Wollstonecraft"
753,10554,"Right Ho, Jeeves","Wodehouse, P. G. (Pelham Grenville)"
754,46681,"A History of Norwegian Immigration to the United States
From the Earliest Beginning down to the Year 1848","Flom, George T. (George Tobias)"
755,3174,A Dog's Tale,"Twain, Mark"
756,25525,"The Works of Edgar Allan Poe, The Raven Edition
Table Of Contents And Index Of The Five Volumes","Poe, Edgar Allan"
757,64999,"The Golden Harpoon; Or, Lost Among the Floes: A Story of the Whaling Grounds","Starbuck, Roger"
758,1041,Shakespeare's Sonnets,"Shakespeare, William"
759,28500,All About Coffee,"Ukers, William H. (William Harrison)"
760,2650,Du côté de chez Swann,"Proust, Marcel"
761,57426,Baron Trump's Marvellous Underground Journey,"Lockwood, Ingersoll"
762,65137,The Longsnozzle Event,"Annas, Hal"
763,3836,Swiss Family Robinson,"Wyss, Johann David"
764,40986,"The Oera Linda Book, from a Manuscript of the Thirteenth Century",N/A
765,1237,Father Goriot,"Balzac, Honoré de"
766,6762,Politics: A Treatise on Government,Aristotle
767,15143,Famous Modern Ghost Stories,N/A
768,10940,"Manners, Customs, and Dress During the Middle Ages and During the Renaissance Period","Jacob, P. L."
769,29220,Monday or Tuesday,"Woolf, Virginia"
770,19002,"Alice's Adventures Under Ground
Being a facsimile of the original Ms. book afterwards developed into ""Alice's Adventures in Wonderland""","Carroll, Lewis"
771,7889,Erotica Romana,"Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von"
772,65107,Knole and the Sackvilles,"Sackville-West, V. (Victoria)"
773,657,The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle,N/A
774,24968,"Behind the Scenes
or, Thirty years a slave, and Four Years in the White House","Keckley, Elizabeth"
775,28219,Advice to Young Musicians. Musikalische Haus- und Lebens-Regeln,"Schumann, Robert"
776,15396,"Tender Buttons
Objects—Food—Rooms","Stein, Gertrude"
777,36077,"De Nederlandsche Geslachtsnamen in Oorsprong, Geschiedenis en Beteekenis","Winkler, Johan"
778,52914,The Will to Power: An Attempted Transvaluation of All Values. Book I and II,"Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm"
779,65151,How Old Is It? The Story of Dating in Archeaology,"Schoenwetter, James"
780,42078,"The Letters of Jane Austen
Selected from the compilation of her great nephew, Edward, Lord Bradbourne","Austen, Jane"
781,50572,Goethe's Theory of Colours,"Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von"
782,50603,Minute Mysteries [Detectograms],"Ripley, H. A. (Harold Austin)"
783,7469,Daniel Deronda,"Eliot, George"
784,55687,The Initiates of the Flame,"Hall, Manly P. (Manly Palmer)"
785,10897,The Wendigo,"Blackwood, Algernon"
786,23684,Keats: Poems Published in 1820,"Keats, John"
787,389,The Great God Pan,"Machen, Arthur"
788,1300,Riders of the Purple Sage,"Grey, Zane"
789,601,The Monk: A Romance,"Lewis, M. G. (Matthew Gregory)"
790,50133,The Dunwich Horror,"Lovecraft, H. P. (Howard Phillips)"
791,16967,English-Esperanto Dictionary,"Hayes, C. F. (Charles Frederic)"
792,28554,Beyond Lies the Wub,"Dick, Philip K."
793,1567,Poems,"Eliot, T. S. (Thomas Stearns)"
794,11505,All Things Considered,"Chesterton, G. K. (Gilbert Keith)"
795,65002,"The Birds of Australia, Vol. 1 of 7","Gould, John"
796,55387,One Hundred Proofs That the Earth Is Not a Globe,"Carpenter, William"
797,2350,His Last Bow: An Epilogue of Sherlock Holmes,"Doyle, Arthur Conan"
798,3567,Memoirs of Napoleon Bonaparte — Complete,"Bourrienne, Louis Antoine Fauvelet de"
799,30201,"In Praise of Folly
Illustrated with Many Curious Cuts","Erasmus, Desiderius"
800,95,The Prisoner of Zenda,"Hope, Anthony"
801,52839,Texas Rocks and Minerals: An Amateur's Guide,"Girard, Roselle M."
802,33525,Stories from Tagore,"Tagore, Rabindranath"
803,64997,The Joss: A Reversion,"Marsh, Richard"
804,34811,Buddenbrooks: Verfall einer Familie,"Mann, Thomas"
805,41771,The History of Sulu,"Saleeby, Najeeb M. (Najeeb Mitry)"
806,564,The Mystery of Edwin Drood,"Dickens, Charles"
807,32938,"First Annual Report of the Bureau of Ethnology
to the Secretary of the Smithsonian Institution 1879-1880, Government Printing Office 1881",N/A
808,4583,Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion,"Hume, David"
809,9611,"Joseph Andrews, Vol. 1","Fielding, Henry"
810,8106,"Captain Cook's Journal During His First Voyage Round the World
Made in H. M. Bark ""Endeavour"", 1768-71","Cook, James"
811,2048,The Sketch-Book of Geoffrey Crayon,"Irving, Washington"
812,22994,The Frontier in American History,"Turner, Frederick Jackson"
813,1977,Phaedra,"Racine, Jean"
814,57342,The Lives and Opinions of Eminent Philosophers,Diogenes Laertius
815,77,The House of the Seven Gables,"Hawthorne, Nathaniel"
816,6099,Les Fleurs du Mal,"Baudelaire, Charles"
817,25063,The Beggar's Opera; to Which is Prefixed the Musick to Each Song,"Gay, John"
818,2870,Washington Square,"James, Henry"
819,675,American Notes,"Dickens, Charles"
820,1094,Tamburlaine the Great — Part 1,"Marlowe, Christopher"
821,29214,Dialogues in French and English,"Caxton, William"
822,5946,"The History of Don Quixote, Volume 2, Complete","Cervantes Saavedra, Miguel de"
823,3796,Rilla of Ingleside,"Montgomery, L. M. (Lucy Maud)"
824,15489,Dream Psychology: Psychoanalysis for Beginners,"Freud, Sigmund"
825,31547,Youth,"Asimov, Isaac"
826,9830,The Beautiful and Damned,"Fitzgerald, F. Scott (Francis Scott)"
827,348,"Hesiod, the Homeric Hymns, and Homerica",Hesiod
828,1298,The Virginian: A Horseman of the Plains,"Wister, Owen"
829,57493,"The Natural History of Pliny, Volume 1 (of 6)","Pliny, the Elder"
830,5427,Emile,"Rousseau, Jean-Jacques"
831,11228,The Marrow of Tradition,"Chesnutt, Charles W. (Charles Waddell)"
832,3206,Moby Multiple Language Lists of Common Words,"Ward, Grady"
833,65152,"Practical School Discipline: Applied Methods, Part 1","Beery, Ray Coppock"
834,39955,The Dawn of Day,"Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm"
835,45368,The Outline of History: Being a Plain History of Life and Mankind,"Wells, H. G. (Herbert George)"
836,52881,"The Joyful Wisdom (""La Gaya Scienza"")","Nietzsche, Friedrich Wilhelm"
837,35898,The Seven Lamps of Architecture,"Ruskin, John"
838,65125,A Journey of a Jayhawker,"Morgan, W. Y. (William Yoast)"
839,2264,Macbeth,"Shakespeare, William"
840,36034,"White Nights and Other Stories
The Novels of Fyodor Dostoevsky, Volume X","Dostoyevsky, Fyodor"
841,27424,Cautionary Tales for Children,"Belloc, Hilaire"
842,17851,"The History of Mary Prince, a West Indian Slave","Prince, Mary"
843,16564,"Amphitryo, Asinaria, Aulularia, Bacchides, Captivi
Amphitryon, The Comedy of Asses, The Pot of Gold, The Two
Bacchises, The Captives","Plautus, Titus Maccius"
844,51783,"The Description of a New World, Called the Blazing-World","Newcastle, Margaret Cavendish, Duchess of"
845,64981,Negro Journalism: An Essay on the History and Present Conditions of the Negro Press,"Gore, George William"
846,15,"Moby-Dick; or, The Whale","Melville, Herman"
847,10636,The Travels of Marco Polo — Volume 1,"Polo, Marco"
848,5000,The Notebooks of Leonardo Da Vinci — Complete,"Leonardo, da Vinci"
849,45814,An Advanced English Grammar with Exercises,"Kittredge, George Lyman"
850,35173,The Bacchae of Euripides,Euripides
851,1519,Much Ado about Nothing,"Shakespeare, William"
852,32488,Just So Stories,"Kipling, Rudyard"
853,854,A Woman of No Importance,"Wilde, Oscar"
854,75,E-mail 101,"Goodwin, John E."
855,65134,The Women Who Make Our Novels,"Overton, Grant M. (Grant Martin)"
856,35688,"Alice in Wonderland
A Dramatization of Lewis Carroll's ""Alice's Adventures in Wonderland"" and ""Through the Looking Glass""","Carroll, Lewis"
857,3250,"How to Tell a Story, and Other Essays","Twain, Mark"
858,65126,An Eel by the Tail,"Lang, Allen Kim"
859,48247,Prayers of the Early Church,N/A
860,65065,Base-ball Ballads,"Rice, Grantland"
861,769,The Book of Tea,"Okakura, Kakuzo"
862,1154,The Voyages of Doctor Dolittle,"Lofting, Hugh"
863,64989,Harlem Shadows: The Poems of Claude McKay,"McKay, Claude"
864,3188,Mark Twain's Speeches,"Twain, Mark"
865,60979,Reminiscences of a Stock Operator,"Lefevre, Edwin"
866,65117,The Dazzling Miss Davison,"Warden, Florence"
867,65153,Within the Precincts,"Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)"
868,58465,"Gypsy Sorcery and Fortune Telling
Illustrated by numerous incantations, specimens of medical magic, anecdotes and tales","Leland, Charles Godfrey"
869,57654,La Ilíada,Homer
870,151,The Rime of the Ancient Mariner,"Coleridge, Samuel Taylor"
871,60825,"The Convent School; Or, Early Experiences of a Young Flagellant","Coote, Rosa Belinda"
872,8092,Tremendous Trifles,"Chesterton, G. K. (Gilbert Keith)"
873,10662,The Night Land,"Hodgson, William Hope"
874,3172,Fenimore Cooper's Literary Offences,"Twain, Mark"
875,13614,"Studies in the Psychology of Sex, Volume 5
Erotic Symbolism; The Mechanism of Detumescence; The Psychic State in Pregnancy","Ellis, Havelock"
876,17314,Five Children and It,"Nesbit, E. (Edith)"
877,64957,The Magnetic Girl,"Marsh, Richard"
878,10150,Dracula's Guest,"Stoker, Bram"
879,624,"Looking Backward, 2000 to 1887","Bellamy, Edward"
880,65004,The Alhambra and the Kremlin: The South and the North of Europe,"Prime, Samuel Irenæus"
881,37775,"Etidorhpa; or, The End of Earth.
The Strange History of a Mysterious Being and the Account of a Remarkable Journey","Lloyd, John Uri"
882,968,Martin Chuzzlewit,"Dickens, Charles"
883,27755,Hidden Symbolism of Alchemy and the Occult Arts,"Silberer, Herbert"
884,30344,"The Fortunate Mistress (Parts 1 and 2)
or a History of the Life of Mademoiselle de Beleau Known by the Name of the Lady Roxana","Defoe, Daniel"
885,40745,Short Stories,"Dostoyevsky, Fyodor"
886,122,The Return of the Native,"Hardy, Thomas"
887,65174,The New Year's carol,"Spyri, Johanna"
888,157,Daddy-Long-Legs,"Webster, Jean"
889,12299,"The Mechanical Properties of Wood
Including a Discussion of the Factors Affecting the Mechanical Properties, and Methods of Timber Testing","Record, Samuel J. (Samuel James)"
890,43629,Strange Stories from a Chinese Studio (Volumes 1 and 2),"Pu, Songling"
891,2017,"Dhammapada, a Collection of Verses; Being One of the Canonical Books of the Buddhists",N/A
892,14726,The Elder Eddas of Saemund Sigfusson; and the Younger Eddas of Snorre Sturleson,Saemund Sigfusson
893,782,The Travels of Sir John Mandeville,"Mandeville, John, Sir"
894,610,Idylls of the King,"Tennyson, Alfred Tennyson, Baron"
895,5428,A Defence of Poetry and Other Essays,"Shelley, Percy Bysshe"
896,470,Heretics,"Chesterton, G. K. (Gilbert Keith)"
897,785,On the Nature of Things,"Lucretius Carus, Titus"
898,38049,"Louisa May Alcott : Her Life, Letters, and Journals","Alcott, Louisa May"
899,50922,Perpetual Peace: A Philosophical Essay,"Kant, Immanuel"
900,17192,The Raven,"Poe, Edgar Allan"
901,51143,"The Waterloo Roll Call
With Biographical Notes and Anecdotes","Dalton, Charles"
902,1212,Love and Freindship [sic],"Austen, Jane"
903,65182,"Grey Wethers
A Romantic Novel","Sackville-West, V. (Victoria)"
904,8419,"The Journals of Lewis and Clark, 1804-1806","Lewis, Meriwether"
905,28289,"The Essays of ""George Eliot""
Complete","Eliot, George"
906,3155,She,"Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)"
907,14642,"McGuffey's Eclectic Primer, Revised Edition","McGuffey, William Holmes"
908,2529,The Analysis of Mind,"Russell, Bertrand"
909,1286,Tales from Shakespeare,"Lamb, Charles"
910,45858,Lucian's True History,"Lucian, of Samosata"
911,1279,Poems and Songs of Robert Burns,"Burns, Robert"
912,1750,Laws,Plato
913,2085,Cyropaedia: The Education of Cyrus,Xenophon
914,1227,The Expression of the Emotions in Man and Animals,"Darwin, Charles"
915,14872,The Tale of Squirrel Nutkin,"Potter, Beatrix"
916,65036,"Young Folks Magazine, Vol. I, No. 1, March 1902
An Illustrated Monthly Journal for Boys & Girls",Various
917,9070,The Imaginary Invalid,Molière
918,1164,The Iron Heel,"London, Jack"
919,35242,The Awakening of Spring: A Tragedy of Childhood,"Wedekind, Frank"
920,917,Barnaby Rudge: A Tale of the Riots of 'Eighty,"Dickens, Charles"
921,11417,French Mediaeval Romances from the Lays of Marie de France,"Marie, de France, active 12th century"
922,10376,American Indian Stories,Zitkala-Sa
923,1289,Three Ghost Stories,"Dickens, Charles"
924,227,Aeneidos,Virgil
925,38015,"De Re Metallica, Translated from the First Latin Edition of 1556","Agricola, Georg"
926,7787,A Complete Grammar of Esperanto,"Reed, Ivy Kellerman"
927,1004,"Divine Comedy, Longfellow's Translation, Complete",Dante Alighieri
928,36287,"The Poems and Prose Poems of Charles Baudelaire
with an Introductory Preface by James Huneker","Baudelaire, Charles"
929,2149,The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 3,"Poe, Edgar Allan"
930,36805,Spanish Tales for Beginners,N/A
931,2151,The Works of Edgar Allan Poe — Volume 5,"Poe, Edgar Allan"
932,38219,A General Introduction to Psychoanalysis,"Freud, Sigmund"
933,65145,Essays of a Biologist,"Huxley, Julian"
934,50742,"The Story of Beowulf, Translated from Anglo-Saxon into Modern English Prose",N/A
935,23661,The Book of Dragons,"Nesbit, E. (Edith)"
936,4928,Bulfinch's Mythology,"Bulfinch, Thomas"
937,1,The Declaration of Independence of the United States of America,"Jefferson, Thomas"
938,21076,The First Six Books of the Elements of Euclid,"Casey, John"
939,2715,The Real Thing and Other Tales,"James, Henry"
940,65194,Jingles,"Medina, Frank J."
941,10681,Roget's Thesaurus of English Words and Phrases,"Roget, Peter Mark"
942,49157,The Little Girl's Sewing Book,N/A
943,65014,The ecclesiastical architecture of Scotland from the earliest Christian times to the seventeenth century; vol. 3/3,"MacGibbon, David"
944,1312,Selected Stories of Bret Harte,"Harte, Bret"
945,370,The Fortunes and Misfortunes of the Famous Moll Flanders,"Defoe, Daniel"
946,1572,Timaeus,Plato
947,1152,The Story of the Volsungs (Volsunga Saga); with Excerpts from the Poetic Edda,N/A
948,11870,"The Country of the Blind, and Other Stories","Wells, H. G. (Herbert George)"
949,45723,Myths & Legends of Japan,"Davis, F. Hadland (Frederick Hadland)"
950,1726,Theaetetus,Plato
951,2874,Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc — Volume 1,"Twain, Mark"
952,65184,Daniel's Youth,Unknown
953,22893,Pygmalion's Spectacles,"Weinbaum, Stanley G. (Stanley Grauman)"
954,171,Charlotte Temple,"Rowson, Mrs."
955,2449,The Common Law,"Holmes, Oliver Wendell"
956,58820,Whose Body? A Lord Peter Wimsey Novel,"Sayers, Dorothy L. (Dorothy Leigh)"
957,16865,Pinocchio: The Tale of a Puppet,"Collodi, Carlo"
958,9842,Y Gododin: A Poem of the Battle of Cattraeth,Aneirin
959,60333,Selections from the Writings of Kierkegaard,"Kierkegaard, Søren"
960,34647,Letters of a Javanese Princess,"Kartini, Raden Adjeng"
961,10657,"""De Bello Gallico"" and Other Commentaries","Caesar, Julius"
962,65039,Sir Isumbras at the Ford,"Broster, D. K. (Dorothy Kathleen)"
963,17306,"The Condition of the Working-Class in England in 1844
with a Preface written in 1892","Engels, Friedrich"
964,19481,"""Everyman,"" with other interludes, including eight miracle plays",N/A
965,11136,A Discourse Upon the Origin and the Foundation of the Inequality Among Mankind,"Rousseau, Jean-Jacques"
966,1532,The Tragedy of King Lear,"Shakespeare, William"
967,35997,The Jungle Book,"Kipling, Rudyard"
968,1210,Kwaidan: Stories and Studies of Strange Things,"Hearn, Lafcadio"
969,40868,The World as Will and Idea (Vol. 3 of 3),"Schopenhauer, Arthur"
970,12186,"The Principles of Masonic Law
A Treatise on the Constitutional Laws, Usages and Landmarks of Freemasonry","Mackey, Albert Gallatin"
971,2895,Following the Equator: A Journey Around the World,"Twain, Mark"
972,41082,The Golden Bough: A Study in Comparative Religion (Vol. 1 of 2),"Frazer, James George"
973,16653,Myths of Babylonia and Assyria,"Mackenzie, Donald A. (Donald Alexander)"
974,6626,Theresa Raquin,"Zola, Émile"
975,65192,"How to live
A manual of hygiene for use in the schools of the Philippine islands","Knapp, Adeline"
976,1642,Euthyphro,Plato
977,1329,A Voyage to Arcturus,"Lindsay, David"
978,1666,The Golden Asse,Apuleius
979,33447,The Pencil of Nature,"Talbot, William Henry Fox"
980,64986,Aspasia,"Hamerling, Robert"
981,646,The Coral Island: A Tale of the Pacific Ocean,"Ballantyne, R. M. (Robert Michael)"
982,65079,Autobiography of Mother Jones,"Jones, Mother"
983,792,"Wieland; Or, The Transformation: An American Tale","Brown, Charles Brockden"
984,3790,Major Barbara,"Shaw, Bernard"
985,17147,"Theodicy
Essays on the Goodness of God, the Freedom of Man and the Origin of Evil","Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm, Freiherr von"
986,64969,Hold Onto Your Body!,"Lewis, Richard O."
987,63256,The American Diary of a Japanese Girl,"Noguchi, Yoné"
988,608,"Areopagitica
A Speech for the Liberty of Unlicensed Printing to the Parliament of England","Milton, John"
989,65186,Beyond the Fearful Forest,"Krepps, Robert W."
990,45280,"The Wonderful ""One-Hoss-Shay"", and Other Poems","Holmes, Oliver Wendell"
991,64965,World Without Glamor,"Marlowe, Stephen"
992,65193,"The Frozen North
An Account of Arctic Exploration for Use in Schools","Horton, Edith"
993,56315,Texas Fossils: An Amateur Collector's Handbook,"Matthews, William Henry"
994,11438,The Willows,"Blackwood, Algernon"
995,35698,Letters of John Keats to His Family and Friends,"Keats, John"
996,2131,An Account of Egypt,Herodotus
997,65169,Early Man Projectile Points in the Southwest,"Honea, Kenneth"
998,6695,Tales of the Jazz Age,"Fitzgerald, F. Scott (Francis Scott)"
999,65000,Familiar Studies in Homer,"Clerke, Agnes M. (Agnes Mary)"