text:
The Inn Album/V

V

It is the young man shatters silence first. "Well, my lord—for indeed my lord you are, I little guessed how rightly—this last proof Of lordship-paramount confounds too much My simple head-piece! Let's see how we stand Each to the other! how we stood i' the game Of life an hour ago,—the magpies, stile And oak-tree witnessed. Truth exchanged for truth— My lord confessed his four-years-old affair— How he seduced and then forsook the girl Who married somebody and left him sad. My pitiful experience was—I loved A girl whose gown's hem had I dared to touch My finger would have failed me, palsy-fixed; She left me, sad enough, to marry—whom? A better man,—then possibly not you! How does the game stand? Who is who and what Is what, o' the board now, since an hour went by? My lord's  'seduced, forsaken, sacrificed'— Starts up, my lord's familiar instrument, Associate and accomplice, mistress-slave— Shares his adventure, follows on the sly, —Ay, and since  'bag and baggage'  is a phrase— Baggage lay hid in carpet-bag belike, Was but unpadlocked when occasion came For holding council, since my back was turned, On how invent ten thousand pounds which, paid, Would lure the winner to lose twenty more, Beside refunding these! Why else allow The fool to gain them? So displays herself The lady whom my heart believed—oh, laugh! Noble and pure: whom my heart loved at once, And who at once did speak truth when she said  'I am not mine now but another's'—thus Being that other's! Devil's-marriage, eh?  'My lie weds thine till lucre us do part?'  But pity me the snobbish simpleton, You two aristocratic tip-top swells At swindling! Quits, I cry! Decamp content With skin I'm peeled of: do not strip bones bare— As that you could, I have no doubt at all! O you two rare ones! Male and female, Sir! The male there smirked, this morning, 'Come, my boy— Out with it! You've been crossed in love, I think: I recognize the lover's hangdog look; Make a clean breast and match my confidence, For, I'll be frank, I too have had my fling, Am punished for my fault, and smart enough! Where now the victim hides her head, God knows!' Here loomed her head, life-large, the devil knew! Look out, Salvini! Here's your man, your match! He and I sat applauding, stall by stall, Last Monday—'Here's Othello'  was our word,  'But where's Iago?'  Where? Why, there! And now The fellow-artist, female specimen— Oh, lady, you must needs describe yourself! He's grea in art, but you—how greater still —(If I can rightly, out of all I learned, Apply one bit of Latin that assures  'Art means just art's concealment' )—tower yourself! For he stands plainly visible henceforth— Liar and scamp: while you, in artistry Prove so consummate—or I prove perhaps So absolute an ass—that—either way— You still do seem to me who worshipped you And see you take the homage of this man Your master, who played slave and knelt, no doubt, Before a mistress in his very craft. . . Well, take the fact, I nor believe my eyes, Nor trust my understanding! Still you seem Noble and pure as when we had the talk Under the tower, beneath the trees, that day. And there's the key explains the secret: down He knelt to ask your leave to rise a grade I' the mystery of humbug: well he may! For how you beat him! Half an hour ago, I held your master for my best of friends; And now I hate him! Four years since, you seemed My heart's one love: well, and you so remain! What's he to you in craft?"

She looks him through.

"My friend, 'tis just that friendship have its turn— Interrogate thus me whom one, of foes The worst, has questioned and is answered by. Take you as frank an answer! answers both Begin alike so far, divergent soon World-wide—I own superiority Over you, over him. As him I searched, So do you stand seen through and through by me Who, this time, proud, report your crystal shrines A dewdrop, plain as amber prisons round A spider in the hollow heart his house! Nowise are you that thing my fancy feared When out you stepped on me, a minute since, —This man's confederate! no, you step not thus Obsequiously at beck and call to help At need some second scheme, and supplement Guile by force, use my shame to pinion me From struggle and escape! I fancied that! Forgive me! Only by strange chance,—most strange In even this strange world,—you enter now, Obtain your knowledge. Me you have not wronged Who never wronged you—least of all, my friend, That day beneath the College tower and trees, When I refused to say,—'not friend but, love!'  Had I been found as free as air when first We met, I scarcely could have loved you. No— For where was that in you which claimed return Of love? My eyes were all too weak to probe This other's seeming, but that seeming loved The soul in me, and lied—I know too late! While your truth was truth: and I knew at once My power was just my beauty—bear the word— As I must bear, of all my qualities, To name the poorest one that serves my soul And simulates myself! So much in me You loved, I know: the something that's beneath Heard not your call,—uncalled, no answer comes! For, since in every love, or soon or late Soul must awake and seek out soul for soul, Yours, overlooking mine then, would, some day, Take flight to find some other; so it proved— Missing me, you were ready for this man. I apprehend the whole relation: his— The soul wherein you saw your type of worth At once, true object of your tribute. Well Might I refuse such half-heart's homage! Love Divining, had assured you I no more Stand his participant in infamy Than you—I need no love to recognize As simply dupe and nowise fellow-cheat! Therefore accept one last friend's-word,—your friend's, All men's friend, save a felon's, Ravel out The bad embroilment howsoe'er you may, Distribute as it please you praise or blame To me—so you but fling this mockery far— Renounce this rag-and-feather hero-sham, This poodle clipt to pattern, lion-like! Throw him his thousands back, and lay to heart The lesson I was sent,—if man discerned Ever God's message,—just to teach. I judge— Far to another issue than could dream Your cousin,—younger, fairer, as befits— Who summoned me to judgment's exercise. I find you, save in folly, innocent. And in my verdict lies your fate; at choice Of mine your cousin takes or leaves you.  'Take!'  I bid her—for you tremble back to truth! She turns the scale,—one touch of the pure hand Shall so press down, emprison past relapse Farther vibration 'twixt veracity— That's honest solid earth—and falsehood, theft And air, that's one illusive emptiness! That reptile capture you? I conquered him: You saw him cower before me! Have no fear He shall offend you farther! Spare to spurn— Safe let him slink hence till some subtler Eve Than I, anticipate the snake—bruise head Ere he bruise heel—or, warier than the first, Some Adam purge earth's garden of its pest Before the slaver spoil the Tree of Life!

"You! Leave this youth, as he leaves you, as I Leave each! There's caution surely extant yet Though conscience in you were too vain a claim. Hence quickly! Keep the cash but leave unsoiled The heart I rescue and would lay to heal Beside another's! Never let her know How near came taint of your companionship!"

"Ah"—draws a long breath with a new strange look The man she interpellates—soul a-stir Under its covert, as, beneath the dust, A coppery sparkle all at once denotes The hid snake has conceived a purpose.

"Ah— Innocence should be crowned with ignorance? Desirable indeed, but difficult! As if yourself, now, had not glorified Your helpmate by imparting him a hint Of how a monster made the victim bleed Ere crook and courage saved her—hint, I say,— Not the whole horror,—that were needless risk,— But just such inkling, fancy of the fact, As should suffice to qualify henceforth The shepherd, when another lamb would stray, For warning  'Ware the wolf!'  No doubt at all, Silence is generosity,—keeps wolf Unhunted by flock's warder! Excellent, Did—generous to me, mean—just to him! But, screening the deceiver, lamb were found Outraging the deceitless! So,—he knows! And yet, unharmed I breathe—perchance, repent— Thanks to the mercifully-politic!"

"Ignorance is not innocence but sin— Witness your own ignoring after-pangs Pursue the plague-infected. Merciful Am I? Perhaps! the more contempt, the less Hatred; and who so worthy of contempt As you that rest assured I cooled the spot I could not cure, by poisoning, forsooth, Whose hand I pressed there? Understand for once That, sick, of all the pains corroding me This burnt the last and nowise least—the need Of simulating soundness. I resolved— No matter how the struggle tasked weak flesh— To hide the truth away as in a grave From—most of all—my husband: he nor knows Nor ever shall be made to know your part, My part, the devil's part,—I trust, God's part In the foul matter. Saved, I yearn to save And not destroy: and what destruction like The abolishing of faith in him, that's faith In me as pure and true? Acquaint some child Who takes yon tree into his confidence, That, where he sleeps now, was a murder done, And that the grass which grows so thick, he thinks, Only to pillow him is product just Of what lies festering beneath! 'Tis God Must bear such secrets and disclose them. Man? The miserable thing I have become By dread acquaintance with my secret—you— That thing had he become by learning me— The miserable, whom his ignorance Would wrongly call the wicked: ignorance Being, I hold, sin ever, small or great. No, he knows nothing!"

"He and I alike Are bound to you for such discreetness, then. What if our talk should terminate awhile? Here is a gentleman to satisfy, Settle accounts with, pay ten thousand pounds Before we part—as, by his face, I fear, Results from your appearance on the scene. Grant me a minute's parley with my friend Which scarce admits of a third personage! The room from which you made your entry first So opportunely—still untenanted— What if you please return there? Just a word To my young friend first—then, a word to you, And you depart to fan away each fly From who, grass-pillowed, sleeps so sound at home!"

"So the old truth comes back! A wholesome change,— At last the altered eye, the rightful tone! But even to the truth that drops disguise And stands forth grinning malice which but now Whined so contritely—I refuse assent Just as to malice. I, once gone, come back? No, my lord! I enjoy the privilege Of being absolutely loosed from you Too much—the knowledge that your power is null Which was omnipotent. A word of mouth, A wink of eye would have detained me once, Body and soul your slave; and now, thank God, Your fawningest of prayers, your frightfulest Of curses—neither would avail to turn My footstep for a moment!"

"Prayer, then, tries No such adventure. Let us cast about For something novel in expedient: take Command,—what say you? I profess myself One fertile in resource. Commanding, then, I bid—not only wait there, but return Here, where I want you! Disobey and—good! On your own head the peril!"

"Come!" breaks in The boy with his good glowing face. "Shut up! None of this sort of thing while I stand here —Not to stand that! No bullying, I beg! I also am to leave you presently And never more set eyes upon your face— You won't mind that much; but—I tell you frank— I do mind having to remember this For your last word and deed—my friend who were! Bully a woman you have ruined, eh? Do you know,—I give credit all at once To all those stories everybody told And nobody but I would disbelieve: They all seem likely now,—nay, certain, sure! I daresay you did cheat at cards that night The row was at the Club:  'sauter la coupe'— That was your 'cut,' for which your friends 'cut' you; While I, the booby, 'cut'—acquaintanceship With who so much as laughed when I said  'luck!'  I daresay you had bets against the horse They doctored at the Derby; little doubt, That fellow with the sister found you shirk His challenge and did kick you like a ball, Just as the story went about! Enough: It only serves to show how well advised, Madam, you were in bidding such a fool As I, go hang. You see how the mere sight And sound of you suffice to tumble down Conviction topsy-turvy: no,—that's false,— There's no unknowing what one knows; and yet Such is my folly that, in gratitude For. . . well, I'm stupid; but you seemed to wish I should know gently what I know, should slip Softly from old to new, not break my neck Between beliefs of what you were and are. Well then, for just the sake of such a wish To cut no worse a figure than needs must In even eyes like mine, I'd sacrifice Body and soul! But don't think danger—pray!— Menaces either! He do harm to us? Let me say 'us' this one time! You'd allow I lent perhaps my hand to rid your ear Of some cur's yelping—hand that's fortified, Into the bargain, with a horsewhip? Oh, One crack and you shall see how curs decamp! My lord, you know your losses and my gains. Pay me my money at the proper time! If cash be not forthcoming,—well, yourself Have taught me, and tried often, I'll engage, The proper course: I post you at the Club, Pillory the defaulter. Crack, to-day, Shall, slash, to-morrow, slice through flesh and bone! There, Madam, you need mind no cur, I think!"

"Ah, what a gain to have an apt no less Than grateful scholar! Nay, he brings to mind My knowledge till he puts me to the blush, So long has it lain rusty! Post my name! That were indeed a wheal from whipcord! Whew! I wonder now if I could rummage out —Just to match weapons—some old scorpion-scourge! Madam, you hear my pupil, may applaud His triumph o'er the master. I—no more Bully, since I'm forbidden: but entreat— Wait and return—for my sake, no! but just To save your own defender, should he chance Get thwacked thro' awkward flourish of his thong. And what if—since all waiting's weary work— I help the time pass 'twixt your exit now And entry then? for—pastime proper—here's The very thing, the Alburn, verse and prose To make the laughing minutes launch away! Each of us must contribute. I'll begin—  'Hail calm acclivity, salubrious spot!'  I'm confident I beat the bard,—for why? My young friend owns me an Iago—him Confessed, among the other qualities, A ready rhymer. Oh, he rhymed! Here goes! — Something to end with '' 'horsewhip'! '' No, that rhyme Beats me; there's  'cowslip,' 'boltsprit,'  nothing else! So, Tennyson take my benison,—verse for bard, Prose suits the gambler's book best! Dared and done!"

Wherewith he dips pen, writes a line or two, Closes and clasps the cover, gives the book, Bowing the while, to her who hesitates, Turns half away, turns round again, at last Takes it as you touch carrion, then retires. The door shuts fast the couple.

title: The Inn Album/V


text:
The Inn Album/VI

VI

With a change Of his whole manner, opens out at once The Adversary.

"Now, my friend, for you! You who, protected late, aggressive grown, Brandish, it seems, a weapon I must 'ware! Plain speech in me becomes respectable Therefore, because courageous; plainly, then— (Have lash well loose, hold handle tight and light!) Throughout my life's experience, you indulged Yourself and friend by passing in review So courteously but now, I vainly search To find one record of a specimen So perfect of the pure and simple fool As this you furnish me. Ingratitude I lump with folly,—all's one lot,—so—fool! Did I seek you or you seek me? Seek? sneak For service to, and service you would style— And did style—godlike, scarce an hour ago! Fool, there again, yet not precisely there First-rate in folly: since the hand you kissed Did pick you from the kennel, did plant firm Your footstep on the pathway, did persuade Your awkward shamble to true gait and pace, Fit for the world you walk in. Once a-strut On that firm pavement which your cowardice Was for renouncing as a pitfall, next Came need to clear your brains of their conceit They cleverly could distinguish who was who, Whatever folk might tramp the thoroughfare. Men, now—familiarly you read them off, Each phyz at first sight! O you had an eye! Who couched it? made you disappoint each fox Eager to strip my gosling of his fluff So golden as he cackled 'Goose trusts lamb?'  'Ay, but I saved you—wolf defeated fox— Wanting to pick your bones myself!'  then, wolf Has got the worst of it with goose for once. I, penniless, pay you ten thousand pounds (—No gesture, pray! I pay ere I depart!) And how you turn advantage to account Here's the example! Have I proved so wrong In my peremptory '' 'debt must be discharged'? '' O you laughed lovelily, were loth to leave The old friend out at elbows—pooh, a thing Not to be thought of! I must keep my cash, And you forget your generosity! Ha ha, I took your measure when I laughed My laugh to that! First quarrel—nay, first faint Pretence at taking umbrage—'Down with debt, Both interest and principal!—The Club, Exposure and expulsion!—stamp me out!'  That's the magnanimous magnificent Renunciation of advantage! Well, But whence and why did you take umbrage, Sir? Because your master, having made you know Somewhat of men, was minded to advance, Expound you women, still a mystery! My pupil pottered with a cloud on brow, A clod in breast: had loved, and vainly loved: Whence blight and blackness, just for all the world As Byron used to teach us boys. Thought I— '' 'Quick rid him of that rubbish! Clear the cloudy '' And set the heart a-pulsing!'—heart, this time: 'Twas nothing but the head I doctored late For ignorance of Man; now heart's to dose, Palsied by over-palpitation due To Woman-worship—so, to work at once On first avowal of the patient's ache! This morning you described your malady,— How you dared love a piece of virtue—lost To reason, as the upshot showed: for scorn Fitly repaid your stupid arrogance; And, parting, you went two ways, she resumed Her path—perfection, while forlorn you paced The world that's made for beasts like you and me. My remedy was—tell the fool the truth! Your paragon of purity had plumped Into these arms at their first outspread—'fallen  My victim,'  she prefers to turn the phrase— And, in exchange for that frank confidence, Asked for my whole life present and to come— Marriage: a thing un covenanted for! Never so much as put in question! Life— Implied by marriage—throw that trifle in And round the bargain off, no otherwise Than if, when we played cards, because you won My money you should also want my head! That, I demurred to: we but played  'for love'— She won my love; had she proposed for stakes  'Marriage'—why, that's for whist, a wiser game. Whereat she raved at me, as losers will, And went her way. So far the story's known, The remedy's applied, no farther—which Here's the sick man's first honorarium for— Posting his medicine-monger at the Club! That being, Sir, the whole you mean my fee— In gratitude for such munificence I'm bound in common honesty to spare No droplet of the draught: so,—pinch your nose, Pull no wry faces!—drain it to the dregs! I say  'She went off'—'went off,'  you subjoin, 'Since not to wedded bliss, as I supposed, Sure to some convent: solitude and peace Help her to hide the shame from mortal view, With prayer and fasting,' No, my sapient Sir! Far wiselier, straightway she betook herself To a prize-portent from the donkey-show Of leathern long-ears that compete for palm In clerical absurdity: since he, Good ass, nor practises the shaving-trick, The candle-crotchet, nonsense which repays When you've young ladies congregant,—but schools The poor,—toils, moils and grinds the mill nor means To stop and munch one thistle in this life Till next life smother him with roses: just The parson for her purpose! Him she stroked Over the muzzle; into mouth with bit, And on to back with saddle,—there he stood, The serviceable beast who heard, believed And meekly bowed him to the burden,—borne Off in a canter to seclusion—ay, The lady's lost! But had a friend of mine —While friend he was—imparted his sad case To sympathizing counsellor, full soon One cloud at least had vanished from his brow.  'Don't fear!'  had followed reassuringly— 'The lost will in due time turn up again, Probably just when, weary of the world, You think of nothing less than settling-down To country life and golden days, beside A dearest best and brightest virtuousest Wife: who needs no more hope to hold her own Against the naughty-and-repentant—no, Than water-gruel against Roman punch!'  And as I prophesied, it proves! My youth,— Just at the happy moment when, subdued To spooniness, he finds that youth fleets fast, That town-life tires, that men should drop boy's-play, That property, position have, no doubt, Their exigency with their privilege, And if the wealthy wed with wealth, how dire The double duty!—in, behold, there beams Our long-lost lady, form and face complete! And where's my moralizing pupil now, Had not his master missed a train by chance? But, by your side instead of whirled away, How have I spoiled scene, stopped catastrophe, Struck flat the stage-effect I know by heart! Sudden and strange the meeting—improvised? Bless you, the last event she hoped or dreamed! But rude sharp stroke will crush out fire from flint— Assuredly from flesh. ''Tis you?' 'Myself.' 'Changed?' 'Changeless.' 'Then, what's earth to me?' 'To me What's heaven?' 'So,—thine!' 'And thine!' 'And likewise mine!'  Had laughed  'Amen'  the devil, but for me Whose intermeddling hinders this hot haste, And bids you, ere concluding contract, pause— Ponder one lesson more, then sign and seal At leisure and at pleasure,—lesson's price Being, if you have skill to estimate, —How say you?—I'm discharged my debt in full! Since paid you stand, to farthing uttermost, Unless I fare like that black majesty A friend of mine had visit from last Spring. Coasting along the Cape-side, he's becalmed Off an uncharted bay, a novel town Untouched at by the trader: here's a chance! Out paddles straight the king in his canoe, Comes over bulwark, says he means to buy Ship's cargo—being rich and having brought A treasure ample for the purpose. See! Four dragons, stalwart blackies, guard the same Wrapped round and round: its hulls, a multitude,— Palm-leaf and cocoa-mat and goat's-hair cloth All duly braced about with bark and board,— Suggest how brave, 'neath coat, must kernel be! At length the peeling is accomplished, plain The casket opens out its core, and lo —A brand-new British silver sixpence—bid That's ample for the Bank,—thinks majesty! You are the Captain; call my sixpence cracked Or copper;  'what I've said is calumny;  The lady's spotless!'  Then, I'll prove my words, Or make you prove them true as truth—yourself, Here, on the instant! I'll not mince my speech, Things at this issue. When she enters, then, Make love to her! No talk of marriage now— The point-blank bare proposal! Pick no phrase— Prevent all misconception! Soon you'll see How different the tactics when she deals With an instructed man, no longer boy Who blushes like a booby. Woman's wit! Man, since you have instruction, blush no more! Such your five minutes' profit by my pains, 'Tis simply now—demand and be possessed! Which means—you may possess—may strip the tree Of fruit desirable to make one wise! More I nor wish nor want: your act's your act, My teaching is but—there's the fruit to pluck Or let alone at pleasure. Next advance In knowledge were beyond you! Don't expect I bid a novice—pluck, suck, send sky-high Such fruit, once taught that neither crab nor sloe Falls readier prey to who but robs a hedge, Than this gold apple to my Hercules. Were you no novice but proficient—then, Then, truly, I might prompt you—Touch and taste, Try flavour and be tired as soon as I! Toss on the prize to greedy mouths agape, Betake yours, sobered as the satiate grow, To wise man's solid meal of house and land, Consols and cousin! but my boy, my boy, Such lore's above you!

Here's the lady back! So, Madam, you have conned the Album-page And come to thank its last contributor? How kind and condescending! I retire A moment, lest I spoil the interview, And mar my own endeavour to make friends— You with him, him with you, and both with me! If I succeed—permit me to inquire Five minutes hence! Friends bid good-bye, you know." And out he goes.

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/

title: The Inn Album/VI


text: Pacchiarotto/Prologue

title: Pacchiarotto/Prologue


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Bramah, Joseph


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Bramhall, John


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Bramston, James


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Bramston, Francis


text:
Ion (Talfourd)

Notice, instead of Dedication
In offering this attempt at dramatic composition to the public at large, I should not intrude a single remark if I were not reminded of an irreparable loss by the necessity of omitting a Dedication to one whose name should have graced its opening page. The two Editions which have been privately circulated were inscribed to my venerable and indulgent friend, Dr. Valpy, upon whose long life of kindness Death has since set the final seal. When I ventured to claim for it his protection, I well knew that I might rely upon that charity which lavished its bounties upon every effort of his pupils, for tenderness to its faults, and for generous praise of any merits which the eye of friendship might detect or create. There was also a propriety in seeking this association for a work which was prompted by love of those remains of antique beauty which he had taught me to know and to revere; which assumed that form of poetry in which he had chiefly delighted; and which, although meditated in broken hours, and at long intervals, had always mingled with the recollections of those happy days, when he first awakened within me the sense of classical grace, and of those after-seasons, when the exquisite representations of Greek Tragedy, which he superintended, made its images vital. He is gone to his rest, full of years and honours; and I cannot receive from him that sanction which he cordially gave me when I presented this Drama to my friends, now that I submit it to the judgment of a wider and an impartial circle. Death, which harmonizes the pictures of human character, found little in his to spiritualize or to soften; but if it has not enhanced the feeling of his excellences in the minds of those who felt their influence, it has enabled them to express that feeling without the semblance of flattery. It has left them free, not only to expatiate on those well-directed labours which have facilitated the access of the young to the elements of sound learning; on the solemn and persuasive tone of his pulpit eloquence; on the steadiness of his attachment to principles adopted with caution, expressed with moderation, yet maintained without a sigh at the cost of the emoluments and honours to which they were obstacles; but also to revert to that remarkable kindness of disposition which was the secret but active law of his moral being. His nature was not ameliorated, nor even characterized, but wholly moulded of Christian love to a degree of entireness of which there are few examples. He had no sense of injury but as something to be forgiven. The liberal allowance which he extended to all human frailties grew more active when they affected his own interests, and interfered with his own hopes; so that, however he might reprobate evil at a distance, as soon as it came within his sphere, he desired only to overcome it by good. Envy, Hatred, and Malice, were to him mere names—like the figures of a speech in a schoolboy's theme, or the giants in a fairy tale—phantoms which never touched him with a sense of reality. His guileless simplicity of heart was not preserved in learned seclusion, or by a constant watchfulness over the development of youthful powers, (for he found time to mingle frequently in the blameless gaieties and the stirring business of life,) but by the happy constitution of his own nature, which passion could rarely disturb, and evil had no power to stain. His system of education was animated by a portion of his own spirit: it was framed to enkindle and to quicken the best affections, and to render emulation itself subservient to the generous friendships which it promoted. His charity, in its comprehensiveness, resembled nothing less than the imagination of the greatest of our poets, embracing every thing human; shedding its light upon the just and the unjust; detecting "the soul of goodness in things evil," and stealing rigidity from virtue; bringing into gentle relief those truths which are of aspect the most benign, and those suggestions and hopes which are most full of consolation; and attaching itself, in all the various departments of life, to individuals whose childhood it had fostered; in whose merits its own images were multiplied; or whose errors and sorrows supplied the materials of its most quick and genial action. The hold which the Reading-schoolboy had upon it could not be forfeited, not even "by slights, the worst of injuries;" and when broken in fortune, deserted by relatives, and frowned on by the world, he had only to seek the hospitable roof of his old master—"claim kindred there, and have his claims allow'd." By the spirit of cordiality which breathed there, all party-differences were melted away, or, if perceived at all, served only to render tolerance more vivid; and when he who had presided there for fifty years left the scene of his generous labours as a permanent abode, it was to diffuse the serenity of a good conscience and the warmth of unchilled affections through the homes of children who were made proud as well as happy by his presence. Such was he to the last, amidst the infirmities which accidents rather than age had accumulated around him;—the gentlest of monitors, and the most considerate of sufferers—until he was withdrawn from those whose minds he had nurtured; one of whom, who has most cause for gratitude, pays this humble tribute to his memory.

T. N. T.

London, 26th May, 1836.

Persons

 * Adrastus, King of Argos.
 * Medon, High Priest of the Temple of Apollo at Argos.
 * Crythes, Captain of the Royal Guard.
 * Phocion, son of Medon.
 * Ctesiphon and Cassander, noble Argive youths.
 * Ion, a foundling youth protected by Medon.
 * Agenor, Cleon, and Timocles, sages of Argos.
 * Irus, a boy, slave of Agenor.
 * Clemanthe, Medon's daughter.
 * Abra, attendant on Clemanthe.

Contents
Scene—Argos.

The Time of the Action is comprised in one day and night, and the following morning.

 * Act I
 * Act II
 * Act III
 * Act IV
 * [[/Act V|Act V

title: Ion (Talfourd)


text:
Ion (Talfourd)/Act I

Scene I
''The Interior of the Temple of Apollo, which is supposed to be placed on a rocky eminence. Early morning. The interior lighted by a single lamp suspended from the roof. Agenor resting against a column;—Irus seated on a bench at the side of the scene.''

[Agenor comes forward and speaks.]

AGENOR.

Will the dawn never visit us? These hours Toil heavy with the unresting curse they bear To do the work of desolating years! All distant sounds are hush'd;—the shriek of death And the survivors' wail are now unheard, As grief had worn itself to patience. Irus! I'm loth so soon to break thy scanty rest, But my heart sickens for the tardy morn; Sure it is breaking;—speed and look—yet hold, Know'st thou the fearful shelf of rock that hangs Above the encroaching waves, the loftiest point That stretches eastward?

IRUS.

Know it? Yes, my Lord; There often have I bless'd the opening day, Which thy free kindness gave me leave to waste In happy wandering through the forests.

AGENOR.

Well, Thou art not then afraid to tread it; there The earliest streak from the unrisen sun Is to be welcomed;—tell me how it gleams, In bloody portent or in saffron hope, And hasten back to slumber.

IRUS.

I shall hasten: Believe not that thy summons broke my rest; I was not sleeping. [Exit Irus.]

AGENOR.

Heaven be with thee, child! His grateful mention of delights bestow'd On that most piteous state of servile childhood By liberal words chance-dropp'd, hath touch'd a vein Of feeling which I deem'd for ever numb'd, And, by a gush of household memories, breaks The icy casing of that thick despair Which day by day hath gather'd o'er my heart, While, basely safe, within this column'd circle, Uplifted far into the purer air And by Apollo's partial love secured, I have, in spirit, glided with the Plague As in foul darkness or in sickliest light It wafted death through Argos; and mine ears, Listening athirst for any human sound, Have caught the dismal cry of confused pain, Which to this dizzy height the fitful wind Hath borne from each sad quarter of the vale Where life was.

[Re-enter Irus.]

Are there signs of day-break?

IRUS.

None; The eastern sky is still unbroken gloom.

AGENOR.

It cannot surely be. Thine eyes are dim (No fault of thine) for want of rest, or now I look upon them near, with scalding tears. Hath care alighted on a head so young! What grief hast thou been weeping?

IRUS.

Pardon me; I never thought at such a mournful time To plead my humble sorrow in excuse Of poorly-render'd service: but my brother — Thou mayst have noted him,—a sturdy lad, With eye so merry and with foot so light That none could chide his gamesomeness—fell sick But yesterday, and died in my weak arms Ere I could seek for stouter aid: I hoped That I had taught my grief to veil its signs From thy observant care; but when I stood Upon the well-known terrace where we loved, Arm link'd in arm, to watch the gleaming sails— His favourite pastime, for he burn'd to share A seaman's hardy lot,—my tears would flow, And I forgot to dry them. But I see Cleon is walking yonder; let me call him; For sure 'twill cheer thy heart to speak with him.

AGENOR.

Call him, good youth, and then go in to sleep, Or, if thou wilt, to weep.

[Exit Irus.]

I envy thee The privilege, but Jupiter forfend That I should rob thee of it!

[Enter Cleon.]

CLEON.

Hail, Agenor! Dark as our lot remains, 'tis comfort yet To find thy age unstricken.

AGENOR.

Rather mourn That I am destined still to linger here In strange unnatural strength, while death is round me. I chide these sinews that are framed so tough Grief cannot palsy them; I chide the air Which round this citadel of nature breathes With sweetness not of this world; I would share The common grave of my dear countrymen, And sink to rest while all familiar things Old custom has endear'd are failing with me, Rather than shiver on in life behind them: Nor should these walls detain me from the paths Where death may be embraced, but that my word, In a rash moment plighted to our host, Forbids me to depart without his license, Which firmly he refuses.

CLEON.

Do not chide me If I rejoice to find the generous Priest Means, with Apollo's blessing, to preserve The treasure of thy wisdom;—nay, he trusts not To promises alone; his gates are barr'd Against thy egress:—none, indeed, may pass them Save the youth Ion, to whose earnest prayer His foster-father grants reluctant leave To visit the sad city at his will: And freely does he use the dangerous boon, Which, in my thought, the love that cherish'd him, Since he was found within the sacred grove Smiling amidst the storm, a most rare infant, Should have had sternness to deny.

AGENOR.

What, Ion The only inmate of this fane allow'd To seek the mournful walks where death is busy!— Ion our sometime darling, whom we prized As a stray gift, by bounteous Heaven dismiss'd From some bright sphere which sorrow may not cloud To make the happy happier! Is he sent To grapple with the miseries of this time, Whose nature such ethereal aspect wears As it would perish at the touch of wrong? By no internal contest is, he train'd For such hard duty; no emotions rude Hath his clear spirit vanquish'd;—Love, the germ Of his mild nature, hath spread graces forth, Expanding with its progress, as the store Of rainbow colour which the seed conceals Sheds out its tints from its dim treasury, To flush and circle in the flower. No tear Hath fill'd his eye save that of thoughtful joy When, in the evening stillness, lovely things Press'd on his soul too busily; his voice, If, in the earnestness of childish sports, Raised to the tone of anger, check'd its force, As if it fear'd to break its being's law, And falter'd into music; when the forms Of guilty passion have been made to live In pictured speech, and others have wax'd loud In righteous indignation, he hath heard With sceptic smile, or from some slender vein Of goodness, which surrounding gloom conceal'd, Struck sunlight o'er it: so his life hath flow'd From its mysterious urn a sacred stream, In whose calm depth the beautiful and pure Alone are mirror'd; which, though shapes of ill May hover round its surface, glides in light, And takes no shadow from them.

CLEON.

Yet, methinks, Thou hast not lately met him, or a change Pass'd strangely on him had not miss'd thy wonder. His form appears dilated; in those eyes Where pleasure danced, a thoughtful sadness dwells; Stern purpose knits the forehead, which till now Knew not the passing wrinkle of a care: Those limbs which in their heedless motion own'd A stripling's playful happiness, are strung As if the iron hardships of the camp Had given them sturdy nurture; and his step, Its airiness of yesterday forgotten, Awakes the echoes of these desolate courts, As if a hero of gigantic mould Paced them in armour.

AGENOR.

Hope is in thy tale. This is no freak of Nature's wayward course, But work of pitying Heaven; for not in vain The gods have pour'd into that guileless heart The strengths that nerve the hero;—they are ours.

CLEON.

How can he aid us? Can he stay the pulse Of ebbing life,—arrest the infected winds, Or smite the hungry spectre of the grave?

AGENOR.

And dost thou think these breezes are our foes,— The innocent airs that used to dance around us, As if they felt the blessings they convey'd, Or that the death they bear is casual? No! Tis human guilt that blackens in the cloud, Flashes athwart its mass in jagged fire, Whirls in the hurricane, pollutes the air, Turns all the joyous melodies of earth To murmurings of doom. There is a foe Who in the glorious summit of the state Draws down the great resentment of the gods, Whom he defies to strike us;—yet his power Partakes that just infirmity which Nature Blends in the empire of her proudest sons— That it is cased within a single breast, And may be pluck'd thence by a single arm. Let but that arm, selected by the gods, Do its great office on the tyrant's life, And Argos breathes again!

CLEON.

A footstep!—hush! Thy wishes, falling on a slavish ear, Would tempt another outrage: 'tis a friend— An honest though a crabbed one—Timocles: Something hath ruffled him.—Good day, Timocles! [Timocles passes in front.] He will not speak to us.

AGENOR.

But he shall speak. Timocles—nay then, thus I must enforce thee; [staying him.] Sure thou wilt not refuse a comrade's hand That may be cold ere sunset.

TIMOCLES. [giving his hand.]

Thou mayst school me; Thy years and love have license: but I own not A stripling's mastery; is 't fit, Agenor?

AGENOR.

Nay, thou must tell thy wrong; whate'er it prove, I hail thy anger as a hopeful sign, For it revives the thought of household days, When the small bickerings of friends had space To fret, and Death was not for ever nigh To frown upon Estrangement. What has moved thee?

TIMOCLES.

I blush to tell it. Weary of the night And of my life, I sought the western portal: It opened, when ascending from the stair That through the rock winds spiral from the town, Ion, the foundling cherish'd by the Priest, Stood in the entrance: with such mild command As he has often smilingly obey'd, I bade him stand aside and let me pass; When—wouldst thou think it?—in determined speech He gave me counsel to return: I press'd Impatient onward: he, with honied phrase His daring act excusing, grasp'd my arm With strength resistless; led me from the gate; Replaced its ponderous bars; and, with a look As modest as he wore in childhood, left me.

AGENOR.

And thou wilt thank him for it soon; he comes— Now hold thy angry purpose if thou canst!

[Enter Ion.]

ION.

I seek thee, good Timocles, to implore Again thy pardon. I am young in trust, And fear lest, in the earnestness of love, I stayed thy course too rudely. Thou hast borne My childish folly often,—do not frown If I have ventured with unmanner'd zeal Ta guard the ripe experiences of years From one rash moment's danger.

TIMOCLES.

Leave thy care. If I am weary of the flutterer life, Is mortal bidding thus to cage it in?

ION.

And art thou tired of being? Has the grave No terrors for thee? Hast thou sunder'd quite Those thousand meshes which old custom weayes To bind us earthward, and gay fancy films With airy lustre various? Hast subdued Those cleavings of the spirit to its prison, Those nice regards, dear habits, pensive memories, That change the valour of the thoughtful breast To brave dissimulation of its fears? Is Hope quench'd in thy bosom? Thou art free, And in the simple dignity of man Standest apart untempted:—do not lose The great occasion thou hast pluck'd from misery, Nor play the spendthrift with a great despair, But use it nobly!

TIMOCLES.

What, to strike? to slay?

ION.

No!—not unless the audible voice of Heaven Call thee to that dire office; but to shed On ears abused by falsehood, truths of power In words immortal,—not such words as flash From the fierce demagogue's unthinking rage To madden for a moment and expire,— Nor such as the rapt orator imbues With warmth of facile sympathy, and moulds To mirrors radiant with fair images, To grace the noble fervour of an hour;— But words which bear the spirits of great deeds Wing'd for the Future; which the dying breath Of Freedom's martyr shapes as it exhales, And to the most enduring forms of earth Commits—to linger in the craggy shade Of the huge valley, 'neath the eagle's home, Or in the sea-cave where the tempest sleeps, Till some heroic leader bid them wake To thrill the world with echoes!—But I talk Of things above my grasp, which strangely press Upon my soul, and tempt me to forget The duties of my youth;—pray you forgive me.

TIMOCLES.

Have I not said so?

AGENOR.

Welcome to the morn! The eastern gates unfold, the Priest approaches;

[As Agenor speaks, the great gates at the back of the scene open; the sea is discovered far beneath,—the dawn breaking over it; Medon, the Priest, enters attended.]

And lo! the sun is struggling with the gloom, Whose masses fill the eastern sky, and tints Its edges with dull red;—but he will triumph; Bless'd be the omen!

MEDON.

God of light and joy, Once more delight us with thy healing beams! If I may trace thy language in the clouds That wait upon thy rising, help is nigh— But help achieved in blood.

ION.

Sayst thou in blood?

MEDON.

Yes, Ion!—why, he sickens at the word, Spite of his new-born strength;—the sights of woe That he will seek have shed their paleness on him. Has this night's walk shown more than common sorrow?

ION.

I pass'd the palace where the frantic king Yet holds his crimson revel, whence the roar Of desperate mirth came, mingling with the sigh Of death-subdued robustness, and the gleam Of festal lamps mid spectral columns hung Flaunting o'er shapes of anguish made them ghastlier. How can I cease to tremble for the sad ones He mocks—and him the wretchedest of all?

TIMOCLES.

And canst thou pity him? Dost thou discern, Amidst his impious darings, plea for him?

ION.

Is he not childless, friendless, and a king? He's human; and some pulse of good must live Within his nature—have ye tried to wake it?

MEDON.

Yes; I believe he felt our sufferings once; When, at my strong entreaty, he dispatch'd Phocion my son to Delphos, there to seek Our cause of sorrow; but, as time dragg'd on Without his messenger's return, he grew Impatient of all counsel,—to his palace In awful mood retiring, wildly call'd The reckless of his court to share his stores And end all with him. When we dared disturb His dreadful feastings with a humble prayer That he would meet us, the poor slave, who bore The message, flew back smarting from the scourge, And mutter'd a decree that he who next Unbidden met the tyrant's glance should die.

AGENOR.

I am prepared to brave it.

CLEON.

So am I.

TIMOCLES.

And I—

ION.

O Sages, do not think my prayer Bespeaks unseemly forwardness—send me! The coarsest reed that trembles in the marsh, If Heaven select it for its instrument, May shed celestial music on the breeze As clearly as the pipe whose virgin gold Befits the lip of Phœbus;—ye are wise, And needed by your country; ye are fathers: I am a lone stray thing, whose little life By strangers' bounty cherish'd, like a wave That from the summer sea a wanton breeze Lifts for a moment's sparkle, will subside Light as it rose, nor leave a sigh in breaking.

MEDON.

Ion, no sigh!

ION.

Forgive me if I seem'd To doubt that thou wilt mourn me if I fall; Nor would I tax thy love with such a fear, But that high promptings, which could never rise Spontaneous in my nature, bid me plead Thus boldly for the mission.

MEDON.

My brave boy! It shall be as thou wilt. I see thou art call'd To this great peril, and I will not stay thee. When wilt thou be prepared to seek it?

ION.

Now. Only before I go, thus, on my knee, Let me in one word thank thee for a life Made by thy love a cloudless holiday; And O, my more than father! let me look Up to thy face as if indeed a father's, And give me a son's blessing.

MEDON.

Bless thee, son! I should be marble now; let's part at once.

ION.

If I should not return, bless Phocion from me; And, for Clemanthe—may I speak one word, One parting word with my fair playfellow?

MEDON.

If thou wouldst have it so, thou shalt.

ION.

Farewell then! Your prayers wait on my steps. The arm of Heaven I feel in life or death will be around me. [Exit.]

MEDON.

O grant it be in life! Let's to the sacrifice.

[Exeunt.]

Scene II
''An apartment of the Temple. Enter Clemanthe followed by Abra.''

CLEMANTHE.

Is he so changed?

ABRA.

His bearing is so alter'd, That, distant, I scarce knew him for himself; But, looking in his face, I felt his smile Gracious as ever, though its sweetness wore Unwonted sorrow in it.

CLEMANTHE.

He will go To some high fortune, and forget us all, Reclaim'd (be sure of it) by noble parents; Me he forgets already; for five days, Five melancholy days, I have not seen him.

ABRA.

Thou knowest that he has privilege to range The infected city; and, 'tis said, he spends The hours of needful rest in squalid hovels Where death is most forsaken.

CLEMANTHE.

Why is this? Why should my father, niggard of the lives Of aged men, be prodigal of youth So rich in glorious prophecy as his?

ABRA.

He comes to answer for himself. I'll leave you. [Exit.]

CLEMANTHE.

Stay! Well my heart may guard its secret best By its own strength.

[Enter Ion.]

ION.

How fares my pensive sister?

CLEMANTHE.

How should I fare but ill when the pale hand Draws the black foldings of the eternal curtain Closer and closer round us—Phocion absent— And thou, forsaking all within thy home, Wilt risk thy life with strangers, in whose aid Even thou canst do but little?

ION.

It is little: But in these sharp extremities of fortune, The blessings which the weak and poor can scatter Have their own season. Tis a little thing To give a cup of water; yet its draught Of cool refreshment, drain'd by fever'd lips, May give a shock of pleasure to the frame More exquisite than when nectarean juice Renews the life of joy in happiest hours. It is a little thing to speak a phrase Of common comfort which by daily use Has almost lost its sense; yet on the ear Of him who thought to die unmourn'd 'twill fall Like choicest music; fill the glazing eye With gentle tears; relax the knotted hand To know the bonds of fellowship again; And shed on the departing soul a sense More precious than the benison of friends About the honor'd death-bed of the rich, To him who else were lonely, that another Of the great family is near and feels.

CLEMANTHE.

Oh, thou canst never bear these mournful offices! So blithe, so merry once! Will not the sight Of frenzied agonies unfix thy reason, Or the dumb woe congeal thee?

ION.

No, Clemanthe; They are the patient sorrows that touch nearest! If thou hadst seen the warrior when he writhed In the last grapple of his sinewy frame With conquering anguish, strive to cast a smile (And not in vain) upon his fragile wife, Waning beside him,—and, his limbs composed, The widow of the moment fix her gaze Of longing, speechless love, upon the babe, The only living thing which yet was hers, Spreading its arms for its own resting-place, Yet with attenuated hand wave off The unstricken child, and so embraceless die, Stifling the mighty hunger of the heart; Thou couldst endure the sight of selfish grief In sullenness or frenzy;—but to-day Another lot falls on me.

CLEMANTHE.

Thou wilt leave us! I read it plainly in thy alter'd mien;— Is it for ever?

ION.

That is with the gods! I go but to the palace, urged by hope, Which from afar hath darted on my soul, That to the humbleness of one like me The haughty king may listen.

CLEMANTHE.

To the palace! Knowest thou the peril—nay the certain issue That waits thee? Death!—The tyrant has decreed it, Confirmed it with an oath; and he has power To keep that oath; for, hated as he is, The reckless soldiers who partake his riot Are swift to do his bidding.

ION.

I know all; But they who call me to the work can shield me, Or make me strong to suffer.

CLEMANTHE.

Then the sword Falls on thy neck! O Gods! to think that thou, Who in the plenitude of youthful life Art now before me, ere the sun decline, Perhaps in one short hour shalt lie cold, cold, To speak, smile, bless no more!—Thou shalt not go!

ION.

Thou must not stay me, fair one; even thy father, Who (blessings on him!) loves me as his son, Yields to the will of Heaven.

CLEMANTHE.

And he can do this! I shall not bear his presence if thou fallest By his consent; so shall I be alone.

ION.

Phocion will soon return, and juster thoughts Of thy admiring father close the gap Thy old companion left behind him.

CLEMANTHE.

Never! What will to me be father, brother, friends, When thou art gone—the light of our life quench'd— Haunting like spectres of departed joy The home where thou wert dearest?

ION.

Thrill me not With words that, in their agony, suggest A hope too ravishing,—or my head will swim, And my heart faint within me.

CLEMANTHE.

Has my speech Such blessed power? I will not mourn it then, Though it hath told a secret I had borne Till death in silence:—how affection grew To this, I know not;—day succeeded day, Each fraught with the same innocent delights, Without one shock to ruffle the disguise Of sisterly regard which veil'd it well, Till thy changed mien reveal'd it to my soul, And thy great peril makes me bold to tell it. Do not despise it in me!

ION.

With deep joy Thus I receive it. Trust me, it is long Since I have learn'd to tremble midst our pleasures, Lest I should break the golden dream around me With most ungrateful rashness. I should bless The sharp and perilous duty which hath press'd A life's deliciousness into these moments,— Which here must end. I came to say farewell, And the word must be said.

CLEMANTHE.

Thou canst not mean it! Have I disclaim'd all maiden bashfulness, To tell the cherish'd secret of my soul To my soul's master, and in rich return Obtain'd the dear assurance of his love, To hear him speak that miserable word I cannot—will not echo?

ION.

Heaven has call'd me, And I have pledged my honor. When thy heart Bestow'd its preference on a friendless boy, Thou didst not image him a recreant; nor Must he prove so, by thy election crown'd. Thou hast endowed me with the right to claim Thy help through this our journey, be its course Lengthen'd to age, or in an hour to end, And now I ask it!—bid my courage hold, And with thy free approval send me forth In soul apparell'd for my office!

CLEMANTHE.

Go! I would not have thee other than thou art, Living or dying—and if thou shouldst fall—

ION.

Be sure I shall return.

CLEMANTHE.

If thou shouldst fall, I shall be happier as the affianced bride Of thy cold ashes, than in proudest fortunes— Thine—ever thine— [she faints in his arms.]

ION. [calls.]

Abra!—So best to part— [Enter Abra.] Let her have air; be near her through the day; I know thy tenderness—should ill news come Of any friend, she will require it all.

[Abra bears Clemanthe out.]

Ye Gods, that have enrich'd the life ye claim With priceless treasure, strengthen me to yield it!

[Exit.]

title: Ion (Talfourd)/Act I


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Page:Essays on the Civil War and Reconstruction.djvu/7

 ESSAYS ON THE CIVIL WAR AND RECONSTRUCTION AND RELATED TOPICS

BY WILLIAM ARCHIBALD DUNNING, Ph.D. PROFESSOR OF HISTORY IN COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY

New York THE MACMILLAN COMPANY LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., Ltd. 1904 All rights reserved


text:
Littell's Living Age/Volume 144/Issue 1857/Somehow or Other

has a burden for every man's shoulder, None may escape from its trouble and care; Miss it in youth, and 'twill come when we're older, And fit us as close as the garments we wear.

Sorrow comes into our lives uninvited, Robbing our hearts of their treasures of song; Lovers grow cold and friendships are slighted, Yet somehow or other we worry along.

Everyday toil is everyday blessing, Though poverty's cottage and crust we may share; Weak is the back on which burdens are pressing, But stout is the heart that is strengthened by prayer.

Somehow or other the pathway grows brighter, Just when we mourn there are none to befriend; Hope in the heart makes the burden seem lighter, And, somehow or other, we get to the end.


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 The questions, therefore, to which our attention will be confined are such as arose in connection with the removal of Stanton and the appointment of Thomas, and the relation of these acts to the constitution and the laws. What these questions were will appear from the President's formal reply to the articles presented by the House. To the first article the response was substantially as follows: Stanton was appointed by Lincoln, and commissioned, under the act of 1789 establishing the War Department, to hold his office during the pleasure of the President. For the conduct of this department the President, as chief executive, is, under the constitution, responsible. A sense of this responsibility contributed to the conviction in the mind of the President, in August, 1867, that Stanton should no longer continue in the office. An additional ground for this conviction was the fact that the relations between Stanton and the President no longer permitted the latter to resort to the secretary for advice, as was his constitutional right. He had accordingly suspended Stanton from office, not under the Tenure-of-Office Act, till the next meeting of the Senate (and now is revealed the true bearing of the President's silence, before mentioned, in respect to his authority for the suspension), but indefinitely, and at the pleasure of the President, under the belief that the power of removal confided to the executive by the con-


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 of a large part of the population from the freeman's right to hold office, but also in the substantial denial of protection of life and property to an equally large class. It was the constitutional duty of Congress to see that a republican form of government existed in every state, and in fulfillment of that duty the assumption of control in Georgia was justifiable. But even more conclusive, if possible, was the right to enforce the Fourteenth Amendment in Georgia. There could be no pretense, it was held, that the disqualifications for office-holding imposed by that amendment were respected by the legislature, or that the equal protection of the laws was given to blacks as the amendment required. It was the duty of Congress to enforce the provisions of this amendment, and the purging of the legislature and the maintenance of order by the military power were necessary and proper means for the performance of this duty.

The House of Representatives did not act finally on General Butler's bill in the spring of 1869. Before the next meeting of Congress the supreme court of Georgia, on a test case brought before it, decided that under the constitution and laws of the state negroes had the right to hold office.

There had been a general understanding that the majority in the legislature would be guided by the opinion of the court, though there was of course no obligation upon them in this respect. In view


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 January the legislature was pronounced good by General Terry. It then ratified the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Amendments (the former by way of special caution lest the earlier ratification should be tainted with the defects of the legislature that enacted it), elected Republicans to claim seats in the Senate at Washington, and then ceased further activity until Congress should declare the state restored.

The declaration by Congress was slow in forth-coming. The proceedings in the organization of the legislature had been of a character to disgust many of the strongest supporters in Congress of the act under which it had been effected. Discreditable personal motives had been either clearly revealed or strongly suggested in connection with official acts of the state administration, and the methods of commanding general, governor and majority in the legislature were all alike condemned as unlawful by the judiciary committee of the Senate. The Republican majority in Congress was divided on the precise status of the state, one faction holding that the existing government was provisional and fully subject to the will of Congress, the other holding that since the restoring act of June 25, 1868, the state government thereby recognized had been a permanent and regular state government save as to the defect in membership of the legislature, which had been


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 quate protection for life or property in the rebel states in 1867 constituted a new "case of rebellion or invasion," which justified the establishment of martial law. But on this supposition there would be a direct collision between Congress and the judiciary at another point. In the case of Milligan the Supreme Court declared with unmistakable emphasis that "martial rule can never exist where the courts are open, and in the proper and unobstructed exercise of their jurisdiction." Yet in the states which were relegated by Congress to the unlimited dominion of officers "not below the rank of brigadier-general," the ordinary courts, both local and federal, had transacted their regular business for nearly two years.

In reference to the third and perhaps the most important feature of the Reconstruction Acts, the legislature and the judiciary are in harmony, though the difficulty of reconciling their doctrine with the earlier interpretations of the constitution is insuperable. Congress enacted that new state governments should be organized by a political people differing in toto from that which had formerly been recognized as the basis of the commonwealths. The leaders of the Southern whites were excluded from any part in the reconstruction; the freedmen were awarded the ballot, and were relied upon to accomplish the formation of state governments. Two questions arose in connection with these acts: first, by what authority did the national legislature


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 might be supposed, a very strong leaning towards the latter is discernible in several opinions rendered in the two decades immediately preceding the war. It was found possible, however, in every case, to decide the issue under some clause of the constitution other than that referring to the admission of states. The substance rather than the form of the admitting acts was considered. But whichever of these theories may ultimately prevail, the answer to the question we have set before us — viz., whether at the present time there is any inequality among the states — must be sought in the content of the supposed restrictions that thus far have been enacted. Compacts have been made with new states, by which those states resigned certain powers; fundamental conditions have been imposed, prohibiting the exercise of certain powers. Whether or not Congress was authorized to make the limitations, let us consider to what extent such limitations discriminate against the newer states.

Ill

We have already classified the restrictions that have been enacted and have found the first prominent subject to be the public lands of the United States. Either in the form of a compact or by way of fundamental condition, all but five of the states admitted since the formation of the consti-


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 It was not understood by President Buchanan, or by the mass of the people, that the secession of South Carolina was the knell of the old principle. Mr. Buchanan promptly adopted the time-honored method of meeting the difficulty. His message in December, 1860, eulogized the constitution, and affirmed the supremacy of the general government in its sphere; he referred with emphasis to the reservation of rights to the states, and recoiled with horror from the idea of using force to preserve the Union, even if the power to do so were conferred. To Congress was left the devising of measures necessary to the circumstances, the President's only recommendation being an explanatory amendment to the constitution. The amendment, he thought, should deal not with the fundamental question, but with the status of slavery, so as forever to "terminate the existing dissensions, and restore peace and harmony among the states."

The executive having thus failed to free itself from the shackles which precedent imposed, what did Congress effect in the way of meeting the emergency? In the House a special committee of one member from each state was appointed, to consider as much of the President's message as referred to the perilous state of the country. A special committee of thirteen was likewise appointed in the Senate. The most casual examination of the enormous mass of propositions submitted to


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 fact remained that the House had on four occasions construed its power of impeachment to extend to offences not indictable, and in one case had secured the Senate's ratification of its construction by a conviction.

But it was not alone in precedent that the prosecution had a strong case. Substantial grounds were not wanting on which to base the claim that a misdemeanor in office was not distinct from misbehavior in office. On any narrower interpretation of the term misdemeanor, the constitution affords no method by which an insane judge may during his lifetime be divested of his official functions. The fact that the penalty in case of impeachment is limited to disqualification for holding office was declared to indicate a purpose rather to protect the people from bad officials than to establish a jurisdiction for the punishment of crimes. It was in the development of this view that General Butler brought forward the further proposition of his school, namely, that the Senate, when acting on impeachment cases, was not a court, nor its procedure a trial. Such being the case, the ordinary restrictions of judicial process, it was argued, have no application. The guaranties accorded to the accused in jury trials need not be granted here. There is no right of challenge to any member of the Senate for any cause whatever, and no appeal to any law save the constitution. In short, the body sitting to determine the accusa-


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User talk:Gabi Hernandez

author pages
We have pages about authors; see: Author:Helen Keller. Cheers, Jack Merridew 04:50, 29 November 2010 (UTC)

Treasure Island
The pages we worked on are part of chapter 2 of the book: Treasure Island/Chapter 2. As we clean up pages, they appear in the chapter. Cheers, Jack Merridew 06:00, 29 November 2010 (UTC)

 * Treasure Island/Chapter 2
 * Treasure Island/Chapter 3
 * Treasure Island/Chapter 4

Chapter 2 is pretty much done. We may still opt to use “real quotes” and ‘proper apostrophes/single quotes’…

If you look near the top-left of the chapter page, you'll see a little coloured bar. this is the 'progress' indicators from:

 * Index:Stevenson - Treasure Island.djvu

How about you proofread chapters 3 and 4 as you have time? I cleaned-up most of the 'goop, such as

&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;

and "--" (which became "—").

Cheers, Jack Merridew 05:21, 30 November 2010 (UTC)

Hi. I just finished rouging-in the rest of the pages. A couple of other editors have been working on some of the pages, too. There are still things like headings and dashes to fuss over. Have fun. Cheers, Jack Merridew 06:16, 1 December 2010 (UTC)

In addition to my contribs, today, see Special:Contributions/ThomasBot; note edit summaries; that means I was driving the bot for the edits w/my user name in them. Cheers, Jack Merridew 06:23, 1 December 2010 (UTC)

title: User talk:Gabi Hernandez


text:
Page:Essays on the Civil War and Reconstruction.djvu/384

 by proper coaching, the power to discriminate among them by their relative positions, a moment's work by the whites in transposing the boxes would render useless an hour's laborious instruction. For the efficient working of this method of suppression, it was indispensable, however, that the officers of election should be whites. This suggests at once the enormous advantage gained by securing control of the state government. In the hot days of negro supremacy the electoral machinery had been ruthlessly used for partisan purposes, and when conditions were reversed the practice was by no means abandoned. It was, indeed, through their exclusive and carefully maintained control of the voting and the count that the whites found the best opportunities for illegal methods.

Because of these opportunities the resort to bull-dozing and other violence steadily decreased. It penetrated gradually to the consciousness of the most brutal white politicians that the whipping or murder of a negro, no matter for what cause, was likely to become at once the occasion of a great outcry at the North, while by an unobtrusive manipulation of the balloting or the count very encouraging results could be obtained with little or no commotion. Hence that long series of practices, in the regions where the blacks were numerous, that give so grotesque a character to the testimony in the contested-election cases in Congress, and to the reminiscences of candid Southerners. Polling


text:
Page:The Unconquered Air, Coates, 1912.djvu/21

 WHY DID YOU GO?

5


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Haddock


text:
Page:The Unconquered Air, Coates, 1912.djvu/24

 THE POETRY OF EARTH

"The poetry of earth is never dead."—. 8


text:
Page talk:Shakespeare - First Folio Faithfully Reproduced, Methuen, 1910.djvu/27

Source
A tempeſtuous noiſe of Thunder and Lightning beard I £n''ter a Ship-maſter, and a Boteſwaine. ''

''Maſter. ''

Ote-ſwaine. ''Bates. ''Heere Maſter: What cheere? ''Maſt. ''Good: Speakc to th’Mariners! fall too’t, yarely, or we run our ſelues a ground, beSirre, beſtirre. ''Exit. Enter ^Mariners. Bites. ''Heigh my hearts, cheerely, cheerely my harts: we, yire: Take in the toppe-ſale: Tend to th’Maſters whiſtle: Blow till thou burſt thy winde, if roome enough.

''Enter AJonſo, Sebaſtian, Antbonio, Ferdinando, Ganzalo, and others. Aim. ''Good Boteſwaine haue care: where’s the Ma3tr? Way the men. '''Betts. ''I pray now keepe below. I ''Aha. ''Where is the Maſter, Boſon?

Botcs.Do you not heare him? you marre our labour, Keepe your Cabines: you do aſſiſt the ſtorme. ''Gonz. ''Nay, good be patient.

Betes When the Sea is: hence, what cares theſe roai rcrs for the name of King? to Cabine; ſilence: trouble | n not.

''Gon. ''Good, yet remember whom thou haſt aboord.

''Beets. ''None that I more loue then my ſeiſe. You are a Counſellor, is you can command theſe Elements to ſilence, and worke the peace of the preſent, wee will not band a rope more, vſe your authoritie: If you cannot, glue thankes you haue liu’d ſo long, and make your ſeiſe readie in your Cabine for the miſchance of the boure, if it ſo hap. Cheerely good hearts: out of our way I fay. ''Exit. ''

''Gon. ''I haue great comfort from this fellow: methinks be hath no drowning marke vpon him, his complexion is perfect Gallowes: ſtand faſt good Fate to his hanging, make the rope of his deſtiny our cable, for our owne doth little aduantage: If he be not borne to bee bang’d, our cafe is miſerable. ''Exit. Enter’Boteſwaine. ''

''Bt>tes. ''Dow ne with the top-Maſt: yare, lower, lower, bring her to Try with Maine-courſe. A plague ''A cry —within. Enter Sebaſtian, Antbonio & Gonzalo. '' vpon this howling: they are lowder then the weather, or our office: yet againe? What do you heere? Shal we giue ore and drowne, haue you a minde to ſinke?

''Sebas. ''A poxe o’your throat, you bawling, blaſphemous incharitable Dog.

'''Bates. ''Worke you then.

''Antb. ''Hang cur, hang, you whoreſon inſolent Noyſemaker, we are leſſe afraid to be drownde, then thou art.

''Gorm. ''Tie warrant him for drowning, though the Ship were no ſtronger then a Nutt-ſliell, and as leaky as an vnſtanched wench.

''Bates. ''Lay her a hold, a hold, ſet her two courſes off to Sea againe, lay her off.

'' Enter Mariners wet.   Mart. ''All loſt, to prayers, to prayers, all loſt. ''’Bates. What muſt our mouths be cold.’  Gonz.The ''King, and Prince, at prayers, let’s aſſiſt I for our caſe is as theirs.

''Sebas. ''Tarn out of patience.

''An. ''We are meerly cheated of our liues by drunkards, This wide-chopt-raſcall, would thou mightſt lye drow— • ning the waſhing of ten Tides.

'' Gonz. ''Hee’l be hang’d yet, Though euery drop of water ſweare againſt it, And gape at widſt to glut him. ''A confuſed nayſe •within. '' Mercy on vs.

We ſplit, we ſplit, Farewell my wife, and children, Farewell brother: we ſplit, we ſplit, we ſplit. '' Antb. ''Let’s all ſinke with’King

''Sib. ''Let’s take leaue of him. ''Exit. ''

''Gonz. ''Now would 1 giue a thouſand furlongs of Sea, for an Acre of barren ground; Long heath, Browne firrs, any thing; the wills aboue be done, but I would faine dye a dry death. ''Exit. ''

ScenaSecunda.

''Enter’Brojpero and Miranda. Mira. ''If by your Art (my deereſt fathers you haue Put the wild waters in this Rore; alay them: The ſkye it ſeemes would powre down ſtinking pitch, But that the Sea, mounting to th’welkins cheeke, Dalhes the ſire out. Oh! I haue ſuffered With thoſe that I ſaw ſuffer: A braue veſſell

——

Source
A tempeſtuous noiſe of Thunder and Lightning heard: En" ter a Ship-maſter, and a Botefwaine.

'' Maſter. '' | Ote-ſwaine.

J ''Betes. Heere Maſter: What cheere?; Mafi. ''Good: Speake to th’Mariners I fall • too’t, yarely, or we run our ſeluys a ground, beftirre, beſtirre. ''Exit. Enter ctlfariners. Bates. ''Heigh my hearts, cheerely, cheerely my harts: rare, yare: Take in the toppe-ſale: Tend to th’Maſters whiſtle: Blow till thou burſt thy winde, if roome e oough.

''Enter Alonſo, Sebaſtian, Anthonio, Ferdinando, GonzaIotand others, Alan. ''Good Botefwaine haue care: where’s the Mater: Play the men. ''cBotes. ''I pray now keepe below. ''Ar.tb. ''Where is the Maſter, Boſon? Betef.Do you not heare him? you marre our labour, Keepe your Cabines: you do aſſiſt the ſtorme. ''Goms. ''Nay, good be patient.

''Bſtej. ''When the Sea is: hence, what cares theſe roarers for the name of King? to Cabine; ſilence: trouble va not.

''Gon. ''Good, yet remember whom thou haſt aboord.

''Botes. ''None that I more loue then my felfe. You are i Counſellor, if you can command theſe Elements to ſilence, and worke the peace of the preſent, wee will not band a rope more, vfe your authoritie: If you cannot, gbe thankes you haue liu’d ſo long, and make your felfe readie in your Cabine for the miſchance of the •’.Art, if it ſo hap. Cheerely good hearts: out of our way I Cry. ''Exit. ''

''Gon. ''I haue great comfort from this fellow: methinks be hath no drowning marke vpon him, his complexion is perfect Callowes: ſtand faſt good Fate to his hanging, make the rope of his deſtiny our cable, for our owne doth little aduantage: If he be not borne to bee hang’d, our cafe is miſerable. ''Exit. Enter’Botefwaine. ''

Bxes.Dowae with the top-Maſt: yare, lower, lower, cnng her to Try with Maine-courſe. A plague ''A try within. Enter Sebaſtian, Antbonio & Gonzalo. ''

vpon this howling: they are lowder then the weather, or our office: yet againe? What do you heere* Shal we giue ore and drowne, haue you a minde to ſinke?

''Sebas. ''A poxe o’your throat, you bawling, blaſphemous incharitable Dog.

'''Boles. ''Worke you then.

''Antb. ''Hang cur, hang, you whoreſon inſolent Noyſemaker, we are leſſe afraid to be drownde, then thou art.

''Gomt. ''I’le warrant him for drowning, though the Ship were no ſtronger then a Nutt-ſliell, and as leaky as an vnſtanched wench.

''Bates. ''Lay her a hold, a hold, ſet her two courſes off to Sea againe, lay her off.

''Enter Mariners wet. Mari. ''All loſt, to prayers, to prayers, all loſt. "Boles. What muſt our mouths be cold? Guns.The King, and Prince, at prayers, let’s aſſiſt them, for our caſe is as theirs.

''Sebas. ''I’am out of patience.

''An. ''We are meerly cheated of our liues by drunkards, This wide-chopt-rafcall, would thou mightſt lye drowning the waſhing of ten Tides.

'' Gonz. ''Hee’l be hang’d yet, Though euery drop of water fweare againſt it, And gape at widſt to glut him. ''A confuſed noyſe within. '' Mercy on vs.

We ſplit, we ſplit, Farewell my wife, and children, Farewell brother: we ſplit, we ſplit, we ſplit. '' Ar.tb. ''Let’s all ſinke with’King

''Seb. ''Let’s take leaue of him. ''Exit. ''

''Gonz. ''Now would I giue a thouſand furlongs of Sea, for an Acre of barren ground: Long heath, Browne ſirrs, any thing; the wills aboue be done, but I would faine dye a dry death. ''Exit. ''

ScenaSecunda.

''Enter Trojpero and Miranda. Mira. ''If by your Art (my deereſt fathers you haue Put the wild waters in this Rore; alay them: The ſkye it ſeemes would powre down ſtinking pitch, But that the Sea, mounting to th’welkins cheeke, Daſlies the fire out. Oh! I haue ſuffered With thoſe that I ſaw ſofter: A braue veſſell


text:
Page:The Unconquered Air, Coates, 1912.djvu/29

 LULLABY

13


text:
Littell's Living Age/Volume 144/Issue 1857/Little Lovers

little lovers aged six and ten, Aping the manners of women and men, He so ardent, and she so shy, Only when somebody else is by — When they're alone her shyness flies, Cupid mounts quickly his throne in her eyes; When they're alone this bright-haired miss Gives her wee lover a soft warm kiss.

Yet a sad little coquette is she — Every attention she welcomes with glee; Many a heart has she filled with pain, Constant she finds it so hard to remain. Lovers will come to her feet to woo, What is the dear little damsel to do? Is it her fault that they love her so? Is it her fault that they wont take No?

Long be the lives of this little pair, Sweetheart and maiden so bonny and fair! Long may they live while their loves entwine, Each with the other, like stems of the vine! Or will this baby-love droop and die, Ere many years have flown hurrying by? Then will they deem it but childish fun, Feeling no smart, since no harm has been done.


text:
Page:The Unconquered Air, Coates, 1912.djvu/33

 THE "UNFINISHED" SYMPHONY

17


text:
Littell's Living Age/Volume 144/Issue 1857/At Sunset

there are golden moments in men's lives, Sudden, unlooked for, as the little clouds All gold, which suddenly illume the gates Of the lost sun. Oh, pray for them! They bring No increase like the gains of sun and showers, Only a moments brightness to the earth, Only a moments gleam in common life, Yet who would change them for the wealth of worlds?


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Why Did You Go ?


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/The Poetry of Earth


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Lullaby


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/The "Unfinished" Symphony


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Song—My Love is Fairer than the Tassled Corn


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/The Tomb Said to the Rose—After the French of Victor Hugo


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Exaltation—After the French of Victor Hugo


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Cendrillon


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Cupid and the Muses


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Last Night I Dreamed


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Once in a Still, Sequestered Place


text:
Page:Essays on the Civil War and Reconstruction.djvu/39

 of the United States against oppression by their officers and legislators disappear when resistance by those citizens to law becomes so formidable as to be deemed war.

Such was the theory upon which the exercise of the war power was based by all three departments of the government. The Supreme Court, though divided, in the Prize Cases, upon the question of the exact time when the attitude of belligerency could be assumed, was unanimous in respect to the consequences after that time had arrived. Justice Nelson, dissenting, said:

There is no doubt the government may, by the competent power, recognize or declare the existence of a state of civil war, which will draw after it all the consequences and rights of war between the contending parties, as in the case of a public war. … The laws of war, whether the war be civil or inter gentes, convert every citizen of the hostile state into a public enemy.

At the outbreak of the insurrection, then, two distinct courses lay open for the government to pursue. It could elect to repress the uprising by the civil power, through process of the courts, with the military arm as the marshal's posse; the insurgents then would be subject to the treatment of ordinary criminals. Or, on the other hand, the rebels could be recognized as belligerents and subdued by the exertion of military power alone. In the latter


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/The Orchestral Leader


text: Page:Essays on the Civil War and Reconstruction.djvu/1


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Unpardoned


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Mother Mary


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/So You Love Me


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Winter-Song


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Eros


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/The Return of Proserpine


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Through the Window


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Poor Icarus


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Lines for a Fiftieth Anniversary


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/No More, Dear Heart


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/The Man-Soul


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Omar


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/The Young Wife Speaks


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Heimweh


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/For the Birthday of William Dean Howells


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Love and the Child


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/On Finding Buddha's Dust


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Divination


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/In Modern Bonds


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/An Idle Ditty


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Father


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/To the Author of "Madame Butterfly"


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/The Love of Life


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/A Narrow Window


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/The Lost Gioconda


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/To Alice Meynell


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/The Summer-Time is in the Rose


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/They Told Me


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Fairer Than Violets Are


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Base-Born


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/The Morning-Glory


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/A Lover's "Litany to Pan"


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/The "Titanic"—Aftermath


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/Keats—A Sonnet


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/The White-Throated Sparrow


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/The Chosen


text: The Unconquered Air, and Other Poems (1912)/The Song that is Forgot


text:
User:Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington

Greetings, you have reached the user page of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington. You can call me Lord Porpington, if you like, but please do not call me Headless / Nearly Headless / Headless Nick since I take great affront with that ;-). I am mostly active on the English Wikipedia, see w:en:User:Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, though you may find me editing Wikinews and Hindi Wikipedia.

The best way to contact me is through my Wikipedia talk page, w:en:User talk:Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, which will get the fastest response. You can also click on the "E-mail this user" button to talk to me privately. For a real time conversation, I can generally be found on IRC lurking in #wikipedia-en, #wikipedia-en-admins, and #wikipedia, usually as either Andy123 or freakofmimsy when away, or for private communication, type /msg Andy123 Hey you!.

What I do and do not do:
 * I am an administrator on the English Wikipedia.
 * I am an editor on the Hindi Wikipedia.
 * I am an editor on the English Wikinews.

You might find out more about me on my Wikipedia user page.

title: User:Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington


text:
Page:Eight Friends of the Great - WP Courtney.djvu/192

 LORD JOHN TOWNSHEND. great families from East Anglia rose to distinction in the political world at the beginning of the eighteenth century. These were the Walpoles, the Townshends, and the Herveys, and the common link that bound them together was the sturdy figure of sir Robert Walpole. They grew with his growth, when through his shrewd common-sense and his vigorous speech he obtained the supremacy in English affairs. There was eccentricity, to use no harsher term, in all three. The life led by Walpole's successor in the peerage of Orford was disfigured by many blots and his wife's character was not different from his. Their follies may be read throughout the volumes of Horace Walpole's correspondence. The traits of the Herveys gave rise to the witticism that mankind was composed of wise men, mad men, fools and Herveys. Three of them during that century have left in the world's memory the recollection of their peculiarities. One of them was the "Sporus" of Pope's satire, the second was Augustus, the dashing sailor, the first husband of Miss Chudleigh, and the last was Frederick, the clever and whimsical bishop of Derry.

The third family was that of Townshend. The second viscount was Walpole's colleague and brother-in-law. For many years he exercised the leading influence in English politics but Walpole gradually ousted him from his position in the ministry and they quarrelled, drawing swords in a lady's rooms in a royal palace. His heart was in agriculture and his name is chiefly remembered now from his introduction on a large scale into our national system of


text:
Page:Eight Friends of the Great - WP Courtney.djvu/193

 Rh farming of that familiar root, the turnip. The third viscount married Etheldreda, called among her friends Audrey, Harrison, the heiress of Ball's Park, near Hertford. Her indiscretions in act and speech, are written large among the scandalous chronicles of the smart set of that age. One of her sons was George, the brave soldier of Quebec but the tactless viceroy of Ireland, incompetent everywhere except at the dinner table. Another was Charles, whose audacious and witty speeches in parliament were the admiration of all the members whose minds could not realise the disastrous effects which his blazing errors in speech were certain to produce. He was chancellor of the exchequer, a position which under a happy constitution has been held by many a brilliant and wayward member of parliament, without even an elementary knowledge of finance, and this was Charles Townshend's case. A third member of the family was secretary of state in Mr. Pitt's cabinet and presided over the administration of our colonies when in their infancy. He became lord Sydney and gave his name to the chief city in New South Wales. John Townshend, at first the hon. John Townshend, then lord John Townshend was of this race. Elizabeth, lady Holland knew him well, his merits and his defects. She summed up his characteristics in the phrase, "like the rest of his family he is mad; never enough to be confined, but often very flighty."

The honourable John Townshend was the second son of George, the first marquess Townshend, second in command to Wolfe at the conquest of Canada. His mother was lady Charlotte Compton, only surviving child of James, earl of Northampton. He was born in Audley Square, London, on 19 Jany. 1757, and the King stood as his godfather. Like many a Townshend before him he was sent to Eton and St. John's College, Cambridge. He was admitted on


text: Behemoth/Dialogue IV

title: Behemoth/Dialogue IV


text:
Page:Behemoth 1889.djvu/177

 for the King’s trial; for these men had appeared against the ordinance of non-addresses, and therefore to be excluded, because they might else be an impediment to their future designs.

B. Was it not rather, because in the authority of few they thought the fewer the better, both in respect of their shares and also of a nearer approach in every one of them to the dignity of a King?

A. Yes, certainly, that was their principal end.

B. When these were put out, why did not the counties and boroughs choose others in their places?

A. They could not do that without order from the House.

After this they constituted a council of forty persons, which they termed a Council of State, whose office was to execute what the Rump should command.

B. When there was neither King nor House of Lords, they could not call themselves a Parliament; for a Parliament is a meeting of the King, Lords, and Commons, to confer together about the businesses of the commonwealth. With whom did the Rump confer?

A. Men may give to their assembly what name they please, what signification soever such name might formerly have had; and the Rump took the name of Parliament, as most suitable to their purpose, and such a name, as being venerable amongst the people, had for many hundred years countenanced and sweetened subsidies and other levies of money, otherwise very unpleasant to the subject. They took also afterwards another name, which was Custodes Libertatis Angliæ, which title they used only in their writs issuing out of the courts of justice.

B. I do not see how a subject that is tied to the laws, can have more liberty in one form of government than in another.

A. Howsoever, to the people that understand by liberty nothing but leave to do what they list, it was a title not ingrateful.

Their next work was to set forth a public declaration,

title: Page:Behemoth 1889.djvu/177


text:
Page:Behemoth 1889.djvu/178

 that they were fully resolved to maintain the fundamental laws of the nation, as to the preservation of the lives, liberties, and proprieties of he people.

B. What did they mean by the fundamental laws of the nation?

A. Nothing but to abuse the people. For the only fundamental law in every commonwealth is to obey the laws from time to time, which he shall make to whom the people have given the supreme power. How likely then are they to uphold the fundamental laws, that had murdered him who was by themselves so often acknowledged for their lawful sovereign? Besides, at the same time that this declaration came forth, they were erecting that High Court of Justice which took away the lives of Duke Hamilton, the Earl of Holland, and the Lord Capel. Whatsoever they meant by a fundamental law, the erecting of this court was a breach of it, as being warranted by no former law or example in England.

At the same time also they levied taxes by soldiers, and to soldiers permitted free quarter, and did many other actions, which if the King had done, they would have said had been done against the liberty and propriety of the subject.

B. What silly things are the common sort of people, to be cozened as they were so grossly!

A. What sort of people, as to this matter, are not of the common sort? The craftiest knaves of all the Rump were no wiser than the rest whom they cozened. For the most of them did believe that the same things which they imposed upon the generality, were just and reasonable; and especially the great haranguers, and such as pretended to learning. For who can be a good subject to monarchy, whose principles are taken from the enemies of monarchy, such as were Cicero, Seneca, Cato, and other politicians of Rome, and Aristotle of Athens, who seldom speak of kings but as of wolves and other ravenous beasts? You may perhaps think a man has need of nothing else to know the

title: Page:Behemoth 1889.djvu/178


text:
Page:Behemoth 1889.djvu/179

 duty he owes to his governor, and what right he has to order him, but a good natural wit; but it is otherwise. For it is a science, and built upon sure and clear principles, and to be learned by deep and careful study, or from masters that have deeply studied it. And who was there in the Parliament or in the nation, that could find out those evident principles, and derive from them the necessary rules of justice, and the necessary connexion of justice and peace? The people have one day in seven the leisure to hear instruction, and there are ministers appointed to teach them their duty. But how have those ministers performed their office? A great part of them, namely, the Presbyterian ministers, throughout the whole war, instigated the people against the King; so did also independent and other fanatic ministers. The rest, contented with their livings, preached in their parishes points of controversy, to religion impertinent, but to the breach of charity amongst themselves very effectual; or else elegant things, which the people either understood not, or thought themselves not concerned in. But this sort of preachers, as they did little good, so they did little hurt. The mischief proceeded wholly from the Presbyterian preachers, who, by a long practised histrionic faculty, preached up the rebellion powerfully.

B. To what end?

A. To the end that the State becoming popular, the Church might be so too, and governed by an Assembly; and by consequence (as they thought) seeing politics are subservient to religion, they might govern, and thereby satisfy not only their covetous humour with riches, but also their malice with power to undo all men that admired not their wisdom. Your calling the people silly things, obliged me by this digression to show you, that it is not want of wit, but want of the science of justice, that brought them into these troubles. Persuade, if you can that man that has made his fortune, or made it greater, or an eloquent

title: Page:Behemoth 1889.djvu/179


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 orator, or a ravishing poet, or a subtle lawyer, or but a good hunter or a cunning gamester, that he has not a good wit; and yet there were of all these a great many so silly, as to be deceived by the Rump and *yet were* members of the same Rump. They wanted not wit, but the knowledge of the causes and grounds upon which one person has a right to govern, and the rest an obligation to obey; which grounds are necessary to be taught the people, who without them cannot live long in peace amongst themselves.

B. Let us return, if you please, to the proceedings of the Rump.

A. In the rest of this year they voted a new stamp for the coin of this nation. They considered also of agents to be sent to foreign states; and having lately received applause from the army for their work done by the High Court of Justice, and encouragement to extend the same further, they created another High Court of Justice, in which were tried Duke Hamilton, the Earl of Holland, Lord Capel, the Earl of Norwich, and Sir John Owen; whereof, as I mentioned before, the three first were beheaded. This affrighted divers of the King’s party out of the land; for not only they, but all that had borne arms for the King, were at that time in very great danger of their lives. For it was put to the question by the army at a council of war, whether they should be all massacred or no; where the noes carried it but by two voices. Lastly, March the 24th, they put the Mayor of London out of his office, fined him 2,000l., disfranchised him, and condemned him to two months’ imprisonment in the Tower, for refusing to proclaim the act for abolishing the kingly power. And thus ended the year 1648 and the monthly fast; God having granted that which they fasted *and prayed* for, the death of the King and the possession of his inheritance. By these their proceedings they had already lost the hearts of the generality of the people, and had nothing to trust to but the army; which was not in their power, but in Cromwell’s; who never

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 failed, when there was occasion, to put them upon all exploits that might make them odious to the people, in order to his future dissolving them whensoever it should conduce to his ends.

In the beginning of 1649 the Scots, discontented with the proceedings of the Rump against the late King, began to levy soldiers in order to a new invasion of England. The Irish rebels, for want of timely resistance from England, were grown terrible; and the English army at home, infected by the adjutators, were casting how to share the land amongst the godly, meaning themselves and such others as they pleased, who were therefore called Levellers. Also the Rump for the present were not very well provided of money, and, therefore, the first thing they did, was the laying of a tax upon the people of 90,000l. a month for the maintenance of the army.

B. Was it not one of their quarrels with the King, that he had levied money without the consent of the people in Parliament?

A. You may see by this, what reason the Rump had to call itself a Parliament. For the taxes imposed by Parliament were always understood to be by the people’s consent, and consequently legal.—To appease the Scots, they sent messengers with flattering letters to keep them from engaging for the present King; but in vain. For they would hear nothing from a House of Commons (as they called it) at Westminster, without a King and Lords. But they sent commissioners to the King, to let him know what they were doing for him: for they had resolved to raise an army of 17,000 foot and 6,000 horse (for themselves).

To relieve Ireland, the Rump had resolved to send eleven regiments thither out of the army in England. This happened well for Cromwell. For the levelling soldiers, which were in every regiment many, and in some the major part, finding that instead of dividing the land at home they were to venture their lives in Ireland, flatly denied to go; and one regiment, having cashiered their colonel, about Salisbury,

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 was marching to join with three regiments more of the same resolution; but both the general and Cromwell falling upon them at Burford, utterly defeated them, and soon after reduced the whole army to their obedience. And thus another of the impediments to Cromwell’s advancement was soon removed. This done, they came to Oxford, and thence to London. At Oxford, both the general and Cromwell were made doctors of the civil law; and at London, feasted and presented by the city.

B. Were they not first made masters, and then doctors?

A. They made themselves already masters, both of the laws and Parliament. The army now being obedient, the Rump sent over those eleven regiments into Ireland, under the command of Dr. Cromwell, intituled governor of that kingdom, the Lord Fairfax being still general of all the forces, both here and there.

The Marquis (now Duke) of Ormond was the King’s lieutenant of Ireland; and the rebels had made a confederacy amongst themselves; and these confederates had made a kind of league with the lieutenant, wherein they agreed, upon liberty given them in the exercise of their religion, to be faithful to and assist the King. To these also were joined some forces raised by the Earls of Castlehaven and Clanricarde and my Lord Inchiquin; so that they were the greatest united strength in the island. But there were amongst them a great many other Papists, that would by no means subject themselves to Protestants; and these were called the Nuntio’s party, as the others were called the confederate party. These parties not agreeing, and the confederate party having broken their articles, the lord-lieutenant seeing them ready to besiege him in Dublin, and not able to defend it, did, to preserve the place for the Protestants, surrender it to the Parliament of England; and came over to the King, at that time when he was carried from place to place by the army. From England he went over to the Prince (now King), residing then at Paris.

But the confederates, affrighted with the news that the

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