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Ekottarikāgama 17.1: Ānāpānasmṛti

Thus have I heard. At one time the Buddha was in Śrāvastī, at the Jeta Grove of Anāthapiṇḍada’s park. At that time, the Bhagavān put on his robe, picked up his bowl, and departed with Rāhula to enter the city walls of Śrāvastī. Then the Bhagavān turned to his right and said to Rāhula, “You should now contemplate the impermanence of form.” Facing him, Rāhula replied, “Thusly, Bhagavān, form is impermanent.” The Bhagavān told Rāhula, “Sensation, conception, synthesis, and discrimination are all impermanent.” Facing him, Rāhula replied, “Thusly, Bhagavān, sensation, conception, synthesis, and discrimination are all impermanent.”

At this time, Venerable Rāhula was mindful, “By what causes and conditions today, on the path to the city walls, has the Bhagavān faced me and admonished me in this manner? I will return now, as I ought not enter the city walls of Śrāvastī to beg for food.” Then Venerable Rāhula promptly returned along the road to the Jeta Grove Monastery. Arriving there with his robe and bowl, he stopped below a tree. Correcting his body and correcting his intention, he sat cross-legged, focusing his energy with one mind. He was mindful of the impermanence of form, and mindful of the impermanence of sensation, conception, synthesis, and discrimination.

At this time, the Bhagavān had finished begging for food within the city walls of Śrāvastī. After eating, he returned to the Jeta Grove Monastery and walked about, eventually arriving at the place where Rāhula was. There he addressed Rāhula, saying, “You should cultivate practice with the method of Ānāpānasmṛti. Cultivating practice with this method, every notion of worry and sorrow that you have will come to an end. You are still cultivating practice incorrectly with impurity, and your desires have not yet ended. Rāhula, you should now cultivate practice with a mind of kindness, and all anger will come to an end. Rāhula, you should now cultivate practice with a mind of compassion, and all cruelty will come to an end. Rāhula, you should now cultivate practice with a mind of contentment, and all jealousy will come to an end. Rāhula, you should now cultivate practice with a mind of equality, and all pride will come to an end.”

At this time, the Bhagavān faced Rāhula and spoke a gāthā:

 * Not arousing attachment to characteristics,
 * And always in accordance with the Dharma.
 * The one who is wise in a way such as this,
 * Has a name that is renowned everywhere.
 * Together holding the torch of wisdom,
 * The great darkness of ignorance breaks apart.
 * The devas and nāgas pay their respects,
 * Giving praise to the venerable master.

At this time, the bhikṣu Rāhula replied to the Bhagavān with a gāthā:

 * I will not arouse attachment to characteristics,
 * And will always be in accord with the Dharma.
 * One who is wise in a way such as this,
 * Is still capable of honoring the master.

At this time, after the Bhagavān had given this teaching, he left and returned to his abode of stillness. Then Venerable Rāhula was mindful, “How can one practice Ānāpānasmṛti to eliminate every notion of worry and sorrow?” At this time, Rāhula promptly left his seat and arose, to go to the place where the Bhagavān was. When he had arrived, he bowed his head at the feet of the Bhagavān, and then sat to one side. After sitting, in a moment of purity, he addressed the Bhagavān, saying: “How can one practice Ānāpānasmṛti, to eliminate every notion of worry and sorrow? How can one obtain the great fruit, and taste the sweet nectar?” The Bhagavān addressed Rāhula, saying: “Excellent, excellent, Rāhula! You are thus able to ‘roar the lion’s roar’ before the Tathāgata by asking, ‘How can one cultivate the practice of Ānāpānasmṛti, to eliminate every notion of worry and sorrow? How can one obtain the great fruit, and taste the sweet nectar?’ Now Rāhula, listen carefully. Listen carefully with virtuous mindfulness, because I will explain it to you.” Facing him, Venerable Rāhula replied, “Thusly, Bhagavān,” and waited for the Bhagavān’s instruction.

The Bhagavān told him, “Rāhula, suppose there is a bhikṣu who is happy being alone in quietude. In a secluded place, he corrects his body, corrects his intent, and sits cross-legged. Without any other mindfulness, he fastens his mind on the tip of his nose. When there is a long breath out, he is also aware of the long breath. When there is a long breath in, he is also aware of the long breath. When there is a short breath out, he is also aware of the short breath. When there is a short breath in, he is also aware of the short breath. When there is a cold breath out, he is also aware of the cold breath. When there is a cold breath in, he is also aware of the cold breath. When there is a warm breath out, he is also aware of the warm breath. When there is a warm breath in, he is also aware of the warm breath. He completely contemplates the in-breaths and out-breaths of the body, aware of them all. When there is breathing, he also is aware of its presence, and when there is no breathing, he is also aware of its absence. If there is an out-breath conditioned by the mind, he is aware that the out-breath was conditioned by the mind. If there is an in-breath conditioned by the mind, he is aware that the in-breath was conditioned by the mind. Thusly, Rāhula, one is able to cultivate the practice of Ānāpānasmṛti, to eliminate every notion of worry and sorrow, obtain the great fruit, and taste the sweet nectar.”

After the Bhagavān had finished imparting this subtle teaching to Rāhula, then Rāhula promptly arose from his seat and bowed at the feet of the Buddha. Circumambulating him three times, he then departed. Arriving in the Andha Garden, he stopped at the foot of a tree. He corrected his body, corrected his intent, and sat cross-legged. Without any other mindfulness, he fastened his mind on the tip of his nose. When there was a long breath out, he was also aware of the long breath. When there was a long breath in, he was also aware of the long breath. When there was a short breath out, he was also aware of the short breath. When there was a short breath in, he was also aware of the short breath. When there was a cold breath out, he was also aware of the cold breath. When there was a cold breath in, he was also aware of the cold breath. When there was a warm breath out, he was also aware of the warm breath. When there was a warm breath in, he was also aware of the warm breath. He completely contemplated the in-breaths and out-breaths of the body, and was aware of them all. When there was breathing, he was aware of its presence, and when there was no breathing, he was aware of its absence. If there was an out-breath conditioned by the mind, he was aware that it came from the mind. If there was an in-breath conditioned by the mind, he was aware that it came from the mind.

At this time, Rāhula cultivated thusly, and a mind of desires was set free, not returning to the multitude of evils and deliberations. Contemplating with this mindfulness, he maintained the joy and bliss of roaming in the First Dhyāna, in which there is thinking and mindful contemplation. When thoughts and contemplations came to a rest, he experienced inner bliss and single-pointedness of mind. Without thoughts and contemplation, with only bliss born from samādhi, he roamed in the Second Dhyāna. Observing awareness, he experienced the physical pleasure that the Noble Ones constantly experience with equanimity, the complete satisfaction and mindfulness of roaming in the Third Dhyāna. When both pain and pleasure were eliminated, there were no more worries and vexations. Without pain and pleasure, only completely pure and perfect mindfulness, he roamed in the Fourth Dhyāna.

From this samādhi, his mind was completely pure, without the dust of defilements, and his physical body was supple and soft. He was aware of places from the past, and remembered what he had previously done. He recalled previous lives over incalculable eons. He was aware of one, two, three, four, five, ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, one hundred, one thousand, ten thousand, even hundreds of thousands of lives. He recalled the passing of eons as well as the destruction of eons, countless successions of eons and their destructions – hundreds of millions of incalculable eons. He recalled his previous births, that he had various names, was born into certain families, ate such and such food, experienced such and such suffering and happiness. He knew whether his lives were long or short, and that he died in such and such a place, and he was reborn in such and such a place.

From this samādhi, his mind was completely pure, without fetters, and his mind was able to know about the origins of all sentient beings. Moreover, by means of the complete purity and clarity of the Divine Eye, he saw the birth and death of sentient beings, their good forms and evil forms, good destinies and evil destinies, and understood that in reality they actually come from good or bad actions. If there were sentient beings who practiced evil in body, speech, and mind, who insulted the Noble Ones, practicing and holding false views, then at the end of their lives when their bodies were broken apart, they would enter into the hells. However, if there were sentient beings who practice virtue in body, speech, and mind, who do not insult the Noble Ones, and who practice and hold correct views, then at the end of their lives when their bodies are broken apart, they would go to live in the heavens above. This is called the complete purity and clarity of the Divine Eye, with which one sees the birth and death of sentient beings, their good forms and evil forms, good destinies and evil destinies, and understands that in reality they actually come from good or bad actions.

Moreover, he practiced the contemplation of suffering, and was aware of both the ending of suffering and the origin of suffering, truly aware of them as such. By means of developing this mindfulness, his mind attained liberation from the outflows of desires, and his mind attained liberation from the outflows of ignorance. After attaining these liberations, he naturally attained the liberation of wisdom, and birth and death then came to an end. Brahmacarya had been established, what was to be done, had been done, and there was no more coming back into existence – thus was his true awareness. It was at this time that Venerable Rāhula became an arhat.

At this time, after Venerable Rāhula had become an arhat, he arose from his seat, arranged his robes, and went to the place of the Bhagavān. Bowing his head at the feet of the Bhagavān, he then moved to one side. He addressed the Bhagavān, saying, “What was truly sought has truly been attained: the cessation of all outflows.” At that time, the Bhagavān told all the bhikṣus, “Of those who have attained arhatship, there is none equal to Rāhula. In regard to the cessation of outflows, it is the bhikṣu Rāhula who is foremost. In regard to those who maintain the precepts, it is again the bhikṣu Rāhula who is foremost. In this manner, all tathāgatas of the past, those of Anuttarā Samyaksaṃbodhi, also had this bhikṣu Rāhula. Wishing to be called the Son of the Buddha, this bhikṣu Rāhula closely followed the life of the Buddha to the highest Dharma. At that time, the Bhagavān told all the bhikṣus, “Amongst my śrāvakas, the foremost student in maintaining the precepts is truly the bhikṣu Rāhula.” Then the Bhagavān spoke this gāthā:

 * By utilizing the precepts of the Dharma,
 * The various faculties are all accomplished.
 * Progressing until they are all attained,
 * The causes of all afflictions come to an end.

At this time, all the bhikṣus heard what the Buddha had truly said, and blissfully practiced in accordance.

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 BOOK IV

RETROSPECTIVE

I

their precise tracings-out and subtile causations, the strongest and fieriest emotions of life defy all analytical insight. We see the cloud, and feel its bolt; but meteorology only idly essays a critical scrutiny as to how that cloud became charged, and how this bolt so stuns. The metaphysical writers confess, that the most impressive, sudden, and overwhelming event, as well as the minutest, is but the product of an infinite series of infinitely involved and untraceable foregoing occurrences. Just so with every motion of the heart. Why this cheek kindles with a noble enthusiasm; why that lip curls in scorn; these are things not wholly imputable to the immediate apparent cause, which is only one link in the chain; but to a long line of dependencies whose further part is lost in the mid-regions of the impalpable air.

Idle then would it be to attempt by any winding way so to penetrate into the heart, and memory, and inmost life, and nature of Pierre, as to show why it was that a piece of intelligence which, in the natural course of things, many amiable gentlemen, both young and old, have been known to receive with a momentary feeling of surprise, and then a little curiosity to know more, and at last an entire unconcern; idle would it be, to attempt to show how to Pierre it rolled down on his soul like melted lava, and left so deep a deposit of desolation, that all his 5em

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Rh endeavours never restored the original temples to the soil, nor all his culture completely revived its buried bloom.

But some random hints may suffice to deprive a little of its strangeness, that tumultuous mood, into which so small a note had thrown him.

There had long stood a shrine in the fresh-foliaged heart of Pierre, up to which he ascended by many tableted steps of remembrance; and around which annually he had hung fresh wreaths of a sweet and holy affection. Made one green bower of at last, by such successive votive offerings of his being; this shrine seemed, and was indeed, a place for the celebration of a chastened joy, rather than for any melancholy rites. But though thus mantled, and tangled with garlands, this shrine was of marble—a niched pillar, deemed solid and eternal, and from whose top radiated all those innumerable sculptured scrolls and branches, which supported the entire one-pillared temple of his moral life; as in some beautiful Gothic oratories, one central pillar, trunk-like, upholds the roof. In this shrine, in this niche of this pillar, stood the perfect marble form of his departed father; without blemish, unclouded, snow-white, and serene; Pierre's fond personification of perfect human goodness and virtue. Before this shrine, Pierre poured out the fulness of all young life's most reverential thoughts and beliefs. Not to God had Pierre ever gone in his heart, unless by ascending the steps of that shrine, and so making it the vestibule of his abstractest religion.

Blessed and glorified in his tomb beyond Prince Mausolus is that mortal sire, who, after an honourable, pure course of life, dies, and is buried, as in a choice fountain, in the filial breast of a tender-hearted and intellectually appreciative child. For at that period, the Solomonic insights have not poured their turbid tributaries into the

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94 well of the childish life. Rare preservative virtue, too, have those heavenly waters. Thrown into that fountain, all sweet recollections become marbleised; so that things which in themselves were evanescent, thus became unchangeable and eternal. So, some rare waters in Derbyshire will petrify birds'-nests. But if fate preserves the father to a later time, too often the filial obsequies are less profound, the canonisation less ethereal. The eye-expanded boy perceives, or vaguely thinks he perceives, slight specks and flaws in the character he once so wholly reverenced.

When Pierre was twelve years old, his father had died, leaving behind him, in the general voice of the world, a marked reputation as a gentleman and a Christian; in the heart of his wife, a green memory of many healthy days of unclouded and joyful wedded life, and in the inmost soul of Pierre, the impression of a bodily form of rare manly beauty and benignity, only rivalled by the supposed perfect mould in which his virtuous heart had been cast. Of pensive evenings, by the wide winter fire, or in summer, in the southern piazza, when that mystical night-silence so peculiar to the country would summon up in the minds of Pierre and his mother, long trains of the images of the past; leading all that spiritual procession, majestically and holily walked the venerated form of the departed husband and father. Then their talk would be reminiscent and serious, but sweet; and again, and again, still deep and deeper, was stamped in Pierre's soul the cherished conceit, that his virtuous father, so beautiful on earth, was now uncorruptibly sainted in heaven. So choicely, and in some degree, secludedly nurtured, Pierre, though now arrived at the age of nineteen, had never yet become so thoroughly initiated into that darker, though truer aspect of things, which an entire residence in the city from the earliest

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Rh period of life, almost inevitably engraves upon the mind of any keenly observant and reflective youth of Pierre's present years. So that up to this period, in his breast, all remained as it had been; and to Pierre, his father's shrine seemed spotless, and still new as the marble of the tomb of him of Arimathea.

Judge, then, how all-desolating and withering the blast, that for Pierre, in one night, stripped his holiest shrine of all overlaid bloom, and buried the mild statue of the saint beneath the prostrated ruins of the soul's temple itself.

II

As the vine flourishes, and the grape empurples close up to the very walls and muzzles of cannoned Ehrenbreitstein; so do the sweetest joys of life grow in the very jaws of its perils.

But is life, indeed, a thing for all infidel levities, and we, its misdeemed beneficiaries, so utterly fools and infatuate, that what we take to be our strongest tower of delight, only stands at the caprice of the minutest event—the falling of a leaf, the hearing of a voice, or the receipt of one little bit of paper scratched over with a few small characters by a sharpened feather? Are we so entirely insecure, that that casket, wherein we have placed our holiest and most final joy, and which we have secured by a lock of infinite deftness; can that casket be picked and desecrated at the merest stranger's touch, when we think that we alone hold the only and chosen key?

Pierre! thou art foolish; rebuild—no, not that, for thy shrine still stands; it stands, Pierre, firmly stands; smellest thou not its yet undeparted, embowering bloom? Such a note as thine can be easily enough written, Pierre; impostors are not unknown in this curious world; or the

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Shorter Prajñāpāramitā Hṛdaya Sūtra

When Avalokiteśvara Bodhisattva was practicing the profound Prajñāpāramitā, he illuminated the Five Skandhas and saw that they were all empty, and crossed over all suffering and affliction.

“Śāriputra, form is not different from emptiness, and emptiness is not different from form. Form itself is emptiness, and emptiness itself is form. Sensation, conception, synthesis, and discrimination are also such as this. Śāriputra, all dharmas are empty: they are neither created nor destroyed, neither defiled nor pure, and they neither increase nor diminish. This is because in emptiness there is no form, sensation, conception, synthesis, or discrimination. There are no eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, or thoughts. There are no forms, sounds, scents, tastes, sensations, or dharmas. There is no field of vision and there is no realm of thoughts. There is no ignorance nor elimination of ignorance, even up to and including no old age and death, nor elimination of old age and death. There is no suffering, its accumulation, its elimination, or a path. There is no understanding and no attaining.

“Because there is no attainment, bodhisattvas rely on Prajñāpāramitā, and their minds have no obstructions. Since there are no obstructions, they have no fears. Because they are detached from backwards dream-thinking, their final result is Nirvāṇa. Because all buddhas of the past, present, and future rely on Prajñāpāramitā, they attain Anuttarā Samyaksaṃbodhi. Therefore, know that Prajñāpāramitā is a great spiritual mantra, a great brilliant mantra, an unsurpassed mantra, and an unequalled mantra. The Prajñāpāramitā Mantra is spoken because it can truly remove all afflictions. The mantra is spoken thusly:

 * gate gate pāragate pārasaṃgate bodhi svāhā

Herz-Sutra Sutra del corazón 摩訶般若波羅蜜多心経 반야바라밀다심경 摩訶般若波羅蜜多心經

title: Shorter Prajñāpāramitā Hṛdaya Sūtra


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Longer Prajñāpāramitā Hṛdaya Sūtra

Thus have I heard. At one time, the Buddha was in Rājagṛha on the mountain of Gṛdhrakūṭa, along with a great saṃgha of bhikṣus. At that time, the Lord Buddha entered the Great Vast and Extremely Profound Samādhi. Within the multitude, Avalokiteśvara Bodhisattva-mahāsattva was practicing the profound Prajñāpāramitā, when he illuminated the Five Skandhas and saw they were all empty, and left all suffering and misery. Then Śāriputra, by the power of the Buddha, joined his palms together in respect for Noble Avalokiteśvara Bodhisattva-mahāsattva, and said: “Virtuous man, if there are those who wish to cultivate the extremely profound practice of Prajñāpāramitā, how should they cultivate practice?”

After speaking thusly, Avalokiteśvara Bodhisattva-mahāsattva addressed Elder Śāriputra, saying: “Śāriputra, if virtuous men and virtuous women practice the extremely profound practice of Prajñāpāramitā, they should contemplate the Five Skandhas as empty of self-nature. Śāriputra, form is not different from emptiness, and emptiness is not different from form. Form itself is emptiness, and emptiness itself is form. Sensation, conception, synthesis, and discrimination are also such as this. Śāriputra, all phenomena are empty of characteristics: they are neither created nor destroyed, neither defiled nor pure, and they neither increase nor diminish. This is because in emptiness there is no form, sensation, conception, synthesis, or discrimination. There are no eyes, ears, nose, tongue, body, or thoughts. There are no forms, sounds, scents, tastes, sensations, or phenomena. There is no field of vision and there is no realm of thoughts. There is no ignorance nor elimination of ignorance, even up to and including no old age and death, nor elimination of old age and death. There is no suffering, its accumulation, its elimination, or a path. There is no understanding and no attaining.

“Because there is nothing to attain, bodhisattvas rely on Prajñāpāramitā, and their minds have no obstructions. With no obstructions, they have no fears. Because they are far removed from backward dream-thinking, their final result is Nirvāna. Because all buddhas of the past, present, and future rely on Prajñāpāramitā, they attain Anuttarā Samyaksaṃbodhi. Therefore, know that Prajñāpāramitā is a great spiritual mantra, a great brilliant mantra, an unsurpassed mantra, and an unequalled mantra. Because it can truly eliminate all afflications, the Prajñāpāramitā Mantra is spoken. Speak the mantra thusly:

 * gate gate pāragate pārasaṃgate bodhi svāhā

“Thusly, Śāriputra, all bodhisattva-mahāsattvas should practice Prajñāpāramitā thusly.” At that time, after he had spoken, the Lord arose from the Great Vast and Extremely Profound Samādhi, and praised Avalokiteśvara Bodhisattva-mahāsattva, saying: “Excellent, excellent, virtuous man! Thusly, thusly, you have truly spoken. The extremely profound practice of Prajñāpāramitā should be practiced like this. When practicing thusly, each and every tathāgata is in approval.”

At that time, after the Lord had spoken, Elder Śāriputra and Avalokiteśvara Bodhisattva-mahāsattva both experienced great bliss. Then the multitude of devas, humans, asuras, and gandharvas heard what the Buddha had truly said. With great bliss, they believed, accepted, and practiced in accordance.

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96 brisk novelist, Pierre, will write thee fifty such notes, and so steal gushing tears from his reader's eyes; even as thy note so strangely made thine own manly eyes so arid; so glazed, and so arid, Pierre—foolish Pierre!

Oh, mock not the heart. The stabbed man knows the steel; prate not to him that it is only a tickling feather. Feels he not the interior gash? What does this blood on my vesture? and what does this pang in my soul?

And here again, not unreasonably, might invocations go up to those Three Weird Ones, that tend Life's loom. Again we might ask them, What threads were those, oh, ye Weird Ones, that ye wove in the years foregone; that now to Pierre, they so unerringly conduct electric presentiments, that his woe is woe, his father no more a saint, and Isabel a sister indeed?

Ah, fathers and mothers! all the world round, be heedful,—give heed! Thy little one may not now comprehend the meaning of those words and those signs, by which, in its innocent presence, thou thinkest to disguise the sinister thing ye would hint. Not now he knows; not very much even of the externals he consciously remarks; but if, in after-life, Fate puts the chemic key of the cipher into his hands; then how swiftly and how wonderfully, he reads all the obscurest and most obliterate inscriptions he finds in his memory; yea, and rummages himself all over, for still hidden writings to read. Oh, darkest lessons of Life have thus been read; all faith in Virtue been murdered, and youth gives itself up to an infidel scorn.

But not thus, altogether, was it now with Pierre; yet so like, in some points, that the above true warning may not misplacedly stand.

His father had died of a fever; and, as is not uncommon in such maladies, toward his end, he at intervals

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Rh lowly wandered in his mind. At such times, by unobserved, but subtle arts, the devoted family attendants had restrained his wife from being present at his side. But little Pierre, whose fond, filial love drew him ever to that bed; they heeded not innocent little Pierre, when his father was delirious; and so, one evening, when the shadows intermingled with the curtains; and all the chamber was hushed; and Pierre but dimly saw his father's face; and the fire on the hearth lay in a broken temple of wonderful coals; then a strange, plaintive, infinitely pitiable, low voice, stole forth from the testered bed; and Pierre heard,—'My daughter! my daughter!'

'He wanders again,' said the nurse.

'Dear, dear father!' sobbed the child—'thou hast not a daughter, but here is thy own little Pierre.'

But again the unregardful voice in the bed was heard; and now in a sudden, pealing wail,—'My daughter!—God!—God!—my daughter!'

The child snatched the dying man's hand; it faintly grew to his grasp; but on the other side of the bed, the other hand now also emptily lifted itself, and emptily caught, as if at some other childish fingers. Then both hands dropped on the sheet; and in the twinkling shadows of the evening little Pierre seemed to see, that while the hand which he held wore a faint, feverish flush, the other empty one was ashy white as a leper's.

'It is past,' whispered the nurse, 'he will wander so no more now till midnight,—that is his wont.' And then, in her heart, she wondered how it was, that so excellent a gentleman, and so thoroughly good a man, should wander so ambiguously in his mind; and trembled to think of that mysterious thing in the soul, which seems to acknowledge no human jurisdiction, but in spite of the individual's own innocent self, will still dream horrid

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98 dreams, and mutter unmentionable thoughts; and into Pierre's awe-stricken, childish soul, there entered a kindred, though still more nebulous conceit. But it belonged to the spheres of the impalpable ether; and the child soon threw other and sweeter remembrances over it, and covered it up: and at last, it was blended with all other dim things, and imaginings of dimness; and so, seemed to survive to no real life in Pierre. But though through many long years the henbane showed no leaves in his soul; yet the sunken seed was there: and the first glimpse of Isabel's letter caused it to spring forth, as by magic. Then, again, the long-hushed, plaintive and infinitely pitiable voice was heard,—'My daughter! my daughter!' followed by the compunctious 'God! God!' And to Pierre, once again the empty hand lifted itself, and once again the ashy hand fell.

III

In the cold courts of justice the dull head demands oaths, and holy writ proofs; but in the warm halls of the heart one single, untestified memory's spark shall suffice to enkindle such a blaze of evidence, that all the corners of conviction are as suddenly lighted up as a midnight city by a burning building, which on every side whirls its reddened brands.

In a locked, round-windowed closet connecting with the chamber of Pierre, and whither he had always been wont to go, in those sweetly awful hours, when the spirit crieth to the spirit, Come into solitude with me, twin-brother; come away; a secret have I; let me whisper it to thee aside; in this closet, sacred to the Tadmore privacies and repose of the sometimes solitary Pierre, there hung, by long cords from the cornice, a small portrait in oil, before which Pierre had many a time trancedly stood.

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Rh Had this painting hung in any annual public exhibition, and in its turn been described in print by the casual glancing critics, they would probably have described it thus, and truthfully: 'An impromptu portrait of a fine-looking, gay-hearted, youthful gentleman. He is lightly, and, as it were, airily and but grazingly seated in, or rather flittingly tenanting an old-fashioned chair of Malacca. One arm confining his hat and cane is loungingly thrown over the back of the chair, while the fingers of the other hand play with his gold watch-seal and key. The free-templed head is sideways turned, with a peculiarly bright, and care-free, morning expression. He seems as if just dropped in for a visit upon some familiar acquaintance. Altogether, the painting is exceedingly clever and cheerful; with a fine, off-handed expression about it. Undoubtedly a portrait, and no fancy-piece; and, to hazard a vague conjecture, by an amateur.'

So bright, and so cheerful then; so trim, and so young; so singularly healthful, and handsome; what subtile element could so steep this whole portrait, that, to the wife of the original, it was namelessly unpleasant and repelling? The mother of Pierre could never abide this picture, which she had always asserted did signally belie her husband. Her fond memories of the departed refused to hang one single wreath around it. It is not he, she would emphatically and almost indignantly exclaim, when more urgently besought to reveal the cause for so unreasonable a dissent from the opinion of nearly all the other connections and relatives of the deceased. But the portrait which she held to do justice to her husband, correctly to convey his features in detail, and more especially their truest, and finest, and noblest combined expression; this portrait was a much larger one, and in the great drawing-room below occupied the most conspicuous and honourable place on the wall.

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100 Even to Pierre these two paintings had always seemed strangely dissimilar. And as the larger one had been painted many years after the other, and therefore brought the original pretty nearly within his own childish recollections; therefore, he himself could not but deem it by far the more truthful and life-like presentation of his father. So that the mere preference of his mother, however strong, was not at all surprising to him, but rather coincided with his own conceit. Yet not for this, must the other portrait be so decidedly rejected. Because, in the first place, there was a difference in time, and some difference of costume to be considered, and the wide difference of the styles of the respective artists, and the wide difference of those respective, semi-reflected, ideal faces, which, even in the presence of the original, a spiritual artist will rather choose to draw from than from the fleshy face, however brilliant and fine. Moreover, while the larger portrait was that of a middle-aged, married man, and seemed to possess all the nameless and slightly portly tranquillities incident to that condition when a felicitous one; the smaller portrait painted a brisk, unentangled, young bachelor, gaily ranging up and down in the world; light-hearted, and a very little bladish perhaps; and charged to the lips with the first uncloying morning fulness and freshness of life. Here, certainly, large allowance was to be made in any careful, candid estimation of these portraits. To Pierre this conclusion had become well-nigh irresistible, when he placed side by side two portraits of himself; one taken in his early childhood, a frocked and belted boy of four years old; and the other, a grown youth of sixteen. Except an indestructible, all-surviving something in the eyes and on the temples, Pierre could hardly recognise the loud-laughing boy in the tall, and pensively smiling youth. If a few years, then, can have in me made

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text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Kerr, Mark (d.1584)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Kerr, Mark (d.1609)


text:
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title: User talk:Lapislazulitexts


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Kerr, Robert (1636-1703)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Kerr, Robert (1755-1813)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Kerr, William (1605?-1675)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Kerr, William (1662?-1722)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Kerr, William Henry


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 were eligible for civil and military posts. True, Sunday continued to be kept as it had been from the days of the Commonwealth, cards, opera, bands of music, and games being forbidden. A wave of unbelief was sweeping through the land; drunkenness, immorality, and coarse conversation were fashionable in all ranks of society. Fidelity to marriage vows was "sneered out of fashion." "We saw but one Bible in the parish of Cheddar," said Hannah More long years after this, "and that was used to prop a flowerpot." But perhaps Butler, introducing his famous "Analogy," goes the furthest of all. "It is come," he says sadly, "I know not how, to be taken for granted by many persons, that Christianity is not so much as a subject for inquiry, but that it is now at length discovered to be fictitious." Be this as it may, it is pleasant to realise that there were still some of the country clergy who remained true to their trusts.

Was there ever a more attractive figure than the Vicar of Wakefield, the clergyman farmer? Familiar enough is his humble home at the foot of a sloping hill in the midst of his twenty acres of land, his one-storied house covered with thatch, the newly whitewashed walls adorned with


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 of family design, kitchen and parlour scrupulously clean, "dishes, plates, and coppers well scoured and all disposed in bright rows on the shelves." We see the family rising with the sun, the Vicar and his boys going forth to labour in the fields, while his wife and daughters prepare the breakfast at home. All worked alike till sunset, when one of the younger children read aloud the Lessons of the day, he who read best being awarded a halfpenny for the poor-box on Sunday. And yet the spirit of immorality that was abroad must needs disturb this happy home.

Different indeed were the life and duties of the eighteenth-century clergyman to those of our clergy to-day.

Outwardly there was no mistaking the parson.


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 a prose counterpart to that grand ending of "The Quest of the Sangraal:"

There is an element of fiction in Hawker's biographical studies. He never let facts, or the absence of them, stand in the way of his imagination, and he had a Chattertonian habit of passing off compositions of his own as ancient manuscripts.

His letters are full of complaints that legends "invented" by himself have been regarded by others as common property. But this is not surprising when the said inventions wear the solemn garb of history. Hawker had many of the qualities necessary to historical romance. His rich native humour, and his rare gift for telling a story; his vivid presentment of scene, character, and situation, make it a matter of regret that he did not apply his powers more fully in this direction, just as it is a matter of regret that his fine poem, "The Quest of the Sangraal," is only a fragment, though a fragment worthy to rank beside "Hyperion."

Both in his prose and his poetry there is a disappointing lack of sustained effort. His literary manner and antiquarian tastes bear many


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 Invariably he walked abroad in a cassock reaching to his knees, surmounted by a long coat, while his wig, his bands, his knee-breeches, buckled shoes, and cocked hat formed the rest of the clerical dress. Indeed, the bishop's apron is the remains of the cassock and the archdeacon's hat the survival of the cocked hat.

Yet England was at heart religious, and it required but a spark to awaken her dead ashes into life. That spark was now lit by John Wesley, whose life and teaching were the means of creating a new form of religion, which "carried to the hearts of the people a fresh spirit of moral zeal."

This is not the place for an account of Wesley's work. It is well known how he and a few friends led strictly religious lives in the midst of the demoralised many; how they rose at four each morning, abstained from drinking and gambling, and methodically planned out every hour of the day for some beneficial use, till they were mockingly named "Methodists"; how Wesley became a clergyman and worked zealously for the Church in the recently formed colony of Georgia, under the auspices of the newly instituted S.P.G. But though at first a devoted Churchman, Wesley


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 points of resemblance to those of Scott, whose novels it was his custom to re-read every year as Christmas-time came round. In his local and scanty degree Hawker has done for the legends and worthies of old Cornwall what Sir Walter did for those of Scotland.

The prose impulse seems to have moved Hawker somewhat late in life, all the following papers having been published since 1850, when he had reached the age of forty-seven. These papers, as a matter of fact, represent a brave effort in years of increasing pecuniary anxiety to add to his income by his pen. His letters contain many interesting allusions to his literary struggles and his dealings with the editors of his day, among whom were Froude and Dickens. He also met or corresponded with several other famous contemporaries, including Tennyson, Longfellow, Kingsley, and Cardinals Newman and Manning. Earlier, too, he had a correspondence with Macaulay. But on these matters it will be more fitting to enlarge in the new memoir of Hawker, which is in course of preparation.

It remains for me to express my warmest thanks to those who have helped in the production of this volume. Mr. R. Pearse Chope has been indefatigable in collecting matter for the Appendix, and his are the notes on "Morwenstow," "Daniel Gumb's Rock," "Cruel


text:
Executive Order 9095

, March 11, 1942.

title: Executive Order 9095


text:
Author:James Anthony Froude

Fiction

 * Shadows of the Clouds 1847
 * The Nemesis of Faith 1849
 * The Two Chiefs of Dunboy 1889

History

 * History of England from the Fall of Wolsey to the Death of Elizabeth, in 12 volumes 1856–1870
 * Revised as History of England from the Fall of Wolsey to the Defeat of the Spanish Armada, in 12 volumes 1893
 * The English in Ireland in the Eighteenth Century, in 3 volumes 1872–74
 * The Divorce of Catherine of Aragon, a supplementary volume to the History of England, 1891
 * English Sea-Men in the Sixteenth Century, 1895

Biography

 * Caesar: A Sketch, 1879 (Biography of Julius Caesar)
 * Bunyan, 1880 (Biography of John Bunyan)
 * Thomas Carlyle, in four volumes, 1882–84
 * Luther: A Short Biography, 1883
 * Lord Beaconsfield, 1890 (Biography of Benjamin Disraeli)
 * Life and Letters of Erasmus, 1895
 * My Relations with Carlyle, written 1887, published 1903
 * Thomas Carlyle; a history of his life in London, 1834-1881, 1884

Other non-Fiction

 * Short Studies on Great Subjects', 1867–82
 * Oceana, or, England and Her Colonies, 1886
 * The English in the West Indies, or The Bow of Ulysses, 1888
 * The Science of History, in Prose Masterpieces from Modern Essayists, 1891
 * Calvinism: an address delivered at St. Andrew's, March 17, 1871 (1871)

Works about Froude

 * The Life of Froude (1905), by Herbert Woodfield Paul
 * "James Anthony Froude" in Studies of a Biographer, vol. 3 (1898) by Leslie Stephen
 * The Life of Froude (1905), by Herbert Woodfield Paul
 * "James Anthony Froude" in Studies of a Biographer, vol. 3 (1898) by Leslie Stephen
 * The Life of Froude (1905), by Herbert Woodfield Paul
 * "James Anthony Froude" in Studies of a Biographer, vol. 3 (1898) by Leslie Stephen
 * "James Anthony Froude" in Studies of a Biographer, vol. 3 (1898) by Leslie Stephen

Reviews of work

 * Cæsar: a Sketch. By J. A. Froude, M.A., a review by Richard Claverhouse Jebb

title: Author:James Anthony Froude


text: Talk:Executive Order 9095

title: Talk:Executive Order 9095


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 soon sought to establish a definite Christian society within the limits of the Church. Like the Puritan attempt before, this was doomed to failure, and a separate Christian society came into being under the name of Methodist. As the clergy refused their pulpits to such as these, the new preachers went forth into the fields and meadows of England. They made their voices heard "in the wildest and most barbarous corners of the land, among the bleak moors of Northumberland, or in the dens of London, or in the long galleries where in the pauses of his labour the Cornish miner listens to the sobbing of the sea." By their intense earnestness, their keen enthusiasm, their deep convictions, they stirred vast multitudes of their fellow-countrymen. If the rich and wealthy sneered at them, they found the poor country folk ready to listen and to learn. The newly aroused enthusiasm took undesirable forms: "Women fell down in convulsions, strong men were smitten suddenly to the earth; the preacher was interrupted by bursts of hysteric laughter or of hysteric sobbing. All the phenomena of strong spiritual excitement, so familiar in our "Revivals," but strange and unknown then, followed on their sermons; and the terrible


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 Coppinger," and "Thomasine Bonaventure." This Appendix, it is hoped, will be of interest both in itself and as showing the sources of Hawker's information. It enables us, too, to judge his power of imparting colour and romance to a plain record of facts. The account of old Stowe and the Granvilles, and their gigantic retainer, Antony Payne, has been kindly furnished by a descendant of the great Sir Bevill, the Rev. Prebendary Roger Granville, and it has thus a double interest. Mrs. Waddon Martyn of Tonacombe Manor, Morwenstow, and her son, Mr. N. H. Lawrence Martyn, have been especially kind and helpful. The Rev. John Tagert, Vicar of Morwenstow, and his daughter, Miss Tagert, Miss Rowe of Poughill, Miss Louisa Twining, Mr. and Mrs. William Shephard, the Rev. Canon Bone, the Rev. Ll. W. Bevan of Stratton, Mr. J. Sommers James, and the Rev. H. Upton Squire of Tetcott, have also rendered generous and valuable assistance. The portraits of Black John, Arscott of Tetcott, and Parson Rudall have been reproduced from pictures kindly lent by Mrs. Calmady, Mrs. Ford of Pencarrow, and the Rev. S. Baring-Gould respectively. The portrait of Black John was formerly in the possession of Mr. Hawker.

These acknowledgments would be incomplete if they did not refer to the zealous care bestowed


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 sense of a conviction of sin, a new dread of hell, a new hope of heaven, took forms at once grotesque and sublime." But the masses were leavened. At the death of Wesley there were some eighty thousand Methodists; a hundred years later there were some twenty-five million. This revival not only roused the lethargy of the Church of England, but a "new moral enthusiasm" broke over the whole country, and henceforth a steady attempt was made to relieve human suffering, to educate the ignorant, to place a higher ideal before those of our ancestors who were depraved by the surrounding vice. Hospitals grew and thrived, Sunday-schools sprang into life, charities were endowed, the slave trade was put down, prisons reformed, and more mercy, pity, and human sympathy were bestowed on those who so sorely needed it. Perhaps the new movement may best be summed up in the familiar words: "Not only with our lips, but in our lives."

The lives of the agricultural labourers of this time called loudly for reform. At the accession of George III., England's wealth was derived mainly from agriculture, and her peaceful valleys were as yet undisturbed by the numerous factories that characterise the whole country to-day. The


text:
Author:Charles Edward Byles

Works

 * "Preface," in Footprints of Former Men in Far Cornwall (1903)

title: Author:Charles Edward Byles


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 by Mr. J. Ley Pethybridge on his charming illustrations. His work has been to a large extent a labour of love. Thanks are also due to the various photographers, amateur and professional, who have lent their aid. Mr. George Penrose, Curator of the Royal Institution of Cornwall at Truro, kindly photographed the painting of Antony Payne and the flask which formerly belonged to the giant. The Manning tomb is from a photo by Mr. T. W. Woodruffe. The interior of Morwenstow Church as it was in Hawker's time is by S. Thorn of Bude, as is also the piscina.

1em June, 1903.


text:
Author:John Ley Pethybridge

Works

 * Cornish Ballads and Other Poems
 * Sir Bevill
 * The Life and Letters of Robert Stephen Hawker
 * Footprints of former men in far Cornwall (1903, illustrator; text by Robert Stephen Hawker)

title: Author:John Ley Pethybridge


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 lot of the eighteenth-century peasant must have been even more monotonous than that of the country squire or the vicar of many parishes. He was totally uneducated, unable to read or write; his amusements were few, for the sports that had brightened the rural life of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries had been swept away by the Puritans, and the sports of today were still in their infancy. Cricket indeed was coming in, but as yet the cricket bat was not invented, and the game seems to have been popular with country girls as well as boys. In 1775 a cricket match was played between six unmarried men and the same number of unmarried women, and though one woman made seventeen runs, or "notches," as they were then called, the men won the game. Sometimes a match was played by girls only, eleven on either side, "dressed all in white," and the Derby Mercury records the fact that "the girls bowled, batted, ran, and caught as well as any men could do." Wrestling was popular among the natives, as were also cock-fighting and bull-baiting.

Then, as now, the village alehouse was the popular resort. Here they heard any news that might be stirring: a stray paper would unfold to


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  ( describing events in Paris during 1789), written by her father, Edward Rigby (1747–1821), a distinguished Norwich doctor who was known also for his practical interest in agriculture, and who is said to have made known the flying shuttle to Norwich manufacturers.

As a painter, Sir Charles Eastlake was gentle, harmonious, diligent and correct; lacking fire of invention or of execution; eclectic, without being exactly imitative; influenced rather by a love of ideal grace and beauty than by any marked bent of individual power or vigorous originality. Among his principal works (which were not numerous, 51 being the total exhibited in the Academy) are: 1828, “Pilgrims arriving in sight of Rome” (repeated in 1835 and 1836, and perhaps on the whole his chef-d’œuvre); 1829, “Byron’s Dream” (in the Tate Gallery); 1834, the “Escape of Francesco di Carrara” (a duplicate in the Tate Gallery); 1841, “Christ Lamenting over Jerusalem” (ditto); 1843, “Hagar and Ishmael”; 1845, “Comus”; 1849, “Helena”; 1851, “Ippolita Torelli”; 1853, “Violante”; 1855, “Beatrice.” These female heads, of a refined semi-ideal quality, with something of Venetian glow of tint, are the most satisfactory specimens of Eastlake’s work to an artist’s eye. He was an accomplished and judicious scholar in matters of art, and published, in 1840, a translation of Goethe’s Theory of Colours; in 1847 (his chief literary work) Materials for a History of Oil-Painting, especially valuable as regards the Flemish school; in 1848, Contributions to the Literature of the Fine Arts (a second series was edited by Lady Eastlake in 1870, and accompanied by a Memoir from her pen); in 1851 and 1855, translated editions of Kugler’s History of the Italian School of Painting, and Handbook of Painting (new edition, by Lady Eastlake, 1874).

 EAST LIVERPOOL, a city of Columbiana county, Ohio, U.S.A., on the Ohio river, about 106 m. S.E. of Cleveland. Pop. (1890) 10,956; (1900) 16,485, of whom 2112 were foreign-born; (1910 census) 20,387. It is served by the Pennsylvania railway, by river steamboats, and by interurban electric lines. Next to Trenton, New Jersey, East Liverpool is the most important place in the United States for the manufacture of earthenware and pottery, 4859 out of its 5228 wage-earners, or 92·9%, being employed in this industry in 1905, when $5,373,852 (83·5% of the value of all its factory products) was the value of the earthenware and pottery. No other city in the United States is so exclusively devoted to the manufacture of pottery; in 1908 there were 32 potteries in the city and its immediate vicinity. The manufacture of white ware, begun in 1872, is the most important branch of the industry—almost half of the “cream-coloured,” white granite ware and semivitreous porcelain produced in the United States in 1905 (in value, $4,344,468 out of $9,195,703) being manufactured in East Liverpool. Though there are large clay deposits in the vicinity, very little of it can be used for crockery, and most of the clay used in the city’s potteries is obtained from other states; some of it is imported from Europe. After 1872 a large number of skilled English pottery-workers settled in the city. The city’s product of pottery, terra-cotta and fireclay increased from $2,137,063 to $4,105,200 from 1890 to 1900, and in the latter year almost equalled that of Trenton, N.J., the two cities together producing more than half (50·9%) of the total pottery product of the United States; in 1905 East Liverpool and Trenton together produced 42·1% of the total value of the country’s pottery product. The municipality owns and operates its water-works. East Liverpool was settled in 1798, and was incorporated in 1834.

 EAST LONDON, a town of the Cape province, South Africa, at the mouth of the Buffalo river, in 33° 1′ S. 27° 55′ E., 543 m. E.N.E. of Cape Town by sea and 666 m. S. of Johannesburg by rail. Pop. (1904) 25,220, of whom 14,674 were whites. The town is picturesquely situated on both sides of the river, which is spanned by a combined road and railway bridge. The railway terminus and business quarter are on the east side on the top of the cliffs, which rise 150 ft. above the river. In Oxford Street, the chief thoroughfare, is the town hall, a handsome building erected in 1898. Higher up a number of churches and a school are grouped round Vincent Square, a large open space. In consequence of the excellent sea bathing, and the beauty of the river banks above the town, East London is the chief seaside holiday resort of the Cape province. The town is the entrepot of a rich agricultural district, including the Transkei, Basutoland and the south of Orange Free State, and the port of the Cape nearest Johannesburg. It ranks third among the ports of the province. The roadstead is exposed and insecure, but the inner harbour, constructed at a cost of over £2,000,000, is protected from all winds. A shifting sand bar lies at the mouth of the river, but the building of training walls and dredging have increased the minimum depth of water to 22 ft. From the east bank of the Buffalo a pier and from the west bank a breakwater project into the Indian Ocean, the entrance being 450 ft. wide, reduced between the training walls to 250 ft. There is extensive wharf accommodation on both sides of the river, and steamers of over 8000 tons can moor alongside. There is a patent slip capable of taking vessels of 1000 tons dead weight. An aerial steel ropeway from the river bank to the town greatly facilitates the delivery of cargo. The imports are chiefly textiles, hardware and provisions, the exports mainly wool and mohair. The rateable value of the town in 1908 was £4,108,000, and the municipal rate 1 d.

East London owes its foundation to the necessities of the Kaffir war of 1846–1847. The British, requiring a port nearer the scene of war than those then existing, selected a site at the mouth of the Buffalo river, and in 1847 the first cargo of military stores was landed. A fort, named Glamorgan, was built, and the place permanently occupied. Around this military post grew up the town, known at first as Port Rex. Numbers of its inhabitants are descendants of German immigrants who settled in the district in 1857. The prosperity of the town dates from the era of railway and port development in the last decade of the 19th century. In 1875 the value of the exports was £131,803 and that of the imports £552,033. In 1904 the value of the exports was £1,165,938 and that of the imports £4,688,415. In 1907 the exports, notwithstanding a period of severe trade depression, were valued at £1,475,355, but the imports had fallen to £3,354,633.

 EASTON, a city and the county-seat of Northampton county, Pennsylvania, U.S.A., at the confluence of the Lehigh river and Bushkill Creek with the Delaware, about 60 m. N. of Philadelphia. Pop. (1890) 14,481; (1900) 25,238, of whom 2135 were foreign-born; (1910 census) 28,523. Easton is served by the Central of New Jersey, the Lehigh Valley, the Lehigh & Hudson River and the Delaware, Lackawanna & Western railways, and is connected by canals with the anthracite coal region to the north-west and with Bristol, Pa. A bridge across the Delaware river connects it with Phillipsburg, New Jersey, which is served by the Pennsylvania railway. The city is built on rolling ground, commanding pleasant views of hill and river scenery. Many fine residences overlook city and country from the hillsides, and a Carnegie library is prominent among the public buildings. Lafayette College, a Presbyterian institution opened in 1832, is finely situated on a bluff north of the Bushkill and Delaware. The college provides the following courses of instruction: graduate, classical, Latin scientific, general scientific, civil engineering, electrical engineering, mining engineering and chemical; in 1908 it had 38 instructors and 442 students, 256 of whom were enrolled in the scientific and engineering courses. Overlooking the Bushkill is the Easton Cemetery, in which is the grave of George Taylor (1716–1781), a signer of the Declaration of Independence, with a monument of Italian marble to his memory. Among the city’s manufactures are silk, hosiery and knit goods, flour, malt liquors, brick, tile, drills, lumber and planing mill products and organs; in 1905 the value of all the factory products was $5,654,594, of which $2,290,598, or 40·5%, was the value of the silk manufactures. Easton is the commercial centre of an important mining region, which produces, in particular, iron ore, soapstone, cement, slate and building stone. The municipality owns and operates an electric-lighting plant.

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 them the current news from India; here they would learn the progress of America's successful struggle for independence; here they could discuss the small doings of their neighbours and learn what passengers had gone by in the weekly coach. They smoked smuggled tobacco and drank smuggled tea, both of which commodities were expensive and heavily taxed. Their staple food was rye bread and "stony cheese, too hard to bite," or coarse bread soaked in skim milk. All was as yet in a state of rural simplicity—

These country folk still dressed in English woollen materials, woven on the spot Articles of clothing often descended from father to son, and it was not uncommon to find on the heads of country folk hats that had been fashionable in the days of Charles II.

But changes in the agricultural world were at hand. The introduction of the field turnip and an improvement in stock breeding brought about a complete revolution in the farming province. Waste lands were henceforth reclaimed and brought under cultivation, low-lying meadows


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/East Liverpool


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/East London


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 were drained for pasturage, and general activity brought an increase of wealth and prosperity to those engaged in agriculture. But great as was this progress, it was slight in comparison with the enormous industrial revolution, which, in the latter half of the century, raised England to a condition of wealth and power hitherto undreamt of.

The Indian calicoes, muslins, and chintzes have already been alluded to. They became more and more popular in England, and legislation failed to arrest their importation into the country. Cotton was shipped in ever increasing quantities from the West Indies to Manchester, then known as "the largest, most rich, populous, and busy village in England." Here some two thousand families quietly pursued their home industries of making fustians, tickings, and tapes from cotton yarn mixed with their native wool. All through the ages the spinning of thread had been done by young women, known as the spinsters of the family. In the middle of the eighteenth century these spinsters still sat with their distaffs round the weaver's hand-loom, spinning each single thread by hand, a slow and laborious method. But invention was in the air. A new flying


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 bond stronger than love, a force mightier than time.


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 well to remind ourselves of Thackeray's definition of a gentleman: "It is," he says, "to be honest, to be gentle, to be generous, to be brave, to be wise, and possessing all these qualities, to exercise them in the most graceful outward manner. He should be a loyal son and a true husband; his life should be decent, his bills should be paid, his tastes should be elegant, his aims in life lofty and noble. He should have the esteem of his fellow-citizens and the love of his fireside; he should bear good fortune, suffer evil with constancy, and through good or evil always maintain truth."


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 music." They did not want to separate themselves from the Church of England, only to reform the abuses that had crept in; A conference took place, but neither party would concede ground. The King definitely declared for the historic tradition of the Church service, but agreed to the Puritan demand for a new translation of the Bible. This accordingly was made by forty-seven scholars and dedicated to King James I. in the year 1611, since which date it has been in general use till to-day.

The results of the conference were far reaching. Two irreconcilable parties had arisen in England—those who clung to the historic Church of England and those who dissented from it or refused to conform to it. Hence the name Dissenter and Nonconformist. Statesmen who had little sympathy with the religious spirit pleaded for the purchase of national union by ecclesiastical reform.

"Why," asked Bacon, "should the Civil State be purged and restored by good and wholesome laws made every three years in Parliament assembled, devising remedies as fast as time breedeth mischief, and contrariwise the Ecclesiastical State still continue upon the dregs of time and


text: A Short History of Social Life in England/Introductory


text: A Short History of Social Life in England/Chapter 1


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 squire was a mere vegetable "which grew up and rotted on the same spot of ground" was somewhat exaggerated, yet it is true that the "career of one was the career of a hundred.' Their lives were spent in scampering after foxes, leaping five-barred gates, trampling on the farmer's corn, and drinking incredible quantities of ale.

A familiar figure in the eighteenth century was the country squire: familiar the long wig, long coat, silver buttons, breeches and top-boots, the bluff, red face, the couple of greyhounds and the pointer at heel. When not hunting the fox, the popular sport of the day—for hawking had quite gone out of fashion—he settled the disputes of the parish or repaired to the nearest alehouse to get drunk in as short a space of time as possible. Usually he only drank ale, but on festive occasions a bowl of strong brandy punch, with toast and nutmeg, added to his already boisterous spirits. On Sundays he donned his best suit, which often descended from father to son through several generations, and with his wife and family repaired to the parish church, and entered the family pew, where he slumbered during a great part of the somewhat dismal service. He seldom went further than his own country town, for a journey


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 strangers: "Surrounded with impassable roads," he says, "no intercourse with man to humanise the mind, nor commerce to smooth their rugged manners, they continue to be boors of nature." Assaults were not infrequent, and we hear of noses and ears being actually bitten off in a barbarous rage that might well belong to an earlier age. True, the wandering pedlar who travelled from village to village would sometimes bring a stained and tattered newspaper, which was read and re-read to a gaping and ignorant set of country folk. But, if spicy and interesting, it contained nothing edifying or relating to the great affairs of state. It told how "a boy was killed by falling upon iron spikes from a lamppost, which he had climbed to see Mother Needham stand in the pillory"; how a "poor man was found hanging in a gentleman's stables at Bungay in Suffolk by a person who cut him down, and running for assistance, left his penknife behind him"; how the best loaf sugar sold for 9d. a pound, Pekoe tea for 18s., and in what way the Queen was dressed on her forty-ninth birthday. Life was trivial and interests limited, centering for the most part around the monotonous doings of the country squire. Even if the saying that the


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 step in a movement that was to produce far-reaching changes in the lives of the people. Henceforth the country was to be governed by her Ministers rather than by her King, and the coarse-mannered Walpole was a more influential person than the poor bad-tempered George II.

In the years of peace and prosperity that succeeded, the English life which is ours to-day developed apace. It is hardly necessary to say that it developed more slowly in the country than in London, for many parts of England were completely isolated in the middle of the eighteenth century. Miles of impassable road, deeply rutted or absolutely rotten, or some swollen river overflowing marshy country prevented much intercourse with the outer world, and rendered the appearance of a stranger an event giving rise to much curiosity and conversation. Quaint indeed to modern ears sound the words of John Wesley, travelling from Manchester to Huddersfield, two of our busiest centres today: "The people ran and shouted after the carriage, and I believe they are the wildest folk in England." Or, again, listen to a famous Birmingham bookseller visiting a village in Leicestershire, where the villagers set dogs on the


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 CHAPTER XXI

Circa 1727—1742

COUNTRY LIFE

"I fancy it was a merrier England, that of our ancestors, than the island which we inhabit,"—.

HE death of George I. in 1727 and the accession of his son as George II., made little difference in the social life of England. The new King could speak English indifferently and with a strong accent, and was only a foreigner in his tastes and prejudices. Hence he exercised no influence in the Cabinet Councils, which, like his father, he did not even trouble to attend. And, indeed, so independent of the King did the Government grow that, since the reign of Queen Anne, no English ruler has been present at a Cabinet Council or refused assent to any Act of Parliament passed by the representatives of the English people. It was the first 283


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 tiff with nothing on his mind and stroked by—passers-by or a dog of lesser degree succeeding in being, or seeming, unconscious under certain circumstances. Something saturnine. Two youths in their Sunday clothes, crouched behind a heap of metal a bit along to the right, and whom the blackberry overgrowth had prevented from diving into the ditch in time. They have been coming to see the girls, up at the house, under the impression that Mr. Leonard was gone to Shepperton on club business. Another young fellow, who was up at the house, slips down and out desperately—out past Leonard, bending obsequiously, and an apologetic and propitiatory hat held vertically, parallel to his ear—as if Leonard were a stationary funeral and the boy were forced by haste, and much against his will, to disobey the last injunction of the deceased, and pass the corpse.

A little man, who has been busy about the stable, passes out. A little man in corduroys, and that heavily seamed, double-fronted, calico-lined, monkey-jacket sort of coat they wear. A little man with pale blue eyes and a smile—a fixed smile. I've seen big men with it. It is as though there were deep merry dimples once, and they extended into the care and age lines, down the cheeks and into a fixed smile. I've wondered how such men manage at a funeral. But sudden and deep sorrow affects such expressions painfully; more so than in ordinary or seldom smiling men. You've seen the ghastly attempt at a smile of the smileless. But the reverse well, in ordinary circumstances, liken it to a big good-natured dog, sitting


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 smiling his twelve-inch smile, and his master putting on a severe or mocking expression and persisting in catching his eye.

Mr. Leonard said, " Well, Billy!—as the sayin' is."

And Billy said, " Good evenin', Mr. Leonard."

And Mr. Leonard says, " Good evenin', Billy (as the sayin' is)," and something about the morning's work, perhaps. " Don't forget them there, etc., in the morning, Billy." And Billy says, " Alright, sir, " and turns towards the village.

And Billy's corduroys flicker away in the dusk. He passes and is passed by a tall, oldish man (oldish is the word) with a bend—or—stay—by an elderly man—an elderly labouring man, who would be tall but for the bend. An elderly labouring man with a squarish face—oblong, but features square, rather. Gladstonian face without the politics, and a dirty-looking grey frill beard, like the hair of a white Scotch terrier that's been in the ashes and wants washing. We don't notice that they nod or speak to each other in passing, but something makes us feel that it's just the same as if they did. The old man is bent from the hips up, and carries his arms with his hands clasped behind—on a lower rear gable as it were—or the end of the rain slope. He wears no coat, of course, but generally a calico-backed waistcoat hanging open in front, and a red speckled handkerchief round his neck, knotted under his frill. One fancies that his running (on some improbable village occasion) would a question of his legs keeping up, perforce, indignantly, and with breathless difficulty, with the


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 top-heavy weight of his body. He is the farm and village handy man, "Jack-of-all- trades," but wait a minute "Jack" doesn't fit him say Old-George-of-all-trades. And his name is George, too. Old George Higgins; and he is, or, rather was, father-in-law to the little man with a smile.

Mr. Leonard says, "Well, George (as the sayin' is), ain't yer fixed them pipes at the Bow Winders yet?"

And old George says, " Not yet, sir. I'm jist going up for somethin' fer a bit more 'roddin'." And he plods up the lane. "Roddin'" is a sewer pipe-cleaning arrangement of his, composed of stout wire, old clothes-line, pliable poles, sticks, etc.—and more of the Bow Winders later.

Charlton is a name on a big grained and varnished gate in a high brick wall, much higher in one place, where there is a tennis ground or something behind it. Glimpses through the gate, when it opens to the carriage—opens reluctantly and shuts quickly—jealously and indignantly behind it—reveal an oblong two-storied house, partly end on, very fresh and clean, painted in light colour with French grey about the windows, and splashed and sprayed with ivy.

"Chawlton" is the farm labourers' village opposite, on the frontage of the farm. Six square, two storied cottages, or rather hutches, of dirty, smoky-looking brown brick, with dirty, smoky-looking tiles, but why I don't know, for this is far from London's smoke and grit. Perhaps it was soiled or inferior material from the kilns. Gable roofs all running the same way, and the houses in a straight row and exactly


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 (By the mattress we reckoned that a kid, or a death, was expected out there.)

Jimmy got down, took a bucket that was slung under the tailboard, and, seeing something peculiar about us, he came over.

"What's up here?" he demanded, in the tone of a boss whose men have gone on strike, or left off work without warning.

We told him as much as we knew, and that the man seemed very bad. Then, for the first time, I saw what might be likened to the shadow of a smile of satisfaction on Jimmy Noland's face. But the next instant his face was severe, and I thought I was mistaken.

"Here!" he said to me, as if I were one of his hands, and he had an urgent appointment elsewhere. "Here!" he said, handing me the bucket, "water my horses while I go and see what's up with the man."

He went over and squatted down by the sick man's side.

I'd finished watering the horses when he came back.

"That's right," he said. "Now, help me shift some of these boxes over, and get the mattresses out in the side of the trap. I'll cover the soft 'un with the baggin', and you'd best roll a swag out on it, for it's for some one at the station and it mustn't get dirty. … Now come and help us lift the man on. … Not that way, I tell yer. Lift him this way—I never seed such orkard men in me life."

And so we got the sick man on to the mattress in the trap.

"Chuck up yer swags," he said to us, "and jab yer


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Wikisource:WikiProject DNB/Master lists

A "master list" for the DNB is simply a list of all the biographies by title (our naming conventions), in a given edition, in the order in which they occur. We are quite far from having such a thing for DNB00 (only some approximations available right now). We are not so far from it with DNB01.

What would we do with such a master list?

 * Cut it up to create volume ToCs.
 * Refer to it to get "previous" and "next" articles without effort.
 * Can use it to automate creation of templates.
 * Can use it to check disambiguation of a name given at random.

We could even reconstruct more formally the way the DNB is ordered. Another purpose is this:

 * Look over the Epitome listings used on WP for the DNB project there, and pick out the subarticles and Supplement articles there.

Getting there
The idea is to avoid typing that will duplicate effort.

For DNB01 there is work in progress to take the DNB01 names from author pages and sort them. This should produce a fairly good master list shortly. Points to notice:

 * DNB01 has relatively little disambiguation by dates to be done.
 * There are just four unsigned articles in DNB01, to add to what is on author pages.
 * There will also be just a small number to recover of names on author pages that are still redlinks.

This means that sorting the DNB01 names alphabetically will produce something close to a master list. (There may be some missing names, and sorting may not give quite the right answer).

For DNB00 life is much harder. Starting with all the names on author pages, sorting will not give a great result, for several reasons:

 * The order will be wrong, sometimes because the dates will not be sorted as the DNB does, sometimes because the DNB gives monarchs precedence, and for other reasons to do with the requirements of DNB order that matter more in this case.
 * The names on author pages are not yet properly disambiguated, so there will be some duplicate names and other anomalies.

We can on the other hand use the "anomalies" to troubleshoot the names on author pages, thus ensuring that more of the newly-created articles will have an automatic author page link.

To sum up, we can have a master list for DNB01 quite quickly, but for the first edition it will take considerably more work, some of which needs doing anyway though. For trialling, WikiProject DNB/ASCII list.txt is ASCII-sorted from existing DNB00 articles. It shows anomalies such as Æ sorted to the end.

title: Wikisource:WikiProject DNB/Master lists


text: User:TalBot/soft redirect maintenance/August 2010


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190 his elder brother knew that the house was in the name of his wife he desired to sell it. She said: ‘No, my cousin has bought it for me; look after your own money; you have taken it where you drink and smoke hashish until it all disappears.’ His brother, the younger, goes every day to the house: he asks if they want anything.

er-râgil!” Qalluhum: “ba‘dên!” Sabeḥu fîs-subḥ tâni yôm; huma saraḥu wehuwa akhad mît mahbûb fî gêbo, wenizil fîl-beled· Lamma raḥ ‘and em-mezayyin, em-mezayyin qallo: “aḥlan wesaḥlan!” ugablu qaḥwa. Ba‘dma shirib el qaḥwa qallu: “terîd tesullaḥ daqnak?” Qallu: “aiwa.” Ba‘d ma sullaḥ daqnu iddâlu mît maḥbûb, uqallu: “Ê akhî? mafîsh wâhid gab wâhid ‘andukum mekassar ḥettet-hetta?” Qallu: “aiwa! fî wâhid ‘andina, tâgir betâ‘ zêt, gab akhû kida.” Qallu: “taiyyib; ‘amal ma‘rûf we warrîni.” Qallu: “taiyyib! emshi wayâya.” Fidilum mashin lamma wassalu ‘and el-ôkala. Qallu: “di yistanna fîl-wish.” Qallo: “taiyyib.” Er-râgil raḥ gab etnên ballâsi melyân’ min zêt min el-kuwayyis, uraḥ fîl-ôkala; laqâ qa‘id; qallu: “es-salâm ‘alêkum!” Qallo: “‘alêkum es-salâm!” Qallo: “Ez-zêt, el-kuwayyis, beyiswa kam ‘andukum?” Qallu: “yiswa arba‘în qersh, wez-zêt et-tâni yiswa telatîn.” Qallu: “la, di zet kuwayyis.” Lamma shaf ez-zet, inbasset wakhadu; waddâ fî bêto we‘amal rhada weakal, huwa wel-fidâwi. Ba‘de makal rikib weriga‘ il’ el-marhâra; qallu rufaqato in laqa ellî ‘arif em-matraḥ. . . “lakin ‘auz ahottukum fîl-balalîs.” Qalulu: “taiyyib.”. . . ukûl wâhid yakhod es-silâḥ betâ‘o wayâh, welamma armis le-kûl wâhid lazim tekunu saḥîn ‘alashân temawwatû, wenakhod el-fulûs betâ‘na.” Qalulu: “taiyyib.” Hat kûl wâhid fî wâhid ballas uyeḥammelhum ‘al’ el-gimâl, utannu mashi il’ el-beled. Lamma wassal il’ el-ôkala qal: “es-salâm ‘alêkum!” Qallu: “‘alêkum es-salâm!” Qallu: “enta gibte zêt?” Qallu: “aiwa.” Qallu: “taiyyib; yallah, waddi fîl-bêt.” Lamma wadduhum fîl-bêt wedakhkhalhum guwa ‘amillu ‘asha ‘azim. Ba‘d ma yit‘ashu er-râgil nâm. Lamma dakhal guwa sâhib el-bêt, mrâto qaletlo: “ya ibn ammi, lazim neshûf fî ê fil-balalîs; yimkin er-rigâla el-fedawîya ellî kont tekallim ‘alêhum, yimkin huma.” Qalleha: “taiyyib, ya bint ammi!” Misiku ‘asâya-ḥadîd weyidrobu el-balâsi; er-râgil ellî fil-balâsi yekallim: “ana saḥi!” Misiku, yemawwatu, Lamma mawwathum kûluhum qaletlo: “er-râgil ellî barra naim?” Qalleha: “aiwa.” Qaletlu: “ruḥ mawwatû râkhar!” Ba‘d ma mawwathum kûluhum ḥammelhum ‘ala el-gimâl uraḥ ramahum fîl-baḥr. Ba‘d ma ramahum akhad el-gimâl weraḥ shal em-mâl min em-marhâra.

(I represent ghain by rh rather than gh, since it approximates in sound more to rh than to gh in Cairene Arabic.)

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Rh ‘Well, now I will show you.’ He (further) said to him: ‘Go, take a basket, and come.’ When he was come they took it together and went into the desert. When they were arrived at the tree they sat down. After a little the brigands came; when they saw them they climbed up the tree, and the brigands entered the cave. They counted forty of them; when they came out they counted forty of them. After they (the brigands) had departed some distance they descended from the tree and proceeded to examine the cave, and entered within it and each of them filled his basket. When they had filled the baskets they carried it away and closed the cave as before and continued walking until they arrived home. When they reached the house the elder said to his brother: ‘My brother, there is more than enough for us; don’t go again.’ He replied: ‘Very good.’ When he went home his wife said to him: ‘You must go and get (the money) three times like your brother.’ He replied: ‘Very well.’ When he rose in the morning, waking very early, he took the basket and continued walking alone until he came to the tree; when he saw the brigands coming he climbed up the tree, and they entered the cave and he counted forty of them, and on coming out he counted forty of them. After they were departed he descended from the tree and went to examine the cave; he went grasping (the money); he filled the basket with the gold; he did not take (it) in moderation like his brother. After he had carried away the basket and closed the door (of the cave) as before, after he was gone, the brigands returned; they found the gold gone from them. They said: ‘Boys, there are people who know our place; one of us must remain here and see who it is that knows our place.’ Their shêkh said to them: ‘I will remain.’ They answered: ‘Good! you shall remain and we will go after our business.’ When (the younger brother) rose again in the morning he took the basket early and proceeded to walk to the desert. When he got as far as the tree he sat

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194 down. When the brigands came he did not count them as usual. After they had left the cave he took the basket and then went into the cave. When he entered the brigand ran and caught him. He said to him: ‘Do you come to steal our money?’ and he cut him into pieces. When the brigands were returned they said to him: ‘Have you caught the fellow who knows our place.’ He replied: ‘Here are the pieces in the basket!’ His brother in the evening went and asked after him at the house; they replied: ‘He is not come back!’ At supper-time he went to ask after him (again); they replied: ‘He is not come back!’ His brother then knew that the brigands had killed him. He rose in the morning early, and proceeded to walk to the desert. When he got as far as the tree he sat down. When he saw them from afar he climbed up the tree. When they had entered the cave he counted forty of them, when they came out he counted forty of them. When they had gone to a distance he came down from the tree and went to examine the cave. He entered inside it; he found his brother with the basket. He carried it away and closed the cave as before, and took his brother and proceeded to walk to the house. When he entered the house he said to his wife and the wife of his brother: ‘Let no one utter cries of grief.’ He went and got a clever barber, the shêkh of the barbers; he gave him ten mahbubs and told him to sew together each of the pieces of the body. When he had sewed it they rose in the morning and said: ‘This fellow is dead.’ After they had buried him he (the elder brother) sat in the shop and acted as merchant in the place of his brother, and married his brother’s wife and the two lived in the usual way with one another. Our story returns to the brigands.

“When they had come and entered the cave they found neither the basket nor the man; they said: ‘There must be people who are acquainted with our place; we must

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Rh go into the villages and put questions in order to know who has taken the man.’ Their shêkh replied: ‘Do you go this way and I will go down another way; when we go down into a town go round and look about here and there until one has found a clean barber.’ (One of the brigands) went and entered the barber’s shop; the barber asked him, saying: ‘Do you want a shave?’ He replied: ‘Yes.’ (The barber) took the turban from his head and shaved his head. After he had finished he wanted to shave his beard; the man struck the barber a blow; the barber said: ‘Why ?’ He answered: ‘Yes, this for one day and the other (the beard) for another day.’ He replied; ‘Very well.’ (The brigand, put his hand into his pocket and gave him a hundred mahbubs. When they had all returned to the cave they asked him, saying: ‘Have you found the fellow who took the man?’ He replied: ‘Wait awhile!’ They rose in the morning next day; they went off on their business and he took a hundred mahbubs in his pocket and went down into the village. When he came to the barber’s the barber said to him: ‘How do you do?” and brought him coffee. After he had drunk the coffee he said to him: ‘Do you wish your beard to be shaved?’ He replied: ‘Yes.’ After he had shaved his beard (the brigand) gave him a hundred mahbubs and said to him: ‘What, my brother? Has no one brought to you one who has been cut to pieces?’ He replied: ‘Yes, there is one here, an oil-merchant, who brought his brother in that condition.’ He said to him: ‘Good! please show him to me.’ He replied: ‘Good! come with me.’ They continued walking until they arrived at the shop. He said to him: ‘The fellow is standing in front of you.’ He replied: ‘Good!’ The man went and got two jars full of the finest oil and went into the shop; he found the owner sitting; he said to him: ‘Peace be to you!’ He replied: ‘To you be peace!’ He said to him: ‘The best oil, how much is it with you?’ He replied: ‘The price

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196 is forty piastres, but the other oil is worth only thirty.’ He said to him: ‘No, this oil is first-class!’ When he saw the oil, he was pleased and took it; he carried it into his house and prepared lunch and ate, he and the brigand. After he had eaten (the brigand) rode back to the cave; his companions asked him if he had found the fellow who knows (their) place. [He replied: ‘Yes.’ The shêkh said to them: ‘We must go down into the village and have our revenge on the thief], but I want to put you into the jars.’ They said to him: ‘Good.’ [So he put them into the jars and ordered that] ‘each should take his weapon with him, and when I give the signal to each you must be awake in order to kill the man, and we will recover our money.’ They said to him: ‘All right!’ He put each of them into a jar and loaded them on the camels, and proceeded to go to the village. When he reached the shop he said: ‘Peace be to you!’ (The shopman) replied: ‘To you be peace!’ He added: ‘Have you brought some oil?’ He said to him: ‘Yes.’ He replied: ‘Good! go and carry it into the house.’ When he had carried them into the house and had introduced them into it, he made for him a sumptuous dinner. After they had dined the brigand slept. When the owner of the house came in to the women’s apartment his wife said to him: ‘My cousin, we must see what is in the jars: perhaps the brigands about whom you were talking, perhaps it is they.’ He said to her: ‘All right, my cousin!’ They took an iron rod and struck the jar; the man who was in the jar cries out: ‘I am awake!’ They seized him, they killed him. When all of them were killed the woman said to him: ‘Is the man who is outside asleep?’ He answered: ‘Yes.’ She said to him: ‘Go and kill him also!’ After he had killed them all he loaded

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198 When the new moon is first seen they say: Children call mushrooms “crows’ bread.”

The marching order of troops was imitated from that of the wild geese of ‘Iraq (Babylonia) who also always appoint a sentinel to keep watch at night.

“When Adam was created he did not know what the time was and therefore when he ought to say his prayers. Accordingly he asked God to let him know the time. So God made the cock in order that it might crow” (yiddan; from the same verb come mueddin, “the summoner to prayer,” and mâdna, “minaret,” from whence the call to prayer is made).

“When Adam was on the mountain God showed him bread in the plain below. Instead of waiting till the bread should come to him Adam ran after it; hence it has been necessary ever since to run after bread, grinding the corn and kneading the flour until it is made.”

“Joseph saw himself in a glass looking young and beautiful, and said: ‘If I were a Mamlûk my price would be so high that no one could buy me.’ Hence it was that God allowed him to be sold as a slave.”

On the eve of the Lesser Feast (Bairam) after Ramadan and on that of the Greater Feast meat is bought for “the supper of the dead” (“‘asha el mayyitîm”), though eaten by the purchasers, and on the eve of the Greater Feast bread and dates are also taken to the tombs and left there, after which the offerers return home and kill a sheep, the rich giving food to the poor. I gather that though this custom has been observed until recently in the villages round about Cairo it was unknown in Cairo itself.

On Shemm en-Nesîm, the great national festival of Egypt which has come down from Pharaonic days, the boys club

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 As a child James William was on the stage with other members of his father's family, at the Royal Circus, now the Surrey Theatre, in 1798, in the pantomime, and in 1804 he played as ‘a young Roscius’ at the German Theatre in Leicester Square, subsequently known as Dibdin's Sans Souci. Sheridan is said to have recommended him to Drury Lane, where his name as Master James Wallack appears in 1807 to Negro Boy in the pantomime of ‘Furibond, or Harlequin Negro.’ On 10 Nov. 1808 he was, as Master Wallack, the first Egbert in Hooks's ‘Siege of St. Quintin.’ He then went for three years to Dublin, and on 10 Oct. 1812 he was, at the newly erected buildings at Drury Lane, Laertes to Elliston's Hamlet. His name appears the following season to Charles Stanley in ‘A Cure for the Heartache,’ Cleveland in the ‘School for Authors,’ Sidney in ‘Man of the World,’ Dorewky, a chief of robbers, an original part in Brown's ‘Narensky, or the Road to Yaroslaf,’ and he was the first Kaunitz in Arnold's ‘Woodman's Hut.’ As Edward Lacey in ‘Riches,’ he supported Kean in his first engagement. He was the first Theodore in Arnold's ‘Jean de Paris’ on 1 Nov. 1814, and Alwyn in Mrs. Wilmot's ‘Ina’ on 22 April 1815, and played Malcolm in ‘Macbeth,’ Altamont in the ‘Fair Penitent,’ Plastic in ‘Town and Country,’ Aumerle in ‘Richard II,’ Captain Woodville in the ‘Wheel of Fortune,’ Frederick in the ‘Jew,’ and Bertrand in the ‘Foundling of the Forest,’ in many of these parts supporting Kean. He was on 20 May the original Maclean in Joanna Baillie's ‘Family Legend,’ and played other original parts of little interest. While remaining at Drury Lane he was seen as Colonel Lambert in the ‘Hypocrite,’ Anhalt in ‘Lovers' Vows,’ Axalla in ‘Tamerlane,’ Loveless in ‘Trip to Scarborough,’ Tiberio in the ‘Duke of Milan,’ Wellbred in ‘Every Man in his Humour,’ Joseph in ‘School for Scandal,’ Captain Absolute, Norfolk in ‘Richard III,’ Alcibiades in ‘Timon of Athens,’ Iago, Lovewell in ‘Clandestine Marriage,’ Rugantino, Young Clifford in ‘Richard, Duke of York, or the Contention between York and Lancaster,’ compiled from the three parts of ‘Henry VI,’ Don Lodowick in Penley's alteration of Marlowe's ‘Jew of Malta,’ Faulconbridge, Lysimachus in ‘Alexander the Great,’ and other parts. During his engagement, which seems to have finished in 1818, he played, among many other original characters, Sedgemore in Tobin's ‘Guardians,’ 5 Nov. 1816; Torrismond in Maturin's ‘Manuel,’ 8 March 1817; Richard in Soane's ‘Innkeeper's Daughter,’ founded on ‘Mary, the Maid of the Inn,’ 7 April, and Dougal in Soane's ‘Rob Roy the Gregarach,’ 23 March 1818. His chief success was as Wilford in the ‘Iron Chest.’ He also gave imitations.

Wallack's début on the American stage was made on 7 Sept. 1818 at the Park Theatre, New York, as Macbeth. He was seen in many important parts, and returned to London, reopening at Drury Lane on 20 Nov. 1820 as Hamlet. He played Brutus in Payne's ‘Brutus, or the Fall of Tarquin,’ and in ‘Julius Cæsar;’ Rolla in ‘Pizarro,’ in which he established his reputation; Coriolanus Montalto, an original part in ‘Montalto,’ 8 Jan. 1821; Richard III; Israel Bertuccio at the first production of Byron's ‘Marino Faliero,’ 25 April; Artaxerxes, and Shylock ‘after the manner of Kean’ in the trial scene from the ‘Merchant of Venice.’ He was seen also in one or two original parts. In June 1821 he incurred some resentment on the part of the audience on account of alleged disrespect to Queen Caroline. His reception, except as Rolla, was cold, and he returned to America. Through an accident to a stage-coach he sustained a compound fracture of the leg, which laid him up for eighteen months and impaired his figure. Reappearing in New York in 1822, he played on crutches Captain Bertram, an old sailor, in Dibdin's ‘Birthday,’ then, as Dick Dashall, dispensed with their aid. On 14 July 1823 he was, at the English Opera House (Lyceum), Roderick Dhu in the ‘Knight of Snowdon;’ on the 28th he was the Student in ‘Presumption, or the Fate of Frankenstein.’ As Falkland in the ‘Rivals’ he reappeared at Drury Lane in the autumn of 1823 with the added duties of stage-manager, a post he retained for many years. He supported Macready and Kean in many parts, and played others, including Icilius, Ghost in ‘Hamlet,’ Macduff, Florizel, Hastings in ‘Jane Shore,’ Ford, Edgar, Charalois in Massinger's ‘Fatal Dowry,’ Henri Quatre, Valentine in ‘Love for Love,’ Romeo, Charles Surface, Rob Roy, Mortimer, Don Felix in the ‘Wonder,’ Young Norval, Petruchio, and Doricourt. He was the original Earl of Leicester in ‘Kenilworth,’ 5 Jan. 1824; Count Manfred in ‘Massaniello,’ 17 Feb. 1825; Richard Cœur de Lion in ‘Knights of the Cross,’ an adaptation of the ‘Talisman,’ Alessandro Massaroni in the ‘Brigand,’ adapted by Planché from ‘Scribe,’ 18 Nov. 1829; and Martin Heywood in Jerrold's ‘Rent Day,’ 25 Jan. 1832.

In 1832 Wallack went once more to America, and in 1837 was manager of the National Theatre, New York. On 31 Aug. 1840 he


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 reappeared in London at the Haymarket, where he seems to have been stage-manager, as Don Felix in the ‘Wonder,’ and on 11 Sept. played Young Dornton in the ‘Road to Ruin’ to the Dornton of Phelps. He then went to Dublin, which place he had previously visited in or near 1826, and played Martin Heywood. In 1841 he was again at the Haymarket, then for the fifth time crossed to America, having suffered severe loss by the burning of the National Theatre. On 8 Oct. 1844, in Don Cæsar de Bazan, adapted by Gilbert à Beckett and Mark Lemon, he rose at the Princess's in London to the height of his popularity. In September 1845 he was back at the Park Theatre, New York. From this time he remained in America, acting in Philadelphia, New Orleans, and elsewhere, and spending much time at ‘the Hut,’ a prettily situated seat at Long Branch, where he exercised a liberal hospitality. In September 1852 he assumed control of Brougham's Lyceum on Broadway, which he renamed Wallack's Theatre, and in 1861 built the second Wallack's Theatre on Broadway at Thirteenth Street. He suffered severely from gout, and died on 25 Dec. 1864. He eloped with and married in 1817 a daughter of John Henry Johnstone [q. v.]; she predeceased him, dying in London in 1851.

Wallack belonged to the school of Kemble, whom, according to Talfourd, he imitated, copying much ‘of his dignity of movement and majesty of action.’ He had, however, little fervid enthusiasm or touching pathos. Joseph Jefferson praises his Alessandro, Massaroni, and Don Cæsar de Bazan. Thackeray when in New York on his last visit was much taken with his Shylock. The ‘Dramatic and Musical Review’ speaks of him as the ‘king of melodrama,’ and praises highly his Joseph Surface, Charles Surface, Captain Absolute, Tom Shuffleton, Wilford, Martin Heywood, and Alessandro Massaroni. Macready praises his Charalois, and he delighted Fanny Kemble in the ‘Rent Day.’ Oxberry declares that he was indifferent in tragedy, admirable in melodrama, and always pleasing and delightful in light comedy, in which, however, the spectator was always sensible of a hidden want.

Portraits of him in the Garrick Club, not forming part of the Mathews collection, show him a dark, handsome man. A portrait of him as Ford accompanies a memoir in the ‘Theatrical Times,’ vol. i.; one as Alessandro Massaroni, a second memoir in the ‘Dramatic Magazine;’ and a third as Charalois is given in Oxberry's ‘Dramatic Biography.’ Sketches of him in character by Millais are in existence in America, and are reproduced with other portraits in his son's ‘Memories of Fifty Years’ (1889).

His son, (1819–1888), known to the public as, was born in New York on 31 Dec. 1819, and played with his father in Bath and elsewhere. His first appearance was as Angelo in ‘Tortesa the Usurer,’ by N. P. Willis. He was for some time at the Theatre Royal, Dublin, and played Benedick to the Rosalind of Helen Faucit in Manchester. His first appearance in London was at the Haymarket, in a piece called ‘The Little Devil.’ On 27 Sept. 1847, as Sir Charles Coldstream in ‘Used up,’ he opened at the Broadway Theatre, New York. His career belongs to America, where he played a great number of parts, principally in light comedy, including Doricourt, Rover, Claude Melnotte, Wildrake, Bassanio, Captain Absolute, and Sir Benjamin Backbite. He married a sister of Sir John Everett Millais, and died near Stamford, Connecticut, on 6 Sept. 1888. A year later there was published posthumously in New York his ‘Memories of Fifty Years,’ which gives details of his American career.

[Genest's Account of the English Stage; Dramatic Mag.; Oxberry's Dramatic Biography; Theatrical Times; Era newspaper, 15 Jan. 1865; Dramatic and Musical Review, vol. viii.; Era Almanack, various years; Clark Russell's Representative Actors; Macready's Reminiscences; Scott and Howard's Blanchard; Thespian Mag.; New Monthly Mag. various years; Dibdin's Edinburgh Theatre; Forster and Lewis's Dramatic Essays; Gent. Mag. 1865, i. 387; Lester Wallack's Memories of Fifty Years; Autobiography of Joseph Jefferson.]

WALLENSIS, WALENSIS, or, JOHN (fl. 1215), canon lawyer, was of Welsh origin. He taught at Bologna, and wrote glosses, but no formal apparatus, on the ‘Compilatio Prima’ and ‘Compilatio Secunda.’ On the ‘Compilatio Tertia’ he made a formal apparatus, of which there are several manuscripts. The glosses fall between 1212 and 1216, for they were used by Tancred. Owing to a misreading, John has been styled of Volterra, and he has been further confounded with John Wallensis (fl. 1283) [q. v.], the Minorite.

[Schulte's Geschichte des canonischen Rechts, p. 189.]

WALLENSIS or WALEYS, JOHN (fl. 1283), Franciscan, is described as ‘of Worcester’ in a manuscript of his ‘Summa Collectionum’ at Peterhouse, No. 18, 1. He was B.D. of Oxford before he entered the order. He became D.D. and regent master of the Franciscan schools of Oxford before