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ENRY LEROUX wrote busily on. The light of the table-lamp, softened and enriched by its mosaic shade, gave an appearance of added opulence to the already handsome appointments of the room. The little table-clock ticked merrily from half-past eleven to a quarter to twelve.

Into the cozy, bookish atmosphere of the novelist’s study penetrated the muffled chime of Big Ben; it chimed the three-quarters. But, with his mind centered upon his work, Leroux wrote on ceaselessly.

An odd figure of a man was this popular novelist, with patchy and untidy hair which lessened the otherwise striking contour of his brow. A neglected and unpicturesque figure, in a baggy, neutral-colored dressing-gown; a figure more fitted to a garret than to this spacious, luxurious workroom, with the soft light playing upon rank after rank of rare and costly editions, deepening the tones in the Persian carpet, making red morocco more red, purifying the vellum

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220 in our way until we suddenly turned southeast and entered the little village of Roslyn. I say little, because not more than twenty houses are there, and these are all small except one. It is high, however, so much so that from it we looked down on the ruined castle, although the elevation of the castle above the country around is very great. On inquiry, we were assured that the chapel was the only remaining edifice worthy of attention. We walked down to it and entered an enclosure, when before us stood the remains of the once magnificent Chapel of Roslyn. What volumes of thoughts rushed into my mind. I, who had read of the place years before, who knew by tradition the horrors of the times subsequent to the founding of the edifice, now confronted reality. I saw the marks of sacrilegious outrage on objects silent themselves and which had been raised in adoration to God. Strange that times which produced such beautiful works of art should allow the thief and the murderer to go almost unpunished. This Gothic chapel is a superb relic; each stone is beautifully carved, and each differs from all the others. The ten pillars and five arches are covered with the finest fret-work, and all round are seen the pedestals that once supported the images that Knox's party were wont to destroy without thought or reason. I went down some mouldering steps into the Sacristy, but found only bare walls, decaying very fast; yet here a curious plant was growing, of a verdigris color. To reach the castle we went down and along a narrow ridge, on each side of which the ground went abruptly to the bottom of a narrow, steep valley, through which a small, petulant stream rushed with great rapidity over a rocky bed. This guards three sides of the promontory on which Roslyn Castle once was; for now only a few masses of rubbish were to be seen, and a house of modern structure occupies nearly the original site. In its day it must have been a powerful structure, but now, were it existing, cannon could destroy

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 and regilding the gold of the choice bindings, caressing lovingly the busts and statuettes surmounting the book-shelves, and twinkling upon the scantily-covered crown of Henry Leroux. The door bell rang.

Leroux, heedless of external matters, pursued his work. But the door bell rang again and continued to ring.

“Soames! Soames!” Leroux raised his voice irascibly, continuing to write the while. “Where the devil are you! Can’t you hear the door bell?”

Soames did not reveal himself; and to the ringing of the bell was added the unmistakable rattling of a letter-box.

“Soames!” Leroux put down his pen and stood up. “Damn it! he’s out! I have no memory!”

He retied the girdle of his dressing-gown, which had become unfastened, and opened the study door. Opposite, across the entrance lobby, was the outer door; and in the light from the lobby lamp he perceived two laughing eyes peering in under the upraised flap of the letter-box. The ringing ceased.

“Are you very angry with me for interrupting you?” cried a girl’s voice.

“My dear Miss Cumberly!” said Leroux without irritation; “on the contrary—er—I am delighted to see you—or rather to hear you. There is nobody at home, you know.”…

“I do know,” replied the girl firmly, “and I know something else, also. Father assures me that

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 you simply starve yourself when Mrs. Leroux is away! So I have brought down an omelette!”

“Omelette!” muttered Leroux, advancing toward the door; “you have—er—brought an omelette! I understand—yes; you have brought an omelette? Er—that is very good of you.”

He hesitated when about to open the outer door, raising his hands to his dishevelled hair and unshaven chin. The flap of the letter-box dropped; and the girl outside could be heard stifling her laughter.

“You must think me—er—very rude,” began Leroux; “I mean—not to open the door. But”…

“I quite understand,” concluded the voice of the unseen one. “You are a most untidy object! And I shall tell Mira directly she returns that she has no right to leave you alone like this! Now I am going to hurry back upstairs; so you may appear safely. Don’t let the omelette get cold. Good night!”

“No, certainly I shall not!” cried Leroux. “So good of you—I—er—do like omelette.… Good night!”

Calmly he returned to his writing-table, where, in the pursuit of the elusive character whose exploits he was chronicling and who had brought him fame and wealth, he forgot in the same moment Helen Cumberly and the omelette.

The table-clock ticked merrily on; scratch—scratch—splutter—scratch—went Henry

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 pen; for this up-to-date litterateur, essayist by inclination, creator of “Martin Zeda, Criminal Scientist” by popular clamor, was yet old-fashioned enough, and sufficient of an enthusiast, to pen his work, while lesser men dictated.

So, amidst that classic company, smiling or frowning upon him from the oaken shelves, where Petronius Arbiter, exquisite, rubbed shoulders with Balzac, plebeian; where Omar Khayyam leaned confidentially toward Philostratus; where Mark Twain, standing squarely beside Thomas Carlyle, glared across the room at George Meredith, Henry Leroux pursued the amazing career of “Martin Zeda.”

It wanted but five minutes to the hour of midnight, when again the door bell clamored in the silence.

Leroux wrote steadily on. The bell continued to ring, and, furthermore, the ringer could be heard beating upon the outer door.

“Soames!” cried Leroux irritably, “Soames! Why the hell don’t you go to the door!”

Leroux stood up, dashing his pen upon the table.

“I shall have to sack that damned man!” he cried; “he takes too many liberties—stopping out until this hour of the night!”

He pulled open the study door, crossed the hallway, and opened the door beyond.

In, out of the darkness—for the stair lights had been extinguished—staggered a woman; a woman whose pale face exhibited, despite the ravages of sorrow or illness, signs of quite unusual beauty.

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 Her eyes were wide opened, and terror-stricken, the pupils contracted almost to vanishing point. She wore a magnificent cloak of civet fur wrapped tightly about her, and, as Leroux opened the door, she tottered past him into the lobby, glancing back over her shoulder.

With his upraised hands plunged pathetically into the mop of his hair, Leroux turned and stared at the intruder. She groped as if a darkness had descended, clutched at the sides of the study doorway, and then, unsteadily, entered—and sank down upon the big chesterfield in utter exhaustion.

Leroux, rubbing his chin, perplexedly, walked in after her. He scarcely had his foot upon the study carpet, ere the woman started up, tremulously, and shot out from the enveloping furs a bare arm and a pointing, quivering finger.

“Close the door!” she cried hoarsely—“close the door!…He has…followed me!”…

The disturbed novelist, as a man in a dream, turned, retraced his steps, and closed the outer door of the flat. Then, rubbing his chin more vigorously than ever and only desisting from this exercise to fumble in his dishevelled hair, he walked back into the study, whose Athenean calm had thus mysteriously been violated.

Two minutes to midnight; the most respectable flat in respectable Westminster; a lonely and very abstracted novelist—and a pale-faced, beautiful woman, enveloped in costly furs, sitting staring with

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 fearful eyes straight before her. This was such a scene as his sense of the proprieties and of the probabilities could never have permitted Henry Leroux to create.

His visitor kept moistening her dry lips and swallowing, emotionally.

Standing at a discreet distance from her:—

“Madam,” began Leroux, nervously.

She waved her hand, enjoining him to silence, and at the same time intimating that she would explain herself directly speech became possible. Whilst she sought to recover her composure, Leroux, gradually forcing himself out of the dreamlike state, studied her with a sort of anxious curiosity.

It now became apparent to him that his visitor was no more than twenty-five or twenty-six years of age, but illness or trouble, or both together, had seared and marred her beauty. Amid the auburn masses of her hair, gleamed streaks, not of gray, but of purest white. The low brow was faintly wrinkled, and the big—unnaturally big—eyes were purple shaded; whilst two heavy lines traced their way from the corner of the nostrils to the corner of the mouth—of the drooping mouth with the bloodless lips.

Her pallor became more strange and interesting the longer he studied it; for, underlying the skin was a yellow tinge which he found inexplicable, but which he linked in his mind with the contracted

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 pupils of her eyes, seeking vainly for a common cause.

He had a hazy impression that his visitor, beneath her furs, was most inadequately clothed; and seeking confirmation of this, his gaze strayed downward to where one little slippered foot peeped out from the civet furs.

Leroux suppressed a gasp. He had caught a glimpse of a bare ankle!

He crossed to his writing-table, and seated himself, glancing sideways at this living mystery. Suddenly she began, in a voice tremulous and scarcely audible:—

“Mr. Leroux, at a great—at a very great personal risk, I have come to-night. What I have to ask of you—to entreat of you, will… will”…

Two bare arms emerged from the fur, and she began clutching at her throat and bosom as though choking—dying.

Leroux leapt up and would have run to her; but forcing a ghastly smile, she waved him away again.

“It is all right,” she muttered, swallowing noisily.

But frightful spasms of pain convulsed her, contorting her pale face.

“Some brandy—!” cried Leroux, anxiously.

“If you please,” whispered the visitor.

She dropped her arms and fell back upon the chesterfield, insensible.

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Rh it in a few hours, if they were placed on the opposite hills. A large meadow lay below us, covered with bleaching linen, and the place where we stood was perfectly lonely, not even the reviving chirp of a single bird could be heard, and my heart sank low while my mind was engaged in recollections of the place. In silence we turned and left the Castle and the little village, and returned by another route to busy Edinburgh. The people were just coming out of church, and as I walked along I felt a tap on my shoulder and heard good Mr. Neill say, "Where are you going at the rate of six miles an hour?" and he took me home to dine with him, after we had been to my lodgings, where I put my feet in ice cold water for ten minutes, when I felt as fresh as ever.

March 19, 1827. This day my hair was sacrificed, and the will of God usurped by the wishes of man. As the barber clipped my locks rapidly, it reminded me of the horrible times of the French Revolution when the same operation was performed upon all the victims murdered at the guillotine; my heart sank low. JOHN J. AUDUBON. Shortly after breakfast I received a note from Captain Hall, and another from his brother, both filled with entreaties couched in strong terms that I should alter my hair before I went to London. Good God! if Thy works are hated by man it must be with Thy permission. I sent for a barber, and my hair was mowed off in a trice. I knew I was acting weakly, but rather than render my good friend miserable about it, I suffered the loss patiently.

March 20. I visited Mr. Hays at his office, and had the pleasure of seeing all the curious ancient manuscripts, letters, mandates, Acts of Parliament, etc., connected with the official events of Scotland with England for upwards

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 of three hundred years past. Large volumes are written on parchment, by hand, and must have been works of immense labor. The volumes containing the mere transfers of landed estates filed within the last forty years amounted to almost three thousand, and the parcels of ancient papers filled many rooms in bundles and in bags of leather, covered with dust, and mouldering with age. The learned antiquarian, Mr. Thompson, has been at great pains to put in order all these valuable and curious documents. The edifice of the Registry is immense, and the long, narrow passages proved a labyrinth to me. Mr. Hays' allotted portion of curiosities consists of Heraldry, and I saw the greatest display of coats of arms of all sorts, emblazoned in richest style on sleek vellum and parchment.

March 21. Called on Miss D——, the fair American. To my surprise I saw the prints she had received the evening before quite abused and tumbled. This, however, was not my concern, and I regretted it only on her account, that so little care should be taken of a book that in fifty years will be sold at immense prices because of its rarity. The wind blew great guns all morning. Finding it would be some days before my business would permit me to leave, I formed an agreement to go to see the interior of the Castle, the regalia, and other curiosities of the place to-morrow. I received a valuable letter of introduction to the Secretary of the Home Department, Mr. Peel, from the Lord Advocate of Scotland, given me at the particular request of the Countess of Morton, a most charming lady; the Earl of Morton would have written himself but for the low state of his health.

March 22. After lunch the Rev. Wm. Newbold and I proceeded to the Castle; the wind blew furiously, and

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EROUX clutched at the corner of the writing-table to steady himself and stood there looking at the deathly face. Under the most favorable circumstances, he was no man of action, although in common with the rest of his kind he prided himself upon the possession of that presence of mind which he lacked. It was a situation which could not have alarmed “Martin Zeda,” but it alarmed, immeasurably, nay, struck inert with horror, Martin Zeda’s creator.

Then, in upon Leroux’s mental turmoil, a sensible idea intruded itself.

“Dr. Cumberly!” he muttered. “I hope to God he is in!”

Without touching the recumbent form upon the chesterfield, without seeking to learn, without daring to learn, if she lived or had died, Leroux, the tempo of his life changed to a breathless gallop, rushed out of the study, across the entrance hall, and, throwing wide the flat door, leapt up the stair to the flat above—that of his old friend, Dr. Cumberly.

The patter of the slippered feet grew faint upon the stair; then, as Leroux reached the landing above, became inaudible altogether.

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 In Leroux’s study, the table-clock ticked merrily on, seeming to hasten its ticking as the hand crept around closer and closer to midnight. The mosaic shade of the lamp mingled reds and blues and greens upon the white ceiling above and poured golden light upon the pages of manuscript strewn about beneath it. This was a typical work-room of a literary man having the ear of the public—typical in every respect, save for the fur-clad figure outstretched upon the settee.

And now the peeping light indiscreetly penetrated to the hem of a silken garment revealed by some disarrangement of the civet fur. To the eye of an experienced observer, had such an observer been present in Henry Leroux’s study, this billow of silk and lace behind the sheltering fur must have proclaimed itself the edge of a night-robe, just as the ankle beneath had proclaimed itself to Henry Leroux’s shocked susceptibilities to be innocent of stocking.

Thirty seconds were wanted to complete the cycle of the day, when one of the listless hands thrown across the back of the chesterfield opened and closed spasmodically. The fur at the bosom of the midnight visitor began rapidly to rise and fall.

Then, with a choking cry, the woman struggled upright; her hair, hastily dressed, burst free of its bindings and poured in gleaming cascade down about her shoulders.

Clutching with one hand at her cloak in order to

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Rh no smoke interfered with the objects I wished to see. We passed a place called the "Mound," a thrown-up mass of earth connecting now the New with the Old city of Edinburgh. We soon reached the gates of the Castle, and I perceived plainly that I was looked upon as an officer from the continent. Strange! three days ago I was taken for a priest, quick transition caused only by the clipping of my locks. We crossed the drawbridge and looked attentively at the deep and immense dried ditches below, passed through the powerful double gates, all necessary securities to such a place. We ascended continually until we reached the parapets where the King stood during his visit, bowing, I am told, to the gaping multitude below, his hat off, and proud enough, no doubt, of his high station. My hat was also off, but under different impulses; I was afraid that the wind would rob me of it suddenly. I did not bow to the people, but I looked with reverence and admiration on the beauties of nature and of art that surrounded me, with a pleasure seldom felt before. The ocean was rugged with agitated waves as far as the eye could reach eastwardly; not a vessel dared spread its sails, so furious was the gale. The high mountains of wild Scotland now and then faintly came to our view as the swift-moving clouds passed, and suffered the sun to cast a momentary glance at them. The coast of the Frith of Forth exhibited handsome villas, and noblemen's seats, bringing at once before me the civilization of man, and showing how weak and insignificant we all are. My eyes followed the line of the horizon and stopped at a couple of small elevations, that I knew to be the home of the Countess of Morton; then I turned to the immense city below, where men looked like tiny dwarfs, and horses smaller than sheep. To the east lay the Old Town, and now and then came to my ears the music of a band as the squall for a moment abated. I could have remained here a whole day, but my companion called, and I followed

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 keep it wrapped about her, and holding the other blindly before her, she rose, and with that same odd, groping movement, began to approach the writing-table. The pupils of her eyes were mere pin-points now; she shuddered convulsively, and her skin was dewed with perspiration. Her breath came in agonized gasps.

“God!—I…am dying…and I cannot—tell him!” she breathed.

Feverishly, weakly, she took up a pen, and upon a quarto page, already half filled with Leroux’s small, neat, illegible writing, began to scrawl a message, bending down, one hand upon the table, and with her whole body shaking.

Some three or four wavering lines she had written, when intimately, for the flat of Henry Leroux in Palace Mansions lay within sight of the clock-face—Big Ben began to chime midnight.

The writer started back and dropped a great blot of ink upon the paper; then, realizing the cause of the disturbance, forced herself to continue her task.

The chime being completed: One! boomed the clock; two!…three!…four!…

The light in the entrance-hall went out!

Five! boomed Big Ben;—six!…seven!…

A hand, of old ivory hue, a long, yellow, clawish hand, with part of a sinewy forearm, crept in from the black lobby through the study doorway and touched the electric switch!

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 Eight!…

The study was plunged in darkness!

Uttering a sob—a cry of agony and horror that came from her very soul—the woman stood upright and turned to face toward the door, clutching the sheet of paper in one rigid hand.

Through the leaded panes of the window above the writing-table swept a silvern beam of moonlight. It poured, searchingly, upon the fur-clad figure swaying by the table; cutting through the darkness of the room like some huge scimitar, to end in a pallid pool about the woman’s shadow on the center of the Persian carpet.

Coincident with her sobbing cry—Nine! boomed Big Ben; ten!…

Two hands—with outstretched, crooked, clutching fingers—leapt from the darkness into the light of the moonbeam.

“God! Oh, God!” came a frenzied, rasping shriek—“Mr. King!”

Straight at the bare throat leapt the yellow hands; a gurgling cry rose—fell—and died away.

Gently, noiselessly, the lady of the civet fur sank upon the carpet by the table; as she fell, a dim black figure bent over her. The tearing of paper told of the note being snatched from her frozen grip; but never for a moment did the face or the form of her assailant encroach upon the moonbeam.

Batlike, this second and terrible visitant avoided the light.

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 The deed had occupied so brief a time that but one note of the great bell had accompanied it.

Twelve! rang out the final stroke from the clock-tower. A low, eerie whistle, minor, rising in three irregular notes and falling in weird, unusual cadence to silence again, came from somewhere outside the room.

Then darkness—stillness—with the moon a witness of one more ghastly crime.

Presently, confused and intermingled voices from above proclaimed the return of Leroux with the doctor. They were talking in an excited key, the voice of Leroux, especially, sounding almost hysterical. They created such a disturbance that they attracted the attention of Mr. John Exel, M. P., occupant of the flat below, who at that very moment had returned from the House and was about to insert the key in the lock of his door. He looked up the stairway, but, all being in darkness, was unable to detect anything. Therefore he called out:—

“Is that you, Leroux? Is anything the matter?”

“Matter, Exel!” cried Leroux; “there’s a devil of a business! For mercy’s sake, come up!”

His curiosity greatly excited, Mr. Exel mounted the stairs, entering the lobby of Leroux’s flat immediately behind the owner and Dr. Cumberly—who, like Leroux, was arrayed in a dressing-gown; for he had been in bed when summoned by his friend.

“You are all in the dark, here,” muttered Dr. Cumberly, fumbling for the switch.

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Rh “Some one has turned the light out!” whispered Leroux, nervously; “I left it on.”

Dr. Cumberly pressed the switch, turning up the lobby light as Exel entered from the landing. Then Leroux, entering the study first of the three, switched on the light there, also.

One glance he threw about the room, then started back like a man physically stricken.

“Cumberly!” he gasped, “Cumberly”—and he pointed to the furry heap by the writing-table.

“You said she lay on the chesterfield,” muttered Cumberly.

“I left her there.”…

Dr. Cumberly crossed the room and dropped upon his knees. He turned the white face toward the light, gently parted the civet fur, and pressed his ear to the silken covering of the breast. He started slightly and looked into the glazing eyes.

Replacing the fur which he had disarranged, the physician stood up and fixed a keen gaze upon the face of Henry Leroux. The latter swallowed noisily, moistening his parched lips.

“Is she”…he muttered; “is she”…

“God’s mercy, Leroux!” whispered Mr. Exel—“what does this mean?”

“The woman is dead,” said Dr. Cumberly.

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 there, and recognized, horror and consternation. With no further evidence than that furnished by his own powers of perception, he knew that the mystery of this woman’s death was as inexplicable to Henry Leroux as it was inexplicable to himself.

He was a masterful man, with the gray eyes of a diplomat, and he knew Leroux as did few men. He laid both hands upon the novelist’s shoulders.

“Brace up, old chap!” he said; “you will want all your wits about you.”

“I left her,” began Leroux, hesitatingly—“I left”…

“We know all about where you left her, Leroux,” interrupted Cumberly; “but what we want to get at is this: what occurred between the time you left her, and the time of our return?”

Exel, who had walked across to the table, and with a horror-stricken face was gingerly examining the victim, now exclaimed:—

“Why! Leroux! she is—she is…undressed!”

Leroux clutched at his dishevelled hair with both hands.

“My dear Exel!” he cried—“my dear, good man! Why do you use that tone? You say ‘she is undressed!’ as though I were responsible for the poor soul’s condition!”

“On the contrary, Leroux!” retorted Exel, standing very upright, and staring through his

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 monocle; “on the contrary, you misconstrue me! I did not intend to imply—to insinuate—”

“My dear Exel!” broke in Dr. Cumberly—“Leroux is perfectly well aware that you intended nothing unkindly. But the poor chap, quite naturally, is distraught at the moment. You must understand that, man!”

“I understand; and I am sorry,” said Exel, casting a sidelong glance at the body. “Of course, it is a delicate subject. No doubt Leroux can explain.”…

“Damn your explanation!” shrieked Leroux hysterically. “I cannot explain! If I could explain, I”…

“Leroux!” said Cumberly, placing his arm paternally about the shaking man—“you are such a nervous subject. Do make an effort, old fellow. Pull yourself together. Exel does not know the circumstances—”

“I am curious to learn them,” said the M. P. icily.

Leroux was about to launch some angry retort, but Cumberly forced him into the chesterfield, and crossing to a bureau, poured out a stiff peg of brandy from a decanter which stood there. Leroux sank upon the chesterfield, rubbing his fingers up and down his palms with a curious nervous movement and glancing at the dead woman, and at Exel, alternately, in a mechanical, regular fashion, pathetic to behold.

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 Mr. Exel, tapping his boot with the head of his inverted cane, was staring fixedly at the doctor.

“Here you are, Leroux,” said Cumberly; “drink this up, and let us arrange our facts in decent order before we—”

“'Phone for the police?” concluded Exel, his gaze upon the last speaker.

Leroux drank the brandy at a gulp and put down the glass upon a little persian coffee table with a hand which he had somehow contrived to steady.

“You are keen on the official forms, Exel?” he said, with a wry smile. “Please accept my apology for my recent—er—outburst, but picture this thing happening in your place!”

“I cannot,” declared Exel, bluntly.

“You lack imagination,” said Cumberly. “Take a whisky and soda, and help me to search the flat.”

“Search the flat!”

The physician raised a forefinger, forensically.

“Since you, Exel, if not actually in the building, must certainly have been within sight of the street entrance at the moment of the crime, and since Leroux and I descended the stair and met you on the landing, it is reasonable to suppose that the assassin can only be in one place: here!”

“Here!” cried Exel and Leroux, together.

“Did you see anyone leave the lower hall as you entered?”

“No one; emphatically, there was no one there!”

“Then I am right.”

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 “Good God!” whispered Exel, glancing about him, with a new, and keen apprehensiveness.

“Take your drink,” concluded Cumberly, “and join me in my search.”

“Thanks,” replied Exel, nervously proffering a cigar-case; “but I won’t drink.”

“As you wish,” said the doctor, who thus, in his masterful way, acted the host; “and I won’t smoke. But do you light up.”

“Later,” muttered Exel; “later. Let us search, first.”

Leroux stood up; Cumberly forced him back.

“Stay where you are, Leroux; it is elementary strategy to operate from a fixed base. This study shall be the base. Ready, Exel?”

Exel nodded, and the search commenced. Leroux sat rigidly upon the settee, his hands resting upon his knees, watching and listening. Save for the merry ticking of the table-clock, and the movements of the searchers from room to room, nothing disturbed the silence. From the table, and that which lay near to it, he kept his gaze obstinately averted.

Five or six minutes passed in this fashion, Leroux expecting each to bring a sudden outcry. He was disappointed. The searchers returned, Exel noticeably holding himself aloof and Cumberly very stern.

Exel, a cigar between his teeth, walked to the writing-table, carefully circling around the dreadful

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 obstacle which lay in his path, to help himself to a match. As he stooped to do so, he perceived that in the closed right hand of the dead woman was a torn scrap of paper.

“Leroux! Cumberly!” he exclaimed; “come here!”

He pointed with the match as Cumberly hurriedly crossed to his side. Leroux, inert, remained where he sat, but watched with haggard eyes. Dr. Cumberly bent down and sought to detach the paper from the grip of the poor cold fingers, without tearing it. Finally he contrived to release the fragment, and, perceiving it to bear some written words, he spread it out beneath the lamp, on the table, and eagerly scanned it, lowering his massive gray head close to the writing.

He inhaled, sibilantly.

“Do you see, Exel?” he jerked—for Exel was bending over his shoulder.

“I do—but I don’t understand.”

“What is it?” came hollowly from Leroux.

“It is the bottom part of an unfinished note,” said Cumberly, slowly. “It is written shakily in a woman’s hand, and it reads:—‘Your wife’”…

Leroux sprang to his feet and crossed the room in three strides.

“Wife!” he muttered. His voice seemed to be choked in his throat; “my wife! It says something about my wife?”

“It says,” resumed the doctor, quietly, “‘your

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 wife.’ Then there’s a piece torn out, and the two words ‘Mr. King.’ No stop follows, and the line is evidently incomplete.”

“My wife!” mumbled Leroux, staring unseeingly at the fragment of paper. “''My wife! Mr. King!'' Oh! God! I shall go mad!”

“Sit down!” snapped Dr. Cumberly, turning to him; “damn it, Leroux, you are worse than a woman!”

In a manner almost childlike, the novelist obeyed the will of the stronger man, throwing himself into an armchair, and burying his face in his hands.

“My wife!” he kept muttering—“my wife!”…

Exel and the doctor stood staring at one another; when suddenly, from outside the flat, came a metallic clattering, followed by a little suppressed cry. Helen Cumberly, in daintiest deshabille, appeared in the lobby, carrying, in one hand, a chafing-dish, and, in the other, the lid. As she advanced toward the study, from whence she had heard her father’s voice:—

“Why, Mr. Leroux!” she cried, “I shall certainly report you to Mira, now! You have not even touched the omelette!”

“Good God! Cumberly! stop her!” muttered Exel, uneasily. “The door was not latched!”…

But it was too late. Even as the physician turned to intercept his daughter, she crossed the threshold of the study. She stopped short at

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 Exel; then, with a woman’s unerring intuition, divined a tragedy, and, in the instant of divination, sought for, and found, the hub of the tragic wheel.

One swift glance she cast at the fur-clad form, prostrate.

The chafing-dish fell from her hand, and the omelette rolled, a grotesque mass, upon the carpet. She swayed, dizzily, raising one hand to her brow, but had recovered herself even as Leroux sprang forward to support her.

“All right, Leroux!” cried Cumberly; “I will take her upstairs again. Wait for me, Exel.”

Exel nodded, lighted his cigar, and sat down in a chair, remote from the writing-table.

“Mira—my wife!” muttered Leroux, standing, looking after Dr. Cumberly and his daughter as they crossed the lobby. “She will report to—my wife.”…

In the outer doorway, Helen Cumberly looked back over her shoulder, and her glance met that of Leroux. Hers was a healing glance and a strengthening glance; it braced him up as nothing else could have done. He turned to Exel.

“For Heaven’s sake, Exel!” he said, evenly, “give me your advice—give me your help; I am going to ’phone for the police.”

Exel looked up with an odd expression.

“I am entirely at your service, Leroux,” he said.

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 “I can quite understand how this ghastly affair has shaken you up.”

“It was so sudden,” said the other, plaintively. “It is incredible that so much emotion can be crowded into so short a period of a man’s life.”…

Big Ben chimed the quarter after midnight. Leroux, eyes averted, walked to the writing-table, and took up the telephone.

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40 Considered geographically, Mexico is, in the main, an immense table-land or plateau, which seems to be a flattening out of the Rocky and Sierra Nevada Mountains, and which, commencing within the territory of the United States as far north certainly as Central Colorado, and perhaps beyond, extends as far south as the Isthmus of Tehuantepec; a north and south length, measuring from the southern frontier-line of the United States, of about two thousand miles. Entering the country by the "Mexican Central Railway" at El Paso, where the plateau has already an elevation of 3,717 feet, the traveler progressively and rapidly ascends, though so gradually that, except for a détour, made obligatory in the construction of the road to climb up into the city of Zacatecas, he is hardly conscious of it, until, at a point known as Marquez, 1,148 miles from the starting-point and 76 miles from the city of Mexico, the railroad-track attains an elevation of 8,134 feet, or 1,849 higher than the summit of Mount Washington. In fact, as Humboldt, as far back as 1803, pointed out, so regular is the great plateau on the line followed by the "Central" road, and so gentle are its surface slopes where depressions occur, that the journey from the city of Mexico to Santa Fé, in New Mexico, might be performed in a four-wheeled vehicle.

From Marquez, or the railroad "summit," the

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Rh midnight, we came out together and I closed my door behind me. There was no light on the stair; but our conversation—Mr. Leroux was speaking in a very high-pitched voice”…

“What was he saying?”

“He was explaining to me how some woman, unknown to him, had interrupted his work a few minutes before by ringing his door-bell.”…

Inspector Dunbar held up his hand.

“I won’t ask you to repeat what he said, doctor; Mr. Leroux, presently, can give me his own words.”

“We had descended to this floor, then,” resumed Cumberly, “when Mr. Exel, entering below, called up to us, asking if anything was the matter. Leroux replied, ‘Matter, Exel! There’s a devil of a business! For mercy’s sake, come up!’”

“Well?”

“Mr. Exel thereupon joined us at the door of this flat.”

“Was it open?”

“Yes. Mr. Leroux had rushed up to me, leaving the door open behind him. The light was out, both in the lobby and in the study, a fact upon which I commented at the time. It was all the more curious as Mr. Leroux had left both lights on!”…

“Did he say so?”

“He did. The circumstances surprised him to a marked degree. We came in and I turned up the light in the lobby. Then Leroux, entering the study, turned up the light there, too. I entered next,

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Rh line descends rapidly, some six hundred feet, into the valley of the city of Mexico; which valley is really an elevated plain, thirty-one by forty-five miles in extent, having an average altitude of about 7,500 feet above the sea level, and inclosed by high and irregular mountain-ridges, from which rise two volcanic peaks—Popocatepetl and Iztaccihuatl—to the height of 17,884 and 15,705 feet respectively, and whose summits are covered with perpetual snows. And it is at the lowest point, and near the center of this valley, or plain, and surrounded by a group of lakes, which in turn are bordered by swamps, that the city of Mexico is located.

Starting next from the city of Mexico, and going east toward the Atlantic, or west toward the Pacific, for a distance in either direction of about one hundred and sixty miles, we come to the edge or terminus of this great plateau; so well defined and so abrupt, that in places it seems as if a single vigorous jump would land the experimenter, or all that was left of him, at from two to three thousand feet lower level.

The annexed cut approximately represents the profile of the country between the two oceans, and in the latitude of the city of Mexico.

Up the side of the almost precipice, which bounds the plateau on the east—tunneling through

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50 authorities it is estimated considerably higher, and as even approximating 12,000,000. Of the whole number, whatever it may be, fully nine tenths are believed to be located upon the high or table lands, and only one tenth on the lowlands of the east and west coasts.

So much, then, for Mexico, considered geographically or in respect to its natural conditions. Let us next, as a means of better comprehending its present condition, briefly consider its historical, social, and political experiences.

The authentic history of Mexico practically commences with its conquest and occupation by the Spaniards under Cortes in 1521. The general idea is, that the people whom the Spaniards found in Mexico had attained to a degree of civilization that raised them far above the level of the average Indians of North America, more especially in all that pertained to government, architecture, agriculture, manufactures, and the useful arts, and the production and accumulation of property. For all this there is certainly but very little foundation; and the fascinating narrations of Prescott, which have done so much to make what is popularly considered "Mexican history," as well as the Spanish chronicles from which Prescott drew his so-called historic data, are, in the opinion of the writer, and with the exception of the military record of the

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Rh Spaniards, little other than the merest romance; not much more worthy, in fact, of respect and credence than the equally fascinating stories of "Sindbad the Sailor." And, in defense and warrant for such an unusual and perhaps unpopular conclusion, attention is asked to the following circumstances and reasons:

In the Museum of the city of Mexico there is probably the best collection of the remains of the so-called Aztec people that ever has or probably ever will be gathered. Here, ranged upon shelves and properly classified, the visitor will see a large number and variety of their tools, weapons, and implements. Setting aside their fictile or pottery products, they are all of stone—the same arrowheads, the same stone hatchets, pestles, and the like, which are still picked up on the fields and along the water-courses of New England, the South, and the West; and of which there are so many public and private collections in the United States—no better than, and in some respects inferior in artistic merit and finish to, many like articles excavated from the Western mounds, or known to have been the work of our historic Indians; or to the arrow-heads and lance-tips which are still fabricated by the Shoshones and Flatheads on the Columbia and Snake Rivers. In all this large collection there is no evidence, save a very few copper

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 him to the room where the regalia are kept. We each wrote our names, paid our shilling, and the large padlock was opened by a red-faced, bulky personage dressed in a fanciful scarlet cloth, hanging about him like mouldering tapestry. A small oblong room, quite dark, lay before us; it was soon lighted, however, by our conductor. A high railing of iron, also of an oblong form, surrounded a table covered with scarlet cloth, on which lay an immense sword and its scabbard, two sceptres, a large, square, scarlet cushion ornamented with golden tassels, and above all the crown of Scotland. All the due explanations were cried out by our conductor, on whose face the reflection of all the red articles was so powerfully displayed just now that it looked like a large tomato, quite as glittering, but of a very different flavor, I assure thee. We looked at all till I was tired; not long did this take, for it had not one thousandth portion of the beauties I had seen from the parapet. We left the Castle intending to proceed to the stone quarries three miles distant, but the wind was now so fierce, and the dust so troubled my eyes, that the jaunt was put off till another day. I paid young Kidd three guineas for his picture. Have just had some bread and butter and will go to bed.

March 23. Young Kidd breakfasted with me, and no sooner had he gone than I set to and packed up. I felt very low-spirited; the same wind keeps blowing, and I am now anxious to be off to Mr. Selby's Newcastle, and my dear Green Bank. My head was so full of all manner of thoughts that I thought it was Saturday, instead of Friday, and at five o'clock I dressed in a great hurry and went to Mr. Henry Witham's with all possible activity. My Lucy, I was not expected till to-morrow! Mr. Witham was not at home, and his lady tried to induce me to remain and dine with her and her lovely daughter; but I declined, and marched home as much ashamed of my blunder as a fox who has lost his tail in a trap. Once before I made a

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42 or winding round a succession of mountain promontories—the "Vera Cruz and City of Mexico Railroad" has been constructed; "rising" or "falling"

—according to the direction traveled—over four thousand feet, in passing over a circuitous track of about twenty-five miles; and of which elevation or depression, about twenty-five hundred perpendicular feet are comprised within the first twelve miles, measured from the point where the descent from the edge of the plateau begins. To overcome this tremendous grade in ascending, a sort of double locomotive—comprising two sets of driving machinery, with the boilers in the center, and known as the "Farlie" engine—is employed; and even with this most powerful tractor it is necessary, with an ordinary train, to stop every eight or ten miles, in order to keep up a sufficient head of steam to over-come the resistance. In descending, on the other hand, only sufficient steam is necessary to work the brakes and counteract the tendency to a top rapid movement. As an achievement in engineering the road has probably no parallel, except it may be in some of the more recent and limited

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Rh constructions among the passes of Colorado; and, as might be expected, the cost of transportation over the entire distance of 263 miles, from Vera Cruz to the city of Mexico, is very heavy, although at an enormous reduction on the cost of all methods previously employed. When the road was first opened, the charges for first-class freight per ton were $76; second class, $65; and by passenger-trains, $97.77. Since the opening of, and under the influence of the competition of, the "Mexican Central," these rates have been reduced to an average of about $40 to $45 per ton, and still the business is understood to be not especially remunerative. Begun in 1857, this road was not completed, owing mainly to the disturbed state of the country, until 1873. It was built under English supervision, and with English capital, at a reported cost—including workshops and equipment—of about $27,000,000, although capitalized at $37,782,000, and is solid and excellent throughout. The parties—citizens of Mexico—to whom the concession for building the road was originally granted, also received in the way of subvention from the national Government, from the time the first concession was made in 1857 to the period of the completion of the road in 1873, the sum of $7,056,619. It is further claimed by the Mexican authorities that owing to extraordinary errors in commencing the

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44 of the road, and the intentional diversion of the line as projected by the engineers, in order to benefit certain factories and estates of the grantee of the road—Mr. Antonio Escandon—the length of the road was increased from 304 to 423 kilometres and entailing an unnecessary expenditure of $6,743,938. During the year 1876 the road was destroyed at different points by the revolutionists, and all traffic for a considerable time suspended. At the station "Esperanza," one hundred and fifty miles from the city of Mexico, on the farther side of a great sandy plain, and on the very verge of the plateau, and where the descent may be said to abruptly begin, the stations, engine-houses, and shops, built of dressed stone, are as massive and elegant as any of the best suburban stations on any of the British railways. And, as illustrating how rigidly the English engineers adhered to home rules and precedents, the constructions at this station include a very elegant and expensive arched bridge of dressed stone, with easy and extended approaches, to guard against danger in crossing the tracks; although, apart from the persons in the employ of the company, the resident population is very inconsiderable. Starting from this point in the early morning of the 27th of March, to make the descent to the

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text:
Author:John George Witt

Works

 * The Mutual Influence of the Christian Doctrine and the School of Alexandria, 1862
 * Then and Now, 1897
 * Life in the Law, 1900
 * Three Villages

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Rh comparatively level and low land intervening between the base of the plateau and the ocean, the ground at the station was white with hoar-frost; while behind it, apparently but a mile or two distant, and of not more than fifteen hundred to two thousand feet in elevation, rose the glistening, snow-covered cone of Orizaba. Within the cars, and even with closed windows, overcoats and shawls were essential. Within an hour, however, overcoats and shawls were discarded as uncomfortable. Within another hour the inclination was to get rid of every superfluous garment, while before noon the thermometers in the cars ranged from 90° to 95° Fahr., and the traveler found himself in the heart of the tropics, amid palms, orange-trees, coffee-plantations, fields of sugar-cane and bananas, almost naked Indians, and their picturesque though miserable huts of cane or stakes, plastered with mud and roofed with plantain-leaves or corn-stalks. In the descent, Orizaba (17,373 feet), which at the starting-point, and seen from an elevation of about 8,000 feet, is not impressive in respect to height, although beautiful, gradually rises, and finally, when seen from the level of the low or coast lands, becomes a most magnificent spectacle, far superior to Popocatepetl, which is higher, or any other Mexican mountain, but, in the opinion of the writer, inferior in sublimity to Tacoma in Washington

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46, the entire elevation of which last (14,300 feet) can, in some places, be taken in at a single glance from the sea-level and a water-foreground. The comparatively narrow and gently sloping strip of land which the traveler thus reaches on the Atlantic side in journeying from Mexico to Vera Cruz extends from the base of the great plateau to the ocean, and, with its counterpart on the Pacific side, constitutes in the main the so-called "Tierras Calientes" (hot lands), or the tropical part of Mexico. The average width of these coast-lands on the Atlantic is about sixty miles, while on the Pacific it varies from forty to seventy miles. Considered as a whole, the geographical configuration and position of Mexico have been compared to an immense cornucopia, with its mouth turned toward the United States and its concave side on the Atlantic; having an extreme length of about 2,000 miles, and a varying width of 1,100 miles (in latitude 25° north) to 130 miles at the Isthmus of Tehuantepec. Its territorial area is 139,700 square miles, or a little larger than that part of the United States which is situated east of the Mississippi River, exclusive of the States of Wisconsin and Mississippi; and this cornucopia in turn, as has been before intimated, consists of an immense table-land, nine tenths of which have an average elevation of from 5,000 to 7,000 feet. Such an elevation

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. Subject to this interruption Hannen sat regularly in the House of Lords and the judicial committee of the privy council until his death, which occurred at his house in Lancaster Gate on 29 March 1894; he was buried in Norwood cemetery. He married, on 4 Feb. 1847, Mary Elizabeth, second daughter of Nicholas Winsland, who died on 1 Dec. 1872, and he left a family surviving him.

A portrait of him by T. Blake Wirgman is in the possession of his son, the Hon. James Hannen, and a replica belongs to the benchers of the Middle Temple. Hannen's personal appearance and manner accorded in the most striking manner with the popular conception of a judge, as a grave, tranquil, impartial, and venerable officer. He had a peculiar gift for making his meaning perfectly clear in the fewest words, and could indicate rebuke by a word or an intonation. He was consequently master of his own court, and of every one that appeared before him, to an unusual degree, and the business before him was conducted with the happiest combination of deliberation and despatch.

General contemporary opinion of Hannen as a judge was expressed with but little exaggeration by Lord Coleridge when he said, sitting in the divorce court on the day of Hannen's funeral: 'If there has been a greater English judge during the seventy-three years of my life than Lord Hannen, it has not been my good fortune to see him or to know him,' and in the course of the same observations he described him as 'a man of great ability, of remarkable learning, of an intellect strong, capacious, penetrating, powerful, with a singular grasp of facts, and a great power of dealing with them when they were grasped like a master.' On the same day Sir F. Jeune, who had succeeded Hannen as president of the probate division, said: 'Lord Hannen pronounced many judgments which have become landmarks in the law. They are couched in that accurate and dignified language of which he was so great a master. But speaking in the presence of those who know I venture to say that his fame is even more securely based on his careful, his independent, and his decorous administration of justice day by day.'

[Times, 30 March 1894; Foster's Men at the Bar; G. E. C[okayne]'s Complete Peerage, iv. 157-8, viii. 415; private information.]  HARBORD, WILLIAM (1635?–1692), politician, born about 1635, was second son of Sir Charles Harbord by Mary Van Alst (, Northamptonshire, ii. 172). Sir Charles Harbord, who was knighted by Charles I on 29 May 1636, was surveyor-general of the land revenues of the crown under Charles I and Charles II (, Book of Knights, p. 194; Cal. State Papers, Dom. 1633-4, p. 70). He represented Launceston in the parliaments of 1661, 1678, and 1679, and many of his speeches are printed in Grey's 'Debates' (cf. iii. 46, 358). Burnet describes him as very rich and very covetous (Own Time, ed. Airy, ii. 87), and his reputation is severely handled in a pamphlet termed 'A List of the principal Labourers in the great Design of Popery and Arbitrary Government,' 1677, 4to, p. 3. He died in June 1679.

William Harbord is described as aged 26 in July 1661 (, London Marriage Licences, p. 621). During the Protectorate he travelled and was probably engaged in trade in Turkey (, Debates, v. 41). His political career begins in 1672, when hein 1661, when he was returned to the House of Commons for Clifton, Dartmouth, and Hardness borough. In 1672 he [sic] became secretary to the Earl of Essex (Capel, Arthur), lord lieutenant of Ireland, and was charged to keep him informed of political affairs in England, and to act as his representative in parliament and court (, Debates, ii. 437;, Essex Papers, i. 184, 195, 205). Essex thought Harbord 'a very quick man for despatch of business,' but did not trust him too far (ib. i. 143).

In October 1673 Harbord signalised himself by attacking the speaker, Sir Edward Seymour, as unfit for the post he occupied (ib. i. 140; Letters to Sir Joseph Williamson, ii. 70;, Debates, ii. 188; viii. 79). But though this made him unpopular at court he nevertheless was granted (28 May 1674) a pension of 500l. per annum on the Irish military establishment (Rawlinson MS. B. 492, f. 137). In the debates of 1676-8 Harbord spoke often against the alliance with France (, iv. 176, 198, 387; v. 43), and pressed for the removal of all papists from the king's person (ib. vi. 87, 205, 258). He was a firm believer in the reality of the popish plot, and in concert with Ralph Montagu, afterwards Duke of Montagu [q. v.], whom he helped to get into parliament, took an important part in the attack on Danby (ib. vi. 345, 387). In the parliament of 1679, in which he represented Thetford, he spoke against Danby's pardon, attacked Lauderdale, and was eager for the disbanding of the army (ib. vii. 23. 64, 173, 193). Barillon in his letters describes Harbord as very serviceable, and states that he paid him 500 guineas, but it is possible that the money was embezzled by Coleman. Harbord's own remarks on Barillon, and his conduct with respect to Coleman, may be


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 either as a proof of his corruption or the reverse (, Memoirs, i. 338, 382;, v. 241, vi. 155, viii. 141; , The First Whig, p. 25).

Harbord sat in the parliaments of 1680 and 1681 as member for Launceston, in place of his father, and was more violent than ever against popery, against the succession of the Duke of York, and against Tory petitioners. He attacked Halifax as responsible for the dissolution of the parliament of 1679, and urged his removal from the king's councils (, vii. 387, 427, 439; viii. 24). He promoted the scheme for a protestant association, rejected all compromises, and persisted in demanding the acceptance of the exclusion bill (ib. viii. 155, 297, 324). But with more discretion than many of his friends, Harbord shrank from supporting Monmouth's claims to the throne, and said that the only thing to be done in case of the succession of a Roman catholic prince was to make William of Orange protector. He charged his friend Henry Sidney, afterwards Earl of Romney [q. v.], to tell William that no man in the kingdom wished him better, or was more his friend, and that none loved that 'honest plain-dealing people,' the Dutch, more than he did. As early as 1680 he thought of taking refuge in Holland with his family, and it is possible that he subsequently carried out this intention (Diary of Henry Sidney, i. 8, 80 ; ii. 24), for he seems to have been out of England during the whole of James II's reign. In January 1686 Harbord was summoned to appear before the privy council within fourteen days, but disobeyed the summons (, Correspondence, i. 27). In the same year he served as a volunteer in the imperialist army at the siege of Buda, fell ill, and, desiring to avail himself of James II's proclamation of general pardon, petitioned for an extension of time in his favour (Rawlinson MS. A. 189, f. 249 ;, Correspondence, p. 297; Autobiography of Sir John Bramston, p. 236). This was evidently refused, and in November 1688 Harbord accompanied William of Orange in his expedition to England. William appointed him to act as commissary-general and to raise money in the west for the support of the army (, Original Letters, iv. 180). Harbord was extremely bitter against James II, declaring publicly that he and other supporters of the prince had no need of the king's pardon, but that they would bring the king to ask pardon of them 'for the wrongs he had done' (, Diary, ed. Singer, ii. 217, 219, 221). Yet in spite of his attachment to William he protested vehemently against the proposal to reduce Mary to the position of a queen consort, saying that he would never have drawn a sword on the prince's side if he could have imagined him capable of such usage to his wife (Works of John Sheffield, Duke of Buckingham, ed. 1739, ii. xxxi, Appendix).

William III appointed Harbord paymaster-general and a member of the privy council (, Diary, i. 492, 510). In parliament he took little part in the constitutional debates, but was very active in representing the pecuniary necessities of the new government (, Debates, ix. 12, 36, 54, 161, 178, 184). But he was eager to exclude delinquents from pardon, and proposed that a couple of judges should be hanged at the gate of Westminster Hall (ib. ix. 251-6, 316, 379). The language he used about the government of Charles II threatened to lead to a duel, which the intervention of the house prevented (ib. ix. 234). Harbord was prominent in all debates about Irish affairs, and advocated a drastic system of land confiscation (ib. x. 40). In September 1689 he followed Schomberg to Ireland, where he wrote a very detailed account of the condition of the English army (Cal. State Papers, Dom. 1689-90, pp. 276, 293). Schomberg explained to Harbord his reasons for remaining in the entrenched camp at Dundalk instead of attacking the Irish army (ib. p. 299;, Memoirs, i. 252). According to him the sufferings of the English troops were largely due to Harbord's mismanagement or avarice (, Memoirs, ii. Appendix, pp. 177-80). Nevertheless, though Harbord was removed from his post of paymaster in March 1690, he was appointed vice-treasurer of Ireland in November (. ii. 24; Cal. State Papers, Dom. 1690-1, p. 167).

Harbord was also employed as a diplomatist. In July 1690 he was sent to Holland to apologise for the conduct of Torrington at the battle of Beachy Head (ib. pp. 51, 99;, ii. 79, 91). In November 1691, at his own suggestion, he was appointed ambassador to Turkey in order to mediate between the sultan and the emperor, and to set the imperial forces free for the war with France (, ii. 307, 362, 380, 499;, Fall des Hauses Stuart, v. 301, vi. 97; , iv. 178, ed. 1833). He died on his way at Belgrade on 31 July 1692 (, ii. 172;, ii. 555).

Harbord married twice: first, Mary, daughter and co-heiress of Arthur Duck of Chiswick, Middlesex, in 1661. Through her he obtained a part of Grafton Park, Northamptonshire, of which he afterwards purchased the remainder (, ii. 172; Cal. State


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Baldwyn, Edward


text:
President Carter's Address to the Nation on Proposed National Energy Policy

Good evening.

Tonight I want to have an unpleasant talk with you about a problem unprecedented in our history. With the exception of preventing war, this is the greatest challenge our country will face during our lifetimes. The energy crisis has not yet overwhelmed us, but it will if we do not act quickly.

It is a problem we will not solve in the next few years, and it is likely to get progressively worse through the rest of this century.

We must not be selfish or timid if we hope to have a decent world for our children and grandchildren.

We simply must balance our demand for energy with our rapidly shrinking resources. By acting now, we can control our future instead of letting the future control us.

Two days from now, I will present my energy proposals to the Congress. Its members will be my partners and they have already given me a great deal of valuable advice. Many of these proposals will be unpopular. Some will cause you to put up with inconveniences and to make sacrifices.

The most important thing about these proposals is that the alternative may be a national catastrophe. Further delay can affect our strength and our power as a nation.

Our decision about energy will test the character of the American people and the ability of the President and the Congress to govern. This difficult effort will be the "moral equivalent of war" — except that we will be uniting our efforts to build and not destroy.

I know that some of you may doubt that we face real energy shortages. The 1973 gasoline lines are gone, and our homes are warm again. But our energy problem is worse tonight than it was in 1973 or a few weeks ago in the dead of winter. It is worse because more waste has occurred, and more time has passed by without our planning for the future. And it will get worse every day until we act.

The oil and natural gas we rely on for 75 percent of our energy are running out. In spite of increased effort, domestic production has been dropping steadily at about six percent a year. Imports have doubled in the last five years. Our nation's independence of economic and political action is becoming increasingly constrained. Unless profound changes are made to lower oil consumption, we now believe that early in the 1980s the world will be demanding more oil that it can produce.

The world now uses about 60 million barrels of oil a day and demand increases each year about 5 percent. This means that just to stay even we need the production of a new Texas every year, an Alaskan North Slope every nine months, or a new Saudi Arabia every three years. Obviously, this cannot continue.

We must look back in history to understand our energy problem. Twice in the last several hundred years there has been a transition in the way people use energy.

The first was about 200 years ago, away from wood — which had provided about 90 percent of all fuel — to coal, which was more efficient. This change became the basis of the Industrial Revolution.

The second change took place in this century, with the growing use of oil and natural gas. They were more convenient and cheaper than coal, and the supply seemed to be almost without limit. They made possible the age of automobile and airplane travel. Nearly everyone who is alive today grew up during this age and we have never known anything different.

Because we are now running out of gas and oil, we must prepare quickly for a third change, to strict conservation and to the use of coal and permanent renewable energy sources, like solar power.

The world has not prepared for the future. During the 1950s, people used twice as much oil as during the 1940s. During the 1960s, we used twice as much as during the 1950s. And in each of those decades, more oil was consumed than in all of mankind's previous history.

World consumption of oil is still going up. If it were possible to keep it rising during the 1970s and 1980s by 5 percent a year as it has in the past, we could use up all the proven reserves of oil in the entire world by the end of the next decade.

I know that many of you have suspected that some supplies of oil and gas are being withheld. You may be right, but suspicions about oil companies cannot change the fact that we are running out of petroleum.

All of us have heard about the large oil fields on Alaska's North Slope. In a few years when the North Slope is producing fully, its total output will be just about equal to two years' increase in our nation's energy demand.

Each new inventory of world oil reserves has been more disturbing than the last. World oil production can probably keep going up for another six or eight years. But some time in the 1980s it can't go up much more. Demand will overtake production. We have no choice about that.

But we do have a choice about how we will spend the next few years. Each American uses the energy equivalent of 60 barrels of oil per person each year. Ours is the most wasteful nation on earth. We waste more energy than we import. With about the same standard of living, we use twice as much energy per person as do other countries like Germany, Japan and Sweden.

One choice is to continue doing what we have been doing before. We can drift along for a few more years.

Our consumption of oil would keep going up every year. Our cars would continue to be too large and inefficient. Three-quarters of them would continue to carry only one person — the driver — while our public transportation system continues to decline. We can delay insulating our houses, and they will continue to lose about 50 percent of their heat in waste.

We can continue using scarce oil and natural to generate electricity, and continue wasting two-thirds of their fuel value in the process.

If we do not act, then by 1985 we will be using 33 percent more energy than we do today.

We can't substantially increase our domestic production, so we would need to import twice as much oil as we do now. Supplies will be uncertain. The cost will keep going up. Six years ago, we paid $3.7 billion for imported oil. Last year we spent $37 billion — nearly ten times as much — and this year we may spend over $45 billion.

Unless we act, we will spend more than $550 billion for imported oil by 1985 — more than $2,500 a year for every man, woman, and child in America. Along with that money we will continue losing American jobs and becoming increasingly vulnerable to supply interruptions.

Now we have a choice. But if we wait, we will live in fear of embargoes. We could endanger our freedom as a sovereign nation to act in foreign affairs. Within ten years we would not be able to import enough oil — from any country, at any acceptable price.

If we wait, and do not act, then our factories will not be able to keep our people on the job with reduced supplies of fuel. Too few of our utilities will have switched to coal, our most abundant energy source.

We will not be ready to keep our transportation system running with smaller, more efficient cars and a better network of buses, trains and public transportation.

We will feel mounting pressure to plunder the environment. We will have a crash program to build more nuclear plants, strip-mine and burn more coal, and drill more offshore wells than we will need if we begin to conserve now. Inflation will soar, production will go down, people will lose their jobs. Intense competition will build up among nations and among the different regions within our own country.

If we fail to act soon, we will face an economic, social and political crisis that will threaten our free institutions.

But we still have another choice. We can begin to prepare right now. We can decide to act while there is time.

That is the concept of the energy policy we will present on Wednesday. Our national energy plan is based on ten fundamental principles.

The first principle is that we can have an effective and comprehensive energy policy only if the government takes responsibility for it and if the people understand the seriousness of the challenge and are willing to make sacrifices.

The second principle is that healthy economic growth must continue. Only by saving energy can we maintain our standard of living and keep our people at work. An effective conservation program will create hundreds of thousands of new jobs.

The third principle is that we must protect the environment. Our energy problems have the same cause as our environmental problems — wasteful use of resources. Conservation helps us solve both at once.

The fourth principle is that we must reduce our vulnerability to potentially devastating embargoes. We can protect ourselves from uncertain supplies by reducing our demand for oil, making the most of our abundant resources such as coal, and developing a strategic petroleum reserve.

The fifth principle is that we must be fair. Our solutions must ask equal sacrifices from every region, every class of people, every interest group. Industry will have to do its part to conserve, just as the consumers will. The energy producers deserve fair treatment, but we will not let the oil companies profiteer.

The sixth principle, and the cornerstone of our policy, is to reduce the demand through conservation. Our emphasis on conservation is a clear difference between this plan and others which merely encouraged crash production efforts. Conservation is the quickest, cheapest, most practical source of energy. Conservation is the only way we can buy a barrel of oil for a few dollars. It costs about $13.00 to waste it.

The seventh principle is that prices should generally reflect the true replacement costs of energy. We are only cheating ourselves if we make energy artificially cheap and use more than we can really afford.

The eighth principle is that government policies must be predictable and certain. Both consumers and producers need policies they can count on so they can plan ahead. This is one reason I am working with the Congress to create a new Department of Energy, to replace more than 50 different agencies that now have some control over energy.

The ninth principle is that we must conserve the fuels that are scarcest and make the most of those that are more plentiful. We can't continue to use oil and gas for 75 percent of our consumption when they make up seven percent of our domestic reserves. We need to shift to plentiful coal while taking care to protect the environment, and to apply stricter safety standards to nuclear energy.

The tenth principle is that we must start now to develop the new, unconventional sources of energy we will rely on in the next century.

These ten principles have guided the development of the policy I would describe to you and the Congress on Wednesday.

Our energy plan will also include a number of specific goals, to measure our progress toward a stable energy system.

These are the goals we set for 1985:

—Reduce the annual growth rate in our energy demand to less than two percent.

—Reduce gasoline consumption by ten percent below its current level.

—Cut in half the portion of United States oil which is imported, from a potential level of sixteen million barrels to six million barrels a day.

—Establish a strategic petroleum reserve of one billion barrels, more than six months' supply.

—Increase our coal production by about two thirds to more than one billion tons a year.

—Insulate 90 percent of American homes and all new buildings.

—Use solar energy in more than two and one-half million houses.

We will monitor our progress toward these goals year by year. Our plan will call for stricter conservation measures if we fall behind.

I cant tell you that these measures will be easy, nor will they be popular. But I think most of you realize that a policy which does not ask for changes or sacrifices would not be an effective policy.

This plan is essential to protect our jobs, our environment, our standard of living, and our future.

Whether this plan truly makes a difference will be decided not here in Washington, but in every town and every factory, in every home an don every highway and every farm.

I believe this can be a positive challenge. There is something especially American in the kinds of changes we have to make. We have been proud, through our history of being efficient people.

We have been proud of our leadership in the world. Now we have a chance again to give the world a positive example.

And we have been proud of our vision of the future. We have always wanted to give our children and grandchildren a world richer in possibilities than we've had. They are the ones we must provide for now. They are the ones who will suffer most if we don't act.

I've given you some of the principles of the plan.

I am sure each of you will find something you don't like about the specifics of our proposal. It will demand that we make sacrifices and changes in our lives. To some degree, the sacrifices will be painful — but so is any meaningful sacrifice. It will lead to some higher costs, and to some greater inconveniences for everyone.

But the sacrifices will be gradual, realistic and necessary. Above all, they will be fair. No one will gain an unfair advantage through this plan. No one will be asked to bear an unfair burden. We will monitor the accuracy of data from the oil and natural gas companies, so that we will know their true production, supplies, reserves, and profits.

The citizens who insist on driving large, unnecessarily powerful cars must expect to pay more for that luxury.

We can be sure that all the special interest groups in the country will attack the part of this plan that affects them directly. They will say that sacrifice is fine, as long as other people do it, but that their sacrifice is unreasonable, or unfair, or harmful to the country. If they succeed, then the burden on the ordinary citizen, who is not organized into an interest group, would be crushing.

There should be only one test for this program: whether it will help our country.

Other generation of Americans have faced and mastered great challenges. I have faith that meeting this challenge will make our own lives even richer. If you will join me so that we can work together with patriotism and courage, we will again prove that our great nation can lead the world into an age of peace, independence and freedom.

Thank you very much, and good night.


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276 CHARLES DICKENS Lay him to rest where regal heads Lie crownless, and unheeding all; Where silence folds its mystic robes Around them like a shadowy pall. Garments of purple may not win Such memories as for him we keep, Nor call so sad a requiem forth, Above their calm, unbroken sleep.

Lay him to rest where poets sleep, Who sang the world's enduring songs-- The cadence of whose wondrous strains. A grateful earth with pride prolongs. Gently around the hallowed spot Floats their remembered minstrelsy; Like them, he breathed his spirit forth, And won an immortality.

Lay him amid the good and great, The lights of many a vanished age; His country claims him, and his fame Is her own brilliant heritage. Footsteps from every clime shall come-- Those by his tender fancies taught, Shall linger round the sacred shrine With memories green, that wither not.


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is not my intention to detain the reader by expatiating on the variety, or the importance of the subject, which I have undertaken to treat; since the merit of the choice would serve to render the weakness of the execution still more apparent, and still less excusable. But, as I have presumed to lay before the Public a first volume only of the History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, it will perhaps be expected that I should explain, in a few words, the nature and limits of my general plan.

The memorable series of revolutions, which, in the course of about thirteen centuries, gradually undermined, and at length destroyed, the solid fabric of human greatness, may, with some propriety, be divided into the three following periods:

I. The first of these periods may be traced from the age of Trajan and the Antonines, when the Roman monarchy, having attained its full strength and maturity, began to verge towards its decline; and will extend to the subversion of the Western Empire, by the barbarians of Germany and Scythia, the rude ancestors of the most polished nations of modern Europe. This extraordinary revolution, which subjected Rome to the power of a Gothic conqueror, was completed about the beginning of the sixth century.


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vi II. The second period of the Decline and Fall of Rome, may be supposed to commence with the reign of Justinian, who by his laws, as well as by his victories, restored a transient splendour to the Eastern Empire. It will comprehend the invasion of Italy by the Lombards; the conquest of the Asiatic and African provinces by the Arabs, who embraced the religion of Mahomet; the revolt of the Roman people against the feeble princes of Constantinople; and the elevation of Charlemagne, who, in the year 800, established the second, or German Empire of the West.

III. The last and longest of these periods includes about six centuries and a half; from the revival of the Western Empire till the taking of Constantinople by the Turks and the extinction of a degenerate race of princes, who continued to assume the titles of Caesar and Augustus, after their dominions were contracted to the limits of a single city; in which the language, as well as manners, of the ancient Romans had been long since forgotten. The writer who should undertake to relate the events of this period would find himself obliged to enter into the general history of the Crusades, as far as they contributed to the ruin of the Greek Empire; and he would scarcely be able to restrain his curiosity from making some enquiry into the state of the city of Rome during the darkness and confusion of the middle ages.

As I have ventured, perhaps too hastily, to commit to the press a work, which, in every sense of the word, deserves the epithet of imperfect, I consider myself as contracting an engagement to finish, most probably in a second volume, the


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Rh first of these memorable periods; and to deliver to the Public the complete History of the Decline and Fall of Rome, from the age of the Antonines to the subversion of the Western Empire. With regard to the subsequent periods, though I may entertain some hopes, I dare not presume to give any assurances. The execution of the extensive plan which I have described would connect the ancient and modern history of the World; but it would require many years of health, of leisure, and of perseverance.

,

February 1, 1776.

P.S.—The entire History, which is now published, of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire in the West abundantly discharges my engagements with the Public. Perhaps their favourable opinion may encourage me to prosecute a work, which, however laborious it may seem, is the most agreeable occupation of my leisure hours.

,

March 1, 1781.

An Author easily persuades himself that the public opinion is still favourable to his labours; and I have now embraced the serious resolution of proceeding to the last period of my original design, and of the Roman Empire, the taking of Constantinople by the Turks, in the year one thousand four hundred and fifty-three. The most patient reader, who computes that three ponderous volumes have been already employed on the events of four centuries, may, perhaps, be alarmed at the long prospect of nine hundred years. But it is not my intention to expatiate with the


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viii same minuteness on the whole series of the Byzantine history. At our entrance into this period, the reign of Justinian and the conquests of the Mahometans will deserve and detain our attention, and the last age of Constantinople (the Crusades and the Turks) is connected with the revolutions of Modern Europe. From the seventh to the eleventh century, the obscure interval will be supplied by a concise narrative of such facts as may still appear either interesting or important.

,

March 1, 1782.


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ix

and accuracy are the only merits which an historical writer may ascribe to himself; if any merit indeed can be assumed from the performance of an indispensable duty. I may therefore be allowed to say that I have carefully examined all the original materials that could illustrate the subject which I had undertaken to treat. Should I ever complete the extensive design which has been sketched out in the preface, I might perhaps conclude it with a critical account of the authors consulted during the progress of the whole work; and, however such an attempt might incur the censure of ostentation, I am persuaded that it would be susceptible of entertainment as well as information.

At present I shall content myself with a single observation. The Biographers, who, under the reigns of Diocletian and Constantine, composed or rather compiled, the lives of the emperors, from Hadrian to the sons of Carus, are usually mentioned under the names of Ælius Spartianus, Julius Capitolinus, Ælius Lampridius, Vulcatius Gallicanus, Trebellius Pollio, and Flavius Vopiscus. But there is so much perplexity in the titles of the MSS., and so many disputes have arisen among the critics (see Fabricius Biblioth. Latin. 1. iii. c. 6) concerning their number, their names and their respective property, that for the most part I have quoted them without distinction, under the general and well-known title of the.


text: A Vindication of the Rights of Woman/Chapter III


text: The Right to Privacy

title: The Right to Privacy


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Presented at the Private House in Black Fryers, by His Majesties servants.

By Sir JOHN SUCKLING.

London,

Printed for Humphrey Moseley, and are to be sold at his shop, at the Signe of the Princes Armes in St Pauls Churchyard.

MDCXLVI.


text: Europa's Fairy Book/List of Incidents

title: Europa's Fairy Book/List of Incidents


text:
User talk:98.88.123.133

See here. Regards, --Zyephyrus (talk) 07:14, 19 October 2010 (UTC)

title: User talk:98.88.123.133


text: A Vindication of the Rights of Woman/Chapter XI


text: A Vindication of the Rights of Woman/Chapter XII


text: Index:Folk-lore - A Quarterly Review. Volume 5, 1894.djvu


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xx Tolhurst, J., Esq., F.S.A., Glenbrook, Beckenham, Kent (Auditor).

Torquay Xatural History Society, care of A. Somervail, Esq.

Traherne, G. M., Esq., Coedriglan, Cardiff.

Trayancore, His Highness the Mahárájah of, Huzier, Cutcherry, Trevandrum, per G. Macfadyen and Co., Winchester House, Old Broad Street, E.C.

Tremlett, J. D., Esq., Hillands, Dedham, Essex.

Turnbull, A. H., Esq., Elibank, Wellington, New Zealand, per A. L. Elder and Co., 7, St. Helen's Place, E.C.

Tylor, Prof. E. B., F.R.S., The Museum House, Oxford (Vice-President).

Udal, J. S., Esq., Attorney-General, Fiji Islands, per Messrs. Lovell, Son and Pitfield, 3, Gray's Inn Square, W.C.

Varalaksna, K., Esq., 23, Ashburn Place, South Kensington, S.W.

Veitch, Professor J., LL.D., 4, The College, Glasgow.

Vernon, Hon. Mrs. Warren, 34, Grosvenor Place, S.W

Verulam, The Right Hon. the Earl of, Gorhambury, St. Alban's.

Voss' Sortimeut (G. Haessler), Leipzig.

Walhouse, M. J., Esq., 28, Hamilton Terrace, St. John's Wood, N.W.

Walker, Dr. Robert, Budleigh-Salterton, Devon, per E. W. Watson, Esq., 22, Highbury New Park, N.

Walpole, H., Esq., India Office, Whitehall, S.W.

Wardrop, Miss Marjory, Chislehurst, Kent.

Watkinson Library, Hartford, Connecticut, U.S.A.

Westermann and Co., Messrs., 812, Broadway, New York, U.S.A., per H. Grevel and Co., 33, King Street, Covent Garden, W.C.

Wheatley, Henry B., Esq., F.S.A., 2, Oppidans Road, Primrose Hill, N.W.

White, George, Esq., Ashley House, Epsom.

Williams, A. M., Esq., 41, Whitmarsh Street, Providence, R.I., U.S.A.

Williamson, Rev. Charles A., Old Berswill Villas, Newcastle-on-Tyne.

Wilson, R. H., Esq., 202, Cromwell Road, S.W.

Windle, Professor B. C. A., M.D., D.Sc, Dean of Queen's Faculty of Medicine, Mason College, Birmingham,

c. Wissendorff, H., St. Petersburg.

Woman's Anthropological Society, Washington, D.C., U.S.A.; Mrs. F. P. Spofford, Treasurer, care of Mrs. M. P. Seaman, 1424, Eleventh Street, N.W. Washington, D.C., U.S.A.

Wood, Alexander, Esq., Thornly, Saltcoats, N.B.

Woodall, E., Esq., Wingthorpe, Oswestry.

Worcester Free Public Library, Mass., U.S.A., per Messrs. Kegan Paul & Co.

Wright, A. R., Esq., H.M. Patent Office, 25, Southampton Buildings, Chancery Lane, W.C.

Wright, W. Aldis, Esq., M.A., Trinity College, Cambridge.

Wurtzburg, J. H., Esq., Clavering, 2, De Greys Road, Leeds.

Yeo, Robert F., Esq., Royal Naval Hospital, Chatham.


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Page:Folk-lore - A Quarterly Review. Volume 5, 1894.djvu/5

 A QUARTERLY REVIEW

OF

MYTH, TRADITION, INSTITUTION, & CUSTOM

VOL. V.—1894.

Publisher's design in Folk-Lore of the Northern Counties.png

LONDON :

PUBLISHED FOR THE FOLK-LORE SOCIETY BY

DAVID NUTT, 270, STRAND.

1894.

[XXXIV.]


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 CONTENTS.


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iv


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Talk:Folk-Lore

scheme
The subpage structure seems fine, but the title could be extended to distinguish it from Folk-Lore Journal and anything else with a similar name. Something like Folk-Lore, A Quarterly Review for the volumes "[Incorporating The Archælogical Review and The Folk-Lore Journal.]" I uploaded vol 4 and 5
 * Index:Folk-lore - A Quarterly Review. Volume 4, 1893.djvu
 * Index:Folk-lore - A Quarterly Review. Volume 5, 1894.djvu

 * cygnis insignis 08:43, 19 October 2010 (UTC)

I'm trying it this way for Vol. 4. The result is Folk-Lore. Volume 4/Cinderella in Britain. Note that the sections at the end of each 'Number' are disambiguated by the month. cygnis insignis 15:30, 23 October 2010 (UTC)

I created Template:Folk-Lore scan indexes. 07:28, 29 October 2010 (UTC)

title: Talk:Folk-Lore


text: A Vindication of the Rights of Woman/Chapter IX


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68 or in 1824, a republic. From this time until the defeat of Maximilian and his party in 1867, the history of Mexico is little other than a chronicle of successive revolutions, internecine strife, and foreign wars. In the National Palace, in the city of Mexico, is a very long, narrow room, termed the "Hall of Embassadors," from the circumstance that the President of the Republic here formally receives the representatives of foreign nationalities. Upon the walls of this room, and constituting, apart from several elaborate glass chandeliers, almost its only decoration, is a series of fairly painted, full-length portraits of individual Mexicans who, since the achievement of independence of Spain, had been so conspicuously connected with the state, or had rendered it such service, as to entitle them, in the opinion of posterity, to commemoration in this sort of national "Valhalla." To the visitor, entering upon an inspection of these interesting pictures, the accompanying guide, politely desirous of imparting all desirable information concerning them, talks somewhat after this manner:

"This is a portrait of the Emperor Iturbide, commander-in-chief of the army that defeated and expelled the last Spanish viceroy; elected emperor in 1822; resigned the crown in 1823; was proscribed, arrested, and shot in 1824. The next is a portrait of one of the most distinguished of the

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70 time when the presidency was transferred without violence and under the law—General Arista peaceably succeeding General Herrera. But Arista was deposed and banished in the next two years, and in the next three months there were four presidents of the republic! Of the original and great leaders in the War of Independence—namely, Hidalgo, Morelos, and Matamoros—all were shot. The same fate befell both of the emperors, and also two of the more noted presidents—Guerrero and Miramon. Of the other presidents, nearly all at one time or other were formally banished or compelled to flee from the state in order to escape death or imprisonment.

In 1846 came the American war and invasion, when the United States, with "one fell swoop," as it were, took from Mexico considerably more than one half of all its territory—923,835 square miles out of a former total of 1,663,535. It is true that payment was tendered and accepted for about one thirty-fourth part (the Gadsden purchase) of what was taken, but appropriation and acceptance of payment were alike compulsory. For this war the judgment of all impartial history will undoubtedly be that there was no justification or good reason on the part of the United States. It may be that what happened was an inevitable outcome of the law of the survival of the fittest, as exemplified

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 Rh THE PROBLEM OF DIFFUSION:

of the Folk-lore Society will probably be surprised at finding me still alive—as a folk-lorist. The last number of which appeared while I had the honour of editing it, contained two assaults upon me by such eminent authorities as Mr. Andrew Lang and Mr. Alfred Nutt; while, unless I am much mistaken, there was a somewhat petulant passage in the President’s annual speech relating to fairy tales that was directed to my address. With regard to the two former gentlemen, I might perhaps manage by a little adroit dodging to cause their blows to fall reciprocally on one another; for while Mr. Lang was explaining how he had really always agreed with me on the transmission of fairy tales, Mr. Nutt was violently assaulting the conclusions I drew from such transmission. Still, as I should by that means lose the fun of the fight myself, I prefer to continue the contest, and in the course of it cannot perhaps do better than pursue the good old English plan, “One down—if I can get him down—the other come on.”

This is the fifth round—I mean act—in my discussion with Mr. Lang. At the International Folk-lore Congress I ventured to oppose as strenuously as I could what I termed the “Casual Theory” of explanation for the remarkable similarities of plot and incident in many, though by no means all, European folk-tales. I pointed out the immense improbability of the casual coincidence of elaborate plots and the same sequence of incidents occurring in widely scattered localities by chance. At the same time I suggested that the research after survivals in folk-tales, which seemed to be the sole point of interest in their study for Mr. Lang and for Mr. Hartland, whom I coupled with him, was misleading and beside the mark in the study of folk-tales, since until you knew where a folk-tale had originated


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130 you could draw no conclusion from the survivals found in it with regard to the place where it was collected. The last count of my indictment was that folk-tales were folk-literature, and required to be studied by literary and not by anthropological methods.

Mr. Lang did me the honour of replying to these contentions in his preface to Miss Roalfe Cox’s admirable volume of variants of Cinderella. He pointed out that he had not unreservedly denied the possibility of transmission as the cause of similarity in folk-tales, and he was fully aware of their charm and literary attraction. To this I replied in the September number of of last year: that if I had been mistaken in dubbing him Casualist I had erred in company with almost all folk-lorists who had discussed his views, and I mentioned the names of MM. Cosquin, Bédier, Sudre, Krohn. As regards the literary aspects of the folk-tale, I pointed out that it was not a question of appreciation of their literary charm, but of their recognition as products of artistic imagination subject to the laws of imaginative production; it was these laws that had to be investigated rather than the survivals of savage culture which could here and there be discerned in the unnatural incidents in folk-tales.

The curtain rises on the fourth act, and discovers Mr. Lang, not in the most placid of his moods, in the December number of. He gives us an interesting account of the rise and progress of his interest in folk-tales, he reiterates his contention that he has always been burning with secret love for the Transmission Theory, and he points to passages in which he had let drop hints of his deep-seated affection. He suggested that I had made a blunder in including M. Bédier in the list of those who had mistaken him for a casualist; he pointed out his priority over Mr. J. H. Farrer, whom I had associated with him as having recognised the savage element in folk-tales. He then proceeded to discuss certain views I had enunciated with regard to Cinderella: these I propose considering in


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Rh connection with the criticisms of Mr. Nutt on the same subject.

I do not think that my part in the fifth act, at which we have now arrived, need be a long one, since the issues have gradually narrowed themselves to personal ones, which are always difficult and dangerous to handle. Let me at once dismiss a couple of these about which I myself was at least partly in the wrong. In referring to M. Bédier, I called him a Casualist, and spoke of him as referring to Mr. Lang as his master. Both these statements taken by themselves are, I still contend, strictly accurate. The whole tendency of M. Bédier’s book is casualistic, and as in his account of the Anthropological School, so ably headed by Dr. Tylor and Mr. Lang, M. Bédier writes in full sympathy, it is not stretching a point to speak of Mr. Lang as his master in this regard. But it was misleading to couple the two statements so closely as to leave the impression that M. Bédier was adopting Mr. Lang’s views as to transmission, for, inconsistently enough, the French savant, while contending that the similarities between the Fabliaux and certain Indian folk-tales were entirely casual, rebukes Mr. Lang, as Mr. Lang himself points out, for being a casualist. I would, however, point out that this error of mine had no misleading effect; for I was simply quoting M. Bédier as one of those who regarded Mr. Lang as a casualist. That point was merely strengthened when it is shown that he even rebukes his master for his casualism.

Then with regard to Mr. Farrer, whom I had mentioned as having pointed to the savage element in folk-tales, as I thought, previously to Mr. Lang, though I was far from suggesting that Mr. Lang owed anything to Mr. Farrer in this regard. In his reply, our late President referred me to an article he had written so long ago as May 1873 in The Fortnightly Review in which he had laid stress upon this side of folk-lore research. It is doubtless a grievous sin to confess that I had never read this article of