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and founded almshouses at Woolwich, where he had a house and lands. He established a yearly sermon on St. Martin's day at the church of St. Mary Woolnoth. A broadsheet entitled 'The epethaphe of syr Marten Bowes' was licensed for the press soon after his death, but no copy is known ( Transcript, i.)

Bowes was thrice married: (1) to Cicely Elyot; (2) to one Anne, who, dying on 19 Oct. 1553, was buried with heraldic ceremony (22 Oct.) at St. Mary Woolnoth, Lombard Street (Harl. MS. 897 f. 13 b; Machyn's Diary, Camd. Soc. pp. 46, 335); and (3) to Elizabeth Harlow. By his first wife Bowes had two sons, Thomas and Martin. Joanna, a daughter of Bowes, married George Heton of Heton, Lancashire, and was mother of Martin Heton, bishop of Ely (, Annals, 8vo, iv. 490).

A contemporary portrait of Bowes ('a° 1566 æt. suæ 66') still hangs in the committee-room of Goldsmiths' Hall, and a cup presented by him to the same company is still extant, and has been engraved in H. Shaw's 'Decorative Arts.'

 BOWES, MARY ELEANOR, (1749–1800), was the daughter and sole heiress of George Bowes, M.P., of Streatlam and Gibside in the county of Durham, the head of a family well known in border warfare [see ]. After some flirtations with the brother of the Duke of Buccleuch, she was married on 24 Feb. 1767 to John Lyon, ninth earl of Strathmore. He was born at Houghton-le-Spring on 16 Aug. 1737, and after his marriage obtained an act of parliament which enabled him to take his wife's surname. In the same year he was elected a representative peer of Scotland. Three sons and two daughters were the fruits of this union. Lord Strathmore died on 7 March 1776, whilst on a voyage to Lisbon. After his death the widow had several suitors, and the Hon. George Grey was thought to be the favoured man. His 'Turkish Tale' is said to have been written for her entertainment. Her conduct was not very discreet, and some paragraphs reflecting on her character appeared in the 'Morning Post,' then controlled by 'Parson Bate' (the Rev. Sir Henry Bate Dudley), who went through a sham duel with another suitor, Andrew Robinson Stoney. This adventurer induced her to marry him on 17 Jan. 1777. Stoney was a bankrupt lieutenant on half-pay, who had wasted the fortune acquired with a previous wife, Hannah Newton of Newcastle. In the following month he assumed his wife's surname of Bowes, and found that when engaged to Mr. Grey the countess had executed a deed securing her estates to herself. This she had made known to Grey, who supped with her the night before her marriage, but not to her husband, who by cruelty induced her to make a deed of revocation. John Hunter was a witness to this document, which was executed at the dinner-table. Two children were born of this marriage, one of whom, William Johnstone Bowes, lieutenant in the royal navy, was lost with Sir Thomas Trowbridge in the Blenheim in 1807. Lady Strathmore's influence secured her husband's election as M.P. for Newcastle in 1780. He was nominated in 1777, and petitioned against Sir John Trevelyan, but lost the election. He was also sheriff of Newcastle. Bowes treated his wife with barbarity and was unfaithful to her. She instituted proceedings in the ecclesiastical courts for a divorce, and escaped from her husband, against whom she exhibited articles of the peace in the court of king's bench on 7 Feb. 1785. On 10 Nov. 1786 she left her house in Bloomsbury Square to call on business at a Mr. Foster's in Oxford Street, when she was abducted by a gang of men in the pay of her husband. At Highgate Bowes made his appearance. Lady Strathmore was hurried off to Straithland Castle. After much brutal ill-treatment she was rescued by some husbandmen and taken back to London by her deliverers. Bowes and his colleagues were convicted of conspiracy and sentenced on 26 June 1787 to a fine of 300l., imprisonment of three years, and to find securities for good behaviour for fourteen years. The deed by which she had placed her estates under the control of Bowes was invalidated on the ground of duress on 19 May 1788. The court of delegates made a decree of divorce on 2 March 1789 against A. R. Bowes. On the following day the lord chancellor pronounced in favour of the validity of the deed executed before marriage by Lady Strathmore, who was thus restored to the control of her own fortune. Bowes became in 1790 an inmate of the king's bench prison, but in the following year behaved creditably during a riot in the prison, and his imprisonment was relaxed. Lady Strathmore died at Christchurch, Hampshire, on 28 April 1800, and


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 the English to victory. He died on 20 Oct. 1423, and was buried at the east end of York minster, opposite the tomb of his ill-fated predecessor.

 BOWIE, JAMES (d. 1853), botanist, was born in London, and entered the service of the Royal Gardens, Kew, in 1810. In 1814 he was appointed botanical collector to the gardens in conjunction with Allan Cunningham. They went to Brazil, where they remained two years, making collections of plants and seeds. In 1817 Bowie was ordered to proceed to the Cape; here he worked with much energy, taking journeys into the interior, and sending home large collections of living and dried plants, as well as of drawings; the last are in the Kew herbarium, the dried specimens for the most part in the British Museum. A vote of the House of Commons having reduced the sum granted for botanical collectors, Bowie was recalled in 1823, taking up his residence at Kew. After four years of inactivity he set out again for the Cape, where he was for some years gardener to Baron Ludwig of Ludwigsberg. He became a correspondent of Dr. Harvey, who, in dedicating to him the genus Bowiea, says 'by many years of patient labour in the interior of South Africa he enriched the gardens of Europe with a greater variety of succulent plants than had ever been detected by any traveller.' He left his employment in or before 1841, and made journeys into the interior to collect plants for sale; his habits, however, were such as to interfere with his prospects, and he died in poverty in 1853.

 BOWLBY, THOMAS WILLIAM (18171860), 'Times' correspondent, son of Thomas Bowlby, a captain in the royal artillery, by his wife, a daughter of General Balfour, was born at Gibraltar, and when very young was taken by his parents to Sunderland, where his father entered on the business of a timber merchant. Young Bowlby's education was entrusted to Dr. Cowan, a Scotch schoolmaster, who had settled in Sunderland. After leaving school he was articled to his cousin, Mr. Russell Bowlby, solicitor, Sunderland. On completion of his time he went to London and spent some years as a salaried clerk in the office of a large firm in the Temple. In 1846 he commenced practice in the city as junior partner in the firm of Lawrence, Crowdy, & Bowlby, solicitors, 25 Old Fish Street, Doctors' Commons, and for some years enjoyed a fair practice; but the profession of the law was not to his taste, and he made many literary acquaintances. Although remaining a member of the firm until the year 1854, he went to Berlin as special correspondent of the 'Times' in 1848. Bowlby married Miss Meine, the sister of his father's second wife, and on the death of her father Mrs. Bowlby became possessed of a considerable fortune. During the railway mania Bowlby got into pecuniary difficulties, which caused him to leave England for a short time, but he made arrangements for the whole of his future earnings to be applied in liquidation of his debts. On returning to England he was for some time associated with Jullien, the musical director and composer. He next repaired to Smyrna, where he was employed for a while in connection with the construction of a railway. In 1860 he was engaged to proceed to China as the special correspondent of the 'Times.' Lord Elgin and Baron Gros were fellow-passengers with him in the steamship Malabar, which was lost at Point de Galle on 22 May. His narrative of this shipwreck is an admirable piece of work. His various letters from China afforded much information and pleasure to the readers of the 'Times.' After the capture of Tien-tsin on 23 Aug. 1860, Bowlby accompanied Admiral Hope and four others to Tang-chow to arrange the preliminaries of peace; here they were treacherously captured and imprisoned by the Tartar general, San-ko-lin-sin. Bowlby died from the effects of the ill-treatment he received on 22 Sept. 1860; his body was afterwards given up by the Chinese, and buried in the Russian cemetery outside the An-tin gate of Pekin on 17 Oct. His age was about forty-three; he left a widow and five young children.

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


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 BOWLE or BOWLES, JOHN (d. 1637), bishop of Rochester, a native of Lancashire, was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, where he obtained a fellowship. He proceeded M.A. (1603), D.D. (1613), and was incorporated M.A. of Oxford on 9 July 1605, and D.D. on 11 July 1615. He was household chaplain to Sir Robert Cecil, first earl of Salisbury, and attended him through his last illness in 1612. After the earl's death Bowle addressed to Dr. Mountague, bishop of Bath and Wells, 'a plaine and true relation of those thinges I observed in my Lord's sickness since his goeing to Bath,' which is printed in Peck's 'Desiderata,' pp. 205-11. Bowle held at one time the living of Tilehurst, Berkshire. He became dean of Salisbury in July 1620, preached before the king and parliament on 3 Feb. 1620-1, and was elected bishop of Rochester on 14 Dec. 1629. He died 'at Mrs. Austen's house on the Banckside the 9th of October 1637, and his body was interred in St. Paul's ch., London, in the moneth following.' Archbishop Laud, in his account of his archiepiscopate addressed to Charles I for 1637, complained that Bowle had been ill for three years before his death, and had neglected his diocese. He was the author of a 'Sermon preached at Flitton in the countie of Bedford at the funerall of Henrie [Grey], Earle of Kent,' London, 1614, and of a 'Concio ad ... Patres et Presbyteros totius Provinciæ Cantuar. in Synodo Londini congregates, habita. . . 1620, Jan. 31,' London, 1621. Bowle married Bridget, a sister of Sir George Copping, 'of the crown office,' by whom he had a son (Richard) and a daughter (Mary).

 BOWLE, JOHN (1725–1788), writer on Spanish literature, and called by his friends Don Bowle, was descended from [q. v.] He was born on 26 Oct. 1725. He was educated at Oriel College, Oxford, and became M.A. in 1750. He was elected F.S.A. in 1776. Having entered orders, he obtained the vicarage of Idmiston (spelt Idemeston in his 'Don Quixote,' Salisbury, 1781, 6 vols. 4to), in Wiltshire, where he died on 26 Oct. 1788, the day of his birth, aged 63.

Bowle was an ingenious scholar of great erudition and varied research in obscure and ancient literature. In addition to his knowledge of the classics, he was well acquainted with French, Spanish, and Italian, and had accumulated a large and valuable library, sold in 1790. He was a member of Dr. Johnson's Essex Head Club. He preceded Dr. Douglas in detecting Lauder's forgeries, and had, according to Douglas, the justest claim to be considered their original discoverer. He published in 1765 miscellaneous pieces of ancient English poetry, containing Shakespeare's 'King John,' and some of the satires of Marston. In 1777 he printed 'a letter to the Rev. Dr. Percy concerning a new and classical edition of "Historia del valoroso Cavallero Don Quixote de la Mancha," to be illustrated by annotations and extracts from the historians, poets, and romances of Spain and Italy, and other writers, ancient and modern, with a glossary and indexes in which are occasionally interspersed some reflections on the learning and genius of the author, with a map of Spain adapted to the history, and to every translation of it,' 4to. He gave also an outline of the life of Cervantes in the 'Gentleman's Magazine,' 1781, li. 22, and circulated proposals to print the work by subscription. It appeared in 1781, in six 4to vols., the first four containing the text, the fifth the notes, and the sixth the indexes. The whole work is written in Spanish. Its reception was unfavourable, except in Spain, where it called forth hearty approval from many of the best writers of the day, including Don Antonio Pellicer, the earliest and best commentator on 'Don Quixote.' In 1784 Bowle complained in the 'Gentleman's Magazine' of his critics, and in 1785 he published 'Remarks on the extraordinary conduct of the Knight of the Ten Stars and his Italian Squire, to the editor of Don Quixote. In a letter to J. S., D.D.,' 8vo. The pamphlet was directed against Joseph Baretti, who retorted in an anonymous pamphlet full of bitter personalities, entitled 'Tolondron, speeches to John Bowle about his edition of Don Quixote,' 8vo, 1786. Bowle wrote frequently under various signatures in the 'Gentleman's Magazine,' contributed to Granger's 'History,' Steevens's edition of 'Shakespeare,' 1778, and Warton's 'History of Poetry.' In 'Archæeologia,' vi. 76, are his remarks on the ancient pronunciation of the French language; in vii. 114, on some musical instruments mentioned in 'Le Roman de la Rose;' in viii. 67, on parish registers; and in viii. 147, on playing cards.


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User talk:Alagos

— billinghurst  sDrewth  08:58, 26 September 2010 (UTC)

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text: Arminell, a social romance/Chapter 3

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text: Arminell, a social romance/Chapter 4

title: Arminell, a social romance/Chapter 4


text: Arminell, a social romance/Chapter 5

title: Arminell, a social romance/Chapter 5


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title: Arminell, a social romance/Chapter 6


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text: Arminell, a social romance/Chapter 8

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text: Arminell, a social romance/Chapter 12

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text: Arminell, a social romance/Chapter 14

title: Arminell, a social romance/Chapter 14


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 If the views of Malpighi and Grew agreed in the main on the points here mentioned, yet the style and manner of the two were very different. Malpighi kept more closely to that which could be directly seen; Grew delighted in tacking on a variety of theoretical discussions to his observations, and especially endeavoured to follow the path of speculation beyond the limits of what was visible with the microscope. Malpighi's account reads like a masterly sketch, Grew's like an elaborate production of great and almost pedantic carefulness; Malpighi displays a greater formal cultivation, and deals with the questions with light touches, allusively, and almost in the tone of conversation. Grew on the other hand is at pains to reduce the new science to a learned and well-studied system, and to bring it into connection with chemistry, physics, and above all with the Cartesian philosophy. Malpighi was one of the most famous physicians and zootomists of his time, and treated phytotomy from the points of view already opened in zootomy; Grew too occupied himself occasionally with zootomy, but he was a vegetable anatomist by profession, and gave himself up, especially after 1688, almost exclusively to the study of the structure of plants with a devotion hardly to be paralleled till we come down to Mirbel and von Mohl.

As in medicine in the 17th century human anatomy was intimately connected with physiology, and the latter was not yet treated as a distinct study, so the founders of phytotomy naturally combined the physiological consideration of the functions of organs with the examination of their structure. Considerations on the movement of sap and on food appear in the front of every anatomical enquiry; relations of structure, which the microscope could not reach, were assumed hypothetically on physiological grounds, although little positive was known at the time about the functions of the organs of plants; hence recourse was had to analogies between vegetable and animal life, and it is true that vegetable physiology received its first great impulse by this means, but occasion was given at


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 the same time to many errors, which in their turn often misled the anatomist. At present, when vegetable anatomy has separated itself more than is desirable from physiology, that is, from the investigation of the functions of organs, it is difficult, nay impossible, to give the reader a brief account of the contents of these two books which form an epoch in the science. I must confine myself to noticing a few chief points, which are historically connected with the further development of phytotomy, though some of these are just the questions to which Malpighi and Grew only gave occasional attention, and which it is therefore a little unjust to them to bring into prominent notice. I shall recur to the physiological portion of their writings in the third book of this history, confining myself here to that which concerns the structural relations of plants.

The phytotomical work of appeared under the title 'Anatome Plantarum,' and to it was added a treatise on hens' eggs during the process of incubation (1675). The phytotomical portion of the book separates into two main divisions, the first of which, the 'Anatomes Plantarum idea,' was, as was stated above, completed in 1671, and contains a general abstract and survey of Malpighi's views on the structure and functions of vegetable organs in fourteen-and-a-half folio pages; the second and much larger portion illustrates in detail by numerous examples and with the help of many copper-plates the views expressed in the first part; it will answer our purpose best to turn principally to the connected expression of the author's views in the first part. He begins his remarks with the anatomy of the stem, and as the rind first attracts the eye, he takes it first. The outer


text:
User talk:Pauly3

— billinghurst  sDrewth  11:20, 26 September 2010 (UTC)

DNBer?
Just thought that I would mention that we do have a project for the transcription of the DNB and you can find out more detail about it at WikiProject DNB. To also note that I transferred your article for Fitzhenry, Meiler (DNB00) to the scans of the works that we have. — billinghurst  sDrewth  11:20, 26 September 2010 (UTC)

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User talk:173.109.209.117

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User talk:81.229.198.41

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Page:History of botany (Sachs; Garnsey).djvu/256

 part of it, he says, the cuticle, consists of utricles or little sacs arranged in horizontal rows; these die in time and decay, sometimes forming a dry epidermis. On the removal of the epidermis, layer after layer of woody fibre is disclosed, and these layers, usually forming reticulations and lying one on another, follow the longitudinal direction of the stem. These fibrous bundles are composed of numerous fibres, and each single fibre of tubes which open into one another ('quaelibet fibra insignis fistulis invicem hiantibus constat') and so on. The interspaces of the network are filled with roundish tubes, which usually have a horizontal direction towards the wood. If the rind is removed the wood appears, chiefly composed of elongated fibres and tubes, and consisting of rings or vesicles open towards one another and arranged in longitudinal rows. The fibres also of the wood do not run parallel to one another, but allow a network of angular anastomosing spaces to be formed between them, the larger of which are filled with bundles of tubes, which run from the rind through these interspaces to the pith, etc., etc. Between the fibrous and fistulose bundles of the wood lie the spiral tubes ('spirales fistulae'), smaller in number but of larger size, so that in cross sections of the stem they appear with open orifices. They lie in different positions, but the majority in concentric circles. He says that in the course of ten years' examination (from 1661 therefore) he found these spiral tubes in all plants, and it may be added here that Grew in the introduction to his book expressly concedes the priority in this discovery to Malpighi; but Malpighi's ideas on the subject of these tubes are extremely indistinct, and this gave occasion to


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User talk:98.197.104.85

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Page:History of botany (Sachs; Garnsey).djvu/257

 much misinterpretation and to gross errors on the part of later writers. Malpighi thought he observed a peristaltic movement in these vessels, a delusion to which many of the nature-philosophers were particularly fond of surrendering themselves at the beginning of the present century.

In addition to the bundles of fibres and the tracheae, Malpighi observed a number of tubes in Ficus, Cupressus, and other plants, which allowed the escape of a milky juice, and he concludes that similar special tubes might be present also in the wood of stems from which milk, turpentine, gum, and the like exude.

Such are the elementary organs of plants, as far as they were known to Malpighi; in the subsequent part of his book we find them applied to a histology of the stem, and here a mistake at once makes its appearance, which, resting on his authority, was reproduced by the phytotomists of the 18th and even of the early part of the 19th century,—the theory, namely, that the young layers of wood in the stem originate in the periodic transformation of the innermost layers of bark (secondary bast-layers); Malpighi was led into this mistake, as it appears, partly by the softness and light colour of the alburnum, partly by its fibrous character. In this substance the spiral tubes are gradually formed, and as the mass becomes more solid and compact, it subsequently forms the true wood.

The pith lies in the centre of the stem, and, according to Malpighi, consists of numerous rows of spheres ('multiplici globulorum ordine') arranged longitudinally one after another, and composed of membranous tubes, as may be clearly seen in walnut, elder, and other trees. In this place also he mentions the milk-vessels in the pith of the elder. Passing over many and various matters, it may be mentioned next that Malpighi recognises the connection of the layers of tissue in young shoots with those of the parent-stem, and very expressly notices the same continuity of structure between the leaf and the axis of the shoot. He then briefly touches on the


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Yours, Keegan Peterzell Community Liaison, Wikimedia Foundation 23:29, 17 March 2015 (UTC)

title: User talk:Meika


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Page:Popular tales from the Norse (1912).djvu/296

 110 found he couldn't get the point sharp till four years were out. First of all, the Devil begged so prettily to be let out of the chair, and afterwards, waxing wroth, he began to threaten and scold; but the Smith kept on, all the while excusing himself, and saying it was all the iron's fault, it was so plaguy hard, and telling the Devil he was not so badly off to have to sit quietly in an easy-chair, and that he would let him out to the minute when the four years were over. Well, at last there was no help for it, and the Devil had to give his word of honour not to fetch the Smith till the four years were out; and then the Smith said,—

"Well now, you may get up and be off about your business," and away went the Devil as fast as he could lay legs to the ground.

When the four years were over the Devil came again to fetch the Smith, and he called out, as he stuck his nose in at the door of the forge,—

"Now, I know you must be ready."

"Ready, ay, ready," answered the Smith; "we can go now as soon as you please; but hark ye, there is one thing I have stood here and thought, and thought, I would ask you to tell me. Is it true what people say, that the Devil can make himself as small as he pleases?"

"God knows, it is the very truth," said the Devil.

"Oh!" said the Smith; "it is true, is it? then I wish you would just be so good as to creep into this steel purse of mine, and see whether it is sound at the bottom, for, to tell you the truth, I'm afraid my travelling money will drop out."

"With all my heart," said the Devil, who made himself


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 Rh into the pear-tree, and pluck yourself a pear to gnaw at; you must be both hungry and thirsty after your journey."

So the Devil thanked him for his kind offer, and climbed up into the pear-tree.

"Very good," said the Smith; "but now, on thinking the matter over, I find I shall never be able to have done hammering the head of this nail till four years are out at least, this iron is so plaguy hard; down you can't come in all that time, but may sit up there and rest your bones."

When the Devil heard this, he begged and prayed till his voice was as thin as a silver penny that he might have leave to come down; but there was no help for it. There he was, and there he must stay. At last he had to give his word of honour not to come again till the four years were out, which the Smith had spoken of, and then the Smith said, "Very well, now you may come down."

So when the time was up, the Devil came again to fetch the Smith.

"You're ready now, of course," said he; "you've had time enough to hammer the head of that nail, I should think."

"Yes, the head is right enough now," said the Smith; "but still you have come a little tiny bit too soon, for I haven't quite done sharpening the point; such plaguy hard iron I never hammered in all my born days. So while I work at the point, you may just as well sit down in my easy chair and rest yourself; I'll be bound you're weary after coming so far."

"Thank you kindly," said the Devil, and down he plumped into the easy chair; but just as he had made himself comfortable, the Smith said, on second thoughts he


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 Rh small in a trice, and crept into the purse; but he was scarce in when the Smith snapped to the clasp.

"Yes," called out the Devil inside the purse; "it's right and tight everywhere."

"Very good," said the Smith; "I'm glad to hear you say so, but 'More haste the worse speed,' says the old saw, and 'Forewarned is forearmed,' says another; so I'll just weld these links a little together, just for safety's sake;" and with that he laid the purse in the furnace, and made it red hot.

"AU! AU!" screamed the Devil, "are you mad? don't you know I'm inside the purse?"

"Yes, I do!" said the Smith; "but I can't help you, for another old saw says, 'One must strike while the iron is hot;'" and as he said this, he took up his sledge-hammer, laid the purse on the anvil, and let fly at it as hard as he could.

"AU! AU! AU!" bellowed the Devil, inside the purse. "Dear friend, do let me out, and I'll never come near you again."

"Very well!" said the Smith; "now, I think, the links are pretty well welded, and you may come out;" so he unclasped the purse, and away went the Devil in such a hurry that he didn't once look behind him.

Now, some time after, it came across the Smith's mind that he had done a silly thing in making the Devil his enemy, for he said to himself,

"If, as is like enough, they won't have me in the kingdom of Heaven, I shall be in danger of being houseless, since I've fallen out with him who rules over Hell."

So he made up his mind it would be best to try to get


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Wakulla/Chapter 2

It lacked a few minutes of nine o'clock when the stage in which the Elmers had left Norton drew up beside the platform of the railway station in Skowhegan. There was only time to purchase tickets and check the baggage, and then Mark and Ruth stepped, for the first time in their lives, on board a train of cars, and were soon enjoying the novel sensation of being whirled along at what seemed to them a tremendous rate of speed. To them the train-boy, who came through the car with books, papers, apples, and oranges, and wore a cap with a gilt band around it, seemed so much superior to ordinary boys, that, had they not been going on such a wonderful journey, they themselves would have envied him his life of constant travel and excitement.

At Waterville they admired the great mills, which they fancied must be among the largest in the world; and when, shortly after noon, they reached Bangor, and saw real ships, looking very like the pictures in their geographies, only many times more interesting, their cup of happiness was full.

Mark and Ruth called all the vessels they saw "ships;" but their father, who had made several sea-voyages as a young man, said that most of them were schooners, and that he would explain the difference to them when they got to sea and he had plenty of time.

The children were bewildered by the noise of the railroad station and the cries of the drivers and hotel runners—all of whom made violent efforts to attract the attention of the Elmer party. At length they got themselves and their bags safely into one of the big yellow omnibuses, and were driven to a hotel, where they had dinner. Mark and Ruth did not enjoy this dinner much, on account of its many courses and the constant attentions of the waiters.

It had stopped snowing, and after dinner the party set forth in search of the Nancy Bell. By making a few inquiries they soon found her, and were welcomed on board by her young, pleasant-faced captain, whose name was Eli Drew, but whom all his friends called "Captain Li."

The Nancy Bell was a large three-masted schooner, almost new, and as she was the first vessel "Captain Li" had ever commanded, he was very proud of her. He took them at once into his own cabin, which was roomy and comfortable, and from which opened four state-rooms—two on each side. Of these the captain and his mate, John Somers, occupied those on the starboard, or right-hand side, and those on the other, or port side, had been fitted up, by the thoughtful kindness of Uncle Christopher, for the Elmers—one for Mrs. Elmer and Ruth, and the other for Mark and his father.

"Ain't they perfectly lovely?" exclaimed Ruth. "Did you ever see such cunning little beds? They wouldn't be much too big for Edna May's largest doll."

"You mustn't call them 'beds,' Ruth; the right name is berths," said Mark, with the air of a boy to whom sea terms were familiar.

"I don't care," answered his sister; "they are beds for all that, and have got pillows and sheets and counterpanes, just like the beds at home."

Mr. Elmer found that his furniture, and the various packages of tools intended for their Southern home, were all safe on board the schooner and stowed down in the hold, and he soon had the trunks from the station and the bags from the hotel brought down in a wagon.

The captain said they had better spend the night on board, as he wanted to be off by daylight, and they might as well get to feeling at home before they started. They thought so too; and so, after a walk through the city, where, among other curious sights, they saw a post-office built on a bridge, they returned to the Nancy Bell for supper.

Poor Mr. Elmer, exhausted by the unusual exertions of the day, lay awake and coughed most of the night, but the children slept like tops. When Mark did wake he forgot where he was, and in trying to sit up and look around, bumped his head against the low ceiling of his berth.

Daylight was streaming in at the round glass dead-eye that served as a window, and to Mark's great surprise he felt that the schooner was moving. Slipping down from his berth, and quietly dressing himself, so as not to disturb his father, he hurried on deck, where he was greeted by "Captain Li," who told him he had come just in time to see something interesting.

The Nancy Bell was in tow of a little puffing steam-tug, and was already some miles from Bangor down the Penobscot River. The clouds of steam rising into the cold air from the surface of the warmer water were tinged with gold by the newly-risen sun. A heavy frost rested on the spruces and balsams that fringed the banks of the river, and as the sunlight struck one twig after another, it covered them with millions of points like diamonds. Many cakes of ice were floating in the river, showing that its navigation would soon be closed for the winter.

To one of these cakes of ice, towards which a boat from the schooner was making its way, the captain directed Mark's attention. On this cake, which was about as large as a dinner-table, stood a man anxiously watching the approach of the boat.

"What I can't understand," said the captain, "is where he ever found a cake of ice at this time of year strong enough to bear him up."

"Who is he? How did he get there, and what is he doing?" asked Mark, greatly excited.

"Who he is, and how he got there, are more than I know," answered "Captain Li." "What he is doing, is waiting to be taken off. The men on the tug sighted him just before you came on deck, and sung out to me to send a boat for him. It's a mercy we didn't come along an hour sooner, or we never would have seen him through the mist."

"You mean we would have missed him," said Mark, who, even upon so serious an occasion, could not resist the temptation to make a pun.

By this time the boat had rescued the man from his unpleasant position, and was returning with him on board. Before it reached the schooner Mark rushed down into the cabin and called to his parents and Ruth to hurry on deck. As they were already up and nearly dressed, they did so, and reached it in time to see the stranger helped from the boat and up the side of the vessel.

He was so exhausted that he was taken into the cabin, rolled in warm blankets, and given restoratives and hot drinks before he was questioned in regard to his adventure.

Meantime the schooner was again slipping rapidly down the broad river, and Mark, who remained on deck with his father, questioned him about the "river's breath," as he called the clouds of steam that arose from it.

"That's exactly what it is, the 'river's breath,'" said Mr. Elmer. "Warm air is lighter than cold, and consequently always rises; and the warm, damp air rising from the surface of the river into the cold air above is condensed into vapor, just as your warm, damp breath is at this very moment."

"But I should think the water would be cold with all that ice floating in it," said Mark.

"It would seem cold if we were surrounded by the air of a hot summer day," answered his father; "but being of a much higher temperature than the air above it, it would seem quite warm to you now if you should put your bare hand into it. We can only say that a thing is warm by comparing it with something that is colder, or cold by comparison with that which is warmer."

When Mark and his father went down to breakfast they found the rescued man still wrapped in blankets, but talking in a faint voice to the captain; and at the table the latter told the Elmers what he had learned from him.

His name was Jan Jansen, and he was a Swede, but had served for several years in the United States navy. On being discharged from it he had made his way to New Sweden, in the northern part of Maine; but, a week before, he had come to Bangor, hoping to obtain employment for the winter in one of the saw-mills. In this he has been unsuccessful; and the previous night, while returning from the city to the house on its outskirts in which he was staying, he undertook to cross a small creek, in the mouth of which were a number of logs; these were so cemented together by recently formed ice that he fancied they would form a safe bridge, and tried to cross on it. When near the middle of the creek, to his horror the ice gave way with a crash, and in another moment he was floating away in the darkness on the cake from which he had been so recently rescued. That it had supported him was owing to the fact that it still held together two of the logs. He had not dared attempt to swim ashore in the dark, and so had drifted on during the night, keeping his feet from freezing by holding them most of the time in the water.

After breakfast Mr. Elmer and the captain held a consultation, the result of which was that the former offered Jan Jansen work in Florida, if he chose to go to the St. Mark's with them; and Captain Drew offered to let him work his passage to that place as one of the crew of the Nancy Bell. Without much hesitation the poor Swede accepted both these offers, and as soon as he had recovered from the effects of his experience on the ice raft was provided with a bunk in the forecastle.

title: Wakulla/Chapter 2


text:
User talk:MadlizMD

--Longfellow (talk) 12:05, 26 September 2010 (UTC)

title: User talk:MadlizMD


text:
User talk:Supertouch

--Longfellow (talk) 12:09, 26 September 2010 (UTC)

title: User talk:Supertouch


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Page:The Dictionary of Australasian Biography.djvu/51

 Belstead, Francis, J.P. (brother of the preceding), was appointed Assistant Superintendent in the Convict Department, Norfolk Island, in August 1850; Clerk of Petty Sessions at Westbury, Tasmania, in May 1858; Clerk of the Municipal Council in Dec. 1863; Commissioner of Mines and Goldfields, and Magistrate and Coroner at Launceston in Feb. 1883; and Secretary and Chief Commissioner of Mines and Goldfields for Tasmania in Feb. 1886.

Benjamin, Hon. Sir Benjamin, Kt., M.L.C., J. P., eldest son of the late Moses Benjamin, J.P., was born in London in 1834, and arrived in Victoria in 1843. He was elected to the Melbourne City Council in 1870, became alderman in 1881, and was mayor from 1887 to 1889. In the year 1888 he was a commissioner for the Melbourne Centennial Exhibition, and was knighted in 1889 in recognition of his services and hospitalities during the Exhibition year. He is President of the Melbourne Hebrew Congregation, a trustee of the Jewish Philanthropic Society and the Ladies' Hebrew Benevolent Society, and is the representative of the Melbourne province in the Legislative Council. He is a director of the Colonial Bank of Australasia, and of the Union Trustees' Executors and Agency Company, and is a justice of the peace for Victoria and New South Wales. In 1857 Sir Benjamin Benjamin married Fanny, daughter of Abraham Cohen, of Sydney.

Bennett, David, was born in Dundee in 1830, and apprenticed to Messrs. Kimmond, Hutton & Steel, mechanical engineers in that city. He decided to emigrate, and landed in Melbourne early in 1856. Mr. Bennett entered Langland's Foundry, where he remained many years. He took an important part in support of the Eight Hours Movement, initiated by his fellow-countryman, James Galloway, in Melbourne (1855), and in promoting the Association of Engineers (1858), of which for twenty years he acted as secretary. Mr. Bennett was also one of the founders of the Trades Hall; and for many years acted as honorary secretary to the Trades Hall Council. To this body he was appointed paid secretary in 1888.

Bennett, George, M.D., F.R.C.S., F.L.S., F.Z.S., was born at Plymouth on Jan. 31st, 1804. He visited Ceylon in 1819, and on his return studied for the medical profession, becoming M.R.C.S. (England) in 1828, F.R.C.S. (England) and M.D. of Glasgow University in 1859. After passing the college he took charge of a circumnavigating expedition, the results of which he published in papers contributed to the leading scientific journals. In 1832 he revisited New South Wales to investigate the manners, habits and anatomy of the Monotremata, and the natural history of the colony in general. After visiting Java, Singapore and China, he published his "Wanderings in New South Wales" in 1834, and finally settled in that colony in 1836. He was the first secretary to the Australian Museum, and, although much occupied with his extensive practice as a medical man, was able to add materially to the knowledge of the natural history of New South Wales. He was the first to discover the Nautilus in a living state, and sent a specimen to Professor Owen. In 1860 he published "Gatherings of a Naturalist."

Bennett, Samuel, was a native of Cornwall, and was born on March 20th, 1815. He went to Australia in 1841, having been engaged by Messrs. Stevens & Stokes, of the Sydney Morning Herald, to superintend the typographical department of that paper. Having held this post for seventeen years, Mr. Bennett, in 1859, purchased the Empire newspaper which had been started by Mr. (now Sir) nine years previously. Messrs. Hanson & Bennett conducted the Empire for several years as a daily and weekly journal, Mr. Bennett becoming sole proprietor some time before it ceased publication. He also started in 1867 The Evening News, and in 1870 The Australian Town and Country Journal, a weekly newspaper, both of which achieved phenomenal success. Mr. Bennett was the author of "The History of Australian Discovery and Colonisation," which is recognised as a standard work of reference. He died at his residence, Mundarrah Towers, Little Coogee, Sydney, N.S.W., on June 2nd, 1878.

Bennett, William Christopher, M.I.C.E., was employed as a pupil on various territorial and railway surveys and other works in Ireland from 1840 to 1845, and as assistant engineer in charge of drainage works, under the Board of Public Works in Ireland, from 1845 to 1852. During 1852-3 he was employed in  35


text:
Author:Samuel Bennett

Works

 * The History of Australian Discovery and Colonisation

title: Author:Samuel Bennett


text:
Author:George Bennett

Works

 * Wanderings in New South Wales (1834)
 * Gatherings of a Naturalist (1860)
 * Acclimatisation: its eminent adaptation to Australia. A lecture delivered in Sydney (1862)

title: Author:George Bennett


text:
Wakulla/Chapter 3

All day the Nancy Bell was towed down the broad river, the glorious scenery along its banks arousing the constant enthusiasm of our travellers. Late in the afternoon they passed the gray walls of Fort Knox on the right, and the pretty little town of Bucksport on the left. They could just see the great hotel at Fort Point through the gathering dusk, and soon afterwards were tossing on the wild, windswept waters of Penobscot Bay.

As they cleared the land, so as to sight Castine Light over the port quarter, the tug cast loose from them and sail was made on the schooner. The last thing Mark Elmer saw as he left the deck, driven below by the bitter cold, was the gleam of the light on Owl's Head, outside which Captain Drew said they should find the sea pretty rough.

The rest of the family had gone below some time before, and Mark found that his mother was already very sea-sick. He felt rather uncomfortable himself, and did not care much for the supper, of which his father and Ruth eat so heartily. He said he thought he would go to bed, before supper was half over, and did so, although it was only six o'clock. Poor Mark! it was a week before he again sat at table or went on deck.

During this week the Nancy Bell sailed along the coasts of Maine, New Hampshire, Massachusetts, New York, New Jersey, Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, and North Carolina. She went inside of Martha's Vineyard, through Vineyard Sound, in company with a great fleet of coasters; but when they passed Gay Head, and turned to the westward into Long Island Sound, the Nancy was headed towards the lonely light-house on Montauk Point, the extreme end of Long Island. From here her course was for the Cape May lightship on the New Jersey coast, and for some time she was out of sight of land.

So they sailed, day after day, ever southward, and towards the warmth which was to make Mr. Elmer well again.

Although Mark was very ill all this time, Ruth was as bright and well as though she were on land. This was very mortifying to her brother; but "Captain Li," who went in to see him every day, comforted him by telling him of old sailors he had known who were always sea-sick for the first few days of every voyage they undertook.

The schooner was off Cape Hatteras before Mark felt able to leave his berth. At last, one evening when the sea was very quiet, "Captain Li" said, "Come, Mark, I want you to turn out and go on deck to see the last of Hatteras Light. You know Cape Hatteras is one of the worst capes along our entire Atlantic coast, and is probably the one most dreaded by sailors. When coming home from the West Indies, they sing an old song which begins:

Slowly dressing, with the captain's aid, Mark, feeling very weak, but free from the horrible sickness from which he had suffered so long, managed to get out on deck. He was astonished at the change that one week's sailing southward had made in the general appearance of things. When he was last on deck, it and the rigging were covered with snow and ice. Now not a particle of either was to be seen, and the air was mild and pleasant. A new moon hung low in the western sky, and over the smooth sea the schooner was rippling along merrily, under every stitch of canvas that she could spread.

Mark received a warm welcome from his father, mother, and Ruth, who were all on deck, but had not expected to see him there that evening.

"Quick, Mark! Look! Hatteras is 'most gone," said Ruth, pointing, as she spoke, to a little twinkle of light so far astern that it seemed to rest on the very waters. Half an hour later the captain said, "Now let's go below, where it is warmer; and if you care to hear it, I will spin you a yarn of Hatteras Light."

"Yes, indeed," said Ruth and Mark together.

"By all means; a story is just the thing," said Mr. and Mrs. Elmer, also together, at which they all laughed, hooked little fingers, and wished.

When they had made themselves comfortable in the cabin, Mark being allowed to occupy the lounge on account of his recent illness, the captain began as follows:

"Ten years ago this winter I made my first voyage of any length, though before that I had made some short runs on a little coaster between New York and down-East ports. Getting tired of this, and wanting to see something more of the world, I shipped in New York, early in December, on board the very prettiest craft I ever set eyes on, for a voyage to the West Indies. She was the hundred-ton schooner-yacht Mirage, and her owner had determined to try and make her pay him something during the winter by running her as a fruiter. She carried a crew of five men, besides the captain, mate, and steward—all young and able seamen. I was the youngest and least experienced, but was large for my age, and passed muster with the rest.

"We had a pleasant run down to Havana, passing Moro Castle and dropping anchor on the seventh day out from New York, but found some trouble there in getting a cargo for the home voyage. The delay worried our skipper considerably, for he had calculated on being home with his wife and baby at Christmas; but we of the crew enjoyed the city, and I for one got leave to go ashore whenever I could, and made the most of my opportunity to see the sights.

"We had laid there about ten days, when one morning, as the old man came up the after companion-way from the cabin, a big gray rat rushed out on deck ahead of him, scampered to the side, and plumped overboard. We all saw it in the water, swimming for the quay, which was but a short distance from us, and, quick as a thought, the skipper had jumped back into the cabin for his pistol, and before the beast had got more than half-way he had fired several shots at it. The bullets struck all around the rat, but didn't hit it, and we saw him disappear through a crevice between the stones of the quay.

"Our captain was a very superstitious man, and this incident troubled him, for I heard him say to the mate that he never knew any ship to have good luck when once the rats began to leave her.

"Soon after this we took in our cargo of pineapples and bananas and started for home. Our first three days' run was as pretty as ever was made, and with the Gulf Stream to help us, it seemed as though we might make New York in time for Christmas, after all. Then there came a change—first a gale that drove us to the westward, and then light head-winds, or no winds at all; and so we knocked round for three days more, and on the day before Christmas we hadn't rounded Hatteras, let alone made Sandy Hook, as we had hoped to do.

"It was a curious sort of a day, mild and hazy, with the sun showing round and yellow as an orange. The skipper was uneasy, and kept squinting at the weather, first on one side and then the other. We heard him say to the mate that something was coming, for the mercury was falling faster than he had ever seen it. Things stood so until sunset, when the haze settled down thicker than ever. I was at the wheel, when the skipper came on deck and ordered all canvas to be stripped from her except the double-reefed main-sail and a corner of the jib. He sung out to me to keep a sharp lookout for Hatteras Light, and then went below again.

"When I caught sight of the light, about an hour later, and reported it, it wasn't any brighter than it looked when you came on deck, a while ago, Mark, and we were heading directly for it. When the skipper came up and looked at it he told me to 'keep her so' while he took a squint at the chart.

"He hadn't more than gone below again when there came such a gust of wind and rain, with thunder and lightning close after, as to hide the light and keep me busy for a few minutes holding the schooner up to it.

"The squall passed as suddenly as it came, and there was the light, right over the end of the flying-jib-boom, burning as steady as ever, but looking mighty blue, somehow. I thought it was the effect of the mist, and tried to keep her headed for it. As I was getting terribly puzzled and fussed up by what I thought was the strange action of the compass, and by the way the little spiteful gusts of wind seemed to come from every quarter at once, the skipper came on deck. Before he had cleared the companion-way he asked,

"'How does Hatteras Light bear?'

"'Dead ahead, sir,' said I.

"As he stepped on deck he turned to look at it, and I saw him start as though he saw something awful. He looked for half a minute, and then in a half-choked sort of voice he gasped out, 'The Death-Light!'

"At the same moment the light, that I had took to be Hatteras, rolled slowly, like a ball of fire, along the jib-top-sail stay to the top-mast head, and then I knew it was a St. Elmo's fire, a thing I'd heard of but never seen before.

"As we all looked at it, afraid almost to say a word, there came a sound like a moan over the sea, and in another minute a cyclone, such as I hope never to see again, laid us, first on our beam ends, and then drove us at a fearful rate directly towards the coast.

"We drove this way for an hour or more, unable to do a thing to help ourselves, and then she struck on Hatteras sands. Her masts went as she struck, and as they fell a huge sea, rushing over the poor craft, swept overboard the captain and two men. It was some time before we knew they were gone, for we could see nothing nor hear anything but the howl of the tempest.

"We drove this way for an hour or more, unable to do a thing to help ourselves, and then she struck on Hatteras sands. Her masts went as she struck, and as they fell a huge sea, rushing over the poor craft, swept overboard the captain and two men. It was some time before we knew they were gone, for we could see nothing nor hear anything but the howl of the tempest.

"At last we got rid of the floating wreck of spars by clearing the tangled rigging with our knives, and, thus relieved, the schooner was driven a good bit farther over the sands. Finally she struck solid, and began to break up. One of her boats was stove and worthless, and in trying to clear away the other, a metallic life-boat, another man was swept overboard and lost.

"The mate and two of the crew besides myself finally got away from the wreck in this boat, and were driven in to the beach, on which we were at last flung more dead than alive.

"The next morning we made our way to the light-house, where we were kindly cared for, but where our Christmas dinner was a pretty sad affair.

"The captain's body was washed up on the beach, and a week from that day we took it and the news of his death together to his wife in New York.

"Since then I have always felt easier when I have left Hatteras Light well astern, as we have for this time, at any rate. Well, there's eight bells, and I must be on deck, so good-night to you all, and pleasant dreams."

"Is there any such thing as a 'death-light' that warns people of coming disaster?" asked Ruth of her father, when the captain had left them.

"No, my dear," he answered, "there is not. The St. Elmo's light, or St. Elmo's fire, is frequently seen in tropical seas, though rarely as far north as Cape Hatteras; and as it is generally accompanied by cyclones or hurricanes, sailors have come to regard it as an omen of evil. It is not always followed by evil consequences, however, and to believe that it foretells death is as idle and foolish as superstitions of all kinds always are."

title: Wakulla/Chapter 3


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Page:Ulysses, 1922.djvu/573

570 This was a quandary but, bringing commonsense to bear on it, evidently there was nothing for it but put a good face on the matter and foot it which they accordingly did. So, bevelling around by Mullet's and the Signal House, which they shortly reached, they proceeded perforce in the direction of Amiens Street railway terminus, Mr Bloom being handicapped by the circumstance that one of the back buttons of his trousers had, to vary the timehonoured adage, gone the way of all buttons, though, entering thoroughly into the spirit of the thing, he heroically made light of the mischance. So as neither of them were particularly pressed for time, as it happened, and the temperature refreshing since it cleared up after the recent visitation of Jupiter Pluvius, they dandered along past by where the empty vehicle was waiting without a fare or a jarvey. As it so happened a Dublin United Tramways Company's sandstrewer happening to be returning and the elder man recounted to his companion à propos of the incident his own truly miraculous escape of some little while back. They passed the main entrance of the Great Northern railway station, the starting point for Belfast, where of course all traffic was suspended at that late hour, and passing the back door of the morgue (a not very enticing locality, not to say gruesome to a degree, more especially at night), ultimately gained the Dock Tavern and in due course turned into Store street, famous for its C division police station. Between this point and the high, at present unlit, warehouses of Beresford Place Stephen thought to think of Ibsen, associated with Baird's, the stonecutter's in his mind somehow in Talbot Place, first turning on the right, while the other, who was acting as his fidus Achates inhaled with internal satisfaction the smell of James Rourke's city bakery, situated quite close to where they were, the very palatable odour indeed of our daily bread, of all commodities of the public the primary and most indispensable. Bread, the staff of life, earn your bread, O tell me where is fancy bread? At Rourke's the baker's, it is said.

En route, to his taciturn, and, not to put too fine a point on it, not yet perfectly sober companion, Mr Bloom, who at all events, was in complete possession of his faculties, never more so, in fact disgustingly sober, spoke a word of caution re the dangers of nighttown, women of ill fame and swell mobsmen, which, barely permissible once in a while, though not as a habitual practice, was of the nature of a regular deathtrap for young fellows of his age particularly if they had acquired drinking habits under the influence of liquor unless you knew a little juijitsu for every contingency as even a fellow on the broad of his back could administer a nasty kick if you didn't look out. Highly providential was the appearance on the scene of Corny Kelleher when Stephen

title: Page:Ulysses, 1922.djvu/573


text:
Talk:Wakulla/Chapter 3

Does this article have a scanned source so that other editors may proof it? Thanks, Mattisse (talk) 12:54, 26 September 2010 (UTC)

I don't think so...this is off of project gutenberg, and i haven't seen or heard of any source for Wakulla. - Tannertsf (talk) 12:56, 26 September 2010 (UTC)

title: Talk:Wakulla/Chapter 3


text:
Page:Ulysses, 1922.djvu/574

Rh was blissfully unconscious that, but for that man in the gap turning up at the eleventh hour, the finis might have been that he might have been a candidate for the accident ward, or, failing that, the bridewell and an appearance in the court next day before Mr Tobias, or, he being the solicitor, rather old Wall, he meant to say, or Malony which simply spelt ruin for a chap when it got bruited about. The reason he mentioned the fact was that a lot of those policemen, whom he cordially disliked, were admittedly unscrupulous in the service of the Crown and, as Mr Bloom put it, recalling a case or two in the A Division in Clanbrassil street, prepared to swear a hole through a ten gallon pot. Never on the spot when wanted but in quiet parts of the City, Pembroke Road, for example, the guardians of the law were well in evidence, the obvious reason being they were paid to protect the upper classes. Another thing he commented on was equipping soldiers with firearms or sidearms of any description, liable to go off at any time which was tantamount to inciting them against civilians should by any chance they fall out over anything. You frittered away your time, he very sensibly maintained, and health and also character besides which the squandermania of the thing, fast women of the demimonde ran away with a lot of £. s. d. into the bargain and the greatest danger of all was who you got drunk with though, touching the much vexed question of stimulants he relished a glass of choice old wine in season as both nourishing and bloodmaking and possessing aperient virtues (notably a good burgundy which he was a staunch believer in) still never beyond a certain point where he invariably drew the line as it simply led to trouble all round to say nothing of your being at the tender mercy of others pratically. Most of all he commented adversely on the desertion of Stephen by all his pubhunting confrères but one, a most glaring piece of ratting on the part of his brother medicos under all the circs.

—And that one was Judas, said Stephen, who up to then had said nothing whatsoever of any kind.

Discussing these and kindred topics they made a beeline across the back of the Customhouse and passed under the Loop Line bridge when a brazier of coke burning in front of a sentrybox, or something like one, attracted their rather lagging footsteps. Stephen of his own accord stopped for no special reason to look at the heap of barren cobblestones and by the light emanating from the brazier he could just make out the darker figure of the corporation watchman inside the gloom of the sentrybox. He began to remember that this had happened, or had been mentioned as having happened, before but it cost

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Page:Ulysses, 1922.djvu/575

572 him no small effort before he remembered that he recognised in the sentry a quondam friend of his father’s, Gumley. To avoid a meeting be drew nearer to the pillars of the railway bridge.

Someone saluted you, Mr Bloom said.

A figure of middle height on the prowl, evidently, under the arches saluted again, calling : Night! Stephen, of course, started rather dizzily and stopped to return the compliment. Mr Bloom, actuated by motives of inherent delicacy, inasmuch as he always believed in minding his own business, moved off but nevertheless remained on the qui vive with just a shade of anxiety though not funkyish in the least. Although unusual in the Dublin area, he knew that it was not by any means unknown for desperadoes who had next to nothing to live on to be about waylaying and generally terrorising peaceable pedestrians by placing a pistol at their head in some secluded spot outside the city proper, famished loiterers of the Thames embankment category they might be hanging about there or simply marauders ready to decamp with whatever boodle they could in one fell swoop at a moment’s notice, your money or your life, leaving you there to point a moral, gagged and garrotted.

Stephen, that is when the accosting figure came to close quarters, though he was not in any over sober state himself, recognised Corley’s breath redolent of rotten cornjuice. Lord John Corley, some called him, and his genealogy came about in this wise. He was the eldest son of Inspector Corley of the G Division, lately deceased, who had married a certain Katherine Brophy, the daughter of a Louth farmer. His grandfather, Patrick Michael Corley, of New Ross, had married the widow of a publican there whose maiden name had been Katherine (also) Talbot. Rumour had it, though not proved, that she descended from the house of the Lords Talbot de Malahide, in whose mansion, really an unquestionably fine residence of its kind and well worth seeing, his mother or aunt or some relative had enjoyed the distinction of being in service in the washkitchen. This, therefore, was the reason why the still comparatively young though dissolute man who now addressed Stephen was spoken of by some with facetious proclivities as Lord John Corley.

Taking Stephen on one side he had the customary doleful ditty to tell. Not as much as a farthing to purchase a night’s lodgings. His friends had all deserted him. Furthermore, he had a row with Leneban and called him to Stephen a mean bloody swab with a sprinkling of other uncalledfor expressions. He was out of a job and implored of Stephen to tell him where on God’s earth he could get something, anything at all to do. No, it was the daughter of the

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Page:Ulysses, 1922.djvu/576

Rh mother in the washkitchen that was fostersister to the heir of the house or else they were connected through the mother in some way, both occurrences happening at the same time if the whole thing wasn’t a complete fabrication from start to finish. Anyhow, he was all in.

I wouldn’t ask you, only, pursued he, on my solemn oath and God knows I’m on the rocks.

There’ll be a job to morrow or the next day, Stephen told him, in a boys’ school at Dalkey for a gentleman usher. Mr Garrett Deasy. Try it. You may mention my name.

Ah, God, Corley replied, sure I couldn’t teach in a school, man. I was never one of your bright ones, he added with a half laugh. Got stuck twice in the junior at the Christian Brothers.

I have no place to sleep myself, Stephen informed him.

Corley, at the first go-off, was inclined to suspect it was something to do with Stephen being fired out of his digs for bringing in a bloody tart off the street. There was a dosshouse in Marlborough street, Mrs Maloney’s, but it was only a tanner touch and full of undesirables but M’Conachie told him you got a decent enough do in the Brazen Head over in Winetavern Street (which was distantly suggestive to the person addressed of friar Bacon) for a bob. He was starving too though he hadn’t said a word about it.

Though this sort of thing went on every other night or very near it still Stephen’s feelings got the better of him in a sense though he knew that Corley’s brandnew rigmarole, on a par with the others, was hardly deserving of much credence. However, haud ignarus malorum miseris succurrere disco, etcetera, as the Latin poet remarks, especially as luck would have it he got paid his screw after every middle of the month on the sixteenth which was the date of the month as a matter of fact though a good bit of the wherewithal was demolished. But the cream of the joke was nothing would get it out of Corley’s head that he was living in affluence and hadn’t a thing to do but hand out the needful — whereas. He put his hand in a pocket anyhow, not with the idea of finding any food there, but thinking he might lend him anything up to a bob or so in lieu so that he might endeavour at all events and get sufficient to eat. But the result was in the negative for, to his chagrin, he found his cash missing. A few broken biscuits were all the result of his invetiongstia. He tried his hardest to recollect for the moment whether he had lost, as well he might have, or left, because in that contingency it was not a pleasant lookout, very much the reverse, in fact. He was altogether too fagged out to institute a thorough search though

title: Page:Ulysses, 1922.djvu/576


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


text:
Page:Ulysses, 1922.djvu/577

574 he tried to recollect about biscuits he dimly remembered. Who now exactly gave them, or where was, or did he buy? However, in another pocket he came across what he surmised in the dark were pennies, erroneously, however, as it turned out.

Those are halfcrowns, man, Corley corrected him.

And so in point of fact they turned out to be. Stephen lent him one of them.

Thanks, Corley answered. You’re a gentleman. I’ll pay you back some time. Who’s that with you? I saw him a few times in the Bleeding Horse in Camden street with Boylan the billsticker. You might put in a good word for us to get me taken on there. I’d carry a sandwichboard only the girl in the office told me they’re full up for the next three weeks, man. God, you’ve to book ahead, man, you’d think it was for the Carl Rosa. I don’t give a shite anyway so long as I get a job even as a crossing sweeper.

Subsequently, being not quite so down in the mouth after the two-and-six he got, he informed Stephen about a fellow by the name of Bags Comisky that he said Stephen knew well out of Fullam’s, the shipchandler’s, bookkeeper there, that used to be often round in Nagle’s back with O’Mara and a little chap with a stutter the name of Tighe. Anyhow, he was lagged the night before last and fined ten bob for a drunk and disorderly and refusing to go with the constable.

Mr Bloom in the meanwhile kept dodging about in the vicinity of the cobblestones near the brazier of coke in front of the corporation watchman’s sentrybox, who, evidently a glutton for work, it struck him, was having a quiet forty winks for all intents and purposes on his own private account while Dublin slept. He threw an odd eye at the same time now and then at Stephen’s anything but immaculately attired interlocutor as if he had seen that nobleman somewhere or other though where he was not in a position to truthfully state nor had he the remotest idea when. Being a levelheaded individual who could give points to not a few in point of shrewd observation, he also remarked on his very dilapidated hat and slouchy wearing apparel generally, testifying to a chronic impecuniosity. Probably he was one of his hangerson but for the matter of that it was merely a question of one preying on his nextdoor neighbour all round, in every deep, so to put it, a deeper depth and for the matter of that if the man in the street chanced to be in the dock himself penal servitude, with or without the option of a fine, would be a very rara avis altogether. In any case he had a consummate amount of cool assurance

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text:
Wakulla/Chapter 4

After leaving Hatteras not another evidence of land was seen by the passengers of the Nancy Bell for three days. At last one afternoon "Captain Li" pointed out and called their attention to a slender shaft rising apparently from the sea itself, far to the westward. He told them that it was the light-house at Jupiter Inlet, well down on the coast of Florida, and they regarded it with great interest, as giving them their first glimpse of the land that was so soon to be their home.

The weather had by this time become very warm and instead of wearing the thick clothing with which they had started, the Elmers found the very thinnest of their last summer's things all that they could bear.

Mark had almost forgotten his sea-sickness, and spent much of his time with Jan Jansen, who taught him to make knots and splices, to box the compass and to steer. Both Mark and Ruth were tanned brown by the hot sun, and Mr. Elmer said the warmth of the air had already made a new man of him.

Before the light but steady trade-wind, that kept the air deliciously cool, the Nancy Bell ran rapidly down the coast and along the great Florida Reef, which, for two hundred miles, bounds that coast on the south.

Captain Drew stood far out from the reef, being well aware of the strong currents that set towards it from all directions, and which have enticed many a good ship to her destruction. Others, however, were not so wise as he, and at daylight one morning the watch on deck sang out,

"Wreck off the starboard bow!"

This brought all hands quickly on deck, and, sure enough, about five miles from them they saw the wreck looming high out of the water, and evidently stranded. As her masts, with their crossed yards, were still standing, "Captain Li" said she must have struck very easily, and stood a good chance of being saved if she could only be lightened before a blow came that would roll a sea in on her.

"Are you going to her assistance?" asked Mr. Elmer.

"Certainly I am," answered the captain. "I consider that one of the first duties of a sailor is to give aid to his fellows in distress. Besides, if we succeed in saving her and her cargo, we stand a chance of making several thousand dollars salvage money, which I for one do not care to throw away."

"You are quite right," said Mr. Elmer. "It is seldom that we are offered an opportunity of doing good and being well paid for it at the same time, and it would be foolish, as well as heartless, not to render what assistance lies in our power."

The schooner was already headed towards the wreck, but approached it very slowly, owing to the light breeze that barely filled her sails. As the sun rose, and cast a broad flood of light over the tranquil scene, the captain anxiously scanned the line of the reef in both directions through his glass."Ah, I thought so!" he exclaimed; "there they come, and there, and there. I can count six already. Now we shall have a race for it."

"Who? what?" asked Mark, not understanding the captain's exclamations.

"Wreckers!" answered the captain. "Take the glass, and you can see their sails coming from every direction; and they have seen us long ago too. I actually believe those fellows can smell a wreck a hundred miles off. Halloo there, forward! Stand by to lower the gig."

"What are you going to do?" asked Mr. Elmer.

"I am going to try and reach that wreck before any of the boats whose sails you can see slipping out from behind those low keys. The first man aboard that ship is 'wreck-master,' and gets the largest share of salvage money."

So saying, "Captain Li" swung himself over the side and into the light gig, which, with its crew of four lusty young Maine sailors, had already been got overboard and now awaited him. As he seized the tiller ropes he shouted, "Now, then, give way! and a hundred dollars extra salvage to you four if this gig is the first boat to lay alongside of that wreck."

At these words the long ash oars bent like willow wands in the grasp of the young Northern giants, and the gig sprang away like a startled bonito, leaving a long line of bubbles to mark her course.

The wreck was still three miles off; and, with the glass, small boats could be seen shooting away from several of the approaching wrecking vessels.

"It's a race between Conchs and Yankees," said Jan Jansen to Mark.

"What are Conchs?" asked the boy.

"Why, those fellows in the other boats. Most of them come from the Bahama Islands, and all Bahamians are called 'Conchs,' because they eat so many of the shell-fish of that name."

"Well, I'll bet on the Yankees!" cried Mark.

"So will I," said the Swede. "Yankee baked beans and brown bread make better muscle than fish, which is about all the fellows down this way get to live on."

As seen from the deck of the schooner, the race had by this time become very exciting; for, as their boat approached the wreck on one side, another, manned by red-shirted wreckers, who were exhibiting a wonderful amount of pluck and endurance for "Conchs," as Jan called them, was rapidly coming up on the other. It was hard to tell which was the nearer; and while Mark shouted in his excitement, Mrs. Elmer and Ruth waved their handkerchiefs, though their friends were too far away to be encouraged by either the shouts or wavings.

At last "Captain Li's" boat dashed up alongside the wreck, and almost at the same instant the wrecker's boat disappeared from view on the opposite side.

With their glasses, those on the schooner saw their captain go up the side of the ship, hand over hand, along a rope that had been thrown him, and disappear over the bulwarks. They afterwards learned that he reached the deck of the ship, and thus made himself master of the wreck, just as the head of his rival appeared above the opposite side.

The wreck proved to be the ship Goodspeed, Captain Gillis, of and for Liverpool, with cotton from New Orleans. During the calm of the preceding night she had been caught by one of the powerful coast currents, and stealthily but surely drawn into the toils. Shortly before daylight she had struck on Pickle Reef, but so lightly and so unexpectedly that her crew could hardly believe the slight jar they felt was anything more than the shock of striking some large fish. They soon found, however, that they were hard and fast aground, and had struck on the very top of the flood tide, so that, as it ebbed, the ship became more and more firmly fixed in her position. As the ship settled with the ebbing tide she began to leak badly, and Captain Gillis was greatly relieved when daylight disclosed to him the presence of the Nancy Bell, and he greeted her captain most cordially as the latter gained the deck of his ship.

By the time the schooner had approached the wreck, as nearly as her own safety permitted, and dropped anchor for the first time since leaving Bangor, a dozen little wrecking craft, manned by crews of swarthy spongers and fishermen, had also reached the spot, and active preparations for lightening the stranded ship were being made. Her carefully battened hatches were uncovered, whips were rove to her lower yards, and soon the tightly pressed bales of cotton began to appear over her sides, and find their way into the light draught wrecking vessels waiting to receive them. As soon as one of these was loaded, she transferred her cargo to the Nancy Bell and returned for another.

While the wreckers were busily discharging the ship's cargo, her own crew were overhauling long lines of chain cable, and lowering two large anchors and two smaller ones into one of the wrecking boats that had remained empty on purpose to receive them. The cables were paid out over the stern of the ship, and made fast to the great anchors, which were carried far out into the deep water beyond the reef. Each big anchor was backed by a smaller one, to which it was attached by a cable, and which was carried some distance beyond it before being dropped overboard.

When the anchors were thus placed in position, the ends of the cables still remaining on board the ship were passed around capstans, and by means of the donkey-engine drawn taut.

At high tide that night a heavy strain was brought to bear on the cables, in hopes that the ship might be pulled off the reef; but she did not move, and the work of lightening her and searching for the leak continued all the next day.

While all this work was going on the Elmers spent most of their time in exploring the reef in the captain's gig, which was so light that Mr. Elmer and Mark could easily row it.

As the clear water was without a ripple, they could look far down into its depths, and see the bottom of branching coral, as beautiful as frosted silver. From among its branches sprang great sea-fans, delicate as lace-work, and showing, in striking contrast to the pure white of the coral, the most vivid reds, greens, and royal purple. These, and masses of feathery seaweeds, waved to and fro in the water as though stirred by a light breeze, and among them darted and played fish as brilliant in coloring as tropical birds. The boat seemed suspended in midair above fairy-land, and even the children gazed down over its sides in silence, for fear lest by speaking they should break the charm, and cause the wonderful picture to vanish.

By noon the heat of the sun was so great that they sought shelter from it on a little island, or key, of about an acre in extent, that was covered with a luxuriant vegetation, and shaded by a group of stately cocoa-nut palms. Mr. Elmer showed Mark how to climb one of these by means of a bit of rope fastened loosely around his body and the smooth trunk of the tree, and the boy succeeded in cutting off several bunches of the great nuts that hung just below the wide-spreading crown of leaves. They came to the ground with a crash, but the thick husk in which each was enveloped saved them from breaking. The nuts were quite green, and Mr. Elmer with a hatchet cut several of them open and handed them to his wife and children. None of them contained any meat, for that had not yet formed, but they were filled with a white, milky fluid, which, as all of the party were very thirsty, proved a most acceptable beverage.

After eating the luncheon they had brought with them, and satisfying their thirst with the cocoa-nut milk, Mark and Ruth explored the beach of the little island in search of shells, which they found in countless numbers, of strange forms and most beautiful colors, while their parents remained seated in the shade of the palms.

"Wouldn't it be gay if we could stay here always?" said Mark.

"No," answered the more practical Ruth; "I don't think it would be at all. I would rather be where there are people and houses; besides, I heard father say that these little islands are often entirely covered with water during great storms, and I'm sure I wouldn't want to be here then."

It was nearly sunset when they returned to the schooner, with their boat well loaded with the shells and other curiosities that the children had gathered.

At high tide that night the strain on the cables proved sufficient to move the stranded ship, and, foot by foot, she was pulled off into deep water, much to the joy of Captain Gillis and those who had worked with him.

The next morning the entire fleet—ship, schooner, and wrecking boats—set sail for Key West, which port they reached during the afternoon, and where they found they would be obliged to spend a week or more while an Admiralty Court settled the claims for salvage.

title: Wakulla/Chapter 4


text:
Page:Ulysses, 1922.djvu/578

Rh intercepting people at that hour of the night or morning. Pretty thick that was certainly.

The pair parted company and Stephen rejoined Mr Bloom, who with his practised eye, was not without perceiving that he had succumbed to the blandiloquence of the other parasite. Alluding to the encounter he said, laughingly, Stephen, that is :

He’s down on his luck. He asked me to ask you to ask somebody named Boylan, a billsticker, to give him a job as a sandwichman.

At this intelligence, in which he seemingly evinced little interest, Mr Bloom gazed abstractedly for the space of a half a second or so in the direction of a bucket dredger, rejoicing in the farfamed name of Eblana, moored alongside Customhouse Quay and quite possibly out of repair, whereupon he observed evasively :

Everybody gets their own ration of luck, they say. Now you mention it his face was familiar to me. But leaving that for the moment, how much did you part with, he queried, if I am not too inquisitive?

Half-a-crown, Stephen responded. I daresay he needs it to sleep somewhere.

Needs, Mr Bloom ejaculated, professing not the least surprise at the intelligence, I can quite credit the assertion and I guarantee he invariably does. Everyone according to his needs and everyone according to his deeds. But talking about things in general, where, added he with a smile, will you sleep yourself? Walking to Sandycove is out of the question and, even supposing you did, you won’t get in after what occurred at Westland Row station. Simply fag out there for nothing. I don’t mean to presume to dictate to you in the slightest degree but why did you leave your father’s house?

To seek misfortune, was Stephen’s answer.

I met your respected father on a recent occasion, Mr Bloom diplomatically returned. Today, in fact, or, to be strictly accurate, on yesterday. Where does he live at present? I gathered in the course of conversation that he had moved.

I believe he is in Dublin somewhere, Stephen answered unconcernedly. Why?

A gifted man, Mr Bloom said of Mr Dedalus senior, in more respects than one and a born raconteur if ever there was one. He takes great pride, quite legitimately, out of you. You could go back, perhaps, he hazarded, still thinking of the very unpleasant scene at Westland Row terminus when it

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text:
Page:History of botany (Sachs; Garnsey).djvu/258

 relations of the fruit and the seed, the existence of the embryo in the seed and its structure, and then goes on to the roots. 'The roots of trees are a part of the stem, which divides into branches and ultimately ends in capillary threads ('capillamenta'); so that, in fact, trees are simply fine tubes, which run separate from one another underground but gradually collect into bundles; these bundles unite further on with other and larger bundles, and all together ultimately join to form a single cylinder, the stem, which then by separation of the tubes at the opposite extremity stretches out its branches, and by continued gradual separation of the larger into smaller finally expands into leaves, and so reaches its furthest limits.' The conclusion of the whole account is chiefly concerned with the part played by the various kinds of tissue in the nourishment of the plant.

In the second part published in 1674, the different kinds of tissue in the stem are discussed at greater length; here there is much that is really good, but at the same time much that is imperfect to an extent which cannot be attributed solely to the inferiority of his microscope. Very excellent is the way in which he endeavours to make out the more obvious anatomical relations of the rind, the wood, and the pith, and in the texture of the rind and the wood connects the longitudinal course of the vessels and woody fibre with the horizontal course of the medullary rays and the 'silver-grain.' The magnifying powers which he used must, to judge from his figures, have been very considerable; how much of what is imperfect in them is due to the indistinctness of the field of view, and how much to inaccurate observation, we cannot say. For instance, he sees the bordered pits in the wood of Conifers without perceiving the central pore, and represents them as coarse grains lying on the outside of the wood-cells; it was unfortunate for Malpighi, as for his successors, that the large vessels in the wood of dicotyledons, to which they gave most of their attention, are often filled with secondary tissue (


text:
Page:Ulysses, 1922.djvu/579

576 was perfectly evident that the other two, Mulligan, that is, and that English tourist friend of his, who eventually euchred their third companion, were patently trying,as if the whole bally stationbelonged to them, to give Stephen the slip in the confusion.

There was no response forthcoming to the suggestion, however, such as it was, Stephen’s mind’s eye being too busily engaged in repicturing his family hearth the last time he saw it, with his sister Dilly sitting by the ingle, her hair hanging down, waiting for some weak Trinidad shell cocoa that was in the sootcoated kettle to be done so that she and he could drink it with the oatmeal water for milk after the Friday herrings they had eaten at two a penny, with an egg apiece for Maggy, Boody and Katey, the cat meanwhile under the mangle devouring a mess of eggshells and charred fish heads and bones on a square of brown paper in accordance with the third precept of the church to fast and abstain on the days commanded, it being quarter tense or, if not, ember days or something like that.

No, Mr Bloom repeated again, I wouldn’t personally repose much trust in that boon companion of yours who contributes the humorous element, Dr Mulligan, as a guide, philosopher, and friend, if I were in your shoes. He knows which side his bread is buttered on throughthough [sic] in all probability he never realised what it is to be without regular meals. Of course you didn’t notice as much as I did but it wouldn’t occasion me the least surprise to learn that a pinch of tobacco or some narcotic was put in your drink for some ulterior object.

He understood, however, from all he heard, that Dr Mulligan was a versatile allround man, by no means confined to medicine only, who was rapidly coming to the fore in his line and, if the report was verified, bade fair to enjoy a flourishing practice in the not too distant future as a tony medical practitioner drawing a handsome fee for his services in addition to which professional status his rescue of that man from certain drowning by artificial respiration and what they call first aid at Skerries, or Malahide was it? was, he was bound to admit, an exceedingly plucky deed which he could not too highly praise, so that frankly he was utterly at a loss to fathom what earthly reason could be at the back of it except he put it down to sheer cussedness or jealousy, pure and simple.

Except it simply amounts to one thing and he is what they call picking your brains, he ventured to throw out.

The guarded glance of half solicitude, half curiosity, augmented by friendliness which he gave at Stephen’s at present morose expression of features

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text: Arminell, a social romance/Chapter 15

title: Arminell, a social romance/Chapter 15


text:
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 ), which Malpighi figures Tab. vi, fig. 21, but the true nature of which was not understood till 150 years later. Malpighi, like succeeding phytotomists till as late as 1830, lays great stress on the structure of the spiral vessels or tracheae, and mentions particularly that they are surrounded by a sheath of woody fibre; but he did not fall into the strange notions which Grew and other phytotomists entertained with regard to the nature of these vessels.

We may at present omit the numerous remarks on assimilation and the movement of the sap; the descriptions and figures of the parts of buds and of the course of the bundles of vessels in different parts of plants, and especially the analyses of the flower and fruit and the examination of the seed and embryo, conducted with a carefulness remarkable for that time, deserve a fuller notice, but this would detain us too long from our main subject.

If Malpighi's work reads like a masterly sketch in which the author is bent only on giving the outlines of the architecture of plants, the much more comprehensive work of, 'The anatomy of plantes' (1682), has the appearance of a text-book of the subject thoroughly worked out in all its details; the tasteful elegance of Malpighi is here replaced by a copiousness of minute detail that is often too diffuse; while in Malpighi we only occasionally encounter the philosophical prejudices of his time, which usually lead him into mistakes, Grew's treatise is everywhere interwoven with the philosophical and theological notions of the England of that day; but we are compensated for this by the more systematic way in which he pursues the train of thought, and especially by the constant