text:
Balaustion's Adventure/IV

So, he stood petting up his puny hate, Parent-wise, proud of the ill-favoured babe. Not long! A great hand, careful lest it crush, Startled him on the shoulder: up he stared, And over him, who stood but Herakles? There smiled the mighty presence, all one smile And no touch more of the world-weary God, Through the brief respite! Just a garland's grace About the brow, a song to satisfy Head, heart and breast, and trumpet-lips at once, A solemn draught of true religious wine. And, — how should I know? — half a mountain goat Torn up and swallowed down, — the feast was fierce But brief: all cares and pains took wing and flew, Leaving the hero ready to begin And help mankind, whatever woe came next. Even though what came next should be nought more Than the mean querulous mouth o' the man, remarked Pursing its grievance up till patience failed And the sage needs must rush out, as we saw, To sulk outside and pet his hate in peace. By no means would the Helper have it so: He who was just about to handle brutes In Thrace, and bit the jaws which breathed the flame, — Well, if a good laugh and a jovial word Could bridle age which blew bad humours forth, That were a kind of help, too!

"Thou, there!" hailed This grand benevolence the ungracious one — "Why look'st so solemn and so — thought-absorbed? To guests, a servant should not sour-faced be, But do the honours with a mind urbane. While thou, contrariwise, beholding here Arrive thy master's comrade, hast for him A churlish visage, all one beetle-brow — Having regard to grief that's out-of-door! Come hither, and so get to grow more wise! Things mortal — know'st the nature that they have? No, I imagine! whence could knowledge spring? Give ear to me, then! For all flesh to die, Is Nature's due; nor is there any one Of mortals with assurance he shall last The coming morrow: for, what's born of chance Invisibly proceeds the way it will, Not to be learned, no fortune-teller's prize. This, therefore, having heard and known through me, Gladden thyself! Drink! Count the day-by-day Existence thine, and all the other — chance! Ay, and pay homage also to, by far The sweetest of divinities for man, Kupris! Benignant Goddess will she prove! But as for aught else, leave and let things be! And trust my counsel, if I seem to speak To purpose — as I do, apparently. Wilt not thou, then, — discarding overmuch Moumfulness, do away with this shut door, Come drink along with me, be-garlanded This fashion? Do so, and, — I well know what, — From this stern mood, this shrunk-up state of mind, The pit-pat fall o' the flaggon-juice down throat, Soon will dislodge thee from bad harbourage! Men being mortal should think mortal-like: Since to your solemn, brow-contracting sort. All of them, — so I lay down law at least, — Life is not truly life but misery."

Whereto the man with softened surliness: "We know as much: but deal with matters, now. Hardly befitting mirth and revelry."

"No intimate, this woman that is dead: Mourn not too much! For, those o' the house itself, Thy masters live, remember!"

"Live indeed? Ah, thou know'st nought o' the woe within these walls!"

"I do — unless thy master spoke me false Somehow!"

"Ay, ay, too much he loves a guest, Too much, that master mine!" so muttered he.

"Was it improper he should treat me well, Because an alien corpse was in the way?"

"No alien, but most intimate indeed!"

"Can it be, some woe was, he told me not?"

"Farewell and go thy way! Thy cares for thee — To us, our master's sorrow is a care."

"This word begins no tale of alien woe!"

"Had it been other woe than intimate, I could have seen thee feast, nor felt amiss."

"What! have I suffered strangely from my host?"

"Thou cam'st not at a fit reception-time: With sorrow here beforehand: and thou seest Shorn hair, black robes."

"But who is it that's dead? Some child gone? or the aged sire perhaps?"

"Admetos' wife, then! she has perished, guest!"

"How sayest? And did ye house me, all the same?"

"Ay: for he had thee in that reverence He dared not turn thee from his door away!"

"O hapless, and bereft of what a mate!"

"All of us now are dead, not she alone!"

"But I divined it! seeing, as I did, His eye that ran with tears, his close-clipt hair, His countenance! Though he persuaded me. Saying it was a stranger's funeral He went with to the grave: against my wish, He forced on me that I should enter doors, Drink in the hall o' the hospitable man Circumstanced so! And do I revel yet With wreath on head? But — thou to hold thy peace, Nor tell me what a woe oppressed my friend! Where is he gone to bury her? Where am I To go and find her?"

"By the road that leads Straight to Larissa, thou wilt see the tomb, Out of the suburb, a carved sepulchre."

So said he, and therewith dismissed himself Inside to his lamenting: somewhat soothed, However, that he had adroitly spoilt The mirth of the great creature: oh, he marked The movement of the mouth, how lip pressed lip, And either eye forgot to shine, as, fast, He plucked the chaplet from his forehead, dashed The myrtle-sprays down, trod them underfoot! And all the joy and wonder of the wine Withered away, like fire from off a brand The wind blows over — beacon though it be, Whose merry ardour only meant to make Somebody all the better for its blaze, And save lost people in the dark; quenched now!

Not long quenched! As the flame, just hurried off The brand's edge, suddenly renews its bite, Tasting some richness caked i' the core o' the tree, — Pine, with a blood that's oil, — and triumphs up Pillar-wise to the sky and saves the world: So, in a spasm and splendour of resolve, All at once did the God surmount the man.

"O much-enduring heart and hand of mine! Now show what sort of son she bore to Zeus, That daughter of Elektruon, Tiruns' child, Alkmené! for that son must needs save now The just-dead lady: ay, establish here I' the house again Alkestis, bring about Comfort and succour to Admetos so! I will go lie in wait for Death, black-stoled King of the corpses! I shall find him, sure, Drinking, beside the tomb, o' the sacrifice: And if I lie in ambuscade, and leap Out of my lair, and seize — encircle him Till one hand join the other round about — There lives not who shall pull him out from me, Rib-mauled, before he let the woman go! But even say I miss the booty, — say, Death comes not to the boultered blood, — why then, Down go I, to the unsunned dwelling-place Of Koré and the king there, — make demand, Confident I shall bring Alkestis back, So as to put her in the hands of him My host, that housed me, never drove me off: Though stricken with sore sorrow, hid the stroke, Being a noble heart and honouring me! Who of Thessalians, more than this man, loves The stranger? Who, that now inhabits Greece? Wherefore he shall not say the man was vile Whom he befriended, — native noble heart!"

So, one look upward, as if Zeus might laugh Approval of his human progeny, — One summons of the whole magnific frame, Each sinew to its service, — up he caught, And over shoulder cast, the lion-shag, Let the club go, — for had he not those hands? And so went striding off, on that straight way Leads to Larissa and the suburb tomb. Gladness be with thee, Helper of our world! I think this is the authentic sign and seal Of Godship, that it ever waxes glad, And more glad, until gladness blossoms, bursts Into a rage to suffer for mankind, And recommence at sorrow: drops like seed After the blossom, ultimate of all. Say, does the seed scorn earth and seek the sun? Surely it has no other end and aim Than to drop, once more die into the ground, Taste cold and darkness and oblivion there: And thence rise, tree-like grow through pain to joy, More joy and most joy, — do man good again.

So, off strode to the struggle Herakles. When silence closed behind the lion-garb, Back came our dull fact settling in its place, Though heartiness and passion half-dispersed The inevitable fate. And presently In came the mourners from the funeral, One after one, until we hoped the last Would be Alkestis and so end our dream. Could they have really left Alkestis lone I' the way-side sepulchre! Home, all save she! And when Admetos felt that it was so, By the stand-still: when he lifted head and face From the two hiding hands and peplos' fold And looked forth, knew the palace, knew the hills, Knew the plains, knew the friendly frequence there, And no Alkestis any more again, Why, the whole woe billow-like broke on him.

"O hateful entry, hateful countenance O' the widowed halls!" — he moaned. "What was to be? Go there? Stay here? Speak, not speak? All was now Mad and impossible alike; one way And only one was sane and safe — to die: Now he was made aware how dear is death, How loveable the dead are, how the heart Yearns in us to go hide where they repose, When we find sunbeams do no good to see, Nor earth rests rightly where our footsteps fall. His wife had been to him the very pledge, Sun should be sun, earth — earth; the pledge was robbed, Pact broken, and the world was left no world." He stared at the impossible, mad life: Stood, while they bade "Advance — advance! Go deep Into the utter dark, thy palace-core!" They tried what they called comfort, "touched the quick Of the ulceration in his soul," he said, With memories, — "once thy joy was thus and thus!" True comfort were to let him fling himself Into the hollow grave o' the tomb, and so Let him lie dead along with all he loved.

One bade him note that his own family Boasted a certain father whose sole son, Worthy bewailment, died: and yet the sire Bore stoutly up against the blow and lived; For all that he was childless now, and prone Already to grey hairs, far on in life. Could such a good example miss effect? Why fix foot, stand so, staring at the house, Why not go in, as that wise kinsman would?

"O that arrangement of the house I know! How can I enter, how inhabit thee Now that one cast of fortune changes all? Oh me, for much divides the then from now! Then — with those pine-tree torches, Pelian pomp And marriage-hymns, I entered, holding high The hand of my dear wife; while many-voiced The revelry that followed me and her That's dead now, — friends felicitating both, As who were lofty-lineaged, each of us Born of the best, two wedded and made one; Now — wail is wedding-chant's antagonist, And, for white peplos, stoles in sable state Herald my way to the deserted couch!"

The one word more they ventured was "This grief Befell thee witless of what sorrow means, Close after prosperous fortune: but, reflect! Thou hast saved soul and body. Dead, thy wife — Living, the love she left. What's novel here? Many the man, from whom Death long ago Loosed the life-partner!"

Then Admetos spoke: Turned on the comfort, with no tears, this time. He was beginning to be like his wife. I told you of that pressure to the point, Word slow pursuing word in monotone, Alkestis spoke with; so Admetos, now, Solemnly bore the burden of the truth. And as the voice of him grew, gathered strength, And groaned on, and persisted to the end, We felt how deep had been descent in grief, And with what change he came up now to light, And left behind such littleness as tears.

"Friends, I account the fortune of my wife Happier than mine, though it seem otherwise: For, her indeed no grief will ever touch, And she from many a labour pauses now, Renowned one! Whereas I, who ought not live, But do live, by evading destiny, Sad life am I to lead, I learn at last! For how shall I bear going in-doors here? Accosting whom? By whom saluted back, Shall I have joyous entry? Whither turn? Inside, the solitude will drive me forth, When I behold the empty bed — my wife's — The seat she used to sit upon, the floor Unsprinkled as when dwellers loved the cool, The children that will clasp my knees about, Cry for their mother back: these servants too Moaning for what a guardian they have lost! Inside my house such circumstance awaits. Outside, — Thessalian people's marriage-feasts And gatherings for talk will harass me, With overflow of women everywhere; It is impossible I look on them — Familiars of my wife and just her age! And then, whoever is a foe of mine, And lights on me — why, this will be his word — 'See there! alive ignobly, there he skulks That played the dastard when it came to die, And, giving her he wedded, in exchange, Kept himself out of Hades safe and sound, The coward! Do you call that creature — man? He hates his parents for declining death, Just as if he himself would gladly die!' This sort of reputation shall I have, Beside the other ills enough in store. Ill-famed, ill-faring, — what advantage, friends, Do you perceive I gain by life for death?" That was the truth. Vexed waters sank to smooth: 'T was only when the last of bubbles broke, The latest circlet widened all away And left a placid level, that up swam To the surface the drowned truth, in dreadful change. So, through the quiet and submission, — ay, Spite of some strong words — (for you miss the tone) The grief was getting to be infinite — Grief, friends fell back before. Their office shrank To that old solace of humanity — "Being born mortal, bear grief! Why born else?" And they could only meditate anew.

"They, too, upborne by airy help of song, And haply science, which can find the stars, Had searched the heights: had sounded depths as well By catching much at books where logic lurked, Yet nowhere found they aught could overcome Necessity: not any medicine served, Which Thracian tablets treasure, Orphic voice Wrote itself down upon: nor remedy Which Phoibos gave to the Asklepiadai; Cutting the roots of many a virtuous herb To solace overburdened mortals. None! Of this sole goddess, never may we go To altar nor to image: sacrifice She hears not. All to pray for is — "Approach! But, oh, no harder on me, awful one, Than heretofore! Let life endure thee still! For, whatsoe'er Zeus' nod decree, that same In concert with thee hath accomplishment. Iron, the very stuff o' the Chaluboi, Thou, by sheer strength, dost conquer and subdue; Nor, of that harsh abrupt resolve of thine, Any relenting is there!"

"O my king! Thee also, in the shackles of those hands, Not to be shunned, the Goddess grasped! Yet, bear! Since never wilt thou lead from underground The dead ones, wail thy worst! If mortals die, — The very children of immortals, too, Dropped 'mid our darkness, these decay as sure! Dear indeed was she while among us: dear, Now she is dead, must she for ever be: Thy portion was to clasp, within thy couch, The noblest of all women as a wife. Nor be the tomb of her supposed some heap That hides mortality: but like the Gods Honoured, a veneration to a world Of wanderers! Oft the wanderer, struck thereby, Who else had sailed past in his merchant-ship, Ay, he shall leave ship, land, long wind his way Up to the mountain-summit, till there break Speech forth "So, this was she, then, died of old To save her husband! now, a deity She bends above us. Hail, benignant one! Give good!" Such voices so will supplicate. But — can it be? Alkmené's offspring comes, Admetos! — to thy house advances here!"

I doubt not, they supposed him decently Dead somewhere in that winter world of Thrace — Vanquished by one o' the Bistones, or else Victim to some mad steed's voracity — For did not friends prognosticate as much? It were a new example to the point, That "children of immortals, dropped by stealth Into our darkness, die as sure as we!" A case to quote and comfort people with: But, as for lamentation, ai and pheu. Right-minded subjects kept them for their lord.

Ay, he it was advancing! In he strode, And took his stand before Admetos, — turned Now by despair to such a quietude, He neither raised his face nor spoke, this time, The while his friend surveyed him steadily. That friend looked rough with fighting: had he strained Worst brute to breast was ever strangled yet? Somehow, a victory — for there stood the strength, Happy, as always; something grave, perhaps; The great vein-cordage on the fret-worked front, Black-swollen, beaded yet with battle-dew The yellow hair o' the hero! — his big frame A-quiver with each muscle sinking back Into the sleepy smooth it leaped from late. Under the great guard of one arm, there leant A shrouded something, live and woman-like, Propped by the heart-beats 'neath the lion-coat. When he had finished his survey, it seemed, The heavings of the heart began subside, The helpful breath returned, and last the smile Shone out, all Herakles was back again, As the words followed the saluting hand.

"To friendly man, behoves we freely speak, Admetos! — nor keep buried, deep in breast, Blame we leave silent. I assuredly Judged myself proper, if I should approach By accident calamities of thine, To be demonstrably thy friend: but thou Told'st me not of the corpse then claiming care, That was thy wife's, but didst instal me guest I' the house here, as though busied with a grief Indeed, but then, mere grief beyond thy gate: And so, I crowned my head, and to the Gods Poured my libations in thy dwelling-place, With such misfortune round me. And I blame — Certainly blame thee, having suffered thus! But still I would not pain thee, pained enough: So let it pass! Wherefore I seek thee now, Having turned back again though onward bound, That I will tell thee. Take and keep for me This woman, till I come thy way again, Driving before me, having killed the king O' the Bistones, that drove of Thrakian steeds: In that case, give the woman back to me! But should I fare, — as fare I fain would not, Seeing I hope to prosper and return, — Then, I bequeath her as thy household slave. She came into my hands with good hard toil! For, what find I, when started on my course, But certain people, a whole country-side, Holding a wrestling-bout? as good to me As a new labour: whence I took, and here Come keeping with me, this, the victor's prize. For, such as conquered in the easy work, Gained horses which they drove away: and such As conquered in the harder, — those who boxed And wrestled, — cattle; and, to crown the prize, A woman followed. Chancing as I did, Base were it to forego this fame and gain! Well, as I said, I trust her to thy care: No woman I have kidnapped, understand! But good hard toil has done it: here I come! Some day, who knows? even thou wilt praise the feat!"

Admetos raised his face and eyed the pair: Then, hollowly and with submission, spoke, And spoke again, and spoke time after time, When he perceived the silence of his friend Would not be broken by consenting word. As a tired slave goes adding stone to stone Until he stop some current that molests, So poor Admetos piled up argument Vainly against the purpose, all too plain In that great brow acquainted with command.

"Nowise dishonouring, nor mid my foes Ranking thee, did I hide my wife's ill fate; But it were grief superimposed on grief, Should'st thou have hastened to another home. My own woe was enough for me to weep! But, for this woman, — if it so may be, — Bid some Thessalian, — I entreat thee, king! — Keep her, — who has not suffered like myself! Many of the Pheraioi welcome thee. Be no reminder to me of my ills! I could not, if I saw her come to live, Restrain the tear! Inflict on me, diseased, No new disease: woe bends me down enough! Then, where could she be sheltered in my house, Female and young too? For that she is young, The vesture and adornment prove. Reflect! Should such an one inhabit the same roof With men? And how, mixed up, a girl, with youths, Shall she keep pure, in that case? No light task To curb the May-day youngster, Herakles! I only speak because of care for thee. Or must I, in avoidance of such harm, Make her to enter, lead her life within The chamber of the dead one, all apart? How shall I introduce this other, couch This where Alkestis lay? A double blame I apprehend: first, from the citizens — Lest some tongue of them taunt that I betray My benefactress, fall into the snare Of a new fresh face: then, the dead one's self, — Will she not blame me likewise? Worthy, sure, Of worship from me! circumspect, my ways, And jealous of a fault, are bound to be. But thou, — O woman, whosoe'er thou art, — Know, thou hast all the form, art like as like Alkestis, in the bodily shape! Ah me! Take — by the Gods — this woman from my sight, Lest thou undo me, the undone before! Since I seem — seeing her — as if I saw My own wife! And confusions cloud my heart, And from my eyes the springs break forth! Ah, me Unhappy — how I taste for the first time My misery in all its bitterness!"

Whereat the friends conferred: "The chance, in truth, Was an untoward one — none said otherwise. Still, what a God comes giving, good or bad, That, one should take and bear with. Take her, then!"

title: Balaustion's Adventure/IV


text: Page:Poems, Volume 1, Coates, 1916.djvu/231

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


text: Page:Poems, Volume 1, Coates, 1916.djvu/234


text: Page:Poems, Volume 1, Coates, 1916.djvu/239


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text: Portal talk:Baptists

title: Portal talk:Baptists


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Portal talk:Adventism

 * Relation to Christadelphians? - What is the linkage between Adventism and the Christadelphians? Is this a typographical error? --Rcrowley7 (talk) 05:52, 30 August 2012 (UTC)
 * I agree. I can't thinkg of any sensible linkage. Removed. Beeswaxcandle (talk) 07:28, 30 August 2012 (UTC)

title: Portal talk:Adventism


text: Page:Poems, Volume 1, Coates, 1916.djvu/245


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Balaustion's Adventure/V

Herakles, — not unfastening his hold On that same misery, beyond mistake Hoarse in the words, convulsive in the face, — "I would that I had such a power," said he, "As to lead up into the light again Thy very wife, and grant thee such a grace!"

"Well do I know thou would'st: but where the hope? There is no bringing back the dead to light."

"Be not extravagant in grief, no less! Bear it, by augury of better things!"

"'T is easier to advise 'bear up,' than bear!"

"But how carve way i' the life that lies before, If bent on groaning ever for the past?"

"I myself know that: but a certain love Allures me to the choice I shall not change."

"Ay, but, still loving dead ones, still makes weep."

"And let it be so! She has ruined me, And still more than I say: that answers all."

"Oh, thou hast lost a brave wife: who disputes?"

"So brave a one — that he whom thou behold'st Will never more enjoy his life again!"

"Time will assuage! The evil yet is young!"

"Time, thou may'st say, will; if time mean — to die."

"A wife — the longing for new marriage-joys Will stop thy sorrow!"

"Hush, friend, — hold thy peace! What hast thou said! I could not credit ear!"

"How then? Thou wilt not marry, then, but keep A widowed couch?"

"There is not any one Of womankind shall couch with whom thou seest!"

"Dost think to profit thus in any way The dead one?"

"Her, wherever she abide, My duty is to honour."

"And I praise — Indeed I praise thee! Still, thou hast to pay The price of it, in being held a fool!"

"Fool call me — only one name call me not! Bridegroom!"

"No: it was praise, I portioned thee, Of being good true husband to thy wife!"

"When I betray her, though she is no more, May I die!"

And the thing he said, was true: For out of Herakles a great glow broke. There stood a victor worthy of a prize: The violet-crown that withers on the brow Of the half-hearted claimant. Oh, he knew The signs of battle hard fought and well won, This queller of the monsters! — knew his friend Planted firm foot, now, on the loathly thing That was Admetos late! "would die," he knew, Ere let the reptile raise its crest again. If that was truth, why try the true friend more?

"Then, since thou canst be faithful to the death, Take, deep into thy house, my dame!" smiled he.

"Not so! — I pray, by thy Progenitor!"

"Thou wilt mistake in disobeying me!"

"Obeying thee, I have to break my heart!"

"Obey me! Who knows but the favour done May fall into its place as duty too?"

So, he was humble, would decline no more Bearing a burden: he just sighed, "Alas! Would thou hadst never brought this prize from game!"

"Yet, when I conquered there, thou conqueredst!"

"All excellently urged! Yet — spite of all, Bear with me! let the woman go away!"

"She shall go, if needs must: but ere she go, See if there is need!"

"Need there is! At least, Except I make thee angry with me, so!"

"But I persist, because I have my spice Of intuition likewise: take the dame!"

"Be thou the victor, then! But certainly Thou dost thy friend no pleasure in the act!"

"Oh, time will come when thou shalt praise me! Now — Only obey!"

"Then, servants, since my house Must needs receive this woman, take her there!"

"I shall not trust this woman to the care Of servants."

"Why, conduct her in, thyself, If that seem preferable!"

"I prefer, With thy good leave, to place her in thy hands!"

"I would not touch her! Entry to the house — That, I concede thee."

"To thy sole right-hand, I mean to trust her!"

"King! Thou wrenchest this Out of me by main force, if I submit!"

"Courage, friend! Come, stretch hand forth! Good! Now touch The stranger-woman!"

"There! A hand I stretch — As though it meant to cut off Gorgon's head!"

"Hast hold of her?"

"Fast hold."

"Why, then, hold fast And have her! and, one day, asseverate Thou wilt, I think, thy friend, the son of Zeus, He was the gentle guest to entertain! Look at her! See if she, in any way, Present thee with resemblance of thy wife!"

Ah, but the tears come, find the words at fault! There is no telling how the hero twitched The veil off: and there stood, with such fixed eyes And such slow smile, Alkestis' silent self! It was the crowning grace of that great heart, To keep back joy: procrastinate the truth Until the wife, who had made proof and found The husband wanting, might essay once more, Hear, see, and feel him renovated now — Able to do, now, all herself had done, Risen to the height of her: so, hand in hand, The two might go together, live and die.

Beside, when he found speech, you guess the speech. He could not think he saw his wife again: It was some mocking-God that used the bliss To make him mad! Till Herakles must help: Assure him that no spectre mocked at all; He was embracing whom he buried once. Still, — did he touch, might he address the true, — True eye, true body of the true live wife?

And Herakles said, smiling "All was truth. Spectre? Admetos had not made his guest One who played ghost-invoker, or such cheat! Oh, he might speak and have response, in time! All heart could wish was gained now — life for death: Only, the rapture must not grow immense: Take care, nor wake the envy of the Gods!"

"O thou, of greatest Zeus true son," — so spoke Admetos when the closing word must come, "Go ever in a glory of success, And save, that sire, his offspring to the end! For thou hast — only thou — raised me and mine Up again to this light and life!" Then asked Tremblingly, how was trod the perilous path Out of the dark into the light and life: How it had happened with Alkestis there.

And Herakles said little, but enough — How he engaged in combat with that king O' the dæmons: how the field of contest lay By the tomb's self: how he sprang from ambuscade, Captured Death, caught him in that pair of hands.

But all the time, Alkestis moved not once Out of the set gaze and the silent smile; And a cold fear ran through Admetos' frame: "Why does she stand and front me, silent thus?"

Herakles solemnly replied "Not yet Is it allowable thou hear the things She has to tell thee; let evanish quite That consecration to the lower Gods, And on our upper world the third day rise! Lead her in, meanwhile; good and true thou art, Good, true, remain thou! Practise piety To stranger-guests the old way! So, farewell! Since forth I fare, fulfil my urgent task Set by the king, the son of Sthenelos."

Fain would Admetos keep that splendid smile Ever to light him. "Stay with us, thou heart! Remain our house-friend!"

"At some other day! Now, of necessity, I haste!" smiled he.

"But may'st thou prosper, go forth on a foot Sure to return! Through all the tetrarchy, Command my subjects that they institute Thanksgiving-dances for the glad event, And bid each altar smoke with sacrifice! For we are minded to begin a fresh Existence, better than the life before; Seeing, I own myself supremely blest."

Whereupon all the friendly moralists Drew this conclusion: chirped, each beard to each: "Manifold are thy shapings, Providence! Many a hopeless matter Gods arrange. What we expected, never came to pass: What we did not expect, Gods brought to bear; So have things gone, this whole experience through!"

Ah, but if you had seen the play itself! They say, my poet failed to get the prize: Sophokles got the prize, — great name! They say, Sophokles also means to make a piece. Model a new Admetos, a new wife: Success to him! One thing has many sides. The great name! But no good supplants a good, Nor beauty undoes beauty. Sophokles Will carve and carry a fresh cup, brimful Of beauty and good, firm to the altar-foot, And glorify the Dionusiac shrine: Not clash against this crater, in the place Where the God put it when his mouth had drained, To the last dregs, libation life-blood-like, And praised Euripides for evermore — The Human with his droppings of warm tears.

Still, since one thing may have so many sides, I think I see how, — far from Sophokles, — You, I, or any one might mould a new Admetos, new Alkestis. Ah, that brave Bounty of poets, the one royal race That ever was, or will be, in this world! They give no gift that bounds itself and ends I' the giving and the taking: theirs so breeds I' the heart and soul o' the taker, so transmutes The man who only was a man before, That he grows god-like in his turn, can give — He also: share the poets' privilege, Bring forth new good, new beauty, from the old. As though the cup that gave the wine, gave, too, The God's prolific giver of the grape, That vine, was wont to find out, fawn around His footstep, springing still to bless the dearth, At bidding of a Mainad. So with me: For I have drunk this poem, quenched my thirst, Satisfied heart and soul — yet more remains! Could we too make a poem? Try at least, Inside the head, what shape the rose-mists take!

When God Apollon took, for punishment, A mortal form and sold himself a slave To King Admetos till a term should end, — Not only did he make, in servitude, Such music, while he fed the flocks and herds. As saved the pasturage from wrong or fright, Curing rough creatures of ungentleness: Much more did that melodious wisdom work Within the heart o' the master: there, ran wild Many a lust and greed that grow to strength By preying on the native pity and care, Would else, all undisturbed, possess the land.

And these, the God so tamed, with golden tongue, That, in the plenitude of youth and power, Admetos vowed himself to rule thenceforth In Pherai solely for his people's sake, Subduing to such end each lust and greed That dominates the natural charity.

And so the struggle ended. Right ruled might: And soft yet brave, and good yet wise, the man Stood up to be a monarch; having learned The worth of life, life's worth would he bestow On all whose lot was cast, to live or die, As he determined for the multitude. So stands a statue: pedestalled sublime, Only that it may wave the thunder off, And ward, from winds that vex, a world below.

And then, — as if a whisper found its way E'en to the sense o' the marble, — "Vain thy vow! The royalty of its resolve, that head Shall hide within the dust ere day be done: That arm, its outstretch of beneficence, Shall have a speedy ending on the earth: Lie patient, prone, while light some cricket leaps And takes possession of the masterpiece, To sit, sing louder as more near the sun. For why? A flaw was in the pedestal; Who knows? A worm's work! Sapped, the certain fate O' the statue is to fall, and thine to die!"

Whereat the monarch, calm, addressed himself To die, but bitterly the soul outbroke — "O prodigality of life, blind waste I' the world, of power profuse without the will To make life do its work, deserve its day! My ancestors pursued their pleasure, poured The blood o' the people out in idle war, Or took occasion of some weary peace To bid men dig down deep or build up high, Spend bone and marrow that the king might feast Entrenched and buttressed from the vulgar gaze. Yet they all lived, nay, lingered to old age: As though Zeus loved that they should laugh to scorn The vanity of seeking other ends In rule, than just the ruler's pastime. They Lived; I must die."

And, as some long last moan Of a minor suddenly is propped beneath By note which, new-struck, turns the wail, that was, Into a wonder and a triumph, so Began Alkestis: "Nay, thou art to live! The glory that, in the disguise of flesh, Was helpful to our house, — he prophesied The coming fate: whereon, I pleaded sore That he, — I guessed a God, who to his couch Amid the clouds must go and come again, While we were darkling, — since he loved us both, He should permit thee, at whatever price, To live and carry out to heart's content Soul's purpose, turn each thought to very deed, Nor let Zeus lose the monarch meant in thee.

"To which Apollon, with a sunset smile, Sadly — 'And so should mortals arbitrate! It were unseemly if they aped us Gods, And, mindful of our chain of consequence, Lost care of the immediate earthly link: Forewent the comfort of life's little hour, In prospect of some cold abysmal blank Alien eternity, — unlike the time They know, and understand to practise with, — No, — our eternity — no heart's blood, bright And warm outpoured in its behoof, would tinge Never so palely, warm a whit the more: Whereas retained and treasured — left to beat Joyously on, a life's length, in the breast O' the loved and loving, — it would throb itself Through, and suffuse the earthly tenement, Transform it, even as your mansion here Is love-transformed into a temple-home Where I, a God, forget the Olumpian glow, I' the feel of human richness like the rose: Your hopes and fears, so blind and yet so sweet With death about them. Therefore, well in thee To look, not on eternity, but time: To apprehend that, should Admetos die, All, we Gods purposed in him, dies as sure: That, life's link snapping, all our chain is lost. And yet a mortal glance might pierce, methinks, Deeper into the seeming dark of things, And learn, no fruit, man's life can bear, will fade: Learn, if Admetos die now, so much more Will pity for the frailness found in flesh, Will terror at the earthly chance and change Frustrating wisest scheme of noblest soul, Will these go wake the seeds of good asleep Throughout the world: as oft a rough wind sheds The unripe promise of some field-flower, — true! But loosens too the level, and lets breathe A thousand captives for the year to come. Nevertheless, obtain thy prayer, stay fate! Admetos lives — if thou wilt die for him!'

"So was the pact concluded that I die, And thou live on, live for thyself, for me, For all the world. Embrace and bid me hail, Husband, because I have the victory — Am, heart, soul, head to foot, one happiness!"

Whereto Admetos, in a passionate cry: "Never, by that true word Apollon spoke! All the unwise wish is unwished, O wife! Let purposes of Zeus fulfil themselves, If not through me, then through some other man! Still, in myself he had a purpose too, Inalienably mine, to end with me: This purpose — that, throughout my earthly life. Mine should be mingled and made up with thine, — And we two prove one force and play one part And do one thing. Since death divides the pair, 'T is well that I depart and thou remain Who wast to me as spirit is to flesh: Let the flesh perish, be perceived no more, So thou, the spirit that informed the flesh, Bend yet awhile, a very flame above The rift I drop into the darkness by, — And bid remember, flesh and spirit once Worked in the world, one body, for man's sake. Never be that abominable show Of passive death without a quickening life — Admetos only, no Alkestis now!"

Then she: "O thou Admetos, must the pile Of truth on truth, which needs but one truth more To tower up in completeness, trophy-like, Emprize of man, and triumph of the world, Must it go ever to the ground again Because of some faint heart or faultering hand, Which we, that breathless world about the base, Trusted should carry safe to altitude, Superimpose o' the summit, our supreme Achievement, our victorious coping-stone? Shall thine, Beloved, prove the hand and heart That fail again, flinch backward at the truth Would cap and crown the structure this last time, — Precipitate our monumental hope To strew the earth ignobly yet once more? See how, truth piled on truth, the structure wants, Waits just the crowning truth I claim of thee! Would'st thou, for any joy to be enjoyed, For any sorrow that thou might'st escape, Unwill thy will to reign a righteous king? Nowise! And were there two lots, death and life, — Life, wherein good resolve should go to air, Death, whereby finest fancy grew plain fact I' the reign of thy survivor, — life or death? Certainly death, thou choosest. Here stand I The wedded, the beloved one: hadst thou loved One who less worthily could estimate Both life and death than thou? Not so should say Admetos, whom Apollon made come court Alkestis in a car, submissive brutes Of blood were yoked to, symbolizing soul Must dominate unruly sense in man. Then, shall Admetos and Alkestis see Good alike, and alike choose, each for each, Good, — and yet, each for other, at the last, Choose evil? What? thou soundest in my soul To depths below the deepest, reachest good In evil, that makes evil good again, And so allottest to me that I live And not die — letting die, not thee alone, But all true life that lived in both of us? Look at me once ere thou decree the lot!"

Therewith her whole soul entered into his, He looked the look back, and Alkestis died.

And even while it lay, i' the look of him, Dead, the dimmed body, bright Alkestis' soul Had penetrated through the populace Of ghosts, was got to Koré, — throned and crowned The pensive queen o' the twilight, where she dwells Forever in a muse, but half away From flowery earth she lost and hankers for, — And there demanded to become a ghost Before the time.

Whereat the softened eyes Of the lost maidenhood that lingered still Straying among the flowers in Sicily, Sudden was startled back to Hades' throne, By that demand: broke through humanity Into the orbed omniscience of a God, Searched at a glance Alkestis to the soul, And said — while a long slow sigh lost itself I' the hard and hollow passage of a laugh:

"Hence, thou deceiver! This is not to die, If, by the very death which mocks me now, The life, that's left behind and past my power, Is formidably doubled. Say, there fight Two athletes, side by side, each athlete armed With only half the weapons, and no more, Adequate to a contest with their foe: If one of these should fling helm, sword and shield To fellow — shieldless, swordless, helmless late — And so leap naked o'er the barrier, leave A combatant equipped from head to heel, Yet cry to the other side, 'Receive a friend Who fights no longer!' 'Back, friend, to the fray!' Would be the prompt rebuff; I echo it. Two souls in one were formidable odds: Admetos must not be himself and thou!"

And so, before the embrace relaxed a whit, The lost eyes opened, still beneath the look; And lo, Alkestis was alive again, And of Admetos' rapture who shall speak?

So, the two lived together long and well. But never could I learn, by word of scribe Or voice of poet, rumour wafts our way, That, — of the scheme of rule in righteousness, The bringing back again the Golden Age, Which, rather than renounce, our pair would die — That ever one faint particle came true, With both alive to bring it to effect: Such is the envy Gods still bear mankind!

So might our version of the story prove, And no Euripidean pathos plague Too much my critic-friend of Syracuse.

"Besides your poem failed to get the prize: (That is, the first prize: second prize is none.) Sophokles got it!" Honour the great name! All cannot love two great names; yet some do: I know the poetess who graved in gold, Among her glories that shall never fade, This style and title for Euripides, The Human with his droppings of warm tears.

I know, too, a great Kaunian painter, strong As Herakles, though rosy with a robe Of grace that softens down the sinewy strength: And he has made a picture of it all. There lies Alkestis dead, beneath the sun, She longed to look her last upon, beside The sea, which somehow tempts the life in us To come trip over its white waste of waves, And try escape from earth, and fleet as free. Behind the body, I suppose there bends Old Pheres in his hoary impotence; And women-wailers, in a corner crouch — Four, beautiful as you four — yes, indeed! — Close, each to other, agonizing all, As fastened, in fear's rhythmic sympathy, To two contending opposite. There strains The might o' the hero 'gainst his more than match, — Death, dreadful not in thew and bone, but like The envenomed substance that exudes some dew Whereby the merely honest flesh and blood Will fester up and run to ruin straight, Ere they can close with, clasp and overcome The poisonous impalpability That simulates a form beneath the flow Of those grey garments; I pronounce that piece Worthy to set up in our Poikilé!

And all came, — glory of the golden verse, And passion of the picture, and that fine Frank outgush of the human gratitude Which saved our ship and me, in Syracuse, — Ay, and the tear or two which slipt perhaps Away from you, friends, while I told my tale, — It all came of this play that gained no prize! Why crown whom Zeus has crowned in soul before?

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Rh fried with a few slices of potatoes. She could not resist telling me how much better she could have done had I not given away the alcohol to the frozen men!

The breakfast revived the general so much that he began to make light of danger in order to quiet me. The snow had ceased to fall, but for all that it still seemed that we were castaways and forgotten, hidden under the drifts that nearly surrounded us. Help was really near at hand, however, at even this darkest hour. A knock at the door, and the cheery voices of men came up to our ears. Some citizens of Yankton had at last found their way to our relief, and the officers, who neither knew the way nor how to travel over such a country, had gladly followed. They told us that they had made several attempts to get out to us, but the snow was so soft and light that they could make no headway. They floundered and sank down almost out of sight, even in the streets of the town. Of course no horse could travel, but they told me of their intense anxiety, and said that fearing I might be in need of immediate help they had dragged a cutter over the drifts, which now had a crust of ice formed from the sleet and the moisture of the damp night air. Of course I declined to go without the general, but I was more touched than I could express by their thought of me. I made some excuse to go up-stairs, where, with my head buried in the shawl partition, I tried to smother the sobs that had been suppressed during the terrors of our desolation. Here the general found me, and though comforting me by tender words, he still reminded me that he would not like any one to know that I had lost Rh

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User talk:Scott MacDonald

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26 my pluck when all the danger I had passed through was really ended.

The officers made their way over to camp, for they were anxious and uncertain as to what might have happened to the few persons remaining there. I had been extremely troubled, for each of the soldiers for whom we had been caring had, with a trooper's usual love of the sensational, told us of frozen men and of the birth of babies to the laundresses. These stories had reached town through stragglers, until we imagined from the exaggeration that enough newly-born children might be found to start a small orphan asylum. The officers soon returned with the story reduced to one little stranger who had come safely into this world in the stormy night, sheltered by a tent only. No men were frozen, fortunately, though all had suffered. The soldier detailed to take care of the general's horses found his way back with them, and in his solemn voice told us that in spite of every effort, sharing his blankets and holding the little things through the storm, the thorough-bred puppies had frozen one by one. There was one little box-stove in camp which the officers brought back, accompanied by its owner, an old and somewhat infirm officer.

In the midst of all this excitement, and the reaction from the danger, I could not suppress my sense of the ludicrous when I saw the daintiest and most exquisite officer of "ours," whom last I remembered careering on his perfectly equipped and prancing steed before the admiring eyes of the Memphis belles, now wound up with scarfs and impromptu leggings of flannel; his hat tied down with a woollen comforter; buffalo gloves on

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 ADDRESS

DELIVERED TO THE

INSTITUTION OF MECHANICAL ENGINEERS GLASGOW, 1856.


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If it wasn't for the 'Ouses in Between

If you saw my little backyard, "Wot a pretty spot!" you'd cry - It's a picture on a sunny summer day; Wiv the turnip tops and cabbages wot people doesn't buy, I makes it on a Sunday look all gay. The neighbours fink I grows 'em, and you'd fancy you're in Kent, Or at Epsom if you gaze into the mews; It's a wonder as the landlord doesn't want to raise the rent, Because we have such nobby distant views.

Oh! it really is a werry pretty garden, And Chingford to the eastward could be seen; Wiv a ladder and some glasses, You could see to 'Ackney Marshes, If it wasn't for the 'ouses in between.

We're as countrified as can be wiv a clothes prop for a tree, The tub-stool makes a rustic little stile; Ev'ry time the blooming clock strikes there's a cuckoo sings to me, And I've painted up "To Leather Lane, a mile." Wiv tom-ar-toes and wiv radishes wot 'adn't any sale, The backyard looks a puffick mass o' bloom; And I've made a little beehive wiv some beetles in a pail, And a pitchfork wiv the 'andle o' the broom.

Oh! it really is a werry pretty garden, And the soap works from the 'ouse-tops could be seen; If I got a rope and pulley, I'd enjoy the breeze more fully, If it wasn't for the 'ouses in between.

There's the bunny shares iis egg box wiv the cross-eyed cock and hen, Though they 'as got the pip and him the 'morf; In a dog's 'ouse on the line-post there was pigeons, nine or ten, Till some one took'd a brick and knocked it off. The dust-cart, though it seldom comes, is just like 'arvest 'ome And we made to rig a dairy up some'ow; Put the donkey in the wash'ouse wiv some imitation 'orns, For we're teaching 'im to moo just like a kah.

Oh! it really is a wery pretty garden, And 'Endon to the westward could be seen; And by clinging to the chimbley, You could see across to Wembley, If it wasn't for the 'ouses in between.

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LIFE

) | topic = Life | page = 441 }}


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40 marine, and locomotive. Cotton, manufacturing, and various other kinds of machinery are also made here in considerable quantities. With such links of connection amongst us, I trust that this, our first meeting in this city, may be the forerunner of many others, and that we shall add many members to our Institution.

Great attention is now being paid to improvements in the manufacture of malleable iron and steel. I need not tell you of what vast importance it must be to those who are more immediately connected with those branches of mechanics requiring nicety of workmanship, to have iron and steel of a better quality. I may mention that in making rifle-barrels for the experiments which I have undertaken for the Government, one of the greatest difficulties I encounter, in attaining the degree of accuracy that I require, arises from the defects in the metal. What we want is iron of great strength, free from seams, flaws, and hard places. Inferior iron (with the use of other defective and improper materials) is perhaps the main cause of one of the greatest errors committed in the construction of whatever in mechanism has to be kept in motion. I mean the increase of size of the parts of a machine or carriage, in order to get strength, thereby adding weight until they are considered to be strong enough. In our vehicles of draught


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 LIFE

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = But helpless Pieces of the Game He plays Upon this Checker-board of Nights and Days; Hither and thither moves, and checks, and slays, And one by one back in the Closet lays. Omar Khayyam—Rubaiyat. LXLX. FrrzGerald's trans. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Huxley) | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Life | page = 449 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = 15 | text = And fear not lest Existence closing your Account should lose or know the type no more: The Eternal Saki from that Bowl has poured Millions of Bubbles like us and will pour. Omar Khayyam—Rubaiyat. FitzGerald's Trans. (In the edition of 1889 the second line reads: Account and mine, should know the like no more.) < | seealso = (See also {{sc|Bacon}}) | topic = Life | page = 449 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = My life is like the summer rose That opens to the morning sky. But ere the shade of evening close Is scatter'd on the ground to die. Claimed by Patrick O'Kelly. The Simile. Pub. 1824. Authorship doubted. The lines appeared in a Philadelphia paper about 1815-16, attributed to Richard Henry Wilde. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Life | page = 449 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Id quoque, quod vivam, munus habere dei. This also, that I live, I consider a gift of God. Ovid—Tristium. I. 1. 20. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Life | page = 449 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = This life a theatre we well may call, Where very actor must perform with art, Or laugh it through, and make a farce of all, Or learn to bear with grace his tragic part. Palladas. Epitaph in Palatine Anthology. X. 72. As translated by Robert Bland. (From the Greek.) Part of this Sir Thomas Shadwell wished to have inscribed on the monument in Westminster Abbey to his father, Thomas Shadwell. (See {{sc|Quotations}} under {{sc|Acting, World}}) | topic = Life | page = 449 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Condition de l'homme, inconstance, ennui, inquietude. | trans = The state of man is inconstancy, ennui, anxiety. | author = Pascal | work = Pensées. | place = Art. VI. 46. | note = | topic = Life | page = 449 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = On s'eveille, on se leve, on s'habille, et Ton sort; On rentre, on dine, on soupe, on se couche, et Ton dort. One awakens, one rises, one dresses, and one goes forth; One returns, one dines, one sups, one retires and one sleeps. De Pns. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Montenaeken}}) | topic = Life | page = 449 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Natura vero nihil hominibus brevitate vitae praestitit melius. Nature has given man no better thing than shortness of fife. Pliny the Elder—Historia Naturalis. VII. . 3. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Life | page = 449 }}


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LIFE


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{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = No man can lose what he never had. Izaak Walton—The Compleat Angler. Pt. I. Ch. V. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Marlowe) | place = | note = | topic = | page = 463 }}

LOTUS Zizyphus Lotus

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Where drooping lotos-flowers, distilling balm, Dream by the drowsy streamlets sleep hath crown'd, While Care forgets to sigh, and Peace hath balsamed Pain. Paul H Hayne—Sonnet. Pent in this Common Sphere. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 463 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = The lotus flower is troubled At the sun's resplendent light; With sunken head and sadly She dreamily waits for the night. Heine—Book of Songs. Lyrical Interlude. No. 10. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 463 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Lotos, the name; divine, nectareous juice! Homer—Odyssey. Bk. IX. L. 106 | author = | work = | place = | note = {{sc|Pope}}'s trans. | topic = | page = 463 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Stone lotus cups, with petals dipped in sand. | author = Jean Ingelow | work = Gladys and her Island. | place = L. 460. | note = | topic = | page = 463 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Oh! what are' the brightest that e'er have blown To the lote-tree, springing by Alla's throne, Whose flowers have a soul in every leaf. | author = Moore | work = Lalla Rookh. Paradise and the Peri. | place = | note = | topic = | page = 463 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = They wove the lotus band to deck And fan with pensile wreath their neck. | author = Moore | work = Odes of Anacreon. | place = Ode LXX. | topic = | page = 463 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = A spring there is, whose silver waters show Clear as a glass the shining sands below: A flowering lotos spreads its arms above, Shades all the banks, and seems itself a grove. | author = Pope | work = Sappho to Phaon. | place = L. 177. | topic = | page = 463 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = The lotos bowed above the tide and dreamed. Margaret J. Preston—Rhodope's Sandal. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 463 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = The Lotos blooms below the barren peak: The Lotos blooms by every winding creek: All day the wind breathes low with mellower tone: Thro' every hollow cave and alley lone. Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos-dust is blown. | author = Tennyson | work = The Lotos-Eaters. Choric Song. | place = St. 8. | topic = Lotus | page = 463 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = In that dusk land of mystic dream Where dark Osiris sprung, It bloomed beside his sacred stream While yet the world was young; And every secret Nature told, Of golden wisdom's power, Is nestled still in every fold, Within the Lotos flower. | author = Wm. Winter | work = A Lotos Flower. | topic = Lotus | page = 463 }}


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 LOVE LOVE

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = | seealso = (See also {{sc|Coweer}} under {{sc|Loss) Love is a boy by poets styl'd: Then spare the rod and spoil the child. Butler—Hudibras. Pt. II. Canto I. L. 843. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 466 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = What mad lover ever dy'd, To gain a soft and gentle bride? Or for a lady tender-hearted, In purling streams or hemp departed? Butler—Hudibras. Pt. III. Canto I. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 466 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = 5 | text = When things were as fine as could possibly be I thought 'twas the spring; but alas it was she. John Byrom—A Pastoral. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 466 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Oh Love! young Love! bound in thy rosy band, Let sage or cynic prattle as he will, These hours, and only these, redeem Life's years of ill. | author = Byron | work = Childe Harold. Canto II. St. 81. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 466 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Who loves, raves—'tis youth's frenzy—but the cure Is bitterer still. Byron—Childe Harold. Canto IV. St. 123. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 466 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = O! that the Desert were my dwelling place, With one fair Spirit for my minister, That I might afl forget the human race, And, hating no one, love but only her! Byron—Childe Harold. Canto IV. St. 177 Man's love is of man's life a thing apart, 'Tis woman's whole existence: man may range The court, camp, church, the vessel, and the mart, Sword, gown, gain, glory, offer in exchange Pride, fame, ambition, to fill up his heart, And few there are whom these cannot estrange; Men have all these resources, we but one, To love again, and be again undone. | author = Byron | work = Don Juan. Canto I. St. 194. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Crowe, De Staël) Alas! the love of women! it is known To be a lovely and a fearful thing. Byron—Don Juan. Canto II. St. 199. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 466 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = ^An her first passion woman loves her lover; Xln all the others, all she loves is love. | author = Byron | work = Don Juan. Canto III. St. 3. La Rochefoucauld. Maxims, No. 497. And to his eye There was but one beloved face on earth, And that was shining on him. Byron—The Dream. St. 2. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 466 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = She knew she was by him beloved,—she knew For quickly comes such knowledge, that his heart Was darken'd with her shadow. Byron—The Dream. St. 3. The cold in clime are cold in blood, Their love can scarce deserve the name. Byron—The Giaour. L. 1,099. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 466 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = 15 | text = Yes, Love indeed is light from heaven; A spark of that immortal fire With angels shared, by Allah given To lift from earth our low desire. Byron—The Giaour. L. 1,131. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 466 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Why did she love him? Curious fool!—be stillIs human love the growth of human will? | author = Byron | work = Lara. Canto II. St. 22. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 466 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = I'll bid the hyacinth to blow, I'll teach my grotto green to be; And sing my true love, all below The holly bower and myrtle tree. Campbell—Caroline. Pt. I. My love lies bleeding. Campbell—O'Connor's Child. St. 5. He that loves a rosy cheek, Or a coral lip admires, Or from star-like eyes doth seek -> Fuel to maintain his fires, As Old Time makes these decay, So his flames must waste away. Thos. Carew—Disdain Returned. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 466 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Then fly betimes, for only they Conquer love, that run away. Thos. Carew—Song. Conquest by Flight. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Butler}} under {{sc|War}}) | topic = Love | page = 466 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Of all the girls that are so smart There's none like pretty Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And lives in our alley. Henry Carey—Sally in our Alley. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 466 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Let Time and Chance combine, combine! Let Time and Chance combine! The fairest love from heaven above, That love of yours was mine, My Dear! That love of yours was mine. Carlyle—Adieu. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 466 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Vivamus, mea Lesbia atque amemus. My Lesbia, let us live and love. Catullus—Carmina. V. 1. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 466 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Mulier cupido quod dicit amanti, In vento et rapida scribere oportet aqua. What woman says to fond lover should be written on air or the swift water. Catullus—Carmina. LXX. 3. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 466 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Difficile est longum subito deponere amorem. It is difficult at once to relinquish a longcherished love. Catullus—Carmina. LXXVI. 13. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 466 }}


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 468 LOVE Poor love is lost in men's capacious minds, In ours, it fills up all the room it finds. John Crowne—Thyestes. | seealso = (See also ) | topic = Love | page = 468 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Fool, not to know that love endures no tie, And Jove but laughs at lovers' perjury. Dryden—Palamon and Arcite. Bk. II. L. 75. Amphitron. Act I. Sc. 2. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Massdjger, Ovid, Romeo and Jultet, Ttbullus) Pains of love be sweeter far Than all other pleasures are. Dryden—Tyrannic Love. Act IV. Sc. 1. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 468 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Two souls in one, two hearts into one heart. Du Bartas—Divine Weekes and Workes. First Week. Pt. I. Sixth day. L. 1,057. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Bellinghausen}}) | topic = Love | page = 468 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = I'm sitting on the stile, Mary, Where we sat side by side. Lady Dufferin—Lament of the Irish Emt-grant. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 468 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Oh, tell me whence Love cometh! Love comes uncall'd, unsent. Oh, tell me where Love goeth! That was not Love that went. Burden of a Woman. Found in J. W. Ebsworth's Roxburglie Ballads. LOVE The solid, solid universe Is pervious to Love; With bandaged eyes he never errs, Around, below, above. His blinding light He flingeth white On God's and Satan's brood, And reconciles By mystic wiles The evil and the good. Emerson-—Cupido. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 468 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = But is it what we love, or how we love, That makes true good? George Eliot—The Spanish Gypsy. Bk. I. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 468 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = 'Tis what I love determines how I love. George Eliot—The Spanish Gypsy. Bk. I. Women know no perfect love: Loving the strong, they can forsake the strong; Manclings because the being whom he loves Is weak and needs him. George Eliot—The Spanish Gypsy. Bk. III. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 468 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = A ruddy drop of manly blood The surging sea outweighs; The world uncertain comes and goes, The lover rooted stays. Emerson—Essays. First Series. Epigraph to Friendship. . y Love, which is the essence of God, is not for levity, but for the total worth of man. | author = Emerson | work = Essays. Of Friendship. | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 468 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = All mankind love a lover. Emerson—Essays. Of Love. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 468 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Venus, when her son was lost, Cried him up and down the coast, In hamlets, palaces, and parks, And told the truant by bis marks,— Golden curls, and quiver, and bow. Emerson—Initial, Demoniac and Celestial Love. St. 1. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 468 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Mais on revient toujours A ses premieres amours. But one always returns to one's first loves. Quoted by Etiexne in Joconde. Act III. 1. Same idea in Flint—Xatural History. X. 63. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 468 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Venus, thy eternal sway • All the race of men obey. Euripides—Iphigenia in Avlis. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 468 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = He is not a lover who does not love for ever. Euripides—Troades. 1,051. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 468 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Wedded love is founded on esteem. Elijah Fenton—Mariamne. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Vdlliers}}) | topic = Love | page = 468 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Love is the tyrant of the heart; it darkens Reason, confounds discretion; deaf to Counsel It runs a headlong course to desperate madness. John Ford—The Lover's Melancholy. Act III. Sc.3. L. 105. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 468 }}


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 LOVE

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = It is better to poyson hir with the sweet bait of love. Lylt—Euphves. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Romeo and Juliet) Nothing is more hateful than love. Lylt—Euphves, | seealso = (See also {{sc|Troilus and Cressida}}) | topic = Love | page = 473 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = The lover in the husband may be lost. Lord Lyttleton—Advice to a Lady. St. 13. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 473 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = None without hope e'er lov'd the brightest fair: But Love can hope where Reason would despair. Lord Lyttleton—Epigram. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 473 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = But thou, through good and evil, praise and blame, Wilt not thou love me for myself alone? Yes, thou wilt love me with exceeding love, And I will tenfold all that love repay; Still smiling, though the tender may reprove, Still faithful, though the trusted may betray. Macaulay—Lines Written July SO, 1847. LOVE This lass so neat, with smile so sweet, Has won my right good will, I'd crowns resign to call her mine, Sweet lass of Richmond Hill. Ascribed to Leonard McNally, who married Miss I'Anson, one of the claimants for the "Lass," by Sir Joseph Barrington in Sketches of His Own Times. Vol. II. P. 47. Also credited to William Upton. It appeared in Public Advertiser, Aug. 3, 1789. "Sweet Lass of Richmond Hill" erroneously said to have been a sweetheart of King George III. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 473 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = When Madelon comes out to serve us drinks, We always know she's coming by her song. And every man he tells his little tale, And Madelon, she listens all day long. Our Madelon is never too severe— A kiss or two is nothing much to her—• She laughs us up to love and life and God— Madelon, Madelon, Madelon. Madelon—Song of the French Soldiers in the Great War. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 473 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight? Marlowe—Hero and Leander. First Sestiad. L. 176. Quoted as a "dead shepherd's saw." Pound in As You Like It. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Chapman}}) | topic = Love | page = 473 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Love me little, love me long. Marlowe—The Jew of Malta. Act IV. Sc. 6. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Herrick}}) | topic = Love | page = 473 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Come live with me, and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove. That valleys, groves, or hills, or fields, Or woods and steepy mountains, yield. Marlowe—The Passionate Shepherd to his Love. St. 1. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 473 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Quand on n'a pas ce que Ton aime, il faut aimer ce que Ton a. If one does not possess what one loves, one should love what one has. Marmontel. Quoted by Moore in Irish Melodies. The Irish Peasant to His Mistress. Note. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Love | page = 473 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Non amo te, Sabidi, nee possum dicere quare; Hoc tantum posse dicere: non amo te. I do not love thee, Sabidius, nor can I say why; I can only say this, "I do not love thee." Martial—Epigrams. I. 33. 1. (Name sometimes given "Savidi. | author =  | work =  | place =  | note =  | topic = Love | page = 473 }}


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 and carriages this is strikingly the case, Now this ought not to be. Lightness is the thing to aim at, and safety should be sought in the elasticity, form, and good quality of the material. Should a carriage be found to twist and get out of form, that would be a proof of its being too light. But to prevent a carriage breaking down by increasing the size of its parts, and thereby adding weight, instead of improving quality, is mechanically wrong. Indeed, it is quite distressing to see the enormous weight of our carriages, particularly those drawn by animal power. It should be an axiom in mechanics that whatever has motion should be as light as circumstances will admit; this applies equally, whatever the source of power may be, whether the motion is produced by human, horse, or steam power.

I would next call your special attention to the vast importance of attending to the two great elements in constructive mechanics—namely, a true plane and the power of measurement. The latter cannot be attained without the former, which is therefore of primary importance; and its accomplishment is so easy and so simple as to leave without excuse any establishment neglecting to secure it. It is necessary to make three planes in order to obtain a perfect one, and cast iron is the best material generally to use. Whatever the size of the plane required, the tripod form is


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 LYING

 * 1) LYING ##

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = You he—under a mistake— For this is the most civil sort of lie That can be given to a man's face, I now Say what I think. Calderon—El Magico Prodigioso. Sc. 1. Trans, by Shelley. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Byron) Ita enim finitima sunt falsa veris ut in praecipitem locum non debeat se sapiens committere. So near is falsehood to truth that a wise man would do well not to trust himself on the narrow edge. Cicero—Academici. IV. 21. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Lying | page = 485 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Mendaei homini ne verum quidem dicenti credere solemus. A liar is not believed even though he tell the truth. Cicero—De Divinatione. II. 71. Same idea inPaBDRUS—Fables. I. 10. 1. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Lying | page = 485 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = The silent colossal National Lie that is the support and confederate of all the tyrannies and shams and inequalities and unfairnesses that afflict the peoples—that is the one to throw bricks and sermons at. S. L. Clemens | cog = (Mark Twain) | work = My First Lie. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Lying | page = 485 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = An experienced, industrious, ambitious, and often quite picturesque liar. S. L. Clemens | cog = (Mark Twain) | work = My Military Campaign. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Lying | page = 485 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Un menteur est toujours prodigue de serments. A liar is always lavish of oaths. Corneille—Le Menteur. III. 5. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Lying | page = 485 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = II faut bonne memoire apres qu'on a menti. A good memory is needed once we have lied. Corneille—Le Menteur. IV. 5. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Montaigne, Quintilian, Sidney}}) | topic = Lying | page = 485 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Some truth there was, but dash'd and brew'd with lies, To please the fools, and puzzle all the wise. Dryden—Absalom and Achitophel. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Lying | page = 485 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Wenn ich irre kann es jeder bemerken; wenn ich luge, nicht. When I err every one can see it, but not when Hie. Goethe—Spruche in Prosa. III. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Lying | page = 485 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = As ten millions of circles can never make a square, so the united voice of myriads cannot lend the smallest foundation to falsehood. | author = Goldsmith | work = Vicar of Wakefield. Vol.11. Ch. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Lying | page = 485 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Half the world knows not how the other half lies. | author = Herbert | work = Jacula Prudentum. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Lying | page = 485 }}


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Rh

M

MAGNOLIA

MAN

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Non e un si bello in tante altre persone, Natura il fece, e poi roppa la stampa. There never was such beauty in another man. Nature made him, and then broke the mould. Ariosto—Orlando Furwso. Canto X. St. 84. L'on peut dire sans hyperbole, que la nature, que la apres l'avoir fait en cassa la moule. Angelo Constantini—La Vie de Scarammwhe. L. 107. (Ed. 1690) | seealso = (See also {{sc|Byron, Montgomery) | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Man | page = 487 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Ye children of man! whose life is a span Protracted with sorrow from day to day, Naked and featherless, feeble and querulous, Sickly, calamitous creatures of clay. Aristophanes—Birds. Trans, by John hookham frere. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Man | page = 487 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = 15 | text = Let each man think himself an act of God. His mind a thought, his life a breath of God. Bailey—Festus. Proem. L. 162. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Man | page = 487 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Man is the nobler growth our realms supply And souls are ripened in our northern sky. Anna Letitia Barbauld—The Invitation. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Man | page = 487 }}


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 SPRING SPRING


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752

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = You meaner beauties of the night, That poorly satisfy our eyes More by your number than your light; You common people of the skies,— What are you when the moon shall rise? Sir Henry Wotton—On His Mistress, Die Queen of Bohemia. ("Sun" in some editions.) | author = | work = | place = | note = | seealso = (See also {{sc|Horace) | topic = | page = 752 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Hence Heaven looks down on earth with all her eyes. Young—Night Thoughts. Night VII. L. 1,103. One sun by day, by night ten thousand shine; And light us deep into the Deity; How boundless in magnificence and might. Young—Night Thoughts. Night IX. L. 728. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 752 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Who rounded in his palm these spacious orbs Numerous as gliterring gems of morning dew, Or sparks from populous cities in a blaze, And set the bosom of old night on fire. Young—Night Thoughts. Night LX. L. 1,260. STATESMANSHIP It is strange so great a statesman should Be so sublime a poet. Bulwer-Lytton—Richelieu' Act I. Sc. 2. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 752 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = 15 | text = A disposition to preserve, and an ability to improve, taken together, would be my standard of a statesman. Burke—Reflections on the Revolution in France. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 752 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Learn to think imperially. Joseph Chamberlain—Speech at Guildhall. Jan. 19, 1904. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Hamilton, Lowell, Roosevelt}}) | topic = | page = 752 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = No statesman e'er will find it worth his pains To tax our labours and excise our brains. Churchill—Night. L. 271. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 752 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = The people of the two nations [French and English] must be brought into mutual dependence by the supply of each other's wants. There is no other way of counteracting the antagonism of language and race. It is God's own method of producing an entente cordiale, and no other plan is worth a farthing. Richard Cobden—Letter to M. Michel Chevalier. Sept., 1859. "Entente cordiale," used by Queen Victoria to Lord John Russell, Sept. 7, 1848. Littre (Diet.) dates its use to speech in The Chamber of Deputies, 1840-41. Phrase in a letter written by the Dutch Governor-General at Batavia to the BewinTkebbers (directors) at Amsterdam. Dec. 15, 1657. See Notes and Queries, Sept. 11, 1909. P. 216. Early examples given in Stanford Diet. Cobden probably first user to make the phrase popular. Quoted also by Ix>rd Aberdeen. Phrase appeared in the Foreign Quarterly Review. Oct., 1844. Used by Louis Philippe in a speech from the throne, Jan., 1843, to express friendly relations between France and England. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 752 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = La cordiale entente qui existe entre le gouvernement francais et celui de la GrandeBretagne. The cordial agreement which exists between the governments of France and Great Britain. Le Charivari. Jan. 6, 1844. Review of a . Speech by Guizot. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 752 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Si l'on n'a pas de meilleurs moyeD de seduction a lui offrir, l'entente cordiale nous paratt fort compromise. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 752 }}


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STUDY

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Studiis florentem ignobilis oti. | trans = Priding himself in the pursuits of an inglorious ease. | author = Vergil | work = Georgics. | place = 4. 564. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Philips) | topic = | page = 757 }}


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42 absolutely essential for its support; and the strengthening ribs must be placed with reference to the supports. I cannot impress too strongly on the members of the Institution, and upon all in any way connected with mechanism, the vast importance of possessing a true plane, as a standard for reference. All excellence in workmanship depends upon it. I may mention that it was at the meeting of the British Association held in Glasgow in 1840 that I read a paper on the mode of producing a true plane, to which I would refer those desiring information on the subject.

Next in importance to a true plane is the power of measurement. I have brought with me, for your inspection at the close of the meeting, a small machine, by which a difference in length of the one-millionth part of an inch is at once detected. The principle is that of employing the sense of touch, instead of sight. If any object be placed between two parallel true planes, adjusted so that the hand can just feel them in contact, you will find, on moving the planes only the 50-thousandth of an inch nearer together, that the object is distinctly tighter, requiring greater force to move it between them. In the machine before you, the object to be measured is the standard inch, in the form of a small


text: Talk:If it wasn't for the 'Ouses in Between


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Author:Edgar Bateman

Works

 * If it wasn't for the 'Ouses in Between (1894)

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Rh square bar, both ends being true planes; and in this case, in order to measure with the utmost accuracy, a thin flat piece or bar is introduced, having its two sides made also perfect planes. This is placed between the inch bar to be measured and one of the end surfaces of the machine. This thin bar, which I name the gravity piece, is brought into contact with the two planes, so as just to allow it, on being raised, to fall by its gravity; and you will find that, by bringing the planes into closer contact by even the one-millionth of an inch, the gravity piece will be suspended, friction overcoming its gravity. This machine and a larger one, are used for making standards of length. When the standard yard, which is a square bar of steel, is placed in the larger machine, and the gravity piece adjusted so as just to fall by its weight, the heat imparted from the slightest touch of the finger instantly prevents its fall, thus showing the lengthening of the bar by so small an amount of heat as that I have indicated. We have therefore in this mode of measurement all the accuracy we can desire; and we find in practice in the workshop that it is easier to work to the ten-thousandth of an inch from standards of end measure, than to the one-hundredth of an inch from the lines on a two-foot rule. In all cases of fitting, end measures of length should be used, instead of lines.


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778

TASTE

TAXATION (See Government, Politics) TEA


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 TEACHING TEACHING TEACHING | seealso = (See also

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = All jargon of the schools. Prior—An Ode on Exodus III. 14. "J am that I am." | seealso = (See also {{sc|Burns}})


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798

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Nemo tam divos habuit faventes, Crastinum ut possit sibi polliceri. Nobody has ever found the gods so much his friends that he can promise himself another day. Seneca—Thyestes. 619. Let's take the instant by the forward top; For we are old, and on our quick'st decrees The inaudible and noiseless foot of Time Steals ere we can effect them. All's Well That Ends Well. Act V. Sc. 3. L. 39. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Ptttacus) And, looking on it with lack-lustre eye, Says very wisely, "It is ten o'clock: Thus we may see," quoth he, "how the world wags." As You Like It. Act II. Sc. 7. L. 21. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Time | page = 798 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal. .4s You Like It. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 326. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Time | page = 798 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let Time try. As You Like It. Act IV. Sc. 1. L. 203. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Time | page = 798 }}


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818

 * 1) TRUTH ##


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 * 1) PHILANTHROPY ##

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 PHRENOLOGY PINK


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PLAGIARISM


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 PLAGIARISM PLAGIARISM Pereant qui ante nos nostra dixerent. Perish those who said our good things before we did. Aelius Donatus, according to St. Jerome—Commentary on Ecclesiastes. Ch. I. Referring to the words of Terence.

When Shakespeare is charged with debts to his authors, Landor replies, Yet he was more original than his originals. He breathed upon dead bodies and brought them into life." Emerson—Letters and Social Aims. Quotation and Originality. | author =  | work =  | place =  | note =  | topic = Plagiarism | page = 599 }}


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SUNRISE


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 STARS STARS


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 VENICE VICE

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, As to be hated needs but to be seen;


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WILL


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{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Qua} loedunt oculum festinas demere; si quid Est animum, differs curandi tempus in annum. If anything affects your eye, you hasten to have it removed ; if anything affects your mind, you postpone the cure for a year. Horace—Epistles. I. 238. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Mind | page = 514 }}


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 714 SKY SLANDER


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{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Cease, rude Boreas! blustering railed G. A. Stevens—The Storm. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Bancks) There are, indeed, few merrier spectacles than that of many windmills bickering together in a fresh breeze over a woody country; their halting alacrity of movement, their pleasant business, making bread all day with uncouth gesticulation; their air, gigantically human, as of a creature half alive, put a spirit of romance into the tamest landscape. Stevenson—Foreigner at Home. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 874 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Emblem of man, who, after all his moaning And strain of dire immeasurable strife, Has yet this consolation, all atoning— Life, as a windmill, grinds the bread of Life. De Tabley—The Windmill. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 874 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! | author = Tennyson | work = Princess. Song. End of Pt. II. A fresher Gale Begins to wave the wood, and stir the stream, Sweeping with shadowy gust the fields of corn; While the Quail clamors for his running mate. Thomson—Seasons. Summer. L. 1,655. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 874 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = • Yet true it is as cow chews cud, And trees at spring do yield forth bud, Except wind stands as never it stood, It is an ill wind turns none to good. Tusser—Five Hundred Points of Good Husbandrie. Description of the Properties of Winds. Ch.XII. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Heywood) I dropped my pen; and listened to the wind That sang of trees uptorn and vessels tost; A midnight harmony and wholly lost To the general sense of men by chains confined Of business, care, or pleasure,—or resigned To timely sleep. Wohdswobth—Sonnet. Composed while the author was engaged in writing a tract occasioned by the Convention of Cintra. WINDFLOWER Anemone Or, bide thou where the poppy blows With windflowers frail and fair. Bryant—The Arctic Lover. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 874 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = The little windflower, whose just opened eye Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at. Bryant—A Winter Piece. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 874 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = The starry, fragile windflower, Poised above in airy grace, Virgin white, suffused with blushes, Shyly droops her lovely face. Elaine Goodale-—The First Flowers. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 874 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Thou lookest up with meek, confiding eye Upon the clouded smile of April's face, Unharmed though Winter stands uncertain by, Eyeing with jealous glance each opening grace. Jones Very—The Windflower. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 874 }}

{{Hoyt topic|Wine and Spirits}} {{center|1=(See also {{sc|Drinking}})}} {{block center/s}}
 * 1) Wine and Spirits ##

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = I hang no ivie out to sell my wine; The nectar of good wits will sell itself. Allot—England's Parnassus. Sonnet to the Reader. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Lyly, Syrus) | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 874 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = 15 | text = Firm and erect the Caledonian stood; Sound was his mutton, and his claret good; "Let him drink port!" the English statesman cried: He drank the poison, and his spirit died. Anon. In Dodd's Epigrammatists. (1870) | topic = | page = 874 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Old Simon the cellarer keeps a rare store Of Malmsey and Malvoisie. G. W. Bellamy—Simon the Cellarer. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 874 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = John Barleycorn was a hero bold, Of noble enterprise, For if you do but taste his blood, 'Twill make your courage rise, Twill make a man forget his wo; 'Twill heighten all his joy. Burns—John Barleycorn. St. 13. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 874 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = So Noah, when he anchor'd safe on The mountain's top, his lofty haven, And all the passengers he bore Were on the new world set ashore, He made it next his chief design To plant and propagate a vine, Which since has overwhelm'd and drown'd Far greater numbers, on dry ground, Of wretched mankind, one by one, Than all the flood before had done. Butler—Satire Upon Drunkenness. L. 105. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 874 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Few things surpass old wine; and they may preach Who please, the more because they preach in vain,— {{block center/e}}


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{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Cotton is king; or slavery in the Light of Political Economy. David Christy—Title of Book, pub. 1855. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Hammond)

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = It [Chinese Labour in South Africa] could not, in the opinion of His Majesty's Government, be classified as slavery in the extreme acceptance of the word without some risk of terminological inexactitude. Winston Churchill in the British House of Commons. Feb. 22, 1906. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 715 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Nimia libertas et populis et privatis in nimiam servitutem cadit. Excessive liberty leads both nations and individuals into excessive slavery. Cicero—DeRepublica. I. 44. Fit in dominatu servitus, in servitute dominatus. He is sometimes slave who should be master; and sometimes master who should be slave. Cicero—Oratio Pro Rege Deiotaro. XI. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 715 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = I would not have a slave to till my ground, To carry me, to fan me while I sleep, And tremble when I wake, for all the wealth That sinews bought and sold have ever earn'd. | author = Cowper | work = Task. | place = Bk. II. L. 29. | topic = | page = 715 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Slaves cannot breathe in England; if their lungs Receive our air, that moment they are free; They touch our country, and their shackles fall. | author = Cowper | work = Task. | place = Bk. II. L. 40. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Campbell}}) | topic = | page = 715 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = I do not see how a barbarous community and a civilized community can constitute a state. I think we must get rid of slavery or we must get rid of freedom. Emerson—The Assault upon Mr. Sumner's Speech. May 26, 1856. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 715 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Corrupted freemen are the worst of slaves. | author = David Garrick | work = Prologue to Ed. Moore's Gamesters. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 715 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Resolved, That the compact which exists between the North and the South is a covenant with death and an agreement with hell; involving both parties in atrocious criminality, and should be immediately annulled. Wm. Lloyd Garrison—Adopted by the Mass. Anti-Slavery Society. Fanueil Hall. Jan. 27, 1843. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 715 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = The man who gives me employment, which I must have or suffer, that man is my master, let me call him what I will. Henry George—Social Problems. Ch. V. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 715 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = The very mudsills of society. * * * We call them slaves. * * * But I will not characterize that class at the North with that term ; but you have it. It is there, it is everywhere, it is eternal. James H. Hammond—Speech in the U. S. Senate. March, 1858. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 715 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Cotton is King. James H. Hammond. Phrase used in the Senate, March, 1858. Gov. Manning of South Carolina, Speech at Columbia, S. C. (1858) (gee aIg0 CHHISTr ) Whatever day Makes man a slave, takes half his worth away. Homer—Odyssey. Bk. XVTI. L. 392 | note = {{sc|Pope}}'s trans. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 715 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = I believe this government cannot endure permanently half slave and half free. Abraham Lincoln—Speech. June 17, 1858. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 715 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = In giving freedom to the slave we assure freedom to the free,—honorable alike in what we give and what we preserve. Abraham Lincoln—Annual Message to Congress. Dec. 1, 1862. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 715 }}


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 STORY-TELLING STRATEGY STORY-TELLING


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 WINE AND SPIRITS WINE AND SPIRITS Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, Sermons and soda-water the day after. Byron—Don 'Juan. Canto II. St. 178. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = | page = 875 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Wine it is the milk of Venus, And the poet's horse accounted: Ply it and you all are mounted. Ben Jonson. From lines over the door of the "Apollo." Wine to the poet is" a winged steed: Those who drink water come but little speed. From the Greek Anthology. • | seealso = (See also {{sc|Moore)


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 NOSE NOVELTY NOSE


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 SLEEP SMILES

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = From thy own smile I snatched the snake. | author = Byron | work = Manfred. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Shelley)


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44 The question of correct measurement is in immediate connexion with another, which will repay all the attention that can be given to it, and I think there is no subject that can be more profitably discussed amongst us;—I mean that of proper gradations of size in all the various branches of the mechanical arts. I think no estimate can be formed of our national loss from the over-multiplication of sizes. Take for instance the various sizes of steam-engines—stationary, marine, and locomotive. In the case of marine engines, the number of sizes up to 100 horse-power will probably not be short of thirty, where ten perhaps would be ample. If so, look at the sums expended in patterns, designs, and in the number of tools for their manufacture. Nor is this all; for if there were only ten sizes instead of thirty, there would be three times the number made of each pattern; and, as you know, the very soul of manufacture is repetition. By attention to this, the ship-owner would be benefited by getting a better engine at a less price. In the case of locomotives and carriages, I would urge the subject on the attention of our members, the engineers of the great lines of railway—the London and North-Western, the Midland, the Great Northern, for instance. I hope they will permit me to suggest that they should consider and determine


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{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Wisdom is ofttimes nearer when we stoop Than when we soar. Wordsworth—The Excursion. Bk. III. L. 232. | seealso = (See also {{sc|Massingeh) And he is oft the wisest man Who is not wise at all. Wordsworth—The Oak and the Broom. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Wisdom | page = 881 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = On every thorn, delightful wisdom grows, In every rill a sweet instruction flows. Young—Love of Fame. Satire I. L. 249. | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Wisdom | page = 881 }}

{{Hoyt quote | num = | text = Be wise to-day; 'tis madness to defer; Next day the fatal precedent will plead; Thus on, till wisdom is push'd out of life. Young—Night Thoughts. Night I. L. 390 | author = | work = | place = | note = | topic = Wisdom | page = 881 }}