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 's language in ‘Henry IV’ (pt. ii. line 1) when referring to Hotspur's death and the battle of Shrewsbury (stanza 113). Similarly in stanza 4 he notices the speeches made to ‘the many-headed multitude’ by Brutus and Mark Antony at Cæsar's funeral. These speeches were the invention of Shakespeare in his play of ‘Julius Cæsar,’ and it is clear that Weever had witnessed a performance of Shakespeare's play of ‘Julius Cæsar’ before writing of Cæsar's funeral. Weever's reference is proof that ‘Julius Cæsar’ was written before Weever's volume was published in 1601. There is no other contemporary reference to the play by which any limits can be assigned to its date of composition. The piece was not published until 1623, in the first folio of Shakespeare's works. As in his first, so in his second volume, Weever mentions Spenser's distress at the close of his life (stanza 63). Four perfect copies of Weever's ‘Mirror of Martyres’ are known; they are respectively in the Huth, Britwell, and Bodleian libraries, and in the Pepysian Library at Magdalene College, Cambridge. The only other copy now known is imperfect, and is in the British Museum. The poem was reprinted for the Roxburghe Club in a volume edited by Mr. Henry Hucks Gibbs (afterwards Lord Aldenham) in 1873.

Subsequently Weever published a thumb-book (1½ inch in height) giving a poetical history of Christ beginning with the birth of the Virgin. The title-page ran ‘An Agnus Dei. Printed by V. S. for Nicholas Lyng, 1606.’ The dedication ran: ‘To Prince Henry. Your humble servant. Jo. Weever.’ The only copy known is in the Huth Library (cf., Censura Literaria, ii.; Huth Library Cat.)

In the early years of the seventeenth century Weever travelled abroad. He visited Liège, Paris, Parma, and Rome, studying literature and archæology (cf. Funerall Monuments, pp. 40, 145, 257, 568). Finally he settled in a large house built by Sir Thomas Chaloner in Clerkenwell Close, and turned his attention exclusively to antiquities. He made antiquarian tours through England, and he designed to make archæological exploration in Scotland if life were spared him. He came to know the antiquaries at the College of Arms and elsewhere in London, and made frequent researches in the libraries of Sir Robert Cotton and Sir Simonds D'Ewes. His chief labours saw the light in a folio volume extending to nearly nine hundred pages, and bearing the title ‘Ancient Funerall Monuments within the United Monarchie of Great Britaine, Ireland, and the Islands adjacent, with the dissolved monasteries therein contained, their Founders and what Eminent Persons have been in the same interred’ (London, 1631, fol.). A curious emblematic frontispiece was engraved by Thomas Cecil, as well as a portrait of the author, ‘æt. 55 Ao 1631.’ Weever dedicated his work to Charles I. In an epistle to the reader he acknowledges the encouragement and assistance he received from his ‘deare deceased friend’ Augustine Vincent, and from the antiquary Sir Robert Cotton, to whom Vincent first introduced him. He also mentions among his helpers Sir Henry Spelman, John Selden, and Sir Simonds D'Ewes. A copy which Weever presented to his old college (Queens') at Cambridge is still in the library there, and has an inscription in his autograph (facsimile in Clerkenwell, p. 351). Almost all Weever's sepulchral inscriptions are now obliterated. His transcripts are often faulty and errors in dates abound (cf., Angl. Sacra, par. i. p. 668; Gent. Mag. 1807, ii. 808). But to the historian and biographer the book, despite its defects, is invaluable. A new edition appeared in 1661, and a third, with some addenda by William Tooke, in 1767. Weever's original manuscript of the work is in the library of the Society of Antiquaries (Nos. 127–8).

Weever, who dated the address to the reader in his ‘Funerall Monuments’ from his house in Clerkenwell Close, was buried in 1632 in the church of St. James's, Clerkenwell. The church was subsequently entirely rebuilt (cf. Clerkenwell, p. 48). The long epitaph in verse inscribed on his tomb is preserved in Stow's ‘Survey of London’ (1633, p. 900, cf. Strype's edition, bk. iv. p. 65; Gent. Mag. 1788, ii. 600).

WEGUELIN, THOMAS MATTHIAS (d. 1828), soldier, born at Moorfields in London, was the eldest son of John Christopher Weguelin by his second wife, Elizabeth. He was appointed a cadet in the East India Company's service in March 1781 on the Bengal presidency. He arrived in Calcutta in April 1782, having previously been promoted to an ensigncy on 16 June 1781. He joined the third European regiment at Burhánpur, and received a lieutenant's commission on 22 Sept. 1782. In November he was removed to the first battalion of the 22nd native infantry, at the frontier station of Fatehgarh in the dominions of the nawáb of Oudh. In March 1783 he proceeded to the Farukhábád district, where he took part in some petty


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 operations, and in 1796, when his regiment was incorporated with the 2nd native infantry, he received the brevet rank of captain. He served against Tipú Saib from 1790 to 1792 with Lieutenant-colonel John Cockrell's detachment. He took part in the battle of Seringapatam on 13 May 1791, in the assault on the enemy's entrenched camp on 6 Feb. 1792, and in the siege of the city. In December 1797 he was transferred to the first battalion of the 13th native infantry, which he commanded in 1799 during the deposition of the nawáb of Oudh [see ], and shortly after joined the 1st European regiment at Cawnpur, removing with it to Dinápur at the close of the year. On 10 Aug. 1801 he received the regimental rank of captain, and in September 1803 he proceeded in command of the flank companies of his regiment to join the army under Lord Lake [see, first ], then engaged with the Marattas in the north-west, where he took part in the siege of Gwalior. In September 1804 he accompanied Lake's army in the capacity of judge-advocate-general in the field provinces north and west of Allahábád, and took part in the siege of Bhartpur. He continued to hold the post until his appointment to a majority on 3 March 1808. In June he was nominated to command an expedition for the defence of the Portuguese of Macao against any French attempt, receiving the local rank of colonel. On his return to Bengal in February 1809 he received the thanks of the governor-general for his conduct. On the establishment of the commissariat in Bengal on 1 Feb. 1810 Weguelin was appointed deputy commissary-general. He accompanied Major-general Sir John Abercromby [q. v.] in the expedition against Mauritius in 1810 as head of the commissariat department, and after the reduction of the island was appointed by the governor, Sir Robert Townsend Farquhar [q. v.], commissary-general of Mauritius, Bourbon, and their dependencies. He returned to Bengal in March 1812 with a letter from Farquhar to the governor in council expressing his approbation of his services. On 1 July 1812 he was nominated commissary-general of Bengal with the rank of lieutenant-colonel, attaining the regimental rank on 16 March 1814. He discharged the duties of commissary-general through the two wars with Nepál between 1814 and 1816, and that with the Pindáris from 1816 to 1818, conducting the business of his office with so much ability that the extra expenses of the wars did not exceed the comparatively small sum of 600,000l. Being obliged by private affairs to return to England, he resigned his office at the close of 1820, embarking in January 1822. He received the rank of colonel commandant on 20 July 1823, and died in London at Montagu Square on 23 May 1828. He was twice married. By his first wife he had a son and a daughter, and by his second wife three sons.

[Gent. Mag. 1828, ii. 180; Dodwell and Miles's Indian Army List, 1838; information kindly given by Mr. A. W. Greene.]  WEHNERT, EDWARD HENRY (1813–1868), watercolour-painter, was born in London, of German parents, in 1813. He was educated at Göttingen, and received his art training chiefly in Paris, where and in Jersey he resided from 1832 to 1837. He then returned to England and joined the recently founded ‘New’ Society (now the Institute) of Painters in Watercolours, to the exhibitions of which he was subsequently a constant contributor. His drawings were all of an historical character, among the best being ‘Lord Nigel's Introduction to the Sanctuary of Alsatia,’ ‘Luther reading his Sermon to some Friends,’ ‘The Death of Wickliffe,’ ‘Filippo Lippi and the nun Lucretia Buti,’ ‘Caxton examining the first Proof Sheet from his Press,’ and ‘The Prisoner of Gisors.’ The last is well known by the engraving published by the Art Union, 1848. Wehnert's large works, though excellently conceived and drawn, were unattractive in colour, and did not readily find purchasers. He was more successful as a designer of book illustrations. Among the many publications for which he furnished the drawings were Grimm's ‘Household Stories,’ 1853; Keats's ‘Eve of St. Agnes,’ 1856; Coleridge's ‘Ancient Mariner,’ 1857; ‘The Pilgrim's Progress,’ 1858; Andersen's ‘Fairy Tales,’ 1861; ‘Robinson Crusoe,’ 1862; and Poe's ‘Poetical Works,’ 1865. Wehnert contributed to the Westminster Hall cartoon exhibition in 1845 an allegorical drawing of ‘Justice,’ now in the South Kensington Museum. He died at Fortess Terrace, Kentish Town, on 15 Sept. 1868. A collection of his works was exhibited at the Institute in the following year.

[Art Journal, 1868; Bryan's Dict. of Painters (Armstrong); Graves's Dict. of Artists, 1760–1893.]  WEIR, THOMAS (1600?–1670), reputed sorcerer, son of a Lanarkshire proprietor in Clydesdale, was born about 1600. He served as captain-lieutenant in Colonel Robert Home's regiment in Ire-

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The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Guyon, Jeanne-Marie Bouvier de la Motte

GUYON, Jeanne-Marie Bouvier de la Motte, zhän mä-rē boo-vē-ā dė lä mŏt gē-ȯṅ, , French mystic: the introducer in France of the system of Quietism; b. Montargis, 13 April 1648; d. Blois, 9 June 1717. At the age of 16 she was married to Jacques Guyon, after whose death in 1676 the tendency to mystic enthusiasm which had characterized her younger years again acquired ascendency. She published numerous works, such as ‘Le Cantique des Cantiques interprété selon le Sens Mystique’ (1685); ‘Poésies Spirituelles’ (1685); ‘Discours Chretiens et Spirituels’ (1716); etc. At last the archbishop of Paris thought it necessary to take steps against the spread of Madame Guyon's mystical doctrines, and through his influence she was shut up in the convent of the Visitation, but afterward released at the instigation of Madame Maintenon, who herself became for a time a convert to the new doctrines, and allowed Madame Guyon to preach in the seminary of Saint Cyr, where she made a convert and disciple of Fénelon. A commission of ecclesiastics, chief among whom was Bossuet, now sat in judgment, and the doctrines of Madame Guyon were condemned (1695). This led to her being imprisoned for some years, latterly in the Bastille, whence she was liberated in 1702. The rest of her life was spent in retirement and in works of charity. Consult Upham, ‘Life, Religious Opinions and Experiences of Madame Guyon’ (1870); Guerrier, ‘Madame Guyon, sa vie, sa doctrine, son influence’ (1881).


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 land in 1641, and also for some time as major in the Earl of Lanark's regiment; and on 3 March 1647 presented a petition to the estates for the payment of a sum of 600 merks due to him for these services. In 1649–50 he was promoted to the command of the city guard of Edinburgh. He was one of the promoters of the western remonstrance in 1650, and gradually became noted as one of the most devoted and sanctified of a strict sect of Edinburgh covenanters, at whose meetings he displayed a remarkable gift of extempore prayer. As major of the city guard he had special charge of Montrose before his execution in May 1650, and is stated to have treated him with peculiar harshness.

In his later years, and after he retired from the city guard, Weir gradually became reputed as a wizard. On coming to Edinburgh he lodged for some time in the Cowgate, in the house of a Miss Grissel Whitford, where (d. 1678) [q. v.], the would-be assassinator of Archbishop Sharp, also for some time lodged. Subsequently he resided with his sister Jean in a house in the West Bow. On the stair of this house he is said to have cast a powerful spell by which those who were ascending it felt as if they were going down. His incantations were mainly effected by means of a black staff, which was curiously carved with heads like those of the satyrs, and was supposed to have been presented to him by Satan. This staff could be sent by him on errands, and on dark nights (so it was gravely affirmed) might be seen going before him carrying a lantern. Fraser, minister of Wardle, who saw him in Edinburgh in 1660, thus describes him: ‘His garb was still a cloak, and somewhat dark, and he never went without his staff. He was a tall black man, and ordinarily looked down on the ground: a grim countenance and a big nose’ (manuscript in the Advocates' Library, quoted in Memorials of Edinburgh in the Olden Time, 1872, pp. 335 sqq., where is also an engraving of Weir's house in the West Bow). But whether influenced by remorse or lunacy, or a combination of the two, Weir, though he never professed any penitence, made a voluntary confession to the authorities of incest, sorcery, and other crimes; and, after trial, on 9 April 1670, during which he is said to have been delirious, was burned at the stake on the 12th, at Gallowlie, on the slopes of Greenside, between Edinburgh and Leith. He died impenitent, and renounced all hopes of heaven. His staff, which was also burned with him, ‘gave rare turnings’ in the fire, and, like himself, ‘was long a burning.’ His sister, notwithstanding that she manifested unmistakable symptoms of lunacy, was burned along with him. His story is supposed to have suggested Lord Byron's ‘Manfred.’

WEIR, WILLIAM (1802–1858), journalist, was born in 1802 at Mount Hamilton in Ayrshire. His father, who was Mr. Oswald's ‘factor,’ died in 1804; his mother married again, and Mr. Oswald acted as his guardian, sending him to Ayr academy, which he left in August 1817 with the reputation of being ‘talented, honourable, kind-hearted, somewhat eccentric, and a most rapacious reader.’ His education was completed at the university of Göttingen. He became a member of the Scottish bar on 27 Jan. 1827. He was the first editor of the ‘Glasgow Argus’ (Glasgow Citizen, September 1858), and, removing to London, he contributed to the ‘Spectator.’ Many articles in the ‘Penny Cyclopædia’ and in Knight's ‘London’ were from his pen, and he wrote the chapter on manners during the reign of George III in the ‘Pictorial History of England’ (, Passages of a Working Life, ii. 229, 259, 263).

Weir joined the editorial staff of the ‘Daily News’ when it was founded in 1846, and succeeded [q. v.] in 1854 as editor. After a few days' illness he died on 15 Sept. 1858. Under his editorship the ‘Daily News’ flourished, the ‘Times’ writing after his death that he had conducted it in a way which ‘made it a worthy representative of the English press.’ The ‘Globe’ wrote ‘that he was master of the library of Europe;’ the ‘Athenæum’ that ‘in the ranks of literature there was not a nobler or more unassuming soldier than he;’ and the ‘Spectator’ that ‘his death is a public loss.’ He was credited by the ‘Glasgow Citizen’ with writing good verse as well as prose. The infirmity of deafness prevented him from playing a more conspicuous part in public life.

WEISS, WILLOUGHBY HUNTER (1820–1867), vocalist and composer, the son of Willoughby Gaspard Weiss, professor of the flute and music publisher at Liverpool, was born there on 2 April 1820. He was a pupil of Sir [q. v.] and [q. v.], and made his


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Rh On no subject are our ideas more warped and pitiable than on death. Instead of the sympathy, the friendly union, of life and death so apparent in Nature, we are taught that death is an accident, a deplorable punishment for the oldest sin, the arch-enemy of life, etc. Town children, especially, are steeped in this death orthodoxy, for the natural beauties of death are seldom seen or taught in towns.

Of death among our own species, to say nothing of the thousand styles and modes of murder, our best memories, even among happy deaths, yield groans and tears, mingled with morbid exultation; burial companies, black in cloth and countenance; and, last of all, a black box burial in an ill-omened place, haunted by imaginary glooms and ghosts of every degree. Thus death becomes fearful, and the most notable and incredible thing heard around a death-bed is, "I fear not to die."

But let children walk with Nature, let them see the beautiful blendings and communions of death and life, their joyous inseparable unity,


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Rh as taught in woods and meadows, plains and mountains and streams of our blessed star, and they will learn that death is stingless indeed, and as beautiful as life, and that the grave has no victory, for it never fights. All is divine harmony. Most of the few graves of Bonaventure are planted with flowers. There is generally a magnolia at the head, near the strictly erect marble, a rose-bush or two at the foot, and some violets and showy exotics along the sides or on the tops. All is enclosed by a black iron railing, composed of rigid bars that might have been spears or bludgeons from a battlefield in Pandemonium. It is interesting to observe how assiduously Nature seeks to remedy these labored art blunders. She corrodes the iron and marble, and gradually levels the hill which is always heaped up, as if a sufficiently heavy quantity of clods could not be laid on the dead. Arching grasses come one by one; seeds come flying on downy wings, silent as fate, to give life’s dearest beauty


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 Rh "If you're going out to steal. I'll go with you and help," said Grizzel, "for I know the whole country round." So, when the thieves heard that, they thought they had found a good mate, and were no longer afraid. Then they said they were off to steal a sheep, only they didn't know where to lay hold of one.

"Oh!" said Grizzel, "that's a small matter, for I was maid with a farmer ever so long out in the wood yonder, and I could find the sheepfold though the night were dark as pitch."

The thieves thought that grand; and when they came to the place, Grizzel was to go into the fold and turn out the sheep, and they were to lay hold on it. Now, the sheepfold lay close to the wall of the room where the farmer slept, so Grizzel crept quite softly and carefully into the fold; but as soon as she got in she began to scream out to the thieves.

"Will you have a wether or a ewe? here are lots to choose from."

"Hush, hush!" said the thieves, "only take one that is fine and fat."

"Yes, yes! but will you have a wether or a ewe? will you have a wether or a ewe? for here are lots to choose from," screeched Grizzel.

"Hush, hush!" said the thieves again, "only take one that's fine and fat; it's all the same to us whether it's a wether or a ewe."

"Yes!" screeched Grizzel, who stuck to her own; "but will you have a wether or a ewe—a wether or a ewe? here are lots to choose from."

"Hold your jaw!" said the thieves, "and take a fine fat one, wether or ewe, it's all one to us."


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Rh for the ashes of art; and strong evergreen arms laden with ferns and tillandsia drapery are spread over all—Life at work everywhere, obliterating all memory of the confusion of man.

In Georgia many graves are covered with a common shingle roof, supported on four posts as the cover of a well, as if rain and sunshine were not regarded as blessings. Perhaps, in this hot and insalubrious climate, moisture and sun-heat are considered necessary evils to which they do not wish to expose their dead.

The money package that I was expecting did not arrive until the following week. After stopping the first night at the cheap, disreputable-looking hotel, I had only about a dollar and a half left in my purse, and so was compelled to camp out to make it last in buying only bread. I went out of the noisy town to seek a sleeping-place that was not marshy. After gaining the outskirts of the town toward the sea, I found some low sand dunes, yellow with flowering solidagoes.

I wandered wearily from dune to dune


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 224 But just then out came the farmer in his shirt, who had been waked by all this clatter, and wanted to see what was going on. So the thieves took to their heels, and Grizzel after them, upsetting the farmer in her flight.

"Stop, boys! stop, boys!" she screamed; but the farmer, who had only seen the black monster, grew so afraid that he could scarce stand, for he thought it was the Deil himself that had been in his sheepfold. The only help he knew was to go indoors and wake up the whole house; and they all sat down to read and pray, for he had heard that was the way to send the Deil about his business.

Now the next night the thieves said they must go and steal a fat goose, and Grizzel was to show them the way. So when they came to the goosepen, Grizzel was to go in and turn one out, for she knew the ways of the place, and the thieves were to stand outside and catch it. But as soon as ever she got in she began to scream,—

"Will you have goose or gander? you may pick and choose here."

"Hush, hush! choose only a fine fat one," said the thieves.

"Yes, yes! but will you have goose or gander—goose or gander? you may pick and choose," screamed Grizzel.

"Hush, hush! only choose one that's fine and fat, and it's all one to us whether it's goose or gander; but do hold your jaw," said they.

But while Grizzel and the thieves were settling this, one of the geese began to cackle, and then another cackled, and then the whole flock cackled and hissed, and out came the farmer to see what all the noise could mean, and away


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The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Guyot, Arnold

GUYOT, gē'ō, Arnold, American geographer: b. Boudevilliers, Neuchâtel, Switzerland, 28 Sept. 1807; d. Princeton, N. J., 8 Feb. 1884. He was educated at Chaux-de-Fonds, and then at the College de Neuchâtel. In 1825 he went to Germany, and resided in Karlsruhe where he met Louis Agassiz. Thence he moved to Stuttgart, where he studied at the

gymnasium, returning to Neuchâtel in 1827. He determined to enter the ministry and started for Berlin to attend lectures at the university. While pursuing his studies he also attended lectures on philosophy and natural science. His leisure was spent in collecting shells and plants and from Humbolt he received an entrée to the Berlin botanical garden. In 1835 he received the degree of Ph.D. from Berlin, and spent the ensuing four years as a tutor in Paris. In 1838 he visited the Swiss glaciers and communicated the results of his six weeks' investigation to the Geological Society of France. He was the first to point out the laminated structure of ice in the glaciers. In 1839 he became the colleague of Agassiz as professor of history and physical geography at the College of Neuchâtel. The suspension of the institution in 1848 caused Guyot to emigrate to America, where he settled in Cambridge. He delivered a course of lectures at the Lowell Institute which were afterward published as ‘Earth and Man’ (Boston 1853). The Massachusetts board of education retained his services as lecturer on geography and methods of instruction to the normal schools and teachers' institutes. He was occupied with this work until his appointment, in 1854, to the chair of physical geography and geology at Princeton, which he retained until his death. He was also for several years lecturer on physical geography in the State Normal School in Trenton, N. J., and from 1861 to 1866 lecturer in the Princeton Theological Seminary. He also gave courses in the Union Theological Seminary New York, and at Columbia College. He founded the museum at Princeton, many of the specimens of which are from his own collections. His scientific work in the United States included the perfection of plans for a national system of meteorological observations. Most of these were conducted under the auspices of the Smithsonian Institution. The selection and establishment of numerous meteorological stations in New York and Massachusetts were confided to him. He was a member of many American and foreign scientific societies. He prepared a series of geographies and wall maps in 1866-75, for which he was awarded a medal at Vienna in 1873. He was one of the editors of ‘Johnson's New Universal Cyclopædia’; wrote memoirs of Carl Ritter (1860); James H. Coffin (1875) and Louis Agassiz (1883); also ‘Treatise on Physical Geography’ (1873), Consult memoir by J. A. Dana in ‘Biographical Memoirs of the National Academy of Sciences’ (Washington 1886).


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Rh ankle-deep in the sand, searching for a place to sleep beneath the tall flowers, free from insects and snakes, and above all from my fellow man. But idle negroes were prowling about everywhere, and I was afraid. The wind had strange sounds, waving the heavy panicles over my head, and I feared sickness from malaria so prevalent here, when I suddenly thought of the graveyard.

"There," thought I, "is an ideal place for a penniless wanderer. There no superstitious prowling mischief maker dares venture for fear of haunting ghosts, while for me there will be God’s rest and peace. And then, if I am to be exposed to unhealthy vapors, I shall have capital compensation in seeing those grand oaks in the moonlight, with all the impressive and nameless influences of this lonely beautiful place."

By this time it was near sunset, and I hastened across the common to the road and set off for Bonaventure, delighted with my choice, and almost glad to find that necessity had furnished


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User talk:77.68.56.241

Hi 77.68.56.241,

Thank you for your warning. The talk page was the right page for that, not the text itself. Thanks all the same. --Zyephyrus (talk) 17:19, 5 November 2010 (UTC)

title: User talk:77.68.56.241


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 Rh went the thieves, and Grizzel after them at fall speed, and the farmer thought again it was the black Deil flying away; for long-legged she was, and she had no skirts to hamper her.

"Stop a bit, boys!" she kept on screaming, "you might as well have said whether you would have goose or gander."

But they had no time to stop, they thought; and, as for the farmer, he began to read and pray with all his house, small and great, for they thought it was the Deil, and no mistake.

Now, the third day, when night came, the thieves and Grizzel were so hungry they did not know what to do; so they made up their minds to go to the larder of a rich farmer who lived by the wood's side, and steal some food. Well, off they went, but the thieves did not dare to venture themselves, so Grizzel was to go up the steps which led to the larder, and hand the food out, and the others were to stand below and take it from her. So when Grizzel got inside she saw the larder was full of all sorts of things, fresh meat and salt, and sausages and oat-cake. The thieves begged her to be still, and just throw out something to eat, and to bear in mind how badly they had fared for two nights. But Grizzel stuck to her own, that she did.

"Will you have fresh meat or salt, or sausages, or oatcake? Just look, what lovely oat-cake," she bawled out enough to split your head. "You may have what you please, for here's plenty to choose from." But the farmer woke with all this noise, and ran out to see what it all meant. As for the thieves, off they ran


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Rh me with so good an excuse for doing what I knew my mother would censure; for she made me promise I would not lie out of doors if I could possibly avoid it. The sun was set ere I was past the negroes’ huts and rice fields, and I arrived near the graves in the silent hour of the gloaming.

I was very thirsty after walking so long in the muggy heat, a distance of three or four miles from the city, to get to this graveyard. A dull, sluggish, coffee-colored stream flows under the road just outside the graveyard garden park, from which I managed to get a drink after breaking a way down to the water through a dense fringe of bushes, daring the snakes and alligators in the dark. Thus refreshed I entered the weird and beautiful abode of the dead.

All the avenue where I walked was in shadow, but an exposed tombstone frequently shone out in startling whiteness on either hand, and thickets of sparkleberry bushes gleamed like heaps of crystals. Not a breath of air moved the gray moss, and the great black arms of the


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 226 as fast as they could; but while the farmer was looking after them down came Grizzel so black and ugly.

"Stop a bit! stop a bit, boys!" she bellowed; "you may have what you please, for there's plenty to choose from."

And when the farmer saw that ugly monster he too thought the Deil was loose, for he had heard what had happened to his neighbours the evenings before; so he began both to read and pray, and every one in the whole parish began to read and pray, for they knew that you could read the Devil away.

The next evening was Saturday evening, and the thieves wanted to steal a fat ram for their Sunday dinner; and well they might, for they had fasted many days, but they wouldn't have Grizzel with them at any price. She brought bad luck with her jaw, they said; so while Grizzel was walking about waiting for them on Sunday morning, she got so awfully hungry—for she had fasted for three days—that she went into a turnip-field and pulled up some turnips to eat. But when the farmer who owned the turnips rose, he felt uneasy in his mind, and thought he would just go and take a look at his turnips on the Sunday morning. So he pulled on his trousers and went across the moss which lay under the hill, where the turnip-field lay. But when he got to the bottom of the field he saw something black walking about in the field and pulling up his turnips, and he soon made up his mind that it was the Deil. So away he ran home as fast as he could, and said the Deil was among the turnips. This frightened the whole house out of their wits, and they agreed they'd best send for the priest, and get him to bind the Deil.

"That won't do," said the goodwife; "this is Sunday


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 Rh morning, you'll never get the priest to come; for either hell be in bed, or, if he's up, he'll be learning his sermon by heart."

"Oh," said the goodman, "never fear; I'll promise him a fat loin of veal, and then hell come fast enough."

So off he went to the priest's house; but when he got there sure enough the priest was still in bed. The maid begged the farmer to walk into the parlour while she ran up to the priest, and said,—

"Farmer So-and-So was down-stairs, and wished to have a word with him."

Well, when the priest heard that such a worthy man was down-stairs, he got up at once, and came down just as he was, in his slippers and night-cap.

So the goodman told his errand; how the Deil was loose in his turnip-field; and if the priest would only come and bind him, he would send him a fat loin of veal. Yes; the priest was willing enough, and called out to his groom to saddle his horse, while he dressed himself.

"Nay, nay, father!" said the man; "the Deil won't wait for us long, and no one knows where we shall find him again if we miss him now. Your reverence must come at once, just as you are."

So the priest followed him just as he was, with the clothes he stood in, and went off in his nightcap and slippers. But when they got to the moss it was so moist the priest couldn't cross it in his slippers. So the goodman took him on his back to carry him over. On they went, the goodman picking his way from one clump to the other, till they got to the middle; then Grizzel caught sight of them, and thought it was the thieves bringing the ram.


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 first appearance in public as a singer at a concert of his own at Liverpool, 5 May 1842. He first appeared in opera as Oroveso in ‘Norma’ at Dublin on 2 July 1842, and subsequently became a useful member of the Pyne and Harrison and other opera companies. He was distinguished as a concert-singer, but he specially excelled as an exponent of oratorio music, in which his artistic feeling and rich voice found full means of expression. His first appearance at a festival was at Gloucester in 1844.

Weiss's chief claim to distinction rests upon being the composer of ‘The Village Blacksmith,’ set to Longfellow's words, a song which has had and still retains an extraordinary popularity. He composed it about 1854. He offered the copyright to a firm of music publishers for the sum of 5l., and, upon their declining to accept it on those terms, Weiss published the song on his own account, with the result that it brought to him and his descendants an annual income of no inconsiderable amount for upwards of forty years.

Weiss, who was of a genial, lovable disposition, died at St. George's Villa, Regent's Park, 24 Oct. 1867, and is buried in Highgate cemetery. He married, 15 Sept. 1845, Georgina Ansell Barrett (1826–1880), a native of Gloucester, who was favourably known as a singer. By her he left a daughter. In addition to ‘The Village Blacksmith’ Weiss composed many other songs and ballads, and arranged a pianoforte edition of Weber's Mass in G.

[Grove's Dict. of Music and Musicians, iv. 433; Musical World, 26 Oct. and 2 Nov. 1867; Gent. Mag. 1867, ii. 828; private information from his grandson, W. W. Graham, esq.]

 WEIST-HILL, THOMAS HENRY (1828–1891), musician, son of Thomas Hill, goldsmith and freeman of the city, was born in London on 3 Jan. 1828. He showed an early taste for the violin, and, after appearing at Gravesend as an ‘infant prodigy,’ he in 1844 entered the Royal Academy of Music, where he studied under Prosper Philippe Catherine Sainton [q. v.], and in 1845 took the king's scholarship. He was subsequently a professor of the violin at the academy, and conducted its choir and orchestra. On leaving the institution he attached himself to the orchestra of the Princess Theatre, but he soon became known as a concert violinist, and was taken up first by Edward James Loder [q. v.], and then by Louis Antoine Julien or Jullien [q. v.] With the latter he toured in America, where he was the first to make known Mendelssohn's violin concerto, and later visited the principal continental cities. Returning to London, he was engaged as first violin by (Sir) Michael Costa [q. v.], under whom he played for many years in the Opera, Philharmonic, and Sacred Harmonic societies' orchestras. On the opening of the Alexandra Palace in 1873 he was appointed musical director, and in that capacity did good service by bringing forward new compositions by native writers, as well as by reviving forgotten works, such as Handel's ‘Esther’ and ‘Susanna.’ In 1878 he conducted the orchestral concerts of Madame Viard-Louis, at which several important works were heard for the first time in England. He was appointed principal of the Guildhall School of Music in 1880, and held that post till his death at South Kensington on 26 Dec. 1891. He was an admirable violinist and an able administrator. He wrote a few compositions, mostly for violin and 'cello, of which the ‘Pompadour Gavotte’ became popular.

[Musical Opinion, January 1885; Lute, March 1891 (portrait); Musical Herald (portrait) and Musical Times, February 1892; Brown and Stratton's British Musical Biography; information from the son, Ferdinand Weist-Hill, esq.]

 WELBY, HENRY (d. 1636), ‘The Phœnix of these late Times,’ was the eldest son of Adlard Welby (d. 11 Aug. 1570) of Gedney in Lincolnshire, by his first wife, the daughter of an inhabitant of Hull named Hall. He was matriculated as a pensioner of St. John's College, Cambridge, on 24 May 1558, and was made a student of the Inner Temple in November 1562, ‘where, being accommodated with all the parts of a gentleman, hee after retyred himself into the countrye,’ purchasing the estate of Goxhill in Lincolnshire from Lord Wentworth. Wishing to enlarge his mind by travel, he ‘spent some few yeares in the Lowe Countreys, Germany, France, and Italy, making the best use of his time.’

In this manner Welby continued his blameless life until past middle age. About 1592 his younger brother, John, a dissolute youth, took umbrage at Henry's endeavours to reform his habits, and, after repeatedly threatening his life, attempted to shoot him with a pistol. Welby was deeply affected by this villainy, and, taking ‘a very faire house in the lower end of Grub Street, near unto Cripplegate,’ he passed the rest of his life in absolute seclusion, never leaving his apartments or seeing any living creature except his old maid-servant Elizabeth. In this manner he lived for forty-four years in the


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Rh trees met overhead and covered the avenue. But the canopy was fissured by many a netted seam and leafy-edged opening, through which the moonlight sifted in auroral rays, broidering the blackness in silvery light. Though tired, I sauntered a while enchanted, then lay down under one of the great oaks. I found a little mound that served for a pillow, placed my plant press and bag beside me and rested fairly well, though somewhat disturbed by large prickly-footed beetles creeping across my hands and face, and by a lot of hungry stinging mosquitoes.

When I awoke, the sun was up and all Nature was rejoicing. Some birds had discovered me as an intruder, and were making a great ado in interesting language and gestures. I heard the screaming of the bald eagles, and of some strange waders in the rushes. I heard the hum of Savannah with the long jarring hallos of negroes far away. On rising I found that my head had been resting on a grave, and though my sleep had not been quite so sound as that


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 228 "Is he fat?" she screamed; "is he fat?" and made such a noise that the wood rang again.

"The Deil knows if he's fat or lean; I'm sure I don't," said the goodman, when he heard that; "but, if you want to know, you had better come yourself and see."

And then he got so afraid he threw the priest head over heels into the soft wet moss, and took to his legs; and if the priest hasn't got out, why I daresay he's lying there still.

THE LAD WHO WENT TO THE NORTH WIND.

on a time there was an old widow who had one son and as she was poorly and weak, her son had to go up into the safe to fetch meal for cooking; but when he got outside the safe, and was just going down the steps, there came the North Wind, puffing and blowing, caught up the meal, and so away with it through the air. Then the lad went back into the safe for more; but when he came out again on the steps, if the North Wind didn't come again and carry off the meal with a puff; and more than that, he did so the third time. At this the lad got very angry; and as he thought it hard that the North Wind should behave so, he thought he'd just look him up, and ask him to give up his meal.

So off he went, but the way was long, and he walked and walked; but at last he came to the North Wind's house.