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Rays of Positive Electricity and Their Application to Chemical Analyses/Index

ANALYSIS, use of positive rays for, 106.

Anode rays, 84.

Apparatus for investigating positive rays, 16. 20.

Aston, photographic apparatus designed by, 22.
 * —separation of new gas, 113.

Atmosphere, ne\v gas in, 112.
 * —gases in, III, 112.

Atoms and molecules, relative intensity of lines due to, 55.
 * —in a molecule not oppositely charged, 63·

Austin and Holborn disintegration of: metal by positive rays, 103.

BEADED parabolas, 51.

Bloch dissociation of gases, 65.

Bombardment by cathode rays, gases given off by, 122.

--positive rays, spectra due to, roo, 1 101.

CALCIUM used to face cathode, 19•

Carbon atom with negative charge, 40.
 * —molecule with negative charge, 45.
 * —monoxide, curve for, 59.

Cathode for producing positive rays, 2I.
 * —double, 5, 79•-rays, bombardment by, 1I3, 122.
 * ——ionization by, 70.

Charcoal used to produce vacuum, 24.

DECHEND and Hammer, chemical effects produced by rays, 104. Deflection, magnetic, of rays, 7.
 * —electrostatic, of rays, II. Disintegration of metal by positive rays, I02.

Doppler effect shown by positive rays, 89·

elm, method of determining, 12.

Electric charge carried by atoms, 53.

Electroscopic method of measuring rays, 56.

Electrostatic deflection of rays, I I.

FRANCK, mobility of ions in Argon, 44

Fulcher, spectrum produced by cathode rays, 54.
 * — Döpler effect, 100.
 * —bibliography of Döpler effect, 100.
 * ———positive rays, 105.

GASES given off when solids are bombarded by rays, 113 et seq.

Gehrcke and Reichenheim, anode rays, 84.

 * ———Döppler effects in rays, 93.

Glasson lonizatIon by cathode particles, 70.

Goldstein, discovery of positive rays by, 1.

 * —double cathodes, 5.

Granquist disintegration of metals by positive rays, 103.

Grassot flux meter, 10.

Gyllensköld, spectra by bombardment with rays, 101.

Helium, positive rays in, 3, 5, 18.

 * —given off by bombardment, 122 et seq.

Holborn and Austin, disintegration of metals by positive rays, 103.

Hydrogen atom with negative charge, 40.
 * —and oxygen, curves for, 60.

Hydroxyl radicle, 42.

Ionzation in the rays, 28, 29.

 * —causes of, 51.

 * —energy required for, 36.

KANALSTRAHALEN, 3.

Kohlschiitter, disintegration of metals by positive rays, 103.

Konigsberger and Kulschewski, effect of gas on velocity of rays, 38.

LITHIUM chloride, phosphorescence produced by positive rays, 3, 80.

MAGNETIC deflection of rays, 7 et seq.

 * —field, method of measuring, 9.

Magnets, use of crossed, 31.

Measurement of photographs. 25.

Mercury atom with multiple charges, 47.
 * —lines, effect of oxygen on, 116.

Moleules and atoms, relative intensity of lines due to, 45.
 * —with negative charges, 45.

Multiply charged atoms, 46.

NEGATIVELY charged particles, 18, 39.

Neon, positive rays in, 2.
 * —given off by bombardment of solids, 115, I23.

Neutralization of charge on the rays, 28, 29·

Nickel carbonyl, dissociation of, 64.

Number of rays determined by electroscope, 56.

ORANGE double cathodes, 6.

Oxygen atoms with negative charges, 40.
 * —molecules with negative charges, 46.

PARABOLAS formed by rays, 27.

Paschen Döppler effect in positive rays, 91.

Phosgene gas, curve for, 62.

Phosphorescence due to positive rays, 3.

Photographic plates, 4.

Photographs of positive rays, method of taking, 22.

 * —measurement of, 25

Potassium iodide gives off large supplies of helium, 124.

Propagation of positive rays, 7.

RAMSAY, Sir W., evolution of helium and neon, 123.

Reichenheim Doppler, effect in positive rays, 97.
 * —and Gehrcke, anode rays, 84.

Retrograde rays, 75.

SCHUMANN plates, 4.

Screens, phosphorescent, 4.

Secondary lines, 32.

Smith, dissociation of nickel carbonyl, 64.

Sodium and potassium alloy used to face cathode, 19.

Spectra due to bombardment by positive rays, 100.

Stark, Doppler effect shown by positive rays, 89 et seq.

 * —and Steubing Doppler, effect in posi. tive rays. 90-1
 * ——Wendt, spectra by bombardment with positive rays, 101.

Strasser Döppler, effect with positive rays, 93.

VELOCITY of rays, method of determining, 12.

Villard retrograde rays, 75.

WIEN, W., discovers magnetic effect of rays, 7.
 * ——experiments \vitb oxygen, 14.
 * ——free path of positive rays, 38.
 * ——method he used to determine elm and v, 13.
 * ——negatively electrified particles, 18.
 * ——origin of spectra, 97.

Willemite phosphorescence under positive rays, 3.

Wilsar, Döppler effect due to positive rays, 95, 100.

X$3$ produced by bombarding solids, 116.
 * ———heating platinum, 122.
 * ————tantalum, 122.
 * —can be stored for weeks, 117.
 * —combines with mercury vapour, 116.
 * ———oxygen in sunlight, 120.
 * ————when strongly sparked, 180.

ZINC BLENDE, phosphorescence of, 4.


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Talk:Rays of Positive Electricity and Their Application to Chemical Analyses

Text added
Added text from Internet Archive version. Still needs proofing, formula layout and images. --Kkmurray (talk) 20:22, 1 January 2011 (UTC)

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


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The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Inquisition

INQUISITION, a tribunal or system of tribunals instituted by the Roman Catholic Church for the discovery, examination and conviction of heretics and their punishment by the secular arm. Under the successors of Constantine in the Roman Empire the repression of heresy, or rather the enforcement of the decrees of Church councils and synods, was a function of the imperial government, which inflicted temporal penalties upon the propagators of religious beliefs that contradicted the creeds approved by the state. When the reigning emperor was a favorer of Arianism or any other of the heterodox creeds, the orthodox bishops and their flocks were persecuted; when he was of the orthodox party the heterodox sects were put under the ban. In executing the decrees of the councils the imperial officials, called in the laws of Theodosius and Justinian “inquisitors” (inquisitores), were assisted by the bishops; but the tribunals were the ordinary secular courts and judgment was rendered in the name of the state, not the Church. But in the 12th century, when the supremacy of the ecclesiastical power was universally recognized in western Europe, the initiative in the work of repressing heresy was taken by the Church as of course, and the discovery, trial and conviction of the offenders were functions of the ecclesiastical power solely: the secular power simply executed the judgments of the Church tribunals. Boniface VIII's definition of the respective powers and the mutual relations of Church and state was not proclaimed till the close of the 13th century; but had a similar definition been promulgated in the 12th century it would have expressed the universal sentiment of princes and peoples at the time. The celebrated bull, Unam Sanctam, defines that “Both swords, the spiritual and the temporal, are in the power of the Church; yet the one is to be wielded for the Church's behoof, but the other by the Church herself: the one by the hand of the priest, the other by that of the king and the soldier, though at the will and sufferance of the priest ad nutum et patientiam sacerdotis. And sword must be subordinate to sword — oportet gladium esse sub giadio, and the temporal authority subject to the spiritual power — temporalem auctoritatem spirituali subjici potestati.”

The first step toward the establishment of courts of inquisition would seem to have been taken in 1179 when the third Council of the Lateran issued a decree of excommunication against the adherents of the heretical sects of southern France, who are charged not only with holding abominable heretical tenets but also with practising “unheard-of cruelties against the Catholics,” demolishing the churches and massacring widows and orphans. The Council grants “an indulgence of two years to

those who shall make war on them.” This decree was re-enforced by the Council of Verona (1184) over which Pope Lucius III presided and at which the Emperor Frederic I assisted; the Council directs the bishops to bring to trial persons accused of heresy and to inflict fit punishment on the guilty. The fourth Council of the Lateran (1215), held in the reign of Innocent III, imposed on the bishops the duty of making a visitation of their dioceses twice or at least once a year either personally or by delegates to see that the Church's laws be enforced. Bishops are authorized to bind the inhabitants of a district by oath to search out heretics and bring them to trial. By the Council of Toulouse (1229) in the pontificate of Gregory IX the search for heretics (inquisitio hereticæ pravitatis) was systematized. The bishops are to name for each parish two or three respectable laymen who shall take oath zealously to search out heretics and to deliver them up to the baillis. Whosoever knowingly conceals a heretic loses all his goods. If heretics are discovered on the estate of a landowner, he incurs the penalties: the house of the heretic shall be torn down. Heretics who recant have to seek a new abode and must wear on their clothing two crosses of different colors until the Pope or his legate permits them to assume the ordinary garb. Whoever abstains from use of the sacraments is held suspect of heresy. A person convicted or suspected of heresy is debarred from the practice of medicine. Lest the ordinary Church authorities should be remiss in carrying out this system Gregory IX named (1232) as “pontifical inquisitors” monks or friars from outside, chiefly Dominicans; shortly after the pontifical inquisitors were chosen from the order of the Dominicans exclusively. Thus the duty of inquisition was taken out of the hands of the bishops and was discharged by officials, responsible only to the Pope; from the judgments of the inquisitorial tribunals there was no appeal but only to the Holy See; in 1263 Urban IV appointed an inquisitor-general for Provence, as a means of lowering the flood of appeals to Rome. The institution passed from southern France into the other provinces of that kingdom and into Italy, Germany and Poland. The Inquisition in England was directed by the metropolitans and their suffragans without being responsible to any inquisitor-general; but as long as Lollardism disturbed the peace of the Church the search for heretics was prosecuted rigorously: bishops and arch-deacons were required twice a year to make inquisition of suspects; any man might be compelled under penalties to inform against persons suspected of heresy; the statute de hæretico comburendo was enacted by the Parliament in 1396.

In Spain the Inquisition, as set up in 1481 by Ferdinand and Isabella, was as much (or more) a political as an ecclesiastical institution: the officials from highest to lowest were appointed by the sovereigns and its action was directed by them without responsibility to the Holy See; Ranke calls the Spanish Inquisition “a royal tribunal furnished with spiritual weapons”; Llorente admits as much. The number of persons put to death under sentence of the Inquisition in Spain is put by Llorente at 31,000 from first to last, that is, during 330 years. But Llorente made it impossible to check his statements by burning the original documents. Ranke impeaches his honesty; Prescott says that his estimates are “most improbable.” Catholic historians call attention to the fact that not only heresy but many other offenses against the laws were judged by the courts of inquisition in Spain, viz.: polygamy, seduction, unnatural crimes, smuggling, witchcraft, sorcery, false personation, etc. At the time when the Inquisition flourished, persecution for heresy was a universal practice amongst all Christian peoples, and the methods of punishment inflicted were general throughout Europe. Protestant England persecuted as harshly and vigorously as Catholic Spain, and in both countries denial of the state religion was equivalent to treason.


text: Peter and Wendy - Margaret Ogilvy/Chapter 1


text: Peter and Wendy - Margaret Ogilvy/Chapter 2


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Page:Completeconfectioner Glasse 1800.djvu/38

Golden Pippins, Nonpareils, Pearmain Apples, Medlars, dried Apples, Chesnuts, Royal Pears, St. Germain and Winter Chaumontelle, Colmar, Rennets, and Russet Apples.

APRIL. The same as in January, with Pomegranates, Winter Bonchretian, Pistachio Nuts, Almonds and Raisins.

JUNE. All sorts of Strawberries, Raspberries, Gooseberries, Duke Cherries, Currants, Melons, and Masculine Apricots.

OCTOBER. Peaches, Nectarines, Sweet Water Grapes, Figs, Green Gage Plumbs, St. Catharine Mulberries, Morella Cherries, Walnuts, Filberts, Arline Plumbs, Bergamot Pears, Buree Pears, Golden Pippins, Medlars, and Mulberries. Four months in the year are only mentioned, because fruit continues three months the same.


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Page:Shaving Made Easy 1905.djvu/13

 First-class tools are necessary at the very outset. No matter how skillfully one may handle inferior tools, they will invariably produce poor results.

Probably as many failures have resulted from the use of poor razors, strops, or soap as from the lack of knowledge how to use them. In order that the best possible results may be attained,

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 10 good tools and skill in using them should go hand in hand.

The shaving outfit should consist of one or two good razors, a first-class strop, a mirror, a cup, a brush, a cake of shaving soap, and a bottle of either bay rum, witch hazel, or some other good face lotion. These constitute what may be considered the necessary articles, and to these may be added a number of others, such as a good hone, magnesia or talcum powder, astringent or styptic pencils, antiseptic lotions, etc. which, while not absolutely requisite, will nevertheless add much to the convenience, comfort and luxury of the shave.

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 The most important article of the shaving outfit is of course the razor, and

upon its selection your success or failure in self-shaving will largely depend. Never purchase a razor because it happens to be cheap; a poor razor is dear at

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 12 any price. You want not the cheapest, but the best.

A good razor if rightly used, will last for years, and will be a source of continual pleasure when used, whereas a poor razor will do inferior work, irritate the skin and make the face sore, and be a continual source of trouble and annoyance. If you have such a razor, the sooner you throw it aside and substitute a good one, the better.

The principal point to be considered in selecting a razor is the quality of the steel. By "quality" is meant its temper or degree of solidity, and its consequent capability of receiving, even after a series of years, a firm and fine edge. This is undoubtedly the first point to which the purchaser should give attention. By what means though, can he judge of the temper of a razor without using it? The unassisted eye is not sufficient. Its power extends no further than to the discovery of defects the most striking and injurious. The irregularities in a

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User talk:Inductiveload/Sandbox

It.source and vec.source looking at this...
I've much to study this template! Our it.source header is terribly complex, but it has a different kind of complexity - that one which comes from a much rougher design and from adding and adding and adding again new features. :-(

Nevertheless I added a trick inside, perhaps it could be useful here too: we can add multiple values (i.e: more than one author, and more then one topic) into one parameter. The trick is, to use #titleparts function; this function can be used a "string-splitter" and it's both intuitive for the user, and not so complex to manage. So, introducing "author AAA/author BBB/author CCC" in the unique "author" field, you can pass three authors into the same field, then using them into the template as you like. --Alex brollo (talk) 23:34, 1 January 2011 (UTC)

vec.source current work about header
There are current works about header template into vec.source, introducing the best from en.source, and it.source. I presume that some excellent algoritms from this new header template will be carefully considered, but I like to share here two fresh ideas of Candalua, coming too (and I'm very bold about!) from some ideas tested into it.source: Dante Alighieri then you can retrieve the author of Divina Commedia by normal labeled transclusion; if the section is inside Divina Commedia, by a code such this: Obviuosly you can hide this code into a template, so making it much more "user-friendly". This can be done for anyone from template fields. Presently all header templates are "semantized" into it.source by an asyncronous bot script; Candalua work will allow to semantize them syncronously with any page edit, a great advancement! --Alex brollo (talk) 08:39, 3 January 2011 (UTC)
 * 1) header template runs as a form, just like Index header; the js script manages bott fields of the template, and the section of the page outside the template (this is a great idea of Candalua IMHO!);
 * 2) The template fields are "tokenized" by the js script, so allowing to "semantize" any of them, t.i. they can be transformed into "variables" that can be individually retrieved by a normal template. The idea is very simple: if you introduce somewhere this code into Divina Commedia:

title: User talk:Inductiveload/Sandbox


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Page:Diplomacy revealed.djvu/2

BY

"Author of 'Nigeria: its peoples and its problems'; 'Affairs of West Africa'; King Leopold's Role in Africa'; 'Red Rubber'; 'Great Britain and the Congo'; 'The British Case in French Congo'; 'Africa and the Peace of Europe'; 'Ten Years of Secret Diplomacy'; 'Truth and the War': 'The Black Man's Burden'; 'Thoughts on the War; the Peace and Prison.'"

THE NATIONAL LABOUR PRESS, LTD., 8 & 9, Johnson's Court, Fleet Street, London, E.G. 4; 30, Blackfriars Street, Manchester.

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Page:Language and the Study of Language.djvu/171

IV.] them of old time; by the possession of a traditional literature; but, most of all, by a recorded literature, the habit of writing, and a system of instruction. Culture and education are the most powerful of all the forces which oppose linguistic change. The smallest conceivable alterative influence will emanate from one who has been trained to speak correctly by a conscious effort, and who is accustomed to write what he says almost as frequently and naturally as he speaks it. Words, in their true form and independent entity, are too distinctly present to his mind for him to take part either in their fusion or mutilation. Hence the effect of literary culture is to fix a language in the condition in which it happens to be found, to assure to it the continued possession of the formative processes which are then active in its development, but to check or altogether prevent its acquisition of any others; to turn its prevailing habits into unalterable laws; and to maintain its phonetic character against anything but the most gradual and insidious change.

Thus far in the history of the world, this kind of conservative influence has usually been active only within the limits of a class; a learned or priestly caste has become the guardian of the national literature and the conservator of the tongue in which it was written; while to the masses of the people both have grown strange and unfamiliar. Deprived of the popular support, the cultivated dialect has at once begun to lose its vitality; for no language can remain alive which is not answering all the infinitely varied needs of a whole community, and adapting itself in every part to their changes; it is stinted of its natural and necessary growth when it is divorced from general use and made the exclusive property of a class. Thus there come to exist among the same people two separate tongues; the one an inheritance from the past, becoming ever more stiff and constrained, and employable only for special uses; the other the production of the present, growing constantly more unlike the other by the operation of the ordinary processes of linguistic change; full of inaccuracies and corruptions, if we choose to call them so, but also full of a healthy and vigorous life, which enables it finally to overthrow and replace the learned


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 Rh razor's edge, which arise from improper tempering and lack of skill in working, are usually so minute, that they may remain undistinguished until the razor is used. They will nevertheless very sensibly add to the friction the razor produces on the skin and particularly if it happens to be thin and tender. There are two ways of judging of the temper of a razor; one of these is practically infallible—viz:—the examination of the blade and its edge by means of a microscope.

It will be readily admitted that the real excellence of a razor is in direct proportion to the firmness and unbroken regularity of its edge. When a razor is too brittle, in consequence of having been either to much heated in the process of hardening, or not sufficiently cooled in that of tempering, it cannot possibly take a good cutting edge, no matter how much skill may be employed in honing and stropping it. Such defects are quickly detected by the use of a

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 14 in the hands of an experienced and attentive observer.

The other method of testing the temper, while not infallible, will nevertheless be of assistance even to the most inexperienced. It consists of catching the point of the blade under the thumb nail, and then letting the nail slip off quickly. If the blade gives a good clear ring, you may conclude that it is well tempered, but if it does not ring full and clear it is an indication that the blade is tempered unevenly.

The thinnest edge is always the sharpest. A blade ought therefore to be as thin as the strength of the metal composing it will permit. Nearly all razors are now made "hollow-ground" or "concave"— a great improvement over the old style of thick blade. The edge of the hollow-ground razor is thinner and therefore cuts better, and is much easier to keep sharp.

Almost any desired make of razor may

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Page:Language and the Study of Language.djvu/172

150 or sacred dialect of which it is the offspring. Such has been the origin and such the fate of all the learned dialects which, in various parts of the world, have been preserved as "dead languages," for the purposes of learned communication, after losing their character as the vernacular speech of a community: for instance, the ancient Egyptian, long kept up for sacred uses, and written in the hieroglyphic signs, after both language and letters had in popular use taken on another form; the Zend, in the keeping of the ministers of Zoroaster's doctrine; the Sanskrit, even yet taught in the Brahmanic schools of India, amid the Babel of modern dialects, its descendants; the Latin, the common language of the educated through all Europe, for centuries during which the later forms of Romanic speech, now the vehicles of a culture superior to that of Greece and Rome, were mere barbarous patois. Every dialect which is made the subject of literary culture is liable to the fate of the Latin; aristocracy and exclusiveness tend to final overthrow, in language as in politics; the needs and interests of the many are more important than those of the few, and must in the end prevail. True linguistic conservatism consists in establishing an educated and virtuous democracy, in enlisting the whole community, by means of a thorough and pervading education, in the proper and healthy preservation of the accepted usages of correct speech—and then in letting whatever change must and will come take its course. There is a purism which, while it seeks to maintain the integrity of language, in effect stifles its growth: to be too fearful of new words and phrases, new meanings, familiar and colloquial expressions, is little less fatal to the well-being of a spoken tongue than to rush into the opposite extreme.

It is hardly needful to point out that these desirable conditions are much more nearly realized in the case of our modern cultivated and literary languages than in those of olden time, and that the former have, in all human probability, a destiny before them very different from that of the latter. In the present constitution of society, among the enlightened nations of Europe and America, the forces conservative of the general purity of language have attained a


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Author:Barnabas Brough

Works

 * Davy Jones, or, The Welch psalm singer: a Gilpinic tale (1823)

title: Author:Barnabas Brough


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text:
Author:John Cargill Brough

Works

 * The fairy tales of science: a book for youth (1859)

title: Author:John Cargill Brough


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, afterwards becoming a member of Mr. Copeland's company at the Amphitheatre; and next was associated with Mr. Saker at the Alexandra Theatre there.

Mr. Brough came to London in October 1867, and has played at the Queen's, St. James's, and Holborn theatres. In August 1872, Mr. Boucicault opened Covent Garden—at the close of the Opera season—with Mr. Brough as his stage manager.

At Liverpool, Birmingham, Leeds, and the chief provincial towns, Mr. Brough has often performed, and is a great favourite with his audiences. He has all the requisite qualities as an actor for the parts he plays; and to his great natural humour and fun he adds a conscientious and careful study of the characters he undertakes.

Tony Lumpkin, in 'She Stoops to Conquer,' he played for a long time, with the greatest success, at the St. James's Theatre; and he is the best Tony on the stage. Uncle Ben in 'Dearer than Life,' Spotty in 'The Lancashire Lass,' Sampson Burr in 'The Porter's Knot,' Mark Meddle in 'London Assurance,' Robin Wildbriar in 'Extremes,' are among the best of Mr. Brough's assumptions. He plays them with marked intelligence arid appreciation, and a display of genuine humorous power and versatility not too frequently met with on the stage.

Mr. Brough likewise enjoys considerable celebrity as an actor of burlesque parts, when he never fails to put his audiences in a good temper with themselves and with their entertainer.


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 examples of his style of thought and expression is a short disquisition on 'Social Life in Heaven'—one of the papers in a collection entitled 'Recognition of Friends in Heaven,' the joint production of the Bishop of Ripon, Dr. Macleod, J. B. Owen, M.A., and three other authors. Dr. Macleod wrote also an interesting Scottish story, 'The Starling. '


text: Peter and Wendy - Margaret Ogilvy/Chapter 3


text: Peter and Wendy - Margaret Ogilvy/Chapter 4


text: Author:Andrew Halliday Duff

title: Author:Andrew Halliday Duff


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Page:Best Russian Short Stories.djvu/186

166 grave," she continued, as she wiped her tears with her apron and blew her nose.

"Who told you all this?" asked Serafima Aleksandrovna in an austere low voice.

"Agathya says so, madam," answered Fedosya; "it's she that knows."

"Knows!" exclaimed Serafima Aleksandrovna in irritation, as though she wished to protect herself somehow from this sudden anxiety. "What nonsense! Please don't come to me with any such notions in the future. Now you may go."

Fedosya, dejected, her feelings hurt, left her mistress.

"What nonsense! As though Lelechka could die!" thought Serafima Aleksandrovna to herself, trying to conquer the feeling of coldness and fear which took possession of her at the thought of the possible death of Lelechka. Serafima Aleksandrovna, upon reflection, attributed these women's beliefs in omens to ignorance. She saw clearly that there could be no possible connexion between a child's quite ordinary diversion and the continuation of the child's life. She made a special effort that evening to occupy her mind with other matters, but her thoughts returned involuntarily to the fact that Lelechka loved to hide herself.

When Lelechka was still quite small, and had learned to distinguish between her mother and her nurse, she sometimes, sitting in her nurse's arms, made a sudden roguish grimace, and hid her laughing face in the nurse's shoulder. Then she would look out with a sly glance.

Of late, in those rare moments of the mistress' absence from the nursery, Fedosya had again taught Lelechka to hide; and when Lelechka's mother, on coming in, saw how lovely the child looked when she was hiding, she herself began to play hide and seek with her tiny daughter.

The next day Serafima Aleksandrovna, absorbed in her joyous cares for Lelechka, had forgotten Fedosya's words of the day before.

But when she returned to the nursery, after having


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Rh of his diction, even when he was swearing, no less than the distinction of his demeanour, showed him one of a different caste from his crew. A man of indomitable courage, it was said of him that the only thing he shied at was the sight of his own blood, which was thick and of an unusual colour. In dress he somewhat aped the attire associated with the name of Charles II., having heard it said in some earlier period of his career that he bore a strange resemblance to the ill-fated Stuarts; and in his mouth he had a holder of his own contrivance which enabled him to smoke two cigars at once. But undoubtedly the grimmest part of him was his iron claw.

Let us now kill a pirate, to show Hook's method. Skylights will do. As they pass, Skylights lurches clumsily against him, ruffling his lace collar; the hook shoots forth, there is a tearing sound and one screech, then the body is kicked aside, and the pirates pass on. He has not even taken the cigars from his mouth.

Such is the terrible man against whom Peter Pan is pitted. Which will win?

On the trail of the pirates, stealing noiselessly down the war-path, which is not visible to inexperienced eyes, come the redskins, every one of them with his eyes peeled. They carry tomahawks and knives, and their naked bodies gleam with paint and oil. Strung around them are scalps, of Rh

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—so well known in connection with literature and the drama as Mr. Andrew Halliday—is the son of the Rev. William Duff, of Grange, Banffshire, whose family is derived from Macduff, thane of Fife. He was born in 1830, and was educated at the Marischal College and University of Aberdeen, where he applied himself to the study of the classics, under Professor John Stuart Blackie.

Mr. Halliday began his literary career in London as a contributor to the 'Morning Chronicle,' and afterwards joined the 'Leader,' also contributing largely to various newspapers in London and the provinces. He next turned his attention to the stage; and in 1858, in conjunction with Mr. Lawrence, wrote the burlesque of 'Kenilworth,' which achieved a remarkable success at the Strand Theatre, and has held the stage ever since, having been constantly revived in London and the provinces. Mr. Halliday produced two other burlesques, one founded on 'Romeo and Juliet,' brought out at the Strand, the other on the subject of 'The Lady of the Lake,' and entitled 'Mountain Dhu,' at the Adelphi. In conjunction with the late Mr. William Brough, he wrote a great number of original farces, which were produced at the Adelphi, Drury-lane, the Lyceum, and other theatres. The principal of these were 'The Census,' 'The Pretty Horsebreaker,' 'A Valentine,' 'A Shilling Day at the Exhibition,' 'The Area Belle,' 'Doing Banting,' 'The Actor's Retreat,' 'My Heart's in the Highlands,' 'An April Fool,' 'Going to the Dogs,' 'The Mudborough Election,' 'The Colleen Bawn Married and Settled,' and a petite drama entitled 'The Wooden-Spoon Maker.'

In 1861, Mr. Halliday joined Charles Dickens's staff on 'All the Year Round,' and contributed regularly to that periodical until Mr. Dickens's death. He wrote at the same time for the 'Cornhill' and other magazines. Mr. Halliday's collected essays were published in three separate volumes, respectively entitled 'Everyday Papers,' 'Sunnyside Papers,' and 'Town


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Rh boys as well as of pirates, for these are the Piccaninny tribe, and not to be confused with the softer-hearted Delawares or the Hurons. In the van, on all fours, is Great Big Little Panther, a brave of so many scalps that in his present position they somewhat impede his progress. Bringing up the rear, the place of greatest danger, comes Tiger Lily, proudly erect, a princess in her own right. She is the most beautiful of dusky Dianas and the belle of the Piccaninnies, coquettish, cold and amorous by turns; there is not a brave who would not have the wayward thing to wife, but she staves off the altar with a hatchet. Observe how they pass over fallen twigs without making the slightest noise. The only sound to be heard is their somewhat heavy breathing. The fact is that they are all a little fat just now after the heavy gorging, but in time they will work this off. For the moment, however, it constitutes their chief danger.

The redskins disappear as they have come like shadows, and soon their place is taken by the beasts, a great and motley procession: lions, tigers, bears, and the innumerable smaller savage things that flee from them, for every kind of beast, and, more particularly, all the man-eaters, live cheek by jowl on the favoured island. Their tongues are hanging out, they are hungry to-night.

When they have passed, comes the last figure of Rh

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Author talk:John Cargill Brough

Death
SUMMARY OF THIS MORNING'S NEWS.

The Pall Mall Gazette (London, England), Wednesday, September 11, 1872; Issue 2364. (2491 words)

The death is announced of Mr. John Cargill Brought, the resident manager of the London Institution, Finsbury, at the early age of thirty-eight. Mr. Brough was the third of four brothers, all known to fame — Robert, the translator of Beranger's songs; William, the burlesque writer; and Lionel, the actor. Mr. Brough was a widower and has left six children who were dependent upon him — three of his own and three orphans of a relative whom he had adopted.

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Rh all, a gigantic crocodile. We shall see for whom she is looking presently.

The crocodile passes, but soon the boys appear again, for the procession must continue indefinitely until one of the parties stops or changes its pace. Then quickly they will be on top of each other.

All are keeping a sharp look-out in front, but none suspects that the danger may be creeping up from behind. This shows how real the island was.

The first to fall out of the moving circle was the boys. They flung themselves down on the sward, close to their underground home.

"I do wish Peter would come back," every one of them said nervously, though in height and still more in breadth they were all larger than their captain.

"I am the only one who is not afraid of the pirates," Slightly said, in the tone that prevented his being a general favourite, but perhaps some distant sound disturbed him, for he added hastily, "but I wish he would come back, and tell us whether he has heard anything more about Cinderella."

They talked of Cinderella, and Tootles was confident that his mother must have been very like her.

It was only in Peter's absence that they could Rh

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Rh speak of mothers, the subject being forbidden by him as silly.

"All I remember about my mother," Nibs told them, "is that she often said to father, 'Oh, how I wish I had a cheque-book of my own!' I don't know what a cheque-book is, but I should just love to give my mother one."

While they talked they heard a distant sound. You or I, not being wild things of the woods, would have heard nothing, but they heard it, and it was the grim song:

At once the lost boys—but where are they? They are no longer there. Rabbits could not have disappeared more quickly.

I will tell you where they are. With the exception of Nibs, who has darted away to reconnoitre, they are already in their home under the ground, a very delightful residence of which we shall see a good deal presently. But how have they reached it? for there is no entrance to be seen, not so much as a large stone, which if rolled away would disclose the mouth of a cave. Look closely, however, and you may note that there are here seven large trees, each with a hole in its hollow Rh

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Rh trunk as large as a boy. These are the seven entrances to the home under the ground, for which Hook has been searching in vain these many moons. Will he find it to-night?

As the pirates advanced, the quick eye of Starkey sighted Nibs disappearing through the wood, and at once his pistol flashed out. But an iron claw gripped his shoulder.

"Captain, let go!" he cried, writhing.

Now for the first time we hear the voice of Hook. It was a black voice. "Put back that pistol first," it said threateningly.

"It was one of those boys you hate. I could have shot him dead."

"Ay, and the sound would have brought Tiger Lily's redskins upon us. Do you want to lose your scalp?"

"Shall I after him, captain," asked pathetic Smee, "and tickle him with Johnny Corkscrew?" Smee had pleasant names for everything, and his cutlass was Johnny Corkscrew, because he wriggled it in the wound. One could mention many lovable traits in Smee. For instance, after killing, it was his spectacles he wiped instead of his weapon.

"Johnny's a silent fellow," he reminded Hook.

"Not now, Smee," Hook said darkly. "He is only one, and I want to mischief all the seven. Scatter and look for them." Rh

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Rh The pirates disappeared among the trees, and in a moment their captain and Smee were alone. Hook heaved a heavy sigh, and I know not why it was, perhaps it was because of the soft beauty of the evening, but there came over him a desire to confide to his faithful bo'sun the story of his life. He spoke long and earnestly, but what it was all about Smee, who was rather stupid, did not know in the least.

Anon he caught the word Peter.

"Most of all," Hook was saying passionately, "I want their captain, Peter Pan. 'Twas he cut off my arm." He brandished the hook threateningly. "I've waited long to shake his hand with this. Oh, I'll tear him!"

"And yet," said Smee, "I have often heard you say that hook was worth a score of hands, for combing the hair and other homely uses."

"Ay," the captain answered, "if I was a mother I would pray to have my children born with this instead of that," and he cast a look of pride upon his iron hand and one of scorn upon the other. Then again he frowned.

"Peter flung my arm," he said, wincing, "to a crocodile that happened to be passing by."

"I have often," said Smee, "noticed your strange dread of crocodiles."

"Not of crocodiles," Hook corrected him, "but of that one crocodile." He lowered his voice. "It Rh

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Rh liked my arm so much, Smee, that it has followed me ever since, from sea to sea and from land to land, licking its lips for the rest of me."

"In a way," said Smee, "it's a sort of compliment."

"I want no such compliments," Hook barked petulantly. "I want Peter Pan, who first gave the brute its taste for me."

He sat down on a large mushroom, and now there was a quiver in his voice. "Smee," he said huskily, "that crocodile would have had me before this, but by a lucky chance it swallowed a clock which goes tick tick inside it, and so before it can reach me I hear the tick and bolt." He laughed, but in a hollow way.

"Some day," said Smee, "the clock will run down, and then he'll get you."

Hook wetted his dry lips. "Ay," he said, "that's the fear that haunts me."

Since sitting down he had felt curiously warm. "Smee," he said, "this seat is hot." He jumped up. "Odds bobs, hammer and tongs, I'm burning."

They examined the mushroom, which was of a size and solidity unknown on the mainland; they tried to pull it up, and it came away at once in their hands, for it had no root. Stranger still, smoke began at once to ascend. The pirates looked at each other. "A chimney!" they both exclaimed. Rh

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 and Country.' The 'Everyday Papers' went through several editions, and enjoyed a remarkable success. The 'Examiner,' criticising these essays, said:

'Mr. Halliday has a lively wit, with a soul to it in his quick wholesome feeling. He writes with a light touch, but without frivolity; his gaiety is intellectual, his English accurate. His papers, light and refreshing, supply already to our current literature some of the best of the reading that seeks chiefly to amuse. We are convinced that they are the earnest of better things to come.'

A criticism by no means too favourable.

In 1867, Mr. Halliday produced his first important dramatic work, 'The Great City,' at Drury-lane. It was brought out on Easter Monday. The piece had—at Drury-lane—the unprecedented run of a hundred nights. 'King o' Scots,' 'Amy Robsart,' and 'Rebecca' followed, each piece carrying the manager triumphantly through the entire season, without the necessity for change. In 1869, he produced 'Little Em'ly,' an adaptation of 'David Copperfield'—with the sanction of Mr. Dickens—which ran two hundred nights at the Olympic Theatre. 'Nell,' an adaptation of 'The Old Curiosity Shop,' followed at the same house. 'Notre Dame' was produced at the Adelphi on Easter Monday 1871. The piece had a run of two hundred and fifty-six nights.

Mr. Halliday was the editor of the 'Savage-Club Papers,' very popular among a large class of readers.

Mr. Chatterton said, at Drury-lane, 'Byron spelt bankruptcy and Shakspeare ruin' for him as a manager. With Mr. Halliday's assistance, he has had some of the greatest successes ever known at Drury-lane.


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Reverend Charles Kingsley, M.A., rector of Eversley, canon of Chester, one of her Majesty's chaplains, tutor to the Prince of Wales, and Professor of Modern History in the University of Cambridge, was born on the 12th of June 1819 at Holme Vicarage, on the borders of Dartmoor. He became at fourteen a pupil of the Rev. Derwent Coleridge—son of Samuel Taylor Coleridge—and afterwards was a student at King's College, London. He then entered at Magdalen College, Cambridge, where he was a scholar and prizeman whilst in statu pupillari, and concluded his undergraduate career with a good degree—first class in classics, and second class in mathematics.

Mr. Kingsley entered the Church; and his first cure was the rectory he now holds; for a year and a half after his entering upon his curacy the living became vacant, and the patron, Sir John Cope, presented it to the curate, who has ever since been rector of Eversley.

Charles Kingsley's name, however, was to be known and honoured, far away from his little Hampshire parish, as the writer of works of fiction which are strikingly original, pure in their moral teaching, honest and noble in their purpose, and have placed their author high in the ranks of writers of imaginative literature.

The list of Mr. Kingsley's works includes 'Westward Ho! or the Voyages and Adventures of Sir Amyas Leigh,' now in a sixth edition; a splendid story, photographing for the reader the grand scenery of the newly found continent of America, and exhibiting the adventurous and noble spirit of the age in which the scenes of Sir Amyas Leigh's adventures are laid.

'Two Years Ago,' and the author's latest book, 'At Last: a Christmas in the West Indies,' contain likewise much of that word-painting, applied to the description of natural scenery, in which Charles Kingsley is a master.

'Hypatia; or New Foes with an Old Face,' is a most interesting story


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16

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Author:Derwent Coleridge

Works

 * The scriptural character of the English Church considered in a series of sermons, with notes and illustrations (1839)
 * The grain of mustard seed: a sermon preached in the chapel of St. Mark's College, Chelsea, April 25th, 1865 (1865)

As editor

 * Essays and Marginalia (1851), by Hartley Coleridge, in 2 vols.
 * Poems of Hartley Coleridge, with a memoire of his life (1851), in 2 vols.
 * Lives of Northern Worthies (1852), by Hartley Coleridge, in 3 vols.
 * Notes on English divines (1853), by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, in 2 vols.
 * Notes, theological, political, and miscellaneous (1853), by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
 * Aids to reflection (1854), by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
 * The Poetical Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1854), co-edited with Sara Coleridge
 * The Dramatic Works of Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1857)
 * The Poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed, with a memoire (1864)

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 18 other cause. If you have a razor with a sharp point, you can round it off, on the edge of the hone. You should not use the top surface of the hone for this purpose, for if you do you are quite likely to scratch the hone and spoil it. Use water freely otherwise the blade will become heated and that would quickly spoil its temper.

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 Rh towel, before putting away. The cup and brush should be kept clean and away from dust. Once a week they should be washed with hot water.

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text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Coleraine, Lords


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


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Rh They had indeed discovered the chimney of the home under the ground. It was the custom of the boys to stop it with a mushroom when enemies were in the neighbourhood.

Not only smoke came out of it. There came also children's voices, for so safe did the boys feel in their hiding-place that they were gaily chattering. The pirates listened grimly, and then replaced the mushroom. They looked around them and noted the holes in the seven trees.

"Did you hear them say Peter Pan's from home?" Smee whispered, fidgeting with Johnny Corkscrew.

Hook nodded. He stood for a long time lost in thought, and at last a curdling smile lit up his swarthy face. Smee had been waiting for it. "Unrip your plan, captain," he cried eagerly.

"To return to the ship," Hook replied slowly through his teeth, "and cook a large rich cake of a jolly thickness with green sugar on it. There can be but one room below, for there is but one chimney. The silly moles had not the sense to see that they did not need a door apiece. That shows they have no mother. We will leave the cake on the shore of the Mermaids' Lagoon. These boys are always swimming about there, playing with the mermaids. They will find the cake and they will gobble it up, because, having no mother, they don't know how dangerous 'tis to eat rich damp cake." Rh

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Rh He burst into laughter, not hollow laughter now, but honest laughter. "Aha, they will die!"

Smee had listened with growing admiration.

"It's the wickedest, prettiest policy ever I heard of!" he cried, and in their exultation they danced and sang:

They began the verse, but they never finished it, for another sound broke in and stilled them. It was at first such a tiny sound that a leaf might have fallen on it and smothered it, but as it came nearer it was more distinct.

Tick tick tick tick!

Hook stood shuddering, one foot in the air.

"The crocodile!" he gasped, and bounded away, followed by his bo'sun.

It was indeed the crocodile. It had passed the redskins, who were now on the trail of the other pirates. It oozed on after Hook.

Once more the boys emerged into the open; but the dangers of the night were not yet over, for presently Nibs rushed breathless into their midst, pursued by a pack of wolves. The tongues of the pursuers were hanging out; the baying of them was horrible. Rh

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Rh "Save me, save me!" cried Nibs, falling on the ground.

"But what can we do, what can we do?"

It was a high compliment to Peter that at that dire moment their thoughts turned to him.

"What would Peter do?" they cried simultaneously.

Almost in the same breath they cried, "Peter would look at them through his legs."

And then, "Let us do what Peter would do."

It is quite the most successful way of defying wolves, and as one boy they bent and looked through their legs. The next moment is the long one, but victory came quickly, for as the boys advanced upon them in this terrible attitude, the wolves dropped their tails and fled.

Now Nibs rose from the ground, and the others thought that his staring eyes still saw the wolves. But it was not wolves he saw.

"I have seen a wonderfuller thing," he cried, as they gathered round him eagerly. "A great white bird. It is flying this way."

"What kind of a bird, do you think?"

"I don't know," Nibs said, awestruck, "but it looks so weary, and as it flies it moans, 'Poor Wendy.'"

"Poor Wendy?"

"I remember," said Slightly instantly, "there are birds called Wendies." Rh

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Rh "See, it comes!" cried Curly, pointing to Wendy in the heavens.

Wendy was now almost overhead, and they could hear her plaintive cry. But more distinct came the shrill voice of Tinker Bell. The jealous fairy had now cast off all disguise of friendship, was darting at her victim from every direction, pinching savagely each time she touched.

"Hullo, Tink," cried the wondering boys.

Tink's reply rang out: "Peter wants you to shoot the Wendy."

It was not in their nature to question when Peter ordered. "Let us do what Peter wishes," cried the simple boys. "Quick, bows and arrows!"

All but Tootles popped down their trees. He had a bow and arrow with him, and Tink noted it, and rubbed her little hands.

"Quick, Tootles, quick," she screamed. "Peter will be so pleased."

Tootles excitedly fitted the arrow to his bow. "Out of the way, Tink," he shouted, and then he fired, and Wendy fluttered to the ground with an arrow in her breast. Rh

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 CHAPTER VI

THE LITTLE HOUSE

Tootles was standing like a conqueror over Wendy's body when the other boys sprang, armed, from their trees.

"You are too late," he cried proudly, "I have shot the Wendy. Peter will be so pleased with me."

Overhead Tinker Bell shouted "Silly ass!" and darted into hiding. The others did not hear her.

They had crowded round Wendy, and as they looked a terrible silence fell upon the wood. If Wendy's heart had been beating they would all have heard it.

Slightly was the first to speak. "This is no bird," he said in a scared voice. "I think it must be a lady."

"A lady?" said Tootles, and fell a-trembling.

"And we have killed her," Nibs said hoarsely.

They all whipped off their caps.

"Now I see," Curly said; "Peter was bringing her to us." He threw himself sorrowfully on the ground. Rh

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Rh "A lady to take care of us at last," said one of the twins, "and you have killed her!"

They were sorry for him, but sorrier for themselves, and when he took a step nearer them they turned from him.

Tootles' face was very white, but there was a dignity about him now that had never been there before.

"I did it," he said, reflecting. "When ladies used to come to me in dreams, I said, 'Pretty mother, pretty mother.' But when at last she really came, I shot her."

He moved slowly away.

"Don't go," they called in pity.

"I must," he answered, shaking; "I am so afraid of Peter."

It was at this tragic moment that they heard a sound which made the heart of every one of them rise to his mouth. They heard Peter crow.

"Peter!" they cried, for it was always thus that he signalled his return.

"Hide her," they whispered, and gathered hastily around Wendy. But Tootles stood aloof.

Again came that ringing crow, and Peter dropped in front of them. "Greeting, boys," he cried, and mechanically they saluted, and then again was silence.

He frowned.

"I am back," he said hotly, "why do you not cheer?" Rh

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Rh They opened their mouths, but the cheers would not come. He overlooked it in his haste to tell the glorious tidings.

"Great news, boys," he cried, "I have brought at last a mother for you all."

Still no sound, except a little thud from Tootles as he dropped on his knees.

"Have you not seen her?" asked Peter, becoming troubled. "She flew this way."

"Ah me!" one voice said, and another said, "Oh, mournful day."

Tootles rose. "Peter," he said quietly, "I will show her to you," and when the others would still have hidden her he said, "Back, twins, let Peter see."

So they all stood back, and let him see, and after he had looked for a little time he did not know what to do next.

"She is dead," he said uncomfortably. "Perhaps she is frightened at being dead."

He thought of hopping off in a comic sort of way till he was out of sight of her, and then never going near the spot any more. They would all have been glad to follow if he had done this.

But there was the arrow. He took it from her heart and faced his band.

"Whose arrow?" he demanded sternly.

"Mine, Peter," said Tootles on his knees.

"Oh, dastard hand," Peter said, and he raised the arrow to use it as a dagger. Rh

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Rh Tootles did not flinch. He bared his breast. "Strike, Peter," he said firmly, "strike true."

Twice did Peter raise the arrow, and twice did his hand fall. "I cannot strike," he said with awe, "there is something stays my hand."

All looked at him in wonder, save Nibs, who fortunately looked at Wendy.

"It is she," he cried, "the Wendy lady, see, her arm!"

Wonderful to relate, Wendy had raised her arm. Nibs bent over her and listened reverently. "I think she said 'Poor Tootles,'" he whispered.

"She lives," Peter said briefly.

Slightly cried instantly, "The Wendy lady lives."

Then Peter knelt beside her and found his button. You remember she had put it on a chain that she wore round her neck.

"See," he said, "the arrow struck against this. It is the kiss I gave her. It has saved her life."

"I remember kisses," Slightly interposed quickly, "let me see it. Ay, that's a kiss."

Peter did not hear him. He was begging Wendy to get better quickly, so that he could show her the mermaids. Of course she could not answer yet, being still in a frightful faint; but from overhead came a wailing note.

"Listen to Tink," said Curly, "she is crying because the Wendy lives." Rh

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text:
Ivàn Ivànovitch

"They tell me, your carpenters," quoth I to my friend the Russ, "Make a simple hatchet serve as a tool-box serves with us. Arm but each man with his axe, 't is a hammer and saw and plane And chisel, and — what know I else? We should imitate in vain The mastery wherewithal, by a flourish of just the adze, He cleaves, clamps, dovetails in, — no need of our nails and brads, — The manageable pine: 't is said he could shave himself With the axe, — so all adroit, now a giant and now an elf, Does he work and play at once!"

Quoth my friend the Russ to me, "Ay, that and more beside on occasion! It scarce may be   You never heard tell a tale told children, time out of mind, By father and mother and nurse, for a moral that's behind, Which children quickly seize. If the incident happened at all, We place it in Peter's time when hearts were great not small, Germanized, Frenchified. I wager 't is old to you As the story of Adam and Eve, and possibly quite as true."

—————

In the deep of our land, 't is said, a village from out the woods Emerged on the great main-road 'twixt two great solitudes. Through forestry right and left, black verst and verst of pine, From village to village runs the road's long wide bare line. Clearance and clearance break the else-unconquered growth Of pine and all that breeds and broods there, leaving loth Man's inch of masterdom, — spot of life, spirt of fire, — To star the dark and dread, lest right and rule expire Throughout the monstrous wild, a-hungered to resume Its ancient sway, suck back the world into its womb: Defrauded by man's craft which clove from North to South This highway broad and straight e'en from the Neva's mouth To Moscow's gates of gold. So, spot of life and spirt Of fire aforesaid, burn, each village death-begirt By wall and wall of pine — unprobed undreamed abyss.

Early one winter morn, in such a village as this, Snow-whitened everywhere except the middle road Ice-roughed by track of sledge, there worked by his abode Ivàn Ivànovitch, the carpenter, employed On A huge shipmast trunk; his axe now trimmed and toyed With branch and twig, and now some chop athwart the bole Changed bole to billets, bared at once the sap and soul. About him, watched the work his neighbours sheepskin-clad; Each bearded mouth puffed steam, each grey eye twinkled glad To see the sturdy arm which, never stopping play. Proved strong man's blood still boils, freeze winter as he may. Sudden, a burst of bells. Out of the road, on edge Of the hamlet — horse's hoofs galloping. "How, a sledge? What's here?" cried all as — in, up to the open space, Workyard and market-ground, folk's common meeting-place, — Stumbled on, till he fell, in one last bound for life, A horse: and, at his heels, a sledge held — "Dmìtri's wife! Back without Dmìtri too! and children — where are they? Only a frozen corpse!"

They drew it forth: then — "Nay,   Not dead, though like to die! Gone hence a month ago: Home again, this rough jaunt — alone through night and snow — What can the cause be? Hark — Droug, old horse, how he groans: His day's done! Chafe away, keep chafing, for she moans: She's coming to! Give here: see, motherkin, your friends! Cheer up, all safe at home! Warm inside makes amends For outside cold, — sup quick! Don't look as we were bears! What is it startles you? What strange adventure stares Up at us in your face? You know friends — which is which? I'm Vàssili, he's Sergeì, Ivàn Ivànovitch . . ."

At the word, the woman's eyes, slow-wandering till they neared The blue eyes o'er the bush of honey-coloured beard, Took in full light and sense and — torn to rags, some dream Which hid the naked truth — O loud and long the scream She gave, as if all power of voice within her throat Poured itself wild away to waste in one dread note! Then followed gasps and sobs, and then the steady flow Of kindly tears: the brain was saved, a man might know. Down fell her face upon the good friend's propping knee; His broad hands smoothed her head, as fain to brush it free From fancies, swarms that stung like bees unhived. He soothed — "Loukèria, Loùscha!" — still he, fondling, smoothed and smoothed. At last her lips formed speech.

"Ivàn, dear — you indeed! You, just the same dear you! While I . . . O intercede, Sweet Mother, with thy Son Almighty — let his might Bring yesterday once more, undo all done last night! But this time yesterday, Ivàn, I sat like you, A child on either knee, and, dearer than the two, A babe inside my arms, close to my heart — that's lost In morsels o'er the snow! Father, Son, Holy Ghost,   Cannot you bring again my blessed yesterday?"

When no more tears would flow, she told her tale: this way.

"Maybe, a month ago, — was it not? — news came here, They wanted, deeper down, good workmen fit to rear A church and roof it in. 'We'll go,' my husband said: 'None understands like me to melt and mould their lead.' So, friends here helped us off — Ivàn, dear, you the first! How gay we jingled forth, all five — (my heart will burst) — While Dmìtri shook the reins, urged Droug upon his track!

"Well, soon the month ran out, we just were coming back,   When yesterday — behold, the village was on fire! Fire ran from house to house. What help, as, nigh and nigher, The flames came furious? 'Haste,' cried Dmìtri, 'men must do The little good man may: to sledge and in with you, You and our three! We check the fire by laying flat Each building in its path, — I needs must stay for that, — But you . . . no time for talk! Wrap round you every rug, Cover the couple close, — you'll have the babe to hug. No care to guide old Droug, he knows his way, by guess, Once start him on the road: but chirrup, none the less!    The snow lies glib as glass and hard as steel, and soon You'll have rise, fine and full, a marvel of a moon. Hold straight up, all the same, this lighted twist of pitch! Once home and with our friend Ivàn Ivànovitch, All's safe: I have my pay in pouch, all's right with me. So I but find as safe you and our precious three! Off, Droug!' — because the flames had reached us, and the men Shouted 'But lend a hand, Dmìtri — as good as ten!'

"So, in we bundled — I, and those God gave me once; Old Droug, that's stiff at first, seemed youthful for the nonce:   He understood the case, galloping straight ahead. Out came the moon: my twist soon dwindled, feebly red In that unnatural day — yes, daylight, bred between Moon-light and snow-light, lamped those grotto-depths which screen Such devils from God's eye. Ah, pines, how straight you grow Nor bend one pitying branch, true breed of brutal snow! Some undergrowth had served to keep the devils blind While we escaped outside their border!

"Was that — wind? Anyhow, Droug starts, stops, back go his ears, he snuffs, Snorts, — never such a snort! then plunges, knows the sough's   Only the wind: yet, no — our breath goes up too straight! Still the low sound, — less low, loud, louder, at a rate There's no mistaking more! Shall I lean out — look — learn The truth whatever it be? Pad, pad! At last, I turn —

'T is the regular pad of the wolves in pursuit of the life in the sledge! An army they are: close-packed they press like the thrust of a wedge: They increase as they hunt: for I see, through the pine-trunks ranged each side, Slip forth new fiend and fiend, make wider and still more wide The four-footed steady advance. The foremost — none may pass: They are elders and lead the line, eye and eye — green-glowing brass! But a long way distant still. Droug, save us! He does his best: Yet they gain on us, gain, till they reach, — one reaches. . . How utter the rest? O that Satan-faced first of the band! How he lolls out the length of his tongue, How he laughs and lets gleam his white teeth! He is on me, his paws pry among The wraps and the rugs! O my pair, my twin-pigeons, lie still and seem dead! Stepàn, he shall never have you for a meal, — here's your mother instead! No, he will not be counselled — must cry, poor Stiòpka, so foolish! though first Of my boy-brood, he was not the best: nay, neighbours have called him the worst: He was puny, an undersized slip, — a darling to me, all the same! But little there was to be praised in the boy, and a plenty to blame. I loved him with heart and soul, yes — but, deal him a blow for a fault, He would sulk for whole days. 'Foolish boy! lie still or the villain will vault, Will snatch you from over my head!' No use! he cries, screams, — who can hold Fast a boy in a frenzy of fear! It follows — as I foretold! The Satan-face snatched and snapped: I tugged, I tore — and then His brother too needs must shriek! If one must go, 't is men The Tsar needs, so we hear, not ailing boys! Perhaps My hands relaxed their grasp, got tangled in the wraps: God, he was gone! I looked: there tumbled the cursed crew, Each fighting for a share: too busy to pursue! That's so far gain at least: Droug, gallop another verst Or two, or three — God sends we beat them, arrive the first! A mother who boasts two boys was ever accounted rich: Some have not a boy: some have, but lose him, — God knows which Is worse: how pitiful to see your weakling pine And pale and pass away! Strong brats, this pair of mine!

"O misery! for while I settle to what near seems Content, I am 'ware again of the tramp, and again there gleams — Point and point — the line, eyes, levelled green brassy fire! So soon is resumed your chase? Will nothing appease, nought tire   The furies? And yet I think — I am certain the race is slack, And the numbers are nothing like. Not a quarter of the pack! Feasters and those full-fed are staying behind . . . Ah why? We'll sorrow for that too soon! Now, — gallop, reach home, and die, Nor ever again leave house, to trust our hfe in the trap For life — we call a sledge! Terioscha, in my lap! Yes, I'll lie down upon you, tight-tie you with the strings Here — of my heart! No fear, this time, your mother flings . . . Flings? I flung? Never! But think! — a woman, after all Contending with a wolf! Save you I must and shall,    Terentiì!

"How now? What, you still head the race, Your eyes and tongue and teeth crave fresh food, Satan-face? There and there! Plain I struck green fire out! Flash again? All a poor fist can do to damage eyes proves vain! My fist — why not crunch that? He is wanton for . . . O God, Why give this wolf his taste? Common wolves scrape and prod The earth till out they scratch some corpse — mere putrid flesh! Why must this glutton leave the faded, choose the fresh? Terentiì — God, feel! — his neck keeps fast thy bag Of holy things, saints' bones, this Satan-face will drag   Forth, and devour along with him, our Pope declared The relics were to save from danger!

"Spurned, not spared! 'T was through my arms, crossed arms, he — nuzzling now with snout, Now ripping, tooth and claw — plucked, pulled Terentiì out, A prize indeed! I saw — how could I else but see? — My precious one — I bit to hold back — pulled from me! Up came the others, fell to dancing — did the imps! — Skipped as they scampered round. There's one is grey, and limps: Who knows but old bad Màrpha, — she always owed me spite And envied me my births, — skulks out of doors at night   And turns into a wolf, and joins the sisterhood, And laps the youthful life, then slinks from out the wood, Squats down at door by dawn, spins there demure as erst  — No strength, old crone, — not she! — to crawl forth half a verst!

"Well, I escaped with one: 'twixt one and none there lies The space 'twixt heaven and hell. And see, a rose-light dyes The endmost snow: 't is dawn, 't is day, 't is safe at home! We have outwitted you! Ay, monsters, snarl and foam, Fight each the other fiend, disputing for a share, — Forgetful, in your greed, our finest off we bear,   Tough Droug and I, — my babe, my boy that shall be man, My man that shall be more, do all a hunter can To trace and follow and find and catch and crucify Wolves, wolfkins, all your crew! A thousand deaths shall die The whimperingest cub that ever squeezed the teat! 'Take that!' we'll stab you with, — 'the tenderness we met When, wretches, you danced round — not this, thank God — not this! Hellhounds, we baulk you!'

"But — Ah, God above! — Bliss, bliss — Not the band, no! And yet — yes, for Droug knows him! One — This only of them all has said 'She saves a son!   His fellows disbelieve such luck: but he believes, He lets them pick the bones, laugh at him in their sleeves: He's off and after us, — one speck, one spot, one ball Grows bigger, bound on bound, — one wolf as good as all! Oh but I know the trick! Have at the snaky tongue! That's the right way with wolves! Go, tell your mates I wrung The panting morsel out, left you to howl your worst! Now for it — now! Ah me! I know him — thrice-accurst Satan-face, — him to the end my foe!

"All fight's in vain: This time the green brass points pierce to my very brain.   I fall — fall as I ought — quite on the babe I guard: I overspread with flesh the whole of him. Too hard To die this way, torn piecemeal? Move hence? Not I — one inch! Gnaw through me, through and through: flat thus I lie nor flinch! O God, the feel of the fang furrowing my shoulder! — see! It grinds — it grates the bone. O Kìrill under me, Could I do more? Besides he knew wolf's way to win: I clung, closed round like wax: yet in he wedged and in. Past my neck, past my breasts, my heart, until . . . how feels The onion-bulb your knife parts, pushing through its peels.    Till out you scoop its clove wherein lie stalk and leaf And bloom and seed unborn?

"That slew me: yes, in brief, I died then, dead I lay doubtlessly till Droug stopped Here, I suppose. I come to life, I find me propped Thus — how or when or why, — I know not. Tell me, friends, All was a dream: laugh quick and say the nightmare ends! Soon I shall find my house: 't is over there: in proof, Save for that chimney heaped with snow, you'd see the roof Which holds my three — my two — my one — not one?

"Life's mixed With misery, yet we live — must live. The Satan fixed   His face on mine so fast, I took its print as pitch Takes what it cools beneath. Ivàn Ivànovitch, 'T is you unharden me, you thaw, disperse the thing! Only keep looking kind, the horror will not cling. Your face smooths fast away each print of Satan. Tears  — What good they do! Life's sweet, and all its after-years, Ivàn Ivànovitch, I owe you! Yours am I! May God reward you, dear!"

Down she sank. Solemnly Ivàn rose, raised his axe, — for fitly, as she knelt. Her head lay: well-apart, each side, her arms hung, — dealt Lightning-swift thunder-strong one blow — no need of more! Headless she knelt on still: that pine was sound at core (Neighbours were used to say) — cast-iron-kernelled — which Taxed for a second stroke Ivàn Ivànovitch.

The man was scant of words as strokes. "It had to be: I could no other: God it was bade 'Act for me!' " Then stooping, peering round — what is it now he lacks? A proper strip of bark wherewith to wipe his axe. Which done, he turns, goes in, closes the door behind. The others mute remain, watching the blood-snake wind Into a hiding-place among the splinter-heaps.

At length, still mute, all move: one lifts, — from where it steeps Redder each ruddy rag of pine, — the head: two more Take up the dripping body: then, mute still as before, Move in a sort of march, march on till marching ends Opposite to the church; where halting, — who suspends, By its long hair, the thing, deposits in its place The piteous head: once more the body shows no trace Of harm done: there lies whole the Loùscha, maid and wife And mother, loved until this latest of her life. Then all sit on the bank of snow which bounds a space Kept free before the porch for judgment: just the place! Presently all the souls, man, woman, child, which make The village up, are found assembling for the sake Of what is to be done. The very Jews are there: A Gipsy-troop, though bound with horses for the Fair, Squats with the rest. Each heart with its conception seethes And simmers, but no tongue speaks: one may say, — none breathes.

Anon from out the church totters the Pope — the priest — Hardly alive, so old, a hundred years at least. With him, the Commune's head, a hoary senior too, Stàrosta, that 's his style, — like Equity Judge with you, — Natural Jurisconsult: then, fenced about with furs, Pomeschìk, — Lord of the Land, who wields — and none demurs — A power of life and death. They stoop, survey the corpse.

Then, straightened on his staff, the Stàrosta — the thorpe's Sagaciousest old man — hears what you just have heard, From Droug's first inrush, all, up to Ivàn's last word "God bade me act for him: I dared not disobey!"

Silence — the Pomeschìk broke with "A wild wrong way   Of righting wrong — if wrong there were, such wrath to rouse! Why was not law observed? What article allows Whoso may please to play the judge, and, judgment dealt, Play executioner, as promptly as we pelt To death, without appeal, the vermin whose sole fault Has been — it dared to leave the darkness of its vault, Intrude upon our day! Too sudden and too rash! What was this woman's crime? Suppose the church should crash Down where I stand, your lord: bound are my serfs to dare Their utmost that I 'scape: yet, if the crashing scare    My children, — as you are, — if sons fly, one and all, Leave father to his fate, — poor cowards though I call The runaways, I pause before I claim their life Because they prized it more than mine. I would each wife Died for her husband's sake, each son to save his sire: 'T is glory, I applaud — scarce duty, I require. Ivàn Ivànovitch has done a deed that's named Murder by law and me: who doubts, may speak unblamed!"

All turned to the old Pope. "Ay, children, I am old — How old, myself have got to know no longer. Rolled   Quite round, my orb of life, from infancy to age, Seems passing back again to youth. A certain stage At least I reach, or dream I reach, where I discern Truer truths, laws behold more lawlike than we learn When first we set our foot to tread the course I trod With man to guide my steps: who leads me now is God. 'Your young men shall see visions:' and in my youth I saw And paid obedience to man's visionary law: 'Your old men shall dream dreams:' and, in my age, a hand Conducts me through the cloud round law to where I stand    Firm on its base, — know cause, who, before, knew effect.

"The world lies under me: and nowhere I detect So great a gift as this — God's own — of human life. 'Shall the dead praise thee?' No! 'The whole live world is rife, God, with thy glory,' rather! Life then, God's best of gifts, For what shall man exchange? For life — when so he shifts The weight and turns the scale, lets life for life restore God's balance, sacrifice the less to gain the more, Substitute — for low life, another's or his own — Life large and liker God's who gave it: thus alone   May life extinguish life that life may trulier be! How low this law descends on earth, is not for me To trace: complexed becomes the simple, intricate The plain, when I pursue law's winding. 'T is the straight Outflow of law I know and name: to law, the fount Fresh from God's footstool, friends, follow while I remount.

"A mother bears a child: perfection is complete So far in such a birth. Enabled to repeat The miracle of life, — herself was born so just A type of womankind, that God sees fit to trust   Her with the holy task of giving life in turn. Crowned by this crowning pride, — how say you, should she spurn Regality — discrowned, unchilded, by her choice Of barrenness exchanged for fruit which made rejoice Creation, though life's self were lost in giving birth To life more fresh and fit to glorify God's earth? How say you, should the hand God trusted with life's torch Kindled to light the world — aware of sparks that scorch, Let fall the same? Forsooth, her flesh a fire-flake stings: The mother drops the child! Among what monstrous things    Shall she be classed? Because of motherhood, each male Yields to his partner place, sinks proudly in the scale: His strength owned weakness, wit — folly, and courage — fear. Beside the female proved male's mistress — only here. The fox-dam, hunger-pined, will slay the felon sire Who dares assault her whelp: the beaver, stretched on fire, Will die without a groan: no, pang avails to wrest Her young from where they hide — her sanctuary breast. What's here then? Answer me, thou dead one, as, I trow, Standing at God's own bar, he bids thee answer now! Thrice crowned wast thou — each crown of pride, a child — thy charge! Where are they? Lost? Enough: no need that thou enlarge On how or why the loss: life left to utter 'lost' Condemns itself beyond appeal. The soldier's post Guards from the foe's attack the camp he sentinels: That he no traitor proved, this and this only tells — Over the corpse of him trod foe to foe's success. Yet — one by one thy crowns torn from thee — thou no less To scare the world, shame God, — livedst! I hold He saw The unexampled sin, ordained the novel law, Whereof first instrument was first intelligence Found loyal here. I hold that, failing human sense, The very earth had oped, sky fallen, to efface Humanity's new wrong, motherhood's first disgrace. Earth oped not, neither fell the sky, for prompt was found A man and man enough, head-sober and heart-sound, Ready to hear God's voice, resolute to obey. Ivàn Ivànovitch, I hold, has done, this day, No otherwise than did, in ages long ago, Moses when he made known the purport of that flow Of fire athwart the law's twain-tables! I proclaim Ivàn Ivànovitch God's servant!"

At which name Uprose that creepy whisper from out the crowd, is wont To swell and surge and sink when fellow-men confront A punishment that falls on fellow flesh and blood, Appallingly beheld — shudderingly understood, No less, to be the right, the just, the merciful. "God's servant!" hissed the crowd.

When that Amen grew dull And died away and left acquittal plain adjudged, "Amen!" last sighed the lord. "There's none shall say I grudged   Escape from punishment in such a novel case. Deferring to old age and holy life, — be grace Granted! say I. No less, scruples might shake a sense Firmer than I boast mine. Law's law, and evidence Of breach therein lies plain, — blood-red-bright, — all may see! Yet all absolve the deed: absolved the deed must be!

"And next — as mercy rules the hour — methinks 't were well You signify forthwith its sentence, and dispel The doubts and fears, I judge, which busy now the head Law puts a halter round — a halo — you, instead!   Ivàn Ivànovitch — what think you he expects Will follow from his feat? Go, tell him — law protects Murder, for once: no need he longer keep behind The Sacred Pictures — where skulks Innocence enshrined, Or I missay! Go, some! You others, haste and hide The dismal object there: get done, whate'er betide!"

So, while the youngers raised the corpse, the elders trooped Silently to the house: where halting, someone stooped, Listened beside the door; all there was silent too. Then they held counsel; then pushed door and, passing through, Stood in the murderer's presence.

Ivàn Ivànovitch Knelt, building on the floor that Kremlin rare and rich He deftly cut and carved on lazy winter nights. Some five young faces watched, breathlessly, as, to rights, Piece upoa piece, he reared the fabric nigh complete. Stèscha, Ivàn's old mother, sat spinning by the heat Of the oven where his wife Kàtia stood baking bread. Ivàn's self, as he turned his honey-coloured head, Was just in act to drop, 'twixt fir-cones, — each a dome, — The scooped-out yellow gourd presumably the home Of Kolokol the Big: the bell, therein to hitch, — An acorn-cup — was ready: Ivàn Ivànovitch Turned with it in his mouth.

They told him he was free As air to walk abroad. "How otherwise?" asked he.

title: Ivàn Ivànovitch