text:
In a Balcony/III

 * enters.

Norbert.

Well? we have but one minute and one word—

Constance.

I am yours, Norbert!

Norbert.

Yes, mine.

Constance.

Not till now! You were mine. Now I give myself to you.

Norbert.

Constance?

Constance.

Your own! I know the thriftier way Of giving—haply, 'tis the wiser way. Meaning to give a treasure, I might dole Coin after coin out (each, as that were all, With a new largess still at each despair) And force you keep in sight the deed, preserve Exhaustless till the end my part and yours, My giving and your taking; both our joys Dying together. Is it the wiser way? I choose the simpler; I give all at once. Know what you have to trust to, trade upon! Use it, abuse it,—anything but think Hereafter, "Had I known she loved me so, And what my means, I might have thriven with it." This is your means. I give you all myself.

Norbert.

I take you and thank God.

Constance.

Look on through years! We cannot kiss, a second day like this; Else were this earth no earth.

Norbert.

With this day's heat We shall go on through years of cold.

Constance.

So, best! —I try to see those years—I think I see. You walk quick and new warmth comes; you look back And lay all to the first glow—not sit down For ever brooding on a day like this While seeing embers whiten and love die. Yes, love lives best in its effect; and mine, Full in its own life, yearns to live in yours.

Norbert.

Just so. I take and know you all at once. Your soul is disengaged so easily, Your face is there, I know you; give me time, Let me be proud and think you shall know me. My soul is slower: in a life I roll The minute out whereto you condense yours— The whole slow circle round you I must move, To be just you. I look to a long life To decompose this minute, prove its worth. 'Tis the sparks' long succession one by one Shall show you, in the end, what fire was crammed In that mere stone you struck: how could you know, If it lay ever unproved in your sight, As now my heart lies? your own warmth would hide Its coldness, were it cold.

Constance.

But how prove, how?

Norbert.

Prove in my life, you ask?

Constance.

Quick, Norbert—how?

Norbert.

That's easy told. I count life just a stuff To try the soul's strength on, educe the man. Who keeps one end in view makes all things serve. As with the body—he who hurls a lance Or heaps up stone on stone, shows strength alike: So must I seize and task all means to prove And show this soul of mine, you crown as yours, And justify us both.

Constance.

Could you write books, Paint pictures! One sits down in poverty And writes or paints, with pity for the rich.

Norbert.

And loves one's painting and one's writing, then, And not one's mistress! All is best, believe, And we best as no other than we are. We live, and they experiment on life— Those poets, painters, all who stand aloof To overlook the farther. Let us be The thing they look at! I might take your face And write of it and paint it—to what end? For whom? what pale dictatress in the air Feeds, smiling sadly, her fine ghost-like form With earth's real blood and breath, the beauteous life She makes despised for ever? You are mine, Made for me, not for others in the world, Nor yet for that which I should call my art, That cold calm power to see how fair you look. I come to you; I leave you not, to write Or paint. You are, I am: let Rubens there Paint us!

Constance.

So, best!

Norbert.

I understand your soul. You live, and rightly sympathize with life, With action, power, success. This way is straight; And time were short beside, to let me change The craft my childhood learnt: my craft shall serve. Men set me here to subjugate, enclose, Manure their barren lives, and force thence fruit First for themselves, and afterward for me In the due tithe; the task of some one soul, Through ways of work appointed by the world. I am not bid create—men see no star Transfiguring my brow to warrant that— But find and bind and bring to bear their wills. So I began: to-night sees how I end. What if it see, too, power's first outbreak here Amid the warmth, surprise and sympathy, And instincts of the heart that teach the head? What if the people have discerned at length The dawn of the next nature, novel brain Whose will they venture in the place of theirs, Whose work, they trust, shall find them as novel ways To untried heights which yet he only sees? I felt it when you kissed me. See this Queen, This people—in our phrase, this mass of men— See how the mass lies passive to my hand Now that my hand is plastic, with you by To make the muscles iron! Oh, an end Shall crown this issue as this crowns the first! My will be on this people! then, the strain, The grappling of the potter with his clay, The long uncertain struggle,—the success And consummation of the spirit-work, Some vase shaped to the curl of the god's lip, While rounded fair for human sense to see The Graces in a dance men recognize With turbulent applause and laughs of heart! So triumph ever shall renew itself; Ever shall end in efforts higher yet, Ever begin. ..

Constance.

I ever helping?

Norbert.

Thus!

[As he embraces her, the Queen enters.]

Constance.

Hist, madam—so I have performed my part. You see your gratitude's true decency, Norbert? A little slow in seeing it! Begin, to end the sooner! What's a kiss?

Norbert.

Constance?

Constance.

Why, must I teach it you again? You want a witness to your dullness, sir? What was I saying these ten minutes long? Then I repeat—when some young handsome man Like you has acted out a part like yours, Is pleased to fall in love with one beyond, So very far beyond him, as he says— So hopelessly in love that but to speak Would prove him mad,—he thinks judiciously, And makes some insignificant good soul Like me, his friend, adviser, confidant And very stalking-horse to cover him In following after what he dares not face. When his end's gained—(sir, do you understand?) When she, he dares not face, has loved him first, —May I not say so, madam?—tops his hope, And overpasses so his wildest dream, With glad consent of all, and most of her The confidant who brought the same about— Why, in the moment when such joy explodes, I do hold that the merest gentleman Will not start rudely from the stalking-horse, Dismiss it with a "There, enough of you!" Forget it, show his back unmannerly: But like a liberal heart will rather turn And say, "A tingling time of hope was ours; Betwixt the fears and falterings, we two lived A chanceful time in waiting for the prize: The confidant, the Constance, served not ill. And though I shall forget her in due time, Her use being answered now, as reason bids, Nay as herself bids from her heart of hearts,— Still, she has rights, the first thanks go to her, The first good praise goes to the prosperous tool, And the first—which is the last—rewarding kiss."

Norbert.

Constance, it is a dream—ah, see, you smile!

Constance.

So, now his part being properly performed, Madam, I turn to you and finish mine As duly; I do justice in my turn. Yes, madam, he has loved you—long and well; He could not hope to tell you so—'twas I Who served to prove your soul accessible, I led his thoughts on, drew them to their place, When they had wandered else into despair, And kept love constant toward its natural aim. Enough, my part is played; you stoop half-way And meet us royally and spare our fears: 'Tis like yourself. He thanks you, so do I. Take him—with my full heart! my work is praised By what comes of it. Be you happy, both! Yourself—the only one on earth who can— Do all for him, much more than a mere heart Which though warm is not useful in its warmth As the silk vesture of a queen! fold that Around him gently, tenderly. For him— For him,—he knows his own part!

Norbert.

Have you done? I take the jest at last. Should I speak now? Was yours the wager, Constance, foolish child, Or did you but accept it? Well—at least You lose by it.

Constance.

Nay, madam, 'tis your turn! Restrain him still from speech a little more, And make him happier as more confident! Pity him, madam, he is timid yet! Mark, Norbert! Do not shrink now! Here I yield My whole right in you to the Queen, observe! With her go put in practice the great schemes You teem with, follow the career else closed— Be all you cannot be except by her! Behold her!—Madam, say for pity's sake Anything—frankly say you love him! Else He'll not believe it: there's more earnest in His fear than you conceive: I know the man!

Norbert.

I know the woman somewhat, and confess I thought she had jested better: she begins To overcharge her part. I gravely wait Your pleasure, madam: where is my reward?

Queen.

Norbert, this wild girl (whom I recognize Scarce more than you do, in her fancy-fit, Eccentric speech and variable mirth, Not very wise perhaps and somewhat bold, Yet suitable, the whole night's work being strange) —May still be right: I may do well to speak And make authentic what appears a dream To even myself. For, what she says, is true: Yes, Norbert—what you spoke just now of love, Devotion, stirred no novel sense in me, But justified a warmth felt long before. Yes, from the first—I loved you, I shall say: Strange! but I do grow stronger, now 'tis said. Your courage helps mine: you did well to speak To-night, the night that crowns your twelvemonths' toil: But still I had not waited to discern Your heart so long, believe me! From the first The source of so much zeal was almost plain, In absence even of your own words just now Which hazarded the truth. 'Tis very strange, But takes a happy ending—in your love Which mine meets: be it so—as you chose me, So I choose you.

Norbert.

And worthily you choose. I will not be unworthy your esteem, No, madam. I do love you; I will meet Your nature, now I know it. This was well. I see,—you dare and you are justified: But none had ventured such experiment, Less versed than you in nobleness of heart, Less confident of finding such in me. I joy that thus you test me ere you grant The dearest richest beauteousest and best Of women to my arms: 'tis like yourself. So—back again into my part's set words— Devotion to the uttermost is yours, But no, you cannot, madam, even you, Create in me the love our Constance does. Or—something truer to the tragic phrase— Not yon magnolia-bell superb with scent Invites a certain insect—that's myself— But the small eye-flower nearer to the ground. I take this lady.

Constance.

Stay—not hers, the trap— Stay, Norbert—that mistake were worst of all! He is too cunning, madam! It was I, I, Norbert, who. ..

Norbert.

You, was it, Constance? Then, But for the grace of this divinest hour Which gives me you, I might not pardon here! I am the Queen's; she only knows my brain: She may experiment upon my heart And I instruct her too by the result. But you, sweet, you who know me, who so long Have told my heart-beats over, held my life In those white hands of yours,—it is not well!

Constance.

Tush! I have said it, did I not say it all? The life, for her—the heart-beats, for her sake!

Norbert.

Enough! my cheek grows red, I think. Your test? There's not the meanest woman in the world, Not she I least could love in all the world, Whom, did she love me, did love prove itself, I dare insult as you insult me now. Constance, I could say, if it must be said, "Take back the soul you offer, I keep mine!" But—"Take the soul still quivering on your hand, The soul so offered, which I cannot use, And, please you, give it to some playful friend, For—what's the trifle he requites me with?" I, tempt a woman, to amuse a man, That two may mock her heart if it succumb? No: fearing God and standing 'neath his heaven, I would not dare insult a woman so, Were she the meanest woman in the world, And he, I cared to please, ten emperors!

Constance.

Norbert!

Norbert.

I love once as I live but once. What case is this to think or talk about? I love you. Would it mend the case at all If such a step as this killed love in me? Your part were done: account to God for it! But mine—could murdered love get up again, And kneel to whom you please to designate, And make you mirth? It is too horrible. You did not know this, Constance? now you know That body and soul have each one life, but one: And here's my love, here, living, at your feet.

Constance.

See the Queen! Norbert—this one more last word— If thus you have taken jest for earnest—thus Loved me in earnest. ..

Norbert.

Ah, no jest holds here! Where is the laughter in which jests break up, And what this horror that grows palpable? Madam—why grasp you thus the balcony? Have I done ill? Have I not spoken truth? How could I other? Was it not your test, To try me, what my love for Constance meant? Madam, your royal soul itself approves, The first, that I should choose thus! so one takes A beggar,—asks him, what would buy his child? And then approves the expected laugh of scorn Returned as something noble from the rags. Speak, Constance, I'm the beggar! Ha, what's this? You two glare each at each like panthers now. Constance, the world fades; only you stand there! You did not, in to-night's wild whirl of things, Sell me—your soul of souls, for any price? No—no—'tis easy to believe in you! Was it your love's mad trial to o'ertop Mine by this vain self-sacrifice? well, still— Though I might curse, I love you. I am love And cannot change: love's self is at your feet!

[The Queen goes out.]

Constance.

Feel my heart; let it die against your own!

Norbert.

Against my own. Explain not; let this be! This is life's height.

Constance.

Yours, yours, yours!

Norbert.

You and I— Why care by what meanders we are here I' the centre of the labyrinth? Men have died Trying to find this place, which we have found.

Constance.

Found, found!

Norbert.

Sweet, never fear what she can do! We are past harm now.

Constance.

On the breast of God. I thought of men—as if you were a man. Tempting him with a crown!

Norbert.

This must end here: It is too perfect.

Constance.

There's the music stopped. What measured heavy tread? It is one blaze About me and within me.

Norbert.

Oh, some death Will run its sudden finger round this spark And sever us from the rest!

Constance.

And so do well. Now the doors open.

Norbert.

'Tis the guard comes.

Constance.

Kiss!

title: In a Balcony/III


text: Portal talk:Dinosaurs

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

title: Portal talk:Dinosaurs


text:
Portal:Paleontology

General

 * Portal:Paleontology in the United States
 * Portal:Timeline of paleontology
 * Cambrian Geology and Paleontology, 1910-24 by Charles Doolittle Walcott in four volumes
 * Cambrian Geology and Paleontology, 1910-24 by Charles Doolittle Walcott in four volumes
 * Cambrian Geology and Paleontology, 1910-24 by Charles Doolittle Walcott in four volumes
 * Cambrian Geology and Paleontology, 1910-24 by Charles Doolittle Walcott in four volumes
 * Cambrian Geology and Paleontology, 1910-24 by Charles Doolittle Walcott in four volumes
 * Cambrian Geology and Paleontology, 1910-24 by Charles Doolittle Walcott in four volumes
 * Cambrian Geology and Paleontology, 1910-24 by Charles Doolittle Walcott in four volumes
 * Cambrian Geology and Paleontology, 1910-24 by Charles Doolittle Walcott in four volumes
 * Cambrian Geology and Paleontology, 1910-24 by Charles Doolittle Walcott in four volumes

Early humans
Homo is the genus that includes modern humans and species closely related to them. The genus is estimated to be about 2.3 to 2.4 million years old, evolving from australopithecine ancestors with the appearance of Homo habilis. All species of the genus except Homo sapiens (modern humans) are extinct. The other extant Homininae—the chimpanzees and gorillas—have a limited geographic range. In contrast, the evolution of humans is a history of migrations and admixture. Humans repeatedly left Africa to populate Eurasia and finally the Americas, Oceania, and the rest of the world.

 * Dental Microwear and Diet of the Plio-Pleistocene Hominin Paranthropus boisei, 2008 by Peter S. Ungar, Frederick E. Grine and Mark F. Teaford
 * Dental Microwear and Diet of the Plio-Pleistocene Hominin Paranthropus boisei, 2008 by Peter S. Ungar, Frederick E. Grine and Mark F. Teaford
 * Dental Microwear and Diet of the Plio-Pleistocene Hominin Paranthropus boisei, 2008 by Peter S. Ungar, Frederick E. Grine and Mark F. Teaford
 * Dental Microwear and Diet of the Plio-Pleistocene Hominin Paranthropus boisei, 2008 by Peter S. Ungar, Frederick E. Grine and Mark F. Teaford
 * Dental Microwear and Diet of the Plio-Pleistocene Hominin Paranthropus boisei, 2008 by Peter S. Ungar, Frederick E. Grine and Mark F. Teaford
 * Dental Microwear and Diet of the Plio-Pleistocene Hominin Paranthropus boisei, 2008 by Peter S. Ungar, Frederick E. Grine and Mark F. Teaford
 * Dental Microwear and Diet of the Plio-Pleistocene Hominin Paranthropus boisei, 2008 by Peter S. Ungar, Frederick E. Grine and Mark F. Teaford
 * Dental Microwear and Diet of the Plio-Pleistocene Hominin Paranthropus boisei, 2008 by Peter S. Ungar, Frederick E. Grine and Mark F. Teaford
 * Dental Microwear and Diet of the Plio-Pleistocene Hominin Paranthropus boisei, 2008 by Peter S. Ungar, Frederick E. Grine and Mark F. Teaford
 * Dental Microwear and Diet of the Plio-Pleistocene Hominin Paranthropus boisei, 2008 by Peter S. Ungar, Frederick E. Grine and Mark F. Teaford
 * Dental Microwear and Diet of the Plio-Pleistocene Hominin Paranthropus boisei, 2008 by Peter S. Ungar, Frederick E. Grine and Mark F. Teaford
 * Dental Microwear and Diet of the Plio-Pleistocene Hominin Paranthropus boisei, 2008 by Peter S. Ungar, Frederick E. Grine and Mark F. Teaford
 * Dental Microwear and Diet of the Plio-Pleistocene Hominin Paranthropus boisei, 2008 by Peter S. Ungar, Frederick E. Grine and Mark F. Teaford
 * Dental Microwear and Diet of the Plio-Pleistocene Hominin Paranthropus boisei, 2008 by Peter S. Ungar, Frederick E. Grine and Mark F. Teaford
 * Dental Microwear and Diet of the Plio-Pleistocene Hominin Paranthropus boisei, 2008 by Peter S. Ungar, Frederick E. Grine and Mark F. Teaford
 * Dental Microwear and Diet of the Plio-Pleistocene Hominin Paranthropus boisei, 2008 by Peter S. Ungar, Frederick E. Grine and Mark F. Teaford
 * Dental Microwear and Diet of the Plio-Pleistocene Hominin Paranthropus boisei, 2008 by Peter S. Ungar, Frederick E. Grine and Mark F. Teaford

Paleobotany
Paleobotany is the branch of paleontology or paleobiology dealing with the recovery and identification of plant remains from geological contexts, and their use for the biological reconstruction of past environments (paleogeography), and both the evolutionary history of plants, with a bearing upon the evolution of life in general.

 * Some account of Triplosporite, an undescribed fossil fruit, 1847 by Robert Brown
 * A New Genus of Characeae and New Merostomata from the Coal Measures of Nova Scotia, 1922 by Walter A. Bell
 * A New Genus of Characeae and New Merostomata from the Coal Measures of Nova Scotia, 1922 by Walter A. Bell
 * A New Genus of Characeae and New Merostomata from the Coal Measures of Nova Scotia, 1922 by Walter A. Bell

Paleozoology
Paleozoology is the branch of paleontology or paleobiology dealing with the recovery and identification of multicellular animal remains from geological (or even archeological) contexts, and the use of these fossils in the reconstruction of prehistoric environments and ancient ecosystems.
 * Portal:Zoology
 * Portal:Dinosaurs
 * Portal:Eurypterids
 * "An Attempt to Account for the Origin and the Formation of the Extraneous Fossil commonly called the Belemnite" by Joshua Platt in Philosophical Transactions, volume 54 (1764)
 * Description of a New Species of Trilobite, 1875 by Charles Doolittle Walcott
 * Description of the Interior Surface of the Dorsal Shell of Ceraurus pleurexanthemus, Green, 1875 by Charles Doolittle Walcott
 * New Species of Trilobite from the Trenton Limestone at Trenton Falls, N. Y., 1875 by Charles Doolittle Walcott
 * Notes on Ceraurus pleurexanthemus, Green, 1875 by Charles Doolittle Walcott
 * Notice of the discovery of a Poecilopod in the Utica slate formation, 1882 by Charles Doolittle Walcott
 * A New Genus of Characeae and New Merostomata from the Coal Measures of Nova Scotia, 1922 by Walter A. Bell
 * The Osteology of the Reptiles by Samuel Wendell Williston, ed. by William K. Gregory (1925)
 * New Species of Trilobite from the Trenton Limestone at Trenton Falls, N. Y., 1875 by Charles Doolittle Walcott
 * Notes on Ceraurus pleurexanthemus, Green, 1875 by Charles Doolittle Walcott
 * Notice of the discovery of a Poecilopod in the Utica slate formation, 1882 by Charles Doolittle Walcott
 * A New Genus of Characeae and New Merostomata from the Coal Measures of Nova Scotia, 1922 by Walter A. Bell
 * The Osteology of the Reptiles by Samuel Wendell Williston, ed. by William K. Gregory (1925)
 * Notice of the discovery of a Poecilopod in the Utica slate formation, 1882 by Charles Doolittle Walcott
 * A New Genus of Characeae and New Merostomata from the Coal Measures of Nova Scotia, 1922 by Walter A. Bell
 * The Osteology of the Reptiles by Samuel Wendell Williston, ed. by William K. Gregory (1925)
 * A New Genus of Characeae and New Merostomata from the Coal Measures of Nova Scotia, 1922 by Walter A. Bell
 * The Osteology of the Reptiles by Samuel Wendell Williston, ed. by William K. Gregory (1925)
 * A New Genus of Characeae and New Merostomata from the Coal Measures of Nova Scotia, 1922 by Walter A. Bell
 * The Osteology of the Reptiles by Samuel Wendell Williston, ed. by William K. Gregory (1925)
 * The Osteology of the Reptiles by Samuel Wendell Williston, ed. by William K. Gregory (1925)

title: Portal:Paleontology


text: Portal talk:Polygamy

title: Portal talk:Polygamy


text:
Page:Examiner, Journal of Political Economy, v2n12.djvu/2

 "The theory of Government, as established in America, contemplates the Federal and State Governments as mutual checks on one another, constraining the various authorities to revolve within their proper and constitutional spheres."—Virginia Report, 1829, on do.

"The inviolable preservation of our political institutions is entrusted to the General Assembly of Virginia in common with the Legislatures of the several States; and the sacred duty devolves upon them of preserving these institutions unimpaired."—Do.

"Gentlemen may say what they please of the preamble to the Constitution; but the Constitution is not the work of the amalgamated population of the then existing Confederacy; but the offspring of the States. And however high we may carry our heads, and strut and fret our hour "dressed in a little brief authority;" it is in the power of the States to extinguish this Government at a blow.  They have only to refuse to send memebers to the other branch of this Legislature, or to appoint Electors of President and Vice President, and the thing is done."—, (on Internal Improvement.)

"The Judiciary branch is the Instrument which, working like gravity, without intermission, is to press us at last into one consolidated mass."—.

"The doctrine of non-resistance against arbitrary power and oppression is absurd and slavish, and destructive of the good and happiness of mankind."—.

"The strength and power of usurpation consist wholly in the fear of resisting it; and in order to be free, it is only sufficient that we will it."—

"This being a Government limited and controlled by a written constitution that defines its powers, I, as a Senator from South Carolina am bold to announce that this Government recognizes no such principle that the majority shall rule. The fact is that a majority in the enacting of these laws has ruled.  They could have succeeded on no other principle.  But the fundamental principles of our Government recognise no principle of rule but that prescribed by the Constitution; and to this it must be brought again, or we, as a people, are undone." , (on South Carolina Protest.)

"The people of South Carolina believed that when the States surrendered into the hands of the General Government, a portion of their Sovereignty, it was in trust for the accomplishment of certain specific objects and every exercise of power beyond the attainment of those specified objects is a violations of the compact between the several States and the United States, and whenever that compact is infracted by the Government of the United States, it belongs to the several States to exercise their reserved Sovereignty to reduce the General Government to the exercise of powers within its legitimate sphere of action, and to restore the compact to its original purity."—Ib. (Do.)

INTRODUCTION.

The theory of those who deny the right of a State "to judge of infractions of the Constitution, and of the mode and measure of redress," and "of interposing (her Veto) to arrest the progress of the usurpation," is that these United States, are not independent and sovereign States—and that the Federal Constitution is not a compact of alliance between the several States (that is between the people of each State and the people of every other State,) as separate, pre-existing bodies, or Commonwealths—each ceding by that compact certain specific powers to a General Government, and reserving all others to themselves. But that it is a form of Government made and adopted by the people of North America, collectively—and that from this Constitution or form of Government these States (as corporations) derive all the powers which they possess, having no right to exercise any other powers than such as are thereby granted to them.

To expose the utter fallacy of such a theory, we need but adduce the simple and actual facts of the early history of our country.

From the dawning resistance of the colonies against the usurpations and tyranny of Great Britain, we find those colonies acting independently of each other.

As early as the year 1765 the colony of South Carolina forcibly resisted the Stamp Tax; her citizens in Charleston having in that year surprised the garrison of Fort Johnson, and seized upon the stamps which were there deposited.—(See Drayton's Memoirs of the Revolution, vol. 1, p. 45.)

In the same year (May 1765) Virginia adopted, in her House of Burgesses, the famous resolutions of Patrick Henry, which declared void (or nullified) the Stamp Act.

In December, 1773, Massachusetts resisted the Tea Tax—her citizens in Boston having destroyed the Tea which was at that time in their harbour.

In March, 1776, South Carolina, in consequence of the British Act for confiscating American property, formed a separate constitution, and established a General Assembly for her own separate government, holding herself thereby independent of Great Britain, and resolving that this constitution should remain in force until a reconciliation with Great Britain should take place, (an event which never occurred.)—(See Ramsay's South Carolina, vol. 1, p. 263, and Drayton's Memoirs, vol. 2, p. 174, 180.) This constitution forms the first general Act of Independence, in our country, as well as the first written frame of government, which either this country or the world has witnessed. It is drawn up with great ability, and is ascribed to the venerated John Rutledge, (who was elected under its provisions to the office of President and Commander-in-Chief.)

It commences thus:

"South Carolina—In a Congress begun and holden at Charleston, on Wednesday, the first day of November, one thousand seven hundred and seventy-five, and continued by divers adjournments to Tuesday, the twenty-sixth day of March, one thousand seven hunder and seventy-six.

A Constitution and form of Government agreed to and resolved upon by the Representatives of South Carolina.

Whereas, The British Parliament, claiming of late years a right to bind the North American colonies by law, in all cases whatsoever, have enacted statutes for raising a revenue in those colonies and disposing of such revenue as they thought proper, without the consent, and against the will of the Colonists. And whereas, it appearing to them that (they not being represented in Parliament) such claim was altogether unconstitutional, and if admitted, would at once reduce them from the rank of freemen to a state of the most abject slavery, the said Colonies therefore, severally remonstrated against the passing, and petitioned for the repeal of those Acts; but in vain. And whereas the said claim being persisted in, other unconstitutional and oppressive statutes have been since enacted, &c." (proceeding to enumerate the various acts of oppression, amongst which are specified) "Statutes prohibiting the intercourse of the Colonies with each other, restricting their trade, and depriving many thousands of people of subsistence, by restraining them from fishing on the American


text: Index:A dictionary of printers and printing.djvu


text: Index:A history of booksellers, the old and the new.djvu


text:
Author:Henry Curwen

Works

 * A History of Booksellers (1872)

title: Author:Henry Curwen


text:
1922 Encyclopædia Britannica/Muir, John

MUIR, JOHN (1838-1914), American naturalist and writer, was born at Dunbar, Scotland, April 21 1838. When he was 11 years old his father moved to America and settled as a pioneer farmer in Wisconsin. Here the boy grew up taking an active part in clearing his father's land. When 22 years old he entered the university of Wisconsin, where he supported himself by teaching and working on farms during vacation. After finishing his course he began his wanderings on foot which carried him through many states. Later he crossed to Cuba, and thence to Panama and up the Pacific coast to California. In 1868 he first entered the Yosemite Valley which for many years after formed the base of his continued expeditions. In 1876 he joined the U.S. Coast and Geodetic Survey and three years later made his first visit to Alaska where he discovered the glacier that now bears his name. He was specially interested in glaciation and in the Sierra discovered numerous residual glaciers. In 1881 he took part in the expedition in search of the “Jeanette” and the De Long party in the Arctic region. He was an early advocate of national parks, and it was largely due to his efforts that the Yosemite Park was set aside in 1890. In 1903 he set out on a tour covering the Caucasus, Siberia, Manchuria, Japan, India, Australia and New Zealand; in 1911 he went to S. America to explore the Amazon; and in 1912 he visited Africa. He died at Los Angeles, Cal., Dec. 24 1914.

title: 1922 Encyclopædia Britannica/Muir, John


text:
The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Muir, John (naturalist)

MUIR, John, American naturalist and explorer: b. Dunbar, Scotland, 21 April 1838; d. Los Angeles, 24 December 1914. He came to America in 1849 with his father, who settled near Fox River, Wis.; entered the University of Wisconsin when 22; and after a special course of four years commenced his lonely journeys through Canada, Eastern and Western United States, the West, and the South, that made him a botanist and a geologist. In 1868 after visiting the Yosemite Valley, he made it his main central camp for 10 years while studying the forests, glaciers, etc., of the Sierra Nevada. He discovered in the High Sierra 65 residual gladers. He made his first trip to Alaska in 1879, discovered Glacier Bay, and Muir Glader, named after him, and explored some of the upper courses of the Yukon and Mackenzie rivers; in 1880 accompanied the DeLong search expedition to the Arctic, and in 1903-04 traveled in the Caucasus, Siberia, Manchuria, Japan, India, Egypt, Australia and New Zealand. He has written much for newspapers and periodicals, urging the formation of national parks — both the Sequoia and Yosemite are in great part due to his efforts — and has published ‘The Mountains of California’ (1894), and ‘Our National Parks’ (1901). He was a member of the American Academy of Arts and Letters, and received honorary degrees at Yale and the universities of Wisconsin and California. Among his works are ‘Stickeen’ (1909); ‘My First Summer in the Sierra’ (1911); ‘The Yosemite’ (1912); ‘Story of my Boyhood and Youth’ (1913); and the

posthumous ‘Letters to a Friend’ and ‘Unpublished Prose and Letters’ (1915).


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User talk:Kmac1986

— billinghurst  sDrewth  15:53, 16 December 2010 (UTC)

title: User talk:Kmac1986


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Collier's New Encyclopedia (1921)/Mühlhausen

MÜHLHAUSEN (mül'hou-zen), a town of Prussian Saxony, on the Unstrut, 25 miles N. N. W. of Gotha; is an active center of commerce, and has manufactures of woolen and cotton goods, hosiery, etc. An important imperial free city even in the 13th century, it came to Prussia in 1802, to Westphalia in 1807, and again to Prussia in 1815. Pop. about 35,000.


text:
User talk:68.173.91.53

Welcome

Hello, and welcome to Wikisource! Thank you for your contributions. I hope you like the place and decide to stay. Here are a few good links for newcomers:

 * Help pages
 * Style Guide
 * Inclusion policy

You are welcome to continue editing articles without logging in, but you may wish to  [ create an account] . Doing so is free, requires no personal information, and provides several benefits. For one thing, if you continue to edit without a username, your IP address is used to publicly identify you.

In any case, I hope you enjoy donating your time to grow the Wikisource library that is free for everyone to use! In discussions, please sign your comments using four tildes ( ~ ); this will automatically produce your IP address (or username if you're logged in) and the date. If you need help, ask me on my talk page, or ask your question here (click  [ edit] ) and place  before your question. Again, welcome! — billinghurst  sDrewth  15:55, 16 December 2010 (UTC)

title: User talk:68.173.91.53


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Page:A history of booksellers, the old and the new.djvu/9

ISTORY" has been aptly termed the essence of innumerable biographies;" and this surely justifies us in the selection of our title; but in inditing a volume to be issued in a cheap and popular form, it was manifestly impossible to trace the careers of all the eminent members, ancient and modern, of a Trade so widely extended; had we, indeed, possessed all possible leisure for research, every available material, and a space thoroughly unlimited, it is most probable that the result would have been distinguished chiefly for its bulk, tediousness, and monotony. It was resolved, therefore, in the first planning of the volume, to primarily trace the origin and growth of the Bookselling and Publishing Trades up to a comparatively modern period; and then to select, for fuller treatment, the most typical English representatives of each one of the various branches into which a natural division of labour had subdivided the whole. And, by this plan, it is believed that, while some firms at present growing into eminence may have been omitted, or have received but scant acknowledgment,


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 no one Publisher or Bookseller, whose spirit and labours have as yet had time to justify a claim to a niche in the "," has been altogether passed over. In the course of our "," too, we have been necessarily concerned with the manner of the "equipping and furnishing" of nearly every great work in our literature. So that, while on the one hand we have related the lives of a body of men singularly thrifty, able, industrious, and persevering—in some few cases singularly venturesome, liberal, and kindly-hearted—we have on the other, by our comparative view, tried to throw a fresh, at all events a concentrated, light upon the interesting story of literary struggle.

No work of the kind has ever previously been attempted, and this fact must be an apology for some, at least, of our shortcomings. H. C. November, 1873.


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Collier's New Encyclopedia (1921)/Muir, Charles Henry

MUIR, CHARLES HENRY, American soldier; born in Erie, Mich., in 1860; he graduated from the United States Military Academy in 1885, and from the Infantry and Cavalry School, Fort Leavenworth, Kan., in 1895, at the head of his class. He held first place in the Army Rifle Team in 1890, and with 10 companions attacked Rosario, P. I., in January, 1900, driving out General Malvar's headquarters, capturing $25,000 from his treasury, and releasing 300 Spanish prisoners. From 1903 to 1907 he was a member of the general staff at Washington and was assigned to the 28th Division in December, 1917. Has campaign badges of Indian Wars, Spanish-American War, Cuban Occupation, Philippine Insurrection, and China Relief Expedition. He became commander at Camp Hancock, Augusta, Ga., in January, 1918, and till 1920 was on service at the War Department, Washington.


text: Category:600s works

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Thomas Whaley

 * {{IrishBio link|Whaley, Thomas]]
 * {{DNB link}}

title: Thomas Whaley


text: Category:Physical sciences

title: Category:Physical sciences


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title: Category:Pseudoscience


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Page:Montesquieu.djvu/29

Rh the founders of the comparative method as applied to the moral and political sciences.

He began at the other end. This may seem a little thing. In reality it was a very great thing. The human mind is intensely conservative. For generations men go on working at the old subjects in the old ways. Then comes a man who, by some new thought, it may be by some new phrase, which becomes a catchword, like 'evolution,' takes his fellow men out of the old ruts, and opens up to them new regions of speculation and discovery. These are the men that change the world. And Montesquieu was one of these men.

He has been claimed on high authority, but with less accuracy, as the founder of the historical method, which is at least as old as Thucydides. That he appreciated the importance of this method is true. 'I could wish,' he says in one of his fragments, 'that there were better works on the laws of each country. To know modern times, one must know antiquity: each law must be followed in the spirit of all the ages.' But for its application he had neither the requisite knowledge nor the requisite capacity. Like his predecessors, he speculated about the state of nature. But for any knowledge of savage or uncivilized man, without which all speculations and theories as to the origin of society are idle, he was dependent on books of travel and accounts of missionaries, with no means of checking their accuracy. Of the Iroquois, who stood for the typical savage in the early eighteenth century, he had doubtless read in Lahortan and in The Relations of the Jesuits, but one is sometimes tempted to think that he

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Page:Montesquieu.djvu/30

30 knows no more about him than might have been picked up from some stray Bordeaux mariner who had navigated Canadian waters. In his account of early Roman history he follows implicitly Livy and Florus, and of Beaufort's critical investigation he does not seem to have heard. Nor is there any evidence of his having read or having been influenced by Vico, that solitary, mystical, suggestive Neapolitan thinker, who seemed to live out of due time, and whose significance was not appreciated until the following century. He had heard of the Scienza nuova at Venice, where the first edition was much in demand, and made a note of it as a book to be purchased at Naples, but there is nothing to show that the purchase was made. And in the main his method of procedure is unhistorical. He takes more account of the surroundings of laws than of their antecedents. He sees laws of different periods all in the same plane. He conceives of the state as a condition of equilibrium which is to be maintained. He realizes the possibility of its decay, but the notions of progress and development, which are to figure so largely in Turgot and Condorcet, are foreign to his mind.

On the influence exercised by Montesquieu's great book, a substantial volume could be written. It was

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Rh and profound. It was felt in the course of political thought; it was felt in the methods of political science. It is almost true that Montesquieu invented the theory of the British constitution. At all events he was the chief contributor to what may be called the authorized version of the British constitution, the version to which currency was given by Blackstone and Delolme, which was used by the framers of constitutions on the continent of America and on the continent of Europe, and which held the field until it was displaced by the Cabinet theory of Walter Bagehot. The question has often been asked how far Montesquieu really knew and understood the institutions which he described. On this there are two things to be said. In the first place the British constitution which grew up out of the Revolution of 1688 was, when Montesquieu wrote, still in the making. The lines on which it was developed were not yet fixed; whether it would give preponderance to the King or to Parliament was still uncertain. In the next place Montesquieu wrote with a purpose. England was to him what Germany

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Collier's New Encyclopedia (1921)/Muir, John

MUIR, JOHN, an American naturalist born in Dunbar, Scotland, April 21, 1838; educated in Scotland and at the University of Wisconsin. His first explorations were in the less known regions of North America. For 25 years he wandered from the Gulf of Mexico to the glaciers of Alaska. In 1879 he discovered the famous Alaska glacier which bears his name. He was a member of the relief expedition sent to the Arctic regions on the United States steamer “Corwin.” He wrote over 150 articles on the physiography and natural history of the Pacific coast, on Alaska, etc. He was one of the pioneers of the movement to conserve forests and establish natural parks. He was a member of the American Academy of Art and Letters. His most important works were: “Mountains of California” (1894); “Our National Parks” (1901); “Story of My Boyhood and Youth” (1913). He also contributed much to periodicals. He died in 1914.

JOHN MUIR


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Collier's New Encyclopedia (1921)/Muir Glacier

MUIR GLACIER, an Alaskan glacier discovered in 1878 by John Muir. The ice forming it flows down the slope of Mount Fairweather, over 15,000 feet high, and enters Glacier Bay, forming a wall of ice nearly two miles long and from 135 to 200 feet high. From the lower end break off great icebergs which are carried away to sea.


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Rh


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The New International Encyclopædia/Muir, John (naturalist)

MUIR, Author:John Muir (1838—). An American explorer and naturalist, born at Dunbar, Scotland. He studied at the Dunbar Grammar School and then emigrated to the United States, and entered the University of Wisconsin. After his graduation he began to explore the less known portions of the North American continent, devoting his attention particularly to the western coast and to Alaska, where the Muir Glacier is named in his honor. He published: The Mountains of California; Our National Parks; and a number of magazine articles on natural history; and edited Picturesque California.


text: Miscellaneous Papers on Mechanical Subjects/A Paper on Standard Decimal Measures of Length


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Page:The Crooked Man And Other Rhymes.djvu/3

There was a crooked man, and he went a crooked mile,

And he found a crooked six-pence against a crooked stile;

He bought a crooked hat, which caught a crooked mouse,

And they all lived together in alittle crooked house.


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Rh


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Page:The Crooked Man And Other Rhymes.djvu/4

 Go to bed Tom, go to bed Tom—

Merry or sober, go to bed Tom.

Little Tommy Grace,

Had a pain in his face,

So that he could not learn a letter;


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32 of substantials proved that our hosts did not expect us to nibble. The general was, of course, taken possession of by the city fathers and mothers. Finding among them a woman he knew I would appreciate, he placed me beside her at supper. I had but little time to eat, for she was not only clever and brave, but very interesting in her description of the dangers and hardships she had endured during the ten years of her pioneering. The railroad had been completed but a short time, and before that the life was wild enough. She sat quietly among these people in her simple stuff gown, honored and looked up to. Though not even elderly, she was still almost the oldest citizen and an authority in the history of the country. All classes and conditions came to the ball, for Yankton was not yet large enough to be divided into cliques; besides, the rough and hazardous life these people had shared endeared them to one another.

The days after this passed very rapidly. The officers were already getting the command into condition to begin the long march of five hundred miles that lay before us. Before we left, the general, desiring to return some of the civilities of the citizens, gave the governor and his staff a review. The wide plain on which our camp was located was admirably adapted to the display of troops. My heart swelled with pride to see our grand regiment all together once more and in such fine condition. When the review was closing, and that part came where the officers leave their companies and, joining, ride abreast to salute the commanding officer, the general could hardly maintain the stereotyped,

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text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/John IX (pope)


text: The Crooked Man And Other Rhymes

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Page:Boots and Saddles.djvu/46

Rh quiet of the soldier—the approach of this fine body of men made him so proud of his command.

All were well mounted; the two years' station in the South had given them rare opportunities to purchase horses. The general, being considered an excellent judge, had, at the request of the officers, bought several from the stables of his Kentucky friends. He told me that if a colt failed a quarter of a second in making certain time expected, the owner was disappointed and willing to sell him at a merely nominal sum. So it came about that even the lieutenants, with their meagre pay, owned horses whose pedigree was unending. There were three officers belonging to each of the twelve companies; some were detailed on duty elsewhere, but those remaining, with the adjutant, surgeon, quarter-master, and commissary, made a long line of brilliantly caparisoned and magnificently formed men mounted on blood-horses. No wonder that the moment they saluted the general, he jumped from the saddle to congratulate them, and show them his pride in their soldierly appearance.

The governor and his staff were not chary in their expressions of admiration. It was a great event in the lives of the citizens, and the whole town was present. Every sort of vehicle used on the frontier came out, filled to overflowing, and many persons walked. The music of the band, the sun lighting up the polished steel of the arms and equipments, the hundreds of spirited horses going through the variety of evolutions which belong to a mounted regiment, made a memorable scene for these isolated people. Besides, they felt Rh

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Page:The Crooked Man And Other Rhymes.djvu/5

When in came Dicky Long,

Singing such a funny song,

That Tommy laughed, and found his face much better.

Shoe the horse, shoe the mare,

Let the little colt go bare.


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Page:Language and the Study of Language.djvu/111

III.] that the sonant utterance can be no longer sustained, the contact of the tongue with the roof of the mouth is broken at its sides, but kept up at its tip, in which position the continuance of intonated emission generates an l. Finally, the tongue is released at the tip and elevated in the middle, to a posture nearly the same with that in which the former vowel was spoken, only a little closer, and we have another vowel, a short i. Here, unless some other word immediately follows, the process is ended, and inarticulate breathing is commenced again. Thus, during the pronunciation of so brief and simple a word, the mouth-organs have been compelled to assume in succession seven different positions: but all their movements have been made with such rapidity and precision, one position has followed another so closely and accurately, that no intermediate sounds, no slides from one to another, have been apprehended by the ear; it has heard only the seven articulations. The action of the throat has varied once; passing without modification the breath expended in uttering the f, it has intonated, in one unbroken stream, all that followed. The general effort of utterance, too, the degree of exertion put forth by the lungs, has not been the same throughout: the former part of the word has been accented—that is to say, spoken with a fuller and stronger tone—with which effect, when not contravened by the emphasis, or tone of the sentence, a slight rise of musical pitch is wont to ally itself. And yet once more, we have to note that our word, whether we regard it as seven-fold or as one-fold in respect to the action of the articulating organs, presents itself to our apprehension as a two-fold entity: it is dissyllabic. This property, the foundation of which is in the ear of the hearer rather than in the mouth of the speaker, depends upon the antithesis of the opener and closer sounds composing the word: the comparatively open and resonant vowels strike the ear as the prominent and principal constituents of the series, while the closer consonants appear as their adjuncts, separating at the same time that they connect them.

This example brings to light the principal elements which enter into the structure of spoken signs for ideas, and which have to be taken into account in all inquiries into the phonetic


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90 history of language. Each constituent of the spoken alphabet requires, in order to its production, a certain kind and amount of effort on the part of the various organs concerned in articulate utterance. Some of them call for greater change from the quiescent condition of the organs, and so are in themselves harder to utter, than others. And again—what is of far higher importance in phonology—some are much harder to utter than others in connection with one another; the changes of position and mode of action of the articulating organs which they imply are more difficult of production and combination. Thus, it is perfectly practicable to arrange the sounds composing the word friendly in such ways as to give very harsh combinations, which, although we may make shift to utter them by a great effort, we should ordinarily and properly call unpronounceable: for example, nfdrely, lrefdny, yrfdnle. And our word itself, easy as it seems to us, would be deemed harsh and unpronounceable by many a race and nation of men. It is all a question of degree, of the amount of labour to which we are willing to subject our articulating organs in speaking. Hosts of series of sounds may be made up which, though not unutterable by dint of devoted and vehement exertion, never appear in actual speech, because they are practically too hard; their cost is greater than their value; the needs of speech can be supplied without resorting to them. And half the languages in the world have sounds and combinations of sounds which other tongues eschew as being harder than they choose to utter. No word that a community has once formed and uttered is incapable of being kept unchanged in their use; yet use breeds change in all the constituents of every language: each sound in a word exercises an assimilating influence over the others in its neighbourhood, tending to bring them into some other form which is more easily uttered in connection with itself. The seat of "euphony," as we somewhat mistakenly term it, is in the mouth, not in the ear; words are changed in phonetic structure, not according to the impression they make upon the organs of hearing, but according to the action which they call for in the organs of speaking; physiological, not acoustic relations determine how sounds shall pass into one another in the process of linguistic growth.


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Page:The Crooked Man And Other Rhymes.djvu/6

A dog and a cat went out together,

To see some friends just out of town;

Said the cat to the dog, "What d'ye think of the weather?

"I think, Ma'am, the rain will come down."


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User talk:92.23.84.226

--Eliyak T · C 18:56, 16 December 2010 (UTC)

DNBer?
Thanks for filling some of the gaps in the wikipedia fields in the biographies, a little note that the name should appear exactly as it is at WP, eg. . I have back-tracked and inverted the links on the prior pages. I do hope that you have seen our project page at WikiProject DNB — billinghurst  sDrewth  12:26, 17 December 2010 (UTC)

Thanks, I originally did that but they were remaining in the category DNB no WP. Not sure what I must have been doing wring before.
 * May just need to purge the category http://en.wikisource.org/w/index.php?title=Category:DNB_No_WP&action=purge to refresh its contents. Category update often isn't immediate as it is deprioritised. — billinghurst  sDrewth  13:02, 17 December 2010 (UTC)

Thanks for your help, 92.23.84.226 13:05, 17 December 2010 (UTC)

Thank-you… JamAKiska (talk) 16:34, 17 December 2010 (UTC)
 * You are a machine, back from a sleep and you are still metronomically working through. Are you sure that you don't prefer to be logged in as a user.  It means we can align the edits with a known account, and that allows us to better patrol works as we assign editing rights (temporarily or permanently). — billinghurst  sDrewth  21:56, 17 December 2010 (UTC)

Thanks. I suppose I should log in as Boleyn, same as I am on WP. 92.23.84.226 22:00, 17 December 2010 (UTC)

James Stopford (bishop)
Thanks for the wp link support, have established the links on the redirect pages and Bishop of Cloyne page using (bishop) to disambiguate him from the earls. JamAKiska (talk) 05:36, 18 December 2010 (UTC)

Thanks for that. 92.23.84.226 08:53, 18 December 2010 (UTC)

title: User talk:92.23.84.226


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Page:The Crooked Man And Other Rhymes.djvu/7

"But don't be alarmed, for I've an umbrella

That will shelter us both," said this amiable fellow.

Oh, the rusty, dusty, rusty miller,

I'll not change my wife for gold or siller.


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Page:Language and the Study of Language.djvu/113

III.] A spoken alphabet, then, in order to be understood, must be arranged upon a physiological plan. It is no chaos, but an orderly system of articulations, with ties of relationship running through it in every direction. It has its natural limits, divisions, and lines of arrangement. It is composed of series of sounds, produced each in its own part of the mouth, by different degrees of approximation of the same organs. According to these different degrees of approximation, mainly, it is separated into classes: the opener sounds we call vowels; the closer, consonants; and, upon the limit between the two are sounds—like l, r, n in English—which are capable of use as either consonants or vowels. The consonants, again, are subdivided into classes of lesser extent, also determined by their correspondence in respect to measure of openness, resonance, and continuability: such are the semivowels, the nasals, the fricatives (which may be further subdivided into sibilants and spirants), and the mutes. And, after a certain grade of closeness is reached, each position of the mouth-organs gives rise to two distinct sounds, sonant and surd, according as intonated or unintonated breath is expelled through it.

The English spoken alphabet, arranged according to this method, presents the following scheme:


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92 The scale of these lectures does not require us to enter into a more detailed examination of the organs of speech and their product, articulate sounds, or a more exact definition of the physical relations of articulate sounds, than has thus been given. The principal and most frequent phonetic transitions are sufficiently explained by our alphabetic scheme. Let us notice a few of them.

The conversion of a surd letter into its corresponding sonant, or of sonant into surd, is abundantly illustrated in the history of every language. Our own plural sign, s, is pronounced as s only when it follows another surd consonant, as in plants, cakes; after a sonant consonant or a vowel, it becomes z, as in eyes, pins, pegs. A like change is common between two vowels, as in busy; the vowel intonation being continued through the intervening consonant; instead of intermitted during its utterance. So, on the other hand, we turn a d into a t after another surd consonant, where a sonant would be only with difficulty pronounced, as in looked (lookt); and the German eliminates the intonation from all his final mutes, speaking kind, kalb, as if they were written kint, kalp. Sounds of the same series, but of different classes, easily pass into one another: thus, the spirants (f, th, and so on) are almost universally derived from the full mutes, by a substitution of a close approximation (usually accompanied, it is true, by a slight shifting of position) for the full mute contact; and they


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III.] come especially from such mutes as were originally aspirated—that is to say, had an audible bit of an h pronounced after them, before the following sound; the way in which they are often written, as ph, th, ch (German), is a result and evidence of this their origin. A v, too, has in many languages taken the place of an earlier semivowel w. Of the transition of the spirant th into the sibilant s a notable example is offered in our substitution—now become universal except in antiquated and solemn styles—of he loves for he loveth: s as of the third person singular of verbs is rare in Chaucer, and quite unknown a little earlier. An s between vowels, instead of being turned into its own corresponding sonant, z, becomes sometimes the next opener sonant of the same series, namely r: this change prevails very extensively in many tongues, as the Sanskrit, Latin, Germanic; a familiar example of its effect is seen in our were, plural and subjunctive of was, which has retained the original sibilant. A less frequent and regular change puts in place of a letter of one series one belonging to the same class but a different series. Thus, when the English gave up in pronunciation its palatal spirant—still written in so many of our words with gh—while it usually simply silenced it, prolonging or strengthening, by way of compensation, the preceding vowel, as in light, bough, Hugh, it sometimes substituted the labial spirant f as in cough, trough; and, in the latter word, a common popular error, doubtless going back to the time of first abandonment of the proper gh sound, substitutes the lingual spirant, th, pronouncing troth. So the Russians put f for th, turning Theodore into Fedor. Exchanges of the mutes of different organs with one another are not very seldom met with, though not so easy to illustrate with English instances: the pent of pentagon and the quinq of quinquennial are Greek and Latin versions of the same original word, which in our own tongue, moreover, has become five. We often hear persons who have a constitutional or habitual inaptness to pronounce an r, and who turn it into a w, or an l: r and l, indeed, throughout the history of language, are the most interchangeable of sounds. Combination of consonants leads with especial frequency to the assimilation of the one to the other:


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Page:Language and the Study of Language.djvu/116

94 our ditto is the Latin dictum, 'said'; we say dis-join, but dif-fuse; in-different, but im-possible; ad-dict, but an-nul, ap-pend, as-sign, ac-cede, af-firm, ag-gress, al-lude, am-munition.

If the consonants are thus variously liable to pass into one another, a yet higher degree of mobility belongs to the vowels. It is needless to go into particulars upon this point; the condition of our own vowel-system is a sufficient illustration of it. The letters a, e, i, o, u were originally devised and intended to represent the vowel-sounds in far, prey, pique, pole, and rule, respectively, and they still have those values, constantly or prevailingly, in most of the other languages which employ them. But, during the written period of our own tongue, the pronunciation of its vowels has undergone—partly under the influence of circumstances which are still clearly to be pointed out—very sweeping and extensive changes, while our words have continued to be spelt nearly as formerly; and the consequence has been a grand dislocation of our orthographical system, a divorcement of our written from our spoken alphabet. Our written vowels have from three to nine values each, and they are supplemented in use by a host of digraphs, of equally variable pronunciation; our spoken vowels have each from two to twelve written representatives. All the internal relations of our sounds are turned awry; what we call "long" and "short" a, or i, or u, or e, or o, are really no more related to one another as corresponding long and short, than dog and cat, sun and moon, are related to one another as corresponding male and female. With our consonants, also, the case is but little better than with our vowels: our words, as we write them, are full of silent and ambiguous signs of every class, unremoved ruins of an overthrown phonetic structure. And our sense of the fitness of things has become so debauched by our training in the midst of these vicious surroundings, that it seems to us natural and proper that the same sound should be written in many different ways, the same sign have many different sounds; the great majority of us seriously believe and soberly maintain that a historical is preferable to a phonetic spelling—that is to say, that it is better to write our words as we imagine that somebody else pronounced them a long time


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III.] since, than as we pronounce them ourselves; and an orthoepical corruption or anomaly, like kyind for kind, dănce for dânce, neīther for nēither, is less frowned on by public opinion, and has a better chance for adoption into general use, than any, the most obvious, improvement of orthography.

The illustrations of phonetic change which we have been considering concern, as was claimed for them at the outset, only the most frequent and easily explainable phenomena of their kind, those which are found to prevail more or less in almost every known language. But every language has its own peculiar history of phonetic development, its special laws of mutation, its caprices and idiosyncrasies, which no amount of learning and acuteness could enable the phonologist to foretell, and of which the full explanation often baffles his art. His work is historical, not prescriptive. He has to trace out the changes which have actually taken place in the spoken structure of language, and to discover, so far as he is able, their ground, in the physical character and relations of the sounds concerned, in the positions and motions of the articulating organs by which those sounds are produced. He is thus enabled to point out, in the great majority of cases, how it is that a certain sound, in this or that situation, should be easily and naturally dropped, or converted into such and such, another sound. But with this, for the most part, he is obliged to content himself; his power to explain the motive of the change, why it is made in this word and not in that, why by this community and not by that other, is very limited. He cannot tell why sounds are found in the alphabet of one tongue which are unutterable by the speakers of another; why combinations which come without difficulty from the organs of one people are utterly eschewed by its neighbour and next of kin; why, for example, the Sanskrit will tolerate no two consonants at the end of a word, the Greek no consonant but n, s, or r, the Chinese none but a nasal, the Italian none at all: why the Polynesian will form no syllable which does not end with a vowel, or which begins with more than one consonant, while the English will bear as many as six or seven consonants about a single vowel (as in splints, strands, twelfths); why the accent in a Latin word has its place always determined by the quantity of the syllable before the last, and rests


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22

Make not, my son, a shipwreck of thy wit

For a woman. Thine own heart may teach thee this:—

There ’s but cold comfort in a wicked wife

Yoked to the home inseparably. What wound

Can be more deadly than a harmful friend?

Then spurn her like an enemy, and send her

To wed some shadow in the world below!

For since of all the city I have found

Her only recusant, caught in the act,

I will not break my word before the State.

I will take her life. At this let her invoke

The god of kindred blood! For if at home

I foster rebels, how much more abroad?

Whoso is just in ruling his own house,

Lives rightly in the commonwealth no less:

But he that wantonly defies the law,

Or thinks to dictate to authority,

Shall have no praise from me. What power soe’er

The city hath ordained, must be obeyed

In little things and great things, right or wrong.

The man who so obeys, I have good hope

Will govern and be governed as he ought,

And in the storm of battle at my side

Will stand a faithful and a trusty comrade.

But what more fatal than the lapse of rule?

This ruins cities, this lays houses waste,

This joins with the assault of war to break

Full-numbered armies into hopeless rout;

And in the unbroken host ’tis nought but rule

That keeps those many bodies from defeat.

I must be zealous to defend the law,

And not go down before a woman’s will.

Else, if I fall, ’twere best a man should strike me;

Lest one should say, ‘a woman worsted him.’

. Unless our sense is weakened by long time,

Thou speakest not unwisely.

. O my sire,

Sound wisdom is a God-implanted seed,

Of all possessions highest in regard.

I cannot, and I would not learn to say


text:
User talk:Julieta.velez

--Eliyak T · C 20:04, 16 December 2010 (UTC)

title: User talk:Julieta.velez


text: Page:The story of Jack and the Giants (1851).djvu/2


text: The New International Encyclopædia/Auer, Alois


text:
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Jack be nimble,

Jack be quick,

And Jack jump over the candlestick.

Hiccory, diccory, dock,

The mouse ran up the clock;

The clock struck one,

The mouse ran down,

Hiccory, diccory, dock.


text:
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URING the reign of good King Arthur there lived in the County of Cornwall, near to the Land’s End of England, a wealthy farmer, who had an only son named Jack. Jack was a brisk boy, and of a ready wit: he took great delight in hearing stories of Giants and Fairies, and used to listen eagerly while any old woman told him of the great deeds of the brave Knights of King Arthur’s Round Table.

When Jack was sent to take care of the sheep and oxen


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10 in the fields, he used to amuse himself with planning battles and sieges, and the means to conquer or surprise a foe. He was above the common sports of children; but hardly any one could equal him at wrestling; or if he met with a match for himself in strength, his skill and address always made him the victor.

In those days the Mount of Cornwall was kept by a huge monstrous Giant, eighteen feet in height, and about three yards in compass, of a fierce and grim countenance, the terror of all the neighbouring towns and villages. He dwelt


text: The New International Encyclopædia/Auer, Leopold


text:
Page:Three Books of Occult Philosophy (De Occulta Philosophia) (1651).djvu/616

Rh


text: The New International Encyclopædia/Auerbach, Berthold


text:
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A horse and cart

Had Billy Smart,

To play with when it pleased him;

The cart he'd load

By the side of the road,

And be happy if no one teased him.


text: Portal talk:Banksia verticillata

title: Portal talk:Banksia verticillata


text: Portal talk:Banksia spinulosa

title: Portal talk:Banksia spinulosa


text:
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Bow-wow-wow,

Whose dog art thou?

Little Tom Tucker's dog,

Bow-wow-wow

Hark! hark! the dogs do bark,

Beggars are coming to town,

Some in jags, and some in rags,

And some in velvet gowns.


text: The New International Encyclopædia/Auerbach's Keller


text: Page:The Crooked Man And Other Rhymes.djvu/1


text:
Page:Best Russian Short Stories.djvu/126

106 the way, and I swear, by Hercules, never did I have to traverse such a horrid way."

"Put questions, friend Elpidias! The question of one who seeks knowledge brings forth answers and produces conversation."

Elpidias maintained silence for a moment, and then, after he had collected his thoughts, asked:

"Yes, this is what I wanted to say—tell me, my poor Socrates, did they at least give you a good burial?"

"I must confess, friend Elpidias, I cannot satisfy your curiosity."

"I understand, my poor Socrates, it doesn't help you cut a figure. Now with me it was so different! Oh, how they buried me, how magnificently they buried me, my poor fellow-wanderer! I still think with great pleasure of those lovely moments after my death. First they washed me and sprinkled me with well-smelling balsam. Then my faithful Larissa dressed me in garments of the finest weave. The best mourning-women of the city tore their hair from their heads because they had been promised good pay, and in the family vault they placed an amphora—a crater with beautiful, decorated handles of bronze, and, besides, a vial"

"Stay, friend Elpidias. I am convinced that the faithful Larissa converted her love into several minas. Yet"

"Exactly ten minas and four drachmas, not counting the drinks for the guests. I hardly think that the richest tanner can come before the souls of his ancestors and boast of such respect on the part of the living."

"Friend Elpidias, don't you think that money would have been of more use to the poor people who are still alive in Athens than to you at this moment?"

"Admit, Socrates, you are speaking in envy," responded Elpidias, pained. "I am sorry for you, unfortunate Socrates, although, between ourselves, you really deserved your fate. I myself in the family circle said more than once that an end ought to be put to your impious doings, because"

"Stay, friend, I thought you wanted to draw a conclusion, and I fear you are straying from the straight


text: The New International Encyclopædia/Auersperg, Adolph Wilhelm Daniel


text: Portal talk:Brachyloma daphnoides

title: Portal talk:Brachyloma daphnoides


text: Portal talk:Ceratopetalum gummiferum

title: Portal talk:Ceratopetalum gummiferum


text: Page:The story of Jack and the Giants (1851).djvu/59


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text:
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 A

EDITED BY

OSBERT SALVIN, M.A., F.R.S., F.L.S., F.Z.S., &c.

The Ibis - title page illustration.jpg

VOL. III. 1873.

THIRD SERIES.

Ibidis auspicio novus incipit Ibidus ordo

LONDON:

JOHN VAN VOORST, 1 PATERNOSTER ROW

1873.

title: Page:Ibis - Series 3 - Volume 3.djvu/7


text: Page:The story of Jack and the Giants (1851).djvu/42


text: Page:The story of Jack and the Giants (1851).djvu/36


text: Page:The story of Jack and the Giants (1851).djvu/24


text: The New International Encyclopædia/Auersperg, Anton Alexander


text: Portal talk:Corymbia gummifera

title: Portal talk:Corymbia gummifera


text: The New International Encyclopædia/Auersperg, Carlos, Prince


text: Portal talk:Eucalyptus capitellata

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text: Portal talk:Eucalyptus obliqua

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text: Portal talk:Eucalyptus piperita

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text:
Wikisource:API

Link to English Wikisource API

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text: Portal talk:Eucalyptus tereticornis

title: Portal talk:Eucalyptus tereticornis


text: Portal talk:Eucalyptus robusta

title: Portal talk:Eucalyptus robusta


text:
Page:Best Russian Short Stories.djvu/127

Rh path. Tell me, my good friend, whither does your wavering thought tend?"

"I wanted to say that in my goodness I am sorry for you. A month ago I myself spoke against you in the assembly, but truly none of us who shouted so loud wanted such a great ill to befall you. Believe me, now I am all the sorrier for you, unhappy philosopher!"

"I thank you. But tell me, my friend, do you perceive a brightness before your eyes?"

"No, on the contrary such darkness lies before me that I must ask myself whether this is not the misty region of Orcus."

"This way, therefore, is just as dark for you as for me?"

"Quite right."

"If I am not mistaken, you are even holding on to the folds of my cloak?"

"Also true."

"Then we are in the same position? You see your ancestors are not hastening to rejoice in the tale of your pompous burial. Where is the difference between us, my good friend?"

"But, Socrates, have the gods enveloped your reason in such obscurity that the difference is not clear to you?"

"Friend, if your situation is clearer to you, then give me your hand and lead me, for I swear, by the dog, you let me go ahead in this darkness."

"Cease your scoffing, Socrates! Do not make sport, and do not compare yourself, your godless self, with a man who died in his own bed"

"Ah, I believe I am beginning to understand you. But tell me, Elpidias, do you hope ever again to rejoice in your bed?"

"Oh, I think not."

"And was there ever a time when you did not sleep in it?"

"Yes. That was before I bought goods from Agesilaus at half their value. You see, that Agesilaus is really a deep-dyed rogue"

"Ah, never mind about Agesilaus! Perhaps he is getting


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Rh in a cave in the middle of the Mount; and he was such a selfish monster that he would not suffer any one to live near him. He fed on other men’s cattle, which often became his prey; for whensoever he wanted food, he would wade over to the mainland, where he would furnish himself with whatever came in his way.

ANIC seized the inhabitants at his approach, they forsook their habitations, and took flight, while the Giant seized upon their cattle, making nothing of carrying half-a-dozen oxen on his back a time; and as for their sheep and hogs, he would tie them by dozens round his waist. This course he had followed for many years, so that a great part of the country was impoverished by his depredations.

Jack resolved to kill this monster; and taking with him a horn, a shovel, and a pickaxe, he went over to the Mount


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Capgrave, John


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14 in the beginning of a dark winter’s evening, when he fell to work, and before morning had dug a pit twenty-two feet deep, and nearly as broad, and had covered it over with long sticks and straw. Then strewing a little mould upon it, he made it appear like plain ground. Then Jack placed the horn to his mouth, and blew with all his might such a loud tantivy, that the Giant awoke and rushed towards Jack, exclaiming:

"You saucy villain, why are you come here to disturb my rest? you shall pay dearly for this. I will take you home, and broil you whole for my breakfast."

He had no sooner uttered this cruel threat, than, tumbling into the pit, he made the very foundations of the Mount to shake.

"Oh, oh, Mr. Giant," said Jack, "where are you now? do you think now of broiling me for your breakfast? will nothing else serve you but poor Jack?"

Thus did little Jack torment the big Giant, as a cat does a mouse when she knows it cannot escape; and when he had tired of that amusement, he gave the monster a heavy blow


text:
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Rh with a pickaxe on the very crown of his head, which tumbled him down, and killed him on the spot. When Jack saw that the Giant was dead, he filled up the pit with earth, and went to search the cave, which he found contained much treasure.

Jack then made haste back to rejoice his friends with the news of the Giant’s death.

Now, when the justices of Cornwall heard of this valiant action, they sent for Jack, and declared that he should always be called

and they also gave him a magnificent sword and an embroidered belt, upon which was emblazoned, in letters of gold,


text: Page:The story of Jack and the Giants (1851).djvu/23


text: Page:Library of Congress Classification Outline.djvu/12


text: Page:Library of Congress Classification Outline.djvu/35


text:
Page:Ibis - Series 3 - Volume 3.djvu/8

 Taylor and Francis logo, (The Ibis, 1900).jpg

PRINTED BY TAYLOR AND FRANCIS,

RED LION COURT, FLEET STREET.

title: Page:Ibis - Series 3 - Volume 3.djvu/8


text: Australian and Other Poems/A Song of Australia


text:
Page:The Crooked Man And Other Rhymes.djvu/12

SAME BOOKS, COLORED INSIDE, Electrotyped by VINCENT DILL, Jr., 94 Beekman St., N. Y.


text: Page:Philosophical magazine 21 series 4.djvu/583


text: Page:Philosophical magazine 21 series 4.djvu/582


text: Page:Philosophical magazine 21 series 4.djvu/581


text: Page:Philosophical magazine 21 series 4.djvu/580


text: Page:Philosophical magazine 21 series 4.djvu/579


text: User:Cymru.lass

title: User:Cymru.lass


text:
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text: Outlines of Psychology (Wundt)/Abbreviations


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text: Page:Outlines of Psychology (Wundt) 1907.djvu/30


text: Outlines of Psychology (Wundt)/Translator's Preface (1st English Ed.)


text: Outlines of Psychology (Wundt)/Author's Preface (1st German Ed.)


text: Outlines of Psychology (Wundt)/Author's Preface (4th German Ed.)


text: Outlines of Psychology (Wundt)/Translator's Preface (2nd English Ed.)


text: Outlines of Psychology (Wundt)/Translator's Preface (3rd English Ed.)


text: The New International Encyclopædia/Auerstädt


text: The New International Encyclopædia/Auf der Höhe


text: The New International Encyclopædia/Auffenberg, Joseph


text: Observations on Man (6th edition)/Part I/Chapter IV/Section V


text: Observations on Man (6th edition)/Part I/Chapter IV/Section VI


text: Observations on Man (6th edition)/Part I/Conclusion


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Section V
THE PLEASURES AND PAINS OF THEOPATHY.

this class I comprehend all those pleasures and pains, which the contemplation of God, and his attributes, and of our relation to him, raises up in the minds of different persons, or in that of the same person, at different times. And in order to speak with more precision concerning this class of affections, and to deduce them more readily from the theory of these papers, it will be proper first to inquire into the idea of God, as it is found in fact amongst men, particularly amongst Jews and Christians, i.e. to inquire what associations may be observed in fact to be heaped upon, and concur in this word, and the equivalent and related terms and phrases.

First, then, It is probable, that since many actions and attributes belonging to men are, and indeed must be, in common language, applied to God, children, in their first attempts to decypher the word God, will suppose it to stand for a man whom they have never seen, and of whom consequently they form a compound fictitious idea, consisting of parts before generated by men, whom they have seen.

Secondly, When they hear or read, that God resides in heaven, (i.e. according to their conceptions, in the sky, amongst the stars,) that he made all things, that he sees, hears, and knows all things, can do all things, &c. with the many particular modes of expression that are comprehended under these general ones, vivid ideas, which surprise and agitate the mind, (lying upon the confines of pain,) are raised in it; and if they be so far advanced in understanding, as to be affected with apparent inconsistencies and impossibilities in their ideas, they must feel great perplexity of imagination, when they endeavour to conceive and form definite ideas agreeable to the language of this kind, which they hear and read. Now this perplexity will add to the vividness of the ideas, and all together will transfer upon the word God, and its equivalents, such secondary ideas, as may be referred to the heads of magnificence, astonishment, and reverence.

Thirdly, When children hear that God cannot be seen, having no visible shape, no parts; but that he is a spiritual infinite being; this adds much to their perplexity and astonishment, and by degrees destroys the association of the fictitious visible idea before-mentioned with the word God. However, it is probable, that some visible ideas, such as those of the heavens, a fictitious throne placed there, a multitude of angels, &c. still continue to be excited by the word God, and its equivalents, when dwelt upon in the mind.

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 Fourthly, When the child hears, that God is the rewarder of good actions, and the punisher of evil ones, and that the most exquisite future happiness or misery (described by a great variety of particulars and emblems) are prepared by him for the good and bad respectively; he feels strong hopes and fears rise alternately in his mind, according to the judgment which he passes upon his own actions, founded partly upon the previous judgment of others, partly upon an imperfect moral sense begun to be generated in him.

And laying all these things together it will appear, that, amongst Jews and Christians, children begin probably with a definite visible idea of God; but that by degrees this is quite obliterated, without any thing of a stable precise nature succeeding in its room; and that, by farther degrees, a great variety of strong secondary ideas, i.e. mental affections, (attended indeed by visible ideas, to which proper words are affixed, as of angels; the general judgment, &c.) recur in their turns, when they think upon God, i.e. when this word, or any of its equivalents, or any equivalent phrase or symbol, strike the mind strongly, so that it dwells upon them for a sufficient time, and is affected by them in a sufficient degree.

Amongst heathen nations, where idolatry and polytheism prevail, the case is different; but this difference may easily be understood by applying the foregoing method of reasoning to the circumstances of the heathen world.

I will now inquire more particularly into the nature and origin of the affections exerted towards God. They may be ranked under two general heads, love and fear; agreeably to the general division of the sympathetic affections into benevolence and malevolence. However, the analogy here is not a complete one, as will be seen presently.

To the love of God may be referred gratitude, confidence, and resignation; also enthusiasm, which may be considered as a degeneration of it. To the fear, reverence (which is a mixture of love and fear); also superstition and atheism, which are degenerations of the fear of God.

The Love of God.

The love of God, with its associates, gratitude, confidence, and resignation, is generated by the contemplation of his bounty and benignity to us, and to all his creatures, as these appear from the view of the natural world, the declarations of the Scriptures, or a man’s own observation and experience in respect of the events of life. It is supported, and much increased, by the consciousness of upright intentions, and sincere endeavours, with the consequent hope of a future reward, and by prayer vocal and mental, public and private, inasmuch as this gives a reality and force to all the secondary ideas before spoken of. Frequent conversation with devout persons, and frequent reading of devout books, have great

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 efficacy also, from the infectiousness of our tempers and dispositions, and from the perpetual recurrency of the proper words, and of their secondary ideas; first in a faint state, afterwards in a stronger and stronger perpetually. The contemplation of the rest of the divine attributes, his omnipotence, omniscience, eternity, ubiquity, &c. have also a tendency to support and augment the love of God, when this is so far advanced, as to be superior to the fear; till that time these wonderful attributes enhance the fear so much, as to check the rise and growth of the love for a time. Even the fear itself contributes to the generation and augmentation of the love in an eminent degree, and in a manner greatly analogous to the production of other pleasures from pains. And indeed it seems, that, notwithstanding the variety of ways above-mentioned, in which the love of God is generated, and the consequent variety of the intellectual aggregates, and secondary ideas, there must be so great a resemblance amongst them, that they cannot but languish by frequent recurrency, till such time as ideas of an opposite nature, by intervening at certain seasons, give them new life.

The love of God is, according to this theory, evidently deduced in part from interested motives directly; viz. from the hopes of a future reward; and those motives to it, or sources of it, in which direct explicit self-interest does not appear, may yet be analysed up to it ultimately. However, after all the several sources of the love of God have coalesced together, this affection becomes as disinterested as any other; as the pleasure we take in any natural or artificial beauty, in the esteem of others, or even in sensual gratifications.

It appears also, that this pure disinterested love of God may, by the concurrence of a sufficient number of sufficiently strong associations, arise to such a height, as to prevail over any of the other desires interested or disinterested; for all, except the sensual ones, are of a factitious nature, as well as the love of God; and the sensual ones are, in our progress through life, overpowered by them all in their respective turns.

Enthusiasm may be defined a mistaken persuasion in any person, that he is a peculiar favourite with God; and that he receives supernatural marks thereof. The vividness of the ideas of this class easily generates this false persuasion in persons of strong fancies, little experience in divine things, and narrow understandings, (and especially where the moral sense, and the scrupulosity attending its growth and improvement, are but imperfectly formed,) by giving a reality and certainty to all the reveries of a man’s own mind, and cementing the associations in a preternatural manner. It may also be easily contracted by contagion, as daily experience shews; and indeed more easily than most other dispositions, from the glaring language used by enthusiasts, and from the great flattery and support, which enthusiasm affords to pride and self-conceit.

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 The Fear of God.

The fear of God arises from a view of the evils of life, from the threatenings of the Scriptures, from the sense of guilt, from the infinity of all God’s attributes, from prayer, meditation, reading, and conversation upon these and such like subjects, in a manner analogous to the love of God. When confined within certain limits, and especially when tempered with love, so as to become awe, veneration, and reverence, it remains in a natural state, i.e. suits our other circumstances; and, as before observed, has a considerable share in generating the love of God. When excessive, or not duly regarded, it degenerates either into superstition or atheism.

Superstition may be defined a mistaken opinion concerning the severity and punishments of God, magnifying these in respect of ourselves or others. It may arise from a sense of guilt, from bodily indisposition, from erroneous reasoning, &c. That which arises from the first cause, has a tendency to remove itself by regulating the person’s behaviour, and consequently lessening his sense of guilt. The other kinds often increase for a time, come to their height at last, and then decline again. They do also, in some cases, increase without limits during life. All kinds of superstition have been productive of great absurdities in divine worship, both amongst Pagans, and amongst Jews and Christians; and they have all a great tendency to sour the mind, to check natural benevolence and compassion, and to generate a bitter persecuting spirit. All which is much augmented where superstition and enthusiasm pass alternately into each other at intervals; which is no uncommon case.

Under atheism I here comprehend not only the speculative kind, but the practical, or that neglect of God, where the person thinks of him seldom, and with reluctance, and pays little or no regard to him in his actions, though he does not deny him in words. Both kinds seem in christian countries, where reasonable satisfaction in religious matters is easy to be had by all well-disposed minds, and gross ignorance uncommon except in ill-disposed ones, to proceed from an explicit or implicit sense of guilt, and a consequent fear of God, sufficient to generate an aversion to the thoughts of him, and to the methods by which the love might be generated, and yet too feeble to restrain from guilt; so that they may properly be considered as degenerations of the fear of God. What has been delivered already in these papers, concerning the connexion of fear, aversion, and the other uneasy passions, with each other, and also of the tendency of all pain to prevent the recurrency of the circumstances by which it is introduced, may afford some light here.

It appears upon the whole, that the theopathetic affections are, in some things, analogous to the sympathetic ones, as well as

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 different in others; and that this difference arises chiefly from the infinity and absolute perfection of the divine nature.

Affections of an intermediate kind are generated in respect of good and evil beings of an invisible nature, and of an order superior to us (such as angels and devils); whose origin and growth will easily be understood from what is here delivered.

are certain tempers of mind, with the actions flowing from them, as of piety, humility, resignation, gratitude, &c. towards God; of benevolence, charity, generosity, compassion, humility, gratitude, &c. towards men; of temperance, patience, contentment, &c. in respect of a person’s own private enjoyments or sufferings; which when he believes himself to be possessed of, and reflects upon, a pleasing consciousness and self-approbation rise up in his mind, exclusively of any direct explicit consideration of advantage likely to accrue to himself, from his possession of these good qualities. In like manner the view of them in others raises up a disinterested love and esteem for these others. And the opposite qualities of impiety, profaneness, uncharitableness, resentment, cruelty, envy, ingratitude, intemperance, lewdness, selfishness, &c. are attended with the condemnation both of ourselves and others. This is, in general, the state of the case; but there are many particular differences, according to the particular education, temper, profession, sex, &c. of each person.

Or, which is the same thing, the secondary ideas belonging to virtue and vice, duty and sin, innocence and guilt, merit and demerit, right and wrong, moral good and moral evil, just and unjust, fit and unfit, obligation and prohibition, &c. in one man, bear a great resemblance to those belonging to the same words in another, or to the corresponding words, if they have different languages; and yet do not exactly coincide, but differ more or less, according to the difference in education, temper, &c.

Now both this general resemblance, and these particular differences, in our ideas, and consequent approbation or disapprobation, seem to admit of an analysis and explanation from the following particulars.

First, Children are, for the most part, instructed in the difference and opposition between virtue and vice, duty and sin, &c.;

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 and have some general descriptions of the virtues and vices inculcated upon them. They are told, that the first are good, pleasant, beautiful, noble, fit, worthy of praise and reward, &c.; the last odious, painful, shameful, worthy of punishment, &c.; so that the pleasing and displeasing associations previously annexed to these words in their minds, are, by means of that confidence which they place in their superiors, transferred upon the virtues and vices respectively. And the mutual intercourses of life have the same effect in a less degree, with respect to adults, and those children who receive little or no instruction from their parents or superiors. Virtue is in general approved, and set off by all the encomiums, and honourable appellations, that any other thing admits of, and vice loaded with censures and reproaches of all kinds, in all good conversation and books. And this happens oftener than the contrary, even in bad ones; so that as far as men are influenced in their judgments by those of others, the balance is, upon the whole, on the side of virtue.

Secondly, There are many immediate good consequences, which attend upon virtue, as many ill ones do upon vice, and that during our whole progress through life. Sensuality and intemperance subject men to diseases and pain, to shame, deformity, filthiness, terrors, and anxieties; whereas temperance is attended with ease of body, freedom of spirits, the capacity of being pleased with the objects of pleasure, the good opinion of others, the perfection of the senses, and of the faculties, bodily and mental, long life, plenty, &c. Anger, malice, envy, bring upon us the returns of anger, malice, envy, from others, with injuries, reproaches, fears, and perpetual disquietude; and, in like manner, good-will, generosity, compassion, are rewarded with returns of the same, with the pleasures of sociality and friendship, with good offices, and with the highest encomiums. And when a person becomes properly qualified, by the previous love of his neighbour, to love God, to hope and trust in him, and to worship him in any measure as he ought to do, this affords the sincerest joy and comfort; as, on the contrary, the neglect of God, or practical atheism, the murmuring against the course of providence, sceptical unsettledness, and fool-hardy impiety, are evidently attended with great anxieties, gloominess, and distraction, as long as there are any traces of morality or religion left upon men’s minds. Now these pleasures and pains, by often recurring in various combinations, and by being variously transferred upon each other, from the great affinity between the several virtues, and their rewards, with each other; also between the several vices, and their punishments, with each other; will at last beget in us a general, mixed, pleasing idea and consciousness, when we reflect upon our own virtuous affections or actions; a sense of guilt, and an anxiety, when we reflect on the contrary; and also raise in us the love and esteem of virtue, and the hatred of vice in others.

title: Page:Observations on Man 1834.djvu/344