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16 way through countless ages of geologic time, but it must not be supposed that any and every conceivable form and variety has been produced. There are only two great diverging lines of descent from original living matter—only the animals and the plants. And in each of these there are and have been only a limited number of branches to the pedigree—some coming off at a lower level, others at higher points when more elaborate structure has been attained. It is easy to imagine groups of both plants and animals with characters and structures which have never existed and never will exist. The limitation of the whole process in spite of its enormous duration in time, its gigantic output and variety, is a striking and important fact. Linnaeus said, 'There are just as many species as in the beginning the Infinite Being created'; and the modern naturalist can go no further than the paraphrase of this, and must say, 'There are and have been just so many and just so few varieties of animal and vegetable structure on this earth as it was possible for the physical and chemical contents of the still molten globe to form up to the hour now reached.'

As to how and when man emerged from the terrestrial animal population so strictly controlled and moulded by natural selection is a matter upon which we gain further information year by year. There must be many here who remember, as I do, the astounding and almost sudden discovery some forty-five years ago of abundant and overwhelming evidence that man had existed in Western Europe as a contemporary of the mammoth and rhinoceros, the hyaena and the lion. The dispute

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 18 pope appeared favourable, but Cardinal Sanctorum Quatuor was "untreatable." He apparently influenced Clement VII. against the scheme. In August 1524, Clerk wrote that the Holy Father made hardly any objection to his demands for Wolsey, "except the extinction of the monasteries and the collectorship." They had been told in Rome (as the bull subsequently obtained asserts) that the need for increased facilities of study in England was at this time most pressing, and that the Oxford university "seemed likely to come to an end by reason of its slender revenues." Further, that the position of St. Frideswide's in the city of Oxford was admirably adapted for the purpose of a college, and that, owing to the objection of the English people to allowing land to be held for such purposes, it was impossible to buy or procure it. Lastly, they were told that there were many religious houses in England where the numbers had diminished to five or six, and where, on this account, the divine service could not be fittingly carried out.

Urged by these motives, the pope at first granted the cardinal of York the amplified faculties for visitation so long and diligently sought. Subsequently he consented to another bull for increasing the revenues of the Oxford college by further suppressions. He warned Wolsey's agent, however, "for God's sake to use mercy with those friars," as to the matter of visitation, adding, according to Clerk (what sounds much more like the agent's sentiment than the pope's) "that they were desperate beasts, past shame, that can lose nothing by clamour." The bull allowing Wolsey to suppress monasteries to the value of 3000 ducats a year for the purpose of adding to the funds of his college, left Rome on September 12, 1524. It provided that the king and the various founders should give their sanction, and that the religious persons should go to other monasteries.

Power having been thus obtained from Rome, the cardinal commenced early in the following year, 1525, to possess himself of the revenues of various monasteries

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MERRYMAN (Case No. 9,487) money absolutely, but a stipulation for bonds thereafter to be issuea. Nor does the promise to pay, the manner in which payment is to be made, or the form of the bond, militate against this view, for all of this may well have been set out as indicating the terms and conditions of the new bond thereafter to be issued. The bonds not being negotiable, notice as to the conditions upon which they were issued attaches. And here we find, from the order of the county court of September 7th, 1870, recited in the bond, and the agreed statement of facts, that they were issued, among others, on the condition that the said road should be graded from the point of crossing the Missouri river to the town of Marshall, and that a permanent depot be established within half a mile of the town of Marshall. The presumption arising from the issuing of said bonds as to the compliance of the conditions on which they were issued is relied on as showing that they were properly issued} and this would be the case were the bonds negotiable and in the hands of innocent holders. The object in making the subsciiption and issuing the bonds was to aid in the construction of a railroad to the town of Marshall, the county seat of Saline county, and not the having some valueless work done thereon, not accomplishing the object. The building of the railroad, as shown by the agreed facts, has been abandoned, and thus the object of the subscription and the issuing of the bonds defeated. The consideration for which the bonds were issued having failed, the coupons thereof constitute no legal obligation to pay. Judgment is therefore rendered for defendant. Judgment accordingly. [N0TE3. Subsequently the validity of the coun^ bonds was put in issue in the case of Pepper v. Saline County, Case No. 10,972. This case was heard upon demurrer to answer. The bonds were held not negotiable, and therefore subject to the equities set up by defense of noncompliance with eonditons on which they were issued. The demurrer was overruled.] MERRY (BUFFUM v.). See Case No. 2,112. MERRY, The LIZZIE. See Case No. 8,423. Case K"o. 9,486. MERRYFIELD et al. v. JONES. [2 Cart 306.] i Circuit Court, D. Massachusetts. May Term, 1855. Bonds—FoK Isjdsction—Actios pob DamagesPower OF Court op Bqditt. A court of equity cannot order the complainant and his sureties on an injunction bond, to pay the damages sustained by reason of the injunction. The defendant must resort to an acidon on the bond. [Cited Jn Spencer v. Sherwin, 86 Iowa, 120, 53 [Reported by Hon. B. R. Curtis, Circuit Justice.] N. W. 86; City of St. Louis v. St. Louis Gaslight Co., 82 Mo. 350; Sturgis v. Knapp, 33 Vt. 522.] R. H. Dana, Jr., in behalf of [Edwin] Jones, moved the court to refer to a master, the question, how much damage Jones had suffered by reason of temporary injunction, resti-aining him from using a machine alleged to be patented; and that the complainants [William J. Merryfleld and others], and their sureties, in a bond, conditioned to pay to Jones any damages he might suffer by reason of that injunction, if finally determined not to be rightful, might be decreed to pay the same. And he showed that the bill had been dismissed, and the injunction dissolved. The motion was resisted by Mr. Brigham, for complainants. CURTIS, Circuit Justice. It is not incident to the general powei-s of a court of equity to proceed against the principals and sureties on such a bond, and enforce payment of the damages secured by its condition, by a decree. It would be a convenient, and, perhaps, a proper power, to be conferred on the courts of the United States by congress. In Hiriart v. Ballon, 9 Pet. [34 U. S.] 15G, it was held that by virtue of a rule of the state courts of Louisiana, adopted under the act of congress of May 26, 1824 (4 Stat. 62), by the circuit com't of the United States, there might be a summary judgment against the principal and sureties in an appeal bond at law. The objection that a suit on a bond is, in its nature, a suit at the common law, and so that a right to a trial by jury is conferred by the seventh amendment of the constitution, seems not to have been overlooked in that case; though how far it was considered does not appear. If not determined, it is a* grave question, Gwin v. Breedlove, 2 How. [43 U. S.] 29; Gwin v. Martin, 6 How. [47 U. S.] 7. But I do not find it necessaiy to consider it, in this case, because I am clearly of opinion, that aside from positive legislation, a court of equity does not afford a remedy on such bonds. It must be sought by an action at law. Bean v. Heath, 12 How. [53 U. S.] 168. Motion denied.

1. On the 25th May 1861, the petitioner, a citizen of Baltimore county, in the state of Maryland, was arrested by a military force, acting under orders of a major-general of the

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 Rh besides those of St. Frideswide's in Oxford. The papal bull was ratified by the king on March 15th, and several parish churches, formerly belonging to the suppressed religious houses, were appropriated by letters patent to the new foundation. But both the time and the agents Wolsey employed to effect the dissolutions conduced to render the matter most unpopular. Just at this period Henry was endeavouring to raise a large loan from his people "against the time the king should pass the sea." The amount asked was no less than "the sixth part of every man's substance," and that it "should without delay be paid in money or plate to the king for the furniture of his war." Wareham warned Wolsey in the spring of the year how unpopular this "amicable grant" was in Kent. The work of suppression was undoubtedly disliked by both clergy and laity.

In the July of 1525 the archbishop again wrote to the cardinal about the difficulties his policy was creating in the southern parts of England. The inhabitants of Tunbridge strongly objected to the dissolution of a monastery of Austin canons from which they had derived many advantages. Warham was commissioned to go there and endeavour to persuade them that it was much better to have "forty children of that country educated and after sent to Oxford" than to have six or seven canons living amongst them; but the people did not think so. After discussing the matter for five or six days they again met Warham, and gave him a list of those who desired the continuance of their ancient priory. The inhabitants of the neighbourhood no less than of the town "would rather have the said place not suppressed," wrote the archbishop, "if it might stand with the king's pleasure." The murmurs about the matter were very difficult to repress, and this he told Wolsey, who had a "suspicion that the bruit" was against himself.


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 20 In the neighbouring county of Sussex the agitation against Wolsey's dissolution of monasteries was more serious and led to a riot. Beigham Abbey, "the which was very commodious to the country," was a monastery of Premonstratensians, and Wolsey had commissioned the bishop of Chichester to visit and inquire into certain alleged scandals there. The religious, however, evidently maintained a hold on the affections of their neighbours, and on the cardinal's proceeding to dissolve the house, under the powers of Pope Clement's bull, the people assembled in "a riotous company, disguised and unknown, with painted faces" and masked. They turned out the agents engaged on the suppression and reinstated the canons. Before separating they begged the religious, if they were again molested, to ring their bell, and they pledged themselves to come in force to their assistance.

Rumour, apparently, attributed to the cardinal even larger schemes of confiscation than were at the time contemplated. No sooner was the bull of Clement VII. put into force than petitions against the exercise of Wolsey's legatine powers were presented to the pope, especially by the Grey Friars and the Franciscan Observants. The latter were very powerful in Rome, and, as the cardinal's agent wrote, the pope may perhaps "give them some brief," but not one derogatory to Wolsey's honour. The cardinal of York himself had also representations made to him against the work in which he was engaged. The Duke of Suffolk, for example, wrote to him in favour of the priory of Conished, in Lancashire, which by common report had been doomed to extinction. The monastery, he said, was "a great help to the people," and "the prior of good and virtuous disposition."

Complaints were also carried to the king of the harsh and unjust way in which Wolsey's agents, Dr. Allen and Thomas Crumwell, were conducting the suppressions and the visitations of the religious houses upon which they were then engaged. Early in 1525 the cardinal had been informed by Sir Thomas More that complaints had been made to Henry, "touching certain misorders supposed to


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 Rh be used by Dr. Allen and other my officers in the suppression of certain exile and smallmonasteries wherein neither God is served nor religion kept. These, with your gracious aid and assistance, converting the same to a far better use, I purpose," writes Wolsey to the king, "to annex unto your intended college of Oxford." He further assures Henry that he can disprove any such reports, saying, "I have not meant, intended, or gone about, nor also have willed mine officers to do anything concerning the said suppressions, but under such form and manner as is, and hath largely been, to the full satisfaction, recompense, and joyous contentation of any person, which hath had, or could pretend to have, right or interest in the same."

Whatever may have been Wolsey's belief, at the time, in the integrity of his agents, there is little doubt that the reports about them were well founded. Subsequently, indeed, the cardinal practically admitted the truth of the charges suggested against those he employed in dealing with the religious. Fiddes in the "Life of Wolsey" says: "The revenues of the cardinal, from the privileges of his visitatorial power, of making abbots, of proving wills, granting faculties, licenses, and dispensations from his pensions and preferments, and other visible advantages, were thought by this time to be equal to the revenues of the crown. But in the methods of enriching him under the first article no one contributed so much as his chaplain, John Allen, LL.D., who, accompanied with a great train, and riding in a kind of perpetual progress from one religious house to another, is said to have drawn very large sums for his master's service from them."

This Dr. Allen was, apparently, the object of great dread and intense dislike. He was an astute, hard man, and, like his fellow, Crumwell, had evidently been trained up in business habits to the detriment of his humanity or even honesty. He was afterwards made archbishop of Dublin, "where his imperiousness and rapacity brought him to a violent end." The courtesy and consideration which the monks were likely to receive at the hands of Crumwell may be best


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 Pepys. Both Pepys and his contemporary diarist Evelyn tell us of the colonel's experiments and inventions at his stately seat at Charlton—his vineyard, the wine of which was ‘good for little,’ new-invented ploughs, and subterranean warren. He was among the first to adopt the application of the way-wiser, or odometer, to a carriage. Blount was living in January 1667–8, when he withdrew from the Royal Society.

BLOUNT, THOMAS (1618–1679), author of ‘Ancient Tenures,’ son of Myles Blount, of Orleton in Herefordshire, the fifth son of Roger Blount of Monkland, in the same county, was born at Bordesley, Worcestershire, being of a younger house of the ancient family of his name. He entered himself of the Inner Temple, and was in due time called to the bar. He was never advantaged, says Anthony à Wood, who knew him and received from him copies of some of his works, by the help of a university in learning. He succeeded to considerable property, both in Essex and Warwick, the former of which he appears to have derived from his mother, as a manor farm near Maldon is described in his will as being her jointure land. His religious tenets, those of a zealous Roman catholic, interfered with the practice of his profession; but he still continued the study of the law as an amateur, and gave gratuitous advice to his neighbours while residing at Orleton, where, says Wood, he had a ‘fair and plentiful estate.’ It was what Wood calls his ‘geny,’ supported by his ‘fair and plentiful estate,’ which led him to the paths of literature, and made him hunt after the difficult and uncouth terms of legal and other science, and ‘get nothing but his own satisfaction.’ He bestowed the waste hours of some years in reading histories of various countries—Turkey, France, Spain, Italy, &c. He had a reasonable acquaintance with the Latin and French tongues, and a smattering of both Greek and other languages. The agitation due to the alleged popish plot of 1678 was for Blount a source of trouble, obliging him to fly in fear from his home and lead a wandering life. Of the last year of his life, Wood says: ‘He contracted the palsy, as by his last letter sent to me, dated 28 April 1679, I was informed, adding therein that he had then quitted all books except those of devotion. On 26 Dec. following, being St. Stephen's Day, he died at Orleton in the year of his age 61.’ (According to Sir William Dugdale's diary, ‘16 Dec., Mr. Tho. Blount dyed at Orlton in Herefordshire of an apoplexie.’) He was buried in the church there, and soon after had a comely monument put over his grave by Anne, his widow, daughter of Edmund Church of Maldon, in Essex.

In the possession of William Blount, M.D., of Herefordshire, were, in 1808, several letters addressed by Dugdale to his friend Blount. In the first of these, bearing date 29 June 1674, Sir William, then Mr. William Dugdale, writes, praying his interference in the matter of one Scott, a bookseller in Little Britain, who owed Dugdale money for his ‘Monasticons.’ In another letter we learn that Blount corrected some of Dugdale's proof-sheets. In another he is introduced to Sir John Cotton, son of the great collector, to see some manuscripts in his library, as a ‘person well verst in antiquities and deserving all encouragement in these his commendable studies.’

Blount's chief works are:
 * 1) ‘The Art of making Devises, treating of Hieroglyphicks, Symboles, Emblemes, Ænigmas, Sentences, Parables, Reverses of Medalls, Armes, Blazons, Cimiers, Cyphres, and Rebus, translated from the French of Henry Estienne, Lord of Tossez,’ 1646; the same, together with a ‘Catalogue of Coronet Devises, both on the Kings and the Parliament's side, in the late Warres,’ 1650.
 * 2) ‘The Academie of Eloquence, containing a compleat English Rhetorique exemplified, with Common places and Formes digested into an easie and methodical way to speak and write fluently, according to the mode of the present times, together with Letters, both Amorous and Moral, upon emergent occasions,’ 1654 (? 29 Jan. 1653), often reprinted; a book ‘specially intended’ for the youth of both sexes.
 * 3) ‘Glossographia, or a Dictionary interpreting all such hard words, of whatsoever language, now used in our refined English tongue, with etymologies, definitions, and historical observations on the same; also the Terms of Divinity, Law, Physick, Mathematicks, and other Arts and Sciences explicated; very useful for all such as desire to understand what they read,’ London, 1656, 8vo; 1670, 1671, 8vo; 1679, 1691; enlarged by William Nelson, 1717, fol. Much of this was adopted by Edward Phillips in his ‘New World of English Words,’ which appeared the year after.
 * 4) ‘The Lamps of the Law and Lights of the Gospel, or the Titles of some late Spiritual, Polemical, and


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 Lincoln in the Legislature. My acquaintance with the lamented President Lincoln began in the winter of 1832-3, during the session of the Legislature of this State, of which I was a member, and warmly interested in procuring an act for the construction of the Illinois and Michigan Canal, for which I had introduced a bill, which was defeated. I then introduced a bill for a railroad, instead of a canal, which passed the House, lost in the Senate by the casting vote of the Speaker, Zadoc Casey. At the next session Mr. Lincoln was a member. I, as a lobbyist, attended that and the successive sessions until the passage of the act to construct the canal. Mr. Lincoln, in and out of the Legislature, favored its construction at the earliest possible moment, by his advice, and rendered efficient aid. Indeed, I very much doubt if the bill could have passed as early as it did without his valuable help. We


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 xii were thrown much together, our intimacy increasing. I never had a friend to whom I was more warmly attached. His character was nearly faultless. Possessing a warm, generous heart, genial, affable, honest, courteous to his opponents, persevering, industrious in research, never losing sight of the principal point under discussion, aptly illustrating by his stories always introduced with good effect, he was free from political trickery or denunciation of the private character of his opponents. In debate firm and collected, with "charity towards all, malice towards none," he won the confidence of the public, even of his political opponents.

Lincoln in Congress.

I knew Mr. Lincoln well and intimately. We were both members of the Thirtieth Congress, that is, from 1847 to 4th March, 1849. We both belonged to the Whig organization of that day, and were both ardent supporters of General Taylor to the Presidency in 1848. Mr. Lincoln, Mr. Wm. Ballard Preston, and Mr. Thos. S. Flournoy of Virginia, Mr. Toombs of Georgia, Mr. E. C. Campbell of Florida, and one or two others, and myself formed the first Congressional Taylor Club; we were known as the Young Indians, who by our extensive correspondence organized the Taylor movement throughout the country, which resulted in his nomination at Philadelphia. Mr. Lincoln was careful as to his manners, awkward in his speech, but was possessed of a very strong,


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230 science, as a branch of human history, aims at universality, and finds the tongues of the humblest tribes as essential to her completeness as those of the most cultivated and gifted nations; but it is also true that, mindful of proportion, she passes more lightly over the one, to give her longer and more engrossed attention to the other. While the weal and woe of every individual that ever lived goes to make up the sum of human interests, with which our human nature both justifies and demands our sympathy, we cannot but linger longest and with keenest participation over the fortunes of those who have played a great part among their fellows, whose deeds and words have had a wide and deep-reaching influence. And this is, in a very marked degree, the character of the Indo-European race. Its first entrance as an actor into what we are accustomed to call universal history, or that drama of action and influence whose denouement is the culture of the modern European nations, was in the far East, in the Persian empire of Cyrus and his successors. This founded itself upon the ruins and relics of more ancient empires and cultures, belonging to other peoples, in part Semitic, in part of obscurer kindred. For the Indo-Europeans were, of all the great civilizing and governing races, the last to commence their career. Not only in Mesopotamia, but also in Egypt and China, the light of knowledge burned brightly, and great deeds were done, whereof the world will never lose the memory, while the tribes of our kindred were wandering savages, or weak and insignificant communities, struggling for existence. The Persian empire, in its conquering march westward, was first checked by one of these humble communities, the little jarring confederation of Greek states and cities, destined to become, notwithstanding its scanty numbers, the real founder of Indo-European preëminence. Greece, enriching itself with elements drawn from the decaying institutions of older races, assimilated them, and made them lively and life-giving, with an energy of genius unrivalled elsewhere in the annals of the world. The wider the range of our historical study, the more are we penetrated with the transcendent ability of the Greek race. In art, literature, and science, it has been what the Hebrew


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 Rh clear, and vigorous mind. He always attracted the riveted attention of the House when he spoke; his manner of speech as well as thought was original. He had no model. He was a man of strong convictions, and was what Carlyle would have called an earnest man. He abounded in anecdotes; he illustrated everything that he was talking or speaking about by an anecdote; his anecdotes were always exceedingly apt and pointed, and socially he always kept his company in a roar of laughter. In my last interview with him at the celebrated Hampton Roads Conference in 1865, this trait of his character seemed to be as prominent and striking as ever. He was a man of strong attachments, and his nature overflowed with the milk of human kindness. Widely as we were separated in politics in the latter days of his life, yet I ever cherish for him a high degree of personal regard.

The Elements of Lincoln's Eloquence.

Mr. Lincoln's eloquence lay, first, in the strength of his logical faculty, his supreme power of reasoning, his great understanding, and his love of principle; second, in his clear, exact, and very accurate vision; third, in his cool and masterly statement of his principles, around which the issues gather; in the statement of those issues, and the grouping of the facts that are to carry conviction, aided by his logic, to the minds of men of every grade of intelligence. He was so clear that he could not be misunderstood nor misrepresented. He stood square and bolt upright to


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 xiv his convictions, and formed by them his thoughts and utterances. Mr. Lincoln's mind was not a wide, deep, broad, generalizing, and comprehensive mind, nor versatile, quick, bounding here and there, as emergencies demanded it. His mind was deep, enduring, and strong, running in deep iron grooves, with flanges on its wheels. His mind was not keen, sharp, and subtile; it was deep, exact, and strong.

Lincoln's Love of Truth.

I knew Mr. Lincoln very well, I may say somewhat intimately, before he was ever thought of in connection with the exalted station to which he was afterwards elected. In those years of his comparative obscurity, I knew him as preëminently a truthful man. His love of truth was conspicuous in all his thinking. The object of his pursuit was truth, and not victory in argument or the triumph of his party, or the success of his own cause. This was always conspicuous in his conversation. It constituted the charm of his conversation. In his society one plainly saw that his aim was so to use words as to express and not conceal his real thoughts. This characteristic had formed his style, both of conversation and of writing. His habitual love of truth had led him successfully to cultivate such a use of language as would most clearly and accurately express his thoughts. His words were a perfectly transparent medium through which his thought always shone out with unclouded distinctness. No matter on what subject he was speaking, any person


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VI.] race has been in religion, and its influence has been hardly less unlimited, in space and in time.

It seemed at one period, as is well known, that Greece would succeed to the imperial throne of Persia, subjecting the civilized world to her sway; but the prospect lasted but for a moment: the sceptre of universal dominion slipped from the hands of Alexander's successors, and soon passed over into the keeping of another and younger branch of the same family. Rome, appropriating the fruits of Greek culture, and adding an organizing and assimilating force peculiarly her own, went forth to give laws to all nations, and to impose upon them a unity of civilization and of social and political institutions. And if Christianity was of Semitic birth, Greeks and Romans gave it universality. Rejected by the race which should have especially cherished it, it was taken up and propagated by the Indo-Europeans, and added a new unity, a religious one, to the forces by which Rome bound together the interests and fates of mankind.

Now came the turn of yet another branch, the Germanic. This had, indeed, only the subordinate part to play of aiding in the downfall of the old order of things, and preparing the way for a new and more vigorous growth. Its tribes ravaged Europe from east to west, and even to the farthest southern coasts, giving ruling class and monarch to nearly every country of the continent. But centuries of weakness and confusion were the first result of this great up-turning, and it even appeared for a time as if the dominion of the world were destined to be usurped by another race. The Semites, inspired with the furious zeal of a new religion, Mohammedanism, broke from their deserts and overran the fairest parts of Asia and Africa; and their conquering hosts entered Europe at either extremity, establishing themselves firmly, and pushing forward to take possession of the rest. They recoiled, at last, before the reviving might of the superior race, and the last and grandest era of Indo-European supremacy began, the era in the midst of which we now live. For the past few centuries, the European nations have stood foremost, without a rival, in the world's history.


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232 They are the enlightened and the enlighteners of mankind. They alone are extending the sphere of human knowledge, investigating the nature of matter and of mind, and tracing out their exhibition in the past history and present condition of the earth and its inhabitants. They alone have a surplus stock of intelligent energy, which is constantly pushing beyond its old boundaries, and spurns all limit to its action. The network of their activity embraces the globe; their ships are in every sea between the poles, for exploration, for trade, or for conquest; the weaker races are learning their civilization, falling under their authority, or perishing off the face of the land, from inherent inability to stand before them. They have appropriated, and converted into outlying provinces of their race and culture, the twin world of the West, and the insular continent of the south-eastern seas, while their lesser colonies dot the whole surface of the inhabitable globe. They have inherited from its ancient possessors the sceptre of universal dominion, over a world vastly enlarged beyond that to which were limited the knowledge and the power of former times: and they are worthy to wield it, since their sway brings, upon the whole, physical well-being, knowledge, morality, and religion to those over whom it is extended.

All that speciality of interest, then, which cleaves to historical investigations respecting the origin, the earliest conditions, the migrations, the mutual intercourse and influence, and the intercourse with outside races, of that division of mankind which has shown itself as the most gifted, as possessing the highest character and fulfilling the noblest destiny, among all who have peopled the earth since the first dawn of time, belongs, of right and of necessity, to Indo-European philology.

It may, indeed, be urged that this is an interest lying somewhat apart from the strict domain of linguistic science, whose prime concern is with speech itself, not with the characters or acts of those who speak. Yet, as was pointed out in our first lecture, the study of language is not introspective merely; they would unduly narrow its sphere and restrict its scope who should limit it to the examination of


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VI.] linguistic facts: these are so inextricably intertwined with historical facts, so dependent upon and developed out of them, that the two cannot be separated in consideration and treatment; one chief department of the value of the science lies in its capacity to throw light upon the history of human races. The importance of the Indo-European races in history is, then, legitimately to be included among the titles of Indo-European philology to the first attention of the linguistic scholar. Moreover, since the relation between the capacity of a race and the character of the tongue originated and elaborated by that race is a direct and necessary one, it could not but be the case that the speech of the most eminently and harmoniously endowed part of mankind should itself be of highest character and most harmonious development, and so the most worthy object of study, in its structure and its relations to mind and thought. And this advantage also, as we shall see more plainly hereafter, is in fact found to belong to Indo-European language: in the classification of all human speech it takes, unchallenged, the foremost rank.

But these considerations, weighty as they are, do not fully explain the specially intimate bond subsisting between general linguistic science and the study of Indo-European speech. Not only did the establishment of the unity of that family, and the determination of the relations of its members, constitute the most brilliant achievement of the new science; they were also its foundation; it began with the recognition of these truths, and has developed with their elaboration. The reason is not difficult to discover: Indo-European language alone furnished such a grand body of related facts as the science needed for a sure basis. Its dialects have a range, in the variety of their forms and in the length of the period of development covered by them, which is sought elsewhere in vain. They illustrate the processes of linguistic growth upon an unrivalled scale, and from a primitive era to which we can make but an imperfect approach among the other languages of mankind. Portions of the Chinese literature, it is true, are nearly or quite as old as anything Indo-European, and the Chinese language,


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 Rh could understand him. This characteristic of his mind and heart gave a peculiar complexion to his speeches, whether at the bar, or in discussing the great political issues of the time. He always preferred to do more than justice rather than less to an opponent. It was often noticed that he stated his opponent's argument with more force than his opponent himself had done. In the opening of his argument, his friends would often feel for the moment that he was surrendering the whole ground in debate. They had no need to concern themselves on that subject; it would always turn out that he had only surrendered fallacious grounds, on which it was unsafe to rely, while the solid foundation on which his own faith rested was left intact, as the enduring basis on which he would build his argument. He was a very conscientious man; his anti-slavery opinions had their seat in no mere political expediency, but in the very depths of his moral nature. In the summer of 1856 he delivered a speech to a very large audience assembled on the public square in this city; the population of this country were at that time very largely of Southern origin, and had those views of slavery which prevailed in the States from which they came. Yet Lincoln made a very frank avowal of his opposition to slavery on moral grounds, and drew his argument from the deepest roots of natural justice; yet he presented the case with such irresistible eloquence that his speech was received with the greatest favor, and often with bursts of hearty applause. That speech went far in all this region to establish his reputation as a popular orator.


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234 as will be shown later, is in some respects more primitive in its structure than any other human tongue; but what it was at the beginning, that it has ever since remained, a solitary example of a language almost destitute of a history. Egypt has records to show of an age surpassing that of any other known monuments of human speech; but they are of scanty and enigmatical content, and the Egyptian tongue also stands comparatively alone, without descendants, and almost without relatives. The Semitic languages come nearest to offering a worthy parallel; but they, too, fall far short of it. The earliest Hebrew documents are not greatly exceeded in antiquity by any others, and the Hebrew with its related dialects, ancient and modern, fills up a linguistic scheme of no small wealth; yet Semitic variety is, after all, but poor and scanty as compared with Indo-European; Semitic language possesses a toughness and rigidity of structure which has made its history vastly less full of instructive change; and its beginnings are of unsurpassed obscurity. The Semitic languages are rather a group of closely kindred dialects than a family of widely varied branches: their whole yield to linguistic science is hardly more than might be won from a single subdivision of Indo-European speech, like the Germanic or Romanic. None of the other great races into which mankind is divided cover with their dialects, to any noteworthy extent, time as well as space; for the most part, we know nothing more respecting their speech than is to be read in its present living forms. Now it is so obvious as hardly to require to be pointed out, that a science whose method is prevailingly historical, which seeks to arrive at an understanding of the nature, office, and source of language by studying its gradual growth, by tracing out the changes it has undergone in passing from generation to generation, from race to race, must depend for the soundness of its methods and the sureness of its results upon the fulness of illustration of these historical changes furnished by the material of its investigations. It is true that the student's historical researches are not wholly baffled by the absence of older dialects, with whose forms he may compare those of more modern date. Something of the development


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 Bishop festival’ (13 June 1814), ‘Aurora’ and ‘Doctor Sangrado,’ both ballets (September 1814), a compressed version of Arne's ‘Artaxerxes,’ with recitatives by Bishop, and ‘The Forest of Bondy’ (both on 30 Sept. 1814), additional music in ‘The Maid of the Mill’ (18 Oct. 1814), a compilation from Boïeldieu's ‘John of Paris’ (12 Nov. 1814), ‘Brother and Sister,’ in collaboration with Reeve (1 Feb. 1815), ‘The Noble Outlaw’ (7 April 1815), ‘Telemachus’ (7 June 1815), ‘The Magpie or the Maid’ (15 Sept. 1815), ‘John du Bart’ (25 Oct. 1815), additions to ‘Cymon’ (20 Nov. 1815), ‘Comus’ (same year), and ‘Midsummer Night's Dream’ (17 Jan. 1816), ‘Guy Mannering,’ a collaboration with Attwood, Whittaker, and others, Bishop's best work in it being the famous glee ‘The Chough and Crow’ (12 March 1816), ‘Who wants a Wife’ (16 April 1816), a version of Kreutzer's ‘Lodoiska’ (15 Oct. 1816), ‘The Slave’ (12 Nov. 1816), ‘Royal Nuptials’ (November 1816), ‘The Humourous Lieutenant’ (18 Jan. 1817), ‘The Heir of Vironi’ (27 Feb. 1817), ‘The Apostate’ (13 May 1817), ‘The Libertine,’ a very free adaptation of Mozart's ‘Don Juan’ (20 May 1817), ‘The Duke of Savoy’ (29 Sept. 1817), and ‘The Father and his Children’ (25 Oct. 1817). In 1816 and 1817, in addition to his post at Covent Garden, Bishop was director of the music at the King's Theatre in the Haymarket, where he wrote music for ‘Exit by Mistake,’ a comedy ballet (22 July 1816), and ‘Teasing made Easy’ (30 July 1817). But Covent Garden remained the chief scene of his labours, and here during the next few years he wrote or adapted music for the following plays and operas: ‘The Illustrious Traveller’ (3 Feb. 1818), ‘Fazio’ (5 Feb. 1818), ‘Zuma,’ in collaboration with Braham (21 Feb. 1818), additions to ‘The Devil's Bridge’ (11 April 1818), ‘X Y Z’ (13 June 1818), ‘The Burgomaster of Saardam’ (23 Sept. 1818), ‘The Barber of Seville,’ a version of Rossini's opera (13 Oct. 1818), ‘The Marriage of Figaro,’ a free adaptation from Mozart (6 March 1819), ‘Fortunatus and his Sons’ (12 April 1819), ‘The Heart of Midlothian’ (17 April 1819), ‘A Roland for an Oliver’ (29 April 1819), ‘Swedish Patriotism’ (19 May 1819), ‘The Gnome King’ (6 Oct. 1819), ‘The Comedy of Errors’ (11 Dec. 1819), ‘The Antiquary’ (25 Jan. 1820), ‘Henri Quatre’ (22 April 1820), ‘Montoni’ (3 May 1820), ‘Bothwell Brigg’ (22 May 1820), ‘Twelfth Night’ (8 Nov. 1820), ‘Don John’ (20 Feb. 1821), music to ‘Henry IV,’ part ii. (25 June 1821), ‘Two Gentlemen of Verona’ (29 Nov. 1821), ‘Montrose’ (14 Feb. 1822), ‘The Law of Java,’ which contains the well-known ‘Mynheer van Dunck’ (11 May 1822), ‘Maid Marian’ (3 Dec. 1822), ‘The Vision of the Sun’ (31 March 1823), ‘Clari’ (8 May 1823), in which Bishop introduced or composed (for the origin of the tune is a matter of dispute) the ever-popular ‘Home, sweet Home,’ ‘The Beacon of Liberty’ (8 Oct. 1823), ‘Cortez’ (5 Nov. 1823), ‘The Vespers of Palermo’ (12 Dec. 1823), ‘Native Land’ (10 Feb. 1824), ‘Charles II’ (9 May 1824), and ‘As you like it’ (10 Dec. 1824). With the last-named work Bishop's long connection with Covent Garden terminated. In 1819 he had entered into partnership with the management of the theatre in conducting the so-called ‘oratorios,’ concerts of the most heterogeneous description, which were given at the opera-houses during Lent, and in 1820 Bishop became the sole manager of these curious entertainments. His management, however, ceased after one season. In the autumn of the same year he went to Dublin, where he was received with great honour, the freedom of the city being unanimously voted and bestowed upon him (2 Aug. 1820). In 1825 Bishop was engaged by Elliston at Drury Lane, where he produced on 19 Jan. 1825 ‘The Fall of Algiers.’ This was followed by versions of Auber's ‘Masaniello’ (17 Feb. 1825), and Rossini's ‘Guillaume Tell’ (11 May 1825). In the same year he brought out a revised version of his early work, ‘Angelina,’ and wrote (in collaboration with Cooke and Horn) music to ‘Faustus’ (16 May) and the ‘Coronation of Charles X’ (5 July). The year 1826 was memorable in the annals of music in England for the production of Weber's ‘Oberon’ at Covent Garden, under the composer's own direction. By way of a counter-attraction, the management of Drury Lane commissioned Bishop to write a grand opera on the subject of ‘Aladdin.’ He took more than usual pains over this work, the composition of which occupied him for at least a year, but the book was even worse than that of ‘Oberon,’ and the music, though written with much care, was found to be inferior to Bishop's best compositions, probably because, by attempting to meet Weber on his own ground, he had only succeeded in producing a weak imitation of the style of the German master. ‘Aladdin,’ which was produced on 29 April 1826, shortly after Weber's opera, was followed by several unimportant works, ‘The Knights of the Cross’ (29 May 1826), ‘Englishmen in India’ (27 Jan. 1827), ‘Edward the Black Prince’ (28 Jan. 1828), and ‘Don Pedro’ (10 Feb. 1828). Bishop's permanent connection with Drury Lane ceased about


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VI.] of every language is indicated in its own structure with sufficient clearness to be read by analytic study. Yet more is to be traced out by means of the comparison of kindred contemporaneous dialects; for, in their descent from their common ancestor, it can hardly be that each one will not have preserved some portion of the primitive material which the others have lost. Thus—to illustrate briefly by reference to one or two of our former examples—the identity of our suffix ly, in such words as godly and truly, with the adjective like might perhaps have been conjectured from the English alone; and it is made virtually certain by comparison with the modern German (göttlich, treulich) or Netherlandish (goddelijk, waarlijk); it does not absolutely need a reference to older dialects, like the Anglo-Saxon or Gothic, for its establishment. Again, not only the Sanskrit and other ancient languages exhibit the full form asmi, whence comes our I am, but the same is also to be found almost unaltered in the present Lithuanian esmi. But, even if philological skill and acumen had led the student of Germanic language to the conjecture that I loved is originally I love-did, it must ever have remained a conjecture only, a mere plausible hypothesis, but for the accident which caused the preservation to our day of the fragment of manuscript containing a part of Bishop Ulfilas's Gothic Bible. And a host of points in the structure of the tongues of our Germanic branch which still remain obscure would, as we know, be cleared up, had we in our possession relics of them at a yet earlier stage of their separate growth. The extent to which the history of a body of languages may be penetrated by the comparison of contemporary dialects alone will, of course, vary greatly in different cases; depending, in the first place, upon the number, variety, and degree of relation of the dialects, and, in the second place, upon their joint and several measure of conservation of ancient forms: but it is also evident that the results thus arrived at for modern tongues will be, upon the whole, both scanty and dubious, compared with those obtained by comparing them with ancient dialects of the same stock. Occasionally, within the narrow limits of a single branch or group, the student


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 Blackwall young. He had also one daughter, who married Mr. Pickering. The daughter of John Blackwall married William Cantrell, bookseller, Derby.  BLACKWALL, JOHN (1790–1881), zoologist, was born at Manchester 20 Jan. 1790. After some years' partnership with his father, an importer of Irish linen, he retired in 1833 to North Wales, settling ultimately at Llanrwst. As early as 1821 he published, in Thomson's 'Annals of Philosophy,' observations on diurnal mean temperature, and in 1822 some notes by him on migratory birds appeared in the 'Memoirs of the Manchester Philosophical Society.' This was followed by observations on the notes of birds. Fifteen of his first twenty-five papers were ornithological. Being attracted to the study of spiders and their webs, he was surprised to find scarcely any available authorities, and this determined his choice of a principal lifework. His first paper on spiders appeared in 1827 in the 'Transactions of the Linnean Society,'. on the means by which gossamer spiders effect their aerial excursions. In 1830 he published, in the 'Zoological Journal,' a paper on the manner in which the geometric spiders construct their nets. His papers were collected in 'Researches in Zoology,' 1834; the second edition, 1873, was not brought up to date. Blackwall pursued the study of the spiders of his own neighbourhood and their habits with extreme painstaking, almost wholly unaided by any British or foreign worker. His great work, 'A History of the Spiders of "Great Britain and Ireland,' 1861–4, published by the Ray Society, was unfortunately in the hands of the society ten years before its publication. It is full of minute detail, giving an almost photographic picture of the object. Nearly all his work was done without any aid but that of a pocket lens. Some of his type-specimens are lost, owing to their having been kept indiscriminately with others. His writing for the press was most remarkably clear, and scarcely a single correction was needed in his proof-sheets. He died 11 May 1881.  BLACKWELL, ALEXANDER (d. 1747), was an adventurer, whose career is for the most part enveloped in mystery and contradiction. It is admitted that he was born in Aberdeen early in the eighteenth century; Fryxell, the Swedish historian of the intrigue which brought him to the scaffold, says in 1709, but this seems too late. According to a contemporary memoir, his father was a petty shopkeeper; but this production, although professedly written at Stockholm, was to all appearance fabricated in London to serve a political object; and there seems no reasonable doubt that he was the brother of Dr. Thomas Blackwell [q. v.], and consequently the son of another Thomas Blackwell [q. v.] According to the anonymous biography referred to, he studied medicine at Leyden, under Boerhaave, and he may very probably have represented himself to have done so. As, however, we find him practising the trade of a printer in London about 1730, there is far more probability in the statement of an apparently well-informed correspondent of the 'Bath Journal,' ab- stracted in ' The Gentleman's Magazine ' for September 1747, that Blackwell, urged by ambition and restlessness, left the university of Aberdeen without taking a degree, and came up to seek his fortune in the metropolis. Having obtained employment from the printer Wilkins as corrector of the press, he married an excellent wife with a considerable portion, and set up as a printer on his own account. He seemed on the high road to prosperity, when he was ruined by a combination of the London printers, who opposed him as an interloper who had never been apprenticed to the trade. He spent two years in a debtor's prison, from which he was delivered by the enterprise of his wife [see ] He then took up the study of medicine and agriculture, and was frequently cor suited respecting the management of estates. Being introduced to the Duke of Chandos, he obtained employment as the director of that nobleman's improvements at Cannons, which situation he forfeited under circumstances not explained, but apparently little to his credit. 'It kept him,’ says the editor of the ' Gentleman's Magazine,’ annotating the article in the 'Bath Journal,’ 'from other employment.' The printer of the magazine was probably one of Blackwell's persecutors, yet this may have been the reason why, as stated in Chalmers's 'Dictionary,’ 'Mr. Blackwell's family were not very desirous of preserving his memory,’ and allowed the circulation of erroneous statements which have hitherto entirely misled his biographers. In 1741,


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236 enjoys the advantage of access to the parent tongue itself, from which the more recent idioms are almost bodily derived: thus, for example, our possession of the Latin gives to our readings of the history of the Romanic tongues, our determination of the laws which have governed their growth, a vastly higher degree of definiteness and certainty than we could reach if we only knew that such a parent tongue must have existed, and had to restore its forms by careful comparison and deduction. Next in value to this is the advantage of commanding a rich body of older and younger dialects of the same lineage, wherein the common speech is beheld at nearer and remoter distances from its source, so that we can discover the direction of its currents, and fill out with less of uncertainty those parts of their network of which the record is obliterated. This secondary advantage we enjoy in the Germanic, the Persian, the Indian branches of Indo-European speech; and, among the grander divisions of human language, we enjoy it to an extent elsewhere unapproached in the Indo-European family, that immense and varied body of allied forms of speech, whose lines of historic development are seen to cover a period of between three and four thousand years, as they converge toward a meeting in a yet remoter past.

Herein lies the sufficient explanation of that intimate connection, that almost coincidence, which we have noticed between the development of Indo-European comparative philology and that of the general science of language. In order to comprehend human language in every part, the student would wish to have its whole growth, in all its divisions and subdivisions; through all its phases, laid before him for inspection in full authentic documents. Since, however, anything like this is impossible, he has done the best that lay within his power: he has thrown himself into that department of speech which had the largest share of its history thus illustrated, and by studying that has tried to learn how to deal with the yet more scanty and fragmentary materials presented him in other departments. Here could be formed the desired nucleus of a science; here the general laws of linguistic life could be discovered; here could be worked


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Rh successful and at once reached a second edition. In 1851, when Smith heard that Thackeray was engaged on a new work of importance—which proved to be 'Esmond'—he called at his house in Young Street, Kensington, and offered him what was then the handsome sum of 1,200l. for the right of issuing the first edition of 2,500 copies. Thenceforth he was on close terms of intimacy with Thackeray. He was often at his house, and showed as tender a consideration for the novelist's young daughters as for himself. 'Esmond' appeared in 1852 and was the only one of Thackeray's novels to be published in the regulation trio of half-a-guinea volumes. Just before its publication, when Thackeray was preparing to start on a lecturing tour in America, Smith, with kindly thought, commissioned Samuel Laurence to draw Thackeray's portrait, so that his daughters might have a competent presentment of him at home during his absence. Before Thackeray's return Smith published his 'Lectures on the English Humourists,' and, in order to make the volume of more presentable size, added elaborate notes by Thackeray's friend James Hannay. In December 1854 Smith published the best known of Thackeray's Christmas books, 'The Rose and the Ring.'

Meanwhile Smith's private and business life alike underwent important change. The pressure of constant application was, in 1853, telling on his health, and he resolved to share his responsibilities with a partner. Henry Samuel King, a bookseller of Brighton, whose bookselling establishment is still carried on there by Treacher & Co., came to Cornhill to aid in the general superintendence and to receive a quarter share of the profits. His previous experience naturally gave him a particular interest in the publishing department. On 3 July 1853 Charlotte Brontë wrote to Smith: 'I hope your partner Mr. King will soon acquire a working faculty and leave you some leisure and opportunity effectually to cultivate health.' At the same date Smith became engaged to Elizabeth, the daughter of John Blakeway, a wine merchant of London, and granddaughter of Edward Blakeway, esq., of Broseley Hall, Shropshire. The marriage took place on 11 Feb. 1854. For four years he and his wife lived at 112 Gloucester Terrace, where he had formerly resided with his mother. Subsequently they spent some time at Wimbledon, and at the end of 1859 they settled at 11 Gloucester Square.

Smith felt from the outset that the presence of a partner at Cornhill hampered his independence, but it relieved him of some labour and set him


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 RIFLED FIRE-ARMS.

are rifled to give rotation to the projectile round its axis of progression, in order to insure a regular and steady flight, the first thing therefore to be considered is what are the best mechanical means of effecting this object.

It would be foreign to our purpose to consider any of the various plans which have been proposed for furnishing the projectile itself with vanes, wings, grooves, or other configurations intended to give it rotation during its passage through the air. The only practical method hitherto adopted has been to make the barrel of a fire-arm of such a shape in its interior, that the projectile while being propelled from


text:
The Heathrose

 * Once a boy a Rosebud spied,

Heathrose fair and tender, All array'd in youthful pride,-- Quickly to the spot he hied, Ravished by her splendour. Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red, Heathrose fair and tender!

 * Said the boy, "I'll now pick thee,

Heathrose fair and tender!" Said the rosebud, "I'll prick thee, So that thou'lt remember me, Ne'er will I surrender!" Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red, Heathrose fair and tender!

 * Now the cruel boy must pick

Heathrose fair and tender; Rosebud did her best to prick,-- Vain 'twas 'gainst her fate to kick-- She must needs surrender. Rosebud, rosebud, rosebud red, Heathrose fair and tender!

Heidenröslein

title: The Heathrose


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 one of these hobbies. The artist has exerted himself to show not only the shoes and nails, but in some of his illustrations he has even made manifest the latter in their passage through the hoof. The calkins and nailheads are certainly very massive and clumsy-looking, though there can be no doubt they would afford a powerful hold of the ground. The presence of calkins had, besides, another advantage for those who were inclined to resort to a stratagem like that already described when speaking of Spain. When Robert Bruce returned to London with King Edward in 1302 (some accounts say 1305), his associate, Cumyn, treacherously betrayed him; but a secret friend gave him due notice of his danger by a present of a purse and a pair of spurs. This hint the Scottish champion was shrewd enough to understand, and made his escape, as Hollingshed tells us, by ‘causing a smith to shoo three horses for him, contrarilie with the calking forward, that it should not be perceived which waie he had taken by the track of the horsses, for that the ground at that time was covered with snowe, he (Robert Bruce) departed out of London about midnight.’

Lest we forget to remember at the proper moment, it may be here stated, that a similar ruse was adopted by Duke Christopher of Würtemburg in 1530. When that nobleman fortunately freed himself by flight from the power of the Emperor Charles V., he reversed the position of his horse's shoes, and thus made his pursuers believe he was going in a contrary direction. 26


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 2 poses involving a common interest. The language spoken is English in St. Vincent and generally among the educated people, but in Grenada and St. Lucia the prevailing tongue is a French patois. The legal currency is British sterling, with Spanish and United States gold coinage. The Colonial Bank, with branches in the larger islands, issues five-dollar notes, and there are savings-banks (about 1800 depositors and nearly £14,000 balances in 1893) at Grenada and St. Lucia. There are no railways nor internal telegraphs; the government have a telephone-line connecting the chief towns in Grenada. There is cable-communication with Europe and with the other West Indies; a penny internal and 2½ d. foreign postage up to the half-ounce, and parcel-post to and from the British Isles. The inter-colonial steamers run in connection with those from Southampton to Barbados, and there are fortnightly boats from Grenada to New York and London, and monthly steamers to several other ports.

Grenada, the most southerly of the group now under review, is about 60 miles from the northern coast of South America, and runs due north, from the line of 12 degrees north latitude, for 21 miles, with a maximum breadth of 12 miles. The area is 133 sq. miles; the population, over 60,000 in 1898, showing a large increase (above 40 per cent) since 1881, is mostly blacks, with more than 2000 coolie labourers from the East Indies. This picturesque, mountainous, volcanic island has ridges of hills covered with brushwood and forest, and a range that runs from north to south, with peaks sometimes reaching an altitude of over 3000 feet, and having some ancient craters now transformed into lakes. The country abounds in streams and mineral springs, and the soil has the usual fertility of the West Indies. For the wonders of tropical vegetation in the West Indies, especially on the large scale seen in Trinidad, we may here refer readers, once for all, to Charles Kingsley's excellent and enthusiastic book At Last, which also contains much geological matter and references to the fauna of the islands. Of the hill-lakes the beautiful Grand Etang, on the summit of a mountain-ridge, lies 1740 feet above the sea, surrounded by bamboos and tree-ferns. The south-eastern coast is low-lying and swampy.

Ruled as a Crown colony, under a constitution set forth in Letters Patent of March, 1885, Grenada has a Governor (in charge


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 Rh of all these Windward Isles); a Legislative Council, nominated by him, of six official members, and seven unofficial members nominated by the Crown; and an Executive Council of five members, including the Governor, the Colonial Secretary, the Attorney-General, and the Treasurer. Each little town has an elective Board for local affairs, and the island, divided into six parishes, possesses an excellent system of roads now kept in thorough repair, including about 40 miles of highway, and a network of byways. In religious affairs, the Anglicans are under the Bishop of Barbados; there are numerous Roman Catholics, and some Presbyterians and Wesleyans. Education is in a fairly satisfactory condition, with 37 Government and aided elementary schools in 1896, containing over 7000 pupils; a grammar-school for boys, partly supported from public funds, and a school for the secondary education of girls. Most of the elementary schools are under the local management of the different sects; of the central Board of Education, nominated by the Governor, half the members are Roman Catholics. The climate is, on the whole, of a character highly favourable to the health, comfort, and safety of the inhabitants. As in all other tropical islands, it is damp and hot during the wet season, but the temperature is equable, yellow-fever is almost unknown, and the island lies outside the range of hurricanes. The average mean temperature is 79 degrees, and the rainfall somewhat exceeds 80 inches. During the six "winter" months, from November to May, the weather is delightful, and the place is then a great health-resort for people from Trinidad, who in Grenada enjoy a restorative air and good sea-bathing. In 1896, the births were 2450 against 1184 deaths. The fauna include opossums, iguanas, agoutis, and armadilloes, abounding in the woods, and largely used as food by the negro population; a large number of turtle, one article of export; several kinds of wild pigeons, and migratory birds such as wild ducks and plovers. Goats, sheep, pigs, and poultry, reared on the island, supply fresh meat. The forests contain valuable timber mahogany, the gigantic locust-tree, with tough close-grained wood, and the white cedar, with vanilla and some gum-yielding trees.

The chief industry is, of course, the tillage of the soil, and the recent features in production are the decline in sugar; the vast


text: The Pocket Songster/The Braes of Balquhither


text: User talk:66.170.207.65

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text:
The Phoenix on the Sword

 * Chapter I
 * Chapter II
 * Chapter III
 * Chapter IV
 * Chapter V

title: The Phoenix on the Sword


text:
Captain Black

Contents

 * Part 1
 * Part 2
 * Part 3
 * Part 4

title: Captain Black


text:
The Pool of the Black One

 * /Chapter I /
 * /Chapter II /
 * /Chapter III /

title: The Pool of the Black One


text:
The Scarlet Citadel

 * /Chapter I /
 * /Chapter II /
 * /Chapter III /
 * /Chapter IV /
 * /Chapter V /

title: The Scarlet Citadel


text:
The Slithering Shadow

 * /Chapter I /
 * /Chapter II /
 * /Chapter III /
 * /Chapter IV /

title: The Slithering Shadow


text:
The Tower of the Elephant

 * /Chapter I /
 * /Chapter II /
 * /Chapter III /

title: The Tower of the Elephant


text:
Captain Black/Part 1

Mr. George Farnham, counsellor-at-law, having devoted ten years of his life to the remunerative toil of entangling certain persons in, and extricating certain others from, the meshes of the law, found himself, at the age of thirty-five, with a respectable balance in bank and a pronounced craving for rest and recreation. Summer was coming on, the courts would soon be closed, and a torpor was settling down upon the field of litigation, and the idea of a vacation abroad presented itself to his mind with alluring force. He was weary of briefs and bills of exceptions; his office was taking on, to his jaded eyes, an aspect of dreary dinginess that promised to become unendurable in the near future, and the long rows of buff-clad digests and revised statutes seemed to glare down upon him from their shelves, like wolves in sheep’s clothing, with grim suggestions of long nights of toil. Under these impelling influences he turned his back upon the law, packed a portmanteau, and found himself upon a bright morning in June on the steamer Servia, fairly committed to a three months’ sojourn in foreign parts.

As the hour of sailing drew near he stood on the hurricane deck, leaning against the rail and watching with lively interest the animated scene on the pier below. A double line of passengers and their friends was thronging up and down the gangway giving access to the lower deck, a crowd of spectators, idlers, and itinerant vendors of steamer-chairs and other comforts of the sea was swarming below him on the pier, and a number of agile cabin-stewards in blue jackets were rushing up and down a supplemental gang-way, bringing aboard an endless variety of steamer-trunks, hand-bags, and bundled rugs. Carriages drove up, discharged their living freight and made their way back through the surging crowd amid volleys of imprecations; while the decks of the steamer swarmed with people chattering, scolding, and weeping farewells with the feverish vehemence peculiar to such occasions. Farnham, enjoying the spectacle with all the relish of a school-boy abandoning his books for a time, turned to a fellow-passenger who stood beside him at the rail, and remarked, “A busy scene, sir.”

“I should call it a bedlam,” said the other, without looking up. “I never could understand the insane curiosity that impels people remaining at home to subject themselves to the most unpleasant feature of going abroad.”

“Meaning the crowd?” inquired Farnham.

“Yes,” replied the other, shortly, “the rabble, the deafening racket, the infernal discomfort of the whole business;” with which he turned abruptly and walked away as if not in the mood for further conversation.

Farnham, at complacent peace with himself and with the world, looked after him with good-humored surprise. He was a tallish man of powerful build, with a full brown beard and hair slightly marked with gray, exceedingly well dressed, and having the unmistakable bearing of a man of the world. By a momentary glimpse of his face as he turned away, Farnham saw that he had regular features, a dark complexion, and a certain self-contained expression that was not altogether prepossessing. As he disappeared in the crowd Farnham turned again and resumed his watch of the scene below.

At this moment the bell for “all ashore” was rung, and the crowd on the gangway began to resolve itself into a stream bound shoreward, occasionally broken by a belated passenger hurriedly making his way upward through the living tide. Then the stream dwindled to a few stragglers, and finally to the inevitable last man, scrambling downward while the gangway was swinging in the slings; the long plank was lowered and cast off, a mighty pulse began to throb beneath Farnham’s feet, and the great ship backed majestically out of the slip amid a tempest of shouts of farewell.

It was at this instant that Farnham’s attention was attracted to a cab that came rattling along the pier, scattering the crowd in every direction. As it drew up at the gangway opening, a man sprang out and crying frantically, “Stop! stop!” rushed to the edge of the pier and began running back and forth upon the string- piece as if meditating a desperate attempt to leap out and clutch at the side of the receding ship. A roar of derisive laughter burst from the bystanders as this preposterous intention became evident, and two of the wharf hands seized the distracted man and roughly dragged him back, struggling and protesting, until he was lost to view in the crowd that surged about him. Farnham fancied, from a sudden expression on his face as he was dragged away, that he had recognized some one on the upper deck, and glancing around involuntarily, discovered the bearded passenger standing beside him at the rail, gazing down upon the scene with an angry scowl. At this moment they came abreast of the end of the pier, where a scene of waving handkerchiefs and tossing sun-umbrellas of every hue and shade burst upon them like a mighty kaleidoscope, and at the same instant the belated traveller appeared in the surging mass of people, hatless and dishevelled and clutching wildly at the air, as if he would stay the departing ship. “Intolerable ass!” muttered the bearded man in a savage whisper, and striking the rail furiously with his clenched fist, he strode angrily away.

The sail through the river and down the bay was enough of a novelty to keep Farnham busily observant, and it was not until the Hook had been passed and the pilot taken off that he bethought himself of going below to don his steamer-cap and shoes, and otherwise prepare himself for a week of seafaring leisure. He had secured a berth in an outside room in the double row just aft the saloon companion-way, and as he entered the passage leading to it he met his bearded acquaintance just coming out of the room. “Mr. Farnham?” said the dark man, interrogatively. “That is my name,” replied Farnham. “I am Captain Black,” said the other, bowing stiffly; “I believe we are booked as room-mates,” and, pushing by him, walked away without pausing for a reply.

“I hope you’ll pan out better than you promise, my good fellow,” said Farnham to himself, philosophically; and entering his room, he was soon busily occupied in making a convenient disposal of his modest belongings.

The door stood open, and Farnham presently became aware of the presence, in the room directly opposite, of a fellow-passenger similarly occupied. He seemed to be of about the height and build of Farnham’s room-mate, but his face, of which Farnham caught an occasional glimpse as he moved about, was as unlike that gentleman’s as could well be imagined. He was clean shaven, of a pallor that was almost unearthly, and had a hideous scar extending from one corner of his mouth down across his chin. To all this was added a certain wildness of eye that was so distinctly repellent that Farnham inwardly congratulated himself that Captain Black had fallen to his lot instead of this unprepossessing stranger; and completing his arrangements, loaded himself with cigars and went on deck.

Events proved that if Captain Black was not companionable, he was at least unobtrusive. Except for the mere knowledge to the contrary, Farnham had the room virtually to himself. His companion rose, had his tub, dressed, and went on deck long before the overworked counsellor-at-law had finished his supplemental morning doze, and retired at night so late and so quietly that Farnham never so much as knew when he came into the room. As for the rest, the man was singularly preoccupied in manner, acknowledging with the merest nod and with an absent air Farnham’s salutation when they chanced to meet, and keeping aloof from him and, with one exception, from the other passengers as well, with a persistence that was too marked to permit any attempt at a closer acquaintance.

The exception, to Farnham’s surprise, was the uninviting-looking occupant of the opposite room. What made this remarkable selection still more surprising was the fact that the acquaintance between the two had evidently been made aboard ship, as Farnham had seen them passing and repassing each other without the slightest sign of recognition during the afternoon of the day of sailing; yet before twenty-four hours had elapsed an intimacy had been formed and matured between these strangely contrasted men, so close that they seemed to be inseparable. Morning, noon, and far into the night they sat and smoked together in secluded corners, the man with the scar constantly talking in a smothered undertone, with a certain fierce vehemence and violence of gesture, and the captain listening with a brooding look upon his dark features and an observant eye upon the other’s face. Farnham was puzzled, and, for a while, found a singular fascination in furtively watching the two men and mentally speculating as to what strange community of interest had brought them together. The few passengers with whom he chanced to fall into conversation knew as little about the scar-faced man as he himself knew about Captain Black, and beyond the fact that his name was Leath, learned incidentally from the cabin-steward, no information of any kind was obtainable. Farnham’s interest in the matter, being rather antipathetic than otherwise, was short-lived, and in the course of a day or two subsided into a mere glance at the two men when he chanced to come upon them.

The weather was fair and promised to hold; but shortly after passing the Banks the ship ran into a rough sea rolling heavily from the southward, evidently the tail of a storm that had passed up from the tropics. As the day wore on the sea continued rising, and by nightfall the ship was rolling heavily, and Farnham, who had thus far fared well, began to experience certain premonitions that impelled him, after a proud struggle against fate, to forego his after-dinner cigar and turn in at an unseemly hour, in the hope that a night’s rest would set him right. He lay in his berth, occasionally falling into a doze and then being roused by an unusually violent plunge as the ship labored in the heavy sea, getting up from time to time to secure and make fast the various toilet articles that had drifted from their moorings, and then tumbling into his berth again with a qualmish apprehension that the supreme moment he was fighting against was upon him.

It was just after one of these excursions that the door opened and Captain Black came into the room. The curtain of the berth was drawn so that he was concealed from view, but Farnham, half dozing, was vaguely aware, above the creaking of the ship, of his movements about the room; and an occasional rattle of keys and the snapping of a lock indicated the opening of some article of luggage. These trifling noises not being disturbing in themselves, Farnham finally dropped asleep and was presently involved in a contested will case of extraordinary magnitude, with his most important witness a fugitive in the wilds of Madagascar. The details progressed with astonishing velocity, accompanied by distracting complications heretofore unheard of in law practice, and matters were assuming a portentous aspect with tremendous pecuniary penalties impending, when he awoke and started up with a sudden consciousness that the curtain had been drawn aside and that he had been looked upon as he lay sleeping in his berth. He pushed it back and looked out, and as he did so the door of the room was softly closed and he heard the heavy footsteps of Captain Black going out through the passageway. The incident was sufficiently annoying in itself, but Farnham found it doubly so from the manifest impossibility of resenting it at the moment, and after fuming over it to no purpose he lay down again, resolving to give his room-mate a bit of his mind in the morning; and bracing himself with his knees against the rolling of the ship, tried to compose himself to sleep. But sleep would not come. The sudden awakening and the resulting irritation had excited him, and he rolled and tossed about, dropping off into fitful naps and waking with every violent plunge of the ship, and occasionally muttering unseemly imprecations against the evil chance that had broken in upon his night’s rest.

It was just after one of these wakings that he heard the sound of a hurried step descending the companionway, and some one came aft through the open cabin and turned into the passageway almost on a run; the door of the opposite room was opened, closed again and locked, apparently with feverish haste, and all was still again. Farnham, listening with alert attention, heard six bells strike a moment after, and concluding from the hour that Captain Black would soon follow his friend, prepared to speak his mind then and there; nursing which amiable intention he presently fell sound asleep.

title: Captain Black/Part 1


text:
Captain Black/Part 2

“Beg pardon, sir,” said a voice, and Farnham started up. It was morning, and the bath-steward was standing in the doorway. “Beg pardon, sir,” said the man again, with a startled look upon his face; “but Captain Black isn’t here, sir, and his berth hasn’t been used.”

“Well, I’m not responsible for his not coming to bed,” said Farnham, testily. “What time is it?”

“Just gone seven bells, sir,” said the steward.

“Very good, I’ll get up,” said Farnham, after a moment’s deliberation. “See if you can get me a bath,” and the man withdrew.

Farnham, reflecting upon the steward’s rather startling announcement, found his irritation giving way to a vague foreboding of evil, with which came a disturbing recollection of Leath’s hurried return to his room the night before. Could the man tell anything? He looked out into the passageway, but the door of the opposite room was closed and Farnham could not bring himself to knock and learn he knew not what; and he dressed with feverish haste, and went on deck with an increasing sense of an agitation which he could not shake off. He made a complete tour of the ship, examined every part of the decks, looked into the smoking-room, and finally went into the dining-saloon, where a vacant chair marked Captain Black’s place at the breakfast-table; and then, coming across his cabin-steward, questioned him, and learned that the man had been off watch the night before and could tell him nothing. The matter began to assume an ugly look, and Farnham went direct to the purser, and in ten minutes the ship was being thoroughly searched from stem to stern. Not a trace of the missing man could be found; Captain Black had vanished as absolutely as if he had been absorbed into the atmosphere.

When Farnham related the events of the preceding night it was determined to question Leath at once; and on the steward’s report that the man was ill and was still in his berth, Farnham and the purser went to his room and knocked for admittance. Leath unlocked the door without parley and was back again in his berth as they entered the room, leaning on one elbow and glaring angrily at them as he demanded their business. The man was evidently ill and looked horrible. His face, apparently tanned by the sea air, had taken on a swarthy hue that made his extraordinary pallor even more ghastly than before, and the scar on his chin blazed with an angry flush as though he had been freshly branded on the face.

He listened to the purser’s statement, manifesting extreme agitation as the story proceeded, and at its conclusion fell back upon his pillow and covered his face with his hands. “I can tell you nothing,” he said, after a brief silence, speaking in a smothered voice that was singularly discordant. “I left him, smoking and leaning on the rail near the turtle-back, and came below at eleven o’clock. You must have heard me,” he added, appealing to Farnham, who nodded assent. “What followed is as dark to me as it is to you. I had been drinking and my recollection is confused; I only remember that the sea was horrible to look at!” and with a shudder he turned his face to the wall, and Farnham and the purser, exchanging a significant glance, left him.

“We must go to the old man with this,” said the purser, with an ominous shake of the head, and requesting Farnham to follow him, led the way to the captain’s room. The news had already spread about the ship, and as they passed along the deck, little groups of passengers were discussing the tragedy with repressed voices, and Farnham observed, with great annoyance, that they glanced curiously at him as he went by, and felt that he was being connected with the affair in a thoroughly unpleasant manner.

The captain heard the grim story through and reflected for a few moments with a disturbed countenance. “There’s nothing to be done,” he said at length; “when we get in I shall ask this gentleman and the other to remain aboard until we can communicate with the authorities. If Leath refuses,” he continued, fixing on the unfortunate man with the same suspicion that possessed both Farnham and the purser, “I shall take the responsibility of detaining him. Meanwhile, take charge of the missing man’s effects and tell the men not to talk.”

And now that the dark premonition had grown into a gruesome fact, Farnham began to experience a depression of spirits that promised to put an end to his enjoyment of the remainder of the voyage. As the day wore on, the gloom fastened upon him like a pall, until he was impelled, just before nightfall, to go to the purser and ask to be given another room, where he could be free from the disquieting associations of his late quarters, and away from the immediate proximity of Leath, for whom he had conceived an unconquerable aversion. The purser fell in with his humor without demur, and Farnham found himself transferred to a stuffy inside cabin on the main deck with a positive sense of benefaction. His former apartment was abandoned to the goods and chattels of Captain Black, and Leath, locked in his room, was left alone with his secret, if he had one.

It was with a sense of infinite relief that Farnham, coming on deck one morning, saw the Skelligs rising like mammoth teeth from the sea, and soon afterward the green cliffs of the Irish mainland. His spirits rose as the steamer ran along the coast, passed inside the Fastnet Rock, and finally turned into the mouth of Queenstown Harbor; and he watched with lively interest the arrival alongside of the rakish little tender and the transfer of an interminable number of mail-bags to her ample deck. The procession of bag-bearing stewards having finished their labors, he crossed to the opposite side of the ship, and was engaged in serene contemplation of the whitewashed glories of the Roche’s Point light, when he was touched on the shoulder, and turning, saw the purser at his side with two strangers.

“We are beginning to get a little light on our affair, Mr. Farnham,” said the purser. “These gentlemen are officers from Scotland Yard with a requisition and a warrant for the arrest of Captain Black on a charge of forgery. Mr. Lethbridge and Mr. Darke—Mr. Farnham,” and the two detectives touched their hats and regarded Farnham with a professional air, as if longing to take him into custody in the absence of their legitimate prey.

“No statement to make, I suppose,” said Mr. Lethbridge, a sharp-featured, fresh-faced man with light hair.

“None,” said Farnham. “Mr. Neal knows all I can tell you.”

“Very good, sir,” said Lethbridge, affably. “Now, then, Mr. Neal,” he added, turning to the purser, “if you’ll be good enough to show us below, we’ll take a look at the effects;” and touching their hats again, the two officers followed the purser, leaving Farnham to resume his interrupted observation of the lighthouse. Meanwhile, with a prodigious ringing of bells, the tender cast off and paddled up the harbor, the great pulse began to throb again, and the steamer, turning her prow seaward, went on her way up the Channel.

Farnham, slowly pacing the deck, presently saw the purser and Lethbridge emerge from the companionway and come toward him. “Mr. Farnham,” said the former, “I’m afraid you and I, without saying much about the matter, have been doing that poor devil Leath a great injustice. Read this,” and he handed Farnham an unsealed envelope. It was addressed “To whom it may concern,” and opening it, Farnham found enclosed the following letter:

In the almost absolute certainty of being apprehended upon my arrival, I have chosen the only means open to me of avoiding the disgrace and punishment that would inevitably follow. I had hoped to escape, with the firm intention of never resting until I had made restitution for the only crime that has ever stained my life; but it was not to be. The appearance, at the moment of departure, of a man upon whose blind confidence and dull apprehension I had relied, for such a tardy discovery of my betrayal of trust as would give me ample time for escape, has told me that the cable would assuredly carry the intelligence abroad long before I could reach English soil.

I had at first no intention of leaving New York. I expected, with incredible fatuity, to delay exposure until some lucky chance should permit me to cover, for all time, the traces of my wrong-doing; but the mental strain consequent upon continued and complicated falsifying of accounts, became unendurable, and in an evil moment I appropriated certain funds from a quarter where immediate examination and discovery were improbable, and ventured all upon that mirage of defaulters—faro. I lost. There was no time for resort to the expedients of disguise and concealed identity which might have saved me. I attempted to deceive my associate by the desperate subterfuge of a forged cable message calling me abroad on family affairs; made up my luggage and boarded the steamer almost at the hour of sailing, only to find myself unmasked at the last moment.

I feel no longing for the life I am about to end, nor do I leave a single soul who will mourn my death. I regret, alone, that restitution is beyond my power. The sea is merciful to me in all else.

. “Poor fellow!” said Farnham. “How bad a matter was it?”

“Extensive forgeries and about sixteen thousand pounds in hard cash, supposed to be with him,” replied Lethbridge. “That’s all we know. Particulars by mail.”

“I am glad Leath is out of it, at all events,” said Farnham, heartily enough.

“So am I, sir,” echoed the purser; “but I’m blessed if it didn’t look ugly for a while.” With which reminiscence he and Mr. Lethbridge went below again to resume their examination of Captain Black’s effects.

title: Captain Black/Part 2


text:
Page:Henry VIII and the English Monasteries.djvu/68

 22 understood by his subsequent dealings with them. "Of Crumwell," writes Mr. Brewer, "it is enough to say that even at this early period of his career his accessibility to bribes and presents in the disposal of monastic leases was notorious." For some years before the cardinal's fall, report had spoken badly of Thomas Crumwell. "Loud outcries reached the king's ears of the exactions and peculations of Wolsey's officers, in which the name of Crumwell was most frequently repeated, and more than once the king had to express his grave displeasure at the conduct of a man who soon after was destined to occupy the highest place in his favour."

"In 1527, when Wolsey was at Amiens and proposed to send Dr. Allen to England with a message to the king, Knight, who was afterwards bishop of Bath and Wells, wrote to warn the cardinal against his selection. "And, sir," he said, "in case Mr. Allen be not departed hitherwards on your message, or may be in time revoked, your grace might use better any about you for your message unto the king than him. I have heard the king and noblemen speak things incredible of the acts of Mr. Allen and Crumwell."

In subsequent times the superiors of religious houses endeavoured to buy off the threatened dissolution by presents and bribes or by readily acceding to requests which were tantamount to demands. Under Wolsey they tried to purchase favour by offers of gifts to the cardinal's college. The bishop of Lincoln, who greatly aided this foundation in more ways than one, put great pressure on the abbot of Peterborough to resign, or to bestow the large sum of 2000 marks on the undertaking. He tried much the same system of blackmail on the prior of Spalding. The prior, however, would not resign, "though all legal means were tried." There are also many indications of distinct bribes offered for various offices. One man promises 500 marks and other considerable presents to the college, if the cardinal will make him under-treasurer. When the prior of St. Bartholomew's, Smithfield, was sick of the plague and likely to die, the friends of "William Finch, cellarer of the same," offer Wolsey "£300 to your college