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 be what it is, the love of history is certainly second in origin to no other sort of love of knowledge. As a search for truth it tries to investigate matters in which the truth may be more difficult to find than it is in mere matters of observation or deduction, but surely its difficulty is not an argument for its disparagement; as a hoarding up of knowledge, it collects facts and records, the results of which are less exact than those of strict science, but are not less precious even in the eyes of the man who would regard them as mere engines of power. It is not true that written history is a mere tradition of falsehoods, assumptions and illogical deductions, of what the writers believed, rather than of what they knew, and of what they wished to have believed rather than what was true; even if it were, it would be no reason why we should not do our best to unmask the falsehood and detect the fallacies. But we have all heard enough of that sort of thing before; there is, in the most exact science that has subject-matter at all, a mixture of the phenomenal and the real: even the falsehoods and misrepresentations of the record serve as a guide to the discovery of the truth of fact, and certainly serve to train the mind to distinguish historical truth.

Agreeing, then, that both for the great extent of its field of view, the grandeur of its subject-matter, the difficulty of its problems, and the value of its results, the study of history is worth pursuing; and that, for its own sake, not merely for its effects as an educational agent, or its usefulness in the business of life,—we may allow that, even for its own sake, it may be studied with some variety of aspect or approach. We may work simply for the love of discovery, that is the exercise of the investigative instinct and the pleasure of overcoming difficulties; or we may work with the beneficent idea of increasing the sum of human knowledge, or of unravelling the string which forms the clue to the history of human progress, or of making such generalisations as may constitute the laws of a new historic science. All these, and perhaps some other purposes may be arranged under our first head, because, although some of them may seem subsidiary to larger and wider general designs, they all have in common the belief


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 in the real value of history itself. Of these purposes, the mere gratification of curiosity, even in its highest and most dignified form, ranks first and lowest; and yet without some infusion of it the genuine love of history is out of the question; and the usefulness of it, even in the humble office of providing materials for men who work with a higher purpose and idea, cannot be gainsaid. The mere archæologist, the mere genealogist, the mere antiquary, are not the parasites of historical study, as they are too often regarded by men who find it easier to borrow than to estimate the results of their researches; they are working bees in the hive of historic knowledge.

And the curious fact that the contemptuous toleration of archæological research is very often found in the speeches and writings of men who profess to set a high value on the study of original sources, a fact so curious as to lead to the conclusion that the critic is dealing on both hands with unknown quantities, may serve to lead on to the question — What are, and what is the value of the study of, original sources? We hear a great deal about them at the present day; not only are our bookshelves actually broken down with the weight of them, but the exact study of them is becoming a subordinate science with method and rules of its own, and with a great apparatus of material appliances in the shape of palæographical tests; a science of historical palmistry, if that is the word, that attempts to refer, by distinctions of penmanship, parchment, paper, ink, illumination and abbreviation, every manuscript to its own country, district, age, school, and even individual writer. Truly we may say the study of Geschichtsquellen is not to be approached without clean hands and an open mind. And after the initial investigation comes the criticism; first we have to identify, then we have to value our historical inventory. Both these processes are involved in the study of original sources; it means not merely the reading, or the restriction of reading to, the primary authorities, but the weighing and critical analysis of the primary authorities themselves.

Perhaps you think that I am misusing terms when I speak of analysing primary authorities, but I will explain directly


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 what I mean; only a word first on the interest and value of the processes I refer to. If I were drawing a comparison between ancient and medieval and modern history as remunerative studies, this is probably the first point in which I should claim superior interest for the latter. In ancient history we have wonderful models of thoughtful writing, and ingenious record of primitive tradition, tradition at least that is so far primitive that to us no further analysis is possible. There are exceptional departments even here; recent discoveries in Assyriology and Egyptology are opening up regions of interest which appear to me to be absolutely beyond parallel or comparison; new records of most ancient life which not only lie out of the scope within which criticism, up to the last twenty or thirty years, confined itself, but which must, if they be approached with due reverence and delicacy of touch, reveal a strange and hitherto unread age of the world's History, and in it the springs of an older cultivation than we have been used to dwell upon, and the links that bind the great civilisations of the Western world with the earliest, but not perhaps less magnificent, civilisations of the East. In these we may hope one day to read a new and clear page of the fair record of human history, of which we have bright but unconnected glimpses in the incidental notices of Holy Scripture. But outside of these, and the study of them is to most of us only in its beginning, the study of ancient History is mainly the study of classical History; and in classical History, splendid as our materials are, they have been in our hands for ages. Every bone of the great skeleton has long been put into its place: criticism upon it is becoming more and more every year the rearrangement of the critical material collected long ago, or the reconstruction of the History with all the charm which novel treatment, without novel material, can supply. Unluckily we can only, in a very fragmentary way, trace back, in commenting on Herodotus or Livy, the actual line of tradition by which they received what they report to us; as to Thucydides and Tacitus the chain is less fragmentary, and, of course, in the narrative of contemporary writers we look less for traces of earlier authority than for traces of sympathy and


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 antipathy, personal knowledge and direct authenticity. But, as a rule, we may say the study of ancient classical History lies within a confined area, every manuscript, every inscription, every coin, and every map of which has long been known, into which rash speculation never ventures without having cause for bitter repentance, and in which anything like a new discovery, such as the recent finds at Troy and Mycenæ, is so very new, that when it does come to pass no one knows what to make of it. The very definiteness of all connected with this study makes it, for educational purposes, an incomparable discipline. As a study of knowledge for its own sake, as a field of discovery and profitable speculation, as a department in which the sum of human knowledge is likely to be largely increased, I confess I think that it promises perhaps less than the study of later History. As a ground for fresh and remunerative exploration, I am sure it is still less promising.

To return, however, to the original sources. We all know how large a debt modern and medieval History owes to the ecclesiastical writers. From the very beginning of the middle ages, Annals, Chronicles, and Histories poured in comparative abundance from the religious houses of England and the Continent, records which serve to check and correct one another at almost every turn, and which, for some of the more dramatic incidents of History, enable us to reconstruct a picture of the event, viewed by different minds from different points and in different lights, in a perfection which has no parallel at all in ancient history. Such, for instance, is the picture of the life and death of Becket; some great scenes in the life of Simon de Montfort; some portions of the history of the Norman Conquest. I mention these, not only because they are well known, but because they lie within the region for our knowledge of which we are altogether indebted to ecclesiastical writers. Now these ecclesiastical writers have for the most part two great points of interest in the direction of research. All, or almost all, are members of religious houses, and all are members of a great fraternity in close and direct correspondence. The annalist is the annalist of his


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An Illustrated Flora of the Northern United States, Canada and the British Possessions/Introduction

 * a in bàle, bàll, bàr, bàre, làud;
 * e in ève, thère;
 * i in pìne, pìque, machìne;
 * o in nòte, mòve;
 * u in pùre, rùde.

New York,   April 15, 1913.


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 monastery or his cathedral; his monastery or his cathedral has had a history, has records, charters, a library, a scriptorium for multiplying copies of record, perhaps a school of annalists of which the representative man appropriates and assimilates the labours. He is a member of a great fraternity of newsmongers; every visitor to the monastery, every pilgrim, every journey of the abbot or bishop up to parliament, every letter from abroad, contributes something to the multifarious store. Such a chronicle as that of Matthew Paris contains every one of those elements and perhaps more; he was an antiquary, zealous of the history and fame of his own monastery, skilled in charters and in everything bearing on its origin and growth, the position of its estates, and the character of its inmates: he was a compiler who appropriated and digested the work of a whole school of earlier annalists; he was an eye-witness of much that he records of contemporary history, acquainted with the great men of the day; he had travelled and learned much, he had stayed at home and learned more, asking questions of every one who came down that way. Matthew Paris is an original authority; but what a fine subject for analysis; what an admirable corpus for the Kritik der Quellen! Further back you have what is called the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle; one of the first set of books that was subjected to the process of speculative analysis, now fifty years ago, by a gentleman who dissected it out of his own consciousness. Our Professor of Anglo-Saxon has shown us what may be done in a part of the field of criticism on the Chronicle, by study of a small number of MSS. and dialectic differences. But there is still probably, in the region of Cartularies and Acta Sanctorum, and in the more minute study of other MSS., something to be done even for this. I may perhaps be allowed to point to my own edition of the Dunstan Memorials as showing, not any completeness of treatment, for I do not pretend to have effected that, but the singular variety and peculiar interest of the fields of investigation in which new discoveries may be expected.

This sort of study has two great charms, besides the value of the results; in common, to compare small things with great,


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 with the discoveries of natural science—botany, for instance. In one way we take a historical series of events and work out the known items of the series, and range the persons and places of our action, until we know where to look for the missing links, and go to look for them and find them. Such a success, and every student of original sources working with zeal and modesty may hope for such, is in a small way like that of the astronomer who, when from calculating the perturbations and so on of the heavenly bodies he has inferred the existence of a hitherto unknown planet, some bright evening and with a new improved glass discovers the real planet of which he has been thinking, and sees in it, not only a great new fact of science, but a proof of the correctness of his computations, a substantial reward for his efforts. And the other is that in every such search, be it successful or not, the inquirer, who is wide awake, is sure to come upon material that is even more valuable than what he looks for; makes discoveries that are not less delightful because they are accidental.

Of course it may be said that a great deal of useless knowledge is accumulated in this way; what good can be done, it may be said, by analysing Matthew Paris, and determining how much of his narrative is drawn from ancient charters, or foreign letters, lives of saints, or such stribiligines: it is his historic power and authority that gives them value, not they that give authority to him. Not quite so, I think, and even if it were so, there might be a lesson in the mere proof of the fact; the analysis is necessary for the due estimate of his value as a historian; the writer who can pass such an ordeal where it is possible to apply it, may be trusted where it is not possible to apply it. But I take the higher ground and say, how far can any knowledge be said to be useless? there may be much useless learning, I allow; accumulations of other men's thoughts, and crude heaps of second-hand memories that are alike useless to their owner and to the world. But not real knowledge, not a substantiated fact, however remote it may seem from the interests and uses of the day, or the object of the day. It may serve to complete a chain of demonstration, the necessity of which is not as yet apparent; it may furnish,


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 as an undesigned coincidence, an important element in a discussion yet in its elementary stages. How great is the debt that History owes to the ant-like instincts of collectors of memoranda, the recorders of births, deaths, and marriages, the savers of old letters and old newspapers, of the very things that seemed most useless. If there is any useless knowledge in History, we may say,—as Dr. Maitland said, when people talked of the Dark Ages, they meant the ages that were dark to them,—the uselessness of the knowledge is generally the fault of those who do not know how to use it.

It would be doing great injustice, however, to my subject if I were to lead you to suppose that I regard the great benefit arising from the study of original materials to lie in the gratification of our natural instinctive desire to get to the bottom of a thing. I suppose that such an instinct is given us for some good end, and that that which lies at the bottom of the historical well is historical truth: Truth that defies the all-dissolving processes of criticism, or at least such an approach to truth as may be credited to a record incapable of further analysis. The results of such minute study are the little pebbles of the concrete in which the foundations of the historic superstructure are laid. Every great historian has been his own Dry-as-dust, however much he may, as Carlyle does, point the moral of the lesson of labour with small type and inverted commas; for, I take it, the prophet does not adopt this plan as a means of disguise, but rather to show that to a great extent historical genius consists in an unlimited capacity for taking pains. The man who has, out of independent study, produced such results, has made a contribution, small or great as the case may be, to the great stock of sound material which constitutes real knowledge.

This consciousness may be its own reward; but, as I said before, if the love of history for its own sake goes no further, such ambition ranks among the lowest forms of the historical spirit. We take a real pleasure not only in cutting out our sound and perfect stone, but in fitting it into its place in the building: we wish to increase the sum of human knowledge not only by the accumulation of facts but by


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 them up and making them a part of history. The botanist is charmed when he finds a new plant, and the astronomer when he discovers a new star, but we scarcely should call the one a botanist or the other an astronomer if he did not straightway go and fit in his discovery into the general system of his science, reunite the missing plant to its kinsfolk in genus, and species and variety, or find out the relation of his star to the rest, and assign it to its group and class in the map of the heavens. And I think that the somewhat compassionate condescension with which archæological inquiry is now and then spoken of, and the study of original sources also, is owing to the fact that so many inquirers do stop at some such point: hence it is that people are constantly discovering things which have often been discovered before, and trumpeting as new results of research points of fact that have long been ticketed and set in their places in books where they could easily have found them. The study of original sources is thus taken to mean the study of nothing else; a pursuit accordingly which has no other result than the gratification, by a laborious process, of a curiosity that might have been gratified by reference to a cyclopædia, or the amount of training, not itself to be despised if it be regarded merely as training, which makes the fact that one has worked out for himself infinitely more precious than one that he has simply looked out in the dictionary.

But I am not speaking now of the educational aspect of the subject. Let it suffice to say, that original sources to be studied remuneratively must be approached with all the apparatus and all the appliances that previous inquirers have accumulated for the illustration of them. If that be not done, we shall share the fate of the astronomer who searches for a new planet with the naked eye, and the mathematician who discovers perpetual motion.

And so we may go on to another point. The student of History, for its own sake, may approach his subject with the desire of adding to the mass of human knowledge by the ascertaining of truths hitherto imperfectly apprehended; the completing of series of developments, or delineations of character, or the explanations of out-of-the-way regions, or


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4 of hunger, a watch, a purse of gold, a small treatise on fortification, an album filled with songs, receipts, prayers, and charms, and the George with which, many years before, King Charles the Second had decorated his favourite son."—Hist. Eng. i. pp. 616—618. 2nd edition.

Now, this is all extremely admirable. It is a brilliant description of an important historical incident. But on what precise spot did it take place? One would like to endeavour to realise such an event at the very place where it occurred, and the historian should enable us to do so. I believe the spot is very well known, and that the traditions of the neighbourhood upon the subject are still vivid. It was near Woodyate's Inn, a well-known roadside inn, a few miles from Salisbury, on the road to Blandford, that the Duke and his companions turned adrift their horses. From thence they crossed the country in almost a due southerly direction. The tract of land in which the Duke took refuge is rightly described by Mr. Macaulay, as "separated by an inclosure from the open country." Its nature is no less clearly indicated by its local name of "The Island." The open down which surrounds it is called Shag's Heath. The Island is described as being about a mile and a half from Woodlands, and in the parish of Horton, in Dorsetshire. The field in which the Duke concealed himself is still called "Monmouth Close." It is at the north-eastern extremity of the Island. An ash-tree, at the foot of which the would-be-king was found crouching in a ditch and half hid under the fern, was standing a few years ago, and was deeply indented with the carved initials of crowds of persons who had been to visit it. Mr. Macaulay has mentioned that the fields were covered—it was the eighth of July—with standing crops of rye, pease, and oats. In one of them, a field of pease, tradition tells us that the Duke dropped a gold snuff-box. It was picked up some time afterwards by a labourer, who carried it to Mrs. Uvedale of Horton, probably the proprietor of the field, and received in reward fifteen pounds, which was said to be half its value. On his capture, the Duke was first taken to the house of Anthony Etterick, Esq., a magistrate who resided at Holt, which adjoins Horton. Tradition, which records the popular feeling rather than the fact, reports, that the poor woman who informed the pursuers that she had seen two strangers lurking in the—Island her name was Amy Farrant—never prospered afterwards; and that Henry Parkin, the soldier, who, spying the skirt of the smockfrock which the Duke had assumed as a disguise, recalled the searching party just as they were leaving the Island, burst into tears and reproached himself bitterly for his fatal discovery.

It is a defect in the Ordnance Survey, that neither the Island nor Monmouth Close is indicated upon it by name.

I know not, Mr. Editor, whether these particulars are of the kind which you design to print as "." If they are so, and you give them place in your miscellany, be good enough to add a "" addressed to your Dorsetshire correspondents, as to whether the ash-tree is now standing, and what is the actual condition of the spot at the present time. The facts I have stated are partly derived from the book known as Addison's Anecdotes, vol. iv. p. 12. 1794, 8vo. They have been used, more or less, by the late Rev. P. Hall, in his Account of Ringwood, and by Mr. Roberts, in his Life of Monmouth.

With the best of good wishes for the success of your most useful periodical,

Yours very truly, .

In "The Life of Shakespeare," prefixed to the edition of his Works I saw through the press three or four years ago, I necessarily entered into the deer-stealing question, admitting that I could not, as some had done, "entirely discredit the story," and following it up by proof (in opposition to the assertion of Malone), that Sir Thomas Lucy had deer, which Shakespeare might have been concerned in stealing. I also, in the same place (vol. i. p. xcv.), showed, from several authorities, how common and how venial offence it was considered in the middle of the reign of Elizabeth. Looking over some MSS. of that time, a few weeks since, I met with a very singular and confirmatory piece of evidence, establishing that in the year 1585, the precise period when our great dramatist is supposed to have made free with the deer of


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 the rehabilitation and analysis of traditions. In these points he has a wide field of interest, and a most remunerative sphere of study in exercise and result.

But here we come upon another primary question, Is all History equally valuable? You may say to me, we have accepted your assertion that no knowledge is useless, except by the fault of the person who possesses it; but it does not follow that all is equally useful or equally valuable in itself. What history is the best worth studying for its own sake? Now to answer that question fully would take a long time, and involve a discussion, not only on the nature of History, but on its co-ordination with other branches of human knowledge, such as moral philosophy and theology, carrying us into regions into which I cannot offer to guide you, and must refer you to the philosophers. But if you wall be satisfied with a simple answer, I will say that the true field of Historic study is the history of those nations and institutions in which the real growth of humanity is to be traced: in which we can follow the developments, the retardations and perturbations, the ebb and flow of human progress, the education of the world, the leading on by the divine light from the simplicity of early forms and ideas where good and evil are distinctly marked, to the complications of modern life, in which light and darkness are mingled so intimately, and truth and falsehood are so hard to distinguish, but in which we believe and trust that the victory of light and truth is drawing nearer every day. The most precious Histories are those in which we read the successive stages of God's dispensations with man, the growth of the highest natures, under the most favourable circumstances, in the most fully developed institutions, in the successive contributions which those natures, regions and institutions have furnished to the general welfare of the whole.

But I can hear at least one critic say, Is not this assuming the truth of a doctrine that you are always practically denying, that the very designation of your professorship, your very raison d'être, forces you to deny—the Unity of History, the Continuity of Historic growth, the Education of the world? Well, if the Unity of History means what I have said, I


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 certainly believe in it: but that is not the meaning which is commonly attached to the term, and it is not the meaning in which I have so often had to do battle with the idea. The false idea, or that which to me seems practically misleading in the term the Unity of History, is the acceptance as a practical rule or maxim that there are no new points of departure in human history; that modern life is a continuation of medieval, of ancient and medieval, history, by a continuity and unity that is at all points equally important, of the same consistency in fact. Now this idea has a truth only in the very highest regions of speculation. Every human soul has an equal value in the eyes of the Christian missionary and religious philosopher, but every human life does not convey lessons of the same practical value to the social investigator; every national history does not contribute equally valuable results towards the general progress of mankind, and so neither does every chronological epoch. That perhaps we all allow. Why then should not cycles of history, two, three, or more cycles of history, be allowed to exist, within which all the really important factors have their origin and development, and, it may be, work out their full destiny; successive great dramas of ages, the interest of which is self-contained, although there is enough of common ground between them and those which precede and follow to give them a simple continuity, and although there is doubtless in the divine mind one great plan of cosmical action in which each drama of the human ages serves as a single act or even a single incident? Let scripture history, classical and ecclesiastical history, medieval history and modern history, be read successively and connectedly, so much the better; but why deny that classical history and medieval and modern can be advantageously studied apart? why confine the thoughts to the points on which they are conterminous, continuous and agreed, to the exclusion of those in which they differ, when it is on the points in which they differ that the great contributions to the real history of man are to be traced? In any other sense than that in which I have attempted to limit it and have accepted it, the Unity of History is either the crotchet of a sciolist, or the dream of a universal philosopher.


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 For just think how the field of view expands; we can never know one thing perfectly unless we know everything; true, but we can try to learn here and there a thing as perfectly as it can be learned, without knowing everything. In the same sense in which the careful study of ancient history is absolutely necessary to the careful study of modern history, the careful study of the latter is absolutely necessary to that of the former. If you read the second alone, where do you find your causes? If you read the first alone, where do you find your consequences? Just in the same way, it may be said, the external history of man cannot be read without an internal reading of his history; no man can approach History without being a consummate moral philosopher; yet is it so? Then most of the great historians of the world have been great moral philosophers without knowing it. But how can a man pretend to understand the moral conformation of his fellows without knowing their physical conformation? Then the moral philosopher must be an anatomist, and the anatomist a chemist, a botanist and geologist, and the geologist an astronomer; i.e. instead of borrowing, and being content to borrow from the kindred and allied sciences what is necessary for the consistent pursuit of our own. study, we must know the principles of all, like the sophists of old, and we all know what that ends in, κακῶς ἠπίστατο πάντα. But my friend says, exaggeration is no argument, an answer which, by-the-by, may tell either way: ancient, and modern and medieval history, as you call them, have the same subject-matter, they are connected by certain visible and tangible lines of recorded fact, and they are, as yourself admit, acts of one great drama. Granted: first then, ancient history has much that is common with modern in the region of political thought; second then, the ancient Roman civilisation and literature constitute by themselves, and they are but one of many, a sufficient line of continuity to prove essential identity; third, but it is enough for you to admit the continuity of the world's progress.

Now, if I were arguing against the reading of ancient history in connexion with modern, such an answer would be complete; but, as I am merely protesting against the idea that it is


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 to read modern history from its own starting-point, I will observe, and content myself with observing, first that there are no doubt political thoughts common to ancient and modern life; nay more, that, as has been said, there is very much that is modern in ancient history and much that is ancient in modern history; and yet that that very element of continuity on which the whole discussion hangs is wanting. There may be, I will not say there is, a certain similarity of thought in a leading article of The Times and a chapter in Thucydides: the similarity of the circumstances of two political crises may bring out parallels and coincidences; Constantinople may be the Athens, Alexander II the Xerxes of the day, and anyhow the Bosphorus must be pretty nearly where it was. But the connexion of the political ideas is one of coincidence and not of continuity; there is not even the life that germinates in the grains of wheat found in Egyptian mummy-pits. Every factor is new, even the area, the nationality of the actors, the whole idea in its origin and every stage of growth is new. Or let the area be the same; what has modern Greece in continuity with ancient Greece, but the soil and sky and the, to it, unintelligible wreck of ancient magnificence, from which it fails apparently to draw even the ordinary lessons of civilisation: what period and region of the whole history of the world conveys a less important lesson than Greece during the Middle Ages of European History? It is scarcely less so with Italy, except for the fact that during a great part of those ages Italy was the centre and stage of Ecclesiastical History, in which, as I shall point out directly, and in which alone on any large or broad scale, the unity and continuity are to be found.

The vital interest of Medieval and Modern History lies in England, France and Germany, as certainly as that of the ancient lies in the East, in Greece and Italy; no small part of that of the future lies in the further Western world. The actors in the medieval and modern drama are the new nations, nations that were unheard of before the decline of the Roman empire began, and which inherited from the civilisation of that empire only the ecclesiastical


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Portal:Panama

Works

 * Panama, past and present, 1916 by Farnham Bishop
 * United Nations Security Council Resolution 325, 26 January 1973

Treaties

 * Hay-Bunau-Varilla Treaty, 18 November, 1903 between the United States and the Republic of Panama

Fauna

 * The Salticidae (Spiders) of Panama, 1946 by Arthur M. Chickering

title: Portal:Panama


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Rh The spirits of earth were there Thronging the shadowed air, Serving among the lilies In an ecstasy of prayer.

Their speech I could not tell; But the sap in each green cell, And the pure initiate petals, They knew that language well.

I felt the soul of the trees— Of the white, eternal seas— Of the flickering bats and night-moths And my own soul kin to these.

And a spell came out of space From the light of its starry place, And I saw in the deep of my heart The image of God's face.

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 Earth's Complines

By Charles G. D. Roberts the feet of the dew There came a call I knew, Luring me into the garden Where the tall white lilies grew.

I stood in the dusk between The companies of green, O'er whose aërial ranks The lilies rose serene.

And the breathing air was stirred By an unremembered word, Soft, incommunicable— And wings not of a bird.

I heard the spent blooms sighing, The expectant buds replying; I felt the life of the leaves, Ephemeral, yet undying. The

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 Bangorian controversy,. Bartholomew, bishop,,. Basel, Council of,. Bath, earldom of,. Bavaria, the House of,. Beaufort, cardinal,,. Becket, archbishop,, , , , -, , , , , , , , , , , , ,. Bede,, ,. Beeke, Dr. H.,. Benedict of Peterborough,, ,. Benedict of S. Maur,. Benefit of clergy limited,,. 'Benevolences,',. Berengaria, queen,. Bernard, S.,, ,. Bernard Andreas of Toulouse,. Berytus,, sq.,  sq. Bigelow, Mr. M.,. Bishoprics, new, under Henry VIII,,. Blackfriars, parliament at,. Blacketone, sir W.,,. Blount, Bessie,,. Boase, C. W.,. Boccaccio,,. Bohemond III,. Bohemond IV,,. Bohemond V,. Bohemond VI,. Boleyn, Anne,, , , , , , , , , ,. Bologna, University of,, sq., , ,. Boniface of Savoy, archbishop,,. Boniface, S.,. Boniface VIII, pope,, , ,. Bosworth Field, battle of,, , ,. Boucicault, marshal,. Boulogne, expedition to, , ,. Bourges, Pragmatic Sanction of,. Boutario, E.,. Bracton,,. Brady, Dr., sq. Bray, sir Reginald,. Breakspere, Nicolas,,. Brewer, J. S.,,. Brittany and Henry VII,, ,. Britton,. Brown, Master Thomas,, sq.,. Browne, C, applies for leave to proceed as Bachelor and Doctor of the Canon Law at Oxford,. Brunner, Dr.,,. Brunswick, House of, in relation to literature,. Bryce, prof.,,. Budinger, Dr.,. Burchard of Worms, sq. Burgundy, treaty of Henry VII with,,. Burrows, prof. M.,, , ,. Burton, Robert,.

Cæsarea,. Calais, garrison of,. Cambridge, Bp. More's MSS. presented to,. begins the study of Modern History,. Civil and Canon Law at,. degree of LL.D. at,,. Camden, W.,. Campegio, cardinal,. Camville, Richard,. Canons of,. Canterbury Letters, the, sq. Canterbury under Henry II,. Capgrave,. Caraman, the grand,. Cardon, Signer,. Carlyle's Frederick the Cheat, etc.,, , , ,. Catherine Howard,. Catholicate, the Armenian,. Cawdrey's case,, ,. Caxton, William,,. Celestine III, pope,. Chancellors, lay and clerical,. Chancery, Court of,. Chaplains, domestic, of noblemen,. Chapuys dispatches,, ,. Charles I, king of England,, ,. Charles II,. Charles IV, emperor,,. Charles V,, , , , , , sq. Charles VI, king of France,,. Charles VII,. Charles VXII,, , , ,. Charles of Anjou, -,,. Charlotte of Bourbon, queen,. Charlotte of Lusignan, queen of Cyprus, ; marries Lewis, Count of Geneva, ib.


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Author:Nathaniel Lord Britton

Works

 * An Illustrated Flora of the Northern United States, Canada and the British Possessions (1896, 1913).
 * The introduction to A guide to the wildflowers, (1899) with Alice Lounsberry and Ellis Rowan.
 * "Professor Underwood's relation to the work of the New York Botanical Garden," in the Bulletin of the Torrey Botanical Club Vol. 35 (1908).

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Author:Addison Brown

Works

 * "Death of Mr. Ruger" in Bulletin of the Torrey Botanical Club 6:325 (1879)

 * An Illustrated Flora of the Northern United States, Canada and the British Possessions (1896) with Nathaniel Lord Britton

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Author:Isaac Morgan Atwood

Works about Atwood

 * "Atwood, Isaac Morgan," in The Biographical Dictionary of America (p. 162), by Rossiter Johnson, Boston: American Historical Society (1906)

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 circled aimlessly, with content written on every feature; or else, reversing themselves in a position denoting supreme contempt for all humanity above the surface, explored a new cool underworld a few inches below. It was then (he said) that a true sense of his situation began to steal over him; and it was then that he awoke to the face, of another life open to him should he choose to grasp it. Neither the ducks nor the India Office (so he affirmed) carried blue pencils, and why should he? The very next Board day he sent in his resignation, and, with a comfortable pension and some reminiscence (perhaps) of that frontage of the India Office, crossed the Channel and worked South till he came to Venice, where the last trace of blue-pencil nightmare finally faded away.

"And are you never bored?" I tenderly inquired of him, as we rocked homewards in a gondola between an apricot sky and an apricot sea.

"During the first six months I was," he answered, frankly; "then it passed away altogether, even as influenza does in time, or the memory of a gaucherie. And now every day lasts as long as a year of those Board days of old, and is fifty-two times as interesting. Why, only take this afternoon, for example. I didn't get over here till two, but first I met some newly-arrived Americans, and talked for a cycle with them; and you never know what an American will be surprised at, or, better still, what he will not be surprised at; and if you only think what that means—— Well, presently they left (they had to get on to Rome), so I went up to the platform over the sea and had oysters and a bottle of that delightful yellow wine I always forget the name of; and æons passed away in the consumption. Each oyster lasted a whole Board day, and each glass of yellow wine three. Then I strolled along the sands for a century or so, thinking of nothing in particular. Lastly, I met you, and for some twelve months I've been boring

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 you with my uninteresting story. And even yet there s the whole evening to come! Oh, I had lots of leeway to make up when I came over here; but I think I shall manage it yet—in Venice!"

I could not help thinking, as I parted from him at the Piazzetta steps, that (despite a certain incident in the Underground Rail way) here was one of the sanest creatures I had ever yet happened upon.

But examples such as this (as I said) are rare; the happy-starred ones who know when to cut their losses. The most of us prefer to fight on—mainly, perhaps, from cowardice, and the dread of a plunge into a new element, new conditions, new surroundings—a fiery trial for any humble, mistrustful creature of use-and-wont. And yet it is not all merely a matter of funk. For a grim love grows up for the sword-play itself, for the push and the hurtle of battle, for the grips and the give-and-take—in fine, for the fight itself, whatever the cause. In this exaltation, far from ignoble, we push and worry along until a certain day of a mist and a choke, and we are ticked off and done with.

This is the better way; and the history of our race is ready to justify us. With the tooth-and-claw business we began, and we mastered it thoroughly ere we learnt any other trade. Since that time we may have achieved a thing or two besides—evolved an art, even, here and there, though the most of us bungled it. But from first to last fighting was the art we were always handiest at; and we are generally safe if we stick to it, what ever the foe, whatever the weapons—most of all, whatever the cause.

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 squatters. The area of cleared land was thus doubled, and the export of wool quintupled. Financially, however, he was not an administrative success, and this led to his early recall. On his return from Australia, Sir Thomas established an astronomical and magnetic observatory at Makerstown, and published three large volumes of observations in the "Transactions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh." He was created a baronet in 1836 and G.C.B. in 1837, and in 1841 was made a general in the army. On the death of Sir Walter Scott he was also elected President of the Royal Society of Edinburgh. He founded two gold medals as rewards for scientific merit in connection with the Royal Society and the Society of Arts respectively. He died at his residence, Brisbane House, Largs, Ayrshire, on Jan. 27th, 1860. The capital of the colony of Queensland is named after him. Sir Thomas married, in 1819, Anna Maria, daughter of Sir Henry Hay Makdougall, but left no surviving issue. During his peninsular campaigns he took regular observations with a pocket sextant, and, as the Duke of Wellington said, "kept the time of the army." As showing his ruling bent, it is related of him that, whilst sheathing his sword after the Battle of Vittoria, he exclaimed, looking round from a lofty eminence, "What a glorious site for an observatory!"

Britton, Alexander, son of the late Alexander Britton, and brother of (q.v.), embraced journalism, and was sub-editor of the Melbourne Argus, and subsequently of the Sydney Morning Herald. In 1890 he was engaged by the Government of New South Wales to complete the official "History of New South Wales," the first volume of which had been edited by Mr. (q.v.).

Britton, Henry, journalist, second son of Alexander and Lydia Britton, was born on Jan. 24th, 1846, in Derby, England, where his father was engaged in tuition, was also a contributor to the press, and had some repute as a public lecturer. The subject of this notice emigrated to Australia with his family in Nov. 1854, and reached Melbourne in Feb. 1855. He at once proceeded to Castlemaine, Victoria, where his father established a newspaper called The Miners' Right, subsequently named The Castlemaine Advertiser. He learned the business of a journalist in his father's office. In 1863 he joined the parliamentary reporting staff of the Age newspaper, Melbourne. Two years later he transferred his services to the Argus, Melbourne. In 1870 he acted as special correspondent for the Argus in Fiji. The series of letters he wrote was republished under the title of "Fiji in 1870," and the volume had a large sale. In Dec. 1871, as special correspondent of the Argus, he accompanied the Australian Eclipse Expedition to Cape York, northern coast of Australia, where observations of the total eclipse of the sun were made. His account of the proceedings of the expedition was afterwards republished in Nature, the London scientific journal. In 1873 he went to Fiji again as special commissioner for the Argus to inquire into the working of the South Pacific labour trade, in connection with which many scandals had arisen. The notorious brig Carl had kidnapped a number of South Sea Islanders under circumstances of great atrocity. The Australian Governments agreed to pay the expense of returning the kidnappees to their several homes in the islands. One of the vessels commissioned for this purpose by Commodore Stirling was H.M. schooner Alacrity. Mr. Britton was allowed a passage in this vessel with some fifty or sixty of the savages, and he assisted at their landing under circumstances of considerable danger at their various homes in the Marshall, Gilbert, and Ellice groups of islands, north and south of the line. In 1874 he was again called upon in the capacity of special correspondent of the Argus to go to Fiji in the suite of Sir, the then Governor of New South Wales, who had made a request that he might be sent on the occasion of the annexation of that country. Mr. Britton was present at the official interviews with Thakombau and the other leading chiefs, and he fully described the annexation ceremonies, which included many incidents of peculiar interest. Mr. Britton was also acting at this time as special correspondent for the Times. In 1877 he was made chief of the Argus reporting staff and sub-editor. Falling into bad health, and having a desire to visit the old country, which he had not seen since infancy, he in 1878 made a voyage round the world. Returning to Melbourne, after a year's absence, he 57


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 resumed his connection with the Argus, to which he contributed a series of social sketches under the signature of "Marcellus," and also a series of papers explaining the modus operandi of the medical clairvoyants of Melbourne. Early in 1883 he joined the contributing staffs of the Age and Leader. At the end of that year he published a romance called "Loloma," illustrative of cannibal life among the Fijians in the olden time. At the general election of 1886, he sought parliamentary honours at the hands of the electors of Castlemaine, but was not successful. In Nov. 1889 the proprietors of the Leader offered prizes for the two best locally produced Christmas stories for publication in their Christmas number; there was a very large number of competitors, and Mr. Britton was awarded the first prize for his story "Jack Travis's Merry Christmas: a Tale of Australian Adventure." In March 1890 Mr. Britton was appointed dramatic editor of the Australasian, and he still holds that position.

Bromby, Charles Hamilton, B.A., L.C.L., formerly Attorney-General Tasmania, is the second son of, sometime Bishop of Tasmania, by Mary Anne, eldest daughter of the late William Hulme Bodley, of Brighton, Sussex. He was born at Cheltenham, Gloucestershire, on July 17th, 1843, and educated at Cheltenham College and St. Edmund's Hall, Oxford, where he graduated. He entered as a student of the Inner Temple on June 7th, 1864, and was called to the bar on Nov. 18th, 1867. He emigrated to Tasmania, where he arrived in Dec. 1874, and was M.H.A. for Launceston from 1876 to 1877, for Longford from 1877 to 1878, and subsequently for Richmond. Mr. Bromby was Attorney-General in Mr. 's Ministry, and a member of the Executive Council from July 20th, 1876, to August 9th, 1877. He was admitted a member of the bar of New South Wales in 1881; but now resides in England, and practises as a barrister in London and on the North-Eastern Circuit. He edited "Spike's Law of Master and Servant," 3rd edition.

Bromby, Right Rev. Charles Henry, D.D., formerly Bishop of Tasmania, son of the Rev. John Healey Bromby, vicar of Holy Trinity, Hull, was born at Hull in 1814, and educated at Uppingham School and at St. John's College, Cambridge, of which he was scholar and exhibitioner. He graduated B.A. (Junior Optime and third class in classics) in 1837, and M.A. in 1840, being admitted to the honorary degree of D.D. in 1864. He was ordained deacon in 1838, and priest in 1839, and was curate of Chesterfield from 1838 to 1839; vicar of St. Paul's, Cheltenham, and Principal of the Normal College there from 1843 to 1864, when he was appointed Bishop of Tasmania by the Queen's letters patent, being consecrated in Canterbury Cathedral by Archbishop Longley on June 29th, 1864, and enthroned in St. David's Cathedral, Hobart, on Jan. 7th, 1865. Having resigned his see in 1882, Bishop Bromby was appointed in that year rector of Shrawardine-with-Montford, and Assistant Bishop to the Bishop of Lichfield. In 1887 he resigned his rectory, and became Warden of St. John's Hospital, Lichfield. He married in 1839 Mary Anne, daughter of Dr. Bodley, of Brighton, who died in 1885. He is the author of the "Church Student's Manual," "History and Grammar of the English Language," and editor of "Wordsworth's Excursion, Book I."

Bromby, Rev. Henry Bodley, B.A., formerly Dean of Hobart, Tasmania, is the son of the, D.D., formerly Bishop of Tasmania, and was educated at Jesus College, Cambridge, of which he was Rustat Scholar. He graduated B.A. in 1864, and in the same year he was ordained deacon, and priest in 1865. He was canon of St. David's Cathedral, Hobart, from 1865 to 1868, and 1870 to 1877; incumbent of St. Johns, Hobart, from 1868 to 1873; incumbent of the cathedral parish of Hobart from 1873 to 1884; and Dean of Hobart from 1877 to 1884, when he left the colony for England, and in the next year was appointed vicar of St. John the Evangelist, Bethnal Green.

 Bromby, Rev. John Edward, M.A., D.D., son of Rev. J. H. Bromby, Vicar of Holy Trinity Church, Hull, and elder brother of the, sometime Bishop of Tasmania, was born in 1809, and educated at Uppingham and at Trinity College, Cambridge, where he was for some time scholar; Bell's University Scholar in 1829; B.A. (9th 58


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80 whether the torch be the torch of dawn, or of storm, or neither, to see the prevalence of these torch-festivals in rural rites in Mexico, Greece, and modern Europe. The idea of the peasants is that the lights scare away evil spirits." In the Mexican rite, a woman, representing the goddess and dressed in her ornaments, was sacrificed. The same horrid ceremony accompanied the feast of the mother of the gods, Teteo Innan. In this rite the man who represented the son of the goddess wore a mask of the skin from the thigh of the female victim who had personated the goddess herself. The wearing of the skin established a kinship between the man and the woman, as in the many classical, ancient, and savage rituals where the celebrants wear the hides of the sacrificed beasts. There was a god of storm called "cloudy serpent," Mixcoatl, whose rites were not more humane. The Mexican Aphrodite was named Tlaçolteotl, "the impure." About her character the Aztecs had no illusions. She listened to the confessions of the most loathsome sinners, whom she perhaps first tempted to err, and then forgave and absolved. Confession was usually put off till people had ceased to be likely to sin. She is said to have been the wife of Tlaloc, carried off by Tezcatlipoca. "She must have been the aquatic vegetation of marshy lands," says M. Réville, "possessed by the god of waters till the sun dries her up and she disappears." This is an amusing example of modern ingenuity. It resembles M. Réville's assertion that Tlaloc, the


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Rh, "had but one eye, which shows that he must be ultimately identified as an ancient personification of the rainy sky, whose one eye is the sun." A rainy sky has usually no "eye" at all, and, when it has, in this respect it does not differ from a cloudless sky.

A less lovely set of Olympians than the Aztec gods it is difficult to conceive. Yet, making every allowance for Catholic after-thoughts, there can be no doubt that the prayers, penances, and confessions described at length by Sahagun indicate a firm Mexican belief that even these strange deities "made for righteousness," loved good, and, in this world and the next, punished evil. However it happened, whatever accidents of history or of mixture of the races in the dim past caused it, the Aztecs carried to extremes the religious and the mythical ideas. They were exceedingly pious in their attitude of penitence and prayer; they were more fierce and cruel in ritual, more fantastic in myth, than the wildest of tribes, tameless and homeless, ignorant of agriculture or of any settled and assured existence. Even the Inquisition of the Spanish of the sixteenth century was an improvement on the unheard-of abominations of Mexican ritual.


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Rh CHAPTER XV.

THE MYTHOLOGY OF EGYPT.

Antiquity of Egypt—Guesses at origin of the people—Chronological view of the religion—Permanence and changes—Local and syncretic worship—Elements of pure belief and of totemism—Authorities for facts—Monuments and Greek reports—Contending theories of modern authors—Study of the gods, their beasts, their alliances, and mutations—Evidence of ritual—A study of the Osiris myth and of the development of Osiris—Savage and theological elements in the myth—Moral aspect of the religion—Conclusion.

to the ancients Egypt was antiquity, and the Greeks sought in the dateless mysteries of the Egyptian religion for the fountain of all that was most mysterious in their own. Curiosity about the obscure beginnings of human creeds and the first knowledge of the gods was naturally aroused by that spectacle of the Pantheon of Egypt. Her highest gods were abstractions, swathed, like the of the Etrurians, in veils of mystic doctrine; yet in the most secret recess of her temples the pious beheld "a crocodile, a cat, or a serpent, a beast rolling on a purple couch." In Egypt, the earlier ages and the later times beheld a land dominated by the thought of death, whose shadow falls on the monarch on his crowning day, whose whisper bids him send to far-off


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Rh shores for the granite and the alabaster of the tomb. As life was ruled by the idea of death; so was fact conquered by dream, and all realities hastened to lose themselves in symbols; all gods rushed to merge their identity in the sun, as moths fly towards the flame of a candle. This spectacle of a race obedient to the dead and bowing down before the beasts, this procession of gods that were their own fathers and members together in Ra, wakened the interest of the Greeks, who were even more excited by the mystery of extreme age that hid the beginnings of Egypt. Full of their own memories and legends of tribal movements, of migrations, of invasions, the Greeks acknowledged themselves children of yesterday in face of a secular empire with an origin so remote that it was scarcely guessed at in the conjectures of fable. Egypt presented to them, as to us, the spectacle of antique civilisation without a known beginning. The spade of to-day reveals no more than the traditions of two thousand years ago. The most ancient relics of the earliest dynasty are the massive works of an organised society and an accomplished art. There is an unbridged interval between the builders of the mysterious temple hard by the Sphinx and their predecessors the chippers of palæolithic flint axes in the river drift. We know not whence the Egyptians came; we only trifle with hypotheses when we conjecture that her people are of an Asiatic or an African stock; we know not whether her gods arose in the fertile swamps by Nile-side, or whether they were borne in arks, like the Jehovah of Israel and the


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84 of Mexico, from more ancient seats by the piety of their worshippers. Yet as one great river of mysterious source flows throughout all Egypt, so through the brakes and jungles of her religion flows one great myth from a distant fountain-head, the myth of Osiris.

The questions which we have to ask in dealing with the mythology of Egypt come under two heads:—First, What was the nature of Egyptian religion and myth? Secondly, How did that complex mass of beliefs and practices come into existence?

The question, What was the religion of Egypt? is far from simple. In a complete treatise on the topic, it would be necessary to ask in reply, At what period, in what place, and among what classes of society did the religion exist which you wish to investigate? The ancient Egyptian religion had a lifetime so long that it almost requires to be meted by the vague measures of geological time. It is historically known to us, by the earliest monuments, about the date at which Archbishop Usher fixed the Creation. Even then, be it noticed, the religion of Egypt was old and


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 A Letter Home

By Enoch Arnold Bennett

I

was falling—it had fallen steadily through the night—but the sky showed promise of fairer weather. As the first streaks of dawn appeared, the wind died away, and the young leaves on the trees were almost silent. The birds were insistently clamorous, vociferating times without number that it was a healthy spring morning and good to be alive.

A little, bedraggled crowd stood before the park gates, awaiting the hour named on the notice board when they would be admitted to such lodging and shelter as iron seats and overspreading branches might afford. A weary, patient-eyed, dogged crowd—a dozen men, a boy of thirteen, and a couple of women, both past middle age—which had been gathering slowly since five o clock. The boy appeared to be the least uncomfortable. His feet were bare, but he had slept well in an area in Grosvenor Place, and was not very damp yet. The women had nodded on many doorsteps, and were soaked. They stood apart from the men, who seemed unconscious of their existence. The men were exactly such as one would have expected to find there—beery and restless as to the eyes, quaintly shod, and with nondescript greenish clothes which for

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 full-grown; there are no historical traces of its beginnings. Like the material civilisation, it had been fashioned by the unrecorded Sheshoa Hor, "the servants of Horus," patriarchs dwelling with the blessed. In the four or five thousand years of its later existence, Egyptian religion endured various modifications. It was a conservative people, and schooled by the wisdom of the sepulchre. But invaders, Semitic, Ethiopian, and Greek, brought in some of their own ideas. Priestly colleges developed novel dogmas, and insensibly altered ritual. The thought of hundreds of generations of men brooded, not fruitlessly, over the problems of the divine nature. Finally, it is likely that in Egypt, as elsewhere, the superstitions of the least educated and most backward classes, and of subject peoples on a lower level of civilisation, would again and again break up, and win their way to the surface of religion. Thus a complete study of Egyptian faiths would be chronological,—would note the setting and rising of the stars of elder and later deities.

The method of a systematic history of Egyptian religion would not be regulated by chronology alone. Topographical and social conditions would also claim attention. The favoured god or gods of one nome


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 (administrative district), or of one town, or of one sacred metropolis, were not the gods of another metropolis, or town, or nome, though some deities were common to the whole country. The fundamental character might be much the same in each case, but the titles, and aspects, and ritual, and accounts of the divine genealogy varied in each locality. Once more, the "syncretic" tendency kept fusing into one divine name and form, or into a family triad of gods (mother, father, and son), the deities of different districts, which, beneath their local peculiarities, theologians could recognise as practically the same.

While political events and local circumstances were thus modifying Egyptian religion, it must never be forgotten that the different classes of society were probably by no means at one in their opinions. The monuments show us what the kings believed, or at least what the kings practised, record the prayers they uttered and the sacrifices they offered. The tombs and the papyri which contain the Book of the Dead and other kindred works reveal the nature of belief in a future life, with the changes which it underwent at different times. But the people, the vast majority, unlettered and silent, cannot tell us what they believed, or what were their favourite forms of adoration. We are left to the evidence of amulets, of books of magic, of popular tales, surviving on a papyrus here and there, and to the late testimony of Greek writers—Herodotus, Diodorus, the author of the treatise De Osiride et Iside, and others. While the clergy of the twentieth dynasty were hymning the perfections of Ammon Ra—"so


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 for the most part bore traces of the yoke of the sandwich board. Only one amongst them was different.

He was young, and his cap, and manner of wearing it, gave sign of the sea. His face showed the rough outlines of his history. Yet it was a transparently honest face, very pale, but still boyish and fresh enough to make one wonder by what rapid descent he had reached his present level. Perhaps the receding chin, the heavy, pouting lower lip, and the ceaselessly twitching mouth offered a key to the problem.

"Say, Darkey," he said.

"Well?"

"How much longer?

"Can't ye see the clock? It s staring ye in the face."

"No. Something queer's come over my eyes."

Darky was a short, sturdy man, who kept his head down and his hands deep in his pockets. The rain-drops clinging to the rim of an ancient hat fell every now and then into his grey beard, which presented a drowned appearance. He was a person of long and varied experiences; he knew that queer feeling in the eyes, and his heart softened.

"Come, lean against the pillar," he said, "if you don t want to tumble. Three of brandy s what you want. There s four minutes to wait yet."

With body flattened to the masonry, legs apart, and head thrown back, Darkey s companion felt more secure, and his mercurial spirits began to revive. He took off his cap, and brushing back his light brown curly hair with the hand which held it, he looked down at Darkey through half-closed eyes, the play of his features divided between a smile and a yawn. He had a lively sense of humour, and the irony of his situation was not lost on him. He took a grim, ferocious delight in calling up the might-have-beens

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 A New Poster

By Evelyn Sharp

I

was the first of Mrs. Angelo Milton s original dinner-parties. Mrs. Angelo Milton had the reputation of being the most original hostess, if not in London, certainly in South Kensington where she lived. Such a reputation, in such a neighbourhood, was not perhaps difficult of acquisition, and Mrs. Milton had managed to acquire it by the simple though unusual method of being mildly eccentric within the limits of conventionality. She was thus characteristic neither of Bohemia nor of South Kensington; she amused the one, puzzled the other, and received them both on the third Wednesday in the month. She was daring in her selection of guests, clever in the way she made them entertain one another, and commonplace in her own conversation. The object of her life was to be distinguished, and in a great measure she succeeded in it; the only thing that was wanting was Mrs. Angelo Milton herself. Her house, her receptions, her friends all bore the mark of distinction; as a drama, the scenic effect was superb and the company far above the average, but the principal player remained mediocre. She had none of the elements of individuality; her dress was perfect and of the fashionable type, her features were The Yellow Book—Vol. VI.

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 To the Congress of the

United States.

The petition of Susan B. Anthony, of the city of Rochester in the county of Monroe and state of New York, respectfully represents.

That prior to the late Presidential election your petitioner applied to the board of registry in the eighth ward of the city of Rochester, in which city she had resided for more than 25 years, to have her name placed upon the register of voters, and the board of registry, after consideration of the subject, decided that your petitioner was entitled to have her name placed upon the register, and placed it there accordingly.

On the day of the election, your petitioner, in common with hundreds of other American citizens, her neighbors, whose names had also been registered as voters, offered to the instructors of election, her ballots for


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 intrinsically good, yet their whole effect was unsatisfactory; her very hair was abundant and ordinary. Yet she was clever—clever enough to know her own defects and to play them off upon other people, clever enough to have begun a fresh career at the age of twenty-six and to have followed it with perseverance and success. She belonged to the few who know how to invest the little capital Nature has given them; and none of the brilliant frequenters of her house who came and talked about themselves to their sympathetic hostess ever suspected that they were really there to establish her personality and not to advertise their own.

A perfectly new dinner-party was the luckiest inspiration that ever came to a tired hostess. To see her guests grouped at small tables, to make them all co-operate in the labour of conversation, to enjoy the triumphant consciousness of having combined them in the happiest manner possible, and to have reduced her own responsibility to the entertaining of three people only, was the highest consummation Mrs. Angelo Milton had ever attained. She sat in complete satisfaction, bathed in the becoming rose-coloured light shed by numerous shaded candles; and she even allowed herself under the influence of the prevailing ease of manner to become almost natural. She had selected her own party with scrupulous care; a pretty débutante for her vis-à-vis, who neither eclipsed nor reflected her; a black and white artist, very new, for herself; and an ugly boy to play with the débutante, which he was doing very charmingly.

"Such an improvement on the ordinary dinner-party," said little Margaret Cousins, with the experience of a first season in her voice.

"Awfully neat idea, is really; no need to listen to what the other chaps are saying, don t you know," said the ugly boy, who was still young, though he had left Cambridge a year ago. "Do

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Page:Notes and Queries - Series 1 - Volume 1.djvu/507

A. of St. Wandrille, 382, 486.

Abdication of James II., 39. 489.

Aberdeen, Burnet prize at, 91.

Aboriginal chambers near Tilbury, 452.

A. (B ) on emancipation of the Jews, 475.

Accuracy of references, 170.

Addison's books, 212.

Adolphus on a recent novel, 231.

Advent bells, 121.

Adversaria. 73, 86.

Ælfric's colloquy, 168, 197, 232, 248, 278.

Ælian, translation of, 267, 284. A. (F. R.) on Sterne's Koran, 418.—on a passage in Goldsmith, 83.—Queen of Hearts, 320.

Agricola (C.), Propuguaculum anti-Pistorianum, 203.

A. (J. D.) on swords worn in public, 415.

Alban's(St) Day, 399.—, law courts at, 366.

Albert ( Le Petit), 474. Alchemy, metrical writings on, 60.

Alexandria (Ptolemy of), 142, 170. Alfred's (King) geography of Europe, 257, 313.—works, 93.

Alicui on Becket's grace-cup, 143.-on Bishop Barnaby, 132.

All Angels and St. Michael's, feast of, 235,

"All to-broke," 490.

Allusion in Friar Brackley's sermon, 351.

Almanack (Poor Robin's), 470.

Alms-basins, ancient, inscription on, 44 52, 171.

Alms-dishes, ancient inscribed, 87, 117, 135, 254.

Alpha on the origin of slang phrases, 185.

Alsop (Anthony), 215, 249.

Alythes on Belvoir Castle, 246.

America known to the Ancients, 342.—, Madoc's emigration to, 12, 56, 57, 58, 232, 282.

American aborigines, why called Indians? 254, 491.—bittern. 352.—lady, memoirs of, 335.—reprints of old books, 209.—stamp act; Lord Chatham's speech on, 12, 220.

Ames, new edition of Herbert's, 8.—, by Herbert and Dibdin, 38.

Ancient alms-basins, 171.—armour (Meyrick's), error in, 342.—inscribed alms dish, 87, 117, 135.—motto, 93.—MS, account of Britain, 174.—tiles, 173.

Andrews (H.) on Burnet prize at Aberdeen, 91.

André (Petit) on Welsh ambassador, 283.

Anecdotes of books, 73.

Anecdote of the civil wars, 93.—of a peal bells, 382.

Angels' visits, 102.

Anglo-Cambrian on history of landed and commercial policy, and history of Edward II., 59.—on Madoc's expedition, to America, 57.

Anglo-Saxon "Lay of the Phoenix," 203.—MS. of Orosius, 371.—word "unlaid," 430.

Anglo-Saxons, devices on standards of, 216.

Annotators, anonymous, identity of, 213.

Annus Trabeationis 105, 252.

Anonymous Ravennas, date of, 124, 220, 368.

Antholin's, (St.,) 180, 260.

Antiquarius on Queen Elizabeth's domestic establishment, 41.

Antinephelegesita on Boduc, 252.

A or An before words beginning with a vowel, 350, 407.

Apocrypha, 401.

Apposition, 384.

A (P. R.) on yeoman, 440.

Arabic numerals and cipher, 230, 279, 358, 367, 433, 435.

Archæology, mathematical, 132. Archæus on "Under the rose," 214.-on Gray's elegy, 389.

Architecture, glossary of terms, 189.-, introduction to the study of Gothic, 189.

Armada, poem on, 12, 18. Armagh, etymology of, 158, 219, 264.

A. ( R.). "My mind to me a kingdom is," 489.—on all to-broke, 490.—on Dr. Strode's poem 490.—on Wotton's poem, to Lord Bacon, 489.

Arun on autograph mottoes of Richard, Duke of Gloucester, and Harry, Duke of Buckingham, 252.—on change of name, 337.—on a curious monumental brass, 370.—on early statistics. Chart. Kent, 441. —on ecclesiastical year, 477.—on mercenary preacher, 489.—on "M. or N.," 476.—on Oliver Cromwell as a feoffee of Parson's Charily, Ely, 465.—on St. Martin's Lane, 375.—on throwing old shoes at wedding, 468.—on trunck breeches, 489.

Asher (A.) on books by the yard, 166.—on genealogy of European sovereigns, 339.

Ashgrove, Duke of, 92.

As lazy as Ludlum's dog, as laid him down to bark," 382, 475.

"As morse caught the mare," 320.

"As throng as Throp's wife," 485.

Astle's MSS., 282. "Atlas Novus," Seutter's, 156.

Aubrey (John), 71.

Auctorite de Dibil, 460.

Augustine on American bittern, 352.—on origin of calamity, 352.

Augustinian Eremites of York, library of, 83.

Austen (H. Morland) on curious symbolical custom, 363.-on the emancipation of the Jews, 401.

Authors and books, (No, 1.) 42.—(No. 2), 102.—(No. 3.), 151.—(No 4.), 178.

Authors and books (No. 5.), 259.—(No. 6), 363.

Authors of old plays, 77, 120.—who have privately printed their own works, 469.

Authorship of a couplet, 231.

Autograph mottoes of Henry, Duke of Buckingham. and Richard, Duke of Gloucester, 138, 252, 283, 459.

Ave Trici and Gheeze Ysenoudi, 215, 267.

Avon, derivation of, 285.

A. (W.P.), meaning of Cheshire round, 383.

Aylmer (Bp.), letter to, from Lord Burghley, 12.

Aylmer's (Bishop) letter respecting poemof the Armada, 18.

B.

B. on ancient motto, 156.—on Beaufoy's Ringer's True Guide, l37.—on change of name, 246.—on Colonel Hyde Seymour, 351.—on Elizabeth and Isabel, 488.—on form of petition, 43.—on Gloucestershire custom, 245.—on Miss Warneford and Mr. Cresswell, 157.—on Norman pedigrees, 214. on Professor de Morgan and Dr. Johnson, 107.—, query about St. Winifreds, 384.—, query on Selden's titles of honour, 351.—on Sir Walter de Bitton, 157.—on Solomon Dayrolles, 476.—(A. E.) on derivation of news, 369.—(A.) on Martins the printer, 218.—on superstitions in the North of England, 294.—, Twm Shawm Cattie, 455. Bacon and Jeremy Taylors notes on, 427.

Bacon's (Lord) metrical version of the Psalms, 202, 235, 263. Bacon Roger, hints for new edition of, 393.

Badger, The, 381.

Bagnio in Long Acre, 196.

Bainbridge and Buckridge Streets, St. Giles, 229.

Bald Head, defence of, 84

Baldwin's Gardens, 410.

Ballad, Kentish, 247.

Ballads (Homeric) of Dr. Maginn, 470.

Ballads of Dick and the Devil, 172, 473.—of the wars in France, 445.—makers and legislators, 153.

Balliolensis, on Stephens' Sermons, 334

Balloons, 309.

Baptism register of Cromwell's, 136. Barclay's Satyricon, some account of, 27.

Bardolph and Poins, 385. Barba Longa, 384.

Barker (W. G. M. J.) on Henry, Lord Darnley, 123.—on Bishop Barnaby, 132.

Barnabas, (St.), 136.

Barnacles, 117, 169, 254, 340.


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498 Barrister, a, on origin of the word chapel, 371

Barry (J. Milner), a note on Robert Herrick, the author of Hesperides, 291.

, Complutensian Polyglot, 251.

, M. D., on meaning of palace, 233.

Barryana, 212.

Bartlett's Buildings. 115.

Bartholomew Legate, the martyr, 483

Basse (William,) and his poems, 200. 265. 295. 348.

Bawn, meaning of, 440.

Baxter, (William ) 285.

Bayley (W. D'Oyly,) on Barryana, 212.

Bayswater and its origin, 162.

B. (C.) on ancient motto, 104.

on Gray's Alcaic Ode, 382.

on Cromwell's estates, 421.

on shrew, 421.

on proverb, God tempers the wind, 325.

on horns, 419.

on Coleridge's Christabil and Byron's Lara, 324.

on hockey, 457.

on Temple Stanyan, 460.

on "Nomade," 389.

on mistake in Gibbon, 390.

on the true tragedy of Richard III., 315.

on death-bed superstition, 350.

on emerald, 340.

B. (C. W.) on anecdotes of the civil wars, 338.

on shrew, 445.

Bear, Louse, and Religion, Fable of, 321.

Beauchamp (Stephen) on pilgrimages of kings, &c.—Blind man's buff—Muffin Hundred weight, 173.

Beaufoy's Ringer's True Guide, 157.

Beaumont, a poem attributed to, 146.

Beaver, 417.

Beaver hat, when first used in England, 100. 235. 266. 317. 338. 386.

Becket's grace cup, 142.

Becket (Thomas à), Mother of, 415. 490.

Bedford Coffee House, Covent Garden, 451.

Beeston (Sir William), journal of, 444.

Beetle mythology, 194.

Beggar's Opera, receipts of, 178.

Bek (Anthony), Bishop of Durham, 173.

Bell (John) of the Chancery Bar, 93

Bell (Dr. W.) on ancient inscribed dishes, 135. Bell (Dr.) on the talisman of Charlemagne, 140.

Bells, a peal of, 125. 154 170.

Bells (Judas), 195. 235. 357.

Bells in ancient times, weight of, 195.

Belvoir Castle, 246 384.

B. (E. M.) on Complutensian MSS., 402.

on Dulcarnon, 254. on the emblem and national motto of Ireland, 415. - on Luther's portrait at Warwick Castle, 400. on Latin distich and translation, 415 on Luther's translation of the New Testament, 399. on Pope Felix, 415. on Verbum Graecum, 415. Berkeley's theory of vision vindicated, . 130. Bernicia, 335. 388. Bess of Hardwick. 276. 339. Beta on prison dicipline and execution of justice, 70. Betterton's Duties of a Player, 67. 105. Bever's (Dr. Thomas) Legal Polity of Great Britain, 483. B. (F.) on Kentish Ballad, 247. B. (F. C.) on Bishop Blaize, 247. on dedications, S26. on error in Meyrick's Ancient Ar. mour, 342. errors corrected, 331. on Hudibrastic couplet, 340. on Mousetrap Dante, 3;>9. on plagiarisms and parallel passages, . B. (F. C.) on proverbial sayings and their origins, 332, 317- on shipster, 339. on straw necklaces, and method of keeping notes, 104. B. (F. J.) on quotations from Pope, 102. on masters of St Cross, 404. B. (G. H.) on Ccld Harbour, 50. on Colinaeus, 158. on the Field of the Brothers' Footsteps, . on Gilbert Brown, 381. on Lord Erskine's brooms, 138. on Weeping Cross, 154. on thistle of Scotland, 90. B. (U.) on Pandoxare, 202. B. (H. L.) on Ave Trici, 215. B. (J. S.) on the reconciliation in 1554, 186. Bible and key, divination by the, 413. Bibliographic project, 9. Bibliographical notes, 413. Bibliographic Biographique, 42. Bigotry, 204. Bill of fare of 1626, 99. Billingsgate, origin of name, 93. 164. Bills of fare in 1683, 54. Biographers of Lydgate and Coverdale, 37P. Birthplace of Andrew Borde, 88. Birchington's (Stephen) MSS., compilation of, 7. Bis dat qui citb dat, 330. Bishop that burneth, 87. Bishop Barnaby, Why lady-bird so called . 131. Bishop Barlow, 206. Bitton, Sir Walter de, 157. Bive and chute lambs, 93, 474. B. (J.) on bust of Sir Walter Raleigh, 76. on Countess of Pembroke's letter, 154. on D'lsraeli on the Court of Wards, . on the Marescautia, 167. on Scole Inn, i'83. B. (J. M.) Auctorite de Dibil, 460. on As lazy as Ludlum's dog, 475. on Dr. Maginn's Shakspeare's papers, . on Doctor Dobbs and his horse Nobbs, . on etymology of Totnes, 470. on finkle or finkel, 477. on howkey or horkey, 457. on etymology of Totnes, 470. on a phonetic peculiarity, 463. on Poor Robin's Almanack, 470. queries concerning Chaucer, 303. St. Winifreda, 475. B. (J. S.) what are depinges, 277. B. (L.) of Duncan Campbell, 186. Black broth, Lacedaemonian, was it coffee ? 124. 139. 155. 242. 300. 399. Black doll at old store shops, 444. Blaise (Bishop), 247. 325. Blind man's buff, 173. Blink (G.) on a passage in Mfjcbeth, 484. Blisters, charm for, used in Ireland, 3*9. Blockade of Corfe Castle in 1644, 401. Blood's (Colonel) house, 174. Bloomfylde (Myles and William), writings on alchemy, 60. Bloomfylde (Myles) Ortus Vocabulorum, 90. Bloomsbury Market, 115 B. (N.), notes upon " notes," No. 1., 19. Bodenham, or Ling's Politeuphia, 29. 86. Boduc, or Boduoc, on British coins, 235.252. Body and soul, 390. Bohn's edition of Milton's prose works, 483. Boleyn's (Sir Edward), spectre, 468. Bone-houses and catacombs, 171. 210. 221. Bonner on the Seven Sacraments, 452. Book of the Mousetrap, 154. Book plate, 212. Books by the yard, 166. Bookworm ori Bodenham, or Ling's Poli- teuphia, 29. Boonen (portrait by), 3S6. Borde (Andrew), birthplace of, 88. Boke of Knowledge, 38. - ^ WU U.vvvfrt 1 '4. Borromei, Sermones Sancti Carols!, 27. Borrowed thoughts, 482. Boston de Bury, 186. Botfield (Beriah) on the Treatise of Equi- vocation, 357. Both well and Mary Queen of Scots, mar- riage contract of, 97. Bourne (Vincent), epigram from the Latin of, 253. translation from, 152. 311. Brass, curious monumental, 247. Braybrooke, Lord, on pilgrimage of princes, &c. &c., 203. on " Where England's monarch," 458. on Lord Carrington, or Karinthon,490. on etymology of Havior, 230. on pokership or porkership, 185. 236. on Vertue MSS., 372. on letter attributed to Sir Robert Walpoie, 336. on journeyman, 458. on the word brozier, 485. on Killigrew family and Scole Inn sign, . on howkey or horkey, 263. on Catherine Pegge, 200. Breton (Nicholas), 409. crossing of proverbs, 361. Bride Lane, St. Bride's, 396. Bristol riots, 352. 460. Red Maids of, 219. Britain, ancient MS. account of, 174. Britain (Great), Defoe's tour through, 205. British Museum, portraits in the, 305. British coins, Boduc or Boduoc on, 235. Britton (John) on John Aubrey, 71. on Mr. Poore's Literary Collections, Inigo Jones, medal of Stukeley, Sir James Thornhill, 122. Brockett's glossary on " to fettle," 169. Brooms, Lord Erskine's, 93. 138. Brothers' Footsteps, Field of, 178. Brougham (Lord) on Burnet, 40. Brown (Gilbert), 381. Brown study, 352. 418. Brown (W. J.) on Ptolemy of Alexandria, . B. (R. S.) As Morse caught the mare, 329. B. (R. W.) on Christian captives, 441. Brozier, the word, 4S5. Bruce (John), epigram against Luther and Erasmus, 51. , lines in the style of Suckling, 20. on capture of Duke of Monmouth, 3. on charm for the tooth a< he, 397. Bruce (Robert de), wife of, 187. , captivity of his queen in England, 290. Buccaneers, Charles II., 410. Buckingham motto, 138. 252. 283. 459. Bug, origin of word, 237. Bull (John), 336. Bullfights, Spanish, 381. Bulls called William, 44. Bulstrode Park, camp in, 470. Buns, 244. Buriensis on the Duke of Marlborough, 415. on the Song of the Bees, 415. on seal of Killigrew, Master of the Revels, 204. on cook eels, 412. on meaning of Savegard and Russells, . on Sangred Dowts of Holy Scripture, . Burnet (Bp.), opinions respecting, 40. 181. as an historian, 493. and Mr. Macaulay, 250. Burnet prize at Aberdeen, 91. Burney (Dr.), musical works of, 135. Burning the dead, 216. 308. Burns (Robert), inedited lines by, 300. Burton's Anatomy of (Religious) Melan- choly, 305. Burtt (Joseph) on ancient libraries, 21. on royal household allowances, 86. Buscapie, query as to the, 171 206. B. ( W.) on The'Complaynt of Scotland, 422.


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 "I don t see why we should be sacrificed to the clever people, they have so many compensations. It is the stupid people who can only feel things, who are the really important factors of life, and they have all the suffering," cried Cynthia bitterly. She was forgetting the part she had planned for herself.

"What are we talking about? " said Adrian suddenly.

"You were being brilliant again," she said, collecting herself with an effort.

"And my cigarette has gone out," he laughed, and went across to a candle to light it.

They listened mechanically to the voices through the open door.

"It's no use, it won't draw, I tell you. Nobody could make it draw, it's got stuffed up with something. I am quite sure the strings I have been eating are not tobacco at all. It s the stupidest cigarette I ever smoked."

"It looks a bit played, doesn't it? You ve used all my matches and the spills hang out in the other room. Stick to it a moment while I freeze on to a coal, will you? "

Margaret evidently had no difficulty in sticking to the cigarette, and Dicky must have achieved the extraordinary feat of freezing on to a coal, for there was no more conversation in the drawing-room for the next few moments, and when it began afresh a piano-organ in the street below completely drowned it.

"That s a good effect," said Adrian, leaning over the window-box, "the lamps and the background of bushes, and the weird light on that man s face—awfully fine, isn't it?"

She came and looked out with him.

"Very," she said; "have you been painting much lately?

"No. I've been literally off colour. Weather, I suppose."

"Or a new lady friend?" she suggested, under cover of the clanging music in the street. Her

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Rh B. (W. G.) on French leave, 246. B. ( W. J.) on genealogy of European sove- reigns, 119. By hook or by crook, 205. 237. 281. 405. Byron's Childe Harold and Burton's Me- lancholy, 163. Lara, on a passage in, 262. 443. Byron and Tacitus, 390. 462. CL C. on anecdote of the civil wars, 93. on blunder in Malone's Shakgpeare, . on Cowley, or Coverley Statistics of Roman Catholic Church Whelps Dis- covery of America, 1(>7. on 'definition of Grummelt, 358. on devices of the standards of the An. glo-Saxons, 284. on Dug. tat in, 284. on logographic printing, 198. on Lord Chatham's speech on the American stamp act, 220., Love's last shift, 476. on M. or N., 476. on Malone's blunder, 461. on May-day, 221. , meaning of pal lace, 284. on military execution, 476. on political maxim, 93. on Pope's translation of Horace, 230. on Salt at Montem, 473. on Sir William Hamilton, 270. on slang phrases, 234. on spurious letter of Sir R. Walpolc, ML on tablet of Napoleon, 461. on Temple Stanyan, 460. on travelling in England, 220. on tureen, 307. on Vertue's MS., 372. C. (A.) on black doll at old store shops, . on Worm of Lambton, 453. on camp in Hulstrode Park, 470. on derivation of holy, 470. Caerphili Castle, 157. 237. Caesar's wife, 277. 389. C. ( A. G.), query as to reference*, 20. Calamity, derivation of, 215. 268. 302. Calver (Bernard), 203. Cambridge, motto of university, 76. Campbell (Dunc:<n), query respecting, 186. Gump in BuUtrode Park, 470. Canidia, or the witches, MS. note in, 161. Cannibal, origin of, 186. Cantab, on coal brandy, 352. on HalUm's Middle Ages, 51. , orixin of swot, 352. Canterbury, catalogue of ancient library of Christ Church, 21. Capel Court, 115. Captivity of the Queen of Bruce in England, no. Capture of the Duke of Monmouth, S. 82. Caracciuli's Life of Lord Clivc, author of, . 120. Caredon, meaning of, 217. C.ircna on tin- Inquisition, 186. Carlisle House, Soho. 450. Carrington, or Karmthon(Lord murdered, iO Cartwright's Poems (on some suppressed passages in), lo8. 151. Cat, "liin,"SW.i.i.M. Catacombs and bone house*. 171. 210. Catherine Street, Strand, 451. Catsup, catchup, ketchup, 124. 283. Cavell, 47 >. Cawood's ship of Fools. MS. notes in, I6i. C ( B ) on the symbolism of the fir-cone, . C. (C. J.). Phoenix, by Lactantius, 283. Cephas on the Advent bells, 121. on Sangred Judas Bell, 325. Cercdwyn on barnacles, 1G9. Certificate of Nat. Lee, 149. C. (G. A.), Dust pot- Froth lot, 320. on Sir W. Gndbold. 93. on political maxims. 104, on legislators and ballad makers, 153. CH. on buccaneers, 400. on Charles II. and Lord R.'s daughter, . on college salting and tucking of fresh- men, 390. on Eachard's tracts, 404. on error in Hallam's History of Litera. lure, 435., inedited letter of the Duke of Mon- mouth, 379. on Locke's proposed Life of Ld.Shaftcs- bury, 401. on Lord Shaftesbury and Dr. Which- cot, 382. on I .inflow's Memoirs, 384. on the Mosquito country ; origin of the name ; early connection of the Mosquito Indians with the English, 425. on MSS. of Ixx-ke, 401. on Queen's messengers, 445. on Kawdon papers, 400. on Savile, Marquis of Halifax, 384, on Sir William Coventry, 381. on Wellington Wyrwast Cokam, . , who was Lord Karintlion? murdered , 440. on blockade of Corfe Castle in 164, . Chancellors, Thynne's collection of, 00. Change of name, 246. Chapels, origin of the name, 3>3. 391. 417. Charlemagne's talisman, 140 187. Charles I., portrait of, 137. 184., anecdote of, 437. , his sword, 183. 372., bust of, 43. , pictures of, in churches, 184. Charles 11. and Lord R.'s daughter, 399. . Charms, old, 293. Charm for toothache used in Ireland, 319. . Charm for wounds, 482. Charms, 429. (li.iri.i- the evil eye. 429 Chart, Kent, early statistics of, 330 Chatham (Lord), speech on the American sump act, 12. -20. Chaucer, queries concerning, 303., night charm, 229. 281. Cheshire round, 80. 456. Chest, Hand, 173. Chiffinch, letters of Mrs., 124. Childe Harold, parallel passages or plagi- arisms in, 163. 299. Chip in porridge, 3R2. Christian captives. 441. 477. Christian doctrine, fraternity of, 213. 2S1. Christ Church, Canterbury, books lent from, 1. Christencat, meaning of, 109. Christie (W. D.) on Skinner's Life of Monk, 379. Christmas Hymn, 201. 252. Christ'. Hospital, old songs or.ce popul ir there, 313. 421. Chronicle, Morning, when first established, Chrysopolis. 383. Church History, queries In, 158. Church livings, incumbents of. 91. Churchyard cu>toin>, ancient, 4*1. Cilibcr's Apology, chaacters of actors in. 67. Circulation ol the blood, discovery of, Sfl/2. . Cirt-ncester, Rich.ird of, 91. i'Ofi. Civil wars, anecdote of. 93. 338. C. (J.)on M.or N, 415 on regimental badges, 415. C. (J.T.)on Dayrolles, 476. C. (J. W.) on passages from Pone. 245. C. (LO. query respecting horns," SM. Clare Market, Clarendon (Ix>rd), opinion* of, by English historians, 165. Clergy, alleged ignorance of, 51. Clericus, definition of, 149. Clericus on inscriptions of ancient alms- basins. 44. on ordination pledges, I .VI Clerkenwell, eminent residents. 180. Clivc (Lord), Caraccioli's Life of, 108. 120. Clone translation, 4vS. Clouds or shrouds in Shakspeare, 48. C. (M.)onTrophee.m C. (O.) on family of Steward or Stewart of Bristol. 335. Coach-bell, why car-wigs so called, 383. Coal brandy, 352. 4*6. Cock Lane, 244 Coffee, notes on. 95. 154. Coffee-houses, the firt in England, 314, Coffee, the Lacediemnnian black broth, 194. 139. 155. 242. 300. 35. Coffins, use of. 321. Coheirs, Mowbray. 213. i Coins. Kritith, Boduc or Boduoc on, 235. j Cole (Robert) on Lady Arabella Stuart, 274.
 * . 324. 4fc7.
 * Cold Harbour, query as to origin of, 60.
 * extracts from old records, 317.

' on Dray ton and Young, 213. Coli-man's music house, :>'.'>. Coleridge, Cot tie's Life of. 55., Christ iibel and Byron's Lara, 384. on a passage in, 26i. Colincu*. 158. Coll. Itegall. Socius on Dr. Whichcott and Ixml Shaftesbury. 444. College salting and tucking of freshmen, 61. 306 341.390. Colley Cibber's A|K>1ogy, 29. Collier (J Payne) on Bishop Ay liner's let' ter and |<oem of the Armada. 18. register*. 85. on English and American reprints of old books, 210. on Love, the king's fool, 121. Nicholas Breton's crossing of proverbs, on Dr. Percy and the poems of the Earl of Surrey. 47 1 on Shakspeare and deer stealing, 4 on shrouds or clouds in Shaktpe'<. Constantino the artist, 458. Constitution Hill, why so called? 88. Contradictions in Don Quixote. 73. 171. Convention Parliament of lrtt, MS. dUry of. 470. Cook (David), watchman of WcstmtMter. Ode to, from V. Bourne, 159. Cook eels. 4 12. Cooper '. II ) on college salting, 306. on Pandoxire, VN4. on Scala Ccrli. 402. on tfiicber Wednetdav. on the Duke of Marlborough, 490. _ on Sayers the caricaturist. |K7. on White Hart Inn, Seole, 245. Copcr ( W. Durrant), on bive and chut* " Caraivinli'* Life of Lord (live, 180. on flecking churches with yew on Easter Day, 294. on early statistics, parish registers, 443. on Eltiabeth and Isabel, 488. Folk-lore, 488,
 * on defence of a bald head and stationers'