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 of the pavement, I would not blame them for it!—but later on, later on, they would flock to thank me. They just didn't realise, poor money-grubbers! How could they? But later on I grew perfectly radiant at the thought of what I would do for poor humanity, and absurdly self-satisfied as the conviction grew upon me that this would prove a work of genius—no mere glimmer of the spiritual afflatus—but a solid chunk of genius.

Meanwhile I took a 'bus and paid my penny. I leant back and chuckled to myself as each fresh thought-atom added to the precious quality of my pearl. Pearl? Not one any longer—a whole quarrelet of pearls, Oriental pearls of the greatest price! Ah, how happy I was as I fondled my conceit!

It was near Chancery Lane that a foreign element cropped up and disturbed the rich flow of my fancy.

I happened to glance at the side-walk. A woman, a little woman, was hurrying along in a most remarkable way. It annoyed me, for I could not help wondering why she was in such a desperate hurry. Bother the jade! what business had she to thrust herself on my observation like that, and tangle the threads of a web of genius, undoubted genius?

I closed my eyes to avoid seeing her; I could see her through the lids. She had square shoulders and a high bust, and a white gauze tie, like a snowy feather in the breast of a pouter pigeon.

We stop—I look again—aye, there she is! Her black eyes stare boldly through her kohol-tinted lids, her face has a violet tint. She grips her gloves in one hand, her white-handled umbrella in the other, handle up, like a knobkerrie.

She has great feet, too, in pointed shoes, and the heels are under her insteps; and as we outdistance her I fancy I can hear their decisive tap-tap above the thousand sounds of the street.

I breathe a sigh of relief as I return to my pearl—my pearl that

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 before the last day of February 1581, when he subscribed at the Canongate, Edinburgh, a renewal of the band in reference to the non-molestation of the tutor of Glammis (ib. p. 457). On 26 July 1582 he obtained a commission of justiciary (ib. p. 501).

Crawford was one of those who, in 1582, assembled at St. Andrews in support of the king after his escape from Ruthven. Shortly afterwards he was chosen master stabler to the king, and, in opposition to the wishes of the inhabitants of Dundee, was made provost of that town (, Correspondence, Surtees Society, p. 585;, iii. 731). On Arran's return to power in August of this year he became one of his principal supporters, and at the parliament held on the 22nd, he carried the sword (ib. iv. 197). He was one of those who, on 14 Nov., convoyed the young Duke of Lennox from Leith—where he had landed from France—to the king at Kinneil (ib. viii. 255). He took part in the trial of the Earl of Gowrie in May 1584, and after the earl's forfeiture, received from the king the barony and regality of Scone and the church lands of Abernethy. With the king and Arran he was seized in the castle of Stirling by the banished lords on 1 Nov., and for a short time was committed to the charge of Lord Hamilton at Kinneil (Hamilton Papers, p. 65). He was at the reconciliation banquet at Holyrood House in May 1587, and in the procession on the following day walked arm in arm with his hereditary enemy, the Master of Glammis (, Memoirs, p. 63;, iv. 614), but these ceremonies were without practical effect either on the private feuds or political intrigues of the nobles who took part in them. Having been converted to the catholic faith by the jesuit [q. v.] (Letter of Robert Birrel to the Duke of Parma, 25 Jan. 1589, in, v. 25), he was concerned along with Lord [q. v.] and the Earls of Huntly and Errol in a correspondence with Spain in reference to a Spanish invasion of England, and he was also closely associated with other schemes of the catholic nobles. In the spring of 1589 he and Huntly appeared in arms at Perth, and shortly afterwards waylaid the treasurer Glammis, whom for some time they kept in captivity in the north. From Perth they proceeded northwards to the bridge of Dee (ib. v. 55), but on the appearance of the king with a greatly inferior force, they disbanded their troops. Crawford delivered himself up at Edinburgh on 20 May, asserting that Huntly had beguiled him into the belief that he had a commission from the king for gathering his forces (ib.) He was on the 21st convicted of treason (ib. p. 57;, p. 77), and sentenced to be confined in the castle of St. Andrews during the king's pleasure, but received his release in the following September. Afterwards, according to Douglas (Peerage of Scotland), he received a safe-conduct to pass through England into France; and Lord Lindsay (Lives of the Lindsays) supposes him to have been absent from Scotland till 1601, but if he ever went to France, he had returned to Scotland by 3 Feb. 1590–1, when he was present at a meeting of the privy council (Reg. P. C. Scotl. iv. 572). His attendance at the council continued during subsequent years, and notices of his feuds with Lord Glammis frequently appear in the ‘Register.’ He died before 15 Oct. 1607—his son in a council minute of that date is referred to as now Earl of Crawford—at Cupar, Fifeshire, and was buried at Dundee.

He was married first to Lilias, one of ‘seven bonnie sisters,’ daughters of David, lord Drummond, and secondly to Griselda, daughter of John, fourth earl of Atholl. A manuscript genealogy states that he had by his first wife a son who died young, and according to the old ballad of ‘Earl Crawford,’ he separated from her on account of a light jest of hers in reference to the paternity of the child. The ballad goes on to recount that she died of grief at the separation, and that the earl died the same night from grief at her loss, but the earl's second marriage disposes of the latter statement. By his second wife he had three children: David, James, and Claude.

In, twelfth (d. 1621), the prodigality and lawlessness, which had more or less characterised the descendants of the ‘wicked master,’ reached their climax. On 25 Oct. 1605 he slew, ‘under trust,’ his kinsman, Sir of Balgavie [q. v.] On this account he was ‘placed at the horn’ (Reg. P. C. Scotl. vii. 143), but succeeded in eluding capture, owing, it would appear, to the remissness of the privy council, who were on 10 Oct. rebuked by the king (ib. p. 541). In revenge of the murder Crawford was, on 5 July 1607, while accompanied by Lord Spynie, attacked by the relatives of Sir Walter, lord Spynie [see, first ], being slain in the brawl and Crawford wounded. On 10 May 1607–8, Crawford appeared before the council and took the oath of allegiance (ib. viii. 59), but was subsequently, on many occasions, proceeded against for his lawless proceedings. Ultimately his relatives, to prevent further alienations of the estates, placed him under surveillance in the castle of Edinburgh, where he died in February 1621. He had by his wife, Lady Jane Ker, a daughter Jean,

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 your money under your tongue! Spit it out at once!'

But Pinocchio was obdurate.

'Ah! you pretend to be deaf, do you? Wait a moment, leave it to us to find a means to make you spit it out.'

And one of them seized the puppet by the end of his nose, and the other took him by the chin, and began to pull them brutally, the one up and the other down, to constrain him to open his mouth. But it was all to no purpose. Pinocchio's mouth seemed to be nailed and riveted together.

Then the shortest assassin drew out an ugly knife and tried to force it between his lips like a lever or chisel. But Pinocchio as quick as lightning caught his hand with his teeth, and with one bite bit it clean off and spat it out. Imagine his astonishment when instead of a hand he perceived that he had spat a cat's paw on to the ground.

Encouraged by this first victory he used his nails to such purpose that he succeeded in liberating himself from his assailants, and jumping the hedge by the roadside he began to fly across country. The assassins ran after him like two dogs chasing a hare: and the one who had lost a paw ran on one leg, and no one ever knew how he managed it.

After a race of some miles Pinocchio could do no more. Giving himself up for lost he climbed the stem of a very high


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 and seated himself in the topmost branches. The assassins attempted to climb after him, but when they had reached halfway up the stem they slid down again, and arrived on the ground with the skin grazed from their hands and knees.

But they were not to be beaten by so little: collecting a quantity of dry wood they piled it beneath the pine and set fire to it. In less time than it takes to tell the pine began to burn and to flame like a candle blown by the wind. Pinocchio, seeing that the flames were mounting higher every instant, and not wishing to end his life like a roasted pigeon, made a stupendous leap from the top of the tree and started afresh across the fields and vineyards. The assassins followed him, and kept behind him without once giving in.

The day began to break and they were still pursuing him. Suddenly Pinocchio found his way barred by a wide deep ditch full of dirty water the colour of coffee. What was he to do? 'One! two! three!' cried the puppet, and making a rush he sprang to the other side. The assassins also jumped, but not having measured the distance properly—splash, splash! . . . they fell into the very middle of the ditch. Pinocchio, who heard the plunge and the splashing of the water, shouted out, laughing, and without stopping:


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Lindsay, David (1547?-1607)


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 'A fine bath to you, gentleman assassins.'

And he felt convinced that they were drowned, when, turning to look, he perceived that on the contrary they were both running after him, still enveloped in their sacks, with the water dripping from them as if they had been two hollow baskets.


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 that is to bring me kudos and make countless thousands rejoice. It is dimmed a little, I must nurse it tenderly.

Jerk, jerk, jangle—stop.—Bother the bell! We pull up to drop some passengers, the idiots! and, as I live, she overtakes us! How the men and women cede her the middle of the pavement! How her figure dominates it, and her great feet emphasise her ridiculous haste! Why should she disturb me? My nerves are quivering pitifully; the sweet inner light is waning, I am in mortal dread of losing my little masterpiece. Thank heaven, we are off again. . . ..

"Charing Cross, Army and Navy, V'toria!"—Stop!

Of course, naturally! Here she comes, elbows out, umbrella waning! How the steel in her bonnet glistens! She recalls something, what is it?—what is it? A-ah! I have it!—a strident voice, on the deck of a steamer in the glorious bay of Rio, singing:

and la miòla snaps her fingers gaily and trills her r's; and the Corcovado is outlined clearly on the purple background as if bending to listen; and the palms and the mosque-like buildings, and the fair islets bathed in the witchery of moonlight, and the star-gems twinned in the lap of the bay, intoxicate as a dream of the East.

What in the world is a pompier? What connection has the word with this creature who is murdering, deliberately murdering, a delicate creation of my brain, begotten by the fusion of country and town?

I am

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this sight the puppet's courage failed him, and he was on the point of throwing himself on the ground and giving himself over for lost. Turning, however, his eyes in every direction, he saw at some distance, standing out amidst the dark green of the trees, a small house as white as snow.

'If I had only breath to reach that house,' he said to himself, 'perhaps I should be saved.'

And without delaying an instant, he recommenced running for his life through the wood, and the assassins after him.

At last, after a desperate race of nearly two hours, he arrived quite breathless at the door of the house, and knocked.

No one answered.

He knocked again with great violence, for he heard the sound of steps


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 I am convinced pompier expresses her in some subtle way—absurd word! I look back at her, I criticise her, I anathematise her, I hate her!

What is she hurrying for? We can't escape her—always we stop and let her overtake us with her elbowing gait, and tight skirt shortened to show her great splay feet—ugh!

My brain is void, all is dark within; the flowers are faded, the music stilled; the lovely illusive little being has flown, and yet she pounds along untiringly.

Is she a feminine presentment of the wandering Jew, a living embodiment of the ghoul-like spirit that haunts the city and murders fancy?

What business had she, I ask, to come and thrust her white-handled umbrella into the delicate net work of my nerves and untune their harmony?

Does she realise what she has done? She has trampled a rare little mind-being unto death, destroyed a precious literary gem. Aye, one that, for aught I know, might have worked a revolution in modern thought; added a new human document to the archives of man; been the keystone to psychic investigations; solved problems that lurk in the depths of our natures and tantalise us with elusive gleams of truth; heralded in, perchance, the new era; when such simple problems as Home Rule, Bimetallism, or the Woman Question will be mere themes for schoolboard compositions—who can tell?

Well, it was not my fault. No one regrets it more,—no one—but what could I do?

Blame her, woman of the great feet and dominating gait, and waving umbrella-handle!—blame her! I can only regret it—regret it!

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 him, and the heavy panting of his persecutors. The same silence.

Seeing that knocking was useless he began in desperation to kick and pommel the door with all his might. The window then opened and a beautiful Child appeared at it. She had blue hair and a face as white as a waxen image; her eyes were closed and her hands were crossed on her breast. Without moving her lips in the least, she said in a voice that seemed to come from the other world:

'In this house there is no one. They are all dead.'

'Then at least open the door for me yourself,' shouted Pinocchio, crying and imploring.

'I am dead also.'

'Dead? then what are you doing there at the window?'

'I am waiting for the bier to come to carry me away.'

Having said this she immediately disappeared, and the window was closed again without the slightest noise.

'Oh! beautiful Child with blue hair,' cried Pinocchio, 'open the door for pity's sake! Have compassion on a poor boy pursued by assas. . .'

But he could not finish the word, for he felt himself seized by the collar, and the same two horrible voices said to him threateningly:


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 'You shall not escape from us again!'

The puppet, seeing death staring him in the face, was taken with such a violent fit of trembling that the joints of his wooden legs began to creak, and the sovereigns hidden under his tongue to clink.

'Now then,' demanded the assassins, 'will you open your mouth, yes or no? Ah! no answer? . . . Leave it to us: this time we will force you to open it! . . .'

And drawing out two long horrid knives as sharp as razors, clash. . . they attempted to stab him twice.

But the puppet, luckily for him, was made of very hard wood; the knives therefore broke into a thousand pieces, and the assassins were left with the handles in their hands staring at each other.

'I see what we must do,' said one of them. 'He must be hung! let us hang him!'

'Let us hang him!' repeated the other. Without loss of time they tied his arms behind him, passed a running noose round his throat, and then hung him to the branch of a tree called the Big Oak.

They then sat down on the grass and waited for his last struggle. But at the end of three hours the puppet's eyes were still open, his mouth closed, and he was kicking more than ever.

Losing patience they turned to Pinocchio and said in a bantering tone:


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 'Good-bye till to-morrow. Let us hope that when we return you will be polite enough to allow yourself to be found quite dead, and with your mouth wide open.'

And they walked off.

In the meantime a tempestuous northerly wind began to blow and roar angrily, and it beat the poor puppet as he hung from side to side, making him swing violently like the clapper of a bell ringing for a wedding. And the swinging gave him atrocious spasms, and the running noose, becoming still tighter round his throat, took away his breath.

Little by little his eyes began to grow dim, but although he felt that death was near he still continued to hope that some charitable person would come to his assistance before it was too late. But when, after waiting and waiting, he found that no one came, absolutely no one, then he remembered his poor father, and thinking he was dying. . ., he stammered out:

'Oh, papa! papa! if only you were here!'

His breath failed him and he could say no more. He shut his eyes, opened his mouth, stretched his legs, gave a long shudder, and hung stiff and insensible.


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68 residing at Sonsonate, or other places where the climate is considered to be prejudicial to European constitutions. On leaving the port, I could not prevail on Don Miguel, the administrador, to accept of any payment for the accommodation he had afforded me; but being desirous of shewing him some acknowledgement, I gave him an English broad sword, with which he was exceedingly delighted: he began to dry and clean it from the effects of the salt-water, an operation which, those who know the effect of that element on steel are aware of, he would often have to repeat.


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E never spoke out. Upon these four words, gathered by chance from a private letter, Matthew Arnold, with that super-subtle ingenuity which loved to take the word and play upon it and make it of innumerable colours, has constructed, as one may conjecture some antediluvian wonder from its smallest fragment, a full, complete, and intimate picture of the poet Thomas Gray. He never spoke out. Here, we are told, lies the secret of Gray's limitation as much in life as in literature: so sensitive was he in private life, so modest in public, that the thoughts that arose in him never got full utterance, the possibilities of his genius were never fulfilled; and we, in our turn, are left the poorer for that nervous delicacy which has proved the bane of the poet, living and dead alike. It is a singularly characteristic essay—this paper on Gray, showing the writer's logical talent at once in its strongest and its weakest capacities, and a complete study of Arnold's method might well, I think, be founded upon its thirty pages. But in the present instance I have recurred to that recurring phrase, He never spoke out, not to discuss Matthew Arnold's estimate of Gray, nor, indeed, to consider Gray's relation to his age; but merely to point out, what the turn of Arnold's argument did not require him to consider, namely, the extraordinarily un-English aspect of this reticence

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202 reticence in Gray, a reticence alien without doubt to the English character, but still more alien to English literature. Reticence is not a national characteristic—far otherwise. The phrase "national characteristic" is, I know well, a cant phrase, and, as such, full of the dangers of abuse. Historical and ethnographical criticism, proceeding on popular lines, has tried from time to time to fix certain tendencies to certain races, and to argue from individuals to generalities with a freedom that every law of induction belies. And so we have come to endow the Frenchman, universally and without exception, with politeness, the Indian, equally universally, with cunning, the American with the commercial talent, the German with the educational, and so forth. Generalisations of this kind must, of course, be accepted with limitations. But it is not too much, perhaps, to say that the Englishman has always prided himself upon his frankness. He is always for speaking out; and it is this faculty of outspokenness that he is anxious to attribute to those characters which he sets up in the market-places of his religion and his literature, as those whom he chiefly delights to honour. The demigods of our national verse, the heroes of our national fiction, are brow-bound, above all other laurels, with this glorious freedom of free speech and open manners, and we have come to regard this broad, untrammelled virtue of ours, as all individual virtues will be regarded with the revolution of the cycle of provinciality, as a guerdon above question or control. We have become inclined to forget that every good thing has, as Aristotle pointed out so long ago, its corresponding evil, and that the corruption of the best is always worst of all. Frankness is so great a boon, we say: we can forgive anything to the man who has the courage of his convictions, the fearlessness of freedom—the man, in a word, who speaks out.

But we have to distinguish, I think, at the outset between a national

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text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 49/October 1896/Sketch of Robert Empie Rogers


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poor Pinocchio, suspended to a branch of the Big Oak, was apparently more dead than alive, the beautiful Child with the blue hair came again to the window. When she saw the unhappy puppet hanging by his throat, and dancing up and down in the gusts of the north wind, she was moved by compassion. Striking her hands together she made three little claps.

At this signal there came a sound of the sweep of wings flying rapidly, and a large Falcon flew on to the window-sill.

'What are your orders, gracious Fairy?' he asked, inclining his beak in sign of reverence—for I must tell you that the Child with blue hair was no more and no less than a beautiful Fairy, who for more than a thousand years had lived in the wood.


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 'Do you see that puppet dangling from a branch of the Big Oak?'

'I see him.'

'Very well. Fly there at once: with your strong beak break the knot that keeps him suspended in the air, and lay him gently on the grass at the foot of the tree.'

The Falcon flew away, and after two minutes he returned, saying:

'I have done as you commanded.'

'And how did you find him?'

'To see him he appeared dead, but he cannot really be quite dead, for I had no sooner loosened the running noose that tightened his throat than, giving a sigh, he muttered in a faint voice: "Now I feel better! . . ."'

The Fairy then striking her hands together made two little claps, and a magnificent Poodle appeared, walking upright on his hind-legs exactly as if he had been a man.

He was in the full-dress livery of a coachman. On his head he had a three-cornered cap braided with gold, his curly white wig came down on to his shoulders, he had a chocolate-coloured waistcoat with diamond buttons, and two large pockets to contain the bones that his mistress gave him at dinner. He had besides a pair of short crimson velvet breeches, silk stockings, cutdown shoes, and hanging behind him a


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 species of umbrella-case made of blue satin, to put his tail into when the weather was rainy.

'Be quick, Medoro, like a good dog!' said the Fairy to the Poodle. 'Have the most beautiful carriage in my coach-house put to, and take the road to the wood. When you come to the Big Oak you will find a poor puppet stretched on the grass half dead. Pick him up gently, and lay him flat on the cushions of the carriage and bring him here to me. Have you understood?'

The Poodle, to show that he had understood, shook the case of blue satin that he had on three or four times, and ran off like a racehorse.

Shortly afterwards a beautiful little carriage came out of the coach-house. The cushions were stuffed with canary feathers, and it was lined in the inside with whipped cream, custard, and Savoy biscuits. The little carriage was drawn by a hundred pairs of white mice, and the Poodle, seated on the coach-box, cracked his whip from side to side like a driver when he is afraid that he is behind time.

A quarter of an hour had not passed when the carriage returned. The Fairy, who was waiting at the door of the house, took the poor puppet in her arms, and carried him into a little room that was wainscotted with mother-of-pearl, and sent at once to summon the most famous doctors in the neighbourhood.


text: Narrative of an Official Visit to Guatemala from Mexico/Chapter 5


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How could a Rotating Body such as the Sun become a Magnet?

The obvious solution by convection of an electric charge, or of electric polarisation is excluded; because electric fields in and near the body would be involved, which would be too enormous. Direct magnetisation is also ruled out by the high temperature, notwithstanding the high density. But several feasible possibilities seem to be open.

(1) In the case of the sun, surface phenomena point to the existence of a residual internal circulation mainly in meridian planes. Such internal motion induces an electric field acting on the moving matter : and if any conducting path around the solar axis happens to be open, an electric current will flow round it, which may in turn increase the inducing magnetic field. In this way it is possible for the internal cyclic motion to act after the manner of the cycle of a self-exciting dynamo, and maintain a permanent magnetic field from insignificant beginnings, at the expense of some of the energy of the internal circulation. Again, if a sunspot is regarded as a superficial source or sink of radial flow of strongly ionised material, with the familiar vortical features, its strong magnetic field would, on these lines, be a natural accompaniment and if it were an inflow at one level compensated by outflow at another level, the flatness and vertical restriction of its magnetic field would be intelligible.

(2) Theories have been advanced which depend on a hypothesis that the force of gravitation or centrifugal force can excite electric polarisation, which, by its rotation, produces a magnetic field. But, in order to obtain sensible magnetic effect, there would be a very intense internal electric field such as no kind of matter could sustain. That, however, is actually got rid of by a masking distribution of electric charge, which would accumulate on the surface, and in part in the interior where the polarisation is not uniform. The circumstance that the two compensating fields are each enormous is not an objection; for it is recognised, and is illustrated by radioactive phenomena, that molecular electric fields are, in fact, enormous. But though the electric masking would be complete, the two distributions would not compensate each other as regards the magnetic effects of rotational convection : and there would be an outstanding magnetic field comparable with that of either distribution taken separately. Only rotation would count in this way; as the effect of the actual translation, along with the solar system, is masked by relativity.

(3) A crystal possesses permanent intrinsic electric polarisation, because its polar molecules are orientated : and if this natural orientation is pronounced, the polarisation must be nearly complete, so that if the crystal were of the size of the earth it would produce an enormous electric field. But, great or small, this field will become annulled by masking electric charge as above. The explanation of pyro-electric phenomena by Lord Kelvin was that change of temperature alters the polarisation, while the masking charge has not had opportunity to adapt itself : and piezo-electric phenomena might have been anticipated on the same lines. Thus, as there is not complete compensation magnetically, an electrically neutralised crystalline body moving with high speed of rotation through the æther would be expected to produce a magnetic field and a planet whose materials have crystallised out in some rough relation to the direction of gravity, or of its rotation, would possess a magnetic field.

But relativity forbids that a crystalline body translated without rotation at astronomical speeds should exhibit any magnetic field relative to the moving system. The very extraordinary feature of the earth's magnetic field is its great and rapid changes, comparable with its whole amount. Yet the almost absolute fixity of length of the astronomical day shows extreme stability of the earth as regards its material structure. This consideration would seem to exclude entirely theories of terrestrial magnetism of the type of (2) and (3). But the type (1), which appears to be reasonable for the case of the sun, would account for magnetic change, sudden or gradual, on the earth merely by change of internal conducting channels though, on the other hand, it would require fluidity and residual circulation in deepseated regions. In any case, in a celestial body residual circulation would be extremely permanent, as the large size would make effects of ordinary viscosity nearly negligible.


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CH. VI.]

at Acapulco, I had fallen into company with the Acting Consul's next door neighbour, a respectable merchant, whose name was Don Jose Domingo Indart: he gave me letters of introduction to the family of Doña Vicente Rascon y Cuellar. These letters are not mere matters of ceremony or politeness, as they are often considered in Europe, but are more like a draft on the person to whom they are addressed, not exactly for so much cash, but for its equivalent, namely for board and lodging and every reasonable entertainment. The lady to whom my introduction was given was absent with her family at the capital of Guatemala, it being then in fact, the Guatemalian, as we here call it the London, season. Her daughter, Doña


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Author:Mary Chavelita Dunne Bright

Works

 * Keynotes

Translations

 * Hunger by Knut Hamsun, translated from the Norwegian (1899)

title: Author:Mary Chavelita Dunne Bright


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 The doctors came immediately one after the other: namely a Crow, an Owl, and a Talking-cricket.

'I wish to know from you gentlemen,' said the Fairy, turning to the three doctors who were assembled round Pinocchio's bed—'I wish to know from you gentlemen, if this unfortunate puppet is alive or dead! . . .'

At this request the Crow, advancing first, felt Pinocchio's pulse; he then felt his nose, and then the little toe of his foot: and having done this carefully, he pronounced solemnly the following words:

'To my belief the puppet is already quite dead; but if unfortunately he should not be dead, then it would be a sign that he is still alive!'

'I regret,' said the Owl, 'to be obliged to contradict the Crow, my illustrious friend and colleague; but in my opinion the puppet is still alive: but if unfortunately he should not be alive, then it would be a sign that he is dead indeed!'

'And you—have you nothing to say?' asked the Fairy of the Talking-cricket.

'In my opinion the wisest thing a prudent doctor can do, when he does not know what he is talking about, is to be silent. For the rest, that puppet there has a face that is not new to me. I have known him for some time! . . .'

Pinocchio, who up to that moment had lain


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 immovable, like a real piece of wood, was seized with a fit of convulsive trembling that shook the whole bed.

'That puppet there,' continued the Talking-cricket, 'is a confirmed rogue. . . .'

Pinocchio opened his eyes, but shut them again immediately.

'He is a ragamuffin, a do-nothing, a vagabond. . . .'

Pinocchio hid his face beneath the clothes.

'That puppet there is a disobedient son who will make his poor father die of a broken heart! . . .'

At that instant a suffocated sound of sobs and crying was heard in the room. Imagine everybody's astonishment when, having raised the sheets a little, it was discovered that the sounds came from Pinocchio.

'When the dead person cries, it is a sign that he is on the road to get well,' said the Crow solemnly.

'I grieve to contradict my illustrious friend and colleague,' added the Owl; 'but for me, when the dead person cries, it is a sign that he is sorry to die.'


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70 Oyarzin, however, remained: she was awaiting the return of her husband, a young man of old Spanish origin, and who was now absent at San Blas, on his mercantile business: I had also a particular introduction to him, and was, of course, asked to partake of the hospitality of his house, which is one of the best in Sonsonate; but, as the invitation of this transatlantic Penelope was not, as it ought not to have been, under the circumstances, very pressing, I preferred taking up my abode in the house of one of the English gentlemen who were settled here.

Wednesday, 11th May. The venerable commandant of the town, Don L. de Padillo, this morning, paid me a visit: he informed me he had been apprised by the government of my expected arrival, and that it was his wish to shew me every possible attention. The next day, Don Manuel Romero also called on the part of the deputies of the State of Sonsonate, one of whom was Don Manuel Rodriquez, late


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/August 1889/Agnosticism and Christianity


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/August 1889/Life in the Solomon Islands


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/August 1889/Scientific Charity


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/August 1889/The Influence of Race in History


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/August 1889/The Stone Age in Heathen Sweden


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/August 1889/Electrical Waves


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/August 1889/The Wastes of Modern Civilization I


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/August 1889/Home-Made Apparatus


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/August 1889/The Defensive Armor of Plants


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/August 1889/Blood-Vengeance and Pardon in Albania


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/August 1889/Mr Mallock on Optimism


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/August 1889/Savage Life in South America


text:
Author:Thomas William Allen

Contribution to EB1911

 * (a few points added to an article written and revised by David Binning Monro)

title: Author:Thomas William Allen


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/August 1889/Sketch of Lavoisier


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/August 1889/Editor's Table


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/August 1889/Literary Notices


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/August 1889/Publications Received


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/August 1889/Popular Miscellany


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/August 1889/Notes


text:
Page:Narrative of an Official Visit to Guatemala.djvu/91

CH. VI.] to the United States, and the other the Padre Peña, curate of the town. In the course of the day, I visited the Padre Geronimo Zelaya, an Augustin friar: he was residing at the monastery, which was a small establishment of the kind, containing not more than half a dozen brethren. He had devoted his mind particularly to statistical subjects; and had just written a sketch of the political state of San Salvador, the manuscript of which, for it had not been published, he had the generosity to give me. I found in it much valuable information in making up my report for His Majesty's Government. I also became acquainted with the Comptroller of the Customs, Don Dionisio Mensia, and with the Gefe Politico, Don Felipe de Vega. From the former of these two I learnt that the collection of the duties, owing to the disorganization that had arisen from the revolution, was attended with the greatest difficulties; that smuggling and bribery were carried on to a serious extent,


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/August 1889/Obituary Notes


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 off. The princess sprang up, threw her arms round his neck, embraced and kissed him repeatedly, and took her stomacher, which was made of red gold, and hung it round his neck. Then he went to the second princess, who had a dragon with five heads to comb, and delivered her also, and to the youngest, who had a dragon with four heads, he went likewise. And they all rejoiced, and embraced him and kissed him without stopping. Then he rang very loud, so that those above heard him, and he placed the princesses one after the other in the basket, and had them all drawn up, but when it came to his own turn he remembered the words of the elf, who had told him that his comrades did not mean well by him. So he took a great stone which was lying there, and placed it in the basket, and when it was about half way up, his false brothers above cut the rope, so that the basket with the stone fell to the ground, and they thought that he was dead, and ran away with the three princesses, making them promise to tell their father that it was they who had delivered them, and then they went to the King, and each demanded a princess in marriage.

In the meantime the youngest huntsman was wandering about the three chambers in great trouble, fully expecting to have to end his days there, when he saw, hanging on the wall, a flute; then said he, "Why dost thou hang there, no one can be merry here?" He looked at the dragon's head likewise and said, "You too cannot help me now." He walked backwards and forwards for such a long time that he made the surface of the ground quite smooth. But at last other thoughts came to his mind, and he took the flute from the wall, and played a few notes on it, and suddenly a number of elves appeared, and with every note that he sounded one more came. Then he played until the room was entirely filled. They all asked what he desired, so he said he wished to get above ground back to daylight, on which they seized him by every hair that grew on his head, and thus they flew with him on to the earth again. When he was above ground, he at once went to the King's palace, just as the wedding of one princess was about to be celebrated, and he went to the room where the King


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72 and that the authorities had no power sufficient to prevent it. At the same time, he added that he had no doubt that, as soon as the government was settled, the receipts of the customs would be more than doubled.

The town of Sonsonate is large and straggling; but it contains many good houses, all built in the usual Spanish fashion. They are only one story high, forming three or four sides of a square, with a court-yard in the centre. The most respectable families think it no degradation to be engaged in trade: as there is no bank and no interest for money, this is the only way in which they can employ their capitals. Most of the richer classes of inhabitants derive their incomes from the cattle bred upon their estates and their crops of indigo, cochineal, and tobacco, which they barter with the European merchants for dry goods; retailing the latter for the consumption of the natives.

The chief kind of manufacture peculiar to this town is that of fancy shell-work, of


text:
User talk:87.88.186.12

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 28 and his three daughters were. When the princesses saw him they fainted. Hereupon the King was angry, and ordered him to be put in prison at once, because he thought he must have done some injury to the children. When the princesses came to themselves, however, they entreated the King to set him free again. The King asked why, and they said that they were not allowed to tell that, but their father said that they were to tell it to the stove. And he went out, listened at the door, and heard everything. Then he caused the two brothers to be hanged on the gallows, and to the third he gave his youngest daughter, and on that occasion I wore a pair of glass shoes, and I struck them against a stone, and they said, "Klink," and were broken.

92.—THE KING OF THE GOLDEN MOUNTAIN.

was a certain merchant who had two children, a boy and a girl; they were both young, and could not walk. And two richly-laden ships of his sailed forth to sea with all his property on board, and just as he was expecting to win much money by them, news came that they had gone to the bottom, and now instead of being a rich man he was a poor one, and had nothing left but one field outside the town. In order to drive his misfortune a little out of his thoughts, he went out to this field, and as he was walking backwards and forwards in it, a little black mannikin stood suddenly by his side, and asked why he was so sad, and what he was taking so much to heart. Then said the merchant, "If thou couldst help me I would willingly tell thee." "Who knows?" replied the black dwarf. "Perhaps, I can help thee." Then the merchant told him that all he possessed had gone to the bottom of the sea, and that he had nothing left but this field. "Do not trouble thyself," said the dwarf. "If thou wilt promise to give me the first thing that rubs itself against thy leg when thou art at home again, and to bring it here to this place in twelve years' time, thou


text:
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DNB
Hi there. Supposing you are interested in going further into the DNB work - drop me a note if you encounter difficulties, or leave messages at the project. Charles Matthews (talk) 10:26, 27 June 2011 (UTC)
 * Thanks, I might continue some rainy day. Did I do it allright so far ? --Tappinen (talk) 16:29, 27 June 2011 (UTC)

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User talk:AnonMoos

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Page:Grimm's household tales, volume 2 (1884).djvu/43

 shalt have as much money as thou wilt." The merchant thought, "What can that be but my dog?" and did not remember his little boy, so he said yes, gave the black man a written and sealed promise, and went home.

When he reached home, his little boy was so delighted that he held by a bench, tottered up to him and seized him fast by the legs. The father was shocked, for he remembered his promise, and now knew what he had pledged himself to do; as, however, he still found no money in his chest, he thought the dwarf had only been jesting. A month afterwards he went up to the garret, intending to gather together some old tin and to sell it, and saw a great heap of money lying. Then he was happy again, made purchases, became a greater merchant than before, and felt that this world was well governed. In the meantime the boy grew tall, and at the same time sharp and clever. But the nearer the twelfth year approached the more anxious grew the merchant, so that his distress might be seen in his face. One day his son asked what ailed him, but the father would not say. The boy, however, persisted so long, that at last he told him that without being aware of what he was doing, he had promised him to a black dwarf, and had received much money for doing so. He said likewise that he had set his hand and seal to this, and that now when twelve years had gone by he would have to give him up. Then said the son, "Oh, father, do not be uneasy, all will go well. The black man has no power over me." The son had himself blessed by the priest, and when the time came, father and son went together to the field, and the son made a circle and placed himself inside it with his father. Then came the black dwarf and said to the old man, "Hast thou brought with thee that which thou hast promised me?" He was silent, but the son asked, "What dost thou want here?" Then said the black dwarf, "I have to speak with thy father, and not with thee." The son replied, "Thou hast betrayed and misled my father, give back the writing." "No," said the black dwarf, "I will not give up my rights." They spoke together for a long time after this, but at last they agreed that the son, as he did not belong to the enemy of


text:
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CH. VI.] which they make large quantities, imitating with shells of the most diminutive size, which they stick together in a sort of mosaic, the most beautiful flowers. By this article, and some little fancy birds and beasts, wrought, with equal ingenuity, in silk and velvet, they carry on an export trade to Cartagena, Peru, and other parts of the Western coast, to the amount of £10,000 sterling per annum. There is one large church, which, of course, occupies, as in all Spanish towns, one side of the grand Plaza or square. It is a large antique building, and has no architectural beauty to recommend it: the internal ornaments are uncouth and mean; but it is sufficiently spacious and commodious for the population, which consists almost entirely of Indians. There are no families, altogether Spanish, residing here: some few remain who have intermarried, or are connected, with the Creolians. Of the latter there are also very few: they form, in this province, not one


text:
User talk:Anagramology

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Page:Grimm's household tales, volume 2 (1884).djvu/44

 nor yet to his father, should seat himself in a small boat, which should lie on water which was flowing away from them, and that the father should push it off with his own foot, and then the son should remain given up to the water. So he took leave of his father, placed himself in a little boat, and the father had to push it off with his own foot. The boat capsized so that the keel was uppermost, and the father believed his son was lost, and went home and mourned for him.

The boat, however, did not sink, but floated quietly away, and the boy sat safely inside it, and it floated thus for a long time, until at last it stopped by an unknown shore. Then he landed and saw a beautiful castle before him, and set out to go to it. When he entered it, however, he found that it was bewitched. He went through every room, but all were empty until he reached the last, where a snake lay coiled in a ring. The snake, however, was an enchanted maiden, who rejoiced to see him, and said, "Hast thou come, oh, my deliverer? I have already waited twelve years for thee; this kingdom is bewitched, and thou must set it free." "How can I do that?" he inquired. "To-night come twelve black men, covered with chains who will ask what thou art doing here; keep silence, however; give them no answer, and let them do what they will with thee; they will torment thee, beat thee, stab thee; let everything pass, only do not speak; at twelve o'clock, they must go away again. On the second night twelve others will come; on the third, four-and-twenty, who will cut off thy head, but at twelve o'clock their power will be over, and then if thou hast endured all, and hast not spoken the slightest word, I shall be released. I will come to thee, and will have, in a bottle, some of the water of life. I will rub thee with that, and then thou wilt come to life again, and be as healthy as before." Then said he, "I will gladly set thee free." And everything happened just as she had said; the black men could not force a single word from him, and on the third night the snake became a beautiful princess, who came with the water of life and brought him back to life again. So she threw herself into his arms and kissed him, and there was joy and gladness in


text:
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 the whole castle. After this their marriage was celebrated, and he was King of the Golden Mountain.

They lived very happily together, and the Queen bore a fine boy. Eight years had already gone by, when the King bethought him of his father; his heart was moved, and he wished to visit him. The Queen, however, would not let him go away, and said, "I know beforehand that it will cause my unhappiness;" but he suffered her to have no rest until she consented. At their parting she gave him a wishing-ring, and said, "Take this ring and put it on thy finger, and then thou wilt immediately be transported whithersoever thou wouldst be, only thou must promise me not to use it in wishing me away from this place and with thy father." That he promised her, put the ring on his finger, and wished himself at home, just outside the town where his father lived. Instantly he found himself there, and made for the town, but when he came to the gate, the sentries would not let him go in, because he wore such strange and yet such rich and magnificent clothing. Then he went to a hill where a shepherd was watching his sheep, changed clothes with him, put on his old shepherd's-coat, and then entered the town without hindrance. When he came to his father, he made himself known to him, but he did not at all believe that the shepherd was his son, and said he certainly had had a son, but that he was dead long ago; however, as he saw he was a poor, needy shepherd, he would give him something to eat. Then the shepherd said to his parents, "I am verily your son. Do you know of no mark on my body by which you could recognize me?" "Yes," said his mother, "our son had a raspberry mark under his right arm." He slipped back his shirt, and they saw the raspberry under his right arm, and no longer doubted that he was their son. Then he told them that he was King of the Golden Mountain, and a king's daughter was his wife, and that they had a fine son of seven years old. Then said the father, "That is certainly not true; it is a fine kind of king who goes about in a ragged shepherd's-coat." On this the son fell in a passion, and without thinking of his promise, turned his ring round, and wished both his wife and child with


text:
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 him. They were there in a second, but the Queen wept, and reproached him, and said that he had broken his word, and had brought misfortune upon her. He said, "I have done it thoughtlessly, and not with evil intention," and tried to calm her, and she pretended to believe this; but she had mischief in her mind.

Then he led her out of the town into the field, and showed her the stream where the little boat had been pushed off, and then he said, "I am tired; sit down, I will sleep awhile on thy lap." And he laid his head on her lap, and fell asleep. When he was asleep, she first drew the ring from his finger, then she drew away the foot which was under him, leaving only the slipper behind her, and she took her child in her arms, and wished herself back in her own kingdom. When he awoke, there he lay quite deserted, and his wife and child were gone, and so was the ring from his finger, the slipper only was still there as a token. "Home to thy parents thou canst not return," thought he, "they would say that thou wast a wizard; thou must be off, and walk on until thou arrivest in thine own kingdom." So he went away and came at length to a hill by which three giants were standing, disputing with each other because they did not know how to divide their father's property. When they saw him passing by, they called to him and said little men had quick wits, and that he was to divide their inheritance for them. The inheritance, however, consisted of a sword, which had this property that if any one took it in his hand, and said, "All heads off but mine," every head would lie on the ground; secondly, of a cloak which made any one who put it on invisible; thirdly, of a pair of boots which could transport the wearer to any place he wished in a moment. He said, "Give me the three things that I may see if they are still in good condition." They gave him the cloak, and when he had put it on, he was invisible and changed into a fly. Then he resumed his own form and said, "The cloak is a good one, now give me the sword." They said, "No, we will not give thee that; if thou wert to say, 'All heads off but mine,' all our heads would be off, and thou alone wouldst be left with thine." Nevertheless they gave it to him with the condition that he was only to try


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 it against a tree. This he did, and the sword cut in two the trunk of a tree as if it had been a blade of straw. Then he wanted to have the boots likewise, but they said, "No, we will not give them; if thou hadst them on thy feet and wert to wish thyself at the top of the hill, we should be left down here with nothing." "Oh, no," said he, "I will not do that." So they gave him the boots as well. And now when he had got all these things, he thought of nothing but his wife and his child, and said just as it were to himself, "Oh, if I were but on the Golden Mountain," and at the same moment he vanished from the sight of the giants, and thus their inheritance was divided. When he was near his palace, he heard sounds of joy, and fiddles, and flutes, and the people told him that his wife was celebrating her wedding with another. Then he fell into a rage, and said, "False woman, she betrayed and deserted me whilst I was asleep!" So he put on his cloak, and unseen by all went into the palace. When he entered the dining-hall a great table was spread with delicious food, and the guests were eating and drinking, and laughing, and jesting. She sat on a royal seat in the midst of them in splendid apparel, with a crown on her head. He placed himself behind her, and no one saw him. When she put a piece of meat on a plate for herself, he took it away and ate it, and when she poured out a glass of wine for herself, he took it away and drank it. She was always helping herself to something, and yet she never got anything, for plate and glass disappeared immediately. Then dismayed and ashamed, she arose and went to her chamber and wept, but he followed her there. She said, "Has the devil power over me, or did my deliverer never come?" Then he struck her in the face, and said, "Did thy deliverer never come? It is he who has thee in his power, thou traitor. Have I deserved this from thee?" Then he made himself visible, went into the hall, and cried, "The wedding is at an end, the true King has returned." The kings, princes and councillors who were assembled there, ridiculed and mocked him, but he did not trouble to answer them, and said, "Will you go away, or not?" On this they tried to seize him and pressed upon him, but he drew his sword and said, "All heads off


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74 fiftieth part, perhaps, of the population. It is, therefore, very unusual to see any but dark coloured inhabitants. Some of the finest of them, in personal appearance, are a mixture of Africans and Indians; though many of the latter, especially the young people, are interesting and handsome. The state of nudity in which they are accustomed to appear in public seems outrageous and highly indelicate to a European beholder. Neither the men nor the women have any other clothing than a short apron round their middle. The mode of tying this apron distinguishes the married from the unmarried female.

Having passed a very restless night, from the intensity of the heat, greater, I think, than any I had experienced in these countries, I had risen early to refresh myself with a walk in the morning air. In proceeding through the town, I met groups of Indians, men, women, and girls, bearing on their shoulders fruits and vegetables for the market. They were all heavily burthened,


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/September 1889/A Study from Life


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/September 1889/Recent Economic Changes


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/September 1889/The Surface Tension of Liquids


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/September 1889/The Value of Witness to the Miraculous


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/September 1889/Museums of Household Products


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/September 1889/The Wastes of Modern Civilization II


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/September 1889/The Ethical View of Protection


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/September 1889/Some Modern Aspects of Geology


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/September 1889/Animal Life in the Gulf Stream


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/September 1889/Huxley and Pasteur on the Prevention of Hydrophobia


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/September 1889/Origin of the Rights of Property


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/September 1889/Arctic Ice and its Navigation


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/September 1889/A Corner of the Dutch East Indies


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/September 1889/Sketch of Joseph Lovering


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/September 1889/Editor's Table


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/September 1889/Literary Notices


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/September 1889/Publications Received


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/September 1889/Popular Miscellany


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/September 1889/Notes


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/September 1889/Obituary Notes


text:
Author:William Edwin Anderson

Works

 * Japanese Wood Engravings (1895) (London: Seeley and Co.)
 * The Pictorial Arts of Japan (1886)
 * Descriptive and Historical Catalogue of a Collection of Japanese and Chinese Paintings in the British Museum (1886)
 * IV. (Painting, with Frank Brinkley)

title: Author:William Edwin Anderson


text:
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72 "Poor fish, to believe that!" mocked the journalist, while the Professor blinked and rubbed his bulging forehead.

"I do believe it!" insisted Jandron. "The world is covered with relics of dead civilizations, that have mysteriously vanished, leaving nothing but their temples and monuments."

"Rubbish!"

"How about Easter Island? How about all the gigantic works there and in a thousand other places!—Peru, Yucatan and so on—which certainly no primitive race ever built?"

"That's thousands of years ago," said Marr, "and I'm sleepy. For heaven's sake, can it!"

"Oh, all right. But how explain things, then!"

"What the devil could one of those Things want of our brains?" suddenly put in the Professor. "After all, what?"

"Well, what do we want of lower forms of life? Sometimes food. Again, some product or other. Or just information. Maybe It is just experimenting with us, the way we poke an ant-hill. There's always this to remember, that the human brain-tissue is the most highly-organized form of matter in this world."

"Yes," admitted the Professor, "but what—?"

"It might want brain-tissue for food, for experimental purposes, for lubricant—how do I know?"

Jandron fancied he was still explaining things; but all at once he found himself waking up in one of the bunks. He felt terribly cold, stiff, sore. A sift of snow lay here and there on the camp floor, where it had fallen through holes in the roof.

"Vivian!" he croaked hoarsely. "Thorburn! Marr!"

Nobody answered. There was nobody to answer. Jandron crawled with immense pain out of his bunk, and blinked round with bleary eyes. All of a sudden he saw the Professor, and gulped.

The Professor was lying stiff and straight in another bunk, on his back. His waxen face made a mask of horror. The open, staring eyes, with pupils immensely dilated, sent Jandron shuddering back. A livid ring marked the forehead, that now sagged inward as if empty.

"Vivian!" croaked Jandron, staggering away from the body. He fumbled to the bunk where the girl had lain. The bunk was quite deserted.

On the stove, in which lay half-charred wood—wood smothered out as if by some noxious gas—still stood the coffee-pot. The liquid in it was frozen solid. Of Vivian and the journalist, no trace remained.

Along one of the sagging beams that supported the roof, Jandron's horror-blasted gaze perceived a straight line of frosted prints, ring-shaped, bitten deep.

"Vivian! Vivian!"

No answer.

Shaking, sick, gray, half-blind with a horror not of this world, Jandron peered slowly around. The duffle-bag and supplies were gone. Nothing was left but that coffee-pot and the revolver at Jandron's hip.

Jandron turned, then. A-stare, his skull feeling empty as a burst drum, he crept lamely to the door and out—out into the snow.

Snow. It came slanting down. From a gray sky it steadily filtered. The trees showed no leaf. Birches, poplars, rock-maples all stood naked. Only the conifers drooped sickly-green. In a little shallow across the river snow lay white on thin ice.

Ice? Snow? Rapt with terror, Jandron stared. Why, then, he must have been unconscious three or four weeks? But how—?

Suddenly, all along the upper branches of trees that edged the clearing, puffs of snow flicked down. The geologist shuffled after two half-obliterated sets of footprints that wavered toward the landing.

His body was leaden. He wheezed, as he reached the river. The light, dim as it was, hurt his eyes. He blinked in a confusion that could just perceive one canoe was gone. He pressed a hand to his head, where an iron band seemed screwed up tight, tighter.

"Vivian! Marr! Halloooo!"

Not even an echo. Silence clamped the world; silence, and a cold that gnawed. Everything had gone a sinister gray.

After a certain time—though time now possessed neither reality nor duration—Jandron dragged himself back to the camp and stumbled in. Heedless of the staring corpse he crumpled down by the stove and tried to think, but his brain had been emptied of power. Everything blent to a gray blur. Snow kept slithering in through the roof.

"Well, why don't you come and get me. Thing?" suddenly snarled Jandron. "Here I am. Damn you, come and get me!"

Voices. Suddenly he heard voices. Yes, somebody was outside, there. Singularly aggrieved, he got up and limped to the door. He squinted out into the gray; saw two figures down by the landing. With numb indifference he recognized the girl and Marr.

"Why should they bother me again?" he nebulously wondered. Can't they go away and leave me alone?" He felt peevish irritation.

Then, a modicum of reason returning, he sensed that they were arguing. Vivian, beside a canoe freshly dragged from thin ice, was pointing; Marr was gesticulating. All at once Marr snarled, turned from her, plodded with bent back toward the camp.

"But listen!" she called, her rough-knit sweater all powdered with snow. "That's the way!" She gestured downstream.

"I'm not going either way!" Marr retorted. "I'm going to stay right here!" He came on, bareheaded. Snow grayed his stubble of beard; but on his head it melted as it fell, as if some fever there had raised the brain-stuff to improbable temperatures. "I'm going to stay right here, all summer." His heavy lids sagged. Puffy and evil, his lips showed a glint of teeth. "Let me alone!"

Vivian lagged after him, kicking up the ash-like snow. With indifference, Jandron watched them. Trivial human creatures!

Suddenly Marr saw him in the doorway and stopped short. He drew his gun; he aimed at Jandron.

"You get out!" he mouthed. "Why in ———— can't you stay dead?"

"Put that gun down, you idiot!" Jandron managed to retort. The girl stopped and seemed trying to understand. "We can get away yet, if we all stick together."

"Are you going to get out and leave me alone?"


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Rh demanded the journalist, holding his gun steadily enough.

Jandron, wholly indifferent, watched the muzzle. Vague curiosity possessed him. Just what, he wondered, did it feel like to be shot?

Mart pulled trigger.

Snap!

The cartridge missed fire. Not even powder would burn.

Marr laughed, horribly, and shambled forward. "Serves him right!" he mouthed, "He'd better not come back again!"

Jandron understood that Marr had seen him fall. But still he felt himself standing there, alive. He shuffled away from the door. No matter whether he was alive or dead, there was always Vivian to be saved.

The journalist came to the door, paused, looked down, grunted and passed into the camp. He shut the door. Jandron heard the rotten wooden bar of the latch drop. From within echoed a laugh, monstrous in its brutality.

Then quivering, the geologist felt a touch on his arm.

"Why did you desert us like that?" he heard Vivian's reproach. "Why?"

He turned, hardly able to see her at all.

"Listen," he said, thickly. "I'll admit anything. It's all right. But just forget it, for now. We've got to get out o' here. The Professor is dead, in there, and Marr's gone mad and barricaded himself in there. So there's no use staying. There's a chance for us yet. Come along!"

He took her by the arm and tried to draw her toward the river, but she held back. The hate in her face sickened him. He shook in the grip of a mighty chill.

"Go, with—you?" she demanded.

"Yes, by God!" he retorted, in a swift blaze of anger, "or I'll kill you where you stand. It shan't get you, anyhow!"

Swiftly piercing, a greater cold smote to his inner marrows. A long row of the cup-shaped prints had just appeared in the snow beside the camp. And from these marks wafted a faint, bluish vapor of unthinkable cold.

"What are you staring at?" the girl demanded. "Those prints! In the snow, there—see?" He pointed a shaking finger.

"How can there be snow at this season?"

He could have wept for the pity of her, the love of her. On her red tam, her tangle of rebel hair, her sweater, the snow came steadily drifting; yet there she stood before him and prated of summer. Jandron heaved himself out of a very slough of down-dragging lassitudes. He whipped himself into action.

"Summer, winter—no matter!" he flung at her. "You're coming along with me!" He seized her arm with the brutality of desperation that must hurt, to save. And murder, too, lay in his soul. He knew that he would strangle her with his naked hands, if need were, before he would ever leave her there, for It to work Its horrible will upon.

"You come with me," he mouthed, "or by the Almighty—!"

Marr's scream in the camp, whirled him toward the door. That scream rose higher, higher, even more and more piercing, just like the screams of the runaway Indian guides in what now appeared the infinitely long ago. It seemed to last hours; and always it rose, rose, as if being wrung out of a human body by some kind of agony not conceivable in this world. Higher, higher—

Then it stopped.

Jandron hurled himself against the plank door. The bar smashed; the door shivered inward.

With a cry, Jandron recoiled. He covered his eyes with a hand that quivered, claw-like.

"Go away, Vivian! Don't come here—don't look—"

He stumbled away, babbling.

Out of the door crept something like a man. A queer, broken, bent over thing; a thing crippled, shrunken and flabby, that whined.

This thing—yes, it was still Marr—crouched down at one side, quivering, whimpering. It moved its hands as a crushed ant moves its antennæ, jerkily, without significance.

All at once Jandron no longer felt afraid. He walked quite steadily to Marr, who was breathing in little gasps. From the camp issued an odor unlike anything terrestrial. A thin, grayish grease covered the sill.

Jandron caught hold of the crumpling journalist's arm. Marr's eyes leered, filmed, unseeing. He gave the impression of a creature whose back has been broken, whose whole essence and energy have been wrenched asunder, yet in which life somehow clings, palpitant. A creature vivisected.

Away through the snow Jandron dragged him. Marr made no resistance; just let himself be led, whining a little, palsied, rickety, shattered. The girl, her face whitely cold as the snow that fell on it, came after.

Thus they reached the landing at the river.

"Come, now, let's get away!" Jandron made shift to articulate. Marr said nothing. But when Jandron tried to bundle him into a canoe, something in the journalist revived with swift, mad hatefulness. That something lashed him into a spasm of wiry, incredibly venomous resistance. Slavers of blood and foam streaked Marr's lips. He made horrid noises, like an animal. He howled dismally, and bit, clawed, writhed and grovelled! he tried to sink his teeth into Jandron's leg. He fought appallingly, as men must have fought in the inconceivably remote days even before the Stone Age. And Vivian helped him. Her fury was a tiger-cat's.

Between the pair of them, they almost did him in. They almost dragged Jandron down—and themselves, too—into the black river that ran swiftly sucking under the ice. Not till Jandron had quite flung off all vague notions and restraints of gallantry; not until he struck from the shoulder—to kill, if need were—did he best them.

He beat the pair of them unconscious, trussed them hand and foot with the painters of the canoes, rolled them into the larger canoe, and shoved off. After that, the blankness of a measureless oblivion descended.

Only from what he was told, weeks after, in the Royal Victoria Hospital at Montreal, did Jandron ever learn how and when a field-squad of Dominion Foresters had found them drifting in Lake Moosawamkeag. And that knowledge filtered slowly into his brain during a period inchoate as Iceland fogs.


text: All Quiet along the Potomac and other poems/On the Shores of Tennessee


text: Index:Amazing Stories Volume 01 Number 02.djvu


text:
The Young Giant

 * "The Young Giant and the Tailor" (1826), translated by Edgar Taylor, in German Popular Stories
 * "The Young Giant" (1884), translated by Margaret Raine Hunt, in Grimm's Household Tales
 * "Thumbling the Dwarf and Thumbling the Giant" (1912), translated by Edgar Taylor and Marian Edwardes, in Grimm's Household Tales

title: The Young Giant


text:
Author:Reginald Laurence Antrobus

Works

 * (in part)

title: Author:Reginald Laurence Antrobus


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Rh and to Nessus the centaur's poysonous garment, which he gave to Hercules. The analogy goes so far, as that after the bite of a viper the swelling continues some time, and the inflammation; and often more considerably upon the abating of the pain and other symptoms. And as Dr. Mead observes, one good drop of a viper's poyson does all she cruel execution: so by what we can observe, one drop of the gouty poyson is enough for a limb or joint. Again, there is the same timourousness induc'd from the spirits snd nerves which Sydenham so much complains of in the gout; as 'tis one symptom of the bite of a tarantula. Hic accedit, says he, miserarium culmulus, quod durante paroxysmo animus etiam ceu contagio ''afflatus, eo usque corpore compatiture, ut haud facile sit dictu, utro horum æger calamitousius doleat. Non enim rectius podagre quam iracundiæ paroxysmus omnis dici potest: cum mens & ratio usque adeo ab infimatio corpore enerventur, ut vel livissimo affectuum motu impellantur & vacillent: unde non magis ipsi quam aliis gravis est. Quid quod & cœteris quoque passionibus est obnoxius, tmori, viz. sollicitudinique atque aliis id genus: a quibus pariter torqueter, donec morbo evanescente animus quoque pristina transquillitate recepta una convalescet.'' These observations are agreeable to the effect which actual sons


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text: An Antidote Against Atheism/Book I/Chapter IV


text: An Antidote Against Atheism/Book I/Chapter V


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The Gnome

 * "The Mannikin and the Three Princesses", translated by William John Thoms, in Lays and Legends of Germany (1834)
 * "The Elves", translated by Margaret Raine Hunt, in Grimm's Household Tales, Volume 2 (1884)

title: The Gnome


text: Grimm's Household Tales, Volume 2/The Elves


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HE pink shade of a single lamp supplied an air of subdued mystery; the fire burned red and still; in place of door and windows hung curtains, obscure, formless; the furniture, dainty, but sparse, stood detached and incoördinate like the furniture of a stage-scene; the atmosphere was heavy with heat, and a scent of stale tobacco; some cut flowers, half withered, tissue-paper still wrapping their stalks, lay on a gilt, cane-bottomed chair.

"Will you give me a sheet of paper, please?"

He had crossed the room, to seat himself before the principal table. He wore a fur-lined overcoat, and he was tall, and broad, and bald; a sleek face, made grave by gold-rimmed spectacles.

The other man was in evening dress; his back leaning against the mantelpiece, his hands in his pockets: he was moodily scraping the hearthrug with his toe. Clean-shaved; stolid and coarsely regular features; black, shiny hair, flattened on to his head; under-sized eyes, moist and glistening; the tint of his face uniform, the tint of discoloured ivory; he looked a man who ate well and lived hard.

"Certainly, sir, certainly," and he started to hurry about the room. "Daisy,"

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 II—A Dream of November

, far away, I know not where, I know not how,
 * The skies are grey, the boughs are bare, bare boughs in flower:

Long lilac silk is softly drawn from bough to bough,
 * With flowers of milk and buds of fawn, a broidered shower.

Beneath that tent an Empress sits, with slanted eyes,
 * And wafts of scent from censers flit, a lilac flood;

Around her throne bloom peach and plum in lacquered dyes,
 * And many a blown chrysanthemum, and many a bud.

She sits and dreams, while bonzes twain strike some rich bell,
 * Whose music seems a metal rain of radiant dye;

In this strange birth of various blooms, I cannot tell
 * Which spring from earth, which slipped from looms, which sank from sky.

Beneath her wings of lilac dim, in robes of blue,
 * The Empress sings a wordless hymn that thrills her bower;

My trance unweaves, and winds, and shreds, and forms anew
 * Dark bronze, bright leaves, pure silken threads, in triple flower.

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text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/October 1889/Pensions for All


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/October 1889/The Old and the New Phrenology


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/October 1889/Life at the Cameroons


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 Alone he spread the solemn feast
 * For a most secret deity;

He knew the god had once been sire, And served the same memorial fire.

Ah! so, untouched by windy roar
 * Of public issues loud and long,

The Poet holds the sacred door,
 * And guards the glowing coal of song;

Not his to grasp at praise or blame,
 * Red gold, or crowns beneath the sun,

His only pride to tend the flame
 * That Homer and that Virgil won,

Retain the rite, preserve the act, And pass the worship on intact.

Before the shrine at last he falls;
 * The crowd rush in, a chattering band

But, ere he fades in death, he calls
 * Another priest to ward the brand;

He, with a gesture of disdain,
 * Flings back the ringing brazer gate,

Reproves, repressing, the profane,
 * And feeds the flame in primal state;

Content to toil and fade in turn, If still the sacred embers burn. Far

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text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/October 1889/Evolution as Taught in a Theological Seminary


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Page:The Yellow Book - 01.djvu/172

By Aubrey Beardsley

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text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/October 1889/The Art of Prolonging Life


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/October 1889/Education in Ancient Egypt


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 back, which was glued to the ivory, and formed a hinge. It fell open; and his gaspgrasp [sic] had been insecure; and the jerk as it opened was enough. It slipped from his fingers, and dropped with a crash upon the hearthstone.

The sound went through him like a physical pain. He sank back into his chair, and closed his eyes. His heart was beating as after a mighty physical exertion. He knew vaguely that a calamity had befallen him; he could vaguely imagine the splinters of shattered glass at his feet. But his physical prostration was so great as to obliterate, to neutralise, emotion. He felt very cold. He felt that he was being hurried along with terrible speed through darkness and cold air. There was the continuous roar of rapid motion in his ears, a faint, dizzy bewilderment in his head. He felt that he was trying to catch hold of things, to stop his progress, but his hands closed upon emptiness; that he was trying to call out for help, but he could make no sound. On—on—on, he was being whirled through some immeasurable abyss of space.

"Ah, yes, he's dead, quite dead," the doctor said. "He has been dead some hours. He must have passed away peacefully sitting here in his chair."

"Poor gentleman," said the porter's wife. "And a broken looking-glass beside him. Oh, it's a sure sign, a broken looking-glass."

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text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/October 1889/The Bronze Age in Sweden


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/October 1889/Anthropology at Washington


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/October 1889/Digestion and Related Functions


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/October 1889/The Chemist as a Constructor


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/October 1889/Industrial Family Names


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/October 1889/The Home of the Ferns


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/October 1889/Origin of Some General Errors


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/October 1889/The Pleasure of Motion


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/October 1889/The History of the Fork


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 the Alexandrians were to have every indulgence that could be wished by them, without violating the purity of the Catholic faith; that, therefore, he had no difficulty of allowing the people of Lasta to live in the faith of their ancestors without alteration, as they had never embraced any other; but as for those that had sworn to persist in the Catholic faith, and had received the communion in that church, by no means, without a grievous sin, could it be granted to them to renounce that faith in which they had deliberately sworn to live and die."

king, upon this answer, which he understood well, and expected, only replied, "What is to be done? I have no longer the power of government in my own kingdom;"— and immediately ordered a herald to make the following proclamation:—

hear us! hear us! First of all we gave you the Roman Catholic faith, as thinking it a good one; but many people have died fighting against it, as Julius, Gabriel, Tecla Georgis, Serca Christos, and, lastly, these rude peasants of Lasta. Now, therefore, we restore to you the faith of your ancestors; let your own priests fay their mass in their own churches; let the people have their own altars for the sacrament, and their own liturgy, and be happy. As for myself, I am now old and worn out with war and infirmities, and no longer capable of governing; I name my son Facilidas to reign in my place."

, in one day, fell the whole fabric of the Roman Catholic faith, and hierarchy of the church of Rome, in Abyssinia; first regularly established, as I must always think, by


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/October 1889/Sketch of Carolus Linnæus (Carl von Linné)


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/October 1889/Editor's Table


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/October 1889/Literary Notices


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/October 1889/Publications Received


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/October 1889/Popular Miscellany


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/October 1889/Notes


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/October 1889/Obituary Notes


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/Index

title: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 35/Index


text:
Author:Edward Morell Holmes

Periodical articles

 * , with Edward Arthur Lionel Batters
 * , with Edward Arthur Lionel Batters

Works about Holmes

 * specimens collected by botanist: Edward Morell Holmes from the Botanical Society of the British Isles
 * Wellcome LIbrary: Holmes, Edward Morell

title: Author:Edward Morell Holmes


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text: The Yellow Book/Volume 1/Alere Flammam

title: The Yellow Book/Volume 1/Alere Flammam


text: The Yellow Book/Volume 1/A Dream of November


text: The Yellow Book/Volume 1/Two Poems by Edmund Gosse


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title: Page:The Yellow Book - 01.djvu/150


text: The Yellow Book/Volume 1/Plate 9, Portrait of a Lady


text: Author:William Rothenstein

title: Author:William Rothenstein


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Page:A Compendium of Irish Biography.djvu/111

COL canton of St. Gallen in Switzerland are called after the most favoured of his disciples.

Columcille or Columba, Saint, one of the greatest names in the early ecclesiastical history of the British Isles, was born at Gartan, in the County of Donegal, 7th December 521. He was a descendant of Niall of the Nine Hostages—his father's name being Fedhlimidh, and his mother's Eithne, both of royal descent. He studied at Moville under St. Finnian by whom he was ordained a deacon; and under another St. Finnian at Clonard, where he was ordained a priest. Amongst his fellow-disciples were St. Comgall, Ciaran, and Canice. For a time he put himself under the instruction of Berchan at Glasnevin, until a violent distemper broke up his fraternity in 544. His original name was Crimhthain, early exchanged for the cognomen of Columcille or "Dove of the Church." In 546, when but twenty-five, he founded Derry, and some years afterwards Durrow, the greatest of his Irish establishments. Religious communities at Kells, Swords, Raphoe, Tory Island, and Drumcliff claimed him also as their founder. Various explanations are given of his reasons for leaving Ireland. The following is the ordinary recital. St. Finnian owned a specially valuable copy of the Psalms, which Columcille, about the year 560, secretly copied, fearing refusal if he asked permission. Finnian demanded the copy as his own, and Columcille declining to surrender it, the matter was referred to King Diarmaid who pronounced the decision: "To every cow belougeth her calf." "This is an unjust decision, O Diarmaid," said Columcille, "and I will avenge it on you." Matters were aggravated by Diarmaid dragging from the arms of Columcille and murdering a young man who had fled to him for sanctuary. In his miraculous escape from the durance in which he had been placed by Diarmaid, while in the wilds between Tara and his native Tirconnell, he is said to have composed the beautiful hymn commencing, in the translation:

Columcille's kinsmen took up the quarrel, and frightful carnage ensued at the battle of Cuildrevne, 561. Repentant at being the cause of so much bloodshed, St. Columcille sought the counsel of St. Molaise, of Devenish, who enjoined upon him as penance that he should become an exile. The very copy of the Psalms, the cause of so much misery, is said by some to be still extant in the possession of the lineal descendant of the O'Donnells. Dr. Reeves considers that Columcille's settlement at Iona was voluntary, and the foregoing account a legendary creation of a later age. Whatever the motive may have been, it was in 563, in his forty-second year, that accompanied by twelve disciples, he set sail for the small island of Iona, of which he obtained a grant, both from the king of the Picts and from his relative the king of the Scots. Having planted a monastery there—probably built of wattles—he set about the great work of his life—the conversion of the Pictish tribes beyond the Grampians. He and his disciples traversed the Pictish mainland, the Western Islands, and the Orkneys, from end to end, establishing monasteries whose occupants ministered to the religious wants of the people. The parent house of Iona exercised supremacy not only over these establishments, but also over the monasteries Columcille had established in Ireland, and those founded by his disciples in the northern provinces of England. Columcille occasionally visited Ireland, and the shores of the Clyde. His health began to fail in 593; but his life was prolonged until he attained his seventy-fifth year, when he died as he knelt before the altar of his church in Iona, a little after midnight, between the 8th and 9th June 597. He was buried within the precincts of his monastery, where his stone pillow, his books, his staff, and other things which he had loved and used, were long held in veneration. Three Latin hymns of some merit, a monastic rule in Celtic, and several Celtic poems still extant are attributed to him. A splendidly illuminated copy of the Four Gospels—The Book of Kells, one of the most valuable MSS. extant—preserved in Trinity College, is supposed by many to have been the labour of his pen. "The strength of St. Columcille's character appears to have been its earnestness,… The same enthusiastic temper which won for him in boyhood the name of 'Columba of the Church,' continued to animate him throughout his life. The length and frequency of his fasts and vigils are spoken of as nearly incredible. With this asceticism he combined unwearied industry; no hour passed without its allotted duty of prayer, or reading, or transcribing, or other work. As the prevailing austerity of his disposition was often lighted up by gleams of tenderness and kindness, so it appears to have been clouded at times by anger and revenge." The last and best edition of his life, written in Latin by St. Adamnan, is that of the learned Dr. Reeves, printed in Dublin for the Archaeological Society in 1857, It is illustrated with exhaustive prefaces, notes, and appendices, and is a 87


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COM thesaurus of all known concerning the great apostle of the Hebrides.

Comerford, John, a distinguished miniature painter, was born at Kilkenny, the middle of the 18th century. Settling in Dublin, he obtained a wide reputation, and was ultimately enabled to retire on an ample fortune. "Comerford was not only a man of genius, but an artist of the highest excellence, who throughout a long career had been maturing his distinctions. His insight into character, and therefore expression, were as notable as his technical capacity was in all respects consummate."

 Comgall, or Congal, Saint, was born in 516, of a distinguished Dalaradian family. As he grew up, religious yearnings pressed on him; he travelled, and found a home with St. Fintan at Clonenagh. Repressing his dislike to the severity of the discipline, he continued there some time, and was afterwards ordained priest at Clonmacnoise. After retirement on an island in Lough Erne, he settled at Bangor, on the shore of Belfast Lough,in the year 559, and founded the famous monastery and rule with which his name has been ever since associated. Numbers of monks were attracted to the institution, and even Cormac, King of Hy Kinsellagh, retired thither in his old age. In the seventh year after its establishment, he, with St. Brendan and others, visited Columcille in the Western Isles. He died at Bangor in 601, aged about 85. Lanigan says: "St. Coemgall has been justly reckoned among the fathers of the Irish Church; whether he was the author of certain tracts attributed to him, besides his monastic rule, I leave to others to enquire." His festival is the l0th of May.

 Comou, Cormac (or Cormac Dall, "Blind Cormac"), a celebrated Irish story-teller and bard, was born in May 1703, at Woodstock, County of Mayo. When an infant, small-pox deprived him of sight. He ultimately abandoned the harp for song, and, endowed with a sweet voice and a good ear, earned his livelihood wandering about the country, led by a grandson or other lad, relating legendary tales and reciting genealogies. The monotony of his modulation was varied by cadences introduced with taste at the close of each stanza. He composed several songs and elegies. In person he is described as large and muscular. He was still living in the County of Galway in 1786.

Comyn, John, Archbishop of Dublin, an Englishman, appointed to the see in 1181, did not visit Ireland until 1184, when he was commissioned to prepare for the reception of Prince John. In 1190 he commenced and endowed St. Patrick's Cathedral, and enlarged and repaired the choir of Christ Church. He died in Dublin, 25th October 1212, and was buried in Christ Church. One of the canons made by him, and confirmed by Urban III., provides that "All archers, and others who carry arms not for the defence of the people, but for plunder and sordid lucre, shall, on every Lord's-day, be excommunicated by bell, book, and candle, and at last be refused christian burial." In consequence of a dispute with one of the Lords-Justices, he for a time laid an inters diet upon his archbishopric. Ware says concerning him: "Dempster would insinuate that he was bishop of Dunblane, in Scotland, and not of Dublin; but that author has up and down stuffed his catalogue of the writers of Scotland with English, Welsh, and Irish, according to his own unguided fancy, and, to confirm his assertions, has often had the impudence to forge the names of authors, works, places, and times."

Con na m-Bocht, "Con of the Poor," as he was called from his devotion to their relief, was a lay brother of Clonmacnoise, in the 11th century, founder and superior of a community of poor lay monks, of the Culdee order, in connection with that great establishment. He died in the year 1059.

Con the Hundred Fighter, commonly known as "Con of the Hundred Battles," was King of Ireland, 125 to 145. His reign was bloody and momentous. He early became involved in contentions with Mogh Nuadath concerning the throne of Munster. They ultimately divided the island between them, taking as boundary the Eskir Riada, or chain of gravelly hills running from Tallaght west to the Shannon at Clonmacnoise. Mogh retained the southern, and Con the northern part. Con is said to have procured the assassination of his rival. In the contests between them, Mogh drew many to his standard in times of scarcity by his large stores of provisions. Con was eventually assassinated within the precincts of Tara, by Tibradi Tirech, King of Ulster, and a band of fifty ruffians attired as women.

Conall Ceamaoh was a Red Branch Ulster Knight of the 1st century, kinsman of Fergus MacRoigh. He avenged the death of Cuchulaind, and is one of the heroes most constantly referred to in the Fenian tales. He received his military education from Fergus MacRoigh, at Emania. One of Ferguson's beautiful lays is "The healing of Conall Carnach."  88


text: The Yellow Book/Volume 1/Plate 10, Portrait of Mrs. Patrick Campbell


text:
Author:Aubrey Beardsley

Poetry

 * Untitled limerick
 * "The Ballad of a Barber" (1896)

As illustrator
(Listed by alphabetical order of author's surname if published in the same year as other works.)

 * Keynotes, by George Egerton
 * The Great God Pan (1894) (cover art) by Arthur Machen
 * Salomé (1894) by Oscar Wilde
 * The Land of Heart's Desire (frontispiece) (1894) by William Butler Yeats
 * Sappho (1896), by Henry Thornton Wharton

Works about Beardsley

 * "Aubrey Beardsley" (1898, The Idler magazine) by

title: Author:Aubrey Beardsley


text: A Copy of Verses, Composed by Captain Henry Every, Lately Gone to Sea to seek his Fortune


text: Page:The Yellow Book - 06.djvu/1

title: Page:The Yellow Book - 06.djvu/1