text: Ralph in the Switch Tower/Chapter 19

title: Ralph in the Switch Tower/Chapter 19


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Stanley Junction was agog with the story of the "crazy" train orders the day after the storm.

It was one of the most remarkable occurrences of risk and danger ever known in the history of the Great Northern.

Expert railroad men looked grave, as the facts came out. Citizens generally shuddered, as they realized how nearly the caprice of a mad leverman had come to causing wide-spread death and disaster.

Ralph Fairbanks himself was thrilled and amazed, as he learned from Jack Knight's lips the the facts of the case.

From ten o'clock the evening the storm until nearly two o'clock the ensuing morning, a madman had controlled the Great Northern train system at Stanley Junction, out and in.

For over three hours, therefore, Ralph, at the depot switch tower, had been the plaything of a crazed, delirious human being, who, by force and Rh

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168 cunning, had usurped the place of trusty, experienced old Joe Bryson.

This was the way it had all come about:

When the master mechanic and Jack Knight reached the limits tower after the report of the double wreck, they had found it in total darkness.

The ladder trap was bolted. They had to break the trap open. Entering the tower room and securing a light, they discovered a strange and startling condition of affairs.

Lying on the floor in a heavy, leaden sleep, was Bryson. Crouching in a corner, with lurid eyes, physical strength exhaused [sic], but raving in wild delirium, was Doc Bortree.

The telephone receiver was smashed, and the transmitter lay torn loose, wires and all, on the floor. Other parts of the tower equipment were in rare disorder. The west levers were set in all kinds of erratic and impracticable shapes.

It took the two railroad men fully half an hour to restore order from the chaos in the tower and along the tracks. It took them double that time to arouse Bryson, and to get Bortree into a state of partial coherency. They sent messengers to Bortree's home. They listened to Bryson's confused story. Then, putting this and that together, they finally got the truth of affairs.

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Rh Doc Bortree, as Ralph knew, had been confined to his bed with a high fever for nearly a week. That was why, compelled to share two long shifts with Knight alone, Ralph happened to be on all-night duty at the present time.

It seemed that early in the evening, Bortree's sister had left her brother sleeping quietly. He appeared to be on the mend.

About ten o'clock the sick leverman must have had a relapse into delirium. Railroad service was his daily routine. His brain, running in that line, had suggested to him a whimsical and irrational course. This he had carried out with all the cunning of a real madman.

He had taken a bottle of cordial and had poured into it a sleeping potion. He had got into his clothes, left the room by opening a window, and, breasting the violent tempest, had made for and reached the limits tower.

Joe Bryson afterwards, in telling his story, said that the bedraggled appearance of Bortree was startling enough. His actions were quite lucid, however. All he noticed peculiar about his talk was the persistency and strange delight with which Bortree alluded to an order he expected to receive from the superintendent to take charge of the entire train dispatching service the next day.

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170 When Bortree produced the bottle and told that it was a mild, pleasant wine the doctor had prescribed for him, Bryson indulged in a glass—"for companionship's sake." Then he remembered nothing further until awakened by the master mechanic and Jack Knight.

As soon as Bortree had disposed of his companion, he began his mad, riotous work.

All kinds of exaggerated ideas must have filled his mind. The reader has already seen how his crazy orders operated. His own work at the limits had ditched the midnight mail. His instructions to Ralph had sent the through freight crashing into the three freight empties at terminus.

Finally, exhausted after his mad work at the levers, Bortree had commenced a work of general destruction. When through, he had extinguished the lights and lapsed into a weak delirium in which the two railroad men had finally found him.

"There should always be a team at the limits tower," was Knight's ultimate comment on the affair.

"Yes," the master mechanic assented—"sickness, enmity, a burned-out wire, a dozen things might come up where one man would be helpless. If it is only a messenger, we must not again leave

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Rh these important points at the mercy of chance and accident."

Ralph made a note of this suggestion. He determined when the right moment came to speak a good word for Young Slavin.

He had never been more tired and sleepy than when he reached home that morning.

Ralph ate a hurried breakfast. He explained only casually the happenings of the night to his mother. Getting to bed promptly, he put in ten hours of the solidest sleep that he had ever enjoyed.

He found his mother quite nervous and worried when he reported for his late afternoon dinner. Mrs. Fairbanks had learned from a neighbor of the startling occurrences of the previous night.

"I am all unstrung over this railroad business, Ralph," she said. "I would feel easier in my mind if you could transfer to some branch of the service where you were not constantly meeting these terrible dangers."

"What! my own dear mother going back on me in the midst of my ambitions!" cried Ralph in a tone of playful raillery. "Oh, surely, never! I hope you wouldn't advise me to follow old Farrington's grand suggestion—for his own benefit; get a clerical position at the general offices at

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172 Springfield, and—as he puts it—'be a gentleman.'"

"No, Ralph, I should not like to have you leave Stanley Junction, where you have made such a good record," responded Mrs. Fairbanks, "but think of the fearful responsibilities of your position."

"I do," answered Ralph gravely, "and that is why I am going to stick. Mother, someone has to face these serious issues. Perhaps my clear head, and willing hands, and genuine love for the business, fit me to be just the person to fill the gap when these unavoidable troubles come along. Besides, if someone does not go through the apprenticeship, where will the service be when Jack Knight and the other old hands have retired? I want to be, as I expect to be, a thorough railroad man," pursued Ralph with resolution, "and first-class, or nothing. In order to do so, I must know every step of the service, from roundhouse to train dispatcher's desk. I have started up the ladder. I can't afford to slip one rung. If I get jolted, I intend to hang on all the closer."

The widow was silent. Her son's earnest determination consoled her, somehow. Yes, she reflected, Ralph had braved perils and had saved the lives of others, where one less brave and self-reliant might have failed. So far he had proven

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Rh himself "the right man in the right place." Secretly she murmured a fervent prayer for his safety and guidance, and tried to be content until he should reach smoother and less risky paths of service.

Ralph received an official assurance from the superintendent through loyal old Jack Knight that afternoon, that his action in dealing with the crazy orders had won the highest commendation of the railroad company.

The following day he spoke about Young Slavin to Knight. The next day the latter informed him that on the first of the month the master mechanic had agreed to pass on the application which Slavin was to file in the meantime. Nothing unforseen happening, it looked as if the sturdy young pugilist would speedily have a chance to exercise his muscle in some department of the Great Northern service.

Pleasant routine succeeded for some days for Ralph to the exciting episodes of the week previous. Some changes were made on the limits tower, and the day man there transferred to the depot yards.

Ralph was back on the shift he preferred; four hours in the morning, and four hours in the afternoon.

He had not heard again from Van. As to

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174 Mort Bemis and Ike Slump, they had flashed into town, thrown away a lot of money along lower Railroad Street, and had again disappeared.

Ralph met Slavin one day. The latter was delighted over the prospect of soon getting at work for the railroad company. His face scowled, however, as Ralph asked if he had seen or heard anything concerning Ike and Mort.

"Why, yes," answered Slavin, "I heard they were cutting a dash up at the racetrack at Springfield. Plenty of money, and bragging that they owned a rich old magnate here at Stanley Junction. I'd go gunning for them, if I wasn't waiting to hear from my railroad job."

"Oh, leave them alone—why bother your head about them?" suggested Ralph.

"No, Fairbanks," dissented Slavin stubbornly. "I want those medals, or I want their hides. I'm not a good enough Salvationer just yet to forgive those villains. I can't wipe them off the slate till I've had one last round with them."

Gasper Farrington had completed the switch spur to the factory. Ralph learned that he had invited a heavy damage suit by crossing the lot of a poor old invalid widow, who occupied a house next to that where Mrs. Davis had formerly lived.

He heard a good many comments on this last

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Rh act of the selfish, tyrannical magnate. There was some current criticism, too, as to his going on the bonds of the idle scapegrace, Ike Slump. Farrington pretended that he had bailed out Ike because his father was an old acquaintance. Ralph knew better, but held his peace. He had faith that the real truth would come out, sooner or later.

With entire confidence in Van Sherwin, he believed that he would soon receive some word from that good friend to show he had been quietly working in the dark all this time.

About five o'clock one afternoon a barefooted urchin Ralph did not know by name came up the switch tower ladder. Ralph was alone, but expected Knight to relieve him at five o'clock.

"Say," projected the frowsy-headed lad, staring curiously around the place, "you Mr. Fairbanks?"

"That's right, my little man," answered Ralph.

"Say, you know Mr. Stiggs?"

"Slightly," nodded Ralph, with a smile.

"Well, he sent me here. He said to fetch a message to you."

Ralph recalled the fact now that Mr. Stiggs had not shown up about the yards for the past two days. This was an unusual thing for the old railroad pensioner.

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176 "Is Mr. Stiggs sick?" he inquired with interest.

"Dunno," answered the youngster. "It was his wife I talked with. She said Mr. Stiggs would like to have you call about seven o'clock, if convenient. He wants to see you."

"Very well," said Ralph. "Are you to see her again?"

"Why, I can."

"Then tell her I will drop around at seven o'clock this evening."

The urchin lingered. He was a shrewd-faced little fellow.

"Say," he again projected, "Mrs. Stiggs didn't have any change."

"Didn't have—oh, I see!" laughed Ralph. "All right, son—there's a nickel."

Ralph thought little of this incident for the remainder of the afternoon. He fancied that Stiggs might be indisposed, and had some mission for him to execute.

He went home, ate his supper, and strolled slowly in the direction of the Stiggs home about dusk.

There was a light in the rear room, and the front door was open. Ralph knocked.

"Come in," sounded a vague direction from the little front parlor.

Ralph stepped into the hall and crossed the

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Rh threshold of the parlor. He made out a figure dimly, standing by a chair.

"That you, Mr. Stiggs?" he observed. "Pretty dark here. Hold on—what is this?"

Ralph started back. The figure behind him had made a jump and had seized either arm of the youth by the wrist.

At the same moment a second person sprang from the shadows behind Ralph. A rope encircled the young leverman's body, and Ralph Fairbanks was a prisoner.

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text: Ralph in the Switch Tower/Chapter 20

title: Ralph in the Switch Tower/Chapter 20


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Page:Folk-lore - A Quarterly Review. Volume 23, 1912.djvu/390

376 Such a jeer, whether deserved or not, was at any rate quite enough to throw me back on the reconsideration of first principles; but I am not sure that I should have drawn equal profit from a sermon. Andrew Lang at least never preached; at least he was never a bore. If, then, fools did not suffer him gladly, as neither he them, the vast majority, I am sure, of those whom he has caused to writhe will be willing to acknowledge that his banter was bracing; and likewise that the gay dig in the ribs came from a master-hand which was both cunning with the spear and loath to wound.

Alors que j'étais étudiant à l'Ecole des Langues Orientales Vivantes, la traduction, par Léon Marillier, de Cultes, Mythes, et Religions parut: la lecture de ce livre fut une des causes déterminantes de mon changement d'études, qui se dirigeaient alors uniquement vers la linguistique et l'archéologie. Ainsi eus-je l'idée de m'inscrire au cours de Léon Marillier et de modifier radicalement la nature des documents et la direction de méthode de mes recherches. Des années passèrent avant ma première publication ethnographique; il y était question de totémisme; j'envoyai mon livre à Andrew Lang; il m'écrivit; et de cette manière s'établirent entre nous des relations épistolaires. Elles furent plutôt intermittentes que régulières, selon que l'un ou l'autre de nous s'occupait à nouveau du totémisme et de l'exogamie, des Australiens ou de la théorie des légendes et des mythes.

Comme bien d'autres, j'en étais arrivé à lire couramment cette extraordinaire écriture qui semblait tracée à l'aide de ces petits bâtonnets sculptés qui servent aux femmes d'Algérie à étendre une mince couche de kohol sous les cils et au delà des paupières. Andrew Lang dessinait des lettres et des sigles plutôt qu'il n'écrivait des mots. Certain graphologue de mes amis diagnostiqua, sur le vu d'une de ses lettres: un esprit éminemment analytique, très minutieux, trop minutieux même dans la dissociation des faits et des idées, mais porté à établir des synthèses d'un seul coup, par blocs juxtaposés suivant un plan de grandes lignes abruptes. Et je n'ai pas trouvé cette caractérisation si fausse.


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17. October, 1769. SIR,

T is not wonderful that the great caue, in which this country is engaged, hould have roed and engroed the whole attention of the people. I rather admire the generous pirit, with which they feel and aert their interet in this important quetion, than blame them for their indifference about any other. When the contitution is openly invaded, when the firt original right of the people, from which all laws derive their authority, is directly attacked, inferior grievances naturally loe their force, and Rh


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2 are uffered to pas by without punihment or obervation. The preent minitry are as ingularly marked by their fortune, as by their crimes. Intead of atoning for their former conduct by any wie or popular meaure, they have found, in the enormity of one fact, a cover and defence for a eries of meaures, which mut have been fatal to any other adminitration. I fear we are too remis in oberving the whole of their proceedings. Struck with the principal figure, we do not ufficiently mark in what manner the canvas is filled up. Yet urely it is not a les crime, nor les fatal in its conequences, to encourage a flagrant breach of the law by a military force, than to make ue of the forms of parliament to detroy the contitution.—The minitry eem determined to give us a choice of difficulties, and, if poible, to perplex us with the multitude of their offences. The expedient is worthy of the Duke of Grafton. But though he has preerved a gradation and variety in his meaures, we hould remember that the principle is uniform. Dictated by the ame pirit, they deerve the ame attention. The following fact, though of the mot alarming ture


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Rh and the First Cavalry, and the infantry, were crossing.

As I led my column slowly along, under the intense heat, through the high grass of the open jungle, the First Brigade was to our left, and the firing between it and the Spaniards on the hills grew steadily hotter and hotter. After a while I came to a sunken lane, and as by this time the First Brigade had stopped and was engaged in a stand-up fight, I halted my men and sent back word for orders. As we faced toward the Spanish hills my regiment was on the right with next to it and a little in advance the First Cavalry, and behind them the Tenth. In our front the Ninth held the right, the Sixth the centre, and the Third the left; but in the jungle the lines were already overlapping in places. Kent's infantry were coming up, further to the left.

Captain Mills was with me. The sunken lane, which had a wire fence on either side, led straight up toward, and between, the two hills in our front, the hill on the left, which contained heavy block-houses, being further away from us than the hill on our right, which we afterward grew to call Kettle Hill, and which was surmounted merely by some large ranch buildings or haciendas, with sunken brick-lined walls and cellars. I got the men as well-sheltered as I could. Many of them


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Rh, has not yet been clearly tated to the public, nor have the conequences of it been ufficiently undertood. Had I taken it up at an earlier period, I hould have been accued of an uncandid, malignant precipitation, as if I watched for an unfair advantage againt the minitry, and would not allow them a reaonable time to do their duty. They now tand without excue. Intead of employing the leiure they have had, in a trict examination of the offence, and punihing the offenders, they eem to have conidered that indulgence as a ecurity to them, that, with a little time and management, the whole affair might be buried in ilence, and utterly forgotten.

general of the army is arreted by the heriff's officers for a coniderable debt. He peruades them to conduct him to the Tilt-yard, in St. James's Park, under some pretence of busines, which it imported him to settle before he was confined. He applies to a erjeant, not immediately on duty, to ait with ome of his companions in favouring his ecape. He attempts it. A butle Rh


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4 enues. The bailiffs claim their prioner. An officer of the guards, not then on duty, takes part in the affair, applies to the lieutenant commanding the Tilt-yard guard, and urges him to turn out his guard to relieve a general officer. The lieutenant declines interfering in peron, but tands at a ditance, and uffers the buines to be done. The officer takes upon himelf to order out the guard. In a moment they are in arms, quit their guard, march, recue the general, drive away the heriff's officers, who, in vain, repreent their right to the prioner, and the nature of the arret. The oldiers firt conduct the general into the guard-room, then ecort him to a place of afety, with bayonets fixed, and in all the forms of military triumph. I will not enlarge upon the various circumtances which attended this atrocious proceeding. The peronal injury received by the officers of the law, in the execution of their duty, may perhaps, be atoned for by ome private compensation. I conider nothing but the wound, which has been given to the law itself, to which no remedy has been applied, no atisfaction made. Neither 4


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 Neither is it my design to dwell upon the misconduct of the parties concerned, any farther than is necessary to shew the behaviour of the ministry in its true light. I would make every compassionate allowance for the infatuation of the prisoner, the false and criminal discretion of one officer, and the madness of another. I would leave the ignorant soldiers entirely out of the question. They are certainly the least guilty, though they are the only persons who have yet suffered, even in the appearance of punishment. The fact itself, however atrocious, is not the principal point to be considered. It might have happened under a more regular government, and with guards better disciplined than ours. The main question is, in what manner have the ministry acted on this extraordinary occasion? A general officer calls upon the king's own guard, then actually on duty, to rescue him from the laws of his country; yet, at this moment, he is in a situation no worse than if he had not committed an offence, equally enormous in a civil and military view.—A lieutenant upon duty, designedly quits his guard, and suffers it to be


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 Rh Andrew Lang, dont j'ai lu aussi des poèmes, des contes, des essais, genre où il excellait et qui n'est point si facile qu'il peut paraitre, intéresse aussi en tant que théoricien. Détruire, en science tout au moins, c'est construire. En détruisant les théories de l'école linguistique, Lang a étendu la méthode ethnographique aux faits jusque là sacro-saints de l'antiquité classique et orientale; dans ce sens,l'effet des ouvrages de Lang est encore incomplet, et je sais quelques mythologues du Continent à qui leur lecture ferait beaucoup de bien.

Dans la question d'Homère aussi, Lang est parti en guerre contre des opinions "autorisées"; il a réagi contre des idées reçues depuis près d'un siècle, contre des méthodes d’interprétation imposées aux jeunes comme parole d'évangile. Maintenant, le revirement commence à se faire; Gilbert Murray a donné sa haute adhésion à des tendances qu'en France M. Breal, en Allemagne le professeur Rothe et quelques autres ont étayées à l'aide de faits diversement présentés et dont le caractère est d'être vivants. Ainsi, à la seule exégèse des textes conduite avec lenteur dans une bibliothèque bien silencieuse, on préfère maintenant l'examen des conditions vivantes des épopées; ici encore l'application de la méthode ethnographique préconisée par Andrew Lang a porte des fruits mûrissants.

Dans ses recherches sur le totémisme, Lang s'est trop laissé aller, selon moi, à ses facultés de dissociation analytique; il s'est attaché à poursuivre les tout petits détails et à ne construire qu'après de pénibles recherches, très minutieuses. Or ce procédé, ou si l'on préféré cette tendance, est très dangereux en ethnographic, parce que la documentation y change très vite, beaucoup plus vite qu'en archéologie ou qu'en biologie. Nos méthodes d'enquête ne sont pas encore assez parfaites, l'objet de l'étude, a savoir les individus et les groupements, est trop instable et trop variable pour que le détail présente å chaque fois et dans chaque cas une valeur fixe. Rien que sur le totemisme des Australiens, on se perd absolument entre les contradictions des divers informateurs: Howitt, Mathews, Gillen, Spencer, Strehlow, Mme Langloh Parker, Mme Bates, W. E. Roth. Et Andrew Lang s'est use a vouloir tirer au clair les raisons des contradictions essentielles parmi lesquelles il se debattait. M. Frazer a ete plus prudent:


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 scenery was surpassingly beautiful as the shades of evening crept over the landscape. The alluvial plains in the narrow valley were of a rich golden hue from the ripe maize, which formed a strong contrast to the dark green foliage of the lofty brush, and the glistening white trunks of the gigantic Flooded gum trees. Immediately beyond the brush, lightly wooded forest hills, verdant and grassy, rose in graceful waving contour; whilst looking up the valley, lofty mountains, covered with brush, and tinted with deep purple, from the reflected light of the glowing evening sky, closed the scene to the north-west. Having rode past some neat wooden cottages erected on the farms, along a good dray track, and having crossed to the right bank of the river, I passed the fine water-mills belonging to Messrs. Freeman and Gorum, and arrived just After dusk at Dr. Stacey's, where I stopped for the night.

As the alluvial plains of the Wilson are subject to occasional floods. Dr. Stacey has built his house in a very judicious manner, on strong wooden pillars, sufficiently high to be far beyond the reach of the highest floods. These pillars, being connected by weather boards, form underneath the house a sort of outhouse or store-room, which can be easily thrown open on the approach of floods, so as to offer no impediment to the water, whilst a covered wooden gallery, in the Swiss style, surrounds the upper portion of the building in which the family resides.


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 368 il a simplement éliminé un certain nombre de documents qu'il a considérés, après réflexion, comme inutiles ou inutilisables. Je me rappelle qu'en recevant une lettre d'Andrew Lang où il me demandait où j'en étais au sujet du totémisme et de l'exogamie, je lui répondis qui je ne ni'en occupais plus du tout pour le moment, et que je préférais attendre la publication de matériaux nouveaux provenant d'enquêteurs nouveaux et qui nous mettraient sans doute d'accord pour les faits, sinon pour la theorie.

Mais cette attitude expectante dépend sans doute plus du tempérament que de la raison. Andrew Lang était trop combattif pour s'y tenir longtemps. Et l'on m'a dit aussi qu'il était sportsman; or c'est un beau terrain de sport intellectuel que celui du totémisme et de l'exogamie; il y à la des difficultés à vaincre qui tiennent des échecs et du golf, de la pêche à la ligne et du bridge. J'ignore à quels sports il donnait la préférence; sans doute ont-ils changé avec les années; mais vraiment le sport exogamique et totémique ne méritait pas la peine qu'il y a consacrée.

Cela tient à ce que, en considérant tons les détails australiens, on est obligé, pour les expliquer, de formuler plusieurs théories; en effet Social Origins, The Secret of the Totem et divers essais d'Andrew Lang prouvent combien ses idées théoriques ont dû varier et flotter pour rester conformes aux découvertes successives. Enfin je suis persuade, mais l'avenir seul pourra dire si j'ai raison ou non, que fonder une théorie générale du totémisme, de l'exogamie, et même de la religion et de la magie à leurs débuts uniquement sur les faits australiens, comme vient de le faire M. E. Durkheim en un énorme volume, c'est construire scholastiquement sur des matériaux non pas simples et primitifs, mais très complexes parce que très évolués. On aura beau dire que ces Australiens sont relativement primitifs; à mon sens ils le sont relativement moins que des Papous du centre de la Nouvelle-Guinée, que certaines tribus montagnardes du centre de l'Inde ou du Tibet. Mais je ne vais pas discuter ici des questions auxquelles toute l'etude des religions et des civilisations primitives est subordonnée en ce moment, bien à tort et depuis trop d'années.

Aussi dans l'œuvre d'Andrew Lang ce seront, je crois, ses livres et articles sur le totémisme australien, mais non certaines


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 April 19th.—Having taken leave of my hospitable host, I passed the large brick stores, originally erected by the Government as a sugar-mill. The ground formerly planted with the canes was now covered by a fine crop of maize, I rode on, down the valley of the Wilson along its right bank, which is skirted by a very good road. Having passed along the foot of Mount Caoulapatamba, a large round-topped hill on the range between the Wilson and the Hastings, I crossed the Wilson again in an alluvial brush, and a little farther on arrived at Ballengarra, where the Wilson river becomes affected by the tide, and is navigable for boats. The police magistrate at Port Macquarie has stationed some men here with a punt, for the convenience of the settlers at the Wilson. Having crossed the river in it, I entered on a very thickly wooded, undulating country, tolerably grassy, and intersected by moist tea-tree flats and sedgy hollows. This description of country extended to the Hastings river, which I reached at its junction with the Maria river, at Blackman's point, where another punt has been established. The Hastings has a beautiful appearance here, as the reaches are of great length, and of an uniform width of about a quarter of a mile. On its left bank there is a pretty cottage, with a flourishing garden of vines and fruit trees, and some distance further down the river, on the right bank, is the handsome villa of Dr. Carlisle.

Having crossed over in the punt, I followed the


text: The Yellow Book/Volume 1

title: The Yellow Book/Volume 1


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Rh de ses discussions sur la théorie du totémisme en général, qui acquerront le plus vite une valeur uniquement historique. Il en reste encore assez d'autres qui conserveront une portée durable, assez au point qu'on s'étonne qu'en une vie en somme courte, un même homme ait pu accumuler tant de faits sans doute, mais aussi exprimer tant de sentiments, d'images, et d'idées et sous autant de formes, depuis la vraie sécheresse scientifique, jusqu'à la polémique la plus vive et jusqu'à la poésie la plus pure.

.

The death of Andrew Lang removes one who has played a great part in the recent history of Anthropology and Folklore. No one has done more than he to stimulate general interest in these subjects. His receptiveness for new ideas and his wonderful power of expounding them in a style which was all his own would have been sufficient to give him a prominent place in our science, even if he had done nothing else. We shall all miss his graphic and humorous descriptions of savage and barbarous customs, descriptions in which his insight often laid bare aspects of the subject which were not immediately obvious.

Andrew Lang did much more, however, than merely describe and popularise the work of others; he rendered great services in the regions of constructive thought and of criticism. One of his accomplishments is now so far in the past that we are able to estimate its value with some confidence. He was one of the first to recognise the wrong direction which was being given to the study of human culture by the too exclusive use of philology as a key to its mysteries. At the same time he did much to direct students into the path which since then has been so widely followed, a path illuminated by the central conception of the growth of human institutions out of a fundamental similarity of the human mind throughout the world. How far the path on which Andrew Lang thus did so much to set our footsteps in Myth, Ritual, and Religion will lead us to our goal it is too early to say, but there can be little doubt that it lies more nearly in the right direction than that which was being followed by the philological school.


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 370 It is too soon to estimate Andrew Lang's later constructive work. His scheme of social origins, which is his most important contribution, takes us so far back into the unknown and is so largely speculative that it must be long before it can be told how nearly it approaches the truth. Another of his constructive works arose out of his interest in a subject which stands in a very close relation to Folklore and Comparative Religion, though Andrew Lang has been one of the few to recognise it. His Making of Religion is an attempt to show the importance of thought-transference, crystal-gazing, and other similar phenomena as factors in the growth of religion. Here, again, the scantiness of satisfactory evidence about such subjects at rude stages of culture makes it impossible to appraise the value of this work, but it is clear that Andrew Lang was here a pioneer in a line of research from which much is to be hoped.

It may not be out of place to point out how much the great change which has taken place in recent years in the general attitude towards the subjects usually known as "psychical research" is due to Andrew Lang. It is largely through his influence that the time when this region was considered unworthy of exploration by serious students is now past. The combination of earnestness and humorous scepticism with which he always dealt with these subjects is probably the most healthy frame of mind in which to approach a most difficult and dangerous subject.

Both in this and in his more strictly anthropological work, however, it was the critical rather than the constructive side which always stood out. In these days when criticism seems to be almost a lost art, it was always a pleasure to read his keen and humorous attacks, in which he went directly for the weak points of a position. In no part of his work was this critical faculty more useful than in the study of Australian culture, the subject which was so prominent among his later interests. He saw far more clearly than most students of this culture its difficulties and complexities, and it is to be hoped that the book on this subject which was occupying him at the time of his death is in a sufficiently advanced state for publication.

It has been a great advantage for our science to have had one with his amazing power of work always ready to stimulate interest


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The Times/1927/Obituary/Willingham Franklin Rawnsley

Mr. Willingham Franklin Rawnsley, J.P., of the Manor House, Shamley Green, near Guildford, died on Friday at the age of 82. A great-nephew of Sir John Franklin, the Artic explorer, he was the eldest son of the Rev. Drummond Rawnsley, rector of Halton Holgate, Lincolnshire, and was sent, like his brother the late Canon H. D. Rawnsley, to Uppingham School in the early period Edward Thring's great headmastership. He went to Christ Church, migrating later to Corpus Christi College, Oxford and took classical honours. For many years he was proprietor of Winton House, Winchester, a famous private school. On retiring he went to live at Guildford. As a member of the National Trust, he took a leading part in the negotiations which led to the acquisition for the nation of a number of Surrey beauty spots. His tastes were mainly literary and he was at one president of the Poetry Society. In the current number of the Poetry Review he has an interesting letter on the ideals of the society and its work in encouraging the writing and speaking of poetry. In a note the editor described Mr. Rawnsley as “a sympathetic, kindly mentor and constructive critic, actuated by the highest motives and inspired by a fine flavour of the best of Victorian culture.” He was the author of several books, including “Highways and Byways of Lincolnshire,” a study of Edward Thring, which appeared last year, and “The Life and Letters of Lady Franklin.” He was a recognized authority on the poems of Tennyson, who was Sir John Franklin's nephew by marriage, and with whom he was personally intimate. He was a page at Tennyson's wedding in 1850. Mr. Rawnsley married in 1880 Alice, daughter of the late Very Rev. Marsham Argles, Dean of Peterborough.


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Author:Thomas Muir

Works

 * Theory of Determinants in the Historical Order of Development
 * History of Determinants
 * Text-Book of Determinants
 * (in part)

title: Author:Thomas Muir


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 Rh in it and to restrain excesses by his keen critical insight. We are great gainers by the fact that the study of rude culture took such a foremost place in the affections of one of the most gifted men of our time.

Ich bin froh und dankbar, dass ich an dieser Ehrung eines grossen Toten mich beteiligen kann, und ich will es thun, indem ich kurz darlege, was ich an Andrew Lang bedeutungs- und verehrungsvoll finde.

Lang's Genius war von ganz besonderer Art. Er hatte nicht den zähen angelsächsischen Geist, wie er in den Werken der Tylor, Frazer, Hartland, u.a. sich offenbart, wo eine unermüdliche Beharrlichkeit von alien Teilen der Welt her in langen Reihen umfangreicher Bande das Material zusammenstellt um eine Grundidee zu fundieren und nach alien Seiten hin zur Geltung zu bringen. Es fehlte ihm auch die breite Behaglichkeit der angelsächsischen Art, die trotz ihrer Energie sich Zeit lassen kann zu weitläufigen Exkursen, wo profunde Erudition in aller Breite sich entfaltet und dann ebenso gelassen wieder zu ihrem Hauptthema zurückkehrt. Lang war in der Erfassung seiner Ziele beweglicher und in der Verfolgung derselben straffer. So vermochte ein Gebiet allein seinen Tätigkeitsdrang nicht zu befriedigen, und auf jedem Gebiet blieb sein rascher und scharfer Blick für alles geöffnet. Wo er etwas ersah, das der Würdigung wert war, da konnte ihn auch der Umstand nicht hindern es vollauf zu würdigen, dass er früher etwa selbst lange die entgegengesetzte Ansicht verteidigt hatte.

Diese ganze Eigenart seines Genius befähigte ihn vorzüglich zu zwei Dingen.

Erstens zur Kritik und Polemik. Eben die Beweglichkeit und Subtilität seines Geistes liess ihn leicht und schnell die schwachen Stellen eines Gegners erspähen, und der geschmeidige Stil, den er sich als kongenialen Ausdruck seines Wesens geschaffen hatte, gab ihm die Möglichkeit, alles bis in die feinsten Verschlingungen hinein zur Geltung zu bringen. Mit all dem hat er zweifellos unserer Wissenschaft unschätzbare Dienste geleistet. Sein


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 372 Kampf mit Max Müller ist zu bekannt um daran erinnern zu müssen. Man geht aber wohl nicht fehl in der Behauptung, dass ohne ihn die anthropologische Schule für England und damit überhaupt für die gesamte wissenschaftliche und kulturelle Entwicklung jedenfalls nicht so bald zu Geltung gelangt wäre. Die solide aber auch etwas schwerfällige Art ihrer Vertreter haäte sich nicht so leicht durchzusetzen vermocht. Das um so mehr, weil sie mit einem Vorurteil behaftet zu sein scheinen, das nach dieser Richtung hin besonders schlimm wirken muss. "Many learned men, like Mr. Tylor, detest polemics, though, for my part, I think that discussion may be most profitable, as long as we do not let 'our angry temper rise'", so sprach sich Lang selbst einmal aus. Dieser auffällige Mangel der anthropologischen Schule tritt am deutlichsten im Verhältnis Langs zu Frazer hervor, den er trotz vielfacher Aufforderung nicht zu einem Turnier hervorlocken konnte. Man begreift es, dass Mr. Frazer bei seinen umfangreichen Werken nicht viel Zeit zur Polemik übrig hat. Man sieht aber auch, z.B. bei den Auseinandersetzungen mit seinen Gegnern in iv. Bande seines "Totemism and Exogamy", wie schädlich ihm und der Wissenschaft seine Ungeübtheilt und Schwerfälligkeit in der Kontroverse geworden ist. In der Tat, wo Polemik und Kritik fehlen, da muss entweder Stagnation oder Einseitigkeit die notwendige Folge sein, beides fiihrt den Tod der Wissenschaft herbei. Diesen Dienst werden Lang's Werke der Wissenschaft für alle Zukunft leisten, dass sie uns vollendete Muster scharfsinniger Kritik, nobler Polemik bieten.

Die andre Aufgabe, zu der ihn die Eigenart seines Genius besonders befahigte, hat Andrew Lang selbst bezeichnet, als er die Gifford-Lectures zu seinem Werke "The Making of Religion" seiner heimatlichen Universitat St. Andrews überreichte: "I wish they were more worthy of an Alma Mater which fostered in the past the leaders of forlorn hopes that were destined to triumph, and the friends of lost causes who fought bravely against fate". In der Tat zogen die Offenheit seines Geistes und die Tapferkeit seines Gesinnung ihn ganz besonders dazu hin, die Anwaltschaft solcher "forlorn hopes" und "lost causes" zu übernehmen. Er tat das auf dem Gebiete der Geschichte, er


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120 lay close under the bank of the lane, others slipped into the San Juan River and crouched under its hither bank, while the rest lay down behind the patches of bushy jungle in the tall grass. The heat was intense, and many of the men were already showing signs of exhaustion. The sides of the hills in front were bare; but the country up to them was, for the most part, covered with such dense jungle that in charging through it no accuracy of formation could possibly be preserved. The fight was now on in good earnest, and the Spaniards on the hills were engaged in heavy volley firing. The Mauser bullets drove in sheets through the trees and the tall jungle grass, making a peculiar whirring or rustling sound; some of the bullets seemed to pop in the air, so that we thought they were explosive; and, indeed, many of those which were coated with brass did explode, in the sense that the brass coat was ripped off, making a thin plate of hard metal with a jagged edge, which inflicted a ghastly wound. These bullets were shot from a 45-calibre rifle carrying smokeless powder, which was much used by the guerillas and irregular Spanish troops. The Mauser bullets themselves made a small, clean hole, with the result that the wound healed tn a most astonishing manner. One or two of our men who were shot in the head had the skull blown open, but elsewhere the wounds


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The Fifth Form at St. Dominic's/Chapter VI

Loman was a comparatively new boy at Saint Dominic’s. He had entered eighteen months ago, in the Fifth Form, having come direct from another school. He was what many persons would call an agreeable boy, although for some reason or other he was never very popular. What that something was, no one could exactly define. He was clever, and good-tempered, and inoffensive. He rarely quarrelled or interfered with any one, and he had been known to do more than one good-natured act. But whether it was that he was conceited, or selfish, or not quite straight, or a little bit of all three, he never made any very great friends at Saint Dominic’s, and since he had got into the Sixth and been made a monitor, he had quite lost the favour of his old comrades in the Fifth.

As far as Wraysford and Greenfield were concerned, this absence of goodwill had ripened into something like soreness, by the way in which Loman had made use of his own position as a monitor, on a casual reference by Oliver to the probable coming of Stephen to Saint Dominic’s, to secure that young gentleman as his fag, although he quite well knew that Wraysford was counting on having him. Though of course the captain’s word was final, the two friends felt that they had not been quite fairly dealt with in the matter. They took no trouble to conceal what they thought from Loman himself, who seemed to derive considerable satisfaction from the fact, and to determine to keep his hand on the new boy quite as much for the sake of “scoring off” his rivals as on the fag’s own account.

Loman, Wraysford, and Greenfield were rivals in more matters than one. They were all three candidates for a place in the school eleven, and all three candidates for the Nightingale Scholarship next autumn; and besides this, they each of them aspired to control the Junior Dominicans; and it was a sore mortification to Loman to find that, though a monitor, his influence among the small fry was by no means as great as that of the two Fifth Form boys, who were notoriously popular, and thought much of by their juniors.

For these and other reasons, the relations between the two friends and Loman were at the present time a little “strained.”

To Stephen, however, Loman was all civility. He helped him in his lessons, and gave him the reversion of his feasts, and exercised his monitorial authority against Master Bramble in a way that quite charmed the new boy, and made him consider himself fortunate to have fallen into the hands of so considerate a lord.

When he entered Loman’s study after his first morning’s work in class, he found that youth in a highly amiable frame of mind, and delighted to see him.

“Hullo, Greenfield!” he said; “how are you? and how are you getting on? I hear you are in the Fourth Junior; all among the Guinea-pigs and Tadpoles, eh? Which do you belong to?”

“I don’t know,” said Stephen; “they are going to draw lots for me to-morrow.”

“That’s a nice way of being elected! I say, have you any classes this afternoon?”

“No; Mr. Rastle has given us a half-holiday.”

“That’s just the thing. I’m going to scull up the river a bit after dinner, and if you’d like you can come and steer for me.”

Stephen was delighted. Of all things he liked boating. They lived near a river at home, he said, and he always used to steer for Oliver there.

So, as soon as dinner was over, the two went down to the boat-house and embarked.

“Which way shall you row?” asked Stephen, as he made himself comfortable in the stern of the boat, and took charge of the rudder-lines.

“Oh, up stream. Keep close in to the bank, out of the current.”

It was a beautiful afternoon, and Loman paddled lazily and luxuriously up, giving ample time to Stephen, if so inclined, to admire the wooded banks and picturesque windings of the Shar. Gusset Lock was reached in due time, and here Loman suggested that Stephen should get out and go round and look at the weir, while he went on and took the boat through. Stephen acceded and landed, and Loman paddled on to the lock.

“Hello, maister,” called down a feeble old voice, as he got up to the gate.

“Hullo, Jeff, is Cripps about?” replied Loman.

“Yas; he be inside or somewheres, maister,” replied the old lock-keeper.

“All right! take the boat up; I want to see Cripps.”

Cripps was the son of the old man whom Loman had addressed as Jeff. He was not exactly a gentleman, for he kept the Cockchafer public-house at Maltby, and often served behind the bar in his own person. Neither was he altogether a reputable person, for he frequently helped himself to an overdose of his own beverages, besides being a sharp hand at billiards, and possessing several packs of cards with extra aces in them. Neither was he a particularly refined personage, for his choice of words was often more expressive than romantic, and his ordinary conversation was frequently the reverse of edifying; it mainly had to do with details of the stable or the card-room, and the anecdotes with which he enlivened it were often “broader than they were long,” to put it mildly. In short, Cripps was a blackguard by practice, whatever he was by profession. He had, however, one redeeming virtue; he was very partial to young gentlemen, and would go a good bit out of his way to meet one. He always managed to know of something that young gentlemen had a fancy for. He could put them into the way of getting a thoroughbred bull-dog dirt-cheap; he could put them up to all the tips at billiards and “Nap,” and he could make up a book for them on the Derby or any other race, that was bound to win. And he did it all in such a pleasant, frank way that the young gentlemen quite fell in love with him, and entrusted their cash to him with as much confidence as if he were the Bank of England.

Of all the young gentlemen whose privilege it had been to make the acquaintance of Mr. Cripps—and there were a good many—he professed the greatest esteem and admiration for Loman, of Saint Dominic’s school, to whom he had been only recently introduced. The two had met at the lock-keeper’s house a week ago, when Loman was detained there an hour or two by stress of weather, and, getting into conversation, as gentlemen naturally would, Loman chanced to mention that he wanted to come across a really good fishing-rod.

By a most curious coincidence, Mr. Cripps had only the other day been asked by a particular friend of his, who was removing from the country to London—“where,” said Mr. Cripps, “there ain’t over much use for a rod”—if he knew of any one in want of a really good fishing-rod. It was none of your ordinary ones, made out of green wood with pewter joints, but a regular first-class article, and would do for trout or perch or jack, or any mortal fish you could think of. Cripps had seen it, and flattered himself he knew something about rods, but had never seen one to beat this. Reel and all, too, and a book of flies into the bargain, if he liked. He had been strongly tempted to get it for himself—it seemed a downright sin to let such a beauty go—and would have it if he had not already got a rod, but of a far inferior sort, of his own. And he believed his friend would part with it cheap.

“I tell you what, young gentleman,” said he, “I’ll bring it up with me next time I come, and you shall have a look at it. Of course, you can take it or not, as you like, but if my advice is worth anything—well, never mind, I suppose you are sure to be up stream in the course of the next week or so.”

“Oh yes,” said Loman, who in the presence of this universal genius was quite deferential; “when can you bring it?”

“Well, my time ain’t so very valuable, and I’d like to oblige you over this little affair. Suppose we say to-day week. I’ll have the rod here, and you can try him.”

“Thank you—have you—that is—about what—”

“You mean, about what figure will he want for it? Well, I don’t know exactly. They run so very various, do good rods. You could get what they call a rod for ten bob, I dare say. But you wouldn’t hardly fancy that style of thing.”

“Oh no; if it was a really good one,” said Loman, “I wouldn’t mind giving a good price. I don’t want a rotten one.”

“That’s just it. This one I’m telling you of is as sound as a bell, and as strong as iron. And you know, as well as I do, these things are always all the better after a little use. My friend has only used this twice. But I’ll find out about the price, and drop you a line, you know. May be £2 or £3, or so.”

“I suppose that’s about what a really good rod ought to cost?” said Loman, who liked to appear to know what was what, but secretly rather taken aback by this estimate.

“So it is. It’s just a guess of mine though; but I know for me he’ll put it as low as he can.”

“I’m sure I shall be very much obliged to you,” said Loman, “if you can manage it for me.”

“Not at all, young gentleman. I always like to oblige where I can; besides, you would do as much for me, I’ll wager. Well, good-day, Mr. — what’s your name?”

“Loman—at Saint Dominic’s. You’ll send me a line, then, about the price?”

“Yes, sir. Good-day, sir.”

But Mr. Cripps had forgotten to send the line, and to-day, when Loman, according to arrangement, came up to the lock-keeper’s to receive the rod, the keeper of the Cockchafer was most profuse in his apologies. He was most sorry, but his friend had been ill and not able to attend to business. He had been a trifle afraid from what he heard that he was not quite as anxious to part with that rod as formerly. But Cripps had gone over on purpose and seen him, and got his promise that he should have it to-morrow certain, and if Mr. Loman would call or send up, it should be ready for him, without failing. At this stage, Stephen, having explored the weir, rejoined his school-fellow, and the two, after partaking of a bottle of ginger-beer at Mr. Cripp’s urgent request, returned with the stream to Saint Dominic’s.

The result of this delay was to make Loman doubly anxious to secure this famous fishing-rod, on which his heart was set. Next day, however, he had classes all the afternoon, and could not go himself. He therefore determined to send Stephen.

“I want you to run up to Gusset Weir,” said he to his fag, “to fetch me a rod the keeper’s son is getting for me. Be quick back, will you? and ask him what the price is.”

So off Stephen trotted, as soon as school was over, in spite of the counter attraction of a Guinea-pig cricket match. When he reached the lock, Cripps had not arrived.

“He warn’t be long, young maister,” said old Jeff, who was one of the snivelling order. “Take a seat, do ’ee. Nice to be a young gemm’un, I says—us poor coves as works wery ’ard, we’d like to be young gemm’un too, with lots o’ money, and all so comfortable off. Why, young maister, you don’t know now what it is to be in want of a shillun. I do!”

Stephen promptly pulled out one of his five shillings of pocket-money in answer to this appeal, and felt rather ashamed to appear “comfortable off” in the presence of this patriarch.

“Not that I complains o’ my lot, young gemm’un,” continued old Cripps, pulling his forelock with one hand and pocketing the shilling with the other. “No, I says, the honest working man don’t do no good a-grumblin’, but when he’s got his famerly to feed,” (old Cripps was a widower, and his family consisted of the landlord of the Cockchafer), “and on’y this here shillin’ to do it with—”

Stephen was very green. He almost cried at the sight of this destitute, tottering honest old man, and before the latter could get farther in his lament another shilling was in his palsied old hand, and the grey old forelock was enduring another tug.

It was well for Stephen that Mr. Cripps junior turned up at this juncture, or the entire five shillings might have made its way into the old man’s pouch.

Mr. Cripps junior had the rod. He had had a rare job, he said, to get it, for his friend had only yesterday had an offer of £3 15 shillings, and was all but taking it. However, here it was, and for only £3 10 shillings, tell Mr. Loman; such a bargain as he wouldn’t often make in his life, and he could get him the fly-book for a sov. if he liked. And Mr. Cripps would charge him nothing for his trouble.

After this Mr. Cripps junior and the boy got quite friendly. The former was greatly interested in hearing about Saint Dominic’s, especially when he understood Stephen was a new boy. Cripps could remember the day when he was a new boy, and had to fight three boys in three hours the first afternoon. He was awfully fond of cricket when he was a boy. Was Stephen?

“Oh, yes,” said Stephen; “I like it more than anything.”

“Ah, you should have seen the way we played. Bless me! I’d a bat, my boy, that could tip the balls clean over the school-house. You’ve got a bat, of course, or else—”

“No, I haven’t,” said Stephen. “I shall get one as soon as I can.”

“Well, that is lucky! Look here, young gentleman,” continued Cripps confidentially; “I’ve taken a fancy to you. It’s best to be plain and speak out. I’ve taken a fancy to you, and you shall have that bat. It’s just your size, and the finest bit of willow you ever set eyes on. I’ll wager you’ll make top score every time you use it. You shall have it. Never mind about the stumpy—”

“Stumpy!” ejaculated Stephen; “I don’t want stumps, only a bat.”

“What I meant to say was, never mind about the price. You can give me what you like for it. I wish I could make you a present of it. My eye, it’s a prime bat! Spliced! Yes. Treble-cane, as I’m a poor man. I’ll send it up to you, see if I don’t, and you can pay when you like.”

And so he chattered on, in a way which quite charmed Stephen, and made him rejoice in his new friend, and still more at the prospect of the bat.

“If it’s awfully dear,” he said, at parting, with a sort of sigh, “I couldn’t afford it. My pocket-money’s nearly all gone.”

He did not say how.

“Oh, never mind, not if you don’t pay at all,” replied the genial Cripps. “You’ll be having more tin soon, I bet.”

“Not till June,” said Stephen.

“Well, leave it till June—no matter. But you may as well have the use of the bat now. Good-day, Master Green—”

“Greenfield, Stephen Greenfield,” said Stephen.

“Good-day, and give my respects to Mr. Loman, and I hope I shall see you both again.”

Stephen hoped so too, and went off, highly elated, with Loman’s rod under his arm.

Loman pulled rather a long face at hearing the price, and pulled a still longer face when Stephen told him about the bat. He read his fag a long lecture about getting into debt and pledging his pocket-money in advance.

That evening Stephen was solemnly tossed up for by the Guinea-pigs and Tadpoles. “Heads, Guinea-pigs; tails, Tadpoles.” It turned up heads, and from that time forward Greenfield junior was a Guinea-pig.


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Page:Theodore Roosevelt Rough Riders.djvu/127

Rh from the minute steel-coated bullet, with its very high velocity, were certainly nothing like as serious as those made by the old large-calibre, low-power rifle; If a man was shot through the heart, spine, or brain he was, of course, killed instantly; but very few of the wounded died—even under the appalling conditions which prevailed, owing to the lack of attendance and supplies in the field-hospitals with the army. While we were lying in reserve we were suffering nearly as much as afterward when we charged. I think that the bulk of the Spanish fire was practically unaimed, or at least not aimed at any particular man, and only occasionally at a particular body of men; but they swept the whole field of battle up to the edge of the river, and man after man in our ranks fell dead or wounded, although I had the troopers scattered out far apart, taking advantage of every scrap of cover.

Devereux was dangerously shot while he lay with his men on the edge of the river. A young West Point cadet, Ernest Haskell, who had taken his holiday with us as an acting second lieutenant, was shot through the stomach. He had shown great coolness and gallantry, which he displayed to an even more marked degree after being wounded, shaking my hand and saying, "All right. Colonel, I'm going to get well. Don't bother about me, and don't Rh


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Page:Folk-lore - A Quarterly Review. Volume 23, 1912.djvu/397

Rh hat es auf dem Gebiete der Ethnologie durch sein Werk "The Making of Religion" gethan. Hat er auch damit unserer Wissenschaft einen Dienst geleistet? Zweifellos. Die Wissenschaft leidet immer dann Schaden, wenn sie, durch eine übermächtige Zeitströmung fortgerissen, zu schnell etwas als "verloren" betrachtet und vor da an es nicht mehr gebührend würdigt. Das war hier nach dem Zeugnis bedeutender Gelehrter, z.B. Mr. Hartland's, geschehen.

Das Jahr 1859 wird für immer in der Geschichte der Wissenschaft vom Menschen eines der bedeutsamsten bleiben. Es brachte die Anerkennung der prähistorischen Forschungen Boucher de Perthes durch Sir Charles Lyell und die Veröffentlichung dreier bedeutsamer Werke: Charles Darwin's "On the Origin of Species by means of Natural Selection", Theodor Waitz's "Anthropologie der Naturvölker ", und Adolf Bastian's Erstlingswerk "Der Mensch in der Geschichte". In diesen vier Ereignissen brachen die Quellen einer machtvoller Strömung hervor, die in immer steigender Masse mit übermächtiger Gewalt alles mit sich fortriss. Das war der Gedanke einer absoluten und universalen aufsteigenden Entwicklung. Er trat zuerst auf in der Gestalt einer bescheidenen Hypothese, wuchs heran zu einer geachteten Theorie und wuchs sich endlich aus zu einem intoleranten Dogma, das seine uneingeschränkte Anerkennung beinahe mit der Selbstverständlichkeit eines Axioms forderte. Bei manchen ging die Entwicklung noch einen Schritt weiter: es bildete sich eine Art evolutionistischer Mentalität, die kaum mehr imstande ist anders als evolutionistisch zu denken, die gar nicht begreifen kann, wie andere noch anders denken können, und die infolgedessen, wenn sie auf solche "Ketzer" stösst, mehr oder weniger geneigt ist, deren wissenschafthche Arbeiten auf blosse vorgefasste Meinungen zurückzuführen, besonders wenn diese Verwegenen zufällig auch noch in ihrer Religion oder in ihrem Stand als Vertreter einer andern Weltanschauung erscheinen.

Und doch wird die Zahl solcher "Abtrünniger" immer grösser. Auf dem Gebiete der eigentlichen Naturwissenschaften, wo die scharfere Bestimmtheit des Gegenstandes auch dem spekulierenden Geist eine starkere Nötigung zur Besonnenheit auferlegt, ist man schon rüstig am Werk, den Evolutionsgedanken nicht


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The Fifth Form at St. Dominic's/Chapter VII

The eventful day had come at last. Anthony and his confederates had worked hard, evening after evening, in the secrecy of their studies, and the first number of the Dominican was ready for publication. The big frame had been smuggled in, and the big sheet was now safely lodged behind the glass, with its eight broad columns of clearly-written manuscript all ready to astonish Saint Dominic’s.

Two nails had surreptitiously been driven into the wall outside the Fifth Form room, on which the precious document was to be suspended, and Tony only waited for “lights out” to creep down and, with the aid of Ricketts and Bullinger, fix it in position. Everything succeeded well. The secret had been kept most carefully, and when, next morning, Saint Dominic’s woke up and swarmed down the passage past the Fifth Form class-room, the sight of a huge frame, with the words The Dominican staring out from it, and several yards of writing underneath, fairly startled them. Master Paul, the fag who had been deputed to the no easy task of preserving the structure from injury, had a hard time of it, there was such a hustling and crowding in front of it whenever classes were not going on. The little boys squeezed in front; the bigger boys read over their heads; the Sixth examined it from the back of the crowd, and the Fifth Form from various positions watched with complacency the effect of this venture.

At first it was looked upon as a curiosity, then as a joke; then gradually it dawned on Saint Dominic’s that it was a Fifth Form production, and finally it appeared in its true light as a school newspaper.

Loman, attracted by the crowd of boys, strolled down the passage to the place and joined the group, just as a small boy was reading aloud the following descriptive extract from “Our Special Correspondent in Guinea-pig Land:—

“Last night the ceremony of admitting a new member into the ancient and honourable craft of Guinea-pigs was celebrated with the usual mysteries. The event took place in the fourth junior class-room. The Guinea-pigs assembled in force, with blackened faces and false whiskers. The lights being put out, Brother Bilke proposed, and Brother Smudge seconded, the election of the new aspirant, and the motion being put to the Guinea-pigs, was received with a unanimous grunt. The Guinea-pig elect was then admitted. He was classically attired in a pair of slippers and a collar, and the ceremony of initiation at once commenced. The candidate was stretched across the lowest desk, face downwards, and in this position greeted with the flat side of a cricket-bat by the junior brother present. He was then advanced to the next desk, where a similar compliment was paid by the next youngest; and so on to the senior brother present. Half-way through the ceremony the new member expressed a desire to withdraw his candidature, but this motion was negatived by a large majority. When our reporter left, the ceremony was being repeated with the round side of the bat. We understand the new Guinea-pig is keeping his bed to-day after the exciting ceremony of initiation.”

This was capital fun, and greatly appreciated by all—even by Stephen, who knew it was intended to represent his own experience, which, mercifully, had not been nearly so sore as pictured.

But the next extract was not quite as pleasing.

“Cricket Notice.

“The Alphabet Match will be played on Saturday. The following are the two elevens [and here the list followed]. Of these twenty-two players, it is worthy of mention that fourteen are from the Fifth, and only eight from the Sixth. What is our Sixth coming to?”

This was not at all gratifying to the Sixth Form fellows present. It was unfortunately true, but they did not at all fancy such prominence being given to the fact. The next extract was still more pointed.

“Sixth Form Debating Society.

“The usual meeting of the Sixth Form Debating Society was held last week, the Doctor in the chair. A sprinkling of lads from the Fifth, in their Sunday coats and collars, was present, by kind permission. The subject for discussion was, ‘That the present Sixth is degenerate.’ In the absence of any member of the Sixth to open the discussion, Master Bramble, captain of the Tadpoles, kindly undertook the task. He had no hesitation in asserting that the Sixth were degenerate. They had fallen off in cricket since he could remember, and in intellect, he was sorry to say, the falling-off was still worse. If they would take his advice, they would avoid the playground during the present season, and by all means withdraw their candidate for the Nightingale Scholarship, as he was certain to be beaten by boys in a lower form. As to behaviour, he could point to virtuous behaviour among the Tadpoles, quite equal to that of the monitors. He didn’t wish to ask questions, but would like to know what they all found so attractive in Maltby. Then, too, they all oiled their hair. No previous Sixth had ever been guilty of this effeminacy, or of wearing lavender kid gloves on Sundays. He repeated, ‘What were we coming to?’

“Mr. R—g—h opened in the negative. He denied all the charges made by the young gentleman who had last spoken. He undertook to get up an eleven to beat any eleven the Tadpoles could put into the field; and as to intellect, why, didn’t the Tadpoles, some of them, get their sums done by the Sixth? Besides, even if their intellect was weak, couldn’t they use cribs? He didn’t use them himself, but he knew one or two who did. He didn’t understand the objection to the hair-oil; he used it to make the hair sit down on his head. [Raleigh, it should be said, had a most irrepressible bunch of curls on his head.] He wore kid gloves on Sunday because he had had a pair given him by his great-aunt Jane Ann. He maintained the Sixth was not degenerate.

“Mr. L—m—n followed on the same side. He thought it the greatest liberty of any one to discuss the Sixth. He was a Sixth Form fellow, and a monitor, and if he wasn’t looked up to he ought to be, he intended to be. He was in the cricket eleven, and he was intellectual—very, very much so. He was going in for the Nightingale Scholarship, and had no doubt in his own mind as to the result. He hardly understood his friend’s reference to Maltby. Why shouldn’t he go there and take his fag too if he chose? He didn’t see what right the Fifth had to fags at all. He had a fag, but then he was in the Sixth. His fag admired him, and he never told him not to. The Sixth could not be degenerate so long as he was in it.

“Other speakers followed, including Mr. W—r—n, who maintained that Michael Angelo was a greater musician than Queen Anne. He was here called to order, and reminded that Michael Angelo had nothing to do with the degeneracy of the Sixth. He begged leave to explain—

“At this point our reporter fell asleep.”

The laughter which greeted the reading of this extract was by no means shared by the Sixth Form boys present, who, had the next selection been in a similar strain, would have quitted the scene and taken their chance of satisfying their curiosity as to the rest of the contents of the paper at a more convenient season.

But the next lucubration was the unfortunate Stephen’s examination paper, with the answers thereto embellished, and in many cases bodily supplied, by the fertile Anthony. The luckless Stephen, who was wedged up in the front row of readers, could have sunk into the earth on meeting once more that hateful paper face to face, and feeling himself an object of ridicule to the whole school. For the wonderful answers which now appeared were hardly any of them his own composition, and he did not even get credit for the few correct things he had said. Shouts of laughter greeted the reading, during which he dared not lift his eyes from the ground. But the answer to Question 6, “What is a minus?” was more than human flesh and blood could endure.

“What is a Minus?

“‘Minus’ is derived from two English words, ‘my,’ meaning my, and ‘nus,’ which is the London way of pronouncing ‘nurse.’ My nurse is a dear creature; I love her still, especially now she doesn’t wash my face. I hated having my face washed. My nurse’s name is Mrs. Blake, but I always call her my own Noodle-oodle-oo. I do love her so! How I would like to hug her! She sewed the strings of my little flannel waistcoat on in front just before I came here because she knew I couldn’t tie them behind by myself—”

“She didn’t!” shouted Stephen, in a voice trembling with indignation.

Poor boy! The laughter which greeted this simple exclamation was enough to finish up any one, and, with a bursting heart, and a face crimson with confusion, he struggled out of the crowd and ran as fast as his legs would take him to his own class-room.

But if he imagined in his misery that the whole school was going to spend the entire day jeering at him, and him alone, he was greatly mistaken, for once out of sight Stephen soon passed out of mind in presence of the next elegant extract read out for the benefit of the assembled audience. This was no other than Simon’s “Love-Ballad.”

Simon, it should be known, was one of the dullest boys in Saint Dominic’s, and it was a standing marvel how he ever came to be in the Fifth, for he was both a dunce and an idiot. But he had one ambition and one idea, which was that he could write poetry; and the following touching ballad from his pen he offered to the Dominican, and the Dominican showed its appreciation of real talent by inserting it:— “A love-Ballad. “I wish I was a buttercup, Upon the mountain top, That you might sweetly pick me up. And sweetly let me drop. I wish I was a little worm, All rigling in the sun, That I myself towards thee might turn When thou along didst come. Oh, I wish I was a doormat, sweet, All prostrate on the floor, If only thou wouldst wipe thy feet, On me, what could I want more?”

[Note: “rigling” should possibly be “wriggling”.]

Simon, who, with true poet’s instinct, was standing among the crowd listening to his own poem, was somewhat perplexed by the manner in which his masterpiece was received. That every one was delighted there could be no doubt. But he had an impression he had meant the ballad to be pathetic. Saint Dominic’s, however, had taken it up another way, and appeared to regard it as facetious. At any rate his fame was made, and looking as if a laurel wreath already encircled his brow, he modestly retired, feeling no further interest, now his own piece was ended.

Oliver’s poem on the Tadpoles, with its marvellous rhymes, fell comparatively flat after this; and Bullinger’s first chapter of the History of Saint Dominic’s failed to rivet the attention of the audience, which, however, became suddenly and painfully absorbed in the “Diary of the Sixth Form Mouse,” from the pen of Wraysford. We must inflict a few passages from this document on the reader, as the paper was the cause of some trouble hereafter.

“Diary of the Sixth Form Mouse.

“Monday.—Up early and took a good breakfast in one of the desks where there was a jam sandwich and several toffee-drops. The Sixth seem to like jam sandwiches and toffee-drops, there are some of them in nearly every desk. The desk I was in had a packet of cigarettes in one corner. They were labelled ‘Mild.’ I wonder why the Sixth like their cigarettes mild. In the same desk were one or two books written by a man called Bohn; they seemed queer books, for they had Latin and Greek names outside, but all the reading inside was English. It is sad to see the quarrelling that goes on in this room. You would not suppose, to see these monitors walking grandly up and down the passages, striking terror into the hearts of all the small boys, that they could possibly condescend to quarrel over the possession of an ink-pot or the ownership of an acid-drop found among the cinders. Alas! it is very sad. They don’t seem anything like the Sixth of old days. I shall emigrate if this goes on.

“Wednesday.—A great row to-day when the Doctor was out of the room. The two senior monitors engaged in a game of marbles—knuckle down—in the course of which one player accused the other of cheating. There was nearly a fight, only neither seemed exactly to like to begin, and both appeared relieved when the Doctor came in and confiscated the marbles.”

And so the diary went on, in a strain highly offensive to the Sixth and equally delighting to the lower forms. After this the Sixth withdrew, not caring to face further taunts of the kind, and leaving a free field to the rest of Saint Dominic’s, who perused this wonderful broadside to the end with unflagging interest. Some of the advertisements with which Tony had filled up the gaps caused considerable mirth—such as this: “A gentleman about to clear out his desk, begs to give notice that he will Sell by Auction to-morrow after ‘Lights out,’ all those rare and valuable articles, to wit:—1½ gross best cherry-stones, last year’s, in excellent condition. About twelve assorted bread crusts, warranted dry and hard—one with a covering of fossilised sardine. Six quires of valuable manuscript notes on various subjects, comprising Latin, Greek, Mathematics, French, and Crambo. One apple, well seasoned, and embellished with a brilliant green fur of two years’ growth. And many other miscellaneous treasures, such as slate pencils, nutshells, an antique necktie, several defunct silkworms, a noble three-bladed knife (deficient of the blades), and half a pound of putty. No reserve price. Must be cleared out at whatever sacrifice.”

And this was another:—

“This is to give notice, that whereas certain parties calling themselves Guinea-pigs have infringed on our patent rights, we, the Tadpoles of Saint Dominic’s, have been and are from time immemorial entitled to the exclusive privilege of appearing in public with dirty faces, uncombed hair, and inky fingers. We have also the sole right of making beasts of ourselves on every possible occasion; and we hereby declare that it is our intention to institute proceedings against all parties, of whatever name, who shall hereafter trespass on these our inalienable rights. By order, B. Smudgeface and T. Blacknose, Secretaries.”

This final onslaught broke up the party. The aggrieved Tadpoles rushed to their quarters and fumed and raged themselves into a state bordering on madness; and vowed revenge till they were hoarse.

It was a curious fact, nevertheless, that at prayers that evening there were more clean faces among the Tadpoles than had been seen there since the formation of that ancient and honourable fraternity.


text:
The Fifth Form at St. Dominic's/Chapter VIII

The first number of the Dominican had undoubtedly caused a sensation; and it would have created far more sensation but for the fact that the Alphabet Match was to be played on the following day. But even this counter-attraction could not wholly divert the mind of Saint Dominic’s from this new literary marvel; and a skirmish took place on the very afternoon of its appearance.

Pembury and his friends had quite expected that the Sixth would attempt a high-handed blow at their paper, and they were not disappointed. For no sooner had Loman and his peers stalked away from the scene of their indignation, and found themselves in the retirement of their own room, than they fell to talking in terms the reverse of pleasant about the event of the morning. The least important of their number was specially wroth.

“There’s a great row out in the passage to-day,” said Raleigh, who was blissfully ignorant of the whole matter; “why can’t some of you monitors keep a little better order? The Doctor will be wanting to know what it’s all about!”

“All very well,” said Raikes, one of the monitors; “but if the Fifth will stick their tom-foolery out in the passage, there’s sure to be a row.”

“What tom-foolery? Some of you are for ever grumbling at the Fifth.”

“And so would you if you saw the complimentary remarks they make about you in this precious newspaper of theirs.”

“Oh, the Dominican? I must have a look at it by and by; but meanwhile something had better be done to stop that row, or we shall catch it ourselves.”

And so saying, the captain left these injured youths to their own counsels, which it is to be feared were moved more by dislike for the Dominican than by a burning desire for the good order of the school.

However, they must do something; and there would be nothing inconsistent with their dignity in demanding the withdrawal of the obnoxious broadside on account of the noise it caused. This would be a safe move, and might be checkmate. Loman was deputed to wait upon the Fifth with the demand of the monitors, and lost no time in carrying out this welcome task. Class was just over, and the Fifth were just about to clear out of their room when Loman entered. It was not often that a Sixth Form fellow penetrated into their camp, and had they not guessed his mission they might have resented the intrusion.

“Oh, you fellows,” began Loman, feeling not quite so confident now as he had felt five minutes ago, “we can’t have that thing of yours hanging out in the passage like that. It makes a crowd—too much row. Whose is it?”

“Not mine,” said Wraysford, laughing; “ask Bully—perhaps it’s his.”

“Not a bit of it,” said Bullinger; “it’s yours, isn’t it, Simon?”

“Only part,” said the poet of the “Love-Ballad,” “and I presented that to the paper.”

“Suppose it was mine?” said Oliver, with a drawl.

“Then,” said Loman, losing his temper, “all I can say is, the sooner you clear it away the better.”

“Oh! all right; only it’s not mine.”

“Look here,” said Loman, “I’m not going to fool about with you. You may think it all very funny, but I’ll report it to the Doctor, and then you’ll look foolish.”

“How nice! So pleasant it will be to look for once like what you look always,” observed Pembury, gnawing the top of his crutch.

At that moment there was a loud shout of laughter in the passage outside, confirming the monitor’s complaint. Wraysford walked hastily to the door.

“The next time there’s a row like that outside our door,” called he to the group outside, “we’ll—what do you mean by it, you young blackguard?”

So saying, he caught Master Bramble, who happened to be the nearest offender within reach, by the collar of his coat, and lugged him bodily into the class-room.

“There, now! Do you know this gentleman? He’s a monitor. Have a good look at him. He’s been complaining of the row you are making, and quite rightly. Take that, and tell all the little Pigs outside that if they don’t hold their noise they will find themselves, every man jack of them, mentioned by name in the next number!”

So saying, with a gentle cuff he handed the ill-starred Master Bramble out again to his fellows, and from that time there was scarcely a sound audible from the passage.

“Good-bye,” said Pembury, kissing his hand to Loman, who all this time had been standing in the middle of the room, in a white heat, and perplexed what to do or say next.

“You aren’t going to live here, are you?” asked Bullinger.

“Any one got a toffee-drop?” drily inquired Oliver.

To his surprise, and to the surprise of every one, Loman wheeled round towards the last speaker, and without a word struck him a blow on the mouth with his hand.

He saw he had made a mistake, and looked ashamed the moment the deed was done. All eyes turned to Oliver, whose face was crimson, with a sudden flush of pain and anger. He sprang to his feet, and Braddy, the bully, was already beginning to gloat over the prospect of a fight, when to every one’s amazement, Oliver coolly put his hands back into his pockets, and walking up to Loman said, quietly—

“Hadn’t you better go?”

Loman stared at him in astonishment. He had at least expected to be knocked down, and this behaviour was quite incomprehensible.

He turned on his heel and quitted the room without a word; and somehow or other from that time the Fifth heard no more protests from the monitors on the subject of the Dominican.

But Oliver’s conduct, much as it had astonished the person chiefly concerned, had astonished the Fifth still more. For the first time in the history of their class, as far as they could recollect, a blow struck had not been returned, and they could not tell what to make of it.

The blow had been a cowardly one, and certainly unmerited, and by all schoolboy tradition one fairly demanding a return. Could it be possible their man was lacking in courage? The idea was a shock to most present, who, although Oliver was never very popular among them, as has been said, had never before suspected his pluck. In fact, it was an awkward moment for all, and it was quite a relief when Simon broke silence by asking Oliver—

“Why didn’t you knock him down, I say?”

“Because I did not choose, if you want to know,” replied Oliver, shortly.

“Oh! I beg your pardon,” replied Simon, rather taken aback by this brusque answer.

This was not satisfactory. Had the offender been a Guinea-pig, one could have understood the thing; but when it was a Sixth Form fellow—a good match in every respect, as well as a rival—the Fifth were offended at their man for drawing back as he had done.

“I suppose you will fight him?” said Ricketts, in a voice which implied that there was no doubt about it.

“Do you?” replied Oliver, briefly.

The boy’s manner was certainly not winsome, and, when once put out, it was evident he took no trouble to conceal the fact. He refused to answer any further questions on the subject, and presently quitted the room, leaving more than half his class-fellows convinced that, after all, he was a coward.

An angry discussion followed his departure.

“He ought to be made to fight, whether he likes or not,” said Braddy the bully.

“Some one ought to pay Loman out,” suggested Ricketts, “if Greenfield doesn’t.”

“A nice name we shall get, all of us,” said Bullinger, “when it gets abroad all over the school.”

“It’s a shame, because one fellow funks, for the whole Form to be disgraced; that’s what I say,” said some one else.

There were, however, two boys who did not join in this general cry of indignation against Oliver, and they were Wraysford and Pembury. The latter was always whimsical in his opinions, and no one was surprised to see him come out on the wrong side. As for Wraysford, he always backed his friend up, whether others thought him right or wrong. These two scouted the idea of Oliver being a coward; the one with his usual weapon of ridicule, the other with all the warmth of friendship.

“Who calls him a coward?” exclaimed Wraysford, glaring at the last speaker.

Wraysford was not a coward, and looked so ready to avenge his friend by hard knocks, that the boy who had insinuated that Greenfield was afraid withdrew his charge as mildly as he could. “I only meant, it looks as if he didn’t like to fight,” he said.

“And what business of yours is it what it looks like?” demanded Wraysford.

“Come, old man,” said Pembury; “don’t eat him up! I fancy Greenfield might screw up courage to pull his nose, whoever else he lets off, eh? It’s my private opinion, though, Oliver knew what he was about.”

“Of course he did,” sneered Braddy; “he knew jolly well what he was about.”

“Dear me! Is that you, Mr. Braddy? I had not noticed you here, or I should not have ventured to speak on a matter having to do with pluck and heroism. I’m glad you agree with me, though, although I didn’t say he knew jolly well what he was about. That is an expression of your own.”

Braddy, who as usual felt and looked extinguished when Pembury made fun of him, retired sulkily, and the editor of the Dominican thereupon turned his attack on another quarter. And so the dispute went on, neither party being convinced, and all satisfied only on one point—that a cloud had arisen to mar the hitherto peaceful horizon of Fifth Form existence.

The cricket match of the following day, however, served to divert the thoughts of all parties for a time.

As it was only the prelude to a much more important match shortly to follow, I shall not attempt to describe it fully here, as the reader will probably be far more interested in the incidents of Sixth versus School Match when it comes off.

The Alphabet Match was, to tell the truth, not nearly as interesting an affair as it promised to be, for from the very first the N’s to Z’s had the best of it. Stephen, who with a company of fellow-Tadpoles and Guinea-pigs was perched on the palings, looking on, felt his heart sink within him as first one and then another of his brother’s side lost their wickets without runs. For once he and Bramble were in sympathy, and he and Paul were at difference. The row these small boys kicked up, by the way, was one of the most notable features of the whole match. Every one of them yelled for his own side. There had, indeed, been a question whether every Guinea-pig, whatever his private initial, ought not to yell for the G’s, and every Tadpole for the T’s; but it was eventually decided that each should yell “on his own hook,” and the effect was certainly far more diverting.

The first four men of the A to M went out for two runs between them, and Stephen and Bramble sat in gloomy despair. The next man in knocked down his wicket before he had played a single ball. It was frightful, and the jeers of the Z’s were hateful to hear.

But Stephen brightened as he perceived that the next batsman was his brother. “Now they’ll pick up!” said he.

“No, they won’t! Greenfield senior skies his balls too much for my taste,” cheeringly replied the small Bramble.

But Stephen was right. For the first time that afternoon the A’s made a stand. Oliver’s partner at the wickets was Callonby, of the Sixth, a steady, plodding player, who hardly ever hit out, and got all his runs (if he got any) from the slips. This afternoon he hardly scored at all, but kept his wicket carefully while Oliver did the hitting.

Things were looking up. The telegraph went up from 2 to 20. Wraysford, who had hitherto been bowling with Ricketts against his friend, gave up the ball to Raikes, and the field generally woke up to the importance of getting rid of this daring player.

Stephen’s throat was too hoarse to roar any more, so he resigned that duty to Bramble, and looked on in delighted silence. The score crept up, till suddenly Callonby tipped a ball into cover-slip’s hand and was caught, to the great delight of the Z’s, who guessed that, once a separation had been effected, the survivor would soon be disposed of.

The next man in was Loman. He was better as a bowler than a batsman; but he followed Callonby’s tactics and played a steady block, leaving the boy he had struck yesterday to do the hitting.

Oliver was certainly playing in fine form, and for a moment his class-fellows forgot their resentment against him in applauding his play. The score was at 35, and the new coalition promised to be as formidable as the last, when Oliver cut a ball past point.

“Run! no! yes, run!” he shouted. Loman started, then hesitated, then started again—but it was too late. Before he could get across, the ball was up and he was run out. He was furious, and it certainly was hard lines for him, although there would have been time enough for the run had he not pulled up in the middle. Forgetful of all the rules of cricket, he turned round to Oliver and shouted, “You are a fool!” as he left the wicket.

Stephen luckily was too much engrossed in watching the telegraph to hear or notice this remark; which, however, was not lost on the Fifth generally, who experienced a return of their former discontent when they observed that Oliver (though he must have heard it) took not the slightest notice of the offensive expression.

The match passed off without further incident. The Z’s won in the end by two wickets, after a closer match than it had promised to be at first, and Stephen was comforted for the reverse by feeling sure that his brother at any rate had played his best, and would certainly get his place in the School Eleven.


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1715-1886/Rawnsley, Willingham Franklin