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 logue in the fortieth volume of the society's ‘Memoirs’ was posthumously published, with a few indispensable additions, under the editorship of Mr. Main and Professor Pritchard.

‘Every day of Herschel's long and happy life,’ it was remarked by Professor Tait, ‘added its share to his scientific services.’ His recommendation in 1854 of photography for the registration of sun-spots (Monthly Notices, xv. 158) bore fruit in his lifetime. He published in 1864 a weighty contribution to solar physics (Quarterly Journal of Science, i. 233), urged in the ‘willow-leaf’ debate the ‘filamentous’ structure of the solar floccules (Monthly Notices, xxv. 152), observed and assigned a ‘radiant’ to the meteoric shower of 13 Nov. 1866 (ib. xxvii. 19), and pointed out with conclusive force the improbability of certain alleged changes in the Argo nebula (ib. xxviii. 225). He amused himself with translating poetry. His translation of Schiller's ‘Walk’ was printed for private circulation in 1842, and included in 1847 among Whewell's ‘English Hexameter Translations.’ He also translated Bürger's ‘Lenore,’ and in 1866 the ‘Iliad’ in ‘English accentuated hexameters.’ The first book was published with a defence of the adopted metre in the ‘Cornhill Magazine’ for May 1862. A version by Herschel in terza rima of the first canto of Dante's ‘Inferno’ appeared in the ‘Cornhill Magazine’ for July 1868.

Herschel died at Collingwood on 11 May 1871, and was buried on 19 May in Westminster Abbey, near the grave of Sir Isaac Newton. His cordial encouragement of rising men sustained his popularity to the last. Mr. Nasmyth puts him ‘supremely at the head’ of all the scientific men of his acquaintance for knowledge, simplicity, and humility. Biot, when asked by Professor Pritchard, after the death of Laplace, whom he thought his worthiest successor, replied, ‘If I did not love him so much, I should unhesitatingly say, John Herschel.’ His private life was one unbroken tenour of domestic affection and unostentatious piety, but he shrank from active participation in worldly affairs. Love of truth was in him absolutely untainted by the egotism of the discoverer, his quiet candour being nowhere more apparent than in his correspondence with R. A. Proctor on the subject of sidereal construction in 1869–71 (, Other Suns, 1887, p. 393).

Herschel, without the soaring genius of his father, had a wider range and a more catholic mind. He was led to astronomy by filial piety, in opposition to a spontaneous preference for chemistry and optics. ‘Light,’ he used to say, ‘was his first love.’ Yet his position as a celestial explorer is unique. He was an unsurpassed observer, and his breadth of knowledge and power of vividly describing what he saw added incalculably to the value of his observations. His books hence take high rank among the elevating influences of this century. He never lost his taste for simple amusements; was in his element with children, loved gardening, and took interest in all technical arts. His unpublished correspondence on scientific subjects is of historical interest; his letters to intimate friends are full of genial and tender sentiments. His wife died on 3 Aug. 1884. He was succeeded in the baronetcy by his eldest son, Sir William James Herschel; his second son, Professor Alexander Stewart Herschel, is well known as an astronomer and physicist; Colonel John Herschel, his third son, was elected a fellow of the Royal Society in 1871, in recognition of his spectroscopic examination of southern nebulæ. Eight of Herschel's nine daughters are still (1891) living.

Besides the works already mentioned, he wrote in 1817–18 the articles ‘Isoperimetrical Problems’ and ‘Mathematics’ for Brewster's ‘Edinburgh Cyclopædia;’ and for the eighth edition of the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica,’ those on ‘Meteorology,’ ‘Physical Geography,’ and the ‘Telescope’—all three published apart as well. The first issue of the admiralty ‘Manual of Scientific Inquiry’ (London, 1849) was edited and the section on meteorology (separately printed from the third edition in 1859) written by him. He contributed several articles to the ‘Edinburgh’ and ‘Quarterly’ reviews, including critiques of Mrs. Somerville's ‘Mechanism of the Heavens,’ Whewell's ‘History and Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences,’ Humboldt's ‘Kosmos,’ and Quetelet's ‘Theory of Probabilities’ (the last prefixed in 1862 to the second edition of Quetelet's ‘Physique Sociale’). These with his addresses in presenting the medals of the Royal Astronomical Society, his ‘Memoir of Francis Baily,’ and some poetical pieces were collected in 1857 into a volume of ‘Essays,’ followed after ten years by ‘Familiar Lectures on Scientific Subjects.’ Three discourses ‘On Earthquakes and Volcanoes,’ ‘On the Sun,’ and ‘On Comets,’ delivered in the parish school-house of Hawkhurst, and printed in ‘Good Words,’ originated this delightful book; the chief remaining contents were popular articles from the same periodical ‘On the Weather and Weather Prophets,’ ‘On Celestial Weighings and Measurings,’ and ‘On Light.’

Herschel's discovery of a correspondence between the crystallographical and optical peculiarities of quartz (Trans. Cambridge Phil. Society, i. 43) was designated by Sir


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 William Thomson ‘one of the most notable meeting-places between natural history and natural philosophy’ (British Association Report, 1871, p. lxxxv). He improved the objectives of microscopes (Phil. Trans. cxi. 246), delivered in 1824 the Bakerian lecture ‘On certain Motions produced in Fluid Conductors when transmitting the Electric Current’ (ib. cxiv. 162), and joined Babbage in a remarkable set of experiments on the magnetisation of rotating metallic plates (ib. cxv. 467). He gave the earliest discussion (in 1830) of the influence upon climate of the earth's orbital eccentricity (Trans. Geological Society, iii. 293), and on 23 Sept. 1832 made the curious observation of a knot of faint stars through great part of the substance of Biela's comet (Monthly Notices, ii. 117). First after his father, he caught sight in 1828 of the Uranian satellites, and corrected their periods from observations in 1830–2 (Memoirs Royal Astron. Soc. viii. 1). An arrangement casually described by him for viewing the sun by first-surface reflection (Cape Observations, p. 436) proved of material use in helioscopic researches. For many years he was an active member of the council of the Royal Society and of the board of visitors to the Royal Observatory; he was a trustee of the British Museum, and sat on the royal commission on standards in 1838–43. One hundred and fifty-two contributions by him are enumerated in the Royal Society's ‘Catalogue of Scientific Papers.’ A list of his works down to 1861, drawn up by himself, appeared at Cambridge, United States, in the ‘Mathematical Monthly Magazine’ (iii. 220), accompanied by an excellent engraving from a photograph sent by Lady Herschel to Miss Maria Mitchell of Nantucket.

St. John's College, Cambridge, possesses a portrait in oils of Herschel by Pickersgill, and his bust executed by Baily about 1852. A small painting by Thomas Webster, R.A., from a photograph taken in 1871, and Mrs. Cameron's life-size photographs are good likenesses. The best representation of his later aspect is, however, in a painting by his eldest daughter, Caroline, wife of Sir Alexander Hamilton. A life-size sketch of him by Watts, taken about 1852, remains with the artist.

HERSCHEL, WILLIAM (1738–1822), astronomer, was born at Hanover on 15 Nov. 1738. His great-grandfather, Hans Herschel, a native of Moravia, having embraced protestantism, quitted that country early in the seventeenth century, and became a brewer at Pirna in Saxony. Abraham, Hans's son, was employed in the royal gardens at Dresden. Abraham's youngest son, Isaac, was engaged in 1731 as hautboy-player in the band of the Hanoverian guard, and rose to be bandmaster, but left the regiment with broken health in 1760, and earned a livelihood by giving music lessons until his death, at the age of sixty, in 1767. He married, in August 1732, Anna Ilse Moritzen, by whom he had ten children, of whom Jacob was a member of the king's band at Hanover, and had at least two of his compositions printed in London, and Alexander was summoned to Bath by his brother William, and became a violoncello-player in the Bath orchestra, and at the Three Choirs' festival (cp., Journals, i. 252, 270; Annals of the Three Choirs, p. 76); Frederick William, known as William Herschel, was the fourth child.

Brought up, like his three brothers, as a musician, he was at fourteen, when he entered the band of the Hanoverian guards as oboist, an excellent performer both on hautboy and violin. At seventeen his philosophical tastes were already strong, and when in England with the regiment in 1755, he spent all his pay on a copy of Locke ‘On the Human Understanding.’ After the defeat of Hastenbeck, on 26 July 1757, his health began to fail, and his parents privily shipped him off to Dover, where he landed with a French crown-piece in his pocket. The penalties of desertion thus technically incurred were remitted by a pardon handed to him by George III

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text: Author talk:Thomas Huston Macbride

title: Author talk:Thomas Huston Macbride


text: Author talk:Lida Rose McCabe

title: Author talk:Lida Rose McCabe


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Herbison, David


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Herd, David


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Herd, John


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Herdman, John


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Herdman, Robert


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Herdman, William Gawin


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Herdson, Henry


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Herebert


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Herewald


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Hereward


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Herfast


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Archdale, John


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Hericke, William


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Hering, George Edwards


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Rh THE ARBOUR.

rest me in this sheltered bower,

And look upon the clear blue sky

That smiles upon me through the trees,

Which stand so thickly clustering by;

And view their green and glossy leaves,

All glistening in the sunshine fair;

And list the rustling of their boughs,

So softly whispering through the air.

And while my ear drinks in the sound,

My winged soul shall fly away;

Reviewing long departed years

As one mild, beaming, autumn day;

And soaring on to future scenes,

Like hills and woods, and valleys green,

All basking in the summer's sun,

But distant still, and dimly seen.

Oh, list! 'tis summer's very breath

That gently shakes the rustling trees—

But look! the snow is on the ground—

How can I think of scenes like these?


text: Author talk:Arthur Joseph McCaffray

title: Author talk:Arthur Joseph McCaffray


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Heriot, George


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Heriot, John


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Herle, Charles


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Herle, William de


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Hermann (fl.1070)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Hermann (d.1078)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Herne, John


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Heron, Haly


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Rh 'Tis but the frost that clears the air,

And gives the sky that lovely blue;

They're smiling in a winter's sun,

Those evergreens of sombre hue.

And winter's chill is on my heart—

How can I dream of future bliss?

How can my spirit soar away,

Confined by such a chain as this?

HOME.

brightly glistening in the sun

The woodland ivy plays!

While yonder beeches from their barks

Reflect his silver rays.

That sun surveys a lovely scene

From softly smiling skies;

And wildly through unnumbered trees

The wind of winter sighs:

Now loud, it thunders o'er my head,

And now in distance dies.

But give me back my barren hills

Where colder breezes rise;


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Heron, Richard


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Heron, Robert (1764-1807)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Archer, Frederick


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Rh in his mind, his mind in his breath, his breath in heat (fire), heat in the Highest Being.

7. 'Now that which is that subtile essence (the root of all), in it all that exists has its self. It is the True. It is the Self, and thou, O Svetaketu, art it.'

'Please, Sir, inform me still more,' said the son.

'Be it so, my child,' the father replied.

1. 'As the bees, my son, make honey by collecting the juices of distant trees, and reduce the juice into one form,

2. 'And as these juices have no discrimination, so that they might say, I am the juice of this tree or that, in the same manner, my son, all these creatures, when they have become merged in the True (either in deep sleep or in death), know not that they are merged in the True.

3. 'Whatever these creatures are here, whether a lion, or a wolf, or a boar, or a worm, or a midge, or a gnat, or a musquito, that they become again and again.

4. 'Now that which is that subtile essence, in it all that exists has its self. It is the True. It is the Self, and thou, O Svetaketu, art it.'

'Please, Sir, inform me still more,' said the son.

'Be it so, my child,' the father replied.


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Heron, Robert (1765-1854)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Herrick, Robert


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Herries, Charles John


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Herries, John Charles


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Herring, Francis


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Herring, John Frederick


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Herring, Julines


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Herring, Thomas


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Herschel, Caroline Lucretia


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102 .

1. 'These rivers, my son, run, the eastern (like the Gangâ) toward the east, the western (like the Sindhu) toward the west. They go from sea to sea (i.e. the clouds lift up the water from the sea to the sky, and send it back as rain to the sea). They become indeed sea. And as those rivers, when they are in the sea, do not know, I am this or that river,

2. 'In the same manner, my son, all these creatures, when they have come back from the True, know not that they have come back from the True. Whatever these creatures are here, whether a lion, or a wolf, or a boar, or a worm, or a midge, or a gnat, or a musquito, that they become again and again.

3. 'That which is that subtile essence, in it all that exists has its self. It is the True. It is the Self, and thou, O Svetaketu, art it.'

'Please, Sir, inform me still more,' said the son.

'Be it so, my child,' the father replied.

.

1. "If some one were to strike at the root of this large tree here, it would bleed, but live. If he were to strike at its stem, it would bleed, but live. If he were to strike at its top, it would bleed, but live.


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Herschel, John Frederick William


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Rh Pervaded by the living Self that tree stands firm, drinking in its nourishment and rejoicing;

2. 'But if the life (the living Self) leaves one of its branches, that branch withers; if it leaves at second, that branch withers; if it leaves a third, that branch withers. If it leaves the whole tree, the whole tree withers. In exactly the same manner, my son, know this.' Thus he spoke:

3. 'This (body) indeed withers and dies when the living Self has left it; the living Self dies not.

That which is that subtile essence, in it all that exists has its self. It is the True. It is the Self, and thou, Svetaketu, art it.'

'Please, Sir, inform me still more,' said the son.

'Be it so, my child,' the father replied.


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28 Where scarce the scattered, stunted trees

Can yield an answering swell,

But where a wilderness of heath

Returns the sound as well.

For yonder garden, fair and wide,

With groves of evergreen,

Long winding walks, and borders trim,

And velvet lawns between;

Restore to me that little spot,

With grey walls compassed round,

Where knotted grass neglected lies,

And weeds usurp the ground.

Though all around this mansion high

Invites the foot to roam,

And though its halls are fair within—

Oh, give me back my !

THE WIFE'S WILL.

still—a word—a breath may break

(As light airs stir a sleeping lake,)

The glassy calm that soothes my woes,

The sweet, the deep, the full repose.


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104 .

1. 'Fetch me from thence a fruit of the Nyagrodha tree.'

'Here is one, Sir.'

'Break it.'

'It is broken, Sir.'

'What do you see there?' 'These seeds, almost infinitesimal.'

'Break one of them.'

'It is broken, Sir.'

'What do you see there?'

'Not anything, Sir.'

2. The father said: 'My son, that subtile essence which you do not perceive there, of that very essence this great Nyagrodha tree exists.

3. 'Believe it, my son. That which is the subtile essence, in it all that exists has its self. It is the True. It is the Self, and thou, O Svetaketu, art it.'

'Please, Sir, inform me still more,' said the son.

'Be it so, my child,' the father replied.

.

1. 'Place this salt in water, and then wait on me in the morning.'

The son did as he was commanded.

The father said to him: 'Bring me the salt, which you placed in the water last night.'


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Rh O leave me not! for ever be

Thus, more than life itself to me!

Yes, close beside thee, let me kneel—

Give me thy hand that I may feel

The friend so true—so tried—so dear,

My heart's own chosen—indeed is near;

And check me not—this hour divine

Belongs to me—is fully mine.

'Tis thy own hearth thou sitt'st beside,

After long absence—wandering wide;

'Tis thy own wife reads in thine eyes,

A promise clear of stormless skies,

For faith and true love light the rays,

Which shine responsive to her gaze.

Aye,—well that single tear may fall;

Ten thousand might mine eyes recall,

Which from their lids, ran blinding fast,

In hours of grief, yet scarcely past,

Well may'st thou speak of love to me;

For, oh! most truly—I love thee!

Yet smile—for we are happy now.

Whence, then, that sadness on thy brow?

What say'st thou? "We must once again,

Ere long, be severed by the main?"

I knew not this—I deemed no more,

Thy step would err from Britain's shore.


text:
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A succession of States does not as such affect:

(a) a boundary established by a treaty; or

(b) obligations and rights established by a treaty and relating to the regime of a boundary.

1. A succession of States does not as such affect:

(a) obligations relating to the use of any territory, or to restrictions upon its use, established by a treaty for the benefit of any territory of a foreign State and considered as attaching to the territories in question;

(b) rights established by a treaty for the benefit of any territory and relating to the use, or to restrictions upon the use, of any territory of a foreign State and considered as attaching to the territories in question.

2. A succession of States does not as such affect:

(a) obligations relating to the use of any territory, or to restrictions upon its use, established by a treaty for the benefit of a group of States or of all States and considered as attaching to that territory;

(b) rights established by a treaty for the benefit of a group of States or of all States and relating to the use of any territory, or to restrictions upon its use, and considered as attaching to that territory.

3. The provisions of the present article do not apply to treaty obligations of the predecessor State providing for the establishment of foreign military bases on the territory to which the succession of States relates.

Nothing in the present Convention shall affect the principles of international law affirming the permanent sovereignty of every people and every State over its natural wealth and resources.

Nothing in the present Convention shall be considered as prejudging in any respect any question relating to the validity of a treaty.


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Rh The son having looked for it, found it not, for, of course, it was melted.

2. The father said: 'Taste it from the surface of the water. How is it?'

The son replied: 'It is salt.'

'Taste it from the middle. How is it?'

The son replied: "It is salt.'

'Taste it from the bottom. How is it?'

The son replied: 'It is salt.'

The father said: 'Throw it away and then wait on me.'

He did so; but salt exists for ever.

Then the father said: 'Here also, in this body, forsooth, you do not perceive the True (Sat), my son; but there indeed it is.

3. 'That which is the subtile essence, in it all that exists has its self. It is the True. It is the Self, and thou, O Svetaketu, art it.'

'Please, Sir, inform me still more,' said the son.

'Be it so, my child,' the father replied.

.

1. 'As one might lead a person with his eyes covered away from the Gandhâras, and leave him


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30 "Duty commands?" 'Tis true—'tis just;

Thy slightest word I wholly trust,

Nor by request, nor faintest sigh

Would I, to turn thy purpose, try;

But, William—hear my solemn vow—

Hear and confirm!—with thee I go.

"Distance and suffering," did'st thou say?

"Danger by night, and toil by day?"

Oh, idle words, and vain are these;

Hear me! I cross with thee the seas.

Such risk as thou must meet and dare,

I—thy true wife—will duly share.

Passive, at home, I will not pine;

Thy toils—thy perils, shall be mine;

Grant this—and be hereafter paid

By a warm heart's devoted aid:

'Tis granted—with that yielding kiss,

Entered my soul unmingled bliss.

Thanks, William—thanks! thy love has joy,

Pure—undefiled with base alloy;

'Tis not a passion, false and blind,

Inspires, enchains, absorbs my mind;

Worthy, I feel, art thou to be

Loved with my perfect energy.

This evening, now, shall sweetly flow,

Lit by our clear fire's happy glow;


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Rh And parting's peace-embittering fear,

Is warned, our hearts to come not near;

For fate admits my soul's decree,

In bliss or bale—to go with thee!

REMEMBRANCE.

in the earth—and the deep snow piled above thee,

Far, far, removed, cold in the dreary grave!

Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee,

Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave?

Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover

Over the mountains, on that northern shore,

Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover

Thy noble heart for ever, ever more?

Cold in the earth—and fifteen wild Decembers,

From those brown hills, have melted into spring:

Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers

After such years of change and suffering!


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32 Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee,

While the world's tide is bearing me along;

Other desires and other hopes beset me,

Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong!

No later light has lightened up my heaven,

No second morn has ever shone for me;

All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given,

All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee.

But when the days of golden dreams had perished,

And even Despair was powerless to destroy;

Then did I learn how existence could be cherished,

Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy.

Then did I check the tears of useless passion—

Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine;

Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten

Down to that tomb already more than mine.

And, even yet, I dare not let it languish,

Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain;

Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,

How could I seek the empty world again?


text: Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell/The Arbour


text: Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell/Home


text: Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell/The Wife's Will


text: Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell/Remembrance


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Rh Ec:10:4 do not leave thy place. 4. abandon, sq. acc. pers. Je:14:9 ; missing}} Ps:119:121 abandon me not to my oppressors. 5. let alone (refrain from interfering with), sq. missing}} pers. Ex:32:10 (JE; obj. ),Ho:4:17 2S:16:11, 2K:23:18; sq. acc. pers. Est:3:8 ; = avoid Ec:10:4 (but rd. perh., causeth to rest = allayeth cf. Wild). 6. permit, c. acc. pers. Ju:16:26; + inf. Ps:105:14= 1Ch:16:21, but here, cf. Ec:5:11. '''Hoph. A.' Pf.'' 3 ms. La:5:5 i.e. no rest is granted to us; for 3 fs. Zc:5:11 [so Baer Ginsb ; van d. H. ] rd. prob. v. supr. '''Hiph. B 1. B.' pt.'' as subst. = space left, open space Ez:41:9.11.11.

v. m: Inf. abs. 2Ch:6:41 v..

† n.pr.m. 4th son of Benjamin acc. to 1Ch:8:2. ,,.

† I. n.[f.] (appar. m. Jb:36:16, but v. infr.) quietness, rest (under this  Thes Ol $§164 c$ Sta $§201 d$ Kö$ii. 172 f.$; > sub  Dl$Prol. 118 ff.$);— Is:30:15 +2 t., Jb:17:16 +2t.; cstr. Jb:36:16;—1. quietness, quiet attitude Is:30:15 ; Ec:9:17; opp. 4:6; opp. Pr:29:9; of comfort of one's table, i.e. its satisfying plenty, Jb:36:16 the comfort of thy table, which (i.e. the table) was full of fat (Di, cf. Bu ; > that which is set on thy table shall be, etc. De al., making subj. of  and so masc). 2. rest of death Jb:17:16; of a still-born child Ec:6;5.—,  v..

n.pr.m. Noah (Nab. n.pr. Lzb$322$, Syr. n.pr. Meissn$VOJ viii, (1894), 30 ad fin. (No. 116)$); — Gn:5:29 (where trad, etym.), + 40 t. Gn 5-10 (not in ED); 1Ch:1:4; Ez:14:14.20; = flood Is:54:9.9; .— On hist, of interpret, of name v. Goldziher$ZMG xxiv.(1870), 207 ff.$

and (Lv:1:9 ) n.[m.] a quieting, soothing, tranquillizing (cf. 1.  Jb:36:16) ( also Ecclus$45L16 c$; on format, v. Ol$§187 b$ Sta $§233$ Ba$NB § 142$ Kö$ii. 1, 151.489$, where, after Philippi expl. as dissim. from );— abs. Gn:8:21 +; sf. Nu:28:2, Lv:26:31, Ez:20:28; — a soothing, tranquillizing, only in phr. = soothing, tranquillizing odour of sacrifices acceptable to Gn:8:21(J), Ex:29:18.25.41 Lv:1:9.13.17 + 32 t. P. Ez:20:41; of sacrif. toidols † Ez:6:13 16:19 20:28.

† n.f. a giving of rest, i.e. perh. holiday-making (cf. Hiph. A; prop. Inf.,  Sta $§621 c$ Ba$NB 90$, cf. Kö$ii. 1,402$);— Est:2:18 and a holiday-making for the provinces be enacted, requies; but , whence al. release from taxes, or amnesty.

† n.pr.loc. in extreme N. of Isr. 2K:15:2 ; site dub., Yânûh(Conder$Lists 38$ near Tyre is prob. too far W.; Guérin prop. Hun  n, W. of upper Jordan, cf. Buhl$Geogr. 237$; , AL.

† n.pr.loc. on border of Ephraim Jos:16:6.7, identif. with Yânun SE. fr. Shechem Rob$BR iii. 297$ cf. Buhl 6$Georg 178$;,.

† I. n.m. resting-place, state, or condition of rest ; — abs. Gn:8:9 + 4 t.; cstr. 1Ch:6:16; pl. sf. 2 fs. ; Ps:116:7 (Ges§ 91 l);—1. resting-place Gn:8:9(J), cf. Dt:28:65 La:1:3; Is:34:14 (cf.also Gn:4 9:15). 2. rest, repose of soul Ps:116:7 (pl. abstr. vel intens.); condition of rest and security attained by marriage Ru:3:1. 3. with force of inf. (cf. Aram. inf. c. pref.)  1Ch:6:16 from the coming to rest of the ark.

II. n.pr.m. father of Samson Ju:13:2.8 + 15 t. Ju 13, 16:31,.

† n.f. resting-place, rest ; —abs. Mi:2:10 +, Gn 49:16 (but v. infr.), 2S:14:17; sf. Ps:95:11 + 2t ., PS 132 (8)= 2Ch:6:41 (where rd. as in Ps, for anom.  MT),  Is:11:10 Zc:9:1; pl.  Is:32:18, Ps:23:2;—'1. resting-place Mi:2 :10 Nu:10:33 (JE), Dt:12:9 (+ ) so Ps:95:11 ( 's resting-pl.), cf. 132:8 = 2Ch:6:41 (v. supr.), Ps:132:14 Is:66:1 , c f. 131 1Ch:28:2 ; also Is:11:1-; prob. also Gn 49:15 ( here is appar. subst., Sam. rds. adj.; but rd.perh., his resting-place, fr. , Ball$Hpt$ Holz after ); Is:32:18 (+ , ); of 's word Zc:9:1; resting-


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Rh VANITAS VANITATUM, OMNIA VANITAS.

all we do, and hear, and see,

Is restless Toil and Vanity.

While yet the rolling earth abides,

Men come and go like Ocean tides;

And ere one generation dies,

Another in its place shall rise;

That, sinking soon into the grave,

Others succeed, like wave on wave;

And as they rise, they pass away.

The sun arises every day,

And, hastening onward to the West,

He nightly sinks, but not to rest:

Returning to the eastern skies,

Again to light us, he must rise.

And still the restless wind comes forth,

Now blowing keenly from the North;

Now from the South, the East, the West,

For ever changing, ne'er at rest.

The fountains, gushing from the hills,

Supply the ever-running rills;

The thirsty rivers drink their store,

And bear it rolling to the shore,


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34 But still the ocean craves for more.

'Tis endless labour everywhere!

Sound cannot satisfy the ear,

Light cannot fill the craving eye,

Nor riches half our wants supply;

Pleasure but doubles future pain,

And joy brings sorrow in her train;

Laughter is mad, and reckless mirth—

What does she in this weary earth?

Should Wealth, or Fame, our Life employ,

Death comes, our labour to destroy;

To snatch the untasted cup away,

For which we toiled so many a day.

What, then, remains for wretched man?

To use life's comforts while he can,

Enjoy the blessings Heaven bestows,

Assist his friends, forgive his foes;

Trust God, and keep his statutes still,

Upright and firm, through good and ill;

Thankful for all that God has given,

Fixing his firmest hopes on heaven;

Knowing that earthly joys decay,

But hoping through the darkest day.


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Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell/Vanitas Vanitatum, Omnia Vanitas

''"Vanitas Vanitatum, Omnia Vanitas" redirects here. See also Vanitas, Vanitatum Vanitas.''


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Rh THE WOOD.

two miles more, and then we rest!

Well, there is still an hour of day,

And long the brightness of the West

Will light us on our devious way;

Sit then, awhile, here in this wood—

So total is the solitude,

We safely may delay.

These massive roots afford a seat,

Which seems for weary travellers made.

There rest. The air is soft and sweet

In this sequestered forest glade,

And there are scents of flowers around,

The evening dew draws from the ground;

How soothingly they spread!

Yes; I was tired, but not at heart;

No—that beats full of sweet content,

For now I have my natural part

Of action with adventure blent;

Cast forth on the wide world with thee,

And all my once waste energy

To weighty purpose bent.

Yet—say'st thou, spies around us roam,

Our aims are termed conspiracy?


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36 Haply, no more our English home

An anchorage for us may be?

That there is risk our mutual blood

May redden in some lonely wood

The knife of treachery?

Say'st thou—that where we lodge each night,

In each lone farm, or lonelier hall

Of Norman Peer—ere morning light

Suspicion must as duly fall,

As day returns—such vigilance

Presides and watches over France,

Such rigour governs all?

I fear not, William; dost thou fear?

So that the knife does not divide,

It may be ever hovering near:

I could not tremble at thy side,

And strenuous love—like mine for thee—

Is buckler strong, 'gainst treachery,

And turns its stab aside.

I am resolved that thou shalt learn

To trust my strength as I trust thine;

I am resolved our souls shall burn,

With equal, steady, mingling shine;

Part of the field is conquered now,

Our lives in the same channel flow,

Along the self-same line;


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Rh And while no groaning storm is heard,

Thou seem'st content it should be so,

But soon as comes a warning word

Of danger—straight thine anxious brow

Bends over me a mournful shade,

As doubting if my powers are made

To ford the floods of woe.

Know, then it is my spirit swells,

And drinks, with eager joy, the air

Of freedom—where at last it dwells,

Chartered, a common task to share

With thee, and then it stirs alert,

And pants to learn what menaced hurt

Demands for thee its care.

Remember, I have crossed the deep,

And stood with thee on deck, to gaze

On waves that rose in threatening heap,

While stagnant lay a heavy haze,

Dimly confusing sea with sky,

And baffling, even, the pilot's eye,

Intent to thread the maze—

Of rocks, on Bretagne's dangerous coast,

And find a way to steer our band

To the one point obscure, which lost,

Flung us, as victims, on the strand;—

All, elsewhere, gleamed the Gallic sword,

And not a wherry could be moored

Along the guarded land.


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38 I feared not then—I fear not now;

The interest of each stirring scene

Wakes a new sense, a welcome glow,

In every nerve and bounding vein;

Alike on turbid Channel sea,

Or in still wood of Normandy,

I feel as born again.

The rain descended that wild morn

When, anchoring in the cove at last,

Our band, all weary and forlorn,

Ashore, like wave-worn sailors, cast—

Sought for a sheltering roof in vain,

And scarce could scanty food obtain

To break their morning fast.

Thou didst thy crust with me divide,

Thou didst thy cloak around me fold;

And, sitting silent by thy side,

I ate the bread in peace untold:

Given kindly from thy hand, 'twas sweet

As costly fare or princely treat

On royal plate of gold.

Sharp blew the sleet upon my face,

And, rising wild, the gusty wind

Drove on those thundering waves apace,

Our crew so late had left behind;

But, spite of frozen shower and storm,

So close to thee, my heart beat warm,

And tranquil slept my mind.


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Rh So now—nor foot-sore nor opprest

With walking all this August day,

I taste a heaven in this brief rest,

This gipsy-halt beside the way.

England's wild flowers are fair to view,

Like balm is England's summer dew,

Like gold her sunset ray.

But the white violets, growing here,

Are sweeter than I yet have seen,

And ne'er did dew so pure and clear

Distil on forest mosses green,

As now, called forth by summer heat,

Perfumes our cool and fresh retreat—

These fragrant limes between.

That sunset! Look beneath the boughs,

Over the copse—beyond the hills;

How soft, yet deep and warm it glows,

And heaven with rich suffusion fills;

With hues where still the opal's tint,

Its gleam of prisoned fire is blent,

Where flame through azure thrills!

Depart we now—for fast will fade

That solemn splendour of decline,

And deep must be the after-shade

As stars alone to-night will shine;

No moon is destined—pale—to gaze

On such a day's vast Phœnix blaze,

A day in fires decayed!


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40 There—hand-in-hand we tread again

The mazes of this varying wood,

And soon, amid a cultured plain,

Girt in with fertile solitude,

We shall our resting-place descry,

Marked by one roof-tree, towering high

Above a farmstead rude.

Refreshed, erelong, with rustic fare,

We'll seek a couch of dreamless ease;

Courage will guard thy heart from fear,

And Love give mine divinest peace:

To-morrow brings more dangerous toil,

And through its conflict and turmoil

We'll pass, as God shall please.

A DEATH-SCENE.

"! he cannot die

When thou so fair art shining!

O Sun, in such a glorious sky,

So tranquilly declining;


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 greater part of South America this is no longer true, for in several of those vast communities population and trade are growing at a rate that exceeds that of the Union.

Mexico is the saddest and most conspicuous exception in the midst of the general improvement. It is the pride of the colonial system of Spain, and the one merit in which it was superior to our own, that it succeeded in preserving and partially civilising the native race. The English settled in a region where the natives were hunters and wanderers, unskilled in the cultivation of the soil, who roamed into the West to elude the grasp of civilisation, or perished by its contact. The colonists retained their own congenial laws, the purity of European blood was maintained, and the portentous problem of race was happily averted. But in Mexico Cortez found a numerous and settled population, dwelling in cities, tilling the land, and brilliantly though superficially civilised. It was part of the Spanish system to protect, to preserve, and to convert the conquered heathens, whose number vastly exceeded that of their masters; a people of mixed blood sprang up between them, and thus there were three races separated by a very broad line, and isolated by the pride and the jealousy of colour. The Indian nobles were mostly exterminated, and the land was distributed among the families of a small group of conquerors. This arrangement of property remains unchanged. The natives are still without any interest in the land, and the immense estates have not been subdivided. In one of the richest districts on the Atlantic, the coast, for one hundred and fifty miles, is owned by one proprietor.

A society so constituted could not make a nation. There was no middle class, no impulse to industry, no common civilisation, no public spirit, no sense of patriotism. The Indians were not suffered to acquire wealth or knowledge, and every class was kept in ignorance and in rigorous seclusion ; when, therefore, the Mexicans made themselves independent, the difficulty was to throw off, not the bondage, but the nonage in which they had been held, and to overcome the mental incapacity, the


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Rh He cannot leave thee now,

While fresh west winds are blowing,

And all around his youthful brow

Thy cheerful light is glowing!

Edward, awake, awake—

The golden evening gleams

Warm and bright on Arden's lake—

Arouse thee from thy dreams!

Beside thee, on my knee,

My dearest friend! I pray

That thou, to cross the eternal sea,

Wouldst yet one hour delay:

I hear its billows roar—

I see them foaming high;

But no glimpse of a further shore

Has blest my straining eye.

Believe not what they urge

Of Eden isles beyond;

Turn back, from that tempestuous surge,

To thy own native land.

It is not death, but pain

That struggles in thy breast—

Nay, rally, Edward, rouse again;

I cannot let thee rest!"


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42 One long look, that sore reproved me

For the woe I could not bear—

One mute look of suffering moved me

To repent my useless prayer:

And, with sudden check, the heaving

Of distraction passed away;

Not a sign of further grieving

Stirred my soul that awful day.

Paled, at length, the sweet sun setting;

Sunk to peace the twilight breeze:

Summer dews fell softly, wetting

Glen, and glade, and silent trees.

Then his eyes began to weary,

Weighed beneath a mortal sleep;

And their orbs grew strangely dreary,

Clouded, even as they would weep.

But they wept not, but they changed not,

Never moved, and never closed;

Troubled still, and still they ranged not—

Wandered not, nor yet reposed!

So I knew that he was dying—

Stooped, and raised his languid head;

Felt no breath, and heard no sighing,

So I knew that he was dead.

.


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The present Convention shall be open for signature by all States until 28 February 1979 at the Federal Ministry for Foreign Affairs of the Republic of Austria, and subsequently, until 31 August 1979, at United Nations Headquarters in New York. Article 47 Ratification The present Convention is subject to ratification. The instruments of ratification shall be deposited with the Secretary-General of the United Nations.

The present Convention shall remain open for accession by any State. The instruments of accession shall be deposited with the Secretary-General of the United Nations.

1. The present Convention shall enter into force on the thirtieth day following the date of deposit of the fifteenth instrument of ratification or accession.

2. For each State ratifying or acceding to the Convention after the deposit of the fifteenth instrument of ratification or accession, the Convention shall enter into force on the thirtieth day after deposit by such State of its instrument of ratification or accession.

The original of the present Convention, of which the Arabic, Chinese, English, French, Russian and Spanish texts are equally authentic, shall be deposited with the Secretary-General of the United Nations.

IN WITNESS WHEREOF the undersigned Plenipotentiaries, being duly authorized thereto by their respective Governments, have signed the present Convention.

DONE at Vienna this twenty-third day of August, one thousand nine hundred and seventy-eight.


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(a) in the case of a multilateral treaty not falling within the category mentioned in article 17, paragraph 3, the successor State when ratifying, accepting or approving the treaty gives notice that the treaty shall apply in respect of its entire territory; or

(b) in the case of a multilateral treaty falling within the category mentioned in article 17, paragraph 3, the successor State and all the parties or, as the case may be, all the contracting States otherwise agree.

5. Paragraph 4 (a) does not apply if it appears from the treaty or is otherwise established that the application of the treaty in respect of the entire territory of the successor State would be incompatible with the object and purpose of the treaty or would radically change the conditions for its operation.

1. When a part or parts of the territory of a State separate to form one or more States, whether or not the predecessor State continues to exist:

(a) any treaty in force at the date of the succession of States in respect of the entire territory of the predecessor State continues in force in respect of each successor State so formed;

(b) any treaty in force at the date of the succession of States in respect only of that part of the territory of the predecessor State which has become a successor State continues in force in respect of that successor State alone.

2. Paragraph 1 does not apply if:

(a) the States concerned otherwise agree; or

(b) it appears from the treaty or is otherwise established that the application of the treaty in respect of the successor State would be incompatible with the object and purpose of the treaty or would radically change the conditions for its operation.

When, after separation of any part of the territory of a State, the predecessor State continues to exist, any treaty which at the date of the succession of States was in force in respect of the predecessor State continues in force in respect of its remaining territory unless:

(a) the States concerned otherwise agree;

(b) it is established that the treaty related only to the territory which has separated from the predecessor State; or


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 BY

LONDON:

SMITH, ELDER AND CO., 65, CORNHILL.

1846.


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 (c) it appears from the treaty or is otherwise established that the application of the treaty in respect of the predecessor State would be incompatible with the object and purpose of the treaty or would radically change the conditions for its operation.

1. Subject to paragraphs 3 and 4, a successor State falling under article 34, paragraph 1, may, by making a notification, establish its status as a contracting State to a multilateral treaty which is not in force if, at the date of the succession of States, the predecessor State was a contracting State to the treaty in respect of the territory to which the succession of States relates.

2. Subject to paragraphs 3 and 4, a successor State falling under article 34, paragraph 1, may, by making a notification, establish its status as a party to a multilateral treaty which enters into force after the date of the succession of States if at that date the predecessor State was a contracting State to the treaty in respect of the territory to which the succession of States relates.

3. Paragraphs 1 and 2 do not apply if it appears from the treaty or is otherwise established that the application of the treaty in respect of the successor State would be incompatible with the object and purpose of the treaty or would radically change the conditions for its operation.

4. If the treaty is one falling within the category mentioned in article 17, paragraph 3, the successor State may establish its status as a party or as a contracting State to the treaty only with the consent of all the parties or of all the contracting States.

1. Subject to paragraphs 2 and 3, if before the date of the succession of States the predecessor State had signed a multilateral treaty subject to ratification, acceptance or approval and the treaty, if it had been in force at that date, would have applied in respect of the territory to which the succession of States relates, a successor State falling under article 34, paragraph 1, may ratify, accept or approve the treaty as if it had signed that treaty and may thereby become a party or a contracting State to it.

2. Paragraph 1 does not apply if it appears from the treaty or is otherwise established that the application of the treaty in respect of the successor State would be incompatible with the object and purpose of the treaty or would radically change the conditions for its operation.

3. If the treaty is one falling within the category mentioned in article 17, paragraph 3, the successor State may become a party or a contracting State to the treaty only with the consent of all the parties or of all the contracting States.


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The Pearl/Volume 1/Sub-Umbra, or Sport among the She-Noodles

The merry month of May has always been famous for its propitious influence over the voluptuous senses of the fairer sex.

I will tell you two or three little incidents which occurred to me in May, 1878, when I went to visit my cousins in Sussex, or as I familiarly call them, the She-Noodles, for the sport they afforded me at various times.

My uncle's is a nice country residence, standing in large grounds of its own, and surrounded by small fields of arable and pasture land, interspersed by numerous interesting copses, through which run footpaths and shady walks, where you are not likely to meet anyone in a month. I shall not trouble my readers with the name of the locality, or they may go pleasure hunting for themselves. Well, to go on, these cousins consisted of Annie, Sophie, and Polly, beside their brother Frank, who, at nineteen, was the eldest, the girls being, respectively, eighteen, sixteen, and fifteen. After dinner, the first day of my arrival, paterfamilias and mamma both indulged in a snooze in their armchair, whilst us boys and girls (I was the same age as Frank) took a stroll in the grounds. I attached myself more particularly to cousin Annie, a finely developed blonde, with deep blue eyes, pouting red lips, and a full heaving bosom, which to me looked like a perfect volcano of smothered desires. Frank was a very indolent fellow, who loved to smoke his cigar, and expected his sisters, who adored him, to sit by his side, reading some of the novels of the day, or tell him their love secrets, &c. This was by far too tame an amusement for me, and as I had not been there for nearly three years, I requested Annie to show me the improvements in the grounds before we went in to tea, saying to Frank, banteringly, "I suppose, old fellow, you're too, lazy, and would prefer your sister taking me round?"

"I'm too comfortable; lazy is an ugly word, Walter, but the fact is, Soph is just reading a most interesting book, and I can't leave it," he replied; "besides, sissie is quite as well, or better qualified than I am to show off the grounds. I never notice anything."

"Come on, Annie," said I taking her hand; "Frank is in love."

"No, I'm sure he never thinks of a girl, except his sisters," was the reply.

We were now out of earshot, in a shady walk, so I went on a little more freely. "But, surely you, coz, are in love, if he is not. I can tell it by your liquid eye and heaving bosom."

A scarlet flush shot over her features at my allusion to her finely moulded bosom, but it was evidently pleasing, and far from offensive, to judge by her playfully spoken, "Oh! Walter, for shame, sir!"

We were a good distance away by this time, and a convenient seat stood near, so throwing my arms around the blushing girl, I kissed her ruby lips, and drawing her with me, said, "Now, Annie, dear, I'm your cousin and old playfellow, I couldn't help kissing those beautiful lips, which I might always make free with when we were little boy and girl together; now you shall confess all before I let you go."

"But I've nothing to confess, sir."

"Do you never think of love, Annie? Look me in the face if you can say it's a stranger to your bosom," putting my hand familiarly round her neck till my right hand rested on one of the panting globes of her bosom.

She turned her face to mine, suffused as it was by a deeper blush than ever, as her dark blue eyes met mine, in a fearless search of my meaning, but instead of speaking in response to this mute appeal, I kissed her rapturously, sucking in the fragrance of her sweet breath till she fairly trembled with emotion.

It was just beginning to get dusk, my hands were caressing the white, firm flesh of her beautiful neck, slowly working their way towards the heaving bubbies a little lower down; at last I whispered, "What a fine, what a lovely bust you have developed since I saw you last, dear Annie, you won't mind your cousin, will you, when everything used to be so free to each other; besides, what harm can there be in it?"

She seemed on fire, a thrill of emotion seemed to shoot through both of us, and for several moments she lay almost motionless in my arms, with one hand resting on my thigh. Priapus was awake and ready for business, but she suddenly aroused herself, saying, "We must never stop here, let us walk round or they will suspect something."

"When shall we be alone again, darling? We must arrange that before we go in," I said quickly.

It was impossible to keep her on the seat, but as we walked on she said, musingly, "To-morrow morning we might go for a stroll before lunch, Frank lies in bed, and my sisters are keeping house this week; I shall have to mind the tarts and pies next week."

I gave her another hug and a kiss, as I said, "How delightful that will be; what a dear, thoughtful girl you are, Annie."

"Mind, sir, how you behave to-morrow, not so much kissing, or I shan't take you for a second walk; here we are at the house."

Next morning was gloriously warm and fine; as soon as breakfast was over we started for our stroll, being particularly minded by papa to be back in good time for luncheon.

I gradually drew out my beautiful cousin, till our conversation got exceedingly warm, the hot blood rushing in waves of crimson over her shamefaced visage.

"What a rude boy you have grown Walter, since you were here last; I can't help blushing at the way you run on, sir!" she exclaimed at last.

"Annie, my darling," I replied, "what can be more pleasing than to talk of fun with pretty girls, the beauties of their legs and bosoms, and all about them? How I should love to see your lovely calf at this moment, especially after the glimpses I have already had of a divine ankle," saying which I threw myself under a shady tree, close by a gate in a meadow, and drew the half-resisting girl down on the grass at my side, and kissed her passionately, as I murmured, "Oh! Annie, what is there worth living for like the sweets of love?"

Her lips met mine in a fiery embrace, but suddenly disengaging herself, her eyes cast down, and looking awfully abashed, she stammered out, "What is it? what do you mean, Walter?"

"Ah, coz dear, can you be so innocent? Feel here the dart of love all impatient to enter the mossy grotto between your thighs," I whispered, placing her hand upon my prick, which I had suddenly let out of the restraining trousers. "How you sigh; grasp it in your hand, dear, is it possible that you do not understand what it is for?"

Her face was crimson to the roots of her hair, as her hand grasped my tool, and her eyes seemed to start with terror at the sudden apparition of Mr. John Thomas; so that taking advantage of her speechless confusion my own hand, slipping under her clothes, soon had possession of her mount, and in spite of the nervous contraction of her thighs, the forefinger searched out the virgin clitoris.

"Ah! oh! oh!! Walter don't; what are you about?"

"It's all love, dear, open your thighs a wee bit and see what pleasure my finger will make you experience," I again whispered, smothering her with renewed and luscious kisses, thrusting the velvet tip of my tongue between her lips.

"Oh! oh! you will hurt!" she seemed to sigh rather than speak, as her legs relaxed a little of their spasmodic contraction.

My lips continued glued to hers, our otherwise disengaged arms clasped each other closely round the waist, her hand holding my affair in a kind of convulsive grasp, whilst my fingers were busy with clitoris and cunny; the only audible sound resembling a mixture of kisses and sighs, till all in a moment I felt her crack deluged with a warm, creamy spend whilst my own juice spurted over her hand and dress in loving sympathy.

In a short while we recovered our composure a little, and I then explained to her that the melting ecstasy she had just felt was only a slight foretaste of the joy I could give her, by inserting my member in her cunny. My persuasive eloquence and the warmth of her desires soon overcame all maiden fears and scruples; then for fear of damaging her dress, or getting the green stain of the grass on the knees of my light trousers, I persuaded her to stand up by the gate and allow me to enter behind. She hid her face in her hands on the top rail of the gate, as I slowly raised her dress; what glories were unfolded to view, my prick's stiffness was renewed in an instant at the sight of her delicious buttocks, so beautifully relieved by the white of her pretty drawers; as I opened them and exposed the flesh, I could see the lips of her plump pouting cunny, deliciously feathered, with soft light down, her lovely legs, drawers, stockings, pretty boots, making a tout ensemble, which as I write and describe them cause Mr. Priapus to swell in my breeches; it was a most delicious sight. I knelt and kissed her bottom, slit, and everything my tongue could reach, it was all mine, I stood up and prepared to take possession of the seat of love—when, alas! a sudden shriek from Annie, her clothes dropped, all my arrangements were upset in a moment; a bull had unexpectedly appeared on the opposite side of the gate, and frightened my love by the sudden application of his cold, damp nose to her forehead. It is too much to contemplate that scene even now.

(To be continued.)


text:
The Pearl/Volume 1/Miss Coote's Confession, or the Voluptuous Experiences of an Old Maid.

In a series of Letters to a Lady Friend.

LETTER I

My Dear Girl,

I know I have long promised you an account of the reason of my penchant for the rod, which, in my estimation, is one of the most voluptuous and delicious institutions of private life, especially to a supposed highly respectable old maid like your esteemed friend. Treaties must be carried out, and promises kept, or how can I ever hope for the pleasure of making you taste my little green tickler again. Writing, and especially a sort of confession of my voluptuous weakness, is a most unpleasant task, as I feel as shamefaced in putting these things on paper as when my grandfather's housekeeper first bared my poor blushing little bottom to his ruthless attack. My only consolation at commencing is the hope that I shall warm to the subject as it progresses, in my endeavour to depict, for your gratification, some of the luscious episodes of my early days.

My grandfather, as you well know, was the celebrated Indian General, Sir Eyre Coote, almost as well known for his eight-penny fiasco with the Bluecoat boys as for his services to the Hon. E. I. Company. He was a confirmed martinet, and nothing delighted him so much as a good opportunity for the use of the cat, but I cannot tell you anything about that, as that was before my time. My first recollection of hint is after the aforesaid City scandal, when he had to retire from public life in comparative disgrace. My parents both died when I was just upon twelve years of age, and the old General, who had no other relatives to care for, took entire charge of me, and, at his death, I was left his sole heiress and mistress of nearly £3,000 per annum.

He resided in a quiet country house some twenty miles from London, where I spent the first few months of my orphaned life, with only his housekeeper, Mrs. Mansell, and the two servants, Jane and Jemima. The old General being away in Holland searching, so I afterwards heard, for original editions respecting the practices of Cornelius Hadrien, a curious work on the flagellation of religious penitents by a father confessor.

It was the middle of summer when he returned, and I soon found the liberty I had been enjoying considerably restricted. Orders not to pluck the flowers, or the fruit in the garden; and a regular lesson set me every day by the old autocrat himself. At first they were tolerably simple, but gradually increased in difficulty, and now, in after years, I can plainly understand his wolf and lamb tactics, by which I must eventually fall under his assumed just displeasure.

What gave me considerable pleasure at this time was his decided objection to mourning, or anything at all sombre in my dress. He said my parents had been shown every possible respect by wearing black for months, and I must now be dressed as became a young lady of my good expectations.

Although we scarcely ever received company, and then only some old fogy of his military acquaintance, I was provided with a profusion of new and elegant dresses, as well as beautiful shoes, slippers, drawers, and underlinen, all trimmed with finest lace &c., not even forgetting some very beautiful garters, a pair of which with gold buckles, he would insist upon putting on for me, taking no notice of my blushing confusion, as he pretended to arrange my drawers and skirts afterwards, but merely to remark: What a fine figure I should make, if they ever had to strip me for punishment.

Soon my lessons began to be harder than I could fairly manage. One day he expostulated, "Oh! Rosa; Rosa!! why don't you try to be a better girl. I don't want to punish you."

"But grandfather," I replied, "how can I learn so much of that horrid French every day. I'm sure no one else could do it."

"Hold your tongue, Miss Pert, I must be a better judge than a little girl like you."

"But, grandfather dear, you know I do love you, and I do try my best."

"Well, prove your love and diligence in future, or your posterior must feel a nice little birch, I shall get ready for you," said he sternly.

Another week passed, during which I could not help observing an unusual fire and sparkle in his eyes, whenever I appeared in evening dress at the dinner table (we always dined in quiet state), and he also suggested that I ought to wear a choice little bouquet of fresh flowers in my bosom, to set off my complexion.

But the climax was approaching, I was not to escape long; he again found fault, and gave me what he gravely called one last chance: my eyes were filled with tears, and I trembled to look at his stern old face, and knew any remonstrance on my part would be useless.

The prospect of punishment made me so nervous, it was with the greatest difficulty I could attend to my lessons, and the second day after, I broke down entirely.

"Oh! Ho! it's come to this has it, Rosie?" said the old gentleman, "nothing will do, you must be punished."

Ringing the bell for Mrs. Mansell, he told her to have the punishment room and the servants all ready, when he should want them, as he was sorry to say "Miss Rosa was so idle, and getting worse and worse with her lessons every day, she must now be taken severely in hand or she would be spoiled for life."

"Now, you bad girl," said he, as the housekeeper retired, "go to your room and reflect upon what your idleness has brought to you."

Full of indignation, confusion, and shame, I rushed to my chamber, and bolted the door, determined they should break the door down first before I would submit to such a public exposure, before the two servants; throwing myself on the bed, I gave vent to my tears for at least a couple of hours, expecting every moment the dreadful summons to attend the old man's punishment drill, as he called it, but, no one disturbing me, I at last came to the conclusion it was only a plan of his to frighten me, and so I fell into a soothing sleep. A voice at the door awakened me, and I recognized the voice of Jane, as she said, "Miss Rosa, Miss Rosa, you'll be late for dinner."

"No dinner for me, Jane, if I'm going to be punished; go away, leave me alone," whispered I through the keyhole.

"Oh! Miss Rosie, the General's been in the garden all the afternoon, quite good-tempered, perhaps he's forgotten it all; don't make him angry by not being ready for dinner, let me in quick."

So I cautiously drew the bolt, and let her assist me to dress.

"Cheer up, Miss Rosie, don't look dull, go down as if nothing had happened, and most likely all will be forgotten; his memory is so short, especially if you put in your bosom this sweet little nosegay to please him, as you have never done it since he said it would set off your complexion."

Thus encouraged, I met my grandfather with a good appetite, and, as if the "bitterness was past," like Agag before Samuel, little suspecting I should be almost hewed in pieces afterwards.

The dinner passed most pleasantly, for such a formal affair as my grandfather made it, he took several glasses of wine, and in the middle of the dessert seemed to contemplate me with unusual interest; at last suddenly seeming to notice the little bouquet of damask and white roses, he said, "That's right, Rosa, I see you have carried out my suggestion of a nosegay at last; it quite improves your appearance, but nothing to what my birch will effect on your naughty bottom, which will soon look like one of those fine peaches, and now's the time to do it," said he, ringing the bell.

Almost distracted, and ready to faint, I rushed for the door, but only in time to fall into the arms of strong Jemima.

"Now for punishment drill; march on, Jemima, with the culprit, you've got her safe; Mrs. Mansell and Jane, come on," said he to them, as they appeared in the background.

Resistance was useless. I was soon carried into a spare room I had never entered; it contained very little furniture, except the carpet, and one comfortable easy chair; but on the walls hung several bunches of twigs, and in one corner stood a thing like a stepladder, but covered with red baize, and fitted with six rings, two halfway up, two at bottom, and two at the top.

"Tie her to the horse, and get ready for business," said the General, as he seated himself in the chair, to look on at his ease.

"Come, Rosa, dear, don't be troublesome, and make your grandfather more angry," said Mrs. Mansell, unfastening my waistband. "Slip off your dress, whilst the girls put the horse in the middle of the room."

"Oh! No! No! I won't be whipped," I screamed. "Oh! Sir! Oh! Grandfather, do have mercy," said I, throwing myself on my knees before the old man.

"Come, come, it's no use showing the white feather, Rosa, it's for your own good. No more nonsense. Mrs. Mansell, do your duty, and let us get the painful business over; she isn't one of my stock if she doesn't show her pluck when it comes to the pinch."

The three women all tried to lift me, but I kicked, scratched, and bit all round, and, for a moment or two, almost beat them off in my fury, but my strength was soon exhausted, and Jemima, smarting from a severe bite, carried me in vengeful triumph to the dreaded machine. Quick as thought, my hands and feet were secured to the upper and lower rings; the horse widening towards the ground caused my legs to be well apart when drawn up closely to the rings at my ankles.

I could hear Sir Eyre chuckle with delight, as he exclaimed, "By God! she's a vixen, and it must be taken out of her, she's a Coote all over. Bravo, Rosie! Now get her ready quickly."

I submitted in sullen despair, whilst my torn dress and underskirts were turned up and pinned round my shoulders, but when they began to unloose my drawers, my rage burst out afresh, and turning my head, I saw the old man, his stern face beaming with pleased animation, whisking in his right hand a small bunch of fresh birchen twigs. My blood was in a boil, and my bottom tingled with anticipated strokes, especially when Jemima, pulling the drawers nearly down to my knees, gave me a smart little slap on the sly, to let me know what I might soon expect, and I fairly shouted, "You must be a cruel old beast to let them treat me so."

"Old beast, indeed!" said he, jumping up in a passion. "We'll see about that, Miss; perhaps you'll be glad to apologize before long."

I saw him stepping forward. "Oh! Mercy! Mercy! Sir! I didn't mean it; they've hurt me so; I couldn't help what I said."

"This is a really serious case," said he, apparently addressing the others. "She's idle, violently vicious, and even insulting to me, her only natural guardian, instead of treating me with proper respect. There can be no alternative, the only remedy, however painful the scene may be to us who have to inflict the punishment, is to carry it out, as a matter of duty, or the girl will be ruined. She has never been under proper control all her life."

"Oh! Grandfather, punish me any way but this. I know I can't bear it; it's so dreadfully cruel," I sobbed out through my tears.

"My child, such crocodile tears have no effect on me; you must be made to feel the smart. If we let you off now, you would be laughing at it all, and go on worse than before. Stand aside, Jane, we can't waste any more time." So saying, he made a flourish with the rod, so as to make quite an audible "whisk" in the air. I suppose it was only to clear the way, as it did not touch me; in fact up to this time, he had treated me like a cat which knows the poor mousey cannot escape, but may be pounced upon at any time.

I could see the tears in Jane's eyes, but Jemima had a malicious smile on her face, and Mrs. Mansell looked very grave, but no time was allowed for reflections; the next instant I felt a smart but not heavy stroke right across my loins, then another, and another, in rather quick succession, but not too fast for me to think that perhaps after all it would not be so dreadful as I feared; so setting my teeth firmly without uttering a word, I determined to give as little indication as possible of my feelings. All this and a great deal more flashed through my brain before six strokes had been administered, my bottom tingled all over, and the blood seemed to rush like lightning through my veins at every blow, and my face felt as my poor posteriors.

"Now, you idle puss," said the General, "you begin to feel the fruits of your conduct. Will you? Will you call me an old beast again?" giving a harder stroke at each ejaculation.

My courage still sustained my resolution not to cry out, but only seemed to make him more angry.

"Sulky tempered and obstinate, by Jove!" he continued; "we must draw it out of you. Don't think, Miss, I'm to be beaten by a little wench like you; take that, and that, and that," whisking me with still greater energy, concluding with a tremendous whack which drew up the skin to bursting tension, and I felt another like it would make the blood spurt forth, but he suddenly paused in his fury, as if for want of breath, but as I now know too well, only to prolong his own exquisite pleasure.

Thinking all was over, I entreated them to let me go, but to my sorrow soon found my mistake.

"Not yet, not yet, you bad girl, you're not half punished for all your biting, scratching, and impudence," exclaimed Sir Eyre.

Again the hateful birch hissed through the air, and cut into my bruised flesh, both buttocks and thighs, suffering and smarting in agony, but he seemed careful at first not to draw the blood; however, I was not to escape, it was only his deliberate plan of attack, so as not to exhaust the poor victim too soon.

"Bite, and scratch, and fight against my orders again, will you? Miss Rosie, you'll know next time what to expect. You deserve no mercy, the idleness was bad enough, but such murderous conduct is awful; I believe you would have killed anyone in your passion if you could. Bite, scratch, and fight, eh! Bite, will you?" Thus lectured the old man, getting warmer and warmer in his attack, till the blood fairly trickled down my poor thighs.

I was in dreadful agony at every cut, and must have fainted, but his lecturing seemed to sustain me like a cordial; besides, with the pain I experienced a most pleasurable warmth and excitability impossible to be described, but which, doubtless, you, my dear, have felt for yourself when under my discipline.

But all my fortitude could not much longer suppress my sighs and moans, and at last I felt as if I must die under the torture, in spite of the exquisite sensation which mingled with it; notwithstanding my ohs and ahs, and stifled cries, I would not ask for mercy again; my sole thoughts ran upon the desire for vengeance, and how I should like to whip and cut them all in pieces, especially the General and Jemima, and even poor tearful Jane, Sir Eyre seemed to forget his age, and worked away in frightful excitement.

"Damme, won't you cry for mercy? Won't you apologize, you young hussy," he hissed between his teeth. "She's tougher and more obstinate than any of the family, a real chip of the old block. But to be beaten by the young spitfire, Mrs. Mansell, is more than I can bear. There! there! there!" cried he; and at last the worn-out stump of the rod fell from his hand, as he sank back quite exhausted in his chair.

"Mrs. Mansell," he gasped, "give her half-a-dozen good stripes with a new rod to finish her off, and let her know that although she may exhaust an old man, there are other strong arms that can dispense justice to her impudent rump."

The housekeeper, in obedience to the command, takes up a fine fresh birch, and cuts deliberately, counting, in clear voice, one, two, three, four, five, six (her blows were heavy, but did not seem to sting so cruelly as those given by Sir Eyre). "There," she says, "Miss Rosa, I might have laid it on more heavily, but I pitied you this first time."

Nearly dead, and frightfully cut up, although victorious, I had to be carried to my room. But what a victory? all torn and bleeding, as I was, besides the certainty that the old General would renew his attack the first favourable opportunity.

Poor Jane laughed and cried over my lacerated posteriors as she tenderly washed me with cold arnica and water, and she seemed so used to the business that when we retired to rest (for I got her to sleep with me) I asked her if she had not often attended bruised bottoms before, "Yes, Miss Rosie," she replied; "but you must keep the secret and not pretend to know anything. I have been whipped myself, but not so bad as you were, although it's cruel. We all rather like it after the first time or two; especially if we are not cut up too much. Next time you should shout out well for mercy, &c., as it pleases the old man, and he won't be so furious. He was so bad and exhausted with whipping you, Mrs. Mansell was going to send for the doctor, but Jemima said a good birching would do him more good, and draw the blood away from his head; so they pickled him finely, till he quite came to himself, and begged hard to be let off."

Thus ended my first lesson; and, in further letters, you shall hear how I got on with Jane, continued the contest with the General, my adventures at Mrs. Flaybum's school, and my own domestic discipline since left to myself.

Believe me, Dear Nellie, Your affectionate friend ROSA BELINDA COOTE.

(To be continued.)


text:
Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/53

Rh SONG.

linnet in the rocky dells,

The moor-lark in the air,

The bee among the heather bells,

That hide my lady fair:

The wild deer browse above her breast;

The wild birds raise their brood;

And they, her smiles of love caressed,

Have left her solitude!

I ween, that when the grave's dark wall

Did first her form retain;

They thought their hearts could ne'er recall

The light of joy again.

They thought the tide of grief would flow

Unchecked through future years;

But where is all their anguish now,

And where are all their tears?

Well, let them fight for honour's breath,

Or pleasure's shade pursue—

The dweller in the land of death

Is changed and careless too.

And, if their eyes should watch and weep

Till sorrow's source were dry,


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Archer, William


text:
Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/54

44 She would not, in her tranquil sleep,

Return a single sigh!

Blow, west-wind, by the lonely mound,

And murmur, summer-streams—

There is no need of other sound

To soothe my lady's dreams.

.

THE PENITENT.


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Archibald, Adams George


text: Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell/Song


text:
Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell/The Penitent

Katuja


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Archibald, Thomas Dickson