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Rh of this clean, courtly old gentleman, smiled and corrected him.

"Those are very fine gems, sir," she continued pleasantly, placing the desired piece of jewelry in its immaculate velvet-lined case on the counter pad for Derrington's inspection. "Every stone is guaranteed perfect; they would cost you at least a half more than our price at any specialty store. Being a departmental establishment, we sell jewelry at department store profits, exactly as we do dry goods and groceries." Miss Anita, having attended the Belford School of Salesmanship very assiduously, knew just what to say.

Albeit John Thomas Derrington had twice before been in to examine these emeralds, he had but perfunctorily glanced at the salesperson showing them. He seldom gathered a more comprehensive idea of any salesperson's individual appearance than of the laces of his servants. Salespeople and servants were a mere matter of course with Derrington, man of mighty millions. Should one chance to have eyes like an owl, or a nose like an elephant, he might have been startled into attention; otherwise, they faded into the general landscape. Now, however, he was suddenly aware of something pleasing in the sweet voice expatiating on the attractions of the necklace.

"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the slightly startled man, who was feeling the extreme heat himself. "How cool and comfortable you seem this morning, young lady."

John Thomas had no definite idea why it was so, yet as he sensed Miss Anita Maloney's fresh beauty, it started him thinking of the Skagpole Venus. Perhaps it was because, in his eyes, both represented perfection.

"I have a contented mind," answered Miss Anita off-handedly. "The heat never troubles me."

"It appears not," added John Thomas. "But I might hazard a guess regarding something that does trouble you."

Miss Anita, knowing perfectly well that this dry, jolly old gentleman was not attempting a flirtation, looked perfunctory interest.

"Yes?" she inquired.

"I'll wager you are troubled with more sweethearts than a body could shake a stick at," answered John T. with a sage nod. "Or else the present day lads are nothing like as appreciative as they were in my time."

"You'd lose," answered Anita. "I haven't a sweetheart to my name."

"Umm-m, well, maybe they have changed," hummed John Thomas.

As his eyes were travelling again toward the necklace, he caught sight of a stout person stepping his way. He began to chuckle, holding up four outspread fingers and a thumb so that the man approaching might see them. This latter gentleman was David Belford, who made it a settled habit to walk once through each aisle of his vast department store daily.

Belford was short, pursy, fussy and florid. A bristling white moustache half hid his mouth and his head was bare of hair, save for a fast disappearing white ring below his ears. He caught sight of Derrington's upheld hand and shook his head in denial, knowing that John Thomas's gesture signified an added bid of

title: Page:The Black Cat November 1916.djvu/7


text: The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/I would I were a Careless Child

license: Creative Commons - Attribution Share-Alike - https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/


text:
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4 $5,000 for the Skagpole Venus.

This was a custom between the two whenever they met. John Thomas had but once made a verbal offer for the Venus, and that was $20,000. Since then his bids had mounted upward, by skips, of from one finger to five, representing thousands in real money, until it now stood at $50,000.

"You hard-hearted old reprobate," he squeaked, laughing as Belford approached. "Don't you ever mean to sell me that painting?"

"Well, now then, why should I sell it to you?" asked Belford, a controversial sort of chap, in a raspy, querulous voice. "I'm fond of it myself, and, really, you know, Derrington, you haven't offered me anything at all tempting yet."

"Bless my soul and body, man, tempting!" exclaimed John Thomas. "I daresay you'll make twenty-five thousand on the deal at my last offer. Is that what you call a decent department store profit? Eh, what, eh?" He turned and winked slyly at Miss Anita Maloney and at sight of her, beautifully placid features, seemed suddenly struck with an idea.

"Look here, Bel'," he exclaimed, tapping that gentleman on one fat shoulder. "Have you any sporting blood in you? I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll wager my 'Dance of the Hamadryades' against your 'Venus,' the winner to have the loser's picture at $20,000. What do you say?"

The department store man coughed throatily, and his florid features became a few shades brighter.

"Well, now then, Derrington, what is your idea of a fairish wager?" he asked interestedly.

"My 'Dance of the Hamadryades' against your 'Venus' I can tell you who your son marries," snapped John Thomas.

Belford jumped; the thing struck him almost in a heap. Freddie Belford, apple of his father's eye, had only just arrived at marriageable age, and the elder Belford had never yet thought of matrimony in connection with his only son.

"Now then, look here, Derrington, you're taking an unfair advantage," he finally sputtered. "Frederick isn't likely to marry anybody for some time. If you know about any clandestine love affair my boy has become entangled in you ought to tell me of it without putting a price on your information." His voice was a trifle wheedling as he concluded, for this had hit him in a very tender spot.

"Information is altogether too valuable to part with without making a decent department store profit," chuckled Derrington, winking again at Miss Maloney.

Belford studied the subject again. He was morally certain Frederick had no idea of marrying; yet, if so be it he had, Belford would almost be willing to part with the Skagpole Venus, merely to know the maiden's name, also, he had always coveted Derrington's "Dance of the Hamadryades," and $20,000 for that painting was a low figure.

"Well, now then, Derrington, I think I shall have to take you up there," he rasped. "Who is Frederick going to marry?"

"Wait, wait," protested canny John Thomas. "We must have this thing down in black and white. I'll write

title: Page:The Black Cat November 1916.djvu/8


text: The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/Lines Written beneath an Elm in the Churchyard of Harrow


text:
The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/To my Son

Svému synu


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Rh the young woman's name—not that I claim she is young, you understand—on a slip of paper, seal it in an envelope, and you may put the envelope in your office safe. If Frederick marries within six months, open the envelope. If I have named the girl, the Skagpole Venus is mine at $20,000. If I have failed to name her correctly, or Frederick doesn't marry within six months, 'The Dance of the Hamadryades' is yours at the same figure. That's more than fair, Bel'; you have two chances to my one; he may not marry, or, if he does, I may not call the name of the bride."

Belford yanked nervously at his white moustache, vexed to find he was not to hear the young woman's name at once. "Dammit, what does the old file know?" he thought. "That's a queer wager, but, at least, if Frederick doesn't marry in six months I'll know who Derrington is hinting at." "Aloud, he said, "Well, all right, Derrington. I'll take you up there."

Paper and envelope being secured from the stationery department, John Thomas, a letter sheet laid atop of the jewelry counter behind which Miss Anita Maloney still waited to serve his wishes, was about to write when Belford heard something that made him listen acutely.

"Young lady, what is your name?" asked John Thomas in guarded tones of Miss Maloney as he poised his pen.

Belford, having his back toward John T. was not aware of it, but Derrington, as he put his question to the salesgirl, covertly observed the department store owner through one corner of a very wise eye, carefully estimating the distance between that man and himself. Perhaps he imagined Belford might suddenly leap forward and wrest that bit of paper from his hands the instant the name was imposed thereon; then, again—but the pretty salesgirl was answering.

"Anita May Maloney," she replied sweetly.

John Thomas wrote down something, folded the paper painstakingly, slipped it inside the envelope, dated and memorandumed it and handed the sealed sheet to Belford, who accepted it with an obviously puzzled air and an unmistakably shaky hand. For the first time since she had been employed in his store, he looked at Miss Anita Maloney and was profoundly impressed with her compelling beauty.

"Good God!" he thought. "Can it be possible there is anything between my Frederick and this person? I'll have to look into matters with the boy, right away."

"Tuck that in your safe, Bel'," chuckled Derrington. "And, remember: not to be opened unless Frederick marries within six months."

As Belford walked away, so bewildered by this odd and unexpected turn of events that he could with difficulty realize whether he was walking on his hands or his feet, John Thomas gave his attention to Miss Anita Maloney and the emerald necklace. The salesgirl, formerly a mere shadow merging into the general landscape of John Thomas's life, had now become a personality.

"I think you may have that necklace wrapped up." he said, "and I will take it with me. Here is my card. I believe my family has an account here. And, let me add, if the good wish

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6 does not give offense, that a young lady as pretty as yourself deserves better fortune in the matter of sweethearts."

"But what can a poor girl do if the boys don't come and propose?" smiled Miss Maloney as she accepted John T.'s card and proceeded to make out a charge slip for the floorman's approval.

"Tut, tut," laughed Derrington. "As if you didn't know you have the whole thing in your own hands, what? Eh, what?"

Miss Maloney shook her handsome head doubtfully.

"I'll tell you what, young lady," declared John Thomas, "I'll make it an object for you, yourself, to prove I'm right. If you marry within six months I'll make you a present of the handsomest dinner ring in New York."

"I'm sure you're very generous," answered Miss Maloney in a rather noncommittal way, handing John T. his wrapped package. "I hope you won't forget it; but I'm afraid there is little chance for me."

Leaving John Thomas to journey homeward, and Miss Anita Maloney to go back to the business of selling guaranteed $90 diamond rings, this day only $49.98, we must proceed to the home of David Belford, where, as may be surmised, a most uncomfortable half hour awaited Mr. Frederick.

In the Belford library, a rather somber but ornate room, finished in carved mahogany and tooled Spanish leather with bronze lighting fixtures and wood-green draperies at windows and doors, David himself fidgeted nervously back and forth before the huge pyramid fireplace in expectation of the momentary entrance of his son, whom he had had summoned to the presence.

Frederick entered, a fine, well set up young fellow, broad of shoulder and blonde of head, yet a young man not yet completely over the embarrassing knowledge of possessing uncomfortable hands and feet; a knowledge further complicated by an alarming propensity of the face assuming the color of a fresh-cut beet at the slightest provocation, and of the tongue to suddenly feel so large that it seemed to completely fill the mouth, making coherent speech difficult. In a word, Frederick was diffident.

The failing of fathers, especially fathers with money, is common knowledge. David Belford already suspected the worst; yet, since he really loved this handsome lad, he began gently.

"Now then, Frederick, my boy, what's all this I hear about marriage?" he asked.

As has before been intimated, an easy flow of language was not one of Frederick's long suits, less so under stress of excitement than upon ordinary occasions. His face promptly assumed the rubicund appearance of a newly spanked infant and he could only stammer:

'"Ma-marriage, poppa; great heavens!"

Certainly this might be called a non-committal statement, however you interpret it; yet, in David Belford's mind, it became an almost complete confession of guilt. He began to rave and sputter like fat over a blazing fire.

"Now then, Frederick, I won't have it, that's all there is about it," he finally


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Rh ended up, explosively. "Almost anybody but one of my salesgirls. I won't have it, Frederick,—Anita May Maloney! The name is enough. Sounds like a girl from the Follies."

"Anita May Maloney!" Frederick finally managed to stammer. "Why, poppa, I never saw her."

"What, what?" exclaimed Belford, his puffy-lidded eyes opening wide. Surely Derrington's inference was as plain as the nose on his face, he thought, yet the earnestness of his son's tone made him pause and produced a slight ray of hope. "Never saw her!" he repeated. "Frederick, are you lying to me?"

"Of course not. Why on earth should I lie about it?" answered the young man indignantly. "Poppa, I should think you'd gone crazy."

David studied the matter a moment. "Well, now then, Frederick," he finally said, speaking more mildly. "You come down to the shop tomorrow and see the girl; she's in the jewelry department. She really is handsome, and you may know her under some other name. If you assure me, after you see her tomorrow, that you've never known her, I'll believe you."

Thus did it happen that Frederick Belford entered his father's famous departmental establishment on the following morning and inquired of a floorman the direction to the jewelry section, blushing meanwhile as though he were about to face a battery of beauties, instead of but one. The floorman, not having the remotest idea who the young man was, guided him gently toward the ring counter, winked a facetious aside at the salesgirl there and said:

"Wedding rings, sir? Yes, sir, Miss Maloney will show them to you."

Frederick caught the name, caught the inference, gave one glance at the ravishing young woman before him and fled, his former blushes being as the palest of pink sunsets to the roseate flush that now suffused his burning face. But he had proceeded no farther than the stationery section when he stalked into the arms of the senior Belford himself.

"Well, now then, Frederick, did you see her?" inquired David of his son.

"Of course I saw her," was Frederick's indignant reply as his face assumed its normal hue. "And I give you my word, poppa, I never before set my eyes on the girl."

"Well, then, that's enough," declared Belford, tremendously relieved. "I must have misunderstood Derrington."

"Der—Dorrington!" stammered Frederick, falling into a new pit of embarrassment. "What has he got to do with it?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing," answered Belford. "The old file made a funny wager with me, that's all; said he knew who you would marry within six months, and I thought he hinted pretty strong at its being one of my salesgirls; but the matter's ended now; we won't say any more about it. It was probably one of those stupid jokes Derrington is so fond of cooking up."

So Freddie Belford motored home in a very mixed state of mind and Miss Anita Maloney thought what a fine, manly young fellow he was to show such extreme embarrassment at the mere mention of wedding rings.


text:
The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/Lines Inscribed upon a Cup Formed from a Skull

Nápis na lebku na pohár upravenou A uma taça feita de um crânio humano Надпись на кубке из черепа (Байрон/Брянский)


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Page:EB1911 - Volume 02.djvu/315

 carapace and similar in appearance to the free somites. The genus Agnostus, which belongs to the last category, occurs abundantly in Cambrian strata and is one of the earliest forms known. This would lead to the supposition that the great development of metasomatic carapace is a primitive and not a late character, were it not for the fact that Paradoxides and Atops, with an inconspicuous telsonic carapace and numerous free somites, are also Cambrian in age, the latter indeed anterior in horizon to Agnostus.

On the other hand, it may well be doubted whether the pygidial or posterior carapace is primarily due to a fusion of the tergites of somites which were previously movable and well developed. The posterior carapace of the Trilobites and of Limulus is probably enough in origin a telsonic carapace—that is to say, is the tergum of the last segment of the body which carries the anus. From the front of this region new segments are produced in the first instance, and are added during growth to the existing series. This telson may enlarge, it may possibly even become internally and sternally developed as partially separate somites, and the tergum may remain without trace of somite formation, or, as appears to be the case in Limulus, the telson gives rise to a few well-marked somites (mesosoma and two others) and then enlarges without further trace of segmentation, whilst the chitinous integument which develops in increasing thickness on the terga as growth advances welds together the unsegmented telson and the somites in front of it, which were previously marked by separate tergal thickenings. It must always be remembered that we are liable (especially in the case of fossilized integuments) to attach an unwarranted interpretation to the mere discontinuity or continuity of the thickened plates of chitinous cuticle on the back of an Arthropod. These plates may fuse, and yet the somites to which they belong may remain distinct, and each have its pair of appendages well developed. On the other hand, an unusually large tergal plate, whether terminal or in the series, is not always due to fusion of the dorsal plates of once-separate somites, but is often a case of growth and enlargement of a single somite without formation of any trace of a new somite. For the literature of Trilobites see (22*).

Grade B (of the Arachnida) NOMOMERISTICA.—Arachnida in which, excluding from consideration the eye-bearing prosthomere, the somites are primarily (that is to say, in the common ancestor of the grade) grouped in three regions of six—(a) the “prosoma” with palpiform appendages, (b) the “mesosoma” with plate-like appendages, and (c) the “metasoma” with suppressed appendages. A somite placed between the prosoma and mesosoma—the prae-genital somite—appears to have belonged originally to the prosomatic series (which with its ocular prosthomere and palpiform limbs [Pantopoda], would thus consist of eight somites), but to have been gradually reduced. In living Arachnids, excepting the Pantopoda, it is either fused (with loss of its appendages) with the prosoma (Limulus, Scorpio), after embryonic appearance, or is

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8 That very evening, as it happened. Miss Anita Maloney was requested to work over-time by Brace, the jewelry buyer. She, knowing her rights, lodged a vigorous protest with the superintendent. The latter gentleman, never having paid much previous attention to Anita, but now realizing that such pretty salesgirls for the jewelry counter were not easy to obtain, perceived the force of her argument and promptly told Brace to back up. All of which may not, at first thought, appear as matter germane to this particular chronicle, but, as will appear later, really has a rather important bearing on subsequent developments.

A period of some two months must be permitted to elapse before we can again take up the thread of events.

It was early September. David Belford, making his usual morning tour through the aisles of his store, paused at the ring counter, aware of a strangely unfamiliar aspect there. For a moment, he stood pulling at his bristling white moustache, attempting to puzzle out what particular thing was not as it should be. Suddenly he hit upon it; Miss Anita Maloney, she of the big brown orbs and the Cupid's bow lips, was not present.

For a brief moment, David Belford appeared in imminent danger of apoplexy; but it was not wholly Miss Maloney's absence that took his breath up short and made his heart pound an extra beat to the second; it was the icy recollection that his son, Frederick, had also been most unaccountably absent from home on the day and night previous.

Came forward Brace, the jewelry buyer, and to him Belford put the question that was filling his soul with a half dozen different varieties of anguish.

"Now then, Brace, what has became of the "rather prettyish salesgirl you had on rings?" inquired Belford. "McGuffy—Mahoney—ah, umm—Maloney! Yes, Miss Maloney, that was her name."

Brace fixed his eyes on a given point midway between his chief and the ring counter and wondered what Belford was really driving at. Having been away on a foreign buying trip for several weeks, he did not know why Miss Maloney was not present; but, catching sight of Miss Julia Levy, he informed his chief that he would inquire. Thus answered Miss Levy:

"Gee, Mr. Brace, didn't you know? Maloney give in her notice more'n a week ago. She got hitched up last night."

Belford heard. "What!" he bellowed, and then fled with a speed that almost equalled that with which his own son had once quitted the same counter. Something assured him the worst had happened. He stumbled into his private office, gripped the desk telephone and called for two-three-six Riverside, his town house.

"Has Frederick arrived home yet?" was the question he hurled into the mouthpiece.

The silky voice of Fanning, his butler, answered from the other end of the wire. "I do not know, sir, but I will find out at once."

Belford dropped into a chair and began to drum impatiently with fat fingers on the mahogany desk. He was beginning to see a little more


text:
The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/Inscription on the Monument of a Newfoundland Dog

Nápis na náhrobek psu Newfoundlandskému


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Rh clearly. While he did not suspect his son of having lied in the matter, he did harbor a suspicion that wily old John Derrington had worked a rather clever scheme on him, using him as a medium to bring two young people together, calculating on human nature to do the rest.

"Dammit! Dammit!" he sputtered. "I'll get even with that old file if it takes me twenty years and half my fortune."

His volcanic meditations were interrupted by Fanning's voice on the wire, his tones now visibly perturbed and politely hesitating. "Mr. Belford? Ah, yes sir. I believe Mr. Frederick is not expected home today, sir," he said. "Yes sir, he has been heard from to that effect himself, sir, I believe."

"I knew it, I knew it," stuttered Belford, exasperated almost to the point of another apoplectic shock. "Now then, Fanning, don't beat about the bush. He's married, isn't he, run off with some young hussy?"

"Well sir, I believe that is what it amounts to, sir, though the madame is out, sir, and my information comes solely from her maid." answered the butler.

Belford waited to hear no more. Dropping the instrument, he stormed wildly back and forth beside his desk, calling the direst extremes of vengeance upon the defenseless head of John Thomas Derrington. In the midst of this tirade, John Thomas Derrington himself was announced.

"Show him in, Danvers, show him in," barked Belford, his blue eyes snapping fire, while he spread ten gripping fingers, as if Derrington's throat were already within his grasp.

It is difficult to beat up a man who meets you with the sunniest of smiles; nay, more; it is impossible, no matter how hot your anger, as David Belford discovered the instant John Thomas entered, his thin, Punch-like features contorted into the most roguish of grins as he poked Belford between two heavily upholstered ribs with a lean finger.

"So you've opened it, have you?" he said. "Well, what did I tell you? Eh, what, eh? Here's my check for $20,000, Bel'; you may send the Venus over to my gallery right away."

Having found he could not deliberately strike this cheery old man, Belford attempted to engulf him in denunciation.

"Derrington, you conscienceless old rascal," he raved. "You very well know Frederick had no idea of marriage until you deliberately caused me to put the idea into his head. It was a low-down trick. If you were a younger man, I'd—I'd—"

"What, eh, what?" interrupted John Thomas in astonishment. "I thought you'd like the idea. The boy is much better off married. To be sure, an elopement isn't just the proper thing; but why not let the young folks have their fun? Eh, why not, eh?"

Belford could only sputter; words adequate to the occasion he could not find.

"Oh, well, Bel', you'll get used to it," continued John Thomas. "I didn't think you'd take the loss of the 'Venus' so hard, or I'd never made the wager. But a bet's a bet. Come, shake hands, we ought to be friends."


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10 His anger made Belford refuse, and John Thomas had to leave without the desired salutation, but there was a tremendously pleased twinkle in his eyes as he went out.

For almost an hour, Belford sat alone at his desk meditating on what a mess his son had got into and how best to extricate him. Finally, an idea occurred to him. He would have just one look into that envelope, to make certain everything was all right. In a moment, he had secured it from his office safe. Ripping open the folded sheet, Belford's eyes became almost as big as butter plates. He hurried to get 900 West 86th Street, Derrington's town house, on the telephone, and insisted on having Derrington himself at the wire.

"Now then, Derrington," he fairly roared, "this joke has gone far enough. What the devil did you mean by handing me that check for $20,000, when you had written your daughter Alice's name on the paper you left in my safe? Frederick hasn't married Alice; he eloped last night with a doll-faced salesgirl named Anita May Maloney."

For several seconds, all that Belford could hear over the wire was the rattling chuckle of some one who appeared to be either choking or to have heard what he considered a capital jest. Coherent words finally did reach Belford's ears.

"Oh, no, Bel'," came the thin voice of John Thomas Derrington, "Miss Maloney hasn't carried off your son; she has married your young superintendent. I happen to know because she just reminded me of a promise I made her some time ago. Frederick has married Alice; they'll be home a week from Saturday. Goodbye."


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 {|width=100% Rh
 * colspan=4|The Black Cat, November 1916, pg 8.jpg

 * Cover Design||
 * The Skagpole Venus|||||
 * colspan=3|A connoisseur of old masters invokes the aid of Hymen in securing the famous "Skagpole Venus" for his art gallery.
 * /A Bull Market in Fiddles/|||||
 * colspan=3|In which a couple of Bulls break loose in the fiddle market. Prices soar, and Uncle Myer hitches his wagon to a "Strad."
 * /Hazard & O'Chance//: Light Comedy|||||
 * colspan=3|Highway robbery is a legitimate profession as practiced by these two comedians, who pool their capital in one grand plunge on the good horse, Pat McGlynn. But Pat proves to be one of those flivvers that pass in the night.
 * Number One on the Sucker List|||||
 * colspan=3|Two men match wits to see which is on the side of the intellectuals and which is on the sucker list—and all because of a few letters written by a young lady who had not reached the age of discretion.
 * Dematerialization|||||
 * colspan=3|It is a simple matter to dematerialize a body by cremation. In this case, a man locks a good, healthy girl in a bank vault for two hours and tries to send her soul into the infinite with the aid of soft music instead of fire.
 * The Geniuses of the Sun|||||
 * colspan=3|After years in the turmoil of metropolitan journalism, a man goes back to the country paper of his youth in search of a job, a restful atmosphere, and a—girl.
 * Lost—A Star|||||
 * colspan=3|A fall from a second story window is generally more or less painful. Certainly there is rarely any romance in it. But then, the girl in this story wasn't looking for romance, she was trying to avoid it.
 * The Bone of a Camel|||||
 * colspan=3|A good yarn for Amy Lowell and the other verse librists to read. It might be the means of reviving the camel bone school of poets.
 * The Sculpin|||||
 * colspan=3|If a man dies with his boots on, the "obit," men register a few extra sobs on their typewriters. But when a man, just out of the trenches, dies with gloves on, he is likely to be misunderstood—with boots or without them.
 * colspan=4|
 * }
 * colspan=3|It is a simple matter to dematerialize a body by cremation. In this case, a man locks a good, healthy girl in a bank vault for two hours and tries to send her soul into the infinite with the aid of soft music instead of fire.
 * The Geniuses of the Sun|||||
 * colspan=3|After years in the turmoil of metropolitan journalism, a man goes back to the country paper of his youth in search of a job, a restful atmosphere, and a—girl.
 * Lost—A Star|||||
 * colspan=3|A fall from a second story window is generally more or less painful. Certainly there is rarely any romance in it. But then, the girl in this story wasn't looking for romance, she was trying to avoid it.
 * The Bone of a Camel|||||
 * colspan=3|A good yarn for Amy Lowell and the other verse librists to read. It might be the means of reviving the camel bone school of poets.
 * The Sculpin|||||
 * colspan=3|If a man dies with his boots on, the "obit," men register a few extra sobs on their typewriters. But when a man, just out of the trenches, dies with gloves on, he is likely to be misunderstood—with boots or without them.
 * colspan=4|
 * }
 * colspan=3|A good yarn for Amy Lowell and the other verse librists to read. It might be the means of reviving the camel bone school of poets.
 * The Sculpin|||||
 * colspan=3|If a man dies with his boots on, the "obit," men register a few extra sobs on their typewriters. But when a man, just out of the trenches, dies with gloves on, he is likely to be misunderstood—with boots or without them.
 * colspan=4|
 * }
 * colspan=3|If a man dies with his boots on, the "obit," men register a few extra sobs on their typewriters. But when a man, just out of the trenches, dies with gloves on, he is likely to be misunderstood—with boots or without them.
 * colspan=4|
 * }
 * }

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text: The Black Cat (magazine)/Volume 22/Number 2


text: The Black Cat (magazine)/Volume 22/Number 2/The Skagpole Venus


text:
Page:Annotated Edition of the Authorised Daily Prayer Book.djvu/38

 (Cf. Judges xiii. 19, but in the Hebrew Ecclus. הַמַפְלִיא לַעֲשׂוֺת בָּאָרֶץ is immediately followed by הַמְגַדֵּל אָדָם מֵרָחֶם).

All the remaining benedictions on this page, with one exception, are derived from the same Talmudic passage (Berachoth 60b) to which frequent reference has already been made. In the Talmud all these benedictions were said privately and at home while performing various acts on rising and dressing in the early morning. It was only at a later date that these benedictions were included in the Synagogue liturgy, and their significance was idealised. The passage in the Talmud runs: "When one opens one s eyes one should say, Blessed... who openest the eyes of the blind (פּוֹקֵחַ עִוְרִים); when he sits up, he shall say, Blessed...who loosest them that are bound (מַתִּיר אֲסוּרִים); when he dresses, he shall say, Blessed...who dothest the naked (מַלְבִּישׁ עֲרֻמִּים); when he straightens himself to his full height, he shall say, Blessed...who raisest up them that are bowed down (זוֹקֵף כְּפוּפִים); when he steps to the ground, he shall say, Blessed...who spreadest forth the earth above the waters (רוֹקַע הָאָרֶץ עַל־הַמָּֽיִם); when he walks, he shall say, Blessed...who hast made firm the steps of man (הַמֵּכִין מִצְעֲדֵי גָבֶר); when he puts on his shoes (and thus is prepared to go about his daily duties), he shall say, Blessed...who hast supplied my every want (שֶׁעָשָֹה לִּי כָּל־צָרְכִּי); when he ties on his girdle, he shall say, Blessed...who girdest Israel with might (אוֹזֵר יִשְֹרָאֵל בִּגְבוּרָה); when he binds his turban round his head, he shall say, Blessed...who crownest Israel with glory (עוֹטֵר יִשְׂרָאֵל בְּתִפְאָרָה) ; when he enwraps him self in a fringed garment, he shall say, Blessed...who hast commanded us to enwrap ourselves in the fringed garment (P.B. page 14, לְהִתְעַטֵּף בְּצִיצִית) ; when he puts the Tephillin on his arm, he shall say, Blessed...who hast commanded us to lay the Tephillin (P.B. page 16, לְהָנִיחַ תְּפִלִּין) ; when he puts the Tephillin on his head, he shall say, Blessed...who hast given us command concerning the precept of the Tephillin (P.B. page 16, עַל־מִצְוַת תְּפִלִּין) ; when he washes his hands, he shall say, Blessed...who hast given us command


text:
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 concerning the washing of the hands (P.B. page 4, עַל נְטִילַת יָדָים) ; when he washes his face, he shall say, Blessed... who removest sleep from mine eyes and slumber from mine eyelids (הַמַּעֲבִיר שֵׁנָה מֵעֵינָי וּתְנוּמָה מֵעַפְעַפָּי)."

It will be seen that the order of benedictions is not quite identical with that in the P.B., but such variations are frequent in the various rites. One benediction in our P.B. is missing from the Talmud, namely, the last but one on page 6, who givest strength to the weary (הַנּוֹתֵן לַיָּעֵף כֹּחַ), it is, however, found as early as the Maḥzor Vitry p. 57.

"Supplications"
Page 7. And may it be thy will...to make us familiar with [lit. to make us walk in] thy Law (וִיהִי רָצוֹן). This ancient paragraph is derived from the Talmud (Berachoth 60b) with some variations, such as the substitution of the plural ("to make us familiar") for the singular reading of the Talmud ("to make me familiar"). Ancient formulae, written for individual prayer, were often adapted to public worship by obvious changes of this character. The good and the evil inclinations, referred to in this paragraph, represent in the Rabbinic theology the antagonistic impulses to good and evil, the conflict between soul and body, spiritual ideals and material passions, of which every man is conscious. The incessant struggle between them for mastery constitutes a large element in the moral discipline of human nature. The conquest of evil by good is difficult but possible when to man's own endeavour is added the supporting grace of God. The lower impulses, which are not in themselves impure, must not be allowed to degrade humanity, but must be forced into the service of goodness and of God. Subdue our inclination that it may submit itself to thee expresses this profound thought in one of the sublimest phrases of the Jewish Prayer Book. The highest conception of the relation between man and God is given in this idea of self-submission, and, to use another Rabbinic phrase, the Israelite prays that the leaven of the evil


text:
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 inclination may not stir up and sully man s heart so as to impede this submission. The correlative idea, the acceptance of the divine will as man s highest good, is expressed in a noble prayer by Rabbi Eliezer (Berachoth 29 b) : " Do thy will, O God, in heaven above and bestow tranquillity of spirit on those who fear thee below, and what is good in thine own sight do ! Blessed art thou, O Lord, thou who hearest prayer."

nnnp T^l n-n nm r

Scorn (P* 1 !?), i.e. irreverence and a propensity to de graded ideals ; perhaps also the worshipper prays to be delivered from the low esteem of others (cf. Esther i. 18). May it be thy will... to deliver me.. .from arrogant men and from arrogance (pTJ "H!), i.e. from arrogance in others and from the same fault in oneself. The Hebrew for arrogance is literally "boldness of face" (E^S rMlJ). A bad companion .. .a bad neighbour the one is a false friend ("QH), the other an ill-conducted person who dwells (P.IP) near by. Cf. the saying in the Mishnah Aboth, ii, 4 (P.B. p. 189). The adversary (!&&&gt;) that destroy eth, i.e. the intrusion of evil suggestions and corrupting desires. For the significance of the term Satan used here see note on Angelology. A hard judgment, perhaps a case hard to decide when acting as judge ; or it may mean harshness to wards others, just as a hard opponent implies implacability towards oneself. The whole passage is from the Talmud (Berachoth 16b), where we are told that Rabbi Judah the Prince (who compiled the Mishnah circa 200), when he had finished his prayers, habitually added this paragraph, although, the Talmud adds, Rabbi Judah was accompanied by Roman guards who would have protected him personally from the insults of arrogant men. Curiously enough, in the Talmud the form is plural, "to deliver us" while in the P.B. before us it is singular. But in another Talmudic passage (Sabbath 30 b), where the opening words of the same prayer are cited, the singular is used.


text:
Page:The Black Cat November 1916.djvu/34

BY C. MASON

FAIR young thing, with tender blue eyes, entered Woodworth's office and calmly seated herself. A glance at her portfolio impelled him to seek refuge in the cool brick vault of his neighbor across the passage, Barker, who called himself a banker; but the lady barred the way.

"No," he said desperately, without waiting to be interrogated, "I don't want to subscribe for a History of the War, nor Lives of the Candidates, nor Picturesque Anything."

"But, honored sir," replied the mild, simple and rather simpering young person, "I do not ask you to subscribe for anything, unless, indeed, you would honor me by taking a ticket—"

"Ticket nothing!" again interrupted Woodworth. "I've no leisure for amusements. My time is all taken up with my profession—and science."

"Ah, that is what drew me hither!" beamed the beautiful girl. "I perceived by your sign that you were a lawyer, and I have heard that you are a member—a prominent one—of the Psychical Research Society. In one, or both capacities, I think you can do me an inestimable service."

Woodworth, touched at two vulnerable points, unbent.

"You see, kind sir," she continued, "I am a materialized spirit. My manager, Mr. Shockton, who is stopping at the hotel—here is his card—called me forth from the spirit world by mistake for Martha Washington, with whom I was contemporaneous."

Woodworth had noticed the antique style and courtly bearing of his visitor.

"He delayed so long in endeavoring to correct his error," she went on, "that, instead of remaining in the misty, indistinct form in which spirits are preferably presented, I became as thoroughly substantial as when I was before on earth, one hundred and forty-six years ago."

"Upon my word, young lady—or, venerable dame—" the lawyer corrected with halting courtesy, "this is a very extraordinary statement. Do you not know that you render yourself liable to prosecution for obtaining money under false pretences when you attempt to sell tickets on such a tale as that?"

She smiled trustingly. "No, sir, I did not know that. Indeed, I am only beginning to learn the strange things of your wonderful century—but I like them very much. Though my familiarity with the distaff and spindle, the needle and quill pen will no longer afford me a livelihood, I have an ardent longing to learn the sewing


text:
Index talk:Mike (Wodehouse).djvu

Missing images
According to the List of Illustrations, there should be 12 images in this book, but only 3 have been included. The source file appears to be lacking 9 of the illustrations. --EncycloPetey (talk) 02:25, 2 November 2012 (UTC)
 * I've looked but can't find an alternative source file. Beeswaxcandle (talk) 06:29, 2 November 2012 (UTC)
 * So what do we do? This copy is dependent upon a defective file, but the work has been selected as part of validation month.  It can't be completely validated if the book is incomplete. --EncycloPetey (talk) 16:26, 2 November 2012 (UTC)
 * The illustrations with captions are available at multiple locations on the web (e.g. here). Would it be okay to upload the jpegs with captions as a source (e.g. here)? MarkLSteadman (talk) 17:14, 2 November 2012 (UTC)
 * Can they be incorporated into the DjVu file, so that they will also appear in the correct locations in the "Source"? Anyone looking at the Index page would not be able to locate these images otherwise.  If they are not included in the DjVu, we'll have to manually insert them at the appropriate locations within each chapter. --EncycloPetey (talk) 19:07, 2 November 2012 (UTC)
 * Done.--Mpaa (talk) 16:29, 3 November 2012 (UTC)

title: Index talk:Mike (Wodehouse).djvu


text:
Page:The Black Cat November 1916.djvu/35

Rh or the typewriter—and become a New Woman. I am most anxious to resume the life prematurely cut short in 1770, in my eighteenth year, when I died from what was erroneously diagnosed as a quinsy. I have reason to believe that, had I been properly treated for diphtheria with an antitoxin serum, I should have lived to a good old age."

"What is there to prevent you from doing so now?" asked Woodworth, touched and interested immeasurably by his singular client.

"Because my master—for so I must call him—Mr. Shockton, who brought me from the other world, is determined to send me back. I hear that, from mercenary motives, he means to dematerialize me at his very next séance."

Woodworth hurriedly thought of all known legal processes, but neither habeas corpus, ne exeat, nor any other writ with which he was familiar seemed a remedy against the peculiar form of extradition proposed by Shockton.

Putting on his hat, he exclaimed: "You sit right there while I interview this tyrant, Miss?"

"Amy Alright was my name before," she answered sweetly.

Finding the spiritual manager in his improvised office at the hotel, the lawyer addressed him by name, saying: "I warn you to desist from your persecution of my client, Miss Amy Alright. She is perfectly satisfied with 'this mundane sphere,' as the reporters call it, and intends to remain here. I shall take steps to enjoin you from making her the subject of further experiment."

"Take a ticket," was Shockton's cordial response, thrusting out a card. "One dollar, please; 7:30 this evening. We are going to dematerialize the chit this very night, and if it doesn't come off, call me all the liars you like. Next!"

"One moment, Mr. Shockton," and Woodworth severely. "I understand you to say that you intend to dematerialize, which I suppose means to disembody—to cause to disappear—"

"Into thin air—evaporate—vamose!" answered the medium, in a businesslike tone.

"Cause to disappear a person now living? That, my dear sir, is murder!"

"Wrong!" replied Shockton. "Who is this girl? Where does she hail from? She has been dead one hundred and forty-six years. Can't kill a person twice, you know. What good is she, anyhow? She's way behind the times—can't even sell a ticket to her own dematerialization."

"Then you are determined to dematerialize the lady again?" demanded Woodworth, somewhat demoralized.

"Sure; come and see for yourself. Take a ticket, and one for your wife."

"I shall certainly come—with the police. You insist on making this preposterous experiment?"

"Fact. But tell you what I'll do. You may take the young woman—lock her up—do anything you like with her, and I'll bet you a cool hundred I'll dematerialize her all the same."

Woodworth clutched at this proposition—he began to see a way out. The Psychical Research Society was hastily summoned in special session, and Amy Alright was introduced to President Barker and the members.


text:
Page:China- Its State and Prospects.djvu/138

 process. The first business is to procure the stones, and make the paste, which is commonly done in the district of Hwuy-chow, in the province of Keang-nan. The paste is then scoured and worked, and the glaze ashes prepared. These are formed of a sort of fern, with the powder of a blueish-white stone, to which a portion of fine Petuntse is added; forming together a thick paste. The next process is to form the earthern boxes in which the ware is baked, and the moulds for the round ware. The biscuit is then turned on a lathe, and formed into vases and other articles. After this the unburnt shade-dried biscuit is fitted to the mould, and the excrescences cut and pared off. These broken bits are pounded to a milky consistency for the use of the painters. Numbers of lame and blind, old and young, earn a scanty livelihood by pounding these pieces, — their wages being only half-a-crown per month; though some by working two pestles, and continuing half the night, get double wages. The ware is then painted, which work is divided amongst two sets of artists, the one drawing the outline, and the other laying on the colours, "in order to render the workman's hand uniform, and keep his mind undiverted." They glaze by the brush, the dip, or the blow tube. The latter is a recent invention, consisting of a bamboo about eight inches long, having its end covered with a thin gauze, through which the workman blows a certain number of times, according to the size of the ware, or the consistence of the varnish. Till this period, two or three inches of earth are left at the bottom of the vessel as a handle; but now the handle is taken away, and the foot formed. After this, it is but into the furnace and burned for some time, when the process is


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Hughes, Henry Kent


text:
Page:The Black Cat November 1916.djvu/36

32 Her frankness and timidity convinced the most sceptical among them that she, at least, was innocent of collusion with the medium. She appeared terribly to dread the threats of Shockton.

"Oh, gentlemen," she pleaded, "put me under ground; put me in some strong place, where it will be impossible to get at me. I am so tired of being a spirit. Don't let me be dematerialized again!"

Provided with a lunch from the hotel, wrapped in napkins, she was smuggled into Barker's Bank—it was dignified by that name in the village—and locked into its roomy old brick vault, and a committee signed an affidavit to that effect.

Then all the Psychical people attended Shockton's seance. It was very long and very mysterious. For two hours the audience—they could not be called spectators—sat in darkness, listening to soft music and waiting for Amy Alright to appear.

At last there came a gentle tapping. "Ah, ha!" exclaimed Shockton, "she comes! Who goes there?"

"The spirit of Mistress Amy Alright, who died of the quinsy in 1770."

"Are you in the flesh, or in the spirit?"

"A spirit, alas! Oh, woe is me!"

"There you are, gentlemen!" said Shockton, switching on the light. "Now produce your Amy, if you can."

The audience, led by the Psychical Research committee, trooped back to Barker's Bank. Heavens! The man had won his bet—Amy had dematerialized after all.

So had the contents of the bank!

The only material evidences remaining of the guileless girl and her "work were the crumbs of her luncheon, the napkins in which it had been wrapped, and a hotel table knife—snapped short off—which had served as a screwdriver. The big, old-style locks, with their screws, lay on the floor.


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Hughes, Sir Walter Watson


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Hull, Hugh Munro


text: The Black Cat (magazine)/Volume 22/Number 2/Dematerialization


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Hume, Lieut.-Col. Arthur


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Hume, (Alexander) Hamilton


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Hume, Fergus


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Hume, Walter Cunningham


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Humffray, Hon. John Basson


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Hunt, Robert


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Hutchinson, Right Rev. Monsignor John


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Hutton, Captain Frederick Wollaston


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Hyde-Harris, John


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Innes, Hon. Frederick Maitland


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Innes, Hon. Sir Joseph George Long


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Ireland, Hon. Richard Davies


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Irving, Martin Howy


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Ives, Joshua


text:
Page:The Black Cat November 1916.djvu/37

BY OSCAR LEWIS

HE swinging door of the city editor's office creaked half open and Henshaw's tow-haired copy kid stuck his head out into the city room. "Stratton!" he called, and the occupant of the seat by the window dropped the paper he had been pretending to read and shuffled to his feet. His gaze roved about the all but deserted city room; its few occupants were busy and none looked up, which fact caused Stratton to smile faintly. They were good fellows, he reflected—none better—and he was thankful to them for pretending to be unconscious of his humiliation, though their deception fooled no one.

They knew what was coming; knew it as well as Stratton himself. Since that day, a week before, when the stockholders, dissatisfied with their last semi-annual dividend checks, had shifted directors and demanded a cut in expenses—since that day, the one question in the minds of the city room had been, "Who?" And now that question had been answered.

When Henshaw, giving out the assignments ten minutes before, had sent White out on the Hyde Street murder case, those who were of the old guard exchanged knowing glances, for the day's big story—especially if it were of the "violence" type—generally went to Stratton. And, as one by one the reporters got into their overcoats and stamped out on their assignments and still Stratton remained reading his paper at the desk by the window, even the greenest of the cubs realized who was to be let out. Stratton passed into the city editor's office, the swinging door closed behind him, and two minutes later, he stepped out again into the city room.

Henshaw had been very kind, in fact, had come closer to an expression of human emotion than Stratton, after seven years of nightly association, had deemed him capable. But Stratton was the highest paid member of the staff and Henshaw must reduce the payroll, though he could not manage with fewer men. A second-rate man could be hired on half Stratton's salary, and the other half added to the dividend checks of the stockholders. Henshaw had fully explained the situation, and they had risen to their feet and gripped hands.

Stratton straightened up his desk, sweeping the mutilated sheets of yellow copy paper that littered its top to the floor; gathered up a few personal trifles and left.


text:
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34 The elevator boy told him on the way down that the home team had scored two runs in the first, and the man behind the cigar stand in the corridor greeted him perfunctorily as he passed. Then Stratton stepped out into the unnoticing crowds of the street. So much for his seven years on the Sentinel.

At his rooms, he sat down and gazed out of the window and smoked. After an hour, he got up and wrote a letter which he took down to the end of the corridor and dropped down the chute. And for the next six days Stratton spent his time sleeping and smoking by the window or wandering about the city park. Much of this new-found leisure was spent in day dreams that a week before he would have found entirely incomprehensible. At the end of six days came an answer to his letter. He tore it open eagerly.

"My dear Fred," it began. Stratton repeated the phrase, the lines of his face crinkling very slowly to a smile. He read on:

Stratton started the next day. The little shop he found unchanged. The editor greeted him at the door, his gray eyes shining and held him at arm's length and chuckled over him as over a son. Stratton wandered slowly about the shop, reconstructing memories; the row of cases along the wall to the left, where he had struggled to mastery over the compositor's art; the cement topped make-up table where, in the early days, he had pied the form of the department store's "Annual Mid-Summer Sale" advertisement and then fled home, convinced that his connection with journalism was henceforth and forever ended. He took a drink at the tin icewater container in the corner and noticed that a thick glass tumbler had taken the place of the cocoanut shell that used to serve. Stratton regretted this. Before going home that evening with the editor, he set two sticks of legal news for the Tuesday issue, bungling it badly for he found his fingers clumsy.

Stratton fell into the old routine quickly. He renewed old acquaintances about town; he set up want ads whistling as he worked; he run the job press, and went about town rustling "locals" which he wrote up in his own pungent style—tiny three-line character sketches, so genial and good-natured, so humanly humorous as to make even the persons they depicted chuckle delightedly at their own foibles.

Fred Stratton settled back into his old niche, which he found very satisfying and restful, and it was some time before he would admit to himself that he was not quite happy. Yet this was true. One by one, during the days since he had returned, he had gathered up the broken threads of his old life; but there was one that eluded him. The thought worried him and he puzzled over it constantly, and, when finally the solution came to him, he laughed outright. That


text:
Page:The Black Cat November 1916.djvu/39

Rh night, as he sat on the steps of the editor's cottage, he found himself asking about Helen Dimmick.

"In the old days, when the three of us were here together," he said, "Helen Dimmick, you remember, kept the books and wrote the society column Saturdays, and looked after the want ads and subscriptions. How we three did work! And when a show or a circus came to town Helen and I would go and enjoy it the more because we belonged to the Press and had complimentary tickets!"

The girl, Stratton learned had left the Sun a year after he himself, and, like him, had gone East. The old man led him inside and showed him a copy of a small juvenile paper with Helen Dimmick's name as associate editor.

"How proud I have been of you two," said the old editor, placing a hand upon Stratton's shoulder,—"the geniuses who started on the Sun!"

This news of his old colleague sent Stratton's thoughts roving often into the past. But the joy of recreating the old atmosphere and of experiencing anew the zest and restless eagerness of earlier days was too keen for him to be other than contented.

And then one day, nearly a month after his return, Fred Stratton felt once more the thrill of the big news story and, in an instant, became the metropolitan reporter, Stratton of the Sentinel.

He had wandered early one afternoon to the depot, where he proposed covering the up express in the interests of the "Local Comings and Goings" column, and had been standing at the ticket window talking idly with the agent when the telegraph instrument began chattering sharply its "urgent—urgent—urgent" signal. The agent opened his key and shot back a reply as he drew a yellow pad toward him.

Stratton, sensing anxiety in the other's actions, leaned over his shoulder and watched the twisting pencil.

The instrument kept up its sharp, nervous clatter, repeating the message while the agent straightened up slowly and sprang toward the door.

Stratton grasped his arm as he emerged. "I'll fetch doctors," he said, "and nurses and supplies—"

"Yes—yes," replied the other, not stopping. "And hurry." He disappeared in the direction of the roundhouse.

Stratton crossed the street to the office of the telegraph and telephone company. He gave the news to central with orders to locate every doctor within call. While waiting, he stepped across to the telegraph counter and scrawled a message. It was a twenty-word "flash" of the wreck addressed to the Sentinel and signed "Stratton." The operator sent it at once. Then, like a good reporter, he learned the location of the telegraph office nearest the wreck. The girl at the switchboard called him and for the next five minutes Stratton repeated his news to doctors and nurses, and to stores where he ordered blankets and such other things as occurred to him as likely to be of use. And always he


text:
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36 added the incisive order to hurry—hurry!

The relief train—switch engine, a flat car and two day coaches—started fifteen minutes after the message had been received and Stratton rode with the others in the forward coach. It was a quiet, repressed group that had gathered there; the four doctors, examining and rearranging the contents of their kits, one even removing his coat and cuffs in ominous preparation; the amateur nurses nervously sorting stacks of towels and rolls of cotton upon the red plush seats; the group of helpers, recruited from the loungers about the depot, standing silently in the aisle or on the swaying front platform and gazing down the straight track ahead.

A high, motionless column of white smoke and steam first warned the watchers that their race was approaching its end. The engine loosed a prolonged blast, rumbled across Trinity bridge and slowed down as they neared the curve that brought the wreck into view.

Two cars remained on the track, a third slanted down the steep embankment and the remaining four lay in an irregular "W" in the muddy lagoon at the riverside. At its head was the engine, drivers in the air, a peaceful film of smoke rising from its riven vitals.

A group of those who had escaped, occupants of the rear coaches for the most part, were standing in groups on the tracks and gazing down upon the half-submerged coaches below. Several who were not seriously injured were seated along the fence opposite, where they were subjected to the gaze of the curious. A dozen men walked back and forth along the sprawled coaches below, carrying sticks with which they carefully smashed the cracked glass from the sashes of the windows. Save for the steaming engine of the relief train, this clash of glass was the only definable sound that the rescuers could hear.

The arrival of the relief train speedily brought a return of decision to the survivors; reality, which for half an hour had been in eclipse, pushed again to the fore and the work of rescue began to move quickly. Ropes were obtained; jammed doors were forced or men lowered through broken windows. Another relief train came hurrying into sight from down the valley, and directly behind, the business-like wrecker from division headquarters. Authoritative shouts filled the air; the axes of the wrecking crew crashed through paneling and portions of broken seats were shoved through windows and tossed aside. Stretchers appeared; the line by the fence grew longer.

Stratton busied himself here. He obtained the names and addresses of the injured and the extent of their injuries; he listened to the conflicting stories of the survivors and culled the truth from the distorted; he aided in searching the pockets for means of identifying the dead. The work was not new to him; it was the "violence story" atmosphere that he had so lately escaped. He moved about quickly, his voice quick, nervously tense, his face an absorbed mask.

He reached the end of the line and sat down upon an overturned plush


text: China: Its State and Prospects/Chapter 5


text:
Page:China- Its State and Prospects.djvu/143

Rh barbarian lias first to be taught to think, before he can ponder religious truth; but, civilized men are, perhaps, too subtle and metaphysical in their speculations, and we find more difficulty in restraining, than in exciting their imaginative faculties. In the savage state, the relations of life are scarcely recognized, friendly and family feelings are almost unknown, and subordination and fidelity are exceedingly rare. But in such a country as China, where marriage has been instituted for upwards of three thousand years, and filial respect cherished from the first settlement of their monarchy; where the reciprocal duties of sovereigns and subjects, friends and neighbours, have been known, and, in some measure, acted upon, for milleniumsmillenniums [sic] — a sort of foundation is laid for benevolent and moralizing exertions, — and affords manifest advantages to the propagator of Christianity. In going amongst such a people, he finds a set of commonly-acknowledged axioms, which, though in some instances, erroneous and overstrained, are yet of sufficient stability to serve him for a stepping stone, in order to pass on to greater and more important topics. It is possible, in such cases, by reasoning on principles which the heathen readily acknowledge, to convince them, by Divine assistance, of their deficiencies; and thus to point out the necessity of a mediator to those who have evidently offended against the dictates of natural religion. This is a vantage ground which civilized nations present, and of which the missionary ought gladly to avail himself.


text: Category:Eurypterida

title: Category:Eurypterida


text: Category:Arthropods

title: Category:Arthropods


text: Category:Gastropods

title: Category:Gastropods


text: Category:Molluscs

title: Category:Molluscs


text: Category:Malacology

title: Category:Malacology


text: The World's Famous Orations/Volume 1/On the Crown


text: Land Mollusca of North America (north of Mexico)/Preface (Volume I)


text:
Land Mollusca of North America (north of Mexico)/Title Page (Volume I)

THE ACADEMY OF NATURAL SCIENCES OF PHILADELPHIA FOUNDED 1812 MONOGRAPHS Number 3

-- LAND MOLLUSCA OF NORTH AMERICA (NORTH OF MEXICO)

By HENRY A. PILSBRY Curator of Mollusks, Academy of Natural Sciences of Philadelphia

Printed by the George W. Carpenter Fund for the Encouragement of Original Scientific Research

PHILADELPHIA 1939

LIBRARY SCRIPPS INSTITUTION OF OCEANOGRAPHY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LA JOLLA. CALIFORNIA Issued December 6, 1939 Printed in the United States of America EICKERSHAM PRINTING COMPANY Lancaster. Pennsylvania


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Rh seat and rewrote his list of names very plainly, labeling it, "Partial list of dead and injured." He then wrote a brief account of the wreck, skeletonizing it to save time in transmission; merely listing the essentials for the rewrite man in the office, and confining it to a single sheet of copy paper. The relief train upon which he had come was about to return, carrying the first of the dead and injured. Stratton gave his story into the keeping of one of the trainmen, who promised to get it on the wire for him.

He went back to the line by the fence. Several new figures had been added to the end and he obtained the names of these. The last one in the row was a little girl. She was conscious, so he leaned down and asked her name. The child stared back at him in a wide-eyed, dazed fashion; and Stratton, obtaining no answer, wrote on his list, "Unidentified girl, about seven, slightly injured—shock." As he wrote, he became conscious that someone had kneeled down opposite. Very tenderly this newcomer raised the frightened girl in her arms and drew a caressing hand over her forehead. "Now tell me your name," she said, a note of maternal gentleness in her tone, and the child answered immediately.

"Why," said the girl, softly, "her mother is down at the other end of the line. How glad they both will be!" And the tense, strained lines of her face relaxed in a quick smile at Stratton.

He had looked up at the first sound of her voice, and now, for an instant, their eyes held each other's. A moment passed before either spoke, and then, unconscious of their surroundings, their hands went out in an instinctive, friendly grasp. Tongues were loosed and words came tumbling from their lips.

"Helen Dimmick—"

"The great Stratton!" exclaimed she, and then the girl between them stirred; this brought both back to the present, repentant at their moment of self-interest. Helen Dimmick, a quick look of sympathy in her face, gathered the child up and carried it to its mother.

"I'll look for you on the train," promised Stratton, returning to his work.

During the greater part of the journey back to town the girl was busy at her volunteer nursing and Stratton gathered up the loose ends of his story. Then he sought her out and they sat together in a deserted rear seat. In a few brief words he explained to her the story of his return to the Sun. Helen Dimmick listened eagerly.

"Why—why I, myself," she began haltingly, and then paused. "It's so surprising; I can hardly explain—"

"There's no need," said Stratton, slowly. "I can do it as well; explain how you one day found leisure to look along the road ahead, and how you fell to wondering if such things as quiet and restfulness really existed anywhere, or if they were only soft-sounding names. And, how, after a time, the days on the Sun rose before your eyes, and you had your answer, and—"

"And the next morning I bought my ticket, laughing at my own folly,


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38 neglecting to even write—"

"The place is open, and waiting," said Stratton. "And—and the famous Animal Show comes on the Seventeenth; the advance man was in yesterday and left the tickets!"

Arriving in town Stratton wired the remaining details of his story, and together they wandered around to the little shop where the old editor welcomed the girl back gladly, and Stratton had her sit at the desk by the window and tap the red curve of her lower lip with the tip of her pencil as she gazed across upon the courthouse square, for this, he declared, had been her habit. For a long time the three talked of the old times that had come again. "And some day," said the old editor, "I shall cease to edit the Sun, and I like to think that you two will be here in my place, and that the work will go on."

Next morning there came to Stratton a long telegram from the Sentinel. The accident of his having been near the scene of the wreck had enabled that paper to score a very clean beat over its rivals, and the message, in consequence, was enthusiastic and one of congratulation. "We haven't succeeded in finding anyone who handles the violence stories as well as you," the message concluded. "Your old position is open if you care to return."

Stratton's pulse quickened at this admission of ability. He sat very still, puzzling silently. The lagging midday breeze floated in at the open windows and rustled the slip in his hand. In the rear of the shop the old editor leaned over a table, spectacles well down on his nose, his lips moving as he corrected a strip of proof.

Presently, Stratton tossed the telegram to the girl. "Your old position," she stated, "they've offered it back. That's fine," striving to put enthusiasm into her voice. "I'm glad, for your sake. Let me be the first to congratulate you." And she held out her hand with a vague smile. Stratton rose to his feet and picked up the telegram, tearing it slowly into a dozen strips. Both smiled faintly as they watched the pieces flutter down into the waste basket.

"Yes," said Stratton, taking the proffered hand, "you shall be the first to congratulate me."


text: The Black Cat (magazine)/Volume 22/Number 2/The Geniuses of the Sun


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 {| style="margin: auto; border:2px solid black;"

The Black Cat Club

A Prize of $25 will be awarded to the author of the story which is selected as Best by the largest number of club members.

Prizes of $5.00 each will be awarded to the five members submitting the Best lists and reasons.

The First Contest comprises the stories in this issue (November) and all lists must be received at the office of The Black Cat, Salem, Mass., before December 1st. Prizes will be awarded December 5th, and result of the contest will be published in the February Black Cat issued January 25th. Address all communications to

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BY G. B. GRANT

HE sign on the door read, The. Underneath in smaller letters were the words, Divorce Cases A Specialty. The building was dingy and the corridors showed strong evidences of neglect.

The man in the hall plainly did not belong. From the "tissue weight fall soft" to the neatly shod feet, he was immaculate. The gray suit with the gardenia in the buttonhole, seemed to recoil in disgust from the dry, musty odor that pervaded the place; the irreproachable linen of his attire looked whiter for its surroundings. His nostrils twitching disdainfully and the clean-cut patrician face with its thin, cruel lips, showed the distaste he felt for the work before him. He reluctantly opened the door and went in.

The office bore out the promise implied by the rest of the building. It was lighted by two dingy windows, through which the sun was trying in vain to shine. A typewriter desk, minus the typewriter, occupied the room. Three or four chairs, timeworn and dilapidated, stood along the wall, and a calendar bearing a date of two years previous hung between the windows. A door at the back of the room bore the inscription, Mr. Kimbarton, Private, and from behind this issued raucous snores with steady monotony.

The visitor rapped smartly on the desk with his cane, waited a moment, rapped again, and then a third time.

The snores ceased, the door opened, and from within came a short, pudgy figure dressed in a soiled and wrinkled suit of blue serge. He stood in the doorway for a moment, sleepily rubbing his eyes, his pasty face moist with perspiration.

"Whadya want?" he growled surlily.

"Mr. Kimbarton, I take it?" remarked the visitor.

"You take it right then, an' I don't need no books, an' no insurance, an' you gotta fat lotta nerve a-comin' into a busy man's office an' poundin' on his furniture with a stick. Whadya want anyway?"

"I thought," said the stranger, picking his stick up from the desk where he had laid it, "that this was a detective agency. I see that I was mistaken. It's a school for bad manners; and, as I don't feel that I need any lessons in that line, I will bid you good-day."

He started for the door, but the other forestalled him.


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26 "I beg your pardon, sir," he said meekly, "but I was up all night on a case and my temper is a bit short today. Anything I can do for you in the line of business I assure you I'll be very glad to handle."

He brought two chairs from near the wall and placed them by the table.

"Sit down, sir," Kimbarton urged; "anything you may give us to handle will receive the most excellent of attention." His eyes searched the visitor's face anxiously now.

The man in gray stood by the door, twirling his stick, mulling the situation over and trying to reach some decision. Then, with a smile of contempt at his own weakness, he walked to the table and seated himself. "Kimbarton," he said slowly, "I'm going to lay my case before you and 1 want to tell it in my own way without interruptions, mind, without any interruptions. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," said the detective, "I gotcha."

"Right! First then, my name is Van Der Cynck and I am the private secretary of Mrs. Willis Stairing, wife of the Nevada smelter magnate. Remember, no interruptions," as the detective moistened his lips with his tongue. "Jerry Longley recommended you to me. He said you were a 'damned crook' and would do anything in the world for money." He paused, but the detective remained silent and he went on again. "That's why I gave you another chance. Crooks are common. I know twenty in my own set that are fully as crooked as you, but Longley says that you have brains and can use them. That's what I'm looking for,—crooked brains.

"Three years ago I met Ethel Clagdon at a house-party at Saranac. It was the first time I had seen her for about ten years, and she had changed from a long-legged, freckle-faced kid into a magnificent looking woman. I did not know her at first, but she recognized me at once and greeted me most cordially with outstretched hands."

Van Der Cynck raised his hand warningly to Kimbarton, who had straightened up in his chair and was gaping at him, stupid with amazement.

"'Ethel Clagdon,' she replied to my salutation. 'Wyndham was my uncle's name, Billy; I had no right to it. Oh, that glorious summer! I shall never forget it. And you—you haven't changed a bit. Come over and sit down, Billy.' She led me to a chair away from the rest of the crowd and we began to talk over old times.

"'It was always money, money, money,' she said. 'Wherever I went, even when a child, people forgot to look at me. The Clagdon millions blinded them. They didn't care whether I was an ugly duckling or a bird of paradise; whether I was an angel or an imp; it was all one to them. I reflected money, and to stand in the glow of that reflection was all they craved. Billy, I was so sick of it. Never an honest opinion; never a kindly impulse. They were drunk with the thought of so much gold, and I was fawned on and petted until—well, I couldn't stand it, and so summers I would go to visit Uncle Tim and I told every one my name was Wyndham. The summer I met you was the first of six, and the


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Hone exhibitions during the succeeding years he contributed various portraits, miniatures, and enamels, including ‘Signora Zamperini as Cecchina’ (engraved in mezzotint by J. Finlayson), ‘Diogenes in Search of an Honest Man,’ and the ‘Rev. George Whitefield,’ a well-known portrait frequently engraved. On the fresh division occurring among the artists, Hone was one of the seceders and a foundation member of the Royal Academy. In 1769 he exhibited several portraits in different styles at the exhibition of the Academy, including a portrait of his son Camillus as ‘A Piping Boy’ (engraved in mezzotint by Captain Baillie). In 1770 Hone sent for exhibition a picture of Captain Grose and Theophilus Forrest masquerading as two friars, but the treatment was considered too irreverent, and had to be altered before the picture was allowed to be exhibited. Hone engraved the picture in mezzotint in its original state. In 1771 he exhibited a portrait of his son Camillus as ‘David when a Shepherd,’ and in 1775 another portrait of his son as ‘The Spartan Boy’ (engraved in mezzotint by W. Humphreys [q. v.]). In the latter year Hone sent a picture called ‘The Conjuror’ to the Academy, which was an obvious attack on Sir Joshua Reynolds, with whom Hone unsuccessfully endeavoured to compete for public favour. It was further discovered that the picture contained a figure which might be supposed to be an indecent caricature of Angelica Kauffmann. On this ground the picture was removed from the walls of the exhibition. Hone indignantly, though apparently unavailingly, repudiated any idea of insult to the lady artist, and painted out the objectionable figures. To re-establish his character he opened in St. Martin's Lane an exhibition of sixty-six of his own pictures, including ‘The Conjuror,’ with a catalogue, gratis, containing his apology and defence. Hone continued to exhibit at the Royal Academy till his death, which took place at 44 Rathbone Place on 14 Aug. 1784. He was buried at Hendon, where five of his children had previously been interred. By his wife, Mary Earl, of York, whom he married on 9 Oct. 1742, he left two sons, Horace and John Camillus (noticed below), and two daughters, Mrs. Metcalfe and Mrs. Rigg.

Hone's portraits, though not wholly excellent in colour or execution, have some merit. One of the best was his own portrait, perhaps the one now in the National Portrait Gallery. Another portrait is in the collection of the Royal Academy, and one was engraved in mezzotint by himself. He also painted his own portrait in enamel at the age of thirty-one. Among other noteworthy portraits were those of Sir John Fielding (engraved in mezzotint by J. M'Ardell), Mrs. Pilkington (engraved in mezzotint by R. Purcell), and John Wesley. Hone had a large collection of prints and other works of art, which was dispersed by auction in February 1785. He also etched a few plates. Some extracts from his diary for 1752 and 1753 are given in ‘The Antiquary,’ June 1884. A pencil drawing on vellum by Hone of a lady's portrait, and two small sketches of his own portrait, are in the print-room at the British Museum.

(1756–1825), miniature-painter, son of Nathaniel Hone, learnt miniature-painting in water-colour and in enamel from his father. He exhibited miniatures at the Royal Academy from 1772 till 1782, when he removed from his father's house to Dublin. In 1795 he was appointed miniature-painter to the Prince of Wales, and in 1799 was elected an associate of the Royal Academy. Hone resided in Dorset Street, Dublin, and it was at his house that Captain F. Grose [q. v.] died on 12 May 1791. On the passing of the Act of Union in 1800, Hone found that most of his fashionable sitters removed to London. He therefore returned thither, and settled in Dover Street, where he continued to have a large practice. He died on 24 May 1825, in his seventy-sixth year, and was buried in St. George's burial-ground, Oxford (now Bayswater) Road. He left one daughter, who died unmarried. His miniatures are justly esteemed, and many of them have been engraved.

(d. 1837), another son of Nathaniel Hone, was also brought up by his father as a miniature-painter, and exhibited miniatures at the Free Society of Artists and the Royal Academy from 1775 to 1780. About the latter year he went to the East Indies, and practised there for some years. On his return he obtained a situation in the stamp office at Dublin, and resided in that city until his death, at a very advanced age, in 1837. He married his first cousin, a daughter of his father's brother.

 HONE, WILLIAM (1780–1842), writer and bookseller, eldest son of William Hone (1755–1831) and Frances Maria Stawell, his wife, was born at Bath 3 June 1780 (see Early Life and Conversion of W. Hone, 1841, p. 27). The elder Hone's religious views were severe, and the son was taught reading


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 from the bible alone. When ten years of age young Hone was sent to London to an attorney's office, and was influenced by the democratic principles of the London Corresponding Society. His father removed him in consequence to the office of another attorney at Chatham. Here he remained two years and a half, and returned to London as clerk to a Mr. Egerton in Gray's Inn. He left the law, and, having married in July 1800, began business as a print and book seller in Lambeth Walk. Afterwards he removed to St. Martin's Churchyard, where he suffered losses from fire.

At the time of the invasion alarm he was a member of the Prince of Wales's volunteer corps. In 1806 he published Shaw's ‘Gardener,’ and with his friend John Bone established an institution, styled ‘Tranquillity,’ in Albion Street, Blackfriars Bridge, combining the features of a savings bank, insurance office, and registry office. Sir William Stirling and other persons of substance acted as trustees, but, like Hone's other philanthropic and commercial schemes, the bank soon failed. A partnership with Bone as a bookselling firm was also unsuccessful. Hone became bankrupt, but again started business in May's Buildings, St. Martin's Lane, and High Street, Bloomsbury, where he compiled the index to an edition of Berners's ‘Froissart.’ On the retirement of John Walker, he was chosen by the booksellers in 1811 as trade auctioneer, and had a counting-house in Ivy Lane. He still paid more attention to public than to personal affairs—lunatic asylums now chiefly occupied him—and he failed a second time. With a family of seven children he lived in humble lodgings in the Old Bailey, and supported them by stray contributions to the ‘Critical Review’ and the ‘British Lady's Magazine.’ He took a small shop at 55 Fleet Street, and was twice robbed. In 1815 he published the ‘Traveller’ newspaper, wherein he defended Elizabeth Fenning [q. v.] He was a witness at inquests held on two persons shot during the Corn Bill riots on 7 March before the house of Mr. Robinson, in Old Burlington Street, and published reports of both inquests.

On 1 Feb. 1817 he commenced the ‘Reformer's Register,’ a weekly periodical, which the cares of ‘a little business and a large family’ prevented him from carrying beyond 25 Oct. In the same year he began to write and publish small satirical pieces directed against the government. Among them were ‘The late John Wilkes's Catechism,’ ‘The Sinecurist's Creed,’ and ‘The Political Litany,’ with cuts by Cruikshank, and parodying the litany, Athanasian creed, and the church catechism. For these he was prosecuted by the attorney-general, was brought to trial (17–19 Dec.) on three separate charges, and acquitted on them all. On the trials on the second and third charges Ellenborough presided. ‘The popular opinion was that Lord Ellenborough was killed by Hone's trial, and he certainly never held up his head in public after’ (, Lives of the Chief Justices, iii. 225). The courage, learning, and mental vigour displayed by Hone in his three speeches in his own defence excited much public sympathy for him. A public meeting was held at the London Tavern 29 Dec. for the promotion of a subscription (see Trial by Jury and Liberty of the Press, 1818), and ultimately a sum of over 3,000l. was collected. Hone was thus able to move from the Old Bailey to a large shop at 45 Ludgate Hill.

Cruikshank etched several caricatures on the result of the trial, as well as a series of reduced copies of some engravings by Gillray, which Hone intended to publish in a work justifying his parodies. The connection between Hone and Cruikshank began in 1815, and for the next twenty-seven years the two remained firm friends. Cruikshank considered that the ‘great event of his artistic life’ was the Bank Restriction Note, 1820, designed by him, but possibly suggested by Hone. In 1819 Hone wrote his well-known ‘Political House that Jack Built,’ which soon ran through fifty-four editions. Numerous imitations were published, among them ‘The Dorchester Guide, or a House that Jack Built,’ the ‘Royalist's House,’ the ‘Financial House,’ and many others. The extraordinary popularity of the ‘Political House’ was largely owing to the forcible woodcuts of Cruikshank, who adorned in the same style Hone's other squibs on the regent and his domestic troubles. ‘A Slap at Slop’ (1820) was a burlesque on the ‘New Times’ newspaper, ridiculing Dr. Stoddart and the Constitutional Association. Hone was attacked in some verses in his own style, entitled ‘Slop's Shave at a Broken Hone.’ He issued a ‘Catalogue of Ancient and Modern Books’ on sale at Ludgate Hill, including trials, engraved portraits, and a few oil-paintings. He was the publisher of cheap popular reprints at 6d., known as ‘Hone's editions.’ On the occasion of the illuminations, 11 to 15 Nov. 1820, ‘to celebrate the victory obtained by the press for the liberties of the people, which had been assailed in the person of the queen,’ Cruikshank painted for Hone's shop-front a transparency, engraved in the ‘Political Showman.’ Hone an-


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 nounced that he was about to publish a ‘History of Parody’ in eight monthly parts, with engravings. The book never appeared, although advertised from time to time from 1820 to 1824. His ‘Apocryphal New Testament’ (1820) was very severely criticised in the ‘Quarterly Review,’ October 1821.

Hone gradually withdrew from politics. In 1823 he brought out ‘Ancient Mysteries,’ an interesting volume compiled from the historical materials collected for his defence during the three trials. In 1824 he wrote a pamphlet, ‘Aspersions Answered,’ partly with reference to the notice in the ‘Quarterly Review,’ and partly refuting a statement which had been made that Hone's brother, who was a barrister, had suffered from his own evil reputation. The interesting weekly miscellany with which Hone's name is most favourably connected, the ‘Every Day Book,’ was commenced in May 1826. The sale was small, however, and he was arrested for debt and consigned to the King's Bench. Here he finished the ‘Every Day Book,’ followed by the ‘Table Book’ (1827–8), and by the ‘Year Book’ (1839). For the last work Tegg gave him 500l.

In 1827 Hone collected a few complete sets of his controversial pamphlets, and issued them as ‘Facetiæ and Miscellanies, with one hundred and twenty engravings drawn by G. Cruikshank,’ ‘a volume now of considerable rarity, and which I regard as perhaps the most interesting and permanently valuable in the whole cycle of Cruikshankiana’ (, G. Cruikshank, 1879, p. 18). A vignette on the title-page represents the artist and publisher-author on opposite sides of a writing-table. The motto is ‘We twa hae paidlt.’ In 1830 Hone edited Strutt's ‘Sports and Pastimes,’ and during the struggle for reform two years later produced a couple of squibs in his old manner. His friends helped him to take the Grasshopper Coffee-house in Gracechurch Street. The venture was not successful. He contributed to the early numbers of the ‘Penny Magazine.’ He afterwards publicly joined a religious community, and thenceforward became very devout (Some Account of the Conversion of the late W. Hone, 1833, sm. 8vo). At the suggestion of the Rev. T. Binney, an independent minister, he frequently preached at the Weigh House Chapel, Eastcheap. In 1837, while sub-editing the ‘Patriot,’ he had an attack of paralysis. He died at Tottenham, 6 Nov. 1842, in his sixty-third year. Cruikshank and Dickens attended the funeral (, Life of Dickens, ii. 11–13, see also iii. 520–1).

Hone's library and collections were sold by Henry Southgate & Co. on 25 Feb. 1843 (Notes and Queries, 6th ser. ii. 31). Hone's ‘Scrap Book,’ a supplementary volume to the other ‘Books,’ was advertised about 1865, but is still unpublished (ib. 6th ser. i. 354). Hone had twelve children, nine of whom, together with his widow, survived him. The ‘Quarterly Review’ naturally styled Hone ‘a wretch as contemptible as he is wicked,’ and ‘a poor illiterate creature.’ Although of small literary value, his political satires enjoyed a popularity far beyond any others of the kind in their day. His antiquarian volumes are meritorious compilations, and his ‘Every Day,’ ‘Table,’ and ‘Year Books,’ in which he was assisted by many contributors, were warmly commended by Scott, John Wilson, Horace Smith, and by Southey, who said, ‘I have not seen any miscellaneous books that are so well worth having.’ Lamb's verses in the ‘London Magazine’ commencing ‘I like you and your book, ingenuous Hone,’ are well known; the ‘Every Day Book’ was dedicated to Lamb, with a recognition of his and ‘Miss Lamb's sympathy and kindness.’ Hone was a thoroughly honest and conscientious man, and deserves to be remembered for his sacrifices on behalf of the freedom of the press and cheap literature. There is a portrait of him in stipple by Rogers from a drawing by Cruikshank. Towards the end of his life (1833) he is said to have been ‘rather corpulent, dressed very plainly; and his lofty forehead, keen eye, grey and scanty locks, and very expressive countenance, commanded respect’ (Notes and Queries, 6th ser. i. 92).

There is no satisfactory bibliography of Hone's numerous pamphlets and squibs. Many of those usually said to have been written were only published by him. The following list is believed to comprehend the most important: 1. ‘The Rules and Regulations of an Institution called Tranquillity, commenced as an Economical Bank,’ London, 1807, 8vo. 2. ‘The King's Statue at Guildhall,’ 1815 (broadside). 3. ‘Report of the Coroner's Inquest on Jane Watson,’ 1815, 8vo. 4. ‘Report of the Evidence and Proceedings before the Coroner's Inquest on Edward Vyse,’ 1815, 8vo. 5. ‘The Case of Elizabeth Fenning,’ 1815, 8vo. 6. ‘The Maid and the Magpie,’ 1815, 8vo. 7. ‘Appearance of an Apparition to James Sympson of Huddersfield,’ 1816 (political broadside). 8. ‘View of the Regent's Bomb now uncovered in St. James's Park,’ 1816 (broadside). 9. ‘Authentic Account of the Royal Marriage, containing Memoirs of Prince Leopold and Princess Charlotte,’ 1816, 8vo.


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 10. ‘Interesting History of the Memorable Blood Conspiracy in 1756,’ 1816, 8vo. 11. ‘Four Trials at Kingston, April 5, 1816,’ 1816, 8vo. 12. ‘Trial of Lord Cochrane at Guildford, Aug. 17,’ 1816, 8vo (a list of the trials published by Hone is given in Manual, Bohn, ii. 1104). 13. ‘Christian Slavery at Algiers,’ 1816, 8vo. 14. ‘Account of the Riots in London, Dec. 2, 1816,’ 1816, 3 pts. 8vo. 15. ‘The Reformist's Register and Weekly Commentary, Feb. 1 to Oct. 25, 1817,’ 8vo. 16. ‘The whole of the Burial Procession and Obsequies [of the Princess Charlotte],’ 1817, 8vo. 17. ‘Official Account of the Noble Lord's [Lord Castlereagh's] Bite,’ 1817, 8vo. 18. ‘Another Ministerial Defeat,’ 1817, 8vo (the trial of the Dog). 19. ‘Bartholomew Fair,’ 1817, 8vo. 20. ‘Bags Nodle's Feast, or the Partition and Re-union of Turkey,’ 1817, fol. (ballad on the alleged meanness of Lord and Lady Eldon). 21. ‘The Bullet Te Deum, with the Canticle of the Stone,’ 1817, 8vo. 22. ‘The late John Wilkes's Catechism of a Ministerial Member,’ 1817, 8vo. 23. ‘The Sinecurist's Creed or Belief, as the same can or may be Sung or Said,’ 1817, 8vo. 24. ‘The Political Litany diligently Revised, to be Said or Sung until the appointed Change comes,’ 1817, 8vo (Nos. 22, 23, and 24 are the parodies for which Hone was tried). 25. ‘First Trial of W. Hone,’ 1817, 8vo; ‘Second Trial,’ 1817, 8vo; ‘Third Trial,’ 1817, 8vo (many editions of each trial were published; ‘The Three Trials,’ 1818; also, ‘with Introduction and Notes by W. Tegg,’ 1876, 8vo). 26. ‘Trial by Jury,’ 1818, 8vo. 27. ‘The Political House that Jack Built,’ 1819, 8vo (fifty-four editions). 28. ‘Sermons to Asses, to Doctors of Divinity, &c., by Rev. James Murray, with a Sketch of his Life,’ 1819, 8vo. 29. ‘The Englishman's Mentor,’ 1819, 8vo (a Paris guide). 30. ‘Don Juan, Canto the Third,’ 1819, sm. 8vo (imitation of Byron). 31. ‘Sixty Curious Narratives and Anecdotes,’ 1819, sm. 8vo (reprinted in Boston, U.S., 1825). 32. ‘The Man in the Moon,’ 1820, 8vo (twenty editions). 33. ‘The Queen's Matrimonial Ladder, a National Toy, with fourteen Step Scenes and Illustrations in Verse,’ 1820, 8vo (the pamphlet and ladder-toy were issued together at 1s. the two; the ladder is usually wanting). 34. ‘The Midnight Intruder, or Old Nick at Carlton House,’ 1820, 3 pts. 8vo. 35. ‘In Parliament: Dropt Clauses of the Bill against the Queen,’ 1820, 8vo. 36. ‘Non mi ricordo,’ 1820, 8vo (thirty editions). 37. ‘The Form of Prayer, with Thanksgiving to Almighty God, to be used Daily by all devout People throughout the Realm for the Happy Deliverance of Queen Caroline from the late most traitorous Conspiracy,’ 1820, 8vo (five editions). 38. ‘Buonapartephobia: the Origin of Dr. Slop's Name,’ 1820, 8vo (ten editions). 39. ‘Plenipo and the Devil,’ 1820, 8vo. 40. ‘The Apocryphal New Testament, being all the Gospels, Epistles, and other Pieces now extant attributed in the first four centuries to Jesus Christ, His Apostles, and their Companions, and not included in the New Testament by its Compilers, translated from the Original Tongues, and now first collected into One Volume,’ 1820, 8vo (several editions). 41. ‘The Bank-restriction Barometer’ [1820] (the original edition was printed as a large open half-sheet to serve as an envelope for Cruikshank's ‘Bank Note not to be Imitated,’ printed on thin bank-paper). 42. ‘The Political Showman at Home,’ 1821, 8vo (twenty-three editions). 43. ‘The Right Divine of Kings to Govern Wrong,’ 1821, 8vo. 44. ‘Trial of the King v. John Hunt, Feb. 21,’ 1821, 8vo. 45. ‘The Right assumed by the Judges to Fine a Defendant,’ 1821, 8vo (case of King v. Davison). 46. ‘To the King,’ 1821, 8vo (a letter). 47. ‘The Spirit of Despotism, by Dr. Vicesimus Knox, 1795,’ reprinted 1821, 8vo. 48. ‘Imaginary Interview between W. Hone and a Lady,’ 1822, 8vo. 49. ‘Most Humourous Description of the Mill between Gammon and Dandy the Black,’ 1822 (broadside on the fight between Bill Hall and Sampson, a negro, 23 July). 50. ‘The Miraculous Host Tortured by the Jew,’ 1822, 8vo (an incident in 1290). 51. ‘A Slap at Slop and the Bridge Street Gang,’ 1822, 8vo. 52. ‘Ancient Mysteries Described, especially the English Miracle Plays,’ 1823, 8vo. 53. ‘Aspersions Answered: an Explanatory Statement to the Public at large and every Reader of the “Quarterly Review,”’ 1824, 8vo (five editions). 54. ‘Another Article for the “Quarterly Review,”’ 1824, 8vo (five editions; No. 53 was noticed in the ‘Quarterly Review,’ August 1824, this is a reply). 55. ‘Der Freischütz Travestie,’ 1824, 8vo. 56. ‘The Every Day Book, forming a Complete History of the Year, Months, and Seasons, and a perpetual Key to the Almanack,’ 1826–7, 2 vols. 8vo. 57. ‘The Table Book,’ 1827–8, 2 vols. 8vo (Nos. 56 and 57 reissued in 3 vols. 1831). 58. ‘Facetiæ and Miscellanies, with 120 Engravings drawn by Cruikshank,’ 1827, 8vo (contains Nos. 27, 32, 33, 35, 36, 37, 42, 43, 41, 38, 53, and 54, in this order; also issued as Hone's ‘Popular and Political Tracts’). 59. ‘Poor Humphrey's Calendar,’ 1829 (an almanack). 60. ‘Full Annals of the Revolution in France,’ 1830, 8vo. 61. ‘The Sports and Pastimes of the People of England, by Joseph Strutt; New


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 Edition, with an Index,’ 1830, large 8vo. 62. ‘The House of Reform that Jack Built, and the Political Advertiser’ [1832], 8vo (several editions). 63. ‘The Year Book of Daily Recreation and Information, concerning Remarkable Men, Manners, Times, Seasons, Solemnities, &c.,’ 1832, 8vo (generally to be found with Nos. 56 and 57; the first editions of the four volumes are sought after; frequently reissued by Messrs. Tegg. A new edition of the three works was issued by the same publishers in 1874). 64. ‘The Early Life and Conversion of William Hone, by Himself, Edited by his Son, Wm. Hone,’ 1841, 8vo. 65. ‘Some Account of the Conversion of the late W. Hone, with further Particulars of his Life and Extracts from his Correspondence,’ 1853, sm. 8vo (frequently confounded with No. 64).

HONEY, GEORGE (1822–1880), actor and vocalist, born 25 May 1822, made his first appearance in London at the Princess's Theatre, November 1848, as Pan in ‘Midas.’ He then joined the Pyne and Harrison company at Covent Garden, appearing in various operas, and played in 1860 at Her Majesty's in Macfarren's ‘Robin Hood.’ Quitting the lyric for the dramatic stage, he appeared at the Strand, 9 Oct. 1863, in ‘Miriam's Crime,’ in which he played a disreputable lawyer, and gave a good presentation of drunkenness. In September 1865 he played at the Royalty Turco the Terrible in William Brough's burlesque ‘Prince Amabel,’ and on 2 July 1866 at the Princess's was Annibal Locust, a bibulous sergeant, in the ‘Huguenot Captain’ of Watts Phillips. His performance of Eccles in Robertson's ‘Caste,’ Prince of Wales's, 6 April 1867, greatly raised his reputation. This was indeed a remarkable performance, a little too robust perhaps for its surroundings, but genuinely comic. In the opening performance of the Vaudeville, 16 April 1870, he was Major Buncombe in Andrew Halliday's ‘For Love or Money.’ Graves in ‘Money’ had been assumed by him at the Holborn in 1869 under Mr. Barry Sullivan. His impersonation attracted more attention on the revival of Lord Lytton's play at the Prince of Wales's, March 1872, and again in May 1875. Among his later creations the most successful was Cheviot Hill in Mr. W. S. Gilbert's ‘Engaged,’ Haymarket, 3 Oct. 1877. Honey also acted in America. He was a useful singer and a clever comedian, but was most successful in the presentation of eccentric and dissipated characters. Ill-health compelled his retirement in 1879, and after one or two unimportant appearances for benefits he died in London of aneurism of the heart 28 May 1880. He was buried in Highgate cemetery, where a medallion surmounts his grave.

HONEY, LAURA (1816?–1843), actress, said to have been born 6 Dec. 1816, was daughter of Mrs. Young, an actress at Sadler's Wells, and occupied as a girl a position in connection with the wardrobe of that house. She first appeared on the stage there, under the name of Laura Bell, in some juvenile parts. In 1826 she was with her mother at the Olympic, and played in 1827 a midshipman in Bayle Bernard's ‘Casco Bay.’ After a brief engagement at the Surrey, where she took lessons in music, she returned in 1829 to Sadler's Wells. She married Mr. Honey, a youth connected with the law, from whom she soon separated. He lived on her earnings, and was drowned in the Thames in 1836. She went in 1832 with Mrs. Waylett to the Strand, where she first appeared in the ‘Loves of the Angels’ of Leman Rede. In 1833 she was at the Queen's, subsequently the Prince of Wales's Theatre, under Mrs. Nisbet. At the Adelphi under Yates she made a great success as Psyche with John Reeve in a burlesque called ‘Cupid,’ and as Lurline in the fairy drama of that name. After a season at the Haymarket and a tour in the country she went in turns to the St. James's, the Olympic under Madame Vestris, and other theatres, before she undertook the management of the City of London. She played Tom Tug in the ‘Waterman,’ Myrtilla in Planché's ‘Riquet with the Tuft,’ and in the ‘Spirit of the Rhine,’ by Morris Barnett, in which she sang with great effect ‘My beautiful Rhine,’ long popular. In the last season she played at the Haymarket, went into the country, and returned to the City of London. She died