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The Pearl/Volume 1/Lady Pokingham; or They All Do It

Giving an Account of her Luxurious Adventures, both before and after her Marriage with Lord Crim-Con.

Introduction
To the Reader,

Very little apology will be needed for putting in print the following highly erotic and racy narrative of a young patrician lady, whose adventures I feel assured every genuine lover of voluptuous reading will derive as much or more pleasure afforded your humble servant.

The subject of these memoirs was one of the brightest and most charming of her sex, endued with such exquisite nervous sensitiveness, in addition to an unusual warmth of constitution that she was quite unable to resist the seductive influences of God's finest creation; for God made man in his own image, male and female, created he them; and this was the first commandment, "Be faithful and multiply, and replenish the earth"—see Genesis, chap. 1.

The natural instinct of the ancients instilled in their minds the idea that copulation was the direct and most acceptable form of worship they could offer to their deities, and I know that those of my readers who are not bigoted Christians will agree with me, that there cannot be any great sin in giving way to natural desires, and enjoying, to the utmost, all those delicious sensations for which a beneficent Creator has so amply fitted us.

Poor girl, she did not live long, and in thoroughly enjoying her few briefs years of butterfly life, who can think her wicked!

The scraps from which my narrative is compiled were found in a packet she had entrusted to a devoted servitor, who, after her sudden and premature death at the early age of twenty-three, entered my service.

As author, I feel the crudeness of my style may be a little offensive to some, but hope my desire to afford general pleasure will excuse my defects.

The Author

Part I
My dear Walter,

How I love you! but alas! you will never know it till I am gone; little do you think, as you wheel me about in my invalid chair, how your delicate attentions have won the heart of a poor consumptive on the verge of the grave. How I long to suck the sweets of love from your lips; to fondle and caress your lordly priapus, and feel its thrilling motions within me; but such joys cannot be, the least excitement would be my death, and I can but sigh as I look at your kind loving face, and admire the fine proportions of my darling, as evidenced by the large bunch of keys you always seem to have in your pocket; indeed you look to have a key of keys, whose burning thrusts would unlock any virgin cabinet.

This is a strange fancy of mine (the writing for your perusal a short account of some of my adventures); but one of the only pleasures left me is to indulge in reveries of the past, and seem to feel over again the thrilling emotions of voluptuous enjoyments, which are now denied to me; and I hope the recital of my escapades and follies may afford you some slight pleasure, and add to the lasting regard with which I hope you will remember me in years to come. One thing I ask of you, dear Walter, is to fancy you are enjoying Beatrice Pokingham when you are in the embraces of some future inamorata. It is a pleasure I have often indulged in myself when in the action of coition, and heightened my bliss by letting my fancy run riot, and imagined I was in the arms of someone I particularly wished for, but could not come at. My income dies with me, so I have no cause to make a will, but you will find notes for a few hundred pounds enclosed with this outline of my adventures, which is all I have been able to save. You will also find a fine lock of dark brown hair, which I have cut from the abundant chevelure of my Mons Veneris; other friends and relatives may have the admired curls from my head, your memento is cut from the sacred spot of love.

I never remember my father, the Marquis of Pokingham, but have my doubts as to whether I am really entitled to the honour of claiming him as a parent, as he was a used-up old man, and from papers and letters, which passed privately between him and my mother, I know that he more than suspected he was indebted to his good-looking footman for the pretty baby girl my mother presented to him; as he says in one note, "that he could have forgiven everything if the fruits of her intercourse with James had been a son and heir, so as to keep his hated nephew out of the estates and title, and wished her to let him cultivate her parsley bed for another crop, which might perhaps turn out more in accordance with his wishes." The poor old fellow died soon after writing that note, and my mother, from whom this dreadful consumption is transmitted to me, also left me an orphan at an early age, leaving me her jointure of £20,000, and an aristocratic title which that amount was quite inadequate to properly support.

My guardians were very saving and careful, as they sent me to school at eight years of age, and only spent about £150 a year for schooling and necessaries, till they thought it was time for me to be brought out in the world, so that I benefitted considerably by the accumulated interest of my money.

The first four years of my school passed away uneventfully, and during that time I was only in one serious scrape, which I will relate, as it led to my first taste of a good birch rod.

Miss Birch was rather an indulgent schoolmistress, and only had to resort to personal punishment for very serious offenses, which she considered might materially affect the future character of her pupils, unless thoroughly cut out of them from the first. I was nearly seven years old when I had a sudden fancy for making sketches on my slate in school. One of our governesses, Miss Pennington, was a rather crabbed and severe old girl of five-and-thirty, and particularly evoked my abilities as a caricaturist, and the sketches would be slyly passed from one to the other of us, causing considerable giggling and gross inattention to our lessons. I was infatuated and conceited with what I considered my clever drawings and several admonitions and extra tasks as punishment had no effect in checking my mischievous interruptions, until one afternoon Miss Birch had fallen asleep at her desk, and old Penn was busy with a class, when the sudden inspiration seized me to make a couple of very rude sketches; one of the old girl sitting on a chamber utensil; but the other was a rural idea of her stooping down, with her clothes up to ease herself, in a field. The first girl I showed them to almost burst with laughter, and two others were so anxious to see the cause of her mirth, that they were actually stooping over her shoulder to look at my slate, when, before I could possibly get to it to rub them off, old Penn pounced upon it like an eagle, and carried it in triumph to Miss Birch, who was awakened chagrined by the amused smile which our principal could not repress at first sight of the indecent caricatures.

"My young lady must smart for this, Miss Pennington," said Miss Birch, with suddenly assumed gravity; "she has been very troublesome lately with these impudent drawings, but this is positively obscene; if she draws one thing she will go to another. Send for Susan to bring my birch rod! I must punish her whilst my blood is warm, as I am too forgiving, and may let her off."

I threw myself on my knees, and implored for mercy, promising "Never, never to do anything of the kind again."

Miss BIRCH.—"You should have thought of the consequences before you drew such filthy pictures; the very idea of one of my young ladies being capable of such productions is horrible to me; these prurient ideas cannot be allowed to settle in your mind for an instant, if I can whip them out."

Miss Pennnington, with a grim look of satisfaction, now took me by the wrist, just as Susan, a stout, strong, fair servant girl of about twenty, appeared with what looked to me a fearful big bunch of birch twigs, neatly tied up with red velvet ribbon.

"Now, Lady Beatrice Pokingham," said Miss Birch, "kneel down, confess your fault, and kiss the rod," taking the bunch from Susan's hands, and extending it to me as a queen might her sceptre to a supplicant subject.

Anxious to get over the inevitable, and make my punishment as light as possible, I knelt down, and with real tears of penitence begged her to be as lenient as her sense of justice would admit, as I knew I well deserved what she was going to inflict, and would take care not to insult Miss Pennington again, whom I was very sorry to have so caricatured; then I kissed the rod and resigned myself to my fate.

Miss PENNINGTON, maliciously.—"Ah! Miss Birch, how quickly the sight of the rod makes hypocritical repentance."

Miss BIRCH.—"I quite understand all that, Miss Pennington, but must temper justice with mercy at the proper time; now, you impudent artist, lift your clothes behind, and expose your own bottom to the justly merited punishment."

With trembling hands I lifted my skirts, and was then ordered to open my drawers also; which done, they pinned up my dress and petticoats as high as my shoulders; then I was laid across a desk, and Susan stood in front of me, holding both hands, whilst old Penn and the French governess (who had just entered the schoolroom) each held one of my legs, so that I was what you might call helplessly spread-eagled.

Miss BIRCH, looking seriously round as she flourished the rod.—"Now, all you young ladies, let this whipping be a caution to you; my Lady Beatrice richly deserves this degrading shame, for her indecent (I ought to call them obscure) sketches. Will you! will you, you troublesome, impudent little thing, ever do so again? There, there, there, I hope it will soon do you good. Ah! you may scream; there's a few more to come yet."

The bunch of birch seemed to crash on my bare bottom with awful force; the tender skin smarted, and seemed ready to burst at every fresh cut. "Ah! ah! oh!!! Oh, heavens! have mercy, madame. Oh! I will never do anything like it again. Ah—r—re! I can't bear it!" I screamed, kicking and struggling under every blow, so that at first they could scarcely hold me, but I was soon exhausted by my own efforts.

Miss BIRCH.—"You can feel it a little, may it do you good, you bad little girl; if I don't check you now, the whole establishment would soon be demoralized. Ah! ha! your bottom is getting finely wealed, but I haven't done yet," cutting away with increasing fury.

Just then I caught a glimpse of her face, which was usually pale, but now flushed with excitement, and her eyes sparkled with unwonted animation. "Ah!" she continued, "young ladies beware of my rod, when I do have to use it. How do you like it, Lady Beatrice? Let us all know how nice it is," cutting my bottom and thighs deliberately at each ejaculation.

LADY BEATRICE.—"Ah! oh! ah—r—r—re! It's awful! Oh I shall die if you don't have mercy, Miss Birch. Oh! my God, I'm fearfully punished; I'm cut to pieces; the birch feels as if it was red hot, the blows burn so!"

Then I felt as if it was all over, and I must die soon; my cries were succeeded by low sobs, moans, and then hysterical crying, which gradually got lower and lower, till at last I must have fainted, as I remembered nothing more till I found myself in bed, and awoke with my poor posteriors tremendously bruised and sore, and it was nearly a fortnight before I got rid of all the marks of that severe whipping.

After I was twelve years of age they reckoned me amongst the big girls, and I got a jolly bedfellow, whom I will call Alice Marchmont, a beautiful, fair girl, with a plump figure, large sensuous eyes, and flesh as firm and smooth as ivory. She seemed to take a great fancy to me, and the second night I slept with her (we had a small room to ourselves) she kissed and hugged me so lovingly that I felt slightly confused at first, as she took such liberties with me, my heart was all in a flutter, and although the light was out, I felt my face covered with burning blushes as her hot kisses on my lips, and the searching gropings of her hands in the most private parts of my person, made me all atremble.

"How you shake, dear Beatrice," she answered. "What are you afraid of? you may feel me all over too; it is so nice. Put your tongue in my mouth, it is a great inducement to love and I do want to love you so, dear. Where's your hand? here, put it there; can't you feel the hair just beginning to grow on my pussey? Yours will come soon. Rub your finger on my crack, just there," so she initiated me into the art of frigging in the most tender loving manner.

As you may guess, I was an apt pupil, although so young. Her touches fired my blood, and the way she sucked my tongue seemed most delicious. "Ah! Oh! Rub harder, harder —quicker," she gasped, as she stiffened her limbs out with a kind of spasmodic shudder, and I felt my finger all wet with something warm and creamy. She covered me with kisses for a moment, and then lay quite still.

"What is it, Alice? How funny you are, and you have wetted my finger, you nasty girl," I whispered, laughing. "Go on tickling me with your fingers, I begin rather to like it."

"So you will, dear, soon, and love me for teaching you such a nice game," she replied, renewing her frigging operations, which gave me great pleasure so that I hardly knew what I was doing, and a most luscious longing sensation came over me. I begged her to shove her fingers right up. "Oh! Oh! How nice! Further! Harder!" and almost fainted with delight as she at last brought down my first maiden spend.

Next night we repeated our lascivious amusements, and she produced a thing like a sausage, made of soft kid leather, and stuffed out as hard as possible, which she asked me to push into her, and work up and down, whilst she frigged me as before, making me lay on the top of her, with my tongue in her mouth. It was delightful. I can't express her raptures, my movements with the instrument seemed to drive her into ecstasies of pleasure, she almost screamed as she clasped my body to hers, exclaiming, "Ah! Oh! You dear boy; you kill me with pleasure!" as she spent with extraordinary profusion all over my busy hand.

As soon as we had recovered our serenity a little, I asked her what she meant by calling me her dear boy.

"Ah! Beatrice," she replied, "I'm so sleepy now, but tomorrow night, I will tell you my story, and explain how it is that my pussey is able to take in that thing, whilst yours cannot at present; it will enlighten you a little more into the Philosophy of Life, my dear; now give me a kiss, and let us go to sleep to-night."

Alice Marchmont's Story
You may imagine I was anxious for the next morning to arrive. We were no sooner in our little sanctum, than I exclaimed, "Now, Alice, make haste into bed, I'm all impatient to hear your tale."

"You shall have it dear and my fingers, too, if you will but let me undress comfortably. I can't jump into bed anyhow; I must make the inspection of my little private curls first. What do you think of them, Beatrice? Off with your chemise; I want to compare our pusseys," said she, throwing off everything, and surveying her beautiful naked figure in the large cheval glass. I was soon beside her, equally denuded of covering. "What a delightfully pouting little slit you have, Beatrice," she exclaimed, patting my Mons Veneris. "We shall make a beautiful contrast, mine is a light blonde, and yours will be brunette. See my little curly parsley bed is already half-an-inch long." She indulged in no end of exciting tricks, till at last my patience was exhausted, so slipping on my chemise de nuit, I bounced into bed, saying I believed it was all fudge about her having a tale to tell and that I would not let her love me again, till she had satisfied my curiosity.

"What bad manners to doubt my word," she cried, following me into bed, taking me by surprise, uncovered my bottom, and inflicted a smart little slapping, as she laughingly continued, "There, let that be a lesson to you not to doubt a young lady's word in future. Now you shall have my tale, although it would really serve you right to make you wait till to-morrow."

After a short pause, having settled ourselves lovingly in bed, she began:

Once upon a time there was a little girl about ten years old, of the name of Alice, her parents were rich, and lived in a beautiful house, surrounded by lovely gardens and a fine park, she had a brother about two years older than herself, but her mama was so fond of her (being an only daughter), that she never would allow her little girl out of her sight, unless William, the butler, had charge of her in her rambles about the grounds and park,

William was a handsome, good-looking man about thirty, and had been in the family ever since he was a boy. Now Alice, who was very fond of William, often sat on his knee as he was seated under a tree, or on a garden seat, when he would read to her fairy tales from her books. Their intimacy was so great that when they were alone, she would call him "dear old Willie," and treat him quite as an equal. Alice was quite an inquisitive girl, and would often put Mr. William to the blush by her curious enquiries about natural history affairs, and how animals had little ones, why the cock was so savage to the poor hens, jumping on their backs, and biting their heads with his sharp beak, &c. "My dear," he would say, "I'm not a hen or a cow; how should I know? don't ask such silly questions"; but Miss Alice was not so easily put off, she would reply, "Ah! Willie, you do know, and won't tell me, I insist upon knowing, &c.," but her efforts to obtain knowledge were quite fruitless.

This went on for some time till the little girl was within three or four months of her twelfth birthday, when a circumstance she had never taken any notice of before aroused her curiosity. It was that Mr. William, under pretense of seeing to his duties, was in the habit of secluding himself in his pantry, or closet, from seven to eight o'clock in the morning for about an hour before breakfast. If Alice ventured to tap at the door it was fastened inside, and admittance refused; the keyhole was so closed it was useless to try and look through that way, but it occurred to my little girl that perhaps she might be able to get a peep into that place of mystery if she could only get into a passage which passed behind Mr. William's pantry, and into which she knew it used to open by a half-glass door, now never used, as the passage was closed by a locked door at each end. This passage was lighted from the outside by a small window about four feet from the ground, fastened on the inside simply by a hook, which Alice, who mounted on a high stool, soon found she could open if she broke one of the small diamond panes of glass, which she did, and then waiting till the next morning felt sure she would be able to find out what Willie was always so busy about, and also that she could get in and out of the window unobserved by anyone, as it was quite screened from view by a thick shrubbery seldom entered by anyone.

Up betimes next day she told her lady's-maid she was going to enjoy the fresh air in the garden before breakfast, and then hurried off to her place of observation, and scrambled through the window regardless of dirt and dust, took off her boots as soon as she alighted in the disused passage, and silently crept up to the glass door, but to her chagrin found the panes so dirty as to be impervious to sight; however, she was so far lucky as to find a fine large keyhole quite clear, and two or three cracks in the woodwork, so that she could see nearly every part of the place, which was full of light from a skylight overhead. Mr. William was not there, but soon made his appearance, bringing a great basket of plate, which had been used the previous day, and for a few minutes was really busy looking in his pantry book, and counting spoons, forks, &c., but was soon finished, and began to look at a little book, which he took from a drawer. Just then, Lucy, one of the prettiest housemaids, a dark beauty of about eighteen, entered the room without ceremony, saying, "Here's some of your plate off the sideboard. Where's your eyes, Mr. William, not to gather up all as you ought to do?" William's eyes seemed to beam with delight as he caught her round the waist, and gave her a luscious kiss on her cheek, saying: "Why, I keep them for you, dear, I knew you would bring the plate"; then showing the book, "What do you think of that position, dear? How would you like it so?" Although pleased, the girl blushed up to the roots of her hair as she looked at the picture. The book dropped to the floor, and William pulled her on to his knee, and tried to put his hand up her clothes. "Ah! No! No!" she cried, in a low voice; "you know I can't to-day, but perhaps I can tomorrow; you must be good to-day, sir. Don't stick up your impudent head like that. There—there—there's a squeeze for you; now I must be off," she said, putting her hand down into his lap, where it could not be seen what she was after. In a second or two she jumped up, and in spite of his efforts to detain her, escaped from the pantry. William, evidently in a great state of excitement, subsided on to a sofa, muttering, "The little witch, what a devil she is; I can't help myself, but she will be all right to-morrow." Alice, who was intently observing everything, was shocked and surprised to see his trousers all unbuttoned in front, and a great long fleshy-looking thing sticking out, seemingly hard and stiff, with a ruby-coloured head. Mr, William took hold of it with one hand, apparently for the purpose of placing it in his breeches, but he seemed to hesitate, and closing his right hand upon the shaft, rubbed it up and down. "Ah! What a fool I am to let her excite me so. Oh! Oh! I can't help it; I must." He seemed to sigh as his hand increased its rapid motion. His face flushed, and his eyes seemed ready to start from his head, and in a few moments something spurted from his instrument, the drops falling over his hands and legs, some even a yard or two over the floor. This seemed to finish his ecstasy. He sank back quite listless for a few minutes, and then rousing himself, wiped his hands on a towel, cleared up every drop of the mess, and left the pantry. Alice was all over in a burning heat from what she had seen but instinctively felt that the mystery was only half unravelled, and promised herself to be there and see what William and Lucy would do next day. Mr. William took her for a walk as usual, and read to her, whilst she sat on his knee, and Alice wondered what could have become of that great stiff thing which she had seen in the morning. With the utmost apparent innocence, her hands touched him casually, where she hoped to feel the monster, but only resulted in feeling a rather soft kind of bunch in his pocket.

Another morning arrived to find Alice at her post behind the disused glass door, and she soon saw Mr. William bring in his plate, but he put it aside, and seemed all impatient for Lucy's arrival. "Ah!" he murmurs. "I'm as stiff as a rolling pin at the very thought of the saucy darling," but his ideas were cut short by the appearance of Lucy herself, who carefully bolted the door inside. Then rushing into his arms, she covered him with kisses, exclaiming, in a low voice, "Ah! How I have longed for him these three or four days. What a shame women should be stopped in that way from enjoying themselves once a month. How is he this morning?" as her hands nervously unbuttoned Mr. William's trousers, and grasped his ready truncheon.

"What a hurry you are in, Lucy!" gasped her lover, as she almost stifled him with her kisses. "Don't spoil it all by your impatience; I must have my kiss first."

With a gentle effort he reclined her backwards on a sofa, and raised her clothes till Alice had a full view of a splendid pair of plump, white legs; but what rivetted her gaze most was the luscious looking, pouting lips of Lucy's cunny, quite vermilion in colour, and slightly gaping open, in a most inviting manner, as her legs were wide apart; her Mons Veneris being covered with a profusion of beautiful curly black hair.

The butler was down on his knees in a moment, and glued his lips to her crack, sucking and kissing furiously, to the infinite delight of the girl, who sighed and wriggled with pleasure; till at last Mr. William could no longer restrain himself, but getting up upon his knees between Lucy's legs, he brought his shaft to the charge, and to Alice's astonishment, fairly ran it right into the gaping crack, till it was all lost in her belly; they laid still for a few moments, enjoying the conjunction of their persons till Lucy heaved up her bottom, and the butler responded to it by a shove, then they commenced a most exciting struggle. Alice could see the manly shaft as it worked in and out of her sheath, glistening with lubricity, whilst the lips of her cunny seemed to cling to it each time of withdrawal, as if afraid of losing such a delightful sugar stick; but this did not last long, their movements got more and more furious, till at last both seemed to meet in a spasmodic embrace, as they almost fainted in each other's arms, and Alice could see a profusion of creamy moisture oozing from the crack of Lucy, as they both lay in a kind of lethargy of enjoyment after their battle of love.

Mr. William was the first to break the silence: "Lucy, will you look in to-morrow, dear; you know that old spy, Mary, will be back from her holiday in a day or two, and then we shan't often have a chance."

LUCY,—"Ah; you rogue, I mean to have a little more now, I don't care if we're caught; I must have it," she said, squeezing him with her arms and gluing her lips to his, as she threw her beautiful legs right over his buttocks, and commenced the engagement once more by rapidly heaving her bottom; in fact, although he was a fine man, the weight of his body seemed as nothing in her amorous excitement.

The butler's excuses and pleading of fear, in case he was missed, &c., were all of no avail; she fairly drove him on, and he was soon as furiously excited as herself, and with a profusion of sighs, expressions of pleasure, endearment, &c., they soon died away again into a state of short voluptuous oblivion. However, Mr. William was too nervous and afraid to let her lay long; he withdrew his instrument from her foaming cunny, just as it was all slimy and glistening with the mingled juices of their love; but what a contrast to its former state, as Alice now beheld it much reduced in size, and already drooping its fiery head.

Lucy jumped up and let down her clothes, but kneeling on the floor before her lover, she took hold of his limp affair, and gave it a most luscious sucking, to the great delight of Mr. William, whose face flushed again with pleasure, and as soon as Lucy had done with her sucking kiss, Alice saw that his instrument was again stiff and ready for a renewal of their joys.

LUCY, laughing in a low tone.—"There, my boy, I'll leave you like that; think of me till to-morrow; I couldn't help giving the darling a good suck after the exquisite pleasure he had afforded me, it's like being in heaven for a little while."

With a last kiss on the lips as they parted, and Mr. William again locked his door, whilst Alice made good her retreat to prepare herself for breakfast.

It was a fine warm morning in May, and soon after breakfast Alice, with William for her guardian, set off for a ramble in the park, her blood was in a boil, and she longed to experience the joys she was sure Lucy had been surfeited with; they sauntered down to the lake, and she asked William to give her a row in the boat; he unlocked the boat-house, and handed her into a nice, broad, comfortable skiff, well furnished with soft seats and cushions.

"How nice to be here, in the shade," said Alice; "come into the boat, Willie, we will sit in it a little while, and you shall read to me before we have a row."

"Just as you please, Miss Alice," he replied, with unwonted deference, stepping into the boat, and sitting down in the stern sheets.

"Ah my head aches a little, let me recline it in your lap," said Alice, throwing off her hat, and stretching herself along on a cushion. "Why are you so precise this morning, Willie? You know I don't like to be called Miss, you can keep that for Lucy." Then noticing his confusion, "You may blush, sir, I could make you sink into your shoes if you only knew all I have seen between you and Miss Lucy."

Alice reclined her head in a languid manner on his lap, looking up and enjoying the confusion she had thrown him into; then designedly resting one hand on the lump which he seemed to have in his pocket, as if to support herself a little, she continued: "Do you think, Willie, I shall ever have as fine legs as Lucy? Don't you think I ought soon to have long dresses, sir! I'm getting quite bashful about showing my calves so much," The butler had hard work to recover his composure, the vivid recollection of the luscious episode with Lucy before breakfast was so fresh in his mind that Alice's allusions to her, and the soft girlish hand resting on his privates (even although he thought her as innocent as a lamb) raised an utter of desire in his feverish blood, which he tried to allay as much as possible, but little by little the unruly member began to swell, till he was sure she must feel it throb under her hand. With an effort he slightly shifted himself, so as to remove her hand lower down on to the thigh, as he answered as gravely as possible (feeling assured Alice could know nothing): "You're making game of me this morning. Don't you wish me to read, Alice?"

ALICE, excitedly, with an unusual flush on her face.—"You naughty man, you shall tell me what I want to know this time: How do babies come? What is the parsley bed, the nurses and doctors say they come out of? Is it not a curly lot of hair at the bottom of the woman's belly? I know that's what Lucy's got, and I've seen you kiss it, sir!"

(To be continued.)


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Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/66

56 False thought—false hope—in scorn be banished!

I am not loved—nor loved have been;

Recall not, then, the dreams scarce vanished,

Traitors! mislead me not again!

To words like yours I bid defiance,

'Tis such my mental wreck have made;

Of God alone, and self-reliance,

I ask for solace—hope for aid.

Morn comes—and ere meridian glory

O'er these, my natal woods, shall smile,

Both lonely wood and mansion hoary

I'll leave behind, full many a mile.

.

ANTICIPATION.

beautiful the earth is still,

To thee—how full of happiness!

How little fraught with real ill,

Or unreal phantoms of distress!

How spring can bring thee glory, yet,

And summer win thee to forget

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


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The Pearl/Volume 1/A Prologue

Spoke by Miss Bella de Lancy, on her retiring from the Stage to open a Fashionable Bawdy House.

(Written by S. Johnson, LL.D.)

When cunt first triumphed (as the learned suppose) O'er failing pricks, Immortal Dildo rose, From fucks unnumbered, still erect he drew, Exhausted cunts, and then demanded new;

Dame Nature saw him spurn her bounded reign, And panting pricks toiled after him in vain; The laxest folds, the deepest depths he filled; The juiciest drained; the toughest hymens drilled.

The fair lay gasping with distended limbs, And unremitting cockstands stormed their quims. Then Frigging came, instructed from the school, And scorned the aid of India-rubber tool.

With restless finger, fired the dormant blood, Till Clitoris rose, sly, peeping thro' her hood. Gently was worked this titillating art, It broke no hymen, and scarce stretched the part;

Yet lured its votaries to a sudden doom, And stamped Consumption's flush on Beauty's bloom. Sweet Gamahuche found softer ways to fame, It asked not Dildo's art, nor Frigging's flame.

Tongue, not prick, now probes the central hole, And mouth, not cunt, becomes prick's destined goal. It always found a sympathetic friend; And pleased limp pricks, and those who could not spend,

No tedious wait, for laboured stand, delays The hot and pouting cunt, which tongue allays. The taste was luscious, tho' the smell was strong; The fuck was easy, and would last so long;

Til wearied tongues found gamahuching cloy, And pricks, and cunts, grew callous to the joy. Then dulled by frigging, by mock pricks enlarged, Her noble duties Cunt but ill discharged.

Her nymphæ drooped, her devil's bite grew weak, And twice two pricks might flounder in her creek; Till all the edge was taken off the bliss, And Cunt's sole occupation was to piss.

Forced from her former joys, with scoft and brunt, She saw great Arsehole lay the ghost Cunt Exulting buggers hailed the joyful day, And piles and hœmerrids confirmed his sway.

But who lust's future fancies can explore, And mark the whimsies that remain in store? Perhaps it shall be deemed a lover's treat, To suck the flowering quims of mares in heat;

Perhaps, where beauty held unequalled sway, A Cochin fowl shall rival Mabel Grey; Nobles be rained by the Hyaena's smile, And Seals get short engagements from th' Argyle.

Hard is her lot, that here by Fortune placed, Must watch the wild vicissitudes of taste; Catch every whim, learn every bawdy trick, And chase the new born bubbles of the prick;

Ah, let not Censure term our fate, our choice, The Bawd but echoes back the public voice; The Brothers laws, the Brothel's patrons give, And those that live to please, must please to live;

Then purge these growing follies from your hearts, And turn to female arms, and female arts; 'Tis yours this night, to bid the reign begin, Of all the good old-fashioned ways to sin;

Clean, wholesome girls, with lip, tongue, cunt, and hand, Shall raise, keep up, put in, take down a stand; Your bottoms shall by lily hands be bled, And birches blossom under every bed.

title: The Pearl/Volume 1/A Prologue


text:
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Rh December's sullen time!

Why dost thou hold the treasure fast,

Of youth's delight, when youth is past,

And thou art near thy prime?

When those who were thy own compeers,

Equals in fortune and in years,

Have seen their morning melt in tears,

To clouded, smileless day;

Blest, had they died untried and young,

Before their hearts went wandering wrong,

Poor slaves, subdued by passions strong,

A weak and helpless prey!

"Because, I hoped while they enjoyed,

And, by fulfilment, hope destroyed;

As children hope, with trustful breast,

I waited bliss—and cherished rest.

A thoughtful spirit taught me, soon,

That we must long till life be done;

That every phase of earthly joy

Must always fade, and always cloy:

This I foresaw—and would not chase

The fleeting treacheries;

But, with firm foot and tranquil face,

Held backward from that tempting race,

Gazed o'er the sands the waves efface,

To the enduring seas—


text:
The Pearl/Volume 1/The Origin Species

Air.—"Derry Down."

When Adam and Eve were first put into Eden, They never once thought of that pleasant thing—breeding Though they had not a rag to cover their front, Adam sported his prick, and Eve sported her cunt. Derry down.

Adam's prick was so thick and so long—such a teaser; Eve's cunt was so hairy and fat—such a breezer; Adam's thing was just formed any maiden to please, And his bollocks hung down very near to his knees. Derry down.

Eve played with his balls, and thought it no harm: He fingered her quim and ne'er felt alarm; He tickled her bubbies, she rubbed up his yard, And yet for a fuck, why they felt no regard. Derry down.

But when Mrs. Eve did taste of the fruit, It was then that her eyes first beheld Adam's root; Then he ate an apple, and after he had done't, Why then he first found out the value of cunt. Derry down. Then they say they made fig leaves, that's fiddle-de-dee. He wanted a quim, and quite ready was she; They gazed on their privates with mutual delight, And she soon found a hole to put jock out of sight! Derry down.

Then Adam soon laid Mrs. Eve on the grass, He pop't in his prick, she heaved up her arse; He wriggled, she wiggled, they both stuck to one tether And she tickled his balls, till they both came together! Derry down.

Since then, all her children are filled with desire, And the women a stiff-standing prick all require! And no son of Adam will e'er take affront, For where is the man that can live without cunt. Derry down.

title: The Pearl/Volume 1/The Origin Species


text:
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58 There cast my anchor of desire

Deep in unknown eternity;

Nor ever let my spirit tire,

With looking for what is to be!

It is hope's spell that glorifies,

Like youth, to my maturer eyes,

All Nature's million mysteries,

The fearful and the fair—

Hope soothes me in the griefs I know;

She lulls my pain for others' woe,

And makes me strong to undergo

What I am born to bear.

Glad comforter! will I not brave,

Unawed, the darkness of the grave?

Nay, smile to hear Death's billows rave—

Sustained, my guide, by thee?

The more unjust seems present fate,

The more my spirit swells elate,

Strong, in thy strength, to anticipate

Rewarding destiny!"

.


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Armitage, Edward


text:
The Pearl/Volume 1/The Wanton Lass

Air.—"Derry Down."

There was a lass they called bonny Bet, With a jolly fat arse, and a cunt black as jet; Her quim had long itched, and she wanted, I vow, A jolly good fucking, but couldn't tell how. Derry down.

She thought of a plan that might serve as the same, That herself she might shag without any shame; So a carrot she got, with a point rather blunt, And she ramm'd it and jamm'd it three parts up her cunt. Derry down.

She liked it so well that she oft used to do it, Till at length the poor girl had occasion to rue it; For one day, when amusing herself with this whim, The carrot it snapped, and part stuck in her quim. Derry down.

She went almost mad with vexation at this, Indeed it was time, the poor girl couldn't piss. The lass was in torture, no rest had poor Bet, So at last an old doctor she was forced to get. Derry down.

The doctor he came, and she told him the case, Then with spectacles on, and a very long face, He bid her turn up, though she scarcely was able, And pull up her petticoats over her navel. Derry down.

Her clouts she held up, round her belly so plump, And he gave her fat arse such a hell of a thump, That he made her cry out, tho' he did it so neat, And away flew the carrot bang into the street. Derry down.

Now a sweep passing by, he saw it come down, Picked it up and he ate it, and said with a frown, By God! it's not right, it's a damned shame, I say, That people should throw buttered carrots away. Derry down.

title: The Pearl/Volume 1/The Wanton Lass


text:
The Pearl/Volume 1/The Meeting of the Waters

A Parody on Moore's Melody

There is not in this wide world a valley so sweet, As that vale where the thighs of a pretty girl meet: Oh, the last ray of feeling and life must depart, Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from my heart.

Yet it is not that Nature has shed o'er the scene, The purest of red, the most delicate skin, 'Tis not the sweet smell of the genial hill; Ah, no! it is something more exquisite still.

'Tis because the last favours of woman are there, Which make every part of her body more dear. We feel how the charms of Nature improve, When we bathe in the spendings of her whom we love.


text:
The Pearl/Volume 1/Love

Nature, everywhere the same, Imparts to man a lustful flame; In Russian snow or Indian fire, All men alike indulge desire, All alike, feel passion's heat, All alike, enjoyment greet, So that wheresoe'er you go, Still the same voluptuous glow Throbs through every purple vein, Thirsts enjoyment to obtain; 'Mongst the dark, or with the fair, Woman is empress everywhere.

title: The Pearl/Volume 1/Love


text:
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Rh THE PRISONER.

A FRAGMENT.

the dungeon-crypts, idly did I stray,

Reckless of the lives wasting there away;

"Draw the ponderous bars! open, Warder stern!"

He dared not say me nay—the hinges harshly turn.

"Our guests are darkly lodged," I whisper'd, gazing through

The vault, whose grated eye showed heaven more gray than blue;

(This was when glad spring laughed in awaking pride;)

"Aye, darkly lodged enough!" returned my sullen guide.

Then, God forgive my youth; forgive my careless tongue;

I scoffed, as the chill chains on the damp flagstones rung:

"Confined in triple walls, art thou so much to fear,

That we must bind thee down and clench thy fetters here?"

The captive raised her face; it was as soft and mild

As sculptured marble saint, or slumbering unwean'd child;


text:
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Rh It was so soft and mild, it was so sweet and fair,

Pain could not trace a line, nor grief a shadow there!

The captive raised her hand and pressed it to her brow;

"I have been struck," she said, "and I am suffering now;

Yet these are little worth, your bolts and irons strong,

And, were they forged in steel, they could not hold me long."

Hoarse laughed the jailor grim: "Shall I be won to hear;

Dost think, fond, dreaming wretch, that I shall grant thy prayer?

Or, better still, wilt melt my master's heart with groans?

Ah! sooner might the sun thaw down these granite stones.

"My master's voice is low, his aspect bland and kind,

But hard as hardest flint, the soul that lurks behind;

And I am rough and rude, yet not more rough to see

Than is the hidden ghost that has its home in me."

About her lips there played a smile of almost scorn,

"My friend," she gently said, "you have not heard me mourn;


text:
The Pearl/Volume 1/The Pleasures Of Love

Pressed in the arms of him I so adored, The keeper of my charms, my pride, my lord! By day experiencing each sweet delight, And meeting endless transports every night When on our downy bed we fondly lay, Heating each other by our am'rous play; Till Nature, yielding to the luscious game, Would fierce desire and quenchless lust inflame! Oh! then we join'd in love's most warm embrace, And pressed soft kisses on our every grace! Around my form his pliant limbs entwined, Love's seat of bliss to him I then resigned! We pant, we throb, we both convulsive start! Heavens! then what passions thro' our fibres dart! We heave, we wriggle, bite, laugh, tremble, sigh! We taste Elysian bliss—we fondle—die.


text:
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78 When you my kindred's lives, my lost life, can restore,

Then may I weep and sue,—but never, friend, before!

Still, let my tyrants know, I am not doomed to wear

Year after year in gloom, and desolate despair;

A messenger of Hope comes every night to me,

And offers for short life, eternal liberty.

He comes with western winds, with evening's wandering airs,

With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars.

Winds take a pensive tone, and stars a tender fire,

And visions rise, and change, that kill me with desire.

Desire for nothing known in my maturer years,

When Joy grew mad with awe, at counting future tears.

When, if my spirit's sky was full of flashes warm,

I knew not whence they came, from sun or thunder-storm.

But, first, a hush of peace—a soundless calm descends;

The struggle of distress, and fierce impatience ends.

Mute music soothes my breast—unuttered harmony,

That I could never dream, till Earth was lost to me.


text:
Page:States succession in respect of treaties.pdf/20

1. Any notification under articles 31, 32 or 36 shall be made in writing.

2. If the notification is not signed by the Head of State, Head of Government or Minister for Foreign Affairs, the representative of the State communicating it may be called upon to produce full powers.

3. Unless the treaty otherwise provides, the notification shall:

(a) be transmitted by the successor State to the depositary, or, if there is no depositary, to the parties or the contracting States;

(b) be considered to be made by the successor State on the date on which it is received by the depositary or, if there is no depositary, on the date on which it is received by all the parties or, as the case may be, by all the contracting States.

4. Paragraph 3 does not affect any duty that the depositary may have, in accordance with the treaty or otherwise, to inform the parties or the contracting States of the notification or any communication made in connection therewith by the successor State.

5. Subject to the provisions of the treaty, such notification or communication shall be considered as received by the State for which it is intended only when the latter State has been informed by the depositary.

The provisions of the present Convention shall not prejudge any question that may arise in regard to the effects of a succession of States in respect of a treaty from the international responsibility of a State or from the outbreak of hostilities between States.

The provisions of the present Convention shall not prejudge any question that may arise in regard to a treaty from the military occupation of a territory.


text:
The Pearl/Volume 1/The Rival Toasts

An English and an American vessel of war being in port together, Captain Balls, of the former, invited the officers of the Yankee frigate to dine in board of his ship, but stipulated, in order to avoid any unpleasantness, that no offensive or personal toasts should be proposed, to which the Americans cheerfully assented. However, after dinner, during dessert, when the conversation happened to turn warmly upon the respective merits of the two nations, a Yankee officer suddenly stood up, and said he wished to propose a toast, which he should take as a personal offense if anyone refused to drink it.

Captain B. mildly expressed a hope that it was nothing offensive, but consented to drink to whatever it might be, with the proviso that, if he thought fit to do so, he should propose another afterwards.

Then shouted the American, exultingly: "Here's to the glorious American flag: Stars to enlighten all nations, and Stripes to flog them."

Captain B. drained a bumper to the American's toast; then turning to the old ship's steward, standing behind his chair, said quietly: "You can beat that, can't you, Jack?"

"Ay! Aye! Sir! If you fill me a stiff'un."

The Captain mixed him a good swig of hot and strong. Then handing the steward the glass, he thundered out: "Silence for Jack's toast, and any gentleman here present, refusing to drink to it, I shall not take it as a personal offense, but at once order the gunner's mate to give him three dozen. Now then, Jack."

Jack, with a grim smile, and bowing to the Yankee officer, said: "Then here's to the ramping, roaring British Lion, who pisses on the stars, and wipes his arse on the stripes."

title: The Pearl/Volume 1/The Rival Toasts


text:
Page:Weird Tales volume 36 number 02.djvu/118

Most of us have had, at one time or another, a sneaking suspicion that history had dealt harshly with King Charles II of England. But is it possible that Black Magic and the Powers of Darkness, also, gave a raw deal to that pleasant gentleman who "never said a foolish thing, and never did a wise one"?

Read Mr. Wellman's interesting sidelight on his story, The Liers in Wait, and decide for yourself!

RIEFLY and bluntly, I admit that The Liers in Wait might well have happened just as I have set it down.

We know, from standard history, that Charles II fled forlornly after his defeat at Worcester in 1651, and that even in the first hours of his flight the rumor went up that witchcraft had been used against him. As my story asks rhetorically, where and when else have Scots troops refused to fight? And why should rain have fallen only on the wood where Charles hid, and nowhere else? How about Cromwell's exact seven years of unrestrained temporal power?

Charles II was a secret man. We are not sure of even his religious faith, if he had any. He never made public his own narrative of that wonderful escape in disguise, though some of his helpers and companions wrote fascinatingly about it. We do know that he was alone for a full day in Spring Coppice, and that anything might have happened there. Assuredly he acted in later life like a pleasure-loving but thoughtful man who had known a strange shock in his youth. And in those days England was full of witches—everywhere.

Many scholars, even modern scholars, believe that Cromwell's regime had the support of black magic. The erudite Father Montague Summers opines that "beyond any shadow of doubt, Oliver Cromwell was a Satanist, intimately leagued with the powers of darkness to whom he sold his soul for temporal success." James Grant, in his monumental work on demonology of all nations, quotes Cromwell's lieutenant, Colonel Lindsay, as saying that the commander of the Parliamentarians spoke with the devil in his presence, and made the aforesaid seven-year contract, I could cite others.

Much as I admire Summers and Grant, I take leave to differ with their view of Cromwell. He was fierce and harsh and greedy for dictatorial power—but he would not have parlied even with Satan. More reasonable, I argue, is the thought that among his followers (as everywhere in that time and place) were traffickers with wizards.

The spells and conjurations of my three witches I quote almost exactly from a curious and probably dangerous volume of such things, attributed to Albertus Magnus and annotated here and there in a mordantly knowing longhand. For the style of the narrative I have studied again the Restoration writers—notably Bunyan, Evelyn, Pepys and Wycherly.

Back of it all is sympathy, if not admiration, for Charles II, who was most consistently well-meaning. Probably he was a practical liability to his age, and Cromwell a practical asset; yet how pleasant we find Charles, and how forbidding Old Noll! If this be Jacobitism, make the most of it!


text:
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Rh Then dawns the Invisible; the Unseen its truth reveals;

My outward sense is gone, my inward essence feels:

Its wings are almost free—its home, its harbour found,

Measuring the gulph, it stoops, and dares the final bound.

Oh! dreadful is the check—intense the agony—

When the ear begins to hear, and the eye begins to see;

When the pulse begins to throb, the brain to think again;

The soul to feel the flesh, and the flesh to feel the chain.

Yet I would lose no sting, would wish no torture less,

The more that anguish racks, the earlier it will bless;

And robed in fires of hell, or bright with heavenly shine,

If it but herald death, the vision is divine!"

She ceased to speak, and we, unanswering, turned to go—

We had no further power to work the captive woe:

Her cheek, her gleaming eye, declared that man had given

A sentence, unapproved, and overruled by Heaven.

.


text:
The Pearl/Volume 1/Nursery Rhymes

There was a young man of Bombay, Who fashioned a cunt out of clay; But the heat of his prick Turned it into a brick, And chafed all his foreskin away.

There was a young man of Peru, Who had nothing whatever to do; So he took out his carrot And buggered his parrot, And sent the result to the Zoo.

There was a young girl of Ostend, Who her maidenhead tried to defend, But a Chasseur d'Afrique Inserted his prick, And taught that ex-maid how to spend.

There was a young man of Calcutta, Who tried to write "Cunt" on a shutter. When he got to C-U, A pious Hindoo Knocked him arse over head in the gutter.

There was a young man of Ostend, Whose wife caught him fucking her friend; "It's no use, my duck, Interrupting our fuck, For I'm damned if I draw till I spend."

There was a young man of Wood Green, Who tried to fart "God Save the Queen." When he reached the soprano, He shot his guano, And his breeches weren't fit to be seen.

There was a young man of Dundee, Who one night went out on the spree; He wound up his clock With the tip of his cock, And buggered himself with the key.

There was a young lady of Troy, Who invented a new kind of joy: She sugared her thing Both outside and in, And then had it sucked by a boy.

There was a young man of Santander, Who tried hard to bugger a gander; But the virtuous bird Plugged his arse with a turd, And refused to such low tastes to pander.

There was a young lady of Hitchin, Who was skrotching her cunt in the kitchen; Her father said "Rose, It's the crabs, I suppose." "You're right, pa, the buggers are itching."

There was an old person of Sark, Who buggered a pig in the dark; The swine, in surprise, Murmured "God blast your eyes, Do you take me for Boulton or Park?"

title: The Pearl/Volume 1/Nursery Rhymes


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


text:
The Pearl/Volume 1/Amen

Oh! cunt is a kingdom, and prick is its lord; A whore is a slave, and her mistress a bawd; Her quim is her freehold, which brings in her rent; Where you pay when you enter, and leave when you've spent.

title: The Pearl/Volume 1/Amen


text:
Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/92

82 Rapidly, merrily,

Life's sunny hours flit by,

Gratefully, cheerily,

Enjoy them as they fly!

What though Death at times steps in,

And calls our Best away?

What though sorrow seems to win,

O'er hope, a heavy sway?

Yet hope again elastic springs,

Unconquered, though she fell;

Still buoyant are her golden wings,

Still strong to bear us well.

Manfully, fearlessly,

The day of trial bear,

For gloriously, victoriously,

Can courage quell despair!

.

HOPE.

was but a timid friend;

She sat without the grated den,

Watching how my fate would tend,

Even as selfish-hearted men.


text:
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Rh She was cruel in her fear;

Through the bars, one dreary day,

I looked out to see her there,

And she turned her face away!

Like a false guard, false watch keeping,

Still, in strife, she whispered peace;

She would sing while I was weeping;

If I listened, she would cease.

False she was, and unrelenting;

When my last joys strewed the ground,

Even Sorrow saw, repenting,

Those sad relics scattered round;

Hope, whose whisper would have given

Balm to all my frenzied pain,

Stretched her wings, and soared to heaven,

Went, and ne'er returned again!

.

MEMORY.

the sun of summer shone,

Green fields and waving woods upon,

And soft winds wandered by;


text:
Page:Weird Tales volume 36 number 02.djvu/119

 The Other Worlds

OR all of you who enjoy adventures into the worlds beyond (and it goes without saying that, as a reader of WEIRD TALES, you are a connoisseur of the uncanny)—there's a swell book called The Other Worlds (Wilfred Funk, $2.50); it's an anthology of outside-this-life fiction edited by Phil Stong, one of America's more successful writers, an expert on the unknown, and a front rank critic of weird fiction.

The Other Worlds carries the "twenty-five most outstanding modern stories of free imagination of the past decade" the "best since Frankenstein and Dracula."

The book is divided into three sections: "Strange Ideas" "Fresh Variants," and "Horrors." The "Strange Ideas" are short story notions which, Mr. Stong says, appealed to him because he had never heard of them before.

"Fresh Variants" is of much the same genre, except that the ideas of origin are of earlier use, though pleasantly and ingeniously diverted into new channels and conclusions.

"Horrors" is the most conventional. The language of this type of tale, the compiler feels, should be simple and unpretentious. Concerning such hair raisers, Mr. Stong writes: "The ghost story per se is not necessarily a horror story, because a great many or nearly all of them can be read without any psychic discomfort. The final desideratum of the horror story is that this feeling should be translated to the hair on the back of the neck—that is, physically experienced. This feat is accomplished about once in a literary coon's age, so that it is not strange that in the following collection only one has this effect on me. I shall not name it; but I think the reader will discover it." We think we know which one Mr. Stong means. When you read the book, we'd be interested to hear what story you believe it is.

Ghost stories, weird stories and horror stories, he says, are three differently feathered birds—and while the horror story is almost invariably weird, the ghost and weird tales are seldom horrible.

There are, you will be glad to hear, no stories about Mars or monkeymen. Instead, the book contains horror tales that would reduce the temperature of a smelting plant—and humorous fantasies to balance off the "grims" with "grins" that are really laugh making. And although every story is convincing while it is read, you will not find any tale here that is even remotely possible. For, as Phil Stong says, " this crop is not marred by any appeals to reason. If you dig up a god in your garden who assures you that your worst lies are not only true but always have-been, don't bother Einstein; come and see me."

Or better still—if you are always seeking an answer to questions that are unanswerable—stay with us as a permanent reader of WEIRD TALES.

Writing l.g. After Your Name

NOTHER recent book, which we arc sure will appeal to WEIRD TALES readers, is a very modern story of lycanthropy. This is Franklin Gregory's The White Wolf (Random House, New York, $2). The story is set in that part of Pennsylvania where he who rides may see many hex signs on the barns, and where the horned finger sign for warding off the evil eye is universally recognized; so a modern werewolf fantasy fits uncommonly well into that background.

Opening in Philadelphia, a lovely young socialite develops such amazing symptoms that her father begins to think she has inherited some strange powers from her remote ancestors. Studies of family records indeed show the mystic symbols l.g. after some of their names—and this can only mean loup garou. How this appalling heritage is brought home to a group of intelligent modern skeptics—a group which includes news reporters, press photographers and a consulting psychiatrist, not to mention the earnest young gentleman farmer who is the girl's fiance—offers good


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


text:
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Rh I saw it sink, and strove to taste it,

My eager lips approached the brim;

The movement only seemed to waste it,

It sank to dregs, all harsh and dim.

These I have drankdrunk [sic], and they for ever

Have poisoned life and love for me;

A draught from Sodom's lake could never

More fiery, salt, and bitter, be.

Oh! Love was all a thin illusion;

Joy, but the desert's flying stream;

And, glancing back on long delusion,

My memory grasps a hollow dream.

Yet, whence that wondrous change of feeling,

I never knew, and cannot learn,

Nor why my lover's eye, congealing,

Grew cold, and clouded, proud, and stern.

Nor wherefore, friendship's forms forgetting,

He careless left, and cool withdrew;

Nor spoke of grief, nor fond regretting,

Nor even one glance of comfort threw.

And neither word nor token sending,

Of kindness, since the parting day,

His course, for distant regions bending,

Went, self-contained and calm, away.


text: Page:History of the Reign of Ferdinand and Isabella the Catholic Vol. III.djvu/525


text:
Page:Weird Tales volume 36 number 02.djvu/120

 opportunity for an adept working out of a genuinely weird plot. Incidentally, we had the opportunity of reading this story in manuscript—and felt it would have been an ideal serial for WEIRD TALES had space permitted. As it is, we can very enthusiastically recommend the book to the fans; for the author is the worthy follower of a great tradition.

From Crandon, Wisconsin, Virginia Combs writes:

I have just read the last issue of WEIRD TALES and enjoyed it immensely, as usual. Where are you, Mr. Biggs belonged in an StF mag, but it was a good story just the same. I do have a kick about Birthmark. Nonsense. The minute I read it I said to myself, "Mr. Quinn is leading us up the garden." If Mrs. Watrous had been carried off by the gorilla only one week before she was delivered, there was no possibility of the child having a physical mark as a result of her mother's fright. She might have had monkey-like tendencies, such as surprising agility of the feet to grasp and hold things, and an ungirlish ability to climb trees, but that is all. I am no doctor, but a child, even premature, as Fedoda doubtless was, cannot assume a physical appearance foreign to the species homo in one week. The foetus must have been fully developed, for Fedocia lived and was healthy although born only one week after her mother's fright. Do you suppose that some chemical reaction of fear in the mother's blood dissolved a pair of human feet on an unborn infant and replaced them with those of a gorilla? Nonsense Mr. Quinn. If you had said that Fedocia was born five months later, such a birthmark might have been possible, if you believe in such things, and I have seen enough in my short span to know that not all things are guessed at in our philosophy.

On the other hand, I thought the nature of the birthmark in taste with the events that lead up to it. The gorilla did not harm Mrs. Watrous, only frightened her, therefore Fedocia's beauty remained unmarred. Only her feet showed that tragic influence.

Edward Goodell writes from Kansas City, Kansas:

I wish to thank you for printing my letter in full in the last issue of WEIRD TALES; I have received some very nice letters from people all over the country.

I am inclosing an actual spell in poem form from the book of Runes that I mentioned in my former letter to you (the one that was published). It has been translated from the Old English script that it was originally written in. I have had to add a modern word, or series of words, here and there to keep it in rhyme, as the original is. I have called it The Witch's Curse, though it is really the spell to kill a rival.


text:
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Rh And still the undulating gloom

Mocks sight with formless motion;

Was such sensation Jonah's doom,

Gulphed in the depths of ocean?

Streaking the air, the nameless vision,

Fast-driven, deep-sounding, flows;

Oh! whence its source, and what its mission?

How will its terrors close?

Long-sweeping, rushing, vast and void,

The Universe it swallows;

And still the dark, devouring tide,

A Typhoon tempest follows.

More slow it rolls; its furious race

Sinks to a solemn gliding;

The stunning roar, the wind's wild chase,

To stillness are subsiding.

And, slowly borne along, a form

The shapeless chaos varies;

Poised in the eddy toof [sic] the storm,

Before the eye it tarries.

A woman drowned—sunk in the deep,

On a long wave reclining;

The circling waters' crystal sweep,

Like glass, her shape enshrining;

Her pale dead face, to Gilbert turned,

Seems as in sleep reposing;

A feeble light, now first discerned,

The features well disclosing.


text:
Page:Weird Tales volume 36 number 02.djvu/121

 {|
 * We're all out of issues for May and Sept., 1940; so we'd be very glad to hear from readers who have copies of these issues which they wish to sell—or who would like to trade them in for newer issues, or any back numbers that they may have missed and would like to read.

If you're interested, please get in touch with the Subscription Department, WEIRD TALES, 9 Rockefeller Plaza, New York, N. Y.
 * }

N TUNE with Edmond Hamilton's novelette of dreams and dreamers, is this interesting, very revealing letter to Seabury Quinn from Russell E. Nihlean, of Chicago, Illinois. For Mr. Nihlean, like Henry Stevens in the fantasy Dreamer's Worlds, has a dream which is as real, as true to life as life itself. Here, then, is his story, a story which—because he feels, as we do, that it will prove of real and genuine interest to every reader of the magazine—he has kindly consented to let us publish in the Eyrie:

Dear Mr. Quinn:

Fourteen years have passed since I read the first of your writings, and I still buy WEIRD TALES, eager to devour your next tale.

Often I have wished that I might know you, and find out what sort of a man wrote these stories, but I feared that if I did write to you in my youth, you would toss the article aside with a smile, thinking that "here was just another young admirer." So I have waited fourteen or fifteen years to write, and I am now thirty-three.

Of late you have buried the good Doctor Trowbridge, and the Good Jules, to tell of other tales. Of these, the last two were best. And choosing between them, I think your Song Without Words (July, 1941, issue) was the better. I say this because the story struck a resounding cord within me.

You see, like Chester Gunnerson in this story, I also am handicapped. I have been a victim of Infantile Paralysis since I was thirteen months old. I get around with the aid of a crutch and cane, and am able to earn my own living. I have worked at everything from newspaper reporting to selling automobiles. I have been on WPA and on Relief. And have come up with a grin on my puss, ready to start anew. I hate a whiner. I think that the world don't owe anybody a damn thing but a man has a right to take from the world if he can.

I, like Chester Gunnerson, have loved women and they have laughed at me when my back was turned, as they did him, for a filthy cripple. And it has hurt me as it hurt him. That is why I could not help but to extend to him my fullest sympathy.

In your tale a ghost brings solace to Chester Gunnerson. When I am wounded to the quick, a dream brings rest to me. It has been so ever since I was a child of about five.

Listen. In the dream I seem to be in an ancient land of hot sands and palm trees. There is a broad brown river, and a ship of many oars and a striped sail. I am aboard this boat clad in a white purple trimmed toga. With me is a woman. The woman is young and beautiful. Beautiful with jet black hair, azure blue eyes, a sweet prideful mouth. The hair is straight and falls square cut across a wide brow over thick eyebrows that almost meet. The nose is short and straight. Proud is this woman's carriage and she wears the diadem of Ancient Egypt At least that is what I found it to be when I discovered it in my history.

In my dreams she and I seem to be made for each other. And when I was a little boy suffering overly much in the ten years I spent in the hospital, she was always there to comfort me.

When I came to man's estate I became involved in several unfortunate affairs of the heart. After each one, in my dreams, she would comfort me again. And last year, when I had a major operation, I lost all desire to live before I went under ether. SHE sent me back to the land of the living, saying that although she had waited a lifetime for me, my time was "Not yet, not yet!"

Now this tale of mine might sound like a bit of your own fiction, but I swear that it is true, Mr. Quinn, and I'm telling it to you because I have a feeling that you, perhaps, would understand it. Can you? Oh, yes, I forgot to say that the lady's name seems to be Iona. That is all I can tell you of my strange dream. I hope you don't get the idea that I'm wacky.

However, I feel that because I know you in a distant, friendly way, you will give me your diagnosis of it.

In the meantime, let me again congratulate you on your Song Without Words. I'll remember it a long time.

Now please excuse it because I close so abruptly. The whistle snorted 11 p.m. and I have to be off to bed. That is, if I want to work tomorrow. I am a map tracer in government service, and Uncle Sammy likes well-rested employees. So until I hear from you,

I am sincerely, RUSSELL E. NIHLEAN


text:
Page:Weird Tales volume 36 number 02.djvu/116

THE GUARDIAN ANGEL

By SIGMOND MILLER

T'S a long stretch between Jackson City and Logan, every bit of three hundred miles. The fast trains that come through here, if they're behind time, can easily build up a good speed and make the schedule, for it's a straight run. No need to slow down; no difficult bends and very few cross roads.

On this spring night the fog was unusually heavy. Engineer Timson pulled out his big watch. "On time," he said laconically.

I wiped my brow; I'm the fireman. "Kinda heavy fog t'night."

Timson grunted and busied himself at the controls. The huge panting locomotive got under way. Soon the click-clack of the wheels beat rhythmically and the crack Western Limited moved along at high speed.

For an hour neither of us said anything, but attended to our duties. We were making good time despite the fog. Suddenly Timson shouted out in a strange voice. "My eyes must be goin' back on me. Do yuh see what I see?"

I looked out of the cab and saw directly ahead and above what seemed to be nothing else but a silhouette of a black Angel. The wings were wide and black and the apparition rode the sky with the same speed as the train. "Almighty God!" I said in an awed whisper. "What is that!"

"Yuh see it too, don't yuh?"

I nodded.

"It looks like the Angel of Death," said Timson, his voice packed with fear.

"It's a warning!" I shouted, quite frightened. "Put on the brakes!"

The engineer needed no urging. The locomotive came to a quick halt.

Both of us got off. The apparition remained stationary in the sky. It moved or seemed to beckon. "It's trying to warn us. Maybe something wrong with the engine," I said.

We walked around the huge boiler tube examining the eccentric crank, the reversing links, the connecting rods, but found nothing wrong.

The figure in the sky remained where it was.

"Well, I'll be hanged!" I said with great relief.

"What yuh find?" asked the engineer walking over to me.

"It's just a moth stuck on the headlight Just threw a shadow in the sky like a movin' picture." I handed Timson the fluttering moth. 119


text:
Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/85

Rh But, moving slow, it faced him straight,

It would not flinch nor quail:

Then first did Gilbert's strength abate,

His stony firmness quailfail [sic].

He sank upon his knees and prayed;

The shape stood rigid there;

He called aloud for human aid,

No human aid was near.

An accent strange did thus repeat

Heaven's stern but just decree:

"The measure thou to her didst mete,

To thee shall measured be!"

Gilbert sprang from his bended knees,

By the pale spectre pushed,

And, wild as one whom demons seize,

Up the hall-staircase rushed;

Entered his chamber—near the bed

Sheathed steel and fire-arms hung—

Impelled by maniac purpose dread,

He chose those stores among.

Across his throat, a keen-edged knife

With vigorous hand he drew;

The wound was wide—his outraged life

Rushed rash and redly through.

And thus died, by a shameful death,

A wise and worldly man,

Who never drew but selfish breath

Since first his life began.

.


text:
Page:Weird Tales volume 36 number 02.djvu/117

 "Yuh certainly scared the daylights outa me," said Timson, looking fascinatedly at the insect.

"Sure is one on us. Wait'll the boys hear this one."

"Let's get goin'. We're losin' time," said Timson, himself again.

"Wait a minute. Hear somethin'?"

Timson listened. "That surely sounds like water. That must be Chapman's Creek."

"Kinda loud for a little creek. Let's go see what it is."

"Short ten minutes a'ready. But we can take a quick look."

We followed the tracks down a hundred feet or so and suddenly the tracks disappeared into an expanse of water. The trestle over Chapman's Creek was gone. What was once a small stream was now a raging, roaring river, flooded by the heavy spring rains.

For a long time we stared down at it unbelievingly, then turned and looked at each other's pale faces. Silently, we walked back to the panting engine.

(From the French of Charles P. Baudelaire)

Translated by

TIMEUS GAYLORD


text:
Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/111

Rh "You think too much, my sister dear;

You sit too long alone;

What though November days be drear?

Full soon will they be gone.

I've swept the hearth, and placed your chair,

Come, Emma, sit by me;

Our own fireside is never drear,

Though late and wintry wane the year,

Though rough the night may be."

"The peaceful glow of our fireside

Imparts no peace to me:

My thoughts would rather wander wide

Than rest, dear Jane, with thee.

I'm on a distant journey bound,

And if, about my heart,

Too closely kindred ties were boundwound [sic],

'T would break when forced to part.

"'Soon will November days be o'er:'

Well have you spoken, Jane:

My own forebodings tell me more,

For me, I know by presage sure,

They'll ne'er return again.

Ere long, nor sun nor storm to me

Will bring or joy or gloom;

They reach not that Eternity

Which soon will be my home."


text:
Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/99

Rh Remote colonial wilds detain

Her husband, loved though stern;

She, 'mid that smiling English scene,

Weeps for his wished return.

.

A DAY DREAM.

a sunny brae, alone I lay

One summer afternoon;

It was the marriage-time of May

With her young lover, June.

From her mother's heart, seemed loath to part

That queen of bridal charms,

But her father smiled on the fairest child

He ever held in his arms.

The trees did wave their plumy crests,

The glad birds caroled clear;

And I, of all the wedding guests,

Was only sullen there!

There was not one, but wished to shun

My aspect void of cheer;

The very grey rocks, looking on,

Asked, "What do you do here?"


text:
Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/100

90 And I could utter no reply;

In sooth, I did not know

Why I had brought a clouded eye

To greet the general glow.

So, resting on a heathy bank,

I took my heart to me;

And we together sadly sank

Into a reverie.

We thought, "When winter comes again,

Where will these bright things be?

All vanished, like a vision vain,

An unreal mockery!

The birds that now so blithely sing,

Through deserts, frozen dry,

Poor spectres of the perished spring,

In famished troops, will fly.

And why should we be glad at all?

The leaf is hardly green,

Before a token of its fall

Is on the surface seen!"

Now, whether it were really so,

I never could be sure;

But as in fit of peevish woe,

I stretched me on the moor.


text:
Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/101

Rh A thousand thousand gleaming fires

Seemed kindling in the air;

A thousand thousand silvery lyres

Resounded far and near:

Methought, the very breath I breathed

Was full of sparks divine,

And all my heather-couch was wreathed

By that celestial shine!

And, while the wide earth echoing rung

To that strange minstrelsy,

The little glittering spirits sung,

OOr [sic] seemed to sing, to me:

"O mortal! mortal! let them die;

Let time and tears destroy,

That we may overflow the sky

With universal joy!

Let grief distract the sufferer's breast,

And night obscure his way;

They hasten him to endless rest,

And everlasting day.

To thee the world is like a tomb,

A desert's naked shore;

To us, in unimagined bloom,

It brightens more and more!


text:
Page:Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell (Charlotte, Emily and Anne Brontë, 1846).djvu/102

92 And, could we lift the veil, and give

One brief glimpse to thine eye,

Thou wouldst rejoice for those that live,

Because they live to die."

The music ceased; the noonday dream,

Like dream of night, withdrew;

But Fancy, still, will sometimes deem

Her fond creation true.

.

TO COWPER.

are thy strains, celestial Bard;

And oft, in childhood's years,

I've read them o'er and o'er again,

With floods of silent tears.

The language of my inmost heart,

I traced in every line;

My sins, my sorrows, hopes, and fears,

Were there—and only mine.

All for myself the sigh would swell,

The tear of auguish start;


text: Poems by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell/A Day Dream


text: Talk:John Masefield

title: Talk:John Masefield


text: Talk:John the Baptist (Corpening)

title: Talk:John the Baptist (Corpening)


text: Talk:Ab Khail VOA Report

title: Talk:Ab Khail VOA Report


text:
Index talk:History of the Reign of Ferdinand and Isabella the Catholic Vol. III.djvu

Formatting
For information on formatting, refer to Volume I.. --EncycloPetey (talk) 22:13, 13 October 2012 (UTC)


text: Author talk:Mary Morris Vaux

title: Author talk:Mary Morris Vaux


text: Author talk:George Vaux

title: Author talk:George Vaux


text:
Author:George Vaux

Works

 * Additional Observations on Glaciers in British Columbia. (1899)

title: Author:George Vaux


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Königinhof

title: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Königinhof


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Königgrätz

title: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Königgrätz


text:
Page:The Irish in Australia.djvu/283

 Eventually the military put in an appearance; the combatants were separated, and the Orange leaders arrested. The Catholics withdrew to the north of the city, and the Orangemen to the south. Martial law was proclaimed, and the military encamped for the night in the heart of Melbourne, midway between the two forces. Fortunately, the influence of Father Geoghegan and John O'Shanassy prevailed, and the exasperated Irish Catholics were induced to return to their homes and their distracted families. The result of that day's work was disastrous to the influence of the Orange Society in Victoria. It never raised its head in public afterwards. The Peace Preservation Act was passed for the express purpose of proclaiming the illegality of displaying Orange flags and emblems, and, though attempts have now and again been made to repeal that wise enactment, they have all deservedly failed, because the common-sense of the community was opposed to giving any secret society the power of making itself offensive and provoking breaches of the public peace. By a strange irony of fate, the hotel which was the Orange head-quarters, and the scene of the riot just described, is now, and has been for several years, known as the "Harp of Erin," with a pronounced Parnellite as its proprietor.

On only one occasion afterwards were these arch-disturbers permitted to resort to their traditional tactics. Forbidden by law to show themselves as an organisation in public, they built a Protestant Hall, and within its walls they were, of course, free to meet, drink, and talk as much and as often as they chose. But, on the evening of November 27, 1867—twenty-one years after the riot just referred to—all Melbourne was illuminated in honour of the visit of His Royal Highness the Duke of Edinburgh, second son of Queen

title: Page:The Irish in Australia.djvu/283


text: Author talk:Thomas William Smillie

title: Author talk:Thomas William Smillie


text:
Author:Thomas William Smillie

Works

 * A Geologist's Paradise (1911, photographs; text by Charles Doolittle Walcott)

title: Author:Thomas William Smillie


text:
Page:Chronological Table and Index of the Statutes.djvu/833

Rh

 * Witness— :Service of subpoena on, and attendance of, in any part of United Kingdom
 * 45 Geo. 3. c. 92. ss. 3. 4.
 * Attendance of, and production of documents by, in one part of United Kingdom, before commission for examination of, issued by courts of another
 * 6 & 7 Vict. c. 82.
 * Examination of, in United Kingdom, Channel Islands, and Isle of Man, with respect to offences in Ireland
 * 14 & 15 Vict. c. 93.
 * Compelling of attendance of, when out of jurisdiction but in United Kingdom
 * 17 & 18 Vict. c. 34.
 * Warrant to bring up a prisoner as
 * (E.) 16 & 17 Vict. c. 30.
 * Warrant to bring up a prisoner as in county court
 * (E. ) 19 & 20 Vict. c. 108. s. 31.
 * Power of consular officer to send home from abroad, in case of offences by masters, &c. of British ships at sea; admission of depositions when witnesses cannot be produced
 * 17 & 18 Vict. c. 104. ss. 268, 270.
 * At coroner's inquest.
 * See, 2 (c).
 * Examination of, in causes in every court of civil jurisdiction
 * (E.) 17 & 18 Vict. c. 125.
 * Examination of, in cases in every court of civil and criminal jurisdiction
 * (E. I.) 28 & 29 Vict. c. 18.
 * Examination of, in proceedings on revenue side of Exchequer
 * (E.) 28 & 29 Vict. c. 104. s. 35.
 * Cannot refuse to answer on ground of admitting a debt, or subjecting himself to a suit
 * (E.) 46 Geo. 3. c. 37.
 * Attendance and examination of, and indemnity to:—
 * before corrupt practices commission, or on trial of election petition
 * See, 2 (b).
 * on trial of municipal election petition
 * (E. I.) 35 & 36 Vict. c. 60. ss. 16, 28.
 * To will not incompetent because executor
 * (E. I.) 7 Will. 4. & 1 Vict. c. 26. s. 17.
 * Not incapacitated by crime or interest, or being party to proceedings
 * (E. I.) 6 & 7 Vict. c. 85.
 * (E. I.) 14 & 15 Vict. c. 99.
 * (E. I.) 16 & 17 Vict. c. 83.
 * (E. I.) 32 & 33 Vict. c. 68.
 * Not Incapacitated by crime on revenue side of Exchequer
 * (E.) 28 & 29 Vict. c. 104. s. 34.
 * Not Incapacitated by crime in Customs cases
 * 39 & 40 Vict. c. 36. ss. 259, 261.
 * Officers of Post Office competent as.
 * See, 6.
 * Who are competent in summary proceedings
 * (E.) 11 & 12 Vict. c. 43. s. 15.
 * Depositions of, when admissible in criminal cases
 * (E.) 11 & 12 Vict. c. 42. s. 17.
 * Depositions of, taking of, in criminal cases, in case of illness of witness
 * (E.) 30 & 31 Vict. c. 35. ss. 6, 7.
 * For defence before justices on charge of indictable offence
 * (E.) 30 & 31 Vict. c. 35. ss. 3, 4.
 * Husband or wife of party competent to be, except in certain cases
 * (E. I.) 16 & 17 Vict. c. 83.
 * Husband or wife of party competent to be, in actions for penalties under Corrupt Practices Prevention Act.
 * See, 2 (b).
 * Husband or wife of party competent to be, in proceedings on revenue side of Exchequer.
 * (E.) 28 & 29 Vict. c. 104. s. 34.
 * Husband and wife competent and compellable to be, as to cruelty or desertion, on petition of wife for dissolution of marriage on ground of adultery, coupled with cruelty or desertion
 * (E.) 22 & 23 Vict. c. 64. s. 5.
 * Parties, and husbands and wives of parties, competent to be:
 * in any proceeding in consequence of adultery
 * (E. I.) 32 & 33 Vict. c. 68. s. 3.
 * in proceedings under Conspiracy and Protection of Property Act, 1876
 * 38 & 39 Vict. c. 86. 8. 11.
 * Defendants, and husbands and wives of defendants, competent and compellable to be, on indictments for non-repair of highways or bridges, nuisances to highways, rivers, or bridges, or other indictments or proceedings for trying or enforcing civil rights only
 * 40 & 41 Vict. c. 14.
 * Parties to action, interrogatories to, examination of, and discovery of documents by
 * (E.) 17.& 18 Vict. c. 125.
 * Before justices, as to malicious injury to property, not disentitled to receive damages
 * (E. I.) 18 & 19 Vict. c. 126. s. 22.
 * (E. I.) 39 & 40 Vict. c. 20. s. 4.
 * Prosecution of, for perjury, by order of court
 * (E. I.) 14 & 15 Vict. c. 100. s. 19, &c.
 * Attendance and examination of, and production of documents by, respecting matters pending before foreign tribunal, in civil cases
 * 19 & 20 Vict. c. 113.
 * Attendance and examination of, and production of documents by, respecting matters pending before foreign tribunal, in criminal cases
 * 33 & 34 Vict. c. 52. s. 24.
 * 36 &.37 Vict. c.60. s. 5.
 * Compelling attendance and examination of, for purposes of suit in any other part of dominions of Crown
 * 22 Vict. c. 20.
 * See also ; ; ; ;, 2; ; ; ; ; ; , 4; ; ; and under names of different Courts.


text:
Author:Beverly Tucker Lacy

Works

 * "An Address of the Chaplains of the Second Corps ("Stonewall" Jackson's), Army Northern Virginia, to the Churches of the Confederate States." in Southern Historical Society Papers, vol. 14, p.348

title: Author:Beverly Tucker Lacy


text:
Page:History of the Reign of Ferdinand and Isabella the Catholic Vol. I.djvu/37

Rh Page


text:
Page:Chronological Table and Index of the Statutes.djvu/77

Rh

 * -


text: Chronological Table and Index of the Statutes/Chronological Table/Jac1


text:
Page:History of the Reign of Ferdinand and Isabella the Catholic Vol. I.djvu/38

xxiv Page


text:
Page:Public General Statutes 1896.djvu/354

334 without a requisition,. but subject to the consent of the county council and of the Local Government Board.

(4.) Any expenditure attending the carrying out within a special pier and harbour district of the purposes of this Act, or any of them, shall be paid out of an assessment to be imposed by the county council with the consent of the Local Government Board within the special district, to be called the special district (pier and harbour) rate, and levied along with and as an addition to and in excess of the public health rate, and with the same remedies and modes of recovery:—

Provided that—

(a.) Such special district (pier and harbour) late shall not exceed fifteen pence in the pound on the annual value of the lands and heritages within the special district as ascertained for the purposes of the Poor Law (Scotland) Act, 1845 {{8 & 9 Vict c. 83:

(b.) When a special district is formed in terms of this Act, the Public Health (Scotland) Acts shall in their application to such special district be amended to the extent that the maximum assessment leviable thereunder shall be diminished by the amount of the rate for the time being levied in terms of this Act, so that the maximum assessment aforesaid and the rate levied in terms of this Act taken together shall not in any year exceed the rate of two shillings and sixpence in the pound in any special water supply or drainage district.

(5.) If in any year ending the fifteenth day of May the rates received by the district committee, as undertakers, shall be insufficient to defray the expenses of the maintenance, repair, management, and regulation of any authorised works, it shall be lawful for and incumbent on the county council to meet such deficiency by imposing and levying a rate in terms of this Act upon the special pier and harbour district within which the works are situate.

{{gap}}(6.) If from any cause the local subscriptions received on account any works, together with the grant out of moneys voted by Parliament, shall be insufficient to defray the cost of constructing the authorised works, the county council shall hi bound to pay and provide for such deficiency, and for that purpose may borrow, on the security of a rate to be levied in terms of this Act upon the special pier and harbour district within which the works are situate, and such rate shall be chargeable with the principal and interest of the loan, the amount of such deficiency in the manner and subject to the provisions of section sixty-seven of the Local Government (Scotland) Act, 1889 {{L sidenote|62 & 63 Vict c. 50.}}.

{{gap}}(7.) Where a special district has been formed under the provisions of this Act, the district committee may, subject to regulations to be from time to time made with the consent of the county council, appoint a sub-committee for the management and maintenance of the pier and harbour works, and such sub-comiteee shall; in whole or in part, consist of parish councillors of the parish or parishes in which the special district is situated, whether members of the district committee or not {{nop}} {{sidenotes end}}


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Königsborn

title: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Königsborn


text:
Page:History of England (Froude) Vol 2.djvu/511

1536.] same, but refer the declaration of those places that be in controversy to the judgment of the learned.'

The publication of the English translation of the Bible, with the permission for its free use among the people—the greatest, because the purest victory so far gained by the Reformers—was at length accomplished; a few words will explain how, and by whom. Before the Reformation, two versions existed of the Bible in English—two certainly, perhaps three. One was Wicliffe's; another, based on Wicliffe's, but tinted more strongly with the peculiar opinions of the Lollards, followed at the beginning of the fifteenth century; and there is said to have been a third, but no copy of this is known to survive, and the history of it is vague. The possession or the use of these translations was prohibited by the Church, under pain of death. They were extremely rare, and little read; and it was not till Luther's great movement began in Germany, and his tracts and commentaries found their way into England, that a practical determination was awakened among the people, to have before them, in their own tongue, the book on which their faith was built.

I have already described how William Tyndal felt his heart burn in him to accomplish this great work for his country; how he applied for assistance to a learned bishop; how he discovered rapidly that the assistance which he would receive from the Church authorities would be a, speedy elevation to martyrdom; how he


text:
Page:History of England (Froude) Vol 2.djvu/512

492 went across the Channel to Luther, and thence to Antwerp; and how he there, in the year 1526, achieved and printed the first edition of the New Testament. It was seen how copies were carried over secretly to London and circulated in thousands by the Christian Brothers. The council threatened; the bishops anathematized. They opened subscriptions to buy up the hated and dreaded volumes. They burnt them publicly in St Paul's. The whip, the gaol, the stake, did their worst; and their worst was nothing. The high dignitaries of the earth were fighting against Heaven, and met the success which ever attends such contests. Three editions were sold before 1530; and in that year a fresh instalment was completed. The Pentateuch was added to the New Testament; and afterwards, by Tyndal himself, or under Tyndal's eyes, the historical books, the Psalms, and Prophets. At length the whole canon was translated, and published in separate portions.

All these were condemned with equal emphasis and all continued to spread. The progress of the work of propagation had, in 1531, become so considerable as to be the subject of an anxious protest to the Crown from the episcopal bench. The bishops complained of the translations as inaccurate—of unbecoming reflections on themselves in the prefaces and side notes. They required stronger powers of repression, more frequent holocausts, a more efficient inquisitorial police. In Henry's reply they found that the waters of their life were poisoned at the spring. The King, too, was infected with the madness. The King would have the Bible in English; he directed them, if the translation


text:
Page:History of England (Froude) Vol 2.djvu/513

1536.] was unsound, to prepare a better translation without delay. If they had been wise in their generation they would have secured the ground when it was offered to them, and gladly complied. But the work of Reformation in England was not to be accomplished, in any one of its purer details, by the official clergy; it was to be done by volunteers from the ranks, and forced upon the Church by the secular arm. The bishops remained for two years inactive. In 1533, the King becoming more peremptory, Cranmer carried a resolution for a translation through Convocation. The resolution, however, would not advance into act. The next year he brought the subject forward again; and finding his brother prelates fixed in their neglect, he divided Tyndal's work into ten parts, sending one part to each bishop to correct. The Bishop of London alone ventured an open refusal; the remainder complied in words, and did nothing.

Finally, the King's patience was exhausted. The legitimate methods having been tried in vain, he acted on his own responsibility. Miles Coverdale, a member of the same Cambridge circle which had given birth to Cranrner, to Latimer, to Barnes, to the Scotch Wishart, silently went abroad with a license from Cromwell; with Tyndal's help he collected and edited the scattered portions; and in 1536 there appeared in London, published cum privilegio and dedicated to Henry VIII., the


text:
Page:History of England (Froude) Vol 2.djvu/514

494 first complete copy of the English Bible. The separate translations, still anomalously prohibited in detail, were exposed freely to sale in a single volume, under the royal sanction. The canon and text book of the new opinions—so long dreaded, so long execrated—was thenceforth to lie open in every church in England; and the clergy were ordered not to permit only, but to exhort and encourage, all men to resort to it and read.

In this act was laid the foundation-stone on which the whole later history of England, civil as well as ecclesiastical, has been reared; and the most minute incidents become interesting, connected with an event of so mighty moment.

'Caiaphas,' said Coverdale in the dedicatory preface, 'being bishop of his year, prophesied that it was better to put Christ to death than that all the people should perish: he meaning that Christ was a heretic and a deceiver of the people, when in truth he was the Saviour of the world, sent by his Father to suffer death for man's redemption.'

After the same manner the Bishop of Rome conferred on King Henry VIII. the title of Defender of the Faith, because his Highness suffered the bishops to burn God's Word, the root of faith, and to persecute the lovers and ministers of the same; where in very deed the Bishop, though he knew not what he did, prophesied that, by the righteous administration of his Grace, the faith should be so defended that God's Word,


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1536.] the mother of faith, should have free course through all Christendom, but especially in his own realm.

'The Bishop of Rome has studied long to keep the Bible from the people, and specially from princes, lest they should find out his tricks and his falsehoods, lest they should turn from his false obedience to the true obedience commanded by God; knowing well enough that, if the clear sun of God's Word came over the heat of the day, it would drive away tfye foul mist of his devilish doctrines. The Scripture was lost before the time of that noble King Josiah, as it hath also been among us unto the time of his Grace. Through the merciful goodness of God it is now found again as it was in the days of that virtuous King; and praised be the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, world without end, which so excellently hath endowed the princely heart of his Highness with such ferventness to his honour and the wealth of his subjects, that he may be compared worthily unto that noble king, that lantern among princes, who commanded straitly, as his Grace doth, that the law of God should be read and taught unto all the people.

'May it be found a general comfort to all Christian hearts—a continual subject of thankfulness, both of old and young, unto God and to his Grace, who, being our Moses, has brought us out of the old Ægypt, and from the cruel hands of our spiritual Pharaoh. Not by the thousandth part were the Jews so much bound unto King David for subduing of great Goliah as we are to his Grace for delivering us out of our old Babylonish


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Königshütte


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1896. 3. Upon a special pier and harbour district being formed as in Substitution this Act herein-before provided the enactments contained in (a) section two, sub-sections one to twenty-four, inclusive, and sub-section twenty-seven and (b) the enactments of sections three and certain six of the, shall apply for the purpose of aiding in the construction and improvement of small harbours, piers, and boatslips within the counties of Orkney and Zetland as if the words " District Committee " were in the said Act inserted in place of the words "County Council"

4. Section forty -five of the Local Government (Scotland) Act, of 1894, shall be read as if the words "each special pier and harbour district formed under the Orkney and Zetland Small Piers and Harbours Act " were therein inserted after the words " section forty-four of this Act."

5. Nothing; in this Act shall prejudice or affect the provisions of the, or the.

6. This Act shall apply only within the counties of Orkney and Extent of Zetland.

  An Act to amend the Laws with respect to the Royal Naval Volunteers. [14th August 1896.]

E it enacted by the Queen's most Excellent Majesty, by and with the advice and consent of the Lords Spiritual and Temporal, and Commons, in this present Parliament assembled, and by the authority of the same, as follows:

'1.—(1.) The power under the, to raise and pay volunteers may, subject to regulations of the Admiralty, be exercised outside the British Islands: Provided that a volunteer shall not be raised or paid outside the British Islands, unless he is a British subject serving on a vessel registered in the British Islands.

(2.) In section one of the said Act the words "in the United Kingdom and the Islands of Man, Guernsey, Jersey, Alderney, and Sark, or any of them," and in section nine of the same Act the words "in the United Kingdom or in the Islands of Man, Guernsey, Jersey, Alderney, and Sark, and nowhere else, and" are hereby repealed.

2. A person holding a deferred pension certificate or ticket shall be deemed to be a person in receipt of a pension within the meaning of section eleven of the.

3. This Act may be cited as the Royal Naval Reserve Volunteer Act, 1896.