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Sketch of J. Piikoi's Life, written by himself

Sketch of J. Piikoi's Life, written by himself.

About twenty days before his death, the late Hon. J. Piikoi dictated the following sketch of his life, which we translate from the Hae Hawaii.

"I was born in the month of Ikuwa (January) 1804, at Waimea, Kauai. I continued to live there until Liholiho came to Kauai, on the 22nd of July 1822. There was a great feasting on the arrival of Liholiho and the chiefs in his company, on board the vessel called the "Okikowali." The feasting took place in a house known as "Puilihale." After eating, the King called to Kaumualii, - "Oh, Kaumualii, there is plenty of poi and fish at Kauai - one thing only is lacking—tobacco" The chief answered - "The tobacco also is ready." He then called me, saying Piikoi, "go and do as I bid you." I consented, and a pipe having been lighted, was given to me, together with a tobacco box and a pipe-lighter, and I was directed to take them to Liholiho. The chief called out, - "Oh, the Heavens, here is the tobacco, and a servant with it." Then it was that I became a pipe-lighter; that was the first commencement of my going with Liholiho to live. My relations and friends made a great lamentation, but some said, "We have no business to wail, for he is given entirely to the King." I then went round the island of Kauai with the King and afterwards came to Oahu with him. At Waianae, I ran away in order to go with Kaumualii at Waialea. He ordered me to go back, saying that I must look to the King for my subsistence hereafter, nor desert him on any account. I accordingly returned, and continued to live with Liholiho until he went to England, and never wanted for anything to eat, drink or wear.

After the King went to England I lived with Kahalaia, and on his appointment as governor of Kauai, I accompanied him thither. After the rebellion of Humehume in 1824, we returned to Oahu, and on the death of Kahalaia, in 1826, the late King sent for me, saying "You belonged to Liholiho; why do you not come to live with me?" I said "I have come." The late King was considerate in regard to his servants. Sever years later, the King gave me the charge of lands on Oahu. This duty I executed both to the satisfaction of the King and somewhat to my own profit. Subsequently, when Haalilio went to England, I received his duties to perform. About this time I was made a Member of the House of Nobles, and soon after, a Member of the King's Privy Council. I also received from the King a very important duty- that of superintending the division of lands between the King and the chiefs at Haliimaile. When I undertook this duty, some of the chiefs said that they did not wish for me to divide the lands for them. I made reply to them that if they would not take my division, they must lose all their lands, from Hawaii to Kauai. These were strong words, but I spoke confidently, well knowing that I had ample authority from the King. I continued to live pleasantly and happily under the late King until he left us on the 15 December, 1854.

Under His present Majesty, Kamehameha IV, who God has graciously placed over us, I have enjoyed all my former rights of nobility, and my family and myself have enjoyed the fullest protection. May God preserve the King, and grant him a long and prosperous reign. I have written the foregoing in my great weakness, for the purpose of showing my countrymen how I rose to my present rank and position, under the protection of the King, from the humble station of a pipe-lighter.

Love to all, J. Piikoi"

Honolulu, April 7, 1859.


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The New International Encyclopædia/Chamberlain, Joshua Lawrence

CHAMBERLAIN, (1828—). An American soldier and educator. He was born in Brewer, Me., graduated at Bowdoin College in 1852, and at the Bangor Theological Seminary in 1855, and was professor of modern languages at Bowdoin when the Civil War broke out. He then enlisted in the Union Army and served with distinction throughout the war, was six times wounded, and left the service (1865) with the brevet rank of major-general. From 1866 to 1870 he was Governor of Maine, and in 1871 was chosen president of Bowdoin College. When the Democrats and Fusionists, under the lead of Governor Garcelon, undertook in 1879-80 to get possession of the State government, and there was some danger of civil war, General Chamberlain commanded the militia of the State. He adhered to the regularly elected Legislature, as sustained by the unanimous opinion of the Supreme Court, and prevented the intended violence and usurpation. He resigned the presidency of Bowdoin in 1883, and removed to New York to practice law. He has written Maine: Her Place in History (1877); American Ideals, and Ethics and Politics of the Spanish Question, and is the editor of an extensive work entitled Universities and Their Sons (1898).

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


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The New International Encyclopædia/Chamberlain, Mellen

CHAMBERLAIN, (1821-1900). An American librarian and historical writer. He was born in Pembroke, N. H., graduated at Dartmouth in 1844 and at the Harvard Law School in 1848, and in 1849 began the practice of the law in Chelsea, Mass. He subsequently served for some years in the Massachusetts Legislature; was chairman of the Judiciary Committee in the Senate; became a justice of the Boston Municipal Court in 1866; and from 1870 to 1878 was Chief Justice. From 1878 to 1890 he was librarian-in-chief of the Boston Public Library. He devoted much of his time to the study of American history, and wrote a number of monographs and essays of considerable value, some of which were collected into a volume entitled, John Adams, the Statesman of the Revolution, and Other Essays (1898). Among his other publications are: The History of Winnisimmet, Rumney Marsh, and Pullin Point (1880); The Journals of Captain Henry Dearborn, 1775-83 (1886-87); and several chapters, notably the one entitled “The Revolution Impending,” in Winsor's Narrative and Critical History of America (Boston, 1884-89).


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The New International Encyclopædia/Chamberlain, Montague

CHAMBERLAIN, (1844—). A Canadian ornithologist, born at Saint John, New Brunswick. In 1890 he became recorder of Harvard University, and in 1893 secretary of the Lawrence Scientific School. He was one of the founders of the American Ornithological Union. Besides a revision of Nuttall's Handbook of the Birds of Eastern North America (1872), he has published the following important works and lectures: Catalogue of Birds of New Brunswick; Catalogue of Mammals of New Brunswick; Systematic Table of Birds of Canada; Birds of Field and Grove; Song Birds of New England; Birds' Nests; Mental and Moral Characteristics

of the Indians; Past, Present, and Future of the Indians.


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The New International Encyclopædia/Perkins, Frederic Beecher

PERKINS, (1828-99). An American librarian and author, born at Hartford, Conn. He left Yale before graduation to study law, and was admitted to the bar in 1851. For three years he was associate editor of Barnard's American Journal of Education. After some experience as secretary of the Boston Public Library, he was librarian of the free library at San Francisco from 1880 to 1887. His publications include: Scrope, or the Lost Library, a novel (1874); Check List of American Local History (1876); Devil Puzzlers, and Other Studies (1877); My Three Conversations with Miss Chester (1877); and a Life of Dickens (1877).


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Rh

mother was regarded as quite a character in the town. When her husband died, he was about as insolvent as a man could be. For several years he had only kept his business going by means of unlimited credit, but up to the very last he managed to keep one of the gayest houses in the town. Nothing was left but a mass of bills and liabilities when he was gone. People shook their heads, and went one and all to the widow to condole with her. There were both friends and enemies among them, but all alike were creditors. Some were for selling her up at once, and others wished to keep the business going, while one wished to buy the horses privately. The "Boston-parti" to which the deceased belonged, agreed to give the widow a monthly allowance. For a few days Mrs. Worse was quite bewildered and broken down by the ruin she had so little expected. She had never had the slightest knowledge of her husband's affairs, but she was quite convinced that he was very

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The New International Encyclopædia/Perkins, George Henry

PERKINS, (1844—). An American naturalist, born at Cambridge, Mass. He was educated at the Knox Academy, Galesburg, Ill., and at Yale (1867). In 1869 he was appointed professor of natural history in the University of Vermont, and in 1898 dean of the natural science department. He served as State entomologist from 1880 until 1895, when he was made State geologist. His publications include State reports On the Injurious Insects of Vermont (3 vols., 1876-78); Parasites Infesting Man and the Lower Animals (1880); The Flora of Vermont (1888); and The Marble, Slate, and Granite Industries of Vermont (1898).


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122 rich. On the evening after the funeral she was sitting alone with her son Jacob, who was a boy of about seven or eight, when a little wizened, grey-haired man came into the room, who, after respectfully wishing Mrs. Worse good evening, laid on the table some account books and papers. The old man was well known to Mrs. Worse: it was Mr. Peter Samuelsen, commonly known as Pitter Nilken, the manager of the small shop in the back premises. Worse's property had consisted of an entire building, of which the front looked out towards the sea and the quay where the steamers were moored, and at the back was a little dark lane, where Pitter Nilken had his shop. Worse never liked anybody to allude to the shop; he considered that he was far too respectable a man of business for anything of the sort. He used to say that it was mostly for old Samuelsen's sake, that he kept the little shop going; it could have no importance in a concern like his.

Mrs. Worse had also believed this story; but that afternoon she learnt to think otherwise. It was quite clear to her, after hearing Mr. Samuelsen's figures and calculations, that the shop was not at all to be despised, and she came at last to perceive that this was what had really so long kept everything going.

The two sat over their figures far into the night. At first comprehension seemed quite hopeless to Mrs. Worse. The explanations she had heard from her husband's friends and creditors during the last few days were so complicated, and couched in terms beyond her understanding; but with Peter Samuelsen

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Rh it was quite otherwise. He never went on until he was quite sure that she comprehended what he said. At length it all began to dawn upon her, and she kept on repeating, "I declare, it is all as clear as daylight."

Next morning she ordered her carriage and drove off alone. The scandal this excited in the town was beyond description. To think that she, who scarcely owned the very clothes on her back, should have the audacity to drive in a carriage and pair before the very noses of those whom her husband had swindled! The general feeling towards her had hitherto been favourable, and several people could not help feeling a mischievous delight at the idea of seeing the haughty Mrs. Worse live on a monthly allowance. But now all were as hard as stone. Mrs. Worse herself did not seem to be so nervous as she was the day before, and when she entered Consul Garman's office, with Pitter Nilken's papers under her arm, her step was as firm and confident as a man's.

It was now several years since Worse had left the firm, but some ill-feeling had long remained on both sides, and the deceased and Mr. Garman had never got on well together. It was thus no light matter for the widow to betake herself to Consul Garman; but Mr. Samuelsen had assured her that it was quite out of the question to think of keeping the business going without a guarantee from Garman and Worse.

When the Consul saw Mrs. Worse come into the room, he imagined that she was bringing a subscription-list to raise the means for educating her son,

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124 or something of that sort; and, as he offered her a chair on the opposite side of the table, he turned over in his mind how much he should subscribe. But when Mrs. Worse began to give an explanation of her affairs, according to the calculations of Pitter Nilken, the Consul's manner changed, and he got up, walked round the table, and seated himself near her. He calmly and patiently examined each paper, went through the calculations and figures, and at last read the draught of a guarantee which Samuelsen had made, with the greatest attention.

"Who has assisted you with all this, Mrs. Worse?" he asked.

"Mr. Samuelsen," she answered, somewhat anxiously.

"Samuelsen? Samuelsen?" repeated the Consul.

"Yes, that is to say, Pitter Nilken. Perhaps you know him better by that name."

"Ah yes! the little man in the shop. H'm! Does Mr. Samuelsen wish to go into partnership with you?"

"No. I have asked him, but he prefers to remain in his present position, and give me his assistance in the business."

The Consul got up with the guarantee in his hand. It was one of his peculiarities that he could not write the signature of the firm except when he was sitting in his usual place. But as soon as he had seated himself in the old wooden armchair, he wrote in a large and bold hand, "Garman and Worse," taking care to adorn the signature with several flourishes, which he had inherited from his predecessors.

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Rh Armed with this document, Mrs. Worse and Mr. Samuelsen set to work at the rams. The first thing they did was to sell everything there was to sell; but, with the assistance of Mr. Garman, they managed to save the whole of the valuable premises. The front of the house was let, and the old lady moved over to the back, where she took turns in the shop with Mr. Samuelsen. She was at her post from early in the morning till late in the evening, gossiping with her customers, and selling tobacco, tallow candles, salt, coffee, tar-twine, herrings, train oil, paraffin, tarpaulins, paint, and many other commodities.

In the course of a few years Mrs. Worse quite lost her manners. People in polite society had never forgiven her her drive, but still less were they willing to look over the fact that she, a lady, had not more self-respect than to sink down into the position of a common shop-woman. The lower orders, on the other hand, had quite a fellow-feeling for Mrs. Worse, and the dingy little shop was just to their taste; and thus, contrary to all expectation, Mrs. Worse's business, common little retail affair as it was, went on capitally.

The trustworthy Mr. Samuelsen did the work of three. He was a little grey shrivelled man, with a face like a dried fig. He might be forty, or he might be sixty, it was not easy to tell. In his monotonous life there had only been one single event which he particularly remembered, and that was the afternoon when he had taken his books and calculations in to Mrs. Worse, and since that time he had, with the greatest

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126 honesty, helped her to overcome her many difficulties. Mr. Samuelsen had also his own private enemies to contend against, and these consisted of nearly all the school children in the town. It had always been, and was still, a favourite amusement for the children to "Sing for Pitter Nilken." The game was carried on in the following manner. Boys and girls all assembled, the more the merrier, generally in the dusk of the evening, and sneaked quietly down into the alley at the back of the Worses' house, and when they got under Samuelsen's shop-window, they began singing, to a well-known air—

This couplet was repeated again and again, each time in a louder tone, until the tormented man seized his iron ruler and sprang over the counter. Then off flew the crowd, screaming and shouting along the narrow lane, for there was an old tradition that the iron ruler had a rusty stain of blood on it. Samuelsen would then retire quietly to his desk. In the course of years the episode had been of constant occurrence, and he well knew that the only way of getting a little peace was to make this sally with the ruler.

No one could blame Mrs. Worse for making an idol of her son; he was all she had to care for. Although Jacob was a good son, and grew up strong and healthy, he had cost his mother many tears when he came

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Rh home from school bruised and untidy after a fight. The boy had almost too much spirit, as the principal said, and when he was roused he did not mind tackling the biggest and strongest boys in the school. But he got better as time went on, and when he came home from abroad to take his place in the business, he was, and not only in his mother's opinion, one of the best looking and most agreeable young men in the town.

Jacob Worse took his father's old office in the front of the house, which looked on to the market and the quay. He carried on a business partly on commission and partly on his own account. He did a good deal of trade, particularly in corn, which had hitherto been almost entirely in the hands of Garman and Worse. The old firm had established itself so securely on every side, that he seemed to meet them whichever way he turned.

Morten wished that Garman and Worse should at once use their strength, and crush their tiny rival before he had had time to become dangerous, but Consul Garman would not hear of it. He seemed to have an extraordinary liking for Worse, and even went out of his way to help him, and latterly "the rival" had become a constant Sunday guest at Sandsgaard.

At first Jacob Worse did not like leaving his mother on Sunday, but Mrs. Worse said, "Go along, you great stupid! do you suppose that Samuelsen and I care to have you sitting and laughing at us when we are playing draughts; and besides," said she, giving him a sly poke with her finger, "don't you know there is somebody out there that expects you?"

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128 "Ah, mother, do stop those insinuations of yours; you know perfectly well nothing will ever come of it."

"Now, Jacob," said Mrs. Worse, with her arms akimbo, "you think yourself very clever, but I tell you you are as stupid as an owl, a barn-door owl, when it is anything to do with women. You ought to see it must all come right some day. I dare say Miss Rachel is a little bit singular, but she is not quite cracked. You see, it will all get straight in the end; it will still all come right some day."

This was the refrain of all Mrs. Worse's observations on this head, and her son saw plainly it was of no use to contradict her. It was of no use either to advise her to give up her shop, or, at any rate, to give up the management to somebody else.

"Why, I should die of dropsy," said she, "and Samuelsen would dry up to nothing in about a fortnight, if we had not got the shop to attend to."

"Yes," suggested Jacob, "but still you need not work any longer: you have earned some rest for your old days; besides, your legs are not so young as they were."

"As to my legs," cried Mrs. Worse, with a gesture of impatience, "my legs are quite good enough for a shop-woman."

"Well, why not get a horse and carriage? You have every right to have one."

"I took a drive once that made stir enough," answered his mother; "I hope to take another some day, but that won't be before everything comes right."

It was no use trying to persuade her, and so she

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Rh and Samuelsen remained in the back premises they were so fond of, and Jacob set up his establishment in the front.

When Mrs. Worse was in her son's rooms, she used to play the fine lady to her own great edification; but when she got him into her own apartments, her behaviour entirely changed, and her laughter was coarse and noisy. Her manners had really quite gone.

One Saturday afternoon Delphin came into Jacob Worse's office with some books he had borrowed.

"Have you heard that I have bought a horse?" asked he, in a merry tone.

"No," answered Worse. "What new folly now?"

"Well, you see, I have got an idea that it will make a favourable impression on Miss Madeleine if she sees me on horseback. Just fancy me on a horse with a long mane and tail, like the picture of General Prim; there!" and he went cantering round the room, and pulled up suddenly before Worse—"there, like that: a good fierce expression. Is not that it? I believe that will do the business."

Worse could not help laughing, although he did not think much of the frivolous way Delphin had of paying his addresses to Madeleine.

"You are not going to ride up to Sandsgaard this morning?"

"No, not exactly; it would not do. I can't very well go up there dressed for riding, and if I were to ride in these clothes I should look absurd. But I thought of riding out there this evening, somewhere about seven o'clock. Just fancy me coming in over

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130 the garden wall with a flying salute, and lighted by the last rays of the evening sun! Why, it would be irresistible."

"Well, I am afraid, or perhaps I ought rather to say I hope, that Miss Madeleine will not fully appreciate your novel way of paying her your addresses," said Worse, half-seriously.

"Ah, my most respected friend, you know very little of woman's heart; and how should you, when your ideal is a woman who goes in for her rights? a tall bony creature with a moustache under her nose, and 'Woman's wrongs' under her arm."

"Leave off, will you?" cried Worse. "You are just in your most disagreeable vein. You had better go off to young Mrs. Garman. She will find you most amusing to-day."

"A good idea, which I was already thinking of," answered Delphin, as he took his hat; "and at the same time I will take a place for myself in her carriage for to-morrow."

"Won't you drive with me?" cried Worse after him.

"No, thanks; I would rather go with Mrs. Garman, if for nothing else than to have the pleasure of seeing her worthy husband on the box," said he, as he went out of the door.

Jacob Worse stood watching him. At first he had been very glad to make Delphin's acquaintance. There were not many young men in the town with whom he could associate. Delphin was intelligent, well read on different subjects, and when alone was

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Rh good company enough. But by-and-by he showed more of the frivolous side of his character, and Worse began to get a little tired of his friend.

Fanny was sitting all this time in a state of absolute boredom. Little Christian Frederick had gone out with his nurse, and the street was uninteresting, dusty, hot, and thronged by country people making their Saturday purchases. She did not care to look out of the window, but sat leaning back in her most comfortable armchair, yawning in front of the glass. Would it be better to send for Madeleine? it was several days since she had paid her a visit. But then she would have to play the part of go-between again. Or should she begin on her own account? Yes; why not? But then he never came except when Madeleine was there. It really was too tiresome.

When he now came unexpectedly into the room it gave her quite a start, but she still remained leaning back in her armchair, and gave him her left hand, which was the nearest, as she said, "I am glad to see you. I was just thinking of you as I was sitting here all alone."

"It was very kind of you, I am sure," answered he, as he sat down in a chair in front of her.

"Yes; all sorts of foolish things come into one's head when one is sitting alone."

"I hope I was not the most foolish thing that could come into your thoughts," answered Delphin, jestingly, "But it is quite true; you have been left a great deal alone lately."

"Yes; but perhaps I have my own reasons for it."

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132 "May I venture to ask what these reasons are?"

"Perhaps it would be better if I were to tell you," said she, regarding attentively the point of her shoe, which projected from her dress as she lay back in her chair. She had tiny pointed French shoes with straps across the instep, through which appeared a blue silk stocking.

"I assure you I shall be very thankful, and at the same time most discreet."

"Well, then, Madeleine is so young," said Fanny, as if following the tram of her own thoughts, "that I feel it to a certain extent my duty to look after her, and"

"I scarcely see that it is absolutely necessary," answered he.

"Yes; but when a girl so inexperienced as Madeleine is brought into contact with gentlemen who are—well, who are so clever as, for instance, yourself, Mr. Delphin, you see" She looked at him as she paused in her sentence.

"You are paying me too great a compliment," said he, laughing; "and besides, you can never imagine that I would take advantage"

"Nonsense!" rejoined Fanny; "I know all about that. You are just like all the rest. You would never hesitate to take advantage of even the slightest opportunity; would you, now? Tell me frankly."

"Well," answered he, rising, "if you really wish for an honest answer, I must confess that when I see a strawberry that nobody else seems to notice, I generally pick it."

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Rh "Yes; it is just that greediness that all men have, and which I find, at the same time, so dangerous and incomprehensible."

"Yes; but, Mrs. Garman, strawberries are really so delicious."

"Yes, when they are ripe," answered Fanny.

The words fell from her lips as smoothly as butter. Delphin had taken a few paces across the room, and just turned in time to see the last glimpse of a look which must have been resting on him while she spoke. It was not very often that he lost his self-possession in a conversation of this kind, but the discovery he had made, or thought that he had made, with all its uncertainty, and the feeling of pleased vanity it brought with it, confused him, and he stood stammering and blushing before her. She still lay stretched in the armchair, a position which displayed to the best advantage the lines of her lovely form. Her beauty was fully matured, and showed freedom and elegance in every movement. She could see that she had said enough for the present, and she got up with out apparently taking any notice of his confusion.

"You must think," said she quickly, with a smile, "that it is absurd for me to preach you a sermon. We all have to attend to our own affairs; and if you will excuse me, I have to go and try on a dress. Good-bye, Mr. Delphin; I hope you will find your strawberries to your taste."

Delphin was quite confounded; but before he had had time to get his hat she put her head in at the door, still smiling, and cried, "You will drive over with

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134 me to-morrow?" and, without waiting for an answer, she nodded her head and disappeared.

Delphin had hardly recovered himself when he went for his ride to Sandsgaard, and he quite forgot about the flying salute over the garden wall, for there was no one to be seen either at the window or in front of the house. The fact was, his adventure had made such an impression on him that he did not take very much notice.

Fanny at first repelled his advances haughtily; but he accepted his fate with resignation. George Delphin was not the man to lose his time or his temper, in a hopeless pursuit. There are many respectable prizes in a lottery without aiming at the first. But now here was the chance of winning the great prize, the charming Fanny, the admiration of all. His heart swelled with pride, and if Jacob Worse could have seen the look with which he regarded the passers-by, it would certainly have reminded him of General Prim.

The next day at Sandsgaard, Fanny and Madeleine were together during the whole afternoon. Delphin could not manage to get an opportunity of talking to either separately. Just once he came upon Fanny in the morning-room at the piano, but she got up and went out hurriedly as he entered. As they drove home that evening scarcely a word passed between them. Fanny kept gazing the whole time over the fjord, of which they caught glimpses from time to time through the trees of the avenue. It was a still, peaceful autumn evening, and Delphin was in an

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Rh excited mood. Each time he moved he felt the rustle of her silk dress, the folds of which nearly filled the carriage. Both sat quite silent to the end of the drive.

During the next few days Madeleine was again staying with her cousin, whom she found more gracious than ever. Delphin came even more frequently than before; but she did not meet him during her walks, a fact which she related to Fanny. Fanny said with a smile that Delphin was perfectly right, and his conduct was only proper, now that people had begun to talk about their frequent walks together.

Madeleine thought with regret upon how much there is to be careful of in this world; but a short time afterwards she met Mr. Delphin, and during the pleasant walk they had together he was most attentive, and in the best of spirits.

Fanny was now more beaming than ever. When ever she saw her own and Madeleine's reflection in the glass, which, to tell the truth, was very often the case, a smile of satisfaction would pass over her features. Without Madeleine having a suspicion, the rôles had been changed, and the play was ready to begin, now that Fanny had made up her mind that the parts were in the right hands.

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136

the Miss Sparres, of whom there were five, rushed to the window.

"It is Mr. Johnsen, the new school-inspector! No, it isn't! Yes, it is! It is Mr. Johnsen! Do you think I don't know him, although he has got a new coat? I declare, he is coming in!"

"Clementine, you have taken my cuffs! Yes, you have! They were on the piano. He is only going in to see father. Clara, Clara! you are standing on my dress! Here he is! It is a visit! Who can have taken my cuffs?"

Mrs. Sparre was not long in getting them into order. The street door was opened. There was a moment's breathless expectation in the room. It was agreed that Miss Barbara, the eldest, was to say, "Come in," and as all eyes were fixed upon her, she became quite pale with emotion. A knock at the door was heard; but it was at the study door, and the dean said, "Come in!" The door was heard to open, and a subdued conversation began in the room.

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Rh "I told you he was only going to see father."

"Yes, and so did I," another said. "What was the good of rushing about looking for your cuffs?"

"I didn't rush about!"

"Yes, you did!"

"Hush! I wonder what he wants with father?" said Mrs. Sparre. All were silent, but they could not hear anything of the conversation which was going on in the other room.

Mr. Johnsen had come to ask the dean to fulfil the promise he had made to him some weeks previously, and to kindly give him permission to preach in the church the next Sunday. The dean had not forgotten his promise, and was only too glad to have an opportunity of fulfilling it. He also begged to thank Mr. Johnsen for his goodness in offering to assist him in his duties.

As far as that went, answered Mr. Johnsen, he would not conceal from him that it was not so much consideration for the weight of his duties which had impelled him to make the request. He must confess, that it was rather that he wished to have an opportunity of addressing the congregation on a personal matter.

The dean could quite feel that his connection with the school would lead to the desire of speaking a few words to the parents of the children who were entrusted to his care.

But this again was not exactly the subject on which Mr. Johnsen wished to speak. There were many things which might weigh on the mind and

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138 oppress the thoughts. It would be better, once for all, to disburden the conscience by coming forward honestly and truthfully.

The dean allowed that the idea was only natural. It was the duty of every Christian, and especially of a clergyman, to speak truthfully. But sincerity was a rare virtue, and was often hidden under the changing circumstances of life. But great care would be necessary. It was of the first importance to examine closely both one's mind and one's composition.

Johnsen was able to say honestly that he had arrived at his conclusions after earnest thought and conscientious inquiry, and that his conviction was the result of many lonely hours of self-examination.

The dean could assure him that he well knew these lonely hours of thought, and great was the blessing that might be found in them; but he would venture to suggest what he knew from his own experience, that the problems which a man worked out alone were not always the most trustworthy. He would, therefore, remind him of the passage where we are recommended to confess to each other, which seemed to suggest working in fellowship, and giving each other mutual assistance.

Johnsen answered that that was the very reason why he wished to speak to the congregation.

The two sat on opposite sides of the dean's table, regarding each other attentively. Johnsen was pale and had something nervous about his manner, which seemed to betoken a wish to bring the interview to a close.

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Rh Dean Sparre sat leaning back in his armchair, and in his hand he held a large ivory paper-knife, which he used to emphasize his words; not, indeed, for the purpose of gesticulating or striking on the table, but every now and then, when he came to some particular point, he drew the knife up and down on the sheets of paper which lay before him.

To speak the thoughts plainly before the congregation was certainly desirable in itself, and entirely in accordance with Scripture. But it was quite easy to imagine that a man might want to make other confessions which should not be for every ear. The Church had, therefore, another and more restricted form of confession, which was not only just as much in accordance with Scripture, but might often be still better adapted to ease the troubled heart.

Johnsen got up to take his leave. He felt a great wish to speak before the congregation. It was, in his opinion, of the greatest importance that he should have a perfectly clear idea of his own views, and that there should be nothing obscure or insincere between him and his hearers.

The dean also got up, and shook hands on wishing him good-bye. He gave his young friend his best wishes for his undertaking, and hoped he would bear in mind that he, as dean, was always ready to assist him in every way, if he should at any time feel the need of his services.

"You will bear this in mind, my young friend, will you not?" said the old dean, with a fatherly look.

Johnsen muttered something about thanks as he

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140 hurried out of the room. He was no longer in the frame of mind in which he had been during the last few weeks. The peaceful, genial air of the dean's study, with its well-filled bookshelves, had had a wonderful effect upon him, as had also the dean, with his manner, which was at the same time so mild and so earnest. The mind of the young clergyman seemed, as it were, softened by an influence which he did not clearly understand, and the power of which he was not willing to recognize.

After a long walk, Johnsen at length arrived in the large field which lay beyond Sandsgaard. From this position he could look down into the garden and premises near the house. He could follow with his eye the broad path where Rachel and he had so often walked together, and their conversation seemed to come before him with the greatest distinctness. For a long time he stood there gazing, until he felt strong again in his resolve. What would he not have given to have seen her, if only for a moment! But he felt he could not approach the house. He would not allow any other feeling to mingle with the holy determination with which his thoughts were filled, and with an heroic effort he turned away, and bent his steps towards the town. His mind had now regained its former tone.

The church was filled to overflowing that Sunday on which Mr. Johnsen was to preach his first sermon. There are always plenty of people who are glad of the opportunity of hearing a new preacher, and this number was increased by the interest which was felt

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Rh in the earnest young man who had attracted so much attention.

Mrs. Garman sat with her daughter in the family seat, in which were also Fanny and Madeleine. Dean Sparre, with his wife and daughter Barbara, were in the front row of the pew which belonged to them; while behind were Pastor Martens with the other Miss Sparres; and behind, again, Mrs. Rasmussen, the chaplain's housekeeper.

The congregation was so large that the voices swelled as when the Christmas hymn is sung, and as the preacher wended his way towards the pulpit, the heads of all the singers were turned as if to follow him.

As Johnsen ascended the narrow winding stair where no eye could see him, he felt a momentary weakness, as if he must almost sink under his burden, and he never afterwards clearly remembered how he had managed to get up the last few steps which led to the pulpit; but when he at length reached his place, and the hundred eyes were again fixed on him, he forced himself, with that energy which was peculiar to him, to conquer his feelings. He looked so calm that many people averred that they had never seen a young clergyman more at home in the pulpit.

Johnsen had sharp eyes, and could recognize many of the faces below him; but he was conscious of Rachel's presence, as she sat opposite to him in the Garmans' pew, more by an instinctive feeling than because he actually saw her. He was, in fact, obliged

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142 to avert his eyes from her direction, lest the sight should unman him. The part of the church in which the women sat was immediately under him, just below the pulpit, while the private pews were in a kind of gallery opposite. As the congregation sang the last verse of the psalm, he gazed deliberately over all the upturned eyes. Some were piercing, some curious, some pious and devotional, while some appeared as deep and unfathomable as if he were looking into unknown depths.

After an introductory prayer, he read his text in a clear and composed voice, after which he began a short and clear explanation of the passage. It was only in the last part of the sermon that he really intended to go into more personal matters, and the nearer he approached them the less confidence he seemed to feel. When he had begun his sermon, he had fixed his eyes on a certain point, which he sought every time he lifted his eyes from his notes; and this point, although he had not remarked it at first, was Dean Sparre's head. The snowy hair and the white collar stood out in the sharpest contrast against the dark background, and the more the speaker gazed at this noble face, the more he seemed to dread the conclusion. He was already close upon the point where he was first to begin to speak about sincerity, and the necessity of a perfectly truthful existence, and although he could not exactly tell the reason, he could not but feel that the stirring discourse he had set himself to deliver, was but little in keeping with that bright and peaceful smile, and with that

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Rh commanding countenance so full of earnestness and harmony.

His head seemed to go round, and not another word could he utter. There was a deathlike stillness in the church, as he wiped his brow with his handkerchief.

But when he again raised his head, he made an effort, and, looking beyond the dean in his need, he sought her who was really the cause of his standing where he did. He was not disappointed, for the moment his eyes met the calm and determined face, a change seemed to come over him. Her eye rested upon him with an inquiring and almost anxious expression, which he well understood.

She should not be disappointed of her trust in him, and with renewed strength, and without a tremor in his voice, he began upon the last part of his discourse. Ever higher and fuller rang his voice, until its sonorous tone filled the church, and was re-echoed from the vaulted roof. The congregation followed him with attention, while some of the old women were moved to tears. And now a sensation of uneasiness seemed to pass through those who composed the great assembly. It was indeed an extraordinary sermon, with its earnest entreaties to be thoroughly upright and sincere, and with its reckless condemnation of all forms and ceremonies, all of which were but of secondary consideration. It seemed too bold, too exaggerated.

He seemed anxious to confess his sceptical opinions,

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144 in holding which he did not stand alone. He was only alone in confessing them. He knew only too well that fine web of soothing compromise, with which people were in the habit of deadening their consciences. He knew it still better, too, from his own point of view as a clergyman, who even more than others was bound to live in the full glare of truth, even though he might be despised, hated, and persecuted by an unreasoning world. If he followed the beaten track, whither would it lead? To a position of comfort and respectability, in which the first duty was to throw a veil over one's own heart and those of others: to suppress all doubt and inquiry, and to deaden all real life in the individual, so that the whole machine might continue its regular movements without noise or friction. But truth was a two-edged sword, sharp and shining as crystal. When the light of truth broke into the heart of man, it caused an agony as piercing as when a woman brings her child into the world.

But, instead of this, was a man to lead a life of slumber, shut in by falsehood and form, without force or courage; giving no sign of firmness or power, but stuffed and padded like the hammers of a piano?

He was so carried away by his thoughts that he forgot his notes and said many things he would never have dared to write; and after the last thundering outburst, he concluded with a short and burning prayer for himself and for all, to have power to defy the falsehood by which man was bound, and to live a life of sincerity.

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Rh He then went on in an entirely changed voice with the rest of the service; but Rachel particularly noticed that he left out the prayer for the arms of the country, by land and sea; and now, as he read the prayers in a calm, quiet voice, the assembly seemed to breathe more freely, as if after a storm.

Among the men could be heard whispers, and the prevailing idea seemed to be that the sermon was a complete scandal; while those who had to do with the law were of opinion that he would be cited before the Consistorial Court. Among the women the feeling seemed rather undecided, and many inquiring glances were thrown towards where the men were sitting, in the hope of divining what the opinion would be, either of a husband, or a brother, or, in fact, of that particular person of the opposite sex, according to whose decision each woman was in the habit of forming her own.

Most eyes, however, sought the dean, who sat as he had done during the whole sermon, slightly leaning back on his seat, and holding a large hymn book, which was a gift from his previous congregation, between his hands. From the upper windows on the other side of the church a subdued light fell on his form. The face had the same exalted and peaceful expression; not a sign of uneasiness or annoyance had passed over it during the whole sermon, which was not without a soothing effect upon the congregation. The feeling of restlessness and excitement was universal, but most people seemed inclined to defer their final judgment.

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146 Pastor Martens had left the pew immediately after the sermon, for he had to conduct the Communion Service. While he performed it, his somewhat unmusical voice trembled with inward emotion. There could be no doubt whatever as to what were the inspector's real opinions.

The chaplain could not help being rather pleased at the satisfaction the dean would now be obliged to render him, for it had been quite against the chaplain's wish and advice, that Johnsen was allowed to preach at the morning service. It would have been more advisable to have given him a first trial either at a Bible reading, or at most at the evening service. But now the murder was out, and he had shown his feeling of antagonism to the Church before the whole congregation. What would the dean do? The affair would naturally have to be reported.

As soon as the service was over, Martens left the altar and hurried into the sacristy, into which he had already seen the dean enter.

"What do you say to that, sir?" he cried breathlessly, as he shut the door after him.

Dean Sparre was sitting in his armchair, reading the hymn-book he had in his hand. At the chaplain's question he raised his head with an expression of mild reproof at the disturbance, and said abstractedly, "To what are you alluding?"

"Why, the sermon; of course I allude to the sermon; it is perfectly scandalous!" cried the chaplain, excitedly.

"Well, certainly," answered the dean, "I cannot

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Rh say that it was a good sermon, taken as a whole, but if you take into consideration"

"But really, sir" interrupted the chaplain.

"It appears to me, and it is not the first time I have noticed it, my dear Martens, that you do not quite get on with our new fellow-worker; but is it not to us that he ought really to look for support?"

The chaplain cast down his eyes; there was some extraordinary power about his superior. Not an instant before he had formed his opinion quite clearly, but the moment he found himself face to face with the dean's genial countenance, all his ideas seemed to change.

"It grieves me to be obliged to speak to you thus, my dear Martens, but I do so with the best intentions; and, then, we are alone."

"But don't you think, sir, that he was far too bold?" asked the chaplain.

"Yes, clearly, clearly so," assented the dean, in a friendly tone. "He was unguarded, like all beginners; perhaps the most unguarded I have heard. But then we know quite well that the same thing often occurred in our own time. It would be quite unreasonable to expect the Spirit's full maturity in the young."

This remark caused Martens involuntarily to think of his own first attempt. He answered, however, "But he maintained that we ministers, above all others, are living a life of falsehood, shut in by meaningless forms."

"Exaggeration! a wild and dangerous exaggeration! In that I quite agree with you, my dear

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148 Martens. But, on the other hand, which of us can deny that a ceremonial, be it ever so beautiful and full of meaning, still in the course of time, when it is frequently repeated, loses something of its influence over us? But who will dare east the first stone? Is it not youth, as we see, who has not yet experienced the wear of that continuous labour which strives to be true to the end? And then naturally we get exaggeration—dangerous exaggeration. But," continued the dean, "before everything, let us agree to look upon his sermon in the right light, for the opinion of many will be formed upon ours, and if we now allow this young man to slip out of our hands he will, likely enough, be entirely lost for the good work; and I must say I have great hopes of him. I feel sure that in his right place, which would be in a large town—for instance, in Christiania—he will make a name for himself in the Church, and I venture to think that his labours will bear abundant fruit."

Martens again looked up at the dean as he pronounced these words, and for the first time he now perceived what it was that made his manner so irresistible. It was the smile, that changing and varying smile, which yet never entirely left the noble features. It seemed to mingle in all he said, like a warm and soothing sunbeam; and as the chaplain constrained himself to alter his opinion under its influence, he felt that the muscles of his mouth involuntarily assumed the dean's expression.

Madame Rasmussen could not conceal her

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Rh at the moderation with which the chaplain spoke of Johnsen's sermon. She was herself in the highest degree shocked, and when Mr. Martens told her that, in his opinion, Mr. Johnsen would be likely to become a clergyman of considerable note in Christiania some day, she almost thought that he was carrying his for bearance too far. Still she could not but like Pastor Martens, who had now lived with her for two years without a single ill word having passed between them. Madame Rasmussen was a young widow, plump, good-looking, and light-hearted. She had no children, and it was quite a pleasure to her to manage for the chaplain—to prepare his little dishes, and to keep his things in order. She was the only person in the whole town who really knew that Martens wore a wig. This was not, however, a thing to be spoken about, and nobody else was admitted into the secret.

As Mrs. Garman drove home from church with Rachel and Madeleine, she spoke disapprovingly of Johnsen's sermon. She considered that it was highly improper for a young man to be so forward and daring; but it was quite in accordance with the spirit of the times, as Pastor Martens had explained on the previous Sunday.

"Ah, Pastor Martens is quite a different man, is he not?" asked Mrs. Garman, addressing Madeleine, as Rachel made no reply.

"Yes—oh yes!" answered Madeleine, abstractedly. She was wondering all the time where Delphin could have come from so suddenly, when he appeared close to her and Fanny in the crowd at the church door

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150 He had greeted her in a most friendly way, but when they got to the carriage they found that both he and Fanny had vanished without saying good-bye.

Rachel let her mother talk away, as was her wont, She was all the time meditating on the importance of the event which had just taken place, and was wondering how Johnsen would come out of it all. It was quite clear that her mother's was the prevailing opinion, and it was but too probable that with most people the ill feeling would take a still more bitter form. She could picture him to herself calm and steadfast in the midst of it all. Here at length she had found a truly courageous man.

During dinner Delphin gave his own rendering of some extracts from the sermon, with as much spirit as his fear of Mrs. Garman would allow, and the performance afforded Uncle Richard great amusement. Rachel thought it best to contain her feelings, for she knew that conversation with Mr. Delphin on a serious subject was nothing else than an impossibility. Madeleine, on the contrary, could not help laughing. She always found Delphin very amusing, and at the same time so good-natured. She had latterly been almost annoyed with Fanny because she treated Delphin coolly and distantly. But Delphin seemed scarcely to notice her conduct; on the contrary, he seemed even in better spirits than before. He really was a good fellow.

Several people also thought that Morten Garman was a good fellow, to allow Delphin to carry on with Fanny without interference. It was not easy to know

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Rh if Morten saw anything or not, and whether his confidence in his wife, or his own bad conscience, caused his indifference.

Rachel passed the Monday and Tuesday in an anxious state of mind. Something, she thought, must happen. The feeling against Johnsen was strong, but it must surely take some more decided form. She knew that he would come to see her, happen what might, and she expected him.

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Notes


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1922 Encyclopædia Britannica/Ohio

OHIO (see ). In 1920 Ohio still held the fourth place among the states of the American Union, with a pop. of 5,759,394, an increase of 992,279 or 20.8% for the decade 1910-20. This was the largest rate of increase since the Civil War. The density of pop. rose from 102.1 per sq. m. in 1900, to 117 in 1910, and 141.4 in 1920. There was a marked increase in the negro pop. of the cities by migration from the far South, and of the foreign element from other states and from abroad. More significant was the drift from rural districts to cities. In 1900 the urban pop. in cities and incorporated villages of 2,500 inhabitants or more formed 48.1% of the total, in 1910 55.9% and in 1920 63.8 per cent. Virtually two-thirds of the people of Ohio in 1920 lived in urban communities. The largest change was in the strictly rural, that is, unincorporated territory. Each successive decade since 1900 has shown an absolute decline in the rural population. The number of cities containing more than 25,000 inhabitants increased (1910-20) from 14 to 22, of those of more than 100,000 from five to seven.

The following table shows the pop. and percentages of increase of all cities of over 30,000 inhabitants:—

(1919)

(U.S. Census Reports)

History.—The chief political advance in the decade 1910-20 was the progress in adapting the constitution and the system of administration to the new needs of the state.

More significant of the purpose to adapt state government to the needs of the time is the legislative history. In 1909 Ohio had the customary administrative system composed of special boards, commissioners, bureaus and departments created to meet special problems as the Legislature had recognized them, but with overlapping jurisdiction and uncertain responsibility. In hardly any respect was the state service adequate or modern. In charge of the charitable and penal institutions, for example, were 18 or 19 separate boards, competing for support, maintaining as many accounting systems, failing wholly in coordination. Successive Legislatures took up during the following decade the problem of reorganization. For a time, chiefly during the years 1909-15, the legislators seemed to be working towards a commission type of administrative organization. Then followed a period of hesitation in which party politics interfered with progress, 1915-7. The third stage of opinion, following 1917, strongly favoured a single executive officer, appointed by the governor.

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 INTRODUCTION TO THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS.

poets—Wordsworth, for instance—have been conscious in their old age that an interest attaches to the circumstances of the composition of their poems, and have furnished their friends and admirers with explanatory notes. Byron recorded the motif and occasion of the Bride of Abydos while the poem was still in the press. It was written, he says, to divert his mind, "to wring his thoughts from reality to imagination—from selfish regrets to vivid recollections" {Diary, December 5, 1813, Letters, ii. 361), "to distract his dreams from " {Diary, November 16) "for the sake of employment" (Letter to Moore, November 30, 1813). He had been staying during part of October and November at Aston Hall, Rotherham, with his friend James Wedderburn Webster, and had fallen in love with his friend's wife. Lady Frances. From a brief note to his sister, dated November 5, we learn that he was in a scrape, but in "no immediate peril," and from the lines, "Remember him, whom Passion's power" {vide ante, p. 67), we may infer that he had sought safety in flight. The Bride of Abydos, or Zuleika, as it was first entitled, was written early in November, "in four nights" {Diary, November 16), or in a week (Letter to Gifford, November 12)—the reckoning goes for little—as a counter-irritant to the pain and distress of amour interrompu.

The confession or apology is eminently characteristic. Whilst the Giaour was still in process of evolution, still "lengthening its rattles," another Turkish poem is offered to the public, and the natural explanation, that the author is in vein, and can score another trick, is felt to be inadequate


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Rh Byron was less dissatisfied with his second Turkish tale than he had been with the Giaour. He apologizes for the rapidity with which it had been composed—stans pede in uno—but he announced to Murray (November 20) that "he was doing his best to beat the Giaour," and (November 29) he appraises the Bride as "my first entire composition of any length."

Moreover, he records (November 15), with evident gratification, the approval of his friend Hodgson, "a very sincere and by no means (at times) a flattering critic of mine," and modestly accepts the praise of such masters of letters as "Mr. Canning," Hookham Frere, Heber,, and of the traveller Edward Daniel Clarke.

The Bride of Abydos was advertised in the Morning Chronicle, among "Books published this day," on November 29, 1813. It was reviewed by George Ellis in the Quarterly Review of January, 1814 (vol. x. p. 331), and, together with the Corsair. by Jeffrey in the Edinburgh Review of April, 1814 (vol. xxiii. p. 198).

NOTE TO THE MSS. OF THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS.

MSS. of the Bride of Abydos are contained in a bound volume, and in two packets of loose sheets, numbering thirty-two in all, of which eighteen represent additions, etc., to the First Canto; and fourteen additions, etc., to the Second Canto.

The bound volume consists of a rough copy and a fair copy of the first draft of the Bride; the fair copy beginning with the sixth stanza of Canto I.

The "additions" in the bound volume consist of—

1. Stanza xxviii. of Canto II.— here called "Conclusion" (fifty-eight lines). And note on "Sir Orford's Letters."

2. Eight lines beginning, "Eve saw it placed," at the end of stanza xxviii.

3. An emendation of six lines to stanza v. of Canto II., with reference to the comboloio, the Turkish rosary.


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Author:Elbert Jay Benton

Works

 * The Wabash trade route in the development of the old Northwest (1903)
 * International law and diplomacy of the Spanish-American War (1908)
 * Introductory American history (1912) with Henry Eldridge Bourne
 * The movement for peace without a victory during the Civil War (1918)

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 TO

THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

THIS TALE

IS INSCRIBED, WITH

EVERY SENTIMENT OF REGARD

AND RESPECT,

BY HIS GRATEFULLY OBLIGED

AND SINCERE FRIEND,

BYRON.


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I.

winds are high on Helle's wave,

As on that night of stormy water

When Love, who sent, forgot to save

The young—the beautiful—the brave—

The lonely hope of Sestos' daughter.

Oh! when alone along the sky

Her turret-torch was blazing high,

Though rising gale, and breaking foam,

And shrieking sea-birds warned him home;

And clouds aloft and tides below,

With signs and sounds, forbade to go,

He could not see, he would not hear,

Or sound or sign foreboding fear;

His eye but saw that light of Love,

The only star it hailed above;

His ear but rang with Hero's song,

"Ye waves, divide not lovers long!"—

That tale is old, but Love anew

May nerve young hearts to prove as true.


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CANTO II.] NOTE TO THE BRIDE OF ABYDOS.

After the completion of the fair copy of the MS. of the Bride of Abydos, seventy lines were added to stanza xx. of Canto II. In both MSS. the rough and fair copies, the stanza ends with the line, "The Dove of peace and promise to mine ark!"

Seven MS. sheets are extant, which make up the greater portion of these additional lines.

The First Addition amounts to eight lines, and takes the narrative from line 880 to line 893, "Wait—wave—defend—destroy—at thy command!" Lines 884-889 do not appear in the first MS. Fragment, but are given in three variants on separate sheets. Two of these are dated December 2 and December 3, 1813.

The Second Fragment begins with line 890, "For thee in those bright isles is built a bower," and, numbering twenty-two lines, ends with a variant of line 907, "Blend every thought, do all—but disunite!" Two lines of this addition, "With thee all toils are sweet," find a place in the text as lines 934, 935.

The Third Fragment amounts to thirty-six lines, and may be taken as the first draft of the whole additions—lines 880-949.

Lines 908-925 and 936-945 of the text are still later additions, but a fourth MS. fragment supplies lines 920-925 and lines 936-945. (A fair copy of this fragment gives text for Revise of November 13.) Between November 13 and November 25 no less than ten revises of the Bride were


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 INTRODUCTION TO LARA.

MS. of Lara is dated May 14, 1814. The opening lines, which were not prefixed to the published poem, and were first printed in Murray's Magazine (January, 1887), are of the nature of a Dedication. They were probably written a few days after the well-known song, "I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name," which was enclosed to Moore in a letter dated May 4, 1814. There can be little doubt that both song and dedication were addressed to Lady Frances Wedderburn Webster, and that Lara, like the Corsair and the Bride of Abydos, was written con amore, and because the poet was "eating his heart away."

By the 14th of June Byron was able to announce to Moore that "Lara was finished, and that he had begun copying." It was written, owing to the length of the London season, "amidst balls and fooleries, and after coming home from masquerades and routs, in the summer of the sovereigns" (Letter to Moore, June 8, 1822, Life, p. 561).

By way of keeping his engagement—already broken by the publication of the Ode to Napoleon Buonaparte—not to "trespass on public patience," Byron began by protesting (June 14) that Lara was not to be published separately, but "might be included in a third volume now collecting." A fortnight later (June 27) an interchange of unpublished poems between himself and Rogers, "two cantos of darkness and dismay" in return for a privately printed copy of Jacqueline, who is "all grace and softness and poetry" (Letter to Rogers, Letters, 1899, iii. 101), suggested another


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CANTO THE FIRST.


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 INTRODUCTION TO THE ODE TO NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE.

dedication of the Corsair, dated January 2, 1814, contains one of Byron's periodical announcements that he is about, for a time, to have done with authorship—some years are to elapse before he will again "trespass on public patience."

Three months later he was, or believed himself to be, in the same mind. In a letter to Moore, dated April 9, 1814 (Letters, 1899, iii. 64), he writes, "No more rhyme for—or rather, from—me. I have taken my leave of that stage, and henceforth will mountebank it no longer." He had already—Journal, April 8 (Letters, 1898, ii. 408)—heard a rumour "that his poor little pagod, Napoleon" was "pushed off his pedestal," and before or after he began his letter to Moore he must have read an announcement in the Gazette Extraordinary (April 9, 1814—the abdication was signed April 11) that Napoleon had abdicated the "throne of the world," and declined upon the kingdom of Elba. On the next day, April 10, he wrote two notes to Murray, to inform him that he had written an "ode on the fall of Napoleon," that Murray could print it or not as he pleased; but that if it appeared by itself, it was to be published anonymously. A first edition consisting of fifteen stanzas, and numbering fourteen pages, was issued on the 16th of April, 1814. A second edition followed immediately, but as publications of less than a sheet were liable to the stamp tax on newspapers, at Murray's request, another stanza, the fifth, was inserted in a later (between the second and the twelfth) edition, and, by this means, the pamphlet was extended to seventeen


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"The Emperor Nepos was acknowledged by the Senate, by the Italians, and by the Provincials of Gaul; his moral virtues, and military talents, were loudly celebrated; and those who derived any private benefit from his government announced in prophetic strains the restoration of the public felicity. By this shameful abdication, he protracted his life about five years, in a very ambiguous state, between an Emperor and an Exile, till!!!"—Gibbon's Decline and Fall, two vols. notes by Milman, i. 979.


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 INTRODUCTION TO PARISINA.

, which had been begun before the Siege of Corinth, was transcribed by Lady Byron, and sent to the publisher at the beginning of December, 1815. Murray confessed that he had been alarmed by some hints which Byron had dropped as to the plot of the narrative, but was reassured when he traced "the delicate hand that transcribed it." He could not say enough of this "Pearl" of great price. "It is very interesting, pathetic, beautiful—do you know I would almost say moral" (Memoir of John Murray, 1891, i. 353). Ward, to whom the MS. of Parisina was shown, and Isaac D'Israeli, who heard it read aloud by Murray, were enthusiastic as to its merits; and Gifford, who had mingled censure with praise in his critical appreciation of the Siege, declared that the author "had never surpassed Parisina."

The last and shortest of the six narrative poems composed and published in the four years (the first years of manhood and of fame, the only years of manhood passed at home in England) which elapsed between the appearance of the first two cantos of Childe Harold and the third, Parisina has, perhaps, never yet received its due. At the time of its appearance it shared the odium which was provoked by the publication of Fare Thee Well and A Sketch, and before there was time to reconsider the new volume on its own merits, the new canto of Childe Harold, followed almost immediately by the Prisoner of Chillon and its brilliant and noticeable companion poems, usurped the attention of friend and foe. Contemporary critics (with the exception of the Monthly and Critical Reviews) fell foul of the subject-matter of the poem—the guilty passion of a


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 TO

SCROPE BERDMORE DAVIES, ESQ.

THE FOLLOWING POEM

,

BY ONE WHO HAS LONG ADMIRED HIS TALENTS AND VALUED HIS FRIENDSHIP.


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 ADVERTISEMENT.

following poem is grounded on a circumstance mentioned in Gibbon's "Antiquities of the House of Brunswick." I am aware, that in modern times, the delicacy or fastidiousness of the reader may deem such subjects unfit for the purposes of poetry. The Greek dramatists, and some of the best of our old English writers, were of a different opinion: as Alfieri and Schiller have also been, more recently, upon the Continent. The following extract will explain the facts on which the story is founded. The name of Azo is substituted for Nicholas, as more metrical.—[B.]

"Under the reign of Nicholas III. [A.D. 1425] Ferrara was polluted with a domestic tragedy. By the testimony of a maid, and his own observation, the Marquis of Este discovered the incestuous loves of his wife Parisina, and Hugo his bastard son, a beautiful and valiant youth. They were beheaded in the castle by the sentence of a father and husband, who published his shame, and survived their execution. He was unfortunate, if they were guilty: if they were innocent, he was still more unfortunate; nor is there any possible situation in which I can sincerely approve the last act of the justice of a parent."—Gibbon's Miscellaneous Works, vol. iii. p. 470.—[Ed. 1837, p. 830.]


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 "This turned out a calamitous year for the people of Ferrara, for there occurred a very tragical event in the court of their sovereign. Our annals, both printed and in manuscript, with the exception of the unpolished and negligent work of Sardi, and one other, have given the following relation of it,—from which, however, are rejected many details, and especially the narrative of Bandelli, who wrote a century afterwards, and who does not accord with the contemporary historians.

"By the above-mentioned Stella dell' Assassino, the Marquis, in the year 1405, had a son called Ugo, a beautiful and ingenuous youth. Parisina Malatesta, second wife of Niccolo, like the generality of step-mothers, treated him with little kindness, to the infinite regret of the Marquis, who regarded him with fond partiality. One day she asked leave of her husband to undertake a certain journey, to which he consented, but upon condition that Ugo should bear her company; for he hoped by these means to induce her, in the end, to lay aside the obstinate aversion which she had conceived against him. And indeed his intent was accomplished but too well, since, during the journey, she not only divested herself of all her hatred, but fell into the opposite extreme. After their return, the Marquis had no longer any occasion to renew his former reproofs. It happened one day that a servant of the Marquis, named Zoese, or, as some call him, Giorgio, passing before the apartments of Parisina, saw going out from them one of her chamber-maids, all terrified and in tears. Asking the reason, she told him that her mistress, for some slight offence, had been beating her; and, giving vent to her rage, she added, that she could easily be revenged, if she chose to make known the criminal familiarity which subsisted

I.

is the hour when from the boughs

The nightingale's high note is heard;

It is the hour when lovers' vows

Seem sweet in every whispered word;


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 INTRODUCTION TO THE SIEGE OF CORINTH.

a note to the "Advertisement" to the Siege of Corinth (vide post, p. 447), Byron puts it on record that during the years 1809-10 he had crossed the Isthmus of Corinth eight times, and in a letter to his mother, dated Patras, July 30, 1810, he alludes to a recent visit to the town of Corinth, in company with his friend Lord Sligo. (See, too, his letter to Coleridge, dated October 27, 1815, Letters, 1899, iii. 228.) It is probable that he revisited Corinth more than once in the autumn of 1810; and we may infer that, just as the place and its surroundings—the temple with its "two or three columns" (line 497), and the view across the bay from Acro-Corinth—are sketched from memory, so the story of the siege which took place in 1715 is based upon tales and legends which were preserved and repeated by the grandchildren of the besieged, and were taken down from their lips. There is point and meaning in the apparently insignificant line (stanza xxiv. line 765), "We have heard the hearers say" (see variant i. p. 483), which is slipped into the description of the final catastrophe. It bears witness to the fact that the Siege of Corinth is not a poetical expansion of a chapter in history, but a heightened reminiscence of local tradition.

History has, indeed, very little to say on the subject. The anonymous Compleat History of the Turks (London, 1719), which Byron quotes as an authority, is meagre and inaccurate. Hammer-Purgstall (Histoire de l'Empire Ottoman, 1839, xiii. 269), who gives as his authorities Girolamo Ferrari and Raschid, dismisses the siege in a few lines; and it was not till the publication of Finlay's History of Greece


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 TO

JOHN HOBHOUSE, ESQ.,

THIS POEM IS INSCRIBED,

BY HIS

FRIEND.


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 ADVERTISEMENT.

grand army of the Turks (in 1715), under the Prime Vizier, to open to themselves a way into the heart of the Morea, and to form the siege of Napoli di Romania, the most considerable place in all that country, thought it best in the first place to attack Corinth, upon which they made several storms. The garrison being weakened, and the governor seeing it was impossible to hold out such a place against so mighty a force, thought it fit to beat a parley: but while they were treating about the articles, one of the magazines in the Turkish camp,


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448 wherein they had six hundred barrels of powder, blew up by accident, whereby six or seven hundred men were killed; which so enraged the infidels, that they would not grant any capitulation, but stormed the place with so much fury, that they took it, and put most of the garrison, with Signior Minotti, the governor, to the sword. The rest, with Signior or Antonio Bembo, Proveditor Extraordinary, were made prisoners of war."—A Compleat History of the Turks [London, 1719], iii. 151.

NOTE ON THE MS. OF THE SIEGE OF CORINTH.

original MS. of the Siege of Corinth (now in the possession of Lord Glenesk) consists of sixteen folio and nine quarto sheets, and numbers fifty pages. Sheets 1-4 are folios, sheets 5-10 are quartos, sheets 11-22 are folios, and sheets 23-25 are quartos.

To judge from the occasional and disconnected pagination, this MS. consists of portions of two or more fair copies of a number of detached scraps written at different times, together with two or three of the original scraps which had not been transcribed.

The water-mark of the folios is, with one exception (No. 8, 1815), 1813; and of the quartos, with one exception (No. 8, 1814), 1812.

Lord Glenesk's MS. is dated January 31, 1815. Lady Byron's transcript, from which the Siege of Corinth was printed, and which is in Mr. Murray's possession, is dated November 2, 1815.


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Charles Dickens.] GEOFFREY STIRLING [January 6, 1888] 21 world would. To Davey he was always Mr. Geoffrey. Only one other name for him existed in Davey's vocabulary of love, and that was "Master."

"I keep hoping things may be better now," he said nevously, warming his hands at the blaze.

"Now Mrs. Geoffrey is dead?" put in his companion, and tap, tap, went the bobbins on their silken bed.

"Oh no, no. I did not mean that," said Davey breathlessly. "What I do mean is this: there are some natures which can bear any kind of suffering better than suspense — waiting for a thing is worse than facing it. Well, I think it is so with my master, and that the fear, the watching, the anxiety of his wife's last illness told upon him terribly. Mrs. Devenant, in all that I have thought and felt about him from the time I was a boy yon have been the one, of all the world, to show me most sympathy. You know all that is in my heart about him, do you not? You know how, all my life long, I have thought and dreamt of how he came into his uncle's room, bearing me on his shoulder, laughing, taking me under the shelter of his care, as it were, from that hour, and I not thinking all the while. Without him, I might have been cast out into the world like a mere straw upon a flood, to have drifted I know not where. 'Never forget, lad,' said Mother Susan when she was dying, 'never forget as Maister Geoffrey kep' yo' in the bank, whether or no, and saved me and Dickory fro' breakin' our 'arts after our boy.' And I never do forget, though I hardly think Mr. Geoffrey knows how well I remember. Once, I had been telling Master Ralph the story (he was a little fellow then, and loved to hear a tale told in the twilight) — well, when he and I went into Mr. Geoffrey's room a little later, he ran up to his father, and 'Dad,' says he, 'I'm glad you didn't let them send Davey to the poorhouse.' Mr. Geoffrey looked up from his book, puzzled for a moment, and then his face grew all bright — you know how it grows like sunshine when he smiles? — and he held out his hand to me, and 'Davey,' he said, 'I think I did myself a good turn that time, as well as you; what do you think about it — eh?' It made me so happy, Mrs. Devenant, to hear him speak like that; my heart grew so full as I listened, standing there with my hand in his, that I could find no words to answer him — not one! It is a long time ago now — a long, long time — but I shall never forget it: how the child climbed upon his father's knee, and put his arms about his neck, and how Mr. Geoffrey held out his hand for mine. I seemed to be drawn so near the two of them — who were themselves so close together — that I could never get far from them any more. When all that terrible trouble came, it seemed as though I were struck through them — the father and the son — always together in my mind; always, as it were, two in one."

"And yet," said Mrs. Devenant, "they are often separated now; young Ralph is oftener away than at home."

"Yes," said Davey, his delicately traced brows knitting in a sort of hazy trouble. "I know, and I often fear the master is lonely without what makes the whole place seem full of light and happy sounds when it is there. There are people like that, you know, people who make you feel as if all the world is light and warm, just because they are in it, and you are near to them."

Mrs. Devenant looked up a moment, then down again with a faint smile softening her mouth.

Was he not in truth laying his heart bare? Did she not know he was thinking of Hilda as he talked? Did she not hold in her hand the magnet that should draw him to the White House when she would, and — as love that has hope to live upon never stands still, but must ever be taking a step forward — would not the power of the magnet grow until all other influences, however potent, should pale beside Hilda's?

"If this is so," said Hester, passing over unnoticed the concluding rhapsody of Davey's last speech; "if Mr. Geoffrey misses the bright presence of his son so much, is it not strange that he sends the boy roaming all over the world?"

"Yes; I have often thought so."

"What do you think is his reason for so much self-sacrifice?"

"I cannot tell."

Tap, tap, went the bobbins on their silken bed, having all the talk to themselves for awhile, since the other two kept silence.

Davey, leaning his head upon his hand, watched the woood embers fall and glow.

And, though the bobbins never ceased their soft low clatter, Hester Devenant watched him keenly for a moment or two.

Then she broke into new ground:

" How glad you were when Mr. Geoffrey


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 THE KERNEL

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THE HUSK


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Rh 40. He [captain, soldier or taxpayer] may sell [lease] to a trader or employee of the city his field, garden and house for usage.

41. Anyone fencing in the field, garden and house of an officer, soldier or rentpayer and furnishing the fencing pales therefor shall, upon the return of the officer, soldier or rentpayer, deliver to him the field, garden or house and the fencing so erected, and the fencing shall become and be the property of the officer, soldier or rentpayer and shall not be taken from the land of the owner by the erector thereof.

42. Anyone entering into the possession of a field upon agreement and neglecting to raise grain upon that field shall be held accountable to the owner thereof for a quantity of grain commensurate with that grown in the neighboring fields, upon it being shown that he has failed to comply with the conditions in regard to the cultivation of the land.

43. In event of failure of such a person to cultivate a field he shall be held accountable to the owner thereof for the payment to him of grain commensurate with that grown in the neighboring fields and he shall further be compelled to plow and sow the said field and deliver the field, so planted and sown, back to its owner.

44. In event the person takes possession of a waste field for the purpose of making it arable, but fails to make the field arable, he shall be compelled to cultivate the barren field in the fourth year [after his having taken possession of it], harrow it, seed it and deliver the field to the owner, and shall be compelled to render to the owner for every 10 "gan" [of grain he might have raised had he been diligent] 10 "gur" of grain.

45. In event anyone enters into an agreement [leases] for a field and under that agreement a fixed compensation is paid therefor to the owner, and bad weather intervenes and destroys the [growing] crop, the loss shall be borne by the lessee.

46. In event no definite compensation is fixed for the use of the field, but a proportionate share of the products is agreed upon [for its use], the lessor and the lessee shall divide the grain cultivated upon that field in accordance with their agreement (½ or ⅓).

47. In event the lessee, because of a failure in the first year of his tenancy to receive maintenance [to raise enough grain for his maintenance] from the field, notwithstanding his earnest effort to so do, the owner thereof may not hold him responsible for his share; the field has been tenanted [and an attempt at cultivation made] and at the next harvest the owner shall receive grain in accordance with his agreement.

48. Anyone leasing a field which is devastated by tempest or by a drought is not compelled to account to the owner for his share of grain during that year, the slate is dissolved in water [the obligation is annulled] and an accounting is to be had for that year at the termination of the succeeding one.

49. Any person leasing a tillable field to a business man and borrowing money from him, and at the same time directing the business man to cultivate the field and to plant thereon grain or sesame and to harvest grain raised thereon for his benefit, and the business man or his subtenant raises upon the field grain or sesame, the person so leasing to the business man shall, at the harvest, receive the grain and sesame which are raised upon the field and pay to the business man grain for the money advanced by him, besides interest on such money advanced by the business man, and shall in addition thereto give to the business man such grain as is necessary for the


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74 sustenance of the business man or such cultivator of the soil as has been employed by the business man for the purpose of raising grain upon his field. [Provide for maintenance of the laborers who actually do the work.]

50. If anyone borrows money upon a cultivated grainfield or cultivated sesame field he shall receive the grain or sesame which is grown upon that field. He shall pay back to the person making him the loan the money borrowed, with interest.

51. In event he is unable to repay the loan or money borrowed, he shall deliver to the lender grain or sesame [equal in value] to the amount of the sum borrowed, with interest, in accordance with the rate of interest provided by the royal tarifif [legal rate].

52. In event anyone borrows money upon a field and fails to raise grain or sesame whereby to repay his creditors, his indebtedness is not extinguished.

53. Anyone failing to keep his [irrigating] dam in repair and through his neglect and laziness a break occurs in the dam and his neighbors' lands are flooded by the overflow of the water therefrom, he shall compensate the owner of the damaged land for his loss of grain or other property [occasioned by the overflow].

54. In event he is unable to repay or make good the damage incurred by his neglect, his property is to be sold and those incurring damage through his negligence are to divide his property among themselves in accordance with the extent of the several losses occasioned by his negligence.

55. If anyone opens his canal for the purpose of irrigation [in a negligent manner] and thereby floods the fields [of his neighbors] shall be held to account to those neighbors and to pay them grain corresponding with their [the neighbors'] loss.

56. Anyone negligently and maliciously found to be guilty of flooding his neighbor's tillable fields shall measure out to that neighbor "gan" for every 10 "gur" of grain [destroyed thereby].

57. Any shepherd who, without the permission of the owner of a field, permits his cattle to graze upon another's field, shall permit the owner of the field upon which his cattle have grazed, to harvest his [the shepherd's] field and shall pay in addition thereto [to the owner of the devastated field] 20 "gur" of grain for every 10 "gan" destroyed by his wrong doing.

58. In event a shepherd, after his herd has left the general pasture and been coralled at the city gate, allows them to graze upon the field of another, that shepherd shall be compelled to keep that field which he has allowed his cattle to graze upon [in exchange for his own] and at the harvest time shall pay to the owner of the devastated field, for every 10 "gan," 60 "gur" of grain [destroyed by his wrong doing].

59. Anyone trespassing upon the land of another and cutting wood therefrom, shall pay to the owner thereof ½ "mine" of gold.

60. Anyone intrusting to a gardener a field [uncultivated] in order that it may be planted as a garden and the gardener thereupon enters upon the field and cultivates it and cares for it for a period of 4 years, the cultivator and the owner thereof shall divide with one another at the end of the fifth year the products of the field.

61. In event the gardener does not complete the planting of the field and leaves a part uncultivated [at the end of the fourth year] the


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 TABLE OF CONTENTS


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 THE KERNEL

AND

THE HUSK


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 AND

Letters on Spiritual Christianity

"PHILOCHRISTUS" AND "ONESIMUS"

London:

MACMILLAN AND CO.

1886


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 TO THE DOUBTERS OF THIS GENERATION AND THE BELIEVERS OF THE NEXT


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 TO THE READER

time is not perhaps far distant when few will believe in miracles who do not also believe in an infallible Church; and then, such books as the present will appeal to a larger circle. But, as things are, the author would beg all those who worship a miraculous Christ without doubt and difficulty to pause here and read no further. The book is not intended for them; it is intended for those alone to whom it is dedicated, "the doubters of this generation."

For there are some who feel drawn towards the worship of Christ by love and reverence, yet repelled by an apparently inextricable connection of the story of Christ with a miraculous element which, in their minds, throws a doubt over the whole of His acts, His doctrine, His character, and even His existence. Others, who worship Christ, worship Him insecurely and tremulously. They assume that their faith must rest on the basis of the Bible miracles; and at


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vi times they cannot quite suppress a thrill of doubt and terror lest some horrible discovery of fresh truth, resulting in the destruction of the miraculous element of the Bible, may impair their right to regard Christ as "anything better than a mere man." It is to these two classes—the would-be worshippers and the doubtful worshippers of Christ—that the following Letters are addressed by one who has for many years found peace and salvation in the worship of a non miraculous Christ.

Not very long ago, but some years after the publication of a work called Philochristus, the author received a letter from a stranger and fellow-clergyman, asking him whether he could spare half an hour to visit him on his death-bed, "dying of a disease"—so ran the letter—"which will be fatal within some uncertain weeks (possibly however days, possibly months). No pains just now, head clear, voice sound. And mind at peace, but the peace of reverent agnosticism...... Now I have read and appreciated Philochristus. It would comfort my short remainder of life if you would come and look me dying in the face and say, 'This theology and Christology of mine is not merely literary: I feel with joy of heart that God is not unknown to man: try even now to feel with me.'"


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Rh Of what passed at the subsequent interview nothing must be said except that the dying man (whose anticipations of death were speedily verified) expressed the conviction that one reason why he had fallen into that abyss of agnosticism—for an abyss he then felt it to be—was that he had been "taught to believe too much when young;" and he urged and almost besought that something might be done soon to "give young men a religion that would wear." These words were not to be forgotten; they recurred again and again to the author with the force of a command. The present work is an attempt to carry them into effect, an attempt, by one who has passed through doubts into conviction, to look the doubting reader in the face and say, "This theology and Christology of mine is not merely literary. I feel with joy of heart that God is not unknown to man. Try even now to feel with me."

The author does not profess to clear Christianity from all "difficulties." If a revelation is to enlarge our conceptions of God, it must involve some spiritual effort on our part to receive the larger truth; if it claims to be historical, it may well impose on some of its adherents the labour needed for the judgment of historical evidence; if it prompts, without enforcing, obedience, it must excite in all some questionings as


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viii to the causes which led the Revealer not to make His revelation irresistibly convincing. Even the explanations of the mysterious phenomena of motion, light, and chemistry, involve "difficulties" in the acceptance of still more mysterious Laws which we cannot at present explain. Nevertheless we all feel that we understand astronomy better in the light of the Law of gravitation: and in the same way some may feel that Christianity becomes more spiritual, as well as more clear, when it becomes more natural; and that many of its so-called "difficulties" fade or vanish, when what may be called its celestial and its terrestrial phenomena are found to rest upon similar principles.


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The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Chamberlain, Joshua Lawrence

CHAMBERLAIN, Joshua Lawrence, American soldier and educator: b. Brewer, Me., 8 Sept 1828; d. 24 Feb. 1914; graduated Bowdoin College 1852 and Bangor Theological Seminary 1855; received the honorary degree of LL.D., Pennsylvania College, 1866, and from Bowdoin College 1869; professor of rhetoric and oratory, Bowdoin, 1856, and in 1861 professor of modern languages of Europe. On 8 Aug. 1862 he entered the army as lieutenant-colonel of volunteers and served through the Civil War in the Army of the Potomac in every campaign and nearly every great battle from Antietam to Appomattox, and was several times wounded, twice severely. He received the Congressional Medal of Honor for his remarkable conduct in the defense of Round Top, Gettysburg, 2 July 1863, and was advanced to the command of a brigade. On 18 June 1864 he was promoted brigadier-general on the field by General Grant for distinguished gallantry in leading a desperate charge, and early the following spring he received a special promotion as brevet major-general, “for conspicuous gallantry in action.” In the campaign of 1865 he commanded two brigades of the first division, fifth corps. In the order disbanding that army he was retained in the service and was offered a colonelcy in the regular army, but the condition of his wounds induced him to decline the service, and in January 1866 he returned to Maine.

In the autumn of that year he was elected governor of Maine, and served in that office for four terms. In 1871 he was chosen president of Bowdoin College, and continued in that position for 12 years, his administration being marked by a broadening of the course and a large increase in the resources of the college. During this time he was elected major-general of Maine, to command the militia of the State. In 1880 when for a time there was no active or legal State government, he was called to the capital “to preserve the peace and institutions of the State.” This he accomplished without the use or show of military force. In 1883 he retired from the presidency of Bowdoin and settled in New York to practise law. In 1885 he went to Florida and engaged in the work of railroad building and public improvements on the West Coast. He was much sought for as writer and orator. He published ‘Maine, Her Place in History’ (1877); ‘Ethics and Politics of the Spanish War’ (1898); ‘Property: Its Office and Sanction’ (1900); ‘De Monts and Acadia’ (1904); ‘Ruling Powers in History’ (1905). He also edited ‘Universities and Their Sons’ (1898).


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Rh thick, and contains green-coated nodules of cream-coloured and slightly phosphatic limestone. It has been observed in the Loudwater valley at Wycombe Marsh above High Wycombe, in the Misbourn valley near Amersham, and in the Chess valley near Chesham.

The mass of the Upper Chalk with its many bands of flint nodules extends over the greater part of the Chalk area in Buckinghamshire, occupying the high grounds above Chesham, Amersham, High Wycombe and Great Marlow, where it is largely covered with gravel, brickearth and clay-with-flints. It is not far below the surface at Eton and Datchet, for it appears above ground at Windsor Castle owing to an anticlinal structure which has locally upraised the Chalk.

As a whole the Chalk is one of the most uniform of geological formations : its lower portion is argillaceous and an occasional compact and nodular band occurs, but it represents a great and continuous deposit of calcareous mud, slowly accumulated in the deep ocean and due mainly to the decay of calcareous organisms and partly (in its flint bands) to the siliceous matter derived from organisms with siliceous structures.

Remains of marine saurians and fishes occur, but the more abun- dant fossils are those of mollusca, brachiopoda, echinodermata, and sponges ; and yet despite the absence of any great changes in sedimen- tary condition, such as would be likely to affect the forms of life, there is a gradual change in the assemblages of organic remains in the suc- cessive groups of strata. Owing to the slowness of deposition and uniformity over wide areas in Britain it is convenient to divide the life history into certain zones or assemblages of fossils, characterized by particular genera and species which had a wide distribution in space and a more restricted distribution in time. These zones, though purely zoological, afford useful indices of stratigraphical position, and conven- tional limits are assigned to them in different localities, the order of succession being maintained. These zones in Buckinghamshire are as follows :

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