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 amusement, and the earliest references to it in the Greek and Latin classics are not very satisfying to the sportsman. There is, however, a passage in the Odyssey (xii. 247) which is of considerable importance, as it shows that fishing with rod and line was well enough understood in early Greece to be used as a popular illustration. It occurs in the well-known scene where Scylla seizes the companions of Odysseus out of the ship and bears them upwards, just as “some fisher on a headland with a long rod” brings small fishes gasping to the shore. Another important, though comparatively late, passage in Greek poetry is the twenty-first idyll of Theocritus. In this the fisherman Asphalion relates how in a dream he hooked a large golden fish and describes graphically, albeit with some obscurity of language, how he “played” it. Asphalion used a rod and fished from a rock, much after the manner of the Homeric angler. Among other Greek writers, Herodotus has a good many references to fish and fishing; the capture of fish is once or twice mentioned or implied by Plato, notably in the Laws (vii. 823); Aristotle deals with fishes in his Natural History; and there are one or two fishing passages in the anthology. But in Greek literature as a whole the subject of angling is not at all prominent. In writers of late Greek, however, there is more material. Plutarch, for instance, gives us the famous story of the fishing match between Antony and Cleopatra, which has been utilized by Shakespeare. Moreover, it is in Greek that the first complete treatise on fishing which has come down to us is written, the Halieutica of Oppian (c. 169). It is a hexameter poem in five books with perhaps more technical than sporting interest, and not so much even of that as the length of the work would suggest. Still it contains some information about tackle and methods, and some passages describing battles with big fish, in the right spirit of enthusiasm. Also in Greek is what is famous as the first reference in literature to fly-fishing, in the fifteenth book of Aelian’s Natural History (3rd century ). It is there described how the Macedonians captured a certain spotted fish in the river Astraeus by means of a lure composed of coloured wool and feathers, which was presumably used in the manner now known as “dapping.” That there were other Greek writers who dealt with fish and fishing and composed “halieutics” we know from Athenaeus. In the first book of his Deipnosophistae he gives a list of them. But he compares their work unfavourably with the passage of Homer already cited, in a way which suggests that their knowledge of angling was not a great advance upon the knowledge of their remote literary ancestors. In Latin literature allusions to angling are rather more numerous than in Greek, but on the whole they are unimportant. Part of a poem by Ovid, the Halieuticon, composed during the poet’s exile at Tomi after 9, still survives. In other Roman writers the subject is only treated by way of allusion or illustration. Martial, however, provides, among other passages, what may perhaps be entitled to rank as the earliest notice of private fishery rights—the epigram Ad Piscatorem, which warns would-be poachers from casting a line in the Baian lake. Pliny the elder devoted the ninth book of his Natural History to fishes and water-life, and Plautus, Cicero, Catullus, Horace, Juvenal, Pliny the younger and Suetonius all allude to angling here and there. Agricultural writers, too, such as Varro and Columella, deal with the subject of fish ponds and stews rather fully. Later than any of these, but still just included in Latin literature, we have Ausonius (c. 320) and his well-known idyll the Mosella, which contains a good deal about the fish of the Moselle and the methods of catching them. In this poem is to be found the first recognizable description of members of the salmon family, and, though the manner of their application is rather doubtful, the names salmo, salar and fario strike a responsive note in the breast of the modern angler.

Post-classical Literature.—As to what happened in the world of angling in the first few centuries of the Christian era we know little. It may be inferred, however, that both fish and fishermen occupied a more honourable position in Christendom than they ever did before. The prominence of fishermen in the gospel narratives would in itself have been enough to bring this about, but it also happened that the Greek word for fish,, had an anagrammatic significance which the devout were not slow to perceive. The initials of the word resolve into what is practically a confession of faith,  (Jesus Christ, Son of God, Saviour). It is therefore not surprising that we find the fish very prominent as a sacred emblem in the painting and sculpture of the primitive church, or that Clement of Alexandria should have recommended it, among other things, as a device for signet rings or seals. The fisherman too is frequently represented in early Christian art, and it is worthy of remark that he more often uses a line and hook than a net. The references to fish and fishing scattered about in the writings of the early fathers for the most part reflect the two ideas of the sacredness of the fish and divine authorization of the fisherman; the second idea certainly prevailed until the time of Izaak Walton, for he uses it to justify his pastime. It is also not unlikely that the practice of fasting (in many cases fish was allowed when meat was forbidden) gave the art of catching fish additional importance. It seems at any rate to have been a consideration of weight when sites were chosen for monasteries in Europe, and in many cases when no fish-producing river was at hand the lack was supplied by the construction of fish-ponds. Despite all this, however, save for an occasional allusion in the early fathers, there is hardly a connecting link between the literature of Pagan Rome and the literature that sprang up on the invention of printing. One volume, the Geoponica, a Greek compilation concerning whose authorship and date there has been much dispute, is attributed in Bibliotheca Piscatoria to the beginning of the 10th century. It contains one book on fish, fish-ponds and fishing, with prescriptions for baits, &c., extracted for the most part from other writers. But it seems doubtful whether its date should not be placed very much earlier. Tradition makes it a Carthaginian treatise translated into Greek. A more satisfactory fragment of fishing literature is to be found in the Colloquy of Ælfric, written (ad pueros linguae latinae locutionis exercendos) towards the end of the same century. Ælfric became archbishop of Canterbury in 995, and the passage in the Anglo-Saxon text-book takes honourable rank as the earliest reference to fishing in English writings, though it is not of any great length. It is to be noted that the fisher who takes a share in the colloquy states that he prefers fishing in the river to fishing in the sea. Ascribed to the 13th or 14th century is a Latin poem De Vetula, whose author was apparently Richard de Fournival. It contains a passage on angling, and was placed to the credit of Ovid when first printed (c. 1470). A manuscript in the British museum, Comptes des pêcheries de l’église de Troyes ( 1349–1413), gives a minute account of the fisheries with the weights of fish captured and the expenses of working. There is, however, practically nothing else of importance till we come to the first printed book on angling (a translation of Oppian, 1478, excepted), and so to the beginning of the literature proper. This first book was a little volume printed in Antwerp probably in 1492 at the press of Matthias van der Goes. In size it is little more than a pamphlet, and it treats of birds as well as fish:—''Dit Boecxken leert hoe men mach Voghelen ende  visschen vangen metten kanden. Ende oeck andersins'' (“This book teaches how one may catch birds and  fish with the hands, and also otherwise”). Only one copy apparently survives, in the Denison library, and a translation privately printed for Mr Alfred Denison in 1872 was limited to twenty-five copies. At least two other editions of the book appeared in Flemish, and it also made its way, in 1502, to Germany, where, translated and with certain alterations and additions, it seems to have been re-issued frequently. Next in date comes the famous Treatyse of Fysshynge wyth an Angle, printed at Westminster by Wynkyn de Worde in 1496 as a part of the second edition of The Book of St Albans. The treatise is for this reason associated with the name of Dame Juliana Berners, but that somewhat dubious compiler can have had nothing whatever to do with it. The treatise is almost certainly a compilation from some earlier work on angling (“bokes of credence” are mentioned in its text), possibly from a manuscript of the earlier part of the 15th century, of which a portion is

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 feet high, and along the top runs a broad path enclosed by crenellated parapets. From here your vision ranges north and south and east and west; no smoke, no tall chimneys, no towering, hideous buildings to break and spoil the view.

North you look over the Tartar City, which is really three cities, all walled, and one within the other like the boxes of a puzzle, the Tartar City enclosing the Imperial City, and that in turn the Forbidden City. If you stand under the many-storied tower that surmounts the Chien-Men, you look straight along the road that leads through the vermilion walls, right into the Purple City, the heart of Peking. In Marco Polo's time the middle door of the great portal was never opened save to admit the emperor, and that was still true a few months ago, but last winter a day came when the bars rolled back, and there entered no emperor, no ruler, but the representative of the People's Assembly, and then a placard was posted announcing that hereafter the door was open to every one, for all China belonged to the people. For a matter-of-fact man the Chinese has a very dramatic way of doing things.

Turning southwards from the top of the wall you look beyond the Chinese City, which is nothing but a walled suburb, to the gleaming white walls of the Temple of Heaven, half buried in the trees. There each year the emperor comes to offer sacrifices to his

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380 Popoi, as Sa popoi, all day long. The dualization of the first syllable of the word Poi implies continuity.

Popol, a semi-fluid mass of ground leaves and roots, brought to the substance of a paste and then laid on the forehead or temples by way of medicament.

Porang, a standing panier to hold fish in a boat as caught.

Porgol, gilt, overlaid with gold. A corruption of the Dutch, word verguld, gilt.

Porog, a net-bag set in the jungle, into which Minchĕk are driven and taken.

Porokokok, name of a river fish.

Porot, slipped through between anything, as between two beams. Porot suku na di na chukang, his foot slipped through the bridge. Ceased, terminated, left off. Gĕus porot nyĕkĕl pagawéan, he has ceased to have charge of that work.

Porowulon, an eight part, the eighth.

Pos, European, the post, the means of conveying letters. A post or stage, the distance between an exchange of horses in travelling, which on Java is 5 or 6 English miles. Kantor pos, the post office. Kreta pos, a post carriage, a stage coach.

Posong, a jĕlér fish trap.

Pot, the idiomatic expression of letting go. Pot bai di lésotkĕn, dropping it he left hold. Gĕus pot, he has let go. Pot! let go.

Potlod, a lead pencil. The Dutch word Potlood, lead pencil.

Potol, miserably poor, not worth a rap. Not able to command the first necessaries of life.

Potong, to cut, to hack. Kudu di potong, it must be cut.

Potong, cut, broken, separated, disjointed.

Poyok, to jeer at, to laugh at, to ridicule.

Prabu, see Parabu.

Prada, tinsel, see Parada.

Prah, as tanĕuh prah, loose, open, good soil, the opposite of tanĕuh tĕula, stiff clay.

Prahu, a boat, a ship,--a general term for all vessels afloat. Pārūwa, C. 389, a flat bottomed boat.

Prahulu, a scitameneous plant. Amomum Aculeatum.

Praja, subjects. a Occurs in the composition of proper names. Praja, C. 433, progeny, offspring, people, subjects.

Praji, a midwife, an accoucheuse. Probably the feminine of Praja, C. 433, progeny, offspring —— and thus the person who assists offspring.

Prajurit, a soldier, a warrior, a fighting man. Pra, a particle and prefix implying excess, much, very, exceeding; or Praja, C. 433, people, subjects ,—— and Jurit, Kawi, war ;—— thus pre (eminent) in war, or people for war.

Prak, the idiomatic expression of commencing any undertaking, setting to work or the like. Ari gĕus prak, if we have once set to work. Prak bai di sélla-an, and he clapped the saddle on (the horse).

Praku, weak, feeble.


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424 Sana, this word has no separate meaning or use in the language, but is found frequently in the composition of proper names of places, occurring at the end of the word. It ought to be properly Asana, from Asanaya, C. 66, a seat. Singasana, proper name of a place. Singasana or, as it is written, Sinhāsana, C. 730, derived from Sinha, a lion, and Asana a seat: a throne being supported by lions.

Sanak, relative, kindred, a blood relation. Sa and Anak, child, of one descent. To sanak, to baraya, I have neither relation or kindred.

Sanapan, a fire lock; a sporting gun. Dutch Snaphaan, a fire lock.

Sanblah, Arabic, the zodiacal sign Virgo.

Sancha, the Boa constrictor. See under Orai.

Sandi, a joint, a joining, an articulation in the body. Sandiya, and Sandhi, C. 704, joint, union, junction.

Sandi-kala, the joints of time; a fit time; certain periods of the day, which are not properly ascertained, but in general terns are sun-rise, sun-set, noon. Sandhi, C. 704, joint, and Kala, C. 120, time.

Sanding, against, close to. See Nyanding.

Sandingkěn, to set against. To place in contact with.

Sandungan, tripped, stumbled against.

Saněg, pain, cramp, spasm.

Sang, an honorific prefix. A word prefixed to the names of Hindu gods, or persons appertaining to old Hindu times. May be translated: the mystic. Sang Yang or Séngyang, see voce. Sangna 9 C. 695. Sam, with, intensitive, and Gna, to know; name, appellation, thought, mind, intellect. Thus a prefix implying: perfect knowledge.

Sangaji, a king, a monarch; hardly ever heard and will only apply to monarchs of old. See Sang and Aji.

Sang'ar, lost its virulence. Dispossessed of the qualities of Wangsit, or supernatural power to do harm.

Sang'at, extremely, excessively, in a high degree. Very pernicious, very poisonous. Di gégél orai sang'at amat, laju paih, he was bit by a snake which was very venomous, for he immediately died. Sang'at amat sihěun na, he was excessively afraid.

Sang'ěrah, to bleed, as an animal, a horse, a buffaloe or the like. To cut with the intention of letting blood. Sangrar in Portuguese: to bleed.

Sang'ěrai, to fry, to dress food in a frying pan.

Sangga, as di sangga, to catch anything in the act of falling, with the hands held up for that purpose.

Sangga, to bear up, to support; to protect.

Sangga, in some parts of the country five, and in others, as at Jasinga, ten bundles of paddy. Sangha, C. 688, multitude, number, collection; the Buddhist priesthood; a convocation of priests, five of whom constitute a Sangha.

Sangga-buwana, name of a mountain in the south part of Jasinga, meaning: the support of the universe.


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 ancestors, the crowning expression of China's truest religion, ancestor worship. In a few months only, Prince Ch'un, the Regent, whom you have just met driving in state through the Imperial City, standing among his ministers, and acting for the baby emperor, will take the oath, not to the people of China, nor to any representative assembly, but to the imperial ancestors to accept and obey the new constitutional principles. "I, your descendant, P'u Yi," he will say, "have endeavoured to consummate the constitutional programme, but my policy and my choice of officials have not been wise. Hence the recent troubles. Fearing the fall of the sacred dynasty I accept the advice of the National Assembly, and I vow to uphold the nineteen constitutional articles, and to organize a Parliament.…I and my descendants will adhere to it forever. Your Heavenly Spirits will see and understand."

There is unfailing charm and interest in the view over Peking from the top of the wall. Chinese cities are generally attractive, looked down upon from above, because of the many trees, but here the wealth of foliage and blaze of colour are almost bewildering; the graceful outlines of pagoda and temple, the saucy tilt of the roofs, yellow and green, imperial and princely, rising above stretches of soft brown walls, the homes of the people, everything framed in masses of living green; and stretching around it all, like a

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Page:Spanish Constitution of 1978 English translation.pdf/63

 Community and transport by the above means or by cable fulfilling the same conditions.

6. Ports of haven, recreational ports and airports and, in general, those which are not engaged in commercial activities.

7. Agriculture and livestock raising, in accordance with general economic planning.

8. Woodlands and forestry.

9. Management of environmental protection.

10. Planning, construction and exploitation of hydraulic projects, canals and irrigation of interest to the Self-governing Community; mineral and thermal waters.

11. Inland water fishing, shellfish industry and fishfarming, hunting and river fishing.

12. Local fairs.

13. Promotion of economic development of the Self-governing Community within the objectives set by national economic policy.

14. Handicrafts.

15. Museums, libraries and music conservatories of interest to the Self-governing Community.

16. The Self-governing Community's monuments of interest.

17. The promotion of culture and research and, where applicable, the teaching of the Self-governing Community's language.

18. The promotion and planning of tourism within its territorial area.

19. The promotion of sports and the proper use of leisure.

20. Social assistance.

21. Health and hygiene.

22. The supervision and protection of its buildings and installations. Coordination and other powers relating to local police forces under the terms to be laid down by an organic act. 67


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 2. After five years, the Self-governing Communities may, by amendment of their Statutes of Autonomy, progressively enlarge their powers within the framework laid down in section 149.

Section 149

1. The State shall have exclusive competence over the following matters:

1. Regulation of basic conditions guaranteeing the equality of all Spaniards in the exercise of their rights and in the fulfilment of their constitutional duties.

2. Nationality, immigration, emigration, status of aliens, and right of asylum.

3. International relations.

4. Defence and the Armed Forces.

5. Administration of Justice.

6. Commercial, criminal and penitentiary legislation; procedural legislation, without prejudice to the necessary specialities in these fields arising from the peculiar features of the substantive law of the Self-governing Communities.

7. Labour legislation, without prejudice to its execution by bodies of the Self-governing Communities.

8. Civil legislation, without prejudice to the preservation, modification and development by the Self-governing Communities of their civil law, or special rights and traditional charters (fueros), whenever these exist. In any event, rules for the application and effectiveness of legal provisions, civil relations arising from the forms of marriage, keeping of records and drawing up to public instruments, bases of contractual liability, rules for resolving conflicts of law and determination of the sources of law in conformity, in this last case, with the rules of traditional charters (fueros) or special laws. 68


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Rh Sangga-buwana, said of a horse with for feet white downwards from the knee joint.

Sangga-dulang, said of buffaloe horns which stand upright on the head, but have the tips bent inwards.

Sanggal, a variets of Supa or fungus.

Sanggan, having the horns held back over the shoulders, as buffaloes do when frightened. Buffaloe horns which naturally fail backwards.

Sanggap, to catch anything which is thrown at one.

Sanggapan, a place to tap off water, or to let it into the sawahs etc. Ap, in Clough's Sing. Dict., 84, water. Apa in Sanscrit, ab in Persian, are both: water.

Sanggar, a small domestic chapel or place of worship attached to the dwelling house in Bali. Friederich, Bat. Trans., vol. 22. Hence probably the Sunda Langgar, which see.

Sanggaringan, name of a riverfish in some parts of the country. Called at Jasinga Kěbo-grang.

Sanggul, to tie up the hair in nice even order. To dress the hair of people of rank. To dress the hair of people of low degree, is Gělung, which see. The hair dressed in a knot and tied on the top of the head. The term applies to the hair of people of good birth, so tied up.

Sanggul, to coil up a rope. To collect a rope in short lengths.

Sanggup, to undertake to do anything. To feel competent. To have assurance. To Sanggup, I dare not undertake it.

Sanggupan, to engage to do. To promise some reward. Di sanggupan buruh kěbo siji, he promised him the reward of one buffaloe.

Sangkala, date, period; number. Era, epoch. Sang, a honorific prefix. Kala C. Ill, time. Occurs in conjunction with chandra, C. 194, the moon. Chandra Sangkala is properly a Javanese expression but applies generally to Java. In the Javanese Dictionary of Roorda van Eysinga, the following account is given of its acceptation: computations by the moon, the light of princely dates. Under this name there exists a Javanese work which contains a register of words, the purport of which is that you can select such as both express the dates, and record the fact to which they are made to allude. A chronogramma. For example: Sirna = O, Hilang = O, Kertaning = 4, Bumi = 1. These are read backwards, for the date „disappeared, lost is the peace of the land." This refers to the destruction of Majapahit in Anno Javae 1400.—

Sangké, to take on the fore part of the arms, below the elbow, in order to carry easily.

Sankěp, competent, having in your power to do. Sufficient for any purpose. Swaggering.

Sangkěul, to die thread black, by the use of Katia, which is a bark, not found in the Sunda jungles, but probably imported from China.

Sangkilat, a piece of rope tied in a circle and twisted about the ankles so as to hold them firmly together when climbing a small stemmed tree, such as the Pinang-palm, which has no branches to hold on by. This word is perhaps a corruption of Sangkhalika, C. 688, a fetter, a chain for the legs and feet.


text: Talk:The Flags of the World

title: Talk:The Flags of the World


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 huge protecting arm, the great grey wall. You sigh with satisfaction; nowhere is there a jarring note; and then—you turn your eyes down to the grounds and buildings of the American Legation at your feet, clean, comfortable, uncompromising, and alien. Near you paces to and fro a soldier, gun on shoulder, his trim figure set off by his well-fitting khaki clothes, unmistakably American, unmistakably foreign, guarding this strip of Peking's great wall, where neither Manchu nor Chinese may set foot. And then your gaze travels along the wall, to where, dimly outlined against the horizon, you discern the empty frames of the wonderful astronomical instruments that were once the glory of Peking, now adorning a Berlin museum, set up for the German holiday-makers to gape at. After all, there are discordant notes in Peking.

Down in the streets there is plenty of life and variety. Mongol and Manchu and Chinese jostle each other in the dust or mud of the broad highways. The swift rickshaws thread their way through the throng with amazing dexterity. Here the escort of a great official clatters by, with jingling swords and flutter of tassels, there a long train of camels fresh from the desert blocks the road. The trim European victoria, in which sits the fair wife of a Western diplomat, fresh as a flower in her summer finery, halts side by side with the heavy Peking cart, its curved matting

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 9. Legislation on copyright and industrial property.

10. Customs and tariff regulations; foreign trade.

11. Monetary system: foreign currency, exchange and convertibility; bases for the regulations concerning credit, banking and insurance.

12. Legislation on weights and measures and determination of the official time.

13. Basic rules and coordination of general economic planning.

14. General financial affairs and State Debt.

15. Promotion and general coordination of scientific and technical research.

16. External health measures; basic conditions and general coordination of health matters; legislation on pharmaceutical products.

17. Basic legislation and financial system of Social Security, without prejudice to implementation of its services by the Self-governing Communities.

18. Basic rules of the legal system of Public Administrations and the status of their officials which shall, in any case, guarantee that all persons under said administrations will receive equal treatment; the common administrative procedure, without prejudice to the special features of the Self-governing Communities' own organizations; legislation on compulsory expropriation; basic legislation on contracts and administrative concessions and the system of liability of all Public Administrations.

19. Sea fishing, without prejudice to the powers which, in regulations governing this sector, may be vested to the Self-governing Communities.

20. Merchant navy and registering of ships; lighting of coasts and signals at sea; generalinterest ports; general-interest airports;


text:
Oscar Wilde, His Life and Confessions/Chapter 19

Shortly before he came out of prison, one of Oscar's intimates told me he was destitute, and begged me to get him some clothes. I took the name of his tailor and ordered two suits. The tailor refused to take the order: he was not going to make clothes for Oscar Wilde. I could not trust myself to talk to the man and therefore sent my assistant editor and friend, Mr. Blanchamp, to have it out with him. The tradesman soul yielded to the persuasiveness of cash in advance. I sent Oscar the clothes and a cheque, and shortly after his release got a letter thanking me.

A little later I heard on good authority a story which Oscar afterwards confirmed, that when he left Reading Gaol the correspondent of an American paper offered him £1,000 for an interview dealing with his prison life and experiences, but he felt it beneath his dignity to take his sufferings to market. He thought it better to borrow than to earn. He is partly to be excused, perhaps, when one remembers that he had still some pounds left of the large sums given him before his condemnation, by Miss S————, Ross, More Adey, and others. Still his refusal of such a sum as that offered by the New York paper shows how utterly contemptuous he was of money, even at a moment when one would have thought money would have been his chief preoccupation. He always lived in the day and rather heedlessly.

As soon as he left prison he crossed with some friends to France, and went to stay at the Hotel de la Plage at Berneval, a quiet little village near Dieppe. M. André Gide, who called on him there almost as soon as he arrived, gives a fair mental picture of him at this time. He tells how delighted he was to find in him the "Oscar Wilde of old," no longer the sensualist puffed out with pride and good living, but "the sweet Wilde" of the days before 1891. "I found myself taken back, not two years," he says, "but four or five. There was the same dreamy look, the same amused smile, the same voice."

He told M. Gide that prison had completely changed him, had taught him the meaning of pity. "You know," he went on, "how fond I used to be of 'Madame Bovary,' but Flaubert would not admit pity into his work, and that is why it has a petty and restrained character about it. It is the sense of pity by means of which a work gains in expanse, and by which it opens up a boundless horizon. Do you know, my dear fellow, it was pity which prevented my killing myself? During the first six months in prison I was dreadfully unhappy, so utterly miserable that I wanted to kill myself; but what kept me from doing so was looking at the others, and seeing that they were as unhappy as I was, and feeling sorry for them. Oh dear! what a wonderful thing pity is, and I never knew it."

He was speaking in a low voice without any excitement.

"Have you ever learned how wonderful a thing pity is? For my part I thank God every night, yes, on my knees I thank God for having taught it to me. I went into prison with a heart of stone, thinking only of my own pleasure; but now my heart is utterly broken—pity has entered into my heart. I have learned now that pity is the greatest and the most beautiful thing in the world. And that is why I cannot bear ill-will towards those who caused my suffering and those who condemned me; no, nor to anyone, because without them I should not have known all that. Alfred Douglas writes me terrible letters. He says he does not understand me, that he does not understand that I do not wish everyone ill, and that everyone has been horrid to me. No, he does not understand me. He cannot understand me any more. But I keep on telling him that in every letter: we cannot follow the same road. He has his and it is beautiful—I have mine. His is that of Alcibiades; mine is now that of St. Francis of Assisi."

How much of this is sincere and how much merely imagined and stated in order to incarnate the new ideal to perfection would be hard to say. The truth is not so saintly simple as the christianised Oscar would have us believe. The unpublished portions of "De Profundis" which were read out in the Douglas-Ransome trial prove, what all his friends know, that Oscar Wilde found it impossible to forgive or forget what seemed to him personal ill-treatment. There are beautiful pages in "De Profundis," pages of sweetest Christlike resignation and charity and no doubt in a certain mood Oscar was sincere in writing them. But there was another mood in him, more vital and more enduring, if not so engaging, a mood in which he saw himself as one betrayed and sacrificed and abandoned, and then he attributed his ruin wholly to his friend and did not hesitate to speak of him as the "Judas" whose shallow selfishness and imperious ill—temper and unfulfilled promises of monetary help had driven a great man to disaster.

That unpublished portion of "De Profundis" is in essence, from beginning to end, one long curse of Lord Alfred Douglas, an indictment apparently impartial, particularly at first; but in reality a bitter and merciless accusation, showing in Oscar Wilde a curious want of sympathy even with the man he said he loved. Those who would know Oscar Wilde as he really was will read that piece of rhetoric with care enough to notice that he reiterates the charge of shallow selfishness with such venom, that he discovers his own colossal egotism and essential hardness of heart. "Love," we are told, "suffereth long and is kind ... beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things"-that sweet, generous, all-forgiving tenderness of love was not in the pagan, Oscar Wilde, and therefore even his deepest passion never won to complete reconciliation and ultimate redemption.

In this same talk with M. Gide, Oscar is reported to have said that he had known beforehand that a catastrophe was unavoidable; "there was but one end possible.... That state of things could not last; there had to be some end to it."

This view I believe is Gide's and not Oscar's. In any case I am sure that my description of him before the trials as full of insolent self-assurance is the truer truth. Of course he must have had forebodings; he was warned as I've related, again and again; but he took character-colour from his associates and he met Queensberry's first attempts at attack with utter disdain. He did not realise his danger at all. Gide reports him more correctly as adding:

"Prison has completely changed me. I was relying on it for that -Douglas is terrible. He cannot understand that -cannot understand that I am not taking up the same existence again. He accuses the others of having changed me."

I may publish here part of a letter of a prison warder which Mr. Stuart Mason reproduced in his excellent little book on Oscar Wilde. He says:

"No more beautiful life had any man lived, no more beautiful life could any man live than Oscar Wilde lived during the short period I knew him in prison. He wore upon his face an eternal smile; sunshine was on his face, sunshine of some sort must have been in his heart. People say he was not sincere: he was the very soul of sincerity when I knew him. If he did not continue that life after he left prison, then the forces of evil must have been too strong for him. But he tried, he honestly tried, and in prison he succeeded."

All this seems to me in the main, true. Oscar's gay vivacity would have astonished any stranger. Besides, the regular hours and scant plain food of prison had improved his health and the solitude and suffering had lent him a deeper emotional life. But there was an intense bitterness in him, a profound underlying sense of injury which came continually to passionate expression. Yet as soon as the miserable petty persecution of the prison was lifted from him, all the joyous gaiety and fun of his nature bubbled up irresistibly. There was no contradiction in this complexity. A man can hold in himself a hundred conflicting passions and impulses without confusion. At this time the dominant chord in Oscar was pity for others.

To my delight the world had evidence of this changed Oscar Wilde in a very short time. On May 28th, a few days after he left prison, there appeared in _The Daily Chronicle_ a letter more than two columns in length, pleading for the kindlier treatment of little children in English prisons. The letter was written because Warder Martin of Reading prison had been dismissed by the Commissioners for the dreadful crime of "having given some sweet biscuits to a little hungry child."...

I must quote a few paragraphs of this letter; because it shows how prison had deepened Oscar Wilde, how his own suffering had made him, as Shakespeare says, "pregnant to good pity," and also because it tells us what life was like in an English prison in our time. Oscar wrote:

"I saw the three children myself on the Monday preceding my release. They had just been convicted, and were standing in a row in the central hall in their prison dress carrying their sheets under their arms, previous to their being sent to the cells allotted to them.... They were quite small children, the youngest -the one to whom the warder gave the biscuits- being a tiny chap, for whom they had evidently been unable to find clothes small enough to fit. I had, of course, seen many children in prison during the two years during which I was myself confined. Wandsworth prison, especially, contained always a large number of children. But the little child I saw on the afternoon of Monday, the 17th, at Reading, was tinier than any one of them. I need not say how utterly distressed I was to see these children at Reading, for I knew the treatment in store for them. The cruelty that is practised by day and night on children in English prisons is incredible except to those that have witnessed it and are aware of the brutality of the system.

"People nowadays do not understand what cruelty is.... Ordinary cruelty is simply stupidity.

"The prison treatment of children is terrible, primarily from people not understanding the peculiar psychology of the child's nature. A child can understand a punishment inflicted by an individual, such as a parent, or guardian, and bear it with a certain amount of acquiescence. What it cannot understand is a punishment inflicted by society. It cannot realise what society is....

"The terror of a child in prison is quite limitless. I remember once in Reading, as I was going out to exercise, seeing in the dimly lit cell opposite mine a small boy. Two warders -not unkindly men- were talking to him, with some sternness apparently, or perhaps giving him some useful advice about his conduct. One was in the cell with him, the other was standing outside. The child's face was like a white wedge of sheer terror. There was in his eyes the terror of a hunted animal. The next morning I heard him at breakfast time crying, and calling to be let out. His cry was for his parents. From time to time I could hear the deep voice of the warder on duty telling him to keep quiet. Yet he was not even convicted of whatever little offence he had been charged with. He was simply on remand. That I knew by his wearing his own clothes, which seemed neat enough. He was, however, wearing prison socks and shoes. This showed that he was a very poor boy, whose own shoes, if he had any, were in a bad state. Justices and magistrates, an entirely ignorant class as a rule, often remand children for a week, and then perhaps remit whatever sentence they are entitled to pass. They call this 'not sending a child to prison.' It is of course a stupid view on their part. To a little child, whether he is in prison on remand or after conviction is not a subtlety of position he can comprehend. To him the horrible thing is to be there at all. In the eyes of humanity it should be a horrible thing for him to be there at all.

"This terror that seizes and dominates the child, as it seizes the grown man also, is of course intensified beyond power of expression by the solitary cellular system of our prisons. Every child is confined to its cell for twenty-three hours out of the twenty-four. This is the appalling thing. To shut up a child in a dimly lit cell for twenty-three hours out of the twenty-four is an example of the cruelty of stupidity. If an individual, parent or guardian, did this to a child, he would be severely punished....

"The second thing from which a child suffers in prison is hunger. The food that is given to it consists of a piece of usually badly baked prison bread and a tin of water for breakfast at half past seven. At twelve o'clock it gets dinner, composed of a tin of coarse Indian meal stirabout, and at half past five it gets a piece of dry bread and a tin of water for its supper. This diet in the case of a strong man is always productive of illness of some kind, chiefly, of course, diarrhoea, with its attendant weakness. In fact, in a big prison, astringent medicines are served out regularly by the warders as a matter of course. A child is as a rule incapable of eating the food at all. Anyone who knows anything about children knows how easily a child's digestion is upset by a fit of crying, or trouble and mental distress of any kind. A child who has been crying all day long and perhaps half the night, in a lonely, dimly lit cell, and is preyed upon by terror, simply cannot eat food of this coarse, horrible kind. In the case of the little child to whom Warder Martin gave the biscuits, the child was crying with hunger on Tuesday morning, and utterly unable to eat the bread and water served to it for breakfast.

"Martin went out after the breakfast had been served, and bought the few sweet biscuits for the child rather than see it starving. It was a beautiful action on his part, and was so recognised by the child, who, utterly unconscious of the regulation of the Prison Board, told one of the senior warders how kind this junior warder had been to him. The result was, of course, a report and a dismissal.

"I know Martin extremely well, and I was under his charge for the last seven weeks of my imprisonment.... I was struck by the singular kindness and humanity of the way in which he spoke to me and to the other prisoners. Kind words are much in prison, and a pleasant 'good-morning' or 'good-evening' will make one as happy as one can be in prison. He was always gentle and considerate....

"A great deal has been talked and written lately about the contaminating influence of prison on young children. What is said is quite true. A child is utterly contaminated by prison life. But this contaminating influence is not that of the prisoners. It is that of the whole prison system -of the governor, the chaplain, the warders, the solitary cell, the isolation, the revolting food, the rules of the Prison Commissioners, the mode of discipline, as it is termed, of the life.

"Of course no child under fourteen years of age should be sent to prison at all. It is an absurdity, and, like many absurdities, of absolutely tragical results...."

This letter, I am informed, brought about some improvement in the treatment of young children in British prisons. But in regard to adults the British prison is still the torture chamber it was in Wilde's time; prisoners are still treated more brutally there than anywhere else in the civilised world; the food is the worst in Europe, insufficient indeed to maintain health; in many cases men are only saved from death by starvation through being sent to the infirmary. Though these facts are well known, _Punch_, the pet organ of the British middle-class, was not ashamed a little while ago to make a mock of some suggested reform, by publishing a picture of a British convict, with the villainous face of a Bill Sykes, lying on a sofa in his cell smoking a cigar with champagne at hand. This is not altogether due to stupidity, as Oscar tried to believe, but to reasoned selfishness. _Punch_ and the class for which it caters would like to believe that many convicts are unfit to live, whereas the truth is that a good many of them are superior in humanity to the people who punish and slander them.

While waiting for his wife to join him, Oscar rented a little house, the Châlet Bourgeat, about two hundred yards away from the hotel at Berneval, and furnished it. Here he spent the whole of the summer writing, bathing, and talking to the few devoted friends who visited him from time to time. Never had he been so happy: never in such perfect health. He was full of literary projects; indeed, no period of his whole life was so fruitful in good work. He was going to write some Biblical plays; one entitled "Pharaoh" first, and then one called "Ahab and Jezebel," which he pronounced Isabelle. Deeper problems, too, were much in his mind: he was already at work on "The Ballad of Reading Gaol," but before coming to that let me first show how happy the song-bird was and how divinely he sang when the dreadful cage was opened and he was allowed to use his wings in the heavenly sunshine.

Here is a letter from him shortly after his release which is one of the most delightful things he ever wrote. Fitly enough it was addressed to his friend of friends, Robert Ross, and I can only say that I am extremely obliged to Ross for allowing me to publish it:

Hotel de la Plage. Berneval, near Dieppe, Monday night, May 31st (1897).

My dearest Robbie,

I have decided that the only way in which to get boots properly is to go to France to receive them. The Douane charged 3 francs. How could you frighten me as you did? The next time you order boots please come to Dieppe to get them sent to you. It is the only way and it will be an excuse for seeing you.

I am going to-morrow on a pilgrimage. I always wanted to be a pilgrim, and I have decided to start early to-morrow to the shrine of Notre Dame de Liesse. Do you know what Liesse is? It is an old word for joy. I suppose the same as Letizia, Lætitia. I just heard to-night of the shrine or chapel, -y chance, as you would say, from the sweet woman of the auberge, who wants me to live always at Berneval. She says Notre Dame de Liesse is wonderful, and helps everyone to the secret of joy -I do not know how long it will take me to get to the shrine, as I must walk. But, from what she tells me, it will take at least six or seven minutes to get there, and as many to come back. In fact the chapel of Notre Dame de Liesse is just fifty yards from the Hotel. Isn't it extraordinary? I intend to start after I have had my coffee, and then to bathe. Need I say that this is a miracle? I wanted to go on a pilgrimage, and I find the little grey stone chapel of Our Lady of Joy is brought to me. It has probably been waiting for me all these purple years of pleasure, and now it comes to meet me with Liesse as its message. I simply don't know what to say. I wish you were not so hard to poor heretics, and would admit that even for the sheep who has no shepherd there is a Stella Maris to guide it home. But you and More, especially More, treat me as a Dissenter. It is very painful and quite unjust.

Yesterday I attended Mass at 10 o'clock and afterwards bathed. So I went into the water without being a pagan. The consequence was that I was not tempted by either sirens or mermaidens, or any of the green-haired following of Glaucus. I really think that this is a remarkable thing. In my Pagan days the sea was always full of Tritons blowing conchs, and other unpleasant things. Now it is quite different. And yet you treat me as the President of Mansfield College; and after I had canonised you too.

Dear boy, I wish you would tell me if your religion makes you happy. You conceal your religion from me in a monstrous way. You treat it like writing in the Saturday Review for Pollock, or dining in Wardour Street off the fascinating dish that is served with tomatoes and makes men mad. I know it is useless asking you, so don't tell me.

I felt an outcast in Chapel yesterday -not really, but a little in exile. I met a dear farmer in a corn field and he gave me a seat on his banc in church: so I was quite comfortable. He now visits me twice a day, and as he has no children, and is rich, I have made him promise to adopt three -two boys and a girl. I told him that if he wanted them, he would find them. He said he was afraid that they would turn out badly. I told him everyone did that. He really has promised to adopt three orphans. He is now filled with enthusiasm at the idea. He is to go to the Curé and talk to him. He told me that his own father had fallen down in a fit one day as they were talking together, and that he had caught him in his arms, and put him to bed, where he died, and that he himself had often thought how dreadful it was that if he had a fit there was no one to catch him in his arms. It is quite clear that he must adopt orphans, is it not?

I feel that Berneval is to be my home. I really do. Notre Dame de Liesse will be sweet to me, if I go on my knees to her, and she will advise me. It is extraordinary being brought here by a white horse that was a native of the place, and knew the road, and wanted to see its parents, now of advanced years. It is also extraordinary that I knew Berneval existed and was arranged for me.

M. Bonnet wants to build me a Châlet, 1,000 metres of ground (I don't know how much that is -but I suppose about 100 miles) and a Châlet with a studio, a balcony, a salle-à-manger, a huge kitchen, and three bedrooms- a view of the sea, and trees -all for 12,000 francs; £480. If I can write a play I am going to have it begun. Fancy one's own lovely house and grounds in France for £480. No rent of any kind. Pray consider this, and approve, if you think well. Of course, not till I have done my play.

An old gentleman lives here in the hotel. He dines alone in his room, and then sits in the sun. He came here for two days and has stayed two years. His sole sorrow is that there is no theatre. Monsieur Bonnet is a little heartless about this, and says that as the old gentleman goes to bed at 8 o'clock a theatre would be of no use to him. The old gentleman says he only goes to bed at 8 o'clock because there is no theatre. They argued the point yesterday for an hour. I sided with the old gentleman, but Logic sides with Monsieur Bonnet, I believe.

I had a sweet letter from the Sphinx. She gives me a delightful account of Ernest subscribing to Romeike while his divorce suit was running, and not being pleased with some of the notices. Considering the growing appreciation of Ibsen I must say that I am surprised the notices were not better, but nowadays everybody is jealous of everyone else, except, of course, husband and wife. I think I shall keep this last remark of mine for my play.

Have you got my silver spoon from Reggie? You got my silver brushes out of Humphreys, who is bald, so you might easily get my spoon out of Reggie, who has so many, or used to have. You know my crest is on it. It is a bit of Irish silver, and I don't want to lose it. There is an excellent substitute called Britannia metal, very much liked at the Adelphi and elsewhere. Wilson Barrett writes, "I prefer it to silver." It would suit dear Reggie admirably. Walter Besant writes, "I use none other." Mr. Beerbohm Tree also writes, "Since I have tried it I am a different actor; my friends hardly recognise me." So there is obviously a demand for it.

I am going to write a Political Economy in my heavier moments. The first law I lay down is, "Whenever there exists a demand, there is no supply." This is the only law that explains the extraordinary contrast between the soul of man and man's surroundings. Civilisations continue because people hate them. A modern city is the exact opposite of what everyone wants. Nineteenth-century dress is the result of our horror of the style. The tall hat will last as long as people dislike it.

Dear Robbie, I wish you would be a little more considerate, and not keep me up so late talking to you. It is very flattering to me and all that, but you should remember that I need rest. Good-night. You will find some cigarettes and some flowers by your bedside. Coffee is served below at 8 o'clock. Do you mind? If it is too early for you I don't at all mind lying in bed an extra hour. I hope you will sleep well. You should as Lloyd is not on the Verandah.

TUESDAY MORNING, 9.30.

The sea and sky are opal -no horrid drawing master's line between them- just one fishing boat, going slowly, and drawing the wind after it. I am going to bathe.

6 O'CLOCK.

Bathed and have seen a Châlet here which I wish to take for the season -quite charming- a splendid view: a large writing room, a dining room, and three lovely bedrooms -besides servants' rooms and also a huge balcony.

[In this blank space he had   I don't know the scale roughly drawn a ground plan   of the drawing, but the of the imagined Châlet.]      rooms are larger than the plan is.

1. Salle-à-manger. All on ground floor 2. Salon. with steps from balcony 3. Balcony. to ground.

The rent for the season or year is, what do you think? -£32.

Of course I must have it: I will take my meals here -separate and reserved table: it is within two minutes walk. Do tell me to take it. When you come again your room will be waiting for you. All I need is a domestique. The people here are most kind.

I made my pilgrimage -the interior of the Chapel is of course a modern horror- but there is a black image of Notre Dame de Liesse -the chapel is as tiny as an undergraduate's room at Oxford. I hope to get the Curé to celebrate Mass in it soon; as a rule the service is only held there in July and August; but I want to see a Mass quite close.

There is also another thing I must write to you about.

I adore this place. The whole country is lovely, and full of forest and deep meadow. It is simple and healthy. If I live in Paris I may be doomed to things I don't desire. I am afraid of big towns. Here I get up at 7.30. I am happy all day. I go to bed at 10. I am frightened of Paris. I want to live here.

I have seen the "terrain." It is the best here, and the only one left. I must build a house. If I could build a châlet for 12,000 francs -£500- and live in a home of my own, how happy I would be. I must raise the money somehow. It would give me a home, quiet, retired, healthy, and near England. If I live in Egypt I know what my life would be. If I live in the south of Italy I know I should be idle and worse. I want to live here. Do think over this and send me over the architect. M. Bonnet is excellent and is ready to carry out any idea. I want a little châlet of wood and plaster walls, the wooden beams showing and the white square of plaster diapering the framework -like, I regret to say Shakespeare's house- like old English sixteenth-century farmers' houses. So your architect has me waiting for him, as he is waiting for me.

Do you think the idea absurd?

I got the Chronicle, many thanks. I see he writer on Prince -A.2.11. does not mention my name- foolish of her -it is a woman.

I, as you, the poem of my days, are away, am forced to write. I have begun something that I think will be very good.

I breakfast to-morrow with the Stannards: what a great passionate, splendid writer John Strange Winter is! How little people understand her work! Bootle's Baby is an "oeuvre symboliste"-it is really only the style and the subject that are wrong. Pray never speak lightly of Bootle's Baby -Indeed pray never speak of it at all-I never do.

Yours,

OSCAR.

Please send a Chronicle to my wife.

MRS. C.M. HOLLAND, Maison Benguerel, Bevaix, Pres de Neuchatel,

just marking it-and if my second letter appears, mark that.

Also cut out the letter and enclose it in an envelope to:

MR. ARTHUR CRUTHENDEN, Poste Restante, G.P.O., Reading,

with just these lines:

Dear friend,

The enclosed will interest you. There is also another letter waiting in the post office for you from me with a little money. Ask for it if you have not got it.

Yours sincerely,

C.3.3.

I have no one but you, dear Robbie, to do anything. Of course the letter to Reading must go at once, as my friends come out on Wednesday morning early.

This letter displays almost every quality of Oscar Wilde's genius in perfect efflorescence--his gaiety, joyous merriment and exquisite sensibility. Who can read of the little Chapel to Notre Dame de Liesse without emotion quickly to be changed to mirth by the sunny humour of those delicious specimens of self-advertisement: "Mr. Beerbohm Tree also writes: 'Since I have tried it, I am a different actor, my friends hardly recognise me.'"

This letter is the most characteristic thing Oscar Wilde ever wrote, a thing produced in perfect health at the topmost height of happy hours, more characteristic even than "The Importance of Being Earnest," for it has not only the humour of that delightful farce-comedy, but also more than a hint of the deeper feeling which was even then forming itself into a master-work that will form part of the inheritance of men forever.

"The Ballad of Reading Gaol" belongs to this summer of 1897. A fortunate conjuncture of circumstances-the prison discipline excluding all sense-indulgence, the kindness shown him towards the end of his imprisonment and of course the delight of freedom-gave him perfect physical health and hope and joy in work, and so Oscar was enabled for a few brief months to do better than his best. He assured me and I believe that the conception of "The Ballad" came to him in prison and was due to the alleviation of his punishment and the permission accorded to him to write and read freely--a divine fruit born directly of his pity for others and the pity others felt for him.

"The Ballad of Reading Gaol" was published in January, 1898, over the signature of C.3.3., Oscar's number in prison. In a few weeks it ran through dozens of editions in England and America and translations appeared in almost every European language, which is proof not so much of the excellence of the poem as the great place the author held in the curiosity of men. The enthusiasm with which it was accepted in England was astounding. One reviewer compared it with the best of Sophocles; another said that "nothing like it has appeared in our time." No word of criticism was heard: the most cautious called it a "simple poignant ballad, ... one of the greatest in the English language." This praise is assuredly not too generous. Yet even this was due to a revulsion of feeling in regard to Oscar himself rather than to any understanding of the greatness of his work. The best public felt that he had been dreadfully over-punished, and made a scapegoat for worse offenders and was glad to have the opportunity of repairing its own fault by over-emphasising Oscar's repentance and over-praising, as it imagined, the first fruits of the converted sinner.

"The Ballad of Reading Gaol" is far and away the best poem Oscar Wilde ever wrote; we should try to appreciate it as the future will appreciate it. We need not be afraid to trace it to its source and note what is borrowed in it and what is original. After all necessary qualifications are made, it will stand as a great and splendid achievement.

Shortly before "The Ballad" was written, a little book of poetry called "A Shropshire Lad" was published by A.E. Housman, now I believe professor of Latin at Cambridge. There are only a hundred odd pages in the booklet; but it is full of high poetry-sincere and passionate feeling set to varied music. His friend, Reginald Turner, sent Oscar a copy of the book and one poem in particular made a deep impression on him. It is said that "his actual model for 'The Ballad of Reading Gaol' was 'The Dream of Eugene Aram' with 'The Ancient Mariner' thrown in on technical grounds"; but I believe that Wilde owed most of his inspiration to "A Shropshire Lad."

Here are some verses from Housman's poem and some verses from "The Ballad":

On moonlit heath and lonesome bank The sheep beside me graze; And yon the gallows used to clank Fast by the four cross ways.

A careless shepherd once would keep The flocks by moonlight there, And high amongst the glimmering sheep The dead men stood on air.

They hang us now in Shrewsbury jail: The whistles blow forlorn, And trains all night groan on the rail To men that die at morn.

There sleeps in Shrewsbury jail to-night, Or wakes, as may betide, A better lad, if things went right, Than most that sleep outside.

And naked to the hangman's noose The morning clocks will ring A neck God made for other use Than strangling in a string.

And sharp the link of life will snap, And dead on air will stand Heels that held up as straight a chap As treads upon the land.

So here I'll watch the night and wait To see the morning shine When he will hear the stroke of eight And not the stroke of nine;

And wish my friend as sound a sleep As lads I did not know, That shepherded the moonlit sheep A hundred years ago.

THE BALLAD OF READING GAOL

It is sweet to dance to violins When Love and Life are fair: To dance to flutes, to dance to lutes, Is delicate and rare: But it is not sweet with nimble feet To dance upon the air!

And as one sees most fearful things In the crystal of a dream, We saw the greasy hempen rope Hooked to the blackened beam And heard the prayer the hangman's snare Strangled into a scream.

And all the woe that moved him so That he gave that bitter cry, And the wild regrets, and the bloody sweats, None knew so well as I: For he who lives more lives than one More deaths than one must die.

There are better things in "The Ballad of Reading Gaol" than those inspired by Housman. In the last of the three verses I quote there is a distinction of thought which Housman hardly reached.

"For he who lives more lives than one More deaths than one must die."

There are verses, too, wrung from the heart which have a diviner influence than any product of the intellect:

The Chaplain would not kneel to pray By his dishonoured grave: Nor mark it with that blessed Cross That Christ for sinners gave, Because the man was one of those Whom Christ came down to save.

*     *       *       *       *

This too I know--and wise were it If each could know the same- That every prison that men build Is built with bricks of shame, And bound with bars lest Christ should see How men their brothers maim.

With bars they blur the gracious moon, And blind the goodly sun: And they do well to hide their Hell, For in it things are done That Son of God nor son of man Ever should look upon!

The vilest deeds like poison weeds Bloom well in prison-air: It is only what is good in Man That wastes and withers there: Pale Anguish keeps the heavy gate, And the Warder is Despair.

*     *       *       *       *

And he of the swollen purple throat, And the stark and staring eyes, Waits for the holy hands that took The Thief to Paradise; And a broken and a contrite heart The Lord will not despise.

"The Ballad of Reading Gaol" is beyond all comparison the greatest ballad in English: one of the noblest poems in the language. This is what prison did for Oscar Wilde.

When speaking to him later about this poem I remember assuming that his prison experiences must have helped him to realise the suffering of the condemned soldier and certainly lent passion to his verse. But he would not hear of it.

"Oh, no, Frank," he cried, "never; my experiences in prison were too horrible, too painful to be used. I simply blotted them out altogether and refused to recall them."

"What about the verse?" I asked:

"We sewed the sacks, we broke the stones, We turned the dusty drill: We banged the tins, and bawled the hymns, And sweated on the mill: And in the heart of every man Terror was lying still."

"Characteristic details, Frank, merely the décor of prison life, not its reality; that no one could paint, not even Dante, who had to turn away his eyes from lesser suffering."

It may be worth while to notice here, as an example of the hatred with which Oscar Wilde's name and work were regarded, that even after he had paid the penalty for his crime the publisher and editor, alike in England and America, put anything but a high price on his best work. They would have bought a play readily enough because they would have known that it would make them money, but a ballad from his pen nobody seemed to want. The highest price offered in America for "The Ballad of Reading Gaol" was one hundred dollars. Oscar found difficulty in getting even £20 for the English rights from the friend who published it; yet it has sold since by hundreds of thousands and is certain always to sell.

I must insert here part of another letter from Oscar Wilde which appeared in The Daily Chronicle, 24th March, 1898, on the cruelties of the English prison system; it was headed, "Don't read this if you want to be happy to-day," and was signed by "The Author of 'The Ballad of Reading Gaol.'" It was manifestly a direct outcome of his prison experiences. The letter was simple and affecting; but it had little or no influence on the English conscience. The Home Secretary was about to reform the prison system by appointing more inspectors. Oscar Wilde pointed out that inspectors could do nothing but see that the regulations were carried out. He took up the position that it was the regulations which needed reform. His plea was irrefutable in its moderation and simplicity: but it was beyond the comprehension of an English Home Secretary apparently, for all the abuses pointed out by Oscar Wilde still flourish. I can't help giving some extracts from this memorable indictment: memorable for its reserve and sanity and complete absence of any bitterness:

"... The prisoner who has been allowed the smallest privilege dreads the arrival of the inspectors. And on the day of any prison inspection the prison officials are more than usually brutal to the prisoners. Their object is, of course, to show the splendid discipline they maintain.

"The necessary reforms are very simple. They concern the needs of the body and the needs of the mind of each unfortunate prisoner.

"With regard to the first, there are three permanent punishments authorised by law in English prisons:

"1. Hunger.

"2. Insomnia.

"3. Disease.

"The food supplied to prisoners is entirely inadequate. Most of it is revolting in character. All of it is insufficient. Every prisoner suffers day and night from hunger....

"The result of the food--which in most cases consists of weak gruel, badly baked bread, suet and water--is disease in the form of incessant diarrhoea. This malady, which ultimately with most prisoners becomes a permanent disease, is a recognised institution in every prison. At Wandsworth Prison, for instance--where I was confined for two months, till I had to be carried into hospital, where I remained for another two months--the warders go round twice or three times a day with astringent medicine, which they serve out to the prisoners as a matter of course. After about a week of such treatment it is unnecessary to say that the medicine produces no effect at all.

"The wretched prisoner is thus left a prey to the most weakening, depressing and humiliating malady that can be conceived, and if, as often happens, he fails from physical weakness to complete his required evolutions at the crank, or the mill, he is reported for idleness and punished with the greatest severity and brutality. Nor is this all.

"Nothing can be worse than the sanitary arrangements of English prisons.... The foul air of the prison cells, increased by a system of ventilation that is utterly ineffective, is so sickening and unwholesome that it is not uncommon for warders, when they come into the room out of the fresh air, and open and inspect each cell, to be violently sick....

"With regard to the punishment of insomnia, it only exists in Chinese and English prisons. In China it is inflicted by placing the prisoner in a small bamboo cage; in England by means of the plank bed. The object of the plank bed is to produce insomnia. There is no other object in it, and it invariably succeeds. And even when one is subsequently allowed a hard mattress, as happens in the course of imprisonment, one still suffers from insomnia. It is a revolting and ignorant punishment.

"With regard to the needs of the mind, I beg that you will allow me to say something.

"The present prison system seems almost to have for its aim the wrecking and the destruction of the mental faculties. The production of insanity is, if not its object, certainly its result. That is a well-ascertained fact. Its causes are obvious. Deprived of books, of all human intercourse, isolated from every humane and humanising influence, condemned to eternal silence, robbed of all intercourse with the external world, treated like an unintelligent animal, brutalised below the level of any of the brute-creation, the wretched man who is confined in an English prison can hardly escape becoming insane."

This letter ended by saying that if all the reforms suggested were carried out much would still remain to be done. It would still be advisable to "humanise the governors of prisons, to civilise the warders, and to Christianise the Chaplains."

This letter was the last effort of the new Oscar, the Oscar who had manfully tried to put the prison under his feet and to learn the significance of sorrow and the lesson of love which Christ brought into the world.

In the beautiful pages about Jesus which form the greater part of De Profundis, also written in those last hopeful months in Reading Gaol, Oscar shows, I think, that he might have done much higher work than Tolstoi or Renan had he set himself resolutely to transmute his new insight into some form of art. Now and then he divined the very secret of Jesus:

"When he says 'Forgive your enemies' it is not for the sake of the enemy, but for one's own sake that he says so, and because love is more beautiful than hate. In his own entreaty to the young man, 'Sell all that thou hast and give to the poor,' it is not of the state of the poor that he is thinking but of the soul of the young man, the soul that wealth was marring."

In many of these pages Oscar Wilde really came close to the divine Master; "the image of the Man of Sorrows," he says, "has fascinated and dominated art as no Greek god succeeded in doing."... And again:

"Out of the carpenter's shop at Nazareth had come a personality infinitely greater than any made by myth and legend, and one, strangely enough, destined to reveal to the world the mystical meaning of wine and the real beauties of the lilies of the field as none, either on Cithæron or Enna, has ever done. The song of Isaiah, 'He is despised and rejected of men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief: and we hid as it were our faces from him,' had seemed to him to prefigure himself, and in him the prophecy was fulfilled."

In this spirit Oscar made up his mind that he would write about "Christ as the precursor of the romantic movement in life" and about "The artistic life considered in its relation to conduct."

By bitter suffering he had been brought to see that the moment of repentance is the moment of absolution and self-realisation, that tears can wash out even blood. In "The Ballad of Reading Gaol" he wrote:

And with tears of blood he cleansed the hand, The hand that held the steel: For only blood can wipe out blood, And only tears can heal: And the crimson stain that was of Cain Became Christ's snow-white seal.

This is the highest height Oscar Wilde ever reached, and alas! he only trod the summit for a moment. But as he says himself: "One has perhaps to go to prison to understand that. And, if so, it may be worth while going to prison." He was by nature a pagan who for a few months became a Christian, but to live as a lover of Jesus was impossible to this "Greek born out of due time," and he never even dreamed of a reconciling synthesis....

The arrest of his development makes him a better representative of his time: he was an artistic expression of the best English mind: a Pagan and Epicurean, his rule of conduct was a selfish Individualism:--"Am I my brother's keeper?" This attitude must entail a dreadful Nemesis, for it condemns one Briton in every four to a pauper's grave. The result will convince the most hardened that such selfishness is not a creed by which human beings can live in society.

*     *       *       *       *

This summer of 1897 was the harvest time in Oscar Wilde's Life; and his golden Indian summer. We owe it "De Profundis," the best pages of prose he ever wrote, and "The Ballad of Reading Gaol," his only original poem; yet one that will live as long as the language: we owe it also that sweet and charming letter to Bobbie Ross which shows him in his habit as he lived. I must still say a word or two about him in this summer in order to show the ordinary working of his mind.

On his release, and, indeed, for a year or two later, he called himself Sebastian Melmoth. But one had hardly spoken a half a dozen words to him, when he used to beg to be called Oscar Wilde. I remember how he pulled up someone who had just been introduced to him, who persisted in addressing him as Mr. Melmoth.

"Call me Oscar Wilde," he pleaded, "Mr. Melmoth is unknown, you see."

"I thought you preferred it," said the stranger excusing himself.

"Oh, dear, no," interrupted Oscar smiling, "I only use the name Melmoth to spare the blushes of the postman, to preserve his modesty," and he laughed in the old delightful way.

It was always significant to me the eager delight with which he shuffled off the new name and took up the old one which he had made famous.

An anecdote from his life in the Châlet at this time showed that the old witty pagan in Oscar was not yet extinct.

An English lady who had written a great many novels and happened to be staying in Dieppe heard of him, and out of kindness or curiosity, or perhaps a mixture of both motives, wrote and invited him to luncheon. He accepted the invitation. The good lady did not know how to talk to Mr. Sebastian Melmoth, and time went heavily. At length she began to expatiate on the cheapness of things in France; did Mr. Melmoth know how wonderfully cheap and good the living was?

"Only fancy," she went on, "you would not believe what that claret you are drinking costs."

"Really?" questioned Oscar, with a polite smile.

"Of course I get it wholesale," she explained, "but it only costs me sixpence a quart."

"Oh, my dear lady, I'm afraid you have been cheated," he exclaimed, "ladies should never buy wine. I'm afraid you have been sadly overcharged."

The humour may excuse the discourtesy, but Oscar was so uniformly polite to everyone that the incident simply shows how ineffably he had been bored.

This summer of 1897 was the decisive period and final turning-point in Oscar Wilde's career. So long as the sunny weather lasted and friends came to visit him from time to time Oscar was content to live in the Châlet Bourgeat; but when the days began to draw in and the weather became unsettled, the dreariness of a life passed in solitude, indoors, and without a library became insupportable. He was being drawn in two opposite directions. I did not know it at the time; indeed he only told me about it months later when the matter had been decided irrevocably; but this was the moment when his soul was at stake between good and evil. The question was whether his wife would come to him again or whether he would yield to the solicitations of Lord Alfred Douglas and go to live with him.

Mr. Sherard has told in his book how he brought about the first reconciliation between Oscar and his wife; and how immediately afterwards he received a letter from Lord Alfred Douglas threatening to shoot him like a dog, if, by any words of his, Wilde's friendship was lost to him, Douglas.

Unluckily Mrs. Wilde's family were against her going back to her husband; they begged her not to go; talked to her of her duty to her children and herself, and the poor woman hesitated. Finally her advisers decided for her, and Mrs. Wilde wrote this decision to Oscar's solicitors shortly before his release: Oscar's probation was to last at least a year. I do not know enough about Mrs. Wilde and her relations with her family and with her husband even to discuss her inaction: I dare not criticise her: but she did not go to her husband when if she had gone boldly she might have saved him. She knew Lord Alfred Douglas' influence over him; knew that it had already brought him to grief. Gide says, and Oscar himself told me afterwards, that he had come out of prison determined not to go back to Alfred Douglas and the old life. It seems a pity that his wife did not act promptly; she allowed herself to believe that a time of probation was necessary. The delay wounded Oscar, and all the while, as he told me a little later, he was resisting an influence which had dominated his life in the past.

"I got a letter almost every day, Frank, begging me to come to Posilippo, to the villa which Lord Alfred Douglas had rented. Every day I heard his voice calling, 'Come, come, to sunshine and to me. Come to Naples with its wonderful museum of bronzes and Pompeii and Pæstum, the city of Poseidon: I am waiting to welcome you. Come.'

"Who could resist it, Frank? love calling, calling with outstretched arms; who could stay in bleak Berneval and watch the sheets of rain falling, falling—and the grey mist shrouding the grey sea, and think of Naples and love and sunshine; who could resist it all? I could not, Frank, I was so lonely and I hated solitude. I resisted as long as I could, but when chill October came and Bosie came to Rouen for me, I gave up the struggle and yielded."

Could Oscar Wilde have won and made for himself a new and greater life? The majority of men are content to think that such a victory was impossible to him. Everyone knows that he lost; but I at least believe that he might have won. His wife was on the point of yielding, I have since been told; on the point of complete reconciliation when she heard that he had gone to Naples and returned to his old habit of living; a few days made all the difference.

It was at the instigation of Lord Alfred Douglas that Oscar began the insane action against Lord Queensberry, in which he put to hazard his success, his position, his good name and liberty, and lost them all. Two years later at the same tempting, he committed soul—suicide.

He was not only better in health than he had ever been; but he was talking and writing better than ever before and full of literary projects which would certainly have given him money and position and a measure of happiness besides increasing his reputation. From the moment he went to Naples he was lost, and he knew it himself; he never afterwards wrote anything: as he used to say, he could never afterwards face his own soul.

He could never have won up again, the world says, and shrugs careless shoulders. It is a cheap, unworthy conclusion. Some of us still persist in believing that Oscar Wilde might easily have won and never again been caught in that dreadful wind which whips the victims of sensual desire about unceasingly, driving them hither and thither without rest in that awful place where: "Nulla speranza gli conforta mai." (No hope ever comforts!)


text:
Page:Spanish Constitution of 1978 English translation.pdf/66

 of the air space, air traffic and transport; meteorological services and aircraft registration.

21. Railways and land transport crossing through the territory of more than one Self-governing Community; general system of communications; motor vehicle traffic; Post Office services and telecommunications; air and underwater cables and radio communications.

22. Legislation, regulation and concession of hydraulic resources and development where the water-streams flow through more than one Self-governing Community, and authorization for hydro-electrical power plants whenever their operation affects other Communities or the lines of energy transportation are extended over other Communities.

23. Basic legislation on environmental protection, without prejudice to powers of the Self-governing Communities to take additional protective measures; basic legislation on woodlands, forestry and cattle trails.

24. Public works of general benefit or whose execution affects more than one Selfgoverning Community.

25. Basic regulation of mining and energy.

26. Manufacturing, sale, possession and use of arms and explosives.

27. Basic rules relating to organization of the press, radio and television and, in general, all mass-communications media without prejudice to powers vested in the Self-governing Communities for their development and implementation.

28. Protection of Spain's cultural and artistic heritage and national monuments against exportation and spoliation; museums, libraries, and archives belonging to the State, without prejudice to their management by the Self-governing Communities.

29. Public safety, without prejudice to the 70


text:
Page:Spanish Constitution of 1978 English translation.pdf/67

 possibility of Self-governing Communities creating police forces, as provided for in their respective Statutes of Autonomy and within the framework to be laid down by an organic act.

30. Regulation of the requirements for obtention, issue and standardization of academic degrees and professional qualifications and basic rules for implementation of section 27 of the Constitution, in order to guarantee the fulfilment of the duties of public authorities in this matter.

31. Statistics for State purposes.

32. Authorization of popular consultations through the holding of referendums.

2. Without prejudice to the competences that may be assumed by the Self-governing Communities, the State shall consider the promotion of culture a duty and an essential function and shall facilitate cultural communication among the Self-governing Communities, in cooperation with them.

3. Matters not expressly assigned to the State by this Constitution may fall under the jurisdiction of the Self-governing Communities by virtue of their Statutes of Autonomy. Jurisdiction on matters not claimed by Statutes of Autonomy shall fall with the State, whose laws shall prevail, in case of conflict, over those of the Self-governing Communities regarding all matters in which exclusive jurisdiction has not been conferred upon the latter. State law shall in any case be suppletory of that of the Self-governing Communities.

1. The Cortes Generales, in matters of State jurisdiction, may confer upon all or any of the Self-governing Communities the power to pass legislation for themselves within the framework of the principles, bases and


text:
User:Shorelander~enwikisource

In case someone was wondering, I lived in Hawaii and enjoyed looking for property markers. And so I went to the Hawaii State Library and got several Executive Orders about them. I got some of Hoover's, but since they're available via HathiTrust, I figured out I'd just stick Coolidge's up.

title: User:Shorelander~enwikisource


text:
Page:A Wayfarer in China.djvu/295

 top framing the gay dress and gayer faces of some Manchu women. And the kaleidoscopic scene moves against a background of shops and houses gay with paint and gilding. The life, the colour, the noise are bewildering; your head begins to swim. And then you look away from it all to the great wall. There it stands, massive, aloof, untouched by the petty life at its foot. And you think of all it has looked upon; what tales of men and their doings it could tell. And you ask the first European you meet, or the last,—it is always the same,—about the place and its history, and he says, "Oh, yes, Peking is full of historical memorials which you must not fail to see"; but they always turn out to be the spots made famous in the siege of the legations. To the average European, Peking's history begins in 1900; you cannot get away from that time, and after a while you tire of it, and you tire, too, of all the bustle and blaze of colour. And you climb again to the top of the wall that seems to belong to another world, and you look off toward the great break in the hills, to Nankow, the Gate of the South. On the other side the road leads straight away to the Mongolian uplands where the winds blow, and to the wide, empty spaces of the desert.

So you turn your back upon Peking, and the railway takes you to Kalgan on the edge of the great plateau. It is only one hundred and twenty-five miles away, but you spend nearly a whole day in the train,

title: Page:A Wayfarer in China.djvu/295


text:
Page:A Wayfarer in China.djvu/296

 for you are climbing all the way. And time does not matter, for it is interesting to see what the Chinese can do in railway building and railway managing, all by themselves. The Kalgan-Peking railway was the first thing of the kind constructed by the Chinese, and the engineer in chief, Chang-Tien-You, did the work so well (he was educated in America, one of the group that came in the early seventies) that he was later put in charge of the railway that was to be built from Canton northwards. It seems to be an honest piece of work; at any rate, the stations had a substantial look.

At the grand mountain gateway of Nankow you pass under the Great Wall, which crosses the road at right angles, and as you slowly steam across the plateau on the outer side, you see it reappearing from time to time like a huge snake winding along the ridges. Old wall, new railway; which will serve China best? One sought to keep the world out, the other should help to create a Chinese nation that will not need to fear the world.

My first impression of Kalgan was of a modern European station, and many lines of rails; my last and most enduring, the kindness of the Western dweller in the East to the stray Westerner of whose doings he probably disapproves. Between these two impressions I had only time to gain a passing glimpse of the town itself. It is a busy, dirty place, enclosed

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text: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 1

title: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 1


text: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 2

title: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 2


text: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 3

title: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 3


text: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 4

title: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 4


text: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 5

title: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 5


text: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 6

title: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 6


text: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 7

title: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 7


text: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 8

title: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 8


text: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 9

title: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 9


text: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 10

title: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 10


text: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 11

title: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 11


text: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 12

title: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 12


text: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 13

title: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 13


text: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 14

title: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 14


text: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 15

title: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 15


text: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 16

title: A Wayfarer in China/Chapter 16


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


text: A Wayfarer in China/Index

title: A Wayfarer in China/Index


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


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 in high walls, and cut in two by the rapid Ta Ho. A huddle of palaces, temples, banks lies concealed behind the mud walls that hem in the narrow lanes, for Kalgan has been for many years an important trading centre, and through here passes the traffic across the Gobi Desert. In the dirty, open square crowded with carts are two or three incongruous Western buildings, for the foreigner and his ways have found the town out. Of the small European community, missionaries of different nationalities and Russians of various callings form the largest groups. The energetic British American Tobacco Company also has its representatives here, who were my most courteous hosts during my two days' stay.

Kalgan stands hard-by the Great Wall; here China and Mongolia meet, and the two races mingle in its streets. Nothing now keeps them in or out, but the barrier of a great gulf is there. Behind you lie the depressing heat and the crowded places of the lowlands. Before you is the untainted air, the emptiness of Mongolia. You have turned your back on the walled-in Chinese world, walled houses, walled towns, walled empire; you look out on the great spaces, the freedom of the desert.

title: Page:A Wayfarer in China.djvu/297


text:
Page:A dictionary of the Sunda language of Java.djvu/461

440 Sénggang, a culinary vegetable. Amaranthus Oleraceus. Called in Malay Bayĕm.

Sĕng'ir, a variety of mangga so called.

Sĕng'ir-gadung, a variety of mangga so called.

Séngkéd, a branch of a tree; a divergence; bifurcation.

Séngkédan, split, divided, branching.

Sĕngkud, to hurry on, to hasten. To act in any way with impetuosity. Pagawean itu kudu di sĕngkud, that work must be hurried on. Lamun to di sĕngkud, mohal bisa anggĕus, if you do not bear a hand, it is quite impossible that you can get it done.

Séngyang, divinity, Godhead. This is a word in every one's mouth when speaking of the olden time, when the Javanese were still unconverted to Mohammedanism, and is prefixed to many Hindu names — as Séngyang Wisésa, Séngyang Guru, and the like. According to Mr. FRIEDERICH, it is derived from Hyang, which of itself is properly divinity, Godhead. In Bali occurs a place called Sad-kahyangan, which means the six temples or six divinity places. The word Hyang is also heard in the word Guriangor mountain spirit. Sang is no doubt also derived from Sanscrit; it appears to imply holy, sacred, and may have the same etymon as the Greek and Latin Sanctus. Thus in Sunda, the word is placed before simple Polynesian words, when in Pantuns, it is meant to endue some mere animal with supernatural power. Thus they say Sang-kĕbo or Sang-monyét, the divine buffaloe or the divine monkey. Sangha in Singhalese, C. 688, means multitude, number, collection; the Buddhist priesthood; a convocation of priests, five of whom constitute a Sangha. See Sang voce. The word is always heard as Séngyang, though evidently Sangyang would be more correct. You never hear Séng-kĕbo, Séng-monyét.

Séngyang Sirah, the head of the Séngyang. The name given to the West end of Java or Java Head.

Séngyang Tikoro, name of a place in the Chitarum river, where that river falls from the uplands of Bandung into the lower lands of Chianjur, which it does through a narrow gully or Tikoro, throat.

Sĕnin, Monday, from the Arabic word Seneian, Monday.

Sĕntar, split, cleft, cracked.

Sénté, a variety of large arum.

Sĕntik walang, called also Walĕsan, the spring of a gun-lock. Sĕntik is probably a modified shape of Bĕntik, folded together by means of a joint or hinge. Walang, a grass-hopper, thus grass-hopper joint, in allusion to the shape of the spring in a gun-lock.

Sĕntul, name of a forest tree; bears a fruit which is eaten. Sandoricum Indicum.

Séor, falling in a shower and making a shrill noise. Séor bai béas ragrag sapanjang gudang, the rice kept dropping out and falling with a noise the whole length of the store.

Sĕp, the idiomatic expression of inserting anything into a crevice. Sĕp bai di sĕlapan papan ipis, and shoving in he inserted a thin plank.

Sĕp, the idiomatic expression of silence. Sĕp bai réhė, and all was hushed in silence.


text:
Page:Philosophical Transactions - Volume 001.djvu/419

Cean, what Seas may be joined with it, 3. 41.

Opticks, Campani's Glasses do excell Divini's; 'tis easie by them to distinguish people at four Leagues distance, 2. 131. and 12. 209. What they discover in Jupiter and Saturn, 1. 1. and 2. The proportions of Apertures in Perspectives reduced to a Table by M. Auzout, 4. 55. Animadverted upon by M. Hook, 4. 69.

How to illuminate Objects to whatsover proportion, proposed by M. Auzout, 4. 75.

Hevelius, Hugenius, and some in England, endeavour to improve Optick Glasses, 6. 98.

Seigneur Burattini's advance in the same inquired after, 19. 348. some answer to it from Paris, 21. 347.

Divini makes good Optick Glasses of Rock-chrystal, that had veins (if he mistook not somewhat else for veins) 20. 362.

To measure the distances of Objects on earth by a Telescope, undertaken by M. Auzout, and others of the Royal Society, 7. 123.

How a Telescope of a few feet in Diameter may draw some hundreds of feet, 7. 127.

How a Glass of a small convex-sphere may be made to reflect the Rayes of Light to a Focus at a far greater distance than is usual, 12. 202.

Arsley, to make it shoot out of the ground in a few hours, see Hon. Fabri 18. 325.

Pictures, a curious way in France of making lively Pictures in Wax, and Maps in a low relieve, 6. 99.

The cause why Pictures seem to look upon all Beholders, on which side soever they place themselves, 18. 326.

Ancient Paintings compar'd with the Modern, and a judgment of the Paintings in several Ages, their perfections, and defects, see M. Felibien, 21. 383.

Petrification, in the wombs of Women, 18. 320. in a Calf in the Cows womb, 1. 10. Stones found in the heart of the Earl of Belcarris, 5. 86. Part of an Elm by incision, or otherwise, petrified a foot above the root and ground, 19. 329. Wood petrified in a sandy ground in England; and of a Stone like a Bone or Osteocolla, 6. 101. A Stone of excellent vertues found in the head of a Serpent in the Indies, 6. 102. The causes of Petrification inquired, 18. 320.

Planets, see Jupiter, Mars, Saturn, Sun, Moon; which are turbinated, and which not, 8. 143. To find the true distances of the Sun and Moon from the earth, 9. 191.

Physicians of China, commended, see Medecins.

Preservation, to preserve small Birds taken out of the shell, or other Fœtus's, for discoveries, 12. 198.

Pulses of the Sick how diligently, and to what good purposes observ'd in China, 14. 249.

Ainbows strangely posited, 13. 219.

Raining of Ashes, and how, 21. 377.

Rice prospers best in watery places, see Marishes, 18. 328.

Alamander, how it extinguishes fire, and feeds by licking Indian earth, 21. 377.

Salt by excessive use stiffens, and destroys the body, 8. 138.

Salt-Springs, see Springs.

Salt-Peeter how made in the Mogols Dominions, 6. 103.

The proportion of Salt in best Salt-Springs; and what grounds or signs of best Salt, 8. 136.

Sea-fluxes, the cause proposed by way of a new Theory, by Dr. Wallis, 16. 263. See Tydes.

Seas, whether they may be united, 3. 41.

Silk-Worms and Silk-Trade sollicited, 5. 87. and 2. 26. and 12. 201.

Snakes, how they differ from Vipers, 8. 138.

Rattle-Snakes, how sometimes kill'd in Virginia, 3. 43. and 4. 78.

Snow-houses directed, and how to preserve Ice and Snow in Chaffe, 8. 139.

Springs, of peculiar note, n. 7. 127. n. 8. 133. 135. and 136. n. 18. 323.

Rh


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


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Y stay in Peking was not all pleasure and sight-seeing, for it was necessary to decide there upon the next steps. Within a few weeks I would have to be on the Siberian railway homeward bound. Should I spend the time left me in seeing Shantung, the Sacred Province, with all it had of interest to offer, or should I make a hurried run through the debatable land of Manchuria? One or the other seemed the natural thing to do, but I had an uneasy feeling that either would mean conventional travel, so far as that is possible in China, railways, and maybe hotels. Then Shantung is now a much-visited country, while Manchuria, dominated by Russia and Japan, was hardly likely to offer "an open door" to anything more than the most cut-and-dried guidebook travel.

But Mongolia seemed to afford a way out of my doubts. Post-roads and trade-routes crossed the country from the Great Wall, sooner or later striking the Siberian railway near Lake Baikal. That would set me forward some five days on the overland journey to Moscow, cutting off just so much of railway travel, and as far as I could learn there were no hotels, not

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text:
Executive Order 4351

Whereas Executive Order No. 4274 dated July 25, 1925, restoring to its previous status for use by the Territory of Hawaii, as a site for public schools, a part of the Military Reservation at Schofield Barracks (Waianae-Uka), situated in Waianae-Uka, District of Waianae and in Waikakalaua, District of Ewa, Island of Oahu, Territory of Hawaii, incorrectly described the azimuth of the second course of the property covered by the Executive Order as being

189°—41′—43″

when the azimuth of said second course should have been described as

191°—55′—13″

Now, therefore the said Executive Order No. 4274 is hereby amended so that the description of the boundaries of said land and the area thereof restored to its previous status for use by the Territory of Hawaii shall read as follows:

 * Beginning at a point called Station 1, which point is located from U.S. B.M. No. 39 (Territorial Triangulation Station "Kokoloea"), by distance 127.95 feet and azimuth 228°—52′—43″ and running by true azimuths and distances as follows:

 * 72°—50′—43″ 1431 feet to Station 2, thence
 * 191°—55′—13″ 1392.50 feet to Station 3, thence
 * 310°—59′—43″ 1431 feet to the point of beginning.

Excluding, however, from the above described tract a strip of land forty (40) feet wide, lying twenty (20) feet on each side of the center of the 24-inch cast iron water main to Schofield Barracks, the said center line being described as follows:

 * Beginning at a point situated in the line joining Stations 1 and 2 of the above description and located 233.4 feet from said Station 1, and running 90°—00′—00″ true azimuth to a point in the line joining Stations 2 and 3 aforesaid and 1029.5 feet from said Station 3.

 * The net area of the land conveyed by this instrument is 19.00 acres, more or less.

,
 * Dec. 2, 1925.

title: Executive Order 4351


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


text:
Page:A Wayfarer in China.djvu/299

 even Chinese inns, in Mongolia, so I would not need to fear being too comfortable. But above all, there was the charm in the very word Mongolia. Out of that great, little known plateau, almost as large as all of China proper, had come in days past horde upon horde of savage warriors, the scourge of God, the terror of the West, carrying north and south, from Peking to Budapest, from the Volga to the Hugli, their victorious banners. What was the land that bred such a race? What of the Mongols nowadays? Even a few weeks would tell me something.

Having made up my mind to go, I set about learning the how and the where, with the usual results; much advice asked and unasked of a very contradictory sort. The American Legation with fine courtesy offered no counsel, but gave every possible help, securing for me the proper visés for my passports, even speeding the wheels of the slow-moving Wai-wu-pu so that I might not be delayed. The matter of getting a servant proved rather difficult. One who was proposed declined to go with a lady, for he "would have to be braver than she"; others were daunted by the sound of Mongolia; but finally, through the kind help of Captain Reeves, the American military attaché, I got hold of my invaluable Wang, interpreter, cook, and general factotum in one, and faithfullest of Chinese. Dr. Morrison, the famous Times correspondent, gave me much-needed

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