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Rh time for a good man, but follow the old maid's example—look under the bed and in the closet, not in the mirror, for him. A man who does big things is too busy to talk about them. When the jaws really need exercise, chew gum.

Some men go through life on the Sarsaparilla Theory—that they've got to give a hundred doses of talk about themselves for every dollar which they take in; and that's a pretty good theory when you're getting a dollar for ten cents' worth of ingredients. But a man who's giving a dollar's worth of himself for ninety-nine cents doesn't need to throw in any explanations.

Of course, you're going to meet fellows right along who pass as good men for a while, because they say they're good men; just as a lot of fives are in circulation which are accepted at their face value until they work up to the receiving teller. And you're going to see these men taking buzzards and coining eagles from them that will fool


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Rh people so long as they can keep them in the air; but sooner or later they're bound to swoop back to their dead horse, and you'll get the buzzard smell.

Hot air can take up a balloon a long ways, but it can't keep it there. And when a fellow's turning flip-flops up among the clouds, he's naturally going to have the farmers gaping at him. But in the end there always comes a time when the parachute fails to work. I don't know anything that's quite so dead as a man who's fallen three or four thousand feet off the edge of a cloud.

The only way to gratify a taste for scenery is to climb a mountain. You don't get up so quick, but you don't come down so sudden. Even then, there's a chance that a fellow may slip and fall over a precipice, but not unless he's foolish enough to try short-cuts over slippery places; though some men can manage to fall down the hall stairs and break their necks. The path isn't

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Rh the shortest way to the top, but it's usually the safest way.

Life isn't a spurt, but a long, steady climb. You can't run far up-hill without stopping to sit down. Some men do a day's work and then spend six lolling around admiring it. They rush at a thing with a whoop and use up all their wind in that. And when they're rested and have got it back, they whoop again and start off in a new direction. They mistake intention for determination, and after they have told you what they propose to do and get right up to doing it, they simply peter out.

I've heard a good deal in my time about the foolishness of hens, but when it comes to right-down, plum foolishness, give me a rooster, every time. He's always strutting and stretching and crowing and bragging about things with which he had nothing to do. When the sun rises, you'd think that he was making all the light, instead of all the noise; when the farmer's wife throws the


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Rh scraps in the henyard, he crows as if he was the provider for the whole farmyard and was asking a blessing on the food; when he meets another rooster, he crows; and when the other rooster licks him, he crows; and so he keeps it up straight through the day. He even wakes up during the night and crows a little on general principles. But when you hear from a hen, she's laid an egg, and she don't make a great deal of noise about it, either.

I speak of these things in a general way, because I want you to keep in mind all the time that steady, quiet, persistent, plain work can't be imitated or replaced by anything just as good, and because your request for a job for Courtland Warrington naturally brings them up. You write that Court says that a man who has occupied his position in the world naturally can't cheapen himself by stepping down into any little piddling job where he'd have to do undignified things.


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Rh I want to start right out by saying that I know Court and his whole breed like a glue factory, and that we can't use him in our business. He's one of those fellows who start in at the top and naturally work down to the bottom, because that is where they belong. His father gave him an interest in the concern when he left college, and since the old man failed three years ago and took a salary himself, Court's been sponging on him and waiting for a nice, dignified job to come along and steal him. But we are not in the kidnapping business.

The only undignified job I know of is loafing, and nothing can cheapen a man who sponges instead of hunting any sort of work, because he's as cheap already as they can be made. I never could quite understand these fellows who keep down every decent instinct in order to keep up appearance, and who will stoop to any sort of real meanness to boost up their false pride.

They always remind me of little Fatty


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Rh Wilkins, who came to live in our town back in Missouri when I was a boy. His mother thought a heap of Patty, and Fatty thought a heap of himself, or his stomach, which was the same thing. Looked like he'd been taken from a joke book. Used to be a great eater. Stuffed himself till his hide was stretched as tight as a sausage skin, and then howled for painkiller. Spent all his pennies for cakes, because candy wasn't filling enough. Hogged 'em in the shop, for fear he would have to give some one a bite if he ate them on the street.

The other boys didn't take to Fatty, and they didn't make any special secret of it when he was around. He was a mighty brave boy and a mighty strong boy and a mighty proud boy—with his mouth; but he always managed to slip out of anything that looked like a fight by having a sore hand or a case of the mumps. The truth of the matter was that he was afraid of everything except food, and that was the thing


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Rh which was hurting him most. It's mighty seldom that a fellow's afraid of what he ought to be afraid of in this world.

Of course, like most cowards, while Fatty always had an excuse for not doing something that might hurt his skin, he would take a dare to do anything that would hurt his self-respect, for fear the boys would laugh at him, or say that he was afraid, if he refused. So one day during recess Jim Hicks dared him to eat a piece of dirt. Fatty hesitated a little, because, while he was pretty promiscuous about what he put into his stomach, he had never included dirt in his bill-of-fare. But when the boys began to say that he was afraid, Fatty up and swallowed it.

And when he dared the other boys to do the same thing and none of them would take the dare, it made him mighty proud and puffed up. Got to charging the bigger boys and the loungers around the post-office a cent to see him eat a piece of dirt the size of


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Rh a hickory-nut. Found there was good money in that, and added grasshoppers, at two cents apiece, as a side line. Found them so popular that he took on chinch bugs at a nickel, and fairly coined money. The last I heard of Fatty he was in a Dime Museum, drawing two salaries—one as "The Fat Man," and the other as "Launcelot, The Locust Eater, the Only Man Alive with a Gizzard."

You are going to meet a heap of Fatties, first and last, fellows who'll eat a little dirt "for fun" or to show off, and who'll eat a little more because they find that there's some easy money or times in it. It's hard to get at these men, because when they've lost everything they had to be proud of, they still keep their pride. You can always bet that when a fellow's pride makes him touchy, it's because there are some mighty raw spots on it.

It's been my experience that pride is usually a spur to the strong and a drag on the


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Rh weak. It drives the strong man along and holds the weak one back. It makes the fellow with the stiff upper lip and the square jaw smile at a laugh and laugh at a sneer; it keeps his conscience straight and his back humped over his work; it makes him appreciate the little things and fight for the big ones. But it makes the fellow with the retreating forehead do the thing that looks right, instead of the thing that is right; it makes him fear a laugh and shrivel up at a sneer; it makes him live to-day on to-morrow's salary; it makes him a cheap imitation of some Willie who has a little more money than he has, without giving him zip enough to go out and force luck for himself.

I never see one of these fellows swelling around with their petty larceny pride that I don't think of a little experience of mine when I was a boy. An old fellow caught me lifting a watermelon in his patch, one afternoon, and instead of cuffing me and letting


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Rh me go, as I had expected if I got caught, he led me home by the ear to my ma, and told her what I had been up to.

Your grandma had been raised on the old-fashioned plan, and she had never heard of these new-fangled theories of reasoning gently with a child till its under lip begins to stick out and its eyes to fill with tears as it sees the error of its ways. She fetched the tears all right, but she did it with a trunk strap or a slipper. And your grandma was a pretty substantial woman. Nothing of the tootsey-wootsey about her foot, and nothing of the airy-fairy trifle about her slipper. When she was through I knew that I'd been licked—polished right off to a point—and then she sent me to my room and told me not to poke my nose out of it till I could recite the Ten Commandments and the Sunday-school lesson by heart.

There was a whole chapter of it, and an Old Testament chapter at that, but I laid right into it because I knew ma, and supper


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Rh was only two hours off. I can repeat that chapter still, forward and backward, without missing a word or stopping to catch my breath.

Every now and then old Doc Hoover used to come into the Sunday-school room and scare the scholars into fits by going around from class to class and asking questions. That next Sunday, for the first time, I was glad to see him happen in, and I didn't try to escape attention when he worked around to our class. For ten minutes I'd been busting for him to ask me to recite a verse of the lesson, and, when he did, I simply cut loose and recited the whole chapter and threw in the Ten Commandments for good measure. It sort of dazed the Doc, because he had come to me for information about the Old Testament before, and we'd never got much beyond, And Ahab begat Jahab, or words to that effect. But when he got over the shock he made me stand right up before the whole


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Rh school and do it again. Patted me on the head and said I was "an honor to my parents and an example to my playmates."

I had been looking down all the time, feeling mighty proud and scared, but at that I couldn't help glancing up to see the other boys admire me. But the first person my eye lit on was your grandma, standing in the back of the room, where she had stopped for a moment on her way up to church, and glaring at me in a mighty unpleasant way.

"Tell 'em, John," she said right out loud, before everybody.

There was no way to run, for the Elder had hold of my hand, and there was no place to hide, though I reckon I could have crawled into a rat hole. So, to gain time, I blurted out:

"Tell 'em what, mam?"

"Tell 'em how you come to have your lesson so nice."

I learned to hate notoriety right then and there, but I knew there was no switching


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Rh her off on to the weather when she wanted to talk religion. So I shut my eyes and let it come, though it caught on my palate once or twice on the way out.

"Hooked a watermelon, mam."

There wasn't any need for further particulars with that crowd, and they simply howled. Ma led me up to our pew, allowing that she'd tend to me Monday for disgracing her in public that way—and she did.

That was a twelve-grain dose, without any sugar coat, but it sweat more cant and false pride out of my system than I could get back into it for the next twenty years. I learned right there how to be humble, which is a heap more important than knowing how to be proud. There are mighty few men that need any lessons in that. Your affectionate father, 4em


text: Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son/Letter 17


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24 deceitful by a hazy atmosphere,—it was, on deliberation, considered more prudent to stand off and on, in sight of the first made island, until break of day.

At length the wished-for morning appeared, and discovered to us three islands, low and woody, in the same meridian; and from the northernmost a reef, from which we had during the night so narrowly escaped, extending to the eastward as far as the eye could reach.

As the channel between the southern and middle islands appeared the best, we determined to pass through it, and directed the other boats to precede us; but instead of doing so, they fell into our wake. We found the passage deep, and free from reefs. Two natives were seen running along the starboard shore, seemingly, by their gestures, intreating us to land; but we passed on, without taking advantage of their apparently earnest invitation.

We had only proceeded a short distance, when two islands were descried, which, from their appearance and relative position, were supposed to be Double and Wednesday Islands; to the latter we directed our course, and about eleven o'clock passed within a mile of its northern extremity. Then, in accordance with Horsburgh's directions, we steered W.N.W. to avoid a dangerous reef; but we had not advanced far in this direction, when a high peaked hill came into view; and very shortly afterwards, continuous and relatively low land was discovered, trending to the north, and also to

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Rh the south-west of it. We were obliged to haul up S.S.W. before the visible extremity of the latter bore on our starboard bow.

We were now greatly embarrassed, and in much doubt respecting our position, which, as noon was fast approaching, and the sky overcast, there did not seem to be any probability of ascertaining: to add to our uneasiness, the rain fell in heavy and frequent showers, accompanied by strong squalls, which were driving us nearer than agreeable to the lee-shore, on which we could discern the sea breaking heavily.

Contrary to expectation, however, the sun burst through the clouds at noon, as if on purpose to show his meridian altitude, and then withdrew. Having ascertained our latitude to be 10° 16' south, we were convinced of what we had before conjectured, that the land on our lee was Banks' Island. We stood on, and succeeded in weathering its south-western point; and then we observed that it trended to the north-west.

In a short time, the sea, which had hitherto been

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Rh ; but the really valuable thing to know is how she approaches ham and eggs at seven, and whether she brings her complexion with her to the breakfast table. And these fellows make a girl believe that they're going to spend all the time between eight and eleven, for the rest of their lives, holding a hundred and forty pounds, live weight, in their lap, and saying that it feels like a feather. The thing to find out is whether, when one of them gets up to holding a ten pound baby in his arms, for five minutes, he's going to carry on as if it weighed a ton.

A girl can usually catch a whisper to the effect that she's the showiest goods on the shelf, but the vital thing for a fellow to know is whether her ears are sharp enough to hear him when he shouts that she's spending too much money and that she must reduce expenses. Of course, when you're patting and petting and feeding a woman she's going to purr, but there's nothing like stirring her


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, November 11, 189— Dear Pierrepont: If that's what, it's all right. And you can't get married too quick to suit the old man. I believe in short engagements and long marriages. I don't see any sense in a fellow's sitting around on the mourner's bench with the sinners, after he's really got religion. The time to size up the other side's strength is before the engagement.

Some fellows propose to a girl before they know whether her front and her back hair match, and then holler that they're stuck when they find that she's got a cork leg and a glass eye as well. I haven't any sympathy with them. They start out on the principle that married people have only one meal a day, and that of fried oysters and tutti-frutti ice-cream after the theatre. Naturally, a girl's got her better nature and her best complexion along under those


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Rh up a little now and then to see if she spits fire and heaves things when she's mad.

I want to say right here that there's only one thing more aggravating in this world than a woman who gets noisy when she's mad, and that's one who gets quiet. The first breaks her spell of temper with the crockery, but the second simmers along like a freight engine on the track beside your berth—keeps you scared and ready to jump for fear she's going to blow off any minute; but she never does and gets it over with—just drizzles it out.

You can punch your brother when he plays the martyr, but you've got to love your wife. A violent woman drives a fellow to drink, but a nagging one drives him crazy. She takes his faults and ties them to him like a tin can to a yellow dog's tail, and the harder he runs to get away from them the more he hears of them.

I simply mention these things in a general way, and in the spirit of the preacher at the


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Rh funeral of the man who wasn't "a professor"—because it's customary to make a few appropriate remarks on these occasions. From what I saw of Helen Heath, I reckon she's not getting any the best of it. She's what I call a mighty eligible young woman—pretty, bright, sensible, and without any fortune to make her foolish and you a fool. In fact, you'd have to sit up nights to make yourself good enough for her, even if you brought her a million, instead of fifty a week.

I'm a great believer in women in the home, but I don't take much stock in them in the office, though I reckon I'm prejudiced and they've come to stay. I never do business with a woman that I don't think of a little incident which happened when I was first married to your Ma. We set up housekeeping in one of those cottages that you read about in the story books, but that you want to shy away from, when it's put up to you to live in one of them. There were nice


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viii therefore publish these pages, in the hope that they may contain some information acceptable to those interested in Australian affairs, and afford some amusement to the general reader.

With the exception of an article in the Journal of the Royal Geographical Society of last year, there has been no account yet published, of Melville Island or Raffles Bay; and I still hope that, notwithstanding the unfavourable issue of former trials, the attention of the Government will be again directed to the manifold advantages likely to result from colonizing the north coast of New Holland: and should any remarks, which I have made, tend to accelerate so desirable an event, it will afford me much gratification.

Although the observations regarding Swan River, and King George's Sound, have been, in a great measure, superseded by more recent information; yet, as they give a sketch of these settlements in their infancy, I have deemed it expedient to retain them.

The remarks in the Appendix, relative to transportation, &c, may be entitled to some attention,—being derived from an experience of eight voyages to Australia, during which, I have had charge of

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Rh roses on the front porch, but no running water in the kitchen; there were a-plenty of old fashioned posies in the front yard, and a-plenty of rats in the cellar; there was half an acre of ground out back, but so little room inside that I had to sit with my feet out a window. It was just the place to go for a picnic, but it's been my experience that a fellow does most of his picnicking before he's married.

Your Ma did the cooking, and I hustled for things to cook, though I would take a shy at it myself once in a while and get up my muscle tossing flapjacks. It was pretty rough sailing, you bet, but one way and another we managed to get a good deal of satisfaction out of it, because we had made up our minds to take our fun as we went along. With most people happiness is something that is always just a day off. But I have made it a rule never to put off being happy till to-morrow. Don't accept notes for happiness, because you'll find that when they're


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Rh due they're never paid, but just renewed for another thirty days.

I was clerking in a general store at that time, but I had a little weakness for livestock, even then; and while I couldn't afford to plunge in it exactly, I managed to buy a likely little shoat that I reckoned on carrying through the Summer on credit and presenting with a bill for board in the Fall. He was just a plain pig when he came to us, and we kept him in a little sty, but we weren't long in finding out that he wasn't any ordinary root-and-grunt pig. The first I knew your Ma was calling him Toby, and had turned him loose. Answered to his name like a dog. Never saw such a sociable pig. Wanted to sit on the porch with us. Tried to come into the house evenings. Used to run down the road squealing for joy when he saw me coming home from work.

Well, it got on towards November and Toby had been making the most of his opportunities. I never saw a pig that turned


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Rh corn into fat so fast, and the stouter he got the better his disposition grew. I reckon I was attached to him myself, in a sort of a sneaking way, but I was mighty fond of hog meat, too, and we needed Toby in the kitchen. So I sent around and had him butchered.

When I got home to dinner next day, I noticed that your Ma looked mighty solemn as she set the roast of pork down in front of me, but I strayed off, thinking of something else, as I carved, and my wits were off wool gathering sure enough when I said:

"Will you have a piece of Toby, my dear?"

Well sir, she just looked at me for a moment, and then she burst out crying and ran away from the table. But when I went after her and asked her what was the matter, she stopped crying and was mad in a minute all the way through. Called me a heartless, cruel cannibal. That seemed to relieve her so that she got over her mad


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Rh and began to cry again. Begged me to take Toby out of pickle and to bury him in the garden. I reasoned with her, and in the end I made her see that any obsequies for Toby, with pork at eight cents a pound, would be a pretty expensive funeral for us. But first and last she had managed to take my appetite away so that I didn't want any roast pork for dinner or cold pork for supper. That night I took what was left of Toby to a store keeper at the Crossing, who I knew would be able to gaze on his hams without bursting into tears, and got a pretty fair price for him.

I simply mention Toby in passing, as an example of why I believe women weren't cut out for business—at least for the pork-packing business. I've had dealings with a good many of them, first and last, and it's been my experience that when they've got a weak case they add their sex to it and win, and that when they've got a strong case they subtract their sex from it and deal with you


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Rh harder than a man. They're simply bound to win either way, and I don't like to play a game where I haven't any show. When a clerk makes a fool break, I don't want to beg his pardon for calling his attention to it, and I don't want him to blush and tremble and leak a little brine into a fancy pocket handkerchief.

A little change is a mighty soothing thing, and I like a woman's ways too much at home to care very much for them at the office. Instead of hiring women, I try to hire their husbands, and then I usually have them both working for me. There's nothing like a woman at home to spur on a man at the office.

A married man is worth more salary than a single one, because his wife makes him worth more. He's apt to go to bed a little sooner and to get up a little earlier; to go a little steadier and to work a little harder than the fellow who's got to amuse a different girl every night, and can't stay at home


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xii

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text: Narrative of a Voyage Round the World (Wilson)


text: Narrative of a Voyage Round the World (Wilson)/Chapter 1


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26 turbulent, became suddenly as smooth as a mill-pond, which convinced us that we were in the vicinity of reefs; and it was not long before an extensive sandbank impeded our farther progress. We altered our course S.W., W., and N.W., running along the edge of the shoal, which extended farther than the eye could reach in a parallel direction with Banks' Island. A scattered group of islands, unknown to us, to the westward, being now in sight, we, (being foiled in our attempt to reach Booby Island, and our boat having become more leaky,) determined to take shelter near one of them, and should it afford us water, to complete our arrangements there.

We made several attempts to find a passage through this extensive reef, without success, but at length, by perseverance and caution, we happily found a way by a long, narrow, and tortuous channel, from one to two fathoms deep; and about five o'clock, P. M., we leaped ashore on a fine sandy beach, in a small bay, on the north side of an island situated nearly in the centre of the group; and we were soon joined by the other boats, which had cautiously kept in our wake.

We all rejoiced to be once again on shore, and our first care was to search for water. The Captain and myself proceeded to a spot that seemed, by the freshness of the surrounding vegetation, to indicate the presence of that inestimable fluid, and, in a few minutes, to our great satisfaction, we discovered a large reservoir as clear as crystal, and of excellent quality. Having

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Rh been, since the shipwreck, on very short allowance of this necessary of life, we indulged in copious and unrestrained potations; and then took a run along the shore to stretch our limbs, which were dreadfully stiff and cramped, by the confined posture in the boat.

A pleasing instance occurred here, of the effect of our conduct at Half-way Island. One of the officers came, by request of those in the boat of which he had charge, to mention, that having found a keg of brandy, they wished to deliver it up for general distribution. Although we suspected that, as in the other boat, it had been purposely secreted, the keg bearing a strong resemblance to that which had so unaccountably disappeared from us,—yet, gratified by their repentance, we gave them due praise for their disinterested conduct.

To those who are acquainted with a sailor's predilection for a glass of grog, and of his not being fastidiously particular, at times, as to the mode of obtaining it, their conduct, in this instance, must appear a convincing proof of what may be effected by strict impartiality.

The cook having got his utensils on shore, soon provided us with boiling water, and we enjoyed our tea, not feeling the want of sugar, which the salt water had completely destroyed. Being all fatigued, and inclined to sleep, we made preparations to retire to rest. Directions were given to keep the boats afloat, and arrangements were entered into to guard against the possible consequences of sudden surprise; and also to

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28 receive, in a friendly way, any of the natives who, from curiosity, or from any other cause, might pay us a visit I during our slumbers. Captain Young, and myself, chose a spot, protected from the night-wind by a large block of granite, and within a short distance of high-water-mark, where—our bed the sand,—our canopy the sky,—we were soon lulled asleep by the soothing sound of the hollow breeze, and the mournful melody of the murmuring sea.

Nothing occurred during the night to disturb us, and we did not awake till daylight, when we found ourselves much renovated by our uninterrupted repose. At an early hour we assembled, and partook of breakfast, consisting of cocoa, biscuit, and delicious oysters, which were found here, and caught in abundance at low water.

The receding tide having left the boats a-ground, the carpenter's first care was, to examine into the state of the long-boat. His report was exceedingly unfavourable. Besides standing much in need of caulking, and other repairs, it was discovered that the worms had committed sad havoc, several of the planks in her bottom being in an alarmingly decayed state, from their depredations. In short, the carpenter was afraid to meddle with her, lest he might make affairs worse,—but it was absolutely necessary that something should be done. We had no pitch, but we had a considerable quantity of oakum, and the carpenter was directed to chintz the worst places very gently, and afterwards to

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Rh apply some tallow, and then to nail canvas over all. These operations being completed, he was to fix the tarpawling bulwark in a more secure and efficient manner, that we might be protected from the disagreeable intrusion of the spray. The other boats being in good order, and well-found, only required a bulwark, or railing, to render them completely sea-worthy.

The sail-makers were directed to convert the fore-royal into a lug-sail, and to make a jib from some spare canvas, that we might be enabled to make progress on a wind. The remainder of the crew were employed variously: some were picking bread, others filling water, some gathering oysters, and others cruizing about, in search of adventures, or amusing themselves with the loquacious prattle of a favourite cockatoo, which had been, by general consent, permitted to accompany us.

The Captain and his officers took several observations of the sun's altitude, which they were enabled to do by walking to the north-east side of the island. As the western extremity of Mulgrave Island bore due north of us, distant six or eight miles, and as no other land in that direction intervened, the sky being clear, and the horizon distinctly defined, we were enabled to obtain the meridian altitude of the sun to a great nicety; and the latitude thence deduced, by means of three observers, with well-adjusted sextants, was 10° 13' 27" south.

The carpenter and sail-makers having been very

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30, had completed their labours early in the afternoon; and we contemplated, with satisfaction, our worm-eaten boat, pretty well patched up, and properly fitted with a lug-sail and jib, a bowsprit having been formed from an oar. The bulwark, although grotesque and rude, was firmly attached by stanchions, formed from boughs of a species of pandanus, which, without knowing, or indeed caring, whether or not we were botanically correct, we named, on that account, pandanus utilis.

Several altitudes of the sun were taken in the afternoon, to check and to compare with those taken in the morning; thence to ascertain the apparent time with greater accuracy. The bread having been carefully dried and picked, was stowed away in the boat, and protected from the wet beneath, by ; and from the rain or spray; by tarpawling; while that which was beginning to spoil was kept for present use.

These things being all arranged, we assembled at dinner, consisting of salt beef, fresh pork, and abundance of oysters; and it was deemed advisable, in consequence of most of us having been exposed to the rays of a powerful sun, to issue a double allowance of grog. The sailors, with characteristic levity, were in high glee, and quite delighted with their fare.

Dinner being finished, and the sun's horizontal rays not being oppressive. Captain Young, his officers, and myself, climbed to the highest part of the island, and took a general view of those adjacent, and observed

title: Page:Narrativeavoyag01wilsgoog.djvu/54


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Page:EB1911 - Volume 28.djvu/1080

 remarkable degree the respect and liking of the Zulu. Panda died in October 1872, but practically the government of Zululand had been in Cetywayo’s hands since the victory of 1856, owing both to political circumstances and the failing health of his father. In 1873 the Zulu nation appealed to the Natal government to preside over the installation of Cetywayo as king, and this request was acceded to, Shepstone being again chosen as British representative. During the whole of Panda’s reign the condition of Zululand showed little improvement. Bishop Colenso visited him in 1857 and obtained a grant of land for a mission station, which was opened in 1860, by the Rev. R. Robertson, who laboured in the country for many years gaining the confidence both of Panda and Cetywayo. German, Norwegian and other missions were also founded. The number of converts was few, but the missionaries exercised a very wholesome influence and to them in measure was due the comparative mildness of Panda’s later years.

The frontier disputes between the Zulu and the Transvaal Boers ultimately involved the British government and were one of the causes of the war which broke out in 1879. They concerned, chiefly, territory which in 1854 was proclaimed the republic of Utrecht, the Boers who had settled there having in that year obtained a deed of cession from Panda. In 1860 a Boer commission was appointed to beacon the boundary, and to obtain, if possible, from the Zulu a road to the sea at St Lucia Bay. The commission, however, effected nothing. In 1861 Umtonga, a brother of Cetywayo, fled to the Utrecht district, and Cetywayo assembled an army on that frontier. According to evidence brought forward later by the Boers, Cetywayo offered the farmers a strip of land along the border if they would surrender his brother. This they did on the condition that Umtonga’s life was spared, and in 1861 Panda signed a deed making over the land to the Boers. The southern boundary of the strip added to Utrecht ran from Rorke’s Drift on the Buffalo to a point on the Pongolo. The boundary was beaconed in 1864, but when in 1865 Umtonga fled from Zululand to Natal, Cetywayo, seeing that he had lost his part of the bargain (for he feared that Umtonga might be used to supplant him as Panda had been used to supplant Dingaan), caused the beacon to be removed, the Zulu claiming also the land ceded by the Swazis to Lydenburg. The Zulu asserted that the Swazis were their vassals and denied their right to part with the territory. During the year a Boer commando under Paul Kruger and an army under Cetywayo were posted along the Utrecht border. Hostilities were avoided, but the Zulu occupied the land north of the Pongolo. Questions were also raised as to the validity of the documents signed by the Zulu concerning the Utrecht strip. In 1869 the services of the lieut.-governor of Natal were accepted by both parties as arbitrator, but the attempt then made to settle the difficulty proved unsuccessful.

Such was the position when by his father’s death (q.v.) became absolute ruler of the Zulu. As far as possible he revived the military methods of his uncle Chaka, and even succeeded in equipping his regiments with firearms. It is believed that he instigated the Kaffirs in the Transkei to revolt, and he aided Sikukuni in his struggle with the Transvaal. His rule over his own people was tyrannous. By Bishop Schreuder he was described as “an able man, but for cold, selfish pride, cruelty and untruthfulness worse than any of his predecessors.” In September 1876 the massacre of a large number of girls (who had married men of their own age instead of the men of an older regiment, for whom Cetywayo had designed them) provoked a strong remonstrance from the government of Natal, inclined as that government was to look leniently on the doings of the Zulu. The tension between Cetywayo and the Transvaal over border disputes continued, and when in 1877 Britain annexed the Transvaal the dispute was transferred to the new owners of the country. A commission was appointed by the lieut.-governor of Natal in February 1878 to report on the boundary question. The commission reported in July, and found almost entirely in favour of the contention of the Zulu. Sir Bartle Frere, then High Commissioner, who thought the award “one sided and unfair to the Boers” (Martineau, Life of Frere, ii. xix.), stipulated that, on the land being given to the Zulu, the Boers living on it should be compensated if they left, or protected if they remained. Cetywayo (who now found no defender in Natal save Bishop Colenso) was in a defiant humour, and permitted outrages by Zulu both on the Transvaal and Natal borders. Frere was convinced that the peace of South Africa could be preserved only if the power of Cetywayo was curtailed. Therefore in forwarding his award on the boundary dispute the High Commissioner demanded that the military system should be remodelled. The youths were to be allowed to marry as they came to man’s estate, and the regiments were not to be called up except with the consent of the council of the nation and also of the British government. Moreover, the missionaries were to be unmolested and a British resident was to be accepted. These demands were made to Zulu deputies on the 11th of December 1878, a definite reply being required by the 31st of that month.

Cetywayo returned no answer, and in January 1879 a British force under General Thesiger (Lord Chelmsford) invaded Zululand. Lord Chelmsford had under him a force of 5000 Europeans and 8200 natives, 3000 of the latter were employed in guarding the frontier of Natal; another force of 1400 Europeans and 400 natives were stationed in the Utrecht district. Three columns were to invade Zululand from the Lower Tugela, Rorke’s Drift, and Utrecht respectively, their objective being Ulundi, the royal kraal. Cetywayo’s army numbered fully 40,000 men. The entry of all three columns was unopposed. On the 22nd of January the centre column (1600 Europeans, 2500 natives), which had advanced from Rorke’s Drift, was encamped near Isandhlwana; on the morning of that day Lord Chelmsford moved out with a small force to support a reconnoitring party. After he had left, the camp, in charge of Col. Durnford, was surprised by a Zulu army nearly 10,000 strong. The British were overwhelmed and almost every man killed, the casualties being 806 Europeans (more than half belonging to the 24th regiment) and 471 natives. All the transport was also lost. Lord Chelmsford and the reconnoitring party returned to find the camp deserted, next day they retreated to Rorke’s Drift, which had been the scene of an heroic and successful defence. After the victory at Isandhlwana several impis of the Zulu army had mowed to the Drift. The garrison stationed there, under Lieuts. Chard and Bromhead, numbered about 80 men of the 24th regiment, and they had in hospital 30 and 40 men. Late in the afternoon they were attacked by about 4000 Zulu. On six occasions, the Zulu got within the entrenchments, to be driven back each time at the bayonet’s point. At dawn the Zulu withdrew, leaving 350 dead. The British loss was 17 killed and 10 wounded.

In the meantirme the right column under Colonel Pearson had reached Eshowe from the Tugela, on receipt of the news of Isandhlwana most of the mounted men and the native troops were sent back to the Natal, leaving at Eshowe a garrison of 1300 Europeans and 65 natives. This force was hemmed in by the enemy. The left column under Colonel (afterwards Sir) Evelyn Wood, which had done excellent work, found itself obliged to act on the defensive after the disaster to the centre column. For a time an invasion of Natal was feared. The Zulu, however, made no attempt to enter Natal, while Lord Chelmsford awaited reinforcements before resuming his advance. During this time (March the 12th) an escort of stores marching to Luneberg, the headquarters of the Utrecht force, was attacked when encamped on both sides of the Intombe river. The camp was surprised, 62 out of 106 men were killed, and all the stores were

title: Page:EB1911 - Volume 28.djvu/1080


text:
Talk:Ratifications of the Constitution of the United States/New York

Ernie G Question Where do the italics come from? Are all italics or emphasis in the original?

In Particular That the people have a right to keep and bear arms; that a well-regulated militia, including the body of the people capable of bearing arms, is the proper, natural, and safe defence of a free state.

The words --> capable of bearing arms

 * The italics are in Jonathan Eliot's edition which this webpage is based on, you can view that particular page here. I wasn't able to find an image of the original manuscript online, however I did find a contemporary publication here which does exhibit those italics. Prosody (talk) 22:25, 16 May 2012 (UTC)
 * Here's the LoC American Memory page for that document. Prosody (talk) 22:28, 16 May 2012 (UTC)


text:
Page:Wiltshire, Extracted from Domesday Book.djvu/70

[ 22 ] comes dedit Quinton et Svindone et Chevrell qua erant tainlandæ, pro terra de inula de With, quæ pertinehant ad firmam de Ambleberie.

4. Rex tenet Guermintre.'' Rex Edwardus tenuit. Non geldavit nec hidata fuit. Terra et 40 carucatæ. In dominio unt 6 carucatæ et 24 Jerviy et 12 porcarii. Ibi 15 villani et 8 cozets, et 14 coliberti cum 36 carucatis. Ibi 7 molini de 4 libris, et quatuor viginti acræ prati. Patura 1 leuca longa et dimidium leucæ latum. Silva 2 leucæ longæ et 2 latæ. Ibi 30 burgenes. Hoc manerium reddit firmam unius noctis cum omnibus conuetudinibus uis.''

5. Rex tenet Chepeham. Rex Edwardus tenuit, Non geldavit nec hidata uit, Terra et


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Page:Wiltshire, Extracted from Domesday Book.djvu/71

[ 23 ] them. Earl William gave Quinton, Svindone and Chevrell, all which were Thane lands, in exchange for lands in the Ile of Wight which belonged to the manor of Ambleberie.

4. The King holds Guermintre. King Edward held it, and it was neither aeed nor hided. There are 40 ploughlands; 6 of which, with 24 ervants, and 13 hogkeepers, are in demene. Fifteen villagers, 8 cottagers, and 14 coliberts occupy the reft. There are 7 mills of the value of 4 pounds, and 80 acres of meadow. The pature is a mile and a half long, and 3 quarters of a mile broad. The wood is 3 miles long and 2 broad. Here are 30 burgees. This manor provides one night's entertainment for the King, with all it's uual cutoms.

5. The King holds Chepeham. King Edward held it. It was neither aeed nor hided. Here are 100 ploughlands; 16 of which, with Rh


text:
Page:Life of Octavia Hill as told in her letters.djvu/78

 May the God of England strengthen us all, to trust that He is King and that He is righteous.

Thank your sisters very much for the prospect of the leaves; they will indeed be treasures to all of us.

Ladies' Guild, 4, Russell Place, September 21st, 1855.

I hope you are enjoying yourself. … We had such a beautiful lesson to-day about the world. I miss you very. I wish you would come back again. It is now twenty-five minutes to eight; it was very dark, and I and Harriet put a farthing together, and sent L. and S. out for a halfpenny candle. … Oh! our gardens are getting on so badly! We had an Irish stew for dinner to-day. Do come back as soon as you can; and I daresay you see numbers of snakes and snails, and glow-worms, and beautiful caterpillars and all sorts of insects. I daresay the leaves are falling fast. I daresay you are very happy together. When you went away, Louisa, Sarah, and Dennis did sob and cry so. I daresay when you are alone by yourself you are thinking of home, and it makes you very sad; but never mind; cheer up. S. earned two shillings and a farthing, and L. two shillings and two pence; and I earned two and twopence yesterday. Were we not good girls? and Miss Ockey was very pleased with us. We have finished that splendid, oh beautiful! book, "Steadfast Gabriel"; and I never saw such a beautiful book in my life. Sarah is always thinking of you, and I too. The account this week comes to £19 all but


text:
The Poets' Chantry/Aubrey de Vere

                <pages index="The Poet's Chantry" from="The Poet's Chantry pg 066.jpg" to="The Poet's Chantry pg 066.jpg" /> <pages index="The Poet's Chantry" from="The Poet's Chantry pg 067.jpg" to="The Poet's Chantry pg 067.jpg" /> <pages index="The Poet's Chantry" from="The Poet's Chantry pg 068.jpg" to="The Poet's Chantry pg 068.jpg" /> <pages index="The Poet's Chantry" from="The Poet's Chantry pg 069.jpg" to="The Poet's Chantry pg 069.jpg" />

title: The Poets' Chantry/Aubrey de Vere


text:
Translation:Mikraot Gedolot/Psalms/3:6

Text
I lay down and I slept; I woke up, because God will support me.

Rashi
I lay down and I slept

My heart is closed with worry and fear.

I woke up from my worry because I trusted that God will support me.

Ibn Ezra
מ"ג תהלים ג ו

title: Translation:Mikraot Gedolot/Psalms/3:6


text:
Page:Life of Octavia Hill as told in her letters.djvu/79

 fourpence. We have most splendid boxes of toys in the show room, beautiful, elegant. I am writing the poetry that you like very much in my copy book. Good night. I must depart from the workshop.

Marshals, Romford, October 16, 1855. .

Tell Miss Cons that I often wish she were here; she would appreciate so much the beauty of everything. She would rejoice to look at the gigantic trees holding themselves so still, with, here and there, a branch all gold or copper coloured, and the brilliant berries; to trace the light wreaths of briony not yet transformed into streams of gold, but just changed enough from their summer green to tell you their own individual story, how they grew deep down in the hedge, and then climbed up clinging for strength even to thorny branches, even to leafless ones; they tell how they trust themselves, and tangle and knot themselves closer and closer; one wreath only impatient for light and sunlight, running up some spray of rose or bramble; and then, as if content to be made more and more like that sun, rests on its thorny pillar and stretches down its golden arms to its friends below, every leaf telling the same story as the whole plant; beginning in darkness, ending in light; beginning in life, ending in glorified death; beginning in green, ending in gold; beginning in massive strength, ending in spiritual power. But it is of you and A. I think, when, gathered round the fire in an evening, we talk of the Guild, of Kuskin, of the poor, of education, of politics and history.


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Page:Life of Octavia Hill as told in her letters.djvu/81

 ever seen. I have not seen them since, and am very anxious to hear what they thought of it. It must have been a wonderful event in their lives. They are (as indeed I think we all are) a great deal too much wrapped up in our own affairs; and it must be very much because we know ourselves so much better than others. Therefore I do not fear to give way to what I know is a preference that the children feel for storybooks. They have even expressed it; and I reserve to myself the choice of books.

I would rather that they had a strong sympathy with men than with birds; therefore I would prefer them to read about men, particularly if they will learn to study the characters more than the events. Yet I value all natural history, all science, as bringing them to realities, saving them from dreams and visions. But I would have them to look upon all strong feeling, love, hate, gentleness, reverence, as being as real as stones and trees and stars. They are very suspicious. Now in books there can be no suspicion. All is declared to be good or evil. Deceit may be shown indeed, but devotion is shown also. I would not have them to believe all around them to be what it appears; for it is not so; but I must get them to believe that, in the deep souls of those even who appear the worst, there is a spark of nobleness, which it is in their power to reach, with which they are to claim fellowship, which they are to look upon as the only eternal part of men. It is for this reason that I do not fear, day after day, to read stories to those who are in the midst of hard work, poverty, sickness, hundreds of people, trials, hopes and deaths. Therefore I have asked you for those books, which are among the very few which I would let these dear children read.


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Page:Life of Octavia Hill as told in her letters.djvu/82

 Ladies' Guild, December 2nd (1855?). To.

I am writing with my consolidated table before me. I do hope you will be able to see it before it goes to Ruskin's. Mama will I daresay tell you how I intend to spend my birthday. Do think of me at half past one, if you know in time.

Mr. Maurice asks how you are continually, and is very kind. He is gone to Cambridge, and will not be at Lincoln's Inn to-morrow. Is it not a pity? All goes on very well here; the children are very dear. I wish you could be with us to-morrow. I want you to see Ruskin. I trust it will be a fine day. … I have undertaken to teach the two C.'s writing and arithmetic. It is so nice. I am very happy, everyone is so kind. I am delighting in the thought of to-morrow. I do not know whether any other day would be the same, if one thought about it; but it does seem to me as if one's birthday held the same relation to other days that Mr. Maurice says a ruler does to his people,—as if it gathered up all the meaning of those other days, embodied the meaning of all of them; and so, if things happen, as it seems probable they will, I shall feel that, as, last year, I had to learn the value of the Church service read by Mr. Maurice, so this year I have to learn how precious it is when read by anyone, now that he is away; as last year I was to feel what a blessed thing a home was, where all members of it were


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


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


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


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


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


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


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/O'Dugan, John


text: Author:Thomas Willis White

title: Author:Thomas Willis White


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Page:Dictionary of National Biography volume 42.djvu/464

 to the prince-regent, who offered him the honour of knighthood, which he declined. His income was at this time 3.000l. a year; but not long afterwards his health began to fail, and eventually an affection of the spine confined him to his room and rendered him unable to paint. Many of his unfinished portraits were completed by Edward Daniel Leahy [q.v.]

Owen died of poison, through a mistake of a chemist's assistant, at 33 Bruton Street, Berkeley Square, London, on 11 March 1625.

His portraits of Alexander Wedderburn, Lord Lougborough (afterwords Earl of Rosslyn), and of John Wilson Croker, as well as a portrait of John Philpot Curran, which is in his style, are in the National Portrait Gallery.

 OWEN, WILLIAM (1759-1835), Welsh lexicographer. [See .]

 OWEN, WILLIAM FITZWILLIAM (1774–1857), vice-admiral, born in 1774, younger brother of Sir Edward Campbell Rich Owen [q. v.], entered the navy in June 1788 and served in different ships on the home and West Indian stations. He was midshipman of the Culloden in the battle of 1 June 1794, and of the London, bearing the flag of Vice-admiral Colpoys, at the time of the great mutiny. On 12 June 1797 he was promoted to the rank of lieutenant, and appointed to command the Flamer gun-vessel. He continued serving in the Channel during the war, and in July 1803 was appointed to command the Seaflower brig, in which he went to the East Indies. In September 1806 he explored the Maldive Islands, then very imperfectly known, and on 10 Nov. discovered the Seaflower Channel between Si-biru and Si-pora on the west coast of Sumatra. On 27 Nov. he piloted the squadron under Sir Edward Pellew (afterwards Viscount Exmouth) [q. v.] into Batavia roads, and afterwards shared in the operations which resulted in the total destruction of the Dutch men-of-war. In September 1808 he was taken by the French and detained in Mauritius till June 1810, when he was exchanged. He had meantime been promoted, on 20 May 1809, to be commander, and was now employed at Madras as superintendent of the transports fitting out for Mauritius. In November he was appointed to the Barracouta, which, in 1811, formed part of the force at the reduction of Java. In May 1811 he was promoted to the rank of captain, and was posted in December to the Cornelia frigate. He returned to England with a convoy in 1813, and in March 1815 was appointed to the survey of the lakes of Canada, from which he came home in May 1816.

In August 1821 Owen was appointed to the Leven, in which, for upwards of four years, he was employed in the survey of the coast of Africa, and in February 1826 in supporting the troops in the war with Ashanti. In 1827 he returned, in the Eden, to the coast of Africa, where he settled the colony at Fernando Po. After some time on the coast of South America, the Eden returned to England in the end of 1831, and was paid off. In 1847 he commanded the Columbia surveying-ship on the coast of North America, but returned to England on his promotion to flag rank on 21 Dec. 1847. He had no further service, but became a vice-admiral on 27 Oct. 1854, accepted a pension on the reserved list on 6 Feb. 1855, and died at St. John's, N.B., on 3 Nov. 1857.

In 1833 Owen published a ‘Narrative of Voyages to explore the Shores of Africa, Arabia, and Madagascar in H.M. Ships Leven and Barracouta’ (2 vols. 8vo). It is, however, by his accurate surveys of coasts, till then only explored, that Owen is best known. The charts of the west and east coasts of Africa, of Madagascar, Mauritius, and of Asia, from Aden to Cape Comorin, drawn under his superintendence, are very numerous, and form the basis of those still in use.


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


text:
User:DoscoinDoon

I Wikilove you! Welcome to my user page.

title: User:DoscoinDoon


text:
User talk:Gingerkid1234

Welcome
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text: User talk:DoscoinDoon

title: User talk:DoscoinDoon


text:
Page:Great Expectations.djvu/313

Rh In the outer office Wemmick offered me his congratulations, and incidentally rubbed the side of his nose with a folded piece of tissue-paper that I liked the look of. But he said nothing respecting it, and motioned me with a nod into my guardian's room. It was November, and my guardian was standing before his fire leaning his back against the chimney-piece, with his hands under his coat-tails.

"Well, Pip," said he, "I must call you Mr. Pip to-day. Congratulations, Mr. Pip."

We shook hands—he was always a remarkably short shaker—and I thanked him.

"Take a chair, Mr. Pip," said my guardian.

As I sat down, and he preserved his attitude and bent his brows at his boots, I felt at a disadvantage, which reminded me of that old time when I had been put upon a tombstone. The two ghastly casts on the shelf were not far from him, and their expression was as if they were making a stupid apoplectic attempt to attend to the conversation.

"Now, my young friend," my guardian began, as if I were a witness in the box, "I am going to have a word or two with you."

"If you please, sir."

"What do you suppose," said Mr. Jaggers, bending forward to look at the ground, and then throwing his head back to look at the ceiling, "what do you suppose you are living at the rate of?"

"At the rate of, sir?"

"At," repeated Mr. Jaggers, still looking at the ceiling, "the—rate—of?" And then looked all round the room, and paused with his pocket-handkerchief in his hand, half way to his nose.

I had looked into my affairs so often, that I had thoroughly destroyed any slight notion I might ever have had of their bearings. Reluctantly, I confessed myself quite unable to answer the question. This reply seemed agreeable to Mr. Jaggers, who said, "I thought so!" and blew his nose with an air of satisfaction.

title: Page:Great Expectations.djvu/313


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Page:Great Expectations.djvu/314

300 "Now, I have asked you a question, my friend," said Mr. Jaggers. "Have you anything to ask me?"

"Of course it would be a great relief to me to ask you several questions, sir; but I remember your prohibition."

"Ask one," said Mr. Jaggers.

"Is my benefactor to be made known to me to-day?"

"No. Ask another."

"Is that confidence to be imparted to me soon?"

"Waive that, a moment," said Mr. Jaggers, "and ask another."

I looked about me, but there appeared to be now no possible escape from the inquiry, "Have—I—anything to receive, sir?" On that, Mr. Jaggers said, triumphantly, "I thought we should come to it!" and called to Wemmick to give him that piece of paper. Wemmick appeared, handed it in, and disappeared.

"Now, Mr. Pip," said Mr. Jaggers, "attend if you please. You have been drawing pretty freely here; your name occurs pretty often in Wemmick' s cash book: but you are in debt, of course?"

"I am afraid I must say yes, sir."

"You know you must say yes; don't you?" said Mr. Jaggers.

"Yes, sir."

"I don't ask you what you owe because you don't know; and if you did know, you wouldn't tell me; you would say less. Yes, yes, my friend," cried Mr. Jaggers, waving his forefinger to stop me, as I made a show of protesting: "it's likely enough that you think you wouldn't, but you would. You'll excuse me, but I know better than you. Now, take this piece of paper in your hand. You have got it? Very good. Now, unfold it and tell me what it is."

"This is a bank-note," said I, "for five hundred pounds."

"That is a bank-note," repeated Mr. Jaggers, "for five hundred pounds. And a very handsome sum of money too, I think. You consider it so?"

"How could I do otherwise!"

"Ah! But answer the question," said Mr. Jaggers.

title: Page:Great Expectations.djvu/314


text:
Page:Great Expectations.djvu/315

 "Undoubtedly."

"You consider it, undoubtedly, a handsome sum of money. Now, that handsome sum of money, Pip, is your own. It is a present to you on this day, in earnest of your expectations. And at the rate of that handsome sum of money per annum, and at no higher rate, you are to live until the donor of the whole appears. That is to say, you will now take your money affairs entirely into your own hands, and you will draw from Wemmick one hundred and twenty-five pounds per quarter, until you are in communication with the fountain-head, and no longer with the mere agent. As I have told you before, I am the mere agent. I execute my instructions, and I am paid for doing so. I think them injudicious, but I am not paid for giving any opinion on their merits."

I was beginning to express my gratitude to my benefactor for the great liberality with which I was treated, when Mr. Jaggers stopped me. "I am not paid, Pip," said he, coolly, "to carry your words to any one;" and then gathered up his coat-tails, as he had gathered up the subject, and stood frowning at his boots as if he suspected them of designs against him.

After a pause, I hinted:

"There was a question just now, Mr. Jaggers, which you desired me to waive for a moment. I hope I am doing nothing wrong in asking it again?"

"What is it?" said he.

I might have known that he would never help me out; but it took me aback to have to shape the question afresh, as if it were quite new. "Is it likely," I said, after hesitating, "that my patron, the fountain-head you have spoken of, Mr. Jaggers, will soon" there I delicately stopped.

"Will soon what?" asked Mr. Jaggers. "That's no question as it stands, you know."

"Will soon come to London," said I, after casting about for a precise form of words, "or summon me anywhere else?"

"Now here," replied Mr. Jaggers, fixing me for the first time with his dark deep-set eyes, "we must revert to the

title: Page:Great Expectations.djvu/315


text:
Page:Great Expectations.djvu/316

302 evening when we first encountered one another in your village. What did I tell you then, Pip?"

"You told me, Mr. Jaggers, that it might be years hence when that person appeared."

"Just so," said Mr. Jaggers; "that's my answer."

As we looked full at one another, I felt my breath come quicker in my strong desire to get something out of him. And as I felt that it came quicker, and as I felt that he saw that it came quicker, I felt that I had less chance than ever of getting anything out of him.

"Do you suppose it will still be years hence, Mr. Jaggers?"

Mr. Jaggers shook his head—not in negativing the question, but in altogether negativing the notion that he could anyhow be got to answer it—and the two horrible casts of the twitched faces looked, when my eyes strayed up to them, as if they had come to a crisis in their suspended attention, and were going to sneeze.

"Come!" said Mr. Jaggers, warming the backs of his legs with the backs of his warmed hands, "I'll be plain with you, my friend Pip. That's a question I must not be asked. You'll understand that, better, when I tell you it's a question that might compromise me. Come! I'll go a little further with you; I'll say something more."

He bent down so low to frown at his boots, that he was able to rub the calves of his legs in the pause he made.

"When that person discloses," said Mr. Jaggers, straightening himself, "you and that person will settle your own affairs. When that person discloses, my part in this business will cease and determine. When that person discloses, it will not be necessary for me to know anything about it. And that's all I have got to say."

We looked at one another until I withdrew my eyes, and looked thoughtfully at the floor. From this last speech I derived the notion that Miss Havisham, for some reason or no reason, had not taken him into her confidence as to her designing me for Estella; that he resented this, and felt a jealousy about it; or that he really did object to that scheme, and would have nothing to do with it. When I

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Rh raised my eyes again, I found that he had been shrewdly looking at me all the time, and was doing so still.

"If that is all you have to say, sir," I remarked, "there can be nothing left for me to say."

He nodded assent, and pulled out his thief-dreaded watch, and asked me where I was going to dine? I replied, at my own chambers, with Herbert. As a necessary sequence, I asked him if he would favour us with his company, and he promptly accepted the invitation. But he insisted on walking home with me, in order that I might make no extra preparation for him, and first he had a letter or two to write, and (of course) had his hands to wash. So, I said I would go into the outer office and talk to Wemmick.

The fact was, that when the five hundred pounds had come into my pocket, a thought had come into my head which had been often there before; and it appeared to me that Wemmick was a good person to advise with, concerning such thought.

He had already locked up his safe, and made preparations for going home. He had left his desk, brought out his two greasy office candlesticks and stood them in line with the snuffers on a slab near the door, ready to be extinguished; he had raked his fire low, put his hat and great-coat ready, and was beating himself all over the chest with his safe-key as an athletic exercise after business.

"Mr. Wemmick," said I, "I want to ask your opinion. I am very desirous to serve a friend."

Wemmick tightened his post-office and shook his head, as if his opinion were dead against any fatal weakness of that sort.

"This friend," I pursued, "is trying to get on in commercial life, but has no money, and finds it difficult and disheartening to make a beginning. Now, I want somehow to help him to a beginning."

"With money down?" said Wemmick, in a tone drier than any sawdust.

"With some money down," I replied, for an uneasy

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 shot across me of that symmetrical bundle of papers at home; "with some money down, and perhaps some anticipation of my expectations."

"Mr. Pip," said Wemmick, "I should like just to run over with you on my fingers, if you please, the names of the various bridges up as high as Chelsea Reach. Let's see; there's London, one; Southwark, two; Blackfriars, three; Waterloo, four; Westminster, five; Vauxhall, six." He had checked off each bridge in its turn, with the handle of his safe-key on the palm of his hand. "There's as many as six, you see, to choose from."

"I don't understand you," said I.

"Choose your bridge, Mr. Pip," returned Wemmick, "and take a walk upon your bridge, and pitch your money into the Thames over the centre arch of your bridge, and you know the end of it. Serve a friend with it, and you may know the end of it too—but it's a less pleasant and profitable end."

I could have posted a newspaper in his mouth, he made it so wide after saying this.

"This is very discouraging," said I.

"Meant to be so," said Wemmick.

"Then is it your opinion," I inquired, with some little indignation, "that a man should never"

"—Invest portable property in a friend?" said Wemmick. "Certainly he should not. Unless he wants to get rid of the friend—and then it becomes a question how much portable property it may be worth to get rid of him."

"And that," said I, "is your deliberate opinion, Mr. Wemmick?"

"That," he returned, "is my deliberate opinion in this office."

"Ah!" said I, pressing him, for I thought I saw him near a loophole here; "but would that be your opinion at Walworth?"

"Mr. Pip," he replied with gravity, "Walworth is one place, and this office is another. Much as the Aged is one person, and Mr. Jaggers is another. They must not be confounded together. My Walworth sentiments must be

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Rh taken at Walworth; none but my official sentiments can be taken in this office."

"Very well," said I, much relieved, "then I shall look you up at Walworth, you may depend upon it."

"Mr. Pip," he returned, "you will be welcome there, in a private and personal capacity."

We had held this conversation in a low voice, well knowing my guardian's ears to be the sharpest of the sharp. As he now appeared in his doorway, towelling his hands, Wemmick got on his great-coat and stood by to snuff out the candles. We all three went into the street together, and from the door-step Wemmick turned his way, and Mr. Jaggers and I turned ours.

I could not help wishing more than once that evening, that Mr. Jaggers had had an Aged in Gerrard-street, or a Stinger, or a Something, or a Somebody, to unbend his brows a little. It was an uncomfortable consideration on a twenty-first birthday, that coming of age at all seemed hardly worth while in such a guarded and suspicious world as he made of it. He was a thousand times better informed and cleverer than Wemmick, and yet I would a thousand times rather have had Wemmick to dinner. And Mr. Jaggers made not me alone intensely melancholy, because, after he was gone, Herbert said of himself, with his eyes fixed on the fire, that he thought he must have committed a felony and forgotten the details of it, he felt so dejected and guilty.

Sunday the best day for taking Mr. Wemmick's Walworth sentiments, I devoted the next ensuing Sunday afternoon to a pilgrimage to the Castle. On arriving before the battlements, I found the Union Jack flying and the drawbridge up, but undeterred by this show of defiance and resistance, I rang at the gate, and was admitted in a most pacific manner by the Aged.

"My son, sir," said the old man, after securing the

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Rh hard of edge: with Hrunting I seek doom of glory, or Death shall take me.”

After these words the Weder-Geat lord boldly hastened, biding never answer at all: and ocean floods closed o’er the hero. Long while of the day fled ere he felt the floor of the sea. Soon found the fiend who the flood-domain sword-hungry held these hundred winters, greedy and grim, that some guest from above, some man, was raiding her monster-realm. She grasped out for him with grisly claws, and the warrior seized; yet scathed she not his body hale; the breastplate hindered, as she strove to shatter the sark of war, the linkéd harness, with loathsome hand. Then bore this brine-wolf, when bottom she touched, the lord of rings to the lair she haunted, whiles vainly he strove, though his valor held, weapon to wield against wondrous monsters that sore beset him; sea-beasts many tried with fierce tusks to tear his mail, and swarmed on the stranger. But soon he marked he was now in some hall, he knew not which, where water never could work him harm, nor through the roof could reach him ever fangs of the flood. Firelight he saw, beams of a blaze that brightly shone.


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90 Then the warrior was ware of that wolf-of-the-deep, mere-wife monstrous. For mighty stroke he swung his blade, and the blow withheld not. Then sang on her head that seemly blade its war-song wild. But the warrior found the light-of-battle was loath to bite, to harm the heart: its hard edge failed the noble at need, yet had known of old strife hand to hand, and had helmets cloven, doomed men’s fighting-gear. First time, this, for the gleaming blade that its glory fell. Firm still stood, nor failed in valor, heedful of high deeds, Hygelac’s kinsman; flung away fretted sword, featly jewelled, the angry earl; on earth it lay steel-edged and stiff. His strength he trusted, hand-gripe of might. So man shall do whenever in war he weens to earn him lasting fame, nor fears for his life! Seized then by shoulder, shrank not from combat, the Geatish war-prince Grendel’s mother. Flung then the fierce one, filled with wrath,


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Rh his deadly foe, that she fell to ground. Swift on her part she paid him back with grisly grasp, and grappled with him. Spent with struggle, stumbled the warrior, fiercest of fighting-men, fell adown. On the hall-guest she hurled herself, hent her short sword, broad and brown-edged, the bairn to avenge, the sole-born son.—On his shoulder lay braided breast-mail, barring death, withstanding entrance of edge or blade. Life would have ended for Ecgtheow’s son, under wide earth for that earl of Geats, had his armor of war not aided him, battle-net hard, and holy God wielded the victory, wisest Maker. The Lord of Heaven allowed his cause; and easily rose the earl erect.

’Mid the battle-gear saw he a blade triumphant, old-sword of Eotens, with edge of proof, warriors’ heirloom, weapon unmatched, —save only ’twas more than other men to bandy-of-battle could bear at all— as the giants had wrought it, ready and keen. Seized then its chain-hilt the Scyldings’ chieftain, bold and battle-grim, brandished the sword, reckless of life, and so wrathfully smote


text: The Oldest English Epic/Chapter 1/Beowulf 22


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Rh

Bēowulf maþelode,bearn Ecgþēowes: “Ne sorga, snotor guma;sēlre bið ǣghwǣm, þæt hē his frēond wrece,þonne hē fela murne. Ure ǣghwylc scealende gebīdan worolde lifes;wyrce sē þe mōte dōmes ǣr dēaþe;þæt bið driht-guman unlifgendumæfter sēlest. Ārīs, rīces weard;uton hraþe fēran, Grendles māgangang scēawigan. Ic hit þē gehāte:nō hē on hehn losaþ, ne on foldan fæþm,ne on fyrgen-holt, ne on gyfenes grund,gā þǣr hē wille. Ðȳs dōgor þūgeþyld hafa wēana gehwylces,swā ic þē wēne tō.” Āhlēop ðā se gomela,Gode þancode, mihtigan Drihtne,þæs se man ge*spræc. Þā wæs Hrōðgārehors gebǣted, wicg wunden-feax;wīsa fengel geatolīc gen[g]de; gum-fēþa stōp lind-hæbbendra.Lāstas wǣron æfter wald-swaþumwīde gesȳne, gang ofer grundas;gegnum fōr ofer myrcan mōr,mago-þegna bær

title: Page:Beowulf (Wyatt).djvu/83


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User:Theaitetos

Hello, in order for you to reach me quickly, please contact me via my Mediawiki page Theaitetos.

title: User:Theaitetos


text:
Page:Beowulf (Wyatt).djvu/242

218 , 142, 470, 1875, etc. Special passage: ǣr ne siððan, “before nor since,” 718. ''Correl. with syððan, conj.'', 2201–7.

title: Page:Beowulf (Wyatt).djvu/242


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Page:The complete poems of Emily Bronte.djvu/192

136 XXXI

night was dark, yet winter breathed

With softened sighs on Gondal's shore;

And though its wind repining grieved,

It chained the snow-swollen streams no more.

How deep into the wilderness

My horse had strayed, I cannot say;

But neither morsel nor caress

Would urge him farther on the way.

So loosening from his neck the rein,

I set my worn companion free,

And billowy hill and boundless plain

Full soon divided him from me.

The sullen clouds lay all unbroken

And blackening round the horizon drear,

But still they gave no certain token

Of heavy rain or tempest near.

I paused, confounded and distracted,

Down in the heath my limbs I threw;

But wilder as I longed for rest,

More wakeful heart and eyelids grew.

It was about the middle night

And under such a starless dome,

When gliding from the mountains height,

I saw a shadowy spirit come.


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Rh Her wavy hair on her shoulders bare,

It shone like soft clouds round the moon;

Her noiseless feet, like melting sleet,

Gleamed white a moment, then were gone.

'What seek you now on this bleak moor brow,

Where wanders that form from heaven descending?'

It was thus I said as her graceful head

The spirit above my couch was bending.

'This is my home where whirlwinds blow,

Where snowdrifts round my path are swelling;

'Tis many a year, 'tis long ago,

Since I beheld another dwelling.

'When thick and fast the smothering blast

I've welcomed the winter on the plain,

If my cheek grew pale in its loudest gale,

May I never tread the hills again.

'The shepherd had died on the mountain-side,

But my ready aid was near him then;

I led him back o'er the hidden track

And gave him to his native glen.

'When tempests roar on the lonely shore

I light my beacon with seaweeds dry,

And it flings its fire through the darkness dire

And gladdens the sailor's hopeless eye.


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138 'And the sea-birds noisy I love to keep,

Their timid forms to guard from harm;

I have a spell, and they know it well,

And I save them with a powerful charm.

'Thy own good steed on his friendless bed

A few hours since you left to die;

But I knelt by his side and the saddle untied,

And life returned to his glazing eye.

'To a silent home thy feet may come,

And years may follow of toilsome pain;

But yet I swear by that burning tear,

The loved shall meet on its hearth again.'


text:
The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Parker, Joel (statesman)

PARKER, Joel, American statesman: b. Monmouth County, N. J., 24 Nov. 1816; d. Philadelphia, Pa., 2 Jan., 1888. He was graduated from Princeton in 1839, admitted to the bar in 1842 and established a law practice in Freehold, N. J. He engaged in politics with much zest, and in 1847 was elected to the New Jersey legislature; and in 1852-57 he was prosecuting attorney of Monmouth County. At the outbreak of the Civil War he was appointed major-general of volunteers and in 1862-66 was governor of New Jersey, giving loyal support to the policy of the national administration.

He was again elected governor in 1870, and in 1880 was appointed associate justice of the Supreme Court of New Jersey, and reappointed in 1887.


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Rh XXXII

THE ABSENT ONE

our evening fireside now

Merry laugh and cheerful tone,

Smiling eye and cloudless brow,

Mirth and music all are flown.

Yet the grass before the door

Grows as green in April rain,

And as blithely as of yore

Larks have poured their daylong strain.

Is it fear or is it sorrow

Checks the frequent stream of joy?

Do we tremble that to-morrow

May our present peace destroy?

For past misery are we weeping?

What is past can hurt no more;

And the gracious heavens are keeping

Aid for that which lies before.

One is absent, and for one,

Cheerless, chill is our hearthstone.

One is absent, and for him

Cheeks are pale and eyes are dim.


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Rh Arthur, brother, Gondal's shore

Rested from the battle's roar;

Arthur, brother, we returned

Back to Desmond lost and mourned.

Thou didst purchase by thy fall

Home for us and peace for all;

Yet, how darkly dawned that day!

Dreadful was the price to pay!

Just as once, through sun and mist

I have climbed the mountain's breast,

Still my gun with certain aim

Brought to earth the fluttering game:

But the very dogs repined;

Though I called with whistle shrill,

Tay and Carlo lagged behind,

Looking backward o'er the hill.

Sorrow was not vocal then;

Mute their woe and my despair;

But the joy of life was flown—

He was gone, and we were lone.

So it is by morn and eve;

So it is in field and hall;

For the absent one we grieve;

One being absent, saddens all.


text:
The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Parker, John Henry

PARKER, John Henry, English archæologist: b. London, 1 March 1806; d. Oxford, 31 Jan. 1884. He began his career as a bookseller in Oxford in 1832. Later he superintended many excavations in Rome, and was the author of ‘The Archæology of Rome’ (1874-84), a work of importance on the walls, aqueducts and tombs of the Eternal City. His other publications are a ‘Glossary of Architecture’ (1836), an important aid to the revival of Gothic art; ‘Introduction to the Study of Gothic Architecture’ (1849); ‘The A B C of Gothic Architecture.’


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Rh XXXIII

TO A BLUEBELL


text:
To a Bluebell

 * "To a Bluebell", a poem by Emily Brontë
 * "To a Bluebell", a poem by Helena Jane Coleman

title: To a Bluebell


text:
The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Parker, Joseph

PARKER, Joseph, English Congregational clergyman: b. Hexham-on-Tyne, Northumberland, 9 April 1830; d. London, 28 Nov. 1902. He studied at University College, London, in 1853 became pastor of the Congregational church at Banbury, and in 1858-69 was pastor of the Cavendish Street Church at Manchester. In 1869 he began his larger ministry at the old Poultry Chapel of London, the congregation of which was transferred in 1874 to the City Temple, Holburn Viaduct. He became one of the best-known preachers in England. His views were liberal, and he spoke with a ready command of vigorous English. In 1887 he visited the United States where he delivered an eulogy on Henry Ward Beecher, with whom he had been on very intimate terms. He was twice chairman of the Congregational Union of England and Wales, and published several works, including ‘Ecce Deus’ (1868); ‘Springdale Abbey’ (1869); ‘The Paraclete’ (1874); ‘The People's Bible,’ “discourses upon Holy Scripture, forming a pastoral commentary” (25 vols., 1885 et seq.); ‘Tyne Chylde’ (1883); ‘Christian Profiles in a Pagan Mirror’ (1898); and ‘A Preacher's Life,’ an autobiography (1899). Consult Adamson, William, ‘Life of Joseph Parker’ (New York 1903).


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User:Manjunathbhat manju

Manojavam maruta tulyavegam jitendriyam budhi matam varistam | vatatmajam vaanar yootha padam shree rama dootam manasa smarami ||

title: User:Manjunathbhat manju


text:
Dictionary of Greek and Roman Biography and Mythology/Stratonice 3.

STRATONICE 3. Daughter of Demetrius Poliorcetes and Phila, the daughter of Antipater. In B C. 300, at which time she could not have been more than seventeen years of age, her hand was solicited by Seleucus, king of Syria, and she was conducted by her father Demetrius to Rhosus, on the Pierian coast, where her nuptials were celebrated with the utmost magnificence (Plut. Demetr. 31, 32). Notwithstanding the disparity of their ages, she appears to have lived in perfect harmony with the old king for some years, and had already borne him one child, when it was discovered that her step-son Antiochus was deeply enamoured of her, and Seleucus, in order to save the life of his son, which was endangered by the violence of his passion, gave up Stratonice in marriage to the young prince, whom he at the same time constituted king of the provinces of Upper Asia. (Plut. Dem. 38 ; Appian. syr. 59 ; and the other authorities cited under ERASISTRATUS, where the well-known circumstances of this story are more fully related.) The union commenced under such strange auspices seems to have been a prosperous one, but we find little subsequent mention of Stratonice. She bore three children to Antiochus : 1. Antiochus II., surnamed Theos; 2. Apama, married to Magas, king of Cyrene; and 3. Stratonice [ No. 4. ]. The city of Stratoniceia in Caria was named after her, but whether it was founded in her honour by Seleucus or by Antiochus, is uncertain. (Strab. xiv. p.660; Steph. Byz. s. v. Στρατονίκεια.)


text:
The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Parker, Lawton S.

PARKER, Lawton S., American portrait painter: b. Fairfield, Mich., 7 April 1868. He studied at the École des Beaux Arts, Paris, and in 1892 was appointed professor of the Saint Louis School of Fine Arts. He became director of art at Beloit College in 1893, president of the New York School of Art in 1898-99, and of the Chicago School of Fine Arts in 1903. Among his sitters are Martin A. Ryerson, J. Ogden Armour, N. W. Harris, Harry P. Judson and Peter S. Grosscup, his portraits being marked by excellent characterization. He received dhe silver medal at the Saint Louis Exposition in 1904; gold medals at the International Exposition, Munich, in 1905, and at the Paris Salon in 1913; and was awarded the medal of honor at the Panama Exposition in 1915.


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92 that it gripped her neck and grasped her hard, her bone-rings breaking: the blade pierced through that fated-one’s flesh: to floor she sank. Bloody the blade: he was blithe of his deed. Then blazed forth light. ’Twas bright within as when from the sky there shines unclouded heaven’s candle. The hall he scanned. By the wall then went he; his weapon raised high by its hilts the Hygelac-thane, angry and eager. That edge was not useless to the warrior now. He wished with speed Grendel to guerdon for grim raids many, for the war he waged on Western-Danes oftener far than an only time, when of Hrothgar’s hearth-companions he slew in slumber, in sleep devoured, fifteen men of the folk of Danes, and as many others outward bore, his horrible prey. Well paid for that the wrathful prince! For now prone he saw Grendel stretched there, spent with war, spoiled of life, so scathed had left him Heorot’s battle. The body sprang far when after death it endured the blow, sword-stroke savage, that severed its head.


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Rh Soon, then, saw the sage companions who waited with Hrothgar, watching the flood, that the tossing waters turbid grew, blood-stained the mere. Old men together, hoary-haired, of the hero spake; the warrior would not, they weened, again, proud of conquest, come to seek their mighty master. To many it seemed the wolf-of-the-waves had won his life. The ninth hour came. The noble Scyldings left the headland; homeward went the gold-friend of men. But the guests sat on, stared at the surges, sick in heart, and wished, yet weened not, their winsome lord again to see. Now that sword began, from blood of the fight, in battle-droppings, war-blade, to wane: ’twas a wondrous thing that all of it melted as ice is wont when frosty fetters the Father loosens, unwinds the wave-bonds, wielding all seasons and times: the true God he! Nor took from that dwelling the duke of the Geats precious things, though a plenty he saw, save only the head and that hilt withal blazoned with jewels: the blade had melted, burned was the bright sword, her blood was so hot,


text: Native Tribes of South-East Australia/Index


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94 so poisoned the hell-sprite who perished within there. Soon he was swimming who safe saw in combat downfall of demons; up-dove through the flood. The clashing waters were cleanséd now, waste of waves, where the wandering fiend her life-days left and this lapsing world. Swam then to strand the sailors’-refuge, sturdy-in-spirit, of sea-booty glad, of burden brave he bore with him. Went then to greet him, and God they thanked, the thane-band choice of their chieftain blithe, that safe and sound they could see him again. Soon from the hardy one helmet and armor deftly they doffed: now drowsed the mere, water ’neath welkin, with war-blood stained. Forth they fared by the footpaths thence, merry at heart the highways measured, well-known roads. Courageous men carried the head from the cliff by the sea, an arduous task for all the band, the firm in fight, since four were needed on the shaft-of-slaughter strenuously to bear to the gold-hall Grendel’s head. So presently to the palace there foemen fearless, fourteen Geats, marching came. Their master-of-clan mighty amid them the meadow-ways trod. Strode then within the sovran thane fearless in fight, of fame renowned, hardy hero, Hrothgar to greet. And next by the hair into hall was borne


text: Page:The Poet's Chantry pg 080f.jpg

title: Page:The Poet's Chantry pg 080f.jpg


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Rh Grendel’s head, where the henchmen were drinking, an awe to clan and queen alike, a monster of marvel: the men looked on.

Beowulf spake, bairn of Ecgtheow:— “Lo, now, this sea-booty, son of Healfdene, Lord of Scyldings, we’ve lustily brought thee, sign of glory; thou seest it here. Not lightly did I with my life escape! In war under water this work I essayed with endless effort; and even so my strength had been lost had the Lord not shielded me. Not a whit could I with Hrunting do in work of war, though the weapon is good; yet a sword the Sovran of Men vouchsafed me to spy on the wall there, in splendor hanging, old, gigantic,—how oft He guides the friendless wight!—and I fought with that brand, felling in fight, since fate was with me, the house’s wardens. That war-sword then all burned, bright blade, when the blood gushed o’er it, battle-sweat hot; but the hilt I brought back from my foes. So avenged I their fiendish deeds, death-fall of Danes, as was due and right. And this is my hest, that in Heorot now safe thou canst sleep with thy soldier band, and every thane of all thy folk both old and young; no evil fear, Scyldings’ lord, from that side again,


text: The Oldest English Epic/Chapter 1/Beowulf 23


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Rh their relative bearings, by an azimuth compass. On returning, we were saluted with the glad tidings that the long-boat, now afloat, leaked very little.

In the evening we re-assembled, when a short address was made to the sailors, explanatory of our projected future proceedings. The dangers, that might reasonably be expected to befall us during the way, were pointed out, and also the means of averting or combating them successfully; the sailors were complimented on their hitherto general good conduct, which it was hoped would continue to merit praise, as influencing materially the favourable issue of our enterprise.

The scene was impressive and picturesque;—the numerous blazing fires, which the sailors had for pastime kindled along the shore, completely illumined the small bay in which the boats, all ready for departure, were now floating, and threw a lurid glare on the hardy, weather-worn countenances of the assembled group, who were ever and anon reminded of their unenviable situation, by a sudden blast of the breeze, or a sullen threatening roar of the ruthless sea.—Place, time, and circumstances, thus conspiring to excite and cherish gloomy ideas, those who looked beyond the present moment could not avoid being somewhat depressed, in spite of every effort to be, as well as to appear, cheerful and unconcerned.

Watches were placed in situations commanding a good look out, with directions how to act, should any strangers make their appearance during the night,—

title: Page:Narrativeavoyag01wilsgoog.djvu/55


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[ 25 ] ervants, are in demene. Forty-eight villagers, and 45 borderers, and 20 cottagers, and 23 hogkeepers, occupy 66 ploughlands. Here are 12 mills of the value of 6 pounds, and 100 acres of meadow. The wood is 6 miles quare. The pature 3 miles long, and a mile and a half broad. This manor, with it's appendages, provides one night's entertainment for the King, with all uual cutoms, and is valued at 110 pounds by tale. Bihop Obern holds the church of this manor, with 2 hides, from the time of the Confeor. One of thee hides is Thaneland, and the other belongs to the church. The whole is worth 55 hillings. A certain land, which King Edward gave to Vlviet his huntman and was part of his demene, belongs to this manor. This is now the King's, and is reckoned at 1 hide. It conits of 2 ploughlands, and 3 ervants. Four villagers and 4 cottagers occupy 1 of them. The pature is half a mile long and a furlong broad. It is worth 3 pounds. There is


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the Jesuit church of St. Aloysius, Oxford, is a holy-water font of vari-coloured marble bearing this simple inscription:

It was erected by two devoted friends (the Baron and Baroness de Paravicini) and stands to-day as one of the very few objective memorials of a fine and glowing spirit—a poet who, when he shall come into his just inheritance of human praise, may well be known as the Crashaw of the Oxford Movement. Very early the imperious obedience of the religious life took him from a purely literary career; early, too, came the great Silencer.

Gerard Manley Hopkins was born at Stratford, near London, 28 July, 1844. It was a year of significance. The Oxford Tracts had done their work; the face of religion was changed; and art and literature were destined to take on the rainbow colouring. That tremendous re-discovery of the Christian past—that vision which included the mystic communion of all Saints, the Real and sacrificial Presence of the Living God, the

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Rh empire of the Holy Ghost over an undivided Church, and all the multitudinous sacramentalisms of a living Catholicity—must needs have stretched the horizon upon every side. Such ideas are fountain-heads of art as well as of faith, in the second harvesting. But meanwhile it was an interval of great spiritual struggle. A few months more and John Henry Newman was to break at last from that hopeless Via Media, lighting the pathway for so many other souls "ex umbris et imaginibus in veritatem." All through Gerard's childhood and during his preliminary education at the Cholmondeley School, Highgate, this august exodus continued; Faber and the Oratorians were followed by Manning, Patmore, Aubrey and Stephen de Vere, Adelaide Procter and Mother Frances Raphael Drane—only the angels of God can number them all. And if, to-day, we bow down in spirit before that mighty crusade of half a century ago, what must have been the moral effect upon a highly-sensitive contemporary spirit? It was an effect which found expression less in words than in the complete fusing and fashioning of the spiritual energies; to those who could receive it, it provided both motive-power and motive for existence.

We own no surprise, then, in discovering that the wood of Gerard Hopkins' cross lay just beyond his door-sill. But in the wise and sweet economy of life, the cross for most of us is pilgrim-staff as well. This poet's pathway was not destined to lead beside the pleasant ways of garden or hearthstone; it was to know conflict from without and from within; but these consolations, more especially in youth, were notable. By nature—that is to say, God—he had been rarely dowered. His intellect was keen and scholarly, his imagination peculiarly quick, subtle

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72 and original; he was gifted musically and artistically, and possessed, in the words of his poet-friend Robert Bridges, "humour, great personal charm, and the most attractive virtues of a tender and sympathetic nature." Above and beyond all this, his was the awakened soul; and something of his absorption in spiritual things may be guessed from the opening stanzas of a little undated Hymn:

It was in October, 1866, his twenty-third year, that he was received by Newman himself into the fold of Catholicity, finding there the one unchanging haven of a life in which—to a degree mercifully unknown by mediocre souls—God willed to decree not peace but a sword.

One reckons among Gerard's lesser privileges his youthful intercourse with that rare and cultured spirit, Walter Pater. It was through this friend's preparation that he entered in 1867 upon his classical first course at Balliol College, Oxford. But to those fair, scholastic precincts the young undergraduate had brought a yet fairer vision—a burden of unrest, indeed, until that vision should be wrought into reality. Just how early the ascetic and sacerdotal ideal had taken possession of the convert's heart one perceives from a poem of great beauty, "The Habit of Perfection," written in the year of his reception. All through its stanzas rings the cry of that great renunciation which was soon to be:—

Elected Silence sing to me And beat upon my whorlèd ear, Pipe me to pastures still and be The music that I care to hear.

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Rh

Shape nothing, lips; be lovely-dumb! It is the shut, the curfew sent From there where all surrenders come, Which only makes you eloquent.

Be shellèd, eyes, with double dark And find the uncreated light; This ruck and reel which you remark Coils, keeps and teases simple sight.

O feel-of-primrose hands, O feet That want the yield of plushy sward, But you shall walk the golden street, And you unhouse and house the Lord.

Those lines prepare us to find the fiery dawn of a religious vocation hastening the expectant soul upon her way. Gerard left Oxford. He spent some six months at the Birmingham Oratory, teaching in the school and enjoying the future Cardinal's advice and friendship. Then, in the spring of 1868—and apparently to the surprise of everyone—he offered his life to the Society of Jesus. Now, as he was an incorrigible individualist, the wisdom of this all-significant step may well have seemed an open question, even to those who knew him best. But Newman, at least, greeted the news approvingly. "Don't call 'the Jesuit discipline hard,'" he wrote: "it will bring you to Heaven." So the great and intricate sacrifice was begun. On the bare objective side, Father Hopkins' career is quickly told. One hears of him as "select preacher" in London, and again back in Oxford, at St. Aloysius' church. The one available portrait of the young priest pictures him during this latter mission: it shows a face of most delicate and chastened beauty, with noble forehead and chin of extraordinary

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