text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Forsyth, William (1812-1899)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Fortescue, Chichester Samuel

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


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208

title: Page:Beowulf (Wyatt).djvu/232


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2 of the aftermath was half accomplished before his death; but from all these powerful contemporary influences he was free. He remained apart; and this single fact, attesting, as it does, extraordinary self-possession and assurance of purpose, suffices to make his character interesting, even were his work of inferior worth. As yet, however, even to the minds of cultivated men, he is hardly more than a great figure. He is known, praised, and remembered for particular scenes, dramatic fragments, occasional lyrics, quatrains. This is the natural fate of a discursive writer. It matters not that Landor was wide ranging; it matters not what spoils of thought, what images of beauty, he brought from those far eastern uplands which it was his boast to haunt: he failed to give unity to his work, to give interest to large portions of it, to command public attention for it as a whole. Indeed, his work as a whole does not command the attention even of the best. What does survive, too, lives only in the favor of a small circle. He forfeited popular fame at the beginning, when he selected themes that presuppose rare qualities in his audience, and adopted an antique style; but such considerations,


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Fortescue, Richard


text:
Page:The American Indian.djvu/449

Rh 26..

27..

28..

29. :

30. (extinct).

31. ( or ):

32. (extinct).

33. (or, , or ).

34..

35..

36..

37. (Warraus).

38..

39. :

40..

41. (extinct?).

42. . (This is Jebero or Xebero of the Mainan stock, q.v., according to Beuchat and Rivet.)

43..

44. or.

45..

46..

47. (See Jivaran).

48..

49..

50., or :

title: Page:The American Indian.djvu/449


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Fortnum, Charles Drury Edward


text:
Page:Studies in Letters and Life (Woodberry, 1890).djvu/13

Rh at least in their naked statement, do not tell the whole story. Other poets have missed immediate applause by dealing with subjects that assumed unusual largeness of soul, range of sympathy, and refinement of taste in their readers: like Shelley, singing of unheeded hopes and fears to which the world was to be wrought; like Wordsworth, narrating the myth of Troy. Other poets, in style, have set forth the object plainly, and left it to work its will on the heart and imagination, unaided by the romantic spell, the awakening glow, the silent but imperative suggestion, the overmastering passion that takes heart and imagination captive; and they have not lost their reward. A remote theme, an impersonal style, are not of themselves able to condemn a poet to long neglect. They may make wide appreciation of him impossible; they may explain the indifference of an imperfectly educated public; but they do not account for the fact that Landor is to be read, even by his admirers, in a book of selections, while the dust is shaken from the eight stout octavos that contain his works only by the professional man of letters.

What first strikes the student of Landor


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Foster, Myles Birket


text:
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4 is the lack of any development in his genius. This is one reason why Mr. Leslie Stephen, seizing on the characteristic somewhat rudely, and leaping to an ungracious conclusion, calls him "a glorified and sublime edition of the sixth-form schoolboy." Men whose genius is of this fixed type are rare in English literature, and not of the highest rank. They exhibit no radical change; they are at the beginning what they are at the end; their works do not belong to any particular period of their lives; they seem free from their age, and to live outside of it. Hence, in dealing with them, historical criticism—the criticism whose purpose is to explain rather than to judge—soon finds itself at fault. When the circumstances that determined the original bent of their minds have been set forth, there is nothing more to be said. With Landor, this bent seems to have been given by his classical training. To write Latin verses was the earliest serious employment of his genius, and his efforts were immediately crowned with success. These studies, falling in with natural inclinations and aptitudes, pledged him to a classical manner; they made real for him the myths and history of Greece and Rome;


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Foster, Vere Henry Lewis


text: Studies in letters and life/Landor

title: Studies in letters and life/Landor


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Fothergill, Jessie


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Fowler, John (1817-1898)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Fowler, Robert Nicholas


text:
Page:Studies in Letters and Life (Woodberry, 1890).djvu/15

Rh they fed his devotion to the ancient virtues,—love of freedom, aspiration for the calm of wisdom, reverence for the dignity of heroism, delight in beauty for its own sake; they supported him in what was more distinctively his own,—his refinement in material tastes, his burning indignation, his defense of tyrannicide. These characteristics he had in youth; they were neither diminished nor increased in age. In youth, too, he displayed all his literary excellences and defects: the fullness and weight of line; the march of sentences; the obscurity arising from over-condensation of thought and abrupt and elliptical constructions; his command of the grand and impressive as well as the beautiful and charming in imagery; his fondness for heroic situation and for the loveliness of minute objects. This was a high endowment; why, then, do its literary results seem inadequate?

With all his gifts, Landor did not possess unifying power. He observed objects as they passed before him at hap-hazard, took them into his mind, and gave them back, untransformed, in their original disorder. He thought disconnectedly, and expressed his thoughts as they came, detached and


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Fox, William (1812-1893)


text:
Page:Studies in Letters and Life (Woodberry, 1890).djvu/16

6. This lack of unity did not result simply from his choice of the classical mode of treatment, or from a defect in logical or constructive power, although it was connected with these. The ability to fuse experience, to combine its elements and make them one, to give it back to the world, transformed, and yet essentially true, the real creative faculty, is proportioned very strictly to the self-assertive power of genius, to the energy of the reaction of the mind on nature and life; it springs from a strong personality. To say that Landor's personality was weak would be to stultify one's self; but yet the difference between Landor the man and Landor the author is so great as to make the two almost antithetical; and in his imaginative work, by which he must be judged, it is not too much to say that he denied and forswore his personality, and obliterated himself so far as was possible. He not only eliminated self from his style, and, after the classical manner, defined by Arnold, "relied solely on the weight and force of that which, with entire fidelity, he uttered," but he also eliminated self, so far as one can, from his subject. He did not bind his work together by the laws of his own mind; he did not


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


text:
Page:The roamer and other poems (1920).djvu/18

8 He stood apart, nor knew I all he was,

Until my years were equal with love's hour

And life dissolved the mortal barrier

That from the spirit parteth every man.

Yet not with gentleness that most endears

We grew together; never morn nor eve

He gave himself all trembling to my arms,

Nor any precious seal set on my lips,

Nor used our way; he saw another world;

More than the wrath of God I feared his eyes.

Yet mildly reigned his beauty in my breast,

And more made fine my senses to discern

His heavenly portion in my frame of earth;

Until, as one who in some friend's true heart

Trembles to find the image of himself

Made pure and perfect in those thoughts of love,

Awe came upon me seeing in his face

The lineaments of my own all sweetly changed

To that ideal I hope to wear in heaven.

So with his passion blending more and more,

As the dark earth when sinks the starry West,

Mortal I moved to meet eternal light;

And, moving, dreamed how that young soul should be

The flaming of a torch across the years,

And through the world the rising of a star.


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Franks, Augustus Wollaston


text:
Page:The roamer and other poems (1920).djvu/156

146 II

is not cold, as mortal maidens are;

She is as vital as the universe,

Like those great powers antiquity did nurse

Upon the breast of being, names that star

The dusky dawn of passion, when the war

Of the created rose above the curse,

And throned for aye the better o'er the worse,—

Astarte's, Aphrodite's avatar,—

The procreant beauty of love marvellous,

Sister of Ceres and of Semele,

The mighty mothers; I have seen her thus,

Drawing Sicilian children to her knee,

While cypress and rose-laurel ominous

Burned in the noon beside the barren sea.


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Fraser, Alexander (1827-1899)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Fraser, Donald


text:
Page:The roamer and other poems (1920).djvu/201

Rh III

, the feet of the Destroyer tread

The wine-press of the nations; fast the blood

Pours from the side of Europe; in full flood

On the septentrional watershed

The rivers of fair France are running red!

England, the mother-eyrie of our brood,

That on the summit of dominion stood,

Shakes in the blast: heaven battles overhead!

Lift up thy head, O Rheims, of ages heir

That treasured up in thee their glorious sum;

Upon whose brow, prophetically fair,

Flamed the great morrow of the world to come;

Haunt with thy beauty this volcanic air

Ere yet thou close, O Flower of Christendom!


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Fraser, James (1713-1754)


text: The roamer and other poems/Ideal Passion


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Fraser, William (1816-1898)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Fraser, William Augustus


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Freeman, Edward Augustus


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Froude, James Anthony


text:
Page:The roamer and other poems (1920).djvu/202

192 IV

when the shadow of the sun's eclipse

Sweeps on the earth, and spreads a spectral air,

As if the universe were dying there,

On continent and isle the darkness dips,

Unwonted gloom, and on the Atlantic slips;

So in the night the Belgian cities flare

Horizon-wide; the wandering people fare

Along the roads, and load the fleeing ships.

And westward borne that planetary sweep,

Darkening o'er England and her times to be,

Already steps upon the ocean-deep!

Watch well, my country, that unearthly sea,

Lest when thou thinkest not, and in thy sleep,

for war, that gloom enshadow thee!


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Fyffe, Charles Alan


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Gallenga, Antonio Carlo, Napoleone


text: Page:Love, A.E.H. - A treatise on the mathematical theory of elasticity (1920).djvu/13


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Mosque

title: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Mosque


text:
Page:Sacred Books of the East - Volume 1.djvu/210

96 vanishes what we call the lightning, as a mere variety, being a name, arising from speech. What is true are the three colours.

5. 'Great householders and great theologians of olden times who knew this, have declared the same, saying, "No one can henceforth mention to us anything which we have not heard, perceived, or known ." Out of these (three colours or forms) they knew all.

6. 'Whatever they thought looked red, they knew was the colour of fire. Whatever they thought looked white, they knew was the colour of water. Whatever they thought looked black, they knew was the colour of earth.

7. 'Whatever they thought was altogether unknown, they knew was some combination of those three beings (devatâ).

'Now learn from me, my friend, how those three beings, when they reach man, become each of them tripartite.'

1. 'The earth (food) when eaten becomes threefold; its grossest portion becomes feces, its middle portion flesh, its subtilest portion mind.

2. 'Water when drunk becomes threefold; its grossest portion becomes water, its middle portion blood, its subtilest portion breath.

3. 'Fire (i.e. in oil, butter, &c.) when eaten becomes threefold; its grossest portion becomes bone, its middle portion marrow, its subtilest portion speech.


text:
Page:Sacred Books of the East - Volume 1.djvu/211

Rh 4. 'For truly, my child, mind comes of earth, breath of water, speech of fire.'

'Please, Sir, inform me still more,' said the son.

'Be it so, my child,' the father replied.

1. 'That which is the subtile portion of curds, when churned, rises upwards, and becomes butter.

2. 'In the same manner, my child, the subtile portion of earth (food), when eaten, rises upwards, and becomes mind.

3. 'That which is the subtile portion of water, when drunk, rises upwards, and becomes breath.

4. 'That which is the subtile portion of fire, when consumed, rises upwards, and becomes speech.

5. 'For mind, my child, comes of earth, breath of water, speech of fire.'

'Please, Sir, inform me still more,' said the son.

'Be it so, my child,' the father replied.

1. 'Man (purusha), my son, consists of sixteen parts. Abstain from food for fifteen days, but drink as much water as you like, for breath comes from water, and will not be cut off, if you drink water.'

2. Svetaketu abstained from food for fifteen days. Then he came to his father and said: 'What shall I say?' The father said: 'Repeat the Rik, Yagus, and Sâman verses.' He replied: 'They do not occur to me, Sir.'

3. The father said to him: 'As of a great lighted fire one coal only of the size of a firefly may be left, which would not burn much more than this (i.e. very


text:
Page:Sacred Books of the East - Volume 1.djvu/212

98 little), thus, my dear son, one part only of the sixteen parts (of you) is left, and therefore with that one part you do not remember the Vedas. Go and eat!

4. 'Then wilt thou understand me.' Then Svetaketu ate, and afterwards approached his father. And whatever his father asked him, he knew it all by heart. Then his father said to him:

5. 'As of a great lighted fire one coal of the size of a firefly, if left, may be made to blaze up again by putting grass upon it, and will thus burn more than this,

6. 'Thus, my dear son, there was one part of the sixteen parts left to you, and that, lighted up with food, burnt up, and by it you remember now the Vedas.' After that, he understood what his father meant when he said: 'Mind, my son, comes from food, breath from water, speech from fire.' He understood what he said, t.

1. Uddâlaka Âruni said to his son Svetaketu: 'Learn from me the true nature of sleep (svapna). When a man sleeps here, then, my dear son, he becomes united with the True, he is gone to his


text:
Page:Sacred Books of the East - Volume 1.djvu/213

Rh own (Self). Therefore they say,  he sleeps, because he is gone (apîta) to his own (sva).

2. 'As a bird when tied by a string flies first in every direction, and finding no rest anywhere, settles down at last on the very place where it is fastened, exactly in the same manner, my son, that mind (the gîva, or living Self in the mind, see VI, 3, 2), after flying in every direction, and finding no rest anywhere, settles down on breath ; for indeed, my son, mind is fastened to breath.

3. 'Learn from me, my son, what are hunger and thirst. When a man is thus said to be hungry, water is carrying away (digests) what has been eaten by him. Therefore as they speak of a cow-leader (go-nâya), a horse-leader (asva-nâya), a man-leader (purusha-nâya), so they call water (which digests food and causes hunger) food-leader (asa-nâya). Thus (by food digested &c), my son, know this offshoot (the body) to be brought forth, for this (body) could not be without a root (cause).

4. And where could its root be except in food (earth) ? And in the same manner, my son, as


text:
Encyclopædia Britannica, Ninth Edition/Mosque

MOSQUE (Jámi‛ or more fully Masjid Jámi‛, the place of congregational prayer). Owing to the almost complete absence of ritual in the Moslem worship, the mosque, at least in its earlier forms, is one of the simplest of all religious buildings,—its normal arrangement being an open court (Ṣaḥn) surrounded by a covered cloister (Líwán), in the centre of which is a cistern for the ablutions requisite before prayer (Míḍa’a); the side of the mosque which is towards Mecca is occupied by a roofed building (Maḳṣúra), or place reserved for prayer, sometimes screened off from the court, but frequently quite open towards it. In the centre of this sanctuary is a niche (Miḥráb or Ḳibla) showing the direction of Mecca; and by the side of the niche is a lofty pulpit (Mimbar). In front of the pulpit is a raised platform (Dakka) from which certain exhortations are chanted, and near it one or more seats and lecterns combined from which chapters of the Koran are read to the people.

Minarets (Ma’ádhin, sing. Ma’dhana) were not built during the first half-century after the Flight, but now as a rule no mosque is without at least one. From the upper gallery of this the Moedhdhin announces to the faithful the times for prayer,—five times during the day, and twice at night. Blind men are generally selected for this office, so that they may not overlook the neighbouring houses.

Most mosques have endowed property, which is administered by a warden (Náẓir), who also appoints the imáms and other officials. The larger mosques have two imáms: one is called (in Arabia and Egypt) the Khatíb, and he preaches the sermon on Fridays (the Moslem Sabbath); the other, the Rátib, reads the Koran, and recites the five daily prayers, standing close to the Miḥráb, and leading the congregation, who repeat the prayers with him, and closely follow his postures. The imáms do not form a priestly sect; they generally have other occupations, such as teaching in a school or keeping a shop, and may at any time be dismissed by the warden, in which case they lose the title of imám. Doorkeepers and attendants, to sweep the floor, trim the lamps, and perform other menial offices, are attached to each mosque, in numbers varying according to its size and endowment. Moslem women, as a rule, are expected to say their prayers at home, but in some few mosques they are admitted to one part specially screened off for them. This is the case in the mosque of Sitta Zainab in Cairo. In the Aḳsá mosque at Jerusalem there is a latticed balcony for the women, who can see without being visible to the male worshippers below.

The greatest possible splendour both of material and workmanship is often lavished on the building and its

fittings. The whole outside is frequently decorated with the most elaborate surface-carving in stone or marble,—the pavement of the richest marbles, inlaid in intricate patterns, the walls panelled in a similar way, or decorated with the most minute mosaics of glass, mother-of-pearl, agates and other costly stones. The central niche and the pulpit are of special magnificence; and, if the latter is of wood, it is often covered with delicate ivory carvings, and inlay of pearl and ebony. Very beautiful surface-ornament, executed in hard stucco, and enriched with gold and colours, is used to decorate arches, wall surfaces, and the pendentives of domes, which latter generally have the so-called “stalactite” form of ornament—one of great beauty and complexity. The woodwork of doors, screens, and ceilings is frequently very gorgeous with carving, inlay, and elaborate painting; the whole of the doors outside are often covered with very delicate pierced and embossed work in bronze, or more rarely iron. The magnificent tiles from Persia, Damascus, and Khodes, enamelled in brilliant blue, green, and red, on a white ground, are often used to cover the walls. Traceried windows in pierced marble or stucco work often occur; these are filled with brilliant coloured glass, always in very small pieces, forming a transparent mosaic of jewel-like richness. Lamps of enamelled glass, or of bronze inlaid with silver, were once common, but are now rapidly disappearing.

Some mosques, especially the Karúbin mosque at Fez in Morocco, possess a collection of magnificent illuminated MSS., chiefly copies of the Koran and other religious books; in the large collection at Fez, MSS. of Aristotle's Natural History, with the works of Averroes and other commentators, exist in considerable number; some few of the MSS. are as early as the 10th century.

Plans of Mosques.—Considerable diversities exist in the plan and arrangement of mosques in various countries, either because the Moslem conquerors adopted to some extent the existing buildings and architecture of the conquered people, or on account of the new mosque being built on a site already cramped by surrounding buildings. The first of these causes influenced to some extent the mosques of India, and to a much greater extent those of European Turkey. The second cause, the cramped site, especially in Cairo, created a special type of plan. Nevertheless, when free from such disturbing influences, there is one normal plan adopted, at least in early times, by the Moslems in all countries—from India to Cordova, and from northern Syria to Egypt. This normal plan is a very simple one, and is the natural product of a country like Arabia, unskilled in architecture, where land was worth but little, and timber very scarce. (See fig. 1.)

(J. H. M.)


text:
Page:Sacred Books of the East - Volume 1.djvu/214

100

food (earth) too is an offshoot, seek after its root, viz. water. And as water too is an offshoot, seek after its root, viz. fire. And as fire too is an offshoot, seek after its root, viz. the True. Yes, all these creatures, my son, have their root in the True, they dwell in the True, they rest in the True.

5. 'When a man is thus said to be thirsty, fire carries away what has been drunk by him. Therefore as they speak of a cow-leader (go-nâya), of a horse-leader (asva-nâya), of a man-leader (purusha-nâya), so they call fire udanyâ, thirst, i.e. water-leader. Thus (by water digested &c), my son, know this offshoot (the body) to be brought forth: this (body) could not be without a root (cause).

6. 'And where could its root be except in water? As water is an offshoot, seek after its root, viz. fire. As fire is an offshoot, seek after its root, viz. the True. Yes, all these creatures, O son, have their root in the True, they dwell in the True, they rest in the True.

'And how these three beings (devatâ), fire, water, earth, O son, when they reach man, become each of them tripartite, has been said before (VI, 4, 7). When a man departs from hence, his speech is merged


text:
Page:Sacred Books of the East - Volume 1.djvu/42

xxxii de l'Inde' (vol. ii, p. 24) has evidently felt this, and has kept the word âtman untranslated, 'Au commencement cet univers n'etait que l'âtman.' But while in French it would seem impossible to find any equivalent for âtman, I have ventured to translate in English, as I should have done in German, 'Verily, in the beginning all this was Self, one only.'

Thus again when we read in Sanskrit, 'Know the Self by the self,' âtmânam âtmanâ pasya, tempting as it may seem, it would be entirely wrong to render it by the Greek γνῶθι σεντόν. The Brahman called upon his young pupil to know not himself, but his Self, that is, to know his individual self as a merely temporary reflex of the Eternal Self. Were we to translate this so-called âtmavidyâ, this self-knowledge, by knowledge of the soul, we should not be altogether wrong, but we should nevertheless lose all that distinguishes Indian from Greek thought. It may not be good English to say to know his self, still less to know our selfs, but it would be bad Sanskrit to say to know himself, to know ourselves; or, at all events, such a rendering would deprive us of the greatest advantage in the study of Indian philosophy, the opportunity of seeing in how many different ways man has tried to solve the riddles of the world and of his soul.

I have thought it best therefore to keep as close as possible to the Sanskrit original, and where I could not find an adequate term in English, I have often retained the Sanskrit word rather than use a misleading substitute in English. It is impossible, for instance, to find an English equivalent for so simple a word as Sat, τὸ ὄν, We cannot render the Greek τὸ


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Cecilia


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Cedd


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Celesia, Dorothea


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Celeste, Madame


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Cellach


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Cellier, Elizabeth


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Celsus


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Centlivre, Susannah


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Centwine


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Cenwalh


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Cenwulf


text:
Page:Sacred Books of the East - Volume 1.djvu/43

Rh ὄν and τὸ μὴ ὄν by Being or Not-being, for both are abstract nouns; nor by 'the Being,' for this would almost always convey a wrong impression. In German it is easy to distinguish between das Sein, i.e. being, in the abstract, and das Seiende, τὸ ὄν. In the same way the Sanskrit sat can easily be rendered in Greek by τὸ ὄν, in German by das Seiende, but in English, unless we say 'that which is,' we are driven to retain the original Sat.

From this Sat was derived in Sanskrit Sat-ya, meaning originally 'endowed with being,' then 'true.' This is an adjective; but the same word, as a neuter, is also used in the sense of truth, as an abstract; and in translating it is very necessary always to distinguish between Satyam, the true, frequently the same as Sat, τὸ ὄν, and Satyam, truth, veracity. One example will suffice to show how much the clearness of a translation depends on the right rendering of such words as âtman, sat, and satyam.

In a dialogue between Uddâlaka and his son Svetaketu, in which the father tries to open his son's mind, and to make him see man's, true relation to the Highest Self (Khândogya-upanishad VI), the father first explains how the Sat produced what we should call the three elements, viz. fire, water, and earth, which he calls heat, water, and food. Having produced them (VI, 2, 4), the Sat entered into them, but not with its real nature, but only with its 'living self' (VI, 3, 3), which is a reflection (âbhâsamâtram) of the real Sat, as the sun in the water is a reflection


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Ceolfrid


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Cervetto, Giacobbe


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Cervetto, James


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Cestreton, Adam de


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


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Chaceporc, Peter


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Chaderton, Laurence


text:
Page:Sacred Books of the East - Volume 1.djvu/44

xxxiv of the real sun. By this apparent union of the Sat with the three elements, every form (rûpa) and every name (nâman) in the world was produced; and therefore he who knows the three elements is supposed to know everything in this world, nearly in the same manner in which the Greeks imagined that through a knowledge of the elements, everything else became known (VI, 4, 7). The same three elements are shown to be also the constituent elements of man (VI, 5). Food or the earthy element is supposed to produce not only flesh, but also mind; water, not only blood, but also breath; heat, not only bone, but also speech. This is more or less fanciful; the important point, however, is this, that, from the Brahmanic point of view, breath, speech, and mind are purely elemental, or external instruments, and require the support of the living self, the gîvâtman, before they can act.

Having explained how the Sat produces progressively heat, how heat leads to water, water to earth, and how, by a peculiar mixture of the three, speech, breath, and mind are produced, the teacher afterwards shows how in death, speech returns to mind, mind to breath, breath to heat, and heat to the Sat (VI, 8, 6). This Sat, the root of everything, is called parâ devatâ, the highest deity, not in the ordinary sense of the word deity, but as expressing the highest abstraction of the human mind. We must therefore translate it by the Highest Being, in the same manner as we translate devatâ, when applied to heat, water, and earth, not by deity, but by substance or element.

The same Sat, as the root or highest essence of all material existence, is called animan, from


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


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Chadwick, James


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


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Chalk, James Jell


text: User talk:80.133.250.109

title: User talk:80.133.250.109


text: User talk:196.201.227.98

title: User talk:196.201.227.98


text:
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title: User talk:Valhallasw


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Author:Sarah Phelps Stokes Halkett

Poetry

 * Aunt Sadie's Rhymes (1916)
 * Beyond the Mountain (1917)
 * Elf king's flowers (1924)
 * "Violets" (date unknown) ("Through beds of fern and sorel")

title: Author:Sarah Phelps Stokes Halkett


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Author talk:Sarah Phelps Stokes Halkett

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title: Author talk:Sarah Phelps Stokes Halkett


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 gather wood for a fire. Break dead branches from the standing trees—never mind picking up wood from the ground, it will be too damp."

Together we collected a considerable heap and, crumpling a bit of paper in its midst, he kindled it.

"Now, then," he went on, "I'm heading for town. You two will stay here and keep each other company."

He took our lanterns, blew them out and ran his left arm through the loops of their handles.

"I'm sure that nothing will attack yon in the light of the fire. You're bound to attract whatever skulks hereabouts, however. When I come back, we ought to be prepared to go into the final act of our little melodrama."

He touched my hand, bowed to Susan, and went tramping away into the timber. The thick leafage blotted his lantern-light from our view before his back had been turned twenty seconds.

Susan and I gazed at each other, and smiled rather uneasily.

"It's warm," she breathed, and took off her cloak. Dropping it upon one of the humped roots of the great central tree, she sat down on it with her back to the trunk. "What kind of a tree is this?"

I gazed up at the gnarled stem, or as much of it as I could see in the firelight. Finally I shook my head.

"I don't know—I'm no expert," I admitted. "At least it's very big, and undoubtedly very old—the sort of tree that used to mark a place of sacrifice."

At the word "sacrifice," Susan lifted her shoulders as if in distaste. "You're right, Talbot. It would be something grim and Druid-like." She began to recite, half to herself:

"Macaulay," I said at once. Then, to get her mind off of morbid things, "I had to recite The Lays of Ancient Rome in school, when I was a boy. 'I wish you hadn't mentioned it."

"You mean, because it's an evil omen?" She shook her head, and contrived a smile that lighted up her pale face. "It's not that, if you analyze it. "Shall himself be slain'—it sounds as if the enemy's fate is sealed."

I nodded, then spun around sharply, for I fancied I heard a dull crashing at the edge of the clearing. Then I went here and there, gathering wood enough to keep our fire burning for some time. One branch, a thick, straight one, I chose from the heap and leaned against the big tree, within easy reach of my hand.

"That's for a club," I told Susan, and she half shrunk, half stiffened at the implication.

We fell to talking about Judge Pursuivant, the charm and the enigma that invested him. Both of us felt gratitude that he had immediately clarified our own innocence in the grisly slayings, but to both came a sudden inspiration, distasteful and disquieting. I spoke first:

"Susan! Why did the judge bring us here?"

"He said, to help face and defeat the monster. But—but——"

"Who is that monster?" I demanded. "What human being puts on a semi-bestial appearance, to rend and kill?"

"Y—you don't mean the judge?"

As I say, it had been in both our minds. We were silent, and felt shame and embarrassment.

"Look here," I went on earnestly after a moment; "perhaps we're being ungrateful, but we mustn't be unprepared. Think, Susan; nobody knows where Judge Pursuivant was at the time of your father's death, at the time I saw the thing in these woods." I broke off,


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 how I had met the judge for the first time, so shortly after my desperate struggle with the point-eared demon. "Nobody knows where he was when the constable's brother was attacked and mortally wounded."

She gazed about fearfully. "Nobody," she added breathlessly, "knows where he is now."

I was remembering a conversation with him; he had spoken of books, mentioning a rare, a supposedly non-existent volume. What was it? the Wicked Bible. And what was it I had once heard about that work?

It came back to me now, out of the sub-conscious brain-chamber where, apparently, one stores everything he hears or reads in idleness, and from which such items creep on occasion. It had been in Lewis Spence's Encyclopedia of Occultism, now on the shelf in my New York apartment.

The Wicked Bible, scripture for witches and wizards, from which magic-mongers of the Dark Ages drew their inspiration and their knowledge! And Judge Pursuivant had admitted to having one!

What had he learned from it? How had he been so glib about the science—yes, and the psychology—of being a werewolf?

"If what we suspect is true," I said to Susan, "we are here at his mercy. Nobody is going to come in here, not if horses dragged them. At his leisure he will fall upon us and tear us to pieces."

But, even as I spoke, I despised myself for my weak fears in her presence. I picked up my club and was comforted by its weight and thickness.

"I met that devil once," I said, studying cheer and confidence into my voice this time. "I don't think it relished the meeting any too much. Next time won't be any more profitable for it."

She smiled at me, as if in comradely encouragement; then we both started and fell silent. There had risen, somewhere among the thickets, a long low whining.

out a foot, stealthily, as though fearful of being caught in motion. A quick kick flung more wood on the fire. I blinked in the light and felt the heat. Standing there, as a primitive man might have stood in his flame-guarded camp to face the horrors of the ancient world, I tried to judge by ear the direction of that whine.

It died, and I heard, perhaps in my imagination, a stealthy padding. Then the whining began again, from a new quarter and nearer.

I made myself step toward it. My shadow, leaping grotesquely among the tree trunks, almost frightened me out of my wits. The whine had changed into a crooning wail, such as that with which dogs salute the full moon. It seemed to plead, to promise; and it was coming closer to the clearing.

Once before I had challenged and taunted the thing with scornful words. Now I could not make my lips form a single syllable. Probably it was just as well, for I thought and watched the more. Something black and cautious was moving among the branches, just beyond the shrubbery that screened it from our firelight. I knew, without need of a dear view, what that black something was. I lifted my club to the ready.

The sound it made had become in some fashion articulate, though not human in any quality. There were no words to it, but it spoke to the heart. The note of plea and promise had become one of command—and not directed to me.

I found my own voice.

"Get out of here, you devil!" I roared at it, and threw my club. Even as I let go of it, I wished I had not. The bushes foiled my aim, and the missile crashed


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 The dog rose with a long, weary, mangy sigh, but with a lazy sort of calculation, before his rope (which was short) grew taut―which was good judgment on his part, for his neck was sore; and his feet being tender, he felt his way carefully and painfully over the metal, as if he feared that at any step he might spring some treacherous, air-trigger trap-door which would drop and hang him.

'Nit, you chaps,' said Bill, 'and wait for me.' The push rubbed its head with its hat, said 'Good-night, Mrs. Ashpennel,' and was absent, spook-like.

When the funeral reached the street, the lonely 'trap' was, somehow, two blocks away in the opposite direction, moving very slow, and very upright, and very straight, like an automaton.


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lived in Jones's Alley. She cleaned offices, washed, and nursed from daylight until any time after dark, and filled in her spare time cleaning her own place (which she always found dirty―in a 'beastly filthy state,'' she called it―on account of the children being left in possession all day) cooking, and nursing her own sick―for her family, though small, was so in the two senses of the word, and sickly; one or another of the children was always sick, but not through her fault. She did her own, or rather the family washing, at home too, when she couldn't do it by kind permission, or surreptitiously in connection with that of her employers. She was a haggard woman. Her second husband was supposed to be dead, and she lived in dread of his daily resurrection. Her eldest son was at large, but, not being yet sufficiently hardened in misery, she dreaded his getting into trouble even more than his frequent and interested appearances at home. She could buy off the son for a shilling or two and a clean shirt and collar, but she couldn't purchase the absence of the father at any price―he claimed what he called his 'conzugal rights' as well as his board, lodging, 273


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Rh in the form of chronicle, memoir, private correspondence, legal codes, or official documents. Among these are various contemporary manuscripts, covering the whole ground of the narrative, none of which have been printed, and some of them but little known to Spanish scholars. In obtaining copies of these from the public libraries, I must add, that I have found facilities under the present liberal government, which were denied me under the preceding. In addition to these sources of information, I have availed myself, in the part of the work occupied with literary criticism and history, of the library of my friend, Mr. George Ticknor, who during a visit to Spain, some years since, collected whatever was rare and valuable in the literature of the Peninsula. I must further acknowledge my obligations to the library of Harvard University, in Cambridge, from whose rich repository of books relating to our own country I have derived material aid. And, lastly, I must not omit to notice the favors of another kind for which I am indebted to my friend, Mr. William H. Gardiner, whose judicious counsels have been of essential benefit to me in the revision of my labors.

In the plan of the work, I have not limited myself to a strict chronological narrative of passing events, but have occasionally paused, at the


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 washing and beer. She slaved for her children, and nag-nag-nagged them everlastingly, whether they were in the right or in the wrong, but they were hardened to it and took small notice. She had the spirit of a bullock. Her whole nature was soured. She had those 'worse troubles' which she couldn't tell to anybody, but had to suffer in silence.

She also, in what she called her 'spare time,' put new cuffs and collar-bands on gentlemen's shirts. The gentlemen didn't live in Jones's Alley―they boarded with a patroness of the haggard woman; they didn't know their shirts were done there―had they known it, and known Jones's Alley, one or two of them, who were medical students, might probably have objected. The landlady charged them just twice as much for repairing their shirts as she paid the haggard woman, who, therefore, being unable to buy the cuffs and collar-bands ready-made for sewing on, had no lack of employment with which to fill in her spare time.

Therefore, she was a 'respectable woman,' and was known in Jones's Alley as 'Misses' Aspinall, and called so generally, and even by Mother Brock, who kept 'that place' opposite. There is implied a world of difference between the 'Mother' and the 'Misses,' as applied to matrons in Jones's Alley; and this distinction was about the only thing―always excepting the everlasting 'children'―that the haggard woman had left to care about, to take a selfish, narrow-minded sort of pleasure in―if, indeed, she could yet take pleasure, grim or otherwise, in anything except, perhaps, a good cup of tea and time to drink it in.


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 Times were hard with Mrs. Aspinall. Two coppers and two half-pence in her purse were threepence to her now, and the absence of one of the half-pence made a difference to her, especially in Paddy's market―that eloquent advertisement of a young city's sin and poverty and rotten wealth―on Saturday night. She counted the coppers as anxiously and nervously as a thirsty dead-beat does. And her house was 'falling down on her' and her troubles, and she couldn't get the landlord to do a 'han'stern' to it.

At last, after persistent agitation on her part (but not before a portion of the plastered ceiling had fallen and severely injured one of her children) the landlord caused two men to be sent to 'effect necessary repairs' to the three square, dingy, plastered holes―called 'three rooms and a kitchen'―for the privilege of living in which, and calling it 'my place,' she paid ten shillings a week.

Previously the agent, as soon as he had received the rent and signed the receipt, would cut short her reiterated complaints―which he privately called her 'clack'―by saying that he'd see to it, he'd speak to the landlord; and, later on, that he had spoken to him, or could do nothing more in the matter―that it wasn't his business. Neither it was, to do the agent justice. It was his business to collect the rent, and thereby earn the means of paying his own. He had to keep a family on his own account, by assisting the Fat Man to keep his at the expense of people―especially widows with large families, or women, in the case of Jones's Alley―who couldn't afford it without being half-starved, or running greater and


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 risks which 'society' is not supposed to know anything about.

So the agent was right, according to his lights. The landlord had recently turned out a family who had occupied one of his houses for fifteen years, because they were six weeks in arrears. He let them take their furniture, and explained: 'I wouldn't have been so lenient with them only they were such old tenants of mine.' So the landlord was always in the right according to his lights.

But the agent naturally wished to earn his living as peacefully and as comfortably as possible, so, when the accident occurred, he put the matter so persistently and strongly before the landlord that he said at last: 'Well, tell her to go to White, the contractor, and he'll send a man to do what's to be done; and don't bother me any more.'

White had a look at the place, and sent a plasterer, a carpenter, and a plumber. The plasterer knocked a bigger hole in the ceiling and filled it with mud; the carpenter nailed a board over the hole in the floor; the plumber stopped the leak in the kitchen, and made three new ones in worse places; and their boss sent the bill to Mrs. Aspinall.

She went to the contractor's yard, and explained that the landlord was responsible for the debt, not she. The contractor explained that he had seen the landlord, who referred him to her. She called at the landlord's private house, and was referred through a servant to the agent. The agent was sympathetic, but could do nothing in the matter―it wasn't his business; he also asked her to put herself in his


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 place, which she couldn't, not being any more reasonable than such women are in such cases. She let things drift, being powerless to prevent them from doing so; and the contractor sent another bill, then a debt collector and then another bill, then the collector again, and threatened to take proceedings, and finally took them. To make matters worse, she was two weeks in arrears with the rent, and the wood-and-coalman's man (she had dealt with them for ten years) was pushing her, as also were her grocers, with whom she had dealt for fifteen years and never owed a penny before.

She waylaid the landlord, and he told her shortly that he couldn't build houses and give them away, and keep them in repair afterwards.

She sought for sympathy and found it, but mostly in the wrong places. It was comforting, but unprofitable. Mrs. Next-door sympathised warmly, and offered to go up as a witness―she had another landlord. The agent sympathised wearily, but not in the presence of witnesses―he wanted her to put herself in his place. Mother Brock, indeed, offered practical assistance, which offer was received in breathlessly indignant silence. It was Mother Brock who first came to the assistance of Mrs. Aspinall's child when the plaster accident took place (the mother being absent at the time), and when Mrs. Aspinall heard of it, her indignation cured her of her fright, and she declared to Mrs. Next-door that she would give 'that woman'―meaning Mother Brock―'in char-rge the instant she ever dared to put her foot inside her (Mrs. A.'s) respectable door-step again. She was a respectable, honest, hard-working woman, and,' &c., &c.

S


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viii, perhaps, of some interest in the story, to seek such collateral information, as might bring these events into a clearer view. I have devoted a liberal portion of the work to the literary progress of the nation, conceiving this quite as essential a part of its history as civil and military details. I have occasionally introduced, at the close of the chapters, a critical notice of the authorities used, that the reader may form some estimate of their comparative value and credibility. Finally, I have endeavoured to present him with such an account of the state of affairs, both before the accession, and at the demise of the Catholic sovereigns, as might afford him the best points of view for surveying the entire results of their reign.

How far I have succeeded in the execution of this plan, must be left to the reader's candid judgment. Many errors he may be able to detect. Sure I am, there can be no one more sensible of my deficiencies, than myself; although it was not till after practical experience, that I could fully estimate the difficulty of obtaining any thing like a faithful portraiture of a distant age, amidst the shifting hues and perplexing cross lights of historic testimony. From one class of errors my subject necessarily exempts me; those founded on national or party


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 Whereat Mother Brock laughed good-naturedly. She was a broad-minded bad woman, and was right according to her lights. Poor Mrs. A. was a respectable, haggard woman, and was right according to her lights, and to Mrs. Next-door's, perfectly so―they being friends―and vice versa. None of them knew, or would have taken into consideration, the fact that the landlord had lost all his money in a burst financial institution, and half his houses in the general depression, and depended for food for his family on the somewhat doubtful rents of the remainder. So they were all right according to their different lights.

Mrs. Aspinall even sought sympathy of 'John,' the Chinaman (with whom she had dealt for four months only), and got it. He also, in all simplicity, took a hint that wasn't intended. He said: 'Al li'. Pay bimeby. Nexy time Flyday. Me tlust." Then he departed with his immortalized smile. It would almost appear that he was wrong―according to our idea of Chinese lights.

Mrs. Aspinall went to the court―it was a small local court. Mrs. Next-door was awfully sorry, but she couldn't possibly get out that morning. The contractor had the landlord up as a witness. The landlord and the P.M. nodded pleasantly to each other, and wished each other good-morning.…Verdict for plaintiff with costs.…'Next case!'.…'You mustn't take up the time of the court, my good woman.'…'Now, constable!'.…'Arder in the court!'.…'Now, my good woman,' said the policeman in an undertone, 'you must go out; there's another case on―come now.'


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150 Mexico was ruled by the head family group in the City of Mexico, which Bandelier has shown rose from the determined head of a warlike people that the preceding government had failed to conquer. When once upon its feet, this ruling family conquered, one by one, the surrounding cities and forced them to pay tribute. The system was thus plainly a matter of military rule, arbitrary and absolute. Apparently, this power had not yet seized the entire social machinery of production as in Peru, but was in a fair way to do so when the Spaniards came.

The same form of growth by conquest of city after city is apparent in the Inca scheme, while in Colombia it was still in its incipient stage. These main characteristics will best enable us to comprehend this remarkable development.

It is probable that underlying governments so built up, there must necessarily have been originally a considerable diversity of language and social custom. As to the attitude of the several governments toward these subjected groups, we are left in doubt, but both in Mexico and in Peru the conquered were required to participate in the official religious practices, or perhaps we should say that because each military and other governmental act was accompanied by ritualistic observances, the conquered could not conform to one without the other. The Inca seem to have developed the method of dispersing refractory social groups over the empire as a means of decreasing resistance.

Outside of the Andean region, the family group appears to be the prevailing independent unit, but, as elsewhere, the tendency is for two or more of these to live together under some kind of a federation. So far as we know, no strong subjecting tendencies were developed by any of these federations. The Araucanians seem to have formed a very efficient organization for the common defense, since neither the Inca nor the Spaniard succeeded in subjecting them; yet they seem not to have developed the missionary idea of extending their culture by conquest.

In North America we find upon the frontier of the Mexican state a large number of pueblos, each village or group of

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 And he steered her―but not unkindly―through the door.

'My good woman' stood in the crowd outside, and looked wildly round for a sympathetic face that advertised sympathetic ears. But others had their own troubles, and avoided her. She wanted someone to relieve her bursting heart to; she couldn't wait till she got home.

Even 'John's' attentive ear and mildly idiotic expression would have been welcome, but he was gone. He had been in court that morning, and had won a small debt case, and had departed cheerfully, under the impression that he lost it.

'Y'aw Mrs. Aspinall, ain't you?'

She started, and looked round. He was one of those sharp, blue or grey-eyed, sandy or freckled complexioned boys-of-the-world whom we meet everywhere and at all times, who are always going on towards twenty, yet never seem to get clear out of their teens, who know more than most of us have forgotten, who understand human nature instinctively―perhaps unconsciously―and are instinctively sympathetic and diplomatic; whose satire is quick, keen, and dangerous, and whose tact is often superior to that of many educated men-of-the-world. Trained from childhood in the great school of poverty, they are full of the pathos and humour of it.

'Don't you remember me?'

'No; can't say I do. I fancy I've seen your face before somewhere.'

'I was at your place when little Arvie died. I used to work with him at Grinder Brothers', you know.'


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Rh feeling. I may have been more open to another fault; that of too strong a bias in favor of my principal actors; for characters, noble and interesting in themselves, naturally beget a sort of partiality akin to friendship, in the historian's mind, accustomed to the daily contemplation of them. Whatever defects may be charged on the work, I can at least assure myself, that it is an honest record of a reign important in itself, new to the reader in an English dress, and resting on a solid basis of authentic materials, such as probably could not be met with out of Spain, nor in it without much difficulty.

I hope I shall be acquitted of egotism, although I add a few words respecting the peculiar embarrassments I have encountered, in composing these volumes. Soon after my arrangements were made, early in 1826, for obtaining the necessary materials from Madrid, I was deprived of the use of my eyes for all purposes of reading and writing, and had no prospect of again recovering it. This was a serious obstacle to the prosecution of a work, requiring the perusal of a large mass of authorities, in various languages, the contents of which were to be carefully collated, and transferred to my own pages, verified by minute reference. Thus shut


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Rh, a government to itself, yet recognizing a common interest in times of peril. Their heroic struggle against the Spaniards in 1680 reveals the existence of basic elements for union, but at no time did any of these villages appear to be moved by the spirit of conquest and force its neighbors into a closer organization. On the other hand, they were not easily assimilated, preserving to this very day a great deal of their independence. It is quite probable that underneath their individualities these villages, with their family groups, closely coordinated ritualistic observances, their elected governors and war captains, present the fundamental characteristics of the towns from which the southern aboriginal empires were built up.

In the immediate vicinity of the Pueblo villages were the somewhat nomadic Apache, Ute, and Navajo, with simple tribal organizations in which each local group was a law unto itself. But to the east, through the Gulf States and up into Virginia, we find a tendency to close federation. Among the best-known examples are the Cherokee, Creek, and Powhatan organizations. Further north in New York, was the famous Iroquois League, with its finely balanced government, the aggressiveness of which created several small but weak neighboring unions. Farther west, we have the Pawnee group and the very loosely coordinated Dakota council of "Seven Fires." Beyond this, we have little more than informal alliances as the Blackfoot, Gros Ventre, and Sarsi; the Cheyenne, Arapaho, Kiowa, and Comanche.

Yet, outside of these few attempts at political consolidation, we must be prepared to meet a bewildering array of small independent tribal governments and, in some cases, nothing at all save the fundamental unit groups. Thus it happens that one of the most forbidding aspects of our subject to the layman, is the nomenclature by which we designate these numerous political groups. All these group names have historical origins and so represent neither systems of tribal relationship nor equal social values. When our colonial forefathers observed a new political group under a common head, they gave to it a tribal name derived from its own language or from some other

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title: Page:Darío - Eleven Poems.djvu/40


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 'Oh, of course I remember you! What was I thinking about? I've had such a lot of worry lately that I don't know whether I'm on my head or my heels. Besides, you've grown since then, and changed a lot. You're Billy―Billy'

'Billy Anderson's my name.'

'Of course! To be sure! I remember you quite well.'

'How've you been gettin' on, Mrs. Aspinall?'

'Ah! Don't mention it―nothing but worry and trouble―nothing but worry and trouble. This grinding poverty! I'll never have anything else but worry and trouble and misery so long as I live.'

'Do you live in Jones's Alley yet?'

'Yes.'

'Not bin there ever since, have you?'

'No; I shifted away once, but I went back again. I was away nearly two years.'

'I thought so, because I called to see you there once. Well, I'm goin' that way now. You goin' home, Mrs. Aspinall?'

'Yes.'

'Well, I'll go along with yon, if you don't mind.'

'Thanks. I'd only be too glad of company.'

'Goin' to walk, Mrs. Aspinall?' asked Bill, as the tram stopped in their way.

'Yes. I can't afford trams now―times are too hard.'

'Sorry I don't happen to have no tickets on me!'

'Oh, don't mention it. I'm well used to walking. I'd rather walk than ride.'

They waited till the tram passed.


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 'Some people'―said Bill, reflectively, but with a tinge of indignation in his tone, as they crossed the street―'some people can afford to ride in trams.'

'What's your trouble, Mrs. Aspinall―if it's a fair thing to ask?' said Bill, as they turned the corner.

This was all she wanted, and more; and when, about a mile later, she paused for breath, he drew a long one, gave a short whistle, and said:

'Well, it's red-hot!'

Thus encouraged, she told her story again, and some parts of it for the third and fourth and even fifth time―and it grew longer, as our stories have a painful tendency to do when we re-write them with a view to condensation.

But Bill heroically repeated that it was 'red-hot.'

'And I dealt off the grocer for fifteen years, and the wood-and-coal man for ten, and I lived in that house nine years last Easter Monday and never owed a penny before,' she repeated for the tenth time.

'Well, that's a mistake,' reflected Bill. 'I never dealt off nobody more'n twice in my life.…I heerd you was married again, Mrs. Aspinall―if it's a right thing to ask?'

'Wherever did you hear that? I did get married again―to my sorrow.'

'Then you ain't Mrs. Aspinall―if it's a fair thing to ask?'

'Oh, yes! I'm known as Mrs. Aspinall. They all call me Mrs. Aspinall.'

'I understand. He cleared, didn't he? Run away?'

'Well, yes―no―he'


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Y name is Kaspar. I the incense bear. The glamour of the Star has made me wise. I say that love is vaster than the skies. And God exists. And Life is pure and fair.

—My name is Melchior. And my myrrh scents all. There is God. He is the light of morn. The fairest blossoms from the dust are born, And joy is shadowed by a threatful pall.

—My name is Balthasar. I bring a wreath Of Orient gold, my gift. I come to say That God exists. I know all by the ray Of starry light upon the crown of Death.

—Balthasar, Melchior, Kaspar, be ye still. Love triumphs and has bid you to his feast. Radiance has filled the void, the night has ceased: Wearing Life's crown, Christ comes to work His Will!

23]

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 'I understand. He's s'posed to be dead?'

'Yes.'

'Well, that's red-hot! So's my old man, and I hope he don't resurrect again.'

'You see, I married my second for the sake of my children.'

'That's a great mistake,' reflected Bill. 'My mother married my step-father for the sake of me, and she's never been done telling me about it.'

'Indeed! Did your mother get married again?'

'Yes. And he left me with a batch of step-sisters and step-brothers to look after, as well as mother; as if things wasn't bad enough before. We didn't want no help to be pinched, and poor, and half-starved. I don't see where my sake comes in at all.'

'And how's your mother now?'

'Oh, she's all right, thank you! She's got a hard time of it, but she's pretty well used to it.'

'And are you still working at Grinder Brothers'?'

'No. I got tired of slavin' there for next to nothing. I got sick of my step-father waitin* outside for me on pay-day, with a dirty, drunken spieler pal of his waitin' round the corner for him. There wasn't nothin' in it. It got to be too rough altogether.…Blast Grinders!'

'And what are you doing now?'

'Sellin' papers. I'm always tryin' to get a start in somethin' else, but I ain't got no luck. I always come back to sellin' papers.'

Then, after a thought, he added reflectively: 'Blast papers!'

His present ambition was to drive a cart.


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 'I drove a cart twice, and once I rode a butcher's horse. A bloke worked me out of one billet, and I worked myself out of the other. I didn't know when I was well off. Then the banks went bust, and my last boss went insolvent, and one of his partners went into Darlinghurst for suicide, and the other went into Gladesville for being mad; and one day the bailiff seized the cart and horse with me in it and a load of timber. So I went home and helped mother and the kids to live on one meal a day for six months, and keep the bum-bailiff out. Another cove had my news-stand.'

Then, after a thought:

'Blast reconstriction!'

'But you surely can't make a living selling news-papers?'

'No, there's nothin' in it. There's too many at it. The blessed women spoil it. There's one got a good stand down in George-street, and she's got a dozen kids sellin'―they can't be all hers―and then she's got the hide to come up to my stand and sell in front of me.…What are you thinkin' about doin', Mrs. Aspinall?'

'I don't know,' she wailed. 'I really don't know what to do.'

And there still being some distance to go, she plunged into her tale of misery once more, not forgetting the length of time she had dealt with her creditors.

Bill pushed his hat forward and walked along on the edge of the kerb.

'Can't you shift? Ain't you got no people or friends that you can go to for awhile?'


text:
User:Mesqueek

MEsqueek - that be me...

And I am very much into a work of literature that contains a hidden mystery - where the "solution" is left to the reader to figure out.

title: User:Mesqueek


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 'Oh, yes; there's my sister-in-law; she's asked me times without number to come and stay with her till things got better, and she's got a hard enough struggle herself, Lord knows. She asked me again only yesterday.'

'Well, that ain't too bad,' reflected Bill. 'Why don't you go?'

'Well, you see, if I did they wouldn't let me take my furniture, and she's got next to none.'

'Won't the landlord let you take your furniture?'

'No, not him! He's one of the hardest landlords in Sydney―the worst I ever had.'

'That's red-hot!…I'd take it in spite of him. He can't do nothing.'

'But I daren't; and even if I did I haven't got a penny to pay for a van.'

They neared the alley. Bill counted the flag-stones, stepping from one to another over the joints. 'Eighteen―nineteen―twenty twenty-one!' he counted mentally, and came to the corner kerbing. Then he turned suddenly and faced her.

'I'll tell you what to do,' he said decidedly, 'Can you get your things ready by to-night? I know a cove that's got a cart.'

'But I daren't. I'm afraid of the landlord.'

'The more fool you,' said Bill. 'Well, I'm not afraid of him. He can't do nothin'. I'm not afraid of a landlady, and that's worse. I know the law. He can't do nothin'. You just do as I tell you.'

'I'd want to think over it first, and see my sister in law.'

'Where does your sister-'n-law live?'


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 'Not far.'

'Well, see her, and think over it―you've got plenty of time to do it in―and get your things ready by dark. Don't be frightened. I've shifted mother and an aunt and two married sisters out of worse fixes than yours. I'll be round after dark, and bring a push to lend a hand. They're decent coves.'

'But I can't expect your friend to shift me for nothing. I told you I haven't got a .'

'Mrs. Aspinall, I ain't that sort of a bloke, neither is my chum, and neither is the other fellows―'relse they wouldn't be friends of mine. Will you promise, Mrs. Aspinall?'

'I'm afraid―I―I'd like to keep my few things now. I've kept them so long. It's hard to lose my few bits of things―I wouldn't care so much if I could keep the ironin' table.'

'So you could, by law―it's necessary to your living, but it would cost more'n the table. Now, don't be soft, Mrs. Aspinall. You'll have the bailiff in any day, and be turned out in the end without a rag. The law knows no 'necessary.' You want your furniture more'n the landlord does. He can't do nothin'. You can trust it all to me.…I know'd Arvie.…Will you do it?'

'Yes, I will.'

At about eight o'clock that evening there came a mysterious knock at Mrs. Aspinall's door. She opened, and there stood Bill. His attitude was business-like, and his manner very impressive. Three other boys stood along by the window, with their backs to the wall, deeply interested in the emptying of burnt cigarettes


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x out from one sense, I was driven to rely exclusively on another, and to make the ear do the work of the eye. With the assistance of a reader, uninitiated, it may be added, in any modern language but his own, I worked my way through several venerable Castilian quartos, until I was satisfied of the practicability of the undertaking. I next procured the services of one more competent to aid me in pursuing my historical inquiries. The process was slow and irksome enough, doubtless, to both parties, at least till my ear was accommodated to foreign sounds, and an antiquated, often-times barbarous phraseology, when my progress became more sensible, and I was cheered with the prospect of success. It certainly would have been a far more serious misfortune, to be led thus blindfold through the pleasant paths of literature; but my track stretched, for the most part, across dreary wastes, where no beauty lurked, to arrest the traveller's eye and charm his senses. After persevering in this course for some years, my eyes, by the blessing of Providence, recovered sufficient strength


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 ends into a piece of newspaper laid in the crown of one of their hats, and a fourth stood a little way along the kerb casually rolling a cigarette, and keeping a quiet eye out for suspicious appearances. They were of different makes and sizes, but there seemed an undefined similarity between them.

'This is my push, Mrs. Aspinall,' said Bill; 'at least,' he added apologetically, 'it's part of 'em. Here, you chaps, this is Mrs. Aspinall, what I told you about.'

They elbowed the wall back, rubbed their heads with their hats, shuffled round, and seemed to take a vacant sort of interest in abstract objects, such as the pavement, the gas-lamp, and neighbouring doors and windows.

'Got the things ready?' asked Bill.

'Oh, yes.'

'Got 'em downstairs?'

'There's no upstairs. The rooms above belong to the next house.'

'And a nice house it is,' said Bill, 'for rooms to belong to. I wonder,' he reflected, cocking his eye at the windows above; 'I wonder how the police manage to keep an eye on the next house without keepin' an eye on yours―but they know.'

He turned towards the street end of the alley and gave a low whistle. Out under the lamp from behind the corner came a long, thin, shambling, hump-backed youth, with his hat down over his head like an extinguisher, dragging a small bony horse, which, in its turn, dragged a rickety cart of the tray variety, such as is used in the dead marine trade. Behind the


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 cart was tied a mangy retriever. This affair was drawn up opposite the door.

'The cove with a cart' was introduced as 'Chinny.' He had no chin whatever, not even a receding chin. It seemed as though his chin had been cut clean off horizontally. When he took off his hat he showed to the mild surprise of strangers a pair of shrewd grey eyes and a broad high forehead. Chinny was in the empty bottle line.

'Now, then, hold up that horse of yours for a minute, Chinny,' said Bill briskly, ''relse he'll fall down and break the shaft again.' (It had already been broken in several places and spliced with strips of deal, clothes-line, and wire.) 'Now, you chaps, fling yourselves about and get the furniture out.'

This was a great relief to the push. They ran against each other and the door post in their eagerness to be at work. The furniture―what Mrs. A. called her 'few bits of things'―was carried out with elaborate care. The ironing table was the main item. It was placed top down in the cart, and the rest of the things went between the legs without bulging sufficiently to cause Chinny any anxiety.

Just then the picket gave a low, earnest whistle, and they were aware of a policeman standing statue-like under the lamp on the opposite corner, and apparently unaware of their existence. He was looking, sphinx-like, past them towards the city.

'It can't be helped; we must put on front an' go on with it now,' said Bill.

'He's all right, I think,' said Chinny. 'He knows me.'


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Rh to allow me to use them, with tolerable freedom, in the prosecution of my labors, and in the revision of all previously written. I hope I shall not be misunderstood, as stating these circumstances to deprecate the severity of criticism, since I am inclined to think the greater circumspection I have been compelled to use has left me, on the whole, less exposed to inaccuracies, than I should have been in the ordinary mode of composition. But, as I reflect on the many sober hours I have passed in wading through black letter tomes, and through manuscripts whose doubtful orthography and defiance of all punctuation were so many stumbling-blocks to my amanuensis, it calls up a scene of whimsical distresses, not usually encountered, on which the good-natured reader may, perhaps, allow I have some right, now that I have got the better of them, to dwell with satisfaction.

I will only remark, in conclusion of this too prolix discussion about myself, that while making my tortoise-like progress, I saw what I had fondly looked upon as my own ground, (having indeed lain unmolested by any other invader for so many ages,) suddenly entered, and in part occupied, by one of my countrymen. I allude to Mr. Irving's "History of Columbus," and "Chronicle of Granada";


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 'He can't do nothing',' said Bill; 'don't mind him, Mrs. Aspinall. Now then (to the push) tie up. Don't be frightened of the dorg―what are you frightened of? Why! he'd only apologise if you trod on his tail.'

The dog went under the cart, and kept his tail carefully behind him.

The policeman―he was an elderly man―stood still, looking towards the city, and over it, perhaps, and over the sea, to long years agone in Ireland when he and the boys ducked bailiffs, and resisted evictions with 'shticks,' and 'riz' sometimes, and gathered together at the rising of the moon, and did many things contrary to the peace of Gracious Majesty, its laws and constitutions, crown and dignity; as a reward for which he had helped to preserve the said peace for the best years of his life, without promotion; for he had a great aversion to running in "the boys"―which included nearly all mankind―and preferred to keep, and was most successful in keeping, the peace with no other assistance than that of his own rich fatherly brogue.

Bill took charge of two of the children; Mrs. Aspinall carried the youngest.

'Go ahead, Chinny,' said Bill. Chinny shambled forward sideways, dragging the horse, with one long, bony, short-sleeved arm stretched out behind holding the rope reins; the horse stumbled out of the gutter, and the cart seemed to pause a moment, as if undecided whether to follow or not, and then, with many rickety complaints, moved slowly and painfully up on to the level out of the gutter.


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xii the subjects of which, although covering but a small part of my whole plan, form certainly two of its most brilliant portions. Now, alas! if not devoid of interest, they are, at least, stripped of the charm of novelty. For what eye has not been attracted to the spot, on which the light of that writer's genius has fallen?

I cannot quit the subject which has so long occupied me, without one glance at the present unhappy condition of Spain; who, shorn of her ancient splendor, humbled by the loss of empire abroad, and credit at home, is abandoned to all the evils of anarchy. Yet, deplorable as this condition is, it is not so bad as the lethargy in which she has been sunk for ages. Better be hurried forward for a season on the wings of the tempest, than stagnate in a deathlike calm, fatal alike to intellectual and moral progress. The crisis of a revolution, when old things are passing away, and new ones are not yet established, is, indeed, fearful. Even the immediate consequences of its achievement are scarcely less so to a people who have yet to learn by experiment the precise form of institutions best suited to their wants, and to accommodate their character to these institutions. Such results must come with time, however, if the nation be but true to itself.


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Rh And that they will come, sooner or later, to the Spaniards, surely no one can distrust who is at all conversant with their earlier history, and has witnessed the examples it affords of heroic virtue, devoted patriotism, and generous love of freedom;

Clouds and darkness have, indeed, settled thick around the throne of the youthful Isabella; but not a deeper darkness than that which covered the land in the first years of her illustrious namesake; and we may humbly trust, that the same Providence, which guided her reign to so prosperous a termination, may carry the nation safe through its present perils, and secure to it the greatest of earthly blessings, civil and religious liberty.

 * November, 1837.


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 quietly rolled up his right sleeve and scratched his arm.

And on that arm we saw the tattooed figure of a woman, holding up a branch.

We tramped on by his side again towards the station―thinking very hard and not feeling very comfortable.

He must have been an awful old liar, now we come to think of it.


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caught up with an old swagman crossing the plain, and tramped along with him till we came to good shade to have a smoke in. We had got yarning about men getting lost in the bush or going away and being reported dead.

'Yes,' said the old 'whaler,' as he dropped his swag in the shade, sat down on it, and felt for his smoking tackle, 'there's scarcely an old bushman alive―or dead, for the matter of that―who hasn't been dead a few times in his life―or reported dead, which amounts to the same thing for awhile. In my time there was as many live men in the bush who was supposed to be dead as there was dead men who was supposed to be alive―though it's the other way about now―what with so many jackaroos tramping about out back and getting lost in the dry country that they don't know anything about, and dying within a few yards of water sometimes. But even now, whenever I hear that an old bush mate of mine is dead, I don't fret about it or put a black band round my hat, because I know he'll be pretty sure to turn up sometime, pretty bad with the booze, and want to borrow half-a-crown.

'I've been dead a few times myself, and found out 290


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Rh king of the land? did they not sing one to another of him in dances, saying,

 * Saul hath slain his thousands,
 * And David his ten thousands?

David laid up these words in his heart, and was sore afraid of Achish the king of Gath. And he changed his behaviour before them, and feigned himself mad in their hands, and scrabbled on the doors of the gate, and let his spittle fall down upon his beard. Then said Achish unto his servants, Lo, ye see the man is mad: wherefore then have ye brought him to me? Have I need of mad men, that ye have brought this fellow to play the mad man in my presence? shall this fellow come into my house?

therefore departed thence, and escaped to the cave Adullam: and when his brethren and all his father's house heard it, they went down thither to him. And every one that was in distress, and every one that was in debt, and every one that was discontented, gathered themselves unto him; and he became a captain over them: and there were with him about four hundred men.

And David went thence to Mizpeh of Moab: and he said unto the king of Moab, Let my father and my mother, I pray thee, come forth, and be with you, till


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XXII] I know what God will do for me. And he brought them before the king of Moab: and they dwelt with him all the while that David was in the hold.

And the prophet Gad said unto David, Abide not in the hold; depart, and get thee into the land of Judah. Then David departed, and came into the forest of Hareth.

When Saul heard that David was discovered, and the men that were with him, (now Saul abode in Gibeah under a tree in Ramah, having his spear in his hand, and all his servants were standing about him;) then Saul said unto his servants that stood about him, Hear now, ye Benjamites; will the son of Jesse give every one of you fields and vineyards, and make you all captains of thousands, and captains of hundreds; that all of you have conspired against me, and there is none that sheweth me that my son hath made a league with the son of Jesse, and there is none of you that is sorry for me, or sheweth unto me that my son hath stirred up my servant against me, to lie in wait, as at this day?

Then answered Doeg the Edomite, which was set over the servants of Saul, and said, I saw the son of Jesse coming to Nob, to Ahimelech the son of Ahitub. And he enquired of the Lord for him, and gave him victuals, and gave him the sword of Goliath the


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 afterwards that my friends was so sorry about it, and that I was such a good sort of a chap, after all, when I was dead that―that I was sorry I didn't stop dead. You see, I was one of them chaps that's better treated by their friends and better thought of when―when they're dead.

'Ah, well! Never mind.…Talking of killing bushmen before their time reminds me of some cases I knew. They mostly happened among the western spurs of the ranges. There was a bullock-driver named Billy Nowlett. He had a small selection, where he kept his family, and used to carry from the railway terminus to the stations up-country. One time he went up with a load, and was not heard of for such a long time that his missis got mighty uneasy; and then she got a letter from a publican up Coonamble way to say that Billy was dead. Someone wrote, for the widow, to ask about the waggon and the bullocks, but the shanty-keeper wrote that Billy had drunk them before he died, and that he'd also to say that he'd drunk the money he got for the carrying; and the publican enclosed a five-pound-note for the widow―which was considered very kind of him.

'Well, the widow struggled along and managed without her husband just the same as she had always struggled along and managed with him―a little better, perhaps. An old digger used to drop in of evenings and sit by the widow's fire, and yarn, and sympathise, and smoke, and think; and just as he began to yarn a lot less, and smoke and think a lot more, Billy Nowlett himself turned up with a load of rations for a sheep station. He'd been down by the


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Rh Philistine. Then the king sent to call Ahimelech the priest, the son of Ahitub, and all his father's house, the priests that were in Nob: and they came all of them to the king. And Saul said. Hear now, thou son of Ahitub. And he answered, Here I am, my lord. And Saul said unto him. Why have ye conspired against me, thou and the son of Jesse, in that thou hast given him bread, and a sword, and hast enquired of God for him, that he should rise against me, to lie in wait, as at this day? Then Ahimelech answered the king, and said, And who is so faithful among all thy servants as David, which is the king's son in law, and goeth at thy bidding, and is honourable in thine house? Did I then begin to enquire of God for him? be it far from me: let not the king impute any thing unto his servant, nor to all the house of my father: for thy servant knew nothing of all this, less or more. And the king said, Thou shalt surely die, Ahimelech, thou, and all thy father's house.

And the king said unto the footmen that stood about him, Turn, and slay the priests of the Lord; because their hand also is with David, and because they knew when he fled, and did not shew it to me. But the servants of the king would not put forth their hand to fall upon the priests of the Lord. And the king said to Doeg, Turn thou, and fall upon the priests. And Doeg


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XXIII] the Edomite turned, and he fell upon the priests, and slew on that day fourscore and five persons that did wear a linen ephod. And Nob, the city of the priests, smote he with the edge of the sword, both men and women, children and sucklings, and oxen, and asses, and sheep, with the edge of the sword.

And one of the sons of Ahimelech the son of Ahitub, named Abiathar, escaped, and fled after David. And Abiathar shewed David that Saul had slain the Lord's priests. And David said unto Abiathar, I knew it that day, when Doeg the Edomite was there, that he would surely tell Saul: I have occasioned the death of all the persons of thy father's house. Abide thou with me, fear not: for he that seeketh my life seeketh thy life: but with me thou shalt be in safeguard.

they told David, saying, Behold, the Philistines fight against Keilah, and they rob the threshing-floors. Therefore David enquired of the Lord, saying, Shall I go and smite these Philistines? And the Lord said unto David, Go, and smite the Philistines, and save Keilah. And David's men said unto him, Behold, we be afraid here in Judah: how much more then if we come to Keilah against the armies of the Philistines? Then David enquired of the Lord yet again. And the Lord answered him and said, Arise, go down to Keilah: for I will deliver the Philistines into thine hand,


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Rh So David and his men went to Keilah, and fought with the Philistines, and brought away their cattle, and smote them with a great slaughter. So David saved the inhabitants of Keilah. And it came to pass, when Abiathar the son of Ahimelech fled to David to Keilah, that he came down with an ephod in his hand.

And it was told Saul that David was come to Keilah. And Saul said, God hath delivered him into mine hand; for he is shut in, by entering into a town that hath gates and bars. And Saul called all the people together to war, to go down to Keilah, to besiege David and his men.

And David knew that Saul secretly practised mischief against him; and he said to Abiathar the priest, Bring hither the ephod. Then said David, O Lord God of Israel, thy servant hath certainly heard that Saul seeketh to come to Keilah, to destroy the city for my sake. Will the men of Keilah deliver me up into his hand? will Saul come down, as thy servant hath heard? O Lord God of Israel, I beseech thee, tell thy servant. And the Lord said, He will come down. Then said David, Will the men of Keilah deliver me and my men into the hand of Saul? And the Lord said, They will deliver thee up.

Then David and his men, which were about six hundred, arose and departed out of Keilah, and went


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XXIII] whithersoever they could go. And it was told Saul that David was escaped from Keilah; and he forbare to go forth. And David abode in the wilderness in strong holds, and remained in a mountain in the wilderness of Ziph. And Saul sought him every day, but God delivered him not into his hand. And David saw that Saul was come out to seek his life: and David was in the wilderness of Ziph in a wood.

And Jonathan Saul's son arose, and went to David into the wood, and strengthened his hand in God. And he said unto him, Fear not: for the hand of Saul my father shall not find thee; and thou shalt be king over Israel, and I shall be next unto thee; and that also Saul my father knoweth. And they two made a covenant before the Lord: and David abode in the wood, and Jonathan went to his house.

Then came up the Ziphites to Saul to Gibeah, saying, Doth not David hide himself with us in strong holds in the wood, in the hill of Hachilah, which is on the south of Jeshimon? Now therefore, O king, come down according to all the desire of thy soul to come down: and our part shall be to deliver him into the king's hand. And Saul said, Blessed be ye of the Lord; for ye have compassion on me. Go, I pray you, prepare yet, and know and see his place where his haunt is, and who hath seen him there: for it is told me that he


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Rh root it in the truth, as he saw truth; he did not interpenetrate and permeate it with his own beliefs, as the great masters have always done. His principles were at the best vague, hardly amounting to more than an unapplied enthusiasm for liberty, heroism, and the other great watchwords of social rather than individual life. These illuminate his work, but they do not give it consistency. It is crystalline in structure, beautiful, ordered, perfect in form when taken part by part, but conglomerate as a whole; it is a handful of jewels, many of which are singly of the most transparent and glowing light, but unrelated one to another, placed in juxtaposition, but not set; and in the crystalline mass is imbedded grosser matter, and mingled with the jewels are stones of dull color and light weight. A lovely object caught his eye, and he set it forth in verse; a fine thought came to him, and he inserted it in his dialogues; but his days were not "bound each to each by natural piety," or by any other of the shaping principles of high genius. He was a spectator of life, not an actor in life. Nature was to him a panorama, wonderful, awful, beautiful, and he described its scenes down to its most minute


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 other road, and the letter he'd wrote to his missus had gone astray. Billy wasn't surprised to hear that he was dead―he'd been killed before―but he was surprised about the five quid.

'You see, it must have been another bullock-driver that died. There was an old shanty-keeper up Coonamble way, so Billy said, that used to always mistake him for another bullocky and mistake the other bullocky for him―couldn't tell the one from the other no way―and he used to have bills against Billy that the other bullock-driver'd run up, and bills against the other that Billy'd run up, and generally got things mixed up in various ways, till Billy wished that one of 'em was dead. And the funniest part of the business was that Billy wasn't no more like the other man than chalk is like cheese. You'll often drop across some colour-blind old codger that can't tell the difference between two people that ain't got a bit of likeness between 'em.

'Then there was young Joe Swallow. He was found dead under a burned-down tree in Dead Man's Gully―'dead past all recognition,' they said―and he was buried there, and by-and-bye his ghost began to haunt the Gully: at least, all the school-kids seen it, and there was scarcely a grown-up person who didn't know another person who'd seen the ghost―and the other person was always a sober chap that wouldn't bother about telling a lie. But just as the ghost was beginning to settle down to work in the Gully, Joe himself turned up, and then the folks began to reckon that it was another man was killed there, and that the ghost belonged to the other man; and some of them


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8 and evanescent details. History was his theatre, where the personages played great parts; and he recorded their words and gestures, always helping them with the device of the high buskin and something of a histrionic air. He was content to be thus guided from without; to have his intellectual activity determined by the chance of sensation and of reading, rather than by a well-thought-out and enthusiastic purpose of his own soul. And so he became hardly more than a mirror of beauty and an Æolian harp of thought; if the vision came, if the wind breathed, he responded.

This self-effacement, this impersonality, as it is called, in literature, is much praised. It is said to be classical, and there is an impression in some minds that such an abdication of the individual's prerogatives is the distinctive mark of classicism. There is no more misleading and confusing error in criticism. Not impersonality, but universality, is that mark; and this is by no means the same thing, differently stated. In any age, the first, although not the sole, characteristic of classical work is that it deals with universal truth, of interest to all men: and hence the poet is required to keep to


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 began to recollect that they'd thought all along that the ghost wasn't Joe's ghost―even when they thought that it was really Joe that was killed there.

'Then, again, there was the case of Brummy Usen―Hughison I think they spelled it―the bushranger; he was shot by old Mr. S, of E, while trying to stick the old gentleman up. There's something about it in a book called 'Robbery Under Arms,' though the names is all altered―and some other time I'll tell you all about the inquest, and digging the body up for inquest and burying it again. This Brummy used to work for a publican in a sawmill that the publican had; and this publican and his daughter identified the body by a woman holding up a branch tattooed on the right arm. I'll tell you all about that another time. This girl remembered how she used to watch this tattooed woman going up and down on Brummy's arm when he was working in the saw-pit―going up and down and up and down, like this, while Brummy was working his end of the saw. So the bushranger was inquested and justifiable-homicided as Brummy Usen, and buried again in his dust and blood stains and monkey-jacket.

'All the same it wasn't him; for the real Brummy turned up later on; but he couldn't make the people believe he wasn't dead. They was mostly English country people from Kent and Yorkshire and those places; and the most self-opinionated and obstinate people that ever lived when they got a thing into their heads; and they'd got it into their heads that Brummy Usen was shot while trying to bail up old Mr. S, and was dead and buried.

T


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 'But the wife of the publican that had the saw-pit knew him; he went to her, and she recognised him at once; she'd got it into her head from the first that it wasn't Brummy that was shot, and she stuck to it―she was just as self-opinionated as the neighbours, and many a barney she had with them about it. She would argue about it till the day she died, and then she said with her dying breath: 'It wasn't Brummy Usen.' No more it was―he was a different kind of man; he hadn't spunk enough to be a bushranger, and it was a better man that was buried for him; it was a different kind of woman, holding up a different kind of a branch, that was tattooed on Brummy's arm. But, you see, Brummy'd always kept himself pretty much to himself, and no one knew him very well; and, besides, most of them were pretty drunk at the inquest―except the girl, and she was too scared to know what she was saying―they had to be so because the corpse was in such a bad state.

'Well, Brummy hung round for a time, and tried to prove that he wasn't an impostor, but no one wouldn't believe him. He wanted to get some wages that was owing to him.

'He tried the police, but they were just as obstinate as the rest; and, beside, they had their dignity to hold up. 'If I ain't Brummy,' he'd say, 'who are I?' But they answered that he knew best. So he did.

'At last he said that it didn't matter much, any-road; and so he went away―Lord knows where―to begin life again, I s'pose.'

The traveller smoked awhile reflectively; then he


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Rh his idiosyncrasies, hobbies, all that is simply his own; all that is not identical with the common human nature; all that men in large bodies cannot sympathize with, understand, and appreciate. Under these conditions direct self -revelation is exceptional. The poet usually expresses himself by so arranging his plot and developing his characters that they will illustrate the laws of life, as he sees these laws, without any direct statement,—though the Greek chorus is full of didactic sayings; and he may also express himself by such a powerful presentation of the morality intrinsic in beautiful things and noble actions as "to soothe the cares and lift the thoughts of men," without any dogmatic insistence in his own person. In these ways Æschylus obliterated himself from his work just as much as Shakespeare, and no more; Swift just as much as Aristophanes, and no more; but the statement that Shakespeare or Swift obliterated themselves from their works needs only to be made to be laughed at. The faith of Æschylus, the wisdom of Sophocles, are in all their dramas; Anacreon is in all his songs, Horace in all his odes. The lasting significance of their productions to mankind is derived from the


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10 clearness, the power, the skill, with which they informed their works with their personality. These men had a philosophy of life, that underlay and unified their work. They rebuilt the world in their imagination, and gave it the laws of their own minds. Their spirits were active, moulding, shaping, creating, subduing the whole of nature and life to themselves. It is true that the ancients accomplished their purpose rather by thought, the moderns rather by emotion; but this difference is incidental to the change in civilization. Either instrument is sufficient for its end; but he who would now choose the ancient instead of the modern mode, narrows, postpones, and abbreviates his fame only less than Landor, in his youth, by writing in Latin. Whatever be the mode of its operation, the energy of personality is the very essence of effective genius.

That Landor had no philosophy of life, in the same sense as Shakespeare or Æschylus, is plain to any reader. Those who look on art, including poetry, as removed from ordinary human life, who think that its chief service to men lies in affording delight rather than in that quickening of the spirit of which delight is only the sign and


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 bank, and thinking of those reasons when the Times man saw him. Strange to say, the world knows least about the lives and sorrows of 'well-known characters' of this kind, no matter what their names might be, and―well, there is no reason why we should bore a reader, or waste any more space over a well-known character named Bogg.


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