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Rh, and Napoleon, and Billy Patterson, and Ben Franklin, and Captain Kidd, just to show that there was no deception, but they couldn't get a whisper even from Bud.

I reckon Clytie had been stringing the old lady along, intending to produce Bud's spook as a sort of red-fire, calcium-light, grand-march-of-the-Amazons climax, but she didn't get a chance. For right there the old lady got up with a mighty set expression around her lips and marched out, muttering that it was just as she had thought all along—Bud wasn't there. And when the neighbors dropped in that afternoon to plan out a memorial service for her "lost lamb," she chased them off the lot with a broom. Said that they had looked in the river for him and that she had looked beyond the river for him, and that they would just stand pat now and wait for him to make the next move. Allowed that if she could once get her hands in "that lost lamb's" wool there might be an opening for a funeral when she


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Rh got through with him, but there wouldn't be till then. Altogether, it looked as if there was a heap of trouble coming to Bud if he had made any mistake and was still alive.

The Widow found her "lost lamb" hiding behind a rain-barrel when she opened up the house next morning, and there was a mighty touching and affecting scene. In fact, the Widow must have touched him at least a hundred times and every time he was affected to tears, for she was using a bed slat, which is a powerfully strong moral agent for making a boy see the error of his ways. And it was a month after that before Bud could go down Main Street without some man who had called him a noble little fellow, or a bright, manly little chap, while he was drowned, reaching out and fetching him a clip on the ear for having come back and put the laugh on him.

No one except the Widow ever really got at the straight of Bud's conduct, but it

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42 the car. I was horribly bruised, and half-stunned. Then he sprang in himself, and, with a dreadful explosive scream, the huge machine shot up into the air like lightning. A most villainous-looking fiend drove the engine by turning a small wheel, which set a larger one in motion. This moved a crank, which caused a complicated pendulum to oscillate, and finally drove the whole machine by setting outside fans in motion. The fans were assisted by a current of electricity, which was generated from the atmosphere in some way that I did not get to understand. The driver amused himself by mocking, and making horrible grimaces at me, when his master was looking another way. We flew at least ten thousand feet above the lake, and over an immense tract of snow-clad mountains, forests, seas, rivers, sandy deserts, and fertile valleys, through dense choking clouds, crossing several enormous ranges of mountains in our course. Away the balloon plunged with the speed of a hurricane over a howling wilderness of arid wastes, and at last, whistling like hundreds of steam pipes, hung suspended above a vast chasm in the earth which seemed about ten miles in diameter, and as black as Erebus. Into this dreadful hole the balloon descended swiftly, and I was politely commanded to get out as soon as the car touched the black charcoal floor.

Overwhelmed with astonishment and terror, I was for a time unable to make calm and accurate observations. I asked myself, in my despair, had I died beside the Great Lake, and was I really in the power of the fearful, sleepless dragon, the great enemy of mankind?

The height of the walls of this awful chasm it was impossible for me to estimate, but I knew it must be something tremedous from the appearance of the opening, which, from the spot where I stood, looked like a round hole, about as large as our full moon. The pit would have been


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Rh the blackness of darkness itself had not a number of huge incandescent lights been placed at intervals around the vast chamber, hung on the perpendicular walls like gigantic shields of dull red fire. By this light I saw the shadowy entrances to a number of caverns which were situated at great distances from each other. The interiors of these were lighted so that they presented the appearance of long arcades, illuminated by regular lines of gas lamps; and the cavern that was nearest to me seemed crowded with inhabitants.

I was now alarmed by a loud, rushing, rumbling sound, and the heavy trampling of horses. A large and strange-looking coach, drawn by six black horses of great size, stopped where the Demon and I stood. The Demon opened the door himself, and ordered me to take my seat. Seeing further resistance useless, and indeed impossible, I obeyed, and after giving an order to the fiend on the box, he jumped in himself, and we drove on.

As we rolled on, at a steady pace, towards the entrance of one of the great caverns, he entered into familiar conversation with me, asking a variety of questions about my occupation, rank in life, and family. These I answered very cautiously. He even condescended to tell me his name, and to explain his condition in the following speech:

'I am Artabanzanus, the Demon of the Great Lake of Tasmania, and the Emperor of the World. You will learn my history gradually, and it will excite your wonder and admiration. It is my duty and pleasure to show you some wonderful things, but you need not be alarmed. You can never be in pain like some of these people here. You are to be my new private secretary, and, not to flatter you too grossly, I think I shall be very proud of you. You are under my protection here, and you shall see greater wonders than all these, and be an emperor yourself of mighty power,


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Rh that he left home to get a few Indian scalps, and that he came back for a little bacon and corn pone.

I simply mention the Widow in passing as an example of the fact that the time to do your worrying is when a thing is all over, and that the way to do it is to leave it to the neighbors. I sail for home tomorrow. Your affectionate father, 4em


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44 under me only: think of that! You will for ever bless the day when you came over to my side. I make my servants happy, jolly, and light-hearted; and they have their fill of pleasure—theatre-going, boxing, horse-racing, gambling, drinking. I give them unbounded prosperity, riches, unimagined joys, and all kinds of grandeur; and I watch over them with the care and affection of a fond father. Ever since the world was created, I have looked well after my children and servants. To you I promise power unlimited, and unbounded wealth—castles, gardens, parks, forests, cringing slaves, and everything yon can wish for—but you must come of your own free will; I do not use compulsion, although I might if I pleased. Take the other side, and you are poor and miserable for your whole life, despised by men, abhorred by my followers, in constant fear of ruin, and dread of offending a hard and exacting Master, who very probably will throw you over at last.'

Here the Demon laughed with a low, diabolical chuckle, and gave me a familiar poke in the ribs.

The lumbering vehicle entered one of the largest of the caverns, under a gigantic arch of marvellous construction, and I shuddered as I looked around me. If the Demon thought to bind me to his service by bringing me to a place like this, he was mistaken. We have often observed that those who give themselves up to wanton excesses are not deterred from pursuing that course by the sudden fall of others, or by the fear of the hopeless ruin, or the terrible and disgrace, which are sure to overtake them. What infatuated gambler is frightened from his fascinating game by the sight of the miserable wretch who, mad with disappointment, and cursing his existence, has laid down his life at the shrine of Mammon? What drunkard is reclaimed in the society of other drunkards, who are rushing headlong to destruction? What liar, or slanderer, or


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Rh miser, recovers from the errors of his ways by witnessing the pity and contempt bestowed by honourable men on his brethren of the same trade?

The carriage pursued its way through several long streets, and at last entered a most brilliantly lighted court-yard, and stopped at the gate of a large palace. The Demon alighted, motioning to me to follow him. He was received by several dark-looking officials, who bowed, and scraped, and grinned, and pressed their hands to their hearts. Into the interior of the palace, through a number of large halls and dimly-lighted passages, the Demon strutted with stately steps, as if conscious of great dignity. We emerged into a chamber, whose high arched roof was supported by a number of pillars made of a metal resembling lead. Two leaden thrones occupied one end of the chamber, and these were surrounded by a number of vacant seats. There was a long table in the centre of the apartment, and a highly ornamented leaden chair stood at one end of it. I did not require a magician to tell me that this was the Demon's council chamber. He told me that his duties now compelled him to leave me for a while to the guidance of one of his attendants, who would show me into my office. He called aloud: 'Astoragus!'

A young man with a villainous, hang-dog scowl on his face came forth from behind one of the thrones, where he had been lurking. His head was entirely destitute of hair, and he had black flashing eyes, which he tried to hide under a hideous pair of frowning eyebrows. His countenance showed nothing but malevolence, but this he endeavoured to conceal under a smirking smile. I was not, however, so easily deceived, His dress consisted of a long black cloak which reached to his feet, and covered every part of his lanky person. He approached quickly, and bowed low before his august sovereign.


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46 'Astoragus, take this gentleman—your name, sir, I have been given to understand, is Ubertus?'

I bowed an affirmative, inwardly cursing both of them. 'Take Mr. Ubertus to my private secretary's office, and see that he has refreshment and amusement. By the way, you two must be better acquainted with each other. General Astoragus, sir, is the commander of my brave brigade of Larrikins. Mr. Ubertus, General, is a new arrival from the upper world, about to be appointed my private secretary. You will work well together, I am sure.'

The General grinned like an ape, with an excruciating attempt at a smile, and held forth a dusky paw, which I did not touch, or pretend to notice.

'I shall call for you in the course of the evening, Ubertus, and take you out for a look round,' said the Demon with a bland, rabbit-trap smile, as he stalked away.

Astoragus (I shall drop the 'General' while speaking of this execrable villain) motioned to me to follow him. He did not use words, but his malignant glance spoke volumes. It told me that he was my bitter enemy for ever, and, oh horror of horrors! I was in his power.

He led me through two or three adjacent rooms, up a long flight of stairs, and then into an apartment more brilliantly lighted than the rest. As he entered he turned suddenly upon me, with his hideous, gorilla face within a couple of inches of mine, and croaked out: ' This is your office, be happy and comfortable!' Then he closed the door, leaving me to myself.

It was a large room, of vault-like appearance, sombre enough, notwithstanding the light, and in the centre, on the floor, a strange, mysterious-looking fire burned brightly, apparently without smoke, or the need of being fed with fresh fuel. A round table and an easy chair were placed near the fire. A high lamp, and sundry articles necessary


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, November 4, 189– Dear Pierrepont: Who is this Helen Heath, and what are your intentions there? She knows a heap more about you than she ought to know if they're not serious, and I know a heap less about her than I ought to know if they are. Hadn't got out of sight of land before we'd become acquainted somehow, and she's been treating me like a father clear across the Atlantic. She's a mighty pretty girl, and a mighty nice girl, and a mighty sensible girl—in fact she's so exactly the sort of girl I'd like to see you marry that I'm afraid there's nothing in it.

Of course, your salary isn't a large one yet, but you can buy a whole lot of happiness with fifty dollars a week when you have the right sort of a woman for your purchasing agent. And while I don't go much on love in a cottage, love in a flat, with fifty a week as a starter, is just about right, if the girl is


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Rh just about right. If she isn't, it doesn't make any special difference how you start out, you're going to end up all wrong.

Money ought never to be the consideration in marriage, but it always ought to be a consideration. When a boy and a girl don't think enough about money before the ceremony, they're going to have to think altogether too much about it after; and when a man's doing sums at home evenings, it comes kind of awkward for him to try to hold his wife on his lap.

There's nothing in this talk that two can live cheaper than one. A good wife doubles a man's expenses and doubles his happiness, and that's a pretty good investment if a fellow's got the money to invest. I have met women who had cut their husband's expenses in half, but they needed the money because they had doubled their own. I might add, too, that I've met a good many husbands who had cut their wives' expenses in half, and they fit naturally into any


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Rh of our business, because they are hogs. There's a point where economy becomes a vice, and that's when a man leaves its practice to his wife.

An unmarried man is a good deal like a piece of unimproved real estate—he may be worth a whole lot of money, but he isn't of any particular use except to build on. The great trouble with a lot of these fellows is that they're "made land," and if you dig down a few feet you strike ooze and booze under the layer of dollars that their daddies dumped in on top. Of course, the only way to deal with a proposition of that sort is to drive forty-foot piles clear down to solid rock and then to lay railroad iron and cement till you've got something to build on. But a lot of women will go right ahead without any preliminaries and wonder what's the matter when the walls begin to crack and tumble about their ears.

I never come across a case of this sort without thinking of Jack Carter, whose


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Rh died about ten years ago and left Jack a million dollars, and left me as trustee of both until Jack reached his twenty-fifth birthday. I didn't relish the job particularly, because Jack was one of these charlotte-russe boys, all whipped cream and sponge cake and high-priced flavoring extracts, without any filling qualities. There wasn't any special harm in him, but there wasn't any special good, either, and I always feel that there's more hope for a fellow who's an out and out cuss than for one who's simply made up of a lot of little trifling meannesses. Jack wore mighty warm clothes and mighty hot vests, and the girls all said that he was a perfect dream, but I've never been one who could get a great deal of satisfaction out of dreams.

It's mighty seldom that I do an exhibition mile, but the winter after I inherited Jack—he was twenty-three years old then—your Ma kept after me so strong that I finally put on my fancy harness and let her trot me


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Rh around to a meet at the Ralstons one evening. Of course, I was in the Percheron class, and so I just stood around with a lot of heavy old draft horses, who ought to have been resting up in their stalls, and watched the three-year-olds prance and cavort round the ring. Jack was among them, of course, dancing with the youngest Churchill girl, and holding her a little tighter, I thought, than was necessary to keep her from falling. Had both ends working at once—never missed a stitch with his heels and was turning out a steady stream of fancy work with his mouth. And all the time he was looking at that girl as intent and eager as a Scotch terrier at a rat hole.

I happened just then to be pinned into a corner with two or three women who couldn't escape—Edith Curzon, a great big brunette whom I knew Jack had been pretty soft on, and little Mabel Moore, a nice roly-poly blonde, and it didn't take me long to see that they were watching Jack with a


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Rh hair-pulling itch in their finger-tips. In fact, it looked to me as if the young scamp was a good deal more popular than the facts about him, as I knew them, warranted him in being.

I slipped out early, but next evening, when I was sitting in my little smoking-room, Jack came charging in, and, without any sparring for an opening, burst out with:

"Isn't she a stunner, Mr. Graham!"

I allowed that Miss Curzon was something on the stun.

"Miss Curzon, indeed," he sniffed. "She's well enough in a big, black way, but Miss Churchill" and he began to paw the air for adjectives.

"But how was I to know that you meant Miss Churchill?" I answered. "It's just a fortnight now since you told me that Miss Curzon was a goddess, and that she was going to reign in your life and make it a heaven, or something of that sort. I forget


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Rh and so useless with the brightness of a southern sky, and the pastoral beauty of an Australian landscape."

When I went over to Hobart Town a couple of years ago, William Lanney had just returned from a whaling voyage. Truganina had mentioned his being a sailor, when talking to me about "him such a fine young man." I, therefore, sought him. Once I caught sight of him at a distance, but he was too drunk to talk with. My young friend Mr. Woolley gave me one of his excellent photographs of the poor fellow, a copy of which the reader is enabled to inspect. As he was going to see the Queen, as he said, I went several times to the ship in the hope of catching him sober, and having a chat with him, but was obliged to terminate my visit to the charming island unsuccessful in that object.

William Lanney, Lanny, or Lanné alias King Billy, the last man of the Tasmanian Aborigines, was, singularly enough, the last child of the last family brought from the island. The story of their capture, near Cape Grim, is given elsewhere in the work. Dr. Jeanneret is my authority for stating, that when the family arrived at Flinders Island, they were unable to consort with other Natives from their ignorance of language, and their own speech being unknown to the rest. They were much attached to each other. The mother, from privation and anxiety, wore the aspect of extreme age and feebleness. The father was singularly gentle in his manners. The children exhibited an affectionate interest in each other, and were very fond of their little "Billy" brother. But having just received further particulars from Dr. Milligan, the last Protector, concerning the last man, I would give an extract from his interesting communication:—

"Near the close of 1842," writes that gentleman, "being at that time in charge of the then new Convict Department, I took Launceston in the course of a tour of inspection of the convict establishments in the colony. There I found placed for safe custody, until transport to the aboriginal establishment at Flinders Island could be provided, the family of Aborigines afterwards known by the name of Lannie—consisting of a father and mother, with a son and daughter, fourteen to eighteen years of age, and two or three younger children, one of whom was afterwards named 'Billy,' and who, from his being the last male survivor of his race, together with the untoward circumstances

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Rh just the words, but they were mighty beautiful thoughts and did you credit."

"Don't remind me of it," Jack groaned. "It makes me sick every time I think what an ass I've been."

I allowed that I felt a little nausea myself, but I told him that this time, at least, he'd shown some sense; that Miss Churchill was a mighty pretty girl and rich enough so that her liking him didn't prove anything worse against her than bad judgment; and that the thing for him to do was to quit his foolishness, propose to her, and dance the heel, toe, and a one, two, three with her for the rest of his natural days.

Jack hemmed and hawked a little over this, but finally he came out with it:

"That's the deuce of it," says he. "I'm in a beastly mess—I want to marry her—she's the only girl in the world for me—the only one I've ever really loved, and I've proposed—that is, I want to propose to her,


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Rh but I'm engaged to Edith Curzon on the quiet."

"I reckon you'll marry her, then," I said; "because she strikes me as a young woman who's not going to lose a million dollars without putting a tracer after it."

"And that's not the worst of it," Jack went on.

"Not the worst of it! What do you mean! You haven't married her on the quiet, too, have you?"

"No, but there's Mabel Moore, you know."

I didn't know, but I guessed. "You haven't been such a double-barreled donkey as to give her an option on yourself, too?"

"No, no; but I've said things to her which she may have misconstrued, if she's inclined to be literal."

"You bet she is," I answered. "I never saw a nice, fat, blonde girl who took a million-dollar offer as a practical joke. What is it you've said to her? 'I love you,


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Rh ,' or something about as foxy and noncommittal."

"Not that—not that at all; but she may have stretched what I said to mean that."

Well, sir, I just laid into that fellow when I heard that, though I could see that he didn't think it was refined of me. He'd never made it any secret that he thought me a pretty coarse old man, and his face showed me now that I was jarring his delicate works.

"I suppose I have been indiscreet," he said, "but I must say I expected something different from you, after coming out this way and owning up. Of course, if you don't care to help me"

I cut him short there. "I've got to help you. But I want you to tell me the truth. How have you managed to keep this Curzon girl from announcing her engagement to you?"

"Well," and there was a scared grin on


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Rh Jack's face now; "I told her that you, as trustee under father's will, had certain unpleasant powers over my money—in fact, that most of it would revert to Sis if I married against your wishes, and that you disliked her, and that she must work herself into your good graces before we could think of announcing our engagement."

I saw right off that he had told Mabel Moore the same thing, and that was why those two girls had been so blamed polite to me the night before. So I rounded on him sudden.

"You're engaged to that Miss Moore, too, aren't you?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Why didn't you come out like a man and say so at first?"

"I couldn't, Mr. Graham. Someways it seemed like piling it up so, and you take such a cold-blooded, unsympathetic view of these things."


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Rh "Perhaps I do; yes, I'm afraid I do. How far are you committed to Miss Churchill?"

Jack cheered right up. "I'm all right there, at least. She hasn't answered."

"Then you've asked?"

"Why, so I have; at least she may take it for something like asking. But I don't care; I want to be committed there; I can't live without her; she's the only"

I saw that he was beginning to foam up again, so I shut him off straight at the spigot. Told him to save it till after the ceremony. Set him down to my desk, and dictated two letters, one to Edith Curzon and the other to Mabel Moore, and made him sign and seal them, then and there. He twisted and squirmed and tried to wiggle off the hook, but I wouldn't give him any slack. Made him come right out and say that he was a yellow pup; that he had made a mistake; and that the stuff was all off, though I worded it a little different from


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Rh that. Slung in some fancy words and high-toned phrases.

You see, I had made up my mind that the best of a bad matter was the Churchill girl, and I didn't propose to have her commit herself, too, until I'd sort of cleared away the wreckage. Then I reckoned on copper-riveting their engagement by announcing it myself and standing over Jack with a shotgun to see that there wasn't any more nonsense. They were both so light-headed and light-waisted and light-footed that it seemed to me that they were just naturally mates.

Jack reached for those letters when they were addressed and started to put them in his pocket, but I had reached first. I reckon he'd decided that something might happen to them on their way to the post-office; but nothing did, for I called in the butler and made him go right out and mail them then and there.

I'd had the letters dated from my house, and I made Jack spend the night there. I


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Rh reckoned it might be as well to keep him within reaching distance for the next day or two. He showed up at breakfast in the morning looking like a calf on the way to the killing pens, and I could see that his thoughts were mighty busy following the postman who was delivering those letters. I tried to cheer him up by reading some little odds and ends from the morning paper about other people's troubles, but they didn't seem to interest him.

"They must just about have received them," he finally groaned into his coffee cup. "Why did I send them! What will those girls think of me! They'll cut me dead—never speak to me again."

The butler came in before I could tell him that this was about what we'd calculated on their doing, and said: "Beg pardon, sir, but there's a lady asking for you at the telephone."

"A lady!" says Jack. "Tell her I'm not here." Talk to one of those girls, even from


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204 anxious to ascertain its latitude and longitude; it being in our opinion the place where, should Perth flourish, an observatory will, in after times, be formed. We kindled a fire, and had tea prepared, which, being made with the water of the river, tasted rather brackish; but it was sufficiently palatable, when tempered with brandy or schiedam, of which we partook with moderation; then some retired to rest, and others passed the night in observing the culmination of several stars, to ascertain the latitude;—the sun's meridional altitude, at this season of the year, being too great to be measured by the usual means.

Next morning, we started before breakfast, intending to enjoy it, after we had ascended some distance up the Canning, purposing to stop at a group of islets, where we expected to meet the Governor, Surveyor-general, and a numerous train of gentlemen, who had been invited to accompany them on their present expedition, which had for its object—to take an eye survey of the river, to trace it to its head, and to observe the nature of the land in its immediate vicinity.

We proceeded slowly, and paid much attention to sounding, particularly after we entered its mouth, named by the French "Moreau's Inlet." Having proceeded nearly south for three or four miles, we perceived that the river's course was from the eastward.

About ten o'clock we arrived at the appointed rendezvous, and having landed, we conveyed our cooking

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Rh a safe distance! He guessed not. He turned as pale as a hog on ice at the thought of it.

"I'm sorry, sir," said the man, "but I've already said that you were breakfasting here. She said it was very important."

I could see that Jack's curiosity was already getting the best of his scare. After all, he threw out, feeling me, it might be best to hear what she had to say. I thought so, too, and he went to the instrument and shouted "Hello!" in what he tried to make a big, brave voice, but it wobbled a little all the same.

I got the other end of the conversation from him when he was through.

"Hello! Is that you, Jack?" chirped the Curzon girl.

"Yes. Who is that?"

"Edith," came back. "I have your letter, but I can't make out what it's all about. Come this afternoon and tell me, for we're still good friends, aren't we, Jack?"

"Yes—certainly," stammered Jack.


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Rh "And you'll come?"

"Yes," he answered, and cut her off.

He had hardly recovered from this shock when a messenger boy came with a note, addressed in a woman's writing.

"Now for it," he said, and breaking the seal read:

"Here's a go," exclaimed Jack, but he looked pleased in a sort of sneaking way. "What do you think of it, Mr. Graham?"

"I don't like it."

"Think they intend to cut up?" he asked.

"Like a sausage machine; and yet I don't see how they can stand for you after that letter."

"Well, shall I go?"

"Yes, in fact I suppose you must go; but Jack, be a man. Tell 'em plain and straight


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Rh that you don't love 'em as you should to marry 'em; say you saw your old girl a few days ago and found you loved her still, or something from the same trough, and stick to it. Take what you deserve. If they hold you up to the bull-ring, the only thing you can do is to propose to take the whole bunch to Utah, and let 'em share and share alike. That'll settle it. Be firm."

"As a rock, sir."

I made Jack come downtown and lunch with me, but when I started him off, about two o'clock, he looked so like a cat padding up the back-stairs to where she knows there's a little canary meat—scared, but happy—that I said once more: "Now be firm, Jack."

"Firm's the word, sir," was the resolute answer.

"And unyielding."

"As the old guard." And Jack puffed himself out till he was as chesty as a pigeon on a barn roof, and swung off down the


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Rh street looking mighty fine and manly from the rear.

I never really got the straight of it, but I pieced together these particulars later. At the corner there was a flower store. Jack stepped inside and sent a box of roses by special messenger to Miss Curzon, so there might be something to start conversation when he got there. Two blocks farther on he passed a second florist's, turned back and sent some lilies to Miss Moore, for fear she might think he'd forgotten her during the hour or more before he could work around to her house. Then he chased about and found a third florist, from whom he ordered some violets for Miss Churchill, to remind her that she had promised him the first dance at the Blairs' that night. Your Ma told me that Jack had nice instincts about these little things which women like, and always put a good deal of heavy thought into selecting his flowers for them. It's been my experience that a critter who has


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Rh instead of sense belongs in the bushes with the dicky-birds.

No one ever knew just what happened to Jack during the next three hours. He showed up at his club about five o'clock with a mighty conceited set to his jaw, but it dropped as if the spring had broken when he caught sight of me waiting for him in the reading-room.

"You here?" he asked as he threw himself into a chair.

"You bet," I said. "I wanted to hear how you made out. You settled the whole business, I take it?" but I knew mighty well from his looks that he hadn't settled anything.

"Not—not exactly—that is to say, entirely; but I've made a very satisfactory beginning."

"Began it all over again, I suppose."

This hit so near the truth that Jack jumped, in spite of himself, and then he burst out with a really swear. I couldn't


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Rh have been more surprised if your Ma had cussed.

"Damn it, sir, I won't stand any more of your confounded meddling. Those letters were a piece of outrageous brutality. I'm breaking off with the girls, but I've gone about it in a gentler and, I hope, more dignified, way."

"Jack, I don't believe any such stuff and guff. You're tied up to them harder and tighter than ever."

I could see I'd made a bull's eye, for Jack began to bluster, but I cut him short with:

"Go to the devil your own way," and walked out of the club. I reckon that Jack felt mighty disturbed for as much as an hour, but a good dinner took the creases out of his system. He'd found that Miss Moore didn't intend to go to the Blairs', and that Miss Curzon had planned to go to a dance with her sister somewheres else, so he calculated on having a clear track for a trial spin with Miss Churchill.


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Rh I surprised your Ma a good deal that evening by allowing that I'd go to the Blairs' myself, for it looked to me as if the finals might be trotted there, and I thought I'd better be around, because, while I didn't see much chance of getting any sense into Jack's head, I felt I ought to do what I could on my friendship account with his father.

Jack was talking to Miss Churchill when I came into the room, and he was tending to business so strictly that he didn't see me bearing down on him from one side of the room, nor Edith Curzon's sister, Mrs. Dick, a mighty capable young married woman, bearing down on him from the other, nor Miss Curzon, with one of his roses in her hair, watching him from a corner. There must have been a council of war between the sisters that afternoon, and a change of their plans for the evening.

Mrs. Dick beat me stalking Jack, but I was just behind, a close second. He didn't


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Rh and astronomical instruments on shore, and commenced, without delay, to put them in use. The water here was quite fresh, so that we enjoyed a strong cup of tea, which removed the headach, caused by want of sleep.

We took altitudes of the sun, to ascertain the longitude by means of the pocket chronometers, and also for double altitudes, the sun passing too near the zenith to admit of his meridional altitude being taken. After having waited until the sun's declining altitude was equal to what we had observed in the forenoon, we thought it might be as well to proceed up the river, as there were no signs of the arrival of the Governor or any of his party, although the time, agreed on for our meeting, was long past.

We accordingly resumed our way; but our progress was soon impeded by shallow water, and we were further puzzled as to which channel (of which there were several) was the best.

A channel being at length selected, chiefly from the recent track of a boat's keel, which we meant to follow, we were all obliged to get out, and shove the boat along for some distance, when the channel contracted to about ten feet wide, and from two to five feet deep.

Proceeding up this a short distance, we met a boat belonging to the brig Thompson, and, ere long, discovered her worthy commander in possession of one of the islets, on which he invited us to land, with as much

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206 courtesy as if he had been in his own house; we did so, and he showed us its varied advantages with much satisfaction.

We entered his tent, which was well stored with a profusion of corn'd beef, cold fowls, Scotch ale, and London porter, and we partook willingly of his cheerfully proffered hospitality,—wishing him and his successors to enjoy health, prosperity, happiness, and all other blessings that are usually bestowed, in liberal abundance, on the givers of good fare.

He informed us, that he had obtained the Government charter to proceed to Van Dieman's Land for sheep and cattle; that he had also obtained a grant of 4000 acres of land (of which he was now in search), and that he intended to settle, with his wife and children, in the colony.

I was rather surprised at this information, as I knew he had been among the number of those who abused the colony,—predicting that it never would come to any good; but I learned that his former antipathy arose from his having been, shortly after his arrival, severely bitten by an uncivil dog, which had come from Raffles Bay in his own vessel.

Observing that I made no reply to his remark, he asked me, "What is your opinion. Doctor? don't you think the colony will succeed?" "Why, it is hard to say: I think the anchorage much against it: look at the Marquis of Anglesey on shore already! what may be expected in the winter months?"—"Oh! the

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Rh is good enough, it was a lubberly trick to let her go on shore; the colony must succeed; there is nothing can prevent it."

Such was the change in opinion effected by having obtained the charter and a grant of land.—I believe that a similar change sometimes happens from less convincing arguments.

Learning that we were bound farther up, he accompanied us, and I promised to render him my assistance, in the selection of his land. About six o'clock, we arrived at the navigable source of the river, where we agreed to pass the evening.

We had scarcely got our things on shore when the Governor and his party came up to us, he was leading the way, apparently, quite unfatigued; while several of his cortege could just manage, by their utmost exertions, not to be distanced (a sad thing in pathless woods); and I have no doubt they heard, with regret, His Excellency's intention to proceed farther up.

Captain Barker had been invited to be of his party, and of course joined it here; and off they went at a good round pace; the boat was to follow with stores and provisions, but whether well supplied, there was some doubt, the Governor being rather careless, in the way of provender.

We were also invited to join the train; but although we considered a monarchical form of government the best, yet we preferred a republican party of pleasure, and accordingly remained where we were.

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52 endeavoured to follow; but, in a short time, as the sea ran high, they considered it more safe to lie-to, which they accordingly did.

As the weather became worse, they had recourse to the following expedient: the masts, being unrigged and unstepped, were, together with the yard and oars, securely lashed, and thrown overboard, the end of the rope, by which they were bound, being made fast to the bow of the boat, which then rode pretty easy; the spars serving, in some degree, as a breakwater;—and thus they remained upwards of thirty hours.

On the weather moderating, they made sail, and stood towards the land, which was soon discovered. Observing several fires to the south-eastward, they endeavoured to work up for that part of the land, supposing the settlement to be there; but after beating about nearly a day, without having gained any ground, they gave up the attempt as fruitless, and after much discussion, the majority agreed to direct their course to Timor. Thus did we all (twenty-seven in the long-boat, and twelve in the skiff) reach this friendly port, after having sailed upwards of 1300 miles over a dangerous, and occasionally very turbulent sea; and although there was no want of skill and presence of mind on the part of those who directed, nor of willing alacrity on the

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Rh part of those who obeyed; yet it must be evident, that all human means, under such circumstances, would be exerted in vain, unless under the protection of a superintending Providence, to whose merciful interference our preservation can alone be attributed.

On taking a retrospective view of the occurrences attending our journey, it was evident that every thing had happened for the best; although, at the time, we formed a very different conclusion. Had we reached Booby Island, we could not have had such a good opportunity of repairing our boat, neither could we have ascertained the position of several hitherto unsurveyed islands. Had we not encountered a gale of wind, we might have reached Melville Island, where we could only have met with disappointment and disasters. The rain, also, that fell so unremittingly and in such abundance, although it tended to render us very uncomfortable; yet, on the whole, was in our favour, not only by diminishing thirst, but also by keeping the atmosphere comparatively cool, and preventing us from being scorched by the burning rays of a tropical sun.

Throughout the passage, rigid discipline and strict impartiality being observed, no insubordination nor the slightest disturbance occurred among the crew; whose behaviour was highly creditable to themselves, and well worthy of imitation by others, who may hereafter be placed in the same trying situation. We lived very sparingly, from motives of prudential caution, yet we did not experience any very great privations.

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54 having a little biscuit daily, we had either a bit of cheese, or a morsel of salt beef; and although we had to eat the latter raw, it did not prove unpalatable, when we reflected on the horrible means, to which others, similarly circumstanced, had been compelled to resort,—the dread of which being constantly in our minds, made us exceedingly frugal; so that, on our arrival, we had sufficient provisions to support life for nearly a month longer.

We had, as before mentioned, a little brandy in the boat, which, being issued daily after dinner, in the proportion of one third of a wine-glassful to each individual, lasted till the day before we made the land, and, small as the quantity was, it added comfort to our scanty fare. From our having pumped off a cask of water to lighten the boat, before receiving the jolly-boat's crew on board, it behoved us to be, and we were, exceedingly cautious in the expenditure of this important article; but the rain generally affording a supply, we suffered little or no inconvenience from thirst.

Perhaps it may not be out of place now to mention, that the ship was wrecked on a very small patch of coral, detached, and lying about two cables' length to the south-west of a reef whose position is accurately laid down, by Captain Flinders, in south latitude 10° 2', and east longitude 143° 21'.

It is a very common, but highly reprehensible practice, when a ship is lost on a reef or sand-bank, to account for the accident by affirming, either that the

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Rh see her until she got right up to him and rapped him on the arm with her fan.

"Dear Jack," she says, all smiles and sugar; "dear Jack, I've just heard. Edith has told me, though I'd suspected something for a long, long time, you rogue," and she fetched him another kittenish clip with the fan.

Jack looked about the way I once saw old Miss Curley, the president of the Good Templars back in our town in Missouri, look at a party when she half-swallowed a spoonful of her ice cream before she discovered that it was flavored with liquor.

But he stammered something and hurried Miss Churchill away, though not before a fellow who was going by had wrung his hand and said, "Congratulations, old chap. Just heard the news."

Jack's only idea seemed to travel, and to travel far and fast, and he dragged his partner along to the other end of the room, while


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Rh I followed the band. We had almost gone the length of the course, when Jack, who had been staring ahead mighty hard, shied and balked, for there, not ten feet away, stood Miss Moore, carrying his lilies, and blushing and smiling at something young Blakely was saying to her.

I reckon Jack guessed what that something was, but just then Blakely caught sight of him and rushed up to where he was standing.

"I congratulate you, Jack," he said. "Miss Moore's a charming girl."

And now Miss Churchill slipped her hand from his arm and turned and looked at Jack. Her lips were laughing, but there was something in her eye which made Jack turn his own away.

"Oh, you lucky Jack," she laughed. "You twice lucky Jack."

Jack simply curled up: "Wretched mistake somewhere," he mumbled. "Awfully hot here—get you a glass of water," and he


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Rh rushed off. He dodged around Miss Moore, and made a flank movement which got him by Miss Curzon and safely to the door. He kept on; I followed.

I had to go to New York on business next day. Jack had already gone there, bought a ticket for Europe, and was just loafing around the pier trying to hurry the steamer off. I went down to see him start, and he looked so miserable that I'd have felt sorry for him if I hadn't seen him look miserable before.

"Is it generally known, sir, do you think?" he asked me humbly. "Can't you hush it up somehow?"

"Hush it up! You might as well say 'Shoo!' to the Limited and expect it to stop for you."

"Mr. Graham, I'm simply heartbroken over it all. I know I shall never reach Liverpool. I'll go mad on the voyage across, and throw myself overboard. I'm too delicately strung to stand a thing of this sort."


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Rh "Delicate rats! You haven't nerve enough not to stand it," I said. "Brace up and be a man, and let this be a lesson to you. Good-bye."

Jack took my hand sort of mechanically and looked at me without seeing me, for his grief-dimmed eyes, in straying along the deck, had lit on that pretty little Southern baggage, Fanny Fairfax. And as I started off he was leaning over her in the same old way, looking into her brown eyes as if he saw a full-course dinner there.

"Think of your being on board!" I heard him say. "I'm the luckiest fellow alive; by Jove, I am!"

I gave Jack up, and an ex-grass widow is keeping him in order now. I don't go much on grass widows, but I give her credit for doing a pretty good job. She's got Jack so tame that he eats out of her hand, and so well trained that he don't allow strangers to pet him.

I inherited one Jack—I couldn't help


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Rh that. But I don't propose to wake up and find another one in the family. So you write me what's what by return. Your affectionate father, 4em


text: Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son/Letter 19


text:
The New International Encyclopædia/Ellsworth

ELLS'WORTH. A city, port of entry, and county seat of Hancock County, Maine, 30 miles southeast of Bangor, on the Maine Central Railroad (Map: Maine, F 6). It is at the head of navigation on the Union River, and has an extensive trade in lumber and ice and ship building interests; also manufactures of lumber, shoes, carriages, soap, sails and iron. Abundant water-power is supplied by the river, which is spanned by several bridges at this point. The principal public buildings include the court house, custom-house, city hall, and a public library, with about 3900 volumes. A large United States fish hatchery is located here. Ellsworth was settled in 1763, incorporated in 1800, and chartered as a city in 1869. The government is vested in a mayor, a unicameral council, and subordinate

administrative officials. Population, in 1890, 4804; in 1900, 4297.


text:
The New International Encyclopædia/Ellsworth, Ephraim Elmer

ELLSWORTH, (1837-61). An American soldier. He was born in Mechanicsville, N. Y., but early removed to Chicago. In April, 1861, he organized a Zouave regiment from among the volunteer firemen of New York, and became its colonel. He took part in the first general movement of the Federal forces into Virginia, but at Alexandria, on May 24th, was shot dead by a hotel-keeper from whose building he had just torn away a Confederate flag. In the North he was regarded as the first ‘martyr’ to the cause of the Union. He was buried, with imposing military ceremonies, from the White House, in Washington.


text:
The New International Encyclopædia/Ellsworth, Oliver

ELLSWORTH, (1745-1807). An American statesman and jurist, Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States from 1796 to 1800. He was born at Windsor, Conn., and studied at both Yale and Princeton, graduating at the latter institution in 1766. He was admitted to the Connecticut bar in 1771. In 1775 he was chosen a member of the Connecticut Legislature, in which, in the early years of the Revolution, he served as a member of the important Committee of Military Accounts. Elected to the Continental Congress in 1778, he continued to serve as a delegate until 1784, when he became a member of the Governor's Council and a judge of the State Supreme Court. In 1787, with Roger Sherman and William Samuel Johnson, he was chosen to represent Connecticut in the Constitutional Convention. As a member of this convention his most important achievement was securing the adoption of the ‘Connecticut Compromise,’ which called for a combination whereby there should be two Houses, the Upper chosen on a basis of equality between the States, and the Lower on a representative basis proportioned according to population. This plan was finally adopted by the narrow majority of one vote. On the organization of the National Government, in 1789, he was elected one of the first United States Senators from Connecticut. As chairman of the Senate Committee on Judiciary he drew up the bill which organized the judicial system of the country on the basis upon which it has ever since been maintained. As the leader of the Federalists in the Senate, he suggested to Washington the plan of sending John Jay to England in 1794 to negotiate a treaty with that country; and it was Ellsworth's influence, in the face of violent opposition, that secured the Senate's approval of the treaty after it had been negotiated. In 1796 he was appointed by Washington Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States, serving until 1799, in which year he was sent, with William R. Davie and Vans Murray, as commissioner to adjust the numerous disputes that had arisen between the United States and France. The negotiations, carried on almost entirely by Ellsworth, terminated by the signing of a treaty whereby France conceded a recognition of the rights of the neutral vessels and promised indemnity for depredations on American commerce. After a year in England, during which time he resigned the Chief-Justiceship, Ellsworth returned to America. From 1802 until his death he was a member of the Governor's Council in Connecticut. On the reorganization of the Connecticut judiciary, early in 1807, he was appointed Chief Justice of the state, but died before entering

upon his duties. Consult Van Santvoord, Lives of the Chief Justices (New York, 1854).


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Rh sea had carved into hollow eye-sockets and an empty nasal cavity. The rock wall ended high above the water; beneath it lay a gaping chasm of pitchy darkness. And the galley, drum silenced, oars at rest, slid under the ledge, into the mouth of the skull!

Just before total blackness fell, Cliff sprang to Vilma's side and raised her in his arms. If he hoped to do anything, he must do it now! He groped his way to the starboard bow and moved one hand along the dank timbers, searching. He found what he sought, a wide gap at the edge of a board. Gently lowering Vilma to the floor, he gripped the slimy wood with both hands and thrust outward mightily. A wide strip of decayed timber burst free. He dropped it into the sea and attacked the next board. In moments a wide irregular opening yawned in the galley's hull.

Leaning out, Cliff looked down. He could see nothing. Then suddenly a faint light appeared, and he heard the hum of the Ariel's motors as she entered the cave. The humming ceased instantly, but the faint light persisted.

Now he could see the blackness of waters, a rock wall beyond. He drew back—and as he did so, he heard movements on deck! At any moment the rowers might enter! He'd have to risk a drop into the water with Vilma—there was nothing else to do. If only she were conscious!

He stooped and raised her, holding her firmly with one arm. Gripping the hull with the other, he climbed through the opening, inhaled deeply, and dropped! A heart-stopping plunge—and cold water closed over them. Down, down—then they shot upward, reached the surface; and even as Cliff gulped a single gasping breath, something struck his skull a blinding, stunning blow! The oars!

With rapidly numbing arms and legs Cliff kicked and flailed the water, striving for land. Dimly he knew he no longer held Vilma; dimly he visioned her as were those ghastly undead; then his body scraped on something hard, and a blackness that was not physical blotted out consciousness!

2. The Dreadful Isle

hammers pounding against his temples wakened Cliff Darrell. He opened his eyes to stare into total darkness crawling with mental monsters spawned by his pain-stabbed brain. He lay half immersed in shallow brine, his head resting on a jagged stone just above the surface. Struggling to his hands and knees, he shook his head from side to side, dumbly, like an animal in pain. Something had hit him—and now he was in water—and there was no light. What had happened? Where was Vilma?

Vilma! He groaned. He remembered now. They had dropped—and his head had struck something—and—and—maybe she was floating out there even now, dead eyes staring upward.

"Vilma!" he cried, his voice pleading, "Vilma!"

Only a mocking echo answered him. There was no other sound, not even the whisper of waves swishing among the rocks.

Cliff pressed his hands fiercely against his throbbing head. The pain had become a madness, matched only by the agony of his own helplessness. He felt his reason reeling; he fought an insane desire to fling himself shrieking into that silent expanse of water to search for Vilma; then with a tremendous physical effort he jarred himself back to sanity.

He staggered to his feet, groped stumblingly over the rocks away from the water. His hand touched a rock wall broken and pitted by the action of the sea; and he crept slowly inland, feeling his way,


text: Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/Parker, Amasa Junius


text: Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/Parker, Daniel


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264 like a blind man. As he plodded on his thoughts blended into one fixed idea: he must get to light, must get light to search for Vilma.

Gradually the insensate pounding in his head abated, and strength returned to his body. When at last he saw light beyond a narrow fissure around an angle in the cavern, he had almost recovered. In moments he was gazing out over a plain bathed in the glow of a leprous moon. As he stared, he shivered; and it was not because of the cold draft drawing through the fissure, fanning his brine-drenched body.

Grim and starkly forbidding the plain lay before him, dead as the frozen landscape of the moon. Once there had been life there, but now only the skeletons of trees remained, lifting their wasted limbs in rigid pleading to an unresponsive sky. Some, there were, that had fallen, uprooted by the fury of passing hurricanes; these lay like the scattered bones of a dismembered giant, age-blackened, and painted with hoarfrost by the brushes of moonlight. Feebly the dead forest stirred under the touch of a moaning wind, and the gaunt shadows cast by the trees seemed to be multi-armed monsters slithering over the rocky earth.

He looked beyond the trees, and he saw light. Little squares of pale radiance cut high in the walls of an ancient black castle. Castle? Cliff frowned. He could liken it to nothing else, though he could not recall ever having seen a castle which thrust curving, needle-thin spires into the sky like a devil's horns.

Impatiently Cliff stepped from the wall of rock and glanced along a path that writhed through the forest; glanced—and crouched swiftly, a low cry escaping him. A single spot of water on a smooth, flat stone! A spot shaped like a woman's shoe! Vilma had passed this way!

But—might it not have been some other woman from the Ariel? No! They had been carried—and even if they had walked, their feet were dry!

Like a hound on the scent, Cliff Darrell sped along the serpentine path. The wind moaned above him, and the soughing branches seemed to whisper croaking warnings, but he ran on, his eyes constantly seeking signs of Vilma's course. Here a drop of water shaken from her drenched skirt, there another; and Cliff blessed the full moon whose light made possible his trailing of the almost invisible spoor.

Now he had passed beyond the dead forest and was moving toward the castle. The trail had been growing steadily fainter, but he managed to follow it. It led him toward a narrow stone stairway climbing crookedly to a misshapen opening in the wall. Light glowed faintly lurid somewhere deep within; and now Cliff heard a blasphemous sound belch from the depths of the castle—a wheezing, sardonic croaking like the moan of a demoniac organ, rumbling an obscene dirge. His hair bristled, and he stopped short.

He looked at the steps, searching for the fading trail—and he stiffened. There on the second step was an irregular blotch of moisture! What did it mean? Had Vilma crouched there? Had she ascended those steps? Entered?

drawn face he began to skirt the base of the black building, searching every nook and cranny, scanning the bare walls. His heart lay like ballast in his breast. If—if something had lured Vilma into that demon-infested vault he checked the thought.

Suddenly he cursed. Mechanically he had begun to measure his stride in time with the doleful dirge from the castle. He stalked on with altered pace. As he rounded the corner at the rear of the


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Rh structure, he saw a shadow outlined against the sky, crouching on a ledge below one of the little windows. He looked again—cried:

"Vilma!"

The figure above him stirred, looked down, then climbed hastily earthward. It was Vilma Vilma, with black hair hanging stringily about her head, face pale, eyes fixed in the wideness of fear  Vilma, with her wet clothing clinging to the lovely contours of her symmetrical body.

"Oh, Cliff!" she gasped, a dry sob choking her. "Thank God—thank God!"

She clung to him, her face hidden against his shoulder, quivering uncontrollably. Then tears came, saving tears, relieving her pent-up emotions.

Cliff said nothing, only held her close, strongly protective. And gradually he felt the tempest of terror subside. At last she looked up. Some of the dread had gone from her face, and she tried to smile.

"I guess—I can't take it," she said.

Cliff shook his head solemnly. "You're a game girl, Vilma! You've nerve enough for two men. If you can, tell me what happened. Of if you'd rather let it wait, just say so."

"I'll feel better if I get it off my chest," she said. "You probably saw those—things—carry me from the yacht." Cliff nodded. "Well, I was just about paralyzed when they dropped me in their terrible boat. I remember, you tried to arouse me; then that horn blew, and I just seemed to float away in an ocean of sleep.

"After that I can remember nothing till I awoke with water filling my eyes and nose and mouth, choking me. Someone's arms were around me—it must have been you, Cliff—and then they weren't there any more, and I struggled wildly, out of my wits. I don't know how I got to shore, but I did, and I lay there in the shadow of the galley, choking and gagging, but afraid to cough. It wasn't altogether dark, and I could see those dreadful things with people hanging over their shoulders, carrying them along a narrow ledge close to the water's edge, heading inland. I thought maybe you were one of those limp bodies; and I—I almost died of fright. After a while the last one had gone, and the light went out. Then I heard another pair of feet moving over the rocks. Corio, I suppose. The sound died—and I was alone.

"That place was awful, Cliff. The blackness almost drove me mad. I wanted to scream, but I was afraid to. Some terrible weight seemed to be crushing my lungs. If I followed those undead things, they might capture me, but it seemed worse to stay there in that dreadful dark.

"I got out of there somehow, though it seemed to take hours. Then I didn't know what to do. I stood at the edge of the dead forest trying to decide; trying, too, to keep myself from shrieking and running—anywhere. Then Corio's horn blew again—a sound, Cliff, worse than anything I've ever heard. It—it was a wicked sound, promising to fulfill every foul desire that ever tainted a human mind. It repelled, yet it lured irresistibly. And—I answered!"

She stopped, and buried her face in her hands. After a moment she went on. "The sound stopped just as I found myself crawling on hands and knees up the stone stairway on the other side. Another started—that awful groaning—music—but it didn't draw me. I ran down the steps and scurried away like a rabbit trying to find a place to hide.

"After a while I came back—I thought you must be in there—and I climbed up to the window. And—and—Cliff, it's hellish!"

Her eyes, boring into his, widened in


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266 the same rigid terror he had seen in them when he joined her.

"We could go back to the cove and get away on the Ariel, Vilma," Cliff said stonily. "And if you think we should, we will. But—I brought our friends here, and—well, I want to get them out if I can."

With an effort Vilma nodded. "Of course. We can't do anything else."

He released her and stepped up to the wall.

"I'm going to see what's going on in there," he said. "You wait here till I come down."

In sudden dread Vilma seized his arm. "No, Cliff. I couldn't stand waiting here alone. I'll go with you."

He nodded understandingly. And together they began climbing the precipitous wall, fitting hands and feet in step-like crevices that made progress fairly rapid. Soon they were crouching on a wide stone ledge, clinging to thin, rusted bars, staring into the black castle.

3. The Steps of Torture

hall lay before them, a single chamber whose walls were the walls of the castle, whose arched ceiling rose far above them. Directly below their window a stone platform jutted from the wall, spreading entirely across the chamber. A stone altar squatted in the center of the platform, a strangely phosphorescent fire smoldering on its top. And from the altar descended a wide, wide stairway ending in the middle of the hall. All this Cliff saw in a single sweeping glance; afterward he had eyes for nothing save the lethal horror of a mad, mad scene, revealed by the dim radiance of the altar fire.

Behind the altar stood five huge figures clad in long, hooded cloaks of scarlet. The central figure had arms raised wide, his cloak spread like the wings of some bloody bird of prey; and from his lips came a guttural incantation, a blasphemous chant in archaic Latin, in time with the wheeze of the buried organ. Now his arms dropped, and he was silent.

From the room below came a concerted whine of ceremonial devotion, a hollow, hungry wail. It rose from the bloodless lips of strangely assorted human figures ranging down the center of the long stairway in two facing columns. A hundred or more there must have been, representing half as many periods and countries, according to their strange and ancient costumes. Men in the armor of medieval Persia—the crew of the black galley; yellow-haired Vikings; hawk-faced Egyptians with leather-brown skins; half-naked islanders; red-sashed pirates from the Spanish main; men of today! And about all, like the dampness that clings to a tombstone, hovered a cloud of—death! The undead!

Cliff's gaze roved over the tensely waiting columns, then leaped to the foot of the stairs. There, cowering dumbly like sheep in a slaughter-pen, were his friends from the Ariel. All clothing had been stripped from them, and they stood waiting in waxen, statuesque stiffness. He saw then that three others lay prone before the stone altar, naked and ominously still.

And far down at the very end of the hall stood Leon Corio, draped in a hooded cape of unbroken black, a glint of silver in his hand—his horn of drugging sounds.

Now, as though at a silent command, a girl left the group and began to mount the stairs, as those motionless three must have mounted! Vivacious Ann—she had been the life of Cliff's yacht party; but now she was—changed. Her blanched face was rigid with inexpressible terror despite the semi-stupor which numbed her senses. Her nude body glowed like


text:
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306 A cloud came over Doctor Duryea's features. "What did you expect, Arthur?" he demanded quickly. "An evil eye? A shaven head and knotted jowls?"

"Please, Dad—no!" Arthur's words clipped short. "I don't think I ever really visualized you. I knew you would be a splendid man. But I thought you'd look older, more like a man who has really suffered."

"I have suffered, more than I can ever describe. But seeing you again, and the prospect of spending the rest of my life with you, has more than compensated for my sorrows. Even during the twenty years we were apart I found an ironic joy in learning of your progress in college, and in your American game of football."

"Then you've been following my work?"

"Yes, Arthur; I've received monthly reports ever since you left me. From my study in Paris I've been really close to you, working out your problems as if they were my own. And now that the twenty years are completed, the ban which kept us apart is lifted for ever. From now on, son, we shall be the closest of companions—unless your Aunt Cecilia has succeeded in her terrible mission."

mention of that name caused an unfamiliar chill to come between the two men. It stood for something, in each of them, which gnawed their minds like a malignancy. But to the younger Duryea, in his intense effort to forget the awful past, her name as well as her madness must be forgotten.

He had no wish to carry on this subject of conversation, for it betrayed an internal weakness which he hated. With forced determination, and a ludicrous lift of his eyebrows, he said.

"Cecilia is dead, and her silly superstition is dead also. From now on, Dad, we're going to enjoy life as we should. Bygones are really bygones in this case."

Doctor Duryea closed his eyes slowly, as though an exquisite pain had gone through him.

"Then you have no indignation?" he questioned. "You have none of your aunt's hatred?"

"Indignation? Hatred?" Arthur laughed aloud. "Ever since I was twelve years old I have disbelieved Cecilia's stories. I have known that those horrible things were impossible, that they belonged to the ancient category of mythology and tradition. How, then, can I be indignant, and how can I hate you? How can I do anything but recognize Cecilia for what she was—a mean, frustrated woman, cursed with an insane grudge against you and your family? I tell you, Dad, that nothing she has ever said can possibly come between us again."

Henry Duryea nodded his head. His lips were tight together, and the muscles in his throat held back a cry. In that same soft tone of defense he spoke further, doubting words.

"Are you so sure of your subconscious mind, Arthur? Can you be so certain that you are free from all suspicion, however vague? Is there not a lingering premonition—a premonition which warns of peril?"

"No, Dad—no!" Arthur shot to his feet. "I don't believe it. I've never believed it. I know, as any sane man would know, that you are neither a vampire nor a murderer. You know it, too; and Cecilia knew it, only she was mad.

"That family rot is dispelled, Father. This is a civilized century. Belief in vampirism is sheer lunacy. Wh-why, it's too absurd even to think about!"

"You have the enthusiasm of youth," said his father, in a rather tired voice. "But have you not heard the legend?"

Arthur stepped back instinctively. He


text: Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/Parker, Edward Griffin


text: Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/Parker, Edward Lutwyche


text:
Collier's New Encyclopedia (1921)/Elm

ELM, a genus of trees, consisting of 13 species, all natives of the N. temperate zone. Two species are common in Great Britain (U. campestris and U. montāná), with many varieties. The U. campestris, or common elm, is a fine tree, of rapid and erect growth, and yielding a tall stem, remarkable for the uniformity of its diameter throughout. The average height of a mature tree is 70 or 80 feet, but some reach 150 feet. The wood is brown, hard, of fine grain, and not apt to crack. The tree generally attains maturity in 70 or 80 years. U. montāna (the mountain or wych elm), a native of Scotland, grows to a less height than the English elm, is of slower growth, and yields a much shorter bole, but it is far bolder in its ramification and more hardy. It usually attains to the height of about 50 feet. The timber is strong and elastic, and the tree often yields large protuberances of gnarled wood, finely knotted and veined, and much esteemed for veneering. U. glabra, the smooth-leaved elm, is a species common in some parts of Great Britain. The most ornamental tree of the genus is U.

pendula, the weeping elm. The American or white elm (U. americana) is abundant in the Western States, attaining its loftiest stature between lat. 42° and 46°; here it reaches the height of 100 feet, with a trunk 4 or 5 feet in diameter, rising sometimes 60 or 70 feet before it separates into a few primary limbs. The red or slippery elm (U. fulva) is found over a great extent of country in Canada, Missouri, and as far S. as lat. 31°; it attains the height of 50 or 60 feet, with a trunk 15 or 20 inches in diameter; the wood is of better quality than that of the white elm. The leaves and bark yield an abundant mucilage. The wahoo (U. alata), inhabiting from lat. 37° to Florida, Louisiana, and Arkansas, is a small tree, 30 feet high.

title: Collier's New Encyclopedia (1921)/Elm


text:
Executive Order 13611

By the authority vested in me as President by the Constitution and the laws of the United States of America, including the International Emergency Economic Powers Act (50 U.S.C. 1701 et seq.) (IEEPA), the National Emergencies Act (50 U.S.C. 1601 et seq.) (NEA), and section 301 of title 3, United States Code, I,, President of the United States of America, find that the actions and policies of certain members of the Government of Yemen and others threaten Yemen's peace, security, and stability, including by obstructing the implementation of the agreement of November 23, 2011, between the Government of Yemen and those in opposition to it, which provides for a peaceful transition of power that meets the legitimate demands and aspirations of the Yemeni people for change, and by obstructing the political process in Yemen. I further find that these actions constitute an unusual and extraordinary threat to the national security and foreign policy of the United States, and I hereby declare a national emergency to deal with that threat. I hereby order:

Barack Obama The White House, May 16, 2012. [FR Doc. 2012–12225 Filed 5–17–12; 8:45 am] Billing Code 3295–F2–P

title: Executive Order 13611


text:
User:Wikkiii

Sister Day!

title: User:Wikkiii


text:
Page:Blocking Property of Persons Who Threaten International Stabilization Efforts in the Western Balkans.pdf/2

 Sec. 4. The Secretary of the Treasury, in consultation with the Secretary of State, is hereby authorized to take such actions, including the promulgation of rules and regulations, and to employ all powers granted to me by IEEPA, as may be necessary to carry out the purposes of this order. The Secretary of the Treasury may redelegate any of these functions to other officers and agencies of the United States Government. All agencies of the United States Government are hereby directed to take all appropriate measures within their authority to carry out the provisions of this order and, where appropriate, to advise the Secretary of the Treasury in a timely manner of the measures taken.

Sec. 5. This order is not intended to create, nor does it create, any right, benefit, or privilege, substantive or procedural, enforceable at law by a party against the United States, its agencies, officers, or any other person.

Sec. 6. (a) This order is effective at 12:01 a.m. eastern daylight time on June 27, 2001; (b) This order shall be transmitted to the Congress and published in the Federal Register."

Criminal fines for violating the Executive Order or regulations to be issued pursuant to the Executive Order may range up to the greater of $500,000 or twice the pecuniary gain per violation for an organization, or up to the greater of $250,000 or twice the pecuniary gain per violation for an individual. Individuals may also be imprisoned for up to 10 years for a criminal violation. Knowingly making false statements or falsifying or concealing material facts when dealing with OFAC in connection with matters under its jurisdiction is a criminal offense. In addition, civil penalties of up to $11,000 per violation may be imposed administratively. If you have information regarding possible violations of these sanctions, please call the Treasury Department’s Office of Foreign Assets Control at 202/622-2430. Your call will be handled confidentially.

ANNEX (in OFAC SDN list format):

ADEMI, Xhevat, Member of National Liberation Army (NLA); DOB 8 Dec 1962; POB Tetovo, FYROM (individual) [BALKANS]

AHMETI, Ali, Member of National Liberation Army (NLA); DOB 4 Jan 1959; POB Kicevo, FYROM (individual) [BALKANS]

BEXHETI, Nuri, Member of National Liberation Army (NLA); DOB 1962; POB Tetovo, FYROM (individual) [BALKANS]

DALIPI, Tahir, Member of Political Council of Presevo, Medvedja, and Bujanovac (PCPMB); DOB 1958; POB Ilince, Presevo mun., FRY (individual) [BALKANS]

ELSHANI, Gafur, Member of Popular Movement of Kosovo (LPK); DOB 29 Mar 1958; POB Suva Reka, FRY (individual) [BALKANS]

GASHI, Sabit, Member of National Movement for the Liberation of Kosovo (LKCK); DOB 30 Dec 1967; POB Suva Reka, FRY (individual) [BALKANS]

HABIBI, Skender, Member of Party for Democratic Progress for Kosovo (PDK); DOB 13 Jul 1968; POB Vitina, FRY (individual) [BALKANS]

HARADINAJ, Daut, Chief of Staff of Kosovo Protection Corps (KPC); DOB 6 Apr 1978; POB Goldane, FRY (individual) [BALKANS]

HASANI, Xhavit, Member of National Liberation Army (NLA); DOB 5 May 1957; POB Tanishec, FYROM (individual) [BALKANS]

LIBERATION ARMY OF PRESEVO, MEDVEDJA, AND BUJANOVAC (a.k.a. PMBLA; a.k.a. UCPMB) [BALKANS]

LKCK (a.k.a. NATIONAL MOVEMENT FOR THE LIBERATION OF KOSOVO) [BALKANS]

LLADROVICI, Ramiz, Deputy Commander of Guard and Rapid Reaction Group of Kosovo Protection Corps (KPC); DOB 3 Jan 1966 (individual) [BALKANS]

LPK (a.k.a. POPULAR MOVEMENT OF KOSOVO) [BALKANS]

LUSHTAKU, Sami, Regional Task Group 2 Commander of Kosovo Protection Corps (KPC); DOB 20 Feb 1961; POB Srbica, FRY (individual) [BALKANS]

MUSLIU, Jonusz, Member of Political Council of Presevo, Medvedja, and Bujanovac (PCPMB); DOB 5 Jan 1959; POB Konculj, FRY (individual) [BALKANS]

MUSLIU, Shefqet, Member of Liberation Army of Presevo, Medvedja, and Bujanovac (UCPMB); DOB 12 Feb 1963; POB Konculj, FRY (individual) [BALKANS]

MUSTAFA, Rrustem, Regional Task Group 6 Commander of Kosovo Protection Corps (KPC); DOB 27 Feb 1971; POB Podujevo, FRY (individual) [BALKANS]

NATIONAL LIBERATION ARMY (a.k.a. NLA; a.k.a. UCK) [BALKANS]

NATIONAL MOVEMENT FOR THE LIBERATION OF KOSOVO (a.k.a. LKCK) [BALKANS]

NLA (a.k.a. NATIONAL LIBERATION ARMY; a.k.a. UCK) [BALKANS]

OSTREMI, Gezim, Member of National Liberation Army (NLA); DOB 1 Nov 1942; POB Debar, Macedonia (individual) [BALKANS]

PCPMB (a.k.a. POLITICAL COUNCIL OF PRESEVO, MEDVEDJA, AND BUJANOVAC) [BALKANS]

PMBLA (a.k.a. LIBERATION ARMY OF PRESEVO, MEDVEDJA, AND BUJANOVAC; a.k.a. UCPMB) [BALKANS]

POLITICAL COUNCIL OF PRESEVO, MEDVEDJA, AND BUJANOVAC (a.k.a. PCPMB) [BALKANS]

POPULAR MOVEMENT OF KOSOVO (a.k.a. LPK) [BALKANS]

SELIMI, Rexhep, Commander of Guard and Rapid Reacation Group of Kosovo Protection Corps (KPC); DOB 15 Mar 1971; POB Iglarevo, FRY (individual) [BALKANS]

SHAKIRI, Hisni, Member of National Liberation Army (NLA); DOB 1 Mar 1949; POB Otlja, FYROM (individual) [BALKANS]

SHAQIRI, Shaqir, Member of Liberation Army of Presevo, Medvedja, and Bujanovac (UCPMB); DOB 1 Sep 1964; POB FRY (individual) [BALKANS]

SUMA, Emrush, Member of National Liberation Army (NLA); DOB 27 May 1974; POB Dimce, FRY (individual) [BALKANS]

SYLA, Azem, Member of Party for Democratic Progress for Kosovo (PDK); DOB 5 Apr 1951; POB FRY (individual) [BALKANS]

UCK (a.k.a. NATIONAL LIBERATION ARMY; a.k.a. NLA) [BALKANS]

UCPMB (a.k.a. LIBERATION ARMY OF PRESEVO, MEDVEDJA, AND BUJANOVAC; a.k.a. PMBLA) [BALKANS]

VELIU, Fazli, Member of National Liberation Army (NLA); DOB 4 Jan 1945; POB Kercove, FYROM (individual) [BALKANS]

XHEMAJLI, Emrush, Member of Popular Movement of Kosovo (LPK); DOB 5 May 1959; POB Urosevac, FRY (individual) [BALKANS]

XHEMAJLI, Muhamet, Member of Liberation Army of Presevo, Medvedja, and Bujanovac (UCPMB); DOB 8 Feb 1958; POB Muhovac, FRY (individual) [BALKANS]

Additional Designations as of 12/2001:

AKSH (a.k.a. ALBANIAN NATIONAL ARMY; a.k.a. ANA) [BALKANS]

ALBANIAN NATIONAL ARMY (a.k.a. ANA; a.k.a. AKSH) [BALKANS]

ANA (a.k.a. AKSH; a.k.a. ALBANIAN NATIONAL ARMY) [BALKANS]

KKCMTSH (a.k.a. NATIONAL COMMITTEE FOR THE LIBERATION AND PROTECTION OF ALBANIAN LANDS) [BALKANS]

NATIONAL COMMITTEE FOR THE LIBERATION AND PROTECTION OF ALBANIAN LANDS (a.k.a. KKCMTSH) [BALKANS]

This document is explanatory only and does not have the force of law. The Executive Order and implementing regulations to be issued pertaining to the Balkans contain the legally binding provisions governing the sanctions. This document does not supplement or modify the Executive Order or regulations from a legal perspective.

The Office of Foreign Assets Control also administers sanctions programs involving Libya, Iraq, North Korea, Cuba, the National Union for the Total Independence of Angola (UNITA), Iran, Syria, Sudan, Burma (Myanmar), the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia (Serbia & Montenegro), the Taliban in Afghanistan, Sierra Leone, Liberia, designated Terrorists and international Narcotics Traffickers, Foreign Terrorist Organizations, and designated foreign persons who have engaged in activities related to the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction. For additional information about these programs or about sanctions involving the Balkans, please contact the:

12-03-01 -2- - 2 -


text:
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xlvi Catena Nicephori represents this family. Grabe, in 1705, proved that this version was of Egyptian origin; a conclusion which is brilliantly confirmed by the fact, that of all the secondary versions only the Sahidic (k) is based upon it. As the quotations in the Alexandrian Fathers from the 2d to the 4th century (Clement, Origen, Didymus) follow the version represented by GA and its congeners, while Cyrill uses the text which we find in GBGNk, the conjecture is not remote that the latter translation of Judges was made in the 4th century; but much remains to be done before any positive conclusion can be reached.

In this state of the case, I have thought it proper to adduce the evidence of the Greek versions with more fulness than would ordinarily be necessary in a commentary. If the Greek version is to be used at all for the emendation of the Hebrew text, it must be used critically; and to operate, as older commentators did, with "A" and "B," or as some more modern scholars do, with Tischendorf's reprint of the Roman edition and Lagarde's "Lucian," taking the one or the other for "Septuagint" upon the intrinsic probability of readings, is not a critical procedure.

The Latin version of Jerome is one of the best specimens of his skill as a translator; and is exegetically of the greatest value, because it gives not merely Jerome's own interpretation, but that of his Jewish teachers and helpers. It is of less assistance to the textual critic, because the Hebrew text from which it was made was substantially the Jewish standard text which, having been authoritatively fixed in the 2d century, A.D., has been transmitted to us with great fidelity. For the Latin text itself we have an


text:
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Rh excellent apparatus in Vercellone, Variae lectiones vulgatae latinae Bibliorum editionis, ii. 1864.

The Syrian Vulgate (Peshiţto) also represents in the main the Hebrew Standard text, and is of more importance to the interpreter than to the critic. For the Peshiţto, which exhibits a constancy second only to that of the Hebrew, I have compared, in places where its variations seemed to be significant, the editio princeps of Gabriel Sionita in the Paris Polyglot (SP), from which that in the London Polyglot (SL) is derived immediately, and that of Lee at one remove; the photolithographic reproduction of the Ambrosian codex (SA); the Nestorian text as edited by Justin Perkins at Ooroomiah in 1852 (SO); and an old and excellent manuscript of the Historical Books and the Wisdom of the O.T., of Nestorian origin, belonging to the Harvard Semitic Museum, Cambridge, Mass. (SH).

The Targum is seldom of much critical value, but often serves us well as a commentary upon the punctuation, and fills an important place in the history of Jewish exegesis. Its text exhibits considerable variation. I have compared, in critical places, the edition by Felix Pratensis in the first of Bomberg's Great Bibles, 1518 (Tven.1), that by Jacob ben Chayim in the second of those Bibles, 1525 (Tven.2); Buxtorfs rifacimento of the latter in his Great Bible, 1618–20, reproduced in the London Polyglot; the Antwerp Polyglot; and Lagarde's edition of the Targum from the great Codex Reuchlinianus at Carlsruhe, Prophetae chaldaice, 1872 (Treuch.) I also collated, in 1888, Codex. Brit. Mus. Orient., 2210, a manuscript from Southern Arabia with supralinear punctuation, dated a.d. 1469 (Tm).

The only systematic attempt to employ the versions for the emendation of the Hebrew text of Judges is made by A. v. Doorninck, Bijdrage tot de tekstkritiek van Richteren i.–xvi., 1879.

Of the Fathers, the nine homilies of Origen on this book, which are preserved in Rufinus's Latin translation (Orig., Opp. ed.


text:
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xlviii, ii. p. 458–478) have very little exegetical merit. Theodoret in his Quaestiones (Opp. ed. Schulze, i. p. 321–345) discusses with some fulness a number of the more obscure or difficult passages in Judges with candour and skill. His extensive quotations are of importance for the history of the Greek text. The commentary of Procopius of Gaza (Migne, Patrologia graeca, lxxxvii. 1041–1080), though fragmentary and largely allegorical, is not devoid of worth. The Catena Nicephori (Leipzig, 1773) draws chiefly from Josephus, Theodoret, and Procopius, but quotes also a considerable number of anonymous Greek expositions. Augustine wrote Quaestiones on Judges, as on the other books of the Heptateuch (Migne, Patrologia latina, xxxiv. 791–824); so did Isidore of Seville (ib. lxxxiii. 379–390). We have also a commentary on Judges by Ephrem Syrus (Opp. i. p. 308–330).

The patristic exegesis had only the versions to work upon; the history of the interpretation of the Hebrew text begins with the Jewish commentators of the Middle Ages. Of these, R. Solomon Isaaki, commonly called "Rashi" (1040–1105 A.D.),in many ways deserves the foremost place which the judgement of Jewish scholars generally accords him. He has two of the greatest and rarest gifts of the commentator, the instinct to discern precisely the point at which explanation is necessary, and the art of giving or indicating the needed help in the fewest words. He had an almost unequalled knowledge not only of the Bible, but of the whole vast body of Jewish tradition. His interpretation adheres more closely to the exegetical tradition than that of his successors, and very often agrees with Jerome's, that is, Jerome's Jewish teachers. R. David Kimchi (ca. 1160–1235) gave much more prominence to the grammatical and lexical side of the commentator's task, in which he excelled; he is a judicious interpreter and a lucid expositor. Of much less note is R. Levi ben Gerson ("Ralbag," died ca. 1370), whose commentary is printed with Rashi and Kimchi in the Rabbinical Bibles of Venice and Basel. Besides these are to be named, Abarbanel (1437–1508), whose very diffuse commentary is in Judges largely dependent on Levi ben Gerson; and Solomon ben Melech, Michlol Yophi (


text:
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Rh, 1684), a convenient exegetical hand-book, chiefly abridged from Kimchi.

Through the Postillae perpetuae of Nicolaus a Lyra (ca. 1270–1340) the Jewish exegesis, and what was even more important, a sounder exegetical method, passed,. over into the Church. Later Catholic commentators of note are Arias Montanus, De varia Republica, 1592; Serarius, 1609; Jac. Bonfrerius, 1631; Cornelius a Lapide, 1642; Th. Malvenda, 1650.

Among the early Protestant commentators, Sebastian Miinster (1489–1552) follows the Jewish interpreters, particularly Kimchi, very closely. Drusius's (1550–1616) learning had a wider range; besides the rabbinical commentaries he made good use of the ancient Greek versions and the Fathers, and deserves the praise which R. Simon gives him as the most learned and judicious of the interpreters whose works are collected in the Critici Sacri. The fragmentary annotations of Grotius often contain interesting illustrations and parallels from Greek and Roman writers. Of all the older commentaries by far the best, and one of the most valuable commentaries on Judges, is that of Sebastian Schmid (1684). The author brings together into his 1642 solid quarto pages all that had been done before him for the interpretation of the book. His own exegetical judgement is clear and sound. In excursus at the end of each chapter (Quaestiones), the difficulties of every kind are discussed with great thoroughness. The commentary of Clericus (1708), a work of a more modern type, is also deservedly held in high esteem. The marginal annotations in J. H. Michaelis's edition of the Hebrew Bible (1720) are excellent; nor must the notes to J. D. Michaelis's German translation (1774) be passed over. Rosenmüller's Scholia on Judges (1835) contain very little that is new.

The modern period of interpretation begins with G. L. Studer's admirable commentary, in which the problems that the book presents to criticism and critical exegesis were first clearly recognized, and a long step taken toward their solution. Bertheau's commentary in the "Kurzgefasstes exegetisches Handbuch" (1845) is a work of less originality, but, especially in the second edition (1883),


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


text:
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l fills a useful place. Reuss has given, in French (1877) and German (1892), brilliant translations of Judges, with introductions, and brief but excellent notes. Keil (1863; 2 ed. 1874) has the stamp of the manufactured article; Cassel (in Lange, 1865; 2 ed. 1887) is full of curious learning and ingeniously perverse exegesis. By far the fullest recent commentary on Judges is that of J. Bachmann (1868), which was unfortunately never carried beyond the fifth chapter. The author's standpoint is that of Hengstenberg, and he is a stanch opponent of modern criticism of every shade and school; but in range and accuracy of scholarship, and exhaustive thoroughness of treatment, his volume stands without a rival. Other modern commentaries which require no special note are those of Hervey in the "Speaker's Commentary" (1872) and in the "Pulpit Commentary" (1881); and Jamieson, in Jamieson, Fausset, and Brown's "Critical and Experimental Commentary." A. R. Fausset's Critical and Expository Commentary on Judges (1885) is "expository" in the homiletic sense, and "critical" in no sense at all. The German translation of Judges in Kautzsch's Das Alte Testament, 1894 (by Kittel), embodies in a sober and conservative spirit the results of modern critical scholarship.


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Burrow, Reuben


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


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


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


text:
User:Beeswaxcandle/monobook.css

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title: User:Beeswaxcandle/monobook.css


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Burscough, Robert


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Burt, Albin R.


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Burt, Edward


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


text:
The Independent (Footscray, Vic. : 1883 - 1922)/December 1907/Minutes of the Essendon, Victoria Council

The Essendon Council at its last meeting was asked by a correspondent to put down the practise of bathing in the "altogether" that the writer alleged was being carried on to a disgusting extent in the Saltwater river at Maribyrnong. In the discussion of the subject that followed councillors generally endorsed the statements made by the correspondent. One councillor pointed out that a regulation was in force dealing with the whole matter - hours, costume, etc., whilst it was also stated that a request for a plain-clothes constable to patrol the banks and deal with the nuisance had been disregarded by the Police Department. Cr Cole pointed out that "proper costume" varied so much that it was well nigh impossible to get a proper legal definition. He had defended youngsters who had produced little trunks; but such small articles adorning the fine manly physique of a gentleman of Cr Eddy's Herculean proportions for instance would probably not be deemed at law to be adequate covering. They might, perhaps, emulate the Sydney example of requiring such cases to be met by the adoption of frilled skirts (laughter) - something of the neck and knee order might be more indecent than skirts. It was decided that plain-clothes constables be applied for to patrol the river on Saturdays and Sundays for one month to deal with the unmannerly bather. When a country constable doing unwilling service as an inspector of nuisances was called upon to report monthly to his council he managed to take it out of his municipal masters with the following formula:" Gentlemen I beg to report that I have nothing to report." Needless to say, repeated month after month the councillors grew tired of this hollow form and found it very irksome to move that the report be adopted. With the Legislative committee of the Footscray council the same spirit of burlesque, in an inverse ratio, attaches to the proceedings where, in council meeting, one of the councillors rises and formally moves fortnight after fortnight that the report of the Legislative committee be "'taken as read, received and adopted" when there is no such report. At any rate no report of that particular committee ever sees the light of day, although there is much to report, judging by the protracted discourses: that have taken place there of, late. The utter foolishness of this proceeding was at last realised by one the Councillors on Monday night last, when he asked his colleague, who had just moved the adoption of the committee's report, "What is the report?" It might be more in keeping with the fitness of things, though still skirting the burlesque, if the mover would substitute in future the phrase, "Let every councillor read, mark, learn and inwardly digest what transpired in Legislative committee last meeting." Even then such a telepathic injunction might leave strange contradictory impressions on the mental slate, and councillors, if ever called upon, might introduce strange tricks of memory judging by the different versions given by different councillors to the questioning scribes in the process of giving up committee secrets. Reports of other committee's are recorded in black and white and sometimes their correctness is questioned and efforts made to interpolate amendments, but no variation - it would be sacrilege to hint at it - is ever suggested in the intangible substance of the Legislative committee's report. Doubtless there is need for secrecy on many points, but records without distinction of everything that is done in the silent chamber are kept absolutely from the public view. Surely a discriminating report could be furnished of some of the matters handled by the committee. The secret negotiations are always highly interesting judging by the snap with which they are debated and the contrast is a heavy one when councillors reach the open chamber. All the vim has departed and it seems very often like a secondhand battle or a resorting over of the dry husks to which the attendant pressmen are treated with an occasional fiery spurt of indignant, declamation over the terrible wrongs inflicted on a suffering public by sleepy postal and railway departments. Something better than a mental record of the committee's doings should be adopted otherwise the proceeding is highly farcical, and no councillor would like to have that description applied to their corporate deliberations.

7 December 1907


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 drawbridge, "rather had it in his mind that you might happen to drop in, and he left word that he would soon be home from his afternoon's walk. He is very regular in his walks, is my son. Very regular in everything, is my son."

I nodded at the old gentleman as Wemmick himself might have nodded, and we went in and sat down by the fireside.

"You made acquaintance with my son, sir," said the old man, in his chirping way, while he warmed his hands at the blaze, "at his office, I expect?" I nodded. "Hah! I have heerd that my son is a wonderful hand at his business, sir?" I nodded hard. "Yes; so they tell me. His business is the Law?" I nodded harder. "Which makes it more surprising in my son," said the old man, "for he was not brought up to the Law, but to the Wine-Coopering."

Curious to know how the old gentleman stood informed concerning the reputation of Mr. Jaggers, I roared that name at him. He threw me into the greatest confusion by laughing heartily and replying in a very sprightly manner, "No, to be sure; you're right." And to this hour I have not the faintest notion of what he meant, or what joke he thought I had made.

As I could not sit there nodding at him perpetually, without making some other attempt to interest him, I shouted an inquiry whether his own calling in life had been "the Wine-Coopering." By dint of straining that term out of myself several times and tapping the old gentleman on the chest to associate it with him, I at last succeeded in making my meaning understood.

"No," said the old gentleman; "the warehousing, the warehousing. First, over yonder;" he appeared to mean up the chimney, but I believe he intended to refer me to Liverpool; "and then in the City of London here. However, having an infirmity—for I am hard of hearing, sir"

I expressed in pantomime the greatest astonishment.

"—Yes, hard of hearing; having that infirmity coming upon me, my son he went into the Law, and he took charge

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Rh of me, and he by little and little made out this elegant and beautiful property. But returning to what you said, you know," pursued the old man, again laughing heartily, "what I say is, No, to be sure; you're right."

I was modestly wondering whether my utmost ingenuity would have enabled me to say anything that would have amused him half as much as this imaginary pleasantry, when I was startled by a sudden click in the wall on one side of the chimney, and the ghostly tumbling open of a little wooden flap with "John" upon it. The old man, following my eyes, cried with great triumph, "My son's come home!" and we both went out to the drawbridge.

It was worth any money to see Wemmick waving a salute to me from the other side of the moat, when we might have shaken hands across it with the greatest ease. The Aged was so delighted to work the drawbridge, that I made no offer to assist him, but stood quiet until Wemmick had come across, and had presented me to Miss Skiffins: a lady by whom he was accompanied.

Miss Skiffins was of a wooden appearance, and was, like her escort, in the post-office branch of the service. She might have been some two or three years younger than Wemmick, and I judged her to stand possessed of portable property. The cut of her dress from the waist upward, both before and behind, made her figure very like a boy's kite; and I might have pronounced her gown a little too decidedly orange, and her gloves a little too intensely green. But she seemed to be a good sort of fellow, and showed a high regard for the Aged. I was not long in discovering that she was a frequent visitor at the Castle; for, on our going in, and my complimenting Wemmick on his ingenious contrivance for announcing himself to the Aged, he begged me to give my attention for a moment to the other side of the chimney, and disappeared. Presently another click came, and another little door tumbled open with "Miss Skiffins" on it; then Miss Skiffins shut up and John tumbled open; then Miss Skiffins and John both tumbled open together, and finally shut up together. On Wemmick' s return from working these mechanical

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