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5 that I loved you almost before I saw you. I am plain and straightforward, prompt and decided; it is my nature; I hate dissimulation, and what you might call beating about the bush; fair and honourable dealing for me all the world over; and now I have told you all, and you are mine for ever, and I am yours.'

'Madam,' I replied, as soon as I had recovered from my astonishment and confusion, 'you are a stranger to me as I am to you. Is this possible? Have I heard you aright? To speak thus to a strange man in the world I come from would cover you with the greatest disgrace, unless, indeed, you were a reigning queen, and even then under circumstances far different from our present respective positions.'

'Disgraced!' she screamed; 'did you say disgraced? And for what? For speaking my mind plainly and truthfully; for being honest and good, and—and—you speak of your world! Yours is a world of lies, hypocrisy and deceit, and roguery, and bitterness, and malice, and wrath, and revenge, and everything vile—there!'

She rose from her seat as she spoke, and stamped her foot on the hard floor, while indignation and defiance flashed from her eyes.

'Think,' said I in a tone of humility and commiseration, 'of your reputation, of your maidenly modesty and self-respect. It is the business of the man to propose marriage first to the woman whom he wishes to have for his wife. Besides, madam, I beg to inform you with all due respect that I have a wife now living, and she is very much alive, too, I beg to assure you.'

The Princess laughed. 'And do you think,' she answered, 'that a mere childish trifle like your marriage above ground will me in my determination to make you my husband? I am older than I look; I am absolute here; no one dare disobey me. I am subject only to my honoured father. I


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Burnham, Richard (1711-1752)

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


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Rh can turn your gray hair into splendid curly locks of whatever colour you like. I can make you happy far beyond your golden dreams of eternal bliss, and I will, I will! You are mine! you cannot—you dare not refuse me.' And before I could prevent her, she advanced to me suddenly, and threw her arms round my neck.

I sprang from my chair in the greatest horror and indignation, and pushed her away, but not ungently, saying: 'Woman or lady, whoever you are, remember that your sudden assumption or pretence of love is not the way to inspire with love the man whom you are pleased to honour with your regard. May I humbly beg that you will now, having had your dinner, retire from this office? You say you are the daughter of the emperor of this place. He has offered me the proud position of his private secretary, but to be his actual son-in-law is a relation of which I may or may not deem myself to be totally unworthy. Whatever may be my private thoughts I beg to decline that distinguished honour; I belong to another. Your father—if he is your father—told me I was under his protection, and unless you retire and leave me alone, I shall certainly appeal to him for it'

'Do you reject my suit?' she cried, with her face scarlet, and her eyes on fire.

'I do,' I replied firmly. 'Your conduct is unfair and ungenerous, as well as unwomanly and unmaidenly, You would make me an unprincipled adulterer. I may be as weak as water to resist temptation, but how can you expect me to become your husband in this sudden manner, when I do not even know what shall become of me hereafter? I, for good or evil, look a long way into futurity. Lives of pleasure soon come to an end; satiety is swallowed up by agony. Because you choose to indulge a blind and unholy passion, am I to be bereft of prudence and robbed of


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52 peace? If my connection with the earth where I was born is really severed for ever, I have come to a place which I fondly hoped and prayed my greatest enemy might never see. How can I tell that I am not, by complying with your insane desire, riveting a chain which will bind me here, or consign me to a worse place to all eternity?'

'You reject my suit!' she answered passionately. 'Well I will give you time. Continue to reject it for twelve short hours—for twelve strokes of the bell you heard, and your day of grace shall be past. I will be terribly revenged! Your moral and religious arguments have less than a feather's weight with me. You may trust in the King of heaven to save you. Fool! fool! He does not know you, or of your existence, or trouble Himself about you. If He exists at all He has too much to do. He cares not whether you live or die, or scald or burn, or get devoured by black men, or stung to death by serpents. Reject my suit! I am a woman, and no woman ever forgives a slight of this kind. Have you seen my regiment of guards? Come forward, Captain Syren. Lieutenant Picklock, bring your company.'

The dogs came forward sulkily, and ranged themselves in line before this fury of a princess.

'Attention!' she commanded. They all stood upon their hind legs.

'Salute this honoured visitor!'

They bowed very low, pressed their right paws to their teeth, and then placed them on their hearts.

'On your heads!' In a moment they turned in the air like wheels, their heads on the floor.

'Heads up; play at leap-frog!' And they commenced forthwith to jump over each other, forming a remarkable circle around the fire, which continued to burn as brightly as ever.

'As you were: lie prostrate; beg for mercy!' She put


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Rh them through a strange variety of positions, and as she dismissed them said to me in a hissing whisper: 'Reject my suit, insult my love, and when the twelfth bell sounds, you shall be added to their number.'

'And what shall I be, madam, if I consent to be your husband?'

'You shall be a prince,' she replied vehemently. 'Perpetual happiness, peace, joy, love, delight for ever, pleasure without end, shall be your lot. Decide now. We shall not need the light of the sun or the twinkling of the stars, for we shall be sun and star to each other. And when we are united we can see them as often as we like, and wander where we like upon the earth, and watch, ourselves unseen, the sons and daughters of men while they dance in their halls of dazzling light, and play in their delicious meadows and flowery gardens, or lull themselves into entrancing raptures with their sweetest melodies, which we can hear; and we can scatter blessings as we go, and lighten heavy burdens, and lessen pain, and cure disease, and feed the hungry. We can sit on golden clouds, or, if it is our humour, we can sail the seas on mountainous icebergs, and feel no cold. We can be young and beautiful for ever. Decide now, darling, darling!' And to my renewed consternation she again advanced, and tried to press her lips to mine, but I collected all my strength, both of mind and body, and pushed her away once more.

'Princess, whoever you are, it is in vain,' I said firmly. 'Please to withdraw, or if you will not, permit me to retire to another apartment. I love you not. Be your vengeance what it may, I tell you now, for the last time, I cannot love you. Were I as free as air to choose whom I would, I could not choose you, because my principles are too high to allow me to give my hand in wedded union to any woman to whom I could not give my heart also. I desire not


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Burnham, Richard (1749?-1810)


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54 wantonly to offend or insult you, or wound your exquisitely tender susceptibilities. If I could love you personally your gloomy, unhappy environment would render our marriage impossible. Did you tell me that the Almighty Being who made me does not know of my existence, or care for, or love me? How do you know that? Can you prove it to be true? If I obey His commandments and do not worship my own evil passions, you have no power to make me believe that He does not love me. If I do not obey Him, I have the witness within myself that I am no son of His, and that therefore He does not love me.'

'Poor fool! I pity you,' she answered in scorn 'but you will be wiser when it is too late. Thousands of your greatest philosophers and clever literary men agree with me.'

I did not answer. She gazed upon me with an expression which I shall never forget. Indignation and hatred flashed from her eyes; contempt, intensified by rage, was about to be poured forth in an overwhelming torrent on my devoted head from her cruel, uncompromising lips, when suddenly the thundering stroke of the great bell resounded through the palace. We both started in terror like a guilty pair, and as with a rush of a mighty gust of wind the Demon himself stood before us.

'How is this?' he roared. 'You here already, Bellagranda? is this the way my orders are obeyed? Are you, too, a Delilah, a Jezebel? You will ruin me and my best affairs with your blind idiotic folly. Away to your chamber, instantly, or Doctor Julius——'

The Princess uttered a loud shriek, and fled wildly from the room.

'Come, Ubertus,' said the Demon in a very gentle tone, 'you and I will take a quiet walk, and enjoy some of the grand sights of my beautiful city. Attach no importance to anything that foolish girl has been saying to you. I


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Rh her not to trouble you on any account. She disobeyed my command and shall be punished; but notwithstanding all she is a good girl, a most affectionate and obedient daughter—never disobedient except the inducement to be so is irresistible.' As he spoke he turned to me with an impudent leer on his countenance, which annoyed me very much, if indeed anything could annoy me in that horrible place.

It was with a great feeling of pleasure at my escape from the enchantment of one who I began to think was a most dangerous sorceress, equal perhaps to the dread Sycorax herself, that I now followed my 'friendly' guide through the halls and passages that led into the open street.


text: Artabanzanus/Chapter 4

title: Artabanzanus/Chapter 4


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myself in a long straight corridor, walking as it were in a dream by the side of the Demon. He had reduced, for some reason, his abnormal height, and was now no taller than myself. The corridor, or covered street, was high and broad, and it was lit up by hundreds of glaring lamps, whose light dazzled my eyes. It had lanes opening into it, and numbers of ghostly-looking dwellings, with doors like our houses on earth, but without their cheerful and inviting appearance. Some of these were large, aristocratic buildings, residences evidently of great people; others close beside them were poor, insignificant-looking places. The doors of the larger houses were surrounded with lamps of various colours, and fashioned in all manner of fantastic shapes. Crowds of people were sauntering listlessly about, for the most part in a solemn and painful silence—like convicts, I thought, taking exercise in a prison yard. Occasionally a loud burst of bitter, derisive laughter, or a hideous yell of pain, or the shout of combatants in a sudden outbreak of popular passion, disturbed the pervading silence of the place.

Amongst the individuals who paraded this great street, I perceived one like a negro grenadier, who issued orders,


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Rh shipwrecked; he said that he had been speared by the natives, and that one of his companions was in the bush. On hearing this statement, Captain Barker detained one of the Aborigines, (several happening to be in the camp at the time,) and sent out the others in search of the supposed lost Malay. They returned unsuccessful, and seemed to remonstrate on the impropriety of keeping their companion a prisoner, protesting, at the same time, that they knew nothing of the man.

After some time had elapsed. Captain Barker began to suspect that Da' Atea (the Malay) was prevaricating; and so it turned out, as he proved to be a deserter from a Malay proa, in Trepang Bay, from which place he (having heard of a white settlement) had walked to Raffles' Bay, and encountered, on his journey, many dangers and privations. This detention of one of the Aborigines, however, did not cause any misunderstanding, as they seemed clearly to comprehend the import of it, by their anxiety to explain their ignorance of any stranger being in the bush.

Not long after this event. Captain Barker, to show his confidence, took a walk with them, without being armed, and unaccompanied by any person from the fort. The natives appeared highly pleased by such an unequivocal mark of confidence. He went with them nearly to Bowen's Straits, when, as far as he could understand, they begged him to return, which he accordingly did.

The natives now visited the camp, neither molested

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text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Cayley, Cornelius


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76 nor molesting; and everything went on smoothly, until one night, a native, named Luga, having, by swimming under water, escaped notice, had nearly succeeded in carrying off a canoe, when he was discovered and challenged by the sentry. Being so close that he could not escape, he surrendered, and was taken to the guardhouse, where he was confined during the night.

Next morning, he was taken to the beach, and the canoe was pointed out to him, and also to Monanoo, another native, who was present; and after explaining to them, as clearly as possible, the cause of punishment, Luga was tied up and received a quantum of corporal chastisement. During the infliction, he was constantly calling out "Iacama," (the native name of Waterloo,) who, it appeared, had encouraged him to attempt the theft, and who had escaped.

The Commandant, to mark the difference resulting from good and bad conduct, behaved very kindly to Monanoo, and made him a present of a hatchet. It was well that he acted so judiciously and prudently; for in the afternoon, a great number of natives were discovered advancing towards the settlement. They were soon joined by the two natives, (Luga, after having received his punishment, being set at liberty,) and it appeared that Monanoo had explained matters quite satisfactorily, as they all came into the camp in a fearless and friendly manner.

They were in number fifty, mostly athletic and active-looking men, headed by a fine venerable-looking

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Rh old man, named Wooloogary, the Chief of Croker's Island, to whom they seemed to pay great attention. After remaining at the settlement about an hour, and partaking of some rice, Captain Barker made Wooloogary a present of a tomahawk, and all the natives departed, very quietly and peaceably, before the sun went down.

I think it is very probable, that this considerable assemblage of the natives was formed to give some weight to the request of having their countryman liberated. Perhaps it was their intention to act with hostility, if the request were not acceded to; however this may be, Luga having been set free, they made it appear that their visit was intended in good part, and so it was received.

Captain Barker had a great deal of difficulty to contend with, in his method of treating the natives; as no other individual in the settlement could be brought to consider these poor beings in any other light than wild beasts. Those who had to work in the bush, conscious, perhaps, of their own conduct, were occasionally under great alarm, not being entrusted with fire-arms. Several times they were frightened, but never received any injury,—the natives wishing to be on friendly terms.

It happened, one day, that Miago came suddenly on a sawyer, named Carr, who was employed in his vocation at some distance from the settlement. Although thunderstruck by the unexpected visit, Carr

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78 retained sufficient self-possession to request the native to assist him to move a large log. While Miago was stooping down to comply with his request, Carr took to his heels, and bellowed loudly for assistance, Miago running after him. The settlement was soon under arms; and, with the Commandant at their head, hastened to rescue the poor man from the clutches of these savages, who, it was now evident, were not to be trusted, as it was affirmed by a person who had fled, that they had carried Carr into the bush.

The party had not proceeded far, when they met a man running with all speed, who informed them that the natives had not taken Carr, but had run off with all his tools. Shortly afterwards, they met Carr running with all his force, nearly exhausted with fatigue and fear, and Miago close at his heels, who seemed quite unconscious that he was the cause of all the alarm; and it appeared quite satisfactory to the Commandant that there was no intention, on his part, to be otherwise than civil and obliging; that on his way to the settlement, which he frequently visited, he fell in with Carr, and was, by his own request, assisting him, when he so cowardly took flight.

This circumstance, trifling as it may appear, might have been attended with disagreeable consequences, if the Commandant had not proceeded personally. It may easily be imagined, that a party of men armed, on seeing a white man running, and apparently pursued by a black, would have fired without hesitation; more

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Rh particularly, as they had hitherto been accustomed to do so without much ceremony.

A short time before I arrived, Captain Barker had paid a visit to the natives, placing himself under Wellington's care, who seemed not a little flattered by such a mark of distinction. Dr. Davis accompanied him a little way into the woods, and then endeavoured to persuade him to return, representing his expedition to be dangerous and foolhardy. He, however, was not deterred from his undertaking, but gave the Doctor permission to go back, if he felt at all uncomfortable: the Doctor took him at his word, and returned to the settlement, where every one lamented the rashness of the Commandant in trusting himself with such a set of savages; more especially as they knew that the said savages had ample cause for retaliation.

These unfavourable surmises were not realized, as Captain Barker was treated with the greatest attention and kindness. Wellington would neither accept of any present himself, nor would he permit any of his followers to do so, although, when in the camp, he was constantly begging for something. In the evening, they prepared a mess of fish, which they had speared, and were highly delighted to perceive Captain Barker partake of it. In travelling, whenever they came to a stream, or marsh, one of the natives, named Marambal, insisted on carrying him over.

During his expedition, he met Luga and his family; but although many miles from assistance, even this

title: Page:Narrativeavoyag01wilsgoog.djvu/107


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Cameron, Julia Margaret


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Rh lot wrung his heart. In a voice choked with sorrow he tried to express these sentiments. He thinks he wept and swore in turns.

The two new acquaintances hastened to applaud his humane indignation. Yes. The amount of injustice in the world was indeed scandalous. There was only one way of dealing with the rotten state of society. Demolish the whole sacrée boutique. Blow up the whole iniquitous show.

Their heads hovered over the table. They whispered to him eloquently; I don't think they quite expected the result. He was extremely drunk—mad drunk. With a howl of rage he leaped suddenly upon the table. Kicking over the bottles and glasses, he yelled: "Vive l'anarchie! Death to the capitalists!" He yelled this again and again. All round him broken glass was falling, chairs were being swung in the air, people were taking each other by the throat. The police dashed in. He hit, bit, scratched and struggled, till something crashed down upon his head. . ..

He came to himself in a police cell, locked up on a charge of assault, seditious cries, and anarchist propaganda.

He looked at me fixedly with his liquid, shining eyes, that seemed very big in the dim light.

"That was bad. But even then I might have got off somehow, perhaps," he said, slowly.

I doubt it. But whatever chance he had was done away with by a young socialist lawyer who volunteered to undertake his defence. In vain he assured him that he was no anarchist; that he was a quiet, respectable mechanic, only too anxious to work ten hours per day at his trade. He was represented at the trial as the victim of society and his drunken shoutings as the expression of infinite suffering. The young lawyer had his way to

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148 make, and this case was just what he wanted for a start. The speech for the defence was pronounced magnificent.

The poor fellow paused, swallowed, and brought out the statement:

"I got the maximum penalty applicable to a first offence."

I made an appropriate murmur. He hung his head and folded his arms.

"When they let me out of prison," he began, gently, "I made tracks, of course, for my old workshop. My patron had a particular liking for me before; but when he saw me he turned green with fright and showed me the door with a shaking hand."

While he stood in the street, uneasy and disconcerted, he was accosted by a middle-aged man who introduced himself as an engineer's fitter, too. "I know who you are," he said. "I have attended your trial. You are a good comrade and your ideas are sound. But the devil of it is that you won't be able to get work anywhere now. These bourgeois'll conspire to starve you. That's their way. Expect no mercy from the rich."

To be spoken to so kindly in the street had comforted him very much. His seemed to be the sort of nature needing support and sympathy. The idea of not being able to find work had knocked him over completely. If his patron, who knew him so well for a quiet, orderly, competent workman, would have nothing to do with him now—then surely nobody else would. That was clear. The police, keeping their eye on him, would hasten to warn every employer inclined to give him a chance. He felt suddenly very helpless, alarmed and idle; and he followed the middle-aged man to the estaminet round the corner where he met some other

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 Street; but whether our classes are going too I do not know. I hear that at one meeting it was proposed that women should be admitted to the General Meeting. The idea was laughed at. Someone then proposed that the women's classes should be held in the evening; and the question was referred to the Council.

Ladies' Guild, January 27th, 1856. née

Ockey is so accurate and so certain in her statements that she has been able to refute all aspersions; and her excellent management of the toy work is so evident; all the details are so perfect, which is what Mr. Neale thinks so much of, that it is clear he is entirely on Ockey's side in the matter; though she has a good deal of pain, and has still some anxiety about it. As for her influence over the children, it strengthens day by day; those who have been constantly with us are so much impressed.

Ladies' Guild, February 18th, 1856.

… My own plans are very uncertain; my own wish is to find such work as can be done in the workroom, so that I may superintend the children without receiving remuneration, but which may at the same time be sufficiently remunerative to allow me to earn more, and yet continue my studies. I shall speak to D. to-morrow to find out whether colouring photographs would meet these conditions, and whether I can get work at it. Another plan is to learn watch engraving. Bennett promises work to us, but cannot


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Rh good companions. They assured him that he would not be allowed to starve, work or no work. They had drinks all round to the discomfiture of all employers of labour and to the destruction of society.

He sat biting his lower lip.

"That is, monsieur, how I became a compagnon," he said. The hand he passed over his forehead was trembling. "All the same, there's something wrong in a world where a man can get lost for a glass more or less."

He never looked up, though I could see he was getting excited under his dejection. He slapped the bench with his open palm.

"No!" he cried. "It was an impossible existence! Watched by the police, watched by the comrades, I did not belong to myself any more! Why, I could not even go to draw a few francs from my savings-bank without a comrade hanging about the door to see that I didn't bolt! And most of them were neither more nor less than housebreakers. The intelligent, I mean. They robbed the rich; they were only getting back their own, they said. When I had had some drink I believed them. There were also the fools and the mad. Des exaltés—quoi! When I was drunk I loved them. When I got more drink I was angry with the world. That was the best time. I found refuge from misery in rage. But one can't be always drunk—n'est-ce pas, monsieur? And when I was sober I was afraid to break away. They would have stuck me like a pig."

He folded his arms again and raised his sharp chin with a bitter smile.

"By and by they told me it was time to go to work. The work was to rob a bank. Afterwards a bomb would be thrown to wreck the place. My beginner's part would be to keep watch in a street at the back and

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 teach. I cling to the idea, as it affords a prospect of establishing a Guild gradually; the objection is the time which would probably intervene before I should acquire skill. I do not at all enter into D.'s plan of designing. I do not believe in it as remunerative; and it would separate me from that social work which I have learned to prize so highly. One other path is open. I have to write to Ruskin this week, and you will hear from me after I have done so. I ought to say that I told Mr. Neale my plans on Saturday; and he said he was very glad that I should get other work, the employment here being so uncertain. …

I speak (perhaps it may seem indifferently) of the utter failure of that for which we have all struggled so long and so hard. I do so, partly because I believe that what we have asked for has not failed; but I am not to speak of that now. I do so, because, although at present I am much bent upon securing a living for ourselves, I intend to accept no work however delightful, however remunerative (except as a temporary thing), which would deprive me of the power of working for others. I care but little for any system of division of profits, although it may bear witness for a great truth, and be the means of equalising remunerations, and avoiding disputes. That which I do care for is the intercourse, sympathy, self-sacrifice, and mutual help which are called out in fellow- workers; and this I believe to be worth striving for; this I mean to work for. I may seem to turn out of the path in this wearying wood; but it will only be a walk round a thicket, which hindered my progress; and free from debt, and with a clear conscience, I will work, even if I have (which, however, I do not believe) to work in another way for a short time.


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150 to take care of a black bag with the bomb inside till it was wanted. After the meeting at which the affair was arranged a trusty comrade did not leave me an inch. I had not dared to protest; I was afraid of being done away with quietly in that room; only, as we were walking together I wondered whether it would not be better for me to throw myself suddenly into the Seine. But while I was turning it over in my mind we had crossed the bridge, and afterwards I had not the opportunity."

In the light of the candle end, with his sharp features, fluffy little moustache, and oval face, he looked at times delicately and gaily young, and then appeared quite old, decrepit, full of sorrow, pressing his folded arms to his breast.

As he remained silent I felt bound to ask:

"Well! And,how did it end?"

"Deportation to Cayenne," he answered.

He seemed to think that somebody had given the plot away. As he was keeping watch in the back street, bag in hand, he was set upon by the police. "These imbeciles," had knocked him down without noticing what he had in his hand. He wondered how the bomb failed to explode as he fell. But it didn't explode.

"I tried to tell my story in court," he continued. "The president was amused. There were in the audience some idiots who laughed."

I expressed the hope that some of his companions had been caught, too. He shuddered slightly before he told me that there were two—Simon, called also Biscuit, the middle-aged fitter who spoke to him in the street, and a fellow of the name of Mafile, one of the sympathetic strangers who had applauded his sentiments and consoled his humanitarian sorrows when he got drunk in the café.

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247 Oxford. There is a lithographic portrait of Haworth by Weld Taylor, and the genus Haworthia, a subdivision of Aloë, has been dedicated to him by Duval.

Haworth's works are: 1. ‘Botanical History of Rhus Toxicodendron’ (anon.), in the medical essay on that plant (1793), by his fellow-townsman, Dr. Alderson. 2. ‘Observations on the genus Mesembryanthemum,’ 1794. 3. ‘Prodromus Lepidopterorum Britannicorum: a concise Catalogue … with times and places of appearance, by a Fellow of the Linnean Society,’ 1802, enumerating 793 species. 4. The sixth volume of Andrews's ‘Botanist's Repository,’ which was the work of Haworth (1803). 5. ‘Lepidoptera Britannica,’ 8vo, pt. i. 1803; pt. ii. 1810 (?); and pt. iii. 1812. In 1829 a so-called appendix of 204 pages was published, containing six ‘Dissertationes variæ’ or ‘Miscellanea naturalia,’ all of which are botanical, referring mostly to succulent plants. 6. ‘Synopsis Plantarum Succulentarum,’ London, 1812, 8vo; Haworth's chief botanical work, arranged on the Linnæan system and giving in Latin the description, habitat, date of introduction, and month of flowering of each species; a supplement was issued in 1819, accompanied by ‘Narcissorum Revisio.’ 7. ‘Saxifragearum Enumeratio,’ 1821 (?), 8vo (the preface is dated 1817); to this is appended ‘Revisiones Plantarum Succulentarum,’ pp. 207.

The ‘Transactions of the Entomological Society’ begin in 1807 with a ‘Review of the Rise and Progress of … Entomology in Great Britain’ by him, and the two other parts, viz. those of 1809 and 1812, contain many of his descriptive papers. Between 1823 and 1828 twenty-five papers by Haworth appeared in the ‘Philosophical Magazine,’ and he also contributed to the ‘Transactions’ of the Linnean and Horticultural societies. Between 1812 and 1819 Haworth wrote a poem in twenty-four cantos, entitled ‘Cottingham,’ part only of which was published in a local newspaper, and that part not evincing much poetic power. Though he never travelled beyond his own country, Haworth was a sound naturalist on all subjects, and his contributions to science are of lasting value.

 HAWORTH, SAMUEL (fl. 1683), empiric, was a native of Hertfordshire, and probably the son of William Haworth, who wrote against the Hertford quakers (1676). In 1679 he was a ‘student of physic’ living next door to the Dolphin in Sighs Lane, and dealing in quack tablets and a tincture. He was patronised by the Duke of York (James II), and admitted an extra-licentiate of the College of Physicians on 12 Oct. 1680. His new way of curing consumption was brought to the notice of Charles II, who ordered him to test it on a case (Kennedy O'Brien of the guards), the result being satisfactory. In 1682 he was practising at Brompton, and in request as far off as Paris. In 1683 he informed the College of Physicians that he had obtained the M.D. degree at Paris, and that he was previously a graduate of Cambridge (his name is not in the list of alumni). His ‘True Method of Curing Consumptions, &c.,’ London, 1682, 12mo, is fulsomely dedicated to Charles II, and gives cases of the effects of his grand elixir, pills, powders, &c. His other works are an ‘Aνθροπωλογια’ (sic), London, 1680, 8vo, and a ‘Description of the Duke's Bagnio and of the Mineral Bath, c, London, 1638, 8vo, a Turkish bath in Long Acre, where rubbing was practised, and artificial mineral water made to pass into the ground and issue forth again.

 HAWTREY, EDWARD CRAVEN, D.D. (1789–1862), head-master, and afterwards provost, of Eton College, born at Burnham, four miles from Eton, on 7 May 1789, was the only son of Edward Hawtrey, scholar of King's College, Cambridge, 1760, fellow of Eton 1792, and vicar of Burnham. His mother was a sister of Dr. Foster, head-master of Eton (1765–73). His father's family had been connected with Eton College for nearly three hundred years. Hawtrey entered the school in 1799. Among his contemporaries in the sixth form, under Joseph Goodall [q. v.], the head-master, were Canning, afterwards Viscount Stratford de Redcliffe, and Lonsdale, afterwards bishop of Lichfield, and a little junior to him were Sir John Patteson, Sir John Taylor Coleridge, Lord Ellenborough, and Dean Milman. Hawtrey always ascribed the best part of his intellectual training to his rivalry with such competitors.

In 1807 he was admitted scholar, and three years later fellow, of King's College, Cambridge. At that date the degree of B.A. was conferred on King's men without any university examination. Hawtrey, however, was selected for honourable mention in the examination for the university scholarship, with Patteson, Empson, and Sumner. The provost of King's in 1811 wished to obtain for him the mastership of the Corporation School


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 death in December 1852. He welcomed most of the improvements of the new head-master, Charles Old Goodford [q. v.]; but he was inclined in later life to think his own reforms were final, and to discountenance further radical changes. From 1854 till his death he was vicar of Mapledurham. His courtesy and generosity endeared him to the villagers, and two windows in the church were filled in commemoration of him with stained glass.

Hawtrey was a thorough master of the art of conversation. His breakfast parties were famous for anecdotes and criticisms. Literary friends were always welcome at the provost's lodge, and among his guests were Hallam, Whately, Milman, Senior, Alderson, Henry Taylor, and John and Sarah Austin. He was also intimate with Guizot, Barthélemy St. Hilaire, and other foreigners of note. Hawtrey gave largely to the new buildings and other school funds, and his private munificence was very lavish. As a book-collector he showed consummate taste. He is said to have spent 40,000l. on his library, which included alike Aldines and rare editions of the classics, besides recent issues from continental presses. Comparative philology, then in its infancy, was well represented. Volumes illustrated with valuable engravings were numerous. Many books were very expensively bound, and the library included specimens of celebrated bookbinders, e.g. Padeloup and Derome. Hawtrey died unmarried on 27 Jan. 1862, and was the last person buried within Eton college chapel. A monument, designed by Woodyer, with a recumbent figure by Nicholls, was erected in the chapel in 1878. A portrait of him, painted by Hélène Feillet in 1853, hangs in the provost's lodge. Part of Hawtrey's library was sold far below its worth in 1853, and the rest dispersed in 1862.

Hawtrey printed privately: 1. ‘Il Trifoglio ovvero Scherzi Metrici d' un' Inglese,’ 8vo, London, 1839. Translations into Italian, German, and Greek verse, a small volume, full of genuine poetical feeling. 2. ‘Two Translations from Homer in English Hexameters, and the War-song of Callinus in Elegiacs,’ 4to, 1843. 3. ‘Chapel Lectures,’ 1848–9. He also joined some friends in a volume of translations (London, 1847), to which he contributed English hexametral translations from Schiller and Goethe, the renderings of Homer and Callinus, already privately printed, and Meleager's ‘Heliodora.’ Hawtrey's hexameters were praised by Matthew Arnold, who singled him out, with Professors Thompson and Jowett, as one of the natural judges of Homeric translation. Six pieces by him appeared in the ‘Arundines Cami,’ 1841 (1st ed.) He prepared an edition of Goethe ‘Lyrische Gedichten’ (Eton, 1833 and 1834), for presentation only, and edited for the Roxburghe Club ‘The Private Diary of William, first Earl Cowper’ (Eton, 1833).

[A History of Eton College by Maxwell Lyte, C.B., new edit. 1889; The Registrum Regale; autograph letters of E. C. Hawtrey to his mother, 1807–15; manuscript communications from Bishops Durnford, Ryle, Abraham, Mr. W. E. Gladstone, Sir George Young, and others; personal knowledge.]  HAXEY, THOMAS (d. 1425), treasurer of York minister, was probably a native of Haxey, in the isle of Axholme in Lincolnshire, to which village he left benefactions in his will. In 1384 he became rector of Pulham in Norfolk, which he exchanged in the same year for the living of St. Nicholas Cole-Abbey in the city of London. Early in 1386 he was presented by the king to the rectory of Toppesfield in Essex, but resigned it after half a year on becoming rector of Crawley in Buckinghamshire. In 1387 he went back into Essex as rector of Dengie, but resigned this benefice early in the following year. In 1390 he was inducted to the church of St. Andrew at Histon, in the diocese of Ely, and from 1393 to the beginning of 1408 he held the living of Laxton, Nottinghamshire, in the diocese of York. He was also rector of Brington in Northamptonshire.

Haxey's prebendal appointments, if less numerous, were hardly less varied than his parochial ones. At the beginning of 1390 he was collated to the prebend of Tarvin in Lichfield Cathedral, in 1391 to that of Beaminster Secunda at Salisbury, and in 1395 to that of Scamlesby at Lincoln, which he quitted in 1402 for the stall of Farrendon-cum-Balderton. Early in 1405 he was made prebendary of Barnby in York Cathedral, and became canon residentiary, and before the year was over he received, at the king's presentation, the prebend of Rampton in the collegiate church of Southwell, of which he is named as canon in 1395. He was also prebendary of Howden in the East Riding (then in the diocese of Durham). In 1418 he was made treasurer of the church of York, and gave up his prebends both in that cathedral and at Southwell. In 1419 he exchanged his prebend at Salisbury for that of Monkton at Ripon, and this again in 1423 for that of St. Catharine at Beverley. Lastly, he was master of Lasenby Hospital, near Northallerton, an office which he held, together with his prebends (at least) at Lichfield and Lincoln, at the time of his death.

In October 1396 ‘Sir’ Thomas Haxey and Sir William Bagot were appointed attorneys for the Earl of Nottingham, then captain of


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Rh "Yes," he went on, with an effort, "I had the advantage of their company over there on St. Joseph's Island, amongst some eighty or ninety other convicts. We were all classed as dangerous."

St. Joseph's Island is the prettiest of the Iles de Salut. It is rocky and green, with shallow ravines, bushes, thickets, groves of mango-trees, and many feathery palms. Six warders armed with revolvers and carbines are in charge of the convicts kept there.

An eight-oared galley keeps up the communication in the daytime, across a channel a quarter of a mile wide, with the Ile Royale, where there is a military post. She makes the first trip at six in the morning. At four in the afternoon her service is over, and she is then hauled up into a little dock on the Ile Royale and a sentry put over her and a few smaller boats. From that time till next morning the island of St. Joseph remains cut off from the rest of the world, with the warders patrolling in turn the path from the warders' house to the convict huts, and a multitude of sharks patrolling the waters all round.

Under these circumstances the convicts planned a mutiny. Such a thing had never been known in the penitentiary's history before. But their plan was not without some possibility of success. The warders were to be taken by surprise and murdered during the night. Their arms would enable the convicts to shoot down the people in the galley as she came alongside in the morning. The galley once in their possession, other boats were to be captured, and the whole company was to row away up the coast.

At dusk the two warders on duty mustered the convicts as usual. Then they proceeded to inspect the huts to ascertain that everything was in order. In the second they entered they were set upon and absolutely

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 at Bristol, but the scheme came to nothing. For a time he was private tutor to three sons of the Earl of Shrewsbury, but in 1814 Dr. Keate, the head-master, appointed him to an assistant-mastership at Eton.

In the summer of 1815 he visited Paris, and described in letters to his mother the traces of the revolution. Both at school and at Cambridge he had devoted much time to the study of modern languages, and the peculiarities of the Picardy dialect now attracted his attention. During the twenty years of his assistant-mastership Hawtrey, so far as his duties permitted, learnt so many languages that he was known in London as ‘The English Mezzofanti.’ Ancient and modern literature became alike familiar to him, and his translations into German and Italian were admirable. It was under his care that the ‘Eton Atlas of Comparative Geography’ was published.

As assistant-master Hawtrey infused new life into the school-work. With Praed he helped to found the school library, and gave to it many valuable duplicates from his own library. He encouraged Praed to start first the manuscript magazine, the ‘Apis Matina,’ and afterwards the larger enterprise of ‘The Etonian,’ 1820–1. Among his pupils were Arthur Henry Hallam [see under ] (from 1822 to 1827), who owed much of his wide culture to Hawtrey's encouragement; George Cornewall Lewis, who became a lifelong friend, and who dedicated to Hawtrey his ‘Enquiry into the Credibility of the Early Roman History;’ Gerald Wellesley, afterwards dean of Windsor; J. C. Ryle, first bishop of Liverpool [q. v.]; and Dr. Charles Badham (1813–1884) [q. v.] The standard of scholarship reached by Hawtrey's pupils was high. Gladstone, who went to Eton in 1821, though not a pupil of Hawtrey, was ‘sent up for good’ for the first time by Hawtrey. ‘It was,’ he writes, ‘an event in my life. He and it together then for the first time inspired me with a desire to learn and to do.’

In 1834, on Dr. Keate's resignation, Hawtrey, then senior assistant, became headmaster. Great hopes were entertained of him in his new office, although the collegiate body was opposed to any innovation. He at once rendered the school divisions much more manageable, confining himself to the sixth form, with the addition of the six next collegers and oppidans, and subdividing the fifth form. The conservative provost Goodall hampered Hawtrey's efforts at reform, and it was only on Goodall's death, and the succession of Hodgson as provost in 1840, that Hawtrey was free to act with any vigour. During the early years of Hawtrey's rule he showed perhaps less tact and moderation than were habitual to him. But his strength was soon recognised by parents and pupils. In his second year the number of names on the school list was only 444, but in 1846 he had raised it gradually to 777. In the same year (1846) the new buildings, with the spacious room set apart for the school library, were opened for the foundation boys, and a great revolution was effected in their status and mode of life. The Old Christopher Inn was closed, a reform that excited strong resistance. The sanatorium, by which Eton was shown to be far in advance of other schools, was opened. The restoration of the college chapel was carried out under Hawtrey between 1847 and 1852.

Among moral and intellectual improvements introduced by Hawtrey, the germ of the now elaborate system of school trials is to be traced to him. The principle of competition was admitted, and king's scholars were no longer nominated. The training of the collegers engaged Hawtrey's special attention. He aimed at raising them (for they were then far below it) to a level with the oppidans. Hawtrey first placed the teaching of mathematics on something like an effective footing. In 1847 he wisely suppressed ‘Montem,’ the custom of collecting money in a public thoroughfare for the support of the captain of the school at the university. This step was taken in defiance of the majority of old Etonians, and the abolition of the old custom caused a temporary falling off in the numbers. With characteristic generosity Hawtrey presented 300l. to the father of the boy who was deprived by the reform of an anticipated source of income. Cricket-fagging he put down, and bullying of all kinds met with his sternest disapproval. Mental culture he fostered in all directions, welcoming, if he did not suggest, the Prince Consort's modern language prizes. The English essay prize he himself founded. With his assistant-masters Hawtrey was sympathetic and liberal. ‘The popular supposition is’ (Mr. Gladstone, 3 Jan. 1890, writes) ‘that Eton (from 1830 onwards) was swept along by a tide of renovation due to the fame and contagious example of Dr. Arnold. But this in my opinion is an error. Eton was in a singularly small degree open to influence from other public schools. There were three persons to whom Eton was more indebted than any others for the new life poured into her arteries: Dr. Hawtrey, the contemporary Duke of Newcastle, and Bishop Selwyn.’ ‘Hawtrey may be said,’ writes Mr. Maxwell Lyte, ‘to have done by encouraging what Keate tried to do by threatening.’

Hawtrey became provost after Hodgson's


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 Ladies' Guild, February 27th, 1856.

There are many events going on here; but I do not wish to speak of them till they are certain. It is indeed delightful that Mama has found some one to take her articles. I long to read them.

Thank you for the present for the Scripture prints. I have refrained from at all touching on the subject of religion with the children, since Miss C.'s affair; because I thought Mr. Neale would not wish it introduced as a lesson. Miss C. did not approve of my reading the Bible with the children. They have often begged me to do so since; but I felt I had no right to do it in lesson time without Mr. Neale's permission; but I shall ask him now whether he objects. … Ruskin is delighted with Ockey's table, and means to give her employment in illumination, if she will learn it, and if she has the powers he believes she has; and she means to give an hour or two to the Toy superintendence, and the rest to illumination. Is not this very very good news? Ruskin has been so exceedingly kind to Ockey about it. She received to-day a present of a beautiful paint-box and all other materials she can want. I think she must be very happy. She has just completed some work. I mean the moral training of the Industrial children; so she can now leave the chief superintendence to another person, in the full confidence that all will go well, and she is just beginning another work that is delightful to her. And she has so many friends. The Sterlings, Mr. Maurice, Miss Rogers, Ruskin and nice Miss Harrison all seem so fond of her. She is very successful and deserves to be so, for she does everything so well.


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152 smothered under the numbers of their assailants. The twilight faded rapidly. It was a new moon; and a heavy black squall gathering over the coast increased the profound darkness of the night. The convicts assembled in the open space, deliberating upon the next step to be taken, argued amongst themselves in low voices.

"You took part in all this?" I asked.

"No. I knew what was going to be done, of course. But why should I kill these warders? I had nothing against them. But I was afraid of the others. Whatever happened, I could not escape from them. I sat alone on the stump of a tree with my head in my hands, sick at heart at the thought of a freedom that could be nothing but a mockery to me. Suddenly I was startled to perceive the shape of a man on the path near by. He stood perfectly still, then his form became effaced in the night. It must have been the chief warder coming to see what had become of his two men. No one noticed him. The convicts kept on quarreling over their plans. The leaders could not get themselves obeyed. The fierce whispering of that dark mass of men was very horrible.

"At last they divided into two parties and moved off. When they had passed me I rose, weary and hopeless. The path to the warders' house was dark and silent, but on each side the bushes rustled slightly. Presently I saw a faint thread of light before me. The chief warder, followed by his three men, was approaching cautiously. But he had failed to close his dark lantern properly. The convicts had seen that faint gleam, too. There was an awful savage yell, a turmoil on the dark path, shots fired, blows, groans: and with the sound of smashed bushes, the shouts of the pursuers and the screams of the pursued, the man-hunt, the warder-hunt, passed by me into the interior of the island. I was

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Rh alone. And I assure you, monsieur, I was indifferent to everything. After standing still for a while, I walked on along the path till I kicked something hard. I stooped and picked up a warder's revolver. I felt with my fingers that it was loaded in five chambers. In the gusts of wind I heard the convicts calling to each other far away, and then a roll of thunder would cover the soughing and rustling of the trees. Suddenly, a big light ran across my path very low along the ground. And it showed a woman's skirt with the edge of an apron.

"I knew that the person who carried it must be the wife of the head warder. They had forgotten all about her, it seems. A shot rang out in the interior of the island, and she cried out to herself as she ran. She passed on. I followed, and presently I saw her again. She was pulling at the cord of the big bell which hangs at the end of the landing-pier, with one hand, and with the other she was swinging the heavy lantern to and fro. This is the agreed signal for the Ile Royale should assistance be required at night. The wind carried the sound away from our island and the light she swung was hidden on the shore side by the few trees that grow near the warders' house.

"I came up quite close to her from behind. She went on without stopping, without looking aside, as though she had been all alone on the island. A brave woman, monsieur. I put the revolver inside the breast of my blue blouse and waited. A flash of lightning and a clap of thunder destroyed both the sound and the light of the signal for an instant, but she never faltered, pulling at the cord and swinging the lantern as regularly as a machine. She was a comely woman of thirty–no more. I thought to myself, 'All that's no good on a night like this.' And I made up my mind that if a

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154 body of my fellow-convicts came down to the pier—which was sure to happen soon—I would shoot her through the head before I shot myself. I knew the 'comrades' well. This idea of mine gave me quite an interest in life, monsieur; and at once, instead of remaining stupidly exposed on the pier, I retreated a little way and crouched behind a bush. I did not intend to let myself be pounced upon unawares and be prevented perhaps from rendering a supreme service to at least one human creature before I died myself.

"But we must believe the signal was seen, for the galley from Ile Royale came over in an astonishingly short time. The woman kept right on till the light of her lantern flashed upon the officer in command and the bayonets of the soldiers in the boat. Then she sat down and began to cry.

"She didn't need me any more. I did not budge. Some soldiers were only in their shirt-sleeves, others without boots, just as the call to arms had found them. They passed by my bush at the double. The galley had been sent away for more; and the woman sat all alone crying at the end of the pier, with the lantern standing on the ground near her.

"Then suddenly I saw in the light at the end of the pier the red pantaloons of two more men. I was overcome with astonishment. They, too, started off at a run. Their tunics flapped unbuttoned and they were bare-headed. One of them panted out to the other, 'Straight on, straight on!'

"Where on earth did they spring from, I wondered. Slowly I walked down the short pier. I saw the woman's form shaken by sobs and heard her moaning more and more distinctly, 'Oh, my man! my poor man! my poor man!' I stole on quietly. She could neither hear nor see anything. She had thrown her apron over

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Rh her head and was rocking herself to and fro in her grief. But I remarked a small boat fastened to the end of the pier.

"Those two men they looked like sous-officiers—must have come in it, after being too late, I suppose, for the galley. It is incredible that they should have thus broken the regulations from a sense of duty. And it was a stupid thing to do. I could not believe my eyes in the very moment I was stepping into that boat.

"I pulled along the shore slowly. A black cloud hung over the Iles de Salut. I heard firing, shouts. Another hunt had begun—the convict-hunt. The oars were too long to pull comfortably. I managed them with difficulty, though the boat herself was light. But when I got round to the other side of the island the squall broke in rain and wind. I was unable to make head against it. I let the boat drift ashore and secured her.

"I knew the spot. There was a tumbledown old hovel standing near the water. Cowering in there I heard through the noises of the wind and the falling downpour some people tearing through the bushes. They came out on the strand. Soldiers perhaps. A flash of lightning threw everything near me into violent relief. Two convicts!

"And directly an amazed voice exclaimed, 'It's a miracle!' It was the voice of Simon, otherwise Biscuit.

"And another voice growled, 'What's a miracle?'

"'Why, there's a boat lying here!'

"'You must be mad, Simon! But there is, after all. . . A boat.'

"They seemed awed into complete silence. The other man was Mafile. He spoke again, cautiously.

"'It is fastened up. There must be somebody here.'

"'I spoke to them from within the hovel: 'I am here.'

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156 "They came in then, and soon gave me to understand that the boat was theirs, not mine. 'There are two of us,' said Mafile, 'against you alone.'

"I got out into the open to keep clear of them for fear of getting a treacherous blow on the head. I could have shot them both where they stood. But I said nothing. I kept down the laughter rising in my throat. I made myself very humble and begged to be allowed to go. They consulted in low tones about my fate, while with my hand on the revolver in the bosom of my blouse I had their lives in my power. I let them live. I meant them to pull that boat. I represented to them with abject humility that I understood the management of a boat, and that, being three to pull, we could get a rest in turns. That decided them at last. It was time. A little more and I would have gone into screaming fits at the drollness of it."

At this point his excitement broke out. He jumped off the bench and gesticulated. The great shadows of his arms darting over roof and walls made the shed appear too small to contain his agitation.

"I deny nothing," he burst out. "I was elated, monsieur. I tasted a sort of felicity. But I kept very quiet. I took my turns at pulling all through the night. We made for the open sea, putting our trust in a passing ship. It was a foolhardy action. I persuaded them to it. When the sun rose the immensity of water was calm, and the Iles de Salut appeared only like dark specks from the top of each swell. I was steering then. Mafile, who was pulling bow, let out an oath and said, 'We must rest.'

'The time to laugh had come at last. And I took my fill of it, I can tell you. I held my sides and rolled in my seat, they had such startled faces. 'What's got into him, the animal?' cries Mafile.

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 Ladies' Guild, March 18th, 1856.

We shall indeed be glad to see you. Come as early as ever you can on Thursday. I have succeeded in avoiding going to Pentonville. At present the arrangement is that Mr. P. has no connection with us, except that Kitty or any of us can cut and inlay for him in a workroom at our own house; that our house is to be entirely separate from the children's workroom; the former being cheaper if situated nearer Camden Town, and it being essential that the latter should be easy of access for Mr. Neale and others. We shall probably get it somewhere near Red Lion Square, Queen's Square and Lincoln's Inn. Hurrah! This morning all was doubtful, to-night all is going right. …

Dear Minnie, think well before you decide to come, whether you will choose to do so now, while all is bustle, change, confusion, arid contention, or after we are settled. We long very much to see you; and you would be of great use, and it would be a great comfort to have you with me to "baffle" everyone. Could you manage to stay till Tuesday, and go with me to Ruskin's? We would stay afterwards and see his pictures; and I could leave you at the Waterloo Station as we passed, coming home? You will hear Mr. Maurice too. I never can find time to-night to tell you all or one half of that which has happened only to-day. How much less then, that which has happened during the last week! Already I have more to do this week, than I could possibly do, if it were not absolutely necessary that it should be done. Mr. Neale has found a house, which he thinks would suit us; it must, however, be taken on lease; of course


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Rh "And Simon, who was nearest to me, says over his shoulder to him, 'Devil take me if I don't think he's gone mad!'

"Then I produced the revolver. Aha! In a moment they both got the stoniest eyes you can imagine. Ha, ha! They were frightened. But they pulled. Oh, yes, they pulled all day, sometimes looking wild and sometimes looking faint. I lost nothing of it because I had to keep my eyes on them all the time, or else—crack!—they would have been on top of me in a second. I rested my revolver hand on my knee all ready and steered with the other. Their faces began to blister. Sky and sea seemed on fire round us and the sea steamed in the sun. The boat made a sizzling sound as she went through the water. Sometimes Mafile foamed at the mouth and sometimes he groaned. But he pulled. He dared not stop. His eyes became blood-shot all over, and he had bitten his lower lip to pieces. Simon was as hoarse as a crow.

"'Comrade' he begins.

"'There are no comrades here. I am your patron.'

"’Patron, then,' he says, 'in the name of humanity let us rest.'

"I let them. There was a little rainwater washing about the bottom of the boat. I permitted them to snatch some of it in the hollow of their palms. But as I gave the command, ' En route! ' I caught them exchanging significant glances. They thought I would have to go to sleep sometime! Aha! But I did not want to go to sleep. I was more awake than ever. It is they who went to sleep as they pulled, tumbling off the thwarts head over heels suddenly, one after another. I let them lie. All the stars were out. It was a quiet world. The sun rose. Another day. Allez! En route!

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 we can be neither legally nor morally bound to remain there. Our work may call us in other directions. I go to look for a toy-room to-morrow. Do come, darling.

Tell my own Mamma that we feel with her how terribly painful this scene would be to her; but we hope she will soon come to us. Ask her not to think me unkind or thoughtless for not writing oftener. I really cannot. I work almost without intermission, giving up Lincoln's Inn even, continually. Also when one has some great purpose to carry out, some great struggle to go through, or some things troubling one, one cannot write to any to whom it would seem strange—not to mention that which is going on within one. If she could see what we go through, at every crisis of such a change as this, how one is one day triumphant, another uncertain, a third uneasy; and if there is momentary rest, the reaction is so strong that one is bound down by it, she would not wonder. Give my dear love to her.

Harry Rogers has been here to-night, to tell me about gold, outlines, brushes, pens, burnishing, etc.

I trust soon to send Mamma my first balance sheet! Do come, come early, but be prepared, if you come, to work.

If I find that I have time on Saturday or Monday to go to Ruskin, without an appointment, we will perhaps run the risk of not seeing him, as we can probably see the pictures.

Give my dear love to Mamma; tell her I hope not to fail, and ask her to believe me to be for ever her fellow-worker and disciple.


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158 "They pulled badly. Their eyes rolled about and their tongues hung out. In the middle of the forenoon Mafile croaks out: 'Let us make a rush at him, Simon. I would just as soon be shot at once as to die of thirst, hunger, and fatigue at the oar.'

"But while he spoke he pulled; and Simon kept on pulling too. It made me smile. Ah! They loved their life these two, in this evil world of theirs, just as I used to love my life, too, before they spoiled it for me with their phrases. I let them go on to the point of exhaustion, and only then I pointed at the sails of a ship on the horizon.

"Aha! You should have seen them revive and buckle to their work! For I kept them at it to pull right across that ship's path. They were changed. The sort of pity I had felt for them left me. They looked more like themselves every minute. They looked at me with the glances I remembered so well. They were happy. They smiled.

"'Well,' says Simon, 'the energy of that youngster has saved our lives. If he hadn't made us, we could never have pulled so far out into the track of ships. Comrade, I forgive you. I admire you.'

"And Mafile growls from forward: 'We owe you a famous debt of gratitude, comrade. You are cut out for a chief.'

"Comrade! Monsieur! Ah, what a good word! And they, such men as these two, had made it accursed. I looked at them. I remembered their lies, their promises, their menaces, and all my days of misery. Why could they not have left me alone after I came out of prison? I looked at them and thought that while they lived I could never be free. Never. Neither I nor others like me with warm hearts and weak heads. For I know I have not a strong head, monsieur. A black

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 March 29th, 1856.

I have seen your cousin to-day, as perhaps you may have heard, and am very much pleased with him and all that he says, I am very, very sorry now that we did not keep to the subject, in which I suppose his principal interest lies, the employment of women. But somehow one so naturally speaks of that which one is doing; and so the conversation naturally turned to the employment and education of children; though I think you may have seen how conscious I have been lately of the intimate connection between the two subjects; principally because, unless you can develop the minds of your workers, they never can become intelligent, or qualify themselves to fill better situations.

Have you (and has Mrs. Simpson) seen Mrs. Jameson's "Sisters of Mercy"? It is a book in which I feel a great interest; and which I value, particularly as showing how women and men ought to work together.

I am out of spirits to-day; because we had already succeeded in making a profit of twelve shillings a week—instead of a loss of two pounds—when Mr. —— came to-day and gave orders for really unnecessary fittings which will cost a good deal. It is more than any mortal (or at least, more than I) can bear; it is really no use working. Yes it is though.

13, Francis Street, April 6th, 1856.

I write to tell you what I am sure you will consider very good news. Mr. Maurice has given


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Rh rage came upon me—the rage of extreme intoxication—but not against the injustice of society. Oh, no!

"'I must be free!' I cried, furiously.

" ' Vive la liberté! ' yells that ruffian Mafile. ' Mort aux bourgeois who send us to Cayenne! They shall soon know that we are free.'

"The sky, the sea, the whole horizon, seemed to turn red, blood red all round the boat. My temples were beating so loud that I wondered they did not hear. How is it that they did not? How is it they did not understand?

"I heard Simon ask, 'Have we not pulled far enough out now?'

"'Yes. Far enough,' I said. I was sorry for him; it was the other I hated. He hauled in his oar with a loud sigh, and as he was raising his hand to wipe his forehead with the air of a man who has done his work, I pulled the trigger of my revolver and shot him like this off the knee, right through the heart.

"He tumbled down, with his head hanging over the side of the boat. I did not give him a second glance. The other cried out piercingly. Only one shriek of horror. Then all was still.

"He slipped off the thwart on to his knees and raised his clasped hands before his face in an attitude of supplication. 'Mercy,' he whispered, faintly. 'Mercy for me!—comrade.'

"'Ah, comrade,' I said, in a low tone. 'Yes, comrade, of course. Well, then, shout Vive l'anarchie.'

"He flung up his arms, his face up to the sky and his mouth wide open in a great yell of despair. ' Vive l'anarchie! Vive' "He collapsed all in a heap, with a bullet through his head.

"I flung them both overboard. I threw away the

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 Ockey the Secretaryship at the Women's College at a salary of ₤26 a year. She has to be there two hours only every afternoon; and, as the children cannot be left, you are to come and take her place in her absence. It is all settled; but you must come on Monday, that you may go on Tuesday to Ruskin with Ockey. …

Now are you not a happy child? …

Mr. Neale is so glad you are coming.


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160 revolver, too. Then I sat down quietly. I was free at last! At last. I did not even look towards the ship; I did not care; indeed, I think I must have gone to sleep, because all of a sudden there were shouts and I found the ship almost on top of me. They hauled me on board and secured the boat astern. They were all blacks, except the captain, who was a mulatto. He alone knew a few words of French. I could not find out where they were going nor who they were. They gave me something to eat every day; but I did not like the way they used to discuss me in their language. Perhaps they were deliberating about throwing me overboard in order to keep possession of the boat. How do I know? As we were passing this island I asked whether it was inhabited. I understood from the mulatto that there was a house on it. A farm, I fancied, they meant. So I asked them to put me ashore on the beach and keep the boat for their trouble. This, I imagine, was just what they wanted. The rest you know."

After pronouncing these words he lost suddenly all control over himself. He paced to and fro rapidly, till at last he broke into a run; his arms went like a windmill and his ejaculations became very much like raving. The burden of them was that he "denied nothing, nothing!" I could only let him go on, and sat out of his way, repeating, "Calmez vous, calmez vous," at intervals, till his agitation exhausted itself.

I must confess, too, that I remained there long after he had crawled under his mosquito-net. He had entreated me not to leave him; so, as one sits up with a nervous child, I sat up with him—in the name of humanity—till he fell asleep.

On the whole, my idea is that he was much more of an anarchist than he confessed to me or to himself; and

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Rh that, the special features of his case apart, he was very much like many other anarchists. Warm heart and weak head—that is the word of the riddle; and it is a fact that the bitterest contradictions and the deadliest conflicts of the world are carried on in every individual breast capable of feeling and passion.

From personal inquiry I can vouch that the story of the convict mutiny was in every particular as stated by him.

When I got back to Horta from Cayenne and saw the "Anarchist" again, he did not look well. He was more worn, still more frail, and very livid indeed under the grimy smudges of his calling. Evidently the meat of the company's main herd (in its unconcentrated form) did not agree with him at all.

It was on the pontoon in Horta that we met; and I tried to induce him to leave the launch moored where she was and follow me to Europe there and then. It would have been delightful to think of the excellent manager's surprise and disgust at the poor fellow's escape. But he refused with unconquerable obstinacy.

"Surely you don't mean to live always here!" I cried. He shook his head.

"I shall die here," he said. Then added moodily, "Away from them."

Sometimes I think of him lying open-eyed on his horseman's gear in the low shed full of tools and scraps of iron—the anarchist slave of the Marañon estate, waiting with resignation for that sleep which "fled" from him, as he used to say, in such an unaccountable manner.

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 A DESPERATE TALE

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 A MILITARY TALE

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text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Harris, John (d.1834)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Harris, John (1756-1846)


text: A Set of Six/An Anarchist

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Author talk:George P. Morris

Possible match on Wikipedia
This might be George Pope Morris but I can't be sure. - AdamBMorgan (talk) 22:01, 19 May 2012 (UTC)

 * No, given that he died in 1864. Quite likely George Perry Morris (1864–1921) who wrote for magazines. Charles Matthews (talk) 08:01, 17 October 2015 (UTC)

title: Author talk:George P. Morris


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


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


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Burges, Mary Anne


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Burgess, Daniel


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Burgess, John (d.1671)


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Burgess, Richard


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Burgess, Thomas (fl.1786)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Burgess, Thomas (1784?-1807)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Burgess, Thomas (1756-1837)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Burgess, Thomas (1791-1854)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Burgess, William (1749?-1812)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Burgess, William (1755?-1813)


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Burgh, Benedict


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


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


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 applause. It is said that the study of the score of one of Monsigny’s operas, lent to him by a secretary of the French embassy in Rome, decided Grétry to devote himself to French comic opera. On New Year’s day 1767 he accordingly left Rome, and after a short stay at Geneva (where he made the acquaintance of Voltaire, and produced another operetta) went to Paris. There for two years he had to contend with the difficulties incident to poverty and obscurity. He was, however, not without friends, and by the intercession of Count Creutz, the Swedish ambassador, Grétry obtained a libretto from Marmontel, which he set to music in less than six weeks, and which, on its performance in August 1768, met with unparalleled success. The name of the opera was Le Huron. Two others, Lucile and Le Tableau parlant, soon followed, and thenceforth Grétry’s position as the leading composer of comic opera was safely established. Altogether he composed some fifty operas. His masterpieces are Zémire et Azor and Richard Cœur de Lion,—the first produced in 1771, the second in 1784. The latter in an indirect way became connected with a great historic event. In it occurs the celebrated romance, O Richard, ô mon roi, l’univers t’abandonne, which was sung at the banquet—“fatal as that of Thyestes,” remarks Carlyle—given by the bodyguard to the officers of the Versailles garrison on October 3, 1789. The Marseillaise not long afterwards became the reply of the people to the expression of loyalty borrowed from Grétry’s opera. The composer himself was not uninfluenced by the great events he witnessed, and the titles of some of his operas, such as La Rosière républicaine and La Fête de la raison, sufficiently indicate the epoch to which they belong; but they are mere pièces de circonstance, and the republican enthusiasm displayed is not genuine. Little more successful was Grétry in his dealings with classical subjects. His genuine power lay in the delineation of character and in the expression of tender and typically French sentiment. The structure of his concerted pieces on the other hand is frequently flimsy, and his instrumentation so feeble that the orchestral parts of some of his works had to be rewritten by other composers, in order to make them acceptable to modern audiences. During the revolution Grétry lost much of his property, but the successive governments of France vied in favouring the composer, regardless of political differences. From the old court he received distinctions and rewards of all kinds; the republic made him an inspector of the conservatoire; Napoleon granted him the cross of the legion of honour and a pension. Grétry died on the 24th of September 1813, at the Hermitage in Montmorency, formerly the house of Rousseau. Fifteen years after his death Grétry’s heart was transferred to his birthplace, permission having been obtained after a tedious lawsuit. In 1842 a colossal bronze statue of the composer was set up at Liége.

See Michael Brenet, Vie de Grétry (Paris, 1884); Joach. le Breton, Notice historique sur la vie et les ouvrages de Grétry (Paris, 1814); A. Grétry (his nephew), Grétry en famille (Paris, 1814); Felix van Hulst, Grétry (Liége, 1842); L. D. S. Notice biographique sur Grétry (Bruxelles, 1869).

 GREUZE, JEAN BAPTISTE (1725–1805), French painter, was born at Tournus, in Burgundy, on the 21st of August 1725, and is generally said to have formed his own talent; this is, however, true only in the most limited sense, for at an early age his inclinations, though thwarted by his father, were encouraged by a Lyonnese artist named Grandon, or Grondom, who enjoyed during his lifetime considerable reputation as a portrait-painter. Grandon not only persuaded the father of Greuze to give way to his son’s wishes, and permit the lad to accompany him as his pupil to Lyons, but, when at a later date he himself left Lyons for Paris—where his son-in-law Grétry the celebrated composer enjoyed the height of favour—Grandon carried young Greuze with him. Settled in Paris, Greuze worked from the living model in the school of the Royal Academy, but did not attract the attention of his teachers; and when he produced his first picture, “Le Père de famille expliquant la Bible à ses enfants,” considerable doubt was felt and shown as to his share in its production. By other and more remarkable works of the same class Greuze soon established his claims beyond contest, and won for himself the notice and support of the well-known connoisseur La Live de Jully, the brother-in-law of Madame d’Épinay. In 1755 Greuze exhibited his “Aveugle trompé,” upon which, presented by Pigalle the sculptor, he was immediately agréé by the Academy. Towards the close of the same year he left France for Italy, in company with the Abbé Louis Gougenot, who had deserted from the magistrature—although he had obtained the post of “conseillier au Châtelet”—in order to take the “petit collet.” Gougenot had some acquaintance with the arts, and was highly valued by the Academicians, who, during his journey with Greuze, elected him an honorary member of their body on account of his studies in mythology and allegory; his acquirements in these respects are said to have been largely utilized by them, but to Greuze they were of doubtful advantage, and he lost rather than gained by this visit to Italy in Gougenot’s company. He had undertaken it probably in order to silence those who taxed him with ignorance of “great models of style,” but the Italian subjects which formed the entirety of his contributions to the Salon of 1757 showed that he had been put on a false track, and he speedily returned to the source of his first inspiration. In 1759, 1761 (“L’Accordée de village”—Louvre), and 1763 Greuze exhibited with ever-increasing success; in 1765 he reached the zenith of his powers and reputation. In that year he was represented with no less than thirteen works, amongst which may be cited “La Jeune Fille qui pleure son oiseau mort,” “La Bonne Mère,” “Le Mauvais fils puni” (Louvre) and “La Malédiction paternelle” (Louvre). The Academy took occasion to press Greuze for his diploma picture, the execution of which had been long delayed, and forbade him to exhibit on their walls until he had complied with their regulations. “J’ai vu la lettre,” says Diderot, “qui est un modèle d’honnêteté et d’estime; j’ai vu la réponse de Greuze, qui est un modèle de vanité et d’impertinence: il fallait appuyer cela d’un chef-d’œuvre, et c’est ce que Greuze n’a pas fait.” Greuze wished to be received as a historical painter, and produced a work which he intended to vindicate his right to despise his qualifications as a peintre de genre. This unfortunate canvas—“Sevère et Caracalla” (Louvre)—was exhibited in 1769 side by side with Greuze’s portrait of Jeaurat (Louvre) and his admirable “Petite Fille au chien noir.” The Academicians received their new member with all due honours, but at the close of the ceremonies the Director addressed Greuze in these words—“Monsieur, l’Académie vous a reçu, mais c’est comme peintre de genre; elle a eu égard à vos anciennes productions, qui sont excellentes, et elle a fermé les yeux sur celle-ci, qui n’est digne ni d’elle ni de vous.” Greuze, greatly incensed, quarrelled with his confrères, and ceased to exhibit until, in 1804, the Revolution had thrown open the doors of the Academy to all the world. In the following year, on the 4th of March 1805, he died in the Louvre in great poverty. He had been in receipt of considerable wealth, which he had dissipated by extravagance and bad management, so that during his closing years he was forced even to solicit commissions which his enfeebled powers no longer enabled him to carry out with success. The brilliant reputation which Greuze acquired seems to have been due, not to his acquirements as a painter—for his practice is evidently that current in his own day—but to the character of the subjects which he treated. That return to nature which inspired Rousseau’s attacks upon an artificial civilization demanded expression in art. Diderot, in Le Fils naturel et le père de famille, tried to turn the vein of domestic drama to account on the stage; that which he tried and failed to do Greuze, in painting, achieved with extraordinary success, although his works, like the plays of Diderot, were affected by that very artificiality against which they protested. The touch of melodramatic exaggeration, however, which runs through them finds an apology in the firm and brilliant play of line, in the freshness and vigour of the flesh tints, in the enticing softness of expression (often obtained by almost an abuse of méplats), by the alluring air of health and youth, by the sensuous attractions, in short, with which Greuze invests his lessons of bourgeois morality. As Diderot said of “La Bonne Mère,” “ça prêche la population;” and a certain piquancy of contrast is the result which never

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 GRESHAM, WALTER QUINTON (1832–1895), American statesman and jurist, was born near Lanesville, Harrison county, Indiana, on the 17th of March 1832. He spent two years in an academy at Corydon, Indiana, and one year at the Indiana State University at Bloomington, then studied law, and in 1854 was admitted to the bar. He was active as a campaign speaker for the Republican ticket in 1856, and in 1860 was elected to the State House of Representatives as a Republican in a strong Democratic district. In the House, as chairman of the committee on military affairs, he did much to prepare the Indiana troops for service in the Federal army; in 1861 he became colonel of the 53rd Indiana Volunteer Infantry, and subsequently took part in Grant’s Tennessee campaign of 1862, and in the operations against Corinth and Vicksburg, where he commanded a brigade. In August 1863 he was appointed brigadier-general of volunteers, and was placed in command of the Federal forces at Natchez. In 1864 he commanded a division of the 17th Army Corps in Sherman’s Atlanta campaign, and before Atlanta, on the 20th of July, he received a wound which forced him to retire from active service, and left him lame for life. In 1865 he was brevetted major-general of volunteers. After the war he practised law at New Albany, Indiana, and in 1869 was appointed by President Grant United States District Judge for Indiana. In April 1883 he succeeded Timothy O. Howe (1816–1883) as postmaster-general in President Arthur’s cabinet, taking an active part in the suppression of the Louisiana Lottery, and in September 1884 succeeded Charles J. Folger as secretary of the treasury. In the following month he resigned to accept an appointment as United States Judge for the Seventh Judicial Circuit. Gresham was a candidate for the Republican presidential nomination in 1884 and 1888, in the latter year leading for some time in the balloting. Gradually, however, he grew out of sympathy with the Republican leaders and policy, and in 1892 advocated the election of the Democratic candidate, Grover Cleveland, for the presidency. From the 7th of March 1893 until his death at Washington on the 28th of May 1895, he was secretary of state in President Cleveland’s cabinet.

GRESHAM’S LAW, in economics, the name suggested in 1857 by H. D. Macleod for the principle of currency which may be briefly summarized—“bad money drives out good.” Macleod gave it this name, which has been universally adopted, under the impression that the principle was first explained by Sir Thomas Gresham in 1558. In reality it had been well set forth by earlier economic writers, notably Oresme and Copernicus. Macleod states the law in these terms: the worst form of currency in circulation regulates the value of the whole currency and drives all other forms of currency out of circulation. Gresham’s law applies where there is under-weight or debased coin in circulation with full-weight coin of the same metal; where there are two metals in circulation, and one is undervalued as compared with the other, and where inconvertible paper money is put into circulation side by side with a metallic currency. See further

GRESSET, JEAN BAPTISTE LOUIS (1709–1777), French poet and dramatist, was born at Amiens on the 29th of August 1709. His poem Vert Vert is his main title to fame. He spent, however, the last twenty-five years of his life in regretting the frivolity which enabled him to produce this most charming of poems. He was brought up by the Jesuits of Amiens. He was accepted as a novice at the age of sixteen, and sent to pursue his studies at the Collège Louis le Grand in Paris. After completing his course he was appointed, being then under twenty years of age, to a post as assistant master in a college at Rouen. He published Vert Vert at Rouen in 1734. It is a story, in itself exceedingly humorous, showing how a parrot, the delight of a convent, whose talk was all of prayers and pious ejaculations, was conveyed to another convent as a visitor to please the nuns. On the way he falls among bad companions, forgets his convent language, and shocks the sisters on arrival by profane swearing. He is sent back in disgrace, punished by solitude and plain bread, presently repents, reforms and is killed by kindness. The story, however, is nothing. The treatment of the subject, the atmosphere which surrounds it, the delicacy in which the little prattling ways of the nuns, their jealousies, their tiny trifles, are presented, takes the reader entirely by surprise. The poem stands absolutely unrivalled, even among French contes en vers.

Gresset found himself famous. He left Rouen, went up to Paris, where he found refuge in the same garret which had sheltered him when a boy at the Collège Louis le Grand, and there wrote his second poem, La Chartreuse. It was followed by the Carême impromptu, the Lutrin vivant and Les Ombres. Then trouble came upon him; complaints were made to the fathers of the alleged licentiousness of his verses, the real cause of complaint being the ridicule which Vert Vert seemed to throw upon the whole race of nuns and the anti-clerical tendency of the other poems. An example, it was urged, must be made; Gresset was expelled the order. Men of robust mind would have been glad to get rid of such a yoke. Gresset, who had never been taught to stand alone, went forth weeping. He went to Paris in 1740 and there produced Édouard III, a tragedy (1740) and Sidnei (1745), a comedy. These were followed by Le Méchant which still keeps the stage, and is qualified by Brunetière as the best verse comedy of the French 18th century theatre, not excepting even the Métromanie of Alexis Piron. Gresset was admitted to the Academy in 1748. And then, still young, he retired to Amiens, where his relapse from the discipline of the church became the subject of the deepest remorse. He died at Amiens on the 16th of June 1777.

The best edition of his poems is A. A. Rénouard’s (1811). See Jules Wogue, J. B. L. Gresset (1894).

GRETNA GREEN, or, a village in the south-east of Dumfriesshire, Scotland, about 8 m. E. of Annan, 9 m. N.N.W. of Carlisle, and m. from the river Sark, here the dividing-line between England and Scotland, with a station on the Glasgow & South-Western railway. The Caledonian and North British railways have a station at Gretna on the English side of the Border. As the nearest village on the Scottish side, Gretna Green was notorious as the resort of eloping couples, who had failed to obtain the consent of parents or guardians to their union. Up till 1754, when Lord Hardwicke’s act abolishing clandestine marriages came into force, the ceremony had commonly been performed in the Fleet prison in London. After that date runaway couples were compelled to seek the hospitality of a country where it sufficed for them to declare their wish to marry in the presence of witnesses. At Gretna Green the ceremony was usually performed by the blacksmith, but the toll-keeper, ferryman or in fact any person might officiate, and the toll-house, the inn, or, after 1826, Gretna Hall was the scene of many such weddings, the fees varying from half a guinea to a sum as large as impudence could extort or extravagance bestow. As many as two hundred couples were married at the toll-house in a year. The romantic traffic was practically, though not necessarily, put an end to in 1856, when the law required one of the contracting parties to reside in Scotland three weeks previous to the event.

GRÉTRY, ANDRÉ ERNEST MODESTE (1741–1813), French composer, was born at Liége on the 8th of February 1741, his father being a poor musician. He was a choir boy at the church of St Denis. In 1753 he became a pupil of Leclerc and later of Renekin and Moreau. But of greater importance was the practical tuition he received by attending the performance of an Italian opera company. Here he heard the operas of Galuppi, Pergolesi and other masters; and the desire of completing his own studies in Italy was the immediate result. To find the necessary means he composed in 1759 a mass which he dedicated to the canons of the Liége cathedral, and it was at the cost of Canon Hurley that he went to Italy in the March of 1759. In Rome he went to the Collège de Liége. Here Grétry resided for five years, studiously employed in completing his musical education under Casali. His proficiency in harmony and counterpoint was, however, according to his own confession, at all times very moderate. His first great success was achieved by La Vendemmiatrice, an Italian intermezzo or operetta, composed for the Aliberti theatre in Rome and received with universal

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