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Rh XIII

IN MEMORY OF A HAPPY DAY IN FEBRUARY

be Thou for all the joy

My soul has felt to-day!

O let its memory stay with me

And never pass away!

I was alone, for those I loved

Were far away from me;

The sun shone on the withered grass,

The wind blew fresh and free.

Was it the smile of early spring

That made my bosom glow?

'Twas sweet, but neither sun nor wind

Could raise my spirit so.

Was it some feeling of delight,

All vague and undefined?

No, 'twas a rapture deep and strong,

Expanding in my mind!

Was it a sanguine view of life

And all its transient bliss—

A hope of bright prosperity?

O no, it was not this!


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246 It was a glimpse of truths divine

Unto my spirit given,

Illumined by a ray of light

That shone direct from Heaven!

I knew there was a God on high

By whom all things were made;

I saw His wisdom and His power

In all His works displayed.

But most throughout the moral world

I saw His glory shine;

I saw His wisdom infinite,

His mercy all divine.

Deep secrets of His Providence

In darkness long concealed,

Were brought to my delighted eyes

And graciously revealed.

And while I wondered and adored

His wisdom so divine,

I did not tremble at His power—

I felt that God was mine.

I knew that my Redeemer lived,

I did not fear to die;

I felt that I should rise again

To immortality.

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


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Rh I longed to view that bliss divine

Which eye hath never seen,

To see the glories of His face

Without the veil between.


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Rh XV

CONFIDENCE

with sin and woe,

A burdened heart I bear,

Opposed by many a mighty foe;

But I will not despair.

With this polluted heart,

I dare to come to Thee,

Holy and mighty as Thou art;

For Thou wilt pardon me.

I feel that I am weak,

And prone to every sin;

But Thou who giv'st to those who seek,

Wilt give me strength within.

Far as this earth may be

From yonder starry skies,

Remoter still am I from Thee;

Yet Thou wilt not despise.

I need not fear my foes,

I need not yield to care,

I need not sink beneath my woes;

For Thou wilt answer prayer.


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250 In my Redeemer's name

I give myself to Thee;

And all unworthy as I am,

My God will cherish me.

O make me wholly Thine!

Thy love to me impart,

And let Thy holy Spirit shine

For ever on my heart!


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Translation:Shulchan Aruch/Orach Chaim/535

One Should not Move Things From Yard to Yard on Hol Hamoed

שלא לפנות מחצר לחצר בחל המועד

Paragraph 1 - One may not remove his things from yard to yard, even from a bad one to a nice one. One may not remove his things from his dwelling or move things that are not being moved for a holiday need. Rem"a: How much more so is it prohibited to move one's money from city to city (Mordechai chapter "Mi sheHafach"). However, one can remove things from house to house within one yard. If the houses open to an alley and not to a yard, there are some who say that he may move things between adjacent houses. Rem"a: ''If he fears for theft in the yard in which he lives, he can move even from his yard to a protected yard. Even moving things from city to city is permitted when there is potential loss (Hagahot Ashri and Mordechai).''

סעיף א - אין מפנין מחצר לחצר, אפלו מכעורה לנאה, ולא לפנות דירתו ולא לפנות כליו שאינם לצרך המועד. הגה: וכל שכן שאסור להסיע ממונו מעיר לעיר (מרדכי פרק מי שהפך), אבל מפנה הוא מבית לבית באותה חצר. ואם אין הבתים פתוחים לחצר אלא למבוי, יש אומרים שמבית לבית הסמוך לו מתר. הגה: ואם מתירא מחמת גנבה בחצר שדר שם, מתר אפלו מחצר לחצר המשתמר, ואפלו מעיר לעיר בדבר האבד שרי (הגהות אשירי ומרדכי).

Paragraph 2 - There are some who permit him to move from another's yard to his yard, even from a nice yard to a bad one.

סעיף ב - יש מתירים לפנות מחצר של אחר לחצר שלו, ואפלו מנאה לכעורה.

Paragraph 3 - It is forbidden to remove manure in the yard. Rather, it should be moved to the sides. If there is so much of it that the yard has become like a stable, it can be removed to the dunghill.

סעיף ג - הזבל שבחצר אסור להוציא אלא יסלקנו לצדדים. ואם נתרבה עד שנעשה חצר כרפת, מוציאין אותו לאשפה.

 * }


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Translation:Shulchan Aruch/Orach Chaim/536

All Animal Needs Can Be Done on Hol Hamoed

כל צרכי בהמה מתר לעשות בחל המועד

Paragraph 1 - One who needs to ride on an animal to travel for pleasure or for a holliday need and cannot walk is permitted to trim the horse's hoofs, to fix its horseshoes, saddle, and bridle, and to do any other activity necessary for riding. This assumes that one did not plan to do this work on the holiday. Rem"a: It is permitted to ride on hol hamoed even from city to city and even for no reason, and this is the practice. However, it is prohibited to do activities necessary for riding if one rides neither for a holiday need nor for travel for pleasure (Beit Yosef).

סעיף א - מי שצריך לרכב במועד לטיל או לצרך המועד ולא נסה ללכת ברגליו, יכול לטל צפרני הסוס ולתקן ברגליו והאכף והרסן וכל צרכי רכיבה, ובלבד שלא יכון מלאכתו במועד. הגה: ומתר לרכב במועד אפלו מעיר לעיר אפלו בחנם, וכן נהגו, אלא שאסור לתקן כל צרכי הרכיבה אם אינו רוכב לצרך או לטיל (בית יוסף).

Paragraph 2 - It is permitted to brush a horse to make it prettier.

סעיף ב - מתר לסרק הסוס כדי ליפותו.

Paragraph 3 - We do not breed animals on the holiday, but we do draw blood. We do not withhold anything medical, even if it involves labor.

סעיף ג - אין מרביעין בהמה במועד, אבל מקיזין לה דם. ואין מונעין ממנה רפואה, אפלו אם יש בה מלאכה.

Paragraph 4 We do not sit a hen on eggs to grow chicks. If she was placed before the holiday and ran away, one can return her (but it is forbidden to put a different one there, even if the first one died) (Beit Yosef). This is only the case when it is within three days of her running away.

סעיף ד - אין מושיבין תרנגלת על הביצים לגדל אפרוחים, ואם הושיבה קדם המועד וברחה מעליהם יכול להחזירה (אבל אסור להושיב אחרת אפלו מתה הראשונה) (בית יוסף) והוא שיהיה לו בתוך שלשה ימים לבריחה.

 * }


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Fuller, Thomas


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Fuller, William


text: Encyclopædia Britannica, Ninth Edition/Andrew Fuller


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166 has—what a mastery! I wish I had her strength—she just marches straight through in the right way—I think she’s fine.”

I laughed to see her so enthusiastic in her admiration of my sister. Marie is such a gentle, serious little soul. She went to the window. I kissed her, and pulled two berries off the mistletoe. I made her a nest in the heavy curtains, and she sat there looking out on the snow.

“It is lovely,” she said reflectively. “People must be ill when they write like Maxim Gorky.”

“They live in town,” said I.

“Yes—but then look at Hardy—life seems so terrible—it isn’t, is it?”

“If you don’t feel it, it isn’t—if you don’t see it. I don’t see it for myself.”

“It’s lovely enough for heaven.”

“Eskimo’s heaven perhaps. And we’re the angels eh? And I’m an archangel.”

“No, you’re a vain, frivolous man. Is that—? What is that moving through the trees?”

“Somebody coming,” said I.

It was a big, burly fellow moving curiously through the bushes.

“Doesn’t he walk funnily?” exclaimed Marie. He did. When he came near enough we saw he was straddled upon Indian snow-shoes. Marie peeped, and laughed, and peeped, and hid again in the curtains laughing. He was very red, and looked very hot, as he hauled the great meshes, shuffling over the snow; his body rolled most comically. I went to the door and admitted him, while Marie stood stroking


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Rh her face with her hands to smooth away the traces of her laughter.

He grasped my hand in a very large and heavy glove, with which he then wiped his perspiring brow.

“Well, Beardsall, old man,” he said, “and how’s things? God, I’m not ’alf hot! Fine idea though——” He showed me his snow-shoes.

“Ripping! ain’t they? I’ve come like an Indian brave——” He rolled his “r’s,” and lengthened out his “ah’s” tremendously—“brra-ave.”

“Couldn’t resist it though,” he continued.

“Remember your party last year—Girls turned up? On the war-path, eh?” He pursed up his childish lips, and rubbed his fat chin.

Having removed his coat, and the white wrap which protected his collar, not to mention the snowflakes, which Rebecca took almost as an insult to herself—he seated his fat, hot body on a chair, and proceeded to take off his gaiters and his boots. Then he donned his dancing pumps, and I led him upstairs.

“Lord, I skimmed here like a swallow!” he continued—and I looked at his corpulence.

“Never met a soul, though they’ve had a snowplough down the road. I saw the marks of a cart up the drive, so I guessed the Tempests were here. So Lettie’s put her nose in Tempest’s nosebag—leaves nobody a chance, that—some women have rum taste—only they’re like ravens, they go for the gilding—don’t blame ’em—only it leaves nobody a chance. Madie Howitt’s coming, I suppose?”

I ventured something about the snow.


text: Encyclopædia Britannica, Ninth Edition/Thomas Fuller


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168 “She’ll come,” he said, “if it’s up to the neck. Her mother saw me go past.”

He proceeded with his toilet. I told him that Leslie had sent the carriage for Alice and Madie. He slapped his fat legs, and exclaimed:

“Miss Gall—I smell sulphur! Beardsall, old boy, there’s fun in the wind. Madie, and the coy little Tempest, and——” he hissed a line of a music-hall song through his teeth.

During all this he had straightened his cream and lavender waistcoat:

“Little pink of a girl worked it for me—a real juicy little peach—chipped somehow or other”—he had arranged his white bow—he had drawn forth two rings, one a great signet, the other gorgeous with diamonds, and had adjusted them on his fat white fingers; he had run his fingers delicately, through his hair, which rippled backwards a trifle tawdrily—being fine and somewhat sapless; he had produced a box, containing a cream carnation with suitable greenery; he had flicked himself with a silk handkerchief, and had dusted his patent-leather shoes; lastly, he had pursed up his lips and surveyed himself with great satisfaction in the mirror. Then he was ready to be presented.

“Couldn’t forget to-day, Lettie. Wouldn’t have let old Pluto and all the bunch of ’em keep me away. I skimmed here like a ‘Brra-ave’ on my snow-shoes, like Hiawatha coming to Minnehaha.”

“Ah—that was famine,” said Marie softly.

“And this is a feast, a gorgeous feast, Miss Tempest,” he said, bowing to Marie, who laughed.

“You have brought some music?” asked mother.


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 by mountains, and comprises one main valley, watered by the Gran Balira, Valira or Balire, a tributary of the Segre, which itself flows into the Ebro; with several smaller valleys, the most important being that of the Balira del Orien, which joins the Gran Balira on the left. The territory was once densely wooded, and is said to derive its name from the Moorish Aldarra, “the place thick with trees”; but almost all the forests have been destroyed for fuel. The climate is generally cold, with very severe winters. The land is chiefly devoted to pasture for the numerous flocks and herds; but on the more sheltered southern slopes it is carefully cultivated, and produces grain, potatoes, fruit and tobacco. Game and trout are plentiful; milk, butter, hams, hides and wool are exported, principally to France. The local industries are of the most primitive kind, merely domestic, as in the middle ages. Lack of capital, of coal, and of good means of communication prevents the inhabitants from making use of the iron and lead in their mountains. During the coldest winter months their communications are much easier with Spain than through the snow-clad passes leading into Ariège. The only roads are bridle-paths, and one municipal road by the Balira valley, connecting Andorra with the high road to Seo de Urgel and Manresa; but in 1904 France and Spain agreed to build a railway from Ax to Ripoll, which would greatly facilitate traffic.

The Andorrans are a robust and well-proportioned race, of an independent spirit, simple and severe in their manners. They are all Roman Catholics. Apart from the wealthier landowners, who speak French fluently, and send their children to be educated in France, they use the Catalan dialect of Spanish. Andorra comprises the six parishes or communes of Andorra Vicilla, Canillo, Encamp, La Massana, Ordino and San Julian de Loria, which are subdivided into fifty-two hamlets or pueblos.

Preserved from innovations by the mutual jealousy of rival potentates, as well as by the conservative temper of a pastoral population, Andorra has kept its medieval usages and institutions almost unchanged. In each parish two consuls, assisted by a local council, decide matters relating to roads, police, taxes, the division of pastures, the right to collect wood, &c. Such matters, as well as the general internal administration of the territory, are finally regulated by a Council General of 24 members (4 to each parish), elected since 1866 by the suffrages of all heads of families, but previously confined to an aristocracy composed of the richest and oldest families, whose supremacy had been preserved by the principle of primogeniture. A general syndic, with two inferior syndics, chosen by the Council General, constitutes the supreme executive of the state. Two viguiers—one nominated by France, and the other by the bishop of Urgel—command the militia, which consists of about 600 men, although all capable of bearing arms are liable to be called out. This force is exempt from all foreign service, and the chief office of the viguiers is the administration of criminal justice, in which their decisions, given simply according to their judgment and conscience, there being no written laws, are final. Civil cases, on the other hand, are tried in the first instance before one of the two aldermen, who act as deputies of the viguiers; the judgment of this court may be set aside by the civil judge of appeal, an officer nominated by France and the bishop of Urgel alternately; the final appeal is either to the Court of Cassation at Paris or to the Episcopal College at Urgel. The French viguier is taken from the French department of Ariège and appointed for life, but the viguier of the bishop must be an Andorran, holding office for three years and re-eligible. There are notaries and clerks, auditors for each parish elected by the heads of families, police agents and bailiffs, chosen and sworn in, like all the above officers, by the Council General. The archives are mostly kept in the “house of the valley” in the capital, Andorra Vicilla, a struggling village of 600 inhabitants. In this government house the Council General meets and has a chapel. Here also the aldermen, viguiers and judge of appeal administer justice and assemble for all purposes of administration. Two magistrates, styled rahanadores, are appointed by the Council General to see that viguiers and judges preserve the customs and privileges of Andorra. The parishes have a permanent patrol of six armed men besides the militia. Spain and the bishop of Urgel are very jealous of French encroachments, and claim to have a better right ultimately to annex the little state. In the meanwhile it continues to pay each of the suzerain powers £40 a year, levied by a tax on pastures.

Andorra is the sole surviving specimen of the independence possessed in medieval times by the warlike inhabitants of many Pyrenean valleys. Its privileges have remained intact, because the suzerainty of the district became equally and indivisibly shared in 1278 between the bishops of Urgel and the counts of Foix, the divided suzerainty being now inherited by the French crown and the present bishop of Urgel; and the two powers have mutually checked innovations, while the insignificant territory has not been worth a dispute. Thus Andorra is not a republic, but is designated in official documents as the Vallées et Suzerainetés. Before 1278 it was under the suzerainty of the neighbouring counts of Castelbo, to whom it had been ceded in 1170 by the counts of Urgel. A marriage between the heiress of Castelbo and Roger Bernard, count of Foix, carried the rights of the above-named Spanish counts into the house of Foix, and hence subsequently to the crown of France, when the heritage of the feudal system was absorbed by the sovereign; but the bishops of Urgel claimed certain rights, which after long disputes were satisfied by the “Act of Division” executed in 1278. The claims of the bishopric dated from Carolingian times, and the independence of Andorra, like most other Pyrenean anomalies, has been traditionally ascribed to Charlemagne (742–814).

ANDOVER, a market-town and municipal borough in the Andover parliamentary division of Hampshire, England, 67 m. W.S.W. of London by the London & South Western railway, served also by the Midland & South Western Junction railway. Area 8663 acres. Pop. (1901) 6509. It is pleasantly situated on the river Anton, a tributary of the Test, in a hilly district. The church of St Mary replaced an ancient one in 1848; a Norman doorway is preserved from the original structure. The site of a Norman priory can be traced. Several early earthworks are seen in the vicinity, among which the circular camp on Bury Hill, S.W. of the town, is a very fine example. It is probably of British origin. Andover is the centre of a large agricultural district. Malting is carried on and there is a large iron-foundry; but the silk manufactures, once prosperous, are now extinct. The corporation consists of a mayor, 4 aldermen and 12 councillors.

There are numerous Roman villas in the district, but Andover itself is not a Roman site. The town, the name of which appears in the forms Andefeian, Andieura and Andever, probably owes much of its importance to the neighbourhood of the Roman road from Silchester to Old Sarum. It is mentioned in King Edred’s will, a document of doubtful authenticity, dated c. 955. Later the Witenagemot met here, and it is the traditional scene of the meeting of Æthelred and Olaf the Dane. Andover existed as a borough before 1176, and Henry II. exempted its inhabitants from toll and passage. In 1201 King John increased the farm paid by the burgesses, while Henry III. granted them return of writs, probate of wills and other privileges. The corporation was reconstituted in 1599 and again in 1682. From 1295 till 1305 the burgesses returned two members to parliament but then ceased to do so till 1586. After the reform of 1867 they returned only one member and in 1885 the borough was disfranchised. A gild merchant is mentioned as early as 1175. The cattle-market was granted in 1682, and there is an ancient corn-market, probably held by prescription. The November sheep-fair dates from 1205, and the neighbouring fair at Weyhill

title: Page:EB1911 - Volume 01.djvu/1019


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Rh “Wish I was Orpheus,” he said, uttering his words with exaggerated enunciation, a trick he had caught from his singing I suppose.

“I see you’re in full feather, Tempest. “Is she kind as she is fair?”

“Who?”

Will pursed up his smooth sensuous face that looked as if it had never needed shaving. Lettie went out with Marie, hearing the bell ring.

“She’s an houri!” exclaimed William. “Gad, I’m almost done for! She’s a lotus-blossom!—But is that your ring she’s wearing, Tempest?”

“Keep off,” said Leslie.

“And don’t be a fool,” said I.

“Oh, O-O-Oh!” drawled Will, “so we must look the other way! ‘Le bel homme sans merci!’ ”

He sighed profoundly, and ran his fingers through his hair, keeping one eye on himself in the mirror as he did so. Then he adjusted his rings and went to the piano. At first he only splashed about brilliantly. Then he sorted the music, and took a volume of Tchaikowsky’s songs. He began the long opening of one song, was unsatisfied, and found another, a serenade of Don Juan. Then at last he began to sing. His voice is a beautiful tenor, softer, more mellow, less strong and brassy than Leslie’s. Now it was raised that it might be heard upstairs. As the melting gush poured forth, the door opened. William softened his tones, and sang ‘dolce,’ but he did not glance round.

“Rapture!—Choir of Angels,” exclaimed Alice, clasping her hands and gazing up at the lintel of the door like a sainted virgin.


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170 “Persephone—Europa——” murmured Madie, at her side, getting tangled in her mythology.

Alice pressed her clasped hands against her bosom in ecstasy as the notes rose higher.

“Hold me, Madie, or I shall rush to extinction in the arms of this siren.” She clung to Madie. The song finished, and Will turned round.

“Take it calmly. Miss Gall,” he said. “I hope you’re not hit too badly.”

“Oh—how can you say ‘take it calmly’—how can the savage beast be calm!”

“I’m sorry for you,” said Will.

“You are the cause of my trouble, dear boy,” replied Alice.

“I never thought you’d come,” said Madie.

“Skimmed here like an Indian ‘brra-ave,’ ” said Will. “Like Hiawatha towards Minnehaha. I knew you were coming.”

“You know,” simpered Madie, “It gave me quite a flutter when I heard the piano. It is a year since I saw you. How did you get here?”

“I came on snow-shoes,” said he. “Real Indian,—came from Canada—they’re just ripping.”

“Oh—Aw-w do go and put them on and show us—do!—do perform for us, Billy dear!” cried Alice.

“Out in the cold and driving sleet—no fear,” said he, and he turned to talk to Madie. Alice sat chatting with mother. Soon Tom Smith came, and took a seat next to Marie; and sat quietly looking over his spectacles with his sharp browm eyes, full of scorn for William, full of misgiving for Leslie and Lettie.

Shortly after, George and Emily came in. They


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Rh were rather nervous. When they had changed their clogs, and Emily had taken off her brown-paper leggings, and he his leather ones, they were not anxious to go into the drawing room. I was surprised—and so was Emily—to see that he had put on dancing shoes.

Emily, ruddy from the cold air, was wearing a wine coloured dress, which suited her luxurious beauty. George’s clothes were well made—it was a point on which he was particular, being somewhat self-conscious. He wore a jacket, and a dark bow. The other men were in evening dress.

We took them into the drawing-room, where the lamp was not lighted, and the glow of the fire was becoming evident in the dusk. We had taken up the carpet—the floor was all polished—and some of the furniture was taken away—so that the room looked large and ample.

There was general hand shaking, and the newcomers were seated near the fire. First mother talked to them—then the candles were lighted at the piano, and Will played to us. He is an exquisite pianist, full of refinement and poetry. It is astonishing, and it is a fact. Mother went out to attend to the tea, and after a while, Lettie crossed over to Emily and George, and, drawing up a low chair, sat down to talk to them. Leslie stood in the window bay, looking out on the lawn where the snow grew bluer and bluer and the sky almost purple.

Lettie put her hands on Emily’s lap, and said softly, “Look—do you like it?”

“What! engaged?” exclaimed Emily.


text:
The New International Encyclopædia/Fuller, Melville Weston

FULLER, Melville Weston (1833—). An American jurist, born in Augusta, Me. He graduated at Bowdoin College in 1853, studied at the Harvard Law School, began legal practice at Augusta in 1855, and was also there for a time an associate editor of The Age, a Democratic newspaper. In 1856 he was president of the Augusta Common Council and city attorney, but in the same year resigned his offices and established himself at Chicago, Ill. He was a member of the Illinois State Constitutional Convention of 1802, and in 1863 sat in the Lower House of the Illinois Legislature. In 1864, 1872, 1876 (when he placed T. A. Hendricks in nomination), and 1880, in which year he withdrew from active politics, he was a delegate to the Democratic National Convention. As a lawyer he attained prominent rank, and in 1888 he was appointed by President Cleveland Chief Justice of the United States Supreme Court, to succeed M. R. Waite (q.v.), deceased. His term witnessed an expansion of the Federal powers by means of the decision asserting the implied authority of the Executive to protect the Federal judges on occasions when there is just reason to believe that, while in the exercise of official duties, they are exposed to personal danger. In 1899 he was a member of the Arbitration Commission convened at Paris for the adjustment of the Anglo-Venezuelan boundary question. The degree of LL.D. was conferred upon him by Harvard in 1891.


text:
The New International Encyclopædia/Fuller, Sarah Margaret

FULLER, (1810-50). An American critic and essayist, born at Cambridgeport, Mass., May 23, 1810. The eldest of the eight children of Timothy Fuller, a Massachusetts lawyer and politician, she was strenuously educated by her father, by Dr. Park of Boston, and in the Misses Prescott's School of Groton, beginning Latin at six and Greek at thirteen, and permanently injuring her health by over-application. On the death of her father (1835) she supported her brothers and sisters by public and private teaching in Boston and Providence. She was a frequent guest at Brook Farm, though never sharing its enthusiasms, held intellectual conversations in Boston, conducted the Transcendental organ, The Dial (1840-42), made translations from the German, and published in 1844 her first volume, Summer on the Lakes, the record of a season of travel in 1843. In December (1844) she went to New York as literary critic of the Tribune, taking active part in the philanthropic, literary and artistic life of the city. In 1846 she went to Europe, residing for some time at Rome, where she married (December, 1847) Giovanni Angelo, Marquis d'Ossoli, by whom she had one child. She took an active part in the Italian struggle for independence, and served heroically in the hospitals during the French siege of Rome. On its capture (July, 1849) she took refuge with her husband first in the mountains of Abruzzi, then at Florence, and on May 17, 1850, sailed for America, but with her husband and son was drowned off Fire Island Beach just as they were approaching New York on July 16.

Her life falls naturally into three periods. Till 1844 she lived an intense life seeking self-culture in the exciting stimulation of the Transcendental circle. The two years from 1844 till her visit to Italy are those of original literary production. Women in the Nineteenth Century (1844) and Papers on Literature and Art (1846) are its monuments. Her activities in Rome found a literary expression in a book on the Roman Republic, the manuscript of which was lost with her. With all her tact and brilliancy, she was not an original genius; she needed the inspiration of an audience, talking better than she wrote. Her Letters are, therefore, the most readable of her works, and the position that she held in Boston and in New York is hardly to be understood from her writings. It was a natural instinct that led her to select for translation Eckermann's Conversations with Goethe (1839) and The Correspondence of Fräulein Günderode and Bettina von Arnim (1840-42). The impression that she made upon the circle of her intimates is attested by three notable biographies, for which consult: Emerson, Clarke, and Channing (Boston, 1852); Julia Ward Howe (ib., 1883); and Thomas Wentworth Higginson (ib., 1884). There is also a Memoir by her brother, Arthur B. Fuller (Boston, 1855).


text:
The New International Encyclopædia/Fuller, Andrew

FULLER, (1754-1815). An English

Baptist minister, controversial writer, and promoter of foreign missions. He was born at Wicken, Cambridgeshire, February 5, 1754. He received the rudiments of an education at the free school of Soham, and in 1775 was chosen pastor of the Baptist congregation of that place. In 1782 he removed to Kettering, Northamptonshire, to take the pastorate of a congregation there, and remained there till his death, May 7, 1815. His first interest in foreign missions was shown in 1784, and his sermon, The Gospel of Christ Worthy of All Acceptation (Northampton, 1785), greatly impressed Carey, the first Baptist missionary. When the Baptist Missionary Society was formed at Kettering in 1792, he became its secretary, and gave the remainder of his life to its affairs. His writings were very popular; they include: The Calvinistic and Socinian Systems Examined and Compared as to Their Moral Tendency (1794); The Gospel Its Own Witness (1799); An Apology for the Late Christian Mission to India (1808). There are several editions of his collected works. For his biography, consult: Rylands (London, 1816); T. E. Fuller (London, 1863); and A. G. Fuller (London, 1882).


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The New International Encyclopædia/Fuller, Thomas

FULLER, (1608-61). An English author and divine. He was born at Aldwincle, Northamptonshire, of which parish his father was rector, and was educated at Queen's College, Cambridge, graduating A.B. in 1625 and M.A. in 1628. Two years later he was appointed to the curacy of Saint Benet's. The next year he was collated to a prebend in Salisbury Cathedral, and in 1634 he was appointed to the rectory of

Broadwindsor, Dorsetshire. Abandoning both his living and his prebend in 1641, he settled in London, where he soon became curate of the Savoy, a church in the Strand. In the meantime he had published an account of the Crusades, entitled History of the Holy War (1639), and the Holy and Profane State (1642), the most characteristic of his works. During the Civil War he adhered firmly to the Royal cause, and shared in its reverses. He was a chaplain in the Royal army, when he wrote for the encouragement of his men a manual of prayers and meditations entitled Good Thoughts in Bad Times (1645), and a sequel, Better Thoughts in Worse Times (1647). About 1648 he was presented to the living of Waltham, in Essex. In 1650 he published a geographical account of the Holy Land, entitled A Pisgah Sight of Palestine and the Confines Thereof, with maps and views. In 1655 appeared The Church History of Britain, from the Birth of Christ Until the Year 1648. In 1658 he received the living of Cranford, Middlesex, and at the Restoration he was reinstated in his prebend of Salisbury, of which he had been deprived by the Parliamentarians. He was also appointed Chaplain Extraordinary to the King. He died in London. The next year (1662) appeared The Worthies of England, valuable for the information it contains on provincial history, and abounding in biographical anecdote, witty remark, and acute observation on men and manners. Quaint humor is one of Fuller's peculiar characteristics; but his writings are no less remarkable for wisdom, imagination, and, when occasion demands, even for pathos. Consult Bailey, Life of Thomas Fuller, with Notices of his Books, etc. (London, 1874).


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 (since 1599 a part of the borough) was formerly among the most important in England. The town possessed an iron-market early in the 14th century. At that date the wool-trade also was very prosperous, and the manufactures of silk and parchment are among the extinct industries of the town. ANDOVER, a township of Essex county, Massachusetts, U.S.A., pleasantly situated on the S. side of the Merrimac Valley. Pop. (1890) 6142; (1900) 6813; (1910, U. S. census) 7301. The Shawsheen river supplies power for a considerable manufacturing industry (twine, woollens and rubber goods being manufactured) in the villages of Andover, Ballardville and Frye. Andover, the principal village, is about 23 m. N. of Boston and is served by the western division of the Boston & Maine railway and by interurban electric railways. The township is noteworthy for its educational institutions. Abbot Academy, opened in 1829, is said to be the oldest existing academy in the United States incorporated for the education of girls alone; an art gallery, given to the academy by Mrs John Byers, was opened in 1907. Phillips Academy, opened in 1778 (incorporated in 1780), was the first incorporated academy of the state; it was founded through the efforts of Samuel Phillips (1752–1802, president of the Massachusetts senate in 1785–1787 and in 1788–1801, and lieutenant-governor of Massachusetts in 1801–1802), by his father, Samuel Phillips (1715–1790), and his uncle, John Phillips (1719–1795), “for the purpose of instructing youth, not only in English and Latin grammar, writing, arithmetic and those sciences wherein they are commonly taught, but more especially to learn them the great end and real business of living.” It is one of the largest secondary schools in New England and enjoys a wide and high reputation. An archaeological department, with an important collection in American archaeology, was founded by Robert S. Peabody and his wife in 1901. The Academy grounds include those occupied in 1808–1909 by the Andover Theological Seminary before its removal to (q.v.). Andover was settled about 1643 and was incorporated in 1646, being named from the English town of Andover, Hampshire, whence some of the chief settlers had migrated; the first settlement was made in what is now the township of North Andover (pop. 5529 in 1910), which was separated from Andover in 1855. Simon Bradstreet (1603–1697), important among the early men of Massachusetts, was one of the founders; and his wife, Anne Dudley Bradstreet (1612–1672), was the first woman versifier of America; the Bradstreet house in North Andover, said to have been built about 1667, is still standing. Andover was a prominent centre in the witchcraft trials of 1692. Elizabeth Stuart Phelps-Ward was born and lived for many years in Andover, and Harriet Beecher Stowe lived here from 1852 to 1864 and is buried here.

ANDRADA, DIEGO DE PAIVA DE (1528–1575), Portuguese theologian, was born at Coimbra, son of the grand treasurer of John III. His original bent was towards foreign mission. He earned distinction in 1562 at the council of Trent as envoy of King Sebastian. Between 1562 and 1567 he published many controversial tracts, especially against the Lutheran, (q.v.). His first tract, De Societatis Jesu Origine, led to his being erroneously presumed a Jesuit (P. Alegambe, Biblioth. Scriptorum S. J., 1676, p. 177). His De Conciliorum Auctoritate was welcomed at Rome as exalting the papal authority. Posthumous were his Defensio Tridentinae Fidei, 1578 (remarkable for its learned statement of various opinions regarding the Immaculate Conception), and three sets of his sermons in Portuguese.

His nephew,, the younger (1586–1660), produced Chauleidos (1628) and other Latin poems, including sacred dramas; a novel, Casamento Perfeito (1630); and shone as a historical critic.

ANDRADA E SYLVA, BONIFACIO JOZÉ D’ (1765–1838), Brazilian statesman and naturalist, was born at Villa de Santos, near Rio Janeiro. In 1800 he was appointed professor of geology at Coimbra, and soon after inspector-general of the Portuguese mines; and in 1812 he was made perpetual secretary of the Academy of Lisbon. Returning to Brazil in 1819, he urged Dom Pedro to resist the recall of the Lisbon court, and was appointed one of his ministers in 1821. When the independence of Brazil was declared, Andrada was made minister of the interior and of foreign affairs; and when it was established, he was again elected by the Constituent Assembly, but his democratic principles resulted in his dismissal from office, July 1823. On the dissolution of the Assembly in November, he was arrested and banished to France, where he lived in exile near Bordeaux till, in 1829, he was permitted to return to Brazil. But being again arrested in 1833, and tried for intriguing on behalf of Dom Pedro I., he passed the rest of his days in retirement till he died at Nictheroy in 1838. ANDRÁSSY, JULIUS (1823–1890), Hungarian statesman, the son of Count Károly Andrássy and Etelka Szapáry, was born at Kassa in Hungary on the 8th of March 1823. The son of a Liberal father, who belonged to the Opposition at a time when to be in opposition was to be in danger, Andrássy at a very early age threw himself into the political struggles of the day, adopting at the outset the patriotic side. Count István Széchenyi was the first adequately to appreciate his capacity, when in 1845 the young man first began his public career as president of the society for the regulation of the waters of the Upper Theiss. In 1846 he attracted attention by his bitter articles against the government in Kossuth’s paper, the Pesti Hirlap, and was returned as one of the Radical candidates to the diet of 1848, where his generous, impulsive nature made him one of the most thorough-going of the patriots. When the Croats under Jellachich invaded Hungary, Andrássy placed himself at the head of the gentry of his county, and served with distinction at the battles of Pákozd and Schwechat, as Görgei’s adjutant (Sept. 1848). Towards the end of the war Andrássy was sent to Constantinople by the revolutionary government to obtain at least the neutrality of Turkey during the struggle. After the catastrophe of Vilagós he migrated first to London and then to Paris. On the 21st of September 1851 he was hanged in effigy by the Austrian government for his share in the Hungarian revolt. He employed his ten years of exile in studying politics in what was then the centre of European diplomacy, and it is memorable that his keen eye detected the inherent weakness of the second French empire beneath its imposing exterior. Andrássy returned home from exile in 1858, but his position was very difficult. He had never petitioned for an amnesty, steadily rejected all the overtures both of the Austrian government and of the Magyar Conservatives (who would have accepted something short of full autonomy), and clung enthusiastically to the Deák party. On the 21st of December 1865 he was chosen vice-president of the diet, and in March 1866 became president of the sub-committee appointed by the parliamentary commission to draw up the Composition (commonly known as the Ausgleich) between Austria and Hungary, of which the central idea, that of the “Delegations,” originated with him. It was said at that time that he was the only member of the commission who could persuade the court of the justice of the national claims. After Königgrätz he was formally consulted by the emperor for the first time. He advised the re-establishment of the constitution and the appointment of a responsible ministry.

On the 17th of February 1867 the king appointed him the first constitutional Hungarian premier. It was on this occasion that Deák called him “the providential statesman given to Hungary by the grace of God.” As premier, Andrássy by his firmness, amiability and dexterity as a debater, soon won for himself a commanding position. Yet his position continued to be difficult, inasmuch as the authority of Deák dwarfed that of all the party leaders, however eminent. Andrássy chose for himself the departments of war and foreign affairs. It was he who reorganized the Honved system, and he used often to say that the regulation

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Published monthly by the Popular Fiction Publishing Company, 2457 East Washington Street, Indianapolis, Ind. Entered as second-class matter March 20, 1923, at the post office at Indianapolis, Ind., under the act of March 3, 1879. Single copies, 25 cents. Subscription rates: One year in the United States and possessions, Cuba, Mexico, South America. Spain, $2.50; Canada, $2.75; elsewhere, $3.00. English office: Otis A. Kline, c/o John Paradise, 86 Strand, W. C. 2, London. The publishers are not responsible for the loss of unsolicited manuscripts, although every care will be taken of such material while in their possession. The contents of this magazine are fully protected by copyright and must not be reproduced either wholly or in part without permission from the publishers. NOTE—All manuscripts and communications should be addressed to the publishers' Chicago office at 840 North Michigan Avenue, Chicago, Ill. FARNSWORTH WRIGHT, Editor.

W.T.—1


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Dagon

title: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Dagon


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Talk:The Ramayana/Book I/Canto I: Nárad

can i see like ramayana vedas also translated

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 natural substance. Before the Bread be sanctified we call it Bread; but when it is consecrated by the divine grace, it deserves to be called the Body, though the substance of the Bread still remains." When Bellarmine could not answer this testimony of that great Doctor, he thought it enough to deny, that this Epistle is St. Chrysostom's; but both he and Possevin do vainly contend that it is not extant among the works of Chrysostom. For besides that at Florence and elsewhere it was to be found among them, it is cited in the Collections against the Severians which are in the version of Turrianus the Jesuit, in the 4th tome of Antiq. Lectionum of Henry Canisius, and in the end of the book of Joh. Damascenus against the Acephali.

Which also hath been said by St. Austin ( A.D. 400.) above a thousand times; but out of so many almost numberless places, I shall choose only three, which are as the sum of all the rest. "You are not to eat this Body which you see, nor drink this Blood which My crucifiers shall shed; I have left you a Sacrament which, spiritually understood, will vivify you." Thus St. Austin, rehearsing the words of again; "If Sacraments had not some resemblance with those things whereof they are Sacraments, they could not be Sacraments at all. From this resemblance they often take the names of what they represent. Therefore as the Sacrament of  Body is in some sort His Body; so the Sacrament of Faith, is faith also." To the same sense is what he writes against Maximinus the Arian. "We mind in the Sacraments, not what they are, but what they show; for they are signs, which are one thing, and signifies another." And in another place, speaking of the Bread and Wine; "Let no man look to what they are, but to what they signify, for our was pleased to say, 'this is My Body,' when He gave the sign of His Body.'"

And the same kind of expressions………were also used by venerable Bede, our countryman, who lived in the eighth century, in his Sermon upon the Epiphany; of whom we also take these two testimonies following: "In the room of the Flesh and Blood of the Lamb, substituted the Sacrament of His Body and Blood, in the figure of Bread and Wine." Also, "At Supper He gave to His Disciples the figure of His holy Body and Blood." These utterly destroy Transubstuntiation.


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 In the same century Charles the Great wrote an Epistle to our Alcuinus, wherein we find these words. " at Supper broke the Bread to His Disciples, and likewise gave them the Cup, in figure of His Body and Blood, and so left to us this great Sacrament for our benefit." If it was the figure of His Body, it could not be the Body itself; indeed the Body of is given in the Eucharist, but to the faithful only, and that by means of the Sacrament of the consecrated Bread.

But now, about the beginning of the ninth century, started up Paschasius, a Monk of Corbie, who first, (as some say whose judgment I follow not,) among the Latines, taught that was consubstantiated, or rather inclosed in the Bread, and corporally united to it in the Sacrament; for as yet there was no thoughts of the Transubstantiation of Bread. But these new sorts of expressions not agreeing with the Catholic doctrine, and the writings of the ancient Fathers, had few or no abettors before the eleventh century. And in the ninth, whereof we now treat, there were not wanting learned men, (as Amalarius, Archdeacon of Triars; Rabanus, at first Abbot of Fulda, and afterwards Archbishop of Ments; John Erigena, an English Divine; Waldfridus Strabo, a German Abbot; Ratramus or Bertraraus, first Priest of Corbie, afterwards Abbot of Orbec in France; and many more;) who by their writings opposed this new opinion of Paschasius, or of some others rather, and delivered to posterity the Doctrine of the Ancient Church. Yet we have something more to say concerning Paschasius, whom Bellarmine and Sirmondus esteemed so highly, that they were not ashamed to say, that he was the first that had writ to the purpose concerning the Eucharist; and that he had so explained the meaning of the Church, that he had shown and opened the way to all them who treated of that subject after him. Yet in that whole book of Paschasius, there is nothing that favours the Transubstantiation of the Bread, or its destruction or removal. Indeed, he asserts the truth of the Body and Blood of being in the Eucharist, which Protestants deny not; he denies that the consecrated Bread is a bare figure, a representation void of truth, which Protestants assert not. But he has many things repugnant to Transubstantiation, which, as I have said, the Church of Rome itself had not yet quite found out. I shall mention a few of them. "," saith he, "left us this Sacrament, a visible figure and


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 character of His Body and Blood, that by them our spirit might the better embrace spiritual and invisible things, and be more fully fed by faith." Again, "We must receive our spiritual Sacrament with the mouth of the soul, and the taste of faith." Item, "Whilst therein we savour nothing carnal, but we being spiritual, and understanding the whole spiritually, we remain in ." And a little after, "The Flesh and Blood of are received spiritually." And again, "To savour according to the Flesh, is death; and yet to receive spiritually the true Flesh of, is life eternal." Lastly, "The Flesh and Blood of  are not received carnally, but spiritually."

As for the opinion of Bertram, otherwise called Ratramnus, or Ratramus, perhaps not rightly, it is known enough by that book which the Emperor Charles the Bald, (who loved and honoured him, as all good men did, for his great learning and piety,) commanded him to write concerning the Body and Blood of our. For when men began to be disturbed at the book of Paschasius, some saying one thing, and some another, the Emperor being moved by their disputes propounded himself two questions to Bertram. 1. Whether, what the faithful eat in the Church, be made the Body and Blood of in figure and in mystery. 2. Or whether that natural Body which was born of the Virgin Mary, which suffered, died, and was buried, and now sitteth on the right hand of the Father, be itself daily received by the mouth of the faithful in the mystery of the Sacrament. The first of these Bertram resolved affirmatively, the second negatively; and said, that there was as great a difference betwixt those two bodies, as betwixt the earnest and that whereof it is the earnest. "It is evident," saith he, "that that Bread and Wine are figuratively the Body and Blood of . According to the substance of the Elements, they are after the Consecration what they were before. For the Bread is not substantially. If this mystery be not done in a figure, it cannot well be called a mystery. The Wine also which is made the Sacrament of the Blood of  by the Consecration of the Priest, shews one thing by its outward appearance, and contains another inwardly. For what is there visible in its outside but only the substance of the Wine? These things are changed, but not according to the material part, and by this change they are not what they truly appear to be


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 but are something else besides what is their proper being; for they are made spiritually the Body and Blood of ; not that the Elements be two different things, but in one respect they are, as they appear, Bread and Wine, and in another the Body and Blood of. Hence, according to the visible creature they feed the body; but according to the virtue of a more excellent substance they nourish and sanctify the souls of the faithful." Then having brought many testimonies of holy Scripture and the ancient Fathers to confirm this, he at last prevents that calumny which the followers of Paschasius did then lay on the orthodox, as though they had taught that bare signs, figures, and shadows, and not the Body and Blood of were given in the Sacrament. "Let it not be thought," saith he, "because we say this, that therefore the Body and Blood of  are not received in the mystery of the Sacrament, where faith apprehends what it believeth, and not what the eyes see; for this meat and drink are spiritual, feed the soul spiritually, and entertain that life whose fulness is eternal." For the question is not simply about the real truth, or the thing signified being present, without which it could not be a mystery, but about the false reality of things subsisting in imaginary appearances, and about the carnal presence.

All this the Fathers of Trent, and the Romish Inquisitors could not brook, and therefore they utterly condemned Bertram, and put his book in the Catalogue of those that are forbidden.

… us see what props these new builders pretend to borrow from Antiquity to uphold their castle in the air, Transubstantiation. They use indeed to scrape together many testimonies of the Fathers of the first and middle age, whereby they would fain prove, that those Fathers believed and taught the Transubstantiation of the Bread and Wine into the natural Body and Blood of, just as the Roman Church, at this day, doth teach and believe.


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 We will therefore briefly examine them, that it may yet more fully appear that Antiquity and all Fathers did not in the least favour the new tenet of Transubstantiation; but that, that true doctrine which I have set down in the beginning of this book, was constantly owned and preserved in the Church of.

Now, almost all that they produce out of the Fathers will be conveniently reduced to certain heads, that we may not be too tedious in answering each testimony by itself.

1. To the first head belong those that call the Eucharist the Body and Blood of. But I answer, those Fathers explain themselves in many places, and interpret those their expressions in such a manner, that they must be understood in a mystic and spiritual sense, in that Sacraments usually take the names of those things they represent, because of that resemblance which they have with them; not by the reality of the thing, but by the signification of the mystery; as we have been shown before out of St Austin and others. For nobody can deny, but that the things that are seen are signs and figures, and those that are not seen, the Body and Blood of. And that therefore the nature of this mystery is such, that when we receive the Bread and Wine, we also together with them receive at the same time the Body and Blood of, which, in the celebration of the holy Eucharist, are as truly given as they are represented. Hence came into the Church this manner of speaking, 'The consecrated Bread is Body.'

2. We put in the second rank those places that say, that the Bishops and Priests make the Body of with the sacred words of their mouth, as St. Hierom speaks in his Epistle to Heliodorus, and St. Ambrose, and others. To this I say, that at the prayer and blessing of the Priest, the common bread is made Sacramental Bread, which, when broken and eaten, is the Communion of the Body of, and therefore may well be called so, sacramentally. For the Bread, (as I have often said before,) doth not only represent the Body of our, but also being received, we are truly made partakers of that precious Body. For so saith St. Hierom; "The Body and Blood of is made at the prayer of the Priest;" that is, the Element is so qualified, that being received it becomes the Communion of the Body and Blood of, which it could not without the preceding prayers. The Greeks call this, "To prepare and to consecrate the Body of the ." As St Chrysostom saith well; "These are not the works of man's


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 power, but still the operation of Him, who made them in the last Supper; as for us, we are only Ministers, but He it is that sanctifies and changeth them."

3. In the third place, to what is brought out of the Fathers, concerning the conversion, change, transmutation, transfiguration, and transelementation of the Bread and Wine in the Eucharist, (wherein the Papists do greatly glory, boasting of the consent of Antiquity with them,) I answer, that there is no such consequence. Transubstantiation being another species of change, the enumeration was not full, for it doth not follow, that because there is a conversion, a transmutation, a transelementation, there should be also a Transubstantiation; which the Fathers never so much as mentioned. For because this is a Sacrament, the change must be understood to be sacramental also, whereby common Bread and Wine become the Sacrament of the Body and Blood of ; which could not be, did not the substance of the Bread and Wine remain, for a Sacrament consisteth of two parts, an earthly and a heavenly. And so, because ordinary Bread is changed by consecration into a Bread which is no more of common use, but appointed by divine institution to be a sacramental sign, whereby is represented the Body of, in whom dwelleth the fulness of the Godhead bodily, and being thereby dignified, having great excellencies superadded, and so made what it was not before, it is therefore said by some of the Fathers to be changed, to be made another thing. And truly that change is great and supernatural, but yet not substantial, not of a substance which substantially ceaseth to be, into another substance which substantially beginneth to be, but it is a change of state and condition which alters not the natural properties of the Element. This is also confirmed by Scripture, which usually describes and represents the conversion of men, and the supernatural change of things, as though it were natural, though it be not so. So those that are renewed by the Word, and Spirit, and Faith of, are said to be regenerated, converted, and transformed, to put off the old man, and put on the new man, and to be new creatures; but they are not said to become another substance, to be transubstantiated; for men thus converted are still the same human body, and the same rational soul as before, though in a far better state and condition, as every Christian will acknowledge. Nay, the Fathers themselves used those words, Transmutation, Transformation, Transelementation,


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 upon other occasions, when they speak of things whose substance is neither lost nor changed.

4. To the fourth head I refer what the Fathers say of our touching and seeing the Body of, and drinking His Blood in the Sacrament; and thereto I answer, that we deny not but that some things emphatical, and even hyperbolical, have been said of the Sacrament by Chrysostom, and some others; and that those things may easy lead unwary men into error. That was the ancient Fathers' care, as it is ours still, to instruct the people not to look barely on the outward Elements, but in them to eye with their minds the Body and Blood of, and with their hearts lift up to feed on that heavenly meat; for all the benefit of a Sacrament is lost, if we look no further than the Elements. Hence it is that those holy men, the better to teach this lesson to their hearers, and move their hearts more efficaciously, spake of the signs as if they had been the thing signified, and like orators said many things which will not bear a literal sense, nor a strict examen. Such is this, of an uncertain author under the name of St. Cyprian; "We are close to the Cross, we suck the Blood, and we put our tongues in the very wounds of our, so that, both outwardly and inwardly we are made red thereby." Such is that of St. Chrysostom; "In the Sacrament the Blood is drawn out of the side of, the tongue is made bloody with that wonderful Blood." Again, "Thou seeth thy sacrificed, and the crowding multitude round about sprinkled with His Blood; He that sits above with the  is at the same time in our hands. Thou doth see and touch and eat Him. For I do not shew thee either Angels or Archangels, but the  of them Himself." Again; "He incorporates us with Himself, as if we were but the same thing. He makes us His Body indeed, and suffers us not only to see, but even to touch, to eat Him, and to put our teeth in His Flesh; so that by that food which He gives us, we become His Flesh." Such is that of St. Austin; "Let us give thanks, not only that we are made Christians, but also made ." Lastly, such is that of Leo; "In that mystical distribution, it is given us to be made His Flesh." Certainly, if any man would wrangle and take advantage of these, he might thereby maintain, as well that we are transubstantiated into, and Flesh into the Bread, as that the Bread and Wine are transubstantiated


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 into His Body and Blood. But Protestants who scorn to play the sophisters, interpret these and the like passages of the Fathers, with candour and ingenuity, (as it is most fitting they should.) For the expressions of Preachers, which often have something of a paradox, must not be taken according to that harsher sound wherewith they at first strike the auditor's ears. The Fathers spake not of any transubstantiated bread, but of the mystical and consecrated, when they used those sorts of expressions; and that for these reasons; 1. That they might extol and amplify the dignity of this mystery, which all true Christians acknowledge to be very great and peerless. 2. That communicants might not rest in the outward Elements, but seriously consider the thing represented, whereof they are most certainly made partakers, if they be worthy receivers. 3. And lastly, that they might approach so great a mystery with the more zeal, reverence, and devotion. And that those hyperbolic expressions are thus to be understood, the Fathers themselves teach clearly enough, when they come to interpret them.

5. Lastly, being the same holy Fathers who, (as the manner is to discourse of Sacraments,) speak sometimes of the Bread and Wine in the Supper, as if they were the very Body and Blood of, do also very often call them types, elements, signs, the figure of the Body and Blood of ; from hence it appears most manifestly, that they were of the Protestants, and not of the Papists' opinion. For we can without prejudice to what we believe of the Sacrament, use those former expressions which the Papists believe, do most favour them, if they be understood, as they ought to be, sacramentally. But the latter none can use, but he must thereby overthrow the groundless doctrine of Transubstantiation; these two, the Bread is transubstantiated into the Body, and the Bread also is the type, the sign, the figure of the Body of, being wholly inconsistent. For it is impossible that a thing that loseth its being should yet be the sign and representation of another; neither can any thing be the type and the sign of itself.

But if without admitting of a sacramental sense the words be used too rigorously, nothing but this will follow; that the Bread and Wine are really and properly the very Body and Blood of, which they themselves disown, that hold Transubstantiation. Therefore in this change, it is not a newness of


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, but of use and virtue that is produced; which yet the Fathers acknowledged with us, to be wonderful, supernatural, and proper only to Omnipotency; for that earthly and corruptible meat cannot become to us a spiritual and heavenly, the Communion of the Body and Blood of , without  especial power and operation. And whereas it is far above philosophy and human reason, that from Heaven, (where alone He is locally,) should reach down to us the divine virtue of His Flesh, so that we are made one body with Him; therefore it is as necessary as it is reasonable, that the Fathers should tell us, that we ought with singleness of heart to believe the Son of, when He saith, This is My Body; and that we ought not to measure this high and holy mystery by our narrow conceptions, or by the course of nature. For it is more acceptable to with an humble simplicity of faith to reverence and embrace the words of, than to wrest them violently to a strange and improper sense, and with curiosity and presumption to determine what exceeds the capacity of men and Angels.

have proved it before, that the leprosy of Transubstantiation did not begin to spread over the body of the Church in a thousand years after. But at last the thousand years being expired, and Satan loosed out of his prison, to go and deceive the nations, and compass the camp of the Saints about, then, to the great damage of Christian peace and religion, they began here and there to dispute against the clear, constant, and universal consent of the Fathers, and to maintain the new-started opinion. It is known to them that understand History, what manner of times were then, and what were those Bishops who then governed the Church of Rome; Sylvester II. John XIX. and XX. Sergius IV. Benedictus VIII. John XXI. Benedict IX. Sylvester III. Gregory VI. Damasus II. Leo IX. Nicholas II.


text: The Australian Emigrant/Chapter 4

title: The Australian Emigrant/Chapter 4


text: The Australian Emigrant/Chapter 5

title: The Australian Emigrant/Chapter 5


text:
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Dan came to his senses all was dark around him. The sun had set over the timber in the west, and scarcely a sound broke the stillness of the night.

For several minutes the youth could not imagine where he was or what had happened. Then slowly the realisation of the events just passed dawned upon his muddled brain.

He tried to pull himself together and sit up, but the effort was so painful he was glad enough to give it up and rest just as he lay. The brushwood had saved him from death, but it had not saved him from a nasty fall on the flat rocks which rested at the bottom of the ravine at this particular point.

"It must be at least two or three hours since I went over," he thought, dismally. "I wonder what became of the mustang, and where Ralph and the ponies are?"

He tried to see the face of the silver watch he carried,—an heirloom from his mother,—but it

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162 was too dark, and he had to give it up. Then he attempted to call out, but his voice was so feeble no one standing fifty yards off would have heard it. And Ralph was miles and miles away, hope lessly lost in his hunt after his missing brother.

Not a bone had been broken nor a muscle strained to any extent, yet it was almost daybreak before Dan felt like getting on his feet, and in the meantime he had fallen into a doze and dreamed all manner of horrible dreams. When he awoke, his mouth was parched for water, and his first move was in the direction of the wet portion of the ravine, beyond the rocks.

As it was the fall of the year, the night had been cold, and after procuring a drink he was glad enough to sit down again beside a fire made of leaves and such small brush as was handy. He was now hungry, but nothing was at hand to satisfy the cravings of the inner man. His gun had been left behind, but in his belt still rested his hunting-knife, something he had taken to carrying constantly since the brush with the Comanches.

Dan could not help but wonder what had become of Ralph, and wished that he had some firearm by which he might discharge a shot as a signal.

Slowly the morning wore away, and by noon the lad felt that he must make a move. "I'll get out of the ravine first," he thought, but this was no

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Rh easy matter, for the sides were steep and he was still too weak to exert himself in climbing.

Presently he imagined that he heard, at a great distance, the firing of a volley of shots. To make sure he was right, he laid on the ground and listened. Soon the volley was repeated, and a number of single reports followed.

"There is a fight on of some sort," he thought, but could not locate the direction of the shots with any degree of accuracy. "I trust Ralph is out of danger."

He walked along the ravine, looking for some convenient spot where he might ascend to the level of the timber beyond, until he came to where there was a split in the hollow. Here, in the centre of the ravine, was a huge pile of rocks, overgrown with a tangle of vines and thorns, which hid a cave of fair dimensions. In those days this cave was known to the Indians as the Haunted Rock. It is said that many a Mexican trader was lured there, only to be killed and robbed.

As Dan was passing the cave he saw, with much surprise, a Mexican soldier leading two mustangs into the opening. Each saw the other at the same time, and instantly the Mexican set up a shout in Spanish, and, letting go of the horses, levelled a pistol at the boy's head.

Dan did not understand the Spanish, but he understood the motion of the soldier.

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164 "Don't shoot!" he cried. "I am unarmed!" And he held up his hands to verify his statement.

"You surrender?" asked the Mexican, in broken English.

"I suppose I'll have to," answered Dan. "But what are you doing here, and why do you wish to make me a prisoner? I am not a soldier."

At this the Mexican shrugged his bony shoulders and called out again in Spanish, whereupon three other Mexicans showed themselves at the mouth of the cave.

"Come in here, boy," said one of the three, who was evidently a captain, by his uniform. "Are you alone?"

"I am," answered Dan, as he entered the mouth of the cave.

"Where are the soldiers?"

"What soldiers?"

"The rascally Texans who were after us."

"I know nothing of any soldiers, captain."

"You are telling me the truth?" And the Mexican captain turned a pair of piercing black eyes on the youth.

"I am, sir; I have seen no soldiers for a week or more, and they were nowhere about here."

Dan's frank manner apparently impressed the Mexican officer favourably, for he breathed more freely. He paused for a moment, as if in deep thought.

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Rh "What brought you here, boy?"

In a few simple words Dan told his tale. When he mentioned the white mustang, two of the Mexicans smiled.

"I saw him," said one. "He was running like the wind,—directly for those soldiers, too."

"And who are the soldiers you speak about?" asked Dan.

"It is not for you to ask questions," answered the captain, abruptly. "Sit down on yonder rock and keep quiet. A noise might betray us, and then it might become necessary to put a bullet in you."

As there was no help for it, Dan walked still farther into the cave, and sank down on the rock pointed out. He noted that there were but four of the Mexicans, and that each had a mustang that seemed to be much exhausted.

"I reckon I am worse off than I was before," was his mental comment, after reviewing the situation. "These chaps are evidently in hiding, and they won't let me go for fear of exposing them. Well, I sha'n't stay any longer than I have to."

In the matter of eating, the Mexicans were as badly off as the youth. "You have had nothing, eh?" said one. "Well, we are just as hungry, and perhaps more so. It cannot be helped, and we must make the best of it."

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166 "But we can't remain here and starve to death," insisted Dan.

At this the Mexican drew up his face into a scowl and turned away. To comfort themselves, the men smoked cigarettes incessantly, being used to the tobacco habit from childhood. Dan had as yet found no comfort in the use of the weed.

While two of the Mexicans remained in the cave to care for the mustangs, the others went out on guard, one stationing himself just above the opening and the other below. The numerous rocks afforded both excellent hiding-places.

From those in care of the mustangs Dan learned but little, yet, during the Mexicans' talk, the youth managed to gain a bit of information which led him to believe that there had been a battle, and the four had become separated from their companions and had been pursued. The Mexicans thought to remain in the cave until night, and then escape under cover of the darkness.

As the hours went by Dan became more hungry, and with this empty feeling came one of desperation. He must escape, be the cost what it might.

"If only I could collar one of their mustangs, and get away on it," he thought. "Perhaps I might find those soldiers and have the Mexicans made prisoners."

The more he thought of this plan the more did

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Rh it appeal to him, and then he cast about for some means of putting it into operation.

The chance came shortly before sundown. A distant shot was heard, and the two Mexicans in the cave hurried to join their companions, to learn what it might mean. Dan had cast himself down as if asleep, and one of the soldiers did not, therefore, pick up his gun as he hurried past the entrance of the cave.

No sooner were the men out of sight, than Dan leaped upon the back of the nearest mustang, and turned him straight for the entrance. He made the animal do his best from the start, yet, as he passed the entrance to the cave, he hung out from the saddle and managed to pick up the gun that rested against the wall.

"He is escaping!" cried one of the Mexicans, in Spanish, and leaped in front of the mustang. The next instant the horse knocked him flat and galloped over his body.

The Mexicans were bewildered, for, on the brink of the ravine, one of them had caught sight of several Texan soldiers in the distance. If they fired on Dan, they would betray themselves, and, if they did not, the youth would surely escape.

"After him!" cried the captain, and two of the soldiers made a dash for the boy. But they might have as well tried to catch the wind, for the

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168 was fresh from his rest, and Dan made him do his level best.

Then along the ravine sped animal and boy, Dan riding as never before, and expecting a shot at any moment. He knew not where he was going, and hardly cared, so long as he made his escape from the Mexicans.

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text: For the Liberty of Texas/Chapter 19

title: For the Liberty of Texas/Chapter 19


text:
Page:Lindigo.djvu/56

56 or my nose; as if the prisoner complained of the maltreatment of his nasal organ; to which they answered, "Ciod as mo viru do shron, na do thou" (what care we for your nose or nether end), and applying their toes unmercifully to that delicate part at the same time.

The unfortunate prisoner now roared out—"Am no 'xiseman, 'am his Lodship's walot!" when the last words were interpreted by them for, Na loisg a whaleid—"Don't burn the wallet"—imagining that he appeared like a wallet while in the sack, and dreading they might throw him into the fire.

This was answered by "Cha loisgsinse a whaleid aeh bogaidh sinse i" (We shan't burn the wallet; but we'll soak her.)

This last interpretation brought a fit of laughter from Munro, who was peeping through a hole at the amusing scene, and which betrayed his ambush. He soon came to the unlucky valet's rescue, and saved him from a thorough ducking, which his gaolers were on the eve of putting into execution.

On being liberated from his uncomfortable imprisonment, Brown gave vent to a storm of abuse and threats of informing against the smugglers, which, if they understood, would have inevitably tempted them to put in force the unpleasant process of ducking him, notwithstanding Munro's intervention. This fact the latter hinted to the enraged valet, which, for his own safety, silenced him at once, and order was soon restored between the belligerents, through the able mediation of the piper.

A copious supply of the different drinkables which the brews contained was served round, soon changing the offensive propensities of the parties into that of cordiality and good fellowship; and to crown the amnesty and hilarity, Munro played several lively airs on his pipes, to which the smugglers danced with right goodwill, and pressed Brown to join, in order to make up a reel of four, the gloomy dell resounding with their merry exclamations.

Whether it was owing to his heavy potations of drinks before now strange to him, or that some charm was connected with his wild and novel situation, we cannot say, the valet never felt himself so elated or prone to

title: Page:Lindigo.djvu/56


text:
Page:Lindigo.djvu/57

Rh hilarity. The perspiration streamed down his face with the excitement, and his proficiency in the Highland fling, (under the able tuition of the younger smuggler, or sack inventor, who professed great regard for Brown and who, bye the bye, was a very mischievous person) became every moment more apparent.

Feigning great regard to Brown (entirely for practising his fun on him) the young smuggler, on the plea of wiping the perspiration off the valet's face with his fingers, which were previously drawn round the bottom part of the large copper boiler, where a coating of black had accumulated from the smoke of the peat fire; and never had an actor, when preparing a character in a burlesque or tragedy, delineated such expansive eyebrows, mustachoesmustachios [sic] curling up the cheeks, imperials down the chin, and a perpendicular stroke down the length of the nose, as the mischievous smuggler had traced on the handsome and clean-shaven face of Mr. Brown, who now more resembled an Italian bandit than Lord Lundy's valet, butler, and body-servant.

After the dancing, the company proposed a song, and several Gaelic verses were sung by each of the smugglers, who, in their turn, called on Mr. Brown.

A small keg was placed on end at one side of the brews for the accommodation of that gentleman, while the rest ranged themselves immediately opposite, where they were soon treated to a variety of his vocal abilities, and his relish for singing and wetting his whistle became more and more apparent as he proceeded, which highly delighted his audience, although the majority of them were ignorant of the meaning of every word that issued from his lips, and we must confess, it would defy better versed people in the English language to make it out, as his tongue had apparently became much thicker; the letter R being entirely banished from his vocabulary, and the V and W having exchanged places.

The singer also had a habit of closing his eyes, to give more pathos to his poetical effusions, and this was accompanied by inclinations of the body forward at the end of each verse.

His mixed potations now began to show themselves,

title: Page:Lindigo.djvu/57


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58 and Morpheus threatened to close his vocal career, when his voice lowered from its former high key to that of a low cadence resembling the lullaby of a sleepy mother to her restless babe at midnight.

If the smugglers were amused at the comic character before them, there was one tenant of the brews who did not look on the painted face of the singer with the same satisfied air. This was the pet goat.

Stepping up quietly, and taking his position immediately before the sleepy Brown, and taking every inclination of his head for a challenge to himself, the buck now returned each of these salutations by bringing his horns within an inch of the singer's forehead. At length a heavier and lower lurch forward succeeded, when the enraged buck (whose temper was raised to its highest pitch) raised himself on his hind legs in that attitude of antagonism peculiar to them when fighting, and coming down with his formidable horns on the unfortunate valet's head, sent him sprawling on the ground roaring out "am mudered! am mudered!"

The laughing spectators raised up the fallen hero, and found that no serious damage had been done to his cranium (his hat having fortunately broken the force of the assailant's blow), the only visible marks being two bumps on his forehead. This was, however, sufficient warning for the valet to leave a place where he would be liable to receive a repetition of such unwelcome visitations, and a motion for departure was made by himself and Munro. It was not without a great deal of argument that he could be convinced of his real antagonist, or that it was the buck instead of one of the party that had committed the assault.

After quaffing another cuach as a deoch-an-dorais the pedestrians again commenced their journey homewards. They had not, however, gone far when the shades of evening closed around them, adding to Brown's difficulties, and not only leaving his handsome livery in a sorry plight, but his valuable carcase also, and but for his previous potations and the encouraging effects of the uisgebea within him, he would several times have lain down till morning where he fell. Another inducement which

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Rh cheered him in his perilous and difficult progress, was that Munro intimated that the nearest habitation to them was Mr. McKay's, where the pleasure of seeing Mary Grant and enjoying a jolly evening in her charming company would be a balm to Mr. Brown's present feelings and distresses, and fully compensate for the difficulties encountered in their rough journey.

What surprised the valet more than anything else, was that Munro never met with a single fall, and appeared to travel as steady as in daylight on the king's highway. He therefore concluded that Highlanders could see in the dark like cats or dogs.

On their route (which was a short cut) lay a peat moss where turf was being procured, and unluckily they came across a long but narrow pit, brimfull of water, which stretched across their path. Munro intimated that its breadth was but trifling, and took a short running leap, clearing it at a bound, invited Brown to follow his example. Whether the valet's visionary organs were at fault, or whether he was unable to accomplish the feat, we cannot say, but on taking the leap he fell short a foot and disappeared like a solan goose when diving for fish in the sea. Munro, however, notwithstanding his immoderate fit of merriment, caught the immersed Brown by the hair, and dragged him on terra firma, where he stood trembling, jumping and gasping, doubting his own existence.

Mr. McKay's house was at length gained, and Munro conducted his dripping companion to one of the servant's rooms, where he furnished him with a hot cup of toddy and a suit of Highland garb as a change for his wet livery, and which the piper declared would make a complete conquest on the heart of Mary Grant, who was very partial to the costume. This fact the duped valet had evidence of before, and the effects of the last tumbler, which had already the effect of softening his heart towards the fair sex in general, and Mary Grant in particular, he subjected himself to the ordeal of being kilted and sporraned by the able hands of Munro; they then adjourned to the servants' hall, where the occupants were ready to receive them to join in a merry reel.

title: Page:Lindigo.djvu/59


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Page:Lindigo.djvu/60

60 The entrance of Brown, and the ridiculous figure he made in his novel garb, caused a taxation on their gravity which they were hardly able to hide. The unfitting costume, which was apparently made for a far stouter person, hung round his spare frame in a most clumsy manner, reminding them of a fuathaiche (a cross-stick, with old clothes on) placed in a field to scare crows. The hose were folded round his spare shanks, and strapped round with the garters as if bandaged by a surgeon after sustaining a fracture.

Brown advanced towards Mary Grant grinning, with his still painted countenance, notwithstanding his sousing, and in a theatrical attitude and low bow, engaged her for a reel, thinking himself quite proficient, after the young smuggler's tuition.

The company's merriment now received an addition through the pranks of a young herd boy, who stuck, unperceived, a bladder full of wind on the valet's back when dancing, and which kept continually bobbing at every movement.

Brown's idea of Highland-fling was to cross his legs as often as possible and wheel suddenly round. On one of these occasions he had unfortunately crossed them too far, when they did not obey quick enough to time, and his equilibrium being at fault after the toddy, he came down on the broad of his back on the hard flags, bursting the bladder under him, causing a terrific explosion, which shook the very building, followed by his roaring, "'Am shot! 'am shot!" which was as loud as the concussion. On being once more placed on his feet, and convinced that a mine had not sprung under him, his agitation was subdued by the party forming themselves into a half-circle round the fire to finish their evening amusement by singing, Donald Munro at the same time bringing to light a couple of bottles of whiskey, which he had carried from the brews, and which never tasted water. These were converted into strong hot toddy, in a large jug, which went rapidly round, the singers moistening their musical organs, and which diffused lively sensations through their frames. The effect on Mr. Brown was

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Rh apparent by his gallant attentions to the female portion of the company, more especially Mary Grant, who already manifested extraordinary symptoms of the cure of her love for the Englishman, through the efficacy of Munro's dose. However, to make it more complete, the piper hinted to her that she was not to spurn the valet's advances this evening, in order to carry on the sport. Thus Mary Grant was obliged to succumb, and bear more of the Englishman's now unwelcome attentions.

There was another female among Mr. McKay's domestics who, however, cordially accepted Mr. Brown's gallantry and advances. This was an old maid of some sixty years, of very eccentric notions and disposition. Her name was Mary, also; and to distinguish her from Mary Grant, she was generally called Mary Mhor, or Big Mary—although there was not much difference between them in stature—while the latter was called Mary Veg, or Little Mary.

Mary Mhor still held many youthful and romantic ideas, which had rather increased than diminished with her years, and felt greatly annoyed at attention being paid, in her presence, to young girls by the men. Thus, on seeing the valet's addresses to Mary Veg, her jealousy became almost uncontrollable, and brought to bear all her youthful fascinations (which, according to accounts, she had been gifted with a great share of) to charm the English stranger. A hint to Brown from Mary Veg helped to facilitate this wish, and the valet's sight being not of the clearest after the toddy, had not noticed Mary Mhor's wrinkles or defects, and also under the impression that the old maid had some influence over the young one, or may be an aunt, he resolved on gaining her good-will by paying great attention to her. If Brown, however, had his optics as clear as usual, and in daylight, we question whether his gallantry towards Mary Mhor would be carried on with the same zeal.

Her occupation in Mr. McKay's establishment was that of spinning, and her constant vicinity to, the heat of the fire dried up her skin (for flesh she had none) into innumerable wrinkles. The toothache had made also a sad havoc among her teeth, leaving but four solitary

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62 tusks to tell the woeful tale. Her hair which was once fair, now turned into dirty grey, but was carefully concealed by a close cap and false brown dosan or front locks. She was passionately fond of a strong cup of tea, and people whispered that she would not refuse a tumbler of toddy.

It was between this person and Mary Grant that Brown had taken his seat in the singing circle, with an arm round the waist of each, and as the songs and toddy went round, the valet's squeezes or hugs became more often and affectionate, but unfortunately not very clear on which side of him the younger or the elder Mary sat; thus conferring the caresses and whispers which he intended for Mary Veg on Mary Mhor.

Matters went on in this way for some time, until the lights were getting low, and the servants had slipped away one by one to bed, until the whole, with the exception of the comfortable trio, and Munro, were left in their glory.

Another break-up was also made by Mary Grant, who slipped cautiously away on the plea of replenishing the sinking light; but, instead of doing so, she unluckily extinguished it altogether.

Brown made a sad mistake at this time, being under the impression that the elder Mary was the person who got up, and had put out the light (as he hinted to her) in order to give him an opportunity. He therefore turned all his attention and affection on Mary Grant (as he supposed), drawing her yielding form towards him, and returning his embraces, throwing her arms round his neck.

Mr. Brown was now in the height of happiness; gave vent to an eloquent burst of love for his admired Mary, who acknowledged his vehemence by an affectionate squeeze, and some indistinct whispers in Gaelic, which he called posers. Old Mary, with the effects of toddy and love for the handsome Englishman, imagined her youthful days had returned, and was now in the height of happiness, although unable to understand a single word of the passionate whispers uttered in her ear. The word poser, however, was quiet sufficient, as she thought it related to marriage or posadh; and hearing it several times

title: Page:Lindigo.djvu/62


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Page:Atharva-Veda samhita.djvu/410

v. 12- designate any one of several other verses in the text) in the vaçāçamana ceremony, to accompany the offering of the omentum; and in the parvan sacrifices (2. 36) occurs a pāda resembling 2 b. In Vāit. (10. 11: the pratīka is unambiguous) it goes with the prayāja offerings in the paçubandha

Translated: by the RV. translators; and Griffith, i. 205; Weber, xviii. 207.—See Weber's general remarks; and compare hymn 27, below.

1. Kindled this day in the home of man (mánus), thou, a god, O Jātavedas, dost sacrifice to the gods; and do thou bring [them], understanding it, O thou of friendly might; thou art a forethoughtful messenger, poet.

2. O Tanūnapāt (son of thyself?), do thou, anointing with honey (mádhu) the roads that go to righteousness (ṛtá), sweeten them, O well-tongued one; prospering (ṛdh) with prayers (did) the devotions (mánman) and the sacrifice, put (kṛ) thou also among the gods our service (adhvará).

3. Making oblation do thou, O Agni, to be praised and to be greeted, come in accord with the Vasus. Thou art invoker (hótṛ) of the gods, O youthful one (? yahvá); do thou, sent forth, skilled sacrificer (yájīyaṅs), sacrifice to them.

4. The forward barhís, through the fore-region of the earth, is wreathed on this dawn (vástu), at the beginning (ágra) of the days; it spreads out abroad more widely, pleasant to the gods, to Aditi.

5. Expansive let them open (vi-çri) widely, like wives adorned for their husbands; ye great, divine, all-furthering doors, be ye favorable to the advance of the gods.

6. Let Dawn and Night, dripping (? suṣvay-), worshipful, close, sit

title: Page:Atharva-Veda samhita.djvu/410


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241 down here in the lair (yóni)—the two heavenly, great, well-shining women, putting on beauty (çrī́) with bright adornment.

The other texts differ from ours only by accenting úpāke. ⌊The comment to Prāt, ii. 91 cites suṣvay as a case of reduplication; and BR. vii. 1142 connect it with su 'impel.' But see Weber.—He renders ā́ by 'Heran.'⌋

7. The (two) invokers of the gods, first, well-voiced, shaping (mā) the sacrifice for man (mánus) to sacrifice, urging forward at the councils (vidátha) the (two) singers (kārú), pointing out forward light through the fore-region.

There are no variants. ⌊Griffith, after Mahīdhara, takes the "light" as the āhavanīya fire.⌋

8. Unto our sacrifice let Bhāratī come quickly, let Iḍā, taking note here in human fashion; let the three goddesses, well-working, sit upon this pleasant barhís—[also] Sarasvatī.

The translation implies in d the reading sárasvatī, given by RV.VS.MS.; TB. ⌊both ed's, Bibl. Ind. and Poona⌋ supports AV. in reading -tīḥ, which, however, can hardly be anything but a blunder. The four other texts have at the end sadantu. All our mss. have manuṣyát in b ⌊and so have all SPP's authorities⌋, and this form is authenticated by Prāt. iv. 65, the comment explaining how it is derived from manuṣyavat. As being, therefore, the indubitable AV. reading, it should not have been altered in our edition to -ṣvát, to conform with the four other texts, even though doubtless a corruption of -ṣvát. ⌊SPP. also alters it.⌋ ⌊In c, correct davī́r to devī́r.⌋

9. To him, god Tvashṭar, who adorned (piç) with forms these two generatresses, heaven-and-earth, [and] all existences, do thou today, O invoker, sent forth, skilled sacrificer, sacrifice here, understanding it.

There are no variants.

10. In thy way (? tmányā) anointing them, pour thou down upon (upa-ava-sṛj) the track of the gods the oblations in due season; let the forest-tree, the queller (çamitár), god Agni, relish (svad) the oblation with honey, with ghee.

'Forest-tree,' doubtless a big name for the sacrificial post. That the 'queller' is a separate personage is shown by the plural number of the following verb. ⌊E. Sieg discusses pā́thas, Gurupūjakaumudī, 97 ff.; later, Oldenberg, ZDMG. liv. 602.⌋

12. At once, when born, he determined (vi-mā) the sacrifice; Agni became foremost of the gods; at the direction of this invoker, at the voice of righteousness (ṛtá), let the gods eat the oblation made with "hail!"

The other texts read in c the nearly equivalent pradíçi.

title: Page:Atharva-Veda samhita.djvu/411


text: Atharva-Veda Samhita/Book V/Hymn 12

title: Atharva-Veda Samhita/Book V/Hymn 12


text:
Page:Lindigo.djvu/63

Rh mentioned by Brown, she had no doubt but he was proposing to her, when she answered suddenly, "Posaidh smi phosus du" (Marry, of course I'll marry you).

Donald Munro and Mary Grant, who were quietly listening to this amusing dialect behind them, could hardly contain their merriment, until at last Morpheus closed the scene, and the latter couple withdrew from the room, to chat over their own love, and make up for lost time. Mary confessed her own foolishness in ever thinking of Brown, or listening to his nonsense, and vowed never more to be carried away by the flattery or gaudy dress of an English flunkey.

Daylight soon warned Donald that it was time to leave, but this time with a double kiss at parting, as a guarantee for future constancy.

It was the custom of Bella M'Kay to rise early in the morning, and take a walk, attended by her maid. The latter now, on Donald's departure, went up to her young mistress' room, and found her already dressed.

Passing the servants' hall on their way out, Mary begged of her mistress to enter it for a few seconds, and that she would behold there a picture which she never before saw rivalled. Conscious that none of the servants were up at that early hour, Bella consented to be led by Mary, curious to see the strange picture; and sure enough there it sat before her, and only for the duet of snoring which issued from the group, she would hardly have believed her eyes.

John Brown, in his misfitting Highland garb, and still carrying strong impressions of the young smuggler's handiwork on his countenance, holding the sunken-eyed and shrivelled form of Mary Mhor in his arms, her skinny, yellow hands affectionately wound round his neck, with her hollow cheek supporting his, and their heads leaning back on their chairs, Mary's toothless gums wide apart; keeping up a chorus of snoring which almost drew the coals from the fire. Bella could no longer gaze on this singular picture, then made her exit to give vent to her merriment, on seeing which, Mary gave vent to hers, being unable to control it any longer, and which awoke Brown.

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text:
User talk:Jill.barker

— billinghurst  sDrewth  10:21, 11 June 2012 (UTC)

title: User talk:Jill.barker


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User talk:222.155.174.78

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User talk:124.170.65.73

Welcome

Hello, and welcome to Wikisource! Thank you for your contributions. I hope you like the place and decide to stay. Here are a few good links for newcomers:

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You are welcome to continue editing articles without logging in, but you may wish to  [ create an account] . Doing so is free, requires no personal information, and provides several benefits. Creating an account on Wikisource has many of the same benefits as creating an account on Wikipedia. For one thing, if you continue to edit without a username, your IP address is used to publicly identify you.

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Page:Lindigo.djvu/64

64 The first object which caught his eyes was the merry countenance of Mary Grant, whom he imagined in his arms, when he turned round his astonished gaze on the form which hung so affectionately in his embrace. What was his horror on beholding, instead of Mary Grant's black ringlets, old Mary's short grey locks, which were now exposed, her cap and false locks being displaced by his own caresses, and hanging at the back of her head.

He sprung to his feet in a fit of rage and disappointment, pitching Mary Mhor on the floor, when she gave vent to yells and shrieks, which soon brought one of the servant men to the scene of disaster, and who soon explained the matter.

This man was also an admirer of Mary Grant's, although a discarded lover, and an inveterate rival of his more successful one, Donald Munro.

Having conducted the enraged Brown to his own room, where he returned him his torn livery, and supplied him with water and towel, and also some information which was not very favourable to Donald Munro.

On looking in the glass, and beholding his own painted countenance, Brown's rage know no bounds, vowing future revenge against the piper, and which were greatly aggravated by the servant's information.

Little did Bella McKay know the diplomacy and vile calumnies which were carried on by Lord Lundy at the castle in order to poison her father's mind against her lover, and how successfully that unprincipled nobleman had effected his purpose in gaining his end, so far, to separate herself and Charlie Stuart.

Before her father had returned from this secret council, Bella received the following affectionate and cheering epistle from George, her brother:—

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text:
Page:Lindigo.djvu/65

Rh

The happy and pleasant thoughts which the foregoing statements convoyed to Bella's mind were soon clouded on the return of her father from the castle, with a mixture of authority and sternness in his words and manner towards her he had never before shown. He told her it was his intention to leave next morning for London, with Lord Lundy and his retinue, and directed her to prepare herself, as she was to accompany them. Her heart sank within her on hearing this unexpected and unpleasant intelligence. Her pleasant dreams were at once scattered, and the hope of enjoying more happy hours in Charlie Stuart's company gave place to a dread and horror of being subjected to the annoyance and persecutions of Lord Lundy's addresses, as she had no doubt that he had deceived her father by some gross misrepresentations in his own favor.

Her first resolve was to inform Charlie Stuart of this sudden alteration in, and determination of her father; but even this hope and comfort was denied her, by her maid, Mary, informing her that Mr. McKay had given strict orders to all the servants that none of them were to leave the premises on any consideration whatever.

This mode of communication having been stopped, she turned her attention to another expedient, which

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text: Lindigo, the White Woman/Chapter 7

title: Lindigo, the White Woman/Chapter 7