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 village of Marateca, 11,478. Palmella is an ancient and picturesque town, still surrounded by massive but ruined walls and dominated by a medieval castle. Viticulture, market gardening and fruit-farming are important local industries. Palmella was taken from the Moors in 1147 by Alphonso I. (Affonso Henriques), and entrusted in 1186 to the knights of Santiago. The title “duke of Palmella” dates from 1834, when it was conferred on the statesman Pedro de Sousa-Holstein, count of Palmella (1781–1850).

PALMER, SIR CHARLES MARK. (1822–1907), English shipbuilder, was born at South Shields on the 3rd of November 1822. His father, originally the captain of a whaler, removed in 1828 to Newcastle-on-Tyne, where he conducted a ship owning and ship-broking business. Charles Palmer at the age of fifteen entered a shipping business in that town, whence, after six months, he went to Marseilles, where his father had procured him a post in a large commercial house, at the same time entrusting him with the local agency of his own business. After two years' experience at Marseilles he entered his father’s business at Newcastle, and in 1842 he became a partner. His business capacity attracted the attention of a leading local colliery owner, and he was appointed manager of the Marley Hill colliery in which he became a partner in 1846. Subsequently he was made one of the managers of the associated collieries north and south of the Tyne owned by Lord Ravensworth, Lord Wharncliffe, the marquess of Bute, and Lord Strathmore, and in due course he gradually purchased these properties out of the profits of the Marley Hill colliery. Simultaneously he greatly developed the then recently-established coke trade, obtaining the coke contracts for several of the large English and continental railways. About 1850 the question of coal-transport to the London market became a serious question for north country colliery proprietors. Palmer therefore built, largely according to his own plans, the “John Bowes,” the first iron screw-collier, and several other steam-colliers, in a yard established by him at Jarrow, then a small Tyneside village. He then purchased iron-mines in Yorkshire, and erected along the Tyne at Jarrow large shipbuilding yards, blast-furnaces, steel-works, rolling-mills and engine works, fitted on the most elaborate scale. The firm produced war-ships as well as merchant vessels, and their system of rolling armour plates, introduced in 1856, was generally adopted by other builders. In 1865 he turned the business into Palmer’s Shipbuilding and Iron Company, Limited. In 1886 his services in connection with the settlement of the costly dispute between British ship-owners and the Suez Canal Company (of which he was then a director) were rewarded with a baronetcy. He died in London on the 4th of June 1907.

 PALMER, EDWARD HENRY (1840–1882), English orientalist, the son of a private schoolmaster, was born at Cambridge, on the 7th of August 1840. He was educated at the Perse School, and as a schoolboy showed the characteristic bent of his mind by picking up the Romany tongue and a great familiarity with the life of the gipsies. From school he was sent to London as a clerk in the city. Palmer disliked this life, and varied it by learning French and Italian, mainly by frequenting the society of foreigners wherever he could find it. In 1859 he returned to Cambridge, apparently dying of consumption. He had an almost miraculous recovery, and in 1860, while he was thinking of a new start in life, fell in with Sayyid Abdallah, teacher of Hindustani at Cambridge, under whose influence he began his Oriental studies. He matriculated at St John’s College in November 1863, and in 1867 was elected a fellow on account of his attainments as an orientalist, especially in Persian and Hindustani. During his residence at St John’s he catalogued the Persian, Arabic and Turkish manuscripts in the university library, and in the libraries of King’s and Trinity. In 1867 he published a treatise on Oriental Mysticism, based on the Maksad-i-Aksa of Aziz ibn Mohammad Nafasi. He was engaged in 1869 to join the survey of Sinai, undertaken by the Palestine Exploration Fund, and followed up this work in the next year by exploring the desert of El-Tih in company with Charles Drake (1846–1874). They completed this journey on foot and without escort, making friends among the Bedouin, to whom Palmer was known as “Abdallah Effendi.” After a visit to the Lebanon and to Damascus, where he made the acquaintance of Sir Richard Burton, then consul there, he returned to England in 1870 by way of Constantinople and Vienna. At Vienna he met Arminius Vambery. The results of this expedition appeared in the Desert of the Exodus (1871); in a report published in the journal of the Palestine Exploration Fund (1871); and in an article on the Secret Sects of Syria in the Quarterly Review (1873). In the close of the year 1871 he became Lord Almoner’s Professor of Arabic at Cambridge, married, and settled down to teaching. His salary was small, and his affairs were further complicated by the long illness of his wife, who died in 1878. In 1881, two years after his second marriage, he left Cambridge, and joined the staff of the Standard newspaper to write on non-political subjects. He was called to the English bar in 1874, and early in 1882 he was asked by the government to go to the East and assist the Egyptian expedition by his influence over the Arabs of the desert El-Tih. He was instructed, apparently, to prevent the Arab sheikhs from joining the Egyptian rebels and to secure their non-interference with the Suez Canal. He went to Gaza, without an escort made his way safely through the desert to Suez—an exploit of singular boldness—and was highly successful in his negotiations with the Bedouin. He was appointed interpreter-in-chief to the force in Egypt, and from Suez he was again sent into the desert with Captain William John Gill and Flag-Lieutenant Harold Charrington to procure camels and gain the allegiance of the sheikhs by considerable presents of money. On this journey he and his companions were led into an ambush and murdered (August 1882). Their remains, recovered after the war by the efforts of Sir Charles (then Colonel) Warren, now He in St Paul’s Cathedral.

 PALMER, ERASTUS DOW (1817–1904), American sculptor, was born at Pompey, New York, on the 2nd of April 1817. In his leisure moments as a carpenter he started by carving portraits in cameo, and then began to model in clay with much success. Among his works are: “The White Captive” (1858) in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York; “Peace in Bondage” (1863); “Angel at the Sepulchre” (1865), Albany, New York; a bronze statue of Chancellor Robert R. Livingston (1874), in Statuary Hall, Capitol, Washington; and many portrait busts. He died in Albany on the 9th of March 1904. His son, Walter Launt Palmer (b. 1854), who studied art under Carolus-Duran in Paris, became a member of the National Academy of Design (1897), and is best known for his painting of snow scenes.

 PALMER, GEORGE (1818–1897), British biscuit-manufacturer, was born on the 18th of January 1818, at Long Sutton, Somersetshire, where his family had been yeomen-farmers for several generations. The Palmers were Quakers, and George Palmer was educated at the school of the Society of Friends at Sidcot, Somersetshire. About 1832 he was apprenticed to a miller and confectioner at Taunton, and in 1841, in conjunction with Thomas Huntley, set up as a biscuit-manufacturer at Reading. By the application of steam-machinery to biscuit-manufacture the firm of Huntley & Palmer in a comparatively short time built up a very large business, of which on the death of Huntley in 1857 George Palmer and his two brothers, Samuel and William Isaac Palmer, became proprietors. In the same year George

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text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Palmer, Erastus Dow

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


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 the service of your Highness, and to do you great service by his going. I told him that whoever should praise such a speech, did not understand the matter, because, supposing that he did not touch any of the conquest of your Highness, how was he going to discover what he talked of; moreover, it was to the great detriment of the revenues of your Highness, and this would be sustained by the whole realm and by all sorts of persons: and that thought of his had been a more virtuous one which he had when he said to me that, if your Highness ordered him to return to Portugal, he would do so without any other assurance of favours, and that should your Highness not confer them, there was always Serradossa and seven ells of serge, and some beads of acorns. It seemed to me then that his heart was true as to what befitted his honour and conscience; that which was said was so much that it is not possible to write it.

Here, Sire, he began to give a sign, telling me to tell him more, that this did not come from myself, and that if your Highness had bidden me say it, that I should tell him, and the favour which you would confer upon him. I told him that I was not of so much tonnage as that your Highness should put me into such a business; but I said it to him as I had done on many other occasions. Here he wished to do me honour, saying that if what I had begun with him, went forward, without other persons intervening, that your Highness would be served; but that Nuño Ribeiro had told him one thing, and that it was of no importance; and Joam Mendez, another, and that these did not agree; and he told me the favour which they promised on behalf of your Highness. Here he made a great lamentation, and said that he felt it all, but that he did not know of anything by means of which he could reasonably leave a king who had shown him so much favour. I told him that to do that which he ought and not to lose his honour, and the favour which your Highness would confer upon him, would be more certain and accompanied by truer honour: and that


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Rh surrounded by its own railway. But the greenness of the country clings wherever a chance is afforded, ivy and other creepers adorning the brick walla, window boxes bright with flowers, and trees planted here and there; for no opportunity has been neglected of making the surroundings beautiful.

Taking train from the city, glimpses can be caught, as we near our destination, of the pretty houses and gardens of the village, forming a great contrast to the densely populated district of Stirchley on the other side of the line. Stepping on to the station, we are greeted by a whiff of the most delicious fragrance, which is quite enough of itself to betray the whereabouts of the great factory lying beneath us, of which from this point we have a fairly good bird's-eye view. Down the station steps, and a few yards up the lane to the left, with a playing field on one side, and on the other a plantation of fir-trees almost hiding the red brick and timbered gables of the office buildings, and we have arrived at the factory lodge. Looking through the open door down a


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 46 at Bournville, affords an excellent illustration of its manufacture, not only because about a third of all the beans imported into this treatment is effected amid ideal surroundings.

Half a century ago Messrs. Cadbury Brothers employed but a dozen or twenty hands, and until within the last twenty-six years the firm was established in the town of Birmingham. The need for greater accommodation for the rapidly growing business, and a desire to secure improved conditions for the work-people, led to the removal of the factory to a distance of about four miles south of the city. A number of cottages erected for the work-people in those early days became the nucleus of a great scheme which in the last few years has expanded into the model village of Bournville, a name taken from the neighbouring Bourn stream. Year by year the factory grew and developed, until the green hay-fields, with the trout stream flowing through them, became gradually covered with buildings. To-day the factory seems like a small town in itself, intersected by streets, and


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Declassified per Executive Order 13526, Section 3.3 NND Project Number: NND 63316. By: NWD Date: 2011 TOP SECRET – Sensitive Under Secretary of State W. Bedell Smith's Special Committee on the U.S. and Indochina, to which the Erskine working group had reported, issued a study on April 2. This report went beyond the question of holding Indochina and agreed that whatever that area's fate, the U.S. should begin developing a system of mutual defense for Southeast Asia. For the short term, the Smith Committee favored American sponsorship of a mutual defense treaty directed against Communist aggression in Indochina and Thailand. In the long run, it recommended promotion of a "regional and Asian mutual defense arrangement subscribed and underwritten by the major European powers with interests in the Pacific."

The State Department's thinking in early April 1954 was not greatly at variance from that of Defense and the Smith Committee. Perhaps more so than Defense, State was concerned about the Chinese reaction to a U.S. military intervention. It urged caution and suggested that in any type of "united action" the U.S. make clear to both the Chinese and the allies that the intervention would not be aimed at the overthrow or destruction of the Peking regime. State recommended: (1) no U.S. military intervention for the moment, nor should it be promised to the French; (2) planning for military intervention continue; (3) discussions with potential allies on possibility of forming a regional grouping in the event of an unacceptable settlement at Geneva.

 * a.

Meanwhile, the President decided, following a meeting of Secretary Dulles and Admiral Radford, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, with Congressional leaders on April 3, that the U.S. would not undertake a unilateral intervention. Any U.S. military involvement in Indochina would be contingent upon (1) formation of a coalition force with U.S. allies to pursue "united action"; (2) declaration of French intent to accelerate independence of Associated States; (3) Congressional approval of U.S. involvement (which was thought to be dependent upon (1) and (2)).

These policy guidelines undoubtedly influenced the NSC which, at a meeting on April 6, developed the somewhat incompatible objectives that the U.S. (a) "intervene if necessary to avoid the loss of Indochina, but advocate that no steps be left untaken to get the French to achieve a successful conclusion of the war on their own" and (b) support as the best alternative to U.S. intervention a regional grouping with maximum Asian participation. "

The President accepted the NSC recommendations but decided that henceforth the Administration's primary efforts would be devoted toward: (1) organizing regional collective defense against Communist expansion; (2) gaining British support for U.S. objectives in Southeast Asia; (3) pressing France to accelerate its timetable for Indochinese independence. The President would seek Congressional approval for U.S. participation in a regional arrangement, if it could be put together, and meanwhile contingency planning for mobilization would commence. Rh

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Declassified per Executive Order 13526, Section 3.3 NND Project Number: NND 63316. By: NWD Date: 2011 TOP SECRET – Sensitive ::b.

Thus, as the curtain began to fall on the French effort at Dien Bien Phu, and the question of what the U.S. would do became critical, the U.S. Government backed away from unilateral intervention. The Defense Department was reluctant to intervene following the Army's presentation of the view that air–naval action alone would not do the job and ground forces would be needed. The very recent experience of the Korean War mitigated strongly against another American involvement in an Asian land war. Furthermore, the President was not willing to enter into such a venture unless it was cloaked with Congressional approval. Such approval, in turn, depended upon the participation of the allies. Hence, Secretary Dulles undertook the task of persuading Britain, France and the Asian allies to participate in a coalition for "united action" in Indochina. Rh

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Declassified per Executive Order 13526, Section 3.3 NND Project Number: NND 63316. By: NWD Date: 2011 TOP SECRET – Sensitive II. B. 1.

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Declassified per Executive Order 13526, Section 3.3 NND Project Number: NND 63316. By: NWD Date: 2011 TOP SECRET – Sensitive  {|
 * -valign="top"
 * Dillon for direct U.S. air intervention at Dien Bien Phu. The State paper, with minor changes, became NSC Action No. 1074A, April 5, 1954 (TOP SECRET).
 * -valign="top"
 * Summary and Content of 192nd NSC Meeting, April 6, 1954 (TOP SECRET).
 * -valign="top"
 * Secretary Wilson memorandum to the JCS and the Army, Navy, and Air Force Secretaries, April 15, 1954 (TOP SECRET).
 * } Rh
 * } Rh

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text: United States – Vietnam Relations, 1945–1967: A Study Prepared by the Department of Defense/II. B. Notes


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Declassified per Executive Order 13526, Section 3.3 NND Project Number: NND 63316. By: NWD Date: 2011 TOP SECRET – Sensitive II. B. 2.

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Declassified per Executive Order 13526, Section 3.3 NND Project Number: NND 63316. By: NWD Date: 2011 TOP SECRET – Sensitive consider the whole situation hopeless and we would give up in despair ..." In a remark at the press conference that was later deleted from the official transcript, Dulles said that Laos and Cambodia were "important but by no means essential" because they were poor countries with meager populations.

Later, as the U.S. became reconciled to a political settlement at Geneva which would yield northern Vietnam to the Ho Chi Minh regime, the concept of "united action" was given a new twist. It now was transformed into an attempt to organise a collective defense alliance which would offset the setback in Indochina and prevent further losses. That long-feared setback was now perceived to be less serious than had once been envisaged. The loss of Tonkin was no longer seen as leading necessarily to a Communist take-over of other territory between China and the American shore. Eventually, in SEATO, the U.S. sought to create an alliance which would be strong enough to withstand the fall of one such domino. Rh

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Declassified per Executive Order 13526, Section 3.3 NND Project Number: NND 63316. By: NWD Date: 2011 TOP SECRET – Sensitive Secretary Dulles raised the question of early military talks that might strengthen the French position at the Geneva Conference at a meeting in Geneva on May 2 with the Foreign Ministers of Australia and New Zealand, partners of the United States in the ANZUS organization. The three agreed at this meeting that there should be five-power military talks in Washington among the ANZUS powers, the United Kingdom, and France, with the possible participation of Thailand.

 * c.

In Washington in the meantime, the President on April 26, the opening date of the Geneva Conference, told a group of Republican leaders that it would be a "tragic error" for the United States to intervene unilaterally as a partner of France in the Indochina struggle. Two days later, in a discussion with Under Secretary W. Bedell Smith, Presidential Assistant Robert Cutler, and Admiral Radford (who had just been to London and had talked with the British Chiefs of Staff and Prime Minister Churchill), the President expressed disappointment over the British attitude of refraining from active participation in discussions on a Southeast Asia collective security arrangement before the end of the Geneva Conference. President Eisenhower, in this discussion, reiterated his firm decision that there would be no United States military intervention in Indochina by executive action. He urged his aides to provide help to the French in repairing three airfields in Indochina but to avoid any undue risk of involving the United States in combat operations.

The feasibility of American intervention at Dien Bien Phu was finally removed with the fall of that fortress on May 7. President Eisenhower sent messages to the President of France, René Coty, and to the Chief of State of Vietnam, Bao Dai, praising the defenders of Dien Bien Phu and stressing the determination of the free world to remain "faithful to the causes for which they fought."

 * 5.

The fall of Dien Bien Phu, and the failure to organize an intervention through "united action" prior to the opening of the Geneva Conference in late April, 1954, led to a reappraisal of the "domino theory" which had been at the center of U.S. policy in Southeast Asia since the late 1940's. The loss of Tonkin, or Vietnam, or perhaps even all of Indochina, was no longer considered to lead inexorably to the loss to Communism of all of Southeast Asia.

Accordingly, Secretary Dulles in a press conference on May 11 (four days after the French surrender at Dien Bien Phu) observed that "Southeast Asia could be secured even without perhaps Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia." He went on to note that although he would not want to underestimate the importance of these countries he would not want either to give the impression that "if events that we could not control, and which we do not anticipate, should lead to their being lost that we would Rh

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Declassified per Executive Order 13526, Section 3.3 NND Project Number: NND 63316. By: NWD Date: 2011 TOP SECRET – Sensitive II. B. 2.

 * 1.

Negotiations for a political settlement of the French–Viet Minh war were practically assured when it was decided at the Big Four meeting in Berlin in February 1954 that the Indochina question would be added to the agenda of an upcoming international conference at Geneva which was to discuss primarily a settlement of the Korean War. The period between the Berlin and Geneva conferences (i.e., between February and May 1954) unexpectedly witnessed a denouement of the Indochina drama with the siege and fall of Dien Bien Phu, the U.S. decision not to intervene, and the unsuccessful U.S. attempt to rally its allies together in order to form a collective force in pursuance of "united action."

 * a.

The half-year before the Berlin Foreign Ministers conference of February 1954 saw both a marked step up of Viet Minh military activity and the presentation of a peace feeler from Ho Chi Minh. The Vietnam Peoples Army (VPA) began to change its strategy against the French from guerrilla activities to conventional battle deployments. This was accompanied by an increase in the amount of Chinese military assistance, no doubt facilitated by the end of aimed conflict in Korea. Thus, the Viet Minh appeared to be showing a newly found strength and confidence, although at the time the French refused to recognize this either publicly or to themselves.

Meanwhile, Ho Chi Minh put out a peace feeler in late November 1953 in reply to a questionnaire submitted by a correspondent for the Swedish newspaper. The one pre-condition set by Ho for negotiations was French recognition of Vietnamese independence. In subsequent weeks, the peace feeler was repeated on several occasions, but each time it failed to indicate the place at which talks might be held, nor did it propose a scope for the talks.

Nothing resulted directly from these peace feelers, but indirectly they added to the mounting public and political sentiment in France for an end to the seemingly interminable and costly war. The armistice agreement negotiated at Panmunjom in July 1953 served as an example which many Frenchmen hoped could be followed in the negotiation of a cease-fire with the DRV. A widespread disenchantment with the Indochina war pervaded France. This was reflected in public statements by Prime Minister Laniel that Paris would be satisfied with an "honorable solution" to the war.

The French then adopted a policy toward the war of "keep fighting — seek talking." There was an increase in French military activity and confidence stimulated by the Navarre Plan, but this was offset by a growth in the size and influence of the peace faction in Rh

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Declassified per Executive Order 13526, Section 3.3 NND Project Number: NND 63316. By: NWD Date: 2011 TOP SECRET – Sensitive France, as indicated by the "dovish" votes of the National Assembly favoring an early settlement of the protracted war. Premier Laniel and French officials told the U.S. Embassy that they considered the Ho Chi Minh offer pure propaganda, but said also that Ho's move had produced the intended impact on public and military circles in France and Indochina. Laniel mentioned that President Vincent Auriol had become so excited by Ho's proposal that he told Laniel "to consult representatives of three Associated States immediately with view to seeking earliest possible opening of negotiations with representatives of Ho Chi Minh. Laniel had flatly refused..." But American officials were skeptical. The U.S. Embassy reported that a Laniel speech of November 24, 1953, "left considerable latitude for negotiations," and that Ho's offers had increased the pressure for a settlement.

 * b.

The consistent U.S. policy was to attempt to steer the French clear of the negotiating table pending substantial military gains on the battlefield. In bilateral U.S.–French talks in July, 1953, while the Korean armistice was being discussed at Panmunjom, Foreign Minister Bidault told Secretary Dulles that parallel talks should be pursued on Indochina. Bidault explained that the French public would never understand why negotiations were fit and honorable for Korea but were not for Indochina. A cease-fire in Korea, with nothing similar in prospect for Indochina, would make his government's position "absolutely impossible."

Secretary Dulles in reply stressed that "negotiations with no other alternative usually end in capitulation." In the Korean case, Dulles said, the alternative was the U.S. threat of "other and unpleasant measures" which the Communists realized we possessed. He urged the French to adopt the Navarre Plan, not only for military reasons, but because it would improve the French negotiating position. Dulles made it clear that the U.S. felt it was inadvisable to have the Indochina war inscribed on the agenda of a post-armistice political conference on Korea. The U.S. position at this time foreclosed negotiating on Indochina until after a Chinese decision to eliminate or cut down aid to the Viet Minh. In general, the U.S. sought to convince the French that military victory was the only guarantee of diplomatic success.

Dulles wished the French to continue the war because of his deep conviction that Indochina was a principal link in the line of the containment of Communism. In addition, Washington was undoubtedly influenced by optimistic reports on the progress of the war. General O'Daniel reported from Saigon that a French victory was likely if U.S. material support was forthcoming. On February 6, 1954, it was announced that forty B-26 bombers and 200 U.S. technicians to service them would be sent to Indochina. Admiral Radford told a House Foreign Relations Subcommittee, a month before the siege of Dien Bien Phu began (March, 1954), that the Navarre Plan was "a broad strategic concept which within a few months should insure a favorable turn in the course of the war." Rh

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text:
User talk:31.52.155.204

Welcome
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User talk:Daboo73

Hello, and welcome to Wikisource. We appreciate your contribution, but it unfortunately does not seem to be appropriate for Wikisource. Wikisource is a collection of previously published texts. If the page you contributed does not meet these requirements, it will be deleted shortly. Thank you. Beeswaxcandle (talk) 05:55, 27 August 2012 (UTC)

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Talk:Bible (Jewish Publication Society 1917)/Genesis

by'"`--

Why does Wikisource have a habit of taking copyrighted works without permission?

This was ripped from the Mechon-Mamre.Org site without permission.

 * This 1917 publication is no longer under copyright. Outlier59 (talk) 01:06, 3 July 2016 (UTC)


text: Author:Francis Patrick Havey

title: Author:Francis Patrick Havey


text: Author:Jules Pargoire

title: Author:Jules Pargoire


text: Author:Albert Marie Joseph Battandier

title: Author:Albert Marie Joseph Battandier


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92 letter before the King, adding his own intercession that the matter might be passed over. Henry consented, expressing only his grief and concern that Sir Thomas More should have acted so unwisely. He required, nevertheless, as Cromwell suggested, that a formal letter should be written, with a confession of fault, and a request for forgiveness. More obeyed; he wrote, gracefully reminding the King of a promise when he resigned the chancellorship, that in any suit which he might afterwards have to his Grace, either touching his honour or his profit, he should find his Highness his good and gracious lord. Henry acknowledged his claim; his name was struck out of the bill, and the prosecution against him was dropped.

Fisher's conduct was very different; his fault had been far greater than More's, and promises more explicit had been held out to him of forgiveness. He replied to these promises by an elaborate and ridiculous defence—not writing to the King, as Cromwell desired him, but vindicating himself as having committed no fault; although he had listened eagerly to language which was only pardonable on the assumption that it was inspired, and had encouraged a nest of fanatics by his childish credulity. The Nun 'had showed him not,' he said, 'that any prince or temporal lord should put the King in danger of his crown.' He knew nothing of the intended insurrection. He believed the woman to have been a saint; he supposed that she had herself told the


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1534.] King all which she had told to him; and therefore he said that he had done nothing for which to reproach himself. He was unable to see that the exposure of the imposture had imparted a fresh character to his conduct, which he was bound to regret. Knowingly or unknowingly, he had lent his countenance to a conspiracy; and so long as he refused to acknowledge his indiscretion, the Government necessarily would interpret his actions in the manner least to his advantage.

If he desired that his conduct should be forgotten, it was indispensable that he should change his attitude, and so Cromwell warned him. 'Ye desire,' the latter wrote, 'for the passion of Christ, that ye be no more quickened in this matter; for if ye be put to that strait ye will not lose your soul, but ye will speak as your conscience leadeth you; with many more words of great courage. My Lord, if ye had taken my counsel sent unto you by your brother, and followed the same, submitting yourself by your letter to the King's Grace for your offences in this behalf, I would have trusted that ye should never be quickened in the matter more. But now where ye take upon you to defy the whole matter as ye were in no default, I cannot so far promise you. Wherefore, my Lord, I would eftsoons advise you that, laying apart all such excuses as ye have alleged in your letters, which in my opinion be of small effect, ye beseech the King's Grace to be your gracious lord, and to remit unto you your negligence, oversight, and offence


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94 committed against his Highness in this behalf; and I dare undertake that his Highness shall benignly accept you into his gracious favour, all matter of displeasure past afore this time forgotten and forgiven.'

Fisher must have been a hopelessly impracticable person. Instead of following More's example, and accepting well-meant advice, he persisted in the same tone, and drew up an address to the House of Lords, in which he repeated the defence which he had made to Cromwell. He expressed no sorrow that he had been engaged in a criminal intrigue, no pleasure that the intrigue had been discovered; and he doggedly adhered to his assertions of his own innocence.

There was nothing to be done except to proceed with his attainder. The bill passed three readings, and the various prisoners were summoned to the Star Chamber to be heard in arrest of judgment. The Bishop of Rochester's attendance was dispensed with on the ground of illness, and because he had made his defence in writing. Nothing of consequence was urged by either of the accused. The bill was most explicit in its details, going carefully through the history of the imposture, and dwelling on the separate acts of each offender. They were able to disprove no one of its clauses, and on the 12th of March it was read a last time. On the 21st it received the royal assent, and there remained only to execute the sentence. The Nun


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1534.] herself, Richard Masters, and the five friars, being found guilty of high treason, were to die; the Bishop of Rochester, Father Abel, Queen Catherine's confessor, and four more, were sentenced for misprision of treason to forfeiture of goods and imprisonment. All other persons implicated whose names did not appear, were declared pardoned at the intercession of Queen Anne.

The chief offenders suffered at Tyburn on the 21st of April, meeting death calmly, as it appears; receiving a fate most necessary and most deserved, yet claiming from us that partial respect which is due to all persons who will risk their lives in an unselfish cause. For the Nun herself, we may feel even a less qualified regret. Before her death she was permitted to speak a few words to the people, which at the distance of three centuries will not be read without emotion.

'Hither am I come to die,' she said, 'and I have not been the only cause of mine own death, which most justly I have deserved; but also I am the cause of the


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96 death of all these persons which at this time here suffer. And yet I am not so much to be blamed, considering that it was well known unto these learned men that I was a poor wench without learning; and therefore they might have easily perceived that the things which were done by me could not proceed in no such sort; but their capacities and learning could right well judge that they were altogether feigned. But because the things which I feigned were profitable unto them, therefore they much praised me, and bare me in hand that it was the Holy Ghost and not I that did them. And I being puffed up with their praises, fell into a pride and foolish fantasye with myself, and thought I might feign what I would, which thing hath brought me to this case, and for the which I now cry God and the King's Highness most heartily mercy, and desire all you good people to pray to God to have mercy on me, and on all them that here suffer with me.'

The inferior confederates were committed to their prisons with the exception only of Fisher, who, though sentenced, found mercy thrust upon him, till by fresh provocation the miserable old man forced himself upon his fate.

And now the closing seal was to be affixed to the agitation of the great question of the preceding years. I have said that throughout these


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1534.] the uncertainty of the succession had been the continual anxiety of the nation. The birth of a prince or princess could alone provide an absolute security; and .to beget a prince appeared to be the single feat which Henry was unable to accomplish. The marriage so dearly bought had been followed as yet only by a girl; and if the King were to die, leaving two daughters circumstanced as Mary and Elizabeth were circumstanced, a dispute would open which the sword only could decide. To escape the certainty of civil war, therefore, it was necessary to lay down the line of inheritance by a peremptory order; to cut off resolutely all rival claims; and in legislating upon a matter so vital, and hitherto so uncertain and indeterminate, to enforce the decision with the most stringent and exacting penalties. From the Heptarchy downwards English history furnished no fixed rule of inheritance, but only a series of precedents of uncertainty; and while at no previous time had the circumstances of the succession been of a nature so legitimately embarrassing, the relations of England with the Pope and with foreign powers doubly enhanced the danger. But I will not use my own language on so important a subject. The preamble of the Act of Succession is the best interpreter of the provisions of that Act.

'In their most humble wise show unto your Majesty your most humble and obedient subjects, the Lords Spiritual and Temporal and the Commons, in this present Parliament assembled; that since it is the natural inclination of every man gladly and willingly


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98 to provide for the safety of both his title and succession, although it touch only his private cause; we therefore, most rightful and dreadful Sovereign Lord, reckon ourselves much more bounden to beseech and intreat your Highness (although we doubt not of your princely heart and wisdom, mixed with a natural affection to the same) to foresee and provide for the most perfect surety of both you and of your most lawful successors and heirs, upon which dependeth all our joy and wealth; in whom also is united and knit the only mere true inheritance and title of this realm without any contradiction. We, your said most humble and obedient servants, call to our remembrance the great divisions which in times past hath been in this realm by reason of several titles pretended to the imperial crown of the same; which some time and for the most part ensued by occasion of ambiguity, and [by] doubts then not so perfectly declared but that men might upon froward intents expound them to every man's sinister appetite and affection after their senses; whereof hath ensued great destruction and effusion of man's blood, as well of a great number of the nobles as of other the subjects and specially inheritors in the same. The greatest occasion thereof hath been because no perfect and substantial provision by law hath been made within this realm itself when doubts and questions have been moved; by reason whereof the Bishops of Rome and See Apostolic have presumed in times past to invest who should please them to inherit in other men's kingdoms and dominions, which thing we your most humble subjects, both


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1534.] spiritual and temporal, do much abhor and detest. And sometimes other foreign princes and potentates of sundry degrees, minding rather dissension and discord to continue in the realm than charity, equity, or unity, have many times supported wrong titles, whereby they might the more easily and facilly aspire to the superiority of the same.

'The continuance and sufferance of these things, deeply considered and pondered, is too dangerous and perilous to be suffered any longer; and too much contrary to unity, peace, and tranquillity, being greatly reproachable and dishonourable to the whole realm. And in consideration thereof, your said subjects,, calling further to their remembrance, that the good unity, peace, and wealth of the realm, specially and principally, above all worldly things, consisteth in the surety and certainty of the procreation and posterity of your Highness, in whose most Royal person at this time is no manner of doubt, do therefore most humbly beseech your Highness that it may be enacted, with the consent of the Lords Spiritual and Temporal and the Commons in this present Parliament assembled—

'1. That the marriage between your Highness and the Lady Catherine, widow of the late Prince Arthur, be declared to have been from the beginning, null, the issue of it illegitimate, and the separation pronounced by the Archbishop of Canterbury good and valid.

'2. That the marriage between your Highness and your most dear and entirely beloved wife, Queen Anne,


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100 be established and held good, and taken for undoubtful, true, sincere, and perfect, ever hereafter.'

The Act then assumed a general character, laying down a table of prohibited degrees, within which marriage might not under any pretence be in future contracted; and demanding that any marriage which might already exist within those degrees should be at once dissolved. After this provision, it again returned to the King, and fixed the order in which his children by Queen Anne were to succeed. The details of the regulations were minute and elaborate, and the rule to be observed was the same as that which exists at present. First, the sons were to succeed, with their heirs. If sons failed, then the daughters, with their heirs; and, in conclusion, it was resolved that any person who should maliciously do anything by writing, printing, or other external act or deed, to the peril of the King, or to the prejudice of his marriage with Queen Anne, or to the derogation of the issue of that marriage, should be held guilty of high treason; and whoever should speak against that marriage, should be held guilty of misprision of treason—severe enactments, such as could not be justified at ordinary times, and such as, if the times had been ordinary, would not have been thought necessary—but the exigencies of the country could not tolerate an uncertainty of title in the heir to the crown; and the title could only be secured by prohibiting absolutely the discussion of dangerous questions.


text: Author:Henry William Cleary

title: Author:Henry William Cleary


text:
Author:Francis William Grey

Works

 * The Curé of St. Philippe: a story of French-Canadian politics (1899)

title: Author:Francis William Grey


text: The Man of Property

title: The Man of Property


text:
Talk:The Man of Property

Proofreading
Proofreading using the 1922 edition (1926 print) from which the Gutenberg version is sourced. The 1906 editions do not contain either the Preface or the Dedications. Will not be attempting to reproduce source formatting at this stage—may do so later. —Akme (talk) 19:13, 22 May 2022 (UTC)

title: Talk:The Man of Property


text: Author:Thomas Stephen Duggan

title: Author:Thomas Stephen Duggan


text:
The Man of Property/Preface

''"The Forsyte Saga" was the title originally destined for that part of it which is called "The Man of Property"; and to adopt it for the collected chronicles of the Forsyte family has indulged the Forsytean tenacity that is in all of us. The word Saga might be objected to on the ground that it connotes the heroic and that there is little heroism in these pages. But it is used with a suitable irony; and, after all, this long tale, though it may deal with folk in frock coats, furbelows, and a gilt-edged period, is not devoid of the essential heat of conflict. Discounting for the gigantic stature and blood-thirstiness of old days, as they have come down to us in fairy-tale and legend, the folk of the old Sagas were Forsytes, assuredly, in their possessive instincts, and as little proof against the inroads of beauty and passion as Swithin, Soames, or even Young Jolyon. And if heroic figures, in days that never were, seem to startle out from their surroundings in fashion unbecoming to a Forsyte of the Victorian era, we may be sure that tribal instinct was even then the prime force, and that "family" and the sense of home and property counted as they do to this day, for all the recent efforts to "talk them out."''

''So many people have written and claimed that their families were the originals of the Forsytes that one has been almost encouraged to believe in the typicality of an imagined species. Manners change and modes evolve, and "Timothy's on the Bayswater Road" becomes a nest of the unbelievable in all except essentials; we shall not look upon its like again, nor perhaps on such a one as James or Old Jolyon. And yet the figures of Insurance Societies and the utterances of Judges reassure us daily that our earthly paradise is still a rich preserve, where the wild raiders, Beauty and Passion, come stealing in, filching security from beneath our noses. As surely as a dog will bark at a brass band, so will the essential Soames in human nature ever rise up uneasily against the dissolution which hovers round the folds of ownership.''

''"Let the dead Past bury its dead" would be a better saying if the Past ever died. The persistence of the Past is one of those tragi-comic blessings which each new age denies, coming cocksure on to the stage to mouth its claim to a perfect novelty. But no Age is so new as that! Human Nature, under its changing pretensions and clothes, is and ever will be very much of a Forsyte, and might, after all, be a much worse animal.''

''Looking back on the Victorian era, whose ripeness, decline, and 'fall-of' is in some sort pictured in "The Forsyte Saga," we see now that we have but jumped out of a frying-pan into a fire. It would be difficult to substantiate a claim that the case of England was better in 1913 than it was in 1886, when the Forsytes assembled at Old Jolyon's to celebrate the engagement of June to Philip Bosinney. And in 1920, when again the clan gathered to bless the marriage of Fleur with Michael Mont, the state of England is as surely too molten and bankrupt as in the eighties it was too congealed and low-percented. If these chronicles had been a really scientific study of transition one would have dwelt probably on such factors as the invention of bicycle, motor-car, and flying-machine; the arrival of a cheap Press; the decline of country life and increase of the towns; the birth of the Cinema. Men are, in fact, quite unable to control their own inventions; they at best develop adaptability to the new conditions those inventions create.''

But this long tale is no scientific study of a period; it is rather an intimate incarnation of the disturbance that Beauty effects in the lives of men.

The figure of Irene, never, as the reader may possibly have observed, present, except through the senses of other characters, is a concretion of disturbing Beauty impinging on a possessive world.

''One has noticed that readers, as they wade on through the salt waters of the Saga, are inclined more and more to pity Soames, and to think that in doing so they are in revolt against the mood of his creator. Far from it! He, too, pities Soames, the tragedy of whose life is the very simple, uncontrollable tragedy of being unlovable, without quite a thick enough skin to be thoroughly unconscious of the fact. Not even Fleur loves Soames as he feels he ought to be loved. But in pitying Soames, readers incline, perhaps, to animus against Irene: After all, they think, he wasn't a bad fellow, it wasn't his fault; she ought to have forgiven him, and so on! And, taking sides, they lose perception of the simple truth, which underlies the whole story, that where sex attraction is utterly and definitely lacking in one partner to a union, no amount of pity, or reason, or duty, or what not, can overcome a repulsion implicit in Nature. Whether it ought to, or no, is beside the point; because in fact it never does. And where Irene seems hard and cruel, as in the Bois de Boulogne, or the Goupenor Gallery, she is but wisely realistic—knowing that the least concession is the inch which precedes the impossible, the repulsive ell.''

''A criticism one might pass on the last phase of the Saga is the complaint that Irene and Jolyon—those rebels against property—claim spiritual property in their son Jon. But it would be hypercriticism, as the tale is told. No father and mother could have let the boy marry Fleur without knowledge of the facts; and the facts determine Jon, not the persuasion of his parents. Moreover, Jolyon's persuasion is not on his own account, but on Irene's, and Irene's persuasion becomes a reiterated: "Don't think of me, think of yourself!" That Jon, knowing the facts, can realise his mother's feelings, will hardly with justice be held proof that she is, after all, a Forsyte.''

''But though the impingement of Beauty and the claims of Freedom on a possessive world are the main prepossessions of the Forsyte Saga, it cannot be absolved from the charge of embalming the upper-middle class. As the old Egyptians placed around their mummies the necessaries of a future existence, so I have endeavoured to lay beside the figures of Aunts Ann and Juley and Hester, of Timothy and Swithin, of Old Jolyon and James, and of their sons, that which shall guarantee them a little life here-after, a little balm in the hurried Gilead of a dissolving "Progress."''

''If the upper-middle class, with other classes, is destined to "move on" into amorphism, here, pickled in these pages, it lies under glass for strollers in the wide and ill-arranged museum of Letters. Here it rests, preserved in its own juice: The Sense of Property.'' 2em 1922.

title: The Man of Property/Preface


text: The Man of Property/Part I

title: The Man of Property/Part I


text: The Man of Property/Part II

title: The Man of Property/Part II


text: The Man of Property/Part III

title: The Man of Property/Part III


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46 be applied. I knew a little boy, very dull at his letters, yet very quick to make observations upon cause and effect, who, long before he could speak plainly, walked one day beside his mother in perfect silence, looking earnestly at her feet. At last he said, in his broken language, "One foot goes, while tudder foot stops." Here then was an opportunity for the mother to give her boy a lesson of far more value than many pages in a book of spelling, or of reading made easy. She might, and she possibly did, set him to raise his weight from the ground by lifting both feet at once; and at the same time she might explain to him in a manner which he never would forget, the meaning and application of the words step, walk, run, jump, with many others, which he would have been months in learning as a common lesson.

To the observation of the boy upon his mother's feet, that one stopped while the other went on, a nurse-maid would in all probability have replied—"To be sure it does: what a silly boy you are!" and here would have been an end of the matter. The general incapacity of servants to convey useful information with regard to common things, makes it sometimes a subject of astonishment, that mothers should so seldom walk out with their children; because it is chiefly in their walks that their attention is struck by new objects, and their curiosity in consequence awakened. Even where the attendance of a governess is substituted for that of a nurse, the case is not always much better; because none but a mother can love a child well enough to be always teaching it. The governess, of course, will have stipulated that when school-hours are over, she shall have nothing more to do in the way of instruction: and even if it be agreed upon, that she shall walk out with the children, who shall assert a right to deprive her of almost the only luxury permitted to a governess—the luxury of her own thoughts? Thus, while the child is asking whether the same butterflies will come again next spring, she is probably thinking of a letter she has received that morning, telling her that the vessel in which her brother sailed has been lost at sea.

Above all other means of instruction, that of easy and familiar conversation is the most effectual in the general tone it gives to the habits of thinking, observing, and

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Rh ideas in a family; and who is so capable of using this means as a mother? Who but a mother can love her children well enough to be always ready and willing to convert every incident that may occur in the nursery, or around the household hearth, into a medium for the enlargement of the sphere of thought, the correction of error, or the establishment of truth? It is a subject worthy of being taken into consideration, that childhood, unlike mature age, is possessed with an almost untiring relish for the repetition of the same facts which have afforded interest again and again; and thus a favorite old story is often called for by the listening group, in preference to anything new. We should wonder at this peculiarity in childhood, if we were not accustomed to see in all, even the most minute among the laws of nature, a beneficent design, by which preparation is made for a future state of being; and here, in the demand of the child for a narrative which has often been repeated, we recognise a provision for impressing the plastic nature of its mind and feelings, with facts which shall never be effaced. But who, I would ask again, except a mother, can bear to answer these demands? Who else will relate a story for the hundredth time, as freshly as when first it was told? Who else will patiently sit by the bedside of the child, repeating its favorite hymns? Who else will awake in the silent hours of the night, to converse about the unseen Being who protects the world, and keeps watch over the little infant on its couch of rest?

It is a commonly-acknowledged fact, that half the fears of grown-up people, and far more than half the fears of children, arise from their ignorance. Well-educated women, or at least such as are popularly called so, are often found in this respect too closely to resemble children; for their ignorance of machinery, of the habits of animals, and of natural philosophy in general, subjects them to innumerable misapprehensions, of which, it is humbling to observe, they are sometimes rather proud than ashamed. With children the case is very different, because it is no fault of theirs that they do not understand what they have never had an opportunity of hearing explained. In their walks with the nursemaid, they have probably been severely chidden when they have exhibited symptoms of fear, and told that the cow only ran

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48 after naughty boys and girls; or that the roaring steam-engine which terrified them so much, was a very good engine, because it carried people to London to see the pretty sights. Beyond such explanations as these, the intelligence of the nurse too seldom extends. Besides which, we must not fail to observe, that in these and similar instances, the sensation of fear has taken possession of the child before the explanation, such as it is; can take effect; and thus the impression of danger remains to be stronger in its memory than its subsequent impression of the justice of the cow, or the benevolence of the steam-engine.

What I am particularly anxious to urge upon the attention of mothers, is the importance of making just impressions first; and I am persuaded that by the means of easy, and, at the same time, instructive conversation, this may to a great extent be done, so that when the object which would otherwise have been one of terror, does present itself, the child may be prepared to receive it under more favorable impressions than those of fear; and even where, as must necessarily be the case, the object is such as it has never heard of before, the child who has been in the habit of receiving well-timed and judicious information from its mother, will be preserved from a variety of painful apprehensions, by a general impression that everything in nature and art has its particular use; and that even the most powerful agents of which it can form a notion, are not put in action by any malignity of their own, but are overruled for some good purpose, and often made conducive to the greatest benefit to man.

The feeling of trust and confidence which such a mode of instruction is calculated to inspire, belongs more to a subsequent chapter than to this. Yet, as our trust in general is intimately connected with our impressions of truth, it is necessary to observe, that it is chiefly upon its confidence in the combined wisdom and sincerity of its mother, that the child depends for security, in spite often of the effect produced by external objects upon its senses; and that it is the character of the mother taken as a whole, to which it mentally refers when surprised into an apprehension of danger from a cause which it can not understand. A calm and self-possessed mother, welcoming cheerfully the

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Rh incidents of life, has much in her power in the way of preserving her children from needless fears; and if, in addition to this self-possession, she adds the resources of a well-stored mind, opportunities will never be wanting for teaching them why they have no cause to be afraid.

Although a comparison is generally allowed betwixt aiming and music, as sources of gratification adapted to a high degree of taste and feeling, yet, in their actual utility, they bear but little relation to each other. An inferior performance on the harp, or the piano, is scarcely in the present day admitted among the amusements of the drawing-room. Neither, it may be said, is an inferior performance in the way of drawing. It is not much to the purpose to surmise what a dismantling of albums there would be, if this were really the case. My business is chiefly to show that there may be great utility in a kind of drawing, which is little calculated to excite the admiration of an evening party; and it would be an unspeakable advantage to all mothers, in conveying lively and correct ideas to the minds of their children, if they were themselves proficients in the art of sketching from nature.

Indeed I am one of those who would be glad to see drawing taught to all, though upon a very different plan from that which seems at present to be most approved. It is not the fault of those who teach, that all children whose parents pay for drawing lessons, take home a certain number of pieces of polished pasteboard, on which are depicted, perhaps, a gothic arch marked out by the master, a bridge beside which he has planted a tree, a cottage thatched by his hand, or a scarecrow Magdalene with a round tear coming out of each eye. The production of such specimens, however much they may be admired by the near relations of the pupil, are far from being illustrations of what I mean by the art of drawing.

The art of drawing should be understood to mean the art of making just and true delineations of objects as they are; and this might be taught, in the first place, by beginning at once to reduce the simplest objects to the size wanted on the pupil's slate or paper. By commencing at once with the process of reduction, it will ever afterward be comparatively easy, and not present, as it now does,

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50 insuperable obstacles to the art of sketching from nature—the only end really worth attaining in learning to draw or paint.

But where, it may be asked, if the pupils spend their time in drawing nothing better than boxes, books, or the outlines of simple figures delineated fur them on a giant scale, where will be those wonderful results which the fashion of the day demands? The results of such a process would certainly not consist in what could be brought forward at any time to obtain its reward of praise; they would not in reality consist of anything which could be regarded as property duly paid for at the marketable price. The results to which my ambition for the rising generation points, would consist in habits of observation, clear perceptions of form and outline, so as to have the fac-simile of every well-known object impressed without confusion upon the mind; in quickness of imitation, and facility of touch, in delineating all visible objects, so as to represent them truly to others; in a capability on the part of men for giving clear directions to workmen, illustrating such directions by outlines at once correct and bold, as well as in uniting utility with taste; and, on the part of women, for copying and designing patterns, marking out with clearness different lines of beauty; but, above all—and here the subject assumes its most important character—for sketching with promptness and precision all specimens in natural history, as well as almost every other branch of juvenile study, so as at once to strike the eye, and impress the memory of youth—to amuse the fancy, and improve the understanding at the same time.

We all know that even the rudest drawing of a rat, a mouse, or a donkey, with accompanying lively descriptions of some of their peculiar habits, has power to fascinate a group of children on a winter's evening, almost beyond any other resource; and if with greater ease the mother could make these designs at once more spirited and exactly true to life—if, also, she could add an illustration of some favorite anecdote, by placing different figures together, or allowing the children to choose how they shall be placed, she would find herself in possession of a means of instruction almost as refreshing to herself, as delightful and in

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Rh invigorating to the young minds whose education is committed to her care.

Were this a more general amusement in private families, I believe we should much less frequently hear the impatient exclamation— "There! take that, and be quiet." "Now, James and Lucy—quarrelling again!" "John, you naughty boy, let Maria play with your puzzle." "Do tell me what o'clock it is, for I am distracted with your noise." But mothers tell us, on every hand, that they do adopt this admirable expedient for getting through a long evening, or a rainy day, by allowing their children to paint; and that they find it answer their purpose to admiration. The purpose of keeping the children quiet, and saving trouble to the mother, unquestionably it may answer; and if the art of drawing be considered, as it too frequently is, a matter of no sort of moment, then the amusement of painting pictures already made is agreeable and satisfactory enough. If, however, it is considered at all a desirable thing, either for men or women, that they should be able to draw with accuracy and ease, no more effectual means of preventing this could possibly be adopted, than that of allowing children to fill up drawings with color before they know anything of outline or form. It is allowing the child to jump at once to an obvious result, and at the same time suffering him to be deceived as to the value of his work; because he will learn in a very few years that such a result is utterly worthless; yet having attained his end, such as it was, he will not then be. likely, under such a disappointment, to go back to the means of obtaining a better. He will in reality find out that he has been cheating himself under the sanction of his parents, and thus the moral effect upon his character will be anything but good.

After all, however, I am not sure but that upon the principle of rewards being given in kind, a young designer, after be has tried Ins best at outline, may not now and then be allowed to paint; but his red houses and green smoke, blue men and yellow women, should always be treated with a certain degree of disrespect, and by no means should they be allowed the same amount of credit.

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text: Wikisource:Maintenance of the Month/Main page mockup/New text


text: Author:Sebastian Gebhard Messmer

title: Author:Sebastian Gebhard Messmer


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User talk:Sophievm

— billinghurst  sDrewth  14:35, 27 August 2012 (UTC)

title: User talk:Sophievm


text: Author:John Thomas Creagh

title: Author:John Thomas Creagh


text:
Author:Henry Matthias Brock

Contributions to the Catholic Encyclopedia

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title: Author:Henry Matthias Brock


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Page:Bright's Anglo-Saxon Reader.djvu/25

Rh (e) u, ū into y, ȳ: cyning (< *cuning), king; cyme (stem *cumi), a coming; lyre (stem *luri), loss; gylden (< *guldin < *goldīn, S. § 93, Note), adj. golden; bycgan (Goth, bugjan), to buy; lȳs, mȳs,''' dat. sg. and nom. (acc.) pl. of mūs, mouse, lūs, louse; cȳðan (< *cūðrian < *cunðian, 8, Note; Goth, kunþjan'), to make known.''

(f) ea, eo, io into ie (i, y), and ēa, ēo, īo into īe (ī, ȳ): wielm, wylm (stem *wælmi > *wealmi, 9), a surging; eald, old, comp. ieldra, supl. ieldesta; hierde (stem *hirdio > *heordio, 9), herdsman. feorr, far, āfyrran, to remove; hīeran (< *hēarian; Goth, hausjan), to hear; gelīefan (< *gelēafian; Goth, galaubjan), to believe; lēoht, light, līehtan, to illuminate; frīend, fiend, dat. sg. and nom. (acc.) pl. of frīond (frēond), friend, fīond (fēond), foe.

14. In the accented syllable, and when followed by a single consonant, a may be changed into ea, and e, i into eo, io, by the influence of u or o (a) in the following syllable. This process is called u- o-umlaut. It is, however, not uniformly operative in the West-Saxon dialect. (S. §§ 103–109.)

Thus, eafora, heir; heafola, head; weorold, world; heofon, heaven; metod, meotod, Creator; seofon, seven; wita, wiota, wise man; tilian, tiolian (< *tilōian), to endeavor; clipian, cliopian, cleopian, to cry out; medu, medo, meodo, mead; siodu, custom.

Intervening c and g prevent the operation of this umlaut: nacod, adj. naked; magu, mago, son; racu, narrative; sacu, strife; regol, rule; plega, play; sigor, victory.


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tall white yachts in a throng were lounging off the roads of Ryde. It was near the regatta time, so these proud creatures had flown loftily together, and now flitted hither and thither among themselves, like a concourse of tall women, footing the waves with superb touch. To Siegmund they were very beautiful, but removed from him, as dancers crossing the window lights are removed from the man who looks up from the street. He saw the Solent and the world of glamour flying gay as snow outside, where inside was only Siegmund, tired, dispirited, without any joy.

He and Helena had climbed among coils of rope on to the prow of their steamer, so they could catch a little spray of speed on their faces to stimulate them. The sea was very bright and crowded. White sails leaned slightly and filed along the roads; two yachts with sails of amber floated, it seemed without motion, amid the eclipsed blue of the day; small boats with red and yellow flags fluttered quickly, trailing the sea with colour; a pleasure steamer coming from Cowes swung her soft stout way among the fleeting ships; high in the background were men-of-war, a long line, each one threading tiny triangles of flags through a sky dim with distance.


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Rh “It is all very glad,” said Siegmund to himself, “but it seems to me fanciful.”

He was out of it. Already he felt detached from life. He belonged to his destination. It is always so: we have no share in the beauty that lies between us and our goal.

Helena watched with poignant sorrow all the agitation of colour on the blue afternoon.

“We must leave it; we must pass out of it,” she lamented, over and over again. Each new charm she caught eagerly.

“I like the steady purpose of that brown-sailed tramp,” she said to herself, watching a laden coaster making for Portsmouth.

They were still among the small shipping of Ryde. Siegmund and Helena, as they looked out, became aware of a small motor-launch heading across their course towards a yacht whose tall masts were drawn clean on the sky. The eager launch, its nose up as if to breathe, was racing over the swell like a coursing dog. A lady, in white, and a lad with dark head and white jersey were leaning in the bows; a gentleman was bending over some machinery in the middle of the boat, while the sailor in the low stern was also stooping forward attending to something. The steamer was sweeping onwards, huge above the water; the dog of a boat was coursing straight across her track. The lady saw the danger first. Stretching forward, she seized the arm of the lad and held him firm, making no sound, but watching the forward menace of the looming steamer.

“Look!” cried Helena, catching hold of Siegmund. He was already watching. Suddenly the steamer bell 12


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178 clanged. The gentleman looked up, with startled, sunburned face; then he leaped to the stern. The launch veered. It and the steamer closed together like a pair of scissors. The lady, still holding the boy, looked up with an expressionless face at the high sweeping chisel of the steamer’s bows; the husband stood rigid, staring ahead. No sound was to be heard save the rustling of water under the bows. The scissors closed, the launch skelped forward like a dog from in front of the traffic. It escaped by a yard or two. Then, like a dog, it seemed to look round. The gentleman in the stern glanced back quickly. He was a handsome, dark-haired man with dark eyes. His face was as if carven out of oak, set and grey-brown. Then he looked to the steering of his boat. No one had uttered a sound. From the tiny boat coursing low on the water, not a sound, only tense waiting. The launch raced out of danger towards the yacht. The gentleman, with a brief gesture, put his man in charge again, whilst he himself went forward to the lady. He was a handsome man, very proud in his movements; and she, in her bearing, was prouder still. She received him almost with indifference.

Helena turned to Siegmund. He took both her hands and pressed them, whilst she looked at him with eyes blind with emotion. She was white to the lips, and heaving like the buoy in the wake of the steamer. The noise of life had suddenly been hushed, and each heart had heard for a moment the noiselessness of death. How everyone was white and gasping! They strove, on every hand, to fill the day with noise and the colour of life again.


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Rh “By Jove, that was a near thing!”

“Ah, that has made me feel bad!” said a woman.

“A French yacht,” said somebody.

Helena was waiting for the voice of Siegmund. But he did not know what to say. Confused, he repeated:

“That was a close shave,”

Helena clung to him, searching his face. She felt his difference from herself. There was something in his experience that made him different, quiet, with a peculiar expression as if he were pained.

“Ah, dear Lord!” he was saying to himself. “How bright and whole the day is for them! If God had suddenly put His hand over the sun, and swallowed us up in a shadow, they could not have been more startled. That man, with his fine, white-flannelled limbs and his dark head, has no suspicion of the shadow that supports it all. Between the blueness of the sea and the sky he passes easy as a gull, close to the fine white sea-mew of his mate, amid red flowers of flags, and soft birds of ships, and slow moving monsters of steam-boats.

“For me the day is transparent and shrivelling. I can see the darkness through its petals. But for him it is a fresh bell-flower, in which he fumbles with delights like a bee.

“For me, quivering in the interspaces of the atmosphere, is the darkness the same that fills in my soul. I can see death urging itself into life, the shadow supporting the substance. For my life is burning an invisible flame. The glare of the light of myself, as I burn on the fuel of death, is not enough to hide from me the source and the issue. For what is a life but


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180 a flame that bursts off the surface of darkness, and tapers into the darkness again. But the death that issues differs from the death that was the source. At least, I shall enrich death with a potent shadow, if I do not enrich life.”

“Wasn’t that woman fine!” said Helena.

“So perfectly still,” he answered.

“The child realized nothing,” she said.

Siegmund laughed, then leaned forward impulsively to her.

“I am always so sorry,” he said, “that the human race is urged inevitably into a deeper and deeper realization of life.”

She looked at him, wondering what provoked such a remark.

“I guess,” she said slowly, after a while, “that the man, the sailor, will have a bad time. He was abominably careless.”

“He was careful of something else just then,” said Siegmund, who hated to hear her speak in cold condemnation. “He was attending to the machinery or something.”

“That was scarcely his first business,” said she, rather sarcastic.

Siegmund looked at her. She seemed very hard in judgment—very blind. Sometimes his soul surged against her in hatred.

“Do you think the man wanted to drown the boat?” he asked.

“He nearly succeeded,” she replied.

There was antagonism between them. Siegmund recognized in Helena the world sitting in judgment, and he hated it. But, after all,” he thought, “I suppose


text:
Author:George Henry Browne

Works

 * Latin Word List (1909)
 * Notes on Shakspere's versification (1884)

title: Author:George Henry Browne


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Rh it is the only way to get along, to judge the event and not the person. I have a disease of sympathy, a vice of exoneration.”

Nevertheless, he did not love Helena as a judge. He thought rather of the woman in the boat. She was evidently one who watched the sources of life, saw it great and impersonal.

“Would the woman cry, or hug and kiss the boy when she got on board?” he asked.

“I rather think not. Why?” she replied.

“I hope she didn’t,” he said.

Helena sat watching the water spurt back from the bows. She was very much in love with Siegmund. He was suggestive; he stimulated her. But to her mind he had not his own dark eyes of hesitation; he was swift and proud as the wind. She never realized his helplessness.

Siegmund was gathering strength from the thought of that other woman’s courage. If she had so much restraint as not to cry out, or alarm the boy, if she had so much grace not to complain to her husband, surely he himself might refrain from revealing his own fear to Helena, and from lamenting his hard fate.

They sailed on past the chequered round towers. The sea opened, and they looked out to eastward into the sea-space. Siegmund wanted to flee. He yearned to escape down the open ways before him. Yet he knew he would be carried on to London. He watched the sea-ways closing up. The shore came round. The high old houses stood flat on the right hand. The shore swept round in a sickle, reaping them into the harbour. There the old Victory, gay with


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Page:Atharva-Veda samhita.djvu/501

331

3. Handless be the foes; their limbs we make to relax (mlā); then will we, O Indra, share among us their possessions hundred-fold.

1. Everywhere about the routes Indra and Pūshan have gone; let yonder armies of our enemies today be confounded further away.

2. Go about confounded, ye enemies, like headless snakes; of you there, confounded by Agni, let Indra slay each best man (vára).

3. Fasten thou, as bull, the skin upon them; make the fear of the fallow-deer; let the enemy hasten (eṣ) away; let the cow hasten hither to us.

title: Page:Atharva-Veda samhita.djvu/501


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182 myriad pointed pennons, was harvested, saved for a trophy.

“It is a dreadful thing,” thought Siegmund, “to remain as a trophy when there is nothing more to do.” He watched the landing-stage swooping nearer. There were the trains drawn up in readiness. At the other end of the train was London.

He could scarcely bear to have Helena before him for another two hours. The suspense of that protracted farewell, while he sat opposite her in the beating train, would cost too much. He longed to be released from her.

They had got their luggage, and were standing at the foot of the ladder, in the heat of the engines and the smell of hot oil, waiting for the crowd to pass on, so that they might ascend and step off the ship on to the mainland.

“Won’t you let me go by the South-Western, and you by the Brighton?” asked Siegmund, hesitating, repeating the morning’s question.

Helena looked at him, knitting her brows with misgiving and perplexity.

“No,” she replied. “Let us go together.”

Siegmund followed her up the iron ladder to the quay.

There was no great crowd on the train. They easily found a second-class compartment without occupants. He swung the luggage on the rack and sat down, facing Helena.

“Now,” said he to himself, “I wish I were alone.”

He wanted to think and prepare himself.

Helena, who was thinking actively, leaned forward to him to say:


text:
Author:Lee Byrne

Works

 * The syntax of high school Latin: statistics and selected examples arranged under grammatical headings and in order of occurrence by fifty collaborators (1909)

title: Author:Lee Byrne


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Rh “Shall I not go down to Cornwall?”

By her soothing willingness to do anything for him Siegmund knew that she was dogging him closely. He could not bear to have his anxiety protracted.

“But you have promised Louisa, have you not?” he replied.

“Oh, well!” she said, in the peculiar slighting tone she had when she wished to convey the unimportance of affairs not touching him.

“Then you must go,” he said.

“But,” she began, with harsh petulance, “I do not want to go down to Cornwall with Louisa and Olive”—she accentuated the two names—“after this,” she added.

“Then Louisa will have no holiday—and you have promised,” he said gravely.

Helena looked at him. She saw he had decided that she should go.

“Is my promise so very important?” she asked. She glanced angrily at the three ladies who were hesitating in the doorway. Nevertheless, the ladies entered, and seated themselves at the opposite end of the carriage. Siegmund did not know whether he were displeased or relieved by their intrusion. If they had stayed out, he might have held Helena in his arms for still another hour. As it was, she could not harass him with words. He tried not to look at her, but to think.

The train at last moved out of the station. As it passed through Portsmouth, Siegmund remembered his coming down, on the Sunday. It seemed an indefinite age ago. He was thankful that he sat on the side of the carriage opposite from the one he had


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Plymouth (Massachusetts)


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184 occupied five days before. The afternoon of the flawless sky was ripening into evening. The chimneys and the sides of the houses of Portsmouth took on that radiant appearance which transfigures the end of day in town. A rich bloom of light appears on the surfaces of brick and stone.

“It will go on,” thought Siegmund, “being gay of an evening, for ever. And I shall miss it all!”

But as soon as the train moved into the gloom of the Town Station, he began again:

“Beatrice will be proud, and silent as steel when I get home. She will say nothing, thank God—nor shall I. That will expedite matters: there will be no interruptions…

“But we cannot continue together after this. Why should I discuss reasons for and against? We cannot. She goes to a cottage in the country. Already I have spoken of it to her. I allow her all I can of my money, and on the rest I manage for myself in lodgings in London. Very good.

“But when I am comparatively free I cannot live alone. I shall want Helena; I shall remember the children. If I have the one, I shall be damned by the thought of the other. This bruise on my mind will never get better. Helena says she would never come to me; but she would, out of pity for me. I know she would.

“But then, what then? Beatrice and the children in the country, and me not looking after the children. Beatrice is thriftless. She would be in endless difficulty. It would be a degradation to me. She would keep a red sore inflamed against me; I should be a shameful thing in her mouth. Besides, there would go


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Rh all her strength. She would not make any efforts. ‘He has brought it on us,’ she would say; ‘let him see what the result is.’ And things would go from bad to worse with them. It would be a gangrene of shame.

“And Helena—I should have nothing but mortification. When she was asleep I could not look at her. She is such a strange, incongruous creature. But I should be responsible for her. She believes in me as if I had the power of God. What should I think of myself?”

Siegmund leaned with his head against the window, watching the country whirl past, but seeing nothing. He thought imaginatively, and his imagination destroyed him. He pictured Beatrice in the country. He sketched the morning—breakfast haphazard at a late hour; the elder children rushing off without food, miserable and untidy, the youngest bewildered under her swift, indifferent preparations for school. He thought of Beatrice in the evening, worried and irritable, her bills unpaid, the work undone, declaiming lamentably against the cruelty of her husband, who had abandoned her to such a burden of care while he took his pleasure elsewhere.

This line exhausted or intolerable, Siegmund switched off to the consideration of his own life in town. He would go to America; the agreement was signed with the theatre manager. But America would be only a brief shutting of the eyes and closing of the mouth. He would wait for the home-coming to Helena, and she would wait for him. It was inevitable; then would begin—what? He would never have enough money to keep Helena, even if he


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186 managed to keep himself. Their meetings would then be occasional and clandestine. Ah, it was intolerable!

“If I were rich,” said Siegmund, “all would be plain. I would give each of my children enough, and Beatrice, and we would go away; but I am nearly forty; I have no genius; I shall never be rich.” Round and round went his thoughts like oxen over a threshing floor, treading out the grain. Gradually the chaff flew away; gradually the corn of conviction gathered small and hard upon the floor.

As he sat thinking, Helena leaned across to him, and laid her hand on his knee.

“If I have made things more difficult,” she said, her voice harsh with pain, “you will forgive me.”

He started. This was one of the cruel cuts of pain that love gives, filling the eyes with blood. Siegmund stiffened himself; slowly he smiled, as he looked at her childish, plaintive lips, and her large eyes haunted with pain.

“Forgive you?” he repeated. “Forgive you for five days of perfect happiness; the only real happiness I have ever known!”

Helena tightened her fingers on his knee. She felt herself stinging with painful joy; but one of the ladies was looking at her curiously. She leaned back in her place, and turned to watch the shocks of corn strike swiftly, in long rows, across her vision.

Siegmund, also quivering, turned his face to the window, where the rotation of the wide sea-flat helped the movement of his thought. Helena had


text: Author:Edward Heinlein

title: Author:Edward Heinlein


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Rh She had bewildered his thoughts from their hawking, so that they struck here and there, wildly, among small, pitiful prey that was useless, conclusions which only hindered the bringing home of the final convictions.

“What will she do?” cried Siegmund. “What will she do when I am gone? What will become of her? Already she has no aim in life; then she will have no object. Is it any good my going if I leave her behind? What an inextricable knot this is! But what will she do?”

It was a question she had aroused before, a question which he could never answer; indeed, it was not for him to answer.

They wound through the pass of the south downs. As Siegmund, looking backward, saw the northern slope of the downs swooping smoothly, in a great, broad bosom of sward, down to the body of the land, he warmed with sudden love for the earth; there the great downs were, naked like a breast, leaning kindly to him. The earth is always kind; it loves us, and would foster us like a nurse. The downs were big and tender and simple. Siegmund looked at the farm, folded in a hollow, and he wondered what fortunate folk were there, nourished and quiet, hearing the vague roar of the train that was carrying him home.

Up towards Arundel the cornfields of red wheat were heavy with gold. It was evening, when the green of the trees went out, leaving dark shapes proud upon the sky; but the red wheat was forged in the sunset, hot and magnificent. Siegmund almost gloated as he smelled the ripe corn, and opened his eyes to its


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188 radiation. For a moment he forgot everything, amid the forging of red fields of gold in the smithy of the sunset. Like sparks, poppies blew along the railway banks, a crimson train. Siegmund waited, through the meadows, for the next wheat-field. It came like the lifting of yellow-hot metal out of the gloom of darkened grass-lands.

Helena was reassured by the glamour of evening over ripe Sussex. She breathed the land now and then, while she watched the sky. The sunset was stately. The blue-eyed day, with great limbs, having fought its victory and won, now mounted triumphant on its pyre, and with white arms uplifted took the flames, which leaped like blood about its feet. The day died nobly, so she thought.

One gold cloud, as an encouragement tossed to her, followed the train.

“Surely that cloud is for us,” said she, as she watched it anxiously. Dark trees brushed between it and her, while she waited in suspense. It came, unswerving, from behind the trees.

“I am sure it is for us,” she repeated. A gladness came into her eyes. Still the cloud followed the train. She leaned forward to Siegmund and pointed out the cloud to him. She was very eager to give him a little of her faith.

“It has come with us quite a long way. Doesn’t it seem to you to be travelling with us? It is the golden hand; it is the good omen.”

She then proceeded to tell him the legend from “Aylwin.”

Siegmund listened, and smiled. The sunset was handsome on his face.


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Rh Helena was almost happy.

“I am right,” said he to himself. “I am right in my conclusions, and Helena will manage by herself afterwards. I am right; there is the hand to confirm it.”

The heavy train settled down to an easy, unbroken stroke, swinging like a greyhound over the level northwards. All the time Siegmund was mechanically thinking the well-known movement from the Valkyrie Ride, his whole self beating to the rhythm. It seemed to him there was a certain grandeur in this flight, but it hurt him with its heavy insistance of catastrophe. He was afraid; he had to summon his courage to sit quiet. For a time he was reassured; he believed he was going on towards the right end. He hunted through the country and the sky, asking of everything, “Am I right? am I right?” He did not mind what happened to him, so long as he felt it was right. What he meant by “right” he did not trouble to think, but the question remained. For a time he had been reassured; then a dullness came over him, when his thoughts were stupid, and he merely submitted to the rhythm of the train, which stamped him deeper and deeper with a brand of catastrophe.

The sun had gone down. Over the west was a gush of brightness as the fountain of light bubbled lower. The stars, like specks of froth from the foaming of the day, clung to the blue ceiling. Like spiders they hung overhead, while the hosts of the gold atmosphere poured out of the hive by the western low door. Soon the hive was empty, a hollow dome of purple, with here and there on the floor a bright brushing of


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190 wings—a village; then, overhead, the luminous star-spiders began to run.

“Ah, well!” thought Siegmund—he was tired—“if one bee dies in a swarm, what is it, so long as the hive is all right? Apart from the gold light, and the hum and the colour of day, what was I? Nothing! Apart from these rushings out of the hive, along with swarm, into the dark meadows of night, gathering God knows what, I was a pebble. Well, the day will swarm in golden again, with colour on the wings of every bee, and humming in each activity. The gold and the colour and sweet smell and the sound of life, they exist, even if there is no bee; it only happens we see the iridescence on the wings of a bee. It exists whether or not, bee or no bee. Since the iridescence and the humming of life are always, and since it was they who made me, then I am not lost. At least, I do not care. If the spark goes out, the essence of the fire is there in the darkness. What does it matter? Besides, I have burned bright; I have laid up a fine cell of honey somewhere—I wonder where? We can never point to it; but it is so what does it matter, then!”

They had entered the north downs, and were running through Dorking towards Leatherhead. Box Hill stood dark in the dusky sweetness of the night. Helena remembered that here she and Siegmund had come for their first walk together. She would like to come again. Presently she saw the quick stilettos of stars on the small, baffled river; they ran between high embankments. Siegmund recollected that these were covered with roses of Sharon—the large golden St. John’s wort of finest silk. He looked, and could just


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Rh distinguish the full-blown, delicate flowers, ignored by the stars. At last he had something to say to Helena:

“Do you remember,” he asked, “the roses of Sharon all along here?”

“I do,” replied Helena, glad he spoke so brightly. “Weren’t they pretty?”

After a few moments of watching the bank, she said:

“Do you know, I have never gathered one? I think I should like to; I should like to feel them, and they should have an orangy smell.”

He smiled, without answering.

She glanced up at him, smiling brightly.

“But shall we come down here in the morning, and find some?” she asked. She put the question timidly. “Would you care to?” she added.

Siegmund darkened and frowned. Here was the pain revived again.

“No,” he said gently; “I think we had better not.” Almost for the first time he did not make apologetic explanation.

Helena turned to the window, and remained, looking out at the spinning of the lights of the towns without speaking, until they were near Sutton. Then she rose and pinned on her hat, gathering her gloves and her basket. She was, in spite of herself, slightly angry. Being quite ready to leave the train, she sat down to wait for the station. Siegmund was aware that she was displeased, and again, for the first time, he said to himself, “Ah, well, it must be so.”

She looked at him. He was sad, therefore she softened instantly.


text:
The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Winsor, Justin

WINSOR, wĭn'zȯr, Justin, American historian and librarian: b. Boston, Mass., 2 Jan. 1831; d. Cambridge, 22 Oct. 1897. He was educated at Harvard, and subsequently studied at Paris and Heidelberg. He was superintendent of the Boston Public Library 1868-77, and librarian of Harvard 1877-97. He published ‘History of the Town of Duxbury’ (1849); ‘Bibliography of Original Quartos and Folios of Shakespeare’ (1876); ‘Reader's Handbook of the American Revolution’ (1880); ‘Memorial History of Boston’ (edited 1880-82); ‘Narrative and Critical History of America’ (edited 8 vols., 1884-89), his most scholarly achievement; ‘Christopher Columbus’ (1891); ‘From Cartier to Frontenac’ (1894); ‘The Mississippi Basin: The Struggle in America between England and France’ (1895). He ranked as the highest authority on the early history of North America.


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192 “At least,” she said doubtfully, “I shall see you at the station.”

“At Waterloo?” he asked.

“No, at Wimbledon,” she replied, in her metallic tone.

“But——” he began.

“It will be the best way for us,” she interrupted, in the calm tone of conviction. “Much better than crossing London from Victoria to Waterloo.”

“Very well,” he replied.

He looked up a train for her in his little timetable.

“You will get in Wimbledon 10.5—leave 10.40—leave Waterloo 11.30,” he said.

“Very good,” she answered.

The brakes were grinding. They waited in a burning suspense for the train to stop.

“If only she will soon go!” thought Siegmund. It was an intolerable minute. She rose; everything was a red blur. She stood before him, pressing his hand; then he rose to give her the bag. As he leaned upon the window-frame and she stood below on the platform, looking up at him, he could scarcely breathe. “How long will it be?” he said to himself, looking at the open carriage doors. He hated intensely the lady who could not get a porter to remove her luggage; he could have killed her; he could have killed the dilatory guard. At last the doors slammed and the whistle went. The train started imperceptibly into motion.

“Now I lose her,” said Siegmund.

She looked up at him; her face was white and dismal.


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Rh “Goodbye, then!” she said, and she turned away.

Siegmund went back to his seat. He was relieved, but he trembled with sickness. We are all glad when intense moments are done with; but why did she fling round in that manner, stopping the keen note short: what would she do?


text: The Trespasser/Chapter 21

title: The Trespasser/Chapter 21


text:
Page:Atharva-Veda samhita.djvu/502

vi. 68-

1. Savitar here hath come with razor; come, O Vāyu, with hot water; let the Ādityas, the Rudras, the Vasus, wet [him] in accordance; do ye, forethoughtful, shave [the head] of king Soma.

2. Let Aditi shave the beard; let the waters wet [it] with splendor; let Prajāpati nurse (cikits) [it], in order to length of life, to sight.

3. With what razor the knowing Savitar shaved [the head] of king Soma, of Varuṇa, therewith, ye priests (brahmán), shave [it] now of this man; be he rich in kine, in horses, in progeny.

Verses like the first two are found in Pāipp., in two different books (1 in ii., 2 in xix.), but perhaps correspond rather to the nearly equivalent verses ix. 1. 18, 19. It is

title: Page:Atharva-Veda samhita.djvu/502


text: Atharva-Veda Samhita/Book VI/Hymn 66

title: Atharva-Veda Samhita/Book VI/Hymn 66


text: Atharva-Veda Samhita/Book VI/Hymn 67

title: Atharva-Veda Samhita/Book VI/Hymn 67


text: Atharva-Veda Samhita/Book VI/Hymn 68

title: Atharva-Veda Samhita/Book VI/Hymn 68


text:
Author:William Laurence Sullivan

Works

 * Letters to His Holiness, Pope Pius X

title: Author:William Laurence Sullivan


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Carlile, Christopher


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

KNABL, knä´b'l, Joseph, Austrian sculptor: b. Fliess, Tyrol, 17 July 1819; d. Munich, 3 Nov. 1881. As son of a peasant he learned carving with F. Renn in Imst. He went to Munich in 1836 and studied wood-carvings of the Middle Ages under J. Otto Entres and, later, Sickinger, when he worked on images of saints. Working independently from 1842, he created the heroic size group ‘Baptism of Christ’ for the Mergentheim Church, Württemberg (1852); several statues for the cathedral altar at Augsburg (1854); ‘Christ and the Apostles,’ a life-sized group for the high altar at Velden, Lower Bavaria (1855). His group of Saints Ann and Mary for the Eistatt Cathedral was awarded a prize at the Munich Exposition in 1858. His chef-d'œuvre is considered to be a ‘Coronation of Man’ for the Munich Frauenkirche high altar. He was appointed professor of sculpture (1862) in the Munich Academy.


text:
Author:James Francis Loughlin

Contributions to the Catholic Encyclopedia

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title: Author:James Francis Loughlin