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28 "My poor old governor—God bless him!—brought me up for the army. Of course, I ran counter, and chose the sea. Well, I went to sea; gay old times I had of it, too, till they wanted me to stop at home. I stopped, and the governor thought he'd make a respectable member of society of me.

"He put me in an office—shipping firm in Leaden-hall Street. It was something—something—and Co. I forget what now. Anyway I cheeked the 'Co.' first day I was there; kicked a coon out of the office, the second for cheeking me, and the third, I flung a directory at the head clerk for calling me a 'useless article.'

"I left next day. Coming down the street soon after, I saw the 'True Briton' stuck up outside Wigram's office, to sail for Melbourne.

"That's how I got here, Harry.

"Ever in Melbourne? No! Oh, well, it's a fine kind of place. I thought it would be paved with gold, but it wasn't. It was blue stone, and jolly hard to find a soft berth on. Well, old man, there was a doctor's daughter—and—oh, you can imagine the rest!

"She cared for me a bit, I think, and I think I cared for her. I think I—but there—that's all gone now. Yes, I did love her, old man, loved her with all my heart.

"She went away to Adelaide on a visit, and I did not hear from her. A fellow came up from there a week or two after—a fellow I knew—spoke about her—said she was flirting with another man. I wish I'd crammed the dirty lie down his throat, but I didn't. I was a born fool, and took it to heart—nursed it up till it grew big and filled every fibre on my body.

"Damn it! it was a rough one on me. I don't quite know even nonow [sic] what I did. I used to cruise round, and then—well—I forgot—drink, I think.

"One night I was in the theatre, and two ladies, one an old, the other a young one, came and sat in

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Rh a box behind me. They talked French. I'd seen them there often before. The younger one was an actress. They were there again next night, so was I. Same again next. It was raining. I got them a cab.

"Then I called—fool!Yes."

He paused for a bit, and flicked the ashes out of his pipe.

"Harry, old man, I spooned that woman—I don't know why. She wasn't pretty—at least—no—she wasn't; fine eyes, that's all—but still a kind of face you'd have to turn round and look at twice.

"I used to buy her little presents. She liked the rings I wore. I gave them to her, all but one—a plain broad gold band, with a 'love of a life,' engraved on it in old English letters. She wanted that too—but I couldn't get it off. She got it off, though and looked at it—asked me what the writing was. I laughed and told her, though I felt as if a knife had gone through me. The ring had never left my hand since—since—well, since the girl I'd cared for, put it there and kissed me, under the trees by the gate—at her home.—Heaven! Harry, did you ever care for a woman and believe she'd thrown you up? Pass the billy, old man, I'm not up to speaking so much."

He took a long drink at the tea, and then went on.

"'You love this girl who gave you the ring,' she said. I told her I had cared for her. Then she said 'give it me;' well I couldn't, and I said so.

"She threw it on the ground, and before I could pick it up her heel was on it, and it snapped in two.

"The love of life was indeed broken.

"Then she turned to me—I shan't forget her face—and told me to leave the house. I was going—got to the door—when she fell on the sofa and burst out crying.

"That was kind of rough on me, you know, and I came back again. The first thing I remember was a

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30 pair of hot passionate lips clinging to mine—a soft low voice whispering in my ear, '''Mon amour! Ma Vie! Je t'aime!'''

"That's how it happened, Harry. I told you she acted, didn't I! Yes! I married her. It was private, in the sacristy of the Cathedral. She told me I wasn't to say I was married just yet, because she had an engagement to play in Sydney, and if they knew it up there, it would hurt the business.

"See that dog, Harry—guess he sees further with his shut eyes now, than I did then with mine open. Devil a word did I say to anyone at all.

"I lived at one end of the town—she at the other. I saw her home from the church—had dinner. Don't I mind that dinner! There were green peas—wish we'd got some for tomorrow. Well, I kissed her—said good night—and went home.

"That was Monday, October 27, 1873. Tuesday she went to Sydney—to play an engagement.

"I used to write. It was queer sending letters to a wife—Harry—and my own at that. I think I used to write much better ones to other fellow's wives—at least judging from results.

"One day a telegram came, saying I was to direct to her in her maiden name, to the Post Office.

It seemed strange. But I thought of her engagement, and did it.

"Did I say she'd a sister? Well, she had. One day the sister came to me and asked for eight pounds. Wouldn't tell me what for. I hadn't got it by me; but I found it soon, and gave it her. Next day I heard what it was for. My wife had come down suddenly from Sydney, and wanted the money for expenses.

"Of course I went off directly to see her, but they said she was too ill, too tired from the sea passage, to be disturbed from bed. So I took a ring off my hand, sent it up to her with my love, and left.

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Rh "Two days after I did see her. She wrote and asked me to meet her and her mother, and take them out in the gardens.

"I went; but the mother I didn't see. She said she'd follow.

"It was dusk, and the moon was getting up—almost full. I'll remember that night, Harry, as long as I live. We met. She looked pretty, but there was something so cold—so—-well, I don't know what about her—that I felt a kind of chill go through me when she spoke. I might have been a friend only.

"The evening set in. It was bright moonlight. We walked on together, not talking much—for married people, who had hardly met.

"We were in the Fitzroy gardens. Fine gardens, too. I could show you the foot of earth we stood on. There were trees all round. It was so quiet, and the moonlight stole through the branches, and threw long shadows over the grass. There was no wind; nothing stirring, nothing near us.

"Harry, did you ever feel it was your duty to love a woman?

"She had never said a kind word to me since we were married; but now she turned in the moonlight and stopped.

"There was a pair of great, big beautiful eyes looking into mine, a pair of little white arms flung around my neck, and in another minute her head fell upon my shoulder, and she burst out crying.

"I'm not stone, Harry. The girl was my wife. I lifted up her head, and kissed her.

"If ever a woman spoke words that a man could construe into love she spoke them then.

"I felt then—she was my wife—it was my duty to love her. I think for the next five minutes I did care about her, and while we stood there, a future I had never thought of opened up—and I was happy.

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32 "She looked so pale, so soft, so womanly, in the moonlight, dressed in light muslin stuff—scarcely looking real—just a little thing like a bunch of flowers for a bonnet, and a thin lace shawl round her, which had fallen upon her waist and hung there.

"Then she kissed me a hundred times—great, long, lingering kisses. Asked me, did I love her?—would I swear to love her always?—never leave her? Could I forgive her faults?—she would be so true to me—would love—did love me with all her heart and soul.

"Harry, did you ever think a woman loved you? It's rough, old man—cursed rough to find out you were wrong.

"Then she talked long and kindly to me; and at last said, with tears in those big, dark eyes, and in her pretty little broken English:

"'Could you forgive anything in me—anything I had kept from you?'

"She'd an eager, pained look in her face, and she hardly breathed. I thought it was a foolish girl's question. Answered, 'Yes.'

"There was a sound of footsteps on the gravel-path, and the shrill laughter of a little child.

"Tiens—Bebe—tiens."

It was her mother's voice!

"For a moment the girl seemed pondering—looking into the future or the past—I knew not which. But suddenly she staggered back, and clasping her hands over her face, cried out—Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!

"It was the Past!!!

"Harry, I'd sooner die a hundred deaths than feel again the pain that shot through my heart just then.

"She fell and fainted on the grass.

"I saw it all. I think there's murder in every man's soul on earth. I knelt over her for a moment. It was in mine then, I knew.

"The horrid, damning, bitter truth, was plain. I thought my head would burst; blood spurted from my

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Rh mouth and nose. I felt a stifling, suffocating, choking, in my throat; and, with a cry that would come out, I cursed her there and then. I know no more."

His voice got very low and quiet; and he paused a long painful pause—thinking; then he spoke.

"I think they came and found me there. I turned to look for her, but she was gone.

"The moon was still bright, and beautiful. There was no wind and everything was still. I thought I'd waked up from a dream; but, as I passed my hand across my eyes, I felt there was something on it that wasn't there before.

"It was a thin gold, wedding ring. It's there still, Harry, and she's—ah! God—"

We'd left a shovel behind at the claim that evening. I went to fetch it, and as I crossed the creek, and stumbled through the ferns, a stifled heavy sob came down to me from where the hut lay in the quiet moonlight of that Christmas Eve.

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text: Guatimala or the United Provinces of Central America in 1827-8/14


text: Short Stories (Bellew)/Poor Devil

title: Short Stories (Bellew)/Poor Devil


text: Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/Whitney, Eli


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 dames and damsels throughout the land would require a volume. As a general rule, it may be stated, and this especially in regard to sea towns, that an abundant supply of petticoats is de rigueur, as it is considered the right thing to pretend to much ' below the waist, which, in its turn, is padded out with ' of wadding, or even filled with sand. A foreign lady whose embonpoint is the work of Nature is a thing of beauty and of joy to the native, who will openly express her admiration for the charms of an unartificial dikke vrouw.

The foregoing remarks naturally apply to the peasantry and fisherfolk only. With regard to The Hague, a note of smartness reveals itself in the ladies' gowns; while provincial ladies, who, when travelling outside their own country, have been bold enough to indulge in “foreign fashions,”


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 carefully pack away these sacrifices to vanity when reaching home. The good folk in the provinces do not dress their part, but cultivate for the fashions a contempt which is pedantic and even stupid. During the recent Conference at The Hague some members of the Diplomatic Corps visited a University town, and their “Bond Street liveries” excited to derisive laughter the soberly-clad professors.

Queen Wilhelmina, in the early days of her reign affectionately referred to as Koninginnetje, or “Little Queen,” typifies in her simple life the nation over which she rules, while her tender sympathy for her people is returned by them. She rules because she is of the House of Orange, and the national cry of “Oranje boven!” always unmistakably proceeds from Dutch hearts as well as from Dutch lips. She expressed


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 her feelings on the occasion of her “inauguration” (for of “coronation,” as we understand it, there was none), when she said at the time of taking the oath: “I count myself happy to rule the Dutch people: small in number, but great in courage—great in nature and in character.” Dapper maar klein (Brave, though small). In 1909 Queen Wilhelmina presented the nation, greatly to its joy, with an heiress to the throne, and heartfelt rejoicings took place on this occasion.

During the summer months Her Majesty lives at Het Loo (The Grove), a charming residence in Gelderland, north of Apeldoorn; in winter at the Palace in the Noordeinde, at The Hague; and for ten days in the year she occupies the Stadhuis at Amsterdam. Louis Napoleon accepted this residence as a palace, which it has remained ever since, but as William I.


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 gave it back to the city, the Queen is the city's guest during her sojourn there.

Men and women display a predilection for jewellery, and there are in every small town—nay, in every village—one or more jewellers' shops, whose wares are as tempting as those of their fellow-shopkeepers in the cities. Gems are at a discount with the countryfolk, but ornaments in gold and silver abound. Many of these resemble the five-pointed khoumsa of the Western Arab. How did the mysterious “five” penetrate from the western coast of Morocco to the heart of the Netherlands? Did it travel from Mogador to Madrid, and thence with Alva's female camp-followers to Holland? Certain it is that rings and brooches of the khoumsa pattern are to be met with in Holland, in Belgium, and as far down the French coast as the little fishing village of Le Portel, near


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title: User:RonSimpson


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 Boulogne-sur-Mer, where it is known as la Portugaise. In addition to these ornaments, one greatly prized is a coral “dog-collar,” which is just as highly valued as the one of pearls worn by rich ladies in this country. Earrings there are of many shapes, from the kurkentrekkers (corkscrews)—akin to bed-springs—to the quaint ear-ornaments looking like horses' blinkers, and fitted on above the ears with projecting triangular plates studded with pearls. The most valuable of all ornaments is the gouden kap, or skull-cap of gold, of Friesland. Its price is sometimes as high as eight hundred guilders, and it is worn by the married women only, and by widows. According to a legend of Medemblik, it constitutes the glorification of the crown of thorns. A gold “back-piece” is also worn on the nape of the neck. Nor is the male sex behindhand in its love of


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 ; the broad breeks are clasped at the waist with broekstukken, huge silver buttons larger than our crown-piece, some of them handed down from generation to generation. The men also affect silver chains bunched up like skeins of wool as a neck ornament. In some parts, especially in Friesland, silver shoe-buckles are still to be met with. Again, there are gold buttons in filagreefiligree [sic] to hold the gaudy necktie under control, while the wedding-ring is more or less worn by the men.

The North Holland women are reckoned very handsome—their faces are as placid as those of their ancestry; while those dwelling in the sea-towns possess eyes that are the reflex of the infinite, but are not the reflex of their thoughts. Like all fisher-folk, they have the eyes of the seer. All in all, the women have a doll-like appearance. To them is applicable the Horatian


text: Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/Whitney, James Amaziah


text: Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/Whitney, Josiah Dwight


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 Guatemala subject to the Government of Mexico and Mercenarians, whereof the three Orders of Dominicans, Franciscans, and Mercenarians, are the only Preachers and Parish Priests throughout all the forenamed Provinces. And these three Orders have still kept under the Criolian party, never as yet suffering any of them to be Provincial, bringing every two or three years, some one year and some another, Missions of Friers from Spain to maintain and keep up their faction against the Criolians. The Provinces of Peru being more distant from Spain, and hard to come to by the Sea, have no Missions sent unto them. There are of the most Romish Religious Orders, yet the chief are Dominicans; and they all live above their Vow of Poverty, abounding in Wealth, Riot, Liberty and Pleasures. In the Kingdom of Nueva reino de Granada, and Cartagena, Santa fee, Barinas, Popayan, and the Government of St. Martha, are Dominicans, Jseuites, Franciscans, Carmelites, Augustines and Mercenarians; whereof the Dominicans, Jesuites and Franciscans till this day admit of Missions from Spain. The Island of Cuba, Jamaica, la Margarita, Puerto rico, all are subject to the head Provincial of Santo Domingo, being Dominicans, Jesuites, and Franciscans, and have all now and then Missions from Spain. Yucatan hath in it only Franciscans, who live most richly and plentifuly, and strongly uphold the Spanish faction with European Missions: Mechoacan belongeth to the Mexican Friers, and is in the same condition as was said before of Mexico. Thus have I briefly run over all America that pertains to the Crown of Castilia: for the East India's they belong to the Crown of Portugal and Brasil, as first discovered and possessed by the Portugals, and now doubtless are subject to King John, the new King of Portugal. Yet the Islands of Philippinas are subject to the King of Spain, and there are Dominicans, Franciscans, Augustines, and Jesuites, all which lie still in wait in Manila the Metropolitan City, for some sure Shipping to Japan, to Convert that Kingdom. And though they admit of some few Criolio's among them, especially some of their Converts of China and Japan; yet their chief number and strength is of Spanish Missionaries, who are more frequently Rh


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 conveyed thither then to the parts aformentioned of America. First they are sent in the Ships that are bound for Nueva España and Mexico; and after they have rested two or three months in Mexico, they are sent to Acapulco, lying on the Mar del Zur, there they are Shipped in two great Caracks which yearly go and come richly laden with China, Japan, and all East India ware from Manila to Acapulco to enrich Mexico with far greater riches then any are sent by the North Sea from Spain. The Voiage from Acapulco thither, is longer then from Spain to Mexico, and easie and pleasant, though the return is far longer and most dangerous. The year of our Lord 1625. there were four Missions sent; the one of Franciscans to Yucatan, the other of Mercenarians to Mexico, the other two of Dominicans and Jesuites to Philippinas. At which time it was my fortune to reside among the Dominicans in Xerez in Andaluzia. The Popes Commissary for that Mission was Frier Matheo de la Villa, who having a Commission for thirty, and having gathered some 24 of them about Castilla and Madrid, sent them by degrees well stored with mony to Cales, to take up a convenient Lodging for himself and the rest of his crew till the time of the setting forth of the Indian Fleet. This Commissary named one Frier Antonio Calvo to be his substitute, and to visit the Cloisters of Andaluzia lying in his way; namely Cordova, Sevil, St. Lucas, and Xerez, to try if out of them he could make up his compleat number of thirty, which was after fully compleated. About the end of May came this worthy Calvo to Xirez, and in his Company one Antonio Melendez of the College of St. Gregory in Valladolid, with whom I had formerly near acquaintance. This Melendez greatly rejoiced when he had found me; and being well stocked with Indian Patacones, the first night of his coming invited me to his chamber to a stately Supper. The good Xerez Sack which was not spared, set my friend in such a heat of Zeal of Converting Japonians, that all his talk was of those parts never yet seen, and at least six thousand Leagues distant, Bacchus metamorphosed him from a Divine into an Orator, and made him a Cicero in parts of Rhetorical Eloquence. Nothing was omitted that might exhort


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 exhort me to join with him in that Function, which he thought was Apostolical. Nemo Propheta in patria sua, was a great argument with him; sometimes he propounded Martyrdom for the Gospel sake, and the glory after it, to have his life and death Printed, and of poor Frier Antony a Clothiers Son of Segovia to be stiled St. Antony by the Pope, and made Collateral with the Apostles in Heaven; thus did Bacchus make him Ambitious of Honor upon the Earth, and preferment in Heaven. But when he thought his Rhetorick had not prevailed, the would he Act a Midas and Crœsus, fancying the India's Paved with Tiles of Gold and Silver, the Stones to be Pearls, Rubies, and Diamonds, the Trees to be hung with clusters of Nutmegs bigger than the clusters of Grapes of Cancun, the Fields to be Planted with Sugar canes, which should so sweeten the Chocolet, that đe should far exceed the Milk and Hony of the Land of Promise; the Silks of China he conceited so common; that the Sails of the Ships were nothing else; finally he dreamed of Midas happiness, that whatsoever he touched should be turned to Gold: Thus did Xerez Nectar make my friend and mortified Frier, a Covetous Worldling. And yet from a Rich Covetous Merchant did it shape him to a Courtier in pleasures; fancying the Philippinas to be the Eden, where was all joy without tears, mirth without sadness, laughing without sorrow, comfort without grief, plenty without want, no not of Eves for Adams, excepted only that in it should be no forbidden fruit, but all lawful for the tast and sweetening of the palate; and as Adam would have been as God, so conceited Melendez himself a God in that Eden; whom Travelling, Indian Waits and Trumpets should accompany; and to whom, entring into any Town, Nosegaies should be presented, Flowers and Boughs should be strowed in his way, Arches should be erected to ride under, Bells for joy should be rung, and India knees for duty and homage, as to a God, should be bowed to the very ground. From this inducing argument, the representation of a Paradise, he fell into a strong Rhetorical point of curiosity; finding out a Tree of knowledge, and a Philosophical maxim, Omnis homo naturaliter scire  siderat,


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 totas de capsula nitidas—to alter the gender in the quotation; they appear to have come out of a bandbox. They are very partial to eau-de-Cologne, which finds a large market in Holland, and an hotel-servant will not mind helping herself to any perfume left lying around in my lady's chamber. It is her perquisite, and she will not consider that she is doing anything wrong when liberally besprinkling her person with it. In other respects she is scrupulously honest. Another weakness of the Dutch countrywoman of the sea or country side is to compress her bosom; as a result, they are all flat-breasted to an extent that is a disfigurement of the human form, and they rival the Amazons in their flatness.

The headgear of the womenfolk varies with the locality. Every kind of cap is to be met with, from the close-fitting one


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 of Friesland, worn by the Queen, to the Volendam cap, with its well-starched cornettes, with which opéra-bouffe has rendered us familiar in England. It is on a market-day at Middelburg or at Flushing that the visitor can more especially feast his eyes on Dutch women be-jewelled, be-capped, and be-petticoated, or again at a kermis. A shock will come to him when he sees the gouden kap surmounted by a Parisian chapeau, from either side of which peep the kurkenkrullen. The wearing of these must on such occasions be looked upon as a tribute rendered to national sentiment by these devotees of “modernism.” In the winter of 1908 Friesland revelled in a skating carnival, at which were worn the garments of days gone by, and the revival of habiliments in vogue in the days of Holland's grandeur was a welcome and picturesque one. In the museum at


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 Hindeloopen is to be seen a fine collection of costumes of olden times.

From headgear to footwear there is, so to speak, but one step. The klomp (plural, klompen) takes rank as a national institution. These wooden shoes, or sabots, fashioned out of poplar-wood, do not merely serve to protect the feet; some of them are ornamental, notably those worn on the Island of Marken, which are daintily carved. They can be, and are, used as weapons of defence and offence. Young Dutch David will at times get on even terms with Dutch Goliath should he succeed in being the first to reach the goal aimed at with his wooden missile. Old klompen have sweet uses in their old age, for the Heintjes, Dirkjes, and Pietjes deftly convert them into tjalks (fishing-boats), and sail them along the shore, while the Arisjes, Hilletjes, and Trijntjes watch


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 them with placid enjoyment. Many artists, more especially the veteran Josef Israëls, have immortalized the klomp when in this form. The klomp seems to be no hindrance to the movements of a broad-breeked Dutchman, for he will clear a four-foot fence like a bird without parting company with them. If anything excites the curiosity of one too short in stature to get a view of the object it is sought to look at, then will klompen placed one on top of the other be of valuable assistance. They have still another use. As the boat or ship passes through the canal the lock-keeper will appear with what seems a fishing-rod, at the end of which dangles a fish—'tis but a klomp, into which you drop the toll. I have also seen the klomp used as a most effective steering-gear on the occasion of a buxom vrouw coaxing her husband home from the tapperij, out


text:
Author:Jozef Israëls

Works

 * [[Media:Langsmoedersgraf1.jpg|Langs moeders graf.]] (1856)
 * [[Media:Jozef israels solo en mundo.jpg|Solo En Mundo (Alone in the World.)]] (1881)
 * [[Media:Willem Roelofs by Jozef Israëls.jpg|Willem Roelofs.]] (1892)
 * [[Media:Jozef Israëls 002.jpg|Droeve Gedachten.]] (1896)
 * [[Media:Israëls-A Jewish Wedding-1903.jpg|A Jewish Wedding.]] (1903)

title: Author:Jozef Israëls


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 of which she had hauled him. A blow on the left side of the head steered the reveller to the right, and vice versa.

There remains but to tell a pretty story in which klompen play a part. After Queen Wilhelmina had retired for the night on the day she had taken hold of the reins of Government, a notice was issued requesting the good citizens to go home quietly, and not to disturb their Sovereign's slumbers with shouts doubtlessly loyally meant. Two devotees of Bacchus who were passing by the Palace disregarded this request, to which their attention was called by some less noisy citizens, whereupon the loyalists considerately and gallantly kicked off their klompen, and zigzagged their way home in their stocking-feet.

The mode of wearing the hair calls for a passing remark. Generally speaking, it is


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 close-cropped, and the women and girls who adopt this style—among them are to be named the Volendammers—wear under the white cap with cornettes, or “ears,” a black skull-cap which does not permit of more than a short “fringe” to be visible. Nay, more than that, it is considered indecent for a girl to allow her head to be seen bare. I can recall an instance when, in the course of a frolic between two Volendam maidens, one of them tore off the other's skull-cap; the uncovered one screamed with shame, and quickly threw her outer skirt over her head, while the older women upbraided the offender for her shameless deed, and cuffed her soundly, full-grown lass though she was. Several men were present, and in this did the indecency consist. On the other hand, the tow-headed, hard-featured, and saucy girls of the Island of Marken, but a short sail across the Zuider Zee from


text:
Author:Augustin Hanicotte

Works

 * Leur Mer. (1904)

title: Author:Augustin Hanicotte


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 Volendam, hold entirely different views in this respect. They parade a broad, ugly, yellow fringe of hair and a couple of long and thick krullen (curls), which give them an untidy appearance. These curls are the subject of cruel remarks on the part of the shy maidens of Volendam.

As a kermis is the occasion for a gathering of the local clan, a few words about this orgy will not be amiss. On a kermis day the Dutch throw off their placid character to such an extent that the better class fly from it, and many Hollanders do not hesitate to style the festival a national disgrace. The kermis is dying out, and it is to be hoped that a gay carnival will supplant it. The Rembrandt tercentenary showed what the Dutch can do in the matter of a pageant. Hanicotte, the French painter, whose “Leur Mer” adorns the LuxemburgLuxembourg [sic], following in the steps of


text:
Author:Edwin Cradock Nowell

Works

 * Parliamentary Handbook (Hobart, 1887)
 * History of the Relations between the two Houses of Parliament in Tasmania and South Australia (Hobart, 1890)

title: Author:Edwin Cradock Nowell


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{{rh|192|{{smaller|LAND TENURE IN PALESTINE.}|}} Masha'â, undivided, held equally, in common, as the property of the whole community and not in plots or parcels of land belonging separately to any of the various individual members of the community. Masha'a lands cannot become mulk. They belong to the Imperial State and only, the Hak el Muzarâ'a, the right of sowing or cultivating, belongs to the community. No houses or buildings may be erected and no trees may be planted on these lands without special permission from the highest Imperial Treasury authorities. If this be obtained the house or trees then become mulk or freehold, but the land on which they stand is still regarded as ameeriyeh.

The masha'a lands of a village are distributed or apportioned each year for cultivation during that year to the various members of the community who desire or who are able to cultivate them—that is to plough and to sow them with grain.

Each individual member of the community has the right by inheritance to plough and to sow in the masha'a lands by virtue of the Hak el Muzarâ'a, the right of cultivating, and these lands are divided into equal portions according to the number of faddan (pl. fadadeen), in the village.

A faddan,, in the ordinary sense means a yoke of oxen; on the hills and light lands it is invariably so; but in the low country and on the plains a faddan means two yoke or pair of oxen, and, where the soil is very heavy, four pair.

A faddan of land,, faddan wattah, is a piece of land which it takes a day for a yoke of oxen to plough. Its size would be about the same in the hill country as in the low country; the soil on the former being light can be easily ploughed by a pair of oxen working from sunrise till sunset, while in the latter, being heavy, it would require two or four pair of oxen to plough in the same length of time.

A plough is called a, ô'od, stick or reed. The lands of a village may therefore be divided among ten faddan and yet be ploughed by 20 ô'ods.

The masha'a lands are divided equally among all the inhabitants who wish to cultivate them. Such are called shaddad, plural  shaddadeen, from, to gird, to bind, to prepare or make ready; and each shaddad receives an allotment of land according to the number of faddan he intends to employ. Thus one man receives an allotment of land for one faddan, another for two faddan, and so on. Sometimes the land is divided into half faddan for such a villager who only owns one ox. Two villagers owning one ox each work together on one plough drawn by the pair of oxen—one day on the land allotted to the one, and the next day on the land allotted to the other.


text:
Author:David Charles Preyer

Works

 * The Art of the Netherlands Galleries. (1908)

title: Author:David Charles Preyer


text:
Page:Things Seen In Holland (1912).djvu/132

 the old “little masters” —Ostade, Jan Steen, Gerard Dou, Terborch, and others—has depicted a kermis scene, which reveals these saturnalia in all their nauseating hideousness. Many towns and villages have their kermis which lasts from three days to a week, generally the latter. During the day the inhabitants wander about the streets dancing and shouting, riding on merry-go-rounds, enjoying the attractions of more or less elevating peep-shows, and greedily gorging themselves with fried botjes (flounders), gerookten


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 aalen (smoked eels), dried scharretje (another species of the flounder tribe), poffertjes (the American “pop-overs”), olie-bollen (balls of paste fried in oil), wafelen (waffles), and hopjes (caramels, the last the most beloved of the various kinds of lekkers). In the meanwhile, the organs of the merry-go-rounds are noisily grinding out tunes that are “popular” the world over. When night comes, Bacchus is libated in a fashion worthy of the days of Rome's decline, and men and women mingle together with a licence unknown during the rest of the year.

In Amsterdam and other big towns the kermis has been abolished. This abolition was the cause of a two days' riot in the city lying at the influx of the Amstel into the Y.

Ranking next to the kermis is the Feast of St. Nicholas, kept on December 5, the


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 eve of the saint's name-day. His legend is widespread, as shown in our own Winchester Cathedral, and in many parts of France. The “Knickerbockers” who went to America imported the celebration of this feast into that country, where it still flourishes as Santa Claus, but where it is kept on Christmas Eve. To some of the Dutch who returned to their native land may be due Knecht Rupprecht (de zwarte knecht), the saint's man Friday, who would seem to personify the negro slave. At this festival there is a large consumption of klaasjes, special cakes taking the shape of a bishop in full canonicals.

As the children play mostly in the street, indoor games are few and far between; but outdoor games are the same, generally speaking, as played by boys in other European countries. Marbles and kooten (knuckle-bones) are universal favourites.


text: Author talk:David Charles Preyer

title: Author talk:David Charles Preyer


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Noel, Arthur Baptist


text:
Author:Jan Havickszoon Steen

Works

 * [[Media:1670 Jan Havicksz. Steen - zelfportret.jpg|Zelfporttret (Self-portrait.)]] (1670)

Works about Steen

 * Century Magazine/Volume 47/Issue 2/Old Dutch Masters. Jan Steen

title: Author:Jan Havickszoon Steen


text:
Author:Harry Stirling Crawfurd Everard

Works

 * Golf
 * A History of the Royal and Ancient Golf Club, St. Andrews, from 1754 to 1900. (1907)
 * "The Story of Beowulf and the Fire Drake" The red book of animal stories. Lang (ed.) London: Longman. 1899

title: Author:Harry Stirling Crawfurd Everard


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Page:Things Seen In Holland (1912).djvu/139

 “I am King of the Castle” (Man ik sta op je blokhuis) is a game which needs no description. The girls enjoy skipping, and when not engaged in this pastime seem to delight in knitting just as much.

Readers of H. S. C. Everard's “A History of the Royal and Ancient Golf Club, St. Andrews, from 1754 to 1900,” will have seen that there are some reasons for supposing that the game of golf may have been borrowed from the Dutch. In the Boymans Museum at Rotterdam is a picture by Jan Steen (1626-1679), “Feast of St. Nicholas: a Family Group,” wherein is the figure of a little boy who holds in one hand an undoubted golf-club and in the other a golf-ball. Other illustrations of the fact are to be met with in other pictures. It seems certain that there was played for many centuries in Holland a game known as het kolven, which closely


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 resembled the game as we know it now. Kolfje, or little club, closely resembles the “gowfie” of Eastern Scotland. A Dutch proverb still in use says: “Dat is een kolfje naar mijn hand” (“That lies to my hand like a golf-club”), said of anything that exactly suits the speaker. Does the word “stymie,” the derivation of which still remains mysterious, come from a Dutch source? On this point Mr. Everard writes: “There is a Dutch verb stuiten, meaning to hinder or to stop. I would suggest that when an old Dutch golfer found himself ‘stymied,’ he said, Stuit mij (‘It stops me’). This phrase, with the elision of t before m (which would naturally take place in Scotland), would be contracted into ‘sty my,’ ‘stymie.’” Golf as an outdoor game is no longer much played to-day by the Dutch, although there are at least six golf-links in Holland—at Haarlem, The


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 Hague, and Amsterdam, etc. An indoor game, reduced almost to parlour-golf, has taken its place in some localities, but even this game appears to be dying out.

It is to be regretted that the companies of doelen, who formed clubs akin to our archery clubs, but who did not belong to the army (doelen are “targeteers,” just as the Italian bersagliere derives his name from bersaglio, a target), are a thing of the past; for their prowess has been immortalized in many a painting, and their name is preserved in that of several hotels throughout the land.

Skating is, of course, the national pastime. Parties are made up to skim over the frozen rivers and canals from town to town, and much sleighing takes place in the towns after a fall of snow, the children being conveyed to school in sleighs. The Dutch excel in the exhilarating exercise of


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 skating, and while engaged in it are, for the nonce, as light-heeled as any.

Among the students, particularly those of Leyden, rowing is greatly in vogue, and, as we know, they have sent crews to Henley. In the last year or two football for boys and hockey for girls have taken a foothold, and young Holland is going in for exercise to an extent unknown heretofore.


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Noel, Wriothesley Baptist


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Norman, General Sir Henry Wylie


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Normanby, The Most Noble George Augustus Constantine Phipps


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Norton, Hon. Albert


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Norton, Hon. James


text: The Dictionary of Australasian Biography/Nowell, Edwin Cradock


text:
Twenty Years After/Chapter 10

Thanks to what Aramis had told him, D'Artagnan, who knew already that Porthos called himself Du Vallon, was now aware that he styled himself, from his estate, De Bracieux; and that he was, on account of this estate, engaged in a lawsuit with the Bishop of Noyon. It was, then, in the neighborhood of Noyon that he must seek that estate. His itinerary was promptly determined: he would go to Dammartin, from which place two roads diverge, one toward Soissons, the other toward Compiegne; there he would inquire concerning the Bracieux estate and go to the right or to the left according to the information obtained.

Planchet, who was still a little concerned for his safety after his recent escapade, declared that he would follow D'Artagnan even to the end of the world, either by the road to the right or by that to the left; only he begged his former master to set out in the evening, for greater security to himself. D'Artagnan suggested that he should send word to his wife, so that she might not be anxious about him, but Planchet replied with much sagacity that he was very sure his wife would not die of anxiety through not knowing where he was, while he, Planchet, remembering her incontinence of tongue, would die of anxiety if she did know.

This reasoning seemed to D'Artagnan so satisfactory that he no further insisted; and about eight o'clock in the evening, the time when the vapors of night begin to thicken in the streets, he left the Hotel de la Chevrette, and followed by Planchet set forth from the capital by way of the Saint Denis gate.

At midnight the two travelers were at Dammartin, but it was then too late to make inquiries -- the host of the Cygne de la Croix had gone to bed.

The next morning D'Artagnan summoned the host, one of those sly Normans who say neither yes nor no and fear to commit themselves by giving a direct answer. D'Artagnan, however, gathered from his equivocal replies that the road to the right was the one he ought to take, and on that uncertain information he resumed his journey. At nine in the morning he reached Nanteuil and stopped for breakfast. His host here was a good fellow from Picardy, who gave him all the information he needed. The Bracieux estate was a few leagues from Villars-Cotterets.

D'Artagnan was acquainted with Villars-Cotterets having gone thither with the court on several occasions; for at that time Villars-Cotterets was a royal residence. He therefore shaped his course toward that place and dismounted at the Dauphin d'Or. There he ascertained that the Bracieux estate was four leagues distant, but that Porthos was not at Bracieux. Porthos had, in fact, been involved in a dispute with the Bishop of Noyon in regard to the Pierrefonds property, which adjoined his own, and weary at length of a legal controversy which was beyond his comprehension, he put an end to it by purchasing Pierrefonds and added that name to his others. He now called himself Du Vallon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds, and resided on his new estate.

The travelers were therefore obliged to stay at the hotel until the next day; the horses had done ten leagues that day and needed rest. It is true they might have taken others, but there was a great forest to pass through and Planchet, as we have seen, had no liking for forests after dark.

There was another thing that Planchet had no liking for and that was starting on a journey with a hungry stomach. Accordingly, D'Artagnan, on awaking, found his breakfast waiting for him. It need not be said that Planchet in resuming his former functions resumed also his former humility and was not ashamed to make his breakfast on what was left by D'Artagnan.

It was nearly eight o'clock when they set out again. Their course was clearly defined: they were to follow the road toward Compiegne and on emerging from the forest turn to the right.

The morning was beautiful, and in this early springtime the birds sang on the trees and the sunbeams shone through the misty glades, like curtains of golden gauze.

In other parts of the forest the light could scarcely penetrate through the foliage, and the stems of two old oak trees, the refuge of the squirrel, startled by the travelers, were in deep shadow.

There came up from all nature in the dawn of day a perfume of herbs, flowers and leaves, which delighted the heart. D'Artagnan, sick of the closeness of Paris, thought that when a man had three names of his different estates joined one to another, he ought to be very happy in such a paradise; then he shook his head, saying, "If I were Porthos and D'Artagnan came to make me such a proposition as I am going to make to him, I know what I should say to it."

As to Planchet, he thought of little or nothing, but was happy as a hunting-hound in his old master's company.

At the extremity of the wood D'Artagnan perceived the road that had been described to him, and at the end of the road he saw the towers of an immense feudal castle.

"Oh! Oh!" he said, "I fancied this castle belonged to the ancient branch of Orleans. Can Porthos have negotiated for it with the Duc de Longueville?"

"Faith!" exclaimed Planchet, "Here's land in good condition; if it belongs to Monsieur Porthos I wish him joy."

"Zounds!" cried D'Artagnan, "Don't call him Porthos, nor even Vallon; call him De Bracieux or De Pierrefonds; thou wilt knell out damnation to my mission otherwise."

As he approached the castle which had first attracted his eye, D'Artagnan was convinced that it could not be there that his friend dwelt; the towers, though solid and as if built yesterday, were open and broken. One might have fancied that some giant had cleaved them with blows from a hatchet.

On arriving at the extremity of the castle D'Artagnan found himself overlooking a beautiful valley, in which, at the foot of a charming little lake, stood several scattered houses, which, humble in their aspect, and covered, some with tiles, others with thatch, seemed to acknowledge as their sovereign lord a pretty chateau, built about the beginning of the reign of Henry IV., and surmounted by four stately, gilded weather-cocks. D'Artagnan no longer doubted that this was Porthos's pleasant dwelling place.

The road led straight up to the chateau which, compared to its ancestor on the hill, was exactly what a fop of the coterie of the Duc d'Enghein would have been beside a knight in steel armor in the time of Charles VII. D'Artagnan spurred his horse on and pursued his road, followed by Planchet at the same pace.

In ten minutes D'Artagnan reached the end of an alley regularly planted with fine poplars and terminating in an iron gate, the points and crossed bars of which were gilt. In the midst of this avenue was a nobleman, dressed in green and with as much gilding about him as the iron gate, riding on a tall horse. On his right hand and his left were two footmen, with the seams of their dresses laced. A considerable number of clowns were assembled and rendered homage to their lord.

"Ah!" said D'Artagnan to himself, "Can this be the Seigneur du Vallon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds? Well-a-day! How he has shrunk since he gave up the name of Porthos!"

"This cannot be Monsieur Porthos," observed Planchet replying, as it were, to his master's thoughts. "Monsieur Porthos was six feet high; this man is scarcely five."

"Nevertheless," said D'Artagnan, "the people are bowing very low to this person."

As he spoke, he rode toward the tall horse -- to the man of importance and his valets. As he approached he seemed to recognize the features of this individual.

"Jesu!" cried Planchet, "Can it be?"

At this exclamation the man on horseback turned slowly and with a lofty air, and the two travelers could see, displayed in all their brilliancy, the large eyes, the vermilion visage, and the eloquent smile of -- Mousqueton.

It was indeed Mousqueton -- Mousqueton, as fat as a pig, rolling about with rude health, puffed out with good living, who, recognizing D'Artagnan and acting very differently from the hypocrite Bazin, slipped off his horse and approached the officer with his hat off, so that the homage of the assembled crowd was turned toward this new sun, which eclipsed the former luminary.

"Monsieur d'Artagnan! Monsieur d'Artagnan!" cried Mousqueton, his fat cheeks swelling out and his whole frame perspiring with joy; "Monsieur d'Artagnan! Oh! What joy for my lord and master, Du Vallon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds!"

"Thou good Mousqueton! Where is thy master?"

"You stand upon his property!"

"But how handsome thou art -- how fat! Thou hast prospered and grown stout!" and D'Artagnan could not restrain his astonishment at the change good fortune had produced on the once famished one.

"Hey, yes, thank God, I am pretty well," said Mousqueton.

"But hast thou nothing to say to thy friend Planchet?"

"How, my friend Planchet? Planchet -- art thou there?" cried Mousqueton, with open arms and eyes full of tears.

"My very self," replied Planchet; "but I wanted first to see if thou wert grown proud."

"Proud toward an old friend? Never, Planchet! Thou wouldst not have thought so hadst thou known Mousqueton well."

"So far so well," answered Planchet, alighting, and extending his arms to Mousqueton, the two servants embraced with an emotion which touched those who were present and made them suppose that Planchet was a great lord in disguise, so highly did they estimate the position of Mousqueton.

"And now, sir," resumed Mousqueton, when he had rid himself of Planchet, who had in vain tried to clasp his hands behind his friend's fat back, "now, sir, allow me to leave you, for I could not permit my master to hear of your arrival from any but myself; he would never forgive me for not having preceded you."

"This dear friend," said D'Artagnan, carefully avoiding to utter either the former name borne by Porthos or his new one, "then he has not forgotten me?"

"Forgotten -- he!" cried Mousqueton; "There's not a day, sir, that we don't expect to hear that you were made marshal either instead of Monsieur de Gassion, or of Monsieur de Bassompierre."

On D'Artagnan's lips there played one of those rare and melancholy smiles which seemed to emanate from the depth of his soul -- the last trace of youth and happiness that had survived life's disillusions.

"And you -- fellows," resumed Mousqueton, "stay near Monsieur le Comte d'Artagnan and pay him every attention in your power whilst I go to prepare my lord for his visit."

And mounting his horse Mousqueton rode off down the avenue on the grass at a hand gallop.

"Ah, there! There's something promising," said D'Artagnan. "no mysteries, no cloak to hide one's self in, no cunning policy here; people laugh outright, they weep for joy here. I see nothing but faces a yard broad; in short, it seems to me that nature herself wears a holiday garb, and that the trees, instead of leaves and flowers, are covered with red and green ribbons as on gala days."

"As for me," said Planchet, "I seem to smell, from this place, even, a most delectable perfume of fine roast meat, and to see the scullions in a row by the hedge, hailing our approach. Ah! sir, what a cook must Monsieur Pierrefonds have, when he was so fond of eating and drinking, even whilst he was only called Monsieur Porthos!"

"Say no more!" cried D'Artagnan. "If the reality corresponds with appearances I am lost; for a man so well off will never change his happy condition, and I shall fail with him, as I have already done with Aramis."

title: Twenty Years After/Chapter 10


text: User:Sahityapremi

title: User:Sahityapremi


text:
Page:Artabanzanus (Ferrar, 1896).djvu/211

Rh London forthwith, went to the Brazils, traded successfully, retired from business, bought an estate, and now live upon it the owner of slaves and cattle without number; but weakness, not strength, prevailed. With a month before me, and money in my pocket, I did not wait for my fast friends to seek me, but went where I knew I should find them. The month flew by, and several weeks were added to it when, as I was actually on my way out of England, I met a friend on Tower Hill whom I was very glad to see. He seemed to be delighted to see me squeezed my hand heartily, and smiled in my face; he invited me to dinner, but while I was eating it sent for the police. My sentence on this occasion was transportation for life. A convict now, without a hope of pardon.

'Lodged in my old quarters in Newgate again, I resumed my literary pursuits. I now wrote a religious work, which raised up for me a host of enemies. The false representations of these snarling and disreputable people to the Ministry had the effect of putting an end to my useful and benevolent labours in Newgate, and I was shipped off, with many more unfortunate men, sorely against my will, to an island near the South Pole, which your Majesty has never heard of. It was a great and a sad fall; but the discipline, though severe, may possibly have been necessary to cure me of that abominable vice of gambling, of which I believe I am now cured for ever. And now, please your Majesty, as I have told my story without reserve, I most humbly beg and crave that yon will be graciously pleased to give me a place in your honourable Court.

'A place in my Court, thou snivelling idiot!' bellowed the King in a paroxysm of rage. 'Thou art a self-confessed liar, and thou allowest thy wife to beat thee and to curse thee! Away with him to the block: he shall not live, a contemptible coward and fool—he shall die!'

'My ford Cardinal!' said the poor man, as the halberdiers


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204 and the buffetiers approached him, wagging their jaws. 'I appeal to your Eminence. I am condemned to death by this arbitrary monarch for having told him the truth. He will not believe me. He is a type of the great and foolish world, the mass of self-satisfied mankind, which will not believe the things that it hath not seen, because it cannot or will not understand them. I compare not myself, or my insignificant abilities, to great and marvellous ones which are above my poor comprehension; but well I know—at least I believe—that in the millions of worlds of whose existence we are sure, because we see them as twinkling stars, there are possibilities and realities surpassing in sublime grandeur the most exalted conceptions of our miserable minds. Shall we presume to say they are lies, and exist only in our own imaginations?'

'King of England!' said the Cardinal solemnly, 'have I not advised you to shed no more blood, even as I would advise the princes and powers of the earth to wage no more unjust war? Have you forgotten my history? You will not believe this man's story, which is not, I venture to think, one whit more extraordinary than my own, which you well know to be true. I speak freely now as you have done your worst' (here the buffetiers laughed, and wagged their jaws again), 'and I fear nothing. Did I not rise from nothing, as the fungus in the night, or as the fiery rocket into the air, while thousands of poor creatures were left to grovel in poverty all their lives? I became your fathers trusted and favourite councillor, O King! and then yours, because I had the genius to take advantage of the opportunities which rapidly presented themselves to me; no drivelling qualm of conscience, or wretched fear of offending the High Majesty of Heaven, keeping me back. Those men who study to please their Maker may become poorer but are better as they grow older, while those who study to please themselves and the world become worse. I


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Rh became Dean of Lincoln by a quick journey to France and back again; then Lord Almoner, and owner of Empson's forfeited house and lands; I pass over my offices and honours until I became a Cardinal and Lord High Chancellor. My riches grew with my honours. I grew rich beyond the dreams of avarice. I was the cynosure on whom men cast their envious or admiring glances. I enjoyed stipends from the Kings of France and Spain and from the Doge of Venice. I aspired to the Papal tiara itself, but that effulgent dignity was denied me. I lived in princely splendour at York House, and built a magnificent palace which I presented to your Majesty, for I saw you were getting jealous of me, and "jealousy is cruel as the grave." My dress was gorgeous; my household included five hundred people; earls and barons were amongst my servants. With all this I was no mean scholar, promoting learning, encouraging genius, restraining the shedding of English blood, and helping the poor by a profuse expenditure of money. But my mind was still poisoned with pride and the lust of place and power, and I fell—and the greatness of my fall was a mortal blow. My earthly grandeur is now a dream. I have my weight of lead at my back, and tremble at every breath that may be wafted to me by the great God whom I neglected, if not despised, and took in His place an earthly idol, a king of corruptible flesh and blood, no better than mine own.'

No sooner had the Cardinal uttered these words than the King fell back on his throne as if struck by lightning. The crowd in the room became mingled together in a confused mass, and rose up to the roof as a cloud of blue smoke. The Doctor and I were left alone, staring at each other, and at last, instead of being struck, as I was, with intense wonder and astonishment, he burst into his usual boisterous fit of laughter.


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or three days were now to elapse, and then the time would come, if the all-powerful Demon should be for once true to his word, when I should be breathing again the delicious air of my beloved mountains, and climbing to their tops beneath the sunny canopy of heaven. I had a vague hope, too, but only a vague one, that my kind friend Julius would also be able, by some master-stroke of policy, of which I thought his extraordinary talents and fearless energy made him fully capable, to accompany me in my aerial flight out of this black and horrible abyss. I regarded him as a wonderfully clever magician, who could call at will spirits from the vasty deep, and, what is more, make them obey his call. I attributed to his power the sudden and complete dissolution of the court of the mighty potentate in which I was about to become such a prominent actor. The lesson to be learned from that strange scene, which we should all seriously and gratefully lay to heart, is that we are not now living under an absolute monarch, who has either the power or the will to make himself a scourge and a terror to his subjects.

A thousand times I asked myself how the Doctor, who has become the hero of my story nearly to the exclusion of the Demon himself, gained his terrible power. We have


text: Artabanzanus/Chapter 13

title: Artabanzanus/Chapter 13


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Rh seen that he had nearly as much as his master, whom he evidently hated and despised, and whom he seemed to fear but little. He was a younger man by far than many thousands whom I had seen and heard of in that city, and yet he appeared to be placed, in medical authority at least, above them all. To attain such a position he must have been endowed with the abilities of Æsculapius, Æetius, Galen, and their multitudinous successors. In addition to the constant pursuit of his studies and duties he had found time, in less than two hundred years, to construct, out of nothing that I could see or account for, a hall or grotto of vast proportions and astonishing magnificence, in which he produced effigies of his parents, and of his beautiful Helen and her companions, in the most marvellous similitude to the reality of life. In this I could only compare him to the author of the 'Arabian Knights,' or our own Sir Walter Scott. And yet, with all his strength and power, his character presented many eccentricities, if not absolute weaknesses. He could rebuke me severely for my deficiencies in wisdom, and yet fall down himself and worship the work of his own hands the image of Helen, the ever lovely and mysterious Helen. He could roll on the floor and cry like a child when her name was mentioned; and become mad with jealousy and rage at one moment because I had kissed her in a dream; and, lo! in the next, he would be shouting with wild laughter at the antics of a troop of musical buffoons. He could take me in the morning to witness a solemn tragedy, and in the evening dissipate the same in a cloud of smoke and with ringing laughter. He would argue the gravest matters with Artabanzanus himself, and then go out and crack jokes with the hoggish Obeltub, the driving fiend of the lightning balloon.

My reverie was suddenly interrupted by the subject of it rushing into the room, with much apparent excitement, a


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208 roll of papers in one hand, and a black staff with white letters upon it in the other.

'Fortune is favouring me, Ubertus,' he said in a subdued voice, as if fearful of being overheard; 'I have been summoned to attend a great council. The Demon, Old Arty, as I often style him, has called his Parliament together, to discuss and decide upon the greatest and most important question of the day, which is the building of a new city on the surface of your world, and the removal of all the inhabitants of this place up to it. He is full of the project, and I shall support it by all the means in my power. It may give me my long-wished-for opportunity. The site of his new city, will, I believe, be fixed on to-day. I understand he is in favour of one in the neighbourhood of your splendid Great Lake; but of this I am not quite sure. I must leave you to yourself to-day, my dear boy; you can command Florian and the band, or you can read these papers if you like. I do not know whether I am right or not, but I think you are anxious to learn more about Helen. They will gratify your curiosity, if they do not—and I hope they will not—grate harshly upon your literary taste.'

I thanked him for this renewed proof of his confidence, and ventured to ask what the black staff with white letters upon it was for.

'It is,' he replied, 'my staff of office; by it I am known to be one of the Demon King's ministers. When you are appointed his private secretary you will be presented with a similar staff. It will insure your respectful reception into the highest and most fashionable society, and procure for you advantages and honours without number. You will be a lucky fellow.'

'My dear Doctor,' I enquired earnestly, 'may I not go with you? I have an insatiable curiosity to see this great Parliament.'


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Rh 'What!—and leave these papers, and the history of my Helen here to take care of themselves?'

'I will keep them safely, sir, in my pocket, and read them another time.'

'Now or never!' he shouted, and snatching up the papers again, rushed out of the room just as he had rushed in. I was utterly confounded. 'Now he is offended in earnest,' I mused, almost stunned with the suddenness of the occurrence, 'and Heaven only knows what will become of me. Without his friendship and protection, I shall be lost.'

After sitting there in a state of the greatest misery for about an hour, Florian came in, and told me that his master was about to start, and if I wished to accompany him, I could do so: the carriage was ready. I started up with alacrity, and followed the messenger into the street. There I found the Doctor waiting for me, pacing up and down impatiently. He uttered no word of reproach or reproof, however, but told me calmly to take my seat. We drove out, as before, into the great abyss, by the light of the enormous shields, which looked, in consequence of their proximity, like gigantic moons shining through the smoke of a Tasmanian bush fire. Then we passed under the high arch which marked the entrance into the Department of Pleasure; and after driving through many brilliant streets, and amongst dense throngs of people, found ourselves at last in front of the Demon's palace.

A great crowd had assembled there, for the news had spread like wildfire that the King had called his Parliament together for the first time for many years. All kinds of rumours, for the better or the worse, hung suspended in the air. A regiment of gigantic negro guards was drawn up before the royal residence. The Doctor was loudly cheered, but instead of alighting at the palace as I expected, he drove on past it, saying, 'We are too early; let us drive on,


text:
Twenty Years After/Chapter 11

D'Artagnan passed through the iron gate and arrived in front of the chateau. He alighted as he saw a species of giant on the steps. Let us do justice to D'Artagnan. Independently of every selfish wish, his heart palpitated with joy when he saw that tall form and martial demeanor, which recalled to him a good and brave man.

He ran to Porthos and threw himself into his arms; the whole body of servants, arranged in a semi-circle at a respectful distance, looked on with humble curiosity. Mousqueton, at the head of them, wiped his eyes. Porthos linked his arm in that of his friend.

"Ah! How delightful to see you again, dear friend!" he cried, in a voice which was now changed from a baritone into a bass, "You've not then forgotten me?"

"Forget you! Oh! Dear Du Vallon, does one forget the happiest days of flowery youth, one's dearest friends, the dangers we have dared together? On the contrary, there is not an hour we have passed together that is not present to my memory."

"Yes, yes," said Porthos, trying to give to his mustache a curl which it had lost whilst he had been alone. "Yes, we did some fine things in our time and we gave that poor cardinal a few threads to unravel."

And he heaved a sigh.

"Under any circumstances," he resumed, "you are welcome, my dear friend; you will help me to recover my spirits; tomorrow we will hunt the hare on my plain, which is a superb tract of land, or pursue the deer in my woods, which are magnificent. I have four harriers which are considered the swiftest in the county, and a pack of hounds which are unequalled for twenty leagues around."

And Porthos heaved another sigh.

"But, first," interposed D'Artagnan, "you must present me to Madame du Vallon."

A third sigh from Porthos.

"I lost Madame du Vallon two years ago," he said, "and you find me still in affliction on that account. That was the reason why I left my Chateau du Vallon near Corbeil, and came to my estate, Bracieux. Poor Madame du Vallon! Her temper was uncertain, but she came at last to accustom herself to my little ways and understand my little wishes."

"So you are free now, and rich?"

"Alas!" groaned Porthos, "I am a widower and have forty thousand francs a year. Let us go to breakfast."

"I shall be happy to do so; the morning air has made me hungry."

"Yes," said Porthos; "my air is excellent."

They went into the chateau; there was nothing but gilding, high and low; the cornices were gilt, the mouldings were gilt, the legs and arms of the chairs were gilt. A table, ready set out, awaited them.

"You see," said Porthos, "this is my usual style."

"Devil take me!" answered D'Artagnan, "I wish you joy of it. The king has nothing like it."

"No," answered Porthos, "I hear it said that he is very badly fed by the cardinal, Monsieur de Mazarin. Taste this cutlet, my dear D'Artagnan; 'tis off one of my sheep."

"You have very tender mutton and I wish you joy of it." said D'Artagnan.

"Yes, the sheep are fed in my meadows, which are excellent pasture."

"Give me another cutlet."

"No, try this hare, which I had killed yesterday in one of my warrens."

"Zounds! What a flavor!" cried D'Artagnan; "Ah! They are fed on thyme only, your hares."

"And how do you like my wine?" asked Porthos; "It is pleasant, isn't it?"

"Capital!"

"It is nothing, however, but a wine of the country."

"Really?"

"Yes, a small declivity to the south, yonder on my hill, gives me twenty hogsheads."

"Quite a vineyard, hey?"

Porthos sighed for the fifth time -- D'Artagnan had counted his sighs. He became curious to solve the problem.

"Well now," he said, "it seems, my dear friend, that something vexes you; you are ill, perhaps? That health, which "

"Excellent, my dear friend; better than ever. I could kill an ox with a blow of my fist."

"Well, then, family affairs, perhaps?"

"Family! I have, happily, only myself in the world to care for."

"But what makes you sigh?"

"My dear fellow," replied Porthos, "to be candid with you, I am not happy."

"You are not happy, Porthos? You who have chateau, meadows, mountains, woods -- you who have forty thousand francs a year -- you -- are -- not -- happy?"

"My dear friend, all those things I have, but I am a hermit in the midst of superfluity."

"Surrounded, I suppose, only by clodhoppers, with whom you could not associate."

Porthos turned rather pale and drank off a large glass of wine.

"No; but just think, there are paltry country squires who have all some title or another and pretend to go back as far as Charlemagne, or at least to Hugh Capet. When I first came here; being the last comer, it was for me to make the first advances. I made them, but you know, my dear friend, Madame du Vallon "

Porthos, in pronouncing these words, seemed to gulp down something.

"Madame du Vallon was of doubtful gentility. She had, in her first marriage -- I don't think, D'Artagnan, I am telling you anything new -- married a lawyer; they thought that `nauseous;' you can understand that's a word bad enough to make one kill thirty thousand men. I have killed two, which has made people hold their tongues, but has not made me their friend. So that I have no society; I live alone; I am sick of it -- my mind preys on itself."

D'Artagnan smiled. He now saw where the breastplate was weak, and prepared the blow.

"But now," he said, "that you are a widower, your wife's connection cannot injure you."

"Yes, but understand me; not being of a race of historic fame, like the De Courcys, who were content to be plain sirs, or the Rohans, who didn't wish to be dukes, all these people, who are all either vicomtes or comtes go before me at church in all the ceremonies, and I can say nothing to them. Ah! If I only were a "

"A baron, don't you mean?" cried D'Artagnan, finishing his friend's sentence.

"Ah!" cried Porthos; "Would I were but a baron!"

"Well, my friend, I am come to give you this very title which you wish for so much."

Porthos gave a start that shook the room; two or three bottles fell and were broken. Mousqueton ran thither, hearing the noise.

Porthos waved his hand to Mousqueton to pick up the bottles.

"I am glad to see," said D'Artagnan, "that you have still that honest lad with you."

"He is my steward," replied Porthos; "he will never leave me. Go away now, Mouston."

"So he's called Mouston," thought D'Artagnan; "'tis too long a word to pronounce `Mousqueton.'"

"Well," he said aloud, "let us resume our conversation later, your people may suspect something; there may be spies about. You can suppose, Porthos, that what I have to say relates to most important matters."

"Devil take them; let us walk in the park," answered Porthos, "for the sake of digestion."

"Egad," said D'Artagnan, "the park is like everything else and there are as many fish in your pond as rabbits in your warren; you are a happy man, my friend since you have not only retained your love of the chase, but acquired that of fishing."

"My friend," replied Porthos, "I leave fishing to Mousqueton, -- it is a vulgar pleasure, -- but I shoot sometimes; that is to say, when I am dull, and I sit on one of those marble seats, have my gun brought to me, my favorite dog, and I shoot rabbits."

"Really, how very amusing!"

"Yes," replied Porthos, with a sigh, "it is amusing."

D'Artagnan now no longer counted the sighs. They were innumerable.

"However, what had you to say to me?" he resumed; "Let us return to that subject."

"With pleasure," replied D'Artagnan; "I must, however, first frankly tell you that you must change your mode of life."

"How?"

"Go into harness again, gird on your sword, run after adventures, and leave as in old times a little of your fat on the roadside."

"Ah! Hang it!" said Porthos.

"I see you are spoiled, dear friend; you are corpulent, your arm has no longer that movement of which the late cardinal's guards have so many proofs."

"Ah! My fist is strong enough I swear," cried Porthos, extending a hand like a shoulder of mutton.

"So much the better."

"Are we then to go to war?"

"By my troth, yes."

"Against whom?"

"Are you a politician, friend?"

"Not in the least."

"Are you for Mazarin or for the princes?"

"I am for no one."

"That is to say, you are for us. Well, I tell you that I come to you from the cardinal."

This speech was heard by Porthos in the same sense as if it had still been in the year 1640 and related to the true cardinal.

"Ho! Ho! What are the wishes of his eminence?"

"He wishes to have you in his service."

"And who spoke to him of me?"

"Rochefort -- you remember him?"

"Yes, pardieu! It was he who gave us so much trouble and kept us on the road so much; you gave him three sword-wounds in three separate engagements."

"But you know he is now our friend?"

"No, I didn't know that. So he cherishes no resentment?"

"You are mistaken, Porthos," said D'Artagnan. "It is I who cherish no resentment."

Porthos didn't understand any too clearly; but then we know that understanding was not his strong point. "You say, then," he continued, "that the Count de Rochefort spoke of me to the cardinal?"

"Yes, and the queen, too."

"The queen, do you say?"

"To inspire us with confidence she has even placed in Mazarin's hands that famous diamond -- you remember all about it -- that I once sold to Monsieur des Essarts and of which, I don't know how, she has regained possession."

"But it seems to me," said Porthos, "that she would have done much better if she had given it back to you."

"So I think," replied D'Artagnan; "but kings and queens are strange beings and have odd fancies; nevertheless, since they are the ones who have riches and honors, we are devoted to them."

"Yes, we are devoted to them," repeated Porthos; "and you -- to whom are you devoted now?"

"To the king, the queen, and to the cardinal; moreover, I have answered for your devotion also."

"And you say that you have made certain conditions on my behalf?"

"Magnificent, my dear fellow, magnificent! In the first place you have plenty of money, haven't you? Forty thousand francs income, I think you said."

Porthos began to be suspicious. "Eh! My friend," said he, "one never has too much money. Madame du Vallon left things in much disorder; I am not much of a hand at figures, so that I live almost from hand to mouth."

"He is afraid I have come to borrow money," thought D'Artagnan. "Ah, my friend," said he, "it is all the better if you are in difficulties."

"How is it all the better?"

"Yes, for his eminence will give you all that you want -- land, money, and titles."

"Ah! Ah! Ah!" said Porthos, opening his eyes at that last word.

"Under the other cardinal," continued D'Artagnan, "we didn't know enough to make our profits; this, however, doesn't concern you, with your forty thousand francs income, the happiest man in the world, it seems to me."

Porthos sighed.

"At the same time," continued D'Artagnan, "not with standing your forty thousand francs a year, and perhaps even for the very reason that you have forty thousand francs a year, it seems to me that a little coronet would do well on your carriage, hey?"

"Yes indeed," said Porthos.

"Well, my dear friend, win it -- it is at the point of your sword. We shall not interfere with each other -- your object is a title; mine, money. If I can get enough to rebuild Artagnan, which my ancestors, impoverished by the Crusades, allowed to fall into ruins, and to buy thirty acres of land about it, that is all I wish. I shall retire and die tranquilly -- at home."

"For my part," said Porthos, "I desire to be made a baron."

"You shall be one."

"And have you not seen any of our other friends?"

"Yes, I have seen Aramis."

"And what does he wish? To be a bishop?"

"Aramis," answered D'Artagnan, who did not wish to undeceive Porthos, "Aramis, fancy, has become a monk and a Jesuit, and lives like a bear. My offers did not arouse him, -- did not even tempt him."

"So much the worse! He was a clever man. And Athos?"

"I have not yet seen him. Do you know where I shall find him?"

"Near Blois. He is called Bragelonne. Only imagine, my dear friend. Athos, who was of as high birth as the emperor and who inherits one estate which gives him the title of comte, what is he to do with all those dignities -- the Comte de la Fere, Comte de Bragelonne?"

"And he has no children with all these titles?"

"Ah!" said Porthos, "I have heard that he had adopted a young man who resembles him greatly."

"What, Athos? Our Athos, who was as virtuous as Scipio? Have you seen him?

"No."

"Well, I shall see him to-morrow and tell him about you; but I'm afraid, entre nous, that his liking for wine has aged and degraded him."

"Yes, he used to drink a great deal," replied Porthos.

"And then he was older than any of us," added D'Artagnan.

"Some years only. His gravity made him look older than he was."

"Well then, if we can get Athos, all will be well. If we cannot, we will do without him. We two are worth a dozen."

"Yes," said Porthos, smiling at the remembrance of his former exploits; "but we four, altogether, would be equal to thirty-six, more especially as you say the work will not be child's play. Will it last long?"

"By'r Lady! Two or three years perhaps."

"So much the better," cried Porthos. "You have no idea, my friend, how my bones ache since I came here. Sometimes on a Sunday, I take a ride in the fields and on the property of my neighbours, in order to pick up a nice little quarrel, which I am really in want of, but nothing happens. Either they respect or they fear me, which is more likely, but they let me trample down the clover with my dogs, insult and obstruct every one, and I come back still more weary and low-spirited, that's all. At any rate, tell me: there's more chance of fighting in Paris, is there not?"

"In that respect, my dear friend, it's delightful. No more edicts, no more of the cardinal's guards, no more De Jussacs, nor other bloodhounds. I'Gad! Underneath a lamp in an inn, anywhere, they ask `Are you one of the Fronde?' They unsheathe, and that's all that is said. The Duke de Guise killed Monsieur de Coligny in the Place Royale and nothing was said of it."

"Ah, things go on gaily, then," said Porthos.

"Besides which, in a short time," resumed D'Artagnan, "we shall have set battles, cannonades, conflagrations and there will be great variety."

"Well, then, I decide."

"I have your word, then?"

"Yes, 'tis given. I shall fight heart and soul for Mazarin; but "

"But?"

"But he must make me a baron."

"Zounds!" said D'Artagnan, "That's settled already; I will be responsible for the barony."

On this promise being given, Porthos, who had never doubted his friend's assurance, turned back with him toward the castle.

title: Twenty Years After/Chapter 11


text:
Page:The Mothers of England.djvu/64

Rh But suppose the same child was taught—not as a punishment, but cheerfully and kindly taught—to put everything in its proper place again, as a means of restoring order and thus pleasing mamma, and making everybody comfortable; I believe a wholesome and effectual stimulus to activity might be thus supplied, so as to last perhaps for another hour of amusement, at the same time that a love of order might be inspired, and a still more important desire to be useful and kind. In fact, there are few things more gratifying to children than a belief that they are useful; and if they are only taught to esteem it a privilege to make other people happy, the mere act of doing so, will become a happiness to them.

While enforcing the rule of implicit obedience, already recommended, the mother will sometimes be glad to take advantage of such helps as may be at hand; and in this respect, the regularity of time—even the stroke of the clock which stands in the hall—may be made of essential service. It is an excellent thing to accustom children to be obedient to time—to do, or cease to do, certain things at certain hours; because as time never varies, there can be no misunderstanding on this point. Habits of punctuality will be thus induced, and a general impression made upon the mind, that there are certain laws by which events are regulated, over which we can not possibly exercise the least control.

An education of mere rule, however, would be but a very unsatisfactory one. Among the many unlooked-for incidents of human life, there must be room left for the operation of motive, and the reference of choice from a lesser to a greater good. Thus when children begin to understand and appreciate the reasons why certain rules are broken, it is the part of the mother to allow such deviations as she may consider most conducive to the good of her family, taking care that the rule of obedience to her wishes still remains inviolate.

We will suppose a little group of children learning their morning lessons, to which it is the rule of the house that they shall closely apply until the clock strikes twelve. On one particular morning, however, an aged grandmother arrives about eleven, having walked some distance for the

title: Page:The Mothers of England.djvu/64


text:
Twenty Years After/Chapter 12

As they returned toward the castle, D'Artagnan thought of the miseries of poor human nature, always dissatisfied with what it has, ever desirous of what it has not.

In the position of Porthos, D'Artagnan would have been perfectly happy; and to make Porthos contented there was wanting -- what? Five letters to put before his three names, a tiny coronet to paint upon the panels of his carriage!

"I shall pass all my life," thought D'Artagnan, "in seeking for a man who is really contented with his lot."

Whilst making this reflection, chance seemed, as it were, to give him the lie direct. When Porthos had left him to give some orders he saw Mousqueton approaching. The face of the steward, despite one slight shade of care, light as a summer cloud, seemed a physiognomy of absolute felicity.

"Here is what I am looking for," thought D'Artagnan; "but alas! The poor fellow does not know the purpose for which I am here."

He then made a sign for Mousqueton to come to him.

"Sir," said the servant, "I have a favour to ask you."

"Speak out, my friend."

"I am afraid to do so. Perhaps you will think, sir, that prosperity has spoiled me?"

"Art thou happy, friend?" asked D'Artagnan.

"As happy as possible; and yet, sir, you may make me even happier than I am."

"Well, speak, if it depends on me."

"Oh, sir! It depends on you only."

"I listen -- I am waiting to hear."

"Sir, the favor I have to ask of you is, not to call me `Mousqueton' but `Mouston.' Since I have had the honor of being my lord's steward I have taken the last name as more dignified and calculated to make my inferiors respect me. You, sir, know how necessary subordination is in any large establishment of servants."

D'Artagnan smiled; Porthos wanted to lengthen out his names, Mousqueton to cut his short.

"Well, my dear Mouston," he said, "rest satisfied. I will call thee Mouston; and if it makes thee happy I will not `tutoyer' you any longer."

"Oh!" cried Mousqueton, reddening with joy; "If you do me, sir, such honor, I shall be grateful all my life; it is too much to ask."

"Alas!" thought D'Artagnan, "It is very little to offset the unexpected tribulations I am bringing to this poor devil who has so warmly welcomed me."

"Will monsieur remain long with us?" asked Mousqueton, with a serene and glowing countenance.

"I go tomorrow, my friend," replied D'Artagnan.

"Ah, monsieur," said Mousqueton, "then you have come here only to awaken our regrets."

"I fear that is true," said D'Artagnan, in a low tone.

D'Artagnan was secretly touched with remorse, not at inducing Porthos to enter into schemes in which his life and fortune would be in jeopardy, for Porthos, in the title of baron, had his object and reward; but poor Mousqueton, whose only wish was to be called Mouston -- was it not cruel to snatch him from the delightful state of peace and plenty in which he was?

He was thinking of these matters when Porthos summoned him to dinner.

"What! To dinner?" said D'Artagnan. "What time is it, then?"

"Eh! Why, it is after one o'clock."

"Your home is a paradise, Porthos; one takes no note of time. I follow you, though I am not hungry."

"Come, if one can't always eat, one can always drink -- a maxim of poor Athos, the truth of which I have discovered since I began to be lonely."

D'Artagnan, who as a Gascon, was inclined to sobriety, seemed not so sure as his friend of the truth of Athos's maxim, but he did his best to keep up with his host. Meanwhile his misgivings in regard to Mousqueton recurred to his mind and with greater force because Mousqueton, though he did not himself wait on the table, which would have been beneath him in his new position, appeared at the door from time to time and evinced his gratitude to D'Artagnan by the quality of the wine he directed to be served. Therefore, when, at dessert, upon a sign from D'Artagnan, Porthos had sent away his servants and the two friends were alone:

"Porthos," said D'Artagnan, "who will attend you in your campaigns?"

"Why," replied Porthos, "Mouston, of course."

This was a blow to D'Artagnan. He could already see the intendant's beaming smile change to a contortion of grief. "But," he said, "Mouston is not so young as he was, my dear fellow; besides, he has grown fat and perhaps has lost his fitness for active service."

"That may be true," replied Porthos; "but I am used to him, and besides, he wouldn't be willing to let me go without him, he loves me so much."

"Oh, blind self-love!" thought D'Artagnan.

"And you," asked Porthos, "haven't you still in your service your old lackey, that good, that brave, that intelligent ---what, then, is his name?"

"Planchet -- yes, I have found him again, but he is lackey no longer."

"What is he, then?"

"With his sixteen hundred francs -- you remember, the sixteen hundred francs he earned at the siege of La Rochelle by carrying a letter to Lord de Winter -- he has set up a little shop in the Rue des Lombards and is now a confectioner."

"Ah, he is a confectioner in the Rue des Lombards! How does it happen, then, that he is in your service?"

"He has been guilty of certain escapades and fears he may be disturbed." And the musketeer narrated to his friend Planchet's adventure.

"Well," said Porthos, "if any one had told you in the old times that the day would come when Planchet would rescue Rochefort and that you would protect him in it "

"I should not have believed him; but men are changed by events."

"There is nothing truer than that," said Porthos; "but what does not change, or changes for the better, is wine. Taste of this; it is a Spanish wine which our friend Athos thought much of."

At that moment the steward came in to consult his master upon the proceedings of the next day and also with regard to the shooting party which had been proposed.

"Tell me, Mouston," said Porthos, "are my arms in good condition?"

"Your arms, my lord -- what arms?"

"Zounds! My weapons."

"What weapons?"

"My military weapons."

"Yes, my lord; at any rate, I think so."

"Make sure of it, and if they want it, have them burnished up. Which is my best cavalry horse?"

"Vulcan."

"And the best hack?"

"Bayard."

"What horse dost thou choose for thyself?"

"I like Rustaud, my lord; a good animal, whose paces suit me."

"Strong, thinkest thou?"

"Half Norman, half Mecklenburger; will go night and day."

"That will do for us. See to these horses. Polish up or make some one else polish my arms. Then take pistols with thee and a hunting-knife."

"Are we then going to travel, my lord?" asked Mousqueton, rather uneasy.

"Something better still, Mouston."

"An expedition, sir?" asked the steward, whose roses began to change into lilies.

"We are going to return to the service, Mouston," replied Porthos, still trying to restore his mustache to the military curl it had long lost.

"Into the service -- the king's service?" Mousqueton trembled; even his fat, smooth cheeks shook as he spoke, and he looked at D'Artagnan with an air of reproach; he staggered, and his voice was almost choked.

"Yes and no. We shall serve in a campaign, seek out all sorts of adventures -- return, in short, to our former life."

These last words fell on Mousqueton like a thunderbolt. It was those very terrible old days that made the present so excessively delightful, and the blow was so great he rushed out, overcome, and forgot to shut the door.

The two friends remained alone to speak of the future and to build castles in the air. The good wine which Mousqueton had placed before them traced out in glowing drops to D'Artagnan a fine perspective, shining with quadruples and pistoles, and showed to Porthos a blue ribbon and a ducal mantle; they were, in fact, asleep on the table when the servants came to light them to their bed.

Mousqueton was, however, somewhat consoled by D'Artagnan, who the next day told him that in all probability war would always be carried on in the heart of Paris and within reach of the Chateau du Vallon, which was near Corbeil, or Bracieux, which was near Melun, and of Pierrefonds, which was between Compiegne and Villars-Cotterets.

"But -- formerly -- it appears," began Mousqueton timidly.

"Oh!" said D'Artagnan, "We don't now make war as we did formerly. Today it's a sort of diplomatic arrangement; ask Planchet."

Mousqueton inquired, therefore, the state of the case of his old friend, who confirmed the statement of D'Artagnan. "But," he added, "in this war prisoners stand a chance of being hung."

"The deuce they do!" said Mousqueton; "I think I should like the siege of Rochelle better than this war, then!"

Porthos, meantime, asked D'Artagnan to give him his instructions how to proceed on his journey.

"Four days," replied his friend, "are necessary to reach Blois; one day to rest there; three or four days to return to Paris. Set out, therefore, in a week, with your suite, and go to the Hotel de la Chevrette, Rue Tiquetonne, and there await me."

"That's agreed," said Porthos.

"As to myself, I shall go around to see Athos; for though I don't think his aid worth much, one must with one's friends observe all due politeness," said D'Artagnan.

The friends then took leave of each other on the very border of the estate of Pierrefonds, to which Porthos escorted his friend.

"At least," D'Artagnan said to himself, as he took the road to Villars-Cotterets, "at least I shall not be alone in my undertaking. That devil, Porthos, is a man of prodigious strength; still, if Athos joins us, well, we shall be three of us to laugh at Aramis, that little coxcomb with his too good luck."

At Villars-Cotterets he wrote to the cardinal:

"My Lord, -- I have already one man to offer to your eminence, and he is well worth twenty men. I am just setting out for Blois. The Comte de la Fere inhabits the Castle of Bragelonne, in the environs of that city."

title: Twenty Years After/Chapter 12


text:
The Country Faith

Here in the country's heart Where the grass is green, Life is the same sweet life As it e'er hath been.

Trust in a God still lives, And the bell at morn Floats with a thought of God O'er the rising corn.

God comes down in the rain, And the crop grows tall This is the country faith, And the best of all.

title: The Country Faith


text: Category:Mesoamerica

title: Category:Mesoamerica


text: Category:History of Central America

title: Category:History of Central America