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Rh restless on his mother’s knee, clambering with his hands at the light.

Mrs. Morel looked down at him. She had dreaded this baby like a catastrophe, because of her feeling for her husband. And now she felt strangely towards the infant. Her heart was heavy because of the child, almost as if it were unhealthy. or malformed. Yet it seemed quite well. But she noticed the peculiar knitting of the baby’s brows, and the peculiar heaviness of its eyes, as if it were trying to understand something that was pain. She felt, when she looked at the child’s dark, brooding pupils, as if a burden were on her heart.

“He looks as if he was thinking about something—quite sorrowful,” said Mrs. Kirk.

Suddenly, looking at him, the heavy feeling at the mother’s heart melted into passionate grief. She bowed over him, and a few tears shook swiftly out of her very heart. The baby lifted his fingers.

“My lamb!” she cried softly.

And at that moment she felt, in some far inner place of her soul, that she and her husband were guilty.

The baby was looking up at her. It had blue eyes like her own, but its look was heavy, steady, as if it had realized something that had stunned some point of its soul.

In her arms lay the delicate baby. Its deep blue eyes, always looking up at her unblinking, seemed to draw her innermost thoughts out of her. She no longer loved her husband; she had not wanted this child to come, and there it lay in her arms and pulled at her heart. She felt as if the navel string that had connected its frail little body with hers had not been broken. A wave of hot love went over her to the infant. She held it close to her face and breast. With all her force, with all her soul she would make up to it for having brought it into the world unloved. She would love it all the more now it was here; carry it in her love. Its clear, knowing eyes gave her pain and fear. Did it know all about her? When it lay under her heart, had it been listening then? Was there a reproach in the look? She felt the marrow melt in her bones, with fear and pain.

Once more she was aware of the sun lying red on the rim of the hill opposite. She suddenly held up the child in her hands.

“Look!” she said. “Look, my pretty!”

She thrust the infant forward to the crimson, throbbing

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38 sun, almost with relief. She saw him lift his little fist. Then she put him to her bosom again, ashamed almost of her impulse to give him back again whence he came.

“If he lives,” she thought to herself, “what will become of him—what will he be?’

Her heart was anxious.

“I will call him ‘Paul,’ ” she said suddenly; she knew not why.

After a while she went home. A fine shadow was flung over the deep green meadow, darkening all.

As she expected, she found the house empty. But Morel was home by ten o’clock, and that day, at least, ended peacefully.

Walter Morel was, at this time, exceedingly irritable. His work seemed to exhaust him. When he came home he did not speak civilly to anybody. If the fire were rather low he bullied about that; he grumbled about his dinner; if the children made a chatter he shouted at them in a way that made their mother’s blood boil, and made them hate him.

On the Saturday, he was not home by eleven o’clock, The baby was unwell, and was restless, crying if he were put down. Mrs. Morel, tired to death, and still weak, was scarcely under control.

“I wish the nuisance would come,” she said wearily to herself.

The child at last sank down to sleep in her arms. She was too tired to carry him to the cradle.

“But I’ll say nothing, whatever time he comes,” she said. “It only works me up; I won’t say anything. But I know if he does anything it’1l make my blood boil,” she added to herself.

She sighed, hearing him coming, as if it were something she could not bear. He, taking his revenge, was nearly drunk. She kept her head bent over the child as he entered, not wishing to see him. But it went through her like a flash of hot fire when, in passing, he lurched against the dresser, setting the tins rattling, and clutched at the white pot knobs for support. He hung up his hat and coat, then returned, stood glowering from a distance at her, as she sat bowed over the child.

“Is there nothing to eat in the house?” he asked, insolently, as if to a servant. In certain stages of his intoxication he affected the clipped, mincing speech of the towns. Mrs. Morel hated him most in this condition.


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Rh “You know what there is in the house,” she said, so coldly, it sounded impersonal.

He stood and glared at her without moving a muscle.

“I asked a civil question, and I expect a civil answer,” he said affectedly.

“And you got it,” she said, still ignoring him.

He glowered again. Then he came unsteadily forward. He leaned on the table with one hand, and with the other jerked at the table drawer to get a knife to cut bread. The drawer stuck because he pulled sideways. In a temper he dragged it, so that it flew out bodily, and spoons, forks, knives, a hundred metallic things, splashed with a clatter and a clang upon the brick floor. The baby gave a little convulsed start.

“What are you doing, clumsy, drunken fool?” the mother cried.

“Then tha should get the flamin’ thing thysen. Tha should get up, like other women have to, an’ wait on a man.”

“Wait on you—wait on you?” she cried. “Yes, I see myself.”

“Yis, an’ I’ll learn thee tha’s got to. Wait on me, yes, tha sh’lt wait on me——”

“Never, milord. I’d wait on a dog at the door first.”

“What—what?”

He was trying to fit in the drawer. At her last speech he turned round. His face was crimson, his eyes bloodshot. He stared at her one silent second in threat.

“P-h!” she went quickly, in contempt.

He jerked at the drawer in his excitement. It fell, cut sharply on his shin, and on the reflex he flung it at her.

One of the corners caught her brow as the shallow drawer crashed into the fireplace. She swayed, almost fell stunned from her chair. To her very soul she was sick; she clasped the child tightly to her bosom. A few moments elapsed; then, with an effort, she brought herself to. The baby was crying plaintively. Her left brow was bleeding rather profusely. As she glanced down at the child, her brain reeling, some drops of blood soaked into its white shawl; but the baby was at least not hurt. She balanced her head to keep equilibrium, so that the blood ran into her eye.

Walter Morel remained as he had stood, leaning on the table with one hand, looking blank. When he was sufficiently sure of his balance, he went across to her, swayed, caught hold of the back of her rocking-chair, almost tipping


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40 her out; then, leaning forward over her, and swaying as he spoke, he said, in tone of wondering concern:

“Did it catch thee?”

He swayed again, as if he would pitch on to the child. With the catastrophe he had lost all balance.

“Go away,” she said, struggling to keep her presence of mind.

He hiccoughed. “Let’s — let’s look at it,” he said, hiccoughing again.

“Go away!” she cried.

“Lemme—lemme look at it, lass.”

She smelled him of drink, felt the unequal pull of his swaying grasp on the back of her rocking-chair.

“Go away,” she said, and weakly she pushed him off.

He stood, uncertain in balance, gazing upon her. Summoning all her strength she rose, the baby on one arm. By a cruel effort of will, moving as if in sleep, she went across to the scullery, where she bathed her eye for a minute in cold water; but she was too dizzy. Afraid lest she should swoon, she returned to her rocking-chair, trembling in every fibre. By instinct, she kept the baby clasped.

Morel, bothered, had succeeded in pushing the drawer back into its cavity, and was on his knees, groping, with numb paws, for the scattered spoons.

Her brow was still bleeding. Presently Morel got up and came craning his neck towards her.

“What has it done to thee, lass?” he asked, in a very wretched, humble tone.

“You can see what it’s done,” she answered.

He stood, bending forward, supported on his hands, which grasped his legs just above the knee. He peered to look at the wound. She drew away from the thrust of his face with its great moustache, averting her own face as much as possible. As he looked at her, who was cold and impassive as stone, with mouth shut tight, he sickened with feebleness and hopelessness of spirit. He was turning drearily away, when he saw a drop of blood fall from the averted wound into the baby’s fragile, glistening hair. Fascinated, he watched the heavy dark drop hang in the glistening cloud, and pull down the gossamer. Another drop fell. It would soak through to the baby’s scalp. He watched, fascinated, feeling it soak in; then, finally, his manhood broke.

“What of this child?” was all his wife said to him. But her low, intense tones brought his head lower. She softened:


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Rh “Get me some wadding out of the middle drawer,” she said.

He stumbled away very obediently, presently returning with a pad, which she singed before the fire, then put on her forehead, as she sat with the baby on her lap.

“Now that clean pit-scarf.”

Again he rummaged and fumbled in the drawer, returning presently with a red, narrow scarf. She took it, and with trembling fingers proceeded to bind it round her head.

“Let me tie it for thee,” he said humbly.

“I can do it myself,” she replied. When it was done she went upstairs, telling him to rake the fire and lock the door.

In the morning Mrs. Morel said:

“I knocked against the latch of the coal-place, when I was getting a raker in the dark, because the candle blew out.” Her two small children looked up at her with wide, dismayed eyes. They said nothing, but their parted lips seemed to express the unconscious tragedy they felt.

Walter Morel lay in bed next day until nearly dinner-time. He did not think of the previous evening’s work. He scarcely thought of anything, but he would not think of that. He lay and suffered like a sulking dog. He had hurt himself most; and he was the more damaged because he would never say a word to her, or express his sorrow. He tried to wriggle out of it. “It was her own fault,” he said to himself. Nothing, however, could prevent his inner consciousness inflicting on him the punishment which ate into his spirit like rust, and which he could only alleviate by drinking.

He felt as if he had not the initiative to get up, or to say a word, or to move, but could only lie like a log. Moreover, he had himself violent pains in the head. It was Saturday. Towards noon he rose, cut himself food in the pantry, ate it with his head dropped, then pulled on his boots, and went out, to return at three o’clock slightly tipsy and relieved; then once more straight to bed. He rose again at six in the evening, had tea and went straight out.

Sunday was the same: bed till noon, the Palmerston Arms till 2.30, dinner, and bed; scarcely a word spoken. When Mrs. Morel went upstairs, towards four o’clock, to put on her Sunday dress, he was fast asleep. She would have felt sorry for him, if he had once said, “Wife, I’m sorry.” But no; he insisted to himself it was her fault. And so he broke himself. So she merely left him alone. There was this deadlock of passion between them, and she was stronger.


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42 The family began tea. Sunday was the only day when all sat down to meals together.

“Isn’t my father going to get up?” asked William.

“Let him lie,” the mother replied.

There was a feeling of misery over all the house. The children breathed the air that was poisoned, and they felt dreary. They were rather disconsolate, did not know what to do, what to play at.

Immediately Morel woke he got straight out of bed. That was characteristic of him all his life. He was all for activity. The prostrated inactivity of two mornings was stifling him.

It was near six o’clock when he got down. This time he entered without hesitation, his wincing sensitiveness having hardened again. He did not care any longer what the family thought or felt.

The tea-things were on the table. William was reading aloud from “The Child’s Own,” Annie listening and asking eternally “Why?” Both children hushed into silence as they heard the approaching thud of their father’s stockinged feet, and shrank as he entered. Yet he was usually indulgent to them.

Morel made the meal alone, brutally. He ate and drank more noisily than he had need. No one spoke to him. The family life withdrew, shrank away, and became hushed as he entered. But he cared no longer about his alienation.

Immediately he had finished tea he rose with alacrity to go out. It was this alacrity, this haste to be gone, which so sickened Mrs. Morel. As she heard him sousing heartily in cold water, heard the eager scratch of the steel comb on the side of the bowl, as he wetted his hair, she closed her eyes in disgust. As he bent over, lacing his boots, there was a certain vulgar gusto in his movement that divided him from the reserved, watchful rest of the family. He always ran away from the battle with himself. Even in his own heart’s privacy, he excused himself, saying, “If she hadn’t said so-and-so, it would never have happened. She asked for what she’s got.” The children waited in restraint during his preparations. When he had gone, the sighed with relief.

He closed the door behind him, and was glad. It was a rainy evening. The Palmerston would be the cosier. He hastened forward in anticipation. All the slate roofs of the Bottoms shone black with wet. The roads, always dark with coal-dust, were full of blackish mud. He hastened along. The Palmerston windows were steamed over. The passage


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Author:David Halyburton Low

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Rh was paddled with wet feet. But the air was warm, if foul, and full of the sound of voices and the smell of beer and smoke.

“What shollt ha’e, Walter?” cried a voice, as soon as Morel appeared in the doorway.

“Oh, Jim, my lad, wheriver has thee sprung frae?”

The men made a seat for him, and took him in warmly. He was glad. In a minute or two they had thawed all responsibility out of him, all shame, all trouble, and he was clear as a bell for a jolly night.

On the Wednesday following, Morel was penniless. He dreaded his wife. Having hurt her, he hated her. He did not know what to do with himself that evening, having not even twopence with which to go to the Palmerston, and being already rather deeply in debt. So, while his wife was down the garden with the child, he hunted in the top drawer of the dresser where she kept her purse, found it, and looked inside. It contained a half-crown, two halfpennies, and a sixpence. So he took the sixpence, put the purse carefully back, and went out.

The next day, when she wanted to pay the greengrocer, she looked in the purse for her sixpence, and her heart sank to her shoes. Then she sat down and thought: “Was there a sixpence? I hadn’t spent it, had I? And I hadn’t left it anywhere else?”

She was much put about. She hunted round everywhere for it. And, as she sought, the conviction came into her heart that her husband had taken it. What she had in her purse was all the money she possessed. But that he should sneak it from her thus was unbearable. He had done so twice before. The first time she had not accused him, and at the week-end he had put the shilling again into her purse. So that was how she had known he had taken it. The second time he had not paid back.

This time she felt it was too much. When he had had his dinner—he came home early that day—she said to him coldly:

“Did you take sixpence out of my purse last night?”

“Me!” he said, looking up in an offended way. “No, I didna! I niver clapped eyes on your purse.”

But she could detect the lie.

“Why, you know you did,” she said quietly.

“I tell you I didna,” he shouted. “Yer at me again, are yer? I’ve had about enough on’t.”


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44 “So you filch sixpence out of my purse while I’m taking the clothes in.”

“I’ll may yer pay for this,” he said, pushing back his chair in desperation. He bustled and got washed, then went determinedly upstairs. Presently he came down dressed, and with a big bundle in a blue-checked, enormous handkerchief.

“And now,” he said, “you’ll see me again when you do.”

“It’ll be before I want to,” she replied; and at that he marched out of the house with his bundle. She sat trembling slightly, but her heart brimming with contempt. What would she do if he went to some other pit, obtained work, and got in with another woman? But she knew him too well—he couldn’t. She was dead sure of him. Nevertheless her heart was gnawed inside her.

“Where’s my dad?” said William, coming in from school.

“He says he’s run away,” replied the mother.

“Where to?’

“Eh, I don’t know. He’s taken a bundle in the blue handkerchief, and says he’s not coming back.”

“What shall we do?” cried the boy.

“Eh, never trouble, he won’t go far.”

“But if he doesn’t come back,” wailed Annie.

And she and William retired to the sofa and wept. Mrs. Morel sat and laughed.

“You pair of gabeys!” she exclaimed. “You’ll see him before the night’s out.”

But the children were not to be consoled. Twilight came on. Mrs. Morel grew anxious from very weariness. One part of her said, it would be a relief to see the last of him; another part fretted because of keeping the children; and inside her, as yet, she could not quite let him go. At the bottom, she knew very well he could not go.

When she went down to the coal-place at the end of the garden, however, she felt something behind the door. So she looked. And there in the dark lay the big blue bundle. She sat on a piece of coal in front of the bundle and laughed. Every time she saw it, so fat and yet so ignominious, slunk into its corner in the dark, with its ends flopping like dejected ears from the knots, she laughed again. She was relieved.

Mrs. Morel sat waiting. He had not any money, she knew, so if he stopped he was running up a bill. She was very tired of him—tired to death. He had not even the courage to carry his bundle beyond the yard-end.

As she meditated, at about nine o clock, he opened the


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Rh door and came in, slinking, and yet sulky. She said not a word. He took off his coat, and slunk to his armchair, where he began to take off his boots.

“You’d better fetch your bundle before you take your boots off,” she said quietly.

“You may thank your stars I’ve come back to-night,” he said, looking up from under his dropped head, sulkily, trying to be impressive.

“Why, where should you have gone? You daren’t even get your parcel through the yard-end,” she said.

He looked such a fool she was not even angry with him. He continued to take his boots off and prepare for bed.

“I don’t know what’s in our blue handkerchief,” she said. “But if you leave it the children shall fetch it in the morning.

Whereupon he got up and went out of the house, returning presently and crossing the kitchen with averted face, hurrying upstairs. As Mrs. Morel saw him slink quickly through the inner doorway, holding his bundle, she laughed to herself; but her heart was bitter, because she had loved him.


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Rh 4.

But would you make our bosoms bleed,

And of no common pang complain—

If you would make us weep indeed,

Tell us, you'll read them o'er again. March 8, 1807. [First published, 1832.]

ON FINDING A FAN.

1.

In one who felt as once he felt,

This might, perhaps, have fann'd the flame;

But now his heart no more will melt,

Because that heart is not the same.

2.

As when the ebbing flames are low,

The aid which once improved their light,

And bade them burn with fiercer glow,

Now quenches all their blaze in night.

3.

Thus has it been with Passion's fires—

As many a boy and girl remembers—

While every hope of love expires,

Extinguish'd with the dying embers.


text: The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/To the Author of a Sonnet


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94 Here came, the rising fray to quell,

And, here, he falter'd forth his last farewell;

And, here, one night abroad they dared to roam,

While bold bravely staid at home;"

While thus they speak, the hour must soon arrive,

When names of these, like ours, alone survive:

Yet a few years, one general wreck will whelm

The faint remembrance of our fairy realm.

Dear honest race! though now we meet no more,

One last long look on what we were before—

Our first kind greetings, and our last adieu—

Drew tears from eyes unus'd to weep with you.

Through splendid circles, Fashion's gaudy world,

Where Folly's glaring standard waves unfurl'd,

I plung'd to drown in noise my fond regret,

And all I sought or hop'd was to forget:

Vain wish! if, chance, some well-remember'd face,

Some old companion of my early race,

Advanc'd to claim his friend with honest joy,

My eyes, my heart, proclaim'd me still a boy;

The glittering scene, the fluttering groups around,

Were quite forgotten when my friend was found;

The smiles of Beauty, (for, alas! I've known

What 'tis to bend before Love's mighty throne;)

The smiles of Beauty, though those smiles were dear,

Could hardly charm me, when that friend was near:

My thoughts bewilder'd in the fond surprise,


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254 4.

The first, though not a spark survive,

Some careful hand may teach to burn;

The last, alas! can ne'er survive;

No touch can bid its warmth return.

5.

Or, if it chance to wake again,

Not always doom'd its heat to smother,

It sheds (so wayward fates ordain)

Its former warmth around another. 1807. [First published, 1832.]

FAREWELL TO THE MUSE.

1.

Power! who hast ruled me through Infancy's days,

Young offspring of Fancy, 'tis time we should part;

Then rise on the gale this the last of my lays,

The coldest effusion which springs from my heart.

2.

This bosom, responsive to rapture no more,

Shall hush thy wild notes, nor implore thee to sing;

The feelings of childhood, which taught thee to soar,

Are wafted far distant on Apathy's wing.


text: The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/On Finding a Fan


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Rh The woods of danc'd before my eyes;

I saw the sprightly wand'rers pour along,

I saw, and join'd again the joyous throng;

Panting, again I trac'd her lofty grove,

And Friendship's feelings triumph'd over Love.

Yet, why should I alone with such delight

Retrace the circuit of my former flight?

Is there no cause beyond the common claim,

Endear'd to all in childhood's very name?

Ah! sure some stronger impulse vibrates here,

Which whispers friendship will be doubly dear

To one, who thus for kindred hearts must roam,

And seek abroad, the love denied at home.

Those hearts, dear, have I found in thee,

A home, a world, a paradise to me.

Stern Death forbade my orphan youth to share

The tender guidance of a Father's care;

Can Rank, or e'en a Guardian's name supply

The love, which glistens in a Father's eye?

For this, can Wealth, or Title's sound atone,

Made, by a Parent's early loss, my own?

What Brother springs a Brother's love to seek?

What Sister's gentle kiss has prest my cheek?

For me, how dull the vacant moments rise,

To no fond bosom link'd by kindred ties!

Oft, in the progress of some fleeting dream,

Fraternal smiles, collected round me seem;


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Rh 3.

Though simple the themes of my rude flowing Lyre,

Yet even these themes are departed for ever;

No more beam the eyes which my dream could inspire,

My visions are flown, to return,—alas, never!

4.

When drain'd is the nectar which gladdens the bowl,

How vain is the effort delight to prolong!

When cold is the beauty which dwelt in my soul,

What magic of Fancy can lengthen my song?

5.

Can the lips sing of Love in the desert alone,

Of kisses and smiles which they now must resign?

Or dwell with delight on the hours that are flown?

Ah, no! for those hours can no longer be mine.

6.

Can they speak of the friends that I lived but to love?

Ah, surely Affection ennobles the strain!

But how can my numbers in sympathy move,

When I scarcely can hope to behold them again?

7.

Can I sing of the deeds which my Fathers have done,

And raise my loud harp to the fame of my Sires?

For glories like theirs, oh, how faint is my tone!

For Heroes' exploits how unequal my fires!


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96 While still the visions to my heart are prest,

The voice of Love will murmur in my rest:

I hear—I wake—and in the sound rejoice!

I hear again,—but, ah! no Brother's voice.

A Hermit, 'midst of crowds, I fain must stray

Alone, though thousand pilgrims fill the way;

While these a thousand kindred wreaths entwine,

I cannot call one single blossom mine:

What then remains? in solitude to groan,

To mix in friendship, or to sigh alone?

Thus, must I cling to some endearing hand,

And none more dear, than social band.

! best and dearest of my friends,

Thy name ennobles him, who thus commends:

From this fond tribute thou canst gain no praise;

The praise is his, who now that tribute pays.

Oh! in the promise of thy early youth,

If Hope anticipate the words of Truth!

Some loftier bard shall sing thy glorious name,


text: Author talk:David Halyburton Low

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256 8.

Untouch'd, then, my Lyre shall reply to the blast—

'Tis hush'd; and my feeble endeavours are o'er;

And those who have heard it will pardon the past,

When they know that its murmurs shall vibrate no more.

9.

And soon shall its wild erring notes be forgot,

Since early affection and love is o'ercast:

Oh! blest had my Fate been, and happy my lot,

Had the first strain of love been the dearest, the last.

10.

Farewell, my young Muse! since we now can ne'er meet;

If our songs have been languid, they surely are few:

Let us hope that the present at least will be sweet—

The present—which seals our eternal Adieu. 1807. [First published, 1832.]

TO AN OAK AT NEWSTEAD.

1.

Oak! when I planted thee deep in the ground,

I hoped that thy days would be longer than mine;

That thy dark-waving branches would flourish around,

And ivy thy trunk with its mantle entwine.


text: The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/Farewell to the Muse


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Rh To build his own, upon thy deathless fame:

Friend of my heart, and foremost of the list

Of those with whom I lived supremely blest;

Oft have we drain'd the font of ancient lore,

Though drinking deeply, thirsting still the more;

Yet, when Confinement's lingering hour was done,

Our sports, our studies, and our souls were one:

Together we impell'd the flying ball,

Together waited in our tutor's hall;

Together join'd in cricket's manly toil,

Or shar'd the produce of the river's spoil;

Or plunging from the green declining shore,

Our pliant limbs the buoyant billows bore:

In every element, unchang'd, the same,

All, all that brothers should be, but the name.

Nor, yet, are you forgot, my jocund Boy!

, the harbinger of childish joy;

For ever foremost in the ranks of fun,

The laughing herald of the harmless pun;

Yet, with a breast of such materials made,

Anxious to please, of pleasing half afraid;


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Rh 2.

Such, such was my hope, when in Infancy's years,

On the land of my Fathers I rear'd thee with pride;

They are past, and I water thy stem with my tears,—

Thy decay, not the weeds that surround thee can hide.

3.

I left thee, my Oak, and, since that fatal hour,

A stranger has dwelt in the hall of my Sire;

Till Manhood shall crown me, not mine is the power,

But his, whose neglect may have bade thee expire.

4.

Oh! hardy thou wert—even now little care

Might revive thy young head, and thy wounds gently heal:

But thou wert not fated affection to share—

For who could suppose that a Stranger would feel?

5.

Ah, droop not, my Oak! lift thy head for a while;

Ere twice round yon Glory this planet shall run,

The hand of thy Master will teach thee to smile,

When Infancy's years of probation are done.


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98 Candid and liberal, with a heart of steel

In Danger's path, though not untaught to feel.

Still, I remember, in the factious strife,

The rustic's musket aim'd against my life:

High pois'd in air the massy weapon hung,

A cry of horror burst from every tongue:

Whilst I, in combat with another foe,

Fought on, unconscious of th' impending blow;

Your arm, brave Boy, arrested his career—

Forward you sprung, insensible to fear;

Disarm'd, and baffled by your conquering hand,

The grovelling Savage roll'd upon the sand:

An act like this, can simple thanks repay?

Or all the labours of a grateful lay?

Oh no! whene'er my breast forgets the deed,

That instant,, it deserves to bleed.

! on me thy claims are justly great:

Thy milder virtues could my Muse relate,


text:
Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/298

258 6.

Oh, live then, my Oak! tow'r aloft from the weeds,

That clog thy young growth, and assist thy decay,

For still in thy bosom are Life's early seeds,

And still may thy branches their beauty display.

7.

Oh! yet, if Maturity's years may be thine,

Though I shall lie low in the cavern of Death,

On thy leaves yet the day-beam of ages may shine,

Uninjured by Time, or the rude Winter's breath.

8.

For centuries still may thy boughs lightly wave

O'er the corse of thy Lord in thy canopy laid;

While the branches thus gratefully shelter his grave,

The Chief who survives may recline in thy shade.

9.

And as he, with his boys, shall revisit this spot,

He will tell them in whispers more softly to tread.

Oh! surely, by these I shall ne'er be forgot;

Remembrance still hallows the dust of the dead.

10.

And here, will they say, when in Life's glowing prime,

Perhaps he has pour'd forth his young simple lay,

And here must he sleep, till the moments of Time

Are lost in the hours of Eternity's day. 1807. [First published 1832.] ["Copied for Mr. Moore, Jan. 24, 1828."—Note by Miss Pigot.]


text: The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/To an Oak at Newstead


text:
Page:Weird Tales volume 36 number 02.djvu/2

If you have any of the symptoms that often go with that common scalp condition, infectious dandruff—itching, inflammation, flakes, scales—don't neglect them. If you do, you may regret it. Start this very day to give your hair and scalp antiseptic baths with Listerine Antiseptic

Listerine, the antiseptic which has been famous for more than 50 years as a mouthwash and gargle, kills millions of germs associated with the infectious type of dandruff. Yes—and it destroy, on contact, hosts of the insidious "bottle bacillus" which many leading specialists recognize as a caiuative agent of the condition.

lust look at the results of one series of clinical tests on men and women who used Listerine Antiseptic and massage twice a day... 76% of these showed either complete disappearance of or marked improvement in the symptoms of dandruff within 30 days.

It you have signs of an infections dandruff condition, get after them today with the treatment thousands follow.

, St. Louis, Mo.


text:
Page:Weird Tales volume 36 number 02.djvu/3

 Hf THOUGHT HgmSUCKSD- THEN A W OOT BILL A (POOD JOB/ I TrainidThese Men Before I completed jour leef- I obtained my Radio Broad - i-!,;i i" »?-- ■-■; h ■:.-"■:- : ft license and im- ■:.■■■ K-here I am now Chief Operator. HOI. LIS P. HAYSS, 327 Madi- son St., Lapeer, Michigan. Service Manager for Foer Storo I was working In a garage When I enrolled with N. R. I. I am now Badin Service Manager for the M Furniture Co. for their four stows. JAMBS B. RYAN, 119 Pebble Court. Pall Eiicr, Mi;i ^_ ....-„ JiO a Week Extra id Spare. Time doing spare time Radio ^Jlam averaging around year, Stuwe extra dollars V- the difference- . getting by ?i!.J living comfortably. JOHN ■'>. B7 New Cranberry, riailetun. Perms. In U. S. Signal Corns I am In the D. a. Aimy. Sig- nal Corps, as Chief Radio Clerk. My duties slso include maiotc- receiverr. T-hen ti.'i> G:iie( Radi'i On '■:■;> l.o r is absent. B. V,". AN- DERSON, Radio Station WTI, Yancouver Barracks. Washington. I WILL TRAIN YOU AT HOME in i/our spane time for a p^N GOOD JOB IN RADIO Here to a quick way to more pay. Radio offer* the chance to make $5, (10 a weal; ex- tra in spare time, a few month!" from now. There is an Increasing demand for hill time Radio Technicians and Radio Operators, too. Many make $30. £40. 150 a week. On top of record business, the Radio Industry is getting millions and millions of dollars in Defense. Orders. Clip the coupon below and mail it. Find out how I train you. for these oppor- tunities. Real Opportunities for Beginners to Learn then Earn Up to $50 a Ween Over SfiO broKdcastine stations in the TJ. K. etnpluy thousands of Radio Technicians with average pay among tbo country"* best paid industries. Repairing, servicing, selling tiorne and auto Radio receivera (thero are over 50.000,000 in use) gives good jobs to thou- sands. Many oilier RadioTechnicdausta&eftd- vantage of the opportunities to have their own pfrrlce or retail Radio businesses. Think of the many good pay jobs in connection witii Aviation, Commercial, Pol ice Radio and Public A-Idrpss Systems. N. R. I. gives you the re- oulrcd knowledge oft- Radio fur those ions. N. R. I. trains you to be ready when Televi- sion opens new jobs. Yes. Radio Technicians make good money because they use their heada ari well as thoir hands. They must be trained. Many are getting special ratings in the Army and Nary; extra rank and pay. J. E. SMITH. Pres. National Radio tost. Established 25 Year* Extra Pay in ^> ajj Army, Navy, Too Every man likely to gl service, every soldier, sailor, mail thf i'mw Now ! 1 helps men &<rt ostra rank, more interesting duty at pay up tn 6 times privatt'j or seaman's base pay, Also prepares for aood Radio Jobs aft« service ends. IT'S SMART TO TRAIN FOR RADIO SOY!. I'll Shew You Haw to Make !5. $10 a Week Extra In Spare Time While Learning Nearly every neighbor- hood offers opportuni- ties for a good part- time Radio Technician to make extra money < fixing Radio sets, I glvej you special training to' shew you how to start casisins tn on these op- ni?rtiuiirlas early. You get Radio parts and in- structioBS for fauUiIins te?t equipment, for conducting esperiTiSJils trial ..tie you valuable* practical esp^rjfsvr;. You alJ-u net a niodem Professional Radio .Servicing Instrument, ify fifty-fifty method— half working with Radio parts, half studying my lesson texts — makes learning Radio at home interesting, fasci- nating, practical. Find Out How I Train You for Good Pay in Radio Mail tlia coupon below. I'll send my fii-page book FREE. It tells ahout my Course: the typM of jobs in the different branches of Radio: shows letters from more than 100 of the men I trained so you can sen what they are doing, carmn^. MAIL Tra COCFON in an envelope or paste on a penny po&tal. J. E. SMITH. President Dept I KM, National Radio liwtihrtB Washington, D, C. SfO gg BOOK HIS SHOWN HUNDREDS '■« v~7tF, HiKC NOW TOMJKt GOOD MOHtr gS-M -■■>'; J. E. SMITH. President, Dept. 1KH National Radio Institute. WasJiinoton. D. C. Mall me FKBK, without obligation, vourfi4-page boo*, Howarda in Radio." (No salesman will call. Write plainly. Please mention Newsstand Fiction Unit when answering advertisements


text:
Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/139

Rh To thee, alone, unrivall'd, would belong

The feeble efforts of my lengthen'd song.

Well canst thou boast, to lead in senates fit,

A Spartan firmness, with Athenian wit:

Though yet, in embryo, these perfections shine,


text:
Page:Weird Tales volume 36 number 02.djvu/5

RY IT COME TIME. Concentrate intently upon another person seated in a room with you, without his noticing it. Observe him gradually become restless and finally turn and look in your direction. Simple—yet it is a positive demonstration that thought generates a mental energy which can be projected from your mind to the consciousness of another. Do you realize how much of your success and happiness in life depend upon your influencing others? Is it not important to you to have others understand your point of view—to be receptive to your proposals?

Demonstrable Facts

How many times have you wished there were some way you could impress another favorably—get across to him or her your ideas? That thoughts can be transmitted, received, and understood by others is now scientifically demonstrable. The tales of miraculous accomplishments of mind by the ancients are now known to be fact—not fable. The method whereby these things can be inten tionally, not accidentally, accomplished has been a secret long cherished by the Rosicrucians—one of the schools of ancient wisdom existing throughout the world. To thousands everywhere, for centuries, the Rosicrucians have privately taught this nearly-lost art of the practical use of mind power.

This Free Book Points Out the Way

The Rosicrucians (not a religious organisation) invite you to explore the powers of your mind. Their sensible. simple suggestions have caused intelligent men and women to soar to new heights of accomplishment. They will show you how to use your natural forces and talents to do things you now think are beyond your ability. Use the coupon below and send for a copy of the fascinating sealed free book, "The Secret Heritage," which explains how you may receive this unique wisdom and benefit by its application to your daily affairs.

mention when answering advertisements


text:
Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/299

Rh ON REVISITING HARROW.

1.

Here once engaged the stranger's view

Young Friendship's record simply trac'd;

Few were her words,—but yet, though few,

Resentment's hand the line defac'd.

2.

Deeply she cut—but not eras'd—

The characters were still so plain,

That Friendship once return'd, and gaz'd,—

Till Memory hail'd the words again.

3.

Repentance plac'd them as before;

Forgiveness join'd her gentle name;

So fair the inscription seem'd once more,

That Friendship thought it still the same.

4.

Thus might the Record now have been;

But, ah, in spite of Hope's endeavour,

Or Friendship's tears, Pride rush'd between,

And blotted out the line for ever. September, 1807. [First published in Moore's ''Life and Letters, etc''., 1830, i. 102.]


text: The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/On Revisiting Harrow


text:
Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/140

100 ! thy father's fame will soon be thine.

Where Learning nurtures the superior mind,

What may we hope, from genius thus refin'd;

When Time, at length, matures thy growing years,

How wilt thou tower, above thy fellow peers!

Prudence and sense, a spirit bold and free,

With Honour's soul, united beam in thee.

Shall fair, pass by unsung?

From ancient lineage, not unworthy, sprung:

What, though one sad dissension bade us part,

That name is yet embalm'd within my heart,

Yet, at the mention, does that heart rebound,

And palpitate, responsive to the sound;

Envy dissolved our ties, and not our will:

We once were friends,—I'll think, we are so still.

A form unmatch'd in Nature's partial mould,

A heart untainted, we, in thee, behold:


text:
Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/141

Rh Yet, not the Senate's thunder thou shalt wield,

Nor seek for glory, in the tented field:

To minds of ruder texture, these be given—

Thy soul shall nearer soar its native heaven.

Haply, in polish'd courts might be thy seat,

But, that thy tongue could never forge deceit:

The courtier's supple bow, and sneering smile,

The flow of compliment, the slippery wile,

Would make that breast, with indignation, burn

And, all the glittering snares, to tempt thee, spurn.

Domestic happiness will stamp thy fate;

Sacred to love, unclouded e'er by hate;

The world admire thee, and thy friends adore;—

Ambition's slave, alone, would toil for more.

Now last, but nearest, of the social band,

See honest, open, generous stand;


text:
Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/142

102 With scarce one speck, to cloud the pleasing scene,

No vice degrades that purest soul serene.

On the same day, our studious race begun,

On the same day, our studious race was run;

Thus, side by side, we pass'd our first career,

Thus, side by side, we strove for many a year;

At last, concluded our scholastic life,

We neither conquer'd in the classic strife:

As Speakers, each supports an equal name,

And crowds allow to both a partial fame;

To soothe a youthful Rival's early pride,

Though Cleon's candour would the palm divide,

Yet Candour's self compels me now to own,

Justice awards it to my Friend alone.

Oh! Friends regretted, Scenes for ever dear,

Remembrance hails you with her warmest tear!

Drooping, she bends o'er pensive Fancy's urn,

To trace the hours, which never can return;

Yet, with the retrospection loves to dwell,

And soothe the sorrows of her last farewell!

Yet greets the triumph of my boyish mind,

As infant laurels round my head were twin'd;


text:
Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/143

Rh When ' praise repaid my lyric song,

Or plac'd me higher in the studious throng;

Or when my first harangue receiv'd applause,

His sage instruction the primeval cause,

What gratitude, to him, my soul possest,

While hope of dawning honours fill'd my breast!


text:
Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/144

104 For all my humble fame, to him alone,

The praise is due, who made that fame my own.

Oh! could I soar above these feeble lays,

These young effusions of my early days,

To him my Muse her noblest strain would give,

The song might perish, but the theme might live.

Yet, why for him the needless verse essay?

His honour'd name requires no vain display:


text:
Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 1.djvu/145

Rh By every son of grateful blest,

It finds an echo in each youthful breast;

A fame beyond the glories of the proud,

Or all the plaudits of the venal crowd.

! not yet exhausted is the theme,

Nor clos'd the progress of my youthful dream.

How many a friend deserves the grateful strain!

What scenes of childhood still unsung remain!

Yet let me hush this echo of the past,

This parting song, the dearest and the last;

And brood in secret o'er those hours of joy,

To me a silent and a sweet employ,

While, future hope and fear alike unknown,

I think with pleasure on the past alone;

Yes, to the past alone, my heart confine,

And chase the phantom of what once was mine.

! still o'er thy hills in joy preside,

And proudly steer through Time's eventful tide:

Still may thy blooming Sons thy name revere,

Smile in thy bower, but quit thee with a tear;—

That tear, perhaps, the fondest which will flow,

O'er their last scene of happiness below:

Tell me, ye hoary few, who glide along,

The feeble Veterans of some former throng,

Whose friends, like Autumn leaves by tempests whirl'd,

Are swept for ever from this busy world;


text: The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/Childish Recollections


text:
Page:Darío - Eleven Poems.djvu/55

AGPIPES of Spain, ye that can sing That which is sweetest to us in the Spring! You first sing of gladness and then sing of pain As deep and as bitter as the billowed main.

Sing. 'Tis the season! As glad as the rain My verses shall trip ye a jig or a fling. Ecclesiastes said it again and again, All things have their season, O bagpipes of Spain!—

A season to plant, a season to reap; A season to sew, a season to tear; A season to laugh, a season to weep; Seasons for to hope and for to despair; A season to love, a season to mate; A season of birth, a season of Fate….

37]

title: Page:Darío - Eleven Poems.djvu/55


text: Page:Darío - Eleven Poems.djvu/54

title: Page:Darío - Eleven Poems.djvu/54


text:
We Take Care of Our Own

THE PRESIDENT: Thank you so much. Please, everybody, be seated. Good morning, everyone. Thank you, Secretary Shinseki, for a lifetime of service to our nation, and for being such a tireless advocate on behalf of America’s veterans, including your fellow Vietnam veterans. To Rick Delaney; to Vice President Biden; to Admiral Winnefeld; Major General Linnington; our outstanding veteran service organizations; our men and women in uniform –- Active, Guard and Reserve -- and most of all, to the proud veterans and family members joining us in this sacred place, it is truly a privilege and an honor to be with all of you here today.

Each year, on the eleventh day of the eleventh month, we pause –- as a nation, and as a people –- to pay tribute to you. To thank you. To honor you, the heroes, over the generations, who have served this country of ours with distinction. And moments ago, I laid a wreath to remember every service member who has ever worn our nation’s uniform. And this day, first and foremost, belongs to them and their loved ones: to the father and mother, the husband and wife, the brother and sister, the comrade and the friend who, when we leave here today, will continue to walk these quiet hills and kneel before the final resting place of those they cherished most.

On behalf of the American people, I say to you that the memory of your loved one carries on not just in your hearts, but in ours as well. And I assure you that their sacrifice will never be forgotten. For it is in that sacrifice that we see the enduring spirit of America. Since even before our founding, we have been blessed with an unbroken chain of patriots who have always come forward to serve. Whenever America has come under attack, you’ve risen to her defense. Whenever our freedoms have come under assault, you’ve responded with resolve. Time and again, at home and abroad, you and your families have sacrificed to protect that powerful promise that all of us hold so dear –- life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

Today, a proud nation expresses our gratitude. But we do so mindful that no ceremony or parade, no hug or handshake is enough to truly honor that service. For that, we must do more. For that, we must commit –- this day and every day -– to serving you as well as you’ve served us. When I spoke here three years ago, I spoke about today’s generation of service members. This 9/11 Generation who stepped forward after the towers fell, and in the years since, have stepped into history, writing one of the greatest chapters of military service our country has ever known. You toppled a dictator and battled an insurgency in Iraq. You pushed back the Taliban and decimated al-Qaeda in Afghanistan. You delivered justice to Osama bin Laden. Tour after tour, year after year, you and your families have done all that this country has asked –- you’ve done that and more.

Three years ago, I promised your generation that when your tour comes to an end, when you see our flag, when you touch our soil, you’ll be welcomed home to an America that will forever fight for you, just as hard as you’ve fought for us. And so long as I have the honor of serving as your Commander-in-Chief, that is the promise that we will never stop working to keep. This is the first Veterans Day in a decade in which there are no American troops fighting and dying in Iraq. Thirty-three thousand of our troops have now returned from Afghanistan, and the transition there is underway. After a decade of war, our heroes are coming home. And over the next few years, more than a million service members will transition back to civilian life. They’ll take off their uniforms and take on a new and lasting role. They will be veterans. As they come home, it falls to us, their fellow citizens, to be there for them and their families -- not just now but always; not just for the first few years, but for as long as they walk this Earth.

To this day, we still care for a child of a Civil War veteran. To this day, we still care for over a hundred spouses and children of the men who fought in the Spanish-American War. Just last year, I came here to pay tribute as Frank Buckles, the last remaining American veteran of World War I, was laid to rest. Frank stepped up and served in World War I for two years. But the United States of America kept its commitment to serve him for many decades that followed.

So long after the battles end, long after our heroes come home, we stay by their side. That’s who we are. And that’s who we’ll be for today’s returning service members and their families. Because no one who fights for this country overseas should ever have to fight for a job, or a roof over their head, or the care that they have earned when they come home.

We know the most urgent task many of you face is finding a new way to serve. That’s why we’ve made it a priority to help you find jobs worthy of your incredible skills and talents. That’s why, thanks to the hard work of Michelle and Jill Biden, some of our most patriotic businesses have hired or trained 125,000 veterans and military spouses. It’s why we’re transforming, for the first time in decades, how the military transitions service members from the battlefield to the workplace. And because you deserve to share in the opportunities you defend, we are making sure that the Post-9/11 GI Bill stays strong so you can earn a college education and pursue your dreams.

If you find yourself struggling with the wounds of war –- such as Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder or Traumatic Brain Injuries -– we’ll be there as well, with the care and treatment you need. No veteran should have to wait months or years for the benefits that you’ve earned, so we will continue to attack the claims backlog. We won’t let up. We will not let up. And as we mark the 50th anniversary of the Vietnam War, we have secured new disability benefits for Vietnam-era veterans exposed to Agent Orange. You needed it, you fought for it, and we got it done.

That’s what we do in America. We take care of our own. We take care of our veterans. We take care of your families. Not just by saluting you on one day, once a year, but by fighting for you and your families every day of every year. That’s our obligation –- a sacred obligation –- to all of you. And it’s an obligation that we gladly accept for Americans like Petty Officer Taylor Morris. Six months ago, Taylor was serving our nation in Afghanistan. And as a member of an Explosive Ordnance Disposal Team, his job was one of the most dangerous there is: to lead the way through territory littered with hidden explosives; to clear the way for his brothers-in-arms.

On May 3rd, while out on patrol, Taylor stepped on an IED. The blast threw him into the air. And when he hit the ground, Taylor realized that both his legs were gone. And his left arm. And his right hand. But as Taylor lay there, fully conscious, bleeding to death, he cautioned the medics to wait before rushing his way. He feared another IED was nearby. Taylor’s concern wasn’t for his own life; it was for theirs. Eventually, they cleared the area. They tended to Taylor’s wounds. They carried him off the battlefield. And days later, Taylor was carried into Walter Reed, where he became only the fifth American treated there to survive the amputation of all four limbs.

Now, Taylor’s recovery has been long. And it has been arduous. And it’s captivated the nation. A few months after the attack, with the help of prosthetics, the love and support of his family, and above all his girlfriend Danielle, who never left his side, Taylor wasn’t just walking again. In a video that went viral, the world watched he and Danielle dance again. I’ve often said the most humbling part of my job is serving as Commander-in-Chief. And one of the reasons is that, every day, I get to meet heroes. I met Taylor at Walter Reed. And then in July, at the White House, I presented him with the Purple Heart. And right now, hanging on a wall in the West Wing is a photo of that day, a photo of Taylor Morris smiling wide and standing tall.

I should point out that Taylor couldn’t make it here today because he and Danielle are out kayaking. (Laughter and applause.) In Taylor we see the best of America -- a spirit that says, when we get knocked down, we rise again. When times are tough, we come together. When one of us falters, we lift them up. In this country we take care of our own –- especially our veterans who have served so bravely and sacrificed so selflessly in our name. And we carry on, knowing that our best days always lie ahead. On this day, we thank all of our veterans from all of our wars – not just for your service to this country, but for reminding us why America is and always will be the greatest nation on Earth.

God bless you. God bless our veterans. God bless our men and women in uniform. And God bless these United States of America. Thank you very much.

title: We Take Care of Our Own


text:
Page talk:United States Statutes at Large Volume 1.djvu/374

The footnote regarding the private act does not appear on the reading page between chapter 19 and 20, possibly as it is not referenced as footnote in the text?


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Jermyn, Henry (1636-1708)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Jermyn, Henry (1767-1820)


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


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


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Jerome, Stephen


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Jerram, Charles


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


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Jervais, Thomas


text: Portal talk:Computer science

title: Portal talk:Computer science


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Jervas, Charles


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Jervis, John (1735-1823)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Jervis, John (1802-1856)


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Jervis, William Henley Pearson-


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Jervise, Andrew


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


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


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


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Jessop, Constantine


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Jeune, Francis


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


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


text:
Page:Catholic Encyclopedia, volume 2.djvu/256

BALBINA (Lequien, Oriens Christ., II, 923). From that time to the sixth century the names of three others are known. At the latter date it was a suffragan of Apamea, the metropolis of Syria Secunda. When Justinian established a new civil province, Theodorias, with Laodicea as metropolis, Balanoea was incorporated with it, but continued to depend ecclesiastically on Apamea, till it obtained the status of an exempt bishopric. This was its condition in the tenth century, when it was directly subject to the Patriarch of Antioch. The Crusaders created there a Latin see, of which a bishop is known about 1200 (Lequien, III, 1189); the river near by it served as a boundary between the Kingdom of Jerusalem and the principality of Antioch. The Franks called it Valania according to the Greek pronunciation, the Mussulmans Būlūnvoās. Owing to the unsafe conditions of the country the Latin bishop lived at Margat, a neighbouring castle of the Hospitallers. Balanæa, to-day called Banias, is a little village at the foot of the hill of Qalcat el-Marqab, between Tartous (Tortosa) and Latakia (Laodicea); it is the residence of the kaïmakam of the district. It numbers about 1,550 inhabitants, 1,200 Maronites, and 230 non-Catholic Christians; they cultivate chiefly onions, olive-trees, and very good tobacco. The roadstead is excellent, but is visited only by small boats.

.

 Balbina, .—Memorials of a St. Balbina are to be found at Rome in three different spots which are connected with the early Christian antiquities of that city. In the purely legendary account of the martyrdom of St. Alexander (Acta SS., Maii, I, 367 sqq.) mention is made of a tribune Quirinus who died a martyr and was buried in the catacomb of Prætextatus on the Via Appia. His grave was regarded with great veneration and is referred to in the old itineraries (guides for pilgrims) of the Roman catacombs. Tradition said that his daughter Balbina, who had been baptized by St. Alexander and had passed her life unmarried, was buried after death near her father in the same catacomb. The feast of St. Balbina is celebrated 31 March. Usuardus speaks of her in his martyrology; his account of St. Balbina rests on the record of the martyrdom of St. Alexander. There is another Balbina whose name was given to a catacomb (cœm. Balbinæ) which lay between the Via Appia and the Via Ardeatina not far from the little church called Domine quo vadis. Over this cemetery a basilica was erected in the fourth century by Pope Mark. There still exists on the little Aventine in the city itself the old title of St. Balbina, first mentioned in an epitaph of the sixth century and in the signatures to a Roman council (595) of the time of Pope Gregory I. This church was erected in a large ancient hall. Its titular saint is supposed to be identical with the St. Balbina who was buried in the catacomb of Pra?textatus and whose bones together with those of her father were brought here at a later date. It is not certain, however, that the two names refer to the same person.

.

 Balbinus,, a Jesuit historian of Bohemia, b. 4 December, 1621, at Königgrätz, of an ancient noble family; d. 29 November, 1688, at Prague. His entire life was devoted to collecting and editing the materials of Bohemian history, and his researches have often been utilized by the Bollandists. He wrote over thirty works, the most important of which is a "Miscellanea Historica regni Bohemiæ" or "Miscellany of Bohemian history" (6 vols., Prague, 1679–87) in which he described the chief historical events of his native land, its natural history, the genealogies of its nobles, lives of prominent Bohemians, etc. He wrote also in Latin an "Apology for the Slavic and especially the Bohemian tongue". Balbinus was the first to edit the ancient vernacular chronicle known as the "Life of St. Ludmilla and Martyrdom of St. Wenceslas", a new edition of which was published in 1902 by Dr. PekárPekař [sic] and is by him held to be a text of the tenth century, and therefore "the oldest historical work written in Bohemia and by a Bohemian". Balbinus wrote also "De archiepiscopis Bohemia" (Prague, 1682) and "Bohemia Sancta, sive de Sanctis Bohemiæ, Moraviæ, Silesiæ, Lusatiæ" (ibid,, 1682).

.

 Balboa,, discoverer of the Pacific Ocean from the west coast of Central America, b. in Spain, 1475, either at Badajoz or at Jerez de los Caballeros; d. at Darien, 1517. He went to Central America in 1500 with Rodrigo de Bastidas and thence, in secret, with Martín Fernández de Enciso to Cartagena. The story that he got aboard either in an empty barrel or wrapped up in a sail may be true. He soon assumed an important role among the participants of the expedition, and settled Darien in 1509. Then he proclaimed himself governor, and sent both Enciso and Nieuesa away. From Darien he undertook, with a few followers, the hazardous journey across the Isthmus that led to the discovery of the Pacific Ocean, 25 September, 1513, and established beyond all doubt the continental nature of America. The appointment in 1514 of Pedrarias Dávila (see ) as governor of the regions discovered and partly occupied by Balboa, and his appearance on the coast of Darien with a large armament, at once gave rise to trouble. Arias was an aged man of mediocre attainments, jealous, deceitful, and vindictive. Balboa was generous, careless, and over-confident in the merits of his achievements, and was no match for the intrigues that forthwith began against him. To mask his sinister designs Arias gave one of his daughters to Balboa in marriage. The latter was allowed to continue his explorations while Arias and the Licentiate Caspar de Espinosa were slowly tightening a net of true and false testimony around him, under cover of the inevitable Residencia, The Crown gave Balboa the title of Adelantado of the South Sea, Governor of Coyba and of what subsequently became the district of Panama, but Arias and his agents understood how to reduce these titles to empty honours. Quevedo, Bishop of Castilla del Oro, was Balboa's sincere friend and assisted him, but with Quevedo's departure for Spain the case was lost. Fearful lest the bishop's appeal for his friend might result against Arias and his party, the Residencia was at once converted into criminal proceedings, death sentence hastily pronounced, and Balboa beheaded for high treason in 1517 at Darien. One of the main pretexts for the sentence was Balboa's action towards Enciso and Nieuesa. Balboa has been credited by most authors with having been first to hear of Peru. This is incorrect. In his few attempts at exploring the coast of southern Panama he heard only of Indian tribes of northern or north-western Colombia.

, Historia general y natural de las Indias (Madrid, 1850); Documentos inéditos de Indias (various letters and reports):, Historia general de las Indias (Medina del Campo, 1553, Zaragoza, 1555); , Relación de los sucesos de Pedrarias Dávila, in , Colección de los viajes y descubrimientos (Madrid. 1829), III, tr. Markham in the Hakluyt Society's publications (1865);, Voyages and Discoveries of the Companions of Columbus (London, 1831); , Vidas de españoles


text: The Ecclesiastical History of Eusebius Pamphilus


text:
Author:Eusebius

 * Eusebius Pamphili, bishop of Caesarea ( 263 – 339 )
 * Eusebius (Pope) ( ?? – 310 )

title: Author:Eusebius


text: The Ecclesiastical History of Eusebius Pamphilus/Contents


text: The Ecclesiastical History of Eusebius Pamphilus/Notice


text:
Author:Jeff Berryman

Works

 * "The Paging Game" (1974), a humorous article that describes an imaginary game that is played by the same rules that govern the virtual memory paging process that many computer systems use to "stretch" the effective sizes of their memories. [[Image:75%.svg]]

title: Author:Jeff Berryman


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Page:Pentagon-Papers-Part IV. A. 3.djvu/36

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

Political considerations were overriding. The JCS concession to consider training the Vietnamese for internal security alone coincided with deliberations in the Operations Coordinating Board over possible ways in which to strengthen the Diem regime. A crash program had been outlined by State, part of which was a limited interim training program recommended by the OCB. Admiral Radford, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, believed this would set in motion the long-range training program proposed by General O'Daniel in June; he still believed that program should not be adopted. But before the JCS could consider or suggest revisions to the OCB proposal, the National Security Council met on October 22 and approved a joint State–Defense message to Saigon authorizing Ambassador Donald Heath and O'Daniel to "collaborate in setting in motion a crash program designed to bring about an improvement in the loyalty and effectiveness of the Free Vietnamese Forces." The JCS were directed to recommend force levels necessary to "accomplish the military objective merely of the maintenance of internal security."

Responding on November 17, the JCS proposed a force of 89,085 at an estimated cost of $193.1 million for Fiscal Year 1956 and approximately $100 million for the remainder of FY 1955. To provide internal security and "in an attempt to stabilize the Diem government" the JCS suggested prompt reduction in force and prompt reassignment of selected personnel and units to maintain "the security of the legal government in Saigon and other major population centers," execute "regional security operations in each province" and perform "territorial pacification missions." Later, military centers would be established for reorganization and training of the military.

The Chiefs expressed serious reservations about the probability of Vietnamese — and American — success. First,

"the chaotic internal political situation within Vietnam is such that there is no assurance that the security forces visualized herein can be developed into loyal and effective support for the Diem Government, or, if developed, that these forces will result in political and military stability within South Vietnam. Unless the Vietnamese themselves show an inclination to make individual and collective sacrifices required to resist communism, which they have not done to date, no amount of external pressure and assistance can long delay complete Communist victory in South Vietnam."

Secondly, "the cooperation and collaboration of the French MAAG" is vital to effective execution of the program — and the JCS doubted that support would be readily offered. Finally, the Chiefs cautioned, Rh


text:
The New International Encyclopædia/Hake, Karl von

HAKE, hä'ke, (1768-1835). A German soldier, born at Flatow in Brandenburg. He began his military career as an ensign in the guards, took psrt in the battles connected with the French Revolution, in 1809 was appointed to a post in the War Ministry, and in 1810 became chief of the War Department. In 1813 he attracted much attention by his efficient preparations for war, subsequently commanded a brigade in Bülow's corps with rank of major-general, and took a distinguished part in the battle of Waterloo. From 1819 to 1833 he was Minister of War, in which capacity he carried out important schemes of reorganization.


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Declassified per Executive Order 13526, Section 3.3 NND Project Number: NND 63316. By: NWD Date: 2011 TOP SECRET – Sensitive "the above program does not provide adequate security for the Associated States against external aggression after the withdrawal of the French forces. With the Viet Minh increasing the size and effectiveness of their forces and with no forces in being committed to mutual defense under the Southeast Asia Collective Defense Treaty, the above long-range program would be insufficient to provide more than limited initial resistance to an organized military assault by the Viet Minh."

 * f.

Another memorandum of November 17 indicated how quickly the United States had moved to inaugurate the crash program approved at the October 22 NSC meeting. Secretary Dulles outlined for President Eisenhower the recommendations of General J. Lawton Collins, special envoy sent to Vietnam to over-see all U.S. operations, coordinate them with French programs and get things moving. Collins recommended the the "Vietnamese National Army...be reduced by July 1955 to 77,000. It should be placed under Vietnamese command and control by that date....The cost to the U.S. would be two hundred million dollars annually....The United States should assume training responsibility...by January 1, 1955, with French cooperation and utilizing French trainers."

Collins insisted that French forces be retained in Vietnam:

"t would be disastrous if the French Expeditionary Corps were withdrawn prematurely since otherwise Vietnam would be overrun by an enemy attack before the Manila Pact Powers could act."

To "encourage the French to retain sufficient forces," Collins urged U.S. financial support of at least $100 million through December 1955 General Ely concurred.

 * 2.

The situation in Vietnam during the autumn of 1954 invited an action program of some kind — any kind. Premier Diem barely controlled Saigon; he was opposed by his army's chief of staff, by powerful sect politicians guarding significant special interests with powerful sect armies; he was at least tacitly opposed by many French in Vietnam. The countryside had been devastated by the war; communications, administration and financial operations were stalled; an already prostrate economy was threatened by the deluge of some 860,000 refugees from the north. Over all hung "an atmosphere of frustration and disillusionment" created by the Geneva Accords and imposed partition, "compounded by widespread uncertainty as to French and US intentions." U.S. policy in August set out to correct the uncertainty: Diem was to be supported by both America and France. But U.S. policy could not eliminate Diem's opposition. Rh


text: Category:Christian theology

title: Category:Christian theology


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

General Nguyen Van Hinh, Chief of Staff of the Vietnamese National Army, was the first coup-plotter to rise and first to fall. September threats of a military revolt were first staved off by the mediation of U.S. Ambassador Donald Heath and General Ely (who doubted Diem's capacity to lead but worked to prevent his violent downfall). Then Diem uncovered a coup plot, arrested some Hinh supporters, removed the general from command and ordered him out of the country. Hinh refused to leave and continued his machinations against the government. Plans for one coup in October were dropped when Hinh was told revolt would mean automatic termination of U.S. aid. Another scheduled for October 26 was foiled when Colonel E. G. Lansdale, head of the Saigon Military Mission and chief CIA man on the scene, lured two key subordinates out of the country. Lansdale invited Hinh and staff to visit the Philippines. Hinh unhappily declined but his supporters — one of whom allegedly was a French agent — could not resist the chance to see the inner workings of the Magsaysay-led, U.S.-supported operation against Huk insurgents. Finally, in November, Bao Dai was persuaded by America and France to intervene on Diem's behalf. He did, ordered Hinh to report to Cannes, and on November 19, the general left the country. General Hinh enjoyed some French support in his anti-Diem activity. Ambassador Heath reported he received "quiet encouragement if not unofficial support" from many French officers and officials in Saigon and "at the working level in Paris." Hinh was also aided initially by the sects, later by the Binh Xuyen.

 * b.

The Cao Dai and Hoa Hao sects, basically religious groups with important political controls and interests as well as private, French-subsidized armies, worked with Hinh through early September. Then, spurred by the knowledge that precipitate action would jeopardize American aid, the sects agreed to work with Diem. Last minute threats and "heavy pressure" from French officials against coalition left sect leaders "dizzy" but they recovered sufficiently to accept cabinet positions on September 24. Shaky to begin with, the coalition never worked: Diem refused to delegate responsibility to his eight new ministers and they soon tired of trying to work through the government.

 * c.

The Binh Xuyen, too, considered joining the coalition but pulled out when Diem refused to name Binh Xuyen leader, "a colorful brigand named Le Van (Bay) Vien" Minister of the Interior. Bay Vien had forged a motley group of small-time gangsters into a fairly sophisticated organization of 6000 big-time gangsters and river pirates, and Rh


text: Category:Christianity in East Asia

title: Category:Christianity in East Asia


text: Category:Gnosticism

title: Category:Gnosticism


text: Category:Presbyterianism

title: Category:Presbyterianism


text:
The New International Encyclopædia/Hakim ibn Allah

HAKIM IBN ALLAH, hä'kīm ĭbn ȧl'lȧ, also called, ‘the veiled.’ Founder of a Mohammedan sect in the eighth century, and leader of a revolt against Mahdi, the third Abbaside Caliph. He came from Merv in Khorassan and began his career as a private soldier, soon became captain, and subsequently headed a band of his own. In one of his fights he lost an eye, and henceforth wore a veil. Hakim's religious teaching was that God enters the body of men at various times—e.g. Adam and Noah—and that He had entered his body. He claimed to perform miracles and is said on one occasion to have caused the moon to appear out of a wall; hence he is sometimes called ‘moon-maker.’ His alleged miracles gained him numerous adherents and with them he captured many strongholds. For a time the armies sent against him were defeated, but finally Mahdi dispatched Said al-Harashi, who took city after city, and compelled Hakim to withdraw to Kash, where he was surrounded. In this predicament Hakim poisoned his soldiers and burned himself to death. The story of the veiled prophet has been put into poetical form by Moore in Lalla Rookh. Consult Weil, Geschichte der islamitischen Völker (Stuttgart, 1866).


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Rh

"Avoir, avant, avu—that's how it goes! That's right, my boy; avoir, avant."

The whole class could see clearly that the master was lost in thought. He was pacing up and down, with long steps and half-closed eyes, gesticulating from time to time, as he kept repeating the ill-used auxiliary. On the upper benches the boys began to titter, and those on the lower ones, who had not such a fine ear for the French verbs, soon caught the infection; while the unhappy wretch who was undergoing examination, sat trembling lest the master should notice his wonderful method of conjugating the verb. This unfortunate being was Gabriel Garman, the Consul's younger son. He was a tall, slender boy of about fifteen or sixteen, with a refined face, prominent nose, and upright bearing.

Gabriel was sitting in the lower half of the class, which was, in the opinion of the master, a great disgrace for a boy of his ability. He was, however, a curious, wayward boy. In some things, such as arithmetic and mathematics generally, he distinguished himself; but in Greek and Latin, which were considered the

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26 most important part of his education, he showed but little proficiency, although he was destined for a university career.

At last the general mirth of the class burst out in sundry half-stifled noises, which roused the master from his reverie, and he again resumed the book, to continue the examination. As ill luck would have it, he once more repeated, "Avoir, avant," and then half abstractedly, "avu." "Ah, you young idiot!" cried he, in a discordant voice, "can't you manage avoir yet? Whatever is to become of you?"

"Merchant," answered Gabriel, bluntly.

"What do you say? You dare to answer your master? Are you going to be impertinent? I'll teach you! Where's the persuader?" and the master strode up to his seat, and, diving down into his desk, began routing about in it.

At this moment the passage door opened, and an extraordinary and most unscholarly looking head intruded itself into the room. The head had a red nose, and wore a long American goat's-beard and a blue seaman's cap. "Are you there?" said the head, addressing Master Gabriel in a half-drunken voice. "Is that where you are, poor boy? Bah! what an atmosphere! I only just came in to tell you to come down to the ship-yard when you get out of school; we are just beginning the planking."

He did not get any further, for at the sight of the long-legged master, who stalked down from the desk, quite scandalized at this disturbance of order, the head suddenly stopped in its harangue, and with a

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Rh hearty, "Well, I'm blest! what a ghost!" disappeared, closing the door after it.

It did not take very much to provoke the laughter of the boys, and when at the same moment the bell rang to announce that the school-hour was over, the class broke up in confusion, and the master hastened, fuming with rage, to complain to the rector.

Gabriel hurried off as fast as he could, in hopes of catching up his friend who had caused the disturbance, but he had already disappeared; he had probably gone down to the town to continue his libations. This friend was a foreman shipwright, who, since his return from America, had borne the name of Tom Robson. His real name when he left home was Thomas Robertsen, but it had got changed somehow in America, and he kept to it as it was.

Tom Robson was the cleverest foreman on the whole west coast but his drinking propensities tried to the utmost both the patience and the firmness of his employers. He had already built several vessels for Garman and Worse, but he was determined that the one he was now superintending at Sandsgaard should be his masterpiece.

This vessel was of about nine hundred tons burden, and was the largest craft that had been built at that port up to the present time, and Consul Garman had given orders that nothing should be spared to make it a model of perfection.

Tom Robson was thus only able to get drunk by fits and starts, which he did when they came to any important epoch in the building. On that day, for

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28 instance, the time had just arrived for beginning to lay the planking upon the timbers.

As Gabriel neither found his friend nor saw anything of the carriage from Sandsgaard, which generally met him on his way from school, he set off to walk homewards, down the long avenue which led to the family property. It was a good half-hour's walk, and while he sauntered along, swinging his heavy burden of the books he so cordially hated, he was lost in gloomy thought. Every day, on his way from school, he met the younger clerks going to their dinner in the town. They looked tired and weary, it is true; still, he envied them their permission to sit working the whole day in the office—a paradise with which he, although his father's son, had no connection whatever. He was obliged to confine his energy to the building-yard, where there were plenty of hiding places, and where the Consul was seldom seen of an afternoon. The ship on the stocks was at once his joy and his pride; he crept all over her, inside and out, above and below, scrutinizing every plank and every nail. At length he had begun to have quite a knowledge of the art of ship-building, and had gained the friendship of Tom Robson, Anders Begmand, and the other shipwrights. The ship was to fee the finest the town had yet produced, and when this fact came into his thoughts it almost enabled him to forget his burden of Greek and Latin.

From conversations he had partly overheard at home, Gabriel knew that there had been a difference of opinion between his father and Morten, the eldest

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Rh son, who was a partner in the firm, ever since the building of this ship was first mentioned.

Morten maintained that they ought to buy an iron steamer in England, either on their own account or in partnership with some of the other houses of the town. He insisted, particularly, that the time could not be far distant when sailing ships would be entirely superseded by steamers. But the father held by sailing ships on principle; and, moreover, the idea that Garman and Worse should have anything in common with the mushroom houses of the town was to him quite unbearable. In the end, the will of the elder prevailed; the ship was built of their own materials, in their own ship-yard, and by the workmen who from generation to generation had worked for Garman and Worse.

When Gabriel reached the point from which he could see down into the bay on which lay the property of Sandsgaard, the ship was the first thing which caught his eye. She stood on the slip below the house, and he could not help remarking the beauty of her bow, and the elegant rake of her stern. It was the dinner-hour, and all the workmen were either at home, in the cottages which stretched along the west side of the bay, or lay asleep among the shavings. As he stood on the crest of the rising ground, which sloped gradually down towards the buildings, and gazed at all these dominions, which from time out of mind had belonged to Garman and Worse, Gabriel became more and more out of spirits.

There lay the old-fashioned house, with white

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30 painted walls, and its blue slate roof, which was adorned by dormers and gables. In front of the house, on its southern side, lay the garden, with its paths and clipped hedges, and the little pond half overgrown by sedge and thick bushes. On the northern side, towards the sea, he could discern the carriage drive, and the extensive level yard with the ancient lime tree standing in the middle of it. Beyond that came four warehouses standing in a row, all painted yellow, with brown doors; and further on still, close down to the innermost curve of the bay, was the building-yard. Higher up, on the road which led to the southward along the coast, lay the farm, as it was called. This consisted of a byre, the bailiff's house, and other buildings; for the property of Sandsgaard was extensive, and comprised a mill, a dairy, and such like.

That part of the property had never had much interest for Gabriel, but all the same, if he had only been allowed to be a farmer, he could have turned his attention to agriculture, and still have been near the counting-house, the ships, and the sea; but he was destined for the university, and there was no possibility of escape.

It was not easy to persuade Consul Garman. His father had brought up his elder son to the business, and sent the younger to the university, and he was determined to do the same. The thought sometimes occurred to the wilful Gabriel, that Uncle Richard had had but a poor return from his university career, but he did not dare to express his thoughts openly.

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Rh Mrs. Garman believed firmly that it was most desirable, as a cure for self-will, that a young man should battle against his inclinations; nothing could be more baneful than pampering the flesh. No help, then, was to be expected from any quarter.

Gabriel was sauntering down the alley, quite crest-fallen under his heavy burden of books, when at some distance his eye caught sight of some one on horse-back, whom he soon recognized, and who was coming along the road behind the farm. It was Uncle Richard on Don Juan.

Gabriel started off at once, forgetting in a moment his heavy burden of books and care, and thinking only on the merriment and good cheer which Uncle Richard always brought with him. He determined to hasten off to the kitchen to tell Miss Cordsen, and then to go in to his father; for Gabriel knew well that the bearer of the news of his uncle's arrival was always welcome.

"Lord save us!" cried Miss Cordsen. "Make up the fire, Martha;" and off she ran to get a clean cap.

"All right, my boy!" said Consul Garman, giving Gabriel a friendly nod.

Gabriel was well pleased at the effect of his intelligence. He had actually surprised Miss Cordsen into an impropriety, in which he seldom succeeded; and his father, who was generally undemonstrative, had greeted him with more than usual warmth.

The young Consul, as he was generally called from the time when his father, the old Consul, was alive, was not so tall as his younger brother, and

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32 while the latter had grown stouter in the course of years, the former seemed to have got thinner and smaller. His hair was smooth, thin, and slightly grey, carefully brushed so as to make the most of it. His eyes were keen, and of a light blue colour; and his lower jaw was somewhat prominent. Smoothly shaved and well brushed, with stiff white neckcloth, shining boots, and silver-headed cane, there was something about his whole appearance which told of prosperity. Every word, every movement, even the peculiarly characteristic one with which he adjusted his chin in his stiff neckcloth, was the picture of propriety and precision. Precision was, in fact, a word which seemed made for the young Consul; both his appearance and his career reflected it to the uttermost fibre.

With his extensive business and large fortune, Consul Garman had also inherited a boundless admiration and respect for his father, Morten W. Garman, the old Consul, who had come into the property of Sandsgaard at a time when it was of little value, and considerably encumbered by debts, and when the business itself was in rather a confused condition. In order to keep the business afloat during the disastrous years of the war, Morten W. Garman took into partnership a rich old skipper, by name Jacob Worse, from whence sprang the name of the firm. Thanks to old Worse's money, life came again into the tottering business, and Garman great ability made the firm, in a few years, one of the most important on the west coast. But when old Worse died, and his son took his place in the firm,

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Rh it was soon evident that Morten Garman and young Worse would not be able to work together. Under a friendly arrangement, therefore, Worse retired with a considerable fortune, while Garman retained the business and the old family property of Sandsgaard.

It was from that time that the great wealth of the Garmans really dated, while Worse in a few years squandered his money and died insolvent.

It was whispered that Worse had left the business rather hastily, just as the good times were beginning, but that was the usual luck of the Garmans.

At first it looked as if Worse's widow and son, who carried on a small business in the town, would work themselves up again, and this was especially the case in recent years. Whatever might be the opinion as to the arrangement between Garman and Worse, no one could ever accuse Morten Garman of any want of straightforwardness in his business arrangements; and his son Christian Frederick followed closely in his steps, observing always the maxim, "What would father have done under the circumstances?"

All went on thus prosperously and uniformly, until the young Consul began to get old, and his elder son Morten came home from abroad and became a partner in the firm. From that time many changes showed themselves. The son had his head full of new foreign ideas; he was all for rushing about, writing and telegraphing, ordering and counter-ordering—a course of action that was quite foreign to Garman and Worse's mode of procedure.

"Let them come to us," said the Consul.

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34 "No, my dear father," answered Morten. "Don't you see that the times are leaving you behind? It's of no use in these days to sit still; you must keep your eyes open, or else run the risk of losing the best of the business, and get nothing but just the residue."

Morten so far prevailed that the Consul was at length obliged to let him set up an office in the town, but under his own name; for Garman and Worse were still to be found only at Sandsgaard, and there those who wished to do business with the firm had to betake themselves.

Meanwhile a considerable amount of business passed through Morten's office in the town. This did not altogether please the Consul, but he felt bound to uphold his son, which was what his father had always done, and the firm thus became mixed up in many transactions which the father would never have cared to enter upon.

To the clerks the young Consul was a being of quite another sphere. Every head was bowed to him when ever he passed through the office, and each one seemed to feel that the cold blue eyes penetrated everything and everywhere—books, accounts, and letters, even into their own private secrets. It was believed that he knew every page in the ledger, and that he could quote intricate accounts, column by column, and if there was even the slightest irregularity to be found anywhere, they would wager that it could not escape the young Consul's eye. The general conviction was, that if every creditor of the firm, or even the devil himself, should some day take it into his head to come

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Rh into the office, there would not be found even the slightest error in one of the ponderous and well-bound account books.

There was, however, one account which was a sealed book to them all, and that was the one of Richard Garman. No mortal eye had ever seen it. Some thought it might possibly be in the Consul's own red book; others thought that no such thing existed True it was undoubtedly, that the chief carried on personally all the correspondence with his brother; and, wonderful to relate, these letters were never copied. This was food for much speculation among the clerks, and at last they came to the conclusion that the young Consul did not wish any one to know in what relation Richard Garman stood to the firm.

One thing was plain, and confirmed by long experience, and that was, that the Consul attached great importance to the letters that came from his brother. He read them before the rest of the post, and if any one happened to come in when he was thus engaged, he always covered the correspondence with a sheet of paper. One of the younger clerks once asserted that he had seen a bill of exchange in one of the aforesaid letters, but the statement found but little credence in the office; for it was a recognized fact that not one single paper existed which bore Richard Garman's signature. Another story, which was even less worthy of credit, was one told by the office messenger, who stated that one day he had brought a letter from Bratvold, and that as he came in with the portfolio he had found the young Consul standing by the

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36, with a letter in one hand and two bills of exchange in the other, quite red in the face, and apparently bent double, as if he was on the point of choking. The messenger thought at first that it was a fit, but it was plain to the meanest understanding that there was not a word of truth in the story, for the messenger had the audacity to aver that he had heard the young Consul give vent to a short but unmistakable laugh. There was plainly a misapprehension somewhere; every one knew that the young Consul was unable to laugh.

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Page:Weird Tales volume 36 number 02.djvu/105

 leave his food at the door and when he does think to eat it, he sets the dishes outside the door again. He won't even let me talk to him. He won't see anyone, except Professor Shepard."

"Shepard!" exclaimed Hanley. "I didn't think he would have anything to do with Shepard."

A little shiver seemd to ripple through Susan Blythe. "I don't like Professor Shepard. His eyes—"

Hanley's face hardened, but he withheld his opinion of Professor Martin Shepard.

It would only have worried Susan Blythe more, for Hanley had been quite sure the last time he had seen Professor Shepard that the man was mad. That had been three years ago.

He said: "I'm surprised your father's taken up with Professor Shepard." Yet the moment the words were out, he realized that he wasn't surprised at all. Two weeks ago, he had quarreled with Professor Blythe. "All right," Blythe had snapped at him, "if you won't help me, I'll get someone who will."

A frown creased Hanley's forehead and Susan Blythe saw it. "It's true, then, what I've suspected. He's engaged in an experiment. Something—evil—?"

The girl's guess caused Hanley to blink in surprise. His difference with Professor Blythe had been because of something that might be construed by an outsider as—evil!

He took a step away from the arbor. "Perhaps I'd better talk to your father—"

"I want you to, but I want you to promise that you'll tell me what he's doing when you come out. Will you do that?"

Hanley bit his lower lip, uneasily, "I may be forced to give my word to him, in which case—"

"Don't promise him!" exclaimed Susan Blythe. "If it's unreasonable, don't promise anything. Please—!" Her eyes were bright with tears that threatened to cascade down her face.

"I'll try—" Hanley mumbled and then backed hurriedly away from her. He almost ran to the big English house.

LD Martha, grown gray in the service of the Blythes let him into the house. "Professor Blythe telephoned me to come and see him, Martha," Hanley told the housekeeper.

"Thank the lord!" breathed Martha. "Maybe you can make him stop that awful work he's doing."

"Awful, Martha?"

The housekeeper shuddered. "The smells that come from the lab'ratory. You'd think he was embalming some—"

Hanley left her in the hall. He hurried through the house to the door of the laboratory at the rear. When he reached it, he raised his fist and knocked loudly. He had to repeat the knock before an irascible voice inside, snapped: "What the devil do you want? I told you not to disturb me."

"It's Eric Hanley, Professor!"

Hanley heard an exclamation inside the laboratory, then after a moment the door was pulled inward.

The overpowering smell that struck Hanley caused him to reel back. Professor Blythe's lean hand reached through the aperture and catching Hanley's wrist pulled him into the room.

"Come in, come in," he snarled. "We haven't got all day."

"Ah," said another voice, "the brilliant young Egyptologist, Mr. Hanley!"

Hanley glowered at Professor Shepard, under whom he had studied twelve years before. Even then, Shepard had been eccentric. It was, in fact, but a year after Hanley's graduation from the university that Shepard himself had resigned—at the insistence of the university board, it was rumored at the time.


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Hardy, Mary Anne


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Hare, Thomas


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Hargraves, Edward Hammond


text:
User talk:W163

Welcome
Welcome

Hello, W163, and welcome to Wikisource! Thank you for. I hope you like the place and decide to stay. Here are a few good links for newcomers:
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Again, welcome! -- Cirt (talk) 00:18, 13 November 2012 (UTC)

No change to Author:Jeff Berryman
quoted from my talk page:

 * Earlier today you made a change to the Author:Jeff Berryman page that I created earlier in the day. The edit summary for your change read, "1974 = LEGAL ? ????????????????????". That is a little too cryptic for me. What are you asking or what point are you trying to make? --Jeff Ogden, W163 (talk) 03:15, 13 November 2012 (UTC)

Hello, W163. 1st, the only "change" I made was add a space. I wrote nothing and did nothing to the contents. Because we have many vandals, and some I have spotted, I wondered about the date of 1974 being okay for material posted. It's usually around 1923 that works are allowed. I posted about "Legal" with question marks so that administrators would see that and they would remove the material if it was not legal. I am familiar with most names on en.ws and was not familiar with the W163 when I saw the work posted. — William Maury Morris II  Talk 03:37, 13 November 2012 (UTC)

 * I've been contributing to Wikipedia since 2010, but this is my first contribution to Wikisource. The Paging Game article was written by Author:Jeff Berryman in 1974, but that shouldn't pose a problem because he has placed the article into the Public Domain. --Jeff Ogden, W163 (talk) 03:51, 13 November 2012 (UTC)

 * I started contributing to Wikipedia in 2006 and have been contributing books on Wikisource since 2009 but the W163 was not familiar to me. I was not aware the 1974 article was in PD so I posted about it in the manner you have seen. It was an alert to our administrators who would know if the article was in PD or not. I meant nothing against you personally. — William Maury Morris II  Talk 04:06, 13 November 2012 (UTC)

title: User talk:W163