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The New International Encyclopædia/Elijah

ELI'JAH (Heb. Eliyāhū, Yahweh is God; in the Greek form, occurring in the New Testament, Ἠλίας, Elias). A Hebrew prophet of an early type, who, however, helps to inaugurate the movement that leads to the triumph of ethical monotheism among the Hebrews. The story of Elijah is elaborately told, chiefly in connection with the reign of Ahab (I. Kings xvii.-xxi.), but also in connection with that of Ahab's successor, Ahaziah (II. Kings i.-ii.). This narrative is probably based, as is also the story of Elisha (Elijah's successor), on separate literary sources which lay before the compiler of Kings, and which contained a series of stories with legendary embellishments of the earlier prophets and seers that have been rather skillfully woven into the narrative of the kings of Israel and Judah. Elijah, whose home appears to have been in Gilead (though the reading I. Kings xvii. 1 is not certain), may be designated as a Yahweh purist, who resented the amalgamation of the Yahweh cult with the worship of the Canaanitish Baalim (see ), and whose fierce opposition was brought to a climax by Ahab's readiness, for political reasons, to introduce the cult of the Tyrian Baal into the domain of Israel. He represents the opposition to all Baal-worship brought to a focus through the step taken by Ahab in adding to the local Baal cults the worship of a Baal originally akin to the Canaanitish Baals, but who as the specific Baal of Tyre outside of Hebrew domain was introduced merely as a symbol of the alliance between Israel and the Tyrian kingdom that was brought about by

the marriage of Ahab with the Tyrian princess Jezebel.

Elijah is rather abruptly introduced by the writer as the uncompromising opponent of Ahab, to whom he declares that no rain or dew is to fall save at the Prophet's declaration. A famine ensues, during which time Elijah is miraculously fed by ravens. The famine increases, and at last Ahab is forced to yield and give his consent to a contest between Elijah and the prophets of Baal. The latter call upon Baal to send down the rain, but in vain. When Elijah, however, appeals to Yahweh, lightning comes to consume the bullock which the Prophet had placed on an altar soaked with water. By the order of Elijah, the prophets of Baal are slain at the brook Kishon, and rain is sent by Yahweh. Such is the general character of the Elijah stories, all intended to illustrate the superiority of Yahweh over other gods. Ahab is represented as again led astray by Jezebel, who continues the opposition to Elijah. At times the latter is portrayed nigh unto despair; but he is encouraged by Yahweh, who appears to him in the ‘rustling of the breezes,’ and while threatening destruction to Israel promises escape to those who do not bow the knee to Baal. Even though the story of his life as given in the Bible be considered as having legendary and mythical features, we see in Elijah one of the most striking figures in Hebrew history — one whose attitude foreshadows important changes in the religious life of the people. He shares, however, many of the characteristics of the old-time seer, whose chief function it was to give oracles and to control the moods of the deity in whose service he stood. He wears a primitive dress — a robe of goat's or camel's hair with a leathern girdle. He is accompanied often by a guild of prophets, though at times he mysteriously disappears and seeks the solitude of the wilderness. So, during the great famine, it is in the wilderness that ravens bring him bread and meat every morning and evening, and it is again in a solitary spot of the wilderness beyond Beersheba that his strength is miraculously restored to him through a cake and a cruse of water that suddenly appear and which sustain him for forty days. He is not connected with any sanctuary, and holds no position at the Court. His appearance is as sudden as his disappearance. His courage is unbounded, for those parts of the narrative which picture him denouncing King Ahab — as e.g. for the judicial murder of Naboth, I. Kings xxi. 17-20 (see ) — rest upon historical ground that may be regarded as solid, even though details have been added to color the dramatic situation. The transfiguration of Elijah, which takes place in the presence of his disciple Elisha (II. Kings ii. 11), may be a strange touch illustrating the admixture of myth and legend. A fiery chariot with fiery steeds descends from above, and Elijah rides in the storm to heaven. An old storm myth, in which the rolling of the clouds is taken as portraying the storm-god himself riding in his chariot, may have been incorporated into the story of the old prophet. The mantle of Elijah falls from him as he ascends and it is picked up by Elisha. In this way the indication is given that Elisha is to continue the work of Elijah. See.


text: The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 3/The Corsair/Canto II

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


text: The New International Encyclopædia/Bach

title: The New International Encyclopædia/Bach


text: The New International Encyclopædia/Bach, Alexander, Baron


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 in regard to what they considered their territorial rights, and in the interval between the signing of the Sand River Convention and the death of Pretorius an incident occurred significant alike of their claims to jurisdiction over enormous areas and of their manner of treating the natives. Within a few weeks of the signing of the convention Pretorius had asked the British authorities to close the “lower road” to the interior, that is the route through Bechuanaland, opened up by Moffat, Livingstone and other missionaries. Pretorius alleged that by this means the natives were obtaining firearms. At the same time the Transvaal Boers claimed that all the Bechuana country belonged to them, a claim which the British government of that day did not think it worth while to contest. No boundary westward had been indicated in the Sand River Convention. The Barolong, Bakwena and other Bechuana tribes, through whose lands the “lower road” ran, claimed however to be independent, among them Sechele (otherwise Setyeli), at whose chief kraal—Kolobeng—Livingstone was then stationed. Sechele was regarded by the Boers as owing them allegiance, and in August 1852 Pretorius sent against him a commando (in which Paul Kruger served as a field cornet), alleging that the Bakwena were harbouring a Bakatla chief who had looted cattle belonging to Boer farmers. It was in this expedition that Livingstone’s house was looted. There was little fighting, but the commando carried off between two and three hundred native women and children—some of whom were redeemed by their friends, and some escaped, while many of the children were apprenticed to farmers. Sechele's power was not broken, and he appealed for British protection, which was not then granted. The incident was, however, but the first step in the struggle for the possession of that country (see ). It served to strengthen the unfavourable impression formed in England of the Transvaal Boers with regard to their treatment of the natives; an impression which was deepened by tidings of terrible chastisement of tribes in the Zoutpansberg, and by the Apprentice Law passed by the volksraad in 1856—a law denounced in many quarters as practically legalizing slavery.

On the death of Andries Pretorius his son (q.v.) had been appointed his successor, and to the younger Pretorius was due the first efforts to end the discord and confusion which prevailed among the burghers—a discord heightened by ecclesiastical strife, the points at issue being questions not of faith but of church government. In 1856 a series of public meetings, summoned by Pretorius, was held at different districts in the Transvaal for the purpose of discussing and deciding whether the time had not arrived for substituting a strong central government in place of the petty district governments which had hitherto existed. The result was a representative assembly of delegates was elected, empowered to draft a constitution. In December this assembly met at Potchefstroom, and for three weeks was engaged in modelling the constitution of the country. The name “South African Republic” was adopted as the title of the state, and the new constitution made provision for a volksraad to which members were to be elected by the people for a period of two years, and in which the legislative function was vested. The administrative authority was to be vested in a president, aided by an executive council. It was stipulated that members both of the volksraad and council should be members of the Dutch Reformed Church, and of European blood. No equality of coloured people with the white inhabitants would be tolerated either in church or state. In reviewing an incident so important in the history of the Transvaal as the appointment of the Potchefstroom assembly it is of interest to note the gist of the complaint among the Boers which led to this revolution in the government of the country as it had previously existed. In his History of South Africa Theal says: “The community of Lydenburg was accused of attempting to domineer over the whole country, without any other right to pre-eminence than that of being composed of the earliest inhabitants, a fight which it had forfeited by its opposition to the general weal.” In later years this complaint was precisely that of the Uitlanders at Johannesburg. To conciliate the Boers of Zoutpansberg the new-born assembly at Potchefstroom appointed Stephanus Schoeman, the commandant general of the Zoutpansberg district, commandant-general of the whole country. This offer was, however, declined by Schoeman, and both Zoutpansberg and Lydenburg indignantly repudiated the new assembly and its constitution. The executive council, which had been appointed by the Potchefstroom assembly, with Pretorius as president, now took up a bolder attitude: they deposed Schoeman from all authority, declared Zoutpansberg in a state of blockade, and denounced the Boers of the two northern districts as rebels.

Further to strengthen their position, Pretorius and his party unsuccessfully endeavoured to bring about a union with the Orange Free State. Peaceful overtures having failed, Pretorius and Paul Kruger placed themselves at the head of a commando which crossed the Vaal with the object of enforcing union, but the Free State compelled their withdrawal (see ). Within the Transvaal the forces making for union gained strength notwithstanding these events, and by the year 1860 Zoutpansberg and Lydenburg had become incorporated with the republic. Pretoria, newly founded, and named in honour of the elder Pretorius, was made the seat of government and capital of the country. The ecclesiastical efforts at unity had not been equally successful. The Separatist Reformed Church of Holland had sent out a young expositor of its doctrines named Postma, who, in November 1858, became minister of Rustenburg. In the following year a general church assembly endeavoured to unite all the congregations in a common government, but Postma’s consistory rejected these overtures, and from that date the Separatist (or Dopper) Church has had an independent existence (see ante, § Religion). Paul Kruger, who lived near Rustenburg, became a strong adherent of the new church.

Pretorius, while still president of the Transvaal, had been elected, through the efforts of his partisans, president of the Orange Free State. He thereupon (in February 1860) obtained six months’ leave of absence and repaired to Bloemfontein, in the hope of peacefully bringing about a union between the two republics. He had no sooner left the Transvaal than the old Lydenburg party, headed by Cornelis Potgieter, landdrost of Lydenburg, protested that the union would be much more beneficial to the Free State than to the people of Lydenburg, and followed this up with the contention that it was illegal for any one to be president of the South African Republic and the Free State at the same time. At the end of the six months Pretorius, after a stormy meeting of the volksraad, apparently in disgust at the whole situation, resigned the presidency of the Transvaal. J. H. Grobelaar, who had been appointed president during the temporary absence of Pretorius, was requested to remain in office. The immediate followers of Pretorius now became extremely incensed at the action of the Lydenburg party, and a mass meeting was held at Potchefstroom (October 1860), where it was resolved that: (a) the volksraad no longer enjoyed its confidence; (b) that Pretorius should remain president of the South African Republic, and have a year's leave of absence to bring about union with the Free State; (c) that Schoeman should act as president during the absence of Pretorius; (d) that before the return of Pretorius to resume his duties a new volksraad should be elected.

If at this stage of their existence the real ambition of the Transvaal Boers was to found a strong and compact republican state, their conduct in opposing a scheme of union with the Orange Free State was foolish to a degree. The events of the year 1860, as well as of all the years that followed down to British annexation in 1877, show that licence rather than liberty, a narrow spirit of faction rather than patriotism, were the dominant instincts of the Boer. Had the fusion of the two little republics which Pretorius sought to bring about, and from which apparently the Free State was not averse, actually been accomplished in 1860, it is more than probable that a republican state on liberal

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 lines, with some prospect of permanence and stability, might have been formed. But a narrow, distrustful, grasping policy on the part of whatever faction might be dominant at the time invariably prevented the state from acquiring stability and security at any stage of its history.

The complications that ensued on the action of the Pretorius party subsequent to his resignation were interminable and complicated. Some of the new party were arraigned for treason and fined; and for several months there were two acting presidents and two rival governments within the Transvaal. At length Commandant Paul Kruger called out the burghers of his district and entered into the strife. Having driven Schoeman and his followers from Pretoria, Kruger invaded Potchefstroom, which, after a skirmish in which three men were killed and seven wounded, fell into his hands. He then pursued Schoeman, who doubled on his opponent and entered Potchefstroom. A temporary peace was no sooner secured than Commandant Jan Viljoen rose in revolt and engaged Kruger’s forces. Viljoen’s commando, with which Pretorius was in sympathy, was known as the Volksleger, or Army of the People. Kruger's force called itself the Staatsleger or Army of the State. Pretorius in 1863 resigned his Free State presidency and offering himself as mediator (not for the first time) succeeded at length in putting a period to the confused series of intestine quarrels. In January 1864 a conference, which lasted six days, was held between the parties and an agreement was reached. This was followed by a new election for president, and once more Pretorius was called upon to fill that office. Kruger was appointed commandant-general.

Civil strife for a time was at an end, but the injuries inflicted on the state were deep and lasting. The public funds were exhausted; taxes were impossible to collect; and the natives on the borders of the country and in the mountains of the north had thrown off all allegiance to the state. The prestige of the country was practically gone, not only with the world outside, but, what was of still more moment, with her neighbour the Free State, which felt that a federation with the Transvaal, which the Free State once had sought but which it now forswore, was an evil avoided and not an advantage lost. A charge frequently laid at the door of the Boers, at that time and since, was that of enslaving the black races. This charge was not without some justification. It is true that laws prohibiting slavery were in existence, but the Boer who periodically took up arms against his own appointed government was not likely to be, nor was he, restrained by laws. Natives were openly transferred from one Boer to another, and the fact that they were described as apprentices by the farmers did not in the least alter the status of the native, who to all intents and purposes became the property of his master. These apprentices, mostly bought from slave traders when little children, formed, however, a very small proportion of the native population, and after some fifteen years’ servitude were usually allowed their freedom. Natives enjoying tribal government were not enslaved, but nothing could exceed in ferocity the measures taken to reduce recalcitrant tribes to submission. Education, as need hardly be said, was in the ’sixties at a very low ebb, and nothing approaching the standard of a high school existed. The private tutor was a good deal in demand, but his qualifications were of the slightest. An unsuccessful European carpenter or other mechanic, or even labourer, not infrequently occupied this position. At the various churches such elementary schools as existed were to be found, but they did not profess to teach more than a smattering of the three “R’s” and the principles of Christianity.

In 1865 an empty exchequer called for drastic measures, and the volksraad determined to endeavour to meet their liabilities and provide for further contingencies by the issue of notes. Paper money was thus introduced, and in a very short time fell to a considerable discount. In this same year the farmers of the Zoutpansberg district were driven into laagers by a native rising which they were unable to suppress. Schoemansdal, a village at the foot of the Zoutpansberg, was the most important settlement of the district, and the most advanced outpost in European occupation at that time in South Africa. It was just within the tropics, and was situated in a well-watered and beautiful country. It was used as a base by hunters and traders with the interior, and in its vicinity there gathered a number of settlers of European origin, many of them outcasts from Europe or Cape Colony. They earned the reputation of being the most lawless white inhabitants in the whole of South Africa. When called upon to go to the aid of this settlement, which in 1865–1866 was sore pressed by one of the mountain Bantu tribes known as the Baramapulana, the burghers of the southern Transvaal objected that the white inhabitants of that region were too lawless and reckless a body to merit their assistance. In 1867 Schoemansdal and a considerable portion of the district were abandoned on the advice of Commandant-general Paul Kruger, and Schoemansdal finally was burnt to ashes by a party of natives. It was not until 1869 that peace was patched up, and the settlement arrived at left the mountain tribes in practical independence. Meanwhile the public credit and finances of the Transvaal went from bad to worse. The paper notes already issued had been constituted by law legal tender for all debts, but in 1868 their power of actual purchase was only 30% compared with that of gold, and by 1870 it had fallen as low as 25%. Civil servants, who were paid in this depreciated scrip, suffered considerable distress. The revenue for 1869 was stated as £31,511; the expenditure at £30,836.

The discovery of gold at Tati led President Pretorius in April 1868 to issue a proclamation extending his territories on the west and north so as to embrace the goldfield and all Bechuanaland. The same proclamation extended Transvaal territory on the east so as to include part of Delagoa Bay. The eastern extension claimed by Pretorius was the sequel to endeavours made shortly before, on the initiative of a Scotsman, to develop trade along the rivers leading to Delagoa Bay. It was also in accord with the desire of the Transvaal Boers to obtain a seaport, a desire which had led them as early as 1860 to treat with the Zulus for the possession of St Lucia Bay. That effort had, however, failed. And now the proclamation of Pretorius was followed by protests on the part of the British high commissioner, Sir Philip Wodehouse, as well as on the part of the consul-general for Portugal in South Africa. The boundary on the east was settled by a treaty with Portugal in 1869, the Boers abandoning their claim to Delagoa Bay; that on the west was dealt with in 1871.

The Sand River Convention of 1852 had not defined the western border of the state, and the discovery of gold at Tati to the north-west, together with the discovery of diamonds on the Vaal in 1867, offered Pretorius every inducement to extend his boundary. Although to-day the great diamond mines are south of the Vaal River, the early discoveries of diamonds were made chiefly on the northern bank of the Vaal, near the site of the town now known as Barkly West. This territory was claimed by the South African Republic, by Barolong and Batlapin Bechuanas, by Koranas, and also by David Arnot, on behalf of the Griqua captain, Nicholas Waterboer. To settle the boundary question an arbitration court was appointed consisting of a Transvaal landdrost, A. A. O’Reilly, on behalf of the South African Republic, and John Campbell on behalf of the other claimants, with Lieutenant-Governor Keate of Natal as referee. The judges disagreed, and the final decision, afterwards known as the Keate award, was given by the referee on the 17th of October 1871. The decision was in favour of Waterboer, who had, on the 25th of August 1870, before the appointment of the arbitration court, offered his territory to Great Britain, and it was understood by all the parties interested that that offer would be accepted. The award, admittedly just on the evidence before Keate, placed, however, outside the territory of the republic the Bloemhof district, in which district Boer farmers were settled, and over which the Pretoria government had for some years exercised jurisdiction. A few days after the publication of the Keate award Sir Henry Barkly, the British high commissioner, issued proclamations taking over Waterboer’s territory under the

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text: The New International Encyclopædia/Bach, Johann Sebastian


text: The New International Encyclopædia/Bach, Karl Philipp Emanuel


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Browne, Isaac Hawkins (1705-1760)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Browne, Isaac Hawkins (1745-1818)


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text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Browne, Richard (fl.1674-1694)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Browne, Richard (1605-1683)


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 OF

A NEW, REVISED AND ENLARGED EDITION

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS.

EDITED BY

ERNEST HARTLEY COLERIDGE, M.A.,

LONDON:

JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET.

NEW YORK: CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS.

1904.


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Rh And Moses diligently sought the goat of the sin offering, and, behold, it was burnt: and he was angry with Eleazar and Ithamar, the sons of Aaron which were left alive, saying. Wherefore have ye not eaten the sin offering in the holy place, seeing it is most holy, and God hath given it you to bear the iniquity of the congregation, to make atonement for them before the Lord? Behold, the blood of it was not brought in within the holy place: ye should indeed have eaten it in the holy place, as I commanded. And Aaron said unto Moses, Behold, this day have they offered their sin offering and their burnt offering before the Lord; and such things have befallen me: and if I had eaten the sin offering to day, should it have been accepted in the sight of the Lord? And when Moses heard that, he was content.

the Lord spake unto Moses and to Aaron, saying unto them. Speak unto the children of Israel, saying, These are the beasts which ye shall eat among all the beasts that are on the earth. Whatsoever parteth the hoof, and is clovenfooted, and cheweth the cud, among the beasts, that shall ye eat. Nevertheless these shall ye not eat of them that chew the cud, or of them that divide the hoof: as the camel, because he cheweth the cud, but divideth not the hoof; he is unclean unto you. And the coney, because he chew-


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present volume contains the six metrical tales which were composed within the years 1812 and 1815, the Hebrew Melodies and the minor poems of 1809-1816. With the exception of the first fifteen poems (1809-1811)—Chansons de Voyage, as they might be called—the volume as a whole was produced on English soil. Beginning with the Giaour, which followed in the wake of Childe Harold and shared its triumph, and ending with the ill-omened Domestic Pieces, or Poems of the Separation, the poems which Byron wrote in his own country synchronize with his popularity as a poet by the acclaim and suffrages of his own countrymen. His greatest work, by which his lasting fame has been established, and by which his relative merits as a great poet will be judged in the future, was yet to come; but the work which made his name, which is stamped with his sign-manual, and which has come to be regarded as distinctively and


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vi characteristically Byronic, preceded maturity and achievement.

No poet of his own or other times, not Walter Scott, not Tennyson, not Mr. Kipling, was ever in his own lifetime so widely, so amazingly popular. Thousands of copies of the "Tales"—of the Bride of Abydos, of the Corsair, of Lara—were sold in a day, and edition followed edition month in and month out. Everywhere men talked about the "noble author"—in the capitals of Europe, in literary circles in the United States, in the East Indies. He was "the glass of fashion ... the observ'd of all observers," the swayer of sentiment, the master and creator of popular emotion. No other English poet before or since has divided men's attention with generals and sea-captains and statesmen, has attracted and fascinated and overcome the world so entirely and potently as Lord Byron.

It was Childe Harold, the unfinished, immature Childe Harold, and the Turkish and other "Tales," which raised this sudden and deafening storm of applause when the century was young, and now, at its close (I refer, of course, to the Tales, not to Byron's poetry as a whole, which, in spite of the critics, has held and still holds its own), are ignored if not forgotten, passed over if not despised—which but few know thoroughly, and "very few" are found to admire or to love. Ubi lapsus, quid feci? might the questioning spirit of the author exclaim with regard to his "Harrys and Larrys, Pilgrims and


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Rh Pirates," who once held the field, and now seem to have gone under in the struggle for poetical existence!

To what, then, may we attribute the passing away of interest and enthusiasm? To the caprice of fashion, to an insistence on a more faultless technique, to a nicer taste in ethical sentiment, to a preference for a subtler treatment of loftier themes? More certainly, and more particularly, I think, to the blurring of outline and the blotting out of detail due to lapse of time and the shifting of the intellectual standpoint.

However much the charm of novelty and the contagion of enthusiasm may have contributed to the success of the Turkish and other Tales, it is in the last degree improbable that our grandfathers and great-grandfathers were enamoured, not of a reality, but of an illusion born of ignorance or of vulgar bewilderment. They were carried away because they breathed the same atmosphere as the singer; and being undistracted by ethical, or grammatical, or metrical offences, they not only read these poems with avidity, but understood enough of what they read to be touched by their vitality, to realize their verisimilitude.

Tout comprendre c'est tout pardonner. Nay, more, the knowledge, the comprehension of essential greatness in art, in nature, or in man is not to know that there is aught to forgive. But that sufficing knowledge which the reader of average intelligence brings with him for the comprehension and appreciation of contemporary


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viii literature has to be bought at the price of close attention and patient study when the subject-matter of a poem and the modes and movements of the poet's consciousness are alike unfamiliar.

Criticism, however subtle, however suggestive, however luminous, will not bridge over the gap between the past and the present, will not supply the sufficing knowledge. It is delightful and interesting and, in a measure, instructive to know what great poets of his own time and of ours have thought of Byron, how he "strikes" them; but unless we are ourselves saturated with his thought and style, unless we learn to breathe his atmosphere by reading the books which he read, picturing to ourselves the scenes which he saw,—unless we aspire to his ideals and suffer his limitations, we are in no way entitled to judge his poems, whether they be good or bad.

Byron's metrical "Tales" come before us in the guise of light reading, and may be "easily criticized" as melo-dramatic—the heroines conventional puppets, the heroes reduplicated reflections of the author's personality, the Oriental "properties" loosely arranged, and somewhat stage-worn. A thorough and sympathetic study of these once extravagantly lauded and now belittled poems will not, perhaps, reverse the deliberate judgment of later generations, but it will display them for what they are, bold and rapid and yet exact presentations of the "gorgeous East," vivid and fresh from the hand of the great artist who conceived them out of the abundance


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Rh of memory and observation, and wrought them into shape with the "pen of a ready writer." They will be once more recognized as works of genius, an integral portion of our literary inheritance, which has its proper value, and will repay a more assiduous and a finer husbandry.

I have once more to acknowledge the generous assistance of the officials of the British Museum, and, more especially, of Mr. A. G. Ellis, of the Oriental Printed Books and MSS. Department, who has afforded me invaluable instruction in the compilation of the notes to the Giaour and Bride of Abydos.

I have also to thank Mr. R. L. Binyon, of the Department of Prints and Drawings, for advice and assistance in the selection of illustrations.

I desire to express my cordial thanks to the Registrar of the Copyright Office, Stationers' Hall; to Professor Jannaris, of the University of St. Andrews; to Miss E. Dawes, M.A., D.L., of Heathfield Lodge, Weybridge; to my cousin, Miss Edith Coleridge, of Goodrest, Torquay; and to my friend, Mr. Frank E. Taylor, of Chertsey, for information kindly supplied during the progress of the work.

For many of the "parallel passages" from the works of other poets, which are to be found in the notes, I am indebted to a series of articles by A. A. Watts, in the Literary Gazette, February and March, 1821; and to the notes to the late Professor E. Kölbing's Siege of Corinth.

On behalf of the publisher, I beg to acknowledge


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x the kindness of Lord Glenesk, and of Sir Theodore Martin, K.C.B., who have permitted the examination and collation of MSS. of the Siege of Corinth and of the "Thyrza" poems, in their possession.

The original of the miniature of H.R.H. the Princess Charlotte of Wales (see p. 44) is in the Library of Windsor Castle. It has been reproduced for this volume by the gracious permission of Her Majesty the Queen. ERNEST HARTLEY COLERIDGE. April 18, 1900.


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Browne, Samuel (1575?-1632)


text:
Page:The Holy Bible, containing the Old & New Testament & the Apocrypha.djvu/367

XI] eth the cud, but divideth not the hoof; he is unclean unto you. And the hare, hecause he cheweth the cud, but divideth not the hoof; he is unclean unto you. And the swine, though he divide the hoof, and be clovenfooted, yet he cheweth not the cud; he is unclean to you. Of their flesh shall ye not eat, and their carcase shall ye not touch; they are unclean to you.

These shall ye eat of all that are in the waters: whatsoever hath fins and scales in the waters, in the seas, and in the rivers, them shall ye eat. And all that have not fins and scales in the seas, and in the rivers, of all that move in the waters, and of any living thing which is in the waters, they shall be an abomination unto you: they shall be even an abomination unto you; ye shall not eat of their flesh, but ye shall have their carcases in abomination. Whatsoever hath no fins nor scales in the waters, that shall be an abomination unto you.

And these are they which ye shall have in abomination among the fowls; they shall not be eaten, they are an abomination: the eagle, and the ossifrage, and the ospray, and the vulture, and the kite after his kind; every raven after his kind; and the owl, and the night hawk, and the cuckow, and the hawk after his kind, and the little owl, and the cormorant, and the great owl, and the swan, and the pelican,


text:
Page:The Holy Bible, containing the Old & New Testament & the Apocrypha.djvu/368

Rh and the gier eagle, and the stork, the heron after her kind, and the lapwing, and the bat. All fowls that creep, going upon all four, shall be an abomination unto you. Yet these may ye eat of every flying creeping thing that goeth upon all four, which have legs above their feet, to leap withal upon the earth; even these of them ye may eat; the locust after his kind, and the bald locust after his kind, and the beetle after his kind, and the grasshopper after his kind. But all other flying creeping things, which have four feet, shall be an abomination unto you. And for these ye shall be unclean: whosoever toucheth the carcase of them shall be unclean until the even. And whosoever beareth ought of the carcase of them shall wash his clothes, and be unclean until the even. The carcases of every beast which divideth the hoof, and is not clovenfooted, nor cheweth the cud, are unclean unto you: every one that toucheth them shall be unclean. And whatsoever goeth upon his paws, among all manner of beasts that go on all four, those are unclean unto you: whoso toucheth their carcase shall be unclean until the even. And he that beareth the carcase of them shall wash his clothes, and be unclean until the even: they are unclean unto you.

These also shall be unclean unto you among the creeping things that creep upon the earth; the wea-


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Browne, Samuel (d.1668)


text:
Page:The Holy Bible, containing the Old & New Testament & the Apocrypha.djvu/369

XI] sel, and the mouse, and the tortoise after his kind, and the ferret, and the chameleon, and the lizard, and the snail, and the mole. These are unclean to you among all that creep: whosoever doth touch them, when they be dead, shall be unclean until the even. And upon whatsoever any of them, when they are dead, doth fall, it shall be unclean; whether it be any vessel of wood, or raiment, or skin, or sack, whatsoever vessel it be, wherein any work is done, it must be put into water, and it shall be unclean until the even; so it shall be cleansed. And every earthen vessel, whereinto any of them falleth, whatsoever is in it shall be unclean; and ye shall break it. Of all meat which may be eaten, that on which such water cometh shall be unclean: and all drink that may be drunk in every such vessel shall be unclean. And every thing whereupon any part of their carcase falleth shall be unclean; whether it be oven, or ranges for pots, they shall be broken down: for they are unclean, and shall be unclean unto you. Nevertheless a fountain or pit, wherein there is plenty of water, shall be clean: but that which toucheth their carcase shall be unclean. And if any part of their carcase fall upon any sowing seed which is to be sown, it shall be clean. But if any water be put upon the seed, and any part of their carcase fall thereon, it shall be un-


text:
Page:The Holy Bible, containing the Old & New Testament & the Apocrypha.djvu/370

Rh clean unto you. And if any beast, of which ye may eat, die; he that toucheth the carcase thereof shall be unclean until the even. And he that eateth of the carcase of it shall wash his clothes, and be unclean until the even: he also that beareth the carcase of it shall wash his clothes, and be unclean until the even. And every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth shall be an abomination; it shall not be eaten. Whatsoever goeth upon the belly, and whatsoever goeth upon all four, or whatsoever hath more feet among all creeping things that creep upon the earth, them ye shall not eat; for they are an abomination. Ye shall not make yourselves abominable with any creeping thing that creepeth, neither shall ye make yourselves unclean with them, that ye should be defiled thereby. For I am the Lord your God: ye shall therefore sanctify yourselves, and ye shall be holy; for I am holy: neither shall ye defile yourselves with any manner of creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth. For I am the Lord that bringeth you up out of the land of Egypt, to be your God: ye shall therefore be holy, for I am holy.

This is the law of the beasts, and of the fowl, and of every living creature that moveth in the waters, and of every creature that creepeth upon the earth: to make a difference between the unclean and the


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Browne, Simon


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Browne, Theophilus


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Page:The Corsair (Byron).djvu/45

 CANTO II.

"Conosceste i dubbiosi desiri?"

.

" Coron's bay floats many a galley light,

Through Coron's lattices the lamps are bright,

For Seyd, the Pacha, makes a feast to-night:

A feast for promised triumph yet to come,

When he shall drag the fettered Rovers home;

This hath he sworn by Allah and his sword,

And faithful to his firman and his word,

His summoned prows collect along the coast,

And great the gathering crews, and loud the boast;

Already shared the captives and the prize,

Though far the distant foe they thus despise;

title: Page:The Corsair (Byron).djvu/45


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32 'Tis but to sail—no doubt to-morrow's Sun

Will see the Pirates bound—their haven won!

Meantime the watch may slumber, if they will,

Nor only wake to war, but dreaming kill:

Though all, who can, disperse on shore and seek

To flesh their glowing valour on the Greek;

How well such deed becomes the turban’d brave—

To bare the sabre's edge before a slave!

Infest his dwelling—but forbear to slay,

Their arms are strong, yet merciful to-day,

And do not deign to smite because they may!

Unless some gay caprice suggests the blow,

To keep in practice for the coming foe.

Revel and rout the evening hours beguile,

And they who wish to wear a head must smile;

For Moslem mouths produce their choicest cheer,

And hoard their curses, till the coast is clear.

II.

High in his hall reclines the turban’d Seyd:

Around—the bearded chiefs he came to lead.

Removed the banquet, and the last pilaff—

Forbidden draughts, 'tis said, he dared to quaff,

title: Page:The Corsair (Byron).djvu/46


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Rh Though to the rest the sober berry's juice,3

The slaves bear round for rigid Moslems' use;

The long Chibouque's4 dissolving cloud supply,

While dance the Almas5 to wild minstrelsy:

The rising morn will view the chiefs embark;

But waves are somewhat treacherous in the dark:

And revellers may more securely sleep

On silken couch than o'er the rugged deep;

Feast there who can—nor combat till they must,

And less to conquest than to Korans trust;

And yet the numbers crowded in his host

Might warrant more than even the Pacha's boast.

III. With cautious reverence from the outer gate

Slow stalks the slave, whose office there to wait,

Bows his bent head—his hand salutes the floor,

Ere yet his tongue the trusted tidings bore:

"A captive Dervise, from the Pirate's nest

Escaped, is here—himself would tell the rest."

He took the sign from Seyd's assenting eye,

And led the holy man in silence nigh.

title: Page:The Corsair (Byron).djvu/47


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34 His arms were folded on his dark-green vest,

His step was feeble, and his look deprest;

Yet worn he seem'd of hardship more than years,

And pale his cheek with penance, not from fears,

Vow'd to his God—his sable locks he wore,

And these his lofty cap rose proudly o'er:

Around his form his loose long robe was thrown,

And wrapt a breast bestow'd on heaven alone;

Submissive, yet with self-possession mann'd,

He calmly met the curious eyes that scann'd;

And question of his coming fain would seek,

Before the Pacha's will allowed to speak.

IV.

"Whence com'st thou, Dervise?"

"From the Outlaw's den,

"A fugitive—"

"Thy capture where and when?"

"From Scalanova's port to Scio's isle.

"The Saick was bound; but Allah did not smile

"Upon our course—the Moslem merchant's gains

"The Rovers won; our limbs have worn their chains.

title: Page:The Corsair (Byron).djvu/48


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Elecampane

title: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Elecampane


text:
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Rh "I had no death to fear, nor wealth to boast,

"Beyond the wandering freedom which I lost;

"At length a fisher's humble boat by night

"Afforded hope, and offer'd chance of flight;

"I seized the hour, and find my safety here—

"With thee—most mighty Pacha! who can fear?"

"How speed the outlaws? stand they well prepared,

"Their plundered wealth, and robber's rock, to guard?

"Dream they of this our preparation, doom'd

"To view with fire their scorpion nest consumed?"

"Pacha! the fettered captive's mourning eye,

"That weeps for flight, but ill can play the spy;

"I only heard the reckless waters roar,

"Those waves that would not bear me from the shore;

"I only marked the glorious sun and sky,

"Too bright—too blue—for my captivity;

"And felt—that all which Freedom's bosom cheers

"Must break my chain before it dried my tears.

"This may'st thou judge, at least, from my escape,

"They little deem of aught in peril's shape;

title: Page:The Corsair (Byron).djvu/49


text:
Page:The Corsair (Byron).djvu/50

36 "Else vainly had I prayed or sought the chance

"That leads me here—if eyed with vigilance:

"The careless guard that did not see me fly,

"May watch as idly when thy power is nigh.

"Pacha!—my limbs are faint—and nature craves

"Food for my hunger, rest from tossing waves:

"Permit my absence—peace be with thee! Peace

"With all around!—now grant repose—release."

"Stay, Dervise! I have more to question—stay,

"I do command thee—sit—dost hear?—obey!

"More I must ask, and food the slaves shall bring;

"Thou shalt not pine where all are banqueting:

"The supper done—prepare thee to reply,

"Clearly and full—I love not mystery."

'Twere vain to guess what shook the pious man,

Who look'd not lovingly on that Divan;

Nor show'd high relish for the banquet prest,

And less respect for every fellow guest.

'Twas but a moment's peevish hectic past

Along his cheek, and tranquillised as fast:

title: Page:The Corsair (Byron).djvu/50


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Rh He sate him down in silence, and his look

Resumed the calmness which before forsook:

The feast was usher'd in—but sumptuous fare

He shunn'd as if some poison mingled there.

For one so long condemn'd to toil and fast,

Methinks he strangely spares the rich repast.

"What ails thee, Dervise? eat—dost thou suppose

"This feast a Christian's? or my friends thy foes?

"Why dost thou shun the salt? that sacred pledge,

"Which, once partaken, blunts the sabre's edge,

"Makes even contending tribes in peace unite,

"And hated hosts seem brethren to the sight!"

"Salt seasons dainties—and my food is still

"The humblest root, my drink the simplest rill;

"And my stern vow and order's6 laws oppose

"To break or mingle bread with friends or foes;

"It may seem strange—if there be aught to dread

"That peril rests upon my single head;

"But for thy sway—nay more—thy Sultan's throne,

"I taste nor bread nor banquet—save alone;

title: Page:The Corsair (Byron).djvu/51


text:
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38 "Infringed our Order's rule, the Prophet's rage

"To Mecca's dome might bar my pilgrimage."

"Well—as thou wilt—ascetic as thou art—

"One question answer; then in peace depart.

"How many?—Ha! it cannot sure be day?

"What star—what sun is bursting on the bay?

"It shines a lake of fire!—away—away!

"Ho! treachery! my guards! my scimitar!

"The galleys feed the flames—and I afar!

"Accursed Dervise!—these thy tidings—thou

"Some villain spy—seize—cleave him—slay him now!"

Up rose the Dervise with that burst of light,

Nor less his change of form appall'd the sight:

Up rose that Dervise—not in saintly garb,

But like a warrior bounding from his barb,

Dash'd his high cap, and tore his robe away—

Shone his mail'd breast, and flash'd his sabre's ray!

His close but glittering casque, and sable plume,

More glittering eye, and black brow's sabler gloom,

Glared on the Moslems' eyes some Afrit Sprite,

Whose demon death-blow left no hope for fight.

title: Page:The Corsair (Byron).djvu/52


text:
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Rh The wild confusion, and the swarthy glow

Of flames on high, and torches from below;

The shriek of terror, and the mingling yell—

For swords began to clash, and shouts to swell—

Flung o'er that spot of earth the air of hell!

Distracted, to and fro, the flying slaves

Behold but bloody shore and fiery waves;

Nought heeded they the Pacha's angry cry,

They seize that Dervise!—seize on Zatanai!7

He saw their terror—check'd the first despair

That urged him but to stand and perish there,

Since far too early and too well obey'd,

The flame was kindled ere the signal made;

He saw their terror—from his baldric drew

His bugle—brief the blast—but shrilly blew;

'Tis answered—"Well ye speed, my gallant crew!

"Why did I doubt their quickness of career?

"And deem design had left me single here?"

Sweeps his long arm—that sabre's whirling sway

Sheds fast atonement for its first delay;

Completes his fury, what their fear begun,

And makes the many basely quail to one.

title: Page:The Corsair (Byron).djvu/53


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40 The cloven turbans o'er the chamber spread,

And scarce an arm dare rise to guard its head:

Even Seyd, convuls'd, o'erwhelm'd, with rage, surprise,

Retreats before him, though he still defies.

No craven he—and yet he dreads the blow,

So much Confusion magnifies his foe!

His blazing galleys still distract his sight,

He tore his beard, and foaming fled the fight;8

For now the pirates pass'd the Haram gate,

And burst within—and it were death to wait;

Where wild Amazement shrieking—kneeling—throws

The sword aside—in vain—the blood o'erflows!

The Corsairs pouring, haste to where within

Invited Conrad's bugle, and the din

Of groaning victims, and wild cries for life,

Proclaim'd how well he did the work of strife.

They shout to find him grim and lonely there,

A glutted tiger mangling in his lair!

But short their greeting, shorter his reply—

" 'Tis well—but Seyd escapes—and he must die.

title: Page:The Corsair (Byron).djvu/54


text:
User:Refrigerator Heaven/sandbox002

This is for a copy and paste of a pretty decent text of the scan which I OCR'd and made many corrections to offline for reference by myself or anyone who does proofreading of "Small Town" by Philip K. Dick. I'll have to paste and save a bit to see if the pasted text retains its format which probably isn't quite the proper format for the text that will go on the Wikisource pages but if should provide a good headstart for a scan that didn't OCR well using Irfanview with an OCR plug-in. I'm not sure why the lines are extending so far and the paragraph indents aren't showing when I save pasted text but I can probably clean it up later when a fever passes and I can think clearly. Right now mindless copy and paste is about all I'm capable of.

Page numbers indicate original pages of text.

Small Town BY PHILIP K. DICK Page 6

Verne Haskel crept miserably up the front steps of his house, his overcoat dragging behind him. He was tired. Tired and discouraged. And his feet ached. "My God," Madge exclaimed, as he closed the door and peeled off his coat and hat. "You home already?" Haskel dumped his briefcase and began untying his shoes. His body sagged. His face was drawn and gray. "Say something!" "Dinner ready?" "No, dinner isn't ready. What's wrong this time? Another fight with Larson?" Haskel stumped into the kitchen and filled a glass with warm water and soda. "Let's move," he said. "Move?" "Away from Woodland. To San Francisco. Anywhere." Haskel drank his soda, his middle-aged flabby body supported by the gleaming sink. "I feel lousy. Maybe I ought to see Doc Barnes again. I wish this was Friday and tomorrow was Saturday." "What do you want for dinner?" "Nothing. I don't know." Page 7

Haskel shook his head wearily. "Anything." He sank down at the kitchen table. "All I want is rest. Open a can of stew. Pork and beans. Anything." "I suggest we go out to Don's Steakhouse. On Monday they have good sirloin." "No. I've seen enough human faces today." "I suppose you're too tired to drive me over to Helen Grant's." "The car's in the garage. Busted again." "If you took better care of it—" "What the hell do you want me to do? Carry it around in a cellophane bag?" "Don't shout at me, Verne Haskel!" Madge flushed with anger. "Maybe you want to fix your own dinner."

Haskel got wearily to his feet. He shuffled toward the cellar door. "I'll see you." "Where are you going?" "Downstairs in the basement." "Oh, Lord!" Madge cried wildly. "Those trains! Those toys! How can a grown man, a middle-aged man—" Haskel said nothing. He was already half way down the stairs, feeling around for the basement light. The basement was cool and moist. Haskel took his engineer's cap from the hook and fitted it on his head. Excitement and a faint surge of renewed energy filled his tired body. He approached the great plywood table with eager steps. Trains ran everywhere. Along the floor, under the coal bin, among the steam pipes of the furnace. The tracks converged at the table, rising up on carefully graded ramps. The table itself was littered with transformers and signals and switches and heaps of equipment and wiring. And— And the town. The detailed, painfully accurate model of Woodland. Every tree and house, every store and building and street and fireplug. A minute town, each facet in perfect order. Constructed with elaborate care throughout the years. As long as he could remember. Since he was a kid, building and glueing and working after school. Haskel turned on the main transformer. All along the track signal lights glowed. He fed power to the heavy Lionel engine parked with its load of freight cars. The engine sped smoothly into life, gliding along the track. A flashing dark projectile of metal that Page 8

made his breath catch in his throat. He opened an electric switch and the engine headed down the ramp, through a tunnel and off the table. It raced under the workbench. His trains. And his town. Haskel bent over the miniature houses and streets, his heart glowing with pride. He had built it—himself. Every inch. Every perfect inch. The whole town. He touched the corner of Fred's Grocery Store. Not a detail lacking. Even the windows. The displays of food. The signs. The counters. The Uptown Hotel. He ran his hand over its flat roof. The sofas and chairs in the lobby. He could see them through the window. Green's Drugstore. Bunion pad displays. Magazines. Frazier's Auto Parts. Mexico City Dining. Sharpstein's Apparel. Bob's Liquor Store. Ace Billiard Parlor. The whole town. He ran his hands over it. He had built it: the town was his.

The train came rushing back, out from under the workbench. Its wheels passed over an automatic switch and a drawbridge lowered itself obediently. The train swept over and beyond, dragging its cars behind it. Haskel turned up the power. The train gained speed. Its whistle sounded. It turned a sharp curve and grated across a cross-track. More speed. Haskel's hands jerked convulsively at the transformer. The train leaped and shot ahead. It swayed and bucked as it shot around a curve. The transformer was turned up to maximum. The train was a clattering blur of speed, rushing along the track, across bridges and switches, behind the big pipes of the floor furnace. It disappeared into the coal bin. A moment later it swept out the other side, rocking wildly. Haskel slowed the train down. He was breathing hard, his chest rising painfully. He sat down on the stool by the workbench and lit a cigarette with shaking fingers. The train, the model town, gave him a strange feeling. It was hard to explain. He had always loved trains, model engines and signals and buildings. Since he was a little kid, maybe six or seven. His father had given him his first train. An engine and a few pieces of track. An old wind-up train. When he was nine he got his first real electric train. And two switches. He added to it, year after Page 9

year. Track, engines, switches, cars, signals. More powerful transformers. And the beginnings of the town. He had built the town up carefully. Piece by piece. First, when he was in junior high, a model of the Southern Pacific Depot. Then the taxi stand next door. The cafe where the drivers ate. Broad Street. And so on. More and more. Houses, buildings, stores. A whole town, growing under his hands, as the years went by. Every afternoon he came home from school and worked. Glued and cut and painted and sawed. Now it was virtually complete. Almost done. He was forty-three years old and the town was almost done. Haskel moved around the big plywood table, his hands extended reverently. He touched a miniature store here and there. The flower shop. The theater. The Telephone Company. Larson's Pump and Valve Works. That, too. Where he worked. His place of business. A perfect miniature of the plant, down to the last detail. Haskel scowled. Jim Larson. For twenty years he had worked there, slaved day after day. For what? To see others advanced over him. Younger men. Favorites of the boss. Yes-men with bright ties and pressed pants and wide, stupid grins. Misery and hatred welled up in Haskel. All his life Woodland had got the better of him. He had never been happy. The town had always been against him. Miss Murphy in high school. The frats in college. Clerks in the snooty department stores. His neighbors. Cops and mailmen and bus drivers and delivery boys. Even his wife. Even Madge.

He had never meshed with the town. The rich, expensive little suburb of San Francisco, down the peninsula beyond the fog belt. Woodland was too damn upper-middle class. Too many big houses and lawns and chrome cars and deck chairs. Too stuffy and sleek. As long as he could remember. In school. His job— Larson. The Pump and Valve Works. Twenty years of hard work. Haskel's fingers closed over the tiny building, the model of the Larson's Pump and Valve Works. Savagely, he ripped it loose and threw it to the floor. He crushed it underfoot, grinding the bits of glass and metal and cardboard into a shapeless mass. Page 10

God, he was shaking all over. He stared down at the remains, his heart pounding wildly. Strange emotions, crazy emotions, twisted through him. Thoughts he never had had before. For a long time he gazed down at the crumpled wad by his hose. What had once been the model of Larson's Pump and Valve Works. Abruptly he pulled away. In a trance he returned to his workbench and sat stiffly down on the stool. He pulled his tools and materials together, clicking the power drill on. It took only a few moments. Working rapidly, with quick, expert fingers, Haskel assembled a new model. He painted, glued, fitted pieces together. He lettered a microscopic sign and sprayed a green lawn into place. Then he carried the new model carefully over to the table and glued it in the correct spot. The place where Larson's Pump and Valve Works had been. The new building gleamed in the overhead light, still moist and shiny.

WOODLAND MORTUARY

Haskel rubbed his hands in an ecstasy of satisfaction. The Valve Works was gone. He had destroyed it. Obliterated it. Removed it from the town. Below him was Woodland—without the Valve Works. A mortuary instead. His eyes gleamed. His lips twitched. His surging emotions swelled. He had got rid of it. In a brief flurry of action. In a second. The whole thing was simple — amazingly easy. Odd he hadn't thought of it before.

Sipping a tall glass of ice-cold beer thoughtfully, Madge Haskel said, "There's something wrong with Verne. I noticed it especially last night. When he came home from work." Doctor Paul Tyler grunted absently. "A highly neurotic type. Sense of inferiority. Withdrawal and introversion." "But he's getting worse. Him and his trains. Those damn model trains. My God, Paul! Do you know he has a whole town down there in the basement?" Tyler was curious. "Really? I never knew that." "All the time I've known him he's had them down there. Started when he was a kid. Imagine a grown man playing with trains! It's—it's disgust Page 11

ing. Every night the same thing."  "Interesting." Tyler rubbed his jaw. "He keeps at them continually? An unvarying pattern?"  "Every night. Last night he didn't even eat dinner. He just came home and went directly down."  Paul Tyler's polished features twisted into a frown. Across from him Madge sat languidly sipping her beer. It was two in the afternoon. The day was warm and bright. The living-room was attractive in a lazy, quiet way. Abruptly Tyler got to his feet. "Let's take a look at them. The models. I didn't know it had gone so far."  "Do you really want to?" Madge slid back the sleeve of her green silk lounge pajamas and consulted her wristwatch. "He won't be home until five." She jumped to her feet, setting down her glass. "All right. We have time."  "Fine. Let's go down." Tyler caught hold of Madge's arm and they hurried down into the basement, a strange excitement flooding through them. Madge clicked on the basement light and they approached the big plywood table, giggling and nervous, like mischievous children.  "See?" Madge said, squeezing Tyler's arm. "Look at it. Took years. All his life."  Tyler nodded slowly. "Must have." There was awe in his voice. "I've never seen anything like it. The detail. . . . He has skill."  "Yes, Verne is good with his hands." Madge indicated the workbench. "He buys tools all the time."

Tyler walked slowly around the big table, bending over and peering. "Amazing. Every building. The whole town is here. Look! There's my place." He indicated his luxurious apartment building, a few blocks from the Haskel residence. "I guess it's all there," Madge said. "Imagine a grown man coming down here and playing with model trains!" "Power." Tyler pushed an engine along a track. "That's why it appeals to boys. Trains are big things. Huge and noisy. Power-sex symbols. The boy sees the train rushing along the track. It's so huge and ruthless it scares him. Then he gets a toy train. A model, like these. He controls it. Makes it start, stop. Go slow. Fast. He runs it. It responds to him." Madge shivered. "Let's go Page 12

upstairs where it's warm. It's so cold down here."  "But as the boy grows up, he gets bigger and stronger. He can shed the model-symbol. Master the real object, the real train. Get genuine control over things. Valid mastery." Tyler shook his head. "Not this substitute thing. Unusual, a grown person going to such lengths." He frowned. "I never noticed a mortuary on State Street."  "A mortuary?"   "And this, Steuben Pet Shop. Next door to the radio repair shop. There's no pet shop there." Tyler cudgeled his brain. "What is there? Next to the radio repair place."  "Paris Furs." Madge clasped her arms. "Brrrrr. Come on, Paul. Let's go upstairs before I freeze."  Tyler laughed. "Okay, sissy." He headed toward the stairs, frowning again. "I wonder why. Steuben Pets. Never heard of it. Everything is so detailed. He must know the town by heart. To put a shop there that isn't—" He clicked off the basement light. "And the mortuary. What's supposed to be there? Isn't the—"  "Forget it," Madge called back, hurrying past him, into the warm living room. "You're practically as bad as he is. Men are such children."  Tyler didn't respond. He was deep in thought. His suave confidence was gone; he looked nervous and shaken.   Madge pulled the venetian blinds down. The living room sank into amber gloom. She flopped down on the couch and pulled Tyler down beside her. "Stop looking like that," she ordered. "I've never seen you this way." Her slim arms circled his neck and her lips brushed close to his ear. "I wouldn't have let you in if I thought you were going to worry about him."   Tyler grunted, preoccupied. "Why did you let me in?"   The pressure of Madge's arms increased. Her silk pajamas rustled as she moved against him. "Silly," she said.

Big red-headed Jim Larson gaped in disbelief. "What do you mean? What's the matter with you?" "I'm quitting." Haskel shoveled the contents of his desk into his briefcase. "Mail the check to my house." "But—" "Get out of the way." Haskel pushed past Larson, out into the hall. Larson was stunned with amazement. There was a fixed expression on Haskel's face. A glazed Page 13

look. A rigid look Larson had never seen before. "Are you—all right?" Larson asked. "Sure." Haskel opened the front door of the plant and disappeared outside. The door slammed after him. "Sure I'm all right," he muttered to himself. He made his way through the crowds of late-afternoon shoppers, his lips twitching. "You damn right I'm all right." "Watch it, buddy," a laborer muttered ominously, as Haskel shoved past him. "Sorry." Haskel hurried on, gripping his briefcase. At the top of the hill he paused a moment to get his breath. Behind him was Larson's Pump and Valve Works. Haskel laughed shrilly. Twenty years — cut short in a second. It was over. No more Larson. No more dull, grinding job, day after day. Without promotion or future. Routine and boredom, months on end. It was over and done for. A new life and beginning. He hurried on. The sun was setting. Cars streaked by him, businessmen going home from work. Tomorrow they would be going back—but not him. Not ever again. He reached his own street. Ed Tildon's house rose up, a great stately structure of concrete and glass. Tildon's dog came rushing out to bark. Haskel hastened past. Tildon's dog. He laughed wildly. "Better keep away!" he shouted at the dog. He reached his own house and leaped up the front steps two at a time. He tore the door open. The living-room was dark and silent. There was a sudden stir of motion. Shapes untangling themselves, getting quickly up from the couch. "Verne!" Madge gasped. "What are you doing home so early?"

Verne Haskel threw his briefcase down and dropped his hat and coat over a chair. His lined face was twisted with emotion, pulled out of shape by violent inner forces. "What in the world!" Madge fluttered, hurrying toward him nervously, smoothing down her lounge pajamas. "Has something happened? I didn't expect you so—" She broke off, blushing. "I mean, I—" Paul Tyler strolled leisurely toward Haskel. "Hi there, Verne," he murmured, embarrassed. "Dropped by to say hello and return a book to your wife." Haskel nodded curtly. "Afternoon." He turned and Page 14

headed toward the basement door, ignoring the two of them. "I'll be downstairs." "But Verne!" Madge protested. "What's happened?" Verne halted briefly at the door. "I quit my job." "You what?" "I quit my job. I finished Larson off. There won't be any more of him." The basement door slammed. "Good Lord!" Madge shrieked, clutching at Tyler hysterically. "He's gone out of his mind!" Down in the basement, Verne Haskel snapped on the light impatiently. He put on his engineer's cap and pulled his stool up beside the great plywood table. What next? Morris Home Furnishings. The big plush store. Where the clerks all looked down their noses at him. He rubbed his hands gleefully. No more of them. No more snooty clerks, lifting their eyebrows when he came in. Only hair and bow ties and folded handkerchiefs. He removed the model of Morris Home Furnishings and disassembled it. He worked feverishly, with frantic haste. Now that he had really begun he wasted no time. A moment later he was glueing two small buildings in its place. Ritz Shoeshine. Pete's Bowling Alley. Haskel giggled excitedly. Fitting extinction for the luxurious, exclusive furniture store. A shoeshine parlor and a bowling alley. Just what it deserved. The California State Bank. He had always hated the Bank. They had once refused him a loan. He pulled the Bank loose. Ed Tildon's mansion. His damn dog. The dog had bit him on the ankle one afternoon. He ripped the model off. His head spun. He could do anything. Harrison Appliance. They had sold him a bum radio. Off came Harrison Appliance.

Joe's Cigar and Smoke Shop. Joe had given him a lead quarter in May, 1949. Off came Joe's.  The Ink Works. He loathed the smell of ink. Maybe a bread factory, instead. He loved baking bread. Off came the Ink Works. Elm Street was too dark at night. A couple of times he had stumbled. A few more streetlights were in order. Not enough bars along High Street. Too many dress shops and expensive hat and fur shops and ladies' apparel. He ripped a whole handful loose Page 15

and carried them to the workbench.

At the top of the stairs the door opened slowly. Madge peered down, pale and frightened. "Verne?" He scowled up impatiently. "What do you want?" Madge came downstairs hesitantly. Behind her Doctor Tyler followed, suave and handsome in his gray suit. "Verne — is everything all right?" "Of course." "Did—did you really quit your job?" Haskel nodded. He began to disassemble the Ink Works, ignoring his wife and Doctor Tyler. "But why?" Haskel grunted impatiently. "No time." Doctor Tyler had begun to look worried. "Do I understand you're too busy for your job?" "That's right." "Too busy doing what?" Tyler's voice rose; he was trembling nervously. "Working down here on this town of yours? Changing things?" "Go away," Haskel muttered. His deft hands were assembling a lovely little Langendorf Bread Factory. He shaped it with loving care, sprayed it with white paint, brushed a gravel walk and shrubs in front of it. He put it aside and began on a park. A big green park. Woodland had always needed a park. It would go in place of State Street Hotel. Tyler pulled Madge away from the table, off in a corner of the basement. "Good God." He lit a cigarette shakily. The cigarette flipped out of his hands and rolled away. He ignored it and fumbled for another. "You see? You see what he's doing?" Madge shook her head mutely. "What is it? I don't—" "How long has he been working on this? All his life?" Madge nodded, white-faced. "Yes, all his life." Tyler's features twisted. "My God, Madge. It's enough to drive you out of your mind. I can hardly believe it. We've got to do something." "What's happening?" Madge moaned. "What—" "He's losing himself into it." Tyler's face was a mask of incredulous disbelief. "Faster and faster." "He's always come down here," Madge faltered. "It's nothing new. He's always wanted to get away." "Yes. Get away." Tyler shuddered, clenched his fists Page 16

and pulled himself together. He advanced across the basement and stopped by Verne Haskel. "What do you want?" Haskel muttered, noticing him. Tyler licked his lips. "You're adding some things, aren't you? New buildings." Haskel nodded.

Tyler touched the little bread factory with shaking fingers. "What's this? Bread? Where does it go?" He moved around the table. "I don't remember any bread factory in Woodland." He whirled. "You aren't by any chance improving on the town? Fixing it up here and there?" "Get the hell out of here," Haskel said, with ominous calm. "Both of you." "Verne!" Madge squeaked. "I've got a lot to do. You can bring sandwiches down about eleven. I hope to finish sometime tonight." "Finish?" Tyler asked. "Finish," Haskel answered, returning to his work. "Come on, Madge." Tyler grabbed her and pulled her to the stairs. "Let's get out of here." He strode ahead of her, up to the stairs and into the hall. "Come on!" As soon as she was up he closed the door tightly after them. Madge dabbed at her eyes hysterically. "He's gone crazy, Paul! What'll we do?" Tyler was in deep thought. "Be quiet. I have to think this out." He paced back and forth, a hard scowl on his features. "It'll come soon. It won't be long, not at this rate. Sometime tonight." "What? What do you mean?" "His withdrawal. Into his substitute world. The improved model he controls. Where he can get away." "Isn't there something we can do?" "Do?" Tyler smiled faintly. "Do we want to do something?" Madge gasped. "But we can't just—" "Maybe this will solve our problem. This may be just what we've been looking for." Tyler eyed Mrs. Haskel thoughtfully. "This may be just the thing."

It was after midnight, almost two o'clock in the morning, when he began to get things into final shape. He was tired—but alert. Things were happening fast. The job was almost done. Virtually perfect. He halted work a moment, surveying what he had accomplished. The town had Page 17

been radically changed. About ten o'clock he had begun basic structural alterations in the lay-out of the streets. He had removed most of the public buildings, the civic center and the sprawling business district around it. He had erected a new city hall, police station, and an immense park with fountains and indirect lighting. He had cleared the slum area, the old run-down stores and houses and streets. The streets were wider and well-lit. The houses were now small and clean. The stores modern and attractive— without being ostentatious. All advertising signs had been removed. Most of the filling stations were gone. The immense factory area was gone, too. Rolling countryside took its place. Trees and hills and green grass. The wealthy district had been altered. There were now only a few of the mansions left—belonging to persons he looked favorably on. The rest had been cut down, turned into uniform two-bedroom dwellings, one story, with a single garage each. The city hall was no longer an elaborate, rococo structure. Now it was low and simple, modeled after the Parthenon, a favorite of his. There were ten or twelve persons who had done him special harm. He had altered their houses considerably. Given them war-time housing unit apartments, six to a building, at the far edge of town. Where the wind came off the bay, carrying the smell of decaying mud-flats. Jim Larson's house was completely gone. He had erased Larson utterly. He no longer existed, not in this new Woodland—which was now almost complete. Almost. Haskel studied his work intently. All the changes had to be made now. Not later. This was the time of creation. Later, when it had been finished, it could not be altered. He had to catch all the necessary changes now—or forget them.

The new Woodland looked pretty good. Clean and neat—and simple. The rich district had been toned down. The poor district had been improved. Glaring ads, signs, displays, had all been changed or removed. The business community was smaller. Parks and countryside took the place of factories. The civic center was lovely. He added a couple of playgrounds for smaller kids. A small theater instead of the Page 18

enormous Uptown with its flashing neon sign. After some consideration he removed most of the bars he had previously constructed. The new Woodland was going to be moral. Extremely moral. Few bars, no billiards, no red light district. And there was an especially fine jail for undesirables. The most difficult part had been the microscopic lettering of the main office door of the city hall. He had left it until last, and then painted the words with agonizing care:

MAYOR VERNON R. HASKEL

A few last changes. He gave the Edwards a '39 Plymouth instead of a new Cadillac. He added more trees in the downtown district. One more fire department. One less dress shop. He had never liked taxis. On impulse, he removed the taxi stand and put in a flower shop. Haskel rubbed his hands. Anything more? Or was it complete. . . Perfect. . . He studied each part intently. What had he overlooked? The high school. He removed it and put in two smaller high schools, one at each end of town. Another hospital. That took almost half an hour. He was getting tired. His hands were less swift. He mopped his forehead shakily. Anything else? He sat down on his stool wearily, to rest and think.

All done. It was complete. Joy welled up in him. A bursting cry of happiness. His work was over. "Finished!" Verne Haskel shouted. He got unsteadily to his feet. He closed his eyes, held his arms out, and advanced toward the plywood table. Reaching, grasping, fingers extended, Haskel headed toward it, a look of radiant exaltation on his seamed, middle-aged face. Upstairs, Tyler and Madge heard the shout. A distant booming that rolled through the house in waves. Madge winced in terror. "What was that?" Tyler listened intently. He heard Haskel moving below them, in the basement. Abruptly, he stubbed out his cigarette. "I think it's happened. Sooner than I expected." "It? You mean he's—" Tyler got quickly to his feet. "He's gone, Madge. Into his other world. We're finally free." Madge caught his arm. Page 19

"Maybe we're making a mistake. It's so terrible. Shouldn't we—try to do something? Bring him out of it—try to pull him back." "Bring him back?" Tyler laughed nervously. "I don't think we could, now. Even if we wanted to. It's too late." He hurried toward the basement door. "Come on." "It's horrible." Madge shuddered and followed reluctantly. "I wish we had never got started." Tyler halted briefly at the door. "Horrible? He's happier where he is now. And you're happier. The way it was, nobody was happy. This is the best thing." He opened the basement door. Madge followed him. They moved cautiously down the stairs, into the dark, silent basement, damp with the faint night mists. The basement was empty. Tyler relaxed. He was overcome with dazed relief. "He's gone. Everything's okay. It worked out exactly right."

"But I don't understand," Madge repeated hopelessly, as Tyler's Buick purred along the dark, deserted streets. "Where did he go?" "You know where he went," Tyler answered. "Into his substitute world, of course." He screeched around a corner on two wheels. "The rest should be fairly simple. A few routine forms. There really isn't much left, now." The night was frigid and bleak. No lights showed, except an occasional lonely streetlamp. Far off, a train whistle sounded mournfully, a dismal echo. Rows of silent houses flickered by on both sides of them. "Where are we going?" Madge asked. She sat huddled against the door, face pale with shock and terror, shivering under her coat. "To the police station." "Why?" "To report him, naturally. So they'll know he's gone. We'll have to wait; it'll be several years before he'll be declared legally dead." Tyler reached over and hugged her briefly. "We'll make out in the meantime, I'm sure." "What if—they find him?" Tyler shook his head angrily. He was still tense, on edge. "Don't you understand? They'll never find him—he doesn't exist. At least, not in our world. He's in his own world. You saw it. The model. The improved substitute." "He's there?" "All his life he's worked on it. Built it up. Made it real. Page 20

He brought that world into being—and now he's in it. That's what he wanted. That's why he built it. He didn't merely dream about an escape world. He actually constructed it—every bit and piece. Now he's warped himself right out of our world, into it. Out of our lives."  Madge finally began to understand. "Then he really did lose himself in his substitute world. You meant that, what you said about him—getting away."  "It took me awhile to realize it. The mind constructs reality. Frames it. Creates it. We all have a common reality, a common dream. But Haskel turned his back on our common reality and created his own. And he had a unique capacity—far beyond the ordinary. He devoted his whole life, his whole skill to building it. He's there now."

Tyler hesitated and frowned. He gripped the wheel tightly and increased speed. The Buick hissed along the dark street, through the silent, unmoving bleakness that was the town. "There's only one thing," he continued presently. "One thing I don't understand." "What is it?" "The model. It was also gone. I assumed he'd—shrink, I suppose. Merge with it. But the model's gone, too." Tyler shrugged. "It doesn't matter." He peered into the darkness. "We're almost there. This is Elm." It was then Madge screamed. "Look!" To the right of the car was a small, neat building. And a sign. The sign was easily visible in the darkness.

WOODLAND MORTUARY

Madge was sobbing in horror. The car roared forward, automatically guided by Tyler's numb hands. Another sign flashed by briefly, as they coasted up before the city hall.

STEUBEN PET SHOP

The city hall was lit by recessed, hidden illumination. A low, simple building, a square of glowing white. Like a marble Greek temple. Tyler pulled the car to a halt. Then suddenly shrieked and started up again. But not soon enough. The two shiny-black police cars came silently up around the Buick, one on each side. The four stern cops already had their hands on the door. Stepping out and coming toward him, grim and efficient. Page 21

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Rh "Much hath been done—but more remains to do—

"Their galleys blaze—why not their city too?"

V.

Quick at the word—they seized him each a torch,

And fire the dome from minaret to porch.

A stern delight was fixed in Conrad's eye,

But sudden sunk—for on his ear the cry

Of women struck, and like a deadly knell

Knocked at that heart unmoved by Battle's yell.

"Oh! burst the Haram—wrong not on your lives

"One female form—remember—we have wives.

"On them such outrage Vengeance will repay;

"Man is our foe, and such 'tis ours to slay:

"But still we spared—must spare the weaker prey.

"Oh! I forgot—but Heaven will not forgive

"If at my word the helpless cease to live;

"Follow who will—I go—we yet have time

"Our souls to lighten of at least a crime."

He climbs the crackling stair—he bursts the door,

Nor feels his feet glow scorching with the floor;

His breath choked gasping with the volumed smoke,

But still from room to room his way he broke:

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42 They search—they find—they save: with lusty arms

Each bears a prize of unregarded charms;

Calm their loud fears; sustain their sinking frames

With all the care defenceless beauty claims:

So well could Conrad tame their fiercest mood,

And check the very hands with gore imbrued.

But who is she? whom Conrad's arms convey,

From reeking pile and combat's wreck—away—

Who but the love of him he dooms to bleed?

The Haram queen—but still the slave of Seyd!

VI.

Brief time had Conrad now to greet Gulnare,9

Few words to reassure the trembling fair;

For in that pause compassion snatched from war,

The foe before retiring, fast and far,

With wonder saw their footsteps unpursued,

First slowlier fled—then rallied—then withstood.

This Seyd perceives, then first perceives how few,

Compared with his, the Corsair's roving crew,

And blushes o'er his error, as he eyes

The ruin wrought by panic and surprize.

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Rh Alla il Alla! Vengeance swells the cry—

Shame mounts to rage that must atone or die!

And flame for flame and blood for blood must tell,

The tide of triumph ebbs that flowed too well—

When wrath returns to renovated strife,

And those who fought for conquest strike for life.

Conrad beheld the danger—he beheld

His followers faint by freshening foes repelled:

"One effort—one—to break the circling host!"

They form—unite—charge—waver—all is lost!

Within a narrower ring compress'd, beset,

Hopeless, not heartless, strive and struggle yet—

Ah! now they fight in firmest file no more,

Hemm'd in—cut off—cleft down—and trampled o'er;

But each strikes singly, silently, and home,

And sinks outwearied rather than o'ercome,

His last faint quittance rendering with his breath,

Till the blade glimmers in the grasp of death!

VII.

But first, ere came the rallying host to blows,

And rank to rank, and hand to hand oppose,

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Rh

 MAITLAND, JOHN,, and fifth  (1650?–1710), born about 1650, was second son of Charles, third earl of Lauderdale [q. v.], and younger brother of Richard, fourth earl [q. v.] He passed advocate at the Scottish bar, 30 July 1680. He afterwards received the honour of knighthood, and on 12 March 1685 was elected a commissioner to the estates for Midlothian. Unlike his relatives, he concurred in the revolution. He was sworn a member of the privy council, and on 28 Oct. 1689 was appointed one of the lords of session with the title of Lord Ravelrig. About the same time he was made colonel of the Edinburghshire militia. He succeeded to the earldom of Lauderdale on the death of his elder brother Richard in 1695, and on 8 March 1696 took the oaths and his seat in parliament. He was a supporter of the union. He died 30 Aug. 1710. Macky describes him as ‘a well-bred man, handsome in his person,’ and as also ‘meaning well to his country,’ but coming ‘far short of his predecessors, who for three or four generations were chancellors and secretaries of state for that kingdom’ (Memoirs, pp. 230–1). By his wife Margaret Cunningham, only child of Alexander, tenth earl of Glencairn, he had three sons and a daughter. Of the sons, Charles, sixth earl of Lauderdale (d. 1744), served under the Duke of Argyll at Sheriffmuir, was master of the mint in Scotland, representative peer of Scotland and lord-lieutenant of co. Edinburgh, and married Elizabeth, daughter of James Ogilvy, fourth earl of Findlater and first earl of Seafield; his sixth son, Frederick Lewis, is noticed under.

 MAITLAND, JOHN GORHAM (1818–1863), civil servant, born in 1818, was the son of Samuel Roffey Maitland [q. v.] He became a fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge, after having obtained the third place in the classical and the seventh in the mathematical tripos of 1839. He was called to the bar, but found little practice. He was the author of two pamphlets, ‘Church Leases,’ 1849, and ‘Property and Income Tax,’ 1853. He was secretary to the civil service commission in succession to his friend James Spedding [q. v.] from 1855 until his death in 1863. His wife Emma, daughter of John Frederic Daniell [q. v.], survived him with a son and two daughters.

[Personal knowledge.]  MAITLAND, PEREGRINE (1777–1854), general and colonial governor, son of Thomas Maitland of Shrubs Hall, New Forest, by Caroline, daughter of George Dewar (who had married a daughter of Peregrine Bertie, second duke of Ancaster), was born at Longparish House, Hampshire, in 1777.

On 25 June 1792 he was appointed ensign in the 1st foot-guards (grenadier guards), in which he became lieutenant and captain in 1794, and captain and lieutenant-colonel in 1803. He served with his regiment in Flanders in 1794, in the unsuccessful descent on Ostend in 1798, at Vigo and Corunna in 1809 (medal), and afterwards at Walcheren. He became brevet colonel in 1812, served with his regiment at Cadiz, and was second in command in the attack on Seville (see, vi. 75), commanded the 1st brigade of guards at the passage of Bidassoa, at the battle of Nivelle, and at the passage of the Nive, on 9–12 Dec. 1813 (gold medal), also at the operations before Bayonne, at the action of Bidart, and the passage of the Adour; he became a major-general in 1814, and was made C.B. on 4 June 1815. He commanded the 1st brigade of guards, consisting of the 1st and 3rd battalions grenadier guards, each one thousand strong, at Quatrebras and Waterloo, and at the occupation of Paris (K.C.B. and medal) (ib. viii. 147, 150). He received the foreign decorations of the third class of St. Vladimir of Russia and of Willem in Holland for the Waterloo campaign.

Maitland was lieutenant-governor of Upper Canada from 3 June 1818 to 1828, lieutenant-governor of Nova Scotia from 1828 to 1834, commander-in-chief of the Madras army from 11 Oct. 1836 until succeeded by Sir Jasper Nicolls at Christmas 1838. He resigned from dislike of the East India Company's failure to enforce its order exempting native Christians from compulsory attendance at native religious festivals. Governor and commander-in-chief at the Cape of Good Hope from 18 March 1844 to 27 Jan. 1847, he was replaced by Sir Henry Eldred Pottinger [q.v.]. The Kaffir war of 1846–7 began during his government.

Maitland became a full general in 1846. He was colonel in succession of the 76th and 17th regiments, and was made a G.C.B. in 1852. He died at his residence, Eaton Place West, London, on 30 May 1854.


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


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Buddle, Adam


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


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


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


text:
Page:The Holy Bible, containing the Old & New Testament & the Apocrypha.djvu/371

XII] clean, and between the beast that may be eaten and the beast that may not be eaten.

the Lord spake unto Moses, saying, Speak unto the children of Israel, saying. If a woman have conceived seed, and born a man child: then she shall be unclean seven days; according to the days of the separation for her infirmity shall she be unclean. And in the eighth day the flesh of his foreskin shall be circumcised. And she shall then continue in the blood of her purifying three and thirty days; she shall touch no hallowed thing, nor come into the sanctuary, until the days of her purifying be fulfilled. But if she bear a maid child, then she shall be unclean two weeks, as in her separation: and she shall continue in the blood of her purifying threescore and six days. And when the days of her purifying are fulfilled, for a son, or for a daughter, she shall bring a lamb of the first year for a burnt offering, and a young pigeon, or a turtledove, for a sin offering, unto the door of the tabernacle of the congregation, unto the priest: who shall offer it before the Lord, and make an atonement for her; and she shall be cleansed from the issue of her blood. This is the law for her that hath born a male or a female. And if she be not able to bring a lamb, then she shall bring two turtles, or two young pigeons; the one for the burnt offering, and


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


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Rh the other for a sin offering: and the priest shall make an atonement for her, and she shall be clean.

And the Lord spake unto Moses and Aaron, saying, When a man shall have in the skin of his flesh a rising, a scab, or bright spot, and it be in the skin of his flesh like the plague of leprosy; then he shall be brought unto Aaron the priest, or unto one of his sons the priests: and the priest shall look on the plague in the skin of the flesh: and when the hair in the plague is turned white, and the plague in sight be deeper than the skin of his flesh, it is a plague of leprosy: and the priest shall look on him, and pronounce him unclean. If the bright spot be white in the skin of his flesh, and in sight be not deeper than the skin, and the hair thereof be not turned white; then the priest shall shut up him that hath the plague seven days: and the priest shall look on him the seventh day: and, behold, if the plague in his sight be at a stay, and the plague spread not in the skin; then the priest shall shut him up seven days more: and the priest shall look on him again the seventh day: and, behold, if the plague be somewhat dark, and the plague spread not in the skin, the priest shall pronounce him clean: it is but a scab: and he shall wash his clothes, and be clean. But if the scab spread much abroad in the skin, after that he hath been seen of


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XIII] the priest for his cleansing, he shall be seen of the priest again: and if the priest see that, behold, the scab spreadeth in the skin, then the priest shall pronounce him unclean: it is a leprosy.

When the plague of leprosy is in a man, then he shall be brought unto the priest; and the priest shall see him: and, behold, if the rising be white in the skin; and it have turned the hair white, and there be quick raw flesh in the rising; it is an old leprosy in the skin of his flesh, and the priest shall pronounce him unclean, and shall not shut him up: for he is unclean. And if a leprosy break out abroad in the skin, and the leprosy cover all the skin of him that hath the plague from his head even to his foot, wheresoever the priest looketh; then the priest shall consider: and, behold, if the leprosy have covered all his flesh, he shall pronounce him clean that hath the plague: it is all turned white: he is clean. But when raw flesh appeareth in him, he shall be unclean. And the priest shall see the raw flesh, and pronounce him to be unclean: for the raw flesh is unclean: it is a leprosy. Or if the raw flesh turn again, and be changed unto white, he shall come unto the priest; and the priest shall see him: and, behold, if the plague be turned into white; then the priest shall pronounce him clean that hath the plague: he is clean.


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Rh The flesh also, in which, even in the skin thereof, was a boil, and is healed, and in the place of the boil there be a white rising, or a bright spot, white, and somewhat reddish, and it be shewed to the priest; and if, when the priest seeth it, behold, it be in sight lower than the skin, and the hair thereof be turned white; the priest shall pronounce him unclean: it is a plague of leprosy broken out of the boil. But if the priest look on it, and, behold, there be no white hairs therein, and if it be not lower than the skin, but be somewhat dark; then the priest shall shut him up seven days: and if it spread much abroad in the skin, then the priest shall pronounce him unclean: it is a plague. But if the bright spot stay in his place, and spread not, it is a burning boil; and the priest shall pronounce him clean.

Or if there be any flesh, in the skin whereof there is a hot burning, and the quick flesh that burneth have a white bright spot, somewhat reddish, or white; then the priest shall look upon it: and, behold, if the hair in the bright spot be turned white, and it be in sight deeper than the skin; it is a leprosy broken out of the burning: wherefore the priest shall pronounce him unclean: it is the plague of leprosy. But if the priest look on it, and, behold, there be no white hair in the bright spot, and it be no lower than the other


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XIII] skin, but be somewhat dark; then the priest shall shut him up seven days: and the priest shall look upon him the seventh day: and if it be spread much abroad in the skin, then the priest shall pronounce him unclean: it is the plague of leprosy. And if the bright spot stay in his place, and spread not in the skin, but it be somewhat dark; it is a rising of the burning, and the priest shall pronounce him clean: for it is an inflammation of the burning.

If a man or woman have a plague upon the head or the beard; then the priest shall see the plague: and, behold, if it be in sight deeper than the skin; and there be in it a yellow thin hair; then the priest shall pronounce him unclean: it is a dry scall, even a leprosy upon the head or beard. And if the priest look on the plague of the scall, and, behold, it be not in sight deeper than the skin, and that there is no black hair in it; then the priest shall shut up him that hath the plague of the scall seven days: and in the seventh day the priest shall look on the plague: and, behold, if the scall spread not, and there be in it no yellow hair, and the scall be not in sight deeper than the skin; he shall be shaven, but the scall shall he not shave; and the priest shall shut up him that hath the scall seven days more: and in the seventh day the priest shall look on the scall: and, behold, if the scall


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Rh be not spread in the skin, nor be in sight deeper than the skin; then the priest shall pronounce him clean: and he shall wash his clothes, and be clean. But if the scall spread much in the skin after his cleansing; then the priest shall look on him: and, behold, if the scall be spread in the skin, the priest shall not seek for yellow hair; he is unclean. But if the scall be in his sight at a stay, and that there is black hair grown up therein; the scall is healed, he is clean: and the priest shall pronounce him clean.

If a man also or a woman have in the skin of their flesh bright spots, even white bright spots; then the priest shall look: and, behold, if the bright spots in the skin of their flesh be darkish white; it is a freckled spot that groweth in the skin; he is clean. And the man whose hair is fallen off his head, he is bald; yet is he clean. And he that hath his hair fallen off from the part of his head toward his face, he is forehead bald: yet is he clean. And if there be in the bald head, or bald forehead, a white reddish sore; it is a leprosy sprung up in his bald head, or his bald forehead. Then the priest shall look upon it: and, behold, if the rising of the sore be white reddish in his bald head, or in his; bald forehead, as the leprosy appeareth in the skin of the flesh; he is a leprous man, he is unclean: the priest shall pronounce him utterly unclean; his plague


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XIII] is in his head. And the leper in whom the plague is, his clothes shall be rent, and his head bare, and he shall put a covering upon his upper lip, and shall cry, Unclean, unclean. All the days wherein the plague shall be in him he shall be defiled; he is unclean: he shall dwell alone; without the camp shall his habitation be.

The garment also that the plague of leprosy is in, whether it be a woollen garment, or a linen garment; whether it be in the warp, or woof; of linen, or of woollen; whether in a skin, or in any thing made of skin; and if the plague be greenish or reddish in the garment, or in the skin, either in the warp, or in the woof, or in any thing of skin; it is a plague of leprosy, and shall be shewed unto the priest: and the priest shall look upon the plague, and shut up it that hath the plague seven days: and he shall look on the plague on the seventh day: if the plague be spread in the garment, either in the warp, or in the woof, or in a skin, or in any work that is made of skin; the plague is a fretting leprosy; it is unclean. He shall therefore burn that garment, whether warp or woof, in woollen or in linen, or any thing of skin, wherein the plague is: for it is a fretting leprosy; it shall be burnt in the fire. And if the priest shall look, and, behold, the plague be not spread in the gar-