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260 even Lord Southampton bore a share, to bring Tunstall forward in Gardiner's place. And though this scheme failed, through the caution of the principal persons interested, the grievances remained, embittered by a forced submission: a fresh debt had been contracted, bearing interest till it was paid.

As great, or a greater, danger embarrassed Cromwell from the folly of his friends. So long as the tide was in their favour, the Protestants indulged in insolent excesses, which provoked, and almost justified, the anger with which they were regarded. Hitherto they had held a monopoly of popular preaching. Tradition and authority had been with the Catholics: the rhetoric had been mainly with their adversaries. In the summer the interest of London was suddenly excited on the other side by a Catholic orator of extraordinary powers, a Dr Watts, unknown before or after this particular crisis, but for the moment a principal figure on the stage. Watts attracted vast audiences;

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


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1539.] and the Protestants could not endure a rival, and were as little able as their opponents to content themselves with refuting him by argument. He was summoned, on a charge of false doctrine, before the Archbishop of Canterbury; and even moderate persons were scandalized when they saw Barnes sitting by the side of Cranmer as assessor in a cause of heresy. It appeared, and perhaps it was designed, as an insult—as a deliberately calculated outrage. Ten thousand London citizens proposed to walk in procession to Lambeth, to require the restoration of their teacher; and, although the open demonstration was prevented by the City officers, an alderman took charge of their petition, and offered, unless the preacher's offence was high treason, to put in bail for him in the name of the corporation.

There were, perhaps, circumstances in the case beyond those which appear; but, instead of listening to the request of the city, the Archbishop spirited away the preacher into Kent, and his friends learned, from the boasts of their adversaries, that he was imprisoned and ill-used. He was attached, it seems,


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262 to the Victuallers' Company. 'There is no persecution, wrote a Protestant fanatic, 'except of the Victuallers; of which sect a certain impostor of the name of Watts, formerly of the order of wry-necked cattle, is now holding forth, oh, shame! in the stocks at Canterbury Bridewell, having been accustomed to mouth elsewhere against the Gospel.'

While England was thus fermenting towards a second crisis, the German marriage was creating no less anxiety on the Continent. As it was Cromwell's chief object to unite England with the Lutherans, so was Charles V. anxious above all things to keep them separate; and no sooner was he aware that the Duke of Cleves had consented to give his sister to Henry than he renewed his offer of the Duchess of Milan. The reply was a cold and peremptory refusal; and the Emperor, seeing that the English Government would not be again trifled with, determined to repair into Flanders, in order to be at hand, should important movements take place in Germany. To give menace and significance to his


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1539.] journey, he resolved, if possible, to pass through France on his way, and in a manner so unformal and confidential as, perhaps, might contribute towards substantiating his relations with Francis, or, at least, might give the world the impression of their entire cordiality.

The proposal of a visit from the Emperor, when made known at Paris, was met with a warm and instant assent; and many were the speculations to which an affair so unexpected gave occasion in Europe. But the minds of men were not long at a loss, and Henry's intended marriage was soon accepted as an adequate explanation. The danger of a Protestant league compelled the Catholic powers to bury their


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PHILOSOPHY 27 PHILOSOPHY 's classification was taken up by his school (the Academy), but it was not long in yielding to the influence of 's more complete division and according a place to logic. Following the inspirations of the old Academics, the divided philosophy into  (the study of the real),  (the study of the structure of science), and morals (the study of moral acts). This classification was perpetuated by the, who transmitted it to the , and through them to the.

(2), 's illustrious disciple, the most didactic, and at the same time the most synthetic, mind of the world, drew up a remarkable scheme of the divisions of philosophy. The philosophical sciences are divided into theoretic, practical, and poetic, according as their scope is pure speculative knowledge, or conduct (πράξις), or external production (ποίησις). Theoretic philosophy comprises: (a), or the study of corporeal things which are subject to change (άχώριστα μέν άλλ' ούκ άκίνητα) (b) mathematics, or the study of extension, i.e., of a corporeal property not subject to change and considered, by abstraction, apart from matter (άκίνητα μέν ού χώριστα δ' ίσως, άλλ' ώς έν ύλη); (c) , called theology, or first philosophy, i. e. the study of being in its unchangeable and (whether naturally or by abstraction) incorporeal determinations (χώριστα καί άκίνητα). Practical philosophy comprises, economics, and politics, the second of these three often merging into the last. Poetic philosophy is concerned in general with the external works conceived by human intelligence. To these may conveniently be added, the vestibule of philosophy, which studied at length, and of which he may be called the creator.

To  rightly accords the place of honour in the grouping of philosophical studies. He calls it “first philosophy”. His classification was taken up by the Peripatetic School and was famous throughout antiquity; it was eclipsed by the classification during the Alexandrine period, but it reappeared during the.

B. In the Middle Ages.—Though the division of philosophy into its branches is not uniform in the first period of the in the West, i. e. down to the end of the twelfth century, the classifications of this period are mostly akin to the  division into, , and. classification of the theoretic sciences, though made known by, exerted no influence for the reason that in the early the West knew nothing of  except his works on logic and some fragments of his speculative philosophy (see section V below). It should be added here that philosophy, reduced at first to dialectic, or logic, and placed as such in the Trivium, was not long in setting itself above the liberal arts.

The Arab philosophers of the twelfth century accepted the  classification, and when their works—particularly their translations of  great original treatises—penetrated into the West, the  division definitively took its place there. Its coming is heralded by Gundissalinus (see section XII), one of the translators of, and author of a treatise, “De divisione philosophiae”, which was imitated by  and. did no more than adopt it and give it a precise scientific form. Later on we shall see that, conformably with the medieval notion of sapientia, to each part of philosophy corresponds the preliminary study of a group of special sciences. The general scheme of the division of philosophy in the thirteenth century, with commentary on it, is as follows:

There are as many parts of philosophy as there are distinct domains in the order submitted to the philosopher's reflection. Now there is an order which the intelligence does not form but only considers; such is the order realized in nature. Another order, the practical, is formed either by the acts of our intelligence or by the acts of our will, or by the application of those acts to external things in the arts: hence the division of practical philosophy into, moral philosophy, and , or the philosophy of the arts (“Ad philosophiam naturalem pertinet considerare ordinem rerum quem ratio humana considerat sed non facit; ita quod sub naturali philosophia comprehendamus et metaphysicam. Ordo autem quem ratio considerando facit in proprio actu, pertinet ad rationalem philosophiam, cujus est considerare ordinem partium orationis ad invicem et ordinem principiorum ad invicem et ad conclusiones.  Ordo autem actionum voluntariarum pertinet ad considerationem moralis philosophiæ.  Ordo autem quem ratio considerando facit in rebus exterioribus per rationem humanam pertinet ad artes mechanicas.”  To natural philosophy pertains the consideration of the order of things which human reason considers but does not create—just as we include  also under natural philosophy. But the order which reason creates of its own act by consideration pertains to rational philosophy, the office of which is to consider the order of the parts of speech with reference to one another and the order of the principles with reference to one another and to the conclusions. The order of voluntary actions pertains to the consideration of moral philosophy, while the order which the reason creates in external things through the human reason pertains to the mechanical arts.—In “X Ethic. ad Nic.”, I, lect. i). The philosophy of nature, or speculative philosophy, is divided into, mathematics, and , according to the three stages traversed by the intelligence in its effort to attain a synthetic comprehension of the universal order, by abstracting from movement , intelligible quantity (mathematics), being  (In lib. Boeth. de Trinitate, Q. v., a. 1). In this classification it is to be noted that, man being one element of the world of sense,  ranks as a part of.

C. In Modern Philosophy—The classification may be said, generally speaking, to have lasted, with some exceptions, until the seventeenth century. Beginning with, we find a multitude of classifications arising, differing in the principles which inspire them. , for instance, distinguishes, moral philosophy, , and anthropology. The most widely accepted scheme, that which still governs the division of the branches of philosophy in teaching, is due to Wolff (1679-1755), a disciple of, who has been called the educator of in the eighteenth century. This scheme is as follows:

(1).

(2) Speculative Philosophy
 * , or General.
 * Special.
 * (the study of God).
 * (the study of the World).
 * (the study of Man).

(3) Practical Philosophy.
 * Politics
 * Economics
 * Economics

Wolff broke the ties binding the particular sciences to philosophy, and placed them by themselves; in his view philosophy must remain purely rational. It is easy to see that the members of Wolff's scheme are found in the classification, wherein  is a chapter of  and  a chapter of. It may even be said that the classification is better than Wolff's in regard to speculative philosophy, where the ancients were guided by the formal object of the study—i. e. by


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264 rivalries; and a legate was despatched from Rome to be present at the meeting at Paris. Reginald Pole, ever on the watch for an opportunity to strike a blow at his country, caught once more at the opening, and submitted a paper on the condition of England to the Pope, showing how the occasion might be improved. The Emperor was aware, Pole said, that England had been lost to the Holy See in a Spanish quarrel, and for the sake of a Spanish princess; and he knew himself to be bound in honour, however hitherto he had made pretexts for delay, to assist in its recovery. His Imperial oaths, the insults to his family, the ancient alliance between England and the house of Burgundy, with his own promises so often repeated, alike urged the same duty upon him; and now, at last, he was able to act without difficulty. The rivalry between France and Spain had alone encouraged Henry to defy the opinion of Europe. That rivalry was at an end. The two sovereigns had only to unite in a joint remonstrance against his conduct, with a threat that he should be declared a public enemy if he persisted in his course, and his submission would be instant. He would not dare to refuse. He could


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1539.] not trust his subjects: they had risen once of themselves, and he knew too well the broken promises, the treachery and cruelty, with which he had restored order, to risk their fury, should they receive effective support from abroad. Without striking a single blow, the Catholic powers might achieve a glorious triumph, and heal the gaping wound in the body of Christ. So wrote, and so thought the English traitor, with all human probabilities in his favour, and only the Eternal Powers on the other side. The same causes which filled Pole with hope struck terror into weak and agitated hearts in the country which he was seeking to betray; the wayfarers on the highroads talked to each other in despair of the impending ruin of the kingdom, left naked without an ally to the attacks of the world.

Spreading around him such panics and such expectations, the Emperor entered France almost simultaneously with the departure of Anne of Cleves from her mother's side to the shores of England. Pity that, in


text: The Confession (Gorky)

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Rh

is like a weatherglass, where the man appears out at one time, the woman at another! Variable as the atmosphere, the changes of our story now re-present Lucy to the reader.

That charming young person,—who, it may be remarked, is (her father excepted) the only unsophisticated and unsullied character in the pages of a story in some measure designed to show in the depravities of character the depravities of that social state wherein characters are formed,—was sitting alone in her apartment at the period in which we return to her. As Time, and that innate

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82 and insensible fund of healing, which Nature has placed in the bosoms of the young, in order that her great law, the passing away of the old, may not leave too lasting and keen a wound, had softened her first anguish at her father's death, the remembrance of Clifford again resumed its antient sway in her heart. The loneliness of her life,—the absence of amusement,—even the sensitiveness and languor which succeed to grief, conspired to invest the image of her lover in a tenderer and more impressive guise. She recalled his words, his actions, his letters, and employed herself whole hours, whole days and nights, in endeavouring to decipher their mystery. Who that has been loved will not acknowledge the singular and mighty force with which a girl, innocent herself, clings to the belief of innocence in her lover? In breasts young and unacquainted with the world, there is so pure a credulity in the existence of unmixed good, so firm a reluctance to think that where we love, there can be that which we would not esteem, or where we admire there can be that which we ought to blame, that one may almost deem it an argument in favour of our

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Rh power to attain a greater eminence in virtue, than the habits and arts of the existing world will allow us to reach. Perhaps it is not paradoxical to say that we could scarcely believe perfection in others, were not the germ of perfectibility in our own minds! When a man has lived some years among the actual contests of faction, without imbibing the prejudice as well as the experience, how wonderingly he smiles at his worship of former idols!—how different a colour does history wear to him!—how cautious is he now to praise!—how slow to admire!—how prone to cavil! Human Nature has become the human nature of art; and he estimates it not from what it may be, but from what, in the corruptions of a semi-civilization, it is! But in the same manner as the young student clings to the belief, that the sage, or the minstrel, who has enlightened his reason or chained his imagination, is in character as in genius elevated above the ordinary herd, free from the passions, the frivolities, the little meannesses, and the darkening vices which ordinary flesh is heir to, does a woman, who loves for the first time, cling to the imagined excellence of him she loves! When

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84 Evelina is so shocked at the idea of an occasional fit of intoxication in her "noble, her unrivalled" lover, who does not acknowledge how natural were her feelings? Had Evelina been married six years, and the same lover, then her husband, been really guilty of what she suspected, who does not feel that it would have been very unnatural to have been shocked in the least at the occurrence? She would not have loved him less, nor admired him less, nor would he have been the less "the noble and the unrivalled,"—he would have taken his glass too much, have joked the next morning on the event, and the gentle Evelina would have made him a cup of tea! but that which would have been a matter of pleasantry in the husband, would have been matter of damnation in the lover!—But to return to Lucy.

If it be so hard, so repellent to believe a lover guilty even of a trivial error, we may readily suppose that Lucy never for a moment admitted the supposition that Clifford had been really guilty of gross error or wilful crime. True, that expressions in his letter were more than suspicious;

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 in Santa Maria de Naranco, the church is covered with a barrel vault with similar constructive and decorative features. Externally the buttresses are in great profusion, there being two to each bay. The screen, the pierced marble slabs between the columns carrying it, and the decoration of the capitals, all show Byzantine influence. Other early churches are those of San Pablo del Campo (930) and San Pedro de las Puellas, both in Barcelona, the fine church at the village of Priesca near Villaviciosa (915), the monastery of Valdedios (893) and that of San Salvador (1218), in which, notwithstanding its late date, there is a distinct Moorish influence. This influence is also to be noticed in the north of Spain, although it was never occupied by the Moors. Thus in the earliest church known, at Baños de Cerrato near Palencia (founded in 662, but restored in 711), there is a horse-shoe barrel vault over the square apse. Again in San Miguel de Escalada (913) near Leon, there are horse-shoe arches in the nave, and the three apses are horse-shoe on plan. San Pedro at Zamora is a vaulted church with horse-shoe arches in the nave, but otherwise Byzantine in style. In the church of Corpus Christi at Segovia the nave is Moorish in style, and the octagonal columns of the nave have capitals with fir cones, as in the well-known Santa Maria la Blanca at Toledo, originally a synagogue. The most remarkable church of all, so far as Moorish style is concerned, is the church of the monastery of Santiago de Peñalva, near Villafranca del Vierzo, built between 931 and 951, and therefore coeval with Cordova. The church is 40 ft. long by 20 ft. wide, covered by a barrel vault with transverse horse-shoe arch in the centre carrying the same. At each end is an apse with horse-shoe arches carried on marble shafts with Byzantine capitals. Though of later date, there is another interesting Romanesque example in the Templars’ church of La Vera Cruz at Segovia (1204), which is twelve-sided with three apses, and in the centre has a chapel built in imitation of the Holy Sepulchre at Jerusalem.

The buildings which come next in point of date are all evidently derived from or erected by the architects of those which were at the time being built in the south of France. These churches are uniform in plan, with central lanterns and three eastern apses. The nave has usually a waggon or barrel vault, supported by quadrant vaults in the aisles, and the steeples are frequently polygonal in plan. If these churches are compared with examples like that of the cathedral at Carcassonne on the other side of the Pyrenees, their identity in style will at once be seen. A still more remarkable evidence of similarity has been pointed out between the church of St Sernin, Toulouse, and the cathedral of Santiago. The plan, proportions and general design of the two churches are identical. Here we see a noble ground-plan, consisting of nave with aisles, transepts, central lantern and chevet, consisting of an apsidal choir, with a surrounding aisle and chapels opening into it at intervals. This example is the more remarkable, inasmuch as the early Spanish architects very rarely built a regular chevel, and almost always preferred the simpler plan of apsidal chapels on either side of the choir. And its magnificent scale and perfect preservation to the present day combine to make it one of the most interesting architectural relics in the country.

Among the more remarkable buildings of the 12th and the beginning in the 13th century are San Isidoro, Leon; San Vicente, Avila; several churches in Segovia; and the old cathedral at Lerida. They are much more uniform in character than are the churches of the same period in the various provinces of France, and the developments in style, where they are seen at all, seldom have much appearance of being natural local developments. This, indeed, is the most marked feature of Spanish architecture in all periods of its history. In such a country it might have been expected that many interesting local developments would have been seen; but of these there are but one or two that deserve notice. One of them is illustrated admirably in the church of San Millan, Segovia, where beyond the aisles of the nave are open cloisters or aisles arcaded on the outside, and opening by doors into the aisles of the nave. A similar external south portico exists in San Miguel de Escalada, already referred to, Santo Domingo, Burgos, and San Estéban at Segovia. It would be difficult to devise a more charming arrangement for buildings in a hot country, whilst at the same time the architectural effect is in the highest degree beautiful. The universality of the central tower and lantern has been already mentioned. This was often polygonal, and its use led to the erection of some lanterns or domes of almost unique beauty and interest. The old cathedral at Salamanca, the church at Toro and the cathedral of Zamora, all deserve most careful study on this score. Their lanterns are almost too lofty in proportion to be properly called domes, and yet their treatment inside and outside suggests a very beautiful form of raised dome. They are carried on pointed arches, and are circular in plan internally and octagonal on the exterior, the angles of the octagon being filled with large turrets, which add much to the beauty of the design, and greatly also to its strength. Between the supporting arches and the vault there are, at Salamanca, two tiers of arcades continued all round the lantern, the lower one pierced with four, and the upper with twelve lights, and the vault or dome is decorated with ribs radiating from the centre. On the exterior the effect is rather that of a low steeple covered with a stone roof with spherical sides than of a dome, but the design is so novel and so suggestive, that it is well worth detailed description. Nothing can be more happy than the way in which the light is admitted, whilst it is also to be noted that the whole work is of stone, and that there is nothing in the design but what is essentially permanent and monumental in construction. The only other Spanish development is the introduction, to a very moderate extent, of features derived from the practice of the Moorish architects. This is, however, much less seen than might have been expected, and is usually confined to some small feature of detail, such, e.g. as the carving of a boss, or the filling in of small tracery in circular windows, where it would in no way clash with the generally Christian character of the art.

The debateable period of transition which is usually so interesting is very sterile in Spain. A good model once adopted from the French was adhered to with but little modification, and it was not till the 13th-century style was well established in France and England that any introduction of its features is seen here; and then, again, it is the work of foreign architects imported for the work and occasion, bringing with them a fully developed style to which nothing whatever in Spain itself led up by a natural or evident development. The three great Spanish churches of this period are the cathedrals of Toledo, Leon and Burgos (Plate II., fig. 65). Those of Siguënza, Lerida and Tarragona, fine as they are, illustrate the art of the 12th rather than of the 13th century, but these three great churches are perfect Early Pointed works, and most complete in all their parts. The cathedral of Toledo is one of the most nobly designed churches in Europe. In dimensions it is surpassed only by the cathedrals of Milan and Seville, whilst in beauty of plan it leaves both those great churches far behind. The chevet, in which two broad aisles are carried round the apse with chapels alternately square and apsidal opening out of them, is perhaps the most perfect of all the schemes we know. It is as if the French chevets, all of which were more or less tentative in their plan, had culminated in this grand work to which they had led the way. The architectural detail of this great church is generally on a par with the beauty and grandeur of its plan, but is perhaps surpassed by the somewhat later church at Leon. Here we have a church built by architects whose sole idea was the erection of a building with as few and small points of support as possible, and with the largest possible amount of window opening. It was the work of men whose art had been formed in a country where as much sun and light as possible were necessary, and is quite unsuited for such a country as Spain. Nevertheless it is a building of rare beauty and delicacy of design. Burgos, better known than either of the others, is inferior in scale and interest, and its character has been much altered by added works more or less Rococo in character, so that it is only by analysis and investigation that the 13th-century church is still seen under and behind the more modern excrescences.

The next period is again marked by work which seems to be that of foreigners. The fully developed Middle Pointed or Geometrical Gothic is indeed very uniform all over Europe. Here, however, its efforts were neither grand in scale nor interesting. Some of the church furniture, as, e.g. the choir screens at Toledo, and some of the cloisters, are among the best features. The work is all correct, tame and academical, and has none of the dignity, power and interest which marked the earlier Spanish buildings. Towards the end of the 14th century the work of Spanish architects becomes infinitely more interesting. The country was free from trouble with the Moors; it was rich and prosperous, and certainly its buildings at this period were so numerous, so grand and so original, that they cannot be too much praised. Moreover, they were carefully designed to suit the requirements of the climate, and also with a sole view to the accommodation conveniently of enormous congregations, all within sight of the preacher or the altar. This last development seems to have been very much the work of a great architect of Majorca, Jayme Fabre by name. The grandest works of his school are still to be seen in Catalonia. Their churches are so vast in their dimensions that the largest French and English buildings seem to be small by comparison, and being invariably covered with stone vaults, they cannot be compared to the great wooden-roofed churches of the preaching orders in Italy and elsewhere, in which the only approach is made to their magnificent dimensions. The cathedral of Gerona is the most remarkable example. Here the choir is planned like the French chevet with an aisle and chapels round it, and opens with three lofty arches into the east wall of a nave which measures no less than 73 ft. in the clear, and is covered with a stone vaulted ceiling. In Barcelona there are several churches of very similar description; at Manresa another, but with aisles to its nave; and at Palma in Majorca one of the same plan as the last, but of even much larger dimensions. Perhaps there is no effort of any local school of architects more worthy of study and respect than this Catalonian work of the 14th and 15th centuries. Such a happy combination of noble design and proportions with entirely practical objects places its author among the very greatest architects of any time. It is one thing to develop patiently step by step from the work of one’s fathers in art, quite another to strike out an entirely new form by a new combination of the old elements. In comparison with the works just mentioned the other great Spanish churches of the 15th century are uninteresting. But still their scale is grand and though their detail is over-elaborated and not beautiful, it is impossible to deny the superb effect of the interior of such churches as those of Seville, Segovia and Salamanca (new cathedral). They are very similar in their character, their columns are formed by the prolongation of the reedy mouldings of the arches, their window traceries are poorly designed, and their roofs are covered with a complex multitude of lierne ribs. Yet the scale is fine, the admission of light, generally high up and in sparing quantity, is artistic, and much of the furniture is either picturesque or interesting. The tout ensemble is generally very striking, even where the architectural purist is apt to grumble at the shortcomings of most of the detail.

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Rh but there is always a charm in the candour of self-condemnation. As it is difficult to believe the excellence of those who praise themselves, so is it difficult to fancy those criminal who condemn! What, too, is the process of a woman's reasoning? Alas! she is too credulous a physiognomist. The turn of a throat, with her, is the unerring token of nobleness of mind; and no one can be guilty of a sin who is blest with a beautiful forehead! How fondly, how fanatically Lucy loved! She had gathered together a precious and secret hoard;—a glove—a pen—a book—a withered rose-leaf;—treasures rendered inestimable because he had touched them: but more than all, she had the series of his letters, from the first formal note written to her father, meant for her, in which he answered an invitation, and requested Miss Brandon's acceptance of the music she had wished to have, to the last wild and, to her, inexplicable letter in which he had resigned her for ever. On these relics her eyes fed for hours; and as she pored over them, and over thoughts too deep not only for tears, but for all utterance or

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 themselves have been flown for religious ideals. I can do no better than quote, as to this, some remarks which Sainte-Beuve in his History of Port-Royal makes on the results of conversion or the state of grace.

"Even from the purely human point of view," Sainte-Beuve says, "the phenomenon of grace must still appear sufficiently extraordinary, eminent, and rare, both in its nature and in its effects, to deserve a closer study. For the soul arrives thereby at a certain fixed and invincible state, a state which is genuinely heroic, and from out of which the greatest deeds which it ever performs are executed. Through all the different forms of communion, and all the diversity of the means which help to produce this state, whether it be reached by a jubilee, by a general confession, by a solitary prayer and effusion, whatever in short be the place and the occasion, it is easy to recognize that it is fundamentally one state in spirit and in fruits. Penetrate a little beneath the diversity of circumstances, and it becomes evident that in Christians of different epochs it is always one and the same modification by which they are affected: there is veritably a single fundamental and identical spirit of piety and charity, common to those who have received grace; an inner state which before all thing's is one of love and humility, of infinite confidence in God, and of severity for one's self, accompanied with tenderness for others. The fruits peculiar to this condition of the soul have the same savor in all, under distant suns and in different surroundings, in Saint Teresa of Avila just as in any Moravian brother of Herrnhut."

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 have often laid their course so differently from other men that, judging them by worldly law, we might be tempted to call them monstrous aberrations from the path of nature. I begin, therefore, by asking a general psychological question as to what the inner conditions are which may make one human character differ so extremely from another.

I reply at once that where the character, as something distinguished from the intellect, is concerned, the causes of human diversity lie chiefly in our differing susceptibilities of emotional excitement, and in the different impulses and inhibitions which these bring in their train. Let me make this more clear.

Speaking generally, our moral and practical attitude, at any given time, is always a resultant of two sets of forces within us, impulses pushing us one way and obstructions and inhibitions holding us back. "Yes! yes!" say the impulses; "No! no!" say the inhibitions. Few people who have not expressly reflected on the matter realize how constantly this factor of inhibition is upon us, how it contains and moulds us by its restrictive pressure almost as if we were fluids pent within the cavity of a jar. The influence is so incessant that it becomes subconscious. All of you, for example, sit here with a certain constraint at this moment, and entirely without express consciousness of the fact, because of the influence of the occasion. If left alone in the room, each of you would probably involuntarily rearrange himself, and make his attitude more 'free and easy.' But proprieties and their inhibitions snap like cobwebs if any great emotional excitement supervenes. I have seen a dandy appear in the street with his face covered with shaving-lather because a house across the way was on fire; and a woman will run among strangers in her nightgown if


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56 A.D. 1483. C. 7. Anno primo RICHARDI III 56 the fame Fairs is of Right pertaining a Court of Pipowders, to minifter therein due Juftice in that Party; (2) in which Court it hath ever been accuftomed, That every Perfon coming lawful Remedy of all Manner Contracts, Trefpafles, Covenants, Debts, and other Deeds made or done within any of the faid Fairs during the Time of the faid Fairs, within the Jurifdiction of the fame, and to c be tried by Merchants being at the fame Fairs; (3) which Courts in thefe Days have been mifufed by Stew- ards, Bailiffs, Commiflaries, and other Minifters, hclding and ruling the faid Courts of the faid Fairs for their fingular Profit, holding Plea by Plaints, as well Con racts, Debts, Trefpaffes, and other Deeds done and made out of the Time of the faid Fairs or Fair, and Jurifdietion of the fame, whereof in troth they have no Jurifdiaion, furmifing the Contracts, Debts, Trefpaffes, Covenants, or other Deeds to be done within the Time of the Fairs, and within the Jurifdiction of the fame Fairs, where in Troth they were not fo. (4) And fometime upon fained Plaints, by Imagination by evil difpofed Feople, to trouble them to whom they owe evil Will, fome to the Intent to make them to fofe their Fair, and fome to the Intent that they fhould have, for Lucre, favourable Inquefts of Comers to the fame Fairs where they take their Adtions, (5) whereby much People coining Actions, and alfo by Actions of Debts, Trefpaffes, Deeds, and Contracts made and done out of the Time c of the faid Fairs, or Jurifdiction of the fame, contrary to Equity, and good Confcience, whereby the c Lords of the faid Fairs lofe great Profits by the not coming of divers Merchants to their Fairs, which for that Cafe abftain them, and alfo the Commons for that Cafe be worfe ferved of fuch Stuff and Merchan- difes as elfe fhould come to the faid Fairs. (6) pleafe it therefore your Highnefs, the Premiffes confidered, by the Advice and Affent of the Lords Spiritual and Temporal in this your prefent Parliament affembled, and by the Authority of the fame, to ordain, and to eftablifh, That from the Firft Day of May next com- ing, no Steward, Under-Steward, Bailiff, Commiffary, nor other Minifter of fuch Courts of Pipowders, hold Plea upon any Aetion at the Suit of any Perfon or Perfons, without the Plaintiff or Plaintiffs, or his or their Attornics, in Prefence of the Defendant or Defendants (if he or they, or his or their Attornies defire it) make Oath upon the holy Evangelifts, upon the Declaration, that the Contract, Trefpafs, or other Deed comprifed in the fame Declaration, were made or done within the Fair-time of the faid Fair, where he taketh his Action, and within the Bounds and Jurifdiction of the fame Fair. (-) And although the faid Plaintiff or Plaintiffs by their Oath affirm the fame, That the faid Defendant or Defendants be not concluded thereby, but that they may anfwer and plead to the Action, or in Abatement of the Plaints, and to tender an Iflue, that the fame Contract, Trefpafs, or other Deed comprifed in fuch Declaration, whereupon the Plaintiff or Plaintiffs do declare, was not done nor made within the Fair-time and Jurif diction of the faid Fair, but out of the Time of the Fair, or at other Places out of the Jurifdiction of the fame Fair, after the Troth in that Party. II. And if it be fo tried, or that the Plaintiff or Plaintiffs, Form aforefaid, that then the Defendant or Defendants be quite difmiffed and difcharged in that Behalf out of that Court; the Party Plaintiff to take his Advantage at the Common Law, as him feemeth good, this Ordinance notwithftanding III. And that every Steward, Under-Steward, Baillif, Commiffary, ruling any of the faid Courts, that doth the contrary to this Ordinance, fhall for every Default in that Behalf forfeit C. s. the one Half thereof to your Highnefs, and the other Half thereof to him that in that Party will fue his A&tion upon this Ordinance, by Ation of Debt in his own Name; (2) and that Writs of Proclamation in all goodly hafte be directed to every Sheriff of every Shire of England, to make this Or- dinance to be proclaimed in every Part within his Shire, as well within Franchife as without. IV. And that the Ordinance touching Fairs, as is afore faid, fhould endure to the next Parliament, which Ordinance is now expired: (2) And for certain the faid Ordinance is full neceffary and requifite to cendure for ever, and full profitable to all the Commons of this Realm (3) Be it therefore ordained and eftablifhed by the Authority of this prefent Parliament, That the aforefaid Ordinance be and ftand in Vir- tue and Strength, and alway to be executory from the Feaft of the Annunciation of our Lady next coming perpetually after to endure. to fuch Fairs, fhould have to the faid Fairs be grievoufly vexed and troubled by feigned or their Attornies, refufe to be fworn in the or other Place convenient or other Minifter, holding and CA P. VII Who fhall be bound by a Fine levied before the Juftices of the Common Pleas: And Procla- mations made thereof. Anno 13 Ed. . at. 4. Modus levandi Fines. TEM, Whereas it is ordained,* eftablihed, and enatted in a Parliament holden in the Time of the Reign of King EDWARD the Firft, by the Statute De Finibus, that Notes, and Fines levied in the King's 27 Ed. . at. Court before his Juftices, fhould be openly and folemnly read, and that the Pleas in the mean Time fhould .T. 15 Ed. 2. 34 Ed. 3. c. 16. ceafe, and this to be done Two Days in the Week after the Difcretion of the Juftices, as in the fame Sta- 5H.4. c. 14 How often Fines of the greateft Strength to avoid Strifes and Debates, and be a final End and Conclufion, that it be willed tute more plainly appeareth: (2) Our faid Sovereign Lord' the King confidering that Fines ought to be fhall be pro- claimed. Altered by 3 El. c. 2. abridging Pro- of any Lands, Tenements, or other Hereditaments, the fame Fine fhall be openly and folemnly read and and ordained, by the Advice and Aflent of the Lords Spiritual and Temporal, and the Commons, in this prefent Parliament affembled, and by Authority of the fame, That after the ingroffing of every Fine, to be levied after the Feaft of Eafler next coming in the King's Court before the Jultices of the Common Place, clamation A Tranfcript of Proclaimed in the fame Court the fame Term, and in Three Terms of the Year next following the fame the Fine fhall be ingroffing in the fame Court, at Four feveral Days in every Term, (3) and in the fame Time that it is fo fent to the Juf- Not on the Roll. read


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PHILOSOPHY 28 PHILOSOPHY the degree of abstraction to which the whole universe is subjected, while the moderns always look at the material object—i. e., the three categories of beings which it is possible to study, God, the world of sense, and man.

D. In Contemporary Philosophy.—The impulse received by philosophy during the last half-century gave rise to new philosophical sciences, in the sense that various branches have been detached from the main stems. In this phenomenon has been remarkable: criteriology, or  (the study of the certitude of knowledge) has developed into a special study. Other branches which have formed themselves into new psychological sciences are: physiological psychology or the study of the physiological concomitants of psychic activities; didactics, or the science of teaching; pedagogy, or the science of education; collective psychology and the psychology of people (Volkerpsychologie), studying the psychic phenomena observable in human groups as such, and in the different races. An important section of (called also noetic, or canonic) is tending to sever itself from the main body, viz., methodology, which studies the special logical formation of various sciences. On moral philosophy, in the wide sense, have been grafted the philosophy of law, the philosophy of society, or social philosophy (which is much the same as ), and the philosophies of and of history.

III. —From what has been said above it is evident that philosophy is beset by a great number of questions. It would not be possible here to enumerate all those questions, much less to detail the divers solutions which have been given to them. The solution of a philosophic question is called a philosophic doctrine, or theory. A philosophic system (from συνίστμι, put together) is a complete and organized group of solutions. It is not an incoherent assemblage or an encyclopedic amalgamation of such solutions; it is dominated by an organic unity. Only those philosophic systems which are constructed conformably with the exigencies of organic unity are really powerful: such are the systems of the Upanishads, of, of , of , of , and Hume. So that one or several theories do not constitute a system; but some theories, i. e. answers to a philosophic question, are important enough to determine the solution of other important problems of a system. The scope of this section is to indicate some of these theories.

A. , or, and Pluralism, , or Theism.—Are there many beings distinct in their reality, with one Supreme Being, at the summit of the hierarchy; or is there but one reality (μονάς, hence ), one All-God (πάν-θεός) of whom each individual is but a member or fragment (Substantialistic Pantheism), or else a force, or energy (Dynamic Pantheism)? Here we have an important question of the solution of which reacts upon all other domains of philosophy. The system of, of the , and of are Pluralistic and Theistic; the Indian, , and  are. is a fascinating explanation of the real, but it only postpones the difficulties which it imagines itself to be solving (e. g. the difficulty of the interaction of things), to say nothing of the objection, from the human point of view, that it runs counter to our most deep-rooted sentiments.

B. Objectivism and Subjectivism.—Does being, whether one or many, possess its own life, independent of our mind, so that to be known by us is only accident to being, as in the objective system of (e.g., the , )? Or is being no other reality than the mental and subjective presence which it acquires in our representation of it as in the Subjective system (e.g. Hume)? It is in this sense that the “Revue de métaphysique et de morale” (see bibliography) uses the term in its title. Subjectivism cannot explain the passivity of our mental representations, which we do not draw out of ourselves, and which therefore oblige us to infer the reality of a non-ego.

C. Substantialism and Phenomenism'—Is all reality a flux of phenomena (Heraclitus, Berkeley, Hume, Taine), or does the manifestation appear upon a basis, or substance, which manifests itself, and does the phenomenon demand a noumenon (the )? Without an underlying substance, which we only know through the medium of the phenomenon, certain realities, as walking, talking, are inexplicable, and such facts as memory become absurd.

D.  and (Pure and Modified).—Natural bodies are considered by some to be aggregations of homogeneous particles of matter (atoms) receiving a movement which is extrinsic to them, so that these bodies differ only in the number and arrangement of their atoms (the, or , of Democritus, , and Hobbes). Others reduce them to specific, unextended, immaterial forces, of which extension is only the superficial manifestation. Between the two is Modified Dynamism, which distinguishes in bodies an immanent specific principle (form) and an indeterminate element (matter) which is the source of limitation and extension. This theory accounts for the specific characters of the entities in question as well as for the reality of their extension in space.

E. ,, and —That everything real is material, that whatever might be immaterial would be unreal, such is the cardinal doctrine of (the , Hobbes, De Lamettrie). Contemporary is less outspoken: it is inspired by a  ideology (see section VI), and asserts that, if anything supramaterial exists, it is unknowable (, from ά and γνώσις, knowledge.  Spencer, Huxley). teaches that incorporeal, or immaterial, beings exist or that they are possible (Plato, Aristotle, St. Augustine, the Scholastics, Descartes, Leibniz). Some have even asserted that only spirits exist: Berkeley, Fichte, and Hegel are exaggerated Spiritualists. The truth is that there are bodies and spirits; among the latter we are acquainted (though less well than with bodies) with the nature of our soul, which is revealed by the nature of our immaterial acts, and with the nature of God, the infinite intelligence, whose existence is demontrated by the very existence of finite things. Side by side with these solutions relating to the problems of the real, there is another group of solutions, not less influential in the orientation of a system, and relating to psychical problems or those of the human ego.

F. Sensualism and Rationalism, or Spiritualism

These are the opposite poles of the ideogenetic question, the question of the origin of our knowledge. For Sensualism the only source of human knowledge is sensation: everything reduces to transformed sensations. This theory, long ago put forward in Greek philosophy (Stoicism, Epicureanism), was developed to the full by the English Sensualists (Locke, Berkeley, Hume) and the English Associationists (Brown, Hartley, Priestley); its modern form is Positivism (John Stuart Mill, Huxley, Spencer, Comte, Taine, Littré etc.). Were this theory true, it would follow that we can know only what falls under our senses, and therefore cannot pronounce upon the existence or non-existence, the reality or unreality, of the super-sensible. Positivism is more logical than Materialism. In the New World, the term Agnosticism has been very happily employed

the degree of abstraction to which the whole universe is subjected, while the moderns always look at the material object — i. e., the three categories of beings which it is possible to study, God, the world of sense, and man. D. In Contemporary Philosophy. — The impulse received by philosophy during the last half-century gave rise to new philosophical sciences, in the sense that various branches have been detached from the main stems. In psychology this phenomenon has been remarkable: criteriology, or epistemol- ogy (the study of the certitude of knowledge) has developed into a special study. Other branches which have formed themselves into new psycho- logical sciences are: physiological psychology, or the study of the physiological concomitants of psychic activities; didactics, or the science of teaching; pedagogy, or the science of education; collective psychology and the psychology of peoples {Volker psychologic), studying the psychic phenomena ob.scrvable in human groups as such, and in the dif- ferent races. An important section of logic (called also noetic, or canonic) is tending to sever itself from the main body, viz., methodology, which studies the special logical formation of various sciences. On moral philosophy, in the wide sense, have been grafted the philosophy of law, the philosophy of society, or social philosophy (which is much the same as sociology), and the philosophies of religion and of historj'. III. The Principal Systematic Solutions. — From what has been said above it is evident that philosophy is beset by a great number of questions. It would not be possible here to enumerate all those questions, much less to detail the divers solutions which have been given to them. The solution of a philosophic question is called a philosophic doctrine, or theory. A philosophic system (from ffwlcrT-qfu, put together) is a complete and organized group of solutions. It is not an incoherent assemblage or an encyclopedic amalgamation of such solutions; it is dominated by an organic unity. Only those phil- osophic systems which are constructed conformably with the exigencies of organic unity are really power- ful : such are the systems of the Upanishads, of Aristotle, of nco-Platonism, of Scholasticism, of Leibniz, Kant, and Hume. So that one or several theories do not constitute a system; but some theories, i. e. answers to a philosophic question, are important enough to determine the solution of other important problems of a system. The scope of this section is to indicate some of these theories. A. Monism, or Pantheism, and Pluralism, Indi- vidualism, or Theism. — Are there many beings dis- tinct in their reality, with one Supreme Being, God, at the summit of the hierarchy; or is there but one reaUty (fiovds, hence monism), one All-God (Tra^^SeAs), of whom each individual is but a member or fragment (Substantialistic Pantheism), or else a force, or energy (Dynamic Pantheism)? Here we have an important question of metaphysics the solution of which reacts upon all other domains of philosophy. The systems (if .ristotle, of the Scholastics, and of Leibniz are Pluralistic and Theistic; the Indian, neo-Platonie, anil Hegelian are Monistic. Monism is a fascinating explanation of the real, but it only postpones the difficulties which it imagines itself to be solving (e. g. the difficulty of the interaction of things), to say nothing of the objection, from the human point of view, that it runs counter to our most deeply-rooted sentiments. B. Ohjcctivism and Suhjectiirism. — Does being, whether one or many, possess its own life, independent of our mind, so that to bo known by us is only accidental to being, iis in the objective system of metaphysics (e. g. .Xristotle, the Schola.stics, Spinoza)? Or has being no other reality than the mental and subjective presence which it acquires in our representation of it as in the Subjective system (e. g. Hume)? It is in this sense that the "Revue de m^taphysique et de morale" (see bibliography) uses the term meta- physics in its title. Subjectivism cannot explain the passivity of our mental representations, which we do not draw out of ourselves, and which therefore oblige us to infer the reality of a non-ego. C. Suhslantialism and Phenomenism. — Is all reality a flux of phenomena (Heraclitus, Berkeley, Hume, Taine), or does the manifestation appear upon a basis, or substance, which manifests itself, and does the phenomenon demand a noumenon (the Scholas- tics)? Without an underlying substance, which we only know through the medium of the phenomenon, certain realities, as waiting, talking, are inexplicable, and such facts as memory become absurd. D. Mechanism and Dynamism {Pure and Modified). — Natural bodies are considered by some to be aggre- gations of homogeneous particles of matter (atoms) receiving a movement which is extrinsic to them, so that these bodies differ only in the number and arrangement of their atoms (the Atomism, or Mechan- ism, of Democritus, Descartes, and Hobbes). Others reduce them to specific, unextendcd, immaterial forces, of which extension is only the superficial manifestation (Leibniz). Between the two is Modi- fied Dynamism (Aristotle), which distinguishes in bodies an immanent specific principle (form) and an indeterminate element (matter) which is the source of limitation and extension. This theory accounts for the specific characters of the entities in question as well as for the reality of their extension in space. E. Materialism, Agnosticism, and Spiritualism. — That everything real is material, that whatever might be immaterial would be unreal, such is the cardinal doctrine of Materialism (the Stoics, Hobbes, De Lamettrie). Contemporary Materialism is less outspoken: it is inspired by a Positivist ideology (see section VI), and asserts that, if anything supra- material exists, it is unknowable (Agnosticism, from a. and Tviiiris, knowledge. Spencer, Huxley). Spirit- ualism teaches that incorporeal, or immaterial, beings exist or that they are possible (Plato, Aristotle, St. Augustine, the Scholastics, Des- cartes, Leibniz). Some have even asserted that only spirits exist: Berkeley, Fichte, and Hegel are exaggerated Spiritualists. The truth is that there are bodies and spirits; among the latter we are acquainted (though less well than with bodies) with the nature of our soul, which is revealed by the nature of our immaterial acts, and with the nature of God, the infinite intelligence, whose existence is demon- strated by the very existence of finite things. Side by side with these solutions relating to the problems of the real, there is another group of solutions, not less influential in the orientation of a system, and relating to psychical problems or those of the human ego. F. Sensualism and Rationalistn, or Spiritualis7n. — These are the opposite poles of the ideogenetic ques- tion, the question of the origin of our knowledge. For Sensualism the only source of human knowledge is sensation: everything reduces to tran.sformed sensations. This theory, long ago put forward in Greek philosophy (Stoicism, Epicureanism), was developed to the full by the English Sensualists (Locke, Berkeley, Hume) and the English Associa- tionists (Brown, Hartley, Priestley); its modern form is Positivism (John Stuart Mill, Huxley, Spen- cer, Comte, Taine, Littr^ etc.). Were this theory true, it would follow that we can know only what falls under our senses, and therefore cannot pronounce upon the existence or non-existence, the reality or unreality, of the super-sensible. Positivism is more logical than Materialism. In the New World, the term Agnosticism has been very happily employed


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86, you might have almost literally watched the fading of her rich cheek, and the pining away of her rounded and elastic form.

It was just in such a mood that she was buried, when her uncle knocked at her door for admittance: she hurried away her treasures, and hastened to admit and greet him. "I have come," said he, smiling, "to beg the pleasure of your company for an old friend who dines with us to-day.—But stay, Lucy, your hair is ill-arranged. Do not let me disturb so important an occupation as your toilette: dress yourself, my love, and join us."

Lucy turned, with a suppressed sigh, to the glass. The uncle lingered for a few moments, surveying her with mingled pride and doubt: he then slowly left the chamber.

Lucy soon afterwards descended to the drawing-room, and beheld, with a little surprise, (for she had not had sufficient curiosity to inquire the name of the guest,) the slender form and comely features of Lord Mauleverer. The Earl approached with the same grace which had, in his earlier youth, rendered him almost irresistible, but which now, from the contrast of years with manner,

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Rh a slight mixture of the comic. He paid his compliments, and in paying them, declared that he must leave it to his friend Sir William to explain all the danger he had dared, for the sake of satisfying himself that Miss Brandon was no less lovely than when he had last beheld her.

"Yes, indeed," said Brandon, with a scarcely perceptible sneer, "Lord Mauleverer has literally endured the moving accidents of flood and field—for he was nearly exterminated by a highwayman, and all but drowned in a ditch!"

"Commend me to a friend for setting one off to the best advantage," said Mauleverer gaily: "instead of attracting your sympathy, you see, Brandon would expose me to your ridicule. Judge for yourself whether I deserve it;"—and Mauleverer proceeded to give, with all the animation which belonged to his character, the particulars of that adventure with which the reader is so well acquainted. He did not, we may be sure, feel any scruple in representing himself and his prowess in the most favourable colours.

The story was scarcely ended when dinner was announced. During that meal, Mauleverer

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88 himself to be amiable with infinite address. Suiting his conversation, more than he had hitherto deigned to do, to the temper of Lucy, and more anxious to soften than to dazzle, he certainly never before appeared to her so attractive. We are bound to add, that the point of attraction did not aspire beyond the confession, that he was a very agreeable old man.

Perhaps, if there had not been a certain half-melancholy vein in his conversation, possibly less painful to his Lordship from the remembrance of his lost diamonds, and the impression that Sir William Brandon's cook was considerably worse than his own, he might not have been so successful in pleasing Lucy. As for himself, all the previous impressions she had made on him returned in colours yet more vivid; even the delicate and subdued cast of beauty which had succeeded to her earlier brilliancy, was far more charming to his fastidious and courtly taste, than her former glow of spirits and health. He felt himself very much in love during dinner; and after it was over, and Lucy had retired, he told Brandon with a passionate air, "that he adored his niece to distraction!"

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Rh The wily Judge affected to receive the intimation with indifference; but knowing that too long an absence is injurious to a grande passion, he did not keep Mauleverer very late over his wine.

The Earl returned rapturously to the drawing-room, and besought Lucy, in a voice in which affectation seemed swooning with delight, to indulge him with a song. More and more enchanted by her assent, he drew the music-stool to the harpsichord, placed a chair beside her, and presently appeared lost in transport. Meanwhile Brandon, with his back to the pair, covered his face with his handkerchief, and, to all appearance, yielded to the voluptuousness of an after-dinner repose.

Lucy's song-book opened accidentally at a song which had been praised by Clifford; and as she sung, her voice took a richer and more tender tone than in Mauleverer's presence it had ever before assumed.

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90

In the shadow that falls from the silent hill

We slept, in our green retreats;

And the April showers were wont to fill

Our hearts with sweets.

And though we lay in a lowly bower,

Yet all things loved us well,

And the waking bee left her fairest flower

With us to dwell.

But the warm May came in his pride to woo

The wealth of our honeyed store;

And our hearts just felt his breath, and knew

Their sweets no more!

And the Summer reigns on the quiet spot

Where we dwell, and its suns and showers

Bring balm to our sisters' hearts, but not—

Ah! not to ours.

We live, we bloom, but for ever o'er

Is the charm of the earth and sky;

To our life, ye Heavens, that balm restore,

Orbid us die!

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text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/November 1901/The National Control of Education


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/November 1901/The Evolution of the Human Intellect


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/November 1901/The Origin of Sex in Plants


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/November 1901/The Fishes of Japan


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/November 1901/The Omen Animals of Sarawak


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Rh As with eyes suffused with many recollections, and a voice which melted away in an indescribable and thrilling pathos, Lucy ceased her song; Mauleverer, charmed out of himself, gently took her hand, and holding the soft treasure in his own, scarcely less soft, he murmured—

"Angel! sing on. Life would be like your own music, if I could breathe it away at your feet!"

There had been a time when Lucy would have laughed outright at this declaration; and even as it was, a suppressed and half-arch smile played in the dimples of her beautiful mouth, and bewitchingly contrasted the swimming softness of her eyes.

Drawing rather an erroneous omen from the smile, Mauleverer rapturously continued, still detaining the hand which Lucy endeavoured to extricate,

"Yes, enchanting Miss Brandon, I who have for so many years boasted of my invulnerable heart, am subdued at last. I have long, very long, struggled against my attachment to you. Alas! it is in vain; and you behold me now

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92 at your mercy. Make me the most miserable of men, or the most enviable. Enchantress, speak!"

"Really, my Lord," said Lucy, hesitating, yet rising, and freeing herself from his hand, "I feel it difficult to suppose you serious; and perhaps this is merely a gallantry to me, by way of practice on others."

"Sweet Lucy, if I so may call you," answered Mauleverer, with an ardent gaze; "do not, I implore you, even for a moment, affect to mistake me! do not for a moment jest at what, to me, is the bane or bliss of life! Dare I hope that my hand and heart, which I now offer you, are not deserving of your derision!"

Lucy gazed on her adorer with a look of serious enquiry; Brandon still appeared to sleep.

"If you are in earnest, my Lord," said Lucy, after a pause, "I am truly and deeply sorry; for the friend of my uncle I shall always have esteem: believe that I am truly sensible of the honour you render me, when I add my regret, that I can have no other sentiment than esteem."

A blank and puzzled bewilderment, for a

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Rh, clouded the expressive features of Mauleverer,—it passed away.

"How sweet is your rebuke!" said he. "Yes! I do not yet deserve any other sentiment than esteem: you are not to be won precipitately; a long trial,—a long course of attentions,—a long knowledge of my devoted and ardent love, alone will entitle me to hope for a warmer feeling in your breast. Fix then your own time of courtship, angelic Lucy!—a week,—nay a month!—till then, I will not even press you to appoint that day, which to me will be the whitest of my life!"

"My Lord!" said Lucy, smiling now no longer half archly, "you must pardon me for believing your proposal can be nothing but a jest; but here, I beseech you, let it rest for ever: do not mention this subject to me again."

"By Heavens!" cried Mauleverer, "this is too cruel.—Brandon, intercede for me with your niece."

Sir William started, naturally enough, from his slumber, and Mauleverer continued—

"Yes, intercede for me; you, my oldest friend, be my greatest benefactor! I sue to your

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94 affects to disbelieve,—will you convince her of my truth, my devotion, my worship?"

"Disbelieve you!" said the bland judge, with the same secret sneer that usually lurked in the corners of his mouth; "I do not wonder that she is slow to credit the honour you have done her, and for which the noblest damsels in England have sighed in vain.—Lucy, will you be cruel to Lord Mauleverer? believe me, he has often confided to me his love for you; and if the experience of some years avails, there is not a question of his honour and his truth; I leave his fate in your hands."

Brandon turned to the door.

"Stay, dear Sir," said Lucy, "and, instead of interceding for Lord Mauleverer, intercede for me." Her look now settled into a calm and decided seriousness of expression. "I feel highly flattered by his Lordship's proposal, which, as you say, I might well doubt to be gravely meant. I wish him all happiness with a lady of higher deserts; but I speak from an unalterable determination, when I say, that I can never accept the dignity with which he would invest me."

So saying, Lucy walked quickly to the door

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Rh and vanished, leaving the two friends to comment as they would, upon her conduct.

"You have spoilt all with your precipitation," said the uncle.

"Precipitation!—damn it! what would you have? I have been fifty years making up my mind to marry; and now, when I have not a day to lose, you talk of precipitation!" answered the lover, throwing himself into fauteuil.

"But you have not been fifty years making up your mind to marry my niece," said Brandon drily.

"To be refused—positively refused, by a country girl!" continued Mauleverer, soliloquizing aloud, "and that too at my age, and with all my experience!—a country girl without rank, ton, accomplishments!—By God! I don't care if all the world heard it,—for not a soul in the world would ever believe it."

Brandon sat speechless, eyeing the mortified face of the courtier, with a malicious complacency, and there was a pause of several minutes. Sir William then mastering the strange feeling which made him always rejoice in whatever threw

title: Page:Paul Clifford Vol 3.djvu/103


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/December 1901/The Aims of the National Physical Laboratory of Great Britain


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96 ridicule on his friend, approached, laid his hand kindly on Mauleverer's shoulder, and talked to him of comfort and of encouragement. The reader will believe, that Mauleverer was not a man whom it was impossible to encourage.

title: Page:Paul Clifford Vol 3.djvu/104


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/December 1901/Cement for a Modern Street


text: Paul Clifford/Volume 3/Chapter 5

title: Paul Clifford/Volume 3/Chapter 5


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/December 1901/The Influence of Rainfall on Commerce and Politics


text:
Page:Railways Act 1921 (ukpga 19210055 en).pdf/94

[Ch. 55.]

Printed by Swift (Printing & Duplicating), Ltd., for PERCY FAULKNER, C.B. Her Majesty's Stationery Office and Queen's Printer of Acts of Parliament


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/December 1901/Lucretius and the Evolution Idea


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/December 1901/Sensory Mechanism of Plants


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/December 1901/On the Reception of the Origin of Species


text:
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Rh

the next morning, Sir William Brandon was closeted for a long time with his niece, previous to his departure to the duties of his office. Anxious, and alarmed for the success of one of the darling projects of his ambition, he spared no art in his conversation with Lucy, that his great ingenuity of eloquence and wonderful insight into human nature could suggest, in order to gain at least a foundation for the raising of his scheme. Among other resources of his worldly tact, he

title: Page:Paul Clifford Vol 3.djvu/105


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/December 1901/Scientific Literature


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/December 1901/The Progress of Science


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98 hinted at Lucy's love for Clifford; and (though darkly and subtly, as befitting the purity of the one he addressed,) this abandoned and wily person did not scruple to hint also at the possibility of indulging that love after marriage; though he denounced, as the last of indecorums, the crime of encouraging it before. This hint, however, fell harmless upon the innocent ear of Lucy. She did not, in the remotest degree, comprehend its meaning; she only, with a glowing cheek and a pouting lip, resented the allusion to a love which she thought it insolent in any one even to suspect.

When Brandon left the apartment, his brow was clouded, and his eye absent and thoughtful; it was evident that there had been little in the conference with his niece to please or content him. Miss Brandon herself was greatly agitated, for there was in her uncle's nature that silent and impressive secret of influencing or commanding others, which almost so invariably, and yet so quietly, attains the wishes of its owner, and Lucy, who loved and admired him sincerely, not the less perhaps for a certain modicum of fear, was greatly grieved at perceiving how rooted in him

title: Page:Paul Clifford Vol 3.djvu/106


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/January 1902/The Minnesota Seaside Station


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/January 1902/Antarctic Exploration


text:
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Rh was the desire of that marriage which she felt as a moral impossibility. But if Brandon possessed the secret of sway, Lucy was scarcely less singularly endowed with the secret of resistance. It may be remembered, in describing her character, that we spoke of her as one who seemed, to the superficial, as of too yielding and soft a temper. But circumstances gave the lie to manner, and proved that she eminently possessed a quiet firmness and latent resolution, which gave to her mind a nobleness and trust-worthy power, that never would have been suspected by those who met her among the ordinary paths of life.

Brandon had not been long gone, when Lucy's maid came to inform her that a gentleman, who expressed himself very desirous of seeing her, waited below. The blood rushed from Lucy's cheek at this announcement, simple as it seemed. "What gentleman could be desirous of seeing her? Was it—was it Clifford?" She remained for some moments motionless, and literally unable to move; at length she summoned courage, and smiling with self-contempt at a notion which appeared to her after thoughts utterly absurd, she descended to

title: Page:Paul Clifford Vol 3.djvu/107


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/January 1902/The Possible Improvement of the Human Breed Under the Existing Conditions of Law and Sentiment


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/January 1902/The End of the Filth Theory of Disease


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/January 1902/Recent Total Eclipses of the Sun


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/January 1902/Friar Roger Bacon


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/January 1902/Lamarck, The Founder of Evolution


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/January 1902/Comets' Tails, The Corona and the Aurora Borealis


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/January 1902/Discussion and Correspondence


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/January 1902/Scientific Literature


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/January 1902/The Progress of Science


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/February 1902/Stellar Evolution in the Light of Recent Research


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/February 1902/Winged Reptiles


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/February 1902/The Journeyings of Birds


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/February 1902/Environment in Relation to Sex in Human Culture


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/February 1902/The College-Man as Leader in the World's Work


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/February 1902/Theology versus Thrift in the Black Belt


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/February 1902/The Descent of Man


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/February 1902/Discussion and Correspondence


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/February 1902/Scientific Literature


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/February 1902/The Progress of Science


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/March 1902/The Palm Trees of Brazil


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/March 1902/Work and Rest: Genius and Stupidity


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/March 1902/Science in 1901


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/March 1902/Franklin's Philosophical Society


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100 the drawing-room. The first glance she directed towards the stranger, who stood by the fireplace with folded arms, was sufficient,—it was impossible to mistake, though the face was averted, the unequalled form of her lover. She advanced eagerly with a faint cry, checked herself, and sank upon the sofa.

Clifford turned towards her, and fixed his eyes upon her countenance with an intense and melancholy gaze, but he did not utter a syllable; and Lucy, after pausing in expectation of his voice, looked up, and caught, in alarm, the strange and peculiar aspect of his features. He approached her slowly, and still silent; but his gaze seemed to grow more earnest and mournful as he advanced.

"Yes," said he at last, in a broken and indistinct voice, "I see you once more, after all my promises to quit you for ever,—after my solemn farewell, after all that I have cost you;—for, Lucy, you love me,—you love me,—and I shudder while I feel it; after all, I myself have borne and resisted, I once more come wilfully into your presence! How have I burnt and sickened for this moment! How have I said, 'Let me behold her

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Rh once more—only once more, and Fate may then do her worst!' Lucy! dear, dear, Lucy! forgive me for my weakness. It is now in bitter and stern reality, the very last I can be guilty of!"

As he spoke, Clifford sank beside her. He took both her hands in his, and holding them, though without pressure, again looked passionately upon her innocent yet eloquent face. It seemed as if he were moved beyond all the ordinary feelings of re-union and of love. He did not attempt to kiss the hands he held; and though the touch thrilled through every vein and fibre in his frame, his clasp was as light as that in which the first timidity of a boy's love ventures to stamp itself!

"You are pale, Lucy," said he mournfully, "and your cheek is much thinner than it was when I first saw you—when I first saw you! Ah! would for your sake that that had never been! Your spirits were light then, Lucy. Your laugh came from the heart,—your step spurned the earth. Joy broke from your eyes, every thing that breathed around you seemed full of happiness and mirth! and now, look upon me, Lucy; lift those soft eyes, and teach

title: Page:Paul Clifford Vol 3.djvu/109


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 60/March 1902/Alpheus Hyatt


text:
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102 them to flash upon me indignation and contempt! Oh, not thus, not thus! I could leave you happy,—yes, literally blest,—if I could fancy you less forgiving, less gentle, less angelic!"

"What have I to forgive?"" said Lucy tenderly.

"What! every thing for which one human being can pardon another. Have not deceit and injury been my crimes against you? Your peace of mind, your serenity of heart, your buoyancy of temper, have I marred these or not?"

"Oh Clifford!" said Lucy, rising from herself and from all selfish thoughts, "why,—why will you not trust me? You do not know me, indeed you do not, you are ignorant even of the very nature of a woman, if you think me unworthy of your confidence! Do you believe I could betray it? or, do you think, that if you had done that for which all the world forsook you, I could forsake!"

Lucy's voice faltered at the last words; but it sank, as a stone sinks into deep waters, to the very core of Clifford's heart. Transported from all resolution and all forbearance, he wound his arms around her in one long and impassioned

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Rh caress; and Lucy, as her breath mingled with his, and her cheek drooped upon his bosom, did indeed feel as if the past could contain no secret powerful enough even to weaken the affection with which her heart clung to his. She was the first to extricate herself from their embrace. She drew back her face from his, and smiling on him through her tears, with a brightness that the smiles of her earliest youth had never surpassed, she said:

"Listen to me. Tell me your history or not, as you will. But, believe me, a woman's wit is often no despicable counsellor. They who accuse themselves the most bitterly, are not often those whom it is most difficult to forgive; and you must pardon me, if I doubt the extent of the blame you would so lavishly impute to yourself. I am now alone in the world—(here the smile withered from Lucy's lips).—My poor father is dead. I can injure no one by my conduct; there is no one on earth to whom I am bound by duty. I am independent, I am rich. You profess to love me. I am foolish and vain, and I believe you. Perhaps, also, I have the fond hope which so often makes

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104 dupes of women—the hope, that, if you have erred, I may reclaim you; if you have been unfortunate, I may console you! I know, Mr. Clifford, that I am saying that for which many would despise me, and for which perhaps I ought to despise myself; but there are times when we speak only as if some power at our hearts constrained us, despite ourselves,—and it is thus that I have now spoken to you."

It was with an air very unwonted to herself that Lucy had concluded her address, for her usual characteristic was rather softness than dignity; but, as if to correct the meaning of her words, which might otherwise appear unmaidenly, there was a chaste, a proud, yet not the less a tender and sweet propriety, and dignified frankness in her look and manner; so that it would have been utterly impossible for one who heard her, not to have done justice to the nobleness of her motives, or not to have felt both touched and penetrated, as much by respect as by any warmer or more familiar feeling.

Clifford, who had risen while she was speaking, listened with a countenance that varied at every

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Rh word she uttered:—now all hope—now all despondency. As she ceased, the expression hardened into a settled and compulsive resolution.

"It is well!" said he mutteringly, "I am worthy of this—very—very worthy! Generous, noble girl!—had I been an emperor, I would have bowed down to you in worship; but to debase, to degrade you—no! no!"

"Is there debasement in love?" murmured Lucy.

Clifford gazed upon her with a sort of enthusiastic and self-gratulatory pride; perhaps he felt, to be thus loved, and by such a creature, was matter of pride, even in the lowest circumstances to which he could ever be exposed. He drew his breath hard, set his teeth, and answered—

"You could love, then, an outcast, without birth, fortune, or character?—No! you believe this now, but you could not. Could you desert your country, your friends, and your home—all that you are born and fitted for?—Could you attend one over whom the sword hangs, through a life subjected every hour to discovery and disgrace?—Could you be subjected yourself to the

title: Page:Paul Clifford Vol 3.djvu/113


text:
Page:The Clipper Ship Era.djvu/282

URING the year 1853, twenty ships arrived at San Francisco from Atlantic ports, chiefly New York, in 110 days or less, showing the high standard of efficiency that had been reached. The best passages of the year were made by the Flying Fish, 92 days; John Gilpin, 93 days; Contest, 97 days; Oriental 100 days; Trade Wind, 102 days; Westward Ho, 103 days; Phantom, 104 days; Sword-Fish, Hornet, and Flying Cloud, each 105 days; and Sea Serpent, 107 days. The Comet arrived on January 17th, after a passage of 112 days from Boston. While off Bermuda she encountered a heavy southwest gale, and was laying to under close-reefed fore- and maintopsails and foretopmast staysail, when the wind suddenly shifted into the southeast and blew with terrific force, carrying away the foretopmast stays, sending the foretopmast over the side, and making junk of the two topsails. Captain Gardner had a good crew, and so soon as the weather moderated, he rerigged his ship at sea, and took her into San Francisco as noted, in 112 days.

Racing had now become close and exciting, and the fleet was so large that it was not uncommon

title: Page:The Clipper Ship Era.djvu/282


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106 moodiness of an evil memory, and the gloomy silence of remorse?—Could you be the victim of one who has no merit but his love for you, and who, if that love destroy you, becomes utterly redeemed? Yes, Lucy, I was wrong—I will do you justice; all this, nay more, you could bear, and your generous nature would disdain the sacrifice! But am I to be all selfish, and you all devoted? Are you to yield every thing to me, and I to accept every thing, and yield none?—Alas! I have but one good, one blessing to yield, and that is yourself. Lucy, I deserve you; I outdo you in generosity: all that you would desert for me is nothing—O God!—nothing to the sacrifice I make to you!—And now, Lucy, I have seen you, and I must once more bid you farewell: I am on the eve of quitting this country for ever. I shall enlist in a foreign service, perhaps—(and Clifford's dark eyes flashed with fire): you will yet hear of me, and not blush when you hear! But—(and his voice faltered, for Lucy, hiding her face with both hands, gave way to her tears and agitation)—but, in one respect, you have conquered! I had believed that you could

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Rh never be mine—that my past life had for ever deprived me of that hope! I now begin, with a rapture that can bear me through all ordeals, to form a more daring vision. A soil may be effaced—an evil name may be redeemed—the past is not set and sealed, without the power of revoking what has been written. If I can win the right of meriting your mercy, I will throw myself on it without reserve; till then, or till death, you will see me no more!"

He dropped on his knee, printed his kiss and his tears upon Lucy's cold hand; the next moment she heard his step on the stairs,—the door closed heavily and jarringly upon him,—and Lucy felt one bitter pang, and, for some time at least, she felt no more!

title: Page:Paul Clifford Vol 3.djvu/115


text: Paul Clifford/Volume 3/Chapter 6

title: Paul Clifford/Volume 3/Chapter 6


text:
Page:Cadet Handbook and Section Roll.pdf/26

 {|
 * + Second Year of Service.
 * | 13
 * | Manual of Physical Training, 1908. 20 minutes each drill.
 * | 8
 * | Infantry Training, 1911, Secs. 15-49.
 * | 8
 * | Rifle Exercises and Musketry Instructions for Cadets.
 * | 8
 * | Infantry Training, 1911, Secs. 82-92.
 * | 12
 * | Infantry Training, 1911, Secs. 93-99.
 * | 15
 * | Theoretical Instruction in accordance with Musketry Regulations, 1909, Part I., Secs. 36-60 and 65-69; Rifle Exercises and Musketry Instruction for Cadets, and Tests of Elementary Training laid down in M.R., 1909, Part I., Secs. 64, as applicable to .310'' rifle.
 * | 64
 * }
 * | 8
 * | Infantry Training, 1911, Secs. 82-92.
 * | 12
 * | Infantry Training, 1911, Secs. 93-99.
 * | 15
 * | Theoretical Instruction in accordance with Musketry Regulations, 1909, Part I., Secs. 36-60 and 65-69; Rifle Exercises and Musketry Instruction for Cadets, and Tests of Elementary Training laid down in M.R., 1909, Part I., Secs. 64, as applicable to .310'' rifle.
 * | 64
 * }
 * | 15
 * | Theoretical Instruction in accordance with Musketry Regulations, 1909, Part I., Secs. 36-60 and 65-69; Rifle Exercises and Musketry Instruction for Cadets, and Tests of Elementary Training laid down in M.R., 1909, Part I., Secs. 64, as applicable to .310'' rifle.
 * | 64
 * }
 * | 64
 * }
 * }


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108

, Clifford strode rapidly through the streets which surrounded the Judge's house, and, turning to an obscurer quartier of the town, entered a gloomy lane or alley. Here he was abruptly accosted by a man wrapped in a shaggy

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Rh great coat, and of somewhat a suspicious appearance—

"Aha, Captain!" said he, "you are beyond your time, but all's well!"

Attempting, with indifferent success, the easy self-possession which generally marked his address to his companions, Clifford, repeating the stranger's words, replied—

"All's well!—what! are the prisoners released?"

"No, faith!" answered the man, with a rough laugh, "not yet; but all in good time; it is a little too much to expect the justices to do our work, though, God knows, we often do theirs!"

"What then?" asked Clifford impatiently.

"Why, the poor fellows had been carried to the town of, and brought before the queer cuffin before I arrived, though I set off the moment you told me, and did the journey in four hours. The examination lasted all yesterday, and they were remanded till to-day;—let's see, it is not yet noon; we may be there before it's over!"

title: Page:Paul Clifford Vol 3.djvu/117


text: The Cadet Hand Book and Section Roll/Duties of Colour-Sergeant


text:
Page:Paul Clifford Vol 3.djvu/118

110 "And this is what you call well!" said Clifford angrily.

"No, Captain, don't be glimflashey! you have not heard all yet!—it seems, that the only thing buffed hard against them was by a stout grazier, who was cried 'Stand!' to, some fifty miles off the town; so the queer cuffin thinks of sending the poor fellows to the gaol of the county where they did the business!"

"Ah! that may leave some hopes for them;—we must look sharp to their journey; if they once get to prison, their only chances are the file and the bribe. Unhappily, neither of them is so lucky as myself at that trade!"

"No, indeed, there is not a stone wall in England that the great Captain Lovett could not creep through, I'll swear!" said the admiring satellite.

"Saddle the horses and load the pistols!—I will join you in ten minutes. Have my farmer's dress ready, the false hair, &c. Choose your own trim. Make haste;—the 'Three Feathers' is the house of meeting."

"And in ten minutes only, Captain?"

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text:
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Rh "Punctually!"

The stranger turned a corner, and was out of sight. Clifford, muttering—"Yes, I was the cause of their apprehension; it was I who was sought; it is but fair that I should strike a blow for their escape, before I attempt my own,"—continued his course till he came to the door of a public-house. The sign of a seaman swung aloft, pourtraying the jolly tar with a fine pewter pot in his hand, considerably huger than his own circumference. An immense pug sat at the door, lolling its tongue out, as if, having stuffed itself to the tongue, it was forced to turn that useful member out of its proper place. The shutters were half closed; but the sounds of coarse merriment issued jovially forth.

Clifford disconcerted the pug; and, crossing the threshold, cried, in a loud tone, "Janseen!"—"Here!" answered a gruff voice; and Clifford, passing on, came to a small parlour adjoining the tap. There, seated by a round oak-table, he found mine host, a red, fierce, weather-beaten, but bloated-looking personage, like Dirk Hatteraick in a dropsy.

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text: The Cadet Hand Book and Section Roll/Duties of Sergeant &c.


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112 "How now, Captain!" cried he, in a guttural accent, and interlarding his discourse with certain Dutch graces, which, with our Reader's leave, we will omit, as being unable to spell them; "how now!—not gone yet!"

"No!—I start for the coast to-morrow; business keeps me to-day. I came to ask if Mellon may be fully depended on?"

"Ay!—honest to the back-bone!"

"And you are sure that, in spite of my late delays, he will not have left the village?"

"Sure!—what else can I be?—don't I know Jack Mellon these twenty years? He would lie like a log in a calm for ten months together, without moving a hair's-breadth, if he was under orders."

"And his vessel is swift, and well manned, in case of an officer's chase?"

"The Black Molly swift?—ask your grandmother. The Black Molly would outstrip a shark, and be dd to her!"

"Then good-bye, Janseen, there is something to keep your pipe alight; we shall not meet within

title: Page:Paul Clifford Vol 3.djvu/120


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Palmer, George (1818-1897)


text:
Page:Railways Act 1921 (ukpga 19210055 en).pdf/80

[Ch. 55.]

The parts into which every schedule of charges submitted by a company to the rates tribunal is to be divided shall be as follows:—

 * Part I. containing the. charges in respect of the goods and minerals comprised in the several classes of merchandise (including dangerous goods and goods specially liable to damage) specified in the classification ;
 * Part II. containing the charges in respect of animals ;
 * Part III. containing the charges in respect of carriages ;
 * Part IV. containing the charges in respect of perishable merchandise by passenger train or other similar service ;
 * Part V. containing the charges in respect of small parcels ;
 * Part VI. containing the charges in respect of merchandise of an exceptional character ;
 * Part VII. containing the fares and charges to be taken for the conveyance of passengers and their luggage, and for live stock, carriages, parcels and articles of merchandise (other than those included in Part IV.) by passenger train or other similar service ;
 * Part VIII. containing the charges in respect of any toll payable by a trader.

The forms of the various Parts shall in the case of Parts V., VI., VII., and VIII., be such as the rates tribunal direct, and in the case of Parts I., II., III., and IV., be the following forms:—

76


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Rh the three seas again, I think. England is as much too hot for me, as Holland for you!"

"You are a capital fellow!" cried mine host, shaking Clifford by the hand, "and when the lads come to know their loss, they will know they have lost the bravest and truest gill that ever took to the toby; so, good-bye, and be dd to you!"

With this valedictory benediction, mine host released Clifford; and the robber hastened to his appointment at the "Three Feathers."

He found all prepared. He hastily put on his disguise, and his follower led out his horse, a noble animal of the grand Irish breed, of remarkable strength and bone, and, save only that it was somewhat sharp in the quarters, (a fault which they who look for speed as well as grace will easily forgive,) of almost unequalled beauty in its symmetry and proportions. Well did the courser know, and proudly did it render obeisance to, its master; snorting impatiently, and rearing from the hand of the attendant robber, the sagacious animal freed itself of the rein, and, as it

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114 tossed its long mane in the breeze of a fresh air, came trotting to the place where Clifford stood.

"So ho, Robin!—so ho!—what, thou chafest that I have left thy fellow behind at the Red Cave. Him we may never see more. But, while I have life, I will not leave thee, Robin!"

With these words, the robber fondly stroked the shining neck of his favourite steed; and as the animal returned the caress, by rubbing its head against the hands and the athletic breast of its master, Clifford felt at his heart somewhat of that old racy stir of the blood which had been once to him the chief charm of his criminal profession, and which, in the late change of his feelings, he had almost forgotten.

"Well, Robin, well," he renewed, as he kissed the face of his steed;—"well, we will have some days like our old ones yet; thou shalt say, ha! ha! to the trumpet, and bear thy master along on more glorious enterprises than he has yet thanked thee for sharing. Thou wilt now be my only familiar,—my only friend, Robin; we two shall be strangers in a foreign land. But thou wilt make thyself welcome easier than thy lord,

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Rh Robin; and thou wilt forget the old days, and thine old comrades, and thine old loves, when—ha!" and Clifford turned abruptly to his attendant, who addressed him, "It is late, you say; true! look you, it will be unwise for us both to quit London together; you know the sixth milestone, join me there, and we can proceed in company!"

Not unwilling to linger for a parting-cup, the comrade assented to the prudence of the plan proposed; and, after one or two additional words of caution and advice, Clifford mounted, and rode from the yard of the inn. As he passed through the tall wooden gates into the street, the imperfect gleam of the wintry sun falling over himself and his steed, it was scarcely possible, even in spite of his disguise and rude garb, to conceive a more gallant and striking specimen of the lawless and daring tribe to which he belonged; the height, strength, beauty, and exquisite grooming visible in the steed; the sparkling eye, the bold profile, the sinewy chest, the graceful limbs, and the careless and practised horsemanship of the rider.

Looking after his chief with a long and an

title: Page:Paul Clifford Vol 3.djvu/123


text:
Page:Cadet Handbook and Section Roll.pdf/27

He is responsible to the officer commanding the company for discipline, and that none of the cadets appear on parade unless correctly dressed, until he has first reported the matter to his company commander.

He must report to him any neglect or disobedience of orders on the part of the non-commissioned officers and cadets.

He must perform any clerical duties that are allotted to him in connection with his company, such as keeping an attendance roll correctly entered up.

He must see that the section leaders are in possession of a roll having the name of evereyevery [sic] cadet in it who belongs to their section, and that the attendances are correctly marked therein.

He must himself have a roll of the company kept up to date and make a note of every change of address in it.

He must have markers fallen in and placed at the correct distances apart, ready for the company to fall in on at least five minutes before “fall in” sounds.

He must see that, unless otherwise ordered, the company falls in in four sections, and that each section is under a senior non-commissioned officer other than himself.

He should give any orders it may be necessary for him to give clearly and in such a way that they may at once be understood, and on no account allow or enter into any argument in connection therewith, but at once report any such matter to superior authority.


text:
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194 of her builder, and arrived at San Francisco February 18, 1851, 108 days from Boston. She passed through the Straits of Magellan and thus saved a considerable distance; but even allowing for this, her passage was a very remarkable one for a vessel of her tonnage, and reflects much credit upon the skill and courage of her captain and his plucky companions.

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