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 физкультура physical training. Ему бы надо побольше заниматься физкультурой. He should take more physical training. • athletics. У нас обращают большое внимание на физкультуру. We pay a lot of attention to athletics.

физкультурник athlete, sportsman.

фиктивный fictitious. Он вечно придумывает какие-то фиктивные командировки. He's always inventing fictitious missions.

филиал annex. Эта пьеса идёт теперь в филиале Малого Театра. This play is now being given in the annex of the Mally Theater. • branch. Вы можете получить по этому чеку в местном филиале Госбанка. You can cash this check at the local branch of the state bank.

философ philosopher.

философия philosophy.

фильм film. Вы видели этот фильм? Have you seen this film?

финансовый financial.

финансы (-нсов P). □ государственные финансы state finance.

финотдел (финансовый отдел) finance department (of a local soviet).

фиолетовый violet, purple.

фирма firm. Он работал в этой фирме три года. He worked with this firm for three years. • business house. Мы получили заказ от большой американской фирмы. We received an order from a big American business house.

флаг flag. Сегодня по случаю праздника всюду вывешены флаги. The flags are out everywhere because of the holiday. — Мы шли под американским флагом. We sailed under the American flag. — Стрелочник у разъезда махал красным флагом. The signalman at the crossing was waving a red flag.

фланель (F) flannel. Достаточно для рубашки двух метров фланели? Will two meters of flannel be enough for a shirt?

флейта flute. Он хорошо играет на флейте. He plays the flute well.

флот navy.

фойе (indecl N) lobby. Мы встретимся в антракте в фойе. We'll meet in the lobby during the intermission.

фон background. Я хочу вас снять на светлом фоне, карточка будет лучше. I want to photograph you against a light background; the picture will turn out better.

фонарь (-ря M) lantern. Не забудьте захватить с собой фонарь. Don't forget to take a lantern with you. — Электрический фонарь всегда может пригодиться. We can always use an electric lantern. • light. Когда у вас зажигают фонари на улицах? When do they put the street lights on here? □ карминный фонарь flashlight. Одолжите мне ваш карманный фонарь. Will you lend me your flashlight?

фонтан fountain. Это самый замечательный фонтан в Союзе. This is the most beautiful fountain in the USSR. □ Кровь фонтаном забила из раны. The blood gushed out of the wound.

форвард forward. Кто был вашим левым форвардом во вчерашнем матче? Who was your left forward in the soccer game yesterday?

форма shape. Она всегда носит шляпы какой-то странной формы. She always wears hats of the most peculiar shape. • mold. Сталь отливается вот в этих формах. Steel is shaped in these molds. — Мне нужна форма для торта. I need a mold for a cake. • uniform. Это форма ремесленного училища. This is the trade-school uniform. — Он пришёл в свою бывшую школу в полной парадной форме. He came to his former school in full-dress uniform. • form. Какая там форма правления? What form of government do they have there? — Основная форма оплаты труда у нас сдельная. Piece rates are the basic form of wages here. — Вы знаете в какой форме пишутся эти заявления? Do you know in what form these applications are written? — Он спрашивал моего совета только для формы. He asked my advice only as a matter of form. • way. Вы могли бы сказать то же самое, но в более вежливой форме. You could have said the same thing in a more polite way.

форменный uniform. Мне вчера выдали новое форменное пальто. I got a new uniform coat yesterday. • downright. Это форменное безобразие! This is a downright shame! □ Она форменная истеричка. She's really a hysterical woman.

формула formula.

форточка vent (small hinged pane in a window). Откройте форточку. Open the vent in the window.

фотограф photographer. Вы не знаете хорошего фотографа? Do you happen to know a good photographer?

фотографировать (/pct: с-/)

фотографический photographic. В этом магазине можно купить фотографические принадлежности. You can buy photographic supplies at this store. □ фотографическая карточка photo. К заявлению надо приложить три фотографических карточки. You have to attach three photos to the application. фотографический апарат camera. Разрешения на ввоз фотографического апарата ненужно. You don't need a permit to bring cameras in here.

фотография photography. Он увлекается фотографией. Photography is his hobby. • photograph. Я очень люблю рассматривать старые фотографии. I like to look through old photographs. □ Я плохо выхожу на фотографии. I don't photograph well.

фраза sentence. Избегайте длинных фраз. Avoid long sentences. • phrase. Это избитая фриза. This is a commonplace phrase. □ Всё это только фразы. It's all just big talk.

француз Frenchman. Он француз, а жена его американка. He's a Frenchman, but his wife's American.

французский French. Где мой французский учебник? Where's my French textbook? □ французская булавка safety pins. Дайте мне дюжину французских булавок. Give me a dozen safety pins. французский язык French (language). У нас школе преподают французский язык. They teach French in our school. по-французски French. Вы говорите по-французски? Do you speak French?

фронт front. Мы сохранили все его письма с фронта. We've saved all his letters from the front. — Мы добились больших успехов на промышленном фронте. We've beeh very successful on the industrial front. — Нам приходилось тогда бороться на два фронта. We had to fight on two fronts at that time.


text: Cambridge Natural History Mammalia/Chapter XV

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


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 • swarm. Нас окружила толпа школьников. A swarm of schoolchildren surrounded us.

толстый (sh -лста; cp толще) stout. Кто этот толстый седой человек? Who's that stout, gray-haired man? • chubby. Посмотрите на этого толстого мальчишку! Look at that chubby boy! • thick. Передайте мне эту толстую книгу. Hand me that thick book. • plump. Какие у неё толстые розовые щёчки! What plump pink cheeks she has! • heavy. Куртка сшита из толстого сукна. The jacket is made out of heavy cloth. □ потолще thicker. Нет ли у вас тетради потолще? Do you have a thicker notebook?

толще See толстый.

толщина thickness.

только only. Билет в кино стоит только один рубль. A ticket for the movies only costs a ruble. — Подождите минуту, я только оденусь. Wait a minute. I only have to dress. — Я был там только один раз. I've only been there once. — Эти яблоки не только дешевле, но и вкуснее. These apples are not only cheaper but tastier. — Только бы он выздоровел поскорее! If he'd only get well in a hurry! • but. Хорошо, только сначала заедем на почту. All right, but let's stop at the post office first. • just. Мы только начинаем восстановительную работу на этом руднике. We're just beginning reconstruction work on this mine. — Только посмейте! Just try it! • ever. Как вы только могли это подумать? How could you ever think such a thing! □ едва только just as soon as. Едва только он поправился, как снова вышел на работу. He was back at work just as soon as he got well. как только as soon as. Он вас примет, как только освободится! He'll see you as soon as he's free. • as much as. Я ему помогал как только мог. I helped him as much as I could. только всего all. Он пожелал мне успеха — только и всего. All he did was to wish me luck. только-только just barely. Я только-только успел собрать вещи. I just barely had enough time to gather my things. только что just. Он только что звонил. He just called up. • no sooner than. Только что я приехал, как меня вызвали обратно в Москву. No sooner had I arrived than they called me back to Moscow. □ Только он вошёл, как все кинулись его расспрашивать. The minute he stepped into the room, everybody rushed at him with questions. • Чего у нас только нет! There isn't a thing we haven't got. • Подай ему индейки с брусникой, да и только! He won't settle for anything less than turkey and cranberry sauce!

том (/P -а, ов/) volume. Кто взял второй том словаря? Who took the second volume of the dictionary? — Его книга выйдет в двух томах. His book will appear in two volumes.

тон (P -на or ны, -нов) tone. Таким тоном со мной ещё никто не разговаривал. Nobody has spoken to me in that tone yet! — Картина написана в ярких тонах. The picture is painted in bright tones. • key. Эта соната написана в мажорном тоне. This sonata is written in a major key. • time. После вашего замечания он переменил тон. After your remark he changed his tune. □ задавать тон to set the style. Она там задаёт тон. She sets the style there. □ Вы взяли с ним неправильный тон. You took the wrong approach with him.

тонкий (sh -нка; cp тоньше; тончайший) thin. Эти нитки слишком тонкие, нет ли потолще? This thread is too thin; don't you have any stronger? • fine. От неё пахло тонкими духами. She smelled of fine perfume. — Это кольцо очень тонкой работы. The ring shows very fine workmanship. — Он тонкий ценитель живописи. He's a fine judge of paintings. • gentle. Он тонких намёков не понимает. He doesn't understand gentle hints. □ потоньше thinner. Дайте мне бумагу потоньше. Give me some thinner paper.

тонко thin. Ветчина слишком тонко нарезана. The ham is sliced too thin. • keen. Это вы тонко подметили! That's a keen observation of yours. □ *Где тонко, там и рвётся. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link

тонна (gp тонн) ton.

тонуть (тону, тонет /pct: по-, у-/) to drown. Помогите! Человек тонет. Help! Man drowning! • to be over one's head. Он просто тонет в этих старых рукописях. He's simply over his head in these old manuscripts.

топать (/pct: топнуть/) to stomp. Кто это у вас наверху всё топает? Who's stomping around so upstairs?

топить (топлю, топит) to heat. Чем вы топите печи? With what do you heat your stoves? • to give heat. У нас всю зиму не топили. They didn't give us heat all winter.

топить (топлю, топит /pct: no-, y-/) to drown. Не топите котят. Don't drown the kittens. — Что, брат, топишь горе в вине? Are you trying to drown your sorrow in wine, brother? • to doom. Своими показаниями он топит своего сообщника. His evidence doomed his accomplice.

топливо fuel. Какое топливо вы употребляете? What kind of fuel do you use? □ жидкое топливо fuel oil.

топнуть (pct of топать) to stamp. Она сердито топнула ногой. She stamped her foot angrily.

топор (-а) ax. Возьмите топор и нарубите дров. Get the ax and chop some wood. □ *Здесь воздух такой, что хоть топор вешай. The air is so heavy here you can cut it with a knife.

торговать to sell. Мы не торгуем галантереей. We don't sell haberdashery here. □ Лавки бойко торговали. The stores were very busy.

торговец (-вца) merchant. Отец его был мелким торговцем. His father was a small merchant.

торговля trade. Через этот порт идёт торговля с заграницей. Trade with foreign countries goes on at this port. □ монополия внешней торговли foreign-trade monopoly.

торговый commercial. Все торговые сделки с иностранными фирмами проходят через внешторг. All the commercial transactions with foreign firms have to go through the commissariat of foreign trade. □ торговый флот merchant marine.

Торгпред (Торговый Представитель СССР) Torgpred (trade representative of USSR).

Торгпредство (Торговое Представительство СССР) Torgpredstvo (commercial organization representing USSR abroad).

торжественный solemn. Дай вам торжественное обещание


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 не ходить туда без вас. I give you my solemn promise not to go there without you. • gala. Завтра торжественное открытие съезда. Tomorrow is the gala opening of the convention.

торможу See тормозить.

тормоз (P -а, -ов) brake. Проверьте, в исправности ли тормоз. Check the brakes.

тормозить to put the brakes on. Не тормозите машину. Don't put the brakes on. □ На этом спуске нужно сильно тормозить. You've got to put a lot of pressure on your brakes going down this hill.

торопить (тороплю, торопит) to hurry. Не торопите меня, а то я наделаю ошибок. Don't hurry me, or I'll make mistakes. • to rush. Они нас так торопят со сдачей рукописи, что о проверке не может быть и речи. They're rushing us so much to deliver the manuscript that there's no chance of our checking it.

-ся to be in a hurry. Простите, я очень тороплюсь. Excuse me, I'm in a great hurry.

торт cake. У нас есть ореховый торт к чаю. We have a nut cake to go with our tea.

торф peat; turf.

тот (§17) that. В тот раз мне не удалось с ним поговорить. - I didn't get a chance to talk to him at that time. — В ту пору мы много натерпелись. We suffered a lot at that time. — Аптека на том углу. The drugstore is on that corner. — Тот был начальник, а это его помощник. That was the boss; this is his assistant. • that one. Какой рисунок вам больше нравится, этот или тот? Which design do you like better, this one or that one? • other. Это по ту сторону реки. It's on the other side of the river. — Это другие карандаши, те уже проданы. These are different pencils; the others are already sold. • it. Поверьте, он того не стоит. Believe me, he's not worth it. • same. Это та девушка, которая открыла нам дверь. That's the same girl who opened the door for us. □ без того as it is. Не пойду туда, я и без того устал. I won't go there. I'm tired enough as it is. до того before. Это было до того, как вы приехали сюда. It was before you arrived here. именно то exactly what. Вот это именно то, что мне надо. That's exactly what I need. и тому подобное and so forth. В этом чемодане у меня чулки, бельё и тому подобное. I have stockings, underwear, and so forth in this suitcase. и тот, и другой both. "Какую шляпу вы берёте?" "И ту и другую". "Which hat are you taking?" "Both of them." не тот wrong. Вы сели не в тот поезд. You took the wrong train. — Да вы не ту книгу берёте! You're taking the wrong book! нет того, чтобы instead of. Он всё кричит; нет того, чтобы объяснить толком. He yells all the time instead of explaining it as he should. ни с того, ни с сего for no reason at all. Ни с того, ни с сего он рассердился. He got mad for no reason at all. один и тот же the same. Нельзя делать два дела в одно и то же время. You can't do two things at the same time. одно и то же the same thing over again. Сколько раз надо повторить вам одно и то же! How many times do I have to say the same thing over again to you. тем не менее nevertheless. Тем не менее я не согласен. Nevertheless, I disagree. того и гляди any minute. Поторопитесь, он того и гляди вернётся. Hurry up; he's liable to be back any minute. тому назад ago. Это было много лет тому назад. It was many years ago. тот же the same. Вы всё та же, совсем не изменились. You're the same; you haven't changed at all. тот самый just the. Это та самая книга, которую я и искал. That's just the book I was looking for. □ *Ну, это Федот, да не тот. That's a horse of another color. • Для того я это и сказал, чтоб ему стыдно стало. I told it to him just so he'd feel ashamed. • В том-то и дело, что он русского языка не знает. That's the trouble; he doesn't know the Russian language. • Он не совсем то говорит! Я вам лучше сам объясню. He's not telling it quite right; I'll explain it to you myself. • Он пришёл с тем, чтоб извиниться. He came to apologize. • "Пойдём в театр". "Мне не до того". "Let's go to the theater." "No; I have other things on my mind." • "Что, он опять напился?" "Да, не без того". "What, did he get drunk again?" "That's about it." • Меня очень удивляет то, что вы говорите. I'm very much surprised at what you're saying. • С чем пришёл, с тем и ухожу — ничего не добился. I'm leaving the same way I came — with nothing. • Он не то, чтобы плохой человек, но безответственный. He's not what you'd call bad; he's just irresponsible.

то-то (/compare тот/) that's why. Ах, вы уезжали? То-то вас нигде не было видно. Oh, so you were away? That's why you weren't seen anywhere around here. □ "Теперь я понял!" "Ну, то-то!" "Now I get it!" "It's about time!" • "Я решил отказаться от своего плана". "Ну то-то же!" "I decided to give up my plan." "You'd better."

тотчас (/compare час/) at once. Он тотчас же поехал к больному. He went to see the patient at once. • instantly. Я тотчас же заметил, что что-то не в порядке. I saw instantly that something was wrong. • on the spot. Я тотчас вас узнал. I recognized you on the spot.

точить (точу, точит) to sharpen. Он точит бритву He's sharpening his razor. □ *Она уже на него давно зубы точит. She's had it in for him for a long time.

точка dot. Поставьте точку на карте на скрещении этих дорог. Put a dot on the map where these two roads cross. • period. Поставьте занятого вместо точки. Use a comma instead of a period. • point. Я ему объяснила мою точку зрения. I explained my point of view to him. • end. Знаете, давайте поставим точку на этом деле. Let's put an end to the matter. □ точка в точку word for word. Я переписал его заявление точка в точку. I copied his petition word for word. □ *Вы попали в самую точку! You hit the nail right on the head!

точно as if, as though. Что вы точно на иголках сидите? Why do you keep jumping up as if you were sitting on pins and needles? — Я слушала, точно зачарованная. I listened as though enchanted. • like. Ну что вы капризничаете, точно маленькая! Come now, why are you carrying on like a child?


text: Cambridge Natural History Mammalia/Chapter XVI


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234 in scores of tons. It, was on that occasion that a few natives, the remnant of their tribe, stood beside the outlet bewailing the sad fact that there were no more blackfellows to eat the eels.

There are also some large shell-mounds on the coast, especially near Cape Otway, where the largest is about three hundred feet long, forty or fifty feet wide, and sixteen feet high. It must have taken ages for the fish-eating natives of the coast to build up such heaps.

In many parts of the country the mirnyongs have been destroyed by the agricultural settlers, who use them for manure. In future years the ethnologist will doubtless search many of them for relics of a lost race whose condition and habits they will indicate.

As they are the oldest, so they will be the most durable records of perhaps the most primitive people on the face of the earth. They resemble, as I have said, the Kjökenmoddings, or kitchen refuse heaps, of Denmark, in which pieces of stone have been found, and fragments of the bones of animals on which the savages of that country and remote period fed. From the texture of the bones, Professor Owen has been able to determine the kinds of animals to which they belonged.

I would suggest that some of the largest of these mounds be scientifically examined, with a view of ascertaining whether they contain any relics or implements differing from those in use at the present time.

At a meeting of the Ethnological Society in London, in 1804, Sir Charles Nicholson alluded to the discovery of great numbers of flint implements by Mr. Gregory, in immense tumuli near the sea, during his explorations in Australia.

Major Mitchell mentions circular mounds with trenches round them, being the tombs of a tribe on the Darling Downs. I am not, however, aware of any tumuli in Western, Southern, or South-Eastern Australia, although the natives have sometimes buried their dead in the mirnyongs which I have just described. I have taken out portions of the skeleton of an Aboriginal man from one of these mounds near Lake Purrumbete, not far from Camperdown; and as many as five or six skeletons have been found in one mound. But I think they have only latterly been used as places of interment, when the natives had so diminished in numbers as no longer to require them for camping purposes. It is very likely, too, that they were induced to use the forsaken mounds as burial-places by the consideration that the deceased would like to repose in so comfortable a place, which he had so often tenanted during life, and also because of the greater facility with which they could burrow the grave in the ash-mound than in the hard ground.

There are, however, still other memorials of the late numerous but now almost extinct inhabitants of the extensive basaltic plains of the Western district of Victoria. Some stone mia-mys, or shelters, may still occasionally be found; there are a few on the western margin of the Stony Rises, south of Lake Purrumbete.

In one of Chambers's Tracts on The Monuments of Unrecorded Ages it is stated that "stone-circles" are numerous in Victoria—that they are from ten to one hundred feet in diameter, and that sometimes there is an inner circle;

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246 which generally grows about the thickness of a man's thumb, and to the depth of four to six or eight feet. It has a delicate sweetish flavour when roasted in hot ashes, something like that of a chestnut, and is much sought after. It is dangerous to travel on horseback through the country where it grows, on account of the frequency and depth of the holes, which are not more than about eighteen or twenty inches in diameter. I have sometimes been made aware of their proximity by seeing small quantities of sand jumping up before me, and, on going to see the cause, have suddenly come on a small hole among the scrub, so small that I could scarcely believe a human being could be at the bottom of it in a stooping position, with the knees on each side of the head. In this position the native dexterously throws the sand by a sudden jerk of the hand

backwards, under the arm and up behind the shoulder. The only bald natives I ever saw are the warran diggers, who are said to wear the hair off the head by pressing it so frequently against the sides of these holes.

Besides sinking wells, they have other means of obtaining water in the deserts, where none is to be found on the surface of the ground. In the Mallee scrubs they find water in the roots of the narrow-leafed Mallee, but only in some of the larger trees, and it requires an expert to know which trees contain it. They trace a root that runs near the surface of the ground as far as possible, and then tear it up and let the water trickle out of it. I have never seen this species of eucalyptus in Western Australia; but there they obtain water—sometimes as much as a gallon at

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Rh a time—from fissures in the wood of the paper-bark tree, a large species of melaleuca; they make a hole through the thick bark, and the water gushes out; they then plug the hole up, and find a fresh supply next time they pass that way.

The powers and endurance as divers and swimmers of those Aborigines who inhabit the borders of rivers and the sea-coast are worthy of note. I have timed a man diving in the Goulburn River, and found he could remain under water from one minute fifty seconds to two minutes; but some of them could probably continue longer than this. The greater number of vessels engaged in pearl-fishing off the coast of Western Australia prefer employing the natives as divers to undertaking a voyage for Malays.

I have often been surprised at the flexibility of the muscles even of the old people. They are in the habit of sitting round their fires with their feet and legs doubled under them for hours together, in a manner that would be most painful to a European, even if he could do it at all. They sometimes sit on their feet.

Annexed are a few profiles of some King George's Sound Aborigines, which I took in 1846. They are good likenesses. No. 7 is Wylie, the lad who so faithfully accompanied Mr. Eyre in his perilous journey round the coast, in 1841, from Port Lincoln to King George's Sound, and to whom Mr. Eyre afterwards sent, from England, as an acknowledgment of his fidelity and services, a handsome double-barrelled gun. No. 8 is his wife, whose hair

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Rh also, that the Aborigines have no traditions regarding them; that when asked about them they invariably deny knowledge of their origin.

I can safely affirm that these statements are quite incorrect—there are no such circles, and never were. I am convinced that no structures of a monumental character were ever erected by any of the Aborigines of Australia. Nor can the megalithic circles alluded to be referred to any natural appearance in any of the more recent overflows of basalt.

The authority for the statement regarding the stone-circles in Victoria is a paper by the late Sir Jas. Y. Simpson, in the Proceedings of the Society of Antiquaries (Scotland), quoted in Sir J. Lubbock's Pre-Historic Times. Mr. Ormond, in a letter to Sir. J. Y. Simpson (page 122), says that he has seen many, especially near the Mount Elephant Plains in Victoria, and he then gives the above description of them.

Mr. Ormond may possibly have alluded to the min-mys or camping-places which have been found in open and exposed places, where the natives formed rude stone-circles merely for the purpose of shelter from the keen winds which sometimes sweep over the plains. Flat stones of basalt often occur only a few inches thick, and having two or three square feet of surface; these have been collected by the natives and set on edge, but have generally been removed by the settlers for the purpose of building the stone walls with which the country is now intersected in every direction.

Mr. Peter Manifold, who has resided on his estate in the district in question for more than thirty years, has kindly given me the following valuable information on the subject:—

"The stone-circles are made by the natives, and are always found in exposed situations where timber is difficult to obtain. The natives there formed these break-winds of stones, placed on edge in a circular form, some of them very perfect, leaving the opening generally towards the east, the prevailing winds coming; from the north-west and south-west. These circles are common on the plains or eastern part of this property, where branches of trees could not be procured for giving shelter. When we first occupied this country, it was quite common for the natives to use these circles as camping-places, always having the fires in the centre. The fires were very small, as they had frequently to carry the wood long distances. The circles are generally formed of large stones set on their edges, and bedded in the ground close together, without any other stones on the top, thus forming good protection from the wind as they lay around the fire. The stones are of the common basalt, there being no other in the district. The situation selected was generally where water was convenient, or in some favorable place for game. The circles were al)out the size of the ordinary mia-mys, that is from ten to twenty feet in diameter."

I may add that the European shepherds have been in the habit of constructing rubble-walls in circles for the same purpose of protection from the winds.

On a little basalt islet in Lake Wongan, about seven miles north-east from Streatham, I observed an ancient Aboriginal work consisting of extensive

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236 rows of large stones, forming passages up and down, like a maze, at the foot of a little hill. A semicircular walk, ten feet wide, has been made by clearing and smoothing the rough rocky surface up the hill and down again leading into the maze. This work was possibly executed for the purpose of carrying on some mystic rites, or probably only for the amusement of running between the rows of stones and up the hill and down again.

Also, Mr. A. C. Allan, Inspector-General of Surveys, has informed me that during a recent journey in the Tattiara country, near the South Australian

border, he noticed a number of stone walls, two or three feet high, which had been constructed by the natives, radiating from a little cave in the ground, and forming irregular passages.

I can only conjecture that these and other similar works have been used by the Aborigines, in times past, for purposes of incantation.

The men are rather active and sinewy than strong and muscular. They are well-formed and broad in the chest, though generally rather slender in the limbs.

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Rh Mr. Knight, of Western Australia, in his little book on that colony, says—"The limbs of a well-formed Australian man exhibit a nice symmetry and a fine muscular development. His agility and flexibility of body when running or otherwise actively engaged are advantageously displayed; his posture when throwiug a spear is extremely graceful; and his gait and bearing when walking are even dignified."

The annexed engravings (Figs. 248 and 249) of a King George's Sound native, with his old wife and child, are from drawings by the late Deputy Assistant Commissary-General Neill.

They are very characteristic and true to the life.

The natives appear to have just risen from the camp-fire, being equipped for a day's foraging excursion within their own territory, for the man has but one spear. They wear the usual cloak (boka) made with three or four skins of the female kangaroo, the furry side being next to the body, while the outside of the boka, as well as the faces and bodies of the wearers, are anointed with wilghee. The man is ornamented with a bunch of emu feathers on each arm, and feathers of the black cockatoo on his head, which is bound round with string (nulban) made of opossum (koomal) fir. The barbed spear (kidgi) is fixed in the throwing-board (miro) ready for use.

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 точный (sh -чна) exact. Это точный перевод вашего удостоверения? Is this the exact translation of your certificate? • precise. Приятно было следить за лёгкими и точными движениями её рук. It was pleasant to watch the light, precise movements of her hands. • correct. На вокзальных часах точное время. The correct time is on the station clock. □ точно exactly. Это надо сделать точно по инструкциям. This has to be done exactly according to instructions. — Это точно такие же ботинки. These are exactly the same shoes. — Точно! Exactly! — Я бы это сделал точно так же. That's exactly how I would do it. • accurately. Перепишите это; только, пожалуйста, точно. Copy this, please; but do it accurately.

точь в точь just like. Он точь в точь отец. He looks just like his father. • exactly. Она улыбается точь в точь, как её мать. She smiles exactly as her mother does. • exactly like. Я сделаю это точь в точь по образцу. I'll make it exactly like the original.

тошнить (S3 only; impersonal) to feel nauseated. Меня тошнит. I feel nauseated. □ От его вечных шуток тошнить начинает. His constant joking makes me sick.

трава (P травы) grass. Просят по траве не ходить. Keep off the grass. □ *Он теперь тише воды, ниже травы. You don't hear a peep out of him now. • *Это уже давно травой поросло. It's all gone and forgotten.

трактор (/P -а, -ов/) tractor.

тракторист tractor operator.

трактористка tractor operator F.

тракторный. □ тракторная вспашка plowing by tractor. тракторный плуг tractor plow.

трамвай trolley. Куда идёт этот трамвай? Where does this trolley go? • streetcar. Тут трамвай не останавливается. The streetcar doesn't stop here. □ Трамваем туда ехать очень долго. It takes a long time to go there by streetcar.

трамплин springboard.

транзитный transit. У меня транзитная виза. I have a transit visa.

тратить to spend. Он тратит массу денег на книги. He spends a lot of money on books. — Не стоит тратить на это столько времени. It's not worth while spending so much time on this. • to waste. Не тратьте сил зря. Don't waste your efforts for nothing.

трачу See тратить.

требование demand. Он соглашается на все наши требования. He agrees to all our demands. • request. Мы послали требование на уголь, но пока ещё ничего не получили. We sent in a request for coal but haven't received it as yet. • requirement. Он отвечает всем требованиям для этой работы. He meets all the requirements for this job. • claim. Я отказываюсь от своих требований. I'm withdrawing my claim. □ Вы предъявляете к нему слишком большие требования. You're asking too much of him.

требовать to demand. От нас требуют, чтоб мы приходили на работу во-время. They demand that we come to work on time. • to request. Они требуют уплаты по счёту. They're requesting payment of their bill. • to ask. Вы слишком многого от них требуете. You're asking too much of them! • to require. Эта работа требует большого внимания. This work requires a lot of attention.

-ся to be required. Для этого никаких специальных знаний не требуется. This doesn't require any special knowledge. □ На этот завод требуются опытные электротехники. This factory needs experienced electrical technicians.

тревога anxiety. Она не могла скрыть своей тревоги. She couldn't hide her anxiety. • alert. К счастью, тревога оказалась ложной. Fortunately it turned out to be a false alert. □ воздушная тревога air-raid alarm. с тревогой anxiously. Я с тревогой жду его звонка. I'm waiting anxiously for his phone call.

тревожный restless. Больной провёл очень тревожную ночь. The patient spent a very restless night. • uneasy. Мы пережили очень тревожные минуты. We lived through many uneasy moments. □ тревожный гудок warning signal. тревожно anxiously. Она тревожно оглядывалась по сторонам. She looked about anxiously.

трезвый (sh -зва) sober. Разве вы не видите, что он не совсем трезв? Don't you see he's not exactly sober? • sound. Это трезвый взгляд на вещи. This is a sound approach to things. □ трезво soberly. Попробуйте судить об этом трезво. Try to judge this soberly.

тренер (тренер) coach, trainer.

тренировка training. Чтобы стать хорошим теннисистом, нужна длительная тренировка. You've got to have long training to be a good tennis player.

треск crash. Раздался треск, и стул под ним сломался. We heard the crash of the chair breaking under him. • crack. Мы слышали треск ружейных выстрелов. We heard the crack of the rifles. □ Пьеса с треском провалилась. The show flopped.

треснуть (pct) to crack. Стекло треснуло. The glass cracked. • to split open. У вас пиджак по швам треснул. Your jacket split open at the seam. □ Никак не могу разобрать этой подписи, хоть тресни! For the life of me I can't make out this signature! • Я его знаю: треснет, а не скажет. I know him; he'd rather die than tell.

трест trust.

третий (§13) third. Я стоял у кассы третьим в очереди. I was third in line at the ticket office. — Третья глава этой книги самая удачная. The third chapter of this book is the best. □ Я приду к вам в третьем часу. I'll come to see you after two.

треть (P -ти, -тей F) one third. Мы проехали уже треть пути. We've already gone one third of the way.

треугольник triangle.

трёхсотый three hundredth.

трещать (dur) to crackle. Слышите, как дрова трещат в печке? Listen to how the logs are crackling in the stove. • to chatter away. Она трещит без умолку. She chatters away all the time. □ Ох, голова трещит! I've got a splitting headache!

трещина crack. Осторожней, чашка с трещиной. Careful! There's a crack in the cup. — Нет, эта доски не годится, она


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 с трещинами. No, this board isn't good; it has too many cracks in it.

три (gl трёх, d трём, i тремя, §22) three.

трибуна platform. Он сидел на трибуне рядом с председателем. He sat on the platform, next to the chairman. • stand. Трибуны стадиона переполнены. The stadium stands are overcrowded.

тридцатый thirtieth.

тридцать (gdl -ти, i -тью, §22) thirty.

тринадцатый thirteenth.

тринадцать (gdl -ти, i -тью, §22) thirteen.

триста (§22) three hundred.

трогательный touching, это очень трогательная история. This is a very touching story. □ трогательно touching. Как трогательно! How touching!

трогать (/pct: тронуть/) to touch. Пожалуйста, не трогайте ничего у меня на столе. Please don't touch anything on my table. — Меня очень трогает ваша заботливость. I'm deeply touched by your thoughtfulness. • to affect. Это меня ни капельки не трогает. It doesn't affect me at all. • to move along. Ну, пора трогать! Well, it's time to move along. □ (no pct) Трогай! Get the horses going! • Не трогайте его — он сегодня не в духе. Let him alone; he's in a bad mood today.

-ся to budge. Машина перед нами не трогается с места. The car in front of us isn't budging. • to get going. Ну, нам пора трогаться. Well, we'll have to get going.

трое (§22) three. Возьмите с собой провизии на трое сутож. Take enough food along with you for three days, — Нас трое братьев. There are three boys in my family.

тройка troika (team of three horses). Хорошо бы сейчас покатиться на тройке. It'd be nice to take a troika ride now.

троллейбус trolley-bus. Вы знаете маршрут этого троллейбуса? Do you know the route of this trolley-bus?

тронуть (pct of трогать) to touch. Я почувствовал, что меня кто-то тронул за плечо. I felt that somebody had touched me on the shoulder. — Меня очень тронуло ваше внимание. I was very much touched by your attention. — (no dur) А ну-ка тронь, попробуй только! Just try to touch me.

-ся to start moving. Как только поезд тронулся, я улёгся спать. I went to sleep as soon as the train started moving.

тропинка path. Все тропинки в лесу занесло снегом. All the paths in the woods are covered with snow. — Сверните влево по этой тропинке. Take this path on your left.

тротуар sidewalk.

труба (P трубы) trumpet. Рядом кто-то заиграл на трубе. Somebody started playing the trumpet near by. □ водопроводная труба water pipe. У нас тогда лопнула водопроводная труба. Our water pipe burst at that time. • gutter. Мне пришлось спуститься с третьего этажа по водосточной трубе. I had to let myself down from the third story along the rain gutter. дымовая труби chimney. Кажется, загорелась сажа в дымовой трубе. I think the soot in the chimney is on fire. заводская труба stack. Из заводских труб валит дым. Smoke is pouring out of the stacks. подзорная труба telescope. Он посмотрел в подзорную трубу. He looked through the telescope. □ *Он прошёл огонь и воду и медные трубы. He's been through an awful lot. • *При ваших методах хозяйничания вы скоро вылетите в трубу. Everything will go up in smoke the way you run things.

трубка receiver. Не могу дозвониться, очевидно, трубка снята. Apparently the receiver is off the hook; I can't get the number. — Повесьте трубку и позвоните ещё раз. Put the receiver back on the hook and call again. • pipe. С каких пор вы курите трубку? How long have you been smoking a pipe? □ Бумага свёрнута в трубку. The paper is rolled up.

труд (-а) work. Он вложил много труда в это дело. He put a lot of work in on this job — У него много учёных трудов. He's credited with many scientific works. • difficulty. Мне с большим трудом удалось раздобыть книгу. I managed to get this book after great difficulty. — Я с трудом сдержал своё раздражение. I held back my anger with difficulty. □ детский труд child labor. охрана труда industrial safety regulations. Лиственный труд mental work. физический труд physical labor.

трудиться (тружусь, трудится) to work hard. Мы здесь трудимся, а он только мешает. We're working hard here, and he's only disturbing us. □ тяжело трудиться to sweat. Он всю жизнь тяжело трудился. He's had to sweat for everything all his life. □ Не трудитесь понапрасну! Don't trouble yourself.

трудность (F) difficulty. В чём состоит главная трудность этой работы? Wbat is the main difficulty in this work? • heirdship. Мы трудностей не боимся. We're not afraid of hardship.

трудный (sh -дна) hard. Эта работа трудная, но интересная. This work is hard but interesting. — Вы мне задали очень трудную задачу. You gave me a very hard problem. • difficult. Они очень трудный ребёнок. She's a very difficult child. • trying. Они помогли мне в трудную минуту. They helped me at a trying time. — Он хороший, но трудный человек. He's a good man, but very trying. □ трудно difficult. Мне трудно долго говорить по-русски. It's difficult for me to speak Russian for any length of time. • with difficulty. Он трудно дышет. He breathes with difficulty.

трудовой worker's. Трудовая книжка у вас при себе? Do you have your worker's identification book with you? • hard-earned. Это всё куплено на мой трудовые сбережения. All this was bought with my hard-earned money. □ У него замечательная трудовая дисциплина. He's well-disciplined in his work.

трудодень (-дня M) work-day (unit of work). Сколько он выработал трудодней? How many work-days did he complete?

трудоспособность (F) capacity for work. Его трудоспособность изумительна. He has an amazing capacity for work. □ Что ж, в случае потери трудоспособности я буду получать пенсию. Well, if I'm incapacitated, I'll collect a pension.

трудоспособный able-bodied. Для этой работы нам придётся использовать всех трудоспособных. We'll have to recruit all our able-bodied people for this work. • efficient. Он очень трудоспособный человек. He's a very efficient man.


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Rh I might be able to outwit him and make my escape; but he will not, and I cannot go without his consent. He says that I dare not escape from him, and defies me to outwit him'

'I would to heaven I could help you, sir! ' I said fervently.

'Perhaps you may,' he replied. 'Who can tell what a day or a week may bring forth? I am always on the watch for an opportunity, and when it comes, Mr. Demon I'm your man. What are you doing up there just now in your world?'

'It would take me too long to tell you everything sir; but we are not doing very much. The world is at peace now, but the great nations have been expecting war and making preparations for it. They do little but hound each other on, and scowl and growl at each other through their newspapers. Every day sees some new invention for the destruction of men. Every hour some cause of bitter jealousy and hatred crops up. England, as some say, is more or less unprepared, relying on the courage and abilities of her sons should her peace be disturbed. But she is torn to pieces internally by the ferocity of party spirit and democratic combinations; blown to a white heat by factious mob orators, who study only their own interest, the breath of whose nostrils is popular applause. Ireland is on the verge of a revolution, clamouring loudly for Home Rule. If she took my humble advice she would be satisfied to remain as she is. France is preparing to do some mighty deeds of bloodshed, and ruffles her feathers, and takes off her coat at every wind that blows. Russia, Germany, and Austria are steadily arming and watching each other; and no doubt the devil is watching them all, and laughing.'

'Hush! hush! You said something about having come from the Great Lake of Tasmania; I never heard of the


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130 place before. Do the people there inhabit houses like the people in England, or do they live underground? Can they read and write, and spell properly? Are they rational beings or do they walk on their heads or their heels?'

I now gave the simple-hearted Doctor, for whom my respect and affection kept on constantly increasing, as full an account as I could of our great Australian colonies, with which I need not trouble the reader. He drank in every word with greediness. If I had sat with him for six months, I could not have satisfied his eager thirst for knowledge of the world.

'Tasmania is an island,' he said. 'When was it discovered?—by whom? How large is it? What kind of a place is it? Is it barren or fruitful?—happy or miserable?—beautiful or ugly? What do its lakes look like?' etc.

'A hundred questions to answer all in a moment. Forbear to ask, sir, and I will tell you all I know. It is one of the most lovely islands of the Southern Hemisphere, worthy of being beloved not only for its healthy and pleasant climate, but for the value of its mineral wealth, and the excellence and variety of its productions.'

I described to my delighted friend in glowing language the surpassing beauty of its mountains, lakes, and rivers; the grandeur of its trackless forests; the glory of its enchanting scenery, here, there, and everywhere. Its temperate climate favoured the growth of cereals and fruits; its delicious apples were famous in London. Its soil was most fertile in many favoured spots. It was free in summer from suffocating heat, and, except in the lake country, from intense frosts in winter. I was also careful to explain that there were thousands of acres of land in Tasmania which were worth nothing, being barren rocks and useless marshes, sandy and impenetrable scrubs, and woods choked with prickly heaths, and dense masses of ferns—land totally


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Rh unfit for cultivation, where only opossums and wild cats exists. It is certainly true that the agricultural and pastoral wealth of the country is confined to a very small proportion of its actual surface.

'What kind of a Government have you in Tasmania?' he asked.

'That is exactly where our boots and shoes pinch us sir' I answered in a subdued voice; 'we have grown too big for them. It is dangerous to speak of our Government: it might be better, it might be worse. I remember when we had a moderately careful and economical Government—one that condescended to inquire, "How will it fare with generations yet unborn?" Now we have one—a Home Rule, which is incurably puffed up—and we are an aspiring and ambitious people. We have a Governor sent out from England, a grand Legislative Council, and a House of Assembly, which enact as many laws for a community of about one hundred and fifty thousand people as would suffice for one of ten millions. Our public debt now amounts to about eight millions sterling, and is constantly increasing. The taxes we have to pay for the interest of our debt, and the expenses of our Government, are very considerable, and we are constantly being threatened with additional exactions. We ought to be a happy people, but we are little more than slaves ground down by all kinds of evils and exactions.'

'"Evils and exactions!"' echoed the Doctor, puffing away at his enormous pipe—'"evils and exactions!" What do you mean?'

'I mean this: I have no desire to be witty at the expense of others, or to be offensive to anyone in particular but I am of opinion that our Government is driving us to ruin without pity or remorse.'

'Why do you let it?'

'We cannot help ourselves. There is scarcely any


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132 unanimity of thought or sentiment in the island. The genii of apathy and indifference sit on the tops of her mountains and rule over the land. Her House of Assembly is one of inflated millionaires. Have you a famous drug here which has the effect of puffing out the patient who swallows it, and making him think he is a great being, who is raised immeasurably above all mean and contemptible ideas of care, caution, and economy?'

'I have the very thing—taxacorum puffinalis, extracted from the cube root of electric fire.'

'A very appropriate name and derivation,' said I, laughing, although I was more inclined to cry. 'And have you another which has the opposite effect—which reduces the unfortunate creature until he is a mere bag of bones, and deprives him of all energy, bodily comfort, and mental peace?'

'Yes, another very powerful medicine—taxacorum soueezatalis, distilled from the concentrated essence of flea and scorpion broth.'

'It is another most appropriate name and derivation, and I think that the very first thing which our House of Assembly does, before it enters upon any public business, is to administer a strong dose of the first medicine to itself, and a dose of the last, equally strong, to the unhappy people who elected it.'

The Doctor laid down his pipe, used his pocket-handkerchief with a startling report, and laughed again.

'I wish I could see you, Ubertus, at the bar of your House of Assembly,' he said. 'I'd like to see you on your knees apologizing to the Honourable Members. But, seriously, you know there must be a Government of some kind, and the people must be taxed to pay its expenses.'

'Undoubtedly, sir—moderate, sensible, and necessary taxation; but, unhappily, we are being governed at a ruinously fast and extravagant rate. We must appear before


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The author of this strange production was a young man of the MacDonells, of Glengarry, and a fellow collegian of Charlie's. Although their dispositions differed very much, a close friendship sprung up between them at the University. John, although the most mischievous young Highland gentleman that ever breathed, was a good-hearted fellow at the bottom. His extraordinary inventive mind, and his expertness in personating others, in disguising his person and voice, astonished every one.

He was never easy but when playing some mischievous trick on some unfortunate dupe, and his witticism and satire gained for him the sobriquet of Iain Lom, the name of an ancient bard. However, as some of his pranks will come before the reader at intervals through this tale we shall not comment further on his character.

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must now follow Lord Lundy after his chastisement at the hands of Charlie Stuart. Ruffled in his temper, and galling under his first punishment in life, he retraced his steps to the river bank, where he was soon met by another gentleman of maturer appearance. This was his lordship's cousin, the Honourable Captain Somerville of the Guards, who had accompanied his lordship on a leave of absence during the shooting season to the Highlands.

"Well, my noble cousin, any luck this morning? Look here I have been very successful," exclaimed the captain, displaying some fine trout to the sullen gaze of the discomfited cousin, "as I live, your noble countenance looks more disappointed than if all the beauties of our court had cut you, for the sake of the caprice of a few trout." "Indeed, captain, you are mistaken, my disappointment does not proceed from the caprice of trout, nor yet a court lady, but rather a simple mountain maid, and although I may run the risk of your bantering through my romantic and unsuccessful freak, I cannot keep it from you, never having been so annoyed before."

His lordship here stated the whole circumstance. How the scenery, and the singular beauty of the Highland maid, had made such an impression on his mind. How his own rash and inconsiderate conduct (for which he was now sorry) in endeavouring to detain her, had brought upon him the humbling rebuke of the Highlander, or most likely her brother: and how that he would now give his whole fortune to recall his conduct and be established in the romantic beauty's good graces.

As his lordship anticipated, the gallant captain enjoyed the affair amazingly, and considered it a capital joke, but on seeing the seriousness of his lordship, and the apparent impression the whole event had exercised on him, he desisted, for fear of displeasing. He, however, used all his tact to banish the deep impression which the extraordinary beauty of the Highland maid had B

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Author:Jay William Hudson

Works

 * The Treatment of Personality by Locke, Berkeley and Hume (1911)
 * Pamphlet Series on New Internationalism
 * What is the New Internationalism?
 * The Arithmetic of War
 * Agencies for Promoting World Order
 * A Practical International Program (1915)
 * America's International Ideals
 * The College and New America (1920)
 * Abbé Pierre (1922)
 * Nowhere Else in the World (1923)
 * The Eternal Circle (1925)
 * The Truths We Live By (1927)
 * Abbé Pierre's People (1928)

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 The Works

OF


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world was first aware of Alice Meynell (or as she then was, Alice Thompson) as a poet when the little initial volume, Preludes, blossomed into life like a March violet—early enough, one can never forget, to win Ruskin's enthusiastic praise. Three of its selections ("San Lorenzo's Mother," together with the closing lines of the "Daisy" sonnet and that unforgettable "Letter from a Girl to Her Own Old Age") he forthright declared "the finest things I have yet seen, or felt, in modern verse." That was a personal estimate, to be sure, since Tennyson, Browning, Patmore, and Swinburne were all in the act of writing memorable things; but what a thunderously significant tribute to lay at the feet of a young girl just lifting up her voice in song! Abyssus abyssum invocat.

More than a quarter of a century has passed, and in the actual matter of poetry, Mrs. Meynell has published but two additional volumes, the Poems of 1893 (an augmented reprint of the original booklet) and the slight but weighty Later Poems of 1901; these, with fugitive strains of rare beauty in some favoured review, make up the sum. The voice in its moment was ex cathedra; having spoken, she may hold her peace.

She has elected all along to speak in a deliberately vestal and cloistral poetry. Remote as the mountain snows, yet near as the wind upon our face, is her song. It is seldom sensuous, the very imagery being evoked, in the main, from the 159

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160 intellectual vision; and there are moments when "amorous thought has sucked pale Fancy's breath" quite out of the stanzas. Yet these tremble with a deep and impassioned emotion—emotion which seems aloof because it is so interior. For the characteristic note of Mrs. Meynell's music is not yearning or aspiration; it is not the dear and consummate fruition of life; still less is it a mourning over things lost. It is the note of active renunciation. Renunciation of the beloved by the lover, that both may be more true to the Heart of Love; renunciation by the poet, the artist, not only of the poor, precious human comforting, but likewise of his own sweet prodigality in art—that he may see a few things clearly, without excess; in fine, the ultimate and inevitable renunciations of the elect soul.

Renunciation of the beloved by the lover; that, surely is not a new note; quite a universal note, life and art would seem to say. It is instinct with the power and passion which are the raison d'être of poetry. Yet it is never a seriously chosen and admitted strain save by the very little flock—and Mrs. Meynell has made it quite her own. One exquisite sonnet, "Renouncement," has concentrated the message; but the companion poem may be discerned to beat with a still more poignant music. "After a Parting" it is named:—

Farewell has long been said; I have foregone thee; I never name thee even. But how shall I learn virtues and yet shun thee? For thou art so near Heaven That heavenward meditations pause upon thee.

Thou dost beset the path to every shrine; My trembling thoughts discern Thy goodness in the good for which I pine; And, if I turn from but one sin, I turn Unto a smile of thine.

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Rh How shall I thrust thee apart Since all my growth tends to thee night and day— To thee faith, hope, and art? Swift are the currents setting all one way; They draw my life, my life, out of my heart.

Another early poem, "To the Beloved," should be quoted in contrast. Surpassingly tender and delicate is its feeling; but its reticence, its singular peace, are almost a rebuke to more vehement possessors:

Even for this denial, this abeyance of love, has Alice Meynell reserved her own quintessential vehemence.

All this perennial, repetitional sacrifice of the lower to the higher good was foreshadowed in her earliest verses. It is a solitariness never far from our poet's song—a wistful loneliness in the youthful stanzas; a pain high-heartedly born, welcomed,

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162 treasured above all cheaper gifts in the more mature pages. Much has been said about that unique and heart-shaking " Letter from a Girl to her Own Old Age." But there is a less known apostrophe, "The Poet to his Childhood," about which something remains to be spoken. It probes to the heart of the sacrificial vocation—whether poetic or sacerdotal matters little:

Mrs. Meynell has loved the Lady Poverty as truly as ever the Assisian did: but hers is a Lady whose realm is over letters as well as life. She dwells in the twilight and the dawn; her cool, quiet fingers are pressed upon the temples of love; in "slender landscape and austere," in nature marvellously but not rapturously understood, she is found. And close beside her treads another Lady, "our sister, the Death of the Body"—Death the Revealer, making clear at last the mysteries of weary Life. This is distinctly the motive, very personal and very perfect, not merely of the much-praised sonnet "To a Daisy," but of Mrs. Meynell's Nature poetry as a whole.

Through "The Neophyte" and "San Lorenzo Giustiniani's Mother" the selfsame cry is variously but unmistakably heard. It stings the soul in that late and mystical lyric:

Why wilt thou chide, Who hast attained to be denied? Oh learn, above All price is my refusal, Love. My sacred Nay

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Was never cheapened by the way; Thy single sorrow crowns thee lord Of an unpurchasable word. Oh strong! Oh pure! As Yea makes happier loves secure, I vow thee this Unique rejection of a kiss!

More than one meditation of this final volume suggest the influence of that immemorial (and in these latter days too little known) treasure-house of poetry and vision, the Roman Breviary. But always the distinction and the originality of Alice Meynell's thought, the peculiar personality of her vision, have about them a very sacredness. Not lightly comes the illumination of the singular soul: that particular judgment so transcendently more appalling than the final and general judgment! She has not feared to travel up the mountain side alone—to look down, with eyes that have known both tears and the drying of tears, upon the ways of human life.

In the matter of artistry and poetic technique, Mrs. Meynell's work is like fine gold smithery; classic gold smithery, exquisite and austere. "I could wish abstention to exist, and even to he evident in my words," she has somewhere written; but the words are scrupulously chosen. Her mastery over slight forms—the quatrain, the couplet—is quite as consummate and almost as felicitous as Father Tabb's. And through this ethereal poetry shine lines of the highest and most serious power.

falls upon the ear with Miltonic grandeur. And

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164 any poet might rejoice in the fancy which perceives day's memories flocking home at dusk to the "dove-cote doors of sleep," or cries out so subtly in the colourless February dawning:

Mrs. Meynell's poetry, like a certain school of modern music, suggests and betrays rather than expresses emotion. It is definite but intangible. It creates an atmosphere of angelically clear thought, of rare delicacies of feeling, and speaks with a perfect reticence. Mistakenly, perhaps, the hasty might dub it a poetry of promise: on the contrary, it is a poetry of uncommonly fine achievement. But it does not achieve the expected thing. We are conscious of a light, a flash, a voice, a perfume—the soul of the Muse has passed by. And we were looking for the body, flower-crowned!

When all is said, it is in her prose that Mrs. Meynell has attained the most compelling and indubitable distinction. In much critical work and some biography, and in a series of essays covering subjects all the way from "impressionist" art to the ways of childhood—or from "Pocket Vocabularies" to the "Hours of Sleep"—her pen has prevailed with a masterful delicacy. These brief pages are seldom distinctly literary in theme, yet they have made literature. Scarcely ever are they professedly religious, yet the whole science of the saints rests by implication within their pages. Alice Meynell is the true contemplative of letters. For contemplation, which in the spiritual world has been described as a looking at and listening to God, is in the world of art a looking at and listening to life. It is an exceedingly quiet and sensitive attention to all that others see but transiently, superficially, in the

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Rh large. We can scarcely believe many minds capable of the exquisitely subtle and sustained attention, the delicate weighing, the differentiation, and withal the liberal sympathy, which have been the very keynote of her criticism. Take, as an instance, this pregnant passage upon the return and periodicity of our mental processes:

"Distances are not gauged, ellipses not measured, velocities not ascertained, times not known. Nevertheless the recurrence is sure. What the mind suffered last week, or last year, it does not suffer now; but it will suffer again next week or next year. Happiness is not a matter of events; it depends upon the tides of the mind. Disease is metrical, closing in at shorter and shorter periods toward death, sweeping abroad at longer and longer intervals towards recovery. . . Even the burden of a spiritual distress unsolved is bound to leave the heart to a temporary peace; and remorse itself does not remain—it returns. Gaiety takes us by a dear surprise. . . . Love itself has tidal times—lapses and ebbs which are due to the metrical rule of the interior heart, but which the lover vainly and unkindly attributes to some outward alteration in the beloved."

Coventry Patmore (who in his turn has been the subject of Mrs. Meynell's illuminative criticism) declared fully one half of the volume just quoted, The Rhythm of Life, to be "classical work, embodying as it does new thought in perfect language, and bearing in every sentence the hallmark of genius." Only the poets, perhaps, have shared with the saints this singular contemplative attention to things great and small. And in the Nature painting which colours Mrs. Meynell's pages the same quality is conspicuous. Neither the lyre nor the brush seems strange to the hand which has so sketched for us the majesty

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166 of the cloud—not guardian of the sun's rays merely, but "the sun's treasurer"; the course of the south-west wind, regnant and imperious; and that "heroic sky," beneath whose light "few of the things that were ever done upon earth are great enough" to have dared the doing. Not Wordsworth himself has more graciously sung of the daffodil. And who has so understandingly praised the modest yet prevailing grass of the fields, or the trees of July, or given so discerning a study to the gentle "Colour of Life"?

Up and down upon the earth, to and fro upon it, wander the children of men; but few indeed may be trusted to catch the authentic Spirit of Place. Scarcely even our beloved Robert Louis, it would seem, since we have his own record that the act of voyaging was an end in itself—there being

But to the eyes of this woman there is not the same blue in more than a single zenith. "Spirit of place!" she cries in one most characteristic passage, "It is for this we travel, to surprise its subtlety; and where it is a strong and dominant angel, that place, seen once, abides entire in the memory with all its own accidents, its habits, its breath, its name. . . . The untravelled spirit of place—not to be pursued, for it never flies, but always to be discovered, never absent, without variation—lurks in the byways and rules over the tower, indestructible, an indescribable unity. It awaits us always in its ancient and eager freshness. It is sweet and nimble within its immemorial boundaries, but it never crosses them. . . . Was ever journey too hard or too long, that had to pay such a visit? And if by good fortune it is

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Rh a child who is the pilgrim, the spirit of place gives him a peculiar welcome. . . . He is well used to words and voices that he does not understand, and this is a condition of his simplicity; and when those unknown words are bells, loud in the night, they are to him as homely and as old as lullabies."

It is almost a pity, for letters, that so few poets have been mothers; it is the abiding pity of childhood that so few mothers have been poets! Mrs. Meynell has an entire volume dedicated to The Children, and sealed with that gracious understanding of child-life which nothing other than experience can quite authenticate. It is so easy to sentimentalise over children—easy, also, to regard them as necessary nuisances: but to bear with them consistently, in a spirit of love and of discovery, is a beautiful achievement. "Fellow travellers with a bird" (as Alice Meynell felicitously calls the protective adults) may learn strange and hidden things, an they have eyes to see or hearts to understand. Not so impatiently will they frown upon the strange excitement which sparkles from the child's eyes, as from the kitten's at dusk—inherited memories of the immemorial hunt, and of the "predatory dark" a thousand years ago. Not so surprising will seem the eternal conflict of bed-time, if they once realise the humorous and pretty fact that the little creature "is pursued and overtaken by sleep, caught, surprised, and overcome. He goes no more to sleep than he takes a 'constitutional' with his hoop and hoopstick." In "The Child of Tumult" Mrs. Meynell has given a most tenderly subtle study; and here is her word upon the forgiveness of children:—

"It is assuredly in the absence of resentment that consists the virtue of childhood. What other

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168 thing are we to learn of them? Not simplicity, for they are intricate enough. Not gratitude, for their usual sincere thanklessness makes half the pleasure of doing them good. Not obedience, for the child is born with the love of liberty. And as for humility, the boast of a child is the frankest thing in the world. . . . It is the sweet and entire forgiveness of children, who ask pity for their sorrows from those who have caused them, who do not perceive that they are wronged, who never dream that they are forgiving, and who make no bargain for apologies—it is this that men and women are urged to learn of a child. Graces more confessedly childlike they make shift to teach themselves."

Many a man, and many a woman, have written more nobly than they have lived: into the art has gone the truest part of the soul. But what unique conviction breathes from work which is at one with life—nay, which is the fruit of deep and costly living! The acuteness, the activity, the profundity of Mrs. Meynell's thought could not fail to achieve their own place in English letters. But her sympathy and her eternal rightness of vision are qualities in which we rejoice, humbled. These have given to her work that peculiar intuitive truth which is the rarest of beauties. "Her manner," wrote Mr. George Meredith, "presents to me the image of one accustomed to walk in holy places and keep the eye of a fresh mind on our tangled world." But no single virtue of all Mrs. Meynell's work is of the obvious or popular kind. Her pages are packed with thought, and the style—one of exceptional precision and exceptional beauty—is yet given to ellipse, to suggestion rather than emphasis, and to a quite inalienable subtlety. She speaks to the higher, even the highest, faculties of the mind. She has pleaded

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Rh all along for singularity of soul, for distinction and elevation of personality, for the rejection of many things from our multitudinous modern life.

Sometimes, as in "Decivilised," it is with the trenchant wit and irony that her sentence has been passed:

"The difficulty of dealing—in the course of any critical duty—with decivilised man lies in this: when you accuse him of vulgarity—sparing him, no doubt, the word—he defends himself against the charge of barbarism. Especially from new soil—transatlantic, colonial—he faces you, bronzed, with a half conviction of savagery, partly persuaded of his own youthfulness of race. He writes—and recites—poems about ranches and canyons; they are designed to betray the recklessness of his nature and to reveal the good that lurks in the lawless ways of a young society. . . . American fancy played long this pattering part of youth. The New Englander hastened to assure you, with so self-denying a face, he did not wear war-paint and feathers, that it became doubly difficult to communicate to him that you had suspected him of nothing wilder than a second-hand dress coat. And when it was a question not of rebuke but of praise, the American was ill-content with the word of the judicious who lauded him for some delicate successes in continuing something of the literature of England, something of the art of France. . . . Even now English voices, with violent commonplace, are constantly calling upon America to begin—to begin, for the world is expectant—whereas, there is no beginning for her, but, instead, a continuity which only a constant care can guide into sustained refinement and can save from decivilisation. . . . Who shall discover why derivation becomes degeneration, and where and when and how

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170 the bastardy befalls? The decivilised have every grace as the antecedent of their vulgarities, every distinction as the precedent of their mediocrities. . . . They were born into some tendency to derogation, into an inclination for things mentally inexpensive."

But oftener the word has been spoken gently, almost casually; that the multitude seeing might not see, and hearing might not understand. Yet this attitude of Mrs. Meynell's is as far as possible from disdain. For the "narrow house," the obtuse mind baffled and inarticulate, for the shackled body, the groping soul, she has spoken with largest sympathy. Further than Charles Lamb's goes her defence of beggars—since she pleads their right not simply to free existence but to a common and fraternal courtesy. All the great and elemental things of life have claimed allegiance from Alice Meynell; her mind, like Raphael's, "a temple for all lovely things to flock to and inhabit." Love and the bond of love, the grace and gaiety of life, the woman's need of a free and educated courage, the delicacies of friendship—one finds their praise upon her reticent lips: these, with unflinching truth to self, and a faith lofty and exquisite. For the pathos of the sentimentalist (ubiquitous and not without a suspicion of the ready-made) our artist has shown slight patience. She will not laugh at her fellow-men; neither will she insist upon weeping over them. There is restraint, "composure" in her dream of life. Yet perchance we open the fortuitous page, and some such lines as these face us:

"It is a curious slight to generous Fate that man should, like a child, ask for one thing many times. Her answer every time is a resembling but new and single gift; until the day when she shall make the one tremendous difference among

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, in his Life of Byron, numbers and prints 561 letters; Halleck, in the American edition of Byron's Works, prints 635. In this edition 1198 letters are collected.

A chronological list of the 1198 letters, together with a statement of the authorities for the text, will be found on pages 459-492 of this volume.

I desire to express my gratitude to the Rev. Canon Evans and to Mr. G. H. Holden, for the care and labour which they have given to the correction of the proof-sheets of all the volumes. To Mr. Richard Edgcumbe I am indebted for some interesting information.

The Index is the work of Mr. C. Eastlake Smith.

R. E. PROTHERO.

July 1, 1901.


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Rh her gifts—and make it perhaps in secret—by naming one of them the ultimate. What, for novelty? what, for singleness? what, for separateness, can equal the last? Of many thousand kisses the poor last—but even the kisses of your mouth are all numbered."

It is as old—as sweet and as sad—as the world!

Art to Mrs. Meynell has been a thrice-holy thing; a vocation of priestly dignity, of priestly pain, as her poems witnessed. More than once have her words likened the convent-bell, imperious, not to be foregone, to the poet's elect fetters. "Within the gate of these laws which seem so small," she tells us, "lies the world of mystic virtue." Now here is a viewpoint of the highest and rarest insight. What urbanity, what sweetness, what prevailing harmony it carries into the troublous matter of living. It has attained perspective: and perspective is the end as well as the means of life. Surely it is for this prize alone that we wrestle and run. To treat life in the spirit of art—that, declared another artist-seer, Walter Pater, is not far from the summum bonum: not far from the kingdom of Heaven, one might add, since the ultimate artist is God alone.

Truth, then, has been the first of Mrs. Meynell's equipments. First truth of seeing (which only the few may ever attain), and then truth of speaking—a rare enough accomplishment. With her work, as with that of Henry James, the fancied obscurity rises mainly from this exceedingly delicate truthfulness; a fastidious requirement of the word—the word—without exaggeration, without superfluity—only with Mr. James this desire has led to repetition; with Mrs. Meynell, to reticence. Having called her contemplative, we now perceive her to be ascetic. The "little less," both in matter and manner, has seemed to her a counsel of perfection.

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172 Only we, the losers, would quarrel now and again with this perfect abstinence—would drink oftener, if that might be, from a spring of such diamond clearness, of such depth and healing. The fields of modern literature had been more flowery for such nourishment! In all truth, modern thought must needs bear both blossom and fruit because of its shy visits. For Alice Meynell has been very potent in her reserves. She has borne the pennant of the Ideal, with never a dip of the banner, over many a causeway, up many a battle-mented height. She has, by many and by One, been found faithful. Scarcely shall we find a more adequate praise for this English writer than her own praise of the Spanish Velasquez—that she has "kept the chastity of art when other masters were content with its honesty."

THE END

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Rev'd. Wm. Jarvis,

Dear Sir. Dr. Geo. O. Jarvis arrived here yesterday afternoon by Steam Boat from Mobile. He was taken sick on Wednesday last and feeling some uneasiness about remaining there he started on the next day for this place. I am his physician. He requested me to let his family, through you, know his situation. He has fever and is of course too weak to sit up to write for himself. He is very sick but I do not consider him dangerously so. His family may rest assured that he shall have every attention and comfort.

He was very much disappointed in not finding his instruments in Mobile as he expected. They did not arrive till the 13th of this month.

He has started for home now and will leave here as soon as his health is fully reestablished, which can hardly be in less than 2 or 3 weeks.

You will, Dear Sir, exercise your own judgement in regard to the propriety of disclosing the doctor's illness to his family. Perhaps it would be as well to postpone it a day or two till you hear from me again. I shall drop you a line at least every 48 hours.Yrs. truly

J. Marion Sims

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Rev'd William Jarvis,

Dear Sir. I wrote you last night in relation to Dr. Jarvis' illness. I then said that I did not think he was dangerously sick.

He told me that he had been exposed a good deal in the Charity Hospital in New Orleans to Ship-fever about a week before he was attacked in Mobile and that he thought he had the disease. I tried to persuade myself that it was not so: but now I am forced to believe that he has Typhus fever which, you know, is always a serious if not a dangerous disease. I now have no hesitation in saying that I consider Dr. Jarvis dangerously ill. During his visit here a month ago, he endeared himself to the whole medical profession here and they have (on learning his situation) visited him almost to a man, and I am sorry to say that they all agree with me in the opinion expressed above. You will not understand me to say that his case is by any means hopeless, for you know very well what wonderful recoveries take place from this disease and that too after much and long suffering.

It is bad to be sick even at home. How awful then is it to be prostrated on the bed of affliction

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 in a land of strangers far from those we love and those who love us. Knowing what solicitude his friends and family must feel, you'll allow me to repeat what I have before said, that he shall have every attention that it is possible for any man to get out of the hands of his own family. Yrs. truly,

J. Marion Sims

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Rev'd. William Jarvis.

Dear Sir. I am happy in being the bearer of glad tidings to you. Dr. Jarvis is wonderfully better. After the hemorrhage from the bowels was controlled last night, he began to improve and to day there is every prospect for a speedy convalescence. His pulse has varied to day from 86 to 92. Skin cool. Countenance almost natural, tenderness of the bowels has disappeared. Sleeps quietly without muttering or subsutius tendinem. Yesterday none of the physicians or visitors thought it possible for him to recover. To day we are all of opinion that he is obliged to get well unless some untoward accident should occur. You need not fear our physicking too much. In his case nature has not been thwarted in the least by a perturbating course of treatment, and to this, with the blessing of an allwise Providence, I attribute his safety.

I asked him to day what I should say to you specially when I wrote, and he answered, "say to him that you and I have just been comparing notes and have not quarreled." So you see he is able to crack a joke.

I hope I may be able to advise you tomorrow night of his continued improvement. Yrs. truly

J. Marion Sims

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Rev'd William Jarvis.

Dear Sir. I am happy to tell you that Dr. Jarvis is getting on quite as well as we could expect. He is sick yet and will be so for several days but then the great danger seems to have passed over. His pulse to day has varied from 80 to 92, soft & full. He is still troubled occasionally with hiccup. Otherwise he is comfortable. Some of our Brethren of the Masonic fraternity are with him all the time day and night.

I cannot reasonably make any calculation on his being regularly convalescent before next (Tuesday or) Wednesday – this is Friday. I shall feel perfectly satisfied to be able to make you as favorable a report every day till then as I now do. You will hear from me by tomorrow's mail.

Yrs. truly

J. Marion Sims

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Dear Sir,

I have nothing particular to communicate in regard to Dr. Jarvis' illness. There is no remarkable change since my last. The disease seems to be running its course with great regularity. Whether convalescence will be established as usual with us in such afflictions as the end of the second week, or whether it will continue three weeks as sometimes happens, cannot be determined. He has had a remarkably quiet day and is resting very well to night.

I would not write every night, but I know what must be the anxiety of his family to hear but a word from him. So you may expect to hear from me again tomorrow, although there will be hardly a change or anything of note to communicate.

Yrs. truly

J. Marion Sims

Rev'd William Jarvis,

Portland,

Ct.

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Rev'd William Jarvis.

Dear Sir. The doctor is doing about as well as we could reasonably expect under the circumstances. He is entirely relieved of the hiccup. Sat up in a rocking chair 25 or 30 minutes to day, wished to set up longer but I insisted on his lying down. He has now no bad symptom whatever. Says he will get well, prescribed for himself this morning, wrote the prescription out and sent it to my office for my sanction. We are all in good spirits about him. I don't remember saying anything about his boarding house to you. He is stopping at the "Montgomery Hall" one of the best houses in the South. He has a very fine, large, well ventilated room & a colored servant for a nurse, who he says is the "kindest and best nurse" he ever saw. Mr. Jeffrey Gerald, (the proprietor of the house) could not pay more attention to him if he was a near relative. He is visited frequently during the day by friends whom he is always glad to see. From the day of his arrival here, I have had associated with me, in the management of his case, the best medical aid of the place. I give you these little items because I know that they will not be uninteresting to his anxious family. I shall write again tomorrow.

Yrs. very truly.

J. Marion Sims

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Dear Sir.

I am glad that I have not unfavorable news for you. The Doctor is getting on well enough. We are in hopes that convalescence will be established at the end of the 2nd week, but if the fever should possibly run another week we cannot but hope that he may get through it as well as he is now doing. He has had no hiccup for 2 days, tongue moist & white (not red or brown), no subutters [?] for several days, pulse 86 to 90, skin soft & of equable temperature. Indeed, you must see by this assemblage of symptoms that his condition is altogether favorable. He sat up to day for half an hour.

You shall hear again tomorrow.

Yrs. truly

J. Marion Sims

Rev'd William Jarvis,

Portland,

Ct.

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Dear Sir.

I am happy to inform you that our friend Dr. Jarvis is entirely out of all danger. I think that you may feel perfectly easy about him. It is hardly worth while to particularize any of his symptoms as his improvement is sure though slow. How long it will be before he is able to start for home I cannot tell; we thank God that he will be able to get back at all. He is already beginning to count up the distance and the time. He is a man of real practical philosophy and bears his afflictions with fortitude and resignation.

I will write again tomorrow.

Yrs. very truly.

J. Marion Sims.

Rev'd William Jarvis,

Portland,

Ct.

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 ANCILLON, JOHANN PETER FRIEDRICH (1766–1837), Prussian historian and statesman, great-grandson of Charles Ancillon, was born at Berlin on the 30th of April 1766. He studied theology at Geneva, and after finishing his course was appointed minister to the French community at Berlin. At the same time his reputation as a historical scholar secured him the post of professor of history at the military academy. In 1793 he visited Switzerland, and in 1796 France, and published the impressions gathered during his travels in a series of articles which he afterwards collected under the title of Mélanges de littérature et de philosophie (1801). Ancillon took rank among the most famous historians of his day by his next work, Tableau des révolutions du système politique de l’Europe depuis le XVᵉ siècle (1803, 4 vols.; new ed., 1824), which gained him the eulogium of the Institute of France, and admission to the Academy of Berlin. It was the first attempt to recognize psychological factors in historical movements, but otherwise its importance was exaggerated. Its “sugary optimism, unctuous phraseology and pulpit logic” appealed, however, to the reviving pietism of the age succeeding the Revolution, and these qualities, as well as his eloquence as a preacher, early brought Ancillon into notice at court. In 1808 he was appointed tutor to the royal princes, in 1809 councillor of state in the department of religion, and in 1810 tutor of the crown prince (afterwards Frederick William IV.), on whose sensitive and dreamy nature he was to exercise a powerful but far from wholesome influence. In October 1814, when his pupil came of age, Ancillon was included by Prince Hardenberg in the ministry, as privy councillor of legation in the department of foreign affairs, with a view to utilizing his supposed gifts as a philosophical historian in the preparation of the projected Prussian constitution. But Ancillon’s reputed liberalism was of too invertebrate a type to survive the trial of actual contact with affairs. The practical difficulty of the constitutional problem gave the “court parson”—as Gneisenau had contemptuously called him—excuse enough for a change of front which, incidentally, would please his exalted patrons. He covered his defection from Hardenberg’s liberal constitutionalism by a series of “philosophical” treatises on the nature of the state and of man, and became the soul of the reactionary movement at the Berlin court, and the faithful henchman of Metternich in the general politics of Germany and of Europe.

In 1817 Ancillon became a councillor of state, and in 1818 director of the political section of the ministry for foreign affairs under Count Bernstorff. In his chief’s most important work, the establishment of the Prussian Zollverein, Ancillon had no share, while the entirely subordinate rôle played by Prussia in Europe during this period, together with the personal part taken by the sovereign in the various congresses, gave him little scope for the display of any diplomatic talents he may have possessed. During this time he found plentiful leisure to write a series of works on political philosophy, such as the Nouveaux essais de politique et de philosophie (Paris, 1824). In May 1831 he was made an active privy councillor, was appointed chief of the department for the principality of Neuchâtel, in July became secretary of state for foreign affairs, and in the spring of 1832, on Bernstorff’s retirement, succeeded him as head of the ministry.

By the German public, to whom Ancillon was known only through his earlier writings and some isolated protests against the “demagogue-hunting” in fashion at Berlin, his advent to power was hailed as a triumph of liberalism. They were soon undeceived. Ancillon had convinced himself that the rigid class distinctions of the Prussian system were the philosophically ideal basis of the state, and that representation “by estates” was the only sound constitutional principle; his last and indeed only act of importance as minister was his collaboration with Metternich in the Vienna Final Act of the 12th of June 1834, the object of which was to rivet this system upon Germany for ever. He died on the 19th of April 1837, the last of his family. His historical importance lies neither in his writings nor in his political activity, but in his personal influence at the Prussian court, and especially in its lasting effect on the character of Frederick William IV.

ANCÓN, a small village and bathing-place on the coast of Peru, 22 m. N. of Lima by rail. The bay is formed by two projecting headlands and is one of the best on the coast. It has a gently sloping beach of fine sand and has been a popular bathing-place since the time of President Balta, although the country behind it is arid and absolutely barren. At some time previous to the discovery of America, Ancón had a large aboriginal population. Traces of terraces on the southern headland can still be seen, and the sand-covered hills and slopes overlooking the bay contain extensive burial-grounds which were systematically explored in 1875 by Messrs W. Reiss and A. Stübel (see Reiss and Stübel’s The Necropolis of Ancón in Peru, translated by A. H. Keane, 3 vols., Berlin, 1880–1887). In modern times Ancón has been the scene of several important historical events. Its anchorage was used by Lord Cochrane in 1820 during his attacks on Callao; it was the landing-place of an invading Chilean army in 1838; it was bombarded by the Chileans in 1880; and in 1883 it was the meeting-place of the Chilean and Peruvian commissioners who drew up the treaty of Ancón, which ended the war between Chile and Peru. ANCON (from the Gr.  ), the anatomical name for “elbow”; “ancones” in architecture are the projecting bosses left on stone blocks or on drums of columns, to allow of their being either hoisted aloft or rubbed backwards and forwards to obtain a fine joint; the term is also given by Vitruvius to the trusses or console brackets on each side of the doorway of a Greek or Roman building which support the cornice over the same. A particular sort of sheep, with short crooked forelegs, is called “ancon” sheep. ANCONA, ALESSANDRO (1835–), Italian critic and man of letters, was born at Pisa on the 20th of February 1835, of a wealthy Jewish family, and educated in Florence; at the age of eighteen he published his essay on the life and work of the philosopher Tommaso Campanella. In 1855 Ancona went to Turin, nominally to study law, but in reality to act as intermediary between the Tuscan Liberals and Cavour; he was an intimate friend of (q.v.) and represented Tuscany in the Società Nazionale. On the fall of the Austrian dynasty in Tuscany (April 27, 1859) he returned to Florence, where he edited the newly founded newspaper La Nazione. In 1861 he was appointed professor of Italian literature at the university of Pisa. Among his works the following may be mentioned: Opera di Tommaso Campanella, 2 vols. (Turin, 1854); Sacre Rappresentazioni dei secoli XIV., XV., e XVI. (3 vols., Florence, 1872); Origini del Teatro in Italia (2 vols., Florence, 1877); La Poesia popolare italiana (Livorno, 1878), besides several volumes of literary essays, editions of the works of Dante and other early Italian writers, &c. ANCONA, a seaport and episcopal see of the Marches, Italy, capital of the province of Ancona, situated on the N.E. coast of Italy, 185 m. N.E. of Rome by rail and 132 m. direct, and 127 m. S.E. of Bologna. Pop. (1901) 56,835. The town is finely situated on and between the slopes of the two extremities of the promontory of Monte Conero, Monte Astagno to the S., occupied by the citadel, and Monte Guasco to the N., on which the cathedral stands (300 ft.). The latter, dedicated to S. Ciriaco, is said to occupy the site of a temple of Venus, who is mentioned by Catullus and Juvenal as the tutelary deity of the place. It was consecrated in 1128 and completed in 1189. Some writers suppose that the original church was in the form of a Latin cross and belonged to the 8th century. An early restoration was completed in 1234. It is a fine Romanesque building in grey stone, built in the form of a Greek cross, with a dodecagonal dome over the centre slightly altered by Margaritone d’Arezzo in 1270. The façade has a Gothic portal, ascribed to Giorgio da Como (1228), which was intended to have a lateral arch on each

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Dear Sir.

Dr. Jarvis has been to day suffering a good deal with a severe pain in the hip. It requires considerable doses of morphine for its relief, otherwise he is doing very well. I fear however that his disease will continue for another week before convalescence is fully established.

Excuse the brevity if you please as I have barely time to write.

Yrs. very truly.

J. Marion Sims.

Rev'd William Jarvis,

Portland,

Ct.

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Dear Sir.

I have but little to say in regard to the Doctor. After we got him easy of his hip suffering to day he seems quite cheerful and is to night comparatively comfortable.

He has no bad symptoms whatever and I would be glad if you could all feel satisfied that he seems doing well. As there is so little to say, I may not write for two days.

Yrs. very truly.

J. Marion Sims.

Rev'd William Jarvis,

Portland,

Ct.

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Dear Sir.

The Doctor is doing so finely that I am obliged to take the time to let you know it. This is the seventeenth day of his illness. Except his weakness, he is himself again.

He told me this evening to say to you "that he had rec'd your note with Mr. McCurdy's in reference to the trial, that it is altogether uncertain when he will be able to start for home, that he may not be there in time, and that you will, of course, be governed accordingly."

He told me to say to Mrs. Jarvis that he now felt that he was getting well, and that she must feel just as easy about him as she possibly can under the circumstances.

He felt some uneasiness about the pain in his hip, but it is so much improved that he now has no dread of its doing any permanent mischief.

Very truly yrs.

J. Marion Sims.

Rev'd William Jarvis,

Portland,

Ct.

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Dear Sir.

I am happy indeed in being able to make a good report of the Doctor to day. He is entirely convalescent. He is really doing so well that it is wholly unnecessary for me to add another word.

If I had any thing particular to say, I would write again tomorrow, but as it is, you need not expect to hear from me till the next day.

Respectfully yrs.

J. Marion Sims.

Rev'd William Jarvis,

Portland,

Ct.

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Rev'd William Jarvis.

Dear Sir. My absence from Montgomery for several days past will explain my silence. I allowed the Doctor to set up and write a letter to Mrs. Jarvis. He was very much fatigued by the effort and did not feel so well for two days afterward, but is now doing well. I have rec'd your two letters dated 1st & 3rd last and am rejoiced that Mrs. Jarvis did not undertake the long and tiresome trip to Montgomery.

I shall take very good care to guard the Doctor against a relapse and will not consent to his leaving here till I am well satisfied that he is strong enough to accomplish the journey home with perfect safety. As I have said before, you may feel perfectly easy about the Doctor's recovery, but you must wait with time and patience for his presence at home. With best wishes for yourself and all the Doctor's friends, I am

Yrs. very truly.

J. Marion Sims.

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