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The New International Encyclopædia/Emancipation, Proclamation of

EMANCIPATION,. The document issued by Abraham Lincoln, as Commander-in-Chief of the Armies of the United States, January 1, 1863, declaring the immediate freedom of the great majority of the slaves in the United States. For a long time President Lincoln had resisted the appeals of the radical Republicans for such a proclamation. He waited until he thought public opinion was ready for it, and until it might follow a victory and not seem the desperate measure of a defeated combatant. After McClellan's unsuccessful campaign against Richmond he felt that the emancipation of the slaves was a moral and a military necessity, for its effect upon both South and North. Antietam furnished the victory he awaited, and on September 22, 1862, a preliminary proclamation was issued, decreeing the emancipation on January 1, 1863, of all slaves in the States which should till then continue in a state of rebellion. In this he also stated that thenceforth, as before, the restoration of the Union should be the object of the prosecution of the war. The final proclamation, in view of its purposes and effects, must ever hold an important place in American history.

Whereas, on the 22d of September, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred sixty-two, a proclamation was issued by the President of the United States, containing, among other things, the following, to wit:

“That on the 1st day of January, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred sixty-three, all persons held as slaves within any State, or designated part of a State, the people whereof shall then be in rebellion against the United States, shall be then, thenceforward, and forever free; and the executive Government of the United States, including the military and naval authority thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of such persons, and will do

no act or acts to repress such persons, or any of them, in any efforts they may make for their actual freedom.

“That the Executive will, on the first day of January, aforesaid, by proclamation, designate the States and parts of States, if any, in which the people thereof respectively shall then be in rebellion against the United States; and the fact that any State, or the people thereof, shall on that day be in good faith represented in the Congress of the United Slates by members chosen thereto at elections wherein a majority of the qualified voters of such State shall have participated, shall, in the absence of strong countervailing testimony, be deemed conclusive evidence that such State and the people thereof are not then in rebellion against the United States.”

Now, therefore, I, Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States, by virtue of the power in me vested as commander-in-chief of the army and navy of the United States and as a fit and necessary war measure for repressing said rebellion, do, on this first day of January, in the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred sixty-three, and in accordance with my purpose so to do, publicly proclaimed for the full period of 100 days from the day first above mentioned, order and designate as the States and parts of States wherein the people thereof, respectively, are this day in rebellion against the United States, the following, to wit:

Arkansas, Texas, Louisiana (except the parishes of Saint Bernard, Plaquemines, Jefferson, Saint John, Saint Charles, Saint James, Ascension, Assumption, Terre Bonne, Lafourche, Saint Mary, Saint Martin, and Orleans, including the city of New Orleans), Mississippi, Alabama, Florida, Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, and Virginia (except the forty-eight counties designated as West Virginia, and also the counties of Berkeley, Accomac, Northampton, Elizabeth City, York, Princess Ann, and Norfolk, including the cities of Norfolk and Portsmouth), and which excepted parts are, for the present, left precisely as if this proclamation were not issued.

And by virtue of the power and for the purpose aforesaid, I do order and declare that all persons held as slaves within said designated States and parts of States are, and henceforward shall be, free; and that the Executive Government of the United States, including the military and naval authorities thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of said persons.

And I hereby enjoin upon the people so declared to be free, to abstain from all violence, unless in necessary self-defense; and I recommend to them that in all cases, when allowed, they labor faithfully for reasonable wages.

And I further declare and make known that such persons of suitable condition will be received into the armed service of the United States to garrison forts, positions, stations, and other places, and to man vessels of all sorts in said service.

And upon this act, sincerely believed to be an act of justice, warranted by the Constitution, upon military necessity, I invoke the considerate judgment of mankind and the gracious favor of Almighty God.

In witness whereof, I have hereunto set my hand, and caused the seal of the United States to be affixed.

Done at the city of Washington, this first day of January, in of our Lord [L.S.] one thousand eight hundred sixty-three, and of the independence of the United States of America the eighty-seventh.

By the President:.

, Secretary of State.

The effect of the proclamation on the legal status of the slaves gave rise to some discussion, but a solution of that problem became unnecessary, inasmuch as the work of emancipation in the United States was completed by the adoption of Article XIII. of the amendments to the Constitution; and the reconstruction of the States in insurrection proceeded upon that basis. Consult Whiting, War Powers of the President (Boston, 1862). See ; .

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Rh of people who endeavour to draw a social line in a country where everybody is as good as everybody else and where those on the right side may look down but those on the wrong will not be induced to look up. And not one among those who laugh and sneer would not jump at the chance to get in, were it given them, at the risk of being transformed into snobs themselves. For the Assembly places the Philadelphian as nothing else can. It gives him what the German gets from his quarterings or the Briton from an invitation to Court. The Dancing Class had its high social standard, it required grandfathers as credentials before admission could be granted, the archives of the Historical Society of Pensylvania supplied no more authoritative assurance of Philadelphia respectability than its subscription list, but the Dancing Class was lax in its standard compared to the Assembly. I am not sure what was the number, what the quality, of ancestors the Assembly exacted, but I know that it was as inexorable in its exactions as the Council of Ten. It would have been easier for troops of camels to pass through the eye of a needle than for one Philadelphian north of Market Street to get through the Assembly door. I am told that matters are worse to-day when Philadelphia society has increased in numbers until new limits must be set to the Assembly lest it perish of its own unwieldiness. The applicants must produce not only forefathers but fathers and mothers on the list, and the Philadelphian whose name was there more than a century and a half ago cannot make good his rights


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158 if his parents neglected to establish theirs. And to be refused is not merely humiliation, but humiliation with Philadelphia for witness, and the misery and shame that are the burden of the humiliated.

It is foolish, I admit, society is too light a matter to suffer for; it is cruel, for the social wound goes deep. But were it ten times more foolish, ten times more cruel, I would not have it otherwise. Philadelphians preserve their State House, their Colonial mansions and churches; why should they not be as careful of their Assembly, since it has as historic a background and as fine Colonial and Revolutionary traditions? They are proud of having their names among those who signed the Declaration of Independence; why should they not take equal—or greater—pride in figuring among the McCalls and Willings and Shippens and Sims and any number of others on the first Assembly lists, since these are earlier in date? Besides, to such an extremity have the changes of the last quarter of a century driven the Philadelphian that he must make a good fight for survival in his own town. When I think of how mere wealth is taking possession of "Chestnut, Walnut, Spruce and Pine," how uptown is marrying into it, how the Jew and the alien are forcing their way in, I see in loyalty to the traditions of the Assembly of Philadelphian's strongest defence of the social rights which are his by inheritance. Should he let go, what would there be for him to catch on to again?


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Rh It would be different if what Philadelphia was getting in exchange were finer, or as fine. But it is not. The old exclusiveness, with its follies, was better, more amusing, than the new tendency to do away with everything that gave Philadelphia society its character. It was the charm and the strength of Philadelphia society that it had a character of its own and was not just like Boston or New York or Baltimore society. Nobody, however remote was their mission from social matters, could visit Philadelphia without being impressed by this difference, whether it was to discover, with John Adams, that Philadelphians had their particular way of being a happy, elegant, tranquil, polite people, or, with so unlikely an observer as Matthew Arnold, that "the leading families in Philadelphia were much thought of," and that Philadelphia names saying nothing to an Englishman said everything to every American. Who you were counted in Philadelphia, as what you knew in Boston, or what you were worth in New York, and there was not an American of old who did not accept the fact and respect it. Philadelphia society clung to the Philadelphia surface of tranquillity, of untroubled repose whatever might be going on beneath it, and in my time I would not like to say how disturbing and agitating were the scandals and intrigues that were said to be going on. They were rarely made public. It was not in Philadelphia as in London where next to everybody you meet has been or is about to be divorced, though it might be


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14 "I forgot to tell you, Bob," said Linda, who was desirous to make peace, "that we had quite an event here to-day;" and she proceeded to recount the battle between Bill and Patsy. Robert listened with an impatience ill-concealed.

"We'll have that boy off, to-morrow," said he, when Linda had finished her narrative; "he's been the companion of bad boys, and beyond a doubt he'll help them to rob us. I shouldn't wonder if we found Valentine and Lucy off some morning."

"I would depend my life on the poor boy," said Linda resolutely. "I know he would lose his life in our service."

"Pshaw," said Robert, who had always had a dislike to poor Bill, though why he could not explain, unless it was that he felt jealous of Linda's doing anything without first consulting him. "I tell you, Linda, I'll pack him off. I don't believe in having Uriah Heeps in my house; the gaol's their proper habitat."

"Well, I'll keep him," said Linda, who, having been a pet, just like Robert, could be equally obstinate; and who felt extremely hurt by the manner in which she had been treated by tho one she so passionately loved. We can love very deeply, and yet be very angry with the one we love, more so than with those we care little about.

"You'll keep him," cried Robert, in a loud voice. "This is my house, Linda, and I'll have no one here unless I like."

Now Bob was not exactly right. The house belonged to Linda, to whom it had been given by her brother on her wedding-day. It was a fatal expression, however, to use when the feelings of the two were so intensely irritated, when the first "tiff" between a young couple was on. Linda's temper had risen, and in an unguarded moment, as it were, without thought, as if spoken by some evil spirit that had taken possession of her, she allowed words to slip from her, that, had she foreseen the fearful consequences arising from them, she would have died before she would have uttered.

"I thought it was mine, sir," she said, somewhat sarcastically.

If there was a fault in Robert, it was a tendency to sulk, and a disposition to feel hurt readily, if he loved the aggressor—girls and boys who have been petted have a leaning that way. The effect of these six words was immediate; he sprang up, his face flushing with anger, his whole aspect changed. Rushing into the hall, he snatched his hat off the peg, took his stick out of the rack; and, standing at the door of the room where he amazed Harry, and the almost hysteric Linda, sat, he said: "Of course it is, and I'll leave it to you. Good evening. I see my company is not desired."

And he walked rapidly out of the gate towards the railway station.

Then did Linda realise what she had done. With a wild cry she rushed out to the verandah, and gazed after the retreating figure of her husband; whom, she believed, she had driven from her for ever. She could have cursed herself for what she had done; she could have torn out the unruly member which had worked such ill. Could this be; had Bobs gone off in a passion? Yes, yes; and as the full realisation of her misery overwhelmed her soul like a deluge, Linda fell insensible to the floor.

Already the dark clouds had dimmed the sky, and how soon would the thunder and the lightning roar and flash; how soon would the sun of happiness fade into darkness!

Poor Billy, who was laying the cloth in the adjacent diningroom, had heard all; and now, with poignant feelings of regret and sorrow, he resolved to leave that place where he had been so happy. He would not have that angel who had saved him unhappy for the world. Patsy had had his revenge.

Linda and Harry heard the poor boy's declaration, and did not object. But the noble determination so struck the generous soul of Harry, that he at once resolved to take the boy into his own service, and asked pardon of Heaven for doubting the child's innocence. He strove to comfort Linda, telling her that her husband would soon return, and all would be forgotten. To her earnest request that he would follow Robert, and get him to come back, Harry returned a negative. Nothing would work a cure, said he so quickly as self-communion. Perhaps so, but it is questionable whether Harry would not have saved his friend had he gone to seek for him that night Robert was of that nature that he liked to be made much of and sought after. Before Billy left, Harry called him into the parlor, and the boy told his strange eventful history.

Robert strode on to the railway station with a heart agitated with anger, shame, and stubbornness. He knew perfectly well however indiscreet Linda had been, that he was primarily to blame, for he had gone home that night with a mind thoroughly prepared for a quarrel. But then he had had


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162 that next to everybody you met was not making it a practice to keep to the straight and narrow path, to be as innocent as everybody looked. Logan Square could have told tales, if the Divorce Court could not.

But now Philadelphia has strayed from its characteristic exclusiveness; gone far to get rid of even the air of tranquillity. With the modern "Peggy Shippen" and "Sally Wister" alert to give away its affairs in the columns of the daily paper, it could not keep its secrets to itself if it wanted to. And it does not seem to want to—that is the saddest part of the whole sad transformation. It rather likes the world outside to know what it is doing and, worse, it takes that world as its model. Its aim apparently is to show that it can be as like every other town as two peas, so that, drinking tea to music at the Bellevue, dancing at the Ritz, lunching and dining and playing golf and polo at the Country Clubs, the visitor can comfortably forget he is not at home but in Philadelphia. The youth of Philadelphia have become eager to desert the Episcopal Academy and the University for Groton or St. Paul's, Harvard or Yale, in order that they may be trained to be not Philadelphians but, as they imagine, men of the world, forgetting the distinction there has hitherto been in being plain Philadelphians. At the moment when in far older towns of Europe people are striving to recover their character by reviving local costumes, language, and customs, Philadelphians are deliberately throwing theirs away with their old traditions. The Assembly is one of their


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 cause that day to be irritated. Had notWould it not be better to return and beg Linda's pardon for his harsh behavior; and then he knew she would fly into his arms and abjectly beg his pardon, and weep away all ill-feeling on his bosom!

He had got to the Balaclava Station as he was thinking thus, and stood surveying the multitude of villas that lay beneath his glance, but not seeing them. He was about to return when the train dashed into the station, and stopped just before him. In the carriage directly in front was Hugh Hanlon. Not the deplorable Hugh Hanlon we have seen in Part I., but a finely-dressed fellow, extremely handsome, with rings and jewellery innumerable, &c. Quite a respectable man! But who, looking into that face, could not detect the marks left by care, dissipation, sin; who could not see the shadow of an irregular life over all? By his side was that beautiful woman we have already introduced. Splendid she looked in her matured beauty, dressed with a taste that suited her style to the minutest particular. One could have noticed that she colored slightly when she saw Robert. So did he when he met her eye.

"Coming to town," said Hugh gaily.

"No—no," stammered Robert.

"Yes, yes," said Hugh. "Come and dine with me at Scott's, and I'll show you round the town. You live too quiet a life."

A sudden desire entered Robert's mind to do this, and make Linda suffer for her behavior. Such desires often enter the minds of those who have a "tiff" with persons they love.

"Come," said Hugh, taking Robert's hand.

Before he well knew what he did, he found himself seated between Hugh and that beautiful siren, and the train whirling away past the little home where poor Linda was weeping and wailing over the first cloud of her young life.

Whirling away to

What great consequences arise from small events?

"It is now some time since I met you one day in Collins-street, an object so miserable, so degraded, that you feared to meet the eye of an acquaintance. Hollow-cheeked with famine, shivering with cold, what a deplorable creature you appeared! Yet I did not turn away from you. On the contrary, I gave you the means to appear once more what you were. Many have wondered why I did so, knowing as I did the career which had led to your degradation. But you know me pretty well by this time, and are fully aware that I do nothing without a purpose. Since I began life for myself, I have laid down certain principles up to which I act with more strictness than those persons who call themselves religious. I rescued you for my own ends, and these you know, for I have employed you towards compassing them; unsuccessfully, it is true, up to the present, but succeed you will—succeed you must. Indeed, I must give you the credit that it is to your invention I will owe success, if it is ever mine; for the blundering plans I have laid have always come to grief.

"Yet you cannot comprehend how my whole soul, is centred upon the success of the scheme which you have formed to bring Robert within my power. For I love him beyond all. No wanderer in unknown regions of the seas fixed his eye upon the star which he knew to shine above his home more ardently than I on that handsome face and form. In the day, in the midst of business and company, the face is ever present; in the gay night, when wine and wit and music pass away the hours, it is ever with me; in the still night, when solitude is mine, my thoughts, are all of him. 'The power of love'—the enthralling spell of an unrequited affection! Ah! the suffering of those who love cannot be understood by others!

"When Robert Wilton was a bright and beautiful boy, budding into youth, I met him, and from that moment my soul has been his. How often have I stood watching him when rowing on the river, playing at manly games with his companions, or walking in the street—watched him with the hunger of one who loved almost without hope! How I have longed for his arms to be around my waist, his lips to my lips, and his heart beating in unison with mine! And yet I did not make his acquaintance then. Had he become my lover, he might have saved me from the fate which is mine; he might have lifted me up to his own sphere. Fallacious dream? But he went on his way, handsome, loving and loved, in the spring of a glorious youth, the pet of all, while I turned into the dark road—but you know all.

"But I was fated to become known to him. We were to meet under very different circumstances to those which I had imagined.


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Rh few rare possessions left, and strict as they are with it in one way, in another they are playing fast and loose with it, holding it, as if it were a mere modern dance, at a fashionable hotel.

II

If I now regret, as I do, never having gone to the Assembly, it is because of all that it represents, all that makes it a classic. But at the time, my regret, though as keen, was because of more personal reasons. I could have borne the historic side of my loss with equanimity, it was the social side of it that broke my heart. I have had many bad quarters of an hour in my life, but few as poignant as that which followed the appearance at our front door of the coloured man who distributed the cards for the Assembly—far too precious to be trusted to the post—and who came to leave one for my Brother. It was an injustice that oppressed me with a sense of my wrongs as a woman and might have set me window-smashing had window-smashing as a protest been invented. Why should the Assembly be so much easier for men? My Brother had but to put on the dress suit he had worn it did not matter how many years, and as he was, like every other American young man, at work and an independent person altogether—a millionaire I saw in him—the price of the card in an annual subscription was his affair and nobody else's. But, in my case the price was not my affair. I had not a cent to call my own, I was not at work, I was denied the right


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166 to work, and, the Assembly coming fairly late in the season, my white tarlatan and Second Street silk showed wear and tear that unfitted them for the most important social function of the winter. Philadelphia women dressed simply, it is true; that used to be one of the ways the Quaker influence showed itself; they boasted then that their restraint in dress distinguished them from other American women. But simplicity does not mean cheapness or indifference. The Friends took infinite pains with their soft brown and silvery grey silks, with their delicate fichus and Canton shawls. The well-dressed Philadelphia woman knows what she has to pay for the elegance of her simplicity. And the Assembly has always called for the finest she could achieve, from the day when Franklin was made to feel the cost to him if his daughter was to have what she needed to go out "in decency" with the Washingtons in Philadelphia.

I had the common sense to understand my position and not to be misled by the poverty-stricken, but irresistible Nancies and Dollies who were enjoying a vogue in the novels of the day and who encircled empty bank accounts and big families with the halo of romance. To read about the struggles with poverty of the irresistible young heroine might be amusing, but I had no special use for them as a personal experience. It would have been preposterous for me to think for a moment that, without a decent gown, I could go to the Assembly and, to do myself justice, I did not think it. But by this time I knew what coming out


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Rh and being out meant and, therefore, I appreciated the social drawback it must be for me not to be able to go. It explained, as nothing hitherto had, how far I was from being caught up in the whirl, and it is only the whirl that keeps one going in society—that makes society a delightful profession, and I think I realized this truth better than the people so extravagantly in the Philadelphia whirl as to have no time to think about it. All that winter I never got to the point of being less concerned as to where the next invitation was to come from than as to how I was to accept all that did come. There is no use denying that I was disappointed and suffered from the disappointment. One pays a heavier price for the first foolish illusion lost than for all the others put together, no matter how serious they are.

III

When the season was over, I had as little hope of keeping up in other essential ways. If society then adjourned from Philadelphia because the heat made it impossible to stay at home, it was only to start a new Philadelphia on the porch of Howland's Hotel at Long Branch or, as it was just then beginning to do, at Bar Harbor and in the camps of the Adirondacks, or, above all, at Narragansett. "It may be accepted as an incontrovertible truth," Janvier says in one of his Philadelphia stories, "that a Philadelphian of a certain class who missed coming to the Pier for August would refuse to believe, for that year at


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170 least, in the alternation of the four seasons; while an enforced absence from that damply delightful watering-place for two successive summers very probably would lead to a rejection of the entire Copernican system." If Philadelphians went abroad, which was much more exceptional then than now, it was to meet each other. I know hotels in London to-day where, if you go in the afternoon, it is just like an afternoon reception in Philadephia, and hotels in Paris where at certain seasons you find nobody but Philadelphians talking Philadelphia, though the Philadelphian has not disappeared who does not want to travel because he finds Philadelphia good enough for him. And it has always been like that.

But I could not follow Philadelphia society in the summer time any more than I could go with it to the Assembly in the winter. I had reason to consider myself fortunate if I travelled as far as Mount Airy or Chestnut Hill out of the red brick oven Philadelphia used to be—is now and ever shall be!—from June to September. It was an event if I got off with the crowd—the linen-dustered, wilting-collared crowds; surely we are not so demoralized by the heat nowadays?—to Cape May or Atlantic City, to enjoy the land breeze blowing, from over the Jersey swamps, clouds of mosquitoes before it so that nobody could stir out of doors without gloves and a veil. These, however, were not the summer joys society demanded of me. The further I went into the social game, the less I got from it, and I had decided that for the poor it was not


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THE SOCIAL ADVENTURE: THE ASSEMBLY worth the candle at the end of the first year,—or was it the second? That I should be uncertain shows how little my heart was in the business of going out.

I did not necessarily give up every amusement because I did not go out. In fact, I cannot recall a dance that amused me as much as many a boating party on the Schuylkill in the gold of the June afternoon, or many a walking party through the Park in the starlit summer night. There also remained, had I chosen, the staid entertainment of the women who, for one reason or other, had retired from the gayer round, and whose amusements consisted of more intimate receptions, teas, without number, sewing societies. And it was the period when Philadelphia was waking up to the charms of the higher education for women,—to the dissipations of "culture." I had friends who filled their time by studying for the examinations Harvard had at last condescended to allow them to pass, or try to pass; others found their sober recreation by qualifying themselves as teachers and teaching in a large society formed to impart learning by correspondence: all these women keeping their occupation to themselves as much as possible, not wishing to make a public scandal in Philadelphia which had not accustomed itself to the spectacle of women working unless compelled to;—all this quite outside of the University set, which must have existed, if I did not know it, as the Bryn Mawr set exists to-day, but which, as far as my experience went, was then never heard of except by the fortunate and privileged few who belonged to it.


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174 But this new amusement required effort, and experience had not made me in love with the amusement that had to be striven for, that had to be paid for by exertion of any kind. There was an interval when Philadelphia would have been searched in vain for another idler as confirmed as I. Having found nothing to do, I proceeded to do it with all my might. I stood in no need of the poet's command to lean and loaf at my ease, though I am afraid I leaned and loafed so well as to neglect the other half of his precept and to forget to invite my soul. To those years I now look back as to so much good time lost in a working life all to short at the best.


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title: Our Philadelphia/Chapter 7


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36 the lifting ones. I have no power to operate through them on the tendon which was torn from the lower part of the knee pan; so that I cannot prevent the knee from sinking under me. This then, you see, is the seat of the great injury. Though more ungainly, I sometimes think a stiff knee would have been more serviceable than a weak one.

The cheerful tone of your letter to Nannie gave us cause of congratulation. All hands, but the children and I, have gone to church. Betty is with me in the dining room running around the table for amusement. Little Nannie is upstairs, where she has been stowed away to be cheated into a nap. Judging by the sound of her little voice, she has almost played herself to sleep. I am acting as nurse, you know, to keep Betty from running out. She has just interrupted me to hear her repeat her little hymn you sent her, "Stars that on your wondrous Way." Nannie, too, from hearing Betty recite it, is very au fait at it; and so are all the little negroes on the Lot.

I sometimes lament the natural turn of these last for poetry and music. If Nannie attempts a new song, before she can play it, "Stewart," a lad of ten or twelve years of age, has caught the air, and pumps water or saws wood to the tune of "Flow gently, Sweet Afton," or whatever else happens to be the favourite air with us all for the time being.

Tell Mat I have applied for service on crutches.

Soon after his return to Fredericksburg, it was urged by the National Intelligencer (Washington paper) Maury should be made Secretary of the Navy. Other prominent


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The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Speyers, Arthur Bayard

SPEYERS, Arthur Bayard, American naval officer: b. New York, 15 Aug. 1846; d. Montreal, province of Quebec, 19 Nov. 1918. He was admitted to the United States Naval Academy in 1863, where he remained until six months before the close of the Civil War in 1865, when he was assigned with other members of his class to duty as acting midshipman on vessels assigned to destroy privateers. At the close of the war he returned to the Naval Academy, where he was graduated in 1868. His first assignment was to the North Atlantic fleet. A year later he was promoted to the rank of ensign and transferred to the Benicia on the Asiatic station. Two years later he was promoted to master, and while serving on the Kansas in 1874 was commissioned lieutenant. He was made lieutenant-commander in 1895. Soon after the beginning of the Spanish-American War in 1898 he was assigned to command the Cæsar and took part in bottling up Cervera's fleet in the harbor of Santiago de Cuba. At the close of the war, Commander Speyers was placed in command of the Glacier. He retired with the rank of rear-admiral, 11 Jan. 1905.


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The New International Encyclopædia/Giddings, Joshua Reed

GIDDINGS, Joshua Reed (1795-1864). An eminent American legislator, prominent as a ‘Constitutional’ Abolitionist in the anti-slavery struggle. He was born at Tioga Point, Pa., October 6, 1795. His early life was spent in Canandaigua, N. Y., until his parents removed to Ashtabula County, Ohio, where he afterwards resided. He enlisted as a soldier in the War of 1812, and served for a few months in the protection of the Western Reserve against the Indians; then taught school, studied law, and in 1821 began professional practice at Jefferson. In 1826 he was sent to the State Legislature, and in 1838 to Congress. The slavery agitation had already begun, and Giddings became a forceful advocate of the abolition of slavery in the District of Columbia and the national Territories. He supported the efforts of John Quincy Adams to maintain the right of petition, and in fact seized upon every opportunity to develop a public sentiment hostile to slavery. On February 9, 1841, he delivered a powerful speech upon the Indian War in Florida, insisting that it was waged in the interest of slavery. While the excitement caused by the Creole Case (q.v.) was at its height, he introduced in the House of Representatives a series of resolutions declaring that the slaves, having simply asserted their indefeasible right to liberty, were guilty of no crime, and that as soon as they left the jurisdiction of Virginia they became free. The resolutions created a tumultuous excitement, and Giddings was censured by vote of the House for presenting them. He thereupon resigned his seat, but was reëlected by a very large majority. He was kept at his post by successive reëlections

until 1859, thus completing a continuous service of twenty years. Until 1848 he was a member of the Whig Party, supporting its principal measures, but maintaining his independence in all matters relating to slavery. He did much to develop those views with regard to the relation of slavery to the National Government which afterwards became the basis of the Republican Party. He took a prominent part in the struggle to prevent the extension of slavery to the territory wrested from Mexico by the war of 1846-47, and in resisting the adoption of the Compromise of 1850, especially the reënactment of the ../Fugitive Slave Law/ (q.v.). He was also conspicuous in the debates which preceded the repeal of the Missouri Compromise in 1854, and in the great struggle by which Kansas was made a free State. On May 8, 1856, while addressing the House, he suddenly fell to the floor in a state of unconsciousness. He soon revived, but his former strength was never fully restored. On January 17, 1858, he fell again in the same way, and for a time was supposed to be dead. He again rallied, however, but was compelled for a time to leave his post. In 1861 he was appointed Consul-General for the British North American Provinces, with headquarters in Montreal. In 1843 he wrote a series of political essays signed ‘Paciflcus,’ which attracted wide attention. A volume of his speeches was published in 1853. He also wrote: The Exiles of Florida (1858), and The History of the Rebellion: its Authors and Causes (1864). Consult: Buel, Joshua R. Giddings (Cleveland, 1882); and. more particularly, Julian, Life of Joshua R. Giddings (Chicago, 1892).


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Rh newspapers caught up the cry, and public sentiment seemed all in favor of this selection. But Maury steadily declined the honor, and thus speaks of it in the following letter:—

I do not think there is much danger of my having a Cabinet appointment inflicted upon me. The newspapers continue to discuss the subject, though, with much earnestness. That I should be thus brought forward and commended is, of course, exceedingly gratifying to me, as I am sure it must be to you also. In these times of party rancor and bitter political strife, high places in the State edifice are far from being desirable to those who value peace of mind.

In another letter to the same, he thus refers to his affliction:—

The leg gains strength slowly. I can walk now with the assistance of a stick only; but a walk of two or three hundred yards breaks me down. A terrible calamity is this, indeed, to me.

For several years subsequent to this, his correspondence is full of sweet allusions to his little children, his family, and surroundings. To his parents he writes:—

The boy Richard Launcelot [Maury] grows apace. He is a fine little fellow, and I think he is the pet with both his aunts.

Little Betty has just skipped in, and says, "Tell ganpa to come and see us, and the son too, and that's all." She can read understandingly, and is quite proud of it.

Little Nannie [Diana] is only in her "A, B, C's" as yet, under little Betty's tuition. She has a good memory, and can repeat several hymns and verses, standing on the table and accompanying herself with appropriate gestures. She, every night and morning, "Pays to God to bless her dear


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Rh as she kept her room that evening; but you make me very anxious, my Lord, I beg of you to explain yourself more fully."

Pardon me, Mr. McKay, I must tax your patience a little longer; and now oblige me by telling, whether the young couple told you that they saw me at the bridge of Linn one morning when I first arrived here, or whether you observed anything particular about your daughter at that time."

"Never, my Lord, she has not mentioned a word about seeing you, but I remember one morning about that time, her having walked alone as far as the bridge, and that she mentioned having met young Stuart there, after coming home from the hills where he had been shooting, and gave her a brace of ptarmigan; and I must also confess that something unusual in her manner and dress attracted my attention."

"Poor innocent child, I thought so. I knew that she was too modest to mention such a delicate affair, or to involve her misguided young neighbour. You need not look so alarmed, Mr. McKay, nothing serious has taken place as yet, but you must promise me that you will never mention, or hint to either, by word or look, what I am going to tell, and on this condition I will make you acquainted with the affair."

Mr. McKay made the promise, and his Lordship proceeded to tell him that he (his Lordship) and the Captain, the morning, after their arrival, went to fish on the river Linn, above the bridge, that the Captain went upstream, while he himself went towards the bridge, when he was attracted by the screams of a female; that when he approached the spot he beheld Charlie Stuart endeavouring to take improper liberties with Bella, both of whom he recognised at the bonfire. That, on making his appearance, the young man desisted, but followed her a little distance towards her home, likely to make up for his delinquencies; and that his Lordship, taking them for some humble people, never troubled himself about them, and had almost forgotten the affair, until the other day when he saw them riding as he was out shooting; they dismounted,

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50 on the plea of tightening the saddle-girths, when young Stuart repeated his former advances, and only for his Lordship himself firing off his rifle, would have committed an insult on her person.

Mr. McKay was overwhelmed and shocked at this abominable revelation, and only for the position of his Lordship, would not have believed that his young neighbour (whom every person thought so highly of and he himself knew from his infancy to be an honourable and unimpeachable young man) would over be guilty of such conduct. All this he told his Lordship, but the crafty nobleman smiled at Mr. McKay's inexperience of young men now-a-days, particularly when mixing with other libertines in colleges, although their former habits might have been well enough.

"Now," added his Lordship, "having seen the heroic conduct of your daughter on two occasions, resisting the advances of a familiar and old acquaintance, and, above all, her generous nature in not exposing him, as he deserved s these qualities, added to a rare beauty and modesty, such as I never met with, even in our higher English circles, have so captivated my heart since I first beheld her, that I now lay my hand and fortune, with your approbation, at her feet."

Really, my Lord, I am so overwhelmed with all that you have told me, that I am at a loss how to speak, much less how to answer your extraordinary proposal. I hope, however, on maturer consideration, that you will see the folly of such an idea; the great difference of position, which your noble house would never overlook; and, further, that you are still a minor, which would bring down upon you and I (were I ambitious enough to accept your flattering proposal) the displeasure of your noble parent, and may disinherit you. You will, therefore, I hope, banish all these unreasonable notions from your mind, and before you attain your majority you may depend upon it they will all be obliterated from your memory."

"Never, Mr. McKay, I am quite confident ages would not consume the ardent attachment that has taken root in my heart towards your beautiful daughter. It is not

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130 “Behave! Now be still, and I’ll tell you what sort of music you make.”

“Oh—well—tell me.”

“Like the calling of throstles and blackies, in the evening, frightening the pale little wood-anemones, till they run panting and swaying right up to our wall. Like the ringing of bluebells when the bees are at them; like Hippomenes, out-of -breath, laughing because he’d won.”

He kissed her with rapturous admiration.

“Marriage music, sir,” she added.

“What golden apples did I throw?” he asked lightly.

“What!” she exclaimed, half mocking.

“This Atalanta,” he replied, looking lovingly upon her, “this Atalanta—I believe she just lagged at last on purpose.”

“You have it,” she cried, laughing, submitting to his caresses. “It was you—the apples of your firm heels—the apples of your eyes—the apples Eve bit—that won me—hein!”

“That was it—you are clever, you are rare. And I’ve won, won the ripe apples of your cheeks, and your breasts, and your very fists—they can’t stop me—and—and—all your roundness and warmness and softness—I’ve won you, Lettie.”

She nodded wickedly, saying:

“All those—those—yes.”

“All—she admits it—everything!”

“Oh!—but let me breathe. Did you claim everything?”

“Yes, and you gave it me,”

“Not yet. Everything though?”


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Rh a passing romantic fancy of youthful folly, but a burning, and strong passion, which I am certain will increase with my years. However, on considering the sense and propriety of your arguments, I will promise to curb my passion, and make the sacrifice of delaying my nuptials until I become of age (although trying to my feelings), when I shall be at liberty to marry the chosen of my heart. I have also prepared for your objections, and to meet them will suggest a plan which I hope will receive your approval, and which is this—I understand you have a wealthy brother, a merchant in London, who has often sent for your daughter, for the purpose of finishing her education, and introducing her to society. You will, therefore, send her there, or accompany her yourself, and start with us to-morrow (as myself and friends intend leaving), the Captain and I having received pressing despatches to that effect. I am confident, if you approve of my proposition, and if your daughter is introduced among high society, which I shall feel great pleasure in doing, and present her to my own relations—I am sure they will appreciate her worth. Another reason which influenced me to suggest this proposition, and in which I know you will concur, that she will be removed from the immediate neighbourhood of that young libertine, who has dared to insult her, and who may repeat his base improprieties, if not sent to a place and among society becoming her, and which he dare not approach."

Whatever hesitation and objection Mr. McKay held towards his Lordship's suggestions, the last appeal dispelled them, and decided his determination, his young neighbour's hypocritical conduct (as he now considered it) became more detestable in his eyes, and the use he made of the confidence and friendship placed in him, instead of being a protector to his daughter, becoming himself the aggressor, and assailing her virtue. Under these indignant emotions he replied—

"Your last observation, my Lord, has decided my mind, and the outrageous conduct of the young man whom I always considered my dearest friend and a pattern to all young men, and whom I some day thought

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52 of entrusting with the happiness of my child. If, therefore, as you imagine that my daughter will meet with the reception you anticipate from your relations, and if your own feelings towards her should not change in the interval, I shall be most highly honoured by your addressing her when the term of your minority expires; with this proviso, however (which, pardon me, I do not think likely), that she herself will have no objection, for I would never press her against her will, were the suitor the Prince of Wales."

The last words brought the colour to his Lordship's face; however, he smothered any little disappointment which the remark created, and pressed the speaker's hand with great earnestness and thankfulness.

When Mr. M'Kay was taking his leave, after all the arrangements for their departure next morning were settled, his Lordship gave him instructions to serve a notice on Charlie Stuart, to the effect that the privilege he heretofore held from the former proprietor for shooting and fishing on the estate was now suspended.

progress which Mr. John Brown, Lord Lundy's valet, made on the susceptible heart of Mary Grant greatly flattered that young man, and alarmed her true and devoted lover, Donald Munro. In order, therefore, to reconquer the fair citadel, the piper resolved on bringing all his ingenuity and forces to bear for the consummation of that object. However, no feasible artifice appeared to him, save the one which the reader has already heard, and which he hinted to his young master the evening of the bonfire. The favourable opportunity for prosecuting his wished-for plan at length arrived.

John Brown, on the other hand, satisfied in his own own mind that his impression on the heart of the pretty, lively Highland girl was quite successful, all he now wished for was an occasional chance of paying her his respects and enjoying her pleasant company; and in

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The New International Encyclopædia/Libel (admiralty practice)

LIBEL (OF. libel, libelle, libeau, Fr. libelle, from Lat. libellus, diminutive of liber, book, inner bark of a tree). In admiralty practice, the first pleading of the complainant, which is filed in the office of the clerk of the court to commence the action. It is in the form of a petition addressed to the judge of the court by name, setting forth the nature and facts of the claim and containing a prayer that process issue in the proper manner. If the action is against an individual, a citation (q.v.) will issue directing him to appear and answer; if against a vessel, a writ issues to an officer of the court directing him to attach it, which is considered sufficient notice to the owners. The libel must be verified by the libellant, as the claimant is called, or his agent if he is without the jurisdiction.

The name was borrowed from the Roman law where a pleading known as the libellus conventionis was employed to commence an action. The word libel continued to designate the first pleading in an action under the civil law. It corresponds to a complaint or declaration in other actions. See.


text: Lindigo, the White Woman/Chapter 6

title: Lindigo, the White Woman/Chapter 6


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Rh “Every atom.”

“But—now you look——”

“Did I look aside?”

“With the inward eye. Suppose now we were two angels——”

“Oh, dear—a sloppy angel!”

“Well—don’t interrupt now—suppose I were one—like the ‘Blessed Damosel.’ ”

“With a warm bosom——!”

“Don’t be foolish, now—I a ‘Blessed Damosol’ and you kicking the brown beech leaves below thinking——”

“What are you driving at?”

“Would you be thinking—thoughts like prayers?”

“What on earth do you ask that for? Oh—I think I’d be cursing—eh?”

“No—saying fragrant prayers—that your thin soul might mount up——”

“Hang thin souls, Lettie! I’m not one of your souly sort. I can’t stand Pre-Raphaelities. You—You’re not a —you’re an. I think there’s more in the warm touch of a soft body than in a prayer. I’ll pray with kisses.”

“And when you can’t?”

“I’ll wait till prayer-time again. By Jove, I’d rather feel my arms full of you; I’d rather touch that red mouth—you grudger!—than sing hymns with you in any heaven.”

“I’m afraid you’ll never sing hymns with me in heaven.”

“Well—I have you here—yes, I have you now.”

“Our life is but a fading dawn?”

“Liar!—Well, you called me! Besides, I don’


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276 1838, and Eawliiison's correspondence with Burnouf and Lassen did not beijin till the summer of that vear.^ From that period Rawlinson himself accounts for all the letters in question. Writinir after Jacquet's death, he tells us in a letter to Burnouf that lie had just found the value of 16 (^) ch. Two other values, 20 (j^ th and 41 (X^^) /^ ^^^ lixed still later in the winter 1838-9 ; another, 27 (\i^^ Ih 1^^ acknowledjjfes he received from Lassen.- The siirn 10 i^^ he also fixed in 1838-0 ; but he gave it the same value as Lassen had done hi 1830, viz. u\ In Germanv v was no doubt equivalent to its correct value r, but scarcely so to an Enjrlish-speaking man, especially as he distin- guishes it from his v {^ Xo. 15. The other letter, 40 (»-^^) >\ was known correctly to Grotefend in 1837. With reference, therefore, to the six letters attributed to Jacquet, it is seen that none of them were due to the influence of Eawlinson, either throui>h his ^lemoir or subsequently by coi-respondence. One letter (/•) was fixed l)efore Rawlinson was known. Three others were first announced after Jacquet was dead (10, 26, 41V One was wrong (1\ and the other (27) he acknow- ledged to have borrowed from Lassen. It is imi)ossible, therefore, to admit the pretension put forward by UawHnson, that he could 'fairly claim the paternity, either directlv or indirectlv, of at least ten cliaracters' on the ground that Mt was imi)0ssible to sav by whom each individual letter l^ecame identified.' On the contrary, the history of the identification is plahi enough, and there is no difiiculty in assigiung the pro- ])ortin of merit du(* to each discoverer. It was not till nfi(M' the essays of Jacqut^t iliat liawlinson Ixm'c any

' lijis>«'ii's Jirst letter to Ilawlin^oji is dated Aunruat 10, 1838. See Memnir by Canon iJawlinson, y. -in). - J. l: A. S. X. 8, 0, \{),7iut('<.


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132 care; ‘Carpe diem,’ my rosebud, my fawn. There’s a nice Carmen about a fawn. ‘Time to leave its mother, and venture into a warm embrace.’ Poor old Horace—I’ve forgotten him.”

“Then poor old Horace.”

“Ha! Ha!—Well, I shan’t forget you. What’s that queer look in your eyes?”

“What is it?”

“Nay—you tell me. You are such a tease, there’s no getting to the bottom of you.”

“You can fathom the depth of a kiss——”

“I will—I will——”

After a while he asked:

“When shall we be properly engaged, Lettie?”

“Oh, wait till Christmas—till I am twenty-one.”

“Nearly three months! Why on earth——!” “It will make no difference. I shall be able to choose thee of my own free choice then.”

“But three months!”

“I shall consider thee engaged—it doesn’t matter about other people.”

“I thought we should be married in three months.”

“Ah—married in haste——. But what will your mother say?”

“Say! Oh, she’ll say it’s the first wise thing I’ve done. You’ll make a fine wife, Lettie, able to entertain, and all that.”

“You will flutter brilliantly.”

“We will.”

“No—you’ll be the moth—I’ll paint your wings—gaudy feather-dust. Then when you lose your coloured dust, when you fly too near the light, or when you play dodge with a butterfly net—away goes my


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Rh share in the general progress of the studj' ; and then not more than four characters remained to be correctly identified.

We have ah'eady seen with what conspicuous success Rawhnson had found the true vahies of two of these, so far back as 1838. One still gave Lassen a great deal of trouble, and he had variously valued it as k (1836), ich (1839), Ich (1844). In his letter to Kawlinson he preferred to leave it undetermhied (1839).' Kawlinson suggested that it had the sound of t before i, which is so nearly correct and so gi^eat an improvement upon all previous attempts that it might almost be conceded to him as an approximate value if he had announced it earlier. He acknowledges that he remained long in doubt concerning it, and there is no evidence, as in the case of the other two letters, that he su<ri^ested the emendation to Burnouf.- Before his alphabet appeared, in 1846, the true value had Ijeen already fixed by Holtzmann in 1845 as d before i.

It tlius appears that Eawlinson had a real aptitude for unravelling this kind of puzzle. Only four letters were left to him by his predecessors ; and of these he 'determined two correctly and one nearly correctly. The fourtli, 28 {^{^ the z of Jacquet, he improves to an approximate correct value jli in his first alphabet ; and ui his second he gives it correctly as jf before a : a correction made simultaneously by Hincks. He may also claim the merit of having restored the sound of k (he writes kh) to 25 (^). The value of this letter had lonof before been fixed bv Grotefend, but since then it had passed through many vicissitudes. St. Martin thought it was h ; Burnouf made it y ; and Lassen thought, in 1836, it stood for the a in the diphthong aw,

» J.jR.A.S, X. lOyTiotp. - See ib. p. 8, note.


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Rh part—you can’t fly—I—alas, poor me! What becomes of the feather-dust when the moth brushes his wings against a butterfly net?”

“What are you making so many words about? You don’t know now, do you?”

“No—that I don’t.’

“Then just be comfortable. Let me look at myself in your eyes.”

“Narcissus, Narcissus!—Do you see yourself well? Does the image flatter you?—Or is it a troubled stream, distorting your fair lineaments.”

“I can’t see anything—only feel you looking—you are laughing at me—What have you behind there—what joke?”

“I—I’m thinking you’re just like Narcissus—a sweet, beautiful youth.”

“Be serious—do.”

“It would be dangerous. You’d die of it, and I—I should” “What!”

“Be just like I am now—serious.”

He looked proudly, thinking she referred to the earnestness of her love.

In the wood the wind rumbled and roared hoarsely overhead, but not a breath stirred among the saddened bracken. An occasional raindrop was shaken out of the trees; I slipped on the wet paths. Black bars striped the grey tree-trunks, where water had trickled down; the bracken was overthrown, its yellow ranks broken. I slid down the steep path to the gate, out of the wood.


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278 b, till at length, in 1844. he reluctantly adopted Burnouf's q.

In addition to these services, liawlinson contributed two new letters, one of which, Xo. 43 (^^^\ n before a^ has taken a permanent place in the alphabet. The other (^if). if' i>^ really a Susian letter with a nasal sound, and is found in the Persian column in only two proper names. Oppert suggests that it may be the missing /; and Spiegel is disposed to agree. ^

If we consult Rawlinson's alphabet as it stood early in 1846, it will l)e seen that he was in possession of correct values for the thirtv-three signs in Niebuhr's list, with the exception of two, 10 {^^ w for r, and 19 (EYY) t for c/, and both of these may be almost allowed to him as approximately correct. In the case of the first, indeed, we have already conceded it to Lassen, in consequence of the practical exclusion of w from the German language: and we have only denied it to Eawlinson because he distinguishes it from his 15 (^) v.

We have not included the addition of the as})irate amontr the number of errors, where it indicated only an unimportant modification of a correct sound. It had its oriijin in the difiicultv that was found in believincr that there could be more than one sign in the alphabet to express precisely the same sound. We have seen that Hincks had just shown that these signs do in fact express the same sound, and that their employment depends solely upon the vowel that follows. After Major Rawlinson's first al})habet was in print, he arrived, independently, as we have already stated, at precisely the same conclusion. He had lono- been struck with the i)eculiarity that certain consonants are only to be found followed by a particular vowel, and in his first alphabet he indicated five letters thus distinguished.

 * Spiegel, p. 154.


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134 Armies of cloud marched in rank across the sky. heavily laden, almost brushing the gorse on the common. The wind was cold and disheartening. The ground sobbed at every step. The brook was full, swirling along, hurrying, talking to itself, in absorbed intent tones. The clouds darkened; I felt the rain. Careless of the mud, I ran, and burst into the farm kitchen.

The children were painting, and they immediately claimed my help.

“Emily—and George—are in the front room,” said the mother, quietly, for it was Sunday afternoon. I satisfied the little ones; I said a few words to the mother, and sat down to take off my clogs.

In the parlour, the father, big and comfortable, was sleeping in an arm-chair. Emily was writing at the table—she hurriedly hid her papers when I entered. George was sitting by the fire, reading. He looked up as I entered, and I loved him when he looked up at me, and as he lingered on his quiet “Hullo!” His eyes were beautifully eloquent—as eloquent as a kiss.

We talked in subdued murmurs, because the father was asleep, opulently asleep, his tanned face as still as a brown pear against the wall. The clock itself went slowly, with languid throbs. We gathered round the fire, and talked quietly, about nothing—blissful merely in the sound of our voices, a murmured, soothing sound—a grateful, dispassionate love trio.

At last George rose, put down his book—looked at his father—and went out.

In the barn there was a sound of the pulper


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Rh These were: 19, t with i; 29, m with ^ ; 33, )n with u ; 40, r with u ; 43, n with u ; and he observed especially the affinity the vowel i had for certain consonants — a peculiarity he noticed also in some of the Scythic laniiuafjes.^ Wlien once his attention was directed to these facts it was not long before he set himself to account for them. One of the most useful contributions to decipherment made by Lassen arose from the sug- gestion that an a is understood though not always expressed after a consonant, when not followed by another vowel. Indeed until this idea occurred to him the result of decipherment was the apparition of a long series of words consisting of an agglomeration of consonants which no living tongue could pronounce. The next step to be made, resulted from the observation that some letters were always followed by i and others bv ti. A laborious classification of each letter accordin<i as it was followed by each of these vowels was therefore undertaken, and the result was sulficientlv remarkable. Tt showed that in two cases in the grade of sonants {d and m) there was a different sign according as the letter was followed by a, i. or //. Converselv, there were three cases in the grade of aspirates [th. y, sh)^ where the same si<rn mi<rht be found l)efore any of the three vowels ; and finally there were several cases in the grade of surds {k^ t^ and /'), where it was noticed that the same

' llawlinson wrote, early in 1846: *The cause of the affinity of the vowel « for the characters^', t, m and v can nyither be explained,. nor can we perceive any uniform effect which the coalition produces upon the phonetic power of the consonant. I can only illustrate the formation of the different groups by adverting to the law which still prevails in th*- Tartarian dialects, requiring the juxtaposition of certain vowels with consonants in order to render the latter articulable ; and by observing that, as a similar rule appears to hold good in the so-called Median alphabet, which has every indication of a Scythic origin, it is not improbable that the Persian w^riting may have been indebted to that source for so remark- able a deviation from the true ])rinciples of Arian orthography.* J, K. A. S. X. C6.


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Rh the turnips. The crisp strips of turnip sprinkled quietly down onto a heap of gold which grew beneath the pulper. The smell of pulped turnips, keen and sweet, brings back to me the feeling of many winter nights, when frozen hoof-prints crunch in the yard, and Orion is in the south; when a friendship was at its mystical best.

“Pulping on Sunday!” I exclaimed.

“Father didn’t do it yesterday; it’s his work; and I didn’t notice it. You know—Father often forgets—he doesn’t like to have to work in the afternoon, now.”

The cattle stirred in their stalls; the chains rattled round the posts; a cow coughed noisily. When George had finished pulping, and it was quiet enough for talk, just as he was spreading the first layers of chop and turnip and meal—in ran Emily, with her hair in silken, twining confusion, her eyes glowing—to bid us go in to tea before the milking was begun. It was the custom to milk before tea on Sunday—but George abandoned it without demur—his father willed it so, and his father was master, not to be questioned on farm matters, however one disagreed.

The last day in October had been dreary enough; the night could not come too early. We had tea by lamplight, merrily, with the father radiating comfort as the lamp shone yellow light. Sunday tea was imperfect without a visitor; with me, they always declared, it was perfect. I loved to hear them say so. I smiled, rejoicing quietly into my teacup when the Father said:

“It seems proper to have Cyril here at Sunday tea, it seems natural.”


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136 He was most loath to break the delightful bond of the lamp-lit tea-table; he looked up with a half-appealing glance when George at last pushed back his chair and said he supposed he’d better make a start.

“Ay,” said the father in a mild, conciliatory tone, “I’ll be out in a minute.”

The lamp hung against the barn-wall, softly illuminating the lower part of the building, where bits of hay and white dust lay in the hollows between the bricks, where the curled chips of turnip scattered orange gleams over the earthen floor; the lofty roof, with its swallows’ nests under the tiles, was deep in shadow, and the corners were full of darkness, hiding, half hiding, the hay, the chopper, the bins. The light shone along the passages before the stalls, glistening on the moist noses of the cattle, and on the whitewash of the walls.

George was very cheerful; but I wanted to tell him my message. When he had finished the feeding, and had at last sat down to milk, I said:

“I told you Leslie Tempest was at our house when I came away.”

He sat with the bucket between his knees, his hands at the cow’s udder, about to begin to milk. He looked up a question at me.

“They are practically engaged now,” I said.

He did not turn his eyes away, but he ceased to look at me. As one who is listening for a far-off noise, he sat with his eyes fixed. Then he bent his head, and leaned it against the side of the cow, as if he would begin to milk. But he did not. The cow looked round and stirred uneasily. He began to


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Rh draw the milk, and then to milk mechanically. I watched the movement of his hands, listening to the rhythmic clang of the jets of milk on the bucket, as a relief. After a while the movement of his hands became slower, thoughtful—then stopped.

“She has really said yes?”

I nodded.

“And what does your mother say?”

“She is pleased.”

He began to milk again. The cow stirred uneasily, shifting her legs. He looked at her angrily, and went on milking. Then, quite upset, she shifted again, and swung her tail in his face.

“Stand still!” he shouted, striking her on the haunch. She seemed to cower like a beaten woman. He swore at her, and continued to milk. She did not yield much that night; she was very restive; he took the stool from beneath him and gave her a good blow; I heard the stool knock on her prominent hip bone. After that she stood still, but her milk soon ceased to flow.

When he stood up, he paused before he went to the next beast, and I thought he was going to talk. But just then the father came along with his bucket. He looked in the shed, and, laughing in his mature, pleasant way, said:

“So you’re an onlooker to-day, Cyril—I thought you’d have milked a cow or two for me by now.”

“Nay,” said I, “Sunday is a day of rest—and milking makes your hands ache.”

“You only want a bit more practice,” he said, joking in his ripe fashion. “Why George, is that all you’ve got from Julia?”


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Rh "And have you considered, my dear sir, that you may have some difficulty in finding someone on whom to try this? Potztausend! Suppose that the soul went out and would not come back. That would be a bad business. Who is to take the risk?"

"But, Fritz," the professor cried, very much startled by this view of the matter, "I had relied upon your assistance in the attempt. Surely you will not desert me. Consider the honor and glory."

"Consider the fiddlesticks!" the student cried angrily. "Am I to be paid always thus? Did I not stand two hours upon a glass insulator while you poured electricity into my body? Have you not stimulated my phrenic nerves, besides ruining my digestion with a galvanic current round my stomach? Four-and-thirty times you have mesmerized me, and what have I got from all this? Nothing. And now you wish to take my soul out, as you would take the works from a watch. It is more than flesh and blood can stand."

"Dear, dear!" the professor cried in great distress. "That is very true, Fritz. I never thought of it before. If you can but suggest how I can compensate you, you will find me ready and willing."

"Then listen," said Fritz, solemnly. "If you will pledge your word that after this experiment I may have the hand of your daughter, then I am willing to assist you; but if not, I shall have nothing to do with it. These are my only terms."

"And what would my daughter say to this?" the professor exclaimed, after a pause of astonishment.

"Elise would welcome it," the young man replied. "We have loved each other long."

"Then she shall be yours," the physiologist said with decision, "for you are a good-hearted young man, and one of the best neurotic subjects that I have ever known—that is when you are not under the influence of alcohol. My experiment is to be performed upon the fourth of next month. You will attend at the physiological laboratory at twelve o'clock. It will be a great occasion, Fritz. Von Gruben is coming from Jena, and Hinterstein from Basle. The chief men of science of all South Germany will be there."

"I shall be punctual," the student said, briefly; and so the two parted.

professor did not exaggerate when he spoke of the widespread interest excited by his novel psycho-physiological experiment. Long before the hour had arrived the room was filled with a galaxy of talent. Besides the celebrities whom he had mentioned, there had come from London the great Professor Lurcher, who had just established his reputation by a remarkable treatise upon cerebral centers. Several great lights of the Spiritualistic body had also come a long distance to be present, as had a Swedenborgian minister, who considered that the proceedings might throw some light upon the doctrines of the Rosy Cross.

There was considerable applause from this eminent assembly upon the appearance of Professor von Baumgarten and his subject upon the platform. The lecturer, in a few well-chosen words, explained what his views were, and how he proposed to test them.

"I hold," he said, "that when a person is under the influence of mesmerism, his spirit is for the time released from his body, and I challenge anyone to put forward any other hypothesis which will account for the fact of clairvoyance. I therefore hope that upon mesmerizing my young friend here, and then putting myself into a trance, our spirits may be able to commune together, though our W. T.—8


text:
The New International Encyclopædia/Libel (common law)

LIBEL. A term of the common law, descriptive of that species of defamation (q.v.) which is committed by writing or its equivalent. It is a criminal offense as well as a civil wrong. It consists of the publication of that which tends to bring another into hatred, contempt, or ridicule. Special damage to its victim need not be shown. Nor is the truth of a libelous publication always a defense. Many of our State constitutions declare that it is not a defense to a criminal prosecution, unless published with good motives and for justifiable ends. Fair reports of legislative debates, judicial proceedings, and

transactions do not subject their publishers to action for libel. Various other immunities are accorded to news-gatherers and publishers by modern statutes. These should be examined in each jurisdiction.

A defamatory writing will not subject its author to an action, either civil or criminal, until it is published. For the purposes of a criminal prosecution, it is published as soon as any one knowingly exposes it to the sight of another, who is capable of understanding it. Accordingly, the writer of a defamatory article may be liable criminally, when he sends it in a sealed envelope to the one defamed. To render him liable in a civil action for damages, however, the writing must have been communicated to a third person; save in a few States, where the rule has been changed by statute. Such communication need not have been intentional. One who sends the writing to a third person by mistake may inflict as great an injury upon the victim of his defamation as though he had planned the injury. Nor can the publisher of a libel screen himself from civil responsibility by saying that it was a joke. In the language of a great judge, “No one can cast about firebrands and death, and then escape from being responsible by saying he was in sport.”

A century and a half ago the weight of judicial authority favored the rule that the defamatory character of a publication was a question for the court and not for the jury. Mansfield's enforcement of this rule elicited the most violent criticism, and led to the enactment of a statute known as Fox's Libel Act (32 Geo. III., c. 60). “ Although this statute only applies to criminal proceedings, it has been followed by analogy in civil actions for libel, and no plaintiff is entitled to succeed either in England or in the United States, unless the jury find that the publication is libelous. In a civil action, if the judge is of the opinion that the publication complained of is not defamatory, he may direct that the plaintiff be non-suited. Consult: Odgers, A Digest of the Law of Libel and Slander (3d ed., London, 1896); Newell, The Law of Libel and Slander in Civil and Criminal Cases (2d ed., Chicago, 1898); Townshend, Treatise on the Wrongs Called Slander and Libel (4th ed., New York, 1890); Pollock, The Law of Torts (6th ed., New York and London, 1901); Bigelow, The Law of Torts (7th ed., Boston, 1901). See also the articles .


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138 “It is.”

“H’m—she’s soon going dry. Julia, old lady, don’t go and turn skinny.”

When he had gone, and the shed was still, the air seemed colder. I heard his good-humoured “Stand over, old lass,” from the other shed, and the drum-beats of the first jets of milk on the pail.

“He has a comfortable time,” said George, looking savage. I laughed. He still waited.

“You really expected Lettie to have him,” I said.

“I suppose so,” he replied, “then she’d made up her mind to it. It didn’t matter—what she wanted—at the bottom.”

“You?” said I.

“If it hadn’t been that he was a prize—with a ticket—she’d have had——”

“You!” said I.

“She was afraid—look how she turned and kept away”

“From you?” said I.

“I should like to squeeze her till she screamed.”

“You should have gripped her before, and kept her,” said I.

“She—she’s like a woman, like a cat—running to comforts—she strikes a bargain. Women are all tradesmen.”

“Don’t generalise, it’s no good.”

“She’s like a prostitute——”

“It’s banal! I believe she loves him.”

He started, and looked at me queerly. He looked quite childish in his doubt and perplexity.

“She, what——?”

“Loves him—honestly.”


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Rh “She’d ’a loved me better,” he muttered, and turned to his milking. I left him and went to talk to his father. When the latter’s four beasts were finished, George’s light still shone in the other shed.

I went and found him at the fifth, the last cow. When at length he had finished he put down his pail, and going over to poor Julia, stood scratching her back, and her poll, and her nose, looking into her big, startled eye and murmuring. She was afraid; she jerked her head, giving him a good blow on the cheek with her horn.

“You can’t understand them,” he said sadly, rubbing his face, and looking at me with his dark, serious eyes.

“I never knew I couldn’t understand them. I never thought about it—till——. But you know, Cyril, she led me on.” I laughed at his rueful appearance.


text:
The New International Encyclopædia/Libelt, Karol

LIBELT, lē'bĕlt,. (1808-75). A Polish politician and author, born in Posen. He studied in Berlin; entered the Polish Revolutionary army in 1830, and was imprisoned for nine months at Magdeburg. From 1840 to 1845 he edited at Posen two Polish newspapers; in 1845 was a member of the Revolutionary Central Committee, and in the next year was elected a member of the Provisional Government at Cracow. He was sentenced to twenty years' imprisonment for his part in this uprising, but regained his freedom after the revolution of March, 1848. He was a member of the Prague Slavic Congress, of the Frankfort Parliament of 1848, and in 1873 was elected to the Prussian Lower House. His writings include: Filozofia i krytyka (1845-50), Hegelian in tendency; Estetyka (1851); Umnictevo (1857), a system of ethics; Dziela (1875); Zbior pism pomniejszych (1849-51), political papers; Dziewica Orléanska (1847); and the sketches Humor i pravada (1852).


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370 bodies lie still and inert. After a time nature will resume her sway, our spirits will return into our respective bodies, and all will be as before. With your kind permission, we shall now proceed to attempt the experiment."

The applause was renewed at this speech, and the audience settled down in expectant silence. With a few rapid passes the professor mesmerized the young man, who sank back in his chair, pale and rigid. He then took a bright globe of glass from his pocket, and by concentrating his gaze upon it and making a strong mental effort, he succeeded in throwing himself into the same condition. It was a strange and impressive sight to see the old man and the young sitting together in the same cataleptic state. Whither, then, had their souls fled? That was the question which presented itself to each and every one of the spectators.

Five minutes passed, and then ten, and then fifteen, and then fifteen more, while the professor and his pupil sat stiff and stark upon the platform. During that time not a sound was heard from the assembled savants, but every eye was bent upon the two pale faces, in search of the first signs of returning consciousness.

Nearly an hour had elapsed before the patient watchers were rewarded. A faint flush came back to the cheeks of Professor von Baumgarten. The soul was coming back once more to its earthly tenement. Suddenly he stretched out his long thin arms, as one awaking from sleep, and rubbing his eyes, stood up from his chair and gazed about him as though he hardly realized where he was.

"Tausend Teufel!" he exclaimed, rapping out a tremendous South German oath, to the great astonishment of his audience and to the disgust of the Swedenborgian. "Where the Henker am I then, and what in thunder has occurred? Oh, yes, I remember now. One of these nonsensical mesmeric experiments. There is no result this time, for I remember nothing at all since I became unconscious; so you have had all your long journeys for nothing, my learned friends, and a very good joke, too;" at which the regius professor of physiology burst into a roar of laughter and slapped his thigh in a highly indecorous fashion.

The audience were so enraged at this unseemly behavior on the part of their host, that there might have been a considerable disturbance, had it not been for the judicious interference of young Fritz von Hartmann, who had now recovered from his lethargy. Stepping to the front of the platform, the young man apologized for the conduct of his companion.

"I am sorry to say," he said, "that he is a harum-scarum sort of fellow, although he appeared so grave at the commencement of this experiment. He is still suffering from mesmeric reaction, and is hardly accountable for his words. As to the experiment itself, I do not consider it to be a failure. It is very possible that our spirits may have been communing in space during this hour; but, unfortunately, our gross bodily memory is distinct from our spirit, and we cannot recall what has occurred. My energies shall now be devoted to devising some means by which spirits may be able to recollect what occurs to them in their free state, and I trust that when I have worked this out, I may have the pleasure of meeting you all once again in this hall, and demonstrating to you the result."

This address, coming from so young a student, caused considerable astonishment among the audience, and some were inclined to be offended, thinking that he assumed rather too much importance. The majority, however, looked upon him as a young man of great promise, and many comparisons were made as they left


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38 ganma and ganpa." They are both very affectionate children, though very unlike in their dispositions. Betty is devotedly fond of flowers Diana cares very little for them, but takes much delight in associating with cats, dogs, &c. She is "Tell sitting in my lap while I am writing, and says, ganma to send me some pay toys."

You must not suffer yourselves to be annoyed by W. B. and the land, nor to be at all pinched or straitened for the want of a little money. It wll not only be convenient, but a pleasure to me, to let you have what you want and whenever you want it.

Our stove has proved a great comfort and convenience, and economy also. I am now writing in the parlour, and though there is no fire in the room, the warmth from the stove in the dining-room makes the air in here as soft and balmy as a spring morning.

In 1841 Matthew Fontaine Maury flattered himself that he was able to perform sea duty; but, fearing that the intervention of family and friends might defeat his application, he went from his residence in Fredericksburg to Richmond, and from thence he addressed the following letter to the Secretary of the Navy, Hon. J. E. Badger:—

,

Notwithstanding my crippled condition, I think I shall be able to perform any of the lighter duties at sea which do not call for much bodily exercise, as of Flag Lieutenant for instance, to which office in the Pacific Squadron Commodore Jones has signified a desire that I should be appointed. That duty, or any other elsewhere, to which I am able, and with which the department should see fit to entrust me, shall be undertaken with pleasure.


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Rh the hall between his dignified conduct and the levity of his professor, who during the above remarks was laughing heartily in a corner, by no means abashed at the failure of the experiment.

Now although all these learned men were filing out of the lecture-room under the impression, that they had seen nothing of note, as a matter of fact one of the most wonderful things in the whole history of the world had just occurred before their very eyes. Professor von Baumgarten had been so far correct in his theory that both his spirit and that of his pupil had been for a time absent from his body. But here a strange and unforeseen complication had occurred. In their return the spirit of Fritz von Hartmann had entered into the body of Alexis von Baumgarten, and that of Alexis von BaumgarrenBaumgarten [sic] had taken up its abode in the frame of Fritz von Hartmann. Hence the slang and scurrility which issued from the lips of the serious professor, and hence also the weighty words and grave statements which felt from the careless student. It was as unprecedented event, yet no one knew of it, least of all those whom it concerned.

body of the professor, feeling conscious suddenly of a great dryness about the back of the throat, sallied out into the street, still chuckling to himself over the result of tie experiment, for the soul of Fritz within was reckless at the thought of the bride whom he had won so easily. His first impulse was to go up to the house and see her, but on second thoughts he came to the conclusion that it would be best to stay until Madam Baumgarten should be informed by her husband of the agreement which had been made. He therefore made his way down to the Grüner Mann, which was one of the favorite trysting-places of the wilder students, and ran, boisterously waving his cane in the air, into the little parlor, where sat Spiegler and Müller, and half a dozen other boon companions.

"Ha, ha! my boys," he shouted. "I knew I should find you here. Drink up, every one of you, and call for what you like; I'm going to stand treat today."

Had the green man who is depicted upon the sign-post of that well-known inn suddenly marched into the room and called for a bottle of wine, the students could not have been more amazed than they were by this unexpected entry of their revered professor. They were so astonished that for a minute or two they glared at him in utter bewilderment without being able to make any reply to his hearty invitation.

"Donner und Blitzen!" shouted the professor, angrily. "What the deuce is the matter with you, then? You sit there like a set of stuck pigs staring at me. What is it, then?"

"It is the unexpected honor," stammered Spiegel, who was in the chair.

"Honor—rubbish!" said the professor, testily. "Do you think that just because I happen to have been exhibiting mesmerism to a parcel of old fossils, I am therefore too proud to associate with dear old friends like you? Come out of that chair, Spiegel, my boy, for I shall preside now. Beer, or wine, or schnapps, my lads—call for what you like, and put it all down to me."

Never was there such an afternoon in the Grüner Mann. The foaming flagons of lager and the green-necked bottle of Rhenish circulated merrily. By degrees the students lost their shyness in the presence of their professor. As for him, he shouted, he sang, he roared, he balanced a long tobacco-pipe upon his nose, and offered to run a hundred yards against any member of the company. The kellner and the bar-maid whispered to each other outside the door their astonishment at


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Rh Hearing of this application, Judge John Taloe Lomax, a distinguished ornament of the bench in Virginia, and a warm personal friend of Lieutenant Maury's, addressed a letter to the Secretary of the Navy, remonstrating in strong terms against the propriety of yielding to Lieutenant Maury's application, and enclosing a certificate from the three best physicians of the town, Drs. Wellford, Carmichael, and Brown, who had been attending him since his injury, which testified to his incapacity to stand the exposure and hard-ships of sea-life at that time. In consequence of these letters the Secretary declined to order Lieutenant Maury to sea duty.

He speaks of this in the following letter to Rutson Maury:—

. . . .There is no move as yet seaward. The physicians in town have made quite a man of importance of me. They, I understand, united in a sort of remonstrance against my going to sea, setting forth to the Secretary the unseaworthiness of the leg. As this was done without my knowledge or consent, I do not know what action the Secretary will take upon it.


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372 such proceedings on the part of a regius professor of the ancient university of Keinplatz. They had still more to whisper about afterward, for the learned man cracked the kellner's crown, and kissed the bar-maid behind the kitchen door.

"Gentlemen," said the professor, standing up, albeit somewhat totteringly, at the end of the table, and balancing his high, old-fashioned wine-glass in his bony hand, "I must now explain to you what is the cause of this festivity."

"Hear! hear!" roared the students, hammering their beer-glasses against the table; "a speech, a speech—silence for a speech!"

"The fact is, my friends," said the professor, beaming through his spectacles, "I hope very soon to be married."

"Married?" cried a student, bolder than the others. "Is Madam dead, then?"

"Madam who?"

"Why, Madam von Baumgarten, of course."

"Ha, ha!" laughed the professor; "I can see, then, that you know all about my former difficulties. No, she is not dead, but I have reason to believe that she will not oppose my marriage."

"That is very accommodating of her," remarked one of the company.

"In fact," said the professor, "I hope that she will now be induced to aid me in getting a wife. She and I never took to each other very much; but now I hope all that may be ended, and when I marry she will come and stay with me."

"What a happy family!" exclaimed some wag.

"Yes, indeed; and I hope you will come to my wedding, all of you. I won't mention names, but here is to my little bride!" and the professor waved his glass in the air.

"Here's to his little bride!" roared the roysterers, with shouts of laughter. "Here's her health. Sie soil leben—hoch!" And so the fun waxed still more fast and furious, while each young fellow followed the professor's example, and drank a toast to the girl of his heart.

all this festivity had been going on at the Grüner Mann, a very different scene had been enacted elsewhere. Young Fritz von Hartmann, with a solemn face and a reserved manner, had, after the experiment, consulted and adjusted some mathematical instruments; after which, with a few peremptory words to the janitors, he had walked out into the street and wended his way slowly in the direction of the house of the professor. As he walked he saw von Althaus, the professor of anatomy, in front of him, and quickening his pace he overtook him.

"I say, von Althaus," he exclaimed, tapping him on the sleeve, "you were asking me for some information the other day concerning the middle coat of the cerebral arteries. Now I find——"

"Donnerwetter!" shouted von Althaus, who was a peppery old fellow. "What the deuce do you mean by your impertinence? I'll have you up before the Academical Senate for this, sir;" with which threat he turned on his heel and hurried away.

Von Hartmann was much surprized at this reception. "Its on account of this failure of my experiment," he said to himself, and continued moodily on his way.

Fresh surprizes were in store for him, however. He was hurrying along when he was overtaken by two students. These youths, instead of raising their caps or showing any other sign of respect, gave a wild whoop of delight the instant that they saw him, and rushing at hint, seized him by each arm and commenced dragging him along with them.

"Gott in Himmel!" roared von Hartmann. "What is the meaning of this


text:
The New International Encyclopædia/Libera

LIB'ERA. In Roman mythology, the wife of Liber, the wine god, identified with Persephone. Her festival, Liberalia, occurred on the 17th of March.


text: Category:King's College London

title: Category:King's College London


text:
The New International Encyclopædia/Liberal Republican Party

LIBERAL REPUBLICAN PARTY. In American history, the name given to a short-lived political party which participated in the Presidential campaign of 1872, composed largely of ‘bolters’ from the regular Republican organization. The party first appeared as a prominent political factor in Missouri in 1870, under the leadership of Carl Schurz and B. Gratz Brown, the latter of whom by a fusion of Liberal Republicans with a large element of the Democratic Party, was elected Governor. The faction here declaimed for “universal amnesty and universal enfranchisement,” a reform in the tariff, an effective civil-service system, and a cessation of “unconstitutional laws to cure kuklux disorders, irreligion, or intemperance.” As President Grant's first term drew near its close, disaffection in the Republican ranks throughout the country became increasingly pronounced, chiefly because of the President's policy of severity with regard to the Southern whites and his alleged misuse of his appointing power. In answer to a call issued by the triumphant fusionists of Missouri on January 24, 1872, a National Liberal Republican Convention met at Cincinnati on May 1st, and after much discussion, Horace Greeley was nominated for President and B. Gratz Brown for Vice-President, on a platform which, evading the tariff issue, declared for universal amnesty, the reëstablishment of civil governments throughout the South, and civil-service reform. On June 9th the Democratic convention assembled at Baltimore formally accepted the candidates and the platform of the Liberal Republicans, though a dissenting element subsequently met at Louisville and nominated Charles O'Conor for President and John Quincy Adams for Vice-President. The campaign was marked by much ill-feeling and considerable personal abuse. Greeley being especially attacked because of his affiliation with the Democrats, whom formerly, as a Republican, he had consistently opposed. In the election the fusion candidates were overwhelmingly defeated. Grant, the Republican candidate, being reëlected by an electoral vote of 286 to 63. The party, as an organization, did not survive the campaign. Among those besides Greeley and Brown who had been more or less prominently identified with the party were Charles Francis Adams, Lyman Trumbull, Carl Schurz, David Davis, Stanley Matthews, Horace White, George W. Julian, and David A. Wells.


text: The New International Encyclopædia/Wahlberg, Alfred Leonard


text: The New International Encyclopædia/Wahlstatt


text: The New International Encyclopædia/Wahlverwandtschaften


text: Index:Melbourne and Mars.djvu

title: Index:Melbourne and Mars.djvu


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OME time ago, an elderly gentleman, a colonial of repute, brought to me his diaries, and wished me to put them in connected form for printing. My time was too fully occupied and my health, too precarious to allow me to undertake the task. However, he brought his documents and gave me unlimited time, and in some six months my co-worker was able to give him his book, written ready for the press. It was printed for private circulation only, and read with avidity by those who received copies.

Some time afterwards this gentleman mentioned a friend of his who had had some strange experiences, and recorded them in a diary for a number of years, and would like to have them put into shape for publication. I refused to undertake the task, for my professional practice was heavier than before, and I was gradually preparing some publications of my own for the press.

In spite of my refusal there came one day by express a bundle of books of various uses and shapes. Amongst them a day-book, a ledger, a betting-book, a pocket memorandum-book, two closely-written diaries for certain years, and a large bundle of manuscript in which an attempt had been made to put the experiences of over fifty years into a connected and readable shape. The manuscript had been offered to a Melbourne publishing firm and refused, on the ground that it had neither beginning nor end, neither paragraphs nor chapters; that it was entirely unreadable, and not likely to prove of interest to anyone.

title: Page:Melbourne and Mars.djvu/5


text: Category:Alumni of King's College London


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Rh why my son was not asleep. Once I asked the sergeant, and he explained it to me at length with great detail, and we kept nodding our heads. And he laughed, and his left eye-brow kept twitching, while his eye winked cunningly at somebody behind us. Behind us were somebody's feet—and nothing more.

By this time it was quite light, when suddenly there fell a drop of rain. Rain—just the same as at home, the most ordinary little drops of rain. But it was so sudden and out of place, and we were so afraid of getting wet, that we left our guns, stopped firing, and tried to find shelter anywhere we could.

The sergeant with whom I had only just been speaking got under the gun-carriage and dozed off, although he might have been crushed any minute; the stout artilleryman, for some reason or other, began undressing a corpse, while I began running about the battery in search of something—a cloak or an umbrella. And the same instant over the whole enormous area, where the rain-cloud had burst, a wonderful stillness fell. A belated shrapnel-shot shrieked and burst, and everything grew still—so still that one could hear the stout artilleryman panting, and the drops of rain splashing upon the stones and guns. And this soft and continuous sound, that reminded one of autumn—the smell of the moist earth and the stillness—seemed to tear the bloody, savage nightmare asunder for an instant; and when I glanced at the wet, glistening gun it unexpectedly reminded me of something dear and peaceful—my childhood, or perhaps my first love. But in the distance a gun boomed forth


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4 Nevertheless, I straightened out the curly, crumpled, dirty, dog-eared sheets, and laid them under the heaviest thing in my office—a box of electrodes and zincotypes, used in illustrating my various publications. After they had been here a couple of weeks, and got flattened, I took them up one day when I did not feel fit for heavier work, and began to turn them over, glancing at their contents here and there. It was not long before I saw that this diarist was either a monomaniac, a dreamer, or a man who had undergone a series of the strangest experiences that ever fell to the lot of man, and that in any case his story, if told, would be sure to attract more than mere local attention. For twenty-five years the man had either been living a dual life, spending his time upon two planets of our solar system, or he had been dreaming half the time one of the most vivid and consecutive dreams ever recorded.

My interest was now fully aroused. I read all his musty diaries in their cramped hand-writing and peculiar phraseology with avidity, and determined to make a careful study of the man, and to see him on several occasions in order to find out his mental condition, at the same time fully intending to work up his story, no matter whether he had dreamt it or experienced it. I made an appointment with him for an evening after business hours, and saw him on several occasions while condensing his diaries and preparing a rough draft of his story.

He is more than seventy years of age, is of medium stature, has a finely formed head, and a remarkably intelligent face. I liked him from the first. His appearance, though not striking, told of a thoughtful and truthful nature. He is not a pushing and enterprising man; not one who could make money, although he has had his chances, and has at times managed to get a couple of hundreds of pounds saved up for old age or a rainy day. The face is narrow at the bottom, wide at the top, and the brain is much more fully developed in the upper than the lower stories.

He has not much brain in the region of the selfish propensities, and has not much capacity for the management of financial matters. Self esteem is decidedly weak, and he has not sufficient firmness to take a decided stand and resist aggression. His moral brain is high and wide; he is full of charitable and kindly feeling; he is also religious in the broadest, best and most philosophical sense of the term. His affections are deep, strong and pure, like those of a good woman, and his integrity is beyond suspicion. For the last few years he has been employed in a subordinate capacity by a commercial firm. What little hair he has is very fine, and of the silvery

title: Page:Melbourne and Mars.djvu/6


text: The New International Encyclopædia/Wahnfried


text: The New International Encyclopædia/Wahoo