text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/O'Kelly, Dennis


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/O'Kelly, Joseph

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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/O'Kelly, Patrick


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


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Okes, Richard


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Page:Sons and Lovers, 1913, Lawrence.djvu/160

148 felt themselves cut away underneath, and they answered with brutality and also with a sneering superciliousness.

Paul was just opening out from childhood into manhood. This atmosphere, where everything took a religious value, came with a subtle fascination to him. There was something in the air. His own mother was logical. Here there was something different, something he loved, something that at times he hated.

Miriam quarrelled with her brothers fiercely. Later in the afternoon, when they had gone away again, her mother said:

“You disappointed me at dinner-time, Miriam.”

The girl dropped her head.

“They are such brutes!” she suddenly cried, looking up with flashing eyes.

“But hadn’t you promised not to answer them?” said the mother. “And I believed in you. I can’t stand it when you wrangle.”

“But they’re so hateful!” cried Miriam, “and—and low.”

“Yes, dear. But how often have I asked you not to answer Edgar back? Can’t you let him say what he likes?”

“But why should he say what he likes?”

“Aren’t you strong enough to bear it, Miriam, if even for my sake? Are you so weak that you must wrangle with them?”

Mrs. Leivers stuck unflinchingly to this doctrine of “the other cheek.” She could not instil it at all into the boys. With the girls she succeeded better, and Miriam was the child of her heart. The boys loathed the other cheek when it was presented to them. Miriam was often sufficiently lofty to turn it. Then they spat on her and hated her. But she walked in her proud humility, living within herself.

There was always this feeling of jangle and discord in the Leivers family. Although the boys resented so bitterly this eternal appeal to their deeper feelings of resignation and proud humility, yet it had its effect on them. They could not establish between themselves and an outsider just the ordinary human feeling and unexaggerated friendship; they were always restless for the something deeper. Ordinary folk seemed shallow to them, trivial and inconsiderable. And so they were unaccustomed, painfully uncouth in the simplest social intercourse, suffering, and yet insolent in their superiority. Then beneath was the yearning for the soul-intimacy


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HE SKIRT PATTERN should be bought by the hip measure. (Chapter 2, page 11, instructions on getting the right-size patterns.)

PATTERN ALTERATIONS. Before cutting your material compare the waist measure given on the pattern (envelope with your own waist measure, and if it is too large or too small it can be altered according to instructions given in Chapter 2, page 11.

Compare the front length of the pattern below the regulation waistline with the length you want to make your marked skirt. You will the front length of the pattern given on the pattern envelope. The regulation waistline is marked on the pattern. If the pattern is too long or too short for you, alter the length as explained in Chapter 3, pages 22 and 23. When you decide on the length of your skirt, you must also decide whether you will finish it with a hem or facing. Advice on the use of hems and facings is given in Chapters 18 and 19. If you are a woman of average height, you will have to make an allowance for tile hem in cutting. Ladies' patterns do not allow for hems except in special instances. If you are shorter than the average, the skirt pattern may be sufficiently long to allow for the hem. Misses' patterns give a three-inch-hem allowance. In the case of a tall girl, or of a small woman who is using a misses' pattern, it may he necessary to make an additional hem allowance if a hem is used.

If your figure is irregular in any way, if you have prominent hips or a prominent abdomen, etc., the skirt pattern should w altered as explained in Chapter 5, pages 28–30.

CUTTING. Before cutting your material read Chapter (on Materials, Sponging, Steaming, Cutting, etc.

Lay the pattern on the material according to the Deltor layouts included in the pattern. If the pattern does not contain a Deltor, follow the cutting instructions given with the pattern. If you are not familiar with perforations and their uses, read Chapter 2, pages 15 to 18.

Cutout the skirt following the advice given in Chapter (i. Mark all the perforations with tailors' tacks. (Chapter 16, page 85.)

The notches can either be clipped or marked with two or three stitches in basting-cotton. If you clip them, cut them so that you can see them distinctly, but do not make them any deeper than necessary.

For your wash skirt the inside belt should be shrunken before it is used.

FOUNDATION OR DROP SKIRT. China silk is the best and most satisfactory material for the foundation or drop skirt. However, for wearing qualities many women prefer some of the lining materials which are mixtures of silk and cotton, or the better grades of perealine.

For the transparent materials such as lace, net, chiffon, Georgette or silk voile, Brussels net is the best material for the foundation or the drop skirt.

If the pattern has a foundation skirt it should be made before the skirt itself. The Deltor or Illustrated Instructions will show you, with pictures how to make the drop skirt. Then make the outside skirt, tunic or drapery, following the Deltor or Illustrated Instructions.

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


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48 THE BELT. Make the belt following the pictures given in the Deltor or Illustrated Instructions.

Fasten your belt with good-sized hooks and eyes. Number eight is the best size to use for this purpose. For a belt of average width sew three hooks on the right end of the belt, placing them about one quarter of an inch in from the edge. Sew them through the rings and over the bill.

Sew three eyes on the left end of the belt, letting them extend far enough over the edge of the belt so as to fasten easily when the belt is hooked. Sew them through the rings and at the end of the belt. Except for a very narrow belt always use three hooks and eyes; with only two hooks and eyes a belt of ordinary width will bulge at the center.

PLAITS, SHIRRINGS, DRAPERIES, ETC. Lay in all the plaits, shirrings, draperies, etc., in the outside skirt, following the Deltor or Illustrated Instructions included in every Butterick pattern. Baste the seams. (Chapter 2, page 17.)

ALTERATIONS. Try the skirt on. If the above instructions have been followed at every point and each step of the work has been done carefully, the skirt should fit perfectly with possibly some minor adjustment of the length.

If through some small miscalculation the waist is too large, it can be taken in at the seam or darts if it is plain at the top. If the skirt is gathered, the gathers can be drawn a little closer. If it is plaited, the plaits can be made a trifle deeper.

If the waist is too small, the seams or darts can be let out if the skirt is plain at the top and allows for this alteration. If no allowance is made for this alteration, the skirt could be raised a trifle higher on the belt all the way around. If the skirt is gathered at the top, the fulness can be let out the necessary amount. If it is plaited, each plait can be let out a trifle.

In altering seams or darts the alteration should run gradually to the hip, unless the skirt is large or small at that point, in which case the alteration should run all the way to the bottom of the skirt. Be careful not to fit the skirt too tightly over the hips or the skirt will draw up and wrinkle when one sits down and will get out of shape. If the skirt sets properly, the center line at the front should be perpendicular.

HANGING A GORED SKIRT. To make sure a gored skirt is an even length all the way around, cut a strip of cardboard two inches wide and ten or twelve inches long. Make a notch at one long edge at the distance at which you want the skirt to clear the floor. Put your skirt on and stand on a table. (Ill. 85.) Have some one mark the correct length with the marker and pins. (Ill. 85.) Take the skirt off, turn it up at the pin-line and baste it.

Try the skirt on again, to be sure that the lower edge is perfectly even before hemming or facing it.

There are two ways of hanging a skirt if you have no one to help you. Take a straight, flat stick or a yard-stick long enough to reach from the floor to a line on the skirt which you can reach easily without bending. Just below the fullest part of the hips is the best point. Stand the stick upright on the floor, with one end touching your figure, and place a pin where the top of the stick touches the skirt. Move the stick around the figure a few inches at a time, marking it at each point. Take off the skirt and measure from the pins down to the correct length. Mark the correct length with pins. Turn it up, baste it and try it on.

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Rh Instead of using a stick you could make use of a dressing-table or any piece of furniture with a flat edge of a height that comes the right point just below the hip. Stand against the edge of the table and mark the skirt where the table touches it, turning slowly till you have marked all around the skirt. Then measure down the correct length as described above.

HANGING A CIRCULAR SKIRT. A circular skirt being cut on the bias will always stretch more or less. You should make it stretch as much as possible before hanging it, so that after the bottom is finished it will stretch as little as possible.

A skirt stretches because its own weight and the weight of the hem or facing draw it down. If you hang it up for two or three days properly weighted at the bottom, it will stretch as much as it can stretch and you can then hang it safely. Every woman who sews accumulates a lot of useless material which can be used to weight the lower part of the skirt. Fold the material in strips three or four inches wide and use sufficient strips to make four or five thicknesses. Pin the strips to the lower part of the skirt. (Ill. 86.) Pin the two halves of the skirt together at the top, and pin to the skirt loops of materials by which you can hang it up. (Ill. 86.) Slip the loops on hooks just far enough apart to hold out the belt evenly (Ill. 86) and let the skirt hang two or three days until the weight of the strips has stretched it thoroughly. Then you can turn up the lower edge of the skirt, following the directions given for hanging a gored skirt.

ALTERING THE LENGTH OF A STRAIGHT SKIRT. If the length is to be altered the same amount all the way around and the skirt is plain, the alteration can be made at the lower edge. If it hangs unevenly and must be altered more at some places than others, or the pattern has many markings for tucks, trimmings, etc., alteration must be made at the top so as not to lose the straight grain of the lower part of the skirt, and, if tucked, marked, for trimming, etc., so as not to alter the lines of the tucks or marks.

If a skirt has tucks, find out the amount to be taken up by the finished tucks and add that amount to the actual length of the skirt. Then stand on a footstool or pile of books tall enough to allow the entire skirt length, including the allowance for tucks, to hang straight. The skirt can then be hung, following the directions just given on the preceding page.

STITCH THE SEAMS.

PLACKET. Make a placket following the directions in the Deltor or Illustrated Instructions and in Chapter 21, pages 100–102.

THE FINISH OF THE SEAMS depends on the weight and texture of the material. The skirts of thin cotton materials and Georgettes may be finished with French seams (Chapter 17, page 86), or machine-hemstitched seams (Chapter 25, page 118), or the seams may be rolled and overcast (Chapter 17, page 87), or be cut close and overcast together. (Chapter 16, page 82.)

The seams in net, chiffon, etc., should be made as invisible as possible. They may be machine-hemstitched, rolled and overcast, or cut close and overcast together.

In wool, silk or satin materials seams can be pressed open (Chapter 32, page 154), or turned to one side and bound with ribbon seam-binding.

The seams can be pressed open and the edges turned under, stitched close to the turning, but not through the skirt. This is a quick finish and very neat. Or the edges may be finely overcast.

Wool materials and silks which do not fray, such as broadcloth, taffeta, crêpe de Chine, may be pinked. (Chapter 17, page 87.) Any of the French seams may be used for silk or

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50 satin. (Chapter 17, page 86.) The thinner silks may have machine hemstitched seams. (Chapter 25, page 118.)

For velvet it is best to hind the seams. (Chapter 17, page 88.)

For heavy cotton materials and gingham the seams may be pressed open or turned to one side and bound with lawn seam-binding. Gingham may also be finished with any of the French seams.

THE SEAM ALLOWANCE AT THE TOP OF THE SKIRT should be turned down on the inside of the belt and its edge covered with seam-binding. Press the seams. (Chapter 32, page 154.)

FINISH THE BOTTOM OF THE TUNIC OR DRAPERY according to the instructions given in the Del tor.

FINISH THE BOTTOM OF THE SKIRT WITH A HEM OR FACING. (Chapters 18 and 19.)

SEW ON THE HANGERS.

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Rh to which they could not attain because they were too dumb, and every approach to close connection was blocked by their clumsy contempt of other people. They wanted genuine intimacy, but they could not get even normally near to anyone, because they scorned to take the first steps, they scorned the triviality which forms common human intercourse.

Paul fell under Mrs. Leiver’s spell. Everything had a religious and intensified meaning when he was with her. His soul, hurt, highly developed, sought her as if for nourishment. Together they seemed to sift the vital fact from an experience.

Miriam was her mother’s daughter. In the sunshine of the afternoon mother and daughter went down the fields with him. They looked for nests. There was a jenny wren’s in the hedge by the orchard.

“I do want you to see this,” said Mrs. Leivers.

He crouched down and carefully put his finger through the thorns into the round door of the nest.

“It’s almost as if you were feeling inside the live body of the bird,” he said, “it’s so warm. They say a bird makes its nest round like a cup with pressing its breast on it. Then how did it make the ceiling round, I wonder?”

The nest seemed to start into life for the two women. After that, Miriam came to see it every day. It seemed so close to her. Again, going down the hedgeside with the girl, he noticed the celandines, scalloped splashes of gold, on the side of the ditch.

“I like them,” he said, “when their petals go flat back with the sunshine. They seem to be pressing themselves at the sun.”

And then the celandines ever after drew her with a little spell. Anthropomorphic as she was, she stimulated him into appreciating things thus, and then they lived for her. She seemed to need things kindling in her imagination or in her soul before she felt she had them. And she was cut off from ordinary life by her religious intensity which made the world for her either a nunnery garden or a paradise, where sin and knowledge were not, or else an ugly, cruel thing.

So it was in this atmosphere of subtle intimacy, this meeting in their common feeling for something in nature, that their love started.

Personally, he was a long time before he realized her. For


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HE DRESS PATTERN. Always buy the dress pattern for ladies according to the measures given on the pattern envelope. Directions for taking bust, waist and hip measures are given in Chapter 2, pages 10 and 11. Sometimes only the bust measure is given on the pattern, which means that that is the only measure necessary to consider in buying the pattern, and that the style is such that there is sufficient ease or fulness to permit of any reasonable alteration at the waist and hip. If, however, the bust, waist and hip measures are given on the envelope, all three must be considered in buying the pattern. Be careful not to buy one that is too small at any of those places.

For an extreme figure it is best to buy waist and skirt patterns separately instead of buying a complete dress pattern. Buy the waist by the bust measure and the skirt by the hip measure. (See Chapter 2.) In this way it is possible to get a pattern to meet the measures of the figure.

Dress patterns for misses should be bought by the age unless the girl is large or small for her age, in which case the pattern should be bought by the bust measure.

MATERIALS. For directions on the use of material, sponging and cutting read Chapter 6.

MAKING A DRESS. For either a one-piece dress or for a dress with a waist and skirt joined together, the same general rules apply to the making and finishing that are given in Chapters 7 and 8 on Waists, and Chapter 9 on Skirts.

The instructions in these chapters cover the making and finishing of every part of the dress except where a waist, blouse or shirt-waist is joined to the skirt at the waistline.

JOINING A WAIST AND SKIRT TO MAKE A ONE-PIECE DRESS. When a waist and skirt are to be put together, they are made separately and completely finished before they are joined. The inside belt of the waist, if there is one, however, should only be basted to the waist, and the inside belt of the skirt should be basted to the skirt but not sewed fast. When the waist and skirt are finished, put them on with the skirt over the waist and pin them together. Take them off and baste them together at the waistline. Try them on again to be sure that the waistline is in just the right place. If there was a belt-stay in the waist, take it out and fell the skirt belt to the waist or blouse.

AN UNLINED DRESS should be worn over a slip.

THE PATTERN. Instructions for buying a pattern for girls and children are given in Chapter 2, page 12. The same general rules for making and finishing that are given in the chapters on waists and skirts for ladies (Chapters 7, 8 and 9) apply to making children's garments, though of course girls' and children's dresses represent a very simple type, and the work is kept as simple as possible.

SAILOR AND NAVAL SUITS. The making of these dresses is handled in Chapter 11, page 53.

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150 ten months he had to stay at home after his illness. For a while he went to Skegness with his mother, and was perfectly happy. But even from the seaside he wrote long letters to Mrs. Leivers about the shore and the sea. And he brought back his beloved sketches of the flat Lincoln coast, anxious for them to see. Almost they would interest the Leivers more than they interested his mother. It was not his art Mrs. Morel cared about; it was himself and his achievement. But Mrs. Leivers and her children were almost his disciples. They kindled him and made him glow to his work, whereas his mother’s influence was to make him quietly determined, patient, dogged, unwearied.

He soon was friends with the boys, whose rudeness was only superficial. They had all, when they could trust themselves, a strange gentleness and lovableness.

“Will you come with me on to the fallow?” asked Edgar, rather hesitatingly.

Paul went joyfully, and spent the afternoon helping to hoe or to single turnips with his friend. He used to lie with the three brothers in the hay piled up in the barn and tell them about Nottingham and about Jordan’s. In return, they taught him to milk, and let him do little jobs—chopping hay or pulping turnips—just as much as he liked. At mid-summer he worked all through hay-harvest with them, and then he loved them. The family was so cut off from the world actually. They seemed, somehow, like “les derniers fils d’une race épuisée.” Though the lads were strong and healthy, yet they had all that over-sensitiveness and hanging-back which made them so lonely, yet also such close, delicate friends once their intimacy was won. Paul loved them dearly, and they him.

Miriam came later. But he had come into her life before she made any mark on his. One dull afternoon, when the men were on the land and the rest at school, only Miriam and her mother at home, the girl said to him, after having hesitated for some time:

“Have you seen the swing?”

“No,” he answered. “Where?”

“In the cowshed,” she replied.

She always hesitated to offer or to show him anything. Men have such different standards of worth from women, and her dear things—the valuable things to her—her brothers had so often mocked or flouted.

“Come on, then,” he replied, jumping up.


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52 FIRST SHORT DRESSES. The general rules for making infants' clothes (see Chapter 15, pages 73 and 80) apply to the first short dresses. They are very simple in construction.

DRESSES MADE WITH A CLOSING UNDER A PLAIT. This closing is often used in a plaited dress. The closing, cut under a plait and finished with laps for buttons and button-holes, is shown in Illustration 87. The slash for the opening is made under the plait a seam's width from the sewing. The laps are made double, and when attached should be a little narrower than the plait which covers them. By referring to the illustration, the method of joining the laps to the edges of the opening will be readily understood.

DRESSES MADE WITH YOKES. A yoke can be joined to a dress as shown in Illustration 88.

Cut the yoke and turn the edge under a seam's width, clipping the edge where necessary to make it lie flat. Baste the yoke over the top of the front of the dress. To the wrong side, baste a bias strip of material with its edges turned under. Place two rows of stitching across the yoke, stitching from the outside. They will catch through the bias facing that is basted underneath, and which covers the seam, making a neat finish on the inside. This finish is desirable for a dress made of any material which is not transparent, as it makes it unnecessary to line the yoke. If a lining is used, however, it is cut like the yoke pattern, and the top of the dress portion is enclosed between the turned-under edges of the yoke and its lining.

SMOCKING is a trimming much used on the better class of children's clothes here and abroad. It is used for dresses, rompers, coals and little boys' suits. It is very pretty in colors on dresses of fine white batiste, nainsook, plain lawn, handkerchief linen, cotton voile, very fine cotton crêpe and silk mull. It is also used on the heavier cotton materials in white or plain colors, on chambray, serge, broadcloth, crêpe de Chine, etc. It is very easy to do with the Butterick transfers, which not only give the design of the smocking but instructions for working it.

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Rh There were two cowsheds, one on either side of the barn. In the lower, darker shed there was standing for four cows. Hens flew scolding over the manger-wall as the youth and girl went forward for the great thick rope which hung from the beam in the darkness overhead, and was pushed back over a peg in the wall.

“It’s something like a rope!” he exclaimed appreciatively; and he sat down on it, anxious to try it. Then immediately he rose.

“Come on, then, and have first go,” he said to the girl.

“See,” she answered, going into the barn, “we put some bags on the seat;” and she made the swing comfortable for him. That gave her pleasure. He held the rope.

“Come on, then,” he said to her.

“No, I won’t go first,” she answered.

She stood aside in her still, aloof fashion.

“Why?”

“You go,” she pleaded.

Almost for the first time in her life she had the pleasure of giving up to a man, of spoiling him. Paul looked at her.

“All right,” he said, sitting down. “Mind out!”

He set off with a spring, and in a moment was flying through the air, almost out of the door of the shed, the upper half of which was open, showing outside the drizzling rain, the filthy yard, the cattle standing disconsolate against the black cart-shed, and at the back of all the grey-green wall of the wood. She stood below in her crimson tam-o’-shanter and watched. He looked down at her, and she saw his blue eyes sparkling.

“It’s a treat of a swing,” he said.

“Yes.”

He was swinging through the air, every bit of him swinging, like a bird that swoops for joy of movement. And he looked down at her. Her crimson cap hung over her dark curls, her beautiful warm face, so still in a kind of brooding, was lifted towards him. It was dark and rather cold in the shed. Suddenly a swallow came down from the high roof and darted out of the door.

“I didn’t know a bird was watching,” he called.

He swung negligently. She could feel him falling and lifting through the air, as if he were lying on some force.

“Now I’ll die,” he said, in a detached, dreamy voice, as though he were the dying motion of the swing. She watched


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LMOST invariably the small boy and girl, if given any voice in the choosing of their clothes, all select the suit that looks most like a uniform.

Women and young girls like middy costumes because they are attractive, useful and extremely comfortable for work or sports. This type of dress makes excellent school and play dresses.

Dark navy-blue flannel and bleached cotton drill are the materials used for these blouses or overshirts, as they are called. According to the regulations governing the uniforms of officers and enlisted men of the navy, the dark-blue flannel blouses are trimmed with white linen tape, while the cotton drill blouses are made with sailor collar and cuffs of dark-blue flannel, which are also trimmed with the tape.

In adapting this style for misses' and girls' wear, it is not necessary to be governed absolutely by the ironclad rules regarding color and material which are observed in the navy. Besides the regulation navy-blue and white, brown, gray and red and the unbleached "khaki" shades are considered quite correct for sailor dresses. Serge and cheviot are appropriate woolen materials, while linen, duck, piqué, chambray, galatea, etc., are a few of the suitable wash fabrics.

TO MAKE THE BLOUSE, baste the seams with notches matching, and try the blouse on, either by slipping over the head or lapping the fronts, as directed in the pattern instructions. If a yoke-facing is used, the underarm seams are left open to facilitate the work. The shoulder seams of the blouse are joined with the seams toward the outside; those of the yoke-facing toward the wrong side. Stitch and press the seams open.

The lower edge of the yoke is turned under a seam's width. If the yoke has a curved lower outline, the turned-under portion at the fullest part of the curves must be slightly eased, while at the sharp points it must be slashed as shown in Ill. 89. Lay the blouse flat on the table, spread out its entire length. Place the yoke on the blouse so that the shoulder seams come exactly together and the yoke lies smoothly on the blouse. Pin the yoke to hold it in place, then baste and stitch it to the blouse.

Plaits are made in the regulation sleeve by creasing from the perforations at the bottom to the corresponding perforations at cuff depth. These creases are brought over to the position marked by perforations and the plaits are stitched along the fold edge before the seam is closed.

Illustration 90 shows how the blouse may be laid out on the table for convenience in joining the sleeve. Baste the sleeve to the yoke with the usual three-eights-of-an-inch seam and then stitch it. Turn under the armhole of the blouse three-eighths of an inch, baste it over the seam, and fell it down. Make a second stitching on the body of the blouse one-quarter of an inch from the seam. The underarm and sleeve seams have been left open until now, making the work easier to handle and also making it possible

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54 Ill. 90. Setting in the Sleeve

to sew the rating badge on the sleeve properly. Close the underarm seams and the sleeve seams as notched, using flat felled seams. (Chapter 17, page 87.)

A hem is turned at the bottom of the blouse and if the pattern instructions direct, an elastic is inserted to hold the blouse in place.

THE COLLAR is joined to the neck with the seam toward the inside. (Ill. 91.) The collar is marked with notches showing where it joins the blouse, and in basting it on, the edge should be stretched between the notches to fit the corresponding edge of the blouse, thus causing the collar to roll closely about the neck. The outer edges are turned under three-eights of an inch and basted down. At the end of the slash in front, the turned-under portion tapes away to a point.

The outer facing is placed on the collar so carefully that the roll of the facing and collar will come exactly together and the ends are slipped under the fronts. (Ill. 92.) Baste along the roll. The neck edge of the facing is stretched sufficiently to make it lie smoothly when the collar is rolled back. After pinning the collar facing around the neck and down the front, roll the collar and facing over and roll the fronts back. Put your hand under the collar and smooth it outward, so that it does

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152 him, fascinated. Suddenly he put on the brake and jumped out.

“I’ve had a long turn,” he said. “But it’s a treat of a swing—it’s a real treat of a swing!”

Miriam was amused that he took a swing so seriously and felt so warmly over it.

“No; you go on,” she said.

“Why, don’t you want one?” he asked, astonished.

“Well, not much. I’ll have just a little.”

She sat down, whilst he kept the bags in place for her.

“It’s so ripping!” he said, setting her in motion. “Keep your heels up, or they’ll bang the manger-wall.”

She felt the accuracy with which he caught her, exactly at the right moment, and the exactly proportionate strength of his thrust, and she was afraid. Down to her bowels went the hot wave of fear. She was in his hands. Again, firm and inevitable came the thrust at the right moment. She gripped the rope, almost swooning.

“Ha!” she laughed in fear. “No higher!”

“But you’re not a bit high,” he remonstrated.

“But no higher.”

He heard the fear in her voice, and desisted. Her heart melted in hot pain when the moment came for him to thrust her forward again. But he left her alone. She began to breathe.

“Won’t you really go any farther?” he asked. “Should I keep you there?”

“No; let me go by myself,” she answered.

He moved aside and watched her.

“Why, you’re scarcely moving,” he said.

She laughed slightly with shame, and in a moment got down.

“They say if you can swing you won’t be sea-sick,” he said, as he mounted again. “I don’t believe I should ever be sea-sick.”

Away he went. There was something fascinating to her in him. For the moment he was nothing but a piece of swinging stuff; not a particle of him that did not swing. She could never lose herself so, nor could her brothers. It roused a warmth in her. It were almost as if he were a flame that had lit a warmth in her whilst he swung in the middle air.

And gradually the intimacy with the family concentrated for Paul on three persons—the mother, Edgar, and Miriam.


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Rh not wrinkle on the collar facing.

Turn the edge of the collar facing under, even with the collar. Baste the collar and the facing together across the bottom and sides up to the seam joining the collar and blouse. From that point down, take out the pins that hold the collar facing to the blouse.

The collar facing is trimmed with three rows of linen tape, set its own width apart and stitched on both edges. If you sew the tape on the collar facing after the latter is on the blouse, the stitching will show on the front of your yoke. Across the back of the collar it makes no difference, for the facing is on top, and the stitching underneath. Baste the linen tape carefully to the collar facing and stitch it on both edges.

After it has been stitched, the collar facing can be basted in place under the front. A row of stitching as close to the edge as possible should run around the entire outer edge. The inner edge of the collar facing must be turned under three-eighths of an inch. Wherever it is necessary, it must be clipped, or eased, like the edge of the yoke. After the edge is turned under, it is basted to the blouse. Across the back of the neck it is felled to the blouse, covering the seam, but down the fronts it is stitch with two rows of machine stitching, which makes a pretty decoration on the front of the blouse.

THE SHIELD is cut in one piece and may be simply hemmed, or, if preferred, lined throughout with lawn or cambric. It is trimmed with an emblem or star.

After both blouse and shield are finished, it is practical to make a few buttonholes along the neckline of the body part, under the collar, sewing buttons in corresponding positions on the shield to prevent it from shifting around out of place. A crow's-foot may be made at the lower end of the neck opening in front (Chapter 25, Page 128) and makes a neat, strong finish.

EMBLEMS AND CHEVRONS in the various groups, or sets of anchors, bars, eagles and stars, finished and ready to sew on can be bought, but they are never as satisfactory as the designs that can be stamped on the dress itself. Sometimes the figures are worked in the center of a piece of broadcloth or linen, which is cut square or oblong, or in shield shape, and attached to the sleeve with a row of catch-stitching.

The chevrons or stripes are not padded but should be made of strips of scarlet three-eighths of an inch wide, separated one-fourth inch and sewed on flat with an overlock stitch of scarlet silk on the edges.

In working the specialty marks and eagles, an easier plan than the one of cutting the figures out of pasteboard and working over them, is to baste a piece of canvas or crinoline on the wrong side of the material, and work right through it, cutting the edges of the canvas away after the figure has been completed.

Light-weight twisted embroidery silk, mercerized cotton, or a linen thread may be used to advantage, for in this work smoothness is the most desirable feature, and the threads should all be placed in such a way as to lie next to one another, but not overlap.

On suits of galatea, chambray, linen or any of the other cotton materials used for children's clothes, the work may be done with cotton, either plain or mercerized. This thread is more suitable than silk for suits which need frequent washing. The sleeve emblem

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56 Ill. 93. Emblems and Chevrons

may be repeated on the front of the blouse or shield, or a simpler design—a star or anchor, for instance—may be used if preferred.

The navy regulations state what material shall be used for the rating badge. Its decoration usually consists of a spread eagle above a specialty mark, and a class chevron.

For blue clothing, the eagle and specialty marks can be embroidered in white, and for white clothing they can be worked in blue silk. The position of the rating badge worn by petty officers is governed by naval uniform regulations.

The chevrons show the class of the officer, while the specialty marks indicate his position in the service.

In using these emblems on a blouse, one might select the specialty marks worn by the father or brother who is enlisted, or even an insignia indicating the trade or professional calling followed by a member of the family, such as engineer, electrician, etc.

The emblem may be placed on the shield also, and a five-pointed star should be embroidered on both corners of the collar. Excellent Butterick transfer patterns can be purchased for the emblems, stars, etc., used on sailor suits.

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THE NECKERCHIEF OR TIE worn with the blouse is a square of black silk tied in a square knot, leaving ends from four to six inches long. It is folded diagonally and then rolled up, with the two overlapping corners folded into the material and held together by an elastic, as shown in Illustration 96, while the other corners are tied at the lower end of the collar in a square knot with a corner extending from each side. (Ill. 97.)

THE SKIRT. If front openings in the skirt are desired, both edges of the front gore are underfaced to the depth of a placket opening, with a straight strip of material about one and one-half inches wide. The front edge of each side gore should have an underlap to the same depth, about one inch and a half wide when finished.

Join the gores together with stitched felled seams, continuing the stitching along the opening. If the skirt is to be plaited, the plaits will give sufficient material for the underlap. (Chapter 21, page 102.)

For a back lacing, the back plait is stitched separately from the skirt and the fold edges worked with six or eight eyelets (Chapter 24, page 115) and laced with black silk lacing or silk tape. (Ill. 99.)

The upper edge of the front gore is finished with a straight belt two inches wide. A continuous belt of the same width is attached to the side and back gores of the skirt. The belts are cut single and lined, with an interlining added if it is necessary. Three buttonholes are made at each side of the front gore, two on the skirt part and one on the belt. (Ill. 98.)

The sailor blouse may be used with a boy's suit. Instructions for making trousers will be found in Chapter 36.

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OR the amateur tailoring has lost all its terrors. For one thing, modern tailoring is much softer in effect than informer years. The use of canvas has been reduced to a minimum, and haircloth has disappeared. Furthermore the present figure with its straight lines is much easier to fit than the old-time hour-glass figure with the pronounced cures at bust, waist and hip.

And more important still, women are now given help with their tailoring that was never available before. The Deltor shows them exactly how to cut. and cutting is more vital to good tailoring than to almost any other type of costume. The Deltor and Illustrated Instructions also tell them exactly how to cut their interlining and where to place whatever canvas, etc. the coat requires, how to put the coat together, and just where to stitch it. The finish of a tailored garment has to be extremely neat and the subject is handled fully in the Deltor for finishing.

In fact the Deltor shows a woman the way to make a tailored garment just as a first-class tailor would make it. and as it does it with pictures it is perfectly easy for her to follow and understand. Tailored garments are very expensive to buy and the fact that they are put within the reach of the home dressmaker by the Deltor marks a great advance in home sewing.

THE COAT PATTERN. Buy the pattern by the measures given on the pattern envelope. It is only necessary to consider the measures given on the pattern. Be sure that you know exactly what your measures are. Instructions for measuring the figure are given in Chapter 2, pages 10–12.

Before cutting your material you must be sure that the pattern is the right length for you in the waist and sleeve. Directions for measuring the waist and arm are given on pages 19. 20 and 21, Chapter 3, on altering the Length of Patterns. If you are long or short waisted, alter the pattern according to the instructions given on these pages. Directions for altering the length of different types of sleeve patterns are given in this same chapter on pages 20 and 21. If your arm is long or short, alter the pattern according to the instructions given on these pages.

If you are making a long coat, it is also necessary to compare the length of the coat below the waistline with the length you want your coat when finished. If it is necessary to alter the length of the pattern, do so according to the instructions given on the pattern envelope.

If the figure is unusual in any way, the pattern should be altered following the instructions given in Chapter 4, "Altering: Waist Pattern for Figures that Vary from the Average." A trial coat should be made in muslin and altered, following the principles given in Chapter 4.

MATERIALS. With the exception of silk or velvet, coat materials should be thoroughly shrunk or steamed before they are cut. (Chapter 6, Materials, Sponging, Steaming, Cutting, Etc.)

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Rh CUTTING. When the material is ready, lay the pattern on it following the Deltor Layout for your size and width of material. If there is a nap, be sure to place the pieces so that the nap will run the same way in all the pieces. Otherwise if the nap runs up in some places and down in others, part of the coat will look darker than others and it will look almost as if it were another color. The Deltor gives layouts for both materials with a nap and without it when both are suitable for the design. For directions for cutting materials with a nap or pile and for cutting stripes and plaids read Chapter 6, "Materials, Sponging, Steaming, Cutting, etc.," pages 32–36. Follow the Deltor layout carefully in placing the pieces on your material, for if they are cut on the wrong grain of the material the garment will draw and stretch. Pin the pattern on the material very carefully, and with sufficient pins to hold it firmly, and cut it out with sharp dressmaking shears following the outline exactly. (Chapter 2, page 16.)

Mark all the perforations, except the ones that mark the grain line, with tailors' tacks. (Chapter 16. page 85.) The notches can either be marked with two or three stitches in basting cotton or they can be clipped. In many materials basting cotton makes a clearer mark and does not nick the edge of the material.

THE INTERLINING. The coat always requires more or less interlining. The kind of interlining material and the amount used varies with the type of the coat and with the current styles. The Deltor or Illustrated Instructions will tell you the right kind of interlining to use, how much to use and where to place it for each individual pattern. This interlining is not used for warmth, but to give the material sufficient body so that it will not break when the coat is on the figure, and make the material look poor and flimsy.

The interlining materials most generally used are soft pliable canvas, cotton serge or cambric for wool materials. In a linen coat use butchers' linen, cambric or muslin. For a silk coat the interlining should be cotton serge, sateen or cambric. All interlinings should be shrunken before they are used. (Chapter 6. page 32.) If the interlining is not shrunken beforehand it will shrink on the first damp day and will draw in and wrinkle the coat.

The interlining should be cut by the coat pattern following the instructions given in the Deltor or Illustrated Instructions.

Baste the interlining to the wrong side of the coat following the Deltor or Illustrated Instructions. Careful basting and plenty of it are essential to successful coat-making. The importance of basting can not be overestimated in this work. It is one of the vital points in tailoring.

PUTTING THE COAT TOGETHER. Baste the seams of the coat with the notches matching.

The Deltor or Illustrated Instructions will show you exactly how to put the coat together.

Try the coat on and if any alterations are necessary make them before stitching the seams.

Stitch all the seams of the coat. If they are to be finished with stitched or lapped seams (Chapter 17. pages 88–90), press them before they are finished. (Chapter 32, page 154.)

Lap the edges of the interlining flatly over each other. They should be catch-stitched.

FOR THE STRICTLY TAILORED COLLAR cut an interlining of tailors' canvas. Use the collar pattern as a guide, but cut the canvas three-eighths of an inch smaller at all edges than the pattern. The canvas should be shrunken before it is used (Chapter 6 page 32). The "stand" of the collar—the part next the neck that stands up when the coat is worn—is marked by perforations. It is a crescent-shaped section which should be covered with parallel rows of machine stitching about a quarter of an inch apart. (Ill. 100.)

PADDING STITCHES. The canvas and cloth on the turnover part of the collar, and

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60 in the lapel or revers on the front, must be held firmly by many small stitches called "padding stitches." (Ill. 101.) These stitches are about half an inch long on the canvas side and just barely caught through on the right side. Hold the collar or lapel firmly over the hand, the canvas side uppermost, and, in stitching, roll and shape the section in the direction in which it is to lie. (Ill. 101.) The stitch should be started at the line of the fold of the lapel or collar and worked in successive rows to the edge. The edges should be turned under, caught to the canvas and pressed.

On a coat which is sometimes worn rolled high there should be no padding stitches in the revers, as they would show when the coat is worn with the collar turned up.

Baste the collar, canvas side up, flat on the coat, according to the notches in the collar and in the neck. (Ill. 102.) Stretch the neck edge of the collar between the notches so that it will set smoothly on the coat. The upper or turnover part of the collar must lie flat, joining the turned-over lapels at the top of the fronts, to form the notched collar.

When the coat has advanced thus far, try it on. Fold over the lapel corners at the top of the fronts and see that the collar is the correct size and fits properly. If it does not, it may be shaped by shrinking, stretching and pressing. The front edges of the coat should lie close to the figure at the bust, and a well-fitted coat should hold itself in shape to the figure at this point, even when unbuttoned. If the coat is inclined to flare away at the front line, pin one or two small dart-like tucks about one-quarter of an inch wide at the coat's edge and running out to nothing about two inches inside the edge, to shape in the edge and take out the stretched appearance. Mark these tucks with chalk, remove the pins and slash in the canvas at each chalk mark. Lap the canvas the same space that the tucks were made, cut away one edge to meet the other, lay a piece of cambric over the slash and sew the cambric to hold it to shape. The cloth will still have the fulness that has been taken out of the canvas and must be gathered on a thread, dampened and shrunk out with the iron.

Cut away the interlining to within ⅜ inch of the front edges of the coat. Cut the hem allowance from the bottom of the interlining, turn the edges of the coat over on the interlining and catch-stitch them.

TAPING THE EDGES. Narrow linen tape, well shrunken, should be sewed to the canvas toward the inside of the coat at the crease of the lapel, drawing it taut to prevent stretching. (Ill. 102.)

The edges of the lapel and the front coat edges should also be taped (Ill. 102), drawing the tape snug at these edges to give them a good shape.

Press the fronts carefully. (Chapter 32.)

WEIGHTS. Flat lead weights about the size of a quarter are tacked in the bottom of the coat to weight it properly. Cover them with the lining satin so they will not wear through the lining. (Ill. 102.)

AN ADDITIONAL INTERLINING, if required for warmth, is made of outing flannel or the regular silk-and-wool interlining that comes for the purpose. (Ills. 103 and 104.) Cut it with the

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 IV.

(From the Books of King's College, Cambridge.)


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 end of the story. The storming of the Bastille was almost as much applauded in London as in Paris, but the burning, the plundering, the executions in the name of justice, by which the politest nation in the world seemed to be degrading itself by acts which would disgrace a horde of savages, soon alienated most Englishmen. The times were troublous ones, still the city of Paris maintained its round of gaiety undisturbed; for "Paris is a volcano with two craters, one of passion and one of pleasure." On the still fresh ruins of the grim Bastille, now demolished for ever, Frenchmen danced with glee. It was one way of showing that the ancient rêgime had for ever disappeared. The Revolution was accomplished amid song and dance—the "Marseillaise" and the "Carmagnole." In this country party passion ran high. Burke published his Reflections on the Revolution in France, in which he denounced in eloquent and impressive language the terrible doings in France. This book called forth many rejoinders, of which Tom Paine's Rights of Man, and Mackintosh's Vindiciæ Gallicæ are the most remarkable. We can see the reason why Burke spoke against Priestley; his opinions were considered heretical and violent. Priestley had written with great fierceness against the episcopacy and ecclesiastical governments generally, and regarded all civil establishments of Christianity, and all connections between Church and State, as abuses and barriers to the propagation of truth. Consequently, he and his friends rejoiced


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 at the advent of the French Revolution; when abuses of every description would be swept away, and the beginning of happy days for the human race. Priestley was at loggerheads with the Birmingham clergy on account of his opinions on theological matters, and with laymen he made enemies owing to his contemptuous allusions to King George III. and the royal family.

About this time Priestley was elected one of the eight foreign associates of the Académie des Sciences de Paris (the blue ribbon of science), and was, therefore, brought into correspondence with many savants who supported the Revolution in its early stages, and this fact only helped to add fuel to the fire that was even then smouldering.

Priestley was sorely hurt by the publication of Burke's book, and replied by publishing his Letters to Mr Burke, in which he maintained that the old aristocratic system, embracing both civil and ecclesiastical matters, was beginning to totter at its foundation—due to the salutary effect of the French Revolution. This exasperated the men of Birmingham, who were loyal to Church and King. They became furious, and all sorts of terms of vituperation were hurled at Priestley: he was " chaos in miniature, not worth God's notice." A verse to the national anthem is well worth quoting here:—


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144 well as his pleasure; but his generosity does not alter the fact that his acquaintances were very dull of conscience in money matters. One begins to relent a little toward Hogg, remembering that he did actually share his own funds with Shelley just after the expulsion from Oxford, when the latter could get no money, owing to his father's displeasure; and for Horace Smith, the banker, who sometimes advanced money to Shelley, and not too much, one has a feeling of amazed respect.

The worst misfortune of Shelley, however, in the friends he made, was to have met and married Harriet Westbrook. The circumstances of their union and its unlucky course and tragical close have lately been for the first time fully set forth. The marriage on Shelley's side was not originally one of love, but it became one of affection. For two years life went on without the discovery of anything to break the happiness of the pair; but after the birth of their first child trouble arose, and rapidly culminated. It is most likely that the sister-in-law, Eliza, who lived with them, was the source of the original dissension by her interference, arbitrariness, and control of Harriet; but, as Shelley had


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Rh grown in mind and character, the difference between him and his wife in endowment and in taste was bound to make itself felt, and to put an end to the unity of study and spirit of which he had dreamed; and it is clear enough that she had tired of the studies and the purposes in which Shelley's life consisted, and that though overborne for a time, by his influence, she was now showing herself worldly, frivolous, and weak. She had married the heir to a baronetcy and a fortune, and desired to profit by it. In one way and another she had become hard and unyielding toward Shelley, had made him thoroughly miserable, and, in the earlier months of 1814, was living away from him; and he, on his side, as late as May in that year, as appears from stanzas now first printed, was trying to soften her. While affairs were in this condition he first met Mary Godwin, and he fell passionately in love with her, all the more because of the long strain of dejection and loneliness; and in addition to the story of the dissensions that had arisen in his family, and the difference of character and temperament which had declared itself between his wife and himself, Shelley is said to have told Mary


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146 that Harriet had been unfaithful to him. If he did not tell her then, he did afterwards. On what evidence he relied we do not know; nor is there any confirmatory proof from other quarters except a letter of Godwin's written after Harriet's suicide, in which he states the same fact as coming from unquestionable authority unconnected with Shelley. Not long before his death Shelley renewed the charge, though in a veiled and inferential way, in a letter to Southey, in which he defends himself for his conduct in this matter, declares his innocence of any harm done or intended, refuses to be held responsible for the suicide of Harriet, and practically asserts that he had grounds for divorce, had he chosen to free himself in that way. There is no need to prove that Shelley was right in his belief of his wife's infidelity; but if it be thought that Shelley did in truth believe her guilty, that has much to do with our estimate of his action. He was twenty-two years old, or nearly that, and he held radical views as to the permanence and sacredness of the marriage bond, as also did Mary, who inherited them from her mother. Their decision to unite their lives, under these


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Rh, was a practical admission that Shelley's home was in fact broken up, and that he was free to offer, and Mary to accept, not legal union, but a common home, with the expectation and purpose of complete devotion one to the other, in a pure spirit and for the ordinary ends of marriage.

Shelley did not proceed secretly. He summoned Harriet, who had not thought of such serious results of her action, to London, and told her what he was going to do. She did not consent to the separation, nor does she seem to have regarded it as final. Shelley had a settlement made for her by the lawyers, provided credit for her, and two weeks after the interview left England with Mary. He wrote to Harriet on the journey, assured her of his affection and his care for her, and indulged a plan that she should live near them, which is, perhaps, the most surprising instance of Shelley's purity of mind, and of the unworldliness or unreality, as one chooses to call it, of his conception of how human life might be lived. On his return he saw her, and agreed to leave the children with her; and when his allowance was fixed at a thousand pounds, he gave orders to honor her drafts for two hundred pounds annually.


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148 She had an equal amount from her own family, which had been paid since the beginning of their married life. When Shelley left England the second time, she was thus provided for, one would think, sufficiently. On his return he lost sight of her, and was anxiously inquiring for her, when the news of her suicide reached him. She had put the children, of whom the eldest was three years old, out to board, at a time when he was ill; she had not been permitted to see her father; but the circumstances immediately surrounding her death are not known. Shelley, though he bore his share of natural sorrow for the death of one to whom he had been tenderly attached, did not hold himself guilty of any wrong.

It is no wonder that in the last few years of his life Shelley would not talk of his earlier days, and had a kind of shame in remembering in what ruin his hopes and purposes and the enthusiasm of his youth had fallen; he felt it as an indignity to the nobleness of spirit which, in spite of all his failures, he knew had been his throughout. As we see those years, it is only for himself that we prize them; and it is a pleasure to be enabled to look on them free from that


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Rh saddening retrospect of his own mind, and observe how natural and simple he really was. No one has ever had the days of his youth so laid open to the common gaze, and this is one charm of his personality, that we know him as a brother or a friend. The pages afford many happy anecdotes; but one can linger here only to mark the constant playfulness of Shelley, which was a bright element in his earlier career and not altogether absent in his Italian life. The passion for floating paper-boats, which he indulged unweariedly, is well known; but at all times he was ready for sport, and could even trifle with his dearest plans, as in the flotilla of bottles and aerial navy of fire-balloons, all loaded with revolutionary pamphlets, which he sent forth on the Devonshire coast. His running about the little garden, hand in hand with Harriet; his impersonating fabulous monsters with Leigh Hunt's children, who begged him "not to do the horn;" and his favorite sport with his little temporarily adopted Marlow girl, of placing her on the dining-table, and rushing with it across the long room, are instances that readily recur to mind, and illustrate the gayety and high spirits which


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150 really belonged to him, and which perhaps the Serchio last knew when it bore him and his boat on his summer-day voyages. This side of his nature ought to be remembered, as well as that "occasionally fiery, resentful, and indignant" quality which Godwin observed, and the intense and restless practicality of the impatient reformer, when one thinks of Shelley (as he has been too often represented) as only a morbid, sensitive, idealizing poet, of a rather feminine spirit. That portrait of him is untruthful, for he was of a most masculine, active, and naturally joyful nature.

After he left England for the last time, and took up his abode in Italy, principally, it would seem, because of the social reproach and public stigma under which he lived, and by which he felt deeply wronged, he was not really much more fortunate in his company. The immediate reason for the journey was to take Byron's natural daughter, Allegra, to her father at Venice; the mother, Miss Clairmont, went with them, and, as it turned out, continued to be a member of Shelley's family, as she had been since his union with Mary. It is now known that the Shelleys were ignorant of the


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Rh, both when it began in London, and afterward when they first met Byron at Geneva; but Shelley had a warm affection for Miss Clairmont, whose friendlessness appealed to his sympathy, and he spent much time in Italy in trying to make Byron do his duty toward Allegra, and to soften the ill-nature of her parents toward each other. Byron's conduct in this matter was a powerful element in generating in Shelley that thorough contempt he expressed for the former as a man. But though Shelley's most winning qualities are to be observed, and his tact was conspicuously called forth by their negotiations in regard to the child, yet the connection with Miss Clairmont was unfortunate. That it repeatedly drew scandal upon him was a minor matter; it was of more consequence that in his family she was a disturbing element, and Mary, who had disliked to have her as an inmate almost from the first, finally insisted on her withdrawal, but not until frequent disagreements had sadly marred the peace of Shelley's home. Mary, indeed, was not perfect, any more than other very young wives; and by her jealousies, and yet more, it seems, by her attempts to make Shelley conform to the


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152 world, especially in the last year or two, she tried and harassed him; and so it came about that his love took the form of tenderness for her welfare and feelings, and often of despondency for himself. Miss Clairmont was a source of continual trouble for him in many ways: she was of an unhappy temperament and hard to live with; but with his long-enduring and charitable disposition, and his extraordinary tenacity in attachment, and perfect readiness to admit the least obligation upon him, proceeding from any one in trouble, he never wavered in his devotion to her interests and care for her happiness. It is a curious fact that Miss Clairmont, who lived to be very old, manipulated the written records of this portion of her life, so that her evidence is of very questionable worth, though better, one hopes, than that of her mother, the second Mrs. Godwin, whose lying about the Shelleys was of the most wholesale and conscienceless kind.

As with Miss Clairmont, so in a less degree with others of the Italian circle. But enough has been said of the character of the people whom Shelley knew. It cannot be that they cut so poor a figure because of Shelley's presence, hard as the contrast of


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Roll back
I reverted your edit. At Wikisource the goal is to faithfully reproduce the original work. I am adding the welcome template below, so you can learn more about us. Don’t hesitate to ask questions. Jeepday (talk) 14:57, 6 January 2013 (UTC)

 * PS, If you believe your entry is a better translation then the previous. Feel free to restore it. My impression was that you changing the text to improve the wording, not as an attempt to create a better translation. (I probably should have asked first). Jeepday (talk) 15:01, 6 January 2013 (UTC)

 * I frankly would have preferred to have left the decision up to User:ShemIndex (particularly if you aren't fluent in hebrew), but it's ok. I'm not really sure how you define "translation" (whether syntax or contextual meaning) but i leave it between yourselves to decide what you want to do. blessings, daniel--Dmokhtar (talk) 16:12, 6 January 2013 (UTC)

Jeepday (talk) 14:57, 6 January 2013 (UTC)

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Rh common human nature must be with him. It is observable, and it is in some sort a test, that he did not overvalue them. Hogg, Peacock, and Medwin were all deceived, if they thought he trusted them or held them closer than mere friendly acquaintances; there is no evidence that he felt for Williams or Trelawney any more than an affectionate good will; toward Leigh Hunt he had the kindest feeling of gratitude and of respect, and for Gisborne and Reveley a warm cordiality, but nothing more. Mary he loved, though with full knowledge of her weaknesses, in a manly way; for Miss Clairmont he had a true affection; and he recognized poetically a womanly attractiveness in Mrs. Williams, who seems to have represented to him the spirit of restfulness and peace, in the last months of his life. But at the end, his errors respecting men and things being swept away, his ideals removed into the eternal world, and his disillusion complete, the most abiding impression is of the loneliness in which he found himself; and remembering this, one forgets the companions he had upon his journey, and fastens attention more closely upon the man through whose genius that journey has become one of undying memory.


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154 There is no thought of eulogizing him in saying that he represents the ideal of personal and social aspiration, of the love of beauty and of virtue equally, and of the hope of eradicating misery from the world; hence springs in large measure his hold on young hearts, on those who value the spirit above all else and do not confine their recognition of it within too narrow bounds, and on all who are believers in the reform of the world by human agencies. He represents this ideal of aspiration in its most impassioned form; and in his life one reads the saddest history of disillusion. It is because, in the course of this, he abated no whit of his lifelong hope, did not change his practice of virtue, and never yielded his perfect faith in the supreme power of love, both in human life and in the universe, that his name has become above all price to those over whom his influence extends. It is, perhaps, more as a man than as a poet merely that he is beloved; the shadows upon his reputation, as one approaches nearer, are burnt away in light; and he is the more honored, the more he is known. For it would be wrong to close even these informal remarks without expressing dissent from the assumption that


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Rh Shelley's intellectual and moral life was one long mistake. Disillusion it was, and the nature of it has been indicated by the single point of his acquaintances; but a life of disillusion and one of mere mistake are not to be confounded together. Better fortune cannot be asked for a youth than that he should conceive life nobly, and, in finding wherein it falls short, should yet not fall short himself of his ideal beyond what may be forgiven to human frailty. Shelley's misconceptions were the conditions of his living the ideal life at all, and differed from those of other youths in face of an untried world only by their moral elevation, passion, and essential nobleness; he matured as other men do by time and growth and experience, and he suffered much by the peculiar circumstances of his fate; but in the issue the substance of error in his life was less than it seems. Shelley, at least, never admitted he had been wrong in the essential doctrines of his creed and the motives of his acts, though he had been deceived in regard to human nature and what was possible to it in society.


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tīr-ēadigum menntorna gehwylces. Hēt ðā eorla hlēoin gefetian, heaðo-rōf cyning,Hrēðles lāfe golde gegyrede;næs mid Gēatum ðā sinc-māðþum sēlraon sweordes hād; þæt hē on Bīowulfesbearm ālegde, ond him gesealdeseofan þūsendo, bold ond brego-stōl.Him wæs bām samod on ðām lēod-scipelond gecynde, eard, ēðel-riht,ōðrum swīðor sīde rīce,þām ðǣr sēlra wæs. Eft þæt geīodeufaran dōgrum hilde-hlæmmum,syððan Hygelāc læg, ond Hear[dr]ēde hilde-mēceas under bord-hrēoðantō bonan wurdon, ðā hyne gesōhtanon sige-þēode hearde hilde-frecan,Heaðo-Scilfingas, nīða genǣgdannefan Hererīces— syððan *Bēowulfe brāde rīce

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Rh II

——,

You tell me that you fear your faith is far too roughly shaken to suffer now from anything that may be said against miracles: you are utterly convinced that they are false. As for the possibility of worshipping a non-miraculous Christ, "the very notion of it," you say, "is inconceivable: it seems like a new religion, and must surely be no more than a very transient phase of thought." But you would "very much like to know what processes of reasoning led to such a state of mind," and how long I have retained it.

I think I am hardly doing you an injustice in inferring from some other expressions in your letter, about "the difficulty which clergymen must necessarily feel in putting themselves into the mental position of the laity," that you entertain some degree of prejudice against my views, not only because they appear to you novel, but because—although you hardly like to say so—they come from a clerical source, and are likely to savour of clericalism. Let me see if I can put your thoughts into the plain words from which your own modesty and sense of propriety have caused you to refrain. "A clergyman," you say to yourself, "has enlisted; he has deliberately taken a side and is bound to fight for it. After twenty years of seeing one side of a question, or only so much of the other side as is convenient to see, how can even a candid, middle-aged cleric see two sides impartially? All his interests


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6 combine with all his sympathies to make him at least in some sense orthodox. The desire of social esteem, the hope of preferment, loyalty to the Church, loyalty to Christ Himself, make him falsely true to that narrow form of truth which he has bound himself to serve. Even if truth and irresistible conviction force him to deviate a little from the beaten road of orthodoxy, he will find his way back by some circuitous by-path; and of this kind of self-persuasion I have a remarkable instance in the person of my old friend, who rejects miracles and yet persuades himself that he worships Christ. He has cut away his foundations and now proceeds to substitute an aerial basis upon which the old superstructure is to remain as before. Such a novel condition of mind as this can only be a very transient phase."

I do not complain of this prejudice against novelty, although it comes ungraciously from one who is himself verging on advanced and novel views. It is good that new opinions should be suspiciously scrutinized and passed through the quarantine of prejudice. And when a man feels (as I do) that he has at last attained a profound spiritual truth which will, in all probability, be generally accepted by educated Christians who are not Roman Catholics, before the twentieth century is far advanced, he can well afford to be patient of prejudice. Even though the truth be not accepted now, it is pretty sure to be restated by others with more skill and cogency, and perhaps at a fitter season, and to gain acceptance in due time. But when you speak of my opinions as a "transient phase," which I am likely soon to give up, and when you shew a manifest suspicion that any modicum of orthodoxy in me must needs be the result of a clerical bias, then I hardly see how to reply except by giving you a detailed answer to your question about "the processes" by which I was led to "such a novel condition of mind." Yet how to do this


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Letter 2] without being somewhat egotistically autobiographical I do not know. Some good may come of egotism perhaps, if it leads you to see that even a clergyman may think for himself, and work out a religious problem without regard to consequences. So on the whole I think I will risk egotism for your sake. A few paragraphs of autobiography may serve as a summary of the argument which I might draw out more fully in future letters. If I am tedious, lay the blame on yourself and on your insinuation that my views must be "a transient phase." A man who is getting on towards his fiftieth year and has retained a form—a novel form if you please—of religious conviction for a full third of his life may surely claim that his views—so far at least as he himself is concerned—are not to be called "transient." Prepare then for my Apologia.

During my childhood I was very much left to myself in the matter of religion, and may be almost said to have picked it up in a library. I was never made to learn the Creed by heart, nor the Catechism, nor even the Ten Commandments; and to this day I can recollect being reproached by a class-master when I was nearly fourteen years old, for not knowing which was the Fifth Commandment. All that I could plead in answer was, that if he would tell me what it was about, I could give him the substance of the precept. Having read through nearly the whole of Adam Clarke's commentary as a boy of ten or eleven, and having subsequently imbued myself with books of Evangelical doctrine, I was perfectly "up," or thought I was, in the Pauline scheme of salvation, and felt a most lively interest—on Sundays, and in dull moments on week days, and especially in times of illness, of which I had plenty—in the salvation of my own soul. My religion served largely to intensify my natural selfishness. In better and healthier moments, my conscience revolted against it; and at times I felt that the morality of Plutarch's Lives was


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8 better than that of St. Paul's Epistles—as I interpreted them. Only to one point in the theology of my youthful days can I now look back with pleasure; and that is to my treatment of the doctrine of Predestinarianism and necessity. On this matter I argued as follows: "If God knows all things beforehand, God has them, or may have them, written down in a book; and if all things that are going to happen are already written down in a book, it's of no use our trying to alter them. So, if it's predestined that I shall have my dinner to-day, I shall certainly have it, even if I don't come home in time, or even though I lock myself up in my bedroom. But practically, if I don't come home in time, I know I shall not have my dinner. Therefore it's no use talking about these things in this sort of way, because it doesn't answer; and I shall not bother myself any more about Predestination, but act as though it did not exist." This argument, if it can be called an argument, I afterwards found sheltering itself under the high authority of Butler's Analogy; and I still adhere to it, after an experience of more than five and thirty years. To some, this "Short Way with Predestinarians" may seem highly illogical; but it works.

Up to this time I had been little, if at all, impressed by preaching. Our old Rector was a good Greek scholar and a gentleman; but he had a difficulty in making his thoughts intelligible to any but a refined minority among the congregation; and even that select few was made fewer, partly by an awkwardness of gesture which reminded one of Dominie Sampson, and partly by a grievous


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Letter 2] in his speech. Consequently I had been permitted, and indeed encouraged, never to listen, nor even to appear to listen, to the weekly sermon; and as soon as the Rector gave out his text, I used to take up my Bible and read steadily away till the sermon was over. This sort of thing went on till I was about sixteen years old; when a new Rector came to preach his first sermon. That was a remarkable Sunday for me. To my surprise, when he read out his text, and I, in accordance with unbroken precedent, reached out my hand for the invariable Bible, my father, somewhat abruptly, took it out of my hand, bidding me "for once shut up that book and listen to a sermon." I can still remember the resentment I felt at this infringement on my theological and constitutional rights, and how I stiffened my neck and hardened my heart and determined "hearing to hear, but not to understand." But I was compelled to understand. For here, to my astonishment, was an entirely new religion. This man's Christianity was not a "scheme of salvation;" it was a faith in a great Leader, human yet divine, who was leading the armies of God against the armies of Evil; "Each for himself is the Devil's own watchword: but with us it must be each for Christ, and each for all." The scales fell from my eyes. After all, then, Christianity was not less noble than Plutarch's lives; it was more noble. There was to be a contest; yet not each man contending for his own soul, but for good against evil. A Christian was not a mercenary fighting for reward, nor a slave fighting for fear of stripes, but a free soldier fighting out of loyalty to Christ and to humanity.

But what about the doctrine of the Atonement, Justification by Faith, and the other Pauline doctrines? About these our new Rector did not say much that I could understand. He was a foremost pupil of Mr. Maurice, and in Mr. Maurice's books (which now began to be read


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10 freely in my home) I began to search for light on these questions. But help I found none or very little, except in one book. Mr. Maurice seemed to me, and still seems, a very obscure writer. Partly owing to a habit of taking things for granted and "thinking underground," partly (and much more) owing to a confusing use of pronouns for nouns and other mere mechanical defects of style, he requires very careful reading. But his book on Sacrifice, after I had three times read it through, gave me more intellectual help than perhaps any other book on Christian doctrine; for here first I learned to look below the surface of a rite at its inner meaning, and also to discern the possibility of illustrating that inner meaning by the phenomena of daily life. It was certainly a revelation to me to know that the sacrifice of a lamb by a human offerer was nothing, except so far as it meant the sacrifice of a human life, and that the sacrifice of a life meant no more (but also no less) than conforming one's life to God's will, doing (and not saying merely) "Thy will, not mine, be done." If one theological process could be illustrated in this way, why not another? If "sacrifice" was going on before my eyes every day, why might there not be also justification by faith, imputation of righteousness, remission of sins, yes, even atonement itself? Thus there was sown in my mind the seed of the notion that all the Pauline doctrines might be natural, and that Redemption through Christ was only a colossal form of that kind of redemption which was going on around me, Redemption through Nature. This thought was greatly stimulated by the study of In Memoriam, which was given to me by a college friend about the time when I lost a brother and a sister, both dying within a few weeks of one another. I read the poem again and again, and committed much of it to memory; and it exerted an "epoch-making" influence on my life. However, for a long time this notion of the


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Letter 2] naturalness of Redemption existed for me merely in the germ.

Meantime, as to the miracles I had no doubts at all, or only such transient doubts as were suggested by pictures of Holy Families and other sacred subjects, which exhibited Christ as essentially non-human, with a halo around his head, or as an infant with three outstretched fingers blessing his kneeling mother. As a youth, I took it for granted that God could not become man save by a miracle, and therefore that the God-man must work miracles. Further, I assumed that Moses and some of the prophets had worked miracles, and if so, how could it be that the Servants should work miracles and the Son should not? As I grew towards manhood, such rising qualms of doubt as I felt on this point were stilled by the suggestion (which I found in Trench's book on miracles) that the miracles of Christ must be in accordance with some latent law of spiritual nature. It was a little strange certainly that these latent laws should be utilised only for the children of Abraham, and it was inconvenient that the miracles of Moses should be, materially speaking, so stupendously superior to those of Christ; but I took refuge in the greater beauty and emblematic meaning of the latter. Even at the time when I signed the Thirty-nine Articles I had no suspicion that the miracles were not historical. Partly, I had never critically and systematically studied the Gospels as one studies Thucydides or Æschylus; partly the miracles had always been kept in the background by my Rector and the books of the Broad Church School, and I had been accustomed to rest my faith on Christ Himself and not on the miracles; and so it came to pass that, for some time after I was ordained, I was quite content to accept all the miracles of the Old and New Testaments, and to be content with the explanation suggested by "latent laws."


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12 But now that I was ordained, I set to work in earnest (the stress of working for a degree and the need of earning one's living had left no time for it before) at the study of the New Testament. Of course I had "got it up" before, often enough, for the purpose of passing examinations; but now I began to study it for its own sake and at leisure. While reading for the Theological Tripos I had been struck by the inadequacy of many of the theological books that I had had to "get up." Especially on the first three Gospels—looking at them critically, as I had been accustomed to look at Greek and Latin books—I was amazed to find that little or nothing had been done by English scholars to compare the different styles and analyse the narratives into their component parts. For such a task I had myself received some little preparation. I had picked up my classics without very much assistance from the ordinary means, mainly by voluntarily committing to memory whole books or long continuous passages of the best authors, and so imbuing myself with them as to "get into the swing of the author." I had early begun to tabulate these differences of style; and in my final and most important University examination I remember sending up more than one piece of composition rendered in two styles. Though I was never a first-rate composer, owing to my want of practice at school, this method had succeeded in bringing me to the front in "my year;" and I now desired to apply my classical studies to the criticism of the first three Gospels. It seemed to me a monstrous thing that we should have three accounts of the same life, accounts closely agreeing in certain parts, but widely varying in others, and yet that, with all the aids of modern criticism, we should not be able to determine which accounts, or which parts of the three accounts, were the earliest. At the same time I began to apply the same method, though without the same attempt at exactness,


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Letter 2] to the study of the text of Shakespeare; in which I perceived some differences of style that implied difference of date, and some that appeared to imply difference of authorship.

About this time people began to talk in popular circles concerning Evolution, and alarm began to be felt in some quarters at the difficulty of harmonizing its theories with theology. With these fears I never could in the least degree sympathize. I welcomed Evolution as a luminous commentary on the divine scheme of the Redemption of mankind. That most stimulating of books, the Advancement of Learning, had taught me to be prepared to find that in very many cases "while Nature or man intendeth one thing, God worketh another;" and it was a joy to me to find new light thrown by Evolution on the unfathomable problems of waste, death, and conflict. Death and conflict could never be thus explained—I knew that—but one was enabled to wait more patiently for that explanation which will never come to us till we are behind the veil, when one found that death and conflict had at least been subordinated to progress and development. So I thought; and so I said from the pulpit of one of the Universities in times when the clergy had not yet learned to call Darwin "a man of God." My doctrine was thought "advanced" in those days; but time has gone on and left me, in some respects, behind it. I should never have thought, and should not think now, of calling Darwin "a man of God," except so far as all patient seekers after truth are men of God: but I still adhere to the belief that Evolution has made it more easy to believe in a rational, that is to say a non-miraculous, though supernatural, Christianity.

In this direction, then, my thoughts went forward and, so far, found no stumbling-block. Guided by the poets and analytic novelists, I was also learning to find in the


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14 study of the phenomena of daily life fresh illustrations of the Pauline theology, confirming and developing my notion (now of some years' standing) that the Redemption of mankind was natural, nothing more than a colossal representation of the spiritual phenomena that may be seen in ordinary men and women every day of our lives; just as the lightning-flash is no more than (upon a large scale) the crackling of the hair beneath the comb. Good men and women, I perceived, are daily redeeming the bad, bearing their sins, imputing righteousness to them, giving up their lives for them, and imbuing them with a good spirit. This thought, as it gained force, was a great help towards a rational Christianity.

But now my feet began to be entangled in snares and pitfalls. I had begun the study of the Greek Testament, believing that it would bring forth some new truth, and assuming that all truth must tend to the glory of God and of Christ. "Christ," I said, "is the living Truth, so that I have but, as Plato says, to 'follow the Argument,' and that must lead me to the truth, and therefore to Him." But I was not prepared for the result. After some years of work I found myself gradually led to the conclusion that the miraculous element in the Gospels was not historical. A mere glance at the Old Testament shewed that, if there was not evidence enough for the miracles in the New Testament, much less was there for the miracles in the Old.

Before me rose up day by day fresh facts and inferences, not only demonstrating the insufficiency of the usual evidence to prove that the miracles were true, but also indicating a very strong probability that they were false. Often, as I studied the accounts of a miracle, I could see it as it were in the act of growing up, watch its first entrance into the Gospel narrative, note its modest beginning, its subsequent development: and then I was


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Letter 2] forced to give it up. Worst of all, that miracle of miracles which was most precious to me, the Resurrection of Christ, began to appear to be supported by the feeblest evidence of all. I had not at that time learned to distinguish between the Resurrection of Christ's material body and the Resurrection of His Spirit or spiritual body. Christ's Resurrection seemed to me therefore in those days to be either a Resurrection of the material and tangible body or no Resurrection at all. Now for the Resurrection of the material body I began to be forced to acknowledge that I could find no basis of satisfying testimony. I had heard an anecdote of the Head of some College of Oxford in old days, how he fell asleep after dinner in the Combination Room, while the Fellows over their wine were discussing theology, and presently made them all start by exclaiming as he awoke, "After all there is no evidence for the Resurrection of Christ!" I realized that now, not with a start, but gradually, and with a growing feeling of deep and wearing anxiety. If the Resurrection of Christ fell, what was to become of my faith in Christ?

Amid this impending ruin of my old belief I saw one tower standing firm. It was clear that something had happened after the death of Christ to make new men of His disciples. It was clear also that St. Paul had seen something that had induced him to believe that Christ had risen from the dead. That which had convinced St. Paul, an enemy, might very well convince the Apostles, the devoted followers of Christ. What was this something? It seemed to me that I ought to try to find out. Meantime, I determined to adopt the advice I gave you in my last letter—to stand upon the old ways and look around me and consider my path before taking another step. Circumstances had placed me in such a position that I was not called on to decide whether a clergyman


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16 could entertain such views as were looming on me, and remain a clergyman. I was not engaged in any work directly or indirectly requiring clerical qualifications; and as far as my affections and sentiments were concerned, I went heartily with the services of the Church of England.

So I resolved to put aside all theology for two or three years and to devote myself, during that time, to literary work of another kind. Meantime, I would retain, as far as possible, the old religious ways of thought, and, at all events, the old habits. None the less, I would not give up the intention of investigating the whole truth about the Resurrection. That there was some nucleus of truth I felt quite certain; and even if that truth had been embedded in some admixture of illusion, what then? Were there no illusions in the history of science? Were there no illusions in the history of God's Revelation of Himself through the Old and New Testaments? Might it not be God's method of Revelation that men should pass through error to the truth? This line of thought seemed promising, but I would not at once follow it. I would wait three years and then work out the question of the influence of illusion on religious truth.

An old college acquaintance, an agnostic, whom I met about this time, was not a little startled when I told him my thoughts. He frankly informed me that, though I was "placed in a painful position," I was "bound to speak out." I also thought that I was "bound to speak out;" but I did not feel bound to obtrude immature views upon the world, with the result perhaps of afterwards altering or recanting them. So I took time, plenty of time; I looked about me, on life as well as on books; I formed a habit of testing assumptions and asking the meaning of common words, especially such words as knowledge, faith, certainty, belief, proof, and the like. Believing that


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Letter 2] theology was made for man and not man for theology, I began to test theological as well as other propositions by the question "How do they work? "Meantime I tried my utmost to do the duties of my daily life without distraction and with the same energy as before, hoping that life itself, and the needs of life, would throw some light upon the question, "What knowledge about God is necessary for men who are to do their duty? And how can that knowledge be obtained?"

By these means I was led to see that a great part of what we call knowledge does not come to us, as we falsely suppose it does, through mere logic or Reason, nor through unaided experience, but through the emotions and the Imagination, tested by Reason and experience. Even in the world of science, I found that the so-called "laws and properties of matter," nay, the very existence of matter, were nothing more than suggestions of the scientific Imagination aided by experience. A great part of the environment and development of mankind appeared to have been directed towards the building up of the imaginative faculty, without which, it seemed that religion, as well as poetry, would have been non-existent. So by degrees, it occurred to me that perhaps I had been on the wrong track in my search after religious truth. I had been craving a purely historical and logical proof of Christ's divinity, and had felt miserable that I could not obtain it. But now I perceived that I was not intended to obtain it. Not thus was Christ to be embraced. There must indeed be a basis of fact: but after all it was to that imaginative faculty which we call "faith," that I must look, at least in part, for the right interpretation of fact. That Christ could be apprehended only by faith was a Pauline common-place; but that Christ's Resurrection could be grasped only by faith, and not by the acceptance of evidence, was, to me, a new proposition. But I gradually


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18 perceived that it was true. I might be doubtful whether Thomas touched the side of the risen Saviour, yet sure that Christ had risen from the dead in the Spirit, and had manifested Himself after death to His disciples. My standard of certainty being thus shifted, many things of which I had formerly felt certain became uncertain; but, by way of compensation, other things—and these the most necessary and vital—became more certain than ever. I felt less inclined to dogmatize about the existence of matter; but my soul was imbued with a fuller conviction of the existence of a God; and deeper still became the feeling that, so far as things are known to me, there is nothing in heaven or earth more divine than Christ.

Thus at last light dawned upon my darkness; and when the sun rose once more upon me, it was the same sun as before, only more clearly seen above the mists of illusion which had before obscured it. The old beliefs of my youth and childhood remained or came back to me, exhibiting Jesus of Nazareth as the Incarnate Son of God, the Eternal Word triumphant over death, seated at the right hand of the Father in heaven, the source of life and light to all mankind. Like Christian in Pilgrim's Progress, I found myself suddenly freed from a great burden—a burden of doubts, and provisos, and conditions which, in old days, had seemed to forbid me from accepting Jesus as the Lord and Saviour of mankind unless I could strain my conscience to accept as true a number of stories many of which I almost certainly knew to be false. In order to believe in Christ, it was now no longer needful to believe in suspensions of the laws of Nature: on the contrary, all Nature seemed to combine to prepare the way to conform humanity to that image of God which was set forth in the Incarnation. I did not, as some Christians do, ignore the existence of Satan (and almost


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Letter 2] of sin) which Christ Himself most clearly recognized; but I seemed to see that evil was being gradually subordinated to good, and falsehood made the stepping-stone to truth.

Through evil to good; through sin to a righteousness higher than could have been attained save through sin; through falsehood to the truth; through superstition to religion—this seemed to me the divine evolution discernible in the light that was shed from the cross of Christ. No longer now did it seem impossible or absurd that the Gospel of the Truth might have been temporarily obscured by illusions or superstitions even in the earliest times.

I think it must be now some ten years since I settled down to the belief that the history of Christianity had been the history of profound religious truth, contained in, and preserved by, illusions; an ascent of worship through illusion to the truth. A belief that has been fifteen years in making, and for ten years more has been reviewed, criticized, and finally retained as being historically true and spiritually healthful, you must not call, I think, "a transient phase." But I forgive you the expression. A dozen pages of autobiography are a sufficient penalty for three offending words.


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CANTO II.] CANTO THE SECOND.

Spirit of the fervent days of Old,

When words were things that came to pass, and Thought

Flashed o'er the future, bidding men behold

Their children's children's doom already brought

Forth from the abyss of Time which is to be,

The Chaos of events, where lie half-wrought

Shapes that must undergo mortality;

What the great Seers of Israel wore within,

That Spirit was on them, and is on me,

And if, Cassandra-like, amidst the din

Of conflict none will hear, or hearing heed

This voice from out the Wilderness, the sin

Be theirs, and my own feelings be my meed,

The only guerdon I have ever known.

Hast thou not bled? and hast thou still to bleed,

Italia? Ah! to me such things, foreshown

With dim sepulchral light, bid me forget

In thine irreparable wrongs my own;

We can have but one Country, and even yet

Thou'rt mine—my bones shall be within thy breast,

My Soul within thy language, which once set

With our old Roman sway in the wide West;

But I will make another tongue arise

As lofty and more sweet, in which expressed

The hero's ardour, or the lover's sighs,

Shall find alike such sounds for every theme

That every word, as brilliant as thy skies,

Shall realise a Poet's proudest dream,