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 other parley in March. A few days later Tyrone wrote to O'Donnell that he had refused to make peace, and advised him to strengthen himself in Connaught. The day appointed for the parley arrived, but Tyrone asked that it might be postponed, ‘pretending that his pledges were not changed according to covenant, nor restitution made him by those that had purged his country, and that his confederates could not come so soon.’ Norris, Bourchier, and Fenton, who had been appointed to treat with him, replied that they were not to be deluded with his excuses, and fixed 16 April as the last day of grace. Meanwhile, a ship from Spain arrived in Donegal, and Tyrone hastened to Lifford to learn the news. He asserted at the same time that, ‘if all the Spaniards in Spain should come into Ireland, they could not alter his mind from being a dutiful subject to her majesty, if promise was kept with him;’ but by this time neither Norris nor Fenton believed him, and Tyrone thought it prudent not to go to Dundalk on 16 April.

On 22 May Russell surrendered the sword of state to Thomas, lord Borough, and on the same day Norris wrote to Tyrone, offering a final meeting for 20 June. The new deputy, who declared that he was ‘not so covetous of action that he would not most willingly hearken to terms of humiliation,’ refused to be deluded by Tyrone's excuses, and sternly reproved him for his disloyalty. A general hosting was proclaimed for 6 June, and a day or two later Captain Turner attacked Tyrone between Newry and Armagh. The earl was completely taken by surprise, but managed to escape, with the loss of his horse and hat, into a neighbouring bog. Armagh was revictualled by Turner, and Tyrone withdrew across the Blackwater. On 14 July the lord deputy captured the fort on the Blackwater, and, having placed a strong garrison in it, returned to Dublin. But Tyrone, who ‘hanged twenty of his knaves that were appointed for the defence of the sconce,’ pressed the garrison so closely that Borough was compelled to return to their relief. Succeeding in this, but failing to come to ‘prick proke’ with Tyrone, he was pushing forward to Dungannon, when he was taken suddenly ill, and compelled to retire to Newry. There he died, a few days later, on 13 Oct. It was anticipated that Tyrone would seize the opportunity to overrun the Pale, which, according to Loftus, he could very easily have done, ‘even to the gates of Dublin.’ But instead of doing so, he wrote submissively to the state, and on 22 Dec. humbly submitted himself to the Earl of Ormonde at Dundalk, ‘and upon the knees of his heart professed most hearty penitence for his disloyalty, and especially his foul relapses thereinto.’ He promised to renounce the title of O'Neill, to refrain from putting obstacles in the way of victualling the fort on the Blackwater; and undertook not to correspond with Spain or any other foreign nation. Ormonde promised to transmit his grievances and petitions, in which ‘free liberty of conscience for all the inhabitants of Ireland’ held the foremost place, to Elizabeth, and on these terms a truce for eight weeks, subsequently renewed to 7 June 1598, was concluded.

His pardon passed the great seal on 11 April 1598; but, feeling that the demands of the crown, if yielded to, would completely destroy his authority over his urraghs, he took advantage of the expiration of the truce to besiege the fort on the Blackwater. His efforts to capture it were not successful, but lack of provisions before long reduced the garrison to the direst extremities. In August a strong force, under the command of Marshal Sir Henry Bagenal, was sent to relieve it; but on 14 Aug. it was cut to pieces and almost annihilated by Tyrone at Beal-an-atha-buidhe, or the Yellow Ford on the Blackwater. The government was panic-stricken at the news. But Tyrone, who might have marched directly on Dublin, showed no ability to profit by his unexpected victory, and was content to allow the remnants of Bagenal's army to retreat to Newry, ‘so that the fort might be delivered him, to the governor whereof, Captain Williams, and his soldiers, he would give no better conditions than to depart in their doublets and hose only with rapier and dagger.’ As a result of the victory, the smouldering elements of discontent burst everywhere into open activity. Nowhere was the effect more visible than in Munster, which, in the expressive language of the Irish annalists, again became ‘a trembling sod.’ But three months elapsed before Tyrone showed any appreciation of the advantage he had won, or manifested any design of extending his operations beyond the limits of a provincial revolt. In October he sent a strong force into Munster under Tyrrell, and Cecil was informed ‘that the very day they set foot within the province, Munster to a man was in arms before noon.’ The general estimation in which Tyrone was at this time held may be gathered from the fact that the king of Spain was said to have stayed all Irish ships that had not the earl's pass. Under his protection James Fitzthomas Fitzgerald, commonly called the Sugan Earl [q. v.], assumed the title of Earl of Desmond, and before long found himself at the head of eight thousand clansmen. Donald MacCarthy, Florence MacCarthy's


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 to Dublin, he was greatly chagrined on learning of the death of Elizabeth; but he signed the proclamation of James I, and on 8 April renewed his submission before the lord deputy and council in Dublin. He consented to go to England, and about the end of May he sailed with Mountjoy and Rory O'Donnell [q. v.] on board the Tramontana.

Narrowly escaping shipwreck on the Skerries, he and his companions landed at Beaumaris, and immediately proceeded to London, where they arrived, not without some rough experience on Tyrone's part of the feelings of hostility with which he was regarded by Englishmen, on 4 June. He was graciously received by the king at Hampton Court, and confirmed in his title and estate. But a feeling of bitter hostility towards him prevailed. ‘I have lived,’ exclaimed Sir John Harington, ‘to see that damnable rebel Tyrone brought to England, honoured, and well liked. … How I did labour after that knave's destruction! … who now smileth in peace at those who did hazard their lives to destroy him.’ He returned to Ireland towards the end of August, and was shortly afterwards involved in a dispute with Donnell O'Cahan [q. v.], formerly his principal urragh, but, by the terms of his submission to Sir Henry Docwra on 27 July 1602, constituted an independent chieftain. Tyrone maintained that O'Cahan's independence was incompatible with the terms of his own restoration, and insisted on exacting his customary rents from him. He was supported by Mountjoy, and O'Cahan submitted. Subsequently, during the deputyship of Sir Arthur Chichester, it became the object of the government to reverse Mountjoy's policy, and, by persuading the minor chiefs ‘to depend wholly and immediately’ upon the crown, to break down the territorial influence of the native aristocracy. At the instigation of George Montgomery, bishop of Derry, O'Cahan in 1606 renewed his suit against Tyrone. The government, which, without having anything very definite to charge Tyrone with, had for some time past suspected his intention to raise up a fresh rebellion, thought the matter worthy of close attention, and in April 1607 summoned the earl to Dublin to answer O'Cahan's plaint. Whether the suspicions of the government were well founded or not—and subsequent revelations seem to show that they were—Tyrone's violent behaviour towards O'Cahan in the council-chamber greatly damaged his cause. The government, unable to come to any definite conclusion, referred the matter to the king's decision, and Tyrone promised to go to London.

Meanwhile information had reached Cuconnacht Maguire in the Netherlands that it was intended to arrest Tyrone if he went to England. Subsequent arrests seem to prove that the information was not so ill-founded as has been imagined, though the undisguised surprise of Chichester when he heard of Tyrone's flight proves that he at least was unaware of any such design. Maguire at any rate believed the information to be sufficiently reliable to justify him in sending a vessel of eighty tons into the north of Ireland in order to facilitate his escape. Tyrone was at Slane with the lord deputy when the news of its arrival reached him. He seems to have come to an immediate decision, and it was afterwards recollected ‘that he took his leave of the lord deputy in a more sad and passionate manner than he used at other times.’ His wife, who hated him for his brutality, showed some reluctance to accompany him, but he swore to kill her on the spot ‘if she would not pass on with him and put on a more cheerful countenance withal.’ In the hurry of the flight his youngest son, Con, was left behind. At midnight on 14 Sept. 1607 Tyrone, Tyrconnel, their wives and retainers—ninety-nine persons in all—‘having little sea-store, and being otherwise miserably accommodated,’ sailed from Rathmullen.

The story of the flight was written in Irish by Teigue O'Keenan, a member of a family who acted as ollavs or hereditary bards to Maguire, in 1609. The original, which is incomplete, is preserved in the Franciscan convent removed from Rome to Dublin, and forms the basis of C. P. Meehan's ‘Fate and Fortunes of Tyrone and Tyrconnel.’ Intending to make for Spain, the fugitives encountered a violent storm, which drove them out of their course, and after three weeks' buffeting about they were glad to make the mouth of the Seine. Proceeding to Rouen, they were on their way to Paris, when, in consequence of the remonstrances of the English ambassador, they were compelled to withdraw into the Spanish Netherlands. Passing through Amiens, Arras, Douay, and Brussels, where they were splendidly entertained by Spinola, they reached Louvain on 9 Nov. There they passed the winter, and there Tyrone drew up that extraordinary catalogue of his grievances now preserved in the Record Office, London, which must astonish any one who expects to find in it any adequate explanation of his flight. Debarred from entering Spain, Tyrone accepted the hospitable offer of Paul V to take up his abode in Rome, and on 28 Feb. 1608 he and his companions, now reduced to thirty-two persons, left Louvain. They reached Rome at the end of April, and were

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Rh welcomed by a large concourse of ecclesiastics and others. The pope granted them an audience on the following day, and assigned to Tyrone a monthly pension of a hundred crowns, a house (called the Borgo Vecchio) rent free, together with an allowance of bread and wine for ten persons; the king of Spain added four hundred ducats a month. Rory O'Donnell, earl of Tyrconnel, died in June 1608, and in December 1613 Tyrone, who by that time was probably fully convinced of his folly in leaving Ireland, made overtures through the Earl of Somerset for his restoration. But his overtures met with no response from the government, which was engaged in perfecting the plantation of Ulster, to which in the following year the Irish parliament gave its sanction by passing an act of outlawry and attainder against the fugitives. Tyrone talked of recovering his inheritance by force of arms, and lived in hope of seeing and profiting by a rupture between England and Spain. But the government contented itself with watching his movements and taking such steps as were necessary to frustrate his designs. He was seized with a settled melancholy. His eyesight failed him at the beginning of 1616, and later in the year he was prostrated by frequent attacks of intermittent fever, to which he eventually succumbed on 20 July. He is said to have been buried with great pomp and ceremony between his eldest son and the Earl of Tyrconnel in the church of San Pietro di Montorio. The absence of any memorial slab, and the existence of several copies (Egerton MSS. 127 [39], 155 [60], 174 [8]) of a poem by an anonymous author on seeing his skull, beginning ‘O Man that gazest on the bone,’ lead irresistibly to the conclusion that his remains were subsequently removed, but to what final resting-place is not known.

Tyrone's first wife was a daughter of Sir Brian MacPhelim O'Neill, lord of Clandeboye, whom he divorced, and who subsequently married Niall MacBrian Faghartach O'Neill. His second wife, the daughter of Hugh MacManus O'Donnell, died in 1591. By her he had Hugh, called the baron of Dungannon, who died in Rome in September 1608, and was buried in San Pietro di Montorio; Henry, a colonel of an Irish regiment in the archduke's army, who died about 1626; Ursula, said to have been married to Sir Nicholas Bagenal, and two other daughters—one married to Magennis, and the other to Richard Butler, viscount Mountgarret. The circumstances of his marriage with his third wife, Mabel, the daughter of Sir Nicholas Bagenal, have already been recounted. His fourth wife was a daughter of Sir Hugh Magennis of Iveagh. She accompanied him in his flight, and is believed to have died at Louvain in 1607. She was the mother of Shane Niall or John O'Neill, who entered the Spanish army, was called ‘El conde de Tyrone,’ and was killed in Catalonia in 1641; Con Brian, who either was murdered or committed suicide at Brussels on 16 Aug. 1617; and several daughters, one of whom married Sir Randal MacDonnell, first earl of Antrim [q. v.], and another Hugh Roe O'Donnell. It is probable Tyrone married a fifth time, for mention is made of a young countess of Tyrone during his residence in Rome. He had, in addition, numerous illegitimate children, of whom one, Con, who was left behind at the time of the flight, was educated at Eton as a protestant, and died apparently about 1622 in the Tower.

Two portraits of Tyrone—one in armour, and the other made in his decrepitude at Rome—belonged in 1866 to Mr. C. de Gernon (Cat. First Exhibition of National Portraits, Nos. 375, 378). A portrait forms the frontispiece to C. P. Meehan's ‘Life and Fortunes of the Earls of Tyrone and Tyrconnel.’


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 O'NEILL, HUGH (fl. 1642–1660), major-general, born in the Spanish Netherlands, was son of Art Oge, who was elder brother of Owen Roe O'Neill (d. 1649) [q. v.], and nephew of Hugh O'Neill [q. v.], the great earl of Tyrone. Hugh gained distinction as an officer in the army of Spain, and accompanied Owen O'Neill in 1642 to Ireland, where, from his father, he was known as ‘MacArt,’ and styled in Irish ‘buidhe,’ or the swarthy, from his complexion.

O'Neill was taken prisoner in a skirmish with British troops in the county of Monaghan in 1643, and remained in durance till released through exchange after the battle of Benburb in 1646. In that year he was appointed major-general of the Irish forces in Ulster; and they were partly under his direction during the illness of his uncle, General Owen Roe O'Neill, whose confidence he enjoyed, and by whom he was despatched with two thousand soldiers to aid the Marquis of Ormonde. After Owen O'Neill's death, in November 1649, Hugh was, like his cousin, Daniel O'Neill [q. v.], one of the numerous unsuccessful candidates for the command of the Ulster army.

In February 1650 Ormonde appointed him governor of Clonmel. He had under his command some 1,200 men, of whom all but fifty-two were infantry, and with these forces he inflicted on Cromwell the most serious check he experienced in Ireland. On 27 April Cromwell opened a formal attack on the place, which had been more or less blocked up since February. O'Neill vainly appealed to Ormonde for succour, and on 9 May, after effecting a breach, Cromwell ordered the place to be stormed. Never did the parliamentary army meet with stouter resistance. No sooner had they entered the breach than they found themselves face to face with a new semicircular wall, from which the besiegers poured into their ranks a steady fire. Cromwell's soldiers were caught in a trap, ‘and when night fell the survivors staggered back to acknowledge for once that they had been foiled’ (, Hist. of the Commonwealth, i. 174;, Cromwell, ii. 294–5; , Memoirs, ed. Firth, i. 238).

Nevertheless, the garrison could not prolong the struggle, and in the dead of night O'Neill and his followers slipped away in the direction of Waterford, leaving instructions with the mayor to come to terms. On 10 May Cromwell received a deputation, and granted them terms. It was not until he got within the walls that he learnt of the escape of the garrison. He kept his word, but sent in pursuit of O'Neill, and, according to Ludlow, killed two hundred of his soldiers. O'Neill himself escaped. A letter to him from Oliver Cromwell, in relation to exchange of prisoners, has been reproduced in the ‘Facsimiles of National Manuscripts of Ireland’ from the original in the Bodleian Library, Oxford. In the same publication will also be found a facsimile of a letter signed by O'Neill and the mayor of Clonmel in April 1650.

O'Neill subsequently commanded in Limerick during the protracted siege of that city by Ireton. In the articles, dated in October 1651, for the surrender of Limerick, the governor, Major-general Hugh O'Neill, was excepted from quarter, and excluded from any benefit, on the ground that he had largely contributed to ‘the long and obstinate holding out of the place.’ In conformity with them, O'Neill, as governor, on 29 Oct. 1651 surrendered the city to Ireton, and was committed to prison. A council of war on the same day voted that O'Neill and others should be executed. On the following day O'Neill, in a letter, remonstrated against the judgment passed on him. He averred that he had not been guilty of any base or dishonourable act, having only discharged his duty as a soldier, and appealed to the justice of the lord-deputy, Ireton. On 1 Nov., after reconsideration, the vote for the death of O'Neill was revoked, and it was determined to send him as a prisoner to be dealt with by the authorities of the parliament at London. This course, it would appear, was adopted mainly in consequence of O'Neill's rights as a subject of the king of Spain (having been born in Flanders) and his numerous influential connections.

As a prisoner in the Tower of London, where he arrived on 10 Jan. 1652, O'Neill was treated with consideration by the government, and allowed twenty shillings a week for his maintenance; he was also granted the privilege of having ‘the liberty of the Tower.’ In July 1652 Cardenas, the Spanish ambassador at London, applied officially for the discharge of O'Neill from the Tower, on the grounds that he was a subject of the king of Spain, that he had not been guilty of excesses in Ireland, and that his liberation would promote the bringing together of the Irish soldiers then about to be levied for the Spanish service.

O'Neill appears to have ended his days in Spain after 1660. In October in that year he addressed letters from Madrid to Charles II and the Marquis of Ormonde in reference to his hereditary right to the earldom of Tyrone, consequent on the death in Spain in 1641 of John O'Neill, titular earl of Tyrone, and youngest son of Hugh O'Neill, the great earl of Tyrone. A reproduction


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The Nightmare Lake

There is a lake in distant Zan, Beyond the wonted haunts of man, Where broods alone in a hideous state A spirit dead and desolate; A spirit ancient and unholy, Heavy with fearsome melancholy, Which from the waters dull and dense Draws vapors cursed with pestilence. Around the banks, a mire of clay, Sprawl things offensive in decay, And curious birds that reach that shore Are seen by mortals nevermore. Here shines by day the searing sun On glassy wastes beheld by none, And here by night pale moonbeams flow Into the deeps that yawn below. In nightmares only is it told What scenes beneath those beams unfold; What scenes, too old for human sight, Lie sunken there in endless night; For in those depths there only pace The shadows of a voiceless race. One midnight, redolent of ill, I saw that lake, asleep and still; While in the lurid sky there rode A gibbous moon that glow’d and glow’d. I saw the stretching marshy shore, And the foul things those marshes bore: Lizards and snakes convuls’d and dying; Ravens and vampires putrefying; All these, and hov’ring o’er the dead, Narcophagi that on them fed. And as the dreadful moon climb’d high, Fright’ning the stars from out the sky, I saw the lake’s dull water glow Till sunken things appear’d below. There shone unnumber’d fathoms down, The tow’rs of a forgotten town; The tarnish’d domes and mossy walls; Weed-tangled spires and empty halls; Deserted fanes and vaults of dread, And streets of gold uncoveted. These I beheld, and saw beside A horde of shapeless shadows glide; A noxious horde which to my glance Seem’d moving in a hideous dance Round slimy sepulchres that lay Beside a never-travell’d way. Straight from those tombs a heaving rose That vex’d the waters’ dull repose, While lethal shades of upper space Howl’d at the moon’s sardonic face. Then sank the lake within its bed, Suck’d down to caverns of the dead, Till from the reeking, new-stript earth Curl’d foetid fumes of noisome birth. About the city, nigh uncover’d, The monstrous dancing shadows hover’d, When lo! there oped with sudden stir The portal of each sepulchre! No ear may learn, no tongue may tell What nameless horror then befell. I see that lake—that moon agrin— That city and the things within— Waking, I pray that on that shore The nightmare lake may sink no more!

title: The Nightmare Lake


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Psychopompos: A Tale in Rhyme

I am He who howls in the night; I am He who moans in the snow; I am He who hath never seen light; I am He who mounts from below.

My car is the car of Death; My wings are the wings of dread; My breath is the north wind’s breath; My prey are the cold and the dead.

In old Auvergne, when schools were poor and few, And peasants fancy’d what they scarcely knew, When lords and gentry shunn’d their Monarch’s throne For solitary castles of their own, There dwelt a man of rank, whose fortress stood In the hush’d twilight of a hoary wood. De Blois his name; his lineage high and vast, A proud memorial of an honour’d past; But curious swains would whisper now and then That Sieur De Blois was not as other men. In person dark and lean, with glossy hair, And gleaming teeth that he would often bare, With piercing eye, and stealthy roving glance, And tongue that clipt the soft, sweet speech of France; The Sieur was little lov’d and seldom seen, So close he kept within his own demesne. The castle servants, few, discreet, and old, Full many a tale of strangeness might have told; But bow’d with years, they rarely left the door Wherein their sires and grandsires serv’d before. Thus gossip rose, as gossip rises best, When mystery imparts a keener zest; Seclusion oft the poison tongue attracts, And scandal prospers on a dearth of facts. ’Twas said, the Sieur had more than once been spy’d Alone at midnight by the river’s side, With aspect so uncouth, and gaze so strange, That rustics cross’d themselves to see the change; Yet none, when press’d, could clearly say or know Just what it was, or why they trembled so. De Blois, as rumour whisper’d, fear’d to pray, Nor us’d his chapel on the Sabbath day; Howe’er this may have been, ’twas known at least His household had no chaplain, monk, or priest. But if the Master liv’d in dubious fame, Twice fear’d and hated was his noble Dame; As dark as he, in features wild and proud, And with a weird supernal grace endow’d, The haughty mistress scorn’d the rural train Who sought to learn her source, but sought in vain. Old women call’d her eyes too bright by half, And nervous children shiver’d at her laugh; Richard, the dwarf (whose word had little weight), Vow’d she was like a serpent in her gait, Whilst ancient Pierre (the aged often err) Laid all her husband’s mystery to her. Still more absurd were those odd mutter’d things That calumny to curious list’ners brings; Those subtle slanders, told with downcast face, And muffled voice—those tales no man may trace; Tales that the faith of old wives can command, Tho’ always heard at sixth or seventh hand. Thus village legend darkly would imply That Dame De Blois possess’d an evil eye; Or going further, furtively suggest A lurking spark of sorcery in her breast; Old Mère Allard (herself half witch) once said The lady’s glance work’d strangely on the dead. So liv’d the pair, like many another two That shun the crowd, and shrink from public view. They scorn’d the doubts by ev’ry peasant shewn, And ask’d but one thing—to be let alone!

’Twas Candlemas, the dreariest time of year, With fall long gone, and spring too far to cheer, When little Jean, the bailiff’s son and heir, Fell sick and threw the doctors in despair. A child so stout and strong that few would think An hour might carry him to death’s dark brink, Yet pale he lay, tho’ hidden was the cause, And Galens search’d in vain thro’ Nature’s laws. But stricken sadness could not quite suppress The roving thought, or wrinkled grandam’s guess: Tho’ spoke by stealth, ’twas known to half a score That Dame De Blois rode by the day before; She had (they said) with glances weird and wild Paus’d by the gate to view the prattling child, Nor did they like the smile which seem’d to trace New lines of evil on her proud, dark face. These things they whisper’d, when the mother’s cry Told of the end—the gentle soul gone by; In genuine grief the kindly watcher wept, Whilst the lov’d babe with saints and angels slept. The village priest his simple rites went thro’, And good Michel nail’d up the box of yew; Around the corpse the holy candles burn’d, The mourners sighed, the parents dumbly yearn’d. Then one by one each sought his humble bed, And left the lonely mother with her dead. Late in the night it was, when o’er the vale The storm-king swept with pandemoniac gale; Deep pil’d the cruel snow, yet strange to tell, The lightning sputter’d while the white flakes fell; A hideous presence seem’d abroad to steal, And terror sounded in the thunder’s peal. Within the house of grief the tapers glow’d Whilst the poor mother bow’d beneath her load; Her salty eyes too tired now to weep, Too pain’d to see, too sad to close in sleep. The clock struck three, above the tempest heard, When something near the lifeless infant stirr’d; Some slipp’ry thing, that flopp’d in awkward way, And climb’d the table where the coffin lay; With scaly convolutions strove to find The cold, still clay that death had left behind. The nodding mother hears—starts broad awake— Empower’d to reason, yet too stunn’d to shake; The pois’nous thing she sees, and nimbly foils The ghoulish purpose of the quiv’ring coils: With ready axe the serpent’s head she cleaves, And thrills with savage triumph whilst she grieves. The injur’d reptile hissing glides from sight, And hides its cloven carcass in the night.

The weeks slipp’d by, and gossip’s tongue began To call the Sieur De Blois an alter’d man; With curious mien he oft would pace along The village street, and eye the gaping throng. Yet whilst he shew’d himself as ne’er before, His wild-eyed lady was observ’d no more. In course of time, ’twas scarce thought odd or ill That he his ears with village lore should fill; Nor was the town with special rumour rife When he sought out the bailiff and his wife: Their tale of sorrow, with its ghastly end, Was told, indeed, by ev’ry wond’ring friend. The Sieur heard all, and low’ring rode away, Nor was he seen again for many a day.

When vernal sunshine shed its cheering glow, And genial zephyrs blew away the snow, To frighten’d swains a horror was reveal’d In the damp herbage of a melting field. There (half preserv’d by winter’s frigid bed) Lay the dark Dame De Blois, untimely dead; By some assassin’s stroke most foully slain, Her shapely brow and temples cleft in twain. Reluctant hands the dismal burden bore To the stone arches of the husband’s door, Where silent serfs the ghastly thing receiv’d, Trembling with fright, but less amaz’d than griev’d; The Sieur his dame beheld with blazing eyes, And shook with anger, more than with surprise. (At least ’tis thus the stupid peasants told Their wide-mouth’d wives when they the tale unroll’d.) The village wonder’d why De Blois had kept His spouse’s loss unmention’d and unwept, Nor were there lacking sland’rous tongues to claim That the dark master was himself to blame. But village talk could scarcely hope to solve A crime so deep, and thus the months revolve: The rural train repeat the gruesome tale, And gape and marvel more than they bewail.

Swift flew the sun, and winter once again With icy talons gripp’d the frigid plain. December brought its store of Christmas cheer, And grateful peasants hail’d the op’ning year; But by the hearth as Candlemas drew nigh, The whisp’ring ancients spoke of things gone by. Few had forgot the dark demoniac lore Of things that came the Candlemas before, And many a crone intently eyed the house Where dwelt the sadden’d bailiff and his spouse. At last the day arriv’d, the sky o’erspread With dark’ning messengers and clouds of lead; Each neighb’ring grove Aeolian warnings sigh’d, And thick’ning terrors broadcast seem’d to bide. The good folk, tho’ they knew not why, would run Swift past the bailiff’s door, the scene to shun; Within the house the grieving couple wept, And mourn’d the child who now forever slept. On rush’d the dusk in doubly hideous form, Borne on the pinions of the gath’ring storm; Unusual murmurs fill’d the rainless wind, The rising river lash’d the troubled shore; Black thro’ the night the awful storm-god prowl’d, And froze the list’ners’ life-blood as he howl’d; Gigantic trees like supple rushes sway’d, Whilst for his home the trembling cotter pray’d. Now falls a sudden lull amidst the gale; With less’ning force the circling currents wail; Far down the stream that laves the neighb’ring mead Burst a new ululation, wildly key’d; The peasant train a frantic mien assume, And huddle closer in the spectral gloom: To each strain’d ear the truth too well is known, For that dread sound can come from wolves alone! The rustics close attend, when ere they think, A lupine army swarms the river’s brink; From out the waters leap a howling train That rend the air, and scatter o’er the plain: With flaming orbs the frothing creatures fly, And chant with hellish voice their hungry cry. First of the pack a mighty monster leaps With fearless tread, and martial order keeps; Th’ attendant wolves his yelping tones obey, And form in columns for the coming fray: No frighten’d swain they harm, but silent bound With a fix’d purpose o’er the frozen ground. Straight course the monsters thro’ the village street, Unholy vigour in their flying feet; Thro’ half-shut blinds the shelter’d peasants peer, And wax in wonder as they lose in fear. Th’ excited pack at last their goal perceive, And the vex’d air with deaf’ning clamour cleave; The churls, astonish’d, watch th’ unnatural herd Flock round a cottage at the leader’s word: Quick spreads the fearsome fact, by rumour blown, That the doom’d cottage is the bailiff’s own! Round and around the howling daemons glide, Whilst the fierce leader scales the vine-clad side; The frantic wind its horrid wail renews, And mutters madly thro’ the lifeless yews. In the frail house the bailiff calmly waits The rav’ning horde, and trusts th’ impartial Fates, But the wan wife revives with curious mien Another monster and an older scene; Amidst th’ increasing wind that rocks the walls, The dame to him the serpent’s deed recalls: Then as a nameless thought fills both their minds, The bare-fang’d leader crashes thro’ the blinds. Across the room, with murd’rous fury rife, Leaps the mad wolf, and seizes on the wife; With strange intent he drags his shrieking prey Close to the spot where once the coffin lay. Wilder and wilder roars the mounting gale That sweeps the hills and hurtles thro’ the vale; The ill-made cottage shakes, the pack without Dance with new fury in demoniac rout. Quick as his thought, the valiant bailiff stands Above the wolf, a weapon in his hands; The ready axe that serv’d a year before, Now serves as well to slay one monster more. The creature drops inert, with shatter’d head, Full on the floor, and silent as the dead; The rescu’d wife recalls the dire alarms, And faints from terror in her husband’s arms. But as he holds her, all the cottage quakes, And with full force the titan tempest breaks: Down crash the walls, and o’er their shrinking forms Burst the mad revels of the storm of storms. Th’ encircling wolves advance with ghastly pace, Hunger and murder in each gleaming face, But as they close, from out the hideous night Flashes a bolt of unexpected light: The vivid scene to ev’ry eye appears, And peasants shiver with returning fears. Above the wreck the scatheless chimney stays, Its outline glimm’ring in the fitful rays, Whilst o’er the hearth still hangs the household shrine, The Saviour’s image and the Cross divine! Round the blest spot a lambent radiance glows, And shields the cotters from their stealthy foes: Each monstrous creature marks the wondrous glare, Drops, fades, and vanishes in empty air! The village train with startled eyes adore, And count their beads in rev’rence o’er and o’er. Now fades the light, and dies the raging blast, The hour of dread and reign of horror past. Pallid and bruis’d, from out his toppled walls The panting bailiff with his good wife crawls: Kind hands attend them, whilst o’er all the town A strange sweet peace of spirit settles down. Wonder and fear are still’d in soothing sleep, As thro’ the breaking clouds the moon rays peep.

Here paus’d the prattling grandam in her speech, Confus’d with age, the tale half out of reach; The list’ning guest, impatient for a clue, Fears ’tis not one tale, but a blend of two; He fain would know how far’d the widow’d lord Whose eerie ways th’ initial theme afford, And marvels that the crone so quick should slight His fate, to babble of the wolf-wrack’d night. The old wife, press’d, for greater clearness strives, Nods wisely, and her scatter’d wits revives; Yet strangely lingers on her latter tale Of wolf and bailiff, miracle and gale. When (quoth the crone) the dawn’s bright radiance bath’d Th’ eventful scene, so late in terror swath’d, The chatt’ring churls that sought the ruin’d cot Found a new marvel in the gruesome spot. From fallen walls a trail of gory red, As of the stricken wolf, erratic led; O’er road and mead the new-dript crimson wound, Till lost amidst the neighb’ring swampy ground: With wonder unappeas’d the peasants burn’d, For what the quicksand takes is ne’er return’d.

Once more the grandam, with a knowing eye, Stops in her tale, to watch a hawk soar by; The weary list’ner, baffled, seeks anew For some plain statement, or enlight’ning clue. Th’ indulgent crone attends the puzzled plea, Yet strangely mutters o’er the mystery. The Sieur? Ah, yes—that morning all in vain His shaking servants scour’d the frozen plain; No man had seen him since he rode away In silence on the dark preceding day. His horse, wild-eyed with some unusual fright, Came wand’ring from the river-bank that night. His hunting-hound, that mourn’d with piteous woe, Howl’d by the quicksand swamp, his grief to shew. The village folk thought much, but utter’d less; The servants’ search wore out in emptiness: For Sieur De Blois (the old wife’s tale is o’er) Was lost to mortal sight for evermore.

title: Psychopompos: A Tale in Rhyme


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 MONGOLIAN RACE.—MIDDLE CLASS COREAN. [Page 8.


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Rh CUDGEL—BREECH-LOADING GUN—QUIVER—THREE-PRONGED LANCE—LANCE—BOW.


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282 principal official of the place, probably acting upon instructions from a higher quarter, as he hardly would have ventured to do so on his own responsibility, gave me a pressing invitation to his house, where a repast of fowls and various Corean dainties had been prepared. Coreans are not over much given to hospitality in general, and the honour and favour intended to be shown on this occasion were consequently the more to be valued, though I would heartily have dispensed with them, on account of the various unknown luxuries which we were made to swallow, and which could not well be refused without giving offence to our host. Several of the dignitaries of the neighbourhood had been asked to this festive repast, who appeared to enjoy it amazingly, drinking immense quantities of the most nasty saki I ever tasted, a stuff more horrible yet than Chinese saki. Nor was it long before the effects of this very strong drink became apparent upon the company assembled, which was soon in the highest spirits. Of course there was a great exhibition of friendly feeling, and a general demonstration of good wishes on our behalf. It was close upon midnight before we were allowed to depart, not however without all the company insisting upon seeing us safely to the shore, where we took very warm leave from each other. Our host had previously presented me with a long staff of very peculiar and hard wood, which has served me as a walking-stick ever since.


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 A Forbidden Land - Voyages to the Corea (1880) - Caucasian Race.—Merchant.png CAUCASIAN RACE.—MERCHANT. [Page 8.


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 A Forbidden Land - Voyages to the Corea (1880) - Caucasian Race.—Ship-Owner.png CAUCASIAN RACE.—SHIP-OWNER. [Page 8.


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The Wood (Lovecraft)

They cut it down, and where the pitch-black aisles Of forest night had hid eternal things, They scal’d the sky with tow’rs and marble piles To make a city for their revellings.

White and amazing to the lands around That wondrous wealth of domes and turrets rose; Crystal and ivory, sublimely crown’d With pinnacles that bore unmelting snows.

And through its halls the pipe and sistrum rang, While wine and riot brought their scarlet stains; Never a voice of elder marvels sang, Nor any eye call’d up the hills and plains.

Thus down the years, till on one purple night A drunken minstrel in his careless verse Spoke the vile words that should not see the light, And stirr’d the shadows of an ancient curse.

Forests may fall, but not the dusk they shield; So on the spot where that proud city stood, The shuddering dawn no single stone reveal’d, But fled the blackness of a primal wood.

title: The Wood (Lovecraft)


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 MONGOLIAN RACE.—LOWER CLASS COREAN. [Page 8.


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 MONGOLIAN RACE.—COREAN YOUTH. [Page 8.


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 CAUCASIAN RACE.—COREAN, UPPER CLASS. WINTERR DRESS. [Page 8.


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The Outpost

When evening cools the yellow stream, And shadows stalk the jungle’s ways, Zimbabwe’s palace flares ablaze For a great King who fears to dream.

For he alone of all mankind Waded the swamp that serpents shun; And struggling toward the setting sun, Came on the veldt that lies behind.

No other eyes had vented there Since eyes were lent for human sight— But there, as sunset turned to night, He found the Elder Secret’s lair.

Strange turrets rose beyond the plain, And walls and bastions spread around The distant domes that fouled the ground Like leprous fungi after rain.

A grudging moon writhed up to shine Past leagues where life can have no home; And paling far-off tower and dome, Shewed each unwindowed and malign.

Then he who in his boyhood ran Through vine-hung ruins free of fear, Trembled at what he saw—for here Was no dead, ruined seat of man.

Inhuman shapes, half-seen, half-guessed, Half solid and half ether-spawned, Seethed down from starless voids that yawned In heav’n, to these blank walls of pest.

And voidward from that pest-mad zone Amorphous hordes seethed darkly back, Their dim claws laden with the wrack Of things that men have dreamed and known.

The ancient Fishers from Outside— Were there not tales the high-priest told, Of how they found the worlds of old, And took what pelf their fancy spied?

Their hidden, dread-ringed outposts brood Upon a million worlds of space; Abhorred by every living race, Yet scatheless in their solitude.

Sweating with fright, the watcher crept Back to the swamp that serpents shun, So that he lay, by rise of sun, Safe in the palace where he slept.

None saw him leave, or come at dawn, Nor does his flesh bear any mark Of what he met in that curst dark— Yet from his sleep all peace has gone.

When evening cools the yellow stream, And shadows stalk the jungle’s ways, Zimbabwe’s palace flares ablaze, For a great King who fears to dream.

title: The Outpost


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 CHAPTER III. nleronr or colin. DeEciency of Ooresn literstun as to the history of the country- J spmeae and Chinese sources-Enrliest mention of Cores 4000 yeere back-First relisble accounts-The Chang dynasty overthrown in China by Vounng-Foundntion of the kingdom of Tcbaosien by Kitsii-His euoeessors-Division ol' Chinn into seven Ststes-Conquest of Teheoeien by Yen-Tsin unites China, md takee the name ol' Tesi-chi-hong on becoming Emperor-Erection ol' the wooden bolmdnry wall between Chine sud Cores-The Hum invade Chins-Re- establishment ol' the lringdom ol' You--Kinobong dop-olu the Kiteii dynasty-Klouteou, founder of the Han dynuty- Weimen invades Tchnosien, expels Kia-otong, and is acknow- ledged king by China-Makes Pieng‘en his cnpitsl-Yenlii, grsndeon ol' Weimsn, declares himself independent-In et- teelred by the Emperor Wuti and bent-I him-Aseusinntion ofYen]¢ii`1---Tchnnflien made n Chinese province; ite rboon- ltmction ll n seplrate State-Foundation ol' the kingdom of Knoli (Kerio) by Prince Tchuming-The tribes of the Weimé ond Oktsd-The lleu, nnoeeton of the Mnlitcbus-Found# tion of the kingdom of Petsi by Knoteong, ling of Tcbnosien -The Miha!! lad Pienhln-Foundation of the kingdom of Sinn by Huh-kd-se-Tbe Sinhln - Kaoli, ll; Il: with Chinn, occupies Leautong-The J spsneee innde Sion with the help of Petsi-Gooiking, king of Kloli-Huontn desboyed- Buddhism 51-st introduced in Cores.-Continued feud: be- hreon the three Stetes--Expnlsion of the Jspsneee-Recap turn of Lesutong by Knoll-The Emperor Ynngti nails Knoll


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260 to say how much time we should need to travel over this distance in a river which required so cautious a navigation. Secondly—and this was still more decisive—we had sent one of our boats ahead some five to ten miles to survey the channel as soon as we had dropped anchor. The boat had returned during the interview, and the report given by the surveying officer turned out to be highly unfavourable. Below the point where we stopped the river was found to become more and more shallow, navigable only in some places at the highest flood, and covered with a multitude of banks and reefs, making the ascent very perilous.

In consequence of the result of this investigation the plan to proceed to Saoŭl with the "Emperor" was abandoned, and making a virtue of necessity, I declared, much to the governor's pleasure, that I should allow myself to be guided by his advice, provided the opening of the negotiations would not be too long delayed. The conversation which followed on this issue was too original not to be given here in extenso.

"Well," I said to Tschai-Heuni, "if I relinquish my plan to go to Saoŭl to please you, how long will it take before the Government can depute some one down here to treat with?"

A long consultation took place between the officials upon this. I expected they would try to put me off much longer than required, even though the distance to Saoŭl was only a few hours.


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Rh But the Coreans, apparently thinking, that as I had so easily given in on the main point they could have it all their own way, went beyond all bounds of reason.

Turning to me with a most affable smile, after consulting with his colleagues, Tschai-Heuni replied,

"As you will be so good to wait for envoys of the Government here, I must ask you to wait a month, which time they will require to come down."

This was coming it rather too strong; a month where a couple of days were more than amply sufficient! So I said, very quietly, but in a tone so determined that it had an immediate effect, "Now listen to me. You ask me to wait a month doing nothing, well knowing that I am aware they can be here in a couple of days at latest. But I will give you four days including to-day; if on the morning of the fourth day no envoy has been sent here from Saoŭl I shall at once start, and proceed with the steamer to that place."

Upon which they put their heads together again, and the governor answered,—

"We are of opinion that perhaps it will not be necessary to stipulate for thirty days. If they are here within ten days, will that suit you?"

"No, you have heard what I have said. I shall wait no longer than four days."

"Well then, let it be eight days."

"Not an hour over four."


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Rh The day following passed without any occurrence worth noting, save that we had again many visitors on board.

At noon next day the cortège of flag-bearers, &c., announced the arrival of the envoys expected from Saoŭl, who soon after embarked, accompanied by the governor of Kangwha. This time Ni-Eung-ini appeared as second, the chief commissary introducing himself by a card upon his arrival on board, in the following terms:—"Pang-Ou-Seu, Envoy of the Government, with order to receive the foreigners well, aged seventy-eight years." Conducted by the two other officials, who treated him with great respect, this very old, but still active and lively gentleman, was received with all honours due to his rank, and soon seemed to feel quite at home. He spoke Chinese very fluently, and better than Ni-Eung-ini. Before the proceedings commenced the latter delivered to me the presents which he had promised to bring from Saoŭl, which consisted of three articles of Corean manufacture, a number of fine straw hats, of white and rose-colour paper fans, strong, but rather clumsily made, and of several dozens of small wooden combs! The production of the latter caused a general outbreak of merriment, but as they had been selected by the donor as a speciality of Corean workmanship, they were accepted with due thanks.

After the completion of the unavoidable formalities, Pang-Ou-Seu began as follows: "I have


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Dead Passion's Flame

A Poem by Blank Frailty

Ah, Passion, like a voice—that buds! With many thorns. . . that sharply stick: Recalls to me the longing of our bloods. . . And—makes my wearied heart requick! . . . . . . ..

title: Dead Passion's Flame


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 0 r-num CHAPTER IX THIRD vena: Origin and causes of than voyage-Hoeule hearmg of the Doreen Government alter the French expedition Aaeendanc] of the Regent e party-Severe rneaaurel taken sgmnat hu own peopic Levy of town gnrnaone-Murder of nature Chraahanl- Helplell poutlon of the people-Secret neva ohtmuoa Ill Leautong-My relations mth Meena. Ridel and Feron- Chancter of the an Chron-Fzrstluntol' than plan Further eommumcatzona on thu subject, and proposal to Join an lta execution Its nature-Monlleur Féron I appeal I agree to accept hue proposal The steamer Chinn -Our escort-The ltvBll1‘l launch Greta Departure from Shanghal Arnvsl at Pnnce J érome Gull'-Our start-Deecnptnon ol' the passage up-Delays dunng the aame-Our luudmg The march unto the country The road We are stopped on pue-
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Beauhful scenery of the country Amval nt our deatmahon Descnphon of the place-Dzlhcultsea ln gammg aceean to the lame-Our search abandoned and return decided upon-Hxrch blelto the Greta Re embarkatlon-The 'Chinn reached _|uat ln tame-Resolve t-ago to Kangwha through the Eugene Archipelago Ymt of ollicnlls from Isle Tncault-My letter to the Regent-Vmts on ehore-Return ol' the Comm oi male on board Reply from the Regent-Ita nature-Bad opmlon expressed by the Cooeans of the Regent a charlcfar- They uk for a free pau and mvxte un ol Qhore-Our nut to Tong Keum Tex Island The walled toin The Walla guarded by loldlery Our reception Walk on the Island The stolen calf We return to the clty wells to olfer compensation Are Q 0 I . I I I I Q, _ _ l _ _ _ n 1 O I I 1 - I I I I 1 I l _ I _ ll vi ' _ _ - . l Q _ i _ _ 1 I I _ 1 _ _ _ ll I' ' | ' ll .._- _ _ ‘ _ - ,QQ - _ - - I _ _ _ I U _ - 1' u | I _ l _ _- ' ¢ T _
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To Clark Ashton Smith, Esq., Upon His Phantastick Tales, Verses, Pictures, and Sculptures

A time-black tower against dim banks of cloud; Around its base the pathless, pressing wood. Shadow and silence, moss and mould, enshroud Grey, age-fell’d slabs that once as cromlechs stood. No fall of foot, no song of bird awakes The lethal aisles of sempiternal night, Tho’ oft with stir of wings the dense air shakes, As in the tower there glows a pallid light.

For here, apart, dwells one whose hands have wrought Strange eidola that chill the world with fear; Whose graven runes in tones of dread have taught What things beyond the star-gulfs lurk and leer. Dark Lord of Averoigne—whose windows stare On pits of dream no other gaze could bear!


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 to meddle with animated to more about to atand stall grand tall small broad narrow pau' on y together VOUABULABY mo Hi mlir ljong lull' umtnl hr ku ta u' n tejo ltlll' no pu! no riir tio piir ro an I or, aor air one upon another Joro to umlie duty (cnltoml] n ltnpe a piece to dlp ml-'»0 to Vaal! to dry to wet clear dam, muddy WBT!!! hugh deep ehallow 'Elly light heavy, weighty thick tbm u empty dnturbance tranquulllty othervnae d.1l' ferent of the eamo kllid to duturl: contrary to corner square round mo tlr motlil' hap hir li ln tal ml th, te I liao Ink ten hk mur miir to o te ur mlriir, mir ml lr tllo teill' mirklr mlrlcilr hiru' toiir? four no p ur no p lr nltelr kip ill' Jost iir jott it hpll _gaor mnko or tu t our Jorilr tl lr kltul: hiir Pull' otsul’ otaii roor 0 o tm-lr tanlr tuur lslt lr ohuro tau' turu hu' mo, morong1 tung kur long short coarse ne gran Pew! all the aame eouroe ongm nmllar mid, llelolate hare to sprout to bloom to fall ar near nearly related outwards alowly hasty quick, early ate oeoaezonally ku' km te_|o riir kurkur kilrkiim kanlr, hlnlr k ur h an lltnlr hlnhtar lliin uou Init lr lm ta Ii: muu' p mr apajo ar atom tar? tal! mor luklor, katkaor to mhlr aong kmr to tlar to tihr aplrir, eplrlr niituiir mteur pjonhar moeuantly often teiitsllr rarely permonoua exutenee non existence MPP! unhappy to get to loose to dummall to dmappear dunolve to destro to heap to overshoot to Bow over l'»0 overflow' without limited ol' long durehon long tilmilr hi.; hir an 0 eur, 0 Ir knhu P' hjung hir otur lrhhr arhiir allrl tau' e151 tqan peau' tohlr namlr, namur nom Stall' nomur opal.:- ha tegong hir om- lm' 348 . ¢ || 6 ' ' kq" d' | ' I ° 'lu ' ' l ° l 0 ` " ' half P "" ., f _ ball ' ' "' ° llil' _ . I . ' ., _, _ . I . I cold to 'lr _ uael'ul_ Fill!! . ,., ' . . . .r low _ _ ' "_ °' " 1 |,.g I I I wr ' .  . ' _ l' ll '_ L_ " ' _ .- . . k  .. ' _


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 Corean Alphabet, Letters YOCIID ‘Hahn ill( Pruzt. “lsr-t Wun 11. E _,_,,,, 6. §\D,lC lP1\| V#-°1=== 3* ll Z' Ilifamwé J- za- 3-Ln 8-7-fi J¢¢l7l&I'¢ rwtf Insulin if-7| UH .1 TH* 1; N"10'|>Iu:r prwmnwr. mln; am; l56h,lag & 3 _. Cannon fl Len.. "; '  in ra'  - -V 1 I- n kb :| an IF il L v   Bling* Cl .4 8 I, ,E , E 4‘°'°4 °i'~ 7: ‘°.=-E °4|° 4| °’~"'7< ”' 1:» °-a|-~ +I ~==,> ~ »~ ,L 9 . , ‘6'  gain /\ 1 » ;||]; Q-E I 3.   I “Tri” T I1-ru-ui "" 12, i I I3 i \ .» -. »-» .~ - .. ,,..     _,f '5 ' “‘ . .2 Z § -2 II I P H lb ' I; 2 ' A I5 _ ,.:...,


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Arcadia (Lovecraft)

By Head Balledup

O give me the life of the village, Uninhibited, free, and sweet; The place where the arts all flourish, Grove Court and Christopher Street.

I am sick of the old conventions, And critics who will not praise, So sing ho for the open spaces, And aesthetes with kindly ways.

Here every bard is a genius, And artists are Raphaels, And above the roofs of Patchin Place The Muse of Talent dwells.

title: Arcadia (Lovecraft)


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 Lin 4.Pu&!|1:u.'bn.l. 7 Camus? Ari. Sa ]ACQU£htAR1'. Changed Crass [T/ze), and other Religious Poems. |6mo, as. 6¢L Chan! Bank Canwnim to the Bank gf Gmrmon Pmyer. Con- sisting of upwards of go Chants for the Deily Psalms md for the Cmtncles; also Kyrie leisong md Music for the Hymns in Holy Communion, &c. Compiled and Arranged under the Mmical Editor- %1gp_of  J. Vlxcsur, Mu; Bee. Crown Sm, ar. 611; Orgu\i|t’s Of   l:I1r||||.n:) §:’2:;%'fl0|l, Lhfz |63 If IHIFH Q (Wild Q/ Mc Cavern (He) ,- or, Srmnga .Dafqgs Undcrp-omni BJJULI5 Vxlurn Tnmhted b W. H. G. Ktuosrou. Numerotu I mtruiom. Sq. cf. Bvo, gilt e¢&e.|, js. Gd. 3 cl., llinedges, 51. ChfId’s Piay, with 16 Coloured Drawings byE.   B. Printed on lhick piper, with tint; 71. Ed. --- Nrw. By E. V. B. Similar to the above. Ste New. C/u7rfr¢n's .Dru and .Html M .Przscnx Ilan ,' ar, 174: Nknfly Handbook. By W. Lorna, M. D. Crown Bm, eioth, 51. Clzaxh' Editions qf Choice Books. as. 6:1 each, Illustrated by C. W, Con. R.A., T. Cnuwlcx, RA., E. DUNCAN, Bmxrr Fosrn., ]. C. H0lSLl\', A.R.A., G. liners, R. Rmcuwz. R.A., C. Smsznousn, F. Tuner., G. Tlloluts, H. J. Towllst-|l.l¢t>. E. H. Wnlmrrr, I-Innnon Will, &e. Bloomlield's Fnrmer'| Bo. MlIton'| L'All|q|'u. Campbellh Pleasures of Igope. Poetqof Nature. Harrison Weir. Coleridge's Ancient Mariner. Rogers’ (Sum) Plensuresol' Memozy. Gold|mlth's Duerted Villzge. Shlkes]x|.re'| Songs md Sonnets. Gokhmith’ V' of‘Walt dd. Tennponk Moy Queen. Eliubcthm Poets. s :car Gm 's El in l Church K.ea{’s Evigzf St. Agnexyud. ‘v01'dlX‘I'lh'S Pllonl Poems. " Such verb are n |'|o¢'iou.| heulhurioniilr n |:o|L"-Aliealauu. Chbbett (I»i4`!l¢}m). A Biography. By Enwun Smut. 2 vols., crown Bvo, 255. Continental Tour .cy Egfr! Days for .Farzjvfaur .S`/||7!in_g.r. By njoununt-HAH. tzmo, 1.1. ---nw ima. a. amps, uluumi.-spur. _ Cm# Sid: Skdrhrr : Iikoug/rf: on .Hunfirlgg Stiff# D¢2'res! Packs in Diii'erentCoun1.ries. Byéllblnvlrr Flrr {H.ll.of the Sprting Gndc, inte of the FEM). :nd 'tiou. Crown Bvo, doth, lol. Gd. Cnyps M: Carrier: 3rd Edition, 6r. .Su B\..tc1».|.|ontr.. Cruise JHMS. “ Cl|alla|gw"'  By ‘W.    SPRY, R.N. With Route Mapmd many Illtutrltions. 6th Edition,demiy8vo, cloth,
 * 110 I.
 * 8:. Ggheap Edltion, :mm Bm, smell type, some of the llustntians,

gs. Curious Alvmfvru ry' a .lfidd Crkbf. By Dr. Elmssr Callnlzl. Transhted by N. 1'}‘A|Wns. 'With numerous line llluatrntionl. Crown Bro, cloth utr; gilt edges, 71. Gut


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User talk:Illuminati96

Welcome
Welcome

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Again, welcome! Beeswaxcandle (talk) 05:50, 17 June 2012 (UTC)

title: User talk:Illuminati96


text:
Page:A Forbidden Land - Voyages to the Corea (1880).djvu/20

 CON'1 ENTb CHAPTER 1 Introductory remarks-Beauty knowledge of Corea Dnfli cult] of obtaining relnable information Old wntmge and lourcel 0r|g1n of the name of Corea-Ignorance of the natives Bl to their descent Dllference of FICE!- Bnebold a remarks on this subject Charaetenatlc maria of ddference In race-Stnkmg appearance of the name on cblldren-Conjechnre on the orlgm of the two races Core-an bldltlonl of then' Ullgll. The Legend of Prince lhollull-Present frontiers nf the country Ita geo graphlcal ponhon The Islands Quelpart Kangrrha Ollonto, llaeurd lccount of the latter current ln Corea- The provmcee and their dlvunon The last census lnaccuracy of the same-Actual number ol' populatrou- CH RPTER II Former dependence on Lbma Decay of the Chmeae aupre macy and power-Secret treaty clauses between the two countnes Absolute rule of the kung of Corea Inetltu- twn of Oielll Favountb-Councul of State PPOUIHCIII and dmtnct government admumatratlon Penodlcal appountment of fnnctmnarzee-Theur aupermnon and report!-The 0566 of Wanderlng Inspector and the secret police-Prenoua and present efect of the came Corruption of the admlmatrntzen The old ollhea of Judge of Hnralnty &c Rank and tltlea of military and naval oicera PIG I 33 ` "I . . - T 1 ,_ l llountaim-River!-Towns-The capital city, Baoul _ l ¢¢ ° H __ . __ _ - _ 1. I ' ‘


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Page:Great Expectations.djvu/436

422 bodily pain I suffered; and Herbert, seeing that, did his utmost to hold my attention engaged.

Neither of us spoke of the boat, but we both thought of it. That was made apparent by our avoidance of the subject, and by our agreeing—without agreement—to make my recovery of the use of my hands, a question of so many hours, not of so many weeks.

My first question when I saw Herbert had been, of course, whether all was well down the river? As he replied in the affirmative, with perfect confidence and cheerfulness, we did not resume the subject until the day was wearing away. But then, as Herbert changed the bandages, more by the light of the fire than by the outer light, he went back to it spontaneously.

"I sat with Provis last night, Handel, two good hours."

"Where was Clara?"

"Dear little thing!" said Herbert. "She was up and down with Gruffandgrim all the evening. He was perpetually pegging at the floor, the moment she left his sight. I doubt if he can hold out long though. What with rum and pepper—and pepper and rum—I should think his pegging must be nearly over."

"And then you will be married, Herbert?"

"How can I take care of the dear child otherwise?—Lay your arm out upon the back of the sofa, my dear boy, and I'll sit down here, and get the bandage off so gradually that you shall not know when it comes. I was speaking of Provis. Do you know, Handel, he improves?"

"I said to you I thought he was softened when I last saw him."

"So you did. And so he is. He was very communicative last night, and told me more of his life. You remember his breaking off here about some woman that he had had great trouble with.—Did I hurt you?"

I had started, but not under his touch. His words had given me a start.

"I had forgotten that, Herbert, but I remember it now you speak of it."

"Well! He went into that part of his life, and a dark

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Rh wild part it is. Shall I tell you? Or would it worry you just now?"

"Tell me by all means. Every word."

Herbert bent forward to look at me more nearly, as if my reply had been rather more hurried or more eager than he could quite account for. "Your head is cool?" he said, touching it.

"Quite," said I. "Tell me what Provis said, my dear Herbert."

"It seems," said Herbert, "—there's a bandage off most charmingly, and now comes the cool one—makes you shrink at first, my poor dear fellow, don't it? but it will be comfortable presently—it seems that the woman was a young woman, and a jealous woman, and a revengeful woman; revengeful, Handel, to the last degree."

"To what last degree?"

"Murder.—Does it strike too cold on that sensitive place?"

"I don't feel it. How did she murder? Whom did she murder?"

"Why, the deed may not have merited quite so terrible a name," said Herbert, "but she was tried for it, and Mr. Jaggers defended her, and the reputation of that defence first made his name known to Provis. It was another and a stronger woman who was the victim, and there had been a struggle—in a barn. Who began it, or how fair it was, or how unfair, may be doubtful; but how it ended is certainly not doubtful, for the victim was found throttled."

"Was the woman brought in guilty?"

"No; she was acquitted.—My poor Handel, I hurt you!"

"It is impossible to be gentler, Herbert. Yes? What else?"

"This acquitted young woman and Provis had a little child: a little child of whom Provis was exceedingly fond. On the evening of the very night when the object of her jealousy was strangled as I tell you, the young woman presented herself before Provis for one moment, and swore that she would destroy the child (which was in her possession), and he should never see it again; then, she

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Page:A Girl of the Limberlost.djvu/503

 Full of originality and humor, kindliness and cheer Large Octavo. Decorative text pages, printed in two colors. Illustrations by Alice Barber Stephens.

One of the prettiest romances that has ever come from this author's pen is made to bloom on Christmas Even in the sweet freshness of an old New England meeting house.

Attractive cover design in colors.

Scotland is the background for the merry doings of three very clever and original American girls. Their adventures in adjusting themselves to the Scot and his land are full of humor.

Uniform in style

The trio of clever girls who rambled over Scotland cross the border to the Emerald Isle, and again they sharpen their wits against new conditions, and revel in the land of laughter and wit.

One of the most beautiful studies of childhood—Rebecca's artistic, unusual and quaintly charming qualities stand out midst a circle of austere New Englanders. The stage version is making a phenomenal dramatic record.

With illustrations by F. C. Yohn

Some more quaintly amusing chronicles that carry Rebecca through various stages to her eighteenth birthday.

With illustrations by George Wright.

The simple story of Rose, a country girl, and Stephen a sturdy young farmer. The girl's fancy for a city man interrupts their love and merges the story into an emotional strain where the reader follows the events with rapt attention.

26th

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424 .—There's the worst arm comfortably in the sling once more, and now there remains but the right hand, which is a far easier job. I can do it better by this light than by a stronger, for my hand is steadiest when I don't see the poor blistered patches too distinctly.—You don't think your breathing is affected, my dear boy? You seem to breathe quickly."

"Perhaps I do, Herbert. Did the woman keep her oath?"

"There comes the darkest part of Provis's life. She did."

"That is, he says she did."

"Why, of course, my dear boy," returned Herbert, in a tone of surprise, and again bending forward to get a nearer look at me. "He says it all. I have no other information."

"No, to be sure."

"Now, whether," pursued Herbert, "he had used the child's mother ill, or whether he had used the child's mother well, Provis doesn't say; but, she had shared some four or five years of the wretched life he described to us at this fireside, and he seems to have felt pity for her, and forbearance towards her. Therefore, fearing he should be called upon to depose about this destroyed child, and so be the cause of her death, he hid himself (much as he grieved for the child), kept himself dark, as he says, out of the way and out of the trial, and was only vaguely talked of as a certain man called Abel, out of whom the jealousy arose. After the acquittal she disappeared, and thus he lost the child and the child's mother."

"I want to ask—"

"A moment, my dear boy, and I have done. That evil genius, Compeyson, the worst of scoundrels, knowing of his keeping out of the way at that time, and of his reasons for doing so, of course afterwards held the knowledge over his head as a means of keeping him poorer, and working him harder. It was clear last night that this barbed the point of Provis's animosity."

"I want to know," said I, "and particularly, Herbert, whether he told you when this happened?"

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425 "Particularly? Let me remember, then, what he said as to that. His expression was, 'a round score o' year ago, and a'most directly after I took up wi' Compeyson.' How old were you when you came upon him in the little churchyard?"

"I think in my seventh year."

"Ay. It had happened some three or four years then, he said, and you brought into his mind the little girl so tragically lost, who would have been about your age."

"Herbert," said I, after a short silence, in a hurried way, "can you see me best by the light of the window, or the light of the fire?"

"By the firelight," answered Herbert, coming close again.

"Look at me."

"I do look at you, my dear boy."

"Touch me."

"I do touch you, my dear boy."

"You are not afraid that I am in any fever, or that my head is much disordered by the accident of last night?"

"N-no, my dear boy, " said Herbert, after taking time to examine me. "You are rather excited, but you are quite yourself."

"I know I am quite myself. And the man we have in hiding down the river, is Estella's Father."

purpose I had in view when I was hot on tracing out and proving Estella's parentage, I cannot say. It will presently be seen that the question was not before me in distinct shape, until it was put before me by a wiser head than my own.

But, when Herbert and I had held our momentous conversation, I was seized with a feverish conviction that I ought to hunt the matter down—that I ought not to let it rest, but that I ought to see Mr. Jaggers, and come at the

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 THE PLAZA VICTORIA, VALPARAISO.

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 Plan of Horncastle, 1908—from the Ordnance Survey.


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426 bare truth. I really do not know whether I felt that I did this for Estella's sake, or whether I was glad to transfer to the man in whose preservation I was so much concerned, some rays of the romantic interest that had so long surrounded me. Perhaps the latter possibility may be the nearer to the truth.

Anyway, I could scarcely be withheld from going out to Gerrard-street that night. Herbert's representations, that if I did, I should probably be laid up and stricken useless, when our fugitive's safety would depend upon me, alone restrained my impatience. On the understanding, again and again reiterated, that come what would, I was to go to Mr. Jaggers to-morrow, I at length submitted to keep quiet, and to have my hurts looked after, and to stay at home. Early next morning we went out together, and at the corner of Giltspur-street by Smithfield, I left Herbert to go his way into the city, and took my way to Little Britain.

There were periodical occasions when Mr. Jaggers and Mr. Wemmick went over the office accounts, and checked off the vouchers, and put all things straight. On these occasions Wemmick took his books and papers into Mr. Jaggers's room, and one of the upstairs clerks came down into the outer office. Finding such clerk on Wemmick's post that morning, I knew what was going on; but I was not sorry to have Mr. Jaggers and Wemmick together, as Wemmick would then hear for himself that I said nothing to compromise him.

My appearance with my arm bandaged and my coat loose over my shoulders, favoured my object. Although I had sent Mr. Jaggers a brief account of the accident as soon as I had arrived in town, yet I had to give him all the details now; and the specialty of the occasion caused our talk to be less dry and hard, and less strictly regulated by the rules of evidence, than it had been before. While I described the disaster, Mr. Jaggers stood, according to his wont, before the fire. Wemmick leaned back in his chair, staring at me, with his hands in the pockets of his trousers, and his pen put horizontally into the post. The two brutal

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Rh casts, always inseparable in my mind from official proceedings, seemed to be congestively considering whether they didn't smell fire at the present moment.

My narrative finished, and their questions exhausted, I then produced Miss Havisham's authority to receive the nine hundred pounds for Herbert. Mr. Jaggers's eyes retired a little deeper into his head when I handed him the tablets, but he presently handed them over to Wemmick, with instructions to draw the cheque for his signature. While that was in course of being done, I looked on at Wemmick as he wrote, and Mr. Jaggers, poising and swaying himself on his well-polished boots, looked on at me. "I am sorry, Pip," said he, as I put the cheque in my pocket, when he had signed it, "that we do nothing for you."

"Miss Havisham was good enough to ask me," I returned, "whether she could do nothing for me, and I told her No."

"Everybody should know his own business," said Mr. Jaggers. And I saw Wemmick's lips form the word "portable property."

"I should not have told her No, if I had been you," said Mr. Jaggers; "but every man ought to know his own business best."

"Every man's business," said Wemmick, rather reproachfully towards me, "is 'portable property.'"

As I thought the time was now come for pursuing the theme I had at heart, I said, turning on Mr. Jaggers:

"I did ask something of Miss Havisham, however, sir. I asked her to give me some information relative to her adopted daughter, and she gave me all she possessed."

"Did she?" said Mr. Jaggers, bending forward to look at his boots and then straightening himself. "Hah! I don't think I should have done so, if I had been Miss Havisham. But she ought to know her own business best."

"I know more of the history of Miss Havisham's adopted child, than Miss Havisham herself does, sir. I know her mother."

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428 Mr. Jaggers looked at me inquiringly, and repeated, "Mother?"

"I have seen her mother within these three days."

"Yes?" said Mr. Jaggers.

"And so have you, sir. And you have seen her still more recently."

"Yes?" said Mr. Jaggers.

"Perhaps I know more of Estella's history, than even you do," said I. "I know her father, too."

A certain stop that Mr. Jaggers came to in his manner—he was too self-possessed to change his manner, but he could not help its being brought to an indefinably attentive stop—assured me that he did not know who her father was. This I had strongly suspected from Provis's account (as Herbert had repeated it) of his having kept himself dark; which I pieced on to the fact that he himself was not Mr. Jaggers's client until some four years later, and when he could have no reason for claiming his identity. But, I could not be sure of this unconsciousness on Mr. Jaggers's part before, though I was quite sure of it now.

"So! You know the young lady's father, Pip?" said Mr. Jaggers.

"Yes," I replied, "and his name is Provis—from New South Wales."

Even Mr. Jaggers started when I said those words. It was the slightest start that could escape a man, the most carefully repressed and the sooner checked, but he did start, though he made it a part of the action of taking out his pocket-handkerchief. How Wemmick received the announcement I am unable to say, for I was afraid to look at him just then, lest Mr. Jaggers's sharpness should detect that there had been some communication unknown to him between us.

"And on what evidence, Pip," asked Mr. Jaggers, very coolly, as he paused with his handkerchief half way to his nose, "does Provis make this claim?"

"He does not make it," said I, "and has never made it, and has no knowledge or belief that his daughter is in existence."

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Author talk:James Bartlett

1871
(probable) Name: 	James T A Bartlett Age: 	13 Estimated Birth Year: 	abt 1858 Gender: 	Male Where born: 	Portsmouth, Hampshire, England Civil parish: 	Greenwich Ecclesiastical parish: 	St Alphage County/Island: 	Kent Country: 	England Registration district: 	Greenwich Sub-registration district: 	Greenwich East ED, institution, or vessel: 	Hospital School and Infirmary Household schedule number: 	1 Piece: 	761 Folio: 	50 Page Number: 	2

1881
Name: 	James Bartlett Age: 	23 Estimated Birth Year: 	abt 1858 Relation: 	Son in Law Gender: 	Male Where born: 	Portsmouth, Hampshire, England Civil parish: 	Portsea County/Island: 	Hampshire Country: 	England Street Address: 	129 Fratton St Condition as to marriage: 	Married Occupation: 	Architect (Assistant) Registration district: 	Portsea Island Sub-registration district: 	Landport ED, institution, or vessel: 	10 Piece: 	1153 Folio: 	78 Page Number: 	2 Household Members: Name 	Age George A. Smith 	53 Elizabeth Smith 	53 Elizabeth J. Bartlett 	24 George S. Smith 	21 Edith C. Smith 	16 Alfred P. Smith 	13 Frederick C. Smith 	8 James Bartlett 	23 Elizabeth K. Bartlett 	1 James H. Bartlett Jane A. Balmforth 	42

1891
Name: 	James Bartlett Age: 	33 Estimated Birth Year: 	abt 1858 Relation: 	Head Spouse's Name: 	Elizabeth J Bartlett Gender: 	Male Where born: 	Portsmouth, Hampshire, England Civil parish: 	Wandsworth Ecclesiastical parish: 	St Anns Town: 	Wandsworth County/Island: 	London Country: 	England Registration district: 	Wandsworth Sub-registration district: 	Wandsworth ED, institution, or vessel: 	30 Neighbors: 	View others on page Piece: 	450 Folio: 	85 Page Number: 	29 Household Members: Name 	Age James Martlell 	33 Elizabeth J Bartlett 	34 Elizabeth K Bartlett 	11 James Horace Bartlett 	10 Stanley G Bartlett 	5 Allen Bartlett 	2

1891
Name: 	James Bartlett Age: 	43 Estimated Birth Year: 	abt 1858 Relation: 	Head Spouse's Name: 	Elizabeth S Bartlett Gender: 	Male Where born: 	Portsmouth, Hampshire, England Civil parish: 	Wandsworth Ecclesiastical parish: 	St Anne County/Island: 	London Country: 	England Registration district: 	Wandsworth Sub-registration district: 	Wandsworth ED, institution, or vessel: 	27 Neighbors: 	View others on page Household schedule number: 	194 Piece: 	484 Folio: 	113 Page Number: 	29 Household Members: Name 	Age James Bartlett 	43 Elizabeth S Bartlett 	44 Elizabeth Kate Bartlett 	21 Stanley G Bartlett 	15 Allen Bartlett 	12 Dorothy Bartlett 	7 Elizabeth Smith 	72

1911
Name: 	James Bartlett Age in 1911: 	53 Estimated Birth Year: 	abt 1858 Relation to Head: 	Head Gender: 	Male Birth Place: 	Portsmouth, Hampshire, England Civil parish: 	Woking County/Island: 	Surrey Country: 	England Street Address: 	The Rest, Commercial Rd, Woking Marital Status: 	Married Occupation: 	Lecturer on Arts of Construction Architect andSurveyor Registration district: 	Guildford Registration District Number: 	33 Sub-registration district: 	Woking ED, institution, or vessel: 	7 Household schedule number: 	177 Piece: 	3034

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Rh For once, the powerful pocket-handkerchief failed. My reply was so unexpected that Mr. Jaggers put the handkerchief back into his pocket without completing the usual performance, folded his arms, and looked with stern attention at me, though with an immovable face.

Then I told him all I knew, and how I knew it; with the one reservation that I left him to infer that I knew from Miss Havisham what I in fact knew from Wemmick. I was very careful indeed as to that. Nor, did I look towards Wemmick until I had finished all I had to tell, and had been for some time silently meeting Mr. Jaggers's look. When I did at last turn my eyes in Wemmick' s direction, I found that he had unposted his pen, and was intent upon the table before him.

"Hah!" said Mr. Jaggers at last, as he moved towards the papers on the table. "—What item was it you were at, Wemmick, when Mr. Pip came in?"

But I could not submit to be thrown off in that way, and I made a passionate, almost an indignant appeal to him to be more frank and manly with me. I reminded him of the false hopes into which I had lapsed, the length of time they had lasted, and the discovery I had made: and I hinted at the danger that weighed upon my spirits. I represented myself as being surely worthy of some little confidence from him, in return for the confidence I had just now imparted. I said that I did not blame him, or suspect him, or mistrust him, but I wanted assurance of the truth from him. And if he asked me why I wanted it and why I thought I had any right to it, I would tell him, little as he cared for such poor dreams, that I had loved Estella dearly and long, and that, although I had lost her and must live a bereaved life, whatever concerned her was still nearer and dearer to me than anything else in the world. And seeing that Mr. Jaggers stood quite still and silent, and apparently quite obdurate, under this appeal, I turned to Wemmick, and said, "Wemmick, I know you to be a man with a gentle heart. I have seen your pleasant home, and your old father, and all the innocent cheerful playful ways with which you refresh your business life. And I entreat

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430 you to say a word for me to Mr. Jaggers, and to represent to him that, all circumstances considered, he ought to be more open with me!"

I have never seen two men look more oddly at one another than Mr. Jaggers and Wemmick did after this apostrophe. At first, a misgiving crossed me that Wemmick would be instantly dismissed from his employment; but, it melted as I saw Mr. Jaggers relax into something like a smile, and Wemmick become bolder.

"What's all this?" said Mr. Jaggers. "You with an old father, and you with pleasant and playful ways?"

"Well!" returned Wemmick. "If I don't bring 'em here, what does it matter?"

"Pip," said Mr. Jaggers, laying his hand upon my arm, and smiling openly, "this man must be the most cunning impostor in all London."

"Not a bit of it," returned Wemmick, growing bolder and bolder. "I think you're another."

Again they exchanged their former odd looks, each apparently still distrustful that the other was taking him in.

"You with a pleasant home?" said Mr. Jaggers.

"Since it don't interfere with business," returned Wemmick, "let it be so. Now, I look at you, sir, I shouldn't wonder if you might be planning and contriving to have a pleasant home of your own, one of these days, when you're tired of all this work."

Mr. Jaggers nodded his head retrospectively two or three times, and actually drew a sigh. "Pip," said he, "we won't talk about 'poor dreams;' you know more about such things than I, having much fresher experience of that kind. But now, about this other matter. I'll put a case to you. Mind! I admit nothing."

He waited for me to declare that I quite understood that he expressly said that he admitted nothing.

"Now, Pip," said Mr. Jaggers, "put this case. Put the case that a woman, under such circumstances as you have mentioned, held her child concealed, and was obliged to communicate the fact to her legal adviser, on his representing to her that he must know, with an eye to the

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