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The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Library Training

LIBRARY TRAINING. M. W. Schrettinger, in his ‘Versuch eines vollständigen Lehrbuchs der Bibliotheks-wissenschaft’ (Munich 1829) was probably first to suggest special schools for training librarians. F. Rullman, librarian of the University of Freiburg, in 1874 outlined a university course in library science. The older libraries and librarians were intensely individualistic, and these, as well as other early schemes, emphasized the bibliographical side rather than the administrative. Recognition of librarianship as a profession and the consequent professional co-operation of librarians were necessary for substantial progress in library training. The first really constructive work in this direction followed the formation of the American Library Association in 1876. A regular course in bibliography was established at the University of Michigan in 1882 and a chair of library science at Göttingen under Karl Dziatzko, in 1886.

The beginning of systematic library training in America is largely due to Melvil Dewey, who on 5 Jan. 1887 opened the School of Library Economy at Columbia College, New York City. This was transferred to Albany in 1889 and renamed the New York State Library School. From this pioneer school five types of library training agencies have developed: library schools; apprentice and training courses; short courses; library courses in schools and colleges and miscellaneous agencies.

Library Schools. — Regular library schools give courses of either one or two school years. All are connected with libraries which are used for study and practice. The location of the school usually determines whether public, college or reference library work is emphasized. The principal subjects are substantially the same in the different schools. They include bibliography, reference work, selection and evaluation of books, history of books and libraries, binding, cataloging, classification, library administration, library buildings and many other technical and social aspects of library work, sometimes grouped under the term “library economy.” Practice in varied library work is required. Entrance requirements range from high school graduation to college degree.

The Association of American Library Schools was formed at Albany, N. Y., 29-30 June 1915, for the improvement of library school training. Membership is limited to schools giving at least one full year of library training and meeting the minimum standards of equipment, faculty personnel and curriculum prescribed by the association. The present members of the association (1919), with date of founding, length of course and degrees granted are:

Other library schools giving a one-year course are the California State Library School, Sacramento, Cal.; Saint Louis Public Library School, Saint Louis, Mo.; University of Washington Library School, Seattle, Wash., and the Riverside Library Service School, Riverside, Cal. (33 weeks).

Apprentice and Training Classes. — Before the establishment of library schools, service as an apprentice was the usual method of library training. Most large library systems now conduct elementary classes for training assistants for their own libraries. The instruction is usually local in emphasis and chiefly concerned with administrative details. Training classes vary greatly in length, subjects treated and methods of instruction.

Short Courses. — These are elementary courses of three or more weeks' duration, usually given in the summer months and chiefly intended to aid librarians in small public or school libraries or in subordinate positions in large libraries. They are rather numerous and, without any generally accepted standard. They fall, for the most part, into one of four classes: (1) Those conducted independently by State iibrary commissions as in Indiana, Michigan, Minnesota, New Jersey and Pennsylvania; (2) those given by library schools, with or without the co-operation of library commissions, e.g., the summer course of the New York State, University of Illinois, Simmons College and University of Wisconsin library schools; (3) those given as summer courses by colleges, universities and normal schools as at the universities of California, Iowa, Michigan and Missouri and at Columbia University; (4) the independent short course, represented by the Chautauqua (N. Y.) School for librarians.

School, College and University Courses. — These, unlike the “short courses,” are usually a part of the regular curriculum. Secondary and normal school courses usually emphasize the reference use of books, the wider reading of good books and the intelligent use of libraries. Many normal school courses include the elements of library organization and management, especially of school libraries. These courses, which are increasing in number, vary widely in scope and value. College and university courses vary from courses similar to those given by normal schools or apprentice classes for student assistants, to advanced work in bibliography or library technique.

Miscellaneous Agencies. — Many library commissions conduct local library conferences or “institutes” of from one day to two weeks' duration. The American Library Association and many State and local library associations regularly hold meetings for professional discussion. These meetings are important auxiliary forces in promoting professional spirit

and encouraging library training. Several States employ library organizers who give personal instruction in library matters to librarians whose libraries they inspect or organize. Correspondence and extension courses in library work have so far made little material progress. The near future will probably see important developments in both directions.

Library Training Outside the United States. — As early as 1877, Italy had prescribed examinations for library positions but, as a whole, libraries outside the United States still depend chiefly on the apprentice system to recruit their staffs. Most of the training given is primarily bibliographical. Extended service and rigid examinations are required in Prussia and Bavaria, and schools for women librarians are maintained in Berlin and Leipzig.

In England, regular extension courses in library subjects, with prescribed examinations, are held under the auspices of the Library Association, chiefly to provide assistants for the public libraries.

In Canada, summer courses have been held at McGill University, Montreal. A nine weeks course is regularly conducted by the Ontario Department at Toronto.

The number of Scandinavian librarians trained in American library schools is steadily increasing. Norway has elementary library courses, in the interest of the rural libraries, in most of her normal schools, and several general library summer courses have been held.

Successful library courses, modeled on American lines, were conducted by Mme. Haffkin-Hamburger, at Shaniawsky University, Moscow, 1913-17. In India two library courses have been established: at Baroda by W. A. Borden and at the University of Lahore by A. D. Dickinson.

Bibliography. — Cannons, H. G. T., ‘Bibliography of Library Economy’ (London 1910); ‘Librarianship as a Profession’ (Albany 1912); Plummer, Mary W., ‘Training for Librarianship’ (Chicago 1913); ‘Library Instruction in Universities, Colleges and Normal Schools’ (United States Bureau of Education, Bulletin 606; Washington 1914). For library schools and short courses consult current American Library Annual, New York; ‘First Quarter Century of the New York State Library School’ (Albany 1912); the circulars of the various schools and library commissions; American Library Association Proceedings, 1917; Reports of the Committees on Summer Schools and Apprentice Training Classes (Chicago 1917).


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 Rh church. The deprivation of a parish church was much felt, and it was resolved by Emmy Dabney to try to build a church nearer to Burleigh. She begged her father to allow her to go out as a governess that she might use the money made in this way to build a simple wooden church. He gave a reluctant consent, as he disliked to see women work. The year's salary was insufficient for the purpose, and very little was contributed in the neighborhood. There was but one communicant outside of the Burleigh house,—the country people who cared for religion belonged to other religious bodies. All the sisters and a family of cousins went to work with their needles to make up the deficiency in funds. Although they made a great deal in this way the desired end seemed a long way off, and they set to work to make appeals to the church people of the North, asking for one dollar from each one. A generous response came at once; money came by dollars and hundreds of dollars. In a short time, instead of the one thousand dollars that was asked for, about five thousand had been received. The letters that came were as much prized as the money. Of the many hundreds received but one was unkind in its tone, and a few months later the writer of that letter sent a large sum of money, accompanied by words of Christian sympathy. Our father had never felt other than kindly towards the North. His long residence in New York as a child, and his broad sympathies with them as a part of the nation, had made him, as already stated, a stanch Union man as long as there seemed to be any hope of keeping the Union unbroken. He enjoyed these overflowing Christian letters with his children. Warm friendships were formed with some of the writers, and were among the most lasting and prized of our lives. The large amount of money received enabled us not only to complete the little church, but to purchase a glebe and rectory. The work connected with this church and Sunday-school became a part of the life at Burleigh.

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British Wonders

, A Poetical Description of the Several

That have happen'd in Britain since the Death of

IN wretched Times, when Men were given To mock the Church and spurn at Heaven, And Pious Saints, like Sinners, sold Their tender Consciences for Gold, Nay, even when our Guides could take Or break an Oath for Int'rest sake, As if no other God but Mammon, Was worship'd both by Priest and Layman, And that alike they'd no regard To future Torment or Reward, Excepting some, the very best, Who liv'd despis'd by all the rest, And bore their Suff'rings in the face Of Envy, with a Comly Grace, Dreading no Party Threats nor Pow'rs, But copy'd old Philosophers, And in contempt of Knaves and Fools, Kept wisely up to Vertue's Rules.

'Twas then when Prodigies were grown As common as the Sun and Moon, That e'ery Week, the Earth or Skies, With some new Wonder, fed our Eyes, And sporting Nature, to amuse us, Did startling Novelties produce us, Mocking our Archimedean Sons Of Art with strange Phæmomenons, As puz'ling to our Math'maticians, As new Distempers to Physicians, Who, with their Terms of Art, oft hide Their Ign'rance to support their Pride, Like Pedants, who to gloss their Errors, Talk Latin to unletter'd Hearers.

Tho' many wond'rous Things appear'd, And such as justly might be fear'd, To be Forerunners of some strange Destructive Plague, or fatal Change, Like those sad Omens that foretold The downfal of the Jews of old; Yet all our Almanack-Professors, And Astrologick Fortune-guessers, Tho' at each Sign they stood aghast, Despis'd the threat'ning Signs when past, And deem'd each Wonder but the Sport Of Nature, that presag'd no Hurt. So Sailors, when a Storm encreases, Look Pale and Fearful till it ceases; Then gath'ring Courage by degrees, They Swear and Bully Winds and Seas, And flight the Danger that before So shock'd the Cowards 'till 'twas o'er.

As soon as Britain had sustain'd That fatal Loss which Heav'n has gain'd, And Parties squabbl'd to a Madness, About their Sorrows and their Gladness, A Plague unprophesy'd succeeded, That only reach'd the Horniheaded, And like a fatal Rot or Murrain, Turn'd all our Bulls and Cows to Carrion; That even Cuckolds pray'd, to pity, This Horn-plague might not reach the City, And from the Kine, who daily ran Hornmad, extend itself to Man. The Leacher, tho' he's cold, we find Is always Goatishly inclin'd: And the young buxom Female Creature, As oft contracts a Pole-cat Nature.

Since brutal Passions thus infect us, When Guardian Vertue does neglect us, The Wicked may, if Heaven pleases, As well be ting'd with Brutes Diseases.

The Farriers now their Skill imploy'd, But still the Cows in Number dy'd, And with their Horns and Hides together, Were burnt, without reserve of Leather, To shew their Owners were almost As frantick as the Beasts they lost. Some cunning Huxters, who had Cows Old, Dry and Lean, not worth a Souse, Tho' sound in Health, but scarce deserving Of Pasture, to prevent their Starving, These wisely knock'd 'em on the Head By Night, when Neighbours were in Bed, Next Day assign'd their Expiration To this new fatal Visitation: So bore 'em to some distant Pit, Or Ditch, for such a Purpose fit;

There, to the Terror of our Isle, Consum'd 'em in their Fun'ral Pile, Then, like true Hipocrites, put on A mournful Look, as if undone, And claim'd the Sum of Forty Shilling, For e'ery Cow of Heaven's killing. A gen'rous Bounty! that destroy'd More Cattle than the Plague annoy'd; For not a worthless Runt past Thriving, Wh'in Lanes and Commons sought her Living, But dy'd, if not of Pest, by Slaughter, Because o'th' Money that came a'ter: For Hay was dear, and Grass but scarce, Which made Lean Cattle fare the worse, And caus'd their Owners to dispatch 'em, For fear the Plague should not attack 'em.

In all the filthy Skirts around The Town, where nasty Scents abound, O'er-roasted Beef was now the Stink Predominant o'er Ditch or Sink; And Surloins broiling in their Flames, The Foh of Hogmen and their Dames; Burnt Horns and Hoofs, and hairy Hides, Offended e'ery Nose besides, And out-stunk all the Bulls and Bears, Old Dunghils, Night-men, Slaughterers, Jayls, Butchers Dogs and Hogs that dwell In sweet St. James's Clerkenwel; Or all the Stinks that rise together, From Hockley-Hole, in sultry Weather.

Thus English Beef, that glorious Food, Once held so preferably good, The most substantial of our Meats, And noblest of our Friendly Treats; That Flesh which makes the Briton bolder Than any Foreign Country Soldier, And gives him Strength, in time of War, To cleave a Sultan or a Czar; Yet was it now despis'd by Porters, And hungry Red-Coats in their Quarters; Dreading to catch, from Cow or Ox, The Plague, who never fear'd the Pox. So the Fair Mistress of the Town, When Young and Wholsome, will go down, But with the Crinkums once infected, She's by the meanest Rake rejected.

Nor was the Flesh alone refus'd, But Milky Diets much disus'd: Pudding, that universal Dish, The Swain's Delight, the Plowman's Wish, The Housewife's Pride, the Husband's Choice, The darling Food of Girls and Boys, Now dwindl'd to such low esteem, 'Twould scarce go down, tho' made of Cream; For the Horn'd Cattle running Mad, Had brought on Milk a Name so bad, That even Pudding lost its vogue, And for a Season prov'd a Drug. Pudding! the Idol of the Priest, The Farmer's constant Sunday's Feast, The Ornament of each Man's Table, Down from the Noble to the Rabble, The sole Characteristick Food Of true-born Englishmen abroad: From whence, to good Old-England's Fame, Jack-Pudding takes his ancient Name. As the French Fool is titl'd John- Pottage, from Soops he feeds upon. And the Dutch Zany for preferring His Fish, is nick-nam'd Pickl'd-Herring. Thus e'ery Fool is call'd, in Jest, By what his Country loves the best, That those who crowd to see the Pranks On Stages play'd by Mountebanks, May know what Country Fool attends The Doctor, to engage his Friends, For his assum'd or given Name, Discovers whence the Zany came.

Butter, that old Balsamick Sauce, Was also now made scandalous, That even 'Prentice-Boys would flout it, And eat their very Roots without it, For fear the Cream should prove contagious, And make 'em, like the Cows, outragious; For no Distemper, Plague, or Sadness, Infects the English like to Madness.

Fish now were forc'd to swim, alas, In Oil, to th' Table of His Grace, Or naked in the Dish appear, Till Butter had a time to clear Its present odious Reputation, That it might come once more in fashion; And, like some Lords turn'd out of Post, Regain the Credit it had lost.

Custard, that noble cooling Food, So toothsome, wholsome, and so good, That Dainty so approv'd of old, Whose yellow surface shines like Gold; That Idol of our City Halls, Which crowns our solemn Festivals, And adds unto my Lord-May'r's Board, A Grace more pleasing than his Sword. That crusty Fort, whose Walls of Wheat, Contain such tender lusheous Meat, And us'd so often to be storm'd By hungry Gownmen sharply arm'd, Was now, alas, despis'd as nought, And slighted wheresoe'er 'twas brought; Whilst Lumber-Pies came more in play, And bore, at Feasts, the Bell away. So in wet Seasons, when our Mutton Is e'ery where cry'd down as rotten, Cow-heel becomes a Dish of State, And climbs the Tables of the Great.

O wretched Times, when People fear'd Their Chops with Custard should be smear'd, Lest the Cow-plague should seize their Skulls, And make 'em all as mad as Bulls! So the wise Whigs, to Int'rest hearty, Abjure the Disaffected Party, Lest Tory-Breath should taint their Wits, And make 'em all turn Jacobites.

The Milk-Maids now began to mourn The Brindle, Red, and Crumpl'd Horn, And dream'd at Night they saw the Ghost Of e'ery Fav'rite Cow they'd lost: Then rising early, having none To stroke but Udders of their own: They wept in Clusters near their Houses, Like Widows parted from their Spouses, Till Tears and Pissing made a Flood, In e'ery Corner where they stood. Thus moaning, now the Cows were dead, The Loss of them and of their Bread: Some singing Ballads for support, New merry Strains with aching Heart, As Malefactors, when they're dying, Howl out a Psalm, next kin to crying: Others, their Modesty forsaking, Took up the Trade of Basket-making, And humbly ply'd for small Rewards, Among His Majesty's Foot-Guards, To gain, by Poxing and by Whoring, What they had lost by Plague or Murrain. Thus Girls of honest Means bereft, Who've nothing but their Quistrils left, Must live by Jading or by Theft.

The next Disaster that befel, Before the drooping Cows grew well, Was that unhappy Chance among The Scaffolds, when the Joyful Throng Were gazing at the Grand Procession, That grac'd the pompous Coronation, Where Lords and Ladies flam'd as bright By Day, as wand'ring Stars by Night, And where the Hanoverian Line Did all the British Race outshine, And in their Robes and Jewels dress'd, Look'd far more glorious than the rest:

But as in solemn Pomp they mov'd, Much honour'd, shouted and approv'd, A Scaffold loaded with a crowd Of fond Spectators, humbly bow'd Its Props and Stancheons to the Great Supporters of the Church and State, Whose solemn Grandeur aw'd the Boards, To fall before such mighty Lords, Proclaiming, in a crackling sound, Their Joy, as tumbling to the Ground, The only Homage Wood could pay To such a Train, on such a Day. But O! the doleful Shrieks and Cries, That of a sudden did arise Between both Sexes, when they found The Scaffold tumbling to the Ground. No Sailors in a foundring Ship Half swallow'd in the foaming Deep, Could in their Pray'rs and Groans express More dreadful signals of Distress; For soon as e'er each yielding Prop Gave way, and Seats began to drop, Their loud Huzza's and Loyal Peals Of Joy, were turn'd to Cries and Yells; Some roaring out, My Back, my Back! Like Wretches tort'ring on the Rack; And some that met with diff'rent Harms, Bawl'd out, My Legs! or, 0 my Arms! All, Helter Skelter, in disorder, Some crying, Help; and others, Murder. The Ladies, who were dress'd as gay As could be, for so bless'd a Day,

Suffer'd much more in this Mischance, Than their kind Husbands or Gallants; Some losing all their Fin'ry off Their Heads, became the Rabble's Scoff; For tho' they look'd so Plump and Young, When round with Flanders Laces hung, Yet, when unrigg'd, their Crowns appear'd As bald, as those for Age rever'd; Whilst others, with their Heels upright, Expos'd a more crinif'rous Sight, Squeaking, with Voices almost spent, Like tender Girls in Ravishment.

Some well-dress'd lofty-seated Lasses, Tumbling from high to lower Classes, O'erwhelm'd inferieur Blades and Beaus, With their hoop'd Coats and Furbiloes, Some sneaking out their Heads, bereft Of Wigs, which they behind had left In sacred Mansions, where could be No search, 'thout breach of Modesty; Whilst others, who had plung'd their Locks 'Twixt Sattin Skins and Holland Smocks, Brought forth about their wreaking Ears, Th'unsav'ry Dregs of Female Fears; An Accident so very spightful, That made the Suff'rers look as frightful As pelted Wretches, just set free From rotten Eggs and Pillory. Thus crowds of Mortals struggling lay, Among the Planks, in sad dismay; Some mixing their expiring Groans With others dismal Cries and Moans,

Whilst all the neighb'ring Surgeons swarm'd Around the fatal Ruins, arm'd With Lancets, Balsams, Rags and Plasters, Adapted to the Crowds Disasters; Each laying hold of whom they cou'd, To set their Bones, or let 'em Blood, Or do what they conceiv'd most crafty, For their own Good and Patient's Safety; Thus Surgeons, like to Lawyers, make The best of what they undertake; And tho' they cure our Ailings first, The After-clap proves always worst.

The next sad Chance that did ensue, More fatal than the former Two, Was that destructive Conflagration; Dreadful to human Observation, Begun, as Fame reports, by thofe Preparing Fire-works, to expose And burn the Effigies of the best Of Queens, whose Mem'ry they detest, Because she strove our Wounds to heal, And bless'd Her Foes against their Will. So Drunkards, when with Wine o'ercome, Abuse their Friends that lead 'em home, And tho' the Way, they're forc'd along, Be right, they'll swear, in spight, 'tis wrong.

Deep in a Cellar under Ground, Where Night was always to be found, A Work-house proper for the Makers Of whizing Squibs and bouncing Crackers,

There, for some time, Hell's Engineers Had been contriving artful Fires, And dressing Puppits to delight Their Malice on some Publick Night; But Providence, displeas'd to see Their mad ingrateful Mockery, Made their own Carelesness the ruin Of all the Mischiefs they'd been brewing, And by some Accident or other Turn'd their ill Works to Smoke and Smother, Which fled before a Sou-West Wind, And left a raging Fire behind, Such as consum'd whole Streets and Lanes, And gave to sundry Men their Banes, Who lab'ring to preserve the Wealth Of others, perish'd in their Health; Whilst many more, who stood to see The Flames, thro' Curiosity, Came lamely off, with Maims and Bruises, By Timber from the blown-up Houses. Therefore, let their Misfortunes learn us, To shun what Hazards don't concern us, And rather hear, from Friend or Stranger, What can't be seen without much Danger.

Claret, that universal Wine, That makes the Poet's Fancy shine, And wins more Favours from the Fair, Than all that Man can say or swear, Was now in Pipes and Hogsheads burn'd, And into Fun'ral Liquors turn'd, Or coddl'd Hogwash, fit to bring To Gossips at a Christening; Whilst Thousands that ador'd the Juice, As Heaven's Gift for Humane Use, Curs'd the invidious Fire that boil'd The noble Creature 'till 'twas spoil'd, And wept to see the drougthy Flames Drink Wine by Tuns, so near the Thames, When Water from the swelling Current, Had sooner cool'd the raging Tyrant.

Brandy, that Cordial of the Town, In fiery Streams flow'd up and down, And turn'd (if Poets leave may take) Each Kennel to a Stygian Lake; Whilst Coachmen, Carmen, Porters, Seamen, Trulls, Orange-Drabs and Oyster-Women, Licking their Lips, in clusters stood, And griev'd to see the burning Flood. (In Frosty Morns the best of Drinks) Ran flaming down the dirty Sinks, When they'd have all been glad, I'll warrant, To've stop'd the Fury of the Torrent, But that it flow'd as scalding hot, As Pottage boiling o'er the Pot. So have I seen a Hound stand peeping At roasting Beef and melted Dripping, And like a pregnant Gossip long, But durst not touch it with his Tongue.

Tobacco, that Narcotick Funk, That fluxes Mortals till they're drunk, And tempts the marry'd Sot to slight. The Nuptial Blessings of the Night, Was now, instead of Pipes of Clay, Consum'd in Hogsheads as it lay; From whence ascended Fumes so choaking, As if the Dev'l himself was smoaking, And, knocking out his Pipes, forgot To tread the stinking Ashes out, But left 'em burning on the Ground, To poyson all his Friends around.

Sugar, whose pleasing taste imparts Such Life to Puddings, Pies and Tarts, And stops the Cries of swaddl'd Babes, When pop'd into their Mouths by Dabs. Sugar, the grand Support that bears Up all Confectionary Wares, And makes the Wife's Loblolly sooth The kind Uxorious Husband's Tooth, In Loads now perish'd in the Flames, And burnt in Dunghils near the Thames, Till melted and reduc'd to Wax, Then stoll'n away by crafty Quacks, And sold as new-discover'd Physick, To cure Consumption, Cough, or Phthysick; A Nostrum also never failing, In any other inward Ailing. So Dogs-turd, when it's dry'd, becomes A Med'cine rare for ulcer'd Gums, And of all Powders is the best For a Sore-Throat. Probatum est. But why our Quack-Administrators Of Phyfick, use such trifling Matters, Is 'cause they're cheap to him that gives 'em, And dear toth' Patient that receives 'em.

In short, all sorts of Foreign Goods, Hemp, Cotton, Linen, Drugs and Woods, Tea, Coffee, Spices, Turky-Leather, Convey'd from distant Countries hither, All shar'd one Fate and burnt together, Till Hellborn Powder, which began This flagrant Mischief unto Man, Subdu'd the Tyrant, God be prais'd, And stop'd the Fire itself had rais'd.   So Claret, tho' it makes us bright, And oft inflames us all the Night, A Hair of the same Dog next Morning, Is best to quench our fev'rish burning.

Now, had the Tories play'd the Fool, And dizen'd up a Pastboard Nol, Or been preparing Squibs and Crackers, To vex our Mug-house Undertakers, And had their insolent Offence Produc'd so sad a Consequence, The dreadful Flames had then been thought A Judgment, or, at least, a Plot; Then Cloak and Band would soon have taught, How wicked Works are brought to nought, And prov'd by Decalogue, verbatim, That God will punish those that hate him. But when their own Designs miscarry, And from their good Intentions vary, They wisely make the cross Events, The Lord's Probation of his Saints, And cite each holy Text that proves How God chastiseth whom he loves.

Next to this Fire, whose raging Flames Insulted and defy'd the Thames,

And, spight of Engines and of Water, Committed such a dreadful slaughter, The distant Heav'ns began to show New Wonders to the World below, And seem'd to threat the whole Creation With Deluge or with Conflagration.

The Moon who us'd to rule the Night, And bless us with her silver Light, Not only prov'd Unceremonious, And turn'd her dark backside upon us, But like a Mask obscur'd the Face O'th' Sun in his diurnal Race, That even Men and Brutes were frighted, To find themselves, by Day, benighted. The Wicked gaz'd in woful plight, And shiver'd at the dismal Sight, Reflecting on their past Offences, And all their sinful Negligences; Whilst Atheists, who before believ'd No God, at once were undeceiv'd, And lifting up their Eyes to Heaven, Devoutly pray'd to be forgiven: The Godly even shook with Fear, And thought the Day of Judgment near; Nor could their old pretended Pleas Of Grace secure their Consciences, But in their Faces we could see Guilt, Terror, and Despondency; As if convinc'd they were no more Elected than the Scarlet Whore, But that their Sins were full as great As theirs they stile the Reprobate. So forward Fools who vainly boast Of Strength and Resolution most, When Danger's near, grow pale and fad, For want of what they thought they had.

The Cattle in their Pastures Low'd, And did in Herds together crowd, As if surpris'd to see the Light So early vanish into Night.

The Poultry from their Walks adjourn'd, And to their several Roosts return'd, Whilst their proud Mates that stalk'd before, Clap'd Wings and falsly crow'd the Hour. Like drunken Watchmen, when they sally, At Midnight, from some Darkhoufe Ally.

The Birds from Seeded Lands withdrew, And into Woods and Hedges flew, As if the Darkness made 'em fear Some sad destructive Storm was near, Whilst purblind Bats and Mooney'd Owls, Forsook their hollow Trees and Holes, And round Church Steeples took their flight, Hooting and Squeaking as if Night.

The frighted Swains and delving Clowns, Fled from the Fields to neigb'ring Towns, And left their Flocks, their Plows and Teams, With aching Hearts and trembling Limbs, Dreading the Omen might portend The wicked World's immediate End, Before their Souls could be prepar'd To meet the awful Judge they fear'd: Nor could their shallow Brains conceive, That Nature such a shock could give, But, self-convicted, shiv'ring stood, And pray'd to God, the only Good, That He'd vouchsafe to shew 'em Mercy, Who only knew him but by hear-say, Till absent Pbœbus started forth, And once more bless'd the teeming Earth, That rowling Fire which daily gives New Life to e'ery Thing that lives; Then sinful Wretches, who had felt Such Stings and Terrors from their Guilt, As soon as the Surprise was o'er, Grew vile and daring as before. So Criminals in Prison thrown, Seem conscious of the Ills they've done; But when enlarg'd they prove but worse, And still Rogue on without remorse.

The next Unhappiness that fell on This Nation, was the North Rebellion, In which half English and half Scot, Combin'd to do they knew not what. However, they in Friendship join'd, And seem'd, at first, alike inclin'd, Till Danger star'd them in the Face, And then they squinted diff'rent ways, Making themselves a noisy Rabble, As much confus'd as those at Babel; Contending for the Martial Sway, Not knowing whom they should obey: Some drown'd in Wine, some drunk with Malt, Some crying, March, and others, Halt; One Part, thro' Pride or Folly, breaking The Measures others were for taking.

Like Hounds ill-coupl'd ne'er agreed, But hinder'd one another's speed; Excepting those that had a fence, Or foresight of the Consequence, Who when they found their rash Design Wanted both Arms and Discipline, They then repenting, made a Slip, And fled the Town like frighted Sheep, Leaving their Chief, who should have Led, To drink his Butter'd-Ale in Bed. Thus Bullies bluster, till their Eye Beholds the shocking Danger nigh, And then with Scandal and Disgrace, They fly from what they durst not face, For Cowards always are too crafty To doat on Honour more than Safety.

Just so the Preston Herd, unskill'd To keep the Town or win the Field, Before the Royal Troops appear'd, Talk'd big, as if they nothing fear'd, And with good Wine and Nappy warm'd, Threaten'd much more than they perform'd; For few had Courage to withstand The Danger, when 'twas near at hand, But rather than to boldly run The risque of what themselves begun, To please and flatter Cow'rdly Nature, Postpon'd one Hazard for a greater.

Two gallant Chiefs they had, 'tis plain, That is, two Heads, but ne'er a Brain; For had their Conduct and Discretion But prov'd as great as their Submission, They might, perchance, have grown much stronger And sav'd their Necks a little longer: Yet had they fought like Men of Mettle, And bravely stood a hardy Battle, They'd not perform'd so great a Wonder, As in their tamely knocking under.

No doubt the Heroes first design'd To fight, when they at Preston join'd, Tho' half the Weapons of their Forces, Were only Whips to flog their Horses; But when they saw their bad Condition, Few Arms and little Ammunition, Led on promiscuously together, By him that knew the use of neither, The Champions rather chose to yield Toth' Gallows, than to die i'th' Field; Because one Danger of the two Was farthest from their present View; Forgetting, he that boldly draws His Sword against the Nations Laws, Must, if he means to win the Day, Press on, and fling the Sheath away: For he who'gainst the Crown is fighting, And hopes for Pardon by submitting, Is like the Fool who first provokes, The Lyon with disdainful, Strokes, Then tamely bowing to his Jaws, Craves Mercy of his Teeth and Claws. Thus, those that dare to undertake Rebellion, if they once look back, Themselves they ruine, lose their End, And mar the Cause they would defend.

No sooner had the Captive Crowd, Their stubborn Necks to Cæsar bow'd, As if at first they meant no more, Than to aggrandize Sov'reign Pow'r, Or that they thought the Nation blest, And, Statesman like, rebell'd in Jest; Not to disturb, but serve the Ends Of Government, like trusty Friends, By wheedling in the Disaffected, To be Drawn, Hang'd, and then Dissected.

I say, no sooner had they shown Their great Submission to the Throne, And render'd to the Royal Forces, Their Arms, their Money, and their Horses, But they were ty'd on Scrubs and Tits, Whose Hempen Bridles had no Bits, Nor worthless Saddles Stirrups on, To rest their pendant Feet upon: But rode, like Sancho on his Ass, Or Hostlers, kicking Jades to Grass, Who with their Riders often falter, Because they're guided by the Halter. Thus Insurrections in a Realm, Prove Thorns to those that rule the Helm, Till crush'd and then the Victor makes His Market of the Fools he takes.

In Triumph thus the Cavalcade Of Rebels were to London led, Guarded on e'ery Side by those Who when they conquer'd spar'd their Blows, To make their gallant Foes amends, For acting so like Bosom Friends,

And fixing in our Jarring Isle, The Cause they vainly hop'd to spoil. As foolish Parents often make Those Matches they attempt to break, And by their want of timely Care, Ruine the Child they would prefer.

Now all the Jayls about the Town, Were cram'd with Rebels of Renown, The Tow'r with Lords, who mourn'd their Fate, And rash Proceedings, when too late; Whilst Criminals of Low'r Degree, Fill'd Newgate, Fleet, and Marshalsea, Where now they felt, as well as saw, The Fangs and Tushes of the Law, To which they tamely had submitted, Blam'd by their Friends, by Foes unpity'd.

In this sad plight, unhappy Creatures, Loaded with heavy Chains and Fetters, They were confin'd to eat and sleep, Like Negroes in a Guinea Ship; Till some, to terrify the Nation, Were try'd and doom'd to Decollation; And others sentenc'd to resign Their wretched Lives in Hempen Twine. Thus Rebels, when they lose the Day, Support the Pow'r they disobey; But if Success attends their Pride, They make the Gallows change its Side. For 'tis the Vict'ry, not the Cause, That steers the Justice of the Laws, And in each rash domestick Quarrel, Disposes both of Hemp and Laurel.

Now bald-pate Winter shiv'ring rear'd His wrinkl'd Brows and hoary Beard, And flying Southward from the North, In Anger breath'd cold Weather forth; Puff'd, as he made uncommon speed, And by the Way kill'd Herb and Weed; Did on the Clouds with Passion blow, And turn'd their Rain to flakes of Snow, Congeal'd Earth's Surface in a trice, And Rivers chang'd to Rocks of Ice, That working Tradesmen and their Spouses, Forsook their Terra firma Houses, And with old Blankets, Poles and Sheets, On Frozen Thames built Lanes and Streets, Where many Trades and Crafts of Hand Were follow'd, in contempt of Land; And Hackny Whores and Coaches ply'd With more Success than in Cheapfide; Tho' Winds that made 'em blow their Nails, In Reason might have cool'd their Tails. But Lust is such a warm Desire, It feels no Cold, and needs no Fire; And rather than abstain from Vice, Will Sin, tho' on a Bed of Ice. So vicious Dogs, who slyly run At harmless Sheep, and pull 'em down, Ne'er leave the Sport, tho' beat and bang'd, But still love Mutton till they're hang'd.

The Thames was now the Mart or Fair, For e'ery sort of common Ware. Here Names were Printed, Medals Stamp'd, New Garments sold, and Old new vamp'd,

Young Lasses spoil'd by Rakes and Bullies, And old ones starv'd for want of Cullies; Base Rings, and Spelter Trinkets sold To Fools, for Silver and for Gold; And to the great reproach of France, Damn'd English Spirits vouch'd for Nantz: Besides rare Wines of e'ery sort, White, Claret, Sherry, Mountain, Port, Tho' none of't e'er had cross'd the Seas, Or from the Grape deriv'd its Lees, But made at Home, 'twixt Chip and Dash, Of Sugar, Sloes, and Grocer's Trash, Or Cyder dy'd with Cochineal, If Fame their Secrets can reveal.

Here Beaus appear'd with Ladies fine, To toy and fool away their Coin, In hopes the Fair might slip awry, And blushing show a Leg or Thigh. For she that on the Ice will venture, May chance to turn up all God sent her, And by one heedless Fall discover The hidden Bait that charms her Lover. Here Neptune's Slaves, who ply'd the Ferries, And us'd to row the Town in Wherries, Made Whigwams now of Tilts and Sails, And dealt in Brandy, Wines and Ales, To gain by Ice what they had lost By want of Water and by Frost. So common Jilts, those drudging Jades, When Winter Age has spoil'd their Trades, Take Brothels near some Chanc'ry Inn, And deal in Coffee, Whores and Gin.

The Dutchmen, tho' to Cold inur'd, Who in our Harbours liv'd Aboard. Those Sandy Brandybottle Boors, Those brawny Slaves to Sails and Oars, With Rats-tail Locks, Thrum Woollen Caps, And pissburnt Whiskers round their Chaps, Now left their frozen Decks and Shrouds, Where piercing Winds congeal'd their Bloods, And nimbly scating on the Ice, Thaw'd their numb'd Limbs by Exercise, And show'd us how their Lords at Home, With Fish to Market go and come; Who tho' they help to Rule the State, Think it no Shame to sell their Scate. No Wonder, since there's no such thing As Honour, where there is no King; For Honour, every Body knows, From Crowns originally flows: And where there's no Crown'd-Head to give it, No Man can merit or receive it. Besides, where Honour has no place, There's nothing scandalous or base, That carries Int'rest in its face.

The Streets of London now were fill'd With heaps of Dirt, and Snow congeal'd; Some nicely modell'd into Form, By Art, to keep Industry warm: Here, o'er a frozen Kennel, stood A Passant Lyon carv'd in Mud, Whose Teeth, that fortify'd his Jaws, Were broken Pipes and Lobster's Claws, Which made the King of Beasts appear So fierce, so threatning and severe, That all the Mob that came about him, Paid Homage, and were proud to shout him. So Indians homely Statues frame, Then Worship, 'em in Jos's Name. Believing from their ugly Form, They've Pow'r to do their Makers harm.

In the next Street, perhaps, appear'd A Frostwork Bull, by Butchers rear'd, Whose Horns, that grac'd his frizzl'd Top, Were pointed tow'rds some Cuckold's Shop, Which serv 'd his Helpmate for a Reason, To keep him close the Frosty Season, For fear the Rabble should agree To Point, and cry aloud, That's he. So when a Skimington comes by, Each Scolding Housewife looks awry, And to her Husband cries, My Dear, Prithee come in, and stay not here, I wonder you can take delight To gaze at such a foolish Sight. Thus guilty Conscience always flies The Rod that scourges human Vice; And even Sinners, who would pass For Saints of a superior Class, At Church will on the Preacher frown, To hear their darling Sins cry'd down. Yet all will others Faults disclose, But think the Priest and Poet Foes, If they presume to lash the Crimes Of Impious Men in wicked Times.

Thus num'rous Figures made of Dirt, As Children do of Clay, for Sport, Adorn'd the Kennels of each Street, To make the Passage more compleat. That Riding-Hoods and Clogs might move About the grand Affairs of Love, Without the danger of a Slip, To sprain a Leg or bruise a Hip, Or cause their Crupper-Bones to pay Obedience to the frozen Way; And that the Sharping Tribe, who range The Nooks and Allies near the Change, Might scowre about the Town, t'amuse Believing Fools with Lying News; Who make themselves the Tools and Slaves Of Cunning, Cheating, Jobbing Knaves, That daily study to disguise The face of Truth with Impious Lies, And, Devil like, support, we see, Their Int'rest by their Villany.

The Watchmen too vouchsaf'd to stoop And build Nocturnal Hovels up, With Kennel-Dirt and Snow together, To fence their Worships from the Weather, That they might Sit, Drink, Swear and Prate, Like Midnight Magistrates, in State, And Lurk, like hungry Wolves, to prey On Drunkards that should reel that way.

Now crafty Glasiers threw about Their Foot-Balls to the Rabble-Rout, And sent their Youngsters to Bombard Their Neighbours, whilst the Frost was. hard. Oft have I heard of Quarrels pick'd, And Tradesmen out of Bus'ness kick'd, But the wise Glasiers change the Scene, And kick themselves, not out, but in.

Week after Week the Winter strengthen'd, And froze more sharply as it lengthen'd, That the poor Girls were forc'd to use Dutch Stoves in old St. Bartholomews, To keep their Maidenheads from freezing, The Weather was so cold and teazing.

Marriage, that comfortable Vow, Could ne'er be more approv'd than now; For as in mild delightful Weather, Int'rest and Love bring Fools together, So now the most prevailing Charm That made us Wed, was to be warm: Nay, some so very Cold were grown, They could no longer lie alone, But crept together, hugg'd and kiss'd, Without remembrance of the Priest. As hungry Gluttons eat apace, Till cloy'd, and never think of Grace.

The Old complain'd of Coughs and Gouts, And crawl'd about with dripping Snouts, Vowing Dame Nature ne'er had dealt 'em Such Weather, since their Age had gelt 'em.

Beggars crept ,up and down, poor Souls, Cursing the Price of Bread and Coals, And in Expressions too severe, Damn'd those that kept them up so dear, Thus Providence, to whom we owe All we enjoy, and all we know, In e'ery Dispensation, finds Some pleas'd, and some with grumbling Minds; Whilst the good Christian sits at Ease, And bends to all that Heav'n decrees.

The next surprising Scene, this Year, Did in the Northern Heav'ns appear, Where, after Sun-set, did arise Strange Coruscations in the Skies. At first a sullen Cloud ascended I'th' North, which tow'rds the Weft extended, And sailing gently with the Wind, Eclips'd a seeming Fire behind, For round its Edges we could fee A smoaky pale Lucidity, As if the Cloud arose to hide Some Blazing-Star on t'other side. At length, to entertain our View, The Sable Curtain burst in two, And belching forth a fiery Train Of flaming Sulphur, clos'd again. Thus did it shut and open thrice, Darting its Lightning cross the Skies, And then, like huddl'd Fire and Smoke, Into a strange Confusion broke, Venting on e'ery side new Light, That bolted forth in Streams upright, Like blazing Rockets that display Their Fury as they make their way, Till Waves of Light'ning fill'd the Space, And rowl'd, like Seas, from place to place,

The Heav'ns presenting to our View, Each Moment, something that was new, And thro' the Skies such Flashes hurl'd, As if design'd to fire the World, And Crystalize this dirty Mass, Into, a Globe of shining Glass, So make the same, by Conflagration, A Planet for the next Creation.

From Sun-set to the break of Day, Did these Celestial Fireworks play, Whilst Crowds of Mortals stood below, Beholding the tremendous Show.

Some harden'd Sinners feem'd to gaze, With Pleasure on the scatter'd Rays, As if the Wonder was no more Portentous than a rainy Show'r.

Others more conscious of the base Atheistick Guilt of Human Race, With Terror struck, beheld the Light, And trembl'd at the gastly Sight, Believing it portended some Destructive Plague to Christendom, Or bloody Contest, that might lay, The World in one Aceldema.

Astrologers, those skilful Noddies, That watch and read the Heav'nly Bodies, To make their knowing Selves more certain, In telling Female Fools their Fortune, Climb'd up aloft, and stood for Hours, On Steeples, Battlements, and Tow'rs, That they might there behold, the better, These puzzling wondrous Works of Nature. All lugging out, to view the Light, Their various Instruments of Sight; By which they did discern, no doubt, What others saw as well without. Thus many Hours they gaz'd in vain, And spy'd and peep'd, and spy'd again: Returning, when they'd done, not quite So Wise as if they'd slept all Night, Contending who should give the best Account of what had spoil'd their Rest. Some wisely said, the Northern Bears, Were fall'n together by the Ears, And in their Rage, their angry Eyes Struck Fire, and sparkl'd thro' the Skies.

Others, who saw the Cause more plain, Affirm'd, that Charles had left his Wain, B'ing dry, to beg a Draught of Liquor, From old Aquarius's Pitcher; And that the resty Jades, his Horses, Had, in his Absence, turn'd their Arses, And kicking with their Shoes of Steel, Throw'd Light'ning from each clashing Heel,

Some, who believ'd themselves no less Expert than others, at a guess, Conjectur'd, these amusing Streams Of Light, were but the Rays or Beams Of some portentous Blazing-Star, That skulk'd below our Hemisphere, Whose flaming Beard would soon arise, Toth' Terror of our English Eyes. Instead of which, the Light declin'd, And we no Blazing-Star could find;

Which shews, that those wise Albumazers, Who on the Heav'ns have long been Gazers, In spight of Mathematick Rules, May err, as well as other Fools.

The Scots, among us, seem'd delighted, To see their Southern Friends so frighted At Nature's Sportings, that arise So frequent in the Northern Skies, And when they brandish in the Air, Are stil'd, The Pritty Dancers, there; No more regarded when they shine, Than Light'ning underneath the Line. So Strombulo, or Ætna's Flames, Fright not the neighb'ring Clowns or Dames; But such a Mount among us here, Would raise our Wonder and our Fear.

Others, in Nature's Works more learn'd, The Cause with greater Skill discern'd, And borr'wing Terms from Doctor Wallis, Call'd it, Aurora Borealis. But that can only happen here, When Days are long and Nights are clear, Near th' Æstal Solstice, when the Sun Just shines beneath the Horizon; And tho' his Face be out of sight, His neighb'ring Rays diffuse a Light, And faintly gild the Northern Skies, As to his rising Point he flies. But that Phænomenon which scar'd Our sinful Land, in March appear'd, When Sol, 'twixt Setting and Returning, Could give us here no Northern Morning. But Men of Art, who proudly aim At universal Praise and Fame, Must, true or false, their Judgment show, In Matters they profess to know, Or Fools would think the Learn'd but muddy Proficients in the Arts they study. Thus most Mens excellency lies In puzzling those they find less Wise. By that alone the Gown and Band, Gain, of the Crowd, the upper hand, In Things that neither understand.

No sooner did this Wonder cease, Or fade, as Day-light did encrease, But Fame from Ireland did report An Omen of another sort, Consisting of two mighty Shoals Of monstrous Fish, as big as Bulls, Who meeting on the Irish Coast, Most fiercely charg'd each others Host, Fighting a Battle near the Shore, That dy'd the Ocean with their Gore, And chang'd, by their repeated Valour, The Sea-green, to a Sanguine Colour. Like angry Rams they clash'd their Heads, Rebounding in their watry Beds, Casting aloft, from batter'd Snouts, And broken Gills, such crimson Spouts, As if they spew'd up Claret Wine, Or fought in Blood, instead of Brine.

Some, large as Elephants, display'd Huge Tushes sprouting from the Head, By force of which they over-run Their Foes, and eat 'em when they'd done.

Others, like Ships in stormy Weather, Fell foul, Broad-side and Side together, And Jostl'd till the biggest Foe, Made the Less plow the Seas below. So Armies, with their Foot and Horse, Subdue their weaker Foes by force, And make the Cause, which they espouse, Not good by Reas'ning, but by Blows.

Thus mighty Fish with Fish contended, Some rising up, whilst some descended, Boldly relieving one another, As one brave Soldier would his Brother, Whilst wounded Monsters swam on Shore, For Breath, and perish'd in their Gore.

Nor did one Day decide the Quarrel, Or give to either Host the Laurel, But as the Sun return'd his Light, They still renew'd their bloody Fight, Till length of Time and loss of Blood, Made all the Scaly Troops think good To leave the Empire of the Main Unsettl'd, till they met again. That future Contests might decide The right of Rule, for which they try'd.   Thus as proud Heroes fight on Shore, And struggle for superior Pow'r, So Monsters battle in the Sea, For needful Food and Sovereignty.

Now Zephyrus with Anger swell'd, And with his Breath the Tide repell'd, Forcing the gentle Thames to fly Those Bounds she us'd to occupy; And with a fierce and rapid Motion, T' incorp'rate with the briny Ocean, Where She for sev'ral Days remained, And left her native Channel drain'd So dry, where Barges us'd to float, That Numbers cross'd without a Boat, And in their Walks upon the Strand, Found Things of Value in the Sand, Which Thieves into the Thames had tost, Or some by Carelesness had lost.

Now Ladies walk'd where Streams should flow, And Boats and Barges us'd to Row; There exercis'd their nimble Heels, On Sandy Beds for Fish and Eeles, And where Thames Salmon, when beset, Lay skulking to avoid the Net. The Boatmen now forsook their Stations, And chang'd their Rowing Occupations, Carr'd heavy Loads, like Men of Stature, And ply'd by Land, instead of Water. As Whores decay'd and past their Labours, Turn Bawds, and so assist their Neighbours.

Nor did this boist'rous Wind alone, Blow Rivers dry, that Eastward run, But forc'd the Sea to break its Bounds, And swallow sundry Tracts of Grounds: Huge Barns it overset with ease, Blow'd Houses down, and plow'd up Trees, And made the rowling Ocean rise So near the Arches of the Skies, That sundry Vessels dug their Graves, And founder'd in the clashing Waves, Whilst Crowds contended to devour The Shipwrecks that were thrown ashore. As Women do on Armies wait, To Plunder those that meet their Fate.

Tiles from the tops of Houses blown, And Chimney-Bricks came ratt'ling down, Whilst frighted Mortals skulk'd below, In dread of some destructive Blow. Till Providence restrain'd the Storm From doing Mankind further Harm, And once more bless'd our longing Eyes, With gentle Winds and pleasing Skies.

One Wonder more, from distant Climes Came over, in these sinful Times, A num'rous Flight of Foreign Birds, With pointed Bills as sharp as Swords, Webfooted, of the Water kind, Were hither driven by the Wind, And in two Columns did appear, Like wing'd Battalions in the Air, And shrieking loud began a Fight, Astonishing to human sight, Which they maintain'd, at least, an Hour, With all the fierceness in their Pow'r: Some falling headlong to the Ground, Were dead upon the Surface found, And others in the Battle maim'd, Were taken up, not dead, but lam'd: Like bleeding Cocks with wounded Eyes, Still pecking, tho' too weak to rise, Twisting their Necks about to find The Foe that struck 'em Lame or Blind. Thus for some time they fought together. Tho' all seem'd Birds of the same Feather, Till one Side had obtain'd the Laurel, And put a Period to their Quarrel, Then all those Civil Heats and Jars, That kindl'd these domestick Wars Among the Birds, that seem'd to be Of one divided Family, Were of a sudden at an end, And e'ery Foe became a Friend. Then those that did before appear In diff'rent Armies in the Air, Seem'd all united into one Dark Body that eclips'd the Sun, Hov'ring aloft, for some time a'ter, In Friendship, without further slaughter, Till a fresh Storm began to rise, And blacken the transparent Skies. Such as had driven, heretofore, The Trojans on the Lybick Shore; And then the Birds, by Wind and Weather, Were blown from hence, the Lord knows whither. So when domestick Feuds and Fears, Set jarring Nations by the Ears, The Parties struggle for Command, Till one Side gains the upper-hand: Then they who're worsted, wave their Spight, And tamely with their Foes unite.

These are the Wonders we have seen, Since Britain has Interr'd her Queen: But what these Prodigies forebode, Whether our Evil or our Good, I'll leave to those that read the Heavens, And guess by Sixes and by Sevens, Who, by great Chance, some Truths may give us, Or with officious Lies deceive us. For Arts, by which they gain sheirtheir [sic] Ends, And Planets, like unfaithful Friends, Are most deceitful when we need 'em, Or else they Blockheads are that read 'em.

title: British Wonders


text: Author:Frank Keller Walter

title: Author:Frank Keller Walter


text:
Page:Memorials of a Southern Planter.djvu/252

 244

T crowning blessing of our lives came in these days of poverty and toil. The beloved head of the house took his baptismal vows on himself, and became a regular communicant in the church. His daughters had come to him one night as he sat on the porch, talking with Edward, and had urged him to be confirmed.

They told him that they were unworthy of the name of Christians, and felt especially in approaching him how unworthy they were. But the Saviour's command was explicit. He called the sinners and not the righteous. He ought to obey that loving call and not wait to feel worthy. The day would never come when he would feel so. "Oh, papa, how can one go to heaven who does not obey Him? Even earthly parents require obedience. And what would heaven be without you! Oh, let us all try to go there together!"

With tears and kisses and every endearing epithet, and with arms around his neck, they hung about him. He was completely overcome. He seemed scarcely able to control his voice as he said, "My children, you are right. I see the justice of what you say. I will be confirmed when the bishop comes. But you came near killing your father. I thought that you had killed me. My heart stopped beating when you said all those sweet things to me. I do not deserve all those good things that you believe of me."

His son Thomas knelt by his side and was confirmed with him in St. Mark's Church, Raymond, when the bishop came. Bishop Green was a child of the same year as our father, and but four months younger than himself As he placed his hands on the venerable head bent before him, and bent his own snowy one over it, he was visibly affected, and many tears fell in the church. It was said that there was not a dry eye


text:
Author:Edward Ward

Works

 * The Poet's Ramble After Riches (1691)
 * Female Policy Detected, or, The Arts of a Designing Woman Laid Open (1695)
 * Ecclesia et factio (1698)
 * The London Spy (1698)
 * Sot's Paradise (1698)
 * A Trip to Jamaica (1698)
 * A Trip to Islington (1699)
 * A Trip to New-England (1699)
 * A Trip to Sadler's Wells (1699)
 * The World Bewitched (1699)
 * The Weekly Comedy, as it is Dayly Acted at most Coffee-Houses in London (1699)
 * A Trip to Bath (1700)
 * A Trip to Stourbridge (1700)
 * A Journey to Hell (1700–1705)
 * The Dissenting Hypocrite (1704)
 * Honesty in Distress but Relieved by No Party (1705)
 * Hubibras Redivivus (1705–1707)
 * The Wooden World Dissected (1706)
 * The Diverting Muse (1707)
 * The Humours of a Coffee-House (1707)
 * The London Terraefilius (1707)
 * Mars Stript of his Armour (1708)
 * The Secret History of Clubs (1709)
 * Nuptial Dialogues and Debates (1710)
 * Vulgus Britannicus, or, The British Hudibras (1710)
 * Don Quixote (1711–1712)
 * The Merry Travellers (1712)
 * History of the Grand Rebellion (1713–1715)
 * The Hudibrastick Brewer (1714)
 * British Wonders, or, a poetical description of the several prodigies and most remarkable accidents that have happen'd in Britain since the death of Queen Anne (1717)
 * The Delights of the Bottle (1720)
 * The Parish Guttlers (1722)

title: Author:Edward Ward


text: Talk:British Wonders

title: Talk:British Wonders


text:
User:BabelStone

I am BabelStone on the English Wikipedia and BabelStone on Multilingual Wikisource.

title: User:BabelStone


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Page:Memorials of a Southern Planter.djvu/253

 Rh that night that looked upon that scene. The class that went up for confirmation was larger than had been expected. It was said that when Thomas Dabney walked up the aisle several persons who before had been undecided now rose and went forward as candidates for confirmation.

"I don't believe in all the people who call themselves Christians," a plain neighbor said, in talking of this step of Thomas, "but I believe in Colonel Dabney's Christianity. He is no hypocrite."

Awhile after this he began to ask a blessing at his own table, and gradually he grew into asking a blessing at the tables of his friends, unless a clergyman was present. But he never led the family prayers. "I want you to do that," he said to a daughter. Among the letters that he valued I find one received about this time from a young girl, one of his servants whom he had placed in Montgomery.

"M, February 10, 1867.

"M O M,—I am anxious to see you and my young masters and mistresses. I often think of you, and remember with pleasure how kind you all ever were to me. Though freedom has been given to the colored race, I often sigh for the good old days of slave-times, when we were all so happy and contented. . . . I am tolerably pleasantly situated. I am hired to a Mr. Sanderson, who treats me very well. I am very well, and hope I may have an opportunity of coming to see you all next Christmas. I am still single and don't think much about beaux. I don't think the men in these days of freedom are of much account. If I could find one whom I think a real good man, and who would take good care of me, I would get married. Please, dear old master, ask some of my young mistresses to write to me.

 * "My kind and respectful remembrances to all.

 * "Your former servant and friend,

 * "A D."

This letter was written with Alice's own hand.


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 246 His former servants showed affectionate attentions to him, and they were deeply appreciated. George Page sent all his best fruits and vegetables to his master's table, especially those that were rare and difficult to cultivate. When George's girl brought over a bucket of strawberries one year, the daughter who received them asked casually if she had been enjoying the strawberries that spring.

"No, marm, I ain't tase one," the child answered.

"Daddy say dat we sharn't tase one 'twell ole marster hab de fust dish, an' dese is de fust."

Sometimes a fat gobbler, the finest of the flock, would be sent over for the master's Christmas dinner by Mammy Harriet. George's wife or children, who were sent with his offerings, had strict orders from him, which they did not dare disobey, to receive nothing in return. "Law, missis," his wife would say, "I 'feared to take anything back. George would run me out in de woods. Yes, marm, to be sho' 1 want de things, but I darsen't take 'em."

Finally we hit upon the plan of sending an express-messenger to George's house with such things as we had to bestow. He was by no means pleased at this turn of affairs, but saw no way of evading it. He had to be consoled with the assurance that our presents were for Susan, and not for him.

When George himself brought his gifts, he would try to drop them in the kitchen without being seen, and when discovered, his manner was as deprecatory as though he were serving an Eastern despot. As a slave his bearing was independent. He often thought his opinions worth more than any one's whom he knew, and he constantly gave advice to his owners, not being discouraged by their neither asking nor adopting it.

But, from the day that he saw them reduced to poverty, he strove to throw into his carriage all the deference that could be expressed in one human body. As soon as his bag of melons, peaches, and roasting ears was found, he would be seized with regret at having brought them.

"Don't look at dem things," he would cry,


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Page:1909. Is Shakespeare Dead? From My Autobiography.djvu/15

 I

CATTERED here and there through the stacks of unpublished manuscript which constitute this formidable Autobiography and Diary of mine, certain chapters will in some distant future be found which deal with "Claimants"—claimants historically notorious: Satan, Claimant; the Golden Calf, Claimant; the Veiled Prophet of Khorassan, Claimant; Louis XVII., Claimant; William Shakespeare, Claimant; Arthur Orton, Claimant; Mary Baker G. Eddy,


text:
The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Leland, John

LELAND, or LEYLAND, John, English antiquary: b. London, about 1506; d. there, 18 April 1552. He was educated at Cambridge, Oxford and Paris. Returning home he took holy orders and Henry VIII made him his chaplain and librarian. In 1530 he became rector of Pepeling, near Calais; in 1542 he received the rectory of Haseley, Oxfordshire, and he was a prebend of Salisbury Cathedral. In 1533 he received the title of royal antiquary and was empowered by a commission under the great seal to search for objects of antiquity in the archives and libraries of all cathedrals, abbeys, priories, etc.; in consequence of which he spent six years in traveling and collecting materials for the illustration of the history and archæology of England and Wales, but died without having completed his undertaking. The great bulk of his collections was placed in the Bodleian Library. The first part to be published was the ‘Commentarii de Scriptoribus Britannicis,’ issued in 1709 by Anthony Hall. In 1710 Hearne published the ‘Itinerary’ in nine volumes and five years later the ‘Collectanea’ was issued by him in six volumes. Leland wrote Latin poetry with considerable elegance, and a collection of his miscellaneous Latin verse and epigrams was published in 1589. Some of his autographic manuscripts are preserved in the Bodleian Library, Oxford, others in the British Museum. Consult Burton, ‘Life of John Leland’ (London 1896).


text: Popular Science Monthly/Volume 32/December 1887/Tolstoi's Astronomy


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Page:1909. Is Shakespeare Dead? From My Autobiography.djvu/16

IS SHAKESPEARE DEAD? —and the rest of them. Eminent Claimants, successful Claimants, defeated Claimants, royal Claimants, pleb Claimants, showy Claimants, shabby Claimants, revered Claimants, despised Claimants, twinkle starlike here and there and yonder through the mists of history and legend and tradition—and oh, all the darling tribe are clothed in mystery and romance, and we read about them with deep interest and discuss them with loving sympathy or with rancorous resentment, according to which side we hitch ourselves to. It has always been so with the human race. There was never a Claimant that couldn't get a hearing, nor one that couldn't accumulate a rapturous following, no matter how flimsy and apparently unauthentic his claim might be. Arthur Orton's claim that he was the lost Tichborne baronet come to life again was as flimsy as Mrs.


text:
Forget It!

Why, certainly, dear, we will take Sunday off, With the family have a nice day; I admit I've neglected you somewhat of late, On account of the matches I play.

But, now, I shall give you a truce from all this, Joy for you and the kids is my aim; , To the country we'll go and all golf will cut out, Though 'tis sure a fine day for a game.

'Tis a golfing course, children; now look at that dub, With the brassie he got but ten yards; I could beat him around with my putter alone, Why, he only is fit to play cards.

Darn this train! I just missed old Jack's drive from the tee, He can swat 'em, I tell you, a bit; I have just about learned his quick snap of the wrists That makes what they call a clean hit.

A beautiful valley! Why surely it is, The hills and the gulch and the lake, Filled with natural hazards and bunkers throughout, What a wonderful course it would make.

Yes, this is our station, the new country club Is reached, by this coach, very soon. I thought you and the family would like to drive there And return by the light of the moon.

Ah! is not this charming? The links, as you see, Surround us completely and here From the porch you can both see and hear from all sides. Will I play? How about it, my dear?

All right, Bill, I only can go you nine holes, I have cut out the game for to-day; I believe it is true that some people get tired Of continual talk of my play.

Now, here is the dinner. Surely, Bill, take this chair, I just want to go over the score, And see how the weak spots might have been cut out, I'm sure you'll not think it a bore.

Home again! Now, I know, dear, that you and the kids This day full of joys will proclaim. I'm only too happy to feel you have had A little relief from the game.

title: Forget It!


text:
The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Vatican, The

VATICAN, The, a palace situated on the eastern sections of the Vatican Hill in Rome, the principal residence of the popes since the return from Avignon in 1377 and their official residence since the capture of Rome by the Piedmontese in 1870. It originated in a residence built by Pope Symmachus (498-514) adjoining the Basilica of Saint Peter, but was rebuilt and greatly enlarged by subsequent popes, especially Nicholas V, Sixtus IV, Alexander VI and Julius II. The Basilica and Piazza of Saint Peter flank it on the south, while to the west lie the Vatican Gardens. Only a small part of the Vatican is residential and this part is around the Cortile di San Damaso; all the rest is used for scientific or administrative purposes. There are a large number of chapels which serve various purposes, the most important being the famous Sistine Chapel and the Cappella Paolina. The rear wall of the former contains Michelangelo's ‘Last Judgment,’ while its side walls contain frescoes executed by Florentine and Umbrian masters between 1481 and 1483. The Cappella Paolina, which is separated from the Sistine Chapel only by the Sala Regia, serves as the parish church of the Vatican.

The Vatican contains many works of art either in its museums and collections or as a part of its interior decorations. The Museo Pio-Clementino embraces 11 separate rooms and among its treasures are the Torso of Hercules, the Belvedere Apollo and the Laocoon. In the Galleria Chiaramonti there are more than 300 sculptures, chiefly the work of Greek sculptors living in Rome. From an architectonic point of view, the Braccio Nuovo, containing statues and busts, is the best of the museum buildings. The Egyptian Museum, embracing 10 halls full of statues, sarcophagi, mummies, etc., is among the first of Egyptian collections of the second rank. The Etruscan Museum contains objects of almost every description, giving a highly graphic picture of the art of ancient Italy and the customs of the Etruscans. These two museums are located, one below the other, at the northern end of the Giardino della Pigna.

Besides these museums, there are several galleries of paintings. The Vatican Pinacotheca, whose nucleus was the collection of art treasures taken by Napoleon to Paris and subsequently restored to Rome, contains works by Raphael, Leonardo da Vinci, Fra Angelico, Murillo, Perugino, Titian, Pinturicchio, Guido Reni, Correggio and many other Italian masters; while the Gallery of Modern Paintings

contains, among others, the huge picture of the promulgation of the Immaculate Conception by Pius IX. The Appartamento Borgia consists of six rooms adorned with Pinturicchio's painting. In the second of the rooms the mvstenes of the life of Christ are depicted. The last two rooms are situated in the Torre Borgia. One of these formerly contained the Celebrated Nozze Aldobrandini, one of the finest antique frescoes surviving from classical times, which is now located in the Vatican Library.

One floor higher and an exact reproduction of the Appartamento Borgia in size and shape are the Stanze di Raffaello, so called because they were painted by or under the direction of Raphael. Immediately adjacent to the Stanze are the Loggie di Raffaello, while underneath the latter are the Loggie di Giovanni da Udine, a pupil of the Umbrian master. In the Galleria degli Arazzi hang the famous 27 pieces of tapestry. The studio for mosaic painting, for which the Vatican is justly famous, is said to possess nearly 30,000 different shades of vitreous compos i tion.

The scientific materials in the Vatican are abundant and easily accessible to research workers under certain restrictions. Reference is fadlitated by a great many volumes (some printed, some in manuscript) of indices, inventories and catalogues, so that information on all branches of human knowledge may be readily secured in the Vatican Archives and Library. The scientific management of the Vatican Archives is entrusted to a cardinal and the chief groups of archival materials are the Archivio Segreto, the Archive of Avignon, the Archive of the Apostolic Chamber, the Archive of Sant' Angelo, the Archive of the Dataria, the Consistorial Archive and the Archive of the Secretariate of State. The last named contains the correspondence of the nunciatures, legations, cardinals, bishops, prelates, princes, titled persons, military men and others. Besides these archives there are various collections, including the huge archive of the old Congregation del Buon Governo, which was entrusted with the economic administration of the Papal States from 1592. The entire collection of archives is of the greatest importance for the political and ecclesiastico-civil history of modern times, and is of especial interest to Americans because it abounds in materials for Amercan history, particularly of the period of colonization. Consult Fish, C. R., ‘Guide to the Materials for History in Roman and Other Italian Archives’ (Washington 1911).

In the importance of its materials the Vatican Library stands first among the great libraries of the world, containing approximately 50,000 manuscripts and 350,000 printed books. Because it is primarily a manuscript library and because its accommodations are inadequate to meet the demands of the general public, all readers who wish to consult only printed literature are excluded from the library. The manuscripts are divided into 16 open divisions or divisions subject to later accessions, and 36 closed divisions, or divisions which came to the library complete, and are separated according to the language of the manuscript. Here are to be found the majority of the manuscripts, from the convent at Bobbio, in the Middle

Ages one of the richest collections in Europe. Here also are 3,000 manuscripts, brought to the Valican from Heidelberg in 1623 and called “Codices Palatini.” The last great addition was in 1856, when Pope Pius IX added 40,000 volumes that had belonged to Cardinal Mai, the discoverer of the lost manuscript of Cicero's ‘De Republica.’

The scientific management of ihe Vatican Library is entrusted to a prefect, who also has charge of a Pagan Museum, a Numismatic Collection and the Museo Cristiano. The last-named was separated for a time from the library management when the celebrated De Rossi was named prefect of the Museo, an honor intended only for him. Despite the small staff of the Library and its insufficient funds, it stands at the head of the libraries of the world in the number of its scientific publications.

Besides the Archives and the Library the Vatican possesses an astronomical observatory, a modern polyglot printing office, a collection of inscriptions and a collection of geographical charts. The Specola Vaticana consists of the Gregorian Tower and the Leonine Tower with a connecting passageway and has acquired considerable reputation for its measurement of astrographic plates, The Galleria Lapidaria contains no less than 6,000 inscriptions in stone and numerous other inscriptional remains. Closely identified with it was the celebrated Marini, one of the founders of Latin epigraphy.

There are several large state halls in the Vatican, including the Sala Regia (where the consistories are held), the Sala Ducale and the Sala Clementina, which are of great historical importance. The neighboring Basilica of Saint Peter is regarded as a part of the Vatican only when the Pope attends some solemn ceremony there. Since 1870 the Vatican has been considered extraterritorial and has consequently possessed its own military guardians, the Swiss Guards, and its own police, the gendarmes; before that time it came under the civil administration of the Papal States.

The importance of the Vatican, the administrative centre of the Catholic Church, was increased by the seizure of the Papal States and the consequent exclusive residence of the Pope in the Vatican. Business formerly transacted elsewhere, for instance, in the Lateran Palace, is now conducted here. It was here that the conclaves were held which elected Leo XIII, Pius X and Benedict XV to the papacy. It is here that the Papal Secretary of State receives the ambassadors and envoys accredited to the Holy See, so that all diplomatic affairs not transacted by correspondence are conducted in the Vatican. A number of the important Roman Congregations hold regular or special sessions in the Vatican. This concentration of administrative affairs in the Vatican inevitably follows the residence of the Pope there.

Bibliography. — Gregorovius, ‘History of Rome in the Middle Ages’ (English translation by Mrs. G. W. Hamilton); Pistolesi, ‘Il Vaticano descritto ed illustrato,’ noted for its profuse illustrations; Sladen, ‘How to See the Vatican,’ one of the best modern works in English; Potter, ‘The Art of the Vatican’; Murray, ‘Handbook to Rome’; Baumgarten,

‘Vatican,’ in ‘The Catholic Encyclopedia’; Kuhn, ‘Roma.’


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Mont Cenis

title: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Mont Cenis


text: Author:Herbert Francis Wright

title: Author:Herbert Francis Wright


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The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Alexandrian Library

ALEXANDRIAN LIBRARY, a remarkable collection of books, the largest of the ancient world, was founded by the first Ptolemy and fostered by his son. It quickly grew and, already in the time of the first Ptolemy, Demetrius Phalereus had 50,000 volumes or rolls under his care. During its most flourishing period, under the direction of Zenodotus, Aristarchus of Byzantium, Callimachus, Apollonius Rhodius and others, it is said to have contained 490,000, or, according to another authority, including all duplicates, as many as 700,000 volumes. The greater part of this library, which embraced the collected literature of Rome, Greece, India and Egypt, was contained in the famous museum, in the quarter of Alexandria called the Brucheion. During the siege of Alexandria by Julius Cæsar this part of the library was destroyed by fire; but it was afterward replaced by the collection of Pergamos, which was presented to Cleopatra by Mark Antony. The other part of the library was

kept in the Serapeum, the temple of Jupiter Serapis, where it remained till the time of Theodosius the Great When this emperor permitted all the heathen temples in the Roman empire to be destroyed, the magnificent temple of Jupiter Serapis was not spared. A mob of fanatic Christians, led on by the Archbishop Theophilus, stormed and destroyed the temple, together, it is most likely, with the greater part of its literary treasures, in 391 A.D. It was at this time that the destruction of the library was begun, and not at the taking of Alexandria by the Arabs under the Caliph Omar, in 641. There are strong reasons for believing that no library then existed there. Consult Petit-Radel, ‘Recherches sur les Bibliothèques Anciennes et Modernes’ (1819); Ritschl, ‘Die Alexandrinische Bibtiothek’ (1838); Weniger, ‘Das Alexandrinische Museum’ (1875).


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The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Breymann, Hermann

BREYMANN,, Hermann, German philologist and pedagogue: b. Oker, near Harzburg, 1843; d. 1910. He studied languages at Göttingen, Bonn, Marburg and Paris; lived in Manchester and London 1867-75; in the latter year was appointed professor of French and English in the University of Munich, and came to be recognized as one of the leading authorities on educational questions in relation to modern languages. From 1890 he was editor of the Münchener Beiträge zur romanischen und englischen Philologie. He is the author of ‘Bearing of the Study of Modern Languages on Education at Large’ (1872); ‘On Provençal Literature’ (1875); ‘Diez, sein Leben, seine Werke’ (1878); ‘Marlowe's Dr. Faustus’ (1889); ‘Die neusprachliche Reform-Litteratur 1876-93 (1895); 1894-99’ (1900); ‘Die phonetische Litteratur von 1876-95’ (Leipzig 1897); ‘Calderon Studien’ (1905).


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was not minded to allow the young folks to portion out the little store of food as they pleased. He and Major Pater, who had now joined the party from Fairfields quite as a matter of course, had considered the use of the supplies to the best advantage. There was not much else to eat on the train, for even the crew had devoured their lunches, and most train-men when obliged to carry food at all are supplied with huge tin buckets that hold at least three "square meals."

"Though why meals should be 'square' I can't for the life of me see," Betty observed. "Why not 'round' meals? I am sure we manage to get around them when we eat them."

"Quite a philosopheress, aren't you?" joked Bob.

"These rations are not to be considered with philosophy," complained Bobby. "They are too frugal."

In truth, when the bread and meat and crackers


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106 and hot drink had been portioned to those who needed food most, the amount each received was nothing to gorge upon.

"If it stops snowing—or as soon as it does," Bob declared, "we've got to get out and make our way back to that station the brakeman says is only three miles away."

"Uncle Dick won't let us try it, I am sure," sighed Betty. "How could we wade through such deep snow?"

"If you had helped dig that tunnel," said Teddy Tucker confidently, "you'd know that the snow is packed so hard you wouldn't sink in very deep in walking."

"But of course, you girls can't go," Tommy said. "We fellows will have to go for supplies."

The girls did not much like this statement. Betty and Bobby at least considered that they were quite as well able to endure the hardships of a tramp through the snow as the boys.

"I'd just like to see that tunnel, and see how hard it is snowing outside," said Betty privately to her chum.

"Let's go look," exclaimed Bobby, equally curious.

Libbie and Timothy had their heads together over a book. Louise and the boys were engaged socially with some of the other passengers in their coach. So Betty and Bobby were able to slip


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Rh away, with their coats and caps, without being observed.

There were two Pullman coaches and but one day coach besides the express and baggage and mail cars to the train. The passengers in the day coach were confined to that or to the smoker's end of the baggage car ahead. The occupants of the Pullman coaches could roam through both as they pleased; and had the weather been fine it is certain that the young folks from Fairfields would have occupied the observation platform at the rear of the train a good part of the daytime.

They had been shut in by the storm the afternoon before, and now they were doubly shut in by the snow. The doors of the vestibules between the cars could not be opened, for the snow was banked up on both sides to the roofs. That tunnel the boys and train hands had made from the rear platform was the only means of egress for the passengers from the submerged train.

Betty and Bobby passed through the rear car and out upon the snow-banked platform. They saw that several people must have thrust themselves through the tunnel since the boys had made it. Probably these explorers had wished, like the two girls, to discover for themselves just what state the weather was in.

"Dear me!" gasped Bobby, "dare we poke through that hole? What do you think, Betty?"


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108 "The snow is hard packed, just as the boys say. I guess we can risk it," declared the more daring Betty. "Anyway, I can go anywhere Bob Henderson can, my dear. I will not take a back seat for any boy."

"Hear! Hear!" chuckled Bobby. "Isn't that what they cry at political meetings? You have made a good speech, Bettykins. Now go ahead and do it."

"Go ahead and do what?"

"Lead the way through that chimney. My! I believe it has stopped snowing and the boys don't know it."

"Come on then and make sure," Betty cried, and began to scramble up the sloping tunnel on hands and knees.

Both girls were warmly dressed, booted, and mittened. A little snow would not hurt them—not even a great deal of snow. And that a great deal had fallen and blown into this railroad cut, Betty and Bobby soon realized when they had scrambled out through what the latter had called "the chimney."

Only a few big flakes drifted in the air, which was keen and biting. But the wind had ceased—at least, it did not blow here in the cut between the hills—and it seemed only an ordinary winter day to the two girls from the other side of the Potomac.


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Rh Forward they saw a thin stream of smoke rising into the air from the stack of the front locomotive. The fires in the pusher were banked. It was not an oil-burner, nor was it anywhere near as large a locomotive as the one that pulled the train.

Rearward they could scarcely mark the roadbed, so drifted over was it. Fences and other landmarks were completely buried. The bending telegraph poles, weighted by the pull of snowladen wires, was all that marked the right of way through the glen.

"What a sight!" gasped Betty. "Oh, Bobby! did you ever see anything so glorious?"

"I never saw so much snow, if that is what you mean," admitted the Virginia girl. "And I am not sure that I really approve of it."

But Bobby laughed. She had to admit it was a great sight. It was now mid-afternoon and all they could see of the sun was a round, hazy ball behind the misty clouds, well down toward the western horizon which they could see through the mouth of this cut, or valley between the hills. At first they beheld not a moving object on the white waste.

"It is almost solemn," pursued Betty, who possessed a keen delight in all manifestations of nature.

"It looks mighty solemn, I admit," agreed Bobby. "Especially when you remember that


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110 to eat is three miles away and the drifts are nobody knows how many feet deep."

Betty laughed. She was about to say something cheerful in reply when a sudden sound smote upon their ears—a sound that startled the two girls. Somewhere from over the verge of the high bank of the cut on their left hand sounded a long-drawn and perfectly blood-curdling howl!

"For goodness' sake!" gasped Bobby, grabbing her friend by the arm. "What sort of creature is that? Hear it?"

"Of course I hear it," replied Betty, rather sharply. "Do you think I am deaf?"

Only a very deaf person could have missed hearing that mournful howl. It drew nearer.

"Is it a dog?" asked Bobby, almost in a whisper, as for a third time the howl sounded.

"A dog barks, doesn't it? That doesn't sound like a dog, Bobby," said Betty. "I heard one out West. I do believe it is one!"

"One what?" cried Bobby, almost shaking her in alarm and impatience.

"A wolf. It sounds just like a wolf. Oh, Bobby! suppose there should be a pack of wolves in these hills and that they should attack this train?"

"Wolves!" shrieked Bobby. "Wolves! Then me for in-doors! I am not going to stay here and be eaten up by wolves."


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Rh As she turned to dive into the tunnel there was a sharper and more eager yelp, and a shaggy animal came to the edge of the bluff to their left and, without stopping an instant, plunged down through the drifts toward the two girls where they stood on the hard-packed snow at the mouth of the tunnel.

"It is a wolf!" wailed Bobby, and immediately disappeared, head first, down the hole in the snow drift.


text: Betty Gordon at Mountain Camp/Chapter 13


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Motya

title: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Motya


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Bobby had not gone first and had not stuck half way down the hole with her feet kicking madly just at the mouth of the tunnel, without doubt Betty Gordon would have been driven by her own fears back into the Pullman coach.

That shaggy beast diving from the top of the embankment, plunging, yelping and whining, through the softer drifts of snow, frightened Betty just as much as it had Bobby Littell. The latter had got away with a flying start, however, and her writhing body plugged the only means of escape. So Betty really had to face the approaching terror.

"Oh! Oh!" cried Betty, turning from the approaching beast in despair. "Hurry! Hurry, Bobby Littell! Do you want me to be eaten up?"

But Bobby had somehow cramped herself in the winding passage through the snow, and her voice was muffled as she too cried for help.

However, Bobby's demands for assistance were much more likely to bring it than the cries of the


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Rh girl outside. The porter heard Bobby first, and when he opened the door of the coach several men who were near heard the girl.

"Help! Help! A wolf is eating her!" shrieked the frightened Bobby.

"Ma soul an' body! He must be a-chawin' her legs off!" cried the darkey and he seized Bobby by the wrists, threw himself backward, and the girl came out of the tunnel like an aggravating cork out of a bottle.

"What's this?" demanded Mr. Richard Gordon, who happened to be coming back to the end of the train to look for his niece and her chum.

"Oh, Mr. Gordon!" sputtered Bobby, scrambling up, "it's got her! A wolf! It's got Betty!"

"A wolf?" repeated Uncle Dick. "I didn't know there were any wolves left in this part of the country."

Major Pater was with him. Mr. Gordon grabbed the latter's walking stick and went up that tunnel a good deal quicker than Bobby had come down it. And when he got to the surface he found his niece, laughing and crying at once, and almost smothered by the joyful embraces of a big Newfoundland dog!

"A wolf indeed!" cried Mr. Gordon, but beating off the animal good-naturedly. "He must be a friend of yours, Betty."


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114 "Oh, dear me, he did scare us so!" Betty rejoined, getting up out of the drift, trying to brush off her coat, and petting the exuberant dog at the same time. "But it is a dear—and its master must be somewhere about, don't you think, Uncle Dick?"

Its master was, for the next moment he appeared at the top of the bank down which the "wolf" had wallowed. He hailed Uncle Dick and Betty with a great, jovial shout and plunged down the slope himself. He was a young man on snowshoes, and he proved to be a telegraph operator at that station three miles south.

"Wires are so clogged we can't get messages through. But we knew that Number Forty was stalled about here. Going to be a job to dig her out. I've got a message for the conductor," he said when he reached the top of the drift that was heaped over the train.

"Wasn't it a hard task to get here?" Mr. Gordon asked.

"Not so bad. My folks live right over the ridge there, about half a mile away. I just came from the house with the dog. Down, Nero! Behave yourself!"

"We are going to be hungry here pretty soon," suggested Mr. Gordon.

"There will be a pung come up from the station with grub enough before night. Furnished


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 by the company. That is what I have come to see the conductor about."

"I tell you what," said Betty's uncle, who was nothing if not quick in thinking. "My party were bound for Cliffdale."

"That's not very far away. But I doubt if the train gets there this week."

"Bad outlook for us. We are going to Mountain Camp—Mr. Canary's place."

"I know that place," said the telegraph operator. "There is an easy road to it from our farm through the hills. Get there quicker than you can by the way of Cliffdale. I believe my father could drive you up there to-morrow."

"In a sleigh?" cried Betty delightedly. "What fun!"

"In a pung. With four of our horses. They'd break the road all right. Ought to start right early in the morning, though."

"Do you suppose you could get us over to your house to-night?" asked Mr. Gordon quickly. "There are a good many of us"

"How many in the party?" asked the young man. "My name's Jaroth—Fred Jaroth."

Mr. Gordon handed him his card and said:

"There are four girls, four boys, and myself. Quite a party."

"That is all right, Mr. Gordon," said Fred Jaroth cheerfully. "We often put up thirty people


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116 in the summer. We've a great ranch of a house. And I can help you up the bank yonder and beat you a path through the woods to the main road. Nothing simpler. Your trunks will get to Cliffdale sometime and you can carry your hand baggage."

"Not many trunks, thank goodness," replied Mr. Gordon. "What do you think, Betty? Does it sound good?"

"Heavenly!" declared his niece.

Just then a brakeman came up through the tunnel to find out if the wolf had eaten both the gentleman and his niece, and the telegraph operator went down, feet first, to find the conductor and deliver his message.

"Then the idea of going on to Mountain Camp by sledge suits you, does it, young lady?" asked Mr. Gordon of Betty.

"They will all be delighted. You know they will, Uncle. What sport!"

The suggestion of the telegraph operator did seem quite inspired. Mr. Gordon and Betty re-entered the train to impart the decision to the others, and, as Betty had claimed, her young friends were both excited and delighted by the prospect.

In half an hour the party was off, Betty and her friends bundled up and carrying their bags while Mr. Gordon followed and Fred Jaroth led the


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Rh way on his snowshoes and carrying two suitcases. He said they helped balance him and made the track through the snow firmer. As for Nero, he cavorted like a wild dog, and that, Bobby said, proved he was a wolf!

Once at the top of the bank they found it rather easy following Jaroth through the woods. And when they reached the road—or the place where the highway would have been if the snow had not drifted over fences and all—they met the party from the station bringing up food and other comforts for the snowbound passengers. As the snow had really stopped falling it was expected that the plow would be along sometime the next day and then the train would be pulled back to the junction.

"But if this man has a roomy sled and good horses we shall not be cheated out of our visit to Mountain Camp," Mr. Gordon said cheerfully.

The old farmhouse when they reached it certainly looked big enough to accommodate them all. There was a wing thrown out on either side; but those wings were for use only in the summer. There were beds enough and to spare in the main part of the house.

When they sat down to Mrs. Jaroth's supper table Bob declared that quite evidently famine had not reached this retired spot. The platters were heaped with fried ham and fried eggs and


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118 and other staple articles. These and the hot biscuit disappeared like snow before a hot sun in April.

Altogether it was a joyous evening that they spent at the Jaroth house. Yet as Betty and Bobby cuddled up together in the bed which they shared, Betty expressed a certain fear which had been bothering her for some time.

"I wonder where she is, Bobby?" Betty said thoughtfully.

"Where who is?" demanded her chum sleepily.

"That girl. Ida Bellethorne. If she came up here on a wild goose chase after her aunt, and found only a horse, what will become of her?"

"I haven't the least idea," confessed Bobby.

"Did she return before this blizzard set in, or is she still up here in the woods? And what will become of her?"

"Gracious!" exclaimed the sleepy Bobby, "let's go to sleep and think about Ida Bellethorne tomorrow."

"And I wonder if it is possible that she can know anything about my locket," was another murmured question of Betty's. But Bobby had gone fast asleep then and did not answer.

Under the radiance of the big oil lamp hanging above the kitchen table, the table itself covered with an old-fashioned red and white checked cloth, the young folks bound for Mountain Camp ate breakfast. And such a breakfast!


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Rh Buckwheat cakes, each as big as the plate itself with "oodles of butter and real maple syrup," to quote Bob.

"We don't even get as good as this at Salsette," said Tommy Tucker grimly. "Oh, cracky!"

"I want to know!" gibed his twin, borrowing a phrase he had heard New England Libbie use on one occasion. "If Major Pater could see us now!"

Libbie and Timothy forgot to quote poetry. The fact was, as Bobby pointed out, buckwheat cakes like those were poems in themselves.

"And when one's mouth is full of such poems, mere printed verses lack value."

Romantic as she was, Libbie admitted the truth of her cousin's remark.

A chime of bells at the door hastened the completion of the meal. The boys might have sat there longer and, like boa-constrictors, gorged themselves into lethargy.

However, adventure was ahead and the sound of the sledge bells excited the young people. They got on their coats and caps and furs and mittens and trooped out to the "pung," as the elder Jaroth called the low, deep, straw-filled sledge to which he had attached four strong farm horses.

There were no seats. It would be much more comfortable sitting in the straw, and much warmer. For although the storm had entirely passed the


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120 cold was intense. It nipped every exposed feature, and their breath hung like hoar-frost before them when they laughed and talked.

During the night something had been done to break out the road. Mr. Jaroth's horses managed to trample the drifts into something like a hubbly path for the broad sled-runners to slip over. They went on, almost always mounting a grade, for four hours before they came to a human habitation.

The driver pointed his whipstock to a black speck before them and higher up the hill which was sharply defined against the background of pure white.

"Bill Kedders' hut," he said to Mr. Gordon. "'Tain't likely he's there this time o' year. Usually he and his wife go to Cliffdale to spend the winter with their married daughter."

"Just the same," cried Bob suddenly, "there's smoke coming out of that chimney. Don't you see it, Uncle Dick?"

"The boy's right!" ejaculated Jaroth, with sudden anxiety. "It can't be that Bill and his woman were caught by this blizzard. He's as knowing about weather signs as an old bear, Bill is. And you can bet every bear in these woods is holed up till spring."

He even urged the plodding horses to a faster pace. The hut, buried in the snow to a point far


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Rh above its eaves, was built against a steep hillside at the edge of the wood, with the drifted road passing directly before its door. When the pung drew up before it and the horses stopped with a sudden shower of tinkling bell-notes, Mr. Jaroth shouted:

"Hey, Bill! Hey, Bill Kedders!"

There was no direct reply to this hail. But as they listened for a reply there was not one of the party that did not distinguish quite clearly the sound of weeping from inside the mountain hut.


text: Betty Gordon at Mountain Camp/Chapter 14


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" ain't Bill!" exclaimed Jaroth. "That's as sure as you're a foot high. Nor yet it ain't his wife. If either one of them has cried since they were put into short clothes I miss my guess. Huh!"

He hesitated, standing in the snow half way between the pung and the snow-smothered door of the hut. Sheltered as it had been by the hill and by the woods, the hut was not masked so much by the drifted snow on its front. They could see the upper part of the door-casing.

"By gravy!" ejaculated Mr. Jaroth, "it don't sound human. I can't make it out. Funny things they say happen up here in these woods. I wouldn't be a mite surprised if that crying—or"

He hesitated while the boys and girls, and even Mr. Gordon, stared amazedly at him.

"Who do you think it is?" asked Uncle Dick finally.

"Well, it ain't Bill," grumbled Jaroth.

The sobbing continued. So engaged was the


text: Southern Historical Society Papers/Volume 26/The Visit of General Joseph Wheeler to Richmond, Va.


text: Southern Historical Society Papers/Volume 26/A Recollection of Pelham


text:
Page:The Mediaeval Mind Vol 2.djvu/15

romantic growth and imaginative shaping of chivalric love having been followed in the fortunes of its great exemplars, Tristan, Iseult, Lancelot, Guinevere, Parzival, a different illustration of mediaeval passion may be had by turning from these creations of literature to an actual woman, whose love for a living man was thought out as keenly and as tragically felt as any heart-break of imagined lovers, and was impressed with as entire a self-surrender as ever ravished the soul of nun panting with love of the God-man.

There has never been a passion between a man and woman more famous than that which brought happiness and sorrow to the lives of Abaelard and Heloïse. Here fame is just. It was a great love, and its course was a perfect soul's tragedy. Abaelard was a celebrity, the intellectual glory of an active-minded epoch. His love story has done as much for his posthumous fame as all his intellectual activities. Heloïse became known in her time through her relations with Abaelard; in his songs her name was wafted far. She has come down to us as one of the world's love-heroines. Yet few of those who have been touched by her story have known that Heloïse was a great woman, possessed of an admirable mind, a character which proved its strength through years, and, above all, a capacity for loving—for loving out to the full conclusions of love's convictions, and for feeling in their full range and power whatever moods and emotions could arise from an unhappy situation and a passion as deeply felt as it was deeply thought upon.

title: Page:The Mediaeval Mind Vol 2.djvu/15


text: Southern Historical Society Papers/Volume 38/Major John Pelham, Hero


text: Southern Historical Society Papers/Volume 12/The Gallant Pelham and His Gun at Fredericksburg


text:
Author:Henry Brainerd McClellan

Works

 * Tribute to Jeb Stuart
 * Tribute to Jeb Stuart

title: Author:Henry Brainerd McClellan


text: Southern Historical Society Papers/Volume 30/The Gallant Pelham


text:
Author:Kim Seong-su

Works

 * Incheonjip

title: Author:Kim Seong-su