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lxxii as Britain was peopled with continental plants before the formation of the channel, so Tasmania and Victoria possessed their present flora before they were separated by Bass's Straits.

Was Tasmania peopled when there was a land connection between the island-continent and Tasmania? Not probably prior to that period. During the Pleistocene period, when the land connection existed, the forests and plains of the continent supported huge mammals, which seem to have disappeared some time anterior to the peopling of the southern parts of it. As already stated, no remains of native art have been found associated with the almost unaltered bones of these now extinct creatures; but if the continent had been inhabited by a race in a condition as low as that of the Tasmanians, they could have left no such traces of their wanderings as would be easily discoverable.

It is difficult to believe that the Tasmanians were scions of the continental tribes. Their physical character stands out prominently as an objection to the theory. If Tasmania was peopled from Australia, it was at a time when Australia supported a race that in feature, character, and language was Tasmanian; and we must, therefore, regard the race that now inhabits the continent as intrusive. "What may be urged against this suggestion I know not. There is one error, however, to guard against—that is, to suppose that any land has necessarily been peopled by the route which appears to be the most obvious, the least difficult, and the shortest. And this brings us to the consideration of Dr. Latham's speculations, which have a greater value than perhaps he himself attaches to them.

The length of time during which the Tasmanians were entirely cut off from anything like communication with the people of the mainland is marked amongst them by no such improvements in arts and arms as have distinguished the Aborigines of Australia and New Caledonia. The former were apparently stationary, the latter to some extent progressive.

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viii taken much trouble with the papers that have been sent to him from time to time, and has constantly assisted me with his advice. It is impossible for me to say how deeply I am indebted to him.

The Honorable John Madden, LL.D., M.P., Minister of Justice, has very kindly lent aid whenever I have had to make demands on his time.

Baron von Mueller, C.M.G., the Government Botanist, has furnished information respecting the vegetation of the colony, and has made suggestions, also, in relation to other researches.

My obligations to Professor Halford, of the Melbourne University, are very great. His notes containing the results of his examination of the skulls of the natives are especially interesting.

Mr. G. H. F. Ulrich, F.G.S., was good enough to examine the stone implements, and I was glad to avail myself of his assistance, because of his accurate knowledge and large experience as a mineralogist.

Lastly, my thanks are especially due to Mr. John Ferres, the Government Printer, whose high attainments are already everywhere acknowledged; to Major Richard Shepherd, for the care and skill bestowed by him in preparing the greater number of the drawings; and to Mr. F. Grosse, the engraver, for the like attention given to the drawings and the wood-cuts.

Melbourne, 13th November 1876.

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

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222 It has been stated by Professor Huxley that the natives of Southern and Western Australia are probably as pure and homogeneous as any race of savages in existence. And yet there are some slight indications of another and possibly a more ancient people having at one time dwelt in Australia. These consist of certain red marks on the walls and roofs of caves, chiefly the imprints of human hands, as though a hand had been immersed in some red dye and then pressed against the side of the cave. These "signs-manual" are generally accompanied by some other marks or drawings.

They have been noticed in Eastern, Western, and Northern Australia; on indurated sandstone in a cliff on Dunmore's station, near the Goulburn River, in New South Wales, where they consist of hand-prints and drawings of animals; in a granite cave, about ten miles south from York, in Western Australia; and in other places.

I visited this cave in 1849, and saw the marks on the roof; they are quite indelible, and begin low down, near where the roof and floor meet. At first there is the imprint of the full-spread hand and fore-arm, in such a position that the person making it must have been squeezed as far as possible into the wedge-shaped space; then there is the mark of the hand with the fingers spread, mark after mark, and finally of the fingers only, where the roof arches up almost out of reach; but higher and just over the mouth of the cave is a circular figure, drawn with the same red substance, about fifteen inches in diameter, and filled up with lines and cross-bars. It must have been made by a person who was raised from the floor of the cave. This cavern is not easy of access, being in the face of a granite cliff overhanging the valley of the Avon River.

On my questioning the natives about these marks, they could give no rational account of them. They have very little curiosity about the cave, and pay no respect whatever to it; it does not seem to concern them or to belong to their people. On enquiring what they thought of the marks, one of them amused me with the following absurd story. He stated that his people believed that the Moon once dwelt in that cave, but becoming tired of the confinement, he ran up the roof of the cave, leaving his imprint at the top as he jumped up into the sky, where he has been wandering about ever since. Nor were they acquainted with the substance used to stain the rock,—it might be cinnabar but that none is known to exist in that part of the country.

Mr. Robert D. Hardey, when making an excursion some years ago into the sandy desert which extends east from York, found the prints of five or six hands in caves nearly seventy miles east from the valley of the Avon River, but he could not ascertain what they were made with.

Capt. Flinders found paintings in caves in Chusan Island, in the Gulf of Carpentaria, made with charcoal and a sort of red paint. There were porpoises, kangaroos, turtles, and a human hand; also a kangaroo with thirty-two persons following it.

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text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Coleman, Charles


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Rh Mr. Cunniugliam, in King's Voyages, saw paintings in Clack's Island, off the north-east coast.

Messrs. Grey and Lushington, in 1838, found caves with well-executed figures done in different colors, on the north-west coast; but Capt. (now Sir George) Grey thought they had no connection with the red hands in the cavern near York.

It is stated by a recent writer in the Colonies that ancient carvings exist in considerable numbers upon the flat rocks and headlands surrounding the harbour of Port Jackson, and at other places along the coast, primitive enough in design, yet highly interesting to the archaeologist and ethnologist. At the North Head the carvings exist in great numbers, as well as impressions of human hands on the sides of perpendicular rocks; the whole of the subjects represent indigenous objects—kangaroos, opossums, sharks, shields, boomerangs, and human figures in the attitudes of the corobboree dance.

How far these relics, or any of them, found in different and remote parts of Australia, may lead to the inference of a race having existed in the country prior to the advent of the people whom we now call Aborigines, is, I think, a question worthy of consideration.

Stephens, in his work on Central America, refers to vermilion impressions of human hands on the old Toltic buildings of Yucatan.

The stamp of the hand on a document is the sign-manual in Borneo of a native prince. The red color is esteemed sacred, in many instances, by the inhabitants of a great portion of Asia.

Some of the earliest discoverers of Australia saw natives of the present race when they landed. These barbarians were in a state of mere savage nature, never having heard of any other people than their own, nor having the least idea that other tribes existed beyond a very limited range of country around their own hunting-grounds. They knew nothing whatever of the conventional forms of gesture and expression which are generally understood and received as indications of amity among strange races. Whenever, therefore, they could be brought to parley, the situation was both critical and embarrassing.

The Australian Aborigines in their wild state are not only suspicious of treachery in their neighbours, but often have a superstitious terror of distant tribes, with whose existence they are only acquainted by report. It was not, therefore, suprising that they viewed with alarm the arrival of persons differing in color and appearance from any they had before seen or heard of, and of whose nature, power, and intentions they were wholly ignorant.

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text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Coleridge, Hartley


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text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Coleridge, Henry Nelson


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Coleridge, Herbert


text: Appletons' Cyclopædia of American Biography/Rutledge, John


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Bulkeley, Arthur


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Coleridge, James Duke


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Hot Springs, January 30, 189— Dear Pierrepont: I knew right off that I had made a mistake when I opened the inclosed and saw that it was a bill for fifty-two dollars, "for roses sent, as per orders, to Miss Mabel Dashkam." I don't just place Miss Dashkam, but if she's the daughter of old Job Dashkam, on the open Board, I should say, on general principles, that she was a fine girl to let some other fellow marry. The last time I saw her, she inventoried about $10,000 as she stood—allowing that her diamonds would scratch glass—and that's more capital than any woman has a right to tie up on her back, I don't care how rich her father is. And Job's fortune is one of that brand which foots up to a million in the newspapers and leaves the heirs in debt to the lawyers who settle the estate.

Of course I've never had any real


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 почесать (-чешу, -чешет; ppp -чёсанный; pct of чесать) to scratch. Он почесал затылок. He scratched his head.

-ся to scratch oneself. Мне хочется почесаться, но это, кажется, неприлично. I want to scratch myself, but it doesn't seem polite.

почешу See почесать.

почешусь See почесаться.

починить (-чиню, чинит;/ppp починенный/; pct of чинить and починять) to fix. Где тут можно починить часы? Where can I get my watch fixed? — Этот сапожник вам починит башмаки очень быстро. This shoemaker will fix your shoes very promptly. • to mend. Она мне починила костюм. She mended my whole suit.

починка mending. На починку белья уходит масса времени. Mending clothes takes a lot of time. • repairs. Кто будет платить за починку? Who's going to pay for the repairs? □ Мне надо отдать радио в починку. I have to have my radio fixed.

починять (dur of починить) to repair. Здесь починяют часы. Watches repaired here.

почистить (pct) to clean. Кто это так хорошо почистил ковёр? Who cleaned the rug so well? — Зубной врач прекрасно почистил мне зубы. The dentist cleaned my teeth very well. • to polish. Хотите я вам помоги почистить самовар. If you like, I'll help you polish the samovar. • to shine. Где здесь можно почистить ботинки? Where can I have my shoes shined here? • to brush off. Пожалуйста, почистите мне платье. Please brush off my clothes. • to peel. Почистить картошку? Shall I peel the potatoes?

почитать (pct) to read. Хотите, я почитаю вам вслух? If you like I'll read out loud to you.

почищу See почистить.

почка kidney. У меня почки не в порядке. Something is wrong with my kidneys. — Нам дали телячьи почки с рисом. They served us veal kidney with rice. • bud. Почки уже начали распускаться. The buds are beginning to open.

почта mail. Когда разносят утреннюю почту? When do they deliver the morning mail? — Это лучше отправить по почте. It's better to send it by mail. • post office. Конечно, почта и телеграф у нас всегда в одном здании. Of course, the post office and the telegraph office are always in the same building in our country. — Он работает на почте. He works in the post office. • Как пройти на почту? How do I get to the post office? □ воздушная почта air mail. Я хочу послать это письмо воздушной почтой. I want to send this letter air mail. обратная почта return mail. Жду ответа с обратной почтой. I'm waiting for an answer by return mail.

почтальон postman.

почтамт. □ главный почтамт main post office. Вечером письма принимают только на главном почтамте. During the evening only the main post office accepts mail.

почти almost. Я закончил почти все свой дела. I've almost finished all my business. — Он уже почти здоров. He's almost well by now. • practically. Она ещё почти ребёнок. She's still practically a kid. • nearly. На это ушли почти все мой деньги. I spent nearly all my money on it. □ почти что almost. Я уже почти что закончил свою работу. I've almost finished my work.

почтовый postal. Он — почтовый служащий. He's a postal clerk. • postage. Есть у вас почтовые марки? Do you have postage stamps? □ почтовая бумага writing paper. Дайте мне почтовой бумаги. Give me some writing paper. почтовая карточка postcard. почтовая посылка parcel-post package. почтовое отделение branch post office. Ближайшее почтовое отделение в двух кварталах отсюда. The nearest branch post office is two blocks from here. почтовый вагон mail car. почтовый перевод money order. почтовый (поезд) local (train). Мы едем почтовым (поездом). We go by local (train). почтовый штемпель postmark. Какое число на почтовом штемпеле? What date is on the postmark? почтовый ящик mailbox. Почтовый ящик на следующем углу. The mailbox is on the next corner.

почувствовать ([-čustv-]; pct of чувствовать) to feel. Я почувствовал острую боль в ноге. I felt a sharp pain in my leg. — Я почувствовал, что сказал не то, что нужно. I felt I didn't say the right thing. □ Я почувствовал к нему симпатию с первого взгляда. I took a liking to him the very moment I saw him.

почуять (-чую, -чует; pct of чуять) to get the scent. Собаки почуяли медведя. The dogs have gotten the scent of the bear. • to sense. Я почуял, что тут что-то неладно. I sensed that something's wrong here.

пошевелить (-шевелю, -шевелит; pct of шевелить).

-ся to budge. Нас так стиснули в толпе, что мы пошевелиться не могли. We were so crushed in the crowd we couldn't budge.

пошевельнуть (pct of шевелить).

пошёл See пойти.

пошлина duty. Вам придётся заплатить десять рублей пошлины. You have to pay a duty of ten rubles.

пошлю See послать.

пошутить (-шучу, -шутит; pct of шутить) to joke. Я только пошутил. I was only joking.

пошучу See пошутить.

пощадить (pct of щадить) to spare. Они никого не пощадили — ни детей, ни стариков. They spared no one, neither young nor old.

пощажу See пощадить.

пощёчина slap in the face. За такие слова ему бы следовало дать пощёчину. He deserves a slap in the face for such language.

пощупать (pct of щупать) to feel. Дайте мне пощупать ваш пульс. Let me feel your pulse.

поэзия poetry.

поэт poet.

поэтому (/cf этот/) therefore. Вы тут со всеми поссорились и, поэтому, я думаю, вам лучше уехать. You're on the outs with everybody here, and therefore I think you'd better leave. • that's why. Я заблудился и, поэтому, опоздал. I've gotten lost and that's why I'm late. • so. Концерт начинается ровно в девять, поэтому будьте там без четверти девять. The concert starts at nine sharp, so be there at a quarter to.

пою See петь.


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Rh in this sparking business, except with your Ma; but I've watched from the other side of the fence while a heap of fellows were getting it, and I should say that marrying a woman like Mabel Dashkam would be the first step toward becoming a grass widower. I'll bet if you'll tell her you're making twelve a week and ain't going to get any more till you earn it, you'll find that you can't push within a mile of her even on a Soo ice-breaker. She's one of those women with a heart like a stock-ticker—it doesn't beat over anything except money.

Of course you're in no position yet to think of being engaged even, and that's why I'm a little afraid that you may be planning to get married. But a twelve-dollar clerk, who owes fifty-two dollars for roses, needs a keeper more than a wife. I want to say right here that there always comes a time to the fellow who blows fifty-two dollars at a lick on roses when he thinks how many staple groceries he could have bought with


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


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Rh the money. After all, there's no fool like a young fool, because in the nature of things he's got a long time to live.

I suppose I'm fanning the air when I ask you to be guided by my judgment in this matter, because, while a young fellow will consult his father about buying a horse, he's cock-sure of himself when it comes to picking a wife. Marriages may be made in Heaven, but most engagements are made in the back parlor with the gas so low that a fellow doesn't really get a square look at what he's taking. While a man doesn't see much of a girl's family when he's courting, he's apt to see a good deal of it when he's housekeeping; and while he doesn't marry his wife's father, there's nothing in the marriage vow to prevent the old man from borrowing money of him, and you can bet if he's old Job Dashkam he'll do it. A man can't pick his own mother, but he can pick his son's mother, and when he chooses a father-in-law who plays the bucket shops,


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Rh he needn't be surprised if his own son plays the races.

Never marry a poor girl who's been raised like a rich one. She's simply traded the virtues of the poor for the vices of the rich without going long on their good points. To marry for money or to marry without money is a crime. There's no real objection to marrying a woman with a fortune, but there is to marrying a fortune with a woman. Money makes the mare go, and it makes her cut up, too, unless she's used to it and you drive her with a snaffle-bit.

While you are at it, there's nothing like picking out a good-looking wife, because even the handsomest woman looks homely sometimes, and so you get a little variety; but a homely one can only look worse than usual. Beauty is only skin deep, but that's deep enough to satisfy any reasonable man. (I want to say right here that to get any sense out of a proverb I usually find that I have to turn it wrong side out. ) Then, too,


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284 To smite the smiter with the scimitar;

Such is my weapon—not the secret knife;

Who spares a Woman's seeks not Slumber's life.

Thine saved I gladly, Lady—not for this;

Let me not deem that mercy shown amiss.

Now fare thee well—more peace be with thy breast!

Night wears apace, my last of earthly rest!"

"Rest! rest! by sunrise must thy sinews shake,

And thy limbs writhe around the ready stake,

I heard the order—saw—I will not see—

If thou wilt perish, I will fall with thee.

My life—my love—my hatred—all below

Are on this cast—Corsair! 'tis but a blow!

Without it flight were idle—how evade

His sure pursuit?—my wrongs too unrepaid,

My youth disgraced—the long, long wasted years,

One blow shall cancel with our future fears;

But since the dagger suits thee less than brand,

I'll try the firmness of a female hand.

The guards are gained—one moment all were o'er—

Corsair! we meet in safety or no more;

If errs my feeble hand, the morning cloud

Will hover o'er thy scaffold, and my shroud."

IX.

She turned, and vanished ere he could reply,

But his glance followed far with eager eye;

And gathering, as he could, the links that bound

His form, to curl their length, and curb their sound,

Since bar and bolt no more his steps preclude,

He, fast as fettered limbs allow, pursued.


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Coleridge, Sara


text: Index:Atharva-Veda samhita volume 2.djvu


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Bulkeley, Richard (1533-1621)


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CANTO III.] 'Twas dark and winding, and he knew not where

That passage led; nor lamp nor guard was there;

He sees a dusky glimmering—shall he seek

Or shun that ray so indistinct and weak?

Chance guides his steps—a freshness seems to bear

Full on his brow as if from morning air;

He reached an open gallery—on his eye

Gleamed the last star of night, the clearing sky:

Yet scarcely heeded these—another light

From a lone chamber struck upon his sight.

Towards it he moved; a scarcely closing door

Revealed the ray within, but nothing more.

With hasty step a figure outward passed,

Then paused, and turned—and paused—'tis She at last!

No poniard in that hand, nor sign of ill—

"Thanks to that softening heart—she could not kill!"

Again he looked, the wildness of her eye

Starts from the day abrupt and fearfully.

She stopped—threw back her dark far-floating hair,

That nearly veiled her face and bosom fair,

As if she late had bent her leaning head

Above some object of her doubt or dread.

They meet—upon her brow—unknown—forgot—

Her hurrying hand had left—'twas but a spot—

Its hue was all he saw, and scarce withstood—

Oh! slight but certain pledge of crime—'tis Blood!

X.

He had seen battle—he had brooded lone

O'er promised pangs to sentenced Guilt foreshown;

He had been tempted—chastened—and the chain

Yet on his arms might ever there remain:

But ne'er from strife—captivity—remorse—

From all his feelings in their inmost force—


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Bulkeley, Richard (d.1650)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Coleridge, William Hart


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Rh if a fellow's bound to marry a fool, and a lot of men have to if they're going to hitch up into a well-matched team, there's nothing like picking a good-looking one.

I simply mention these things in a general way, because it seems to me, from the gait at which you're starting off, that you'll likely find yourself roped and branded any day, without quite knowing how it happened, and I want you to understand that the girl who marries you for my money is getting a package of green goods in more ways than one. I think, though, if you really understood what marrying on twelve a week meant, you would have bought a bedroom set instead of roses with that fifty-two you owe.

Speaking of marrying the old man's money by proxy naturally takes me back to my old town in Missouri and the case of Chauncey Witherspoon Hoskins. Chauncey's father was the whole village, barring the railroad station and the saloon, and, of


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 появиться (-явлюсь, -явится; pct of появляться) to appear. Наконец, появился виновник торжества. Finally the guest of honor appeared. — У неё появились морщинки под глазами. Wrinkles have appeared under her eyes. □ В нашем городе появился новый театр. A new theater opened in our town.

появляться (pct of появиться) to show up. Он у нас не появлялся уже целый месяц. It's been a month now since he's shown up in this house.

пояс (P -а, -ов) belt. Мне нужна новая пряжка для пояса. I need a new buckle for my belt.

правда truth. В том, что он говорит, нет ни слова правды. There isn't a word of truth in what he says. — По правде сказать, мне было страшно. To tell you the truth, I was afraid. • right. Что правда, то правда. What's right is right. — Ваша правда, он действительно нас подвёл. You're right; he really let us down. • really. Он, правда, там был? Was he really there? • it's true. Сам я, правда, при этом не был, но я знаю, что там произошло. It's true I wasn't present at the time, but I know what happened. — Правда, что они поженились? Is it true that they got married? — Это, правда, немного дальше, но зато дорога очень приятная. It's true that the road is a little longer, but on the other hand it's much pleasanter. □ *Он добивался этой командировки всеми правдами и неправдами. He was trying to get the assignment by hook or crook.

правило rule. А на этот счёт есть какие-нибудь грамматические правила? Is there some sort of grammatical rule about this? — Правила для посетителей. Rules for visitors. — Нет правила без исключения. There are no rules without exceptions. • regulation. Соблюдайте правила уличного движения. Obey traffic regulations.

правильный right, correct. Вы дали ему правильный адрес? Did you give him the right address? — Это совершенно правильная точка зрения. That sure is the right point of view. • regular. У неё правильные черты лица. She has regular features. • normal. Уже возобновилось правильное движение поездов. Normal train service has already been resumed. □ правильно correctly. Вы правильно записали номер? Did you take the number down correctly? • right. Вы его правильно поняли? Did you understand him right? — Вам правильно дали сдачу? Did they give you the right change? — Эти часы идут правильно? Is this clock right? □ Вы составили себе правильное представление о том, что произошло. You have a very accurate idea of what happened. • Он пишет по-русски совершенно правильно. He writes Russian perfectly.

правительственный government. Об этом в правительственных кругах уже известно. They know about it in government circles already. — Он работает в правительственном учреждении. He works in a government office.

правительство. □ советское правительство Soviet Government.

править to govern. Править государством — дело не лёгкое. It's not an easy matter to govern a country. • to drive. Кто будет править машиной? Who'll drive the car? □ править корректуру to read proof. Вы никогда не правили корректуру? Haven't you ever read proof?

право (P права) right. Всем гражданам СССР обеспечивается право на труд. All citizens of the USSR are given the right to work. — Вы имеете полное право требовать ответа. You have every right to demand an answer. — По праву эта комната принадлежит мне. By rights this room belongs to me. □ авторское право copyright. государственное право public law. советское право Soviet law. уголовное право criminal law. □ Этот билет даёт вам право на проезд туда и обратно. This ticket is good for a round trip.

право really. Я, право, не хотел вас обидеть. I really didn't want to offend you. □ Какой вы, право, упрямый! My, you're stubborn!

правозаступник lawyer.

правописание spelling.

православный (Greek) Orthodox. □ православная церковь (Greek) Orthodox Church.

правый (sh -ва) correct. Вы совершенно правы. You're absolutely correct. • right. Я не знаю кто прав, кто виноват, по история вышла пренеприятная. I don't know who's right or who's wrong, but I do know it's a pretty mess.

правый right. Я правым глазом не вижу. I don't see with my right eye. — Идите по правой стороне, а потом сверните за угол. Go along the right-hand side and then turn the corner.

праздник ([-zni-]) holiday. По праздникам тут всё закрыто. On holidays everything is closed around here. □ *Не горюй, и на нашей улице будет праздник. Don't worry, every dog has his day.

праздничный ([-nj-]) holiday. У меня сегодня праздничное настроение. I'm in a holiday mood today. □ праздничный день holiday. По воскресным и праздничным дням библиотека закрыта. The library is closed on holidays and Sundays. □ Он надел свой праздничный костюм. He put on his Sunday best.

праздновать ([-zn-]/pct: от-/) to celebrate. Годовщину Октябрьской революции празднуют седьмого ноября. We celebrate the October revolution on November seventh. — Сегодня мы празднуем двадцатипятилетие его работы на этом заводе. We're celebrating his twenty-fifth anniversary in this factory today. □ *Тебе как будто не полагалось бы труса праздновать, I would never expect you to act like a coward.

практика practice. Я хотел бы применить мой знания на практике. I'd like to put my knowledge into practice. — Как же я могу хорошо говорить по-английски, когда у меня совершенно нет практики? How can I speak English well if I don't get any practice. — У этого доктора есть небольшая частная практика. This doctor has a small private practice. • experience. У него большая практика в этом деле. He has a lot of experience in this field. □ Студенты горняки едут на практику в Донбас. Mining students are going to the Donbass to get practical experience.

практический practical. Это открытие скоро найдёт себе


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Coles, Cowper Phipps


text:
Page:Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son.djvu/156

Rh course, Chauncey thought that he was something of a pup himself. So he was, but not just the kind that Chauncey thought he was. He stood about five foot three in his pumps, had a nice pinky complexion, pretty wavy hair, and a curly mustache. All he needed was a blue ribbon around his neck to make you call, "Here, Fido," when he came into the room.

Still I believe he must have been pretty popular with the ladies, because I can't think of him to this day without wanting to punch his head. At the church sociables he used to hop around among them, chipping and chirping like a dicky-bird picking up seed; and he was a great hand to play the piano, and sing saddish, sweetish songs to them. Always said the smooth thing and said it easy. Never had to choke and swallow to fetch it up. Never stepped through his partner's dress when he began to dance, or got flustered when he brought her refreshments and poured the coffee in her lap to


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Coles, Elisha (1608?-1688)


text:
Page:Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son.djvu/157

Rh cool instead of in the saucer. We boys who couldn't walk across the floor without feeling that our pants had hiked up till they showed our feet to the knees, and that we were carrying a couple of canvased hams where our hands ought to be, didn't like him; but the girls did. You can trust a woman's taste on everything except men; and it's mighty lucky that she slips up there or we'd pretty nigh all be bachelors. I might add that you can't trust a man's taste on women, either, and that's pretty lucky, too, because there are a good many old maids in the world as it is.

One time or another Chauncey lolled in the best room of every house in our town, and we used to wonder how he managed to browse up and down the streets that way without getting into the pound. I never found out till after I married your Ma, and she told me Chauncey's heart secrets. It really wasn't violating any confidence, because he'd told them to every girl in town.


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Bulkeley, Richard (1644-1710)


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Coles, Elisha (1640?-1680)


text:
Page:Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son.djvu/158

Rh Seems he used to get terribly sad as soon as he was left alone with a girl and began to hint about a tragedy in his past—something that had blighted his whole life and left him without the power to love again—and lots more slop from the same pail.

Of course, every girl in that town had known Chauncey since he wore short pants, and ought to have known that the nearest to a tragedy he had ever been was when he sat in the top gallery of a Chicago theatre and saw a lot of barnstormers play Othello. But some people, and especially very young people, don't think anything's worth believing unless it's hard to believe.

Chauncey worked along these lines until he was twenty-four, and then he made a mistake. Most of the girls that he had grown up with had married off, and while he was waiting for a new lot to come along, he began to shine up to the widow Sharpless, a powerful, well-preserved woman of forty or thereabouts, who had been born with her


text:
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Rh eye-teeth cut. He found her uncommon sympathetic. And when Chauncey finally came out of his trance he was the stepfather of the widow's four children.

She was very kind to Chauncey, and treated him like one of her own sons; but she was very, very firm. There was no gallivanting off alone, and when they went out in double harness strangers used to annoy him considerable by patting him on the head and saying to his wife: "What a bright-looking chap your son is, Mrs. Hoskins!"

She was almost seventy when Chauncey buried her a while back, and they say that he began to take notice again on the way home from the funeral. Anyway, he crowded his mourning into sixty days—and I reckon there was plenty of room in them to hold all his grief without stretching—and his courting into another sixty. And four months after date he presented his matrimonial papers for acceptance. Said


text:
Page:Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son.djvu/160

Rh he was tired of this mother-and-son foolishness, and wasn't going to leave any room for doubt this time. Didn't propose to have people sizing his wife up for one of his ancestors any more. So he married Lulu Littlebrown, who was just turned eighteen. Chauncey was over fifty then, and wizened up like a late pippin that has been out overnight in an early frost.

He took Lu to Chicago for the honeymoon, and Mose Greenebaum, who happened to be going up to town for his fall goods, got into the parlor car with them. By and by the porter came around and stopped beside Chauncey.

"Wouldn't your daughter like a pillow under her head?" says he.

Chauncey just groaned. Then—"Git; you Senegambian son of darkness!" And the porter just naturally got.

Mose had been taking it all in, and now he went back to the smoking-room and passed the word along to the drummers


text:
Page:Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son.djvu/161

Rh there. Every little while one of them would lounge up the aisle to Chauncey and ask if he couldn't lend his daughter a magazine, or give her an orange, or bring her a drink And the language that he gave back in return for these courtesies wasn't at all fitting in a bridegroom. Then Mose had another happy thought, and dropped off at a way station and wired the clerk at the Palmer House.

When they got to the hotel the clerk was on the lookout for them, and Chauncey hadn't more than signed his name before he reached out over his diamond and said: "Ah, Mr. Hoskins; would you like to have your daughter near you?"

I simply mention Chauncey in passing as an example of the foolishness of thinking you can take any chances with a woman who has really decided that she wants to marry, or that you can average up matrimonial mistakes. And I want you to remember that marrying the wrong girl is


text:
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Rh the one mistake that you're got to live with all your life. I think, though, that if you tell Mabel what your assets are, she'll decide she won't be your particular mistake. Your affectionate father, 4em


text: Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son/Letter 9


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Bulkeley, Sophia


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Coles, Gilbert


text:
Page:Dictionary of spoken Russian (1945).djvu/445

 практическое применение. This discovery will soon be put to a practical use. □ Он ничего не понимает в практической жизни. He doesn't know a thing about everyday living.

практичный practical. Как это такой практичный человек мог сделать такую ошибку? How could such a practical person make such a mistake? — Этот материал красив, но не так практичен, как тот. This cloth is good-looking, but not as practical as that one.

прачечная ([-šn-] AF) laundry. У нас при гостинице своя прачечная. Our hotel runs its own laundry.

прачка laundress. Ваше бельё ещё не пришло от прачки. The laundress hasn't brought your wash yet.

пребывание stay. Срок моего пребывания здесь очень ограничен. My stay here is for a very limited time. — Я прошу разрешения на временное пребывание в Советском Союзе. I'm asking for a temporary permit to stay in the Soviet Union.

превосходный wonderful. Сегодня превосходная погода. We're having wonderful weather today. □ превосходно excellently. Он превосходно владеет тремя языками. He knows three languages excellently. • fine. Превосходно! Значит можно ехать? Fine! Now we can start, can't we?

превратить (-вращу, вратит; ppp -вращённый; pct of превращать) to transform. Мы попытаемся превратить этот пустырь в огород. We'll try to transform this vacant lot into a vegetable garden. • to make. Ужас — во что они превратили эту комнату! What a terrible mess they made of this room! • to change. Детдом превратил этого маленького хулигана в хорошего парнишку. The children's home changed this young rowdy into a fine little fellow.

-ся to become. За эти годы он превратился в старика. He has become an old man during the years.

превращать (dur of превратить) to make. Не превращайте этого в шутку! Don't make a joke of it!

превращу See превратить.

превращусь See превратиться.

предавать (-даю, -даёт; imv -давай; prger -давая; dur of предать).

предам See предать.

предатель (M) traitor.

предательство treachery.

предать (-дам, -даст, §27; imv -дай; p предал, предала, предало, -и; предался, -лась -лось, -лись; ppp преданный, sh F -дана; pct of предавать) to betray. Он меня предал. He betrayed me. □ предать суду to put on trial. Его предали суду. He was put on trial. □ Она очень преданная мать. She's a very devoted mother.

-ся. □ Он опять предаётся несбыточным мечтаниям. He's busy building castles in the air again.

предвидеть (-вижу, -видит; dur) to foresee. Вы ведь не могли предвидеть, что из этого получится. But you couldn't foresee the consequences. — Я предвижу, что из-за этого выйдут большие неприятности. I can foresee that we'll have a lot of trouble because of it.

предвижу See предвидеть.

предзавком (председатель заводского комитета) chairman of the factory employees' committee.

предлагать (dur of предложить) to suggest. Предлагаю пойти сегодня в кино. I suggest we go to the movies tonight. • to propose. Я предлагаю тост за наших гостей. I propose a toast to our guests. • to offer. Мы предлагаем вам наше содействие в этом деле. We're offering you our help in this matter.

предлог pretext. Он как будто ищет предлога для ссоры. He seems to look for a pretext to start a quarrel. • excuse. Под предлогом спешной работы он ушёл рано. He left early on the excuse of urgent work.

предлог preposition.

предложение proposal. Никто не возражает против этого предложения? Does anyone have any objections to this proposal? • suggestion. У нас на фабрике поступает от рабочих много предложений. The workers of our factory submit many suggestions. • supply. У нас спрос на многие товары превышает предложение. In our country the demand exceeds the supply of many goods.

предложение sentence. Он сделал три ошибки в одном предложении. He made three mistakes in one sentence.

предложить (-ложу, -ложит; pct of предлагать) to offer. Я хочу предложить ему работу. I want to offer him a job. — Можно вам предложить стакан вина? May I offer you a glass of wine? • to put forward. Его предложили в кандидаты. They put him forward as a candidate. • to present. Кто предложил эту резолюцию? Who presented this resolution? • to ask. Ему предложили немедленно дать отчёт. He was asked to give an accounting of his records immediately. — Можно предложить вам вопрос? May I ask you a question?

предместье suburbs. Он живёт в предместье Москвы. He lives in the suburbs of Moscow.

предмет subject. Какой ваш любимый предмет в школе? What's your favorite subject in school? — Эта история ещё долго будет предметом толков. This event will be the subject of conversation for a long time to come. □ В темноте я наткнулся на какой-то предмет. I bumped into something in the dark. • Сейчас опять увеличилось производство предметов ширпотреба. They've increased the production of consumers' goods again. • Не понимаю, почему он у вас служит постоянным предметом насмешек. I don't understand why you're always making fun of him.

предостерегать (dur of предостеречь) to warn. Он меня предостерегал от возможных последствий. He warned me about the possible consequences.

предостерегу See предостеречь.

предостеречь (-стерегу, -стережёт; p -стерёг, стерегла, -о, и; pct of предостерегать) to warn. Я хочу вас предостеречь: ему нельзя доверять. I want to warn you not to trust him.

предписание order. Мы получили предписание из комиссариата. We received an order from the commissariat. • instructions. Вам необходимо точно выполнить предписания врача. You've got to follow the doctor's instructions to the letter.

предполагать (dur of предположить) to suppose. Я предполагаю, что ко времени нашего приезда всё будет готово. I suppose that by the time we arrive everything will be in order. • to imagine. Я и не предполагал, что


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Colet, Henry


text:
Page:Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son.djvu/165

, March 1, 189— Dear Pierrepont: When I saw you start off yesterday I was just a little uneasy; for you looked so blamed important and chesty that I am inclined to think you will tell the first customer who says he doesn't like our sausage that he knows what he can do about it. Repartee makes reading lively, but business dull. And what the house needs is more orders.

Sausage is the one subject of all others that a fellow in the packing business ought to treat solemnly. Half the people in the world take a joke seriously from the start, and the other half if you repeat it often enough. Only last week the head of our sausage department started to put out a tin-tag brand of frankfurts, but I made him take it off the market quicker than lightning, because I knew that the first fool who saw the tin-tag would ask if that was the


text:
Page:Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son.djvu/166

Rh license. And, though people would grin a little at first, they'd begin to look serious after a while; and whenever the butcher tried to sell them our brand they'd imagine they heard the bark, and ask for "that real country sausage" at twice as much a pound.

He laughs best who doesn't laugh at all when he's dealing with the public. It has been my experience that, even when a man has a sense of humor, it only really carries him to the point where he will join in a laugh at the expense of the other fellow. There's nothing in the world sicker-looking than the grin of the man who's trying to join in heartily when the laugh's on him, and to pretend that he likes it.

Speaking of sausage with a registered pedigree calls to mind a little experience that I had last year. A fellow came into the office here with a shriveled-up toy spaniel, one of those curly, hairy little fellows that a woman will kiss, and then grumble because a fellow's mustache tickles.


text:
Page:Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son.djvu/169

Rh Said he wanted to sell him. I wasn't really disposed to add a dog to my troubles, but on general principles I asked him what he wanted for the little cuss.

The fellow hawed and choked and wiped away a tear. Finally, he fetched out that he loved the dog like a son, and that it broke his heart to think of parting with him; that he wouldn't dare look Dandy in the face after he had named the price he was asking for him, and that it was the record-breaking, marked-down sacrifice sale of the year on dogs; that it wasn't really money he was after, but a good home for the little chap. Said that I had a rather pleasant face and he knew that he could trust me to treat Dandy kindly; so—as a gift—he would let me have him for five hundred.

"Cents?" says I.

"Dollars," says he, without blinking.

"It ought to be a mastiff at that price," says I.

"If you thought more of quality," says


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Coley, Henry


text:
Page:Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son.djvu/170

Rh he, in a tone of sort of dignified reproof, "and less of quantity, your brand would enjoy a better reputation."

I was pretty hot, I can tell you, but I had laid myself open, so I just said: "The sausage business is too poor to warrant our paying any such price for light-weights. Bring around a bigger dog and then we'll talk;" but the fellow only shook his head sadly, whistled to Dandy, and walked off.

I simply mention this l'ttle incident as an example of the fact that when a man cracks a joke in the Middle Ages he's apt to affect the sausage market in the Nineteenth Century, and to lay open an honest butcher to the jeers of every dog-stealer in the street. There's such a thing as carrying a joke too far, and the fellow who keeps on pretending to believe that he's paying for pork and getting dog is pretty apt to get dog in the end.

But all that aside, I want you to get it firmly fixed in your mind right at the start


text:
Page:Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son.djvu/171

Rh that this trip is only an experiment, and that I am not at all sure you were cut out by the Lord to be a drummer. But you can figure on one thing—that you will never become the pride of the pond by starting out to cut figure eights before you are firm on your skates.

A real salesman is one-part talk and nine-parts judgment; and he uses the nine-parts of judgment to tell when to use the one-part of talk. Goods ain't sold under Marquess of Queensberry rules any more, and you'll find that knowing how many rounds the Old 'Un can last against the Boiler-Maker won't really help you to load up the junior partner with our Corn-fed brand hams.

A good many salesmen have an idea that buyers are only interested in baseball, and funny stories, and Tom Lipton, and that business is a side line with them; but as a matter of fact mighty few men work up to the position of buyer through giving up their office hours to listening to anecdotes. I


text:
Page:Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son.djvu/172

Rh never saw one that liked a drummer's jokes more than an eighth of a cent a pound on a tierce of lard. What the house really sends you out for is orders.

Of course, yon want to be nice and mellow with the trade, but always remember that mellowness carried too far becomes rottenness. You can buy some fellows with a cheap cigar and some with a cheap compliment, and there's no objection to giving a man what he likes, though I never knew smoking to do anything good except a ham, or flattery to help any one except to make a fool of himself.

Real buyers ain't interested in much besides your goods and your prices. Never run down your competitor's brand to them, and never let them run down yours. Don't get on your knees for business, but don't hold your nose so high in the air that an order can travel under it without your seeing it. You'll meet a good many people on


text:
Page:Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son.djvu/173

Rh the road that you won't like, but the house needs their business.

Some fellows will tell you that we play the hose on our dry salt meat before we ship it, and that it shrinks in transit like a Baxter Street Jew's all-wool suits in a rainstorm; that they wonder how we manage to pack solid gristle in two-pound cans without leaving a little meat hanging to it; and that the last car of lard was so strong that it came back of its own accord from every retailer they shipped it to. The first fellow will be lying, and the second will be exaggerating, and the third may be telling the truth. With him you must settle on the spot; but always remember that a man who's making a claim never underestimates his case, and that you can generally compromise for something less than the first figure. With the second you must sympathize, and say that the matter will be reported to headquarters and the boss of the canning-room


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Colfe, Abraham


text:
Page:Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son.djvu/174

Rh called up on the carpet and made to promise that it will never happen again. With the first you needn't bother. There's no use feeding expensive "hen-food" to an old Dominick that sucks eggs. The chances are that the car weighed out more than it was billed, and that the fellow played the hose on it himself and added a thousand pounds of cheap salt before he jobbed it out to his trade.

Where you're going to slip up at first is in knowing which is which, but if you don't learn pretty quick you'll not travel very far for the house. For your own satisfaction I will say right here that you may know you are in a fair way of becoming a good drummer by three things:

First—When you send us Orders.

Second—More Orders.

Third—Big Orders.

If you do this you won't have a great deal of time to write long letters, and we won't have a great deal of time to read them, for


text:
Page:Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son.djvu/175

Rh we will be very, very busy here making and shipping the goods. We aren't specially interested in orders that the other fellow gets, or in knowing how it happened after it has happened. If you like life on the road you simply won't let it happen. So just send us your address every day and your orders. They will tell us all that we want to know about "the situation."

I was cured of sending information to the house when I was very, very young—in fact, on the first trip which I made on the road. I was traveling out of Chicago for Hammer & Hawkins, wholesale dry-goods, gents' furnishings and notions. They started me out to round up trade in the river towns down Egypt ways, near Cairo.

I hadn't more than made my first town and sized up the population before I began to feel happy, because I saw that business ought to be very good there. It appeared as if everybody in that town needed something in my line. The clerk of the hotel where I


text:
Page:Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son.djvu/176

Rh registered wore a dicky and his cuffs were tied to his neck by pieces of string run up his sleeves, and most of the merchants on Main Street were in their shirt-sleeves—at least those that had shirts were—and so far as I could judge there wasn't a whole pair of galluses among them. Some were using wire, some a little rope, and others just faith—buckled extra tight. Pride of the Prairie XXX flour sacks seemed to be the nobby thing in boys' suitings there. Take it by and large, if ever there was a town which looked as if it had a big, short line of dry-goods, gents' furnishings and notions to cover, it was that one.

But when I caught the proprietor of the general store during a lull in the demand for navy plug, he wouldn't even look at my samples, and when I began to hint that the people were pretty ornery dressers he reckoned that he "would paste me one if I warn't so young." Wanted to know what I meant by coming swelling around in


text:
Page:Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son.djvu/177

Rh clothes and getting funny at the expense of people who made their living honestly. Allowed that when it came to a humorous get-up my clothes were the original end-man's gag.

I noticed on the way back to the hotel that every fellow holding up a hitching-post was laughing, and I began to look up and down the street for the joke, not understanding at first that the reason why I couldn't see it was because I was it. Right there I began to learn that, while the Prince of Wales may wear the correct thing in hats, it's safer when you're out of his sphere of influence to follow the styles that the hotel clerk sets; that the place to sell clothes is in the city, where every one seems to have plenty of them; and that the place to sell mess pork is in the country, where every one keeps hogs. That is why when a fellow comes to me for advice about moving to a new country, where there are more opportunities, I advise him—if he is built right


text:
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Rh —to go to an old city where there is more money.

I wrote in to the house pretty often on that trip, explaining how it was, going over the whole situation very carefully, and telling what our competitors were doing, wherever I could find that they were doing anything.

I gave old Hammer credit for more curiosity than he possessed, because when I reached Cairo I found a telegram from him reading: "Know what our competitors are doing: they are getting all the trade. But what are you doing?" I saw then that the time for explaining was gone and that the moment for resigning had arrived; so I just naturally sent in my resignation. That is what we will expect from you—or orders. Your affectionate father, 4em


text: Letters from a Self-Made Merchant to His Son/Letter 10


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Colles, Abraham


text:
The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Emerton, Ephraim

EMERTON, Bphraim, American historian: b. Salem, Mass., 18 Feb. 1851. He was graduated at Harvard 1871 and studied in Leipzig, becoming instructor in Harvard 1876, and professor of ecclesiastical history there 1882. His works include: ‘Synopsis of History of Continental Europe’; ‘The Study of Church History’; ‘The Practical Method in Higher Historical Education’ (1885); ‘An Introduction to the Study of the Middle Ages’ (1888); ‘Mediæval Europe’ (1894); ‘Desiderius Erasmus’; ‘Heroes of the Reformation’; ‘Sir William Temple und die Tripleallianz vom Jahre, 1668’; ‘Unitarian Thought’ (1911).


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


text:
The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Emerton, James H.

EMERTON, James H., American naturalist and illustrator: b. Salem, Mass., 1847. He is the illustrator of Packard's ‘Guide to the Study of Insects’; Scudder's ‘Butterflies of North America’; Verrill's papers in ‘Reports of the United States Fish Commission’ (1884); and Minot's ‘Embryology.’ He is the author of seven papers on “New England Spiders” in the ‘Transactions’ of the Connecticut Academy; ‘The Structure and Habits of Spiders’ (1878) and ‘Common Spiders of the United States’ (1902). Emerton constructed anatomical and zoological models for museums at Cambridge, New Haven, New York and Washington.


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


text:
The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Emery, Henry Crosby

EMERY, Henry Crosby, American economist: b. Ellsworth, Me., 21 Dec. 1872. In 1892 he was graduated at Bowdoin and later studied at Harvard, Columbia and Berlin. From 1894 to 1900 he was instructor and professor of pohlical economy at Bowdoin and from 1901 to 1909 was professor of political economy at Yale. In 1909 he was made chairman of the United States Tariff Board, but returned to his chair at Yale in 1913. He has written ‘Speculation on the Stock and Produce Exchanges of the United States’ ( in ‘Columbia University Studies’ (1896); ‘The Tariff Board and Its Work’ (1910); ‘The Work of the Tariff Board in Connection with the Cotton Industry’ (1911); ‘Politician, Party and People’ (1913); ‘Some Economic Aspects of War’ (1914).


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 that she was very passionate, she said: "My husband never takes my part when I'm in my tanthrums, and I'm that mad with him; but, bless you, I love him all the better afterwards; he knows well enough it would only make me worse." I may here observe that the above-mentioned two shillings is the only money I ever had to give to either woman. It is on such infinitesimally small actions that the success of the whole work rests.

My tenants are mostly of a class far below that of mechanics. They are, indeed, of the very poor. And yet, although the gifts they have received have been next to nothing, none of the families who have passed under my care during the whole four years have continued in what is called "distress," except such as have been unwilling to exert themselves. Those who will not exert the necessary self-control cannot avail themselves of the means of livelihood held out to them. But, for those who are willing, some small assistance in the form of work has, from time to time, been provided—not much, but sufficient to keep them from want or despair. The following will serve as an instance of the sort of help given, and its proportion to the results.

Alice, a single woman, of perhaps fifty-five years, lodged with a man and his wife—the three in one room—just before I obtained full possession of the houses. Alice, not being able to pay her rent, was turned into the street, where Mrs. S. (my playground superintendent) met her, crying dreadfully.

It was Saturday, and I had left town till Monday. Alice had neither furniture to pawn, nor friends to help her; the workhouse alone lay before her. Mrs. S. knew that I esteemed her as a sober, respectable, industrious woman, and therefore she ventured to express to Alice's landlord the belief that I would not let him lose money if he would let her go back to her lodging till Monday, when I should return home, thus risking for me a possible loss of fourpence—not very ruinous to me, and a sum not impossible for Alice to repay in the future.

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 I gave Alice two days' needlework, then found her employment in tending a bed-ridden cottager in the country, whose daughter (in service) paid for the nursing. Five weeks she was there, working and saving her money. On her return I lent her what more she required to buy furniture, and she then took a little room direct from me. Too blind to do much household work, but able to sew almost mechanically, she just earns her daily bread by making sailors' shirts! but her little home is her own, and she loves it dearly; and, having tided over that time of trial, Alice can live—has paid all her debts, too, and is more grateful than she would have been for many gifts.

At one time I had a room to let which was ninepence a week cheaper than the one she occupied. I proposed to her to take it; it had, however, a different aspect, getting less of the southern and western sunlight. Alice hesitated long, and asked me to decide, which I declined to do; for, as I told her, her moving would suit my arrangements rather better. She, hearing that, wished to move; but I begged her to make her decision wholly irrespective of my plans. At last she said, very wistfully: "Well, you see, miss, it's between ninepence and the sun." Sadly enough, ninepence had to outweigh the sun.

My tenants are, of course, encouraged to save their money. It should, however, be remarked, that I have never succeeded in getting them to save for old age. The utmost I have achieved is that they lay by sufficient either to pay rent in times of scarcity, to provide clothes for girls going to service, or boots, or furniture, or even to avail themselves of opportunities of advancement which must be closed to them if they had not a little reserve fund to meet expenses of the change.

One great advantage arising from the management of the houses is, that they form a test-place, in which people may prove themselves worthy of higher situations. Not a few of the tenants have been persons who had sunk below the stratum where once they were known, and some of these,

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Rh, sir," he answered haltingly, not knowing what else to say.

"But do we actually die?" insisted the sufferer.

"Well, I hope—not yet," ventured the old servant. "The doctor said"

"Forget the doctor," interposed McMasters. "Biggs, you have been in our service since I was a lad, haven't you?"

Tears welled into the servant's eyes, and his voice faltered.

"Fifty-six years, come next November," he answered.

"Well, let me tell you something, that even in those fifty-six years you never learned, Biggs. My grandfather was buried alive!"

"Oh, sir! Impossible!" cried Biggs, in horror.

"Absolutely," asserted the banker.

"Why—are you—how do you know, sir?" in a hoarse whisper.

"My father built a family mausoleum in the far corner of this estate, didn't he?"

"Yes, sir—he hated burial in the earth, sir, after reading a poem of Edgar Allan Poe's, sir!"

"What poem was that, Biggs?"

"I don't recall the name of it, but I remember the line," faltered Biggs. "What was it?"

"Oh, sir," cried the old man, "let's talk about something cheerful."

"Not until we're through with this discussion, Hiram."

HE sound of his given name restored Biggs somewhat, for the banker resorted to it only on occasions when he shared his deepest confidences with his old houseman.

"Well, the line goes, 'Soft may the worms about him creep,' sir."

A slight shudder seemed to run through McMasters' body. Then after a tomb-like silence, "Good reason for building the mausoleum."

"Yes, sir, I think so, sir."

"Well," with an apparent effort, "when they exhumed my grandfather's remains to place them in the new vault, the casket was opened, and——"

"Oh, sir," cried Biggs, throwing out a trembling, expostulating hand, but the banker went on, relentlessly.

"——the body was turned over, on its side, with the left knee drawn up partway."

"That's the way he always slept—in life." Biggs' voice was a hollow whisper.

"And that's the reason my father, after building himself a mausoleum, insisted that his body be cremated," said McMasters. "He took no chances."

Biggs' horrified eyes traveled dully to the massive urn over the great fireplace and rested there, fascinated.

"Hiram, where is heaven?"

Biggs' eyes flitted back to rest in surprize upon the questioner.

"Why, up there, sir," pointing toward the ceiling.

"Do you believe that the earth rotates on its axis?"

"That's what I was taught in school, sir."

"If that hypothesis is true, we are rolling through space at the rate of about sixteen miles a minute," figured the banker. "Now you say heaven is up there."

"Yes, sir."

"Biggs, what time is it?"

The servant glanced at the great clock in the corner.

"Ah, it's twelve o'clock, sir, and time for your medicine," in a voice full of relief.

"Never mind the drugs," commanded McMasters, "until we finish our problem in higher mathematics. Now, if I ask you where heaven is at midnight,


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356 which will be twelve hours from now, where will you point," triumphantly.

"Why, up there," replied the bewildered servant, again indicating the ceiling.

"Then," cried McMasters, "you will be pointing directly opposite from the place you indicated a moment ago; for by midnight the earth will have turned approximately upside down. Do you get my point?"

"Yes, sir," replied poor Biggs, thoroughly befuddled.

"Then where will heaven be at six o'clock this evening?" fairly shouted the sick man.

"Out there," replied the servant, hopelessly, pointing toward the window.

"And where will heaven be at six o'clock in the morning?"

"Over there." And Biggs pointed a trembling finger at the fireplace. Then, "Oh, sir, let's not—the doctor"

"Hang the doctor," interrupted McMasters testily. "I've been thinking this thing over, and I've got to talk about it to someone."

"But don't you believe in a hereafter?" queried Biggs, a horrible note of fear in his pitiful voice.

For a moment the banker was silent; the massive clock ticked solemnly on. A coal toppled with a sputter and flare in the fireplace.

"Yes, Hiram," in a thoughtful voice, "I suppose I do."

"I'm glad to hear you say that," cried Biggs in very evident relief.

"Ah, if you could but tell me," continued the banker, "from whence we come, and whither we go?"

"If I knew, sir, I'd be equal with the Creator," answered Biggs with reverence.

"That's well said, Hiram, but it doesn't satisfy me. I've made my place in the world by getting to the root of things. Ah, if I could only get a peek behind the curtain, before I go—back-stage, you know—mayhap I would not be afraid to die," and his voice fell almost to a whisper.

"The Great Director does not permit the audience behind the footlights, unless he calls them," answered Biggs whimsically, the ghost of a smile lighting up his troubled features.

"Another thing, Biggs, do you believe those stories about Jonah, and Lazarus, and the fellow they let down through a hole in the roof to be healed?"

"I do, sir," with conviction.

"Do you understand how it was done?" testily.

"Of course not, sir, being only a human."

"Then tell me, Hiram, when you cannot see through it, how can you swallow all this theology?"

"My faith, sir," answered Biggs, simply, raising his eyes with reverence.

At this, a quizzical smile came over the sick man's face.

"In looking up, Hiram, don't forget, since it is twelve-thirty, that we have swung around four hundred and eighty miles from the spot you originally designated as the location of the Pearly Gates."

"Oh, sir, I beg of you," remonstrated the servant, "I cannot bear to have you jest on such a—why, master!" he broke off with a little cry, rushing to his bedside.

The quizzical smile on the banker's face had suddenly faded, and his head had fallen feebly back upon the pillow.

"Oh, why did he waste his strength so?" cried Biggs, piteously, as with trembling hands and tear-blurred eyes he searched the little table for the smelling-salts.

After a few breaths, the patient sighed and opened his eyes wearily.

"My medicine, Hiram, and then I must rest."


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Rh T MIDNIGHT, Biggs, dozing in a big chair by the fire, was aroused by a voice from the sick bed.

"Hiram."

"Yes, sir," scurrying to turn on a subdued light.

"Where is heaven now?"

Noting the wan flicker of a smile, the old servant pointed solemnly downward.

"You are a bright pupil," came in a scarcely audible voice.

"Thank you, sir."

"Do you know, Biggs, I wish I had led a different—a better life."

"You have been a good master, sir. You have been kind, you have given liberally to charity," Biggs defended him.

"Yes," cynically, "I have given liberally to charity. But it has been no sacrifice."

"You have been a pillar in the church," ventured Biggs.

"Yes," bitterly, "a stone pillar. I have paid handsomely for my pew, and slept peacefully through the sermons. I have bought baskets of food for the poor at Thanksgiving and Christmas time, only to let others reap the happiness of giving them away. 1 could have had so much joy out of Christmas, if I would. I could have been a jolly, rosy-cheeked Santa Claus and gone to a hundred homes, my arms loaded with gifts."

"True, sir, but you made that joy possible for others."

"When I should have known the thrill of it myself. I have not really lived, Hiram. To draw the sweets truly out of life, one must humble himself and serve his fellow men. Yes, the scales have fallen from my eyes, Hiram, But it is too late, 'the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak'."

"It doesn't seem right, sir," said Biggs after a pause.

"What's that, Hiram?"

"Why, sir, that you should be stricken down in the prime of life, just at a time when you could mean so much to others, while I, old and useless, am permitted to live on. But I am not finding fault with Providence, sir," Biggs hastened to say; "I just can't find the meaning of the riddle, sir."

"Probably I've had my chance and fumbled it, Biggs."

"Even so, sir, God is not vindictive, according to my ideas. There surely is some other solution. I'm still going to pray that He will take me in your stead, even if a miracle must be performed."

"So you have faith in your prayers, do you, Biggs?"

"Yes, sir, if they are unselfish prayers."

"That brand is rather scarce, I take it," answered McMasters, but his tone was reflective rather than sarcastic.

"Oh, sir, I wish you would pray as I do. God would surely understand."

"Rather a queer request, Hiram. If my life depends upon your death no prayer shall ever pass my lips."

"But, sir, I'm an old"

"However," interrupted McMasters, "I shall pray that if my life is spared in any; other fashion, I will make full amends for my years of indifference and neglect. And, Hiram, no one knows hour much I truly seek this divine dispensation. But I have always scoffed at death-bed confessions, and so my heart grows cold, for I have no right to ask—now." Again, wearily, "No right—now."

"Ah, master, God is plenteous in mercy. If you but have the faith, sir, it shall make you whole."

"Very good, had I lived as you have lived, Biggs." Then, after a pause, "Still, the cause is worthy, my heart is right and I shall approach the Throne. May God be merciful unto me, a sinner."

"I hope it is not too late yet," faltered "Oh, if God would only call me


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358 in four stead, that you might still do the good work that you find it in your heart to do, how gladly would I go."

A deep sigh was his only answer.

LONG silence was finally broken by the sick man. But when he spoke, his voice was so strange and uncanny that the servant hastened dose and peered anxiously into the fever-flushed face of the sufferer.

"Hiram—I must tell you—a secret," came in a laborious, almost sepulchral, whisper.

Biggs came closer.

"Bring a chair and sit down. I must talk to you."

As the old servant again leaned forward, the sufferer hesitated; then with an obvious effort he began.

"Hiram, I am going to give you some instructions which you must obey to the letter. Will you promise to keep them?"

"I swear it, sir," with great earnestness.

"Good! Now, if this fever seals my lips and the doctor pronounces me dead"

"Please, sir," Biggs broke in, tears streaming down his furrowed cheeks, but his master continued in the same subdued voice, "Whatever happens, I am not to be embalmed—do you hear me?—not embalmed, but just laid away as I am now."

"Yes, sir," in a choked voice, which fully betrayed the breaking heart behind it.

"And now, Hiram, the rest of the secret." He paused and beckoned Biggs to lean closer.

"In my vault—in the mausoleum, I have had an electric button installed. That button connects with a silver bell. Lift up that small picture of Napoleon, there upon the wall."

His hands trembling as with the palsy, Biggs reached out and lifted aside the picture hanging near the head of the bed, and there revealed the silver bell, fitted into a small aperture in the wall. Then, with a sob, he fell back into his chair.

"Hiram"—in a whisper—"after they bury me, you are to sleep in this bed." With a cry, the old man threw out a horrified, expostulating hand. Catching it feverishly, the banker half raised himself in bed.

"Don't you understand?" he cried fiercely. "I may not be dead after all. Remember grandfather! And Biggs—if that bell rings, get help—quick!"

Suddenly releasing his hold, McMasters fell back limply among the pillows.

LL through the long night the faithful Biggs maintained a sleepless vigil, but the banker lay as immovable as a stone. When the rosy-cheeked dawn came peeping audaciously through the casements, Biggs drew the heavy curtains tightly shut once more.

Not until the doctor's motor whirled away did the patient rouse from his lethargy.

Apparently strengthened by his deep stupor he spoke, and Biggs stood instantly beside him.

"What did the doctor say?"

Biggs hesitated.

"Out with it, I'm no chicken-hearted weakling."

"Nothing much," admitted Biggs, sadly. "He only shook his head very gravely."

"He doesn't understand this family malady any more than the old quack who allowed my grandfather to be buried alive," said McMasters almost fiercely. Biggs shuddered and put a trembling hand to his eyes.

"What ails me, Biggs?" almost plaintively. "No one knows. This fever has


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Rh baffled the scientists for years. When you fall into a comatose condition they call it suspended animation. That's the best thing they do—find names for diseases. My family doctor doesn't have any more of an idea about this malady than you or I. The average physician is just a guesser. He guesses you have a fever and prescribes a remedy, hoping that it will hit the spot. If it doesn't he looks wise, wags his head—and tries something else on you. Maybe it works and maybe it doesn't. The only thing my guesser is absolutely sure of is that if I live or if I die, he will collect a princely fee for his services."

Biggs remained statuesque during the pause.

"Gad," McMasters broke out again testily, "if I fiddled around in my business like that I'd be a pauper in a month."

"But the doctor says you're coming on," ventured Biggs.

"Sure he does," answered the banker with a sneer. "That's his stock in trade. I know that line of palaver. Secretly, he knows I am as liable to be dead as alive when he comes again."

"Oh, sir, you aren't going to die!"

"That's what I'm afraid of, Biggs. But they'll call me dead and go ahead and embalm me and make sure of it."

"Oh, sir, I wish——"

"Now remember, Biggs," broke in the sick man, "shoot the first undertaker that tries to put that mummy stuff in my veins."

"I understand perfectly, sir," answered Biggs, fearful lest the other's excitement might again give him a turn for the worse.

"I know I'm apparently going to pass away. My father and grandfather both had this cussed virus in their veins, and I don't believe either of them was dead when he was pronounced so!"

"Well, if by any chance—that is, if you," began Biggs desperately, "if you are apparently—dead—why not have them keep your body here in the house for a time?"

"Convention, formality, custom, hidebound law!" the banker fairly frothed. "The health authorities would come here with an army and see that I was buried. No, Biggs, I've got a fine crypt out there, all quiet and secure, good ventilation, electric lights, like a pullman berth—and a push-button. That precludes all notoriety. It's secret and safe. The electrician who installed the apparatus died four years ago. So you and I, alone, possess this knowledge."

"Don't you think someone else should know of it too? Your attorney, or——"

"No, Biggs. If I really am dead I don't want anyone to write up my eccentricities for some Sunday magazine sheet. And if I do come back, then it will be time to tell the gaping public about my cleverness."

"I wish you weren't so—so cold-blooded about it all, sir."

"I have always hit straight from the shoulder, Hiram, and I'm facing this death business as I'd face any other proposition. I'm not ready to cash in, and if I can cheat the doctors, undertakers, lawyers, heirs, and chief mourners for a few more years, I'm going to do it. And don't forget poor old granddad. He might have been up and about yet had he but used my scheme."

IGGS turned away, sick at heart. It was too terrible beyond words. To him his religion was as essential as daily bread. Death was the culmination of cherished belief and constant prayer. As his years declined he had faced the inevitable day with simple faith that when the


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360 summons came he would go gladly, like him "who wraps the drapery of his couch about him and lies down to pleasant dreams." With throbbing heart he listened for another torrent of words that would still further stab his sensitive soul; for he had loved and revered his master from his youth up.

But no words came. He wheeled about The massive head had fallen limply among the pillows. Pallid lips were trying to form sentences without result. Then the great body seemed to subside immeasurably deeper into the covers and a death-like stillness fell upon the room.

Intuitively feeling that his master was worse than at any previous relapse, Biggs made every effort to revive him, gently at first, and then by vigorously shaking and calling to him in a heart-broken, piteous voice. But to no avail. The heavy figure looked pallid and corpse-like under the snowy sheets.

Long hours dragged by, and still the lonely old servant sat mutely beside the bed, only aroused, at last, by the peremptory, measured call of the telephone bell.

"Yes," said Biggs in a quavering voice. "Oh yes, Doctor Meredith, Master's resting easy. Don't think you'll need to come until tomorrow."

"I'll keep them away as long as I can," he muttered, as he slipped back to his vigil. "God grant—maybe he'll come back—and take up the work of the Master, so long delayed. Oh God! If Thou wouldst only take me in his stead!"

Sleeping fitfully, Biggs sat dumbly through an interminable night, but the new day brought no reassuring sign from the inert form. The stillness was appalling. The other servants were quartered in a distant part of the mansion and only came when summoned. Again Biggs assured the physician that he could gain nothing by calling, and another awful night found him, ashen and distraught, at the bedside. Sometime in the still watches he swooned and kindly nature patched up his shredded nerves, before consciousness once more aroused him. But the strain was more than he could bear. So when the anxious specialist came, unbidden, he found a shattered old watchman who broke down completely and babbled forth the whole mysterious tale, concealing nothing but the secret of the tomb.

In a coffin previously made to order, they laid the unembalmed remains of Judson McMasters in the family mausoleum, and the world which had felt his masterful presence for so many years paused long enough to lay a costly tribute on his bier and then went smoothly on its way.

Not so with the faithful Biggs. Ensconced in his master's bedroom, he nightly tossed in troubled sleep, filled with the jangling of innumerable electric bells. And when—on the tenth night, after he had been somewhat reassured that all was well—he was suddenly awakened by a mad, incessant ringing from the hidden alarm, a deathly weakness overcame him and it was some time before he was able to drag his palsied body from the bed. With fumbling, clumsy fingers he tried to hasten, but it was many minutes before he tottered, half dressed, out of the room. And as he did so, his heart almost stood still, then mounted to his throat as if to choke him.

"Biggs!"—a voice—McMaster's voice was calling.

He staggered to the head of the wide, massive stairway and looked down. There stood the banker, pale, emaciated, but smiling.

And then, as from an endless distance, came more words:

"I forgot to tell you that I had a


text: Weird Tales/Volume 28/Issue 3/The Doors of Death


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Author:Arthur Beecher Waltermire

Works

 * The Doors of Death (1936)

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286 So thrilled, so shuddered every creeping vein,

As now they froze before that purple stain.

That spot of blood, that light but guilty streak,

Had banished all the beauty from her cheek!

Blood he had viewed—could view unmoved—but then

It flowed in combat, or was shed by men!

XI. "'Tis done—he nearly waked—but it is done.

Corsair! he perished—thou art dearly won.

All words would now be vain—away—away!1600

Our bark is tossing—'tis already day.

The few gained over, now are wholly mine,

And these thy yet surviving band shall join:

Anon my voice shall vindicate my hand,

When once our sail forsakes this hated strand."

XII.

She clapped her hands, and through the gallery pour.

Equipped for flight, her vassals—Greek and Moor;

Silent but quick they stoop, his chains unbind;

Once more his limbs are free as mountain wind!

But on his heavy heart such sadness sate,1610

As if they there transferred that iron weight.

No words are uttered—at her sign, a door

Reveals the secret passage to the shore;

The city lies behind—they speed, they reach

The glad waves dancing on the yellow beach;


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CANTO III. And Conrad following, at her beck, obeyed,

Nor cared he now if rescued or betrayed;

Resistance were as useless as if Seyd

Yet lived to view the doom his ire decreed.

XIII.

Embarked—the sail unfurled—the light breeze blew—

How much had Conrad's memory to review!

Sunk he in contemplation, till the Cape

Where last he anchored reared its giant shape.

Ah!—since that fatal night, though brief the time,

Had swept an age of terror, grief, and crime.

As its far shadow frowned above the mast,

He veiled his face, and sorrowed as he passed;

He thought of all—Gonsalvo and his band,

His fleeting triumph and his failing hand;

He thought on her afar, his lonely bride:

He turned and saw—Gulnare, the Homicide!"

XIV.

She watched his features till she could not bear

Their freezing aspect and averted air;

And that strange fierceness foreign to her eye

Fell quenched in tears, too late to shed or dry.

She knelt beside him and his hand she pressed,

"Thou may'st forgive though Allah's self detest;

But for that deed of darkness what wert thou?

Reproach me—but not yet—Oh! spare me now!

I am not what I seem—this fearful night

My brain bewildered—do not madden quite!

If I had never loved—though less my guilt—

Thou hadst not lived to—hate me—if thou wilt."


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288 XV. She wrongs his thoughts—they more himself upbraid

Than her—though undesigned—the wretch he made;

But speechless all, deep, dark, and unexprest,

They bleed within that silent cell—his breast.

Still onward, fair the breeze, nor rough the surge,

The blue waves sport around the stern they urge;

Far on the Horizon's verge appears a speck,

A spot—a mast—a sail—an arméd deck!

Their little bark her men of watch descry,

And ampler canvass woos the wind from high;

She bears her down majestically near,

Speed on her prow, and terror in her tier;

A flash is seen—the ball beyond her bow

Booms harmless, hissing to the deep below.

Up rose keen Conrad from his silent trance,

A long, long absent gladness in his glance;

"'Tis mine—my blood-red flag again—again—

I am not all deserted on the main!"

They own the signal, answer to the hail,

Hoist out the boat at once, and slacken sail.

"'Tis Conrad! Conrad!" shouting from the deck,

Command nor Duty could their transport check!

With light alacrity and gaze of Pride,

They view him mount once more his vessel's side;

A smile relaxing in each rugged face,

Their arms can scarce forbear a rough embrace.

He, half forgetting danger and defeat,

Returns their greeting as a Chief may greet,

Wrings with a cordial grasp Anselmo's hand,

And feels he yet can conquer and command!


text:
Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 3.djvu/321

CANTO III. XVI. These greetings o'er, the feelings that o'erflow,

Yet grieve to win him back without a blow;

They sailed prepared for vengeance—had they known

A woman's hand secured that deed her own,

She were their Queen—less scrupulous are they

Than haughty Conrad how they win their way.

With many an asking smile, and wondering stare,

They whisper round, and gaze upon Gulnare;

And her, at once above—beneath her sex,

Whom blood appalled not, their regards perplex.

To Conrad turns her faint imploring eye,

She drops her veil, and stands in silence by;

Her arms are meekly folded on that breast,

Which—Conrad safe—to Fate resigned the rest.

Though worse than frenzy could that bosom fill,

Extreme in love or hate, in good or ill,

The worst of crimes had left her Woman still!

XVII.

This Conrad marked, and felt—ah! could he less?—

Hate of that deed—but grief for her distress;

What she has done no tears can wash away,

And Heaven must punish on its angry day:

But—it was done: he knew, whate'er her guilt,

For him that poniard smote, that blood was spilt;

And he was free!—and she for him had given

Her all on earth, and more than all in heaven!


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Seton

title: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/Seton


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Ive, William


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Ives, Edward


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Ives, Jeremiah


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


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Ivie, Edward


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Ivimey, Joseph


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Ivor Hael


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Ivory, James (1765-1842)


text:
Page:The Southern Literary Messenger volume 1.djvu/14

T. W. WHITE, PRINTER AND PROPRIETOR.

issuing the first number of the the publisher hopes to be excused for inserting a few passnges from the letters of several eminent literary men which he has had the pleasure to receive, approving in very flattering terms, his proposed publication. Whilst the sentiments contained in these extracts illustrate the generous and enlightened spirit of their authors, they ought to stimulate the pride and genius of the south, and awaken from its long slumber the literary exertion of this portion of our country. The publisher confidently believes that such will be the effect. From the smiles of encouragement, and the liberal promises of support received from various quarters—which he takes this opportunity of acknowledging,—he is strangely imboldened to persevere, and devote his own humble labors to so good a cause. He is authorised to expect a speedy arrangement either with a competent editor or with regular contributors to his work,—but, in the mean time, respectfully solicits public patronage, as the only effectual means of ensuring complete success.

Your literary enterprise has my highest approbation and warmest good wishes. Strongly disposed as I always have been in favor of 'the south', and especially attached to Virginia by early friendships and cherished recollections, I cannot but feel interested in the success of a work which is calculated to concentrate the talent and illustrate the high and generous character which pervade that part of the Union."

"It gives me great pleasure to find that yon are about establishing a literary paper at Richmond,—and I earnestly hope the attempt will be successful. You have abundance of talent among you; and the situation of so many well educated men, placed above the necessity of laboring either manually or professionally, affords ample leisure for the cultivation of literature. Hitherto your writings have been principally political; and in that class you have few rivals. The same talent, directed to other pursuits in literature, will, unquestionably, produce similar results,—and Virginia, in addition to her other high claims to the consideration of the world, may then easily aspire to the same distinction in other branches that she has attained in politics.

"Besides, the muses must certainly abide somewhere in the beautiful vallies, and on the banks of the clear stream of the mountains of Virginia. Solitude is the nurse of the imagination; and if there be any Virginia lass or lad that ever seeks, they will assuredly find inspiration, among the retired quiet beauties of her lonely retreats. Doubtless they only want a vehicle for their effusions,—and I cannot bring myself to believe that your contemplated paper will suffer from the absence of contributors or subscribers. * * * * "If your young writers will consult their own taste and genius, and forget there ever were such writers as Scott, Byron, and Moore, I will be bound they produce something original; and a tolerable original is as much superior to a tolerable imitation, as a substance is to a shadow. Give us something new—something characteristic of yourselves, your country, and your native feelings, and I don't care what it is. I am somewhat tired of licentious misanthropy. I want to see something wholesome, natural, and national. The best thing a young American writer can do, is forget that any body ever wrote before him; and above all things, that there are such caterpillars as critics in this world."

"The south is full of talent, and the leisure of its gentlemen ought to enable them to bring it freely into action. I made many acquaintances, in early youth, among your gentlemen, whom I have always esteemed for their manliness, frankness, and intelligence. If some, whom I could name, were to arouse from their lethargy, you would not be driven to apply to any one on this side the Potomac for assistance."

"I have received your prospectus, along with your letter of the 1st instant. It gives me great pleasure to perceive so just an estimate of the value of literary enterprise as that indicated by your announcement of the 'Southern Literary Messenger.' A work of this kind is due to the talents of your noble state, and I doubt not will be received with a prompt encouragement."

"Your design is so laudable, that I would gladly contribute to its promotion; but the periodical literature of the country seems to be rather superabundant than scanty. The desideratum is of quality rather than quantity."

"Although you could not have chosen one less able to assist you, owing to my numerous professional engagements, which deprive me of the pleasure of dipping into the other sciences, or literature, I am willing to contribute my mite, and sincerely wish you success."

It is understood that the first number of the "Messenger" will be sent forth by its Publisher, as a kind of pioneer, to spy out the land of literary promise, and to report whether the same be fruitful or barren, before he resolves upon future action. It would be a mortifying discovery, if instead of kindness and good will, he should be repulsed by the coldness and neglect of a Virginia public. Hundreds of similar publications thrive and prosper north of the Potomac, sustained as they are by the liberal hand of patronage. Shall not one be supported in the whole south? This is a question of great mportance;—and one which ought to be answered with sober earnestness by all who set any value upon public character, or who are in the least degree jealous of that individual honor and dignity which is in some measure connected with the honor and dignity of the state. Are we to be doomed forever to a kind of vassalage to our northern neighbors—a dependance for our literary food upon our brethren, whose superiority in all the great points of character,—in valor— eloquence and patriotism, we are no wise disposed to admit? Is it not altogether extraordinary that in this extensive commonwealth, containing a white population of upwards of six hundred thousand souls—a vast deal of agricultural wealth, and innumerable persons of both sexes, who enjoy both leisure and affluence—there is not one solitary


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ENDERED restless by relief, Bill Brewster did not linger long at the luncheon-table. Shortly after Reggie van Tuyl had retired, he got up and announced his intention of going for a bit of a walk to calm his excited mind. Archie dismissed him with a courteous wave of the hand; and, beckoning to the Sausage Chappie, who in his rôle of waiter was hovering near, requested him to bring the best cigar the hotel could supply. The padded seat in which he sat was comfortable; he had no engagements; and it seemed to him that a pleasant half-hour could be passed in smoking dreamily and watching his fellow-men eat.

The grill-room had filled up. The Sausage Chappie, having brought Archie his cigar, was attending to a table close by, at which a woman with a small boy in a sailor suit had seated themselves. The woman was engrossed with the bill of fare, but the child's attention seemed riveted upon the Sausage Chappie. He was drinking him in with wide eyes. He seemed to be brooding on him.

Archie, too, was brooding on the Sausage Chappie. The latter made an excellent waiter: he was brisk and attentive, and did the work as if he liked it; but Archie was not satisfied. Something seemed to tell him that the man was fitted for higher things. Archie was a grateful soul. That sausage, coming at the end of a five-hour

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Rh hike, had made a deep impression on his plastic nature. Reason told him that only an exceptional man could have parted with half a sausage at such a moment; and he could not feel that a job as waiter at a New York hotel was an adequate job for an exceptional man. Of course, the root of the trouble lay in the fact that the fellow could not remember what his real life-work had been before the war. It was exasperating to reflect, as the other moved away to take his order to the kitchen, that there, for all one knew, went the dickens of a lawyer or doctor or architect or what not.

His meditations were broken by the voice of the child.

"Mummie," asked the child interestedly, following the Sausage Chappie with his eyes as the latter disappeared towards the kitchen, "why has that man got such a funny face?"

"Hush, darling."

"Yes, but why has he?"

"I don't know, darling."

The child's faith in the maternal omniscience seemed to have received a shock. He had the air of a seeker after truth who has been baffled. His eyes roamed the room discontentedly.

"He's got a funnier face than that man there," he said, pointing to Archie.

"Hush, darling!"

"But he has. Much funnier."

In a way it was a sort of compliment, but Archie felt embarrassed. He withdrew coyly into the cushioned recess. Presently the Sausage Chappie returned, attended to the needs of the woman and the child, and came over to Archie. His homely face was beaming.

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 "Say, I had a big night last night," he said, leaning on the table.

"Yes?" said Archie. "Party or something?"

"No, I mean I suddenly began to remember things. Something seems to have happened to the works."

Archie sat up excitedly. This was great news.

"No, really? My dear old lad, this is absolutely topping. This is priceless."

"Yessir! First thing I remembered was that I was born at Springfield, Ohio. It was like a mist starting to life. Springfield, Ohio. That was it. It suddenly came back to me."

"Splendid! Anything else?"

"Yessir! Just before I went to sleep I remembered my name as well."

Archie was stirred to his depths.

"Why, the thing's a walk-over!" he exclaimed. "Now you've once got started, nothing can stop you. What is your name?"

"Why, it's That's funny! It's gone again. I have an idea it began with an S. What was it? Skeffington? Skillington?"

"Sanderson?"

"No; I'll get it in a moment. Cunningham? Carrington? Wilberforce? Debenham?"

"Dennison?" suggested Archie, helpfully.

"No, no, no. It's on the tip of my tongue. Barrington? Montgomery? Hepplethwaite? I've got it! Smith!"

"By Jove! Really?"

"Certain of it."

"What's the first name?"

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Rh An anxious expression came into the man's eyes. He hesitated. He lowered his voice.

"I have a horrible feeling that it's Lancelot!"

"Good God!" said Archie.

"It couldn't really be that, could it?"

Archie looked grave. He hated to give pain, but he felt he must be honest.

"It might," he said. "People give their children all sorts of rummy names. My second name's Tracy. And I have a pal in England who was christened Cuthbert de la Hay Horace. Fortunately everyone calls him Stinker."

The head-waiter began to drift up like a bank of fog, and the Sausage Chappie returned to his professional duties. When he came back, he was beaming again.

"Something else I remembered," he said, removing the cover. "I'm married!"

"Good Lord!"

"At least I was before the war. She had blue eyes and brown hair and a Pekingese dog."

"What was her name?"

"I don't know."

"Well, you're coming on," said Archie. "I'll admit that. You've still got a bit of a way to go before you become like one of those blighters who take the Memory Training Courses in the magazine advertisements—I mean to say, you know, the lads who meet a fellow once for five minutes, and then come across him again ten years later and grasp him by the hand and say, 'Surely this is Mr. Watkins of Seattle?' Still, you're doing fine. You only need patience. Everything comes to him who waits." Archie sat up, electrified. "I say, by Jove, that's

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