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Rh by the kindest feelings, will be guilty of a vast amount of inconsistencies, which, summed up together by those whom they have offended, will, in time, obtain for her the reputation of being anything but kind in her treatment of others. Such, for instance, as walking away at a brisk pace, intent upon her own business, and leaving behind some delicate and nervous invalid to endure all the mortification of neglect. When told of her omission, she may hasten back, make a thousand apologies, and feel really grieved at her own conduct; but she will not easily convince the invalid that it would not have shown more real kindness to have observed from the first that she was left behind. No; there is no way of being truly kind, without cultivating habits of observation. Nor will such habits come to our aid in after life, if they have been neglected in youth. Willingness to oblige, is not all that is wanted, or this might supply the defect. Where this willingness exists without observation, how often will a well-meaning person start up with a vague consciousness of some omission, look about with awkward curiosity to see what is wanted, blunder upon the right thing at the wrong time, and then sit down again, after having made every one else uncomfortable, and himself ridiculous.

In connection with the habit of observation, how much real kindness may be practised, even by the most insignificant member of a family. I have seen a little child, far too diffident to speak to the stranger-guest, still watch his plate at table with such assiduity, that no wish remained ungratified, simply from having just what the child perceived he most wanted, placed silently beside him.

From this humble sphere of minute observation, men are generally and very properly considered as excluded. But to women they look, and shall they look in vain, for the filling up of this important page of human experience?

title: Page:The Daughters of England.djvu/128


text:
User talk:İnfoCan

— billinghurst  sDrewth  16:26, 17 June 2012 (UTC)

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

title: User talk:İnfoCan


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Page:The Daughters of England.djvu/129

118 Each particular item of the account may be regarded as beneath their notice; but well do they know, and deeply do they regret, if the page is left blank, or if the sum-total is not greatly to their advantage.

Observation and attention are so much the same in their results, that I shall not consider them separately, but only add a few remarks on the subject of attention as it applies to reading.

There is no social pleasure, amongst those it has been my lot to experience, which I esteem more highly than that of listening to an interesting book well read; when a fire-side circle, chiefly composed of agreeable and intelligent women, are seated at their work. In the same way as the lonely traveller, after gaining some lofty eminence, on the opening of some lovely valley, or the closing of some sunset scene, longs to see the joy he is then feeling reflected in the face of the being he loves best on earth; so, a great portion of the enjoyment of reading, as experienced by a social disposition, depends upon the same impressions being made upon congenial minds at the same time. I have spoken of an interesting book, well read, because I think the art of reading aloud is far too rarely cultivated; and I have often been astonished at the deficiency which exists on this point, after what is called a finished education.

To my own feelings, the easy and judicious reading of a well-written book, on a favourite subject, is even more delightful than music; because it supplies the mind with ideas, at the same time that it gratifies the ear and the taste. Little do they know of this pleasure, who pass in and out of a room unnecessarily, or who whisper about their thimble or their thread, while this music of the mind is thrilling the souls of those who understand it; and little do they know of social enjoyment, who prefer poring over the pages of a book alone, rather than allowing others

title: Page:The Daughters of England.djvu/129


text:
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title: Help:Reading offline


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Page:The Daughters of England.djvu/130

Rh share their pleasure at the same time. I am aware that many books may be well worth reading alone, which are not calculated for general reading; and I am aware also, that every fire-side circle is not capable of appreciating this gratification; but I speak of those which are; and I think that woman, as peculiarly a social being, should be careful to arrange and adjust such affairs, as to create the greatest amount of social pleasure. Of this, however, hereafter.

It is more to my present purpose, to speak of those habits of inattention to which many young persons unscrupulously yield, whenever a book is read aloud. It may be remarked, as a certain proof of their want of interest, when they rise to leave the room, and request the reader not to wait for them; for though politeness may require some concession on their part, it is a far higher compliment to the reader, and indeed to the company in general, to evince an interest so great, that rather than lose any part of the book, they will ask, as a personal favour, that the reading of it may be suspended until their return, provided only their absence is brief. I have often felt with sympathy for the reader on these occasions, the disappointment he must experience when assured by one of his audience, that to her at least his efforts to give pleasure, and excite interest, have been in vain.

Beyond this there is a habit of secret inattention, of musing upon other things whenever a book is read aloud, which grows upon the young, until they lose the power to command their attention, even when they would. This, however, I imagine to arise in great measure out of the want of cultivating the art of reading; for the monotonous tone we so frequently hear, the misplaced emphasis, and, worse than all, the affectation of reading well, when the reader and not the book is too evidently intended to be

title: Page:The Daughters of England.djvu/130


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Page:The Daughters of England.djvu/131

120 noticed, are of themselves sufficient to repel attention, and to excite a desire to do anything rather than listen.

Truly has it been said, that "the sport of musing is the waste of life," for though occasional seasons of mental retirement are profitable to all, the habit of endless and aimless reverie, which some young persons indulge in, is as destructive to mental energy, as to practical usefulness! Hour after hour glides on with them unmarked, while thought is just kept alive by a current of undefined images flowing through the mind.—And what remains? "A weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable" existence; as burdensome to themselves, as unproductive of good to others.

As a defence against the encroachments of this insidious enemy, it is good to be in earnest about everything we do—earnest in our studies—earnest in our familiar occupations—earnest in our attachments—but above all, earnest in our duties. There is a listless, dreamy, halfish way of acting, which evades the stigma of direct indolence, but which never really accomplishes one laudable purpose. Enthusiasm is the direct opposite of this; but in the safe medium between this extreme and enthusiasm, is that earnestness which I would recommend to all young persons as a habit. Enthusiasm to the mind of youth, is vastly more taking than sober earnestness; yet, when we look to the end, how often do we find that the one is discouraged by difficulties, and finally diverted from its object, where the other perseveres, and ultimately succeeds!

Habitual earnestness is directly opposed to habitual trifling; and this latter may truly be said to be the bane of woman's life. To be in earnest is to go steadily to work with whatever we undertake; counting the cost, and weighing the difficulty, and still engaging in the task, assured that the end to be attained will repay us for every effort we make. To do one thing and think about another, to begin

title: Page:The Daughters of England.djvu/131


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Page:A colonial autocracy, New South Wales under Governor Macquarie, 1810-1821.djvu/179

 The markets of the Colony had been opened to importation at the beginning of 1815, and apparently at that time, or more likely before that time, the placing of a maximum price on imported goods came to an end. But when there were no longer any Government regulations the magistrates controlled in many ways the price of goods on the market. Thus they ordered a shoemaker brought before them to sell boots at the reasonable price of 10s. instead of the exorbitant cost of 25s. Butchers and bakers had both to take out licenses and to conform to a fixed scale of prices. Hawkers also had to take out licenses, but that was for reasons of order and policy rather than anything else, for servants assigned to the lower officials of Government or poorer settlers, escaped prisoners, ticket-of-leave men and all the disorderly characters in the settlement, made a pretence of hawking goods to cover every sort of fraud and knavery. To prevent this the hawker's license was placed at the high price of £20 a year, and the applicant had to produce a certificate as to character before getting it. These regulations were only issued in 1818, and their effect cannot be computed, for there are not any means of knowing whether the conditions were strictly enforced.

The business population was almost entirely engaged in trading, and there was but one factory owned by a private individual in the whole Colony. That was the establishment of Simeon Lord, where cloth, hats, blankets and stockings were manufactured. But on many estates home industries were carried on, and in the Government labour yard many articles were made by the convicts. The colonial-made goods, however, were still so costly that it was more economical to buy imported wares.

All imports save those of British manufacture were subject to duties, but these might often be evaded. The masters and officers of the convict transports, for example, made a practice of bringing trade adventures of all kinds. Sometimes they brought


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Page:The Seven Seas (Kipling, 1896).djvu/71

 THE NATIVE-BORN

drunk to the Queen—God bless her!—

We've drunk to our mothers' land;

We've drunk to our English brother

(But he does not understand);

We've drunk to the wide creation,

And the Cross swings low for the morn,

Last toast, and of obligation,

A health to the Native-born!

They change their skies above them,

But not their hearts that roam!

We learned from our wistful mothers

To call old England 'home';

We read of the English sky-lark,

Of the spring in the English lanes,

But we screamed with the painted lories

As we rode on the dusty plains!

49


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Page:The Seven Seas (Kipling, 1896).djvu/72

50 They passed with their old-world legends—

Their tales of wrong and dearth—

Our fathers held by purchase,

But we by the right of birth;

Our heart's where they rocked our cradle,

Our love where we spent our toil,

And our faith and our hope and our honour

We pledge to our native soil!

I charge you charge your glasses—

I charge you drink with me

To the men of the Four New Nations,

And the Islands of the Sea—

To the last least lump of coral

That none may stand outside,

And our own good pride shall teach us

To praise our comrade's pride!

To the hush of the breathless morning

On the thin, tin, crackling roofs,

To the haze of the burned back-ranges

And the dust of the shoeless hoofs—


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Page:The Seven Seas (Kipling, 1896).djvu/73

Rh To the risk of a death by drouth—

To the men of a million acres,

To the Sons of the Golden South!

To the smoke of a hundred coasters,

To the sheep on a thousand hills,

To the sun that never blisters,

To the rain that never chills—

To the land of the waiting springtime,

To our five-meal, meat-fed men,

To the tall, deep-bosomed women,

And the children nine and ten!


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Page:The Seven Seas (Kipling, 1896).djvu/74

52 To the far-flung fenceless prairie

Where the quick cloud-shadows trail,

To our neighbour's barn in the offing

And the line of the new-cut rail;

To the plough in her league-long furrow

With the gray Lake gulls behind—

To the weight of a half-year's winter

And the warm wet western wind!

To the home of the floods and thunder,

To her pale dry healing blue—

To the lift of the great Cape combers,

And the smell of the baked Karroo.

To the growl of the sluicing stamp-head—

To the reef and the water-gold,

To the last and the largest Empire,

To the map that is half unrolled!

To our dear dark foster-mothers,

To the heathen songs they sung—

To the heathen speech we babbled

Ere we came to the white man's tongue.


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Page:The Seven Seas (Kipling, 1896).djvu/75

Rh To the cool of our deep verandas—

To the blaze of our jewelled main,

To the night, to the palms in the moonlight,

And the fire-fly in the cane!

To the hearth of our people's people—

To her well-ploughed windy sea,

To the hush of our dread high-altar

Where The Abbey makes us We;

To the grist of the slow-ground ages,

To the gain that is yours and mine—

To the Bank of the Open Credit,

To the Power-house of the Line!

We've drunk to the Queen—God bless her!—

We've drunk to our mothers' land;

We've drunk to our English brother

(And we hope he'll understand).

We've drunk as much as we're able,

And the Cross swings low for the morn;

Last toast—and your foot on the table!—

A health to the Native-born!


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Page:The Seven Seas (Kipling, 1896).djvu/76

54


text: Index:MALAYSIA BILL BUSINESS OF THE HOUSE (Hansard, 11 Juli 1963).djvu


text: Index:MALAYSIA BILL (Hansard, 22 Juli 1963).djvu


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Page:The Seven Seas (Kipling, 1896).djvu/201

 THAT DAY

It got beyond all orders an' it got beyond all 'ope;

It got to shammin' wounded an' retirin' from the 'alt.

'Ole companies was lookin' for the nearest road to slope;

It were just a bloomin' knock-out—an' our fault!

Now there ain't no chorus 'ere to give,

Nor there ain't no band to play;

An I wish I was dead 'fore I done what I did,

Or seen what I seed that day!

We was sick o' bein' punished, an' we let 'em know it, too;

An' a company-commander up an' 'it us with a sword, 179


text: 1911 Encyclopædia Britannica/White, Andrew Dickson


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180 An' some one shouted ' ' Ook it!' an' it come to sove-ki-poo,

An' we chucked our rifles from us—O my Gawd!

There was thirty dead an' wounded on the ground we wouldn't keep—

No, there wasn't more than twenty when the front begun to go;

But, Christ! along the line o' flight they cut us up like sheep,

An' that was all we gained by doin' so.

I 'eard the knives be'ind me, but I dursn't face my man,

Nor I don't know where I went to, 'cause I didn't 'alt to see,

Till I 'eard a beggar squealin' out for quarter as 'e ran,

An' I thought I knew the voice an'—it was me!

We was 'idin' under bedsteads more than 'arf a march away;

We was lyin' up like rabbits all about the country side;


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Page:EB1911 - Volume 01.djvu/1025

 ANDRÉS, JUAN (1740–1817), Spanish Jesuit, was born at Planes in the province of Valencia, and became professor of literature at Gandia and finally royal librarian at Naples. He died at Rome on the 12th of January 1817. He is the author of many miscellaneous treatises on science, music, the art of teaching the deaf and dumb, &c. But his chief work, the labour of fully twenty years, is entitled Dell’ origine, progressi, e stato attuale d’ogni Letteratura (7 vols., Parma, 1782–1799). A Spanish translation by his brother Carlos appeared at Madrid between 1784 and 1806, and an abridgment in French (1838–1846) was compiled by the Jesuit Alexis Nerbonne. The original was frequently reprinted during the first half of the 19th century.

ANDREW (Gr. , manly), the Christian Apostle, brother of Simon Peter, was born at Bethsaida on the Lake of Galilee. He had been a disciple of John the Baptist (John i. 37-40) and was one of the first to follow Jesus. He lived at Capernaum (Mark i. 29). In the gospel story he is referred to as being present on some important occasions as one of the disciples more closely attached to Jesus (Mark xiii. 3; John vi. 8, xii. 22); in Acts there is only a bare mention of him (i. 13). Tradition relates that he preached in Asia Minor and in Scythia, along the Black Sea as far as the Volga. Hence he became a patron saint of Russia. He is said to have suffered crucifixion at Patras (Patrae) in Achaea, on a cross of the form called Crux decussata (✕) and commonly known as “St Andrew’s cross.” According to tradition his relics were removed from Patras to Constantinople, and thence to St Andrews (see below). The apocryphal book, The Acts of Andrew, mentioned by Eusebius, Epiphanius and others, is generally attributed to Leucius the Gnostic. It was edited and published by C. Tischendorf in the Acta Apostolorum apocrypha (Leipzig, 1821). This book, as well as a Gospel of St Andrew, was declared apocryphal by a decree of Pope Gelasius. Another version of the Andrew legend is found in the Passio Andreae, published by Max Bonnet (Supplementum II Codicis apocryphi, Paris, 1895). On this was founded an Anglo-Saxon poem (“Andreas und Elene,” first published by J. Grimm, 1841; cf. C. W. Goodwin, The Anglo-Saxon Legends of S. Andreas and S. Veronica, 1851). The festival of St Andrew is held on the 30th of November.

Scottish Legends.—About the middle of the 8th century Andrew became the patron saint of Scotland. Concerning this there are several legends which state that the relics of Andrew were brought under supernatural guidance from Constantinople to the place where the modern St Andrews stands (Pictish, Muckross; Gaelic, Kilrymont). The oldest stories (preserved in the Colbertine MSS., Paris, and the Harleian MSS. in the British Museum) state that the relics were brought by one Regulus to the Pictish king Angus (or Ungus) Macfergus (c. 731–761). The only historical Regulus (Riagail or Rule, whose name is preserved by the tower of St Rule) was an Irish monk expelled from Ireland with St Columba; his date, however, is c. 573–600. There are good reasons for supposing that the relics were originally in the collection of Acca, bishop of Hexham, who took them into Pictland when he was driven from Hexham (c. 732), and founded a see, not, according to tradition, in Galloway, but on the site of St Andrews. The connexion with Regulus is, therefore, due in all probability to the desire to date the foundation of the church at St Andrews as early as possible.

ANDREW II. (1175–1235), king of Hungary, son of Bela III., king of Hungary, succeeded his nephew, the infant Ladislaus III., in 1205. No other Magyar king, perhaps, was so mischievous to his country. Valiant, enterprising, pious as he was, all these fine qualities were ruined by a reckless good nature which never thought of the morrow. He declares in one of his decrees that the generosity of a king should be limitless, and he acted up to this principle throughout his reign. He gave away everything, money, villages, domains, whole counties, to the utter impoverishment of the treasury, thereby rendering the crown, for the first time in Hungarian history, dependent upon the great feudatories, who, in Hungary as elsewhere, took all they could get and gave as little as possible in return. In all matters of government, Andrew was equally reckless and haphazard. He is directly responsible for the beginnings of the feudal anarchy which wellnigh led to the extinction of the monarchy at the end of the 13th century. The great feudatories did not even respect the lives of the royal family, for Andrew was recalled from a futile attempt to reconquer Galicia (which really lay beyond the Hungarian sphere of influence), through the murder of his first wife Gertrude of Meran (September 24, 1213), by rebellious nobles jealous of the influence of her relatives. In 1215 he married Iolanthe of France, but in 1217 was compelled by the pope to lead a crusade to the Holy Land, which he undertook in hopes of being elected Latin emperor of Constantinople. The crusade excited no enthusiasm in Hungary, but Andrew contrived to collect 15,000 men together, whom he led to Venice; whence, not without much haggling and the surrender of all the Hungarian claims upon Zara, about two-thirds of them were conveyed to Acre. But the whole expedition was a forlorn hope. The Christian kingdom of Palestine was by this time reduced to a strip of coast about 440 sq. m. in extent, and after a drawn battle with the Turks on the Jordan (November 10), and fruitless assaults on the fortresses of the Lebanon and on Mount Tabor, Andrew started home (January 18, 1218) through Antioch, Iconium, Constantinople and Bulgaria. On his return he found the feudal barons in the ascendant, and they extorted from him the Golden Bull (see, History). Andrew’s last exploit was to defeat an invasion of Frederick of Austria in 1234. The same year he married his third wife, Beatrice of Este. Besides his three sons, Bela, Coloman and Andrew, Andrew had a daughter Iolanthe, who married the king of Aragon. He was also the father of St Elizabeth of Hungary.

ANDREW OF LONGJUMEAU (Longumeau, Lonjumel, &c.), a French Dominican, explorer and diplomatist. He accompanied the mission under Friar Ascelin, sent by Pope Innocent IV. to the Mongols in 1247; at the Tatar camp near Kars he met a certain David, who next year (1248) appeared at the court of King Louis IX. of France in Cyprus. Andrew, who was now with St Louis, interpreted to the king David’s message, a real or pretended offer of alliance from the Mongol general Ilchikdai (Ilchikadai), and a proposal of a joint attack upon the Islamic powers for the conquest of Syria. In reply to this the French sovereign despatched Andrew as his ambassador to the great Khan Kuyuk; with Longjumeau went his brother (a monk) and several others—John Goderiche, John of Carcassonne, Herbert “le sommelier,” Gerbert of Sens, Robert a clerk, a certain William, and an unnamed clerk of Poissy. The party set out about the 16th of February 1249, with letters from King Louis and the papal legate, and rich presents, including a chapel-tent, lined with scarlet cloth and embroidered with sacred pictures. From Cyprus they went to the port of Antioch in Syria, and thence travelled for a year to the khan’s court, going ten leagues a day. Their route led them through Persia, along the southern and eastern shores of the Caspian (whose inland character, unconnected with the outer ocean, their journey helped to demonstrate), and probably through Talas, north-east of Tashkent. On arrival at the supreme Mongol court—either that on the Imyl river (near Lake Ala-kul and the present Russo-Chinese frontier in the Altai), or more probably at or near Karakorum itself, south-west of Lake Baikal—Andrew found Kuyuk Khan dead, poisoned, as the envoy supposed, by Batu’s agents. The regent-mother Ogul Gaimish (the “Camus” of Rubruquis) seems to have received and dismissed him with presents and a

title: Page:EB1911 - Volume 01.djvu/1025


text:
Page:The Seven Seas (Kipling, 1896).djvu/203

Rh An' the major cursed 'is Maker 'cause 'e lived to see that day,

An' the colonel broke 'is sword acrost, an' cried.

We was rotten 'fore we started—we was never disciplined;

We made it out a favour if an order was obeyed;

Yes, every little drummer 'ad 'is rights an' wrongs to mind,

So we had to pay for teachin'—an' we paid!

The papers 'id it 'andsome, but you know the Army knows;

We was put to groomin' camels till the regiments withdrew,

An' they gave us each a medal for subduin' England's foes,

An' I 'ope you like my song—because it's true!

An' there ain't no chorus 'ere to give,

Nor there ain't no band to play;

But I wish I was dead 'fore I done what I did,

Or seen what I seed that day!


text:
Collier's New Encyclopedia (1921)/White, Andrew Dickson

WHITE, ANDREW DICKSON, an American diplomatist; born in Homer, N. Y., Nov. 7, 1832. He was graduated at Yale in 1853; traveled in Europe; studied at Sorbonne and College de France, 1853-1854; attaché to legation of the United States, St. Petersburg, 1854-1855; studied in the University of Berlin, 1855-1856; Professor of History and English Literature University of Michigan, 1857-1863; returned to Syracuse and elected State Senator, in which capacity (1863-1867) he introduced reports and bills codifying the schools laws, creating a new system of normal schools, establishing a new health board in the city of New York, and incorporating Cornell University at Ithaca; chosen first president of that university, 1866; visited Europe to purchase books and apparatus therefor, and make special study of European educational methods; has in addition to the presidency filled the chair of modern history; was appointed by President Grant commissioner to Santo Domingo to study and

on question of annexation, 1871; by the State of New York commissioner to Paris Exposition, 1878; by President Hayes minister to Berlin, 1879-1881; by President Harrison minister to St. Petersburg, and continued under President Cleveland, 1892-1894; appointed by President Cleveland member of the Venezuelan Commission, 1895-1896; ambassador to Berlin under President McKinley, 1897; president of the American delegation to the International Peace Congress at The Hague in 1899. Mr. White was a regent of the Smithsonian Institution and an officer of the Legion of Honor of France. His principal works are: “The Warfare of Science” (1876); “History of the Warfare of Science with Theology in Christendom” (1897); “European Schools of History”; “The New Germany”; “The Work of Benjamin Hale” (1911). He died in 1918.


text:
Collier's New Encyclopedia (1921)/White, Edward Douglas

WHITE, EDWARD DOUGLAS, an American jurist; born in the parish of Lafourche, La., Nov. 3, 1845; was educated at Mount St. Mary's College, Md., and at the Jesuit College in New Orleans. During the Civil War he served in the Confederate army. After the war he practiced law. He was State Senator of Louisiana in 1874; associate justice of the Supreme Court of Louisiana in 1878; and United States Senator in 1889-1894. While still in the Senate he was appointed an associate justice of the United States Supreme Court and became Chief Justice on the death of Melville W. Fuller in 1910.


title: User:Chris55/Sandbox1


text:
User:Ineuw/notes6

CONTENTS Preface Acknowledgment Reuben Asher Braudes The Misfortune Jehalel (Judah Löb Lewin) Earth Of Palestine Isaac Löb Perez A Woman's Wrath The Treasure It Is Well Whence A Proverb Mordecai Spektor An Original Strike A Gloomy Wedding Poverty Sholom-Alechem (Shalom Rabinovitz) The Clock Fishel The Teacher An Easy Fast The Passover Guest Gymnasiye Eliezer David Rosenthal Sabbath Yom Kippur Isaiah Lerner Bertzi Wasserführer Ezrielk The Scribe Yitzchok-Yossel Broitgeber Judah Steinberg A Livelihood At The Matzes David Frischmann|David Frischmann|David Frischmann Three Who Ate Micha Joseph Berdyczewski Military Service Isaiah Berschadski Forlorn and Forsaken Tashrak (Israel Joseph Zevin) The Hole in a Beigel As the Years Roll on David Pinski Reb Shloimeh S. Libin (Israel Hurewitz) A Picnic Manasseh Yohrzeit for Mother Slack Times They Sleep Abraham Raisin Shut In The Charitable Loan The Two Brothers Lost His Voice Late The Kaddish Avrohom The Orchard-Keeper Hirsh David Naumberg The Rav and the Rav's Son Meteb Blinkin Women Löb Schapiro If It Was a Dream Shalom Asch A Simple Story A Jewish Child A Scholar's Mother The Sinner Isaac Dob Berkowitz Country Folk The Last of Them A Folk Tale The Clever Rabbi Glossary and Notes

title: User:Ineuw/notes6


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Hunt, Alfred William


text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Hunter, Robert (1823-1897)


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Page:The Natural History of Pliny.djvu/41

Book I.] Father, yourself, and your Brother, in a history of our own times, beginning where Aufidius Bassus concludes. You will ask, Where is it? It has been long completed and its accuracy confirmed ; but I have determined to commit the charge of it to my heirs, lest I should have been suspected, during my lifetime, of having been unduly influenced by ambition. By this means I confer an obligation on those who occupy the same ground with myself; and also on posterity, who, I am aware, will contend with me, as I have done with my predecessors.

You may judge of my taste from my having inserted, in the beginning of my book, the names of the authors that I have consulted. For I consider it to be courteous and to indicate an ingenuous modesty, to acknowledge the sources whence we have derived assistance, and not to act as most of those have done whom I have examined.


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Collier's New Encyclopedia (1921)/White, Gilbert

WHITE, GILBERT, an English naturalist; born in Selborne, England, July 18, 1720. He wrote: “The Natural History and Antiquities of Selborne in the County of Southampton” (1789); and a posthumous work edited from his papers, “The Naturalist's Calendar, with Observations in Various Branches of Natural History” (1795). Many naturalists have published editions of his works with annotations. John Burroughs wrote an introduction to the edition of 1895. His “Letters” were published in 1876. He died in Selborne, June 20, 1793.


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Collier's New Encyclopedia (1921)/White, Henry

WHITE, HENRY, an American diplomat and public official, born in Baltimore, Md., in 1850. He was educated in private schools in the United States and France, and took post-graduate studies at Harvard and Johns Hopkins. He entered the diplomatic service and was secretary of the American Embassy at London, from 1884 to 1905. He acted many times as charge. In 1887-1888 he represented the United States at the International Conference for the abolition of sugar bounties, and also took part in many

other international conferences, including the Algeciras Conference respecting Moroccan affairs in 1906. In 1905 he was appointed American Ambassador to Italy, and in 1907 was appointed Ambassador to France, serving until 1909. In 1910 he was chairman of the American delegation to the Fourth Pan-American Conference. He was selected by President Wilson as the Republican representative on the United States delegation to the Peace Conference in Paris in 1919.


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Collier's New Encyclopedia (1921)/White, Henry Kirke

WHITE, HENRY KIRKE, an English poet, born in Nottingham, England, March 21, 1785; was the son of a butcher, and being of a delicate constitution he was put to the trade of stocking weaving. From his infancy he manifested great love of learning, and at the age of 14 produced some notable specimens of poetry. He published, in 1803, a poem called “Clifton Grove”; and after his death his “Remains,” consisting of poems, letters, etc., were edited by Southey. He died in Cambridge, England, Oct. 19, 1806.


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Collier's New Encyclopedia (1921)/White, Horace

WHITE, HORACE, an American editor; born in Colebrook, N. H., Aug. 10, 1834. He settled in Chicago, was editor of the Chicago “Tribune” (1864-1874); and subsequently became connected with the New York “Evening Post.” He wrote many pamphlets and essays on political, social, and financial topics, the best known being: “The Silver Question”; “The Tariff Question”; “Coin's Financial Fool”; “Money and Banking Illustrated by American History”; “The Gold Standard”; “Life of Lyman Trumbull” (1913); and edited Bastiat's “Sophismes Economiques” (1876) and Cossa's “Scienza delle Finanze” (1889). He died in 1916.


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Collier's New Encyclopedia (1921)/White, Richard Grant

WHITE, RICHARD GRANT, an American Shakespearean scholar; born in New York City, May 23, 1822. His journalistic work was in connection with the New York “Courier and Enquirer” (1851-1858), and “World” (1860-1861); and the London “Spectator” (1863-1867), for which he wrote “Yankee Letters.” Among his published books are: “Biographical and Critical Handbook of Christian Art” (1853); “Shakespeare's Scholar” (1854); “National Hymns: A Lyrical and National Study for the Times” (1861); “Memoirs of the Life of William Shakespeare, with an Essay Toward the Expression of His Genius,” etc. (1865); “Poetry of the Civil War” (1866); “Words and Their Uses” (1870); “England Without and Within” (1881); “The Riverside Shakespeare,” with Biography, introductions and notes (1883, 3 vols.); an annotated edition of

(1857-1865, 12 vols.). He published one novel, “The Fate of Mansfield Humphreys” (1884). He died in New York City, April 8, 1885.


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Collier's New Encyclopedia (1921)/White, Stewart Edward

WHITE, STEWART EDWARD, an American author, born in Grand Rapids, Mich., in 1873. He was educated at the University of Michigan and at the Law School of Columbia University. He was a member of the American Institute of Arts and Letters and of the American Association for the Advancement of Science, and a fellow of the Royal Geographical Society of London. During the World War he served as a major with the 144th F. A. Besides contributing to many of the most prominent magazines, he wrote “Westerners” (1901); “Claim Jumpers” (1901); “The Blazed Trail” (1902); “Conjuror's House” (1903); “The Forest” (1903); “The Magic Forest” (1903); “The Silent Places” (1904); “The Mountains” (1904); “Blazed Trail Stories” (1904); “The Pass” (1906); “The Mystery” (with Samuel Hopkins Adams, 1907); “Arizona Nights” (1907); “Camp and Trail” (1907); “The Riverman” (1908); “The Rules of the Game” (1909); “The Cabin” (1910); “The Adventures of Bobby Orde” (1911); “The Land of Footprints” (1912); “African Camp Fires” (1913); “Gold” (1913); “The Rediscovered Country” (1915); “The Gray Dawn” (1915); “The Leopard Woman” (1916); “Simba” (1918); “The Forty-Niners” (1918).


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Collier's New Encyclopedia (1921)/White, William Allen

WHITE, WILLIAM ALLEN, an American journalist, born in Emporia, Kan., in 1868. He was educated at the University of Kansas. In 1895 he became proprietor and editor of the Emporia “Daily and Weekly Gazette.” He was a member of the National Institute of Arts and Letters, vice-president of the American Short Ballot Association, and a trustee of the College of Emporia. A Republican in politics, he was one of the chief supporters of ex-president Roosevelt in the formation of the Progressive party, becoming a member of its National Committee and the chairman of its publicity committee. During the World War he went, in 1917, to France as an observer for the American Red Cross. In 1919 he was appointed an American delegate to the Russian Conference at Prinkipo. Besides contributing frequently to magazines and newspapers, he wrote “The Real Issue and Other Stories” (1896); “The Court of Boyville” (1899); “Stratagems and Spoils” (1901); “In Our Town” (1906); “A Certain Rich Man” (1909); “The Old Order Changeth” (1910); “God's Puppets” (1916); “In the Heart of a Fool” (1918); “The

Martial Adventures of Henry and Me” (1918).


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The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Holden, Edward Singleton

HOLDEN, Edward Singleton, American astronomer: b. Saint Louis, Mo., 5 Nov. 1846; d. 16 March 1914. He was graduated at Washington University in 1866, and at the United States Military Academy in 1870; was professor of mathematics at the Naval Academy in 1873-81; and director of the Washburn Observatory (Madison, Wis.) in 1881-85. In 1885-87 he was president of the University of California and in 1888-98 director of the Lick Observatory, on Mount Hamilton, San José, Cal. It was in connection with the Lick Observatory that his most important work was done, and his services to astronomy found recognition in America and from European states. Most of the buildings and instruments at the Lick Observatory were designed by him. He became librarian of the United States Military Academy in 1901. Among his publications are ‘Bastion System of Fortification’ (1872); ‘Index Catalogue of Nebulæ’ (1877); ‘Life of Sir William Herschel’ (1881); ‘Astronomy’ (with S. Newcomb, 1892); ‘Mountain Observatories’ (1896); ‘Essays in Astronomy’ (1900); ‘Elementary Astronomy’ (1900); ‘The Sciences’ (1903); ‘Galileo’ (1905).


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The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/White, Andrew Dickson

WHITE, Andrew Dickson, American diplomat, educator and author: b. Homer, N. Y., 7 Nov. 1832; d. Ithaca, N. Y., 4 Nov. 1918. He was graduated from Yale in 1853 and studied at the College of France, Paris, and at the University uf Berlin. He was attaché of the American legation at Saint Petersburg in 1854-55 at the time of the Crimean War, and in 1857, shortly after his return to the United States, became professor of history and English literature at the University of Michigan. In 1863 he returned to Syracuse and was elected to the New York State senate, where he was especially interested in educational legislation, obtaining the passage of bills organizing the State normal system and providing for the codifying of the educational laws. He also had an important part in the founding and organization of Cornell University, contributing $300,000 for the purpose, and also procuring for that institution the national land grant for agricultural colleges; in 1867 he became president of the university and was also professor of history. He maintained his connection with Cornell until 1885, when he resigned both presidency and professorship. He gave to the university his excellent historical library of about 30,000 volumes, and on the acceptance of this gift the departments of history and economics were reorganized as the White School of History and Political Science. While president of Cornell, he was also active in public affairs; in 1871 was one of a commission to study and report on the desirability of annexing Santo Domingo; in 1878 was honorary commissioner to the Paris Exposition, and in 1879-81 Minister to Germany, during which time he had leave of absence from the university. In 1892-94 he was Minister to Russia; in 1896 was one of the commissioners to investigate the Venezuela boundary question, and in 1897-1902 was Ambassador to Germany, holding that position longer than any other American Minister. Before his retirement from the German Ambassadorship he was elected a member of the Berlin Academy of Sciences. In 1899 he was president of the United States delegation to The Hague Peace Conference. He retired from public life in 1902 and passed his

years at Ithaca. His published works include ‘History of the Warfare of Science against Theology’ (1898), an enlargement of his ‘Warfare of Science’ (1876); ‘Studies in General History’; ‘The New Germany’; ‘European Schools of History’; ‘Paper Money Inflation in France’ (1876); ‘Chapters from My Diplomatic Life’ (Century Magazine, 1903); ‘Autobiography’ (1905); ‘Seven Great Statesmen in the Warfare of Humanity with Unreason’ (1911).


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The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Kropotkin, Peter Alexeievitch

KROPOTKIN, krō-pŏt'kĭn, Peter Alexeievitch, Russian geographer and revolutionist: b. Moscow, 9 Dec. 1842. He was educated in the Corps of Pages at Saint Petersburg, and joining a regiment of Cossacks of the Amur went to eastern Siberia as aide-de-camp to the military governor of Transbaikalia, becoming later attaché for Cossacks' affairs to the governor-general of eastern Siberia. He was connected with a prison commission, and strove to get some reforms introduced into Siberian convict prisons, but his efforts proved of no avail. From 1863 he devoted his energies to a scientific investigation of Manchuria and the neighboring parts of Siberia, and his work in this department gained him, in 1864, the gold medal of the Russian Geographical Society. In 1871 he was sent by the Geographical Society to Finland to study glacial phenomena. Arrested in 1874 for promulgating radical ideas of social reform, he was confined in the prison of the military hospital, from which he contrived to escape to England in 1876. In the following year he went to Switzerland, where he founded at Geneva an anarohist journal called Le Révolté, but in 1881 was expelled by the Swiss authorities on the demand of Russia. Returning to England in 1882, he wrote and lectured against the government of Alexander III. Having gone to France, he was arrested by the authorities and condemned (January 1883) to five years' imprisonment for participation in the International, but he was released in January 1886, in consequence of a strong appeal made by leading French and English savants. Since then he has lived in England, and engaged in literary work. He has written much on scientific subjects and has contributed to various encyclopædias. His separate publications include ‘Paroles d'un Révolté’ (1885); ‘In Russian and French Prisons’ (1887); ‘La Conquête du Pain’ (1888); ‘L'Anarchie, sa Philosophie, son Idéal’ (1896; Eng. trans. 1897); ‘The State: its Part in History’ (1898); ‘Fields, Factories and Workshops’ (1899): ‘Memoirs of a Revolutionist,’ first issued serially in The Atlantic Monthly (1899); ‘The Orography of Asia’ (1904); ‘Ideals and Realities in Russian Literature’ (1905); ‘The Great Revolution, 1789-93’ (1908); ‘Terror in Russia’ (1909). Prince Kropotkin is one of the ablest representatives and most eloquent exponents of that theory of society known as anarchist-communism. He is opposed to all societies based on force or restraint, and looks forward to the advent of a purely voluntary society on a communistic basis. He desires to see the division of labor, which is the dominant factor in modern industry, replaced by what he calls the “integration of labor,” and is a stanch believer in the immense possibilities of intensive agriculture. In 1901 he delivered a course of lectures at the Lowell Institute in Boston.


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User talk:202.45.119.50

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Forty Years On The Pacific/Pacific Cable

THE Pacific Cable was completed in 1902, and the first message was sent by Sir Stanford Fleming, on October 1, 1902; he was thus-enabled to girdle the globe by using the existing cables via India and Europe.

Like all other new undertakings, the Pacific Cable had many obstacles to face. Vested interest already controlling cable businesses did not calmly submit to any move that would curtail their revenue. For years after completion, the Pacific Cable was run at a loss, owing to lack of patronage, although it was owned by the people whose taxes went to make up the deficiency. Happily, now, the experimental period has passed, and in 1916 the Pacific Cable carried eight million words, showing a profit of about $89,600.

The progress of the traffic lodged and handled is best compared in the following figures:

The progressive volume of traffic is singularly gratifying, and indicates a growing recognition of the advantages secured by an Imperial-owned cable.

The laying of the Sydney-Auckland Cable in 1912 has further greatly enhanced the value of the service to and from Australia. This secures duplicated routes for all traffic given transit at Norfolk Island, and forms a great factor for avoidance of slow transit to both International and Intercolonial traffic. The route of the cable is as follows:

As a result of their labors, the contractors for the cable company found that the bed of the Pacific Ocean was one continuous row of hills from Brisbane to Norfolk Island, where the cable rests at an average depth of 2,500 fathoms; from Norfolk Island to Fiji it sinks to a depth of 2,600 fathoms (nearly three miles); from Fiji to Fanning Island the greatest depth is 3,071 fathoms, with a minimum depth of 1,700 fathoms; from Fanning Island to British Columbia the greatest depth is 2,700 fathoms. The temperature, at a depth of 2,500 fathoms, averages about 34° Fahrenheit.

To render it immune from attack by Teredos—a marine molluscan borer—which is active to a depth of four hundred fathoms, the cable has to be provided with a special brass tape binding. This also prevents any damage from fish bites, a further menace that is found in the tropics.

With the establishment of the Pacific Cable, a revision of rates was secured. A comparison between the present tariff and that existing prior to 1902 shows the great reduction in charges for cable facilities to and from the Southern Hemisphere. The concessions have been further extended by introduction of deferred (half rate) and week-end (quarter rate) classifications. The commercial community has evidenced its appreciation of these changes by the immense advance in the number of words lodged for telegraphic transit. War conditions have occasioned frequent disturbances of the half and quarter rate service, but the temporary suspension, at intervals, is an experience that can be confidently viewed as non-existent in normal times.

The cost and maintenance of the Pacific Cable are divided as follows:

New Zealand...............two eighteenths

Canada...............five eighteenths

Imperial Government...............five eighteenths

Australia...............six eighteenths

The cost of the Pacific Cable was roughly about £2,000,000 sterling, or $10,000,000.


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The Encyclopedia Americana (1920)/Krout, Mary Hannah

KROUT, Mary Hannah, American journalist and author: b. Crawfordsville, Ind., 3 Nov. 1857. She was educated at home, became

editor of the Crawfordsville Journal in 1881, and editor on the Terre Haute Express in 1882. She was for 10 years on the staff of the Chicago Inter-Ocean, was its staff correspondent in Hawaii during the revolution in 1893, furnishing special data subsequently for the State Department. She was also staff correspondent in London from 1895 to 1898, then went to China for a syndicate of representative newspapers specially to investigate the commercial relations of China and the United States. In 1907 she visited Australia for the second time, lecturing on American political and economic conditions and writing a series of articles for the Sydney and Auckland press on American topics. In recent years she has engaged in miscellaneous literary work, and lecturing on literary and general topics. She has published ‘Hawaii and a Revolution’ (1888); ‘Alice in the Hawaiian Islands’ (1899); ‘A Looker-on in London’ (1899); ‘Two Girls in China’ (1900); completed the ‘Memoirs’ of Gen. Lew Wallace ' (1907); ‘Memoirs of Bernice Pauahi Bishop’ (1909); ‘Reminiscences of Mary S. Rice’ (1908); ‘Platters and Pipkins’ (1908); ‘The Coign of Vantage’ (1909).


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454 about nine on Thursday morning. We should know at what time to expect them, according to where we were, and would hail the first; so that if by any accident we were not taken aboard, we should have another chance. We knew the distinguishing marks of each vessel.

The relief of being at last engaged in the execution of the purpose, was so great to me that I felt it difficult to realise the condition which I had been in a few hours before. The crisp air, the sunlight, the movement on the river, and the moving river itself—the road that ran with us, seeming to sympathise with us, animate us, and encourage us on—freshened me with new hope. I felt mortified to be of so little use in the boat; but there were few better oarsmen than my two friends, and they rowed with a steady stroke, that was to last all day.

At that time, the steam-traffic on the Thames was far below its present extent, and watermen's boats were far more numerous. Of barges, sailing colliers, and coasting traders, there were perhaps as many as now; but, of steamships, great and small, not a tithe or a twentieth part so many. Early as it was, there were plenty of scullers going here and there that morning, and plenty of barges dropping down with the tide; the navigation of the river between bridges, in an open boat, was a much easier and commoner matter in those days than it is in these; and we went ahead among many skiffs and wherries, briskly.

Old London Bridge was soon passed, and old Billingsgate market with its oyster-boats and Dutchmen, and the White Tower and Traitor's Gate, and we were in among the tiers of shipping. Here, were the Leith, Aberdeen, and Glasgow steamers, loading and unloading goods, and looking immensely high out of the water as we passed alongside; here, were colliers by the score and score, with the coal-whippers plunging off stages on deck, as counterweights to measures of coal swinging up, which were then rattled over the side into barges; here, at her moorings, was to-morrow's steamer for Rotterdam, of which we took good notice; and here to-morrow's for Hamburg, under whose bowsprit we crossed. And now I, sitting in the

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Rh stern, could see with a faster beating heart, Mill Pond Bank and Mill Pond stairs.

"Is he there?" said Herbert

"Not yet."

"Right! He was not to come down till he saw us. Can you see his signal?"

"Not well from here; but I think I see it.—Now I see him! Pull both. Easy, Herbert. Oars!"

We touched the stairs lightly for a single moment, and he was on board and we were off again. He had a boat-cloak with him, and a black canvas bag, and he looked as like a river-pilot as my heart could have wished.

"Dear boy!" he said, putting his arm on my shoulder, as he took his seat. "Faithful dear boy, well done Thankye, thankye!"

Again among the tiers of shipping, in and out, avoiding rusty chain-cables, frayed hempen hawsers, and bobbing buoys, sinking for the moment floating broken baskets, scattering floating chips of wood and shaving, cleaving floating scum of coal, in and out, under the figure-head of the John of Sunderland making a speech to the winds (as is done by many Johns), and the Betsy of Yarmouth with a firm formality of bosom and her nobby eyes starting two inches out of her head; in and out, hammers going in shipbuilders' yards, saws going at timber, clashing engines going at things unknown, pumps going in leaky ships, capstans going, ships going out to sea, and unintelligible sea-creatures roaring curses over the bulwarks at respondent lightermen; in and out—out at last upon the clearer river, where the ships' boys might take their fenders in, no longer fishing in troubled waters with them over the side, and where the festooned sails might fly out to the wind.

At the Stairs where we had taken him aboard, and ever since, I had looked warily for any token of our being suspected. I had seen none. We certainly had not been, and at that time as certainly we were not, either attended or followed by any boat. If we had been waited on by any boat, I should have run in to shore, and have obliged her

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456 to go on, or to make her purpose evident. But, we held our own, without any appearance of molestation.

He had his boat-cloak on him, and looked, as I have said, a natural part of the scene. It was remarkable (but perhaps the wretched life he had led accounted for it), that he was the least anxious of any of us. He was not indifferent, for he told me that he hoped to live to see his gentleman one of the best of gentlemen in a foreign country; he was not disposed to be passive or resigned, as I understood it; but he had no notion of meeting danger half way. When it came upon him, he confronted it, but it must come before he troubled himself.

"If you knowed, dear boy," he said to me, "what it is to sit here alonger my dear boy and have my smoke, arter having been day by day betwixt four walls, you'd envy me. But you don't know what it is."

"I think I know the delights of freedom," I answered.

"Ah," said he, shaking his head gravely. "But you don't know it equal to me. You must have been under lock and key, dear boy, to know it equal to me—but I ain't a going to be low."

It occurred to me as inconsistent, that for any mastering idea, he should have endangered his freedom and even his life. But I reflected that perhaps freedom without danger was too much apart from all the habit of his existence to be to him what it would be to another man. I was not far out, since he said, after smoking a little:

"You see, dear boy, when I was over yonder, t'other side the world, I was always a looking to this side; and it come flat to be there, for all I was a growing rich. Everybody knowed Magwitch, and Magwitch could come, and Magwitch could go, and nobody's head would be troubled about him. They ain't so easy concerning me here, dear boy—wouldn't be, leastwise, if they knowed where I was."

"If all goes well," said I, "you will be perfectly free and safe again, within a few hours."

"Well," he returned, drawing a long breath, "I hope so."

"And think so?"

He dipped his hand in the water over the boat's

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The ocr was poor, so I replaced it with the OCR text from:
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-Arch dude (talk) 02:14, 18 June 2012 (UTC)


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Rh, and said, smiling with that softened air upon him which was not new to me:

"Ay, I s'pose I think so, dear boy. We'd be puzzled to be more quiet and easy-going than we are at present. But—it's a flowing so soft and pleasant through the water, p'raps, as makes me think it—I was a thinking through my smoke just then, that we can no more see to the bottom of the next few hours, than we can see to the bottom of this river what I catches hold of. Nor yet we can't no more hold their tide than I can hold this. And it's run through my fingers and gone, you see!" holding up his dripping hand.

"But for your face, I should think you were a little despondent," said I.

"Not a bit on it, dear boy! It comes of flowing on so quiet, and of that there rippling at the boat's head making a sort of a Sunday tune. Maybe I'm a growing a trifle old besides."

He put his pipe back in his mouth with an undisturbed expression of face, and sat as composed and contented as if we were already out of England. Yet he was as submissive to a word of advice as if he had been in constant terror, for, when we ran ashore to get some bottles of beer into the boat, and he was stepping out, I hinted that I thought he would be safest where he was, and he said, "Do you, dear boy?" and quietly sat down again.

The air felt cold upon the river, but it was a bright day, and the sunshine was very cheering. The tide ran strong, I took care to lose none of it, and our steady stroke carried us on thoroughly well. By imperceptible degrees, as the tide ran out we lost more and more of the nearer woods and hills, and dropped lower and lower between the muddy banks, but the tide was yet with us when we were off Gravesend. As our charge was wrapped in his cloak, I purposely passed within a boat or two's length of the floating Custom House, and so out to catch the stream, alongside of two emigrant ships, and under the bows of a large transport with troops on the forecastle looking down at us. And soon the tide began to slacken, and the craft lying at

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458 anchor to swing, and presently they had all swung round, and the ships that were taking advantage of the new tide to get up to the Pool, began to crowd upon us in a fleet, and we kept under the shore, as much out of the strength of the tide now as we could, standing carefully off from low shallows and mud-banks.

Our oarsmen were so fresh, by dint of having occasionally let her drive with the tide for a minute or two, that a quarter of an hour's rest proved full as much as they wanted. We got ashore among some slippery stones while we ate and drank what we had with us, and looked about. It was like my own marsh country, flat and monotonous, and with a dim horizon; while the winding river turned and turned, and the great floating buoys upon it turned and turned, and everything else seemed stranded and still. For now, the last of the fleet of ships was round the last low point we had headed; and the last green barge, straw-laden, with a brown sail, had followed; and some ballast-lighters, shaped like a child's first rude imitation of a boat, lay low in the mud; and a little squat shoal-lighthouse on open piles, stood crippled in the mud on stilts and crutches; and slimy stakes stuck out of the mud, and slimy stones stuck out of the mud, and red landmarks and tide marks stuck out of the mud, and an old landing-stage and an old roofless building slipped into the mud, and all about us was stagnation and mud.

We pushed off again, and made what way we could. It was much harder work now, but Herbert and Startop persevered, and rowed, and rowed, and rowed, until the sun went down. By that time the river had lifted us a little, so that we could see above the bank. There was the red sun, on the low level of the shore, in a purple haze, fast deepening into black; and there was the solitary flat marsh; and far away there were the rising grounds, between which and us there seemed to be no life, save here and there in the foreground a melancholy gull.

As the night was fast falling, and as the moon, being past the full, would not rise early, we held a little council: a short one, for clearly our course was to lie by at the first

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Rh lonely tavern we could find. So they plied their oars once more, and I looked out for anything like a house. Thus we held on, speaking little, for four or five dull miles. It was very cold, and a collier coming by us, with her galleyfire smoking and flaring, looked like a comfortable home. The night was dark by this time as it would be until morning; what light we had, seemed to come more from the river than the sky, as the oars in their dipping struck at a few reflected stars.

At this dismal time we were evidently all possessed by the idea that we were followed. As the tide made, it flapped heavily at irregular intervals against the shore; and whenever such a sound came, one or other of us was sure to start and look in that direction. Here and there, the set of the current had worn down the bank into a little creek, and we were all suspicious of such places, and eyed them nervously. Sometimes, "What was that ripple?" one of us would say in a low voice. Or another, "Is that a boat yonder?" And afterwards, we would fall into a dead silence, and I would sit impatiently thinking with what an unusual amount of noise the oars worked in the thowels.

At length we descried a light and a roof, and presently afterwards ran alongside a little causeway made of stones that had been picked up hard by. Leaving the rest in the boat, I stepped ashore, and found the light to be in the window of a public-house. It was a dirty place enough, and I dare say not unknown to smuggling adventurers; but there was a good fire in the kitchen, and there were eggs and bacon to eat, and various liquors to drink. Also, there were two double-bedded rooms—"such as they were," the landlord said. No other company was in the house than the landlord, his wife, and a grizzled male creature, the "Jack" of the little causeway, who was as slimy and smeary as if he had been low-water mark too.

With this assistant, I went down to the boat again, and we all came ashore, and brought out the oars, and rudder, and boat-hook, and all else, and hauled her up for the night. We made a very good meal by the kitchen fire, and then apportioned the bedrooms: Herbert and Startop were to

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460 occupy one; I and our charge the other. We found the air as carefully excluded from both as if air were fatal to life; and there were more dirty clothes and bandboxes under the beds, than I should have thought the family possessed. But, we considered ourselves well off, notwithstanding, for a more solitary place we could not have found.

While we were comforting ourselves by the fire after our meal, the Jack—who was sitting in a corner, and who had a bloated pair of shoes on, which he had exhibited while we were eating our eggs and bacon, as interesting relics that he had taken a few days ago from the feet of a drowned seaman washed ashore—asked me if we had seen a four-oared galley going up with the tide? When I told him No, he said she must have gone down then, and yet she "took up too," when she left there.

"They must ha' thought better on't for some reason or another," said the Jack, "and gone down."

"A four-oared galley did you say?" said I.

"A four," said the Jack, "and two sitters."

"Did they come ashore here?"

"They put in with a stone two-gallon jar, for some beer. I'd ha' been glad to pison the beer myself," said the Jack, "or put some rattling physic in it."

"Why?"

"I know why," said the Jack. He spoke in a slushy voice, as if much mud had washed into his throat.

"He thinks," said the landlord: a weakly meditative man with a pale eye, who seemed to rely greatly on his Jack: "he thinks they was, what they wasn't."

"I knows what I thinks," observed the Jack.

"You thinks Custom 'Us, Jack?" said the landlord.

"I do," said the Jack.

"Then you're wrong, Jack."

" I!"

In the infinite meaning of his reply and his boundless confidence in his views, the Jack took one of his bloated shoes off, looked into it, knocked a few stones out of it on the kitchen floor, and put it on again. He did this with

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Rh the air of a Jack who was so right that he could afford to do anything.

"Why, what do you make out that they done with their buttons, then, Jack?" asked the landlord, vacillating weakly.

"Done with their buttons?" returned the Jack. "Chucked 'em overboard. Swallered 'em. Sowed 'em, to come up small salad. Done with their buttons!"

"Don't be cheeky, Jack," remonstrated the landlord, in a melancholy and pathetic way.

"A Custom 'Us officer knows what to do with his Buttons," said the Jack, repeating the obnoxious word with the greatest contempt, "when they comes betwixt him and his own light. A Four and two sitters don't go hanging and hovering, up with one tide and down with another, and both with and against another, without there being Custom 'Us at the bottom of it." Saying which he went out in disdain; and the landlord, having no one to rely upon, found it impracticable to pursue the subject.

This dialogue made us all uneasy, and me very uneasy. The dismal wind was muttering round the house, the tide was flapping at the shore, and I had a feeling that we were caged and threatened. A four-oared galley hovering about in so unusual a way as to attract this notice, was an ugly circumstance that I could not get rid of. When I had induced Provis to go up to bed, I went outside with my two companions (Startop by this time knew the state of the case), and held another council. Whether we should remain at the house until near the steamer's time, which would be about one in the afternoon; or whether we should put off early in the morning; was the question we discussed. On the whole we deemed it the better course to lie where we were, until within an hour or so of the steamer's time, and then to get out in her track, and drift easily with the tide. Having settled to do this, we returned into the house and went to bed.

I lay down with the greater part of my clothes on, and slept well for a few hours. When I awoke, the wind had risen, and the sign of the house (the Ship) was creaking

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462 and banging about, with noises that startled me. Rising softly, for my charge lay fast asleep, I looked out of the window. It commanded the causeway where we had hauled up our boat, and, as my eyes adapted themselves to the light of the clouded moon, I saw two men looking into her. They passed by under the window, looking at nothing else, and they did not go down to the landing-place which I could discern to be empty, but struck across the marsh in the direction of the Nore.

My first impulse was to call up Herbert, and show him the two men going away. But, reflecting before I got into his room, which was at the back of the house and adjoined mine, that he and Startop had had a harder day than I, and were fatigued, I forebore. Going back to my window I could see the two men moving over the marsh. In that light, however, I soon lost them, and feeling very cold, lay down to think of the matter and fell asleep again.

We were up early. As we walked to and fro, all four together, before breakfast, I deemed it right to recount what I had seen. Again our charge was the least anxious of the party. It was very likely that the men belonged to the Custom House, he said quietly, and that they had no thought of us. I tried to persuade myself that it was so—as, indeed, it might easily be. However, I proposed that he and I should walk away together to a distant point we could see, and that the boat should take us aboard there, or as near there as might prove feasible, at about noon. This being considered a good precaution, soon after breakfast he and I set forth, without saying anything at the tavern.

He smoked his pipe as we went along, and sometimes stopped to clap me on the shoulder. One would have supposed that it was I who was in danger, not he, and that he was reassuring me. We spoke very little. As we approached the point, I begged him to remain in a sheltered place, while I went on to reconnoitre; for it was towards it that the men had passed in the night. He complied, and I went on alone. There was no boat off the point, nor any boat drawn up anywhere near it, nor were there any

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Rh signs of the men having embarked there. But, to be sure the tide was high, and there might have been some footprints under water.

When he looked out from his shelter in the distance, and saw that I waved my hat to him to come up, he rejoined me, and there we waited; sometimes lying on the bank wrapped in our coats, and sometimes moving about to warm ourselves: until we saw our boat coming round. We got aboard easily, and rowed out into the track of the steamer. By that time it wanted but ten minutes of one o'clock, and we began to look out for her smoke.

But, it was half-past one before we saw her smoke, and soon after we saw behind it the smoke of another steamer. As they were coming on at full speed, we got the two bags ready, and took that opportunity of saying good bye to Herbert and Startop. We had all shaken hands cordially, and neither Herbert's eyes nor mine were quite dry, when I saw a four-oared galley shoot out from under the bank but a little way ahead of us, and row out into the same track.

A stretch of shore had been as yet between us and the steamer's smoke, by reason of the bend and wind of the river; but now she was visible coming head on. I called to Herbert and Startop to keep before the tide, that she might see us lying by for her, and adjured Provis to sit quite still, wrapped in his cloak. He answered cheerily, "Trust to me, dear boy," and sat like a statue. Meantime the galley, which was skilfully handled, had crossed us, let us come up with her, and fallen alongside. Leaving just room enough for the play of the oars, she kept alongside, drifting when we drifted, and pulling a stroke or two when we pulled. Of the two sitters, one held the rudder lines, and looked at us attentively—as did all the rowers; the other sitter was wrapped up, much as Provis was, and seemed to shrink, and whisper some instruction to the steerer as he looked at us. Not a word was spoken in either boat.

Startop could make out, after a few minutes, which steamer was first, and gave me the word "Hamburg," in a

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464 low voice as we sat face to face. She was nearing us very fast, and the beating of her paddles grew louder and louder. I felt as if her shadow were absolutely upon us, when the galley hailed us. I answered.

"You have a return transport there," said the man who held the lines. "That's the man, wrapped in the cloak. His name is Abel Magwitch, otherwise Provis. I apprehend that man, and call upon him to surrender, and you to assist."

At the same moment, without giving any audible direction to his crew, he ran the galley aboard of us. They had pulled one sudden stroke ahead, had got their oars in, had run athwart us, and were holding on to our gunwale, before we knew what they were doing. This caused great confusion on board of the steamer, and I heard them calling to us, and heard the order given to stop the paddles, and heard them stop, but felt her driving down upon us irresistibly. In the same moment, I saw the steersman of the galley lay his hand on his prisoner's shoulder, and saw that both boats were swinging round with the force of the tide, and saw that all hands on board the steamer were running forward quite frantically. Still in the same moment, I saw the prisoner start up, lean across his captor, and pull the cloak from the neck of the shrinking sitter in the galley. Still in the same moment, I saw that the face disclosed, was the face of the other convict of long ago. Still in the same moment, I saw the face tilt backward with a white terror on it that I shall never forget, and heard a great cry on board the steamer and a loud splash in the water, and felt the boat sink from under me.

It was but for an instant that I seemed to struggle with a thousand mill-weirs and a thousand flashes of light; that instant past, I was taken on board the galley. Herbert was there, and Startop was there; but our boat was gone, and the two convicts were gone.

What with the cries aboard the steamer, and the furious blowing off of her steam, and her driving on, and our driving on; I could not at first distinguish sky from water or shore from shore; but the crew of the galley righted her

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Rh with great speed, and, pulling certain swift strong strokes ahead, lay upon their oars, every man looking silently and eagerly at the water astern. Presently a dark object was seen in it, bearing towards us on the tide. No man spoke, but the steersman held up his hand, and all softly backed water, and kept the boat straight and true before it. As it came nearer, I saw it to be Magwitch, swimming, but not swimming freely. He was taken on board, and instantly manacled at the wrists and ankles.

The galley was kept steady, and the silent eager lookout at the water was resumed. But the Rotterdam steamer now came up, and apparently not understanding what had happened, came on at speed. By the time she had been hailed and stopped, both steamers were drifting away from us, and we were rising and falling in a troubled wake of water. The look-out was kept, long after all was still again and the two steamers were gone; but everybody knew that it was hopeless now.

At length we gave it up, and pulled under the shore towards the tavern we had lately left, where we were received with no little surprise. Here, I was able to get some comforts for Magwitch—Provis no longer—who had received some very severe injury in the chest and a deep cut in the head.

He told me that he believed himself to have gone under the keel of the steamer, and to have been struck on the head in rising. The injury to his chest (which rendered his breathing extremely painful) he thought he had received against the side of the galley. He added that he did not pretend to say what he might or might not have done to Compeyson, but, that in the moment of his laying his hand on his cloak to identify him, that villain had staggered up and staggered back, and they had both gone overboard together; when the sudden wrenching of him (Magwitch) out of our boat, and the endeavour of his captor to keep him in it, had capsized us. He told me in a whisper that they had gone down, fiercely locked in each other's arms, and that there had been a struggle under water, and that he had disengaged himself, struck out, and swam away.

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466 I never had any reason to doubt the exact truth of what he had told me. The officer who steered the galley gave the same account of their going overboard.

When I asked this officer's permission to change the prisoner's wet clothes by purchasing any spare garments I could get at the public-house, he gave it readily: merely observing that he must take charge of everything his prisoner had about him. So the pocket-book which had once been in my hands, passed into the officer's. He further gave me leave to accompany the prisoner to London; but, declined to accord that grace to my two friends.

The Jack at the Ship was instructed where the drowned man had gone down, and undertook to search for the body in the places where it was likeliest to come ashore. His interest in its recovery seemed to me to be much heightened when he heard that it had stockings on. Probably, it took about a dozen drowned men to fit him out completely; and that may have been the reason why the different articles of his dress were in various stages of decay.

We remained at the public-house until the tide turned, and then Magwitch was carried down to the galley and put on board. Herbert and Startop were to get to London by land, as soon as they could. We had a doleful parting, and when I took my place by Magwitch's side, I felt that that was my place henceforth while he lived.

For now my repugnance to him had all melted away, and in the hunted wounded shackled creature who held my hand in his, I only saw a man who had meant to be my benefactor, and who had felt affectionately, gratefully, and generously, towards me with great constancy through a series of years. I only saw in him a much better man than I had been to Joe.

His breathing became more difficult and painful as the night drew on, and often he could not repress a groan. I tried to rest him on the arm I could use, in any easy position; but it was dreadful to think that I could not be sorry at heart for his being badly hurt, since it was unquestionably best that he should die. That there were, still living, people enough who were able and willing to identify him,

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Rh I could not doubt. That he would be leniently treated, I could not hope. He who had been presented in the worst light at his trial, who had since broken prison and been tried again, who had returned from transportation under a life sentence, and who had occasioned the death of the man who was the cause of his arrest.

As we returned towards the setting sun we had yesterday left behind us, and as the stream of our hopes seemed all running back, I told him how grieved I was to think he had come home for my sake.

"Dear boy," he answered, "I'm quite content to take my chance. I've seen my boy, and he can be a gentleman without me."

No. I had thought about that while we had been there side by side. No. Apart from any inclinations of my own, I understand Wemmick's hint now. I foresaw that, being convicted, his possessions would be forfeited to the Crown.

"Lookee here, dear boy," said he. "It's best as a gentleman should not be knowed to belong to me now. Only come to see me as if you come by chance alonger Wemmick. Sit where I can see you when I am swore to, for the last o' many times, and I don't ask no more."

"I will never stir from your side," said I, "when I am suffered to be near you. Please God, I will be as true to you as you have been to me!"

I felt his hand tremble as it held mine, and he turned his face away as he lay in the bottom of the boat, and I heard that old sound in his throat—softened now, like all the rest of him. It was a good thing that he had touched this point, for it put into my mind what I might not otherwise have thought of until too late: that he need never know how his hopes of enriching me had perished.

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468

was taken to the Police Court next day, and would have been immediately committed for trial, but that it was necessary to send down for an old officer of the prison-ship from which he had once escaped, to speak to his identity. Nobody doubted it; but, Compeyson, who had meant to depose to it, was tumbling on the tides, dead, and it happened that there was not at that time any prison officer in London who could give the required evidence. I had gone direct to Mr. Jaggers at his private house, on my arrival over night, to retain his assistance, and Mr. Jaggers on the prisoners behalf would admit nothing. It was the sole resource, for he told me that the case must be over in five minutes when the witness was there, and that no power on earth could prevent its going against us.

I imparted to Mr. Jaggers my design of keeping him in ignorance of the fate of his wealth. Mr. Jaggers was querulous and angry with me for having "let it slip through my fingers," and said we must memorialise by-and-bye, and try at all events for some of it. But he did not conceal from me that although there might be many cases in which forfeiture would not be exacted, there were no circumstances in this case to make it one of them. I understood that very well. I was not related to the outlaw, or connected with him by any recognisable tie; he had put his hand to no writing or settlement in my favour before his apprehension, and to do so now would be idle. I had no claim, and I finally resolved, and ever afterwards abided by the resolution, that my heart should never be sickened with the hopeless task of attempting to establish one.

There appeared to be reason for supposing that the drowned informer had hoped for a reward out of this forfeiture, and had obtained some accurate knowledge of Magwitch's affairs. When his body was found, many miles from the scene of his death, and so horribly disfigured

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Rh that he was only recognisable by the contents of his pockets, notes were still legible, folded in a case he carried. Among these were the name of a banking-house in New South Wales where a sum of money was, and the designation of certain lands of considerable value. Both those heads of information were in a list that Magwitch, while in prison, gave to Mr. Jaggers, of the possessions he supposed I should inherit. His ignorance, poor fellow, at last served him; he never mistrusted but that my inheritance was quite safe, with Mr. Jaggers's aid.

After three days' delay, during which the crown prosecution stood over for the production of the witness from the prison-ship, the witness came, and completed the easy case. He was committed to take his trial at the next Session, which would come on in a month.

It was at this dark time of my life that Herbert returned home one evening, a good deal cast down, and said:

"My dear Handel, I fear I shall soon have to leave you."

His partner having prepared me for that, I was less surprised than he thought.

"We shall lose a fine opportunity if I put off going to Cairo, and I am very much afraid I must go, Handel, when you most need me."

"Herbert, I shall always need you, because I shall always love you; but my need is no greater now, than at another time."

"You will be so lonely."

"I have not leisure to think of that," said I. "You know that I am always with him to the full extent of the time allowed, and that I should be with him all day long, if I could. And when I come away from him, you know that my thoughts are with him."

The dreadful condition to which he was brought, was so appalling to both of us, that we could not refer to it in plainer words.

"My dear fellow," said Herbert, "let the near prospect of our separation—for, it is very near—be my justification for troubling you about yourself. Have you thought of your future?"

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 "No, for I have been afraid to think of any future."

"But yours cannot be dismissed; indeed, my dear, dear Handel, it must not be dismissed. I wish you would enter on it now, as far as a few friendly words go, with me."

"I will," said I.

"In this branch house of ours, Handel, we must have a"

I saw that his delicacy was avoiding the right word, so I said, "A clerk."

"A clerk. And I hope it is not at all unlikely that he may expand (as a clerk of your acquaintance has expanded) into a partner. Now, Handelin short, my dear boy, will you come to me?"

There was something charmingly cordial and engaging in the manner in which after saying, "Now, Handel," as if it were the grave beginning of a portentous business exordium, he had suddenly given up that tone, stretched out his honest hand, and spoken like a schoolboy.

"Clara and I have talked about it again and again," Herbert pursued, "and the dear little thing begged me only this evening, with tears in her eyes, to say to you that if you will live with us, when we come together, she will do her best to make you happy, and to convince her husband's friend that he is her friend too. We should get on so well, Handel!"

I thanked her heartily, and I thanked him heartily, but said I could not yet make sure of joining him as he so kindly offered. Firstly, my mind was too preoccupied to be able to take in the subject clearly. SecondlyYes! Secondly, there was a vague something lingering in my thoughts that will come out very near the end of this slight narrative.

"But if you thought, Herbert, that you could, without doing any injury to your business, leave the question open for a little while"

"For any while," cried Herbert. "Six months, a year!"

"Not so long as that," said I. "Two or three months at most."

Herbert was highly delighted when we shook hands on

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Rh this arrangement, and said he could now take courage to tell me that he believed he must go away at the end of the week.

"And Clara?" said I.

"The dear little thing," returned Herbert, "holds dutifully to her father as long as he lasts; but he won't last long. Mrs. Whimple confides to me that he is certainly going."

"Not to say an unfeeling thing," said I, "he cannot do better than go."

"I am afraid that must be admitted," said Herbert: "and then I shall come back for the dear little thing, and the dear little thing and I will walk quietly into the nearest church. Remember! The blessed darling comes of no family, my dear Handel, and never looked into the red book, and hasn't a notion about her grandpapa. What a fortune for the son of my mother!"

On the Saturday in that same week, I took my leave of Herbert—full of bright hope, but sad and sorry to leave me—as he sat on one of the seaport mail coaches. I went into a coffee-house to write a little note to Clara, telling her he had gone off, sending his love to her over and over again, and then went to my lonely home—if it deserved the name, for it was now no home to me, and I had no home anywhere.

On the stairs I encountered Wemmick, who was coming down, after an unsuccessful application of his knuckles to my door. I had not seen him alone, since the disastrous issue of the attempted flight; and he had come, in his private and personal capacity, to say a few words of explanation in reference to that failure.

"The late Compeyson," said Wemmick, "had by little and little got at the bottom of half of the regular business now transacted, and it was from the talk of some of his people in trouble (some of his people being always in trouble) that I heard what I did. I kept my ears open, seeming to have them shut, until I heard that he was absent, and I thought that would be the best time for making the attempt. I can only suppose now, that it was part of his

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472 policy, as a very clever man, habitually to deceive his own instruments. You don't blame me, I hope, Mr. Pip? I'm sure I tried to serve you, with all my heart."

"I am as sure of that, Wemmick, as you can be, and I thank you most earnestly for all your interest and friendship."

"Thank you, thank you very much. It's a bad job," said Wemmick, scratching his head, "and I assure you I haven't been so cut up for a long time. What I look at is, the sacrifice of so much portable property. Dear me!"

"What I think of, Wemmick, is the poor owner of the property."

"Yes, to be sure," said Wemmick. "Of course there can be no objection to your being sorry for him, and I'd put down a five-pound note myself to get him out of it. But what I look at, is this. The late Compeyson having been beforehand with him in intelligence of his return, and being so determined to bring him to book, I do not think he could have been saved. Whereas, the portable property certainly could have been saved. That's the difference between the property and the owner, don't you see?"

I invited Wemmick to come upstairs, and refresh himself with a glass of grog before walking to Walworth. He accepted the invitation. While he was drinking his moderate allowance, he said, with nothing to lead up to it, and after having appeared rather fidgety:

"What do you think of my meaning to take a holiday on Monday, Mr. Pip?"

"Why, I suppose you have not done such a thing these twelve months."

"These twelve years, more likely," said Wemmick. "Yes. I'm going to take a holiday. More than that; I'm going to take a walk. More than that; I'm going to ask you to take a walk with me."

I was about to excuse myself, as being but a bad companion just then, when Wemmick anticipated me.

"I know your engagements," said he, "and I know you are out of sorts, Mr. Pip. But if you could oblige me, I should take it as a kindness. It ain't a long walk, and it's

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Rh an early one. Say it might occupy you (including breakfast on the walk) from eight to twelve. Couldn't you stretch a point and manage it?"

He had done so much for me at various times, that this was very little to do for him. I said I could manage it—would manage it—and he was so very much pleased by my acquiescence, that I was pleased too. At his particular request, I appointed to call for him at the Castle at half-past eight on Monday morning, and so we parted for the time.

Punctual to my appointment, I rang at the Castle gate on the Monday morning, and was received by Wemmick himself: who struck me as looking tighter than usual, and having a sleeker hat on. Within, there were two glasses of rum-and-milk prepared, and two biscuits. The Aged must have been stirring with the lark, for, glancing into the perspective of his bedroom, I observed that his bed was empty.

When we had fortified ourselves with the rum-and-milk and biscuits, and were going out for the walk with that training preparation on us, I was considerably surprised to see Wemmick take up a fishing-rod, and put it over his shoulder. "Why, we are not going fishing!" said I. "No," returned Wemmick, "but I like to walk with one."

I thought this odd; however, I said nothing, and we set off. We went towards Camberwell Green, and when we were thereabouts, Wemmick said suddenly:

"Halloa! Here's a church!"

There was nothing very surprising in that; but again, I was rather surprised, when he said, as if he were animated by a brilliant idea:

"Let's go in!"

We went in, Wemmick leaving his fishing-rod in the porch, and looked all round. In the mean time, Wemmick was diving into his coat-pockets, and getting something out of paper there.

"Halloa!" said he. "Here's a couple of pair of gloves! Let's put 'em on!"

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474 have my strong suspicions. They were strengthened into certainty when I beheld the Aged enter at a side door, escorting a lady.

"Halloa!" said Wemmick. "Here's Miss Skiffins! Let's have a wedding."

That discreet damsel was attired as usual, except that she was now engaged in substituting for her green kid gloves, a pair of white. The Aged was likewise occupied in preparing a similar sacrifice for the altar of Hymen. The old gentleman, however, experienced so much difficulty in getting his gloves on, that Wemmick found it necessary to put him with his back against a pillar, and then to get behind the pillar himself and pull away at them, while I for my part held the old gentleman round the waist, that he might present an equal and safe resistance. By dint of this ingenious scheme, his gloves were got on to perfection.

The clerk and clergyman then appearing, we were ranged in order at those fatal rails. True to his notion of seeming to do it all without preparation, I heard Wemmick say to himself as he took something out of his waistcoat-pocket before the service began, "Halloa! Here's a ring!"

I acted in the capacity of backer, or best man, to the bridegroom; while a little limp pew-opener in a soft bonnet like a baby's, made a feint of being the bosom friend of Miss Skiffins. The responsibility of giving the lady away, devolved upon the Aged, which led to the clergyman's being unintentionally scandalised, and it happened thus. When he said, "Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?" the old gentleman, not in the least knowing what point of the ceremony we had arrived at, stood most amiably beaming at the ten commandments. Upon which, the clergyman said again, " giveth this woman to be married to this man?" The old gentleman being still in a state of most estimable unconsciousness, the bridegroom cried out in his accustomed voice, "Now Aged P. you know; who giveth?" To which the Aged replied with great briskness, before saying that he gave, "All right, John, all right, my boy!" And the clergyman came to so gloomy a

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Rh pause upon it, that I had doubts for the moment whether we should get completely married that day.

It was completely done, however, and when we were going out of church, Wemmick took the cover off the font, and put his white gloves in it, and put the cover on again. Mrs. Wemmick, more heedful of the future, put her white gloves in her pocket and assumed her green. "Now, Mr. Pip," said Wemmick, triumphantly shouldering the fishing-rod as we came out, "let me ask you whether anybody would suppose this to be a wedding party!"

Breakfast had been ordered at a pleasant little tavern, a mile or so away upon the rising ground beyond the green; and there was a bagatelle board in the room, in case we should desire to unbend our minds after the solemnity. It was pleasant to observe that Mrs. Wemmick no longer unwound Wemmick's arm when it adapted itself to her figure, but sat in the high-backed chair against the wall, like a violoncello in its case, and submitted to be embraced as that melodious instrument might have done.

We had an excellent breakfast, and when any one declined anything on table, Wemmick said, "Provided by contract, you know; don't be afraid of it!" I drank to the new couple, drank to the Aged, drank to the Castle, saluted the bride at parting, and made myself as agreeable as I could.

Wemmick came down to the door with me, and I again shook hands with him, and wished him joy.

"Thank'ee!" said Wemmick, rubbing his hands. "She's such a manager of fowls, you have no idea. You shall have some eggs and judge for yourself. I say, Mr. Pip!" calling me back and speaking low. "This is altogether a Walworth sentiment, please."

"I understand. Not to be mentioned in Little Britain," said I.

Wemmick nodded. "After what you let out the other day, Mr. Jaggers may as well not know of it. He might think my brain was softening, or something of the kind."

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lay in prison very ill, during the whole interval between his committal for trial, and the coming round of the Sessions. He had broken two ribs, they had wounded one of his lungs, and he breathed with great pain and difficulty, which increased daily. It was a consequence of his hurt that he spoke so low as to be scarcely audible; therefore, he spoke very little. But, he was ever ready to listen to me, and it became the first duty of my life to say to him, and read to him, what I knew he ought to hear.

Being far too ill to remain in the common prison, he was removed, after the first day or so, into the infirmary. This gave me opportunities of being with him that I could not otherwise have had. And but for his illness he would have been put in irons, for he was regarded as a determined prison-breaker, and I know not what else.

Although I saw him every day, it was for only a short time; hence the regularly recurring spaces of our separation were long enough to record on his face any slight changes that occurred in his physical state. I do not recollect that I once saw any change in it for the better; he wasted, and became slowly weaker and worse, day by day from the day when the prison door closed upon him.

The kind of submission or resignation that he showed, was that of a man who was tired out. I sometimes derived an impression, from his manner or from a whispered word or two which escaped him, that he pondered over the question whether he might have been a better man under better circumstances. But, he never justified himself by a hint tending that way, or tried to bend the past out of its eternal shape.

It happened on two or three occasions in my presence, that his desperate reputation was alluded to by one or other of the people in attendance on him. A smile crossed his face then, and he turned his eyes on me with a trustful

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