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Page:The Mediaeval Mind Vol 1.djvu/169

CHAP. VIII "'Be he the vilest of all the East people who now would refuse thee the fight thou hankerest after. Happen it and show which of us must give up his armour.'"

The end fails, but probably the son was slain.

Stubborn and grim appears the Old German character. Point to point shall foes exchange gifts. Such also was the way when a lord made reward; on the spear's point presenting the arm-ring to him who had served, he accepting it in like fashion, each on his guard perhaps. The Hildebrandslied exhibits other qualities of the German spirit, as its bluntness and lack of tact; even its clumsiness is evinced in the seventy lines of the poem, which although broken is not a fragment, but a short poem—a ballad graceless and shapeless because of its stiff unvarying lines.

In a later poem, which gives the story of Walter of Aquitaine, the same set and stubborn mood appears, although lightened by rough banter. This legend existed in Old German as well as Anglo-Saxon. In the tenth century, Ekkehart, a monk of St. Gall, freely altering and adding to the tale, made of it the small Latin epic which is extant. Monk as he was, he tells a spirited story in his rugged hexameters. He had studied classic authors to good purpose; and his poem of Walter fleeing with his love Hildegund from the Hunnish Court (for the all-pervasive Attila is here also) is vivid, diversified, well-constructed—qualities which may not have been in the story till he remodelled it. Its leading incidents still present German traits. Walter and Hildegund carry off a treasure in their flight; and it is to get this treasure that Gunther urges Hagen (for they are here too) to attack the fugitive. This is Teutonic. It was for plunder that Teuton tribes fought their bravest fights from the time of Alaric and Genseric to the Viking age, and the hoard has a great part in Teutonic story. In the Waltarius Gunther's driving avarice, Walter's

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

title: Page:The Mediaeval Mind Vol 1.djvu/169


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Page:Four Little Blossoms at Brookside Farm.djvu/73

HOUGH all of the four little Blossoms protested that they were not the least bit sleepy, it was not long after Mother and Aunt Polly had helped them to delicious brown bread and honey and milk and baked apples that they were stumbling up the stairs to baths and bed. Linda, a girl about fifteen, who lived with Aunt Polly and went to school in the winter and worked during the summer, had made the two pretty bedrooms as dainty as possible and had left a vase of flowers on the table in each room. It was Linda, too, who brought armfuls of clean towels and showed them which was the hot and which the cold water in Aunt Polly's white and green bathroom.

The next day the four children and Mother Blossom and Aunt Polly, with Linda and Jud part of the time and Spotty and Poots in constant attendance, explored Brookside thoroughly.


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66 They saw the poultry yard, where ducks and chickens and guinea-hens and one lame turkey lived happily together. The other turkeys roamed all over the farm, and Aunt Polly said that at night they slept out of doors in the trees. She said they would be sick if cooped up in houses, and that they had to roam half-wild to thrive.

The visitors called on Mrs. Sally Sweet, the beautiful gentle Jersey cow that gave such wonderful rich milk; they saw the seven new little white pigs; they took salt to the sheep that were in a stony pasture and that came running when Peter called to them from the bars.

They made the acquaintance, too, of Jerry and Terry, the two faithful farm horses, and Nelly Bly, the brown mare who had a small colt, Felix, by her side. Meg had to be dragged away from the colt. She said she had never seen such a darling little horse.

Jud Apgar was a tall, lanky boy, with the same pleasant drawling way of speaking his father had, and the "evenest temper that ever was,"


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Rh Linda said. Linda should have known, because she was a great tease.

On their way back from the sheep pasture Aunt Polly and the Blossoms stopped at the tenant house, and Mrs. Apgar asked them in to taste of her fresh buttermilk. She had just finished churning, and the children saw their first churn. They admired the firm yellow butter, but they did not care much for the buttermilk, though Mother Blossom drank two glasses of it and said it was delicious.

It was nearly dinner time now, for Aunt Polly, like many people who live in the country, liked to have her dinner at noon, and they all hurried home to get freshened up for the meal. Poor Dot, as usual, had managed to soil her frock, and she had to be buttoned into a clean dress.

"How'd you ever get that old egg on it?" scolded Meg, nevertheless helping her to fasten the buttons.

"I didn't know eggs broke so easy," explained Dot. "I was looking in a nest where a hen was


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68 sitting, and she flew up and scared me. And I just touched one of her eggs and it broke."

Meg happened to glance from the window.

"Peter's brought the trunks!" she cried. "And the kiddie-car and a bundle that must be the surprise Daddy told us about. Hurry, Dot."

The two little girls ran downstairs and found the others gathered about the trunks and parcels on the front porch.

"Daddy's surprise!" shouted Bobby. "Let me open it, Mother?"

Mother Blossom handed him the shears and he cut the heavy cord. Something brown and heavy was inside.

"It's a dress. No, it isn't, it's a tent! It's a tent and four Indian suits!" Bobby was so delighted that he gave a war-whoop then and there and began to do a war dance.

"An Indian suit!" shrieked Twaddles, trying to stand on his head.

"Indian beads!" cried Meg, holding up a long chain of bright colored glass beads.

"And feathers!" Dot, too, had been digging in the package.


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Rh "There is no room left, officer!" he declared to the fatigued and irritated policeman. "See to it that I travel comfortably, otherwise I will not go with you! Rather hang me right here, to the lamp-post! Oh, the scoundrels, what a carriage they have given me! Do you call this a carriage? The devil's guts, yes, but not a carriage!"

But suddenly he lowered his head, stretched out his neck, and advanced towards the other prisoners. From the frame of his bushy hair and beard his black eyes shot a savage, sharp, and rather crazy look.

"Oh, my God!" he cried; "so this is where we are! How do you do, sir!"

He sat down opposite Werner, holding out his hand; then with a wink, he leaned over and swiftly passed his hand across his companion's neck:

"You too? Eh?"

"Yes!" smiled Werner.

"All?"

"All!"

"Oh! oh!" said the Tzigane, showing his teeth. He examined the other prisoners with a swift glance, which nevertheless dwelt longest on Musya and Yanson.

"On account of the Minister?"

"Oh, sir, my case is quite another story. I am not so distinguished! I, sir, am a brigand, an assassin. That makes no difference, sir; move up a little to make room for me; it is not my fault that they have put me in your company! In the other world there will be room for all."


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Rh The rest of the afternoon was a busy time for them all. Jud helped them set up the tent on the side lawn, and then the four little Blossoms dressed up in their new suits and played Indians to their hearts' content. There were jackets and trousers and feather head-dresses for Bobby and Twaddles and squaw costumes and bead chains for Meg and Dot. Jud made them each a wooden hatchet, which completed the make-believe.

The next morning Mother Blossom had to go back to Oak Hill. The children went as far as the gate to say good-by to her, but both she and Aunt Polly, who was to drive her over, not in the car but with Nelly Bly and a smart-looking red-wheeled buggy, thought that it was better for them not to go to town.

When they had kissed her good-by and watched the buggy till it was nothing but a cloud of dust in the road, the four little Blossoms began to feel very queer indeed. They had never been alone in a strange place without any mother before.

"Well, my goodness, if you're not here," said


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 Jud cheerily, coming up behind them. He pretended not to see the tears beginning to splash down Dot's cheeks. "I'm going down to the brook to mend the line fence, and I thought if you wanted to come along and play in the water"

They did, of course. Dot slipped her hand into Jud's and the others followed, talking busily. What was a line fence? How could he fix it? What could they play in the water?

Jud didn't mind questions at all. Indeed, he rather enjoyed answering them.

"You see, this fence goes along the brook right in the center," he explained carefully, "to show where your Aunt Polly's land stops and Mr. Simmond's land begins. If we didn't have a fence there his cattle would walk right through the brook and up into our meadows. Say, build a raft, why don't you? I always did when I was a kid. Here, I'll show you."

Jud in a few minutes had shown Bobby how to make a little raft, and he and Twaddles finished it while Meg and Dot ran up to the house to get some toys to sail on it. For a raft, you


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Rh know if you have ever made one, is no fun at all unless it has a cargo.

"We brought Geraldine!" cried Dot, running back, out of breath, with her best doll. "And now I wish I'd brought her trunk. But here's Meg's 'Black Beauty' book. She says we can play that's a trunk. It's heavy. And Meg is bringing your airplane, Bobby, and the singing bird for Twaddles."

The singing bird was a little toy one of the neighbors in Oak Hill had given Twaddles. It had come from abroad, and he was very proud of it. It was a tiny yellow wooden bird that wound up with a key and sang three tunes for all the world like a music box.

Bobby fixed the string, and the children arranged the toys on the raft, the smiling Geraldine occupying the place of honor in the center and leaning gracefully against the book which served her as a prop.

"Look, Jud!" shouted Bobby. "See it float!"

Jud, in the middle of the stream, waved his hand encouragingly.

"It's beginning to sprinkle," he called. "


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72 run on up to the barn, out of the wet. You'll find Dad working there. Tie your raft—this is only a shower."

Bobby obediently tied the raft to a tree root that extended out over the water, and the four little Blossoms, taking hold of hands, raced madly for the barn. They were only just in time, for as they reached the door the rain fell in sheets.

"Most caught you, didn't it?" chuckled Peter, who was mending harness in a little room that opened on to the barn floor. "A rain like this could drown that littlest one."

"No, it couldn't," protested Dot, who was the "littlest one."

"Maybe Jud will drown," worried Bobby. "Does he stay out in the wet?"

"A bit of rain doesn't hurt Jud," said Peter comfortably. "He's used to it, and his mother has dry clothes ready for him when he comes in. Well now, look around, and make yourselves at home. You can do most anything in Miss Polly's barn."

"Let's play see-saw," proposed Meg,


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Rh to a long board that stood in the corner. "Could we have that, Mr. Peter?"

"Of course you can. I'll lay it across this saw-horse, so, and that's as fine a see-saw as any one could ask for," said Peter, lifting the heavy plank with ease.

Bobby and Meg took possession of the see-saw, and Dot and Twaddles made the simultaneous discovery that hay was slippery. They found this out because Twaddles had climbed to the top of a pile of loose hay and was intending to reach an open window when his foot slipped and he gently slid down to the floor.

"Let me do that," cried Dot, hastily scrambling up. "Watch me, Meg."

She sat down, gave herself a little shove and neatly slid down the side of the hay. Then Twaddles tried, and then they took turns.

Spotty appeared at the barn door, wagging his tail engagingly. He was "part white terrier" and "part something else" Jud had told the children, and he had one funny black spot on his back near his tail.

In less than half an hour the rain had stopped


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74 and a watery sun was struggling through the breaking clouds.

"Bobby!" Meg thought of something so suddenly, she stopped the see-saw with a bump that jarred poor Bobby's teeth. "What do you know about the things we left on the raft? Geraldine will be soaked!"

"And the wings of my airplane," cried Bobby. "Why, I never thought! We should have taken the toys off. Let's get 'em now, and maybe Linda can dry them in the kitchen for us."

Hastily calling the twins, Meg and Bobby set off, running for the brook. The grass was very wet and their shoes were soaked in a few minutes. But they didn't mind that if only the toys were not damaged!

Bobby reached the brook first. No Jud was in sight, but a neat, firm fence showed where he had completed his work. No raft was tied to the root, either.

"It's gone!" gasped Meg, who had followed Bobby closely. "My lovely book I've never even read yet!"

"And my airplane I meant to have such fun


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Rh sailing out where there is lots of room," said Bobby mournfully. "Dot, the raft's floated away!"

Dot and Twaddles came up to them and Dot at first could not believe the bad news.

"But you tied it, Bobby," she urged. "How could it get gone?"

"Don't say 'get gone,'" said Bobby absently. "I don't know how it got loose, but it has. You can see for yourself. And all our toys are lost!"

"Poor, poor Geraldine!" sobbed Geraldine's little mother. "All drowned! And Twaddles' Dicky bird! Maybe, couldn't Jud have them, Bobby?" she added suddenly.

Bobby had not thought of that.

"You run and ask him," he said, "while we walk down the brook a way and look for 'em."


text: Four Little Blossoms at Brookside Farm/Chapter 7


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OT ran off to the Apgar house as fast as her short legs would carry her, to find Jud and ask him if he had taken their toys in out of the rain. The other children followed Bobby along the brook.

"Because our feet are as wet as they can be, now," he said, "and if Aunt Polly is going to scold, getting them wetter won't make her scold any more."

"It looks like more rain," worried Meg, scanning the clouds. "Why don't we go back, Bobby, and come out after dinner? If the raft floated as far as the woods, the trees will keep it dry."

Bobby was very damp and very hungry, and he, too, thought that after dinner would be a better time to hunt for the toys.

"Come on, Twaddles," he shouted. "We're going back."

Twaddles was some distance ahead, and he


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 turned so quickly that one foot slipped. Meg and Bobby saw him tumble into the brook with a loud splash.

It wasn't very deep, but it was very wet, and though Bobby reached him in a second, poor Twaddles was frightened.

"I'm so co-old!" he wept loudly. "I want Mother!"

"Well, don't stand here all day," said Bobby practically. "Take hold of Meg's hand, and we'll run to the house. Linda was making soup this morning, Twaddles. Think how good nice, hot soup will taste!"

Meg took his hand, and, Bobby on the other side, Twaddles ran with all his might toward dry clothes and hot soup. It was raining hard again.

"Why, children!" Aunt Polly met them at the door, for she had long ago come back from taking Mother Blossom to town. "Has anything happened? I found Dot in the hammock crying for her doll and But Twaddles is dripping!"


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 by another course, coasting the said islands. From the islands of Maluco we sailed Saturday, 21st December, of the said year 1521, and we went to the island of Mare, and there took in wood to burn, and the same day we sailed and went to S.S.W., making for Motil, and thence we went by the same course, making for Maquian, and thence we went to S.W., running by all these islands, and others, which are these:—Cuayoan, Laboan, Agchian, Latalata, and other small islands, which remain in the N.W. quarter, and now I will say in what latitude and longitude are each one separately, and which are those which contain cloves and other spices. The first to the North is Terrenate, which is in 1° North, and Tidore 40' and Mare 15', and Motil on the equinoctial line, and these lie North and South. The others to the South are these: Maqui is in 20', Cuayoan in 40', and Laboan in 1°, and Latalata in 1° 15', and Bachian lies with Terrenate E.N.E. and W.S.W.; and to the S.E. of all these islands there is a very large island called Gilolo, and there are cloves in it, but very few; therefore there are seven islands which contain cloves, and those which have a large quantity are these: Terrenate, Tidore, Motil, Maqui, and Bachian, which are the five principal ones, and some of them contain nutmeg and mace. Motil is on the line, and is in longitude of the meridian of 191° 45'.

From Latalata we went to S.W.¼ W., and fell in with an island which is called Lumutola, it is in 1¾°, and on the W. side there is another island called Sulan, and at these islands there are many shoals, and from hence we took the course to the South, towards an island named Buro, and between these three, there is another island which is named Fenado, it is in 2½°, and Buro is in 3½°, and it lies with Bachian N.E. and S.W.¼ N.S. in longitude 194°; and to the East of Buro there is a very large island called Ambon, in which they make much cotton cloths, and between it and


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78 "He fell in the brook," explained Bobby concisely.

"Poor lamb!" comforted Aunt Polly. "Come upstairs, dear, and Auntie will see that you're rubbed dry. And Bobby and Meg, don't stand around in those wet shoes one minute. Change them immediately."

Half an hour later four clean, dry little Blossoms were at the table enjoying Linda's delicious soup and other good things. The day had turned to a cold, rainy, dismal one, very different from the promise of the sunny summer morning. Aunt Polly said they would have to manufacture their own sunshine that afternoon.

"You mustn't think of going to hunt for the toys till to-morrow, and only then if it's clear," she announced firmly. "Likely as not the raft sank, and you mustn't feel too bad about the toys. You'll find plenty of other things to play with on the farm."

All that afternoon it poured, and all that afternoon the four little Blossoms spent in Linda's kitchen cooking and pulling molasses candy. They had the sweetiest [sic], stickiest time


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(　73　)

title: Page:Merry Muses of Caledonia.djvu/79


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Rh you ever heard of, and when about six o'clock the rain stopped and the sun came out pure yellow gold, they had a plate of beautiful cream-colored candy to take to Mrs. Peter Apgar.

"Who wants to help me milk?" asked Jud, passing the kitchen door as they were talking to his mother.

"Oh, Jud, I do!" begged Meg. "You promised to show me how."

"We'll all come," said Bobby. "Aunt Polly isn't going to have supper till seven o'clock tonight, 'cause the minister is coming. We've got oceans of time."

"Dot looks dressed up to me," announced Jud. "Keep her out of the mud, somebody."

"This is my prettiest dress," said Dot serenely, smoothing down the folds of her white dotted swiss under her coral-colored sweater.

Mrs. Sally Sweet looked mildly interested when she saw such a number of people coming into her comfortable barnyard, and when Jud drove her into the barn and fastened her in the stanchion, all the children stood around to watch.


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 When Jud had the pail nearly full of milk, he rose carefully.

"Now, Meg," he said, "you sit here. Easy now; don't be nervous. Don't you know a cow won't give milk if she knows you're nervous? Now work your fingers like this"

Meg sat on the three-legged stool and tried to do exactly as Jud told her. Bobby and Dot and Twaddles stared at her open-mouthed. She was actually milking a live cow!

"Keep right on; that's fine," encouraged Jud. "You're doing first rate."

His father called him just then, and he ran to the door to see what was wanted. Meg, beaming, kept on milking. All would have been well if Mrs. Sally Sweet hadn't remembered her calf, Buttercup, and opened her mouth to give a tremendous and unexpected, "Moo!"

The four little Blossoms were sadly startled. Meg jumped up, upsetting the pail of milk over herself and Bobby, who stood nearest, and knocking down Twaddles and Dot who were close behind her. As luck would have it, both twins pitched into a heap of soft hay and were


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Rh not hurt at all. But when they scrambled to their feet, alas! streams of yellow, bright yellow, decorated Dot's sweater and dress and splashed Twaddles' middy blouse.

"For goodness' sake!" cried Jud, coming back in time to view this wholesale damage. "What have you been up to now?"

Meg explained.

"There must have been eggs in that hay," said Twaddles disapprovingly.

"Some hen stole her nest, and you've finished her hopes," sighed Jud. "I must say you're a sweet looking mess. Wonder what Miss Polly will say?"

"My! and the minister's coming to supper," announced Bobby, remembering this for the first time.

"I thought you looked dressed up," Jud groaned. "I suppose I ought to have paid more attention. Well, come on, we'll go up the back way and I'll tell Miss Polly most of it was my fault."

The four little Blossoms, eggy and milky, followed Jud up to the house. He meant to take


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 Buro there are some islets; take care of them, for this it is necessary to coast the island of Buro to the East, and to the South of it. I took the sun in 70° 24', it had 22° 36' declination, and so the latitude came to be 3°. I was in the Southern part of the island, and this was on the 27th of December, on Friday. On the 28th of the said month, I did not take the sun, but we were in the neighbourhood of the said isle of Buro, and Bidia, which lies to the eastward.

Sunday, 29th, I took the sun in 71½° it had 22° 21' declination, and our distance came to be 3° 51', and we were opposite the isle of Ambon.

On the 30th I took the sun in the altitude of the day before, in calm, it was Monday.

On the 31st I did not take the sun, we were a matter of 12 leagues from the Isle of Ambon E.N.E. and W.S.W., the day was Tuesday.

1522—

The 1st day of January, 1522, I took the sun in barely 73°, it had 21° 54' declination, the altitude came to be 4° 45'.

On the 2nd of the month, I took the sun in 73¾°, it had 21¾° declination, our distance came to be 5½°, the course was to S.W., and it was Thursday.

Friday, 3rd, I did not take the sun, but the ship made the course of S.S.W., in latitude of 6⅓°, after that we took the course to N.W.

On the 4th of the month I did not take the sun, but we were in 5¾°, the course was to N.W., and the day Saturday.

Sunday, the 5th, I took the sun in 75°, it had 21° 14' declination, the latitude came to 6° 14'.

On the 6th, Monday, I took the sun in 76°, it had 21° 2' declination, the latitude came to be 7° 2'.

On the 7th, I took the sun in 76⅔°, it had 20° 50'


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82 them in through the kitchen in case the minister should be on the front porch and so spare Aunt Polly's company the sight of such a forlorn procession. But, just as they rounded the back of the house, they met Aunt Polly showing the minister and his wife her kitchen garden.

"Twaddles!" gasped poor Aunt Polly, for Twaddles was ahead.

"We—we—we were learning to milk," said Meg apologetically.

The minister and his wife took one look at the four, and then they sat down on the back doorstep and laughed and laughed. After a minute Aunt Polly joined them, and then the children and Jud began to giggle.

"Hurry and get into something clean," commanded Aunt Polly, wiping her eyes. "Linda is just putting supper on the table. I don't care what you put on, as long as it is clean. I spent an hour dressing you, and now see the result."

The four little Blossoms made haste to scurry into clean suits and dresses, and in a short time were ready to come downstairs and meet the minister and his wife properly.


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Rh "To-morrow morning," said Bobby, as Aunt Polly put out the light and kissed them good-night, "we must go and hunt for the raft."

But in the morning Peter Apgar rattled up to the door while they were still at the breakfast table, with Jerry and Terry harnessed to an empty wagon.

"Anybody here want to go over to the mill with me?" he called loudly.

Of course the four children were wild to go, and Aunt Polly said that she was sure Peter had room for every one.

"Take good care of them, Peter," she said, following them down to the gate.

"I will," promised Peter. "I've got an old quilt spread down in the bottom for them to sit on. If the jolting tires 'em two can sit up with me, taking turns."

Spotty wagged his tail as they drove off, but he would not follow the wagon. He knew it was his place to stay and take care of Aunt Polly.

The mill was about four miles from Brookside, and the children enjoyed the drive intensely. Good-natured Peter allowed each one


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84 to "drive," holding the reins carefully as he told them, "Because," said Peter seriously, "even if you're only learning, you might as well begin right."

When they reached the mill, Jerry and Terry were tied to a post and Peter and the children went inside. Bobby was rather disappointed with the outside of the mill; he had expected it to look like the mills he saw in pictures, with great wide sails flattened against the sky.

"Electric power runs this mill," Peter explained when Bobby asked where the sails were. "You'll find plenty to see inside."

A short, stout man in a dusty white coat met them, and Peter gave him his order.

"I've some little folks from down the state a way with me," Peter told the man. "Guess you can show 'em round the mill a bit this morning?"

"I should say so!" was the hearty answer. "Come along, everybody, and we'll see just how grain is milled."

It was not a real flour mill. That is, not one of the great mills that turn millions of bushels


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Rh of wheat into flour; but it did grind buckwheat for the farmers and made coarse flour and feed for their stock, cracked corn for poultry and so on. The four little Blossoms saw much to interest them, but the great round stones that ground the grains and the arrangements for sifting the dust and chaff from the grain interested them the most.

"It must be fun to be a miller!" said Bobby, when they were ready to go and the noon whistle blew and the big stones stopped turning as the power was shut off. "Maybe when I grow up I'll run a mill."

Rattling home in the big wagon with two sacks of "middlings" in the back with them, Twaddles and Dot decided that they, too, would have a mill some day.


text: Four Little Blossoms at Brookside Farm/Chapter 8


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IGHT after dinner the four children started to hunt for the lost raft.

"It must have gone down the brook," argued Bobby, as they walked along. "Jud says things always float with the current. So we'll start on Mr. Simmond's land and walk slow."

They scrambled under the line fence, and Dot only tore one of the ruffles off her frock. They went on and on.

"We're almost to the woods," said Meg, as they dropped down under a ragged buttonwood tree to rest. "Where do you suppose the brook goes? Wouldn't it be fun to follow it through the woods and see what's on the other side!"

The four little Blossoms thought this would be great fun. They had not been in the woods yet, though Jud and Linda had promised to take them some day and Aunt Polly said it was the nicest kind of a place for picnics.

The children stood up, and shaded their eyes


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Rh with their hands. They could just see the eaves of the barn and the chimneys of Aunt Polly's house and the Apgar house. The brook twisted and turned so often, they had really walked further than they guessed.

"I'll bet it's dark in the woods," said Twaddles, marching ahead. "Maybe there's bears and things in there."

"Now don't begin and scare Dot," admonished Bobby. "Let's take hold of hands. My, isn't it nice and cool!"

They stepped from the sunny glare of the brook pasture into the cool, dark, rustly stillness of the beautiful woods. A chipmunk ran across their path, and tall ferns grew higher than their heads on either side of the brook.

Almost unconsciously the children left the brook and struck off into a pretty path that was laid with stepping stones and led up a slight hill. They saw two rabbits and heard gray squirrels chattering in the trees overhead. One squirrel came down and stared gravely at them.

"Isn't he pretty?" said Meg. "I wish he'd let me pat him."


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88 A shriek from Dot startled them all.

"I saw a snake!" she cried, running to Meg. "A horrid, nasty little green one. And now I've lost my flowers!"

Sure enough, the bouquet she had been picking was scattered in all directions.

"Don't you care," Meg comforted her. "It was only a baby water snake. Aunt Polly told Mother that's the only kind that lives round here. Honestly, snakes are all right, Dot. Lots of people don't mind 'em a bit."

"Well, I do," said Dot decidedly. "They wiggle so. Let's go home anyway."

"I think we'd better," announced Bobby. "I don't know what time it is, but I guess there's no use looking for the raft any more."

"The raft?" echoed Meg. "Oh Bobby, where is the brook?"

Bobby grinned a little sheepishly.

"We forgot about the raft, didn't we?" he said. "Let's see—we came down that path—the brook must be over there. Come on, Dot, we're going home."

Dot sat down on the ground and began to cry.


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Rh "I don't want to be lost," she wailed. "I'm hungry, and my feet hurt! And I'm so tired!"

Meg put her arms around her sister.

"Don't cry," she urged her bravely. "We're not lost, are we, Bobby?"

Bobby and Meg, as the two older, felt that they must keep the twins from becoming discouraged.

"Course we're not lost," asserted Bobby stoutly.

"Course not," echoed Meg. "I think the brook is right past those three big trees. Come on, Dot, let's run and see who gets there first."

Dot allowed herself to be pulled to her feet.

"I'll count for you," said Bobby, glad to see her stop crying. "One—two—three—go!"

Away went Meg and Dot. Meg had intended to let Dot win, because she was so much smaller she couldn't be expected to run as well as her older sister. But Meg's good intentions came to nothing. Dot had an unfortunate habit of shutting her eyes tight when she ran, and the woods, of all places, are where it pays to keep one's eyes wide open. Poor Dot, running over


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88 He took the measure of all the prisoners with a watchful, distrustful, and savage gaze. But they looked at him without a word, seriously and even with evident compassion. Again he showed his teeth, and slapped Werner several times on the knee.

"So that is how it is, sir! As they say in the song:

"Why do you call me sir, when all of us . . ."

"You are right!" acquiesced the Tzigane, with satisfaction. "Why should you be sir, since you are to be hanged beside me? There sits the real sir!"

He pointed his finger at the silent policeman.

"And your comrade yonder, he doesn't seem to be enjoying himself hugely!" he added, looking at Vasily. "Say there, you are afraid?"

"No!" answered a tongue that moved with difficulty.

"Well, then, don't be so disturbed; there is nothing to be ashamed of. It is only dogs that wag their tails and show their teeth when they are going to be hanged; you are a man. And this marionette, who is he? He certainly is not one of your crowd?"

His eyes danced incessantly; constantly, with a hissing sound, he spat out his abundant and sweetish saliva. Yanson, doubled up motionless in a corner, slightly shook the ears of his bald fur cap, but said nothing. Werner answered for him.

"He killed his employer."


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148 stubborn defence of his gold are Teutonic. The humour and the banter are more distinctly German, and nobly German is the relationship of trust and honour between Walter and the maiden who is fleeing with him. Yet the story does not revolve around the woman in it, but rather around the shrewdly got and bravely guarded treasure.

German traits obvious in the Hildebrandslied, and strong through the Latin of the Waltarius, evince themselves in the epic of the Nibelungenlied and in the Kudrun, often called its companion piece. The former holds the strength of German manhood and the power of German hate, with the edged energy of speech accompanying it. In the latter, German womanhood is at its best. Both poems, in their extant form, belong to the middle or latter part of the twelfth century, and are not unaffected by influences which were not native German.

The Nibelungenlied is but dimly reminiscent of any bygone love between Siegfried and Brunhilde, and carries within its own narrative a sufficient explanation of Brunhilde's jealous anger and Siegfried's death. Kriemhild is left to nurse the wrath which shall never cease to devise vengeance for her husband's murderers. Years afterwards, Hagen warns Gunther, about to accept Etzel's invitation, that Kriemhild is lancraeche (long vengeful). The course of that vengeance is told with power; for the constructive soul of a race contributed to this Volksepos. The actors in the tragedy are strikingly drawn and contrasted, and are lifted in true epic fashion above the common stature by intensity of feeling and the power of will to realize through unswerving action the prompting of their natures. The fatefulness of the tale is true to tragic reality, in which the far results of an ill deed involve the innocent with the guilty.

A comparison of the poem with the Hildebrandslied shows that the sense of the pathetic had deepened in the intervening centuries. There is scarcely any pathos in the earlier composition, although its subject is the fatal combat between father and son. But the Nibelungen, with a fiercer hate, can set forth the heroic pathos of the lot of one, who, struggling between fealties, is driven on to dishonour and to death. This is the pathos of the death of Rüdiger, who had

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90 the uneven ground with her eyes closed, crashed headlong into a wild blackberry bush.

"Oh, ow!" she wailed shrilly. "Meg, Meg! Ow!"

Her face and hands were scratched and bleeding and her dress was badly torn by the time Meg and Bobby got her free from the prickly bush.

"I won't go," sobbed the unfortunate child, rubbing her smarting face. "I'll lie down in the grass and the birds can cover me with leaves. Nasty old woods!"

"But you'll have to come," urged Bobby. "I don't b'lieve it's much further, Dot. Come on."

"Then I'll take off my shoes and stockings," said Dot.

"Her feet are all puffed up," said Meg, unbuttoning the little tan shoes. "Poor sister! But you can't go barefoot through here—the stones and things are too sharp."

"They'll cut you," said Twaddles, who was watching anxiously.

"Let's make a chair with our hands and carry her," suggested Bobby.


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Rh So Meg and Bobby joined hands and managed to start off comfortably, carrying Dot.

Twaddles looked at them anxiously.

"It's getting dark," he quavered.

It was, too, a shadowy gray dusk there in the woods.

"I guess it's only 'cause there's so many trees," said Meg cheerfully. "It can't be dark out in the fields yet. I don't believe Jud has even started to milk."

They took up Dot again and went ahead, but it grew more and more difficult to follow the path.

"Here's where we were when you stopped to get your breath," declared Twaddles positively as they came into an open space. "I 'member that rotten log on the ground."

It was true. They had been walking in a circle!

"What's that?" cried Meg, starting up in sudden fright.

The twins clung to her, hiding their faces in her skirt.


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92 "I saw something move—over there in those bushes," whispered Bobby.

"Is it—a—a bear?" asked Meg softly.

But Dot heard her.

"It's a bear!" she shrieked. "Twaddles, Meg, Bobby, come quick! It's a bear!"

Something bounded out of the bushes and leaped upon them with shrill, sharp barks.

"Spotty!" chorused the children. "You dear, darling old Spotty! Where did you come from?"

Spotty was apparently as glad to see them, and in his way tried to tell them so. He jumped up and down, barked excitedly and licked their hands and faces over and over.

"Say, I'll bet you Spotty knows the way home!" Bobby jumped to his feet as this thought came to him. "Spotty, show us the way home, that's a good dog. Home, Spotty!"

Spotty wagged his tail heartily and barked once. Then he rushed a little way ahead and turned to look at the children.

"Come on," he seemed to say.

"He does know," agreed Meg excitedly.


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Rh "Put your shoes on, Dot. All take hold of hands and hurry!"

They were in such haste they put the left shoe on Dot's right foot and the right one on her left, but she never even noticed it. Taking hold of hands, the four little Blossoms scurried through the dark woods, for it was pitch dark now, after Spotty. The dog kept just a little way ahead, and now and then he barked as if to tell them that everything was all right.

It was not easy walking in the dark, and they tripped and stumbled over tree roots and unsuspected stones. But at last they came out into the open. The stars were shining overhead, and it was night.

"Where are we?" asked Meg in wonder, "This isn't the brook pasture."

"I see the gate light!" cried Bobby suddenly.


text: Four Little Blossoms at Brookside Farm/Chapter 9


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URE enough, ahead of them twinkled the pretty ornamental light that Aunt Polly had lighted on dark nights to show where the driveway went through the gates.

"We're in back of the house!" cried Meg. "See, that's the kitchen window where the white curtain is. Don't things look different at night?"

"Hello! Hello!" came Jud's clear call. "Bobby, Meg, is that you?"

Then as Bobby answered him, they heard Jud shouting:

"All right, folks, they've come. I told you they were all right."

Peter and Jud and a neighbor's boy came running toward the children, swinging lanterns, and followed by Mrs. Peter Apgar and Aunt Polly and Linda. Such a time as there was, and such a hugging and kissing and explaining!

"When you didn't come home to supper, I


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Rh "My God!" exclaimed the Tzigane, in astonishment. "How is it that they permit such birds as that to kill people?"

For a moment he looked at Musya stealthily; then suddenly he turned, and fixed his straight and piercing gaze upon her.

"Miss! Say there, Miss! what is the matter with you? Your cheeks are pink, and you are laughing! Look, she is really laughing! Look! Look!" And he seized Werner's knee with his hooked fingers.

Blushing and somewhat confused, Musya squarely returned the gaze of the attentive and savage eyes that questioned her. All kept silence.

The little cars bounced speedily along the narrow track. At every turn or grade-crossing the whistle blew, the engineer being afraid of crushing somebody. Was it not atrocious to think that so much care and effort, in short all human activity, was being expended in taking men to be hanged? The maddest thing in the world was being done with an air of simplicity and reasonableness. Cars were running; people were sitting in them as usual, travelling as people ordinarily travel. Then there would be a halt as usual: "Five minutes' stop."

And then would come death—eternity—the great mystery.


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Rh to worry," said dear Aunt Polly, carrying Dot, big girl as she was. Peter had picked up Meg, and Jud had shouldered Twaddles, while Bobby kept running beside them.

"You must be starved," was Linda's greeting. "We've got fried chicken and currant jelly, too."

And though it was late, Aunt Polly was sure that fried chicken would hurt no one, and while the hungry Blossoms ate, she sat by and listened to what had happened to them in the woods.

"Why, darlings," she cried over and over, "Auntie will buy you other books and toys, but I couldn't possibly buy your mother other children if anything happened to you. Look at Dot's feet; the poor child must have walked miles. And her face and hands are terribly scratched."

Directly after supper the tired children were ready for bed, and Linda and Aunt Polly undressed them and bathed the sore little feet and put soothing cold cream on sunburned, scratched little faces.

The summer weeks flew merrily by, and when


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96 a rainy afternoon came and Aunt Polly suggested that the children should write to their father and mother, the Blossoms discovered that they really had a good deal to tell.

"I'll begin, 'cause I'm the oldest and I can write in pencil," said Bobby. "Then Meg can print, and I'll write what Dot and Twaddles tell me to. I guess they will like that kind of letter."

Aunt Polly thought so, too, and she gave Bobby her own pretty mahogany "secretary" that was ever so old a desk, to write at.

Bobby put his tongue in his cheek and worked hard for fifteen minutes. Then he was ready to read aloud.

"'Dear Daddy and Mother:'" he read. "'We thought you would like to hear from us. Last week Peter was haying and Meg and I helped him make loads. Meg drove into the barn all by herself. It is fun to see them unload the hay, because they have a thing they call a hayfork that comes down and takes up big handfuls and carries it up to the mow. I can almost milk.


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(　79　)

Then he wi' speed did yoke his plough, Which by a gaud was driven, jo. And when he was between the stilts, He thought he was in heaven, jo. But the foremost ox fell in the fur, The tither twa did flounder, jo, The ploughman lad he breathless grew, In troth it was nae wonder, jo.

But sic a risk below a hill, The plough she took a stane, jo. Which gart the fire flee frae the stock. The ploughman gaed a grane, jo.

I hae plough'd east, I hae plough'd west. In weather foul and fair, jo, But the sairest ploughing e'er I plough'd, Was ploughing amang hair, jo.

Sing up wi't a', and in wi't a', And hey my merry ploughman, O' a' the trades and crafts I ken, Commend me to the ploughman.

title: Page:Merry Muses of Caledonia.djvu/85


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Rh The twins are very good most of the time. Your loving son, Robert Hayward Blossom.'"

"Will they know that's from you?" asked Meg doubtfully, slipping into the chair at the desk and taking up the pencil to print her letter, "You never call yourself Robert."

"I guess I know how to write a letter," Bobby informed her with dignity. "You always sign your real names to letters, don't you, Aunt Polly?"

"Yes, indeed, dear," said Aunt Polly, who was doing something to a pair of overalls.

Meg printed slowly and carefully, and soon her letter was ready to be read aloud.

"'Dear Daddy and Mother.'" she began proudly. "'We hope you are well. We are. Dot most wasn't, but I took care of her. She went out to the barn to hunt for eggs, and the turkey gobbler saw her. He thought she was carrying corn in the basket. He chased her and she ran. I heard her crying and I ran down to the barn. She was backed up into a corner and he was making noises at her. He is awful big,


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630 the Goods which were of their said Lords and Masters, at the Time of their Death, and the fame distributed amongst them, to the Impediment of the Execution of the Will of their said Lords and Masters, and to the great Displeasure of, and also contrary to the Duty and Truth which they ought to have had towards their said Lords and Masters, and to a perilous Example in Time to come, unless due Remedy in this Behalf be provided. (2) Wherefore the same Lord the King, by the Advice, Assent, and Authority aforesaid, hath ordained and established. That after full Information made to the Chancellor of England for the time being, by the Executors of any such Lord or Person, or two of the said Executors, of such Riot, Taking, and Spoil made, or hereafter to be made, by the Houshold-Servants of their or his said Testator after his Death, the same Chancellor, by the Advice of the Chief Justices of the King's Bench, and of the Common Bench, and Chief Baron of the Exchequer for the time being, or two of them, vhall have Power to make so many, and such Writs, to be directed to such Sheriffs by their Discretion, as to them in this Behalf shall seem necessary, to make open Proclamation in such Cities, Boroughs, Towns, or Places, two Market-Days within Twelve Days next after the Delivery of the same Writs, as to the same Chancellor, by the Advice aforesaid, shall seem reasonable. That the said Offenders shall appear before the same our Lord the King, or his Heirs, in his Bench, at vuch a Day as by the said Writ shall be limited, so that the said last: Proclamation be made by Fifteen Days before the same Day of Appearance ; (3) and if any vuch Writ be returned at the Day contained in the said Writ, and the Writ be executed, that Proclamation is thereupon had and made occording to the said Ordinance, and then if the said Person or Persons, which should appear by reason of the said Proclamation, make Default at the Day specified in the said Writ, and do not appear, then he or they so making Default shall be attainted of Felony.'

 minorum & magistrorum tempore mortis eorundem violenter & riotose ceperunt dispoliaverunt & ea inter se distribuerunt in executionis voluntatis dictorum dominorum & magistrorum suorum impedimentum ac gravem Dei displicentiam nec non contra fidem & veritatem quas ipsi penes dominos & magistros suos habere debuislent exemplumque imposterum valde periculosum nisi debitum in ea parte provideatur remedium. Quamobrem idemdominus Rex de avisamento avsensu & aucloritate predictis ordinavit & stabilivit quod post plenam informationem Cancellario Anglic pro tempore existenti per executores aliquorum hujusmodi dominorum sive persone aut duos eorundem executorum factam de aliqua hujusmodi riota captura & dispoliatione factis aut imposterum faciendis per familiares servientes dicti testatoris sui post mortem suam idem Cancellarius de avisamento Capitalium Justiciariorum de Banco ipsuis Domini Regis & de communi Banco ac Capitalis Baronis Scaccarii pro tempore existentis aut duorum eorum habeat potestatem faciendi tot & talia brevia dirigenda talibus vicecornitibus per eorum discretionem quot & qualia eis in ea parte videbuntur necessaria ad faciend' publicam proclamationem in talibus civitatibus burgis sive villis duobus diebus mercatoriis infra duodecim dies prox' post deliberationem eorundem brevium quibus idem Cancellario de avisamento predicto videbitur rationabile quod dicti malefadlores compareant coram ipso Domino Rege seu heredibus suis in Banco suo ad talem diem qualis per dictum breve erit limitatus sic quod dicta ultima proclamatio per quindecim dies ante eundem diem apparitionis fiat. Et si aliquod hujusmodi breve retornatum sit ad diem in eodem brevi contentum & breve sit executum quod proclamatio superinde habita & facta ordinationi predicle concordans existat et tunc fi dicte persone vel persona que comparerent vel compareret ratione dicte proclamationis ad diem in dicto brevi specificatum defaltam faciant vel faciat & con compareant vel non compareat ipse vel ipsa defaltam sic facientes vel faciens sint vel sit attinct' de felonia. }}

II. And if any such Persons or Person do appear at the same Day, then the Justices of the said King's Bench shall have Power, by the said Ordinance, to commit such Person or Persons, so appearing, to Prison, there to remain according to the said Justices Discretion, until the said Offenders in the said Bench do answer to the said Executors in such Actions, which the said Executors will declare against them, or any of them, by Bill or by Writ, for the Riot, taking, and spoiling aforesaid, and that the same Actions be determined ; (2) so that the same Actions be purvued with Effect, and not slackly, to the Intent to keep the same Person or Pervons in Prison.'

Et si hujusmodi persone vel persona ad talem diem compareant vel compareat tunc Justiciarii de dicto Banco Domini Regis habeant potestatem per ordinaiionem predictam committendi talem pervonam vel personas sic comparentem vel comparentes privone ibidem juxta discretionem dictorum Justiciariorum moratur' quousque dicti malefactores in banco predicto presatis executoribus respondeant in talibus actionibus quales dicti executores versus ipvos seu aliquem ipvorum per billam vel per breve pro riota captura & dispoliatione predictis declarare volunt et quod eedem actiones sint determinate Ita quod actiones predicte prosequantur cum effectu & non remisve ea intentione ad dictas personas vel personam in prisona custodiend'.

III. And if such Persons or Person be set at Liberty out of Prison by the said Justices, that then the same Persons or Person shall find sufficient Persons to be bounden with them to the said executors, by way of Recognisance in the said Bench, by Discretion of the Justices, to keep such Days as he or they shall have by the same Court; (2) and if the KeepersEt si hujusmodi persone vel persona extra prisonam per dictos Justiciarios fuerint vel fuerit elargat' quod tunc cedem persone vel persona inveniant vel inveniat sufficientcs personas secum obligandas prefatis executoribus per viam recognitionis in dicto Banco per discretionem justitiariorum ad custodiend' tales dies quales ipsa vel ipse habebit vel habebunt per }} per


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98 but I am not afraid of him. I grabbed the broom Jud keeps to sweep the barn floor with and I chased that old gobbler clear into the orchard. We are going to pick berries to-morrow.'"

The twins had kept still as long as they could, and now it was their turn.

"Tell Mother 'bout the snake I saw this morning," said Twaddles. "Jud says it was a black snake after baby robins. It was on the grape arbor where there is a robin's nest. Jud killed it."

"Tell Daddy I weeded a whole onion row for Aunt Polly," begged Dot.

"Wait a minute, I have to sign my name," interrupted Meg.

And she signed it, "Margaret Alice Blossom," right in among the words of the twins' letters that Bobby was patiently writing.

The next day was very warm, and Aunt Polly thought they had better play in the orchard instead of picking berries, so they trooped out soon after breakfast, to find the orchard cool and shady.


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Rh "I wish I had my book that was drowned," mourned Meg. "I love to sit up in a tree and read."

"Well, I loved Geraldine better than Tottie-Fay," said Dot, giving the old doll a shake as she spoke.

"No use fussing," advised the sensible Bobby. "They're lost, and we mustn't let Aunt Polly hear us, 'cause she'll think she ought to go right off and buy us some more. I'm going to climb this tree. Who wants a ripe apple?"

"I do," and Meg jumped up. "Let me hold my apron and you throw 'em down, Bobby. Twaddles, stop teasing Spotty."

"I aren't teasing him," declared Twaddles indignantly. "I'm going to teach him to carry bundles."

Twaddles' method of teaching the patient Spotty was to sit down on him with feet spread wide apart and wait for the dog to shake him off.

Dot sat down quietly in the grass and began to make a bouquet of wild-flowers. It was Dot who always helped Aunt Polly weed and water


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(　74　)

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100 her flower garden, and Dot who liked to see fresh flowers on the dining-room table.

When Meg had her apron full of apples she sat down near Dot, and the four ate as many sweet summer apples as four small people could who had eaten breakfast less than an hour before.

"There's Poots," said Meg suddenly, glancing up and seeing the black cat picking her way through the grass. "Do you suppose she is hunting birds?"

Poots blinked her green eyes innocently. If she were after birds, she had no intention of catching any before an audience. She sat down and began to wash her face.

A mischievous idea seized Twaddles.

"Rats, Spotty!" he shouted. "Rats!"

Now rats sounds pretty much like "cats," and the excited and startled Spotty did not stop to question which word Twaddles had used. He jumped up, his ears pointing forward.

"Rats, sic 'em!" said bad little Twaddles. "Rats, Spotty!"

Spotty barked twice sharply. Poots arose, her fur bristling. Spotty leaped at her, barking


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Rh playfully. Away ran Poots, her black tail sticking straight up in the air. And after them raced the four little Blossoms, shouting and calling frantically.

Poots ran straight for the front wall and scrambled up it, leaving Spotty to bark wildly on the ground and make futile rushes at the solid wall he couldn't hope to climb. Some of the masonry was loose, and Poots, digging with her sharp claws, sent down a shower of dust into the dog's eyes. He whined, and dug at his eyes with both forepaws. Then he sneezed several times.

"You will chase me, will you?" Poots seemed to say, gazing down at him from her safe position. "The idea!"

"Well, we might as well pick up some of this stuff," said Twaddles, knowing that the fun was over.

"It's cooler—just feel that breeze!" exclaimed Meg. "Let's ask Aunt Polly if we can't go berrying after dinner."

Aunt Polly obligingly said they could, and after dinner the four little Blossoms scrambled


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(　120　)

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102 into overalls Aunt Polly had bought and shortened to fit them.

"I wish your mother could see you," she said, as she gave them each a bright tin pail. "No need to worry about your dress now, is there, Dot?"

"Going berrying?" asked Jud, as they passed him, clipping the green hedge around the kitchen garden. "Better keep out of the sun."

The children walked down the road and turned into another field. They knew where the blackberry bushes grew, and they meant to fill their pails.

"Let's start here by this fence," suggested Bobby. "What's that over in Mr. Simmond's field?"

"It's a bull," answered Meg who knew all the animals at Brookside and on the neighboring farms by this time. "He's as cross as can be, but he took three prizes at the last Fair."

Twaddles ate the first dozen berries he picked and then he picked another dozen for Dot's pail. He decided that larger and better berries grew on the other side of the fence. He crawled


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Rh and his shout of delight brought the others.

"You never saw such big ones!" cried Twaddles gleefully. "Meg, look!"

"They are big," agreed Meg. "Come on, Bobby, let's go on the other side. Mr. Simmonds won't care."

Dot was already under the fence, and Meg and Bobby stooped down and crawled under after her.

The four little figures in blue overalls began to pick industriously. The berries were thick and juicy, and the bottoms of the tin pails were covered in a few minutes. Meg had just stopped to pull a briar from her thumb when she heard a bellow behind her.

There stood the bull, in the middle of the field, his head down between his knees, his feet pawing the ground, and his angry eyes glaring at the berry pickers.

"Oh, Bobby! The bull!" gasped Meg. "Run, Dot and Twaddles!"


text: Four Little Blossoms at Brookside Farm/Chapter 10


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(　102　) Lochleven Castle heard the rair, An' Faulkland house the echo sounded; Highland Donald gae a stare. The lassie sigh'd, but was nae wounded.]

Tamie Tamson too was there, Maggie Birnie was his dearie. He pat it in amang the hair, An' puddled there till he was weary.

When e'enin' cam the town was thrang, An' beds were no to get for siller; When e'er they fand a want o' room, They lay in pairs like bread and butter.

Twa and twa they made the bed, An' twa an' twa they lay thegither; When they had na room enough, Ilk ane lap on aboon the tither.

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(　116　) '' King Solomon, prince o' divines, Wha proverbs made, an' a' that, Baith mistresses an' concubines. In hunders had, for a' that. For a' that an' a' that, Tho' a preacher wise, an' a' that, The smuttiest sang that e'er was sung, His "Sang o' Sangs" is a' that. Then still I swear, a clever chiel Should kiss a lass, an' a' that, Tho' priests consign him to the deil, As reprobate, an' a' that. For a' that, an' a' that. Their canting stuff, an' a' that. They ken nae mair wha's reprobate, Than you or I, for a' that. ''

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User talk:DeirdreAnne/oldws.js

We should consider whether this file should be in the Mediawiki namespace, and have we shared this with all the other WSes so they can achieve the same thing? — billinghurst  sDrewth  01:49, 9 April 2012 (UTC)
 * Sure, I was hoping the bug would get resolved and we could forget about this workaround but it's probably better to move it. I'll just do it, it would be a better place and it should remain a separate page (as should much of what's in the css now, in my opinion).
 * As for sharing it, it's been discussed on mul.ws and is in use I think on la.ws but I haven't specifically mentioned it to anyone else that I recall. Probably should push it out on the mailing list, huh?
 * --Doug.(talk • contribs) 07:40, 9 April 2012 (UTC)

✅ I didn't move this talk page as I used MediaWiki talk:Multilingual-link.js for the documentation. It can be merged into the bottom of the documentation if you see any need.--Doug.(talk • contribs) 10:07, 9 April 2012 (UTC)

title: User talk:DeirdreAnne/oldws.js


text: Studies of a Biographer/Gibbon's Autobiography


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90

train advanced rapidly.

Sergey Golovin remembered to have spent the summer, some years before, in a little country-house along this very line. He had often travelled the road by day and by night, and knew it well. Closing his eyes, he could fancy himself returning by the last train, after staying out late at night with friends.

"I shall arrive soon," thought he, straightening up: and his eyes met the dark grated window. Around him nothing stirred. Only the Tzigane kept on spitting, and his eyes ran the length of the car, seeming to touch the doors and the soldiers.

"It is cold," said Vasily Kashirin between his thin lips, which seemed frozen.

Tanya Kovalchuk bestirred herself in a maternal fashion:

"Here's a very warm kerchief to wrap around your . . ."

"Neck?" asked Sergey, and he was frightened by his own question.

"What matters it, Vasya? Take it."

"Wrap yourself up. You will be warmer," added Werner.

He turned to Yanson, and asked him tenderly:


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(　131　)

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 very ambitious man, and that he was without a particle of ambition; that he was one of the saddest men that ever lived, and that he was one of the jolliest men that ever lived; that he was very religious, but that he was not a Christian; that he was a Christian, but did not know it; that he was so far from being a religious man or Christian that the least said on that subject the better; that he was the most cunning man in America, and that he had not a particle of cunning in him; that he had the strongest personal attachments, and that he had no personal attachments at all, only a general good feeling toward everybody; that he was a man of indomitable will, and that he was a man almost without a will; that he was a tyrant, and that he was the softest-hearted, most brotherly man that ever lived; that he was remarkable for his pure-mindedness, and that he was the foulest in his jests and stories of any man in the country; that he was the wittiest man, and that he was only a retailer of the wit of others; that his apparent candor and fairness were only apparent, and that they were as real as his head and his hands; that he was a boor, and that he was in all essential respects a gentleman; that he was a leader of the people, and that he was always led by the people; that he was cool and impassive, and that he was susceptible of the strongest passions."

Now it seems to us, with all deference to the opinions of others, that any man who could play the chameleon and present to the world such contrasts and contradictions of character as are here described must be singularly devoid of the finest ingredients which are essential to real greatness, viz: unwavering and steadfast devotion to principle and to duty and that uniform bearing towards his fellow-man which can only lift those who have these characteristics into the atmosphere of true greatness.

Another of Mr. Lincoln's friends, a brother lawyer, having been asked to describe him, says:

"My opinion of him was formed by a personal and professional acquaintance of over ten years, and has not been altered or influenced by any of his promotions in public life. The adulations by base multitudes of a living, and the pageantry surrounding a dead President, do not shake my well-settled convictions of the man's mental calibre. Phrenologically and physiologically, the man was a sort of monstrosity. His frame was large, bony and muscular; his head was small and disproportionately shaped; he had large, square jaws; a large, heavy nose; a small, lascivious mouth; soft, tender, bluish eyes. I would say he was a cross between Venus and Hercules. I


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Rh "And aren't you cold, too?"

"Werner, perhaps he wants to smoke. Comrade, do you want to smoke?" asked Musya. "We have some tobacco."

"Yes, I want to."

"Give him a cigarette, Sergey," said Werner.

But Sergey was already holding out his cigarette-case.

And all began to watch tenderly Yanson's clumsy fingers as they took the cigarette and struck the match, and the little curl of bluish smoke that issued from his mouth.

"Thank you," said Yanson. "It is good."

"How queer it is," said Sergey.

"How queer what is?" asked Werner.

"The cigarette," answered Sergey, unwilling to say all that he thought.

Yanson held the cigarette between his pale and living fingers. With astonishment he looked at it. And all fixed their gaze on this tiny bit of paper, on this little curl of smoke rising from the gray ashes.

The cigarette went out.

"It is out," said Tanya.

"Yes, it is out."

"The devil take it!" said Werner, looking anxiously at Yanson, whose hand, holding the cigarette, hung as if dead. Suddenly the Tzigane turned, placed his face close to Werner's, and, looking into the whites of his eyes, whispered:

"Suppose, sir, we were to attack the soldiers of the convoy? What do you think about it?"

"No," answered Werner.


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We, therefore, come now to consider some of the things (because we can only refer to a few of them) which Mr. Lincoln did in bringing on, and in the conduct of, that war.

When Mr. Lincoln was inaugurated as President of the United States on the 4th of March, 1861, he took an oath to support the Constitution of the United States. Says one of his most ardent admirers, McClure:

"As the sworn executive of the nation, it was his duty to obey the Constitution in all its provisions, and ho accepted that duty without reservation."

In his first inaugural, Mr. Lincoln said: "I have no purpose, directly or indirectly, to interfere with the institution of slavery in the States where it exists. I believe I have no lawful right to do so, and I have no inclination to do so." And yet we know that within eighteen months from that time he issued his Emancipation Proclamation.

As to this proclamation, it is worthy of remark, that it is claimed to have been issued by virtue of some kind of "war power" vested in the President by the Constitution and laws. The Northern historian Rhodes, Vol. 4, p.213, says:

"There was, as every one knows, no authority for the proclamation in the letter of the Constitution, nor was there any-statute that warranted it."

Let us ask, then, where did Mr. Lincoln find any authority to issue it? Certainly not in the Constitution. For, says the Supreme Court of the United States in Ex parte Milligan, 4 Wallace 120:

"The Constitution of the United States is a law for rulers and people equally in war and in peace, and covers with the shield of its protection all classes of men at all times and under all circumstances. No doctrine involving more pernicious consequences was ever invented by the wit of man than that any of its provisions can be suspended during any of the great


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92 "Why? It is better to die fighting. I will strike a blow, they strike back, and I shall die without noticing it."

"No, it is not necessary," said Werner. And he turned to Yanson:

"Why don't you smoke?"

Yanson's dried-up face wrinkled pitifully, as if someone had pulled the threads that moved the creases in his face. As in a nightmare, Yanson sobbed in a colorless voice, shedding no tears:

"I can't smoke. Ah! Ah! Ah! I must not be hanged. Ah! Ah! Ah!"

Everybody turned toward him. Tanya, weeping copiously, stroked his arms and readjusted his fur cap.

"My dear, my friend, don't cry, my friend! My poor friend!"

Suddenly the cars bumped into one another and began to slow up. The prisoners rose, but immediately sat down again.

"Here we are," said Sergey.

It was as if all the air had suddenly been pumped out of the car. It became difficult to breathe. Their swollen hearts became heavy in their breasts, rose to their throats, beat desperately and their blood, in its terror, seemed to revolt. Their eyes looked at the trembling floor, their ears listened to the slowly-turning wheels, which began to turn more slowly still, and gently stopped.

The train halted.

The prisoners were plunged into a strange stupor. They did not suffer. They seemed to live an unconscious life.


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  of [q. v.] the engraver. There MacCulloch remained about two years, colouring plates for Dr. Lizars's ‘Anatomy’ and Selby's ‘Ornithology.’ Returning to Glasgow, he commenced sketching out of doors at the Campsie Hills, on the banks of the Clyde, and in Cadzow Forest. In 1829 he began to exhibit at the Royal Scottish Academy, sending a ‘View on the Clyde,’ which was followed by other landscapes until 1834, when he was elected an associate. A large picture of ‘Cadzow Forest,’ which he exhibited in 1835, attracted much notice, and was highly praised by Professor Wilson. He became an academician in 1838, and then removed to Edinburgh, but many of his summers were spent in Skye, and he often lived for months at Oban. He was the first Scottish artist who carried his colours with him and worked his pictures into life and effect on the spot. He ranged over wide tracts of the highlands, penetrating into the wildest recesses of the mountains, but from time to time returning to the quieter inland lakes of Perthshire and Inverness-shire, or to the lowland rivers, fields, and woods. He became the most popular landscape painter of his day in Scotland, but his works are little known south of the Tweed, possibly because he exhibited once only, in 1844, at the Royal Academy in London. Among his larger works, some of the best are ‘A Scottish Strath,’ ‘Loch an Eilan,’ engraved by William Miller, ‘Loch Katrine,’ ‘Loch Achray,’ ‘Loch Corrinsk,’ ‘Kilchurn Castle,’ ‘Edinburgh from Dalmeny,’ ‘A Dream of the Highlands,’ ‘Misty Corries,’ ‘Glencoe,’ ‘Lord Macdonald's Deer Forest in Skye,’ and ‘Loch Maree.’ His ‘Inverlochy Castle,’ ‘Evening,’ and ‘A Lowland River’ are in the National Gallery of Scotland. The last named picture has been engraved by William Forrest.

MacCulloch died at St. Colm's, Trinity, Edinburgh, on 24 June 1867, and was buried in Warriston cemetery. Two portraits of him by Sir Daniel Macnee are in the National Gallery of Scotland.

McCULLOCH, JAMES (1819–1893), Australian politician, son of George McCulloch of Glasgow, was born there in 1819. He entered early the office of Messrs. Dennistoun & Co., who in 1853 sent him to Melbourne to open a branch of their business. The Adelaide, in which he sailed, took fire in the Bay of Biscay, and the passengers were exposed to great peril.

In 1854 McCulloch entered the then single chamber of Victoria as a nominee-member, and early in 1857 was elected for Wimmera to the first elective legislative assembly, where he took his seat at first on the cross benches. In April 1857 Sir John O'Shanassy's ministry fell, and McCulloch was invited to form a government—in which he did not take the position of premier, but the portfolio of trade and customs. In March 1858 he resigned. After a visit to England he was elected in the autumn of the same year for East Melbourne; and in October 1859 he accepted the post of treasurer in Sir W. Nicholson's administration, which held office for a year. He visited England again at the end of 1860, and was absent for most of the next two sessions. In 1862 he joined Mr. Sellar in founding, in succession to Dennistoun & Co., the business which bears their joint names, and the same year on his return to the colony he was again elected to the assembly for Mornington.

In June 1863 he formed a coalition with his old opponent Heales, and became for the first time premier of the colony, being chief secretary for a short time, and then for four sessions postmaster-general. This ministry was considered the strongest ever formed in Victoria up to that time; and it held office during times of peculiar excitement. It adopted the proposals of Mr. Treasurer Verdon for a moderate protective tariff, and came into collision with the free-trade legislative council, which threw out the supplies. In the next session the collision was repeated, and McCulloch appealed to the country. Coming back with a large majority in February 1866, he again came to a deadlock with the council and again resigned in May. The governor could get no one else to form a ministry, and on McCulloch's return to power a conference between the houses adjusted the difference for a time. The dispute was renewed owing to the intervention of the home government in the interest of the council. Sir Charles Darling was recalled on the ground of alleged partisanship with McCulloch's ministry, and McCulloch proposed to vote him 20,000l. as a compensation. The legislative council took the side of the crown, and a fierce struggle ensued. The dissolution of the house only sent back the government stronger than before; but the fresh intervention of the home government caused the resignation of McCulloch's ministry, and matters were only settled by the refusal of Sir C. Darling to accept the proffered grant.


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 quaintances, he married a Miss White, but not many weeks afterwards, while travelling with her in Cornwall, he was thrown from his carriage and sustained a compound fracture of the leg. It was amputated, and he sank after the operation, dying on 20 Aug. at the house of a friend, Captain Giddy, R.N., of Poltair, near Penzance. He was buried at Gulval, near that town.

Macculloch was a man of unwearied industry, and his knowledge included geology, mineralogy and chemistry, physics and mathematics, botany and zoology, even mechanics and architecture, besides, of course, medicine. He was something of a musician and of an artist. His writings are numerous. His minor scientific papers are seventy-nine in number, the majority being geological, but they also deal with such subjects as malaria, an indelible ink, the naturalisation of plants and animals—for instance, of marine fishes in fresh water—how crabs part with their claws, Greek fire, and the use of lights or fires in fisheries. They appeared chiefly in the ‘Quarterly Journal of Science,’ the ‘Edinburgh Journal of Science,’ the ‘Edinburgh Philosophical Journal,’ and the ‘Transactions of the Geological Society of London.’ To the last he contributed nineteen papers, some of them of considerable length; the majority dealt with the geology of Scotland, and that on the ‘Parallel Roads of Glenroy’ is the first careful account of these remarkable terraces. Macculloch regarded them as lacustrine, not marine; but as a dam of glacier ice had not been then devised, he was obviously puzzled to account for the absence of any traces of a barrier at the end of the supposed lake.

The following are the more important of his larger works: 1. ‘A Description of the Western Isles of Scotland, including the Isle of Man,’ 3 vols. 8vo, with an atlas in 4to, 1819. 2. ‘A Geological Classification of Rocks,’ 1821. 3. ‘On the Art of Making Wine,’ 1821; 4th ed. 1829. 4. ‘Highlands and Western Isles of Scotland,’ a general account of the country, in the form of a series of letters to Sir Walter Scott, 4 vols. 1824. 5. ‘Malaria, an Essay on the Production and Propagation of this Poison,’ &c., 1827. 6. ‘Essay on the Intermittent and Remittent Diseases,’ 2 vols. 1828; Philadelphia, 1830. 7. ‘A System of Geology, with a Theory of the Earth, and an Explanation of its Connection with the Sacred Records,’ 2 vols. 1831. 8. ‘Geological Map of Scotland, with a Memoir to H.M. Treasury,’ 1836. 9. ‘Proofs and Illustrations of the Attributes of God from the Facts and Laws of the Physical Universe,’ &c., 3 vols. 1837. The last was a posthumous work, published in accordance with directions left by him, for it had been completed in 1830, but held back because of the appearance of the ‘Bridgewater Treatises.’ The ‘Geological Map of Scotland’ was also published a few months after his death.

Some pungent remarks in the first and fourth of these works on the procrastination, slovenly habits, and other defects of the sea-coast Celts excited vehement indignation, which was expressed in print by Dr. John Brown in a vituperative book (cf. Gent. Mag. 20 Aug. 1835). Sir Charles Lyell, who first met Macculloch about 1825, speaking from the chair of the Geological Society, bears a less grudging testimony to Macculloch's talents. ‘The influence exerted by them [his writings] on the progress of our science has been powerful and lasting, yet they have been less generally admired and studied than they deserve. Their popularity has been impaired by a want of condensation and clearness in the style, which none could more easily have remedied than the author, had he been willing to submit to the necessary labour.’ Lyell also complains that ‘a want of enthusiasm for his subject is perceptible, especially in his “System of Geology,” and a disposition to neglect or speak slightingly of the labours of others, and even to treat in a tone bordering on ridicule some entire departments of science connected with geology, such as the study of fossil conchology.’ Lyell attributed these imperfections to habitual ill-health acting on a sensitive mind, and to a fixed impression that his services in the cause of geology were underrated.

Macculloch's writings give the impression that he was a man of solitary habits, making but few friends, and somewhat trying (as is reported) those few: of a critical nature, keen at detecting an unsound argument or a vulnerable point in a position. Diffuse his style may be, but it is smooth and balanced, and not seldom Macculloch enlivens a narrative of plain facts or the course of a scientific argument by some touch of caustic humour or some sound philosophic maxim; he was also a skilful and adroit controversialist. Undoubtedly he did not fully appreciate the importance of palæontology. It was then a novel branch of investigation, and he was one of the old school of geologists who could not forget that ‘their father was a mineralogist.’ Of the solid value of his work there can be no question. He made mistakes, but in his days geology was almost in its infancy; and the generation which succeeded him, while professing to correct and improve his work, not once only went wrong where he had been right—chiefly owing to the want of his sound knowledge of mineralogy and his inductive


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 habit of thought. For instance, he duly appreciated the intrusive character of certain 'traps' in the Western Islands, the nature of the gabbros of the Cuchullin Hills, and the existence of three types of red sandstone in Scotland. The wide range of his observation as a traveler is well indicated by the sub-title of his 'Highlands and Western Isles of Scotland,' a book which provides the reader with excellent fare, if somewhat 'confused.' His 'Description of the Western Tales 'still remains among the classic works in geology. In fine, the period which has elapsed since Maccullock's death has fully justified the laudatory phrases with which Lyell concludes his obituary notice: 'As an original observer he yields to no other geologist of our own time, and is perhaps unrivalled In the wide range of subjects on which he displayed great talent and profound knowledge.'

The Royal Society possesses a portrait (in oils) of Macculloch, and the Geological Society a marble bust.  McCULLOCH, JOHN RAMSAY (1789–1864), statistician and political economist, born at Whithorn, Wigtownshire, on 1 March 1789, was eldest son of Edward McCulloch, laird of Auchengool, in the stewartry of Kirkcudbright, by Sarah, daughter of the Rev. James Laing, D.D., minister of the parish of Glasserton, Wigtownshire. His father dying while he was a mere child, he received the rudiments of knowledge from his grandfather. His mother married again, and removed to Kinross, where McCulloch went to school for some years, after which he studied at Edinburgh, attending the classes of Sir John Leslie [q. v.], who became his friend, and Dr. Thomas Brown, who gave him a distaste for metaphysics. He took no degree, entered, and soon quitted in disgust, the office of a writer to the signet, and devoted himself to the study of economics. His first publication was ‘An Essay on a Reduction of the Interest of the National Debt, proving that this is the only possible means of Relieving the Distresses of the Commercial and Agricultural Interests; and Establishing the Justice of that Measure on the Surest Principles of Political Economy,’ London, 1816, 8vo. McCulloch wrote the economical articles for the ‘Scotsman’ during the first ten years of its existence, 1817–27, and for two years 1818–20, acted as its editor. Between 1818 and 1828 he was a regular contributor to the ‘Edinburgh Review.’

McCulloch also lectured on political economy, and formed classes for its discussion both in Edinburgh and in London, where in 1824 he delivered the Ricardo Memorial Lectures, the substance of which did double duty as an article on ‘Political Economy’ in the supplement to the ‘Encyclopædia Britannica,’ and ‘A Discourse on the Rise, Progress, Peculiar Objects and Importance of Political Economy,’ Edinburgh, 1824, 1825, 8vo (French translation by Guillaume Prévost, Paris, 1825, 8vo). Expanded into a formal treatise, it reappeared as ‘The Principles of Political Economy: with a Sketch of the Rise and Progress of the Science,’ Edinburgh, 1825, 8vo (later editions, London, 1830; Edinburgh, 1843 and 1849, 8vo; popular reprints, London, 1870, 1878, and 1886, 8vo). For some years McCulloch continued his lectures at London, forming classes as at Edinburgh in connection with them, and succeeded in making the dismal science temporarily fashionable. Examined before the select committee on the state of Ireland in June 1825, he argued that absenteeism could not materially injure that country, because rent was ordinarily remitted through the medium of bills of exchange drawn against exports, a fallacy trenchantly exposed in ‘Blackwood,’ xix. 55 et seq. and xxiv. 758 (see his evidence in Parl. Papers, 1825, Reports from Committees, viii. 807 et seq.) In 1828 he accepted the chair of political economy at the newly founded university of London, now University College; the chair was unendowed, and McCulloch resigned it in 1832.

In an ‘Essay on the Circumstances which determine the Rate of Wages and the Condition of the Labouring Classes,’ Edinburgh, 1826, 12mo (later editions, London, 1851, 1854, 1868, 8vo), McCulloch expounded the celebrated ‘wages' fund theory,’ which, after being regarded as an impregnable position by one entire generation, was surrendered by the next almost without a struggle, on the first assault [see, 1827–1882]. In 1828 he published an edition of ‘The Wealth of Nations,’ with ‘a Life of the Author, an Introductory Discourse, Notes, and Supplemental Dissertations,’ Edinburgh, 4 vols. 8vo, which at once superseded all existing editions, and has been frequently reprinted (London, 1839, 1846, 1857, 1863, 8vo). To the ‘Library of Useful Knowledge’ he contributed in 1831 a ‘Treatise on the Principles, Practice, and History of Commerce,’ London, 8vo, which contained a powerful statement of the case for free trade.


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Talk:The Cross of Snow

Longfellow's poem was an extrordinary in its abillity to capture the emotional footprint a close death can cause. It was dark romanticism at its finest. A man lost his wife as her dress caught fire and she burned alive. While looking through a book he saw a picture of a mountain covered in snow that never melted. The snow ressembled the shape of a cross, and the man could only think of his lost wife and started writting a poem. The poem shows a romanticized tale of natures ruthless manhunt. He is truly able to show real emotions in writting.

title: Talk:The Cross of Snow


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, the latitude came to be 7½°, and the course was to S.W. Tuesday.

On the 8th of the month, I took the sun in 77½°, it had 20° 37' declination, and the latitude came to be 8° 7', the course was to S.W., and the day Wednesday, and this day we saw some islands, which lie East and West, and this day we entered between two of them, which are these, Lamaluco and Aliguom; between them are two little ones which you will leave on the right hand after entering the channel, they are inhabited; this channel lies N.E. S.W.¼ E.W., with Buro, and all these islands are ten in number, and they lie E.W.¼ N.E. S.W., and they have of longitude a matter of 50 leagues; we ran along them, with very bad weather from the South; we coasted them and anchored off the last, which is called Malua, which is in 8⅓°, the others are named Liaman, Maumana, Cui, Aliguim, Bona, Lamaluco, Ponon, Vera. We sailed from Malua and went to the South, and found the island of Timor, and we coasted the coast from east to west, on the north side of this island, which is in the latitude of 9°, and the nearest land on the north side, and this land will have 10 leagues journey, and this coast lies with Buro N.E. S.W.¼ N.S., in longitude of 197° 45', and of this island of Timor we coasted all the coast from east to west, as far as the village of Manvai; and first we came near the village of Queru, and from Queru to Manvai, the coast runs N.E. S.W. ¼ N.S., and here I took the sun on the 5th day of February, in 86⅔°, and it had 12° 44' declination, so that the latitude came to be 9° 24', and this island is very large and populous, and all the island has much sandal wood, and there are many towns in it.

On the 8th of February I took the sun in 87½°, and it had 11° 42' of declination, with which our distance came to be $9 1/6$°, and we were at the head of the island of Timor, at


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Rh Their corporeal being was absent; only its phantom moved about, voiceless but speaking, silent but walking. They went out. They arranged themselves in pairs, breathing in the fresh air of the woods. Like one in a dream, Yanson struggled awkwardly: they dragged him from the car.

"Are we to go on foot?" asked someone, almost gaily.

"It isn't far," answered a careless voice.

Without a word they advanced into the forest, along a damp and muddy road. Their feet slipped and sank into the snow, and their hands sometimes clung involuntarily to those of their comrades. Breathing with difficulty the soldiers marched in single file, on either side of the prisoners. An irritated voice complained:

"Could they not have cleared the road? It is difficult to advance."

A deferential voice answered:

"It was cleaned, Your Honour, but it is thawing. There is nothing to be done."

The prisoners began to recover their consciousness. Now they seemed to grasp the idea: "It is true, they could not clean the roads"; now it became obscured again, and there remained only the sense of smell, which perceived with singular keenness the strong and healthy odor of the forest; and now again all became very clear and comprehensible, the forest, and the night, and the road. . . and the certainty that very soon, in a minute, implacable death would lay its hands upon them. And little by little a whispering began.

"It is almost four o'clock."


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94 "I told you so. We started too early."

"The sun rises at five."

"That's right, at five: we should have waited."

They halted in the twilight. Near by, behind the trees, whose huge shadows were waving on the ground, swung silently two lanterns. There the gallows had been erected.

"I have lost one of my rubbers," said Sergey.

"Well?" asked Werner, not understanding.

"I have lost it. I am cold."

"Where is Vasily?"

"I don't know. There he is."

Vasily was standing close by them, gloomy and motionless.

"Where is Musya?"

"Here I am. Is that you, Werner?"

They looked at each other, their eyes avoiding the silent and terrible significant swaying of the lanterns. At the left the thin forest seemed to be growing lighter. And beyond, something vast and gray and flat appeared, whence came a moist breeze.

"That is the sea," said Sergey, sucking in the damp air. "That is the sea."

Musya answered by a line from the song:

"What did you say, Musya?"

"'My love as broad as is the sea,'" repeated Sergey, pensively.


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Rh "'My love as broad as is the sea,'" echoed Werner. And suddenly he exclaimed in astonishment:

"Musya, my little Musya, how young you still are!"

Just then, close to Werner's ear, sounded the breathless and passionate voice of the Tzigane:

"Sir, sir, look at the forest. My God! What is all that? And yonder! The lanterns! My God, is that the scaffold?"

Werner looked at him. The convulsed features of the unfortunate man were frightful to see.

"We must say our farewells," said Tanya.

"Wait! They still have to read the sentence. Where is Yanson?"

Yanson lay stretched in the snow, surrounded by people. A strong smell of ammonia filled the air around him.

"Well, doctor, will you soon be through?" asked someone, impatiently.

"It's nothing. A fainting fit. Rub his ears with snow. He is better already. You can read."

The light of a dark lantern fell upon the paper and the ungloved white hands. Both paper and hands trembled. The voice also.

"Gentlemen, perhaps it is better not to read. You all know the sentence."

"Do not read!" answered Werner for all; and the light immediately went out.

The condemned refused also the services of the priest. Said the Tzigane:

"No nonsense, father; you will forgive me, they will hang me."


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 PREFACE

HIS book, which is the outcome of many years of close research and careful study, was practically complete at the time of the author’s death, and he had intended its early publication. Some portions of the manuscript had been revised for printing, some of the chapters had received numerous additions and alterations in arrangement even until within a few days of his death, and others still needed their final revision. From time to time portions of the subject-matter of this work had formed the text for papers read before various archæological societies, notably the series of three papers on Anglo-Saxon London and its neighbourhood, published by the London and Middlesex Archæological Society. The editors’ task has been that of revising and editing the manuscript, and seeing the work through the press. The order of the chapters and the general scope and plan of the book are as the author left them. In discharging their task, the editors have made as few alterations as possible, and only such as they felt sure the author would have himself carried out; but the work necessarily suffers Rh


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vi from the lack of that final revision which the author alone could have given it. Every endeavour has been made to see that the information is as exact as possible, and most of the references have been verified. The index of place-names and the general index have been made by Blanche Shore, the author’s daughter.

2em


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96 The broad dark silhouette of the priest took a few steps backward and disappeared. The day was breaking. The snow became whiter, the faces of the condemned darker, and the forest barer and sadder.

"Gentlemen, you will go in pairs, choosing your companion. But I beg you to make haste."

Werner pointed to Yanson, who now was standing again, sustained by two soldiers.

"I will go with him. You, Sergey, take Vasily. You go first."

"All right."

"I am going with you, Musya," said Tanya. "Come, let us kiss each other!"

Quickly they kissed all round. The Tzigane kissed forcibly; they felt his teeth. Yanson kissed gently and softly, with mouth half open. He did not seem to understand what he was doing. When Sergey and Kashirin had taken a few steps, the latter stopped suddenly, and in a loud voice, which seemed strange and unfamiliar, shouted:

"Good-bye, comrades."

"Good-bye, comrade," they answered him.

The two started off again. All was quiet. The lanterns behind the trees became motionless. They expected to hear a cry, a voice, some sound or other, but there as here all was calm.

"Oh! My God!" exclaimed someone hoarsely.

They turned around: it was the Tzigane, crying desperately:

"They are going to hang us."


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Rh He struggled, clutching the air with his hands, and cried again:

"God! Am I to be hanged alone? My God!"

His convulsive hands gripped the hand of Werner, and he continued:

"Sir, my dear sir, my good sir. You will come with me, won't you?"

Werner, his face drawn with sorrow, answered:

"I cannot; I am with Yanson."

"Oh! My God! then I shall be alone. Why? Why?"

Musya took a step toward him, and said softly:

"I will go with you."

The Tzigane drew back, and fixed his big swollen eyes upon her:

"Will you?"

"Yes."

"But you are so little! You are not afraid of me? No, I don't want you to. I will go alone."

"But I am not afraid of you."

The Tzigane grinned.

"Don't you know that I am a brigand? And you are willing to go with me? Think a moment. I shall not be angry if you refuse."

Musya was silent. And in the faint light of the dawn her face seemed to take on a luminous and mystic pallor. Suddenly she advanced rapidly toward the Tzigane, and, taking his head in her hands, kissed him vigorously. He took her by the shoulders, put her away a little, and then kissed her loudly on her cheeks and eyes.


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98 The soldier nearest them stopped, opened his hands, and let his gun fall. But he did not stoop to pick it up. He stood still for a moment, then turned suddenly, and began to walk into the forest.

"Where are you going?" shouted his comrade, in a frightened voice. "Stay!"

But the other painfully endeavored to advance. Suddenly he clutched the air with his hands, and fell, face downward.

"Milksop, pick up your gun, or I will pick it up for you," cried the Tzigane, firmly. "You don't know your duty. Have you never seen a man die?"

Again the lantern swung. The turn of Werner and Yanson had come.

"Good-bye, sir!" said the Tzigane, in a loud voice. "We shall meet again in the other world. When you see me there, don't turn away from me."

"Good-bye!"

"I must not be hanged," said Yanson again, in a faint voice.

But Werner grasped his hand, and Yanson took a few steps. Then he was seen to sink into the snow. They bent over him, lifted him up, and carried him, while he weakly struggled in the soldiers' arms.

And again the yellow lanterns became motionless.

"And I, Musya? Am I then to go alone?" said Tanya, sadly. "We have lived together, and now . . ."

"Tanya, my good Tanya!"


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Rh The Tzigane hotly interrupted, holding Musya as if he feared that they might tear her from him.

"Miss," he cried, "you are able to go alone. You have a pure soul. You can go alone where you like. But I cannot. I am a bandit. I cannot go alone. 'Where are you going?' they will say to me, 'you who have killed, you who have stolen?' For I have stolen horses, too, Miss. And with her I shall be as if I were with an innocent child. Do you understand?"

"Yes, I understand. Go on then! Let me kiss you once more, Musya."

"Kiss each other! Kiss each other!" said the Tzigane. "You are women. You must say good-bye to each other."

Then came the turn of Musya and the Tzigane. The woman walked carefully, her feet slipping, lifting her skirts by force of habit. Holding her with a strong hand, and feeling the ground with his foot, the man accompanied her to death. The lights became motionless. Around Tanya all was tranquil again, and solitary. The soldiers, gray in the dawn's pale light, were silent.

"I am left alone," said Tanya. And she sighed. "Sergey is dead, Werner and Vasily are dead. And Musya is dying. I am alone. Soldiers, my little soldiers, you see, I am alone, alone . . ."

The sun appeared above the sea. . ..

They placed the bodies in boxes, and started off with them. With elongated necks, bulging eyes, and blue tongues protruding from their mouths, the dead retraced the road by which, living, they had come.


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100 And the snow was still soft, and the air of the forest was still pure and balmy.

On the white road lay the black rubber that Sergey had lost. . ..

Thus it was that men greeted the rising sun.


text:
Best Russian Short Stories/The Seven That Were Hanged

Les Sept Pendus Рассказ о семи повешенных (Андреев)


text:
Author:John Jortin

Works

 * Lusus poetici (1722)
 * Miscellaneous Observations on Authors Ancient and Modern, et al. (1731–2)
 * Remarks on Ecclesiastical History (1751–2–4), in 3 vols.
 * Life of Erasmus (1750, 1760), in 2 vols. (founded on the Life by Jean Le Clerc)
 * Tracts Philological Critical and Miscellaneous (1790)
 * Various Works (1805–1810)
 * Discourses Concerning the Truth of the Christian Religion and Remarks on Ecclesiastical History (1805), in 3 vols.

title: Author:John Jortin


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


text: Origin of the Anglo-Saxon Race/Chapter 1