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Rh

Members (who may be men or women) are elected by the rate-renter3rate-renters [sic] to serve on one or more departments, and the Chairmen and Vice-Chairmen of the departments constitute the Central Council.

Under such a constitution it is believed that the community would have the readiest means of rightly estimating the work of its servants, and, at election times, would have clear and distinct issues brought before it. The candidates would not be expected to specify their views upon a hundred and one questions of municipal policy upon which they had no definite opinions, and which would probably not give rise within their term of office to the necessity for recording their votes, but would simply state their views as to some special question or group of questions, a sound opinion upon which would be of urgent importance to the electors, because immediately connected with the welfare of the town.


text: Garden Cities of To-morrow/Chapter 4

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

title: Garden Cities of To-morrow/Chapter 4


text: Garden Cities of To-morrow/Chapter 5

title: Garden Cities of To-morrow/Chapter 5


text: Garden Cities of To-morrow/Chapter 6

title: Garden Cities of To-morrow/Chapter 6


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12 self—the supreme spiritual man with you. You thereby become larger and stronger in all the elements of your being, rising ever in the scale, gaining ground perpetually, and passing from victory to victory. What you desire you will receive because higher power is working through you, and as you ascend in the scale, there is nothing that you will not attain and accomplish.

The principal cause of failure among those who are trying to live in harmony with real truth, may be found in the general tendency to think of the outer person as the power that does things on the visible plane. But it is the interior man that gives the power, though the outer person is required to apply it. And the more thought we give to the interior man, the more life and power we bring forth from within.

The interior man is the man, created in the image and likeness of God; it is therefore evident that when you begin to live with the life and the power of the interior man, the expression of real greatness and real spirituality will begin. And from that moment you will not be limited to the power of the personal self; instead you will fill the personal self with that divine power from on high that is limitless, inexhaustible and invincible.

Fifth, live for a great purpose, and hold the central idea of that purpose constantly before mind. Do not live for the mere sake of prolonging existence; live for something


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Page:The Musical Times and Singing Class Circular, Vol. 26, No. 506 (Apr. 1, 1885), p. 221.djvu/1

 and listened to “Judas,” from the first to the last note, without giving signs of fatigue or impatience, as did all the hearers. No small compliment to pay to music more than a century old.

—We regret to announce the death of the eminent musical critic who, for nearly thirty-five years, wielded in his particular sphere, the power of the Times newspaper. The sad event took place at the York Hotel, Margate, on the 24th ult., in presence of his two sons, and his devoted brother, Mr. W. Duncan Davison. It was not wholly unexpected, Mr. Davison having been a sufferer, more or less, for a considerable period. A severe attack of illness set in about three weeks ago, and, although partial recovery took place, a relapse on the 21st ult. brought the fatal termination. The deceased gentleman was born in London in 1813, his father being a younger son of an ancient family long settled in Northumberland, and his mother the famous actress, Miss Duncan. For some time after attaining manhood, Mr. Davison settled to no particular pursuit, although both taste and talent pointed to a literary life. At last, however, he devoted himself to music, received lessons on the pianoforte from the still living Mr. W. H. Holmes; associated himself closely with Sterndale Bennett and George Macfarren, and became a composer, teacher, and occasional Concert-giver. Of his works, some among which were ambitious, his fine settings of Shelley's lyrics have survived to the present day, and will probably live on. Gradually Mr. Davison left the practice of music for the creation of its literature. He became a contributor to musical journals, and largely assisted the then critic of the Times, the late Mr. Charles Lamb Kenney; doing everything with so much force and brilliancy that his name soon became known. This led to a definite appointment on the Times, and to the requisition of his services by the Saturday Review, the Pall Mall Gazette, the Graphic and other papers, as well as the Musical World, which he edited for many long years.

Mr. Davison, whose love of his art was sincere and passionate, exercised a powerful influence throughout his career. He was a strong conservative, and could see little good in the new men and methods of our own day. On the other hand, no single person did more than he to familiarise our public with the classical Masters. To him we owe the idea of the Popular Concerts, and to his constant and enthusiastic advocacy is due much of the culture that has flowed from that enterprise. Several years prior to his death, Mr. Davison retired from active life. But he retained to the end the respect and affection of those who, having been admitted to his intimacy, knew his sterling worth.

announces that his season of English opera will commence at Drury Lane Theatre on Easter Monday, the 6th inst., and extend over eight weeks. The following novelties are promised:—“Nadesha,” a Romantic Opera, written expressly for the company by Goring Thomas, the principal parts being sustained by Madame Valleria and Mr. Barton McGuckin; Massenet's Opera “Manon” (English version by Joseph Bennett), with Madame Marie Roze and Mr. Joseph Maas in the prominent characters; and Boïto's “Mefistofele” (first time in English in London), Margaret and Helen of Troy, Madame Marie Roze; Faust, Mr. McGuckin, and Mefistofele, Mr. Ludwig; Mozart's “Marriage of Figaro” is to be revived, the Countess, Madame Georgina Burns; Susanna, Madame Marie Roze: Cherubino, Madame Valleria; Count Almaviva, Mr. Ludwig, and Figaro, Mr. Barrington Foote. Selections will be made from an extensive répertoire of works which have already been performed by the Carl Rosa Company. In addition to the vocalists named the list includes Madame Julia Gaylord, Miss Clara Perry, Miss Josephine Yorke, Miss Marion Burton, Messrs. B. Wilson, Charles Lyall, B. Davies, Sauvage, Walter Clifford, G. H. Snazelle, and Crotty. The Conductors are Mr. Alberto Randegger and Mr. E. Goossens, and the valuable services of Mr. Augustus Harris are secured for the mise-en-scène.

has issued an appeal to the lovers of German Opera in England for a Guarantee Fund, in order to reduce the risk of loss which might attend the giving of six performances of Wagner's “Tristan und Isolde” in June, or the first week in July, of the present year. It is intended that these representations shall take place in the following manner:—Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. This would be only one day more than a week, but would leave some days open as a break, which is thought to be desirable. It is stated that the artists will be of the highest order; the work will be given without any cuts, and there is to be a double company of vocalists, who will sustain the principal parts alternately. The guarantors are already so numerous as to justify the hope that the scheme can be carried out.

a meeting held in the Royal Academy of Music on February 28, it was resolved that a Scholarship in memory of the eminent vocalist, Madame Sainton-Dolby, who entered as a student of the Institution in 1834, and was elected King's Scholar in 1837, be forthwith endowed in the Academy; and that, in furtherance of this object, a subscription list be opened at the Bank of Messrs. Coutts and Co., and at the London and County Bank, Hanover Square. We have much pleasure in saying that the response to this appeal has already been most liberal; and the names of the donors sufficiently evidence how widely spread is the respect for the accomplished artist and amiable woman who has passed from amongst us.

prospectus of the Richter Concerts promises nine evening performances during the present season, commencing on the 27th inst., at St. James's Hall, under the directorship of Herr Hermann Franke; Leader, Herr Ernst Schiever; Choir Director, Herr Theodor Frantzen, and Conductor, Herr Hans Richter. There will be an orchestra of 100 performers, and the Richter Chorus. The programmes will include the following works:—Beethoven: Overtures, Op. 115, and “König Stefan”; Symphonies, Nos. 2, 3, 4, 5, 7 and 9; “Meeresstille und Glückliche Fahrt” (orchestra and chorus); Berlioz: Overture, “Benvenuto Cellini”; Symphony, “Funèbre et Triomphale”; Brahms: “Academische Ouverture”; Rhapsodie (orchestra and chorus, with alto solo); Dvorák: Overture “Mein Heim”; Glinka; “Kamarinskaja”; Haydn: Symphony in C; Liszt: Rhapsodie, No. 5 (first time), “Mephisto Walzer,” and selection from “Christus”; Mendelssohn: Overture, “Hebrides”; Mozart: Symphony in E flat; Schubert: Symphony in B minor; Schumann: Overture “Manfred”; Stanford: “Elegiac Ode” (solo, chorus, and orchestra); Weber: Overture, “Oberon”; and Wagner: Overtures, “Der Fliegende Holländer” and “Die Meistersinger,” with selections from “Walküre,” “Die Meistersinger” and “Nibelungen Ring.” The names of the vocalists and solo instrumentalists will be shortly announced.

Concert was given by Mr. H. F. Gregg on the 5th ult., in the Alston Road School Room before a crowded audience. The first part opened with Haydn's Overture “Orlando Paladino,” played by Miss and Mr. Gregg, and Mr. Clare Foy performed several pieces on the Zither, which were redemanded. Amongst the vocalists Miss Hay was much applauded for her rendering of Blumenthal's song “Across the far blue hills, Marie”; the same lady also giving Cowen's “The children's home” with considerable effect. Mr. Gregg chose for his solos, Schumann's Scherzino, Op. 26, from the “Fashingsschwank,” one of Mendelssohn's Lieder ohne Worte, and Chopin's Etude in A fiat, Op. 25, No. 1, all of which were most favourably received. Recitations were likewise delivered by Messrs. H. J. Cooper and H. P. Stock.

successful Organ Recital was given on the 16th ult., in Christ Church, Chalton Street, Somers Town, N.W., by Mr. Samuel Moore, the Organist of the Church. The Recital, which commenced with a short service, comprised Baptismal Song (Meyerbeer), Postlude in C (H. Harford Battley), “Angels ever bright and fair” (Handel), Prelude and Fugue in C minor (J. S. Bach), Air with Variations from the Symphony in D (Haydn), and Grand Offertoire in F (Wély). Two anthems were well sung by the choir, and the tenor solo, “Be thou faithful unto death” (“St. Paul”), was given with much effect by Mr. G. Gostic.


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Rh that magnifies, on the largest possible scale, all the elements of existence. To live for a great purpose is to live a great life, and the greater your life, the greater the good that you will receive from life. The ruling desire of every living soul is to have life, and have it more abundantly; therefore, to fulfill that desire we must continue perpetually to live for that which produces more life. No matter how rich we may become in real, spiritual life, here is a principle that we must ever remember and apply.

Do not work for yourself; work for the great idea that stands at the apex of your greatest purpose. The greater the idea for which you work, the greater will be your work; and it is he who does the greatest work that does the most for everybody, himself included. When your work is great you become a great power for good among thousands, and at the same time you do more for yourself than you could possibly do in any other manner.

When you begin to live and work for a great purpose, you get into the current of great forces, great minds and great souls. You gain from every source; all the powerful lives in the world will work with you; you become a living part of that movement in the world that determines the greater destiny of man; you become one of the chief elements upon which will depend the future of countless generations yet to be; you become one of the chosen of the Most High.


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14 To live for a great purpose is to live in the world of great ideas, and great ideas awaken great thoughts. Man is as he thinks. Great thoughts produce great minds; from great minds proceed great works, and great works constitute the building material with which the kingdom upon earth is to be constructed.

When we begin to live for a great and good purpose, we place in action that law that causes all things to work together for good. Henceforth, nothing is in vain; every person, thing or event that comes into our world will add to the welfare, the richness and the beauty of that world. All things become ministers of the life that is real life, we have been giving our best everywhere, and we are receiving the best from every source in return.

To live for that which is high, lofty and sublime, is to walk with God; the love, the life, the power and the wisdom of the Infinite will ever be with us, and to have such companions is to be blessed indeed. Every moment will give us the peace that passeth understanding, every hour will be filled with the joy everlasting, and every day will be as a thousand years in celestial kingdoms on high.


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text: Author:William Gilbert (1804-1890)

title: Author:William Gilbert (1804-1890)


text: Author talk:Norman Moore

title: Author talk:Norman Moore


text: The Pathway of Roses/Paths to the Life Beautiful


text:
Author:William Gilbert

 * William Gilbert (1544–1603), English physician astronomer, physicist and philosopher
 * William Gilbert (1804–1890), English author
 * William Schwenck Gilbert (1836–1911), English dramatist, librettist and illustrator

title: Author:William Gilbert


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288 But now I dare not attempt to go on with the description; and I can merely say, that at the very moment when from the summit we caught sight of the mountains of Sezza, the Pontine Marshes, the sea and its islands, a heavy passing shower was traversing the marshes toward the sea; and the light and shade, constantly changing and moving, wonderfully enlivened and variegated the dreary plain. The effect was beautifully heightened by the sun's beams, which lit up with various hues the columns of smoke as they ascended from scattered and scarcely visible cottages.

Velletri is agreeably situated on a volcanic hill, which toward the north alone is connected with other hills, and toward three points of the heavens commands a wide and uninterrupted prospect.

We here visited the cabinet of the Cavaliere Borgia, who, favoured by his relationship with the cardinal, has managed, by means of the Propaganda, to collect some valuable antiquities and other curiosities,—Egyptian charms; idols cut out of the hardest rock; some small figures in metal, of earlier or later dates; some pieces of statuary of burnt clay, with figures in low relief, which were dug up in the neighbourhood, and on the authority of which one is almost tempted to ascribe to the ancient indigenous population a style of their own in art.

Of other kinds of varieties, there are numerous specimens in this museum. I noticed two Chinese black-painted boxes: on the sides of one, there was delineated the whole management of the silkworm, and on the other the cultivation of rice. Both subjects were very nicely conceived, and worked out with the utmost minuteness. Both the boxes and their covers are eminently beautiful, and, as well as the book in the library of the Propaganda, which I have already praised, are well worth seeing.

It is certainly inexplicable that these treasures


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Rh should be within so short a distance of Rome, and yet not be more frequently visited; but perhaps the difficulty and inconvenience of getting to these regions, and the attraction of the magic circle of Rome, may serve to excuse the fact. As we arrived at the inn, some women, who were sitting before the doors of their houses, called out to us, and asked if we wished to buy any antiquities; and then, as we showed a pretty strong hankering after them, they brought out some old kettles, fire-tongs, and such like utensils, and were ready to die with laughing at having made fools of us. When we seemed a little put out, our guide assured us, to our comfort, that it was a customary joke, and that all strangers had to submit to it.

I am writing this in very miserable quarters, and feel neither strength nor humour to make it any longer: therefore, I bid you a very good night.

, Feb. 23, 1787.

We were on the road very early,—by three in the morning. As the day broke, we found ourselves on the Pontine Marshes, which have not by any means so ill an appearance as the common description in Rome would make out. Of course, by merely passing once over the marshes, it is not possible to judge of so great an undertaking as that of the intended draining of them, which necessarily requires time to test its merits: still, it does appear to me that the works, which have been commenced by the Pope's orders, will, to a great extent at least, attain the desired end. Conceive to yourself a wide valley, which, as it stretches from north to south, has but a very slight fall, but which, toward the east and the mountains, is extremely low, but rises again considerably toward the sea on the west. Running in a straight line through the whole length of it, the ancient Via Appia has been restored.


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290 On the right of the latter the principal drain has been cut, and in it the water flows with a rapid fall. By means of it the tract of land to the right has been drained, and is now profitably cultivated. As far as the eye can see, it is either already brought into cultivation, or evidently might be so if farmers could be found to take it, with the exception of one spot which lies extremely low.

The left side, which stretches toward the mountains, is more difficult to be managed. Here, however, cross-drains pass under the raised way into the chief drain: as, however, the surface sinks again toward the mountains, it is impossible by this means to carry off the water entirely. To meet this difficulty, it is proposed, I was told, to cut another leading drain along the foot of the mountains. Large patches, especially toward Terracina, are thinly planted with willows and poplars.

The posting-stations consist merely of long thatched sheds. Tischbein sketched one of them, and enjoyed for his reward a gratification which only he could enjoy. A white horse, having broken loose, had fled to the drained lands. Enjoying its liberty, it was galloping up and down on the brown turf like a flash of lightning. In truth, it was a glorious sight, rendered significant by Tischbein's rapture.

At the point where the ancient village of Meza once stood, the Pope has caused to be built a large and fine building, which indicates the centre of the level. The sight of it increases one's hopes and confidence of the success of the whole undertaking. While thus we travelled on, we kept up a lively conversation together, not forgetting the warning, that on this journey one must not go to sleep; and, in fact, we were strongly enough reminded of the danger of the atmosphere, by the blue vapour which, even in this season of the year, hangs above the ground. On this


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The first letter of the alphabet [according to the order in which the letters are now commonly disposed; and also according to the original order, which see in art. ابجد]: called أَلِفٌ. [This name, like most of the other names of Arnhic letters, is traceable to the Phoenician language, in which it signifies "an ox;" the ancient Phoenician form of the letter thus called being a rude representation of an ox's head.] It is, of all the letters, that which is most frequent in speech : and some say that, in jj, in the Kur [ch. ii. &c], it is a name of God. (TA.) Its name is properly fern., as is also that of every other letter ; [and hence its pi. is Olill;] but it may be made masc. : so says Ks : Sb says that all the letters of the alphabet arc masc. and fern., like as ^jl_ X3I is masc. and fein. (M.) As a letter of the alphabet, it is abbreviated, [or short, and is written I, as it also is generally when occurring in a word, except at the end, when, in certain cases, it is written ^g,] and is pronounced with a pause after it: and it is also prolonged: (S, K,* TA:) [in the latter case, it is written l; and] this is the case when it is made a subst. : and when it is not called a letter, [i.e. when one docs not prefix to it the word s^j—,] it is [properly] fern. (S.) Its dim. is i-jt, meaning an .1 written small, or obscure, (S, IB,) according to those who make it fern, and who say, L>lj Owj and ^IJ CJbi ; but ♦ 3.1 „, , «- * »S- ijjl according to those who say, blj wojj. (ITl ) ill [properly so called] is oneqftlie letters of prolongation and of softness and of augmenta- tion; the letters of augmentation being ten, which are comprised in the saying, oL-3 j>^ [" to-day thou wilt forget it"]. (S.) There are two species of »JUI; namely, iijJ [or soft], and i»js* it [or movent]; the former of which is [properly] called oUI; and the latter, »>»*; (S, TA;) which is a fkucial letter, pronounced in the furthest part of the fauces [by a sudden emission of the voice after a total suppression, so that it resembles in sound a feebly-uttered e, whence the form of the cha- racter (.) whereby it is represented]: but this latter is sometimes tropically called oUI ; and both [as shown above] arc of the letters of augmenta- tion. (S in art. }, and TA.) There arc also two other species of oOl; namely, ^-o^ »JUI [the alif of conjunction or connexion, or the conjunctive or connexive alif]; and *I»5 «JUI [the alif of disjunc- tion, or the disjunctive alif]; every one that is permanent in the connexion of words being of the latter species ; and that which is not permanent, [i. c. which is not pronounced, unless it is an alif of prolongation,] of the former species ; and this is without exception augmentative ; [but it is some- times a substitute for a suppressed radical letter, as in £n, originally ^yi oryj;] whereas the alif of Bk I. disjunction is sometimes augmentative, as in the case of the interrogative alif [to be mentioned Ih;1ow, and in other cases] ; and sometimes radical, as in SL and '£&: (S, TA:) or, according to Ahmad Ibn-Yahya and Mohammad Ibn-Yezeed, (T, TA,) the primary OUJI arc three; the rest being subordinate to these: namely, i~Let t_AM [radical alif], (J, K, TA,) as in Jut and J£s> (T) and jyA.1; (K;) and ilaOai UM [disjunctive alif], as in J^jU (T, K) and j^-l (T) and v >l^.l; (T,K;) and £x!o') oUI [conjunctive or connexive alif], (T, K,) as in »-1p»~.1 (T) and jL ill! (T, K.) Tho uUI which is one of the letters of prolongation and of softness is called ,., ,t 1.3*1 £>i) *-^' ['*• quiescent alif, andi£»LJI oU^I, which signifies the same]: (MP, TA:) it is an aerial letter, (Mughnec, MF, TA,) merely a sound of prolongation after a fet-hah; (T, TA;) and cannot have a vowel, (I B r Mughnec, MP,) wherefore it cannot commence a word: (Mugh- nec:) when they desire to make it movent, if it is converted from _j or ^j, they restore it to its original, as in (jl^aft and O^J? nnd 'f ' l IS not converted from y or ^, tlicy substitute for it hem- zch, as in ^p'-y, in which the hemzch is a suli- stitute for the I in [the sing.] SiCj. (IB.) IJ holds that the name of this letter is *^, [pro- nounced Id or le, without, or with, imalch, like the similar names of other letters, as and 13 and b ice.,] and that it is the letter which is mentioned [next] before ^ in reckoning the letters ; the J being prefixed to it because it cannot be pro- nounced at the beginning of its name, as other letters can, as, for instance, ^jo and »-; and he adds that the teachers [in schools] err in pro- nouncing its name «JJI >»*j}. (Mughnec.)— The grammarians have other particular appellations for alifs, which will be here mentioned. (T, TA.) n+tm n" «JU*9I [The unknown alif] is such as that in J*U [or J*l»] and Jyl» ; i. c., every, (T, K.,) of tliosc having no original [from which they are converted, not being originally I nor_j nor (^, but being merely a formative letter, and hence, app., termed " unknown"], (T,) inserted for the purpose of giving fulness of sound to the fet-hah in a verb and in a noun ; (T, K ;) and this, when it becomes movent, becomes j, as in the' case of ^5U- and ^y*-, becoming ^ in this case because it is movent, and followed by a quiescent I, which I is the I of the pi., and is also 3J j t » » « . (T.) OUJI oWI [The alifs of prolongations] arc such as those [which arc inserted for the same purpose of giving fulness of sound to the fet-hah] in Jl£ii>, for jii£>, and J&&, for JiU., and ju'lj, for Jj*. (T, K.) In like manner, « is inserted after a dammeh, as in j^Ou 1 ; and i_£ after a kesrch, as in JU-i. (TA.) An alif of this species is also called *W-*^' »-*H [The alif added to give fulness of sound to a fet-hah preceding it]: and so is the alif in Uo used in imitation [of a noun in the accus. case ; as when one says, ^t-j <^j (l"'°" nounced ^U-j) " I saw a man," and the person to whom these words arc addressed says, L« Whom?]. (Mughnec.) 1UJI Jj [The alif of annexation, or the annexed alif,] is that which is an annex to the fet-hah of a rhyme, (T, K,)and to that of the fern, pronoun U: in the former case as in in which I is made an annex to the fet-hah of tho c [of the rhyme]; and in the saying in the Kur [xxxiii. 10], UyJaJl Jft* £>y&3j, in which the I after the last ,j is an annex to the fct-hnh of that ,j; and in other instances in the final words of verses of the Kur-:'m, as UiiW and •^■ J ...A..> [in Ixxvi. 15 and 18]: in the other case as in V^j-=> and i C>)y*. (T.) The difference between it and J^yi >Jui is, that the latter is in the beginnings of nouns and verbs, and the former is in the end- ings of nouns [and verbs]. (T, K.) It is also culled J^NI , i. e. "bound" by the preceding consonant]: (Mughnec;) and iJUUJI will [tlie alif of the final word of a verse of poetry or of a verse of the Kur-an or of a clause of rhyming prose], (TA.) [This last appellation must not be confounded with that which here next follows.] 3>.r»UUI iju^l [The separating alif] is the I which is written after the j of the pi. to make a separation lictwccn that J * * « and what follows it, as in  (T, K) and }ji£>, and in the like of IjjAj and I^*jj [and Syb^i]; but when a pronoun is affixed to the verb, this I, being needless, docs not remain: (T:) also the I which makes a separation between the ,J which is a sign of the fern, gender and the heavy [or doubled] j [in the corroborated form of the aor. and imjHsrativc], (T, K,) localise a triple combination of & is disliked, (T,) as in [^LUA^ and oUaUi * nd ] 0&* ( T > K ) and O 1 ^ 3 ^- (T.)__aUuL>» oyJI Jul [The alif of the light, or single, noon in the contracted corroborated form of the aor. and imperative], as in the phrase in the Kur [xcvi. 15], , and this seems to be indicated in Expo- sitions of the Kur-a n as the proper pronunciation of these two words in the phrases hero cited, the former of which, and the first word of the latter,
 * UImuI IvJL- { _ r ~* ) il«- CJU *


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1542.] made the relief of Manchester possible only at the expense of Chester, to which the sanctuary men were transferred. Even with such an evidence before the world of the working of the system, it was not yet within the power of Parliament to abolish it for ever.

But the most important event which distinguished the concluding weeks of the session was a question of privilege.

George Ferrars, lately elected member for Plymouth, had become a security for a debt owing by a Mr Weldon of Salisbury to a man named White. Weldon failing to produce the money at the time appointed, White brought an action against Ferrars, and, obtaining a judgment, demanded his arrest. The immunities of members of Parliament were insisted on by themselves, but as yet were imperfectly acknowledged by the municipal authorities. The Plymouth burgess was taken by the officers of the city of London, and imprisoned in the Compter. Sir Thomas Moyle, the Speaker, laid the matter before the House of Commons; the House, indignant and unanimous, sent the sergeant-at-arms into the City to require the immediate release of the prisoner. But within the liberties of the city of London it was declared loudly that no extraneous officials had right or jurisdiction. The clerk of the Compter refused to receive the order. High words were exchanged; and words were followed quickly by blows. The officers at the prison attempted to expel the sergeant. The


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488 defended himself with the mace; and in the scuffle the 'crown' was struck away. Hearing of the disturbance, the sheriffs hastened to the scene, with the City constables; but their sympathies were naturally municipal. The guard of the house was driven off the field, and the sergeant-at-arms returned to Westminster to communicate his failure.

The Commons were in full session, waiting for the appearance of their officers. On learning what had passed, they repaired in a body to the House of Lords, to lay their complaint before the judges. It was a case of contempt, and 'a very great one.' The judges decided, without hesitation, that the arrest was illegal; and although the chancellor proposed to soften the difficulty by granting a writ for the person of Ferrars, the Commons would not hear of a compromise. They would have him out by their own authority—'by show of the mace;' and the law, it was admitted, would bear them out; they might inflict, at their discretion, whatever punishment they pleased on the municipals of the City. The sergeant-at-arms was sent again to the prison; and this time the sheriffs, who were alarmed at what they had done, gave way. Ferrars was set at liberty; and the sheriffs themselves were ordered to appear at eight o'clock the following morning at the bar of the House of Commons, bringing with them the clerk of the Compter and his servants, with the creditor at whose suit the arrest had been made.

The City was afraid to resist. The offending parties appeared at the hour prescribed,


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1542.] and the Speaker charged them with a misdemeanour, and required them to answer for their behaviour on the spot, without the assistance of counsel. The recorder, Sir Roger Cholmoiidley, interposed, but was ordered to be silent; and finally, the sheriffs and the creditor White were sent to the Tower, the clerk of the prison to a place expressively called 'Little Ease,' and five of the constables who had taken part in the attack upon the sergeant, to Newgate. For three days they were left to consider themselves, and were then, 'at the humble entreaty of the Mayor,' set at liberty.

Meantime, the question was raised in the House of the original debt. The Commons were contented with asserting their privileges, and did not desire to press them into injustice; and the person of Ferrars having been once taken in execution, and released by Parliament, he was not any more legally answerable, and the creditor was without remedy, either against him or against his principal, Weldon. This intricate point was discussed for nine or ten days; at the end of which it was decided that the claim should be revived by Act of Parliament against the original debtor. A further proposal, that Ferrars, after the dissolution, might again be held to his security, was negatived by a majority of fourteen.

So far the Commons had acted on their own authority; and the Long Parliament, in the zenith of its glory, could not have been more absolute or peremptory. The King must have been aware of the transaction, for Ferrars was one of his household. He had not


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490 , however, and pretended to no jurisdiction in a question which was purely Parliamentary. Now that the field was won, a formal communication was made by the Lower House of their conduct, and the King expressed his emphatic approbation of every step which they had taken. The creditor, he said, had been properly punished for his presumption. It was not necessary, nevertheless, that he should lose his debt; and he commended the equity of the resolution which enabled him to recover it. On the general point of immunity from arrest, and of the position of the House of Commons under the constitution, he added these remarkable words:—

'I understand that you, not only for your own persons, but also for your necessary servants, even to your cooks and housekeepers, enjoy the said privilege; insomuch as my Lord Chancellor here present hath informed us that he, being Speaker of the Parliament, the cook of the Temple was arrested in London, and in execution upon a statute of the staple; and for so much as the said cook during all the Parliament served the Speaker in that office, he was taken out of execution by privilege of Parliament. And further, we be informed by our judges that we at no time stand so highly in our estate royal as in the time of the Parliament, wherein we as head and you as members are conjoined and knit together in one body politic, so as whatsoever offence or injury during that time is offered to the meanest member of the House, is to be judged as done against our person and the whole court of Parliament; which prerogative


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Author:Emily Gosse

Works about Gosse

 * A Memorial of the Last Days on Earth of Emily Gosse (1857) by Philip Henry Gosse
 * "Tell Jesus." Recollections of Emily Gosse by Anna Shipton, Published 1868 external link
 * "Tell Jesus." Recollections of Emily Gosse by Anna Shipton, Published 1868 external link

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Author talk:John Stahl Patterson

Civil War
Name: 	John Stahl Patterson Side: 	Union Regiment State/Origin: 	Ohio Regiment: 	20th Independent Battery, Ohio Light Artillery Rank In: 	Private Rank Out: 	Quartermaster Sergeant Alternate Name: 	John/Patterson; John S./Patterson Film Number: 	M552 roll 83
 * https://www.nps.gov/civilwar/search-soldiers.htm#q=stahl+patterson

Find a Grave match?
I suspect that https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/175662100/john-stall-patterson is who we are after, it seems that a John was born to Robert Patterson and Anna Stahl in roughly this time frame (https://www.google.com/books/edition/Biographies_and_Portraits_of_the_Progres/BEL_J9bJSDQC). However 38 is a little old for a private in the civil war and these books are in his 60s. That would have b. 1822 MD d. 1894 Ohio. MarkLSteadman (talk) 15:52, 2 January 2023 (UTC)

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1541.] of the court is so great, as all acts and processes coming out of any inferior courts must for the time cease, and give place to the highest.'

The despotism of Henry was splendidly veiled when he could applaud so resolved an assertion of the liberties of the House of Commons, and could acknowledge that any portion of his own power was dependent on their presence and their aid.

From domestic incidents, intricate in themselves, and more intricate from the imperfect light in which we see them, the story now turns to a series of events brought complete before the eye in a steady stream of information, where the last years of this perplexed and stormy reign will appear in fairer colours. England at home, and viewed from the inner side, was full of passion, confusion, and uncertainty; the Church anchorage no longer tenable in the change of wind, and the new anchorage in the Bible as yet partially discovered and imperfectly sounded. But she reserved her weakness for her own eyes. The inhabitants of but a part of a small island provoked the envy of the world by their wealth, and the jealousy of the world by their freedom from the scourge of war, which, lacerating all other nations, left them alone unscathed. Torn as they were by dissensions, they appeared an easy and a tempting prey; but when the cloud gathered to overwhelm them, it displayed, on its rising, not a prostrate victim appealing for mercy, but a proud and


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492 people asserting over sea and land their lordly preeminence, and, in the bitter words of Pole, 'shaking their drawn swords in the face of all opponents.'

It was not from traditionary policy, or the indulgence of petulant humour, that the Government of Paris was so eager to prevent a union between Henry and James of Scotland. Francis, disappointed once more of Milan, was determined upon war, and weary of the change of partners among the European powers, sa often tried, so barren of results, had resolved at last upon introducing a fresh player upon the stage. The King of England would encourage his ambition only on condition of his parting from the Papacy. But fleets might issue from the Dardanelles which would sweep the Spanish galleys from the Mediterranean; and Barbarossa would be contented with the sport of the game and the pleasure of the spoil. Hundreds of thousands of the Moslem would pour themselves into Hungary, desiring nothing but to gratify their hatred of Christianity, and to plant the crescent on the towers of Vienna. To the fils aîné de l'Eglise it was nothing that Germany should be wasted by barbarians, if Northern Italy could be secured as a province of France. To the Father of Christendom, irritated by the languid zeal of the Emperor, a Turkish conquest appeared a slighter evil than the success of heresy. Three times Charles had disappointed his darling project upon England. He had allowed the Pilgrims of Grace to recant their oath or die on the scaffold; the Marquis of Exeter had perished in a vain dependence upon him; the Conference


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1541.] of Paris had passed away and borne no fruit; and now, under his eyes and with his sanction, the Diet of Ratisbon had closed with the virtual triumph of the Protestants. The edicts of persecution were suspended. Hopes had been held out in spite of the entreaties of Cardinal Contarini, that if the general council, so often talked of, was delayed longer, the disputes in Germany might be settled by the Germans themselves. Though he still laboured at intervals in the old work of reconciliation, each day he saw his hopes of success grow less; and if compelled to choose between the two, Francis, even encumbered with a dubious alliance, now promised better in the eyes of the passionate Paul than the Emperor.

Yet, again, if Francis took the field, with the Turk for his right arm, and countenanced in so audacious an innovation by the Papacy, the Emperor would be thrown upon England. England, in its present humour, would meet him half-way, and the pension and the frontier quarrels might then lead to a collision. It was necessary to be prepared for so dangerous a possibility, and therefore, at all hazards, the friends of France must continue to be strengthened at Edinburgh, and James must be prevented from falling under his uncle's influence. Beton had succeeded in preventing the York meeting. He crossed in September to the Continent, to consult with the French ministers, and afterwards with the Pope, and the King of Scotland was left during his


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494 absence under the tutelage of Mary of Guise. Once more, in the Cardinal's absence, Kirkaldy made August. an effort to recover the ascendency, and in the winter the interview was for a last time suggested. 'But the clergy of Scotland,' says Knox, 'promised the King mountains of gold, as Satan their father did to Christ Jesus if He would worship him. Rather they would have gone to hell or he should have met King Henry, for then they thought, Farewell, our kingdom! Farewell, thought the Cardinal, his credit and glory in France.'

The fortunes of Europe were still hanging in uncertainty, and Francis was feeling his way towards an outbreak, when the Marquis de Guasto, the Imperial commander-in- chief in Milan, caught two French emissaries on their road to Constantinople with despatches. There was still peace with France; but the nature of the mission was palpable, and, careless of their privileges as ambassadors, De Guasto put them to death as traitors against the peace of Christendom. A third messenger soon after shared the same fate; and at the same time came the news of the defeat of the army of Ferdinand by the Turks in Hungary. The Emperor, determined to make a great effort to save Europe from the danger which threatened it, had sent his brother to recover Buda, while he himself was preparing an expedition into Africa. The plague had


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1541.] broken out among the German troops before the fortress could be taken. They attempted to retreat across the Danube into Pesth; but the operation was a critical one, and before it was half accomplished they were attacked by an overwhelming force. Those who were left beyond the river were cut in pieces on the spot; the remainder fled in panic, leaving their artillery, their military chests and stores. The Turks passed the Danube in pursuit, seized Pesth, and hung in the rear of the retreating army till the remnant were sheltered in Vienna. Twenty thousand men were reported to have been killed, and the whole of Hungary was lost.

The defeat was a victory for France. It was followed by another yet more considerable. Algiers, since the capture of Tunis, had become the stronghold of the Mediterranean pirates, and the head-quarters of the Sultan's corsair-admiral, Barbarossa. If Algiers could be destroyed it would compensate in some measure for the disasters in Hungary, and might at least prevent the dominancy of a Turko-gallic fleet in the Mediterranean in the ensuing summer. The season was late. It was not till October that Charles was able to sail; but he gathered


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to Inexorable Fate took Kipps to the Anagram Tea.

At any rate he would meet Helen there in the presence of other people and be able to carry off the worst of the difficulty of explaining his little jaunt to London. He had not seen her since his last portentous visit to New Romney. He was engaged to her, he would have to marry her, and the sooner he faced her again the better. Before wild plans of turning socialist, defying the world and repudiating all calling for ever, his heart on second thoughts sank. He felt Helen would never permit anything of the sort. As for the Anagrams he could do no more than his best and that he was resolved to do. What had happened at the Royal Grand, what had happened at New Romney, he must bury in his memory and begin again at the reconstruction of his social position. Ann, Buggins, Chitterlow, all these, seen in the matter-of-fact light of the Folkestone train, stood just as they stood before; people of an inferior social position

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CH. VIII who had to be eliminated from his world. It was a bother about Ann, a bother and a pity. His mind rested so for a space on Ann until the memory of these Anagrams drew him away. If he could see Coote that evening he might, he thought, be able to arrange some sort of connivance about the Anagrams, and his mind was chiefly busy sketching proposals for such an arrangement. It would not, of course, be ungentlemanly cheating, but only a little mystification. Coote very probably might drop him a hint of the solution of one or two of the things, not enough to win a prize, but enough to cover his shame. Or failing that he might take a humorous, quizzical line and pretend he was pretending to be very stupid. There were plenty of ways out of it if one kept a sharp lookout.…

The costume Kipps wore to the Anagram Tea was designed as a compromise between the strict letter of high fashion and seaside laxity, a sort of easy, semi-state for afternoon. Helen's first reproof had always lingered in his mind. He wore a frock coat, but mitigated it by a Panama hat of romantic shape with a black band, grey gloves, but for relaxation brown button boots. The only other man besides the clergy present, a new doctor with an attractive wife, was in full afternoon dress. Coote was not there.

Kipps was a little pale, but quite self-possessed, as he approached Mrs. Bindon Botting's door. He took a turn while some people went in and then faced it manfully. The door opened and revealed—Ann!

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356 In the background through a draped doorway behind a big fern in a great art pot the elder Miss Botting was visible talking to two guests; the auditory background was a froth of feminine voices.…

Our two young people were much too amazed to give one another any formula of greeting, though they had parted warmly enough. Each was already in a state of extreme tension to meet the demands of this great and unprecedented occasion of an Anagram Tea. "Lor'!" said Ann, her sole remark, and then the sense of Miss Botting's eye ruled her straight again. She became very pale, but she took his hat mechanically, and he was already removing his gloves. "Ann," he said in a low tone, and then "Fency!" The eldest Miss Botting knew Kipps was the sort of guest who requires nursing, and she came forward vocalising charm. She said it was "Awfully jolly of him to come, awfully jolly. It was awfully difficult to get any good men!"

She handed Kipps forward, mumbling in a dazed condition, to the drawing-room, and there he encountered Helen looking unfamiliar in an unfamiliar hat. It was as if he had not met her for years.

She astonished him. She didn't seem to mind in the least his going to London. She held out a shapely hand, and smiled encouragingly. "You've faced the anagrams?" she said.

The second Miss Botting accosted them, a number of oblong pieces of paper in her hand, mysteriously inscribed. "Take an anagram," she said; "take an

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CH. VIII anagram," and boldly pinned one of these brief documents to Kipps' lapel. The letters were "Cypshi," and Kipps from the very beginning suspected this was an anagram for Cuyps. She also left a thing like a long dance programme, from which dangled a little pencil in his hand. He found himself being introduced to people, and then he was in a corner with the short lady in a big bonnet, who was pelting him with gritty little bits of small talk that were gone before you could take hold of them and reply.

"Very hot," said this lady. "Very hot, indeed—hot all the summer—remarkable year—all the years remarkable now;—don't know what we're coming to—don't you think so, Mr. Kipps?"

"Oo rather," said Kipps, and wondered if Ann was still in the hall. Ann!

He ought not to have stared at her like a stuck fish and pretended not to know her. That couldn't be right. But what was right?

The lady in the big bonnet proceeded to a second discharge. "Hope you're fond of anagrams, Mr. Kipps—difficult exercise—still one must do something to bring people together—better than Ludo anyhow. Don't you think so, Mr. Kipps?"

Ann fluttered past the open door. Her eyes met his in amazed enquiry. Something had got dislocated in the world for both of them.…

He ought to have told her he was engaged. He ought to have explained things to her. Perhaps even now he might be able to drop her a hint.

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358 "Don't you think so, Mr. Kipps?"

"Oo rather," said Kipps for the third time.

A lady with a tired smile, who was labelled conspicuously "Wogdelenk," drifted towards Kipps' interlocutor and the two fell into conversation, Kipps found himself socially aground. He looked about him. Helen was talking to a curate and laughing. Kipps was overcome by a vague desire to speak to Ann. He was for sidling doorward.

"What are you, please?" said an extraordinarily bold, tall girl, and arrested him while she took down "Cypshi."

"I'm sure I don't know what it means," she explained. "I'm Sir Bubh. Don't you think anagrams are something chronic?"

Kipps made stockish noises, and the young lady suddenly became the nucleus of a party of excited friends who were forming a syndicate to guess, and barred his escape. She took no further notice of him. He found himself jammed against an occasional table and listening to the conversation of Mrs. "Wogdelenk" and his lady with the big bonnet.

"She packed her two beauties off together," said the lady in the big bonnet. "Time enough, too. Don't think much of this girl; she's got as housemaid now. Pretty, of course, but there's no occasion for a housemaid to be pretty—none whatever. And she doesn't look particularly up to her work either. Kind of 'mazed expression."

"You never can tell," said the lady labelled

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 CH. VIII "you never can tell. My wretches are big enough, Heaven knows, and do they work? Not a bit of it!"…

Kipps felt dreadfully out of it with regard to all these people, and dreadfully in it with Ann.

He scanned the back of the big bonnet and concluded it was an extremely ugly bonnet indeed. It got jerking forward as each short, dry sentence was snapped off at the end and a plume of osprey on it jerked excessively. "She hasn't guessed even one!" followed by a shriek of girlish merriment, came from the group about the tall, bold girl. They'd shriek at him presently, perhaps. Beyond thinking his own anagram might be Cuyps, he hadn't a notion. What a chatter they were all making! It was just like a summer sale! Just the sort of people who'd give a lot of trouble and swap you! And suddenly the smouldering fires of rebellion leapt to flame again. These were a rotten lot of people, and the anagrams were rotten nonsense, and he, Kipps, had been a rotten fool to come. There was Helen away there, still laughing, with her curate. Pity she couldn't marry a curate and leave him (Kipps) alone! Then he'd know what to do. He disliked the whole gathering collectively and in detail. Why were they all trying to make him one of themselves? He perceived unexpected ugliness everywhere about him. There were two great pins jabbed through the tall girl's hat, and the swirls of her hair below the brim with the minutest piece of tape tie-up showing did not repay close examination.

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360 Mrs. "Wogdelenk" wore a sort of mumps bandage of lace, and there was another lady perfectly dazzling with beads, and jewels and bits of trimming. They were all flaps and angles and flounces—these women. Not one of them looked as neat and decent a shape as Ann's clean, trim, little figure. Echoes of Masterman woke up in him again. Ladies indeed! Here were all these chattering people, with money, with leisure, with every chance in the world, and all they could do was to crowd like this into a couple of rooms and jabber nonsense about anagrams.

"Could Cypshi really mean Cuyps?" floated like a dissolving wreath of mist across his mind.

Abruptly resolution stood armed in his heart. He was going to get out of this!

"'Scuse me," he said, and began to wade neck deep through the bubbling tea party.

He was going to get out of it all!

He found himself close by Helen. "I'm orf," he said, but she gave him the briefest glance. She did not appear to hear him. "Still, Mr. Spratlingdown, you must admit there's a limit even to conformity," she was saying.…

He was in a curtained archway, and Ann was before him carrying a tray supporting several small sugar bowls.

He was moved to speech. "What a Lot!" he said, and then mysteriously, "I'm engaged to her." He indicated Helen's new hat, and became aware of a skirt he had stepped upon.

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CH. VIII Ann stared at him helplessly, borne past in the grip of incomprehensible imperatives.

Why shouldn't they talk together?

He was in a small room, and then at the foot of the staircase in the hall. He heard the rustle of a dress, and what was conceivable his hostess was upon him.

"But you're not going, Mr. Kipps?" she said.

"I must," he said; "I got to."

"But, Mr. Kipps!"

"I must," he said. "I'm not well."

"But before the guessing! Without any tea!"

Ann appeared and hovered behind him.

"I got to go," said Kipps.

If he parleyed with her Helen might awake to his desperate attempt.

"Of course if you must go."

"It's something I've forgotten," said Kipps, beginning to feel regrets. "Reely I must."

Mrs. Botting turned with a certain offended dignity, and Ann in a state of flushed calm that evidently concealed much came forward to open the door.

"I'm very sorry," he said; "I'm very sorry," half to his hostess and half to her, and was swept past her by superior social forces—like a drowning man in a mill-race—and into the Upper Sandgate Road. He half turned upon the step, and then slam went the door.…

He retreated along the Leas, a thing of shame and perplexity—Mrs. Botting's aggrieved astonishment uppermost in his mind.…

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MALEBYSSE, RICHARD (d. 1209), justiciar, was son of Hugh Malebysse, a Norman, who settled at Scawton, Yorkshire, in 1138, and married Emma, daughter and heiress of Henry de Percy of Acaster. Richard Malebysse held Acaster in 1176, and was forester for Yorkshire (, i. 316). He was one of the leaders in the savage attack on and massacre of the Jews at York in 1190 (, i. 321, Rolls Ser.) As a punishment for his share in this outrage his lands were seized by the king. Malebysse appears to have been a supporter of Earl John, and in consequence he was one of those who were excommunicated by William de Longchamp in December 1191 (, iii. 153). In 1193 he paid a fine of twenty marks for the recovery of his lands till the king's return, and eventually paid six hundred marks for full restoration (, Hist. of Exchequer, i. 473, 483). After the accession of John, Malebysse comes into some prominence. In June 1199 he, or it may be his brother Hugh, was sent as an envoy to Scotland to William the Lion to demand homage. In July 1200 he had license to fortify Wheldrake Castle, but the permission was withdrawn at the request of the citizens of York. In May 1201 he was sent on a mission to the king of Scots to ask him to defer his answer as to Northumberland till Michaelmas (, iv. 91, 117, 163–4). Malebysse was a justice itinerant for Yorkshire in 1201, and next year sat to acknowledge fines at Westminster. In 1204 he was employed in enforcing the payment of aids. He was keeper of the forests of Galtres, Derwent, and Wernedale. He died in 1209, leaving a son John, and a daughter Emma, who married, first, Robert de Maisnil, and, secondly, Robert de Stutevil. His grandson, Hercules Malebysse, is said to have married Beckwith, daughter of William Bruce of Pickering, and so to have become ancestor of the family of Beckwith of Silksworth and Trimdon, Durham. His brother Hugh survived him, and in 1210 took part in John's Irish expedition as one of the king's household (, Calendar of Documents relating to Ireland, i. 65). Richard Malebysse was founder of Newbo Abbey, Lincolnshire, in 1198 (, Monasticon, vi. 887). Such importance as he had he seems to have owed to John's favour; William of Newburgh calls him ‘homo audacissimus, vero agnomine Mala-Bestia.’

MALET, CHARLES WARRE (1753?–1815), Indian administrator and diplomatist, was the eldest son of the Rev. Alexander Malet, rector of Combe-Florey, Somerset, and Maiden Newton, Dorset, and his wife Ann, daughter of the Rev. Laurence St. Lo, D.D., rector of Pulham, Dorset. He was a descendant in the twenty-first generation of [q. v.] of Graville. At an early age he entered the service of the East India Company, and after filling various posts, including a mission to the great mogul, he was in 1785 appointed resident minister at Poona, at the court of the peishwa. While at Poona, he negotiated and executed in June 1790, under the instructions of the governor-general, Lord Cornwallis, a treaty of alliance between the East India Company, the peishwa, and the nizam, against Tippoo Sultan, and for his services in this respect he was created a baronet 24 Feb. 1791. Subsequently Malet was for some time acting governor of Bombay, an office which he held until 1798, when he retired from the service and returned to England. He was F.R.S. and F.S.A., and died in 1815 (Gent. Mag. 1815, pt. i. p. 185). In 1799 he married Susanna, daughter of James Wales, esq., by whom he left eight sons. The second son, Charles St. Lo Malet (1802–1889), lieutenant-colonel, was stationed successively in Jamaica, Guernsey, Ireland, and at Portsmouth; and the third son, William Wyndham Malet (1803–1885), vicar of Ardeley, Hertfordshire, from 1843 till his death, was author, among other works, of ‘An Errand to the South in the Summer of 1862,’ London, 1863, 8vo, and of ‘The Olive Leaf, a Pilgrimage to Rome, Jerusalem, and Constantinople in 1867,’ London, 1868.

The eldest son, (1800–1886), diplomatist, born at Hartham Park, Wiltshire, in June 1800, succeeded to the baronetcy in 1815. He was educated at Winchester and at Christ Church, Oxford (B.A. 1822), and entered the diplomatic service in 1824 as unpaid attaché at St. Petersburg, where he was an eye-witness of the military insurrection which took place on the accession of the Emperor Nicholas in 1825. He afterwards became secretary of legation at Lisbon under Lord Howden [see ] during the Miguelite war of 1832–4. He served in a like capacity at the Hague, and was later secretary of the embassy at Vienna and British minister at Würtemberg. In 1849 he became minister plenipotentiary to the Germanic confederation at Frank-


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362 Something—reinforced by the glances of the people he was passing—pressed its way to his attention through the tumultuous disorder of his mind.

He became aware that he was still wearing his little placard with the letters "Cypshi."

"Desh it!" he said, clutching off this abomination. In another moment its several letters, their task accomplished, were scattering gleefully before the breeze down the front of the Leas.

Kipps was dressed for Mrs. Wace's dinner half an hour before it was time to start, and he sat waiting until Coote should come to take him around. "Manners and Rules of Good Society" lay before him neglected. He had read the polished prose of the Member of the Aristocracy, on page 96, as far as—

"'the acceptance of an invitation is in the eyes of diners out, a binding obligation which only ill-health, family bereavement, or some all-important reason justifies its being set on one side or otherwise evaded'—"

and then he had lapsed into gloomy thoughts.

That afternoon he had had a serious talk with Helen.

He had tried to express something of the change of heart that had happened to him. But to broach the real state of the matter had been altogether too

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Rh Navy Gazette, 12 Oct. 1889; Clergy Lists; India Office List, 1887; Arthur Malet's Notices of the Malet Family, 1885; private information; authorities cited.]  MALET or MALLET, ROBERT (d. 1106?), baron of Eye, was the elder son of William Malet [q. v.] of Graville, and succeeded to his father's possessions on his father's death in 1076. He appears in ‘Domesday’ as the owner, among other properties, of thirty-two manors in Yorkshire, of three in Essex, of one in Hampshire, of two in Nottinghamshire, of eight in Lincolnshire, and of two hundred and twenty-one in Suffolk. At Eye Malet built and endowed a monastery of Benedictine monks. From his position he enjoyed considerable influence in the eastern counties, and he took a prominent part in repressing the rebellion of Ralph, earl of Norfolk, in 1075–6, and in the capture of Norwich Castle which followed. In King William's grant of the manor of Fracenham to Archbishop Lanfranc, Malet is styled vice-comes or sheriff, and later on, at the beginning of Henry I's reign, he appears as great chamberlain of England. In the struggle between Henry and Duke Robert, Malet espoused Robert's cause, and shortly after Henry's accession he was banished from England, together with other adherents of Robert, and his estates in England were confiscated and bestowed by Henry upon Stephen of Blois. He retired to Normandy, and is supposed to have been killed at the battle of Tinchebrai in 1106. By his wife Helise or Elisée de Brionne, great-granddaughter of Richard I, duke of Normandy, Malet left a son named William, who, though banished from England in 1109, succeeded to his father's possessions in Normandy, and was the ancestor of the family of Malet or Mallet de Graville in France, and of some other branches of the family in England.

 MALET or MALLETT, THOMAS (1582–1665), judge, great-grandson of Sir Baldwin Malet of St. Audries, Somerset, solicitor-general to Henry VIII, and a descendant of William Malet [q. v.] of Graville, Normandy, was born about 1582. He became a member of the Middle Temple, 29 Nov. 1600, was called to the bar 7 Nov. 1606, and was appointed reader to the inn in Lent 1626. He was a member of the House of Commons during the first two parliaments of Charles I, supporting the court party, and in particular resisting the attempt to make common fame a ground of accusation against the Duke of Buckingham (Parliamentary History, ii. 33, 52). He was also busily occupied in his profession, as the frequent mention of his name in the reports of Croke and Sir W. Jones shows. He became solicitor-general to the queen, and eventually a serjeant, 15 May 1635. He was raised to the king's bench, and knighted, July 1641. On the bench he at once showed himself a strong supporter of the royal policy and prerogative. At the Lent assizes at Maidstone, 25 March 1642, he caused the grand jury of Kent, which, though he had selected its members himself, was with difficulty brought to complaisance, to petition in favour of the Book of Common Prayer, and against raising the militia without the king's assent; and, taking charge of the petition, he showed it to John Digby, first earl of Bristol [q. v.], prior to laying it before parliament (see, Hist. of England, vol. x.) For this the lords committed him to the Tower, 28 March 1642, and it was not until 2 May that he was released on his recognisance in 1,000l. to appear before the lords when called upon (Parl. Hist. ii. 1148, Lords' Journals). In the summer, when he was again holding assizes in Kent, he refused to allow votes of parliament on behalf of the militia ordinance and against the king's commission of array to be read in court at Maidstone by members of the House of Commons deputed for that purpose. The king sent him a letter of thanks and a promise of the royal protection; but parliament sent a troop of horse, had him seized on the bench at Kingston in Surrey and carried to Westminster, and sent him back to the Tower. He was released upon an exchange of prisoners in October 1644, but by an ordinance of November 1645 he was disabled, ‘as if dead,’ from being a judge, on the ground of his being ‘the fomenter and protector of the malignant faction.’ He lost a son in the field during the civil war, and his property was repeatedly sequestrated. By patent, dated 31 May 1660, he was rewarded on the Restoration by being replaced on the bench, but he was seventy-eight years old and unfit for work. On 18 June 1663 he was dispensed from attendance, but retained the name and salary of a judge, and received a pension of 1,000l. a year and grants of land in Somerset and Devonshire, and was created a baronet. The fiat for this honour was never completed; and when his descendant, Charles Warre Malet [q. v.], was created a baronet in 1791 by a new patent, his claim for precedence, as from 1663,


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CH. VIII for him. He had sought a minor issue. "I don't like all this Seciety," he had said.

"But you must see people," said Helen.

"Yes, but. It's the sort of people you see." He nerved himself. "I didn't think much of that lot at the Enegram Tea."

"You have to see all sorts of people if you want to see the world," said Helen.

Kipps was silent for a space and a little short of breath.

"My dear Arthur," she began, almost kindly, "I shouldn't ask you to go to these affairs if I didn't think it good for you, should I?"

Kipps acquiesced in silence.

"You will find the benefit of it all when we get to London. You learn to swim in a tank before you go out into the sea. These people here are good enough to learn upon. They're stiff and rather silly and dreadfully narrow and not an idea in a dozen of them, but it really doesn't matter at all. You'll soon get Savoir Faire."

He made to speak again, and found his powers of verbal expression lacking. Instead he blew a sigh.

"You'll get used to it all very soon," said Helen helpfully.…

As he sat meditating over that interview and over the vistas of London that opened before him, on the little flat, and teas and occasions and the constant presence of Brudderkins and all the bright prospect of his new and better life, and how he would never

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364 see Ann any more, the housemaid entered with a little package, a small, square envelope to "Arthur Kipps, Esquire."

"A young woman left this, Sir," said the housemaid, a little severely.

"Eh?" said Kipps; "what young woman?" and then suddenly began to understand.

"She looked an ordinary young woman," said the housemaid coldly.

"Ah!" said Kipps. "That's orlright."

He waited till the door had closed behind the girl, staring at the envelope in his hand, and then, with a curious feeling of increasing tension, tore it open. As he did so, some quicker sense than sight or touch told him its contents. It was Ann's half sixpence. And, besides, not a word!

Then she must have heard him!

She had kept the half sixpence all these years!

He was standing with the envelope in his hand, trying to get on from that last inference, when Coote became audible without.

Coote appeared in evening dress, a clean and radiant Coote, with large, greenish, white gloves and a particularly large white tie, edged with black. "For a third cousin," he presently explained. "Nace, isn't it?" He could see Kipps was pale and disturbed and put this down to the approaching social trial. "You keep your nerve up, Kipps, my dear chap, and you'll be all right," said Coote, with a big, brotherly glove on Kipps' sleeve.

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 A STORY OF UNDERGRADUATE LIFE AT THE COLLEGE OF NEW JERSEY BY CLASS OF '91 AUTHOR OF "FOR KING OR COUNTRY" "MIDSHIPMAN FARRAGUT," ETC.

ILLUSTRATED

The Knickerbocker Press 1897

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CH. VIII

The dinner came to a crisis so far as Kipps' emotions were concerned, with Mrs. Bindon Botting's talk about servants, but before that there had been several things of greater or smaller magnitude to perturb and disarrange his social front. One little matter that was mildly insurgent throughout the entire meal was, if I may be permitted to mention so intimate a matter, the behaviour of his left brace. The webbing—which was of a cheerful scarlet silk—had slipped away from its buckle, fastened no doubt in agitation, and had developed a strong tendency to place itself obliquely in the manner rather of an official decoration, athwart his spotless front. It first asserted itself before they went in to dinner. He replaced this ornament by a dexterous thrust when no one was looking and thereafter the suppression of his novel innovation upon the stereotyped sombreness of evening dress became a standing preoccupation. On the whole, he was inclined to think his first horror excessive; at any rate no one remarked upon it. However you imagine him constantly throughout the evening, with one eye and one hand, whatever the rest of him might be doing, predominantly concerned with the weak corner.

But this, I say, was a little matter. What exercised him much more was to discover Helen quite terribly in evening dress.

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366 The young lady had let her imagination rove Londonward, and this costume was perhaps an anticipation of that clever little flat not too far west which was to become the centre of so delightful a literary and artistic set. It was, of all the feminine costumes present, most distinctly an evening dress. One was advised Miss Walshingham had arms and shoulders of a type by no means despicable, one was advised Miss Walshingham was capable not only of dignity but charm, even a certain glow of charm. It was, you know, her first evening dress, a tribute paid by Walshingham finance to her brightening future. Had she wanted keeping in countenance, she would have had to have fallen back upon her hostess, who was resplendent in black and steel. The other ladies had to a certain extent compromised. Mrs. Walshingham had dressed with just a refined, little V and Mrs. Bindon Dotting, except for her dear mottled arms, confided scarcely more of her plump charm to the world. The elder Miss Botting stopped short of shoulders, and so did Miss Ware. But Helen didn't. She was—had Kipps had eyes to see it—a quite beautiful human figure; she knew it and she met him with a radiant smile that had forgotten all the little difference of the afternoon. But to Kipps her appearance was the last release. With that, she had become as remote, as foreign, as incredible as a wife and mate, as though the Cnidian Venus herself, in all her simple elegance, was before witnesses, declared to be his. If, indeed, she had ever been credible as a wife and mate.

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CH. VIII She ascribed his confusion to modest reverence, and having blazed smiling upon him for a moment turned a shapely shoulder towards him and exchanged a remark with Mrs. Bindon Dotting. Ann's poor little half sixpence came against Kipps' fingers in his pocket and he clutched at it suddenly as though it was a talisman. Then he abandoned it to suppress his Order of the Brace. He was affected by a cough. "Miss Wace tells me Mr. Revel is coming," Mrs. Botting was saying.

"Isn't it delightful?" said Helen. "We saw him last night. He's stopped on his way to Paris. He's going to meet his wife there."

Kipps' eyes rested for a moment on Helen's dazzling deltoid, and then went enquiringly, accusingly almost to Coote's face. Where, in the presence of this terrible emergency, was the gospel of suppression now—that Furtive treatment of Religion and Politics, and Birth and Death and Bathing and Babies, and "all those things" which constitutes your True Gentleman? He had been too modest even to discuss this question with his Mentor, but surely, surely this quintessence of all that is good and nice could regard these unsolicited confidences only in one way. With something between relief and the confirmation of his worst fears he perceived, by a sort of twitching of the exceptionally abundant muscles about Coote's lower jaw, in a certain deliberate avoidance of one particular direction by these pale, but resolute, grey eyes, by the almost convulsive grip of the ample, greenish

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, and there formed an intimate friendship with Prince Bismarck. Events of the greatest moment took place during Malet's tenure of office—the suppression of the revolutionary movement in Baden by Prussian troops, the long parliamentary and diplomatic struggle between Prussia and Austria in the Diet, the attack on and dismemberment of Denmark by those two powers in concert, and finally the rupture of 1866 which culminated in the defeat of the Austrian army at Sadowa and the expulsion of Austria from the confederation (cf., Refounding of the German Empire). On the consequent fall of the Germanic confederation in 1866, Malet retired on a pension, and was made a K.C.B. He died on 28 Nov. 1886 (Times, 29 Nov. 1886). In 1834 he married Marian Dora, only daughter of John Spalding, esq., of the Holm, N.B., and stepdaughter of the first Lord Brougham, by whom he left two sons, Lieutenant-colonel Sir Henry Charles Eden Malet, third and present baronet, and Sir Edward Baldwin Malet, now British ambassador at Berlin. He was the author of ‘Some Account of the System of Fagging at Winchester School, with Remarks … on the late Expulsions thence for resistance to the Authority of the Prefects,’ London, 1828; of an English metrical translation of Wace's ‘Roman de Rou,’ London, 1860; and of ‘The Overthrow of the Germanic Confederation by Prussia in 1866,’ London, 1870.

The fourth son, (1804–1856), lieutenant-colonel, entered the Indian army as cadet in the 3rd light cavalry, Bombay, in 1822, and became ensign 15 April 1824, lieutenant 21 Feb. 1825, captain 4 Jan. 1838, major 23 Aug. 1851, and lieutenant-colonel 28 Nov. 1854. He took part in 1824 in the capture of Godhrá, Champáner, and Powanghen in Guzerat, and was actively engaged in 1832 in Káthiáwár, under Lieutenant-colonel Jervis, against the noted Sirdar Champoaj, and again in Guzerat in 1834 against rebels in the Mahi-Kantha. He was a keen sportsman, and especially fond of hog-hunting. On 26 Jan. 1837, while hunting big game, a tiger attacked Malet and he escaped uninjured, although his head was actually in the animal's mouth when another member of the party, Captain George Reeves of Malet's regiment, shot it dead. In 1839 he became political superintendent of Mellanee, Rájputána. He was wounded in the Afghan war in 1842, receiving a silver medal for his services, and in the next year served with equal distinction at Hyderabad under Sir Charles Napier. In 1843 he was also appointed resident at Khairpur, the court of the Sind prince, Meer Ali Merad Khan, and in 1845 accompanied Meer Ali and Sir Charles Napier in an expedition against rebel Beloochee chiefs. In 1850 he was made superintendent of the Guicowar contingent of horse. In 1856 he commanded his regiment (the 3rd light cavalry) in the war with Persia, and fell in action at the capture of Bushire, 9 Dec. 1856. In the following February, at the battle of Kooshat, Malet's regiment fiercely and successfully charged the enemy in order, as the men stated, to give ‘an answer (jewab) for the death of Malet Sahib Bahadur’ (Illustrated London News, 18 April 1857). He married Mary Fleming, daughter of Colonel John Taylor, and left one son. He was the author of ‘A History of Sind,’ translated from the Persian of Muhammad Ma‘sūm, Bombay, 1855.

The fifth son, (1806–1888), Indian civilian, was educated at Winchester, Addiscombe, and Haileybury. In 1824 he was appointed to the Bombay civil service, and in May 1826 he arrived at Bombay to assume his duties. After serving successively as assistant collector and magistrate at Khándesh, as assistant to the resident of Baroda, as political agent and resident at Cutch in 1842, and as political agent at Kathiawar in 1843, he was appointed in 1846 secretary for the political and secret departments to the government of Bombay, and chief secretary in the following year. Malet was appointed a member of the legislative council of India in 1854, a member of the government council of Bombay in 1855, and chief judge of the court of Sudder Dewannee and Sudder Foujdarree Adawlut in 1857. His action while he was on the council of Bombay during the Indian mutiny won high praise from Lord Elphinstone. He initiated the defence system for Bombay, and a great scheme of works for the reclamation of land on Bombay harbour, which was subsequently carried out according to his design. He married, first, Mary Sophia, third daughter of Sir J. P. Willoughby, bart., and, secondly, Annie Louisa, daughter of G. Powney Thompson, esq., E.I.C.C.S., and left two sons and seven daughters. He retired in 1860, and died on 13 Sept. 1888. He was the author of an English metrical version of the Psalms, London, 1863; of ‘The Books of Job, Ecclesiastes, and Revelation rendered into English verse,’ with ‘Solomon and his Bride, a Drama from the Song of Songs,’ London, 1883; and of ‘Notices of an English Branch of the Malet Family,’ London, 1885. [Burke's Peerage and Baronetage. 1892; Brit. Mus. Cat.; Cornwallis Correspondence, 2nd ed. i. 224, 323, 345–8, 410, ii. 162, 179, 480, 481, 487, 542, 552; Hart's Army Lists; Army and


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368 white gloves behind him, a grip broken at times for controlling pats at the black-bordered tie and the back of that spacious head, and by a slight but increasing disposition to cough, that Coote did not approve!

To Kipps Helen had once supplied a delicately beautiful dream, a thing of romance and unsubstantial mystery. But this was her final materialisation, and the last thin wreath of glamour about her was dispelled. In some way (he had forgotten how and it was perfectly incomprehensible) he was bound to this dark, solid and determined young person whose shadow and suggestion he had once loved. He had to go through with the thing as a gentleman should. Still

And when he was sacrificing Ann!

He wouldn't stand this sort of thing, whatever else he stood.… Should he say something about her dress to her—to-morrow?

He could put his foot down firmly. He could say, "Look 'ere. I don't care. I ain't going to stand it. See?"

She'd say something unexpected, of course. She always did say something unexpected.

Suppose for once he overrode what she said? Simply repeated his point?

He found these thoughts battling with certain conversational aggressions from Mrs. Wace, and then Revel arrived and took the centre of the stage.

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CH. VIII anticipated, but he speedily effaced that disappointment by his predominating manners. Although he lived habitually in the vivid world of London, his collar and tie were in no way remarkable, and he was neither brilliantly handsome nor curly nor long-haired. His personal appearance suggested arm chairs, rather than the equestrian exercises and amorous toyings and passionate intensities of his masterpiece; he was inclined to be fat, with whitish flesh, muddy coloured straight hair, he had a rather shapeless and truncated nose and his chin was asymmetrical. One eye was more inclined to stare than the other. He might have been esteemed a little undistinguished looking were it not for his beeswaxed moustache, which came amidst his features with a pleasing note of incongruity, and the whimsical wrinkles above and about his greater eye. His regard sought and found Helen's as he entered the room and they shook hands presently with an air of intimacy Kipps, for no clear reason, found objectionable. He saw them clasp their hands, heard Coote's characteristic cough—a sound rather more like a very, very old sheep, a quarter of a mile away, being blown to pieces by a small charge of gunpowder than anything else in the world—did some confused beginnings of a thought, and then they were all going in to dinner and Helen's shining bare arm lay along his sleeve. Kipps was in no state for conversation. She glanced at him, and, though he did not know it, very slightly pressed his elbow. He struggled with strange respiratory

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370. Before them went Coote, discoursing in amiable reverberations to Mrs. Walshingham, and at the head of the procession was Mrs. Bindon Botting talking fast and brightly beside the erect military figure of little Mr. Wace. (He was not a soldier really, but he had caught a martinet bearing by living so close to Shorncliffe.) Revel came last, in charge of Mrs. Wace's queenly black and steel, politely admiring in a flute-like cultivated voice the mellow wall paper of the staircase. Kipps marvelled at everybody's self-possession.

From the earliest spoonful of soup it became evident that Revel considered himself responsible for the table talk. And before the soup was over it was almost as manifest that Mrs. Bindon Botting inclined to consider his sense of responsibility excessive. In her circle Mrs. Bindon Botting was esteemed an agreeable rattle, her manner and appearance were conspicuously vivacious for one so plump, and she had an almost Irish facility for humorous description. She would keep people amused all through an afternoon call, with the story of how her jobbing gardener had got himself married and what his home was like, or how her favourite butt, Mr. Stigson Warder, had all his unfortunate children taught almost every conceivable instrument because they had the phrenological bump of music abnormally large. "They got to trombones, my dear!" she would say, with her voice coming to a climax. Usually her friends conspired to draw her out, but on this occasion they neglected to

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CH. VIII do so, a thing that militated against her keen desire to shine in Revel's eyes. After a time she perceived that the only thing for her to do was to cut in on the talk, on her own account, and this she began to do. She made several ineffectual snatches at the general attention and then Revel drifted towards a topic she regarded as particularly her own, the ordering of households.

They came to the thing through talk about localities. "We are leaving our house in The Boltons," said Revel, "and taking a little place at Wimbledon, and I think of having rooms in Dane's Inn. It will be more convenient In many ways. My wife is furiously addicted to golf and exercise of all sorts, and I like to sit about in clubs—I haven't the strength necessary for these hygienic proceedings—and the old arrangement suited neither of us. And, besides, no one could imagine the demoralisation the domestics of West London have undergone during the last three years."

"It's the same everywhere," said Mrs. Bindon Botting.

"Very possibly it is. A friend of mine calls it the servile tradition in decay and regards it all as a most hopeful phenomenon"

"He ought to have had my last two criminals," said Mrs. Bindon Botting.

She turned to Mrs. Wace while Revel came again a little too late with a "Possibly"

"And I haven't told you, my dear," she said,

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372 speaking with voluble rapidity, "I'm in trouble again."

"The last girl?"

"The last girl. Before I can get a cook, my hard won housemaid"—she paused—"chucks it."

"Panic?" asked young Walshingham.

"Mysterious grief! Everything merry as a marriage bell until my Anagram Tea! Then in the evening a portentous rigour of bearing, a word or so from my Aunt, and immediately—Floods of Tears and Notice!" For a moment her eye rested thoughtfully on Kipps, as she said: "Is there anything heartrending about Anagrams?"

"I find them so," said Revel. "I"

But Mrs. Bindon Botting got away again. "For a time it made me quite uneasy"

Kipps jabbed his lip with his fork rather painfully, and was recalled from a fascinated glare at Mrs. Botting to the immediate facts of dinner.

"whether anagrams might not have offended the good domestic's Moral Code—you never can tell. We made enquiries. No. No. No. She must go and that's all!"

"One perceives," said Revel, "in these disorders, dimly and distantly, the last dying glow of the age of Romance. Let us suppose, Mrs. Botting, let us at least try to suppose—it is Love."

Kipps clattered with his knife and fork.

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CH. VIII romances are going on, until at last they bust up and give Notice and upset our humdrum altogether. Some fatal, wonderful soldier"

"The passions of the common or house domestic," said Revel, and recovered possession of the table.

Upon the troubled disorder of Kipps' table manners there had supervented a quietness, an unusual calm. For once in his life he had distinctly made up his mind on his own account. He listened no more to Revel. He put down his knife and fork and refused anything that followed. Coote regarded him with tactful concern and Helen flushed a little.

About half-past nine that night came a violent pull at the bell of Mrs. Bindon Botting, and a young man in a dress suit, a gibus and other marks of exalted social position stood without. Athwart his white expanse of breast lay a ruddy bar of patterned silk that gave him a singular distinction and minimised the glow of a few small stains of burgundy. His gibus was thrust back and exposed a disorder of hair that suggested a reckless desperation. He had, in fact, burnt his boats and refused to join the ladies. Coote, in the subsequent conversation, had protested quietly, "You're going on all right, you know," to which Kipps had answered he didn't care a "Eng" about that, and so, after a brief tussel with Walshingham's detaining arm, had got away. "I got something to do," he said. "'Ome." And here he was—panting an

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374 extraordinary resolve. The door opened, revealing the pleasantly furnished hall of Mrs. Bindon Dotting, lit by rose-tinted lights, and in the centre of the picture, neat and pretty in black and white, stood Ann. At the sight of Kipps her colour vanished.

"Ann," said Kipps, "I want to speak to you. I got something to say to you right away. See? I'm"

"This ain't the door to speak to me at," said Ann.

"But, Ann! It's something special."

"You spoke enough," said Ann.

"Ann!"

"Besides. That's my door, down there. Basement. If I was caught talking at this door!"

"But, Ann, I'm"

"Basement after nine. Them's my hours. I'm a servant and likely to keep one. If you're calling here, what name please? But you got your friends and I got mine and you mustn't go talking to me."

"But, Ann, I want to ask you"

Someone appeared in the hall behind Ann. "Not here," said Ann. "Don't know anyone of that name," and incontinently slammed the door in his face.

"What was that, Ann?" said Mrs. Bindon Botting's invalid Aunt.

"Ge'm a little intoxicated. Ma'am—asking for the wrong name, Ma'am."

"What name did he want?" asked the lady, doubtfully.

"No name that we know, Ma'am," said Ann, hustling along the hall towards the kitchen stairs.

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Rh was refused. Sir Thomas Malet died 19 Dec. 1665, and was buried in Pointington Church, Somerset. His son, Sir John, who was knighted at Whitehall in the year of his father's death, was recorder of Bridgewater.

 MALET or MALLET, WILLIAM (d. 1071), of Graville in Normandy, companion of the Conqueror, is described by Guy of Amiens (Carmen de Hastingæ Prælio, l. 587) as ‘quidam partim Normannus et Anglus.’ Several points of evidence seem to justify Mr. Freeman's conjecture (Norman Conquest, 1875, iii. 779) that his mother was an Englishwoman, and a sister of Godgifu or Godiva and of Thorold the sheriff. This relationship, if true, would help to account for the unsupported tradition noticed by Mr. Freeman (ib. 1877, ii. 679), that Ælfgifu, the wife of Ælfgar of Mercia, and the mother of Aldgyth, Harold's queen, was a sister of William Malet. In most readings of Guy of Amiens' poem Malet is described as ‘Compater Heraldi,’ a term which is unexplained except by a conjecture of Mr. Planché (The Conqueror and his Companions, ii. 95) that Malet and Harold may have been joint sponsors of Duke William's daughter, Adela, who was born in 1062, the year of Harold's visit to Normandy. But in Michel's ‘Chron. Anglo-Normandes,’ iii. 27, ed. 1836, a different reading of this line, viz. ‘Compatit Heraldi,’ is given, which, if correct, would dispose of the difficulty. The exploits of ‘Guillaume ki l'en dit Mallet’ at the battle of Hastings are celebrated by Wace in his ‘Roman de Rou’ (ll. 13472–84), and he was entrusted by William with the duty of burying the body of Harold. After the capture of York by William in 1068, Malet received the office of sheriff, and was appointed with two other Norman captains to command the garrison of the castle of York. In the following months, with the help of the king, he repelled the attacks of the enemy, but he shared in the defeat of the Norman garrison in 1069, when a strong force of Danes and English attacked and captured the city, and he was himself carried off as a prisoner. Subsequently it seems that he recovered his freedom and re-entered the service of William, although he lost his sheriffdom and some of his lands. It is almost certain, from the references to him in the second book of ‘Domesday,’ that Malet died in the campaign against Hereward in 1071 (Norman Conquest, 1876, iv. 787–90, note W). Malet received large grants of land in England, chiefly in the eastern counties, and at his principal lordship at Eye in Suffolk he built a castle and established a market. He is noticed in ‘Domesday’ as having been one of the tenants in chief, and in a charter granted by William I to the church of St. Martin's-le-Grand in London he signs as ‘Willielmus Malet, Princeps,’ after the bishops, abbots, and earls. By his wife Hesilia Crispin, a descendant in the fourth generation of Rollo, first duke of Normandy, Malet left two sons, Robert [q. v.] and Gilbert, and a daughter Beatrice. His brother Durand also settled in England, and from him the Lincolnshire branches of the family are descended.

 MALET or MALLET, WILLIAM (fl. 1195–1215), baron of Curry Mallet and Shepton Mallet, Somerset, was the descendant in the fourth generation of Gilbert, brother of Robert [q. v.], and the younger son of William Malet [q. v.] of Graville. He was in Normandy with King Richard in 1195; in the following year he paid a fine of 100l. for livery of his inheritance; in 1204 he paid to the king a hundred shillings for liberty to sue William de Evermue for the lordship of Swinton; in 1211 he was appointed sheriff of Dorset and Somerset; and in 1214 he served King John with ten knights and twenty soldiers in Poitou. In the following year Malet took a prominent part on the popular side in the struggle between the king and the barons. He joined the confederacy of the barons at Stamford in Easter week, 1215, and was one of the twenty-five barons subsequently elected to guarantee the observance of the Great Charter. For the part which he took in the events of that year he


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CH. VIII "I hope you weren't too short with him, Ann."

"No shorter than he deserved, considering 'ow he be'aved," said Ann, with her bosom heaving.

And Mrs. Bindon Botting's invalid Aunt, perceiving suddenly that this call had some relation to Ann's private and sentimental trouble, turned, after one moment of hesitating scrutiny, away.

She was an extremely sympathetic lady, was Mrs. Bindon Botting's invalid Aunt; she took an interest in the servants, imposed piety, extorted confessions and followed human nature, blushing and lying defensively, to its reluctantly revealed recesses, but Ann's sense of privacy was strong and her manner under drawing out and encouragement, sometimes even alarming.…

So the poor old lady went upstairs again.

The basement door opened and Kipps came into the kitchen. He was flushed and panting.

He struggled for speech.

"'Ere," he said, and held out two half sixpences.

Ann stood behind the kitchen table—face pale and eyes round, and now—and it simplified Kipps very much—he could see she had indeed been crying.

"Well?" she said.

"Don't you see?"

Ann moved her head slightly.

"I kep' it all these years."

"You kep' it too long."

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 TO THE PRINCETON MAN PAST, PRESENT, AND FUTURE TO ALL LOVERS AND WELL-WISHERS OF OLD NASSAU TO AN ALMA MATER WHO HAS SHELTERED US AND WHOSE PRIDE AND HAPPINESS ARE IN THE WELFARE OF HER CHILDREN THIS LITTLE BOOK IS DEDICATED

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376 His mouth closed and his flush died away. He looked at her. The amulet, it seemed, had failed to work.

"Ann!" he said.

"Well?"

"Ann."

The conversation still hung fire.

"Ann," he said, made a movement with his hands that suggested appeal, and advanced a step.

Ann shook her head more defiantly, and became defensive.

"Look here, Ann," said Kipps. "I been a fool."

They stared into each other's miserable eyes.

"Ann," he said. "I want to marry you."

Ann clutched the table edge. "You can't," she said faintly.

He made as if to approach her around the table, and she took a step that restored their distance.

"I must," he said.

"You can't."

"I must. You got to marry me, Ann."

"You can't go marrying everybody. You got to marry 'er."

"I shan't."

Ann shook her head. "You're engaged to that girl. Lady, rather. You can't be engaged to me."

"I don't want to be engaged to you. I been engaged. I want to be married to you. See? Rightaway."

Ann turned a shade paler. "But what d'you mean?" she asked.

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CH. VIII "Come right off to London and marry me. Now."

"What d'you mean?"

Kipps became extremely lucid and earnest.

"I mean come right off and marry me now before anyone else can. See?"

"In London?"

"In London."

They stared at one another again. They took things for granted in the most amazing way.

"I couldn't," said Ann. "For one thing my month's not up for mor'n free weeks yet."

They hung before that for a moment as though it was insurmountable.

"Look 'ere, Ann! Arst to go. Arst to go!"

"She wouldn't," said Ann.

"Then come without arsting," said Kipps.

"She's keep my box"

"She won't."

"She will."

"She won't."

"You don't know 'er."

"Well, desh 'er—let 'er! ! Who cares? I'll buy you a 'undred boxes if you'll come."

"It wouldn't be right towards Her."

"It isn't Her you got to think about, Ann. It's me."

"And you 'aven't treated me properly," she said. "You 'aven't treated me properly, Artie. You didn't ought to 'ave"

"I didn't say I 'ad," he interrupted, "did I, Ann?"

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 PREFACE.

story deals mostly with a time that is recent, but tempora mutantur. Some of the references I fear will appeal to memories only. If I have mingled the what-might-have-been with what-really-did-occur, I shall make no excuse. I have done this with the idea in my head that the one might seem quite as probable as the other.

If I have been personal, it is without malice, and if I have the merit to stir your recollections, I am rewarded.

One thing will never change, the Princeton spirit. I trust that it can be felt in this tale from old Princeton in the measure that it stirs the heart of the writer.

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text: Dictionary of National Biography, 1885-1900/Malet, Thomas


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378 he appealed. "I didn't come to arguefy. I'm all wrong. I never said I wasn't. It's yes or no. Me or not.… I been a fool. There! See? I been a fool. Ain't that enough? I got myself all tied up with everyone and made a fool of myself all around.…"

He pleaded, "It isn't as if we didn't care for one another, Ann."

She seemed impassive and he resumed his discourse.

"I thought I wasn't likely ever to see you again, Ann. I reely did. It isn't as though I was seein' you all the time. I didn't know what I wanted, and I went and be'aved like a fool—jest as anyone might. I know what I want and I know what I don't want now.

"Ann!"

"Well?"

"Will you come? … Will you come? …"

Silence.

"If you don't answer me, Ann—I'm desprit—if you don't answer me now, if you don't say you'll come I'll go right out now"

He turned doorward passionately as he spoke, with his threat incomplete.

"I'll go," he said; "I 'aven't a friend in the world! I been and throwed everything away. I don't know why I done things and why I 'aven't. All I know is I can't stand nothing in the world any more." He choked. "The pier," he said.

He fumbled with the door latch, grumbling some

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