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N re-reading the manuscript of this book I find I didn’t allow myself to be born. May I apologize for this unconventional oversight as well as for other more serious ones—and some not so serious?

I myself am disappointed not to have been able to write a “work”—(you know, Dickens’ Works, Thackeray’s Works), but my dignity wouldn’t stand the strain. I can only hope, therefore, that some of the fun of flying the Atlantic has sifted into my pages and that some of the charm and romance of old ships may be seen to cling similarly to the ships of the air.

A. E.

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

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text: 20 Hrs. 40 Min./Foreword

title: 20 Hrs. 40 Min./Foreword


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TALL, slender, boyish-looking young woman walked into my office in the early fall of 1926. She wanted a job and a part-time one would do, for she was giving courses in English under the university extension. Most of her classes were in factories in Lynn and other industrial towns near Boston. She had had no real experience in social work but she wanted to try it, and before I knew it I had engaged her for half-time work at Denison House. She had poise and charm. I liked her

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How can Life grant us boon of living, compensate

For dull grey ugliness and pregnant hate

Unless we dare

The soul’s dominion? Each time we make a choice, we pay

With courage to behold resistless day,

And count it fair.

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 of any quality that makes for sensationalism—this is Amelia Earhart. A few days after the flight project was under way, a dinner guest at Denison House, who was learning to fly at the East Boston Airport, told of the big Fokker monoplane that Byrd was “to fly to the Antarctic”; just a quiet twinkle across the room to me from Amelia’s eyes, and afterwards an infectious chuckle as we enjoyed the incident together.

One day last year, after a discussion of L. P. Jacks’ lectures on The Challenge of Life, she handed me some verses. Here they are, more appropriate at this time than any words I can write:

Courage is the price that Life exacts for granting peace.

The soul that knows it not, knows no release

From little things:

Knows not the livid loneliness of fear,

Nor mountain heights where bitter joy can hear

The sound of wings.

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text: 20 Hrs. 40 Min./Introduction

title: 20 Hrs. 40 Min./Introduction


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 quiet sense of humor, the frank direct look in her grey eyes.

It was some time before any of us at Denison House knew that Amelia Earhart had flown. After driving with her in the “Yellow Peril,” her own Kissel roadster, I knew that she was an expert driver, handling her car with ease, yes more than that, with an artistic touch. She has always seemed to me an unusual mixture of the artist and the practical person.

Her first year at Denison House she had general direction of the evening school for foreign-born men and women. She did little teaching herself, but did follow-up work in the homes, so necessary to the success of such an undertaking. In her report of her year’s work after we had planned her next year’s program, which did not include the evening school, she wrote: “I shall try to keep my contact with the women who have come to class; Mrs. S. and her drunken husband, Mrs. F.’s struggle to get her

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 husband here, Mrs. Z.’s to get her papers in the face of odds, all are problems that are hard to relinquish after a year’s friendship.”

In the spring of 1927, Denison House was giving a country carnival for the benefit of the house. For such a good cause, Amelia consented to fly over Boston and drop publicity dodgers. She first said that she would do this if her name could be kept out of the papers! We had to use some persuasion to keep her from flying incognito. The first day of the carnival, the Boston police up and down Boylston and Tremont Streets were perhaps too amazed to try to arrest a man and woman, apparently Italian peasants just landed, who drove back and forth in a queer yellow car, stopping now and then to grind a tune on a battered hand-organ and to distribute handbills.

The organ grinder was Amelia Earhart.

Youth, keeping a heart, a soul and a body that are wide open to all the rich opportunities

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 idea of my waiting till evening and then entering the city like a thief or offender, that if I was not afraid, I should accompany him there and then, and that we would walk to the town as if nothing had happened. I replied: “I do not think I am afraid. It is only a question of propriety whether or not I should accept Mr Escombe’s suggestion. And we should also consider whether the captain of the steamer is responsible in the matter.” Mr Laughton smiled and said: “What has Mr Escombe done for you that you must needs heed his suggestion? And what reason have you to believe that he is actuated by kindliness and not by some ulterior motive? I know more than you what has happened in the town, and what hand Mr Escombe had in the happenings there.” I interrupted him with a shaking of the head. “We might assume,” continued Mr Laughton, “that he is actuated by the best of motives. But I am positively of opinion that if you comply with his suggestion, you will stand humiliated. I would, therefore, advise you, if you are ready, to accompany me just now. The captain is our man, and his responsibility is our responsibility. He is accountable only to Dada Abdulla. I know what they will think of the matter, as they have displayed great courage in the present struggle.” I replied: “Let us then go. I have no preparations to make. All I have to do is to put on my turban. Let us inform the captain and start.” We took the captain’s leave.

Mr Laughton was an old and well-known advocate of Durban. I had come in intimate contact with him before I returned to India. I used to consult him in difficult cases and often to engage him as my senior. He was a brave and powerfully built man.

Our road lay through the principal street of Durban. It was about half past four in the evening when we started. The sky was slightly overcast and the sun was not to be seen. It would take a pedestrian at least one hour to reach Rustomji Sheth’s place. The number of persons present about the wharf was not larger than what is to be usually seen there. As soon as we landed, some boys saw

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 of life—that is part of Amelia’s creed. How many times I have heard her say that, to her, one of the biggest jobs of the social worker in a settlement is just that—to give boys and girls the experiences that will keep them young and that will develop a zest for life. Last fall, she came to Denison House as a resident and as a full-time staff worker. She has directed the work of girls from five to fourteen years and has had general charge of the pre-kindergarten. Jokingly we have sometimes called Amelia the “official secretary,” for she is the secretary of the staff, of the Board of Directors (to which she was elected this year) and to the House Committee of the board. She has an unusual flair, in a meeting, for the gist of the thought and expresses herself in writing with accuracy and originality. Last year and this, Amelia has been a member of an inter-settlement committee working on child-study records.

She herself made studies of children that show

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 her keen insight into child life. Here are sentences taken from her record of a seven-year-old boy. “Ferris is fond of making experiments of various kinds. How far can the pencil be moved before it falls? How high can the chairs be piled before spilling? He conceived the idea on a cold day of ‘warming’ his little sister’s beads on his father’s stove. That the beads were hot enough to burn the child when she put them on was not part of the experiment.”

“Where is Miss Earhart now?” “Is she still flying?” “Gee, I hope she beats that other woman.” These and hundreds of other questions greeted us on Tyler Street. “Is she coming back soon?” “I couldn’t sleep last night thinking about her flying.”

The day she told me of the trans-Atlantic project, and swore me to secrecy, she said, “And I’ll be back for summer school. I have weighed the values and I want to stay in social work.” Her simplicity, her honesty, her complete lack

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 us. As I was the only Indian who put on a turban of a particular type, they at once recognized me, began to shout ‘Gandhi,’ ‘Gandhi,’ ‘thrash him,’ ‘surround him,’ and came up towards us. Some began to throw pebbles at us. A few elderly Europeans joined the boys. Gradually the party of rioters began to grow. Mr Laughton thought that there was danger in our going on foot. He therefore hailed a rickshaw. I had never sat in a rickshaw before, as it was thoroughly disgusting to me to sit in a vehicle pulled by human beings. But I then felt that it was my duty to use that vehicle. I have experienced five or seven times in my life that one, whom God wishes to save, cannot fall even if he will. If I did not fall I cannot take any credit for it to myself. These rickshaws are pulled by Zulus. The elderly Europeans and the boys threatened the rickshaw puller that if he allowed me to sit in his rickshaw, they would beat him and smash his rickshaw to pieces. The rickshaw boy, therefore, said ‘Kha’ (meaning ‘no’) and went away. I was thus spared the shame of a rickshaw ride.

We had no alternative now but to proceed to our destination on foot. A mob followed us. With every step we advanced, it grew larger and larger. The gathering was enormous when we reached West Street. A man of powerful build took hold of Mr Laughton and tore him away from me. He was not therefore in a position to come up with me. The crowd began to abuse me and shower upon me stones and whatever else they could lay their hands on. They threw down my turban. Meanwhile a burly fellow came up to me, slapped me in the face and then kicked me. I was about to fall down unconscious when I held on to the railings of a house near by. I took breath for a while and when the fainting was over, proceeded on my way. I had almost given up the hope of reaching home alive. But I remember well that even then my heart did not arraign my assailants.

While I was thus wending my way, the wife of the Superintendent of Police at Durban was coming from the opposite direction. We knew each other well. She was a

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 brave lady. Although the sky was cloudy and the sun about to set, she opened her sunshade for my protection and began to walk at my side. The Europeans would not insult a lady, especially the wife of the old and popular Superintendent of Police, nor would they hurt her. They must avoid injuring her while aiming blows at me. The injuries, therefore, which I received after she joined me, were not serious. Meanwhile the Superintendent of Police came to know of the attack upon me and sent a party of constables for my protection. The police surrounded me. The Police Station was on our way. When we reached there I saw that the Superintendent of Police was waiting for us. He offered me asylum in the Police Station, but I declined the offer with thanks and said, “I must reach my destination. I have faith in the fair play of the citizens of Durban and in the righteousness of my own cause. I am thankful to you for sending the police party for my protection. Mrs Alexander too has contributed to my safety.”

I reached Rustomji’s house without further trouble. It was nearly evening when I reached there. Dr Dadibarjor, the medical officer of the Courland, who was with Rustomji Sheth, began to treat me. He examined my wounds. There were not many of them. One blind wound in particular was very painful. But I was not yet privileged to rest in peace. Thousands of Europeans gathered before Rustomji Sheth’s house. After nightfall, hooligans also joined the crowd. The crowd sent word to Rustomji Sheth that if he did not hand me over to them, they would burn him and his house along with me. Rustomji Sheth was too good an Indian to be daunted. When Superintendent Alexander came to know how matters stood, he quietly joined the crowd with a number of detectives. He sent for a bench and stood upon it. Thus under the pretence of talking to the crowd, he took possession of the entrance to Rustomji’s house so that none could break and enter it. He had already posted detectives at proper places. Immediately on arrival, he had instructed a subordinate to disguise himself as an Indian trader by putting on

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 Indian dress and painting his face to see me and deliver to me the following message: “If you wish to save your friend, his guests and property, and your own family, I advise you to disguise yourself as an Indian constable, come out through Rustomji’s godown, steal through the crowd with my man and reach the Police Station. A carriage is awaiting you at the corner of the street. This is the only way in which I can save you and others. The crowd is so excited that I am not in a position to control it. If you are not prompt in following my directions, I am afraid the crowd will raze Rustomji’s house to the ground and it is impossible for me to imagine how many lives will be lost and how much property destroyed.”

I gauged the situation at once. I quickly disguised myself as a constable and left Rustomji’s house. The Police Officer and I reached the Police Station in safety. In the meantime Mr Alexander was humouring the crowd by singing topical songs and talking to them. When he knew that I had reached the Police Station, he became serious and asked:

“What do you want?”

“We want Gandhi.”

“What will you do with him?”

“We will burn him.”

“What harm has he done to you?”

“He has vilified us in India and wants to flood Natal with Indians.”

“What if he does not come out?”

“We will then burn this house.”

“His wife and children are also there. There are other men and women besides. Would you not be ashamed of burning women and children?”

“The responsibility for that will rest with you. What can we do when you make us helpless in the matter? We do not wish to hurt any one else. It would be enough if you hand over Gandhi to us. If you do not surrender the culprit, and if others are injured in our endeavour to capture him, would it be fair on your part to blame us?”

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 velope a letter of two pages. He read it trembling. It declined, indeed, to publish that tale, for business reasons, but it discussed its merits and demerits, so courteously, so considerately, in a spirit so rational, with a discrimination so enlightened, that this very refusal cheered the author better than a vulgarly-expressed acceptance would have done. It was added, that a work in three volumes would meet with careful attention."

Mr. Smith has told me a little circumstance connected with the reception of this manuscript, which seems to me indicative of no ordinary character. It came (accompanied by the note given below) in a brown paper parcel, to 65 Cornhill. Besides the address to Messrs. Smith and Co., there were on it those of other publishers to whom the tale had been sent, not obliterated, but simply scored through, so that Messrs. Smith at once perceived the names of some of the houses in the trade to which the unlucky parcel had gone, without success.

1em

"Gentlemen,—I beg to submit to your consideration the accompanying manuscript. I should be glad to learn whether it be such as you approve, and would undertake to publish at as early a period as possible. Address, Mr. Currer Bell, under cover to Miss Brontë, Haworth, Bradford, Yorkshire."


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 : Here?

(shrinking away from the window) : He musn’t see me. Oh, but he’s changed changed.

(To ) Please don’t bother to come. I can find my way.

[She reaches the door and looks back longingly at the window.

Please tell him about me  if he hasn’t had that letter. [She goes out.

(after a long pause, in a strained voice) : Chris is out there.

(backing from the window) : Can you see him?

(moving to the window, fearfully) : Yes. Yes. Oh, Chris!

[She sinks on to the window-seat in tears.

(To ) : Did you tell him you were coming here?


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 Some time elapsed before an answer was returned.

A little circumstance may be mentioned here, though it belongs to a somewhat earlier period, as showing Miss Brontë's inexperience of the ways of the world, and willing deference to the opinion of others. She had written to a publisher about one of her manuscripts, which she had sent him, and, not receiving any reply, she consulted her brother as to what could be the reason for the prolonged silence. He at once set it down to her not having enclosed a postage-stamp in her letter. She accordingly wrote again, to repair her former omission, and apologise for it.

1em

"Gentlemen,—About three weeks since, I sent for your consideration a MS. entitled 'The Professor, a tale by Currer Bell.' I should be glad to know whether it reached your hands safely, and likewise to learn, at your earliest convenience, whether it be such as you can undertake to publish.—I am, gentlemen, yours respectfully, ".

"I enclose a directed cover for your reply."

This time her note met with a prompt answer; for, four days later, she writes (in reply to the letter which she afterwards characterised in the Preface to the second edition of "Wuthering Heights," as containing a refusal


text: Category:1869 court decisions

title: Category:1869 court decisions


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 : Here  now?

I’ve got to face it. Why not now?

Kitty, you must be brave.

Frank!

(With an intense effort.) Did you tell him about Oliver?

Our child.

Do you wish me to now?

(hard) : No. I won’t hold him by sentiment or or pity. Go and bring him in.

[ goes.

Jenny.

(rising and coming to her) : Oh, Kitty.

I’ve been a good wife to him, haven’t I? I’ve done my best. I’ve loved him. And now this woman he belongs to her. He isn’t ours any more.

Chris is ill.

What else is there to say?

He’ll look at me and not know me. All these years nothing. Even you he’ll know you’re only


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 so delicate, reasonable, and courteous, as to be more cheering than some acceptances):

"Your objection to the want of varied interest in the tale is, I am aware, not without grounds; yet it appears to me that it might be published without serious risk, if its appearance were speedily followed up by another work from the same pen, of a more striking and exciting character. The first work might serve as an introduction, and accustom the public to the author's name: the success of the second might thereby be rendered more probable. I have a second narrative in three volumes, now in progress, and nearly completed, to which I have endeavoured to impart a more vivid interest than belongs to 'The Professor.' In about a month I hope to finish it, so that if a publisher were found for 'The Professor,' the second narrative might follow as soon as was deemed advisable; and thus the interest of the public (if any interest was aroused) might not be suffered to cool. Will you be kind enough to favour me with your judgment on this plan?"

While the minds of the three sisters were in this state of suspense, their long-expected friend came to pay her promised visit. She was with them at the beginning of the glowing August of that year. They were out on the moors for the greater part of the day, basking in the golden sunshine, which was bringing on an unusual plenteousness of harvest, for which, somewhat later, Charlotte expressed her earnest desire that there


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Rh

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 should be a thanksgiving service in all the churches. August was the season of glory for the neighbourhood of Haworth. Even the smoke, lying in the valley between that village and Keighley, took beauty from the radiant colours on the moors above, the rich purple of the heather bloom calling out an harmonious contrast in the tawny golden light that, in the full heat of summer evenings, comes stealing everywhere through the dun atmosphere of the hollows. And up, on the moors, turning away from all habitations of men, the royal ground on which they stood would expand into long swells of amethyst-tinted hills, melting away into aërial tints; and the fresh and fragrant scent of the heather, and the "murmur of innumerable bees," would lend a poignancy to the relish with which they welcomed their friend to their own true home on the wild and open hills.

There, too, they could escape from the Shadow in the house below.

Throughout this time—during all these confidences—not a word was uttered to their friend of the three tales in London; two accepted and in the press—one trembling in the balance of a publisher's judgment; nor did she hear of that other story "nearly completed," lying in manuscript in the grey old parsonage down below. She might have her suspicions that they all wrote with an intention of publication some time; but she knew the bounds which they set to themselves in their communications; nor could she, nor can any one


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 his cousin but me  his wife. No. I’m the stranger here the only stranger  among you all. Are they coming?

(looking) : Yes.

[ shudders and shrinks back against the fireplace, as though to huddle out of sight. stands, watching the window. and enter at the back. ''stands a moment looking into the room, with a faintly puzzled expression. Then he sees''. His face lights up and he moves to her, seizing both her hands.

[He looks at her, and his face changes.

Chris is it so bad? Chris?

Why?

[Pulling herself up.

Oh, Chris, it’s so wonderful to have you safe.

(choking) : Oh, Chris!

[''She releases her hands and turns away in tears. There is a silence''.

[ ''turns. He sees''. There is a horrible pause, while he looks at her blankly.

(weakly) : Yes. I am your wife.

(kindly) : Kitty?


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 else, wonder at their reticence, when remembering how scheme after scheme had failed, just as it seemed close upon accomplishment.

Mr. Brontë, too, had his suspicions of something going on; but, never being spoken to, he did not speak on the subject, and consequently his ideas were vague and uncertain, only just prophetic enough to keep him from being actually stunned when, later on, he heard of the success of "Jane Eyre;" to the progress of which we must now return.

1em

"I now send you per rail a MS. entitled 'Jane Eyre,' a novel in three volumes, by Currer Bell. I find I cannot prepay the carriage of the parcel, as money for that purpose is not received at the small station-house where it is left. If, when you acknowledge the receipt of the MS., you would have the goodness to mention the amount charged on delivery, I will immediately transmit it in postage stamps. It is better in future to address Mr. Currer Bell, under cover to Miss Brontë, Haworth, Bradford, Yorkshire, as there is a risk of letters otherwise directed not reaching me at present. To save trouble, I enclose an envelope."

"Jane Eyre" was accepted, and printed and published by October 16th.


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 While it was in the press, Miss Brontë went to pay a short visit to her friend at B. The proofs were forwarded to her there, and she occasionally sat at the same table with her friend, correcting them; but they did not exchange a word on the subject.

Immediately on her return to the Parsonage, she wrote:

1em

"I had a very wet, windy walk home from Keighley; but my fatigue quite disappeared when I reached home, and found all well. Thank God for it.

"My boxes came safe this morning. I have distributed the presents. Papa says I am to remember him most kindly to you. The screen will be very useful, and he thanks you for it. Tabby was charmed with her cap. She said, 'she never thought o' naught o' t' sort as Miss sending her aught, and, she is sure, she can never thank her enough for it.' I was infuriated on finding a jar in my trunk. At first, I hoped it was empty, but when I found it heavy and replete, I could have hurled it all the way back to B. However, the inscription A. B. softened me much. It was at once kind and villanous in you to send it. You ought first to be tenderly kissed, and then afterwards as tenderly whipped. Emily is just now on the floor of the bed-room where I am writing, looking at her apples. She smiled when I gave the collar to her as your present, with an expression at once well-pleased and slightly


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 surprised. All send their love.—Yours, in a mixture of anger and love."

When the manuscript of "Jane Eyre" had been received by the future publishers of that remarkable novel, it fell to the share of a gentleman connected with the firm to read it first. He was so powerfully struck by the character of the tale, that he reported his impression in very strong terms to Mr. Smith, who appears to have been much amused by the admiration excited. "You seem to have been so enchanted, that I do not know how to believe you," he laughingly said. But when a second reader, in the person of a clear-headed Scotchman, not given to enthusiasm, had taken the MS. home in the evening, and became so deeply interested in it, as to sit up half the night to finish it, Mr. Smith's curiosity was sufficiently excited to prompt him to read it for himself; and great as were the praises which had been bestowed upon it, he found that they had not exceeded the truth.

On its publication, copies were presented to a few private literary friends. Their discernment had been rightly reckoned upon. They were of considerable standing in the world of letters; and one and all returned expressions of high praise along with their thanks for the book. Among them was the great writer of fiction for whom Miss Brontë felt so strong an admiration; he immediately appreciated, and, in a characteristic note to the publishers, acknowledged its extraordinary merits.


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 The Reviews were more tardy, or more cautious. The "Athenæum" and the "Spectator" gave short notices, containing qualified admissions of the power of the author. The "Literary Gazette" was uncertain as to whether it was safe to praise an unknown author. The "Daily News" declined accepting the copy which had been sent, on the score of a rule "never to review novels;" but a little later on, there appeared a notice of the "Bachelor of the Albany," in that paper; and Messrs. Smith and Elder again forwarded a copy of "Jane Eyre" to the Editor, with a request for a notice. This time the work was accepted; but I am not aware what was the character of the article upon it.

The "Examiner" came forward to the rescue, as far as the opinions of professional critics were concerned. The literary articles in that paper were always remarkable for their genial and generous appreciation of merit; nor was the notice of "Jane Eyre" an exception; it was full of hearty, yet delicate and discriminating praise. Otherwise, the press in general did little to promote the sale of the novel; the demand for it among librarians had begun before the appearance of the review in the "Examiner;" the power and fascination of the tale itself made its merits known to the public, without the kindly finger-posts of professional criticism; and, early in December, the rush began for copies.

I will insert two or three of Miss Brontë's letters to her publishers, in order to show how timidly the idea of


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The Royal Book of Oz "It has retired to the caves at the end of the Island," quavered the Grand Chew Chew.

"I thought as much," said the Scarecrow. "But never mind, there are quite a lot of us."

"Us!" spluttered a tall Silverman indignantly. "We are not common soldiers."

"No—very uncommon ones, but you have hard heads and long nails and I daresay will manage somehow. Come on—let's go. Chew, you may take the lead."

"Go!" shrieked the Grand Chew Chew. "Us?" The Courtiers began backing away in alarm. "Where—er—what—are your Highness' plans?"

"Why just to conquer the King of the Golden Islands and send him back home," said the Scarecrow, smilingly engagingly. "That's what you wanted wasn't it?"

"But it is not honorable for noblemen to fight—it—"

"Oh, of course, if you prefer burning—" the Scarecrow rose unsteadily and started for the garden gates. Not a person stirred. The Scarecrow looked back and his reproachful face was too much for Happy Toko.

"I'll come, exalted and radiant Scarecrowcus!

title: Page:The Royal Book of Oz.djvu/142


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 success was received by one so unaccustomed to adopt a sanguine view of any subject in which she was individually concerned. The occasions on which these notes were written, will explain themselves.

1em

"Gentlemen,—The six copies of 'Jane Eyre' reached me this morning. You have given the work every advantage which good paper, clear type, and a seemly outside can supply;—if it fails, the fault will lie with the author,—you are exempt.

"I now await the judgment of the press and the public. I am, Gentlemen, yours respectfully, "C. ."

1em

"Gentlemen,—I have received the newspapers. They speak quite as favourably of 'Jane Eyre' as I expected them to do. The notice in the 'Literary Gazette' seems certainly to have been indited in rather a flat mood, and the 'Athenæum' has a style of its own, which I respect, but cannot exactly relish; still when one considers that journals of that standing have a


text:
Texas v. White/Dissent Swayne

Mr. Justice SWAYNE:

I concur with my brother Grier as to the incapacity of the State of Texas, in her present condition, to maintain an original suit in this court. The question, in my judgment, is one in relation to which this court is bound by the action of the legislative department of the government.

Upon the merits of the case, I agree with the majority of my brethren.

I am authorized to say that my brother MILLER unites with me in these views.

[The decree appears at the end of the opinion of the Court.]

title: Texas v. White/Dissent Swayne


text: Page:The Royal Book of Oz.djvu/156

title: Page:The Royal Book of Oz.djvu/156


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Rh He did not want to sleep. He lay a-thinking—thinking always of one and the same thing, that constituted the end and the aim and the pride and the joy of his life—of how he had made a lot of money, and might make still more money, of how many other people he knew were making and had made money, and how these other people kept on making and would continue to make money, and how he, just like them, might still earn lots and lots of money.

"The oak wood will do for sledge-shafts, they'll make capital beams as they stand; there's quite thirty fathoms of firewood too, per desyatin," he calculated, thinking of the copse inspected by him in the autumn, and which he was now going to purchase. "I won't give 10,000 for it, all the same, but only 8,000, for something ought to be deducted for t!hat little field. I'll grease the palm of the surveyor with a hundred or a hundred and fifty, he'll measure me the field at about five desyatins. And I can let it afterwards as an eight desyatin field. There's 3,000 profit down on the nail. Never fear, I'll manage it," thought he, fumbling with the tips of his fingers after the memorandum book in his pocket. "And how we managed to lose the turning God only knows. There ought to be a wood and a keeper's hut hereabouts. We ought to be hearing a dog too. Why can't the cussed things bark when they are wanted to bark?" He opened his collar a little and began to listen and look about him. The only thing visible in the dark-

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Tales from Tolstoi ness was the blackening head of Brownie, and his back, on which the large sack was flapping; and the only thing to be heard was the whistling of the wind, the fluttering and shivering of the piece of cloth on the upright sledge-shaft, and the pattering of the snow on the back of the sledge. He covered himself up again, "Well, if we must make a night of it, we must, that's all. 'Tis all one if we wait for tomorrow. It will only be a day lost, and the others will never be able to get there in such weather." And then he recollected that on the 9th he ought to receive money from the butcher for a gelded ram. "He will come himself, he won't find me, and my wife does not understand money matters: she has no manners, and doesn't understand polite intercourse at all," he continued thinking, calling to mind how she had not known how to converse with the local magistrate who had been among his guests at the feast the evening before. "But of course, where did the woman ever see the like before? What sort of a place was her parents' home, after all? Why, her father was but a rich village muzhik, with a pot-house and that sort of thing, and that's all. But what haven't I done during these last fifteen years? Why, I've set a-going a shop, two inns, and a mill. And I rent two properties. And I've got a house with a storeroom under an iron roof," he proudly reflected. "I got nothing from my parents. And whose voice is it now that lays down the law in the neighbourhood? Why, Brekhunov's, of course!

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Rh "And how did it come about? Why, because I recollect what I am about, and put my shoulder to the wheel, and don't loaf about and do foolishly, as do the others. Why, I don't even sleep o' nights. Snowstorm or no snowstorm, off I go. And there's a way of doing things, too. Some people think that making money is a mere joke. Not a bit of it, one has to take a little trouble, and rack one's brains about it. They think it's all a matter of luck. Look at the Mironovs, they are millionaires, and why? because they took trouble! God gives His help, too, no doubt; and ah! if He would but give the health and strength!" And the bare thought that he, too, like Mironov, who began the world with nothing—that he, too, might become just such another millionaire, so inspired Vasily Andreich that he felt the necessity of talking to someone else. But there was no one to talk to. If only he could get to Goryachkina, he could speak a bit with the landowner there, and teach him a thing or two.

"Whew, how it blows! And all the roads will be so snowed up that they'll never get us out of this to-morrow," thought he, listening to the wailing of the wind, which was blowing full upon the front of the sledge, bending it inwards and flogging it with lumps of snow.

"And all for nothing have I listened to Nikita," thought he. "We ought to have gone on. We should have come out somewhere. We might have gone back to Grishkino and passed the night at Taras'. And now we shall have to sit here all night long. A nice thing, I must say. What a lot I have to put up 53


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Tales from Tolstoi with, and yet I am neither a loafer nor a vagabond, nor yet a blockhead. Never mind, I'll smoke a bit." So he sat down, managed to fish out his cigarette box again, lay down flat on his stomach, and shielded the fire from the wind with his sleeve; yet the wind found its way in and extinguished the matches one after the other. At last he cunningly managed to dodge the wind. The cigarette was lit, and the idea of having got his own way again, after all, pleased him mightily. Although the wind got much more of the cigarette than he did, he nevertheless inhaled the tobacco smoke several times, and again felt merry. He again curled himself away in the back part of the sledge, wrapped himself up, and again began calculating and reflecting, and so he fell asleep. Suddenly something or other touched him and woke him. Whether it was Brownie that plucked at him from without, or whether something within him had twitched him, who shall say—anyhow he awoke, and his heart fell a-beating so rapidly and so violently that the very sledge seemed to be surging up and down beneath him. He opened his eyes. Around him everything was the same as before, only it seemed much lighter. "It is the dawn," thought he, "it won't be very long now, surely, till morning." But immediately he bethought him that it could only be because the moon had risen that it was so much brighter. He raised himself up and looked first of all at the horse. Brownie was standing with his hind-quarters to the wind and shaking all over. The large sack, covered with snow, had half turned over, the harness was all awry, and the horse's head, all covered with snow, 54


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Rh stood out all the more plainly, with its fluttering mane. Nikita was sitting in precisely the same position in which he had sat at first. The coarse cloth or apron with which he had covered himself, together with his feet, were thickly covered with snow. "I wonder the muzhik isn't frozen with only those wretched rags on him. I am responsible for him still, I suppose. He's tired with skipping about; he's not a very good investment for me, either, I fancy," reflected Vasily Andreich, and he would liked to have taken the sack off the horse and covered Nikita with it; but it would have made him cold all over to have stood up and turned round, and then he was afraid that the horse might get frozen instead. "Why did I ever take him? It is all her stupidity!" reflected Vasily Andreich, thinking of his wife, and again he rolled himself up comfortably in his former place in the front part of the sledge. "Besides, an uncle of mine once passed a whole night in the snow, and was none the worse for it," he reflected. "But then there was Sebastian, whom they dug up"—recalling another case—"he was quite dead, frozen hard all over, like a salted porpoise."

"I ought to have stayed the night at Grishkino, and nothing would have happened." And very carefully wrapping himself up again, so that not a bit of the warm furs was wasted, and he could feel the warmth of them everywhere—in his neck, in his knees, and in the soles of his feet, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep. But try as he would he could not forget where he was, such a wakeful, lively feeling possessed him. Again he began calculating his 55


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 up all hope of having Eeeeserpip" (Toby started violently) "back again"

"Oh yes, I remember now."

"When Fleuriss came, and"

"Oh yes, it all comes back to me now. They were making a great effort to find her and entice her bark home by telling her about her baby sister."

"Yes." "Why, father," said Toby," Eepersip"He suddenly saw her in his mind, kneeling in front of him, begging him not to telland he said no more. Nobody noticed his remark.

A moment Mrs. Carrenda gazed at her husband astounded. Then she said: "I believe it is so. Let us send word to them right off."

"No," said Mr. Carrenda, bluntly. "Supposing they came all the way down here. Supposing the plan failed. Mrs. Eigleen would only be unhappier than ever. We'll just have to let them alone for a while. Supposing we try it. Supposing it fails. Mrs. Eigleen will never know. Supposing it succeeds. They will be much happier, and we shall have made some staunch and grateful friends."

"Oh, let's try it!" agreed Mrs. Carrenda.

"I bet EepersipEe-serpip, Eeserpip,

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, Eeserpip, Eepersip — funny name I — I bet she'll go home fast when she finds out."

"Perhapsbut she is like a sea-nymph now. How strange it is! Well, it's worth trying, at any rate."

Eepersip had listened with growing amazementfascinated, entranced. But when they paused in their conversation, the charm was broken that had held her there. She sped away into the woods. She came to a place that she knew well, a glade surrounded by ferns and a few wild-rose-bushes now in bloom.

She had a little sister!it was too much. And that little sister haunted her dreams and her imagination, making everything seem less joyful than before. She felt a strange longingthe longing to see her. She might he several years old now. Eepersip had forgotten what a "year" meant, but she had a vague feeling that Fleuriss had been living some time already. Why had no one told her? She felt a sort of angry resentment, but it cooled immediately when she remembered that her parents had been trying desperately to tell her. Yes, a plan was certainly shaping itself in Eepersip's mindbut not the plan of letting herself be caught, tamed, and carried home. No indeed. She dreamed of some day going home by stealth,

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Tales from Tolstoi profits and losses, again he began to exalt himself for his own satisfaction, and rejoice in himself and his position—but now, through it all, he was constantly interrupted by a subtly creeping fear, and the irritating thought: "Why did I not stay and sleep at Grishkino?" Now and then he would turn him round, rearrange his things, and try and find a more comfortable position—a position more sheltered from the wind. But he never could manage it, everything seemed wrong. Again he raised himself up, changed his position, wrapped his feet up again, closed his eyes, and lay still. But either his feet, cramped in his big, stiff top-boots, began to ache, or a blast blew upon him from some whither, and he couldn't lie long in one place; and again came the angry reflection how he might now be lying comfortably in a warm room at Grishkino; and again he would raise himself and turn round and rearrange his wraps, and again lay him down.

Once it seemed to Vasily Andreich as if he heard far, far away the crowing of cocks. Full of joy, he turned down his fur collar and strained his ears to listen, but no sooner did he bend all his faculties to listen, than there was nothing to be heard except the sound of the wind whistling in the shafts, and the snow pattering against the sides of the sledge. Nikita was sitting just as he had sat the evening before, without moving, and not even replying to the observations of Vasily Andreich, who once or twice called out to him. "There's very little the matter with him, he must be asleep surely," thought Vasily Andreich peevishly, looking through the back of the 56


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Rh sledge at the form of Nikita, which was all covered with snow.

And thus Vasily Andreich rose and changed his place twenty times. It seemed to him as if this night would never come to an end. "It ought to be quite near to morning now," thought he on one of these occasions, raising himself up and looking around. " If I could only look at a watch. A fellow might freeze here if he unbuttoned. If I only knew that morning was close at hand I should feel all right. We could then inspan." Now at the bottom of his soul Vasily Andreich was well aware that it could not yet be morning; but he was beginning to be more and more violently afraid, and would fain prove and deceive himself at the same time. He cautiously unfastened the little hook of his pelisse, and thrusting his arm into his bosom, he groped about for a long time till he managed to reach his waistcoat. With great difficulty—with great, great difficulty—he drew forth his silver flower-enamelled watch, and began a-staring at it. Without a light nothing was visible. Again he lay down on one side, just as when he had begun smoking, managed to get the matches, and fell a-striking them. He now set about the business more methodically, and groping with his fingers, so as to pick out the match with the largest bit of phosphorus on it, he struck it alight at the first attempt. Thrusting the face of the watch beneath the light, he looked and did not believe his own eyes. It was only ten minutes past one. The whole night still lay before him.

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Tales from Tolstoi Andreich to himself, as a cold shiver ran down his back, and buttoning and covering himself up again, he squeezed himself fast against the corner of the sledge. Suddenly, amidst the monotonous wail of the wind, he distinctly heard a sort of strange piercing sound. This sound gradually increased in volume, and after reaching its highest pitch began to diminish just as gradually. There could not be the least doubt that it was the howl of a wolf. And this wolf was so close that when the wind blew in the right quarter the stretching of the beast's jaws could be plainly heard as he modulated the sound of his voice. Vasily Andreich put aside his collar and listened intently. Brownie also listened fixedly, twitching his ears about the while; and when the wolf had ended its performance the horse shifted its feet uneasily and neighed. After that, Vasily Andreich not only could not sleep, but could no longer feel at his ease. However much he now might try to think of his accounts, of his affairs, of his glory, his dignity, and his riches, fear began to master him more and more, and from henceforth the thought, "Why did I not pass the night at Grishkino?" crept in among and dominated all other thoughts.

"If it hadn't been for this wood I'm after, plague take it! I should have passed the night there. Ah! why didn't I?" he thought to himself. "They say the tipsy are never frozen," he continued to meditate, "and I took a tidy drop myself." And paying more attention to his sensations, he became aware that he was beginning to tremble, and he himself did not know whether it was from cold or from fear that he 58


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Rh was trembling. He tried to wrap himself up and lie down as before, but this he was no longer able to do. He could not settle down in one place. He wanted to stand up and do something, so as to choke off the feeling of terror that was gripping him, and against which he felt himself helpless. Again he got out his cigarettes and matches, but there were only three matches left, and all of them of the worst. All three fizzled out without lighting anything.

"Mischief take you, accursed one!" he cried—though whom he was cursing he would have been hard put to it to say—as he threw away the crushed cigarette. He would have liked to have crushed the match-box also, but he went no further than the wish, and stuck it back into his pocket again. And now such a restlessness came over him that he could no longer stop in one place. So he got out of the sledge, and standing with his back to the wind, began to gird himself up again tightly and low down.

"To go on lying down here means certain death. Up in the saddle and quick march!" was the idea that suddenly came into his head." Get once on the nag's back and he won't stop for anything. As for him "(it was Nikita he meant now), "it doesn't much matter whether he dies or not. What sort of a life does he live—why, he wouldn't regret losing it one bit, I'm sure. But as for me, I really have got something to live for, thank God! …"

And leading forth the horse he threw the reins over its neck, and would have leaped on its back, but missed his footing. Then he stood on the sledge and would have mounted from there, but the sledge 59


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HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW

BOSTON: The Riverside Press, Cambridge. 1880.


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Tales from Tolstoi swerved aside under his weight, and again he fell down. At last, for the third time, he brought the horse alongside the sledge, and cautiously standing on the edge of it, by dint of much striving contrived at last to get his stomach across the neck of the horse. Lying there, he wriggled forward once or twice, and at last succeeded in bringing one leg across the back of the horse, and presently found himself sitting on its back, supporting himself in lieu of stirrups with the soles of his feet. The lurch of the oscillating sledge awoke Nikita; he stood up, and it seemed to Vasily Andreich as if he were saying something.

"To listen to you would be folly. What! do you think that I'm going to perish without one effort?" screeched Vasily Andreich, and adjusting under his knees the bulging folds of his pelisse, he turned the horse, and urged it away from the sledge in the direction in which he imagined the forest and the forester's hut must needs be.

Nikita, from the time when he had sat him down wrapped up in the sacking at the back of the sledge, had sat immovable. Like all people who live naturally, and know something of want, he had grown to be long-suffering, and could wait calmly for hours, and even days, without experiencing either disquietude or irritation. He heard his master calling to him, but he did not reply, because he did not want to move. 60


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 282 pleas, dogmas whose irregularity is acknowledged so long as their validity is saved, dogmas which depend for their acceptance on the melting away of the episcopal minority, were evidently straining the faith of Catholics almost to breaking point, or they would never have been defended in such a manner. Here is nothing of the devout thankfulness for fuller enlightenment, or the triumph of truth; nothing of the glad recognition of a decision guided by the Holy Ghost. Newman could never have treated the Nicene Council as he did the Vatican. Behind these endeavours, to prevent secession or schism, lies Newman's recorded conviction in his letter to Ullathorne.

Newman's theory that the ecumenical character of the Council might be ascertained from its ultimate acceptance, that acquiescence on the part of the defeated minority would atone for any irregularities in the passing of the Decree, by no means carried conviction to many of the perplexed. The nature of the doctrine decreed seemed to exclude this kind of defence. For if the utterances of the Pope are infallible of themselves, and not from the consent of the Episcopate, it is difficult to base that Infallibility upon episcopal consent. Instead of waiting to see what the Episcopate might do it would appear more appropriate to consider what the Pope had done. And in another letter written within the same anxious month this is precisely the view which Newman takes.

"I have been thinking over the subject which just now gives you and me, with thousands of others, who care for religion, so much concern.

"First, till better advised, nothing shall make me say that a mere majority in a Council, as opposed to a moral unanimity, in itself creates an obligation to


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 123 of Pice.

124 of Pirus.

125 of Prumus.

126 of Papyrus.

127 of Paliurus.

128 of Papauer.

129 of Plantago.

130 of Petroſelium.

131 of Piper.

132 of Pulegio.

133 of Porro. Of Polanda.

134 Of Quercus.

135 of Quiſquilie.

136 Of Rofa.

137 of Radix.

138 of Rampuo.

139 of Reſina.

140 of Rubus.

141 of Ruta.

142 Of Saltus.

143 of Salix.

144 of Sambucus.

145 of Saliunca.

146 of Stacten.

147 of Storax.

148 of Sicomorus.

149 of Spina.

150 of lignis Sethim.

151 of Sentrix.

152 of Sepes.

153 of Sudes.

154 of Siliqua.

155 of Sinapis.

156 of Semen.

157 of Stipula.

158 of Simila.

159 of Scopa.

160 of Stupa.

161 Of Taxus.

162 of Tabula.

163 of Trabes.

164 of Terebinthinus.

165 of Thina.

166 of Tirſus.

167 of Tignis.

168 of Triticum.

169 of Tiſana.

170 of Tribulus.

171 of Thimus.

172 of Thimiama.

173 of Thus.

174 Of Vimen.

175 of Virga.

176 of Virgultum.

177 of Vitis.

178 of Labruſca.

179 of Vitulamen.

180 of Vinea.

181 of Vua.

182 of Vua immatura.

183 of Vua paſſa.

184 of Vinum.

185 of Vinum rubrum.

186 of Muſtum.

187 of Wine compound.

188 of corrupt wine.

189 of new preſſed wine.

190 Of the place where wine is preſſed.

191 of violets.

192 of the Elme tree.

193 of the nettle.

194 of Darnell or Zizania.

195 of Ginger.

196 of Zedoariun.

197 of Sugar.

¶Liber 18. containeth 117. chapters, of Beaſts, and their qualities.
1 OF Beaſtes in generall.

2 Of Beaſtes in ſpeciall.

3 Of the Ramme.

4 of the Lambe.

5 of the Sheepe.

6 of the Female their diſeaſe. Of Alce the Indiā Buck.

7 of the Boare.

8 of the Aſſe.

9 of ſerpents and Adders.

10 Of Aſpide.

11 of Arena, ſpiders.

12 of the Bee.

13 of the Oxe.

14 of Bubulcus.

15 of Buffe.

16 of the Cockatrice.

17 Of the Rubeta or Frog and of the toades ſtone, as big as a peaſe, and not as a peach.

18 of the Bombax or ſilke worme.

19 of the Camelion.

20 of the Camelioperd.

21 of the Camelion worme

22 of the wilde Goate.

23 of the tame Goates.

24 of Goates.

25 of hounds.

26 of Bitches.

27 of all ſorts of dogges.

28 of whelpes.

29 of the Beauer.

30 of the Hart.

31 of Ceraſte.

32 of a horne. Of the addition of Conies.

33 of the Crocodile.

34 of Adders.

35 of Deere.

36 of the Dromedarie.

37 of the ſerpent Dipſas.

38 of the Dragon.

39 of the Horſe.

40 of the Mare.

41 of the Colte.

42 of the Elephant.

43 of the Elephants.

44 of Elephants teeth.

45 of Elephants vertue. (In what coaſt Elephants breed, & of the country of Preſbiter Iohn, after Hortelius deſcription.)

46 of a Kidde.

47 of the Malſhrag.

48 of Fauni and Satiri.

49 of Foemina.

50 of Foetante.

51 of Foetu, birth.

52 of Ficarius.

53 of the Ampt.

54 of Formicaleon.

55 of the drone Flye.

56 of the Gripe.

57 of Bats.

58 of Flindermice alſo.

59 of Hinnulus.

60 of the Goate.

61 of Hiena.

62 of the Porcapine.

63 of the Hedgehog.

64 of the young Steere.

65 of the Lyon.

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receive its dogmatic Decrees. This is a point of history and precedent, and, of course, on further examination I may find myself wrong in the view which I take of history and precedent; but I do not, cannot see, that a majority in the present Council can of itself rule its own sufficiency without such external testimony.

"But there are other means by which I can be brought under the obligation of receiving a doctrine as a dogma."

And he proceeds to enumerate uninterrupted tradition, Scripture inference, etc. And then he propounds the theory that "the fact of a legitimate Superior having defined it, may be an obligation in conscience to receive it with an internal assent. … In this case I do not receive it on the word of the Council, but on the Pope's self-assertion."

This he supports by an appeal to the historic authority which the Pope has actually exercised, and to

No one can fail to be impressed with Newman's painful consciousness of the Council's indefensible irregularities; with his refusal to acknowledge a powerful majority as equivalent to moral unanimity; with his desire to see if the dogma cannot be accepted on other grounds than the Council's authority, and in particular on the Pope's self-assertion. All this would, of course, be absolutely unconvincing to any adherent of the ancient conception that the supreme authority is not to be found in the Pope's self-assertion, but in the Collective Episcopate. But it manifests profound misgivings about the Vatican Council and its methods.


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 66 Of the Lioneſſe.

67 of the Leoperd.

68 of the Hare.

69 of the Linx.

70 of the Snaile.

71 of the Woolſe.

72 of the Mule.

73 of the Mouſe.

74 of the Weaſell.

75 of the Fyrtet,

76 of the Cat.

77 of Noctiluca, and of Odonta.

78 of the wilde Aſſe.

79 of the Onocentaura.

80 of Orix.

81 of a Sheepe and theyr profite.

82 of the Panther.

83 of the Parde.

84 De Pilofis, wilde men.

85 of the P•oe Bucke,

86 of the Pigmeis.

87 of Swine.

88 of a Lowce or Lyce.

89 of Fleas.

90 of the Rhinoceros.

91 of Frogges.

92 of the Salamander.

93 of water leaches.

94 of the Lizard.

95 of Serpents.

96 of the Ape.

97 of Mermaides.

98 of Scorpions.

99 of a Sowe.

100 of a Bull.

101 of a Goate bucke.

102 of a Moale.

103 of the Badger.

104 of the Tiger.

105 of a Mothe.

106 of wormes.

107 of ſnailes.

108 of the Tortuſe.

109 of a Caue.

110 Idem.

111 of a Calfe.

112 of a Beare.

113 of the female Beare.

114 of a Foxe.

115 of Wormes:

116 of little wormes.

117 of viperous ſerpents. The Addition of Vipers.

¶Liber 19, containeth 37. chapters.
1 Of colours.

2 of the Materia of coulours,

3 of the generation of colours.

4 of White.

5 of Ruſſet.

6 of hot and cold.

7 Colours in generall.

8 of ſeauen colours, and the Addition.

9 of changeable colours.

10 of colours in the eye. The reſt intreateth in 27. parts of colours.

¶The Addition of coulours to limne with, & how they muſt be vſed.
38 of odors and perfumes.

39 of the effectes of odoures.

40 of ſtinking vapour.

41.42 Idem.

43 of ſweete ſauour, and his effects vnto the 52.

53 of liquors.

54 of Honic and his properties.

55 of the Honic combe.

57 of Meede.

58 of Claret, a drinke compound.

59 of Pigmentum.

60 of Oximell.

61 of Waxe.

62 of milke, vnto 71.

72 of Whey.

73 of Butter.

74 of Cheeſe.75.76.

77 of the vertues of diuers things.

78 of rottenneſſe.

79 of Egges.

The reſt concerne weights and meaſures.

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text:
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8


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Page:Manual of the New Zealand Flora.djvu/1156

1116 Club-shaped; growing gradually thicker towards the top.

The elongated narrow base of a petal.

Producing flowers which never expand, and which are self-fertilised.

The union of one part of an organ with other parts of the same organ, as when petals cohere to form a tubular corolla, &c.

Placed side by side.

A body formed by the union of the stamens and styles, as in orchids.

The face by which two carpels cohere, as in the Umbelliferæ.

Folded upon itself.

Flattened laterally.

Hollow, as the inner surface of a saucer.

Folded together lengthwise.

Blended or running together.

Crowded together.

Collected into a ball or globe.

Cone-shaped; narrowed to a point from a circular base.

When related parts are united, either congenitally or by subsequent growth.

That portion of a stamen which connects the two lobes of an anther.

Coming into contact; converging together.

Drawn together; contracted.

Twisted.

Reduced in width or length.

Having a more or less rounded surface; opposed to "concave."

Rolled together or on itself, or when one part is rolled up in another.

Heart-shaped; applied to leaves which have the petiole at the broader and notched end.

Tough, leathery.

The inner perianth, consisting of the petals, free or united.

(1.) Seated on or belonging to the corolla. (2.) Corolla-like or petaloid.

A flat-topped or convex open inflorescence with a short axis, flowering from the margin inwards.

Arranged in corymbs or resembling a corymb.

A rib; when one only, a midrib or mid-nerve.

Ribbed; having one or more longitudinal ribs or nerves.

The first leaves of the embryo—one in monocotyledons, two or rarely more in dicotyledons.

Applled to a leaf having its margin cut into rounded notches.

Finely crenate.

Having an elevated ridge or appendage like the crest of a helmet.

Curled; crumpled.

Hard and brittle in texture.

Plants destitute of stamens, pistils, and true seeds containing an embryo.

Hooded or hood-shaped.

The hollow jointed stem of grasses.

Wedge-shaped; triangular with the apex downwards.

A sharp rigid point.

Terminating in a cusp.

The outermost skin or epidermis.

Shaped like a drinking-glass a little widened at the top.

A broad and rather flat open inflorescence, flowering from the centre outwards.


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text: Works of Jules Verne/Michael Strogoff/Chapter 11


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Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/58

42 "Mainly because of you, chérie!" he said.

Mirelle shrugged her shoulders.

"That is foolish," she observed in a matter-of-fact voice.

"Very foolish," agreed Derek.

"What are you going to do about it?" demanded Mirelle.

"My dear girl, what can I do? On the one side, the man with unlimited money; on the other side, the man with unlimited debts. There is no question as to who will come out on top."

"They are extraordinary, these Americans," commented Mirelle. "It is not as though your wife were fond of you."

"Well," said Derek, "what are we going to do about it?'" [sic]

She looked at him inquiringly. He came over and took both her hands in his.

"Are you going to stick to me?"

"What do you mean? After"

"Yes," said Kettering. "After, when the creditors come down like wolves on the fold. I am damned fond of you, Mirelle; are you going to let me down?"

She pulled her hands away from him.

"You know I adore you. Dereek."

He caught the note of evasion in her voice.

"So that's that, is it? The rats will leave the sinking ship."

"Ah, Dereek!"

"Out with it," he said violently. "You will fling me over; is that it?"

She shrugged her shoulders.


text: Works of Jules Verne/Michael Strogoff/Chapter 12


text: Works of Jules Verne/Michael Strogoff/Chapter 13


text: Works of Jules Verne/Michael Strogoff/Chapter 14


text: Works of Jules Verne/Michael Strogoff/Chapter 15


text: Page:Ultima Thule - Longfellow (1880).djvu/28


text:
Page:Horrid Mysteries Volume 3.djvu/238

 the point of my sword. I exclaimed uninterruptedly, "For God's sake, Lewis, desist, and hearken to me!" But all my entreaties were fruitless. He uttered dreadful curses, foaming and grinding his teeth. I disarmed him, at length, and flung his sword into the adjacent thicket. He looked up to heaven, and ejaculated the most shocking execrations.

Loud cries behind me now attracted my attention. I looked round, and discerned Bernhard's red coat through the gloom of night. He was wrestling with a white figure, and on the point of sinking to the ground. Now he actually dropt down. I hastened, half frantic, to assist him: a dagger glittered over his head in one hand of his antagonst, while the other endeavoured to stop his mouth with a handkerchief. I pierced his opponent in the first violence of my passion, and in that moment perceived that he was Amanuel. Tearing the bandage from his head, I beheld Alfonso, my faithful servant, at my feet.

title: Page:Horrid Mysteries Volume 3.djvu/238


text: Works of Jules Verne/Michael Strogoff/Chapter 16


text: Works of Jules Verne/Michael Strogoff/Chapter 17


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text: Page:Ultima Thule - Longfellow (1880).djvu/30


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Page:Horrid Mysteries Volume 3.djvu/237

 She seemed, indeed, to leave me with great tranquillity, but was actually far from being easy, and could not help informing her father of it. The Baron could conceal nothing from S******i, and the latter communicated it to Don Bernhard. They all agreed that I ought to meet the Count in the room of my wife, and the latter promised to be present on that occasion.

I was of the same opinion, and resolved to adopt their advice. The Count was, during the day, rather easier than usual. I repaired to the great lime-tree before it had struck eight o'clock, and was astonished to find S****** already there. He read a paper, and kissed it repeatedly; but no sooner did he see me, than he exclaimed, with the greatest fury, "Hell and damnation! I am betrayed; but you, monster in human shape, shall not escape me a second time." With these words he rushed upon me sword in hand.

I was not unarmed, and defended myself against his furious attack; taking all possible care that he should not run against

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text: Works of Jules Verne/Michael Strogoff/Chapter 18


text: Works of Jules Verne/Michael Strogoff/Chapter 19


text: Page:Ultima Thule - Longfellow (1880).djvu/31


text:
Page:Self-help with illustrations of conduct and perseverance (IA selfhelpwithillu00smiliala).pdf/158

 submitted; and so accurate was his knowledge, that, though he had never seen the Behistun rock, he pronounced that the cadet had not copied the puzzling inscription with proper exactness. Rawlinson, who was still in the neighbourhood of the rock, compared his copy with the original, and found that Norris was right; and by further comparison and careful study the knowledge of the cuneiform writing was thus greatly advanced.

But to make the learning of these two self-taught men of avail, a third labourer was necessary in order to supply them with material for the exercise of their skill. Such a labourer presented himself in the person of Austen Layard, originally an articled clerk in the office of a London solicitor. One would scarcely have expected to find in these three men, a cadet, an India House clerk, and a lawyer's clerk, the discoverers of a forgotten language, and of the buried history of Babylon; yet it was so. Layard was a youth of only twenty-two, travelling in the East, when he was possessed with a desire to penetrate the regions beyond the Euphrates. Accompanied by a single companion, trusting to his arms for protection, and, what was better, to his cheerfulness, politeness, and chivalrous bearing, he passed safely amidst tribes at deadly war with each other; and, after the lapse of many years, with comparatively slender means at his command, but aided by application and perseverance, resolute will and purpose, and almost sublime patience—borne up throughout by his passionate enthusiasm for discovery and research—he succeeded in laying bare and digging up an amount of historical treasures, the like of which has probably never before been collected by the in-


text: Page:Notes upon Russia (volume 2, 1851).djvu/21


text: Page:Notes upon Russia (volume 2, 1851).djvu/22


text:
Author talk:David Sinclair

Source
https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/143049588/david-sinclair Prosfilaes (talk) 02:41, 3 February 2024 (UTC)

title: Author talk:David Sinclair


text:
Page:Notes upon Russia (volume 2, 1851).djvu/23

EARL OF ELLESMERE.

C. R. DRINKWATER BETHUNE, R.N., C.B.

JOHN BARROW,

FRANCIS BEAUFORT, K.C.B.

CHARLES T. BEKE,, Phil. D., F.S.A.

LORD ALFRED S. CHURCHILL.

WILLIAM DESBOROUGH COOLEY,

BOLTON CORNEY,, M.R.S.L.

LORD BISHOP OF ST. DAVIDS.

EASTNOR.

HENRY ELLIS, K.H., F.R.S.

RICHARD FORD,

JOHN FORSTER,

R. W. GREY,, M.P.

JOHN WINTER JONES,

CHARLES LEMON,, M.P.

P. LEVESQUE,

GEORGE T. STAUNTON, M.P.

HENRY D. WOLFF,


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Page:Notes upon Russia (volume 2, 1851).djvu/25

the publication of the first volume of the present work, the Editor has been kindly favoured by the Prince Alexis Lobanoff Rostovski, of Berlin, with the following four points of additional information (respectively marked i, ii, iii, iv) touching the bibliography of those writers who preceded the date of Herberstein's first embassy to Russia in 1517.

1. The existence of a traveller in Russia, previously unknown to the Editor, named

whose family derived its origin from the small town of Lannoy, in Flanders.

Guillebert de Lannoy was born about 1386, and seems to have early adopted the career of arms. In 1413-14, he made a journey through Prussia, Russia, Lithuania, and Poland; and in 1421, being dispatched to the east on various commissions, principally from Henry V. of England, passed through Poland, on his way to Egypt and Syria. He left an account of these


text:
Page:Olden Times in Colorado.djvu/93

 the story he had given me should be exclusive, regardless of pressure brought to bear, a pledge he kept with strictest fidelity. I was the last person to bid him good-bye on the scaffold, just before the black cap was adjusted, and his last words were an expression of gratitude for the kindness of my treatment.

I returned to St. Charles and printed a story that was appreciated for its news value, being put on the Associated Press wire and sent to the four corners of the earth. By my metropolitan contemporaries it was accounted a clever bit of newspaper work, although none knew at what cost to my sensory nerves.

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text: Page:Peterson's Magazine 1860 a.pdf/14

title: Page:Peterson's Magazine 1860 a.pdf/14


text: Page:Peterson's Magazine 1860 a.pdf/13

title: Page:Peterson's Magazine 1860 a.pdf/13


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Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/81

 The Superintendent gently smiled and informed the crowd that I had left Rustomji’s house, passed through their midst, and reached another place already. The crowd laughed loudly and shouted, “It is a lie, it is a lie.”

The Superintendent said: “If you will not believe your old Superintendent of Police, please appoint a committee of three or four men from amongst you. Let others promise that they will not enter the house, and that if the committee fail to find Gandhi in the house, you will peacefully return to your homes. You got excited today and did not obey the police. That reflects discredit on you, not on the police. The police therefore played a trick with you; it removed your prey from your midst and you have lost the game. You certainly cannot blame the police for this. The police, whom you yourselves have appointed, have simply done their duty.”

The Superintendent addressed the crowd with such suavity and determination, that they gave him the promise he had asked for. A committee was appointed. It searched Rustomji’s house through and through, and reported to the crowd that the Superintendent was right and had beaten them in the game. The crowd was disappointed. But they kept their word and dispersed with out committing any mischief. This happened on January 13, 1897.

The same morning after the quarantine on the steamers had been removed, the reporter of a Durban newspaper had seen me on the steamer. He had asked meeverything. It was quite easy to dispose of the charges against me to his satisfaction. I showed to him in detail that I had not indulged in the least exaggeration. What I had done was only my duty. If I had failed to discharge it, I would be unworthy of the name of man. All this appeared in the newspapers the next day. Sensible people among the Europeans admitted their mistake. The newspapers expressed their sympathy with the standpoint of the Europeans in Natal, but at the same time fully defended my action. This enhanced my reputation as well as the prestige of the Indian community. It was proved

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 that the Indians, poor as they were, were no cowards, and that the Indian traders were prepared to fight for their self-respect and for their country regardless of loss.

Thus though the Indian community had to suffer hardship and though Dada Abdulla incurred big losses, the ultimate result, I believe, was entirely beneficial. The community had an opportunity of measuring their own strength and their self-confidence increased in consequence. I had a most valuable experience, and whenever I think of that day, I feel that God was preparing me for the practice of Satyagraha.

The events in Natal had their repercussion in England. Mr Chamberlain, Secretary of State for the Colonies, cabled to the Government of Natal asking them to prosecute my assailants and to see that justice was done to me.

Mr Escombe, who was Attorney-General with the Government of Natal, called me. He told me about Mr Chamberlain’s cable. He expressed his regret for the injuries I had sustained, and his pleasure that the consequences of the assault were not more serious, He added, “I can assure you that I did not at all intend that you or any other member of your community should be injured. ‘As I feared that you might possibly be hurt, I sent you word to say that you should land at night. You did not like my suggestion. I do not wish to blame you in the least that you accepted Mr Laughton’s advice. You were perfectly entitled to do what you thought fit. The Government of Natal fully accepts Mr Chamberlain’s demand. We desire that the offenders should be brought to book. Can you identify any of your assailants?”

I replied: “I might perhaps be able to identify one or two of them. But I must say at once before this conversation proceeds that I have already made up my mind not to prosecute my assailants. I cannot see that they are at fault. What information they had, they had obtained from their leaders. It is too much to expect them to judge whether it was correct or otherwise. If all that they heard about me was true, it was natural for them to be excited and do something wrong in a fit of indignation.

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Page:The Return of the Soldier (Van Druten).djvu/43

 : Yes. You don’t remember me?

[''He moves to her, makes a movement as though to kiss her, and is arrested suddenly. His arms drop to his side''.

Forgive me, I

(bitterly) : You can’t kiss a stranger.

(looking around) : It’s all so different here. This room everything.

You used to like my taste.

Why, yes it’s charming. It used to be in tapestry. That’s a new piano.

A Steinway. You gave it me.

You play?

 * Yes a little.

Do you still?

Won’t you sit down, Chris. You look tired.

(sitting) : Kitty you must forgive me. I it’s not my fault.

(sitting beside him) : Of course not, Chris. You mustn’t worry.

You added to the house altered it.

I noticed it. It’s all rather rightening [sic].


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 : Would you like tea? It must be almost time.

Not yet. I just want to get my bearings. It’s good to be here, though. You keep the place beautifully. Beautifully. Do they still have trouble with foxes at Steppy End?

(A pause.) It’s stupid of me, I know but  is Griffiths still here?

(shuddering) : I’m sorry. He was a good man.

(patting her hand) : I know, Jenny. It’s only that I can’t get used

[Then he turns to.

You never told me you were coming down here to-day.

 * Yes. I must have followed you almost at once.

(stiffening) : Wealdstone?


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 : Yes. I had a call to make. (Pause.) Kitty, I’m sorry, but we must be honest. It’s no good hiding things. There’s a woman

Kitty forgive me. I know it must seem almost deliberately insulting  but I must see her. She lives in Wealdstone. I called there on the way up. There was no one at home but a stupid maid whom I couldn’t make understand. But I must see her. Do forgive me, but if I don’t see her, I shall die.

(icily) : You shall see her. (A pause. Then, with an effort) As a matter of fact, she has only just left.

Left Wealdstone?

She has been here this afternoon.

(leaping up, with something like a shout) : Here? What are you saying? Margaret here? Where has she gone?

(deflated) : Her ? Did you say her husband?

She came here to-day to bring us news of you. She saw you in the garden, and she went because because she thought


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 she oughtn’t to see you, that she ought to leave you alone. She’s only just gone.

I understand, Chris dear, I do indeed We all do. But you mustn’t be in a hurry. There are things you don’t realise. She’s married now and middle-aged and

I must go to her. Let me go to her.

(Bitterly) She has her husband’s tea to get and her house and her new maid to see to.

(blindly) : I must see her.

But wait wait till to-morrow. I tell you she has her own life her own affairs. You can’t disturb her to-night. Her husband will be there. To-morrow I will send the car down for her. You shall see her to-morrow. You shall see as much of her as you like.

(subsiding weakly) : Thank you. I expect you're right. I mustn’t be impatient. It’s good of you, Kitty believe me, I appreciate it. I do indeed. You’re all being so kind I’ll wait till to-morrow  to-morrow.

[''He sits looking at the closed door. They stand watching him helplessly''.


text: Page:20 Hrs 40 Min (Earhart).pdf/6

title: Page:20 Hrs 40 Min (Earhart).pdf/6


text: The Mystery of the Blue Train/Chapter 6

title: The Mystery of the Blue Train/Chapter 6


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/59

 "I am fond of you, mon amiindeed I am fond of you. You are very charmingun beau garçon, but ce n'est pas pratique."

"You are a rich man's luxury, eh? Is that it."

"If you like to put it that way."

She leaned back on the cushions, her head flung back.

"All the same, I am fond of you, Dereek."

He went over to the window and stood there some time looking out, with his back to her. Presently the dancer raised herself on her elbow and stared at him curiously.

"What are you thinking of, mon ami?"

He grinned at her over his shoulder, a curious grin, that made her vaguely uneasy.

"As it happened, I was thinking of a woman, my dear."

"A woman, eh?"

Mirelle pounced on something that she could understand.

"You are thinking of some other woman, is that it?"

"Oh, you needn't worry; it is purely a fancy portrait. 'Portrait of a lady with grey eyes.

Mirelle said sharply, "When did you meet her?"

Derek Kettering laughed, and his laughter had a mocking, ironical sound.

"I ran into the lady in the corridor of the Savoy Hotel."

"Well! what did she say?"

"As far as I can remember, I said, 'I beg your pardon,' and she said, 'It doesn’t matter,' or words to that effect."

"And then?" persisted the dancer.


text:
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44 Kettering shrugged his shoulders.

"And thennothing. That was the end of the incident."

"I don't understand a word of what you are talking about," declared the dancer.

"Portrait of a lady with grey eyes," murmured Derek reflectively. "Just as well I am never likely to meet her again."

"Why?"

"She might bring me bad luck. Women do."

Mirelle slipped quickly from her couch, and came across to him, laying one long, snake-like arm round his neck.

"You are foolish. Dereek," she murmured. "You are very foolish. You are beau garçon, and I adore you, but I am not made to be poorno, decidedly I am not made to be poor. Now listen to me; everything is very simple. You must make it up with your wife."

"I am afraid that's not going to be actually in the sphere of practical politics," said Derek drily.

"How do you say? I do not understand."

"Van Aldin, my dear, is not taking any. He is the kind of man who makes up his mind and sticks to it."

"I have heard of him," nodded the dancer. "He is very rich, is he not? Almost the richest man in America. A few days ago, in Paris, he bought the most wonderful ruby in the world—'Heart of Fire' it is called."

Kettering did not answer. The dancer went on musingly:

"It is a wonderful stonea stone that should belong to a woman like me. I love jewels. Dereek; they say


text:
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 something to me. Ah! to wear a ruby like 'Heart of Fire.

She gave a little sigh, and then became practical once more.

"You don't understand these thing, Dereek; you are only a man. Van Aldin will give these rubies to his daughter, I suppose. Is she his only child?"

"Yes."

"Then when he dies, she will inherit all his money. She will be a rich woman."

"She is a rich woman already," said Kettering drily.

"He settled a couple of millions on her at her marriage."

"A couple of million! But that is immense. And if she died suddenly, eh? That would all come to you?"

"As things stand at present," said Kettering slowly, "it would. As far as I know she has not made a will."

"Mon Dieu!" said the dancer. "If she were to die, what a solution that would be."

There was a moment's pause, and then Derek Kettering laughed outright.

"I like your simple, practical mind, Mirelle, but I am afraid what you desire won't come to pass. My wife is an extremely healthy person."

"Eh, bien!" said Mirelle; "there are accidents."

He looked at her sharply but did not answer.

She went on.

"But you are right, mon ami, we must not dwell on possibilities. See now, my little Dereek, there must be no more talk of this divorce. Your wife must give up the idea."

"And if she won't?"


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46 The dancer’s eyes widened to slits.

“I think she will, my friend. She is one of those who would not like the publicity. There are one or two pretty stories that she would not like her friends to read in the newspapers.”

“What do you mean?" asked Kettering sharply.

Mirelle laughed, her head thrown back.

“Parbleu! I mean the gentleman who calls himself the Comte de la Roche. I know all about him. I am Parisienne, you remember. He was her lover before she married you, was he not?”

Kettering took her sharply by the shoulders.

“That is a damned lie,” he said, “and please remember that, after all, you are speaking of my wife.”

Mirelle was a little sobered.

“You are extraordinary, you English,” she complained. “All the same, I dare say that you may be right. The Americans are so cold, are they not? But you will permit me to say, mon ami, that she was in love with him before she married you, and her father stepped in and sent the Comte about his business. And the little Mademoiselle, she wept many tears! But she obeyed. Still, you must know as well as I do, Dereek, that it is a very different story now. She sees him nearly every day, and on the fourteenth she goes to Paris to meet him.”

“How do you know all this?” demanded Kettering.

“Me? I have friends in Paris, my dear Dereek, who know the Comte intimately. It is all arranged. She is going to the Riviera, so she says, but in reality the Comte meets her in Paris andwho knows! Yes, yes, you can take my word for it, it is all arranged."


text:
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 Derek Kettering stood motionless.

"You see," purred the dancer, "if you are clever, you have her in the hollow of your hand. You can make things very awkward for her."

"Oh, for God's sake be quiet," cried Kettering. "Shut your cursed mouth!"

Mirelle flung herself down again on the divan with a laugh. Kettering caught up his hat and coat and left the flat, banging the door violently. And still the dancer sat on the divan and laughed softly to herself. She was not displeased with her work.