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 tragedies, in the manner foreordained by the Will." Under such a mental attitude the terrain came to life. Spirits dead, living, unborn, invested every stone, every tree, everything raised by the hand of man. The real involved itself inextricably with the spectre of the real.

Under such an emotional radiation, also, the past and the present must of necessity have become deeply involved with each other and interblended. The soil and its fruit: the ground itself, its vegetation, its animal life, its human product or parasite whose activities here and there resulted in physical denudations and excrescences: roads and ditches, churches and dwellings—all these have played both a real and a transcendental role in Hardy's cosmos. Hardy himself must be taken as a part of it, too.

"Wessex" can not be considered, then, merely as it reproduces itself photographically through human sensory reactions today. Its history must be invoked to cast over it something of the romantic glow in which Hardy's imagination has thrived. And not merely its conventional modern history alone, important as this may be, but even its geology and its prehistory.

Fishy beings of low development, then dragon forms and clouds of flying reptiles, then shadowy, sinister crocodilian outlines: alligators and other uncouth shapes, culminating in the colossal lizard, iguanodon—these beasties we must first imagine as peopling the more ancient geological deposits of southwestern England. Hardy's Henry Knight, hanging against the Clift With-


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 out A Name, sees them all. Then huge elephantine forms, the mastodon, the hippopotamus, the tapir, antelopes of monstrous size, the megatherium and the mylodon, also huge-billed birds and swinish creatures as large as horses. Such an uncouth rout of inhabitants constitutes the fantastically romantic animate prologue for the appearance of the first Wessex men: fierce creatures, living in mean times, although perhaps no meaner than the present. Clothed in hides of beasts and carrying, for defence and attack, huge clubs and pointed spears, they "rose from the rock like the phantoms before the doomed Macbeth. They lived in hollows, woods and mud huts—perhaps in caves of the neighboring rocks." Dig down a few feet anywhere in Dorsetshire, and you will find the mute evidences of these bizarre races. Nineteenth Century science has bared them all to the vision of the romancer.

There followed wars and tumults. Tribes grew into nations. Life, then as now, tasted bitter; still men drank deeply of it, prolonged its deceptive hopes as effectively as they could. They attacked their neighbors, and erected elaborate defenses against them. Mai Dun, the result of years of toil, lakes of sweat and blood, reared up its grim ponderosity over the teeming green wilderness of the Frome Valley. Hundreds of tiny beings, Lilliputians in comparison with the colossal magnitude of their materialized ambitions, swarmed over the country in little bands and flocks, driven on by forces they could never understand.

Inspired by their awesome apprehension of a malignant, though perhaps only indifferent, spirit, brooding

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 over their destiny, they carved huge boulders into symmetrical forms and erected monoliths and triliths. Some they dragged over to Salisbury Plain and there established their Temple to the Sun: vast concentric circles of stone, burning in the fierce heat of noonday, chill as death at midnight. Here at Stonehenge their vague terrors prompted them to offer the blood of their own sons and daughters to appease their instinctive and traditional concepts of a stern and outraged "justice." ("I think you are lying," says Angel to Tess, "on the very altar on which they offered their sacrifices." . . .)

The Wessex realm became a vaguely circumscribed district, bounded on the east and north by a line running from where Portsmouth now stands, over towards the sources of the Thames, and to the west, clear to Land's End. Here hoary legendary British kings ruled their rude people with passion and caprice, here bards chanted of blood and demons—while far to the southeast, along the shores of the Mediterranean, people were developing law, art, literature and philosophy. It is pleasant to dream, once remarked Hardy, that in some spot in the extensive tract named "Egdon" may be the hearth of that traditionary King of Wessex, Ina, afterwards named Lear. The storms that now howl about the ears of the belated nightly wayfarer on these barren moors, at any rate, are the identical tempests that puffed their cheeks and mercilessly goaded on the white-haired old monarch, a pathetic figure, mad, quite mad, a victim of man's eternal inhumanity to man.

Relentless legions of the Roman Caesars next left the imprint of their steel-shod heels over the country.


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 Polished, gleaming metal, straight ranks and files of soldiery, shouting centurions, aristocratic Imperial officers—the harsh, precise machine mowed down all that stood in its path. Efficiency invaded the wilderness, for the first time—but not the last. The Britons were driven back, or enslaved, or carried off to Italy. Camps were laid out, their sites chosen scientifically. Bridges spanned the streams. Roads, hard as metal, white as marble, straight as spear-shafts, pierced through virgin woodlands.

The camps grew into towns, where people lived the orderly, virtuous lives of pioneers extending the frontiers of their nation. A precise language, with neatly interlocking combinations of long and short vowels and consonants, beautifully inflected, prevailed—a language which contained miraculous words that represented not only things and actions but generalized concepts. Self-consciousness and rigid logical thinking sought, with temporary success, to impress the face of the island, upon which time had thus far written but a shallow story, when all was told.

Justice was administered, business methods were ap plied to human intercourse. Regulated amusements provided controllable outlets for spirits that naturally and periodically craved excitement and stimulation. Amphitheatres were dug out of the verdant hillsides. Here were staged races, combats, pompous solemn processionals, perhaps even the comedies of Plautus and the tragedies of Seneca. Two miles—two thousand Roman paces—north of Mai Dun, sprang up the capital city of the Imperial province.


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 A few hundred years passed—and then there remained but little more indication of this brazen impact than one can discover there today. Durnovaria became Durnover Field. The dry bones of the conquerors and masters were enclosed in the warm but indifferent embraces of the untamable soil. Pavements of tiles were overgrown with sod. Sheep grazed within Maumbry Rings; the slopes that had rung with triumphal shouts now protected fleecy backs from the gelid November winds. Hadrian's soldiery lay buried in shallow graves, their knees drawn up to their chins; herdsmen gaped dumbly at the curious upturned "skellintons."

From the east came Germanic marauders. The autochthonous Keltic warriors were driven further and further back—over into Wales, up into the hills of Scotland. Some of the chieftains held out in their stony strong-holds, miraculously parrying all onslaughts until they were exterminated, and thus the Arthurian legends were born. Blond Saxons, prevailing by numbers and savagery, built their settlements. The Cyning, with his grave Witenagemot and his shouting thegnas, at last succeeded in impressing the enduring countenance of Wessex, the land of the West-Saxons, with the spiritual aspect it bears today. Their Teutonic language, called the "Englisce spræce," unlocking its word-hoards, resounded through the raftered halls and the cultivated fields, to remain there practically unchanged by the vicissitudes of many centuries. Also their pagan Nordic superstitions, but thinly overlaid, eventually, with Christian celestial machinery. Wyrd, the inscrutable personification of Destiny, transplanted from Scandinavia, found


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 Its new habitation much to Its liking. It awakened the fossilized monsters and dragons into a second existence; they lived again, as brooding shadows, magical, mysterious, terrible.

Hardy Danes, fiery and volatile people, charged over from the southeast coast; their raids harried the land. Æthelstan, Ælfred, Æthelred, sober kings and true, spent their lives pruning their spear-hedges in continuous campaigns of defence. Mounds that had served the Stone-Age men, the Britons and the Romans in turn, were again used as barriers against the invading marauders. Peace approached on belated pinions.

Missionaries had arrived from Rome; the barbarians were gradually won over to baptism and to lip-service of the Lord, His Risen Son, the Virgin Mother and the Holy Saints. Church towers bore aloft the Sign of the Cross. But Wyrd, unconquered, brooding, nursing its monsters in the hearts of the land-folk, smiled grimly through it all.

Henceforward the history of Wessex becomes the history of the English nation. The Dukes of Normandy, having vanquished the last of the Saxon monarchs, imposed their feudal lordship over the country. Ecclesiastical architecture of the Perpendicular type dominated the towns.

For more than seven centuries, this Anglo-Norman civilization held sway. The Hardys had arrived and were proliferating. The Swetmans and the Childses, by dint of Habsburgian intermarrying, had populated the heart of Wessex, covered it with substantial barns and houses of stone, built to endure for many generations.


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 The Nineteenth Century crept nearer. Across the Channel, off the southwest coast, a great Gallic nation was in the throes of popular turmoil, social upheaval and political rebirth. England throbbed sympathetically: everywhere, throughout the land, patrols of scarlet-coated military were on view, passing to and fro, in and out of billets and barracks, as foreign campaigns swiftly followed one another. Hanoverian gaiety, in the person and the court of the Third George, invaded the seaside towns. Weymouth resounded with martial music and with sprightly, rippling dances whose echoes were sensed even in the quiet villages of the interior. But it was a liveliness impregnated with anxiety. The Ogre of Corsica, savage "Boney," threatened to land his thousands of devils from his fleet of flat-bottomed rafts; his name was coupled with the Evil One's; his image terrorized children into obedience. Beacons were prepared as signals of the dreaded landing, on the summits of the ancient Dorset barrows. Recruiting and impressing for Lord Nelson's navy affrighted the mothers and lovers of lusty youngsters.

The even flow of rural life was scarcely disturbed by the tumult, however. Foreign affairs, being invisible, even if real, were lumped together with all the other real but invisible things: with ogres and witches, with dragons and magic potions. The shepherds, pine-planters, ploughmen, furze-cutters, dairymen, went about their daily tasks just as they had for centuries. Ballads and folk-tales were still transmitted orally, substantially the same, in content and handling, as they had been in pre-Elizabethan days.


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154 When at last this tremendous bridge was finished, the merchant sent one of his clerks, Theodore by name, and told him to go on to the bridge and listen to what people said and thought about it.

Theodore obeyed, and hid himself on the bridge, presently he saw three holy men coming along; he listened, and heard one say,—

"This is indeed a wonderful thing, this bridge; the good merchant is always thinking how he can please everybody; but we, alas! never think how we can best please him; we really ought to reward him in some way."

"How can we, brother?" said another; "he is the richest man in the kingdom, he does not want anything."

"Yes, brother," said the third, "he does want something; he wants a child."

"True!" said the first, "that is his greatest wish, how stupid of me not to think of that before! We shall reward him with a child, and a lucky child."

Theodore went home and told his master what he had heard. And that very year a beautiful boy was sent.

But Theodore, the clerk, jealous of his master's luck, began thinking what he had best do to revenge himself on the good merchant. He waited until night, then he took a dove, killed it, and sprinkling the blood on the child's bed and on the hands of its mother, took the child, and paid an old woman to take care of it.

When morning dawned the merchant missed the


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Rh child; he asked all his servants whether any of them had seen the boy; but no, they none of them had set eyes on him. At last the merchant asked Theodore whether he had seen him.

"No," said the wicked clerk; "but why do you ask everybody whether they have seen the child? Look properly at the child's little bed; see, it is all covered with blood, and so are your wife's hands, though she is sleeping peacefully; it is she who killed your boy, there is no doubt of that."

The merchant looked and saw that what his clerk had said was true, and therefore thought that his wife had certainly killed the boy. He at once ordered the poor woman to be locked up in prison, while he mourned over the loss of his child.

Years passed on, and the boy became a strong, healthy, beautiful child, and was able to run about and talk about everything. He also possessed the great power of wishing, and of doing things that none but fairies and such like could do. All this time the child had no idea that he was the son of the rich merchant, whom everybody praised so highly, but lived happily with the old woman to whom Theodore had given him to be taken care of.

Theodore had left the merchant, and was now living by himself, and thanks to the Lucky Child, had all he required, and all his wishes attended to.

One day Theodore took the boy and went with him to the river-side, near to the bridge which the merchant had built, and said to him,—

"Let the other side of the water be a new kingdom, and let by the side of this bridge a crystal one appear,


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 with the Government and States, and through Rings in all our great communities and concerns, through bankrupt Insurance Companies and Savings Banks, and in countless other ways they have robbed us; and are scheming for more such swindles. They have lulled the political watchfulness of the people to sleep, through their stump-speakers and newspapers, campaign tracts, and conspiracies between the two ruling parties. It is to them that we owe the rapid spreading of prostitution, of venality among public men and voting cattle, of beggary and pauperism, of crimes and malfeasance in office, of matrimonial scandals and rowdyism, of youthful profligacy, and of all the vices and evils of European society.

We ought, however, to reproach ourselves no less than them. We workers have tolerated their doings too long. We forgot, while prosperity lasted, "the watchfulness which is the price of liberty." We thought only of our own present advancement in the world, not of the fate of our children, and the destiny of the coming generations. We imagined that the fathers of the Republic had left us the heritage of a perfect politico-social fabric, although our dreadful four years’ Civil War should have taught us that they were erring men like all of us, and that every generation of citizens must improve their legacy, if it is to be adapted to the wants of the changing times. We have, through our recklessness, run so deeply into misery and corruption, that no slight reforms can help us out of our despondency, but that a complete, though gradual reconstruction of the entire social fabric is necessary. We are in the state of a patient who cannot be cured by any medicine, but by a thoroughly new mode of life only. In order to understand this more clearly, we must enter somewhat more fully into the nature of Capitalistic Production.

All the Old Nations had social institutions which made it impossible that any freeman could ever be helpless, disinherited, and unable to uphold his independence. He had a share in the common property of the tribe or the community, or in its proceeds, and could fall back on this last resource when all others failed. Now, at the end of the middle ages, and at the beginning of Capitalistic Production, this common property was everywhere in Europe legislated away, or first stolen by the powers that were, and the theft afterward sanctioned by law. Thus a disinherited class was artificially created, and by degrees reduced to slavery or enforced service at low rates of wages or income. This fact can be demonstrated by the very words of the laws then passed which have been preserved. As regards industrial pursuits, they were carried on in the cities by privileged guilds, which formed, at the same time, armed companies to defend their rights and cities from the robbing nobles and arbitrary


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 rulers. These guilds guaranteed each other, and every one of their members an existence of some sort, so that nobody could be entirely helpless who was willing to learn a trade thoroughly, and took care that only skilled workmen should be educated. This latter benevolent provision was likewise destroyed by laws in the interest of Capitalist producers' or destroyed by their competition. The resistance of the working classes was but gradually broken down, so that the new generations of wages laborers grew up in the belief that their wages were a fair equivalent for their work, and that the capitalist employer was fairly entitled to all the additional profit which he might coin out of their work. And there arose a new school of "philosophers," called Political Economists, who tried to demonstrate on Scientific grounds that this could not be otherwise, that it was a divinely ordained and an iron natural law that there should be employing capitalists, and that they should be the benefactors of mankind by employing laborers who otherwise would starve, in advancing all kinds of industry and making them far more productive of merchandise than ever before, and by enriching thus the nations. And this seemed to be proven furthermore by a wonderful development of industry and private riches, when railroads were built, steam introduced into machinery, telegraphs were invented, and a world's commerce sprang up which led to a rapid settlement by millions of workers of countries like ours, and Australia, the Dominion of Canada, Siberia, and others. It was evident that only a concentration of capital could produce such wonders of civilization and progress, and capital began to be looked upon as far more important than labor. There arose a Religion of Mammon which overshadowed all other religions and all human ideals.

Of all this philosophy, which was imbibed by all of us with our mother's milk, not one word is founded in fact or truth, as we are going to show. But before doing so we must overthrow a mistaken popular belief.

It is undoubtedly true that an accumulation of riches is necessary in order to create and uphold our modern civilization. If all the goods and wares which human labor produces, were fully consumed by each generation, there would be no progress in any direction. Some economy for future improvements is practiced in every, even the most rude community, and was known for thousands of years—long before there was any private capital. But it is a mistaken notion that the accumulated riches must be private possessions, in order to benefit a community or a nation; this institution of private capitalism is of a comparatively recent origin, and was, in Northern Europe, hardly known a few


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 hundred years ago. If all the means of labor be common property of the people, accumulation may be as great, or greater, than when distributed into private ownership. We shall prove this assertion beyond doubt. But we concede that the institution of private capitalism was in its day an historical necessity, and at first productive of more good than evil. It is only in its progress to absolute sway that it calls into existence an intolerable host of evils, and thus in the end, to which we are now approaching, works its own destruction.

After these concessions, we will prove to every honest person's satisfaction that private capital cannot exist without robbery, sanctioned by law. Suppose a workman lays up, in many years of labor and self-denial, a sum of $10,000, and the laws of the country did not allow him to loan this sum on interest, or to employ wages laborers at a lower rate than their real product of labor is worth. If he now ceases to work himself, he still owns his $10,000, and this sum may amply suffice to keep him in food, dwelling, and all his wants down to his death, by spending it dollar by dollar. But such sums are not Capital in the usual sense of the word; they do not grow, but decrease. Only what bears interest is called Capital; and interest is the fruit of the labor of others which is but partially rewarded. This example will be still more to the point if we further assume that the workman had invested in a farm the entire $10,000. That farm will abundantly support his old age, provided he is allowed to employ laborers at less wages than their work is really worth. But if there be no law allowing that, and he ceases to labor himself, he would certainly die of starvation on his farm. This example alone is conclusive. But we shall add some more proofs of the truth that only by unpaid labor private capital can come into existence.

Suppose the said workman had invested his $10,000 in a productive business in which he officers a number of wages laborers without doing anything but superintending their work, and buying and selling the incoming raw materials and outgoing merchandise. He realizes within a given time $10,000 profit, and now owns $20,000. If we subtract from this sum a moderate salary which he votes himself for his labor, all the balance of the $20,000 are the proceeds of the labor,—the unpaid labor,—of his employes. For his original $10,000 are gone by investing them in means of labor, raw materials, and wages, and must come back to him by selling the merchandise produced. Not only is the clear profit of $10,000 almost all the fruit of unpaid labor, but the return of the capital itself is


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 secured chiefly by the fruit of that same unpaid labor. To make this still more obvious, let us assume that he hires one of his laborers to be superintendent in his own place, and does nothing himself but cash the net proceeds—is it not clear that, if his original investment is to return. to him, and to return in the double amount, all his $20,000 are the proceeds of partly-paid labor? This latter case is by no means an impossible case. Almost all the greatest Capitalistic Production is now-a-days carried on by share companies whose members have nothing to do but to vote who shall be manager, and to write receipts for their dividends.

But it may be objected that a great amount of talent, business experience, and circumspection is required to carry on some kinds of productive industries. Is it not becoming and just that these qualities should be well rewarded, being so rare? Well, let them have their fullest reward, is our answer; but no more than that. Why should there be an extra reward for the capital in the hands of that employer? Has capital a soul? has it talent, business experience, and circumspection?

Again, the objection may be raised that no capitalist would care for investing his money in industrial enterprises, unless these bear him an interest on the capital. Who then would introduce new industries and advance the progress of the nations? We answer that the necessary capital is of secondary importance, but the science and technical experience needed in every business is of the first importance. If a community, a state, or the nation have confidence in the mental and moral qualities of a number of Co-operative workingmen, and loan them, as to a corporation, the capital necessary for a certain industry without any, or at a merely nominal interest, the loaner would be more benefited by the increased capacity of paying taxes, on the part of the Co-operators, than by a high rate of interest. But we shall later see that it is scarcely necessary to support Co-operation by capital, if the public institutions and laws be different from what they now are.

The most absurd of all objections that commonly are heard in favor of Capitalistic Production is, that the capitalists who undertake industrial production are running great risks, and losing, during bad times, a great deal; and that, as a compensation, they should be allowed to indemnify themselves by corresponding profits in good times. We answer that they would not care to be simply indemnified for losses, if there were no excessive profits allowed. Their risks are altogether voluntary, and no sensible man thinks that they should be forced to such hazardous enterprises. The laborers, on the other hand, run far greater risks, and


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 are by the force of circumstances driven to run them, but who indemnifies them? There is the miner who every day risks his life, limbs, or health in the pit, the mason and house carpenter on high scaffolds, and there are hundreds of branches of work, in which the average duration of life of the operatives amounts to less than 30 years, while that of the employing class is 60 years—who offers any indemnification to such risks as these? risks that, perhaps, might be avoided, if the employers were more humane? The unnecessary loss of lives, limbs, and healthy constitutions among the operatives of Capitalistic Production is truly fearful, and causes untold misery in their families,—all for the sole benefit of soulless capital. Nobody is allowed to take a single acre of raw land, or a city lot without paying for it the full value; but Capitalistic employers are allowed to take the most precious common property of the community and state,—human labor, health, and even life,—to underpay it to the laborer, and to throw on the community the whole burden of educating the laborers, of supporting them in old age, or when out of work, and their families, when not self-supporting.

But the chief arguments against the institution of private capital are yet to be established. It will readily be conceded that a well educated person who is skillful and thorough in his self-chosen branch of labor, represents a higher capital, so to speak, than a mere dunce of a laborer who is fit for the menial kinds of work only. The difference in value between the two may be as ten to one, or, more. Now it is a fact that Capitalistic Production needs less and less well educated and thoroughly skillful laborers, it renders them superfluous by a constantly increasing division of labor, and by a larger application and a greater perfection of machinery. It is in this way that millions of skilled and independent mechanics have been superseded entirely and thrown as burdens on the community, and other millions that might be intelligent and independent men, are kept in a decreasing state of moral and mental worth. Who indemnifies these men and the state for their incalculable losses?

It is one of the most disgraceful features of CapitalsticCapitalistic [sic] Production that one of the means to make labor cheap is the employment of women and children, who are satisfied with less wages, in the place of men who are thereby superseded. It frequently happens that while the wife and children from their ninth year upward are toiling for ten, twelve, or more hours in the close atmosphere and at the exhausting treadmill of the factory, the husband and father is out of employment and supported by the labor of his family. He is forced by dire need to sell his wife and children into a


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156 so that when the king sees it, he might give me his daughter to be my wife."

The boy wished it all to be so, and immediately a beautiful crystal bridge stood before them, and on the other side a splendid kingdom sprang up, with a palace of gold, and marble churches and walls.

When the king woke up on the following morning, and saw these wonderful things, he asked who it was that made them, and was told that Theodore was the maker.

"Well," said the king, "if he is such a clever man as all that, he can have my daughter for his wife, as a reward."

Theodore married the princess, and became king over the new kingdom, and took the Lucky Child to live with him in the palace. But Theodore was not kind to the boy, he beat him and gave him very little to eat, making him do all kinds of hard work for him, and ordering him to obey his wishes, so that the boy's life at the palace was by no means pleasant. Still he bore everything very patiently, as he liked Theodore, and was very fond of the princess.

One evening Theodore and his wife were talking to each other, while the boy sat unnoticed in a corner weeping. Suddenly the princess turned to her husband, and asked,—

"How was it that you became so rich? I hear that you were once only a poor clerk, in the good merchant's office."

"Well, my riches and my supposed cleverness are


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 slavery that in some respects is worse than negro slavery ever was. Family life, paternal education, conjugal purity, the chastity of the rising generation of girls, are sure to be ruined by degrees, while public schooling ceases to benefit factory children. If this is not robbery, robbery protected by law, it is certainly more diabolical than robbery.

It is another feature of this system that there is in it a constant inducement to lengthen the working part of the day, and to render at the same time the labor more intense, uniform, mind-killing,—in short to make the wages laborer a slave who puts up with indignaties offered to him, who loses all power of resistance to tyrannical treatment, and becomes the mere tool of his task-master, part of his machinery, his voting cattle, and lickspittle. It is a matter of history that the English government had to throw legal obstacles into the way of this degenerating system, because the race of men from which soldiers and crews of the navy could be recruited, was dying out, and epidemics began to decimate even the well-to-do population. The factory and sanitary inspection and regulation laws which have ever since 1833 been directed to the remedy of this evil could, however, not have been carried by the influence of the workingpeople; it required the intervention of the landed aristocracy to somewhat relieve them from the shackles of the industrial lords, and it required the envious and revengeful intervention of the latter to somewhat relieve the agricultural "wretches" (that is the vulgar designation of the gangs of field hands.) In our own country we saw only last winter an effort of the mill owners in Massachusetts to increase by law the daily hours of labor (which in practice are as a rule lengthened in spite of the law) and would have been successful but for the manly opposition of our fellow-laborer } In fact the larger an industrial establishment is, the more the managers seem to act upon the belief that their laborers are their property, body and soul, and that those who oppose their absolute sway are pestilential demagogues and criminals. And the farther this industrial system spreads in any country, the more dangerous becomes the attempt of all who declare war against its abuses.

But we must still further prove that Capitalistic Production is, by the very nature of things, legalized robbery. We ask what is it that has made industrial production on an increased scale the order of the day? It is not Capital; it is the progress of the Sciences and Arts. It is the modern Discoveries and Inventions and improvements in their mechanical application. Who ever heard of a capitalist being a great inventor or discoverer? And who ever heard of great discoverers and inventors becoming great capitalists through


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Rh not my own, they all belong to that little boy, who lives with us."

"How so? I do not understand you."

"Well, I shall tell you the whole story, on condition that you tell no one."

And after the princess had promised not to say a word to any one, Theodore told her the story of his sins and his unkindness to the little boy.

"I became jealous of the merchant," he began, "and when the child was sent to him, I determined to be revenged on him somehow; so I took this child, whom both the parents loved dearly, and paid a woman to take care of it, while I put all the blame on the mother, whom the merchant straightway sent to prison, thinking that she had killed him. I then kept the child for myself, for he was useful to me; if ever I wished for anything I told him, and I got what I wanted."

The princess was so horrified that she did not know what to do or say, but the child, when he heard what Theodore had said, sprang forward, boiling with rage, and cried out wrathfully,—

"Let this wretched man be changed into a dog!"

And in another moment Theodore was no more, but a horrid, half-starved dog stood in his place.

The boy tied an iron chain round the dog's neck, and started off to the merchant's house.

"My good man," he said, when he came to his father, "give me a red-hot coal."

"What for, young man?" asked the father.

"My dog is rather hungry, and I want to feed him."


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158 "Good heavens! but where on earth did any one hear of a Christian feeding his dog on coals?"

"And where, please tell me—where was it ever known that a Christian mother killed her child?"

"What do you mean, young man?"

"This—that I am your lost child, and that this dog is your old clerk Theodore, who told all those lies about my mother."

And the boy told his father all that he had heard Theodore tell his wife. The merchant was delighted to have his son back, and at once ordered his wife to be set free again. They then all three moved to the golden palace, on the other side of the river, where they lived in happiness ever after, while the princess went back to her father.

As for the dog Theodore, he remained a dog until his death, which fortunately took place very soon; whether it was from the hot coal, or something else, I cannot say, all I know is, that he departed this life.

The little boy became a great man, and was a lucky one all his life.


text:
Page:Tales and Legends from the Land of the Tzar.djvu/175

Rh

along a high road one day, a certain Potter met a man, who, stopping him, said,—

"Take me to your place as a workman."

"But do you understand pottery?" asked the Potter.

"Oh, yes, master, nobody better; just you try."

"Come along, then!"

And they shook hands with each other and went home.

"Well, give me forty loads of clay," said the man, when he arrived, "and to-morrow I shall set to work."

The Potter got all the things he wanted, and gave them to him.

"I shall only work at night, master," said the man; "but take care and don't come near me in the workroom."

"Why not?"

"Because if you do, bad luck will befall you."

Now this man was no other than an evil spirit, and when it was about midnight, he went down into the workroom and called out something in a loud voice, suddenly in came tumbling a number of little devils, who immediately set to work, hammering away like thunder, making pots. The noise was so great that it sounded all through the house and in the streets.

The Potter could stand it no longer.


text: Page:The Farm and Fruit of Old a translation in verse of the 1st and 2nd Georgics of Virgil, by a market-gardener (1862).djvu/65


text: Page:The Farm and Fruit of Old a translation in verse of the 1st and 2nd Georgics of Virgil, by a market-gardener (1862).djvu/66


text:
Page:Raggedy Ann Stories.pdf/82

 this motion the old rooster jumped up in the air and kicked his feet out in front, knocking Raggedy Ann over and over.

When Raggedy Ann stopped rolling she waved her apron at the rooster and cried, “Shoo!” but instead of “shooing,” Old Ironsides upset her again.

Now, two old hens who had been watching the rooster jump at Raggedy ran up and as one old hen placed herself before the rooster, the other old hen caught hold of Raggedy’s apron and dragged her into the chicken-coop.

It was dark inside and Raggedy could not tell what was going on as she felt herself being pulled up over the nests.

But, finally Raggedy could sit up, for the old hen had quit pulling her, and as her shoe-button eyes were very good, she soon made out the shape of the old hen in front of her.

“My! that’s the hardest work I have done in a long time!” said the old hen, when could catch her breath, “I was afraid Mr. Rooster would tear your dress and apron!”

“That was a queer game he was playing, “Mrs. Hen,” said Raggedy Ann.

The old hen chuckled ’way down in her throat, “Gracious me! He wasn’t playing a game, he was fighting you!”

“Fighting!” cried Raggedy Ann in surprise.

“Oh yes, indeed!” the old hen answered, “Old Ironsides, the rooster, thought you intended to harm some of the children chickens and he was fighting you!

“I am sorry that I fell inside the pen, anything,” Raggedy Ann said.

“If we tell you a secret you must promise not to tell your mistress!” said the old hens.

“I promise! Cross my candy heart!” said Raggedy Ann.

Then the two old hens took Raggedy Ann ’way back in the farthest corner of the chicken coop. There, in back of a box, they had built two nests and each old hen had ten eggs in her nest.

“If your folks hear of it they will take the eggs!” said the hens, “and then we could not raise our families!”

title: Page:Raggedy Ann Stories.pdf/82


text:
Page:Raggedy Ann Stories.pdf/84

Raggedy Ann felt the eggs and they were nice and warm.

“We just left the nests when you fell into the pen!” explained the old hens.

“But how can the eggs grow if you sit upon them?” said Raggedy. “If Fido sits on any of the garden, the plants will not grow, Mistress says!”

“Eggs are different!’’ one old hen explained. “In order to make the eggs hatch properly, we must sit on them three weeks and not let them get cold at any time!”

“And at the end of the three weeks do the eggs sprout?” asked Raggedy Ann.

“You must be thinking of eggplant!” cried one old hen. “These eggs hatch at the end of three weeks—they don’t sprout—and then we have a lovely family of soft downy chickies; little puff balls that we can cuddle under our wings and love dearly!”

“Have you been sitting upon the eggs very long?” Raggedy asked.

“Neither one of us has kept track of the time,” said one hen. “So we do not know! You see, we never leave the nests only just once in a while to get a drink and to eat a little.

title: Page:Raggedy Ann Stories.pdf/84


text:
Page:Raggedy Ann Stories.pdf/85

 So we can hardly tell when it is day and when it is night.”

“We were going out to get a drink when you fell in the pen!” said one old hen. “Now we will have to sit upon the eggs and warm them up again!”

The two old hens spread their feathers and nestled down upon the nests.

“When you get them good and warm, I would be glad to sit upon the eggs and keep them warm until you get something to eat and drink!” said Raggedy. So the two old hens walked out of the coop to finish their meal which had been interrupted by Raggedy’s fall and while they were gone, Raggedy Ann sat quietly upon the warm eggs. Suddenly down beneath her she heard something go, “Pick, pick!” “I hope it isn’t a mouse!’ Raggedy Ann said to herself, when she felt something move. “I wish the old hens would come back.” But when they came back and saw the puzzled expression on her face, they cried, “What is it?”

title: Page:Raggedy Ann Stories.pdf/85


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 Raggedy Ann got to her feet and looked down and there were several little fluffy, cuddly baby chickies, round as little puff-balls.

“Cheep! Cheep! Cheep!” they cried when Raggedy stepped out of the nest.

“Baby Chicks!” Raggedy cried, as she stooped and picked up one of the little puff-balls. “They want to be cuddled!”

The two old hens, their eyes shining with happiness, got upon the nests and spread out their soft warm feathers, “The other eggs will hatch soon!” said they.

So, for several days Raggedy helped the two hens hatch out the rest of the chickies and just as they finished, Marcella came inside looking around.

“How in the world did you get in here, Raggedy Ann?” she cried. “I have been looking all about for you! Did the chickens drag you in here?”

Both old hens down behind the box clucked softly to the chickies beneath them and Marcella overheard them.

She lifted the box away and gave a little squeal of surprise and happiness.

“Oh you dear old Hennypennies!” she cried, lifting both old hens from their nests. “You have hidden your nests away back here and now you have one, two, three, four—twenty chickies!”” and as she counted them, Marcella placed them in her apron; then catching up Raggedy Ann, she placed her over the new little chickies.

“Come on, old Hennypennies!” she said, and went out of the coop with the two old hens clucking at her heels.

Marcella called Daddy and Daddy rolled two barrels out under one of the trees and made a nice bed in each. Then he nailed slats across the front, leaving a place for a door. Each Hennypennie was then given ten little chickies and shut up in the barrel. And all the dolls were happy when they heard of Raggedy’s adventure and they did not have to wait long before they were all taken out to see the new chickies.

title: Page:Raggedy Ann Stories.pdf/86


text:
Page:Raggedy Ann Stories.pdf/87

RAGGEDY ANN AND THE MOUSE

Jeanette was a new wax doll, and like Henny, the Dutch doll, she could say “MAMMA” when anyone tipped her backward or forward. She had lovely golden brown curls of real hair. It could be combed and braided, or curled or fluffed without tangling, and Raggedy Ann was very proud when Jeanette came to live with the dolls.

But now Raggedy Ann was very angry—in fact, Raggedy Ann had just ripped two stitches out of the top of her head when she took her rag hands and pulled her rag face down into a frown (but when she let go of the frown her face stretched right back into her usual cheery smile).

And you would have been angry, too, for something had happened to Jeanette.

Something or someone had stolen into the nursery that night when the dolls were asleep and nibbled all the wax from Jeanette’s beautiful face—and now all her beauty was gone!

“It really is a shame!” said Raggedy Ann as she put her arms about Jeanette.

“Something must be done about it!” said the French doll as she stamped her little foot.

“If I catch the culprit, I will—well, I don’t know what I will do with him!” said the tin soldier, who could be very fierce at times, although he was seldom cross.

title: Page:Raggedy Ann Stories.pdf/87


text:
Page:JT International SA v Commonwealth of Australia.pdf/66

Hayne J Bell J

"acquisition" of property. It is for this reason that it has been said that s 51(xxxi) does not give protection to "the general commercial and economic position occupied by traders".

Given the centrality of the concept of "acquisition" to the operation of s 51(xxxi) and to the disposition of the present matters, it is useful to repeat some fundamental propositions about this head of power.

It is well established that s 51(xxxi) is concerned with matters of substance rather than form and that "acquisition" and "property" are to be construed liberally. It is equally well established that "acquisition" is to be understood as a "compound" conception, namely "acquisition-on-just-terms". But allowing, as one must, ample meaning to "acquisition" and "property" in s 51(xxxi), there remains a bedrock principle. There can be no acquisition of property without "the Commonwealth or another acquir[ing] an interest in property, however slight or insubstantial it may be". Giving a liberal construction to "acquisition" and "property" does not, and must not, erode the bedrock established by the text of s 51(xxxi): there must be an acquisition of property.

The arguments advanced by the tobacco companies sought to depart from this bedrock principle and to justify the departure as no more than adherence to "liberal" construction. In particular, they submitted that decisions and statements


text:
Page:Raggedy Ann Stories.pdf/88

 “Here is the hole he came from!” cried Uncle Clem from the other end of the nursery. “Come, see!”

All the dolls ran to where Uncle Clem was, down on his hands and knees.

“This must be the place?” said Raggedy Ann, “We will plug up the hole with something, so he will not come out again!”

The dolls hunted around and brought rags and pieces of paper and pushed them into the mouse’s doorway.

“T thought I heard nibbling last night,” one of the penny dolls said. “You know I begged for an extra piece of pie last evening, when Mistress had me at the table and it kept me awake!”

While the dolls were talking, Marcella ran down-stairs with Jeanette and told Daddy and Mamma, who came up-stairs with Marcella and hunted around until they discovered the mouse’s doorway.

“Oh, why couldn’t it have chewed on me?” Raggedy Ann asked herself then she saw Marcella’s sorrowful face, for Raggedy Ann was never selfish.

“Daddy will take Jeanette down-town with him and have her fixed up as good as new,’’ said Mamma, so Jeanette was wrapped in soft tissue paper and taken away.

Later in the day Marcella came bouncing into the nursery with a surprise for the dolls. It was a dear fuzzy little kitten.

Marcella introduced the kitten to all the dolls.

“Her name is Boots, because she has four little white feet!” said Marcella. So Boots, the happy little creature, played with the penny dolls, scraping them over the floor and peeping out from behind chairs and pouncing upon them as if they were mice and the penny dolls enjoyed it hugely.

When Marcella was not in the nursery, Raggedy Ann wrestled with Boots and they would roll over and over upon the floor, Boots with her front feet around Raggedy Ann’s neck and kicking with her hind feet.

title: Page:Raggedy Ann Stories.pdf/88


text:
Author:John Elliotson

Works

 * The Harveian Oration 1846

title: Author:John Elliotson


text:
Page:Raggedy Ann Stories.pdf/90

 Then Boots would arch her back and pretend she was very angry and walk sideways until she was close to Raggedy. Then she would jump at her and over and over they would roll, their heads hitting the floor bumpity-bump.

Boots slept in the nursery that night and was lonely for her Mamma, for it was the first time she had been away from home.

Even though her bed was right on top of Raggedy Ann, she could not sleep. But Raggedy Ann was very glad to have Boots sleep with her, even if she was heavy, and when Boots began crying for her Mamma, Raggedy Ann comforted her and soon Boots went to sleep.

One day Jeanette came home. She had a new coating of wax on her face and she was as beautiful as ever.

Now, by this time Boots was one of the family and did not cry at night. Besides Boots was told of the mouse in the corner and how he had eaten Jeanette’s wax, so she promised to sleep with one eye open.

Late that night when Boots was the only one awake, out popped a tiny mouse from the hole. Boots jumped after the mouse, and hit against the toy piano and made the keys tinkle so loudly it awakened the dolls.

They ran over to where Boots sat growling with the tiny mouse in her mouth.

My! how the mouse was squeaking!

Raggedy Ann did not like to hear it squeak, but she did not wish Jeanette to have her wax face chewed again, either.

So, Raggedy Ann said to the tiny little mouse, “You should have known better than to come here when Boots is with us. Why don’t you go out in the barn and live where you will not destroy anything of value?”’

“I did not know!” squeaked the little mouse, “This is the first time I have ever been here!”’

“Aren’t you the little mouse who nibbled Jeanette’s wax face?” Raggedy Ann asked.

title: Page:Raggedy Ann Stories.pdf/90


text:
Page:Raggedy Ann Stories.pdf/91

 “No!” the little mouse answered “I was visiting the mice inside the walls and wandered out here to pick up cake crumbs! I have three little baby mice at home down in the barn. I have never nibbled at anyone’s wax face!”

“Are you a Mamma mouse?” Uncle Clem asked.

“Yes!” the little mouse squeaked “and if the kitten will let me go I will run right home to my children and never return again!”

“Let her go, Boots!” the dolls all cried, “She has three little baby mice at home! Please let her go!”

“No, sir!” Boots growled, “This is the first mouse I have ever caught and I will eat her!” At this the little Mamma mouse began squeaking louder than ever.

“If you do not let the Mamma mouse go, Boots, I shall not play with you again!” said Raggedy Ann.

“Raggedy will not play with Boots again!” said all of the dolls in an awed tone. Not to have Raggedy play with them would have been sad, indeed.

But Boots only growled.

The dolls drew to one side, where Raggedy Ann and Uncle Clem whispered together.

And while they whispered Boots would let the little Mamma mouse run a piece, then she would catch it again and box it about between her paws.

This she did until the poor little Mamma mouse grew so tired it could scarcely run away from Boots.

Boots would let it get almost to the hole in the wall before she would catch it, for she knew it would not escape her.

As she watched the little mouse crawling towards the hole scarcely able to move, Raggedy Ann could not keep the tears from her shoe-button eyes.

Finally as Boots started to spring after the little mouse again, Raggedy Ann threw her rag arms around the kitten’s neck. “Run, Mamma mouse!” Raggedy Ann cried, as Boots whirled her over and over.

title: Page:Raggedy Ann Stories.pdf/91


text:
Page:Raggedy Ann Stories.pdf/92

 Uncle Clem ran and pushed the Mamma mouse into the hole and then she was gone.

When Raggedy Ann took her arms from around Boots, the kitten was very angry. She laid her ears back and scratched Raggedy Ann with her claws.

But Raggedy Ann only smiled—it did not hurt her a bit for Raggedy was sewed together with a needle and thread and if that did not hurt, how could the scratch of a kitten? Finally Boots felt ashamed of herself and went over and lay down by the hole in the wall in hopes the mouse would return, but the mouse never returned. Even then Mamma mouse was out in the barn with her children, warning them to beware of kittens and cats.

Raggedy Ann and all the dolls then went to bed and Raggedy had just dozed off to sleep when she felt something jump upon her bed. It was Boots. She felt a warm little pink tongue caress her rag cheek. Raggedy Ann smiled happily to herself, for Boots had curled up on top of Raggedy Ann and was purring herself to sleep.

Then Raggedy Ann knew she had been forgiven for rescuing the Mamma mouse and she smiled herself to sleep and dreamed happily of tomorrow.

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Page:Raggedy Ann Stories.pdf/93

RAGGEDY ANN’S NEW SISTERS

Marcella was having a tea party up in the nursery when Daddy called to her, so she left the dollies sitting around the tiny table and ran down stairs carrying Raggedy Ann with her.

Mama, Daddy and a strange man were talking in the living room and Daddy introduced Marcella to the stranger.

The stranger was a large man with kindly eyes and a cheery smile, as pleasant as Raggedy Ann’s.

He took Marcella upon his knee and ran his fingers through her curls as he talked to Daddy and Mamma, so, of course, Raggedy Ann liked him from the beginning. “I have two little girls,” he told Marcella. “Their names are Virginia and Doris, and one time when we were at the sea-shore they were playing in the sand and they covered up Freddy, Doris’ boy-doll in the sand. They were playing that Freddy was in bathing and that he wanted to be covered with the clean white sand, just as the other bathers did. And when they had covered Freddy they took their little pails and shovels and went farther down the beach to play and forgot all about Freddy.

“Now when it came time for us to go home, Virginia and Doris remembered Freddy and ran down to get him, but the tide had come in and Freddy was ’way out under the water

title: Page:Raggedy Ann Stories.pdf/93


text:
Remarks by President Biden on the Terrorist Attacks In Israel

THE PRESIDENT: Good afternoon. Today, the people of Israel are under attack, orchestrated by a terrorist organization, Hamas.

In this moment of tragedy, I want to say to them and to the world and to terrorists everywhere that the United States stands with Israel. We will not ever fail to have their back.

We’ll make sure they have the help their citizens need and they can continue to defend themselves.

You know, the world has seen appalling images: thousands of rockets in the space of hours raining down on Israeli cities. When I got up this morning and started this at 7:30, 8 o’clock — my calls.

Hamas terrorists crossing into Israel killing not only Israeli soldiers, but Israeli civilians in the street, in their homes. Innocent people murdered, wounded, entire families taken hostage by Hamas just days after Israel marked the holiest of days on the Jewish calendar. It’s unconscionable.

You know, when I spoke with Prime Minister Netanyahu this morning, I told him the United States stands with the people of Israel in the face of this terrorist assaults. Israel has the right to defend itself and its people. Full stop.

There is never justification for terrorist acts.

And my administration’s support for Israel’s security is rock solid and unwavering.

Let me say this as clearly as I can: This is not a moment for any party hostile to Israel to exploit these attacks to seek advantage. The world is watching.

I have also been in contact with the King of Jordan, spoken with members of Congress, directed my national security team to engage with their Israeli counterparts — military to military, intelligence to intelligence, diplo- — diplomat to diplomat — to make sure Israel has what it needs.

I’ve also directed my team to remain in constant contact with leaders throughout the region, including Egypt, Turkey, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, Jordan, Oman, the UAE, as well as with our European partners and the Palestinian Authority.

This is also a terrible tragedy on a human level. It’s hurting innocent people — seeing the lives that have been broken by this, the families torn apart. It’s heart breaking.

And Jill and I are praying for those families who have been impacted by this violence. We grieve with those who have lost their loved their ones, lost a piece of their soul. We have hope for a swift recovery for many who have been wounded.

But we’re going to remain in close touch with Prime Minister — I, personally, am going to remain in close contact with Prime Minister Netanyahu as this situation continues to develop.

And let there be no mistake: The United States stands with the State of Israel, just as we have from the moment the United States became the first nation to recognize Israel, 11 minutes after its founding, 75 years ago.

Thank you very much.


text: Index:Horace (IA horacetheo00martrich).pdf


text:
Page:Malay Sketches.pdf/197

QUARTER of a century ago there lived on the bank of a broad river, just at the point where stream meets tide, a Malay Raja and his youthful wife. She has been dead for twenty years, but in this land of brief regrets her memory is still green, the fame of her wit and beauty has become a byword with the people.

She was a girl of royal descent; her name. Raja Maimûnah. Exceeding fair, for a Malay, slight but graceful in figure, with very small hands and feet, an oval face and splendid eyes, glistening blucwhite wells in which floated, lotus-like, the dark iris, flashing or wooing in changeful expression

title: Page:Malay Sketches.pdf/197


text: Index:Juvenal (IA juvenaledward00walfrich).pdf


text:
Page:The life and opinions of Tristram Shandy (Volume 5).pdf/60

 fully intended to pay off this year: but some of your worships and reverences telling me, that the two subjects, especially so connected together, might endanger the morals of the world,—I pray the chapter upon chamber-maids and button-holes may be forgiven me,—and that they will accept of the last chapter in lieu of it; which is nothing, an't please your reverences, but a chapter of chamber-maids, green-gowns, and old hats.

Trim took his off the ground,—put it upon his head,—and then went on with his oration upon death, in manner and form following.

To us, Jonathan, who know not what want or care is—who live here in the service of two of the best of masters—(bating in my own case his majesty King William the Third, whom I had


text: The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman/Volume 5/Chapter 8


text:
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 the honour to serve both in Ireland and Flanders)—I own it, that from Whitsontide to within three weeks of Christmas,—'tis not long—'tis like nothing;—but to those, Jonathan, who know what death is, and what havock and destruction he can make, before a man can well wheel about—'tis like a whole age.—O Jonathan! 'twould make a good-natured man's heart bleed, to consider, continued the corporal, (standing perpendicularly) how low many a brave and upright fellow has been laid since that time!—And trust me, Susy, added the corporal, turning to Susannah, whose eyes were swiming in water,—before that time comes round again,—many a bright eye will be dim.—Susannah placed it to the right side of the page—she wept—but she court'sied too.—Are we not, continued Trim, looking still at Susannah—are we not like a flower of the field—a tear of pride stole in betwixt every two tears of


text:
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 humiliation—else no tongue could have described Susannah's affliction—is not all flesh grass?—'Tis clay,—'tis dirt.—They all looked directly at the scullion,—the scullion had just been scouring a fish-kettle.—It was not fair.

—What is the finest face that ever man looked at!—I could hear Trim talk so for ever, cried Susannah,—what is it! (Susannah laid her hand upon Trim's shoulder)—but corruption?—Susannah took it off.

—Now I love you for this—and 'tis this delicious mixture within you which makes you dear creatures what you are—and he who hates you for itall I can say of the matter, is—That he has either a pumkin for his head—or a pippin for his heart,—and whenever he is dissected 'twill be found so.


text: The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman/Volume 5/Chapter 9


text: Index:Pliny's letters (IA plinysletters00churrich).pdf


text:
Page:Diary of a Pilgrimage (1891).pdf/295

 bears them springs from the gnarled old trunk that was green and soft when white-haired Time was a little child; the sap that feeds them is drawn up through the roots that twine and twist about the bones of the ages that are dead.

The human mind can no more produce an original thought than a tree can bear an original fruit. As well might one cry for an original note in music as expect an original idea from a human brain.

One wishes our friends, the critics, would grasp this simple truth, and leave off clamouring for the impossible, and being shocked because they do not get it. When a new book is written, the high-class critic opens it with feelings of faint hope, tempered by strong conviction of coming disappointment. As he pores over the pages, his brow darkens with virtuous indignation, and his lip curls with the God-like contempt that the exceptionally great critic ever feels for everybody in this world, who is not yet dead. Buoyed up by a touching, but totally fallacious, belief that he is performing a public duty, and that the rest of the community is waiting in breathless suspense to learn his opinion of the work in question, before forming any judgment concerning it themselves, he, nevertheless, wearily struggles through about a third of it. Then his long-suffering soul revolts, and he flings it aside with a cry of despair.

"Why, there is no originality whatever in this," he says. "This book is taken bodily from the Old Testament. It is the story of Adam and Eve all over again. The hero is a mere man! with two arms, two legs, and a head (so called). Why, it is only Moses's Adam under another name! And the heroine is nothing but a woman! and she is described as beautiful, and as having long hair.


text:
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 The author may call her 'Angelina,' or any other name he chooses; but he has evidently, whether he acknowledges it or not, copied her direct from Eve. The characters are barefaced plagiarisms from the book of Genesis! Oh! to find an author with originality!"

One spring I went a walking tour in the country. It was a glorious spring. Not the sort of spring they give us in these miserable times, under this shameless government—a mixture of East wind, blizzard, snow, rain, slush, fog, frost, hail, sleet, and thunder-storms—but a sunny, blue-sky'd, joyous spring, such as we used to have regularly every year when I was a young man, and things were different.

It was an exceptionally beautiful spring, even for those golden days; and, as I wandered through the waking land, and saw the dawning of the coming green, and watched the blush upon the hawthorn hedge, deepening each day beneath the kisses of the sun, and looked up at the proud old mother trees, dandling their myriad baby buds upon their strong fond arms, holding them high for the soft West wind to caress as he passed laughing by, and marked the primrose yellow creep across the carpet of the woods, and saw the new flush of the fields, and saw the new light on the hills, and heard the newfound gladness of the birds, and heard from copse and farm and meadow, the timid callings of the little new-born things, wondering to find themselves alive, and smelt the freshness of the earth, and felt the promise in the air, and felt a strong hand in the wind, my spirit rose within me. Spring had come to me also, and stirred me with a strange new life, with a strange new hope. I, too, was part of Nature, and it was Spring! Tender leaves. and blossoms were unfolding from my heart. Bright


text:
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 flowers of love and gratitude were opening round its roots. I felt new strength in all my limbs. New blood was pulsing through my veins. Nobler thoughts and nobler longings were throbbing through my brain. As I walked, Nature came and talked beside me, and showed me the world and myself, and the ways of God seemed clearer.

It seemed to me a pity that all the beautiful and precious thoughts and ideas that were crowding in upon me should be lost to my fellow-men, and so I pitched my tent at a little cottage, and set to work to write them down then and there as they came to me.

"It has been complained of me," I said to myself "that I do not write literary and high-class work—at least, not work that is exceptionally literary and high-class. This reproach shall be removed. I will write an article that shall be a classic. I have worked for the ordinary, every-day reader. It is right that I should do something now to improve the literature of my beloved country."

And I wrote a grand essay—though I say it who should not, though I don't see why I shouldn't—all about Spring, and the way it made you feel, and what it made you think. It was simply crowded with elevated thoughts and high-class ideas and cultured wit, was that essay. There was only one fault about that essay: it was too brilliant. It wanted commonplace relief. It would have exhausted the average reader: so much cleverness would have wearied him.

I wish I could remember some of the beautiful things in that essay, and here set them down; because then you would be able to see what they were like for yourselves, and that would be so much simpler than my explaining to


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 He said that, if so, he should advise me to leave it out. Not that it was altogether bad, but that the interpolation of a modern thought among so unique a collection of passages from the ancients seemed to spoil the scheme.

And he enunciated the various dead-and-buried gentlemen from whom he appeared to think I had collated my article.

"But," I replied, when I had recovered my astonishment sufficiently to speak, "it isn't a collection at all. It is all original. I wrote the thoughts down as they came to me. I have never read any of these people you mention, except Shakespeare."

Of course Shakespeare was bound to be among them. I am getting to dislike that man so. He is always being held up before us young authors as a model, and I do hate models. There was a model boy at our school, I remember, Henry Summers; and it was just the same there. It was continually, "Look at Henry Summers! he doesn't put the preposition before the verb, and spell business. b-i-z!" or, "Why can't you write like Henry Summers? He doesn't get the ink all over the copy-book and half-way up his back!" We got tired of this everlasting "Look at Henry Summers!" after a while, and so, one afternoon, on the way home, a few of us lured Henry Summers up a dark court; and when he came out again he was not worth looking at.

Now it is perpetually, "Look at Shakespeare!" "Why don't you write like Shakespeare?" "Shakespeare never made that joke. Why don't you joke like Shakespeare?"

If you are in the play-writing line it is still worse for you. "Why don't you write plays like Shakespeare's?" they indignantly say. "Shakespeare never made his


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 comic man a penny steamboat captain." "Shakespeare never made his hero address the girl as 'ducky.' Why don't you copy Shakespeare?" If you do try to copy Shakespeare, they tell you that you must be a fool to attempt to imitate Shakespeare.

Oh, shouldn't I like to get Shakespeare up our street, and punch him!

"I cannot help that," replied my critical friend—to return to our previous question—"the germ of every thought and idea you have got in that article can be traced back to the writers I have named. If you doubt it, I will get down the books, and show you the passages for yourself."

But I declined the offer. I said I would take his word for it, and would rather not see the passages referred to. I felt indignant. "If," as I said, "these men—these Platos and Socrateses and Ciceros and Sophocleses and Aristophaneses and Aristotles and the rest of them had been taking advantage of my absence to go about the world spoiling my business for me, I would rather not hear any more about them."

And I put on my hat and came out, and I have never tried to write anything original since.

I dreamed a dream once. (It is the sort of thing a man would dream. You cannot very well dream anything else, I know. But the phrase sounds poetical and biblical, and so I use it.) I dreamt that I was in a strange country—indeed, one might say an extraordinary country. It was ruled entirely by critics.

The people in this strange land had a very high opinion of critics—nearly as high an opinion of critics as the critics themselves had, but not, of course, quite, that not being practicable—and they had agreed to be guided


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! I want you to write the pathetic story for the Christmas number, if you will, old man," said the editor of the Weekly Journal to me, as I poked my head into his den one sunny July morning, some years ago. "Thomas is anxious to have the comic sketch. He says he overheard a joke last week, that he thinks he can work up. I expect I shall


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 have to do the cheerful love story, about the man that everybody thinks is dead and that turns up on Christmaseve and marries the girl, myself. I was hoping to get out of it this time, but I'm afraid I can't. Then I shall get Miggs to do the charitable appeal business. I think he's the most experienced man we have now for that; and Skittles can run off the cynical column, about the Christmas bills, and the indigestion: he's always very good in a cynical article, Skittles is; he's got just the correct don't-know-what-he-means-himself sort of touch for it, if you understand."

"Skittles," I may mention, was the nickname we had given to a singularly emotional and seriously inclined member of the staff, whose correct cognomen was Beherhend.

Skittles himself always waxed particularly sentimental over Christmas. During the week preceding that sacred festival, he used to go about literally swelling with geniality and affection for all man and womankind. He would greet comparative strangers with a burst of delight that other men would have found difficult to work up in the case of a rich relation, and would shower upon them the good wishes, always so plentiful and cheap at that season, with such an evident conviction that practical benefit to the wishee would ensue therefrom as to send


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Author:Peter Wallwork Latham

Works

 * The Harveian Oration 1888

title: Author:Peter Wallwork Latham


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 sion! It is the ocean that is the miracle, my infant apostle! Nothing is clearer than that all things are in all things, and that just according to the intensity and extension of our mental being we shall see the many in the one and the one in the many. Did Sir Isaac think what he was saying when he made his speech about the ocean,—the child and the pebbles, you know? Did he mean to speak slightingly of a pebble? Of a spherical solid which stood sentinel over its compartment of space before the stone that became the pyramids had grown solid, and has watched it until now! A body which knows all the currents of force that traverse the globe; which holds by invisible threads to the ring of Saturn and the belt of Orion! A body from the contemplation of which an archangel could infer the entire inorganic universe as the simplest of corollaries! A throne of the all-pervading Deity, who has guided its every atom since the rosary of heaven was strung with beaded stars!

So,—to return to our walk by the ocean,—if all that poetry has dreamed, all that insanity has raved, all that maddening narcotics have driven through the brains of men, or smothered passion nursed in the fancies of women,—if the dreams of colleges and convents and boarding-schools,—if every human feeling that sighs, or smiles, or curses, or shrieks, or groans, should bring all their innumerable images, such as come with every hurried heart-beat,—the epic that held them all, though its letters filled the zodiac, would be but a cupful from the infinite ocean of similitudes and analogies that rolls through the universe.

[The divinity-student honored himself by the way in which he received this, He did not swallow it at once, neither did he reject it; but he took it as a pickerel takes the bait, and carried it off with him to his hole (in the fourth story) to deal with at his leisure.]

Here is another remark made for his especial benefit.—There is a natural tendency in many persons to run their adjectives together in triads, as I have heard them called,—thus: He was honorable, courteous, and brave; she was graceful, pleasing, and virtuous. Dr. Johnson is famous for this; I think it was Bulwer who said you could separate a paper in the "Rambler" into three distinct essays. Many of our writers show the same tendency,—my friend, the Professor, especially. Some think it is in humble imitation of Johnson,—some that it is for the sake of the stately sound only. I don't think they get to the bottom of it. It is, I suspect, an instinctive and involuntary effort of the mind to present a thought or image with the three dimensions that belong to every solid,—an unconscious handling of an idea as if it had length, breadth, and thickness. It is a great deal easier to say this than to prove it, and a great deal easier to dispute it than to disprove it. But mind this: the more we observe and study, the wider we find the range of the automatic and instinctive principles in body, mind, and morals, and the narrower the limits of the self-determining conscious movement.

I have often seen piano-forte players and singers make such strange motions over their instruments or songbooks that I wanted to laugh at them.

"Where did our friends pick up all these fine ecstatic airs?" I would say to myself. Then I would remember My Lady in "Marriage à la Mode," and amuse myself with thinking how affectation was the same thing in Hogarth's time and in our own. But one day I bought me a Canary-bird and hung him up in a cage at my window. By-and-by he found himself at home, and began to pipe his little tunes; and there he was, sure enough, swimming and waving about, with all the droopings and liftings and languishing side-turnings of the head that I had laughed at. And now I should like to ask, taught him all this?—and me, through him, that the foolish head was not the one swinging itself from side to side and bowing and nodding over the music, but that other which was passing its shadow and self-satisfied judgment on


text: Index:พรบ ให้ใช้ ธศย ๒๕๔๓.pdf

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Phra Bat Somdet Phra Paramin Maha Bhumibol Adulyadej gives a great royal command by which He orders with His pleasure that it be announced as follows:

Whereas it is appropriate to improve the Charter of the Courts of Justice;

Therefore, by and with the advice and consent of the National Assembly, He orders with His gracious pleasure that the following Act be enacted:

This Act is called the "Charter of the Courts of Justice Promulgation Act, 2543 BE".

This Act shall come into force from the day following the day of its publication in the Royal Gazette onwards.

The Charter of the Courts of Justice Promulgation Act, 2477 Buddhist Era, and the Charter of the Courts of Justice promulgated by the said Act, shall be repealed.

The provisions at the end of this Act shall be applied as a Charter of the Courts of Justice.

The Charter of the Courts of Justice at the end of this Act shall apply to all cases instituted on the day of coming into force of the Charter of the Courts of Justice at the end of this Act onwards, whether their causes occurred before or occur on the day of coming into force of the Charter of the Courts of Justice at the end of this Act.

All the cases instituted before the day of coming into force of the Charter of the Courts of Justice at the end of this Act shall be governed by the laws in force before the day of coming into force of the Charter of the Courts of Justice at the end of this Act, until they reach their finality.

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 However, section 28, section 29, section 30, and section 31 of the Charter of the Courts of Justice at the end of this Act shall apply to cases of the said characteristics from the 11th day of October 2545 BE.

The persons holding, on the day of coming into force of the Charter of the Courts of Justice at the end of this Act, the positions of Vice Presidents of the Supreme Court of Justice and deputy chief judges of courts of first instance, only those next in seniority to the third Vice President of the Supreme Court of Justice and deputy chief judges of courts of first instance, as well as [the positions of] deputy regional chief judges, shall remain in the said positions until they are appointed to other positions, which must not be later than the 11th day of October 2545 BE.

The persons holding, on the day of coming into force of the Charter of the Courts of Justice at the end of this Act, the positions of Deputy Chief Judges of the Court of Appeal and Deputy Chief Judges of the Regional Courts of Appeal, only those next in seniority to the first Deputy Chief Judge of the Court of Appeal and Deputy Chief Judges of the Regional Courts of Appeal, shall remain in the said positions until they are appointed to other positions, which must not be later than the 11th day of October 2545 BE.

The persons holding the positions under paragraph 1 and paragraph 2 have the duty to assist the President of the Supreme Court of Justice, President of the Court of Appeal, Presidents of the Regional Courts of Appeal, chief judges of courts of first instance, and regional chief judges, as authorised by the President of the Supreme Court of Justice, President of the Court of Appeal, Presidents of the Regional Courts of Appeal, chief judges of courts of first instance, or regional chief judges, as the case may be.

All the royal decrees, ministerial regulations, judicial service rules, rules, regulations, and all the orders of the Minister of Justice, which have been enacted or issued since before the day of coming into force of the Charter of the Courts of Justice at the end of this Act by virtue of the Charter of the Courts of Justice promulgated by the Act Promulgating a Charter of the Courts of Justice, 2477 Buddhist Era, shall remain in force until they are replaced by announcements, rules, or orders issued in accordance with the Charter of the Courts of Justice at the end of this Act.

The President of the Supreme Court of Justice shall be in charge of the execution of this Act.

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Author:Hughes Oliphant Gibbons

Works

 * (1905)

title: Author:Hughes Oliphant Gibbons


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Rh 1650, d. 1724) stories in the same book, vol, vi., deserves to be mentioned. This is Persinette, in the Pentamerone, Petrosinella, 2.1, but taken from a very weak and imperfect version. A note to one of the other tales, expressly says of it, that it alone (The Magician) has been taken from another book, but that all the rest are the original inventions of the author. Of the stories by Mademoiselle l'Héritier (b. 1667, d. 1737), the same book, vol, xii., only one, Ricdin-Ricdon, has a genuine basis. The beginning of it is like the Three Spinners (No. 14), and then passes into Rumpelstilzchen (No. 55); but here, too, the tradition has, with manifest injury to itself, been expanded into a short romance. In the 5th vol, there is another collection entitled, Les illustres Fées, of which the author is not known, and in this there are two pieces worthy of notice, Blanche belle, in which there is a ring of the German story, The Black Bride and the White One (No. 185) and Prince Guerini, taken straight from Straparola's The Three Animals' Gifts (5, 1.). The magic tales written by Count Caylus in the first half of the 18th century (Féeries nouvelles), see Cabinet des Fées, vol, xxiv., are empty and worthless to us, and only in one of them, Tourlou and Rixette, is a fragment of a story to be found; this is called the Yellow Bird, and is inserted as a moral fable. It contains the beginning of the Two Brothers (No. 60). An enchantress is changed into a yellow bird and caught. A rich man buys it of the man who has caught it, and as on its right wing he finds these words written, "Whoso eats my head shall be king, and whoso eats my heart shall have a hundred pieces of gold every morning as soon as he awakes," he makes the poor man's wife roast the bird for him. She, however, accidentally gives the head and heart to her two boys, who have on that account to fly from the deceived man's anger. One is murdered for his wealth; the other arrives in a kingdom where at that very time they are unable to agree as to the choice of a king, and are waiting for a sign. As a dove alights on his head he is chosen, but he governs so badly that he is killed in an insurrection. The moral drawn from this is that every one should remain in the rank of life in which he was born, but there is no doubt but that this ending is added for the sake of it. A collection of stories Nouveaux contes des Fées, the author of which is not known, appeared in the year 1718, and again in 1731, and was, as both editions had become rare, reprinted in the Cabinet des Fées, vol, xxxi. Of the nine stories which it contains, three only (the 1st, 5th, and 9th) have a valid foundation, and may be derived from oral tradition.

 * 1) The Little Green Frog (La petite Grenouille verte). A sick king desires to have a magic bird, so his son goes forth to obtain it, and comes to a well where a green frog tells him what to do, It gives him a grain of sand, and tells him to throw it down in


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Page:Harveian Oration for MDCCCXXXVIII; being a tribute of respect for the memory of the late James Hamilton, Sen. M.D (IA b30377353).pdf/9

9 of a few of the fellow-students of Dr, who afterwards became conspicuous for their attainments, such as, in the Literary Classes, , Lord Chief Commissioner, , Sir , Professor , Sir , Honourable ; and in the Medical Classes, Dr , Sir , Mr , Dr , Dr , Dr , Dr , Mr , and many others, among whom may be included some of the original members of this Society.

It is easy to conceive, that the emulation excited by the ardour and success with which so many young men of talent and diligence prosecuted their studies, must have had a happy effect on such a mind as that of, who, though his voice was not much heard in the controversial discussions which occupied a great share of the attention of the Academical Societies of that period, yielded to none in the quiet and persevering assiduity, by which the foundation of future professional eminence is more securely laid. That these advantages were not lost


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 on him is sufficiently proved by the maturity which he had confessedly attained, when he took the degree of Doctor of Physic in the 22d year of his age. The subject of his Inaugural Dissertation, which he publicly defended on the 12th of June 1771, was “De Perspiratione Insensibili,”—and in the discussion of this subject, he manifested an intimate acquaintance with the views and reasonings of all the best writers on the animal economy, and seems, on the whole, to have acquiesced in the physiological doctrines of, as far as they coincided with.

After he received his degree, he studied some time at Paris, and, before his return to Scotland, travelled to Italy with an invalid. long duration. His absence was not of He became a licentiate of the College of Physicians on the 5th of November 1771, and was admitted a fellow of that College on the 3d of November 1772. The number and respectability of Dr 's connections facilitated his introduction to practice, and their influence obtained his appointment as Physician to several of the most important Institutions in the city. In July 1773, he was appointed Physician to George Heriot’s Hospital. About the same time he was elected by the


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Author:Frances Ormond Jones Gaither

Works

 * Follow the Drinking Gourd (1940)
 * The Red Cock Crows (1944)
 * Double Muscadine (1949)

Works from periodicals

 * Pleasant Houses

title: Author:Frances Ormond Jones Gaither


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Page:Harveian Oration for MDCCCXXXVIII; being a tribute of respect for the memory of the late James Hamilton, Sen. M.D (IA b30377353).pdf/11

11 Managers of the Royal Infirmary, one of the Ordinary Physicians. He was also appointed Physician to the Merchant Maiden Hospital, and the Trades’ Maiden Hospital. To the duties which thus devolved on him, he devoted himself with unwearied application and zeal. He never suffered himself to be immersed in speculation,—but as the surest basis of solid practical attainments, his observations of the phenomena of disease, and of the effects of the remedies employed, were made with great patience and discrimination, and without suffering his mind to be unduly biassed by any favourite system. He felt no ambition to be the founder of a school; and while he was on his guard against rash and adventurous innovation, his manly and independent mind was incapable of submitting, with implicit and servile deference, to the authority of any leader. As a collector of medical facts, he enjoyed the best opportunities of gaining correct information. In his extensive practice, particularly in hospitals, his attention was anxiously directed to the treatment of fever; which, from time immemorial, has been one of the most fatal of the diseases which infest this city, and which, during the early part of his practice, was repeatedly marked by a character of almost pestilential


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12 malignity. In the summer of 1779, a visitation of this kind excited alarm,—the fever having originated in an hospital of sick prisoners of war in Edinburgh Castle. In the summer and autumn of 1781, a still more formidable epidemic of typhus gravior, commencing in some ships of war and merchantmen from Jamaica, proved fatal to a great number of the inhabitants of Edinburgh and Leith. Dr Hamilton having charge of many of these patients, began, in conformity with the usual practice, to administer mild remedies in the form of small doses of antimony, &c., and finding them ineffectual, had recourse to preparations of a more active nature. The change was succeeded by a favourable result; and he observed that the antimonials which he employed had a good effect only when they acted as laxatives. He then was induced to try other purgative medicines, and found them generally efficacious in relieving the oppression of the stomach, mitigating thirst and other febrile symptoms, and so far from aggravating the debilitating effects of fever, actually restoring firmness to the pulse. He did not omit to employ the remedies which other indications seemed to require; but the more he extended his experience, the more was he satisfied that the cathartics which he employ-


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 song of the poet divine." And in a strange close to his poem—in a thought of which Arnold seems to think far more highly than he ought to think, for it is intolerably fantastic—he makes Heine to be the incarnation of a momentary bitter mood of the Spirit of the world.

This is not as true as he thinks. Heine was much more than that. Far more than half of his bitterness was born of lovingness the fulness of which he could not exercise, of natural and excusable feeling against his terrible fate. He cried aloud at it; the poet must speak; but, in reality, no man could have borne that fate more resolutely, nor did he lose love in it. Nor could Arnold, when he wrote these lines, have known the poems where Heine's better soul went forth to feel with man and to fight man's battle, to stand as a lonely sentinel when he could fight no more, and to die alone, in the night at his outpost, for the cause of the whole army. I cannot quote the whole of the poem, the Enfant perdu, but here are the first and the last verses—


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13 ed had a salutary influence on the nervous system, while they lessened the debility, which, according to old prejudices, it was apprehended that they would increase. It would be out of place here to rehearse the steps by which Dr Hamilton proceeded in applying the same principles to the treatment of Scarlatina, Marasmus, Chlorosis, and several other diseases. But it is not uninteresting to observe, that the commencement of the practice in the case of continued fever, is coeval with the establishment of this Society; and that, in all probability, the friendly intercourse which such an association is calculated to promote, must have had considerable effect in extending an improvement, the value of which is now fully appreciated. Dr Hamilton was not impatient for the acquisition of celebrity as an author, and he had the efficacy of his practice demonstrated by the experience of more than twenty years, when he published, in 1805, his Observations on the Utility and Administration of Purgative Medicines on several diseases,—a work which passed through eight editions in this country, in little more than twenty years, besides being republished in America, and translated into French.


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And now I touch on the two best poems he wrote—the Scholar Gipsy and Thyrsis. Both are engaged with Clough, and they are suffused throughout with the tenderness of that deep friendship between man and man, which, begun in youth, keeps in it the purple light of youth; which, continued in manhood, wins the strength of the love which perseveres through sad experience, and the beauty which is born of, and nourished by associated memories. These fill the poems with sweet emotion, enfold them in an air of tenderness. Then, though in this tenderness of friendship he has escaped from self-consideration, yet they are filled with thought concerning the time they had both lived through, the needs of their age and its remedies. In this region, on which I must dwell further, the poems ought to be read together. They illustrate and supplement one another; and whatever is said, both in retrospect and prospect, however different may be the momentary turn of thought, all is brought into unity by the pervasiveness of the one emotion of memorial and loving friendship.

Then, too, another emotion fills the verse—that love of Oxford as the home of his youthful heart, as the nurse of intellect, the mother of fine causes, the teacher and cherisher of the wisdom and beauty of the ancients,