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 be a piece of verbatim reporting, done by a person. whose merit is a retentive memory. These life-like scenes are autobiography. The heroine is naturally the writer's self, made to look as she thinks she looks, or as she wishes to Heaven she might!"

The opinions, the aspirations of this character or that—they are the woman-novelist's own. The fact that, as the books multiply, her heroines are found to be widely different in outer aspect and in spirit—that is: a trifle easily negligible. If there is no heroine, why, then the woman-writer must be the boy of the story. Otherwise it must be that she has imagination, which is plainly preposterous.

If a woman had written "Macbeth," her critics would have believed she must have murdered her husband; or, if he wasn't her husband, the more shame!

Until society is differently constituted let no one expect that women in general will adventure lightly upon truth-telling in their books.

The older generation may even have the excuse that the doom of the false witness has overtaken them. In the end they believe their own lies.

Even the young and clear-eyed may stand abashed before the great new task, and for another generation the woman may still write her book but to weave another veil, the while she makes her bread—or perhaps her cake.

If the faculty for telling the truth is in itself a kind of genius, as has been said, the use of our mere

title: Page:Robins - Way Stations.djvu/26


text: Page:Robins - Way Stations.djvu/10

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

title: Page:Robins - Way Stations.djvu/10


text: Talk:California v. Trombetta

title: Talk:California v. Trombetta


text:
Page:Robins - Way Stations.djvu/11

Of this collection of speeches, lectures and articles, dealing with the Woman's Movement, those which have not before appeared anywhere in print are the speech at The Prisoners' Banquet; The Suffrage Camp Revisited; At Newcastle Town Hall; Speech to the Woman Writers; At Crowborough, Sussex; Speech at the Albert Hall, June 15, 1912, and all the sections headed Time Table.

Never having been one of the more active participants in the events dealt with by this book, my infrequent appearances in print, or on platforms, have each and all been the direct result of some special call or crisis. When the various articles were collected they seemed meaningless enough lacking any statement of the particular circumstances which elicited them. I have, therefore, linked these papers together by a brief narrative which gives, so far as I am aware, the only succinct account in existence of the main course of the new Woman's Movement in England.

E. R.

title: Page:Robins - Way Stations.djvu/11


text: Page:Robins - Way Stations.djvu/12

title: Page:Robins - Way Stations.djvu/12


text: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 1/Chapter 6

title: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 1/Chapter 6


text: Page:Robins - Way Stations.djvu/13

title: Page:Robins - Way Stations.djvu/13


text:
Page:Fm100-2-3 - The Soviet Army, Troops, Organization, and Equipment.pdf/13

FM 100-2-3

I, (name), a citizen of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics, by joining the ranks of the armed forces; take an oath and solemnly swear to be an upright, brave, disciplined, vigilant soldier, to strictly preserve military and government secrets, and to execute without,contradiction, all military tegulations and orders of commanders and supetiors. Iswear to learn conscientiously the trade of war, to protect with all means the military and peoples' property, and to be devoted to my people, my Soviet homeland, and the Soviet Government to my last breath. I will always be ready to report, by order of the Soviet Government, as a soldier of the armed forces forthe defense of my homeland, the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. I swear to defend it bravely and wisely with all my strength and in honor, without sparing my blood and without regard for my life to achieve a complete victory over the enemy. Should I break my solemn oath, may severe penalties of the Soviet Law, the overall hatred, and the contempt of the working masses strike me.

An individual who must remain at home to support or care for his family may qualify for a deferment due to family circumstances. The 1967 law set specific criteria for this category. The military commissariat can defer draftees up to 27 years of age.

Military commissariats can also defer full-time students at universities, in high schools (for students up to age 20), and in technical institutions (until graduation). They can also defer students studying in reserve officer training programs at technical institutions Draftees who receive educational deferments face call-up for active duty before they turn 27.

Officers for the Soviet armed forces enter the service from several sources. The largest number are commissioned upon graduation from military colleges. There are at least 143 military colleges, with average enrollments of 1,000, serving all branches of the armed forces. Besides commissions, graduates receive technical degrees from three-year schools and engineering degree' from schools whose programs can last up to five years.

The Soviets also conduct programs similar to the US ROTC in their universities. These programs give training in subjects of military value and provide the Soviets with a large number of reserve officers. Military training for the duration of the civilian curriculum leads to a reserve commission, but only infrequently does it lead to active duty. Reserve officer graduates of this program remain liable for active duty call-up until age 30; they may face up to three years of service.

A third source of officer recruitment is the rank and file of soldiers and sailors. Upon completion of their active duty service, conscripts who have a secondary or higher education can earn a lieutenant's commission in the reserves by passing a commissioning examination. Warrant officers, too, can use the commissioning examination as a route to active duty officer rank; they can also receive a direct commission after ten years of active service

Approximately 500,000 officers are on active duty in the Soviet armed forces at any given time. Three to five thousand of these officers are generals and admirals. Nearly 90 percent of Soviet officers belong to the Communist Party or to the Komsomal. Seven percent of the members of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU) Central Committee are military officers.

In January 1972, the Soviets created the warrant officer ranks of praporshchik (army) and michman (navy). This action was an attempt to give the career NCO more incentive, to eliminate the extended service conscript (though this action was later rescinded), and to improve the quality of small unit leadership. Conscripts completing their service obligations and desiring to remain on active duty may apply for these positions if they possess the tequired education, demonstrated ability, and political reliability. The initial term of service for a warttant officer is five years.

These warrant officers serve in close contact with the soldiers and occupy positions as first sergeants, sergeants major, and technical specialists. Although the Soviet press publicizes them as the closest assistants to the officers, the warrant officer ranks are apparently less popular than anticipated. To date, this new program has received too few qualified applicants. The Law of Military Service permits a warrant officer to take an examination to become a lieutenant after five years; after ten years, he may be certified as an officer if he is serving in an officer's position.


text: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 1/Chapter 7

title: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 1/Chapter 7


text: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 1/Chapter 8

title: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 1/Chapter 8


text: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 1/Chapter 9

title: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 1/Chapter 9


text:
Page:My Ántonia (1924).djvu/62

afternoon we were having our reading lesson on the warm, grassy bank where the badger lived. It was a day of amber sunlight, but there was a shiver of coming winter in the air. I had seen ice on the little horse-pond that morning, and as we went through the garden we found the tall asparagus, with its red berries, lying on the ground, a mass of slimy green.

Tony was barefooted, and she shivered in her cotton dress and was comfortable only when we were tucked down on the baked earth, in the full blaze of the sun. She could talk to me about almost anything by this time. That afternoon she was telling me how highly esteemed our friend the badger was in her part of the world, and how men kept a special kind of dog, with very short legs, to hunt him. Those dogs, she said, went down into the hole after the badger and killed him there in a terrific struggle underground; you could hear the barks and yelps outside. Then the dog dragged himself back, covered with bites and scratches, to be rewarded and petted by his master. She

title: Page:My Ántonia (1924).djvu/62


text: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 1/Chapter 10

title: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 1/Chapter 10


text:
Page:My Ántonia (1924).djvu/63

 knew a dog who had a star on his collar for every badger he had killed.

The rabbits were unusually spry that afternoon. They kept starting up all about us, and dashing off down the draw as if they were playing a game of some kind. But the little buzzing things that lived in the grass were all dead—all but one. While we were lying there against the warm bank, a little insect of the palest, frailest green hopped painfully out of the buffalo grass and tried to leap into a bunch of bluestem. He missed it, fell back, and sat with his head sunk between his long legs, his antennæ quivering, as if he were waiting for something to come and finish him. Tony made a warm nest for him in her hands; talked to him gayly and indulgently in Bohemian. Presently he began to sing for us—a thin, rusty little chirp. She held him close to her ear and laughed, but a moment afterward I saw there were tears in her eyes. She told me that in her village at home there was an old beggar woman who went about selling herbs and roots she had dug up in the forest. If you took her in and gave her a warm place by the fire, she sang old songs to the children in a cracked voice, like this. Old Hata, she

title: Page:My Ántonia (1924).djvu/63


text: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 2

title: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 2


text: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 2/Chapter 1

title: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 2/Chapter 1


text: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 2/Chapter 2

title: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 2/Chapter 2


text: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 2/Chapter 3

title: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 2/Chapter 3


text: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 2/Chapter 4

title: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 2/Chapter 4


text: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 2/Chapter 5

title: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 2/Chapter 5


text: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 2/Chapter 6

title: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 2/Chapter 6


text:
Giglio v. United States/Opinion of the Court

MR. CHIEF JUSTICE BURGER delivered the opinion of the Court.

Petitioner was convicted of passing forged money orders and sentenced to five years' imprisonment. While appeal was pending in the Court of Appeals, defense counsel discovered new evidence indicating that the Government [p151] had failed to disclose an alleged promise made to its key witness that he would not be prosecuted if he testified for the Government. We granted certiorari to determine whether the evidence not disclosed was such as to require a new trial under the due process criteria of Napue v. Illinois, 360 U.S. 264 (1959), and Brady v. Maryland, 373 U.S. 83 (1963).

The controversy in this case centers around the testimony of Robert Taliento, petitioner's alleged coconspirator in the offense and the only witness linking petitioner with the crime. The Government's evidence at trial showed that in June 1966 officials at the Manufacturers Hanover Trust Co. discovered that Taliento, as teller at the bank, had cashed several forged money orders. Upon questioning by FBI agents, he confessed supplying petitioner with one of the bank's customer signature cards used by Giglio to forge $2,300 in money orders; Taliento then processed these money orders through the regular channels of the bank. Taliento related this story to the grand jury and petitioner was indicted; thereafter, he was named as a coconspirator with petitioner but was not indicted.

Trial commenced two years after indictment. Taliento testified, identifying petitioner as the instigator of the scheme. Defense counsel vigorously cross-examined, seeking to discredit his testimony by revealing possible agreements or arrangements for prosecutorial leniency: "[Counsel.] Did anybody tell you at any time that if you implicated somebody else in this case that you yourself would not be prosecuted?

"[Taliento.] Nobody told me I wouldn't be prosecuted.

"Q. They told you you might be prosecuted?

"A. I believe I still could be prosecuted.

[p152]

"Q. Were you ever arrested in this case or charged with anything in connection with these money orders that you testified to?

"A. Not at that particular time.

"Q. To this date, have you been charged with any crime?

"A. Not that I know of, unless they are still going to prosecute."

In summation, the Government attorney stated, "[Taliento] received no promises that he would not be indicted."

The issue now before the court arose on petitioner's motion for new trial based on newly discovered evidence. An affidavit filed by the Government as part of its opposition to a new trial confirms petitioner's claim that a promise was made to Taliento by one assistant, DiPaola, that if he testified before the grand jury and at trial he would not be prosecuted. DiPaola presented the Government's case to the grand jury but did not try the case in the District Court, and Golden, the assistant who took over the case for trial, filed an affidavit stating that DiPaola assured him before the trial that no promises of immunity had been made to Taliento. The United [p153] States Attorney, Hoey, filed an affidavit stating that he had personally consulted with Taliento and his attorney shortly before trial to emphasize that Taliento would definitely be prosecuted if he did not testify and that if he did testify he would be obliged to reply on the "good judgment and conscience of the Government" as to whether he would be prosecuted.

The District Court did not undertake to resolve the apparent conflict between the two Assistant United States Attorneys, DiPaola and Golden, but proceeded on the theory that even if a promise had been made by DiPaola it was not authorized and its disclosure to the jury would not have affected its verdict. We need not concern ourselves with the differing versions of the events as described by the two assistants in their affidavits. The heart of the matter is that one Assistant United States Attorney—the first one who dealt with Taliento—now states that he promised Taliento that he would not be prosecuted if he cooperated with the Government.

As long ago as Mooney v. Holohan, 294 U.S. 103, 112 (1935), this Court made clear that deliberate deception of a court and jurors by the presentation of known false evidence is incompatible with "rudimentary demands of justice." This was reaffirmed in Pyle v. Kansas, 317 U.S. 213 (1942). In Napue v. Illinois, 360 U.S. 264 (1959), we said, "[t]he same result obtains when the State, although not soliciting false evidence, allows it to go uncorrected when it appears." Id., at 269. Thereafter Brady v. Maryland, 373 U.S., at 87, held that suppression of material evidence justifies a new trial "irrespective of the good faith or bad faith of the prosecution." See American [p154] Bar Association, Project on Standards for Criminal Justice, Prosecution Function and the Defense Function § 3.11 (a). When the "reliability of a given witness may well be determinative of guilt or innocence," nondisclosure of evidence affecting credibility falls within this general rule. Napue, supra, at 269. We do not, however, automatically require a new trial whenever "a combing or the prosecutors' files after the trial has disclosed evidence possibly useful to the defense but not likely to have changed the verdict..." United States v. Keogh, 391 F. 2d 138, 148 (CA2 1968). A finding of materiality of the evidence is required under Brady, supra, at 87. A new trial is required if "the false testimony could... in any reasonable likelihood have affected the judgment of the jury..." Napue, supra, at 271.

In the circumstances shown by this record, neither DiPaola's authority nor his failure to inform his superiors or his associates is controlling. Moreover, whether the nondisclosure was a result of negligence or design, it is the responsibility of the prosecutor. The prosecutor's office is an entity and as such it is the spokesman for the Government. A promise made by one attorney must be attributed, for these purposes, to the Government. See Restatement (Second) of Agency § 272. See also American Bar Association, Project on Standards for Criminal Justice, Discovery and Procedure Before Trial § 2.1 (d). To the extent this places a burden on the large prosecution offices, procedures and regulations can be established to carry that burden and to insure communication of all relevant information on each case to every lawyer who deals with it.

Here the Government's case depended almost entirely on Taliento's testimony; without it there could have been no indictment and no evidence to carry the case to the jury. Taliento's credibility as a witness was therefore [p155] an important issue in the case, and evidence of any understanding or agreement as to a future prosecution would be relevant to his credibility and the jury was entitled to know of it.

For these reasons, the due process requirements enunciated in Napue and the other cases cited earlier require a new trial, and the judgment of conviction is therefore reversed and the case is remanded for further proceedings consistent with this opinion.

Reversed and remanded.

MR. JUSTICE POWELL AND MR. JUSTICE REHNQUIST took no part in the consideration or decision of this case.


text: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 2/Chapter 7

title: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 2/Chapter 7


text:
Page:A defence of aristocracy - a text book for Tories (IA cu31924060296278).pdf/17

"Neither Montaigne in writing his essays, nor Des Cartes in building new worlds, nor Burnet in framing an antediluvian earth, no, nor Newton in discovering and establishing the true laws of nature on experiment and a sublime geometry, felt more intellectual joys than he feels who is a real patriot, who bends all the force of his understanding, and directs all his thoughts and actions to the good of his country."—, On the Spirit of Patriotism, p. 23.

is not my intention in this essay to support any particular aristocracy or aristocrat. I wish merely to throw what light I can upon the principle of aristocracy itself. Often I shall seem as hostile to aristocracies in particular as the most confirmed Radical; albeit, wherever I reveal any abhorrent vice in an individual aristocracy it will be with the object rather of demonstrating how unessential and unnecessary that vice is to the true principle of aristocracy than of stirring up ill-feeling to no purpose.

When one contends 'Fat the hereditary principle, as one of the essential conditions of an aristocracy, is a good principles it is a common thing to hear people reply by calling attention to the number of instances in which it has hopelessly failed. They say, "Look at the Bourbons, the Spanish Hapsburgs, the Braganzas, the House of Osman, the later Stuarts!" Perhaps the reader will follow me and attempt to bear with me for a while, if I preface all my remarks by saying that while I shall make no endeavour to vindicate either the Bourbons, the Spanish


text: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 3

title: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 3


text:
Page:The Psychology of Jingoism.djvu/13

inverted patriotism whereby the love of one's own nation is transformed into the hatred of another nation, and the fierce craving to destroy the individual members of that other nation, is no new thing. Wars have not always, or perhaps commonly, demanded for their origin and support the pervasion of such a frenzy among the body of the people. The will of a king, of a statesman, or of a small caste of nobles, soldiers, priests, has often sufficed to breed and to maintain bloody conflicts between nations, without any full or fierce participation in the war-spirit by the lay multitude. Only in recent times, and even now over but a small part of the world, has the great mass of the

title: Page:The Psychology of Jingoism.djvu/13


text:
Page:Creative Unity.djvu/19

is beauty of behaviour. It requires for its perfection patience, self-control, and an environment of leisure. For genuine courtesy is a creation, like pictures, like music. It is a harmonious blending of voice, gesture and movement, words and action, in which generosity of conduct is expressed. It reveals the man himself and has no ulterior purpose.

Our needs are always in a hurry. They rush and hustle, they are rude and unceremonious; they have no surplus of leisure, no patience for anything else but fulfilment of purpose. We frequently see in our country at the present day men utilising empty kerosene cans for carrying water. These cans are emblems of discourtesy; they are curt and abrupt, they have not the least shame for their unmannerliness, they do not care to be ever so slightly more than useful.

title: Page:Creative Unity.djvu/19


text:
Page:Creative Unity.djvu/20

4 The instruments of our necessity assert that we must have food, shelter, clothes, comforts and convenience. And yet men spend an immense amount of their time and resources in contradicting this assertion, to prove that they are not a mere living catalogue of endless wants; that there is in them an ideal of perfection, a sense of unity, which is a harmony between parts and a harmony with surroundings.

The quality of the infinite is not the magnitude of extension, it is in the Advaitam, the mystery of Unity. Facts occupy endless time and space; but the truth comprehending them all has no dimension; it is One. Wherever our heart touches the One, in the small or the big, it finds the touch of the infinite.

I was speaking to some one of the joy we have in our personality. I said it was because we were made conscious by it of a spirit of unity within ourselves. He answered that he had no such feeling of joy about himself, but I was sure he exaggerated. In all probability he had been suffering from some break of harmony between his surroundings and the spirit of unity within him, proving all the more strongly its truth. The meaning of health comes home to us with painful force when disease disturbs it; since

title: Page:Creative Unity.djvu/20


text:
Page:Creative Unity.djvu/21

Rh health expresses the unity of the vital functions and is accordingly joyful. Life's tragedies occur, not to demonstrate their own reality, but to reveal that eternal principle of joy in life, to which they gave a rude shaking. It is the object of this Oneness in us to realise its infinity by perfect union of love with others. All obstacles to this union create misery, giving rise to the baser passions that are expressions of finitude, of that separateness which is negative and therefore máyá.

The joy of unity within ourselves, seeking expression, becomes creative; whereas our desire for the fulfilment of our needs is constructive. The water vessel, taken as a vessel only, raises the question, "Why does it exist at all?" Through its fitness of construction, it offers the apology for its existence. But where it is a work of beauty it has no question to answer; it has nothing to do, but to be. It reveals in its form a unity to which all that seems various in it is so related that, in a mysterious manner, it strikes sympathetic chords to the music of unity in our own being.

What is the truth of this world? It is not in the masses of substance, not in the number of things, but in their relatedness, which neither

title: Page:Creative Unity.djvu/21


text:
Page:Creative Unity.djvu/22

 can be counted, nor measured, nor abstracted. It is not in the materials which are many, but in the expression which is one. All our knowledge of things is knowing them in their relation to the Universe, in that relation which is truth. A. drop of water is not a particular assortment of elements; it is the miracle of a harmonious. mutuality, in which the two reveal the One. No amount of analysis can reveal to us this mystery of unity. Matter is an abstraction; we shall never be able to realise what it is, for our world of reality does not acknowledge it. Even the giant forces of the world, centripetal and centrifugal, are kept out of our recognition. They are the day-labourers not admitted into the audience-hall of creation. But light and sound come to us in their gay dresses as troubadours singing serenades before the windows of the senses. What is constantly before us, claiming our attention, is not the kitchen, but the feast; not the anatomy of the world, but its countenance. There is the dancing ring of seasons; the elusive play of lights and shadows, of wind and water; the many-coloured wings of erratic life flitting between birth and death. The importance of these does not lie in their existence as mere facts, but in their language of

title: Page:Creative Unity.djvu/22


text:
Page:Creative Unity.djvu/23

 harmony, the mother-tongue of our own soul, through which they are communicated to us.

We grow out of touch with this great truth, we forget to accept its invitation and its hospitality, when in quest of external success our works become unspiritual and unexpressive. This is what Wordsworth complained of when he said:

The world is too much with us; late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers. Little we see in Nature that is ours.

But it is not because the world has grown too familiar to us; on the contrary, it is because we do not see it in its aspect of unity, because we are driven to distraction by our pursuit of the fragmentary.

Materials as materials are savage; they are solitary; they are ready to hurt one another. They are like our individual impulses' seeking the unlimited freedom of wilfulness. Left to themselves they are destructive. But directly an ideal of unity raises its banner in their centre, it brings these rebellious forces under its sway and creation is revealed—the creation which is peace, which is the unity of perfect relationship. Our greed for eating is in itself ugly and selfish, it has no sense of decorum; but when brought under the ideal of social fellowship, it is regulated

title: Page:Creative Unity.djvu/23


text:
Page:Creative Unity.djvu/24

 and made ornamental; it is changed into a daily festivity of life. In human nature sexual passion is fiercely individual and destructive, but dominated by the ideal of love, it has been made to flower into a perfection of beauty, becoming in its best expression symbolical of the spiritual truth in man which is his kinship of love with the Infinite. Thus we find it is the One which expresses itself in creation; and the Many, by giving up opposition, make the revelation of unity perfect.

I remember, when I was a child, that a row of cocoanut trees by our garden wall, with their branches beckoning the rising sun on the horizon, gave me a companionship as living as I was myself. I know it was my imagination which transmuted the world around me into my own world—the imagination which seeks unity, which deals with it. But we have to consider that this companionship was true; that the universe in which I was born had in it an element profoundly akin to my own imaginative mind, one which wakens in all children's natures the Creator, whose pleasure is in interweaving

title: Page:Creative Unity.djvu/24


text:
Page:Creative Unity.djvu/25

 the web of creation with His own patterns of many-coloured strands. It is something akin to us, and therefore harmonious to our imagination. When we find some strings vibrating in unison with others, we know that this sympathy carries in it an eternal reality. The fact that the world stirs our imagination in sympathy tells us that this creative imagination is a common truth both mm us and in the heart of existence. Wordsworth says:

I'd rather be A pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea, Or hear old Triton blow his wreathèd horn.

In this passage the poet says we are less forlorn in a world which we meet with our imagination. That can only be possible if through our imagination is revealed, behind all appearances, the reality which gives the touch of companionship, that is to say, something which has an affinity to us. An immense amount of our activity is engaged in making images, not for serving any useful purpose or formulating rational propositions, but for giving varied responses to the varied touches of this reality. In this image-making the child creates his own world in answer

title: Page:Creative Unity.djvu/25


text:
Page:Statement of Reasons for Embracing the Doctrines and Disclosures of Emanuel Swedenborg.djvu/27

general law which governs the propagation of truth is doubtless of universal bearing and authority. Every man is bound, by his allegiance to truth, to do what in him lies, consistently with his various relations in life, to extend and confirm its empire among men. Nor can it be doubted that the pressure of this obligation is always in proportion to his sense of the intrinsic weight and importance of the truth which he holds. A truth of minor moment may leave the holder comparatively free from the impulse to utterance, while one that involves in it, to his apprehension, the highest interests of the race, will only brook suppression at the expense of his inward peace. At the same time, he is unquestionably to be governed by a wise discretion as to the time, place, and circumstances in which he shall witness his good confession. The line of policy, aiming at this end, which might be expedient, all things considered, for one, might not be expedient for another occupying a different position, and sustaining different relations. There may often be reasons operating with an individual to produce a change in his views of moral and religious truth, while yet there may not be a


text:
Page:Statement of Reasons for Embracing the Doctrines and Disclosures of Emanuel Swedenborg.djvu/28

2 call upon him for an open and public avowal of those reasons. It is easy to conceive that in many cases the most effectual declaration of sentiment is made by the silent but expressive language of life—a life prompted and ruled by the convictions which may have established themselves in the mind. The case, however, is palpably altered when one has previously sustained a more public relation—when he has become somewhat known as the advocate of a different and opposite class of opinions—when he has occupied, in a sphere, however humble, the post of a public teacher—when he has written books that have obtained a circulation more or less extensive, and which embody sentiments that have been modified by subsequent inquiries. In a case of this kind, it can scarcely be deemed an impeachment of the decorous and modest estimate which every man is reasonably expected to entertain of his own influence or standing in the community if he presumes to satisfy the natural curiosity to become acquainted with the reasons that have led to a decided change in his views on important subjects, especially on the subject of his religious belief. The fact of such an avowed change is a virtual appeal to those who are still resting in his former opinions to institute an inquiry into their grounds, as the reasons which have weighed with him, if sound, are entitled to weigh with them also; and it may safely be presumed that a portion at least of his former readers and approvers will be wiling to bestow a candid consideration upon the arguments he has to proffer in behalf of his course.

I venture, therefore, to avail myself of the above considerations, by way of apology, for presenting, through the present medium, somewhat of a formal and detailed exposition of the grounds on which I have been induced, after long, dilligentdiligent [sic], and serious investigation, to profess an unhesitating adoption of the system of religious doctrine and spiritual disclosure propounded to the world by. I am


text: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 3/Chapter 1

title: Buddenbrooks/Volume 1/Part 3/Chapter 1


text:
Page:Self-help with illustrations of conduct and perseverance (IA selfhelpwithillu00smiliala).pdf/255

 of his father, the minister, to the "sinful" profession of painting, Wilkie's strong propensity was not to be thwarted, and he became an artist, working his way manfully up the steep of difficulty. Though rejected on his first application as a candidate for admission to the Scottish Academy, at Edinburgh, on account of the rudeness and inaccuracy of his introductory specimens, he persevered in producing better, until he was admitted. But his progress was slow. He applied himself diligently to the drawing of the human figure, and held on with the determination to succeed, as if with a resolute confidence in the result. He displayed none of the eccentric humour and fitful application of many youths who conceive themselves geniuses, but kept up the routine of steady application to such an extent that he himself was afterwards accustomed to attribute his success to his dogged perseverance rather than to any higher innate power. "The single element," he said, "in all the progressive movements of my pencil was persevering industry." At Edinburgh he gained a few premiums, thought of turning his attention to portrait painting, with a view to its higher and more certain remuneration, but eventually went boldly into the line in which he earned his fame, and painted his Pitlessie Fair. What was bolder still, he determined to proceed to London, on account of its presenting so much wider a field for study and work; and the poor Scotch lad arrived in town,—and painted his 'Village Politicians' while living in a humble lodging on eighteen shillings a week.

Notwithstanding the success of this picture, and the commissions which followed it, Wilkie long


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 Such, then, being the case, we ask by whom this blow was struck, where was the scene of it, and by what means has the blow produced those extraordinary results? Some will say, men began to see the evils because they began to feel their consequences, and thereupon they determined to apply a remedy. Certainly, but what enabled them to take such cognisance of their position? A philanthropist here, and a moralist there, drew attention to the misfortunes which prevailed, and suggested means of improvement. True; but whence did these men draw their inspirations? and by what power was the effort after amendment carried out? No one who professes to be a Christian will for a moment suppose that those abilities were self-created things; all know that every good and perfect gift cometh down from the Father of light: the Lord is the primary source of every advantage that is enjoyed by mankind: He therefore must have restrained those causes which had induced that disordered condition of society to which we have referred, and, by removing them, His final judgment of them must have been declared. But what were those causes? The answer has been given; and we repeat our belief that they were evil spirits in the world of spirits, who had, as it were, intrenched themselves in


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 the evil dispositions of mankind, and urged them on to those enormities which history has recorded. The cessation of effects can only be accounted for by a withdrawal of their causes. When, therefore, those evils are in the process of being abated, it is plain that their causes are removed; and, to effect this, they must have been subjected to a judgment. The evils which remain may be regarded as echoes of the disruption that has been accomplished. Society does not acknowledge nor connive at them; the public face is utterly against them; and the reason is because their spiritual causes have been removed. The sensual may shake their heads over these facts; professors of the Church may turn away from these conclusions; the world may hesitate to accept them; but all this scepticism leaves the Christian logic of the case in full possession of the field.

No one who accepts the Bible for his guide will ever venture to affirm that any moral results can take place among mankind which have not their origin in some spiritual cause. And we explain the abolition of the public evils which prevailed throughout the Christian world a century ago, by asserting that their causes were broken up in the spiritual world by the Lord having then executed a judgment upon them. We affirm that this event transpired about the middle of the last century; that the world of spirits was the scene of it; that the spirits of departed men, who were there collected, became the subjects of it; and that some of the results of that phenomenon have since been manifested in the world of men. The results are certain the existence of men as spirits in the world of spirits after natural death is equally certain; and the circumstance that those spirits exercise an influence of some sort upon their survivors upon the earth is plainly taught us in the Word. It is clear, then, that when those


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 causes have brought about a dangerous crisis in the affairs of men, the perils which they threaten can only be prevented by means of a judgment. And surely, when events transpire in society which show that evil causes must have been dispersed, we have demonstration that a judgment must have been performed. This, then, is the case submitted to the consideration of the reader; the judgment which we believe to have taken place about the middle of the last century consisted in the removal of abandoned spirits from the world of spirits, and thus in a breaking up of the malevolent influences which they exercised on men. We appeal to the altered condition of society as a proof of that occurrence.

This judgment was declared to have taken place before any evidences of such a fact could transpire among mankind, and in the very midst of circumstances requiring such a remedy. Since that time the evidences have come; and does not this also prove the preternatural origin of that announcement? If reasoning can conduct to a satisfactory conclusion, surely this may be accepted. Men have been accustomed to look forward to this judgment as an event which was to overthrow the universe, because that has been the opinion of the Church. The prophecies upon the subject have been darkened by that misrepresentation, and hence mankind have been led to expect what the Scriptures were never intended to teach. This event, though very extraordinary in itself, was not intended to destroy the natural world, but to restore order in the spiritual world. It was, as it were, the removing of a cloud that had darkened the Church, and providing a sunshine by which to illuminate its future progress. And this, like all the orderly providences of God, was accomplished without being immediately recognised in the world of men; though it


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 rendered them partakers of the advantages derived from it. Of this idea the prophet has furnished us with a remarkable illustration. It is written, "My people are gone into captivity, because they have no knowledge: and their honourable men are famished, and their multitude dried up with thirst. Therefore hell hath enlarged herself, and opened her mouth without measure and their glory, and their multitude, and their pomp, and he that rejoiceth, shall descend into it. And the mean man shall be brought down, and the mighty man shall be humbled, and the eyes of the lofty shall be humbled: but the Lord of hosts shall be exalted in judgment, and God that is holy shall be sanctified in righteousness." Here it is declared that the corruptions of the Church had brought it into desolation; knowledge had gone, honour had perished, and the result was that hell, that is hades, became enlarged; thereupon a judgment was to be executed; and the exaltation of the Lord would follow. This is the order of such events, as presented to us both by the Scriptures and history.

The Lord distinctly taught that His second coming would take place as a thief in the night, thus that it would not be a phenomenon among men, having the publicity of daylight, yet it would be one that would cause itself to be acknowledged by results which would follow. So that the accomplishment of this event implies a twofold purpose in the Divine coming; first, His manifestation in the world of spirits by the judgment which occurred; and second, His manifestation in the world of men by the improved condition of society. Thus, personally in the one, but influentially in the other.

Among the earliest evidences which the world had of this judgment—evidences indicating the desperation of the


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TRANSLATED INTO THE ENGLISH TONGUE BY A DEAD HAND

ADORNED WITH DIVERS OTHER MATTERS GERMANE DELIGHTFUL TO THE WISE

EDITED, VERIFIED, INTRODUCED AND COMMENTED

ALEISTER CROWLEY

SOCIETY FOR THE PROPAGATION OF RELIGIOUS TRUTH BOLESKINE, FOYERS, INVERNESS 1904


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 infancy. My birth was noble, but my fortune very trifling. The first thing I can remember was a gentleman who I was taught to call uncle, an elderly woman his housekeeper, and a young girl attendant on me; we lived in the country, about three miles from any town or village. As I grew up masters were hired to attend me, and by their skill and my own attention, having nothing to divert my mind from my studies, I became tolerably accomplished at twelve years of age, when my masters were discharged. We received no company; a few gentlemen called now and then, but those I never saw. My uncle was exceedingly fond of me; his name was Mr. Weimar, mine Matilda Weimar. Our ancestors, he said, had been Counts, and persons of high rank and fortunes, but by war and prodigality, they had been reduced to comparative poverty; therefore it was fortunate for me he had never been married. I think I am naturally affectionate and grateful, yet I never felt any degree of either for my uncle; and, young as I was, have frequently


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 taken myself to task when I found a repugnance to return his caresses. I devoted my whole time to my studies; my uncle, when I was about fifteen, having some property in France, was compelled, by the failure of a house, to go there in person; at first he talked of taking me with him, but changed his mind, and gave me in charge to his housekeeper and an old servant called Albert, with strict orders I should never go beyond the walks belonging to his castle. Nothing could exceed the tenderness of his behaviour at parting, and for the first time in my life I was affected; I returned his embraces and shed some tears. "Ah! Matilda, (said he) are you indeed sorry I should leave you?" "I am, indeed," (I replied.) "Then you shall go with me, (cried he, eagerly; but striking his forehead, he exclaimed, "No! that will not do; dear Matilda, my sweet niece, keep yourself retired, apply to your studies, I shall soon return, and, I hope, make you the happiest of women." I felt at that moment real gratitude and affection; I promised strictly to obey


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 his commands, and by my endeavours to improve my mind, deserve his love and esteem. He quitted me with extreme reluctance, and for several days I found the want of his company and conversation, but by degrees I grew reconciled, and as Agatha and Albert were respectable and intelligent persons, for their stations in life; I made them both my friends and companions. This was really the happiest period of my life; I was capable of amusing myself with music and drawing, in the evenings I walked in the garden and adjoining wood with Agatha, returned with a good appetite, and slept quietly. My uncle remained in France near nine months, he constantly wrote to me, and I was punctual in my answers; at the end of that period he returned; I was overjoyed to see him, but the pleasure I felt and expressed fell very short of the rapture and transport with which he embraced and praised me; he dwelt on the improvement in my person with such delight, that I felt confused and uneasy; the attention which used to give me pleasure now was painful, and


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 I repulsed his caresses involuntarily. He told me he had brought me a present of some books and drawings, both of which he knew would be acceptable to me; I acknowledged his kindness with an apparent gratitude, yet I was in reality but little thankful, though I could not account for the increasing coldness of my behaviour. After a hasty supper I retired to bed, notwithstanding his wishes to detain me, and after I was alone I began to reflect on my conduct, so cold and thankless, towards so kind an uncle, whose affection for me seemed greatly increased. I was displeased with my own reflections, and resolved to behave better to him the following day.

"The next morning I rose early; my uncle was not up, Agatha met me going into the garden. "My dear Miss, (said she) you were very shy and unkind to your uncle last night; the good man loves you dearly, and 'tis not your business to be shewing him such slights, I can tell you." Though conscious I was wrong I was amazed at the freedom of her ob-


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 of the company, who were awaiting the event, hurried instantly down stairs. Before two seconds were elapsed, we were forsaken by the whole train, except a servant of the Marquis, who was uncommonly attached to his master, and would not leave him in the danger which seemed to threaten us. The sight which we beheld was, indeed, terrible enough. An enormous figure, with large, fiery eyes, advanced towards us; and I do not know whether an antecedent transitory fright does not sharpen the senses and the judgment; for I made, almost immediately, an observation which considerably diminished my fear.

"First of all, the figure was too grotesque. What a moderate deception would have effected, is generally frustrated by an extravagant one. I could not help remarking that the figure resembled the giant who challenged Don Quixote, the celebrated knight of the woeful countenance. This laughable idea, which

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 forced itself upon my mind, made me suspect the whole; for as soon as I advanced further with my torch, I perceived a second figure, sneaking into an adjoining apartment, which communicated with those of the Marchioness that bordered on the garden. The room in which we were was a state-chamber of the Marquis. This train of ideas came almost in a moment in my mind; and looking around, I missed a silver clock which used to stand on a table. Having seen it in its place before we went to supper, I could easily account for the apparition.

"I took, therefore, our dubious host by the arm, exclaiming, "They are thieves, as true as I am alive! Don't you see that your clock is gone?" He was struck by that remark, and we instantly attacked the phantom with drawn swords. However, the human spectre had a long staff in its hand, with which it parried our thrusts excellently. The servant entering with a candle, along with my friend, I

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 observed that the torch which I still held in my left hand was in my way, and threw it into my antagonist's face. His headdress caught fire; and I threw my sword down, taking hold of his stick. The Marquis did the same: we began to embrace him in a most violent manner, and before half a minute was elapsed, came with him down upon the floor. The fellow being seized with despair, displayed a more than human strength, and could have killed every one of us if he had been armed. Being, however, engaged by four men at once, he was soon exhausted; and begged us, in a hollow accent, to spare him. The Marquis promised pardon him; and he confessed that he belonged to a band of five robbers, who had intended to avail themselves of the bustle our festival produced in the castle, to plunder it: in short, he confirmed my suspicion.

"His hands were tied, and he was committed to the guard of the servants. The

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640

Trees or rarely shrubs. Leaves evergreen or deciduous; stipules caducous. Flowers monœcious. Males: In pendulous few- or many-flowered heads or solitary; bracts scale-like, caducous. Perianth campanulate, 4–6-lobed; lobes imbricate. Stamens 8–16 or more; filaments filiform, exserted; anthers oblong, obtuse or sagittate at the base, loculicidally dehiscent. Females: Minute, 2–4 sessile within a 4-lobed involucre composed of numerous scales grown together at the base. Perianth-tube trigonous, adnate to the ovary; limb shortly 3–5-lobed. Ovary inferior, 3-celled; styles 3, linear; ovules 2 in each cell, pendulous from the top. Fruiting involucres enlarged and hardened, more or less clothed externally with scales or prickles, ultimately splitting almost to the base into 4 (rarely 3) valves. Nuts enclosed within the involucre, trigonous, 3-celled; cells 1-seeded. Seed pendulous; cotyledons plaited.

1. F. Menziesii, ''Hook. f. in Hook. Ic. Plant.'' t. 652.—A tall forest-tree 60–80 ft. or even 100 ft. high; trunk 2–5 ft. diam. or more; bark white and silvery, especially in young trees; branchlets clothed with fulvous pubescence. Leaves evergreen, shortly petiolate, ⅓–½ in. long, broadly ovate-deltoid or rhomboid or almost orbicular, obtuse, shortly unequally cuneate at the base, thick and coriaceous, rigid, glabrous except the petiole, irregularly doubly crenate; margins thickened; stipules membranous, reddish, pubescent. Male flowers solitary, on short curved peduncles in the lower axils of the branchlets. Perianth 4–6-lobed. Stamens 6–12. Female involucres in the upper axils, 2–3-flowered. Fruiting involucres ¼–⅓ in. long, faintly pubescent; lobes with 5–7 trans-


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Fagus.] verse rows of recurved linear processes tipped with an obtuse gland. Nuts puberulous, 3- or more rarely 2-winged, wings produced upwards into sharp flat points.—Raoul, Choix, 42; ''Hook. f. Fl. Nov. Zel. i. 229; Handb. N.Z. Fl. 249; Kirk, Forest Fl.'' t. 89. Nothofagus Menziesii, ''Oerst. in Vidensk. Selsk. Skr.'' v. ix. (1873) 355.

2. F. fusca, ''Hook. f. in Hook. Ic. Plant.'' t. 631.—A noble forest-tree 60–100 ft. high; trunk 4–8 ft. diam.; bark dark-brown or black in old plants, deeply furrowed, smooth and greyish-white on young trees; branchlets and petioles pubescent. Leaves evergreen, petiolate, ¾–1½ in. long, broadly ovate or ovate-oblong, obtuse or rarely acute, cuneate at the base, rather thin but firm, pubescent above and glandular beneath when young, glabrous when old, deeply and sharply serrate, veins conspicuous; stipules linear-oblong, caducous. Male flowers 2–3 at the end of a short curved axillary peduncle or more rarely solitary, drooping. Perianth 5-toothed, membranous, pubescent. Stamens 8–16. Female involucres solitary in the upper axils, 2–3-flowered. Fruiting involucres ⅓–½ in. long, ovoid-globose, viscid-pubescent, 4-lobed; lobes furnished at the back with 3–5 transverse lamellæ with entire or fringed margins. Nuts pubescent, 2–3-winged, wings produced upwards into entire or toothed points.—Raoul, Choix, 42; Hook, f. Fl. Nov. Zel. i. 229; ''Handb. N.Z. Fl. 249; Kirk, Forest Fl.'' t. 90. Nothofagus fusca, ''Oerst. in Vidensk. Selsk. Skr.'' v. ix. (1873) 355.

Var. Colensoi, ''Hook. f. Fl. Nov. Zel. i. 229.—Leaves more coriaceous, teeth smaller, obtuse.—Ic. Plant. t. 630; Kirk, Forest Fl. t. 90, f. 2. F. truncata, Col. in Trans. N.Z. Inst.'' xxxi. (1899) 280.

In forests from Mongonui and Kaitaia southwards, but local to the north of the East Cape. From Nelson to Foveaux Strait, but rare in Canterbury and eastern Otago. Sea-level to 3500 ft. Tawhai; Tawhai-rau-nui; Black-birch; Red-birch. October–December.


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642 A magnificent tree, undoubtedly the finest representative of the genus in New Zealand, and well marked off by the comparatively thin veined leaves with sharply toothed margins. Wood dark-red, strong and compact, more durable than that of the other species, and frequently used for wharves, bridges, fencing-posts, &c.

3. F. apiculata, Col. in Trans. N.Z. Inst. xvi. (1884) 335.—A tall handsome tree 40 ft. high or more; trunk 2 ft. diam.; bark pale, smooth; branchlets pubescent. Leaves petiolate, ¾–1 in. long, oblong or ovate-oblong or elliptic-oblong, apiculate, cuneate at the base, rather thin, glabrous, quite entire or minutely or irregularly crenulate, veins not very conspicuous; stipules membranous, linear-oblong. Male flowers 1 or rarely 2 at the end of a short axillary peduncle, drooping. Perianth campanulate, membranous, 5-toothed. Stamens 8–14. Female involucres solitary in the axils of the leaves above the male inflorescence, 2–3-flowered. Fruiting involucres ¼–⅓ in. long, narrow-ovoid, pubescent, 4-lobed; lobes with 2–4 transverse lamellæ. Nuts pubescent, 2–3-winged, wings produced upwards into entire points.—Kirk, Forest Fl. t. 135.

4. F. Blairii, T. Kirk in Trans. N.Z. Inst. xvii. (1885) 297.—A tall tree 40–60 ft. high; trunk 2–3 ft. diam.; branchlets and petioles pubescent. Leaves petiolate, spreading, ⅔–¾ in. long, ⅓–½ in. broad, ovate, acute or apiculate, rounded at the base, quite entire, coriaceous, glabrous above, beneath clothed with fulvous appressed tomentum. Flowers not seen. Fruiting involucre ¼–⅓ in. long, ovoid, glabrous, 4-lobed; lobes with 3–4 membranous transverse lamellæ. Nuts 3-winged, broad at the base, narrowed above.—Forest Fl. t. 57.


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Fagus.] 5. F. Solandri, ''Hook. f. in Hook. Ic. Plant.'' t. 639.—A lofty forest-tree 40–80 ft. high; trunk 2–5 ft. diam.; bark black and furrowed on old trees, pale and smooth on young ones; branchlets closely pubescent. Leaves evergreen, shortly petiolate, ¼–¾ in. long, linear-oblong to elliptic-oblong, obtuse, cuneate and usually unequal-sided at the base, quite entire, coriaceous, glabrous and reticulated above, clothed with appressed greyish-white pubescence beneath, margins recurved; stipules membranous, caducous. Male flowers axillary, either solitary or 2–3 on a short common peduncle. Perianth broad and shallow, cup-shaped, shortly 4–5-toothed. Stamens 8–15. Female involucres solitary in the upper axils, sessile, 2–3-flowered. Fruiting involucres ¼ in. long, ovoid, glabrous or pubescent, usually 3-lobed; lobes with three membranous transverse lamellæ. Nuts 2–3-winged, broad at the base, narrowed above.—Raoul, Choix, 42; ''Hook. f. Fl. Nov. Zel. i. 230; Handb. N.Z. Fl. 250; Kirk, Forest Fl.'' t. 56. Nothofagus Solanderi, ''Oerst. in Vidensk. Selsk. Skr.'' v. ix. (1873) 355.

6. F. cliffortioides, ''Hook. f. in Hook. Ic. Plant.'' t. 673 and t. 816b.—A small tree, usually from 20 ft. to 40 ft. high, rarely more, with a trunk 1–2 ft. diam., in alpine localities often dwarfed into a much-branched bush 5–12 ft. high. Branches spreading, often distichous, especially in young trees; branchlets densely pubescent. Leaves shortly petiolate, distichous, ⅙–⅔ in. long, ovate-oblong or ovate or ovate-orbicular, acute or subacute, rarely obtuse, always broadest at the unequally rounded or almost cordate base, quite entire, very coriaceous, glabrous and reticulated above, more or less clothed with greyish-white appressed hairs beneath; margins thickened, often recurved; stipules membranous, caducous. Male flowers axillary, solitary or in pairs on very short peduncles, often very abundantly produced. Perianth broad, cup -shaped, shortly 4–5-toothed. Stamens 8–15. Female involucres solitary and sessile in the upper axils, 2–3-flowered. Fruiting involucres ⅙–¼ in. long, ovoid, pubescent, 3-lobed; lobes with two or three transverse fringed lamellae. Nuts 2–3-winged, ovoid, acute.—Raoul, Choix, 42; ''Hook. f. Fl. Nov. Zel. i. 230; Handb. N.Z. Fl. 250; Kirk, Forest Fl.'' tt. 101, 101. Nothofagus cliffortioides, ''Oerst. in Vidensk. Sellsk. Skr.'' v. ix. (1873) 355.

Mountain districts from the East Cape and Tongariro southwards. Abundant in the mountains throughout, usually forming the greater portion of the subalpine forests. Altitudinal range from 2000 ft. to 4500 ft., but descending to sea-level in the sounds on the south-west coast of Otago. Tawhai-rauriki; Mountain Beech or Birch. December–January.


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644 Closely allied to F. Solandri, but much smaller, with the leaves truly ovate, broadest at the base, and usually acute at the tip. Wood very similar to that of F. Solandri.

Resinous trees or shrubs, almost always evergreen. Leaves opposite or whorled or alternate, solitary or fascicled within membranous sheaths, rigid, subulate or linear or scale-like, rarely broad and flat. Flowers monœcious or diœcious; males usually solitary, catkin-like, deciduous; females often cone-like. Perianth always wanting in both sexes. Male flowers reduced to the stamens only, which are usually numerous; filaments connate into an oblong or cylindrical central axis (staminal column); anthers placed around the axis, stipitate or sessile; cells 2 or more, either adnate to the back of the connective, or pendulous from its scale-like or peltate summit. Female flowers of one or more erect or reversed naked ovules, without ovary style or stigma, sessile on a scale (open carpellary leaf or carpidium) which is free or adnate to a bract; scales rarely solitary, usually several or many, in the latter case forming a cone or head. Fruit composed of the enlarged hardened or succulent scales or bracts, between which the seeds are hidden; or the mature seed may be exserted beyond the unchanged or fleshy scales or bracts. Seeds winged or wingless; testa thick or thin, membranous or crustaceous or fleshy; albumen copious, fleshy or farinaceous; embryo straight, axile, cotyledons 2 or more, radicle terete.


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Rh rality, honesty, and intelligence, they were in general good specimens of the Scottish poor. In addition to the common run of men, there were some characters of sterling worth and ability, who exerted a most beneficial influence on the youth of the place by imparting gratuitous religious instruction. Such intelligent interest was felt by the villagers in all public questions, and they furnished a proof that education did not render them an unsafe portion of the population. They much respected those of the neighbouring gentry who, like the late Lord Douglas, placed some confidence in their sense of honour. Through the kindness of that nobleman, the poorest among us could stroll at pleasure over the ancient domains of Bothwell, and other spots hallowed by venerable associations; and few of us could view the dear memorials of the past without feeling that these monuments were our own. The mass of the working people of Scotland have read history, and are no levellers. They rejoice in the memories of "Wallace and Bruce and a' the lave," who are still much revered as the former champions of freedom. While foreigners imagine that we want the spirit to overturn aristocracy, we in truth hate those stupid revolutions which sweep away time-honoured institutions, dear alike to rich and poor.

Having finished the medical curriculum and presented a thesis on a subject which required the use of the stethescope for its diagnosis, I unwittingly procured for myself an examination rather more severe than usual, in consequence of a difference of opinion between me and the examiners as to whether this instrument could do what was asserted. However, I was admitted a Licentiate of Faculty of Physicians and Surgeons, and it was with unfeigned delight I became a member of a profession which with unwearied energy pursues from age to age its endeavours to lessen human woe.

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 you uttered. I have known him, on being asked the time, stop short in the middle of the road, slap his leg, and burst into a roar of laughter. One never dared say anything really funny to that man. A good joke would have killed him on the spot.

In the present instance, I vehemently repudiated the accusation of frivolity, and pressed Mrs Cutting for practical ideas. She then became thoughtful and hazarded "samplers;" saying that she never heard them spoken much of now, but that they used to be all the rage when she was a girl.

I declined samplers, and begged her to think again. She pondered a long while, with the tea-tray in her hands, and at last suggested the weather, which she was sure had been most trying of late.

And ever since that idiotic suggestion, I have been unable to get the weather out of my thoughts, or anything else in.

It certainly is most wretched weather. At all events, it is so, now, at the time I am writing, and, if it isn't particularly unpleasant when I come to be read, it soon will be.

It always is wretched weather, according to us. The weather is like the Government, always in the wrong. In summer time we say it is stifling; in winter that it is killing; in spring and autumn we find fault with it for being neither one thing nor the other, and wish it would make up its mind. If


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 it is fine, we say the country is being ruined for want of rain; if it does rain, we pray for fine weather. If December passes without snow, we indignantly demand to know what has become of our good old-fashioned winters, and talk as if we had been cheated out of something we had bought and paid for; and when it does snow, our language is a disgrace to a Christian nation. We shall never be content until each man makes his own weather, and keeps it to himself.

If that cannot be arranged, we would rather do without it altogether.

Yet I think it is only to us in cities that all weather is so unwelcome. In her own home, the country, Nature is sweet in all her moods. What can be more beautiful than the snow, falling big with mystery in silent softness, decking the fields and trees with white as if for a fairy wedding! And how delightful is a walk when the frozen ground rings beneath our swinging tread—when our blood tingles in the rare keen air, and the sheep dog's distant bark and children's laughter peals faintly clear like Alpine bells across the open hills! And then skating! scudding with wings of steel across the swaying ice, waking whirring music as we fly. And oh, how dainty is spring—Nature at sweet eighteen! When the little, hopeful leaves peep out so fresh and green, so pure and bright, like young lives pushing shyly out into


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 the bustling world; when the fruit-tree blossoms, pink and white, like village maidens in their Sunday frocks, hide each white-washed cottage in a cloud of fragile splendour; and the cuckoo's note upon the breeze is wafted through the woods! And summer, with its deep, dark green, and drowsy hum—when the rain drops whisper solemn secrets to the listening leaves, and the twilight lingers in the lanes! And autumn! ah, how sadly fair, with its golden glow, and the dying grandeur of its tinted woods—its blood-red sunsets, and its ghostly evening mists, with its busy murmur of reapers, and its laden orchards, and the calling of the gleaners, and the festivals of praise!

The very rain, and sleet, and hail seem only Nature's useful servants, when found doing their simple duties in the country; and the East Wind himself is nothing worse than a boisterous friend, when we meet him between the hedgerows.

But in the city, where the painted stucco blisters under the smoky sun, and the sooty rain brings slush and mud, and the snow lies piled in dirty heaps, and the chill blasts whistle down dingy streets, and shriek round flaring, gas-lit corners, no face of Nature charms us. Weather in towns is like a skylark in a counting house—out of place, and in the way. Towns ought to be covered in, warmed by hot-water pipes, and lighted by electricity. The weather is a country lass, and does not appear to advantage in town. We


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 liked well enough to flirt with her in the hay field, but she does not seem so fascinating when we meet her in Pall Mall. There is too much of her there. The frank free laugh and hearty voice, that sounded so pleasant in the dairy, jars against the artificiality of town-bred life, and her ways become exceedingly trying.

Just lately she has been favouring us with almost incessant rain for about three weeks; and I am a demd, damp, moist, unpleasant body, as Mr Mantalini puts it.

Our next door neighbour comes out in the back garden every now and then, and says it's doing the country a world of good—not his coming out into the back garden, but the weather. He doesn't understand anything about it, but ever since he started a cucumber frame last summer, he has regarded himself in the light of an agriculturist, and talks in this absurd way with the idea of impressing the rest of the terrace with the notion that he is a retired farmer. I can only hope that, for this once, he is correct, and that the weather really is doing good to something, because it is doing me a considerable amount of damage. It is spoiling both my clothes and my temper. The latter I can afford, as I have a good supply of it, but it wounds me to the quick to see my dear old hats and trousers sinking, prematurely worn and aged, beneath the cold world's blasts and snows.


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 There is my new spring suit too. A beautiful suit it was, and now it is hanging up so bespattered with mud, I can't bear to look at it.

That was Jim's fault, that was. I should never have gone out in it that night, if it had not been for him. I was just trying it on when he came in. He threw up his arms with a wild yell, the moment he caught sight of it, and exclaimed that he had "got 'em again!"

I said: "Does it fit all right behind?"

"Spiffin, old man," he replied. And then he wanted to know if I was coming out.

I said "no," at first, but he overruled me. He said that a man with a suit like that had no right to stop indoors. "Every citizen," said he, "owes a duty to the public. Each one should contribute to the general happiness, as far as lies in his power. Come out, and give the girls a treat."

Jim is slangy. I don't know where he picks it up. It certainly is not from me.

I said: "Do you think it will really please 'em?"

He said it would be like a day in the country to them.

That decided me. It was a lovely evening, and I went.

When I got home, I undressed and rubbed myself down with whisky, put my feet in hot water, and a mustard plaster on my chest, had a basin of gruel


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 and a glass of hot brandy and water, tallowed my nose, and went to bed.

These prompt and vigorous measures, aided by a naturally strong constitution, were the means of preserving my life; but as for the suit! Well, there, it isn't a suit; its a splash board.

And I did fancy that suit too. But that's just the way. I never do get particularly fond of anything in this world, but what something dreadful happens to it. I had a tame rat when I was a boy, and I loved that animal as only a boy would love an old water rat; and, one day, it fell into a large dish of gooseberry-fool that was standing to cool in the kitchen, and nobody knew what had become of the poor creature, until the second helping.

I do hate wet weather, in town. At least, it is not so much the wet, as the mud, that I object to. Somehow or other, I seem to possess an irresistible alluring power over mud. I have only to show myself in the street on a muddy day to be half smothered by it. It all comes of being so attractive, as the old lady said when she was struck by lightning. Other people can go out on dirty days, and walk about for hours without getting a speck upon themselves; while, if I go across the road, I come back a perfect disgrace to be seen (as, in my boyish days, my poor dear mother used often to tell me). If there were only one dab of mud to be found in the whole of London,


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 I am convinced I should carry it off from all competitors.

I wish I could return the affection, but I fear I never shall be able to. I have a horror of what they call the "London particular." I feel miserable and muggy all through a dirty day, and it is quite a relief to pull one's clothes off and get into bed, out of the way of it all. Everything goes wrong in wet weather. I don't know how it is, but there always seem to me to be more people, and dogs, and perambulators, and cabs, and carts, about in wet weather, than at any other time, and they all get in your way more, and everybody is so disagreeable—except myself—and it does make me so wild. And then, too, somehow, I always find myself carrying more things in wet weather than in dry; and, when you have a bag, and three parcels, and a newspaper; and it suddenly comes on to rain, you can't open your umbrella.

Which reminds me of another phase of the weather that I can't bear, and that is April weather (so-called, because it always comes in May). Poets think it very nice. As it does not know its own mind five minutes together, they liken it to a woman; and it is supposed to be very charming on that account. I don't appreciate it, myself. Such lightning change business may be all very agreeable in a girl. It is no doubt highly delightful to have to do with a person who grins one moment about nothing at all, and snivels the next for


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 precisely the same cause, and who then giggles, and then sulks, and who is rude, and affectionate, and bad-tempered, and jolly, and boisterous, and silent, and passionate, and cold, and stand-offiishstand-offish [sic], and flopping, all in one minute (mind I don't say this. It is those poets. And they are supposed to be connoisseurs of this sort of thing); but in the weather, the disadvantages of the system are more apparent. A woman's tears do not make one wet, but the rain does; and her coldness does not lay the foundations of asthma and rheumatism, as the east wind is apt to. I can prepare for, and put up with a regularly bad day, but these ha'porth of all sorts kind of days do not suit me. It aggravates me to see a bright blue sky above me, when I am walking along wet through; and there is something so exasperating about the way the sun comes out, smiling after a drenching shower, and seems to say: "Lord, love you, you don't mean to say you're wet? Well, I am surprised. Why it was only my fun."

They don't give you time to open or shut your umbrella in an English April, especially if it is an "automaton" one—the umbrella I mean, not the April.

I bought an "automaton" once in April, and I did have a time with it! I wanted an umbrella, and I went into a shop in the Strand, and told them so, and they said—


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 "Yessir; what sort of an umbrella would you like?"

I said I should like one that would keep the rain off, and that would not allow itself to be left behind in a railway carriage.

"Try an 'automaton, said the shopman.

"What's an 'automaton? said I.

"Oh, it's a beautiful arrangement," replied the man, with a touch of enthusiasm. "It opens and shuts itself."

I bought one, and found that he was quite correct. It did open and shut itself. I had no control over it whatever. When it began to rain, which it did, that season, every alternate five minutes, I used to try and get the machine to open, but it would not budge; and then I used to stand and struggle with the wretched thing, and shake it, and swear at it, while the rain poured down in torrents. Then the moment the rain ceased, the absurd thing would go up suddenly with a jerk, and would not come down again; and I had to walk about under a bright blue sky, with an umbrella over my head, wishing that it would come on to rain again, so that it might not seem that I was insane.

When it did shut, it did so unexpectedly, and knocked one's hat off.

I don't know why it should be so, but it is an undeniable fact that there is nothing makes a man look so supremely ridiculous as losing his hat. The


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 feeling of helpless misery that shoots down one's back on suddenly becoming aware that one's head is bare is among the most bitter ills that flesh is heir to. And then there is the wild chase after it, accompanied by an excitable small dog, who thinks it is a game, and in the course of which you are certain to upset three or four innocent children—to say nothing of their mothers—butt a fat old gentleman on to the top of a perambulator, and cannon off a ladies' seminary into the arms of a wet sweep. After this, the idiotic hilarity of the spectators, and the disreputable appearance of the hat, when recovered, appear but of minor importance.

Altogether, what between March winds, April showers, and the entire absence of May flowers, spring is not a success in cities. It is all very well in the country, as I have said, but in towns, whose population is anything over ten thousand, it most certainly ought to be abolished. In the world's grim workshops, it is like the children—out of place. Neither show to advantage amidst the dust and din. It seems so sad to see the little dirt-grimed brats, trying to play in the noisy courts and muddy streets. Poor little uncared-for, unwanted human atoms, they are not children. Children are bright-eyed, chubby, and shy. These are dingy, screeching elves, their tiny faces seared and withered, their baby laughter cracked and hoarse.


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 The spring of life, and the spring of the year were alike meant to be cradled in the green lap of Nature. To us, in the town, spring brings but its cold winds and drizzling rains. We must seek it amongst the leafless woods, and the brambly lanes, on the heathy moors, and the great, still hills, if we want to feel its joyous breath, and hear its silent voices. There is a glorious freshness in the spring there. The scurrying clouds, the open bleakness, the rushing wind, and the clear bright air, thrill one with vague energies and hopes. Life, like the landscape around us, seems bigger, and wider, and freer—a rainbow road, leading to unknown ends. Through the silvery rents that bar the sky, we seem to catch a glimpse of the great hope and grandeur that lies around this little throbbing world, and a breath of its scent is wafted us on the wings of the wild March wind.

Strange thoughts we do not understand are stirring in our hearts. Voices are calling us to some great effort, to some mighty work. But we do not comprehend their meaning yet, and the hidden echoes within us that would reply are struggling, inarticulate, and dumb.

We stretch our hands like children to the light, seeking to grasp we know not what. Our thoughts, like the boys' thoughts in the Danish song, are very long, long thoughts, and very vague; we cannot see their end.


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 It must be so. All thoughts that peer outside this narrow world cannot be else than dim and shapeless. The thoughts that we can clearly grasp are very little thoughts—that two and two make four—that when we are hungry it is pleasant to eat—that honesty is the best policy; all greater thoughts are undefined and vast to our poor childish brains. We see but dimly through the mists that roll around our time-girt isle of life, and only hear the distant surging of the great sea beyond.


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 vertices in accordance with their mass, new poles arising at each end in consequence of the division. Yet the axis and the poles always follow the leading of a meridian; because that force passes along the meridians of the stone from the æquator to the poles, by an everlasting rule, the inborn virtue of the substance agreeing thereto from the long and lasting position and the facing of a suitable substance toward the poles of the earth; by whose strength continued through many centuries it has been fashioned; toward fixed and determined parts of which it has remained since its origin firmly and constantly turned.

RICTION between an oblong piece of iron and a loadstone imparts to the former magnetick virtues, which are not corporeal nor inherent and persistent in any body, as we showed in the discussion on coition. It is plain that the iron, when it has been rubbed hard with one end and applied to the stone for a pretty long time, receives no stony nature, acquires no weight; for if, before the iron is touched by the stone, you weigh it in a small and very exact goldsmith's balance, you will see after the rubbing that it has exactly the same weight, neither diminished nor increased. But if you wipe the iron with cloths after it has been touched, or wash it in water, or scour it with sand or on a grindstone, still it in nowise lays aside its acquired strength. For the force is spread through the whole body and conceived in the inmost parts, and cannot in any way be washed or wiped away. Let an experiment then be made in fire, that untamed tyrant of nature. Take a piece of iron of the length of a palm and the thickness of a goosequill pen; let this iron be passed through a suitable round cork and placed on the surface of water, and observe the end which turns to the north; rub this particular end with the true southern end of a loadstone; the iron so rubbed turns toward the south. Remove the cork, and place the end which was excited in the fire until the iron is just red-hot; when it is cooled, it will retain the strength of the loadstone and the verticity, though it will not be so prompt, whether because the force of the fire had not yet continued long enough to overcome all its


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 strength, or because the whole iron was not heated to redness, for the virtue is diffused through the whole. Remove the cork a second time, and putting the whole iron in the fire, blow the fire with the bellows, so that it may be all aglow, and let it remain a little longer time red-hot; when cooled (so, however, that, whilst it is cooling, it does not rest in one position), place it again on the water with the cork, and you will see that it has lost the verticity which it had acquired from the stone. From these experiments it is clear how difficult it is for the property of polarity implanted by the loadstone to be destroyed. But if a small loadstone had remained as long in the same fire, it would have lost its strength. Iron, because it does not so easily perish, and is not so easily burnt up as very many loadstones, retains its strength more stably, and when it is lost can recover it again from a loadstone; but a loadstone when burnt does not revive. But now that iron, which has been deprived of its magnetick form, moves in a different way from any other piece of iron, for it has lost its polar nature; and whereas before the touch of the loadstone it may have had a motion toward the north, and after contact toward the south; now it turns to no definite and particular point; but afterwards, very slowly and after  a long time, it begins to turn in a doubtful fashion toward the poles of the earth (having acquired some power from the earth). I have said that the cause of direction was twofold, one implanted in the stone and iron, but the other in the earth, implanted by the disponent virtue; and for that reason (the distinction of poles and the verticity in the iron having now been destroyed) a slow and weak directive power is acquired anew from the verticity of the earth. We may see, therefore, with what difficulty and only by the application of hot fires and by long ignition of the iron heated to softness, the imparted magnetick virtue is eradicated. When this ignition has overcome the acquired polarity, and it has been now completely subdued and not awakened again, that iron is left unsettled and utterly incapable of direction. But we must further inquire how iron remains affected by verticity. It is manifest that it strongly affects and changes the nature of the iron, because the presence of a loadstone attracts the iron to itself with an altogether wonderful readiness. Nor is it only the part that is rubbed, but on account of the rubbing (on one end only) the whole iron is affected together, and gains by it a permanent though an unequal power. This is demonstrated as follows. Rub an iron wire on the end so that it is excited, and it will turn towards the north; afterward cut off some portion of it; you will see that it still turns toward the north (as before), but more feebly. For it must be understood that the loadstone excites a steady verticity in the whole iron (if the rod be not too long) more vigorous throughout the whole mass in a shorter bar, and as long as the iron remains touching the loadstone a little


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 stronger. But when the iron is separated from contact with it, then it becomes much weaker, especially in the end that was not touched. Just as a long rod, one end of which is placed in the fire and heated, grows exceedingly hot at that end, less so in the parts adjoining and in the middle, whilst at the other end it can be held in the hand, and that end is only warm; so the magnetical vigour diminishes from the excited end to the other end; but it is present there instantly, and does not enter after an interval of time nor successively, as the heat in the iron; for as soon as a piece of iron has been touched by a loadstone it is excited throughout its whole length. For the sake of experiment, let there be a rod of iron 4 or 5 digits long, untouched by a loadstone; as soon as you touch one end only with a loadstone, the opposite end immediately, or in the twinkling of an eye, by the power that it has conceived, repels or attracts a versorium, if it be applied to it ever so quickly.

EMONSTRATION has already been given that the northern part of a loadstone does not attract the northern part of another stone, but the southern, and repels the northern part of another stone from its northern side when it is applied to it. That general magnet, the terrestrial globe, disposes iron touched by a loadstone in the same way, and likewise magnetick iron stirs this same iron by its implanted strength, and excites motion and controls it. For whether the comparison and experiment has been made between loadstone and loadstone, or loadstone and iron, or iron and iron, or the earth and loadstone, or the earth and iron conformed by the earth or strengthened by the power of a loadstone, the strength and inclinations of each must mutually harmonize and accord in the same way. But the reason must be sought, why a piece of iron when touched by a loadstone acquires a disposition to motion toward the opposite pole of the earth, and not toward that


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 pole of the earth to which that pole of that loadstone turned by which it was excited. It has been pointed out that iron and loadstone are of one primary nature; when the iron is joined to the loadstone, they become, as it were, one body, and not only is the end of the iron changed, but the remaining parts also are affected along with it. A, the north pole of a loadstone, is placed against the cusp of a piece of iron; the cusp of the iron has now become the southern part of the iron, because it is touching the northern part of the stone; the cross-end of the iron has become the northern. For if that contiguous magnetick substance be separated from the pole of the terrella, or from the parts near the pole, the one end (or the end which, whilst the connection was kept up, was touching the northern part of the stone) is the southern, whilst the other is the northern. So also if a versorium excited by a loadstone be divided into ever so many parts (however small), those parts when separated will, it is clear, arrange themselves in the same disposition as that in which they were disposed before, when they were undivided. Wherefore whilst the cusp remains over the northern pole A, it is not the southern end, but is, as it were, part of a whole; but when it is taken away from the stone, it is the southern end, because when rubbed it tended toward the northern parts of the stone, and the cross (the other end of the versorium) is the northern end. The loadstone and the iron make one body; B is the south pole of the whole; C (that is, the cross) is the northern end of the whole; divide the iron also at E, and E will be the southern end with respect to the cross; and E will likewise be the northern end in respect to B. A is the true northern pole of the stone and is attracted by the southern pole of the earth. The end of the iron which is touched by the true boreal part of the stone becomes the southern end, and turns to A, the north [pole] of the stone, if it be near; or if it be some distance from the stone it turns to the north [pole] of the earth. So always iron which is touched (if it is free and unrestrained) tends to the opposite part of the earth from that part to which the loadstone that touched it tends. Nor does it make any difference how it is rubbed, whether straight up or slanting in some way. For in any case the verticity flows into the iron, pro-


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 vided it is touched by either end. Wherefore all the cusps at B acquire the same verticity, after they are separated, but opposite to that pole of the stone; wherefore also they are united to the loadstone at the pole B; and all the crosses in the present figure have the opposite verticity to the pole E, and are moved and laid hold of by E when they are in a convenient position. It is exactly the same in the case of the long stone F H divided at G; F and H always move, both in the whole and in the divided stone, to opposite poles of the earth, and O and P mutually attract one another, the one of them being the northern, the other the southern. For, supposing H to have been the southern in the whole stone and F the northern, P will be the northern with respect to H in the divided stone, and O the southern with respect to F. So also F and H mutually incline to a connection, if they are turned a very little toward one another, and run together at length and join. But supposing the division of the stone to have been meridional (that is, according to the line of a meridian, not of any parallel circle), then they turn Stone divided on a meridian. round, and A attracts B, and the end B is attracted to A and attracts A, until, being turned round, they are connected and cemented together; because magnetick attraction is not made along the parallels, but meridionally. For this reason pieces of iron placed on a terrella whose poles are A B, near the æquator along parallels, do not combine or stick together firmly:


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Runo XLVIII]

Then the aged Väinämöinen

Worked to make the net yet longer,

Wider yet the sides expanded,

Perhaps five hundred fathoms broader,

Netted full seven hundred fathoms,

And he spoke the words which follow:

“To the depths the nets we’ll carry,

And will now extend them further,

Once again will drag the water,

Thus another cast attempting.”

To the depths the nets they carried,

Further did they then convey them,

And again they dragged the water,

Thus another cast attempting.

Then the aged Väinämöinen

Spoke aloud the words which follow:

“Vellamo, O Water-Mother,

Old one with the lavish bosom,

Do thou change the shift upon thee,

Do thou change thy dress completely,

For thou hast a shift of rushes,

On thy head a cap of lake-foam,

Fashioned by the Wind’s fair daughter,

Which the billows’ daughter gave thee.

Now assume a shift of linen,

Of the finest flax that’s woven,

Which by Kuutar has been woven,

Paivatar has wrought when spinning.

“Ahto, master of the billows,

Ruler thou of caves a hundred,

Take thy pole in length five fathoms,

Take thy stake, in length full seven,

Thresh with this the open water,

And do thou stir up the lake-bed,

Stir thou all the heaps of refuse,

Drive thou on the shoals of fishes,

Where the net is spread to catch them,

And its hundred floats are swimming,

From the bays by fish frequented,

From the caves where hide the salmon,

Rh

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242

From the wide lake’s seething whirlpool,

And from the profound abysses,

Where the sun was never shining,

Undisturbed the sand for ever.”

From the lake a dwarf ascended,

From the waves arose a hero,

Stood upon the lake’s broad surface,

And he spoke the words which follow:

“Is there need to thresh the water,

With a long pole to disturb it?”

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,

Answered in the words that follow:

“There is need to thresh the water,

With a long pole to disturb it.”

Then the dwarf, the little hero,

Lifted from the bank a pine-tree,

Took a tall tree from the pinewood,

And prepared to thresh the water,

And he asked, and spoke as follows:

“Shall I thresh with strength sufficient,

Putting forth my utmost efforts,

Or as hard as may be needful?”

Old and prudent Väinämöinen

Answered in the words which follow:

“If you thresh as hard as needful,

You will have to do much threshing.”

Then the man, the little hero,

Set to work to thresh the water,

And he threshed as much as needful,

And he drove the shoals of fishes,

And into the net he drove them,

In the net with floats a hundred.

Rested now the smith his oars;

Väinämöinen, old and steadfast,

Now the net himself drew upward,

At the rope as he was pulling.

Said the aged Väinämöinen,

“We have caught a shoal of fishes,

In the net that I am lifting,

With a hundred floats provided.”

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But if applied to one another along a meridian they are immediately joined firmly together, not only on and near the stone, but even at some distance within the force of the controlling orbe. Thus they are joined and cemented together at E, but not at C in the other figure. For the opposite ends C and F meet and adhære together in the case of the iron just in the same way as A and B before in the case of the stone. But they are opposite ends, because the pieces of iron proceed from the opposite sides and poles of the terrella; and C in reference to the northern pole A is southern, and F is boreal in reference to the southern pole B. In like manner also they are cemented together, if the rod C (being not too long) be moved further toward A, and F toward B, and they be joined together over the terrella, like A and B of the divided stone above. But now if the cusp A, which has been touched by a loadstone, be the southern end, and you were to touch and rub with this the cusp of another iron needle B, which has not been touched, B will be northern, and will point to the south. But if you were to touch with the northern point B any other iron needle, still new, on its cusp, this again will be southern, and will turn to the north. The iron not only receives the necessary strength from the loadstone, if it be a good loadstone, but also imparts its acquired strength to another piece of iron, and the second to a third (always in strict accordance with magnetick laws). In all these demonstrations of ours it should always be borne in mind that the poles of a stone, as well as those of iron, whether touched or untouched, are always in fact and by nature opposite to the pole toward which they point and are so designated by us, as we have laid down above. For in them all it is always the northern which tends to the south, either of the earth or of the stone, and the southern which tends to the north of the stone. Northern parts are attracted by the southern of the earth; so in the boat they