text:
Page:Journal of Conversations with Lord Byron.pdf/39

 Moore speaks of the happy influence of Lady Blessington's society over the mind of Byron:—

"One of the most important services conferred upon Lord Byron by Lady Blessington during this intimacy, was that half reviving of his old regard for his wife, and the check which she contrived to place upon the composition of Don Juan, and upon the continuation of its most glaring immoralities. He spoke of Ada;, he said, 'has feasted on the smiles of her infancy and growth, but the tears of her maturity shall be mine.' Lady Blessington told him that if he so loved his child, he should never write a line that could bring a blush of shame to her cheek, or a sorrowing tear to her eye; and he said, 'You are right; I never recollected this. I am jealously tenacious of the undivided sympathy of my daughter; and that work, (Don Juan,) written to beguile hours of tristesse and wretchedness, is well calculated to loosen my hold on her affections. I will write no more of it—would that I had never written a line.' In this gentler mind, with old loves, old times, and the tenderest love that human heart can know, all conducing to soothe his pride and his dislike of Lady Byron, he learned that a near friend of her ladyship was in Genoa, and he requested Lady Blessington to procure for him, through this friend, a portrait of his wife. He had heard that Lady Byron feared he was about to come to England for the purpose of claiming his child. In requesting the portrait and in refuting the report, he addressed the following letter to Lady Blessington:—


text:
Module:Toc2row

-- Create a TOC with two rows per chapter and with tabular data for chapter numbers, page numbers, and descriptions --

local getArgs = require('Module:Arguments').getArgs local p = {};

p.buildNestedTable = function (frame, cols) -- Build a nested array without named properties local args = getArgs(frame) local output = {} local tabData = {} local iterator = 1 -- Get number of unnamed arguments while args[iterator] do --Check if item is last argument by checking if it exists tabData[#tabData+1] = args[iterator] -- Add item to new table iterator = iterator + 1 -- Iterate end

--Loop through args, take every third item for i=1, #tabData, cols do		local row = {} for j=1, cols, 1 do			row[#row+1] = tabData[i+j-1] end output[#output+1] = row end

return output end

-- Match pattern for an whole line of text ending in a newline -- for item in frame.args.tabularData:gmatch("([^\n]+)") -- Match pattern for 3 items in a CSV row -- local chapter, page, description = v:match('%s*"(.-)",%s-"(.-)",%s*"(.-)"%s*$')

p.buildAssociativeTable = function(frame, fields) -- Add property names to "column" items in nested table local output = {} local input = p.buildNestedTable(frame, #fields)

for i, row in ipairs(input) do		output[#output+1] = {} for j, item in ipairs(fields) do			output[#output][item] = row[j] end end

return output end

p.content = { [=[  CHAPTER ',	-- Between 3 & 4: chapterRoman	'. ', -- Between 4 & 5: description [=[ ]=], -- Between 5 & 6: page ' ' }

concatEntry = function(frame, row) local roman = require('Module:Roman')

local url = frame.args.baseURL local description = row.description local page = row.page local chapter = row.chapter local chaptRoman = roman._Numeral(chapter) return p.content[1] .. url .. p.content[2] .. chapter .. p.content[3] .. chaptRoman .. p.content[4] .. description .. p.content[5] .. page .. p.content[6] end

p.outerWrapper = { -- additional HTML tags to wrap around each row which may require more detailed formatting [=[ ' }

p.transclude = function(frame) local fields = {'chapter', 'page', 'description'} local output = {} local input = p.buildAssociativeTable(frame, fields) for i, v in ipairs(input) do v = p.outerWrapper[1] .. concatEntry(frame, v) .. p.outerWrapper[2] table.insert(output, v)	end return table.concat(output, "\n") end

return p

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

title: Module:Toc2row


title: Template:Toc2row


text: Page:Memorials of a tour on the continent, 1820 (IA memorialsoftouro00word).pdf/29


text:
Page:Richard III (1927) Yale.djvu/143

Richard the Third, V. iii

That we may praise thee in thy victory!

To thee I do commend my watchful soul,

Ere I let fall the windows of mine eyes:

Sleeping and waking, O defend me still!

Ghost. To Richard. Let me sit heavy on thy soul to-morrow!

Think how thou stab'dst me in my prime of youth

At Tewkesbury: despair, therefore, and die!

Ghost to Richmond. Be cheerful, Richmond; for the wronged souls

Of butcher'd princes fight in thy behalf:

King Henry's issue, Richmond, comforts thee.

Ghost. [To King Richard.] When i was mortal, my anointed body

By thee was punched full of [deadly] holes:

Think on the Tower and me; despair and die!

Henry the Sixth bids thee despair and die.

To Richmond. Virtuous and holy, be thou conqueror!

Harry, that prophesied thou shouldst be king,

Doth comfort thee in sleep: live and flourish!

Ghost. [To King Richard.] Let me sit heavy in thy soul to-morrow!

I, that was wash'd to death with fulsome wine,

Poor Clarence, by thy guile betray'd to death!

To-morrow in the battle think on me,

And fall thy edgeless sword: despair, and die!

title: Page:Richard III (1927) Yale.djvu/143


text:
Page:BibleKJV1611-002.pdf/18

 a feaſt, and did bake vnleauened bread, and they did eate.

¶But before they lay downe, the men of the citie, euen the men of Sodom, compaſſed the houſe round, both old and yong, all the people from euery quarter.

And they called vnto Lot, and ſaid vnto him, Where are the men which came in to thee this night? bring them out vnto vs, that we may know them.

And Lot went out at the doore vnto them, ⁊ ſhut the doore after him,

And ſaid, I pray you, brethren, doe not ſo wickedly.

Behold now, I have two daughters, which haue not knowen man; let mee, I pray you, bring them out vnto you, and doe ye to them, as is good in your eyes: onely vnto theſe men do nothing: for therefore came they vnder the ſhadow of my roofe.

And they ſaid, Stand backe. And they ſaid againe, This one fellow came in to ſoiourne, and he will needs be a Iudge: Now wil we deale worſe with thee, then with them. And they preſſed ſore vpon the man, euen Lot, and came neere to breake the doore.

But the men put forth their hand, and pulled Lot into the houſe to them, and ſhut the doore.

And they ſmote the men * that were at the doore of the houſe, with blindnes, both ſmall and great: ſo that they wearied themſelues to finde the doore.

title: Page:BibleKJV1611-002.pdf/18


text:
Page:Richard III (1927) Yale.djvu/144

130

To Richmond. Thou offspring of the house of Lancaster,

The wronged heirs of York do pray for thee:

Good angels guard thy battle! live, and flourish!

[Ghost of] Rivers. [To King Richard.] Let me sit heavy in thy soul to-morrow,

Rivers, that died at Pomfret! despair, and die!

[Ghost of] Grey. [To King Richard.] Think upon Grey, and let thy soul despair.

[Ghost of] Vaughan. [To King Richard.] Think upon Vaughan, and with guilty fear

Let fall thy lance: despair, and die!—

All to Richmond. Awake! and think our wrongs in Richard's bosom

Will conquer him! Awake, and win the day!

Ghost. [To King Richard.] Bloody and guilty, guiltily awake;

And in a bloody battle end thy days!

Think on Lord Hastings: despair, and die!—

To Richmond. Quiet, untroubled soul, awake, awake!

Arm, fight, and conquer, for fair England's sake!

Ghosts. [To King Richard.] Dream on thy cousins smother'd in the Tower:

Let us be laid within thy bosom, Richard,

And weigh thee down to ruin, shame, and death!

Thy nephews' souls bid thee despair, and die!

 144 lance; cf. n.

153 laid; cf. n.

title: Page:Richard III (1927) Yale.djvu/144


text:
Page:New Peterson magazine 1859 Vol. XXXV.pdf/43

THE DAISY; OR, THREE

VISITS

TO NEWPORT. BY A NEW CONTRIBUTOR. It was twenty years ago when I visited New York for the first time. As the sloop threaded her way among the green islands in the harbor and approached the landing, I was struck with the air of desertion that prevailed. No ship-ping lay at anchor. The capacious red, or unpainted, warehouses seemed unused. No rival hackmen rent the air with obtrusive clamor; no nimble porters strove for my trunk. Boatbuilders laid down their tools to see the rare phenomenon of an arrival, and hatless children clustered around “the stranger.”

After helping to bestow my baggage upon a wheelbarrow, trundled by a barefooted boy who had volunteered to serve me as a guide, I walked up Long Wharf. On my way, the old clock in the State House solemnly struck the hour of noon, but midnight itself could not have made Washington Square more silent. A sleepy horse was hitched to one of the cannons that marked its western limit; a permitted estray was drinking from the moss-grown tub at the fountain; robins were flitting among the poplars in “the mall," and nests of the orioles hung swaying from the drooping boughs of the elms.

Reaching the then-solitary public house, I was soon summoned to dinner, the meal being served at one, that being the fashionable hour when there was no fashion. A long afternoon thus gained, I bespoke the only hack in the place and spent some hours visiting the notabilities of the vicinity. I entered the chamber whence the daring Barton hurried the astounded Prescott, and I listened to the gurgling of the brook that then flowed in greater volume along the ravine by which they gained the shore. I trod the secluded Whitehall, where dwelt the great-hearted Berkeley, and rested beneath the Hanging Rocks, those “permanent crags,” in whose shade he wrote his “Minute Philosopher." I crossed the beaches whose grey sands had so often been imprinted by the feet of Malbone and of Alston, now unmarked save by the sea bird. I stood on the brink of purgatory.

To me, the precincts of the town had a peculiar charm. The quiet streets, the dusky shops, the aristocratic mansions, the English aspect of the inhabitants, and the deep, broad stamp of conscious respectability were full of interest.

After breakfast the next morning, I sauntered forth again. The site of the Ocean House was a grain field, and the Atlantic House was a potato patch. I bent my steps, at last, toward the Red Wood Library. The air around it was soft with vapors from the misty Atlantic and redolent of clover, elder, and honeysuckle; the air of primitive Eden could not have been more "deli¬cate." The only sounds that broke the stillness were the twittering of the busy swallows and the whir of the grasshoppers startled by my feet.

Just then a bell of singular sweetness rang out, and following its melodious guidance, I came to that venerable structure, Trinity Church. It was St. Bartholomew’s Day, and the congregation, three-fourths of whom were women, were assembling for worship. Passing through the graveyard, overgrown with tall grass, clover, and hemp, I entered the open door. Soon after, the reverend rector, in gown and bands, passed up the middle aisle and entered the vestry room, from which he almost immediately emerged again in the surplice and took his place at the reading desk. As he turned the leaves of the big, red Bible and prayer book, marking the pages for the morning’s service, his mild, blue eye wan¬ dered over his little flock, as if to note the pre¬ sent and the absent. He might well do that, for his people were indeed his people—the days of shifting crowds and indistinguishable masses had not come. There was a baptism, and one of the recipients was a little girl about four years old. She was exceedingly beautiful. Her large, lustrous eyes contrasted strongly with the whiteness of her smooth brow, while slender curls of silken amber drooped over her fair neck. I did not wonder that her pastor smiled so benignly upon her, nor that he held her very tenderly in his fatherly embrace as she twined her tiny fingers amid his gray locks and rested her sunny head against his bosom. When the baptismal service was over and the Benedictus pealed from the Berkeleyan organ, I joined in the exultant hymn, giving praise in my heart for the child now born again as well as for the human birth of the holy son of Mary. When we came out,


text:
Page:New Peterson magazine 1859 Vol. XXXV.pdf/47

 WHAT

ANNE BY

DALAND DID.

KATE

WARE.

"Thou shalt ﬁnd by hearty strivin only, And truly loving, thou shalt truly live."

Anne Daland sat by the window, watching the sky. The light of the setting sun sirearned through the crimson curtain upon her face as she leaned her head on her hand. It was a sweet, thoughtful face, with its hazel eyes so calm in their clarity, its delicate mouth that, for all its ripeness, was decided, and its soft, dark hair. But its expression was more than thoughtful now; it was sad, and tears were dropping on her little, ladylike hand that rested on her cheek.

“Why Anne, what a sigh!” said a cheerful voice, and someone behind her took her face between two soft hands and turned it up to look at it.

“Is it you, cousin Mary? I didn’t know there was anybody here.”

“I just came in. Is there, Anne, room for me too in the lounge?”

Anne moved a little, and “cousiu Mary” sat down by her. She was a sweet, genial old maid, the favorite cousin of the Daland family, who always welcomed a visit from her as a sort of jubilee.

“What troubles you, Anne?” She said it in her peculiarly gentle, winning way, looking straight into Anne’s eyes as she spoke.

Her cousin tried to evade the question at first, but finally, unable to resist the charm of Mary’s manner, he frankly opened her heart to her.

“I am not half as happy as I thought I should be after I left school, cousin Mary. My life seems so aimless and useless. The little things I do every day don’t amount to anything, and I get so tired of them! I do wish, somehow, I could live differently. I don’t seem to be of any use in the world.”

“Then, Anne, why don’t you begin to do something?”

“That’s the very thing, cousin Mary. I don’t know what to do. Sometimes I really have a great mind to go ‘out West’ and teach school, or go away somewhere and be a missionary and convert the heathen. "Only," Anne added emphatically, "father would never be willing."

“Ah, Anne, there is plenty for you to do at home in that case. There is work lying all round you, if you would not scorn it because it is made up of little things, and there is not the romance about it that there would be about going to Turkey on a mission. You ought not to be content while you are living, so for yourself alone. Why not do more to make your father and mother happy, Anne? Since you cannot teach the heathen, why not go out into the kitchen and teach poor Bridget to read and write? You might visit the poor and sick and do good in a thousand ways if you were only willing to practice a little self-denial.” Iler's cousin talked earnestly with her, Anno sat quietly when she had ceased, her face still turned to the window and her eyes fixed on the clouds, whose sunset glory was fast passing away, but cousin Mary knew she was thinking of what she had just said to her.

When the tea bell had rung and they got up to go into the dining room, Anne slipped her arm around her cousin’s waist and said softly, “I am glad you said what you did, cousin Mary, and I will try to live more for others and less for myself.” “I am very sorry,” said Mr. Daland, laying down the newspaper he had been reading since tea, “but I believe I shall have to give up reading in the newspapers altogether; it makes my eyes ache so,” and he sighed at the thought of it.

Anne looked up from the delightful volume of Irving she had buried herself in, hesitated a moment, then resolutely shut it up and offered to read the paper to her father. It was rather dull, reading all the ship news, prices, rent, and debates in the legislature, but she felt repaid by her father’s affectionate, “Thank you, my dear,” when she finished. She had eyes to her father every evening after that. “You have already begun to do good, Anne,' whispered cousin Mary to her as she kissed her. and said, “Good night.”

Anne sat up in her room for a good while, that evening, thinking, thinking. She saw that she had been unhappy because she was selfish, and that while discontented because she could not do some great, shining deed, she had overlooked entirely that which lay in her power to do. -


text:
Page:Ling-Nam; or, Interior views of southern China, including explorations in the hitherto untraversed island of Hainan (IA cu31924023225307).pdf/226

 CHAPTER XI. NAM-WA MONASTERY AND THE SIXTH PATRIARCH. F ROM U-shek, on the North River, a walk of ten miles brings us to the celebrated monastery of Naw-wa. The road winds among hills, some of which are steep and rocky, and thickly covered with trees. Many small villages are passed with groves of large pine trees behind them. It is November, the time of the second rice harvest, and the people are every where busy cutting the ripened grain. One man, who has fallen down in a chill by the roadside, unable to bear his load of rice any farther, excites our sympathy. Before the monastery is reached we cross five plains of rice, whose rental adds much to the annual income of the cloister. As we are approaching one of the oldest, and, in former times, one of the most celebrated Buddhist institutions. in China, it is interesting and useful to notice all that passes under our eyes, and to compare it with the past. Two special objects-a place and a man-must be kept in mind, as it is their conjunction which has given such wide fame to this historic institution. In reference to the place it is recorded that in the first year of the Emperor Teen-kam, about 502 A.D., a Sanskrit-speaking


text:
Page:Ling-Nam; or, Interior views of southern China, including explorations in the hitherto untraversed island of Hainan (IA cu31924023225307).pdf/227

 Nam-wa Monastery and the Sixth Patriarch. 223 priest, called in Chinese Sung-kau-no-lo-pat-tak, after having visited the old monastery in Canton, came in the course of his travels to Tso-kai, the little stream which rises in the Dog-Ear Ridge six miles to the east, and flows down past the monastery. As he drank of the water, he noticed its peculiarly delightful flavour, and said, "This is in truth like the water of the western para- dise. There must be a sacred spot here." Then looking at the clustering hills around he sighed, and exclaimed, "Ah! this is a reflection of the Gemmy Forests of the western paradise ! >> Calling the people of the neighbourhood together, he told them there would arise a famous Buddhist institution on the spot. Two years later the governor of the district opened a road to the place, and a small shrine was built, called Po-lam, "Gemmy Forest," but it was not until a century and a half later that the prophecy was fulfilled. Turning now to seek the man who brought fame to the place, we find him in the person of Luk-tsó, the sixth and last patriarch of the Buddhist Church in China. The founder of the Buddhist hierarchy in this empire is called Bodhidhasma, and is known in China as Tat-mo, which some believe to be the name of the Apostle Thomas, stolen by the Buddhists to represent their apostle. He came in the fourth century, and from him the headship of the Church was transmitted through a succession of patriarchs, the sacred vestments of their office consisting of a robe and a bowl. This line suddenly came to an end near the close of the seventh century, in the death of Luk-tsó, the sixth in succession from Tat-mo.


text:
Page:Journal of Conversations with Lord Byron.pdf/40

My request would be for a copy of the miniature of Lady B. which I have seen in possession of the late Lady Noel, as I have no picture, or indeed memorial of any kind of Lady B., as all her letters were in her own possession before I left England, and we have had no correspondence since—at least on her part. My message with regard to the infant is simply to this effect, that in the event of any accident occurring to the mother, and my remaining the survivor, it would be my wish to have her plans carried into effect, both with regard to the education of the child, and the person or persons under whose care Lady B. might be desirous that she should be placed. It is not my intention to interfere with her in any way on the subject during her life; and I presume that it would be some consolation to her to know (if she is in ill health, as I am given to understand,) that in no case would any thing be done, as far as I am concerned, but in strict conformity with Lady B's own wishes and intentions, left in what manner she thought proper. Believe me, dear Lady B., your obliged, &c.

At length, in the early part of June, 1823, the Blessingtons took their departure from Genoa, and Moore tells us how the separation affected Byron:—

"On the evening before the departure of his friends, Lord and Lady Blessington, from Genoa, he called upon them for the purpose of taking leave, and sat conversing for some time. He was evidently in low spirits, and after


text: User:SnowyCinema/P/Short Grass

title: User:SnowyCinema/P/Short Grass


text:
Page:The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero) - Volume 5.djvu/37

 SARDANAPALUS/

ACT I.

Scene 1.—A Baffin fAe Palace.

Sakmmes {solus). He hath wronged his queen, but still he is her lord ; He hath wronged my sister — still he is my brother;

I. [This prince surpassed all his predecessors in effeminacy, luxury, and cowaroice. He never went out of his palace, but spent all his time among a company of women, dressed and painted like them, and employed uke them at the distaff. He placed all his happiness and glory in the possession of immense treasures, in feasting and rioting, and indulging himself in all the most infamous and crimmal pleasures. He ordered two verses to be put upcm his tomb, signifying that he carried away with him all he luul eaten, and all the pleasures he had enjoyed, but left everything else behind him, — an epitaph, says Aristotle, fit fir a hog, Aibooes, |^vemor of Media, having found means to get into the Duace, and having with his own eyes seen Sordanapalus in me midst of his infamous seraglio, enraged at such a spectacle, and not able to endure that so many brave men should be subjected to a prince more soft and effeminate than the women themselves, immediately formed a conspiracy a^^ainst him. Beleses, governor of Babylon, and several others, entered mto it On the first nunour of this revolt the kin^ hid himself in the inmost part of his palace. Being afterwards obliged to uUce the field with some forces which he had assembled, he at first gained three successive victories over the enemy, but was afterwards overcome, and pursued to the gates of Nineveh ; wherein he shut him- self, in hopes me rebels would never be able to take a city so well fortified, and stored with provisions for a considerable time. The siege proved indeed of very great length. It had been declared by an ancient oracle that Nineveh could never be taken tmless the river became an enemy to the city. These words buoyed up Sardanapalus, because he looked upon the thin^ as impossible. But when he saw that the Tigris, by a violent inunoation, haid thrown down twenty stadia (two miles and a half) of the city wall, and by that means opened a passage to the enemy, he understood the meaning of the oracle, and thought himself lost. He resolved, however, to die in such a manner as, aa»rding to


text:
Page:The Chronicle of Clemendy.pdf/272

 thunder in a moment to the earth in a cloud of dust and mortar, and dirt of all sorts, but this old ancient race who had once ruled all Gwent, and had furnished the Calendar with three or four saints, merely dropped a stone here and there, and then went on quietly for another hundred years. However when Sir Philip took possession he found the house, the garden, a field or two, and little else; and the rain came through the roof and soaked him through when he was in bed. These circumstances would have discouraged many young gentlemen, but being a Meyrick he had the hole mended and sat down to do a little thinking, for he perceived that the family was in a languid state and needed to be revived. Sir Philip had, to be sure, that cheerful confidence in himself, which helps a man on in the world, and fills his cup for him, and it need not be said that he considered himself equal to the task of restoring his house and collecting together a few acres of that dust whence we come and which bears corn and oak trees as well as men—some say a good field of corn is worth more than a fool; but I suspect this opinion is heretical and unreasonable besides. Why? Because rain sometimes falls and spoils the ingathering of the wheat; whereas no rain beats down nor does the mildew destroy the plentiful and everlasting crop of folly, which is ripe all the year round and groweth more luxuriant every day. But I return to Sir Philip, who when he had laudably determined in one way or another to magnify once more the name of Meyrick, began to go farther and to consider in what way he should do this.

title: Page:The Chronicle of Clemendy.pdf/272


text:
Page:The Czechoslovak Review, vol3, 1919.djvu/245

 Albín Polášek.


text:
Page:The Czechoslovak Review, vol3, 1919.djvu/246

 Albín Polášek.


text:
Page:The Chronicle of Clemendy.pdf/273

 And finding himself master of no arts but those of warfare and horsemanship, he determined to try what chivalry would do for him and made the journey oversea to France, the which realm one of our glorious kings was at that time engaged in tormenting. This expedition Sir Philip performed in company with a band of pretty fellows of Gwent, of whom some had made the country too warm for them, some found the times too dull at home, some like himself were desirous of mending divers rags and tatters in their estates. And I believe that this Silurian band did not disgrace their ancestors, and came to be much respected by the French as a sturdy set of men who made large gaps and cut to the bone. This was well enough, but yet Sir Philip did not find his pockets get any fuller, and heard no talk of a grant of land or lordship, or office about the Court, or government of an island, or any of those contentments which are good for an old decayed family. Hence he made his way home again, perceiving that chivalry was going to the devil, and that this war was a very unrighteous war that did nobody any good. For he was not so silly as to think that killing Peers of France, burning their towns and castles and pilling the people was in itself a comely undertaking; though he might have excused it if it had brought him one or two of those little easements that I have mentioned. After this disappointment he was for a few weeks perplexed as to what he should turn his hands to, and at last concluded to roam for a while about the country, keeping his eyes open and his

title: Page:The Chronicle of Clemendy.pdf/273


text:
Page:The Czechoslovak Review, vol3, 1919.djvu/247

 Albín Polášek.


text:
Page:The Chronicle of Clemendy.pdf/274

 brain clear, since no one knows after what fashion good luck shall come to us. It really is a very simple thing this finding of the golden cup at the foot of the rainbow, and a rainbow generally follows rain and storm and driving clouds. Some few there are who profess to care nothing for this quest and spend their days in the courtyard, looking down into the dim old well, and dazzling their eyes with the stars they see therein. They think themselves wise, and in point of fact they are quaint fellows, which perhaps comes to the same thing. But Sir Philip knew better than they, and had no intention of leading this dreamy sort of life, for his great ambition (or so he said) was to have at last a good monument over him in alabaster, carved artfully, with all his quarters painted on the stone and in the window above. To enjoy this benefit, and to lie like a Christian when he was dead, it was necessary to lie like one when he was alive; that is, of course, in a warm bed under a leaden roof, with a full belly. And he was too wise a man (though he was a young one) to vex his heart over his poor estate and ill success at the wars; for he understood the benefit of misfortune and early buffets, the which give a vast relish to the warm hearth and good wine of after years. Hence he proceeded cheerfully to his geographical studies, strolling discursively from town to town, from castle to castle, and from convent to convent; never hurrying himself in the least, and always finding out the pleasantest paths and the most sheltered nooks. In this pilgrimage he acquired

title: Page:The Chronicle of Clemendy.pdf/274


text:
Page:The Czechoslovak Review, vol3, 1919.djvu/248

 Albín Polášek.


text: Page:The Novels and Other Works of Lyof N. Tolstoï-v10.djvu/8


text:
Page:Richard III (1927) Yale.djvu/145

Richard the Third, V. iii

To Richmond. Sleep, Richmond, sleep in peace, and wake in joy;

Good angels guard thee from the boar's annoy!

Live, and beget a happy race of kings!

Edward's unhappy sons do bid thee flourish.

Ghost. To Richard. Richard, thy wife, that wretched Anne, thy wife,

That never slept a quiet hour with thee,

Now fills thy sleep with perturbations:

To-morrow in the battle think on me,

And fail thy edgeless sword: despair, and die!

To Richmond. Thou quiet soul, sleep thou a quiet sleep;

Dreams of success and happy victory!

Thy adversary's wife doth pray for thee.

Ghost. To Richard. The first was I that help'd thee to the crown;

The last was I felt thy tyranny.

O! in the battle think on Buckingham,

And die in terror of thy guiltiness!

Dream on, dream on, of bloody deeds and death:

Fainting, despair; despairing, yield thy breath!

To Richmond. I died for hope ere I could lend thee aid:

But cheer thy heart, and be thou not dismay'd:

God and good angels fight on Richmond's side;

And Richard fall in height of all his pride!

[The Ghosts vanish. King] Richard starts out of his dream.

 157 annoy: annoyance

174 for hope; cf. n.

title: Page:Richard III (1927) Yale.djvu/145


text:
Page:Memorials of a tour on the continent, 1820 (IA memorialsoftouro00word).pdf/16

viii


text:
Page:Journal of Conversations with Lord Byron.pdf/41

 expressing his regret that they should leave Genoa before his own time of sailing, proceeded to speak of his own intended voyage in a tone full of despondence. 'Here,' said he, 'we are all now together; but when, and where, shall we meet again? I have a sort of boding that we see each other for the last time; as something tells me I shall never again return from Greece.' Having continued a little longer in this melancholy strain, he leaned his head upon the arm of the sofa on which they were seated, and, bursting into tears, wept for some minutes with uncontrollable feeling. Though he had been talking only with Lady Blessington, all who were present in the room observed, and were affected by, his emotion, while he himself, apparently ashamed of his weakness, endeavored to turn off attention from it by some ironical remark, spoken with a sort of hysterical laugh, upon the effects of nervousness. He had, previous to this conversation, presented to each of the party some little farewell gift—a book to one, a print from his bust by Bartolini to another, and to Lady Blessington a copy of his Armenian Grammar, which had some manuscript remarks of his own on the leaves. In now parting with her, having begged, as a memorial, some trifle which she had worn, the lady gave him one of her rings; in return for which he took a pin from his breast, containing a small cameo of Napoleon, which he said had long been his companion, and presented it to her ladyship. The next day Lady Blessington received from him the following note:—


text: Index:On the Lomechusini fauna of the East Palaearctic and Oriental regions, with a focus on the genera Orphnebius and Amaurodera (Coleoptera, Staphylinidae, Aleocharinae).pdf


text:
Page:Journal of Conversations with Lord Byron.pdf/42

I am superstitious, and have recollected that memorials with a point are of less fortunate augury: I will, therefore, request you to accept, instead of the pin, the inclosed chain, which is of so slight a value that you need not hesitate. As you wished for something worn, I can only say that it has been worn oftener and longer than the other. It is of Venetian manufacture, and the only peculiarity about it is that it could only be obtained at or from Venice. At Genoa they have none of the same kind. I also inclose a ring, which I would wish Alfred to keep; it is too large to wear; but it is formed of lava, and so far adapted to the fire of his years and character. You will perhaps have the goodness to acknowledge the receipt of this note, and send back the pin, (for good luck's sake,) which I shall value much more for having been a night in your custody. Ever faithfully your obliged, &c.

P S.—I hope your nerves are well to-day, and will continue to flourish.

Lady Blessington continued to write for the press with little intermission. She wrote a great many novels of which "The Repealers," was the first in point of time; and the "Victim of Society," the "Two Friends," and the "Belle of a Season," were the most popular.

When portraying the habits of fashionable society she was on familiar ground, and could write with effect; when she treated of subjects of more general interest she lost her power.


text:
Page:The Czechoslovak Review, vol3, 1919.djvu/249

 Polášek the sculptor is kownknown [sic] to all lovers of art in America. His works are the pride of many a public collection and private residence, and pupils from all parts of the country seek his instruction at the Chicago Art Institute.

In order to understand his work one must realize that Polášek is a Czech, even though he has lived more years in America than in his native Moravia. All th atthat [sic] he has created bears the sign of a Slav spirit, contemplative and fundamentally idealistic, of great delicacy of feeling, keen observation and a tendency to mysticism.

Even though the forms i nwhichin which [sic] he expresses himself are modern, his roots are the Carpathian Mountains of Moravia, where as a boy he absorbed the naive beauty of folk art and folk poetry in the hilly villages of the Moravian Valachs. There, too, his creative instinct first manifested itself, when as a boy of thirteen he carved wooden figures of shepherds of Bethlehem, for the church of his native town.

Albín Polášek was born February 14th, 1879, in Frenštát in Moravia. There he spent his childhood, and when he was fourteen years old, he was sent to Vienna to learn the trade of wood-carver. As a young man he came to America and lived at first in Wisconsin, earning his living by making statues of wood and stone for Catholic churches. Later he decided to enter the Pennsylvania Academy of Art in order to become a sculptor, and in 1905 he began to model from life under Charles Grafly. His progress was rapid; in 1906 he received the Stewardson prize, and the following three years he spent in Rome, having been awarded the Cresson foreign travelling scholarship. In 1910 the American Academy in Rome awarded to him the Prix de Rome. From 1914 he had a studio in New York, and in the fall of 1916 he became head of the sculpture department of the Art Institute of Chicago. Many distinctions have been conferred upon him since: In 1913 he received honorable mention at the Paris Salon, in 1914 the Widener gold medal at the annual exhibition in the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, in 1915 the silver medal at the Panama Exposition. His work is represented at the Metropolitan Museum of New York, the Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts and the Chicago Art Institute. He is a member of the National Sculpture Societ yandSociety and [sic] the Architectural League of New York, and serves on the Board of Art Advisers for the State of Illinois.

Polášek’s art does not aim at producing an effect ,but rather at expressing an idea; he has something to say, when he brings out a statue. One might call him a philosopher who thinks in stone and metal. That is the impression one gets by gazing at his “Sower”, his “Eternal Moment” or his busts.

The best illustration is his “Sower”, the statue that created so much discussion a few years ago and even gave opportunity to censors of morals and silly critics to air their views. One of these wise critics of art argued that the sower should have at least overalls, since a sower is an agriculturist and farmers do not work naked. Polášek tried to create and did create the sower of great and noble ideas, a symbol of the human spirit marching along the highway of ages and sowing truth, life, beauty, strength, progress, love. Such were the great men of history, and from their scattered seeds came forth never-ending fruits that changed the face of the world.

Simplicity and intensity characterize Polášek’s work, and in this he follows the great masters of the Renaissance. Their simple, but classical lines are seen in his relief “Music.” The seriousness and sincerity of his art is best seen in his “Man Carving his Destiny”,. [sic] There is something of Rodin in this torso of human body, full of energy and primitive, though not coarse, strength, shaping its own fate, emancipating itself by great effort from the hardness of adversity and struggling with painful determination to achieve character and great destiny.

Polášek’s sculptural portraits are known all over the United States. The artist does not seek merely to reproduce physical likeness, but to bring out traits and mental qualities, to seize the character. This we see in his bust of F. D. Millet, J. Pierpont Morgan, W. M. Chase, Charles McKim, Theodore N. Early, and in the wonderful sitting portrait of James Butterson in Memorial Hall at Hartford, Conn. Joseph Mach.


text:
Author:Volker Matthias Assing

Works

 * On the Lomechusini fauna of the East Palaearctic and Oriental regions, with a focus on the genera Orphnebius and Amaurodera (Coleoptera: Staphylinidae: Aleocharinae) (2017)

title: Author:Volker Matthias Assing


text: The Czechoslovak Review/Volume 3/Albin Polášek


text: Author:Josef Mach

title: Author:Josef Mach


text:
Page:The Chronicle of Clemendy.pdf/275

 an immense accountamount [sic] of knowledge, and found out all the fine things our land is fertile in, tasting the full-flavoured gilded sausages of Uske Priory, products of the vineyards of Lantonia Abbey in Gloucester, the hams of Caerleon, and the larded meats and sweet cakes of Monmouth. And since he always made himself agreeable, sang a pretty French song, and kissed the black-eyed Silurian maidens with liberality and in a pleasing manner, Sir Philip was welcomed by all and enjoyed himself exceedingly, as he deserved to do. But he never forgot business in his amusements, still keeping his eyes open, and sharpening his wits every day against other folks' brains, as he sat in the snuggest seat of the common-room, or hall, or tavern, ever ready to catch the morsel which should satisfy him for the remainder of his days. After about a year of this life, wherein he learnt more than Oxford, Paris, Padua, and Salamanca could have taught him, he hit upon the notion of visiting his uncle, the old Canon Ambrosius, of Abergavenny; for he was a pious young man, and had heard tell that the cook of the Priory had a curious art of preserving ducks in hot sauces, and that his condiments were on the whole more ecclesiastical than any in the Marches. So between the desire of enjoying the conversation of this admirable cook, and of dutifully serving his uncle, who came of a jovial stock, namely the Ap Adams of Hafod, Sir Philip used more speed in his journey to the Grand Seignory of Burgavenny than he was accustomed, and had to sit very still for many days after he had got there. As

title: Page:The Chronicle of Clemendy.pdf/275


text:
Page:Lucian (IA lucianlucas00collrich).pdf/79

Rh Clo. Don't put yourself in a passion, Charon; look, here he comes, close by, bringing a large company with him—driving them before him, I should rather say, with his rod, like a flock of goats. But what's this? I see one of the party with his hands tied, and another laughing, and another with a wallet on his back and a club in his hand, looking very savage, and hurrying the rest on. And don't you see how Mercury himself is actually running down with sweat, and how dusty his feet are; he's quite out of breath, panting, with his mouth open.—What's the matter, Mercury? What are you so hurried about? You seem quite done up.

Merc. Matter, Clotho? Why, I've been hunting this runaway here, till I suppose you thought I had run away myself to-day, and deserted my ship.

Clo. Who is he? and what did he want to run away for?

Merc. That's plain enough—because he wanted to live a little longer. He's a king or a tyrant of some sort, and from what I can make out from his howlings and lamentations, he complains that he is being taken away from a position of great enjoyment.

Clo. So the fool tried to run away, did he?—when the thread of his life was already spun out!

Merc. Tried to run away, did you say? Why, unless that stout fellow there, he with the club, had helped me, so that we contrived between us to catch him and


text:
Page:Lucian (IA lucianlucas00collrich).pdf/80

70 tie him, he would have got clean off. From the moment that Atropos handed him over to me, he did nothing but kick and struggle all the way, and stuck his heels in the ground, so that it was very hard to get him along. Then sometimes he would beg and pray me to let him go—just for a little bit—offering me ever so much money. But I, as was my duty, refused—especially as it was impossible. But when we got just to the entrance, and I was counting over the dead, as usual, to Æacus, and he was checking them off by the list which your sister had sent him, lo and behold! this rascal had got off somehow or other, and was missing. So there was one dead man short of the count. Æacus frowned at me awfully. "Don't try your cheating game here, Mercury," says he,—"it's quite enough to play such tricks up above; here in the Shades we keep strict accounts, and you can't humbug us. A thousand and four, you observe, my list has marked on it; and you come here bringing me one too few—unless you please to say that Atropos cheated you in the reckoning." I quite blushed at his words, and recollected at once what had happened on the road; and when I cast my eyes round and couldn’t see that wretch, I knew he had escaped, and ran back after him all the way, towards daylight, and that excellent fellow there went with me, of his own accord; and by running like race-horses we caught him just at Tænarus —so near he was getting away.


text:
Page:A New Letter to the Workers of Europe and America.pdf/4

 from Socialism and Social Democracy, contaminated by an alliance with the brigand bourgeoisie, and toward Communism— the road which leads away from petty-bourgeois reformism and opportunism, which had completely permeated and still permeates the official Social Democracy and Socialist parties, and toward real proletarian and revolutionary tactics.

Now, on the 12th of January, 1919, we find a great number of Communist proletarian parties, not only within the confines of the former empire of the Czar, as in Lettonia, Finland, Poland, but also in Western Europe—in Austria, Hungary, Holland, and finally in Germany. When the German Spartacus League—lead by its world renowned and celebrated leaders, by such real supporters of the cause of the laboring class as Liebknecht, Rosa Luxemburg, Clara Zetkin and Franz Mehring finally broke off its cooperation with the Socialist traitors of the Scheidemann and Suedekum stamp, these social chauvinists (Socialists in words but chauvinists in action), who forever contaminated themselves by their alliance with the imperialistic brigand bourgeoisie of Germany and with Wilhelm II.; when the Spartacus League took the name of the Communist Party of Germany, then the foundation was laid for the real proletarian, the real international, the real revolutionary Third International. The Communist International became a reality. Its formation has not yet been formally established, yet, in fact, the Third International is already acting.

Now, no conscious Workingman, and no sincere Socialist, can fail to see what shameful treason against Socialism was perpetrated by those who, in line with the Mensheviks and


text: Memorials of a Tour on the Continent, 1820


text:
Page talk:A New Letter to the Workers of Europe and America.pdf/4

Archaic words
I don't know where Lettonia is, and neither might some of the readers. Shouldn't we link to its Wiktionary page? Shushimnotrealstooge (talk) 21:59, 2 December 2023 (UTC)
 * Why not, it is possible. --Jan Kameníček (talk) 19:51, 3 December 2023 (UTC)


text: Memorials of a Tour on the Continent, 1820/Source of the Danube


text:
Page:A voyage round the world, in His Britannic Majesty's sloop, Resolution, commanded by Capt. James Cook, during the years 1772, 3, 4, and 5 (IA b30413849 0001).pdf/261

Rh

that he would not destroy his plantations, but leave every thing to grow up and propagate, and returned aboard the Resolution, where the marines fired three vollies, and our crews gave three heerty cheers in token of affection to their king.

The wind freshened considerably after noon, and continued to blow very hard for two days following, so that we were obliged to lie at anchor till the 7th in the morning, when we weighed and sailed out of Ship Cove, in company with the Adventure. Our stay here had proved so beneficial to our crews, that they might now be said to be to the full as healthy as when they left England; and we had only a single sick man, a marine, on board our sloop, who had laboured under a consumption and dropsy ever since we had left England.


text:
Page:Lorna Doone - a romance of Exmoor (IA lornadooneromanc691blac).pdf/82

many a winter-night went by in a hopeful and pleasant manner, with the hissing of the bright round bullets, cast into the water, and the spluttering of the great red apples which Annie was roasting for me. We always managed our evening's work in the chimney of the back-kitchen, where there was room to set chairs and table, in spite of the fire burning. On the right-hand side was a mighty oven, where Betty threatened to bake us; and on the left, long sides of bacon, made of favoured pigs, and growing very brown and comely. Annie knew the names of all, and ran up through the wood-smoke, every now and then, when a gentle memory moved her, and asked them how they were getting on, and when they would like to be eaten. Then she came back with foolish tears, at thinking of that necessity; and I, being soft in a different way, would make up my mind against bacon.

But, Lord bless you! it was no good. Whenever it came to breakfast-time, after three hours upon the moors, I regularly forgot the pigs, but paid good heed


text:
Page:November Joe.pdf/33

 him. Yes, that's all. Much obliged. Yes, the sooner he hears about it, the better. Good-night."

I hung up the receiver, turned to Mrs. Harding, and told her the facts. That capable woman nodded decisively.

"You won't have much time to lose, then. I'll put you up a bite to eat."

As I hastily got my things together, I began asking questions about Joe.

"So November is connected with police work now?"

Mrs. Harding answered me with another question.

"Did n't you read in the newspapers about the 'Long Island Murder'?"

I remembered the case at once; it had been a nine days' wonder of headline and comment, and now I wondered how it was that I had missed the mention of Joe's name.

"November was the man who put together that puzzle for them down in New York," Mrs. Harding went on. "Ever since they have been wanting him to work for them. They offered him a hundred dollars a month to

title: Page:November Joe.pdf/33


text: Index:Comparative morphology of the mouthparts of the megadiverse South African monkey beetles (Scarabaeidae, Hopliini) - feeding adaptations and guild structure.pdf


text:
Page:November Joe.pdf/34

 go to New York and take on detective jobs there."

"Ah, and what had he to say to that?"

"Said he would n't leave the woods for a thousand."

"Well?"

"They offered him the thousand."

"With what result?"

"He started out in the night for his shack. Came in here as he passed, and told my husband he would rather be tied to a tree in the woods for the rest of his life than live on Fifth Avenue. The lumber-jacks and the guides hereabouts think a lot of him. Now you'd best saddle Laura—that's the big grey mare you'll find in the near stall of the stable—and go right off. There'll be a moon when the storm blows itself out."

By the help of the lantern I saddled Laura and stumbled away into the dark and the wind. For the chief part of the way I had to lead the mare, and the dawn was grey in the open places before I reached the deserted lumber-camp, and all the time my mind was busy with memories of November. Boy though he had been when I

title: Page:November Joe.pdf/34


text:
Page:New Peterson magazine 1859 Vol. XXXV.pdf/50

ANNE

DALAND

51

bed, covered with ragged quilts, lay a man. He  turned his head feebly, at her entrance, andi looked at her. His face instantly brightened. She thought she had seen the rough, coarse features, seamed with small-pox before, haggard and changed by sickness as they were now, but for the life of her she could not tell when. "Oh" said the man, “I’m so glad you’ve come at last. Sit down, sit down, if you were an angel I couldn't be gladder to see you!"

Anne looked round, then took the broken chair by the bed:

"I'm glad you know me Mr. Brett," she said, gently; but I don't think I recollect where I have seen you."

"You went to see old Malone once, when I was there, and you read to him out of a Bible such blessed words about the Lord, as how He  told ’em about ‘the mansions,’ and not  to be   afraid, and how he loved ’em; I never could forget them words, never; and, since I’ve been sick here, it seems as I’d give the world and welcome just to hear you read them blessed words again.”

Here a terrible fit of coughing interrupted him. When it was over, Annie told him that she remembered his coming into Mr. Malone’s very well, the first time she went to read to him, and wished she had known of his being sick before.

“Oh! Miss, I’ve thought on you day and night since I’ve been lying here, and didn’t know where to send for you, nor nothing, only that your name was Daland. And there wasn’t nobody that could read to me, only the doctor, as has been a week now to see me, and I hadn’t no courage to ask him, though he’s been very kind.”

Anne was very much touched, and glad that she had come at once. She read to him the fourteenth chapter of John, and the tears came into her eyes, when he told her, that that chapter, which she had read to Mr. Malone that day he had seen her there, was the only one he had heard since he was a child, for he had not been in a church for years.

Anne sat with him nearly an hour, talking with him about the Saviour, “who will in no wise cast out any who come to him.” He listened eagerly, never taking his eyes off her face, and when she went away, entreated her to come again.

She went often after that, every day when it was possible, and did what she could to make him more comfortable while he lived, and she promised Mrs. Tighe, who lived in the room below, that she would pay her well if she would go in often, and attend to his wants, for he had no one to take care of him.

He always smiled when Anne came to see him, and he would say, “The Lord bless you," when she would ﬁnish reading to him, as she always did, though sometimes she read but a few verses at a time, because he was so weak.

“Shure he can’t last. much longer, Miss!" said Mrs. Tight: to her, one afternoon, as she passed the door. “The doctor told me so himself, this mornin’, an' ain't it verra kind in him now, to come and see him so often, and make the poor craythur as asy as he can, till he dies; considerin’ too, he knows it‘s niver a bit of pay he’ll get for it?"

Anne thought it was. It was later than usual, one dull afternoon when she went, but she hurried along, and thought she would have time to be at home before dark. She found her invalid brighter than usual, thankful for some grapes she brought him, eager to have her read to him. After she had read much longer than usual, he said to her, “If it wouldn’t be asking too much, wouldn’t you sing to me a little? I recollect how they used to chant and sing hymns in the chapel, when I was a little boy to homo, and it did sound beautiful.”

“Yes, Mr. Brett, I’ll sing a hymn to you, if you promise to shut your eyes and let me sing you to sleep.”

“Bless you!” said he, “I’ll try.”

Anne thought a moment, then began to sing “ Jerusalem, my happy home,” in her low voice. In the middle of it, she thought she heard a creaking on the stairs; but concluding it was one of Mrs. Tighe’s children, sang it all through. Mr. Brett was not asleep, and great tears were dropping through the thin fingers with which he had covered his face. She turned her head toward the door, and there stood a young gentle¬ man, with his hat in his hand, listening. She started, and Mr. Brett looked round.

“Oh! is that you, Dr. Morris?” said he. “Come in; she,” pointing to Anne, “is the angel the Lord sent me when I was sick.”

Anne colored, and could pot help smiling at the odd introduction. The stranger smiled, too, as he bowed quietly to her, and said to his patient,

“I almost thought it must be an angel, myself, at first, when I heard the singing as I came up stairs, Mr. Brett. I didn’t know what to make of it, I was so startled by it. Yon must excuse my listening to you on the stairs,” he said to Anne, “but I could not help it. I hope I have not interrupted you.”

“Oh! no,” replied Anne, “I have stayed too


text:
Page:The Necromancer, or, The Tale of the Black Forest Vol. 2.djvu/30

 "We know," began Lieutenant N, their spokesman, "we know that you are, or at least have been, very intimate with the Austrian, and you will, of course, be able to inform us, how your friend came to be acquainted with the cheats of the Necromancer. We have reason to think that he would have acted with more circumspection, if he had known that the Necromancer was no other person than Volkert, his former intimate favorite: We hope you will be so kind to clear up the matter: The Austrian's firmness of mind, his solid character, and his unshaken belief in the possibility of apparitions, give us strong reasons to think that he cannot have acted thus without mature deliberation."

Being but ill-disposed to enter into a circumstantial narrative, and not at all inclined to inform the intruding gentlemen of our adventures at the Haunted Castle, I called one of my corporals, who had been on the watch in the fatal inn the preceding night. "This


text:
Page:Blackwood's Magazine volume 164.djvu/330

 312 dead, and youth, strength, genius, thoughts, achievements, simple hearts—all dies. … No matter.

"They loaded us at last. We shipped a crew. Eight able seamen and two boys. We hauled off one evening to the buoys at the dock-gates, ready to go out, and with a fair prospect of beginning the voyage next day. Mrs Beard was to start for home by a late train. When the ship was fast we went to tea. We sat rather silent through the meal—Mahon, the old couple, and I. I finished first, and slipped away for a smoke, my cabin being in a deck-house just against the poop. It was high water, blowing fresh; the double dock-gates were opened, and the steam-colliers were going in and out in the darkness with their lights burning bright, a great plashing of propellers, rattling of winches, and a lot of hailing on the pier-heads. I watched the procession of head-lights gliding high and of green lights gliding low in the night, when suddenly a red gleam flashed at me, vanished, came into view again, and remained. The fore-end of a steamer loomed up close. I shouted down the cabin, 'Come up, quick!' and then heard a startled voice saying afar in the dark, 'Stop her, sir. A bell jingled. Another voice cried warningly, 'We are going right into that barque, sir.' The answer to this was a gruff 'All right,' and the next thing was a heavy crash as the steamer struck a glancing blow with the bluff of her bow about our fore-rigging. There was a moment of confusion, yelling, and running about. Steam roared. Then somebody was heard saying, 'All clear, sir.' 'Are you all right?' asked the gruff voice. I had jumped forward to see the damage, and hailed back, 'I think so.' 'Easy astern,' said the gruff voice. A be]l jingled. 'What steamer is that?' screamed Mahon. By that time she was no more to us than a bulky shadow manœuvring a little way off. They shouted at us some name—a woman's name, Miranda or Melissa—or some such thing. 'This means another month in this beastly hole,' said Mahon to me, as we peered with lamps about the splintered bulwarks and broken braces. 'But where's the captain?'

"We had not heard or seen him all that time. We went aft to look. A doleful voice arose hailing somewhere in the middle of the dock, 'Judea ahoy!' How the devil did he get there? 'Hallo!' we shouted. 'I am adrift in our boat without oars,' he cried. A belated waterman offered his services, and Mahon struck a bargain with him for half-a-crown to tow our skipper alongside; but it was Mrs Beard that came up the ladder first. They had been floating about the dock in that mizzly cold rain for nearly an hour. I was never so surprised in my life.

"It appears that when he heard my shout 'Come up' he understood at once what was the matter, caught up his wife, ran on deck, and across, and down into our boat, which was fast to the ladder. Not bad for a sixty-year-old. Just imagine that old fellow saving heroically in his arms that old woman—the woman of his life. He set her down on a thwart, and was just climbing back on board when the painter came adrift somehow, and away they went together. Of course in the confusion we did not hear him shouting. He looked abashed. She said cheerfully, 'I suppose it does not matter my losing the train now?' 'No, Jenny—you go below and get warm,' he growled. Then to us: 'A sailor has no business with a wife—I say. There I was, out of the ship.


text:
Page:The Necromancer, or, The Tale of the Black Forest Vol. 2.djvu/31

 man," said I, "will tell you more of the matter than I know, having watched every motion of the Necromancer, and discovered all his secret machinations."

The old veteran was very willing to satisfy their curiosity, and began a prolix narration of every proceeding in the lower apartment of the inn. The inn-keeper was, as he related, deceived like ourselves, but his servants had acted in concert with Volkert, and enabled him by their assistance, to impose upon us.

Not being disposed to listen to his tale, I did not mind what he related, but my visitors, more attentive than myself, appeared at least to be fully satisfied and left me, after a profusion of thanks for having freed them of their doubts and errors.

The separation from my venerable friend had spread a melancholy gloom over my mind, which nothing could dispel: His conversations had been so instructing, his princi-


text: Page:The Music of the Spheres.djvu/100

title: Page:The Music of the Spheres.djvu/100


text:
Page:The Music of the Spheres.djvu/101

9 o'clock on the 8th of April, a large, bright sickle passes near the zenith. This sickle lies just south of the Big Dipper and is a clearly defined figure among the other designs which decorate the sky during the early spring.

Truly, this is a strange symbol to see emblazoned in the heavens; has it too a story? Indeed, yes; this cluster of stars is the Sickle of Leo and lies on the head of the fierce Nemean lion which came from the moon and which was later killed by Hercules and transferred to the starry sky. The lion's head rests in the curve of the figure; his shaggy neck on the short straight line and his heart beneath the bright star on the end.

Not far away lies the rest of this brave creature with another bright star on the tuft of his tail. Drawn together, the sickle and the triangle now suggest a very dignified lion, although in the old star atlases he is pictured as a very ferocious lion transfixed in a moment of action.

Note well this curious sickle-shaped figure beneath the bowl of the Big Dipper. We will take this figure just at present, as a

title: Page:The Music of the Spheres.djvu/101


text:
Page:Richard III (1927) Yale.djvu/146

132

K. Rich. Give me another horse! bind up my wounds!

Have mercy, Jesu! Soft! I did but dream.

O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!

The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.

Cold fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.

What? do I fear myself? there's none else by:

Richard loves Richard; that is, I am I.

Is there a murtherer here? No. Yes, I am:

Then fly: what! from myself? Great reason: why?

Lest I revenge. What? myself upon myself?

Alack! I love myself. Wherefore? for any good

That I myself have done unto myself?

O no: alas! I rather hate myself

For hateful deeds committed by myself.

I am a villain. Yet I lie; I am not.

Fool, of thyself speak well: fool, do not flatter.

My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,

And every tongue brings in a several tale,

And every tale condemns me for a villain.

Perjury, [perjury,] in the high'st degree:

Murther, stern murther, in the dir'st degree;

All several sins, all us'd in each degree,

Throng all to the bar, crying all, 'Guilty! guilty!'

I shall despair. There is no creature loves me;

And if I die, no soul shall pity me:

Nay, wherefore should they, since that I myself

Find in myself no pity to myself?

Methought the souls of all that I had murther'd

Came to my tent; and every one did threat

To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.

 180 coward conscience; cf. n.

181 lights blue; cf. n.

now; cf. n.

183 Cf. n.

200 bar: i.e. of justice

202 shall; cf. n.

title: Page:Richard III (1927) Yale.djvu/146


text:
Page:New Peterson magazine 1859 Vol. XXXV.pdf/52

WHAT

ANNE

DALAND

today, poor Brett’s face lights up, an’ off he goes a telling the doctor of all your kindness to him, till you’d think he'd never be done. An’ the doctor he stands and listens, and shure I’ve noticed,” said the shrewd Irish woman, with a glance at Anne, whose face did not change in the least, “that he never tells’him at all he’ll be hurting himself talking, when he’s speaking of you, but other times he stops him.”

It was but two or three days after this, that Anne, os she stood at the door of the garret, heard voices, and a sort of hubbub in the usually quiet room. She started as she went in. On the bed lay a long, white figure, covered with a sheet. Mrs. Tighe was washing up the floor, and talking with one of the neighbors, who sat watching her. The Sick man was dead. Anne’s tears fell fast as she turned back the sheet, and looked at the thin, white face, on which rested a holy calm that awed her.

“He went off very soft and peaceful-like,” said Mrs. Tighe, wiping her eyes with her apron. “He prayed the Lord to bless you over and over: then he looked np quick, very bright, and said something about ‘the many mansions,’ that I couldn’t understand, and didn’t breathe no more.”

Several months had passed away. There was a select party at Mrs. Ward’s, who was universally acknowledged to give the most delightful parties in town. Her social position as well as her own personal charms, enabled her to draw around her the most elegant, the most intellectual, whatever was best in the society of the city. Her easy, cordial manners, which were too highbred to be other than simple and unassuming, charmed all, and she possessed the rare quality as hostess of drawing out the particular gift of each of her guests, and making each appear to the best advantage. The brightly-lighted rooms were nearly filled. In front of a crimson curtain, which threw off her figure in clear relief, stood Anne Daland, as natural and unconscious in her airy dress of white lace, with superb scarlet verbenas in her bosom and hair, as a few hours before, in her calico morning-dress, at work in the kitchen, the cook having gone to bed sick.

“Mary, I don’t believe Dr. Morris is coming after all,” said Miss Osgood, one of a group standing near Anne.

Anne had not seen him since the night when he had so gallantly protected her from insult, and waited with some interest for the reply.

“I should think he would come, he is such a particular friend of Mrs. Ward’s,” replied Mary Barle, the one addressed, “I’m dying for an introduction to him. Delightful, isn’t he?”

“Perfectly, and has such an animated, brilliant face, and such expressive blue eyes, and manners that arc so free, and yet so gentlemanly!” The young lady was becoming very enthusiastic, when she suddenly exclaimed in a low voice, “Oh, there ho comes now!”

Mrs. Ward’s handsome face brightened as Walter Morris entered the room, and came toward her. She reproached him playfully for coming so late, that she had positively given him up. “You may imagine my despair,” said she.

“More easily than I can describe my own, when I feared I could not come, as I did an hour ago.”

A little conversation, full of raillery and fun, passed between them, then Mrs. Ward said to him, “I have private designs upon you tonight,

Walter, I am going to introduce you to an indefinite number of pretty girls, who will do their best to fascinate you, but it’s on your peril that you fall a victim to any but the one I have chosen.”

“Why, may I ask?” he said, looking gayly round the room.

“Because she is a young friend of mine, whom

I am sure your fastidious taste-” he bowed sedately, “is sure to appreciate. I have been longing for an opportunity for ever so long to introduce you to each other, it’s such a clear case of suitability. She is so entirely charming and good! more than ordinarily cultivated, she is so simply earnest and natural in everything she does! In short, the most lovable creature!

Prepare to be vanquished as soon as I introduce you.”

“I have once seen one,” said the young man, quietly, “to whom your glowing description might apply: but I do not see her here.”

“Alas, then! If you have ever seen one whom you could so wholly admire, I withdraw from the field, you are already vanquished.”

“I declare, Mrs. Ward,” said he, “I was not aware that I admitted anything of the kind. To Jove and to admire are not the same thing, are they? If they are, in what danger I stand at this very moment,” looking at her with warm admiration expressed in his fine eyes, as she stood,gracefully before him.

“To waste such a look and speech as that on an old married woman, Walter!” she said, in a deprecating tone. “But it’s not fair for mo to monopolize you in this way. Let me take your arm, and I will go and present you to Miss Hale over there. She is not the one though, my young lady wears only natural flowers: and is the only one here tonight who does, I think.”


text: The Czechoslovak Review/Volume 3/Budget, War and Election


text:
Page:The Music of the Spheres.djvu/102

 leader, while calling attention to the oddly assorted but interestingly assembled groups of stars which follow Leo in a widely curved path near the dome of the heavens, from the far northeast to the far northwest.

These groups appear one by one like a line of floats pulled up over the horizon; then drawn in a glittering procession toward the west. Each evening they appear farther along in their journey westward,—a pageant far distant in the darkness yet visible by the gleaming of its lights.

Closely following Leo, the Leader, is a representation in faint golden starlight of Queen Berenice's Hair; next the lovely orange-yellow star, Arcturus, on the dim kite-shaped figure of Boötes, the Herdsman; then a crown of star gems which belonged to Ariadne, daughter of an ancient king of Crete; a huge giant called Hercules; the golden Lyre with which Apollo raised the walls of Troy and Orpheus charmed the souls in Hades; and last, but not least, a large and beautiful Cross.

The Lion disappears behind the western "bulge of the world" during the early summer, although the last of the procession, the great Cross borne on the back of Cygnus, the Swan, does not even reach the meridian—the line midway between east and west—until September. Some of these groups are also seen later than October, but at that time their splendor is dimmed by the gorgeous winter constellations in the southeast.

According to the classic legend of the Greeks, Leo was the celebrated Nemean Lion which Hercules killed as the first of the Twelve Labors which were imposed upon him by his cousin Eurystheus, who was king of the Perseidæ only through priority of birth. This lion was the largest and fiercest lion in the world with a skin so invulnerable that no arrow had ever succeeded in

title: Page:The Music of the Spheres.djvu/102


text:
Page:New Peterson magazine 1859 Vol. XXXV.pdf/53

54

WHAT

ANNE

DALAND

DID.

Anne was enjoying herself extremely. A little while before supper she was talking brightly with a little group of gentlemen gathered round her. Dr. Morris, unconsciously standing near, engaged in a conversation that bored him, heard some one say, “That is Miss Daland. Has she not an interesting face?”

He turned quickly, and for the first time during the evening saw Anne. Their eyes met, he bowed, and with a face full of pleasure, at once went toward her.

“This is such an unexpected pleasure, Miss Daland!”

Anne gracefully returned his salutation, with perhaps a slightly heightened color in her cheek.

“I am not sure, Miss Daland,” said he, “that I have a right to presume upon an introduction so informal as mine to you, and so long ago. But here comes Mrs. Ward, and she is looking this way. May I not ask her to introduce me in form. Miss Daland?” glancing back brightly toward her, as he went to meet Mrs. Ward and make his request.

“I am indignant, Walter,” said that lady, in answer to it. “You know that I meant to have the pleasure of introducing you to Miss Daland myBelf. Some one, I see, has forestalled me, and so you maliciously ask me to do it now, to teaze ine, I suppose, for being so dilatory. Who would believe that so ingenuous a face could conceal such malice? Do not let me interrupt your con¬ versation with Miss Daland, I pray you,” and with an assumed air of injured dignity, she turned away from him.

“What splendid verbenas, Anne!” she said, “you always wear natural flowers I have no¬ ticed,” and darting a quick look at Dr. Morris as she spoke, she left them.

“Mrs. Ward has refused my request, thinking it unnecessary. Perhaps it is just as well. She could not have equalled the way in which our poor friend Brett introduced you, simply as an angel, as if you had no earthly name. How strangely unfortunate I was in not meeting you there again!”

Anne replied, “You would not have said unfor¬ tunate, if you had not forgotten the affair with the sailor, and the long walk in the rain afterward, in consequence of meeting me there.”

“Pardon me,” said he, looking at her, “but it was because I did not forget the opportunity it gave me of defending you, or the walk with you, that I said ‘unfortunate.”

“Do you consider it your mission,” she an¬ swered, with a smile, “to go round like one of the knights of old——”

“Do say like Bayard, Miss Daland,” he interrupted, entreatingly.

She laughed. “Well then like ‘Bayard, sans peur et sans TeprocheJ defending poor, unprotected damsels?”

Walter was about to reply, when the door of the supper-room was thrown open, which diverted his attention. He had the pleasure of taking Anne out, and secretly congratulated himself on his good fortune, as he saw a gentleman, just approaching her for the same purpose, turn away with a disappointed air.

He devoted himself to her all the rest of the evening, thereby drawing down upon her the envy of divers young ladies present.

It was late when Mr Daland came to Anne and told her that the carriage was waiting for them. She bid Dr. Morris good evening, and taking her father’s arm was turning away, when she remembered that he had her fan, which he had been using in her service,

“Oh, Miss Daland!” he said with a tragic air, as at her request he handed it to her, “I was in hopes you would forget it.”

“Why?”

“So that I might call in a day or two, and return it.”

Anne laughed at his ingenuity, and gave him permission to call on her, without having her fan for a pretext.

He did call, and gradually became so frequent a visitor, that it became a matter of course. Mr. Daland quietly mAde inquiries as to the gentle- man’s character and prospects, and probably found them unexceptionable, for he did not for- bid the continuance of the calls. For Anne’s part, when any of her friends teased her about him, she always looked indignant, and answered with a good deal of dignity, and some warmth, that Dr. Morris and herself were “excellent friends, and that was all.”

They were excellent friends, undoubtedly: he lent her books to read from his library, frequently if dropped in of an evening, when she was playing to her father, “happening to pass by,” of course. At her request, he visited old Mr. Malone, whom she went once a week to read to, and, by his professional skill, helped him so, that occasionally he was able to walk out, which he had not done before for more than a year. And, in return, he told her of a poor family whom he had been called to see, who were really suffering from want. So Mrs. Daland and Anne interested themselves in them, found an employer for the husband, who was a gardener, and clothed the children up so, that every Sunday they might have been seen, with cheerful faces, in Anne’s


text:
Page:The Czechoslovak Review, vol3, 1919.djvu/239

 solutely on the Poles, and it was never disappointed. All attempts to create a common Slav front against the Germans were wrecked by Polish aristocracy.

The Magyars were more energetic and brutal in using their influence at court. They held many of the highest places, they adhered to whoever had the real power and they went remorselessly after anything they desired. It was due to them principally that the plans of the dynasty for the conciliation of the Czechs resulted in failure. Even when the war was plainly lost, they refused to consider for a moment autonomy for the Slovaks. And they were thoroughly selfish; when the emperor on several occasions appealed to Magyar magnates and pointed to the favors they had received from the dynasty, they would make no concessions for the sake of the reigning family.

The Czechoslovak question was passed over by the court as insignificant, until our campaign abroad was fully developed and the Entente gained over for us. Up to that time the big people at court were content to have the Czechs looked after by military judges, policemen, spies and such like. Nobody took us seriously; there were to be sure wholesale desertions, and several regiments had to be disbanded, but there was no open rebellion in Bohemia and no one at court saw any reason to be worried about the Czechs. Too late the ruling circles realized that the Bohemian nobility and minister Trnka did not represent the nation, that the masses of the Czech people were firmly lined up in support of the policy of the leaders in Entente countries. Attempts were made to break up Czech ranks by concessions; but as soon as the word was mentioned, Germans and Magyars made an outcry; why, they had fought for Austria and the emperor, while the Czechs were traitors; no concessions to traitors at the expense of patriots. Charles himself was rather sensible about it; he did not blame the Czechs for accepting what the Entente offered them, but against united German-Magyar opposition he was powerless.

William, who got his information from the German foreign office and Germans in Bohemia did not consider the Czech question of much importance. He made no objection to an offer of concessions, but he assured Charles that when Germany defeated Italy and revolution broke out in Lombardy, the Czechs would crawl back to obedience like whipped dogs. But he emphatically opposed granting of self-government to the Czechs, because that would make trouble for him at home.

The court would have liked to conciliate us and its plans very likely would have won over some sheep amongst us. But the Germans and Magyars made any real negotiation with us impossible. Toward the end the sentiment at court was far more hostile toward us; we were blamed both for military defeats ad for the failure of Austrian peace offers. But even then the emperor would have been glad to secure our submission by concessions.

The last reports I received before the overthrow were brief: October 6, 1918: “Negotiations between our man and V. (William) proceed by means of visits and letters. Our man is determined to end it at any cost or abdicate. He is angry, because V. did not keep his promise about accepting all the fourteen points of W. (Wilson). V. could not put it through at home.” October 26, 1918. “Our man wishes to go with his whole family to his country place where he thinks he is best liked. He believes that the war must be ended by Christmas, and something may end it sooner There is food stored in the castle up to Christmas The other members are also going away everyone in great fear”

Americanization which the Department of the interior conducts from Washington quite sensibly and with proper appreciation of its complexities has become identified in the minds of some state legislators with Prussian methods of suppressing all that may be inconvenient to the rulers of the state. Thus in Nebraska the legislature made it a crime not merely to have non-English public schools, but to teach children privately, out of school hours and ordinary school buildings, any language but English; and the chair of Bohemian in the University of Nebraska, ably filled for ten years by Prof. Šárka Hrbková, has been abolished on the pretext of insufficient attendance, although other universities are just beginning to introduce courses in Slav languages. In Illinois also an attempt was made to make it impossible for children to learn any language but English, but after the bill passed in the Senate, it was killed in the House, mainly through the efforts of members of the legislature, Joseph Plaček, Joseph Peřina, Edward Smejkal and Joseph Petlák.


text:
Page:The Music of the Spheres.djvu/103

 even denting it. The huge beast was also so rapacious that it was fast annihilating all the inhabitants of Nemea, which was the ancient name of the deep valley of Argolis. Hercules had no trouble in tracking the lion through the valley, which was only two or three miles long and half a mile broad, and easily found its den. Rushing in, he barricaded the opening, grasped the lion by the throat and after a terrific struggle, crushed the beast in his arms. Ever after he wore the tough, impenetrable skin as a covering for his own defense. The Nemean games, one of the national festivals of the Greeks, are believed to have been founded by Hercules after his victory over the Nemean lion. There is some evidence that there was a lion traced among the stars before the time of Hercules, but, if so, the Greeks erased the impression and substituted their own lion in its stead.

Leo, the Nemean lion in stars, is seen at his best during the early evenings of March, April, May and June, although he makes his first appearance on the 4th of March when, just as the sun sets in the west, his tail rises above the eastern horizon. In April he is at his highest point in his path across the sky, lying just to the south and below the bowl of the Big Dipper.

On the end of the handle of the Sickle shines Regulus, also called Cor Leonis which means "The Heart of the Lion." Regulus sends out 300 times as much light as our sun, but is so far away that it takes 99 years for its light to reach us. This star rises in the northeast at twilight on the 15th of February and crosses the meridian at 8 o'clock on April 23rd.

One generally thinks of stars as being bright and gay, but Regulus has a companion which is somber and so unusual in its appearance as compared with other stars that it was described by Winlock, its discoverer, as if "steeped in indigo." Later it was found that this

title: Page:The Music of the Spheres.djvu/103


text:
Page:Richard III (1927) Yale.djvu/147

Richard the Third, V. iii

Rat. My lord!

K. Rich. ['Zounds!] Who's there?

Rat. Ratcliff, my lord; 'tis I. The early village cock

Hath twice done salutation to the morn;

Your friends are up, and buckle on their armour.

[K. Rich. O Ratcliff! I have dream'd a fearful dream.

What thinkest thou, will our friends prove all true?

Rat. No doubt, my lord.]

K. Rich. O Ratcliff! I fear, I fear,—

Rat. Nay, good my lord, be not afraid of shadows.

K. Rich. By the apostle Paul, shadows to-night

Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard

Than can the substance of ten thousand soldiers,

Armed in proof, and led by shallow Richmond.

'Tis not yet near day. Come, go with me;

Under our tents I'll play the eaves-dropper,

To hear if any mean to shrink from me.

Exeunt Richard and Ratcliff.

Lords. Good morrow, Richmond!

Richm. Cry mercy, lords, and watchful gentlemen,

That you have ta'en a tardy sluggard here.

Lords. How have you slept, my lord?

Richm. The sweetest sleep, and fairest-boding dreams

That ever enter'd in a drowsy head,

Have I since your departure had, my lords.

 209 'Zounds: an oath, God's wounds

213–215 Cf. n.

220 proof: impenetrable armor

222 eaves-dropper; cf. n.

225 Cry mercy: I beg your pardon

title: Page:Richard III (1927) Yale.djvu/147


text:
Page:New Peterson magazine 1859 Vol. XXXV.pdf/54

 WHAT ANNE DALAND DID.

55

Sunday-School class. In the bright, golden days of October, when the air is so delicious that it seems almost a sin to stay in-doors, they took long walks together, and had sometimes long and earnest conversations, but they never talked of love.

It was a charming winter’s day. Anne sat alone with her sewing, by the window in their little sitting-room opening with glass doors into the parlor. Presently there was a ring at the door. Anne inclined her head a moment to listen to the voices in the hall. A smile flitted across her face, and she took up her work again.

“I may come in here, Miss Anne, mayn’t I?” said Dr. Morris, in his clear, pleasant tone, appearing at the glass doors, the servant having showed him into the parlor.

“Certainly, I give you possession,” replied Anne, in a cordial tone, rising, and giving him her hand. “And I will go on with my sewing, while you may be as comfortable and lazy as you ehoo?e in that arm-chair.”

There was a charming air of comfort and coziness about the little room, with its bright Are in the grate, Anne’s Maltese kitten asleep in front of it, and the little table drawn up to the window, with its hooks and work-basket, and a Parian vase with geraniums in it. Anne’s figure completed the picture, and gave its chief charm as she sat by the table, her head bent slightly forward over her sewing, her smooth, brown hair, the soft color in her cheek, the lace round her white throat, the soft folds of her blue dress, from beneath which peeped a dainty slipper, all looking so sweet and womanly. There is no doubt Walter Morris thought so to himself, as he drew up the big arm-chair, and took possession of it.

Conversation went on smoothly as usual, for a time, then came an awkward pause. The young man’s eyes were fixed earnestly on her face, and Anne felt embarrassed, and began looking for something in her work-basket. Among other things, she came across a kid glove, and took it out, saying,

“That doesn’t belong in here.”

Walter took np the glove, which was hers, looked at it a moment, then laid it on the table again.

“I believe it’s a universal custom with gentlemen to have all sorts of keepsakes and souvenirs of their lady friends. I have but one, Miss Anne, and that is a little kid glove which I found once. I treasure that because I love with my whole heart, as I never thought I could love any woman, the one whom it belongs to,” and his voice trembled with feeling. He spoke with an almost passionate ardor of manner that Anne had never seen in him before. A sharp, sudden thrill of surprise and pain went all through her at this unexpected confession of his love for another, it seemed for a moment as though her heart stopped beating. But she had a woman’s pride, and though the sudden rush of feeling, and the strong effort for self-command made her paler, she answered, almost playfully, but without raising her eyes from her sewing: “Like the prince in ‘Cinderella,’ who found the slipper in the ball-room, you vowed, I suppose, that the owner of that glove should be yours.”

“I found my treasure in a very different place from a ball-room, Miss Anne. It. was on the rough floor of an old garret, where on a ragged bed a dying man lay, whom the one who dropped my glove there, had been to as an angel of mercy, and had cheered with the hope of heaven. Do you wonder that I took up the little glove, and kissed it almost reverently, and have treasured it ever since?”

Anne looked up quickly at him, her face flushing crimson.

“There it is,” he said, laying a little, brown kid glove in her lap. “If you know the one who lost it, tell her that nothing in the wide world could make me so happy, as to call the little hand that once wore it mine!”

Anne took it up. It was hers. She held it for a moment in fingers that were trembling, her eyes growing dim with tears. Walter was watching her breathlessly. Then, still holding the glove, she laid her hand in his.

Two years have passed. We will draw away the curtains from the windows, whence streams such a cheerful light into the darkness of the street, and look into the pleasant parlor. By the centre-table under the brightly-lighted chandelier sits Walter Morris, having just laid down the hook he was reading out aloud, to hold a skein of silk for his young wife, (Anne Daland that was, they have been married a year and a half) who, as she winds it, is talking with animation all the while, though stopping now and then when she comes to a snarl.

“Cousin Mary says in her letter, Walter, that I mustn’t let happiness make me selfish.”

Her husband looks at her with a quiet smile, but there is a depth of tenderness in it. “I only wish you were a little more selfish. I was thinking just now that you looked tired—what have you been doing today?”

“I went this morning to Judge Stuart’s and staid a good while with Clara, she feels her brother’s sudden death so much, poor girl! Then this afternoon to our Sunday-School, where we


text: The Czechoslovak Review/Volume 3/Americanization which the Department of the interior conducts


text:
Page:The Music of the Spheres.djvu/104

 oddly colored star also has a companion which makes Regulus a triple star.

The second star above Regulus is also interesting. This star is a beautiful double described in such refreshing terms as "golden-orange" and "bronze-green." It may be seen in a medium sized telescope. Later we will become acquainted with a wonderful red star which also has a green companion. Such combinations are most amazing to gaze upon.

The second brightest star adorning Leo is Denebola, which flashes on the end of his tail. Denebola is 10 times as bright as our sun and is 25 light years away. Since Regulus, on the heart of the Lion, is 99 light years distant and Denebola, on the tail of the Lion, is only 25 light years, science has certainly played havoc with the poor Nemean lion. Proctor tells us that Coma Berenices (Berenice's Hair) was originally the tuft of the tail of the lion when the constellation was pictured in the maps as being more extended. This was quite an appropriate place for the sparkles and gleams of these fine, tiny stars. It is likely that it would have still been the tuft on the Lion's tail if a clever Alexandrian astronomer had not found it necessary to use his wits quickly and call it Berenice's Hair to please the vanity of an Egyptian Queen.

The apparent center for the November meteors, or "shooting stars," which appear about the 15th of the month, are within the curve of the Sickle of Leo near the star Gamma.

The apparent paths of shooting stars when projected backward meet at a point called the radiant point. It looks from the diagram as if these meteors all came from one fixed place in the sky but the effect would also be the same if we saw, for instance, seventeen trains racing along seventeen tracks laid parallel across a desert from a point on the distant horizon. They would all seem to start from this point and widen out as they approached the observer, the effect in

title: Page:The Music of the Spheres.djvu/104


text:
Page:The Music of the Spheres.djvu/105

 perspective, the widening apart from a point, being the same in the case of the meteors speeding along parallel lines in space. We see only those meteors, of course, which become caught and ignited in the atmosphere surrounding the earth and which streak down the sky all aflame; the rest pass on their way, invisible. Of this more will be said later under the heading of "Comets and Meteors."

The "Leonids," as these November meteors are called, are only seen in the early morning hours on the 15th of November, while the "Andromids," which have their radiant point in Andromeda, are only seen in the early part of the evening on the 24th of November.

The famous Leonid meteors of 1833 dropped down so fast and thick that it seemed that all the stars in the heavens were falling down on the earth. This unique spectacle occurred again in 1866, and records show that, for a thousand years back, at intervals of every 33 years, we have been visited by such a "star shower." The first disappointment came in 1899, just as the general public, probably for the first time, was looking forward to it with a great deal of pleasurable anticipation. Will we again be disappointed in 1932? Although the earth passes across the pathway of these meteors every year, it is believed that along a certain section of the pathway the meteors are strung in thick profusion. It is through such a portion, literally studded with the fragments, that the earth rolls every 33 years, although it is not known for a certainty why, after all these years, we failed to see a display in 1899.

A small "dark" constellation called Cancer, the Crab, lies just in front of Leo, the Lion. Although this constellation has been pointed out since very ancient times, and holds an important position in the zodiac, it does not contain a single conspicuous star and could scarcely be located in the sky, were it not for a faintly shining spot of light about the size of the Pleiades. This spot of light

title: Page:The Music of the Spheres.djvu/105


text: Category:Hungarian-Czechoslovak War in The Czechoslovak Review


text: Category:Wartime articles in The Czechoslovak Review


text:
Page:New Peterson magazine 1859 Vol. XXXV.pdf/55

 56 THE OLD YEAR.-“WE SEE THE ROSES BLOOM.”

go once a week, you know, to teach poor children to sew, and from there to Mrs. Morgan’s, whose sick child you went to see yesterday, how destitute they are, Walter! And then I came straight home, oh, no! I remember I did step into poor Neal’s a moment to see how he did since the amputation. He said so much about your kindness to him!”

“No wonder you look tired! I will go with you the next time you go to Mrs. Morgan’s. I don’t like to have you go there alone, I’m afraid you’ll meet with another sailor.”

“You mean that you are afraid I shall meet with another handsome young man, who will rescue me from the sailor, and then fall in love with me,” Anne answers, looking up archly from the snarl she is trying to pick out.

“People don’t meet with such rare good for¬ tune as that very often,” he says, returning her glance, “and on the whole, I think it’s well they don’t, else we should have such numbers of young ladies going round doing good for the sake of being rewarded with a lover, which wouldn’t be a very noble motive for usefulness, eh, Anne?”

“That wasn’t what waked me up to see how much there was for me to do in the world, and that because I was a young lady with no care, that was no reason why I should live only for my own enjoyment: and I am quite ashamed of you, Walter, for daring to insinuate that there is a young lady in the world who would act upon such a contemptible thought: I shall punish you for the remark by giving you another skein of silk to hold. Did I ever tell you that I really wanted once to go on a foreign mission? But cousin Mary showed me that since I couldn’t, I must go on a home mission.”

“What a pity you did not go on the foreign! Poor Feejee Islanders, what a dainty dish the cannibals lost!”

THE OLD YEAR.

BY LENA T. Y L B.

 Thou art gone, old year, Gone away: In the past, on thy bier To decay. Thou hast carried smiles and tears— Thou hast carried hopes and fears, With thee from the world away, Far away!

I am sadly sighing, All for theo! For the year, now dying. Unto me Brought rich blessings blight and gay, Taught mo how to kneel and pray, Banished saddening thoughts away, Yes for aye!

Weep for the old year, Dying lone; Silently drop a tear, Ue is gone! Gone! with sorrows unrecorded— Gone! to bo by angels gnarded— Gone! from earthly things away, Far away!

Winds are sadly moaning O’er thy grave— Forest trees are groaning As they wave— Tears are falling fast and thickly— Smiling eyes beam out as quickly, As a requiem for thee, All for thee!

“WE SEE THE ROSES BLOOM.”

BY CLARENCE  The crimson hues on forest leaves Speak sadly to my heart,

And whispor of the coming days.

When you and I must part;

But gazing o’er the waste of years.

Beyond the present gloom—

There, in a fair, elysian clime,

We see the roses bloom.

The summer comes—then softly wanes;

The flowers bloom—then die;

And change is written on each tiling Beneath the arching sky.

Soft music for a while may cheer Earth's weary, trusting child;

But cares soon change the soothing straiu To dirge notes, sad and wild.

There ia a clime—it is not far,

Where Summers never wane;

Where flowers droop not, music sinks not To a wild, desponding strain.

And looking o'er our present cares, Beyond a quiet tomb,

Tis there, ’tra there, in that bright climo, We see the roses bloom!


text:
Page:The Music of the Spheres.djvu/106

 is a coarse cluster of 7th and 8th magnitude stars, resolvable by an opera-glass and easily located by a little star on either side. In the mythology of Greece, this constellation represents the gigantic sea-crab which Juno sent to bite the toes of Hercules when he was struggling in the marshes with the hundred-headed hydra. Naturally, Hercules stamped his foot down on the petty annoyance, which so offended Juno that she set the creature among the stars.

It is the "misty spot," however, that has always attracted the eyes of men. The Chaldeans thought that the dim light came from a hole in the floor of heaven, and that it could be no other than the "gate of men" through which souls descended into human bodies. It has also been regarded as the Manger in which Christ was born and the stars on either side were called Aselli, or Little Asses. The "Manger" is now known to hold 363 telescopic stars, and is historically interesting because it afforded one of the earliest telescopic proofs that there were hosts of stars in the heavens besides those visible to the unaided eye. Galileo, who first resolved its light into stars, was able to count forty small stars in this spot, and his telescope was no better than the field-glass of today, if we may indeed make such a comparison.

In ancient times, Præsepe, the Manger, was an infallible weather sign, for if there was the slightest moisture in the air, its faint light was invisible. If the moisture was not sufficient to also obscure the two stars on either side, only light showers of rain might be expected, but if the two stars were also hidden, there would be a very bad storm. If the two stars and the Manger were

title: Page:The Music of the Spheres.djvu/106


text: Category:Hungarian-Czechoslovak War

title: Category:Hungarian-Czechoslovak War


text:
Author:Benjamin Couch Henry

Works

 * Ling-Nam

title: Author:Benjamin Couch Henry


text:
Page:Richard III (1927) Yale.djvu/148

134

Methought their souls, whose bodies Richard murther'd,

Came to my tent and cried on victory:

I promise you, my heart is very jocund

In the remembrance of so fair a dream.

How far into the morning is it, lords?

Lords. Upon the stroke of four.

Richm. Why, then ’tis time to arm and give direction.

More than I have said, loving countrymen,

The leisure and enforcement of the time

Forbids to dwell upon: yet remember this,

God and our good cause fight upon our side;

The prayers of holy saints and wronged souls,

Like high-rear'd bulwarks, stand before our faces;

Richard except, those whom we fight against

Had rather have us win than him they follow.

For what is he they follow? truly, gentlemen,

A bloody tyrant and a homicide;

One rais'd in blood, and one in blood establish'd;

One that made means to come by what he hath,

And slaughter'd those that were the means to help him;

A base foul stone, made precious by the foil

Of England's chair, where he is falsely set;

One that hath ever been God's enemy.

Then, if you fight against God's enemy,

God will in justice ward you as his soldiers;

If you do swear to put a tyrant down,

You sleep in peace, the tyrant being slain;

If you do fight against your country's foes,

Your country's fat shall pay your pains the hire;

 232 cried on: proclaimed; cf. n.

238 Cf. n.

239 enforcement: constraint, limitation

244 except: with the exception of

255 ward: guard

256 swear; cf. n.

259 fat: prosperity

title: Page:Richard III (1927) Yale.djvu/148


text: The Problem of China/Chapter 12

title: The Problem of China/Chapter 12


text: The Problem of China/Chapter 13

title: The Problem of China/Chapter 13


text: The Problem of China/Chapter 14

title: The Problem of China/Chapter 14