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Today we tramped to the Pali. Have been coaxing Jack to, ever since the day we first motored over the way. Went on the trolley to the end of the line, and that gave us only three and a half miles to walk, over a splendid road, and part of the way different from that we motored over. We took our luncheon and ate it out on the very point over-looking the marvelous stretch of windward Oahu. Then we did a lot of climbing around and took pictures and went part way down the old trail that was used before the road was built.

It was fascinating just to see the various people who went over the pass—all nationalities and all garbs. We got some great pictures of them.

When we reached the car line againwe were so little tired that we explored Queen Emma Park, which lies just there—the place where the Kamehamehas used to spend so much time.

This was one of our most delightful days.


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Went to the Lunalilo Home for Aged Hawaiians this morning. Such a beautiful place and so clean and sweet and such dear, dear old people. I'll never forget the sweet quaver of their "Aloha" and the quick responsiveness of their eyes and the touch of their hands. There wasn't a sad thing about it, for they were all so happy and cheery and uncomplaining, and one dear old blind woman was the happiest and cheeriest of them all. I am better for going there.

Attended a luau (native feast) this afternoon. It was public, but was the real thing, gotten up and managed by Hawaiian women for a pet charity. The fish was the very best I ever ate, and a lot of the other things were perfectly delicious. Jack tasted of everything and ate two "batches" of several kinds—and it never phased him. He said he'd like to board there.

Took a walk in the park this evening. Palm trees make beautiful silhouettes.

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


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Missed my swim in order to go to the fishmarket early this morning, it being Saturday. It was truly a sight. I'm glad that the colors cook out of the fish, for I never could eat one of those gorgeous creatures—it would be like eating a humming bird. There is surely a Bedlam of tongues there, and a medley of garb. I could scarcely get Jack away.

After that we browsed in the Oriental part of town—in queer little Chinese and Japanese shops where they sell everything on earth that Chinese or Japanese eat or wear or look at, and a lot of things that wouldn't seem to be intended for either purpose. I bought so many little contraptions that Jack had to drag me out of the district by main force in order to keep car-fare in his pocket, he said; but, after all, we had lunch down town and then, just for fun, took a carriage back to the hotel, driving out the Ala Moana along the beach almost all the way, instead of by the usual route. It was lovely.

Played bridge in the evening.


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Went to church this morning, and early this afternoon we took an automobile and went up the Pacific Heights road. I have run out of adjectives when it comes to talking about the views here; but I would like to see a sunset from up there.

We went prepared for tramping and sent the car away, telling the chauffeur to come back for us late in the afternoon, up Pauoa Valley, and then we tramped off along the ridge trail. We could have walked up from the trolley, but Jack is a great hand to start on a trail fresh.

It was a glorious tramp along the narrow ridge, with Nuuanu Valley straight down on one side and Pauoa Valley straight down on the other. The trail keeps to the top of the ridge clear back to the Pauoa Flats, and the forest that we passed through was wonderful, and though there were plenty of ups and downs, there were no bad spots at all and we made very good time, reaching the valley before the motor got there. The trail was just as beautiful as we imagined it would be, when we looked up at it from the road to the Pali.

I'm glad I can tramp.


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Sat under the hau tree and read this morning and watched Jack and his surf-board. Really, he is doing finely.

This afternoon we went to the Country Club for golf, and had tea there—particularly good tea. Jack found some friends and got some more information. He is using so many Hawaiian words now that I am going to have to attach a glossary to him to find out what his conversation is about. When he says "wikiwiki," I don't know whether he wants me to stop talking or come to dinner.

Played bridge again this evening. There are always people who want us to play bridge, but in a place like this it seems such a waste of time.

The fruits here are perfectly delicious. I didn't know that pineapple could be so good, and the mangoes and papaia are the joy of my life; and think of strawberries and grapes growing and fruiting at the same time in the same garden! Jack has got the poi habit. I like baked breadfruit better.


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Went down town shopping this morning and bought some perfectly beautiful embroideries and laces. The little shops where they keep those things are irresistible. I wasn't nearly through—but my pocketbook was—when I had to meet Jack for luncheon. I am having some frocks made by a Chinaman, too, at such a low price that Jack wants to come here to live.

After luncheon we motored out to Pearl Harbor and went over the Naval Station. Saw the divers at work at the drydocks, and Jack learned all about dredging and construction and a lot of other things. Then, as we were wise enough to have gotten a permit, we went to the mouth of Pearl Harbor and looked through the fortifications, called Fort Kamehameha. Jack says that the work done and planned out there is tremendous. We might have gone from Honolulu by railroad to Puuloa and then taken a hack over the ground, but didn't know it until afterward. But that way we would have missed some beautiful road and curious foreign settlements.

This evening wrote letters for tomorrow's boat.


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Got up early and drove fifteen miles out to the farther side of Koko Crater, where there is a great blow-hole. The waves rush into a cave and the air forms a cushion and sends them spouting through a hole about two feet across. First a fine spray goes up about sixty-five feet, and then the white water follows up about forty feet with a terrible roar, and then falls back on the lava and swashes away into the sea, twenty feet below. You can stand close to it, and look into the hole between waves—but it isn't wise to be too close when the blow comes.

There is a little wee bay there, too, called Launa Bay—all white sand and high, ragged lava walls and clear blue water and tremendous surf. There are great sea-turtles and big, bright-colored fish swimming where we could see them plainly from the rocks.

We took a little frying pan with us, and a quart cup, and built a fire and cooked eggs and bacon and made coffee. It was fun.


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Jack went shark fishing today, and they got a shark. They went out in a gasoline launch and towed something dead for bait, and then, when the shark came close enough, they harpooned him. I won't say how long he was, for I didn't see him, and I don't like to give figures on hearsay evidence. Jack thought he had a fine time.

I spent the day writing letters and sorting the shells I found at Koko Crater and sending some little boxes of them to the folks back home. There's another boat out tomorrow.

This evening we took the trolley and went out to see Moanalua by moonlight. It is a perfect dreamland of beauty. No one ever painted anything half so lovely as the palm silhouettes against the sky, and the gloss of the moonlight on the cocoanut leaves. It was light enough to read ordinary print, if you strained your eyes a little.

Saw my first lunar rainbow. It was much more brilliant than I expected.


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Went over a lot of settlement and kindergarten work this morning and found it intensely interesting. They are doing splendid betterment work here. Jack played golf.

Took luncheon down town and then went to the Bishop Museum. I don't see why we didn't go there sooner. We ought to spend a week there, instead of half a day—and our month in Honolulu is almost up. I don't know where the time has gone, but it has been "chuck full" every minute. I was never more interested in my life than in those wonderful old Hawaiian relics; and the amount of knowledge that Jack acquired is appalling. I must get out there again if I possibly can.

This evening we motored to the Pali for a moonlight view. It is a picture to put into my memory beside the one of Moanalua by moonlight. I didn't know that the world could be so beautiful.


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We are at Hauula. Came out on the train this morning. Of course, that was the long way around, but we love the trip along the ragged coast, and, besides, we wanted to stay over night. It would have been only about thirty miles by motor, and we could have seen the sacred gorge and returned the same day; but after my glimpse from the Pali by moonlight, I wanted to see this craggy side of the Island with the moon on it—and it is splendid tonight. We have been walking along the beach and watching the surf and the tiny islets and looking up at the overshadowing mountains. It is all a dream-country by moonlight.

Either we arrived with big appetites or else the food here is the best that ever happened. Jack said it was a little of both, but it looked to me more like a good deal of both. I think that he would have been poetical tonight if he hadn't eaten so much. He almost was, anyway.


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Went up the Kaliuwaa Gorge this morning. That is what we came here for. It is called "the sacred gorge," and is just a crack in the mountains, a mile or so long and with green walls several thousand feet high. There is a little stream, and the trail crosses it, back and forth, all the way up. It is a weird place, and there are weird legends hanging over it, and everyone who goes up the trail must place two crossed ohia leaves pointing up the gorge, if the powers that be are to permit him to reach his destination in safety. And these crossed leaves, some fresh and some withered, lie all along the way, held in place by little pebbles.

At the upper end a waterfall jets out from a narrow crevice, high up in the mountain, and falls sheer into a broad, deep black pool with strangely water-carved walls, and great wet ferns and long vines swinging out from the dripping niches. There is a curious bare mark on one of the perpendicular mountain sides, where a giant demi-god of the old days dragged up a canoe of thirty-foot beam.

Back to Honolulu this afternoon We were going to the Japanese theater this evening, but I couldn't go in out of the moonlight.


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Only three more days, and a hundred things I want to do.

Today we motored out to Makapuu Point. The road is not good all the way, and I would rather have driven, but Jack was bound to go by motor because he wanted plenty of time out there, and quite a number of people said that they had motored out, and that it wasn't so very bad. The lighthouse there is one of the largest in the world, and Jack learned all there is to know about lighthouses, and then some. It stands on a point about 650 feet above the sea, and the bare, ragged precipice drops straight into the swirling water.

Coming down from there we tramped across the divide, less than a mile, where still lie the stones of a causeway said to have been begun by the Menehunes hundreds of years ago. Upon one hand, stretches a broad beach, and upon the other, ragged lava with climbing surf and gay little tide gardens full of bright-colored coral, sea urchins in red, lavender and green, and brilliant little fish which dart madly away from your fingers.

Nobody lives out there, excepting at the lighthouse, or anywhere near Koko Crater. It is a dry, lonely land, but wonderfully beautiful.


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Motored out to Kahala, which is on the beach a few miles beyond Diamond Head. The road does not run near the beach, so we sent the car back to wait for us just below the Diamond Head lighthouse, and we tramped back over the lava of Kupikipikio, the southernmost point of the Island. After we left the point, where the surf tangles over the black crags, we came to the long sandy beach of Kaalawai, and passed the beautiful homes which lie close to the water. This is the only way to see them, for they are out of sight of the road. It would be a delightful place to live. Some of the hotel people walked out there from the end of the car line, by moonlight, and they were wonderfully enthusiastic.

Went to the Kamehameha Schools this afternoon. It is certainly a splendid institution. Jack wished that he was a boy so that he could get into some of the departments and work. He couldn't, anyway, because he is not Hawaiian.


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We sail tomorrow! I don't want to.

Took a last surf-boat ride this morning and then showed Jack how well I can swim. He was more complimentary than he has been for ten years. I guess I was, too, for he really does splendidly on a surf-board. I know he'll wear out the ironing-board when he gets home, practicing for next year. He says he's coming earlier next year so as to have at least two months, because he wants to do the other islands, too, and a lot more on this one.

Spent the afternoon packing and went to the Japanese theater this evening. I am so glad that we didn't miss that, for it was a real experience. Some of the actors are actually excellent, and although it was only pantomime to us, we could gather quite a good idea of the plot—and the audience was as interesting as the stage. Jack liked it immensely.


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Aboard ship. It is a perfectly good ship and I'm not a bit seasick, but I feel as if I had been sent away from the table before I had half finished. Here are just a few of the things that we wanted to do and didn't have time to:

Go to Hanauma Bay, near Koko Crater.

See the blow-hole by moonlight.

Tramp to the top of Mount Olympus.

Do the long trail from Tantalus along the ridge back of Manoa Valley and down Palolo.

Visit the Kaau Crater, 1500 feet up in the mountains.

Explore a lot of valleys and gorges where no one ever goes.

Take train to Makua and tramp to Waianae and see caves and barking sands.

Take train to Leilehua and tramp across Waianae Range to Waianae Town.

We were loaded with leis when the boat sailed—carnations, roses, hydrangeas, ilima and violets, and the band played, and when it came to "Aloha Oe," I—came into my stateroom!


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Conditions in these beautiful Islands either for a short stay, or for home-building, are the very best.

The mountains and valleys afford outings such as never will be forgotten, while there is no such sea-bathing the world over as may be enjoyed at Waikiki, Hanalei and Hilo.

Then there are special features, any one of which is well worth journeying around the world to see.

and, withal, the cost of living in Hawaii is most reasonable; there are a number of excellent hotels and the best of boarding and rooming houses.

For additional information about Hawaii address


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O alien land in all the world has any deep, strong charm for me but that one; no other land could so longingly and beseechingly haunt me sleeping and waking, through half a lifetime, as that one has done. Other things leave me, but it abides; other things change, but it remains the same. For me its balmy airs are always blowing, its summer seas flashing in the sun; the pulsing of its surf-beat is in my ear; I can see its garlanded craigs, its leaping cascades, its plumy palms drowsing by the shore; its remote summits floating like islands above the cloud-rack; I can feel the spirit of its woodland solitudes; I can hear the plash of its brooks; in my nostrils still lives the breat of flowers that perished twenty years ago. —Mark Twain.


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Page:The Monist Volume 2.djvu/423

Rh The main doctrine of Comte’s positivism is the doctrine that first and final causes cannot be known, and we must abandon our search for them; that human knowledge is limited to the middle, while the two ends are inaccessible. These insoluble questions, he declares, have made no progress from the beginning. Mr. Lewes in his book “Comte’s Philosophy of the Sciences” expresses this agnosticism in the following words (p. 31): “Our province is to study her [nature’s] laws, to trace her processes, and, thankful that we can so far penetrate the divine significance of the universe, be content—as Locke wisely and modestly says—to sit down in quiet ignorance of all transcendent subjects.”

This idea has so far as I am aware never been given by Littré; it remained the basis of his belief in the unknowable and his works abound in expressions that concerning the main problems of life, “the positive philosophy will neither assert nor deny anything.”

Littré concludes the last article of his volume “La Science” with the following words:

“Le domaine ultérieur est celui des choses qui ne peuvent pas être connues. La science positive professe de n’y rien nier, de n’y rien affirmer; en un mot, elle ne connaît pas l’inconnaissable, mais elle en constate l’existence. Là est a philosophie suprême; aller plus loin est chimérique, aller moin loin est déserter notre destinée.”

This quotation alone, I think, settles the first main point at issue.

Now I maintain that Comte’s view of causation where he refers to first and final causes is fundamentally wrong; causation is transformation and causality is the formula under which we comprehend the changes of matter and energy that take place. The expressions first and final causes are misnomers (see “Fundamental Problems,” the chapter The Problem of Causality). First cause is either the starting point of a series of some longer chain of causes and effects, or as the term is generally applied or rather misapplied, stands for the last ground or reason, i.e. the answer given to the ultimate question why?, which is the most general raison d’être that would explain and contain all the other and less general raison d’être regarding the nature of existence. The term final cause, again, means either the last cause in a series of causes or (and so it is generally used) it is a misnomer for purpose; and the final cause supposed to be inaccessible to human comprehension is the purpose of the existence of the world at large. I object to there being three kinds of causes. There is one kind of causality only, and the causes of the causality in all the causal processes with which we are confronted are perfectly intelligible.

The problem of the first cause of the origin of our world, viz. the solar system and milky way, was attacked first by Kant and later by Laplace, and the latter, without knowing of Kant’s solution, solved it in the main in the same way. All recent investigations stand upon this Kant-Laplace hypothesis so called, having added corrections only as to details. Shall we declare that these labors are vain

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PART S in a manner which does not discriminate on the basis of racial or ethnic origin, political or religious beliefs, genetic or health status or sexual orientation.

179 Formulation of a regime for data protection is a complex exercise which needs to be undertaken by the State after a careful balancing of the requirements of privacy coupled with other values which the protection of data sub-serves together with the legitimate concerns of the State. One of the chief concerns which the formulation of a data protection regime has to take into account is that while the web is a source of lawful activity-both personal and commercial, concerns of national security intervene since the seamless structure of the web can be exploited by terrorists to wreak havoc and destruction on civilised societies. Cyber attacks can threaten financial systems. Richard A Posner, in an illuminating article, has observed:

Posner notes that while “people value their informational privacy”, yet “they surrender it at the drop of a hat” by readily sharing personal data in the course of simple daily transactions. The paradox, he observes, can be resolved by noting that as long as


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392 rible threat of the valorous Dowler, thanthen [sic] he bounced out of the sedan quite as quickly as he had bounced in, and throwing off his slippers into the road, took to his heels and tore round the Crescent, hotly pursued by Dowler and the watchman. He kept ahead; the door was open as he came round the second time, he rushed in, slammed it in Dowler’s face, mounted to his bed-room, locked the door, piled a wash-hand-stand, chest of drawers and table against it, and packed up a few necessaries ready for flight with the first light of morning.

Dowler came up to the outside of the door, avowed, through the key-hole, his stedfaststeadfast [sic] determination of cutting Mr. Wikle’s throat next day; and, after a great confusion of voices in the drawing-room, amidst which that of Mr. Pickwick was distinctly heard endeavouring to make peace, the inmates dispersed to their several bed-chambers, and all was quiet once more.

It is not unlikely that the inquiry may be made, where Mr. Weller, was, all this time? We will state where he was, in the next chapter.

“Mr. Weller,” said Mrs. Craddock, upon the morning of this very eventful day, “here’s a letter to you.”

“Wery odd that,” said Sam, ”I’m afeerd there must be somethin’ the matter, for I don’t recollect any gen’lm’n in my circle of acquaintance as is capable o’ writin’ one.”

“Perhaps something uncommon has taken place,” observed Mrs. Craddock.

“It must be somethin’ wery uncommon indeed, as could perduce a letter out o’ any friend o’ mine,” replied Sam, shaking his head dubiously; “nothin’ less than a nat’ral conwulsion, as the young gen’lm’n observed ven he wos took with fits. It can’t be from the gov’ner,” said Sam, looking at the direction. “He always print, I know, ’cos he learnt writin’ from the large bills in the bookin’ offices. It’s a wery strange thing now, where this here letter can ha’ come from.”

As Sam said this, he did what a great many people do when they are uncertain about the writer of a note,—looked at the seal, and then at the front, and then at the back, and then at the sides, and then at the superscription; and, as a last resource, thought perhaps he might as well look at the inside, and try to find out from that.


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Page:The Annals and Magazine of Natural History, vol. 16ss (1855).djvu/221

Rh of the two sides at and near their bases will be often very different, representative species of some genera occurring, and even whole genera being peculiar to one side only, as is remarkably seen in the case of the Andes and Rocky Mountains. A similar phenomenon occurs when an island has been separated from a continent at a very early period. The shallow sea between the Peninsula of Malacca, Java, Sumatra and Borneo was probably a continent or large island at an early epoch, and may have become submerged as the volcanic ranges of Java and Sumatra were elevated. The organic results we see in the very considerable number of species of animals common to some or all of these countries, while at the same time a number of closely allied representative species exist peculiar to each, showing that a considerable period has elapsed since their separation. The facts of geographical distribution and of geology may thus mutually explain each other in doubtful cases, should the principles here advocated be clearly established.

In all those cases in which an island has been separated from a continent, or raised by volcanic or coralline action from the sea, or in which a mountain-chain has been elevated, in a recent geological epoch, the phenomena of peculiar groups or even of single representative species will not exist. Our own island is an example of this, its separation from the continent being geologically very recent, and we have consequently scarcely a species which is peculiar to it; while the Alpine range, one of the most recent mountain elevations, separates faunas and floras which scarcely differ more than may be due to climate and latitude alone.

The series of facts alluded to in Proposition 3, of closely allied species in rich groups being found geographically near each other, is most striking and important. Mr. Lovell Reeve has well exemplified it in his able and interesting paper on the Distribution of the Bulimi. It is also seen in the Humming-birds and Toucans, little groups of two or three closely allied species being often found in the same or closely adjoining districts, as we have had the good fortune of personally verifying. Fishes give evidence of a similar kind: each great river has its peculiar genera, and in more extensive genera its groups of closely allied species. But it is the same throughout Nature; every class and order of animals will contribute similar facts. Hitherto no attempt has been made to explain these singular phænomena, or to show how they have arisen. Why are the genera of Palms and of Orchids in almost every case confined to one hemisphere? Why are the closely allied species of brown-backed Trogons all found in the East, and the ‘green-backed in the West? Why are the Macaws and the Cockatoos similarly restricted? Insects


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 two miles on the S. Bank to Ngan-shi-t'ong. It is surrounded by the Pok-lo, Tungkwun city, and 狹內 (or Ch'a-yün) dialects. Sheklung itself is reckoned the fifth or sixth largest trading-place in the province, though much reduced in importance, partly owing to the li-kin barriers. As a natural consequence many expressions from Canton or other parts of the Prefecture may be heard there which are not in any sense Tungkwun and which would not be understood by the women and children of the place. Some imported words have further really become a part of the local vocabulary e.g. ꜁k'isái 'wicked,' 'bad'—a word largely used in Hongkong and Singapore and said to originate from Höng-shán.

Let us follow roughly Mr. Ball's classification of dialectic changes, but begin first with the tones: for it is rather the changes in tone than the changes in sound that make the Tungkwun dialects difficult. Here Mr. Ball is (except on the 下平) always vague where he is not inaccurate.

Firstly.—Tones nominally the same are different in pitch, duration &c. There are at Sheklung nominally ten tones and actually nine different tones; there are six (or more accurately even) different pitches. Tones are naturally difficult to describe on paper, but the Cantonese tones and their difference from the Tungkwún can be expressed with fair accuracy in musical notation, as at the heading of this paper. Only two tones remain unchanged the 下平 and the 上入: the 中入 and approximately the 下入 still follows the pitch of the 上去 and 下去, but these tones are very different from the Cantonese tones of the same name. The 上去 amalgamates with the 下上 (see below): the 下去 is slightly below the pitch of the Cantonese 上去 and sounds very unmusical (lying between the E and the F on the musical scale); the 下入 is a shade lower (lying on the E). The 下平 is exactly the pitch of the Ca. 下去 but with the duration of a 平聲. Both the rising tones are, as Mr. Ball points out, lower than the Cantonese upper and lower rising: the 上上 begins a note lower and rises evenly without the crescendo of the Cantonese tone, while the 下上 (including the 上去) stops short a note lower and is very short, consisting of a note on the level of the (Tungkwun) 上平 'curled up' at the end. Finally there is a colloquial 變音 which is the same as the Cantonese upper even, i.e. the true upper and even tone (the 中平 miscalled), not the more usual tone which beginning equally high descends to the level of the lower even with such abruptness and brevity that the descent has hitherto escaped comment.


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 532 Paterfamilias wishes for a new sensation, let him provide himself with a big basket and follow me. It will try his dignity, perhaps, to be seen struggling amid a mob of children; but, after all, he will not get half as much put out as in the crush-room of the Opera, and I promise him more thorough delight, far brighter eyes, and more genuine laughter than he will meet with there. Say it is three o’clock in the afternoon and on a seasonable December day when our cab drives up to the German Fair in Regent Street. Was there ever such a crowd before of merry little feet all pattering and pushing along the entrance-hall lined with Christmas-trees? Paterfamilias perhaps has not forgotten that cry of “Eureka!” the ten thousand gave when they ﬁrst caught sight of the sea; but we question if it was half as hearty as the joyous “Oh!” that burst from the mouths of a hundred “terrible Turks,” as they swarm into the glittering hall of the German Fair.

Twice in our lives toys make themselves known to us as great facts. In youth, when we play with them and smash them ourselves, and in middle age, when we do it by deputy in the persons of our own children; and, possibly, if you ask Paterfamilias, he will tell you that he enjoys them the second time more than the first—for then there are more to smash, and more to laugh and enjoy. But, if a man has any heart in him, how must he delight to see live hundred urchins all boiling over with pleasure, whilst five hundred mammas and papas are enjoying their happiness.

In my young days—when George IV. was king—toys were toys, and youngsters were obliged to use them economically; but now there is no such necessity, for here we are in a room where it is impossible to spend more than a penny at a time. I can get anything for a penny—from a capital yard measure to a soup tureen—and, as I am alive! there is Paterfamilias with his basket half-full already. He has a railroad that moves, a duck that swims, a trumpet that blows, a doll that cries, a perambulator that runs, and a monkey that jumps over a pole, and he has only got rid of sixpence! It becomes absolutely absurd to have so much for your money, and how he will manage to spend the sovereign he designs is to me a mystery. All around him urchins are busy. “I’ve had one of those, and two of those, and three of these, and four of those.” Why it reminds us of Punch’s satiated schoolboy settling his reckoning in the cake-shop, only here the boy has his cakes and toys still to enjoy. But there is a sixpenny and a shilling counter not far off, and, interspersed amid the meaner gew-gaws, toys that rise to the rank of real works of art.

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 Rh Whilst Paterfamilias is picking out his two hundred and forty separate and distinct toys, let us pause for a moment, and ask where they all come from. Reader, have you ever travelled for a livelong day through the dark and melancholy pine or fir forests of Germany? Ever listened to the soughing of the wind through the branches, or walked on the dumb carpet of pine tassels? If so, what has been the complexion of your thoughts? Possibly like mine, gloomy as the Halls of Dis. Yet, from these old inky forests, from the green valleys up which the pine-trees climb like black priests to the mountain summit, rush the torrents of toys which push on from year to year and penetrate into every nursery in Europe. In the recesses of the old Thuringian and other forests are glued, and turned, and painted, the legions of soldiers, the fleets of Noah's-arks, and the countless whips, rattles, and squeaking dolls that go to their last account in the snug nurseries of Europe. Strange fact, that in these grim forests half the laughter and joy of childhood should find their birth!

The same principle that plants cotton-factories in Laucashire determines the production of toys—the presence of the raw material. If the pine logs from which they are manufactured were not immediately at hand, there would be no penny toys—and, possibly, no German Fair. Let us examine one of these penny articles. Here is a man wheeling a barrow of fruit. The prime cost of this article in the forest where it was made is only a kreuzer, or one-third of a penny! The rest represents its package and carriage to these shores, the duty and the proﬁt of the proprietor. It seems inconceivable that for so small a sum such a result can be obtained, for the man is well enough proportioned, his barrow really will run, and the fruit is coloured after nature. A little inquiry, however, at the same time that it clears up the mystery only increases our astonishment.

In the first place, the wood is obtained for a mere nothing. For instance, the Grand Duke of Saxe Meiningen, on whose estates the flourishing toy colony of Sonneberg is situated, allows his people to select any tree from his forest close at hand for 2d. Thus the raw material may be said to be given to them. Again: the organisation and division of labour is carried to an extent in the production of these trifles which we can only liken to tha texhibited in this country by watchmakers or pin fabricators. Let us revert to the man with the barrow of fruit, for instance. Possibly a dozen hands have been employed in its production. The man who turned the body of the ﬁgure, had nothing to do with his arms. A third person was employed to put together the barrow; a fourth to turn the wheel; a fifth to put the spokes in; a sixth to put the linch-pin in; a seventh to turn the fruit; an eighth to turn the basket on which they are placed; a ninth to colour the fruit; a tenth to colour the barrow; an eleventh to glue the wholetogether; and a twelfth to supply the final varnish. The incredible rapidity with which this minute division of labour enables the men, women, and children to accomplish each detail, is the secret of the whole matter. Not only do the dozen individuals manage to make a living out of the third of a penny, or rather less, which is to be divided amongst them, but they contrive to live comfortably and respectably into the bargain. The toy thus completed, has to be packed and conveyed hundreds of miles along Alpine roads and down rapid rivers, until it is finally transported by the Rotterdam steam-boat to our shores, to be again unpacked and displayed by Mr. Cremer in the German Fair. The history of the fruit barrow is the history of almost every wooden article on the penny counters of this extraordinary place. The process of manufacture is the same throughout Germany, but the localities from which the different toys come are widely different. The vast majority are made at Grünhainscher, in Saxony. The glass comes from Bohemia. The bottles and cups are so fragile, that the poor workman has to labour in a confined and vitiated atmosphere, which cuts him off at thirty-five years of age. All articles that contain any metal are the produce of Nuremberg and the surrounding district. This old city has always been one of the chief centres of German metal work. The workers in gold and silver of the place have long been famous, and their iron-work is unique. This speciality has now descended to toys. Here all toy printing-presses, with their types, are manufactured; magic lanterns; magnetic toys, such as ducks and fish, that are attracted by the magnet; mechanical toys, such as running mice and conjuring tricks, also come from Nuremberg. The old city is pre-eminent in all kinds of toy diablerie. Here science puts on the conjuror's jacket, and we have a manifestation of the Germanesque spirit of which their Albert Durer was the embodiment. The more solid articles which attract boyhood, such as boxes of bricks, buildings, &c., of plain wood, come from Grünhainscher, in Saxony.

Very latterly a rapidly-increasing town named Furth has sprung up, six miles from Nuremberg, entirely devoted to the manufacture of Noah's arks, dissected puzzles, &c. The toys with motion, such as railroads, steam-vessels, and moving cabs, are the speciality of the people of Biberach, in Würtemberg. And where should those splendid cuirasses, helmets, guns, and swords come from but Hesse Cassel, the centre of soldiering Germany. But the workmen of the principality are not entirely devoted to arms. The charming little shops, and parlours, and the dolls-houses—without which no nursery is complete—are made here. Neither must we forget the theatres, beloved of boys. Here and there some exquisite little interior of a café, with its fittingsof marble tables, bottles, mirrors, and plate, attract the attention, and the inquirer learns with astonishment that they are made by felons in Prussian prisons. The taste and dexterity of hand displayed is amazing, and the result far preferable to the miserable hemp-beating or “grindings at nothing” at which some of our own prisoners are so fruitlessly employed.

But this counter is fitted up as a refreshmentstall. Here we have rolls and sausages and ducks and bottles of champagne and a hundred other dainties; but the children are too cunning; they are only shams—paper. The Berliners who make them call them “surprises,” for it is rather a

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 534 surprise to find bonbons for the stuffing of fowls, and sugar-plums tumbling out of simulated pieces of embroidery. Now and then we find a greater surprise still, for there goes a rich plum-pudding floating up to the ceiling—an edible balloon.

But where do all the dolls come from? I hear my little flaxen ringlets say. Dolls are an universal vanity—almost as universal as vanity itself. They seem to be made everywhere, excepting the one country that has a repute for making them. The wooden-jointed specimens, known as Dutch dolls all over the world, really come from the Tyrol, where wood-carving is a very ancient art. The Dutch have the credit of their production simply from the fact, that they are generally shipped from Rotterdam, which is found to be the most convenient port for German goods coming from the interior. To the Dutch, however, we are indebted for the introduction of the crying doll, which, I am happy to inform my young friends, cries for a penny almost as natural as life. The pattern originally came from Japan (a nation very ingenious in toys), and has long been lying in the Museum at the Hague. The German toy-makers, however, are now constructing them upon the same model. Fine wax dolls, with natural hair, are made, we are informed, at Petesdorff, in Silesia. It will be flattering, however, to the national vanity to be informed, that the Londoners alone are capable of making the finest and most expressive dolls. The French, clever as they are, cannot touch us here. Some of the higher class English dolls are perfect models—the eyes are full of expression, and the hair is set on like nature itself. The faces are originally modelled in clay, and the wax is put on in successive layers. The highest class of workmen alone are capable of this kind of work. The beauty of Grecian sculpture is ascribed to the ﬁne natural forms which their artists had to copy. Possibly we owe to the beauty of our women, in a like manner, our superiority in dolls, which now rank almost as works of art.

It must be evident that where wood is employed as the material for toy-making, it is impossible to hope for anything very artistic at a rate that can be paid by the great middle class. This fact has led to the employment of a substance that can be cast in a mould, and yet be sufﬁciently tough to bear knocking about. Those who examined the Zollverein department in the Exhibition of 1851, will remember the beautiful toys exhibited by Adolph Fleischmann. These were composed of papier mâché, mixed with a peculiar kind of earth. Since that time the art of toy-making in this new material has undergone a very great development all over Germany; but at Sonneberg, in Saxe Meiningen, a school of art has been established by the Duke, for the cultivation of the workmen in the arts of design. In this school, models of all the best antique and modern sculpture are to be found, and collections of good prints. To this school all the young children are sent to model, under pain of a fine; and an art education is the result, which shows itself in the exquisite little models which come from the ateliers of Adolph Fleischmann. There are now in the German Fair models of animals that a sculptor may copy. Bulls, lions, asses, &c., delineated with an anatomical nicety which is really wonderful. Many of the works of art produced by him are copied from well-known engravings, and are entitled solid pictures. There is one in the Fair now, representing Luther and his family around a Christmas tree in the room he once occupied. The modelling of this group originally cost nine guineas, but the moulds once produced, the subsequent copies are procurable at a very cheap rate. There can be no doubt that to familiarise children with well-designed toys is a very important step towards educating the race in the love of art. We cannot help thinking, however, that what the future man will gain, the child will lose. If we make our toys too good, they will either be used as ornaments, or children will be stinted of their full enjoyment of them, for fear they may be injured—-which God forbid. It may be very wrong, and possibly I am inculcating very destructive principles, but I cannot help thinking that a judicious smashing of toys now and then is a very healthy juvenile occupation.

There are some little monsters we know, that will keep their toys without speck or spot for years, but they are doomed to die old maids or bachelors. Besides, how could we better or earlier satisfy the analytic spirit that is within us, than by breaking open the drummer boy to see what makes him drum? With this destructive view of the subject, we think Mr. Cremer, the proprietor of the Fair, is entitled to the thanks of every paterfamilias in the kingdom, for at a penny a-piece our children may break their toys to their heart’s content. How many of these penny toys does my reader imagine are here sold day by day? Fifty pounds’ worth! A little calculation shows that this sum represents 12,000 toys. Now, calculating each toy to produce only ten occasions of enjoyment, we have 120,000 bursts of merriment dispersed every day about Christmas time to the rising generation of London alone, to say nothing of the enjoyment produced by the higher priced toys. How that joy is reflected by the fond mothers’ eyes a hundred fold, I need not say; and as to going on with the calculation, that is quite out of the question.

The Saxon is the great consumer of the toys produced by the Saxon. England and America take more toys than any other nation. The value of the toys imported to England alone in the year 1846 was 1,500,000 florins; and the paper and packthread with which they were packed cost 25,000 florins, or 2100l.!

Whilst Paterfamilias toils after me with his hand-basket, let me draw the attention of my young friends to the old monk near the doorway, who carries in one hand a Christmas tree, whilst he holds in the other a birch for naughty boys, but over his shoulder we see a bag of toys for the good ones. This is St. Nicholas, the patron of children. On Christmas Eve it is the fashion throughout France and Germany, to prepare the children of the household for his nocturnal visit. Refreshment is laid for himself, and hay and

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 Rh other provender for his ass. In the morning the eager children ﬁnd the food and provender gone, but in their place all kinds of beautiful toys. Mr. Cremer is our St. Nicholas, and does the business of the old monk without any mystery, but in an equally satisfactory manner.

are six—seven would have made the announcement a poetical quotation; but one is wanting, and we remain a prosy half-dozen, not unwilling to be jolly, but waiting for the occasion.

We are at an inn, of course. Outside it is wintry weather, and a great log fire beams on us like a cheerful president.

Lawyer Spence and Mr. Selby belong to the neighbourhood. Of the other gentlemen, one speculates in hops, and has a fine appreciation of the punch; one is of the Indian Civil Service; the last is a servant of the public of Great Britain.

How we came together here, would interest you but slightly. People are always flying about at Christmas, and accidents will happen. Enough that we cry out with clown, “Here we are!”

Now Christmas is such a season for telling stories, that, I give you my word, and I am confirmed in my attestation of the fact by the after assurance of every gentleman present, we had no idea of amusing each other; we thought only of drinking our punch and toddling to bed: and to bed we should have gone, with nothing to laugh over, had not Mr. Lorquison said suddenly:

“Ha! ‘cold weather! We’re comfortable here, eh? How did you spend the autumn, sir?” And that began it.

H.E.I.C.S. was addressed, and replied:

“Oh, down in Scotland.”

The conversation was relapsing; we had almost lost it; when H.E.I.C.S. appeared to remember something, and laughed.

Mr. Lorquison immediately turned a conversational side-face to him: Mr. Spence lifted his head from his glass: Mr. Selby smacked his knee: and the dealer in hops inquired what tickled his fancy.

“Nothing particular,” said the Indian. “I was on the moors in a friend’s hut, and was only laughing at a miserable night I passed there.”

He paused, as if to hint there was really nothing remarkable in his experience, and pursued:

“My friend hires a shepherd’s hut for the shooting season. The shepherd’s wife is his cook, and does the work in primitive fashion. You shoot a blackcock—it’s presented to you boiled, a pheasant—boiled! everything’s boiled! I believe she would boil a boar’s head. I suffered a little, of course, but that was nothing. She made tolerable hare soup. The animal is skinned, and then stewed down—blood, entrails, and all. I once brought her a hare: she rejected it with scorn: there wasn’t ‘bluid enoo’.’ Well, we shot some game—blackcock rather plentiful this season—tried our hands at spearing salmon, and sought what amusement we could find among a scanty but lively population. One night my friend, who had established relations with some neighbouring Scotch—I suppose I must say farmers—invited them to dine with him; and as these gentry have to come some distance over the hills, an invitation of this sort involves the offer of a bed, or, at least, some place for them to stretch their limbs. I forget how many glasses of whiskey-toddy I consumed in their society. I was the first to move to bed; but my departure did not at all disturb them. In my first sleep I was aroused by the sound of a heavy fall on the floor. I rose in bed. My friend was at my feet, trying to open the window. ‘Only one of the Scotchees,’ he said, and informed me that it was impossible to quarter him down stairs, as the door would not shut, and the wind blew cold.

“ ‘There he is,’ he added, laughing “toddily,” if I may be allowed the word. ‘He said when be last spoke, that he preferred a good floor to a bed. You’ll find him strong; so I open the windows.’

“Complaint was of no use, so I lay down again: my friend went off to his Scotchee, and all seemed at peace. By and bye I felt the cold, and decided to rise quietly and exclude the wind. I had one foot out of bed, when a low growl suprised me, and made me draw it in again quickly. Looking over on one side, I perceived a dog. I have no doubt he was of the ordinary size of shepherds’ dogs in general, but to me he appeared enormous. He had evidently come to watch over his master, and was determined to tear the leg of any one moving in the room. I thought it better to try and bear the cold than come to a tussle with him, and rouse the savage nature of the beast. There’s something in presenting a naked leg to a dog, which is, I assure you, not pleasant. But the cold increased. I got out of bed. He growled a moment, and then up he jumped and made a rush

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 Rh there was; take the thing you are least in want of, and hide it—that’s a jackdaw. I should know,” added Jorian, oracularly, “for I was brought up with a jackdaw. He and I were born the same year, but he cut his teeth long before me, and, wow! but my life was a burden for years all along of him. If you had but a hole in your hose no bigger than a groat, in went his beak like a gimlet; and in the matter of stealing, he was Gerard all over. What he wanted least, and any poor Christian in the house wanted most, that went first. Mother was a notable woman, so if she did but look round, away flew her thimble. Father lived by cordwaining, so about sunrise Jack went diligently away with his awl, his wax, and his twine. After that, make your bread how you could! One day I heard my mother tell him to his face he was enough to corrupt half a dozen children; and he only cocked his eye at her, and next minute away with the nurseling’s shoe off his very foot. Now this Gerard is tarred with the same stick. The parchments are no more unto him than a thimble or an awl to Jack. He took ’em out of pure mischief and hid them, and you would never have found them but for me.”

“I believe you are right,” said Ghysbrecht, “and I have vexed myself more than need.”

When they came to Peter’s gate he felt uneasy.

“I wish it had been anywhere but here.”

Jorian re-assured him.

“The girl is honest and friendly,” said he. “She had nothing to do with taking them, I’ll be sworn!” and he led him into the garden. “There, master, if a face is to be believed, here they lie; and, see, the mould is loose.”

He ran for a spade which was stuck up in the ground at some distance, and soon went to work and uncovered a parchment. Ghysbrecht saw it, and thrust him aside and went down on his knees and tore it out of the hole. His hands trembled and his face shone. He threw out parchment after parchment, and Jorian dusted them and cleaned them and shook them. Now, when Ghysbrecht had thrown out a great many, his face began to darken and lengthen, and when he came to the last he put his hands to his temples and seemed to be all amazed. Then a chill traversed his frame.

“What mystery lies here?” he gasped. “Are fiends mocking me? Dig deeper! There must be another!”

ABOUT six o’clock every evening the beau monde of Calcutta begins to take the air on the Course, a very pleasant drive which runs along the bank of the river. There are quite as many carriages as by the Serpentine in the most crowded part of the season; but it must he confessed that none of them would be likely to excite the envy of an owner of a “fashionable turn-out” at home unless indeed it might be now and then for the sake of their occupants. However incongruous a native driver may look on the box of an English carriage, and absurd a couple of turbaned grooms painfully crouching behind, or standing on one leg each on the “dickey” steps, a sweet English face, surrounded by the edge of a lovely little bonnet, is always a pleasant sight. The riding habit, too, is graced by some of these pretty faces and figures—the most graceful of all being Lady Canning. It is delightful to see her canter along, the centre of a brilliant group, her intelligent and beautiful eyes animated in conversation, or with their not less charming expression of repose—fiére and gentle at the same time.

Long before the Course begins to thin, it is almost dark, and then—at least if the poor lounger is “unattached,” and, instead of being seated in one of the before-mentioned enviable voitures, or, perhaps happier still, walking his horse across the plain beside some well-trained Arab, he is sharing his buggy with a friend as unfortunate as himself—the general effect of the scene before him is the most interesting object for his gaze. The carriages continue to whirl past, but one sees hardly more of them than their lamps. The river glides, cold and shining, along silvery light under the opposite bank, while trees and masts and rigging relieve themselves, as in a picture of Giorgione’s, against the golden bars of the distant sky. But the band ceases to play, and we all go home to dress.

If the traveller chooses—which, they say, is rare with Englishmen abroad—to leave the society of his compatriots, he may find many an amusing drive in the native parts of the town. Tall Sikhs, whose hair and beards have never known scissors or razor, and who stride along with a trooper-like swagger and high caste dignity; effeminate Cingalese; Hindoo clerks, smirking and conceited, and dandified, too, according to their own notions; almost naked palkee-bearers, who, nevertheless, if there is the slightest

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Portal:Little Elephant

Works

 * Little Elephant Catches Cold (1937)
 * Little Elephant's Christmas (1938)
 * Little Elephant's Picnic (1939)
 * Little Elephant Visits the Farm (1941)

Related portals

 * Portal:Children's literature

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HEE!" cried Little Elephant as he threw back the covers and jumped out of bed. Usually Mother Elephant had to call him five times and then come in and shake him to wake him up. But today was Sunday and there was no school. Besides, Mother Elephant had promised to take him on a picnic today.

He raised his trunk and waved it from side to side, sniffing the air. Mmmmmmm! What was that good smell, so warm and spicy? GINGERBREAD!

Then Little Elephant wondered what he should wear. He galumphed out into the hall and called down "M-o-o-o-ther!"

"What is it?" said Mother Elephant, who was very busy in the kitchen.


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 "What shall I wear?"

"Your blue overalls, of course," Mother Elephant trumpeted back.

"They're too dirty!" said Little Elephant, very loud.

But Mother Elephant didn't answer, so Little Elephant trotted back into his room. "Humph!" he snorted. "Who wants to wear blue overalls on a nice spring Sunday like this?" So he took out his best white sailor suit.

"Goodness sakes!" cried Mother Elephant when Little Elephant came into the kitchen all dressed up.

"We're going on a picnic, aren't we?" said Little Elephant, strutting around proudly, and holding his trunk very high.

"Yes, but oh dear, oh dear, you'll get it all dirty," she said.

"No, I won't," cried Little Elephant, "I pro-mise."

Little Elephant did look awfully nice in that new sailor suit. "Well, if you promise," she said, and turned to take her gingerbread from the oven.

"Can I take my sailboat?" asked Little Elephant, hopping around the table. "Can I take my fish pole?"

"Yes, yes, of course you can," answered Mother Elephant, "but for pity's sake sit down and eat your breakfast, and don't get under my feet." Then she


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 took up the pancakes she had been turning and put them on a plate. She placed a big lump of butter on top, and poured syrup all over them.

Little Elephant didn't talk any more then. He just ate his way down through that stack of pancakes, one after the other, as fast as he could. Then Mother Elephant gave him another stack, and he ate that.

When he couldn't eat any more, he watched Mother Elephant making the sandwiches for the picnic. The piles grew higher and higher, one pile of cheese, one of meat, one of peanut butter, and an extra big pile of jam sandwiches. For she knew Little Elephant loved jam sandwiches.

Then he spied the stuffed eggs—a whole tray of them! "Oooh," sighed Little Elephant, because he wanted one of those eggs and he was sure Mother Elephant wouldn't let him eat one before the picnic. Reaching over he picked up one in his trunk.

"Little Elephant, put down that egg," said Mother Elephant without turning around.

"Oh, I just wanted to smell it," he said, as he laid it back.

Into the great lunch basket went the sandwiches, a fried chicken, a vegetable salad, the gingerbread, the stuffed eggs, the potato chips, and all the other good things.


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 At last the family started off. Father Elephant was wearing a new black and white checked cap set over one ear. And his tusks were all painted with red and black stripes. He had used the tusk-paint Little Elephant had given him for Christmas. Father Elephant was very proud of his looks. He walked ahead with big, slow steps, for he carried the heavy lunch basket. Every few seconds he turned around to say, "Do hurry up! We'll miss the street car."

Mother Elephant, dressed in her red cape, and carrying her big umbrella, followed after, swinging a big jug of lemonade from her trunk.

Little Elephant had all he could carry with his boat and his fish pole.

Grandpa Elephant came shuffling along behind with a tree-MEND-ous custard pie, all packed up in Mother Elephant's hatbox! Of course, a custard pie was a queer thing to take on a picnic, but Mother Elephant made the most wonderful of custard pies. It was one of her specialties.

"Now do be careful with that custard pie!" warned Mother Elephant. She didn't really think the pie was very safe with Grandpa Elephant and she wanted to carry it herself.

"Oh, don't you worry," squeaked Grandpa Elephant, "I'll watch the pie."


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 But Mother Elephant did worry about the pie, and as they walked along she kept turning around to look at Grandpa and the pie.

"There's our street car," called Father Elephant, starting to run. "Hurry up, it's about to leave."

Mother Elephant gathered up her cape and ran too.

Little Elephant trotted as fast as his legs would go. But then the string on his fish pole came loose. It tangled all around his legs and he had to stop and unwind it. And the hook got caught in the trousers of his new white suit. He got it out and ran on.

Grandpa Elephant came along, puffing like a steam engine. But the hatbox was swinging safely from his trunk.

Father Elephant got Mother Elephant and Little Elephant safely on board the street car. Then he reached out to pull up Grandpa. But the conductor was in a hurry to go, so he called out, "All aboard!" and pulled the bell.

"Hey! Wait for Grandpa," called Father Elephant.

But the car was already moving. Grandpa Elephant ran alongside, panting.

Then he saw he couldn't get aboard with that hatbox in his trunk. "Here, catch this, Little Elephant," he piped. And the box with the pie came sailing through the air.


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 "The pie! The pie!" cried Little Elephant. He just knew what would happen to that beautiful pie. He was so scared he closed his eyes and reached out his trunk. Then, PLUMP! he had caught it, and right side up!

Now Father Elephant had Grandpa by the ear and was pulling him up onto the platform, and poor old Grandpa was all out of breath. The street car was crowded because it was a beautiful Sunday and every elephant family wanted to go to the country. So there were no seats and Father and Mother and Grandpa and Little Elephant all had to stand up in the aisle.

That was all right for Father and Mother and Grandpa, because they were tall and could reach the straps with their trunks. But Little Elephant swayed around with nothing to hold on to and he couldn't see out of the window. He stepped on other passengers' toes and they looked at him crossly; and Little Elephant was very unhappy indeed.

Suddenly the car stopped with a terrible jerk and all the elephants bumped and joggled against each other as they slid toward the front. Father and Mother Elephant lost their balance and Grandpa disappeared from sight. Little Elephant was squashed in the crowd.

Then suddenly he heard the gentle wheezing voice


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of Grandpa Elephant. Grandpa always lost his voice like that when he was excited. "Be careful of my custard pie!" he begged. "Please be careful of my pie!"

Little Elephant pulled himself out of the crush and looked around. There was Grandpa Elephant struggling to get through the crowd and holding the hatbox high up over his head. When things got straightened out again, Grandpa Elephant lowered the box and looked inside. Was the pie squashed? No, there it was all safe, with the golden meringue sticking up in points all over the top. Mother Elephant's wonderful custard pie!

The car came to the end of the line and all the passengers got off. Mother and Father Elephant and Grandpa and Little Elephant started to walk through the park. They walked and walked.


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 "This is a good place for a picnic," said Father Elephant.

"No, there isn't any place for Little Elephant to sail his boat," said Mother Elephant. So they walked on again.

"Now here is a nice spot," suggested Grandpa Elephant, for he was getting tired.

"No, I think I see poison ivy there," Mother Elephant declared. So they walked on some more.

"There is a fine place for a picnic," coaxed Little Elephant, who was getting hungry.

"No, it is too sunshiny there. We must find a nice big shady tree so Grandpa can take a nap," said Mother Elephant. And they walked on farther.

Pretty soon Grandpa Elephant said he would sit down on a bench and rest his feet. Little Elephant said he would sit with him. So they rested while the others walked ahead.

Soon Mother Elephant called them and said she'd found a perfect place for the picnic. There was a nice big shade tree for Grandpa, and a branch of the river ran near-by, so Little Elephant could fish and sail his boat.

Father Elephant settled himself comfortably against the tree and opened the Sunday paper. Grandpa Elephant was all tired out from walking so


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 far and he lay down to take a little snooze. Mother Elephant spread a big white cloth on the green grass and began to unpack the lunch box.

Suddenly she bellowed, "Where's the custard pie?"

"What did you say?" asked Father Elephant. He was reading the funnies and didn't want to be bothered.

The only answer from Grandpa was a snore.

"I said, what did you do with the custard pie?" and this time Mother Elephant bustled over to Grandpa and shook his shoulder.

"Eh!" said Grandpa, who could be very deaf sometimes, "the custard pie?"

"Yes, it's lost!" cried Mother Elephant, looking very worried.

Then Grandpa Elephant scratched his head. "Lost? How could that be?"

"Well, it's not here," she declared.

"Now, how could I have lost the pie?" and Grandpa Elephant looked worried, too.

"Well, you'd better go and find it or I'll never make another."

Never to taste another one of Mother Elephant's custard pies! This was so terrible that Grandpa and Father Elephant and Little Elephant all started off at once to find the lost pie. They followed the paths


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 back to the bench where Grandpa had rested. "I'm sure this is where I sat," he said. But no pie was there.

"I'll go on to the next bench," said Little Elephant, and trotted ahead. He came around a bend in the path, and there on a bench he saw the hatbox. But a big tramp elephant was just lumbering up toward the seat.

"Oh, dear!" thought Little Elephant. "Suppose he should find out there's a pie in that box." So he ran as fast as he could to get there first. Just as the tramp elephant sat down on the bench Little Elephant skidded to a stop in front of him.

"Please, sir," he said, for Little Elephant could be very polite, "this is my mother's hatbox." And with that he picked it up in his trunk and ran off. His heart was beating very fast, but he had saved the custard pie.

When he got back Mother Elephant looked very sternly at Grandpa and Father Elephant, but she said Little Elephant was a good boy. "You can run and play now," she told him. "I'll call you when lunch is ready." So Little Elephant went off with his fish pole and sailboat.

"Be careful of your new sailor suit!" Mother Elephant called after him, "and don't go in the water."

Little Elephant soon found a bridge and for a long


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 time he stood there fishing. But after a while he got tired of not catching anything. Then he had a bright idea. He rested the pole against the railing of the bridge and held it down with a stone. Now he could go and play with his boat. If a fish nibbled he could see the line bob and run back.

He had great fun with his sailboat, letting it float down the river while holding onto the string. Sometimes he loaded it up with sticks, or he pretended there was a storm at sea. Then he took a big trunk full of water and blew it all over the little boat, until it almost sank.

As he played he walked farther and farther along the bank. He had quite forgotten about his fish pole when suddenly he saw it sail past him down the river. A big fish was swimming away with it!

"Oh, my new fish pole!" he cried.

Just then he heard Mother Elephant trumpeting, "Li-i-ttle E-e-e-le-phant! Li-i-ittle E-e-e-lephant!"

He couldn't go back without his fish pole and it was floating away fast. So he rolled up his nice white trousers and waded after it. The river was deeper than he thought and he was up to his waist before he caught hold of the fish pole. He tugged and tugged, but the fish tugged too. Little Elephant pulled in the line as fast as he could. Then he grabbed the fish with his


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 trunk. It was slippery, and it flapped and wiggled. But Little Elephant held on tight, and finally stuck it in his blouse. He'd never caught such a big fish!

When he climbed out on the bank his nice new sailor suit was all dripping wet and water was running down his trunk and off his ears. What would Mother Elephant say to him now? She'd told him to be careful of his new sailor suit.

The sun had gone under a cloud and he began to shiver. Then he sneezed, "Ker-choo! Ker-choo! KER-CHOO!" He galloped back as fast as he could to where Mother Elephant sat knitting.

"Oh dear! Oh dear!" she cried when she saw Little Elephant coming with his suit all wet. "I told you not to wear your new sailor suit. Come here to me!" When she started to undress him the big wet fish fell out of his blouse.

"Why, Little Elephant!" she cried, "did you catch that fish?"

"Oh, I can catch bigger ones than that," he said, trying not to look proud.

Then Mother Elephant called Father Elephant to come and see Little Elephant's fish. Father Elephant said it was a wonderful fish and he made a fire to cook it. Little Elephant sat in front of the fire all wrapped up in Mother Elephant's cape, so he wouldn't


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 catch cold. And Mother Elephant propped his clothes up on sticks around the fire to get dry.

While the fish was cooking they all sat down to the picnic. Father Elephant passed the fried chicken, and Mother Elephant dished up the salad. Little Elephant ate a great deal of everything, especially the stuffed eggs. But after he'd eaten ten Mother Elephant said he'd better stop. So then he started on the bowl of potato chips. Little Elephant loved potato chips. He picked them up in his trunk, very daintily, one by one.

Now Father Elephant said the fish was cooked, and gave everybody a piece. Grandpa mumbled "Mmmmm! Dee--licious!" And Father Elephant said he'd never tasted a better fish.

Mother Elephant was watching Little Elephant, who was gobbling. "Now do be careful of the bones," she warned. Just then Little Elephant snorted and his eyes went crisscross, for a large bone had stuck right in his throat.

"Quick!" cried Mother Elephant. "Little Elephant's choking!"

Father Elephant gave Little Elephant a thump on the back that sent the bone flying. Little Elephant gasped and then he was all right again.

After that everything went along nicely till suddenly the ants appeared and began to crawl over the


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 tablecloth. At first there were just a few of them and Mother Elephant brushed them away with her napkin. But more and more came, and soon there was an army. Little Elephant tried blowing them away while Mother Elephant rescued the custard pie. Then Little Elephant felt something crawling up his nose. An ant! It tickled. He blew! He blew again! But it didn't come out. He blew harder and shook his trunk. The ant was crawling up farther.

"Humpha! Humpha!" he bellowed. He ran around in circles. He stood on his head. But the ant kept on crawling. Then suddenly the ant gave him a nip right on the tender inside of his nose. Little Elephant left the ground with a roar, his eyes blazing and his trunk standing out straight.

When he landed again he shut his eyes and gave a mighty "WH-OO-OOF!" There, the ant was gone.

But so were the potato chips! When Little Elephant opened his eyes, they were sailing through the air like leaves in the wind.

Little Elephant's clothes were dry now, so he put them on again. Mother Elephant gathered up the food and moved to a new spot. From time to time she looked up at the sky, for big dark clouds were floating past. They must all hurry and eat the custard pie. She cut the rich creamy pie into four large pieces. A


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 drop of rain fell, then another, and then several more.

"Hurry up! It's going to rain," said Mother Elephant. Just as Little Elephant swallowed his last bite of pie, there came a flash of lightning, then a clap of thunder. And the rain poured down.

Mother Elephant opened her great umbrella and they all stood underneath. "It's only an April shower," she said comfortingly.

And sure enough, in a few minutes the rain stopped and the sun came out. Then Mother Elephant packed the dishes into the empty lunch basket and Father Elephant picked it up with his trunk. Grandpa Elephant took charge of the empty hatbox and Mother Elephant took the empty jug and her big umbrella. Little Elephant gathered up his fish pole and sailboat. Slowly they all walked back to the street car. And each one said, "We've never, never, NEVER had such a good picnic!"


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title: Little Elephant's Picnic


text:
Page:The Last Judgement and Second Coming of the Lord Illustrated.djvu/138

 means impairs the functions or mutilates the form of the soul, because its nature is definitely distinct from matter, and perfectly independent of it. This is why the Scriptures so frequently speak of it as the subject of "everlasting life;" for this fact necessarily excludes the possibility of any interruption to its being.

The soul is that which the apostle designates the "spiritual body." "There is," says he, "a natural body and there is a spiritual body;" not that there is a natural body which is to become a spiritual body at some future time, but that they are two distinct coeval existences. The natural body he sometimes calls "the natural" and the "outward man;" and the spiritual body he sometimes calls the "inner" and "the inward man;" and that he regarded the former as for ever put aside by death, and the latter as for ever a living spiritual realty, is evident from his statement, "Though our outward man perish, yet the inward man is renewed day by day." It is the spirit that really lives; mere natural substance is always dead; and although, when in certain organizations it appears to live, it is only gifted with that appearance for a time by the spirituality that is within it. It is of the soul that the Lord said it should "never see death," "never taste of death," should "never die," should "have everlasting life." The soul is the spiritual man, and is that which, having once begun to live, can never die. Man cannot put himself out of existence; he may, if he be sufficiently wicked or insane, put his natural body to death, but the soul will live in defiance of every effort at such


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Page:The Harveian oration - delivered at the Royal College of Physicians, October 18th, 1899 (IA b24975941).pdf/11

THE HARVEJAN ORATION, 7 the physician of the first century could treat a fracture or dislocation with splints and bandages very much on modern lines; that he could cure a cataract; trephine the skull; and boldly cut for stone without the aid of anæsthetics.

Soot of frankincense was a favourite antiseptic, and his frequent mention of wine and oil for the treatment of wounds bids us remember that Celsus and the "good Samaritan" were trained in the same school. had spent

St. Luke tells us of the woman who all her living on physicians," an echo possibly of the well-known fact that, in the Roman Empire, specialism in medicine and surgery had, for purposes of gain, been pushed to ridiculous extremes.

It must, however, be remembered that the leaders of medicine at this time were men of wide cultivation. Celsus and Galen had "taken all knowledge for their province," and regarded medicine as one branch merely of natural knowledge in the pursuit of which the best intellects were engaged, and of which, as we learn from Pliny, the literature was enormous.

The physician of the first century had probably mastered Euclid's elements; and Euclid, be it remembered, was a natural product of his time, and his work is an eternal monument to the inexorable logic of facts.

Greek philosophy and Greek medicine as a part of it was grounded on the solid basis of observa-


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4 It is my privilege to record that during the past year our Fellows have not been unmindful of this duty. Sir Hermann Weber, the munificent founder of the Parkes Prize, has presented one hundred guineas to the College Endowment Fund. Dr. Philip Frank has given a similar sum, and has shown that, although he has cast aside the heavy burden of practice, his interest in that profession, the dignity of which he has so well upheld in a foreign country, is unabated. By the will of my lamented and respected colleague, Dr. C. J. Hare, the College has received five hundred pounds.

Harvey not only built for us a library and museum and gave us an estate, but by his will left us books and certain articles of furniture. These minor benefactions the "Persia long carpet," the " embroyed eyed cushion," and the "andirons"-are very touching. They show how he loved the College, and how he regarded it as the family mansion of the Fellows, where they could meet in comfort on terms of fraternal amity. During the past year our home has been beautified by two valuable additions to our Portrait Gallery. We have received from the Quain family a striking likeness of Sir Richard Quain by the late Sir John Millais, P.R.A., and a portrait by G. F. Watts of the late Sir William Roberts has been given to us by his representatives. Our library has been enriched by the thoughtfulness and generosity of


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BY ALFRED TENNYSON.

LONDON:

1830.

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Two hundred and forty-three years have elapsed since Harvey gave us his estate at Burmarsh in Kent to provide an honorarium for our Librarian and for the endowment of the Harveian Oration.

The first duty of the orator is to commemorate benefactors. Your predecessor, Mr. President, to whom I owe the very great honour of addressing the College as 181st Harveian Orator, often reminded us that every man is a debtor to his profession, and that our Fellows in the hour of their prosperity should remember by gifts and bequests to assist in maintaining the honour and dignity of the College.


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THE HARVEIAN ORATION. 5 Dr. F. Payne, the Harvcian Librarian, who has presented to it a fine copy of the Latin translation by Linacre, our Founder and first President, of Galen's "De Temperamentis," printed at Cambridge in 1521.

For these gifts and bequests there is no lack of gratitude among us.

We meet upon the day dedicated by the Church to the memory of St. Luke, "the beloved physician," the medical companion of St. Paul,

Without entering upon the vexed question of the precise identity of "Luke, the beloved physician," it may be well to glance for a few moments at the condition of medicine in the first century. Of the state of medical knowledge at this time we are in no doubt. Of two of the best known ancient medical writers-Celsus and Galen-one lived shortly before the Christian Era, and the other about 150 years after it. From their works, there- fore, we are able to judge as to the probable attaiu- monts of a decently educated physician who lived at a period equidistant from both.

Alexandria was, at this time, the chief centre of learning, in which every department of literaturc and natural knowledge was provided for. In this famous 66 teaching university" of the Ptolemies not only had all the wisdom of the ancients been collected, but the students of mathematics, physics, astronomy, geography, zoology, and medicine were


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text: Index:Report of the General Committee of Public Instruction, Bengal (1836).djvu


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30 THE HARVEIAN ORATION. towards research can do anything but harm to the cause of the suffering poor.

In this country we have always wisely recognised the uses of opposition. The stability of our political organisation has been largely due to the fact that the party in power is subjected to the ruthless criticism of the Opposition, "the toad ugly and venomous which "wears yet a precious jewel in its head." So it has been in medicine, where scientific advance has been checked not only by the criticism of the learned, but occasionally by the clamour of the prejudiced and ignorant. We have seemed at times to lag behind our neighbours, but our advance, if occasionally slow, has generally been sure. The party of scientific advance is necessarily always a small one, and it is possible that the relatively ignorant may cause some temporary discomfort to the learned few. But this is the extent of their power. The true spirit of inquiry, like the divine afflatus of the poet, is not subject to human control, and the laws of Nature are more permanent than Acts of Parliament.


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Page:Laws (vol 1 of 2) (Bury, 1926).pdf/43

Rh victory we mentioned of a State over itself is not one of the best things but one of those which are necessary. For imagine a man supposing that a human body was best off when it was sick and purged with physic, while never giving a thought to the case of the body that needs no physic at all! Similarly, with regard to the well-being of a State or an individual, that man will never make a genuine statesman who pays attention primarily and solely to the needs of foreign warfare, nor will he make a finished lawgiver unless he designs his war legislation for peace rather than his peace legislation for war.

CLIN. This statement, Stranger, is apparently true; yet, unless I am much mistaken, our legal usages in Crete, and in Lacedaemon too, are wholly directed towards war.

ATH. Very possibly; but we must not now attack them violently, but mildly interrogate them, since both we and your legislators are earnestly interested in these matters. Pray follow the argument closely. Let us take the opinion of Tyrtaeus (an Athenian by birth and afterwards a citizen of Lacedaemon), who, above all men, was keenly interested in our subject. This is what he says:'! “Though a man were the richest of men, though a man possessed goods in plenty (and he specifies nearly every good there is), if he failed to prove himself at all times most valiant in war, no mention should I make of him, nor take account of him at all.”” No doubt you also have heard these poems; while our friend Megillus is, I imagine, surfeited with them. Tyrtaeus, xii. (Bergk). Tyrtaeus wrote war-songs at Sparta about 680 B.o.


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Rh MEG. I certainly am.

CLIN. And I can assure you they have reached Crete also, shipped over from Lacedaemon.

ATH. Come now, let us jointly interrogate this poet somehow on this wise: “O ‘Tyrtaeus, most inspired of poets (for assuredly you seem to us both wise and good in that you have eulogised excellently those who excel in war), concerning this matter we three—Megillus, Clinias of Cnosus and myself—are already in entire accord with you, as we suppose; but we wish to be assured that both we and you are alluding to the same persons. Tell us then: do you clearly recognise, as we do, two distinct kinds of war?” In reply to this I suppose that even a much less able man than Tyrtaeus would state the truth, that there are two kinds, the one being that which we all call “civil,” which is of all wars the most bitter, as we said just now, while the other kind, as I suppose we shall all agree, is that which we engage in when we quarrel with foreigners and aliens—a kind much milder than the former,

CLIN. Certainly.

ATH. “Come, then, which kind of warriors, fighting in which kind of war, did you praise so highly, while blaming others? Warriors, apparently, who fight in war abroad. At any rate, in your poems you have said that you cannot abide men who dare not ‘face the gory fray and smite the foe in close combat.’ ”’

Then we should proceed to say, “It appears, O 2 roy Baiter, Schanz: robs MSS.


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Rh Tyrtaeus, that you are chiefly praising those who achieve distinction in foreign and external warfare.” To this, I presume, he would agree, and say “ Yes"?

CUIN. Of course.

ATH. Yet, brave though these men are, we still maintain that they are far surpassed in bravery by those who are conspicuously brave in the greatest of wars ; and we also have a poet for witness,—Theognis (a citizen of Sicilian Megara), who says:

“In the day of grievous feud, O Cyrnus, the loyal warrior is worth his weight in silver and gold.”

Such a man, in a war much more grievous, is, we say, ever so much better than the other—nearly as much better, in fact, as the union of justice, prudence and wisdom with courage is better than courage by itself alone. For a man would never prove himself loyal and sound in civil war if devoid of goodness in its entirety ; whereas in the war of which Tyrtaeus speaks there are vast numbers of mercenaries ready to die fighting? “with well-planted feet apart,” of whom the majority, with but few exceptions, prove themselves reckless, unjust, violent, and pre-eminently foolish, What, then, is the conclusion to which our present discourse is tending, and what point is it trying to make clear by these statements? Plainly it is this: both the Heaven-taught legislator of Crete and every legislator who is worth his salt will most assuredly legislate always with a single eye to 1 Theognis, v. 77-8 (Bergk). He wrote sententious poetry about 550 B.c. 2 Tyrt. xi. 21,


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title: Page:Rubens (IA rubens01roos).pdf/351


text: Page:Rubens (IA rubens01roos).pdf/371

title: Page:Rubens (IA rubens01roos).pdf/371


text: Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/Isabel

title: Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/Isabel


text: Page:Rubens (IA rubens01roos).pdf/383

title: Page:Rubens (IA rubens01roos).pdf/383


text: Page:Rubens (IA rubens01roos).pdf/399

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title: Page:Poems, chiefly lyrical.pdf/14


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text: Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/Elegiacs

title: Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/Elegiacs


text: Page:Rubens (IA rubens01roos).pdf/126

title: Page:Rubens (IA rubens01roos).pdf/126


text:
Page:The Civil Aviation (Investigation of Air Accidents and Incidents) Regulations 2018 (UKSI 2018-321 qp).pdf/4

 Objective of a safety investigation

8. The sole objective of a safety investigation which is undertaken pursuant to Regulation 996/2010, Annex 13 or these Regulations is the prevention of accidents and incidents, without the apportionment of blame or liability.

Inspectors of Air Accidents

9.—(1) For the purposes of carrying out safety investigations, the Secretary of State must appoint persons to work for the Air Accidents Investigation Branch as Inspectors of Air Accidents.

(2) The Secretary of State must appoint one such Inspector as the Chief Inspector of Air Accidents.

(3) The Chief Inspector must appoint another such Inspector as the Deputy Chief Inspector of Air Accidents.

(4) Any of the Chief Inspector’s powers and obligations under these Regulations may be exercised or discharged by the Deputy Chief Inspector where the Chief Inspector so directs.

(5) Where a safety investigation is required or permitted by Regulation 996/2010, Annex 13 or by these Regulations, the investigator-in-charge is the Chief Inspector or any other Inspector selected by the Chief Inspector for that purpose.

(6) The Chief Inspector may determine that the investigator-in-charge shall be assisted by one or more Inspectors.

Power to investigate

10.—(1) Notwithstanding the obligations to investigate imposed by paragraphs 1 and 2 of Article 5 of Regulation 996/2010 and by Chapter 5 of Annex 13, the Chief Inspector may cause a safety investigation to be conducted in accordance with Regulation 996/2010, Annex 13 and these Regulations where—
 * (a) an accident, a serious incident or any other incident occurs in or over the United Kingdom;
 * (b) that accident, serious incident or incident involves any aircraft, including—
 * (i) an aircraft to which the obligation in paragraph 1 of Article 5 of Regulation 996/2010 does not apply; or
 * (ii) an aircraft engaged in military, customs, police or similar services; and
 * (c) the Chief Inspector expects to draw safety lessons for civil aviation from the safety investigation.

(2) In this regulation “similar services” has the same meaning as in paragraph 3 of Article 3 of Regulation 996/2010.

Obligation to investigate accidents and serious incidents occurring outside the United Kingdom

11.—(1) Insofar as it is practicable to do so, the Chief Inspector must cause a safety investigation to be conducted in accordance with Annex 13 and these Regulations where—
 * (a) an accident or serious incident occurs in or over a country or territory other than the United Kingdom or any other Contracting State;
 * (b) the accident or serious incident involves an aircraft in respect of which the United Kingdom is—
 * (i) the State of Registry;
 * (ii) the State of the Operator;
 * (iii) the State of Design; or
 * (iv) the State of Manufacture; and

4