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Page talk:Millions of Cats (1928).pdf/3

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Although this page has no text, do we want to have this as an image ? -- Beardo (talk) 17:32, 31 January 2024 (UTC)

title: Page talk:Millions of Cats (1928).pdf/3


text: Page:Millions of Cats (1928).pdf/4

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

title: Page:Millions of Cats (1928).pdf/4


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Younge, William (7)


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Page:Shenandoah National Park Full Species List of Wildflowers.pdf/1

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 * style="width:30%"|National Park Service U.S. Department of the Interior
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 * Logo of the United States National Park Service.svg
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Full Species List of Wildflowers

Wildflowers, also known as herbs, are comprised of 805 species and represent more than half of the floral species diversity within the park. Almost 20% of these species are in the aster (Asteraceae) family, which contains many of the park’s late-blooming plants such as goldenrods (Solidago spp.), asters (Symphyotrichum spp.), and wild sunflowers (Helianthus spp.). The next most abundantly represented plant families are the pea (Fabaceae), lily (Lilaceae), mint (Lamiaceae) and mustard (Brassicaceae) families. The rich diversity of wildflowers in the park is particularly evident in spring at lower elevations along streams such as South River, Hughes River, Rose River, and Mill Prong. Later in the season, the banks of Skyline Drive and the Big Meadows area are great places to see summer and fall wildflowers. Threats to the park’s wildflowers include competition from invasive exotic plants, illegal plant collecting, and habitat changes brought about by climate change.

This checklist was compiled on March 10, 2015 using data exported from the National Park Service NPSpecies database. The database can be accessed at https://irma.nps.gov/NPSpecies/. Here you will find search tools that make it possible to create updated or customized lists. This checklist and others are found at https://irma.nps.gov/NPSpecies/Search/SpeciesList/SHEN. Lists are currently available for the following: mammals, birds, fish, reptiles, amphibians, butterflies, plants (complete list), trees and shrubs, wildflowers, ferns, and grasses. Please be advised that Latin scientific names often change as a result of new research; therefore, scientific names used here may not reflect the most current accepted nomenclature.


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title: Page:Millions of Cats (1928).pdf/37


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Young, William (6)


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Younge, William (5)


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Young, William (4)


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Younge, William (3)


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Younge, William (2)


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Younge, William (1)


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Yonge, William


text:
Page:Hudibras - Volume 2 (Butler, Nash, Bohn; 1859).djvu/293

RV 431 (HIS LADY.])


text: Category:Undated soft redirects

title: Category:Undated soft redirects


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Page:Self-help with illustrations of conduct and perseverance (IA selfhelpwithillu00smiliala).pdf/135

 some able persons in the investigation, they had succeeded in manufacturing "a sort of red vessels (eine Art rother Gefässe) far superior to the Indian terra sigillata"; as also "coloured ware and plates (buntes Geschirr und Tafeln) which may be cut, ground, and polished, and are quite equal to Indian vessels," and finally that "specimens of white porcelain (Proben von weissem Porzellan)" had already been obtained, and it was hoped that this quality, too, would soon be manufactured in considerable quantities. The royal decree concluded by inviting "foreign artists and handicrafts-men" to come to Saxony and engage as assistants in the new factory, at high wages, and under the patronage of the King. This royal edict probably gives the best account of the actual state of Böttgher's invention at the time.

It has been stated in German publications that Böttgher, for the great services rendered by him to the Elector and to Saxony, was made Manager, of the Royal Porcelain Works, and further promoted to the dignity of Baron. Doubtless he deserved these honours; but his treatment was of an altogether different character, for it was shabby, cruel, and inhuman. Two royal officials, named Matthieu and Nehmitz, were put over his head as directors of the factory, while he himself only held the position of foreman of potters, and at the same time was detained the King's prisoner. During the erection of the factory at Meissen, while his assistance was still indispensable, he was


text:
Uncle William/Chapter 14

HEY had paused at the foot of a flight of stairs. Down the narrow hall-way floated a mingled sound of voices, high and low, with drifting strains of violin-bows laid across strings and quickly withdrawn.

The old man looked at her inquiringly. “They hain’t begun?”

She shook her head. “They ’re tuning up.”

His face lifted a little. “I reckoned that could n’t be the beginnin’. But ye can’t al’ays tell. They make queer noises sometimes.”

“Yes.—I must leave you now.” She had ushered him into a small hall. “I ’m going to have you sit here, quite near the platform, where I can see you.” She looked at him a little anxiously. “You don’t need to stay if you don’t like it, you know.”

“Oh, I shall like it fust-rate,” he responded. “It looks like a real comf’tabul chair to set in.”

He seated himself in it and beamed upon the room. The place she had selected for him was near the platform and facing a little toward the audience. It had occurred to her, in a last moment of indecision, that Uncle William might enjoy the audience if the music proved too classic for him. She left him with a little murmur of apology.

A young girl in pink chiffon, with a bunch of huge pink roses, fluttered forward with a program.

Uncle William took it in pleased fingers. He searched for his spectacles and mounted them on his nose, staring at the printed lines. The audience had settled down to attention. Amused glances traveled toward the big figure absorbed in its program. Sergia had whispered a word here and there as she left the room. It made its way back through the crowd—“A friend of Mademoiselle Lvova’s—a sea-captain. She has brought him to hear the MacDowell pieces.” The audience smiled and relaxed. The music was beginning. Two young girls played a concerto from Rubenstein, with scared, flying fingers. They were relieved when it was done, and the audience clapped long and loud. Some one brought them bunches of flowers—twin lilies, tied exactly alike, with long white ribbons. Uncle William, his spectacles pushed up on the tufts of hair, watched with admiring glance as they escaped from the stage. He turned to his right-hand neighbor, an old gentleman with white hair and big, smooth, soft hands, who had watched the performance with gentle care.

“Putty girls,” said Uncle William, cordially.

The man looked at him, smiling. “One of them is my granddaughter, sir,” he responded affably.

She came from the door by the platform and sat down near her grandfather, the lilies and the long white ribbons trailing from nervous fingers. Uncle William leaned forward and smiled at her, nodding encouragement.

She replied with a quick, shy smile and fixed her eyes on the platform.

More pupils followed—young girls and old ones, and a youth with a violin that fluttered and wailed and grew harmonious at last as the youth forgot himself. Uncle William’s big, round face beamed upon him. Sergia, watching him from behind the scenes, could see that he regarded them all as nice children. He would have looked the same had they played on jews’-harps and tin horns. But he was enjoying it. She was glad of that.

She came out during the intermission to speak with him. “They ’re all through now,” she said encouragingly.

He looked down at his program bewildered, and a little disappointed, she thought. “They got ’em all done?—I did n’t hear that ‘Wanderin’ Iceberg’ one,” he said regretfully. “I cal’ated to listen to that. But I was so interested in the children that I clean forgot.—They ’re nice children.” He looked about the room where they were laughing and talking in groups. “Time to go, is it?”

“Not yet. That was only the first half—the pupils’ half. The rest is what I wanted you to hear—the sea-pieces and the others. They are played by real musicians.”

“You goin’ to do one?” asked Uncle William.

“Yes, one.” She smiled at him.

“I ’ll stay.” He settled back comfortably.

“That ’s right. I must go now and speak to some of the mothers. They only come for the first half. They will be going home.” She moved away.

Uncle William’s eyes followed her admiringly. He turned to the old gentleman beside him. “Nice girl,” he said.

“She is a fine teacher,” responded the old gentleman. “She had not been here long, but she had a good following. She has temperament.”

“Has she?” Uncle William looked after her a little quizzically. “Makes ’em stand around does she? You can’t ever tell about temper. Sometimes it ’s the quietest ones has the wust. But she makes ’em work good. You can see that.”

“Yes, she makes them work.” The old gentleman smiled upon him kindly and patronizingly. He had been born and brought up in New York. He was receptive to new ideas and people. There was something about Uncle William—a subtle tang—that he liked. It was a new flavor.

Uncle William studied his program. “Sounds more sensible ’n some of it.” He had laid a big finger on a section near the end. “I can understand that, now, ‘To an Old White Pine.’ That’s interestin’. Now that one there.” He spelled out the strange sounds slowly, “‘Opus 6, No. 2, A minor, All-e-gro.’ Now mebbe you know what that means—I don’t. But an ol’ white-pine tree—anybody can see that. We don’t hev ’em up my way—pine-trees. But I like ’em—al’ays did—al’ays set under ’em when they ’re handy. You don’t hev many round here?”

The old gentleman smiled. “No; there are not many old white pines in New York. I can remember a few, as a boy.”

“Can ye?—Right in the center here?” Uncle William was interested.

“Well, not just here—a little out. But they ’re gone.” The old gentleman sighed. “MacDowell has caught the spirit. You can hear the wind soughing through them and the branches creaking a little and rubbing, and a still kind of light all around. It ’s very nice.”

“Good poetry, I s’pose,” assented Uncle William. “I don’t care so much for poetry myself. Some on it ’s good,” he added thoughtfully. “‘The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck,’ that swings off kind o’ nice, and ‘Horatius at the Bridge.’ But most on it has a kind o’ travelin’ round way with it—has to go round by Robin Hood’s barn to get anywheres. I ’m gen’ally sort o’ drowsy whilst it’s bein’ read.”

The old gentleman had laughed out genially. “MacDowell does n’t write poetry, except short things—lines for headings. He makes it on the piano.”

“Makes an old white-pine tree?” demanded Uncle William.

“Well—something like that.”

Uncle William returned to his program. “There ’ll be a ‘water-lily,’ then, will the’? and an ‘eagle,’ and a ‘medder brook,’ and a ‘wanderin’ iceberg,’ and a ‘pair o’ bars’?” He looked up with a soft twinkle. “And like enough a rooster or two, and a knock-kneed horse. I keep a-wonderin’ what that wanderin’ iceberg ’ll be like. I ’ve seen a wanderin’ iceberg,—leastways I ’ve come mighty near one,—but I ain’t ever heard it. You ever met a wanderin’ iceberg?” His tone was friendly and solicitous.

The New York man shook his head. “Only the human kind.”

Uncle William chuckled. “I ’ve met that kind myself—and the other kind, too.” He paused suddenly. The audience had hushed itself. Sergia was seated at the piano.

It was a Beethoven number, a sonata. Uncle William apparently went to sleep. Sergia, watching him, smiled gently. He must be very tired, poor dear. The next number will keep him awake all right. It did. It was sung by a famous baritone—“Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest! Yo ho! Yo ho!” Uncle William sat up. Joy radiated from him. He clutched his chair with both hands and beamed. The audience laughed with delight and clapped an encore.

“Goin’ to do it again, is he?” said Uncle William. “Now that ’s good of him, ain’t it? But I should think he ’d kind o’ like to. I ’d like to do it myself if I could.”

“Fifteen men on a dead man’s chest!” rolled out the voice.

“He gets the spirit of it,” said the old gentleman when the song had ended and the applause had subsided.

“Jest so. I ’ve been there myself—come within an ace o’ havin’ my chest set on once. They was all fightin’ drunk, too—jest like that. Gives ye the same kind o’ feelin’s—creepy and shivery-like. What ’s he goin’ to do?” A long-haired youth had appeared on the platform. He approached the piano and stood looking at it thoughtfully, his head a little to one side.

“It ’s Flanders. He plays the MacDowell—the ‘Wandering Iceberg,’ you know.”

“H’m-m.” Uncle William took down his spectacles to look at the youth through them. “You think he can do it all right? He ain’t very hefty.”

The youth had seated himself. He struck a heavy, thundering chord on the keys and subsided. His hands hung relaxed at his sides and his eyes were fixed dreamily on the wall before him.

“Has he got her started?” It was a loud whisper from Uncle William.

The old gentleman shook his head.

Uncle William waited patiently. There was a gentle trickle on the keys—and another. Then a pause and more trickles—then some galloping notes, with heavy work in the bass.

Uncle William looked interested. “She ’s gettin’ under way, like enough.

“Sh-h!” The old gentleman held up a hand.

There were some long, flowing lines and a swirling sound that might have been water, and low growls in the bass, and a general rumbling and gritting and sliding and tumbling among the notes. The sounds stopped altogether. The youth sat staring before him. Applause broke from the audience. The youth got up and left the platform.

Uncle William stared after him with open mouth. “Has he got her done?” He turned to the man at his side.

“All done. How did you like it?”

“Well”—Uncle William squinted thoughtfully at his program—“I thought I was goin’ to like it fust-rate—if he ’d got to it.”

“He did n’t get there, then?” The man laughed.

“Not to the iceberg.” Uncle William shook his head. A kindly look grew in his face. “I dunno ’s he ’s so much to blame, though. An iceberg must be kind o’ hard to do, I should think likely.”

“I should think it might be. Music is n’t cold enough.”

“’T ain’t the cold,” said Uncle William, hastily. “I run acrost an iceberg once. We was skirmishin’ round up North, in a kind o’ white fog, frosty-like, and cold—cold as blazes; and all of a sudden we was on her—close by her, somewheres, behind the frost. We wa’n’t cold any more. It was about the hottest time I ever knew,” he said thoughtfully.

“What happened?”

Uncle William roused himself. “Well, after a spell we knew she wa’n’t there any more, and we cooled down some. But we wa’n’t real cold—not for much as a day or so.”

The youth had returned to the piano. The audience met him with wild applause, half-way, and he bowed solemnly from his hips. There was a weary look in his face.

Uncle William looked him over critically. “He don’t more ’n half like it, does he?”

The other man coughed a little. Then he laughed out.

Uncle William smiled genially. “I ’ve seen his kind—a good many times. Looks as if they was goin’ to cry when you was feedin’ ’em sugar. They gen’ally like it real well, too.”—He consulted his program.—“Goin’ to do a hammock, is he?”

The hammock began to sway, and Uncle William’s big head rocked softly in time to it. “Some like it,” he said when it was done; “not enough to make you sea-sick—jest easy swingin’.”

The youth had not left the piano. He played “The Bars at Sunset,” and “A Water Lily,” and “The Eagle,” and then the two sea pieces. Uncle William listened with mild attention.

When it was over and the audience had begun to disperse, Sergia came out. She approached Uncle William, scanning his face. “How did you like it?”

“They all done?” he demanded.

“Yes. Did you like the sea pieces?”

“I liked ’em. Yes—I liked ’em.” Uncle William’s tone was moderate.

Sergia was smiling at him a little. “The ‘Depths of the Ocean’—you liked that best, did n’t you?”

Uncle William looked guilty. “I knew you was goin’ to ask me about that one,” he said, “and I ’d meant to listen hard—real hard—to it. I hain’t ever been quite so far down as that, but I thought mebbe I could gauge it. But you see,”—his tone grew confidential and a little apologetic,—“when they got that far along, I could n’t really tell which was which. I wa’n’t plumb sure whether it was the eagle he was doin’ or the dep’hs, and it mixed me up some. I did n’t jest know whether to soar up aloft or dive considabul deep. It kep’ me kind o’ teeterin’ betwixt and between—” He looked at her appealingly, yet with a little twinkle somewhere below.

“I see.” Sergia’s face was dancing. “The names do help.”

“That ’s it,” said Uncle William, gallantly. “If he ’d ’a’ read off the names, or stopped quite a spell between the pieces, I ’d ’a’ done fust-rate. He was playin’ ’em nice. I could see the folks liked ’em.” He smiled at her kindly.

Sergia smiled back. “Yes, they like MacDowell. They think they understand him—when they know which it is.” Her smile had grown frank, like a boy’s. “But which did you like best of all?”

“Of the hull thing?” he demanded. He looked down at the program. “They was all nice,” he said slowly—“real nice. I dunno when I ’ve heard nicer singin’ ’n playin’. But I reckon that one was about the nicest of the lot.” He laid his big thumb on a number.

Sergia and the old gentleman bent to look. It was the Beethoven sonata.

Sergia glanced at the old gentleman. He met the glance, smiling. “A tribute to our hostess,” he said.

“A tribute to Beethoven,” returned Sergia. Then, after a moment, she laughed softly. Sergia was not addicted to MacDowell.

title: Uncle William/Chapter 14


text:
Uncle William/Chapter 15

NCLE WILLIAM crept into the rooms like a thief, but the artist was sleeping soundly. He did not stir as the latch gave a little click in the lock. “That ’s good,” said Uncle William. He had slipped off his shoes and was in his stocking feet. He stole over to the bed and stood looking down at the thin face. It was a little drawn, with hollow eyes. “He ’ll perk considabul when he hears about them picters,” said Uncle William.

But in the morning when, after breakfast, Uncle William announced his great news, the artist ignored it. “Is she coming—Sergia?”

Uncle William scowled his forehead in recollection. “Now, I can’t seem to remember ’t she said so.”

“What did she say?” The tone was imperative.

“Well, she asked how you was gettin’ along. I told her that—as well as I could.”

“Did n’t you tell her I wanted to see her?”

“Yes, I told her that.” Uncle William’s voice was impartial.

“Well?”

“She did n’t seem to think much of it. I guess if I was you I ’d hurry up and get well so ’s to go see her.”

The artist’s face had grown hard. “I shall not go until I can carry her the money in my hand—all that I owe her.”

“Is ’t a good deal?” asked Uncle William.

But the artist had turned his face to the wall.

Uncle William looked down at him with a kind of compassionate justice. “If I was you—”

A whistle sounded and an arm, holding a letter, was thrust in at the door.

“What is it?” The artist had turned. He half raised himself, reaching out a hand. “What is it? Give it to me.”

Uncle William examined the lines slowly. “Why, it seems to be for me,” he said kindly. “I dunno anybody that ’d be writin’ to me.”

He found his glasses and opened it, studying the address once or twice and shaking his head.

The artist had sunk back, indifferent.

“Why!” The paper rustled in Uncle William’s hand. He looked up. “She ’s gone!” he said.

The artist started up, glaring at him.

Uncle William shook his head, looking at him pityingly. “Like as not we sha’n’t see her again, ever.”

The artist’s hand groped. “What is it?” he whispered.

“She ’s gone—left in the night.”

“She will come back.” The gaunt eyes were fixed on his face

Uncle William shook his head again, returning the gaze with a kind of sternness. “I dunno,” he says. “When a man treats her like Andy has, she must kind o’ hate him—like pizen.”

The artist sat up, a look of hope faint and perplexed, dawning beneath his stare. He leaned forward, speaking slowly. “What are you talking about?”

“I ’m talkin’ about that.” Uncle William held out the letter. “It ’s from Andy, and Juno ’s left him. Took to the woods. She could n’t stan’ havin’ him round, I guess.” Uncle William chuckled a little.

The young man lay back. He moistened his lips a little with his tongue. “You were talking about her?” The words were a whisper.

Uncle William looked at him over his glasses. “Did n’t you hear me say so?”

There was a long silence. “I thought you meant—Sergia.”

“Sergia!—What!” Uncle William looked down at the letter. A light dawned slowly in his eye. He fixed it on the young man. A chuckle sounded somewhere and grew in little rolls, tumbling up from the depths. “You thought I meant—her!” Uncle William’s sides shook gently. “Lord, no! Sergia did n’t run away. She ’ll stan’ by till the last man’s hung. She ’s that kind.”

“I know.” The tone was jealous. “I ought to know.”

“Yes, you ought to know.” Uncle William left the moral to take care of itself. He did up the work, singing hopefully as he rolled about the room, giving things what he called “a lick and a promise.”

“You were late last night,” said the artist, watching him.

“Yes, considabul late,” said Uncle William. He had come upon another pile of cigar-ashes behind a picture on the shelf, and was brushing it up, whistling softly. “You must ’a’ smoked a good deal,” he said, rapping out the ashes. “I ’ve been sweepin’ ’em up ever since I come.”

“I did. It helped me forget.”

“It did n’t help you get well, I reckon,” said Uncle William. “What you need,” he added, “is fresh air and wind—and rocks.”

The artist mused. “It would seem good.”

The old man had paused in his work. “Will you go—to-morrow?”

The artist looked about him, hesitating. “I could n’t get ready—”

“I ’ll get ye ready.”

“We might—in a week?”

“I can’t wait,” said Uncle William, decisively. “I ’ve got to look up Juno. She ’ll like enough get desperate—drown herself the first thing I know. I ’m goin’ to start to-morrow. If you want to go along, I ’ll pack ye up.”

The young man looked at him helplessly. “I can’t get along without you. You know I need you.”

“Yes, I know you need me,” said Uncle William. “I kind o’ counted on that.” He began to pack vigorously, emerging now and then out of the dust and clatter to beam on the young man. “Now, don’t you worry a mite. You ’re goin’ to get well and earn money and come back and pay her, and everything ’s comin’ out all right.”

the afternoon tickets arrived from Sergia. There was a line with them, asking Uncle William to call for her, at eight, that evening. The artist looked at the tickets a little enviously. “I should like to go, myself,” he said. “It ’s the first view.” He glanced at Uncle William appealingly.

The old man ignored it. “You could n’t go, noways,” he said; “not if we ’re goin’ to start to-morrow.”

The artist sighed. He was sitting in an arm-chair, wrapped in a blanket, a pillow behind his head. “I don’t suppose I could.” He sighed again.

Uncle William looked at him keenly. “The’ ’s a good deal of leg-work to an exhibit, ain’t they?”

“Yes.” The artist smiled faintly.

Uncle William nodded. “I thought so. Well, it ’s all you can do to set in a chair with a piller behind you. I would n’t say no more about picters if I was you.” He took down the mirror and laid it between two cushions, holding it in place while he reached for the knot. “I don’t suppose you have the least idee how you look,” he said. “I cal’ate to have you look a sight better ’n that ’fore Sergia sees you.”

The artist’s face flushed. “Give me the glass.”

Uncle William shook his head. “I ’ve got to hustle to get these things done.” He drew the sailor’s knot firmly in place. “I cal’ate to have everything ready so ’s to get an early start.”

“She would n’t mind how I looked,” said the young man, defensively.

“Mebbe not.” Uncle William was gathering together the trifles from the shelf and table, and knotting them in a table-spread. “You want to save this out?” he asked indifferently. It was a picture of the girl in an oval frame.

The young man seized it. He was looking at it with warm eyes.

Uncle William glanced down on them from his height. “Mebbe not,” he said gently, “but I reckon she ’d hate to see ye lookin’ like that. It ’s about all I can stan’ to see ye, myself.”

title: Uncle William/Chapter 15


text:
Uncle William/Chapter 16

HE girl looked up from her copying. Uncle William stood in the doorway, beaming on her. She got up quickly. “You are early.”

Uncle William held out a hand detainingly. “You set right down and go to work. I come early a-purpose. I thought I ’d like to set a spell and watch ye.”

The girl resumed her copying. The lamp beside her shed its dull glow on the page, and on her face and neck, as she bent to it. The dark room rose mysteriously behind her. Uncle William settled himself in his chair with a breath of relief.

When she had finished the copying she came across to him. “It is done now.” She smiled to him through the dim light.

“Keeps you workin’ pretty steady, don’t it?” said Uncle William.

“Yes.” There was no complaint in the word.

Uncle William nodded. “I reckoned I ’d find you doin’ it. That’s why I come early. I kind o’ wanted a chance to set—where ’t was quiet and things wa ’n ’t [sic] worryin’.”

She leaned forward. “Is he worse?”

“Well, not worse, so to speak, but kind o’ triflin’—wanting his own way a good deal. If I was home, I would n’t mind it a mite. I ’d go out-door and take two-three good whiffs, look at the water and see how things was comin’ on. I ’d be all right in no time. But here—” He drew a kind of caged breath. “It ’s worse outdoor ’n ’t is in.”

“You mind the noise, don’t you?” She was looking at him sympathetically.

“Well, ’t ain’t the noise so much,—I ’ve heard the ocean roar,—it ’s folks. Pesters me havin’ ’em round—so many on ’em.”

Her look changed to a little wonder. “I should think you would like to be with them. You help them.” She spoke the words softly, almost shyly. The clear glow of her eyes rested on his face.

The face showed no pride. “Yes, I reckon I help ’em—some. There ’s gen’ally suthin’ to do, if you ’re where folks be; but I have to get away from ’em.—Can’t breathe if I don’t.—And there ain’t any place to go to. I was feelin’ a good deal cooped up to-night, and then I thought o’ your place here.” He moved his hand toward the dark recesses. “It ’s kind o’ clean and high.”

They sat in silence, the girl’s head resting on her hand.

Uncle William watched her face in the half-light. “You ’re gettin’ tired and kind o’ peaked.”

She looked up. “I am resting.”

“Yes—yes, I know how it is. You stan’ all you can and byme-by you come to a place you can rest in, and you jest rest—hard.”

“Yes.”

“You ought to ’a’ asked somebody to help ye,” said Uncle William, gently.

“There was n’t any one.”

“There was me.”

“Yes. I did ask you when I could n’t go on.”

“That wa ’n ’t the way. Somebody would ’a’ helped—your folks, like enough—” He stopped, remembering.

“They are dead.”

He nodded. “I know. He told me. But I ’d forgot—for a minute. They been dead long?”

“Two years. It was before I came away—at home, in Russia. We were all coming—father and mother and I, and my brother. Then they died; but I wanted to be free.” She had flung out her arms with a light movement.

“It ’s a dretful good place to get away from,” said Uncle William. “Nice folks come from there, too.—I never saw one that wa’ n ’t glad to come,” he added.

She smiled. “I was glad; and I am glad I came here. It has been hard—a little—but I found Alan.” Her voice sang.

“Some folks would say that was the wust of it,” said Uncle William. “You found him and he fell sick, and you had him to take care on—cross as two sticks some of the time.” He regarded her mildly.

“You don’t think so,” she said.

“Well, mebbe not, mebbe not,” responded Uncle William. “I ’m sort o’ queer, perhaps.”

She had turned to him half wistfully. “Don’t you think I might see him—just a little while?”

Uncle William shook his head. “You ’ve been too good to him. That’s the wust of wimmen folks. What he needs now is a tonic—suthin’ kind o’ bitter.” He chuckled. “He ’s got me.”

She smiled. “When are you going to take him away?”

“To-morrow.”

She started. “It is very soon,” she said softly.

“Sooner the better,” said Uncle William. “It ’ll do us both good to smell the sea.” He pulled out the great watch. “Must be ’most time to be startin’.” He peered at it uncertainly.

“Yes, we must go.” She rose and brought her hat, a fragile thing of lace and mist, and a little lace mantle with long floating ends. She put them on before the mirror that hung above the table where the copying lay, giving little turns and touches of feminine pleasure.

Uncle William’s eyes followed her good-humoredly.

She turned to him, her face glowing, starlike, out of the lace and mist. “You ’re laughing at me,” she said, reproachfully.

“No, I wa ’n ’t laughing, so to speak,” returned Uncle William. “I was thinkin’ what a sight o’ comfort there is in a bunnit. If men folks wore ’em I reckon they ’d take life easier.” He placed his hat firmly on the gray tufts. “That ’s one o’ the cur’us things—about ’em.” They were going down the long flight of stairs and he had placed his hand protectingly beneath her arm. “That ’s one o’ the cur’us things—how different they be, men and women. I ’ve thought about it a good many times, how it must ’a’ tickled the Lord a good deal when he found how different they turned out—made o’ the same kind o’ stuff, so.”

“Don’t you suppose he meant it?” She was smiling under the frilling lace.

“Well, like enough,” returned Uncle William, thoughtfully. “It ’s like the rest o’ the world—kind o’ comical and big. Like enough he did plan it that way.”

title: Uncle William/Chapter 16


text:
Uncle William/Chapter 17

HE room was filled with the hum of light—faces and flowers and color everywhere. Uncle William walked among them erect, overtopping the crowd, his gaze, for the most part, on the sky-line. Sergia, beside him, seemed a slight figure. Glances followed them as they went, amused or curious or a little admiring. Uncle William, oblivious to the glances and to the crowd that opened before him, and closed silently behind the great figure, beamed upon it all. He was used to making his way through a crowd unhindered. To Sergia the experience was more novel, and she watched the crowd and the pictures and the old man moving serene among them, with amused eyes. Once she called his attention to a celebrated painter in the crowd. Uncle William’s eye rested impartially upon him for a moment and returned to its sky-line. “He looks to me kind o’ pindlin’. One o’ the best, is he?”

“He ’s not strong, you mean?”

“Well, not strong, and not much to him—as if the Lord was kind o’ skimped for material. Is that one o’ his picters?”

Her eyes followed his hand. “Alan’s! Come.” They moved quickly to it across the larger room. “They are all here.” Her glance had swept the walls. “In the best light, too.” She moved eagerly from one to the other. “See how well they are hung.”

Uncle William’s eye surveyed them. “Middlin’ plumb,” he assented. “That fu’ther one looks to me a leetle mite off the level. It ’s the one o’ my house, too.” He moved toward it and straightened the frame with careful hand, then he stepped back, gazing at it with pride. “Putty good, ain’t it?” he said.

She smiled, quietly. “Perfect. He has never done anything so good.”

“It is a putty nice house,” said Uncle William. His eye dwelt on it fondly. “I ’d a’most forgot how nice it was. You see that little cloud there—that one jest over the edge? That means suthin’ ’fore mornin’.” He lifted his hand to it. “I would n’t trust a sky like that—not without reefin’ down good.” He drew a breath. “Cur’us how it makes you feel right there!” he said. “I ’d a’most forgot.” He glanced at the moving crowd a little hostilely and drew another deep breath.

“The atmosphere is fine,” said the girl. She was studying it with half-shut eyes, her head thrown a little back. “It is clear and deep. You can almost breathe it.”

“It is a good climate,” assented Uncle William. “You could n’t get sick there if you tried. Can’t hardly die.” He chuckled a little. “Sam’l Gruchy ’s been tryin’ for six year now. He was ninety-seven last month. We don’t think nuthin’ o’ roundin’ out a hunderd up there—not the cheerful ones. ’Course if you fret, you can die ’most anywhere.”

“Yes, if you fret.” The girl was looking at him with pleased eyes. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever known what it was to fret?”

“Me? Lord, yes! I ust to fret about everything—fretted for fear it would blow and for fear it would n’t blow.” His eyes were on the shifting green waves. “I never put down a net nor a lobster-pot that I did n’t see ’em bein’ chewed up or knocked to pieces. I ’d see a shark a-swimmin’ right through a big hole—rip-p—tear. I could see it as plain as if I was down there under the water—all kind o’ green and cool, and things swimmin’ through it. I can see it jest the same now if I shut my eyes, only it ’s fishes I see swimmin’ into my net now—shoals of ’em. The’ ain’t a shark in sight.” He was looking down at her, smiling.

She nodded. “You ’re an optimist now.”

He stared a little. “No, I don’t reckon I ’m anything that sounds like that, but I do take life comf’tabul. The’ ain’t a place anywheres ’round to set and rest, is the’? You look to me kind o’ used up.”

“I am tired—a little. Come. There won’t be any one here.” She led the way into a small room beyond. A bench facing the large room was vacant, and they sat down on it. Through the vista of the open door they could see two of Alan’s pictures. They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the crowd come and go in front of the pictures. She turned to him at last with a little smile. “They are making a hit,” she said.

“Be they?” He peered at them intently. His face softened. “They ’d o’t to. They ’re nice picters.”

“Yes.” She had started forward a little, her breath coming swiftly. “Do you see that man—the tall one with the gray hair and pointed beard?”

Uncle William adjusted his spectacles. “That kind o’ peaked one, you mean, that dips along some like a government lighter?”

She laughed out, her hands moving with little gestures of pleasure. “That ’s the one. I know him.”

“Do you?” Uncle William looked at him again politely. “He has a good deal o’ trimmin’ on, but he looks like a nice sort o’ man.”

“He is—he is—if he ’s the one I think—”

The man, who wore on his coat the decoration of several orders, had turned a little and was looking back over the crowd.

The girl clasped her hands tightly. “Oh, it is,” she said under her breath. “It is.”

Uncle William looked down almost jealously. “You set a good deal o’ store by seein’ him,” he said.

“It is n’t that. I like him, yes, but he knows good work. If he really takes them in, he ’ll not let them go.”

Uncle William adjusted his spectacles again. “You mean—”

“He will buy them, yes. Hush!” She held out her hand.

The man had turned back to the pictures. He lifted a pair of eyeglasses that swung at the end of a long chain and placed them on his nose. He looked again at the picture before him. The glasses dropped from his nose, and he dipped to the catalogue he held in his hand.

Uncle William’s glance followed him a little uneasily. “You mean he ’ll buy my house?” he asked.

She nodded, her face overflowing with happiness.

Uncle William surveyed it. “I was cal’atin’ to have that one myself.” He said it almost grudgingly.

“You were? Could you?” she faced him.

“Could n’t I have it as well as him?” He nodded toward the man in the distance intent on his catalogue.

The girl’s brow wrinkled a little. “He is rich,” she said. “I did n’t know—”

“Well, I ain’t rich,” said Uncle William, “but I reckon I could scrape together enough to pay for a picter.”

The girl’s face lighted. “Of course, Alan would rather you had it. And he may buy one of the others.”

The man had moved on a little, out of sight. The picture remained facing them. For a minute the crowd had parted in front of it and they saw it at the end of a long pathway. Uncle William drew a proud breath. “How much will it cost?” he said.

She took up the catalogue from her lap and opened it, glancing down the page. “It must be here—somewhere. Yes, this is it— ‘The House on the Rocks,’ $2000.”

Uncle William’s jaw clicked a little as it came together. He held out a hand. “Will you just let me look at that a minute?” he said.

He ran his great finger down the page. When it came to the $2000, he pressed it a little with his thumb, as if expecting it to rub off. Then he looked at her, shaking his head. “It ’s a leetle higher ’n I can go,” he said slowly. “I wa’n’t expectin’ it would cost so much. You see, the house itself did n’t cost more ’n three hunderd, all told, and I thought a picter of it would n’t cost more’n five or six.”

“Five or six hundred?” Her eyes laughed.

Uncle William shook his head guiltily. “Not more’n five or six dollars,” he said. “I reckon mebbe I did put it a leetle low.” A smile had bloomed again in his face. “If he can pay the price, he ’ll have to have it, I reckon—for all o’ me.”

“Yes, he can pay it. He is very rich, and he cares for pictures. He has hundreds. He buys them everywhere—in Paris, London, St. Petersburg, Italy— It only depends on whether he likes—”

The man had come into view again and was studying the picture, dipping toward it in little sidewise flights. Uncle William watched the pantomime jealously. “How ’d you come to know him?” he asked.

“He knew my mother. He had known her from a girl. I think he loved her,” she said quietly, her eyes on the man. “He was on the legation at St. Petersburg— See! He does like them!” She had leaned forward.

Uncle William glanced up.

The man was standing a little removed from the painting, his arms folded, his head thrown back, oblivious to the crowd.

She rose quickly. “I am going to speak to him,” she said. “Wait here for me.” She passed into the changing throng that filled the room beyond.

Uncle William waited patiently, his eyes studying the swift kaleidoscope of the doorway. When she reappeared in it, her face was alight with color. “Come.” She held out her hand. “I want you to meet him. He likes them—oh, very much!” She pressed her hands together lightly. “I think he will buy them—two, at least.”

Uncle William got to his feet. “I s’pose ye told him about Alan and about my place.”

She stopped short, looking at him reproachfully. “Not a word,” she said—“not a single word!”

Uncle William’s countenance fell. “Wa’n’t that what you went out for?”

“No; and you must not mention it. I only told him that you liked them.”

“Can’t I even say that ’s my house out there?” He waved his hand.

“Never!” It was energetic. “You would spoil it all.”

“Will it hurt it any to be my house?” he asked, a little sore.

“You know it is not that.” She laid her hand on his arm affectionately. “We shall tell him all about it some day; but now, just now, while he is making up his mind, it would distract him. He wants to look at them as art.”

Uncle William sighed gently. “Well, I ’ll do my best, but it ’s goin’ agen’ nature not to bust right out with it.” They passed into the larger room. On the opposite side the man was standing, his eyeglasses on his nose, looking expectantly toward the door.

When he saw them, he smiled and moved forward with suave grace.

title: Uncle William/Chapter 17


text: Index:United States ex rel. Bryant v. Houston.pdf


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Page:Self-help with illustrations of conduct and perseverance (IA selfhelpwithillu00smiliala).pdf/136

 conducted by soldiers to and from Dresden; and even after the works were finished, he was locked up nightly in his room. All this preyed upon his mind, and in repeated letters to the King he sought to obtain mitigation of his fate. Some of these letters are very touching. "I will devote my whole soul to the art of making porcelain," he writes on one occasion, "I will do more than any inventor ever did before; only give me liberty, liberty!"

To these appeals, the King turned a deaf ear. He was ready to spend money and grant favours; but liberty he would not give. He regarded Böttgher as his slave. In this position the persecuted man kept on working for some time, till, at the end of a year or two, he grew negligent. Disgusted with the world and with himself, he took to drinking. Such is the force of example, that it no sooner became known that Böttgher had betaken himself to this vice, than the greater number of the workmen at the Meissen factory became drunkards too. Quarrels and fightings without end were the consequence, so that the troops were frequently called upon to interfere and keep peace among the "Porzellanern," as they were nicknamed. After a while, the whole of them, more than three hundred, were shut up in the Albrechtsburg, and treated as prisoners of state.

Böttgher at last fell seriously ill, and in May, 1713, his dissolution was hourly expected. The King, alarmed at losing so valuable a slave, now gave him permission to take carriage exercise under a guard; and, having somewhat recovered, he was allowed occasionally to go to Dresden. In a letter written by the King in April, 1714,


text:
Page:Hudibras - Volume 2 (Butler, Nash, Bohn; 1859).djvu/294

RV 432 (HIS LADY.])


text:
Page:Hudibras - Volume 2 (Butler, Nash, Bohn; 1859).djvu/295

RV 433 (HIS LADY.])


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Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/16

 I reached Rajkot, obtained detailed information and commenced correspondence with Government. In speeches at Bagasra and elsewhere, I dropped a hint that the people should be ready to offer Satyagraha at Viramgam if necessary. The loyal C.I.D. brought these speeches to the notice of Government. In this they served Government and unintentionally, served the people also. Finally, I had a talk with Lord Chelmsford on the matter. He promised abolition of the customs line and was as good as his word. I know others also tried for this. But I am strongly of opinion that the imminent possibility of Satyagraha was the chief factor in obtaining the desired redress.

Then came the Indian Emigration Act. Great efforts were put forth to get indenture repealed. There was a considerable public agitation. The Bombay meeting fixed May 31, 1917 as the date from which onwards indentured labour should be stopped. This is not the place for narrating how that particular date came to be selected. A deputation of ladies first waited upon the Viceroy in connection with this. I cannot help mentioning here the name of the high-souled sister, Mrs Jaiji Petit. It was she who may be said to have organized this deputation. Here, too, success came merely through preparedness for Satyagraha. But it is important to remember the distinction that in this case public agitation was also necessary. The stopping of indentured labour was very much more important than the abolition of the Viramgam customs. Lord Chelmsford committed a series of blunders beginning with the passing of the Rowlatt Act. Still, I think, he was a wise ruler. But what Viceroy can escape for long the influence of the permanent officials of the Civil Service?

The third in order came the Champaran struggle, of which Rajendra Babu has written a detailed history. Here Satyagraha had actually to be offered. Mere preparedness for it did not suffice, as powerful vested interests were arrayed in opposition. The peace maintained by the people of Champaran deserves to be placed on record. I can bear

title: Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/16


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Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/17

 witness to the perfect non-violence of the leaders in thought, word and deed. Hence it was that this age-long abuse came to an end in six months.

The fourth struggle was that of the mill-hands of Ahmedabad. Gujarat is perfectly familiar with its history. How peaceful the labourers were! As for the leaders, there can hardly be anything for me to say. Still I hold the victory in this case was not quite pure, as the fast I had to observe in order to sustain the labourers in their determination exercised indirect pressure upon the mill-owners. The fast was bound to influence them, as I enjoyed friendly relations with them. Still the moral of the fight is clear. If the labourers carry on their struggle peacefully, they must succeed and also win the hearts of their masters. They have not won their masters’ hearts, as they were not innocent in thought, word and deed. They were non-violent in deed, which is certainly to their credit.

The fifth was the Kheda struggle. I cannot say that in this case all the local leaders of Satyagraha parties adhered to the pure truth. Peace was certainly maintained. The non-violence of the peasantry, however, was only superficial, like that of the mill-hands. So we came out of the struggle with bare honour. However there was a great awakening among the people. But Kheda had not fully grasped the lesson of non-violence; the mill-hands had not understood the true meaning of peace. The people had therefore to suffer. At the time of the Rowlatt Act Satyagraha, I had to confess my Himalayan blunder, to fast myself and invite others to do so.

The sixth was in connection with the Rowlatt Act. Therein our inherent shortcomings came to the surface. But the original foundation was well and truly laid. We admitted all our shortcomings and did penance for them. The Rowlatt Act was a dead letter even when it was promulgated, and that black act was finally even repealed. This struggle taught us a great lesson.

The seventh was the struggle to right the Khilafat and the Punjab wrongs and to win Swaraj. It is still going

title: Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/17


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sabery, Thomas


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sabery, Charles


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sabine, (Sir) John


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sabin, Richard


text:
Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/18

 on. And my confidence is unshaken, that if a single Satyagrahi holds out to the end, victory is absolutely certain.

But the present fight is epic in character. I have already described our course of unconscious preparation for it. When I took up the Viramgam question, little did I know that other fights were in store. And even about Viramgam I knew nothing when I was in South Africa. That is the beauty of Satyagraha. It comes up to oneself; one has not to go out in search for it. This is a virtue inherent in the principle itself. A dharma-yuddha, in which there are no secrets to be guarded, no scope for cunning and no place for untruth, comes unsought; and a man of religion is ever ready for it. A struggle which has to be previously planned is not a righteous struggle. In a righteous struggle God Himself plans campaigns and conducts battles. A dharma-yuddha can be waged only in the name of God, and it is only when the Satyagrahi feels quite helpless, is apparently on his last legs and finds utter darkness all around him, that God comes to the rescue. God helps when one feels oneself humbler than the very dust under one’s feet. Only to the weak and helpless is divine succour vouchsafed.

We are yet to realize this truth, and so I think the history of Satyagraha in South Africa will be helpful to us.

The reader will note South African parallels for all our experiences in the present struggle to date. He will also see from this history that there is so far no ground whatever for despair in the fight that is going on. The only condition of victory is a tenacious adherence to our programme.

I am writing this preface at Juhu. I wrote the first thirty chapters of the history in Yeravda jail. Shri Indulal Yajnik was good enough to write to my dictation. The subsequent chapters I hope to write hereafter. I had no books of reference in jail. Nor do I propose to get them here. I have neither the time nor the inclination to write a regular detailed history. My only object in writing this

title: Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/18


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sabridge, Anton


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sabsford, John


text:
Page:The genuine remains in verse and prose of Mr. Samuel Butler (1759), volume 2.djvu/221

 A

WOOER

Candidate for Cuckold, and if he miss of it, it is none of his Fault; for his Merit is sufficiently known. He is commonly no Lover, but able to pass for a most desperate one, where he finds it is like to prove of considerable Advantage to him; and therefore has Passions lying by him of all Sizes proportionable to all Women's Fortunes, and can be indifferent, melancholy, or stark-mad, according as their Estates give him Occasion; and when he finds it is to no Purpose, can presently come to himself again, and try another. He prosecutes his Suit against his Mistress as Clients do a Suit in Law, and does nothing without the Advice of his learned Council, omits no Advantage for want of soliciting, and, when he gets her Consent, overthrows her. He en-


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sachell, John


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sachell, Nicholas


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 book is that it may be helpful in our present struggle, and serve as a guide to any regular historian who may arise in the future. Although I am writing without books of reference at hand, I must ask the reader not to imagine that any single item in this volume is inaccurate or that there is the least exaggeration at any point.

M. K. GANDHI

JuhuSt 1980 Phalgun vadi 132nd April, 1924

title: Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/19


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Page:The genuine remains in verse and prose of Mr. Samuel Butler (1759), volume 2.djvu/222

210 deavours to match his Estate, rather than himself, to the best Advantage, and if his Mistress's Fortune and his do but come to an Agreement, their Persons are easily satisfied, the Match is soon made up, and a Cross Marriage between all four is presently concluded. He is not much concerned in his Lady's Virtues, for if the Opinion of the Stoics be true, that the virtuous are always rich, there is no doubt, but she that is rich must be virtuous. He never goes without a List in his Pocket of all the Widows and Virgins about the Town, with Particulars of their Jointures, Portions, and Inheritances, that if one miss he may not be without a Reserve; for he esteems Cupid very improvident, if he has not more than two Strings to his Bow. When he wants a better Introduction he begins his Addresses to the Chamber-maid, like one that sues the Tenant to eject the Landlord, and according as he thrives there makes his Approaches to the Mistress. He can tell readily what the Difference is between Jointure with Tuition of Infant, Land, and Money of any Value, and what the Odds is to a Penny between them all, either to take or leave. He does not so much go a wooing as put in his Claim, as if all Men of Fortune


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sacheverell, Nathaniel


text:
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Page 71, line 20, instead of grubbing read grabbing. Page 186, line 14, insert I between years and have. Page 246, footnote line 5, for began read begun. Page 287, line 25, omit is between he and or. Page 308, line 10 up, for this read his. Page 324, line 17, for form read from.

title: Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/20


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sacheverell, John


text:
Page:Hudibras - Volume 2 (Butler, Nash, Bohn; 1859).djvu/296

RV 434 (HIS LADY.])


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sacheverell, James


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sacheverill, Jacinth


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sacheverell, Patrick


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sacheverall, Ambrose


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sacheverell, Clarence


text: Hudibras/Part 3/An Heroical Epistle of Hudibras to his Lady


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sacheverell, Erasmus


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sacheverell, Ferdinando


text:
Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/23

Africa is one of the biggest continents in the world. India is said to be not a country but a continent, but considering area alone, four or five Indias could be carved out of Africa. Africa is a peninsula like India; South Africa is thus mainly surrounded by the sea. There is a general impression that Africa is the hottest part of the earth, and in a sense this is true. The equator passes through the middle of Africa, and people in India cannot have any idea of the heat in countries situated along this line. The heat which we feel in the extreme south of India gives us some notion of it. But in South Africa there is nothing of that kind, as it is far away from the equator. The climate of many parts is so healthy and temperate that Europeans can settle there in comfort, while it is nearly impossible for them to settle in India. Moreover, there are lands of great elevation in South Africa like Tibet or Kashmir, but these do not attain a height of ten to fourteen thousand feet as in Tibet. Consequently, the climate is dry and cold enough to be endured, and some places in South Africa are highly recommended as sanatoria for consumptives. One of these is Johannesburg, the golden city of South Africa. Only fifty years ago, the site on which it now stands was desolate and covered with dry grass. But when gold mines were discovered, houses began to be built one after another, as if by magic, and today there are many handsome and substantial buildings. The wealthy people of the place have got trees from the more fertile tracts of South Africa and from Europe, paying as much as a guinea for a tree, and have planted them there. A traveller ignorant of this previous history would imagine that these trees had been there for all time.

title: Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/23


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sacheverell, George


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sacheverell, Henry (1)


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sacheverell, Henry (2)


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sacheverell, Henry (3)


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sacheverell, Henry (4)


text:
Page:Characteristicks of men, manners, opinions, times Vol 2.djvu/40

RV 36 (Rh) Virtue, of any kind, or in any sense; but must remain still horrid Depravity, notwithstanding any Fashion, Law, Custom or Religion, which may be ill and vitious it-self; but can never alter the eternal Measures, and immutable independent Nature of Worth and.

PON the whole. As to those Creatures who are only capable of being mov'd by sensible Objects; they are accordingly good or vitious, as the sensible Affections stand with them. 'Tis otherwise in Creatures capable of framing rational Objects of moral Good. For in one of this kind, shou'd the sensible Affections stand ever so much amiss; yet if they prevail not, because of those other rational Affections spoken of; 'tis evident, the Temper still holds good in the main; and the Perfon is with justice esteem'd virtuous by all Men.

than this. If by Temper any one is passionate, angry, fearful, amorous; yet resists these Passions, and notwithstanding the force of their Impression, adheres to Virtue; we say commonly in this case, that the Virtue is the greater: and we say well. Tho if that which restrains the Person, and holds him to a virtuous-like Behaviour, be no Affection towards


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Page:Characteristicks of men, manners, opinions, times Vol 2.djvu/41

RV 37 (Rh) Goodness or Virtue it-self, but towards private Good merely, he is not in reality the more virtuous; as has been shewn before. But this still is evident, that if voluntarily, and without foreign Constraint, an angry Temper bears, or an amorous one refrains, so that neither any cruel or immodest Action can be forc'd from such a Person, tho ever so strongly tempted by his Constitution; we applaud his Virtue above what we shou'd naturally do, if he were free of this Temptation, and these Propensitys. At the same time, there is no body will say that a Propensity to Vice can be an Ingredient in Virtue, or any-way necessary to compleat a virtuous Character.

seems therefore to be some kind of difficulty in the Case: But it amounts only to this. If there be any part of the Temper in which ill Passions or Affections are seated, whilst in another part the Affections towards moral Good are such as absolutely to master those Attempts of their Antagonists; this is the greatest Proof imaginable, that a strong Principle of Virtue lies at the bottom, and has possess'd it-self of the natural Temper. Whereas if there be no ill Passions stirring, a Person may be indeed more cheaply virtuous; that is to say, he may conform himself to the known Rules of Virtue without sharing so much of a virtu- Rh


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sadler, John (1)


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sadler, John (2)


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sadler, John (3)


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sadler, Philip


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sadler, Richard


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Page:Lapide vol1.djvu/29

xxviii GENERAL PREFACE. whatsoever had related everything, the others would have been superfluous: or if again, on the other hand, each had written nothing which was found in the others, there could have been no proof of their agreement. Wherefore they have written many things in common, and yet each hath related something specially and peculiarly his own. And thus they have escaped the charge of writing for writing’s sake, merely to add to the number of the Gospels, as well as the opposite danger of bringing discredit upon everything, by each giving entirely different events.”

title: Page:Lapide vol1.djvu/29


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sadler, Robert (1)


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sadler, Robert (2)


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sadler, William (2)


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sadler, Thomas (2)


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sagar, Charles (2)


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sagittary, Daniel


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sagittary, Frederick (1)


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sagittary, Frederick (2)


text:
Page:4SIGHT manual- a computer program for modelling degradation of underground low level waste concrete vaults (IA 4sightmanualcomp5612snyd).pdf/109

31. INITIALIZE SOLUBILITY ARRAY 36. Read in the ion data from ion-database, cations first, anions second.

⟨Input ion data 36⟩ $$\equiv$$ for (i = 0; i < num.cations; i++) { fscanf (ion-database, "%s", cation[i].name); fscanf (ion.database,"%lf ", &cation[i].valence); fscanf (ion-database,"%,le", &ccation[i].$$D_f$$); cation[i]. output-flag = FALSE; } for (j = 0; j < num.anions j++) { fscanf (ion-database,"%s",anion[j].name); fscanf (ion-database,"%lf",anion [j]. valence); fscanf (ion-database"%,le", &anion[j].$$D_f$$); anion[j], output-flag = FALSE; }

This code is used in section 34.

37. Read salt data in cation major order.

⟨Input salt data 37⟩ \equiv<\math> for (i = 0; i < num-cations; i++) for ( j = 0; j < num.anions; j++) { fscanf (ion.database,"%le",&soLarray[i][j].ksp); fscanf (ion.database,",lf",&tsol.array [i][j].m); fscanf (ion.database,"%lf",&csol.array[i][j].n); fscanf (ion.database,"%lf",&soLarray[i]j].molar-density); sol-array [i][j].output-flag=FALSE; } }

This code is used in section 34.

38. Initialize the ion and salt data to zeros.

⟨Zero-out ion and salt data 38⟩ = for (k = 0; k < NUM.SURFACES; k++) for (i = 0; i < num.cations; i++){ cation[i].c[k]=0.0; cation[i].moles[k]=0.0; for (j = 0; j < num.anions; j++) anion[j].c[k] = 0.0; anion[j].moles[k]= 0.0; sol_array[t][j].s[fc]= 0.0; }   }  }

This code is used in section 34.


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sagittary, John


text:
Page:Lapide vol1.djvu/30

HE Syriac version of the Gospels was made, as it would seem, from the Greek, and is extant in the royal Bibles. The Arabic version was printed at Rome with a translation, at the Medici printing press, 1591. I frequently cite both these versions.

I have also found in the Vatican Library at Rome the Coptic, or Egyptian version of the Gospels, the Ethiopian, and the Persian, all very ancient. For the Gospel was brought into Egypt soon after Christ by S. Mark, into Ethiopia by S. Matthew, into Persia by S. Simon and S. Jude. And so the faith of the Gospel flourished in those regions. In them there were swarms of holy monks and brave martyrs. A Persian version was transmitted by Jerome Xavier, the Jesuit, a cousin of S. Francis Xavier, from the city of Arga, in the territory of the King of Mogor, as a precious gift, and a remarkable monument of antiquity, to the Collegium Romanum, where I have collated it. This Codex was transcribed from the original in the Mahometan year 730 of the Hegira, which corresponds to 1381. The original itself was very much more ancient, for which reason the version contains a great number of Persian words differing from

title: Page:Lapide vol1.djvu/30


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sadler, Robert (3)


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sadler, Roger


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sadler, Thomas (1)


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sadler, Thomas (3)


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sadler, William (1)


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sadler, William (3)


text:
Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/24

 I do not propose to describe all the parts of South Africa, but will confine myself only to those which are connected with our subject-matter. One part of South Africa is under the Portuguese, and the rest under the British. The territory under the Portuguese is called Delagoa Bay, and this is the first South African port for steamers from India. As we proceed further south, we come to Natal, the first British Colony. Its chief sea-port is called Port Natal, but we know it as Durban, under which name it is generally known all over South Africa. Durban is the largest city in Natal. The. capital is Pietermaritzburg, situated inland at a distance of about sixty miles from Durban and at a height of about two thousand feet above sea-level. The climate of Durban is somewhat like that of Bombay, although rather colder. If we proceed further inland beyond Natal we reach the Transvaal, whose mines supply the world with the largest amount of gold. Some years ago diamond mines were also discovered in one of which was the world’s largest diamond. The Cullinan, so called after the name of the proprietor of the mine, weighed over 3,000 carats, or over 1⅔ lb. avoirdupois, while the Kohinoor now weighs about 100 carats and the Orloff, one of the Russian crown jewels, about 200 carats.

But though Johannesburg is the centre of the gold-mining industry and has diamond mines in the neighbourhood, it is not the official capital of the Transvaal. The capital is Pretoria, at a distance of about thirty-six miles from Johannesburg. In Pretoria one chiefly finds officials and politicians and the population drawn by them. It is therefore a comparatively quiet place, while Johannesburg is full of bustle. As a visitor from a quiet village, or for the matter of that a small town in India, to Bombay, would be confounded with the din and roar of the city, even so would a visitor from Pretoria be affected with Johannesburg. It would be no exaggeration to say that the citizens of Johannesburg do not walk but seem as if they ran. No one has the leisure to look at any one else, and every one is apparently engrossed in

title: Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/24


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sadlington, Richard


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Saffin, George


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Saffin, John (1)


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Saffin, John (2)


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Saffin, Richard


text:
Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/25

 thinking how to amass the maximum wealth in the minimum of time! If leaving the Transvaal we travel further inland towards the West, we come to Orange Free State or Orangia. Its capital is Bloemfontein, a very quiet and small town. There are no mines in Orangia like those in the Transvaal. A few hours’ railway journey from here takes us to the boundary of the Cape Colony, the biggest of all the South African colonies. Its capital, which is also its largest sea-port, is known as Cape Town and is situated on the Cape of Good Hope, so called by King John of Portugal, as after its discovery he hoped his people would be able to find a new and easier way of reaching India, the supreme object of the maritime expeditions of that age.

Over and above these four principal British colonies, there are several territories under British ‘protection,’ inhabited by races which had migrated there before the appearance of Europeans on the scene.

The chief industry of South Africa is agriculture and for this it is pre-eminently fitted. Some parts of it are delightful and fertile. The principal grain is maize, which is grown without much labour and forms the staple food of the Negro inhabitants of South Africa. Wheat also is grown in some parts. South Africa is famous for its fruits. Natal cultivates many varieties of excellent bananas, pawpaws and pineapples, and that too in such abundance that they are available to the poorest of the poor. In Natal as well as other colonies, oranges, peaches and apricots grow in such plenty that thousands get them in the country for the labour of gathering them. The Cape Colony is the land of grapes and plums. Hardly any other place grows such fine grapes, and during the season they can be had so cheap that even a poor man can have his fill. It is impossible that there should be no mangoes in places inhabited by Indians. Indians planted mango trees in South Africa and consequently mangoes also are available in considerable quantities. Some varieties of these can certainly compete with the best mangoes of Bombay. Vegetables also are extensively grown in that

title: Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/25


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Saffyn, William


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Safford, Bartholomew


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Safford, John


text:
Page:The House Without Windows.djvu/78

 how useless it was. By the faint remaining light from where the sun had set, she saw ahead of her a dark pointed object rising out of the water. She knew that it was a rock; and, afraid of being dashed against it, she began resisting with her paddle. Extreme fright made her strokes powerful, and she actually managed to slow up the raft a little. She came gently against the edge of the rock, fastened her raft to it by means of one of the ropes, and climbed up to its peak. From there, the sea, with its wild waves, was like the sky, full of weird cloud-caves, fringed with light from a hidden moon.

She looked for a long time; she looked steadily. And then, not far off, she saw a dark mass which, outlined against the deep blue of the night sky, appeared to be landblessed land! She realized that the waves were going straight toward it. With a cry of joy, she unfastened her raft, leaped upon it, gave a useless push with her paddle, and went on.

Soon she came to the shorea smooth beach, She pulled up her raft, well out of reach of the advancing tide, and started for the bushes to find a place to sleep. For the first time since night had fallen, she noticed the wondrous beauty of the moon, almost full, and the stars that showed faintly their silvery faces. She crawled in among

title: Page:The House Without Windows.djvu/78


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Safford, Thomas


text:
Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/26

 fertile country, and it may be said that almost all the vegetables of India are grown there by Indians with a palate for home delicacies.

Cattle also are bred in considerable numbers. Cows and oxen are better built and stronger than in India. I have been ashamed, and my heart has often bled, to find many cows and oxen in India, which claims to protect the cow, as emaciated as the people themselves. Although I have moved about over all parts of South Africa with open eyes, I do not remember to have seen a single emaciated cow or bull.

Not only has Nature showered her other gifts upon this country, but she has not been stingy in beautifying it with a fine landscape.

The scenery of Durban is considered very beautiful, but that of Cape Town surpasses it. Cape Town is situated at the foot of the Table Mountain which is neither too high nor too low. A gifted lady who dotes on South Africa says in her poem about this mountain that no other gave her such a sense of the unique. There may be exaggeration in this. I think there is. But one of her points struck me as true. She says the Table Mountain stands in the position of a friend to the citizens of Cape Town. Not being too high, it does not inspire awe. People are not compelled to worship it from afar, but build their houses upon it and live there. And as it is just on the seashore, the sea always washes its foot with its clear waters. Young and old, men and women, fearlessly move about the whole mountain, which resounds every day with the voices of thousands. Its tall trees and flowers of fine fragrance and variegated hues impart such a charm to the mountain that one can never see too much of it, or move too much about it.

South Africa cannot boast of such mighty rivers as the Ganga or the Indus. The few that are there are comparatively small. The water of rivers cannot reach many places. No canals can be taken to the highlands. And how can there be canals in the absence of large rivers? Wherever there is a deficiency of surface water in South

title: Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/26


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Safforde, William


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sagar, Charles (1)


text:
Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/27

 Africa, artesian wells are sunk, and water needed for irrigating fields is pumped up by windmills and steam-engines. Agriculture receives much encouragement from Government. Government sends out agricultural experts to advise the cultivators, maintains model farms where experiments are carried on for their benefit, provides them with good cattle and seed, bores artesian wells for them at very little cost and permits them to repay this amount by instalments. Similarly Government erects barbed wire fences to protect their fields.

As South Africa is to the south, and India to the north, of the equator, climatic conditions there are just the reverse of what they are here. The seasons occur in a reverse order. For example, while we have summer here, South Africa is passing through winter. Rainfall is uncertain and capricious. It may occur any time. The average annual rainfall rarely exceeds twenty inches.

title: Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/27


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sagar, Edward


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sagar, Jeremias


text:
Page:Lapide vol1.djvu/31

xxx GENERAL PREFACE. modern Persian. Of all these versions I propose to make use, though in moderation, and cum grano. For they have not the authority of the Greek and Latin Gospels; but they confirm, and to some extent illustrate them. Moreover there are at Rome Ethiopians, or Abyssinians, whose youthful priests are in the habit of coming to the Collegium Romanum. In Rome too there are those who are skilled in other tongues, for the world is in that city. The various Gospels have been interpreted to me by men of the several nations and languages in which they are written, especially by the Reverend Father Athanasius Kincher of our Society, a man well acquainted with the Oriental languages, as may be seen by the Lexicon which he has lately published.

It is said that S. Matthew preached in hither Ethiopia, now called Sennaar, where there are black Ethiopians. He is said to have died in the city of Luah, where there are still standing churches dedicated to him. The rest of Ethiopia, or Abyssinia, attributes its reception of the Gospels and the rest of Holy Scripture, together with the faith of Christ to a certain Ethiopian monk, named Abba Salama, or the father of peace. He was brought up amongst the Eastern Arabs, from whom he derived his knowledge of Christianity and the Holy Scriptures, which he afterwards communicated to the whole of Ethiopia, for which reason he is called its apostle. The Ethiopic version agrees with the Arabic, from which it was derived.

Very many, both in ancient and modern times, have written commentaries on the Gospels. Not to multiply citations, let us quote what S. Jerome says in his preface to S. Matthew: “I confess that I have read many years ago twenty-five volumes of Origen upon S. Matthew, and as many volumes of Homilies. I have read also the commentaries of Theophilus, Bishop of Antioch,

title: Page:Lapide vol1.djvu/31


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sagar, Otto


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sager, Richard


text:
Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/28

The geographical divisions briefly noticed in the first chapter are not at all ancient. It has not been possible definitely to ascertain who were the inhabitants of South Africa in remote times. When the Europeans settled in South Africa, they found the Negroes there. These Negroes are supposed to have been the descendants of some of the slaves in America who managed to escape from their cruel bondage and migrated to Africa. They are divided into various tribes such as the Zulus, the Swazis, the Basutos, the Bechuanas, etc. They have a number of different languages. These Negroes must be regarded as the original inhabitants of South Africa. But South Africa is such a vast country that it can easily support twenty or thirty times its present population of Negroes. The distance between Cape Town and Durban is about eighteen hundred miles by rail; the distance by sea also is not less than one thousand miles. The combined area of these four colonies is 473,000 square miles. In 1914 the Negro population in this vast region was about five millions, while the Europeans numbered about a million and a quarter.

Among the Negroes, the tallest and the most hand some are the Zulus. I have deliberately used the epithet ‘handsome’ in connection with Negroes. A fair complexion and a pointed nose represent our ideal of beauty. If we discard this superstition for a moment, we feel that the Creator did not spare Himself in fashioning the Zulu to perfection. Men and women are both tall and broad-chested in proportion to their height. Their muscles are strong and well set. The calves of the legs and the arms are muscular and always well rounded. You will rarely find a man or woman walking with a stoop or with

title: Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/28


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sagar, Stephen


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sage, Adam


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sage, Elisha


text: Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1500-1714/Sage, Henry


text:
Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/29

 a hump back. The lips are certainly large and thick, but as they are in perfect symmetry with the entire physique, I for one would not say that they are unshapely. The eyes are round and bright. The nose is flat and large, such as becomes a large face, and the curled hair on the head sets off to advantage the Zulu’s skin which is black and shining like ebony. If we ask a Zulu to which of the various races inhabiting South Africa he will award the palm for beauty, he will unhesitatingly decide in favour of his own people, and in this I would not see any want of judgment on his part. The physique of the Zulu is powerfully built and finely shaped by nature without any such effort as is made by Sandow and others in Europe in order to develop the muscles. It is a law of nature that the skin of races living near the equator should be black. And if we believe that there must be beauty in everything fashioned by nature, we would not only steer clear of all narrow and one-sided conceptions of beauty, but we in India would be free from the improper sense of shame and dislike which we feel for our own complexion if it is anything but fair.

The Negroes live in round huts built of wattle and daub. The huts have a single round wall and are thatched with hay. A pillar inside supports the roof. A low entrance through which one can pass only by bending oneself is the only aperture for the passage of air. The entrance is rarely provided with a door. Like ourselves, the Negroes plaster the walls and the floor with earth and animal dung. It is said the Negroes cannot make anything square in shape. They have trained their eyes to see and make only round things. We never find nature drawing straight lines or rectilineal figures, and these innocent children of nature derive all their knowledge from their experience of her.

The furniture in the hut is in keeping with the simplicity of the place. There would be no room for tables, chairs, boxes and such other things, and even now these things are rarely seen in a hut.

title: Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/29


text: Page:The earth turns south (IA earthturnssouth00wood).pdf/26


text:
Page:Lapide vol1.djvu/32

VERSIONS OF THE GOSPELS. xxxi of Hippolytus the Martyr, and of Theodore of Heraclea, of Apollinarius of Laodicæa, and Didymus of Alexandria. Of Latin commentators, I have read the works of Hilary, Victorinus, and Fortunatus, from whom, even though little be taken, something worthy of remembrance might be written down.”

Of recent commentators the number is all but infinite. Their superabundance makes it difficult for the reader to know which to choose, so that he might say with Niobe of old, “Abundance has made me poor.”

For myself, I have written the following commentaries, partly at Louvain, 1600, partly when I was teaching and lecturing publicly on the Gospels at Rome. I am now an old man, and have passed nearly all my life in learning in the school of the Holy Scriptures. In a science so vast, so sublime and difficult, no one ought to be a teacher and doctor until he has spent a long time in studying as a disciple of the doctors.

title: Page:Lapide vol1.djvu/32


text:
Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/30

 Before the advent of European civilization, the Negroes used to wear animal skins, which also served them as carpets, bedsheets and quilts. Now-a-days they use blankets. Before British rule men as well as women moved about almost in a state of nudity. Even now many do the same in the country. They cover the private parts with a piece of skin. Some dispense even with this. But let not any one infer from this that these people cannot control their senses. Where a large society follows a particular custom, it is quite possible that the custom is harmless even if it seems highly improper to the members of another society. These Negroes have no time to be staring at one another. When Shukadeva passed by the side of women bathing in a state of nudity, so the author of the Bhagavata tells us, his own mind was quite unruffled; nor were the women at all agitated or affected by a sense of shame. I do not think there is anything supernatural in this account. If in India today, there should be none who would be equally pure on a similar occasion, that does not set a limit to our striving after purity, but only argues our own degradation. It is only vanity which makes us look upon the Negroes as savages. They are not the barbarians we imagine them to be.

The law requires Negro women to cover themselves from the chest to the knees when they go to a town. They are thus obliged to wrap a piece of cloth round their body. Consequently pieces of that size command a large sale in South Africa, and thousands of such blankets or sheets are imported from Europe every year. The men are similarly required to cover themselves from the waist to the knees. Many, therefore, have taken to the practice of wearing second-hand clothing from Europe. Others wear a sort of knickers with a fastening tape. All these clothes are imported from Europe.

The staple food of the Negroes is maize, and meat when available. Fortunately, they know nothing about spices or condiments. If they find spices in their food, or even if it is coloured by turmeric, they turn up their noses at it, and those among them who are looked upon

title: Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/30


text: Page:The earth turns south (IA earthturnssouth00wood).pdf/27


text: Page:The earth turns south (IA earthturnssouth00wood).pdf/28


text:
Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/31

 as quite uncivilized will not so much as touch it. It is no uncommon thing for a Zulu to take at a time one pound of boiled maize with a little salt. He is quite content to live upon porridge made from crushed mealies boiled in water. Whenever he can get meat, he eats it, raw or cooked, boiled or roasted, with only salt. He does not mind taking the flesh of any animal.

The Negro languages are named after the various tribes. The art of writing was recently introduced by Europeans. There is nothing like a Negro alphabet. The Bible and other books have now been printed in the Negro languages in Roman character. The Zulu language is very sweet. Most words end with the sound of broad ‘a;’ so the language sounds soft and pleasing to the ear. I have heard and read that there is both meaning and poetry in the words. Judging from the few words which I happened to pick up, I think this statement is just. There are for most of the places sweet and poetical Negro names whose European equivalents I have mentioned. I am sorry I do not remember them and so cannot present them here to the reader.

According to the Christian missionaries, the Negroes previously had not, and have not now, any religion at all. But taking the word religion in a wide sense, we can say that the Negroes do believe in and worship a supreme Being beyond human comprehension. They fear this power too. They are dimly conscious of the fact that the dissolution of the body does not mean the utter annihilation of a person. If we acknowledge morality as the basis of religion, the Negroes being moral may be held even to be religious. They have a perfect grasp of the distinction between truth and falsehood. It is doubtful whether Europeans or ourselves practise truthfulness to the same extent as the Negroes in their primitive state do. They have no temples or anything else of that kind. There are many superstitions among them as among other races.

The reader will be surprised to learn, that this race, which is second to none in the world in point of physical strength, is so timid that a Negro is afraid at the sight

title: Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/31


text: Page:The earth turns south (IA earthturnssouth00wood).pdf/29


text:
Page:The House Without Windows.djvu/79

 the bushes, and, watching all these lovely things and listening to the soft murmuring of the waves, which were now calm again, she fell into a deep, delicious sleep.

The next day the sea was absolutely calm. The sun was shining brilliantly on the water, making it dance and sparkle. Even Eepersip, who was so accustomed to waking in a different place from where she had been yesterday, was surprised to find herself where she was, and she had to rub her eyes hard to make sure that she was not dreaming. Then the whole adventure came back to herthe raft, the windy night, the raging sea, and the happy landing on this shore. There was her raft, lying on the beach just where she had left it.

She got up and started to explore along the beach, but suddenly she stopped short in her tracks; for there, covered with climbing vines and bordered with bright little flowers, was a cottagea little cottage in the midst of its forest of green leaves and bushes. Beautiful thought it was, for a moment tears came to Eepersip's eyes, Exactly so had her own cottage looked; through all these years she had remembered itjust how it was in every detail. But this recollection soon passed

title: Page:The House Without Windows.djvu/79


text: The Earth Turns South/Comrade Judas

title: The Earth Turns South/Comrade Judas


text:
Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/32

 even of a European child. If some one aims a revolver at him, he will either flee or will be too stupefied to have the power even to move. There is certainly reason for this. The notion is firmly impressed on the Negro mind, that it is only by some magic that a handful of Europeans have been able to subdue such a numerous and savage race as themselves. The Negro was well acquainted with the use of the spear, and the bow and arrows. Of these he has been deprived. He had never seen, never fired, a gun. No match is needed, nothing more has to be done beyond moving a finger and yet a small tube all at once emits a sound, a flash is seen, and a bullet wounds and causes the death of a person in an instant. This is something the Negro cannot understand. So he stands in mortal terror of those who wield such a weapon. He and his forefathers before him have seen that such bullets have taken the lives of many helpless and innocent Negroes. Many do not know even now how this happens.

‘Civilization’ is gradually making headway among the Negroes. Pious missionaries deliver to them the message of Christ as they have understood it, open schools for them, and teach them how to read and write. But many who, being illiterate and therefore strangers to civilization, were so far free from many vices, have now become corrupt. Hardly any Negro who has come in contact with civilization has escaped the evil of drink. And when his powerful physique is under the influence of liquor, he becomes perfectly insane and commits all manner of crimes. That civilization must lead to the multiplication of wants is as certain as that two and two make four. In order to increase the Negro’s wants or to teach him the value of labour, a poll-tax and a hut tax have been imposed upon him. If these imposts were not levied, this race of agriculturists living on their farms would not enter mines hundreds of feet deep in order to extract gold or diamonds, and if their labour were not available for the mines, gold as well as diamonds would remain in the bowels of the earth. Likewise, the Europeans would find it difficult to get any servants, if no

title: Page:Satyagraha in South Africa.pdf/32


text: The Earth Turns South/Immortality

title: The Earth Turns South/Immortality


text:
Page:Lapide vol1.djvu/33

HIS Gospel in the Latin, Greek, and Syriac versions, has for its title, “The Holy Gospel of Jesus Christ according to Matthew.” That is, this is the book which contains the most excellent and joyful message of the advent of Christ, the Messiah promised to the patriarchs, of His Incarnation, Birth, Life, Preaching, Passion, Resurrection, and Ascension, of the grace of His salvation, and the glory flowing from it and given to the whole world, of which things S. Matthew was the writer, the Holy Ghost the dictator.

The Syriac version prefixes the following title: “In power of the Lord, and of our God, Jescua Christ, we begin to write the book of the most sacred Evangel, the first Gospel, the preaching of Matthew.” At the end of the book is written, “Of the holy Gospel, the preaching of Matthew, which he preached in the Hebrew tongue, in the land of Palestine, the end.” The Arabic has, “The Gospel of Jesus Christ, as Mar (i.e., lord) Matthew, one of His twelve disciples, wrote it.”

Holy: The Gospel both is, and is called holy, because all the things which it contains are pre-eminently holy; viz., holy is the Birth of Christ, holy is His doctrine, holy are His works. There

title: Page:Lapide vol1.djvu/33


text:
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 such tax was imposed. The result has been that thousands of Negro miners suffer, along with other diseases, from a kind of phthisis called ‘miners’ phthisis.’ This is a fatal disease. Hardly any of those who fall in its clutches recover. The reader can easily imagine what self-restraint thousands of men living in mines away from their families can possibly exercise. They consequently fall easy victims to venereal disease. Not that thoughtful Europeans of South Africa are not alive to this serious question. Some of them definitely hold it can hardly be claimed that civilization has, all things considered, exercised a wholesome influence on this race. As for the evil effects, he who runs may read them.

About four hundred years ago the Dutch founded a settlement in this great country, then inhabited by such a simple and unsophisticated race. They kept slaves. Some Dutchmen from Java with their Malay slaves entered the country which we now know as Cape Colony. These Malays are Musalmans. They have Dutch blood in their veins and inherit some of the qualities of the Dutch. They are found scattered throughout South Africa, but Cape Town is their stronghold. Some of them today are in the service of Europeans, while others follow independent avocations. Malay women are very industrious and intelligent. They are generally cleanly in their ways of living. They are experts in laundry work and sewing. The men carry on some petty trade. Many drive hackney carriages. Some have received higher English education. One of them is the well known Doctor Abdul Rahman of Cape Town. He was a member of the old Colonial legislature at Cape Town. Under the new constitution this right of entering the Parliament has been taken away.

While giving a description of the Dutch, I incidentally said something about the Malays. But let us now see how the Dutch progressed. The Dutch have been as skilful cultivators as they have been brave soldiers. They saw that the country around them was highly suited for agriculture. They also saw that the ‘natives’ easily maintained

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 themselves by working for only a short time during the year. Why should they not force these people to labour for them? The Dutch had guns. They were clever strategists. They knew how to tame human beings like other animals and they believed that their religion did not object to their doing so. In this way they commenced agriculture with the labour of the South African ‘natives’ with not a single doubt as to the morality of their action.

As the Dutch were in search of good lands for their own expansion, so were the English who also gradually arrived on the scene. The English and the Dutch were of course cousins. Their characters and ambitions were similar. Pots from the same pottery are often likely to clash against each other. So these two nations, while gradually advancing their respective interests and subduing the Negroes, came into collision. There were disputes and then battles between them. The English suffered a defeat at Majuba Hill. Majuba left a soreness which assumed a serious form and came to a head in the Boer War which lasted from 1899 to 1902. And when General Cronje surrendered, Lord Roberts was able to cable to Queen Victoria that Majuba had been avenged. But when this first collision occurred between the two nations previous to the Boer War, many of the Dutch were unwilling to remain under even the nominal authority of the British and ‘trekked’ into the unknown interior of South Africa. This was the genesis of the Transvaal and the Orange Free State.

These Dutch came to be known in South Africa as Boers. They have preserved their language by clinging to it as a child clings to its mother. They have an intense realization of the close relation between their language and their liberty. In spite of many attacks, they have preserved their mother tongue intact. The language assumed a new form suited to their genius. As they could not maintain very close relations with Holland, they began to speak a patois derived from the Dutch as the Prakrits are derived from Sanskrit. And not wishing

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 to impose an unnecessary burden upon their children, they have given a permanent shape to this patois. It is called Taal. Their books are written in Taal, their children are educated through it, and Boer members of the Union Parliament make it a point to deliver their speeches in it. Since the formation of the Union, Taal or Dutch and English have been officially treated on a footing of equality throughout South Africa, so much so that the Government Gazettes and records of Parliament must be in both languages.

The Boers are simple, frank and religious. They settle in the midst of extensive farms. We can have no idea of the extent of these farms. A farm with us means generally an acre or two, and sometimes even less. In South Africa a single farmer has hundreds or thousands of acres of land in his possession. He is not anxious to put all this under cultivation at once, and if any one argues with him, he will say, ‘Let it lie fallow. Lands which now lie fallow will be cultivated by our children.’

Every Boer is a good fighter. However much the Boers may quarrel among themselves, their liberty is so dear to them that when it is in danger, all get ready and fight as one man. They do not need elaborate drilling, for fighting is a characteristic of the whole nation. General Smuts, General De Wet, and General Hertzog are all of them great lawyers, great farmers and equally great soldiers. General Botha had one farm of nine thousand acres. He was familiar with all the intricacies of agriculture. When he went to Europe in connection with negotiations for peace, it was said of him that there was hardly any one in Europe who was as good a judge of sheep as he was. General Botha had succeeded the late President Kruger. His knowledge of English was excellent; yet when he met the King and ministers in England, he always preferred to talk in his own mother tongue. Who can say that this was not the proper thing to do? Why should he run the risk of committing a mistake in order to display his knowledge of English? Why should he allow his train of thought to be disturbed in

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text: The Trees of Great Britain & Ireland/1 - Plates/Fagus


text: Works of Jules Verne/The Survivors of the Chancellor/Chapter 1


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