text:
Page:Macaula yʼs minutes on education in India, written in the years 1835, 1836 and 1837 (IA dli.csl.7615).pdf/116

Rh Vedas they are to repeat to expiate the crime of killing a goat?

It is taken for granted by the advocates of oriental learning that no native of this country can possibly attain more than a mere smattering of English. They do not attempt to prove this; but they perpetually insinuate it. They designate the education which their opponents recommend as a mere spelling book education. They assume it as undeniable that the question is between a profound knowledge of Hindoo and Arabian literature and science on the one side, and superficial knowledge of the rudiments of English on the other. This is not merely an assumption, but an assumption contrary to all reason and experience. We know that foreigners of all nations do learn our language sufficiently to have access to all the most abstruse knowledge which it contains, sufficiently to relish even the more delicate graces of our most idiomatic writers. There are in this very town natives who are quite competent to discuss political or scientific questions with fluency and precision in the English language. I have heard the very question on which I am now writing discussed by native gentlemen with a liberality and an intelligence which would do credit to any member of the Committee of Public Instruction. Indeed it is unusual to find, even in the literary circles of the Continent, any foreigner who can express himself in English with so much facility and correctness as we find in many Hindoos. Nobody, I suppose, will contend that English is so difficult to a Hindoo as Greek to an Englishman. Yet an intelligent English youth, in a much smaller number of years than our unfortunate pupils pass at the Sanscrit College, becomes able to read, to enjoy, and even to imitate not unhappily the compositions of the best Greek authors. Less than half the time which enables an English youth to read and  ought to enable a Hindoo to read  and Milton.

To sum up what I have said. I think it clear that we are not fettered by the Act of Parliament of 1813; that we are not fettered by any pledge expressed or implied; that we are free to employ our funds as we choose; that we ought to employ them in teaching what is best worth knowing; that English is better worth knowing than Sanscrit or Arabic; that the natives are desirous to be taught English, and are not desirous to be taught Sanscrit or Arabic; that neither as the languages of law, nor as the languages of religion have the Sanscrit and Arabic any peculiar claim to our encouragement; that it is possible to make natives of this country thoroughly good English scholars, and that to this end our efforts ought to be directed.


text:
Page:Constantinople by Brodribb.djvu/191

 Where was their fleet? This, which ought to have met the Venetians in the narrow seas, was found reduced to twenty galleys. Only twenty galleys represented the naval power of what was proudly called the Roman empire. Malversations of the admirals, treachery, neglect, and want of confidence, had brought about this result. The paltry fleet lay hiding in the Golden Horn, useless.

The Crusaders landed at Scutari, and hither came, the next day, a deputation from Alexis, asking in haughty terms what he was to understand by this hostile demonstration, and inviting them, on pain of speedy and condign punishment, to return whence they had come. The Crusaders replied that they could not recognize him as emperor at all, that they were come to restore the rightful king to the throne; but that if he agreed to resign the crown at once, they would intercede with the injured Isaac, and gain for him at least the promise of his life. They followed up this message by transporting their cavalry across the Bosporus, and routed in very encouraging style the first Greek troops sent out against them.

It was necessary, however, to occupy, with as little delay as possible, the Golden Horn. This was protected a great chain lying across the mouth, and secured at her end within a tower. The Venetians armed their heaviest transport with a pair of gigantic shears, and drove her against the chain. Whether by the weight of the ship or by the use of the shears, is not certain, the chain was broken, the Venetian fleet crowded into the

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


text:
Page:Constantinople by Brodribb.djvu/192

 port, and the capture of the city was now a practicable enterprise.

It might be attacked by complete investment or be taken by storm. The first was out of the question, from the small number of the besiegers. But they held command of the sea. It was resolved, therefore, that the Crusaders should concentrate their forces at the northern angle of the city wall. It was impossible to blockade the city gates, or to keep the besieged from sorties. Baldwin, Count of Flanders, led the van with the Belgian chivalry. The main body, consisting of Flemings under Henry, brother of Baldwin, and French under the Counts of Blois and. St. Pol, was commanded by the Marquis of Montferrat. The engines which had been constructed for use against the walls of Jerusalem were taken from the ships and erected in position.

Mean time the Venetians were to assail the city from the ships near the centre of the line of wall protecting the shore of the Golden Horn.

As soon as a breach had been effected in the wall, a general assault by sea and land was delivered. That by land was begun with the usual desperate courage of the Crusaders, who found opposed to them, not the effeminate arms of the Greeks, but the sturdy axes of English and Danish guards and Pisan mercenaries. The assailants were repulsed in the utmost disorder. This was the chance which comes to him who knows how to use it. Had the emperor, who witnessed the contest from a window in the Blachern Palace, placed himself at the head of his Varangians, and led a sortie


text:
Page:Constantinople by Brodribb.djvu/193

 on the flying foe, he must have ended then and there the crusade against his empire. Had he even given permission to Theodore Lascaris, his warlike son-in-law, who was at his side in readiness, the end would have been certain. But Alexis did not move. In his sluggish veins there was no impulse possible of generous valour, even when his crown and his life were at stake.

So the opportunity was lost. When it was too late Alexis ordered his troops to march out in battle array before the walls. But they did not attack the Latins, who for their part had had for that day enough of fighting.

The Venetians, however, were on their side completely successful. They had furnished their vessels with high wooden towers provided with drawbridges, which were to be let down on the walls of the city. These vessels, filled with men, were supported by galleys whose tops were filled with archers and crossbow-men, who supported the attack and swept the defenders from the fortifications. The blind old Doge was on board, clad in complete armour, and when the signal was given he ordered his crew to press on, that he might be among the first to touch the walls. After a short struggle the bridges were lowered, and the Venetians swarmed upon the walls, beating back the defenders everywhere, until the twenty-five towers and the connecting line of wall were in their possession. It was more difficult to occupy the town by storm, as the narrow streets were easily defended. The houses were fired before them; but while the conflagration spread, and the unfortunate Greeks fled out of them for safety, the news was hastily brought that the


text:
Page:Constantinople by Brodribb.djvu/194

 Crusaders were defeated, that the Byzantine army was in full array outside the walls, and that the emperor was about to attack the camp in overwhelming numbers. The Doge ordered the walls to be abandoned, and the ships with all the men-at-arms and archers to return for the support of their allies. But the Greeks were already returning to the city.

There was no occasion for another assault, because the emperor that night, whether terrified by secret information of treachery, which is very possible, or despairing of making a successful defence, or out of sheer cowardice, collected together what he could carry of jewels and money, and with a few of his friends fled from Constantinople. It was at the dawn of day that his flight was discovered. In the confusion which ensued, one Constantine, a eunuch, succeeded in persuading the Varangian guard to replace Isaac II. on the throne. The blind prisoner was awakened in the monastery where he had been confined, by the armed tramp of those who were taking him from a dungeon to a throne. It was the second great dramatic event in the life of this undeserving fainéant.

He was proclaimed emperor, with his son, Alexis IV., as colleague. The Crusaders were disappointed. What they longed to effect by arms and courage, had been done for them by the feebleness of the usurper. There was, therefore, to be no sack of this rich and prosperous city. The Venetians, more wary, suspected some kind of treachery. They resolved on keeping young Alexis as a hostage, while they sent an embassy to Isaac, ac-


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/267

Wedgwood was one of those well-regulated Englishmen who believe that if you really must read a newspaper, there is only one newspaper that can be depended upon through thick and thin—to wit, the Times: he would as soon have thought of beginning the day without his breakfast as of omitting to glance over the Times while he munched his bacon and sipped his coffee. And like all readers of newspapers he had his favourite page. Some men turn first to the political news; some to the sporting, some to the financial; Wedgwood invariably turned first to the legal. And it was as he glanced over the Law Notices for that day that he saw the name Mortover. There it was—he sat for a moment staring at it.

There was a telephone in the house in which Wedgwood lodged, and within two minutes of


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/268

 his reading that notice he was at it, ringing up Nottidge, whose number he had been careful to secure on first going to Nottidge House. Within two minutes more he was through to him.

"That you, Nottidge! This is Wedgwood! Have you seen the Times this morning?"

"Not yet," replied Nottidge. "What is there?"

"Look on the law page—law notices of the Courts—you'll see! Listen—no time to waste. Meet me as soon as you can outside the Law Courts—main entrance. Hurry up—it's nearly half-past nine now! Understand?"

"I'll be there—set off in five minutes," answered Nottidge.

Wedgwood rang off and hastily finishing his breakfast hurried along to the Law Courts.

It was a little after ten when he reached the main entrance, a moment later Nottidge sprang out of a taxi-cab and joined him.

"Seen it?" demanded the detective.

Nottidge waved a copy of the Times at him.

"I've seen it!" he answered. "What on earth is the meaning of it?"

Wedgwood drew him aside from the stream of barristers, solicitors, clerks, witnesses steadily pouring in through the archway.

"I'll tell you what the meaning is!" he said,


text:
Page:Constantinople by Brodribb.djvu/195

 quainting him with the treaty made by his son, and asking him if he intended to carry out the terms. The emperor declared his willingness to ratify the treaty so far as promises were concerned, but he confessed that he saw no probability of keeping his promise. What Dandolo wanted, however, was the promise. It would be his business, later on, to remind the emperor of his engagements.

The promise given, a grand triumphant entry was made into Constantinople, the young emperor riding between Dandolo and Count Baldwin.

There was no enthusiasm among the people at the return of the blind old monarch; there was so little national spirit left among them, that they conceived no hope of future improvement in the gallant young prince who rode between the Doge of Venice and the Count of Flanders. They despaired of better things; they were like the Romans when one bad pope came after another bad pope, and they could hope for nothing better than new and more biting epigrams. The Greeks of Constantinople looked with hatred on their rulers, as they looked with contempt upon their priests.

The present state of things, indeed, offered small cause for congratulation to a patriotic mind. To raise the 200,000 marks promised by the prince who had brought these Western warriors upon the city, the imperial palace was stripped of plate, gold, silver, and jewels; the altars were robbed of the sacred vessels, and the holy pictures stripped of their silver frames; the monasteries were deprived of the treasures which pious men and


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/269

 with a knowing look. "You can crystallize the meaning into one word—Levigne!"

But Nottidge shook his head.

"Don't understand even now!" he said. "Levigne? What's he got to do with this?"

"Everything!" said Wedgwood. "I'm beginning to see through things. Levigne was the main factor in starting that Mortover colliery scheme. He's a big stake in it. Well, at a critical stage of its affairs, when the limited liability company is being formed and shares put on the market, he finds out that there's a claimant to the land which the company has secured from the supposed legal owner, Philip Mortover. That claimant is the girl Avice Mortover! How, we don't know—but I can guess! Levigne finds out that Avice Mortover's claim is a thoroughly substantial one, not to be set aside. He decides to take up her cause, and gets her into his power—she, of course, was the young lady we heard of last night, who was brought to Cleveland Square by Levigne and his secretary, spent the night there, and was taken away, somewhere, by the secretary next morning. Why? Probably to keep her in safe hiding until these legal proceedings could be taken. Probably, too, Levigne has got her to sign papers by virtue of which, in the event of her substantiating her


text:
Page:Constantinople by Brodribb.djvu/196

 women had stored up in them. And yet the whole did not nearly suffice.

Nor was that all. This army, which they had driven from before their walls, and which now behaved as if it had been victorious, had to be fed. Where was the money to buy provisions for them? Where were the provisions themselves to come from? For the Latins had settled their camp over the richest and most fertile suburbs of the city, where they plundered and devoured at their will.

The two emperors, father and son, who might at least have maintained the dignity of the Byzantine crown, were ridiculous and degraded in the eyes of the people. For the father, led on by the promises of astrologers and monks, who held out hopes of the recovery of his sight and the gift of a prolonged life, spent his time in entertaining these charlatans and spiritual jugglers; while the son, probably glad to escape the mortifications of the impoverished court, was always in the Crusaders' camp, feasting, gambling, singing, and drinking with the rough young knights, who treated him with no more courtesy than they showed to each other.

The situation was intolerable, and it was destined to become worse. Still there was hope. At the end of September the Crusaders would embark again and set sail, leaving Constantinople, it might be hoped, for ever. So, at least, it was arranged. What Dandolo proposed to do if the conditions of the treaty were not fulfilled, no one cared to inquire. The French and Flemish barbarians, the rough and unmannerly Western knights, with no knowledge of Homer and no respect for Byzan-


text:
Page:Constantinople by Brodribb.djvu/197

 tine titles and ceremonies, would go. That was the main thing.

But on the night of August 19, six weeks before the day fixed for the embarkation of the troops, there happened a dreadful misfortune. A party of Flemish soldiers were drinking at the house of a Flemish merchant. Being probably drunk, they conceived the idea of plundering a church close to their friend's house, and of looting certain warehouses filled with valuable stuffs from Syria and Egypt. They were not too drunk to carry this brilliant conception into immediate execution. But the people rose upon them when they had as yet scarcely commenced their exploit, and they saw that flight was here the better part of valour. They fled, the Greeks vindictively pursuing them. Whether to save themselves by a diversion, or out of revenge, these gallant fellows, whose proceedings inspire one with a lively admiration for Crusaders, set fire to the houses as they passed. Unfortunately a strong wind blew across the peninsula, and spread the conflagration so rapidly that it was impossible to arrest the flames. The fire lasted for two nights and a day. When it was finally subdued, there remained a long belt of charred and smoking relics, stretching a mile and a half in length, from the Golden Horn to the Propontis. The fire had raged through the wealthiest quarter of the city. Innumerable monuments of ancient art, numbers of precious manuscripts, boundless accumulated wealth of that kind of which Constantinople was now the only depository, perished in those flames wantonly kindled by the drunken Flemings.


text:
Page:Constantinople by Brodribb.djvu/198

 One does not hear what was done to the authors of the mischief. Perhaps they were sitting on the shore of Galata, laughing over the brilliant success of their exploit. But the effects of that drinking bout were very remarkable and lasting, as will be seen. It is indeed seldom that one can follow the consequences of a crime, a vulgar, thoughtless, and brutal crime, so fully, or with such clearness.

For, first of all, when the richest part of the city had been burned down, and the stores of wealth destroyed, it was impossible for the imperial government to seek for aid among the resources of private citizens. The golden candelabra and the vessels of St. Sophia, the Byzantine mother-church, when melted down, went but a very little way. And then Alexis, this young boon companion of Flemish roysterers, was fain to seek the Latin camp and confess that he could not pay the money.

Dandolo was not displeased. So far as things had gone, it seemed possible that Venice would get no good at all out of this costly and dangerous business. He said that they were in no immediate hurry. They would wait the convenience of their imperial hosts. They would stay where they were for six months longer. In six months, surely, the money could be raised. Mean time the Greeks would have the pleasure of finding provisions for the Latin and Venetian armies, which, for their part, would continue to keep their camps on the more desirable and fertile portions of the campagna, so that neither revenue nor harvests could be looked to from that quarter. Also, their soldiers should continue to pay


text:
Page:Letter from Aubrey Hall to Helen, 1935-12-24, p3.png

Ernest has gone south & Arthur takes Gwynn to the train at Geraldton about New Year.

I think Mrs Allen goes down in Jany. Three  hands went off South on the shearer's truck a few days ago.

What did Joan think of her exam paper? Does she think she did ill or well with them? Suppose we should know in a week or two how she fared.

Alf was very decent, he came 17 m out to my camp to see me & we had a long & interesting yarn.

He says brother Ernest looks well, but that he has a nasty looking sore on his head. I fear I cannot go overland to see him until after rain. Alf says the country, Murchison to Nullagine is in a very bad.

Constance will have a good cheque if she stays on until for


text:
Proclamation No. 2332 (Marcos)

in a plebiscite held on January 27, 1984, pursuant to Batasang Pambansa Resolutions No. 104, 105, 110, 111, 112 and 113 hereto attached and made an integral part thereof, four (4) questions were asked, which questions are stated in the next succeeding paragraph hereof;

the canvass conducted by the Commission on Elections in accordance with law yielded the following results, with 13,765,507 actually voting:

Question No. 1, on the amendments which, in substance, call for the election of members of the Batasan by province, city or district.

Question No. 2, on the amendment which, in substance, seeks the abolition of the Executive Committee and the creation of the Office of the Vice President.

Question No. 3, on the amendment which, in substance, provides for an additional mode for the acquisition of lands belonging to the public domain.

Question No. 4, on the amendment which, in substance, provides that the State shall undertake an urban land reform and social housing program to give the deserving landless and homeless citizens reasonable opportunity to acquire land and decent housing.

the above results of the plebiscite show that 83.94% of those who actually voted approved the amendments to the Constitution in Question No. 1; 82.98% the amendment in Question No. 2; 69.25% the amendment in Question No. 3; and 68.58% the amendment in Question No. 4.

President of the Philippines, by virtue of the powers vested in me by law, do hereby certify and proclaim that the amendments to the Constitution embodied in Batasang Pambansa Resolutions Nos. 104, 105, 110, 111, 112 and 113 were duly ratified by the Filipino people in the plebiscite held on January 27, 1984, and that these amendments are therefore effective and in full force and effect as of the date of this Proclamation.

I have hereunto set my hand and caused the seal of the Republic of the Philippines to be affixed.

Done in the City of Manila, this 1st day of February in the year of Our Lord, nineteen hundred and eighty-four.

Rh

[]

By the President:

(Sgd.) Presidential Executive Assistant

title: Proclamation No. 2332 (Marcos)


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/270

 claim, he'll put himself safe and right, financially. Deep and clever work, young man—but I shall have a word or two to say to Mr. Levigne as soon as I set eyes on him!"

Nottidge listened to all this with knitted brows.

"What I don't understand," he said moodily, "is how they got Miss Mortover away so willingly! Strangers to her—and yet that girl we saw last night said she seemed quite at home with them!"

"Oh, I understand that!" answered Wedgwood. "The woman probably introduced herself as a relation, and Levigne as another. They got round her with soft words, representing that they were her friends and going to see that she got her rights."

"That doesn't explain why she's never communicated with me, though!" said Nottidge. "She might at least have dropped me a line!"

Wedgwood smiled and gave his companion a shrewd glance.

"I think you'll find that she probably did drop you a line!" he said. "It's not her fault that you didn't get it!"

"What d'you mean?" asked Nottidge.

"Do you remember what the waiter, Marco, told us as regards a certain happening at Cipriani's restaurant?" asked Wedgwood. "He


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/271

 said that after the gentleman and the two ladies had dined, telegram forms were asked for, and the young lady—the young lady, mind you—wrote out two telegrams. What did she do with 'em? She gave 'em to the gentleman! Now, in my opinion, you'll find out, when you meet Miss Mortover, that one of those telegrams was to you, and the other to her landlady. Of course, Levigne never handed them in—never meant to! And the probability is that while you've been wondering why you never heard from her, she's been surprised that she never heard from you!"

"Meet her again, you say!" exclaimed Nottigde. "And when's that likely to be?"

Wedgwood drew out his watch.

"I should say in a few minutes," he replied coolly. "This application's fixed for ten-thirty and it's a quarter-past ten now.

"You expect her here?" asked Nottidge.

"I expect 'em all here!" said Wedgwood. "Levigne, his secretary, Miss Mortover, and their solicitor and counsel. And now Nottidge as time's short, a word to you! You can leave Levigne to me—I'll tackle him, to some purpose. You see that very ordinary-looking individual, quietly glancing about him, over there? That's an assistant of mine—another detective—I brought him along on purpose."


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/272

 "Going to arrest Levigne!" exclaimed Nottidge. "For what?"

"I said nothing about arresting him," replied Wedgwood. "But he's going with me—somewhere—to undergo some pretty stiff questioning! Never mind him—as I say, I'll see to him. But as regards Miss Mortover, a word to you! Don't let her out of your sight again, whatever happens!"

"I'll see to that!" responded Nottidge, heartily. "Only let me see her"

Wedgwood motioned him to turn.

"You can see her now!" he said. "Here they all are—as I said, except Levigne!"

Nottidge turned sharply—to see Avice Mortover, a tall, spare woman in a long fur coat, a man who looked like a solicitor and had a clerk in attendance with a bag, and another man in a barrister's wig and gown. They were coming through the main entrance, all talking together. Wedgwood pulled Nottidge's sleeve.

"You see the little man—not the barrister," he whispered. "That's Curtoise, of Curtoise and Fullpage, Portugal Street—one of the cutest lawyers in London! I know him, and I'm going to speak to him. You make up to the girl!"

He went after the solicitor, unheeding the sudden exclamation which fell from Avice


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/273

 Mortover's lips as she recognized Nottidge. Curtoise, a sharp-featured, keen-eyed man, turned quickly at Wedgwood's touch on his arm, and gave him a questioning look as he saw who it was that accosted him.

"A word—in private!" said Wedgwood. He drew the solicitor aside. "You're expecting Mr. Levigne to turn up here, I suppose, Mr. Curtoise," he went on. "Well, between you and me, I want him!"

Curtoise showed no astonishment: he was of the sort that shows no astonishment or surprise even when they are felt.

"What is it, Wedgwood?" he asked quietly.

"That Handel Street murder case," replied Wedgwood. Then he added, with a significant glance: "It's mixed up with this Mortover case more than you'd think, Mr. Curtoise! But what is this case this morning?"

"Application for an injunction to restrain the Directors of the Company from dealing further with the land and minerals," answered the solicitor. He pointed to Avice, who was now talking rapidly to Nottidge. "That girl claims the Mortover estate."

"I know!" nodded Wedgwood. "Well, I suppose Levigne's sure to come here?"

"We can't do anything if he doesn't," replied Curtoise. "Although he's employed us on Miss


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/274

 Mortover's behalf, and we've instructed counsel, Levigne has all the necessary papers! He won't let them out of his keeping. We can't go on unless he's here, so he's sure to come. But—is it anything serious you're wanting him for? Some enquiry, I suppose?"

"You'll hear, in time," said Wedgwood. "Your counsel's wanting you—time to go in I should think. There's ten-thirty."

He exchanged a word or two with his assistant and then followed Curtoise and his group into court. Nottidge came to him.

"I've had a word or two with her!" he whispered. "You were right about those telegrams! One was to me; the other to the landlady. She also says she wrote to me and gave Levigne the letter to post. She's amazed that I never got either telegram or letter; because, she says, Levigne and that secretary woman have treated her with the greatest kindness and consideration"

"No doubt!" said Wedgwood. "For a consideration! Did you ask her if she's put her hand to any papers or documents while she's been with Levigne?"

"Yes! She says she's signed some papers that he put before her. She"

"Here's the judge!" interrupted Wedgwood. "Wait a bit!"


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/275

 He was looking round for Levigne. So, too, were Curtoise and the barrister, both obviously annoyed and embarrassed. Presently, on the case being called, the barrister rose, his voice full of mournful apology and explained that he was in a difficulty; certain absolutely necessary papers which were to have been brought up from Derbyshire last night had not arrived, though it was possible indeed, fully expected—that the person who was bringing them might arrive at any moment. If his lordship would be so indulgent as to

"Better take the next case and defer your application until this afternoon," interrupted the judge.

"If your lordship pleases!" murmured the barrister, and sinking into his seat, turned a reproachfully expectant eye on the door. Wedgwood's eye followed his, but he saw no sign of Levigne, and presently he made his way to Curtoise's side in the well of the court.

"Was it Levigne who was to bring up those papers from Derbyshire?" he asked, under cover of the beginning of the next case.

"Yes!" replied Curtoise. "He should have been at my office with them first thing this morning."

"Papers relating to the colliery?" persisted Wedgwood.


text:
Page:Journal Of The Indian Archipelago And Eastern Asia Series.i, Vol.2 (IA in.ernet.dli.2015.107695).pdf/24

 has been so commonly used, as to be incorporated in all the materia medicas of subsequent medical writers. According to Dr. Royle, the Hemp may have been the substance referred to by Ilomer, as its use is very ancient, though its effects are very different from those of Opium, the one being sedative, the other exciting. Hence the Hemp, known here as "bang," has been and is still used, when activity and excitement are required. The Hemp was used in Richard 1st. of England's time, as he nearly met with his death from a follower of the old man of the mountain, who was a Hashshashan or person who indulges in the habit of using "Hashshach," a preparation of Hemp and other narcotics and still known in Egypt by that name.

Preparation.—In Asia Minor, men, women, and children, a few days after the flower falls from the poppies, proceed to the fields, and with a shell scratch the capsules, wait 24 hours, and collect the tears, which amount to two or three grains in weight from each capsule. These being collected are mixed with the scrapings of the shells, worked up with saliva and surrounded by dried leaves. It is then sold, but, generally speaking, not without being still more adulterated with cow's dung, sand, gravel, the petals of the flowers &c., Different kinds of Opium are known in the markets of Europe and Asia. The first in point of quality is the Smyrna known in commerce as the Turkey or Levant. It occurs in irregular, rounded, flattened masses, seldom exceeding two pounds in weight, and surrounded by leaves of a kind of sorrel. The quantity of Morphia said to be derived from average specimens is eight per cent.

Second. Constantinople Opium, two kinds of which are found in the market, one in very voluminous irregular cakes, which are flattened like the Smyrna; this is a good quality. The other kind is in small, flattened, regular cakes, from two, to two and a half inches in diameter, and covered with the leaves of the poppy: the quantity of morphia is very uncertain in this description of Opium, sometimes mounting as high as fifteen per cent, and sometimes descending as low as six, shewing the great variety in the quality of the drug.


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/276

 "Papers relating to this application," said Curtoise. "Certain signatures. And pray how does all this relate to your affair?"

"I told you the two things were mixed up more than you'd think," replied Wedgwood. "You'll know all about it before long. Well, I wonder if Levigne's coming?"

"I wired to Mortover Grange this morning to know if he'd set off," said Curtoise. "A reply hadn't come when I left the office—I'm expecting it here any minute."

Wedgwood stole away—but only as far as to the side of Avice Mortover, who sat by Miss Monniment.

"A word with you, young lady!" he whispered with a smile. "Glad to see you're no worse for your adventures. Listen—you remember coming to see me about John Wraypoole? Of course! Well, now, did you ever, at any time, give John Wraypoole any papers relating to yourself or your father and mother? Be sure!"

Avice Mortover leaned nearer to him and whispered.

"Yes, I gave him some birth and marriage certificates that I kept in an envelope," she answered. "He was to look them over and give them back. But he didn't—I've never seen them since."


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/277

 "Have you told anyone of them?" asked Wedgwood.

"Mr. Levigne. He asked me questions about them, but I couldn't remember anything. They were papers that my mother kept, and, of course, when she died, I got them."

"You don't know where Mr. Levigne is this morning, I suppose?" enquired Wedgwood.

"No—I don't know anything about it. I've come here from Brighton—Miss Monniment and I have been there for some days. Mr. Levigne was down there a few days ago, and he told me he was going to Derbyshire again, but"

At that moment Wedgwood saw a clerk glide up to Curtoise's side and hand him a telegram; a second or two later Curtoise motioned the detective to join him. He thrust the telegram into his hand.

"Look at that!" he whispered. "Queer!" Wedgwood read the message rapidly.

"Mr. Levigne was here yesterday. Left five o'clock in afternoon with Mrs. Clagne. They were expected back at seven, but never returned. If you are Mr. Levigne's solicitors, please come. There is something wrong here. ."


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/278

 "What do you make of that?" whispered Curtoise. "Who's the sender?"

"I know," answered Wedgwood. "A young woman staying at Mortover Grange. What shall you do?"

"Hard to say," replied the solicitor. "The strange thing is, there's no communication from Levigne himself!"

"Just so!" agreed Wedgwood. He rose quietly, preparing to slip noiselessly away. "I'm off!" he whispered with a nod.

"Where?" asked Curtoise. "Not?"

"There!" answered Wedgwood. "Mortover Grange!"

He hastened into the street, hailed a taxi-cab, and bade its driver hurry to St. Pancras. And as his cab drew up, another cab came alongside, and from it descended Mr. and Mrs. Patello.


text: The Mortover Grange Affair/Chapter 22

title: The Mortover Grange Affair/Chapter 22


text:
Page:The Works of H G Wells Volume 9.pdf/236

 that distressing blade of the neck, the narrow clumsy place between the ears, and the ugly glimpse of cheek. There is, indeed, no beauty whatever save that transitory thing that comes and comes again; all beauty is really the beauty of expression, is really kinetic and momentary. That is true even of those triumphs of static endeavour achieved by Greece. The Greek temple, for example, is a barn with a face that at a certain angle of vision and in a certain light has a great calm beauty.

But where are we drifting? All such things, I hold, are cases of more and less, and of the right moment and the right aspect, even the things I most esteem. There is no perfection, there is no enduring treasure. This pet dog's beautiful affection, I say, or this other sensuous or imaginative delight, is no doubt good, but it can be put aside if it is incompatible with some other and wider good. You cannot focus all good things together.

All right action and all wise action is surely sound judgment and courageous abandonment in the matter of such incompatibilities. If I cannot imagine thoughts and feelings in a dog's brain that cannot possibly be there, at least I can imagine things in the future of men that might be there had we the will to demand them

"I don't like this Utopia," the botanist repeats. "You don't understand about dogs. To me they're human beings—and more! There used to be such a jolly old dog at my aunt's at Frognal when I was a boy"

But I do not heed his anecdote. Something


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/279

It needed but one glance at the faces of Mr. Patello and his wife to convince Wedgwood that they were there on some urgent business, and at the nature of that business he made a shrewd guess. Before they had dismissed their cab-driver he was at their side: Mr. Patello stared at sight of him, Mrs. Patello let out an exclamation which showed her sharpness of perception.

"Mr. Wedgwood? You're surely never going where we are—to Netherwell?" she gasped. Then before he could answer, she gripped his arm. "You've heard something?" she said. "Bad news?"

"Can't say if it's bad news or not, Mrs. Patello," replied the detective. "I've just seen a telegram from your daughter at Mortover Grange. She wires that strange things are happening there. And so—I'm going there! And I suppose you are?"

"We've had a telegram from Mattie, too," said Mrs. Patello. "It came an hour ago. She begged us to go there at once"


text:
Page:Macaula yʼs minutes on education in India, written in the years 1835, 1836 and 1837 (IA dli.csl.7615).pdf/117

 In one point I fully agree with the gentlemen to whose general views I am opposed. I feel with them that it is impossible for us, with our limited means, to attempt to educate the body of the people. We must at present do our best to form a class who may be interpreters between us and the millions whom we govern; a class of persons Indian in blood and colour, but English in tastes, in opinions, in morals, and in intellect. To that class we may leave it to refine the vernacular dialects of the country, to enrich those dialects with terms of science borrowed from the Western nomenclature, and to render them by degrees fit vehicles for conveying knowledge to the great mass of the population.

I would strictly respect all existing interests. I would deal even generously with all individuals who have had fair reason to expect a pecuniary provision. But I would strike at the root of the bad system which has hitherto been fostered by us. I would at once stop the printing of Arabic and Sanscrit books. I would abolish the Madrassa and the Sanscrit College at Calcutta. Benares is the great seat of Brahminical learning; Delhi, of Arabic learning. If we retain the Sanscrit College at Benares and the Mahomedan College at Delhi, we do enough and much more than enough in my opinion, for the Eastern languages. If the Benares and Delhi Colleges should be retained, I would at least recommend that no stipends shall be given to any students who may hereafter repair thither, but that the people shall be left to make their own choice between the rival systems of education without being bribed by us to learn what they have no desire to know. The funds which would thus be placed at our disposal would enable us to give larger encouragement to the Hindoo College at Calcutta, and to establish in the principal cities throughout the Presidencies of Fort William and Agra schools in which the English language might be well and thoroughly taught.

If the decision of His Lordship in Council should be such as I anticipate, I shall enter on the performance of my duties with the greatest zeal and alacrity. If, on the other hand, it be the opinion of the Government that the present system ought to remain unchanged, I beg that I may be permitted to retire from the chair of the Committee. I feel that I could not be of the smallest use there—I feel also that I should be lending my countenance to what I firmly believe to be a mere delusion. I believe that the present system tends, not to accelerate the progress of truth, but to delay the natural death of expiring errors. I conceive that we have at present no right to the respectable name of a Board of Public Instruction. We are a Board for wasting public money, for printing


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/280

 "Show it to him," interrupted Mr. Patello.

Wedgwood glanced quickly at the crumpled message which Mrs. Patello produced from her bag. He noticed that it had been sent off from Netherwell at half-past eight that morning.

Do please come here at once something wrong here frightened to stay come immediately Mattie.

"What can you make of it, Mr. Wedgwood?" asked Mrs. Patello anxiously. "Was there more in the telegram you saw just now?"

"No!" replied Wedgwood. "Practically the same. You're doing right in going down there."

"Such a way to go, and such a time to wait!" sighed Mrs. Patello. "We set off at once, but now there isn't a train till twelve twenty-five—twenty minutes yet. And the uncertainty—who knows what mayn't be happening!"

"Who was the telegram sent to that you saw, sir?" asked Mr. Patello. "I wasn't aware that my daughter knew anybody in your line."

"It was to a solicitor, Mr. Patello," replied Wedgwood. "Mr. Curtoise, of Portugal Street. He wired to Mortover Grange this morning enquiring about a Mr. Levigne, whose name you may have heard before. Your daughter answered the wire. She said that Mr. Levigne


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/281

 who was at Mortover Grange yesterday left there at five o'clock yesterday afternoon in company with Mrs. Clagne and that they were to have returned at seven. They hadn't returned when she wired this morning, and she asked Mr. Curtoise if he was Mr. Levigne's solicitor to go down there, as strange things were happening."

"Is he going, then?" asked Mrs. Patello.

"I don't know. But I am," said Wedgwood. "We'll go down together. Something's going on there that seems to have upset your daughter. This Mr. Levigne, now—do you know anything of him?"

"I've heard his name from my sister, Mrs. Clagne," replied Mrs. Patello. "He's a London man that has something to do with this colliery business. I know my sister went to see him about it one night when she was staying with us."

"He's a director," said Mr. Patello. He glanced about him with a dismal, woe-begone expression. "It's to be hoped there's nothing gone wrong about that colliery!" he added, mournfully. "When one's got money in a thing"

"No use anticipating evil," said Wedgwood. "I don't think we shall find it's that. And it's very evident your daughter was all right this


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/282

 morning, or she couldn't have sent off those telegrams."

"What do you think it can be, then?" asked Mrs. Patello. "Mattie's a sensible girl, Mr. Wedgwood, and she wouldn't send for us like that unless there was a reason."

But Wedgwood refrained from expressing an opinion, though he was not without one. He suggested that they should get their tickets and find a comfortable place in the train; after all, he pointed out, Mr. and Mrs. Patello were doing all they could in responding so promptly to their daughter's summons. He himself, having found his companions quiet quarters went into a smoking-compartment close by, to think. And one result of his cogitations was that when the journey was half accomplished he went back to Mr. and Mrs. Patello. Mr. Patello was asleep in one corner; Mrs. Patello sat, still anxious and thoughtful, in another: Wedgwood sat down by her.

"I want to ask you a question, Mrs. Patello," he said. "Just a little matter that's crossed my mind. Does your sister possess a valuable diamond ring?"

Mrs. Patello started, staring at her questioner.

"Well, now, however could you know that?"


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/283

 she exclaimed. "To be sure, she does—a very valuable one!"

"Heirloom, perhaps?" suggested Wedgwood.

"Well, it was left her by her husband, Mr. Clagne," replied Mrs. Patello. "Clagne, he was a jeweller, and in a very nice way of business, too, when he died. He died very suddenly, did Clagne, but of course Janet got all he had, I've heard that Clagne got that diamond ring a bargain; he always wore it himself while he lived, and when he died Janet took to wearing it herself, though it's a gentleman's ring. Of course, she only wears it on special occasions. Now how did you come to know about it?"

"Oh, I've just heard that she had one," replied Wedgwood, with affected carelessness. "I suppose she had it on her finger when she came to stay with you a short time ago?"

"She had—and I gave her a warning about it," replied Mrs. Patello. "The stone had got loose in its setting. 'You'll be losing that, Janet,' I said. 'You take my advice and get it reset.' It was quite wobbly, you see—seemed to me as if it might slip out any minute. And that would have been a fine loss!"

"Did she take your advice?" asked Wedgwood.

"I don't know—I can't remember seeing her wearing it after that," answered Mrs. Patello.


text:
Page:Macaula yʼs minutes on education in India, written in the years 1835, 1836 and 1837 (IA dli.csl.7615).pdf/118

 books which are of less value than the paper on which they are printed was while it was blank; for giving artificial encouragement to absurd history, absurd metaphysics, absurd physics, absurd theology; for raising up a breed of scholars who find their scholarship an encumbrance and blemish, who live on the public while they are receiving their education, and whose education is so utterly useless to them that when they have received it they must either starve or live on the public all the rest of their lives. Entertaining these opinions, I am naturally desirous to decline all share in the responsibility of a body, which, unless it alters its whole mode of proceedings, I must consider, not merely as useless, but as positively noxious.


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/284

 "But she's the sort of woman who wouldn't tell you if she did take your advice about anything. Close! She may have taken it to get reset while she was in London, of course."

"Not many jewellers knocking around in the Mortover Grange neighbourhood, to be sure!" remarked Wedgwood. "Mrs. Clagne's been at the Grange a long time, hasn't she?"

"A great many years," assented Mrs. Patello. "You might say, indeed, that she's one of the family, she's been so bound up in it. There were reasons. You see, just about the time that Janet lost her husband, Stephen Mortover lost his wife; they died, Clagne and Mrs. Stephen, within a few weeks of each other. And both Stephen and Janet were left with small children to bring up—Stephen had a boy, this present young Philip, and Janet had a boy, Walter. They were both about the same age, those two children. Well, now, Stephen, he was a shiftless sort of man; no good at all, and certainly not fit to bring up a motherless infant. So Janet took Philip away with her to where she was then living so that she could bring him up with her own boy. So, of course, she's been his foster-mother all his life."

"Where is her own son, then?" asked Wedgwood. This family history, not at all pertinent


text:
Page:Macaula yʼs minutes on education in India, written in the years 1835, 1836 and 1837 (IA dli.csl.7615).pdf/106

Rh Moshin.—Of course we must not run any risk. But I never saw an attorney’s letter which had more the look of being written in support of an idle vamped up claim. We had better ask the visitors whether they know anything about the business. In the mean time, of course, we must do nothing.—[Book L. page 139.] 2nd August, 1837.

About the purchase of General Perron’s house for the college of Mahomed Moshin.—I am very little acquainted with these matters. I should have thought that the conveyance ought to be to the Government, which is the representative of the founder, and from whose authority ours is derived. But I submit my judgment to that of more experienced people.—[Book L. page 154.] 11th August, 1837.

Russel’s Modern Europe.—Russel’s is one of those bad books which keep their ground for want of a better. I have no objection to what Mr. Sutherland proposes. What he says of the Poetical Miscellany reminds me of a proposition respecting a Prose Miscellany which I shall take an early opportunity of submitting to the Committee.—[Page 150.] 26th August, 1837.

Prankissen Seal’s house at Chinsurah.—Certainly against an opinion so well entitled to consideration as Mr. Sutherland’s, I cannot venture to recommend the purchase. I wish that we could procure a copy of the petition, and also that we could learn when the case is likely to be disposed of by the Sudder Dewany Adawlut.—[Page 159.] 4th October, 1837.

2d February, 1835.

As it seems to be the opinion of some of the gentlemen who compose the Committee of Public Instruction, that the course which they have hitherto pursued was strictly prescribed by the British Parliament in 1813, and as, if that opinion be correct, a legislative act will be necessary to warrant a change, I have thought it right to refrain from taking any part in the preparation of the adverse statements which are now before us, and to reserve what I had to say on the subject till it should come before me as a member of the Council of India.

It does not appear to me that the Act of Parliament can, by any art of construction, be made to bear the meaning which has been assigned to it. It contains nothing about the particular languages or sciences which are to be studied. A sum is set apart ‘for the revival and promotion of literature and the encouragement of the learned natives of India, and for the introduction and promotion of a knowledge of the sciences among the inhabitants of the British territories.’ It is argued,


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/285

 at first, was beginning to interest him. "Isn't he living?"

"No, he died, poor child, at a very early age," replied Mrs. Patello. "In fact, very soon after she took young Philip to live with them. Croup it was—went very sudden. Of course, I'd left those parts then—I never saw him, except when he was a mere one-month's baby: I only heard of these things. But Janet said he was a fine little fellow. To be sure, croup makes very short work of young children!"

"So I understand," said WedgwodWedgwood [sic]. "So I suppose she kept young Philip with her?"

"Never left her—or she never left him," assented Mrs. Patello. "He lived with her until he was several years old; then she went to become housekeeper at Mortover Grange, and of course he went back there with her. They've never been parted, those two."

Wedgwood remained silent awhile, following out a train of thought.

"How old was that child when he died—the child Walter?" he asked suddenly.

"Fifteen months," replied Mrs. Patello. "Sad age—just when they get interesting!"

"And Philip—how old was he?"

"Same age, almost to a day. I never saw him—at that time, I mean—but I've heard that the two boys were as like as two peas!" con-


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/286

 tinued Mrs. Patello, becoming sentimentally reminiscent. "Might have been twin-brothers, I was told!"

"And now your sister wants young Philip Mortover to marry your daughter?" asked Wedgwood. "Family arrangement, eh?"

"It's been discussed, between us, Mr. Wedgwood—and of course, as things have turned out, it would be a good match for Mattie, as far as money's concerned. But now there's the question of this girl who claims to be Matthew Mortover's daughter! How is that matter going, Mr. Wedgwood?

"I may be better able to tell you more about that, Mrs. Patello, if and when I get hold of this man Levigne," replied the detective. "I fancy he's in possession of information that I should like to get! Papers!"

"And you think he's down at Mortover Grange?" asked Mrs. Patello.

"I think so! I think your daughter's wire to the solicitors implied that he's there."

"Well, I wish we were there!" sighed Mrs. Patello. "I'm that anxious about Mattie"

Wedgwood pointed to the scene outside the carriage windows.

"Don't be surprised if we're delayed," he said. "There's evidently been a lot of snow here, and we're still south of Derby. What it


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/287

 may be like north of it, and in those valleys we're going to, I can't guess. It's a wild, savage country that, Mrs. Patello—striking enough in spring, summer and autumn, but in winter—ah! I don't relish facing the last bit of our journey."

"Well, I wish we were there!" repeated Mrs. Patello. "When one's anxious"

But the getting there was not to be as speedy as Mrs. Patello could have wished. The express was late at Derby: the local train to Netherwell was nearly an hour late in starting; it was twice held up in its journey through the wild country which it had to traverse, and the evening had set in and darkness long fallen when Wedgwood and his companions, starved to their bones, turned out at Netherwell amidst what seemed to be a world of snow.

"You'll not get any conveyance of any sort to take you that way to-night, sir!" said a porter of whom Wedgwood enquired as to means of getting to Mortover Grange. "I don't think anything could get through! It's been snowing like this, and sometimes worse, ever since noon yesterday—thirty hours continuous, now—and they say those roads up Mortover way are ever so many feet deep! There's been no cabs, traps, or anything of that sort here all day long."


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/288

 Wedgwood glanced in the light of the feeble lamps at his two companions.

"We must get there!" said Mrs. Patello.

"If I have to walk, I must get there!"

"I'm afraid you couldn't walk, m'm," answered the porter. "Wildest part of all this country is that! And it's nearer four miles than three."

"We'll go down to the hotel," said Wedgwood. "They may be able to suggest something there."

The boots at the hotel remembered Wedgwood and welcomed the sight of him again. But he shook his head when sounded on the chance of getting a conveyance. Impossible! he said, to get to Mortover Grange on a night and in a storm like that; he, like the porter, had heard that the valley roads were choked with snow. Still, if it was as imperative as all that, he'd do his best. And Wedgwood, counselling Mr. and Mrs. Patello to thaw themselves and get some refreshment while they waited, installed them by the coffee-room fire, and left them for the smoking-room, where the young lady behind the bar was as quick to recognize him as the boots had been. The detective, over a glass of whisky, chatted to her awhile about the weather they had had up there since his previous visit, and quietly led the way to a


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/289

 question—had Mr. Levigne been there again lately?

"He was in here yesterday morning, fairly early," she answered. "Before this snow started. Come from London by a very early train, I think."

"Staying here, then?" asked Wedgwood.

"No, he's not staying here, this time," replied the barmaid. "He only came in for a few minutes, to have a drink. He'd a cab waiting for him at the door—going to the colliery, I suppose."

Wedgwood presently left the hotel and made his way to the police-superintendent who started at sight of him.

"Hullo!" he exclaimed. "I was just thinking of you! I say—I believe there's something wrong over there at Mortover Grange. You heard anything—is that what brings you down this awful weather?"

"What have you heard?" demanded Wedgwood.

"Just this! A man—a cattle-drover—came here about four o'clock and said he'd come from that direction, and as he passed Mortover Grange a girl came out to him and asked him if he was going to Netherwell if he'd tell the police that Mrs. Clagne, Mr. Mortover and Mr. Levigne all went out from there late yesterday


text: Minutes on Education In India, Written in the Years 1835, 1836 and 1837/Minute by Mr. Macaulay (2 February, 1835)


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/290

 afternoon and had never come back. That's all."

"Have you sent over?" asked Wedgwood.

"In this storm? Impossible! The roads are blocked!" said the superintendent.

"I'm going!" said Wedgwood. "That's what I've come for!"

He lingered a few minutes, discussing matters, and then hurried back to the hotel. The boots had found a man, owner of a cab and two stout horses, who would do his best to get the party as far as he could along the road, but couldn't promise to reach Mortover. And presently Wedgwood and his companions set off, and for two hours floundered through the drifting snow. In the end they had to walk, half-buried at every step, and the evening was merging into night when at last Wedgwood discovered the gate of Mortover Grange and saw the old house against the sky, but all in darkness.


text: The Mortover Grange Affair/Chapter 23

title: The Mortover Grange Affair/Chapter 23


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/291

The masses and drifts of snow in the courtyard were so deep, and the darkness was so thick that it was only by straining his recollection of the place that Wedgwood contrived, with great difficulty, to guide his bewildered companions to the stone porch. That, too, was filled with snow, and it was evident that no attempt had been made to clear it. Knowing no other entrance to the house he was obliged to force a way through the congregated mass to the door within—repeated knockings on that failed to produce any answer. Minutes went by; Mrs. Patello began to protest that she could bear the exposure no longer; Mr. Patello suggested they should seek the rear of the house. But just then Wedgwood was aware of a voice on the other side of the door, faintly enquiring who was there—Mrs. Patello revived.

"That's Mattie!" she exclaimed. "Oh, tell her to let us in!"

"Your father and mother!" shouted Wedgwood. "Open the door!"

The undoing of bolts, the turning of keys took


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/292

 some time; the door, opened at last, revealed Mattie Patello, huddled in various odd garments, a candle in one hand, relieved yet bearing plain evidences of fright and misery.

"Oh, I'm so glad you've come!" she said. "There isn't a soul in this awful place but me—I've never seen anybody to speak to since the postman and a telegraph boy were here this morning, and I've been all alone in the house since yesterday afternoon. I've been frightened to death"—she broke off short, staring at Wedgwood. "I've seen you here before!" she exclaimed. "You're the man that made a picture"

"All right, my girl!" interrupted Wedgwood. "Your father and mother know me! Now—is there a fire anywhere?"

"There's a big fire in the kitchen," answered Mattie. "It's never been out since yesterday. I sat up by it all last night, and I was going to sit up by it again—I'm terrified to go to bed. I think I'd have gone mad to-night if you hadn't come—you've no idea what it's been like!"

"Well, we're here now," said Wedgwood. "See to your mother—she must be wet through. Let's get dry and warm and we'll hear all about it. One word, though—you've not seen or heard anything of those three since last night?"


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/293

 "Neither seen nor heard!" the girl answered. "They went—and they've never been back!"

Wedgwood turned and fastened the door again with his own hands, before following Mattie and her father and mother into a great kitchen, where a fire of logs roared up the chimney. And then he proved himself a practical man by making immediate preparations for food and drink—he had taken the precaution to bring a couple of bottles of whisky with him from the hotel at Netherwell, and he lost no time in administering liberal doses of it to his companions and himself—not before there was dire need, for Mrs. Patello was on the verge of exhaustion, and Mr. Patello was speechless with cold, and it was some time before either was in a fit state to hear any account of their daughter's doings. Wedgwood was in no hurry about that—he knew that nothing could be done while that storm lasted; he knew, too, that there was no chance whatever of either Levigne, or Janet Clagne, or Philip Mortover coming back that night. And he waited for news until his two companions had revived and become gradually thawed by the big fire: then he quietly asked Mattie to tell what had happened.

Mattie Patello was obviously as anxious to talk as Wedgwood—secretly—was to listen.


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/294

 She had been bottling things up all day; the detective was quick to notice the relief it gave her to let out the accumulated flood.

"If I'd known what I know now I'd never have come into this house!" she exclaimed. "There's something wrong here, mother, whether you know it or not! Aunt Janet—she's queer! I've seen it ever since I came, but yesterday—I don't know what you'd have done if you had had to go through yesterday and to-day!"

"Tell us about yesterday," suggested Wedgwood. "What happened?"

"It began in the morning," continued Mattie. "Mr. Levigne—he's a man from London that has something to do with the new colliery, and he's been here once or twice before since I came—came here just before noon. He came in a cab from Netherwell, just about when the snow-storm was starting, and sent the cab away. He and Aunt Janet had some talk before dinner, in the little parlour, and at dinner she was in a very bad temper. After dinner she got me to wash up for her, and she and Mr. Levigne were in the little parlour again, and I could hear that they were quarrelling—at high words. I didn't hear anything of what they said, but you could tell they were quarrelling. Once I had to go into the little parlour—a man had come to the


text: Strange and wonderful history and prophecies of Mother Shipton/Chapter 8


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/295

 door who wanted something and I had to see her about it. She and Mr. Levigne were at opposite sides of the table, with a lot of papers between them, and she looked as black as thunder and he looked vexed. She packed me out, pretty sharp, and I took good care not to go near them again, but I could hear them at it, hammer and tongs, all the afternoon—she was shouting at him sometimes."

"You never heard anything she said?" asked Wedgwood.

"Only once—when I was passing the door. I heard her say 'It's all in her interest—all in her interest'—just like that. Of course, I didn't know what she meant."

"Did you hear Mr. Levigne make any reply?" asked Wedgwood.

"I heard him speak, but I couldn't distinguish anything. It wasn't Mr. Levigne who seemed to be quarrelling so much as Aunt Janet. He spoke as if he was trying to smooth her down, softly, like. It was she who did the loud talking—she seemed to be furious with him about something."

"And you say it went on all the afternoon?" enquired Wedgwood.

"Till past four o'clock, anyway," replied Mattie. "We had tea, then—I had to get it ready. Aunt Janet was sulkier than ever at


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/296

 tea—she wouldn't speak to anybody. And she looked—my, I never saw her look so angry!"

"Where was Philip Mortover while all this was going on?" asked the detective.

"Out! He'd gone out with his gun, in the morning, before Mr. Levigne came, and he didn't come in to dinner—he never came in till tea-time. I believe he'd been drinking."

Mr. Patello made an inarticulate sound; Mrs. Patello an incredulous one.

"Oh, Mattie, you don't mean to say he's that sort?" she exclaimed. "Your Aunt Janet never mentioned"

"He does drink!" asserted Mattie. "He goes off, I don't know where, and drinks. He and Aunt Janet have rows about it. But he does! And I wouldn't marry him if he'd a million times as much money as you and Aunt Janet say he has—all I want is to get out of this and never see place or people again—it's a perfect nightmare!"

"Well—what about when he came in?" asked Wedgwood. "What happened?"

"Nothing!" replied Mattie. "He seemed grumpy—surly, you know. But he's always like that—I hate him!"

"Was there any talk between him and Levigne and Mrs. Clagne?" asked Wedgwood.


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/297

 "No—he talked a bit to Mr. Levigne when we were having tea, but only about shooting."

"What happened after that?"

"Well, after tea, Philip went off to a room where he keeps his guns, and Aunt Janet asked me to wash up the tea-things. She and Mr. Levigne began talking again. I heard him say 'You may as well make up your mind—there's nothing else for it.' I didn't hear what she said to that, but after a while she went upstairs and came down again dressed to go out. She and Mr. Levigne went out—she said to me that they'd be back at eight o'clock, and that if a cab came for him, the man was to wait."

"You don't know where they went?" asked Wedgwood.

"No—she didn't say. And I couldn't see which way they went, because it was just then that the snow-storm began to get really bad; it hadn't been anything much until then. Besides that was five o'clock, and dark."

"Where could they go?" asked Wedgwood. "There's nowhere to go to, about here, is there?"

"There are two or three houses—farmhouses—not so very far off," replied Mattie. "And there's a new house been built near the colliery, where the manager, Mr. Malcolmson,


text:
Page:Journal Of The Indian Archipelago And Eastern Asia Series.i, Vol.2 (IA in.ernet.dli.2015.107695).pdf/23

 opinion, what has been seen is either a blot as black as Erebus, a canker eating into the vitals of society, a moral curse attended with great and deep physical evils, which are slowly, but surely, extending; or it may be looked upon as one way of spending money, not a bad plan for raising the revenue, a lighter curse than dram drinking and a far pleasanter, where the young men dream dreams, and the old men see sights. But let the philanthropist pass from house to house, mark the appearance of the visitors, pursue them to their homes, when, reeling from the effects of the drug, they, heedless of wife or children, pass into a disturbed sleep, to waken to the tortures of the damned when the sun is high up in the horizon, and the industrious of their fellow creatures have been at work for hours: this is the moment they appreciate their wretchedness, when feverish and hot, with a tongue that is dry, yet cannot be moistened, lips that are cracked, yet cannot be softened, a throat parched and thirst excessive, that cannot be quenched, with eyes either closed or running with rheum, a tightness of the chest that prevents breathing, a lassitude, a langour, a pain in all the bones, a downright incapability of exertion, a loathing of food and a craving for one thing only, which, not to attain is worse than death,—and that is another draught of the poison, which soothes for the moment, but clenches the faster the misery of the wretches. No overdrawn picture is this, but sketched from life, yea more, by the victims themselves, and of these victims there at least 15,000 in Singapore. Surely the importance of the subject will not now be questioned, and a little attention can safely be claimed to the particulars which have justified me in making the above momentous statement.

Opium is the inspissated juice of the white poppy, obtained by scratching the capsules, and collecting the exuding juice. The plant has been long known and is perhaps one of the earliest described. Homer speaks of the Poppy growing in gardens; and it was employed in medicine by Hippocrates, the father of physic, who even particularizes two kinds, the black and the white, and used the extract or Opium so extensively as to be condemned by his contemporary Diagoras. Dioscorides and Pliny also make mention of it, and from their time it


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/298

 lives, and there are cottages, too. I thought, perhaps, they'd gone to Mr. Malcolmson's."

"Well—and what about Philip Mortover? He went out, too, didn't he?"

"Yes, and not so long after they'd gone! He came in here, into this kitchen, and went to that cupboard in the corner. There's whisky and other stuff in there, but Aunt Janet had locked it up just before she went out and had put the key in her pocket—I saw her. When he found he couldn't get in, he swore awfully, and then he went and put on his leggings and a big coat and went off."

"Where's the nearest public-house?" asked Wedgwood.

"It's a good mile away, on the high-road between Harslow and Ruxton—the Drovers' Arms," replied Mattie. "High up on the moors—an awful wild spot. But there's a short cut from here. Then there's another between here and Netherwell—the Coach and Four. But that's further off."

"Well—so you were left alone?"

"Yes, and I didn't like it! There's noises in this old house when you're alone in it—queer noises—didn't I hear them, last night! However, I wasn't so frightened until eight o'clock came and went. They didn't come, and didn't come! And the man who was to come with the


text:
Page:Journal Of The Indian Archipelago And Eastern Asia Series.i, Vol.2 (IA in.ernet.dli.2015.107695).pdf/22

 THE

JOURNAL

OF THE

INDIAN ARCHIPELAGO

AND

EASTERN ASIA.

ON THE HABITUAL USE OF OPIUM IN SINGAPORE.

THE subject of this paper is one which, in spite of the imperfect manner in which it may be handled, ought to claim the serious attention of all.

It has, up to the present moment, engaged the attention of the Government, in so far only as it affords facilities for raising money; and the Public in general, whether residents here, or passing strangers, have looked on the miserable devotees to the vice of Opium smoking in the same light, and visited their abodes with the same curiosity, as they would have done a den of wild beasts, or a raving lunatic's cell. They enter the Opium shop, by pushing aside a filthy mat, and, in a small space, they see many men crowded and crouching on a narrow board; dim lights faintly disclose their squalid appearance; the air is impregnated with a close suffocating odour: the heat is oppressive;—a few questions are asked by the visitor, a pipe is shown, a human being gazed upon as he slowly and, to all appearance, with much gusto, inhales the sedative vapours;—at last, unable to endure it any longer, a rush is made by the visitor to the door, and, according to his preconceived


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/299

 cab never came. I wasn't surprised at that—I could see from the windows that the snow was awful. And Philip didn't come—I was glad he didn't. And of course, none of them came back—I sat by this fire all night, all alone!"

Mrs. Patello made a moan of commiseration; Mr. Patello shook his head. And Mattie went on with her story.

"The postman managed to get through, on his pony, this morning," she said. "I told him about it, and I sent that telegram home. I'd have set off home myself there and then, but I hadn't enough money. Then, later on, a telegram came asking about Mr. Levigne, and I sent a reply to it. But nobody else came, and I heard nothing of Aunt Janet, or Philip, or Mr. Levigne. Then during the afternoon I saw a man struggling through the snow towards Netherwell, and I managed to get out to the gate to him and asked him to tell the police about those three. And after that—well, there was nothing happened until I heard you knock!"

Wedgwood persuaded Mrs. Patello and her daughter to go to bed; when they had followed his advice he turned to Mr. Patello. But Mr. Patello, wearied out, had fallen fast asleep on an old couch drawn up by the fireside, and the detective, throwing a rug over him, made up the


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/300

 fire and sat by it, musing over the events of the day and speculating on the probabilities of the story he had just listened to. Trying as that day had been he had no desire for sleep; his brain was actively at work on the problems that still required solution. He thought little about the disappearance of Philip Mortover—Philip, in his opinion, had made off to one of the adjacent inns on finding the cupboard locked and the key taken away, and there he had stayed and would probably be found. But the whereabouts of Levigne and Janet Clagne was a different matter. For he had learned enough by that time to know that there was a secret, dark and mysterious, between those two, and that whatever they were engaged in bore some sinister relationship to it.

Dark and mysterious—it struck him as he sat there by the blazing fire that everything about that old house, set there in the midst of the whirling snow, was as mysterious as it was dark. It was a place of secrets—and it looked it. He glanced around him at the queer and quaint quarters into which he and his companions had been so thankful to get—at the wide fireplace, with its ingle-nooks and black cavities; at the raftered roof; the ancient furniture, every stick of which he guaranteed to be two or three hundred years old, at least; at the


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/301

 slowly-ticking grandfather clock, bearing on its face the date 1720; at the various nooks and corners; at the old glass, china, pewter ranged in rows in the presses—it had an atmosphere of its own, that place, he thought, and he wouldn't have been surprised if he had suddenly seen it filled with the ghosts of long dead Mortovers. Many and many a Mortover must have sat in the very chair in which he sat now, stretching legs and feet to just such a blaze as that now roaring up the wide chimney; many a Mortover woman of bygone generations had doubtless kept vigil in that kitchen as the Patello girl had kept vigil the previous night. An eerie, creepy place

Wedgwood got up from his chair after a while, and pipe in mouth and hands in pockets began to examine the queer old objects by which he was surrounded. It was plain that the place was used, and had long been used, as a family living-room as well as a kitchen and there were all sorts of things in it that are not usually found in kitchens—an ancient spinet, framed pictures and samplers on the walls, a fine old bureau, a corner cupboard filled with tarnished silver, and, in a recess let deep into the wall, a pile of old, leather-bound books, folios, quartos, octavos the very sight of which was enough to make a bibliophile's mouth


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/302

 water. And Wedgwood was a bit of a book-lover, and he began to examine them, and finding one heavy volume to be in black leather, carried it over to the fireside for closer inspection. It proved to be a volume of Elizabethan travels, liberally furnished with charts and maps—unfolding one of these, a loose paper slipped out and fluttered to his feet—a paper in modern handwriting. He picked it up, and with a sudden gasp of astonishment, read the first few words:

This is the last Will and testament of me, Gilson Mortover


text:
Index:The Chessmen of Mars.djvu/styles.css

._toc { margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; }

._toc td:nth-child(1) { text-align: right; vertical-align: top; padding-right: 1em; }

._toc td:nth-child(2) { text-align: left; vertical-align: top; text-indent: -2em; padding-left: 2em; }

._toc td:nth-child(3) { text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom; padding-left: 2em; }


text: The Mortover Grange Affair/Chapter 24

title: The Mortover Grange Affair/Chapter 24


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/303

In the course of his professional experiences, Wedgwood had more than once made a surprising discovery, but he had never previously discovered a missing will. Having some knowledge of legal matters, picked up by observation and enquiry, he hastened to assure himself that the document in his hands had been properly executed. As far as he could see, it seemed to be in order—there was the signature of the testator and there were the signatures of the two necessary witnesses. Certain peculiarities struck him at once. This was a holograph will—written out by Gilson Mortover himself, in an old-fashioned, crabbed handwriting; from the style of their caligraphy the two witnesses were probably labourers on the farm. But it was all done correctly: it could stand, as the saying goes. And Wedgwood had mastered its brief contents in another glance: Gilson Mortover had disposed of his property in one short sentence.

I leave everything of which I die possessed in equal shares to my two sons Matthew Mort-


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/304

 over and Stephen Mortover and I appoint them joint executors of this my will.

That was plain enough, thought Wedgwood—whatever quarrel there had been between Matthew Mortover and his father, the old man had forgotten or overlooked it, and had remembered the elder son who had gone away as equal beneficiary with the younger who had stayed at home. He glanced at the date of the will—it had been made some years after Matthew's departure from England to Canada—possibly, Matthew and his father had been in friendly communication. As to whether that supposition was correct, the detective knew nothing: what he did know was that Matthew was dead, and Stephen was dead. And in their place stood Matthew's daughter, the girl Avice, and Stephen's son, the young man Philip, each entitled to one-half of what, by the recent discovery of coal, had become a valuable property, how valuable, perhaps, none concerned in its development yet knew.

Wedgwood put the will safely away in his pocket-book, and marking the place in the old volume at which he had found it, put the volume itself aside. Then, reflecting that there might be an unusually hard and trying day before him on the morrow, and that it would be


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/305

 well to follow Mr. Patello's example and get some sleep, he made up the fire again, and disposing himself in a couple of easy chairs on the hearth, composed himself as well as he could for slumber. He slept at last—soundly in the end, waking eventually to find the fire dying down, and Mr. Patello sitting up, woe-begone, on his couch, lamenting the cold and audibly wondering on what was going to happen next.

It was six o'clock in the morning then, and still dark as midnight; when daylight came Wedgwood saw that while the snow had ceased to fall, it had evidently continued during a greater part of the night and was piled up in deep masses about the house. Mortover Grange, in fact, was cut off from the world; snow-bound; he saw little chance of leaving it to prosecute his enquiries. From thence onward until nearly noon he and his companions could do no more than gaze from the windows on a white and silent world. Here and there, in the distance, they saw the smoke rising from the chimneys of some house or other whose inhabitants were in the same plight as themselves, but though Wedgwood, from an upper window, kept a careful look-out in the directions in which he believed the roads to lie, noon had passed before he saw a sign of any human figure. Then, painfully struggling through the drifts from a


text:
Page:Fletcher - The Mortover Grange Affair.pdf/306

 point higher up the Valley, he caught sight of a man whose objective was evidently Mortover Grange.

As this man came nearer, Wedgwood saw him to be a shepherd, accompanied by a lurcher dog, and when the man turned in at the gate of the courtyard he hurried down to the door to meet him. The two women and Mr. Patello had also seen him coming and were at the door before Wedgwood; the man was already speaking to them when he got there.

"So Mrs. Baxter, up there at the Drovers' Arms, seeing as I was coming this way, she said would I just drop in and see if Mr. Philip had got home all right," he was saying. Cause, of course, the storm was that bad when he left there"

"Mr. Philip isn't here at all," answered Mattie Patello. "He's never been home!" She turned to Wedgwood, helplessly. "You talk to him!" she said. "I don't understand"

"You've come down from the Drovers' Arms, eh?" asked Wedgwood. "Just now?"

"Why, it's taken me an hour or two getting down, sir," answered the man. "But I had to come down this way, storm or no storm, and I called in at the Drovers' Arms as I was passing, and the landlady, Mrs. Baxter, she said


text:
Page:Footfalls of Indian History.djvu/238

190 FOOTFALLS OF INDIAN HISTORY The possible date of the Ramayana suggests itself at this point as a subject for examination and decision. For my own part, trying the question on grounds other than that of language, I would suggest that the first part of this work was written before the Mahabharata was finally edited, and that it opens up a long vista of years during which Ayodhya had already been the principal Indian capital. The hypothesis is thus that the Asokan capital of Pataliputra was succeeded by Ayodhya, and this again succeeded, under the Guptas by Pataliputra. I am assuming that the Uttarakanda portion of the Ramayana was written later, according to what is said to be the tradition of the islanders of Baly and Lombok, east of Java. The fact that a synopsis of the Ramayana as it then stood is given in the Mahabharata, even as Kalidas's Kumara Sambhava is epitomised in the Ramayana, points possibly to some literary convention of an age when books were necessarily few. One cannot help feeling that it is the political greatness of Ayodhya and Pataliputra, each in its own period, that leads it to preach a new religion in the form of a definite incarnation of Vishnu—in the one case Rama, in the other Krishna. And if this be true, it lends an added interest to the fact that the worship of Sita-Rama has now its greatest following in the Dravida-desh. We may take it perhaps as a law that a religion is likely to survive longest and with greatest power, not in the region of its birth.


text:
Page:Footfalls of Indian History.djvu/239

 but in the land to which it is sent or given. An exception is found in the worship of Shiva, which is still dominant in Benares.

If the date I have suggested as that of the final compilation of the Mahabharata be correct, it would follow that the great work must in the doing have trained a vast number of scholars and critics. It must also have called together in one place (doubtless Benares) an enormous mass of tradition, folk-lore, old records, and persons representing various kinds of ancient knowledge. All this would constitute that city an informal university of a most real and living type, and it might well be that the learning and research of which to this day it is the home was the result of the revival thus created under Vikramaditya of Ujjain.

Of the Gupta age as a whole (A.D. 326 to 500), we find Vincent Smith saying:—

"To the same age probably should be assigned the principal Puranas in their present form; the metrical legal treatises, of which the so-called Code of Manu is the most familiar example; and, in short, the mass of the *'classical' Sanskrit literature. The patronage of the great Gupta emperors gave, as Professor Bhandarkar observes, 'a general literary impulse,' which extended to every department, and gradually raised Sanskrit to the position which it long retained as the sole literary language of Northern India. . . . The golden age of the Guptas, glorious in literary, as in political, history, comprised a period of a century and a quarter


text:
Page:Footfalls of Indian History.djvu/240

 (330 to 455 ), and was covered by three reigns of exceptional length. The death of Kumâra, early in 455, marks the beginning of the decline and fall of the empire."

And again:—

"The principal Puranas seem to have been edited in their present form during the Gupta period, when a great extension and revival of Sanskrit Brahmanical literature took place."

The revision and re-editing of records thus described would be an inevitable result of the royal recension of the Mahabharata, supposing that to have taken place, nor is it necessary, in my own opinion, to mass the writings in question together as "the principal Puranas," for it is possible to trace a serial development of the Hindu idea, which makes it easy enough to distinguish chronological periods in Puranic literature, with a considerable approach to definiteness.

With regard to the Mahabharata itself, if the theory suggested as to the date of its last recension should be finally accepted, it will, I believe, prove not impossible so to determine its different strata as to be fairly sure what parts were added in the Gupta period, and by the Gupta poet. We must remember that Indian students might easily qualify themselves, as no alien could, to apply the tests of language and theological evolution. This and similar work might easily be undertaken by literary


text:
Page:Footfalls of Indian History.djvu/241

RECENSION OF THE MAIIABHARATA 193 societies. And I would suggest — in accordance with a method already widespread in Biblical criticism—that students' editions of the texts might be printed, in which the ground of pages and paragraphs should be of various colours, according to their supposed periods. The paper of indeterminate passages might be white, for instance, the ancient yellow, the Saivite green or pink, and the additions of the Gupta period blue in tint. Or students might carry out this somewhat elaborate undertaking for themselves by means of washes of colour. In any case, such a device would prove a valuable mode of presenting to the eyes at a single glance the results of considerable time and labour.

Some points in the relative chronology are easy enough to determine. The story of Nala and Damaj'anti, for instance, by the exquisite prayer of Nala—"Thou blessed one, may the Adityas, and the Vasus, and the twin Ashwins, together with the Marutas, protect thee, thine own honour being thy best safeguard!"—betrays the fact of its origin in the Vedic or Upanishadic pre-Puranic period. The story of Nala and Damayanti is one of the oldest of Aryan memories, and the mention of the man's name first may be a token of this. The atmosphere of the story is that of the India in which Buddhism arose. The king cooks meat, and his wife eats it. The gods who accompany Nala to the Swayamvara are Vedic gods. There is no allusion throughout the story to Mahadeva


text:
Page:Footfalls of Indian History.djvu/242

194 FOOTFALLS OF INDIAN HISTORY or Krishna. There is, on the other hand, a serpent possessed of mysterious knowledge. And the Brahmans are represented as servants, not as governors, of kings. One of the next stories, in that wonderful Vana Parva in which Nala and Damayanti occurs, is the tale of Sita and Rama. And third and last of the series is Savitri. This sequence is undoubtedly true to the order of their evolution. Sita is the woman of sorrow, the Madonna of serenity. And Savitri, which is late Vedic, and referred to in the Ramayana—showing little or no trace of Saivite or Vaishnavite influence, save perhaps in the mention of Narada—is the fully Hinduised conception of the faithful wife. Her birth as the incarnation of the national prayer is an instance of the highest poetry. And the three heroines together—Damayanti, Sita, Savitri—constitute an idealisation of woman to which I doubt whether any other race can show a parallel.

That such tales as the Kirat-Arjuniya, again, belong to the Saivite recension, there can be no question. Equally certain is it, that some incidents, such as that of Draupadi's cry to Krishna for protection, and Bhishma's absorption in Krishna on his death-bed, must belong to the Gupta version. The rude vigour of the gambling scene, however, and the old warrior's death on the bed of arrows, as well as the marriage of five Pandavas to one queen, would appear to come straight out of the heroic age itself.

It would greatly aid us in our conception of


text:
Page:The plastic age, (IA plasticage00mark).pdf/156

138 classes cheered the singers, except when the sopho¬ mores and freshmen sang: they always ‘razzed each other. Hugh led the freshmen, and he never failed to get a thrill out of singing a clear note and hearing his classmates take it up.

After each class had sung three or four songs the boys gathered in the center of the lawn, sand the college hymn, gave a cheer, and the sing wa?i over.

On such nights, however, the singing really con tinued for hours. The Glee Club often sang from the Union steps; groups of boys wandered arm ill arm around the campus singing; on every frater nity steps there were youths strumming banjos anc others “harmonizing”: here, there, everywhere young voices were lifted in song—not joyous no jazzy but plaintive arid sentimental. Adeline’ sweetness was extolled by unsure barytones am “whisky” tenors; and the charms of Rosie O’Grad were chanted in “close harmony” in every corne of the campus:

“Sweet Rosie O’Grady, She’s my pretty rose; She’s my pretty lady, As every one knows. And when we are married, Oh, how happy we ’ll be, For I love sweet Rosie O’Grady And Rosie O’Grady loves me.”


text:
Page:The plastic age, (IA plasticage00mark).pdf/305

Rh an’s reach should exceed his grasp or what’s a ’s the man who tries bravely for something bemd his power that gets somewhere, the man who ally succeeds. Well, you tried for something jyond your power—to beat Calvert, a really great inner. You tried to your utmost; therefore, you icceeded. I admire your sense of failure; it eans that you recognize an ideal. But I think at you succeeded. You may not have quite stiffed yourself to yourself, but you have proved pable of enduring a hard test bravely. You have ) reason to be depressed, no reason to be hamed.”
 * aven for?’ He says it in a dozen different ways,

They talked for a long time, and finally Henley ■nfessed that he thought Cynthia had been wise taking herself out of Hugh’s life.

“I can see,” he said, “that you are n’t telling me lite all the story. I don’t want you to, either. I dge, however, from what you have said that you unkenness saved you from disgracing both yourlf and her. You need no lecture, I am sure; you e sufficiently contrite. I have a feeling that she is right about sexual attraction being paramount; lid I think that she is a very brave girl. I like e way she went home, and I like the way she has pt silent. Not many girls could or would do at. It takes courage. From what you have
 * nt somewhere with her and that only complete


text:
Page:The plastic age, (IA plasticage00mark).pdf/317

Rh fusion. I don’t know what to say, and I have decided that it is best for me not to say anything until I know my own mind. I could n’t be fair either to you or myself otherwise. And I want to be fair; I must be. Give me time, please. It is because I care so much for you that I ask it. Don’t worry if you don’t hear from me for weeks. My silence won’t mean that I have forgotten you; it will mean that I am thinking of you.

Sincerely,

Hugh.

Her answer came promptly:

Hugh, my dear—

I was a fish to write that letter—and I know that I ’ll lever forgive myself. But I could n’t help it—I just
 * ould n’t help it. I am glad that you are keeping your head

because I’ve lost mine entirely. Take all the time you like. Do you hate me for losing my pride ? I do.

Your stupid

Cynthia.

Weeks went by, and Hugh found no solution. He damned college with all his heart and soul. iVhat good had it done him anyway? Here he vas with a serious problem on his hands and he le was a freshman. Four years of studying and ectures and examinations, and the first time he nicked up against a bit of life he was licked.
 * ould n’t solve it any better than he could have when

Eventually he wrote to her and told her that he


text:
Page:The plastic age, (IA plasticage00mark).pdf/219

Rh In March he angered his fraternity brothers again by refusing a part in the annual musical comedy, which was staged by the Dramatic Society during Prom week. Hugh’s tenor singing voice and rather small features made him an excellent possibility for a woman’s part. But he was not a good actor, and he knew it. His attempts at acting in a high-school play had resulted in a flat failure, and he had no intention of publicly making a fool of himself again. Besides, he did not like the idea of appearing on the stage as a girl; the mere idea was offensive to him. Therefore, when the Society of¬ fered him a part he declined it.

Bob Tucker took him severely to task. “What do you mean, Hugh,” he demanded, “by turning down the Dramat? Here you ’ve got a chance for 1 lead, and you turn up your nose at it as if you were Cod Almighty. It seems to me that you are getting 1 bunch of thoroughly wet ones; you never come to fraternity meetings if you can help it; you aren’t ialf training down at the track; and now you give
 * osh-awful high-hat lately. You run around with

he Dramat the air just as if an activity or two vas n’t anything in your young life.” “The Dramat is n’t anything to me,” Hugh re¬ plied, trying to keep his temper. Tucker’s ar‘ogance always made him angry. “I can’t act vorth a damn. Never could. I tried once in a day at home and made a poor fish of myself, and


text:
Page:The plastic age, (IA plasticage00mark).pdf/173

Rh up my mind that I won’t take part in another one, and before I know it somebody’s telling me the latest and I’m listening for all I’m worth.”

“That’s easy,” Melville Burbank answered. He was a junior with a brilliant record. “You ’re nerely sublimating your sex instincts, that’s all. [f you played around with cheap women more, you svould n’t be thinking about sex all the time and alking smut.”

‘"You’re crazy!” It was Keith Nutter talking, l sophomore notorious for his dissipations. “Hell, ’’m out with bags all the time, as you damn well mow. My sex instincts don’t need sublimating, or vhatever you call it, and I talk smut as much as anybody—more than some.”

“Perhaps you ’re just naturally dirty,” Burbank aid, his voice edged with sarcasm. He didn’t Le Nutter. The boy seemed gross to him.

“Go to hell! I’m no dirtier than anybody else.” Gutter was not only angry but frankly hurt. “The nly difference between me and the rest of you guys » that I admit that I chase around with rats, and be rest of you do it on the sly. I’m no hypocrite.”

“Oh, come off, Keith,” Gordon Ross said quietly; you ’re not fair. I admit that lots of the fellows re chasing around with rats on the sly, but lots of lem are n’t, too. More fellows go straight around us college than you think. I know a number that ave never touched a woman. They just hate to


text:
Page:A Grammar of the Telugu language.djvu/52

34


text:
Page:Descriptive Ethnology of Bengal.pdf/215

200 can bear no more, and not unfrequently he dies under the ill-treatment he is subjected to or from its effects.

A milder method is, when the person denounced is required to offer sacrifices of animals to appease or drive away the possessing devil; this he dare not refuse to do, and if the sickness thereupon ceases, it is of course concluded that the devil has departed; but if it continue, the sorcerer is turned out of his home and driven from the village, if nothing worse is done to him.

It must not be supposed that these superstitions are confined to the Kols, they are common to all classes of the population of this province. I have noticed in my account of the Agarias their prevalence in the Southern Tributary Mahals, and the alleged existence of secret witch schools, where damsels of true Aryan blood are instructed in the black art, and perfected in it by practice on forest trees. Even Brahmans are sometimes accused. I find in a report by Major Roughsedge, written in 1818, an account of a Brahman lady who was denounced as a witch and tried, and having escaped in the ordeal by water, she was found to be withc, and deprived of her nose.


text:
Page:2015.150347.Epitaph-Of-A-Small-Winner.pdf/100

 "You're not?"

I shook my head.

"You may as well give up, Contrim," said my sister to her husband. "In a few minutes he'll want the clothes off our backs; that's the only thing he hasn't asked for."

"This is really the limit. He wants the coach, he wants the coachman, he wants the silver, he wants everything. Look here, it's much quicker to haul us into court and prove with witness that Sabina isn't your sister, that I'm not your brother-in-law, and that God isn't God. Go ahead, and then you won't lose anything, not even a teaspoon. Oh no, my friend, you can't have everything your own way."

He was so enraged, and I was so ill prepared to yield completely, that I made him an offer of compromise; to divide the silver. He laughed, and asked me who would get the teapot and who would get the sugar bowl; and after this question he remakred that I need not worry, we could always go to court to settle our claims. Sabina had gone to the window tha opened on the yard; after a moment she returned and offered to give up Paulo and the other Negro on condition that she got the silver. I was going to refuse, but Contrim saved me the trouble.

"Never! I don't give charity!" he said.

We dined together, glumly. My uncle the canon joine us at dessert, just in time to witness a little altercation.

"My children," he said, "remember that my brother left enough bread for all."

But Contrim:

"Yes, yes. However, the question is not about bread, it's about butter. I can't swallow dry bread."

A division of the inheritance was finally made, but it could not erase the fact that we had fought bitterly. It pained me greatly to fight with Sabina. We had been such friends! As children, we had played and quarrelled together; as adults, we had talked and laughed together, we had shared bread of pain and of joy, fraternally, like the good brother and sister that we were. But now we had fought. Our comradeship had vanished like Marcella's beauty. 100


text:
Page:The Smart Set (Volume 69).djvu/22

 == Red Stars of the Night ==

By Lizette Woodworth Reese

RED stars of the night

White flowers of the dawn, My young golden lover

Has left me and gone.

From the songs on the shelf,

From the cloak gray as dew,

From the herbs in the garden,

From me and from you.

To a house in a field

With a fast-locked door;

And silence, dark silence,

From the roof to the floor.

title: Page:The Smart Set (Volume 69).djvu/22