text: Works of Jules Verne/A Trip to the Center of the Earth/Chapter 2


text: Page:Posthumous works, in prose and verse - Ann Eliza Bleecker.djvu/21

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


text:
Page:In ghostly Japan (IA cu31924014202687).pdf/132

 Thus it came to pass that Shinzaburō was buried beside O-Tsuyu, in the cemetery of Shin-Banzui-In, in Yanaka-no-Sasaki.

—Here ends the story of the Ghosts in the Romance of the Peony-Lantern.

My friend asked me whether the story had interested me; and I answered by telling him that I wanted to go to the cemetery of Shin-Banzui-In,—so as to realize more definitely the local color of the author’s studies.

“I shall go with you at once,” he said. “But what did you think of the personages?”

“To Western thinking,” I made answer, “Shinzaburō is a despicable creature. I have been mentally comparing him with the true lovers of our old ballad-literature. They were only too glad to follow a dead sweetheart into the grave; and nevertheless, being Christians, they believed that they had only one human life to enjoy in this world. But Shinzaburō was a Buddhist,—with a million lives behind him and a million lives before him; and he was too selfish to give up even one miserable existence for the sake of the girl


text: Works of Jules Verne/A Trip to the Center of the Earth/Chapter 3


text:
User talk:Mar

The Bubble
Hello, and thanks very much for contributing here! Unfortunately, Wikisource does not accept second-hand transcriptions copypasted from other webs, and so the page The Bubble (by William Allingham) will have to be deleted. The best way to add a new text is to upload a scan of a work which is in the Public Domain, and then proofread it. I recommend to have a look especially at Help:Adding texts. If you need any help, feel free to ask at Scriptorium/Help any time. --Jan Kameníček (talk) 00:45, 18 February 2024 (UTC)

title: User talk:Mar


text:
Page:NBS Circular 553.djvu/52

{|class="__NBS553a" !Plochere !Ridgway !Taylor, Knoche, Granville !Other sources
 * Mauve Taupe||7C8
 * Rosetta||47C1
 * Turtledove||55C1
 * Rosetta||47C1
 * Turtledove||55C1
 * Turtledove||55C1
 * Flint||426 Rp 6-b
 * Taupe Rose||378 R 6-b
 * Taupe Rose||378 R 6-b
 * Taupe Rose||378 R 6-b
 * Blackish Brown (2)||XLV 5′′′′m
 * Dark Grayish Brown||XLV 5′′′′k
 * Dark Vinaceous-Drab||XLV 5′′′′i
 * Light Seal Brown||XXXIX 9′′′m
 * Seal Brown||XXXIX 5′′′m
 * Warm Blackish Brown.XXXIX 1′′′m
 * Light Seal Brown||XXXIX 9′′′m
 * Seal Brown||XXXIX 5′′′m
 * Warm Blackish Brown.XXXIX 1′′′m
 * Seal Brown||XXXIX 5′′′m
 * Warm Blackish Brown.XXXIX 1′′′m
 * Warm Blackish Brown.XXXIX 1′′′m
 * Burgundy m||8 pl
 * Chocolate m||5 ml
 * Cordovan m||8 pl
 * Dark Rose Brown m||7 nl
 * Dark Rose Taupe gm||6 li
 * Ebony Brown m||8 pn
 * Rose Taupe g||6 ig
 * Dark Rose Brown m||7 nl
 * Dark Rose Taupe gm||6 li
 * Ebony Brown m||8 pn
 * Rose Taupe g||6 ig
 * Ebony Brown m||8 pn
 * Rose Taupe g||6 ig
 * Rose Taupe g||6 ig
 * Brown||S
 * Brunneo-Vinosus||B
 * Chocolate||S
 * Dark Brown||S
 * Dark Reddish Gray||SC
 * Fusco-Niger||B
 * Fuscus||B
 * Reddish Gray||A
 * Vinoso-Griseus||B
 * }
 * Fusco-Niger||B
 * Fuscus||B
 * Reddish Gray||A
 * Vinoso-Griseus||B
 * }
 * Reddish Gray||A
 * Vinoso-Griseus||B
 * }
 * }

title: Page:NBS Circular 553.djvu/52


text:
Page:In ghostly Japan (IA cu31924014202687).pdf/133

 that came back to him from the dead. Then he was even more cowardly than selfish. Although a samurai by birth and training, he had to beg a priest to save him from ghosts. In every way he proved himself contemptible; and O-Tsuyu did quite right in choking him to death.”

“From the Japanese point of view, likewise,” my friend responded, “Shinzaburō is rather contemptible. But the use of this weak character helped the author to develop incidents that could not otherwise, perhaps, have been so effectively managed. To my thinking, the only attractive character in the story is that of O-Yoné: type of the old-time loyal and loving servant,—intelligent, shrewd, full of resource,—faithful not only unto death, but beyond death Well, let us go to Shin-Banzui-In.”

We found the temple uninteresting, and the cemetery an abomination of desolation. Spaces once occupied by graves had been turned into potato-patches. Between were tombs leaning at all angles out of the perpendicular, tablets made illegible by scurf, empty pedestals, shattered water-tanks, and statues of Buddhas without heads or hands. Recent rains had soaked the black soil,—leaving here and there small pools of slime about


text:
Template:LML footer/doc

{	"params": { "ps": { "description": "A \"post script\" after Luther's name but before the small text. See Page:The letters of Martin Luther.djvu/334 for an example.", "type": "content" },		"small": { "description": "Small, left-aligned text after the signature (and post script if applicable).", "required": true, "type": "content" }	},	"description": "This template is for use at the end of the letters in Index:The letters of Martin Luther.djvu. It takes two parameters.", "format": "block" }

title: Template:LML footer/doc


text:
Page:In ghostly Japan (IA cu31924014202687).pdf/134

 which swarms of tiny frogs were hopping. Everything—excepting the potato-patches—seemed to have been neglected for years. In a shed just within the gate, we observed a woman cooking; and my companion presumed to ask her if she knew anything about the tombs described in the Romance of the Peony-Lantern.

“Ah! the tombs of O-Tsuyu and O-Yoné?” she responded, smiling;—“you will find them near the end of the first row at the back of the temple—next to the statue of Jizō.”

Surprises of this kind I had met with elsewhere in Japan.

We picked our way between the rain-pools and between the green ridges of young potatoes,—whose roots were doubtless feeding on the substance of many another O-Tsuyu and O-Yoné;—and we reached at last two lichen-eaten tombs of which the inscriptions seemed almost obliterated. Beside the larger tomb was a statue of Jizō, with a broken nose.

“The characters are not easy to make out,” said my friend—“but wait!” … He drew from his sleeve a sheet of soft white paper, laid it over the inscription, and began to rub the paper with a lump of clay. As he did so, the characters appeared in white on the blackened surface.


text:
Page:In ghostly Japan (IA cu31924014202687).pdf/135

 “ ‘Eleventh day, third month—Rat, Elder Brother, Fire—Sixth year of Horéki [ 1756].’ … This would seem to be the grave of some innkeeper of Nedzu, named Kichibei. Let us see what is on the other monument.”

With a fresh sheet of paper he presently brought out the text of a kaimyō, and read,—

“ ‘En-myō-In, Hō-yō-I-tei-ken-shi, Hō-ni’:—‘Nun-of-the-Law, Illustrious, Pure-of-heart-and-will, Famed-in-the-Law,—inhabiting the Mansion-of-the-Preaching-of-Wonder.’ … The grave of some Buddhist nun.”

“What utter humbug!” I exclaimed. “That woman was only making fun of us.”

“Now,” my friend protested, “you are unjust to the woman! You came here because you wanted a sensation; and she tried her very best to please you. You did not suppose that ghost-story was true, did you?”


text: Page:In ghostly Japan (IA cu31924014202687).pdf/136


text:
Page:Annals of Augusta County.djvu/50

 the particular public duties they undertook to discharge. They did not relax their interest in the dissenting congregations to which they belonged, and, as far as known, they did not incur censure nor lose respect by their conformity as vestrymen. Some Dissenters of the Covenanter stock no doubt compared the Presbyterian vestrymen and church-wardens to Naaman, the Syrian, bowing himself in the house of Rimmon, because the King leaned upon his hand. As will be seen hereafter, the practice of subscribing the declaration of conformity fell into partial disuse, and some persons elected vestrymen refused to subscribe when required to do so, and retired from the board.

The vestry of Augusta parish met for the first time in the courthouse, April 6, 1747. They elected John Madison clerk, and Robert Alexander and James Lockhart church-wardens. The Rev. John Hindman appeared with letters from the Governor, etc., recommending him for employment as "rector of the parish." The vestry, however, were not in a hurry, and proceeded to drive a bargain with Mr. Hindman. They agreed to accept him, provided he would not insist upon the purchase of glebe lands, etc., for two years, and would hold his services in the meanwhile in the courthouse, "and in people's houses of the same persuasion." Moreover, he was not to complain to the Governor in regard to the tardiness of his vestrymen. A glebe farm, however, was purchased, and a church building was erected in Staunton in the course of time. The farm was at the foot of North Mountain, about five miles south of Swoope's depot, and is now owned by the Thompson family. No church was ever built there, but farm buildings were erected, and an acre or more of land was laid off for a public burying ground. In common with other glebe lands, the farm was disposed of as directed by law, after the disestablishment of the Church of England in the State. The church in Staunton was built on land given by Beverley, April 3, 1750. It was begun in 1760, and finished in 1763.

Mr. Hindman's salary, payable in money, was £50 a year. Commissary Dawson, in a letter of July 11, 1749, to the Bishop of London, states that the parish was then vacant because of the death of Mr. Hindman. At a meeting of the vestry, on the day last named, Mr. Robert Clowseme, recommended by "Peter Hedgman, gentleman," sought the vacant place, but he was

title: Page:Annals of Augusta County.djvu/50


text:
Page:Posthumous works, in prose and verse - Ann Eliza Bleecker.djvu/22

 Page


text:
Author:Margaretta Van Wyck Faugères

Works

 * The Posthumous Works of Ann Eliza Bleecker (1793), ed. and contributor

title: Author:Margaretta Van Wyck Faugères


text:
Page:Posthumous works, in prose and verse - Ann Eliza Bleecker.djvu/16

* William A. Davis,
 * Peter Deall,
 * Mrs. Delancey,
 * Thomas Demilt,
 * John De Wint,
 * Henry Dodd,
 * Nathaniel Forfter,
 * Abraham Fowler,
 * Mrs. Fran nces,
 * Hugh Gaine,
 * William Gilliland,
 * Charles D. Gold,
 * Sol. Goodwin,
 * Oliver Goodwin,
 * Thomas Greenleaf,
 * Benjamin Haight,
 * Thomas Hamerfley,
 * Nicholas Hammond,
 * John Harriflon,
 * Ann Julia Hatton,
 * H. Haydock, jun. 2 cop.
 * William Hervey,
 * Sarah Higginfon,
 * Robert Hinchman,
 * Peter Hines,
 * Jacob Hochfiroffer,
 * Robert Hodge,
 * Mary Hodgdon,
 * Horanian Liter. Society
 * William Hurft,
 * E. Jones,
 * Epaphrus Jones,
 * John B. Johnfon,
 * Ifaac L. Kip,
 * Ifaac Kip, jnr.
 * James Kirkland,
 * Jane Kirkpatrick,
 * Jeremiah Laniingh,
 * Jonathan Lawrence, jurt.
 * John Leonard,
 * Edmund Ludlow,
 * Peter Mabie,
 * Elizabeth Mann,
 * Thomas Marmall,
 * John M. Mafon,
 * Benjamin G. Minturn,
 * Jacob Moon,
 * Benjamin I. Moore,
 * Jacob Morton,
 * Robert Mott,
 * Townfend M'Coun,
 * Archibald M'Cullum,,.
 * Dennis M'Gahagan,
 * Eliza O. Millen,
 * John W. Mulligan,
 * John Neilfon,
 * John L. Norton t
 * Daniel Paris,
 * Euphemia Paterfon,
 * Nathaniel Peariall,
 * Henry Poft,jnn. 3 copies-
 * Abraham Prall,
 * William Rainey,
 * John Read,
 * John Reid,
 * James Riflef,
 * Jofeph Roberts,
 * Sufannah Rodgers-,
 * John Ryers,
 * Jofliua Sands,
 * George Service,
 * H. P. Schuyler,


text:
Page:Posthumous works, in prose and verse - Ann Eliza Bleecker.djvu/17

* Fhilip Schuyler,
 * Peter C. Schuyler,
 * G. V. Schoonhoven,
 * Maria Scott,
 * James Seaman,.
 * Kichard Seaman,
 * J. Slidell, jun.
 * Thomas R. Smith,
 * George Snowdon, jun.
 * Jofeph M. Stanbury,
 * Daniel Steele,
 * Thomas Stoutenburgh,
 * Samuel Suydam,
 * Mary Swords,
 * Abraham C. Ten Broeck,
 * Anthony Ten Eyck,
 * Jacob Ten Eyck,
 * Cornelius Tiebout,
 * James Tillery,
 * John V. Thomas,
 * Chriftian Tupper,
 * John Utt,
 * Ifaac Vanderbeck, fun;
 * Samuel B. Vanderbilt,
 * Cornelius C. Van Alen,
 * Daniel L. Van Antwerp,.
 * Anna Maria Van Wyck,
 * GebafhViflcher,
 * Harman Vofburgh,
 * James Walker,
 * Sarah Wallace,
 * George J. Warner,
 * George Wattles,
 * C.R.&G.Webfter,6cop,.
 * Ifaac H. Whitney,
 * Benjamin Williamfon,
 * Nathaniel Woodward 3
 * William Wyche,
 * Jofeph Youle,
 * Jofeph Young,
 * Samuel Young.

But few returns have been made of the ubcription-papers ent out of this city; many likewie that were delivered to individuals, we have heard nothing of: Should, therefore, any who have ubcribed for this volume find their names omitted, they will be pleaed to afcribe it to the caue above mentioned.


text:
Page:A Voice from the Nile, and Other Poems. (Thomson, Dobell).djvu/49

 eleven, and I have much to do to-morrow, I will conclude in pity for myself if not in ruth for you."

The next extract is from a letter dated November 1, 1878:—

"I am very sorry but scarcely surprised that things are not very flourishing with you just now. You are correct in supposing that it is ditto with me. With the natural depression of trade infinitely aggravated during the past two years by the wretched impolicy of our Jewish-Jingo misgovernment, it cannot be well with anybody but arm-manufacturers, exchange speculators, and Hebrew adventurers; and things seen likely to grow much worse before they get better The 'Improvisations' I shall be delighted to see. It is so scarce that I have never yet been able to come across it, and have never seen any mention of it save that by Rossetti in his supplementary chapter (a very fine one) to the 'Life of Blake.' It is not even in the British Museum, having been printed for private circulation only, if I remember aright. I should think it would be a real treasure to any of Wilkinson's few admirers; for, as you know, the fewer the devotees of any man or thing, the more enthusiastic."

The following is from a letter dated December 23, 1878:—

Many thanks for the 'Improvisations A brief glance at it, and perusal of the remarkable note at the


text:
Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/457

Rh For thyself, while wrong and sorrow
 * Make to thee their strong appeal,

Coward wert thou not to utter
 * What the heart must feel.

Earnest words must needs be spoken
 * When the warm heart bleeds or burns

With its scorn of wrong, or pity
 * For the wronged, by turns.

But, by all thy nature’s weakness,
 * Hidden faults and follies known,

Be thou, in rebuking evil,
 * Conscious of thine own.

Not the less shall stern-eyed Duty
 * To thy lips her trumpet set,

But with harsher blasts shall mingle
 * Wailings of regret.”

Cease not, Voice of holy speaking,
 * Teacher sent of God, be near,

Whispering through the day’s cool silence,
 * Let my spirit hear!

So, when thoughts of evil-doers
 * Waken scorn, or hatred move,

Shall a mournful fellow-feeling
 * Temper all with love.

the sunset’s glowing wall The city towers rise black and tall, Where Zorah, on its rocky height, Stands like an armed man in the light.

Down Eshtaol’s vales of ripened grain Falls like a cloud the night amain, And up the hillsides climbing slow The barley reapers homeward go.

Look, dearest! how our fair child’s head The sunset light hath hallowëd, Where at this olive’s foot he lies, Uplooking to the tranquil skies.

Oh, while beneath the fervent heat Thy sickle swept the bearded wheat, I ’ve watched, with mingled joy and dread, Our child upon his grassy bed.

Joy, which the mother feels alone Whose morning hope like mine had flown, When to her bosom, over-blessed, A dearer life than hers is pressed.

Dread, for the future dark and still, Which shapes our dear one to its will; Forever in his large calm eyes, I read a tale of sacrifice.

The same foreboding awe I felt When at the altar’s side we knelt, And he, who as a pilgrim came, Rose, winged and glorious, through the flame.

I slept not, though the wild bees made A dreamlike murmuring in the shade, And on me the warm-fingered hours Pressed with the drowsy smell of flowers.

Before me, in a vision, rose The hosts of Israel’s scornful foes,—


text: The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier/The Angel of Patience


text:
Page:A Voice from the Nile, and Other Poems. (Thomson, Dobell).djvu/50

 end, make me anticipate its study with unusual interest Just lately, and in these days I am pretty busy for Fraser; and well for me that it is so, for I have not earned a penny save from him the whole year. There is more work to do on the Tobacco Duties; and also verse and prose for the Christmas Card, but not so much as last year, nor offering such genial opportunities and associations as Chaucer's Canterbury Pilgrims. The subject this time is the Pursuit of Diva Nicotina, in imitation of Pursuit of Pleasure. Paton is a good painter and poet too, but of the ascetic-pietistic school, or with strong leanings to it."

The next quotation is from a letter dated October 19, 1879:—

"I can still but barely manage to keep head above water—sometimes sinking under for a bit. You see what I do for Cope. I have not succeeded in getting any other work except on the Liberal, and this is of small value I thank you for keeping the Whitman for me: I sold it with other books when hard up. In the meantime I have the latest 2 vol. edition in hand from Fraser, who has requested some articles on him when Tobacco Legislation, &c., will allow. I mean to begin him now in the evenings at home, as the Legislation can be done only in the Museum. He may occupy such intervals in the paper as did the Wilson and Hogg, both done by request: the 'Richard Feverel' was on my


text:
To the Same

Poems by Ann Eliza Bleecker
 * "To the same" (following "To Mr. L-"), I
 * "To the same" (following "To Mr. L-"), II
 * "To the same" (following "To Mr. L-"), III

Poems by Anne Lynch Botta
 * "To the same", (following "To Charles Butler")

Poems by Margaretta V. Faugères
 * "To the same" (following "To Ethelinde")

Poems by Henry Fielding
 * "To The Same (following "To The Right Honourable Sir Robert Walpole, (Now Earl Of Orford). Written in the Year 1730")

Poems by Felicia Hemans
 * "Sonnet XVII: To the Same" (following "Sonnet XVI: Louise Schepler")

title: To the Same


text:
Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/67

Rh Knowing this, that never yet Share of Truth was vainly set
 * In the world’s wide fallow;

After hands shall sow the seed, After hands from hill and mead
 * Reap the harvests yellow.

Thus, with somewhat of the Seer, Must the moral pioneer
 * From the Future borrow;

Clothe the waste with dreams of grain, And, on midnight’s sky of rain,
 * Paint the golden morrow!

and tell us, our Ximena, looking northward far away, O’er the camp of the invaders, o’er the Mexican array, Who is losing? who is winning? are they far or come they near? Look abroad, and tell us, sister, whither rolls the storm we hear.

“Down the hills of Angostura still the storm of battle rolls; Blood is flowing, men are dying; God have mercy on their souls!” Who is losing? who is winning? “Over hill and over plain, I see but smoke of cannon clouding through the mountain rain.”

Holy Mother! keep our brothers! Look, Ximena, look once more. “Still I see the fearful whirlwind rolling darkly as before, Bearing on, in strange confusion, friend and foeman, foot and horse, Like some wild and troubled torrent sweeping down its mountain course.”

Look forth once more, Ximena! “Ah! the smoke has rolled away; And I see the Northern rifles gleaming down the ranks of gray. Hark! that sudden blast of bugles! there the troop of Minon wheels; There the Northern horses thunder, with the cannon at their heels.

“Jesu, pity! how it thickens! now retreat and now advance! Right against the blazing cannon shivers Peubla’s charging lance! Down they go, the brave young riders; horse and foot together fall; Like a ploughshare in the fallow, through them ploughs the Northern ball.”

Nearer came the storm and nearer, rolling fast and frightful on! Speak, Ximena, speak and tell us, who has lost, and who has won? “Alas! alas! I know not; friend and foe together fall, O’er the dying rush the living: pray, my sisters, for them all!

“Lo! the wind the smoke is lifting. Blessed Mother, save my brain! I can see the wounded crawling slowly out from heaps of slain. Now they stagger, blind and bleeding; now they fall, and strive to rise; Hasten, sisters, haste and save them, lest they die before our eyes!

“O my heart’s love! O my dear one! lay thy poor head on my knee; Dost thou know the lips that kiss thee? Canst thou hear me? canst thou see? O my husband, brave and gentle! O my Bernal, look once more On the blessed cross before thee! Mercy! mercy! all is o’er!”

Dry thy tears, my poor Ximena; lay thy dear one down to rest; Let his hands be meekly folded, lay the cross upon his breast; Let his dirge be sung hereafter, and his funeral masses said; To-day, thou poor bereaved one, the living ask thy aid.

Close beside her, faintly moaning, fair and young, a soldier lay,


text:
Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/68

36   Torn with shot and pierced with lances, bleeding slow his life away; But, as tenderly before him the lorn Ximena knelt, She saw the Northern eagle shining on his pistol-belt.

With a stifled cry of horror straight she turned away her head; With a sad and bitter feeling looked she back upon her dead; But she heard the youth’s low moaning, and his struggling breath of pain, And she raised the cooling water to his parching lips again.

Whispered low the dying soldier, pressed her hand and faintly smiled; Was that pitying face his mother’s? did she watch beside her child? All his stranger words with meaning her woman’s heart supplied; With her kiss upon his forehead, “Mother!” murmured he, and died!

“A bitter curse upon them, poor boy, who led thee forth, From some gentle, sad-eyed mother, weeping, lonely, in the North!” Spake the mournful Mexic woman, as she laid him with her dead, And turned to soothe the living, and bind the wounds which bled.

Look forth once more, Ximena! “Like a cloud before the wind Rolls the battle down the mountains, leaving blood and death behind; Ah! they plead in vain for mercy; in the dust the wounded strive; Hide your faces, holy angels! O thou Christ of God, forgive!”

Sink, O Night, among thy mountains! let the cool, gray shadows fall; Dying brothers, fighting demons, drop thy curtain over all! Through the thickening winter twilight, wide apart the battle rolled, In its sheath the sabre rested, and the cannon’s lips grew cold.

But the noble Mexic women still their holy task pursued, Through that long, dark night of sorrow, worn and faint and lacking food. Over weak and suffering brothers, with a tender care they hung, And the dying foeman blessed them in a strange and Northern tongue.

Not wholly lost, O Father! is this evil world of ours; Upward, through its blood and ashes, spring afresh the Eden flowers; From its smoking hell of battle, Love and Pity send their prayer, And still thy white-winged angels hover dimly in our air!

day is closing dark and cold,
 * With roaring blast and sleety showers;

And through the dusk the lilacs wear
 * The bloom of snow, instead of flowers.

I turn me from the gloom without,
 * To ponder o’er a tale of old;

A legend of the age of Faith,
 * By dreaming monk or abbess told.

On Tintoretto’s canvas lives
 * That fancy of a loving heart,

In graceful lines and shapes of power,
 * And hues immortal as his art.

In Provence (so the story runs)
 * There lived a lord, to whom, as slave,

A peasant-boy of tender years
 * The chance of trade or conquest gave.

Forth-looking from the castle tower,
 * Beyond the hills with almonds dark,


text: The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier/The Angels of Buena Vista


text:
Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/473

Rh Let me guide him nearer Thee. Make my mortal dreams come true With the work I fain would do; Clothe with life the weak intent, Let me be the thing I meant; Let me find in Thy employ Peace that dearer is than joy; Out of self to love be led And to heaven acclimated, Until all things sweet and good Seem my natural habitude.

So we read the prayer of him
 * Who, with John of Labadie,

Trod, of old, the oozy rim
 * Of the Zuyder Zee.

Thus did Andrew Rykman pray.
 * Are we wiser, better grown,

That we may not, in our day,
 * Make his prayer our own?

me, dread angel of reproof,
 * And let the sunshine weave to-day

Its gold-threads in the warp and woof
 * Of life so poor and gray.

Spare me awhile; the flesh is weak.
 * These lingering feet, that fain would stray

Among the flowers, shall some day seek
 * The strait and narrow way.

Take off thy ever-watchful eye,
 * The awe of thy rebuking frown;

The dullest slave at times must sigh
 * To fling his burdens down;

To drop his galley’s straining oar,
 * And press, in summer warmth and calm,

The lap of some enchanted shore
 * Of blossom and of balm.

Grudge not my life its hour of bloom,
 * My heart its taste of long desire;

This day be mine: be those to come
 * As duty shall require.

The deep voice answered to my own,
 * Smiting my selfish prayers away;

“To-morrow is with God alone,
 * And man hath but to-day.

“Say not, thy fond, vain heart within,
 * The Father’s arm shall still be wide,

When from these pleasant ways of sin
 * Thou turn’st at eventide.

“ ‘Cast thyself down,’ the tempter saith,
 * ‘And angels shall thy feet upbear.’

He bids thee make a lie of faith,
 * And blasphemy of prayer.

“Though God be good and free be heaven,
 * No force divine can love compel;

And, though the song of sins forgiven
 * May sound through lowest hell,

“The sweet persuasion of His voice
 * Respects thy sanctity of will.

He giveth day: thou hast thy choice
 * To walk in darkness still;

“As one who, turning from the light,
 * Watches his own gray shadow fall,

Doubting, upon his path of night,
 * If there be day at all!

“No word of doom may shut thee out,
 * No wind of wrath may downward whirl,

No swords of fire keep watch about
 * The open gates of pearl;

“A tenderer light than moon or sun,
 * Than song of earth a sweeter hymn,

May shine and sound forever on,
 * And thou be deaf and dim.

“Forever round the Mercy-seat
 * The guiding lights of Love shall burn;

But what if, habit-bound, thy feet
 * Shall lack the will to turn?

“What if thine eye refuse to see,
 * Thine ear of Heaven’s free welcome fail,

And thou a willing captive be,
 * Thyself thy own dark jail?

“Oh, doom beyond the saddest guess,
 * As the long years of God unroll,

To make thy dreary selfishness
 * The prison of a soul!


text:
Page:The story of the flute (IA storyofflute1914fitz).djvu/296

 he met with a music-loving lion in Edinburgh, and that when the flute was played near the lions' den in the Tower of London one of the lions "rose up and came to the front of the den, and seemed all attention. Meanwhile a tiger in the same den started up, leaped over the lion's back, turned and ran under its belly, leaped over him again, and so to and fro incessantly."

The Kaffirs have a transverse flute, which is held from right to left, a peculiarity not found elsewhere. By humming at the same time they produce a peculiar buzzing sound.

In Burma the orchestra is usually led by a bamboo flute, called "Puloay," with seven finger-holes in front and one behind. Notwithstanding the fact that Krishna is very frequently represented holding a transverse flute (known as "Murali" or "Pillagovi"), the instrument is, as a rule, played in India only by men of low caste. An exception is made in favour of the nose-flute used by the Brahmins. The snake-charmers use a double pipe, blown through the nose, called "Toomerie" or "Poongee." Numerous nose-flutes are to be met with in Borneo, South America, Java, Siam, Fiji, above all, in Otaheite (where the natives often spend their whole day lying in hammocks playing pipes and flutes), and the Polynesian Islands. Melville in Typee describes these curious instruments (called "Vivo") thus:—"The nose-flute is longer than an ordinary fife, is made of a beautiful scarlet-coloured reed, and has four or five stops [i.e., finger-holes] with


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/231

 "And yet, who knows? With les femmes, they have so many ways of concealing what they feeland heartiness is perhaps as good a way as any other."

He sighed.

"I don’t see" began Katherine.

He interrupted her.

"You do not see why I am being so impertinent, Mademoiselle? I am an old man, and now and thennot very oftenI come across some one whose welfare is dear to me. We are friends, Mademoiselle. You have said so yourself. And it is just thisI should like to see you happy."

Katherine stared very straight in front of her. She had a cretonne sunshade with her, and with its point she traced little designs in the gravel at her feet.

"I have asked you a question about Major Knighton, now I will ask you another. Do you like Mr. Derek Kettering?"

"I hardly know him," said Katherine.

"That is not an answer, that."

"I think it is."

He looked at her, struck by something in her tone. Then he nodded his head gravely and slowly.

"Perhaps you are right, Mademoiselle. See you, I who speak to you have seen much of the world, and I know that there are two things which are true. A good man may be ruined by his love for a bad womanbut the other way holds good also. A bad man may equally be ruined by his love for a good woman."

Katherine looked up sharply.

"When you say ruined"


text:
Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/474

442   “To doubt the love that fain would break
 * The fetters from thy self-bound limb;

And dream that God can thee forsake
 * As thou forsakest Him!”

with whom my feet have trod
 * The quiet aisles of prayer,

Glad witness to your zeal for God
 * And love of man I bear.

I trace your lines of argument;
 * Your logic linked and strong

I weigh as one who dreads dissent,
 * And fears a doubt as wrong.

But still my human hands are weak
 * To hold your iron creeds:

Against the words ye bid me speak
 * My heart within me pleads.

Who fathoms the Eternal Thought?
 * Who talks of scheme and plan?

The Lord is God! He needeth not
 * The poor device of man.

I walk with bare, hushed feet the ground
 * Ye tread with boldness shod;

I dare not fix with mete and bound
 * The love and power of God.

Ye praise His justice; even such
 * His pitying love I deem:

Ye seek a king; I fain would touch
 * The robe that hath no seam.

Ye see the curse which overbroods
 * A world of pain and loss;

I hear our Lord’s beatitudes
 * And prayer upon the cross.

More than your schoolmen teach, within
 * Myself, alas! I know:

Too dark ye cannot paint the sin,
 * Too small the merit show.

I bow my forehead to the dust,
 * I veil mine eyes for shame,

And urge, in trembling self-distrust,
 * A prayer without a claim.

I see the wrong that round me lies,
 * I feel the guilt within;

I hear, with groan and travail-cries,
 * The world confess its sin.

Yet, in the maddening maze of things,
 * And tossed by storm and flood,

To one fixed trust my spirit clings;
 * I know that God is good!

Not mine to look where cherubim
 * And seraphs may not see,

But nothing can be good in Him
 * Which evil is in me.

The wrong that pains my soul below
 * I dare not throne above,

I know not of His hate,—I know
 * His goodness and His love.

I dimly guess from blessings known
 * Of greater out of sight,

And, with the chastened Psalmist, own
 * His judgments too are right.

I long for household voices gone,
 * For vanished smiles I long,

But God hath led my dear ones on,
 * And He can do no wrong.

I know not what the future hath
 * Of marvel or surprise,

Assured alone that life and death
 * His mercy underlies.

And if my heart and flesh are weak
 * To bear an untried pain,

The bruisëd reed He will not break,
 * But strengthen and sustain.

No offering of my own I have,
 * Nor works my faith to prove;

I can but give the gifts He gave,
 * And plead His love for love.

And so beside the Silent Sea
 * I wait the muffled oar;

No harm from Him can come to me
 * On ocean or on shore.

I know not where His islands lift
 * Their fronded palms in air;

I only know I cannot drift
 * Beyond His love and care.

O brothers! if my faith is vain,
 * If hopes like these betray,


text: Index:The Curious Republic of Gondour, and Other Whimsical Sketches.djvu


text:
Page:The story of the flute (IA storyofflute1914fitz).djvu/297

 a larger hole near one end, which latter is held just underneath the left nostril. The other nostril being closed by a peculiar movement of the muscles of the nose, the breath is forced into the tube and produces a soft dulcet sound." Sometimes the right nostril of the player is closed by the thumb of the right hand whilst its fingers stop the finger-holes. They are often adorned with lines and figures scorched on the surface, and sometimes with human hair. Pierre Loti in his Le Mariage de Loti mentions the Vivo as used in Tahiti. The nose-flute is also to be found in Northern Australia and New Zealand, whither it was brought probably by Malay traders. The Malays are so fond of the sound of the flute that they bore holes in bamboos growing on the river-bank in order that the wind may play tunes upon them!

The Mexicans and Peruvians have always been great flute-players, and many specimens of their early pipes and flutes are still preserved in the Mexican museums. Some of these are made of pottery and others of human bones—a fact which recalls the story of the Maori chief who, when complimented by Bishop Selwyn on the tone of his flute, replied that he was very happy when playing it because it was made out of the shin-bone of a rival chief whom he had killed and eaten! Alonzo de Ovalle (c. 1650) tells us that such flutes are quite usual among some native tribes in Guiana and Chili, the accompanying drums being made out of the skins of the vanquished, to which music the warriors danced.


text: The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier/The Answer


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/232

 "I mean from his point of view. One must be wholehearted in crime as in everything else."

"You are trying to warn me," said Katherine in a low voice. "Against whom?"

"I cannot look into your heart, Mademoiselle; I do not think you would let me if I could. I will just say this. There are men who have a strange fascination for women."

"The Comte de la Roche," said Katherine, with a smile.

"There are othersmore dangerous than the Comte de la Roche. They have qualities that appealrecklessness, daring, audacity. You are fascinated. Mademoiselle; I see that, but I think that it is no more than that. I hope so. This man of whom I speak, the emotion he feels is genuine enough, but all the same"

"Yes?"

He got up and stood looking down at her. Then he spoke in a low, distinct voice:

"You could, perhaps, love a thief, Mademoiselle, but not a murderer."

He wheeled sharply away on that and left her sitting there.

He heard the little gasp she gave and paid no attention. He had said what he meant to say. He left her there to digest that last unmistakable phrase.

Derek Kettering, coming out of the Casino into the sunshine, saw her sitting alone on the bench and joined her.

"I have been gambling," he said, with a light laugh,


text: The Curious Republic of Gondour

title: The Curious Republic of Gondour


text:
Page:The Curious Republic of Gondour, and Other Whimsical Sketches.djvu/39

N a recent issue of the “Independent,” the Rev. T. De Witt Talmage of Brooklyn, has the following utterance on the subject of “Smells”:

"I have a good Christian friend who, if he sat in the front pew in church, and a working man should enter the door at the other end, would smell him instantly. My friend is not to blame for the sensitiveness of his nose, any more than you would flog a pointer for being keener on the scent than a stupid watch dog. The fact is, if you, had all the churches free, by reason of the mixing up of the common people with the uncommon, you would keep one-half of Christendom sick at their stomach. If you are going to kill the church thus with bad smells, I will have nothing to do with this work of evangelization."

We have reason to believe that there will be labouring men in heaven; and also a number of negroes, and Esquimaux, and Terra del Fuegans, and Arabs, and a few Indians, and


text:
Page:The Curious Republic of Gondour, and Other Whimsical Sketches.djvu/40

 possibly even some Spaniards and Portuguese. All things are possible with God. We shall have all these sorts of people in heaven; but, alas! in getting them we shall lose the society of Dr. Talmage. Which is to say, we shall lose the company of one who could give more real “tone” to celestial society than any other contribution Brooklyn could furnish. And what would eternal happiness be without the Doctor? Blissful, unquestionably—we know that well enough—but would it be distingué, would it be recherché without him? St. Matthew without stockings or sandals; St. Jerome bare headed, and with a coarse brown blanket robe dragging the ground; St. Sebastian with scarcely any raiment at all—these we should see, and should enjoy seeing them; but would we not miss a spike-tailed coat and kids, and turn away regretfully, and say to parties from the Orient: “These are well enough, but you ought to see Talmage of Brooklyn.” I fear me that in the better world we shall not even have Dr. Talmage’s “good Christian friend.”


text:
Page:The Curious Republic of Gondour, and Other Whimsical Sketches.djvu/41

 For if he were sitting under the glory of the Throne, and the keeper of the keys admitted a Benjamin Franklin or other labouring man, that "friend," with his fine natural powers infinitely augmented by emancipation from hampering flesh, would detect him with a single sniff, and immediately take his hat and ask to be excused.

To all outward seeming, the Rev. T. De Witt Talmage is of the same material as that used in the construction of his early predecessors in the ministry; and yet one feels that there must be a difference somewhere between him and the Saviour’s first disciples. It may be because here, in the nineteenth century, Dr. T. has had advantages which Paul and Peter and the others could not and did not have. There was a lack of polish about them, and a looseness of etiquette, and a want of exclusiveness, which one cannot help noticing. They healed the very beggars, and held intercourse with people of a villainous odour every day. If the subject of these remarks had been chosen


text:
Page:The Curious Republic of Gondour, and Other Whimsical Sketches.djvu/42

 among the original Twelve Apostles, he would not have associated with the rest, because he could not have stood the fishy smell of some of his comrades who came from around the Sea of Galilee. He would have resigned his commission with some such remark as he makes in the extract quoted above: “Master, if thou art going to kill the church thus with bad smells, I will have nothing to do with this work of evangelization.” He is a disciple, and makes that remark to the Master; the only difference is, that he makes it in the nineteenth instead of the first century.

Is there a choir in Mr. T.’s church? And does it ever occur that they have no better manners than to sing that hymn which is so suggestive of labourers and mechanics:

Now, can it be possible that in a handful of centuries the Christian character has fallen away from an imposing heroism that scorned


text:
Page:The Curious Republic of Gondour, and Other Whimsical Sketches.djvu/43

Rh even the stake, the cross, and the axe, to a poor little effeminacy that withers and wilts under an unsavoury smell? We are not prepared to believe so, the reverend Doctor and his friend to the contrary notwithstanding.


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/233

 "gambling unsuccessfully. I have lost everythingeverything, that is, that I have with me."

Katherine looked at him with a troubled face. She was aware at once of something new in his manner, some hidden excitement that betrayed itself in a hundred different infinitesimal signs.

"I should think you were always a gambler. The spirit of gambling appeals to you."

"Every day and in every way a gambler? You are about right. Don't you find something stimulating in it? To risk all on one throwthere is nothing like it."

Calm and stolid as she believed herself to be, Katherine felt a faint answering thrill.

"I want to talk to you," went on Derek, "and who knows when I may have another opportunity? There is an idea going about that I murdered my wifeno, please don't interrupt. It is absurd, of course." He paused for a minute or two, then went on, speaking more deliberately. "In dealing with the police and Local Authorities here I have had to pretend towella certain decency. I prefer not to pretend with you. I meant to marry money. I was on the look out for money when I first met Ruth Van Aldin. She had the look of a slim Madonna about her, and IwellI made all sorts of good resolutionsand was bitterly disillusioned. My wife was in love with another man when she married me. She never cared for me in the least. Oh, I am not complaining; the thing was a perfectly respectable bargain. She wanted Leconbury and I wanted money. The trouble arose simply through Ruth's American blood. Without caring a pin for me,


text:
Page:The Curious Republic of Gondour, and Other Whimsical Sketches.djvu/11

PAGE


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/234

 she would have liked me to be continually dancing attendance. Time and again she as good as told me that she had bought pie and that I belonged to her. The result was that I behaved abominably to her. My father-in-law will tell you that, and he is quite right. At the time of Ruth's death, I was faced with absolute disaster." He laughed suddenly. "One is faced with absolute disaster when one is up against a man like Rufus Van Aldin."

"And then?" asked Katherine in a low voice.

"And then," Derek shrugged his shoulders, "Ruth was murderedvery providentially."

He laughed, and the sound of his laugh hurt Katherine. She winced.

"Yes," said Derek, "that wasn't in very good taste. But it is quite true. Now I am going to tell you something more. From the very first moment I saw you I knew you were the only woman in the world for me. I wasafraid of you. I thought you might bring me bad luck."

"Bad luck?" said Katherine sharply.

He stared at her. "Why do you repeat it like that? What have you got in your mind?"

"I was thinking of things that people have said to me."

Derek grinned suddenly. "They will say a lot to you about me, my dear, and most of it will be true. Yes, and worse things toothings that I shall never tell you. I have been a gambler alwaysand I have taken some long odds. I shan't confess to you now or at any other time. The past is done with. There is one thing


text:
Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/428

396   With whose sweetness of content Still expectant hope was blent.

Waking while the dawning gray Slowly brightened into day, Pondering that vision fled, Thus unto myself I said:—

Steep and hang with clouds of strife Is our narrow path of life; And our death the dreaded fall Through the dark, awaiting all.

So, with painful steps we climb Up the dizzy ways of time, Ever in the shadow shed By the forecast of our dread.

Dread of mystery solved alone, Of the untried and unknown; Yet the end thereof may seem Like the falling of my dream.

And this heart-consuming care, All our fears of here or there, Change and absence, loss and death, Prove but simple lack of faith.”

Thou, O Most Compassionate! Who didst stoop to our estate, Drinking of the cup we drain, Treading in our path of pain,—

Through the doubt and mystery, Grant to us thy steps to see, And the grace to draw from thence Larger hope and confidence.

Show thy vacant tomb, and let, As of old, the angels sit, Whispering, by its open door: Fear not! He hath gone before!”

on thee, little man, Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan! With thy turned-up pantaloons, And thy merry whistled tunes; With thy red lip, redder still Kissed by strawberries on the hill; With the sunshine on thy face, Through thy torn brim’s jaunty grace; From my heart I give thee joy,— I was once a barefoot boy! Prince thou art,—the grown-up man Only is republican. Let the million-dollared ride! Barefoot, trudging at his side, Thou hast more than he can buy In the reach of ear and eye,— Outward sunshine, inward joy: Blessings on thee, barefoot boy!

Oh for boyhood’s painless play, Sleep that wakes in laughing day, Health that mocks the doctor’s rules, Knowledge never learned of schools, Of the wild bee’s morning chase, Of the wild-flower’s time and place, Flight of fowl and habitude Of the tenants of the wood; How the tortoise bears his shell, How the woodchuck digs his cell, And the ground-mole sinks his well; How the robin feeds her young, How the oriole’s nest is hung; Where the whitest lilies blow, Where the freshest berries grow, Where the ground-nut trails its vine, Where the wood-grape’s clusters shine; Of the black wasp’s cunning way, Mason of his walls of clay, And the architectural plans Of gray hornet artisans! For, eschewing books and tasks, Nature answers all he asks; Hand in hand with her he walks, Face to face with her he talks, Part and parcel of her joy,— Blessings on the barefoot boy!

Oh for boyhood’s time of June, Crowding years in one brief moon, When all things I heard or saw, Me, their master, waited for. I was rich in flowers and trees, Humming-birds and honey-bees; For my sport the squirrel played, Plied the snouted mole his spade; For my taste the blackberry cone Purpled over hedge and stone; Laughed the brook for my delight Through the day and through the night, Whispering at the garden wall, Talked with me from fall to fall; Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, Mine the walnut slopes beyond. Mine, on bending orchard trees,


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/235

 I do wish you to believe. I swear to you solemnly that I did not kill my wife."

He said the words earnestly enough, yet there was somehow a theatrical touch about them. He met her troubled gaze and went on:

"I know. I lied the other day. It was my wife's compartment I went into."

"Ah," said Katherine.

"It's difficult to explain just why I went in, but I’ll try. I did it on an impulse. You see, I was more or less spying on my wife. I kept out of sight on the train. Mirelle had told me that my wife was meeting the Comte de la Roche in Paris. Well, as far as I had seen, that was not so. I felt ashamed, and I thought suddenly that it would be a good thing to have it out with her once and for all, so I pushed open the door and went in."

He paused.

"Yes," said Katherine gently.

"Ruth was lying on the bunk asleepher face was turned away from meI could only see the back of her head. I could have waked her up, of course. But suddenly I felt a reaction. What, after all, was there to say that we hadn't both of us said a hundred times before? She looked so peaceful lying there. I left the compartment as quietly as I could."

"Why lie about it to the police asked Katherine.

"Because I'm not a complete fool. I've realized from the beginning that, from the point of view of motive, I'm the ideal murderer. If I once admitted that I had been in her compartment just before she was


text:
Page:Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier (1895).djvu/429

Rh Apples of Hesperides! Still as my horizon grew, Larger grew my riches too; All the world I saw or knew Seemed a complex Chinese toy, Fashioned for a barefoot boy!

Oh for festal dainties spread, Like my bowl of milk and bread; Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, On the door-stone, gray and rude! O’er me, like a regal tent, Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent, Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, Looped in many a wind-swung fold; While for music came the play Of the pied frogs’ orchestra; And, to light the noisy choir, Lit the fly his lamp of fire. I was monarch: pomp and joy Waited on the barefoot boy!

Cheerily, then, my little man, Live and laugh, as boyhood can! Though the flinty slopes be hard, Stubble-speared the new-mown sward, Every morn shall lead thee through Fresh baptisms of the dew; Every evening from thy feet Shall the cool wind kiss the heat: All too soon these feet must hide In the prison cells of pride, Lose the freedom of the sod, Like a colt’s for work be shod, Made to tread the mills of toil, Up and down in ceaseless moil: Happy if their track be found Never on forbidden ground; Happy if they sink not in Quick and treacherous sands of sin. Ah! that thou couldst know thy joy, Ere it passes, barefoot boy!

no more my vanished years:
 * Beneath a tender rain,

An April rain of smiles and tears,
 * My heart is young again.

The west-winds blow, and, singing low,
 * I hear the glad streams run;

The windows of my soul I throw
 * Wide open to the sun.

No longer forward nor behind
 * I look in hope or fear;

But, grateful, take the good I find,
 * The best of now and here.

I plough no more a desert land,
 * To harvest weed and tare;

The manna dropping from God’s hand
 * Rebukes my painful care.

I break my pilgrim staff, I lay
 * Aside the toiling oar;

The angel sought so far away
 * I welcome at my door.

The airs of spring may never play
 * Among the ripening corn,

Nor freshness of the flowers of May
 * Blow through the autumn morn;

Yet shall the blue-eyed gentian look
 * Through fringed lids to heaven,

And the pale aster in the brook
 * Shall see its image given;—

The woods shall wear their robes of praise,
 * The south-wind softly sigh,

And sweet, calm days in golden haze
 * Melt down the amber sky.

Not less shall manly deed and word
 * Rebuke an age of wrong;

The graven flowers that wreathe the sword
 * Make not the blade less strong.

But smiting hands shall learn to heal,—
 * To build as to destroy;

Nor less my heart for others feel
 * That I the more enjoy.

All as God wills, who wisely heeds
 * To give or to withhold,

And knoweth more of all my needs
 * Than all my prayers have told!

Enough that blessings undeserved
 * Have marked my erring track;

That wheresoe’er my feet have swerved,
 * His chastening turned me back;

That more and more a Providence
 * Of love is understood,

Making the springs of time and sense
 * Sweet with eternal good;—


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/236

 murdered, I'd do for myself once and for all."

"I see."

Did she see? She could not have told herself. She was feeling the magnetic attraction of Derek's personality, but there was something in her that resisted, that held back

"Katherine"

"I"

"You know that I care for you. Dodo you care for me?"

"II don't know."

Weakness there. Either she knew or she did not know. Ifif only

She cast a look round desperately as though seeking something that would help her. A soft colour rose in her cheeks as a tall fair man with a limp came hurry ing along the path towards themMajor Knighton.

There was relief and an unexpected warmth in her voice as she greeted him.

Derek stood up scowling, his face black as a thundercloud.

"Lady Tamplin having a flutter?" he said easily. "I must join her and give her the benefit of my system."

He swung round on his heel and left them together.

Katherine sat down again. Her heart was beating rapidly and unevenly, but as she sat there talking commonplaces to the quiet, rather shy man beside her, her self-command came back.

Then she realized with a shock that Knighton also was laying bare his heart, much as Derek had done, but in a very different manner.


text: The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier/The Barefoot Boy


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/237

 He was shy and stammering. The words came haltingly with no eloquence to hack them.

"From the first moment I saw youII ought not to have spoken so soonbut Mr. Van Aldin may leave here any day, and I might not have another chance. I know you can't care for me so soonthat is impossible. I dare say it is presumption anyway on my part. I have private means, but not very muchno, please don't answer now. I know what your answer would be. But in case I went away suddenly I just wanted you to knowthat I care."

She was shakentouched. His manner was so gentle and appealing.

"There's one thing more. I just wanted to say that ifif you are ever in trouble, anything that I can do"

He took her hand in his, held it tightly for a minute, then dropped it and walked rapidly away towards the Casino without looking back.

Katherine sat perfectly still, looking after him. Derek KetteringRichard Knightontwo men so differentso very different. There was something kind about Knighton, kind and trustworthy. As to Derek

Then suddenly Katherine had a very curious sensation. She felt that she was no longer sitting alone on the seat in the Casino gardens, but that some one was standing beside her, and that that some one was the dead woman, Ruth Kettering. She had a further impression that Ruth wantedbadlyto tell her something. The impression was so curious, so vivid, that it


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/238

 could not be driven away. She felt absolutely certain that the spirit of Ruth Kettering was trying to convey something of vital importance to her. The impression faded. Katherine got up, trembling a little. What was it that Ruth Kettering had wanted so badly to say?


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/239

Knighton left Katherine he went in search of Hercule Poirot, whom he found in the Rooms, jauntily placing the minimum stake on the even numbers. As Knighton joined him, the number thirty-three turned up, and Poirot's stake was swept away.

"Bad luck!" said Knighton; "are you going to stake again?"

Poirot shook his head.

"Not at present."

"Do you feel the fascination of gambling?" asked Knighton curiously.

"Not at roulette."

Knighton shot a swift glance at him. His own face became troubled. He spoke haltingly, with a touch of deference.

"I wonder, are you busy, M. Poirot? There is something I would like to ask you about."

"I am at your disposal. Shall we go outside? It is pleasant in the sunshine."

They strolled out together, and Knighton drew a deep breath.

"I love the Riviera," he said. "I came here first twelve years ago, during the War, when I was sent to Lady Tamplin's Hospital. It was like Paradise, coming from Flanders to this."

"It must have been," said Poirot.


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/240

 "How long ago the War seems now!" mused Knighton.

They walked on in silence for some little way.

"You have something on your mind?" said Poirot.

Knighton looked at him in some surprise.

"You are quite right," he confessed. "I don’t know how you knew it, though."

"It showed itself only too plainly," said Poirot drily.

"I did not know that I was so transparent."

"It is my business to observe the physiognomy," the little man explained, with dignity.

"I will tell you, M. Poirot. You have heard of this dancer womanMirelle?"

"She who is the chère amie of M. Derek Kettering?"

"Yes, that is the one; and, knowing this, you will understand that M. Van Aldin is naturally prejudiced against her. She wrote to him, asking for an interview. He told me to dictate a curt refusal, which of course I did. This morning she came to the hotel and sent up her card, saying that it was urgent and vital that she should see Mr. Van Aldin at once."

"You interest me," said Poirot.

"Mr. Van Aldin was furious. He told me what message to send down to her. I ventured to disagree with him. It seemed to me both likely and probable that this woman Mirelle might give us valuable information. We know that she was on the Blue Train, and she may have seen or heard something that it might be vital for us to know. Don’t you agree with me, M. Poirot?"

"I do," said Poirot drily. "M. Van Aldin, if I may say so, behaved exceedingly foolishly."


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/241

 "I am glad you take that view of the matter," said the secretary. "Now I am going to tell you something, M. Poirot. So strongly did I feel the unwisdom of Mr. Van Aldin's attitude that I went down privately and had an interview with the lady."

"Eh bien?"

"The difficulty was that she insisted on seeing Mr. Van Aldin himself. I softened his message as much as I possibly could. In factto be candidI gave it in a very different form. I said that Mr. Van Aldin was too busy to see her at present, but that she might make any communication she wished to me. That, however, she could not bring herself to do, and she left without saying anything further. But I have a strong impression, M. Poirot that that woman knows something."

"This is serious," said Poirot quietly. "You know where she is staying?"

"Yes." Knighton mentioned the name of the hotel.

"Good," said Poirot; "we will go there immediately."

The secretary looked doubtful.

"And Mr. Van Aldin?" he queried doubtfully.

"M. Van Aldin is an obstinate man," said Poirot drily. "I do not argue with obstinate men. I act in spite of them. We will go and see the lady immediately. I will tell her that you are empowered by M. Van Aldin to act for him, and you will guard yourself well from contradicting me."

Knighton still looked slightly doubtful, but Poirot took no notice of his hesitation.

At the hotel, they were told that Mademoiselle was in, and Poirot sent up both his and Knighton's cards, with "From Mr. Van Aldin" pencilled upon them.


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/242

 Word came down that Mademoiselle Mirelle would receive them.

When they were ushered into the dancer's apartments, Poirot immediately took the lead.

"Mademoiselle," he murmured, bowing very low, "we are here on behalf of M. Van Aldin."

"Ah! And why did he not come himself?"

"He is indisposed," said Poirot mendaciously; "the Riviera throat, it has him in its grip, but me, I am empowered to act for him, as is Major Knighton, his secretary. Unless, of course. Mademoiselle would prefer to wait a fortnight or so."

If there was one thing of which Poirot was tolerably certain, it was that to a temperament such as Mirelle's the mere word "wait" was anathema.

"Eh bien, I will speak, Messieurs," she cried. "I have been patient. I have held my hand. And for what? That I should be insulted! Yes, insulted! Ah! Does he think to treat Mirelle like that? To throw her off like an old glove. I tell you never has a man tired of me. Always it is I who tire of them."

She paced up and down the room, her slender body trembling with rage. A small table impeded her free passage and she flung it from her into a corner, where it splintered against the wall.

"That is what I will do to him," she cried, "and that!"

Picking up a glass bowl filled with lilies she flung It into the grate, where it smashed into a hundred pieces.

Knighton was looking at her with cold British disapproval. He felt embarrassed and ill at ease. Poirot,


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/243

 on the other hand, with twinkling eyes was thoroughly enjoying the scene.

"Ah, it is magnificent!" he cried. "It can be seenMadame has a temperament."

"I am an artist," said Mirelle; "every artist has a temperament. I told Dereek to beware, and he would not listen." She whirled round on Poirot suddenly. "It is true, is it not, that he wants to marry that English miss?"

Poirot coughed.

"On m'a dit" he murmured, "that he adores her passionately."

Mirelle came towards them.

"He murdered his wife," she screamed. "Therenow you have it! He told me beforehand that he meant to do it. He had got to an impassezut! he took the easiest way out."

"You say that M. Kettering murdered his wife."

"Yes, yes, yes. Have I not told you so?"

"The police," murmured Poirot, "will need proof of thaterstatement."

"I tell you I saw him come out of her compartment that night on the train."

"When?" asked Poirot sharply.

"Just before the train reached Lyons."

"You will swear to that, Mademoiselle?"

It was a different Poirot who spoke now, sharp and decisive.

"Yes."

There was a moment's silence. Mirelle was panting, and her eyes, half defiant, half frightened, went from the face of one man to the other.


text: User:Three Sixty/WIP

title: User:Three Sixty/WIP


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/244

 "This is a serious matter, Mademoiselle," said the detective. "You realize how serious?"

"Certainly I do."

"That is well," said Poirot. "Then you understand, Mademoiselle, that no time must be lost. You will, perhaps accompany us immediately to the office of the Examining Magistrate."

Mirelle was taken aback. She hesitated, but, as Poirot had foreseen, she had no loophole for escape.

"Very well," she muttered. "I will fetch a coat."

Left alone together, Poirot and Knighton exchanged glances.

"It is necessary to act whilehow do you say it?the iron is hot," murmured Poirot. "She is temperamental ; in an hour's time, maybe, she will repent, and she will wish to draw back. We must prevent that at all costs."

Mirelle reappeared, wrapped in a sand-coloured velvet wrap trimmed with leopard skin. She looked not altogether unlike a leopardess, tawny and dangerous. Her eyes still flashed with anger and determination.

They found M. Caux and the Examining Magistrate together. A few brief introductory words from Poirot, and Mademoiselle Mirelle was courteously entreated to tell her tale. This she did in much the same words as she had done to Knighton and Poirot, though with far more soberness of manner.

"This is an extraordinary story, Mademoiselle," said M. Carrège slowly. He leant back in his chair, adjusted his pince-nez, and looked keenly and searchingly at the dancer through them.


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/245

 "You wish us to believe M. Kettering actually boasted of the crime to you beforehand?"

"Yes, yes. She was too healthy, he said. If she were to die it must be an accidenthe would arrange it all."

"You are aware, Mademoiselle," said M. Carrège sternly, "that you are making yourself out to be an accessory before the fact?"

"Me? But not the least in the world, Monsieur. Not for a moment did I take that statement seriously. Ah no, indeed! I know men. Monsieur; they say many wild things. It would be an odd state of affairs if one were to take all they said au pied de la lettre"

The Examining Magistrate raised his eyebrows.

"We are to take it, then, that you regarded M. Kettering's threats as mere idle words? May I ask, Mademoiselle, what made you throw up your engage ments in London and come out to the Riviera?"

Mirelle looked at him with melting black eyes.

"I wished to be with the man I loved," she said simply. "Was it so unnatural?"

Poirot interpolated a question gently.

"Was it, then, at M. Kettering's wish that you accompanied him to Nice?"

Mirelle seemed to find a little difficulty in answering this. She hesitated perceptibly before she spoke. When she did, it was with a haughty indifference of manner.

"In such matters I please myself, Monsieur," she said.

That the answer was not an answer at all was noted by all three men. They said nothing.

"When were you first convinced that M. Kettering had murdered his wife?"


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/246

 "As I tell you, Monsieur, I saw M. Kettering come out of his wife's compartment just before the tram drew into Lyons. There was a look on his faceah! at the moment I could not understand ita look haunted and terrible. I shall never forget"

Her voice rose shrilly, and she flung out her arms in an extravagant gesture.

"Quite so," said M. Carrège.

"Afterwards, when I found that Madame Kettering was dead when the train left Lyons, thenthen I knew!"

"And stillyou did not go to the police, Mademoiselle," said the Commissary mildly.

Mirelle glanced at him superbly; she was clearly enjoying herself in the rôle she was playing.

"Shall I betray my lover?" she asked. "Ah no; do not ask a woman to do that."

"Yet now" hinted M. Caux.

"Now it is different. He has betrayed me! Shall I suffer that in silence?"

The Examining Magistrate checked her.

"Quite so, quite so," he murmured soothingly. "And now, Mademoiselle, perhaps you will read over the statement of what you have told us, see that it is correct, and sign it."

Mirelie wasted no time on the document.

"Yes, yes," she said, "it is correct." She rose to her feet. "You require me no longer, Messieurs?"

"At present, no, Mademoiselle."

"And Dereek will be arrested?"

"At once, Mademoiselle."


text:
Author:Charles Schell Corson

As illustrator

 * Adventures in Thrift (1916) by Anna Steese Richardson

title: Author:Charles Schell Corson


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/247

 Mirelle laughed cruelly and drew her fur draperies closer about her.

"He should have thought of this before he insulted me," she cried.

"There is one little matter"Poirot coughed apologetically"just a matter of detail."

"Yes?"

"What makes you think Madame Kettering was dead when the train left Lyons?"

Mirelle stared.

"But she was dead."

"Was she?"

"Yes, of course. I"

She came to an abrupt stop. Poirot was regarding her intently, and he saw the wary look that came into her eyes.

"I have been told so. Everybody says so."

"Oh," said Poirot, "I was not aware that the fact had been mentioned outside the Examining Magistrate's office."

Mirelle appeared somewhat discomposed.

"One hears those things," she said vaguely; "they get about. Somebody told me. I can't remember who it was."

She moved to the door. M. Caux sprang forward to open it for her, and as he did so, Poirot's voice rose gently once more.

"And the jewels? Pardon, Mademoiselle. Can you tell me anything about those?"

"The jewels? What jewels?"

"The rubies of Catherine the Great. Since you hear so much, you must have heard of them."


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/248

 "I know nothing about any jewels," said Mirelle sharply.

She went out, closing the door behind her. M. Caux came back to his chair; the Examining Magistrate sighed.

"What a fury!" he said, "but diablement chic, I wonder if she is telling the truth? I think so."

"There is some truth in her story, certainly," said Poirot. "We have confirmation of it from Miss Grey. She was looking down the corridor a short time before the train reached Lyons and she saw M. Kettering go into his wife's compartment."

"The case against him seems quite clear," said the Commissary, sighing; "it is a thousand pities," he murmured.

"How do you mean?" asked Poirot.

"It has been the ambition of my life to lay the Comte de la Roche by the heels. This time, ma foi, I thought we had got him. This otherit is not nearly so satisfactory."

M. Carrège rubbed his nose.

"If anything goes wrong," he observed cautiously, "it will be most awkward. M. Kettering is of the aristocracy. It will get into the newspapers. If we have made a mistake" He shrugged his shoulders forebodingly.

"The jewels now," said the Commissary, "what do you think he has done with them?"

"He took them for a plant, of course," said M. Carrège; "they must have been a great inconvenience to him and very awkward to dispose of."

Poirot smiled.


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/249

 "I have an idea of my own about the jewels. Tell me, Messieurs, what do you know of a man called the Marquis?"

The Commissary leant forward excitedly.

"The Marquis," he said, "the Marquis? Do you think he is mixed up in this affair, M. Poirot?"

"I ask you what you know of him."

The Commissary made an expressive grimace.

"Not as much as we should like to," he observed ruefully. "He works behind the scenes, you understand. He has underlings who do his dirty work for him. But he is some one high up. That we are sure of. He does not come from the criminal classes."

"A Frenchman?" "Yes. At least we believe so. But we are not sure. He has worked in France, in England, in America. There was a series of robberies in Switzerland last autumn which were laid at his door. By all accounts he is a grand seigneur, speaking French and English with equal perfection and his origin is a mystery."

Poirot nodded and rose to take his departure.

"Can you tell us nothing more, M. Poirot," urged the Commissary.

"At present, no," said Poirot, "but I may have news awaiting me at my hotel."

M. Carrège looked uncomfortable. "If the Marquis is concerned in this" he began, and then stopped.

"It upsets our ideas," complained M. Caux.

"It does not upset mine," said Poirot. "On the contrary, I think it agrees with them very well. Au revoir, Messieurs; if news of any importance comes to me I will communicate it to you immediately."


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/250

 He walked back to his hotel with a grave face. In his absence a telegram had come to him. Taking a paper-cutter from his pocket, he slit it open. It was a long telegram, and he read it over twice before slowly putting it in his pocket. Upstairs, George was awaiting his master.

"I am fatigued, Georges, much fatigued. Will you order for me a small pot of chocolate?"

The chocolate was duly ordered and brought, and George set it at the little table at his master's elbow As he was preparing to retire, Poirot spoke;

"I believe, Georges, that you have a good knowledge of the English aristocracy?" murmured Poirot.

George smiled apologetically.

"I think that I might say that I have, sir," he replied.

"I suppose that it is your opinion, Georges, that criminals are invariably drawn from the lower orders."

"Not always, sir. There was great trouble with one of the Duke of Devize's younger sons. He left Eton under a cloud, and after that he caused great anxiety on several occasions. The police would not accept the view that it was kleptomania. A very clever young gentleman, sir, but vicious through and through, if you take my meaning. His Grace shipped him to Australia, and I hear he was convicted out there under another name. Very odd, sir, but there it is. The young gentleman, I need hardly say, was not in want financially."

Poirot nodded his head slowly.

"Love of excitement," he murmured, "and a little kink in the brain somewhere. I wonder now"


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/251

 He drew out the telegram from his pocket and read it again.

"Then there was Lady Mary Fox's daughter," continued the valet in a mood of reminiscence. "Swindled tradespeople something shocking, she did. Very worrying to the best families, if I may say so, and there are many other queer cases I could mention."

"You have a wide experience, Georges," murmured Poirot. "I often wonder having lived so exclusively with titled families that you demean yourself by coming as a valet to me. I put it down to love of excitement on your part."

"Not exactly, sir," said George. "I happened to see in Society Snippets that you had been received at Buckingham Palace. That was just when I was looking for a new situation. His Majesty, so it said, had been most gracious and friendly and thought very highly of your abilities."

"Ah," said Poirot, "one always likes to know the reason for things."

He remained in thought for a few moments and then said:

"You rang up Mademoiselle Papopolous?"

"Yes, sir; she and her father will be pleased to dine with you to-night."

"Ah," said Poirot thoughtfully. He drank off his chocolate, set the cup and saucer neatly in the middle of the tray, and spoke gently, more to himself than to the valet.

"The squirrel, my good Georges, collects nuts. He stores them up in the autumn so that they may be of


text:
Page:The Mystery of the Blue Train.pdf/252

 advantage to him later. To make a success of humanity, Georges, we must profit by the lessons of those below us in the animal kingdom. I have always done so. I have been the cat, watching at the mouse hole. I have been the good dog following up the scent, and not taking my nose from the trail. And also, my good Georges, I have been the squirrel. I have stored away the little fact here, the little fact there. I go now to my store and I take out one particular nut, a nut that I stored away—let me see, seventeen years ago. You follow me, Georges?"

"I should hardly have thought, sir," said George, "that nuts would have kept so long as that, though I know one can do wonders with preserving bottles."

Poirot looked at him and smiled.


text:
Page:Harnessing the Waihopai.pdf/8

Page Six form of a loan proposal. After the scheme had been formally approved by the Public Works Department, the Board placed the issue before the ratepayers in a series of memorable mectings held in various parts of the district between October 1 and October 10, 1924. Considerable opposition to the proposal to borrow such a large sum as £300,000 was in evidence, but the opposition turned out to be but a noisy minority, for the loan proposal was carried, on October 11, 1924, by a majority of 1334 votes to 300. There had also been opposition to the Waihopai scheme in the Awatere district, where the Clarence scheme Was advoeated ; but a large part of this opposition vanished in the face of the explanation that the district would be unable to use the large amount of power available at the Clarence, and that, therefore, the development of this source of energy would be economically unsound.

Once the loan was carried, all difference of local opinion vanished, and the Board has since enjoyed the loyal co-operation of the whole province in carrying out the work.

At a meeting held on November 19, 1924, the Board appointed Messrs. Vickerman & Lancaster as engineers to prepare detailed plans for the development of the Waihopai scheme, and negotiations for the raising of the necessary £300,000 loan were also commenced. Finally a loan of the required amount was secured from the A.M.P. Society at 5¾ per cent. interest, plus 1 per cent, sinking fund, for a period of 36½ years. It was arranged that £100,000 should be paid to the Board immediately on completion of the necessary securities, and £10,000 per month thereafter until the whole of the £300,000 had been received, The first instalment of the money (£100,000) came to hand on June 4, 1925, and the Board let its first contract on June 29, 1925, work being actually commenced in the following month.

The original members of the Board retained office until April, 1925, when Mr. Girling retired, his place being taken by Mr. E.S. Parker. In May, 1926, Messrs. Weld and Murray, the Awatere representatives, retired, Messrs. J. Mervilield and F. Lissaman being elected in their stead. The present membership of the Board is therefore as follows:—

indent=1|

Blenheim Borough : Messrs. William Carr and E. S. Parker.

Marlborough County : Messrs. R. F. Goulter, F. W. C. Nees, W. G Rudd, and H. J. Stace.

Awatere County: Messrs. F. Lissaman and J. Merrifield.

Mr. Goulter has been Chairman since the Board's inception.

During the early part of the construction work, Mr. H. Langdon, of Messrs. Vickerman & Lancaster's staff, acted as resident engineer in Blenheim, but, after a few months, he was placed in charge of the construction work at Benopai, and Mr. Geo. F. MacLean was appointed resident engineer in Blenheim. He was recently, in view of the approaching completion of the scheme, appointed engineer to the Board, Mr. Langdon being appointed station engineer in charge of the headworks. Mr. T. H. Ranger has been appointed assistant to Mr. MacLean, and Mr. K. R. Martin as assistant to Mr. Langdon, Messrs. L. F. Row and H. H. Crabb are associated with the engineers as surveyors and draughtsmen.

Mr. W. K. Inder was appointed in May, 1926, as foreman in eharge of pole and line erection, while Mr. H. M. Clark has acted as clerk of works at the headworks since May, 1926. Mr. E. Evans is foreman in charge of the concrete pole-making works at Renwick, and Mr. E. Eves is in charge of the Seddon pole works. Mr. W R. Richardson has undertaken the duties of inspector of wiring installations.

As mentioned above, all suitable sources of power in the district were investigated and carefully considered before d decision was reached by the Board to adopt the Waihopai, and even then this decision was not unanimous, on account of the comparatively limited amount of power available there as compared with the Clarence. However, a review of the financial side of the two proposals, and of the power likely to be required for the first ten years of the Board's existence, showed that the power capable of generation would be sufficient and that, on account of the relative cheapness of the Waihopai development, especially for small blocks of power, the reduced overheads with that scheme when compared with those involved by the Clarence would effect an annual saving sufficient in ten years to wipe off the whole cost of the headworks at Waihopai. As the installation there would always, even though the Clarence might ultimately be required, remain a serviceable and valuable power supply uit, this decided the ease, and a decision was made to go forward. The amount of power capable of being generated at Waihopai is, with 50 per cent. load factor and minimum river flow (110 cusecs), some 1910 h.p., thus admitting of installing a third 500 k.w. unit, and of, under average river flow, eventually developing in the neighborhood of 3000 hp. there.

The site chosen on the Waihopai was the gorge at Benopai, some 25 miles out of Blenheim. This spot had for many years been regarded as being favorable for a hydro-electric development for the province, owing to the comparative narrowness and height of the gorge and the apparently good rock foundations there available. After considering numerous alternatives, it was finally decided to build an arched concrete dam in the narrowest part of the gorge to raise and impound the water and to carry it thence by tunnel and pipe to the machinery to be erected in the power housr, at a site some 19 chains downstream, the head thus rendered available after coustruction of the dam being 100 feet.

The first works to be undertaken were construction of a diversion tunnel, quarters for staff employers, branch road, and bridge across the Waihopai to give aceoess to the power house site. The diversion tunnel, 9 feet x 7 feet and 300 feet loug, was contracted for and completed by Mr. C. Anderson, of Blenheim, but not before meeting with great difficultics on account of very frequent floods in the river. Tho construction of a number of workers' huts was undertaken by Messrs Cresswell and White, and of a staff cottage by Messrs Ward, Tylor, & Co. Ltd, who also built the bridge across the Waihopai, using therein for the main beams stringy bark gum trees grown near by. A second staff cottage was later built by Mr. D. M. Wemyss. The access road was contracted for by Mr. D. Horgan, who,

title: Page:Harnessing the Waihopai.pdf/8


text: Index:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu

title: Index:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu


text:
Index:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/styles.css

.chapter { text-align: center; text-transform: uppercase; font-size: 120%; margin-bottom: 1.5em; }

.half { text-align: center; text-transform: uppercase; font-size: 120%; }

.title-header { text-align: center; font-size: 144%; margin-bottom: 1.5em; text-transform: uppercase; }

.wst-block-center { max-width: 25em; }

.wst-fine-block { margin-bottom: 2em; margin-top: 2em; }

.wst-freedimg-caption { font-size: 92%; }


text: Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/1

title: Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/1


text: Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/2

title: Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/2


text: Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/3

title: Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/3


text: Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/4

title: Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/4


text: Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/5

title: Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/5


text: Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/6

title: Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/6


text: Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/7

title: Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/7


text: Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/8

title: Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/8


text: Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/9

title: Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/9


text: Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/10


text:
Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/11

The incidents, the stores, the organizations and the individuals described in this book are real, not fictitious. At the time that this book goes to press, each one of the societies mentioned is actively engaged in the task of reducing the cost of living for its members. The National Housewives' League has its headquarters at 25 West Forty-fifth Street, New York City. Mrs. Julian Heath, a real flesh and blood woman, is president of the organization. The Housewives' Cooperative League is still working actively toward cooperative buying and no doubt for several years to come can be reached through its efficient secretary, Miss Edna O. Crofton, Norwood, Ohio, a suburb of Cincinnati, from which city the organization directs its work.

The Cooperative Store at Montclair is a flourishing reality. The Experimental Farm at Medford, Long Island, is still encouraging local farmers to sell direct to the housewives of Greater New York and vicinity by parcel post and express. Even Mrs. Larry and her friend, Claire Pierce, exist under other names, and they participated in the adventures herein described.


text:
Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/12

 This explanation is given because when the chapters appeared originally in the Woman's Home Companion, the author received many letters containing queries of this nature: "Is there such an organization as the National Housewives' League, the Housewives' Cooperative League, a Cooperative Store in Montclair?" "Is there such a farm as you describe under the title of the Experimental Farm at Medford? If so, I want to get in touch with its superintendent."

The material in this book, which is of profound interest to all home-makers present or prospective, is presented in fiction form because the writer, being a housekeeper, realizes that household routine is so much a business of facts and figures that studies in thrift are more acceptable to busy women when brightened by the little touch of romance that goes so far in leavening the day's work of the home-maker.


text: Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/13


text: Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/14


text:
Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/15

RS. LARRY folded her veil with nice exactitude and speared it with two invisible hairpins. Then she bent her hat one-fourth of an inch on the right side, fluffed up her hair on the left and tucked her gloves under her purse. These pre-luncheon rites completed, she reached for the program of music. But, glancing casually at Claire Pierce on the other side of the table, she dropped the square of cardboard, with its Pierrot silhouettes, and studied the girl curiously.

When one has picked up a remnant of chiffon taffeta in a most desirable shade, at two-thirds the price asked at the regular counter, and has ordered a tidy luncheon of chicken


text:
Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/16

 salad sandwiches and chocolate with whipped cream, in the popular restaurant of Kimbell's very popular department store, one has cause to look cheerful. And Claire's expression was anything but cheerful. She had removed neither veil nor gloves, but, with her hands folded in her lap, she sat staring through the window which overlooked one of New York's busiest corners.

"My dear, what has happened?"

Claire transferred her gaze from the roof-tops to the pattern in the tablecloth which she outlined mechanically with a finger-tip.

"I—I've—broken with Jimmy, and—and—he went back to Kansas City last night."

"Oh, you poor lamb! Whatever went wrong between you two? Why, you were just made for each other."

"That's what Jimmy said," murmured the girl in a choking voice.

The great restaurant, with its chattering shoppers, faded away. They two seemed quite alone. Mrs. Larry reached out a warm impulsive hand and gripped Claire's fingers, cold even through her heavy gloves.


text:
Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/17

 "Why didn't you tell me before?"

"Telling doesn't help."

"Oh, yes, it does, my dear. Do you suppose that if I had known, I would have dragged you from one sale to another, boring you with such unimportant details as trimmings and findings? No, indeedy! We'd have gone home to my apartment and talked about Jimmy, and cuddled the baby."

Claire covered her eyes quickly with a shaking hand.

"Oh, I couldn't have stood that. This has been much better. It's helped me to forget for a little while."

Mrs. Larry shook her head.

"Oh, no, it hasn't. You're not the kind to forget. You're too sweet and womanly and loyal, and you're going to tell me what happened,—why you sent Jimmy away."

"Because I love him too well to marry him."

Mrs. Larry's pretty oval face clouded. She was essentially a normal, single-minded woman. To her way of thinking, if you loved a man, you married him and made him happy. You did not send him off to another city to live


text:
Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/18

 among strangers, quite probably in some fussy, musty boarding-house. Subtleties of this sort positively annoyed her. They seemed so unnecessary, so futile. However, she cloaked her real feelings and threw an extra sympathetic note into her next speech.

"Well, tell me the worst! I'm bromidic, I know, but perhaps I can help. Marriage does help one to understand the male creature!"

Nobody could withstand Mrs. Larry in this mood. Mrs. Larry was not her real name. She was Mrs. Lawrence Hall, born Gregory, christened Elizabeth Ellen, but from the day of her marriage she had been nick-named "Mrs. Larry" by all those fortunate enough to count themselves as friends or acquaintances. And she loved the name. She said it made her feel so completely married to Larry. For be it known that Mr. Larry was the planet round which Mrs. Larry, Larry Junior, Baby Lisbeth, and even Lena, the maid of all work in the house of Hall, revolved as subsidiary stars. Unhappy wives, bewildered husbands, uncertain bachelors and all too certain young women confided their love-affairs to Mrs. Larry and left


text:
Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/19

 her presence cheered, if not actually helped in the solution of their particular problems.

So she was quite sure that Claire would open her heart when the proper moment arrived. It came when the white-uniformed waitress, having served the sandwiches and the chocolate, hurried away to collect payment on a luncheon check. The words were not gracious, but the tone in which they were uttered would have moved a heart of stone. They fairly set Mrs. Larry's quivering.

"Well, if you must know, it was this—and this—and this" wailed Claire, as she poked the tip of her spoon into the top of her sandwich, the whipped cream on her chocolate and the powdered sugar heaped in the silver bowl.

"The high cost of living—money, dirty, sordid, hideously essential money. We can't live on Jimmy's income, and he's too proud to let father give me even my ridiculous little allowance after we are married. He says he'll support his own wife and his own house, or he doesn't want either. And, do you know, he doesn't draw any more money out of the firm each month than my father pays for the up-


text:
Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/20

 keep of our limousine? Can you picture me trying to stretch forty dollars a week to provide everything—everything—for Jimmy and me?"

"You could learn, dear," suggested Mrs. Larry, with a secret thrill at the thought of her own housewifely abilities.

"That's what Jimmy said, but when we figured it all out, from house rent to cravats for Jimmy, crediting me incidentally with being the experienced housewife I am not, there wasn't five cents left for insurance, the savings fund or the simplest recreation, let alone luxuries. In his profession, Jimmy'd just have to keep up appearances on the outside, if we had to live on oatmeal gruel and dried apples in the privacy of our apartment. I tried to persuade Jimmy to let father loan him a few thousand, just for the good of his career. He accused me of trying to weaken his character. He said I could learn how to manage, if I really loved him. And I told him if he waited until I knew how to manage a house on forty dollars a week, he'd forget how to love me."

Claire made a fine pretense of choking over


text:
Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/21

 her hot chocolate. Anything was better than allowing even so sympathetic a person as Mrs. Larry to see that she was shedding tears over a certain party now speeding in the direction of Kansas City. Mrs. Larry drew her smooth brows together in a frown.

"But, Claire, dear, there are women who keep nice little homes on twenty dollars a week."

"Their husbands are not ambitious and coming lawyers. No, dear woman, I recognize my own limitations, and I love Jimmy too well to interfere with his future—to—to wreck his dear life. But it does seem as if mother might have realized that one of us girls might fall in love with some one besides a rich man. She might have taught me something about the value of money and the management of a house."

Mrs. Larry, reaching for her purse, pictured the easy-going, money-spending life of the Pierce household, with its inherited and well invested money and its irresponsible wife and mother. But she said in her cheeriest voice:

"Well, my dear Claire, there is always a way out of such a situation, when there's nothing more serious at stake than the high cost of liv-


text:
Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/22

 ing. And nothing in the world would shake the loyalty of a man like Jimmy Graves. You see—in his very next letter"

"But there won't be any next letter" Claire extended a ringless hand.

Mrs. Larry gasped.

"Claire Pierce, you didn't!"

"Yes, and what's more—he—he took it. Of course, I expected him to insist upon my keeping it."

Mrs. Larry was so amazed, so shocked that she almost forgot to leave a tip on the tray for the waitress. She even rose without adjusting her veil.

"Let's go down to the concert hall," she murmured. "They usually have an organ recital in the afternoon. I can always think better to music."

They threaded their way between the tables and under the broad archway to the foyer connecting the elevators and the smaller dining-room used for afternoon tea. Here they were approached by a well-mannered salesgirl, carrying small announcements, which she offered with an ingratiating smile.


text:
Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/23

 "Wouldn't you like to stop for the lecture this afternoon? It will begin in ten minutes."

Claire and Mrs. Larry accepted the printed announcements mechanically, their gaze fixed on the tea room, which was already half full. On the platform, bustling employees of the store were arranging what looked like an exhibit, bolts of cloth and silk, ready-made garments, shoes, gloves, linens, perfumes. The saleswoman followed their curious glance.

"Those are the heads of departments and the buyers. They are going to answer questions after the lecture."

"What's the subject of the lecture?" inquired Mrs. Larry.

The salesgirl actually chuckled and pointed to the card in Mrs. Larry's hand—

What Do You Do With Father's Money?

Other women had gathered round, sensing the unusual.

"It is a funny title, isn't it?" exclaimed the girl, quite thrilled by her small but interested audience. "A lady from one of the magazines is holding a conference here all this week for housekeepers and mothers."


text:
Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/24

 "Yes," interrupted Mrs. Larry, "but what does she mean by such a title, 'What Do You Do With Father's Money?

"Oh," answered the girl brightly, "she's going to tell you, first, how women who don't know how to shop, waste the money their men folks earn; and then the different buyers are going to tell you how to know the difference between good goods and bad."

An elevator discharged fifteen or eighteen women, who, with note-books in hand, hurried toward the lecture room. Some of them nodded to the salesgirl as they passed.

"Lots of the ladies have been here every afternoon, but I think this is going to be the biggest meeting of all. That title's made a hit: 'What Do You Do With Father's Money?

Mrs. Larry gripped Claire's arm feverishly and fairly dragged her toward the lecture room.

"My dear, I told you there'd be a way out. Talk about providence,—to think of our stumbling, first thing, on a lecture about getting your money's worth. You ought to take this as an omen!"

They found seats near the platform and


text:
Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/25

 watched with interest the operations of the buyers arranging their exhibits and the movements of the competent-looking woman with a short maternal figure, snapping bright eyes and a friendly way of addressing the women in the audience who plainly regarded her as their leader. Claire, still benumbed by the departure of Jimmy Graves, sat gazing in preoccupied fashion at figures which were just so many manikins. Gregarious Mrs. Larry turned to the woman on her left.

"Have you been to the other meetings?"

"Indeed, yes, and you wouldn't believe how much I have learned."

"About what?" asked Mrs. Larry.

"Oh, about taking care of yourself before the baby comes, feeding babies, diet for older children, discipline, and lots of things that puzzle young mothers like me. It's funny, isn't it, how we girls marry without knowing a single thing about handling children, when they are the biggest thing in our lives after marriage."

"Except our husbands," was Mrs. Larry's mental reservation. "Yes," she said aloud. "I had lots of trouble with my first baby. I man-


text:
Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/26

 aged better with the second. But who bears the expenses of this conference? We didn't pay any admission!"

"Oh, it's done by the Kimbells. My husband says it's a very clever way to bring women into the store. And you just want to buy everything the doctors and the lecturers tell you about."

The brisk-looking leader had mounted the platform. An expectant hush fell upon the audience.

"Yesterday afternoon, when I announced the subject of to-day's lecture, 'What Do You Do With Father's Money?' a good many of you laughed. Some of you shook your heads, because you know how hard it is to make father's money go around. And one reason why it is so hard to stretch the family income is this: You don't know what you are getting for the money you spend,—how much nourishment it contains, if it is for food; how long it will wear, if it is clothing. You take a chance. You guess. But you don't know. And because you don't know, quite a little of father's money goes to waste.

"Now, this isn't your fault. It is because


text:
Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/27

 economic and domestic conditions have changed or progressed, but the training of women has not changed nor progressed in the same way. We are still trying to economize by concocting dishes out of left-overs in the refrigerator, and turning and dyeing clothes, when it is far more important that we should know the true value of food and fabrics when we buy them.

"A few generations back, your ancestors and mine, both husbands and wives, raised together in the field, the pasture and the garden, most of the foodstuffs required for the family. And in the great kitchen were woven most of the fabrics required for clothing the family. What could not be raised on the land or made in the home was traded for at the country store. Quite generally, these negotiations were conducted by the men of the family. The women knew how much sugar would be brought home for each dozen of eggs, how many pounds of butter they must send to the store for a pair of shoes.

"Then farms were cut up into towns, towns were swallowed by cities and the family loom disappeared before the advancing factory. The daughter of the woman who had dried apples,


text:
Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/28

 cherries and corn on the tin roof of her lean-to kitchen served at her table the product of canneries. And everybody whose ancestors had traded butter and eggs and cheese and smoke-house ham for drygoods had money to spend instead. Some of them had a great deal of money—more than was good for them. The country passed through a period of prosperity and suddenly acquired wealth, but nobody thought to teach this new generation of women the value of money or how to spend it to best advantage. No one even realized that while extravagant habits were gripping American women, nobody warned them concerning the lean days that would come with financial panic, and nobody observed the quiet but steady increase in the cost of living.

"Then the deluge! Greedy corporations cornered food supplies. The high cost of living became a bitter reality. And behold, press and public bewailing the extravagance of the American woman and comparing her unfavorably with her housewifely sisters across the sea!

"This is unjust. Give the American woman lessons in thrift along the modern lines of in-


text:
Page:Adventures in Thrift (1916).djvu/29

 come and expenditure, and she will work out her splendid salvation. Throw light on food values, on fabrics and their adulteration. Teach the woman how to buy as well as how to utilize what she buys, and she will be able to solve, in her own way, the much discussed problem of the high cost of living. She will know what to do with father's money.

"It is not possible in one short afternoon to discuss food values and modern methods of marketing, but when you have heard what these ladies and gentlemen have to say," indicating the buyers in charge of their respective exhibits, "you will realize what you can save by knowing more about what you buy. I take pleasure in introducing Mr. Jones, the linen buyer."

Mr. Jones, an elderly man, took his place beside a table piled high with towels, table and bed linen.

"As each one of us is limited to a few minutes," he explained, while the more experienced women in the audience opened their note-books, "I will take up just one point in the buying of linens, the difference between real linen and