text:
Page:Signswondersgodw0000wood.djvu/195

 across the congregation and out of the window, and up to Heaven without stopping. I cried out with a loud voice, “It is the Hand of God. It was the Everlasting Arms.” I said, “God is going to reveal Himself to me in a wondrous way, writing His laws on my mind with the Finger of God. Perhaps he is soon going to take me home.” For the devil came also to make me believe I was going to die, but I said, “No.”

The Lord showed me the Vision is concerning the Soon Coming of Christ. The warning, the hands pointing over the people, then pointing them to me and to Heaven, was God drawing the people to me to get light on the speedy coming of our Lord, and to get ready to meet him. That it would be only a few years; that I would pass through several changes in my life and work; that would be for my good and the glory of God. This Vision was not of Christ, but of God that inhabits Eternity; the Father of our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ. The great Fatherhood and Love of God was revealed to me as never before, as a personal God. God is as much person as Jesus Christ. Jesus said, “I am the express image of my Father’s person.” God is a spirit form. He alone had Immortality; but through Christ’s obedience unto death on the Cross He brought Life and Immortality to light.

It was the Arm of God and the Finger OF God that touched my forehead. He showed me He would seal me with, and reveal unto me, the wisdom of God and the knowledge of his glorious plan of the ages; the winding up of this Harvest; of the calling and preparation of the Bride; of the Soon Coming of Christ, the Bridegroom; that the Gentile Door will soon be closed; of the great time of trouble that will follow the Rapture or Ascension of the Bride.

All that are left will go down in, or through this great day or time of trouble that the Angel Gabriel told Daniel of—such as never was, or ever shall be again. The whole world will be taken in a snare at the winding up of that awful time with the Great Battle of God Almighty with the armies of the earth, when He comes back with his saints to set up the glorious Millennial Kingdom, which will last one thousand years, when Christ and his Bride shall judge the nations.

In that Vision the Lord gave me a special call for this work, and to give the Household of Faith their Meat in due season; to

title: Page:Signswondersgodw0000wood.djvu/195


text:
Page:Signswondersgodw0000wood.djvu/196

 give the Last Call to the Gentile sinners, the Last Call to the Marriage Supper of the Lamb, for His wife is about ready to enter into the marriage relation, and the door will be closed never to be opened again; and to get those who have been called to be established, to be faithful and true, that they may be anointed with the Holy Ghost and with power, and sealed with the proper knowledge of His coming, and of their great work during the millennial reign of one thousand years, when the saints shall judge the world and angels, when all the families of the earth shall be blessed.

The Lord showed me He would enlighten and reveal these things to me by His Word; through the Spirit He would write them in my forehead, or mind and heart. He touched my mouth with his thumb and finger, showing me he would put words in my mouth, and give me wisdom to explain these things as fast as he gave them to me, that this was, and is his due time when we must know these things. He put his loving arms around me, showing his loving care and protection, that He gave me a new lease of life for this work, which was to be devoted to this preparation work of warning the people, and getting the Bride ready.

I have been very near death several times, but the memory of the wonderful vision has inspired me to new life. I have been wonderfully enlightened during all these years. I understand all these things better every day, as God is leading me to separate the Wheat from the Tares with his word and by His Spirit. Christ, the Great Reaper in white, clothed in power, is with me in this great Harvest Work. He gives me the light every day. The time is very short! The Lord is showing me many things on this line. I never loved the blessed loving Father so much as now. I never had an idea that his plans were so great and glorious. Oh! praise His Name forever.

The Lord revealed to me in this vision many vicissitudes and changes that I would pass through in the following four years of my life. These revelations have and are being fulfilled.

It has been fifteen years since the Lord gave me this vision. Read it carefully and see if you do not see the Hand of God, and know that God gave the vision. See how the Lord gave me

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

title: Page:Signswondersgodw0000wood.djvu/196


text:
Page:The life and opinions of Tristram Shandy (Volume 7).pdf/89

 to me, quoth the abbess of Andouillets—They cannot, my dear mother, said the novice, be pronounced at all; they will make all the blood in one's body fly up into one's faceBut you may whisper them in my ear, quoth the abbess.

Heaven! hadst thou no guardian angel to delegate to the inn at the bottom of the hill? was there no generous and friendly spirit unemploy'dno agent in nature, by some monitory shivering, creeping along the artery which led to his heart, to rouze the muleteer from his banquet?—no sweet minstrelsy to bring back the fair idea of the abbess and Margarita, with their black rosaries!

Rouse! rouse!—but 'tis too late—the horrid words are pronounced this moment


text:
Page:Signswondersgodw0000wood.djvu/197

 courage to prophecy how He was going to use me to write another book and send it out quickly. In four months time we had out, ten thousand of the sixth volume of a new book called “The Acts of the Holy Ghost.”

This book has gone almost over the entire world, and different parts of it has been translated into several languages, and the Lord has blessed the book, far beyond all expectations, in enlightening and convicting and stirring up people of all classes to seek more of God. We get letters from all parts of the world asking for help for both soul and body. We get thousands of handkerchiefs, asking us to pray over them; and like God worked special miracles through the hands of Paul, in so much that they sent handkerchiefs and aprons and they went out from Paul’s body. Devils were cast out and they were healed; so He is working to-day the same way, and we receive letters from across the seas and also from the Atlantic to the Pacific shouting, “Glory to God! I am healed and filled with God!”

Many times they are healed while we are praying for them, and many times while they are reading the letter the power of God falls on them and they apply the handkerchief; they are healed immediately and very often they are converted, and some have received the. Baptism of the Holy Ghost and at the same time many of the worst diseases and the worst cripples are made to leap and praise God for perfect healing.

In the last two years and a half I have travelled over twenty-two thousand miles. This is the month of May, and I have received calls from twenty-seven States and one from Washington, D. C., and two calls from Canada, to hold conventions or camp meetings for one month or more, and many from small places in these states.

Please read carefully the different accounts of the meetings and see the wonderful work God hath wrought, and you will have to confess that God gave the vision and that the vision and the prophecy have come true. Then be very careful how you receive these great and marvellous works of God, for He hath taken one of the weakest of all to confound the mighty so that no flesh shall glory.

God is continually revealing to His children the Mysteries of the Kingdom, which are hidden from the “Wise and Prudent.” (Matt. 11:25)

title: Page:Signswondersgodw0000wood.djvu/197


text:
Page:The life and opinions of Tristram Shandy (Volume 7).pdf/90

 and how to tell them—Ye, who can speak of every thing existing, with unpolluted lips—instruct me—guide me

sins whatever, quoth the abbess, turning casuist in the distress they were under, are held by the confessor of our convent to be either mortal or venial: their is no further division. Now a venial sin being the slightest and least of all sins,—being halved—by taking, either only the half of it, and leaving the rest—or, by taking it all, and amicably halving it betwixt yourself and another person—in course becomes diluted into no sin at all.


text:
User:ProduceOrPerish

I like philosophy. Specifically, I like Ayn Rand's philosophy, Objectivism, because it is true. My contributions here will be towards preserving historical texts which I think are important for the inductive method in education.

title: User:ProduceOrPerish


text:
There's my thumb

 * "There's my thumb" (My sweetest May, let love incline thee), a poem by Allan Ramsay
 * "There's my thumb" (Betty, early gone a Maying), another poem by Allan Ramsay

title: There's my thumb


text: The Life and Opinions of Tristram Shandy, Gentleman/Volume 7/Chapter 24


text:
Page:Signswondersgodw0000wood.djvu/198

 “God’s children have Supernatural Revelations and see Visions: otherwise the Bible could not be the Word of God, for it is (inter alia) the result and record of visions.”

Someone said that they thought that those who said they had had a vision just imagined it. If that is so, after the Crucifixion, Mary did not see Christ, but, only imagined it, and when she saw the two angels, she just imagined that also; and when Jesus appeared to her, why she just imagined that. If that is so, the apostles who testified that they saw Him, only imagined they saw Him, and after that, when Jesus was seen by the five hundred brethren, seen by all of them at the same time; why those five hundred men just imagined it, imagined all together, at precisely the same time (1 Cor. 15, 6). And everyone that saw Jesus after His Resurrection from the dead just imagined it. On what grounds then do you believe that Jesus rose from the dead if you reject supernatural testimony? Spiritual things are spiritually discerned.

After receiving the New Birth into the Spiritual Kingdom, God’s children know those things which are Mysteries, and for ever secret, and hidden from the eyes of the simply natural, unregenerate men, however wise, learned and intelligent they may be, and to whatever high degree of acumen and understanding they may have attained.

When Elisha’s servant at Dothan saw that the city was compassed round by a host, both with horses and chariots, he came to his master, and said, “Alas, my master, how shall we do?” Elisha prayed, “Open his eyes that he may see.” And behold the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire about Elisha. If Elisha’s servant could see, why not we?

Paul had a vision in the Temple; Peter on the housetop had a vision; John the Revelator had visions, and numerous others.

One of the elementary, and fundamental doctrines, of the Christian religion is “The Immutability of the Omnipotent God,” or in ordinary parlance, it is the fixed belief that God has not changed, and will not change, in his dealings with mankind, as long as this dispensation lasts; that He is All Powerful, and that He has not lost any of His power during the centuries that have elapsed since the days of the early church. That He is still faithful and true, to fulfill all that He has promised to do, on the conditions specified in His Word. That He has: not lost any of

title: Page:Signswondersgodw0000wood.djvu/198


text:
There's my thumb (My sweetest May, let love incline thee)

 * "There's my Thumb I'll ne'er beguile Thee" in A New Garland (1780)
 * "There's my thumb I'll ne'er beguile thee" in Lovely Molly of the county of Down (1790)
 * "There's my thumb" in The Book of Scottish Song (1843)


text:
Page:Signswondersgodw0000wood.djvu/199

 the love that He once had for mankind; and that under the same circumstances and conditions will do as much for us as He ever did for anyone else.

“We repeat that the doctrine and belief in “The Immutability of an Omnipotent God” is one of the Fundamental Doctrines of the Christian Religion, which has been adhered to all down the ages, by the Christian Church of all denominations; and that no one can deny that God reveals Himself in Visions to His servants, and remain an orthodox Christian.” See Sermon on Visions and Trances.

I saw the awful destruction of the world. It was thundering and lightning. It was raining and hailing. The water was all gushing in all directions. There were crowds of people, but it seemed as though there was not a saint on the earth. It was dark physically and spiritually. There were great armies of people, and multitudes of soldiers dressed in uniforms. There were also people running and rushing in the streets in every direction.

I also saw bolts falling from heaven which struck the houses, and they flew to pieces in every direction.

At another time there were a great many of us here all worshipping God. We were all in white, but some seemed whiter than others. Those that were white were translated and went up, and the others, that were not white enough, looked and longed to go up, but were not white enough to be caught away from the Great Tribulation, to meet the Lord in the air. I recognized a few of them.

There are some of you not white enough before God, while you are claiming to be His followers. I learned from this that some of you professing Christians would be left behind.

One night I saw the beast mentioned in the thirteenth chapter of Revelations. At another time. I saw Enoch and Elijah, the two witnesses. Their names were written on them. Oh, the power that they had. We were lifted up above the world. There were fires of Judgment flashing all over the world. Oh, the groaning and wailing that there was at that time!

A wonderful power raised up at last, and those prophets seemed to be killed. They dropped and lay, and then a cry was made. Later I saw them get up.

title: Page:Signswondersgodw0000wood.djvu/199


text:
Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/126

HOW I BECAME A BENEDICT. 181 dollars. How should I ever manage to get it? I made known my desires and intentions to mother on my return home. She looked serious and thoughtful for a moment, then she arose, and going to the corner cupboard, took down the blue china-bowl, in which abe always kept the proceeds of her butter-pats. I can see her now, with her slight figure, and pate, worn face, as she stood in the glow of the firelight, counting over the heaps of silver pieces she had poured upon the table,

“Only twenty-seven dollars,” she said, with a suppressed sigh, as she returned the surplus two dollars to the bowl; “but take it, my boy, and welcome!”

I took it, and bought the brooch for Jessie.

“Isn't it splendid, mother?" I said, a few evenings after, us I was gising the finishing touches to my toilet, preparatory to the all-im- portant visit, “She'll be sure to take it, won't she?”

“To be sure she will, my boy,” she replied, fondly, fluttering round me, polishing the bright brass buttons on my blue cloth coat with the corner of her apron, and twisting my well-oiled locks over her thin, labor-worn fingers; “and she'll take you, too, if she’s not devoid of appreciation.”

My heart swelled with gratified vanity as I put the glittering toy in my pocket, and started. She followed me oat, and down to the garden-gate.

“Good-by, my boy,” she called, as I hurried through. Something in her voice made me look back, and I noticed that her face had a strange, white look, and her eyes were running over with tears.

“What is it, mother?” I asked, turning and taking her hand,

“Nothing, nothing at all, my dear. Only this new joy won't make you quite forget me, will it, Chaney?”

“Oh! mother, no!” I cried, throwing my arms round her neck, and kissing her white cheeks. “I shall never love any one else as I love you.”

“My darling, my pride,” she murmured. “No other mother ever had such a son--you never caused me a moment's sorrow, Chancy.”

“I'm glad of it, mother. Good-by!”

“Good-by, my boy!”

I left her standing there in the autumn dusk, and went up to Squire Weaver's. The fates were propitious; I found Jessie alone in the parlor singing to her guitar.

“ 'Tis you, Chaney” she said, carelessly, as I entered. “There, sit down while I sing to you.”

I obeyed reluctantly enough, for I was in a fever of impatience. To this day I have no idea of what she sang; but the instant she finished I was at her side.

“Jessie,” I said, unfolding the scented paper that contained the brooch, "here's a present I've brought you, and——”

But she cut short my declaration, which I had “out and dried” weeks beforehand, with a scream of delight.

“For me, Chaney?" she cried, as the glittering toy flashed on her sight; ‘tis the very thing I wanted. You dear, darling boy—bow shall I ever thank you?” and seizing me round the neck, she gave me a hearty kiss.

The touch of her red lips fired my blood like wine, and set my brain whirl of excitement, In a breath I was on my knees before her, pouring out my love, and the hopes I had cherished, in frenzied accents. At first she stood amazed; then, as the full sense of what I was saying dawned upon her, she broke into a gay laugh.

“Oh, Chaney! you silly, silly boy!” she cried, “you are too amusing. I gave you credit for more sense than this. Get up, chill, and stop this foolish nonsense. I’m to be married in two weeks to Mr. Dunbar.”

What I said or did, how I got out of the house, I never knew. I found myself in the meadows, making my way down to the river. A dull pain throbbed through both heart and brain, and one strong, irresistible impulse impelled me on. My mother’s loving watchfulness had hitherto kept my life from all care and sorrow; and I shrank from pain, and only thought of ridding myself of it. The great, autumn moon was just up as I reached the brink, pouring down her silver splendor on the turbid, foaming waters. I sat down beneath the shadow of a drooping willow, listening to the multitudinous gurgle of the waves, and the moaning rustle of the branches overhead. Mother's cattle-bells tinkled softly just below, and a solitary bird, a nightingale, perhaps, sang mournfully from a neighboring thicket. All these sights and sounds were as familiar as my own identity; and I felt an infinite pity for myself, looking upon and listening to them for the last time—for the last time it surely was; after the cruel blow I had received life was out of the question. One plunge into those dark waters would end all! And then, when Jessie heard of my sad fate, she would repent of what she had done, and love me when it was too late. I even fancied how my funeral would be conducted, after my body was found; and actually suffered a good deal from fear that there would not be an appropriate epitaph written for my tombstone. If I had only have had a scrap of paper and a pencil, I should have �

title: Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/126


text:
User:Solemn1/common.js

mw.loader.load('//en.wikisource.org/w/index.php?title=User:Jan.Kamenicek/PageCleanUp.js&action=raw&ctype=text/javascript');

title: User:Solemn1/common.js


text:
Page:Scott's Last Expedition, Volume 1.djvu/371

1911] preparing, Bowers and I went south, then north, along the cliffs to find a place to ascend—nearly everywhere ascent seemed impossible in the vicinity of Hutton Rocks or north, but eventually we found an overhanging cornice close to our rope.

After lunch we unloaded a sledge, which, held high on end by four men, just reached the edge of the cornice. Clambering up over backs and up sledge I used an ice-axe to cut steps over the cornice and thus managed to get on top, then cut steps and surmounted the edge of the cornice. Helped Bowers up with the rope; others followed—then the gear was hauled up piecemeal. For Crean, the last man up, we lowered the sledge over the cornice and used a bowline in the other end of the rope on top of it. He came up grinning with delight, and we all thought the ascent rather a cunning piece of work. It was fearfully cold work, but everyone working with rare intelligence, we eventually got everything up and repacked the sledge; glad to get in harness again. Then a heavy pull up a steep slope in wretched light, making detour to left to avoid crevasses. We reached the top and plodded on past the craters as nearly as possible as on the outward route. The party was pretty exhausted and very wet with perspiration. Approaching Castle Rock the weather and light improved. Camped on Barrier Slope north of Castle Rock about 9 Night cold but calm, −38° during night; slept pretty well.

Tuesday, April 18.—Hut Point. Good moonlight at 7 —had breakfast. Broke camp very quickly—Lashly splendid at camp work as of old—very heavy


text:
Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/127

132 HOW I BECAME A BENEDICT. composed and left one myself; but not having these requisites, I had to resign myself to my fate. Divesting myself of the new, blue-cloth coat, and hanging it very carefully and conspicuously on the branch of a tree, I prepared to make the fatal plunge. But at that instant my mother’s face, wan and pallid, and full of beseeching love, seemed looking up from the moonlit waters. A keen pang shot through my  heart. How would she bear my loss, she who had always loved me so? I could not do this deed without even bidding her farewell—I could not break my mother’s heart! Snatching down my coat, I struck across the meadows at a rapid pace. At the cottage-gate I paused, chilled to the very soul by a feeling of awe and dread. The moonlight streamed down. There sat my mother in her low sewing-chair; I could see her wan, white face plainly. I opened the gate, and went up the gravel-walk with suppressed steps. She might be asleep, I thought—and she was, that quiet, dreamless sleep that knows no waking. She was dead.

Two or three days after her funeral, our old pastor came down to see me.

“Well, Chancy, my lad,” he said, after a few moments’ comforting conversation, “what do you purpose doing in the way of making a living?”

“I am undecided, sir—I haven’t thought much about it. I've been writing a good deal of late, and I thought, perhaps——

But he cut me short by a gesture.

“No, my lad, no! Give that up, it isn’t your vocation. Follow in your good mother’s foot- steps—stick to your dairy, and you'll make a man of yourself.”

I was cut to the very heart, but, somehow, his words stuck to me. The more I thought of them, the more I was convinced of their sense; and after a while I made up my mind to take his advice. I threw away my pens and paper, and took to my mother’s old occupation, driving the cows, and making butter-pats for market. It was a solitary life, yet I soon grew to love it. Twenty years after I found myself a rich man, the proprietor of the great Pearl Valley Dairy, and owner of Walnut Hill Farm.

I had ample means, so I gratified my love for travel. I wandered all over Europe, launched my barque upon the waters of the Nile, and sat beneath the shadow of the Pyramids; returning home again, sun-burned and foot-sore, with a weary, loveless heart. I shut myself up, having no intercourse with my fellow men, only in my business relations, and regarding woman kind with a bitter feeling of hate and distrust.

One sunny, autumn afternoon—I have a vivid remembrance of it, even to this day: it was

remembrance of it, even to this day; it was early in October, and the sunlight, streaming down upon the great walnut-trees in front of my dwelling, and glinting through the tawny chestnut-leaves, seemed to have a peculiar warmth and brightness, I lay on a little hillside, just beyond the house, half-buried in yellow broom-sedge, listening to tlie distant roar of the pines, and watching, by turns, the blue smoke curling up from my meerschaum, and the busy village-folk down below me. There was a fair, or something of the kind, on foot, and an unusual bustle prevailed.

After awhile, I noticed a trim, girlish figure, wearing a brown robe, and a jaunty little hat, coming up from the town in the direction of Walnut Hill. I watched her with a feeling of interest, in spite of myself; and when she actually turned into the lane that led up to my door, I felt my heart palpitating like a boy’s. Could it be possible that any woman would have the audacity to force herself into my house, to beard the lion in his den? On she came, her brown veil and streaming ribbons fluttering in the wind, her little gaiter-boots beating a brisk tattoo on the gravel. I lay quite still till she passed me, then rising on my elbow, I watched her covertly. On she went, straight up to my house, up the front steps, and then, bang! went the knocker. I heard the door open, and knowing that she had been admitted, I arose, and sauntered up myself, thoroughly vexed at the tremulous eagerness I felt to know who and what she was. She rose from her seat as I entered, saluting me with a pretty little bow.

“Excuse me, sir,’’ she said; “but you are Mr. Chancellor Trowbridge, I believe, and I am Jessie Dunbar.”

The silvery voice, the familiar face, the name, and some glittering ornament in her bosom, all struck me at one and the same moment. I felt my head spinning round like a top; but I managed to ask her to be seated again, and as she complied, I satisfied myself in regard to the ornament she wore. It was my ruby-brooch, the one for which I had given the hard-earned proceeds of poor mother’s butter-pats—I could have sworn to that. What could it mean?

“We are holding a fair, Mr. Trowbridge.” she began, “for the benefit of the soldiers orphans; every one is giving us something, and I’ve come up to see if you won’t help us. You will, I am sure.”

“No, Miss,” I answered, assuming a sternness I did not feel; “ 'tis a principle with me, never to encourage such institutions.”

“Sir!” patting her dainty foot impatiently

�

title: Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/127


text: Author:John Anderson (fl. 1885-1900)

title: Author:John Anderson (fl. 1885-1900)


text:
Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/128

A DREAM OF FUTURE DAYS.

against the carpet, " not encourage feeding the orphans of dead soldiers -do you mean that?"

Her clear, dove-like eyes embarrassed me with their steady gaze.

I arose and took out my pocket-book.

"How much shall I give you, Miss Dunbar?"

"What you can afford, sir."

I handed her a fifty-dollar bill. Her eyes gladdened so, they fairly dazzled me.

"Oh, Mr. Trowbridge!" she cried, " I did not expect this. You are so good, so generous!"

She took out a delicate little purse, and crammed it in, then she turned to go.

"Good-by, Mr. Trowbridge!" she said, pausing in the door-way, and holding out her hand. "I thank you very much, indeed; but won't you come down to the fair tomorrow night? Please do, Mr. Trowbridge."

I did not promise her, but I went, nevertheless; and after the fair was over, I attended Jessie home. My old sweetheart, grown into a buxom matron, met me in the hall.

"At last, Chancy," she said, grasping both my hands; "but you've been an unfriendly, old curmudgeon all these years, and we may thank Jessie for luring you out of your den, I suppose. She's won her bet by it, too. You see, the girls were all here, laying plans for the fair, and they got to talking about you ; and young Dr. Snyder offered to bet twenty-five dollars that none of them had the courage to go up to Walnut Hill and ask you for a donation. But Jessie made the venture, and now that you have come out of your seclusion, do be sociable, Chancy, for the sake of our old friendship."

I took her at her word. Almost every evening after that found me at Mr. Dunbar's pleasant home. And one spring night, when the air was sweet with balm, and the moonlight soft and mellow, and the great apple-tree, beneath which we sat, was white with fragrant bloom, I made the same proposal to Jessie that I had made to her mother twenty years before, not on my knees, however, but sitting by her side, with her little hand in mine.

"I loved your mother years ago, Jessie," I said; "but I was a silly boy then. I am a man now, and I love you as no man ever loves but once. Do you think you can be my wife?"

"I think I can, Mr. Trowbridge," she answered, simply; "and I'll do my best to make you a good one. I've thought of you a great deal all my life, and loved you, I believe, even before I ever knew you. Mother used to tell me about you when I was a little girl; and I always thought it was wrong in her to take your poem, and your brooch, and then laugh at you; though, of course, it was right for her to like papa. But I've always felt very sorry for you; it must have been terrible when you went home and found your mother dead. I've got the poem, and the ruby-brooch you gave mother; and I am very glad you love me so much, Mr. Trowbridge. Yes, I'll be your wife, and I'll try to make your life so happy, that you'll never remember the sorrowful past."

So I married the daughter of my old sweetheart; and there she sits in the great rocking-chair, before the blazing wood-fire; and that little thing on her lap is my son and heir, Chancellor Trowbridge, Jr. And in regard to myself, Chancellor Trowbridge, Sr., I am the happiest man that ever the sun shines on.

A DREAM OF FUTURE DAYS.

BY CLARENCE MAY. I DREAM-I dream of future days, My soul will wander there, To gaze upon the blooming hopes, Devoid of toil and care; I will not heed the dreamy past, Nor count the wasted hours, When sorrow filled the listless cup Now Hope seems wreathed with flowers. I dream of fair and angel forms, And smiling friends I'll meet; Of angel harps, to music tuned In harmony, replete, In those fair fields of endless green, Those suns that never set, Those orbs of bright and dimless sheen, With nothing to regret.

I dream of my prospective home, And all those sunny hours. When poesy will teach me sing 'Midst ever-blooming flowers; And through the mist of gathering years, A form steals to me now; And soft and sweet a sister's kiss Is pressed upon my brow. No more I'll dream of perished hopes, Nor many a spoken word That, lost amid the wreck of time, Will ne'er again be heard. No more the ghosts of buried joys Start up and haunt my gaze; My soul is fixed on fairer scenes, And dreams of happier days.

title: Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/128


text:
Page:Signswondersgodw0000wood.djvu/200

 Another time I saw an angel, as he passed along, sealing the servants of God. He said, “Hurt not the earth, neither the sea, nor the trees, till we have sealed the servants of our God in their foreheads.”

Another time I was away from here in the Spirit, and was in the City of Jerusalem. I have seen pictures of that place, and I was there. There I saw the Saviour dying on the Cross, amidst a great crowd. Oh! The pain that was on His face! I shed tears looking at Him.

Again, I saw my Saviour, sitting upon a dazzling Throne; and saw the blazing, sparkling Crown upon the Head of Him who bled and died for me.

Many of the saints in the Dallas meeting had visions of Christ as a glorious King, coming in His Royal Majesty with all the Hosts of Heaven for His Bride, and of the changing and rapture of the Redeemed of the Lord. They saw them rise with shouts of gladness, mingled with the music of Heaven. And some had glorious visions of the Marriage Supper, and saw the table with the feast spread, and the brightness of the saints as they gathered around. Jesus was seen coming on a white horse with the banner, King of Kings and Lord of Lords, with all His saints riding on white horses, with the armies of Heaven coming back to earth again, to the great Battle of Armageddon, to the supper of the great Jehovah, where the Anti-Christ and his army will be destroyed and Christ will set up His Everlasting Kingdom, and the saints will reign as kings and priests for a thousand years.

The Lord is revealing things to come both on earth and in Heaven. In all our meetings, the fire of God is seen on heads like cloven tongues, and lights are seen over and around the platform by many, both saints and sinners. Jesus has been seen walking and standing in the midst.

All these terrible wars that have shaken the whole world in the last two years and almost covered the lovely lands of Europe with blood and slain, were prophesied in the Dallas meeting, less than a year beforehand and many other things that have come to pass.

The Lord greatly used Bro. Mears; he had visions of many large meetings that I would hold soon in this country from the Atlantic to the Pacific, in the large cities, on the mountains, and

title: Page:Signswondersgodw0000wood.djvu/200


text:
Page:Signswondersgodw0000wood.djvu/201

 in the valleys, in the largest buildings and also in large tents. He saw the crowds standing round and perceived them coming to Christ by hundreds, and saw the slain of the Lord like a battleground; also, the sick were being healed by scores and hundreds.

Oh! I thought that could not be possible! Surely I could never travel and endure so much hardness and responsibility? but it has all been fulfilled. I have traveled over twenty-two thousand miles since I was in Dallas. And he also prophesied about the book called, “Acts of the Holy Ghost.” He said God would greatly bless it and that it would be sent quickly to all parts of the world. Ten thousand copies have been scattered over land and sea, and now, at the call of the people and the leading of the Lord, I am sending out a new book, which is the seventh volume, entitled, “Signs and Wonders that God Hath Wrought.”

It could be truly said, as Peter said on the day of Pentecost, this that you see, and hear, and feel, is the promise of the Father, the wonder working Holy Ghost.

With great “signs and wonders” the Lord has stretched forth His hand in working mighty miracles; healing all manner of diseases; casting out demons; laying the people out as dead; many of the meetings look like a battlefield; sinners struck down in their sins; and saints lying like Peter and Paul as dead; the saints have been given great visions and revelations and. prophecies from heaven. :

The Holy Ghost has been seen as cloven tongues, as rays of | light, and as a great cloud of glory over the pulpit and the altar, and the Lord has been seen by many walking through the tent and about the altar.

Thousands of people are stirred and are writing to us for help, both spiritual and physical. The Macedonian cry is, “Come, come and help us or send help.”

God has called the saints, the brethren in the ministry, and the evangelists and workers from all parts. They have all fallen in line, and rejoiced in the unity, and love, and power of God in our midst, and went away feeling convinced of the need of more power of the Living God in us, and through us, and in our midst. At the end of five months as we are about to close our work

title: Page:Signswondersgodw0000wood.djvu/201


text:
Page:Bury J B The Cambridge Medieval History Vol 2 1913.djvu/113

Rh wish (unless his parent was such himself), refusing (if a daughter under twenty-five years of age) a marriage and dowry proposed by her parent, and preferring a shameful life, neglecting to free a parent from captivity, neglecting him if insane, refusing the Catholic faith. If ingratitude is charged and established, the will is good: if it is not established, the appointment of heirs made in the will is null, and all the children share the inheritance equally (subject to bringing any marriage settlement into hotchpotch), but legacies, trusts, freedoms, and guardianships remain valid (subject of course to the Falcidian deduction).

Those who have no children are required to name their parents as heirs, unless on similar grounds (a reduced list is given) they can be justly omitted.

Having left to children (or parents) the due amount, a testator or testatrix can dispose of the residue at his or her pleasure, and a mother can even exclude the father from any management of the property left to the son, and, if the son is under age, appoint another manager. Justinian further enacted that none but orthodox should take any part of an inheritance, and that, if all entitled under a will or on intestacy were heterodox, in the case of clerics the Church, in the case of laymen the Crown, should inherit.

Members of a town council (decuriones) had since 535 been obliged if without any children, to leave three-fourths of their estate to the council: if they had children, legitimate or illegitimate, three-fourths or the whole according to circumstances were to go to such of them as were or became members or wives of members of the council. The law imposing disability for ingratitude applied here also.

A patron, if passed over in his freedman's will, could claim a third (free from legacies and trusts) if there were no children except such as were justly disinherited.

In default of a will duly made and duly accepted by the heirs named or one of them the law provided heirs. The statutable heirs were testator's lawful children (sui heredes), and failing these (in old times), his agnates, failing these, the clan (gens). Gradually by the praetor's action cognates were also admitted, emancipated children and women other than sisters were no longer excluded, other disabilities were removed, and mother and children obtained by statute reciprocal rights of inheritance. The husband or wife claimed only after all blood-relations. This system is found in the Digest, Code, and Institutes. But in 543 and 548 Justinian superseded this system with its multifarious technicalities and ambiguities, and established (but for the orthodox only) a simpler order of succession, which is the more interesting because it largely supplied the frame for the English Statute of Distributions for intestate personalty.

Justinian disregarded distinctions of sex, of inclusion in or emancipation from the family, of agnates and cognates, and allowed in certain


text:
Page:Bury J B The Cambridge Medieval History Vol 2 1913.djvu/114

86 cases the share which would have fallen to a deceased person to be taken by his children collectively.

The first claim to succeed was for descendants. Children (and, in default of them, grandchildren) excluded all ascendants and collaterals and took equal shares, whether they sprang from the same marriage or more than one, and whether the marriage was formed by regular settlements or not. A deceased child's children took his or her share among them. Any child who had had from his or her parents dowry or nuptial gift had to bring it into account as part of his or her share. If a parent was alive and had a right of usufruct in the property or part of it, that right remained.

In the next class, that is, when there is no living descendant, come the father and mother and whole brothers and sisters of the deceased. In this case the father does not retain any right of usufruct he may have. If ascendants, not excluded by nearer ascendants, as well as brothers and sisters of the whole blood are found, they all share alike (per capita). If a brother or sister has predeceased the intestate, his or her children take collectively his or her share. Of ascendants the nearer is preferred. If there are only ascendants in the same degree, the estate is divided in halves between those on the father's side and those on the mother's.

If there are neither descendants nor ascendants, brothers and sisters are preferred, the whole blood excluding the half-blood, even though the latter be nearer in degree; therefore a nephew or niece of the whole blood excludes brothers and sisters of the half-blood. If there are no brothers or sisters or children of such, either of the whole blood, or half-blood, other relations succeed according to their degree, the nearer excluding the remoter, and those of the same degree sharing per capita.

Degrees of relationship were reckoned by the number births from the one person to the common ancestor added to the number from him to the other person. Thus a nephew or uncle is in the third degree of relationship to me, a second cousin is in the sixth, there being three births from my great-grandfather to me and three also from him to my second cousin.

After all blood-relations are exhausted, the husband or wife would presumably inherit as under the old law before Justinian. A poor widow without dowry was entitled to a fourth of her husband's estate, such fourth not exceeding 100 lbs. gold.

In the case of freedmen dying intestate, children and other descendants have first claim: if there are none, then the patron and his children (531).

If presbyters, deacons, monks, or nuns, die without making a will or leaving relatives, their goods pass to the church or monastery to which they are attached, unless they are freedmen or serfs or decurions, in which cases they pass to the patron or lord or council respectively (434).

In default of any legal claimant the Crown took a deceased's estate.


text:
Page:Books from the Biodiversity Heritage Library (IA mobot31753000820123).pdf/167

 Rh

a small lump, which was about the bigness of a Pigeons Egg. I took it for a Rupture, ordered her to lye with her Heels and lower parts high, to endeavour by an Anodyne Carminative and Discutient Fomentation to put up the Gut, and gave her an easie Opiat in the Evening. This did well, and she was better, but still had Pain. I desir'd her to take great care to be quiet, and to repeat these Medicines as she found occasion, upon which the Pain went away, and she was better.

One came to me complaining he was troubled very much with Itch about the Os Pubis, which proceeded from Lice or Ascarides. I advised him to rub and wash all the part over with Sope and Water, but that did not kill them. I then ordered him to beat some of the Seeds of Staphisacre, and strew it on the part, which kill'd them all in a very short time. It is an almost certain Remedy for any Vermin of this kind.

One of about Fifty five years of Age, given to good Fellowship and Drinking of Drams, had been very ill of the Belly-ach, several times, on which he had lost the use of his Limbs. He had not long before I saw him been taken with a very severe Fit, and was recovered out of it by the help of Ginger in Cyder and Wine mixt, and heated with Sugar. After the violence of the Fit was over, because he was very weak, he had suckt two Negro Womens Milk, by which he was perfectly recovered. He seem'd to be very Hypochondriac, was Melancholly, and look'd Yellow in the Skin and Eyes. Being consulted for his Health I advis'd him, because he had no Stomach nor Appetite to Victuals, to take an infusion of Gentian Roots, Centaury Tops, &c. in Madera Wine, and a Diet-Drink of Sarsa, China, &c. mix'd with an equal quantity of Cow's Milk every Morning. Now and then as his Belly was bound up, I order'd him a Pill of ''Extract. Rud.'' whereby he was kept Soluble. By these Medicines his Health was preserved without any great Sickness, but coming on Board in order to a Voyage for England, and drinking Punch more than ordinarily, he first fell into an unusual Weakness of his Hands, and afterwards into Pains all over his Body. I would have remedied these Symptoms by Bleeding and Purging, but that his Weakness put a stop to any such Courses. He grew worse, having had no Stool for some Days (for he had, besides his Colick, a Rupture) and complained very much of Pains every where, especially in his Belly. I gave him ''Extract. Rud. gr.'' 15. which did not work, wherefore in some hours more I gave him thirty Grains of ''Pil. Ruffi for his Jaundice and bound Belly, which with Sena'' boil'd in Chicken-Broath, or great Quantites of thin Water


text:
Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/129

 MARIE

ANTOINETTE'S

TALISMAN.

BY MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS. [ Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by Mrs. Ann S. Stephens, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern District of New York.]

CONTINUED FROM PAGE 66.

CHAPTER XIII.

The governor of the Bastile had retired to his own apartments within that grim old fortress. All the duties of the day had been performed. The allowance of black bread and impure water had been doled out to the prisoners, and the doors closed, leaving them in utter darkness. All these horrible duties being settled to his satisfaction, the governor was ready for his own luxurious supper, and sat waiting for it with some impatience. Originally this man was neither hard-hearted or cruel; but holding a position where these qualities were exacted from him, they had gradually become a part of his nature. Unlimited power of the worst kind had made him a tyrant, and hardened his heart to iron.

As this man sat, calm and indifferent, in an atmosphere of misery, which rose around him like a miasma, o grim, stalwart man, in the dress of a keeper, knocked at the door and came in, removing the cap from his head in token of respect for the presence he was in.

The governor turned in his chair and recognized the man.

“Well, Christopher,” he said, “what news from the city? A little more quiet, I hope.”

“Not a bit,” answered the keeper, promptly. “I have been among the clubs, as you bade me, and have made my observations. The feeling of discontent grows stronger and stronger.”

“Well, what do they expect to accomplish by grumbling, the varlets? I wish we had them here, Christopher; a week or two of such lodgings and fare as we could give them, would bring down their courage. We have that whole lower range of cells. unoccupied now, for our Louis is chicken-hearted about sending his subjects here, merely to oblige his friends; and he has no favorites, Marie Antoinette looks well to that.”

“Yes; and she it is who prevents the prison being full, as it was in the good old time, when we registered a lettre-de-cachet every day. It is this clemency that emboldens the people, and sets them clamoring for the thing they call ‘liberty!’ Liberty, indeed, we would give them enough to quarrel about if we had them all here for a single month."

"Ah!" said the governor, who seemed on excellent terms with his man. "But how are we to get them here, when we never see the king's signature, except it be to empty our cells of their prisoner? He seems to forgive all men before they are sentenced, especially his own enemies. I tell you, Christopher, this king, in his leniency, has brought this fortress of the Bastile down to the level of a common jail; and his conduct fills me with such disgust, that I am at times half resolved to throw up my commission.”

The keeper looked through one of the narrow windows, and took a survey of the ponderous walls; then, turning with a grim smile, he said,

“If the walls were less thick, a resignation might be prudent just now; but I think they will defy all the clubs in Paris.”

“Or in all France,” answered the governor, laughing. “My drawbridge once up, and no monarch in Europe sits as firmly on his throne as I do. Would to heaven his majesty was half as safe in Versailles!”

“Nay, I think the people hate the man they call their tyrant of the Bastile worse than they do the monarch at Versailles,” said the keeper, a little maliciously—for cruel men are very seldom kind to each other.

“Let them hate,” laughed the governor. “It will be a long time before their malice can reach him.”

“Yes, as I said, the walls are thick.”

“And here comes my supper, Christopher, which your news from the city shall not spoil,” cried the governor, interrupting his subordinate, as a door was opened, and a daintily- arranged table revealed in the next. room. “Step in, though, and let me hear all the news you have gathered.”

The man stepped into the supper-room, and stood leaning against the door-frame, while his superior placed himself at the table.

“It is the Bastile against which the people hurl hatred, and launch their curses most

title: Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/129


text:
Page:Bury J B The Cambridge Medieval History Vol 2 1913.djvu/115

Rh were viewed by Roman Law with considerable suspicion, partly as often made on the spur of the moment without due reflection, partly as liable to exert an improper influence on the donee. In B.C. 204 a law (Lex Cincia) was passed which forbad all gifts exceeding a certain value, and required formal execution of gifts within that value, land to be mancipated, goods to be delivered, investments duly transferred, etc. Any gifts contravening the law were revocable by the donor during his life or by will. Gifts between near relatives, either by blood or marriage, were however excepted from the prohibition of the law.

Constantine appears to have repealed this law, and, leaving gifts under 300 solidi free, required all gifts above that amount to be described in a written document and recorded in court, and possession to be given publicly before witnesses. In 529-531 Justinian further facilitated gifts. A mere agreement was enough without any stipulation, the presence of witnesses ceased to be necessary, and the fact of the gift was alone required to be recorded in court and that only when its value exceeded 500 solidi. Delivery of the object given was, according to Justinian, not so much a confirmation as a necessary consequence of the gift, and was incumbent on the donor and his heirs, especially if it were a gift for charitable purposes. A gift duly made could be revoked by the donor only on clear proof of donee's ingratitude, such as is shewn by insults or attacks on the person or property of the donor, or on non-fulfilment of the conditions of the gift. Remuneration for a service rendered is not a gift within the meaning of these rules.

Gifts between husband and wife, with trifling exceptions, were absolutely void until A.D. 206, and the same rule applied to gifts to either from anyone under the same fatherly power, or from those in whose power they respectively were. But Caracalla by a decree of the Senate made them only voidable. If the donor predeceased the donee and did not repent of the gift, the donee became fully entitled. Gifts from either to increase the marriage settlement were allowable (see above).

Gifts mortis causa are only to take effect if the donor die before the donee, and are epigrammatically characterised as something which the donor prefers himself to enjoy rather than the donee, and the donee rather than his heir. Such gifts were valid if made in presence of five witnesses orally or in writing, without any formality and with the effect of a legacy. The Lex Falcidia was applied to such gifts by Severus, if the heir had not had his due out of the rest of donor's estate.

Gifts for charitable purposes (piae causae) were encouraged by Justinian who (c. 530 and 545) directed that the bishops, whether requested or not or even forbidden by testator, should see that any disposition by will for such purposes was duly carried into effect; the erection of a church should be completed within three years from the time when the inheritance or legacy was available, a house for strangers within a year unless one was hired until the house was built. If


text:
Page:Signswondersgodw0000wood.djvu/202

 here, the interest which has been increasing from the first, is now deeper and the presence of God is more manifest than ever.

As we are expecting to leave soon, the people are improving the opportunity and rushing here from all parts.

There are twelve just arrived from Canada, one from England; and others are on their way.

The Lord showed a brother in a vision that the Bands of Angels that sung at the birth of Jesus was singing through the saints.

The Lord is manifesting His presence more and more to His children, and encouraging us in every way that we may be ready, and be weaned away from the world, and be ready for His soon coming.

I have every reason to praise the Lord that He has wonderfully sustained me during these five months; I have been laboring very hard, not only in the meetings, but outside of meetings.

I would say to the reader that the contents of my books are as a drop in the ocean compared to the many meetings and wonderful things that have never been mentioned and no account given of them.

I am sending books forth in the name of the Lord. The Lord showed me that I must make haste and get the books out, for He is going to send them all over the world. They will not only be used to help to gather the saints together and prepare for the Marriage, and the great work of the future, but it will be a great help to those who are left to go through the Tribulation.

I ask the prayers of all the saints that shall read these lines that I may be kept continually in His will, and covered with His mighty love and power; that God through me can finish the work that He has called me to do that He may have all the glory.

MRS. WOODWORTH-ETTER.

December 12th, 1912.

title: Page:Signswondersgodw0000wood.djvu/202


text: Signs and Wonders God Wrought in the Ministry for Forty Years/Chapter 31


text:
Page:Bury J B The Cambridge Medieval History Vol 2 1913.djvu/116

88 this was not done the bishops should take the matter in hand by appointing administrators, the heirs or legatees after such default not being allowed to interfere. The other charitable purposes specially mentioned are houses for aged persons or infants, orphanages, poor-hospitals, and redemption of captives. The bishops are to inspect and if necessary discharge the administrators, bearing in mind the fear of the great God and the fearful day of eternal judgment. All profits from the endowment belong from the first to the charity. Delay after admonition by the bishops made the heirs or legatees who were charged with the charity, liable for double the endowment. Annuities for clergy, monks, nuns, or other charitable bodies were not to be commuted for a single sum, lest it should be spent and the claims of the future be disregarded. The property of the testator was mortgaged for the annuity, unless an agreement was made in writing and duly recorded for setting aside an inalienable rent, larger than the annuity by at least one-fourth and not subject to heavy public dues. If the bishops were slack, possibly being corrupted by the heirs, or others, the metropolitan or archbishop was authorised to interfere, or any citizen might bring an action on the statute and demand the fulfilment of the charity.

If, in order to avoid the Falcidian Law, a testator leaving all his property for the redemption of captives, appoints captives to be his heirs, Justinian (531) directed such an appointment to be good and not void for uncertainty. The bishop and church-manager (oeconomus) of the testator's domicile had to take up the inheritance without any gain for themselves or the Church. Similar appointments of poor as heirs are valid, and fall, if left uncertain by testator, to the poor-house of the place, or if there are several such to the poorest, or if there be none such, the funds are to be distributed to poor beggars or others in the place.

The. distinctions, which existed under the early Roman Law between land in Italy and land in the provinces with a form of conveyance (mancipatio ) applicable to the former and not to the latter, disappeared before Justinian. Under him full ownership in all land, wherever situate, was conveyed by delivery actual or symbolical, in accordance with agreement, or at least with the transferor's intention to part with the property. And the same applied to all other corporal objects. Such a distinction between real and personal property, between


text:
User:ProduceOrPerish/common.js

mw.loader.load('//en.wikisource.org/w/index.php?title=User:Jan.Kamenicek/PageCleanUp.js&action=raw&ctype=text/javascript');

title: User:ProduceOrPerish/common.js


text:
Author:John Anderson (fl. 1808-1839)

Works

 * Culloden Muir
 * Fairly shot of her

title: Author:John Anderson (fl. 1808-1839)


text:
Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/130

 MARIE ANTOINETTE'S

bitterly,” he said. ‘Thinking me one of them— for I wore this—they spoke freely enough,”

Here Christopher took a red cap from his pocket, and shook it viciously, as if he hated the very color.

The governor looked up and waghed again.

“So they thought you one of their order, my poor Christopher, and took you into their confiDence on the strength of that red abomination. Well, when do they intend to tear down the Bastile?”

“Tear down the Bastile! Have we not decided that the walls may defy them?” replied the keeper, uneasily. “If I thought otherwise——”

“Well, what then, my good Christopher?”

“Why, then I should be glad to exchange places with any prisoner in the cells.”

“A hard alternative, Christopher,” said the governor, smiling over his well-filled plate, “and one not likely to happen. But we must be careful. If the rabble hate us, as you say, we must do nothing to arouse them.”

That moment the loud clangor of a bell sounded down the passages of the prison.

“What is that, Christopher?” inquired the governor, laying down his knife and fork with something like consternation.

“Some one claiming admittance, who rings boldly, either an enemy, or an officer under authority of the law, I should say,” answered the keeper.

“Go and see, Christopher.”

The keeper went out, passed from the prison to the drawbridge, and looked across the moat, swollen and green with stagnant water, saw a single, slight figure claiming a passage over both by voice and gesture.

“Why was the bell rung?” asked Christopher of the guard.

‘Because it is some one with an order for the governor. He held up a paper.”

“Is he quite alone?”

“Yes, I saw him dismount from a tired horse, which you may yourself discover standing within the shadow of yonder building.”

“Let down the drawbridge; but see that but one man enters—it may be a ante te from the court.”

Directly the great chains of the drawbridge began to shake and rattle, the mighty hinges turned with ponderous heaviness, and the great mass of wood fell slowly downward, spanning the gulf of dark waters from wall to wall, like the gulf of dark waters from wall to wall, like a causeway leading directly through Hades.

A slight figure left the opposite side of the person was seen in the full glare of the light, moat, and crossed the bridge with a quick, nervous step, which soon brought him in the keeper, who keenly regarded him during his progress.

“A letter for the governor,” said the stranger, promptly taking a folded paper from his girdle.

“Where from?” questioned Christopher.

“Directly from Versailles. Besides this, I am intrusted with a message which can only be given in person; oblige me by saying so much in my behalf.”

Christopher took the letter and held it between his teeth, while the ponderous machinery of the bridge was put in motion again, and the whole fabric loomed up.

The stranger started as he saw the huge fabric uplifted like some massive gate rising between him and the world he had left; but he made no protest, and only grew a little paler than before, as the awful blackness of its shadow fell upon him.

“There is no danger from any one on this side,” muttered the keeper, moving slowly away, leaving the stranger standing by the guard; “but in these times it is hardly safe to admit even a stripling like that after dark.”

He found the governor deep in his meal, which he enjoyed with the zest of a man who has few sources of occupation or amusement, and, therefore, gives free scope to the appetite. He was just filling a glass of wine as Christopher came in, and holding it up, smiled to see its amber hues sparkle in the lamplight. Indeed, he was too pleasantly occupied for any remembrance of the errand on which the keeper had gone.

“Ah! is it you again, my Christopher?” he said, draining the glass with a mellow smack of the lips. “Well, what news? The bell rang, if I remember. What unreasonable person was so bold?”

“It is a messenger from Versailles, your excellency; some one with a letter, and a special message to yourself.”

“From Versailles? Let him in; let him in. It is hot often that Louis the Sixteenth requires my services. That is why the rabble has dared to lift its clamor against the Bastile. If he would but -crowd the old prison from foundation to roof with the disaffected, there would be no more cries of 'Down with the Bastile!' in the streets of Paris. Let the king’s messenger present. himself, he is welcome.”

Christopher went out, and directly returned with the page in close company. When this person was seen in the full glare of the light, the appearance of extreme youth vanished. He

title: Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/130


text:
Author talk:John Anderson (fl. 1808-1839)

John Anderson
—Beleg Âlt BT (talk) 20:25, 18 December 2023 (UTC)


text:
Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/133

 136 MARIE ANTOINETTE'S TALISMAN.

was slender, elegant, and bright; but there was something in the curve of the mouth, and a depth of expression about the eyes, which belied the boyish air and foppish costume so completely, that the governor arose to receive him with unconscious humility.

“This letter,”, said the page, “will inform you of my business; after that let me pray that we converse alone.”

“Christopher, you may go,” said the governor, filling another glass of wine, and holding it toward his visitor with one hand while he replenished his own glass with the other. “Now, sir, sit down while I read this. missive.’”

The page accepted the wine, and drank it off, for he felt the need of it after a long and weari- some ride of hours. While the slow color was coming back to his face, the governor was earnestly perusing the letter. It evidently gave him some disturbance as he read, for a flush of hotter red than the Rhenish wine could give rose into his face, while his eyes grew large and opened wide with astonishment

“From her,” he muttered, uneasily. “Why it is years and years since I have seen her name. How came she at Versailles?) Must talk freely with her messenger! As if I wanted anything to do with him or her either! Why it might cost me dear with his majesty, and set the rabble to hunting me down like a dog! Danger! Humph! Humph!” All this was muttered incoherently by the astonished governor, while the page sat keenly regarding him, ¢atching up here and there a disjointed word, which made his eyes sparkle and his lips curve scornfully “Well,” said the governor, crushing the letter slowly in his hand, where he rolled it indolently between his thumb.and finger, ‘“‘you come to me from Madame Du Barry—a beautiful woman in her time, and in some sort a friend of mine.” “In some sort?” repeated the page, alnsost with a sneer, “I thought from what ame said, that she had been a most earnest and all- powerful friend to you in times when her friend- ship was a fortune, and her enmity ruin.” “Did she say that? Very natural. The importance of objects magnifies as they recede. It is many years since I knew the madame; and in those years she has ceased to be powerful, either in love or hate. Even her beauty, they tell me, is all gone—and in that lay the power she makes such boast of. Still I have a tender temembrance of the madame, who had a kind of loveliness that was almost distracting. At one time I almost adored her; and as for the lady——_ Well, it would not be quite proper to

My own safety!

state how much of her boasted kindness sprang from g more tender sentiment than she would have liked to acknowledge before the king; but I have my memories.” Here the young man sprang to his feet, clenched: one white hand under its frills of delicate lace, advanced a step, as if to dash it in that flushed face, and let it fall again with a sharp, unnatural laugh. “Another glass of wine,” he said, unclinching the hand; ‘these reminiscences are so pleasant they amuse me!” The governor lifted the bottle near him, and dashed a flood of the amber liquid over the white hand which held the glass, for his own was rendered a little unsteady by the sudden action of the page.

The young man tossed. off the wine with a laugh that rang mockingly through the rem.

“Well,” he said, “as you and the Du Barry were such intimate friends, we can talk with the more freedom, oth you and thé lady are just now in imminent peril.”

“Peril! How?”

“Both with the king, which is not so threatening, but with the people, who are getting dangerous.”

“As how? Speak me This is the second time to-day I have been Warned of the people's hate, But the king—in what way have I offenied him?”

“In nothing that I know of. But occasions arise in which our best friends act, uacon- sciously, with our worst enemies. The king, in his goodness, works hand-in-hand with the people, who hate him and us.”

‘In what way?” inquired the governor, now deeply interested. “Why should his majesty do aught to imperil an old and faithful officer like me? That he should hold some malice against Du Barry is not remarkable. She was impudent enough, while he was Dauphin to account for,any ill-feeling he may have toward her now; but with me, who have always been a favorite, the thing is impossible.”

The page still kept on his feet and walked up and down the room, forgetting all forms of politeness in his excitement. He paused at last, and flashed a glance of brilliant scorn upon the governor.

“There is no such thing as impossibilities where the selfishness or ingratitude of men are concerned,” he said. ‘The idol of the. people today is not sure of his position for a week.”

“Of the people? .Yes. But I claim nothing of them: my strength lies in the king.”

The page gave his antagonist—for such these

title: Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/133


text: Poems (Nora May French)

title: Poems (Nora May French)


text:
Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/134

 137 MARIE ANTOINETTE'S TALISMAN.

two persons were fast becoming—a sharp glance, but made no answer to his last speech, which had apparently made no impression upon him.

“The king, the queen, and, most of all, you and the lady on whose behalf I come, are in danger. A single new cause of discontent against. this prison, and the smouldering hate of the people will break forth. Louis foresaw this, but had not force of will enough to prevent it. One word from his wife, and he was ready to brave everything.”

«But what has he done?”

The page drew close to the table and leaned one hand upon it.

“Years ago, the very last of our old king’s reign, @ man was brought to the Bastile—his name was Gosner.”

“Gosner—why that man is alive yet. Neither dampness or famine seem to have any impres- sion on him. He was brought here under a lettre-de-cachet, and was one of Madame Du Barry’s enemies. I remember, she came here to the prison, just after the old king died, and upbraided this man with having killed him by his necromancy. She was very bitter against him, and seemed afraid that he might be par- doned out. That woman had a hard heart.”

“Yes; she had a hard heart,” repeated the page; ‘“‘but often, ah! so often, she was forced to be cruel in self-defence. It is so now— it is so now!”

Once more the page was walking up and down the room; he paused suddenly.

“This man, Gosner, was, at the request of madame, put into the underground cells,” he said, “where he has been until within the last year. When we took him out he was almost blind —a poor, enfeebled creature, hardly worthy of the new life we gave him.”

“And now?” questioned the page.

“Now he is but little better—a gleam or two of light and air does not change a prisoner of many years so much as you might imagine; besides, this man was feeble from the first, but lived on, withering away into the shadow he is.”

“Well, this is the man they will parade before the people as a proof of the terrible cruelties practiced here.”

The governor half rose from his feet in sudden alarm.

“Who will do this?” he exclaimed.

“The king; or, rather, his Austrian wife.”

“The king!”

“Who has pardoned this man, Gosner.”

The ruddy countenance of the governor lost its tone, and a cold whiteness crept over his lips.

At last he turned a blanched and scared face upon the page. The great danger of his position had forced itself upon him.

“And the king has done this? believe it.”

“You may, for tomorrow will bring the proof. The order of Gosner’s release was signed this morning, and is now in Paris.”

The governor was on his feet at once.

“What is to be done? You came here for something more than this. Madame Du Barry has heard of Gosner’s pardon. She sent you here. What does she, propose? This is a case that concerns us all, and may destroy us all.”

“Unless proper steps are taken,” said the page, in a low voice.

“But what steps can be taken?”

“You ask me that?” answered the page, with a strange smile on his lips; “you, who know all the mysteries of this prison, who receive men without record, and send them forth for burial with only a number instead of a name?”

“Who told you these things?” demanded the governor, with a sudden panic.

“No matter, I know; then I know, also, that this man, Dr. Gosner,, is not an inmate of this prison. He was buried within the month, aad the number attached to his name is registered against it.”

“You know this?” cried the governor. “Rather you suggest it.”

“Yes, I suggest it. This.man must not be let loose to prowl, the streets of Paris, and. drive the rabble wild with his stories of the, Bastile, its cruelties, its dungeons, and its underground horrors. He was aman of wonderful eloquence, and freedom will touch his tongue with fire. His white hair; the wonderful pathos in, his eyes, and that shadowy form, will excite the people to terrible wrath.”

The governor was trembling visibly throughout his entire frame. He. leaned his hand so heavily on the table that the glasses, with the amber and ruby-tinted drops left in them, shook and rattled together beneath his pressure.

“Madame Du Barry was the person who cast this man into prison, the people hates her already,” continued the page, who was himself growing strangely pale. “This man, will first assail her; as for yourself——”

The governor dropped into the chair he had left, and, gazed upon the. page with frightened eyes and parted lips, a remembrance of all he had done to the prisoner since his incarceration, of the neglect, starvation, the awful soli- tude in which he had been left, year after year,

title: Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/134


text:
Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/135

 138 MARIE ANTOINETTE'S

scarcely speaking to a human being, swept over him in all the blackness of its horrors.

"As for yourself, " continued the page, "all the enormous cruelties practiced in the Bastile, during the last twenty years, will be heaped upon your shoulders. This man has been an inmate of the lower- cells ; he has been chained by the waist to your dank walls, along which reptiles were eternally dragging their slime across and around him ; he has heard the perpetual lapping of fetid waters against the enormous walls, which were not thick enough to keep the poisonous drops from creeping down the rugged walls, and dropping on his hands, his hair, and his emaciated limbs"Hold! hold!" cried the governor. "If this man says but half of these things to the people, they will seize upon me in the street and tear me limb from limb." "But the danger must be avoided. It is a question of life and death with you and the madame. The king in his clemency is flinging fire-brands among his own enemies, with which they will consume him." "When did you say the pardon would come ?" inquired the governor. "In the morning, very early." "We will be prepared!" The color was coming back to that broad face. The governor had arrived at a conclusion - his prisoner should never go forth to the world to fire the hearts of men against him. He rang a little house-bell that stood upon the table with a sharpness that soon brought Christopher to the room. "Bring me a light, Christopher, and lead the way to the office where our books are kept. " Christopher lighted a lamp, and led the way into a dark, stone chamber, which contained several oaken desks, on which lay ponderous books chained to staples driven deep into the wall. The governor opened one of these imposing volumes, and, after turning over several of its leaves, ran his finger down a column which bore a date that ran back to a period in which Louis the Fifteenth reigned in France. "Only two entered at this period left, " he muttered ; " and this delicate man one of them. How fearfully strong life is. It seems as if some men never would die." "Who are you seeking for-the man who died this morning?" inquired Christopher, who was greatly astonished that the governor should have entered that room, or thought of examining the books. " Did a man die this morning ?" demanded

TALISMAN.

the governor, quickly. "What is his name? How long has he been here ?" "His name," answered Christopher, with a grim smile, " has died out long ago ; but we can trace it by the number, if you will give me time. As to the how long-I cannot remember when he was not here." Here the page stepped forward. "You have seen the man, I suppose -tell me, was he fair or dark, large or small, old or young?" "He was fair, young, sir, when I first knew him, slender, too, and of most gentle bearing. As to age, men grow old here rapidly.” "But he seems old ?" "Yes, a little, worn, old man." "That will do ," said the governor, promptly. "Now let us see this other person. Get the keys, Christopher, I will go with you to the cells- there is the number." Christopher took the scrap of paper, on which a number was written, and selecting a bunch of keys from a heap that lay in one of the desks, took the lamp in his disengaged hand. The governor made a sign to the page, and all three plunged at once into the black labyrinth of passages which led into the stony heart of the prison. Through long, vault- like halls, down narrow chasms, that seemed hewn from the original rock, far into the very bowels of the earth these three persons penetrated. After a time they heard low, sobbing murmurs, indescribably mournful, which came to them out of the darkness, as if the very stones were saturated with tears. Once the clank of a chain broke sharply through these murmurs, and the grinding sound of a curse broke across the blackness of their progress. At last they stopped before an oaken door, studded heavily with great iron knobs, over which time and dampness had woven a coat of reddish rust. A great, clumsy lock of iron spread far out on the ponderous oak, into which Christopher thrust an equally clumsy key, which ground its way through the rasping rust, and was only turned by a vigorous turn of both the keepers powerful hands. At last the door was forced open, and there, sitting upon the bare, wet stones was a human being. He had just been aroused from a dreary sleep, and, supporting himself by the palms of both hands pressed upon the floor, was peering at them through a fall of snow-white hair, which drooped over the most mournfully white face that human eye ever gazed upon. When he saw the light, and more than one human face looking in upon his misery, this man, who

title: Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/135


text:
Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/136

 THE POET.

OUR YOUTHFUL DAYS.

scarcely knew what the presence of a fellow creature was, began to tremble with strange apprehension, and crept half across the floor, whispering.

"Did she get the paper? Did she get the paper?"

His eyes were bright as diamonds, his white face was full of piteous entreaty ; his voice sounded like the heart-broken prayer of a dying man.

They did not speak to him, but drew back, and partly closed the door upon him. Then a wild shriek broke from the dungeon, a cry of anguish so terrible that the page covered his face with both hands, and went staggering through the dark passage like a drunken creature.

"Oh! if I could but take it back- if I could tear this one sin from my soul!"

The governor heard this cry of anguish, but did not comprehend the words. He had witnessed too many scenes like the one they had left to tremble at the sight.

"Have no apprehension," he said. " They will not find him here in the morning, rest content ; not even the king knows all the secrets of the Bastile.

(TO BE CONTINUED. )

POET.

BY FRANCES HENRIETTA SHEFFIELD

THE Poet is, must ever be, Oh, Freedom ! on thy glorious side ; True poetry is grandly free, It will no narrow bounds abide. Like the untrammeled minds of Heaven, With sweet and purifying force, It winnows the vast universe, And glad results attend its course. Or as some river, broad and free, It sweeps with fertilizing flow, And barren wastes and desert wilds, Transfigured, to new Edens grow. Yet oft the poet's heart is sad, With senses keener than his kind, He feels far-off the great events Undreamed of by the common mind. And mad enthusiast is the cry The skeptic herd around him raise ;

Yet in his ear, unheard of them, The glorious march of progress plays. Oh, Poet! prophet ye are one, Chanting in verse your prophecies ; Your pulse keeps time to the grand beat Of revolutions' destinies. The world applauds established truth ; You kiss and bless the new-born child ; Behold afar its triumph hour, L'en while ' tis hunted and reviled. Where'er new good supplants old wrong You'll find the poet's helping hand; His verse the sad reformer cheers, And stirs, like battle-call, the land. Oh, Poet! blessed is thy lot, Though lonely and misjudged of men ; The darling of the gods art thou, Sharing the secrets known to them.

YOUTHFUL

DAYS.

BY J. WILLIAM VAN NAMEE. OUR youthful days are fled for aye, And we are older grown ; Then let us not recall again The joys and pains we've known; For 'mong the memories of the past Are many shadows deep ; And if we call them up again,! We can but sigh and weep. Weep o'er the broken idols there, And faded dreams so bright, When we thought life a happy day, Filled with the sunbeams bright ; And in those early days of life, With joyous, buoyant heart, We learned the lesson sweet to love, But soon we learned to part.

For death, with icy fingers, closed Around our loved ones dear, And sunbeams turned to shadows then, And sorrow lingered near ; And as we journey on in life We feel the weight of years, And know how vain are all regrets, And sighs, and dreams, and tears. Then let us not recall the past, But leave it buried there, And to the future turn our gaze, And overcome despair. Our youthful days are fled for nye, With all their care and pain; And as we journey on in life, Recall them not again,

title: Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/136


text:
Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/137

 EBENEZER’S COURTSHIP.

BY MES. G. J. BEEBE.

‘‘Filindy Ann! dew come here to the winder and see if ye know whose shirred sun-buanit and gingham umbrell that is a comin’ up the lane. No ye needn’t, nuther. I see now—it’s Miss Greenland. Seems to me she’s gittin’ proud in her old age; that bunnit’s a new one, and she’s kivered her sunshade over.

‘‘She’s comin’ to spend the afternoon, and she’ll have to go in the spare bed-room to take off her things. Run, Filindy Ann, quick! and put on the pine-apple bed-quilt, and the piller- cases with the weepin’-willer worked onto ’em in yaller silk. Come, now, don’t git staggernated!

‘Law suz, I never! I hain’t the least idee but what the dust’s an inch thick in t’other room, and there ain’t a speck o’ sugar-cake in the house, nuther. And Miss Greenland’s sich an oncommon pecooler pusson, she'd go rite hum agin, ef she thought she was makin’ any- body trouble.

“I guess Filindy Ann kin make the cake. I'll slip oit a minit and see she don’t put in salt-petre instid o’ pearlash, and sweeten the apple- sass with that yarb-tea instid o’ merlasses.

“My sakes! I thought ye was goin’ to stay all day. Air ye sure ye didn’t put the bed-quilt on crossways, nor, the piller-cases,t’other end up? Well, run out now, and wash up,the kittles, and put over some bilin’ water.

‘‘Good-afternoon, Miss Greenland! Walk rite in t’other room and pull off yer things. I hain’t seen ye look so well in all my recollection.

“Thank you, Mrs. Stubbs, my health has always been‘of the most excellent quality. I think the afternoon is extremely sultry. , Oh! do not inconvenience yourself with regard to my apparel; allow it to remain on this chair, it will then be in extreme proximity when I am preparing to take up my departure.”

“Law, Miss Greenland, come into the bedroom, and put ’em here on the bed.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Stubbs. If it will not cause trouble, I think I will do so, and also arrange my ringlets before the mirror.”

‘Now don’t be afeard o’ makin’ trouble, Miss Greenland, fur when I hev company, I allers like to make ’em-comfortable. So set down in this arm-theer.””

“Oh! — me, Mrs. Stubbs, I wouldn’t for a moment entertain the idea of depriving you of your accustomed seat.”

“Now you jest take this cheer, Miss Greenland, and I’ll bring in mine from the settin’- room, and see what Filindy Ann’s up to. I'll be rite back.”

“These servants, Mrs. Stubbs, are enough to discourage a person of the most gigantic nerves from attempting to regulate her household affairs properly.”

“Filindy Ann! where be ye? Sure, now, ye didn’t wash them kittles in cold water, and wipe pour bilin’ water on that dish-cloth, it looks as ef you’d been takin’ up ashes with it, instid 0’ usin’ the shovel.
 * em on the cup-towel? Now, here, you jest

«Law suz! jest you come here, and see ef that ain’t uncle Ebenezer’s nose a stalkin’ up through the medder.. It is! I thought I couldn’t be mistaken in that nose o’ his’n, though ef I'ds seen it anywhere else, I should sartinly hev took it fur a seed-cucumber.

“I declare ef that ain’t enuff to discourage a pusson. He's the most confirmedest old bachelor I know of, and she’s the most confirmedest old maid. I’ll tell ye what I’ll do, I'll git ’em in the spare room together, and then I'll slip out and see about gittin’ tea.

“There he is now, comin’ up the back stoop. Run, Filindy Ann, and let him in through the wood-house, and don’t tell him there’s anybody here.

‘‘How de do, Ebenezer! No, Enos has gone down to, the village, but I’m expectin’ him hum every minat, Let’s go in t’other room, it’ cooler there, and the flies ain’t so thick, nuther.”

“Well, I don’t keer ef I do, fur the sun's powerful to-day.”

“I hope you didn’t git tired o’ wa‘tin’, Miss Greenland; husband's brother Ebenezer’s come, and husband ain’t got hum yet. I guess we'll hev to entertain him awhile.”

“Why, Sophier Stubbs, is that you? What do ye s’pose I’ve done? I’ve sent yer uncle Ebenezer hum with Miss Greenland!”

“Oh, aunt Lizy!” ’

“It’s a fact, and I'll tell ye how it onm. Ye see I was a settin’ by the winder, this afternoon, and I seen sombody a comin’ up the lane, and first I didn’t know who it was, but purty

�

title: Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/137


text:
Author:Thomas Brown

 * Thomas Brown (1662-1704), English translator and satirist
 * Thomas Brown (1778-1820), Scottish philosopher
 * Thomas Storrow Brown (1803–1888), Canadian journalist
 * Thomas Edward Brown (1830–1897), Manx poet, scholar and theologian
 * Thomas Craig Brown (1844–1922), Scottish wool manufacturer and local historian
 * Thomas Brown (fl. 1911), contributor to the 1911 Encyclopedia Britannica

title: Author:Thomas Brown


text:
Gargoyle

 * Gargoyles (1922), a novel by Ben Hecht
 * "Gargoyle" (1918, "I saw a mouth jeering..."), a poem by Carl Sandburg

title: Gargoyle


text:
Page:Everywoman's World, Volume 7, Number 7.djvu/7

JULY 1917

HAVE been thinking to-night of the schoolmaster's bride. A man must die to forget her, or the schoolmaster either, for that matter. They were the two people who made the deepest impression on my life Now in my late evening, I think of them a great deal, recalling for my own delight their words and looks and loveliness. They died some twenty years ago, neither of them living to be very old, which I think part of their good fortune. But to me they and their love story are of yesterday; and, in my fireside musings, while my grandchildren romp around me, little recking what is going on in grandfather's old white head, I like to relive that summer in Lindsay when the schoolmaster waited for his bride, and built a home for her.

John Selwyn came to teach school in Lindsay when I was a boy of sixteen. He was an Englishman, but very different from the usual run of derelicts who came from the Old Country to teach school in Prince Edward Island in those days. They had brains, and knew their trade when sober—else it had been, God help the poor scholars! But they were not like John Selwyn. He was young and stalwart and handsome. I remember him as he was when he spent that first fortnight in my father's house; for, as was the custom then, he "boarded around" and my father, Alexander Kennedy, was Secretary of the Board of Trustees. He was very tall, with gray eyes that turned black in excitement, or with feeling; women thought his mouth very beautiful, but I liked it for its strength and tenderness and humour. He was full of courage and pity and noble enthusiasms. He was my senior by eight years, but from the first I loved him as David loved Jonathan. My soul was knit to his. I owe more to John Selwyn than to any other human creature. I was too old to be spared to school, save for a few weeks in winter; but I was his pupil, none more earnest and eager. We read and walked and talked together. He quoted poetry for me which I had never heard, Byron and Scott and Wordsworth, Shelley and Keats, those giants of old time; even kindly and tender Mrs. Hemans, for in those days a man was not ashamed to quote Mrs. Hemans. He told me tales of history and romance and chivalry. Never shall I forget the delight with which listened to those old legends on moonlit evenings by the silver sea. He filled my mind and soul with his own aspirations and ideals, as a full vessel might pour of its fullness into an empty one. He made me; he was more my father than the dour, black-browed, sternly-upright but cold man to whom I owed mere existence. Wherefore I loved him with a varied love, son and comrade and pupil, all in one. But this is not my story; and I only tell of what he did for me and was to me that you, who read of him, may understand what manner of man he was.

One spring evening I met ‘him by the pond, near the little log school-house. It was a clear, apple-green night. There was a milk-white mist on the edge of the sea with a young moon kissing it. The ceaseless voice of many waters came up from the tawny shore, The chill and freakish wind of sunset was shrilling in the old year's dry grasses on the dunes between the pond and the Gulf; there was an emerald mist on the willows of the creek.

And there was a light on John Selwyn’s face and a flash in his eyes that I had not seen before.

"I've been up on the hill, looking at the sunset through the beeches, Andrew," he said "Come into the schoolhouse and sit with me awhile I have something to tell you."

We went in. The schoolmaster lighted a candle and stirred up the logs the fireplace. They were still lowing had been cold and he had stayed, after school let out to study. He gazed so long into the fire, smiling that I thought he had forgotten what he meant to tell me But at length he looked into my eyes.

"I've.a sweetheart back home, lad," he said.

I had thought he must have, for he never taken any notice of even our prettiest Lindsay lasses, and they would have be: so willing that he should, poor girls!

"Her name Persis Gray,” he went on, "and she is coming out to me. Think of that, Andrew."

I was glad for his sake an said so. For my own, I was not so glad. I was afraid she might come between us.

"Thank you, Andrew. I wanted you to be the first to know. When you see her you will realize what a fortunate man I am."

"She is very beautiful, I suppose?" I said.

All the pain and joy of past generations had bequeathed to her a legacy of love and loyalty, and it shone in these wonderful eyes of hers and lighted her face like a rosy lamp shining through alabaster.

EAUTIFUL?" He laughed. "Don't start me on that B subject, Andrew, or you'll think I'm daft. If a diamond and a ruby could be fused into one the result might symbolize her. She would have come out with me if it had not been for her old uncle. He was an invalid and had cared for her when her parents died, and she felt she could not leave him. I thought she was right, though I loved him as little as he loved me. It was a hard parting, and it has been a hard waiting. But her uncle is dead and she is free. Her friends do not want her to come, but she is coming in spite of them. Think of the courage of her—and the trust! God make me worthy of it, Andrew. Some day I hope you'll love a woman as I love Persis. It's the greatest blessing a man can have. Before I met her my life was very hungry. Now it is nourished to the full by her love. And she is coming to me!"

His happiness was so great that I warmed to it and rejoiced with him.

"When do you expect her?" I asked.

"She sails on the Royal William late in June, so she should be here by mid-July. God grant her a fair passage. I must set Carpenter Johnson to building me a home for her. Her letter came to-day. I knew before I opened it that it held good news. I saw her a few nights ago."

"You saw her?” I asked stupidly

He looked at me queerly.

"Ay, lad. I saw her. You don't understand, I've never told you. But I have a gift, lad, a gift—or a curse. Who knows? My poor great-great-grandmother, Mercy Selwyn, must have found it a curse. She had it, and they burned her for a witch because of it, Andrew—burned her on the hill behind the town back home."

"What is the gift?" I asked wonderingly.

"Certain weird seizures come upon meat long intervals," he answered slowly. "The scientists I them trances, I believe, but they understand them as little as the rabble that burned my ancestress. As a child I had them and my poor mother worried greatly over it. As I grew older I ceased to talk of them for I saw that people looked queerly at me, though they could not haul me to the stake because of them. I see things in them, lad—things that are happening—things that will happen. Sometimes they have been a comfort to me—sometimes a horror. I have not had one since I came to Lindsay until four nights ago. I was sitting here, so, gazing at the dying fire. It faded from before my eyes, and in its stead I saw an old room I know well in England. Persis was there, gazing at me with tears in her eyes; but behind the tears I saw a radiance and a joy. The vision passed quickly, but I knew it foretokened good news of my love."

"You dreamed it," I said uncomfortably. Somehow, I did not like to believe in his gift. It seemed to set him apart from common humanity in a rather uncanny fashion. Had lived two hundred years sooner I daresay I would have been as bitter a persecutor of poor Mercy Selwyn as any.

He smiled.

"No, I did not dream it. But we shall not talk of this again. You will not be so much my friend if you think much of it. No, don't protest, lad. I understand, and I do not blame you. There are times when I scarce feel friendly to myself because of it. Such a power has a bit of divinity in it, whether of a good or an evil divinity, who shall say? And we mortals all shrink from a too close contact with god or devil."

I did not quite understand him, but I willingly let the subject drop.

Soon all the Lindsay people knew that the schoolmaster's bride was coming, and all were glad because they loved him. Every one sympathised with him in the building of the new home which went on apace. He chose a site for it not far from the school-house, within sound of the rhythmic thunder of the sea. The old house, for it is an old house now, is still there, looking seaward through its small windows. But no one (Continued on page 43)


text:
Page:Works of Jules Verne - Parke - Vol 8.djvu/29

 unless I am much mistaken there is nothing that troubles him so much as the sight of your own sorrow."

"But I never let him see it," he broke in hastily. "My sole thought is how to divert him. I have discovered that, in spite of his physical weakness, he delights in traveling; so for the last few years we have been constantly on the move. We first went all over Europe, and are now returning from visiting the principal places in the United States. I never allowed my son to go to college, but instructed him entirely myself, and these travels, I hope, will serve to complete his education. He is very intelligent, and has a lively imagination, and I am sometimes tempted to hope that in contemplating the wonders of nature he forgets his own infirmity."

"Yes, sir, of course he does," I assented.

"But," continued M. Letourneur, taking my hand, "although, perhaps, he may forget, I can never forget. Ah, sir, do you suppose that Andre can ever forgive his parents for bringing him into the world a cripple?"

The remorse of the unhappy father was very distressing, and I was about to say a few kind words of sympathy when Andre himself made his appearance. M. Letourneur hastened toward him and assisted him up the few steep steps that led to the poop.

As soon as Andre was comfortably seated on one of the benches, and his father had taken his place by his side, I joined them, and we fell into conversation upon ordinary topics, discussing the various points of the Chancellor, the probable length of the passage, and the different details of our life on board. I find that M. Letourneur's estimate of Captain Huntly's character very much coincides with my own, and that, like me, he is impressed with the man's undecided manner and sluggish appearance. Like me, too, he has formed a very favorable opinion of Robert Curtis, the mate, a man of about thirty years of age, of great muscular power, with a frame and a will that seem ever ready for action.

While we were still talking of him, Curtis himself came on deck, and as I watched his movements I could not help being struck with his physical development; his erect and easy carriage, his fearless glance and slightly contracted brow all betoken a man of energy, thoroughly endowed


text:
Page:Works of Jules Verne - Parke - Vol 8.djvu/30

 with the calmness and courage that are indispensable to the true sailor. He seems a kind-hearted fellow, too, and is always ready to assist and amuse young Letourneur, who evidently enjoys his company. After he had scanned the weather and examined the trim of the sails, he joined our party and proceeded to give us some information about those of our fellow-passengers with whom at present we have made but slight acquaintance.

Mr. Kear, the American, who is accompanied by his wife, has made a large fortune in the petroleum springs in the United States. He is a man of about fifty, a most uninteresting companion, being overwhelmed with a sense of his own wealth and importance, and consequently supremely indifferent to all around him. His hands are always in his pockets, and the chink of money seems to follow him wherever he goes. Vain and conceited, a fool as well as an egotist, he struts about like a peacock showing its plumage, and to borrow the words of the physiognomist Gratiolet, "il se flaire, il se savoure, il se goute." Why he should have taken his passage on board a mere merchant vessel instead of enjoying the luxuries of a transatlantic steamer, I am altogether at a loss to explain.

The wife is an insignificant, insipid woman, of about forty years of age. She never reads, never talks, and I believe I am not wrong in saying, never thinks. She seems to look without seeing, and listen without hearing, and her sole occupation consists in giving her orders to her companion, Miss Herbey, a young English girl of about twenty.

Miss Herbey is extremely pretty. Her complexion is fair and her eyes deep blue, while her pleasing countenance is altogether free from that insignificance of feature which is not unfrequently alleged to be characteristic of English beauty. Her mouth would be charming if she ever smiled, but, exposed as she is to the ridiculous whims and fancies of a capricious mistress, her lips rarely relax from their ordinary grave expression. Yet, humiliating as her position must be, she never utters a word of open complaint, but quietly and gracefully performs her duties, accepting without a murmur the paltry salary which the bumptious petroleum-merchant condescends to allow her.

The Manchester engineer, William Falsten, looks like a thorough Englishman. He has the management of some


text:
Page:The lay of the Nibelungs; (IA nibelungslay00hortrich).pdf/445

XXXVII.]

“The goodwill that you pledged me to you I will recall

When me you urged on Etzel, O knight excelling all,

To wit, that you would serve me till one of us was dead;

And ne’er had I, poor woman, thereof such desperate need.

“In that thou speak’st not falsely; I pledged thee, noble dame,

That I for thee would venture my life and my fair fame.

To lose my soul, however, that sware I not at all:

I brought these high-born princes unto this festival!”

“O Rüdeger,” she answer’d, “thy steadfast loyalty

And eke thine oath forget not, that thou mine injury

Wouldst cease not to avenge me, and all my trouble sore.”

Then said to her the margrave: “I ne’er have fail’d before.”

Then likewise mighty Etzel to supplicate began,

And on their knees before him they two besought the man.

Then seem’d the noble margrave sorely discomfited.

The ever faithful warrior right sorrowfully said:

“Now God have pity on me, that I have lived for this!

Henceforward all mine honour I must for aye dismiss,—

My truth and noble breeding that erst from God I got!

Woe on me, God in Heaven, that death hath saved me not!

“Whichever side I part from to take the other one,

I shall have acted basely and grievous ill have done;

But if from both I sever, on all sides blame I have:

May He vouchsafe to guide me Who life unto me gave.”


text:
Page:Works of Jules Verne - Parke - Vol 8.djvu/159

 Mr. Falsten, the boatswain, Dowlas, Burke, Flaypole, Sandon, and last, though not least,

At Para we soon found facilities for continuing our homeward route. A vessel took us to Cayenne, where we secured a passage on board one of the steamers of the French Transatlantic Aspinwall line, the Ville de St. Nazaire, which conveyed us to Europe.

After all the dangers and privations which we have undergone together, it is scarcely necessary to say that there has arisen between the surviving passengers of the Chancellor a bond of friendship too indissoluble, I believe, for either time or circumstance to destroy; Curtis must ever remain the honored and valued friend of those whose welfare he consulted so faithfully in their misfortunes; his conduct was beyond all praise.

When we were fairly on our homeward way, Miss Herbey by chance intimated to us her intention of retiring from the world and devoting the remainder of her life to the care of the sick and suffering.

"Then why not come and look after my son?" said M. Letourneur, adding, "he is an invalid, and he requires, as he deserves, the best of nursing."

Miss Herbey, after some deliberation, consented to become a member of their family, and finds in M. Letourneur a father, and in Andre a brother. A brother, I say; but may we not hope that she may be united by a dearer and a closer tie, and that the noble-hearted girl may experience the happiness that she so richly deserves?