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 the future. Her first action was to visit the establishment of a famous dressmaker.

A slim, elderly Frenchwoman, rather like a dreaming duchess, received her, and Katherine spoke with a certain naïveté.

"I want, if I may, to put myself in your hands. I have been very poor all my life and know nothing about clothes, but now I have come into some money and want to look really well dressed."

The Frenchwoman was charmed. She had an artist's temperament, which had been soured earlier in the morning by a visit from an Argentine meat queen, who had insisted on having those models least suited to her flamboyant type of beauty. She scrutinized Katherine with keen, clever eyes. "Yesyes, it will be a pleasure. Mademoiselle has a very good figure: for her the simple lines will be best. She is also très anglaise. Some people it would offend them if I said that, but Mademoiselle, no. Une belle Anglaise, there is no style more delightful."

The demeanour of a dreaming duchess was suddenly put off. She screamed out direction to various mannequins. "Clothilde, Virginie, quickly, my little ones, the little tailleur gris clair and the robe de soirée ‘soupir d'automne.' Marcelle, my child, the little mimosa suit of crêpe de chine."

It was a charming morning. Marcelle, Clothilde, Virginie, bored and scornful, passed slowly round, squirming and wriggling in the time-honoured fashion of mannequins. The Duchess stood by Katherine and made entries in a small notebook.

"An excellent choice. Mademoiselle. Mademoiselle


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 THE TRANSVERSE FLUTE.

Was it known to the Greeks and Romans?The ChineseIndiaEarly representations and referencesThe SchweitzerpfeiffVirdungAgricolaPrætoriusMersenne's descriptionIn England.

Flutes with keysThe D♯ keyHotteterreThe conical boreStructure of early flutesTuning slidesQuantz's inventionsThe low C keysFurther keys addedTromlitz's inventionsOpen keysThe eight-keyed fluteCapeller and Nolan's keys.

SECTION I. — KEYLESS FLUTES.

origin of the transverse or side-blown flute is involved in much obscurity. It was formerly thought to be comparatively modern, and Germany, Switzerland, and England have each been termed its birthplace. But more recent discoveries tend to prove that the transverse flutethough not so usual as the vertical flutewas probably known in Europe early in the Christian era. Possibly it was known to the ancient Greeks and Romans; but if so, it is very remarkable that no clear allusion to it can be found in any of the writings of either nation. Care must be taken not to confuse it with the plagiaulos (see p. 13, ante) or with ancient pipes blown across the open

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


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 has great goût. Yes, indeed. Mademoiselle cannot do better than those little suits if she is going to the Riviera, as I suppose, this winter."

"Let me see that evening dress once more," said Katherine"the pinky mauve one."

Virginie appeared, circling slowly.

"That is the prettiest of all," said Katherine, as she surveyed the exquisite draperies of mauve and grey and blue. "What do you call it?"

"Soupir d'automne; yes, yes, that is truly the dress of Mademoiselle."

What was there in these words that came back to Katherine with a faint feeling of sadness after she had left the dressmaking establishment.

"'Soupir d'automne; that is truly the dress of Mademoiselle.'" Autumn, yes, it was autumn for her. She who had never known spring or summer, and would never know them now. Something she had lost never could be given to her again. These years of servitude in St. Mary Meadand all the while life passing by.

"I am an idiot," said Katherine. "I am an idiot. What do I want? Why, I was more contented a month ago than I am now."

She drew out from her handbag the letter she had received that morning from Lady Tamplin. Katherine was no fool. She understood the nuances of that letter as well as anybody and the reason of Lady Tamplin's sudden show of affection towards a long-forgotten cousin was not lost upon her. It was for profit and not for pleasure that Lady Tamplin was so anxious for the company of her dear cousin. Well, why not? There would be profit on both sides.


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 "I will go," said Katherine.

She was walking down Piccadilly at the moment, and turned into Cook's to clinch the matter then and there. She had to wait for a few minutes. The man with whom the clerk was engaged was also going to the Riviera. Every one, she felt, was going. Well, for the first time in her life, she, too, would be doing what "everybody did."

The man in front of her turned abruptly, and she stepped into his place. She made her demand to the clerk, but at the same time half of her mind was busy with something else. That man's face—in some vague way it was familiar to her. Where had she seen him before? Suddenly she remembered. It was in the Savoy outside her room that morning. She had collided with him in the passage. Rather an odd coincidence that she should run into him twice in a day. She glanced over her shoulder, rendered uneasy by something, she knew not what. The man was standing in the doorway looking back at her. A cold shiver passed over Katherine; she had a haunting sense of tragedy, of doom impending

Then she shook the impression from her with her usual good sense and turned her whole attention to what the clerk was saying.


text: The Mystery of the Blue Train/Chapter 8

title: The Mystery of the Blue Train/Chapter 8


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 upper end and held sideways, which are never depicted with a lateral mouth-hole, and never have the end of the tube protruding beyond the mouth of the player.

Ward, in his Word on the Flute, citing Hawkins, mentions an engraving of a tesselated pavement in a temple of Fortuna Virilis at Rome, built by Sylla (c. 78 ), in which he says there is a representation of a player with a transverse pipe "exactly corresponding with the German flute"; and Montfaucon, in his L'Antiquité Expliqueé gives two copies of bas-reliefs of a similar kind. Kircher (1650) also represents transverse flutes as known to the Egyptians many centuries before Christ. But the correctness of these statements and the accuracy of the copyist are extremely doubtful. In the case of ancient statues (such as The Piping Faun) the flute with a lateral mouth-hole is probably invariably a modern restoration. There is, however, in the British Museum a fragmentary flute found by Sir Charles Newton in a tomb at Halicarnassus, and one of the fragments has what certainly appears to be a side-blown mouth-hole cut in a wedge-like excrescence, beyond which the tube (of ivory) projects. But no undoubted and complete specimen of a real transverse side-blown flute, or absolutely authentic contemporary representation of such an instrument, has ever been found among the numerous relics of the ancient Greeks, Romans, or Egyptians. If the transverse flute was known in pre-Christian Europe, it certainly disappeared completely for many centuries.


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 behind them, and soon were out of sight.

"Ah!" cried the Grand Chew Chew, arriving breathlessly at this point, "We have won the day!"

"So we have!" chuckled the Scarecrow, putting his

arm around Happy Toko. "Call the brave army and decorate the generals!"

"It shall be done," said the Grand Chew Chew, scowling at Happy. "There shall be a great celebrationa feastand fireworks."

"Fireworks," quavered the Scarecrow, clutching his

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IKANER is the second largest State in Rajputana. It was founded by Bika, a Rathod Rajput, the sixth son of Rao Jodha, chief of Jodhapur (Marwar). He is said to have been born in 1439 A. D. Twenty'six years later, accompanied by his uncle Kandhal, his brother Bida, and others of less repute, Bika started forth to acquire a dominion for himself and conquered the country now known as Bikaner. In 1485 A.D. he built the small fort at Koramdesar, while the building of the city of Bikaner itself was not begun till 1488 A.D. Bika died in l504 A.D., and his successors gradually extended and consolidated their possessions until in 1541 A.D. Maldeo, chief of Jodhapur (Marwar), invaded the country, slew the Rao Jet Singh, captured the fort and the capital, and possessed himself of about half the territory. The fort was, however, retaken by Bikaner troops in 1544 A.D.; and in the same year, Kalyan Singh, son and successor of Jet Singh, joined the Imperial army near Delhi, marched with it to Ajmer, and was present at the battle near that city, in which Maldeo was defeated. This is the first mention of intercourse between the Bikaner State and the Emperors of Delhi.

In 1570 A.D. Kalyan Singh and his son Rai Singh waited on Akbar at Nagor (in Marwar) where "the loyalty and sincerity of both father and son being manifest, the Emperor married Kalyan Singh's daughter." Rai Singh succeeded his father in 1571 A.D. and ruled for forty years. The next chief of note was Karan Singh (1631-69 A.D.), who in the contest between the sons of Shah Jahan for the Imperial throne, threw in his lot with Aurangzeb. Karan Singh's eldest son, Anup Singh (1669-98 A.D.), served the Mogul Emperor with distinction in the Deccan, took a prominent part in the capture of Golconda, and was made a Maharaja—a title since held by his successors.

Throughout the eighteenth century there was constant fighting between Bikaner and Jodhapur, and much land was alternately lost and won. In 1788 A.D. Surat Singh succeeded to the chiefship, and twenty years later, the eighth invasion of Bikaner was undertaken by Jodhapur. Between 1 809-1813 A.D., Surat Singh, whose extortions knew no bounds, and whose cruelty kept pace with his avarice, plundered, fined, and murdered his Thakurs, with the result that in 1815 A.D. there was more or less a general rebellion. The ousted Thakurs recovered their estates, ravaged the country, and defied the Durbar. Amir Khan appeared on the scene in 1816 A.D. and with his assistance the insurrection had become so serious that the Maharaja again asked for British aid. A treaty was concluded on March 9, 1818 A.D. and the British troops entered the State, captured twelve forts, restored them to the Durbar, and suppressed the insurgents. Surat Singh died in 1828 A.D. and was succeeded by his son, Ratan Singh, who in violation of his treaty engagements invaded Jaisalmer to revenge some injuries committed by the subjects of the latter. Jaisalmer had prepared an army to repel the invasion and both parties had applied to the neighbouring States for assistance, when the British Government interfered, and through the arbitration of the Maharana of Udaipur the dispute was settled.

In 1842 A.D. the Maharaja supplied to the British 200 camels for the Afgan expedition; in 1844 A.D. he agreed to a reduced scale of duties on goods on transit through his country, and assisted the British Government in both the Sikh campaigns.


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 Page 271

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44 Ratan Singh died in 1851 A.D. and was succeeded by his son, Sardar Singh. He did good service during the Mutiny and co-operated with the British against the rebels of Hansi and Hissar; and as a reward he received in 1861 A.D. a grant of the Tibi pargana consisting of forty-one villages in Sirsa district. Sardar Singh's rule was remarkable for the constant change of ministers, of whom there were no less than eighteen in twenty-one years. For a few years the State was well administered but subsequently its affairs fell into confusion; a large amount of debt was increased; and the exactions of the Maharaja, in his anxiety to increase the revenue, gave rise to much discontent.

In 1868 A.D. the Thakurs rose to resist the extortions of their Chief, which was an attempt on his part to increase the amount of the tribute payable by them in lieu of military service; and it was not till the British force from Nasirabad had marched a considerable distance towards Bikaner, that the majority of the Thakurs surrendered unconditionally to the Political Agent. A Political Agent was permanently located at Bikaner, and the differences between the Chief and his nobles were gradually adjusted.

Sardar Singh died in 1872 A.D. He had received a sanad of adoption in 1862 A.D.; and, his widow and the principal persons of the the State selected Dungar Singh as his successor. The choice was confirmed by the British Government, and Dungar Singh was invested with full powers in 1873 A.D. He died in 1887 A.D. without issue, having shortly' before his death adopted his brother, Ganga Singh. The choice was approved by the Paramount Power, and Maharaja Ganga Singh, who was born in 1880 A.D., succeeded as the twenty-first Chief of Bikaner. He was educated at the Mayo College, Ajmer; and was invested with full powers in 1898 A.D. During his minority the State was managed by a Council presided over by the Political Agent.

In a sandy country like that of Bikaner, famine is no uncommon visitor. The devastating effects of the last famine of 1899-1900 were, however, mitigated by the liberal expenditure of the Durbar and the well-considered measures of relief supervised by the Maharaja himself.

The State maintains art Imperial Service camel-corps 500 strong, and an irregular local force of 380 cavalry, 500 infantry, and 38 artillery-men with 33 serviceable guns. The camel-corps was raised in 1889 A.D. and is called the Ganga Risala. It served in China in 1900-1 A.D. and did particularly well in Somali-land in 1903-4 A.D.

This State has an area of 23,311 square miles, having 2,110 villages containing a population 5,84,627 inhabitants and a normal revenue of about Rs. 26,00,000.

His Highness Maharaja Raj Rajeshwar Shiromani Shri Maharajadhiraj Ganga Singh holds the Kaisar-i-Hind medal of the first class, is an honorary Colonel in the Indian Army, a G.C.I.E., a K.C.S.I., and an A.D.C. to H. M. the King-Emperor. The State pays no tribute, and the Chief is entitled to a salute of 17 guns.


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 Transverse flutes were known to the Chinese and to the Japanese from time immemorial, and Dr. Lea Southgate considers that probably the European transverse flute is derived from the Chinese Tsche, but he gives no evidence in support of this startling theory. In India also the instrument was certainly known at a very early period. Some carvings of the god Krishna (to whom the natives attribute the invention of the flute) on the eastern gateway of Sanchi Tope in Madras, and various ancient monuments in Buddist Temples in Central India, dating about 50, contain representations of transverse flutes. It is depicted on the Tope of Amaravati (now in the British Museum), which dates from the first century.

I can find no substantial evidence of the existence of transverse flutes in Europe till the tenth and eleventh centuries. Such instruments are portrayed on some ivory caskets of the tenth century Early in the National Museum at Florence, also in some Greek MSS. of the same date in the Bibliotheque National in Paris, and in an illuminated Byzantime MS. of the eleventh century in the British Museum. There is in the oldest portion of the Cathedral of Kieff, in Russia, a picture stated to have been painted early in the eleventh century, which includes a transverse flute. We find pictures of transverse flutes in Hortus Deliciarum, written in the twelfth century by Herrade de Landsberg, Abbess of Hohenbourg, and in the Codex


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 to the Cantigas de Santa Maria, an illustrated Spanish MS. of the thirteenth century, written by King Don Alonzo of Sabio and preserved in the Escurial at Madrid. This last-mentioned picture has been reproduced in Don F. Aznar's Indumentaria Espanola, 1880, in Don Juan Riano's Notes on Early Spanish Music (App. Fig. 8, p. 118), London, 1887, and also in English Music, p. 139. It is to be noticed that the player is left-handed. Another early picture of a transverse flute occurs in The Romance of Alexander by Jehan de Guise, dated 1344, now in the Bodleian Library. There is in the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford a china basin from Urbino, dating about 1600, depicting a feast, which portrays a long transverse flute, and beside the player lies a case for the instrument.

A Provençal poet, musician, and composer, named Guillaume de Machault, born c. 1300 (whose works were discovered in 1747), in his La Prise d'Alexandrie, includes "flaüstes traverseinnes" in a long list of the instruments of his day. This would appear to be the earliest known mention of the transverse flute in literature. It is also mentioned by Eustache Deschamps, another French poet of the fourteenth century. It certainly was well known in the time of Gallileo; and Rabelais, writing about 1533, describes Gargantua as playing on the Allman [i.e., German] flute with nine holes (Bk. I., ch. 23).

Though the earliest form of the transverse flute in mediæval Europe is generally said to be of Swiss origin, and was called Schweitzerpfelff, the Germans


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 Asiatics.’ Thus there came into force two concurrent pieces of legislation with one and the same object, and freshly arriving Indians as well as even later applicants for registration were still subject to the Black Act.

I was astounded when I read the Bill. I did not know how I would face the community. Here was excellent food for the Pathan friend who had severely criticized me at the midnight meeting. But I must say that far from shaking it, this blow made my faith in Satyagraha stronger than ever. I called a meeting of our Committee and explained the new situation to them. Some of the members tauntingly said, ‘There you are. We have often been telling you that you are very credulous, and believe in everything that any one says. It would not matter much if you were so simple in your private affairs, but the community has to suffer for your credulity in public matters. It is very difficult now to rouse the same spirit as actuated our people before. You know what stuff we Indians are made of, men whose momentary enthusiasm must be taken at the flood. If you neglect the temporary tide, you are done for.’

There was no bitterness in these taunting words. Such things had been addressed to me on other occasions. I replied with a smile: ‘Well, what you call my credulity is part and parcel of myself. It is not credulity but trust, and it is the duty of every one of us, yours as well as mine, to trust our fellowmen. And even granting that it is really a defect with me, you must take me as you find me with my defects no less than with my qualities. But I cannot concede that the enthusiasm of the community is a mere temporary effervescence. You must remember that you, as well as I, are members of the community. I should consider it an insult if you thus characterized my enthusiasm. I take it that you too regard yourselves as exceptions to the general rule you seek to formulate. But if you don’t, you do the community the injustice of imagining that others are as weak-kneed as yourselves. In great struggles like ours there is always a tide and an ebb. However clear may be your understanding with the

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 adversary, what is there to prevent him from breaking faith? There are many among us who pass promissory notes to others. What can be clearer and more free from doubt than a man’s putting his signature to a document? Yet suits must be filed against them; they will oppose the suits and offer all kinds of defence. At last there are decrees and writs of attachment which take a long time and cost great trouble to execute. Who can guarantee against the repetition of such flagrant behaviour? I would therefore advise you patiently to deal with the problem before us. We have to consider what we can do in case the struggle has to be resumed, that is to say, what each Satyagrahi can do absolutely regardless of the conduct of others. Personally I am inclined to think, that if only we are true to ourselves, others will not be found wanting, and even if they are inclined to weakness, they will be strengthened by our example.’

I believe this was enough to conciliate the well-intentioned sceptics who were doubtful about the resumption of the struggle. About this time Mr Kachhalia began to show his mettle and come to the front. On every point he would announce his considered opinion in the fewest words possible and then stick to it through thick and thin. I do not remember a single occasion on which he betrayed weakness or doubt about the final result. A time came when Yusuf Mian was not ready to continue at the helm in troubled waters. We all with one voice acclaimed Kachhalia as our captain and from that time forward to the end he held unflinchingly to his responsible post. He fearlessly put up with hardships which would have daunted almost any other man in his place. As the struggle advanced, there came a stage when going to jail was a perfectly easy task for some and a means of getting well-earned rest, whereas it was infinitely more difficult to remain outside, minutely to look into all things, to make various arrangements and to deal with all sorts and conditions of men.

Later on the European creditors of Kachhalia caught him as in a noose. Many Indian traders are entirely

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 dependent in their trade on European firms, which sell them lakhs of rupees worth of goods on credit on mere personal security. That Europeans should repose such trust in Indian traders is an excellent proof of the general honesty of Indian trade. Kachhalia likewise owed large sums to many European firms, which asked him at once to meet their dues, being instigated thereto directly or indirectly by the Government. The firms gave Kachhalia to understand that they would not press for immediate payment if he left the Satyagraha movement. But if he did not, they were afraid of losing their money as he might be arrested any time by the Government, and therefore demanded immediate satisfaction in cash. Kachhalia bravely replied, that his participation in the Indian struggle was his personal affair, which had nothing to do with his trade. He considered that his religion, the honour of his community and his own self-respect were bound up with the struggle. He thanked his creditors for the support they had extended to him, but refused to attach any undue importance to that support or indeed to his trade. Their money was perfectly safe with him, and as long as he was alive he would repay them in full at any cost. But if anything happened to him, his stock as well as the book debts owing to him were at their disposal. He therefore wished that his creditors would continue to trust him as before. This was a perfectly fair argument, and Kachhalia’s firmness was an additional reason for his creditors to trust him, but on this occasion it failed to impress them. We can rouse from his slumbers a man who is really asleep, but not him who only makes a pretence of sleep all the while that he is awake, and so it was with these European traders, whose sole object was to bring undue pressure to bear upon Kachhalia. Otherwise their money was perfectly safe.

A meeting of the creditors was held in my office on January 22, 1909. I told them clearly that the pressure to which they were subjecting Kachhalia was purely political and unworthy of merchants, and they were incensed at my remark. I showed them Kachhalia Sheth’s

S.A.-13

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 appear to have developed it more than any other nation (though the French were the first to produce great players), and our earliest information respecting it is to be found chiefly in German treatises. We find an engraving of the instrument (there called Zwerchpfeiff) in the Musica Getutscht und Auszgezogen of Sebastian Virdung, published at Basle in 1511. It will be noticed (Page 30, Fig. 1) that the mouth-hole is very small, and is round; that the finger-holes are very far removed from it, being all equal distances apart and very close to each other; and that the tube is a long, slender cylinder. Certainly the flute here depicted does not look as if it was drawn accurately to scale from an actual instrument. Unfortunately, Virdung did not give any detailed description either of its construction or of the manner of playing it. The Musurgia seu praxis Musicœ (1536) of Ottomar Luscinius (or Nachtigall) is practically a translation of Virdung's work into Latin, with identical illustrations. He mentions five varieties of flutes:The Chalamen and Bombardt (like the modern clarinet), the Helvetian (like the old English flute-à-bec), the Schwegel (or whistle), and the Zwerchpfeiff.

The next important notice of the flute is to be found in Musica Instrumentalis Deudsch, first published by Georg Rhaw at Wittemburg in 1528 and enlarged in 1545, compiled by Martin Agricola (whose real name was Sohr, or Sore). It gives engravings of Schweitzerpfeiffs of different lengths


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 discantus or soprano, alto, tenor, and bass. They are very similar to the instrument portrayed by Virdung, even to the two little lines drawn across the tube immediately above the mouth-hole. In this work we meet for the first time with a diagram (Page 30, Fig. 2) showing the fingering of the holes, and very curious it is. The D hole is to be covered by the first finger of the left hand, and the G hole with the first finger of the right hand. According to the present English numbering of the fingers, this could only be done by crossing the hands palm to palm, a position in which it would be impossible to play. But possibly the early German numbering of the fingers began with the little finger as number one. Even so, it is hard to understand this diagram: what was to be done with the first finger of each hand?

All these early illustrations (which appear to be copied from one another) represent the flute as a cylinder of equal diameter throughout, with very small finger-holes and without any joints. The two lines above the mouth-hole are evidently only for ornament. The earliest illustration of a jointed flute is to be found in the Theatrum Instrumentorium seu Sciagraphia of Michaelis Prætorius (i.e., Schultheis, or Schultz), published at Wolfenbuttel in 1615-20, in illustration of the author's Syntagma Musicum. Prætorius introduces pictures of four flutes (of which he gives the


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 dimensions), and the largest of these (Page 30, Fig. 3) has apparently a head-joint separate from the body of the instrument, the diameter being larger at the joint. This, however, may be mere ornamentation. Another novelty is to be noticedviz., the first three holes are separated from the second three by a considerably larger space. Possibly this division always existed in these early flutes, but if so, it was not shown in any of the earlier representations of the instrument.

Much the fullest description of the early flute, however, is that given in Harmonic Universelle, the great illustrated work of Father Marin Mersenne, of the Order of Minorites, published in Paris in 1636-37. In Vol. 11., Part v., he treats of the various kinds of flute at considerable length, terming the transverse flute "Fistula Germanica," or "Helvetica," whilst he calls the flute-à-bec "Fistula Anglicis." He gives an illustration of "one of the best flutes in the world" (Page 30, Fig. 4, which I reproduce from the copy of his book in the Library of Dublin University)a transverse flute which is bent curiously towards the open end. He also gives full explanations, which are very interesting, as they are the earliest detailed account of the instrument and the method of playing it. The tube was 23.45 inches long and cylindrical throughout, with a cork in the head, the embouchure being 3.2 inches from the top end. The bore of the tube was slightly less than that used at present. It is apparently without joints, the six finger-holes, which are larger than those in


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608 is specially the case with P. virgata, P. lævigata, P. Urvilleana, and P. Lyallii, the numerous forms of which require a careful study in the field before their proper position can be determined.

The flowers of Pimelea are usually described as hermaphrodite. But all the New Zealand species are functionally diœcious, or occasionally polygamo-diœcious. The male flowers are the most numerous and the most conspicuous. The stamens have long slender filaments, so that the anthers either reach the top of the perianth-lobes or are slightly exserted; and the style with its comparatively small stigma is always included within the perianth. I have never seen fruit in this form, and believe that the pistil is quite functionless. The female flowers are smaller, often swollen at the base, although narrower above. The anthers are small, almost sessile, and are usually devoid of pollen. The ovary is large, with a short style and large capitate stigma, which is conspicuously exserted when the flower is mature. Pollen is sometimes present in this form, but in the majority of cases the flowers are strictly female.


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 Him as, being "the same yesterday, and to-day, and for ever; also as the , for "all things were made by Him, and without Him was not anything made that was made;" likewise as the . He "having obtained eternal redemption for us;" and the , "For He shall save His people from their sins." They knew that He is "the Way, the Truth, and the Life;" "the Hearer of prayer; the Divine Being, whom the angels worship, and without whom man can do nothing;" He being the only wise God —"God manifest in the flesh," in whom "dwelleth all the fulness of the Godhead bodily." This was the grand doctrine of early Christianity concerning the Lord, and such are the scriptural terms in which it is expressed. But this doctrine, in its simplicity and truth, did not long continue to be acknowledged. It began to be questioned even in the apostolic ages; for we find in the epistles intimations that antichrist had come, and that this fact originated an expectation that the second advent was at hand. That event, however, did not then take place; the corruptions which conduced to it were begun, but as yet they were not completed. Disputations increased, subtleties were invented, animosities were engendered, until the fourth century, when the central truth of Christianity was authoritatively abandoned, and Jesus ceased to be the sole object of the Church's faith.

About those facts there can be no controversy. In the second century, the love of dominion in the Church began to be displayed among its leaders, and thereupon altercations arose about its government and laws. Heresies also broke


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, the greatest English master of pure comedy, was born, according to the latest and likeliest accounts, in 1670, according to the inscription on his monument, in 1672; and whether in England or in Ireland, at Bardsey near Leeds or at some place unknown beyond St. George's Channel, has likewise been matter of doubt and dispute; but we may presumably accept the authority of Lord Macaulay, who decides against Dr. Johnson in favour of the later date, and dismisses without notice the tradition of an Irish birthplace. To Ireland, at all events, is due the credit of his education,—as a schoolboy at Kilkenny, as an undergraduate at Dublin. From college he came to London, and was entered as a student of law at the Middle Temple.

The first-fruits of his studies appeared under the boyish pseudonym of 'Cleophil,' in the form of a novel whose existence is now remembered only through the unabashed avowal of so austere a moralist as Dr. Johnson, that he 'would rather praise it than read it.' In 1693 Congreve's real career began, and early enough by the latest computation, with the brilliant appearance and instant success of his first comedy, The Old Bachelor, under the generous auspices of Dryden, then as ever a living and immortal witness to the falsehood of the


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 vulgar charge which taxes the greater among poets with jealousy or envy, the natural badge and brand of the smallest that would claim a place among their kind. The discrowned laureate had never, he said, seen such a first play; and indeed the graceless grace of the dialogue was as yet only to be matched by the last and best work of Etherege, standing as till then it had done alone among the barefaced brutalities of Wycherley and Shadwell. The types of Congreve's first work were the common conventional properties of stage tradition; but the fine and clear-cut style in which these types were reproduced was his own. The gift of one place and the reversion of another were the solid fruits of his splendid success. Next year a better play from the same hand met with worse fortune on the stage, and with yet higher honour from the first living poet of his nation. The noble verses, as faultless in the expression as reckless in the extravagance of their applause, prefixed by Dryden to The Double Dealer, must naturally have supported the younger poet, if indeed such support can have been required, against the momentary annoyance of assailants whose passing clamour left uninjured and secure the fame of his second comedy; for the following year witnessed the crowning triumph of his art and life, in the appearance of Love for Love. Two years later his ambition rather than his genius adventured on the foreign ground of tragedy, and The Mourning Bride began such a long career of good fortune as in earlier or later times would have been closed against a far better work. Next year he attempted, without his usual success, a reply to the attack of Jeremy Collier, the nonjuror, '


text:
Mabry v. Johnson

After respondent was convicted in an Arkansas state court on charges of burglary, assault, and murder, the Arkansas Supreme Court set aside the murder conviction, and plea negotiations ensued. A deputy prosecutor proposed to respondent's attorney that in exchange for a guilty plea to a charge of accessory after a felony murder, the prosecutor would recommend a 21-year sentence to be served concurrently with the concurrent burglary and assault sentences. However, when defense counsel called the prosecutor three days later and communicated respondent's acceptance of the offer, the prosecutor told counsel that a mistake had been made and withdrew the offer. He proposed instead that in exchange for a guilty plea he would recommend a 21-year sentence to be served consecutively to the other sentences. Respondent rejected the new offer, but after a mistrial was declared, he ultimately accepted the prosecutor's second offer, and the trial judge imposed a 21-year sentence to be served consecutively to the previous sentences. After exhausting state remedies, respondent sought habeas corpus relief in Federal District Court with respect to his guilty plea. The court dismissed the petition, holding that respondent had understood the consequences of his guilty plea, that he had received effective assistance of counsel, and that because it was not established that he had detrimentally relied on the prosecutor's first proposed plea agreement, respondent had no right to enforce it. However, the Court of Appeals reversed, holding that "fairness" precluded the prosecution's withdrawal of the plea proposal once accepted by respondent.

Held: Respondent's acceptance of the prosecutor's first proposed plea bargain did not create a constitutional right to have the bargain specifically enforced, and he may not successfully attack his subsequent guilty plea. Plea agreements are consistent with the requirements that guilty pleas be made voluntarily and intelligently. If a defendant was not fairly apprised of its consequences, his guilty plea can be challenged under the Due Process Clause. And when the prosecution breaches its promise with respect to an executed plea agreement, the defendant pleads guilty on a false premise, and hence his conviction cannot stand. However, [p505] respondent's plea was in no sense induced by the prosecutor's withdrawn offer, and it rested on no unfulfilled promise; he knew the prosecution would recommend a 21-year consecutive sentence. Thus, because it did not impair the voluntariness or intelligence of his guilty plea, respondent's inability to enforce the prosecutor's first offer is without constitutional significance. Neither is the question whether the prosecutor was negligent or otherwise culpable in first making and then withdrawing his offer relevant. Cf. Santobello v. New York, 404 U.S. 257. Pp. 507–511.

707 F.2d 323, reversed.

, J., delivered the opinion for a unanimous Court.

John Steven Clark, Attorney General of Arkansas, argued the cause for petitioner. With him on the briefs was Alice Ann Burns, Deputy Attorney General.

Jerrold J. Ganzfried argued the cause for the United States as amicus curiae urging reversal. On the brief were Solicitor General Lee, Assistant Attorney General Trott, Deputy Solicitor General Frey, and Gloria C. Phares.

Richard Quiggle, by appointment of the Court, 465 U.S. 1003, argued the cause and filed a brief for respondent.

title: Mabry v. Johnson


text: Category:United States Supreme Court decisions in Volume 467


text: Talk:Mabry v. Johnson

title: Talk:Mabry v. Johnson


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F WE ACCEPT Johnson’s definition of madness as a perturbation of the faculties, we must acknowledge that there is more than a conventional association between madness and the earlier months of the year. While the buds are breaking, the faculties of all of us are perturbed with a vengeance, and never a green leaf unrolls beneath the sky but one of us tramples under foot the laws he has made for the guidance of his life. Sometimes our mania is clear to every one, sometimes we are the most cunning of madmen, only wearing the straws in solitude, and duly imitating the lives of our grandfathers before our suspicious neighbors. But, however this may be, we are all mad in the spring and though their perturbations vary as widely as the new leaves, our faculties sing drunken songs together along the wind-swept streets of the world.


text: At the Earth's Core/Advertisements

title: At the Earth's Core/Advertisements


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 This is a period when it is very good to be young, and so I willingly sympathize with the madness of my friend Florizel, who drives about London looking for his lost youth in a taximeter filled with children and chocolates. There are moments, he tells me when this annual search seems to be crowned with success. Perhaps for an hour he recovers the forgotten ignorance of his early years; the children treat him with the genial rudeness of comradeship; he is patronised by ticket-collectors and policemen. But he goes home an old man. No less do I sympathise with the youthful and agreeable Hamlet, who staggers along the Charing Cross Road at this season with his arms and pockets filled with books. These are not, alas! the spoils of a conqueror, but the sacrifices of the vanquished, for every spring Hamlet falls in love, and madly sells his books for flowers and art jewelry. His dreamgirls are always of the practical kind, and their affection for Hamlet appears to pass with his library; but Hamlet loves the spring nevertheless. So too, I suppose, does Pericles, whose madness, however, fills me rather with envy than with sympathy, for to him the spring brings a passion for work that enables him to squander the summer hours at Lord’s or the Oval like a capitalist. There is something immoral in being able to perform prodigies of work when all the world is stretching from its winter sleep. But so it is with Pericles, and his


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 friends will know him no more until these delicious months are over.

In truth there is no harm in these vernal follies; they are only the fuller expression of that self over which our conventional cunnings have no control. Perhaps if we were honest and not quite so civilised we should dance blithely along Piccadilly every day of our short lives. Perhaps if we understood our neighbours better we should endure every night with the dreamy colours of our desires. As it is, it is only in the spring that we are willing to acknowledge the charm—I might almost say virtue—of wise excess. Over a certain section of one of the London parks there used to rule a policeman so dour that he never wearied of condemning himself for the frivolous character of his dreams. He felt that the midnight caperings of his spirit went far to counteract the rectitude of his conscious life, and over all his asceticism there hung a bitter consciousness of its futility. At last, on a golden day of spring, he proposed to and was accepted by a nursemaid of secure charms, and the kingdom of paradox knew him no more. He traced his fall to a bed of tulips.

But most cruel of all are the dealings of this wanton season with those of us who write about little things with wide, splendid words. Never, it would seem, are our emotions more trivial, never are the words with which we hold them wider and more


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 '—an attack for once not discreditable to the assailant, whose honesty and courage were evident enough to approve him incapable alike of the ignominious precaution which might have suppressed his own name, and of the dastardly mendacity which would have stolen the mask of a stranger's. Against this merit must be set the mistake of confounding in one indiscriminate indictment the levities of a writer like Congreve with the brutalities of a writer like Wycherley; an error which ever since has more or less perverted the judgment of succeeding critics. The general case of comedy was then, however, as untenable by the argument as indefensible by the sarcasm of its most brilliant and comparatively blameless champion. Art itself, more than anything else, had been outraged and degraded by the recent school of the Restoration; and the comic work of Congreve, though different rather in kind than in degree from the bestial and blatant license of his immediate precursors, was inevitably for a time involved in the sentence passed upon the comic work of men in all ways alike his inferiors. The true and triumphant answer to all possible attacks of honest men or liars, brave men or cowards, was then as ever to be given by the production of work unarraignable alike by fair means or foul, by frank impeachment or by furtive imputation. In 1700 Congreve thus replied to Collier with the crowning work of his genius—the unequalled and unapproached masterpiece of English comedy. The one play in our language which may fairly claim a place beside or but just beneath the mightiest work of Molière is The Way of the World. On the stage which had recently acclaimed with uncritical applause the


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 splendid. It is true that this verbal insanity affects us in different ways. Me does the coming of the almond blossom afflict with adjectives—great and gorgeous adjectives in merry companies—fallen together by the chance of the road, but surely inseparable thereafter. There is nothing to be done with these blithe comrades but to enshrine them in notebooks and sigh a requiem. For, fine as life is, there is nowhere anything on the earth worthy of such epithets—and I lack my note-book when I wander in the city of dreams. Moreover, this futility extends to the ideas themselves that are bred in our minds during this happy, bitter season. On a fair morning of spring I seemed to have discovered what really should be done with H.M.S. Buzzard, that promising gunboat which lies off the Embankment for the encouragement of the naval volunteers. As in a vision, I saw her captured at night by twelve decadent millionaires, hopeful of winning the ultimate sensation by their piratical enterprise. Thereafter the tale pursued a pleasant and profitable course. Their number raised to thirteen by the volunteering of a romantic small boy, my millionaires diverted themselves by singing sentimental songs to the tall white masts and by scattering explosive shells like roses all over London. Beaten at last by the invincible force of the British Navy, they blow a magnificent hole in the bottom of the ship, which sinks some three feet, it being low tide, and there are god-like laughters upon the decks.


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 Finally, I think the survivors, being three of the millionaires and the small boy, were to drift down the river towards the sea in a leaky boat.

Here was a fine tale with never a woman in it, yet, nevertheless, it was of the spring. For when, in an autumnal mood I revisited the Buzzard, I saw that even the most decadent of millionaires or the most romantic of small boys could not hold that wretched vessel for five minutes against a handful of marksmen. So passed my screaming shells, my armoured tramcars, my ploughed and reddened decks. Before the first puff of saner weather my visionary galleon sailed back to the harbour of dreams.

Yet withal, when the last joss-stick of winter dies in the room and the scent of the violets in the flower-girls’ baskets comes singing through the open window, it is only the more cowardly of us who quaff the cautious iron and quinine. Those of us who are lovers know that there are troubling days before us in this season of finite sorrows and infinite joys, and amateurs of pain as we are, we would not have it otherwise. It is enough for us, though our feet be lame and bleeding, that, from the grey morning and through the hot day and down to the cool time when the stars light up the sky, our love fares on. We may mock ourselves with speech of green-sickness and of faculties devilishly perturbed; we may turn a sorrowful eye on the morrow inevitably grey; but our hearts are for the spring.


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 author's more questionable appearance in the field of tragedy, this final and flawless evidence of his incom- parable powers met with a rejection then and ever since inexplicable on any ground of conjecture. During the twenty-eight years which remained to him, Congreve produced little beyond a volume of fugitive verses, published ten years after the miscarriage of his master- piece. His even course of good fortune under Whig and Tory Governments alike was counterweighed by the physical infirmities of gout and failing sight. He died, January 29, 1729, in consequence of an injury received on a journey to Bath by the upsetting of his carriage; was buried in Westminster Abbey, after lying in state in the Jerusalem Chamber; and bequeathed the bulk of his fortune to the chief friend of his last years, , daughter of the great duke, rather than to his family, which, according to Johnson, was then in difficulties, or to the actress, with whom he had lived longer on intimate terms than with any other mistress or friend, but who inherited by his will only 200l. The one memorable incident of his later life was the visit of Voltaire, whom he astonished and repelled by his rejection of proffered praise and the expression of his wish to be considered merely as any other gentleman of no literary fame. The great master of wellnigh every province in the empire of letters, except the only one in which his host reigned supreme, replied that in that sad case Congreve would not have received his visit.

The fame of our greatest comic dramatist is founded wholly or mainly on but three of his five plays. His first comedy was little more than a brilliant study after


text:
Mabry v. Johnson/Opinion of the Court

delivered the opinion of the Court.

The question presented is whether a defendant's acceptance of a prosecutor's proposed plea bargain creates a constitutional right to have the bargain specifically enforced.

In the late evening of May 22, 1970, three members of a family returned home to find a burglary in progress. Shots were exchanged resulting in the daughter's death and the wounding of the father and respondent—one of the burglars. Respondent was tried and convicted on three charges: burglary, assault, and murder. The murder conviction was set aside by the Arkansas Supreme Court, Johnson v. State, 252 Ark. 1113, 482 S.W.2d 600 (1972). Thereafter, plea negotiations ensued.

At the time of the negotiations respondent was serving his concurrent 21- and 12-year sentences on the burglary and assault convictions. On Friday, October 27, 1972, a deputy [p506] prosecutor proposed to respondent's attorney that in exchange for a plea of guilty to the charge of accessory after a felony murder, the prosecutor would recommend a sentence of 21 years to be served concurrently with the burglary and assault sentences. On the following day, counsel communicated the offer to respondent who agreed to accept it. On the next Monday the lawyer called the prosecutor "and communicated [respondent's] acceptance of the offer." App. 10. The prosecutor then told counsel that a mistake had been made and withdrew the offer. He proposed instead that in exchange for a guilty plea he would recommend a sentence of 21 years to be served consecutively to respondent's other sentences.

Respondent rejected the new offer and elected to stand trial. On the second day of trial, the judge declared a mistrial and plea negotiations resumed, ultimately resulting in respondent's acceptance of the prosecutor's second offer. In accordance with the plea bargain, the state trial judge imposed a 21-year sentence to be served consecutively to the previous sentences.

After exhausting his state remedies, respondent filed a petition for a writ of habeas corpus under 28 U.S.C. § 2254. The District Court dismissed the petition, finding that respondent had understood the consequences of his guilty plea, that he had received the effective assistance of counsel, and that because the evidence did not establish that respondent had detrimentally relied on the prosecutor's first proposed plea agreement, respondent had no right to enforce it. The Court of Appeals reversed, 707 F.2d 323 (CA8 1983), over Judge John R. Gibson's dissent. The majority concluded that "fairness" precluded the prosecution's withdrawal of a plea proposal once accepted by respondent. Because of a [p507] conflict in the Circuits, coupled with our concern that an important constitutional question had been wrongly decided, we granted certiorari, 464 U.S. 1017 (1983). We now reverse.

Respondent can obtain federal habeas corpus relief only if his custody is in violation of the Federal Constitution. A plea bargain standing alone is without constitutional significance; in itself it is a mere executory agreement which, until embodied in the judgment of a court, does not deprive an accused of liberty or any other constitutionally protected interest. It is the ensuing guilty plea that implicates the [p508] Constitution. Only after respondent pleaded guilty was he convicted, and it is that conviction which gave rise to the deprivation of respondent's liberty at issue here.

It is well settled that a voluntary and intelligent plea of guilty made by an accused person, who has been advised by competent counsel, may not be collaterally attacked. It is also well settled that plea agreements are consistent with the requirements of voluntariness and intelligence—because each side may obtain advantages when a guilty plea is exchanged for sentencing concessions, the agreement is no less voluntary than any other bargained-for exchange. It is only [p509] when the consensual character of the plea is called into question that the validity of a guilty plea may be impaired. In Brady v. United States, 397 U.S. 742 (1970), we stated the applicable standard:

[A] plea of guilty entered by one fully aware of the direct consequences, including the actual value of any commitments made to him by the court, prosecutor, or his own counsel, must stand unless induced by threats (or promises to discontinue improper harassment), misrepresentation (including unfulfilled or unfulfillable promises), or perhaps by promises that are by their nature improper as having no proper relationship to the prosecutor's business (e.g. bribes). Id., at 755 (quoting Shelton v. United States, 246 F.2d 571, 572, n. 2 (CA5 1957) (en banc) (in turn quoting 242 F.2d 101, 115 (Tuttle, J., dissenting to panel opinion)), rev'd on other grounds, 356 U.S. 26 (1958).

Thus, only when it develops that the defendant was not fairly apprised of its consequences can his plea be challenged under the Due Process Clause. Santobello v. New York, 404 U.S. 257 (1971), illustrates the point. We began by acknowledging that the conditions for a valid plea "presuppose fairness in securing agreement between an accused and a prosecutor The plea must, of course, be voluntary and knowing and if it was induced by promises, the essence of those promises must in some way be made known." Id., at 261–262. It follows that when the prosecution breaches its promise with respect to an executed plea agreement, the defendant pleads guilty on a false premise, and hence his conviction cannot stand: "[W]hen a plea rests in any significant degree on a promise or agreement of the prosecutor, so that it can be said to be part of the inducement or consideration, such promise must be fulfilled." Id., at 262.

[p510] Santobello demonstrates why respondent may not successfully attack his plea of guilty. Respondent's plea was in no sense induced by the prosecutor's withdrawn offer; unlike Santobello, who pleaded guilty thinking he had bargained for a specific prosecutorial sentencing recommendation which was not ultimately made, at the time respondent pleaded guilty he knew the prosecution would recommend a 21-year consecutive sentence. Respondent does not challenge the District Court's finding that he pleaded guilty with the advice of competent counsel and with full awareness of the consequences—he knew that the prosecutor would recommend and that the judge could impose the sentence now under attack.{ref|10|10}} Respondent's plea was thus in no sense the product of governmental deception; it rested on no "unfulfilled promise" and fully satisfied the test for voluntariness and intelligence.

Thus, because it did not impair the voluntariness or intelligence of his guilty plea, respondent's inability to enforce the prosecutor's offer is without constitutional significance. [p511] Neither is the question whether the prosecutor was negligent or otherwise culpable in first making and then withdrawing his offer relevant. The Due Process Clause is not a code of ethics for prosecutors; its concern is with the manner in which persons are deprived of their liberty. Here respondent was not deprived of his liberty in any fundamentally unfair way. Respondent was fully aware of the likely consequences when he pleaded guilty; it is not unfair to expect him to live with those consequences now. The judgment of the Court of Appeals is

Reversed.

title: Mabry v. Johnson/Opinion of the Court


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 such models as were eclipsed by this earliest effort of their imitator; and tragedy under his hands appears rouged and wrinkled, in the patches and powder of Lady Wishfort. But his three great comedies are more than enough to sustain a reputation as durable as our language. Were it not for these we should have no samples to show of comedy in its purest and highest form. Ben Jonson, who alone attempted to introduce it by way of reform among the mixed work of a time when comedy and tragedy were as inextricably blended on the stage as in actual life, failed to give the requisite ease and the indispensable grace of comic life and movement to the action and passion of his elaborate and magnificent work. Of Congreve's immediate predecessors, whose aim had been to raise on French foundations a new English fabric of simple and unmixed comedy, Wycherley was of too base metal and Etherege was of metal too light to be weighed against him; and besides theirs no other or finer coin was current than the crude British ore of Shadwell's brutal and burly talent. Borrowing a metaphor from Landor, we may say that a limb of Molière would have sufficed to make a Congreve, a limb of Congreve would have sufficed to make a Sheridan. The broad and robust humour of Vanbrugh's admirable comedies gives him a place on the master's right hand; on the left stands Farquhar, whose bright light genius is to Congreve's as female is to male, or 'as moonlight unto sunlight.' No English writer, on the whole, has so nearly touched the skirts of Molière; but his splendid intelligence is wanting in the deepest and subtlest quality which has won for Molière from the greatest poet of his country and our age the


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 tribute of exact and final definition conveyed in that perfect phrase which salutes at once and denotes him—'ce moqueur pensif comme un apôtre.' Only perhaps in a single part has Congreve half consciously touched a note of almost tragic depth and suggestion; there is something wellnigh akin to the grotesque and piteous figure of Arnolphe himself in the unvenerable old age of Lady Wishfort, set off and relieved as it is, with grace and art worthy of the supreme French master, against the only figure on any stage which need not shun comparison even with that of Célimène.


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16 The Hill and Jet Ants admit of ome Difference in the manner of the Building. For as they generally inhabit the Bottoms of old Trees, the Surfaces of the Trees are ufficient to prevent the Ditilling of any Water into their Cells. As therefore they do not want, they are not at the Trouble of making direct Channels to drain it off. In mot other Repects the Architecture is the ame, coniting of a number and Variety of Apartments formed with a great deal of Curioity, and all communicating with one another.

All thee Works the ingenious Ants carry on by the Aitance of their double Saw and the Hooks placed at the Extremities of them. And it is wonderful to oberve with how great Celerity they mannage thee Implements, and finih the Structure. They firt of all grate or cut the Earth into little Particles with their Saws, and afterwards remove it between their Hooks, which anwer the End of a Pair of Pincers or Forceps. The Proces and manner of their Working might be eaily oberved by depoiting ome Ants with a lump of Moit Earth under a Glas. It may be proper to moiten the Earth, or it will be too hard for their Saws. It


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Rh It may be added that Ants are extremely careful to keep their Apartments clean. They remove all Rubbih, or what ele might prove incommodious or offenive. As oon as one of their Fraternity dies, it is carried out of the Settlement and thrown upon the Ground without Ceremony or Rites of a Funeral. Pliny informs us that the Ants of his Country are wont to bury their Dead, which is a Curioity not imitated by ours in England.

There remains a remarkable Exception to be mentioned with regard to the Ants retiring downwards. If the Autumnal and Winter Months, are more than ordinary wet, they are obliged to keep above or near the Center of the Colonies. Immoderate Rains are apt to fill Part of the ubterraneous Channels, and oak into the lower Cells, which, like o many little Citerns, retain the Moiture, and prevent the Ants from inhabiting them. We may hence dicern the happy Formation of Mole-hills for the Advantage of thee Inects. Their riising above the level protects Rh


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18 them from Floods, and their gradual Decent in manner of a Slope carries off Exces of Water. Without this Dipoition, every impending Storm would endanger their Security, and overflow their Settlements.


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20 accordingly they have been treated of as a Body coniting of Males and Females; the former of which are looked upon to be thoe that make their Appearance in Summer-time with Wings. The Care and Tendernes which thee imagined Females expres towards the Young might naturally miguide our Enquiries. But if we recollect the Oeconomy of the Bees, that the generality of them have no Ditinction of Sex, and yet make it their whole Employment to provide for the Young laid by their Queen, we hall not o much wonder to find the ame Character maintained in the Contitution of Ants.

The common Ants thereofre which uually preent themelves to our View are like the common Bees, of neither Sex; but eem entirely detined to take care of and educate the Young which their Queen depoites in the Cells, and reigns to their Protection.

Every


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Rh Every perfect Colony of Ants, has at leat one Queen, who, in the Space of Seven or Eight Months, gives Birth to a Family, at a moderate Computation amounting to Four or Five Thouand: Except the Red Queens who are not o prolific. She is eaily ditinguished by her uperior Largenes, different Colour, and the particular Repect hown her by the ret.

As the Yellow Ants are mot frequent, I hall give a Decription of their Queen, and afterwards mention any Circultances wherein the others differ from her.

A Queen of the Yellow Ants, is in regard of Size perhaps five Times larger than any of her Subjects. Her Colour is a kind of Bay intermixt with Yellow, and carries the Glos of a fine Velvet. Her Head is funihed, like the common Ants, with a Mouth, a double Saw, a Pair of Feelers, two Eyes one on each Side of her HEad, and a Neck which unites it to the Breat. She has moreover on her Front three Eyes les than the others, and placed in a triangular Form. They are very convex, of a brown Colour, and jut out like mall Beads. We meet with the ame Apparatus in Bees, and probably the Reaon is the ame in both. Rh


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 day, except where inquiry and deliberation were requisite. Nothing else could have enabled him to keep abreast with the flood of communications that poured in upon him and sometimes put his good nature to the severest test. It was his practice to rise by five o'clock, and light his own fire. He shaved and dressed with deliberation, and was seated at his desk by six o'clock, with his papers arranged before him in the most accurate order, his works of reference marshalled round him on the floor, while at least one favourite dog lay watching his eye, outside the line of books. Thus by the time the family assembled for breakfast, between nine and ten, he had done enough—to use his own words—to break the neck of the day's work. But with all his diligent and indefatigable industry, and his immense knowledge, the result of many years' patient labour, Scott always spoke with the greatest diffidence of his own powers. On one occasion he said, "Throughout every part of my career I have felt pinched and hampered by my own ignorance."

Such is true wisdom and humility; for the more a man really knows, the less conceited he will be. The student at Trinity College who went up to his professor to take leave of him because he had "finished his education," was wisely rebuked by the professor's reply, "Indeed! I am only beginning mine." The superficial person who has obtained a smattering of many things, but knows nothing well, may pride himself upon his gifts; but the sage humbly confesses that "all he knows is, that he knows nothing," or like Newton, that he has been only engaged in picking shells by the sea shore, while the great ocean of truth lies all unexplored before him.


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 The lives of second-rate literary men furnish equally remarkable illustrations of the powers of perseverance. The late John Britton, author of 'The Beauties of England and Wales,' and of many valuable architectural works, was born in a miserable cot in Kingston, Wiltshire. His father had been a baker and maltster, but was ruined in trade and became insane while Britton was yet a child. The boy received very little schooling, but a great deal of bad example, which happily did not corrupt him. He was early in life set to labour with an uncle, a tavern-keeper in Clerkenwell, under whom he bottled, corked, and binned wine for more than five years. His health failing him, his uncle turned him adrift in the world, with only two guineas, the fruits of his five years' service, in his pocket. During the next seven years of his life he endured many vicissitudes and hardships. Yet he says, in his autobiography, "in my poor and obscure lodgings, at eighteenpence a week, I indulged in study, and often read in bed during the winter evenings, because I could not afford a fire." Travelling on foot to Bath, he there obtained an engagement as a cellarman, but shortly after we find him back in the metropolis again almost penniless, shoeless, and shirtless. He succeeded, however, in obtaining employment as a celiarman at the London Tavern, where it was his duty to be in the cellar from seven in the morning until eleven at night. His health broke down under this confinement in the dark, added to the heavy work; and he then engaged himself, at fifteen shillings a week, to an attorney,—for he had been diligently cultivating the art of writing during the few spare minutes that he could call his own. While in this


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 "Yes, but that ain't all," said Sam, again directing his master's attention to the coach door; "not content vith writin' up Pickwick, they puts 'Moses' afore it, vich I call addin' insult to injury, as the parrot said ven they not only took him from his native land, but made him talk the English langwidge arterwards."

"It's odd enough certainly, Sam,' said Mr. Pickwick; "but we stand talking here, we shall lose our places."

"Wot, ain't nothin' to be done in consequence, sir?" exclaimed Sam, perfectly aghast at the coolness with which Mr. Pickwick appeared to ensconce himself inside.

"Done!" said Mr. Pickwick. "What should be done?"

"Ain't nobody to be whopped for takin' this here liberty, sir?" said Mr. Weller, who had expected that at least he would have been commissioned to challenge the guard and coachman to a pugilistic encounter on the spot.

"Certainly not," replied Mr. Pickwick eagerly; any account. Jump up to your seat directly."

"I'm wery much afeerd," muttered Sam to himself, as he "not on turned away, " that somethin' queer's come over the governor, or he'd never ha' stood this so quiet. I hope that 'ere trial hasn't broke his spirit, but it looks bad, wery bad." Mr. Weller shook his head gravely; and it is worthy of remark, as an illustration of the manner in which he took this circumstance to heart, that he did not speak another word until the coach reached the Kensington turnpike. Which was so long a time for him to remain taciturn, that the fact may be considered wholly unprecedented.

Nothing worthy of special mention occurred during the journey. Mr. Dowler related a variety of anecdotes, all illustrative of his own personal prowess and desperation, and appealed to Mrs. Dowler in corroboration thereof: when Mrs. Dowler invariably brought in, in the form of an appendix, some remarkable fact or circumstance which Mr. Dowler had forgotten, or had perhaps through modesty omitted: for the addenda in every instance went to show that Mr. Dowler was


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 employment, he devoted his leisure principally to perambulating the book-stalls, where he read books by snatches which he could not buy, and thus picked up a good deal of odd knowledge. Then he shifted to another office, at the advanced wages of twenty shillings a week, still reading and studying. At twenty-eight he was able to write a book, which he published under the title of 'The Enterprising Adventures of Pizarro'; and from that time until his death, during a period of about fifty-five years, Britton was occupied in laborious literary occupation. The number of his published works is not fewer than eighty-seven; the most important being 'The Cathedral Antiquities of England,' in fourteen volumes, a truly magnificent work; itself the best monument of John Britton's indefatigable industry.

Loudon, the landscape gardener, was a man of somewhat similar character, possessed of an extraordinary working power. The son of a farmer near Edinburgh, he was early inured to work. His skill in drawing plans and making sketches of scenery induced his father to train him for a landscape gardener. During his apprenticeship he sat up two whole nights every week to study; yet he worked harder during the day than any labourer. In the course of his night studies he learnt French, and before he was eighteen he translated a life of Abelard for an Encyclopædia. He was so eager to make progress in life, that when only twenty, while working as a gardener in England, he wrote down in his note-book, "I am now twenty years of age, and perhaps a third part of my life has passed away, and yet what have I done to benefit my fellow men?" an unusual reflection for a youth of 9


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 "Certainly," interposed Mr. Winkle.

"I said I had pledged my word as a gentleman to skin him. My character was at stake. I had no alternative. As an officer in His Majesty's service, I was bound to skin him. I regretted the necessity, but it must be done. He was open to conviction. He saw that the rules of the service were imperative. He fled. I married her. Here's the coach. That's her head."

As Mr. Dowler concluded, he pointed to a stage which had just driven up, from the open window of which a rather pretty face in a bright blue bonnet was looking among the crowd on the pavement: most probably for the rash man himself. Mr. Dowler paid his bill and hurried out with his travelling-cap, coat, and cloak; and Mr. Pickwick and his friends followed to secure their places.

Mr. Tupman and Mr. Snodgrass had seated themselves at the back part of the coach; Mr. Winkle had got inside; and Mr. Pickwick was preparing to follow him, when Sam Weller came up to his master, and whispering in his ear, begged to speak to him, with an air of the deepest mystery.

"Well, Sam," said Mr. Pickwick, "what's the matter now?"

"Here's rayther a rum go, sir," replied Sam.

"What?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.

"This here, sir," rejoined Sam. "I'm wery much afeerd, sir, that the proprieator o' this here coach is a playin' some imperence vith us.

"How is that, Sam?" said Mr. Pickwick; "aren't the names down on the way-bill?"

"The names is not only down on the vay-bill, sir," replied Sam, "but they've painted vun on 'em up, on the door o' the coach." As Sam spoke, he pointed to that part of the coach door on which the proprietor's name usually appears; and there, sure enough, in gilt letters of a goodly size, was the magic name of !

"Dear me," exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, quite staggered by the coincidence; "what a very extraordinary thing!"


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 "My good sir," said Mr. Pickwick, "you will allow me to observe that this is a very unnecessary display of excitement. I have only taken places inside for two."

"I am glad to hear it," said the fierce man. "I withdraw my expressions. I tender an apology. I tender an apology. There's my card. Give me your acquaintance."

"With great pleasure, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick. "We are to be fellow travellers, and I hope we shall find each other's society mutually agreeable."

"I hope we shall," said the fierce gentleman. "I know we shall. I like your looks; they please me. Gentlemen, your hands and names. Know me."

Of course, an interchange of friendly salutations followed this gracious speech; and the fierce gentleman immediately proceeded to inform the friends, in the same short, abrupt, jerking sentences, that his name was Dowler; that he was going to Bath on pleasure; that he was formerly in the army; that he had now set up in business as a gentleman; that he lived upon the profits; and that the individual for whom the second place was taken, was a personage no less illustrious than Mrs. Dowler his lady wife.

"She's a fine woman," said Mr. Dowler. "I am proud of her. I have reason."

"I hope I shall have the pleasure of judging," said Mr. Pickwick, with a smile.

"You shall," replied Dowler. "She shall know you. She shall esteem you. I courted her under singular circumstances. I won her through a rash vow. Thus. I saw her; I loved her; I proposed; she refused me.—'You love another?'—'Spare my blushes.'—'I know him.'—'You do.'—' Very good; if he remains here, I'll skin him."

"Lord bless me!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, involuntarily.

"Did you skin the gentleman, sir?" inquired Mr. Winkle, with a very pale face.

"I wrote him a note. I said it was a painful thing. And so it was."


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 "Waiter," said the gentleman with the whiskers.

"Sir?" replied a man with a dirty complexion, and a towel of the same, emerging from the kennel before mentioned.

"Some more toast."

"Yes, sir."

"Buttered toast, mind," said the gentleman, fiercely.

"D'rectly, sir," replied the waiter.

The gentleman with the whiskers hummed a tune in the same manner as before, and pending the arrival of the toast, advanced to the front of the fire, and, taking his coat tails under his arms, looked at his boots, and ruminated.

"I wonder whereabouts in Bath this coach puts up," said Mr. Pickwick, mildly addressing Mr. Winkle.

"Hum—eh—what's that?" said the strange man.

"I made an observation to my friend, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick, always ready to enter into conversation. "I wondered at what house the Bath coach put up. Perhaps you can inform me."

"Are you going to Bath?" said the strange man.

"I am, sir," replied Mr. Pickwick.

"And those other gentlemen?"

"They are going also," said Mr. Pickwick.

"Not inside—I'll be damned if you're going inside," said the strange man.

"Not all of us," said Mr. Pickwick.

"No, not all of you," said the strange man emphatically. "I've taken two places. If they try to squeeze six people into an infernal box that only holds four, I'll take a post-chaise and bring an action. I've paid my fare. It won't do; I told the clerk when I took my places that it wouldn't do. I know these things have been done. I know they are done every day; but I never was done, and I never will be. Those who know me best, best know it; crush me!" Here the fierce gentleman rang the bell with great violence, and told the waiter he'd better bring the toast in five seconds, or he'd know the reason why.


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 audacious, disgraceful, and abominable public conduct. I view you, sir, personally and politically, in no other light than as a most unparalleled and unmitigated viper."

The indignant Independent did not wait to hear the end of this personal denunciation; for, catching up his carpet-bag which was well stuffed with moveables, he swung it in the air as Pott turned away, and, letting it fall with a circular sweep on his head, just at that particular angle of the bag where a good thick hair-brush happened to be packed, caused a sharp crash to be heard throughout the kitchen, and brought him at once to the ground.

"Gentlemen," cried Mr. Pickwick, as Pott started up and seized the fire-shovel, "gentlemen! Consider, for Heaven's sake—help—Sam—here—pray, gentlemen—interfere, somebody."

Uttering these incolierent exclamations, Mr. Pickwick rushed between the infuriated combatants just in time to receive the carpet-bag on one side of his body, and the fireshovel on the other. Whether the representatives of the public feeling of Eatanswill were blinded by animosity, or (being both acute reasoners) saw the advantage of having a third party between them to bear all the blows, certain it is that they paid not the slightest attention to Mr. Pickwick, but defying each other with great spirit plied the carpet-bag and the fire-shovel most fearlessly. Mr. Pickwick would unquestionably have suffered severely for his humane interference, if Mr. Weller, attracted by his master's cries, had not rushed in at the moment, and, snatching up a meal-sack, effectually stopped the conflict by drawing it over the head and shoulders of the mighty Pott, and clasping him tight round the shoulders.

"Take avay that 'ere bag from the t'other madman," said Sam to Ben Allen and Bob Sawyer, who had done nothing but dodge round the group, each with a tortoise-shell lancet in his hand, ready to bleed the first man stunned. "Give it up, you wretched little creetur, or I'll smother you in it."


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 "If you can wade through a few sentences of malice, meanness, falsehood, perjury, treachery, and cant," said Slurk, handing the paper to Bob, "you will, perhaps, be somewhat repaid by a laugh at the style of this ungrammatical twaddler."

"What's that you said, sir?" inquired Mr. Pott, looking up, trembling all over with passion.

"What's that to you, sir?" replied Slurk.

"Ungrammatical twaddler, was it, sir?" said Pott.

"Yes, sir, it was," replied Slurk; "and blue bore, sir, if you like that better; ha! ha!"

Mr. Pott retorted not a word to this jocose insult, but deliberately folded up his copy of the Independent, flattened it carefully down, crushed it beneath his boot, spat upon it with great ceremony, and flung it into the fire.

"There, sir," said Pott, retreating from the stove, "and that's the way I would serve the viper who produces it, if I were not, fortunately for him, restrained by the laws of my country."

"Serve him so, sir!" cried Slurk, starting up. "Those laws shall never be appealed to by him, sir, in such a case. Serve him so, sir!"

"Hear! hear!" said Bob Sawyer.

"Nothing can be fairer," observed Mr. Ben Allen.

"Serve him so, sir!" reiterated Slurk, in a loud voice. Mr. Pott darted a look of contempt, which might have withered an anchor.

"Serve him so, sir!" reiterated Slurk, in a louder voice than before.

"I will not, sir," rejoined Pott.

"Oh, you won't, won't you, sir?" said Mr. Slurk, in a taunting manner; you hear this, gentlemen! He won't; not that he's afraid; oh, no! he won't. Ha! ha!"

Ama "I consider you, sir," said Mr. Pott, moved by this sarcasm, "I consider you a viper. I look upon you, sir, as a man who has placed himself beyond the pale of society, by his most


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 of course, read the Gazette; and each gentleman audibly expressed his contempt of the other's compositions by bitter laughs and sarcastic sniffs; whence they proceeded to more open expressions of opinion, such as absurd," "wretched," "atrocity," "humbug," "knavery," "dirt," "filth," "slime," "ditch-water," and other critical remarks of the like nature.

Both Mr. Bob Sawyer and Mr. Ben Allen had beheld these symptoms of rivalry and hatred, with a degree of delight which imparted great additional relish to the cigars at which they were puffing most vigorously. The moment they began to flag, the mischievous Mr. Bob Sawyer, addressing Slurk with great politeness, said:

"Will you allow me to look at your paper, sir, when you have quite done with it!"

"You will find very little to repay you for your trouble in this contemptible thing, sir," replied Slurk, bestowing a Satanic frown on Pott.

"You shall have this presently," said Pott, looking up, pale with rage, and quivering in his speech, from the same cause. "Ha! ha! you will be amused with this fellow's audacity."

Terrific emphasis was laid upon this "thing" and "fellow;" and the faces of both editors began to glow with defiance.

"The ribaldry of this miserable man is despicably disgusting," said Pott, pretending to address Bob Sawyer, and scowling upon Slurk.

Here, Mr. Slurk laughed very heartily, and folding up the paper so as to get at a fresh column conveniently, said, that the blockhead really amused him.

"What an impudent blunderer this fellow is," said Pott, turning from pink to crimson.

"Did you ever read any of this man's foolery, sir?" inquired Slurk, of Bob Sawyer.

"Never," replied Bob; "is it very bad?"

"Oh, shocking! shocking!" rejoined Slurk.

"Really! Dear me, this is too atrocious!" exclaimed Pott, at this juncture; still feigning to be absorbed in his reading.


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 poaching or smuggling adventure. When about seventeen, before his apprenticeship was out, he ran away, intending to enter on board a man-of-war; but sleeping in a hay-field at night cooled him a little, and he returned to his trade.

Drew next removed to the neighbourhood of Plymouth to work at his shoemaking business, and while at Cawsand he won a prize for cudgel-playing, in which he seems to have been an adept. While living there, he had nearly lost his life in a smuggling exploit which he had joined, partly induced by the love of adventure, and partly by the love of gain, for his regular wages were not more than eight shillings a week. One night, notice was given throughout Crafthole, that a smuggler was off the coast, ready to land her cargo; on which the male population of the place—nearly all smugglers—made for the shore. One party remained on the rocks to make signals and dispose of the goods as they were landed; and another manned the boats, Drew being of the latter party. The night was intensely dark, and very little of the cargo had been landed, when the wind rose, with a heavy sea. The men in the boats, however, determined to persevere, and several trips were made between the smuggler, now standing farther out to sea, and the shore. One of the men in the boat in which Drew was, had his hat blown off by the wind, and in attempting to recover it, the boat was upset. Three of the men were immediately drowned; the others clung to the boat for a time, but finding it drifting out to sea, they took to swimming. They were two miles from land, and the night was intensely dark. After being about three hours


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 "Why?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.

Cause—" said Sam, hesitating.

"Because of what?" inquired Mr. Pickwick, alarmed at his follower's manner. "Speak out, Sam."

Cause," rejoined Sam; cause I've got a little bisness as I want to do."

"What business?" inquired Mr. Pickwick, surprised at Sam's confused manner.

"Nothin' partickler, sir," replied Sam.

"Oh, if it's nothing particular," said Mr. Pickwick, with a smile, "you can speak with me first."

"I think I'd better see arter it at once," said Sam, still hesitating.

Mr. Pickwick looked amazed, but said nothing.

"The fact is," said Sam, stopping short.

"Well!" said Mr. Pickwick. "Speak out, Sam."

"Why, the fact is," said Sam, with a desperate effort, "P'raps I'd better see arter my bed afore I do anythin' else."

"Your bed!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, in astonishment.

"Yes, my bed, sir," replied Sam. "I'm a pris'ner. I was arrested, this here wery arternoon, for debt."

"You arrested for debt!" exclaimed Mr. Pickwick, sinking into a chair.

"Yes, for debt, sir," replied Sam. "And the man as puts me in, 'ull never let me out, till you go yourself."

"Bless my heart and soul!" ejaculated Mr. Pickwick. "What do you mean?"

"Wot I say, sir," rejoined Sam. "If it's forty year to come, I shall be a pris'ner, and I'm very glad on it, and if it had been Newgate, it would ha' been just the same. Now the murder's out, and, damme, there's an end on it!"

With these words, which he repeated with great emphasis and violence, Sam Weller dashed his hat upon the ground, in a most unusual state of excitement; and then, folding his arms, looked firmly and fixedly in his master's face.


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 "Prodigal, prodigal son, sir," suggested Mr. Pell, mildly.

"Never mind, sir," said Mr. Weller, with dignity. "I know wot's o'clock, sir. Wen I don't, I'll ask you, sir."

By the time the officer arrived, Sam had made himself so extremely popular, that the congregated gentlemen determined to see him to prison in a body. So, off they set; the plaintiff and defendant walking arm-in-arm; the officer in front; and eight stout coachmen bringing up the rear. At Serjeant's Inn Coffee-house the whole party halted to refresh, and, the legal arrangements being completed, the procession moved on again.

Some little commotion was occasioned in Fleet Street, by the pleasantry of the eight gentlemen in the flank, who persevered in walking four abreast; it was also found necessary to leave the mottle-faced gentleman behind, to fight a ticketporter, it being arranged that his friends should call for him as they came back. Nothing but these little incidents occurred on the way. When they reached the gate of the Fleet, the cavalcade, taking the time from the plaintiff, gave three tremendous cheers for the defendant, and, after having shaken hands all round, left him.

Sam, having been formally delivered into the warden's custody, to the intense astonishment of Roker, and to the evident emotion of even the phlegmatic Neddy, passed at once into the prison, walked straight to his master's room, and knocked at the door.

"Come in," said Mr. Pickwick.

Sam appeared, pulled off his hat, and smiled.

"Ah, Sam, my good lad!" said Mr. Pickwick, evidently delighted to see his humble friend again; "I had no intention of hurting your feelings yesterday, my faithful fellow, by what I said. Put down your hat, Sam, and let me explain my meaning, a little more at length."

"Won't presently do, sir?" inquired Sam.

"Certainly," said Mr. Pickwick; "but why not now?"

"I'd rayther not now, sir," rejoined Sam.


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 "Hold hard," whispered Sam, who was, of course, the first of the party. "Show a light for just vun second, sir."

Mr. Pickwick did as he was desired, and Sam, seeing a man's head peeping out very cautiously within half-a-yard of his own, gave it a gentle tap with his clenched fist, which knocked it, with a hollow sound, against the gate. Having performed this feat with great suddenness and dexterity, Mr. Weller caught Mr. Pickwick up on his back, and followed Mr. Winkle down the lane at a pace which, considering the burden he carried, was perfectly astonishing.

"Have you got your vind back agin, sir," inquired Sam, when they had reached the end.

"Quite. Quite, now," replied Mr. Pickwick.

"Then come along, sir," said Sam, setting his master on his feet again. "Come between us, sir. Not half a mile to run. Think you're vinnin a cup, sir. Now for it."

Thus encouraged, Mr. Pickwick made the very best use of his legs. It may be confidently stated that a pair of black gaiters never got over the ground in better style than did those of Mr. Pickwick on this memorable occasion.

The coach was waiting, the horses were fresh, the roads were good, and the driver was willing. The whole party arrived in safety at the Bush before Mr. Pickwick recovered his breath.

"In with you at once, sir," said Sam, as he helped his master out. "Don't stop a second in the street, arter that 'ere exercise. Beg your pardon, sir," continued Sam, touching his hat as Mr. Winkle descended. "Hope there warn't a priory 'tachment, sir?"

Mr. Winkle grasped his humble friend by the hand, and whispered in his ear, "It's all right, Sam; quite right." Upon which Mr. Weller struck three distinct blows upon his nose in token of intelligence, smiled, winked, and proceeded to put the steps up, with a countenance expressive of lively satisfaction.

As to the scientific gentleman, he demonstrated, in a


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 in the water, Drew reached a rock near the shore, with one or two others, where he remained benumbed with cold till morning, when he and his companions were discovered and taken off, more dead than alive. A keg of brandy from the cargo just landed was brought, the head knocked in with a hatchet, and a bowlful of the liquid presented to the survivors; and, shortly after, Drew was able to walk two miles through deep snow, to his lodgings.

This was a very unpromising beginning of a life; and yet this same Drew, scapegrace, orchard-robber, shoemaker, cudgel-player, and smuggler, outlived the recklessness of his youth, and became distinguished as a minister of the Gospel and a writer of good books. Happily, before it was too late, the energy which characterized him was turned into a more healthy direction, and rendered him as eminent in usefulness as he had before been in wickedness. His father again took him back to St. Austell, and found employment for him as a journeyman shoemaker. Perhaps his recent escape from death had tended to make the young man serious, as we shortly find him attracted by the forcible preaching of Dr. Adam Clarke, a minister of the Wesleyan Methodists. His brother having died about the same time, the impression of seriousness was deepened; and thenceforward he was an altered man. He began anew the work of education, for he had almost forgotten how to read and write; and even after several years' practice, a friend compared his writing to the traces of a spider dipped in ink set to crawl upon paper. Speaking of himself, about that time, Drew afterwards said, "The more I read, the more I


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 "I object to the introduction o' politics," said the mottlefaced gentleman. "I submit that, in the present company, that 'ere song's political; and, wot's much the same, that it ain't true. I say that that coachman did not run away; but that he died game—game as pheasants; and I won't hear nothin' said to the contrairey."

As the mottle-faced gentleman spoke with great energy and determination and as the opinions of the company seemed divided on the subject: it threatened to give rise to fresh altercation, when Mr. Weller and Mr. Pell most opportunely arrived.

"All right, Sammy," said Mr. Weller.

"The officer will be here at four o'clock," said Mr. Pell. "I suppose you won't run away meanwhile, eh? Ha! ha!"

"P'raps my cruel pa 'ull relent afore then," replied Sam, with a broad grin.

"Not I," said the elder Mr. Weller.

"Do," said Sam.

"Not on no account," replied the inexorable creditor.

"I'll give bills for the amount, at sixpence a month," said Sam.

"I won't take 'em," said Mr. Weller.

"Ha, ha, ha! very good, very good," said Mr. Solomon Pell, who was making out his little bill of costs; "a very amusing incident indeed! Benjamin, copy that." And Mr. Pell smiled again, as he called Mr. Weller's attention to the amount.

"Thank you, thank you," said the professional gentleman, taking up another of the greasy notes as Mr. Weller took it from the pocket-book. "Three ten and one ten is five. Much obliged to you, Mr. Weller. Your son is a most deserving young man, very much so indeed, sir. It's a very pleasant trait in a young man's character, very much so," added Mr. Pell, smiling smoothly round, as he buttoned up the money.

"Wot a game it is!" said the elder Mr. Weller, with a chuckle. "A reg'lar prodigy son!"


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 felt my own ignorance; and the more I felt my ignorance, the more invincible became my energy to surmount it. Every leisure moment was now employed in reading one thing or another. Having to support myself by manual labour, my time for reading was but little, and to overcome this disadvantage, my usual method was to place a book before me while at meat, and at every repast I read five or six pages." The perusal of Locke's Essay on the Understanding gave the first metaphysical turn to his mind. "It awakened me from my stupor," said he, "and induced me to form a resolution to abandon the grovelling views which I had been accustomed to entertain.'

Drew began business on his own account, with a capital of a few shillings; but his character for steadiness was such that a neighbouring miller offered him a loan, which was accepted, and, success attending his industry, the debt was repaid at the end of a year. He started with a determination to "owe no man anything," and he held to it in the' midst of many privations. Often he went to bed supperless, to avoid rising in debt. His ambition was to achieve independence by industry and economy, and in this he gradually succeeded. In the midst of incessant labour, he sedulously strove to improve his mind, studying astronomy, history, and metaphysics. He was induced to pursue the latter study chiefly because it required fewer books to consult than either of the others. "It appeared to be a thorny path," he said, "but I determined, nevertheless, to enter, and accordingly began to tread it."

Added to his labours in shoemaking and metaphysics, Drew became a local preacher and a


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 class leader. He took an eager interest in politics, and his shop became a favourite resort with the village politicians. And when they did not come to him, he went to them to talk over public affairs. This so encroached upon his time that he found it necessary sometimes to work until midnight to make up for the hours lost during the day. His political fervour became the talk of the village. While busy one night hammering away at a shoe-sole, a little boy, seeing a light in the shop, put his mouth to the keyhole of the door, and called out in a shrill pipe, "Shoemaker! shoemaker! work by night and run about by day!" A friend, to whom Drew afterwards told the story, asked, "And did not you run after the boy, and strap him?" "No, no," was the reply; "had a pistol been fired off at my ear, I could not have been more dismayed or confounded. I dropped my work, and said to myself, 'True, true! but you shall never have that to say of me again.' To me that cry was as the voice of God, and it has been a word in season throughout my life. I learnt from it not to leave till to-morrow the work of to-day, or to idle when I ought to be working."

From that moment Drew dropped politics, and stuck to his work, reading and studying in his spare hours: but he never allowed the latter pursuit to interfere with his business, though it frequently broke in upon his rest. He married, and thought of emigrating to America; but he remained working on. His literary taste first took the direction of poetical composition; and from some of the fragments which have been preserved, it appears that his speculations as to the immateriality and immortality of the soul had their origin in these