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208 him, he flew down to the ground, and changed himself into the handsome youth who had married the young king's eldest sister, Princess Natalia.

"Well, my dear brother-in-law," exclaimed the handsome youth, "how is the world treating you?"

Just at that moment Princess Natalia ran out of the palace to welcome her brother, and began embracing him and asking all kinds of questions. King Vladimir stayed with them for three days, and then said,—

"I can stop here no longer, much as I should like to do so; but I have to go and find my wife, Marie-Marevna, the beautiful queen."

"Ah! my friend," returned the falcon, "you will find that a very difficult task; but as you are bent on going, leave your silver spoon with us, so that we may not forget you."

King Vladimir did so, and went his way. He walked on for two whole days, and on the third he came to a still more magnificent palace, in front of which stood an oak-tree, and on it sat an eagle.

The eagle, however, flew down the moment he saw the young king, and changing himself into a handsome young man, called to his wife, the Princess Olga.

"Come out!" he cried. "Our dear brother has arrived."

Princess Olga ran out at once, and, throwing her arms round her brother's neck, asked him how he was, and what he intended doing with himself, and a great many more questions, which ended in making him stay with them for a few days. But at the end


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Rh of the third day King Vladimir became restless, and said,—

"I must not stay here any longer; I have to go in search of my wife, Marie-Marevna, the beautiful queen."

"It will not be an easy task," replied the eagle; "but leave your silver fork with us, in remembrance of you."

King Vladimir obeyed, and continued his journey. On the morning of the third day he arrived at a still more beautiful palace, and there also stood an oak-tree, on which sat the big black crow who had married the Princess Anna, the king's youngest sister.

"Princess Anna," exclaimed the crow, changing himself into a handsome young man on beholding the king, "come as quickly as you can, for your dear brother is here."

After the usual greetings were exchanged, they all went into the palace, where King Vladimir spent three very merry days in the company of his sister and her husband, the crow; but on the third day he bid them good-bye.

"I must go and find my wife, Marie-Marevna, the beautiful queen."

"Not a very easy thing, my brother," the crow replied. "However, leave us your silver snuff-box, so that we may not forget you."

King Vladimir gave them the snuff-box, and went on farther. After a three days' journey, he came to the skeleton's palace, a horrid, gloomy place, where, after some difficulty, he found the beautiful Marie P

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


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210 Marevna, who, when she saw her dear one, threw her arms round him and began to weep bitterly.

"Oh, King Vladimir!" she cried, "why did you not listen to me? Why did you open that door after I begged you not to do so, and let that wretched skeleton loose?"

"Forgive me, dearest. Try to forget the past, and come with me; let us fly from here while the skeleton is not looking!"

Marie-Marevna was at first rather afraid; but at last, after a great deal of coaxing, she condescended to accompany her husband. All this time the skeleton had been out hunting. Towards evening he turned homewards, and as he was riding along his good horse began to stumble beneath him, a thing which it had never done before.

"What is the matter with you, you dissatisfied brute?" the skeleton asked. "Is there any great misfortune in the air?"

"Yes," returned the horse; "King Vladimir has been to your palace, and carried away Marie-Marevna, the beautiful queen."

"Can we not overtake them?"

"Oh, yes! You could even sow some wheat in the ground, and wait till it grows; you could reap and thresh it, and grind it into flour, and bake five ovens full of bread, and even after that you could easily overtake King Vladimir and Marie-Marevna!"

Off rode, or rather flew, the skeleton, and in a very short time he reached the unfortunate couple.

"I will forgive you this time. King Vladimir," exclaimed the skeleton, "for running away with


text: Encyclopædia Britannica, Ninth Edition/Abandonment


text: Encyclopædia Britannica, Ninth Edition/Abano


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Page:Supplement to the fourth, fifth, and sixth editions of the Encyclopaedia Britannica - with preliminary dissertations on the history of the sciences - illustrated by engravings (IA gri 33125011196181).pdf/831

 Greeks, the Kali of the Hindoos, were all sanguinary Deities. Children sacrificed to the two former, were precipitated into the arms of an idol, heated red-hot in a furnace; and thence, by a particular mechanism, fell into the fire. Hamilcar, on receiving sinister intelligence, attended with alarming circumstances, immediately seized on a boy, and sacrificed him to Kronus. On another occasion, the enemy being at the gates of Carthage, two hundred children of the first citizens were offered as a public sacrifice to avert the danger. “Yea, they sacrificed their sons and their daughters unto devils, and shed innocent blood, even the blood of their sons and daughters, whom they sacrificed unto the idols of Canaan, and the land was polluted with blood.” But farther, we are told, that the mother herself, who offered her child in sacrifice, never uttered a sigh, lest its efficacy might be impaired; and while this innocent blood was flowing from hundreds of victims, their screams were drowned in the noise of clarions and tabors, provided by the priests for the ceremony. “Tell me,” says Plutarch, “were the monsters of old, the Typhons, and the Giants, to expel the Gods, and rule the world in their place, would they exact a duty more horrid than such infernal rites?”

Perhaps, therefore, the murderous practices of the Arreoys in the South Sea Islands, may have originated in some religious principle. At the same time, it appears, that, in the ordinary destruction of infants by the Islanders of the South Pacific Ocean, there is nothing of a sacrificial nature; for, though they do not suppose that their displeasure is thereby incurred, they do not pretend that the practice is acceptable to any of their Divinities. Mr Malthus, we may add, ascribes the origin of the Arreoy institutions to a superabundance of population, and the necessity of adopting some forcible expedients to bring it within the limits of subsistence. Of late years, much exertion has been made by the Missionaries to root out this sanguinary practice, but hitherto without producing any material effect. See Forster’s Voyage, Vol. II.—Cook’s First and Second Voyage.—Bligh’s Voyage.—Missionary Voyage.—Hamilton’s Account of the Loss of the Pandora.

the Encyclopædia there is some account, under the head, of the general theory and history of the Fine Arts, including Poetry, Eloquence, Painting, Statuary, and Architecture. The term, in its widest application, would also embrace Music, Dancing, Theatrical Exhibition; and in general, all those arts, in which the powers of imitation or invention are exerted, chiefly with a view to the production of pleasure, by the immediate impression which they make on the mind. The phrase has of late, we think, been restricted to a narrower and more technical signification; namely, to Painting, Sculpture, Engraving, and Architecture, which appeal to the eye as the medium of pleasure; and by way of eminence, to the two first of these arts. In the present article, we shall adopt this limited sense of the term; and shall endeavour to develope the principles upon which the great Masters have proceeded, and also to inquire, in a more particular manner, into the present state and probable advancement of these arts in this Country.

The great works of art, at present extant, and which may be regarded as models of perfection in their several kinds, are the Greek statues—the pictures of the celebrated Italian Masters—those of the Dutch and Flemish schools—to which we may add the comic productions of our own countryman, Hogarth. These all stand unrivalled in the history of art; and they owe their pre-eminence and perfection to one and the same principle,—the immediate imitation of nature. This principle predominated equally in the classical forms of the antique, and in the grotesque figures of Hogarth; the perfection of art in each arose from the truth and identity of the imitation with the reality; the difference was in the subjects; there was none in the mode of imitation. Yet the advocates for the ideal system of art would persuade their disciples, that the difference between Hogarth and the antique does not consist in the different forms of nature which they imitated, but in this, that the one is like, and the other unlike nature. This is an error, the most detrimental, perhaps, of all others, both to the theory and practice of art. As, however, the prejudice is very strong and general, and supported by the highest authority, it will be necessary to go somewhat elaborately into the question, in order to produce an impression on the other side.

What has given rise to the common notion of the ideal, as something quite distinct from actual nature, is probably the perfection of the Greek statues. Not seeing among ourselves, anything to correspond in beauty and grandeur, either with the features or form of the limbs in these exquisite remains of antiquity, it was an obvious, but a superficial conclusion, that they must have been created from the idea existing in the artist’s mind, and could not have been copied from anything existing in nature. The contrary, however, is the fact. The general form, both of the face and figure, which we observe in the old statues, is not an ideal abstraction, is not a fanciful invention of the sculptor, but is as completely local and national (though it happens to be more beautiful), as the figures on a Chinese screen, or a copperplate engraving of a negro chieftain in a book of travels. It will not be denied, that there is a difference of physiognomy as well as of complexion in different races of men. The Greek form appears to have been naturally beautiful, and they had, besides, every advantage of climate, of dress, of exercise, and modes of life to improve it. The artist had also every facility afforded him in the study and knowledge of the human form, and their religious and public institutions gave him every encouragement in the


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Help Material
Thank you so much, @AlphaLemur could you help me with links to material that could help understand more about Wikisource, especially videos? I would love to gain more knowledge and confidence in what I am contributing KingVik Planet (talk) 08:59, 12 October 2023 (UTC)


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 terrestrial witnesses are,—they are one, not only in relation to the testimony, but also in their essence. This is the more certain since (b) the holy apostle himself in the next verse calls the testimony of the celestial witnesses, without any distinction, the witness of God: If we receive the witness of men, the witness of God is greater; consequently he assumes that the three witnesses of heaven are one, namely in their Divinity, or are three persons of God. It is the more certain since (c) the same holy apostle even before, in his Gospel, mentions each of the three witnesses of heaven, the Father, the Son or Word, and the Holy Ghost, and mentions them as three persons of God, consubstantial among themselves, when expounding the words of the Saviour: Though I bear record of myself, yet my record is true: for I know whence I came, and whither I go. I am one that bears witness of myself, and the Father that sent me beareth witness of me (John viii. 14, 18; cf. John v. 32, 37); but when the Comforter is come, whom I will send unto you from the Father, even the Spirit of truth, which proceedeth from the Father, he shall testify of me (John xv. 26); he shall glorify me: for he shall receive of mine, and shall show it unto you. All things that the Father hath are mine: therefore said I, that he shall take of mine, and shall shew it unto you (John xvi. 14, 15).” (pp. 179 and 180.)

Still more unfortunate it is that this solitary passage, which, however weak it is, at least in some way confirms the words of the three Gods and of one, that this same passage turns out, according to the testimony of the Theology, to be debatable, and, according to the unanimous testimony of all learned criticism, spurious:

“Unfair is the attempt which is made to doubt the authenticity of the passage under discussion, by pointing out that it does not exist in certain Greek texts of the New Testament and in certain translations, especially in


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Rh Marie-Marevna, and I shall endeavour to do so the second time, if you try to repeat this, because you were very kind to me when I was hanging in that room where you found me; but if you venture to come and take Marie-Marevna away from my palace a third time, then I will have no pity on you, but will cut you up into small pieces! Now, good-bye."

So saying, the skeleton seized Marie-Marevna and rode away with her, while King Vladimir seated himself on a stone and wept bitterly. But after a time, finding that all the tears in the world would not bring back his queen, he got up, shook himself, and went back to the gloomy palace where Marie-Marevna was kept prisoner. The skeleton was from home—he had gone back to his hunt.

"Come, dearest, let us fly!" the king whispered, when he found his wife.

"But he is sure to catch us again."

"Well, let him; at any rate, we shall have an hour or two to ourselves. Come!"

As the skeleton was returning from the hunt his horse again began stumbling.

"What is the matter now, you brute?" the skeleton asked. "Is there more misfortune in the air?"

"King Vladimir has been to the palace, and carried Marie-Marevna away with him."

"Shall we have time to overtake them?"

"Plenty. You could almost sow some barley and wait till it has grown, reap and thrash it, and make some beer for yourself—you might even drink it until you fall fast asleep, and when you woke up again


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Page other
I don't understand why the page other template is being used on this page. -- Beardo (talk) 10:00, 12 October 2023 (UTC)


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Author:James Alderson

Works

 * The Harveian Oration 1854
 * The Harveian Oration 1867

title: Author:James Alderson


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User talk:AsianStuff03

--Jan Kameníček (talk) 10:57, 12 October 2023 (UTC)

title: User talk:AsianStuff03


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mw.loader.load('//en.wikisource.org/wiki/User:Samwilson/PageCleanUp.js?action=raw&ctype=text/javascript');

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Page:The European Magazine and London Review - Vol. 87.djvu/267

 in all its bearings, until it was agreed that the marriage state does make adequate compensation for the loss of those tender blossoms with which the passion of unwedded lovers is adorned.

But the consequences of that charming party were not yet over: the Colonel redoubled his visits, and became at length, a necessary appurtenance to the family.

Von Eschenburg had some suspicion of Wartenstein. The town pretended to know that he set no bounds to his passion, but let it carry him whithersoever it would, regardless of the happiness it might destroy, or, indeed, of any consequences it might occasion. Judging from his palpable attentions to the Baroness, it would appear that he had no design to proceed very cautiously in his present amour. However, the Baron was aware of the decided aversion which his wife had for the Colonel; and he confided in the tried virtue of his lady, and even more in her taste. For vanity persuaded him it was impossible that a lady of taste could prefer the insignificant looking Colonel, to one of his own prepossessing exterior. Daily experience warned him in vain, for his obstinate vanity had made him deaf to her voice. In the meanwhile the Colonel had, by a thousand trifling attentions, gradually ingratiated himself so much with Lady Von Eschenburg, that every evening in which she was deprived of his society, was followed by a sleepless night. Unknown to herself, “the friend of the family” had risen so high in her estimation, that among her confidential acquaintances, when the conversation turned upon particular virtues, or traits of character, she generally found examples of them in the Colonel’s life and conduct.

At first Wartenstein appeared only occasionally and accidentally to drop in at those hours in which the Baron was absent; but in a short time Clotilde discovered it was at such times only that he seemed delighted with her society. She reproached herself with not having earlier opposed and discouraged his growing passion. She could not but be conscious that she had deviated almost too much from her former harsh conduct towards him. Yet, said she, excusing herself, how could I afterwards have begun to discourage an attachment, which from its unpretending delicacy, seemed, and seems to this hour, deserving not merely of pardon, but of gratitude.

Her goodness of heart led her to remove everything that could give the Colonel a pang. She had remarked that a ring with Eschenburg’s portrait was hateful to him, and she avoided wearing it in his presence. Her gratitude for his good opinion shewed itself in a thousand similar observances, which, however innocent they were in themselves, nevertheless tended naturally to fan the Colonel’s flame.

One favour only he had begged of her, namely, the liberty of calling her by her Christian name, and, for the very reason that it was his only request, she considered that she ought to grant it.

The Colonel evidently had long sought an opportunity of giving vent to some powerful feeling that agitated his bosom; this the Baroness perceived and avoided. One day he suddenly surprised her with the following declaration.

“Clotilde,” said he, “you must long ago have perceived that my whole existence depends on you.” Lady Von Eschenburg was the more startled at this abrupt declaration, as he accompanied it with a passionate grasp of her hand, and she was on the point of withdrawing it, when he continued in a milder tone—“Let me but speak, Clotilde! This suppression of my feelings has torn my bosom; if it continued longer it must destroy me utterly, and that would surely pain you a little?”

“What would you have, when you know”—here she cast a look at her husband’s portrait, which hung over the sopha, “I know—and I request no more than the acceptance of my vows of eternal constancy.”

“Impossible, Wartenstein—What return could I make you?”

“Have I then desired a return? Is it not the ravishing thought of the sacrifice that renders me happy—the sacrifice I make for thee? I stand upon the brink of a precipice—your refusal will thrust me headlong down it.”

With these words he threw himself at her feet, and, at the same instant Madame Selter entered.


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Author:Arthur Farre

Works

 * The Harveian Oration 1872

title: Author:Arthur Farre


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RV 234 (Rh)


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Column 1, paragraph 3: should the two quotes be separate paragraphs? -- Yodin T 11:12, 12 October 2023 (UTC)

Column 2, paragraphs 10 and 11 both seem to be by the same speaker: should they be one paragraph? -- Yodin T 11:24, 12 October 2023 (UTC)

Column 2, paragraph 15, line 11: is it a comma or a full stop between "family" and "ought"? -- Yodin T 11:24, 12 October 2023 (UTC)


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RV 236 (Rh)


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 “I disturb you!” exclaimed the lady, startled at the scene before her. “By no means!” cried Clotilde, and the Colonel rising hastily, said, “Pray, Madam, since you have seen so much, do me the favour to decide between us.”

Madame Selter being made acquainted with the nature of his suit, replied that the thing was so novel that it required consideration.

“But I request nothing more than the acceptance of a voluntary gift.” “Very possibly: but constancy is a gift, that—according to rule at least—demands a return in kind.”

Wartenstein replied in offensive terms, that an extraordinary case could not be decided by a common rule, and it was fortunate that the entrance of the Baron put an end to the discussion, as Clotilde observed to her great regret, that both parties were on the point of launching out into bitter invective.

Von Eschenburg was at a loss what to make of it. His wife’s uneasiness, the Colonel’s confusion, and Madame Selter’s glowing cheeks, involved him in perplexity—could all this be the effect of chance? Add to this that he found it impossible to introduce a topic of conversation—no string that he could touch upon seemed attuned to the humour of the company. The Colonel, unable longer to master his feelings, took a hasty leave and withdrew.

“What is the matter with him?” enquired the Baron.

Fortunately for Clotilde, Madame Selter relieved her from the disagreeable question, by replying, “I got into a dispute with him, and that too about a trifle, as it generally happens.”

“For example?”

“Really, I scarcely know how to tell you; and it is not worth repeating.”

The Baron was far from being satisfied with this answer, for his wife’s confused and restrained behaviour could not escape his notice. However he deemed it more prudent to leave the room, than to dive further into the cause of dispute, which it seemed they had reason for concealing from him.

“Heaven be thanked!” exclaimed Clotilde, “His eyes struck me like the sword of Justice. But what is to be done, now, my dear?”

“Avoid every thing that may lead you into a similar dilemma.”

“And the Colonel?”

“Is, after the pretensions he has advanced to-day, the first to be avoided?”

“But, my dear Selter, is a voluntary sacrifice, then, of itself a pretention?”

“Sacrifices of that kind are somewhat suspicious.”

“How little do you know the man!”

“Perhaps better, my dear Clotilde, than your gentle heart knows his flattering mirror. I do not mean to say that Wartenstein is dishonourable, but he gives way to passion, and follows wherever it leads. The charms of every lady become magic snares to him.”

“I am now better informed upon that subject, and know how much report calumniates him. However, I will not contradict you, although I might; but pray tell me, what am I to do?”

“Compel him, by a decided coldness on your part, to seek a new amour.”

“My dear Selter,—he loves nobody but me, and can love no other.”

“You dont know him in the least—the loss of me will be his destruction.”

“The loss! then he has already gained your affections?”

“No, not so—I love Von Eschenburg sincerely, but—”

“No but, my dear! I will leave you to your own reflections on your duty, which demands unconditional obedience, and will admit of no wavering.”

The deep impression which this remonstrance made upon Clotilde, was shewn when the Colonel returned soon after Madame Selter’s departure. He pressed more warmly than before, for her decision—Clotilde disengaged her hand and retreated a few steps backwards—“You are acquainted with the relations in which I stand, and you, as the friend of the family, ought to be the last to think of destroying them.”

“Destroy them, did you say? My wish is, on the contrary, to lighten them.”

“Who told you that they were oppressive to me?”

“How often, Clotilde, have I


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RV 238 (Rh)


text: Index:The Harveian oration delivered at the Royal College of Physicians June 26, 1872 - being an analysis of Harvey's Exercises on Generation (IA b2231295x).pdf


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RV 239 (Rh)


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Page:The Harveian oration delivered at the Royal College of Physicians June 26, 1872 - being an analysis of Harvey's Exercises on Generation (IA b2231295x).pdf/10

 THE HARVEIAN ORATION. 1872. PRESIDENT and FELLOWS,

This day serves to recall an event which, two hundred and fifteen years ago, must have been the occasion of much sorrow to the Fellows of our College then assembled. On the 26th of June, in 1657, Harvey was carried to his grave, a long train of his friends and colleagues following far beyond the city walls (b, c).

But of Harvey dead it is not my purpose further to speak. Rather let us regard him as living still among us, in the records of his works, in the memory of the benefits which he conferred upou this College, and in the bright example of his character and mind.

On any occasion on which the countrymen of Harvey meet, with the object of carrying out his


text: Page:The Harveian oration delivered at the Royal College of Physicians June 26, 1872 - being an analysis of Harvey's Exercises on Generation (IA b2231295x).pdf/9


text: Page:The Harveian oration delivered at the Royal College of Physicians June 26, 1872 - being an analysis of Harvey's Exercises on Generation (IA b2231295x).pdf/7


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User:Hayley raid

Lindsay leuenberger allen

title: User:Hayley raid


text: Index:Restorative medicine - an Harveian annual oration delivered at the Royal College of Physicians, London, on June 21, 1871 (the 210th anniversary) (IA restorativemedic00cham).pdf


text: Index:The Harveian oration - delivered at the Royal College of Physicians, London, June 29th, 1867 (IA b22315263).pdf


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RV 387 (CANTO II.])


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RV 388 (CANTO II.])


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the excellent Orders of that glorious Senate of Rome one was, that any Senator having a Right to speak to every Business in Debate, might instead of giving his Sentence to the present Question (if he had no mind to declare himself) propose any Thing else, that was in his Judgment e Republica, of


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Rh the Breech; and in going before, the Breech is more immediately waited upon than any other Part, and therefore receives the greater Respect—And from all this I doubt not but by this Time it plainly appears, that the Rump, as I said before, is not only the most honourable, but most apt and proper Name, that can be given to those, whose only Business is to sit.


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 married to Frederick II., who had assumed the title of King of Jerusalem. But old as he was, he was still of commanding stature and martial bearing. His arm had lost none of its strength, nor his brain any of its vigour. He accepted the crown on the understanding that the young Baldwin, then eleven years of age, should join him as emperor on coming of age.

Great things were expected from so stout a soldier. Yet for two years nothing was done. Then the emperor was roused into action.

It was understood at Constantinople that Vatatces, the successor of Theodore Lascaris, was on the point of concluding an alliance, offensive and defensive, with Agan, King of the Bulgarians and successor of John. The alliance could have but one meaning, the destruction of the Latin empire. It must be remembered that the vast Roman empire of the East was shrunken in its dimensions to the city of Constantinople and that narrow strip of territory commanded by her walls, her scanty armies, and her diminished fleets. Of territory, indeed, the Latin empire had none in the sense of lands producing revenue. What they held, was held with the drawn sword in the hand ready for use. The kingdom of Thessalonica was gone; and though the Dukedoms, Marquisates, and Countships of Achaia, Athens, Sparta, and other independent petty states were still held by the emperors or their sons, they were like the outlying provinces of the Latin kingdom of Jerusalem, Edessa, Tripoli, and the rest, a source of weakness rather than of strength. Little help, if any, could be looked for from them.


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320 culiarly intended—And that is, whether the late Name of Rump be significant, proper, and adequate to the present Parliament. I doubt not, but at first Sight it will appear to most Men to be nothing less; but if you please to trust me with your Patience for a few Minutes, I dare undertake to make it appear, not only out of all Antiquity and the Consent of all Ages, but the Testimony of Nature herself, that it is not only the most proper, apt, and significant, but the most honourable Denomination, that could by the Wit of Man be given unto it.

The learned Eben Ezra and Manasseh Ben Israel do write, that there is in the Rump of Man a certain Bone, which they call the Bone Luz; this, they say, is of so immortal and incomprehensible a Nature, that at the Resurrection out of it all the rest of the Bones and Members shall sprout, just as a Plant does out of a Kernel: and is there any thing that


text: The Genuine Remains in Verse and Prose of Mr. Samuel Butler/Volume 1/A Speech made at the Rota


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 10

" Yoo see, " sez he, " mah deear young frind. Mah travels omnmost at an end ; Wi' age mah back begins te bend.

An' white's mah hair; Ov this warld's griefs, yoo may depend,

Ah'v hed mah share."

His teeal tho' simple, it wur grand. An' varry gud te understand, — His stick steead up aboon his hand, T'awd fashion'd way; His cooat an' hat wur wether tann'd, A duffil gray.

" Ah think," sez Ah, " 'at Scriptur sez, Gray hairs is honorable dress. If they be fund i'reeghteousness, By faith obtain'd ; An' think, by what yer leeaks express. That praaze yoove gain'd.

Wi' age it izzen't gud te jooak, An'ts ommost ower warm te woak, Sit doon, an' hev a bit o' tawk, O' things 'at's past ; Awd men like yoo, hez seeaf beeath heeard An' seen a vast."

" A vast Ah hev beeath heeard an' seen. An' felt misfotten's arrows keen. As yoo remark, whahl Ah hev beean On this life's stage ; It's sike a varry changin scene, Fra' yooth te age.

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Page:Dream Life - Mitchell - 1899? Altemus.djvu/11

 DONALD G. MITCHELL

DREAM LIFE

PHILADELPHIA

HENRY ALTEMUS COMPANY


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 CONTENTS.

INTRODUCTORY.

PAGE

I. With my Aunt Tabithy, 11

II. With my Reader, 20

DREAMS OF BOYHOOD.

SPRING, 33

I. Rain in the Garret, 38

II. School Dreams, 46

III. Boy Sentiment, 57

IV. A Friend Made and Friend Lost, 63

V. Boy Religion, 76

VI. A New England Squire, 84


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 11

Hoo great, an' yet hoo feeble's man, His life at langest's bud a span ;" His history he thus began, Wi' teears te tell ; An' if yer ears be ovvght like maane, 'Twill pleease ye weel.

" Lang sin' Ah lost mah wife," sez he, " Which wur a heavy cross te me ; An' then mah sun teeak off tot' sea, A fine young man. An' Ah neea mare his feeace mun see,. It's ten te yan.

Ah happen'd te be off yah day, A kind ov sweetheart, as they say. Com in an' teeak mah lass away, Wi' hoosin stuff; An' noo, poor thing, she's deead, they say, A lang way off.

It's noo neen yeear, an' gaain i'ten. Sin' Ah at t'bark wood joined sum men, 'Twur theer Ah fell an' leeam'd me-sen, I' spite o' care ; Ah wur foorc'd te gie up theer an' then, An' woark ne mare.

Bud t'neeaburs hez beean varry gud. Or else lang sin' Ah'd stuck i't' mud. An' seea throo them an' t'help o' God, Ah gits mah breead ; An' whooap they'll be rewarded for't, When Ah's law leead.

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Page:Dream Life - Mitchell - 1899? Altemus.djvu/16

 vlii CONTENTS.

PAGE

VII. The Country Church, 96

VIII. A Home Scene, 105

DREAMS OF YOUTH.

SUMMER, 117

I. Cloister Life, 124

II. First Ambition, 136

III. College Romance, 142

IV. First Look at the World, .... 155

V. A Broken Home, 166

VI. Family Confidence, 176

VII. A Good Wife, l84

VIII. A Broken Hope, 192

DREAMS OF MANHOOD.

AUTUMN, 205

I. Pride of Manliness, 211

II. Man of the World, 219

III. Manly Hops 227

IV. Manly Love, 237

V. Cheer and Children, 243

VI. Dream of Darkness, 252

VII. Peace, 261


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Page:A Treatise concerning the Use and Abuse of the Marriage Bed.djvu/355

 Custom is a meer Thing of Nothing, an Original of no Authority. Matrimony as an Ordinance of, and as a sacred Institution, Custom can have nothing to do with that; it is not binding at all in Law, neither the Laws of or Man, and what have we to do with that? The Man is single, and the Woman is dead; she is as really dead as if she had been in her Grave seven Years; nor is there the least Injury or Injustice done to her; all the rest is a meer Homage paid to Custom, and which is not at all its due.

I give this the greater Length because 'tis a popular Argument, and often brought to defend these sudden, hasty and indecent Marriages I speak of, and likewise to let you see, that though I should grant every Word of it, yet my Objection against the Practice of such hasty Marriages stands good, and the Reproach is the same.

, 1. My Objection is not so much against the Breach of a Custom, as it is against a Breach of Modesty; and if Custom only has made it so, for Custom or Crime made Modesty a Virtue at first, yet since it is so we are bound by it so far, as we are to do every thing which is of good Report, to avoid every thing that gives offence, and is an occasion of Reproach, though it may in it self be literally lawful.

2. my Objection lies chiefly another Way, and points at another thing; the hasty and untimely, or unseasonable Marriages which I complain of, and which, I say, are scandalous and criminal, are so, as they discover themselves to be the Effect of a raging, ungoverned Appetite, a furious immodest Gust of


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Page:Dream Life - Mitchell - 1899? Altemus.djvu/17

 CONTENTS. ix DREAMS OF AGE.

PAGE

WINTER, 27l

I. What is Gone, 275

II. What is Left, 282

III. Grief and Joy of Age 288

IV. The End of Dreams, 294


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Page:Dream Life - Mitchell - 1899? Altemus.djvu/59

 DREAMS. 49

side down : you think it must have hurt ; and are only sorry that it did not happen to a tall, dark-faced boy who cheated you  in a swop of jack-knives. You innocently think that he must be a very bad boy ; and fancy- aided by a suggestion of the old nurse at home, on the same point, that he will one day come to the gallows.

There is a platform on one side of the school-room, where the teacher sits at a little red table, and they have a tradition among the boys, that a pin properly bent, was one day put into the chair of the English master, and that he did not wear his hand in the armlet of his waistcoat, for two whole days thereafter. Yet his air of dignity seems proper enough in a man of such erudition, and such grasp of imagination, as he must possess. Per he can quote poetry, some of the big scholars have heard him do it : he can parse the whole of Paradise Lost ; and he can cipher in Long Division, and the Rule of Three, as if it was all Simple Addition ; and then such a hand as he writes, and such a superb capital B ! It is hard to understand how he does it.

Sometimes, lifting the lid of your desk, where you pretend to be very busy with your papers, you steal the reading of some brief passage of Lazy Lawrence, or of the


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Bud seein all mah cumforts gooan, Ah didden't knaw what way te ton, Then Ah began te sigh an' mooan,

Beeath neeght an' day ; Ah bovvght a Baable, an' began

Te reead an' pray.

An' as Ah reead, an' as Ah preea'd,

Ah thowght it thunner'd ower mah heead.

An' offens Ah' wur sadly flay'd

Wi' dismal noises, Sumtaames i' bed Ah thowght Ah heeard

Some ungkerd voices.

A preeacher chanc'd te cum this way, Ah'v cause te ivver bless the day. Kind Providence leead me that way

This man te heear ; Ah, like a sheep, had geean astray

For monny a yeear.

He sed 'twur fluv o' Christ cumpell'd him,

Bud seean as ivver Ah beeheld him,

Ah thowght 'at sum kind fiind hed tell'd him

All mah heart ; For ivv'ry word, like arrows pointed,

INIeead it smart.

Ah thowght, till then, 'at Ah wur reeght, Bud he set mah sins all i'mah seeght, At last Ah fell doon at his feet

Wi' solid grief; Ah thowght Ah sud ha' deead afoore

Ah fund relief.

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Page:Awd Isaac - Castillo.djvu/15

 13

Ah reeally tliowght, if yoo'll beleeave me,

'At hell vvur oppen te receeave me,

Sum sed the Lord wad seean releeave me,

He wur mah keeper ; Bud all they sed did nowght but greeave me.

An' cut me deeper.

Ah dreeaded th' Almighty's froon. An' wander'd greeatin up an' doon, Nowther it' coontry nor i't' toon

Neea rist Ah fand ; Mah sins, like stars, did me surroon'.

Or heeaps o' sand.

Then varry seean t'repoort wur rais'd, An' all roond t'village it wur blaz'd, Awd Isaac, he wur gangin craz'd

An' nowght seea seer ; Mah cottage then for days an' days

Neea sowl com near.

At thowghts ov ivverlastin pains. An' bein bund iv endless chains, Mah bleead, like ice, ran thruff mah veins

Wi' shivrin dreead ; Ah cudden't sleep, an' Ah forgat

Te eat mah breead.

At last this gud man com ageean. For which mah heart wur glad an' fain. Just like a thorsty land for rain,

Ah sat quite neear him ; Whahl ivv'ry organ ov mah sowl,

Wur bent te heear liim.

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Page:A Treatise concerning the Use and Abuse of the Marriage Bed.djvu/356

 Sensuality, a Flame of immoderate Desires.

these are Things which should be mortified and restrained, not indulged and gratified, so every indecent untimely Step taken in pursuit of this corrupt and vitiated Flame, is a Crime; and therefore I think a Marriage founded upon this Foot is neither more or less than a Matrimonial Whoredom, or at least a Degree of it. 'Tis a criminal Gust, giving Beginning to a scandalous and indecent Action, which by that means becomes criminal too, though otherwise literally lawful; that is, it becomes Matter of Scandal, and gives offence to others, which is what, by the Scripture Rule, Christians ought Industriously to avoid.

when a Woman, within a Month or two after her Husband's Death, shall receive the Addresses of another, or a Man within such, or sometimes a shorter Time, shall apply himself to a Woman for Matrimony, can this be supposed to be from a modest Foundation, or within the compass of religious Regards? It cannot be.

, though it is not so regarded, is really a religious, sacred and divine Institution, it ought to be taken as such, and never undertaken without Regard to its religious Foundation: So far as it is made a stalking Horse to a corrupt and baser Desire, so far as it is made use of as a Pretence to cover the vitiated Appetite, give it what fine Words you will, and guild it over with as many fair Outsides as you will, 'tis so far turned into a Matrimonial Whoredom: The Vice is at the Bottom, the Matrimony is enter'd upon meerly to gratify it, and to please the Appetite under


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Page:Laboratory Manual of the Anatomy of the Rat (Hunt 1924).djvu/20

 THE SKELETAL SYSTEM

Animals possess two kinds of skeleton. The exoskeleton, found among the Arthropods, covers the outside of the body, protecting the delicate internal organs, and assisting in locomotion by providing surfaces for the attachment of muscles. The disadvantage of an exoskeleton, like that of a crayfish, is that growth must be accompanied by periodic molts to permit of increase in body size. Vertebrates possess an endoskeleton, which is completely inclosed by the soft parts of the body. The endoskeleton supports the body and thereby preserves its general form. It facilitates locomotion by providing levers which are moved by the contraction of the muscles. The skull protects the delicate structures of the brain, while the ribs prevent injury to the organs of the thorax. One important advantage of the endoskeleton is that it does not interfere with growth, for the bones of the vertebrate body increase in length, width, and thickness as the soft parts grow.

The axial skeleton of a vertebrate comprises the skull, backbone, ribs, and sternum. The appendicular skeleton consists of the pectoral and pelvic girdles, the fore legs, hind legs, and feet.

The skull of the higher vertebrates is a bony case completely surrounding and protecting the delicate tissues of the brain. It incloses and protects the olfactory organ,


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 The bride, rejecting the proffered assistance of the groom, was assisted into the carriage by her father, and departed, evidently full of misgivings as to her chance of future happiness in the society of such a heartless monster as her husband had just shown himself to be!

Skittles has been an "absent friend" himself at that house since then.

But I am not getting on with my pathetic story.

"Do not be late with it," our editor had said. "Let me have it by the end of August, certain. I mean to be early with the Christmas number this time. We didn't get it out till October last year, you know. I don't want the Clipper to be before us again!"

"Oh, that will be all right," I had answered, airily. "I shall soon run that off. I've nothing much to do this week. I'll start it at once."

So, as I went home, I cast about in my mind for a pathetic subject to work on. But not a pathetic idea could I think of. Comic fancies crowded in upon me, until my brain began to give way under the strain of holding them; and, if I had not calmed myself down with a last week's Punch, I should, in all probability, have gone off in a fit.

"Oh, I'm evidently not in the humour for pathos," I said to myself. "It is no use trying to force it. I've got plenty of time. I will wait till I feel sad."

But as the days went on, I merely grew more and more cheerful. By the middle of August, matters were becoming serious. If I could not, by some means or other, contrive to get myself into a state of the blues during the next week or ten days, there would be nothing in the Christmas number of the Weekly Journal to make the British public wretched, and its repuationreputation [sic] as a


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 ing all the pathetic literature I could collect together. But it was of no use. The little girl in Wordsworth's "We are Seven" only irritated me; I wanted to slap her. Byron's blighted pirates bored me. When, in a novel, the heroine died, I was glad; and when the author told me that the hero never smiled again on earth, I did not believe it.

As a last resource, I re-perused one or two of my own concoctions. They made me feel ashamed of myself, but not exactly miserable—at least, not miserable in the way I wanted to be miserable.

Then I bought all the standard works of wit and humour that had ever been published, and waded steadily through the lot. They lowered me a good deal, but not sufficiently. My cheerfulness seemed proof against everything.

One Saturday evening I went out and hired a man to come in and sing sentimental ballads to me. He earned his money (five shillings). He sang me everything dismal there was in English, Scotch, Irish, and Welsh, together with a few translations from the German; and, after the first hour and a half, I found myself unconsciously trying to dance to the different tunes. I invented some really pretty steps for "Auld Robin Grey," winding up with a quaint flourish of the left leg at the end of each verse.

At the beginning of the last week, I went to my editor and laid the case before him.

"Why, what's the matter with you?" he said. "You used to be so good at that sort of thing! Have you thought of the poor girl who loves the young man that goes away and never comes back, and she waits and waits, and never marries, and nobody knows that her heart is breaking?"


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 of the word; not great like the greatest men—the men who do not know that they are great—but decidedly great, according to the practical standard. When he wrote a book, a hundred thousand copies would be sold during the first week; and when a play of his was produced, the theatre was crammed for five hundred nights. And of each new work it was said that it was more clever and grand and glorious than were even the works he had written before.

Wherever the English language was spoken, his name was an honoured household word. Wherever he went, he was fêted and lionised and cheered. Descriptions of his charming house, of his charming sayings and doings, of his charming self, were in every newspaper.

Shakespeare was not one-half so famous in his day as is in his.

Fortunately, he happened to be still in town; and on being ushered into his sumptuously-furnished study, I found him sitting before one of the windows, smoking an after-dinner cigar.

He offered me one from the same box. 's cigars are not to be refused. I know he pays half-a-crown a-piece for them by the hundred; so I accepted, lit up, and, sitting down opposite to him, told him my trouble.

He did not answer immediately after I had finished; and I was just beginning to think that he could not have been listening, when—with his eyes looking out through the open window to where, beyond the smoky city, it seemed as if the sun, in passing through, had left the gates of the sky ajar behind him—he took his cigar from his lips, and said:

"Do you want a real pathetic story? I can tell you you do. It is not very long, but it is sad enough,"


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 raise his boyish hands to Heaven, and thank God for this great promised gift of noble usefulness, and pray that he might ever prove worthy of the trust; and, in the joy of his coming work, the little frets of life floated like drift-wood on a deepening river; and as he grew, the voices spoke to him ever more plainly, until he saw his work before him clearly, as a traveller on the hill-top sees the pathway through the vale.

"And so the years passed, and he became a man, and his labour lay ready to his hand.

"And then a foul demon came and tempted him—the demon that has killed many a better man before, that will kill many a great man yet—the demon of worldly success. And the demon whispered evil words into his ear, and, God forgive him!—he listened.

"Of what good to you, think you, will it be, your writing mighty truths and noble thoughts? What will the world pay for them? What has ever been the reward of the earth's greatest teachers and poets—the men who have given their lives to the best service of mankind—but neglect and scorn and poverty? Look around! what are the wages of the few earnest workers of to-day but a pauper's pittance, compared with the wealth that is showered down on those who jig to the tune that the crowd shouts for? Aye, the true singers are honoured when they are dead—those that are remembered; and the thoughts from their brains once fallen, whether they themselves are remembered or not, stir, with ever-widening circles to all time, the waters of human life. But of what use is that to themselves, who starved? You have talent, genius. Riches, luxury, power can be yours—soft beds and dainty foods. You can be great in the greatness that the world can see, famous with the fame your own ears


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look so dull and dowdy in the sweet spring weather, when the snowdrops and the crocuses are putting on their dainty frocks of white and mauve and yellow, and the baby-buds from every branch are peeping with bright eyes out on the world, and stretching forth soft little leaves towards the coming gladness of their lives. They stand apart, so cold and hard amid the stirring hope and joy that are throbbing all around them.

And in the deep, full summer-time, when all the rest of nature dons its richest garb of green, and the roses clamber round the porch, and the grass waves waist-high in the meadow, and the fields are gay with flowers,—they seem duller and dowdier than ever then, wearing their faded winter's dress, looking so dingy and old and worn.

In the mellow days of autumn, when the trees, like dames no longer young, seek to forget their aged looks under gorgeous bright-toned robes of gold and brown and purple, and the grain is yellow in the fields, and the ruddy fruit hangs clustering from the drooping boughs, and the wooded hills in their thousand hues stretch like leafy rainbows above the vale,—ah! surely they look their dullest and dowdiest then. The gathered glory of the dying year is all around them. They seem so out of place among it, in their sombre, everlasting green, like poor relations at a rich man's feast. It is such a weather-beaten old green


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Page:Constantinople by Brodribb.djvu/222

 Of course the Latin empire of Constantinople was a thing which never ought to have existed, and which could not, in the nature of things, endure. Like its predecessor of Jerusalem, it maintained an uncertain existence by continually attracting recruits from the West. When the supply of men began to fail; when the attention of France was diverted by the holy wars of their saintly King Louis; when Flanders was exhausted, or when the Flemish sympathies perished with the death of Henry, then the end of the empire was not far distant. The early deaths of the knights show, too, how fatal was the climate and the life.

The alliance, however, was concluded, and the allies, with an immense army, estimated at a hundred thousand, besides three hundred ships of war, sat down before the city and besieged it by sea and land. The incident that follows reads like a story from the history of Amadis de Gaul. Gibbon says that he "trembles" to relate it. While this immense host lay outside his walls; while thirty ships armed with their engines of war menaced his long line of seaward defences in the narrow strait, brave old John de Brienne, who had but 160 knight, with their following of men-at-arms and archers—say a couple of thousand in all—led forth his little band, and at one furious onset routed the besieging army. Probably it was mainly composed of the Bulgarian hordes, undisciplined, badly armed, and, like all such hosts, liable to panic. Perhaps, too, the number of the enemy was by no means so great as is reported, nor were the forces of John de Brienne so small. There is


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 watched you, when your moist eye was turned to heaven, as if to ask what crime you had been guilty of, that your tender feelings were committed to such ungentle keeping? How often have I perceived that your most reasonable wishes found resistance, where they ought to have been anticipated with rapture! It is no consolation to you then to know that there exists a being who understands you better—who, had fortune created him a heaven on earth, by bestowing you on him, would certainly not have extinguished your sublimest feelings with an ice-cold philosophy—a man, who, wherever he lives, lives but for thee; who feels ten-thousand-fold every pang that seizes thee, and who, since he has enjoyed thy intercourse, finds joy only in thy loved presence.”

“And if it were, Wartenstein, that I prized your goodness, I would surely not be cruel enough to accept a promise of constancy, which, under existing circumstances, could be so little conducive to your happiness.”

“Heaven has long since accepted my vow, with many others of renouncement. I desire only your approval, which, closely examined, is nothing more than the acknowledgment that you deem my love equally disinterested and unperishable. For I swear—”

Here the servant interrupted the scene, by announcing a visitor. In vain the Colonel hoped for her departure. Monosyllabical as the conversation was, the lady stayed even after he was gone, and till the Baron returned.

When the husband and wife were left alone, the former asked Clotilde what ailed her, and his visible sympathy affected her so much, that she gathered confidence, and acquainted him with the Colonel’s conduct, taking care, however, to suppress every circumstance that might offend him.

“And how do you mean to decide?” enquired the husband, at length, after changing colour several times.

“It is upon that point that I desire your advice, my dear.”

“There are but two ways. Total separation—either from your lover or your husband.”

“Oh, Eschenburg! how can you name the second?”

“Because you overlooked the first, and most palpable alternative.”

“But, my love, sighed Clotilde—poor Wartenstein.”

“Mention not that name again, unless you are resolved to prefer the man: I dont know how he first came into our house.”

“But I know,” said Clotilde, in the softest tone, taking her husband’s hand as she spoke.

“Am I to hear reproaches even now? At that time propriety was concerned. I have remarked how this man has exerted all his powers to gain a footing here, and at this moment I discern clearly all the thousand preparatory steps that have led to this dishonour. He who makes a promise of love requires a like return, and conceals his expectation no longer than until he is sure of his object. From this hour my house will be closed to him, and you will decide whether, under these circumstances, you will for the future consider it as yours.”

“Eschenburg!” exclaimed Clotilde, and would have folded him in her arms—but he stepped back saying,—“I now require a decision, and not a caress. Shall I announce to him, in writing, that he is henceforth the master here, or shall I give you the keys until our legal separation can be effected?” Clotilde opened the secretaire, and begged him only not to forget the invalid in writing to the Colonel.

“Be under no uneasiness—I shall not waste a word upon him.”

The Baron wrote—“At my wife’s request I hereby desire that you will never again pass the threshold of our house.” Clotilde turned pale as she perused the billet, and her husband said while closing it, “I must say, ‘at your request’—your own honour demands it. And yet one thing more!” continued he, “I desire that every letter which may find its way to you from his hand, shall be delivered over to me unopened; this I owe to my own honour.”

Clotilde consented, weeping, and entreated only that he should make no secret to her of the contents of such letters.

The Colonel wrote the following in answer—“The sentence of death which your Lady has pronounced upon me, I have just received.”


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 “The ridiculous hero of romance!” exclaimed the Baron angrily.

“But, suppose now that he should,”—rejoined Clotilde who was near swooning away.

“Suppose! then the world would contain one fool the less.”

With these words, pronounced harshly enough, he left the room.

An hour afterwards Clotilde sought her husband in his study—“Here is a letter to me,” said she presenting one to him.

“How received?”—“Through his servant.”

Von Eschenburg opened the letter and read:

“Gracious Lady! I may have caused you uneasiness, therefore these lines. Whatever may become of me, no blame shall attach to you. You have rejected the verbal assurance of my constancy; therefore I now repeat, that I dedicate it to you for ever, and will rather part with life, than receive my happiness from any other female hand. Adieu! The horses which are to bear me away, are harnessed to my carriage. May happiness attend you!”

“A pleasant journey!” cried the Baron. “That resolution shows, however, that his love has not robbed him of all his reason. The rest is to be proved.”

Clotilde shook her head with a sigh.

Lady Von Eschenburg passed a sleepless night. In her dreams she beheld the Colonel committing in various ways the dreadful act of suicide. She roused herself, and every thing in the chamber that could rattle, as wardrobes, tables, and the like, gave the most decisive tokens of an approaching death. “Alas! he certainly died last night!” sighed she in the morning to the four desolate walls of her chamber. “And all for love of me.” No sooner was breakfast over than she threw on her mantle, and hurried to her friend Madame Selter.

The latter was rejoiced to hear what had happened.

“But my peace of mind,” cried Clotilde.

“That, my dear, could in no other way be preserved to you; for they alone have claim to it, who know how to respect the relations of civilized life.”

Upon that the Baroness related the story of her dreams, and the tokens of death.

“Tokens! Alas, child, how long have you been so superstitious?—Nay, you will become a ghost-seer presently.”

“Heaven forbid!”

“Heaven will forbid it; and heaven, as well as your own reason, forbids you to give the vein to your imagination, as you did last night, for otherwise it may come even to that; and truly it is bad enough to hear tables and chairs talk.”

Clotilde confessed that she had now not much faith in the tokens, and Madame Selter kindly undertook to make enquiries respecting the Colonel’s residence and mode of life, and conscientiously impart the result to her friend.

However, unfortunately all her endeavours proved entirely fruitless; not a soul knew which road he had taken after the first post. Clotilde was inconsolable; her husband tried every thing that was likely to dissipate her grief and anxiety; but without effect. Society produced as little change in her as solitude; although the latter sometimes, and particularly at night, brought with it new tokens and warnings, which she dared not communicate to any body in the house, for none but the most incredulous of Adam’s children had abode there.

The continued depression of the Lady of the house gradually cast a gloom over each member of the family. At length, however, the arrival of an old university friend of the Baron’s, who came unexpectedly to pay them a visit, produced another agreeable evening.

Clotilde confessed, when Von West was gone, that his wit and humour had very much contributed to dispel, for a time, the heavy clouds which darkened her spirit; and the Baron went early the following morning to repeat so pressingly his request that his friend would make his house his home, that he could no longer resist his entreaties.

The inexhaustible fund of entertainment which their new inmate possessed, quickly brought about a favourable change in the Baroness; he had so many anecdotes to relate, and had the art of giving an interest to the most trivial. “My whole family,” said he, one day when they were praising his constant flow of


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 spirits, “possess the same; and if my sister be not grown too sentimental, through a love affair of which she has just informed me by letter, you shall soon be acquainted with a charming sprightly lass, whom I should feel disposed to marry myself, if she were not my sister. Immediately after the nuptials, she will repair hither with her husband—I hope he will not turn out a churl, or if he is, I will not rest until I have separated them, or I’ll shoot him through the head—for I’ll not have my family blood adulterated with any thing gross and dull.”

A circumstance, however, soon occurred, which overthrew at once all that improvement in Clotilde’s mind, which the visitor’s sprightliness had brought about. A story which obtained currency in the neighbourhood was the occasion of it. The attachment of a young lady to a man beneath her in rank and fortune had been discovered by her relatives, and all intercourse between the parties consequently stopped. The lady had wisely opened her ears and understanding to the remonstrances of her friends, but the young lover took the disappointment so much to heart, that he fell into a violent fever which put an end to his torments. Almost every night since his death, he appeared to his cruel mistress cloathed in white and with threatening gestures. The ghost was not intimidated by the number of persons who sat up with her all night—but continued his troublesome visits, and followed her from chamber to chamber. Horror, grief, and deprivation of sleep, threatened the poor maiden with premature death.

This was the story told and attested by numbers of soi-disant eye-witnesses, and it produced a violent effect upon the romantic Baroness. In her own opinion she was far more blameable than the persecuted maiden, and the latter had the consolation of knowing that she had only broken off an unworthy attachment, and that the lover received only the punishment due to his presumption. But what was Wartenstein’s crime? “Is it not the extreme of cruelty,” said she to herself, “to reject the most disinterested offer of love, and to deny a man the house, merely for having made such an offer? and ought I to have let a husband’s authority go so far, as to make me deliver over an innocent mortal to the most horrible of deaths, because he possessed a heart for me, yet a heart devoid of guile, and even disowning all pretensions to my love? Thus Clotilde argued; for that Wartenstein would not survive his banishment from her society, she was as fully convinced as of her own existence. The circumstance that no person could give any intelligence of the Colonel, raised her dark forebodings to certainty. She at last, however, persuaded herself that he might have returned back to the city, under an assumed name, in order to be as near her as possible, and there contrive his death.

She passed a dreadful night; for it occurred to her, before she fell asleep, that the Colonel had frequently expressed himself in admiration of the character of Werther; her dream, therefore, presented her lover to her in the act of preparing for his long journey. She strove by screaming aloud to prevent the fatal touch of the trigger, but her voice failed her, and at the same instant the report of the dreadful pistol awoke her out of her disordered slumber.

Clotilde rang up the servants. “Go down, instantly, and see what is the matter out of doors!” cried she with a pale and distorted countenance, and sank back upon her pillow. The Baron, awakened by the noise, desired to know the meaning of this singular behaviour.

“You will know all,” said his lady, “when the servants return. Oh God! that I should have submitted, like a child, to your outrageous demand!”

“What demand?” “Have but patience, you will hear all.”

The servants now came up, and assured their mistress that they had discovered nothing at all in the street. “Oh! yes, Wartenstein, the unhappy Wartenstein, has been making an attempt on his life close by our door.”

“How do you know that improbable fact?” demanded the husband in a distant and ironical tone.

“I know it. Ascribe it to a presentiment, or a dream, or what you will—it is enough that I saw the unhappy youth distinctly, and heard the report of the pistol with my own ears.”

“And the servants, who are neither in a dream, nor under the influence of E. M. March, 1825.


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 superstition, have been below, and have discovered no trace whatever of such an occurrence.”

“May he not, after the commission of the dreadful act, have dragged himself away a street or two? Alas! if he could be saved!”

“We will not lose our reputation as people of sound mind by making such a search, or keep the servants longer from their beds, since they have been uselessly disturbed.”

With these words the Baron laid himself down.

Clotilde arose and began to dress herself, but her husband told her, somewhat harshly, that if the fever of her imagination led to such unheard of exploits, he should be compelled to lock his doors. This he, in fact, caused to be done.

Clotilde complained aloud, and could not comprehend how want of feeling could rise to such a pitch.

In the morning she betrayed no disposition at all to rise from her bed. The physician, who was called in, found her pulse in a very feverish motion. Her husband implored her to take the prescribed remedies; the doctor’s opinion had so roused his sensibility that he seldom quitted her bedside.

“And have you heard nothing yet of his death?” inquired she.

Von Eschenburgh replied in the negative.

“Do not disguise the truth!”

“Certainly not, my love,” replied the affectionate husband.

“In bed!” exclaimed Madame Selter, who came to make a morning call.

“A sudden fever,” said the Baron, who was just at that instant called away.

“Dont believe it, my dear Selter,” said Clotilde. “But pray tell me, have you heard any thing? Wartenstein?”

“Yes, I am come to tell you.”

“Alas! I know all already.”

“Well, I am told that he lives not far from here.”

“Lives! Would it were so!”

“Why surely, and, moreover, is very happy in a new amour.”

Clotilde withdrew her hand and turned away. “Wretched delusions!” cried she. “I perceive that you have been fetched to restrain me, as a maniac with fabricated stories. Believe me, I know too well, that he died last night—here too, in this very town.”

“Last night!” Madame Selter recollected the fever that the Baron had mentioned, and deemed it prudent to avoid contradicting the invalid. That is something new, however!”

“Is nothing then really known in the town of his violent death?”

“I come from his sisters, who had not heard a syllable about it, but on the contrary told me what I say.”

“Apropos! There is some news!” said the Baron entering just then. “The papers announce that Wartenstein has got married.”

Clotilde turned herself again to the wall, and could not be prevailed upon to hear or speak a word. After Madame Selter had quitted the chamber, shaking her head pensively, she again turned her face and said—“I know not why you suppose me capable of so much credulity.”

“The paper will be here in half an hour to convince you.”

“Here, my dear Clotilde,” said Eschenburg shortly after, presenting her the paper. She took it, and read:

“To-day is the first day of our happy union.

“The Christian names agree. It’s not amiss, but it is all in vain!” exclaimed Clotilde laying down the journal.

“In vain! Why do you suppose the whole is fabricated? When and wherefore? On account of your indisposition this morning, I suppose, when the paper was printed the day before yesterday!”

“But perhaps reprinted this morning here such deceptions have lost their novelty.”

“Clotilde, what strange infatuation is this?” cried the Baron with an expression that she could not misunderstand. “Well, then, somebody has made a bad jest at Wartenstein’s expense. Examples of that kind, too, are frequent enough.” “But why not credit at once what is the most likely case? Clotilde, I almost fear that your heart will deeply feel this step of Wartenstein’s.”

“My heart! Indeed, Eschenburg, you do my heart a great injustice.—I could go mad with joy if he had married; and thus restore my peace of mind for ever. But, alas! the occur-


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Rh 9. The proportion of Musalmans to Hindus is as 1,000 to 587.8.

I have given the preceding table and its results because they exhibit the latest official returns of the population of the district; but I should add that the magistrate and collector expressed great doubt of the accuracy of the returns. The table contains internal evidence of error, of which the first series of figures relating to the thana of Bhawanigunge affords obvious examples. Thus in that police sub-division there are stated to be in all only 22,935 families, while the materials in men and women are at the same time said to exist of about 12,000 Hindu families and 38,000 Musalman families, in all 50,000 families—a difference which cannot be satisfactorily explained by supposing an unusually large number of widows and unmarried persons. Again, the Hindu men and women, are stated at about 12,000 each, and the Musalman men and women at about 38,000 each; on the other hand the Hindu children are made to amount to 86,000, giving about seven children to each Hindu couple, while the Musalman children are made to amount to only 33,000, giving less than one child to each Musalman couple—an excess in the former case, a deficiency in the latter, and a disproportion between the two classes which are irreconcileable with all experience and probability. In point of fact there were no checks whatever employed to guard against error, the magistrate requiring the return from the daroghas, and the daroghas from the zemindars; the zemindars employing their gomashtas or factors; and the gomashtas depending on the mondals or headmen and the chowkidars or watchmen of the villages for the desired information. Besides the unintentional errors that might be expected to arise in such a diluted process, executed in all its parts by ignorant and uninterested men, it is not improbably supposed that both landholders and cultivators are indisposed to make faithful returns whenever misrepresentation can escape detection. They have vague fears about the objects of such inquiries, the landholders apprehending an increase of assessment, the cultivators a requisition for their personal services, and both shrinking from that minute inspection of their condition which such inquiries involve. Without ample explanation, therefore, and without checks of any kind, it is vain to expect accuracy in such investigations.

While endeavouring to ascertain the amount of means employed for the instruction of the population of a given district, it is important to know how far those means come short of the object to be accomplished, i. e., come short of giving instruction to the whole teachable population. With a view to this result, one of my first objects was to ascertain the number of children between 14 and five years of age, which, after consideration and enquiry, I assumed to be the teachable or school-going age. It was evident that, having to deal in this matter for the most part with


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 that she remained silent and passive, not paying the smallest fraction of attention to her guests. As she stood near one of the windows of the drawing-room, certain words, spoken in her vicinity, at length forced themselves on her notice: words that awoke her with a start to the reality of the present.

“Her name’s Beauchamp. My mother wrote to one of the governess-agencies over here, I believe, and they sent her out to us in Canada.”

Jane turned to look at the speaker. He was a stranger, a very young man, brought that evening to the house by some friends, and introduced. His name, Vaughan, had not struck upon any chord of Jane’s memory at the time; but it did now, in connection with the name of Beauchamp. Could he indeed be a member of that family in Canada to whom the Miss Beauchamp had gone out?

“And she is an efficient governess?” went on one of the voices. It was a lady speaking now.

“Very much so, indeed,” replied Mr. Vaughan. “I have heard my mother say she does not know what she should do without Miss Beauchamp.”

All her pulses throbbing with expectant hope, Jane moved up and laid her finger on Mr. Vaughan’s arm.

“Are you from Canada?”

“From Lower Canada,” he replied, struck with something of suppressed eagerness in her tone. “My father, Colonel Vaughan, was ordered there some years ago with his regiment, and he took his family with him. Liking the place, we have remained there, and”

“You live near to Montreal?” interrupted Jane, too anxious to allow him to continue.

“We live at Montreal.”

“I heard you speak of a Miss Beauchamp: a governess, if I understood you arightly?”

“Yes, I was speaking of Miss Beauchamp. She is my sisters’ governess. She came out to us from England.”

“How long ago?”

“How long ago?—let me see,” he deliberated. “I don’t think she has been with us much more than a twelvemonth yet.”

It was surely the same. Jane without ceremony placed her arm within the young man’s, and led him to a less-crowded room.

“I am interested in a Miss Beauchamp, Mr. Vaughan,” she said, as they paced it together.

“A lady of that name, whom I know, went abroad as governess about a year ago. At least, we suppose she went abroad, though we don’t know with certainty where. I am very anxious to find her. I think the Miss Beauchamp you speak of may be the same.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” returned the young gentleman. “This one’s uncommonly nice-looking, Lady Jane.”

“So was she. I should tell you that we have been making inquiries, and had learnt that a Miss Beauchamp went to Montreal in Canada about twelvemonths ago. That lady no doubt is the one in your house: it may be the one we are wishing to find. We have already sent out letters to ascertain, and are expecting their answers every day. How long have you been in England?”

“Not a fortnight yet. I asked Miss Beauchamp if I could call on any of her friends in England with news of her; but she said she had none that she cared to send to.”

“It can be no other than Clarice!” murmured Jane in her inmost heart. “I am sure it must be the same,” she said aloud. “Can you describe her to me Mr. Vaughan?”

“I can almost show her to you if I can catch sight of a young lady I was dancing with just now,” he replied. “I kept thinking how like she was to Miss Beauchamp.”

“A pretty little girl in a white crape frock and a white wreath in her hair,” said Jane, eagerly, remembering how great a resemblance Lucy bore to Clarice.

“I—no, I don’t think she wore a wreath,” returned Mr. Vaughan. “And she was not little. She—there she is! there she is!” he broke off in quick excitement. “That’s the one; the lady in the blue dress, with some gold stuff in her hair. You can’t think how much she is like Miss Beauchamp.”

Jane’s spirit turned faint. It was another disappointment. The young lady he pointed to was a Miss Munro, a very tall girl, with a remarkably light complexion and light-blue eyes. No imagination, however suggestive, could have traced the slightest resemblance between that young lady and Clarice Chesney.

"She!" exclaimed Jane. Has Miss Beauchamp—your Miss Beauchamp—a complexion light as that? Has she blue eyes?”

“Yes. Miss Beauchamp is one of the fairest girls I ever saw. Her hair is light flaxen, very silky-looking, and she wears it in curls. It’s just like the hair you see upon fair-complexioned dolls.”

“It is not the same,” said Jane, battling with her disappointment as she best might. “The Miss Beauchamp I speak of has large soft brown eyes and brown hair. She is about as tall as I am.”

“Then that sets the question at rest, Lady Jane,” returned the young man, alluding to the eyes and hair. “And our Miss Beauchamp is very tall. As tall as that lady standing there.”


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 no necessity to detract from what was clearly as gallant a fight as was ever fought, but heroic proportions which are credible and possible are more likely to be accepted than those which belong only to a giant. Nor was his success limited to the rout of the army, for the citizens, encouraged by their flight, attacked the ships, and succeeded in dragging five and twenty of them within the port. It would appear that the Bulgarians renewed their attempt in the following year, and were again defeated by the old emperor. It would have been well for the Latins had his age been less. He died in the year 1237, and young Baldwin, who was married to his daughter Martha, became sole emperor. John de Brienne made so great a name, that he was compared with Ajax, Odin the Dane, Hector, Roland, and Judas Maccabæus. Baldwin, who came after him, might have been compared with any of those kinglings who succeeded Charlemagne, and sat in their palaces while the empire fell to pieces.

His incapacity is proved, if by nothing else, by his singular and uniform ill-luck. If after the fight of life is over, no single valiant blow can be remembered, the record is a sorry one indeed. Baldwin's difficulties were, it must be owned, very great: they were so great, that for a considerable portion of the four and twenty years during which he wore the Roman purple his crown was left him by sufferance. And his manner of reigning was to travel about Europe begging for money. The pope proclaimed a Crusade for him, but it was extremely difficult to awaken general enthusiasm for a Courtenay in danger of being overthrown by a Lascaris; and the


text: Index:The Harveian oration, 1875 (IA b22314611).pdf


text: Counterman v. Colorado

title: Counterman v. Colorado


text: Counterman v. Colorado/Opinion of the Court


text: Translation:Announcements, Acts, and Decrees From the Reign of Rama V/Tome 14/Part 25


text: Translation:Announcements, Acts, and Decrees From the Reign of Rama V/Tome 14/Part 26


text: Counterman v. Colorado/Opinion of Justice Sotomayor


text: Index:The Harveian oration ; delivered at the Royal College of Physicians, June 26th, 1879 (IA b24976465).pdf


text: Counterman v. Colorado/Opinion of Justice Thomas


text: Counterman v. Colorado/Opinion of Justice Barrett


text: Index:Juba Expedition. (WOMAT-AFR-BEA-34-1-1).jpg


text:
Author:John William Ogle

Works

 * The Harveian Oration 1880

title: Author:John William Ogle


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Page:Adam's reports on vernacular education in Bengal and Behar, submitted to Government in 1835, 1836 and 1838.djvu/150

90 uninstructed villagers who, whatever their other virtues, are not remarkable for habits of accuracy and precision, they would be frequently apt to include under this age both adults above and children below it, unless I stimulated and aided their attention by requiring separate and distinct statements of the number of persons above 14 and below 5. Columns third and fifth, therefore, of Table I., were at first regarded only as auxiliary to the strict accuracy of the information contained in column fourth, which alone I considered as properly belonging to my enquiry. I mention this that I may not be supposed to have charged myself with a different duty, viz., the taking of a census of the population, from that which was entrusted to me, although I do not imagine that Government or the General Committee will regret the additional information thus supplied, besides that the conclusions reached in this way are indispensable to a correct appreciation of the amount of intellectual cultivation in the district.

In determining the number of children of the teachable age, it was obviously necessary to distinguish between boys and girls, and the distinction of sex was carried also into the other two columns. The results which the table seems to establish regarding the proportion of the sexes in Nattore are as follows:—The number of adult males is less than that of adult females, the former being only 59,500, while the latter is 61,428. On the other hand the number of non-adult males is greater than the number of non-adult females, the former being 41,079, while the latter is 33,289. Of the total population of Nattore, the number of males is 100,579, and that of females 94,717, which, disregarding fractional parts, gives 94 females to every 100 males, a proportion which, approaching very nearly to what is found to prevail where more attention has been paid to the statistics of population than in India, may be considered to derive from this coincidence a confirmation of its accuracy. I have said that Table I. “seems to establish” these results, for highly estimating the importance of the strictest accuracy in such inquiries, I do not wish to conceal the fact that, new to the work in which I engaged, and guided only by my own unaided judgment, I did not at first employ all those guards against error which afterwards occurred to me. I do not, therefore, place absolute confidence in the conclusions to which I have come respecting the population of Nattore, but at the same time I do not think that they can be very remote from the truth.

According to the loose and unchecked returns of 1834, the total population of Nattore was 185,409; and according to the most dilligent and careful examination that I have been able to make, it amounts to 195,296, making a difference of excess in my estimate amounting to 9,887. If we suppose a proportional deficiency in all the returns of 1834, then the total population of the district will amount to 1,121,745. It cannot, I think, be less;


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276 was not encfcigh; he had to do something that would win back his own respect and the respect of his fellows, which he thought, quite absurdly, that he had forfeited. So far as he could see, there was only one way that he could justify his existence at Sanford; that was to win one of the dashes in the Sanford-Raleigh meet. He clung to that idea with the tenacity of a fanatic.

He had nearly a month in which to train, and train he did as he never had before. His diet be¬ came a matter of the utmost importance; a rubdown was a holy rite, and the words of Jansen, the coach, divine gospel. He placed in 'both of the preliminary meets, but he knew that he could do better; he was n’t yet in condition.

When the day for the Raleigh-Sanford meet finally came, he did not feel any of the nervousness that had spelled defeat for him in his freshman year. He was stonily calm, silently deter¬ mined. He was going to place in the hundred and will the two-twenty or die in the attempt. No golden dreams of breaking records excited him. Calvert of Raleigh was running the hundred con¬ sistently in ten seconds and had been credited with better time. Hugh had no hopes of defeating him in the hundred, but there was a chance in the twotwenty. Calvert was a short-distance man, the shorter the better. Two hundred and twenty yards was a little too far for him.


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146 Hugh and Carl grinned at each other, linked arms again, and continued their way across the campus. When they entered the Nu Delta house a shout went up. “Hi, Carl! Hi, Hugh! Glad to see you back. Didya have a good summer? Put it there, ol’ kid”—and they shook hands, grip¬ ping each other’s forearm at the same time.

Hugh tried hard to become a typical sophomore and failed rather badly. He retained much of the shyness and diffidence that gives the freshman his charm, and he did not succeed very well in acquiring the swagger, the cocky, patronizing manner, the raucous self-assurance that characterize the true sophomore.

He found, too, that he could n’t lord it over the freshmen very well, and at times he was nothing less than a renegade to his class. He was con¬ stantly giving freshmen correct information about their problems, and during the dormitory initiations he more than once publicly objected to some “stunt” that seemed to him needlessly insulting to the initiates. Because he was an athlete, his opin¬ ion was respected, and quite unintentionally he won several good friends among the freshmen. His objections had all been spontaneous, and he was rather sorry about them afterward. He felt that he must be soft, that he ought to be able to stand anything that anybody else could. Further, he felt


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Rh of, but to mention them meant an argument—and an argument would have been unendurable.

“No,” she repeated, “I don’t love you. You see, you ’re so different from what I remembered. You’ve grown up and you’ve changed. Why, Hugh, we ’re strangers. I’ve realized that while you’ve been talking. We don’t know each other, not a bit. We only saw each other for a week summer before last and for two days last spring. Now we ’re two altogether different people; and we don’t know each other at all.”

She prayed that he would deny her statements, that he would say they knew each other by instinct —anything, so long as he did not agree. ^

“I certainly don’t know you the way you ’re talk¬ ing now,” he said almost roughly, his pride hurt and his mind in a turmoil. “I know that we don’t know each other, but I never thought that you thought that mattered. _

Her hands clenched more tightly for an instant —and then lay open and limp in her lap.

Her lips were trembling; so she smiled. i didn’t think it mattered until you asked me to marry you. Then I knew it did. It was game or you to offer to take a chance, but I’m not that game. I couldn’t marry a strange man. 1 like that man a lot, but I don’t love him-and you don t want me to marry you if I don’t love you, do you, Hugh?”


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Rh eonard Gates, however, felt otherwise; and he¬ re Hugh knew what had happened he was a ndidate along with thirty other juniors, only reive of whom could be elected. He took no part in the campaigning, attended me of the caucuses, was hardly interested in the aternity “combine” that promised to elect him. e did not believe that he could be elected; he w no reason why he should be. As a matter of ct, as Gates and others well knew, his chances
 * re more than good. Hugh was popular in his

m right, and his great race in the Sanfordileigh meet had made him something of a hero r the time being. Furthermore, he was a member both the Glee and Banjo Clubs, he had led his ss in the spring sings for three years, and he had respectable record in his studies. The tapping took place in chapel the last week classes. After the first hymn, the retiring mbers of the Boule rose and marched down the le to where the juniors were sitting. The new mbers were tapped in the order of the number votes that they had received, and the first man ped, having received the largest number of es, automatically became president of the Boule the coming year. Tugh’s interest naturally picked up the day of election, and he began to have faint hopes that would be the tenth or eleventh man. To his


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CHAPTER XX
hUGH avoided the Nu Delta house for the remainder of the term and spent more time on his studies than he had since he lad entered college. The result was, of course, Eat he made a good record, and the A that Henley ^ave him in English delighted him so much that he ilmost forgot his fraternity troubles. Not quite, lowever. During the first few weeks of the vacaion he often thought of talking to his father about ^u Delta, but he could not find the courage to de¬ troy his father’s illusions. He found, too, that he ould n’t talk to his mother about things that he lad seen and learned at college. Like most of lis friends, he felt that “the folks would n’t nderstand.”

He spent the first two months at home working n the farm, but when Norry Parker invited him o visit him for a month on Long Island Sound, lugh accepted the invitation and departed for the ager to see Norry again, but he was even lore eager to see New York. He had just celerated his twentieth birthday, and he considered it Rh
 * arker summer cottage in high feather. He was


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310 “And Shakspere and Sophocles,” Henley con eluded for him. “Edison is an inventive genius and Ford is a business genius. Genius has n’t any thing to do with schools. The colleges, however could have made both Ford and Edison bigger men though they could n’t have made them lesser gen iuses.

“No, we must not take the exceptional man as standard; we’ve got to talk about the average The hand of the Potter shook badly when he mad man. It was at best a careless job. But He mad some better than others, some a little less weak, little more intelligent. All in all, those are the me, that come to college. The colleges ought to do thousand times more for those men than they d do; but, after all, they do something for them, an( I am optimistic enough to believe that the tim will come when they will do more.

“Some day, perhaps,” he concluded very ser ously, “our administrative officers will be true edu cators; some day perhaps our faculties will be wis men really fitted to teach; some day perhaps ou students will be really students, eager to learn honest searchers after beauty and truth. That da will be the millennium. I look for the undergrac uates to lead us to it.”


text: Page:กม ร ๕ - ๒๔๕๑.pdf/3

title: Page:กม ร ๕ - ๒๔๕๑.pdf/3


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324 tenderly, wondering why he felt no passion, afraid that he would.

“Good-by, Cynthia dear,” he whispered. Her hands fluttered helplessly about his coat lapels and then fell to her side. She managed a brave little smile. “Good-by—honey.”

Carl rushed up with the bag. “Gosh, Hugh, you Ve got to hurry; they’re closing the gate.” He gripped his hand for a second. “Visit me at Bar Harbor this summer if you can.”

“Sure. Good-by, old man. Good-by Cynthia.”

“Good-by-—good-by.”

Hugh slipped through the gate and turned to wave at Carl and Cynthia. They waved back, and then he ran for the train.

On the long trip to Haydensville Hugh relaxed. Now that the strain was over, he felt suddenly weak, but it was sweet weakness. He could gradu¬ ate in peace now. The visit to New York had been worth while. And what do you know, bump¬ ing into old Carl like that! Cynthia and he were friends, too, the best friends in the world, but she no longer wanted to marry him. That was fine. . . . He remembered the picture she and* Carl had made standing on the other side of the gate from him. “What a peach of a pair. Golly, would n’t it be funny if they hit it off. .

He thought over every word that he and Cyn¬ thia had said. She certainly had been square all


text: Index:The Harveian oration, 1880; delivered June 25th (IA harveianoration00ogle).pdf


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Page:Malay Sketches.pdf/299

HE tale of these little lives is told. If I have failed to bring you close to the Malay, so that you could see into his heart, understand something of his life, and perhaps even sympathise with the motives that will lead him to acts of high courage and self-sacrifice, then the fault is mine.

The glory of the Eastern morning, the freshness and the fragrance of the forest, the sultry heat of these plains and slopes of eternal green on which the moisture-charged clouds unceasingly pour fatness—these are the home of the Malay, the background against which he stands.

Come, we have done with it all; let us leave the plain, seething in the heat of early afternoon, and ride up this mountain path, through all the wealth

title: Page:Malay Sketches.pdf/299


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 and the magnificence of tropical jungle, and look down on the land for the last time.

Our callous eyes—surfeited with years of gazing on brilliant colours, great stretches of sea and forest, huge trees, a bewildering luxury of foliage, beasts measured by the elephant and rhinoceros, birds by the argus pheasant and the peacock—are blind to the infinite beauty of our surroundings. This path, by which we slowly rise to cooler altitudes and a new flora, would excite in the stranger feelings of wonder and rapturous delight.

The road itself is cut through soil of a deep shade of terra cotta, the colour all the more vivid by reason of the hues of green by which it is environed. The sunlight strikes in rays of brilliant light across this path, falling on red soil, granite boulder and massive tree-trunk, intensifying colour and deepening shadow. Here and there are seen glimpses of the plains below, the distant sea, the peaks and valleys of other hill ranges, and the ear constantly catches the delightful sound of falling water, the voices of numerous streams dashing down the steep mountain sides in cascades of sparkling foam.

The path twists and winds, often by sharp zig-zags, up the face of the hill, across a narrow saddle

title: Page:Malay Sketches.pdf/300


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title: Page:กม ร ๕ - ๒๔๕๑.pdf/12


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 in reward for their good tidings, and all men with delighted minds repaired to their homes and worshipped the gods.

Then again the king sent for Rāma and held converse with him. "My son," he said, "I shall install thee to-morrow as heir-apparent; for I am old and have dreamt ill dreams, and the astrologers inform me that my life-star is threatened by the planets Sun and Mars and Rāhu. Therefore do thou, with Sītā, from the time of sunset, observe a fast, well guarded by thy friends. I would have thee soon installed, for the hearts even of the virtuous change by the influence of natural attachments, and none knoweth what may come to pass." Then Rāma left his father and sought his mother in the inner rooms. He found her in the temple, clad in silk, worshipping the gods and praying for his welfare. There, too, were Lakshman and Sītā. Rāma reverenced his mother, and asked her to prepare whatever should be necessary for the night of fasting, for himself and Sītā. Turning then to Lakshman, "Do thou rule the Earth with me," he said, "for this is thy good fortune not less than mine. My life and kingdom I desire only because of thee." Then Rāma went with Sītā to his own quarters, and thither Vāshishtha also went to bless the fast.

All that night the streets and highways of Ayodhyā were crowded with eager men; the tumult and the hum of voices sounded like the ocean's roar when the moon is full. The streets were cleaned and washed, and hung with garlands and strings of flags and banners; lighted lamps were set on branching cressets. The name of Rāma was on every man's lips, and all were expectant of the morrow, while Rāma kept the fast within.


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Rh inspection and comparison of the different institutions suggest that a more correct view of the state of elementary scholastic instruction will be conveyed by distributing them into four classes, according to the languages employed in them, viz.—first, Bengali; second, Persian; third Arabic; and fourth, Persian and Bengali, with or without Arabic.

1. Elementary Bengali Schools,—It is expressly prescribed by the authorities of Hindu law that children should be initiated in writing and reading in their fifth year; or, if this should have been neglected, then in the seventh, ninth, or any subsequent year, being an odd number. Certain months of the year, and certain days of the month and week, are also prescribed as propitious to such a purpose; and, on the day fixed, a religious service is performed in the family by the family-priest, consisting principally of the worship of, the goddess of learning, after which the hand of the child is guided by the priest to form the letters of the alphabet, and he is also then taught, for the first time, to pronounce them. This ceremony is not of indispensable obligation on Hindus, and is performed only by those parents who possess the means and intention of giving their children more extended instruction. It is strictly the commencement of the child’s school education, and in some parts of the country he is almost immediately sent to school; but in this district I do not find that there is any determinate age for that purpose. It seems to be generally regulated by the means and opportunities of the parent and by the disposition and capacity of the child; and as there is a specified routine of instruction, the age of leaving school must depend upon the age of commencement.

The Bengali schools in Nattore are ten in number, containing 167 scholars, who enter school at an age varying from five to ten years, and leave it at an age varying from ten to sixteen. The whole period spent at school also varies, according to the statements of the different teachers, from five to ten years; two stating that their instructions occupied five years, one six years, three seven years, two eight years, one nine years, and one ten years—an enormous consumption of time, especially at the more advanced ages, considering the nature and amount of the instruction communicated.

The teachers consist both of young and middle-aged men, for the most part simple-minded, but poor and ignorant, and, therefore, having recourse to an occupation which is suitable both to their expectations and attainments, and on which they reflect as little honor as they derive emolument from it; they do not understand the importance of the task they have undertaken; they do not appear to have made it even a subject of thought; they do not appreciate the great influence which they might exert over the minds of their pupils; and they consequently neglect the highest duties which their situation would impose, if they were better


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