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 236 the reason is of the meanes of supernaturall knowledge vouchsafed to them that never heard of the Covenant, or lived nigh unto them that enjoyed the word of reconciliation, the comparison is of men in Covenant, who cannot want possible meanes to know the main and fundamentall points of the Covenant. Old Lawes, they say, not in use, yet in force, scarce possible to be knowne, do bind: But the question is, of many doctrines in use, which must necessarily be known, or a man cannot be in the number of the faitfull so much as in externall society.

There is not a prohibition to preach or write to any, (say they) unlesse it was to punish some speciall sinne, as when Christ saith, Cast not pearles before swine; or some others were to be served first, as Christ said to the woman of Canaan, I am not sent, but to the lost sheepe of the house of Israel; and Paul, Act. 13. It was needfull that the Gospell should be first preached unto you: And it was thus when the Spirit forbade Paul to goe into one place, and commanded him to goe into another. We might aske unto which of the two cases they will referre that of our Saviour, Into the way of the Samaritanes enter ye not, Matth. 10. 5. and, ''Tarry ye at Jerusalem, untill ye be endued with power from on High. Luke'' 24. 49. during which time, and before the Apostles could disperse themselves, many millions might depart this life, who never enjoyed meanes sufficient to bring them to the knowledge of God in Christ. And if God have charged his servants, not to cast pearles before swine, and prohibited them for a time to preach the Word of the Kingdome to some people, and in some places, because it is his pleasure to serve others first, why should we not likewise think, that God in justice hath deprived many nations and people of all possible meanes, whereby they should come to the knowledge of the truth? Let us see how well this fitteth the matter in hand, The meanes of grace be unlimited, but in two cases there was a prohibition to write, and what is this, but in plain termes to confesse, that the meanes of grace in all ages and times, in respect of all places and persons have not been unlimited? Besides, when no man must take this office of preaching upon him, but he that is called thereunto of God, and no man can shew that he hath beene called to preach the Gospell to every creature, why may not this be called a prohibition?


text:
O Lady of the Dazzling Flowers

O, lady of the dazzling flowers,
 * And the frock so white and fine,

How hopeless is thy prettiness,
 * And that cool heart of thine!

Thou hast not been to the rude field
 * Where men and women war;

Thou hast not found what a woman's mouth
 * And a man's full heart are for.

Thy speech is all of a thin calm,
 * Of sleep and slow sunshine;

Oh, hopeless is thy happiness,
 * And that pale heart of thine.

Through the love-feud and the love-thirst
 * Thou hast not fought and smiled;

Thou hast not heard the strings that speak
 * In the crying of a child.

Thou hast not been where tears lie hot,
 * And words can only run,

Thou hast not cried to the bare night,
 * Nor prayed for the white sun.

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

title: O Lady of the Dazzling Flowers


text: Talk:O Lady of the Dazzling Flowers

title: Talk:O Lady of the Dazzling Flowers


text:
Page:Tempest (1918) Yale.djvu/100

The Tempest has the happy distinction among Shakespeare's plays of having no source. Diligent search has thus far failed to discover any work which can be proved to have been used by the dramatist for any major portion of his work. If an 'original' is ever discovered, it will probably contain merely the outlines of the story of Prospero, his daughter, his enemies, and his familiar spirit. The comic element in the play bears all the familiar marks of independent Shakespearean origin.

German critics, with characteristic ineptitude, have insisted upon Shakespeare's indebtedness to a play entitled, Die Schöne Sidea, by one Jakob Ayrer, of Nuremberg, who died in 1605; but a perusal of this piece of antiquated dulness (printed in Furness's Variorum edition of The Tempest) serves chiefly to convince the reader of the utter independence of Shakespeare's comedy. Dr. Furness remarks: 'In the course of the former story [Die Schöne Sidea] the captive prince is forced under blows and ill-treatment (and at the hands of the heroine, forsooth!) to split and pile up some wood, and, at the time of his capture, when he attempts to draw his sword, he finds it fast in its scabbard by the spell of the wicked magician. These are the two incidents which are supposed to be identical with Ferdinand's log-bearing, and with his disarming by Prospero; and these it is, which have been urged as an all-sufficient justification of the belief in a close kinship between The Tempest and The Fair Sidea. If once we adopt such fragmentary, insignificant incidents as the source of The Tempest, we might as well extend the scope and admit as one of the originals of Ferdinand’'s log-bearing

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90 task the nursery-rhyme behest of "Five, six, pick up sticks; seven, eight, lay them straight.

To assert that there is no known source for The Tempest is not to say that Shakespeare's imagination was uninfluenced by certain books in composing this play. It is fairly certain that his interest had been stimulated by accounts of the shipwreck of the Sea Adventure off the Bermudas, in July, 1609. Accounts of this were given to the world the next year in the following works, A Discovery of the Barmudas, otherwise called the Ile of Divels, by Silvester Jourdan; and A True Declaration of the Estate of the Colonie in Virginia, an anonymous pamphlet by the 'Council of Virginia.' William Strachey wrote A True Repertory of the Wracke and Redemption of Sir Thomas Gates Knight, upon, and from the Ilands of the Bermudas. The first two of these, and perhaps also the third, may have been known to Shakespeare. A comparison of them with The Tempest is not without reward.

An interesting parallel to the main plot of The Tempest is found in the fourth section of Antonio de Esclava's Las Noches de Invierno (The Winter Nights), which appeared in the year 1609. Here we have (1) a king, who is also a magician, living in exile with his daughter; (2) a magic palace in the sea, in which various spirits appear; (3) the luring of the son of the usurping monarch to the magic retreat; and (4) the wreck of the imperial fleet. This is, of course, a significant series of incidents. It has been shown, in turn, that the source of this material is to be found in a colossal romance, The Mirrour of Knighthood—an English translation of a Spanish original—which appeared in 1578. This, too, has been claimed as the 'probable source' of The Tempest; but those who argue for Shakespeare's indebtedness to such work do not seem to take sufficient account of the vast mass of unrelated incident by which the

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text:
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 Rh The last refuge is, That any man might have had the Word, using that little well that God gave. How should he have had it? By ordinary meanes, or extraordinary revelation. Some are bold to affirme, he should have had it after an extraordinary manner. Others speake of I know not what possibility by traffique, and the like: both sorts utter strange things, and it is reason we should require better proofes then bare affirmations. To him that hath shall be given, is a proverbiall speech, whereby our Saviour signifieth, that they who be enlightened by the Gospell, and use well the supernaturall gifts they have received, shall be enriched with an happy encrease. And that the contemners of the Gospell and grace bestowed upon them, shall have that taken from them which they seemed to have. But that men unregenerate can of themselves use their naturall gifts in an acceptable manner, or that God will bestow supernaturall, upon them that use their naturall gifts minus malè, as Arminius speakes, is neither found in the Text, nor confirmed from any circumstance of it. Twice we find the passage used, Matth. 13. 12. and 25. 29. In the first it is manifest, our Saviour speakes of them that enjoyed the Gospell: In the second, of those that used their Talent, whereby gifts not naturall, but supernaturall are meant: because the Lord doth freely bestow eternall life immediately upon them that use their Talent well, which they will not say, he doth upon them who use their naturall gifts minus malè. In both places our Saviour shewes, how God dealeth with his, giving them a taste of his goodnesse, wherby they thirst after the augmentation of his grace the more earnestly, when he doth not affect the hearts of all men in that manner. And if naturall gifts (which they call common grace) be understood, then for the abuse of this light or grace, God doth not only with-hold from men the supernaturall meanes of grace, but takes from them their naturall gifts which they had: For so the Text runneth, And from him that hath not, even that which he had, or seemed to have, shall be taken away. And then I would demand, whether Christ died for them that so abused their naturall gifts as such, or no? If he did, then he died for many, to whom he vouchsafeth not meanes sufficient to bring them to salvation, or faith in him. If he died not for them, then he died not for the farre greatest part of the world, in all ages, in respect of the present state wherein they stand as men. And here is to be


text:
The Eyes of Little Charlotte

Now God has made a wistful world,
 * And a woman strangely coy:

Her eyes say come, and go, and come,
 * And stay, and be a boy.

Oh, the eyes of little Charlotte say
 * "Come, kiss me if you can!"

But in a trice they change, and cry
 * "Go out and be a man."

Oh, the eyes of little Charlotte say
 * You shall not flinch at pain;

You shall not sigh for the cool cities,
 * Or moan for the soft rain.

The wind shall bite you, throat and cheek;
 * The sun will leave its tan;

But the eyes of little Charlotte say,
 * "Go out and be a man."

And you shall speak as a man speaks
 * Not mealy-mouthed or mild,

But you must go with a girl's love
 * For every lisping child;

Nor shall you live in the far clouds
 * As only dreamers can:

For the eyes of little Charlotte say,
 * "Go out and be a man."

And you shall fight as a man fights
 * And fare as a man may;

And you shall see as giants see
 * And hear what giants say:

You shall not bide in a safe place
 * Near by a lady's fan—

For the eyes of little Charlotte say
 * "Go out and be a man."

And your reward,—the old reward
 * That is for all who dare,

The long love of a warm woman
 * And kisses, proud and fair.

Oh, you shall toil for Love—the Law
 * Since ever Love began—

For the eyes of little Charlotte say
 * "Go out and be a man."

title: The Eyes of Little Charlotte


text:
Page:Tempest (1918) Yale.djvu/102

The Tempest outlines of the story (considered as a 'source' for our play) are, to the general reader, hopelessly obscured.

In Thomas's History of Italy (1561) occur the names of Prospero, Duke of Milan, and Alonzo and Ferdinando, successively kings of Naples. Shakespeare may well have known this book. Gonzalo's fanciful account of an ideal commonwealth (II. i. 154–174) is derived from Montaigne's Essays, which Shakespeare knew in Florio's English translation (1603), a copy of which, owned by the poet, is now in the British Museum. In the absence of any source from which to quote, it may be well to reproduce a portion of Montaigne's account of the Cannibals and their ideal commonwealth. It is found in chapter 30 of the first book of Florio's Montaigne (p. 102). Montaigne is speaking of the superiority of this ideal commonwealth to that described by Plato:

'It is a nation, would I answere Plato, that hath no kinde of traffike, no knowledge of Letters, no intelligence of numbers, no name of magistrate, nor of politike superioritie; no vse of service, of riches, or of poverty; no contracts, no successions, no dividences, no occupation but idle; no respect of kinred, but common, no apparrell but naturall, no manuring of lands, no vse of wine, corne, or mettle. The very words that import lying, falshood, treason, dissimulation, covetousnes, envie, detraction, and pardon, were never heard-of amongst-them.'

The whole chapter should be read for the light that it throws on the contemporary interest in man in his primitive state, as well as for the obvious comparison that it suggests between two men of genius dealing with the same subject in various ways.

title: Page:Tempest (1918) Yale.djvu/102


text: Talk:The Eyes of Little Charlotte

title: Talk:The Eyes of Little Charlotte


text: Tempest (1918) Yale/Appendix A

title: Tempest (1918) Yale/Appendix A


text:
Page:A Treatise of the Covenant of Grace (John Ball).djvu/250

 238 considered, that in Scripture you shall not find, that God gave Christ to die for any nation, people, or world to whom he sent not the word of reconciliation; nor is any people or nation cast off, and rejected for their impiety, left without the means of grace, given over to the vanity of their mindes, without God in the world, ever said to be redeemed by the bloud of Christ, or reconciled unto God.

In many places we reade that Christ died for them that shall, or may perish, for reprobates and cast-awaies, 2 Pet. 2. 1. There shall be false teachers among you, who privily shall bring in damnable heresies, even denying the Lord that bought them, and bring upon themselves swift destruction, Rom. 14. 15. Destroy not him with thy meat for whom Christ died, 1 Cor. 8. 11. And through thy knowledge shall the weake brother perish for whom Christ died, Heb. 10. 29. Of how much sorer punishment suppose ye, shall he be thought worthy, who hath troden under foot the Sonne of God, and hath counted the bloud of the Covenant wherewith he was sanctified, an unholy thing, and hath done despite unto the Spirit of Grace. From which passages they argue thus, He that died for the elect and reprobate, for them that perish and perish not, he died for all men. But Christ died for the elect and reprobate, for them that perish and perish not. The Proposition they take for granted, but it is apparently captious. For he that died for all the elect, and all the reprobate, for all that shall be saved, and all that perish, died for all men: but to die for the elect and some reprobate, is not to die for all men, but for some only. And if they meane it in the first sence, the passages of Scripture will not prove what they affirme; if in the second, it fals short of the question. But suppose they argue thus, some denied the Lord that bought them, and thereby brought upon themselves swift destruction: therefore Christ did not buy the elect only, to save them: If they dispute thus, they conclude not the question in hand, they put more in the conclusion then is in the antecedent, and if they cannot shew, that there is the same reason of all reprobates, they must confesse it makes much against them: for the thing to be proved is, that Christ died equally for all and every man; and it is one thing to die for the reprobate in some sense, and to die for them with an intention and purpose to save them: and if Christ died for some and but some that perish in a manner not common


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text:
Page:Tempest (1918) Yale.djvu/103

The Tempest is one of Shakespeare's very latest plays. Internal evidence, afforded partly by the versification and partly by the obvious relation of the play to certain accounts of a famous shipwreck which occurred in the year 1609, enables scholars to attribute the play, with a fair degree of accuracy, to 1610–1611. Certain critics, notably Lowell and Brooke, think that it must be read as the dramatist's allegorical farewell to the stage (see, in particular, Prospero's adieu to magic, V. i. 33 ff., and the Epilogue); but, owing chiefly to the over-subtle application of the allegory to the details of the drama, this theory has of late been somewhat discredited.

Ben Jonson almost certainly refers to The Tempest in the Induction to Bartholomew Fair (acted 1614), where the Scrivener, speaking on behalf of the author, is made to say, 'If there be never a servant-monster in the Fair, who can help it? He is loth to make nature afraid in his plays, like those that beget Tales, Tempests, and suchlike drolleries.' This would seem to indicate that Shakespeare's comedies, A Winter's Tale and The Tempest, had achieved immediate favor with theatregoers, and that Caliban was a particularly popular character with them.

We know that The Tempest was acted at court in 1611 and in 1613. Its appropriateness to court-production may have been due in part to its preeminently scenic character. The comedy was no doubt popularly known as a splendid spectacle. Even a casual reader will note the elaborateness of the stage directions, the introduction of the masque, and the novelty of such scenes as the shipwreck, the

title: Page:Tempest (1918) Yale.djvu/103


text: Page:New Peterson magazine 1859 Vol. XXXV.pdf/193


text: Page:New Peterson magazine 1859 Vol. XXXV.pdf/194


text: Page:New Peterson magazine 1859 Vol. XXXV.pdf/195


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text:
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The Tempest magic banquet, and the chasing of Caliban and his drunken friends by 'dogs and hounds.' The singing of many lyrics, the trolling of the catch, the duet of Juno and Ceres, and the dance of the nymphs and reapers, lent to the play a certain effect not unlike that of later operatic entertainments.

This spectacular and musical aspect recommended the play to the attention of the Restoration stage. In 1667 Dryden and Davenant produced a comedy entitled, The Tempest, or The Enchanted Island. It is often described as a 'version' of Shakespeare's play; but it is not so much that as a new play based on a familiar plot. The authors themselves describe it in their prologue as a 'new reviving play,' which springs up from Shakespeare's 'honoured dust.' In the light of this statement it is hardly worth while to pour out upon the authors the contempt that should be reserved for those who really despised Shakespeare. How far the Restoration authors departed from their original may be seen from the additions to the dramatis personæ. Here are Hippolito, 'one that never saw woman,' Dorinda, a second 'daughter to Prospero, that never saw man,' Sycorax, Caliban's sister, Mustacho and Ventoso. This play ends as an opera, with the entry of Neptune, Amphitrite, Oceanus, and a host of sea-gods. Its popularity is attested by the fact that Pepys witnessed it with great delight at least six times within fifteen months. In 1673 Shadwell turned the piece frankly into an opera. The retention of operatic features marked the great productions of The Tempest by David Garrick in the eighteenth century; the play was still half opera when it was produced by Mr. Augustin Daly a generation ago.

The play, with its subtle study of primitive life, has renewed its popularity in our own day. It has been often acted in both England and America. In 1904, Sir Herbert Tree bestowed upon its production

title: Page:Tempest (1918) Yale.djvu/104


text:
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PETERSON’S MAGAZINE.

Vol. XXXV.

-

DOMESTIC ARCHITECTURE: ANTIQUE CHIMNEY—PIECES. BY

CHARLES

J.

PETERSON

stance, we fall behind the middle ages.

The old

characterizes this nineteenth cities of France, Germany, Italy, and even Eng Oentury, frequently runs into land contain antique houses, to which nothing hoastfulness. We claim to he ; now erected can be compared. Nor is it for superior to the past in all their exteriors only that these dwellings are so things, when, in many things 'remarkable. Their paneled, or vaulted cham

we have really retrograded. here, are not less picturesque than their quaint In the picturesqueness of our 3 gables, or quainter windows.

But in nothing is

domestic architecture, for in- i the decline of" domestic architecture more striking than in the chimney-pieces of modern times. Formerly, this portion of an

apartment was always more or less imposing. Now, especially where hot air ﬁnes are used, it. is wholly ne glected. To show how picturesque many of these old chimney—pieces are, we have caused several to be engraved from drawings made on the spot. The ﬁrst is particularly rich and elaborate.

It occupies the head of a paneled apartment, and reaches, as will be seen, to the ceiling. It violates, it is true, the classical canons of archi

tecture, but it is not the less pic turesque on that account; for there is a freedom and originality about it often wanting in designs that are more slavishly correct. The carvings of this chimney-piece are particularly

rich.

Its age is not less than two

centuries. What jests have been told, -what songs sung, what ﬂirtatious car ried on, in front of this antique ﬁre , .place! How, at Christmas time, the great logs must have roared ,and

crackled up the chimney!

It is one

merit of these old ﬁresides, that, to an imaginative mind, they are full of the poetry of the past, full of hallow

ow nwusn "senses.

Von. xxxv._12

ing associations.

187


text:
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 188

DOMESTIC

an CIIITECTURE.

Another chimncy~pieoe is from Cobham Iiall, tween the gallery and saloon, and is carved with in Kent, an ediﬁce of such antiquity, that it was; the story of Medusa, underneath which are two repaired, two centuries ago, by the famous Inigo i allegorical basso-relievos. Another of our illus i trations represents a chimney-piece at the Duke’s House, in Wiltshire, so called from the Duke of Kingston, to whom it formerly belonged. This imposing two-storied ﬁre-place is in the entrance

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Jones. The chimney-piece is in the dining-room, and is of elaborately carved black and white»

marble, with quaint and curious ﬁgures. Still another ancient chimney-piece is from Charlton Ilall, also in Kent, erected about A. D. 1610. _ This chimney-piece is on the upper ﬂoor, he

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the First.

Another chimney-piece, of an earlier

date, and which closes our list, is even more pic turesque.

The accumulation of wealth in this country is gradually improving our domestic architecture. The environs of our great cities are beginning to be crowded with suburban mansions, on many of which large sums have been expended and

which frequently exhibit excellent taste.

"KE-PLACE—C II ARIJ’UX ll LL.

Rural

cottages, in the Italian, Tudor, 0r Gothic style, dot the landscape. especially in the older settled portions of the United States. We have, from time to time, in this periodical, given plans and speciﬁcations, accompanied with engravings, £01 such dwellings. Dut the interior decorations of these cottages and mansions are too often


text:
Page:Tempest (1918) Yale.djvu/105

94 a wealth of theatrical beauty; but the success of the acted play has been most conspicuous when the scenic embellishment has been reduced to the simplicity of what is known as the 'Elizabethan manner.' The effectiveness of such a simple presentation was well illustrated by the performance at the Century Theatre, New York, in 1915. Here the attention was not for ever diverted from the action and the poetry of the drama by the gorgeousness of its setting.

One of the most interesting evidences of the vitality of Shakespeare's subject is afforded by the numerous works based upon or suggested by it. The material has fascinated the creative imagination from the days of Dryden down to our own time. Mr. Mackaye has been scarcely more successful than the Restoration dramatists in recapturing the delicate charm of the original. Those authors have succeeded best who have deliberately employed the material for purposes wholly different from Shakespeare's. Thus Renan, in Caliban, a 'drame philosophique,' used the situation created by Shakespeare as the vehicle for the most brilliant political and social satire. Browning, in Caliban upon Setebos, a dramatic monologue, uses Caliban's religion as an interpretation of primitive anthropomorphism.

S. T. Coleridge, 'Notes on the Tempest,' in Notes and Lectures upon Shakespeare (1849).

J. R. Lowell, 'Shakespeare once more,' in Among my Books, First Series (1870).

Stopford A. Brooke, On Ten Plays of Shakespeare, chapter 10, 'The Tempest.' (1905.)

title: Page:Tempest (1918) Yale.djvu/105


text: Tempest (1918) Yale/Appendix B

title: Tempest (1918) Yale/Appendix B


text:
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Table
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title: User:SpikeShroom/Sandbox


text:
Author talk:John Glasford Corbett

John Glasford Corbett?
Could this be Captain John Glasford Corbett? (Taranaki Military Settlers) https://collection.pukeariki.com/objects/152495/capt-corbett-tms Noracrentiss

See also Archives New Zealand item R24122009

Article about his paper describes him as Captain J G Corbett https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/periodicals/TPRSNZ1869-2.2.10.14

Death registered as John Glasfurd Corbett 1889/5652	Corbett	John Glasfurd	59Y

Also John Glasfurd Corbett here: https://collection.pukeariki.com/persons/10430/john-glasfurd-corbett but this is apparently a mistake: "John Glasford Corbett (Glasfurd is a mistake), having named for Glasford (Glassford), near Glasgow, Scotland. Recorded as a Captain with the Taranaki Military Settlers, date 03 Sep 1863 (assume this was the date he joined, or was appointed Captain). He is also referenced in correspondence (1865-1866) from Lieutenant-Colonel M. Lepper, Commanding Taranaki Military Settlers." Wainuiomartian (talk)

title: Author talk:John Glasford Corbett


text:
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THE

CHARMED

BOUQUET.—-MORNING.

neglected. Everything is sacriﬁced to a hand some outside. Would it not be in better taste to devote more to the ornamentation of the rooms in which we live, even if we sacriﬁced something of that exterior show which principally beneﬁts only strangers?

OLD BNOUS B IIRB~PL£CL

THE

CHARMED BOUQUET. BY

MRS.

ANNA BACHE. Friendship to Flora said, “In Anna's bower Sits Sorrow, pining through the livelong day; Give me, I pray, some herbs of magic power, Whose woven spell may chase the ﬁend away.”

The blooming Goddess heard the kindly prayers— To grant the boon did graciously incline; A charmed Bouquet she gave to Friendship’s care, And Friendehip’s hand conveyed the ﬂowers to mine.

“Let us forget"—so ran the mystic lay, “Those sensibilities that foster sadness; Prosperity and Beauty may decay, Yet should unchanging Friendship bring thee gladness.

In life’s most barren hour, ﬁrm Faith may ﬁnd Some mercy still, its gratitudes to waken; Bear the heart's War with Dignity of Mind, Nor fear that Heaven will leave thee o'er forsaken." So spake thy ﬂowers—and when their leaves are dust, When their sweet perfume lost in air shall be, Will grateful Memory to thy kindness just, Recall the lesson, and give thanks to thee. Note—In the Language of Flowers—Yellow Rose. signifies—Let us forget. Verbena, Sensibilities. White Rose. Sadness. Red Rose, Prosperity and Bounty. Arbor Vitae, Unchanging Friendship. Flowering Reed, Faith. Campanola, Gratitude. York and Lancaster Rose, War. Centifolia, Dignity of Mind. Willow, Forsaken. Of these ﬂowers was the Bouquet composed.

MORNING. BY

JULIA A.

BARBER. The purple clouds are folded back, And morning stars are shining there, Bright as some ﬂashing gleam of hope On the dark billowe of despair.

Night's starry crown grows pale and dim, ’Neath the glad piniona of the morn, As heart-throbe of awaken'd life Proclaim, another day is born.

The bright-winged morning comes to all, The earnest-hearted, and the brave, And to the poor and sad of earth, Whose only birth-right is—the grave.

An angel messenger of light, To lowly cot, or marble halls, With noiseless step it smiles alike On palaces and cottage walls.

Our hearts in praise ascend to Thee, Bless'd Giver of the morning light, That Thou hast sent the golden day To follow on the steps of night.


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 AGNES’ HERO.

BY

ELEANOR

CLAIR.

It was early on a dull, September afternoon. t ﬂowers, saying, “Now, pretty posies, which I

Now and then a few sunbeams strayed through l spent so long time in arranging, you shall have the wildly scudding clouds, and found their way into the pleasant little parlor. But as uneasy as those ﬂying clouds was the inmate herself, Agnes Murray. A very demon of unrest seemed to

i cousin Martha to admire you." i It was not many minutes before a sweet, smil 3 ing face, that carried its welcome with it, made g itself visible ﬁrst through the window, and then

have entered the little form, that now paced the t at the door, whither Agnes had run.

Then

room backward and forward, now rolled itself § cousin Martha took possession of the sewing into a corner of the sofa, and now stood by the g chair, and admired the asters and balsams and window, half concealed in the crimson curtains, Q pansies to Agnes' heart's content. “You have

with face to the pane, gazing down the streeticome like a good angel to a lonely mortal. where the great maples had already begun to g Marnma has not yet returned from Lincoln. I put on their autumn livery. Look into that facetdid not like to run the risk of being abroad to see if perhaps you will wish to know Agnes g when she reaches home, and so shall remain better. hThe charm of beanlty is not there, yetzin-doors all this dreary afternoon—not dreary every t ought mirrors itse f, every breeze ofﬁnow that you have come. llow are all the emotion leaves some unexpected trace upon it. ichildren?" “In need of manifold garments as

You read tender sensibilities, a warm, true na- % usual, little mendicants that they are," replied ture, and alas! it waywardness that does notlMartha, as she drew from the recesses of her brook control from without, nor know it fromgsatchel the material of sewing.

within.

“Of course I

A hundred moods a day broke llleishall help you, for it will be such a comfort to

otherwise still surface of her life, but under- 3 have something to do_

say, Martha, were you

neat-h that Changing surface lay a 119"" 9"“ i ever in such a deplorable state—with nothing, full of generous impulse, and a mind of no ordi- g absolutely nothing to do?"

UThe day is far

nary stamp. A correct curly training would have t distant," said she, with a sigh, as she thought made that character a more noble and steadfast % of a thousand plans for proﬁt or pleasure, which

one, but the fat-her, "110 died "6 Aglws' tenth she had long since foregone for the sake of the Ye", 10"“ the Pretty, capricious ways 0f his a instruction and care of a little troop of brothers only child 100 we" to attempt to Rf"!!! them'’ Q‘ and sistersr to which her mother’s death r some and the invalid mother, accustomed to lean upon

years before, had left her the heritage.

her daughter's strange will, left her to her own

Martha," Mid Agnes, an" a lime pause. “I

guidance.

Her energy and superior talentsslmve been thinking so much to-day,"

uOh, "And

gave her an ascendcncy in the little circle of i what, was the-cause of so rare an event?" friends in which she moved, that no one ever; “Don’t laugh and I will tell you-I am tired thought of questioning, even when her fearless ; of myself. Now I am of no manner of import

independence of sentiment led her sometimeslnnce or good to anybody, as you very well beyond the ordinary rules of girlish propriety. know Even to poor momma, I believe I am If she coquetted, as some called it, with one more of a trouble than a comfort." “Oh, after another of her little company of admirers, Agnes, don’t you ltnow you are a dear blessing ’/ ”/ ’, it was not to break hearts, but to amuse a fancy S to all your friends?" “They are few enough," that knew not how to ﬁx itself long upon any i said she, with a doleful face, “blind grand

object, and yet was pleased with each in its turn. 3 ma‘am Smith, to whom I read Pilgrim‘s Pro As he stood by the window now, she caught i gress and Saint's Rest—yes, she's a saint her sight of a slender, erect. ﬁgure coming up theiself—and old Mrs. Gruler, to whom I carry street, and exclaimed aloud, “Oh! it is cousin " broth—yes, these, with you and uncle Stephen, Martha, how glad I am!" Moving rapidly abouttare the best friends I have. Now, soberly, the room, she wheeled the low, sewing-chairSMartha, it seems as if I might be something close to

the window, placed

a footstool, andEnoble, better if I would.

brought into plainer sight the vase oflate garden ; upon me. 190 4

But there is no call

Now you have some object to work


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The Tempest Ernest Renan, Caliban, suite de la Tempête, drame philosophique (1878).

Robert Browning, 'Caliban upon Setebos or, Natural Theology in the Island,' in Dramatis Personæ (1864).

The text of the present volume is, by permission of the Oxford University Press, that of the Oxford Shakespeare, edited by the late W. J. Craig, except for the following deviations:

1. The stage-directions of the first Folio have been restored as far as possible, with necessary modern additions in square brackets.

2. The spelling of a few words is altered, as boatswain for boson; bowsprit for boresprit; burthen for burden; mo for more; o' for of; th' for the; farther for further; villainous for villanous.

3. A number of unnecessary commas have been omitted.

4. The following passages. [Craig's readings are placed after the colon.]

creature: creatures

butt: boat

princess: princes

made thee no: made no

he, that: he that

Shall, for that vast of night that they may work,: Shall forth at vast of night, that they may work

Burthen dispersedly: 'Bow, wow': [Burden: Bow, wow, dispersedly. (And so similarly in similar cases.)

nor: or

Gon. Ay: Alon. Ay?

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96

The fault's your own: the fault's Your own.

it: its

'Save: Save

doubt: doubts

She that from whom: she that, from whom?

them: thee

ha?: Ha!

at: at's

when's: when his

busy lest: busiest

skilless: skill less

you,: you

again to the: again the

made to: made

third: thrid

who: whom

Paphos,: Paphos

all, all lost: are all lost

shore: shores

lies: lie

is: are

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 194 AGNES.

interest than ever she had known before had suddenly arisen in her heart. She felt strong in the strength of the manly presence beside her, and better in the goodness that shone from every word and look of his. For once his reserve gave way, though he used no more tender word than friend would say to friend; and Agnes, touched by the scene through which she had just passed, listened, and answered with an unwonted gentle- ness. For the first time, she heard of his early life, of the death of parents, and of the care and love of an elder sigter who had been to him as a mother. ‘Only a year ago,” said he, ‘I stood beside my sister’s death-bed, and it seemed as if a glory passed away from earth, as she became a saint in heaven. I cannot tell you how good she was. While she lived, her sweet example was & constant incentive to me, and now, that I walk lonely among men, I[ seem to feel her beside me day and night like a guardian presence.”

What a high standard of excellence is his, thought Agnes, and I—I never can seem to him more than a frivolous girl. Yes, as Frank said, I am not good enough to be even his friend. He will seek another saint like his sister, and leave me to be as wicked as I will. But the bitter mood did not come upon her to-day, nor for many days. But when she next saw him after- ward, her mocking genius arose within her, and she found a sort of pleasure in seeing that her ligktness, assumed though it was, had the power to pain him. She was at her cousin Martha's, ns Frank was leaving, to bid him farewell, and after he had left them, Arthur Reynolds and she walked to her home together. ‘‘I am so sorry Frank has gone,” said she, ‘‘it is so agreeable to be in contact with right merry spirits. For my part, I am heartily tired of good people.” ‘You are more fortunate than the rest of the world, Miss Murray, if you have the opportunity of be- coming weary of goodness.” ‘Ah! when one’s lot happens to be cast among such grave per- sonages as you and cousin Martha, there is no luck. Say, don’t you yourself sometimes grow tired of being so staid and wise?’ Though he laughed, it was in so constrained a manner that Agnes noticed the impression that her careless words had made; but she simply said, as they parted, ‘‘Excuse me, if Iwas rude. I did not intend it.” ‘I cannot flatter myself that I am worthy to be included in the class to which you referred, Miss Murray. Yet, tire of me if you must; but God grant that you may never tire of what is truly excellent and right,” and he looked at her with an expression of such earnestness, with a faint mingling of reproach, that it made Agnes’ cheek tnke a deeper glow, for the moment, and dwelt in her memory for a long time afterward, Ah! said he to himself, as he turned away from her, she is indeed as frivo- lous as I have sometitnes feared. What rest cou!d be found with such a nature as hers? And yet I thought her capable of so much, and hoped to mould that character, 80 impulsive, so wayward, and yet so charming. And so she told me she was tired of such persons a3 myself and cousin Martha. If she could have loved me, I know it would have been with so deep and strong a love that she would have overcome her faults for my sake; but now she is unworthy and I will think no more of her.

Agnes entered the house, her eyes filling with tears and a burden upon her heart. ‘Why was I so foolish?’ said she, ‘I did not mean it. Why do I so trifle away his regard, if he has any for me, when I can’t help knowing that I cherish it as the apple of my eye? Now, he must perfectly despise me; but I must love him still, though I must hate myself for loving thus unsolicited, uncared for. How wenk I an. I! wish I had never, never known him. I wish he would marry cousin Martha, and then I could at least see him every day, and prove to him that I am not altogether so vain and trifling as he hag tnken me to be.” Poor Agnes! a heavier cloud seemed to have settled itself upon her life than ever before, and she lifted her eves imploringly upward, and said in the depth of her girlish trouble, oh! shall I ever be happy again! But she grew stronger, and resolved in that quiet hour that henceforth she would be more stead- fast, more worthy the love of a strong and good man, even though that love were denied her, and that her future life should be more fruitful in good to herself and others. That vow, like all made with an honest and resolute purpose, was not made in vain. Days and months rolled by, and the struggle still continued, while Agnes, patient and earnest, knew not the depth of the life into which she was growing, nor guessed, in the midst of discouragements, how fast she was pressing toward the greatness of her standard. As the winter came on, her mother had become more and more fecble, and the daughter was seldom absent from her side. Her tenderness and watchful love made her indispensable to the invalid, and so she seldom went abroad, except daily for a hurried walk. Sometimes, though rarely in the absence of his uncle, Arthur Rey- nolds had come to the sick chamber; but, gentle and sympathizing as he always was, Agnes felt that he scarcely entertained even a friendly regard for her, and since that well-remembered evening which now seemed so long, long ago,


text:
Author talk:F. L. Dodds

Frederick Lindley Dodds?
F L Dodds was present in New Zealand in 1883, apparently as a tourist from England. (Northern Weekly Gazette - Saturday 30 June 1883.). Frederick Lindley Dodds was a solicitor in Stockton on Tees born 12 November 1855 and died on 22 February 1898 Hartlepool (Northern Daily Mail - Saturday 26 February 1898). Noracrentiss (talk) 01:52, 4 December 2023 (UTC)

title: Author talk:F. L. Dodds


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abuse: 74 (V. i. 112)

admire: 76 (V. i. 154)

advance: 20 (I. ii. 405)

adventure: 31 (II. i. 195)

a-hold: 3 (I. i. 54)

all: 71 (V. i. 23)

amain: 62 (IV. i. 74)

amazement: 4 (I. ii. 14)

an: 31 (II. i. 188)

angle: 13 (I. ii. 223)

arch: 62 (IV. i. 71)

Argier: 14 (I. ii. 261)

aspersion: 60 (IV. i. 18)

attach'd: 55 (III. iii. 5)

avoid: 65 (IV. i. 142)

away: 11 (I. ii. 187)

backward: 6 (I. ii. 50)

badges: 80 (V. i. 267)

barnacles: 69 (IV. i. 251)

bass: 59 (III. iii. 99)

bat-fowling: 31 (II. i. 193)

beak: 11 (I. ii. 196)

bear: 38 (II. ii. 18)

bear up: 49 (III. ii. 3)

Bermoothes: 13 (I. ii. 229)

blue-ey'd: 15 (I. ii. 269)

bombard: 38 (II. ii. 21)

bondage: 48 (III. i. 89)

book: 48 (III. i. 94)

bootless: 5 (I. ii. 35)

bosky: 62 (IV. i. 81)

bourn: 30 (II. i. 159)

brave: 4 (I. ii. 6)

burthen: 19 (I. ii. 380)

busy lest: 45 (III. i. 15)

butt: 10 (I. ii. 146)

candied: 35 (II. i. 287)

canker: 20 (I. ii. 412)

carriage: 70 (V. i. 3)

case: 50 (III. ii. 30)

cast: 34 (II. i. 259)

catch: 53 (III. ii. 129)

certes: 56 (III. iii. 30)

chat: 35 (II. i. 274)

chirurgeonly: 30 (II. i. 147)

chough: 35 (II. i. 274)

closeness: 7 (I. ii. 90)

coil: 12 (I. ii. 207)

complexion: 2 (I. i. 34)

condition: 47 (III. i. 59)

conduct: 79 (V. i. 244)

confederates: 8 (I. ii. 111)

consent: 32 (II. i. 211)

content: 35 (II. i. 277)

contrary: 8 (I. ii. 95)

control: 22 (I. ii. 436)

coragio: 80 (V. i. 258)

corollary: 61 (IV. i. 57)

correspondent: 16 (I. ii. 297)

courses: 3 (I. i. 55)

crabs: 44 (II. ii. 180)

crisp: 64 (IV. i. 130)

dear: 11 (I. ii. 179)

dear'st: 29 (II. i. 142)

deck'd: 10 (I. ii. 155)

deliver: 82 (V. i. 313)

Dis: 63 (IV. i. 89)

discase: 73 (V. i. 85)

discharge: 34 (II. i. 262)

discretion: 32 (II. i. 196)

distemper'd: 65 (IV. i. 145)

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 AGNES,

193

she shall have Arthur Reynolds’ escort, and I must show due regard to my sister and friend. But never mind! be as devoted to me as you please—I am glad you are becoming steady- minded.” ‘I shall revenge myself upon you,” retorted she, ‘‘by fascinating the stranger as completely as possible.”

The next day was the Sabbath, and as the arrival of a new-comer was gomething of an event in the quiet town, not a few eyes in the church were turned upon him at his entrance. Behind Dr. Henry, with his stalwart form, his head covered with iron-grey locks and a slightly tottering step, followed his nephew, quite uncon- scious of the observation directed to himeelf. Agnes saw bim too from the gallery where she sat among the singers. He was tall and slender, and his step was slow and deliberate. She saw his face at last, when he turned toward the gal: lery during the singing, as was the wont in the congrecation. It was a calm, grave face, tc which large, dark eyes lent a softness and sweet- ness, when she had seen him oftener. But now these were cast downward, and the expressior was almost one of sternness, so that Agnes laughed ao little to herself, with a mingled sense of relief and disappointment, and said, ‘*So my} hero has not arrived yet.”

They met frequently while Frank Haven re. mained in Winfield. Agnes, at first repelled by a gravity of speech and demeanor quite unlike her own, found this repulsion slowly passin away as she saw the kind and genial feelings the strong, good sense, and the fresh, earnes pature, undisguised by outward show or vanity She liked to listen to his clear, ringing tones, a: he told of distant lands through which he hac been a traveler, and when, as now and the bappened, he became aroused almost to enthu siasm, in speaking of some great question 0! right and wrong, her cheek would grow warm acd her heart beat high in sympathy. He glowing face, thus lit up with animation, be came positively beautiful, and began to interes Arthur Reynolds. It was pleasant to watch it changes, and to listen to the words full of originality and spirit which fell from her lips. Ye it was vexatious to see her, just after she ha seemed almort inspired with noble enthusiasm engiged in replying gayly to the wild gnllies o Frank Haven, or vicing with the gayest in son, and dance. So grave Dr. Reynolds, who doubt less thought more of the outward appearance than was wise, took refuge in the gentle society of Martha Haven, whose placid quietness wa bever so common-place as to be wearisome. Ye his eyes followed the graceful motions of Agnes and his ear caught with an eagerness that almost surprised himself the merry sounds of her voice.

One evening, as a little party had been out for a stroll upon one of the hills that shut in the village, and were on their homeward way, Martha and Agnes took a pleasant shaded path along the bank of a stream that had hollowed for itself a deep bed and ran foaming along its stony way, making music beneath the trees that struck their long roots into the soil above, and bent over their branches till they almost touched the water. The cousins had separated themselves from the rest of the company, and strolled quietly along, talking of little housebold matters, of old scenes and absent friends. As the shadows of the trees grew longer and longer in the declining sunlight, they fell into a dreamy silence. Suddenly Agnes paused, while Martha walked slowly on. She had descried a branch glowing like fire with scarlet leaves, and bending over till it seemed within herreach. She was at once full of eager- ness to obtain the brilliant prize, which drooped just over the edge of the bank. So she stepped to the brink, and, standing on tiptoe, had just touched the branch when she felt the soil giving way under her feet, and heard the branch by which she held cracking above her. Yet she had scarcely time to comprehend her danger, or even to utter a cry of fear, ere a strong arm had grasped her tightly and drew her to firm ground. She looked around, laughing at the awk wardness of her situation, and beheld Arthur Reynolds, who had strayed thither by a shorter path, and was unconscious of the proximity of any one, till he suddenly came upon Agnes. ‘Don't laugh,” said he, more sobor than ever, ‘‘the danger was not trifling. Look,” and he led her nearer to the brink again, still retaining his firm hold upon her. Agnes looked and shuddered. The bank, for a short space only sloping, became then steep, and beneath, the stream which had deepened and widened, formed a basin of water, whirling and tossing over huge rocks. ‘I should have fallen in an instant,” said she, drawing back, ‘shad it not been for you, and had I fallen there, no human power could have saved me. How can I thank you?” ‘You owe no thanks to me, but to the kind power that led my steps hither at the dangerous moment. And now,” continued he, less gravely, ‘lest you get into mischief again, I shall assume the guardianship of you for the rest of the way home!” How plensant was that sunset walk down the hillside, remembered by Agnes many and many a time in after ‘life. At that hour, the hero of her dreams first became reality. With almost a pang, she suddenly awoke to the consciousness that a deeper


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 192 AGNES’ or the future. Her mother had returned from a short journey, weary and nervous, and Agnes, who could always tame her own unquiet nature to gentleness, had little time to care for herself in the presence of the fretful invalid. Then there was something in the wild raging of the storm which buoyed up her spirits, and gave a pleasant sense of life and energy through all ber frame. But a sunny morning had arisen, bright and clear, and Agnes had sauntered forth along the garden walks to find what havoc the wind had made with the flowers. She lifted the trail- ing branches, sighed at the broken stems and blossoms bent down to the damp earth. ‘‘Sum- mer has gone—summer has gone,” said she, sadly, ‘‘why cannot it last the whole year long? Dear blossoms, I cannot bear to have you die.” Agnes had a habit of apostrophizing inanimate objects. Had she been a Greek maiden, she would have believed most devoutly in nymphs, naiads, dryads and fnuns, and as it was, felt a sort of kindred life with all that lives. She walked down the dismantled paths and stood at the gate, feeling cheery in the bright sunshine and the pleasant air. She held up her head as the maple dropped rain-drops down upon her and said, ‘So you have kept some of heaven's gifts to shed upon me. That was a lovely morning welcome.” She cast her eyes downward again, and beheld, but a few paces distant, calling a joyous welcome, her young cousin, Frank Haven, Martha’s younger brother. ‘You are glad to see me, I know you are, cousin Aggie,” said he, with a brotherly salute. ‘Yes, that I am, Frank, but Martha told me that you were not coming till next week. When did you arrive?” ‘Last evening, in all the rain. I made a descent upon the folks dripping like a water-fowl. Reynolds thought he must come, and I expedited maiters so as to have his com- pany and give you a surprise.” ‘And who is Reynolds?” ‘Don’t you know? old Dr. Henry’s nephew and henceforth denizen of the respect- able town of Winfield. He is a fine fellow, too, and a great friend of mine. You must know him, Aggie.” ‘Older than you, J take it, or Dr. Henry would not deign to receive him into his staid bachelor domain.” ‘Oh, a trifle of five or ten years, or so. You are ag particular as ever about age, cousin Aggie. Remember my three months’ seniority.” ‘I am not likely to forget it in your presence, Frank. It was upon that, that all your boyish claim to tyran- nize over me was founded. Well, so Dr. Rey- nolds is your grent friend—lI ought to like him for that, I suppose.” ‘Of course you ought, especially as I have told him all about you, and so prepared him to admire you immensely.” Agnes always had a horror of being talked about, and now her cheek burned with the re- membrance of youthful follies which she had shared with cousin Frank, and would not, as she thought, give to a stranger the most agree- able impression of her. ‘What did you tell him?” inquired she, earnestly. ‘Of our climb- ing trees and running horseback races, or of our playing truant together and losing our way in the woods?” ‘What a memory! Really I had forgotten those creditable facts in our his- tory, or I should have embellished my narrative therewith. But it is not too late now.’ ‘What right had you to be talking about ‘me at all?” ‘‘Don’t be vexed, you have no idea how good I made you.” ‘Then you told falsehoods, for you know I am not good at all.” ‘Not as good as he is certainly—he is one of a thousand. I know no woman worthy of him unless it be sister Martha, and she is not to be spared from the ranks of spinster-hood. As for you, don’t get your demure eyes full of Dr. Reynolds, for I want you to wait a few years longer for me,” and Frank oowed laughingly toward Agnes, whose brown hair, gilded by sunlight, and fall- ing in waves around a face now lit up with dim- pled smiles, made a sweet picture, that brought back forcibly to the young man's mind the re- membrance of early days. They had been as brother and sister from earliest childhood, and in many respects they resembled each other in character. But during the past two years they had been for the most part separated, and Agnes had left him behind in growing maturity. Now at the age of nineteen, she could hardly recog- nize in the gay, light-hearted youth the most confidential friend of her early life. It was with a slight jar of feeling that they met, but this wore away as his overflowing spirits made Agnes more buoyant, and they were soon full of schemes for the enjoyment of the week he was to spend in Winfield.

‘First, an excursion to Prospect Hill,” said Frank, ‘‘when you must ride Dobbin and wear your grey riding-suit.” ‘Dobbin is dead, and the grey riding-suit unpresentable in good so- ciety.”’ ‘*Dobbin dead! so has gone another old friend. Peace to his ashes. And as for the grey habit, you will never look so charming in anything else.” ‘That is a mere boyish fancy; you shall see next week.” ‘Of course,” said Frank, ‘‘I shall invite Dr. Reynolds to join the party.” ‘Not for this once, Frank, please; there are so few of us, and a stranger spoils such s friendly company. You are te be my cavalier, you know.” ‘Oh, I have promised Millie that


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 AGNES' HERO. 191

for, but I am like——” ‘A flower wasting its sweetness upon the desert air,” interrupted Martha. ‘Yes, I waste my genius upon the three kittens and the flowers, and alas! the flowers are all withering, and the ungrateful kittens fust growing into big, lazy cats. I wish there were Protestant convents—I would enter one.” ‘*What would be the practical advan- tage of that movement? You would not content yourself there two hours.” ‘Yes, I would like to be under discipline like that to see if it would not sober me down into somebody—a good, patient soul like you, that thinks of others more than of itself. I have half a mind to become Catholic, and choose some good father-confessor to rule my conscience, and make me a saint in spite of myself” ‘Rule yourself, my dear girl,” said Martha; ‘or better still, marry a good husband and learn to love, honor and obey him.” ‘Oh, but how to get him!” ‘Firstly, then, don’t flirt” ‘Yes, I must, and I will flirt—in my way, that is. What is there wrong about it? Did anybody ever let concealment, &c., prey on his cheek for love of me? Does Capt. Harvey, or Wallace Hall, or good John Ashly, care a straw for me? They all have reason to be infinitely grateful to me for throwing away precious time in listening to their conceited nothings. Last evening, Wallace entertained me at first with those stale college jokes of his, which he evidently thinks to be the essence of wit. At last I told him that I was tired of them, and thought such boyish tricks below the dignity of a gentleman, whereupon he got fairly beyond his depths in attempting large displays of erudition ” ‘Why did you waste your time in talking to him? You ought to be above such men, Agnes.” ‘Well, my dear, I hope I am, infinitely,” and she rose, drawing her little figure to its utmost height, saving. ‘‘don’t you see how much above Capt. Harvey I am?” Martha laughed at the contrast between the six feet of the captain, and the slender form that now stood before her, prised gracefully on tip-toe. ‘‘But seriously, cousin Martha, what shall I do?” You must marry, that is the best advice I can give you. With a husband to watch over you and keep your unruly feet in straight ways, you might make a useful woman after all.” ‘Oh, if I could find my hero, the good, true, noble one of my dreams. Yes, when he comes, IJ will give over flirting, will say yes as soon as he offers, and live in quietness and good-will all the rest of my days like a perfect Griselda.” ‘Heroes ere very rare,” said Martha. ‘But it would not make me better, you kaow, to marry a fop like Capt. Harvey. I want some one better and stronger than I am, with a soul large enough contain twenty like mine. But let us give over talking such tiresome things. I will not think any more to-day, but will bring in the kittens for you to pass judgment upon, and then you shall tell me the news.” So the maiden vanished for a moment, and returned with the objects of her care scampering by her side. ‘Come, kittens,” said she, ‘‘and see your aunt Martha and pull her tiresome old sewing straight out of her fingers.” ‘Oh, Agnes, will you never be a woman?’? said Martha, in a half serious, half comic tone. ‘No, we will never be women, will we, kittens? What should we be womer for to plague our poor little brains about horrid things that we don’t care for? No, we won't,” and Agnes petted one after the other, till a spirited scratch made her desist. ‘‘Now—any news?” ‘Yes, Frank is coming home next week for a few days.” ‘That is good; it is long enough since we have seen Frank. We rmoust have rides and drives and rambles to cele- brate the occasion.” ‘He wrote us,’’ continued Martha, ‘‘that he had recently become acquainted with a nephew of Dr. Henry’s, who is soon coming to Winfield to become a partner of his uncle’s.”” ‘‘Ah, that is newsa—now what of the man—is he old or young—good, bad er indifferent? A new-comer is too rare here not to be an object of the deepest interest.” ‘‘ Frank was greatly pleased with him. He must be young, for it is only a year since he finished his studies. He will probably come about the same time with Frank.” ‘‘Now, Martha, what an addition to Winfield society, and what an opportunity for a flirtation!’’ ‘Be good for once, Aggie. If you commence a flirtation, may it bo your last. Who knows, indeed, but he will prove to be your hero?” ‘‘If it be he, he shall have a warm welcome, but he has been so long invisible that I regard him as a myth, a new figment of the imagination, as Parson Lane would say. Remember, my hero is gallant and handsome, good and true. So if it be my last flirtation, let it be a merry one.”’ Cousin Martha had gone, and the sober mood came over Agnes again. The deep, blue eyes were clouded with a shade of sadness. She sat on the low stool by the window, holding her chin in her hand, won- dering with child-like wonder what future lay before her, and whether in all the great world there was a heart which would ever beat deep and true with love for her.

A violent storm had kept Agnes within doors for two daye, during which she had been too busy to be restless, or to think much of the past


text: Tempest (1918) Yale/Text/Act I

title: Tempest (1918) Yale/Text/Act I


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 golden footstool, and long ere the stern old Romans had built their rocky nest on the Palatine hill. For countless ages the coasting trade had been carried on over the Erythræan; and now when the adventurous Portuguese had opened the route round the Cape, the "white faces" were bearing away the gold, the pearls, the diamonds, and the ambergris, the silks, the cottons, the fragrant woods, and the brilliant dyes, —just as had been done by the Phoenicians of olden time. The gems which would have sparkled on the necks of Solomon's queens, were now lighting up every court in Europe; the incense which would have been offered on the altar of Jehovah, or on the shrines of Zeus or Apollo, was now being burnt in the censers of Christendom, and stimulating the devotions of every people who acknowledged the authority of the Holy See.

In 1612 the English first obtained a settlement in Surat; but they only succeeded after some desperate conflicts with the Portuguese; just as the Portuguese themselves had fought their way against the Arab merchants, who had previously monopolised the Red Sea trade, and carried Indian goods to Alexandria for the Venetians to bear away to the west. The successes of the English over the Portuguese, excited the admiration, the respect, and even the gratitude of the Native authorities; and an imperial firmaun was actually obtained from the Great Mogul, authorising the English to establish a factory on payment of a duty on all goods of $3 1⁄2$ per cent.

Thus the "English House," as it was called, was opened at Surat. The native Surat merchants


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 52 WHAT ANNE

late already,” and bidding Mr. Brett good-bye, she stepped quietly out of the room, while the doctor was talking to him.

When she reached the foot of the stairs, and opened the outside door, she looked out in dismay. It had become very dark, and, to make it worse, was beginning to rain. She stood a moment, peering into the darkness, and hearing rough, loud voices at the end of the lane, afraid to venture out. Then a step coming down stairs startled her, and she hurried forth. She had gone but a few steps, when she heard some one coming up behind her: and then a thick, coarse voice at her side said, “Don’t hurry so, my pretty duck; wait a moment.”

She gave a sudden start, and turned round. The light from a window near, fell on the leering face of a tipsy sailor at her side.

“Needn’t be afraid, dear!” said he, trying to put his arm round her waist.

In mortal terror, she struggled to free herself from his grasp, when a sudden blow from behind felled him to the earth.

“He can’t hurt you now,” said Dr. Morris, though his eyes were still flashing with indignation, turning to Anne, who was white with terror, “she is too tipsy to get up again. May I not see you safe home? It is too dark for you to go through here alone, you have been dreadfully frightened already.”

Quivering from head to foot, she took his offered arm, with a sense of protection and relief that was almost overwhelming after her fear.

The drunken sailor, unable to rise, still lay there, muttering angry oaths at them.

“You are trembling all over, Miss Daland,” said the young man, “I’m afraid you will faint; shan’t I go back to Mr. Brett’s with you, and then get a carriage?”

Anne, whose only desire was to get home as soon as possible, knew that there was no car- riage stand within a long distance, so she told him she never fainted, and that she would rather go home at once.

She was still too much excited to say much, but Dr. Morris, after telling her that as soon as the thought struck him, that she was going home alone, he had left Mr. Brett with the in- tention of going all the way behind her, to see that no one troubled her, thinking she might not like to accept the escort of a perfect stranger if he offered it, and was just in time to hear the sailor speak to her the second time, turned the conversation in another direction. By thus diverting her attention, he did the best thing possible. Anne soov breathed more freely, and could not but admire the ease with which he kept up the conversation, and his manners, which could not have been more entirely respectful and gentlemanly.

As they passed under the lamp-post, she took the opportunity of looking at him. He was tall and rather slight, but muscular as be had proved by the force with which he had struck the sailor; his hair, as well as she could tell under his hat, was light and wavy; his eyes were fine, such a clear blue! so frank and ¢ruthful! a soft moustache almost hid his mouth, which would have been too delicate if it had not been firm: the expression of his whole face was peculiarly bright, manly, and kind.

“He is handsome,” thought Anne, “and how much he looks like the pictures of Clive New- come!”

At length they reached her door. She thanked him warmly again and again; then lifting his hat to her with a bow that would have done credit to a young knight, he walked away.

Who will blame the young man, that he sighed to himself as he walked home alone to his board- ing-house, thinking that poor Brett was not so very much to be pitied after all, with some one like Miss Daland to go and see him? “What a clear, sweet voice she had, and how good it was of her to visit that old garret!”? He wished he could knock that sailor down again, for daring to insult her or any woman unprotected. What wonder was it, that as he sat in his luxurious, but lonely room that evening, he caught himself humming, “Jerusalem, my happy home!” and then said, “Nonsense!”’ to himself, and took refuge in the Medical Journal and a cigar?

In the future, Anne went in the morning to see Mr. Brett. Not so much from any fear of being frightened again, or from any aversion to seeing her gallant defender, but from a maidenly self-respect that prevented her going there again at an hour when she would need his escort bume. Not so the young gentleman, he took pains from that time to go there in the afternoon, but of course was always disappointed, for not another glimpse of her did he get.

Poor Brett failed rapidly, and was fully con- scious that death was fast drawing near, but he looked forward to it with a calm trust. It was not in vain that Anne had read to him from the Bible, and had told him of the Saviour who had died for him.

“Troth, Miss Daland!” said Mrs. Tigho to her, one day, “the doctor said last night might be the poor craythur’s last. It’s a kind heart intirely that the doctor has, and it’s always cheering to the poor man to see him. When he asks him if ‘his angel’ has been to see him


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 readily bought our broadcloths, kersies, quick- silver, lead, vermillion, sword blades, knives, and looking glasses; whilst the English Factors obtained calico, cotton yarn, indigo, and drugs. The latter articles were sent home, but the calicoes and cottons were carried to Java, and exchanged with the utmost advantage for pepper and spices. At Surat the object of the English Agent was to extend the trade to the inland markets as well as to the adjoining sea ports. At Java the object was to open a trade with China, Japan, and Siam; and above all to put a foot into the little but precious Spice Islands. In both directions the English had to contend against formidable rivals. In Western India they had to encounter the hostilities and intrigues of the Portuguese. In the Islands they had to encounter the growing animosity of the Dutch. The principles of Free Trade were totally unknown. The object of one and all of the three nations of English, Dutch, and Portuguese, was to obtain and secure a monopoly of the trade in the Indian seas. But the immediate cause of the deadly quarrel between the English and Dutch was the nutmegs!

Having thus fairly landed our countrymen on the shores of India, it will be necessary to glance at the state of Hindustan at the time of our story. From time immemorial India has been a conquered country. Wave after wave of the great Tartar or Turanian races of Central Asia, have poured in from the North, bringing with them noble languages, but rites so utterly barbarous as to be almost beyond belief;—horrible institutions


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 in which human sacrifices were offered to appease the wrath of ghosts and demons, and in which men and women herded together like cattle. The Brahmins next appeared upon the scene; a people altogether different, and belonging, not to the Tartar, or Turanian race, but to the same great Arian race, as the Greeks, the Romans, and our noble selves. These Brahmins gradually civilised the Tartar inhabitants, divided them into castes, taught them the worship of Vishnoo and Siva, and made themselves the priestly sovereigns of the country. Subsequently the priest was compelled to give way to the soldier, —the Brahmin to the Kshetrya, and India fell under the dominion of Rajahs. Such was the state of things when the Mussulmans, Turks and Mongols,—poured in successive eruptions over the valley of the Punjab, and at last established a throne at Delhi.

The history of the Mahommedan Empire in India is about the driest in the world. Even in the hands of a writer like Mountstuart Elphinstone, it is as heavy as lead; and until some historical romancer can be found with sufficient boldness to leave out all the wars, all the geography, and all the proper names, and confine himself to "Arabian Nights"-like stories of love adventures and court scandal, combined with a few operatic plots of murder, suicide, royal peasants, and peasant kings, —the history of Delhi will be a blank to the general reader.

Our narrative therefore shall be very brief. The first Mahommedan conqueror who invaded India was Mahmoud the Ghaznavide. Every one


text:
Author talk:William Kington Fyffe

William Kington Fyffe
William Kington Fyffe was a well-regarded English-trained medical doctor who arrived in about 1895 in Wellington where he lived and worked until his death in 1920. https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/NZTIM19200426.2.68 New Zealand Times, Volume XLVI, Issue 10573, 26 April 1920, Page 6 Noracrentiss (talk) 02:25, 4 December 2023 (UTC)

title: Author talk:William Kington Fyffe


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 GILLIAN.

BY

MRS. ANN S. STEPHENS.

Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by Mrs. Ann S. Stephens. in the Clerk's Ofﬁce of the District Court of the United States, for the Southern District of New York.]

CHAPTER I.

THERE is only one moving object that I know of more beautiful than a ship in full sail, and that is a bird upon the wing. Even the little sloop, that tacked in and out of the windings which inake the Hudson so picturesque, had a grace of its own which rendered it the first object in that grand scenery. On it went, with ite white sails spread, and its low bow ducking te ihe water, like some grand aquatic fowl playing withthe foam wreaths its own motion had created; tow in the shadow—now in the sunshine, it gided, with @ pleasant flutter of the sails, and the breath of a soft Indian summer sighing across its deck, so quietly, that the shadows throuzh which it passed, deepened without being broken, and the sunshine laughed around it as it docs when the water-birds are frolicking, turning the foam to pearls and the spray to dia- monds.

Two persons sat upon the deck, a man of fifty, Wrapped in a traveling-cloak of foreign make, and a young girl of seventeen, also muffled, in a cloth mantle, lined with fur, in which she shivered, as you see a poor Italian greyhound under all its pretty housings, when our winter begins to threaten.

Yet the girl was tall and fair, with that beauti- fol trpe of loveliness which makes an American woman a model all over the world: so delicate, © brcht, and, alas! so evanescent is her benuty. Her air was foreign. The wonder with which the gazed abroad upon the hills, clothed in their gorgeous autumnal foliage, bespoke her a stranger to the land; but her grey eyes, the abundance of rich auburn hair that fell in waves from under her heod of blue silk, and the energy of mind that woke in every sweet feature was American, as the gorgeous foliage upon the hill sides.

But there she sat, upon the deck, shivering in ber furs, though the wind came laden with the treath of dying fern leaves, and to a native vend have seemed balmy and fragrant rather than cold,

Papal”

The gentleman started, and looked around With a nervous sort of terror in his eyes. Her voice had drawn his thoughts back from the long ago with a pang, but he answered gently and smiling,

“Well, Gillian?”

The girl had spoken in Italian, and her voice rendered even that sweet language more meloii- ous by its rich tones. Her father answered in English, and in that language she spoke the second time,

“Father, why have we come to this country? Is it to live here forever?”

“It is your native land, Gillian. Look abroad and tell me if Italy is more beautiful?”

“It is strange, gorgeous, oppressively gorgeous, father; but those grand old trees drink up all the warmth. Iam chilled and lonely here.’’

“It is my fault, Gillian. A daughter of America should not be chilled by a wind like this. I have done wrong to keep you away from home till you have forgotten your native land.”

“Not quite, papa. I remember it a little: the spot which I recollect is not like these hills, but a broken country, scattered with houses, with one at the foot of a rugged hill, which seemed to be my home. I only recollect it at one time, and in one way. The door was open; a glow of sunset lay upon the sill, crossing softly along the room in which I sat playing. I remember the very dress I wore. It had a pink tint, and was protected by a little white apron, rounded at the corners, and frilled all round; in that apron I held some flowers, a handful of green apples, and a doll’s tea-set, huddled together.”

The girl paused, smiling: then she suddenly added, with a half forced laugh, for there was something in her father’s eyes that made her hesitate,

“These are trivial things to remember so long, but somehow they will always come up, clear as a picture, when I think of this land. I could almost promise to recognize the very pattern of my dress, on the moment, if it were before me; as for the toys, nothing has ever seemed so pretty to me since.”

“And is this all? Have you no remembrance of the house, or its inmates?” asked the father, in a low voice.


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ARIABLE, and therefore miserable condition of man! this minute I was well, and am ill this minute. I am surprised with a sudden change, and alteration to worse, and can impute it to no cause, nor call it by any name. We study health, and we deliberate upon our meats, and drink, and air, and exercises, and we hew and we polish every stone that goes to that building; and so our health is a long and a regular work: but in a minute a cannon batters all, overthrows all, demolishes all; a sickness unprevented for all our diligence, unsuspected for all our curiosity, nay, undeserved, if we consider only disorder, summons us, seizes us, possesses us, destroys us in an instant. O miserable condition of man! which was not imprinted by God, who, as he is immortal himself, had put a coal, a beam of immortality into us, which we might have blown into a flame, but blew it out by our first sin; we beggared ourselves by hearkening after false riches, and infatuated ourselves by

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 hearkening after false knowledge. So that now, we do not only die, but die upon the rack, die by the torment of sickness; nor that only, but are preafflicted, superafflicted with these jealousies and suspicions and apprehensions of sickness, before we can call it a sickness; we are not sure we are ill; one hand asks the other by the pulse, and our eye asks our own urine how we do. O multiplied misery! we die, and cannot enjoy death, because we die in this torment of sickness; we are tormented with sickness, and cannot stay till the torment come, but preapprehensions and presages prophesy those torments, which induce that death before either come; and our dissolution is conceived in these first changes, quickened in the sickness itself, and born in death, which bears date from these first changes. Is this the honour which man hath by being a little world, that he hath these earthquakes in himself, sudden shakings; these lightnings, sudden flashes; these thunders, sudden noises; these eclipses, sudden offuscations and darkenings of his senses; these blazing stars, sudden fiery exhalations; these rivers of blood, sudden red waters? Is he a world to himself only therefore, that he hath enough in himself, not only to destroy and execute himself, but to presage that execution upon himself; to assist the sickness, to antedate the sickness, to make the sickness the more irremediable by sad apprehensions, and as if he would make a fire the more vehement, by sprinkling water upon the coals, so to wrap a hot fever in cold melancholy, lest the fever alone should not destroy fast enough, without this contribution, nor perfect the work (which is destruction) except we joined an artificial sickness of our own melancholy, to our natural, our unnatural fever. O perplexed discomposition, O riddling distemper, O miserable condition of man!

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 in her eyes; and taking her father’s hand, she kissed it tenderly.

Mr. Bentley drew his hand away, not angrily, but as one who shrinks from any unusual display of feeling. His action was not that of a cold man, but of one who shielded deep feelings from a sudden assault.

“I did not say this, Gillian. All seasons of life have their blessings, if we only learn to use them. But see how quietly we are drawing toward the hills. In a little time we shall be on shore.”

Gillian started up and went into the cabin, a litte excited and eager to leave the vessel. New scenes were before her, and at her age novelty had a vivid charm, come in what form it might.

An hour after Gillian disappeared from the deck, the sloop put in to her port, a little cove breaking up between the mountains, that had tected to overtop each other at a distance, but which now revealed a narrow valley opening tick into the country, with the germ of a village living at its mouth and crowding close down to the water. A wharf, barricaded with piles of split wood ready for shipment, received the slop, which took the inhabitants by surprise, and created no little excitement among the wood-cutters, who hung around a grocery-store oo the wharf. The arrival of a strange sloop Was something, but the two persons, who stood upon the deck, were so unlike the passengers usually brought to the little harbor, that they excited a general and lively curiosity.

Before Mr. Bentley and his daughter could reach the wharf, half a dozen men had boarded the sloop, while a group of children, who had heen shying oyster-shells into the river and fishing with pin-hooks from the timbers, crowded close, with open mouths and looks of common wonder. Mr. Bentley inquired of a man, who approached him first, if any conveyance could be obtained at the village for the interior; but the man, true to his species, answered by another question:

“Was the gentleman straight from New York”

Mr. Bentley smiled for the first time he felt Completely at home. This peculiarity of his countrymen went to his heart like a welcome.

“Yes! he was directly from New York.”

“Come from further along, though, I reckon?” rejoined the countryman.

“Yes”

“Down East, mebby?”

“Not from Italy.”

“Whar?” cried the man, in open-mouthed perplexity; “Whar?”

“Beyond seas,” answered Mr. Bentley, good- humoredly; for the man’s curiosity awoke a thousand kindly feelings.

“Beyond seas? Oh! yes. Travel all the way by land or water, if I ain’t too bold?”

Gillian’s face sparkled. The conversation delighted her.

“By water all the way,” answered Mr. Bentley, reproving her with a glance.

“Come in this sloop? Wall, she don’t look as if she’d had much of a tussle with the weather, anyhow. If ye hain’t no more use for her, what'll ye take, ha?”.

“She isn’t for sale, I think. But you can ask the captain. Now pray inform me if there is any chance of obtaining a conveyance, which will take myself and daughter some twenty miles into the country?”

“Your daughter, ha? It kinder struck me that the gal must be something to you. Handsome as a pictur; ain’t she, though?

Gillian laughed outright, and the countryman drowned her voice in an answering laugh.

“Knew it the minit I set eyes on you a standing together,” he said, addressing her directly.

“Spose you calculate to ketch a beau in these parts? Well, there ain’t the least mite of danger but you'll do il, right off the reel. Now, how old might you be?”

Gillian was half frightened out of her merri- ment hy his ardent curiosity. But she answered, “That he had not yet replied to her father about the carriage.”

“Carriage?” answered the man, sinking both hands into his jacket and ejaculating his surprise in a broken whistle. “Why, I reckon the only carriage you’ll be likely to get in these parts “ll be a Pennsylvania wagon, with two chairs sot in behind, and a board laid across for the driver; that’s the kind of carriages our gals ride in.”

“Well, pnpa, I suppose that will do,” cried Gillian, delighted with the idea of a ride in the open air, and still more delighted with the promise of this novel conveyance.

But the countryman was not to be so easily put off.

“Any more family?” he inquired, turning to Mr. Bentley.

“I will tell you that, and give a silver dollar in to the bargain, if you bring me a respectable conveyance to the wharf, in just twenty minutes,” said Bentley, looking at his watch.

“But how much ’ll you agree to give for the team, with a good-looking driver that your gal won’t be ashamed to ride behind—throwing in horse-feed and a bite on the way?”


text:
Author talk:W. Gray

William Gray?
Thomas Henry Potts co-authored an article with Thomas Henry Potts. His DNZ biography refers to his "head gardener, William Gray". https://teara.govt.nz/en/biographies/2p27/potts-thomas-henry Noracrentiss (talk) 02:42, 4 December 2023 (UTC)

title: Author talk:W. Gray


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F I were but mere dust and ashes, I might speak unto the Lord, for the Lord's hand made me of this dust, and the Lord's hand shall recollect these ashes; the Lord's hand was the wheel, upon which this vessel of clay was framed, and the Lord's hand is the urn in which these ashes shall be preserved. I am the dust and the ashes of the temple of the Holy Ghost, and what marble is so precious? But I am more than dust and ashes: I am my best part, I am my soul. And being so, the breath of God, I may breathe back these pious expostulations to my God: My God, my God, why is not my soul as sensible as my body? Why hath not my soul these apprehensions, these presages, these changes, those antidotes, those jealousies, those suspicions of a sin, as well as my body of a sickness? Why is there not always a pulse in my soul to beat at the approach of a temptation to sin? Why are there not always waters in mine eyes, to testify my spiritual sickness? I stand in the way of temptations, naturally, necessarily; all men do so; for there is a snake in every path, temptations in every vocation; but I go, I run, I fly into the ways of temptation, which I might shun; nay, I break into houses where the plague is; I press into places of temptation, and tempt the devil himself, and solicit and importune them who had rather be left unsolicited by me. I fall sick of sin, and am bedded and bedrid, buried and putrified in the practice of sin, and all this while have no presage, no pulse, no sense of my sickness. O height, O depth of misery, where the first symptom of the sickness is hell, and where I never see the fever of lust, of envy, of ambition, by any other light than the darkness and horror of hell itself, and where the first messenger that speaks to me doth

title: Page:Devotions - Donne - 1840.djvu/117


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“ COMING THROUGH THE EYE."


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 not say, "Thou mayest die," no, nor "Thou must die," but "Thou art dead;" and where the first notice that my soul hath of her sickness, is irrecoverableness, irremediableness. But, O my God, Job did not charge thee foolishly in his temporal afflictions, nor may I in my spiritual. Thou hast imprinted a pulse in our soul, but we do not examine it; a voice in our conscience, but we do not hearken unto it. We talk it out, we jest it out, we drink it out, we sleep it out; and when we wake, we do not say with Jacob, Surely the Lord is in this place, and I knew it not: but though we might know it, we do not, we will not. But will God pretend to make a watch, and leave out the spring? to make so many various wheels in the faculties of the soul, and in the organs of the body, and leave out grace, that should move them? Or will God make a spring, and not wind it up? Infuse his first grace, and not second it with more, without which we can no more use his first grace when we have it, than we could dispose ourselves by nature to have it? But, alas, that is not our case; we are all prodigal sons, and not disinherited; we have received our portion, and mispent it, not been denied it. We are God's tenants here, and yet here, he, our landlord, pays us rents; not yearly nor quarterly, but hourly and quarterly; every minute he renews his mercy, but we will not understand, lest that we should be converted, and he should heal us .

ETERNAL and most gracious God, who, considered in thyself, art a circle, first and last, and altogether; but, considered in thy working upon us, art a direct line, and leadest us from our beginning, through all our ways, to our end, enable me by

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text: Page:New Peterson magazine 1859 Vol. XXXV.pdf/355


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 thy grace to look forward to mine end, and to look backward too, to the considerations of thy mercies afforded me from the beginning; that so by that practice of considering thy mercy, in my beginning in this world, when thou plantedst me in the Christian church, and thy mercy in the beginning in the other world, when thou writest me in the book of life, in my election, I may come to a holy consideration of thy mercy in the beginning of all my actions here: that in all the beginnings, in all the accesses, and approaches of spiritual sicknesses of sin, I may hear and hearken to that voice, O thou man of God, there is death in the pot , and so refrain from that which I was so hungerly, so greedily flying to. A faithful ambassador is health , says thy wise servant Solomon. Thy voice received in the beginning of a sickness, of a sin, is true health. If I can see that light betimes, and hear that voice early, Then shall my light break forth as the morning, and my health shall spring forth speedily . Deliver me therefore, O my God, from these vain imaginations; that it is an overcurious thing, a dangerous thing, to come to that tenderness, that rawness, that scrupulousness, to fear every concupiscence, every offer of sin, that this suspicious and jealous diligence will turn to an inordinate dejection of spirit, and a diffidence in thy care and providence; but keep me still established, both in a constant assurance, that thou wilt speak to me at the beginning of every such sickness, at the approach of every such sin; and that, if I take knowledge of that voice then, and fly to thee, thou wilt preserve me from falling, or raise me again, when by natural infirmity I am fallen. Do this, O Lord, for his sake, who knows our natural infirmities, for he had them, and

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 knows the weight of our sins, for he paid a dear price for them, thy Son, our Saviour, Christ Jesus. Amen.

HE heavens are not the less constant because they move continually, because they move continually one and the same way. The earth is not the more constant because it lies still continually, because continually it changes, and melts in all the parts thereof. Man, who is the noblest part of the earth, melts so away, as if he were a statue, not of earth, but of snow. We see his own envy melts him, he grows lean with that; he will say, another's beauty melts him; but he feels that a fever doth not melt him like snow, but pour him out like lead, like iron, like brass melted in a furnace. It doth not only melt him, but calcine him, reduce him to atoms and to ashes; not to water, but to lime. And how quickly? Sooner than thou canst receive an answer, sooner than thou canst conceive the question; earth is the centre of my body, heaven is the centre of my soul; these two are the natural places of these two; but those go not to these two in an equal pace. My body falls down without pushing, my soul does not go up without pulling. Ascension is my soul's pace and measure, but precipitation my body's. And even angels, whose home is heaven, and who are winged too, yet had a ladder to go to heaven by steps. The sun who goes so many miles in a minute, the stars of the firmament which go so very many more, go not so fast as my body to the earth. In the same instant that I feel the

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 first attempt of the disease, I feel the victory; in the twinkling of an eye I can scarce see; instantly the taste is insipid and fatuous; instantly the appetite is dull and desireless; instantly the knees are sinking and strengthless; and in an instant, sleep, which is the picture, the copy of death, is taken away, that the original, death itself, may succeed, and that so I might have death to the life. It was part of Adam's punishment, In the sweat of thy brows thou shalt eat thy bread: it is multiplied to me; I have earned bread in the sweat of my brows, in the labour of my calling, and I have it; and I sweat again and again, from the brow to the sole of the foot, but I eat no bread, I taste no sustenance. Miserable distribution of mankind, where one half lacks meat, and the other stomach!

AVID professes himself a dead dog, to his king Saul, and so doth Mephibosheth to his king David ; and yet David speaks to Saul, and Mephibosheth to David. No man is so little, in respect of the greatest man, as the greatest in respect of God; for here, in that, we have not so much as a measure to try it by; proportion is no measure for infinity. He that hath no more of this world but a grave, he that hath his grave but lent him, till a better man or another man must be buried in the same grave, he that hath no grave but a dunghill, he that hath no more earth but that which he carries, but that which he is, he that hath not that earth which he is, but even in that is another's slave, hath as much proportion to God, as if all David's worthies, and all the world's monarchs, and all imagination's giants, were kneaded and incorporated into one, and as though

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 that one were the survivor of all the sons of men, to whom God had given the world. And therefore how little soever I be, as God calls things that are not, as though they were, 1, who am as though I were not, may call upon God, and say, My God, my God, why comes thine anger so fast upon me? Why dost thou melt me, scatter me, pour me like water upon the ground so instantly 7 Thou stayedst for the first world, in Noah's time, one hundred and twenty years; thou stavedst for a rebellious generation in the wilderness forty years; wilt thou stay no minute for me? Wilt thou make thy process and thy decree, thy citation and thy judgment, but one act? Thy summons, thy battle, thy victory, thy trinmph, all but one act; and lead me captive, nay, deliver me captive to death, as soon as thou declarest me to be enemy, and so cut me off even with the drawing of thy sword out of the scabbard, and for that question, How long was he sick? leave no other answer, but that the hand of death pressed upon him from the first minute? My God, my God, thou wast not wont to come in whirlwinds, but in soft and gentle air. Thy first breath breathed a soul into me, and shall thy breath blow it out? Thy breath in the congregation, thy word in the church, breathes communion and consolation here, and consummation hereafter; shall thy breath in this chamber breathe dissolution and destruction, divorce and separation? Surely 1t is not thou, it is not thy hand. The devouring sword, the consuming fire, the winds from the wilderness, the diseases of the body, all that afflicted Job, were from the hand of Satan: it is not thou. It is thou, thou my God, who hast led me so continually with thy hand, from the hand of my nurse, as that I know thou wilt not correct me, but with thine own hand. My parents would not give me over to a servant's correction, nor my God to Satan's.

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 Iam fallen into the hands of God with David, and with David I see that his mercies are great. Ior by that mercy, I consider in my present state, not the haste and the despatch of the discase, in dissolving this body, so much as the much more haste and despatch which my God shall use in recollecting and reuniting this dust again at the resurrection. Then I shall hear his angels proclaim the Surgite mortui, Rise, ye dead. Though I be dead, I shall hear the voice; the sounding of the voice and the working of the voice shall be all one; and all shall rise there mn a less minute than any one dies here.

MOST gracious God, who pursuest and per fectest thine own purposes, and dost not only remember me, by the first accesses of this sickness, that I must die, but inform me, by this further proceeding therein, that I may die now; who hast not only waked me with the first, but called me up, by casting me further down, and clothed me with thyself, by stripping me of myself; and by dulling my bodily senses to the meats and eases of this world, hast whet and sharpened my spiritual senses to the apprehension of thee; by what steps and degrees soever it shall please thee to go, in the dissolution of this body, hasten, O Lord, that pace, and multiply, O my God, those degrees, in the exaltation of my soul toward thee now, and to thee then. My taste is not gone away, but gone up to sit at David's table, 7o taste, and see, that the Lovd is good. My stomach is not gone, but gone up, so far upwards toward the Supper of the Lamb, with thy saints in heaven, as to the table, to the communion of thy saints here in earth: my knees are weak, but weak therefore that I

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